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work_234zdmxp65arzczysnyjlzywpm	----	Practical Insights for the Pharmacist Educator on Student Engagement REVIEW Practical Insights for the Pharmacist Educator on Student Engagement Douglas R. Oyler, PharmD,a,b Frank Romanelli, PharmD, MPH,b Peggy Piascik, PhD,b Jeff Cain, EdDb a University of Kentucky HealthCare, Department of Pharmacy, Lexington, Kentucky b University of Kentucky College of Pharmacy, Lexington, Kentucky Submitted July 18, 2015; accepted September 17, 2015; published October 25, 2016. Student engagement continues to be a point of emphasis in pharmacy education, yet there remains little data on tangible means to increase organic student engagement. This review attempts to better define student engagement, draws from educational theorists to emphasize the importance of student engage- ment, and provides the reader with practice philosophies that can be used across of variety of teaching settings to help develop an engaging learning environment. Keywords: student engagement, pharmacy school INTRODUCTION Within the Accreditation Council for Pharmacy Ed- ucation’s (ACPE) Standards 2016 for the doctor of phar- macy (PharmD) degree, the term engage, engaging, or engagement is mentioned fifteen times.1 Five of these are specific references to engaging students in educational activities (Standards 10, 12, and 13). Other mentions in- clude engaging as a member of a health care team (Stan- dard 3), engaging in interprofessional communication (Standard 11), engaging in shared therapeutic decision- making (Standard 11), engaging in innovative activities (Standard 4), and engaging in community service (Stan- dard 19). By comparison, Standards 2011 mentioned the termfourtimesin adocument twiceas long.2 Engagement is also a theme in the 2013 Center for the Advancement of Pharmacy Education (CAPE) Educational Outcomes,3 the Core Competencies for Interprofessional Collabora- tive Practice,4 and the 2014 Pharmacists’ Patient Care Process developed by the Joint Commission of Pharmacy Practitioners (JCPP).5 This suggests a theme that is not only prevalent in pharmacy education, but in education as a whole. That is, the more engaged a student is, the better. This review attempts to better define student engage- ment using ideas from educational theorists and provide readers with practical philosophies to improve engage- ment in the graduate pharmacy classroom. DEFINING ENGAGEMENT What is engagement in the classroom? What does it look like? How do we know when students are engaged? These are not new questions, but with a new interest in student engagement in pharmacy education, these ques- tions deserve to be addressed. While the two ideas are different, engagement and motivation are terms often used interchangeably to describe student performance in the classroom. The motivated student, as commonly per- ceived, is one who completes high-quality work in a timely fashion and can function autonomously. How- ever, as discussed by Newman, engagement is not only a desire to succeed in school, and it is more than simply motivation.6 Engagement involves a connection and at- tachment to a particular setting or task. In academia, en- gagement is described as the student’s psychological investment in learning and mastering knowledge or skills. The opposite of engagement is alienation, isolation, or detachment; this is often referred to as “disengagement” and classically manifests itself with students skipping class, disrupting class, or not completing assignments.7 Unfortunately, disengaged students are not often this ob- viously identified. Some disengaged students are typi- cally well-behaved and complete assignments on time, and they may even be some of the highest achievers in a class when using cognitive indicators as markers of success. Of particular concern is that this description of well-behaved students correlates well with notions of en- gaged students.8-10 However, without student engage- ment, success in school predicts little more than success in school.11 As defined by the National Survey of Student En- gagement (NSSE), student engagement represents the amount of time and effort students devote to their studies as well as the resources deployed by the institution to promote participation in educational activities.12 From this definition, engagement could be assessed using time and effort required on the part of the student. To this point, Corresponding Author: Douglas R. Oyler, Department of Pharmacy Services, H110, University of Kentucky HealthCare, 800 Rose St., Lexington, KY 40536-0293. Tel: 859-219-3641. Fax: 859-323-3584. E-mail: doug.oyler@uky. edu American Journal of Pharmaceutical Education 2016; 80 (8) Article 143. 1 b y gu es t on A pr il 5 , 2 02 1. © 2 01 6 A m er ic an A ss oc ia ti on o f C ol le ge s of P ha rm ac y ht tp :/ /w w w .a jp e. or g D ow nl oa de d fr om mailto:doug.oyler@uky.edu mailto:doug.oyler@uky.edu http://www.ajpe.org the majority of reports assessing engagement evaluate active-learning strategies (eg, problem-based learning, group learning, reflection) using survey-based tools to measure effectiveness.13-16 Unfortunately, the ultimate goal of student engagement—creation of a lifelong learner and problem solver—is more difficult to quantify with standard measures of achievement such as test and quiz scores. These standard assessments are not necessar- ily higher in students who are more engaged.17 Perhaps the most important question to ask is if en- gagement matters. Does the student who is more engaged perform better in school? If success in school does not nec- essarily equate to success in the workplace,11 is improved school performance even an appropriate goal? Lillard and Else-Quest evaluated the impact of Montessori-based ed- ucation on academic and social performance in 112 stu- dents aged 5-12 years old.18 Montessori education, characterized by multi-aged classrooms, student-chosen work, the absence of tests and grades, and peer collabo- ration, was associated with improved academic and social functioning as assessed by standardized measures. Simi- lar results occur in other progressive educational models that focus on increasing engagement, including the Steiner-Waldorf, Reggio Emilia, and International Bac- calaureate models of primary school education, which all focus on new, humanistic approaches to education that maximize real-world applicability.19 Given the develop- mental improvements in young children immersed in pro- gressive models and promising survey-based data15,16 related to active-learning strategies designed to increase student engagement, increasing student engagement may not only improve academic performance and retention, but also, if organic, increase student inquisitiveness and ownership and affect lifelong learning.20 HOW ENGAGED ARE PHARMACY STUDENTS? It is difficult to discern the effectiveness of pharmacy educators at engaging students in learning. A key issue when discussing student engagement is that many educa- tors think of engagement in related but different ways.21 At the most basic level, engagement translates simply to getting students actively involved, but this type of surface-level engagement is not the same as a sincere psychological investment in learning.7 The bulk of research related to student engagement in pharmacy education re- fers to the former definition, and investigators have yet to measure psychological engagement. Many educators concede that the traditional lecture is not a gold standard for teaching and are shifting towards active learning.22 Even though active learning may moti- vate students to become more cognitively involved, there is little proof that any form of active learning will increase students’ psychological investment in learning. Student success in terms of engagement may come from involve- ment activities such as interactions with faculty members and other students, writing activities, and extracurricular projects. 23 The NSSE confirmed suggestions that the “one size fits all approach” of classroom activities alone will not promote student engagement. The survey used the term “high-impact practices” to describe learning activi- ties that havelarge positiveeffects on studentlearning and engagement. These practices include learning communi- ties, service-learning, individual work with faculty mem- bers on a research project, internship/co-op, study abroad, and culminating senior experiences (eg, capstone, thesis, final project). Important traits shared by those activities is that they demand considerable time and effort, require interactions with diverse populations, and provide mean- ingful feedback to the learner. 24 They also tend to be more than just a series of tasks to complete; they require the learner to be immersed by discovering problems, deter- mining the right questions to ask, and identifying the reasons for doing so, rather than merely trying to find the answer for which the instructor is searching. Former Stanford professor and academic scholar Elliot Eisner posited that presenting content to students in the class- room and then asking them to repeat it back in some other fashion on an examination creates a disposition that does not mirror actual problems outside of the classroom. 25 Worrying about grades and content for examinations detracts students from the real goal of synthesizing infor- mation for use in the “real world”26 and does little to encourage students to seek deeper and more meaningful comprehension.27 One of the primary issues with regard to high impact practices, however, is that they can be time intensive for instructors. Service learning, research projects, and cap- stone projects require faculty members to be closely in- volved with students to provide effective feedback and guidance. In colleges and schools with large class enroll- ments, the management aspects of several of these at once could be unwieldy. As a whole, however, pharmacy edu- cation is making strides towards using strategies that ap- proach high impact. 28-33 Practice experiences may be the best example, but, in the classroom setting, team-based learning34 and other types of learner-centric strategies are examples that theoretically engage students cognitively and psychologically.35 One significant unanswered question is, “How do we know if our students are engaged?” Engagement is a dif- ficult and multivariable construct to measure. The NSSE developed 10 engagement indicators that may be used to better gauge assessment in this area. These indicators American Journal of Pharmaceutical Education 2016; 80 (8) Article 143. 2 b y gu es t on A pr il 5 , 2 02 1. © 2 01 6 A m er ic an A ss oc ia ti on o f C ol le ge s of P ha rm ac y ht tp :/ /w w w .a jp e. or g D ow nl oa de d fr om http://www.ajpe.org (Table 1) are grouped into four themes pertaining to level of academic challenge, amount of learning with peers, types of experiences with faculty members, and interac- tions with the campus environment.24 Unfortunately, al- thoughtheNSSEsurveyisthebestinstrumentformeasuring engagement, it is only administered institution-wide at the undergraduate level. Objectivemarkersthatareeasiertoassess,suchaslive classroom attendance, have been decreasing over the past 20 years college-wide, including in schools of pharmacy. 36 The reasons for this decrease include a decrease in the perceived value of the live lecture,37 which may suggest that current students are less engaged than previous ones. Of particular concern, a study by Hidayat et al involving 135 first-year and second-year pharmacy students sug- gested absenteeism may be negatively correlated with stu- dent success in a therapeutics curriculum.37 Students who regularly attend large lecture-based classes do so based on interest in the material and effective teaching strategies by the primary instructor,38 suggesting pharmacy educators may need to incorporate strategies to improve engage- ment, with a goal of increasing student attendance and subsequent performance. PART III. HOW DO EDUCATORS IMPROVE ENGAGEMENT? As discussed by Marzano et al, the engaging teacher must effectively address four key questions: how the stu- dent feels, whether the student is interested, whether the material is important, and whether the student can com- plete the task (Table 2).39 The first two questions affect immediate, surface-level engagement and may often be independent of the teacher or classroom, while the latter strategies impact long-term psychological engagement. To improve the mood of the classroom (ie, how the student feels), Marzano et al suggested using five strate- gies. First instructors should use effective pacing to avoid students getting lost in information provided too quickly or lost in their own thoughts when the pace is too slow. To improve pacing, teachers must have standardized approaches in place for distributing assignments and de- veloping groups, make effective transitions between ac- tivities, and provide enough material to keep quick learners busy while not leaving slow learners behind. One technique that may be effective is the “chunk and chew” approach, where instructors divide a topic into subtopics (chunks) and allow students to process (chew) the information in groups between sections. The instruc- tor should time the chew sections to effectively foster information processing while minimizing free time. In- structors should also facilitate physical movement in classrooms. The childhood merits of recess aside, 40 vary- ing sensory inputs is a well-established learning system in early education.41 Another seemingly obvious ap- proach to improving the mood of the classroom is to im- prove instructor engagement. Using personal stories as well as simple nonverbal cues (eg, smiling) can prove contagious in a learning environment. Incorporating hu- mor into the classroom setting can also improve morale. Jokes should generally not be directed at students, but rather should be self-directed or clips from movies, head- lines, etc. Finally, the instructor should strive to build positive relationships both with and among the student body. Strategies to help the instructor identify with stu- dents as a person (rather than a medium for information) 20 include ensuring fair treatment, showing interest in students on an individual level, and identifying positive information about students. Table 1. NSSE Engagement Indicators (Course-Level Indicators of Student Engagement)21 Theme EIs (Students Have Opportunity to Participate in/Use. . .) Example Academic Challenge Higher-order learning Rigorous capstone project that requires reflective thought and analysisReflective and integrative learning Variety of learning strategies Quantitative reasoning Learning with Peers Collaborative learning Well-designed group learning activities that involve students diverse in thought, educational background, ethnicity, and/or skills Discussions with diverse others Experiences with Faculty Members Student-faculty interaction Establishing a formal mentoring program that helps students develop professional relationships with faculty membersEffective teaching practices Campus Environment Quality of interactions Developing a school culture that promotes and enables faculty-student interactions across a variety of curricular and extracurricular activities Supportive environment NSSE5National Survey on Student Engagement American Journal of Pharmaceutical Education 2016; 80 (8) Article 143. 3 b y gu es t on A pr il 5 , 2 02 1. © 2 01 6 A m er ic an A ss oc ia ti on o f C ol le ge s of P ha rm ac y ht tp :/ /w w w .a jp e. or g D ow nl oa de d fr om http://www.ajpe.org Many methods have been proposed to keep students interested, but generally these fall within four specific domains. The first of these domains is the use of games. Games are used with success in the classroom,42 with take-home activities,43 and in the experiential setting.44 Second, “friendly controversy,” such as debates and votes, can be used to foster an interesting environment. Incorporating unusual facts to take advantage of students’ natural curiosity is also recommended, and these can be incorporated at the beginning of a lecture, researched by students and presented in class, or presented by guest speakers. 45 Perhaps the most well-known means for fos- tering engagement is through the use of questioning; the truest form of questioning can be found in the Socratic method, which is described in pharmacy education.46 A variety of electronic resources such as TurningPoint (Turning Technologies, Youngstown, OH) and Poll- Everywhere (PollEverywhere, San Francisco, CA) allow for electronic polling, which allows students to respond to questions anonymously.47 To foster long-term engagement, an educator must connect the student to the information by incorporating the student’s life and ambitions as well as encouraging application of knowledge. Not only is including “real- world” applicability (as encouraged by common exam- ples ofcase-based learning,48 objectivestructured clinical examinations (OSCEs),49 and experiential learning50,51) important, but providing the student with choice may further increase engagement. As outlined in his 1969 work, Freedom to Learn, Carl Rogers discussed the ben- efits of contractual education across the continuum of education, acknowledging that when students are only passively engaged in activities they do not choose, they are not learning the material in a meaningful way that encourages lifelong learning, application, or inquisi- tion. 20 The concept of identifying with a student on a per- sonal level is not new either, and “meaning making,” or providing relevance through the use of real-world appli- cability, has been emphasized for decades.52 The fourth key question to be addressed by the edu- cator is “Can the student do this?” In other words, the educator should help the student develop meaningful goals. As highlighted by Elliot Eisner, these goals need not be confined to the system of letter grades or examina- tion scores; in fact, reliance on historical success mea- sures, despite their perceived advantage of objectivity, may decrease true engagement, as students correlate suc- cess with a course grade. 11 However, even while operat- ing within the constructs of a grade-based system, the use of contractual education may provide an opportunity to de-emphasize grades, allowing for student focus to shift toward learning and concept application.20 One model that is gaining popularity a as means of fostering engagement is the “flipped classroom.” Made popular by Harvard Professor Eric Mazur, this mode of teaching aims to offload the traditional teaching activities (eg, lecture and information delivery) externally while shifting application of material into the classroom.53 In theory, this allows the teacher to assume the role of facil- itator or coach rather than as a medium for information delivery. McLaughlin et al described their experience “flip- ping” a basic pharmaceutics course consisting of 162 students.16 Overall, self-reported student engagement significantly increased in the flipped model; further, stu- dents noted delivery of information was more effective in the flipped model, as subjectively-assessed learning was enhanced. Of note, completion of assigned readings sig- nificantly decreased in the flipped model, which may sug- gest a diminished utility of assigned readings and a subsequent call for incorporation of alternative forms of representation. 11 While the use of technology is revolutionizing phar- macy education and is used in some form by nearly all schools of pharmacy,54 incorporation of technology may decrease engagement. The notion of needing to “escape” from a connected world, in some form, goes back as far as Aristotle and is a notable component of the lives of the classic minds of William Shakespeare, Benjamin Franklin, and Henry David Thoreau.55 Vigdor et al reviewed the Table 2. Questions for Improving Student Engagement in the Classroom37 Question 1. How does the student feel? Use effective pacing strategies (eg, “chunk and chew”) Facilitate physical movement in class Improve educator engagement using personal stories and nonverbal cues Incorporate humor Build positive relationships with the student body Question 2. Is the student interested? Use games Incorporate “friendly controversy” with votes and debates Add in unusual facts Use Socratic questioning Question 3. Is the material important? Identify with the student on a personal level Provide choice Use real-world examples, including cases and experiences (e.g., OSCEs) Question 4. Can the student complete the task? Develop tasks that are appropriately challenging Consider subjective grading or contractual agreements “Flip” the classroom to discuss real-world examples OSCE5objective structured clinical examination American Journal of Pharmaceutical Education 2016; 80 (8) Article 143. 4 b y gu es t on A pr il 5 , 2 02 1. © 2 01 6 A m er ic an A ss oc ia ti on o f C ol le ge s of P ha rm ac y ht tp :/ /w w w .a jp e. or g D ow nl oa de d fr om http://www.ajpe.org academic progress of nearly one million primary school students in North Carolina and found that the introduction of a home computer with Internet access was associated with a significant reduction in math and reading test scores.56 While these data represent a population notably different from the on-campus pharmacy classroom, occa- sionally disconnecting from the outside world in the class- room setting may allow students to more fully devote their attention to the topic at hand. Finally, it remains to be seen whether specific stu- dent characteristics foster engagement in the classroom or predict success in more nontraditional settings. Unfortu- nately, the engaging classroom may offer a stark contrast to undergraduate and primary education for many stu- dents, 11 and these students may reject the associated change. If characteristics are identified that correlate with success in a new model, such as high motivation or self- sufficiency, schools of pharmacy may benefit from assessing these noncognitive attributes during the admis- sions process through modalities such as the multiple mini-interview. 57 A NATIONAL INITIATIVE Student engagement is a theme that pervades not only pharmacy education but also the spectrum of health professions education. The 2013 CAPE Educational Out- comes provide a goal for pharmacy curricula as schools evolve to prepare practice-ready graduates.3 In particular, domains 2-4 require high levels of student engagement to achieve the outcomes defined. Domain 2 focuses on skill development that prepares students to provide care to in- dividuals and populations, manage medications, and pro- mote wellness. Domain 3 skills include problem solving, educating, communicating, including, advocating, and collaborating. Domain 4 targets personal and professional development through self-awareness, leadership, profes- sionalism, and innovation. Common methods used to achieve these outcomes facilitate long-term engagement including case-based problem solving, OSCEs, simula- tions, and real-life interactions with patients in introduc- tory and advanced pharmacy practice experiences. The Core Competencies for Interprofessional Col- laborative Practice sponsored by the Interprofessional Education Collaborative (IPEC), a group of six health professions education organizations, defines the compe- tencies required of all health professionals to effectively enter the workforce capable of practicing team-based care. As stated in the report’s introduction, “The devel- opment of interprofessional collaborative competen- cies. . .requires moving beyond these profession-specific educational efforts to engage students of different profes- sions in interactive learning with each other. Being able to work effectively as members of clinical teams while stu- dents is a fundamental part of that learning.” 4 The report discusses engagement of students across the health pro- fessions, in teams, between education and practice, and includes other stakeholders. In 2014, JCPP endorsed a Pharmacists’ Patient Care Process to promote a consistent approach to the process of patient care by pharmacists. The process is built on the skills defined in the CAPE 2013 Outcomes, including collect, assess, plan, implement, monitor, and evaluate. It also reaffirms the collaborative team-based nature of patient care requiring communication, documentation, and collaboration. Step one of this process requires the establishment of a patient-pharmacist relationship that supports engagement and effective communication with patients, families, and caregivers throughout the process.5 The 2016 Standards from ACPE focus in several places on student engagement.1 Section I, Educational Outcomes, adopts the CAPE Educational Outcomes 2013. In Standard 10, Curriculum Design, Delivery and Oversight, teaching and learning methods that engage students, promote self-directed learning, and address the diverse learning needs of students are required. This stan- dard also requires that students learn patient-centered col- laborative care according to the JCPP Pharmacists’ Patient Care model. Standard 11, Interprofessional Edu- cation, reaffirmsthe IPEC core competencies and requires team-based learning that engages students in effective communication, collaboration, and shared therapeutic decision-making. While we use technology to develop new techniques to increase student engagement in 2015, active learning and student engagement is not a new concept in pharmacy education. The Commission to Implement Change in Pharmaceutical Education was charged in 1989 to assist pharmacy education in evolving to meet the changing demands of the profession, the health care system, and society by developing a series of recommen- dations for change. The commission produced a forward- thinking series of background papers and recommendations that guided development of entry level doctor of phar- macy (PharmD) curricula in the 1990s. They are still rel- evant today as can be seen from the following quote: “It follows, then, that a major responsibility of pharmacy educators is to shift the burden of learning from the teacher to the student. The transition from a dependent learner to an independent learner must occur as the stu- dent progresses through the pharmacy curriculum. Stu- dents must understand that to become educated is to know what questions to ask and where the answers may be found. Teaching must be achieved through educational processes that involve students as active learners. Teachers must view themselves as coaches American Journal of Pharmaceutical Education 2016; 80 (8) Article 143. 5 b y gu es t on A pr il 5 , 2 02 1. © 2 01 6 A m er ic an A ss oc ia ti on o f C ol le ge s of P ha rm ac y ht tp :/ /w w w .a jp e. or g D ow nl oa de d fr om http://www.ajpe.org and facilitators rather than merely as providers and interpreters of information.”58 BARRIERS TO STUDENT ENGAGEMENT Perhaps the most significant assessment in the course of a pharmacy students’ career is the North American Pharmacist Licensure Examination (NAPLEX). Mean NAPLEX pass rates for graduates of ACPE accredited schools of pharmacy in 2014 was 94.8% (range: 76%- 100%).59 Some educators argue on multiple fronts that changes to educational paradigms, curricula, and even approaches to instruction are simply not necessary given that national pass rates on the NAPLEX are consistently within a high range with few students ever unsuccessfully attempting the examination. The debate centers on the perceived need to fix a system or systems postulated to “not be broken” if using NAPLEX pass rates as an indicator. Several practical issues related to increasing student engagement must be considered. Most schools of phar- macy in the United States have undergone at least some expansion in class size since their inception. 60 With in- creased class size comes a corollary and proportional escalation in the responsibilities of faculty members in- cluding, but not limited to, assessments, grading, ques- tions, e-mail correspondence, and other course dynamics. The added intentional or implied responsibility of in- creasing student engagement will place a greater burden on faculty members to accomplish a set number of tasks in a given period of time. With growing demands being placed on faculty members, including a greater emphasis on scholarship, class size serves as a cumulative barrier to performing new tasks either at all or at least effectively. Perhaps the grander concern regarding class size centers on its effects on the ability of instructors to effectively engage large groups. As faculty to student ratios increase, the intimacy of a classroom may suffer and with it, the student-faculty relationship. As this relationship becomes less intimate, it becomes increasingly difficult for faculty members to accomplish many of the tasks required to in- crease engagement. It is particularly challenging for fac- ulty members in large class settings to assess how students feel and/or if students are expressing interest in course lessons/content. In many instances, achieving and main- taining student interest in course material is linked to in- creasing the entertainment value of content or instruction. Increased use of games or gaming might be a method to increase interest particularly among the millennial/social media generation, which is accustomed to high tech in- terventions. Class size may serve as a significant addi- tional barrier to the implementation, management, and execution of game-based instruction. 61 Most faculty members would agree that the complexity of almost any issue related to educational instruction increases in pro- portion to class size. Ultimately, no matter what interventions faculty members may make to increase engagement, the rate- limiting step may actually be the student. Not all students are created equally, and some will respond to certain in- terventions while others will not bond with a “one-size- fits all” approach. Some would question whether forced engagement of students is in the truest sense still authentic engagement at all, while others would question the con- ventional wisdom ofcompulsoryengagement. Because of its artificial nature,mandatory engagementmight actually lead to unintended student resentment. True engagement requires a personal and purposeful motivation to learning. Afinalimpedimenttoimplementingstrategiesintended to increase engagement is that in many ways the concept is difficult to define. Some might argue that, in terms of an engaged student, “you know it when you see it.” Even faculty members at a single institution might have differ- ent opinions, thoughts, or interpretations of the meaning of engagement. An inability to objectively define engage- ment often leads to issues related to measurement, quan- tification, and defensible research in the area. CONCLUSIONS Engagement in the classroom, as evidenced by ACPE Standards 2016, is increasingly recognized as a key component in education, including pharmacy edu- cation. While educators have taken steps to move away from traditional lecture-based curriculum, the literature suggests there is still much progress to be made in creating an environment that fosters natural engagement, as this appears to require a shift in mentality as opposed to the simple adoption of specific methodologies. However, by addressing four questions (how the student feels, if the student is interested, if the material is important, and if the task is achievable), it may be possible for educators to create this environment without drastic methodological changes. REFERENCES 1. Accreditation Council for Pharmacy Education. Accreditation standards and key elements for the professional program in pharmacy leading to the doctor of pharmacy degree (draft). Chicago, IL: Accreditation Council for Pharmacy Education; 2016. 2. Accreditation Council for Pharmacy Education. Accreditation standards and guidelines for the professional program in pharmacy leading to the doctor of pharmacy degree. Chicago, IL: Accreditation Council for Pharmacy Education; 2011. 3. Medina MS, Plaza CM, Stowe CD, et al. Center for the Advancement of Pharmacy Education 2013 educational outcomes. Am J Pharm Educ. 2013;77(8):Article 162. 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work_2d2dcyrw5badljchn5sm3zakna	----	R. W. Emerson: el poeta-sacerdote de la peregrinación nacionalista de la literatura norteamericana R.W. EMERSON: EL POETA-SACERDOTE DE LA PEREGRINACIÓN NACIONALISTA DE LA LITERATURA NORTEAMERICANA Por J. J. LANERO «Ya dijo entre otros Emerson, que "es fácil vivir en el mundo según la opinión del mundo, y fácil vivir en la soledad según la nuestra; pero el hombre grande es el que en medio de la muchedumbre mantiene con perfecta man- sedumbre la independencia de la soledad"». Miguel de Unamuno. Entre los años 1835 y 1836, Ralph Waldo Emerson escribía Nature que se publicaría en este último. En este pequeño ensayo se recogen el ideario programá- tico emersoniano, los cimientos, pilastras y contrafuertes de su obra posterior. Se cumplen, pues, 150 años de aquél comienzo que iba a encontrar ecos en cada ensayo, conferencia y poema del autor. Es nuestro deseo, a través de esta líneas, repasar con breves palabras, y consecuentemente no en su justa medida, la gran tarea que Emerson desarrolló y supo plasmar en su vida, en su pensa- mento y en el legado de su magisterio. Sirva de homenaje a su memoria y de reconsideración de sus escritos que, todavía hoy, se deslizan por las produccio- nes más variadas de las letras de América. Emerson ha sido una gran ambigüedad en la historia americana. Profeta religioso, idealista filosófico, pragmatista presciente, puritano moderno, místi- co, escéptico, evolucionista, optimista, radical, conservador, pesimista... todas estas clasificaciones, y otras muchas más, le son apropiadas en uno u otro momento de su estado anímico y actitud variables. Cada una parece ser la auténtica, aunque de manera provisional; a medida que profundizamos en su obra nos parece que el autor se nos presenta como si no fuera capaz de encon- trar, ni de comunicar con acierto, su identidad exacta. Abierto a las más am- plias y variadas influencias, en ciertos momentos es tan excesivamente sensible a las ideologías del siglo XIX, incluidas las más exotéricas, que resulta difícil conceptuarlo desde una única línea de pensamiento. Siempre nos plantea una última consideración que nos hace dudar, un «pero» de última hora, una retrac- tación , matización o revisión desprovistas de un compromiso final explícito. Es posible que se considerase a sí mismo como medio de refracción de las múltiples corrientes de pensamiento occidental, de la variedad de tendencias contrapuestas de la vida americana. Tal vez sea esta ánimo de conjunción y 39 reconciliación el que impide definirlo desde una sola perspectiva. Para defen- der esa opción, rechaza cualquier definición concisa y clara. No faltan ocasio- nes en las que llega a desechar la argumentación consecuente. Fruto de esta extraña combinación de amplitud con intensidad, de tradición cultural con ori- ginalidad, nace su americanismo. El complejo tejido ideológico que sustenta a su obra, en ningún momento indica que Emerson escoja de aquí y de allí toda clase de ideas indiscriminadamente, sino que las enhebra con tal cuidado, que el producto final lleva una marca decididamente emersoniana. Emerson está convencido de que una literatura nacional es un producto genérico antes que un cometido privado. Que no se desprende de una estructu- ra impuesta, sino de la expresión fidedigna de la vida americana. El período que va desde 1836 a 1855 asiste con este autor a la peregrinación nacionalista de la literatura norteamericana. Buena parte de su impulso se deriva del opti- mismo que conlleva la expansión democrática de la época, caracterizada por una insistencia en el ideal democrático dentro del campo de las letras. Este vigor nos los transmite a través de «The American Scholar». Así pues, Emerson opta por un idealismo intuitivo; por una armonía de la naturaleza como base de la teoría de la correspondencia en virtud de la cual todas las cosas se convierten en símbolos de la unidad espiritual; por una insis- tencia en la divinidad del alma individual y en la validez de sus visiones de la realidad; por la expresión orgánica de las intuiciones de la razón, superior a la expresión regular y correcta según las normas establecidas; por el desarrollo de las cualidades que el hombre tiene y que puede mejorar, sin necesidad de considerar la prosperidad material o el sentir mayoritario como factores deter- minantes. En sus ensayos sobre Representative Men, identifica su ideal personal con el poeta-sacerdote, una combinación perfecta de elocuencia, valor moral e intui- ción. El término «representative man» conlleva el reconocimiento del lugar que ocupa el hombre corriente en el mundo estético. La democracia literaria emersoniana no busca la descalificación de las obras maestras del pasado, in- tenta animar a los intelectuales jóvenes para que, tomándolas como referencia, las superen. Como ensayista, Emerson no suele practicar la narrativa razonada y lógica. Para desarrollar las ideas utiliza en su lugar metáforas y aforismos. Todos sus ensayos, incluido un número reducido en el que sondea los entre- sijos del desánimo humano, reflejan la firmeza de su carácter. Es un profeta que comunica un mensaje divino, un hombre de sabiduría, inquebrantable por los vientos de crisis externas. En términos calvinistas, su fe es inexpugnable. En lenguaje medieval, es un santo, y en palabras budistas, es un iluminado. Sus conferencias causaron impacto debido a la autoridad de sus propias convic- ciones. El objetivo fundamental de emerson fue transmitir su fe liberadora. Procu- ró compartirla y hacer que los demás dicidieran experimentarla. «The Divinity 40 School Address», en este respecto, es una pieza monumental de su prosa. De- safortunadamente sólo se ha considerado desde este extremo. Se ha considera- do como apertura de su carrera; como la contraversia entre el Unitarismo y el Trascendentalismo; como su doctrina o ausencia de la misma... Su verdadero interés, en nuestra opinión, no sólo está en lo que a la religión respecta, sino también en que constituye una exposición de la destreza de su autor como estratega literario y de su dominio de la forma orgánica, el concepto clave de la pieza es beauty. Y precisamente en el vocabulario es donde descansa el secreto de la táctica que emplea Emerson. Ha medido sus palabras con extre- mo cuidado de principio a fin. Con ellas crea un mundo de los sentidos en el que la religión tradicional es inútil porque la naturaleza suministra sus propios sacramentos. Es evidente que el objeto primordial de Emerson no era funda- mentalmente el de injuriar y descalificar, sino el de vertebrar un mensaje que desarrollaría orgánicamente a lo largo de la obra, terminando con una revisión completa: la obligación y la belleza, el deber y la alegría, la Ciencia y el éxtasis, la divinidad y el mundo, tienen que fundirse en la nueva unidad hipostática de una religión viva del alma. Sabía muy bien que su visión no podía ni debía ser detalladamente idéntica con la de los demás. No obstante, creía que la calidad sería similar. Tres son las ideas que constantemente aparecen en sus ensayos y poemas. Son los puntos cardinales de su visión de la vida: 1. La incapacidad de cualquier forma delimitada de expresión para revelar la verdad absoluta. La incapacidad de toda acción finita para realizar, en su totalidad, la aspiración del alma, la multiplicidad de la verdad y el carácter infinito del alma. En idéntico caso se encuentra. 2. La suprema y única realidad absoluta del espíritu, y 3. La libertad absoluta y la integridad del yo humano individual, valor soberano de la personalidad. Con la primera su visión adquiere amplitud. Con la segunda, profundidad; y con la tercera, su mensaje consigue seriedad profunda. Emerson ensayista debe ser colocado dentro de una tradición que construye su estilo sobre la utilización cuidadosa de piezas sintácticas y la tendencia a equilibrar las oraciones en muchos niveles lingüísticos, con una variedad de recursos fonéticos, léxicos y sintácticos. Aunque sus frases van apareciendo como piedrecitas que arrojamos al agua, la estructura general del lago es fuerte y entrelazada. Podríamos reprocharle que su obra es un murmullo confuso de voces, un revuelto de intenciones, una amalgama de contradicciones, un enfrentamiento entre tirar y empujar; pero paulatinamente, como es el caso de «Experience», «Montaigne» y «Fate», Emerson logra apuntar la nota apropiada y de significación positiva. La obje- ción más frecuente al estilo emersoniano es que es proclive a ordenar las frases de sus obras con la misma ligereza que acostumbramos tener cuando barajamos las cartas. Sin embargo, de nuestro análisis se desprende que, en la mayor par- 41 te de sus obras, adopta una exposición cambiante porque quiere un efecto más poético, más retórico, más complejo; porque, paradójicamente, desea ejercer un control más exacto y exigente. La estructura conceptual imprecisa de buena parte de sus ensayos es, en vista de sus propósitos, una ayuda más que un impedimento para la comunica- ción. Los términos cambiantes, sugestivos, indefinidos, indefinidos, las metáfo- ras..., son sencillamente las imágenes poéticas necesarias para su temática. También tres son los modelos emersonianos del orden universal: 1. La naturaleza impulsada por un principio de la polaridad. Tal es el caso de «Compensation». 2. La naturaleza como movimiento ascendente, a través del sistema de spires of form. Recordemos Nature. 3. La naturaleza como un libro lleno de múltiples significados. Así se pone de manifiesto en el apartado «Language» de Nature. En resumen, el pensamiento de Emerson incluye toda una gama de posibi- lidades; desde la movilidad total: «In the transmission of heavenly waters, eve- ry hose fits every hydrant»1, hasta la esquematización más rigurosa: «Natural objects (...) are really parts of a symmetrical universe, like words of a sentence; and if their true order is found, the poet can read their divine significance orderly as in a Bible»2. Por una parte, anhela reivindicar la máxima libertad para la imaginación; y por otra, mantener la perspectiva de un mundo ordenadamente coherente. Con estos antecedentes, las estructuras que utiliza resultan ser más apropiadas y significativas. Plasma en sus ensayos la misma combinación de disyunción y unidad que observa en la naturaleza. Los logros que Emerson alcanza en el campo de la forma han sido subesti- mados durante largo tiempo. En concreto, especial atención merece su método de composición. Este es un mosaico variado y al mismo tiempo de gran vivaci- dad. Su utilización copiosa de ilustraciones y citas; su enfoque retórico del tema, denotan su peculiar idiosincrasia. Para lo que desea expresar siempre encuentra un estilo apropiado, como si éste fuera inherente a la textura misma de su pensamiento. Tenemos que aceptar la validez, al menos para él, del discurso de estructura abierta que Emerson trata de emplear. Su temperamento le hace ser preferen- temente sugestivo antes que partidario de las afirmaciones categóricas y defini- tivas. Teniendo en cuenta sus sentimientos espirituales, impregnados de múlti- ples dudas, la moral edificante imprecisa parece ser más conveniente que la precisión racional, notoriamente desacreditada en el campo de las creencias. 1. The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, ed. Edward Waldo Emerson, 12 vols., Centenary Edition, Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1903-1904, vol. I, pág. 121. 2. Ibid., vol. VIII, pág. 8. 42 El ensayo «Fate» es la defensa poética de la predestinación. Emerson con- templa la inutilidad terrible, la blasfemia inconsciente de la rebelión ciega. Nunca busca un demoníaco libre albedrío para el hombre, pues lo único que desea es que éste comparta la libertad de un todo dinámico, la aceptación del destino sin necesidad de adoptar una actitud trágica y fatalista. Emerson, al proclamar y defender la confianza en uno mismo, no es ni un rebelde, ni un héroe vano, ni un dios finito; es un amante que cree que su amor le puede reconciliar con la existencia y convertirlo en heredero de todas las maravillas de ésta, incluidas aquéllas que, para los hombres sin amor, son considerablemente perniciosas. Considerando la existencia como espíritu, idea y voluntad, y encontrando en la idea y voluntad el exponente de la esencia del hombre, Emerson nos invita a que seamos sinceros con nosotros mismos, a que conjuntemos nuestro propio ser. A pesar de que su lenguaje puede parecemos que los sugiere, Emerson no desea una evasión mística y contemplativa de la sociedad y de todos sus males. Más pronto o más tarde, introduce la ley moral kantiana, que es su nueva interpretación del concepto puritano del deber moral. La intuición poética es el reconocimiento de nuestra naturaleza divina y de que esta divinidad omni- presente es parte esencial del orden moral. Durante varios años, con el objeto de acreditar mejor la idea de self-relian- ce, buscó un héroe viviente, un hombre completamente libre y verdadero. La búsqueda fue inútil. A pesar de todo, continuó defendiendo la imagen del héroe como el ideal de la persona, como compendio de self-reliance. El héroe, como Emerson, no es un intelectual, filósofo o teólogo destacado. Pero el héroe es una persona comprometida, un hombre de voluntad y de visión instintiva, despreocupado de los asuntos irrelevantes. El héroe no tiene dudas, no teme nada, no posee restricciones, ni sentimientos de inferioridad. El verdadero héroe es primordialmente moral, pero ajeno a los códigos de la moral convencional. Es puro, honesto, hombre de verdades profundas; desde- ña lo artificial y mundano. Un héroe completo es en realidad un superman que no existe. La búsqueda de este héroe también la llevó a cabo en sí mismo. En cualquier caso, todos los hombres eran hombres parciales, facetas del hombre perfecto. Cuando alguno reflejaba su participación de la divinidad, era un hé- roe, aunque no perfecto. La Naturaleza está compuesta por polaridades que Emerson creía que están ingeniosamente equilibradas. Esta creencia puede hacer llevadera nuestra afli- ción, a pesar de que es posible que impida el disfrute del puro placer. Constan- temente repite el tema: a la dulzura, amargura; al mal, bien; a la derrota, la victoria; a la luz, la oscuridad. Emerson contempla este equilibrio en la vida y en el mundo físico. No existe el desastre irreparable, la pérdida completa. Al final se produce la victoria total. La compensation tiene múltiples implicaciones. De todas ellas, Emerson resalta una en especial. Para él la compensation conlleva una igualdad radical. 43 Todos los hombres tienen una mezcla de virtudes y defectos. Estos se conjugan y compensan en el carácter único de aquéllos. Así pues, cada hombre es una creación diferenciada, capaz de hacer algo mejor que todos los demás. La compensation no puede erradicar las diferencias profundas que existen entre los hombres, pero sí las explica y glorifica. Las doctrinas emersonianas de self-reliance son más bien afirmaciones reli- giosas que posturas filosóficas. A pesar de estar fascinado por la filosofía tecni- cista, siempre la contempló en términos literarios. Busca la autenticidad de las actitudes humanas en la filosofía y en la literatura. No obstante, nunca dedica demasiada atención a los argumentos formales, a los problemas técnicos, o a la exposición sistemática. El mundo exterior es fenomenològico, pero con una gran variedad de usos espirituales, como se desprende de Nature. Por encima del entendimiento está la razón, visión directa del alma. Interior en lugar de exterior y perfecta en potencia, la razón es la presencia de la divinidad pura en el hombre; la captación directa de lo verdadero y bello y, lo que es más importante, la bondad suprema que siempre estará en la belleza perfecta. Partiendo del entendimiento, el hombre tiene que luchar para conse- guir la razón. Ha de encontrar una unidad por encima de las abstracciones desgarradas del entendimiento. En sus ensayos, Emerson celebra reiterada- mente este tema doble. Su exposición siempre conlleva dos niveles. El dualis- mo es la guía de Emerson. De vez en cuando le concede visiones de la tierra de promisión. Y aunque nunca le está permitido entrar en ella, puede agrupar estas impresiones momentáneas de forma tal, que podrá disfrutar de sus dones, aunque sólo sean anticipos vagos e irregulares. Normalmente comienza por lo exterior, con el entendimiento práctico, con materia y ciencia; después pasa, aunque nada más sea por un instante breve, al nivel de la razón, de lo univer- sal, del espíritu. Por la interacción de ambos, analiza todas las connotaciones de la vida, procurando evitar las nebulosas efervescentes en sus años de juven- tud, y luchando para librarse del peso abrumador de los intereses prácticos en la madurez. El mundo exterior en su conjunto, pasa a ser subjetivo, una sombre que dimana de la realidad. En su ensayo más pesimista, «Illusions», nos muestra cómo, con gran dificultad, puede apartarse de las ilusiones de la vida y conser- var su visión de la unidad subyacente. Aunque resulta fácil perderse entre las sombras fenomenológicas, éstas anuncian al espíritu que las creó. Cuando nos ocupamos de las sombras, no como imágenes o símbolos de la realidad, sino como realidad, como se entienden científicamente, pierden su significado su- premo. Como cualquier puritano, y con la claridad de cualquier pragmático, Emer- son observa el conocimiento empírico y lo ve metafisicamente vacío, epistemo- lógicamente probable, y moralmente provechoso. Nuestro autor siempre venera a Kant como progenitor más importante de la filosofía trascendentalista y portavoz de la ley moral. 44 Los filósofos alemanes le facilitan el marco de muchas de sus ideas más características. Sus postulados le ayudan a aclarar la naturaleza distintiva del idealismo que profesa. En concreto, Kant abordó las categorías de espacio y tiempo (estética tras- cendental) como condiciones preliminares de todo conocimiento. Con ésto glo- rificaba el aspecto formal, racional y matemático del conocimiento científico. Emerson no posee el rigor lógico de Kant y nunca se preocupa por califica- ciones cuidadas. Como filósofo distinguido que fue, Kant intentó ocuparse de los problemas epistemológicos más importantes de su época. Emerson, como poeta-sacerdote, jamás se compromete con los problemas técnicos de la episte- mología. La sociedad enferma necesitaba la inspiración de un profeta, no los conceptos difíciles de un especialista en abstracciones. Necesitaba la experiencia práctica, la calidad de vida que se vive en la realidad, el nivel existencial donde lo selecto, lo perfecto, la belleza y la bondad son de importancia «trascendental». Este es el Kant que Emerson conoció y amó, el Kant que fundamentalmente confía en su experiencia por encima de cualquier sistema formal de pensamiento. Los seguidores de Kant en la filosofía alemana, especialmente Johann Fich- te y George Hegel, adoptaron parte de la filosofía crítica de Kant y la convir- tieron en una forma romántica y absoluta de idealismo. A través de éste, cele- brado por figuras como Schelling y Coleridge, Emerson conoció a Kant. Mien- tras que el filòsofo alemán había defendido tan sólo un mundo noumenal, o un fundamento metafisico como postulado de la razón práctica, sus seguidores proclamarían esta realidad como la forma suprema de intuición, como la ver- dad gloriosa. En un momento u otro se refieren a un tipo de captación intuiti- va, que todos ellos rechazarían con demasiada ligereza. Emerson, por su parte, admitiría el fundamento intuitivo. Nuestro autor fue, en cierto modo, uno de los idealistas románticos. De Colerdige aprendió el arte de la crítica literaria; de Wordsworth, el arte de la poesía lírica. La unión de estas dos fuerzas, poesía wordsworthiana y la crítica coleridgeana de esta poesía, el amparo de la distinción entre fantasía e imagi- nación, le facilitó una buena base para su teoría de la poesía y le ayudó a dar forma y contenido a sus versos. En lo que a su lenguaje respecta, Emerson reconoce que existe una mente superior o espíritu. En realidad, después de desarrollar su doctrina de self-re- liance, ya no lo pondría en duda. Pero cuando Emerson dice que lo sabe, nunca quiere decir que comprobara anteriormente, o que pudiera demostrar esta profunda intuición. Jamás intenta utilizar la palabra know en el estricto sentido kantiano, o de cualquier otro autor comprometido con la epistemolo- gía. Emerson habla como poeta, desconfiando de la metafísica y de la teología. Le horrorizan las estructuras intelectuales. Su terminología es romántica; su compromiso, práctico o experimental. Los términos románticos son prácti- cos y parecen apropiados para comunicar la calidad inefable de su experiencia 45 casi arrolladura. No obstante, hay momentos en los que utiliza otro lenguaje, ya sean las imágenes del neoplatonismo, o los proverbios prof éticos de los sabios orientales. De este modo destaca la importancia de la experiencia, sien- do secundarios los términos que la expresan. Sin esta puntualización, el pensa- miento y vida emersonianos se nos presentan irremediablemente ambivalentes. Con ella, se produce una simpatía extraordinaria entre su trascendentalismo ascendente y su moralidad práctica. Con la seguridad propia de un profeta inspirado, Emerson proclama la rea- lidad del espíritu. Es más, no es tan ambiguo en su definición como en el caso de self-reliance. Prefiere hablar del espíritu con la expresión parcial de la razón humana, o con la intuición poética de sus héroes culturales. Hay momentos en los que insinúa que el espíritu, o cualquiera de los más de veinte sinónimos que utiliza para nombrar esta realidad suprema, apoya, a modo de unidad dominante pero siempre parcialmente impenetrable, sus variadas expresiones humanas. El espíritu vive y desciende sobre la persona individual. De lo que se deriva un panteismo, pero extremadamente individualista. En ambos casos, comtem- pla al espíritu como fuerza creadora libre, activa, e impulsiva. No es necesaria- mente una voluntad abstracta que se hace realidad utilizando las mentes indivi- duales, sino que son las personas libres las que originalmente ejecutan su desti- no personal en el ejercico de una cualidad corriente pero divina. Este hincapié en el individuo ayuda a instaurar un equilibrio inmejorable; porque si nos refe- rimos a la mente creadora, si cada persona actúa libremente y confía en sí misma, desechará las intuiciones ajenas, para producir únicamente obras exce- lentes. El idealismo emersoniano más intenso y metafórico está recogido en el ensayo «The Over-Soul». Las afirmaciones más destacables del over-soul están siempre mezcladas con una absorción corolaria con la naturaleza. El vocable nature es sumamente ambiguo en la lengua inglesa. De este pormenor saca provecho Emerson. Por lo menos utiliza el término de cuatro formas distintas. Cada una de ellas con una significación definida: a) En un contexto limitado, el autor se refiere sencillamente a lo exterior; los árboles y montañas de New England. A este nivel, su entusiasmo va cre- ciendo con los años, pero en ningún momento es comparable con el de Henry David Thoreau. b) En su utilización más amplia, la escribe con mayúsculas y la considera como sinónimo de Espíritu y, por consiguiente, como receptáculo de toda la existencia. c) En un tratamiento posterior, la convierte en la fuerza o poder supremo que sostiene al universo. 46 d) Pero con más frecuencia, y más importante en su vocabulario, nature significa el conjunto completo de fenómenos, de apariencias, y así, en lenguaje convencional, el universo físico en su totalidad. Con esta última acepción, Emerson estima que la naturaleza es el conjunto ordenado de ideas de una mente divina. Desafortunadamente, la mayor parte de los hombres son incapaces de captar la divinidad inmanente que nos brinda la naturaleza, y no logran ver más allá de la imagen de lo real. Cuando se contempla a la luz de la razón, el velo fenomenològico de la naturaleza desaparece para revelar el espíritu. La naturaleza se convierte en ayuda para la meditación, en una senda de sabiduría, en un prólogo de la verdad suprema y de la belleza más perfecta. Emerson está enamorado del ser, no del universo material. Esa idea de correspondencia, subyacente entre lo espiritual y material, es fructífera para la definición y explicación; es parte de la médula de la metafísica emersoniana. La correspondencia opera para expresar la conexión estética y filosófica que gobierna la transformación de un objeto o de una idea en arte. Nuestro autor espiritualiza la naturaleza. Este es su impulso primario. Este espiritualismo conduce frecuentemente al volunrarismo extático, al complejo de Dios en el hombre. Culmina en su alma afable, en la que surgen energías inmortales a borbotones, la naturaleza eterna. Emerson es un moralista. Nunca desea dejar desamparada a la humanidad activa, voluntariosa y luchadora. En el ensayo ascendente y proclive al misticis- mo, «Circles», los peldaños de esa escalera que nos eleva son «actions; the new prospect is power»3. Otro rasgo esencial del pensamiento emersoniano es su tendencia, irresisti- ble y omnipresente, a ver las cosas en su totalidad, a ver todo en relación con el conjunto completo del que forma parte, en relación con la causa de la que es efecto, en relación con la idea de la que es expresión. En ningún momento creyó que los impulsos primordiales, los resortes deci- sivos de la acción pudieran comprimirse en conceptos intelectuales. Siempre hay un nivel existencial más básico que las abstracciones del pensamiento. To- davía más, al creer tan profundamente en un tipo de genio poético, en una comprensión intuitiva que concede a cada hombre una visión pequeña pero perfecta de la verdad, no podía desechar al hombre como criatura trágicamente inútil, lleno de propósitos, pero vacío de significado. Emerson sugiere una completa diversidad de métodos de razonamiento. Que cada mente tenga el suyo. No alberga grandes deseos de encontrar el método más fructífero. Su amor por la diversidad hace que no repare el coste de lo inútil. 3. Ibid., vol. II, pág. 305. 47 Nada anheló más en su vida que ser un gran poeta. Su vida giró en torno a la veneración de la musa literaria. El conocimiento conceptual, herramienta útil pero desunida, ha de estar subordinado al símbolo unificador del poeta, que no sólo es bello, sino también verdadero. Porque dada su moralidad casi inna- ta, Emerson tiene que conjuntar verdad y belleza en armonía con la bondad. Y así lo hace gracias a su amplio concepto del arte. Sus postulados artísticos son su contribución más original y coherente al pensamiento americano. Emerson merece, todavía hoy, el reconocimiento de haber articulado la primera estética netamente americana. Esta posee una estructura cíclica com- puesta de tres frases: proceso creador, obra de arte, y experiencia estética. Es una organización inherente a la spiral form emersoniana. El misterio de la imaginación creadora, lo interpreta Emerson como un proceso que va inexorablemente desde la afluencia de la inspiración hasta la imagen o acción creadora del símbolo, hasta la expresión. Al afirmar que la expresión surge de la inspiración de una manera tan natural como la acción de respirar; se adelanta al tipo de interpretación que hacen algunos críticos mo- dernos desde una perspectiva psicológica. Los aspectos psicológicos que distingue en la experiencia estética —memo- ria, reacción cinética, y el subconsciente—, le convierten en precursor de la teoría que defiende que sólo en la psicología se pueden descubrir las fórmulas apropiadas para el placer artístico. Al igual que los puritanos, resalta las normas estéticas de armonía, simetría y proporción. Además, como característica de su perspectiva evolutiva, resalta los movimientos rítmicos. Estas son las propiedades de la realidad ideal y del hombre en su mejor estado. Cuando el hombre se abre a la realidad ideal y la llega a poseer de manera intuitiva, la capta como si constituyera el reflejo más auténtico de su personalidad. Esta captación suprema y beatífica podría deno- minarse intuición poética, porque está envuelta en sensaciones y no es posible reproducirla en conceptos concluyentes. La realidad, según la observa una per- sona responsable, es verdadera, bella y buena; está última cualidad conlleva el atributo culminante. Todos los hombres poseen la capacidad necesaria para esta intuición. Por consiguiente, todos pueden disfrutar de la belleza. La estética, el aspecto más pasivo de la belleza, tan sólo requiere una acti- tud responsable, un arquetipo de intuición, pues el verdadero genio no perma- necerá silencioso ante el trono de la verdad y de la belleza. Hará públicos sus intentos de crear verdad y belleza; el esfuerzo activo y original para expresar y comunicar la intuición poética es arte y requiere talento. El lugar de la belleza no está nunca en el objeto del arte. Emerson, al insistir en ésto, se acerca a las posturas platónicas. El objeto artístico, desde el nivel modesto de la escultura hasta el sublime de la poesía (jerarquía emerso- niana), es una cuestión de enfoque, una abstracción de lo real. Compendia, selecciona, destaca; pero en todos los casos siempre es un derivado. La gran galería es en todo momento la naturaleza. 48 En lo que se refiere al nivel poético, digamos que le poesía de Emerson, en su conjunto, es prosa encorsetada en rima y métrica. En cualquier poema es posible constatar su esfuerzo por escribirlo como si fuera un producto de la inspiración. Escuchamos el eco expresivo de una intensidad ordenada, pero lo único que vemos es una luz mortecina reflejada en una superficie pedregosa. Acertadas nos parecen las palabras de John Morley cuando escribe que «Taken as a whole, Emerson's poetry is of that kind which springs, not from excitement of passion of feeling, but from an intellectual demand for intense and sublimated expression»4. Es evidente que Emerson reconocía la pobreza formal de su poesía, su rigidez monumental, la frialdad de su lenguaje, su incapacidad para expresar sus pasiones emocionales. Las formas del verso empañan su pensamiento por- que tenía que adaptarlo a alguna rima antes de empezar a exponerlo. Enmude- ce en el momento que todo su ser exige una unión más íntima entre el yo y el lenguaje. De todo lo que Emerson esperaba conseguir con la poesía —cantidades ingentes de detalles para edificar una casa moral; trazar decidida, rápida, pero también detalladamente, la línea que nos lleve a una especie de pasión espas- módica una vez completado el pensamiento, con un reflujo suave al final, para señalar la conclusión; y consecuentemente, un efecto sobre el lector semejante al culmen en la naturaleza—, no pudo lograr nada si excluímos su prosa. El poder de Emerson reside en su prosa. Su teoría poética es en realidad la teoría de su prosa. Aquí es donde es radicalmente original. Concibe el lenguaje como proceso antes que como conclusión. El lenguaje es el fruto de la acción mental que encuentra con acierto las palabras adecuadas para expresar su expe- riencia. Los ensayos emersonianos nos ofrecen un proceso ideal. En ellos no encon- tramos una confirmación racional, sino una sucesión de revelaciones y respues- tas, la exfoliación entrelezada de hechos, sentimiento e ideas. Emerson creía que el objeto artístico es el mejor símbolo del hombre, capaz de comunicar con claridad la realidad al hombre sencillo y al culto. Edu- ca para la belleza. Reconcilia al hombre con la naturaleza o realidad, y los armoniza. El arte es el mejor lenguaje del hombre; pero el lenguaje va cam- biando con la historia de la humanidad. En manos del verdadero genio, que combina intuición, talento y fervor moral, revela la grandeza del alma humana en cada momento de la historia. Arraigado en un contexto histórico, y partici- pando en las necesidades del momento, el arte es una revelación antes que originalidad sorprendente. Las técnicas, las formas de ejecución cambiantes y convencionales, la 4. JOHN M O R L E Y : «Introductory» a Miscellanies, by Ralph Waldo Emerson, New York: Mac- millan and co., Ltd., 1896, pág. XXXII. 49 4 temática infinitamente variada, son meros instrumentos. El objetivo principal del arte no se puede aislar y circunscribir a un objeto. Así pues, la finalidad de todo arte es la obra suprema de arte, redimir al hombre; y por encima de éste, una sociedad en la que todos los hombres son grandes obras artísticas. Para Emerson, el objetivo supremo es que el arte no se detenga en la parte exterior de los objetos, sino que llegue a ser práctico y moral; que no descanse hasta que «[it] stands in connection with the conscience,» y haga que los «poor and uncultivated feel that it addresses them with a voice of lofty cheer»5. La clasificación que Emerson hace de sí mismo, como poeta-sacerdote no tiene parangón. Hijo espiritual del puritanismo de New England, se sintió im- pulsado en su vida por la temática de sus obras. Ambas están coronadas por un equilibrio provechoso y fecundo entre éxtasis poético, erudición intelectual y fervor moral. 5. The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, ed. cit., vol. II, pág. 363. 50 
work_26kepwje2vfbpfrxnhsjoudupq	----	Hard to Reach: Anne Brigman, Mountaineering, and Modernity in California Archived version from NCDOCKS Institutional Repository http://libres.uncg.edu/ir/asu/ Hard To Reach: Anne Brigman, Mountaineering, And Modernity In California By: Heather Waldroup No Abstract Waldroup, Heather (2014). "Hard To Reach: Anne Brigman, Mountaineering And Modernity In California" Modernism/modernity vol. 21 issue 2 pp.447-466. Open Access Journal. Version of Record Available From (www.muse.jhu.edu) Heather Waldroup is Associate Profes- sor of art history and Associate Director of the Honors College at Appalachian State University. Her research on the histories of pho- tography and collecting has been published in Women’s History Review, Journeys, Photography and Culture, and History of Photography. She is currently complet- ing a monograph on American photography and imperialism in the South Pacific. Hard to Reach: Anne Brigman, Mountaineering, and Modernity in California Heather Waldroup Where I go is wild—hard to reach, and I don’t go for Alfred Stieglitz or Frank Crownshield or Camera Work or Vanity Fair, but because there [are] things in life to be expressed in these places. Anne Brigman, 19161 In the spring of 1906, needing a change of scenery after the San Francisco earthquake, photographer Anne Brigman (1869–1950) and several companions made a trip to the Sierra Nevada Mountains.2 For several weeks they camped at an altitude of eight thousand feet, making daily excursions to higher eleva- tions for Brigman to photograph her models in the landscape. She later explained the excursion as follows: With a small group, I went to the northern Sierra to make rough camp, packing [in] by mule. We ate, and slept with the earth in the fullest sense in this glorious grimness. Under these circum- stances, through the following years, . . . I slowly found my power with the camera among the junipers and the tamarack pines of the high, storm-swept altitudes. Compact, squat giants are these trees, shaped by the winds of the centuries like wings and flames and torsolike forms, unbelievably beautiful in their rhythms.3 In subsequent years, during summer trips in the Sierras, often at altitudes above ten thousand feet, Brigman posed her models against ancient, twisted bristlecone pines, sublime vistas, and rock outcrops, manipulating both her negatives and her prints to create grainy, blurred, powerful images. modernism / modernity volume twenty one, number two, pp 447–466. © 2014 johns hopkins university press M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 448 Brigman’s work is visually compelling, and she was well-regarded by many of her contemporaries. She was elected to join Alfred Stieglitz’s photo-Secession group in 1903, and in 1906 she was named a fellow, the first and only on the west coast. Stieglitz remained a friend, correspondent, and supporter for many decades. Brigman’s individual photographs and exhibitions received favorable reviews in Bay Area and national publi- cations, and her work was purchased by art collectors at a time when photography was under-recognized as an art form.4 Brigman received the Grand prize in photography at the 1915 San Francisco panama pacific International exposition,5 and her work has been recognized by contemporary historians of photography, as well. Scholars such as Susan Ehrens and Kathleen pyne have addressed Brigman’s relationship to early twentieth-century spirituality and proto-feminist movements in the Bay Area.6 Overall, Brigman played a significant role in the development of art photography in California. One aspect of her work has yet to be addressed, however: Brigman’s relationship to the history of mountaineering, particularly as it was developing in California in the late-nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Although Brigman herself would more accurately be described as an avid hiker or trekker than a mountaineer, it is noteworthy that her ability to visit the Sierras was facilitated by trail-building projects, byproducts of the expansion of national parks, early conservation movements, and the develop- ment of mountaineering in California, all of which made the area more accessible to visitors. Brigman’s written accounts of her trips to the mountains are also noteworthy, since they recall those of contemporary mountaineers in tone and content. And the landscape Brigman photographed was not a generalized one, but specifically marked as Sierran: bristlecone pines, snow fields, alpine lakes, and rock outcrops all feature significantly in her works. Brigman’s work from the Sierras also underscores the strong connection between two key developments of the modern era, photography and mountaineering. Brigman’s Sierra photography can certainly be considered antimodern in its use of the pictorialist style, and her theme of liberation in nature also drew on contemporary spiritual move- ments and conservationist discourses. T. J. Jackson Lears has described antimodernism at the fin de siècle, especially in its American manifestations, as a rejection of “modern existence [in favor of] more intense forms of physical or spiritual experience.”7 Lynda Jessup has continued this discussion, noting that antimodernism “describes what is in effect a critique of the modern, . . . a longing for the types of physical or spiritual experience embodied in utopian futures and imagined pasts.”8 Certainly Brigman’s forays into the Sierras and the work she created during those journeys articulate with antimodern sentiments. Still, through her use of photography (arguably the key image- making technology of modernity), and through her relationship to mountaineering (a form of recreation rooted in modernity, albeit with an ambivalent relationship to it), Brigman’s Sierra photographs stress the strong interdependency of modernism and antimodernism. A consideration of Brigman’s work, both written and visual, within the history and practice of mountaineering gives new insight into the work of this sig- nificant California photographer, and more broadly, to the many, often contradictory manifestations of modernity at the fin de siècle. Waldroup / hard to reach 449Anne Brigman, Pictorialist Photographer Brigman’s photographic practice began around 1900. While her body of work and the photographers she later influenced are situated historically in the twentieth century, both her personal history and her stylistic roots reach back to the nineteenth. Brigman was born into a missionary family in Hawaii in 1869, and she grew up in Nu’uanu Valley on Oahu. As pyne has written, the landscape and flora of Hawaii no doubt had strong influence on Brigman, and she continued to identify as haole Hawaiian throughout her life and career (pyne, 66). Brigman began Songs of a Pagan, her book of photographs and poems, with the dedication “Lei Aloha”; she often signed her letters “Aloha Nui”; and she wrote to Stieglitz in 1912, “please give my aloha to the friends of 291.”9 With her family, for unknown reasons, Brigman moved to California as a teenager, living first in Los Gatos and later in San Francisco and Oakland. She married a sea captain, Martin Brigman, and for several years traveled the pacific with him (Ehrens, 19). Around 1906, she began the body of work for which she is best known: a series of female nudes taken in the high altitudes of the Sierras. Later in life, she moved to Long Beach, where the focus of her work shifted from mountains to ocean. Brigman’s style engaged with both modern and antimodern ideologies. Her early work drew on pictorialism, a style grounded in nineteenth-century aesthetics. pictorial- ism emerged in Britain in the mid-nineteenth century partially as a response to public debates about the nature of photography as an art form. pictorialist photographers employed soft focus, fine grain, and various techniques for toning. They manipulated both negatives and prints with scratching, blurring, and overpainting. pictorialists printed their works on fine paper, signed them, and exhibited and marketed their works as unique fine-art objects. pictorialism was heavily influenced by nineteenth- century spirituality, including theosophy, anti-industrial sentiments, and symbolism.10 Its relationship to the arts and crafts movement is evident, as well: like the artists and designers of that movement, pictorialist photographers produced carefully crafted, original fine-art objects meant to endow the viewer with a sense of aesthetic harmony.11 American photographers began working in the pictorialist style in the late-nineteenth century. Alfred Stieglitz and the photo-Secession movement became leading proponents on the east coast. Transposed to California, pictorialism was first used in art communi- ties around 1900 in the Bay Area and slightly later in Los Angeles. It became a key style practiced in California photography throughout the 1920s, and it continued into the 1940s. Both the aesthetics and the philosophies of pictorialism intersected well with the California craftsman style practiced in other art forms such as architecture and design, and pictorialism was further influenced by the tonalist movement in American paint- ing (Wilson, 3). As Ehrens explains, Brigman’s work found a natural home in the Bay Area; this artist, who also painted and acted in local theatre productions, “epitomized the staunchly independent, unconventional ‘New Woman,’ and Bay Area bohemian artist” (Ehrens, 20). Brigman’s involvement in the local artistic community included working relationships with other women photographers, including Adelaide Hanscom and Imogen Cunningham, but Brigman’s style seems to be influenced by her broader M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 450 creative interests as much as it is by the work of any other photographer. As Michael Wilson has noted, in spite of drawing on the stylistic aspects of pictorialism, Brigman’s work took these themes in a new direction: “Her pictures are of contemporary women and have a modern feel compared with the anachronistic re-creations of past ages fa- vored by [some] European pictorialists” (Wilson, 15). Brigman herself described her photographic project as “a search for simple loveliness,” a concept very much in line with craftsman philosophies. Brigman’s work was further informed by emerging, radical forms of countercultural spiritual practice in the Bay Area, which drew heavily on the proto-feminist movement and on the writings of early environmentalists such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Walt Whitman. Invested in the concept of spirituality manifested in natural forms, Brigman referred to herself as a “pagan” and saw her photographic practice as an expression of her faith. An exhibition pamphlet from 1909 explained, “The aim of some of these prints is to express in the abstract the solemn majesty of the rocks, the weird trees, the joyous brook, in all of the work to express the spiritual through the material.”12 One work features a “hamadryad,” which Brigman defined as “a wood nymph inseparable from the tree she inhabited.”13 Scholars have also noted the ritualistic nature of her photographs, in which the female body appears to dance in harmony with the wild landscape. pyne argues, “Although she appropriated from her male colleagues the vocabulary of the female nude that made up her images, her female form, with its limbs and torso swaying this way and that, was received as a voice emanating from a woman’s hidden psyche” (pyne, 64). In Brigman’s work, women are active, empowered, and even transformed through their relationship to nature. Brig- man’s unique take on pictorialism enabled her to adapt an international style to her own needs and interests. Mountaineering and Modernity Brigman’s travels in the Sierras were significantly facilitated by the expansion of mountaineering in the western United States at the end of the nineteenth century. Although people have always climbed up, across, and within mountains—to invade and to escape invaders, to hunt and herd animals, and to perform acts of religious faith—mountaineering as a modern concept, one practiced by people of European descent, initially developed out of eighteenth-century romantic notions of nature and the sublime, influenced by the writings of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. As David Levinson and Karen Christiansen explain, mountaineering adventures in the Alps “began to be included in itineraries on the Grand Tour” at the end of the eighteenth century, following the first ascent of Mont Blanc in 1786.14 Similarly, in her intriguing social history of walking, Rebecca Solnit explains that “walking” as a pastime developed in Britain around the turn of the nineteenth century and became a key means for the “expression of the desire for simplicity, purity, and solitude.”15 Modern mountaineering took a recreational turn in the mid-nineteenth century, developing as a “distinct activ- Waldroup / hard to reach 451ity”– that is, climbing for the sake of climbing.16 During this period, mountaineering transformed from an opportunity for the bourgeois subject to experience the sublime to a form of athletic recreation, with a focus on first ascents and with “patriotism, militarism, and Empire” as key themes.17 In 1857, the first alpine club was founded in London, but mountaineering quickly became a global undertaking, with many first ascents outside the Alps occurring at the fin de siècle (Mt. Cook in 1895; Aconcagua in 1897; Mt. McKinley in 1913). As many scholars have noted, mountaineering is closely tied to modernity and to nineteenth-century technologies of leisure.18 peter Hansen has noted that mountain- eering’s heyday in the nineteenth century was a result of the rise of the middle class and its increased interest in outdoor sports, a form of “actively constructed . . . asser- tive masculinity,” although many women were active in mountaineering.19 Ellis has further stressed mountaineering’s neoimperialist aspects.20 In addition, danger and its outcomes—either the triumph over danger or tragedy of succumbing to it—was a key theme in mountaineering. A 1902 edition of Encyclopedia Britannica defines mountaineering as “the art of moving about safely in mountain regions, avoiding the dangers incidental to them and attaining high points difficult of access,” and it notes that dangers to participants include falling rocks, falling from rocks, falling ice, and weather (“being blown from exposed positions to destruction”).21 While it was devel- oping as a form of masculinist adventure, by the late-nineteenth century the global practice of mountaineering was guided by a modern sense of increased movement in the landscape for the purpose of recreation, with danger assuaged by technology, enabling the mountaineer to reach the summit.22 In the U.S., mountaineering as an activity practiced by white settlers parallels and perhaps even predates the development of mountaineering in Europe. (In a catalog of American ascents before 1860, William Bueler begrudgingly acknowledges that there were “Indian ascents” prior to the beginning of Euroamerican mountaineering in the U.S., but he goes on to dismiss these as primarily aimed at a “better survey [of] the terrain,” acts incomparable with the acts of physical sport that characterized Euro- American mountaineering.23) The first Euro-American summit of Mt. Washington, New Hampshire, was recorded in 1642, although other key peaks on the east coast were explored and climbed in the eighteenth century, such as Roan and Grandfather Mountains in North Carolina in 1795.24 The expansion of mountaineering to western states also parallels the territorial expansion of the U.S. nation-state: key fourteeners such as pike’s peak and Mt. Shasta were not successfully climbed by Euro-Americans until the mid-nineteenth century. Mountaineering in the U.S. found its favorite playground in the western states, and the development of western tourism around mountainous national parks such as Yo- semite, Yellowstone, and Glacier certainly suggested the possibility of both leisure and mountaineering for tourists from the east. Marguerite Shaffer’s significant research has demonstrated these close ties between the development of western tourism, post-Civil- War American bourgeois identity, and the virtues of proximity to “unspoiled” nature. She traces the continual development of western tourism in the second half of the M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 452 nineteenth century to the emergence of the U.S. as a modern, industrial nation-state in the post-Civil-War era—“Like brand-name goods, mail-order catalogs, department stores, and mass-circulation magazines, western tourism . . . imbued the emerging nation with form and substance”—and she writes that a “truly national tourism devel- oped” around western natural wonders upon the completion of the transcontinental railroad in 1869: “In this way tourism reshaped the built environment of the United States and transformed the symbolic value of American landscape and, in the process, influenced the way in which people defined and identified themselves as ‘Americans.’”25 She describes this phenomenon as “national tourism,” a mode of traveling the country that departed significantly from earlier nineteenth-century manifestations of travel and tourism: “National tourism extended from and depended on the infrastructure of the modern nation-state.”26 I would add that the extension of the American frontier to the pacific Ocean in 1848, which made it possible to travel from one North American coast to the other without leaving the U.S., strongly embedded the concept of national tourism in more widespread expressions of American nationalism. The Sierra Nevada, and Yosemite National park in particular, became many things to the U.S., including a locus for the intersection of mountaineering philosophy, rec- reational trail-building, and conservation.27 Trails are vectors of history: hunters, trad- ers, travelers, and pilgrims following similar routes for many centuries inscribe their footsteps into the land, creating paths for later voyagers to follow across plains and over passes. Indeed, the history of trails in the Sierras is deeply tied with the history of California: the land was traversed for millennia by indigenous travelers and trad- ers, who were joined by non-indigenous explorers, fur traders, and later by gold-rush hopefuls. Beginning in the 1860s, mountaineers and explorers such as Josiah Whitney, Clarence King, and John Muir traced these routes further, mapping the region and including journeys to the tops of peaks. Not all of these groups followed the same paths; as Thomas Howard notes in his study of road-building in California, different modes of transportation (foot travel, mule team, stagecoach, and later railroads) resulted in following and even creating very different overland routes.28 Still, all of these many parties, moving through and across California for wildly different reasons, marked their steps into the landscape. The concept of building trails specifically for the purpose of recreation—for moun- taineering and trekking in particular—is a more recent development. In the Sierras, trails built solely for recreation were created in the mid-nineteenth century around increased tourism into Yosemite Valley and the surrounding areas. In 1855, Milton and Houston Mann developed a toll trail into Yosemite Valley, utilizing pre-existing routes, including indigenous trails, as much as possible.29 The Coulterville Free Trail was built in 1856 by residents of Coulterville into the Valley; this is one of the first recorded in the area that “did not benefit . . . from any previous existing Indian trail.”30 In ad- dition, trails to summits, for the purpose of climbing, were developed in the period. For example, the Mt. Whitney Trail was purpose-built by residents of Lone pine in 1904 to enable scientific inquiry from the Whitney peak—and of course the journeys of many since who have desired to summit the highest peak in the lower 48 states.31 Waldroup / hard to reach 453Tourism in the Sierras, and especially in Yosemite, has a complex and contentious history, further tying it with modernity’s imperialism. Scholars have clearly established that native populations were forcibly removed and that traces of native civilization (including cultivation and controlled burning) were erased by agents of the U.S. govern- ment, creating the suggestion of an empty, pristine wilderness and opening the valley for bourgeois tourism.32 Sears argues that Yosemite was “appropriated and produced for an audience hungry for national icons and for places which symbolized the exotic wonder of a region just beginning to be known” (Sears, 123). He further explains that tourism in western states initially drew on themes from American tourism in the earlier decades of the nineteenth century, especially themes around natural wonders such as Niagara Falls and the White Mountains of New Hampshire, with American tourism developing as a “mythology of unusual things to see” (Sears, 3). Finally, he stresses that photography, particularly stereographic photography, played a key role in marketing western tourist sites to middle-class audiences (Sears, 123). Richard Grusin develops this idea further, arguing that “American national identity has always been inseparable from nature” and that the preservation of natural spaces is intrinsically tied up with this identity (Grusin, 1). Thus, although Brigman would be more accurately described as a hiker (as noted previously), she made use of trails that had been mapped and occasion- ally even created as part of modernity’s complex relationship to nature, characterized by the desires both to capture and control nature and to experience it recreationally. Since late-nineteenth-century discourses about nature intersect with antimodern sentiments, mountaineering also demonstrates an ambivalent relationship with the key tropes of modernity. An alternate voice in the scholarship on mountaineering comes from the work of Sherry Ortner, who argues that mountaineering is a “countermodern discourse” (Ortner, 39). She explains, “The point of climbing is to find something that one cannot find in modern life, that indeed has been lost in modern life” (Ortner, 38). For her, mountaineering’s spiritual engagement contrasts with modernity’s secularism, with “the crass materialism and pragmatism of modern life”; mountaineering offers an implicit critique of modern life through its rejection of civilization in favor of the wilderness (Ortner, 37). Her position is compelling, and she makes a strong case for the reflective, thrilling experience of mountaineering as opposed to the vulgar, boring routine of modern industrial (and postindustrial) life. Her more developed discussion of Sherpa-climber relations in the Himalayas serves to underscore the antimodern (and undeniably primitivist) desires of European mountaineers. Still, mountaineering depends on the modern subject for its existence. Key aspects of mountaineering are undoubtedly modern. The celebration of the individual, the desire for the panoptic view from the peak, and especially the trail-building projects that seek to map the wilderness and structure the movement of the bourgeois subject through it—all these are firmly enmeshed in discourses of modernity. The emphasis on technology in mountaineering—the development of gear and equipment both to ease the journey and to preserve the safety of the mountaineer—also points to its roots in modernity. However, Ortner’s argument is not incommensurate with other scholarship on moun- taineering: her research instead suggests that, like Brigman’s work, the relationship between mountaineering and modernity is ambivalent and complex. M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 454 Anne Brigman and California Mountaineering The Sierras are a place of extremes. One begins in a desert climate; one then travels through multiple ecosystems, including lush evergreen forest and meadow, to emerge above the tree line to rock-covered peaks. Over the course of twenty-four hours, tem- peratures may vary from baking hot to well below freezing. Although valleys are dry, thunderstorms hover over peaks on a near-daily basis. The mountains are blanketed in many feet of snow during winter, and even during the height of summer (which is when Brigman spent her time there), large fields of snow remain at high elevations. As noted previously, Brigman camped at an altitude of around eight thousand feet, but she made multiple excursions up to ten thousand feet. The highest peaks in the region are in the thirteen- to fourteen-thousand-foot range, with the tallest, Mt. Whitney, reaching 14,505 feet.33 While Brigman did not scale any of the higher peaks, even at an elevation of ten thousand feet one has the sense of being in a transformed place. Ancient bristlecone pines, often several thousand years old and shaped by wind and weather, boulder-strewn meadows populated by marmots and pikas, and alpine lakes are all otherworldly. The aesthetics of Brigman’s photographs—both those she self-consciously produced as art, and her more casual work recording her treks—and the experiences she recorded in her writings speak to her strong connections with alpinist culture. For Brigman, her time in the Sierras placed her outside her quotidian existence, which included frequent hikes in the Oakland Hills that were enjoyable but did not afford views of undeveloped land in the same way that the Sierras did. That existence is revealed in a photograph of the photographer posed in a tree, with a house visible in the valley behind her. Its caption reads, “Scarcely a Sunday thru the past year has been missed from the trail. It gives back a sanity and peace and a new hold on the good life that is ours for the taking if we are only wise enough to know how” (figure 1).34 The low, tree-covered peaks in this image recall those close to home, such as the Oakland Hills or possibly the Santa Cruz Mountains, and her clothing, hat, and boots suggest that she is out for a Sunday stroll. During her time in the Sierras, however, Brigman attempted rougher terrain. As a recreational hiker, Brigman was likely not experienced in overland navigation; she would have relied on clearly marked trails as she explored the surrounding landscape. She also did not appear to be interested in hiking solely for the purpose of reaching peaks (“peakbagging”). Instead, Brigman appears to have been primarily interested in exploring the landscape in the general area of her camp, for recreation, for spiritual and personal development, and for her photographic prac- tice. As Ehrens explains, during Brigman’s Sierra adventures, “photography became her medium for achieving a mystical union with nature, a ritual that allowed her to create and alter her own world” (Ehrens, 23–24). The previous fifty-plus years of Anglo exploration, mountaineering, and trailbuilding in the region facilitated her journeys and created a spiritualist paradigm for the experience of alpine locations. Within the context of modernity, mountains were specific peaks to be ascended, us- ing ever-developing mountaineering technology (gear, climbing techniques) to achieve previously unreachable heights. In various writings, including essays and letters, Brig- Waldroup / hard to reach 455 ▲ Fig. 1. Photographer unknown, portrait of Anne Brigman, c. 1912. Gelatin silver print. Anne Brigman Papers, Stieglitz/O’Keefe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 380. Reproduced with permission of the Beinecke Library. ▲ Fig. 2. Brigman (far right) with her sister, a friend, and their dog, c. 1909. Gelatin silver print. Anne Brigman Papers, Stieglitz/ O’Keefe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 380. Reproduced with permis- sion of the Beinecke Library. M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 456 man describes her treks among the manzanita, juniper, and sage looking for shooting sites, and stresses that specific places held considerable influence over both her psyche and in the production of particular artworks. Her knowledge of the Sierran landscape also indicates a keen understanding of the region’s topography. In a poem entitled “To a Snow-Line Tree,” and in various photographic works, she addresses the high altitude, specifically the experience of being above the tree line. She also frequently notes specific altitudes, as written on the verso of a photo of Brigman, her sister, a friend, and their dog standing in a snow field at an altitude of ten thousand feet (figure 2). In a postcard from Glen Alpine (probably the town of Glen Alpine Springs, near Lake Tahoe), Brigman wrote, “We’ve left our three weeks of glorious camping today and have come down to 6,800 [feet] for a couple of days before dropping to nearly sea level in Oakland. I’ve meant to write you in our high camp (8,000).” 35 Finally, as she notes in an essay for Camera Craft, Brigman explained the more universal emotional experience produced through exposure to the rugged Sierra landscape: “Though I use Sierra trees and crags and thunderstorms, they . . . hold, in pictorial form, stories of the deep emotions and struggles or joys of the human soul in the form of allegory.” 36 Like other modern mountaineers, Brigman describes her experiences in the Sierras using specific descriptors that mark her adventures at particular altitudes and locations. Brigman’s writings also recall the adventurous language of many mountaineers’ memoirs. As Hansen explains, mountaineers used “language of exploration and ad- venture” to describe their journeys.37 In addition to the spiritual themes of Brigman’s writing, linking her to Muir and others, the sense of adventure—of freedom in the wilderness—is central to Brigman’s writings from the Sierras. In one letter she noted, “Late in July I made up my mind that what ailed me was hunger—hunger for the clean, high, silent places, up near the sun and stars.”38 She packed her gear, including Leaves of Grass and Edward Carpenter’s Towards Democracy, and chose a smaller portable film camera, as opposed to her four-by-five inch view camera. She explained, “I wanted to forget everything except that I was going back to heaven, back to heaven in my high boots, and trousers, and mackinaw coat. That was all I wanted.”39 Further, a sense of self-reliance on the part of both Brigman and the women who accompanied her is woven throughout her writings on the Sierras. In her unpublished foreword to an early version of Songs of A Pagan, Brigman wrote: “The few figures I have used through the years of the mountain series were slim, hearty, unaffected women of early maturity, living a hardy out-of-door life in high boots and jeans, toughened to wind and sun . . . cooking for weeks over a camp-fire with wood from the forest around us . . . and carrying water from the icy lake at our feet . . . bearing and forbearing to the utmost.”40 Brigman’s adventures also coincided with a key period in California history: the emergence of the conservation movement, spearheaded by John Muir and influenced by the writings of Edward Carpenter, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and others. The Sierras were a focus both of land conservation politics and of Muir’s environmental spiritual- ism, in which Yosemite Valley in particular served as “a kind of natural cathedral.”41 Departing somewhat from mountaineering’s modernist focus on the bourgeois subject, Muir’s experience in the mountains reached back to an earlier, arguably more romantic Waldroup / hard to reach 457understanding of the alpine experience as a locus of spiritual growth and contemplation. As Michael Branch explains, one example of this romantic departure is Muir’s narrative structure in My First Summer in the Sierras, which represents Muir’s transition from lowlands to peaks as a spiritual journey, away from the corrupt civilized world and toward the purity of the wilderness.42 Guided by Muir, California alpinism developed along distinctly spiritualist lines. In this antimodern paradigm, the rugged wilderness existed in opposition to civilization; it was a place to gain access to spiritual purity. The Sierra Club was founded in 1892 for “recreational, educational, and conservationist” purposes, but with Muir’s spiritualist philosophies as a contextual framework. While it is uncertain if Brigman was a member of the Sierra Club, she certainly would have been familiar both with its policies and with its projects, and the popularity of the Club produced an audience that would have been receptive to Brigman’s works.43 In one example of Brigman’s connection with both the philosophical and pragmatic manifestations of California alpinism, Brigman wrote the following of a visit to Yosemite Valley in July 1914: Those were marvelous days in the corduroy suit and tramping boots. Waterfalls, roaring streams and rivers—granite rocks towering. . . . After hours of hot, patient climbing up zigzag trails the valley lay 3,000 feet below—and peak after peak rose in the distance like waves. It was good to be alive in those bare sunkissed places—to be hot and thirsty and panting with exertion—to look down the long trail, across great shoulders of granite—and realize how truly strong you were and how mighty a thing is willpower. To lift, lift step after step until what had been wished for was accomplished. I can’t begin to tell of the majesty of the place—it is too big and solemn. I was up at four o’clock, the night a party of us climbed to Glacier point, 3,000 feet above the valley.44 Brigman probably reached Glacier point via the Four Mile Trail, a switchbacked (“zigzag”) trail first constructed in the 1870s for Yosemite visitors, following the path of many others before and since who have trekked up this steep incline to experience the view from the top. This quotation further develops an aspect of Brigman’s relation- ship to the area that particularly intersects with mountaineering: while she stresses the thrill of achieving a particular location (the summit of Glacier point, overlooking Yosemite Valley), records her elevation above the valley for the reader’s edification, and demonstrates her physical strength and personal willpower, she also notes the profound emotional-spiritual experience of achieving the summit, of experiencing the “big and solemn,” sublime view from the overlook. Both in letters to friends and colleagues and in several published essays, Brigman’s writings from the region demonstrate antimodern and spiritualist tendencies, recalling contemporary works by Muir and others in both theme and content. Brigman certainly was familiar with Walt Whitman and quotes from Leaves of Grass in her essay “The Glory of the Open” and elsewhere. It is uncertain whether or not Brigman read relevant California literature, such as the writings of Muir and King; she does not quote them directly in any of the documents consulted by this researcher. Still, although she does not specifically mention Muir, Brigman must have been familiar with his works if not M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 458 with the man himself: they were being published as collections of essays in the years in which Brigman was actively visiting the Sierras. Not only was Muir a prolific author, but he and Brigman traveled in the same bohemian social sphere in the Bay Area, and they espoused parallel ideas about the relationships between spirituality and nature. Brigman did not, apparently, join any of the Sierra Club’s “High Trips”—organized camping and hiking trips—in the California wilderness (including Yosemite), but her own forays into the area combined packing in by mule to a base camp and conducting day hikes similar to the Sierra Club’s structured outings.45 The themes found in Muir’s writings were echoed in Brigman’s own. For example, in an essay titled “Awareness,” Brigman wrote, “One day during the gathering of a thunderstorm when the air was hot and still and a strange yellow light was over everything, something happened almost too deep for me to be able to relate. New dimensions revealed themselves in the visualization of the human form as a part of tree and rock rhythms and I turned full force to the medium at hand and the be- loved Thing gave to me a power and abandon that I could not have had otherwise.”46 Similarly, Muir writes of being profoundly drawn to the region, even when viewing it from afar. When viewing peaks from the valley where he was working a flock of sheep, he explains, “Through a meadow opening in the pine woods I see snowy peaks about the headwaters of the Merced above Yosemite. How near they seem and how clear their outlines on the blue air. . . . How consuming strong the invitation they extend!”47 Certainly Muir is not “only” a mountaineer, but also a pioneer of environmental and conservation movements in California and the American west more broadly, yet like Brigman, he had a strong spiritualist relationship to the landscape and saw his experi- ences in the mountains not only as a form of recreation but also as a way to achieve spiritual depth and experience. In addition to the experiences recorded in her various writings, the aesthetics of Brigman’s works from the Sierras engage with both modern and antimodern themes. Brigman certainly follows a history of Euro-American landscape photographers in the west, such as Eadweard Muybridge and Carleton Watkins, but her employment of pictorialism differentiates her work from theirs.48 The photographs produced out of Brigman’s explorations both represent the Sierras as a specific place—she was in- vested in capturing key details of the landscape—and operate as an analog for more universal spiritual experiences to be had in the landscape. This concept manifests in both her casual snapshots and her heavily manipulated pictorialist compositions. In one example, Brigman stresses that being in a particular location and experiencing the forceful weather patterns of the Sierras led to the production of her 1925 photograph Invictus (figure 3): “There, in this high, lone place . . . between hail showers and rac- ing clouds and glorious sunlight, the film of the print Invictus came to birth.”49 In this image, Brigman’s compelling composition captures the solidity and grandeur of the Sierran landscape: the powerful vertical form of the tree, rising upward and outward, enveloping the body of the woman standing within it, contrasts with the sloping hori- zon line, which is balanced by a weighty boulder in the background. The wide range of tones in the image, from the strong shadows beneath the tree to the clouds in the Waldroup / hard to reach 459 ▲ Fig. 3. Anne Brigman, Invictus, 1925. Gelatin silver print. Scripps College, Gift of C. Jane Hurley Wilson and Michael G. Wilson, 2008. Reproduced with permission of the Ruth Chandler Williamson Gallery. ▲ Fig. 4. Anne Brigman, Harlequin, undated. Gelatin silver print glued into album. Anne Brigman Papers, Stieglitz/ O’Keefe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 380. Reproduced with permission of the Beinecke Library. M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 460 sky, add greater depth and drama to the image. Finally, the nude female figure seems both to merge with and to rise up from the tree itself. Brigman’s description of the storm, suggested by the darkening sky and deepening shadows, only adds to the richly sublime aesthetics of the work. In the undated print Harlequin (figure 4), the viewer is presented with the tree itself, in strong reclined profile, reaching out towards the sky and peaks in the background. At this stage of her career, Brigman made relatively few pure landscapes, and certainly this work points towards the impact her work would have on mid-twentieth-century landscape photographers such as Edward Weston. This study also points to her inter- est in the agency contained within elements of nature itself: nature is not merely the object, but the active subject of her work. Like the rhythm contained in the trees and rocks that Brigman describes elsewhere, the tree trunk in Harlequin appears to undulate with a living energy. The graininess of her pictorialist style and her weighted composition creates an ambiguous form, in which the distinction between the tree and its surrounding landscape of sky and mountains is not entirely apparent. Finally, in her undated piece Sierra Landscape (figure 5), Brigman moves away from her typical style of ascribing mythical or spiritualist titles to her works and identifies her subject—a powerful tree and an alpine lake—as one located in the Sierra Nevada. Unlike the work of her male predecessors intent on ostensibly objective documentation, Brigman ▲ Fig. 5. Anne Brigman, Sierra Landscape, undated. Gelatin silver print glued into album. Anne Brigman Papers, Stieglitz/O’Keefe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 380. Reproduced with permission of the Beinecke Library. Waldroup / hard to reach 461purposefully blurs and smears her image, producing a unique Sierran landscape with the intention of generating a rich emotional-spiritual response that mirrors her own experiences in the wilderness. Brigman’s casual photos taken in the Sierras depart somewhat from the spiritualist themes of her art photography, engaging more closely with the adventurous tropes of modern mountaineering. Brigman’s formal artistic works draw on motifs of female liberation, as pyne has cogently argued, and this concept of the liberated woman—in this case, a sporty toughness and rugged affinity for the outdoors—also comes through in her casual snapshots from the Sierras. While Brigman used models for her formal artistic works, these casual photos of Brigman herself are integral for understanding her experience of the mountain landscape. First, like many women mountaineers of the period, Brigman is continually shown wearing wool knickers rather than skirts, demonstrating freedom of movement. pants were becoming somewhat more popular for women in the early twentieth century, at least for recreational activities, and as Ann Colley has noted, women mountaineers since the late-nineteenth century often wore knickerbockers while climbing, either on their own or in combination with a matching skirt that could be taken on and off as needed, without being considered unfeminine.50 In the photograph of Brigman with her sister, friend, and their dog in a snow field (figure 2), Brigman’s sister remains in a dress while Brigman wears knickers, thus presenting herself as the true adventurer of the group. ▲ Fig. 6. Brigman on Castle Peak, c. 1909. Gelatin silver print. Anne Brigman Papers, Beinecke Library, Stieglitz/O’Keefe Archive, YCAL MSS 380. Reproduced with permission of the Beinecke Library. M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 462 A series of solitary photos of Brigman on Castle peak (9,109 feet) further demon- strates her self-presentation as lone explorer. Brigman may or may not have climbed to the summit; nevertheless, these two photographs are framed to present Brigman in heroic poses: in one instance, with her hat in hand, waving in the wind; in the other, standing on a boulder, silhouetted against the Sierra sky, as if on a high, steep preci- pice (figure 6). More overt manipulation is evident in another image, the final print of which ostensibly shows Brigman traversing an overhung cliff (figure 7). While the interpositive version demonstrates manipulation—particularly that the overhang was added through scratching and painting directly on the negative—the final print appears to be of Brigman negotiating a dangerous corner of a cliff face.51 Finally, in all of these images, Brigman’s wool attire, knickers, and sturdy shoes mark her as a capable trekker, prepared for her adventures in the wilderness. As is attested even by the contemporary ▲ Fig. 7. Brigman “traversing” a cliff in the Sierras, c. 1909. Gelatin silver print. Anne Brigman Papers, Stieglitz/O’Keefe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 380. Reproduced with permission of the Beinecke Library. Waldroup / hard to reach 463popularity of patagonia’s Merino wool line and by wool-focused companies such as Icebreaker and Ibex, wool has often been marketed as the “new” high-tech fabric for outdoor gear, marketed as “natural,” wicking, and non-“stinky.”52 In these photos of Brigman herself, one of which was included in the preliminary pages to the published version of Songs of a Pagan (figure 7), the photographer presents herself as able ad- venturess in the mountains, both spiritually aware and powerfully physically active. Mountaineering and Photography: Modern and Antimodern photography is arguably the most modern of modernity’s image-making technolo- gies, produced out of the primacy granted to vision during the enlightenment and out of industrialism’s fetishization of the machine, with the photographer nevertheless remaining the active subject of the gaze, in control of the image produced. photogra- phy’s relationship to mountaineering is both pragmatic and ontological. It played a key documentary role in mountaineering, particularly as evidence of first ascents. In the U.S., the photography of Timothy O’Sullivan, Watkins’s mammoth plate photography, and stereographic views by many photographers mapped California for middle-class audiences in the east, making the west knowable to these viewers and enabling them to travel vicariously to the new American Eden. Similarly, mountaineering is a highly visual endeavor: even before the advent of photography, the experience of summiting a peak and obtaining the panoptic view it afforded was of key interest, with the moun- taineer as active locus of the gaze. Both photography and mountaineering articulate with antimodernism in significant ways, yet both are deeply ingrained in modernist discourses, particularly around technology and the centrality of the bourgeois subject. Intriguingly, after relocating to Southern California, Brigman’s photographic work would become overtly modernist in style, with flat planes, abstract close-ups, lack of toning in her silver prints, and clear focus recalling the work of Edward Weston, Ansel Adams, and other midcentury California photographers. The archival record on Brigman is deep and needs continual reading. In particular, her relationship to the burgeoning environmental movement in California and her potential knowledge of John Muir’s work are projects that invite further consideration. My goal here has been to acknowledge the multiple influences on Brigman and the many worlds her work inhabited. By situating Brigman’s work within the history of mountaineering and exam- ining her relationship to antimodernist discourses, I have attempted to enable further understanding of the multiple influences on her work, while stressing the ambivalent yet mutually dependent relationship between antimodernism and modernity. I finish here with Brigman’s own words. In a letter of 4 July 1917, she wrote, “Am off to camp for 6 weeks. It’s great ‘to eat and sleep with the earth.’”53 She then departed the Bay Area for a glorious summer in the mountains. M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 464 Notes 1. Letter from Anne Brigman to Frank Crownshield of Vanity Fair, 6 October 1916. Alfred Stieglitz/Georgia O’Keeffe Archive, Beinecke Library, Yale University, New Haven, CT, YCAL MSS 85, series 1, box 8, folder 171. 2. Anne Brigman, typescript of foreword to unpublished version of Songs of a Pagan. Anne Brig- man papers, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 380, box 2, n.p. 3. Brigman, typescript of foreword, n.p. 4. See “Local Art Bought by Miss Harriman: Two Lens Studies of Mrs. Brigman added to Notable Collection,” San Francisco Call, 8 August 1911, 8. Many Bay Area newspapers praised Brigman’s work; for just one example, see “New Trail in Art Blazed by Woman: Oakland ‘pioneer’ Changes photography from Mechanical process to Spiritual Expression,” San Francisco Examiner, December 1924 (specific date unknown), 20; clipping located in the Anne Brigman papers, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 380, box 5. Brigman’s work was also mentioned positively in an announcement of an upcoming exhibition in Brooklyn; see “Institute’s Department of photography presents an April Exhibit of California Studies by Ann [sic] Brigman,” Bulletin of the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences, 2 April 1932; pamphlet located in Anne Brigman papers, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 380, box 5. For an example of a posi- tive critique of Brigman’s work that received national circulation, see “Works of Nature and Works of Art Blended in the California Camera Studies of Anne Brigman,” Vanity Fair 6, no. 4 (1916): 50–52. 5. Letter from Brigman to Crownshield (see note one). 6. Susan Ehrens, A Poetic Vision: The Photographs of Anne Brigman (Santa Barbara: Santa Bar- bara Museum of Art, 1995); hereafter cited in the text as “Ehrens.” Kathleen pyne, “Response: On Feminine phantoms: Mother, Child, and Woman-Child,” The Art Bulletin 88, no. 1 (2006): 44–61. Kathleen pyne, Modernism and the Feminine Voice: O’Keefe and the Women of the Stieglitz Circle (Berkeley: University of California press, 2007); hereafter cited in the text as “pyne.” I thank Susan Ehrens for her generosity in pointing me to several key primary sources on Brigman. 7. T. J. Jackson Lears, No Place of Grace: Antimodernism and the Transformation of American Culture, 1880–1920 (New York: pantheon, 1981), xiii. 8. Lynda Jessup, “Antimodernism and Artistic Experience: An Introduction,” in Antimodernism and Artistic Experience: Policing the Boundaries of Modernity, ed. Lynda Jessup (Toronto: University of Toronto press, 2001), 4. 9. Anne Brigman, Songs of a Pagan (Caldwell, ID: Caxton printers, 1949). Letter from Brigman to Stieglitz, December 1912, Alfred Stieglitz / Georgia O’Keeffe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 85, series 1, box 8, folder 170. 10. See Alison Nordström and David Wooters, “Crafting the Art of the photograph,” in Truth Beauty: Pictorialism and the Photograph as Art, 1845–1945, ed. Thomas padon (Vancouver, BC: Douglas and McIntyre, 2008). 11. For a discussion of the relationship between pictorialism and the arts and crafts movement, see Christian peterson, “American Arts and Crafts: The photograph Beautiful, 1895–1915,” History of Photography 16, no. 3 (1992): 189–233. See also Michael Wilson, “Northern California: The Heart of the Storm,” in Pictorialism in California: Photographs 1900–1940, eds. Michael G. Wilson and Dennis Reed (Los Angeles: J. paul Getty Museum and the Huntington Library, 1994), 1–22; hereafter cited in the text as “Wilson.” Ehrens discusses this relationship, as well (Ehrens, 20), and pyne discusses Brigman’s own interest in the arts and crafts movement (pyne, 67). 12. No author, pamphlet from exhibition with print list, 6–16 November, year unknown (probably 1909). Anne Brigman papers, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 380, box 5. 13. Brigman, Songs of a Pagan, 89. 14. David Levinsen and Karen Christiansen, “Mountain Climbing,” in The Encyclopedia of World Sport: From Ancient Times to the Present, vol. 2 (Oxford: ABC-Clio, 1996), 659. 15. Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking (New York: Viking, 2000), 85. 16. Levinsen and Christiansen, “Mountain Climbing,” 659. 17. Levinsen and Christiansen, “Mountain Climbing,” 659. 18. See Kerwin Lee Klein, “A Vertical World: The Eastern Alps and Modern Mountaineering,” Journal of Historical Sociology 24, no. 4 (2011): 519–48. Waldroup / hard to reach 46519. peter H. Hansen, “Albert Smith, the Alpine Club, and the Invention of Mountaineering in Mid-Victorian Britain,” Journal of British Studies 34, no. 3 (1995): 304. 20. Reuben J. Ellis, Vertical Margins: Mountaineering and the Landscapes of Neoimperialism (Madison: University of Wisconsin press, 2001). 21. “Mountaineering,” Encyclopedia Brittanica, 10th ed., vol. 31 (Edinburgh and London: Adam and Charles Black, 1902): 22–24. 22. As several insightful histories of women and mountaineering have demonstrated, such mascu- linist adventure was not always masculine. For a few examples, see Bill Birkett, Women Climbing: 200 Years of Achievement (Seattle and London: Mountaineers), 1990; David Mazel, ed., Mountaineering Women: Stories by Early Climbers (College Station: Texas A&M University press, 1994); Rebecca Brown, Women on High: Pioneers of Mountaineering (Boston: Appalachian Mountain Club Books, 2002); Karen Routledge, “Being a Girl Without Being a Girl: Gender and Mountaineering on Mount Waddington, 1926–36,” BC Studies 141 (2004): 31–58; Maurice Isserman and Stewart Weaver, Fallen Giants: a History of Himalayan Mountaineering from the Age of Empire to the Age of Extremes (New Haven: Yale University press, 2008); and Ann Colley, Victorians in the Mountains: Sinking the Sublime (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2010). For an extraordinary study of the relationships between mountaineering and gender more broadly, see Sherry Ortner, Life and Death on Mt. Everest: Sherpas and Himalayan Mountaineering (princeton, NJ: princeton University press, 1999); hereafter cited in the text as “Ortner.” 23. William Bueler, “American Ascents Before 1860,” Appalachia 40, no. 8 (1975): 102. I thank Amauri Serrano for making this article available to me. 24. Bueler, “American Ascents,” 103. 25. Marguerite Shaffer, “Negotiating National Identity: Western Tourism and ‘See America First,’” in Reopening the American West, ed. Hal K. Rothman (Tucson: University of Arizona press, 1998), 123. 26. Marguerite Shaffer, See America First: Tourism and National Identity, 1880–1940 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution press, 2001), 3. 27. This is a broad field of literature. In addition to Shaffer’s See America First, see for example Fran- cis Farquhar, History of the Sierra Nevada (Berkeley: University of California press, 1965); John Sears, Sacred Places: American Tourist Attractions in the Nineteenth Century (New York: Oxford University press, 1989); hereafter cited in the text as “Sears.” See also Rebecca Solnit, Savage Dreams: A Journey into the Landscape Wars of the American West (Berkeley: University of California press, 2000); Mark David Spence, Dispossessing the Wilderness: Indian Removal and the Making of the National Parks (New York: Oxford University press, 2000); Richard Grusin, Culture, Technology, and the Creation of America’s National Parks (Cambridge: Cambridge University press, 2004); hereafter cited in the text as “Grusin.” Sears notes that popular constructions of Yosemite of the mid-nineteenth-century focused on the park’s role as a “wonder” or curiosity; the idea of preservation/conservation did not come into play until later in the nineteenth century (Sears, 130). Grusin intriguingly argues that the creation of Yosemite in 1864, when it was ceded to the state of California by Congress, “constitutes the creation of a technology for the reproduction of nature as landscape”; he cites an early report on the park by Frederick Law Olmstead as “a complex expression of a cultural logic of recreation, a logic which relies upon structural parallels between the preservation of Yosemite and several of the related cultural practices in which the origins of American environmentalism are embedded. . . . Olmstead represents Yosemite’s preservation in terms of a structure of aesthetic agency so systematic in late- nineteenth century America as to appear to be natural” (Grusin, 16, 21–22). 28. Thomas Frederick Howard, Sierra Crossing: First Roads to California (Berkeley: University of California press, 1998), 12–14. In his writings from California, Muir mentions bushwhacking and following animal trails in addition to what appear to be built trails. See John Muir, Steep Trails: Cali- fornia, Utah, Nevada, Washington, Oregon, the Grand Cañon, in The Writings of John Muir: Sierra Edition, vol. 8 (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1918). While the history of recreational trail-building needs further exploration, certainly many of the currently used trails in the Sierras were in place by the 1930s. See Walter Augustus Starr, Guide to the John Muir Trail and the High Sierra Region, 1st ed. (San Francisco: Sierra Club, 1934). I thank Jeff Schaffer for pointing me to this source. M O D E R N I S M / m o d e r n i t y 466 29. C. Frank Brockman, “Development of Transportation to Yosemite,” Yosemite Nature Notes 22, no. 6 (June 1943): 53. 30. Brockman, “Development of Transportation to Yosemite,” 55. 31. Farquhar, History of the Sierra Nevada, 182. 32. See Spence, Dispossessing the Wilderness, and Grusin. 33. National Geodetic Survey Data Sheet for Mt. Whitney, accessed 27 May 2012, http://www. ngs.noaa.gov/cgi-bin/ds_mark.prl?pidBox=GT1811. 34. Alfred Stieglitz/Georgia O’Keeffe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 85, series IV, box 149, folder 2780. 35. postcard dated 27 September 1912, Alfred Stieglitz/Georgia O’Keeffe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 85, series 1, box 8, folder 170. 36. Anne Brigman, “Just a Word,” Camera Craft 15, no. 3 (March 1908): 87. 37. Hansen, “Albert Smith, the Alpine Club,” 304. 38. Anne Brigman, “The Glory of the Open,” Camera Craft 33, no. 4 (1926): 158. 39. Brigman, “The Glory of the Open,” 158. 40. Brigman, typescript of foreword (see note 2). 41. David peeler, The Illuminating Mind in American Photography: Stieglitz, Strand, Weston, Adams (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester press, 2001), 282. 42. Michael Branch, “John Muir’s My First Summer in the Sierra (1911),” ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 11, no. 1 (2004): 143. 43. The Sierra Club’s policies were perhaps best represented in the work of Ansel Adams, who was a few decades younger than Brigman and who certainly knew of Brigman’s work. Indeed, the potential cross-fertilization of Adams and Brigman is a project that requires further study. Like Brigman, Adams saw his forays into the Sierras as a way to encounter “the wonderful Spirit of the mountains” (quoted in peeler, The Illuminating Mind, 283). Their stylistic differences aside—Adams rejected his initial pictorialist style for a near-fetishization of clarity for which he became best known—the two photog- raphers certainly overlap in their stress on the transformational powers of their alpine experiences. 44. Letter dated July 1912. Alfred Stieglitz/Georgia O’Keeffe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 85, series 1, box 8, folder 171. 45. Solnit, Wanderlust, 149. 46. Anne Brigman,”Awareness,” Design for Arts in Education 38 (1936): 18. 47. John Muir, My First Summer in the Sierra (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1911), 22. 48. See Kate Nearpass Ogden, “Sublime Vistas and Scenic Backdrops: Nineteenth-Century painters and photographers at Yosemite,” California History 69, no. 2 (1990): 134–53; and Deborah Bright, “The Machine in the Garden Revisited: American Environmentalism and photographic Aesthetics,” Art Journal 51, no. 2 (1992): 60–71. 49. Brigman, “The Glory of the Open,” 163. 50. Colley, Victorians in the Mountains, 123–25. 51. Ehrens has painstakingly documented Brigman’s unique process. After shooting her original film (either on glass plates or standard film), Ehrens explains, Brigman “first made interpositives from her original black and white negatives, using transparency film on which she then did extensive handiwork. After altering the interpositives, she would make new negatives which were then used to make photographic prints. Her many techniques for altering the interpositives include[ed] using pencils, pints, and etching tools to add or eliminate elements.” (Ehrens, 26). The interpositive of the photograph of Brigman on the ledge discussed here, as well as other works by Brigman, are available digitally through the George Eastman House’s Brigman, Kasebier, et al Positives series. Visit http:// www.geh.org/ar/strip81/htmlsrc/brigmanetal_sld00001.html. 52. See, for example, “Why wear Icebreaker merino?” Icebreaker Merino Website, https:// us.icebreaker.com/en/why-icebreaker-merino/why-wear-icebreaker-merino.html. 53. Letter dated 4 July 1917, Alfred Stieglitz/Georgia O’Keeffe Archive, Beinecke Library, YCAL MSS 85, series 1, box 8, folder 168. 
work_2ddhwze3irfk7gk2e7g3oar63i	----	Auguste Comte and Consensus Formation in American Religious Thought—Part 2: Twilight of New England Comtism religions Article Auguste Comte and Consensus Formation in American Religious Thought—Part 2: Twilight of New England Comtism Kenneth S. Sacks ID Department of History, Brown University, Providence, RI 02912, USA; Kenneth_Sacks@brown.edu Received: 19 June 2017; Accepted: 9 August 2017; Published: 15 August 2017 Abstract: Auguste Comte was the most influential sociologist and philosopher of science in the Nineteenth Century. Part 1 summarized his works and analyzed reactions to them by Transcendentalists and Unitarians from 1837 until just after the Civil War. Part 2 examines in detail the post-war Transcendentalist and liberal Unitarian institutions of the Free Religious Association and the Radical Club and their different approaches to spiritual faith based on intuitionalism and reliance on scientific proof. In the background to their disputes is the positivism of Auguste Comte, who served as an easy source of common criticism. But at the same time as they wrote against positivism, both intuitionalists and those who relied on science were significantly influenced by Comte. Once again, as in part 1, a community of discourse was formed through the need to create social bonds at the expense of careful evaluation of the philosophy they criticized. Keywords: Comte; positivism; intuitionalism; Unitarianism; Free Religious Association; Radical Club; Francis Ellingwood Abbot; Octavius Brooks Frothingham; Thomas Wentworth Higginson In part one, we saw how, mirroring its success in Great Britain, Comte’s Course was initially well-received in the United States by Transcendentalists and some liberal Unitarians who viewed positivism as both the appropriate approach to scientific discovery and a way of envisioning a progressive, ameliorative humanity. At the same time and conversely, there emerged a group of critics of Comte—mainly more traditional Unitarians, but eventually many post-Unitarians and Transcendentalists—who typified his work as an expression of atheism and, consequently, otherwise of little worth. Communities of discourse were constructed based on often superficial impressions of a new and complex set of theories written in a foreign language. The Civil War period marked a watershed in the reaction against Comte due both to the wider dissemination of the System with its unpalatable social applications and to disruptive social forces: the accelerated threat against religion posed by technology and science, the dominance of that secular knowledge in universities, and a more bureaucratically organized society. Facing these rapid changes, more traditional intellectuals used Comte’s positivism to highlight the dangers of modernity. Part two focuses on how Unitarians, largely because of these same forces, experienced a formal split, with some of its most engaged intellectuals, including Transcendentalists, moving more aggressively toward a natural, transcendent spirituality. The concerted outcry about positivism’s purported atheism might as easily have turned against this emerging group with the same accusation. As a result, part of this group’s legitimizing strategy included distancing itself even further from Comte. And yet, this next community of discourse, despite its broad public opposition to Comte, was indebted to his ideas both for some general sensibilities and specific ideas. In considering the post-Civil War intellectual milieu of eastern Massachusetts, a small organization with a lifespan of just one year still captures the popular imagination: the Metaphysical Club. Ironically, the group was dominated not by metaphysicians, but by pragmatists, some of whom (especially Peirce Religions 2017, 8, 151; doi:10.3390/rel8080151 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0002-2832-810X http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel8080151 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2017, 8, 151 2 of 13 and James) went on to be among America’s most influential intellectuals. But a slightly earlier club, along with an offshoot association, drew far greater attendance and contemporary popular interest, and supplied much of the intellectual energy that found its way into the Metaphysical Club. These groups had widely diffused individual beliefs, but, unlike the Metaphysical Club which gathered under the banner of philosophy, their primary organizing purpose was the exploration of religion. And when it came to religion, the most important idea of the moment was natural religion. Broadly interpreted, natural religion refers to the determination of a universal divine presence by either intuition or reason rather than by proofs found in specific sacred documents or historically-constructed tradition. Although by then natural religion had a long history in Europe and even America,1 it was the very recent interest in other, especially Eastern, religions and in sociology that opened up investigation of a common religious spirit in humanity. It was something that early Transcendentalists, whether consciously or not, had already effectively embraced. Emerson, for example, offered his talk “Natural Religion” at least five times (Emerson 2001, vol. 2, pp. 177–95), arguing that spirituality was a human instinct untethered to historical proofs: A religion of the simplest elements; the first duties that everywhere exist commanded by the primal sentiments, need no magnificent annunciation by ancient prophecy or special messengers attended by angles from the skies, but are born in the Indian and the Hottentot, and only need to be obeyed, in order to speak with a clearer voice, and to deliver the whole code of moral and spiritual life. (Emerson 2001, vol. 2, p. 180) When Emerson delivered this talk in 1869, he did so in a lecture series sponsored by the Free Religion Association (FRA). By then, much of Emerson’s Transcendentalist circle was gone: Margaret Fuller had died in 1850, Theodore Parker in 1860, and Henry David Thoreau in 1862; George Ripley became increasingly engaged in the literary society of New York, while Frederic Henry Hedge capitulated by joining the faculty at Harvard. And yet by the end of the Civil War, Transcendentalism as an extreme form of idealism had succeeded in winning over more liberal Unitarians, resulting in what has been called “a second cycle of American Transcendentalism” (Versluis 1993, p. 326). How these intellectuals, many affiliated with the FRA, reacted to Comte’s positivism constitutes the second part of this investigation. The FRA originated out of the long-standing tension between the more institutionally-oriented, moderate Unitarians and the most liberal, often Transcendentalist, members. At their convention in Syracuse in 1866, Unitarians voted to accept a constitution for the newly created National Conference of Unitarian and Other Christian Churches whose preamble identified them as “disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ” and whose purpose was “the cause of Christian faith and work.” Liberal members, however, perhaps feeling ambushed, offered radically different language, penned by Francis Ellingwood Abbot, that “the object of Christianity is the universal diffusion of Love, Righteousness and Truth” and that there existed “perfect freedom of thought [which] is at once the right and duty of every human being . . . ” (Clarke and Abbot 1875, p. 4). Unitarians who intended to build a cohesive movement based directly and solely on the historical Christian tradition decisively defeated the substitute language, and the liberals lost what they romantically called the Battle of Syracuse. “To not a few who had gone to the Convention in the larger spirit of the invitation, this action seemed alike the closing of the door of hospitality and of hope,” wrote William J. Potter, one of the founders of the FRA and its third president (1882–1882) (Potter 1892, p. 8). But to some, hope had already departed and this was just an excuse to follow it, as Octavius Brooks Frothingham later makes clear: “It [the 1 (Harrison 1990, pp. 130–72). In America, Arminians argued that every human had the innate capacity to decide right and wrong and therefore to decide individually what is a religious truth. In his 1755 Dudlean Lecture, Edward Holyoke described natural religion as “that regard to a Divine Being or God which Men arrive at, by mere Principles of natural Reason, as it is improveable, by tho’t, [yes] consideration & Experience, without the help of Revelation.”: “The First Sermon for the Dudleian Lecture,” (p. 3, Harvard Archives); see (Cashdollar 1989, p. 140). Religions 2017, 8, 151 3 of 13 Battle of Syracuse] can hardly be said to have been the cause of it; for even previous to the ‘conference’ there existed an expectation of some larger, more comprehensive scheme of affiliation on grounds purely spiritual, with purpose purely humane” (Frothingham 1889, p. 386). In fact, the split between Unitarians and the FRA somewhat came about from the still unresolved animosity over Unitarian anathematizing of Theodore Parker in 1841 (Gohdes 1931, pp. 210–54). The following year, many of the disenchanted liberals gathered at the Boston home of Cyrus Bartol and launched the FRA.2 As David Robinson has precisely detailed, the essential principles held by most FRA members were: a belief that evolutionary biology suggested an equally evolving religious sentiment in which Christianity, or any traditional religion, was not the endpoint; an appreciation of a possible “global religion” based on the inner light in every individual; and social justice as a reflection of humanity’s growing perfectionism.3 Belief in a reified godhead, therefore, was a personal decision (Persons 1847, pp. 66–68). And yet, the original host of the dissidents, Cyrus Bartol, declined to join. Friends attributed to him the (disingenuous—see below) excuse that he “was one of those who preferred to make a strong effort to liberalize the Unitarian body” (Cooke 1903, pp. 485–86). By the third meeting the FRA met instead at the Medford home of Edward C. Towne; Towne, along with Francis Ellingwood Abbot and William J. Potter, were considered the founders of the formal association. The first public meeting—for its purpose was to spread the word through open meetings—was held in Boston on 30 May 1867, with Emerson giving the most celebrated oratorical contribution and Thomas Wentworth Higginson offering the most felicitous phrase of “the sympathy of religions” (which letter became the title of a highly praised and widely distributed talk) (Cooke 1903, pp. 493–94). Besides regular meetings, the FRA sponsored public lectures in the spirit of the (Theodore) Parker Fraternity. Two Emerson talks on “Natural Religion” and “Immorality,” as an eyewitness recounts, “hold a prominent place in the body of his public teaching, and they embody the best of his later affirmations” (Cooke 1903, p. 494). At the same time there was founded a somewhat kindred group: the Radical Club (sometimes called “The 13 Chestnut Street Club,” where founder John Sargent lived, although some of the meetings were held at the home of his Chestnut Street neighbor, former FRA gatherer Cyrus Bartol). Unlike the FRA, that had a high degree of organization and had chapters in several cities, this was exclusively Boston-based. Testifies member George Willis Cooke: “The Free Religious Association, the Horticultural Hall Lectures [what replaced the Parker Club] and the Radical Club were but parts of the same whole. The leaders were the same, and the same men and women belonged to them...” (Cooke 1903, p. 499). But Cooke was overly-sentimental in his recollections of common community. For example, Charles Eliot Norton, at the time perhaps Boston’s most prominent intellectual (and first cousin to Harvard’s president) joined the FRA in 1867 as he embraced an agnosticism that he hoped would free America of all its self-limiting traditions. But he soon distanced himself when he felt the association too constraining intellectually (Butler 2007, p. 136). And FRA founder Bartol withdrew to become a host of the Radical Club. While the FRA had a more didactic, and therefore, narrower agenda—to promote natural religion in its various manifestations—the Radical Club was designed to explore the full range of religious experiences. Cooke notes that the most stimulating times at the Radical Club were when Wendell Phillips spoke, “as a champion of Christianity of the older type, defending Calvinism, and maintaining that the ideals of the church were essential. As many of the members of the club were radical in their ideas, and some of them positively opposed to Christianity, these occasions were of an exciting nature.” Cooke adds that Julia Ward Howe, who also defended traditional Christianity rigorously, praised the Radical Club for its “catholicity” (Cooke 1903, p. 497). 2 Most recently, (Robinson 2010). 3 (Robinson 2010); excellent, too, is (Kelleway n.d.). Religions 2017, 8, 151 4 of 13 First generation Transcendentalists, including Emerson, Bartol, Hedge, Bronson Alcott, Christopher Pearse Cranch, and James Freeman Clarke (who had expressed concern that John Fiske, hired at Harvard to teach positivism, was, in fact, teaching atheism—see part one), tended more to the Radical Club (Cooke 1903, p. 497). Emerson preferred it, not only because there were no reporters, but also because “the talk [there] was largely unpremeditated” (Frothingham 1889, p. 393). Also choosing the Radical Club were such diverse intellectuals as mathematician (and father of Charles Peirce) Benjamin Peirce, a fervently Christian thinker (Hogan 2008, p. 285), and positivist John Fiske (Cooke 1903, p. 497). Little wonder, then, that Bartol wrote in 1872 that, in contrast to the FRA, the Radical Club was “against any final wording.” Instead, the Radical Club “denies to affirm, clears the way to travel, vetoes less than it signs, and tears down to build. Its affirmation is, Spirit takes in all.” For, “All science of the understanding God escapes. No microscope or telescope will ever discover him” (Bartol 1872, pp. 110, 112, 141). Bartol is here taking a clear shot at those who relied on science to confirm belief. The Radical Club, then, may have been more inclined to see religious feeling determined through the spirit rather than demonstrated by science. Such thinkers acquired the label of intuitionalists or enthusiasts. But there wasn’t just divided feelings between the two organizations. As a scholar of the FRA observes, “The tensions revealed at the organizing meeting [of the FRA] were to remain central throughout the entire history of the Association.”4 In his recollections on the occasion of its twentieth anniversary, prominent FRA member Octavius Brooks Frothingham, himself an intuitionalist, acknowledged some hostility toward those such as himself: The noblest transcendentalists, Weiss, Johnson, Emerson, Wasson, Alcott, Bartol, adhered stanchly to its [the FRA’s] grandest affirmation, though they were unable, some of them, to join the organization, partly from an aversion to all grouping of sects, and partly through personal dislike of incidental utterances they chanced to hear. They were a company of idealists; many called them enthusiasts; a few applied to them a less complimentary name. (Frothingham 1887, p. 11) FRA co-founder William J. Potter recalled that the FRA welcomed participants who might argue rigorously for their individual religions. Yet, he also noted that “Religion being one of the phenomena of human history, the modern scientific method of study is to be applied to it as to all other phenomena of the world of man and nature” (Potter 1892, pp. 21, 22). Promoting science as the lens through which to view religion inevitably put tremendous pressure on all earlier forms of belief, whether evidence-based (biblical) Unitarianism or intuitional Transcendentalism. In 1871, Abbot, co-founder of the FRA and influential editor of the association’s weekly Index, delivered a public lecture entitled, “Intuitionalism versus Science; or the Civil War in Free Religion.” But when he came to publish the talk in the Index, he changed its name to “The Intuitional and Scientific Schools of Free Religion” (Abbot 1871b, p. 116). We can well imagine what social and political considerations brought about the softening of the title, but it nevertheless indicates that Free Religionists struggled mightily with the cleavage within their group. While some, like Abbot, argued that the existence of God awaited scientific proof, others claimed they knew God existed through their own intuition. On the periodical’s masthead listing its five editors there were, in fact, two highly prominent and outspoken intuitionalists associated with first generational Transcendentalism: Thomas Wentworth Higginson and Frothingham. Frothingham was even the first president of the FRA (1867–1873) and Higginson its first vice-president and fourth president (1894–1899). And yet, the same masthead gives the last word to science: “The Index accepts every result of science and sound learning, without seeking to harmonize it with the Bible. It recognizes no authority 4 (Kelleway n.d.). See, for example, (Cashdollar 1989, p. 294, n. 29). Religions 2017, 8, 151 5 of 13 but that of reason and right.”5 In critiquing intuitionalism in his “Civil War” talk, Abbot defined the problem this way: To the Intuitional school, God and Immortality are undoubted and indubitable facts. These two great problems are solved. God is a fact; the only questions concern his essence, the mode of his activity, and the nature of his relations to the universe. Immortality is a fact; the only question concerns the laws and conditions of the future state . . . The Scientific school, however, finds the existence of God (that is, as a Person or intelligent, self-conscious Being) and the continued existence of man after death to be the great open questions of today. (Abbot 1871b, p. 113) Of course, Abbot frames this asymmetrical comparison to his own rhetorical advantage: intuitionalists believe in a god that Abbot leaves undefined, while, proposed in contrast, the Scientific school does not believe in an anthropomorphic god unless it can be determined scientifically. Abbot did, as we shall see later, flirt with the existence of a universal innate spirit much akin to a Neoplatonic or Hegelian godhead. But here, in postponing any identification of a divine force until science determines otherwise, his purpose is to back intuitionalists into a corner. Indeed, in this same article, Abbot goes on to claim that intuitionalists consider only one idiosyncratic road to belief: “To settle the questions of God and Immortality by the appeal to intuition, when this appeal meets no response in myriads of the finest intellects and purest souls, is manifestly a mere assumption a favored few cannot see for all mankind” (Abbot 1871b, p. 115). In effect, intuitionalism is a luxury of the elite; implied is that objective science is universal knowledge. Within the same issue of the Index there appeared several critical responses to Abbot’s public “Civil War” lecture. Most notable is that by Higginson, who identified himself as one of Abbot’s intuitionalist targets and asserted that: Personally I have no doubts to personal immortality, and none as to Deity—if one may be excused from definition . . . It is very pleasant to believe in immortality; the thought warms and encourages one, and makes sorrow easier to bear . . . I do not wish to have my faith and hope and courage depend upon the result of an historical investigation, or a chemical analysis. (Higginson 1871, p. 117) His final remark refers both to more traditional Unitarians, who depend on historical (mostly biblical) material to prove their faith, and to Abbot’s wing of the FRA which argues that only science can determine the existence of God. And yet, having criticized both alternatives to his position and asserting his intuitive belief in God and afterlife, Higginson dodges the essential question concerning his own belief, asking to be “excused from definition.” Within the FRA, neither intuitionalists nor science school adherents had a firm definition of their own essential spiritual beliefs. It was at least as much a matter of what they stood against as of what they stood for. We shall later see these same dynamics at work when they responded to Comte’s positivism. Despite intuitionalism, the Association’s rhetoric clearly pronounced that the future of acquiring spiritual insight lay with science. George Willis Cooke attests that the association’s original stated purpose was “to promote the scientific study of religious truth, not to defend the legacy of theological tradition . . . ” The official mission statement was later expanded “to encourage the scientific study of man’s religious nature and history” (Cooke 1903, p. 489). And the FRA’s Constitution declared that: “The objects of this Association are to encourage the scientific study of religion and ethics, to advocate freedom in religion, to increase fellowship in spirit, and to emphasize the supremacy of practical morality in all the relations of life” (Potter 1892, Addendum, Article 2). In fact, a name originally proposed for the organization was the “Religious Science Association” (Kelleway n.d.). 5 The Index was started by Abbott in 1870 and ended in 1886, while The Radical was the FRA’s monthly magazine, which had begun in September 1865, even before the schism, and ended in 1873: (Cashdollar 1989, p. 494). Religions 2017, 8, 151 6 of 13 But that suggested name, while undoubtedly antagonizing to their own intuitionalists, would also certainly have served as a declaration against the National Conference. Accused of being Arians or—worse—atheists since their founding in 1825, mainstream Unitarians now felt the additional stress of reconciling their views with contemporary science. In 1866, the very year of the “Battle of Syracuse” in which Unitarians tried to impose greater religious orthodoxy on their adherents, the anonymous lead editorial in their flagship journal, the Christian Examiner, decried “an alienation from public religion on the part of a very large and growing class of persons of character.” The cause of that alienation was science: The proper Deity of Christ . . . is fast taking its place, with honest and earnest thinkers, among the mythological extravagances which, among all tribes, have tended to deify heroes, sages, and martyrs . . . It is, in short, simply impossible to be acquainted even superficially with the most advanced science, or the best philosophies of history or the latest theories of physiology and psychology, without feeling their inconsistency with the whole ground-plan of the ruling theology of Christendom.6 Anxious over the trend but still hoping for unity, the editorial expresses respect for such “persons of character” and “honest and earnest thinkers” who followed the conclusions of science. But the subsequent split in Unitarian ranks changed the tone of the conversation. In 1872, the Unitarian Christian Register called the FRA “an anti-Christian sect,” and claimed that “the [Free Religious] Association withholds full hospitality from all who do not virtually renounce Christianity when uniting with them.”7 The FRA’s increasing emphasis on a scientific explanation for religious beliefs undoubtedly contributed to the growing tensions. Indeed, that there were two separate clubs composed of lifelong acquaintenaces reflects both the intellectual creativity of the moment as well as the deep anxieties of the time. Emerson, also a member of the FRA but gravitating more to the Radical Club, reflected in his Journals in Fall, 1867, that: “The tendency of the new time is toward a religious belief compatible with the expansion of science: And each new school of metaphysics, as Hegel or Comte, is not final or universal, but only an attempt to emphasize one of the irresistible corrections which new science has made necessary” (Emerson 1982, vol. 16, p. 84). That Emerson could couple Comte with Hegel shows the attention that the French philosopher commanded. Also noteworthy, the intuitionalist Emerson judged the connection of science and religion to be “irresistible” and “necessary.” In fact, ever since his 1838 Divinity School Address, Emerson had included science within his vision of the spirit: “I look for the new Teacher, that shall follow so far those shining laws . . . shall see the identity of the law of gravitation with purity of heart; and shall show that the Ought, that Duty, is one thing with Science, with Beauty, and with Joy” (Emerson 1971, p. 93). Moreover, in “A Transcendentalist Nature Religion” included in this same issue of Religions, Nicholas Friesner cites Emerson’s “Worship” from the 1860 collection Conduct of Life to demonstrate the thoroughness with which Emerson infused fact with moral power: There will be a new church founded on moral science, at first cold and naked, a babe in a manger again, the algebra and mathematics of ethical law, the church of men to come, without shawms, or psaltery, or sackbut; but it will have heaven and earth for its beams and rafters; science for symbol and illustration; it will fast enough gather beauty, music, picture, poetry.8 6 (Anonymous 1866, pp. 2, 8; cf. Turner 1985, pp. 158–59). 7 Quoted by (Kelleway n.d.). 8 (Emerson 2003, p. 52; See also (Walls 2003, p. 9)). Religions 2017, 8, 151 7 of 13 And yet even Emerson, when experiencing the “civil war” among his fellow travelers, may have been concerned about this rush to impose science on religion. When he addressed the FRA in 1867 with “Natural Religion,” he cautioned against a complete rejection of previous traditions: I think we should not assail Christianity, Judaism, or Buddhism, or the Koran, but frankly thank each for every brave and just sentence or history they have furnished us. We should not contradict or censure these well-meant, best-meant approximations, but point out the identity of their summits with every other inspiration.9 And, in both 1870 and 1871, at the invitation of President Eliot, Emerson gave an extended series of lectures at Harvard, “Natural History of the Intellect.” The culmination of a life-long project to understand the mind as agent (in the Neoplatonic sense), Emerson relied fundamentally on notions of the soul and intuition (Emerson 2008). Perhaps as a result of such sentiments, some FRA members questioned his relevance to their own enterprise, forcing closest friend Bronson Alcott to defend Emerson publicly: “A friend said to me today: ‘Mr. Emerson! O, Yes, a lovely man, but what has he done?’ Who brought us here? Who is the father, or, if not the father, the cousin, at least, of the thought that brought us here? You know who, so far as any one person is concerned . . . ”10 Of course, Emerson’s reputation transcended differences and perhaps served to reduce some of the tension. Although certainly an intuitionalist, Emerson was venerated by the entire FRA. Founder William J. Potter, calling the FRA “A voice without a hand,” went on: “It puts us in most honorable company. Socrates was no more than that. Nor was Jesus very much more; nor our own Emerson. They were individual teachers and prophets” (Potter 1892, p. 19). And Cooke recalls: “Not all of the meetings of the Radical Club were devoted to the discussion of problems in theology and science. There were receptions to Emerson, a morning when original poems were read, and a day when Tyndall was the speaker (Cooke 1903, p. 498). Especially with the early death of Parker, Emerson, while playing only a small active role in the overall movement, was essential. He is noted at the top of the FRA’s very first announcement (Ahlstrom and Mullin 1987, p. 72) and supposedly delivered the first dollar of dues at the organizing meeting of the FRA (Persons 1847, pp. 49–50). Although preferring to attend the Radical Club, he became a lifelong vice-president of the FRA and was called “the patriarch of the Free Religionists” (Ahlstrom and Mullin 1987, p. 74). Abbot, while leading the science wing of the movement, called Emerson “the greatest legacy that God has yet bestowed on America” (Abbot 1878, p. 379). George Willis Cooke, FRA participant and Emerson biographer, judged the FRA, “the culmination of transcendentalism, and its acceptance of intuition and self-reliance. It discarded institutional and historical religion, and accepted that of individual spiritual insight and the rational activity of the personal mind” (Cooke 1903, p. 491). And yet at the conclusion of these recollections, he offered a subtler account, explicitly recognizing the difference between intuitionalism and scientism. The application of science to religion that the FRA supported ended traditional transcendentalism and enthusiasm, but, failing to fulfill its own promise, left religion in a conservative, ritualistic, and regressive state, lacking both the more recent scientific approach and Transcendentalism’s earlier intuitionalist approach: They [the FRA and Radical Club] came at the culmination of the transcendental movement and they furnished the medium of its transference to the new scientific interest that signalized the later years of the nineteenth century. That the Free Religion seemed to go into eclipse in the process of its transfer of the intellectual movement there can be no doubt, and the seeming was reality. The reaction against the scientific spirit was other than 9 (Emerson 2001); see (Gohdes 1931, p. 222), for the suggestion that it is a caution to his listeners. But it may already have been spoken in the original 1861 version of the speech. 10 (Anonymous 1868, pp. 77–78; Gohdes 1931, p. 232), for the suggestion. Religions 2017, 8, 151 8 of 13 transcendentalism, though taking many of its features . . . The tendency of science was to forbid enthusiasm, and this is widely shown in the indifference that has invaded all churches . . . But science has by no means come to the end of its influence upon religion, and any day we may look for a reaction in its favor, that will establish rational convictions in the guidance of all religious bodies. That such a change is certain to come about when ritualism and the occult have had their day, is all that the founders of the Association desired. (Cooke 1903, p. 499) Despite Emerson’s conciliatory presence, science’s potential damage to traditional religious beliefs and the concomitant hope that science might settle all theological questions produced great tension. However justified they felt in removing themselves from the Unitarian movement, FRA and Radical Club members lived outside mainstream Unitarianism at a significant psychic cost. Additionally, those who had seceded were themselves divided on the promises of science in understanding religion. Science did not immediately carry the day against either intuitionalism or anthropomorphic belief. But it produced enough stress within the movement that it conditioned discourse about the most prominent theorist of science. Although Comte could never be fully pinned down on the question of whether God does not exist or just that the proof of God’s existence is unattainable through science, his positivist epistemology gave scientific school adherents courage to oppose intuitionalism. The second paragraph of the Index’s statement of principles, certainly the work of Abbot, is the declaration that Christianity is transitioning to natural religion, just as paganism had passed to Christianity during the Roman Empire, although the current transition “is even more momentous.” This progressive three-stage model, consciously or not, reflects Comte’s positivist schema. And the FRA’s fiftieth and final principle echoes the moral certainty of Comte: “Christianity is the faith of the soul’s childhood; Free Religion is the faith of the soul’s manhood. In the gradual growth of mankind out of Christianity into Free Religion, lies the only hope of the spiritual perfection of the individual and the spiritual unity of the race” (Abbot 1870, p. 8). On the first page of the second issue of the Index, there is stated a comparison between Christianity and Free Religion, also undoubtedly penned by Abbot, predicting that Free Religion “will claim absolute control over the collective life of society and the outward and inward life of the individual . . . The chief features of this system are the supremacy of science in all matters of belief, the supremacy of morality in all matters of conduct, and the supremacy of benevolence in all social and personal relations” (Abbot 1871a, p. 1). The language of absolute control, inevitable supremacy, and the rule of science is what created controversy for Comte, and Abbot’s similar language undoubtedly help produce the “civil war” within the FRA. Co-founder and guiding light of the FRA, Francis Ellingwood Abbot was the one who offered alternative language at the “Battle of Syracuse” that sparked the great division and who served as long-time editor of the Index. After graduating Harvard in 1855, Abbot began studying positivism at the Meadville Seminary (then in Pennsylvania) through Martineau’s abridgement and translation of the Course. By the time he was a minister in New Hampshire during the Civil War, he was reading Comte in French and his notebooks show a deep engagement with the subject (Cashdollar 1989, p. 111, n. 54). Abbot’s later life was wrapped in controversy, including being dismissed from his New Hampshire pulpit for not being specifically Christian enough in religious sentiment, and later having a very public and distasteful dispute at Harvard with Josiah Royce, in which William James sided with Royce and Charles Peirce with Abbot. Abbot spent most of his life as a highly prolific, but independent and financially struggling scholar. Emerging from the traditional Meadville Seminary as a moderately conservative Christian, he was somewhat swept into the evangelical revival of 1857–58 (Peden 1992, p. 9). But like so many of his contemporaries, after Darwin’s On the Origin of Species appeared in 1859, Abbot was forced to recalibrate his beliefs (Ahlstrom and Mullin 1987, p. vii). His continuously evolving thoughts on philosophy and religion are complex and often heavily conditioned by his reading of Hegel. At the risk of being overly-reductive, it’s possible to extract three core beliefs: (1) that “the tendency to worship is a permanent and universal element in [humanity’s] constitution,” and, because there must be a Religions 2017, 8, 151 9 of 13 unity between worshipper and the object of that worship, he personally believed that there must be a God—“an Infinite and Immanent Personality” (Abbot 1865, pp. 164–65, 169); (2) and yet, that religious meaning, including the existence of God, can only be proved by science—what he called “scientific theism” (Abbot 1867; cf. Robinson 2006); and (3) that, while positivism was important when used to interpret science and could, if probably employed, prove the existence of God, in practice Comte abused it by denying the possible unity of spirit and phenomena (Abbot 1866) and thus was quite wrong about and, indeed, disrespectful of religion (Abbot 1871b, p. 115). Abbot’s presence within the FRA was especially manifest in his insistence that only science could establish the worth of religious belief. It could not be determined by appealing to traditions and texts created at an earlier, non-scientific time, and, contrary to what Transcendental members of the FRA believed, it could never be determined by simply an instinct to believe. There are some inevitable tensions in these positions. For example, Abbot denied what he claimed is the intuitionalist’s proof of God’s existence, and yet he did effectively accept the existence of God. Abbot retreated to the stand that, because “anthropology is the root of theology,” it is a certain that science can and will establish the facts of religion (Abbot 1867, p. 595). But it was Comte who had originally argued that anthropology (when it matured as had sociology) would be the science of humanity, and Abbot used Comte to establish distance from evidence-based (meaning biblically-based) Unitarianism: “Fair Hit at Unitarian Conservatism,” he wrote in his notebooks while reading Comte.11 In two articles in the Unitarian Christian Examiner which he published just before the formation of the FRA, Abbot was critical of, but sympathetic toward, positivism, writing in 1865: “[R]eligion presupposes the Finite Divinity of man, and the Infinite Humanity of God . . . Auguste Comte was groping after this thought when he set up his abstraction of humanity as the Supreme Being” (Abbot 1865, p. 166; A’s italics). The following year, he conceded that “[Comte’s] work is of masterly genius, and is exerting a subtle and growing influence upon the times, unequaled since the days of Kant.” His essential complaint was that: “Comtism errs conspicuously in repudiating certain facts which ought to be admitted; namely, facts of the spiritual order, which are as real to experience as any physical facts” (Abbot 1866, pp. 235, 238). Abbot continued to hold to this central disagreement with Comte, but, following the formation of the FRA, the tone of his criticisms of Comte appear to grow harsher, perhaps suggesting that he began re-positioning himself within his new discursive community. In his “Civil War” talk, after mainly targeting intuitionalists, Abbot then pivots against a common FRA foe by attacking Comte for not leaving open the questions of the existence of the divine and afterlife: The disrespect towards religion, however, which still pervades the scientific world, has been organized into a new and most curious religion under the name of Positivism, or, as it should be called, Comtism . . . Chief among its principles is this, that phenomenon and their laws are the only proper subject of scientific investigation,—that all the study of causes, in the strict sense of the word, is futile and pernicious. That is, all thought concerning God and Immortality and the soul is sheer waste of time . . . Consequently: “The Positive Philosophy, as pronounced by Comte, asserts that the greatest of all questions are no questions at all, but herein it violates the true spirit of science, which refuses to acknowledge the right of any to set limits on its investigations” (Abbot 1871b, p. 115). But despite his scorn for Comte’s pseudo-science, Abbot, who called himself a “positivist in theology” (Ahlstrom and Mullin 1987, p. 99), adopted the phrase coined by Comte—“the Church of Humanity”—to describe his understanding of the universal religious sentiment.12 And as author of the “principles” of the FRA in the early issues of the Index (above), he echoes positivist claims. Even while attacking Comte, Abbot, 11 (Cashdollar 1989, p. 290) quoting Abbot “Personal Notebook” 3: 96, Abbot Papers; A’s italics. 12 (Ahlstrom and Mullin 1987, p. 52), from “New Wine in Old Bottles,” 26 April 1868, Abbot archives at Harvard. Religions 2017, 8, 151 10 of 13 who believed the most important answers come from science, naturally absorbed some of his language and, certainly, some of his concepts. Abbot was not alone. Among the less visible and vocal members of the FRA was Joseph Henry Allen.13 A prominent thinker who took positivism seriously, he somewhat despaired over the lack of robust discussion among Unitarians, but equally, as he wrote a friend, he had “resigned the work [of theological discussion] to Abbot and the Radicals.”14 A provocative statement, suggesting that Allen wasn’t up for a fight against the highly aggressive Abbot. Later, while teaching at Harvard in 1882, he claimed personal knowledge that Comte was no atheist. That statement may have been a defense of Comte against those, including Abbot, who wanted to label Comte in such a way which, for most New Englanders at the time, was still an indefensible position. Allen, as did Abbot, deferred to science, but, as did Comte and even many who opposed him, he embraced the sentiment of universal spirituality, reflecting that: “step by step, the theological is supplanted by the scientific, the divine by the human view. It is in other words, a ‘religion of humanity,’ taking the place, in our generation, of a religion of dogma” (Allen 1880, p. 57). In fact, what Allen himself feared most was certainly not Comte, but rather what he called Transcendentalism’s “poetic pantheism” (Allen 1884, p. 265). The most prominent of those whom Allen might call pantheists and Abbot called intuitionalists were Frothingham and Higginson. Higginson’s response to Abbot regarding the “Civil War” talk is quoted above. But by this point Frothingham was the most famous of the intuitionalists. Frothingham commanded a massive following in his Independent Liberal Church in New York and was equally influential in the Boston-based FRA. He called his own philosophy “Radicalism.” Frothingham furiously attacked Comte for his misanthropy and for fitting Catholic practice to his System. Further, Comte’s Religion of Humanity “was in every important respect European” and his system had “a contempt for mankind” (Frothingham 1873, pp. 34, 91). The phrase, “Religion of Humanity, has, unfortunately, been associated with the name and philosophy of Auguste Comte, who does not deserve credit for the main ideas it stands for. If the name was of his invention the thing was not. His leading conceptions—of the solidarity of mankind, of the grand man, and immortality of the race—were thrown out several years in advance of him. Comte elaborated them, but, as we believe, corrupted and perverted them . . . (Frothingham 1873, pp. 32–33) Frothingham wrote these words in a book he entitled The Religion of Humanity, thereby accepting, as had Abbot and others, Comte’s phrase. Frothingham thus appropriates Comte’s broader cosmopolitan vision while distancing himself from Comte’s methods. Step-by-step, Frothingham takes from Comte everything but the liturgy. Drawing on Comte’s periods of history, Frothingham announces: “The theological epoch draws near its close [and with it] the whole system of so-called Christianity” (Frothingham 1875, pp. 14–15). Of course for Frothingham, the soul or individual spirit was far too ethereal to be determined by science: the soul “outruns the calculations of the mathematician, leaves time and space behind . . . ” (Frothingham 1872, pp. 250–51). Although leaving the existence of spirit unresolved, Comte, too, denied that science might ever prove its existence. And just as Comte had argued, Frothingham envisioned that, to whatever extent there is a spirit in the universe, it is composed of altruism and community: of “social sentiment, social co-operation, social harmony.” Precisely as had Comte, Frothingham believed that, “social science is the best modern teacher of theology.”15 Cosmopolitanism was essential to Comte’s System. He argued that, to prevent the war and social chaos which haunted his own childhood, humanity needed to eliminate national boundaries and 13 On his membership: (Mulhern 1980–1981, p. 39, n. 1). 14 (Mulhern 1980–1981, p. 48), quoting Allen to Russel Lant Carpenter, 12 March 1871, in the Andover-Harvard Theological Library (AHT) Allen papers. 15 (Frothingham 1866, pp. 379–80). This and several surrounding quotations are also found in (Cashdollar 1989). Religions 2017, 8, 151 11 of 13 embrace a single spiritual identity (above, part one). This is largely the reason for his success among England’s intellectuals (especially socialist ones) and its working class, as well as among New York progressives. Something similar, without, of course, Comte’s dogmatic ritualism, pervades the FRA. Recollects member William J. Potter: “[T]his talk of a Christo-centric world is only the hazy cloud of words left by a vanishing system of theory. According to the great doctrine of evolution, as Science unfolds it, the history of man is not Christo-centric, but Cosmo-centric” (Potter 1892, p. 27; P’s italics). Emerson had already laid that foundation in the second annual meeting of the FRA, when he proclaimed: I submit that in sound frame of mind, we read or remember the religious sayings and oracles of other men, whether Jew or Indian, or Greek or Persian, only for friendship, only for joy in the social identity which they open to us, and that these words would have no weight with us if we had not the same conviction already. I find something stingy in the unwilling and disparaging admission of these foreign opinions—opinions from all parts of the world—by our churchmen, as if only to enhance by their dimness the superior light of Christianity. (Emerson 1903–1904, vol. 11, pp. 489–90) Little wonder that the intuitionalist Frothingham was concerned that Comte’s positivism held some allure, and that others, perhaps mainstream Unitarians, might identify FRA members as positivists. “The ‘Free Religionists’ are for the most part graduates from the school of Transcendentalism, the very opposite of Positivism,” Frothingham declared in the Index. And yet, he worried that: we have been a little disturbed by the occasional intimation of alliance or sympathy between [Comte’s Positivism and the Free Religious Association] . . . We may be very certain that all appearances of sympathy between [the two] are illusory; the resemblance is superficial and nominal, the antagonism is deep and ineradicable. Protestant and Republican, Comte nevertheless constructed an order derived from Catholic liturgy and an aristocratic spirit that was intended to control what Comte believed to be the present anarchy in society; whereas in contrast, to Frothingham, the FRA’s spirit: is humane, liberal, democratic; it will have no priest, no dogma, no fixed rule of organization . . . When it speaks of the ‘Religion of Humanity,’ it means the religion that humanity is tending towards and trying to realize,—humanity’s natural religion, not a manufactured system to which men must submit at the bidding of a ‘philosopher,’ but a spontaneous and full expression of the sentiments that are born of their experience, and the faiths that cheer they heart. (Frothingham 1872, p. 253) Abbot, to the contrary, held out the possibility that someday science, as an objective enterprise, might determine that question in the affirmative. As a consequence, Abbot had nearly as little patience for members of the FRA who were intuitionalists and who required no scientific proof of a divine spirit. Yet, it was this very intuitionalism that ultimately prevailed for American pragmatists, not only for William James in his “Will to Believe” and his momentous The Varieties of Religious Experience, but in Santayana’s influential talk that began part one. A fellow traveler of Harvard pragmatists, Santayana praised Transcendentalism—and he has in mind Emerson and those who later became known as intuitionalists—for their “systematic subjectivism”—appreciating as did Comte that scientific knowledge is not something fixed within nature, but conditioned by human construction. Comte’s larger intellectual contributions, found especially in modern sociology and economics and expressed in the quotation from Isaiah Berlin articulated at the beginning of part one, still reverberate. But his attempt to impose a social system that he believed reflected those concepts was a failure that colored the interpretation of everything else he wrote. Despite continued interest in positivism among New York progressives, as a social system the United States wasn’t open to utopianism or a Religions 2017, 8, 151 12 of 13 liturgy based on Catholic practice; and the overall structure of his imagined society restricted personal freedom for a country that jealously guarded it (Hawkins 1938, pp. 215–25). Comte’s work did help create what David Hollinger called communities of discourse. In a post-Civil War society that was experiencing rapid advances in industrialization and the social and natural sciences, and confronting the broader social effects of the War, including evangelicalism and agnosticism, attacking positivism became a convenient avenue for addressing anxieties arising from modernity. But Comte also inspired many Boston-area intellectuals, who often used positivist language and reasoning even while opposing his complete structure, to undertake their own large-scale works on the relationship among philosophy, theology, and science. Indeed, there exists a vast amount of writings by FRA and Radical Club authors on these subjects; the current study merely skims the surface of their early expressions. And in these oppositional ventures, they moved their community closer to the pragmatism that would soon dominate American philosophical and social thought. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. Abbreviation CE = The Christian Examiner References Abbot, Francis Ellingwood. 1865. Theism and Christianity. The Christian Examiner 79: 157–74. Abbot, Francis Ellingwood. 1866. Positivism in Theology. The Christian Examiner 80: 234–67. Abbot, Francis Ellingwood. 1867. A Radical’s Theology. Radical 2: 585–97. Abbot, Francis Ellingwood. 1870. Untitled. Index 1: 8. Abbot, Francis Ellingwood. 1871a. Modern Principles. Index 2: 1. Abbot, Francis Ellingwood. 1871b. The Intuitional and Scientific Schools of Free Religion. Index 2: 113–16. Abbot, Francis Ellingwood. 1878. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Index 9: 378–79. Ahlstrom, Sydney E., and Robert Bruce Mullin. 1987. The Scientific Theist: A Life of Francis Ellingwood Abbot. Macon: Mercer University Press. Allen, Joseph Henry. 1880. The Religion of Humanity. Unitarian Review and Religious Magazine 14: 51–60. Allen, Joseph Henry. 1884. Christian History in Its Three Great Periods: Third Period, Modern Phases. Boston: Roberts Bros. Anonymous. 1866. Popular Creeds and the Nation’s Life. The Christian Examiner 80: 1–14. Anonymous. 1868. Proceedings of the First Annual Meeting of the Free Religious Association. Boston: Adams & Co. Bartol, Cyrus Augustus. 1872. Radical Problems. Boston: Roberts Brothers. Butler, Leslie. 2007. Critical Americans: Victorian Intellectuals and Transatlantic Liberal Reform. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Cashdollar, Charles. 1989. The Transformation of American Theology, 1830–1890: Positivism and Protestant Thought in Britain and America. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Clarke, James Freeman, and Francis Ellingwood Abbot. 1875. The Battle of Syracuse: Two Essays. Boston: The Index Association. Cooke, George Willis. 1903. Free Religious Association. New England Magazine 28: 484–99. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 1903–1904. At the Second Annual Meeting of the Religious Association, at Tremont Temple Friday, 28 May 1869. In Ralph Waldo Emerson, the Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Edited by Edward Emerson. New York: Houghton Mifflin. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 1971. The Collected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Volume 1: Nature, Addresses, and Lectures. Edited by Robert E. Spiller and Alfred R. Ferguson. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 1982. Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson. 16 vols.; Edited by Ronald A. Bosco and Glen M. Johnson. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 2001. The Later Lectures of Ralph Waldo Emerson: 1843–1871. 2 vols.; Edited by Ronald A. Bosco and Joel Myerson. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 2003. The Collected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Volume 6: The Conduct of Life. Edited by Barbara L. Parker, Joseph Slater and Douglas Emory Wilson. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Religions 2017, 8, 151 13 of 13 Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 2008. Natural History of the Intellect. The Last Lectures of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Edited by Maurice York and Rick Spaulding. Chicago: Wrightwod Press. Frothingham, Octavius Brooks. 1866. The New Spirit and its Forms. Radical 1: 371–80. Frothingham, Octavius Brooks. 1872. Free Religion and Positivism. Index 3: 253–54. Frothingham, Octavius Brooks. 1873. The Religion of Humanity. New York: David G. Francis. Frothingham, Octavius Brooks. 1875. Introductory. In Freedom and Fellowship in Religion: A Collection of Essays and Addresses. Edited by a Committee of the Free Religious Association. Boston: Roberts, pp. 1–16. Frothingham, Octavius Brooks. 1887. Why Am I a Free Religionist? North American Review 145: 8–16. Frothingham, Octavius Brooks. 1889. The Free Religious Association. Unitarian Review 31: 385–97. Gohdes, Clarence Louis Frank. 1931. The Periodicals of American Transcendentalism. Durham: Duke University Press. Harrison, Peter. 1990. “Religion” and the Religions in the English Enlightenment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hawkins, Richard Lauren. 1938. Positivism in the United States (1853–1861). Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Higginson, Thomas Wentworth. 1871. Looking Science in the Face. Index 2: 117. Hogan, Edward R. 2008. Of the Human Heart: A Biography of Benjamin Peirce. Ethlehem: Lehigh University Press. Kelleway, Richard. n.d. The Free Religious Association. Available online: http://www.test.uucollegium.org/ Research%20papers/10paper_Kellaway01.pdf (accessed on 1 June 2017). Mulhern, Katherine Myrick. 1980–1981. Joseph Henry Allen: A Biographical Essay. The Proceedings of the Unitarian Universalist Historical Society 19: 39–59. Peden, Creighton M. 1992. The Philosopher of Free Religion: Francis Ellingwood Abbot, 1836–1903. New York: Lang. Persons, Stow. 1847. Free Religion: An American Faith. New Haven: Yale University. Potter, William J. 1892. The Free Religious Association: Its Twenty-five Years and Their Meaning. Boston: Free Religious Association of America. Robinson, David. 2006. ‘The New Epoch of Belief’: The Radical and Religious Transformation in Nineteenth Century New England. New England Quarterly 79: 557–77. Robinson, David M. 2010. The Free Religious Association. In The Oxford Handbook of Transcendentalism. Edited by Joel Myerson, Sandra Harbert Petrulionis and Laura Dassow Walls. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 617–28. Turner, James. 1985. Without God, without Creed: The Origins of Unbelief in America. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press. Versluis, Arthur. 1993. American Transcendentalism and Asian Religions. New York: Oxford University Press. Walls, Laura Dassow. 2003. Emerson’s Life in Science: The Culture of Truth. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. © 2017 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://www.test.uucollegium.org/Research%20papers/10paper_Kellaway01.pdf http://www.test.uucollegium.org/Research%20papers/10paper_Kellaway01.pdf http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. 
work_2e73kkxvkvh3pps3jris4gjatm	----	Chronic Disease: Are We Missing Something? Editorial Chronic Disease: Are We Missing Something? James L. Oschman, PhD Chronic disease is the no. 1 cause of death and disabilityin the United States. Treating patients with chronic dis- eases accounts for 75% of the nation’s health care spending, which surpassed $2.3 trillion in 2008. The most common and costly chronic diseases are heart disease, cancer, stroke, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, osteoporosis, and diabetes.1 Other significant conditions include Alzheimer disease, asthma, bowel disorders, cirrhosis of the liver, cystic fibrosis, lupus, meningitis, multiple sclerosis, psoriasis, and arthritis. Many patients suffer from several of these problems simultaneously. Diabetes alone accounts for 10% of all health care dollars spent, with age-related osteoporosis affecting about 28 million Americans.2 A report in this issue of the Journal by two physicians, Pawel and Karol Sokal (301–308), relates to all of the chronic issues mentioned above. These authors point out that our preoccupation with treating symptoms may have distracted us from noticing that there is a common denominator to many diseases: Our contemporary civilization may be de- priving us of something our bodies require if we are to be healthy. Perhaps this missing ‘‘something’’ is directly asso- ciated with all of the costly and uncomfortable chronic dis- eases mentioned above. The Sokals looked for universal regulating factors in na- ture that are related to the chronic diseases they see every day in their clinics. They concluded that interaction of the human body with the electrical charge of the earth is such a factor, and they present evidence that a connection to the earth (sometimes referred to as Earthing or grounding) is essential for normal physiology. Our shoes, with their insu- lating soles made of plastic or rubber, and our contemporary homes and buildings have disconnected us from a vital ‘‘nutrient’’ in the form of electrons from the earth. The Sokals measured parameters that are used routinely to diagnose many of the diseases listed above. Specifically, diabetes, os- teoporosis, hyperthyroidism, and related metabolic, endo- crine, and regulatory disorders produce characteristic changes in blood chemistry. The Sokals studied the effects of connecting the human body to the earth on various aspects of blood chemistry and urinary excretion, using well- controlled double-blind study designs. Earthing or grounding during sleep resulted in statisti- cally significant changes in the concentrations of minerals and electrolytes in the blood serum: iron, ionized calcium, inorganic phosphorus, sodium, potassium, and magnesium. There was also a statistically significant reduction in renal excretion of both calcium and phosphorus during a single 7- or 8-hour night of sleeping grounded or Earthed. The observed reductions in blood and urinary calcium and phosphorus directly relate to osteoporosis. Specifically, Earthing for a single night reduced the primary indicators of osteoporosis. Diseases affecting bone and mineral metabolism encom- pass a wide range of skeletal and soft-tissue disorders. Re- cent research is documenting regulatory interactions between the skeleton, fat tissue, and energy metabolism. Leptin is a hormone produced by adipose tissue that regu- lates bone metabolism; bone cells secrete another hormone, osteocalcin, which appears to influence energy metabolism, including both insulin secretion and adipose cell metabo- lism.3 Diabetes lowers bone density by an unknown mech- anism. Hyperthyroidism speeds the cyclic bone remodeling process, resulting in a steady decline in bone density. Di- gestive disorders interfere with intestinal absorption of cal- cium and phosphate. Asthma, multiple sclerosis, lupus, and rheumatoid arthritis can be comorbid with osteoporosis be- cause those conditions are often treated with steroids, which interfere with bone deposition. Multiple sclerosis, lupus, and rheumatoid arthritis also slow bone deposition because those afflicted with those disorders are less mobile and get less exercise.4,5 The point is that the chronic issues identified through studies of blood chemistry interact with one an- other. Of increasing significance is a set of conditions termed metabolic syndrome, the name given to a group of risk fac- tors that can occur together and increase the risk for coronary artery disease, stroke, and type 2 diabetes. The Sokals also found that Earthing the human body during rest and physical activity has a direct, beneficial effect on the regulation of blood glucose. Recall from above that diabetes currently accounts for 10% of all health care ex- penditures in the United States. The Sokals also discovered that thyroid function is influ- enced by Earthing, as documented by a significant decrease of free tri-iodothyronine and an increase of free thyroxin and thyroid stimulating hormone. Through a series of feedback regulations, thyroid hormones affect almost every physio- logic process in the body, including growth and develop- ment, metabolism, body temperature, and heart rate. Finally, the Sokals studied the classic immune response that takes place following vaccination. Earthing accelerated the Nature’s Own Research Association, Dover, NH. THE JOURNAL OF ALTERNATIVE AND COMPLEMENTARY MEDICINE Volume 17, Number 4, 2011, pp. 283–285 ª Mary Ann Liebert, Inc. DOI: 10.1089/acm.2011.0101 283 immune response, as demonstrated by increases in gamma globulin concentration. This confirmed an association between Earthing and the immune response, as was suggested in a pilot study published in this journal by Brown et al.6 A new and popular book7 describes the significance of contact with the surface of the earth and documents benefi- cial effects on many chronic diseases. More examples are described in dozens of reviews of the book.8 Reviewers re- port dramatic effects on their health after simply taking off their shoes and socks and walking barefoot on the grass. Others have used various conductive systems that bring the benefits of barefoot into their homes or workplaces, and re- port dramatic health and life-changing experiences. Testimonials have little meaning in the world of science. Of major concern are the placebo effects such as conditioning and expectation. Research has shown that expectancy effects alone can generate health and performance benefits.9 For the scientist it is necessary to look deeper, to see whether the approach affects physiologic processes. Of course, eliciting a change in some measurable parameter is not the whole story. In Studies Show, Fennick10 discusses a perennial problem: We are continuously bombarded with the results of studies de- signed to show that this or that treatment is good or bad for us. How can the average person or the physician or even the experienced researcher evaluate this continual barrage of ‘‘science’’ that is supposed to improve our health? We should not drink coffee—we should drink coffee; we should not eat chocolate—we should eat chocolate; vitamin E will save your life, but do not take too much of it! These back and forth recommendations can make us cuckoo, nervous, worried, and depressed, conditions that can, of course, be treated with antidepressant drugs, whose benefits are also validated by some studies but not by others. Are life and health really this complicated? The testimonials on Earthing are supported by a series of physiologic studies in the United States and Canada showing measurable changes in a variety of stress-related parameters when people are conductively connected to the earth.6,11–23 What this means is that the electrical rhythms and electrons conducted over the surface of the earth can have beneficial effects on human physiology and health when the body is in contact with the earth. Most of this research has been done by scientists and experts on human performance who have been inspired by seeing the benefits of Earthing. The editors of this Journal are careful to make certain that readers are told of potential conflicts of interest or possible vested interests in relation to the products and processes described in the articles. Until now, all of the research just mentioned, and this author’s writings on Earthing, have been sponsored by the company that manufactures products that can be used to connect the body with the earth when it is impractical to walk barefoot on the ground. There has been a need for an independent verification, and the Sokal and Sokal report both confirms and extends the studies done in North America. The idea that nature has influences that are vital for the proper functioning of mind and body has been thought about for thousands of years, and in the last century has been repeatedly confirmed by science. Studies of Huldschinsky25 and Mellanby26 and subsequent work showed that sunlight is essential for the chemical reactions in the skin that lead to the synthesis of vitamin D, which, in turn, is vital to calcium metabolism and bone formation. Other subtle and not so subtle environmental influences have been the topic of much research. For example, surgical patients assigned to hospital rooms with windows looking out on a natural scene had quicker recoveries than patients in similar rooms without a view of nature.27 A new field of evidence-based health care design has emerged.28 Another group showed that views of nature help children concentrate and have better behavior in school, and that areas in public housing that have trees and grass had lower levels of violent crime.29 ‘‘We need the tonic of wildness,’’ wrote Henry David Thoreau, the dean of American nature writers.30 Conclusions Many chronic diseases are lifelong conditions, and impact the quality of life not only of those suffering from the dis- eases, but also of their family members, caregivers, and others. Stemming the growth in the enormous costs related to chronic disease has become a major policy priority, as the government, employers, and consumers increasingly strug- gle to keep up. One can count on the fingers of one hand the genuine discoveries in the history of medicine that have totally and unequivocally changed our understanding of health and disease and thereby improved the quality of life for literally millions of people. The discovery of bacteria and viruses as the causes of disease, the development of vaccination and antibiotics, the discovery that we can see inside the body with X-rays and other forms of energy, trauma medicine and organ transplantation come to mind. Discovery of the un- derlying causes of the chronic diseases would be another milestone, and may now be within reach. A hypothesis is a proposition that attempts to explain a set of facts in a unified way to form the basis for experiments that can establish its plausibility or refute it. Simplicity, ele- gance, and consistency with previously established hypoth- eses or laws are major factors in determining the value of a hypothesis. With respect to chronic diseases, a plausible, testable, and refutable hypothesis is that all chronic diseases have a single underlying cause: the stresses that produce and maintain chronic inflammation. Such stresses include envi- ronmental factors of various kinds including those that dis- turb physiology and those whose absence is disruptive. In this editorial, both sunlight and contact with the earth have been mentioned as essential environmental requirements for health. A corollary to the hypothesis is that the thousands of so-called diseases that have been named may actually be an elaborate classification system of the various symptoms that can arise from a single underlying condition: inflammation. A major contributor to the inflammation hypothesis is the abundant biomedical research on the links between chronic inflammation and virtually every chronic disease. A search of the database of the National Library of Medicine, PubMed, reveals the following numbers of peer-reviewed studies documenting relationships between inflammation and spe- cific conditions: � Aging: 3924 � Alzheimer disease: 2145 � Asthma: 12,930 � Atherosclerosis: 8921 � Bowel disorders: 9755 284 EDITORIAL � Cancer: 34,871 � Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease: 2626 � Cirrhosis of the liver: 4708 � Cystic fibrosis: 1991 � Diabetes: 10,788 � Meningitis: 5429 � Multiple sclerosis: 3100 � Osteoporosis: 823 � Prostate cancer: 1015 � Psoriasis: 1955 � Rheumatoid arthritis: 940231 Evidence from the Sokal study, along with related studies reported in this and other journals, show that Earthing may be a major piece of the inflammation/chronic disease puzzle. The Sokals studied the effects of Earthing on the reaction to vaccination. This is the first study of its kind, and provides a foundation or a model system for future investigation of the role of Earthing in inflammation and for testing the inflam- mation hypothesis. While much more research is obviously needed to substantiate or refute the inflammation hypothesis and the role of Earthing, the subject is obviously of profound importance and worthy of further investigation, given the toll chronic disease takes on our health and happiness. References 1. Swartz K. Projected Costs of Chronic Diseases. Health Care Cost Monitor. The Hastings Center. Online document at: http://healthcarecostmonitor.thehastingscenter.org/kimberly swartz/projected-costs-of-chronic-diseases/ Accessed January 18, 2011. 2. Partnership to Fight Chronic Disease. Online document at: www.fightchronicdisease.org/issues/about.cfm Accessed 1-19-11. Accessed January 18, 2011. 3. Yu-Sik K, Paik I-Y, Rhie Y-J, Suh S-H. Integrative physi- ology: Defined novel metabolic roles of osteocalcin. J Korean Med Sci 2010;25:985–991. 4. Shaw G. Medical Conditions Linked to Osteoporosis and Bone Loss. AOJR Advanced Orthopedics for Joint Replace- ment. WebMD 2009. Online document at: www.webmd .com/osteoporosis/living-with-osteoporosis-7/medical- causes Accessed January 22, 2011. 5. Kanazawa I, Yamaguchi T, Tada Y, et al. Serum osteocalcin level is positively associated with insulin sensitivity and secretion in patients with type 2 diabetes. Bone 2010;De- cember 23:e-pub ahead of print. 6. Brown D, Chevalier G, Hill M. Pilot study on the effect of grounding on delayed-onset muscle soreness. J Altern Complement Med 2010;16:265–273. 7. Ober C, Sinatra SC, Zucker M. Earthing. The most important health discovery ever? Laguna Beach, CA: Basic Health Publications, 2010. 8. Amazon.com, 2011. Online document at: www.amazon.com/ Earthing-Most-Important-Health-Discovery/dp/1591202833/ ref¼dp_return_2?ie¼UTF8&n¼283155&s¼books Accessed January 22, 2011. 9. McClung M, Collins D. ‘‘Because I know it will!’’ Placebo effects of an ergogenic aid on athletic performance. J Sport Exercise Psychol 2007;29:382–394. 10. Fennick JH. Studies Show: A Popular Guide to Under- standing Scientific Studies. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1997. 11. Applewhite R. The effectiveness of a conductive patch and a conductive bed pad in reducing induced human body vol- tage via the application of earth ground. Eur Biol Bioelec- tromagnetics 2005;1:23–40. 12. Chevalier G, Mori K, Oschman JL. The effect of earthing (grounding) on human physiology. Eur Biol Bioelectromagn 2007;1:600–621. 13. Chevalier G, Mori K. The effect of earthing on human phy- siology: Part 2. Electrodermal measurements. Subtle En- ergies Energy Med 2008;18:11–34. 14. Chevalier G. Changes in pulse rate, respiratory rate, blood oxygenation, perfusion index, skin conductance and their variability induced during and after grounding human subjects for forty minutes. J Altern Complement Med 2010;16:81–87. 15. Ghaly M, Teplitz D. The biological effects of grounding the human body during sleep, as measured by cortisol levels and subjective reporting of sleep, pain, and stress. J Altern Complement Med 2004;10:767–776. 16. Minkoff DI. Best cases in biological medicine: Series #6. Explore! 2004;13:1–4. 17. Ober AC. Grounding the human body to earth reduces chronic inflammation and related chronic pain. ESD Journal 2003;July Issue. Online document at: www.esdjournal.com/ articles/cober/earth.htm Accessed March 17, 2011. 18. Ober AC. Grounding the human body to neutralize bio- electrical stress from static electricity and EMFs. ESD Journal 2000;January Issue. Online document at: www.esdjournal .com/articles/cober/ground.htm Accessed March 17, 2011. 19. Ober AC, Coghill RW. Does grounding the human body to earth reduce chronic inflammation and related chronic pain? [presentation]. European Bioelectromagnetics Association Annual Meeting, Budapest, Hungary, November 12, 2003. 20. Oschman JL. Can electrons act as antioxidants? A review and commentary. J Altern Complement Med 2007;13:955–967. 21. Oschman JL. Perspective: Assume a spherical cow. The role of free or mobile electrons in bodywork, energetic and move- ment therapies. J Bodywork Movement Ther 2008;12:40–57. 22. Oschman JL. Our place in nature: Reconnecting with the earth for better sleep [editorial]. J Altern Complement Med 2004;10:735–736. 23. Oschman JL. Our place in nature: Reconnecting with the earth [editorial]. J Altern Complement Med 2010;16:225–226. 25. Huldschinsky K. Cure of rachitis by means of artificial he- lotherapy [in German]. Dr Med Wschr 1919;45:712–713. 26. Mellanby E. Experimental rickets. Spec Rep Ser Med Res Conn 1921;series 61:1–78. 27. Ulrich RS. View through a window may influence recovery from surgery. Science 1984;224:420–421. 28. Ulrich RS, Zimring C, Barch XZ, et al. A review of the re- search literature on evidence-based healthcare design. HERD 2008;1:61–125. 29. Kuo FE, Sullivan WC. Aggression and violence in the inner city: Effects of environment via mental fatigue. Environ Be- hav 2001;33:543–571. 30. Thoreau HD. Walden. Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 2004. 31. National Library of Medicine database, Pub Med. Online document at: www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/sites/entrez Accessed January 21, 2011. Address correspondence to: James L. Oschman, PhD Nature’s Own Research Association P.O. Box 1935 Dover, NH 03821 E-mail: joschman@aol.com EDITORIAL 285 This article has been cited by: 1. Pawe# Sokal, Karol Sokal. 2011. The neuromodulative role of earthing. Medical Hypotheses 77:5, 824-826. [CrossRef] http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.mehy.2011.07.046 
work_2fhqeld6f5a5fi62tvvysnl2ci	----	Transatlantica, 2 | 2012 Transatlantica Revue d’études américaines. American Studies Journal  2 | 2012 Cartographies de l'Amérique / Histoires d'esclaves Alain Suberchicot, Littérature et environnement. Pour une écocritique comparée, Paris, Honoré Champion, 2012, 274 pages François Specq Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/6178 DOI : 10.4000/transatlantica.6178 ISSN : 1765-2766 Éditeur AFEA Référence électronique François Specq, « Alain Suberchicot, Littérature et environnement. Pour une écocritique comparée, Paris, Honoré Champion, 2012, 274 pages », Transatlantica [En ligne], 2 | 2012, mis en ligne le 08 mai 2013, consulté le 24 septembre 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/6178 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/transatlantica.6178 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 24 septembre 2020. Transatlantica – Revue d'études américaines est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d'Utilisation Commerciale - Pas de Modification 4.0 International. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/6178 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Alain Suberchicot, Littérature et environnement. Pour une écocritique comparée, Paris, Honoré Champion, 2012, 274 pages François Specq 1 Alors que les approches écocritiques se développent peu à peu en France, Alain Suberchicot offre un ouvrage fort bienvenu, l’un des premiers de cette ampleur en français. Et il le fait en prenant clairement ses distances par rapport à l’écocritique d’inspiration nord-américaine, que ce spécialiste des États-Unis connaît fort bien. Le sous-titre de l’ouvrage, Pour une écocritique comparée, indique d’emblée qu’il s’agira de sortir l’écocritique de son tropisme encore fortement nord-américain, en le rattachant au domaine de la littérature comparée. Il constitue ainsi un pendant à un précédent livre de l’auteur, Littérature américaine et écologie (Paris, L’Harmattan, 2002). C’est l’une des principales forces de cet ouvrage que de battre en brèche l’idée qu’il n’y aurait de « littérature à caractère environnemental » qu’en langue anglaise, et, notamment, que la France en serait dépourvue. Alain Suberchicot a ainsi le grand mérite de mettre en avant un ensemble de textes de la littérature française, de Jacques-Henri Fabre et Victor Segalen à Marguerite Duras et Jean-Marie Le Clézio, qui offrent une perspective sur les rapports entre l’homme et son environnement. Il se distingue aussi par un goût prononcé pour la littérature chinoise, et notamment les textes de Gao Xingjian. 2 Si ce livre paraît dans une collection de précis universitaires, l’approche n’est en rien étroitement didactique et relève dans une large mesure de l’essai. Entendons par là qu’il ne s’agit pas pour Alain Suberchicot de proposer une couverture exhaustive des liens entre littérature et environnement, mais plutôt d’en éclairer quelques grands enjeux selon un angle privilégié. Son ambition première est claire : faire échapper la littérature environnementale à l’emprise du modèle dominant, celui de la « littérature spécialisée » nord-américaine, dont tout un pan lui paraît manquer de pertinence : trop « facile », trop lyrique, trop étranger aux questions sociales. Edward Abbey et Annie Alain Suberchicot, Littérature et environnement. Pour une écocritique comparé... Transatlantica, 2 | 2012 1 Dillard, grandes figures de la tradition américaine du nature writing, sont ainsi vertement critiqués. C’est que, aux yeux d’Alain Suberchicot, seule compte la littérature capable d’interroger les dimensions sociales de l’existence humaine, le reste n’étant que stratégie de fuite (escapism). Il s’emploie alors à mettre en évidence une contre-tradition, de textes non « spécialisés », lesquels, de ce fait même, échappent aux contraintes inhérentes à la satisfaction des attentes d’un public mainstream, en même temps qu’ils tendent à faire passer inaperçue l’interrogation littéraire sur les questions environnementales, dans la mesure où ils ne viennent pas se ranger dans les catégories pré-définies des rayons des librairies. 3 Ainsi, suggère Alain Suberchicot à demi-mot, est-il totalement inexact de penser la littérature française comme réfractaire à « la nature ». S’il en paraît ainsi, c’est que l’on se trompe sur ce qu’est « la nature », ou, pour dire les choses autrement, que cette littérature évite adroitement les écueils liés à la croyance en une telle « nature », qui égare la littérature spécialisée. Dans le sillage de l’historien de l’environnement William Cronon, auteur d’un célèbre article critiquant l’illusion de la wilderness ou nature sauvage (« The Trouble with Wilderness ; or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature », 1995) et des spécialistes de littérature prônant la reconnaissance d’une « post-nature » comme condition inéluctable de l’homme moderne (tels David Mazel dans American Literary Environmentalism, 2000, Dana Phillips dans The Truth of Ecology, 2003, et surtout Timothy Morton dans Ecology without Nature, 2007), Alain Suberchicot entend s’intéresser à des textes qui explorent les diverses modalités du lien homme- nature, entendu comme d’essence sociale. Il convoque ainsi Segalen, Duras ou Xingjian pour étudier les représentations littéraires du fleuve Yang-Tseu et du barrage des Trois Gorges. Cette constante attention à l’articulation par la littérature de questions sociales et politiques autrement que par les sciences sociales est assurément ce qui donne sa force à cet ouvrage et nous vaut aussi de très belles pages sur le livre que le photographe Paul Shambroom a consacré aux essais nucléaires américains. Nourri d’un riche bagage anthropologique et historique, et notamment du sens de l’imbrication histoire-paysage d’un Julien Gracq, Alain Suberchicot émaille son propos d’aperçus historiques subtils, qui font comprendre pourquoi une tradition spécialisée comme celle du nature writing n’est tout simplement pas possible en Europe, en tout cas en France. Ce n’est pas seulement une question de taille du marché et donc de viabilité d’un domaine d’édition spécialisé, mais bien une conséquence, sinon un reflet, d’une conscience historique omniprésente en Europe, qui ne peut faire voir la nature comme un monde à part. Alain Suberchicot échappe pourtant à l’essentialisme en portant son attention sur des écrivains nord-américains, tels Rick Bass, qu’il estime exempts des mièvreries ou faussetés du nature writing (terme dont l’auteur ne fait d’ailleurs pas usage, de manière logique). Il plaide ainsi pour la contribution qu’une littérature bien pensée plutôt que bien pensante peut apporter à la réflexion sur les questions environnementales à notre époque, celle du post-naturel. 4 Cela ne va pas sans une certaine simplification. La littérature, sous la plume d’Alain Suberchicot, se trouve comme scindée en deux univers distincts : celle qui aborde les questions sociales, fût-ce obliquement, et celle qui paraît oublieuse de celles-ci. Une telle approche entraîne une double réhabilitation du narratif et de l’allégorie qui tourne résolument le dos à toute une tradition de nature writing. Alors que cette dernière s’est largement construite contre une tradition plus ancienne qui faisait renvoyer la nature à un au-delà d’elle-même, pour privilégier au contraire une nature vue et décrite pour elle-même, si ce n’est telle qu’en elle-même, l’auteur minimise toute Alain Suberchicot, Littérature et environnement. Pour une écocritique comparé... Transatlantica, 2 | 2012 2 forme de littérature environnementale qui ne renvoie pas — allégoriquement ou métaphoriquement — à des préoccupations sociales. C’est, on l’a vu, qu’il n’y croit pas, parce qu’une telle nature serait une illusion. Parce que, même aux États-Unis, n’existerait plus aucune étendue de nature réellement « première » — ce que sous- entend la notion de wilderness —, la nature se trouve ainsi dissoute dans l’histoire sociale de l’humanité, entendue comme avancée toujours plus large et plus profonde de « l’urbanité » à travers l’espace. Il y a pourtant un pas entre la prise de conscience que « la nature » que nous habitons est toujours déjà inséparable d’une histoire humaine, et l’attitude qui consiste à nier toute altérité au monde physique qui est le lieu d’un déploiement de cette histoire humaine : il est en effet tout aussi trompeur de croire en une nature uniformément anthropisée qu’en une nature mythiquement untouched. La forme de littérature environnementale écartée par Alain Suberchicot cherche souvent à porter — non pas naïvement mais méthodologiquement — un regard sur la nature décentré, sinon libre, par rapport à l’emprise sociale de l’homme. Faut-il y voir une inéluctable fausseté ? 5 En abordant cet essai extrêmement stimulant, le lecteur novice devra donc avoir à l’esprit que cet ouvrage laisse dans l’ombre toute une littérature témoignant elle aussi des rapports complexes entre l’homme et son environnement. Ni Henry David Thoreau ni Eugène Guillevic, ni Emily Dickinson ni Francis Ponge, qui n’étaient pas tous des naïfs, ne trouvent place dans ce qui n’est résolument pas un panorama des rapports littérature/environnement mais un essai de critique sociale. Toute la dimension phénoménologique du rapport entre l’homme et son environnement se trouve écartée (suite à une réduction à la vague catégorie de « l’extase »), au motif qu’elle ignorerait sournoisement les problématiques sociales et promouvrait le repli dans un imaginaire parfaitement illusoire. La conclusion nous éclaire sur cette étrange mise à l’écart : Alain Suberchicot y manifeste une extrême réserve à l’égard de la littérature, pratique trop spécialisée et, par là-même, vouée à l’extinction dans notre société de l’information si elle ne sait pas s’emparer de questions que l’on aurait tort de laisser à la seule discrétion des discours techniques de l’économie et de la gestion. L’auteur a peut-être bien raison de s’inquiéter du caractère inaudible de la littérature dans le monde d’aujourd’hui : mais n’en a-t-il pas toujours été ainsi ? N’y a-t-il pas une erreur de perspective à voir dans la littérature, comme dans la nature, une réalité irrémédiablement dépassée ? INDEX Thèmes : Recensions AUTEUR FRANÇOIS SPECQ École Normale Supérieure de Lyon Alain Suberchicot, Littérature et environnement. Pour une écocritique comparé... Transatlantica, 2 | 2012 3 Alain Suberchicot, Littérature et environnement. Pour une écocritique comparée, Paris, Honoré Champion, 2012, 274 pages 
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work_2gupjtxcuba3rnukjd2sf4coz4	----	Soc~ety and Natural Resou~.ces, i 7:hll-628. 2004 Copyrrghi $(. Tayioi & I'raiiiis !nc. ISSN: 0894-1920 pnnU1521-0723 onl~nc 1)OI: 10.1080!0894 1920490466585 r\ Taylor &Francis h r m ~ , , G r w p Wildernessvalues in America: D o e s Immigrant Status or Ethnicity Matter? CASSANDRA Y . JOHNSON J. M . BOWKER Southern Research Station USDA Forest Service Athens, Georgia. USA JOHN C. BERGSTROM Department of Agricultural and Applied Economics University of Georgia Athens, Georgia. USA H. KEN CORDELL Southern Research Station USDA Forest Service Athens, Georgia, USA Little is known about rlze values inznzigrant groups or U.S.-horn racial and etlznic minorities attribute to rt~ilderness. However, the views c?f'these groups are iniportant to wil&rness preservation because qf irzcreusing diversity uloi7g etllnic, c.ulrural, and racial lines in the United States. W e exanzinc the proposition tlzat wilderness is a social construction (valued prinzarily by US.-born Wl7ite.s) hj. coinparing bt7ilcl- erness values for imnzigrants and C1.S.-born nzinority respondents to Wlzites. Results f i o m 10 1vilden7ess value items sllou inzmigrants arc sigrzificai~tly less IikeIy to indic,ute oil-site use vulue. Aniong US.-born rac~ial/ethnic groups, Black rc.sponek.nrs 1 1 ~ r ~ leust lilie!)' to iizdiccrte values associated with visitation and oxjsire use but as likclj. a.s U~Izitc~.s to ii~dicatc ( I ~ * a l u e , f o r rontinur.d exi.~ttciic o f r~~ilelerrzess. l1.S.-born Asia1z.s and Latinos were also less IikrLv than Whites to indicate values relating to \vilder~zess on-site use. In?plicutioizs qf,finding.s,fbr ~vilderness as social construction are discussed. Keywords environmental perception. immigrants, racelethnicity, wilderness value At the annual meeting of The Wilderness Society in 2000, a panel of wilderness advocates, researchers, and other constituencies considered the question: "Is wild- erness in its statutory or historically advocated form relevant for the expanding Received 16 January 2003, accepted 19 March 2004 Address correspondence to C a s a n d r a Y Johnson, USDA Forest Service, Southern Resedrch Station, 320 Green Street, Athens, G A 30602, USA E-mail cjohnson09@fs fed us demographic diversity of the United States?" As the question suggests. the demo- graphic changes that have occurred in recent decades and those expected over the next half century may impact natural resource use and i-nanagement profoundly. We consider and address this question with national survey data gathered on wilderness values. We examine variation in wilderness value indicators for immigrants and those born in the United States, as well as variation by race and ethnicity for native- born respondents. The U.S. population is expected to increase substantially over the next 50 years.' with an increase of 50% over 1995 population levels (U.S. Department of Commerce 1996). Immigration and the relatively higher fertility rates of the largest immigrant groups (Latinos and Asians) will contribute most significantly to total population growth in coming decades (U.S. Department of Commerce 1996. 15; Castles and Miller 1998, 145). This rapid population increase has implications for the environ- ment generally because of the inevitable increase in demand for natural resources (Ehrlich and Ehrlich 1990; Beck 1997; Pinlentel, Giampietro, and Bukkens 1998; Cordell, Green, and Betz 2002). These increases are also important to consider for wilderness designation and management because, again, the resources required to sustain a growing population could compete for the land base available for wilderness (Schonfeld 2000). In addition to considering resource depletion, it is also crucial to think about possible cultural and class biases associated with wilderness. Both the wilderness concept and its advocates have been criticized for being elitist (Cronon 1996; Callicott 199411995; Taylor 2000). Critics charge that wilderness reflects the interests of environmental enthusiasts who tend to be well educated, White, male, and in the middle t o upper income classes (DeLuca 1999; Walker and Kiecolt 1995). Indeed. on-site studies of wilderness visitors show users typically fall within these categories (Roggenbuck 1988; Lucas 1989; Watson et al. 1992; Williams et al. 1992; Winter 1996). If wilderness and the values it represents are appreciated primarily by a relatively small, exclusive portion of the population, then the continued support of such political land designations may be less relevant to immigrant groups or to native-born ethnic and racial minorities because of class or culture differences (Callicott and Nelson 1998). Wilderness as Social Construction Because the contemporary wilderness concept was influenced to a great degree by ideals specific to American identity formation, the perception of wilderness and the values attributed to it have been described as cultural or social constructions. That is, the meanings and connotations associated with wilderness are not inherent or absolute, but rather any label assigned to wilderness necessarily reflects the sub- jectivity of the perceiver. It has been argued that wilderness is the creation of a given set of people at a particular point in time with particular cultural, social, and poli- tical interests (Cronon 1996; Greider and Garkovich 1994; DeLuca 1999; Williams 2000; Stankey 2000, 171.' This is a con~pelling argument given the difficult histories various racial and ethnic minority groups have had with wildlands in this country (Schelhas 2002).' According to its legal definition, wilderness is a place where one goes to escape the organization and noise of civilized society (Wilderness Act of 1964 [Public Law No. 88-577,78 Stat. 890,890, codified as amended at 16 USC 1131(c) (1994)l). Wilderness is prescribed by often-quoted nature advocates such as Henry David Thoreau and John Muir as the Wilderness Vu11ie.r zn Ai71eri1 u 613 antidote for the self-alienation brought on by civilization. One retreats to the woods to renew. to touch base again with a necessary simplicity that sustains the spirit. The question for our research is whether ilnlnigrants or native-born ethnic minorities perceive of wilderness in such redemptive. idealistic terms; that is, d o these ideas about wilderness extend to other cultures or ethnic and racial subgroups? For instance, d o immigrants or ethnic minorities express values similar to those of native-born Whites concerning attitudes, preferences, and behavior related to wilderness? Non-Western Views of Wilderness Guha's (1989) critique of radical environmentalism provides insight into cultural and socioeconomic variations in wilderness perception. According to Guha. wilderness preservation for the sake of biotic communities can be disadvantageous for poor citizens in some Third World countries because traditional con~munities may be displaced by the designation of animal preserves. The designation of these areas in the Western sense of nonhuman habitation effectively transfers land rights from the peasantry to wealthy power agents. Parajuli (2001) also writes that the naturelculture dichotomy so prevalent in Western conceptions of wilderness is unfamiliar in peasant societies throughout the world. For these "ecological ethnicities" (ethnic or other societal groups that prac- tice sustainable forms of harvesting or resource extraction) in developing countries, there exist no discrete units of territory called wilderness contrasted with places where people dwell. Western (2001) raises similar concerns about wild game preserves in Africa, arguing that the idea is foreign to native groups. Southgate and Clark (1993) charge that wilderness preserves in South America also displace indigenous people. Inglehart's (1990) postmaterialist thesis offers a socioeconomic explanation for examining Western and non-Western conceptions of wilderness. According to lnglehart (1990; 1995), the emergence of scarcity-free, postmaterial societies in the last half of the 20th century allows individuals in those societies to adopt more egalitarian attitudes and express interests more inclusive of others in society. Because material needs of many in Western or industrialized nations are satisfied, more Westerners are freer to concentrate on issues and concerns besides their most fun- damental. such as racial and gender equality, animal rights, and environmental protection. including wilderness preservation.4 Nash (1982) refers to this as the "'full stomach' phenomenon." Again, because the bulk of recent U.S. immigration stems from less developed nations that have yet to realize postmaterialist conditions on a par with advanced, industrialized countries, Inglehart (1990; 1995) would predict that recent immigrants would be less attuned to Western conceptions of wilderness than native-born Americans (Altieri and Masera 1993). Recent studies indicate that for some environn~ental activities, i~nnligrants actually display more proenvironmental behavior than native-born Americans. Hunter (2000) found that immigrants expressed a greater degree of environmental concern for hazards and greater frequency in modifying their behavior to be more environmentally sensitive. Pfeffer and Stycos's (2002) comparison of native and immigrant environmental behavior in New York City showed immigrants were more likely to say they conserved water. These findings would suggest that concerns about immigrants contributing to environmental degradation may be unwarranted. Whe- ther such environlnental concern extends to wilderness is an empirical question. as wilderness preservation may be more esoteric than other environmental issues. Native-Born RacialIEthnic Variation in Wilderness Interaction Existing research shows U.S.-born A~I-ican Americans are less likely than Whites to visit wilderness or to engage in wildland-related recreation activities, with the exception being fishing (Johnson et al. 2000: Gramann 1996; Washburne 1978). However, data from the National Survey on Recreation and the E n \ ' wxxm~ent showed Blacks reported similar or higher concern levels for benefits associated with wilderness: compared to Whites (Johnson et al. 2000). The reasons for differences in Black/Whitc wilderness concern and use have not been fully explored, although data from the same national study showed Blacks were more likely than Whites to say they did not visit wilderness because of structural constraints such as travel-related expenses and lack of basic services in wilderness. Blacks were also more likely to cite internal constraints related to feelings of disconlfort in the wild, desire for outdoor recreation places with more people. and concern for personal safcty in the wild (Johnson et al. 2001b). With respect to Latino Americans and wilderness, Lynch (1993) argues that Latino ontology differs from mainstream American environmentalism in that the former does not distinguish people from the landscape. This perspective is similar to the Third World critiques cited earlier. And again, this viewpoint is contrasted with the middle-American view of nature as separated from the individual and community. The many ways in which various Asian cultures have penetrated American culture are widely reported in the popular press (Barker 2001). For instance, the emphasis on feng shui (the ancient Chinese art of environmental design, which stresses that one's well-being depends on how one's living space is arranged) by Chinese Americans suggests the importance of environment in East Asian culture. But little is known about how Asian American groups view wilderness. Because of wilderness's culture-specific bases, we ask how pervasive are certain values associated with this resource. We acknowledge that neither immigrants nor native-born ethnic minorities are monolithic, and that we cannot address subcultural differences within immigrant groups because of data limitations. Wide variations exist in culture among immigrants, even among immigrants stemming from the same region of the world. Nevertheless, by examining immigrant and native-born raciallethnic minority responses to questions and statements about an array of wilderness behavior, attitudes, and preferences, we gain some indication of the values attached to these lands by these important constituent groups. Wilderness Values Value is defined as the worth of something to its possessor (Bannock, Baxter, and Davis 1998). S~milarly, we describe wilderness values as the relative worth, utility, or importance attributed to the use or existence of wilderness preserves. A wilderness value is a latent construct. As such, it cannot be directly measured, but rather inferred by the measurement of a proxy or value indicator. Recent empirical work examining wilderness value ~ndicators suggests Americans generally favor nonuse values5 over use values (Cordell et al. 1998). Cordell and Stokes (2000) examined 13 wilderness value indicators. These indicators related to direct use of the resource; optional use, that is, valuing option to use wilderness in the future: nonuse wild- erness existence; and bequest, valuing wilderness preservation for future generations. Results showed nonuse values implying protection of water, wildlife habitat, air, endangered species, and bequest values were rated h~ghest by respondents. S~milar results were found for Cordell. Tarrant, and Green's (2003) compnrlcon of the sdnle 13 wllderness values over tlnie (1 994-2000) Cordell ct al (2003) found nn Increase In the pelcent~ige of re5pondent\ ratlng the 13 Lalue Items as extremely Important over the 6-year perlod However, the dn,ilyslr d ~ d not control for d nunibci of fnctol-s lncludlng race. ethntclt). or imml- grant status To a\sess whether wllderness 1s n soclal construction valued prtniartly by natlve- born Wli~tes, we examtne the fo11o~l11ig broad quectlons 1 Are immigrdnts less 11kely than U S -born respondents" to vnlue m~lcierncss') 2 Are nntlve-born raclaljethnlc n i ~ i i o r ~ t ~ e s (B1,icks. Ldttno\. A\lans) le\\ llkely than n'itlve-born Whttes to ~ a l u e wllderness') Because there is no simple measure or index of wilderness value. we operationalize our assessment of these broad questions by developing and modeling a number of indicator questions and statenicnts over a large, national cross-sectional sample. Gender, socioeconomic status, and age have also been shown to be correlated with wilderness perception and use, and it is likely that these variables interact with race and ethnicity to influence wilderness valuation. While these associations are acknowledged. we include gender, age, education, and other sociodemographic variables as control variables in our analyses. The focus of this article's analysis and discussion is the effects of immigrant status and race and ethnicity on wilderness values. Methodology Data Collection Data for this study are from the 2000 National Survey on Recreation and the Environment ( N S R E ) . ~ The NSRE is a nationwide, random-digit-dialing telephone survey. We employ data from versions two, four, and six because only these versions included wilderness modules containing variables on wilderness use. attitudes. and perceptions addressing the questions listed above. These versions are representative of the entire country. The total saniple size for version two is 5058; 5004 for version four; and 5007 for version six. Wildeiwess Values Modules Ten questions/statenients suitable for our research questions were developed for modules two, four, and six of the NSRE and are reported in Table 1. These items are based on three broad categories of natural resource and environmental benefits with consequent values that have been identified and discussed by social scientists, philosophers, resource managers, and stakeholders since the 1960s-active use values. passive use values, and instrinsic values (Krutilla 1967; Godfrey-Smith 1979; Randall and Stoll 1983; Hammond 1985; Rolston 1985; Haas, Herman, and Walsh 1986; Oelschlaeger 1991; Watson and Landres 1995; Noss 1996: Bergstrom and Loomis 1999; Morton 1999; Loomis and Richardson 2000). Active use value items derive from direct contact or use of a natural resource or the environment. In Table 1 , active use items include: (1) on-site, current use; (2) on-site, future use; (3) off-site, current use; (4) off-site, environmental quality; and (5) scientific/medicinal. Passive use values involve indirect use of a natural resource or the environment. In Table 1, passive use values include: (6) option; (7) intra- generational bequest; (8) intergenerational bequest; and (9) existence. The item 616 C'. 1'. John,con c't a1 TABLE I Wilderness Value Indicators Use value indicatol Wilderness value Active use value indicator 1 . Have you e\xr taken a trip to visit an area you knew for sure was one of the 625 designated ~iilderness areas? 2. Do you plan to visit a wilderness area within the next year? 3. I enjoy reading about and viewing pictures, videos. TV shows. and movies featuring wilderness areas. 4. Wilderness areas are important to protect because they contribute to better local, national. and global air and water quality. 5 . Wilderness areas are important because they help to preserve plant and animal species that could have important scientific or human health values, such as new medicines. Passive use value indicator 6. Even if you d o not plan on visiting a wilderness area within the next year, would you want to visit one sometime in the future? 7 . I enjoy knowing that other people are currently able to visit wilderness areas. 8. I en-joy knowing that future generations will be able to visit wilderness areas. 9. I support protecting wilderness just so they will always exist in their natural condition, even if no one were to ever visit o r otherwise benefit from them. Intrinsic value indicator 10. 1 believe the trees, wildlife. free flowing water, rock formations, and meadows that wilderness protect have value themselves whether or not humans benefit from them. On-s~te. current use \ d u e On-slte, future uie value Off-s~te. current u\c value Off-site. environmental quality value Scientific/medical value Option value Intragenerational bequest value Intergenerational bequest value Existence value Intrinsic value indicating intrinsic value (10) in Table 1 refers to the value of wilderness areas and the biotic and abiotic components of wilderness areas unto themselves, independent of human active or passive use o r benefits altogether. This is the only value indicator listed in Table 1 that is arguably not anthropocentric. On-site, current use refers to values derived from visiting a wilderness area and would include on-site recreational. therapeutic, and spiritual values. On-sitc,,future use refers to values derived f r o n ~ visiting a wilderness area in the future and would include future on-site recreational, therapeutic, and spiritual values. OfFsite, cz~rrent use refers to values derived from enjoying a wilderness area at a location away from the wild- erness in a nonconsulnptive manner. For example, a person may enjoy a wilderness area at home In a nonconsumptlve manner by vlewlng v1deo5 or TV program5 fe'ituring ulldernevs areas or by looklng at photographs of wtldernesc areas Off-\ire ( J M ~ J I I ~ I ~ I ~ I C ' ~ ~ I U ~ ~ I I N I Z I J 15 the genela1 v,llue people place on clean dlr and uater In the cnvlronnient In whlch they live OJj-rrtc. e1~1rrorzr71eriiuI q u u h r ~ would include values pl'iced on human health supported by cle'in alr and uater orlglnatlng In a wllderne5s S c ~ ~ i i t i f i c / ~ ~ ~ ~ d r ~ ~ n c l l refers to the value of ullderness area4 a5 "naturCil Idboratorles" 'ind re\er\olr-s of biodtver\~ty that can support both sclent~fic and medlclnal values The opr1ot7 ~ n d ~ c a t o r iefer4 to the value of malntatnlng the optlon to vls~t a ullderne\\ In the future In ' t d d ~ t ~ o n to on-site future use value For exaniple. In terms of a mone) metr~c, o p t ~ o n value 1s a type of "1n5ur'ince prem~urn" people would be w~lllng to pay to ensure that w~lderness u ~ l l be 'i\allnble in the future to vis~t Ir~tiugrnc~icrtronril hequcri refers to value5 d e r ~ \ e d from knowing that other people curreiitlq l~vlng are enjoylng w~lderne\\ For example a parent mdy der~ve enjoyment from the knowledge that a l~vlng clllld 15 able to vis~t wllderness htergc~nerur~onol hcqurri lefer5 to \ d u e s derlved from knowlng that people In future generattons yet to be born wtll be able to enjoy wilderne4s For example, a person n ~ a y d e r ~ v e enjoyment from the knowledge that a yet unborn grandchild or great-grandchild will be able to vlslt wllderness areas Existence refers to the value people place on the cognltlve knowledge that wllderness areas exlst Independent of current or future use by themselves or any other person The first two a c t ~ v e ind~cators, on-s~te current use and on-site future use, were measured w ~ t h ~ n d ~ c a t o r items havlng a nomlnal scale In response to these questions, respondents could answer "yes," "no." "don't know," or "refused " The remaining t h e e active use lndrcators were measured w ~ t h a 5-polnt L~kert-type scale including the following 5 ordinal delineat~ons of agreement-"strongly agree," "agree," "riel- ther agree nor dlsagree," "d~sagree," and "strongly disagree " For consistency of analysis, responses to these ]terns were collapsed Into d~chotomous response cate- gorles (agree or not agree), that IS, agree responses lncluded "strongly agree" and "agree," while those not exphcltly agreelng Included "nelther agree nor dlsagree," "disagree," and "strongly dlsagree " The first passlve use lndlcator was nominally coded and analyzed as a yes or no dichotomous cho~ce The reinalnlng pasvlve use lndlcators were also dichotomously coded as the 5-polnt Llkert scale items just glven In all cases. "don't know" and "refused" responses were coded missing Logistic Analysis T o better understand factors influencing one's response to the 10 questions/ statements pertaining to wilderness values listed earlier, multivariate logit methods were employed (Greene 2000, 81 1-837; Park and Kerr 1990). The logit model can be used to estimate the cumulative probability that an individual will respond yes (no) or agree (not agree) to each of the 10 items in Table 1 based 011 a set of explanatory variables. The dependent variable in this kind of nonlinear model is dichotomous and is coded as a one or zero. Logistic models have been recently employed in social science and recreation research to explore such issues as immigrant environmental behavior (Pfeffer and Stycos 2002), perceived constraints to outdoor recreation participation (Johnson, Bowker, and Cordell 2001a). and social acceptance of recreation user fees on public lands (Bowker, Cordell, and Johnson 1999). The logistic model is generally specified as: where e is the base of the natural logarithm. X terms are independent variables. and 2 terms are parameters of the distribution function. In this application, a logistic regression model is estimated for each of the 10 wilderness value items. T o test for differences by immigration and racelethnicity, we included the following indepen- dent variables: immigrant,x Black, Latino. Asian. gender, age, education, urban residence, and acculturation. Gender, age, education, and urban residence are included as control variables. Three categorical variables are included to account for ethnicity/race-Black, Latino, and Asian. Native-born White is the base group or the group to which other race and ethnic groups are compared. An additional categorical variable is included for immigrants. Categorical variables are also used for gender, postsecondary education level. and urban resi- dence as defined by the U.S. Census. Respondents with postsecondary level educa- tion are coded 1. and all others 0 . Urban is coded 1 for residence in a metropolitan county as defined by the U.S. census. and residence in nonmetropolitan counties is coded 0. Age is measured in number of years. We included a simple measure of acculturation in the models to account for the level of exposure to American society and culture.' This variable allows us to control for differences in wilderness values among immigrants with different lengths of tenure in the United States. Our approach is similar to that used by Pfeffer and Stycos (2002) in studying immigrant environmental behaviors in New York. How- ever, because our analysis includes both immigrants and nonimmigrants, we employed an interaction variable for acculturation-the product of the categorical immigrant variable mentioned earlier and the difference in years between the immigrant's arrival and the year the survey was administered. A positive and significant sign on any of the estimated variable coefficients indicates that the variable increases the individual's probability of responding either yes or agree to a given value indicator. The converse is of course true for a negative coefficient sign. However, unlike linear regression, the coefficients cannot be inter- preted as first derivatives, that is, the change in the dependent variable corresponding to a unit change in the independent variable. Because of the nonlinear nature of the function in Eq. ( I ) , the marginal effects or first derivatives are themselves functions of the values of the independent variables and hence subject to variation, depending on the values of the independent variables at which they are computed. Results Ten logistic regression equations were estimated, one for each of the wilderness value indicators reported above using SAS. Table 2 reports results for the group of five items corresponding to the active use values listed in Table 1. Table 3 reports results for the five items corresponding to passive and intrinsic value items listed in Table 1. Both sets of results include regression coefficient estimates, odds ratios, sample means of independent variables, sample mean for the dependent variable, and measures of goodness of fit. Active Values On-Site, Current Use On-site, current use value is represented by the question relating to previous wilderness visits (Table 1). The logistic regression allows testing whether the probability that a n individual reported a trip to wilderness can be explained by raciallethnic or immigration status differences while controlling for the other socioeconomic factors. Table 2 shows logistic results for active use value items. Overall, 41%" of respondents indicated that they had visited a federally designated wilderness area. Regression results show that when holding constant racelethnicity. gender. age, education, urban residence, and acculturation. immigrants were statis- tically ( p < .05) less likely than native born respondents to visit wilderness, and hence would be less likely to have a n on-site use value. Compared to Whites, each of the racelethnicity groupings, that is. Blacks. Latinos. and Asian Americans, were significantly less likely to say they had visited a wilderness. Also, women were less likely than men to visit. but people with post- secondary education were more likely than those without it to visit. It should be noted that acculturation. as represented by years living in America. had a positive effect on the probability that an immigrant had visited a wilderness. More accul- turated iinmigrants were more likely to visit a wilderness, with other factors equal. To assess differences in probability of visitation ainong immigrants and between immigrants and nonimmigrants, we calculated the probability of visitation for immigrants and nonirnmigrants with various combinations of the other socio- demographic variables. The probability of a yes response on the dependent vari- able-that is, the probability the respondent has visited a wilderness-would be .38 for an urban-dwelling White, male immigrant, age 25 with postsecondary education, and an acculturation score of 10 (10 years in the United States). The probability of a foreign-born, Latino male with the same characteristics responding "yes" would be .18, while a foreign-born Asian male with these characteristics would have a prob- ability of having visited equaling 2 0 . The probability of visitation for a native-born, White inale with the same characteristics would be .62. Further, the odds of a native- born, White male visiting would be more than 2.5 times higher than the odds of a foreign-born male visiting. With on-site use value, immigration status and ethnicity have rather large statistical and practical effects."' On-Site, Future Use For the second active use value indicator (plan to visit next year), immigrants were again less likely than native-born respondents to report a positive response. Blacks and Asians were also less likely than Whites to say they would visit within the next year, as were women. Older persons were less likely than younger respondents to plan a trip, and respondents with more than a high school education were more likely to plan a wilderness visit. Also, more acculturated immigrants were Inore likely to say they would plan a trip within the next year. Table 2 shows that 76'/0 of the sample indicated a positive response for this item. The probability associated with a yes response for a 40-year-old Latina immigrant, urban dwelling, with no college education. and an acculturation score of 2, would be .66. The probability of a "yes" response for an Asian female immigrant ~ v i t h the same characteristics would be .55, with .66 for a White fe~nale immigrant and .75 for a native-born White female. OfJLSite, Current Use This value was assessed with the statement: "I enjoy reading about and viewing wilderness pictures, videos, T V shows, and movies" (Table 1). Immigrants and older respondents were more likely than others to indicate agreement for this value indi- cator. Blacks and Latinos were less likely tl1:in Whites to say they enjo)led this type of wilderness viewing. Although there were statistical differences for immigrants, Blacks, and Latinos, from a practical perspective there was only slight variation in 622 C. 1' .iol~~zsnri c t al. the probab~llty of nn "agree" reyponse for the5e group\ The differences are s ~ n a l l and wlthrn a fern percentage polnts For Instance. the probability of agreement to thls item for a nat~ve-born Black male. age 28. post\econdary level education. and urban res~dence would be 88. w ~ t h 90 for a W h ~ t e male. and 87 for a L a t ~ n o male wlth s ~ m ~ l a r soclodeniographlc character~\ttcs T h ~ c ktnd of result 1s not unconlnion 14hen afforded the luxury of large sample stze At the sample mean. the odds of a Black person expre\slng agreement to tin\ statement mould be roughly 7 7 % of the odds of Whlte dgreement QflLSife En~~ironmentul Q u a l i f j ~ Immigrants and older respondents were less likely than others to indicate agreement for the statement: "Wilderness areas are important to protect because they contribute to better local, national. and global air and water quality." Women and more acculturated immigrants were more likely to agree to this itern. T o assess practical differences among immigrants. we calculated the probability of an "agree" response for immigrants with relatively high and low acculturation scores. The probability of an "agree" response to this value item would be .98 for an immigrant, White male, 44 years old, no college, nonurban dwelling. having lived in the United States for 40 years. Racelethnicity is not statistically significant, so a Latino immigrant with the same characteristics would have the same probability for a positive response. The probability decreases to .8S for both a White and Latino immigrant with similar characteristics who lived in the United States for 2 years. So, while immigration status adversely affects the probability of a positive response, the effect wears off with acculturation. Scientific/ Medicinal Use Ninety-five percent of the s a n ~ p l e responded positively to the value statement regarding wilderness as a habitat for plant and animal species for human health and medicine. Blacks, women. and urbanites were Inore likely to respond positively, compared to others. Older respondents and those with postsecondary education were less likely to respond positively. The odds of a Black person agreeing with this statelllent were twice as high as for Whites. Though Blacks were statistically different from Whites, practical differences between the two groups are minimal. The prob- ability of a yes response for a Black female. age 40. college education, and urban dwelling is virtually the same as that for a White female with these characteristics. .98 and .96, respectively. Again, while there is sonie statistical significance, the differ- ences are quite small by practical standards, with no variable changing response probabilities more than a few percent from the sample mean of .95. Pussirv Use Vuhes Option Value Table 3 contains analyses for passive use and intrinsic itenis associated with wilderness values. The first colunln shows results for option use value. For option value, immigrants, Blacks, and older respondents were less likely to say they would want to visit wilderness sometime in the future. Those with postsecondary education were more likely than those with less education to say they would make a future visit; and the longer inimigrants had been in the country, the more likely they were to say they would like to make a future visit. The probability of wanting a future visit for a 50-year-old male, Asian immigrant with postsecondary education. urban residence, and residence in the Untted States of 1 year would be 56 The probdb~lity increases to 74 for the same individual 1~1th 20 years of residence In the country The prob- 'ibiljt> aould be 85 for a native-born. White male ulth a siniila~ soc~odemographic p ~ o f ~ l e The odds of a Black respondent desiring a future ~ 1 s t are about half the odds of a White respondent Both race and imrnigrdnt ctatur appear to play a major role h e ~ e However, dcculturatlon has a relatively strong mitigating effect for immigrants hrt~~agenerutiorzd and Itztcrgenerationul Beqtrest Value Immigrants. Blacks, and Latinos were less likely to respond positively to the statenlent associated with this value. Females and 11101-e acculturated iinmigraiits were illore likely to respond positively. For intergenerational bequest value, again Latinos were less likely to give a positive response, as well as older individuals. More acculturated respondents were also inore likely to answei- positively. However, as with a number of the off-site use values already described. the practical differences fro111 the overall sample mean probability are negligible. Wilderness Existing in Natural State U.S.-born Asians: women. urbanites, and more acculturated imlnigrants were more likely to say they supported wilderness protection so that wilderness would remain in its natural condition. Immigrants, older respondents, and those with postsecondary education were less likely to affirm this statement. The probability of an agree response for a U S . - b o r n Asian male, age 25, education beyond high school, living in an urban environment would be .94. For a native-born White male, the probability decreases to .88. While this difference is not dramatic. it suggests that Americans of European descent, or at least a faction within this group, are sonie- what less likely to agree that wilderness should exist for its own sake than are other groups in the population. Asians were more than twice as likely as Whites to affirm this statement. N~ilrlerness Has Intrinsic Worth U.S.-born Asians and women were more likely to indicate they believed the flora and fauna protected by wilderness held intrinsic value. Blacks and those with postsecondary education were less likely to agree with this statement. The prob- ability of an agree response for a native-born Black male age 50 with postsecondary education and nonurban residence would be .89. The probability would be .91 for a White male. and .97 for a native-born Asian niale. Acculturation had no significant effect. Similar to the passive use value equations, there is very little practical dif- ference aliiong the variables explaining the probability of an agree response for this intrinsic indicator. However, the odds of an Asian respondent agreeing with this statement are about 3 times higher than for a White respondent. while a female is 1.63 times as likely to agree as a niale. Discussion This research considered wilderness as social construction and whether values derived from i t varied by inimigrarit or raciallethnic minority status. Results show niixed support for the contention that Western conceptions of wilderness values are held primarily by native-born Whites. Immigrants were statistically less likely to express agreement for 6 of the 10 value indicators, findings that would confirm research question I . Odds ratios on these variables ranged from ,192 to ,626, suggesting appreciable differences between in~migrants and natives. These ratios notwithstanding. practical differences were identified only for value items ]-elated to past or future visitation. Because of these minor differences in immigrant vel-sus native probability for most of the value iterns, we cannot conclude that i i ~ ~ m i g r a n t s and natives perceive of or construct wilderness in culturally different terms. We also coinpared native-born racelethnic group responses for wilderness values. Of all ethnic groups compared. Black responses to the value items were least similar to those of Whites. Again. this was especially true for values relating to past and future use. This finding is consistent with prior research showing Blacks have less active engagement with wildland environmelits than Whites. The relative lack of Black \,isitation to wilderness may in part reflect the geographic distribution of Black population concentrations. Because the majority of Blacks live in urban areas in the Easter11 portion of the country. they d o not have easy access to the largc \vilderness preserves located in the West. This argument notviithstanding. Johnson. Horan. and Peppel- (1997) found that Blacks in several Southern counties having access to a federally designated wild- erness were significantly less likely to visit than Whites. Lower visitation in this instance was related to the relatively negative perceptions Blacks held a b o u t wild- lands. In terms of social constructionism, results for the present study suggest Blacks perceive of on-site wilderness use differently than Whites. However, Black a n d White differences related t o off-site active values and passive use values were practically negligible. When we exanlined a wider range of wilderness values, not just those relating to direct use, we find evidence that Black and White responses d o not differ dramatically. Generally, U.S.-born Latino wilderness support was more like native-born White responses than Blacks. F o r Latinos, recognizable differences from Whites occurred for past use and for both intra- a n d iiltergeneratioilal bequest value. But with respect to the bequest values, results d o not suggest that U.S.-born Latinos see wilderness much differently than Whites across most dimensions. It is worth noting that for values representing future use and optional use, Latinos showed n o statis- tical difference from Whites. This could imply that the relative growth in the U.S. Latino population will eventually result in increased wilderness visitation. This could be compounded by the positive effect of the acculturation variable in most equations. Asians were the only ethnic minority t o be more likely than Whites t o respond positively to items relating t o existence and intrinsic values. Because both these values represent more biocentric views, these results provide some support for the contention that Asian Americans may hold more holistic, non-human-centered views of wild nature. Like Blacks and Latinos, Asians were also less likely to have visited wilderness than Whites. However, like Latinos, the expectation and value for eventual future use was insig~~ificantly different than Whites. The present study is an attempt to illcorporate the views of more peripheral groups (immigrants, Blacks. Latinos. Asians) into a discussion of wilderness valuation and ul~imately wilderness policy. National Wilderness P I - e s e r ~ a t i o n System (NWPS) critics charge that wilderness is the concern of a privileged group of Americans, and the values it generates are captured priinarily by middle t o upper income Whites (DeLuca 1999; Taylor 2000). Again, to some extent o u r findings support this charge as far as past o r near-term on-site visitation is concerned. However, insofar as values derived from off-site use and passive use values of wilderness are concerned, there appears to be little practical difference between native-born Whites and the other native-born racial/ethnic groups in this study. The \ , m e c'tn be s n ~ d b e t w e e n n a t l v e - b o r n A m e r i c n n i a n d ImrnlgrLunts. especldlly w h e n o r ~ e c o n i l d e ~ s t h e m l t ~ g a t t n g effect o f ' i c c u l t u r ' i t l o ~ ~ A s s t a t e d . t h e ~ i l o i t notilble d ~ f f e r e n c e s b e t u e e n W h ~ t e s 'ind o t h e r g i o u p i l e i a t e t o \ ~ i l t a t l o n T h e s e f i n d i n g s i u g g e i t n need for furthe1 r e i e n r c h e v p l o r l n g f,tctors th'it llllght contribute t o u s e d ~ f f e r e n c e c T h e present s t u d y t i I ~ r n ~ t e d t o n a t l o n n l h o u s e h o l d s u r \ e y dat'i t h a t p r o v ~ d e relattvely c o u r s e ~ n d ~ c d t t o n s o f bdlu~1- tlon c'ttegollei R e s p o n d e n t s ~ n d i c a t e d \ d u e s indlrectlq vld a set o f r e s e a r c h e l - defined q u e c t l o n c / s t a t e r n e n t i H o w e v e r , r e s p o n d e n t s 11164 v a l u e w ~ l d e r n e s s tn t e r m s c o n s t d e r a b l y m o l e c o m p l e x t h a n o u r ~ n d t c n t o ~ tterni cnn d ~ i c c r n M o r e ~ n - d e p t h techlilquei e ~ i l p l o y ~ n g q u a l ~ t ~ t t l v e n i e t h o d s ~ o u l d b e u i e d t o ~ l n d e l s t a n d b e t t e ~ t h e u n d e ~ l q l n g r e n s o n i u h ) I m m l g r a n t s 'ind m i n o n t l e < a p p e d r less u~llltllg t o w i l t u llderness 4 n u n ~ b c r o f e c o n o r n t c 5tud1ei h a v e s h o w n t h n t even n m o n g t h e n o t - s o - d n e r s e u i c r s of ~ l l d e r n e s s . t h e largest portlo11 o f p e r s o n a l econonilc I nlues o f w ~ l d e l n e i i a r e n s 1s attributed t o off-slte u i e n11d passlve u i e benefits O u r r e s ~ i l t s s u g g e s t i o m e t h l n g s t n i ~ l a r f o r b o t h n l l n o r l t l e s a n d l t n m l g t a n t s T h e c o n t i n u a n c e o f t h e NWPS u t l l u l t i m a t e l y d e p e n d t o a g r e a t e x t e n t o n t h e p o p u l a r polltlcal s u p p o r t o f all v o t l n g A r n e r l c a n s a n d t h e v a r ~ e d perspecttves t h e y h o l d a b o u t wilderness I f s u p p o r t f o r passlve u s e v a l u e s a n d f u t u r e u s e v a l u e s a r e c o r r e c t l y assessed b y o u r s t u d y , t h e n polltlcal s u p p o r t f o r wilderness m a y n o t d i m i n i s h a p p r e c ~ a b l y In t h e f u t u r e a s A n l e r t c a b e c o m e s m o r e dtverse Notes 1. This estimate is based on the middle series U.S. Census estimates. The lowest series projects a seven percent increase, and the highest series a 200'' increase. 2. Wiillers (2001), on the other hand, critiques the social constructionist. postmodern challenge to wilderness as an obdurate reality against which less ecological land use options may be compared. H e niaintai~ls that from a biological point of view. wilderness is an "essential" entity that "does have a reality and an identity distinct from the ideas any given culture might have about it." See also Soule (1995). 3. F o r instance, Latinos and Native Americans in the Southwest. Asian Americans in the Pacific West. and Southern Blacks have all been divested of land via unscrupulous means. It has been theorized that this history of exploitation associated with the land may have contributed to a wildland aversion among African Anlericans (Johnson 1998). 4. Itiglehart's (1990: 1995) postmaterialist thesis. howe\,er, does not consider class variation within emerging industrial societies. Even if postmaterial status is the most inAu- ential factor determining environniental concern, there are still important class differences both m8ithin any given cultural group and also between different groups. More recent i m n ~ i - grants from Mexico, for instance, are more likely to be working-class "labor inimigrants" \vliile Asian immigrants from Korea and China are more likely to be "human capital immi- grants" who possess higher educational, technical. o r entrepreneurial skills than the former (Alba and Nee 1997; see also Portes and Rumbaut 1996: Yang 1999). Because of wealth 2nd educational differences among imnligrant groups, there may be differenti~il exposure to Western intellectual traditions before immigrants arrive in the United States. Some imnii- grants may have Inore knowledge of American attitudes about wilderness preservation and \~aluation than others. 5. Nonuse values attribute worth to the mere existence of u.ilderness or to the knowledge that ujilderness protects ~liidlife and wild places. These are contrasted with use values, which assign importance to wilderness as a source that contributes more directly to human satisfr~ction or gratification such as recreation or tourism. 5. Regardless of race of ethnic background. 7. F o r more information on the N S R E , contact G a r ) GI-een at ggreeniil fs.fed.us. 8 . Fifty percent of immigrants have been in the United States sincc 1988. T h e earliest ~ n i n ~ i g r a t i o n year reported was 1935. The ininiigrant sample is 55'1'0 Hispanic (Latino) and 14% Asian origin. 0 We acknowledge a n anonymous reviewer for suggesting that we include an accul- turation variable. Ours is an elementar) measure of acculturation. Acc~ilturation is a complex process that involves language preference and specific lifestyle variables that were not included in the NSRE. Hoaiever. a s indicated in the text. length of residence has been used in recentl! published work dealing with en\~iroiiniental practices. 10. These probabilities can be estimated by programming the estimates in Tables 2 and 3 into Ey. ( I ) using any standard spre:idsheet prop-am. References Alba, R . and V. Nee. 1997. Rethinking assimilation theory for a new era of immigration. Int. Migration Rc11. 31(4):826-874. Altieri, M . A. and 0 . Masera. 1993. Sustainable rural development in Latin America: Building from the bottom up. Ecol. Econ. 7:93-121. Bannock, G., R. E. Baxter, and E. Davis. 1998. Dictionary of econonlics. New York: John Wiley & Sons. Barker, 0. 2001. The Asianization of America. U S A Toduy 22 March, pp. 1A-2A. Beck, R . 1997. Immigration-fueled U.S. population growth is "spoiler" in economic. social and environmental efforts. 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Sari Gor~orlio Wil(J(~rt~c.ss 1,isitor .surllej., s ~ o n ~ n e r r~nc/~fiill 1994. USDA Forest Service, Pacific Southwest Station. Unpublished research report. Yang. P. Q. 1999. Quality of post-I965 Asian immigrants. Po~ntlilrion Enr,iror~. J. 11ircrrlise.ij~. Stzrrl. 3-0(6'1:527- 544. 
work_2hnvuo5y7rc47jf5rwujuq5xsa	----	SOAA_FW06 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T 194 T h e A m e r i c a n A r c h i v i s t , V o l . 6 7 ( F a l l / W i n t e r 2 0 0 4 ) : 1 9 4 – 2 1 1 In Secret Kept, In Silence Sealed: Privacy in the Papers of Authors and Celebrities Sara S. Hodson A b s t r a c t When administering collections of modern personal papers, archivists must deal with the com- peting ethics of promoting free and open access to the material while ensuring that the privacy of those represented in the collections is not violated. Lacking specific procedural guidelines, archivists and their repositories must devise their own policies. This paper discusses the issues involved in overseeing modern collections in which there are privacy and confidentiality issues, and it focuses on the special challenges presented by the papers of authors and other celebri- ties. These challenges are the result of the high level of public interest in celebrities’ papers, the personal matters discussed in correspondence in these collections, the potential for issues of privacy to be intertwined with copyright, and the fact that repositories increasingly collect the archives of living authors and celebrities as the papers are being created. The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed;– The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed. (Charlotte Bronte, “Evening Solace”1) Like the human heart with its hidden treasures, collections of modernpersonal papers often possess personal or sensitive data, kept in secret,sealed in silence. When modern manuscript collections contain per- sonal letters and other writings by those who are still living, such materials can present acutely difficult challenges to the curator or archivist charged with overseeing them. In collecting recently-created manuscript material, archival repositories take on the responsibility of properly administering potentially 1 The Poems of Charlotte Bronte & Patrick Bramwell Bronte (Oxford: The Shakespeare Head Press, 1934), 56. SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 194 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 I N S E C R E T K E P T , I N S I L E N C E S E A L E D : P R I V A C Y I N T H E P A P E R S O F A U T H O R S A N D C E L E B R I T I E S 195 private or confidential material that could, if seen by researchers, violate the privacy rights of a living individual. In the case of both literary archives and the papers of other famous individuals, this potential problem is often exac- erbated. This paper will discuss the definitions of privacy, the difficulties of identifying and dealing with private or confidential materials, the competing ethics of providing access while protecting privacy, and the special qualities that make the papers of authors and celebrities a far more difficult adminis- trative challenge for archival professionals than the papers of ordinary people. The modern concept of privacy, a right to which Americans assume they are entitled, and from which springs the archivist’s concern with privacy and confi- dentiality in collections of modern papers, is a relatively recent addition to the American legal landscape. The first enunciation of privacy rights in the United States came from the 1890 article “The Right to Privacy (the implicit made explicit)” by Samuel Warren and Louis Brandeis.2 Believing that existing law did not sufficiently cushion individuals against the improper or unwarranted revela- tion of their private affairs and seeking to combat the propensities of the era’s yel- low journalists to publish gossip and salacious information, Brandeis and Warren sought explicit protection of individuals’ rights to keep private information safe from public exposure. In the more than one hundred years since their article appeared in the Harvard Law Review, subsequent definitions and interpretations have elucidated and broadened this right. For example, the legal scholar William Prosser identified four ways in which the invasion of privacy can occur: intrusion upon the individual’s seclusion or solitude, or into his private affairs; public dis- closure of embarrassing or private facts about the individual: publicity that places the individual in a false light in the public eye; and appropriation, for another person’s advantage, of the individual’s name or likeness.3 Any of these invasions of privacy, but especially the first two—intrusion into an individual’s private affairs, and public disclosure of embarrassing or private facts about an individual—can occur as a result of a manuscript repository acquiring and making available the personal papers of a living or recently deceased person. To what degree should manuscripts curators and archivists be concerned with the possible invasion of privacy by virtue of opening a set of personal papers for research? If such concern is appropriate and justified, what resources exist to provide guidance in identifying sensitive material and deciding whether it safely and wisely may be made available for research? 2 Samuel D. Warren and Louis D. Brandeis, “The Right to Privacy,” Harvard Law Review 4, no. 5 (1890): 193–220. 3 William L. Prosser, “Privacy,” California Law Review 48 (August 1960): 383–423. See also Menzi L. Behrnd-Klodt, “The Tort Right of Privacy and What It Means for Archivists . . . and for Third Parties,” forthcoming in Privacy and Confidentiality Perspectives: Archivists and Archival Records, ed. Menzi L. Behrnd-Klodt and Peter J. Wosh (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2005). SOAA_FW06 12/10/04 4:21 PM Page 195 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T 196 Conventional wisdom suggests that the right of privacy ends at death, since the dead obviously can no longer be embarrassed by the revelation of personal information. A corollary to this standard tenet acknowledges that modern archives that include the papers of living people do hold the potential for embar- rassing those individuals. Even when the creator of a manuscript collection is no longer living, some or even all of his or her correspondents might still be alive and therefore still possess a right of privacy. In fact, the privacy of so-called third parties who may be represented in a collection can be the most worrisome and difficult to address. These third parties had no voice in deciding the fate of the papers, and are unlikely to have been consulted about any potential sensitivity in the collection. In addition, archivists must keep in mind that collections of papers contain letters that are, by definition, private communications intended solely for the eyes of their recipient(s), not for viewing and study by researchers or the curious public. Private letters may well reveal sensitive matters or confidential information that is meant solely for a close friend or relative, or for a confidante. In view of this possibility, how should archivists proceed when dealing with modern papers of persons still living? The Code of Ethics for Archivists, adopted by the Council of the Society of American Archivists in 1992, offers this advice: “Archivists respect the privacy of individuals who created, or are the subjects of, documentary materials of long-term value, especially those who had no voice in the disposition of the materials. They neither reveal nor profit from informa- tion gained through work with restricted holdings.”4 The overall ethical tenet is clear: archivists must be aware of, and perhaps take steps to safeguard, the pri- vacy of individuals represented in archival collections. The statement does not provide specific guidance, however, about who will determine what is private, or about what criteria might be appropriate in making such a judgment. Faced with difficult decisions about identifying sensitive materials, and with only general guidelines to follow, archivists, curators and their repositories have devised a wide range of policies and practices. At one end of the continuum, many repositories make no effort at all to define privacy. They even-handedly make available all manuscript material, whether by living or dead persons, regard- less of the content of the manuscripts. At the other end of the scale, at least one institution has routinely sealed all letters by living individuals, thereby even-handedly guaranteeing protection of the privacy rights of all living persons represented in the collections. This latter institution, the Bodleian Library at Oxford University, England, came under fire for this policy during 1993 and 1994. Eric Jacobs, the authorized biographer of the English author Kingsley Amis, requested copies of Amis’s letters that had been housed in the Bodleian. Even after Amis himself requested the copies, the library declined to produce 4 Society of American Archivists, Code of Ethics for Archivists (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 1992). SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 196 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 I N S E C R E T K E P T , I N S I L E N C E S E A L E D : P R I V A C Y I N T H E P A P E R S O F A U T H O R S A N D C E L E B R I T I E S 197 them, citing the policy under which it automatically sealed all letters by living individuals. Ultimately, after considerable unpleasant media attention and lengthy correspondence between Amis and Bodleian officials, the library produced copies for Amis, who promptly turned them over to his biographer.5 Few, if any, archivists in the United States would implement such a blanket policy of closure. Unless they and their repositories adhere to a uniform practice of opening everything for research, and make no attempt to seal possibly sensitive materials, they will need to devise some policy for governing access to private documents. The most common institutional practice relies on the donor to point out sensitive documents or files. Since the donor typically either created the archive, or is a family member, descendant, or close friend or associate, this approach has the advantage of drawing upon the donor’s intimate knowledge of the material at hand and the people, situations, and issues represented in the archive. The donor, armed with this background knowledge, and the curator or archivist, possessing a more detached point of view and awareness of professional ethics and of the law, may discuss or even negotiate what materials in an archive should be sealed, for what reasons, and for how long. Occasionally such negotia- tions can become intense. Donors often exhibit extraordinary concern about matters of privacy, perhaps in an eagerness to perpetuate or sanitize the good rep- utation of the creator of the papers. The archivist or curator more typically favors opening the collection and making it freely available to researchers. Once the par- ties agree on terms of any closure of part or all of a collection, such terms should be written into a deed of gift that is signed by the donor and by a representative of the repository, as a protection for both the donor and the repository. In agreeing to the terms of restriction that have been requested or recom- mended by a donor, the curator or archivist must take care that the restriction is fairly and impartially imposed to ensure that the professional ethic of equal access is followed in administering the papers.6 In earlier days, research libraries routinely implemented inequitable restrictions that had been requested, or insisted upon, by donors. Every institution has its stories of such closures, most or all of which have been quietly corrected in recent decades. According to oft- told tales from the Huntington Library, one manuscript collection had been declared by its donor (a misogynist, we must assume) to be off-limits to women, while another had been sealed to anyone of British descent, and a third could not be seen by Jews, Roman Catholics, or the donor’s nephew. Obviously, 5 See Eric Jacobs, Letter to the Editor, Times Literary Supplement, 15 April 1994, 17; Marianne Macdonald, “Amis Letters to Larkin Stir up Censorship Row,” The Independent, 17 April 1994, 5; Dale Salwak, Letter to the Editor, Times Literary Supplement, 22 April 1994, 17; and Eric Jacobs, Letter to the Editor, Times Literary Supplement, 2 June 1995, 15. Ironically, and to the chagrin of those of us at the Huntington Library, Amis held the Huntington up for praise in making his papers open, while he was criticizing the Bodleian for sealing his letters and denying copies even to him. What Amis did not reveal to the media was that his papers at the Huntington contained material that had been sealed at his request. 6 Elena S. Danielson, “The Ethics of Access,” American Archivist 52 (Winter 1989): 54. SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 197 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T 198 such restrictions constitute acts of prejudice that lead to inequitable access, in violation of ethical tenets of the library and archival professions. Similarly, curators and archivists should not acquire, except in extremely unusual circumstances, any papers that carry with them decrees of selective access in which the donor or other designated individual retains the right to decide, on a case-by-case basis, and according to his or her own criteria, who will be able to see the collection. Donors may wish to limit access in order to reserve an archive for the exclusive use of an authorized biographer, or of those who have demon- strated the proper reverence or respect for the papers’ creator, or they may simply wish to wield power over the papers and over applicants for the donors’ favor. Such selective availability not only contravenes the ethic of free and unfet- tered access that remains a cornerstone of the archival profession in a democra- tic society, it can also lead to trouble for both the donor and the curator. Copies of material that have been made available to an authorized researcher, for example, may well fall into the hands of someone who was not allowed to see it. This happened with the famous case of some of the papers of Sigmund Freud, which languished under a double set of restrictions. Anna Freud, the psychoana- lyst’s daughter, would allow only those whom she trusted to see papers in her possession, while Kurt Eissler, a collector of Freud material, held the reins of access to the Freud Archives that he deposited at the Library of Congress. After Eissler’s protégé Jeffrey Masson, who had been given access to the papers, pub- licly espoused findings to which Eissler objected, he was dismissed from his position as projects director for the Freud Archives. For her part, Anna Freud refused to supply copies of papers to a researcher named Peter Swales, who even- tually obtained them anyway, merely by asking a more respected scholar to get them for him. By 1986, Eissler’s successor as head of the Freud Archives, Harold Blum, opened all of the papers that had been, or were about to be, published, and he announced that restricted materials would be opened in the near future.7 Sometimes, donors must make restriction decisions based upon outside influences, rather than upon their own beliefs or preferences or their own judgment about the sensitivity of the papers. For example, in 1999 the Huntington Library acquired the papers of the Anglo-American author Christopher Isherwood (1904–1986), probably best known for his stories of life in Berlin in the 1930s that were adapted as the musical Cabaret. The collection includes the original diaries that Isherwood kept throughout most of his adult life, some of which had been published in expurgated form in 1996.8 The 7 For full accounts of the Freud case, see Janet Malcolm, In the Freud Archives (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1984), previously published as “Annals of Scholarship: Trouble in the Archives,” New Yorker, 5 December 1983, 59–152, and 12 December 1983, 60–119; and Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson, The Assault on Truth: Freud’s Suppression of the Seduction Theory (New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1984). 8 Christopher Isherwood, Diaries, Volume One: 1939–1960, edited and introduced by Katherine Bucknell (London: Methuen, 1996). SOAA_FW06 12/10/04 4:21 PM Page 198 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 I N S E C R E T K E P T , I N S I L E N C E S E A L E D : P R I V A C Y I N T H E P A P E R S O F A U T H O R S A N D C E L E B R I T I E S 199 editor, Katherine Bucknell, in consultation with the collection’s donor/seller, Isherwood’s heir and long-time partner Don Bachardy, had omitted passages that could be embarrassing to those still living. The publishing firm’s attorneys further examined the manuscript of the book for potentially actionable text. Even with this intensive attention to safeguarding privacy, difficulty arose. The attorneys had read and examined the text of the diaries to be published, but they had not checked the footnotes. A revelation of certain information about an individual was discovered in a footnote by a surviving family member who threatened legal action. As a result of this episode, Bachardy, despite his strong belief in free and open access, reluctantly agreed to impose a restriction on the original diaries in the Isherwood archive. Based on the ages and likely life spans of those mentioned in the diaries, a restriction of thirty years was decided upon. In dramatic contrast, another modern literary collection involved the Huntington in a nascent legal wrangle as a result of the unethical behavior of its creator/seller. The collection consisted of oral history interviews about a twentieth-century author, conducted with some of his remaining friends and family members. The family members who had been interviewed were promised by the collection’s creator that only the edited transcripts would be used. The original tapes contained some private information that they wished to seal for a period of time, and I had agreed to take the material under the same condition. Some months after this collection had been purchased by the library, an angry literary agent representing the family members contacted me. The agent claimed that the creator had broken his agreement by publishing a book that contained quotations from, and references to, the expurgated portions of the interviews. The agent threatened legal action by the family if the library did not immediately return to the family the relevant tapes and transcriptions. Returning this material was not acceptable, but I certainly felt that the wronged parties had a valid complaint. More to the point, they could not be dissuaded in seeking redress, so I explained the virtue of sealing the material for a sufficient period of time to ensure that the privacy of the family members would be respected. Following lengthy negotiations that began with the agent insisting on a hundred-year closure, we finally reached an agreement for a restriction of fifty years—a far longer period than I would have wished for, but the shortest time span that the irate family members would accept in lieu of taking legal action. When donors or sellers do not recommend any restrictions for privacy reasons, when they are not aware of potentially sensitive materials in an archive, or when there is simply no one left who can offer any guidance, then the cura- tor or archivist may face a difficult dilemma. In such a situation, if a document or file contains letters or other materials that defame a living individual, or that could cause embarrassment to persons still living if the information SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 199 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T 200 were revealed, she or he must decide whether a curator-imposed restriction is necessary and appropriate. The difficulty, of course, involves establishing criteria and defining what is private in a collection of personal papers. Apart from certain legally protected categories of records, such as patients’ and students’ records and attorneys’ case files, no guidance exists concerning sensitive or embarrassing documentation. Thus the curator or archivist is left to his or her own, or the repository’s, discretion to determine which documents in an archive might reveal private information if opened for research. How, then, can the archivist be sure that a restriction is appropriate to the collection and the individuals in it, rather than constituting unconscious or inadvertent censorship? No simple solutions exist. Archivists must take care to seal manuscript material only with the utmost caution, rigorously and objectively analyzing the situation without imposing personal beliefs or values. Of course, this places a nearly impossible demand on an archival professional, and this difficulty leads institutions to apply no restrictions on their own, in the absence of donor requests. If, however, an archivist or curator feels that certain material might contain private information and therefore should be sealed, what criteria can help in reaching a decision when the family or donors either do not know of private material or are not available for advice? In a previous article on privacy, I recommended that archivists should become as knowledgeable as possible about the moral and social milieu of the individuals represented in the collection, and attempt to deal with sensitive mate- rials based on this knowledge.9 An example of this approach arose in the late 1980s, when I began to process and catalog the papers of Patrick Balfour, 3rd Baron Kinross, a travel writer who died in 1976. Because Kinross was unmarried, with no direct descendants, his papers were consigned to the British dealer Bertram Rota Ltd., which sold the archive to the Huntington Library. Kinross, a gay man, was a confidante to an astonishing number of people, many of them gay and many of them still living. As a result, the correspondence files contain numerous letters pouring out intimate, confessional details. Keeping in mind the injunction in the SAA Code of Ethics to respect the privacy of people in collec- tions, especially those who had no say in the disposition of the papers (italics supplied), I felt great concern about the possibility that private matters, in particular the “outing” of closeted gay men who felt their sexuality was their own business and no one else’s, could be revealed if the letters were opened for research. In reviewing the correspondence files, I realized that no archivist could determine whether the private matters in the letters had been confided to Kinross alone or constituted more general knowledge. With no family available 9 Sara S. Hodson, “Private Lives: Confidentiality in Manuscripts Collections,” Rare Books & Manuscripts Librarianship 6 (1991): 116–17. SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 200 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 I N S E C R E T K E P T , I N S I L E N C E S E A L E D : P R I V A C Y I N T H E P A P E R S O F A U T H O R S A N D C E L E B R I T I E S 201 for consultation, I had no recourse except either to open all of the letters, despite my concerns, or to try to arrive at some sense of whether opening the confessional letters would reveal intimate, private information about people who would have no idea that their private letters had been housed in a research library in California. Taking into account the tenor both of the correspondence in the archive and of the time in which Kinross and his friends lived, when the outing of gays was controversial and many gays remained firmly behind the closet door, I nearly decided to try implementing restrictions based on a sense of this milieu. Still, this prospect proved very disquieting and I felt no confidence that restrictions could be consistently or sensibly applied. As events transpired, by the time this dilemma had been duly considered and the collection had been processed, sufficient time had passed since Kinross’s death that I felt that all the correspondence files could probably be made available safely without much risk to anyone’s privacy. Thus, the situation resolved itself more as a sort of decision-by-default, rather than as a result of a considered determination of the proper course of action. The debate that lay behind this decision-by-avoidance is possibly emblematic of an over-active sense of ethics that may afflict some archivists. The potential for revealing private information more often constitutes an ethical concern than a legal one. In fact, it seems highly unlikely that a manuscript repository would be sued for invasion of privacy or for revealing private information. Even if the risk for institutions appears small or negligible, however, the administrators of many repositories might still feel considerable concern about their legal liabilities and therefore might seal sensitive materials. An alternative view of the legal responsi- bility for safeguarding privacy holds that a repository could actually be protected legally by never restricting any material at all, thus avoiding any responsibility for identifying and dealing with private or sensitive items. This approach leaves the burden squarely on the researcher, who could be held legally accountable for publishing private information. Indeed, the more likely party to be sued is a researcher who publishes private information, rather than an institution. Whether for legal or ethical reasons, though, it is prudent for archivists and curators to be aware of privacy rights and issues and alert to the presence of potentially sensitive material in collections. If archivists can set aside their ethical worries about betray- ing the privacy of individuals represented in their collections, then the blanket policy of opening everything in collections can safely protect the repository. The decision about which course to follow will depend on a repository’s comfort level. Ethically motivated attempts to respect the privacy of individuals in collections inevitably conflict with the legal gamble that a repository can absolve itself of liability by disassociating itself from privacy decisions. Whatever policy archivists and their repositories adopt for dealing with sensitive materials, collections of the papers of modern authors and celebrities seem to present a somewhat greater degree of difficulty in the area of privacy SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 201 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T 202 than do other kinds of collections. Several reasons account for this. First, authors’ and celebrities’ papers are high profile, generating much public inter- est. Second, correspondence and other manuscripts in such collections often deal with personal matters, rather than with historical events or situations. Third, copyright can become intertwined with issues of privacy. Finally, within the past twenty years or so, repositories have increasingly begun to collect the papers of living authors, as the papers are being created. Let us consider each of these reasons in turn. First, the archives of major authors and other well-known figures document high-profile people and contain high-profile content, leading to a heightened level of interest in those individuals and their activities. In the latter decades of the twentieth century and the opening years of the twenty-first, the growth of tabloid journalism and its offspring, the “tell-all” biography, has spawned a pub- lic obsession with knowing scandalous and salacious details about the lives of celebrities. The intrusive interest of the public in the lives of famous people has received comment recently from the relatively anonymous author Charles Webb, whose 1966 novel, The Graduate, is famous as the basis for the Dustin Hoffman film. In the news again with the publication of his 2001 novel New Cardiff, Webb has suddenly become a focal point for media attention, prompting an inter- viewer to relate this anecdote of his conversation with Webb: “Asked perhaps one too many personal questions, he responded with a gentlemanly but prickly sense of humor: ‘Well, what do you think of this? Next time you’re at your dentist, what if you said: By the way, I’d be interested in knowing more about your wife. Can I see a picture of her? Is she your first wife? Have you ever been sued? Are you straight or gay? Do you have affairs? How much money do you make?’ ”10 This kind of obsession with the private lives of public or well-known figures has meant that increasing numbers of researchers prowl library stacks, in search of new biographical details that can titillate an often insatiable public. According to American legal precedent, individuals frequently in the public eye surrender a certain degree of their privacy by virtue of being public figures. Most of us would agree, however, that beyond a certain point, some categories of personal information about famous people are private and should be respected as such. Though we might secretly, and with a certain feeling of shame, savor gossip that reveals a sensitive or scandalous tidbit of information about a celebrity, nonetheless we recognize that a boundary line has been crossed when that information becomes public. The sacrifice of complete privacy on the part of public figures does not usually, and should not, constitute free rein to digest every morsel of that person’s private life. The strong interest that we feel in the lives of famous people is not a new phenomenon, but simply an ever-burgeoning outgrowth of a long and 10 Ambrose Clancy, “A Post-‘Graduate’ Life,” Los Angeles Times, 14 May 2002, E4. SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 202 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 I N S E C R E T K E P T , I N S I L E N C E S E A L E D : P R I V A C Y I N T H E P A P E R S O F A U T H O R S A N D C E L E B R I T I E S 203 deeply rooted human propensity. Henry James’s short story “The Aspern Papers” offers an example from 1887. The real-life seed for the tale came to James’s attention earlier that same year, when the young English novelist Vernon Lee recounted to James an anecdote about an elderly lady living in Florence, Mary Jane Clairmont (self-styled as “Claire Clairmont”), formerly the mistress of Byron and the mother of Byron’s illegitimate daughter Allegra. A Boston sea captain named Silsbee, who had a passionate interest in Shelley and who knew that Claire Clairmont had in her possession a cache of Shelley and Byron papers, had exhausted every effort to acquire them and finally arranged to rent a room in her villa, where the papers were kept. After Claire died in 1879, her late-middle-aged, spinster niece, who had been casting longing glances in Silsbee’s direction, offered him the letters if he would marry her, whereupon he immediately fled the scene. James recorded this anecdote in his notebook, noting his interest in “the two faded, queer, poor and discredited old English women . . . with these illustrious letters their most precious possession. Then the plot of the Shelley fanatic—his watchings and waitings—the way he couvers the treasure. . . . It strikes me much.”11 In James’s version of this tale, “The Aspern Papers,” his nameless narrator, a would-be scholar-collector, insinuates himself into the household of an elderly woman, just as Silsbee had done, intending to inveigle her into giving him letters that she had received many years before from the now-deceased Jeffrey Aspern, a well-known poet and her secret lover. The star-struck, avaricious narrator voices his plan of attack to his confidante: “The old woman won’t have her relics and tokens so much as spoken of; they’re personal, delicate, intimate, and she hasn’t the feelings of the day. God bless her! If I should sound that note [i.e., an offer of money] first, I should certainly spoil the game. I can arrive at my spoils only by putting her off her guard, and I can put her off her guard only by ingratiating diplomatic arts. Hypocrisy, duplicity are my only chance. I’m sorry for it, but there’s no baseness I wouldn’t commit for Jeffrey Aspern’s sake. First I must take tea with her—then tackle the main job.”12 The “cult of celebrity” and its effect on personal papers also appears as a theme in other works of fiction. A.S. Byatt’s 1990 novel Possession, for example, concerns a struggle between two twentieth-century literary scholars who vie for first access to a cache of love letters that document the hitherto-unknown love affair between two nineteenth-century authors. The issue seems never to have been more strongly in evidence than in recent years. At its most basic, the human fascination with celebrities and public figures is manifestly evident 11 Quoted in Leon Edel, Henry James: The Middle Years, 1882–1895 (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Co., 1962), 219. 12 Henry James, “The Aspern Papers,” in The Great Short Novels of Henry James (New York: Dial Press, Inc., 1944), 475. SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 203 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T 204 in the tabloid periodicals, which have proliferated in the last few decades and whose screaming headlines seduce the public from every newsstand and supermarket checkout line. Humankind’s desire to know everything, even (or especially) intimate details about the lives of celebrities, has also come to pervade the work of both popular and scholarly biographers. As recently as the 1950s and 1960s, when Leon Edel’s massive, five-volume biogra- phy of Henry James was published, it seemed sufficient to know that James never married, evinced shyness in the company of available women, and might have been sexually conflicted. Fred Kaplan, in his 1992 biography of James, boldly asserted that James was gay. Similarly, in her biography of Anne Sexton, Diane Middlebrook did not merely state that the poet underwent psychological counseling. Rather, she included in her book information from the counseling sessions, causing widespread debate about the ethical proprieties of revealing private medical data, even though the revelation came after the patient’s death.13 A flurry of news stories from the late 1980s concerning authors’ papers and privacy reveals just how large the issue has become. In 1988, Stephen Joyce, James Joyce’s grandson, stunned and horrified a conference honoring the Irish novelist when he announced that he had destroyed family letters. Specifically, he burned letters by the playwright and novelist Samuel Beckett and by his aunt, James Joyce’s daughter, Lucia, who had died in 1982 after living for thirty years in an English mental institution following the 1951 death of her mother, Nora. He cited his action as a personal one, to protect the family’s privacy, and as a justifiable one, since he emphasized that Lucia’s life after Nora’s death could have no bearing at all for research on James and Nora Joyce. However, his action received widespread condemnation from scholars and from descendants of William Butler Yeats and Ezra Pound, who asserted that the lost letters held great importance for the study of the relationship between Joyce, Beckett, and Lucia. Many felt that such materials about great writers are significant public treasures and must not remain private.14 In the face of the public outcry against the destruction of the letters, Stephen Joyce passionately defended his action as a necessary one brought about by such revelations of family matters as made in Brenda Maddox’s 1988 biography Nora: The Real Life of Molly Bloom. Maddox’s frank treatment of James and Nora Joyce’s erotic relationship, together with her recounting of the last thirty years of Lucia’s life, caused considerable 13 See Leon Edel, Henry James, 5 vols. (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Co., 1953–1972); Fred Kaplan, Henry James: The Imagination of Genius, A Biography (New York: William Morrow and Co., 1992); and Diane Middlebrook, Anne Sexton: A Biography (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1991). 14 “Joyce, Beckett Mss. Deliberately Destroyed,” Manuscript Society News 9 (Fall 1988): 7. For an analysis of the relationship between the private and public ownership of important cultural artifacts, see Joseph L. Sax, Playing Darts with a Rembrandt: Public and Private Rights in Cultural Treasures (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1999). SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 204 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 I N S E C R E T K E P T , I N S I L E N C E S E A L E D : P R I V A C Y I N T H E P A P E R S O F A U T H O R S A N D C E L E B R I T I E S 205 consternation in the family. Stephen Joyce aggressively refuted the view that his grandfather’s and other family members’ letters are public cultural treasures whose private contents can appropriately be revealed, writing: “I have not destroyed any papers or letters in my grandfather’s hand, yet. Unlike others close to the Joyce family, I do not sell Joyce papers, letters, memorabilia, etc. I keep those I am fortunate enough to have, buy others and destroy some, such as Lucia’s letters to us, which if seen by outsiders and made public would be an intolerable, unbearable invasion of my family’s privacy. . . . I firmly believe that there is a part of every man or woman’s life, no matter how famous he or she may be, that should remain private. . . . Enough is enough, even too much.”15 Also in 1988, Janna Malamud Smith, whose father Bernard Malamud had died in 1986, voiced her concerns about the disposition of the author’s papers. Citing the Joyce case, Smith deplored the trend toward revelations in biogra- phies of intimate details about their subjects’ lives. While acknowledging that authors have surrendered the privacy of themselves and their families, she nonetheless regretted that the families had no power to refute invasive or false accounts of the authors’ lives. Struggling in her analysis of the issues to arrive at a reasonable course of action, Smith reached no firm resolution to the dilemma, writing, “Will we burn papers or letters? I do not yet know. . . . Because there are few limits to what biographers these days will write, I imagine many families will become more careful about what they tell. If an audience for his fiction persists, my grandchildren might wish to make public Bernard Malamud’s private letters and journals. I doubt I will.”16 Both Stephen Joyce and Janna Malamud Smith expressed understandably deep and legitimate concern over the revelation of personal details in the increasingly frank biographies that became standard in the latter part of the twentieth century. They both failed to consider the obvious alternative to either destroying sensitive papers or opening them freely to scholars: placing the papers in an archival repository with an agreement that they be sealed for an appropriate period of time. In such instances, the willingness of a library to accept papers that carry a reasonable restriction may ensure that significant but sensitive research materials survive to be used by scholars in future years. Contrasting dramatically with Stephen Joyce’s actions and with Janna Malamud Smith’s concerns, the widow and children of John Cheever handled his papers with a remarkable, unqualified openness. The public face of certain aspects of Cheever’s private life began with the 1984 publication of his daughter Susan Cheever’s memoir, Home Before Dark, which disclosed his alcoholism and 15 Stephen J. Joyce, Letter to the Editor, New York Times Book Review, 31 December 1989, 2. 16 Janna Malamud Smith, “Where Does a Writer’s Family Draw the Line?” New York Times Book Review, 5 November 1989, 44. SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 205 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T 206 bisexuality. As she explained her action, “I did it out of anguish and love.”17 Then, in 1988, her brother Ben Cheever edited The Letters of John Cheever, in which he notably did not expurgate sexually explicit passages, citing his reason: “I had an implied contract with my readers. You don’t leave something out because it is impolite. Had I done so, I would have imposed my priggishness on his life.”18 The Cheever family’s comfort with the revelation of intimate, sensitive details about John Cheever’s life is commendable, and it ensures that the letters and other documents that illuminate the private facets of his life will survive and be available for scholarly research. Most authorial families, however, seem unlikely to adopt such an open-minded, apparently selfless stance with regard to sensitive materials. Since these individuals are well-known public figures, the potential revelations of private details about their lives create an enticing prospect to the public and to researchers seeking to publish. Since such a possibility remains so uncomfortable, even repugnant, to the families of these individuals, they are far more likely to react by trying to protect the privacy and memory of the famous individual, as well as their own privacy. The lives of unknown, ordinary people whose papers are in a repository carry far less risk of attracting attention or generating widespread public interest and therefore present a less serious potential problem with regard to privacy issues. The second, closely related, reason that literary papers carry heightened privacy concerns is that correspondence and other papers in literary archives usually deal with personal matters, while historical collections more often deal with historic events. The correspondence files of a literary manuscript collection tend to be filled with letters in which authors write about themselves—their relationships with others, the events of their own lives, their progress or lack thereof on their current writing projects, and other authors and literary topics in general. This concentration on the personal is in marked contrast to histo- rical collections that often comprise the papers of unknown or ordinary people who have either observed or participated in major historic events, or have been part of issue-related movements or events. Such collections might consist of doc- uments relating to water rights in California in the twentieth century, or to an activist group dedicated to the preservation of natural resources in the United States. In cases like these, often the fact that the people involved are not famous makes their first-hand accounts so important to the historical record. Moreover, even when such collections date from very recent or contemporary times, these collections would not hold the same level of potential for revealing personal information as would the papers of famous authors or other celebrities. 17 Quoted in Jerry Schwartz, “Biographers Seek to Air Subjects’ Dirty Laundry,” Los Angeles Times, 11 February 1990, E2. 18 Quoted in Andrea Chambers, “Son Ben Edits John Cheever’s Latest Chronicle—the Literary Genius’ Intimate, Often Scandalous Letters,” People, 21 November 1988, 194–96. SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 206 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 I N S E C R E T K E P T , I N S I L E N C E S E A L E D : P R I V A C Y I N T H E P A P E R S O F A U T H O R S A N D C E L E B R I T I E S 207 Literary figures, families, or heirs sometimes “sanitize” the archive, or purge personal letters and documents to safeguard privacy before transferring them to a repository. As a result, an archive loses an important personal dimension that in most instances can never be replaced or re-created. One interesting example of a sanitized collection of personal papers dates to 1922, when the Huntington Library acquired the archive of James and Annie Fields from their descendants. Fields (1817–1881) edited and published the Atlantic Monthly and was a partner in the Boston firm of Ticknor and Fields, one of the top literary publishing houses of the latter half of the nineteenth century. His wife Annie was the socially prominent leader of a literary salon in Boston and, as scholars have begun to recognize in recent years, much more of a participating partner in her husband’s literary and business affairs than had previously been known. The collection contains a deep, rich store of literary manuscripts and letters by virtually every major nineteenth-century New England author, including Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Oliver Wendell Holmes, John Greenleaf Whittier, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Nathaniel Hawthorne. It also contains important documentation concerning American authors active outside the literary center of New England, including Samuel Clemens and Ambrose Bierce, as well as such British figures as Charles Dickens and Edward Lear. This collection illuminates the working lives of these authors, as well as their all-important relationship with their editor and publisher, and it continues to reward researchers with new insights, even after decades of heavy scholarly use. Still, either the sellers or their predecessors in the family removed from the archive nearly all exclusively personal letters to the Fieldses or between them. As a result, the collection is a superb literary and publishing archive, but it presents very little significant insight into the personalities and points of view of James and Annie or into their relationship. One can only assume that the family either doubted the importance of the personal information about the Fieldses, or that it sought to preserve the privacy of the literary couple. This constituted a legiti- mate concern in 1922, because, although James died in 1881, Annie lived on until 1915. If the family indeed felt concerned about privacy, one can only wish that they had elected to place parts of the collection under closure, rather than to remove permanently its more personal contents. How much richer even this superb collection would be if it had not been sanitized, but had been left intact to afford deep insight into James and Annie themselves. Years after the archive arrived at the Huntington Library, the family donated additional Fields papers. Yet, even this supplementary collection predominantly consists of copy books containing James’s and Annie’s random notes and their own literary efforts. The collection still lacks much material relating to them personally or to their relationship. The third factor that sets the papers of authors and celebrities apart from other collections is copyright, which remains much more of an issue in literary SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 207 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T 208 or celebrity archives than in historical collections. In the personal papers of ordinary people who are not famous figures, protection or exploitation of copy- right of either their image, for example, or of a work of art, literature, or music they have created, is not likely to emerge as an issue in the administration or use of those collections. When considering the papers of well-known figures, in con- trast, copyright quite often emerges as a factor. In the case of actors and similar celebrities, the use of their image or likeness might be protected by copyright. The papers of musicians, artists, photographers, and authors typically contain copyrighted creative works. At times, the concepts of copyright and the right of privacy, as they relate to a famous individual’s archive, have become intertwined and therefore somewhat confused or muddled. Probably the best-known exam- ple of this phenomenon is the case of the unauthorized biography of J. D. Salinger by Ian Hamilton. The fiercely private Salinger refused to cooperate with Hamilton, who was writing a biography of the famously reclusive author. When Hamilton persisted with his plans, Salinger transformed what began as a privacy case into a copyright case by retroactively registering the copyright in his letters held in such libraries as Harvard, Princeton, and the University of Texas, thereby seeking to block Hamilton from quoting the letters. His position was upheld by the courts, which ruled that Hamilton and Random House violated the terms of fair use and must not include in the biography any quotations, or even paraphrases, from Salinger’s letters. Finally, Hamilton’s rewritten book was issued, less as a biography than as an account of his legal experiences.19 The Salinger case illustrates how authors or other celebrities who discover that their letters are preserved and available for research in a library, or who feel threatened by the potential use of those letters, can invoke copyright law as a means of protecting their privacy. A similar situation arises when families, descendants, or other literary heirs of a famous individual seek to oversee the use of a collection by applying their literary rights to control access. This occurred with the Jack London Papers at the Huntington Library. Worrying about both the portrayals of London in published works and about the possible invasion of privacy in a collection whose contents dated up until the mid-1950s, the descendants who held the literary rights stipulated in the 1960s that their approval would be required for anyone to have access to the collection. Even though holders of literary rights more commonly grant permission to scholars to use archival material only after the scholars have done their research and written their books or articles, the London estate asserted its right to grant or deny such use before scholars could begin to use the collection. Privacy is a strong 19 See Ian Hamilton, In Search of J. D. Salinger (New York: Random House, 1988). For a discussion of the relationship between privacy and copyright issues in unpublished manuscripts, see Kenneth Crews, “Unpublished Manuscripts and the Right of Fair Use: Copyright Law and the Strategic Management of Information Resources,” Rare Books & Manuscripts Librarianship 5, no. 2 (1990): 61–70. SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 208 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 I N S E C R E T K E P T , I N S I L E N C E S E A L E D : P R I V A C Y I N T H E P A P E R S O F A U T H O R S A N D C E L E B R I T I E S 209 motivating force in the estate’s decision to apply its literary rights in this manner, for, while Jack London died in 1916, his widow Charmian lived until 1955. Thus, in the 1960s, at the time the estate established its access arrange- ments, living people were represented in the correspondence files, and, even more worrisome to the estate, mentioned in Charmian’s diaries. Despite the seeming strictness of these arrangements, the estate always responded reason- ably, turning away only a small number of would-be researchers and doing so only in the first years of its oversight. Over time, with more and more researchers using the archive and publishing biographical and critical works on London, and with no hint either of invasion of anyone’s privacy or of legal action, the estate has significantly relaxed its administration. Indeed, for some time I have administered the estate’s granting of permission in nearly all instances, distributing to researchers permission forms already signed by the estate. The fourth factor that sets authors’ archives apart from other collections of personal papers is the increasing trend for repositories to collect authors’ papers during the authors’ lifetime, rather than after their death. Reflecting authors’ awareness of the high market value of their archives, the keen competition among institutions for authors’ papers, and the desire by those institutions to nail down a literary archive as soon as possible, this trend increases the like- lihood that collections will contain private and sensitive documents. With any recently created collection, privacy can be a concern, because of the so-called third-party privacy rights that inhere to any of the still-living correspondents, as well as to the individuals who are mentioned as subjects in the collection. In such instances, the injunction in the SAA Code of Ethics against violating the privacy of those who had no say in the disposition of the papers must be considered by the archivist or curator in overseeing the collection. When the creator of the papers is still living, the risks and difficulties are multiplied. Moreover, as more papers from the author are transferred to the repository, the curator must consult repeatedly with the author about the possible presence of sensitive mate- rials. Each new acquisition must be surveyed with an eye to privacy, both of the author and of other individuals. The longer the time period for an ongoing transfer of papers from an author, the longer the archivist must continue to deal with privacy and with the possibility of sealing certain documents or files as potential issues for that growing collection, even as he or she is addressing sim- ilar questions for other collections being acquired. These situations arose at the Huntington when in 1987 the library began to purchase the papers of British author Kingsley Amis. The initial contact came from a rare book and manuscript dealer, but thereafter each successive transaction took place directly between the library and Amis’s literary agent. Throughout this relationship the awareness of privacy issues was present. In one of the transfers of papers, Amis requested that certain material be restricted until his death. One item to be sealed was the autograph manuscript of an SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 209 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T 210 unpublished novel he had written called Difficulties with Girls (not the same work as a different novel that he did publish under the same title). Amis wanted this manuscript closed because he anticipated that critics and readers would incorrectly interpret it as autobiographical, and he did not want to deal with answering questions about it. The other material that he wished to have closed consisted of a large file of letters to him from the poet Philip Larkin. Larkin had already passed away, so his privacy rights were not an issue. Amis knew, however, that the letters contained frank comments about mutual friends still living, and he did not want those people to know what had been written about them until after his own death. His concern clearly was driven by self-interest, to save himself from the possible anger of the people mentioned. The fact that his papers were now in a library, to be opened for research as soon as they were processed, made this an important issue. Had his papers been placed in a repository after his death, this kind of material would not have appeared sensitive. In 1995, when Amis passed away, the sealed items in the collection were opened for research. More recently, in 1995, the Huntington began acquiring the archive of British novelist Elizabeth Jane Howard, who coincidentally was Kingsley Amis’s second wife. According to her request, several groups of correspondence in her papers are closed for various lengths of time, in deference to the privacy of the authors of those letters, who are still living. A slightly different case involves the papers of another British novelist, Hilary Mantel, whose archive began arriving at the Huntington in 2001. According to discussions and correspondence between Ms. Mantel and myself, we have sealed her personal diaries for her life- time, due to sensitive diary entries. In the Amis, Howard, and Mantel examples, some or all of the restrictions agreed upon by the authors and the library became necessary because the papers had been acquired during, rather than after, the authors’ lifetimes. The high market value of authors’ papers, plus the desire by institutions to acquire literary archives early in order not to miss getting them, leads to another kind of situation that could present archivists with a privacy dilemma. In the early 1970s, the British author Stephen Spender was approached by the Bancroft Library at the University of California, Berkeley, which sought to purchase some of his papers. Spender, pressed for money at the time, sold to the Bancroft his file of the letters written to him by Christopher Isherwood. He subsequently wrote to Isherwood with some degree of slightly blustery embarrassment to confess what he had done, to seek Isherwood’s approval of his action, and to urge Isherwood to sell his (Spender’s) letters to the Bancroft. That letter now resides in the Huntington Library as part of Isherwood’s archive, along with the rest of Spender’s letters to him, which Isherwood obviously did not elect to sell. I do not know whether the Bancroft closed Isherwood’s letters, but many of the letters certainly had been written very shortly before Spender sold them, so that SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 210 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 I N S E C R E T K E P T , I N S I L E N C E S E A L E D : P R I V A C Y I N T H E P A P E R S O F A U T H O R S A N D C E L E B R I T I E S 211 privacy could well have been an issue. This situation presents a classic case of third-party confidentiality, in which the recipient of letters sells them to a repository without the prior knowledge or approval of the writer of the letters. Whether Isherwood would have approved the Spender sale if he had known in advance remains an interesting question. The combination of the Spender transaction and the subsequent acquisition of the Isherwood archive by the Huntington means that the correspondence between the two men lies at opposite ends of the state of California, split by one of those odd sequences of events that often play such a large part in the placement of collections of personal papers. Faced with the competing ethics of free and open access to research collections and the safeguarding of people’s right to privacy, and in view of the special problems presented in collecting the papers of authors and other high- profile individuals, how can curators and archivists devise appropriate policies for administering modern personal papers? Unfortunately, no good answers exist. There appear few even satisfactory guidelines for handling potentially sensitive letters and manuscripts. Both institutions and archivists must deter- mine acceptable risk levels for the possible legal fallout of violating someone’s privacy rights. Based on such practical considerations as the time that can be spent on processing collections and the level of detail that the archivist and other staff members can devote to examining individual items, archivists must arrive at policies and procedures that reflect an awareness of both the legal and ethical aspects of individual privacy, without being held hostage by the difficulties of administering the personal papers of modern figures. Archivists need to acknowledge that there are few if any absolutes in dealing with sensitive manuscript materials. Nearly all modern collections will present difficult gray areas of privacy for archivists to struggle with. Archivists should be fully informed about the issue of privacy and the options available, and they must behave conscientiously in handling sensitive materials. If sensitive professionals make such good faith efforts, there is reason to believe that modern personal papers may be opened responsibly for research while the private, hidden treasures in them are kept in secret and sealed in silence until they can be safely revealed. SOAA_FW06 12/9/04 7:22 PM Page 211 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.67.2.b53338437x161076 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 
work_2jyzdfssobbx3mt5tcl7faw7gq	----	Supple bodies, healthy minds: yoga, psychedelics and American mental health 1Richert L, DeCloedt M. Med Humanit 2018;0:1–8. doi:10.1136/medhum-2017-011422 Supple bodies, healthy minds: yoga, psychedelics and American mental health Lucas Richert,1 Matthew DeCloedt2 Original research To cite: Richert L, DeCloedt M. Med Humanit Epub ahead of print: [please include Day Month Year]. doi:10.1136/ medhum-2017-011422 1Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Strathclyde, Glasgow, UK 2Central European University, Budapest, Hungary Correspondence to Dr Lucas Richert, Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Strathclyde, Glasgow G4 0LT, UK ; lucasrichert@ yahoo. co. uk Accepted 27 February 2018 AbsTrACT Much discussion about mental health has revolved around treatment models. As interdisciplinary scholarship has shown, mental health knowledge, far from being a neutral product detached from the society that generated it, was shaped by politics, economics and culture. By drawing on case studies of yoga, religion and fitness, this article will examine the ways in which mental health practices—sometimes scientific, sometimes spiritual—have been conceived, debated and applied by researchers and the public. More specifically, it will interrogate the relationship between yoga, psychedelics, South Asian and Eastern religion (as understood and practiced in the USA) and mental health. During the 1960s countercultural movement, many Americans saw yoga and psychedelic drugs as equally valid routes to spiritual fulfilment and mental health. As the San Franciso Oracle put it in 1965: ‘Yoga and psychedelics. Different means, same end’ (Syman, p. 218–219).1 Researchers have since uncovered ‘significant evidence’ that yoga and other practices ‘may induce specific classes of ASC (altered states of consciousness)’.2 i And some ‘drug-induced experiences bear striking resem- blances to mystical experiences’, with drug-takers reporting, to varying degrees, a ‘greater apprecia- tion and understanding of Asian philosophies’ post- trip.3 Whatever the pathway, spiritual seekers in the 1960s USA likely encountered both yoga and psychedelics, expanding their minds while toning their muscles. This article will explore the reasons why some Americans, many of whom were situ- ated in universities as well as based on the East and West coasts, wanted to escape, how they did so and the legacy of these two practices. It captures some of the key figures who shaped ideas about yoga, psychedelic drugs, Eastern religion and the mental health field. Americans were receptive to novel thinking and practices in the 1960s. Ecologism, conservationism, vegetarianism, veganism and yoga all came to the fore (Sessa, p. 107).4 Messages of the counter- culture pushed notions of personal responsibility for health, corporeal and spiritual, and led many Americans to strive for perfection. With society in flux, people sought peace of mind. As the psycholo- gist Abraham Maslow put it, Americans were adrift i Up to 90% of cultures have ‘institutionalised forms’ of altered states of consciousness-seeking. in a postmodern world: “We’re stuck now in our own culture…stuck in a silly world which makes all sorts of unnecessary problems”.5 Mental health, by many accounts, suffered as a result. Thus, tran- scending the present was one means of coping. Eastern religion, experimentation with yoga and psychedelics seemed a useful alternative to Amer- ican capitalism, conservatism, militarism, racism, violence and the prospect of nuclear war. Not only that, the experimentation seemed a useful alterna- tive to other mental health strategies (Sessa, p. 99; Sacks, p. 90ff; Osto, p. 41–207).4 6–8 ii Yogis and drug takers were after the same thing: an expe- rience that reframed the way they looked at the world and themselves. Whether they saw their actions as a form of therapy to treat mental health issues or religious exercise was beside the point. Semantics were less important than the feeling they were chasing. Americans surveyed foreign cultures and religions, and borrowed and adapted as they pleased. As such, the 1960s was an era in which syncretism and cult-like organisations flourished.9 America, the cultural melting pot, had no reserva- tions about taking what it liked from the East and adapting it to the West (Osto, p. 78).8 Form was not as important as content. Several thinkers were crucial in influencing the combination of psych- edelics and yoga. To them, supple bodies were related to healthy minds. Contemporarily, positive accounts of mental health services gave way to increasingly critical approaches. ‘American psychiatry seems to be in a state of confusion’, was what many people felt, and psychiatrists themselves had become ever more ‘sceptical’.10 iii This paper will add to the discus- sions about mental health in the 1960s through the lens of yoga and psychedelics. The following pages will build on recent scholarship about yoga practitioners, the role of medical humanities in mental health and current examinations of the life ii Oliver Sacks identified this desire to escape the quotidian and venture into altered states as a basic human impulse and necessity. iii These were of course explosive times in mental health history. Psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud’s therapy to unlock the unconscious mind, was struggling against a ‘challenge to the couch’ in a full-scale skirmish with proponents of biological psychiatry. Social psychiatry and deinstitution- alisation movements were reforming traditional mental health services. Community mental health clinics emerged around the country, based on breakthroughs in psycho- pharmacological research and treatment. Powerful new antipsychotic drugs, that is, enabled transformation in mental health service models. JMH Online First, published on March 30, 2018 as 10.1136/medhum-2017-011422 Copyright Article author (or their employer) 2018. Produced by BMJ Publishing Group Ltd under licence. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /m e d h u m -2 0 1 7 -0 1 1 4 2 2 o n 3 0 M a rch 2 0 1 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.instituteofmedicalethics.org http://mh.bmj.com/ http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1136/medhum-2017-011422&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2018-03-30 http://mh.bmj.com/ 2 Richert L, DeCloedt M. Med Humanit 2018;0:1–8. doi:10.1136/medhum-2017-011422 Original research of breath.11 12 iv If the medical humanities are open to ‘consid- ering alternative perspectives on the multiple materialities of the world beyond its textual inscriptions’, as Philo et al have pondered, then this article should be regarded as a contribu- tion to alternative health.13 Using archival materials, as well as medical and popular literature, this work will explore yoga as a health movement, a tool of mental health promotion, and tackle its commercialisation. YOgA As An AmeriCAn fiTness Trend Yoga captivated certain Americans as far back as the middle of the 19th century. Henry David Thoreau famously called himself a yogi in 1849. Others were intrigued by the super- natural possibilities of ‘human hibernation’, levitation or simply the opportunity of enhanced sexual powers. Yoga was a niche pursuit at this time, to put it mildly. In 1893, Swami Vivekananda, a monk from Calcutta, advertised India and Hinduism at the Parliament of the World’s Religions in Chicago. At the same time, he introduced yoga to a greater number of Americans. He subsequently toured the USA deliv- ering lectures promoting his book Raja Yoga.14–16 Worried Americans would ‘abuse certain elements of the practice and its philosophy’, Vivekananda repackaged yoga to prevent them from, as he saw it, corrupting the tradition (Syman, p. 8).1 Yoga soon spread throughout the West at the turn of the 20th century. According to Mark Singleton, yoga’s popu- larity increased because it aligned with other health and fitness trends of the time, especially Nordic gymnastic drills.16 This new form of yoga was wholly demystified. By the early 1920s, Pierre Bernard, known as ‘The Omnip- otent Oom’, and Blanche DeVries opened the Clarkstown Country Club in Nyack, New York, for the upper crust of the Northeast. Yoga constituted part of a programme that focused on ‘health and well-being rather than…religious practice’.17 18 It was a form of elitist, conspicuous and worldly consumption. In 1931, Jagannath G Gune published Asanas, a book that show- cased yoga postures for a wider audience. However, it was Swami Sivananda, an Indian yogi, who truly commercialised yoga in the West through his English-language publications and Divine Life Society in the 1930s.19 Yoga, or at least a modified version of it, was gaining momentum in America.20 Scientists and medical practitioners took an interest in the exotic practice too. Sivananda drew the attention of academics like Dr Kovoor T Behanan of Yale University, who spent a year in India at Gune’s ashram studying the practice before returning to New Haven to assess his findings.21 Yogic breathing and its ability ‘to arouse little by little…this indomitable power of the human mind’ fascinated Behana.22 Others, like the Chica- go-based physician Edmund Jacobson, were concerned with yoga’s use in the clinical treatment of headaches and depression. Carl Jung is one example of a mental health professional who assessed yoga’s value and its dangers.23 In 1932, he emphasised the link between yoga, sex and a ‘deliberately induced psychotic state’.24 Still, yoga was most associated with fitness in the early 20th century, with the science behind it largely ignored.25 In the late 1940s and early 1950s, yoga studios opened shop across the USA, from Hollywood to New York. The market- place began to offer multiple varieties to cater to American consumers, offering up choices that addressed both mind and body. Theos Bernard’s Hatha Yoga: The Report of a Personal iv See also the Wellcome Trust funded project The Breath of Life. Experience was published in 1947, which served as a ‘major sourcebook’ for yogis in the 1950s.26 Indian gurus, too, began attracting large followings, promoting a yoga mostly devoid of a religious or intellectual foundation.27 Free-spirited groups led by charismatic gurus dominated the yoga scene in the 1960s, but they were soon competing with a more commercial brand of their art. Yoga appeared on American television in 1961, when Richard Hittleman brought ‘non-religious yoga…with an emphasis on its physical benefits’ into America’s living rooms. Yoga was gradually becoming mainstream, and by the 1970s it had saturated American culture.26 While most practiced yoga for the body, a few devotees began to concentrate on its mental effects. Interest in the spiritual aspects of yoga, and Eastern religion in general, should not be understated. It tacked closely to the 1950s–1960s psychedelic revolution (Osto, p. 55).8 Drug- takers, posited psychologist Bernard Aaronson and psychiatrist Humphry Osmond (coiner of the term ‘psychedelic’), recog- nised ‘that each individual consciousness is located in the body’ and people turned to yoga to strengthen their spiritual muscles. Correctly done, individuals could attain ‘peace, co-ordina- tion and good bodily functioning’, ‘increased awareness of the body’ and altered states of consciousness (Aaronson, p. 26 and p. 276).28 This took hard graft, however. American yogis and yoga students did not always want to invest the requisite effort to achieve altered states of consciousness and lucidity through either meditation or artful poses. The idea that one had to sacri- fice—to work hard—to achieve transcendence was difficult for ‘impertinent, scientifically minded and intellectually curious Westerner[s]’ to accept (Aaronson, p. 132).28 The following section of this article examines more closely the relationship between psychedelics, yoga and altered states of consciousness. menTAl heAlTh And sYnCreTism Yoga and psychedelics flourished against the backdrop of fluctuating mental health practices and 1968 was certainly an important year. It ‘rocked the world’, ‘changed everything’ and ‘made us who we are’.29 30 The new head of the American Psychiatric Association (APA), Raymond Waggoner, was in touch with the moment. He claimed he would oversee ‘healthy and wisely determined progress…’31 Psychiatrists, he argued, ought to take a more active role in social problems outside the field. It was a professional environment shaped by such psychiatrists as RD Laing, David Cooper, Joseph Berke and Leon Redler, who produced early critiques of psychiatry. Franz Fanon, the French psychiatrist and philosopher, also published the eighth edition of The Wretched of the Earth in 1968, while Thomas Szasz, another critic, published Law, Liberty, and Psychiatry that same year. Socially conscious psychiatrists in the APA coalesced during the annual convention in Boston and underlined issues of war, race, class and gender. They voiced concern about how breakthroughs in military hardware, advancements in human rights activism and the rising automation of Western civilisation affected Amer- icans’ mental health.32–34 Drugs were a vital part of the era. In 1968, a series of arti- cles in mainstream psychiatry debated the dangers of cannabis, linking it to psychosis.35–42 The American Journal of Psychiatry and Psychiatric News disapproved of its use. The era of psyche- delic medicine was drawing to a close. Authorities in the UK moved against LSD and in 1966 it was made illegal. Medical use also stopped and was prohibited by the Misuse of Drugs Act when it came into force in 1973. LSD was banned in the USA in 1968. The British Journal of Psychiatry (BJP), for its part, was o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /m e d h u m -2 0 1 7 -0 1 1 4 2 2 o n 3 0 M a rch 2 0 1 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ 3Richert L, DeCloedt M. Med Humanit 2018;0:1–8. doi:10.1136/medhum-2017-011422 Original research engaging with the major debates of the time. The October 1968 issue evaluated LSD. BJP’s focus on this mind-expanding drug, among others, represented evolution in sociomedicine and a free marketplace of ideas in which yoga and psychedelics might flourish as an alternative.43 Psychedelics, between the 1940s and 1970s, seemed like the next frontier in psychiatry and self-awareness. Research and experimentation flourished. LSD, in particular, ‘spawned a global interest in the cross-cultural dimensions of hallucinogens’ during the 1950s (Sessa, p. 194).4 Many researchers working in the mental health field expected to produce a ‘wonder drug’ that would provide an answer for the ‘remaining questions about human nature’.44 But the scientific community was not solely responsible for the rise of psychedelics. Nor were drugs seen as the only path to well-being. Eastern-influenced thinkers across the West, and from a variety of disciplines, were vital in exploring altered states of consciousness for answers to society’s problems. Mysticism constituted a central part of the psychedelic credo (Osto, p. 38).8 v In 1958, Aldous Huxley, the English author and exponent of psychedelic experimentation, argued that LSD ‘lowers the barrier between conscious and subcon- scious and permits the patient to look more deeply and under- standingly into the recesses of his own mind. The deepening of self-knowledge takes place against a background of visionary and even mystical experience’. Self-exploration was a key component to patients maintaining their mental health. Although fleeting, these drug-induced experiences, or ‘spiritual exercises’, could be ‘enormously helpful’.45 Huxley addressed claims that his was a ‘mere chemical religion’ by pointing out the corresponding physiological and biochemical effects of yoga and other spiritual practices.46 Indeed, both religious and psychopharmacological methods, he stated, were ‘devices for altering the chemistry of the body…’ The ‘breathing techniques taught by the yogi of India’ changed the ‘concentration of carbon dioxide in the blood; and the psychological consequence of this is a change in the quality of consciousness’. The benefits of such changes, Huxley argued, would be manifold, because psychedelics would lead to a type of widespread religious revival based on ‘radical self-transcend- ence’ (Sessa, p. 62–33).4 vi He believed mind-altering substances had the capacity to change humankind’s mental state for the better. More generally, Huxley suggested that drug-induced reli- gious experiences should at least be treated the same as their ancient mystical counterparts. For better or worse, intellectual engagements of this sort did not always preoccupy those looking for altered states of consciousness in the USA. Another significant thinker behind the psychedelic credo was Abraham Maslow. A proponent of self-realisation, he agreed that psychedelics had potential, but worried they might cause harm to users’ mental health.47 Maslow was first drawn to Eastern thought in the 1960s realising that Americans were sick and in need of spiritual awakening. In a fragmented society, people were more alone than ever. He understood that the interest in the East reflected America’s desire for ‘altruism, compassion, aesthetics, courage and other traits’. Yet, the counterculture’s hijacking of the East bothered him. Instead of focusing on the transcendent by itself, through yoga or psychedelics, Maslow v With some notable exceptions, for example, the Pranksters group, who were not at all interested in religion and spread LSD throughout the San Francisco Bay Area. vi Huxley, ‘Drugs that Shape Men’s Minds’. At other times, he suggested that only intellectuals, writers and artists ought to take these powerful drugs. believed that confronting the quotidian led to self-actualisation. In his view, ‘to be looking elsewhere for miracles is a sure sign of ignorance that everything is miraculous’. He encouraged his patients to work towards ‘plateau experiences’, or extended periods of serenity, as opposed to transitory peak experiences. One had to expend energy for these states ‘through conscious, diligent effort’48 49 vii and psychedelic trips were a cheap repro- duction of genuine mystical experiences. Psychotherapeutic models advocated by Maslow (and others) negotiated with countercultural alternatives. From the 1960s, ‘travellers on the hippie trail ended up in Indian ashrams’ and generated enthusiasm for Indian religion and yoga.16 This ‘hip subculture’ combined various traditions with ‘the chemical mysticism of psychedelic drugs’. Why? Alan Watts, a religious philosopher and psychedelic aficionado in California, believed this blending to be a ‘responsible effort of young people to correct the soul-destroying course of industrial civilization’.50 He argued that such syncretic practices were within the ‘tradi- tion of genuine religious involvement'.51–53 ‘The Western man’, wrote Watts, ‘has arrived, by chance…at a state of conscious- ness in which he experiences directly and vividly’ the unity of the universe. As he put it, psychedelics—although not without risk—were an avenue to tap into that singularity.54 Youth were fed up with the state of the world and, if they could not change it outwardly, wanted to transform it from within. The heady mixture of psychedelics and yoga was also driven at the institutional and individual level. The famous Esalen Insti- tute, near Big Sur, California, was founded in 1962 by Stanford graduates Michael Murphy and Richard Price. It encouraged the development of ‘human potential’ by offering clients East- ern-influenced spiritual lessons in yoga and other disciplines like gestalt, transactional analysis and reflexology (Osto, p. 259).8 55–57 Psychedelic-induced experimentation was officially forbidden, but with workshops led by propsychedelic psychologists like Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert, many attendees explored ‘altered states of consciousness’ regardless58 59 (Grogan, p. 176).60 Part of the 1960s psychological revolution, Esalen offered ‘a more humanistic and holistic view of the person’ that combined New-Age alternative treatment models with radical psychophar- macological drug treatment and ancient philosophy.61 Although not a cult, Esalen’s leaders followed paths towards enlighten- ment like their ancient forbearers Buddha and Jesus and wanted to spread what they learnt to their fellow Americans. Murphy was inspired to found Esalen by Sri Aurobindo, an Indian philosopher and yogi. He had spent several months at the guru’s retreat in Pondicherry, where he absorbed Aurobindo’s cocktail of Eastern and Western thought that combined yoga and psychology. It was a perfect fit for what Murphy and Price wanted in California. These were ideas that would allow indi- viduals to explore their human potential and spirituality. Yoga in particular, claimed Aurobindo, could ‘bring down a divine nature and a divine life into the mental, vital and physical nature and life of humanity’ (Grogan, p. 160–162).60 Richard Alpert (later Ram Dass), similarly, was able to take a transformative trip to India, where he immersed himself in Hinduism, Buddhism, meditation and yoga. He combined these perspectives with his psychedelic research, investigating the intersection of drugs with spirituality (Walsh, p. 222).62 Alpert reported, for example, that psychedelics gave greater spiritual and social meaning to sex and allowed sexual ‘partners (to) transcend the subject-object vii For a thorough examination of Maslow’s approach to psychedelic spirituality, see David Steindl-Rast, ‘Psychoactive Substances and Sacred Values: Reconsidering Abraham Maslow’s Discoveries’. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /m e d h u m -2 0 1 7 -0 1 1 4 2 2 o n 3 0 M a rch 2 0 1 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ 4 Richert L, DeCloedt M. Med Humanit 2018;0:1–8. doi:10.1136/medhum-2017-011422 Original research relationship…and merge into the unitive experience’. He added: ‘Students of sexual yoga already are familiar with this model’.63 Alpert viewed psychedelics, especially LSD, as the ‘sacraments’ of the countercultural movement and believed ‘that those religions which still provide an opportunity for direct religious experience will find a place for the psychedelic chemicals’. One could ‘trip’ towards God in the Downward Dog or on LSD.64 Alpert’s 1971 book, Be Here Now, reflected this view, which pooled all manner of religious traditions with yoga and psychedelics (Osto, p. 40).8 After all, these myriad paths had the same destination in mind. For instance, Jack Kornfield, a clinical psychologist and Buddhist teacher, recalled his initial encounter with psychedelics after studying Eastern religion at Dartmouth College. ‘The majority of Western Buddhist teachers’, he noted, ‘used psyche- delics at the start of their practice’ in the 1960s. This was because drugs served as a shortcut on the path to the Buddhist heights only attainable through yoga, prayer and meditation (Sessa, p. 91).6 By marrying psychedelics together with ancient reli- gious practices, Kornfield believed ‘there might be some very fruitful’ results for spiritual life (Osto, p. 10–11).8 He and others in the field, however, worried that a dependence on psyche- delics to achieve altered states of consciousness was problem- atic. Learning to achieve these states through practice was more sustainable over the long term. Psychospiritual transformations could thus be achieved in appropriate and inappropriate ways.65 Furthermore, there was a risk of ‘burn-out’ or the development of a mental health disorder. What did spiritual-seekers experience? Who were they? And what was it they were looking for? Researchers highlighted several shared aspects of the ‘psychedelic experience’, as reported by drug-takers. These included unity with the subject’s self; insight into objectivity and reality; transcendence of space and time; a sense of sacredness; a deeply felt positive mood; an awareness of paradoxicality; the ineffability of describing mystical conscious- ness; the transience of subjectivity and experience and positive changes to attitude and behaviour. Yogis, interestingly, had also reported such phenomena (Sessa, p. 21–23, p. 66–67).4 66–68 viii Commonalities were not new, having been suggested by thinkers like Aldous Huxley in the late 1950s. Yet, shared ideas and experiences also buttressed the syncretic nature of yoga and drug-taking. As for the identities of the spiritual-seekers, many came from privileged backgrounds and took full advantage of their college years to transform themselves from the inside out. Students in Cambridge, Massachusetts took seriously New-Age beliefs and practices. They began ‘with Asian philosophy’, and tried medi- tation, then yoga. ‘And underlying everything’, according to one witness, was psychedelic drugs. ‘They were on the drugs…they were meditating for hours on end…And they weren’t plebeians. Intellectually they were aristocrats…’ (Smith, p. 42).69 Anec- dotes like this abound, and are backed up by hard evidence that the followers of ‘psychedelic Buddhism’ are ‘predominantly white, middle-class or upper-class, college educated and polit- ically liberal’ (Osto, p. xi).8 To their proponents, however, psychedelics were as essential in their ‘spiritual seeking’ as yoga. Even Eastern-trained individ- uals noticed the symmetry of experience in religious practices and psychedelic experimentation and suggested the latter might be spiritually beneficial.70 Still, many wanted to put yoga ‘back viii Similar descriptions of the psychedelic experience can be found in 21st century New-Age publications. in the temple, where they believed it belonged’ (Syman, p. 216).1 It more authentic and safer. bAd dhArmA: frOm highs TO CulTurAl hijACking Pushback against syncretism emanated from multiple directions. A 1966 Psychedelic Review article, for example, clearly illus- trated the dangers of the drug-taking pathway. John Blofeld, a yogi living in Bangkok, had read Aldous Huxley’s claim ‘that mescaline can induce yogic experiences of a high order’. While sceptical, Blofeld took the drug under supervision at his home and recorded his experiences in a phenomenological fashion. After a short period of pleasantness, he had ‘the sensation of a rapidly fragmenting personality’ and his ‘mental stress grew agonising’. Blofeld felt as though he was a ‘disembodied sufferer’ and that ‘Hell itself could hardly be more terrifying’ than his experience. Then the direction shifted. ‘From hellish torment’, he recounted, “I was plunged into ecstasy”. He felt the ‘undiffer- entiated unity’ of the world, ‘unutterable bliss’ and an awareness of ‘the Buddhist doctrine of dharmas’. He was confounded about how ‘a dose of mescaline can make such an experience possible to someone who has not yet attained it by the profound and prolonged practice of yogic meditation…’ As a yogi, he noted that a drug might produce a ‘mystical and perhaps quasi-reli- gious’ altered state of consciousness.71 The possible mental anguish of a bad trip, Blofeld held, was worth the risk. When things went well, psychedelics provided one with a truly trans- formative experience. While risk/reward tensions were present from the start, in the later 1960s several thinkers began to disavow the syncretic use of psychedelics entirely. The pushback to yoga and drugs centred on arguments about the cultural appropriation of Eastern spiritual language and metaphors. Yoga gurus with ‘large Amer- ican followings’, writes Stefanie Syman, regularly ‘dismissed psychedelics…and frowned on any mingling of drugs and discipline’ (Syman, p. 225).1 Some gurus believed drugs ‘could cause “spiritual dryness”, “disbelief ” and even permanent brain damage' (Syman, p. 203–208).1 Indian yogis had long valued altered states of consciousness, but some felt that drug-related experiences had the potential to be inconsequential and trivial as regards dharma. Worse still, they might be dangerous (Smith, p.144–145).65 Neophytes ought to be wary. Ecstasy (and not the MDMA kind) was not to be treated lightly. None of these cautionary warnings, though, prevented countercultural icons like Aldous Huxley, Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert from mixing psychedelics and spirituality. Huxley and others ‘had come to psychedelic drugs through their interest in yoga or Eastern religion’ in the first instance (Syman, p. 218).1 What was acceptable to outsiders, therefore, was borderline offensive to traditional teachers. A notable example was the Psychedelic Venus Church in California, which built drugs (and explicit sexual practices), into all of its religious activities. Promotional materials called it a ‘pantheistic nature religion of hedonism’ and in an ironic message deemed ‘Official Dogmatic Bombast’, declared that ‘Cannabis sativa is the preferred sacrament of this church; although psychedelics (and even wine) may sometimes be used’.72 To achieve greater peace of mind and enlightenment, church rituals included blind meditation and touch, nude group sensitivity encounters, nude yoga, cannabis communions and OM chanting. The church’s manifesto was a tangle of positions and ideas. It outlined that members, including the founder, Jefferson Fuck Poland, did not ‘commit ourselves to one creedal formula of words’, that Venus-Aphrodite served as lead God and o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /m e d h u m -2 0 1 7 -0 1 1 4 2 2 o n 3 0 M a rch 2 0 1 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ 5Richert L, DeCloedt M. Med Humanit 2018;0:1–8. doi:10.1136/medhum-2017-011422 Original research mental tranquillity would be achieved through sexual freedom. Social issues of the day were paid lip service; the manifesto noted that ‘we will do what we can to prevent warfare, racism, sexism and ecological disaster’, but ‘most of our activities will be on the level of personal liberation’.73 In Nelly Heathen, the major but short-lived periodical of the church, readers were exposed to erotic imagery, lessons about getting high and the value of yoga. Indeed, a section was devoted entirely to yoga. Versions of Ravi Kumar’s Tantra Asanas were printed, highlighting that ‘energy centres containing latent psychic powers’ could be unlocked with sex and yoga. Here, breathing techniques were emphasised. Other articles asked ‘Are the Hindu Gods destructive?’ and ‘Are we being Easternized?’ In a third article, ‘True Hedonism’, the author suggested that yoga was a panacea for mind and body, as well as a mode of pleasure. ‘Yoga provides two paths to True Enlightenment. The easier way involves discipline and denial. The other way, through pleasure, is considered much more difficult because it is so easy to get lost’. When combined with other Venus Psychedelic Church practices, with its leaders acting as guides, the article ended with a question: ‘what could be more pleasant than true hedonism’.74 Meher Baba, a Sufi spiritual teacher in India, who was highly critical of Leary, Blofeld, and groups like the Venus Church, served as a critic of the undermining of traditional practices. In 1966, he penned the antipsychedelic tract ‘God in a Pill?’, where he described LSD, mescaline and psilocybin-fuelled ‘spiritual’ experiences as ‘superficial’. He also described notions of consciousness expansion as illusory. Psychedelics were ‘positively harmful’ for the spirit, according to Baba, and he believed such substances should only be used ‘when prescribed by a profes- sional medical practitioner in the case of serious mental disorder under his direct supervision’. LSD, for example, had many prac- tical applications, but to reach the divine there was no synthetic shortcut. Mental health treatments were not, in Baba’s view, to be used for spiritual ends. Only through love of, and unity with, God can one attain spiritual progress, he espoused.75 76 Bruce Hoffman, an English instructor at Rockland Community College in Suffern, New York, recalled being told that Meher Baba said ‘If God can be found in a pill, he’s not worthy of being God’.77 But Baba’s own mysticism functioned as a kind of ‘substitute gratification for psychedelic trips’ and was extremely attractive to former drug users versed in Eastern religion. Baba’s poses, that is, acted as surrogate pills; both were designed to enhance ‘self-insight’ and ‘consciousness expansion’.78 To consumers of yoga, psychedelics and Eastern religion there remained little to distinguish between these practices. After all, getting ‘highs’ from God, meditation and yoga was easier to integrate into daily life than ‘incapacitating…chem- ical highs’.78 Baba appealed to the psychedelic instinct of his followers when he promised ‘Baba trips’ by looking inward.79 But looking too far inward could be just as dangerous as drugs. Many Zen Buddhist teachers, for instance, warned their students of the ‘danger of possession by demons’ when in certain states of mind. It was best to avoid ‘temptations to go into a stupor, toy with paranormal psychic functions, indulge in ecstasies or quietistic retreats’. Yogis stressed that the temporary highs from drugs were potentially harmful. True spiritual awakening required extensive training and discipline, while altered states of consciousness were major spiritual experiences not to be treated trivially.80 81 Wilson Van Dusen, the Chief Clinical Psychologist at Mendo- cino State Hospital in Talmage, California—later home to the Buddhist community and monastery The City of Ten Thousand Buddhas—agreed that ‘satori (enlightenment) is better attained by years of meditation’ than by an LSD trip. While Van Dusen ‘would prefer years in a quiet monastery’ to the immediate encounter with the divine afforded by drugs, he admitted that this was not an option for everyone, especially in the USA: But, in the Western world at least, we don’t have the time. It is curi- ous that a fast approach should come out of Western chemical labora- tories! Yet, if LSD is rejected in favor of meditation because the latter is natural and the former not, I can’t agree. In the view of Zen this is a foolish distinction. The Lord designed LSD and LSD experimenters and LSD experience just as much as He designed monasteries and sitting meditation. It does look as though the slower way of Zen med- itation lays a more solid foundation, though this needs to be tested too…Personally, if enlightenment could be obtained by sitting in cow dung with ashes on my head, I would do it.82 Although critical of some aspects of psychedelic users claiming spiritual growth, Van Dusen could not deny the need for enlight- enment in America. Even ‘sitting in cow dung’ was better than nothing.82 For right-leaning commentators, and in the run-up to the formal declaration of a War on Drugs, in 1971, the preceding decade had inaugurated an ‘epidemic of drug abuse in the search for means to alter consciousness’. Critics of the counterculture noted that this desire went back millennia and that even ‘yoga, with its transcendental meditation techniques, was an attempt to achieve the psychedelic state’.83 Researchers were warned not to be seduced by their appeal: ‘Science is the path we have chosen to aid in man’s growth and development, and mysticism in whatever guise is a contaminant of the scientific attitude’.84 Although LSD was initially promoted by Californian intellec- tuals and those in the psy-sciences in the 1950s, it lost credibility with many in the medical community thereafter.85 Nonetheless, it remained firmly entrenched in the counterculture and as part of mental health and spiritual development. A breATh Of fresh Air: grOf’s hOlOTrOpiC TherApY Special attention must be given to Stanislav Grof. An emigre Czechoslovak psychiatrist, psychedelic researcher and one-time scholar at the Esalen Institute, Grof famously experimented with LSD in 1950s Prague and later in the USA. With an interest in Eastern religion, Grof related how his own psychedelic sessions ‘seemed comparable to the light of supernatural brilliance said in Oriental scriptures’. He went on: ‘The Divine manifested itself and took me over in a modern laboratory in the middle of a scientific experiment conducted in a Communist country with a substance produced in the test tube of a 20th century chemist’. His patients and test subjects regularly reported feelings of tran- scendence, while he advocated that the brain’s ‘pre-existing matrices’ were activated by psychedelics. But Grof had a hunch that there were other ways of switching this part of the grey matter on.86 After moving to California in 1973, he continued to investigate the treatment of mental health conditions by altering patients’ states of consciousness. When LSD was banned in the late 1960s, Grof developed Holotropic Breathwork with his wife Christina at the Esalen Institute (Grof, p. 255–256).87 88 Based on the yogic practice of modulated breathing, the technique used hyperventilation to mimic the ‘experience of a non-ordinary state of conscious- ness’. Grof contended that his therapy built a patient’s ‘char- acter armour’, strengthening the body and mind. While not as popular as yoga, it developed a loyal following. The technique emphasised non-pharmacological methods of reaching altered states of consciousness as equally important in the treatment of mental illness and ‘spiritual emergencies’. Such emergencies, o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /m e d h u m -2 0 1 7 -0 1 1 4 2 2 o n 3 0 M a rch 2 0 1 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ 6 Richert L, DeCloedt M. Med Humanit 2018;0:1–8. doi:10.1136/medhum-2017-011422 Original research according to Grof, were psychospiritual crises that might derail an otherwise sound mind (Sessa, p. 63–64; Walsh, p. 219; Grof, p. 256).4 62 87 89 ix In a feature piece for Yoga Journal in 1985, Grof recalled how he had mined Eastern thinking to supplement orthodox medical therapies. His goal was to create ‘a bridge between the relatively limited Western point of view and the maps of consciousness provided by the major mystical traditions’. This included Buddhism and yoga. His wife, Christina, discovered the combination when she began practising Hatha Yoga to stay fit during her first marriage. During childbirth, she used the breathing techniques she had honed in class and later argued that ‘this enormous spiritual force was released in me’. The same feeling arose during her second child’s birth. Thereafter, she had ‘spontaneous experiences, all happening within the context of daily life’.90 With enough practice, one did not need synthetic substances like LSD or mescaline to achieve altered states of consciousness (Grof, p. 256).87 x Yoga was enough to induce a ‘dramatic inner awakening’.91 Christina’s experiences, however, were not wholly positive. At times, she thought she was ‘going crazy’. After she met Grof and he explained psychedelic experiences, Christina realised altered states could help her with her mental health issues. In 1980, the couple founded the Spiritual Emergency Network in California to offer workshops in transpersonal therapy and Holotropic Breathwork to those in crisis. Christina characterised the technique as ‘wiser than we are. But it requires a great deal of trust and surrender’.92 It also proved successful against chem- ical dependency and spiritual crises. Bodywork of this nature allowed her to battle her demons; it enabled her to regain her mental health, and, ‘after years of longing for a felt-contact with the presence I perceive to be God, I am finding that it is possible, with some effort on my part, to feel that connection in every day of my life’.93 Synthetic highs might lead to a form of transcend- ence, but in some renderings this was nothing compared with more naturally induced altered states of consciousness. everYThing is fOr sAle in AmeriCA, even bliss In the early 1990s, the Yoga Journal published a series of retro- spective articles on the 1960s’ preoccupation with altered states of consciousness. An emphasis on psychedelics was palpable, which reflected the impact such substances had on American yoga culture. Consumers of psychedelics, Eastern religion and yoga in the 1960s were, of course, mostly middle-class to upper- class, white, college-educated liberals; probably, the same people who subscribed to Yoga Journal in their later years. As histo- rian David Herzberg has pointed out vis-à-vis tranquillisers and antidepressants, the media played an important role in creating ‘meaning[s] for white middle class culture’.94 Messages in Yoga Journal, similarly, reinforced ideas about psychedelics and yoga to its target demographic. One article suggested that the trippers and yogis of the era had simply rediscovered ‘ancient knowledge about the potentials of the human mind’. Americans’ journey deep into Eastern religion was regarded as an attempt to break the ‘consensus trance’ that dominated ‘normal’ life. The meeting of psychedelics and yoga was, according to this view, a natural reaction. ‘We’ve developed in the West a state-limited philosophy and psychology’, the Yoga ix The idea that yoga can cure ‘the psychospiritual illnesses of the times’ resonated into the 2010s. x According to Grof, holotropic states can occur with no obvious trigger and can ‘be induced by powerful forms of experiential therapy’. Journal piece contended, “…Buddhist, yogic, Vedantic, Taoist and Sufic philosophies are clearly created from, and designed to induce, multiple states of consciousness. Without experience of those states, we may not be able to appreciate the messages of those other philosophies”.95 Still, while the philosophical basis of the counterculture was significant, some saw drug-induced experiences as just as life-changing. In an era where television had ‘made people a lot more stupid’, recalled psychedelic exper- imenter Starhawk, ‘psychedelics had enormously expanded the range of things that people could think about in this culture’.96 Modern yoga practitioners also viewed psychedelics as a shortcut to an altered state of consciousness and superior mental health. Psychedelics offered a sort of inauthentic consciousness of the divine, as articulated by Meher Baba (Osto, p. 264).8 xi Yogis concerned with spiritual purity have not tended to overtly judge drug-takers, but since the 1960s they have regarded psych- edelics as an ersatz experience of bliss. Roughly 83% of respond- ents to a 1996 questionnaire in Tricycle: The Buddhist Review admitted to taking psychedelics. Respondents likewise believed they ‘are not a path, but they can provide a glimpse of the reality to which Buddhist practice points’ (Osto, p. 1–2).8 Yoga, among other Eastern practices, was marketed to countercultural Amer- icans as an alternative to the false ‘path’ of psychedelics from the mid-1960s. It gave practitioners a ‘safer, more permanent “high”’ than drugs, without the latter’s ‘inherent limitations’.97 Without the psychedelic revolution and attendant investigations by mental health practitioners, however, many of those looking for something beyond the America they saw before them would not have discovered non-chemical alternatives like yoga. This article has traced the contours of psychedelics, yoga and mental health, yet it is clear that there is more work to be done using new sources, approaches and narrower geographical areas. It may have appeared the purists had defeated the proponents of psychedelics, but many yogis and American Buddhists continued to take drugs long after Meher Baba and others had denounced them in the 1960s (Osto, p. 203).8 Forces within the countercul- tural and yoga movements entangled them and it was difficult to parse the two practices. Devotees of altered states of conscious- ness, inspired by meditation, yoga and Eastern thought, were seen as ‘fringy’ and ‘naïve’. Since the 1960s–1970s, however, the syncretic nature of yoga/psychedelics has conquered the world, with researchers providing data to substantiate the claims made by gurus, yogis and trippers.98 In The Psychedelic Renaissance, Dr Ben Sessa, a neuroscientist and lifelong student of psychedelic medicine, science and culture, noted that ‘God—if there is such a thing—can, I believe, be known through the psychedelically-in- duced peak experience’ (Sessa, p. 9).1 He is not alone in this estimation. Yoga was ‘one of the first and most successful products of globalisation, and it has augured a truly post-Christian, spirit- ually polyglot country’ (Syman, p. 9).1 Its adoption by the alter- native health and New-Age movements differed from the more institutional syntheses of religion and psychedelics. Yet, it aligned with the historical combination of psychotropic substances and religion, offering up spiritual sustenance, mental health benefits and a more supple body.99 xii The historical record has borne out that the hopes and dreams of psychedelia’s proponents, many of whom were based in California and the East Coast, died at the end of the 1960s. Those that remained in the movement were xi With the Dalai Lama even contributing to the field of neuroscience. xii Like Timothy Leary’s community in Millbrook, New York, and the Acid Churches of the 1960s. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /m e d h u m -2 0 1 7 -0 1 1 4 2 2 o n 3 0 M a rch 2 0 1 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ 7Richert L, DeCloedt M. Med Humanit 2018;0:1–8. doi:10.1136/medhum-2017-011422 Original research treated with contempt by the mainstream and portrayed as little more than stoners and burnouts. Once seen as a panacea for the West’s malaise, psychedelics were now believed to be the cause of many of its problems (Sessa, p. 197).4 It was, by some accounts, the era ‘of the spiritual wisdom of the unlettered holy man over the intellectual accomplishments of the scholar’.100 Yet, mental health professionals clearly impacted how spirituality and altered states of consciousness were scien- tifically and culturally understood. Psychedelic experiences were ‘literally purchased’ (Grogan, p. 179),60 as can yoga classes today.101 xiii Young people rebelled against their parents and society ‘in a kind of war on order and morality’ by taking drugs for ‘a chance to get love and religion at bargain prices’.102 Critics like Baba and Maslow lamented the quick and easy pathway to transcendence without having to strive for it as potentially spirit- ually harmful. ‘I think’, Maslow wrote, ‘it’s clearly better to work for your blessings, instead of to buy them. I think an unearned Paradise becomes worthless’ (Grogan, p. 179).60 Despite such warnings, the psychedelic and alternative health movements, however problematic their use of Eastern thought and practices, changed American culture.103 Even if the more grandiose designs of the countercultural movement were not achieved, the US grew more open as a result of its experimentation. ‘Some of it is flaky openness, being open to nonsense’, one commentator put it, ‘but a lot of it is a good openness’.104 In sum, Americans adapted ancient beliefs and modern drugs to their needs. By combining psychedelics with yoga, they could purchase bliss while going through the motions of spiritual exercise. Acknowledgements The authors would like to thank the Wellcome Trust, archivists in California and Michigan as well as colleagues at the University of Strathclyde and Central European University. Contributors Both authors contributed to the conception and design of the article, the collection of data, drafting of the article and critical revisions. funding Wellcome Trust Investigator Award 200394/Z/15/Z, 2016-2020. Competing interests None declared. patient consent Not required. provenance and peer review Not commissioned; externally peer reviewed. Open Access This is an Open Access article distributed in accordance with the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY 4.0) license, which permits others to distribute, remix, adapt and build upon this work, for commercial use, provided the original work is properly cited. See: http:// creativecommons. org/ licenses/ by/ 4. 0/ © Article author(s) (or their employer(s) unless otherwise stated in the text of the article) 2018. All rights reserved. No commercial use is permitted unless otherwise expressly granted. RefeRences 1 Syman S. The subtle body: The story of yoga in America. 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work_2nlvrtqxbfac3amyvtf25zhoeq	----	Front. Educ. China 2015, 10(3): 401–426 DOI 10. 3868/s110-004-015-0029-3 Paul SINCLAIR ( ) Faculty of Business Administration, University of Regina, Regina S4S 0A2, Canada E-mail: Paul.Sinclair@uregina.ca Dongyan BLACHFORD Chinese Studies, Faculty of Arts, University of Regina, Regina S4S 0A2, Canada Garth PICKARD Faculty of Education, University of Regina, Regina S4S 0A2, Canada RESEARCH ARTICLE Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study Abstract Through funding from the Canadian International Development Agency’s (CIDA) China Program, the University of Regina (UofR), Canada, implemented two major development projects with the Educational Institute of Jilin province (EIJP) from 1990 to 2001. This paper re-examines this historic cooperation. The paper argues that prevailing theories of sustainable development which had been percolating in education faculties of Canadian universities in the 1990s allowed the UofR/EIJP program to transcend a simple international aid paradigm and to focus on the mutual benefit of the partners. At the same time, we observe that despite the enormous goodwill and institutional learning achieved through the UofR/EIJP program the project failed to live up to its significant potential. The paper concludes with some practical measures that institutions might implement to ensure important cooperative projects can build robust international capacity sustainable for the long term. Keywords sustainable development, international aid, higher education, Chinese education Introduction Of the thousands of Canadian university projects which have unfolded in China over the past 40 years, the Canadian International Development Agency’s Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 402 (CIDA) China Program has yielded some particular gems. Yet in the context of burgeoning university collaborative projects and the ongoing internationalization of Canadian higher education, individual projects implemented through CIDA’s China Program invite further exploration. This paper examines the University of Regina’s (UofR) collaboration with the Educational Institute of Jilin Province (EIJP) which unfolded through the Canada-China University Linkages Program (CCULP; 1990–1995) and, and later, the Special University Linkages Consolidation Program (SULCP; 1996–2001). We try to account for what turned out to be the UofR/EIJP projects’ mixed successes. In the CCULP stage of the project, the Faculty of Education at the UofR and the EIJP created together a Management Training Centre in Changchun which had capacity to provide ongoing administrative in-service for educational leaders around Jilin province. Meanwhile, the UofR leveraged the program to develop enduring friendships between program participants, to support an ongoing twinning agreement between Saskatchewan and Jilin provinces, to establish a Centre for International Teacher Education at the UofR, and to found several successful exchange programs with public schools in the Regina area. However, seen from a larger institutional perspective, the UofR/EIJP program might have been linked in a more strategic way to other UofR projects in China, and the substantial connections the university had made through the CCULP and the SULCP could have been better leveraged by the provincial government. This paper relies on insights from linkage program coordinators, program participants, research publications flowing from the projects, and archived documents at the UofR. We delineate some of the important features of the CCULP and SUCLP programs and identify some of the lasting educational infrastructure established in the wake of the cooperative agreements. The study goes on to grapple with several central questions: What current theories and principles in the academic and international development world allowed this joint program to transcend a simple international aid paradigm? What realities ultimately limited the long-term impact of the CCULP and SULCP programming successes? What important lessons can be learned from the CCULP/SULCP collaborations now that the tables have turned and Canadian universities are increasingly reaching out to Chinese universities for access to students, research expertise, and project-funding partnerships? “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 403 The University of Regina/Educational Institute of Jilin Province CCULP and SULCP Projects The involvement of the Faculty of Education at the UofR in the CIDA China Program involved a simple logic. The chief architects of the CIDA China Program, the CIDA and the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Trade and Economic Cooperation (MOFTEC) understood China’s university system had to be reformed to include international law, trade, finance, engineering, and macroeconomics so as to better reflect the activities in which China was increasingly becoming engaged. However, to accomplish these reforms, China had first to increase the capacity of public education. Meanwhile, Marcel Masse, who had taken over as president of CIDA in 1989, advocated a Human Resource Development (HRD) model which recognized that the CIDA China projects were necessarily going to involve people-to-people exchanges which would focus on institutional capacity-building. Seeming to follow this lead, the main Association of Universities and Colleges of Canada (AUCC) report documenting the CCULP also “recommended that CIDA programming put HRD for the university sector as a priority for CIDA’s new China program” (Winch, 1996, p. 8). Clearly, the UofR’s Faculty of Education, a trainer of teachers as well as administrators, could help develop educational administrators needed for China’s larger economic and social development. On a more practical level, Regina was a regional centre on the periphery of Canada’s diplomatic centre of gravity in Ontario and Quebec; Changchun was situated in an agricultural region removed from China’s corridors of power in Beijing and Shanghai. The UofR, much like the EIJP, had its origins in teacher education. In any case, the province of Saskatchewan had already signed a Jilin Friendship Agreement in 1984; by 1985 the UofR had already been talking to their counterparts in the EIJP about possible joint training programs. It was easy for CIDA and its Chinese bilateral partner to match the two institutions through the CIDA China Program. Under the auspices of the EIJP and the Educational Commission of Jilin province, the CCULP Management Training Program which ran from 1990 to 1995, successfully established a Management Training Centre in Changchun to sustain the planning and delivery of educational administrative in-service training. Based on the success of these CCULP projects, the Faculty of Education Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 404 at the UofR was chosen to receive continued CIDA funding through the later SULCP as one of the 11 SULCP participants of the original 31. Fig. 1 summarizes in graphic form the major partner exchanges undertaken through the CCULP and SULCP. This paper focuses most of its attention on the later SULCP phase of the cooperation since the second phase was essentially an elaboration of the first program, and one of the authors, Garth Pickard, acted as the Canadian Program Director on the Canadian portion of the project. Fig. 1 The University of Regina/Educational Institute of Jilin Province CIDA Projects The Consolidation of the Management Training Project: Educational Policy Implementation and Gender Equity in Human Resource Development (abbreviated as the “Educational Policy and Gender Equity Program,” or “EPGEP”) was essentially a continuation of the projects already completed, but added a new focus on the academic success of school-aged girls. Three seminars ranging in length from eight to 14 days, along with three-day pre-impact and three-day post-impact components, were held in Changchun over a five-year period. In addition, a working group of principals, including the vice president of the EIJP, visited the UofR in 1999.1 As a result of this training, the EPGEP developed in-service programming and curriculum development training for women educational administrators through the Management Training Centre; provided opportunities for women to learn to become trainers/consultants and to participate directly in school management-administration and curriculum planning; assisted senior provincial educational administrators implement policy 1 Another working group of principals which included the president of the EIJP had visited UofR in 1993 through the CCULP programming. “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 405 that better included women in management-administration and curriculum planning; helped senior provincial educational administrators identify systemic problems causing the high dropout rate of school-aged girls; and worked with senior provincial educational administrators to ensure opportunities for school-aged girls to complete a middle school education. Fig. 2 summarizes the main projects undertaken through the CCULP and SULCP. Two ancillary projects were developed through National Elements programming, a Student Counseling Program in 1996 and a Student Services Programming and Implementation Activity for Elementary Schools in Northeast China in 2000 (SSPIA; the 2000 student services project will be discussed in some detail later in the paper). The SULCP program also trained two women and three men from Jilin’s Management Training Centre through a collateral Master’s Degree Program approved as an extension of the SULCP. By 2001, the candidates completed all graduate course work, gained UofR research ethics approval, and had completed their research and thesis requirements. Fig. 2 The University of Regina/Educational Institute of Jilin Province Cooperative Programming This study does not set out to explore the complex web of activities undertaken by the UofR and EIJP over a five-year spate of activity related to the SULCP projects. Instead it examines two “snapshots” of the program which reveal the inner workings of the UofR/EIJP cooperation. First, we examine in Table 1 the third seminar held in Changchun near the end of the program. Ta bl e 1 C ur ri cu lu m f or S em in ar T hr ee ( M ay 1 99 9) D ay 1 D ay 2 D ay 3 D ay 4 D ay 5 D ay 6 D ay 7 D ay 8 D ay 9 M or ni ng To pi cs O pe ni ng ce re m on ie s; Ph ot og ra ph ic se ss io n; In tr od uc ti on to C an ad ia n te am m em be rs In tr od uc ti on to cu rr ic ul um th eo ry L ea rn in g th eo ry an d pr ac ti ce C on ce pt o f “A ct iv e L ea rn in g” L ea rn in g en vi ro nm en ts “P os t- im pa ct Ph as e” D ev el op in g ac ti on p la ns Te ac he r ev al ua ti on E du ca ti on al pl an ni ng R ev ie w D is cu ss io n/ A ct iv it ie s G oa ls o f Sa sk at ch ew an E du ca ti on In st ru ct io na l st ra te gi es O ve rv ie w o f le ar ni ng s ty le s; Su cc es sf ul st ud en ts R ol e of p ri or ex pe ri en ce a nd kn ow le dg e; Im pl ic at io ns fo r in st ru ct io n L in ki ng th eo ry w it h pr ac ti ce “P re -i m pa ct Ph as e” d at a sh ee t Fi el d da ta pr oc es si ng ; W ri ti ng w or ks ho p Su pe rv is io n of te ac he rs ; Te ac he r m en to ri ng ; A dm in is t- ra to r su pe rv is io n ro le s; Pr of es si on al de ve lo pm en t G en de r eq ui ty C on si de ra t- io ns ; C ur ri cu lu m an d in st ru ct io n Se m in ar cl os ur e A ca de m ic T he or y C on ce pt o f “W eb bi ng ”; In te rd is ci pl in ar it y St ud en t- ce nt re d In st ru ct io n; In de pe nd en t L ea rn in g E xp er ie nt ia l T he or y; C on st ru ct iv is m ; R es ou rc e- B as ed L ea rn in g; C oo pe ra ti ve L ea rn in g (T o be c on ti nu ed ) (C on ti nu ed ) D ay 1 D ay 2 D ay 3 D ay 4 D ay 5 D ay 6 D ay 7 D ay 8 D ay 9 A ft er no on To pi cs O ve rv ie w of Se m in ar C ur ri cu lu m ex am pl es ; C ur ri cu lu m im pr ov em en t L ea rn in g th eo ry an d pr ac ti ce A ct iv e le ar ni ng in a ct io n “I m pa ct Ph as e” : fi el d tr ip to pa rk an d m us eu m E va lu at io n an d as se ss m en t A dm in is tr at or e va lu at io n E du ca ti on al pl an ni ng D is cu ss io n/ A ct iv it ie s C ur ri cu lu m de ve lo pm en t; A ct iv e le ar ni ng ; E va lu at io n So ci al s tu di es ; C ar ee r gu id an ce ; A dm in is tr at iv e ro le s; N ee ds o f st ud en ts Sa sk at ch ew an ed uc at io n go al s; A ct iv e en ga ge m en t; In de pe nd en t le ar ni ng Te ac he r in -s er vi ce ; C ar ee r gu id an ce ; “F is h B ow l” de m on st ra ti on ; “A ct iv e le ar ni ng ” de m on st ra ti on G at he ri ng fi el d in fo rm at io n in g ro up s of fi ve in cl ud in g ru bb in gs , ph ot os , f ie ld no te s St ud en t e va lu at io n; C ri te ri on - re fe re nc ed ev al ua ti on ; R ub ri cs ; Po rt fo li os ; St ud en t- ce nt re d co nf er en ci ng Pr of es si on al tr ai ni ng ; Se le ct io n; E xp an di ng du ti es ; A ss es sm en t Sc ho ol ev al ua ti on G en de r eq ui ty co ns id er at io ns ; C ur ri cu lu m a nd in st ru ct io n C lo si ng ce re m on y A ca de m ic T he or y Sy st em s T he or y; C ha ng e T he or y; M ot iv at io na l T he or y; D em in g’ s Pr in ci pl es of M an ag e- m en t; Fu ll an Sc ho ol s as O rg an iz a- ti on s St ud en t- ce nt re d L ea rn in g; C om m un it y- en ga ge d L ea rn in g Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 408 By the time the third seminar was conducted in China, the Canadian participants were quite comfortable with the China environment, having had successfully conducted two seminars in Changchun in the previous years. Meanwhile, the Chinese side had slowly accustomed themselves to the Canadian pedagogical style and gained a rudimentary understanding of some of the profound differences between the Canadian and Chinese school systems. Despite the mutual understanding achieved by the program participants, there was ample opportunity for cross-cultural learning. The Chinese participants who had been exposed to a strongly moralistic “normal school” training struggled to understand how pure academic theory such as systems theory, change theory, motivational theory, management theory, and other academic theories which North American faculties of education were embracing in the 1990s, could be applied to the classroom. While the traditional Chinese school system required students to stay at their desks, the Canadian participants vowed to get the participants moving around, sometimes outside the seminar venue. The Canadian teachers were also sharing with their Chinese colleagues about “student-centred learning,” and challenging an educational tradition which had had the teacher at the centre of the learning process for several thousand years. Moreover, the Chinese participants were equal participants (at least in theory) with their Canadian teachers in the seminar which unfolded over the nine days. The “head translator” system envisioned by the Chinese side at least partly broken down as the participants in the seminars gained the confidence to communicate with rudimentary English, sign language, and facial expressions. Most importantly, the seminar talked frankly about school administrators in precisely the same terms it talked about school-age children: Like the younger students, would-be administrators needed training, evaluation, support, and encouragement. A survey of projects associated with the CIDA China Program would be incomplete without a discussion of money. Managing CIDA’s financial formula for the program was often fraught with tension. For example, at the UofR, 50% of the CIDA overhead funding for each program went to the Faculty of Education which was administering the programs; the other 50% of the overhead funding went to the university. Further complicating matters, the program overheads were only 54% of the projected cost to the university. The direct result was that the university placed limits on the kinds of in-kind contributions that could be offered, a shortfall which often left the Faculty of Education, the UofR’s “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 409 Research Services Department, and the Project Director with competing priorities. When the management of money was so difficult in one’s own institution, it was close to impossible to understand every aspect of expenditure in the partner institution. Negotiations persisted over the Chinese per diem amounts depending upon the individual’s position within the EIJP causing, on occasion, strain amongst the Chinese team members. Moving money between the two institutions was equally challenging: In one instance an important cheque had been sent by FedEx to the EIJP, but had gone missing in the guard office at the gate of the institution. In a bureaucratic world full of “overhead,” “allowances,” “forecasts,” and “variances,” we might ask a further question: What did the program actually cost, and on what did CIDA money actually get spent? Table 2 shows the actual cost of the “Consolidation of the Management Training Project: Educational Policy Implementation and Gender Equity in Human Resource Development” which was rolled out over a period of five years. We can make a couple of very rudimentary observations about the program. The AUCC had articulated overhead for all projects, so overhead expenditures were at the discretion of AUCC and CIDA. However, the significant budget for the program was managed by the director. If the director got consolidator fares for flights, thereby reducing travel costs, then he might, for example, add another person to work on the project. The enormous geographic distance between the partners meant that they were spending large amounts on plane tickets. Travel costs, at CA$ 148,614.94, were the largest expense apart from personnel costs. Living expenses were also substantial, at CA$ 119,410.31. Considerable resources were put into “output”; the program spent CA$ 44,278.40 on publishing. We conclude this section by observing the UofR/EIJP CIDA programs were successes on a number of fronts. First of all, the Management Training Program and the Educational Policy and Gender Equity Program offered through the CCULP and SULCP CIDA funding were an administrative triumph. Until the end of the 1980s, international projects developed on an uncoordinated, ad hoc basis in Canadian universities, and, at least in the eyes of some, higher education remained stubbornly Euro-centric (Walmsley as cited in Shute, 1999, p. 24). Little protocol was in place to handle international relationships at either the Ta bl e 2 T he E du ca ti on al P ol ic y an d G en de r E qu it y Pr og ra m in M on et ar y Te rm s (C A $) D ir ec t C os ts 19 96 /1 99 7 19 97 /1 99 8 19 98 /1 99 9 19 99 /2 00 0 20 00 /2 00 1 To ta l T ra ve l A . I nt er na ti on al T ra ve l 18 ,2 52 .0 0 19 ,3 22 .0 0 26 ,7 87 .8 8 13 ,7 07 .0 3 48 ,1 55 .5 4 12 6, 22 4. 45 B . L oc al T ra ve l i n C an ad a 60 1. 67 23 0. 20 1, 13 3. 52 1, 38 4. 23 54 .6 7 3, 40 4. 29 C . L oc al T ra ve l i n C hi na 1, 62 5. 00 1, 89 8. 75 14 ,0 11 .5 5 17 ,5 35 .3 0 D . V is a/ M ed ic al 41 4. 24 1, 01 1. 66 25 .0 0 1, 45 0. 90 Tr av el T ot al 20 ,8 92 .9 1 22 ,4 62 .6 1 27 ,9 46 .4 0 15 ,0 91 .2 6 62 ,2 21 .7 6 14 8, 61 4. 94 L iv in g E xp en se s A . C an ad ia ns in C an ad a 18 9. 49 40 .4 8 16 6. 66 57 .4 8 45 4. 11 B . C an ad ia ns in C hi na 2, 66 0. 92 10 ,1 93 .5 8 7, 92 1. 32 14 ,0 66 .9 9 34 ,8 42 .8 1 C . C hi ne se in C an ad a 9, 90 8. 22 16 ,6 51 .5 2 10 ,4 39 .5 7 29 ,4 44 .4 9 17 ,6 69 .5 9 84 ,1 13 .3 9 Li vi ng E xp en se s To ta l 12 ,7 58 .6 3 26 ,8 85 .5 8 18 ,5 27 .5 5 43 ,5 11 .4 8 17 ,7 27 .0 7 11 9, 41 0. 31 Su pp li es A . C om m un ic at io ns 1, 07 6. 52 78 9. 42 34 7. 71 5, 88 2. 64 25 2. 90 8, 34 9. 19 B . P ho to co py in g 13 6. 59 10 1. 04 72 6. 27 11 ,2 07 .5 2 10 ,3 29 .5 9 22 ,5 01 .0 1 C . C on su m ab le s/ Te ac hi ng M at er ia l 48 4. 70 1, 33 5. 18 1, 54 3. 20 3, 97 6. 02 14 ,3 63 .2 9 21 ,7 02 .3 9 D . S em in ar M at er ia ls 1, 09 9. 25 4, 00 0. 00 5, 09 9. 25 E . R oo m /E qu ip m en t R en t- C an ad a 15 2. 93 15 2. 93 (T o be c on ti nu ed ) (C on ti nu ed ) D ir ec t C os ts 19 96 /1 99 7 19 97 /1 99 8 19 98 /1 99 9 19 99 /2 00 0 20 00 /2 00 1 To ta l G . C ap it al 36 ,9 86 .9 6 11 ,2 50 .0 0 22 ,0 00 .0 0 70 ,2 36 .9 6 Su pp li es T ot al 1, 69 7. 81 39 ,2 12 .6 0 14 ,9 66 .4 3 47 ,0 66 .1 8 25 ,0 98 .7 1 12 8, 04 1. 73 Pu bl ic at io ns A . S em in ar T ex tb oo k 3 ,0 00 .0 0 2 ,9 90 .7 5 9 ,7 50 .0 0 1 5, 74 0. 75 B . S ym po si um P ro gr am s 6 ,0 00 .0 0 1 2, 03 7. 65 1 8, 03 7. 65 C . S ym po si um P ro ce ed in gs 6 ,0 00 .0 0 4 ,5 00 .0 0 1 0, 50 0. 00 P ub li ca ti on s To ta l 3 ,0 00 .0 0 2 ,9 90 .7 5 9 ,7 50 .0 0 1 2, 00 0. 00 1 6, 53 7. 65 4 4, 27 8. 40 T ra in in g A . T ui ti on F ee s/ A ll ow an ce 2 ,5 78 .8 0 1 2, 62 9. 20 1 7, 76 9. 50 3 2, 97 7. 50 Tr ai ni ng T ot al 2 ,5 78 .8 0 1 2, 62 9. 20 1 7, 76 9. 50 3 2, 97 7. 50 G en er al A . C on su lt in g Fe es 1 ,3 20 .3 6 9 27 .9 7 4 00 .0 0 7 33 .2 8 3 ,3 81 .6 1 B . R es ea rc h 2 00 .0 0 4 ,0 00 .0 0 4 ,2 00 .0 0 C . O ve rw ei gh t 8 84 .8 4 8 84 .8 4 G en er al T ot al 2 00 .0 0 1 ,3 20 .3 6 9 27 .9 7 5 ,2 84 .8 4 7 33 .2 8 8 ,4 66 .4 5 Su b- To ta l 3 8, 54 9. 35 9 2, 87 1. 90 7 4, 69 7. 15 1 35 ,5 82 .9 6 1 40 ,0 87 .9 7 4 81 ,7 89 .3 3 Pe rs on ne l C os ts ( O ve rh ea d) 2 3, 92 2. 19 5 7, 94 9. 02 5 6, 85 7. 35 4 1, 24 9. 44 3 ,7 28 .6 9 1 83 ,7 06 .6 9 P ro je ct T ot al 6 2, 47 1. 54 1 50 ,8 20 .9 2 1 31 ,5 54 .5 0 1 76 ,8 32 .4 0 1 43 ,8 16 .6 6 6 65 ,4 96 .0 2 C on ti ng en cy G ra nd T ot al 6 65 ,4 96 .0 2 Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 412 UofR or the EIJP. Yet program participants on both sides developed robust organizational infrastructure to support accounting, communications, visa applications, and per diem arrangements. Protocols were put in place to deal with banking anomalies as situations arose. Once on the ground in the partner university residence, arrangements were made for routine and emergency doctor visits for participants and their families. Without being too intrusive, host institutions had to put in place realistic measures to ensure the security of participants and their belongings. Meanwhile both universities overcame significant bureaucratic inertia in their home institutions. In an environment which discouraged radical accommodations for special projects, participants spent and acquired political capital to get new initiatives started. More crucially, the two sides had achieved a remarkably close cooperation, whether through frank discussion about problem teenagers in the Student Counselling Program, or through the mentorship relationship which developed in the National Elements master’s program. The two institutions managed to create lasting friendship between two provinces, institutions, and people, at least as long as the program participants were in positions of influence in the education fields in the two provinces. International Development and the Sustainability Paradigm What kind of educational values and theoretical principles underpinned the rich collaboration achieved between the UofR and the EIJP? Profound changes in thinking about the nature of development were underway at the end of the 1980s. Thinking had shifted on two important fronts. First, development specialists, practitioners, and academics alike agreed that economic development that occurred without lifting participants out of poverty and improving the societies in which participants lived was not real development. Second, economic development which was achieved at the expense of the natural environment, the environment which supported the very economic activities in which participant societies engaged, was similarly not real development. Sustainable development was initially seen as something occurring simultaneously on three fronts: economic development, social equity, and environmental protection. One of the more cogent articulations of this three-part approach came with Barbier’s (1987) conception of sustainable development as “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 413 three overlapping spheres corresponding to “biological system goals,” “economic system goals,” and “social system goals.” Through an “adaptive process of trade-offs” sustainable development could be achieved even though the goals clearly competed with each other (p. 104). The development world enthusiastically embraced the term “sustainable development.” Published in 1987 by the World Commission on Environment and Development, Our Common Future (also known as the Brundtland Report) envisioned a “development which meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs” (United Nations, 1987, Chapter 2). The United Nations General Assembly endorsed the report, paving the way for an articulation of principles of sustainable development at the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil in 1992 (see High Level Panel on Global Sustainability, United Nations, 2010). More importantly, by the early 1990s, sustainable development philosophy had begun to colonize the Western academic world. Academic journals began widely disseminating sustainable development research, some of it preoccupied with China. The inaugural 1993 issue of Sustainable Development, coincidentally, featured a profile of China entitled China: Big Country, Small Land (see Editor, 1993). The term “sustainable development” had begun to be embraced by CIDA by 1991. Marcel Masse oversaw the creation of a discussion paper, “Sustainable Development,” published in June 1991 by CIDA’s Policy Branch (Pratt, 1998, p. 3). “Canada in the World,” a foreign policy statement released in February 1995, stated “[t]he purpose of Canada’s ODA is to support sustainable development in developing countries, in order to reduce poverty and to contribute to a more secure, equitable and prosperous world.” The report went on to observe “Poverty reduction means a sustained decrease in the number of poor and the extent of their deprivation. This requires that the root causes and structural factors of poverty be addressed…. Poverty reduction must focus on improving the social, economic and environmental conditions of the poor and their access to decision making” [emphasis added] (CIDA, 1996, January). Yet for all the rosy associations implicit in “sustainable development,” tensions remained in the implementation of the new framework. Barbier’s vision of “trade-offs” pointed to powerful tensions between irreconcilable ideals. Meanwhile, the “economic system goals” were tangible and quantifiable, while Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 414 the “biological systems goals” and “social systems goals” were nebulous, less immediately useful, and ultimately easy to ignore. There were signs that CIDA along with its executing body, the AUCC, never really conceived of the “Educational Policy Context” of the China Program outside of the framework of economic development. Consider, for example, the framing of the CCULP role in terms of economic development goals in the AUCC’s final report on the Canada-China University Linkage Program. In the 1990s, as part of a larger trend toward devolution, China’s central government increasingly handed over decision-making power for educational institutions to regional governments; sophisticated, educated administrators were needed in regional institutions, the report asserted. The report also noted China also had to deal with dramatically increased enrolments in higher education; the university student population was to increase from 1.9 million in 1990 to 2.9 million in 1995 (Winch, 1996, p. 4). A new labour market had developed with the weakening of the state job allocation system, and graduates with strong technical and business skills of both genders were in high demand. “[S]izeable changes will still be required before China’s educational institutions will be able to respond adequately to demand for admissions and to the changing needs of the economy and Chinese society” the report noted (p. 14). Moreover, it is unclear how fundamentally serious CIDA was about a “sustainable” model of development. “For Whose Benefit?” the 1987 report produced by the Standing Committee on External Affairs and International Trade (SCEAIT), advocated for a CIDA mandate “to help the poorest people and countries in the world to help themselves” and stated “[t]he aid program is not for the benefit of Canadian business. It is not an instrument for the promotion of Canadian trade objectives” (Pratt, 1998, p. 2). Yet four years later when CIDA proposed to the Department of External Affairs (DEA) a “sustainable development” framework for CIDA which would move the department one step away from the economic development priorities of the DEA, Barbara McDougall, then Minister of External Affairs countered with a framework of four thematic funds. That the “economic cooperation fund” received CA$ 328 million, while the “human rights, democratic and governance fund” and the “environment fund” received CA$ 110 million each (Pratt, 1998, p. 4) clearly showed CIDA never envisioned a symmetrical balance between the “economic,” “environment,” and “social” components of sustainable development. “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 415 Education, Sustainable Development, and the UofR/EIJP Projects The ambivalence of the world’s advanced economies and their development agencies toward the larger sustainable development agenda was mitigated in a significant way by a push forward on a new front: education. The Agenda 21 published at the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (UNCED) in Rio de Janeiro in 1992 established a powerful new protagonist for the sustainable development movement. Section 36.3 of Chapter 36 of Agenda 21 proposed as a “Basis for Action” the following: Education, including formal education, public awareness and training should be recognized as a process by which human beings and societies can reach their fullest potential. Education is critical for promoting sustainable development and improving the capacity of the people to address environment and development issues. (United Nations, 1992, June 14) “Education for Sustainability,” as it came to be known, pulled the conversation about “sustainable development” out of exclusive international development circles and vigorously engaged public schools, NGOs, and community leaders. In October 1994, the US “National Forum on Partnerships Supporting Education about the Environment” brought together representatives from business, government, universities, and schools. Rather than debating what role education should play in sustainable development, the conference instead broadened the concept of education to include sustainable development values. This consultation resulted in “Education for Sustainability: An Agenda for Action,” a document which asked a compelling question: “Have educational efforts produced an informed citizenry, an environmentally and scientifically literate citizenry, and a cadre of technical-policy-managerial professionals proficient in guiding our nation’s industries, communities, and governments?” (McNerney & Davis, 1996, p. 2). By the early 2000s when the UofR’s cooperation with Jilin was about to formally end, educators had begun to question the old economic-environment-social triumvirate. By being more specific about what they meant by the non-economic features of international development, development theorists argued, they could more vigorously advocate for those Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 416 features which had been neglected. Influential reports such as The Fourth Pillar of Sustainability: Culture’s Essential Role in Public Planning (see Hawkes, 2001) and Resetting the Compass: Australia’s Journey Towards Sustainability (see Yencken & Wilkinson, 2000) came to see development as being supported by four pillars evenly positioned and all equally supporting the development endeavor. Table 3 succinctly summarizes the four pillars of and each of their unique functions. Table 3 Four Pillars of Sustainability Pillars Manifestation Cultural vitality Wellbeing, creativity, diversity and innovation Social equity Justice, engagement, cohesion and welfare Environmental responsibility Ecological balance Economic viability Material prosperity Source: J. Hawkes (2001, p.25). To claim that sustainable development theory acted as a framework upon which the early UofR/EIJP partnership developed would be an exaggeration. Yet sustainable development theory was already explicitly mentioned in the proceedings from the “Educational Change in the 21st Century International Symposium,” a conference jointly held by the UofR and the EIJP. Looking a little deeper, we can see the “sustainable” values articulated in non-economic components of The Fourth Pillar and Resetting the Compass permeated the two phases of the UofR CIDA projects. Environmental responsibility was a conspicuous part of the Jilin curriculum. The UofR Faculty of Education embraced a unique methodology in Jilin which accepted the natural environment as an important “classroom” for the teaching curriculum. The outdoor education tradition had had a profound influence on Canadian faculties of education in the 1970s and 1980s. Drawing on the philosophical thinking of the likes of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Henry David Thoreau, and John Dewey, and integrating boy scout practice from the early 20th century, outdoor education preoccupied itself with the mutual influence of human beings and the outdoor environment. Environmental education had been formally articulated in the inaugural edition of the Journal of Environmental Education by William Stapp in 1969 (see Stapp, 1969), eventually being solidified in the “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 417 UNESCO Tbilisi Declaration of 1977. “Environmental education is the result of the reorientation and dovetailing of different disciplines and educational experiences which facilitate an integrated perception of the problems of the environment, enabling more rational actions capable of meeting social needs to be taken,” the document stated (UNESCO, n.d., Tbilisi). Environmental education along with outdoor education had deeply imbued educational offerings at the UofR’s Faculty of Education. When the CIDA China projects got underway at the UofR, undergraduate teacher education programs included Off Campus Residential Experiences (OCRE) for all its students. These OCRE experiences embraced a five-pronged pedagogical philosophy which promoted: 1) interdisciplinarity, 2) experiential education, 3) place-based learning, 4) multi-sensory input, and 5) personal/community-centeredness. Conceived as “theory-into-practice” learning opportunities which came before the internship year, OCRE completely immersed participants into an unknown outdoor environment and invited them to reflect on their own learning (Forsberg, 1995). The Faculty of Education’s pedagogical focus on an “inclusive interdisciplinary environment” naturally went on to shape the UofR/EIJP projects. The UofR encouraged their Jilin partners to venture from the lecture format to group work, and to risk a “discovery learning” approach over a “command approach” (Mosston, 1966). Throughout the delivery of the projects some portion of seminar instruction took place out of doors, or at least outside the “normal” classroom. Some learning activities explicitly involved nature: “One outing,” a project director recalled, “had the entire cohort of seminar participants outdoors examining trees” (G. Pickard, interview by P. Sinclair, July 22, 2014; see Table 1). If students were to write about a tree, the Canadian instructor challenged the students, they had to first touch it (G. Pickard, interview by P. Sinclair, July 22, 2014). The “vital, dynamic nature of cultural interaction” prized by Hawkes (2001) became a similar important driver of the CCULP and SULCP programs. In a Canadian university culture which tended to give international guests their “own space,” Canadian program directors found themselves making regular trips to the store for the purchase of bedding, cooking utensils, foodstuffs, and daily goods. Canadian project directors occasionally found the noise in the EIJP dormitory environment distressing, while the Chinese sometimes found the quiet pace and Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 418 silence of the UofR residence on weekends difficult. Ongoing inclusion by both the Canadian and Chinese partners into family life meant the programs were essentially bi-cultural, and made it impossible for the program to privilege the prestigious English culture of the “donor” country. Meanwhile, the programs were framed on the backdrop of foreign language. Canadian and Chinese team members spent long hours introducing team members, preparing seminar materials, and translating documents. Yet the translation of the CCULP/SULCP programming proved to be unexpectedly fruitful. Participants soon found out that concepts such as “Confucianism” or “student-centred learning” were laden with cultural values. Preparing quality materials through a translator was always an act of cultural negotiation, ultimately begging the question: Was what was learned and what was being taught? When Chinese project teams came to Canada to prepare a translated version of the textbook materials for one of the three seminars in the Educational Policy Implementation and Gender Equity Program (EDGEP), the main translator for the team played a much less prominent role than expected. Participants got direct input from other Chinese team members who circulated throughout the lecture hall and Canadians who provided a “Canadian” perspective on the theory and content of the seminar materials. However, it was “social equity” which became the touchstone of the entire program. While the CCULP/SULCP projects were conceived as having a “developed” and “developing” partner, the partnership was ultimately between equals. “I am not a guy in a suit coming here with a suitcase to tell you what to do,” CCULP program manager and then dean of the Faculty of Education pronounced to UofR’s partners at the Educational Institute of Jilin in an early meeting (G. Richert, interview by G. Pickard, August 21, 2013). Rather than delivering aid, he assured the Jilin side, the programs were designed to facilitate the sharing of values, and to mutually benefit both parties in the partnership. Saskatchewan participants in the CIDA programs challenged the Chinese side to conceive of education as an active, collaborative endeavor, not as a passive, top-down affair. Meanwhile, rapidly increasing enrolments in Chinese universities in the 1980s meant large class sizes, and a reluctance on behalf of administration and teaching staff to depart from the comfortable old lecture format. Jilin participants suddenly found themselves “team leaders” and taking on some functions traditionally assigned to the teacher. When the first team from “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 419 Regina arrived in Jilin, the EIJP side had planned for the teachers to eat lunch separately from the program participants; the UofR teachers and facilitators suggested that everyone occasionally eat together. After each seminar, each of the ten Chinese seminar group leaders would meet with the Canadian team members to debrief the day’s work and together plan for the next day’s seminar focus. This “pre-impact/post-impact planning” assisted in developing openness and trust amongst the two partners. On the surface, gender equity seemed to be an elusive goal, as administrative roles in the Chinese academic system were often assigned based on gender. Originally conceived as a project comprised of 50 percent female in-school administrators, there were initially only 10 women participating in the CCULP on the Jilin side. Meanwhile, the president of EIJP played a central role in selecting the women who participated in the projects, a process over which female candidates had little control. Over the CCULP/SULCP project duration, six women were selected to participate as writer/translators for seminar team members; seven women were selected as delegation members for place-based learning experiences in Canada; 71 women of a total of 235 participants attended the seminars offered through the CCULP/SULCP projects. Though the numbers were never to be balanced in a way which satisfied bureaucratic quotas, the quest for gender equity led to one of the greatest successes in the cooperation between the UofR and the EIJP. The EPGEP was conceived to enhance present and future educational opportunities for school-aged girls and to achieve another ancillary objective of collaborating with senior provincial educational administrators in identifying systemic problems that result in the high dropout rate of school-aged girls. Towards the end of EPGEP, frank discussions took place about some of the serious problems counsellors faced in Canadian high schools related to teen pregnancy, drugs, bullying, and suicide. Encouraged by the candor of their Canadian partners, the Chinese participants shared the otherwise taboo topic of how the rapid introduction of a market-based economy had resulted in considerable social disruption and had affected the learning of girls in particular. Through additional funding provided through the National Elements program entitled “Student Services Programming and Implementation Activity for Elementary Schools in North East China,” Student Services Offices were established in Jilin, Liaoning, and Heilongjiang in 2001 (Corbin Dwyer & McNaughton, 2004). Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 420 The Student Services Programming and Implementation Activity for Elementary Schools in North East China (SSPIA) was the ultimate demonstration of the “social equity” principle at work. In their reflections on the counselling program, Sonya Corbin Dwyer and Kathryn McNaughton describe how the process of establishing counselling services in Chinese schools ultimately compelled them to think of strengths and weaknesses in the Canadian system. Concern on the Chinese side for teacher wellness made the participants aware of the Canadian propensity to focus exclusively on the students. Indeed, the one of the master’s theses which developed through the National Elements program discussed teacher stress (Zhang, 2003). The Canadian participants wondered: Did Canadian schools need on-site “teacher services offices” as well? (Corbin, Dwyer, & McNaughton, 2004). Evaluating the UofR/EIJP Partnerships The previous section has argued that a powerful set of human values flowed through the UofR’s Management Training Program and the EPGEP, values which at times complemented and at times subverted the CIDA China Program’s economic development priorities. Indeed, these “sustainable development” principles may have explained the extraordinary success of the UofR’s cooperation with the EIJP. Yet implicit in “sustainable development” discourse was an unwavering belief that real social progress and accumulated institutional knowledge was something that gets handed down. We are compelled to ask an important question: Did the UofR’s CIDA experience have a lasting impact on the UofR’s international projects? Were the projects themselves ultimately “sustainable”? To a certain extent, the projects were sustained. By the time the CIDA/AUCC projects had finished, the UofR had created considerable influence over university and government bureaucracy in Saskatchewan and, more importantly, in Jilin. The CIDA projects had allowed the UofR to build up considerable trust with its China partners. The Faculty of Education at the UofR suddenly found itself with broad, deep people networks in Jilin province at a time when other Canadian universities scrambled to establish linkages with China. More significantly, the UofR codified some of its experience in the Centre for International Teacher Education (CITE). Built on Carver’s model of governance, “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 421 CITE attempted to distill some of the UofR’s diverse experience with the CIDA China projects into a formula which could be applied to the UofR’s international partnerships. The handprint of the Jilin projects can even be seen in Regina’s current international arm, UR-International. As recently as 2014, the president of the UofR, on a trip to Jilin province, would experience the strong linkages and warm relationships established with the EIJP over 30 years ago. Yet on another level, the UofR’s CIDA projects could have been more strategically leveraged. The UofR could have better engaged the provincial government, and the Government of Saskatchewan could have used Jilin relationships to advance the province’s economic interests that the government so dearly protected. Ultimately, the UofR was not entirely successful in explaining the relevance of the CIDA projects to other educational and government agencies more focused on regional/provincial matters. Such a failure to explain the benefits of the program was particularly unfortunate considering the significant “in-kind” contributions these agencies made to the overall project and the professional development advantages afforded by these experiences. Collective “in-kind” contribution was CAD$ 536,000 over the course of the projects. A large amount of data had been gathered over a decade, but due to diminishing research resources in the period immediately after the SULCP in 2001, little significant research analysis was completed by the UofR. Similarly, the UofR had managed to engage a wide range of Saskatchewan stakeholders in the China projects which included Saskatchewan Education, Regina Public School Board, Regina Catholic School Board, the League of Educational Administrators, Saskatchewan’s Department of Social Services, and the Saskatchewan Teachers Federation, but had not required Canadian participants to prepare an outcomes report for the university. Ultimately the programs suffered from a “contextual lapse.” “Project fatigue” set in precisely when the programs were finally establishing themselves and funding began to pour into the universities. The enormous physical and psychological distance between the two partner institutions meant that over time the UofR could not sustain its focus on its China relationships, communicate sufficiently the value of the China projects to other stakeholders in the university, or mobilize the CIDA/AUCC experience to support individual China projects. Administrative personnel turnover at the institution led to a loss of institutional memory and a subsequent loss of “buy-in.” The president of the EIJP was Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 422 directly involved in the programs, whereas the strategy to include senior UofR (VP Academic) and Saskatchewan government administrators in the project had limited success. Meanwhile, precisely at a time when CIDA and UNESCO begun embracing the four pillars of sustainability, the UofR and Saskatchewan’s provincial government unambiguously demonstrated their priority was economic viability and strategic planning around it. Certain administrative features of CIDA’s China Program also prevented the successes of the Jilin projects from immediately being applied to other projects in an ongoing way. O’Brien (2000) points out that during the development of the China projects a new fiscal accountability was being imposed by the Auditor General on CIDA, a pressure which ultimately led to the formal introduction of a Results Based Management (RBM) model by CIDA in 1996. Pressure on development agencies to develop a Project Management approach based on big infrastructure projects had been growing since the late 1970s when the World Bank began to codify the management process of its projects and carefully limit their scope. “A project is a planned complex of actions and investments, at a selected location, that are designed to meet output, capacity, or transformation goals, in a given period of time, using specified techniques,” one tidy 1984 definition read (Ika, Diallo, & Thuillier, 2010, p. 66). CIDA has since embraced RBM, and deploys it as a public relations tool (Foreign Affairs, Trade and Development Canada, 2014). What kind of thinking had RBM introduced into the CIDA China Program? In the development world, RBM systems are typically comprised of some combination of formulating objectives, identifying “indicators,” setting targets, monitoring results, reviewing and reporting results, integrating evaluations, and deploying performance information (Ika & Lytvynov, 2009). Indeed, we can see that by the end of the first phase of the UofR’s CIDA projects in 1996, the agency had downloaded the imperative to track results on to its executing agency. In its final report on the Canada-China University Linkage Program, the AUCC states “CIDA has begun a major initiative aimed at transforming the Agency into a more results-oriented, focused, efficient and accountable organization. This new approach is based upon a better understanding of what results realistically can be expected in each country. In the framework of results-based management, projects will be evaluated on the basis not only of achieving planned outputs, but on the long-term effect of these outputs on development priorities” (Winch, p. “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 423 30). RBM had a distinct effect on the implementation of the UofR’s Jilin projects. RBM had added another layer of bureaucracy to an already complex system. The AUCC schooled all the project directors in RBM, and program participants scrambled to produce results which were “attainable,” “measurable,” and “sustainable.” The UofR even hosted an RBM workshop for both Chinese and Canadian participants. With RBM came a reduced cycle life of initiatives, quarterly reporting, and more pragmatic and shorter-term priorities. This new system was particularly vulnerable to changes in personnel: A number of CIDA/AUCC program directors changed, and this significantly influenced the projects. The UofR program managers learned that keeping in contact with the new program directors as they moved into their new positions in the aid and executing agency was critical, as the new directors did not necessarily immediately grasp the programs’ “objectives,” “indicators,” “targets,” and “results.” The profile of the programs had to be maintained with CIDA and the AUCC. The most profound effect of the RBM was felt at the end of the projects. By 2001, expertise had been shared, funds transferred, results identified, and reports written, so the programs finished on schedule like a “technology transfer” which, arguably, was how the projects had initially been conceived. The imperative to efficiently “complete” complex projects discouraged extensive follow-up with the Chinese partners. As a result, the success of the project was not sufficiently publicised by the university, the provincial government, CIDA or the AUCC. Some Reflections To a certain extent, the success of North American universities depends upon their ability to forge sustainable cooperative arrangements with their Chinese counterparts. Institutions like the UofR who have completed extensive China development projects with the support of prestigious development agencies must build on and learn from their experiences. Future successful China projects will be the purview of agile, learning institutions which have used past China projects as building blocks for new ones. Almost 15 years after the completion of the CIDA China Program, some practical lessons remain for Canadian universities. Some of the lessons have Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 424 already become painfully obvious. Successful international projects must be protected from changes in leadership, and mechanisms for institutional learning must be established which are not vulnerable to struggles over territory in university administration. Senior leadership must be involved in the implementation of important university development projects so that the legacy of past successful projects informs future ones even if new participants are not explicitly following the template set by former project champions. Other “best practice” features will require shrewd planning. Successful cooperative projects will strategically engage a wide variety of stakeholders. Since 2001, Saskatchewan’s province-to-province, city-to-city, and institution-to-institution engagements with Jilin have not been systematically coordinated and the UofR’s partnerships with Jilin institutions have been sporadic and ad hoc in nature. On a local level, the UofR demonstrated it could team up with public and separate school boards, the provincial teacher federation, government departments, and the Saskatchewan Trade and Export partnership in international projects through the Jilin projects, but that flexibility must be consciously maintained or it will be lost. The UofR’s cooperation with EIJP demonstrated that successful engagement with international partners requires fundamental human values of respect, curiosity, tolerance, and understanding. At the same time, the UofR/EIJP project exemplified an approach which carefully situated economic growth in the context of social values and environmental concerns. The four pillars of sustainable development were more than international development jargon which would be replaced in time. Instead, the pillars worked together to balance and strengthen the projects and ensured that the attention of program administrators was apportioned based on the needs of people rather than economic indicators. In the future, the UofR and other Canadian universities may be able to align their international projects with the Regional Centre of Expertise (RCE) which took shape during the “Decade of Education for Sustainable Development” (2005–2014) promulgated by the United Nations University-Institute of Advanced Studies (UNU-IAS). Decisive action is needed; if future projects are to succeed they need to embrace as “equitable essentialities” economic, social, cultural, and environmental aspects of growth. Finally, the UofR’s CIDA projects showed that faculties of education in Canada and around the world have an important role to play in the next phase of the internationalization of higher education. The UofR’s Faculty of Education “Sustainable Development” and CIDA’s China Program: A Saskatchewan Case Study 425 provided no technical support in fields of agriculture, medicine, business, or information technology to CIDA projects. Yet the Faculty of Education had adeptly anticipated shifts within CIDA towards a focus on HRD, while pulling some of the weight in development activities from the “economic pillar” to other equally urgent matters. Canada’s faculties of education may turn out to be important keys to universities’ future international success. References Barbier, E. (1987). The concept of sustainable economic development. Environmental Conservation, 14(2), 101–110. doi: 10.1017/S0376892900011449 CIDA. (1996, January). CIDA’s policy on poverty reduction. Retrieved November 11, 2013, from http://www.acdi-cida.gc.ca/acdi-cida/acdi-cida.nsf/eng/STE-42484628-GZF#pdf Corbin Dwyer, S., & McNaughton, K. (2004). Perceived needs of educational administrators for student services offices in a Chinese context: School counselling programs addressing the needs of children and teachers. School Psychology International, 25(3), 373–382. doi: 10.1177/0143034304046908 Editor. (1993). Country profile “China: Big country, small land.” Journal of Education for Sustainable Development, 1(1), 8–10. Foreign Affairs, Trade and Development Canada. (2014). Results-based management. Retrieved June 28, 2014, from http://www.acdi-cida.gc.ca/rbm Forsberg, N. J. (1995). An exploration of experiential education through the out-of-doors: Possibilities for pedagogical growth (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Alberta, Edmonton, Canada. Hawkes, J. (2001). The fourth pillar of sustainability: Culture’s essential role in public planning. Melbourne, Australia: Cultural Development Network. High Level Panel on Global Sustainability, United Nations. (2010). Sustainable development: From Brundtland to Rio 2012. New York, NY: United Nations. Ika, L. A., Diallo, A., & Thuillier, D. (2010). Project management in the international development industry: The project coordinator’s perspective. International Journal of Managing Projects in Business, 3(1), 61–93. doi: 10.1108/17538371011014035 Ika, L. A., & Lytvynov, V. (2009). RBM: A shift to managing development project objectives. Journal of Global Business Administration, 1(1), 55–76. McNerney, C., & Davis, N. D. (1996). Education for sustainability: An agenda for action. Darby, PA: Diane Publishing Company. Mosston, M. (1966). Teaching physical education: From command to discovery. Columbus, OH: C. E. Merrill. O’Brien, M. (2000). The implementation of CIDA’s China Program: Resolving the disjuncture between structure and process (Unpublished doctoral dissertation).York University, Toronto, Canada. Paul SINCLAIR, Dongyan BLACHFORD, Garth PICKARD 426 Pratt, C. (1998). DFAIT’s takeover bid of CIDA: The institutional future of the Canadian international development agency. Canadian Foreign Policy Journal, 5(2), 1–13. doi: 10.1080/11926422.1998.9673129 Shute, J. (1999). From here to there and back again: International outreach in the Canadian university. In S. L. Bond & J.-P. Lemasson (Eds.), A new world of knowledge: Canadian universities and globalization (pp. 21–43). Ottawa, Canada: International Development Research Centre. Stapp, W. B. (1969). The concept of environmental education. The Journal of Environmental Education, 1(1), 30–31. UNESCO. (n.d.). Tbilisi declaration (1977). Retrieved November 6, 2013, from http://www.gdrc.org/uem/ee/tbilisi.html United Nations. (1987). Report of the World Commission on Environment and Development: Our common future. Retrieved April 24, 2015, from http://www.un-documents.net/ wced-ocf.htm United Nations. (1992, June 14). United Nations Conference on Environment & Development, Rio de Janerio, Brazil, 3 to 14 June 1992. Retrieved November 6, 2013, from http://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/documents/Agenda21.pdf Winch, S. (1996). Canada/China University Linkages Program: Final report. Ottawa, Canada: Association of Universities and Colleges of Canada. Yencken, D., & Wilkinson, D. (2000). Resetting the compass: Australia’s journey towards sustainability. Collingwood, Australia: CSIRO Publishing. Zhang, Y. (2003). The stress and burnout of secondary public school teachers in Changchun, Jilin Province, Peoples’ Republic of China (Unpublished master’s thesis). University of Regina, Regina, Canada. 
work_2ntxjmqcvfdzjibrkhnlgm47eu	----	18 SOCIETY • NOVEMBER / DECEMBER 2003 I am going to offer you a meditation on the con-cept of America. It will tell you something about the mood in which I do so, if I tell you that, lately, as I sit and listen to the evening news, I am re- minded of Ambrose Bierce’s remark that “War is God’s way of teaching Americans geography.” And it will tell you something about my topic if I re- mark that this quip of Ambrose Bierce’s does not seem to have lost any of its edge when transposed from the 19th to the 21st century. Here are five more quotations about America—that have yet to lose their edge: Sometimes people call me an idealist. Well, that is the way I know I am an American. America is the only idealistic nation in the world. Woodrow Wilson There is nothing the matter with Americans except their ideals. The real American is all right; it is the ideal American who is all wrong. G. K. Chesterton The business of America is business. Calvin Coolidge I am willing to love all mankind, except an American. Samuel Johnson Your American eagle is very well. Protect it here and abroad. But beware of the American peacock. R. W. Emerson Now, is there, as President Wilson thought, an internal relation between the concept of America and a certain ideal? Or is it that, as Chesterton thought, there is nothing the matter with Americans except their ideals? Or does America stripped of her ideals amount to nothing more than President Coolidge’s vision of her? And, if so, ought one then to sympathize with Dr. Johnson’s view of the THE CONCEPT OF AMERICA James Conant matter? Or is there a distinction to be drawn, as Emerson thought, between the ideal and its debase- ment by those who most loudly proclaim it? A Peculiar Concept Let’s begin by asking: What do we—what should we—mean by “America”? The Danish philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard draws a helpful distinction be- tween objective and subjective categories. A short and simple way of trying to distinguish the con- cepts that belong to the former from those that be- long to the latter category would be just to say: objective concepts characterize the different kinds of ways in which an object can be, whereas subjec- tive concepts characterize the different kinds of ways in which a subject or a person can be. But this won’t quite do: there are many concepts that can be predicated equally of objects and persons—being six feet tall, weighing two hundred pounds, being in a certain location, etc. So our initial formulation stands in need of some qualification along the fol- lowing lines: objective concepts characterize the dif- ferent kinds of ways in which objects qua objects can be, whereas subjective concepts characterize the different kinds of ways in which subjects qua sub- jects can be. (This allows us to say that being six feet tall, weighing two hundred pounds, being in a certain location, etc., are not characterizations of subjects qua subjects, but rather characterizations of them qua objects.) Or, as Kierkegaard and his pseudonyms prefer to say: subjective concepts char- acterize a subject or person qua existing individual. Both objective and subjective concepts can be predi- cated of human beings: a given individual has, say, blue eyes, is six feet tall, weighs two hundred pounds, and is also, say, a husband, a Christian, a philosopher. But the former concepts hold of the person regardless of whether or not he would predi- cate them of himself; the latter concepts hold of an individual (not merely if he is indeed prepared to predicate them of himself, but) only to the extent that his daily existence is beholden to the ethical or THE CONCEPT OF AMERICA 19 religious demands such concepts entail—to the ex- tent that his life is shaped by these demands. These latter concepts, Kierkegaard claims, if they are prop- erly understood as subjective concepts—that is, as properly subjective characterizations of the lives of existing individuals—must be clearly distinguished from certain merely objective concepts which these same words (“husband,” “Christian,” “philoso- pher”) might also be taken to denote. The word “husband,” inflected subjectively, sig- nifies participation in a certain sort of ethical rela- tionship between two individuals pledged to devote their lives to one another; inflected objectively, it signifies a certain juridical status. A husband, in the latter sense, is something one either is or is not (depending upon whether one’s papers are in or- der); a husband, in the former sense, is someone (Kierkegaard says) one becomes—it presupposes involvement in an existential task that must be reaf- firmed and renewed every day of one’s married life. (If a wife says to her spouse “This isn’t a marriage!,” he does not rebut her charge by producing their marriage certificate.) The word “Christian,” in- flected subjectively, signifies an involvement in a religious way of life; inflected merely objectively, it signifies certain straightforwardly observable ex- ternal facts about a person’s behavior (e.g., that he goes to church on Sundays, has his children bap- tized, puts money in the collection box, etc.). Un- derstood the latter way “a Christian” is something one either is or is not. Understood subjectively, “a Christian” is someone (Kierkegaard says) one be- comes—it presupposes the undertaking of an exis- tential task that must be reaffirmed and renewed every moment of one’s existence. (If Kierkegaard says “While Christendom flourishes Christianity gradually withers away!,” someone does not rebut his charge by pointing out how full the churches are on Sundays.) Here is a characteristic passage in which one of Kierkegaard’s pseudonyms, Johannes Climacus, of- fers a comparatively straightforward example of a conflation of subjective and objective categories: Once it was at the risk of his life that a man dared to profess himself a Christian; now it is to make oneself suspect to venture to doubt that one is a Christian.… If a man were to say quite simply and unassumingly, that he was concerned for himself, lest perhaps he had no right to call himself a Christian, he would in- deed not suffer persecution or be put to death, but he would be smothered in angry glances, and people would say: “How tiresome to make such a fuss about nothing at all; why can’t he behave like the rest of us, who are all Chris- tians?” … And if he happened to be married, his wife would say to him: “Dear husband of mine, how can you get such notions into your head? How can you doubt that you are a Chris- tian? Are you not a Dane, and does not geog- raphy say that the Lutheran form of the Chris- tian religion is the ruling religion in Denmark? For you are surely not a Jew, nor are you a Mohammedan; what then can you be if not a Christian? (Johannes Climacus, Concluding Unscientific Postscript [henceforth CUP], ed- ited by S. Kierkegaard, translated by Walter Lowrie (Princeton University Press: Princeton, NJ, 1968), p. 49) The term “Christendom” is Kierkegaard’s name for such a state of affairs—one in which everyone already thinks they are Christians and thus no one takes the trouble any longer to become one. Now what about the concept American? Should we classify it as objective or subjective? Should it be grouped together with Dane or with Christian? Well, surely, one can be an American in the same sense that one can be a Dane. Thus understood, an American is something one either is or is not (de- pending upon whether one’s papers are in order, or upon other equally objective facts about, say, one’s birth, upbringing or cultural heritage.) But “America” is also the name of a certain moral and political ideal and thus “to be an American” can also signify a commitment to that ideal, and thus an existential task, a way of life, and even a kind of person that one must struggle—and that one can fail—to become. If we are to follow Kierkegaard’s lead, then we should seek clearly to distinguish be- tween the objective concept of being an American and the subjective one. This will lead us to the conclusion that one can be an American in the ob- jective sense while failing to be one in the subjec- tive sense. We could then further follow Kierkegaard’s lead and introduce the concept Americadom to signify a state of affairs in which such a merely objective inflection of the concept has gained ascendancy—a state of affairs in which, because almost everyone in America already knows that he is an American, hardly anyone any longer takes the trouble to become one. Yet this fails to do justice to the peculiar com- plexity of the concept of America. As a first step towards appreciating the peculiarity of this concept, it helps to notice that it involves what Kierkegaard 20 SOCIETY • NOVEMBER / DECEMBER 2003 seems to regard as an impossible combination of categories: it combines some of the logical features of an objective concept with some of those of a subjective concept. At one and the same time, “America” names a certain place at a certain time with a certain history and it also signifies a certain dream of what might happen in that place if certain moral and political ideals could be realized. To be an American can mean, at one and the same time, to be someone who happens to be a citizen of one par- ticular nation (rather than another) and to be com- mitted to a moral and political project whose con- tinuation cannot be guaranteed simply through the continued existence of that nation (as merely one among others). The aforementioned peculiarity of the concept of America notwithstanding, the following feature of Kierkegaard’s analysis remains pertinent: an ex- pression retains its ethical significance only if it continues to be predicated of individuals whose lives reflect a commitment to the exigencies of thought and action it entails; if not—if it comes to be predi- cated solely of individuals whose lives in no way bear the stamp of such exigencies—it will be drained of its former significance. In the latter case, the expression may continue to circulate in daily use and retain an aura of ethical significance, but it will no longer have its original import. It may, with time, even shed that aura and acquire some other perfectly coherent, utterly non-ethical—descriptive or juridical or institutional—meaning. As a hus- band can remain “married” in the eyes of the law, even if he has a made a mockery of his vows, so, too, Americans can retain their juridical status as “American citizens” and a place named ‘America’ will continue to stand as one nation alongside oth- ers, even if America makes a mockery of the words that figure in its founding pledges to itself—the pledges that constitute the original ground of its existence. Parisian Brilliance and American Diffidence Let’s now ask: What do we—what should we— mean when we talk of “American culture,” “Ameri- can literature,” “American philosophy?” Here are two more quotations—this time by two philosophers: I have attempted more and more systemati- cally to find a non-site, or a non-philosophi- cal site, from which to question philosophy. But the search for a non-philosophical site does not bespeak an anti-philosophical attitude. My central question is: from what site or non-site can philosophy as such appear to itself as other than itself, so that it can interrogate and re- flect upon itself in an original manner? Such a non-site or alterity would be radically irre- ducible to philosophy. But the problem is that such a non-site cannot be defined or situated by means of philosophical language. Jacques Derrida Walden has a reasonably tight bottom at a not unreasonable, though at an unusual, depth. I fathomed it easily with a cod-line and a stone weighing about a pound and a half, and could tell accurately when the stone left the bottom, by having to pull so much harder before the water got underneath to help me. This is a remarkable depth for so small an area, yet not one inch of it can be spared by the imagina- tion. What if all ponds were shallow? Would it not react on the minds of men? Henry David Thoreau Much French philosophy has a distinctively French sound. And there is nothing in that sound that precludes it from sounding like philosophy. On the contrary, to the ears of many today—and not only of those who live in Paris—it is the sound of philosophy. If one comes across a passage from the writings of a French philosopher, such as the pas- sage from Derrida above —regardless of whether one likes its sound (or of whether one takes oneself to understand what it says, or of whether one takes oneself to agree with what one thus understands)— for better or worse, one knows this much about it right off: this stuff is (or is, at least, trying to sound like) philosophy. Derrida is far from alone among philosophers, at least since Kant, in thinking that a radical ques- tioning of philosophy is to be achieved only from a site that is, in some sense, “outside” (what we pres- ently understand to be) philosophy—a site that al- lows one, without turning one’s back on philoso- phy, to confront it on an altogether new ground. Derrida (and, again, not only Derrida) appreciates the difficulty of finding or arranging for such a site. For a radical questioning of philosophy would seem to require a radically new kind of philosophi- cal discourse—one conducted in altogether differ- ent cadences from any in which philosophy has hith- erto been attempted. And the problem is that nowadays—especially in France—the call for such a discourse tends to result simply in the production of further sentences whose sound is indistinguish- able from that characteristic of business as usual in French philosophy. (Sentences that sound like this: “Such a non-site or alterity would be radically irre- THE CONCEPT OF AMERICA 21 ducible to philosophy; but the problem is that such a non-site cannot be defined or situated by means of philosophical language.”) What else could a call for a different philosophical discourse sound like? Will it not of necessity itself sound like philoso- phy? And if it no longer sounded like (what we know as) philosophy, how would we be able to rec- ognize it as such? The sound of much of the language in Thoreau’s Walden is apt to strike a reader—at least on a first encounter—as not particularly philosophical at all, as not even trying to be philosophy. Admittedly, the text does have moments when it seems to want to veer towards (something recognizable as) phi- losophy. But mostly, on a first listen, it can seem to be nattering on about how much certain items cost, how to live in the woods, hoe beans, or measure the depth of a pond. Indeed, the writing’s intermittent gestures in the direction of something that has the aspect of philosophy (such as the concluding lines in the quotation above) may even strike a reader, at first blush, as puzzling digressions from its primary concerns. Not all of the remarks in Walden are of this sort, of course. Some of them may even im- mediately strike one as sage. (“Beware of all enter- prises that require new clothes.”) And some of them may immediately strike one as clever. (“A man sits as many risks as he runs.”) The tone may occasion- ally even remind one of Socrates (“A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone.”) A sentence or two here or there may even strike one as the sort of thing that might actu- ally have been said by Socrates. (“If I seem to boast more than is becoming, my excuse is that I brag for humanity rather than myself; and my short- comings and inconsistencies do not affect the truth of my statement.”) But the resulting whole, made up of these and other remarks, is not apt immedi- ately to strike one as in serious competition with the enterprises of a Kant or a Hegel or a Derrida. If one comes across a quotation from Thoreau, such as the one paired with the passage from Derrida above– regardless of whether one likes the sound of such writing (or of whether one takes oneself to understand what it says, or, if so, whether one takes oneself to agree with what one thus understands)— the following two features of the prose will be hard to gainsay: it has a distinctively American sound, and its sound is not that of European philosophy. Could the finding or founding of a site from which to question the inheritance of European philosophy possibly sound like this? How does one measure the depth of Walden? One cannot understand a work such as Walden unless one appreciates that its author thinks that philosophy necessarily exists on a different cultural basis in America than in, say, France—that a differ- ent economy of exchange prevails between the cul- ture at large and those who attempt to speak philo- sophically in it—and this affects what it can mean for a philosopher to attempt to speak philosophi- cally to (or for) his culture. In order to become clear why this might be thought to be so, it will help first to review some facts—facts about America and facts about, say, France. If you ask your average intellectually-inclined French citizen if he has ever read any Descartes or Pascal or Rousseau, he will almost certainly tell you that he has (and in most cases he will be telling you the truth). To be a French intellectual and to be simply unacquainted with the classics of French thought and to be happy to admit that one is thus unacquainted is to be a very unusual person indeed. There is no American philosopher ignorance of whose work could strike a measure of fear or em- barrassment in the soul of an American man of let- ters at all comparable to what it would mean for a French intellectual to have never read a word of Descartes. If you attempt to hit upon the name an American philosopher that almost every educated American has read, you will seek in vain. Insofar as you can find a philosopher that most educated Americans have read, it will not be an American— most likely, it would be Plato or Descartes or Hume or Nietzsche. There is nothing you could call “American philosophy” which plays a role in the formation of an American intellectual identity that parallels the role that French philosophy plays in French culture. A highly literate American intel- lectual may well have read a great many of the clas- sics of English, French, and German philosophy without necessarily having any literacy in some- thing you might call “American philosophy.” He may, of course, have also read some pages of Will- iam James or John Dewey, but then again he may not have. To be a French intellectual means in the first instance to have a certain literacy in certain land- mark moments of the history of French thought. To be an intellectual in the United States means in the first instance to have a certain literacy in certain landmark moments in the history of European thought. To be an intellectual in France means, above all, learning how to be a French intellectual. The intellectual in America is haunted not by the fear that he might be failing to be an American in- 22 SOCIETY • NOVEMBER / DECEMBER 2003 tellectual; more often he is haunted by the fear that he might be succeeding in being just that—and hence perhaps someone a European might look upon as a philistine. Not that there has ever been any short- age of Europeans willing to second Matthew Arnold’s quip: “[O]ur Society distributes itself into Barbarians, Philistines, and Populace; and America is just ourselves, with the Barbarians quite left out, and the populace nearly” (Culture and Anarchy, Pref- ace (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1960), pp. 19-20). Even if someone were to fall under the illusion that becoming an intellectual in America meant, above all, learning somehow how to become an American intellectual, there would be few Ameri- can landmarks by means of which he could confi- dently navigate his way towards such an identity. These facts have a significance that extends well beyond philosophy. There exists no single article of American letters of any sort (say, a novel or an essay) that most Americans share as a common in- tellectual inheritance in the way that the work of a Descartes or a Rousseau is a shared possession in France. Indeed, it is not an uncommon event in the history of American letters for Americans to be- come excited about some domestic product (say, the stories of Edgar Allen Poe or the novels of Ernest Hemingway) because a Frenchman (a Baudelaire or a Sartre) told them it is the work of a great writer. To the extent that there is some single object of American culture that a group of randomly selected educated Americans will have in common as a shared American cultural reference point, as likely as not, it will be a classic Hollywood movie. This is not to deny that many Americans partici- pate in a shared fantasy of a common literary cul- ture consisting of a range of widely cherished docu- ments—to cite a few candidates: The Constitution of the United States of America, The Leaves of Grass, Moby Dick, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn— but these tend to be cherished at a distance. How many Americans have really read, let alone retained, the words and thoughts contained therein? (Most are at least as likely to remember the details of a TV show or movie or cartoon either about or loosely based on and bearing the title of the text in ques- tion.) Regardless of how much significance is at- tached to the fact of their existence, the bulk of the prose in these documents does not presently circu- late in America as shared possessions of the citi- zenry. With the exception of a few inaudibly fa- mous phrases, there are within American cultural circles no documents of American writing to which one can safely allude with the same confidence in the possibility of shared intimacy that a judicious allusion to a line or scene from a widely cherished Hollywood movie—to cite a few candidates: The Wizard of Oz, It’s a Wonderful Life, Casablanca, or Dr. Strangelove—is likely to be able to achieve. If Dorothy were to find herself suddenly transported to a region of America where allusions to literary or philosophical texts were able to forge this sort of intimacy, she would have reason to exclaim: “Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas any- more!” So let us ask the following question: What, within the history of American thought, is America pre- pared to count as an instance of an American differ- ence in philosophy—an instance of a mode of thought that is both philosophy and distinctively American? Perhaps the answer will be: Nothing. But then we should want to know: Why? Is it be- cause any American candidate that openly bears the stamp of its Americanness is somehow too Ameri- can to count as an uncluttered instance of serious philosophy? So that to do philosophy just is to participate in and therefore to accommodate one- self to a European tradition? So that to speak with a voice that is recognizably philosophical is of ne- cessity to speak with a European accent? Or is it because America is, above all, the name of a de- mocracy and a business that is as inherently practi- cal as democracy can have at best only an incidental bearing on how an enterprise as inherently theoreti- cal as philosophy ought to be conducted? If either of these is our conclusion, then it is one which rests on assumptions—assumptions about what can count as an inheritance of philosophy and about the possi- bilities of thought available to someone who does not wish to suppress the American accent in his voice. Emerson and Thoreau are examples of writers who sought to contest just such assumptions—so that the reception of their thought requires not only a si- multaneous rethinking of what philosophy, America and Europe each are, but a rethinking of each in the light of the other. On this ambitious conception of what the estab- lishment of a genuinely “American philosophy” is to achieve, there will turn out to be a significant internal relation between the concepts philosophy and America: a relation between what we are able to recognize as philosophy (and whether it pres- ently rests on an impoverished idea of philosophy) and what we are able to recognize as cosmopolitan (and whether it presently rests on an impoverished idea of the cosmopolitan—one which is itself a form of provincialism—and recognizable as such only THE CONCEPT OF AMERICA 23 from the vantage point afforded by a non-Euro- pean perspective). For Emerson and Thoreau, a genuinely American philosophy would thus provide a new perspective on our old ways of thinking and living—a perspective which is to enable our Euro- pean conceptions of the philosophical and the cos- mopolitan to come into focus together as somewhat unphilosophical (in taking a certain dispensation of philosophy to be philosophy itself) and somewhat provincial (in taking the aspiration to an American culture to be a quest for a second-hand version of European culture). The American philosopher Stanley Cavell re- marks: Whereas a French intellectual is committed to seeming brilliant, an American thinker or artist is more likely to play dumb, to undertake to seem like a hick, to play the part of being uncultivated. Consider Aristotle’s elucidation of the concept of the sage—it takes the form of a question we are to ask ourselves; the question goes like this: “Who fur- nishes us with the most accurate standard or measure of good things?” Now, if it is constitutive of what it is to be a French intellectual that one is committed to seeming brilliant, then it is bound to be difficult for such an intellectual to recognize someone who is un- dertaking to appear lacking in cultivation as the per- sonification of a sage (in Aristotle’s weighty sense of the term), and it will be harder still for him to credit the cultivation of such an appearance as itself a guise through which intellectual authority is as- serted—as itself a guise of the Sage. This is not to deny that many American intellec- tuals are committed to seeming brilliant. All that proves is that many Americans seek to emulate a Parisian model of what it is to be an intellectual. Some of them, given the choice, would even pre- fer to live in Paris—or, at least, to go there when they die. “Good Americans, when they die, go to Paris” (attributed to Thomas Gold Appleton, re- ported by Oliver Wendell Holmes, in Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table (The Akadine Press: Pleasantville, NY, 2001); p. 125). Oscar Wilde, in his play A Woman of No Importance, adds a charac- teristic wrinkle: Mrs. Allonby: They say, Lady Hunstanton, that when good Americans die they go to Paris. Lady Hunstanton: Indeed? And when bad Americans die, where do they go to? Lord Illingworth: Oh, they go to America. (The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (Galley Press: Leicester, UK, 1987), p. 421.) Nor is it to claim that those American intellectu- als who do not seek to emulate such a model are therefore eager to mount a critique of European intellectual life. It is to claim only that many Ameri- can authors and artists and thinkers find the Pari- sian model cannot be theirs. A European will not understand the intellectual manners of a Henry David Thoreau or Mark Twain or William Faulkner or Robert Frost or Howard Hawks if he fails to appre- ciate what underlies their apparently intellectually uncultivated postures—as thrifty woodsman or riverboat captain or Southern gentleman or New England farmer or uncouth cowboy—if he fails to appreciate how these modes of cultivating an ap- parent lack of (European) cultivation are themselves forms through which the American artist or author expresses his refusal of an alien standard or mea- sure of good things and seeks to fashion his own native standard or measure. These differences between the French and Ameri- can scenes are themselves a function of a difference in their respective relations to history—and, in par- ticular, to the accomplished edifice of European culture. The French philosopher or author or artist can take that accomplishment for granted and build on it without threat to his identity. The challenge for him, as a French intellectual, lies in finding or clearing room for something new to do within the confines of that edifice. This is not the challenge the American philosopher or author or artist qua American generally feels himself to face. Mark Twain narrates the adventures of a Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn in a voice that betrays little hint of inter- est in or familiarity with the accomplished edifice of European literature. The apparent naturalness of that literary voice—its apparent innocence of European cultivation—is an integral and easily overlooked aspect of its achievement. Emerson and Thoreau seek to fashion a mode of philo- sophical writing that actively refuses to lay claim to the accomplished edifice of European philoso- phy, as if philosophy’s history could be made to begin again—as if “no time had elapsed [since] the oldest … philosopher … [first] raised a corner of the veil.” The American philosopher or author or art- ist often seems to proceed thus, as if history could be made to begin anew—as if the accomplish- ments of European culture could constitute only a dangerous temptation for an American, at all costs to be resisted—as if those accomplishments could only become his, for the taking and making his own, at the cost of placing his own identity in pawn. 24 SOCIETY • NOVEMBER / DECEMBER 2003 Among the opening remarks in an address to the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Harvard in 1837, Emerson famously declares the following hope: “Our day of dependence, our long apprenticeship to the learn- ing of other lands, draws to a close. The millions that around us are rushing into life, cannot always be fed on the sere remains of foreign harvests.… In this hope I accept the topic which not only usage but the nature of our association seem to prescribe to this day,—the AMERICAN SCHOLAR.” Ever since at least this address bearing the title, and issuing its call for, The American Scholar, it has been a central ambition of American thinking and writing and art to call forth a form of culture in which the American intellectual—philosopher or author or artist—can eschew European models—of philosophy or authorship or art—in a manner that will enable him finally to be able to feel at home in his homeland qua philosopher or author or artist (as he imagines his European counterparts are able to feel at home in their respective cultures). The realization of such an ambition is supposed to re- quire a reciprocal change on the part of American thinking and writing and art and on the part of the homeland itself; and the accomplished fact of such reciprocal change is an integral part of what it means, for Emerson, for the American scholar finally to have come into existence. But to say that American thinking and writing and art have been fueled by such an ambition is not to say that such a vision of America has ever yet been realized—that the Ameri- can philosopher or author or artist has ever yet been able to feel himself permanently or comfortably at home in America. This it is not to deny what one shrewd native observer of the American scene, Alfred Kazin, has called the greatest single fact about our modern American writing—namely, America’s writers’ (and thinkers’ and artists’) “absorption in every last de- tail of their American world together with their deep and subtle alienation from it.” What is at issue here is neither the familiar European intellectuals’ loudly proclaimed revulsion at and revolt from the diurnal and everyday (familiar since at least Baudelaire) nor the equally familiar European intellectuals’ loudly proclaimed longing to be reconciled with and incorporated harmoniously into the rhythms of an already available mode of diurnal and everyday life (familiar since at least Tolstoy). An attentive absorption in the details of an American life that engulfs the author combined with a quiet yet in- eradicable alienation from the very life which so absorbs and fascinates him remains a hallmark of great American writing throughout the generations, from that of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Hermann Melville to that of Raymond Carver and Don DeLillo. This characteristically American (“deep and subtle”) form of cultural alienation should not be confused with a far less deep and subtle form of cultural alienation that is equally characteristically American—an alienation that is cultivated and dis- played as a badge of honor by a different constitu- ency of American intellectuals—namely, those whose understanding of their identity as “intellec- tuals” depends upon a principled disinterest in any project of attentive absorption in the details of their American life. Such “American” intellectuals—es- pecially those most preoccupied with what it means to be an intellectual, and most especially those most in the thrall of the Parisian model of what it is to be one—will themselves generally never be able see past the roughhewn manners of a Thoreau or Faulkner or Frost or Hawks to the exquisite culti- vation shining through that surface, to the extraor- dinary rigor of their undertakings (to reinvent phi- losophy or poetry or the novel or the cinema). But whereas a Parisian intellectual can without threat to himself permit himself to be fascinated by the ex- otic manners of such an American literary woods- man or cowboy (and thereby discover in them a new and usable measure of the good, the true, or the just), the American intellectual in the thrall of the Parisian model is generally unable to permit himself such latitude. Here his own Americanism comes into play and freezes his powers of percep- tion. He is apt to recoil from what he perceives as the vulgarity of his countrymen’s provincialism and amateurism. But often what chagrins such an American intel- lectual is simply his Americanism—his fear of his own lack of cultivation.. His recoil from cultural efforts distinctively marked by an American prov- enance is often a reflection of his own shame—a symptom of his fantasy to be someone he is not. Nowhere are the great achievements of American culture more undervalued than in America, which is not to deny that nowhere are they more celebrated. It belongs to the nature of great American cultural achievements that they not only easily permit, but actively invite their audience thus to underestimate them. To assess such work requires first punching through its false bottom. If it is characteristic of the French thinker or author or artist to be commit- ted to seeming brilliant and to playing the part of the genius, then it is equally characteristic of the THE CONCEPT OF AMERICA 25 American thinker or author or artist to be commit- ted to diffidence and to playing the part of someone who is just doing his job—say, measuring the depth of his pond. America’s Drama of Self-Constitution Here is another quotation from the American philosopher, Stanley Cavell: It is simply crazy that there should ever have come into being a world with such a sin in it, in which a man is set apart because of his color—the superficial fact about a human be- ing. Who could want such a world? For an American, fighting for his love of country, that the last hope of earth should from its be- ginning, have swallowed slavery, is an irony so withering, a justice so intimate in its re- buke of pride, as to measure only with God. The drama of America begins with its birth; and it is essential to its myth of itself as a destiny that its birth be unlike that of other nations. Long before there was a Russian or English or French nation or revolution or constitution, there were already a Russian or English or French kingdom or empire or realm, already Russian and English and French history and architecture and literature, and already a distinctively Russian and English and French lan- guage and people and identity. The issue in found- ing America was not just to arrange for there to be one more such place alongside Russia and England and France. It was to show the world what a nation and a constitution and a revolution could and should be, and thereby to create not only a new nation, but a new concept of nation—one that was to have no history or literature or identity prior to the comple- tion of its revolution and the realization of its con- stitution, comprising a people united by neither lan- guage, creed nor blood—one whose history and literature and identity were forged through a vision of how a people might be united such that they no longer could be divided. But how is one to tell if such a revolution attains its end, if such a constitu- tion is fully enacted, if such a union stands achieved? America arguably began as theater. Its revolu- tion, unlike the English and French and Russian revolutions, was not a civil war; it was fought against outsiders, its point was not reform but independence. And one might argue that America’s beginning as theater was both its blessing and its curse. It bore some of the earmarks of other revolutionary con- flicts: shots were fired, colonies liberated, ties with a monarch severed, royalist administrators evicted, and so forth. But such a beginning was largely a blessing for the very reasons that might lead one to declare that the American Revolution was not a revo- lution at all: in its declaration of independence America did not declare war on itself, no king was beheaded, no guillotines were erected, no people’s tribunals convened, there was no orgy of bloodlet- ting to expiate, and the empire to which it had once belonged continued happily on without it. These seemingly unrevolutionary aspects of its Revolu- tion were a blessing because it meant America could begin the business of nationhood with a public de- bate over its founding principles to determine how each could have a voice in the ensuing whole and what kind of voice it should be, rather than with a tribunal of inquisition to determine who was a friend of the Revolution and who Its enemy, sorting its citizenry into those who formed part of the solution and those who formed part of the problem. The American revolutionaries had no need to justify an extended internecine conflict in the name of an in- divisible will of the people, in whose name vio- lence could be demanded and in expectation of whose gratitude all sins would be washed away. Instead of having to invoke the will the people, the Founding Fathers could afford to seek their con- sent. Instead of insisting upon the indivisibility of such a will, they could seek to accommodate and protect a diversity of opinion. Instead of replacing religion with the state, they could seek to separate them. Was the American Revolution therefore a suc- cess? How does one measure the success of a revo- lution? Hannah Arendt has devoted a book to this topic. She notes a marked tendency—exacerbated by a literary and philosophical concentration on the example of the French revolution—that she thinks is apt to cloud our thinking on the topic. The ten- dency is to identify the concept of revolution with the idea of a violent overthrow of an existing order (something she takes to be a merely accidental fea- ture of the concept). This identification leaves out what she takes to be the essential end of revolution: namely, the institution of a new order—not merely in the superficial sense that a new one replaces an old one, but in the deeper sense that it brings into being the conditions of the possibility of a new kind of order—one which alters not only the quantity of freedom but also its quality. A revolution is to be assessed not by how much it destroys, but by what it creates—not by its pow- ers of dissolution, but by its powers of constitution. If, rather than measuring the success of revolutions by the degree to which they afford freedom from a 26 SOCIETY • NOVEMBER / DECEMBER 2003 prior state of affairs, we instead go by the degree to which they enable freedom for the institution of something radically new—an unprecedented yet stable form of social order—then, Arendt argues, this will dramatically affect an estimate of the rela- tive success of the American and French revolu- tions. But she thinks this is not the measure usually employed. Arendt laments: “It was the French and not the American Revolution that set the world on fire, and it was consequently from the course of the French Revolution, and not from the course of events in America or from the acts of the Founding Fathers, that our present use of the word ‘revolu- tion’ received its connotations and overtones every- where.… The sad truth of the matter is that the French Revolution, which ended in disaster, has made world history, while the American Revolution, so trium- phantly successful, has remained an event of little more than local importance” (On Revolution (Pen- guin: New York, 1963), pp. 55-56). An American such as Thoreau might easily agree with Arendt that it is lamentable that the French revolution has been the preferred model for subse- quent “revolutions,” while still feeling that the ques- tion has yet to be answered what it would mean for the American Revolution to have been “triumphantly successful.” Does it mean, as the National Anthem declares, that America is now the land of the free and the home of the brave? If so, Thoreau would want to know what those words mean, particularly since, at the time of writing Walden, America was hiding from itself the withering irony of its having swallowed slavery. Thoreau thinks his countrymen have allowed themselves to mistake the first act (the framing of a constitution) for the drama itself (the actualization of the freedoms it envisions), and thus to remain unclear as to what ought to count as their having finally departed from the conditions England lives under. Do we know what the next act of the drama is to be and when it ought to be performed? Or has it already been performed? Is America now the land of the free? It has, we are often told, freed its slaves. So was the Civil War the second act of the Revolution? America’s Civil War does in some ways resemble other countries’ revolutions: one half of the coun- try fighting the other, brother sometimes taking arms against brother, one side fighting to uphold tradi- tion and property, the other claiming to represent freedom and equality. But it was not a revolution— the point, according to one side, was to make what was formerly one nation two, and the point accord- ing to the other side, was to ensure that it remained one. And to the extent that either point was settled, it was not by its being settled in the way things are settled in a revolution, not merely because America has as such never suffered defeat, but because, since its initial inception, its subsequent growth pains have been accompanied neither by the sort of overthrow of an existing order that would mark (and has marked) the completion of a successful revolution in England or France or Russia nor by the sort of change in political constitution that would mark the completion of a successful revolution by Hannah Arendt’s lights. Surely, this is a blessing that has helped to pro- tect it from some of the recurrent crises of coher- ence and confidence that afflict so many other na- tions. Yet the fact of America’s innocence of such national traumas does not by itself answer Thoreau’s question: Is the drama of America—the drama of the nation’s taking possession of itself—accom- plished or still underway? Is the absence in its his- tory of the moments that are formative in the his- tory of other nations—moments of traumatic birth or loss or change of identity, of defeat from with- out or overthrow from within, of collapse of em- pire or toppling of ancien regime, of change of con- stitution or convulsion in system of government—its curse or its blessing? There is, after all, no short- age of those on the outside who think that it has been its curse that it has been so seemingly blessed— and therefore that there is nothing America needs today more than a humbling. What should those on the inside think? Here is my final quotation. It is also from Stanley Cavell. These lines were written during the Viet- nam War: So America’s knowledge is of indefeasible power and constancy. But its fantasies are those of impotence, because it remains at the mercy of its past, because its present is continuously ridiculed by the fantastic promise of its origin and its possibility, and because it has never been assured that it will survive. Since [America] had a birth, it may die. It feels mortal. And it wishes proof not merely of its continuance but of its existence, a fact it has never been able to take for granted. There- fore its need for love is insatiable. It surely has been given more love than any other na- tion: its history, until yesterday, is one in which outsiders have been drawn to it and in which insiders are hoarse from their expressions of devotion to it.… It is the need for love as proof of its existence which makes it so frighten- ingly destructive, enraged by ingratitude and THE CONCEPT OF AMERICA 27 by attention to its promises rather than to its promise, and which makes it incapable of see- ing that it is destructive and frightening. It imagines its evils to come from the outside. So it feels watched, isolated in its mounting of waters, denying its shame with mechanical lungs of pride, calling its wrath upon the wrong objects. It has gone on for a long time, it is maddened now, the love it has had it has squan- dered too often, its young no longer naturally feel it; its past is in its streets, ungrateful for the fact that a hundred years ago it tore itself apart in order not to be divided; half of it be- lieves the war it is now fighting is taking place twenty-five years ago, when it was still young and it was right that it was opposing tyranny.… Union is what it wanted. And it has never felt that union has been achieved. Hence its ter- ror of dissent, which does not threaten its power but its integrity. So it is killing itself and killing another country in order not to admit its helplessness in the face of suffering, in or- der not to acknowledge its separateness. So it does not know what its true helplessness is. As I read these lines today, thirty-five years after they were written, I find them to have acquired a peculiar pertinence in the wake of the events of September 11, 2001. America has seldom received more declarations of love, from outsiders as well as insiders, than on the days immediately following the events of that day. Yet America remains, now more than ever, incapable of seeing how it appears from the out- side, often squandering that love as unreservedly as it is proffered. America, so confident of its own goodness, has always found it difficult to see it- self—as those on the outside see it—as destructive and frightening. But this self-blindness has deep- ened, now that the fantasy has been catastrophically reinforced that America’s evils come from the out- side. As America responds to her momentary feel- ing of impotence with awesome displays of power, and to her continuing fear of violation with calls for unprecedented acts of surveillance, a question about the times in which my own text (on “The Concept of America”) is written arises: Are we see- ing the curtain open on a further act in the drama of America’s self-constitution? Or has the drama be- come irretrievably stuck, somewhere in the middle of the third act? At the time of writing this essay, some things are as different from the days of the Vietnam War as one could wish for: the nation is not only not di- vided against itself, but its citizens are eager to de- clare that they stand behind its president; its young are not ungrateful and openly protesting its hypoc- risy in the streets; its fears of violence are directed not at the actions of its own citizens but at those of outsiders, thereby enabling it to unite against a com- mon enemy. And even if America is not quite able to tell itself now, with all the confidence it could muster when younger, that it is opposing tyranny, it can tell itself that its enemies are the enemies of freedom and thus would-be tyrants. So whatever threats there may be, surely there is none that threat- ens the union as such—surely, there is no national trauma underway—now that its people are suddenly able, once again, to stand united, indivisible, and firm. And yet. America’s sense of its own helplessness in the face of suffering was seldom more acute than on that September 11th and its appetite for action sel- dom more provoked. America feels again, as sel- dom before, mortal—and wishes proof not merely of its continuance, but proof that it is indeed America (and not just some heavily armed superpower) that thereby continues. Thus the rhetoric of proof vastly exceeds any reality that it thus demonstrates. Sel- dom have those in power felt less humility when invoking—seldom have they found it easier to pro- nounce—words such as “freedom,” “justice,” “truth.” Every action America commits, every treaty it breaks, every bomb it drops, every border it crosses, it declares it does in the name of freedom, suggesting that this is something that it thinks it can—and revealing that this is something it has never believed it can—take for granted. The struggle for union is not yet at an end. To- day the young are not notably ungrateful; and they are certainly not in the streets protesting America’s betrayal of its promises to itself. But that is not to say that they are grateful, or even that most of them remember exactly what those promises—what ex- actly the Revolution or the Constitution—were. America is not (at least not yet) presently killing another country. But that is not to say that it is not killing anyone. True, its fears are presently directed not at the violence of insiders but at those of outsid- ers. But that is not to say that it is able to tell the one from the other. It is true—and a good thing— that it stands united against its present common en- emy. But that is not to say that it knows where that enemy is or what would count as having defeated him. And even if it can tell itself that its enemies are enemies of freedom; it must now rest uneasy in the knowledge that it has made a habit of befriend- ing its enemies’ enemies whether or not they are 28 SOCIETY • NOVEMBER / DECEMBER 2003 truly its or freedom’s friends. Its enemies of today it was calling, only yesterday, friends—friends it was eager to help against a prior common enemy. Amidst these shifting allegiances, it becomes in- creasingly difficult to tell freedom’s friends from its foes—not only when looking at those on the outside but also at those on the inside, and not only for those on the inside looking around but also for those on the outside looking at us. America could not disguise from itself that the Vietnam War (and the War at Home it provoked) was a struggle over its own soul. But now that America can tell itself that it has been attacked, that it is vulnerable, and that it acts only to protect it- self, it has become easier than ever for it to disguise from itself how its continuance depends not only on what it does, but on how it does it. If it is to have a soul worth saving, attacks on it from with- out must not silence its ongoing argument from within over what would count as its having a soul worth saving. For it belongs to that peculiarity of the concept of America that I have sought to eluci- date here that there is no contradiction in the fol- lowing thought: America might cease to exist on the very day that its citizens become convinced that the continued existence of “America” has been safe- guarded and now rests assured. James Conant is professor of philosophy, Department of Philosophy, University of Chicago. He is the editor of The Cambridge Companion to John Dewey, and The Norton Anthology of Philosophy, Volume V: The Analytic Tradition. This article was written before the invasion of Iraq. 
work_2o3mai4gcfdhbbfa7uqrh6cezm	----	Dickinson and the Politics of Plant Sensibility Dickinson and the Politics of Plant Sensibility Mary Kuhn ELH, Volume 85, Number 1, Spring 2018, pp. 141-170 (Article) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:00 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/elh.2018.0005 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/687733 https://doi.org/10.1353/elh.2018.0005 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/687733 141ELH 85 (2018) 141–170 © 2018 by Johns Hopkins University Press DICKINSON AND THE POLITICS OF PLANT SENSIBILITY BY MARY KUHN Even at the end of her life, Emily Dickinson never withdrew from her flowers. Throughout her isolation at her parents’ house on Main Street in Amherst, Dickinson continued to garden, arrange bouquets, and send cuttings to distant friends. As a student she had scouted for new flowers to press into her bound herbarium, and in winter, to keep plants warm, she brought them into the conservatory built against the southeastern wall of the house. The structure allowed her to cultivate tropical plants that could not otherwise survive the New England climate. Dickinson knew firsthand how fickle plants could be, and how fragile, and she had skill in growing plants that were not native to the area or suited to the climate. Yet readings of her botanical poems, even when critics acknowledge her gardening, often overlook the importance of the circulation of plants across the nineteenth century that made foreign flora accessible to American home gardeners. Perhaps more than any other, Dickinson’s literary career benefits from a revised critical approach to the culture of plants, and from an understanding of how sentiment and science overlapped in rendering plants intimately strange to nineteenth-century gardeners. As conven- tional sentimental tokens, flowers conveyed emotional significance. Their cultivation served as a popular metaphor for education and socialization. As commodities and specimens, meanwhile, plants were valued within the economic or scientific systems in which they circu- lated. This overlap of meanings often brought into focus another: the lively materiality of plants, which was unpredictable, and which could challenge human efforts to understand or control them. As nineteenth- century naturalists moved plants around the globe and attempted to cultivate them in new climates, plants sometimes failed to thrive in new environments or took root in unexpected ways, and their existence challenged the values that humans assigned to them. Across her poems and her letters Dickinson dwells on how the creative energy of the botanical realm might escape, challenge, and in some ways reorganize human-centric designs. In this sense, she departs from dominant theories of natural philosophy that elevated 142 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility human consciousness above other forms of life, aligning herself instead with an emergent scientific discourse about plant feeling. Whereas the many theories of life in the nineteenth century—like the great chain of being or argument from design—tended to see the world as an orderly and stable hierarchy with humans at the top, Dickinson finds in the plant realm another possibility: life whose very nature is collaborative, decentralized, and communicative with other environmental agents in ways that human actors cannot anticipate or control. Such theories about the organization of plant matter inevitably have political and literary consequences.1 If plants are vital, sensible, and mobile, they cease to simply reflect back the human values projected upon them. Their autonomy is both difficult to imagine and politically charged, for it creates an organically organized other to the human that encourages an environmentally engaged sensibility. Dickinson is deeply interested in plant material for how its creative forces might instruct human life, not only for the moral cultivation of the individual, but also for the organization of society. The riot of life Dickinson depicts in the garden is therefore not only about allegory, subjectivity, or romantic aesthetics. Rather, because botanical vitality was recognized as being distinctive from human biology while at the same time unnervingly familiar, plants modeled alternative networks of social relations. Scholars who study Dickinson’s scientific language have struggled to frame her sentimental depictions of plants in relation to botany, often dismissing in consequence the rigor of her botanical knowledge.2 Celebrating Dickinson’s empiricism, Paul Giles has even suggested that “science for Dickinson represented not simply a positive field of learning but a challenge to every kind of sentimental domestic piety.”3 Rescuing Dickinson from such piety in this manner precludes recognizing the potency of sentimentalism in Dickinson’s work, as Marianne Noble, Rachel Stein, and others attest.4 More importantly, to assume that science and sentimentality were mutually exclusive is to read against Dickinson’s poems and the history of plant practices in the nineteenth century. In what follows I focus on two often overlooked dimensions of Dickinson’s engagement with plants—their circulation and their liveli- ness. As a passionate gardener, Dickinson had occasion to see how the global traffic in plants transformed local environments, and to study the ways plants moved on their own. The first part of the essay takes up this issue of plant mobility, considering the ways that Dickinson’s poetry engages with the circulation of plant matter during her lifetime. In the second part, I show how concepts of plant irritability, sentience, 143Mary Kuhn and intelligence were more central to nineteenth-century botany than we usually recognize. A number of Dickinson’s poems explore the possi- bility of an active, feeling natural world. Taken together, these sections address the ways in which Dickinson relocates historical agency—both human and natural—by attending to the materiality of plant life. I. PLANT MOBILITY Home gardening in mid-nineteenth-century Amherst was far from a domestic enterprise.5 With the influx of plants from abroad, nineteenth-century botanists and home gardeners were increasingly aware that the data they could empirically collect about their plants might be influenced by forces beyond their local purview. Despite this context, the relationship between Dickinson’s botanical language and horticulture as a transcultural, geopolitical enterprise has received little attention. This is partly because of a broader lack of attention to women gardeners who understood their activities in the context of ecologically diverse networks of plant circulation, and partly because of a tendency to assume that plants were passive matter in nineteenth- century America. Yet Dickinson’s own poems encourage us to consider plant and human behavior on a global scale. Rejecting the notion that the natural world could serve as a stable ground for reifying social order, Dickinson’s flowers, birds, and even her poles move. Tulips that grow at home are transplants from Asia, flowers wander, and trees do not stand still, as “When oldest Cedars swerve – / And Oaks untwist their fists –”.6 In some poems, vast intervals compress into tight stanzas. The distance between Western Massachusetts and the Kashmir region of the Indian subcontinent—well over six thousand miles—is one that few in Dickinson’s lifetime would travel. The poet, however, traversed these miles within the poetic line. The poem “If I could bribe them by a Rose” begins, If I could bribe them by a Rose I’d bring them every flower that grows From Amherst to Cashmere! I would not stop for night, or storm - Or frost, or death, or anyone - My business were so dear! (P, F176 A) Dickinson’s poetry often spans such distances, bringing places as diverse as Amherst and Cashmere, or New England and Santo Domingo, into 144 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility the same imaginative sphere. The generative energy of this dimen- sion of her writing has led to a turn in criticism that has unmoored Dickinson from the fixed radius around Amherst and even the United States. Dickinson’s ability to “telescope” place, as Christine Gerhardt puts it, is often particularly notable in the floral language she evokes over the course of her poetic career, because Dickinson was keenly aware that flowers simultaneously comprised the local garden and circumnavigated the globe.7 This motion resists the explanatory power of conceptual categories like the local or national, and Dickinson’s political engagement makes fuller sense when we consider how plants function within an international framework. Dickinson’s poems can suggest how middle-class horticultural enterprises were facilitated by colonial botanical pursuits, and how the projects of the home gardener were tied to imperial designs. Curiously, however, the history of eighteenth and nineteenth- century bioprospecting has been largely sequestered from discussions of domestic gardens.8 On the one hand, so narratives usually go, male scientists and politicians from virtually every eighteenth-century empire pursued plant collection, propagation, and circulation on a grand geographical scale for nationalist and commercial ends.9 Kew Gardens perhaps best exemplifies this dimension of collecting; as a center for the acquisition of new species, Kew organized and displayed the plant- growing strategies of the British colonies, and sought to legitimate political projects through what Jill Casid has called “a new ideology of empire as cultivation rather than conquest.”10 American Manifest Destiny likewise used the garden—and the garden imaginary—to justify imperial expansion.11 On the other hand, many histories of women gardeners in both England and America describe the garden gate as, to quote Judith Page and Elise Smith, “the boundary between the domesticated, feminized zone and the world beyond.”12 Studies of women and botany emphasize the activities of the domestic gardener as part of a private sphere, even while acknowledging the growing presence of botanical education in schools and other public institutions. While there are multiple studies of the role of botany and horticulture in shaping gender constructions, few sustain a focus on geopolitical concerns.13 Yet Dickinson’s poetry suggests a strong connection between home garden practices and environmental politics on a larger scale. Seed and plant catalogs facilitated this connection by offering a tangible sense that species on offer circulated around the globe. Nurseries on both sides of the Atlantic advertised novel plant variety 145Mary Kuhn for the home garden, and frequently identified in their catalogs the source of the new variety. At the Dickinson homestead, as Judith Farr has determined, the nursery catalogs included those by L. W. Goodell and B. K. Bliss.14 Bliss’s 1870 spring catalogue assigns each variety a “Native Country,” and the list includes “France,” “Mexico,” “California,” “East Indies,” “Russia,” “Chili” and “N. S. Wales,” among many others.15 More widely, such catalogs often identified origins not only in terms of nations but also continents, riverbanks, or mountain ranges. The 1862 Barr and Sugden Guide to the Flower Garden, &c., for instance, names as origins not only “N. America,” “Canada,” “SW Australia,” “Africa,” “West Indies,” “E. Indies,” “France,” “China,” and “Germany,” but also “Himalaya,” “The Levent,” “Arabia,” “Straights of Magellan,” “Swan River,” and the “Caucauses.”16 In addition to seed and plant catalogs, news of regular international plant circulation was available to readers of horticultural periodicals. The proceedings of the Massachusetts Horticultural Society were regularly published in The New England Farmer and elsewhere, containing information on the society’s new acquisitions from abroad, such as “samples of the grape vines, cherries and other fruits of the Crimea,—seeds of such forest trees as were considered valuable for economical purposes.”17 The regular requests for new seeds—particu- larly those perceived as potentially economically valuable—fill the annals of horticultural institutions. Indeed, the craze for international seeds frustrated those nurserymen like Joseph Breck who had to keep pace with changing tastes. In The Flower Garden; or Breck’s Book of Flowers, which Dickinson and her sister likely read, Breck speaks to the capriciousness associated with the availability of new imports: “We remember when Cape plants were the rage; . . . But in a few years these were thrown aside, and New Holland beauties supplanted them; to be succeeded by the flaunting, or shy and delicate, natives of South America.”18 Nursery culture by midcentury was tied into global networks of bioprospecting, and customers came to expect the annual arrival of new varieties from abroad. Dickinson engages with the concept of bioprospecting as both a personal and general phenomenon. In “I robbed the Woods” the speaker expresses mild approbation at her own plant collection in the woods: “I grasped - I bore away -” has a confessional tone, but the use of the first-person pronoun suggests a limited scale (P, F57 A). The poem may even have been a critique of her brother’s habit of taking specimen trees out of the nearby woods to plant on his own property.19 In a second variation of the poem, the “I” is replaced by “Who.” This 146 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility shift transforms the implications for the plant collection, making it far more reaching. “Who robbed the Woods -” might allegorize a larger exploitative operation: Who robbed the Woods - The trusting Woods? The unsuspecting Trees Brought out their Burs and Mosses - His fantasy to please - He scanned their trinkets - curious - He grasped - he bore away - What will the solemn Hemlock - What will the Fir tree - say? (P, F57 B) Here the natural world is translated into a commodity: burs and mosses become “trinkets” to be carried off by an anonymous exploitative agent. The relationship between this version of the poem and the version engaging the personal pronoun suggests Dickinson’s willingness to consider how the local, personalized collections of botanical specimens might fit within a larger historical paradigm. “The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune” also acknowledges environ- mental change in the local landscape. The poem is most often read as an exploration of a distinctive New England context, but it can also be read “slant” (see P, F1263 A) as ironizing the concept of biotic regionalism in an age of plant nurseries and imperial gardens: The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune - Because I grow - where Robins do - But, were I Cuckoo born - I’d swear by him - The ode familiar - rules the Noon - The Buttercup’s, my whim for Bloom - Because, we’re Orchard sprung - But, were I Britain born, I’d Daisies spurn - None but the Nut - October fit - Because - through dropping it, The Seasons flit - I’m taught - Without the Snow’s Tableau Winter, were lie - to me - Because I see - New Englandly - The Queen, discerns like me - Provincially - (P, F256 A) 147Mary Kuhn The speaker of the poem associates with the robin, buttercup, and daisy because they share a habitat. As Gerhardt argues, “the poem suggests that the speaker is an equal member of the region’s biotic community, and that New England is defined by interlocking cultural and natural systems.”20 Seeing “New Englandly” is causally related to “grow[ing]” there, a clear articulation of place and of regional difference. And as Gerhardt notes, contemporaneous discourses of plant geography and birding helped to establish a sense of New England as a distinct place. But when the poem extends this sense of provinciality to the queen of England in its final lines, we might ask if seeing provincially means something more in this context. To be sure, the poem strongly links perception to place, suggesting that the speaker and the queen share a regional mode of perception based on the distinctiveness of the local biota. At the same time, however, the queen’s metropolitan seat of power begs us to reconsider what provincial means. In the context of the British Empire, to discern provincially becomes a matter of understanding how the movement of objects and knowledge might link disparate regions. Read this way, we might see this poem as wryly acknowledging the ways in which local ecological change was the product of environmental transformations on a global scale. By connecting the New England “I” to the British Queen, the speaker establishes parity between her own environmental regard and that of the symbolic head of an empire that had already claimed provinces across six continents. The biota of England in the mid-nineteenth century had been significantly augmented by colonial projects, and as Alan Bewell and others have noted, by the early nineteenth century, colonial natures—in the form of plants, minerals, birds—were “flooding” into Europe from around the globe on an unprecedented scale.21 Natural history and economic botany were linked practices that facilitated this exchange of natural materials. New England was the recipient of colonial plants, technology, and cultivation practices, as the popularization of gardening among the middle class created a market for novel plants from abroad. The transport that flowers could inspire thus might be perceived to be as much geographical as sublime. In “Some Rainbow – coming from the Fair!”, the arrival of spring in the local arena is heralded as an international affair. The changing seasons invoke a sense of geographical compression from the start of the poem to its end: 148 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility Some Rainbow - coming from the Fair! Some Vision of the World Cashmere - I confidently see! Or else a Peacock’s purple Train Feather by feather - on the plain Fritters itself away! The dreamy Butterflies bestir! Lethargic pools resume the whirr Of last year’s sundered tune! From some old Fortress on the sun Baronial Bees - march - one by one - In murmuring platoon! The Robins stand as thick today As flakes of snow stood yesterday - On fence - and Roof - and Twig! The Orchis binds her feather on For her old lover - Dons the Sun! Revisiting the Bog! Without Commander! Countless! Still! The Regiments of Wood and Hill In bright detachment stand! Behold, Whose multitudes are these? The children of whose turbaned seas - Or what Circassian Land? (P, F162 B) The poem forges a link between local natural phenomenon and military engagement elsewhere. Farr argues that the “near military formation” of the flowers “describes their aesthetic potency,” and that the poem’s international allusions are ultimately there to stress the “power of beauty.”22 In this reading, the focus is on aesthetic interpretation: the arrival of spring as a timeless, powerful force. But the poem’s geographical references are, in a way, constitutive of its aesthetic intensity.23 The poem begins with clarity of vision about the landscape that slowly gives way to uncertainty. The declaration that “I confidently see!” in the first stanza concedes to questions of origins in the last. Moving from Cashmere to Circassia over the course of four stanzas to characterize spring, the poem conflates beauty not with truth, as a Keatsian romantic might, but with conflict. The allusion to Circassian Land invokes contested territory during the ongoing Russian-Circassian War in the nineteenth century. The protracted conflict, followed in 149Mary Kuhn American periodicals, ended in 1864 with the Ottoman Empire offering refuge to Circassians forced to emigrate by the Russian victors. As Cristanne Miller has pointed out, the history of the Circassians poses all kinds of access points for Dickinson to weigh in on national and international politics, as well as a window into Dickinson’s engagement with U. S. orientalism. Like Santo Domingo, Circassia could function prismatically as a lens for U. S. politics. “The image of Circassians as fiercely committed to national independence prevailed,” Miller notes; “To be the child of a ‘Circassian Land’ was to belong to a besieged Muslim people celebrated as heroes, mythologized as exceedingly beautiful, and associated with slavery in Turkish harems.”24 One could easily imagine Circassia as a means by which Dickinson thought through antebellum racial politics. Yet if reading the poem for exclusively aesthetic purposes renders it relatively inert, reading it for solely geopolitical ends can obscure just as much once the materiality of the flowers—and the spring they conjure—ceases to perform as anything more than metaphor. Instead we might look at the way the poem connects plant life that annually “resume[s]” in place and the transport that local plants might inspire. In this sense the poem performs—like the conservatory or the seed catalogue—an act of geographical compression that troubles the rela- tionship of foreground and background and registers the potentially disorienting effect of international plant circulation. By gesturing to a foreign historical context of local flowers, Dickinson sustains a relation- ship among local aesthetics, local materialism, and contestation over faraway land. The multiple questions in the poem’s final stanza render the local environment legible not as a fixed entity, but as a confluence of migratory forces. The flowers growing locally are a reminder to the speaker that the surrounding environment is socially and politically constructed, not merely the backdrop against which political events are worked out. Depicting an active landscape defies the position of writers and thinkers from Thomas Jefferson and J. Hector St. John de Crèvecoeur onward who sought cultural specificity in the particular biotic qualities of a regional or national geographic range.25 It also resists the neat rhetoric of cultivation and human control. The Commander-less nature of the flowers in “Some Rainbow” might be their most provocative element, for beyond tying the floral to the political, the language of absent leadership challenges a simple narrative of human agency. Charles Darwin’s watershed release of On the Origin of Species in 1859 helped popularize the concept of autonomous plant mobility, and while the impact of Darwin’s text on Dickinson’s social 150 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility milieu has received a fair amount of critical attention, the impact of his theories of geographical mobility deserves a closer look.26 Darwin believed that plants opportunistically dispersed their seeds. While mammals have not been able to migrate with as great a range, he notes, “some plants, from their varied means of dispersal, have migrated across the vast and broken interspace.”27 Darwin himself experimented with submerging seeds in water and testing their potential to germinate after a fixed amount of time, noting that dried seeds might travel over 900 miles in seawater and then sprout. Alternatively, they might travel across large distances in driftwood, bird carcasses, fish, or the beaks and feet of living birds, or get buried in icebergs. Darwin’s position on botanical migration in Origin is by and large focused on forces outside human control that drive evolution and change. Henry David Thoreau takes up a similar approach in “The Succession of Forest Trees,” concluding that pine and oak forests often replace one another when a seed “is transported from where it grows to where it is planted . . . chiefly by the agency of the wind, water, and animals.”28 Such theorizing about environmental agency dealt a blow, as Gillian Beer notes, to anthropocentric narratives of the world.29 A number of Dickinson’s poems emphasize botanical mobility or the mobility of pollinators like bees and butterflies. In presenting the motion of natural phenomena, Dickinson provides an alternative narrative to the kinds of botanical circulation fostered in imperial contexts. In “The Wind did’nt come from the Orchard - today -”, the wind, “a transitive fellow,” carries a burr to the doorstep, leaving the occupants inside to wonder how far the seed has traveled (P, F494 B). In “As if some little Artic flower,” the flower moves “down the Latitudes” in the first part of the poem: As if some little Arctic flower Opon the polar hem - Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came To continents of summer - To firmaments of sun - To strange, bright crowds of flowers - And birds, of foreign tongue! (P, F177 A) The flower’s displacement here is the central subject of the poem, though its movement emphasizes its own agency in the process: its procession down the latitudes by wandering makes it fully in charge 151Mary Kuhn of its own motion. As Timothy Mitchell has noted in another context, the more one understands the role of non-human forces, the more human agency appears less as a calculating intelligence directing social outcomes and more as the product of a series of alliances in which the human element is never wholly in control.”30 While Mitchell’s criticism emerges out of a contemporary post-humanist turn, the scientific idea of biological mobility was in popular circulation since at least the release of On the Origin of Species and appears to be at play in Dickinson’s poetry. Dickinson’s access to plants also included those acquired through noncommercial routes, such as those that had crossed thousands of miles enclosed in the letters of overseas friends and correspondents. Most notably, Dickinson received a number of plant specimens from Southern Europe, the Middle East, and Asia (Figure 1). Figure 1. Flower from “Desert of the Dead Sea” from Dickinson’s botantical collec- tions. By permission of the Houghton Library, Harvard University, MS Am 1118.13. 152 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility Amherst College prepared many graduates for missionary life, and it is probable that these cuttings came from one or several of her friends who married Protestant missionaries and subsequently traveled abroad. One likely candidate is Abby Wood Bliss, who moved to Syria with Daniel Bliss shortly after their marriage in 1855. Dickinson’s collection of labeled plants from foreign climes includes pressings from India, Germany, Italy, Palestine, Greece, and Lebanon. Thus, flowers for Dickinson might just as readily conjure international correspondence with a dear friend as the garden corners and greenhouses she knew so well.31 Such friendship networks, as Jim Endersby has noted, comprised an important dimension of the conduct of natural history.32 We know that epistolary correspondence shaped ideas about what social relations might mean in a world of increasing geographical mobility, but far less attention has been paid to the fact that these letters could, and often did, contain cuttings from thousands of miles away.33 Whereas letters are usually read foremost for their textual qualities, the inclusion of plant matter asserts the materiality of the landscape from which it is removed. The epistolary exchange of botanical matter maps these informal networks onto national and religious cartographies.34 In “Between My Country - and the Others -” Dickinson makes flowers central to the act of communication across a great distance: Between My Country - and the Others - There is a Sea - But Flowers - negotiate between us - As Ministry. (P, F829 A) The gulf created by the first two lines, the separating sea, is navi- gated—or rather importantly, “negotiate[d]”—by flowers. And notably, despite the emphasis on difference of place, accentuated by the dashes, the poem makes no distinction between political, social, or religious ministry, or between personal correspondence and official communication. The multiple meanings of ministry in the final line speak to Dickinson’s acknowledgement of the overlapping registers affixed to floral language. Moreover, given Dickinson’s participation in a culture of sending pressed flowers in letters to friends, the poem links the sentimental circulation of flowers abroad to these other kinds of ministration. To see that Dickinson’s nature is dynamic in geopolitically significant ways is to dislodge the regionalism often associated with domestic 153Mary Kuhn flora. Plant circulation eroded singularity of place. The popularization of conservatories, like the one attached to Dickinson’s house, meant that plants from warmer climates could survive bitter New England winters. As Dickinson writes in an 1856 letter, “My flowers are near and foreign, and I have but to cross the floor to stand in the Spice Isles.”35 Such compression, and the ability to creating a synecdoche of the world’s greenery at home, revises the idea of nature in place. It makes the designations of near and far harder to distinguish, and in doing so, establishes correspondence between local and international events. It also presents a wide-angle lens on agency. We may be familiar with nature as an omnipotent and aleatory force in Dickinson’s poems—the sudden storm, volcanic eruption, or “imperial Thunderbolt” (P, F 477 B)—but plants are similarly surprising for their unique ontology and ability to act in autonomous, organized, and collaborative ways. II. PLANT SENSIBILITY If Dickinson’s understanding of plant life challenges us to consider plant and human behavior on a global scale, her poems also encourage us to think expansively about a sensate environment. That is, Dickinson’s interest in plants as organized and autonomous entities went beyond their ability to move and extended to the more radical possibility of their capacity to feel. To the extent that Dickinson anthropomorphized flora, as in flowers that “put their nightgowns on,” she also wrote poems that acknowledged what Theresa Kelley calls plants’ “material strangeness” (P, F127 A).36 Nineteenth-century students—as well as botanists and writers—had to contend with plants as substantive objects as well as symbols.37 And this in turn presented interpretive challenges for young botanists because the idea of plants as collectible objects dovetailed with the idea that plants could be vital subjects. Floral vitality may seem a surprising interest for someone whose passion for plants is best archived in the herbarium of dried flowers she created as a student at Amherst Academy. The botanical instruc- tion Dickinson received at an early age presented the natural world in a manner befitting the linked imperatives of domestic and colonial order. Her exquisite herbarium, for instance, reflects the taxonomic system used to control and regulate an increasingly networked array of natures across the globe.38 Identifying plants according to a taxonomic system promised to give students authority over a passive vegetable kingdom, and Dickinson’s herbarium reveals the control she exerted in arranging pressed specimens from various locales. She included 154 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility not only those flowers found in the wild, like marsh bellflower and frostweed, but those growing in the garden, like privet, a common border shrub, and Persian lilac.39 In brief, the herbarium orients our thinking toward plants as the recipients of human values. As a number of scholars have noted, students of botany in mid- nineteenth-century America were also immersed in figurative associa- tions between flowers and human society that likewise made plants symbols of human thought and feeling. Carl Linnaeus’s sexual basis for his classification system supported comparisons between courtship and floral pollination.40 James Guthrie has argued that many of Dickinson’s poems about bees and other floral pollinators can be read in this vein.41 The language of flowers was another important, often related, figurative context. Elizabeth Petrino and Judith Farr have thoroughly illustrated how Dickinson often drew on this symbolic register, in which each flower species represents a specific human emotion or virtue.42 Yet for all that Dickinson engaged with these traditions, her interest in plant life at times challenged the anthropocentric flattening inherent in both scientific and sentimental taxonomies. By Dickinson’s lifetime, plant sentience was an established, if hotly debated, current of thought within natural history. A brief discussion of this tradition is helpful for recovering structures of meaning that informed Dickinson’s own engagement with plant life. By the end of the eighteenth century, naturalists hypothesized that plants could feel in ways analogous to human feeling. Whereas Linnaeus distinguished plants from animals in Philosophia Botanica on the very basis that plants had “growth and life” but no “feeling,” by the time American naturalist William Bartram published his Travels in 1791, his obser- vations led him to conclude that “vegetable beings are endued with some sensible faculties or attributes, similar to those that dignify animal nature.”43 Calling Dionea muscipula (Venus flytrap) “sportive” and noting the “artifice” with which they “intrap incautious deluded insects,” Bartram perceived plants as like humans in certain respects, and indeed compares climbing vines to “the fingers of a human hand.”44 As Michael Gaudio notes, such a doctrine of plant feeling made sense in an Enlightenment context in which the natural and the social “were understood to operate according to the same principles.”45 By the early decades of the nineteenth century scientists increas- ingly strove to detach subjectivity from empirical analysis, positioning the natural and the social further apart. Discussions of plant feeling among nineteenth-century botanists reveal ambivalence about the affinities between plants and humans. Many were willing to concede 155Mary Kuhn plant sentience, but diverged widely on how to understand it. Georges Cuvier clearly limited the likeness between plant and animal, whereas Darwin’s research into plant motion led him to conclude that the root of a plant “acts like the brain of one of the lower animals.”46 Augustin de Candolle, who dropped acid onto plant leaves to test their irritability and responsiveness, did not grant plants a close relationship to humans, but declared that “Plants live, not merely in the common sense of the word, which includes activity of every kind, but in that stricter sense, by which a higher and self-dependent activity is expressed.”47 And the Harvard botanist Asa Gray, whose work Dickinson knew, vacillated over several decades, but edged toward a theory of plant intelligence, titling his 1872 children’s botany textbook How Plants Behave: How They Move, Climb, Employ Insects to Work for Them, &c. As one 1873 review of the book noted, Gray’s language goes far toward warranting the opinion that plants are sentient creatures. If this be so, what a world of strange revelations awaits some fortunate investigator! He—or the boon may fall to the lot of a woman—will tell us if it be true that plants have pleasures and pains, that they weep when bruised, that they sleep at night, that, like the Vallisneria spiralis, all flowers love. . . . We might say that in the very title of his book Prof. Gray concedes the sensibility of plants, and half admits their intelligence.48 The reviewer reveals the extent to which this book potentially opens the door to a new paradigm of thought about plant life, one granted authority through scientific investigation. “To behave,” so the reviewer crucially continues, “implies a knowledge of propriety; and if plants approach humanity so closely, it would seem absurd to deny their near relationship.”49 In other words, plants may act in ways that are volitional, even decorous, meaning that the scientific observation of plants might call for more than simply recasting preexisting scientific categories. A “near relationship” between plants and humans potentially demands an affinity that is at once physiological, cultural, and aesthetic. A number of popular journals helped disseminate the idea to a broader audience. An 1863 article in the Horticulturalist asks bluntly: “Is the plant stupid?”50 The author extols plant intelligence: “Who will now undertake to say that a plant is not sensible? If you go into the fields, you will tread upon a multitude of flowers that know better than you do which way the wind blows, what o’clock it is, and what is to be thought about the weather.”51 An 1873 article in The Youth’s Companion on plant sleep notes that “[t]he deeper we search into the 156 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility mysteries of vegetable life, the closer appears its relations to animal existence. Botanists—especially among the French—assert that plants breathe, work, sleep, are sensitive and capable of movement. These points lead to debatable ground.”52 This “debatable ground” is the extent to which commonality exists between plants and animals, and was contested because its implications were so potentially explosive. To follow the debate to its most radical social conclusions—a point before which most writers stopped—might be to concede plant life is intelligently organized in a manner that might entail ethical and epistemological demands on humans. The fraught nature of the debate over plant sentience in part hinges on the ways in which plants model life itself differently. Competing theories about the nature of life were widespread in the nineteenth century, offering a somewhat chaotic and contradictory range of ideas about where liveliness originates and how it is organized. Benjamin Rush believed in what Monique Allewaert has termed “vitalist materi- alism”: a theory that matter has a capacity for life but requires external stimuli.53 For Samuel Taylor Coleridge, life occurs when a supernatural force—a kind of spiritual antecedent—animates nature.54 Thoreau condemns the physiologist “in too much haste to explain [plant] growth according to mechanical laws” and muses that “the mystery of the life of plants is kindred with that of our own lives.”55 He urges a kind of restraint toward the question of life itself, arguing that “[w]e must not presume to probe with our fingers the sanctuary of any life, whether animal or vegetable; if we do we shall discover nothing but surface still, or all fruits will be apples of the Dead Sea, full of dust and ashes.”56 As discussion of plant vitality broadened, the distance between literary and scientific ideas about plant life narrowed. In 1878 an article in the Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature makes the point about plant perception more poetically and definitively. Wordsworth’s “belief . . . ‘that every flower / Enjoys the air it breathes,’” had in fact been validated by “the rapid march of investigation within recent years [that] transformed a poetic thought into a dictum of natural science.”57 Experiments with food, locomotion, and sensitivity had pointed biologists toward the overwhelming conclusion that the essential characteristics of plants and animals could not be easily or confidently distinguished. Part of the confusion stems from the creation of categories, for if differences might be clearly discernable “between the higher animals and plants,” still “[a]ny definition of an animal or of a plant, to be either satisfactory or useful to the scientific man or to mankind at large, must include all animals and all plants.”58 Such broad 157Mary Kuhn categories produce strange bedfellows, as Harriet Ritvo has noted with animal classification, and point to the ways in which botanical research in the second half of the nineteenth century did not simply seek to reify Linnaean order, but rather continued to revise the way in which life was conceptualized, organized, and understood.59 Beyond her access to a number of prominent periodicals, Dickinson directly encountered theories of plant sentience in a number of ways. The botany that Dickinson learned as a schoolgirl was mainly taxo- nomic, but even botanical educators who sought to teach students easy means of classifying nature conceded that the line between plants and animals was at least somewhat blurry. Almira Lincoln Phelps, the author of the most popular botanical textbook in nineteenth-century America, acknowledged the “almost imperceptible gradations by which the animal and vegetable kingdoms are blended.”60 Toward the end of Familiar Lectures on Botany, a textbook Dickinson used, Phelps furthermore attributed sensation and instinct to plants even as she qualified their “principle of life” relative to that of animals.61 The geolo- gist Edward Hitchcock, who taught natural sciences at Amherst College and whose book on local flora Dickinson also used, likewise believed the subject to be important enough to raise in his introductory lecture on botany, noting that “the lowest tribe of animals comes nearest to the lowest order of plants. This destroys the idea of a regular chain.”62 Prompted by her friend and distant cousin William Cowper Dickinson, Dickinson also read X. B. Saintine’s popular novel Picciola: the Prisoner of Fenestralla, which recounts a prisoner’s obsession with the plant growing in his prison courtyard—an obsession that takes the form of compassionate care and empirical analysis of the plant. The prisoner’s redemption lies in his studious love of the plant, which he calls his “benefactress,” and with which he comes to feel a “myste- rious sympathy of nature.”63 In a letter to her cousin thanking him for sending her the book, Dickinson conflates book with plant: “’Tis the first living thing that has beguiled my solitude, & I take strange delight in its society.”64 Dickinson’s first person here echoes the perspective of Saintine’s protagonist, whose social world for several years is primarily a flower that captivates him with its “sensibility and action.”65 It is in light of this extensive discourse about plant feeling, as well as Dickinson’s passion for gardening, that we might better hear Dickinson’s own imaginative engagement with plant life. While both botanical classification and the language of flowers were widely used in poetic figuration across the nineteenth century, a poem like “Bloom - is Result - to meet a Flower” encourages us to consider the natural 158 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility world beyond its human analogy. The poem in fact closely tracks the strategies plants use to survive through maturity: Bloom - is Result - to meet a Flower And casually glance Would cause one scarcely to suspect The minor Circumstance Assisting in the Bright Affair So intricately done Then offered as a Butterfly To the Meridian - To pack the Bud - oppose the Worm - Obtain it’s right of Dew - Adjust the Heat - elude the Wind - Escape the prowling Bee - Great Nature not to disappoint Awaiting Her that Day - To be a Flower, is profound Responsibility - (P, F1038 A) When approached through conventional associations with sentimental flora, the poem proffers an analogy in which the growth of the flower stands in for the socialization of the human subject. In this vein, the flower’s “Responsibility” is proxy for human subjectivity and experience, as Farr suggests: “Just as the world of flowers represents the world of men and women, so certain flowers represent specific qualities or endeavors, functions, or careers.”66 Yet the subject of the poem encourages us to think of the flower also as a living entity in its own right, one whose difference from the human makes it captivating and whose workings increasingly appeared to scientists as a self-determining power bordering on agency. The poem charts an effort to understand plant life as dynamic. Bloom might be the result that allows us to meet a flower, but the poem is less interested in the result than the process, moving backward from the presentation of the bloom through its journey of coming into flower. To survive, the flower must nearly simultaneously “pack,” “oppose,” “obtain,” “adjust,” “elude,” and “escape.” Rather than a static object, it is an agent in a process, and the poem as a whole draws from nineteenth-century scientific discussions of plants as adaptive—and adept—agents. 159Mary Kuhn To engage the matter of plant liveliness, Dickinson’s approach to organic matter combines scientific knowledge with a sentimentalism often considered antithetical to empirical study. For Dickinson, shared sentiment might become a way to connect the human condition to that of birds, flowers, and the natural environment at large. In “The Birds reported from the South -” this rapport becomes increasingly intimate: The Birds reported from the South - A News express to Me - A spicy Charge, My little Posts - But I am deaf - Today - The Flowers - appealed - a timid Throng - I reinforced the Door - Go blossom to the Bees - I said - And trouble Me - no More - The Summer Grace, for notice strove - Remote - Her best Array - The Heart - to stimulate the Eye Refused too utterly - At length, a Mourner, like Myself, She drew away austere - Her frosts to ponder - then it was I recollected Her - She suffered Me, for I had mourned - I offered Her no word - My Witness - was the Crape I bore - Her - Witness - was Her Dead - Thenceforward - We - together dwelt - She - never questioned Me - Nor I - Herself - Our Contract A Wiser Sympathy[.] (P, F780 A) The poem refuses a firm distinction between the civic and the natural through language that overlays the conflict of the Civil War—the reports from the South, the “News,” the “spicy Charge”—with the progression of the seasons.67 Not wholly distinct from human affairs, nature is also no mere mirror of the speaker’s inner mournful state, but “A Mourner, like Myself.” Nature is a sensible agent that strives for notice, draws away austerely, and ponders her own frosts. We 160 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility could read this as simple anthropomorphism or the pathetic fallacy, connecting the outer world to the speaker’s inner turmoil, except for the fact that the poem tracks the discord between the speaker and nature before “I recollected Her –”, making nature’s emotions autonomous. Furthermore, Dickinson relies on metonymy to destabilize the trope of nature. Nature includes the birds with their spicy charge, the throng of flowers, the frost; rather than a steady entity it is an assemblage of interactive parts moving in time and space.68 Yet if nature does not simply reflect the speaker’s inner grief, neither does it stand completely apart from that grief. The relationship culmi- nates in the poem’s last stanza, where the speaker and the natural world are bound by a “Wiser Sympathy” that forms “Our Contract.” This closure by contract makes wordless, essentially private states of grief into something shared. The private nature of affect, as Lauren Berlant notes, can close off the possibility of addressing pain and suffering through political channels.69 Here, pain is private, but its very intimacy is the basis for contract, and its signs are public: the speaker’s “Crape” and nature’s “Dead” are both witness to their suffering and visible markers of feeling. The terms of the contract produce an ecological sensibility that makes affect an imperfectly shared trait. By resisting the metaphorical, this sentimental connection chal- lenges the notion that feeling is essentially a human characteristic. Bodily sensation is critical to aesthetic theories in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and the sentimentality epitomized in the United States by writers like Susan Warner and Harriet Beecher Stowe was indebted to the eighteenth-century discourse of sensibility.70 While the political dimension of this tradition—its role in defining, to quote Elizabeth Maddock Dillon, “the terrain of liberal subjectivity”—is well established, scholarship on the link between feeling and aesthetic subjectivity has focused on an exclusively human politics.71 Dickinson’s writing points toward a different kind of sentimentalism in that the kind of subjectivity that she attributes to plants across her poems and her letters blurs precisely the borders that distinguish between plants and humans. Dickinson’s characterization of plants fits in some ways with what Jessica Riskin has called “sentimental empiricism,” a kind of emotion-based experimentation, but what makes her approach radically different is that sensory experience—and the kind of political subjectivity it entails—is not delimited to human subjects.72 The kind of sensory experience that Dickinson attributes to plants and animals smudges to the point of erasure the separation of natural object from perceiving subject.73 161Mary Kuhn Dickinson’s bridging may seem counterintuitive, for it surely cuts against much of what we know about sensibility and sentimentalism in the nineteenth century. Literary critics have begun to establish ways in which ecological thinking was constitutive of unconventional political subjectivities in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century America, but this has largely focused on spaces that are defined against the accultur- ated and the domesticated, and certainly against the sentimental. The wild places in Thoreau’s writing, or the abyss of the swamp in William Bartram’s travel narratives, for instance, challenge formulations of selfhood that distinguish personhood through calculating or aesthetic distancing from the terrain. Likewise, Allewaert has described how this distancing was collapsed in writings about tropical ecologies in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century America.74 The domestic garden, in contrast, has often been perceived as a tamed space where, as Ritvo writes, “even as the meaning of the word garden diversified . . . gardening remained securely . . . on the domesticated side of the line between wild and tame.”75 In ecocritical terms, domestication has been more readily associated with efforts to control and manage nature, and less likely to mobilize environmental debates. Indeed, the domestic garden has a long history of service as an educational trope for normative social behavior.76 Yet for Dickinson the relationship between human socialization and plant life could at times produce more eccentric results. That the speaker shares a sympathetic contract not with other humans, but with nature, revises our thinking about sentimental politics. Dickinson’s sensible plants and feeling environment present a natural order that refuses the rigid separation of human, animal, and plant that shaped nineteenth-century conceptions of personhood. Categories reflect values, never more visibly so than when in flux. How the line gets drawn between sentience and sensibility, between raw physiological feeling and discernment, mattered in nineteenth-century America because taste had such political purchase. In William Huntting Howell’s words, “understanding sensibility promised to answer the question of what counts as personhood.”77 But what if sensibility did not only “inde[x] . . . humanity” per se?78 Dickinson’s perspective on flora blurs the boundary between human and plant by at times making sentiment a character trait that she shares with the natural world, rather than merely an aesthetic stance towards that world. In “Flowers - Well - if anybody,” the implications of a sensate environment extend to aesthetic judgment. The poem moves from a human experience of feeling to that of butterflies through their shared appreciation of the botanical: 162 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility Flowers - Well - if anybody Can the extasy define - Half a transport - half a trouble - With which flowers humble men: Anybody find the fountain From which floods so contra flow - I will give him all the Daisies Which opon the hillside blow. Too much pathos in their faces For a simple breast like mine - Butterflies from St Domingo Cruising round the purple line Have a system of aesthetics - Far superior to mine. (P, F95 B) The first stanza reads as a rehearsal of the sublime: the mix of pleasure and pain, the ineffability of the source of such overwhelming sensation, and the dwarfing power of the object to humble men. One could read it as a constitution of the self through aesthetic appreciation of the natural world. In this sense, the flowers incite “extasy” and evoke both “transport” and “trouble” in the perceiving human subject. At the same time, the “extasy” of the flowers makes the nature of the interaction more ambiguous. The flowers quite possibly “humble men” because they demonstrate, rather than inspire, an ecstatic state. The ambiguous syntax emphasizes the ambiguous dynamic, or at least the difficulty of defining the nature of the interaction in language. The playful proposi- tion of “Daisies” for a definition underscores the meaningfulness of this equivocation. If the power of the flowers could be articulated, then the speaker could control their circulation. The hyperbole of offering “all the Daisies” upon the hillside (which carries the attendant and ironic presumption that they are property to be gifted) suggests the unlikeliness of such a causal definition. The second stanza of the poem continues to challenge the subject/ object orientation of a sublimely constituted subjectivity, as well as a hierarchy that runs from humans down to animals and then plants. In the lines, “Too much pathos in their faces / For a simple breast like mine –” the flowers are given “faces,” whereas the speaker synec- dochically becomes a breast. And here again the poem prevaricates about where the pathos resides: in the eye of the beholder, or in the flowers themselves. Furthermore, the excess here is beyond the speaker’s ability to feel, but not the butterfly’s. The rest of the poem 163Mary Kuhn continues to trouble the exclusivity of affect to human subjects, and flowers serve as a bridge between the “I” in the poem and the butter- flies. The final lines disturb the trajectory of sublime revelation by the observant speaker and attribute the notion of aesthetic evaluation to the butterflies. That it is not simply a transposition of the speaker’s own experience is clear from the comparative aspect of the final lines: this system of aesthetics is “Far superior to mine.” To see butterflies as having a system of aesthetics is to strip away the notion that aesthetic judgment is exclusively a human experience. And in acknowledging the sensate dimension of the butterflies’ existence, the speaker describes a world in which the nonhuman performs a process of feeling and judging that is usually only consigned to persons. Here the attraction of the butterflies to the beauty of the flowers edges toward animal aesthetics. This sensibility in turn has political conse- quences, for it suggests that nature “federates” (P, F798 A). Historians and literary critics have demonstrated at length how sensibility was a central concept for social transformation in the revolutionary period of the late eighteenth century.79 At least one of those revolutions seems to be invoked in “Flowers – Well – if anybody”: that the butterflies hail from Santo Domingo evokes the specter of the Haitian Revolution. As Ed Folsom and Kenneth Price have argued, San Domingo was a word that by the mid-nineteenth century had “become inscribed in the language in a kind of shorthand” for the Haitian slave revolt and subsequent revolution.80 In Dickinson’s poem, the sensibility that is brought into focus from “St Domingo” does not separate a new social order from the old, but rather casts into chaos the very classifica- tory foundations of racial and ecological hierarchy. The butterflies’ aesthetic ability to discern, presumably, which flowers to select for nectar is deemed “superior” to the speaker’s subjectivity constituted through the sublime experience of the flowers. This flipping of the script renders the boundary between human and nature, or figure and ground, indeterminate. The erasure in “Flowers – Well – if anybody” links the Santo Domingo political revolution to an aesthetic that corresponds with a discerning, sensate environment. And this in itself challenges the correlation of rights with the individual affective citizen-subject. A feeling nature is, aesthetically speaking, potently political, challenging individualism not as a matter of law or even race but from a biological perspective. The sensibility that Dickinson describes in the poem might then augur a different kind of revolution in the way that the relation- ship between environment and politics is imagined and articulated. 164 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility By identifying other kinds of biological life as having characteristics foundational to the way the citizen-subject is recognized, Dickinson both undermines the human claim to distinction and points to affective environmental interaction as a necessity for political agency.81 ****** The Dickinson Museum has recently completed the process of restoring Dickinson’s conservatory, the glass structure affixed to the house where she kept indoor plants. One Saturday in May 2016, I joined a group of anthropology summer school students from the University of Massachusetts as they carefully scraped and shifted the dirt at the conservatory site, and then sifted through it searching for fragments of material from the old structure—brick, pottery, glass, and other artifacts. Before restoration work could begin, this archeology was standard procedure for making sure that the new structure would not cover over any significant material. It was hot work in the height of summer, and by the end of the afternoon I was weak-kneed and covered in dirt. The dig reminds us that Dickinson herself dug in the dirt in tending her plants, and the completion of the conservatory will help visitors consider Dickinson’s poems in relation to her gardening. For all that plants were complex symbols, these symbols were tied up in the messy and material act of cultivation, arrangement, and circulation. Situating Dickinson’s botanical language within the overlapping discursive and material practices that shaped mid-nineteenth-century plant culture reveals her sensitivity to plants as political matter. More generally, however, Dickinson’s poems help us escape from categorical declarations about the environment. While the idea of continental biotic distinctiveness served the ideology of American exceptionalism, Dickinson encountered a landscape changed not only by local industry, but by the burgeoning marketplace in seeds and plants from around the globe. The powerful global market in plants transformed the practice of cultivation—introducing new plants and new technologies. If nineteenth-century home gardening has thus far largely been perceived as a fairly parochial activity, Dickinson’s botanical poems demonstrate our need to think anew about what it means, botanically, to be at home. So too do the actions of plants themselves, whether propagating of their own accord or failing to thrive. The multispecies turn in anthro- pology and the non-human turn in literary criticism have taken up 165Mary Kuhn the political and ethical question of how we incorporate other living entities into our world-making, although with few exceptions—most recently Anna Tsing and Eduardo Kohn—they have largely focused on animals.82 Dickinson’s fascination with plants reminds us that non- animal life constituted an important and wonderfully slippery category of scientific thought in the nineteenth century. The border-crossing, mobility, and ephemerality of the flowers that inspire Dickinson challenge boundaries between human and nonhuman, political and apolitical. In this era of imminent ecological crisis, we perhaps have never had a more pressing need to seriously engage this provocation of Dickinson’s verse. University of Virginia NOTES 1 See Laura Dassow Walls, Seeing New Worlds: Henry David Thoreau and Nineteenth- Century Natural Science (Madison: Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 1995). 2 See Judith Farr, The Gardens of Emily Dickinson (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 2005); Marta McDowell, Emily Dickinson’s Gardens (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2004); Paul Giles, “‘The Earth reversed her Hemispheres’: Dickinson’s Global Antipodality,” in The Emily Dickinson Journal 20.1 (2011): 1–21; and Robin Peel, Emily Dickinson and the Hill of Science (Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson Univ. Press, 2010). 3 Giles, 7. 4 See Marianne Noble, The Masochistic Pleasures of Sentimental Literature (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 2000); and Rachel Stein, Shifting the Ground: American Women Writers’ Revisions of Nature, Gender, and Race (Charlottesville: Univ. of Virginia Press, 1997). 5 For discussions of Emily Dickinson in a global perspective, see Christine Gerhardt, A Place for Humility: Whitman, Dickinson, and the Natural World (Iowa City: Univ. of Iowa Press, 2014); Cristanne Miller, Reading in Time: Emily Dickinson in the Nineteenth Century (Amherst: Univ. of Massachusetts Press, 2012); and Giles. 6 Dickinson, The Poems of Emily Dickinson, Variorum Edition, ed. R. W. Franklin (Cambridge: Belknap Press, 1998), F882 A. Hereafter abbreviated P and cited paren- thetically by editor, poem number, and poem variant. 7 Gerhardt, “‘Often seen—but seldom felt’: Emily Dickinson’s Reluctant Ecology of Place,” The Emily Dickinson Journal 15.1 (2006): 73. Hiroko Uno has recently speculated that Commodore Matthew Perry’s expedition to Japan in 1853–54 made flowers of Japanese origin accessible to Dickinson’s circle. See Uno, “Emily Dickinson and Japanese Flowers: Her Herbarium and Perry’s Expedition to Japan,” The Emily Dickinson Journal 26.1 (2017): 51–79. 8 A number of excellent books on botany, natural history, and empire have been published in recent years, but the focus tends to be concentrated on scientific, commer- cial, and political narratives. See Christopher Iannini, Fatal Revolutions: Natural History, West Indian Slavery, and the Routes of American Literature (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 2012); Jim Endersby, Imperial Nature: Joseph Hooker and the Practices of Victorian Science (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 2008); Philip Pauly, Fruits and Plains: The Horticultural Transformation of America (Cambridge: Harvard 166 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility Univ. Press, 2007); Londa Schiebinger, Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 2004); and Richard Drayton, Nature’s Government: Science, British Imperialism, and the Improvement of the World (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 2000). Dierdre Lynch’s essay is a notable exception for its focus on imperial technology and domestic plots (see “‘Young Ladies are Delicate Plants’: Jane Austen and Greenhouse Romanticism,” ELH 77.3 [2010]: 689–729]. Lynch argues that British “greenhouse romanticism”—in which the pluralities of colonial nature are represented in the home greenhouse—shapes novelistic realism. 9 See Walls, The Passage to Cosmos: Alexander von Humboldt and the Shaping of America (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 2009); and Endersby. 10 Jill Casid, “Inhuming Empire: Islands as Colonial Nurseries and Graves,” in The Global Eighteenth Century, ed. Felicity Nussbaum (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 2003), 280. 11 See Beverly Seaton, The Language of Flowers: A History (Charlottesville: Univ. of Virginia Press, 1995). 12 Judith W. Page and Elise L. Smith, Women, Literature, and the Domesticated Landscape: England’s Disciples of Flora, 1780–1870 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2011), 42. 13 See Nina Baym, American Women of Letters and the Nineteenth-Century Sciences (New Brunswick: Rutgers Univ. Press, 2005); Amy King, Bloom: The Botanical Vernacular in the English Novel (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2007); and Elizabeth Keeney, The Botanizers: Amateur Scientists in Nineteenth-Century America (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 2011). 14 See Farr, 120. 15 B. K. Bliss, B. K. Bliss & Sons’ Illustrated Spring Catalogue and Amateur Guide to the Flower and Kitchen Garden (New York: 1870), 8, 10, 12, 12, 14, 13, 13. 16 Barr and Sugden’s Guide to the Flower Garden, &c. (London: 1862), 17, 21, 15, 15, 15, 14, 19, 21, 15, 16, 16, 16, 21, 14, 23. 17 “Mass. Horticultural Society,” in The New England Farmer, and Horticultural Register 11.45 (1833): 354. 18 Joseph Breck, The Flower-garden: or, Breck’s Book of Flowers (Boston: J. P. Jewett, 1851), 28. See Farr, 120, on botanical catalogues Dickinson likely read. 19 See Farr, 110. 20 Gerhardt, “Emily Dickinson’s Reluctant Ecology,” 68. 21 Alan Bewell, “Romanticism and Colonial Natural History,” in Studies in Romanticism 43.1 (2004): 14. 22 Farr, 133. 23 For an excellent discussion of aesthetics and global botany, see Theresa Kelley, Clandestine Marriage: Botany and Romantic Culture (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 2012). 24 Miller, 125. 25 In a nice bit of irony, Dickinson’s friend Thomas Wentworth Higginson retrospec- tively cast her in precisely this mold. In an 1894 essay in The Chap-book, Higginson excoriates American poets for using ornithological or botanical material that is not native to American soil: “It cost half a century of struggle for Lowell to get the bobo- link and the oriel established in literature; and Emerson the chickadee, and Whittier the veery,” he writes, adding, “At a later period, Emily Dickinson added the blue jay” (“A Step Backward?”, in The Chap-book: Semi Monthly 1.12 [1894]: 332). Higginson melodramatically urges that “the literature of a nation must still have its own flowers 167Mary Kuhn beneath its feet, and its own birds above its head; or it will perish” (335). Nowhere is Higginson’s desire for fixity more apparent than in his appeal to “the genuine concrete earth” of America (334). 26 For discussions of Dickinson and Charles Darwin, see Juliana Chow, “‘Because I see—New Englandly—’: Seeing Species in the Nineteenth Century and Emily Dickinson’s Regional Specificity,” ELH 60.3 (2014): 413–49; Jane Donahue Eberwein, “Outgrowing Genesis: Dickinson, Darwin, and the Higher Criticism,” in Emily Dickinson and Philosophy, ed. Jed Deppman, Noble, and Gary Lee Stonum (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2013); James Guthrie, “Darwinian Dickinson: The Scandalous Rise and Noble Fall of the Common Clover,” The Emily Dickinson Journal 16.1 (2007): 73–91; and Peel. 27 C. Darwin, On the Origin of Species (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1860), 308. 28 Henry David Thoreau, “The Succession of Forest Trees,” in “Wild Apples” and Other Natural History Essays, ed. William Rossi (Athens: Univ. of Georgia Press, 2002), 93. 29 See Gillian Beer, Darwin’s Plots: Evolutionary Narrative in Darwin, George Eliot, and Nineteenth-Century Fiction (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1983). 30 Timothy Mitchell, Rule of Experts: Egypt, Techno-Politics, Modernity (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 2002), 10. 31 For a discussion of flowers and gift-based circulation in Dickinson’s letters to local friends, see Paul Crumbley, “Dickinson’s Correspondence and the Politics of Gift-Based Circulation,” in Reading Dickinson’s Letters: Essays, ed. Jane Donahue Eberwein and Cindy MacKenzie (Amherst: Univ. of Massachusetts Press, 2009); and Stephanie Tingley, “‘Blossom[s] of the Brain’: Women’s Culture and the Poetics of Emily Dickinson’s Correspondence,” in Reading Dickinson’s Letters, 56–79. 32 See Endersby, 107. 33 For a discussion of distant correspondence in the nineteenth century, see Konstantin Dierks, In My Power: Letter Writing and Communications in Early America (Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 110. 34 Elizabeth Maddock Dillon has argued that, in addition to the dominant organiza- tion around nation-states, we need to pay more attention to “a public sphere that maps onto the geopolitics of religion” (“Religion and Geopolitics in the New World,” Early American Literature 45.1 [2010]: 196). 35 Dickinson to Dr. and Mrs. J. G. Holland, March 1866, in Emily Dickinson: Selected Letters, ed. Thomas H. Johnson (Cambridge: Belknap Press, 1971), 191. 36 Kelley, 3. 37 Kelley suggests that in this sense botany “offered a conduit to some of romanti- cism’s most persistent inquiries, beginning with the nature of nature and of life and including the debate about whether nature or spirit should dominate, the global market of commodity plants, the relation between scientific inquiry and aesthetic pleasure, and the epistemological value accorded to concepts and particulars” (7). 38 For a discussion of the ways that plant circulation through imperial channels affected local ideas of nature, see Bewell; and Lynch. 39 See McDowell, 25; and Houghton Library collection, Emily Dickinson’s Herbarium (Cambridge: Belknap University Press, 2006). 40 Erasmus Darwin’s 1789 botanical poem “The Loves of the Plants” helped popularize this association. For a discussion of sexual classification and literary courtship, see King. For good discussions of the relationship between taxonomic systems and social values, see Janet Browne, “Erasmus Darwin and ‘The Loves of the Plants,’” Isis 80.4 (1989): 168 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility 593–621; and Harriet Ritvo, The Platypus and the Mermaid: and Other Figments of the Classifying Imagination (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1998). 41 See Guthrie, “Darwinian Dickinson.” 42 For an excellent discussion of Dickinson and the language of flowers as a form of private emotional symbolism, see Elizabeth Petrino, Emily Dickinson and Her Contemporaries: Women’s Verse in America, 1820–1885 (Hanover: Univ. Press of New England, 1998), 129–160. 43 Carl Linnaeus, Philosophia Botanica, trans. Stephen Freer (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2003), 9; William Bartram, The Travels of William Bartram, ed. Francis Harper (Athens: Univ. of Georgia Press, 1998), liv. 44 Bartram, liv. 45 Michael Gaudio, “The Elements of Botanical Art: William Bartram, Benjamin Smith Barton, and the Scientific Imagination,” in William Bartram: The Search for Nature’s Design, ed. Thomas Hillock and Nancy E. Hoffman (Athens: Univ. of Georgia Press, 2010), 437. 46 C. Darwin, The Power of Movement in Plants (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1881), 573. 47 Augustin de Candolle, Elements of the Philosophy of Plants, containing the Principles of Scientific Botany, ed. Kurt Sprengel (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2011), 238. 48 “How Plants Behave,” The Literary World: A Monthly Review of Current Literature 3.8 (1873): 114. 49 “How Plants Behave,” 114. 50 E. H. C., “Gleanings,” in Horticulturalist and Journal of Rural Art and Rural Taste 18.203 (1863): 150. This article was excerpted in a piece called “Sensibility of Nature,” which examines nature that “could not talk words, but . . . could talk things” and proposes a study of “The wits . . . that a rosebush has” (Ohio Farmer 19.35 [1870]: 551). 51 E. H. C., 150. 52 “The Sleep of Plants,” The Youth’s Companion (April 3, 1873): 108. 53 Monique Allewaert, Ariel’s Ecology: Plantations, Personhood, and Colonialism in the American Tropics (Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press, 2013), 55. 54 See Walls, Seeing New Worlds, 56. 55 Thoreau, Wild Fruits: Thoreau’s Rediscovered Last Manuscript, ed. Bradley P. Dean (New York: Norton, 2001), 242. 56 Thoreau, Wild Fruits, 242. 57 Quoted in “Can We Separate Animals from Plants?”, in The Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature 27.5 (1878): 608. 58 “Can We Separate,” 614. 59 For a discussion of the difficulty that some animals posed to neat classification, see Ritvo, The Platypus and the Mermaid, 1–50. 60 Almira Lincoln Phelps, Familiar Lectures on Botany (New York: Huntington and Savage, 1845), 245. 61 Phelps, 245. 62 Edward Hitchcock, “Edward Hitchcock classroom lecture notes: ‘Botany,’” undated (1826–1855), box 10, folder 2, Amherst College Archives and Special Collections. 63 X. B. Saintine, Picciola: or, Captivity Captive (Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard, 1838), 55, 51. 64 Emily Dickinson to William Cowper Dickinson, 14 February 1849?, in Emily Dickinson: Selected Letters, 29. 65 Saintine, 72. 169Mary Kuhn 66 Farr, 186. 67 For a discussion of this poem in the context of the Civil War, see Cody Marrs, Nineteenth-Century American Literature and the Long Civil War (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2015), 126. Miller also speculates that Dickinson references the war in this poem (see 160). Eliza Richards has more generally explored the ways in which Dickinson grappled with Civil War news and remote suffering, and “the difference between the unknowable experience of trauma and the vicarious imagin- ings of that experience inspired by reading about it” (“‘How News Must Feel When Traveling’: Dickinson and Civil War Media,” in A Companion to Emily Dickinson, ed. Martha Nell Smith and Mary Loeffelholz [Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2007], 165). See also Mary Favret, War at a Distance: Romanticism and the Making of Modern Wartime (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 2009). 68 Dickinson’s poem “‘Nature’ is what We see” similarly illustrates this point. The speaker tests three theses on nature that hinge on human perception: seeing, hearing, and knowing. In the first two cases, the speaker begins with a diverse list of what nature “is” before offering a more totalizing claim: for instance, in the first stanza, “Nature” is what We see - The Hill - the Afternoon - Squirrel - Eclipse - the Bumble bee - Nay - Nature is Heaven - (P, F721 B). This list points out the discrete entities that can stand metonymically for Nature. 69 See Lauren Berlant, The Female Complaint: The Unfinished Business of Sentimentality in American Culture (Durham: Duke Univ. Press, 2008). 70 See Dillon, “Sentimental Aesthetics,” American Literature 76.3 (2004): 495–523; and June Howard, “What is Sentimentality?”, American Literary History 11.1 (1999): 63–81. 71 Dillon, “Sentimental Aesthetics,” 498. 72 Jessica Riskin, Science in the Age of Sensibility: The Sentimental Empiricists of the French Enlightenment (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 2002), 15. 73 Bruno Latour has identified the separation of scientific object from political subject as a key product of modernity. For a discussion of this, see Latour, We Have Never Been Modern (New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993). 74 See Allewaert, 1–50. 75 Ritvo, “At the Edge of the Garden: Nature and Domestication in Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century Britain,” The Huntington Library Quarterly 55.3 (1992): 367. 76 The educational reformer Horace Mann described collective responsibility for education in this way: “And as we hold the gardener responsible for the productions of his garden, so is the community responsible for the general character and conduct of its children” (Lectures on Education [Boston: Wm. B. Fowle and N. Capen, 1845], 80). 77 William Huntting Howell, “In the Realm of Sensibility,” American Literary History 25.2 (2013): 408. 78 Howell, 408. 79 Dillon describes how the history of aesthetics “developed in response to the revolu- tions of the eighteenth century that ushered in liberal political regimes and societies oriented around (newly) autonomous, self-governing citizen-subjects” (“Sentimental Aesthetics,” 497). 80 Ed Folsom and Kenneth Price, “Dickinson, Slavery, and the San Domingo Movement,” http://whitmanarchive.org/resources/teaching/dickinson/intro.html. 170 Dickinson and Plant Sensibility 81 A number of recent books in critical race studies, science studies, and ecocriti- cism have emphasized the ways in which the category of the human has long been correlated with the “liberal humanist subject”—that is to say, with the white, western male (Alexander Wehliye, Habeas Viscus: Racializing Assemblages, Biopolitics, and Black Feminist Theories of the Human [Durham: Duke Univ. Press, 2014], 8). On the role of scientific and environmental discourses in constructing and confirming the idea of the liberal subject, see Nihad Farooq, Undisciplined: Science, Ethnography, and Personhood in the Americas, 1830–1940 (New York: New York Univ. Press, 2016); and Allewaert, 30–34. 82 For a sense of multispecies ethnography, see Eduardo Kohn, How Forests Think: Towards an Anthropology Beyond the Human (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 2013); Anna Tsing, The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 2015); Eben Kirksey, Emergent Ecologies (Durham: Duke Univ. Press, 2015); and The Multispecies Salon, ed. Kirksey (Durham: Duke Univ. Press, 2014). In literary studies, see also recent work by Stacy Alaimo, Bodily Natures: Science, Environment, and the Material Self (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010); Dana Luciano, “Speaking Substances: Rock,” in Los Angeles Review of Books, 12 April 2016); and Timothy Morton, Humankind: Solidarity with Nonhuman People (London: Verso, 2017); The Ecological Thought (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2010). Plant studies is gaining critical traction, as evidenced by the work of figures like Michael Marder and Catriona Sandilands, and by recent edited collections such as Plants and Literature, ed. Randy Laist (Amsterdam: Rodolpi, 2013). 
work_2sqg5xatpbdg5mpgp3lqcyicjq	----	LSE WPS 9-2014 Theorising International Environmental Law by Humphreys and Otomo - final This paper can be downloaded without charge from LSE Law, Society and Economy Working Papers at: www.lse.ac.uk/collections/law/wps/wps.htm and the Social Sciences Research Network electronic library at: http://ssrn.com/abstract=2385836. © Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo. Users may download and/or print one copy to facilitate their private study or for non-commercial research. Users may not engage in further distribution of this material or use it for any profit-making activities or any other form of commercial gain. Theorising International Environmental Law from The Oxford Handbook of International Legal Theory (Florian Hoffmann and Anne Orford, eds, Oxford UP, forthcoming 2014) Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo LSE Law, Society and Economy Working Papers 9/2014 London School of Economics and Political Science Law Department Theorising International Environmental Law Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo* Abstract: This paper, part of a larger work on international law theory, sketches some early lines of inquiry towards a theoretical understanding of international environmental law. As the body of international law regulating human interaction with the natural world, one might expect this branch of law to be a cornerstone of the international system. Yet in practice, international environmental law’s reach is strikingly circumscribed. Little of the governance of natural resources, for example, is ‘environmental’. Subsisting at the periphery, environmental law focuses on conserving particular (rare, exotic) species and ‘ecosystems’, and curbing certain kinds of pollution. Its principles are vague, peppering the margins of rulings within other judicial fora: it is quintessential soft law. In this paper, we suggest that international environmental law’s dilemmas are due to two competing heritages. On one hand, this law enshrines the peculiar pantheism of the European romantic period, positing the ‘natural world’ as sacred, inviolable, redemptive. On the other, its main antecedents are found in colonial era practices, which provided the data for the earliest environmental science and a laboratory for prototypical attempts at conservation and sustainable development. Caught between irreconcilable demands, international environmental law struggles today to avoid utopian irrelevance or nugatory paralysis. * Respectively Associate Professor of International Law, London School of Economics, and Lecturer in Law, SOAS. This paper was drafted as a contribution to Florian Hoffmann and Anne Orford, eds, The Oxford Handbook of International Legal Theory, Oxford UP (forthcoming 2014). It is published with the permission of Oxford University Press. The paper represents an early step in a larger project. Versions of this paper were presented in York in March 2013, Amsterdam in May 2013, and, in near-present form, at the Lauterpacht Centre for International Law in the University of Cambridge on 22 November 2013. Our thanks to the participants at those events for helpful comments and questions. 9/2014 2 ‘[T]he idea of nature contains, though often unnoticed, an extraordinary amount of human history’ Raymond Williams, ‘Ideas of Nature’ (1972) I. INTRODUCTION International environmental law raises a paradox. As the body of international law that regulates ‘the environment’, one might expect international environmental law to be a cornerstone of the international legal system. What, after all, is more fundamental to the constitution of the world than the human relation to nature? And yet it is striking how little international environmental law does, in fact, regulate. The global food regime, for example, mostly escapes it: agricultural practices and the slaughter of animals for food (or otherwise) are largely beyond its remit. Those phenomena referred to as ‘natural resources’ are generally managed under separate headers or, more often, private arrangements. Instead we find international environmental law at the margins of these concerns, dealing with the ‘conservation’ of certain plants, certain animals, certain ‘ecosystems’.1 Marginalia complemented by effluvia: as a matter of treaty law, international environmental law also aims to curb certain forms of pollution.2 In keeping with this general peripherality, the key environmental cases have arisen at the edges of other bodies of law.3 International environmental law is generally characterised as quintessential ‘soft law’: general principles and aspirational treaties with weak or exhortatory compliance mechanisms, often dependent on other disciplines altogether—science and economics—for direction and legitimacy.4 At the same time, the problems it is called upon to deal with are immense, frequently catastrophic, and global in nature: climate change, species extinction, increasing desert, disappearing rainforest.5 Despite or because of all this, international environmental law, more than most bodies of law, has many of the trappings of a faith. It derives its effect largely from its affect: international environmental law stages a kind of global moral authority, premised on an aesthetic ideal and an ethical disquiet. For its acolytes, its essence lies in a series of general principles: the do-no-harm principle, the precautionary principle, the polluter pays principle, the principles of equity and 1 E.g., Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (1973): Convention on Biological Diversity (1992). 2 E.g., Convention on Long-Range Transboundary Air Pollution (1979), the London Convention (1972), the Basel Convention (1989), UN Framework Convention on Climate Change (1992). 3 At the WTO: EC—Asbestos, US—Gasoline, US—Shrimp, EC—Hormones, Canada—Autos, EC—Biotech, EC—Retreaded Tyres; at the ECtHR: López Ostra v. Spain, Öneryıldız v. Turkey, Budayeva and Ors. v. Russia, Fadeyeva v. Russia; at the ICJ: the Gabčikovo-Nagymaros and Pulp Mills cases. 4 E.g., Sands and Peel (2012), ch.5; Birnie et al. (2009), ch.4. 5 UN Convention to Combat Desertification (1992); International Tropical Timber Agreement (2006). Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 3 ‘common but differentiated responsibilities’, and of course the über-principle: ‘sustainable development’. Interposed into the practices of international commerce and diplomacy, as its advocates demand, these principles promise radical reshaping of ‘business-as-usual’. In vain, it seems: for, again more than most areas of international law, this is law crying in the wilderness. The little sustained theoretical attention this body of law has attracted to date has concentrated in the main on its relationship with property law—posited as one of mutual constraint.6 While we touch on this important question, in this chapter we direct our principal focus elsewhere, situating international environmental law with regard to the constituent conceptual elements that generate its specific energy and propel its contradictions today. We find this energy and tension in two principal historical sources: first, the romantic movement of the late eighteenth/early nineteenth centuries; second the evolution of colonial governance practices through to the mid-twentieth century. As to the first of these, it is through romantic philosophy and poetry that contemporary ideas about ‘nature’ became firmly established. This influential movement, as political as it was artistic, implanted lasting notions of the beauty of ‘unspoilt’ wilderness, imbued with a profound moral significance, that have endured to the present and provide the ideational backdrop specific to this body of international law, as we will show. In this venture, we will be aided by what is by now a significant body of work investigating the intellectual origins of modern environmentalism.7 As to the second source, from the outset, administrators in colonial territories found themselves grappling with concrete questions on the management of territorial, natural, and livestock resources. These included: a demand for immediate returns on the significant investments of colonial enterprise; a belated preservationist impulse emerging from the burgeoning aestheticisation of colonial landscapes; and a drive to ensure sustainable long-term access to the resources that increasingly fuelled a global economy. In examining the competing discourses of colonial resource management, we will be drawing on a second literature that has recently flowered: that of environmental history.8 In this chapter, therefore, we will tentatively open up some new theoretical perspectives on a body of law that (perhaps surprisingly for such an epistemologically rich subject) has been subjected to little theoretical speculation.9 After this introduction, we begin by posing a question of terminology—why ‘international environmental law’? Then, following sections on the romantics and the colonials, we return to the present in our conclusion to show how international environmental law’s origins in the confluence of the romantic and 6 Coyle and Morrow (2004). 7 Bate (1991); Buell (1995); Coupe, ed. (2000); Garrard (2012); Oelschlager (1993); Thomas (1983); Williams (1973). 8 Grove (1995); Beinart and Hughes, eds (2007); Hutchings (2009); Walsham (2011); Thorsheim (2006); Crosby (1986). 9 But see the contributions to Philippopolous-Mihalopolous, ed. (2011). 9/2014 4 the colonial explains the apparent mismatch between its ambitious stated objectives and its muted regulatory provisions—and how this tension continues to inform its functioning today. II. WHY ‘INTERNATIONAL ENVIRONMENTAL’ LAW? ‘International environmental law’ is not, at first glance, a body of law dealing with an ‘international environment’ (for what would this be?) but a branch of ‘international law’ dealing with ‘the environment’. After all, an ‘environment’ presumes a specific locality, a surround.10 ‘Environmental law’ would then be the law relevant to, in the words of the OED, ‘[t]he physical surroundings or conditions in which a person or other organism lives, develops, etc. […]’,11 i.e., a somewhere. As such, it enters a context already steeped in law: at the margins of a property law whose excesses it potentially curtails and whose conflicts it mediates.12 Abstracted to the international plane, however, ‘environmental law’ is unavoidably delocalised—the law now relates to ‘the environment’ in a second sense provided by the OED: ‘the natural world or physical surroundings in general […] especially as affected by human activity’—the law of that which ‘surrounds’ us, humankind: our (shared/collective) surround.13 This abstracted universal ‘environment’ is concretised in international legal instruments such as those dealing with climate change (the atmosphere as a global commons) or biodiversity (the preservation of the world’s species as a moral imperative): the ‘earthly environment’, as the 1971 Stockholm Declaration on the Human Environment put it.14 International environmental law is, then, a body of law dealing with ‘nature’, as distinct from ‘culture’ or the ‘human’. The sobriquet ‘environment’ is relatively new, dating from the 1960s or thereabouts. But what is altered, what is masked, in the substitution of ‘environment’ for ‘nature’? The obvious answer—but not, we will suggest, the whole one—is that the term ‘nature’ carries too much baggage. Whereas ‘nature’ presumably includes humankind; ‘environment’ apparently does not. And whereas nature (Latin: natura, ‘essence’) lends itself easily to contradictory doxa (both good and evil, creation and destruction, may be ‘natural’), ‘environment’ is more muted, more technocratic. ‘Nature’ has, moreover, already been the site of countless battles—religious, political, scientific, economic—many of which are still unresolved today. 10 ‘The traditional imaging of the environment [is] as a thing that turns (French virer) around a stable point (a distilled sense of pure humanity)’. Philippopolous-Mihalopolous (2011), 7. 11 OED (2011), entry 63089. This usage dates to the 1830s, later popularised by Charles Darwin. 12 Coyle and Morrow (2004), Introduction. 13 OED (2011), entry 63089. This usage is dated to 1948. 14 Preamble to the Stockholm Declaration (1971). Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 5 This in view, a first—obvious but important—observation is that international environmental law articulates a regulatory interface with ‘nature’ not only in its material existence but also in its metaphysical insistence. A second observation is that with international environmental law we are not dealing with ‘natural law’. At first glance, these appear to be two far distant bodies of law. But clearly something significant is at work in the move from a law (extending to a law of nations) subject to something called ‘nature’, and a law that seems intended instead to subject ‘nature’. Viewed from this angle, there is a historical turn (a modern turn, a hubristic turn) in which nature is dethroned or mastered. The story of this ‘turn’ is familiar, and goes something like this. In Europe, Christianity implants itself within a richly pagan natural world, replete with spirits, fairies and demigods that are incrementally rolled and cajoled into Christ- compatible stories or purged altogether.15 The human in the Christian universe was still part of nature (albeit a superior part). The natural world tout court was God’s domain, unified and rational, and God—Right Reason, reflected in Man, immanent in Nature—was the uncontroversial source of law well into the Reformation.16 There is thus a debatable divide between man and nature, but plenty of scope for its transgression, for nature to act or react in sympathy with human affairs, for man to revert, return or subsume into nature.17 It is possible to trace three broad articulations of the human-natural relation across the subsequent (early modern) period. First there is the presumption of man’s God-given dominion over plants and animals, as expounded in the bible and relied upon by the Dominicans in the pre-Reformation era and, most pointedly, the Puritans afterwards.18 This doctrine gave rise to the tenacious belief that there were few ‘natural’ bounds on human exploitation of the earth’s resources—‘the brute creation are [man’s] property, subservient to his will and for him made’19— other than those imposed in civil society to avoid war. An ideology of (‘natural’) human dominion over the (‘natural’) world gains force during—indeed on some accounts actively underpins—the Reformation, appearing in a stronger form in, for example, Hugo Grotius’ writing, weaker in Thomas Hobbes’—together with the cognate notion of sovereignty itself.20 A second, somewhat countervailing, view of the human-natural relation, also derived from the bible, was the doctrine of usufruct, with which the pre-modern Franciscans resisted the predations and hubris of ‘natural dominion’.21 This 15 Walsham (2011), ch.1. 16 Humphreys (2010), ch.3; Tuck (1979), esp. 17-31 and ch.3. 17 Thomas (1984), 75. 18 Genesis i, 28; Tuck (1979), ch.1 (on the Dominicans); Thomas (1984), 17-25 (on the Puritans). 19 Thomas (1984), 22, citing the poet-hunter William Somerville (1735). 20 See generally Tuck (1979) and esp. chs 3&6; Grotius (1625), bk.2, ch.2. Hobbes (1651), ch.14: in the state of nature ‘every man has a right to everything’, albeit moderated (ch.15) by a right of equity and, therefore, usage ‘proportionably to the number of them that have the right’; in civil society, however, there are no obvious restrictions on the right of the sovereign usage of natural resources (ch.18) except where the subject retains a right of resistance in cases of necessity (ch. 21). See also Coyle and Morrow (2004), 11-35. 21 Tuck (1979), 20-24. 9/2014 6 doctrine reappears in diluted form in the post-Reformation era in the guise of stewardship, the admonition to act, as English Chief Justice Matthew Hale put it in 1677, as ‘steward, villicus, bailiff or farmer over this goodly farm’ of the earth.22 It is an approach to the natural world that reaches us today in various configurations of the notion of trusteeship.23 With the enlightenment, however—comprising the third view—nature (Greek: physis) becomes an object of inquiry with empirically discoverable ‘laws of nature’ (physics), quite distinct from human laws. Around the same time, nature, the ‘state of nature’, is counterposed to the human, the civilised—albeit with very different inflections in the principal exponents, Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau.24 Not long afterwards, as a matter of historical fact, modernisation (urbanisation, secularisation, the industrial revolution) alters the experience of nature: it becomes something ‘out there’, in the ‘country’.25 From whence will emerge a romantic sensibility that values nature intrinsically—as an object of aesthetic contemplation and site of an authentic human experience of the divine—to which we will turn presently. Throughout all this, the relationship between ‘humanity’ and ‘nature’ undergoes significant contortion and reconstruction, both as a historical and as a conceptual matter. Keith Thomas’s 1982 Man and the Natural World is the outstanding account of the former; Raymond Williams’s essay of 1972, ‘Ideas of Nature’, is perhaps the most succinct inquiry into the latter. In his exhaustive account of the success of the early naturalists in removing the superstitions and beliefs attaching to plants and animals,26 Thomas remarks: [B]y eroding the old vocabulary, with its rich symbolic overtones, the naturalists completed their onslaught […] In place of a natural world redolent with human analogy and symbolic meaning, and sensitive to man’s behaviour, they constructed a detached natural scene to be viewed and studied by the observer from the outside, as if peering through a window in the secure knowledge that the objects of contemplation inhabited a separate realm […]27 Raymond Williams tells a similar story of a secular drive towards the separation between man and nature.28 The ‘problem’ arises, Williams says, because ‘nature’ is effectively sliced up into very different entities depending on how it is used: part of it reappears in the form of products (coal), another part as by-products (slag: 22 Hale (1677), 370. 23 For an influential example, Weiss (1989). 24 Williams (1980), 76; Coyle and Morrow (2004). 25 Williams (2011), 1-2. 26 This takes place, on Thomas’s account, in part by replacing vernacular nicknames (such as ‘Motherdee […] so known because it would kill the parents of the child who picked it’) with the Latin binomials introduced by the Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus (so: silene dioica). Thomas (1984), 75. 27 Thomas (1984), 89. 28 Williams (1980), 83. Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 7 waste; pollution), while another part takes on the attraction of a pastoral scene (the pristine meadow aboveground).29 For Williams, the accumulating ‘interaction’ necessitates a deepening ideological split between ‘human nature’ and ‘nature’— and further, within nature itself: removing ‘coal-bearing from heather-bearing, downwind from upwind’.30 Williams concludes: As the exploitation of nature continued, on a vast scale […] the people who drew the most profit from it went back […] to an unspoilt nature, to the purchased estates and the country retreats. And since then there has always been this ambiguity in the defence of what is called nature and in its associated ideas of conservation […] and the nature reserve.31 On this account, the destruction (exploitation/transformation) and ‘conservation’ of nature turn out to be mutually constitutive processes. The human and ‘nature’ separate conceptually in order to interact dialectically,32 resulting in a split between economy (oikos nomos) and ecology (oikos logos):33 the law that applies to our dwelling seems to exist in opposition to the reason we dwell there at all.34 Returning to our present theme, then, it seems right to find the culmination of this process in the turn to a vocabulary of ‘environment’ over ‘nature’. The notion of ‘environment’ already premises the non-identity of the human and ‘nature’ in a relational construct that renders the former (the human) active and the latter (the ‘surroundings’) passive and acted upon. But ‘international environmental law’ forgets—or rather suppresses—the complex history of the changing human understanding of nature. One key effect is to dehistoricise the relationship (environmental law textbooks, with some exceptions, habitually trace the origins of this body of law to the 1960s and 1970s),35 instead characterising international environmental law as both novel and coextensive with an environmentalism of (largely) American provenance.36 Another effect is to relegate the adjudication of environmental law problems to the vagaries of science and economics. 29 Williams (1980), 83. 30 Williams (1980), 84: ‘we cannot afford to go on saying that a car is a product but a scrapyard a by- product, any more than we can take the paint-fumes and petrol-fumes, the jams, the mobility, the motorway, the torn city centre, the assembly line […] the strikes, as by-products rather than the real products they are.’ 31 Williams (1980), 81. 32 Adorno and Horkheimer (2002), 1, cite Francis Bacon: ‘now we govern nature in opinions, but we are in thrall to her in necessity: but if we would be led by her in invention, we should command her by action.’ 33 Williams (1980), 84: ‘It will be ironic if one of the last forms of the separation between abstracted Man and abstracted Nature is an intellectual separation between economics and ecology.’ See too Philippopolous-Mihalopolous (2011), 3. 34 Jean-Francois Lyotard (1993) cited in Coupe (2000), 135-38. 35 E.g., Birnie et al. (2009), 1: ‘The development of modern international environmental law start[s] essentially in the 1960s.’ 36 Notably Carson (1962). 9/2014 8 III. ROMANTIC ROOTS OF INTERNATIONAL ENVIRONMENTAL LAW The romantic era matters to international environmental law both because key concepts underpinning this body of law were expressed by romantic writers during that period and because the expression of those concepts was both novel and essential to the romantic ésprit itself. Our aim here is not to follow the genealogy of specific environmental law formulae or principles, but rather to trace an overarching shift in the approach to the natural world that finds its first, deeply influential, articulation during that period, one which continues to reverberate through legal texts today. Conventionally, the romantic movement refers to a loose grouping of artists, poets, and composers working in and around the revolutionary peaks of 1789 and 1848, united by a set of common themes and methodological presuppositions.37 While we will focus here on a subset of English-language poets, the larger context is transcontinental and multidisciplinary, a movement in which aesthetic compositions were conceived as political interventions at a time of social and ethical flux.38 In this, the romantics were profoundly successful, at least insofar as they provided the fundamental premises of much later thought on the relation between the ‘human’ and ‘nature’ and a platform for powerful critiques of scientific and industrial activity from both right and left.39 Three hallmarks of romantic thought on nature have contributed to the contemporary constitution of international environmental law: the association of nature with the experience of (1) the aesthetic, (2) the authentic, and (3) the divine. 1. THE AESTHETIC Writing against the enlightenment,40 the romantics pioneered the entirely novel idea that ‘nature’ has intrinsic value in its own right. Unlike their predecessors, the romantics regarded nature as an object of aesthetic sensibility, infused with beauty and meaning and inaugurating a higher state of human possibility. True, the advancing art of landscaping in the mid-eighteenth century displaced human- imposed symmetry and tree-lined avenues on the great estates with ‘more natural’ curves, clumps, lakes and inclines.41 However, even there the essential principle remained the desirability of ‘improving’ on that which is given—and it was just 37 See generally Chandler in Chandler (2009). The romantic era may be dated back to 1770 and forward to the early twentieth century. Chandler (2009), 1; Siskin (2009). 38 Chandler (2009), 1. 39 Compare the Marxian embrace of the romantic analysis of human alienation from labour with the deep conservativism of late romantic figures such as W.B. Yeats, Paul de Man, and Martin Heidegger. 40 As William Blake (cryptically) put it: ‘May God keep us from single vision and Newton’s sleep.’ Letter to Thomas Butt, 22 November 1802. 41 Williams (2011), 122. Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 9 this point that the romantics reversed. For the romantics, nature was the improver: it could not be improved upon, though it could be spoiled. This familiar romantic love of nature-in-itself deserves a little scrutiny. Raymond Williams notes that it begins in awe-filled descriptions of the Alps shifting from (typically, in the 1600s) ‘strange horrid and fearful crags and tracts’ or ‘ruins upon ruins in monstrous heaps’42 to (Coleridge in 1802) ‘motionless torrents […] glorious as the Gates of Heaven beneath the keen full moon’.43 So in addition to the revision of the ‘pastoral’—the old literary form representing tranquil human coexistence with nature44—in the hands of these ‘nature poets’ (itself a new term of art) and artists, there is the valorisation of something new: ‘wilderness’: ‘Lo! The dwindled woods and meadows What a vast abyss is there!’45 The admiration of nature in its own right was fundamental to the romantic ethos. For as Williams notes,46 what begins as a mere ‘alteration of taste’, an appreciation, among the discerning, for the ‘picture-esque’, was pushed in the hands of the romantics to become an entirely new sensibility—in Wordsworth’s words: […] some new sense Of exquisite regard for common things. And all the earth was budding with these gifts Of more refined humanity […]47 This new sensibility became also a normative source for a radical politics. By ‘more refined humanity’ is intended here both a humanity more attuned to nature and one whose own wilder nature has been tamed through a closer contact with ‘nature’. Wordsworth is representative of a pronounced strain among the romantics foregrounding and lauding the ‘lonely’ or ‘solitary’ individual, whose self-understanding, arrived at through (purported) commune with nature, provides the basis for a broader and more egalitarian human community.48 So romantic egalitarianism would come to inform nineteenth century English radicalism (the push for greater social and civil rights culminating in an expanded franchise), which Wordsworth himself ultimately came to oppose.49 Meanwhile, ‘the wild’ as an object of beauty and awe was to have a particularly vibrant life in the United States, becoming—notably in the hands of 42 Williams (2011), 128, citing Christopher Hussey, The Picturesque: Studies in a Point of View (1927). 43 Garrard (2012), 73. 44 Such as John Clare’s ‘Pastoral Poesie’ or Wordsworth’s ‘Michael’, subtitled ‘a pastoral poem’. 45 Wordsworth, ‘To ——, On Her First Assent of the Summit Helvellyn’. Garrard (2012), 66-79. 46 Williams (2011), 129. 47 Wordsworth, The Prelude, Book XIV (added much later to the first 13 books of 1805). 48 See Williams (2011), 130-133. See Wordsworth’s ‘Michael’, ‘The Solitary Reaper’, ‘Lucy’. 49 See, e.g., Coleridge and Southey (1969). 9/2014 10 the American romantic ‘transcendentalists’ Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson—a more rugged experience than that of the English lake poets. It was a friend and disciple of Thoreau’s, the Scottish immigrant John Muir, who would go on to found the Sierra Club in 1893, arguably the first environmental NGO, and still among the most influential.50 2. THE AUTHENTIC The romantics set themselves up against much that preceded them: eighteenth century poetry and art, science, industry, and of course aristocracy. In Wordsworth’s 1802 preface to his and Coleridge’s poetic manifesto, Lyrical Ballads, he spoke of ‘tracing […] the primary laws of our nature’, by relating ‘incidents and situations from common life […] in [the] language really used by men; and at the same time to throw over them a certain colouring of imagination’.51 The ‘Truth’ (as he puts it elsewhere) is to be found in the ordinariness of ‘low and rustic’ subject matter.52 The solitary figure silhouetted against the landscape in total harmony with the materials and processes of his or her own labour is the authentic human.53 Wordsworth again: […] the sun and sky, The elements, and seasons as they change, Do find a worthy fellow-labourer there— Man free, man working for himself, with choice Of time, and place, and object […]54 Implicit in the romantics, in contrast to this authentic existence, is the experience of alienation in the emergent urbanism of the late eighteenth century.55 One study on the romantics’ sojourns in London—following Williams Godwin, Wordsworth and Blake, as well as Mary Wollstonecroft in the city—concludes that, ‘London in the 1790s seems to produce, and be produced by, a new kind of metropolitan intellectual, marginalised by its economic and political divisions, alienated from its commercial values, wandering its chartered streets with a blank, or an appalled, sense of estrangement’.56 Here are the seeds of the romantic-inspired opposition to the industrial revolution, which continues as an ‘environmentalist’ undercurrent into the present. 50 Garrard (2009), 73-75. 51 Wordsworth (2000), 596-597. 52 Wordsworth (2000), 596. 53 Above note 47. Also John Clare’s rustic figures, and, in landscape painting, John Sell Cotman’s 1831 ‘The Shepherd on the Hill’, Caspar David Friedrich’s 1810 ‘Wanderer Above the Sea of Mist’. 54 Wordsworth, The Prelude, Book VIII. 55 William Morris, ‘Art and Socialism’ (1884) makes the point explicit. 56 Barrell (2012), 158. See, e.g., William Blake’s Preface to Milton, also known as Jerusalem, contrasting London’s ‘dark satanic mills’ to ‘England’s green and pleasant land’. Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 11 3. THE DIVINE In a related vein, the twentieth century German philosopher Martin Heidegger too located the experience of the authentic in the romantics, in his celebrated essay ‘Poetically Man Dwells’. The essay takes a prose poem attributed to Friedrich Hölderlin, ‘In Lovely Blue’, as the starting point for a meditation on the human relation to ‘home’, combining a familiar romantic brew of art, nature, and transcendence, to identify the ‘basic character of human existence’, dwelling ‘poetically’ ‘on this earth’.57 Hölderlin’s poem is concerned with how the human may ‘measure’ itself against the divine: which becomes possible, he says, through being rooted on earth yet capable of sizing up the heavens and stars. Indeed, a quasi-pantheism of this sort is common among the romantics in response to the burgeoning atheism of the enlightenment. Wordsworth again provides a good example: But list! a voice is near; Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds, “Be thankful, thou; for, if unholy deeds Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!”58 The poem is written during the Napoleonic wars, and Wordsworth finds an allegory for transcendent peace beyond human concerns. Nature is, as God had been, beyond the fray, timeless, still (that is, returning to balance in time, an idea that translates today into the notion of ‘ecosystem’). The same sentiment runs through John Clare’s 1824 ‘The Eternity of Nature’.59 Earthly peace is attainable through a deeper and more imaginative human engagement with the natural order. This is, of course, an ambition we will come to associate broadly with international law. But it is not merely that God is or resides in nature. It is rather that the experience of the divine is locatable only through imaginative immersion in the natural world. The experience of divinity dwells in the imaginative creativity of the poet in correspondence with nature writ large. W.B. Yeats, the self-styled ‘last romantic’ captured the point precisely in his musings on William Blake, who wrote a hundred years before him: [Blake] had learned […] that imagination was the first emanation of divinity […] and that the sympathy with all living things [is what] the imaginative arts [must] awaken… He cried again and again that every thing that lives is holy, and that nothing is unholy except things that do not live—lethargies, and cruelties, and timidities, and denial of imagination.60 57 Heidegger (2001), 215. 58 Wordsworth, ‘Composed by the Side of Grasmere Lake’ (1806). 59 John Clare, ‘The Eternity of Nature’ (1824) in Clare (1965). 60 Yeats (2007), 84. 9/2014 12 The enthronement of a certain kind of imagination was, for the romantics, central to accessing the ‘essential’ truth behind superficial appearances. Fixed and mechanised, nature in enlightenment science was dead or asleep under the microscope. Observation informed by imagination yielded a truer, more authentic, experience of life: the ‘primary’ laws of nature, life infused with divinity. But wilfully investing ‘nature’ with ‘imagination’, as Blake recommended, is inherently problematic: the risk is that the self becomes sole arbiter of the ‘authentic’. This is the essence of Walter Ruskin’s famous charge of the ‘pathetic fallacy’: that ultimately ‘nature itself’ is displaced by a symbolic and, paradoxically, anthropocentric will.61 This story of the romantic imagination is relevant to our present inquiry for two reasons. First, it is a reminder that, despite regular rhetorical hewing to the ‘real’, to nature itself, the romantics cultivated a decidedly shaky materialism. ‘Nature itself’ turns out to owe everything to the imaginative authorial voice pronouncing upon it. So where international environmental law prizes the ‘intrinsic value of nature’, the ‘nature’ in question will often turn out to be vague or unlocatable. The second point is that the romantic development, from Wordsworth to Yeats, tends increasingly to fasten the lone authorial voice to an imaginative didacticism, itself centred on a community steeped in a landscape with nostalgic Volk-ish contours. The pronounced conservativism that marks the later Wordsworth develops into deliberate elitism in Yeats (the ‘last romantic’) and flirts with full-blown authoritarianism in Heidegger—arch-philosopher of the ‘authentic’. The imaginative dismissal of the human in much environmentalism may, in short, lend itself to dictatorial law, as indeed happened in 1930s Germany.62 In the romantics, then, there is a clearly dialectical move—the ‘human’, now quite apart from ‘nature’, adopts the position of audience or commentator, and— through a new appreciation and awe of this (wild, inspiring, motivating) nature—is reformed as a ‘human’ once again ‘in touch’ with the natural world.63 This combination—of a human distinct from her surroundings, entailing a dynamic and politically transformative relationship with the natural world both for its intrinsic value and for the broader good it renders humanity, carries into the key documents of international environmental law in preambular language such as the following: Man is both creature and moulder of his environment, which gives him physical sustenance and affords him the opportunity for intellectual, moral, social and spiritual growth. […] (Stockholm Declaration, 1971) 61 Ruskin in Coupe, ed., (2000), 26. 62 Giddens (2008), 51-2; Brüggemeier et al. (2005). On Heidegger’s place in modern environmentalism, see, e.g., Röhkramer (2005); Garrard (2000), 34-36. 63 On the human as ‘audience’ for the natural world, see Adorno and Horkheimer (2002), 27. Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 13 [I]n view of the magnitude and gravity of the new dangers threatening them, it is incumbent on the international community as a whole to participate in the protection of the cultural and natural heritage of outstanding universal value. (UNESCO Convention, 1972) The Contracting Parties […] Conscious of the intrinsic value of biological diversity […] and of the […] educational, cultural, recreational and aesthetic values of biological diversity and its components. (CBD, 1992) These invocations incorporate each of our observations above: the aesthetic and educational value of nature providing housing for an authentic human life, imbued with faith and spiritual growth. IV. THE COLONIAL ORIGINS OF INTERNATIONAL ENVIRONMENTAL LAW European colonialism was premised on the exploitation of natural resources and on the maintenance of conditions of global trade in raw materials. This was done in a context of tacit and at times explicit agreement between a small group of ‘Powers’. In fact, colonial era discoveries of ‘new worlds’ and new natural resources were reshaping thinking and writing on nature long before the romantics. The rise of the botanical garden epitomised two colonial drives: a scientist (naturalist) fascination with discovered ‘paradises’ and the pragmatic desire to capitalise on this novelty, by cultivating and commercialising seeds and species beyond their native lands. There are many examples of international environmental law’s colonial origins. Take, for example, the 1900 International Convention on the Conservation of Wild Animals, Birds and Fish in Africa64—negotiated as the full consequences of the frenzied extermination of animal populations perpetrated by Europe’s hunting classes throughout the nineteenth century became apparent.65 The Convention was itself largely negotiated by hunters; it provides a set of rules, categorising animals into five schedules: some (the near extinct, such as white- tailed gnu) were no longer to be hunted, others were killable on sight (‘dangerous’ vermin, extending to lions and leopards), the remainder under certain conditions.66 The Convention imagined immense nature ‘reserves’ or parks, parts of which would be off-bounds altogether, allowing animal stocks to replenish, other areas to be off-bounds to indigenous populations, allowing hunters to stalk animals ‘in the wild’. The Convention’s most obvious descendent today is the Convention on the 64 This paragraph relies in the main on Cioc (2009), ch.4 and MacKenzie (1988), ch.8. 65 MacKenzie (1988), 123-128. 66 The Convention never came into force although its principal terms were applied by Britain and Germany. 9/2014 14 International Trade in Endangered Species, which mimics its aspirations, its schedules and its calibration of killability. In what follows, we confine ourselves to two representative moments of colonial activity, which we take from the eighteenth and twentieth centuries respectively. These provide examples of, in the first case, a policy response to observed environmental degradation, and, in the second, broad colonial economic policies in prototypical conformity with the contemporary notion of ‘sustainable development’. 1. ENVIRONMENTAL DEGRADATION IN THE EARLY COLONIAL PERIOD In his seminal work, Green Imperialism, the first systematic account of the origins of environmentalism in the colonial experience, Richard Grove devotes considerable space to island colonies such as Barbados, St Helena, and Mauritius.67 Due to their relatively small size, he argues, the direct environmental impact of colonial- supported land practices became evident, and it was also possible to experiment with (legal) correctives. By the mid-1660s much of Europe was in the grip of a timber crisis, largely due to extensive shipbuilding, itself associated with colonial expansion and competition. One response was to attempt to limit deforestation at home, although in England these efforts often met with sufficient opposition in the form of entrenched rights and popular resistance to fail.68 Another was to redirect supply abroad, treating ‘countries yet barbarous as the right and proper nurseries’ for the supply of timber.69 Cutting down forests in the colonies brought other advantages too: land denuded of forests could be turned over to plantations and other uses, and, until the late 1700s, was considered both healthier and more sightly than untamed woods.70 Although the possibility that deforestation may affect the wider environment—by, for example, altering rainfall patterns—had been flagged as early as the fifteenth century, it was only in the eighteenth century that such effects were systematically observed and recorded on islands such as St Helena and Mauritius. In 1708, the then governor of St Helena, John Roberts of the East India Company, became worried that ‘the island in 20 years time will be utterly ruined for want of wood’.71 Over the next 80 years, successive governors raised concerns with the East India Company Directors in London over increasingly evident environmental problems such as drought, floods, and soil erosion.72 They attempted to slow the pace of deforestation, notably with a St Helena Forest Act of 67 Grove (1995). 68 Grove (1995), 57. For example, the Dean Forest Act 1657 and New Forest Act 1697. 69 Dr Thomas Preston, quoted in Grove, 56. 70 Grove (1995), 65-67. 71 Grove (1995), 112; 109-115. 72 Grove (1995), 121-122. Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 15 1731, mandating the ‘destruction’ of a portion of the island’s many wild goats.73 Their efforts were, however, frustrated by the Company Directors until 1794, when the Directors, in a sudden volta face, directed the then governor, Rupert Brooke, to commence a reafforestation programme, since ‘it is well known that trees have an attractive power on the clouds, especially when they pass over hills so high as those on your island’.74 Otherwise, the Directors were later to warn, ‘the present inhabitants will afford their posterity as just a reason for condemning their conduct as they have now to deplore that of their ancestors’.75 Of course, timber shortages and proprietary tussles over land use had underpinned forestry legislation and centrally organised tree-planting long before 1794. The specific innovations captured here, however, are: the added cognizance of what we would today refer to as ‘environmental degradation’; an acceptance of human impact upon the environment; and the appeal, with the Company Directors echoing Roberts across the years, to ‘posterity’, a clear forebear of the regular invocation of ‘future generations’ that runs through much contemporary international environmental law.76 The Company’s sudden u-turn owed much to a ‘sea-change’ in climate science orthodoxy in the mid-eighteenth century—which Grove attributes in particular to the English scientist Stephen Hales, a leading figure in both the French Académie des Sciences and the English Society of Arts.77 Key evidence for Hales’ speculations on the human capacity to alter the atmosphere was found in small island colonies such as St Helena and (in the event) Mauritius. A catalytic figure was Pierre Poivre, a naturalist, physiocrat, botanist, and administrator (for the French East India Company) of Mauritius, who, having developed a theory linking deforestation to rainfall patterns, introduced regulations on that basis in Mauritius in 1769.78 On Grove’s meticulously researched account, Poivre’s work ‘laid the foundation […] for the forest protection policies [subsequently] set up in both French and British colonial island territories. These early policies became the direct forerunners and models for almost all later colonial forest-protection policies.’79 For reasons not dissimilar to the failure of seventeenth Century English forest laws, international agreement on forestry management remains elusive.80 The essential point of this story is broader however: colonial forest-protection laws identify ‘ecosystems’—loci of ‘natural balance’ which, if overexploited, may 73 Grove (1995), 120-124. 74 Grove (1995), 124, citing Council of Directors to Governor, 7 March 1794 in H.R, Janisch (ed.), Extracts from the St Helena records and chronicles of Cape commanders, Jamestown, St Helena (1908). 75 Grove (1995), 124, citing Council of Directors to Governor, 25 March 1795 in Janisch (ed.). 76 See, for example, Espoo Convention, Aarhus Convention, UNFCCC, CBD, and ‘sustainable development’ as usually defined. 77 Grove, 164. 78 Grove provides a full account of deforestation and climatic change in Mauritius, and Poivre’s response, 179-222. 79 Grove, 166. 80 See above, note 5; see also REDD+, available at http://unfccc.int/methods/redd/items/7377.php, last accessed on 27 January 2014. 9/2014 16 be destroyed, contaminating a range of resources and ultimately damaging the wider economy.81 2. SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT IN THE LATE COLONIAL PERIOD For a second example, we have chosen the increasingly refined practices of species and crop management that developed across the British Empire from the late nineteenth century through decolonisation, amounting to de facto templates of ‘sustainable development’, perhaps the foremost principle of international environmental law today—which seeks that ‘development’ should proceed so as to ensure that ‘the needs of current generations are met without compromising the needs of future generations’—but pre-empting the latter term, popularised by the 1987 Brundtland Commission, by some considerable time.82 The case for early colonial practices of sustainable development builds on the evolution of practices over generations of colonial rule. Increasingly concerned with optimising value in the colonies, by the late 1800s, annual reports to the Colonial Office (CO) followed a regimented template: finances, ‘trade, agriculture and industry’, climate; legislation, judicial statistics83—later extending also to health, natural resources, labour, wages, banking.84 The point was to locate the comparative advantage of each territory (given climatic and other factors), and to generate an enabling environment for effective specialisation in export commodities. With few trade barriers across British governed spaces, each territory could export to the Empire as a whole and use the resulting income to buy imports from other colonial places.85 In a virtuous circle, the Empire economy would grow as each territory developed. This empire of free trade was not entirely, however, a free market. Especially after 1885, the metropolitan centre was not beyond giving the market firm guidance,86 steering countries towards their comparative advantage and generating demand for territorial specialities (through an ‘Empire Marketing Board’). From the early twentieth century, fact-finding missions were undertaken to determine whether individual colonies were optimally positioned within the wider economy, 81 See, for example, the Convention for the Protection of the Marine Environment of the North-East Atlantic (OSPAR Convention), or the many conventions overseen by the International Maritime Organization, available at IMO: www.imo.org/About/Conventions/ListOfConventions/, last accessed on 27 January 2014. 82 Brundtland Report (1987). 83 Colonial Reports—Annual, Nos 260, 271, 346, 353, 381, 405, 409, 472, 633, 695, 773, 881, 1079, 1122, 1207, 1410. Of these Nos 260 and 346 (both written by Frederick Lugard and dealing with Northern Nigeria) do not follow the template. Elsewhere, however by 1898, the template was already in use (see No. 271 on the Gold Coast); it was universalised by the early 1900s. 84 Colonial Reports—Annual, Nos. 1657, 1904. 85 This assessment derives from a close reading of Colonial Office annual reports, by territory, from the late 1890s, through to the late 1930s. On the related question of the British Empire approach to (international) trade, see Gallagher and Robinson (1953), and the ensuing discussion in Louis (1976); also Howe (2007), 41. 86 Howe (2007). Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 17 to recommend steps that might be taken to consolidate their position and, if needed, to reorient economies towards new products. The resulting reports evince a consistent interest in long-term sustainability: these were significant investments and they were intended to pay out over generations. However, once the prospect of decolonisation appeared on the horizon, the need for establishing a lasting basis for colonial economies became even more pressing. A series of Colonial Office reports appear from the 1920s through to the 1950s, the period when centrally-dictated management of colonial economies reached its zenith and began its decline. For present purposes, what stands out in these reports is the degree to which they demonstrate a consistent concern for creating the conditions for long-term sustainability of the industries in question. A report on ‘The Production of Fish in the Colonial Empire’, which we will take as our example, proceeds territory by territory to document the kinds of fish produced (caught, processed, and readied for sale) in each one.87 For each territory—from West Africa to Far East Asia—the report traces the proactive steps taken by colonial governments to place fish production on a stable footing and to expand it. Accounts are provided of the amount of fish caught, sold in local markets and exports, the sophistication of fishing and processing technologies; the existence or establishment of research centres monitoring fish stocks; the existence, mandate and competence of authorities (Fisheries ‘Departments’, ‘Officers’, ‘Surveys’); the training available to relevant officials; and—perhaps most intriguingly from the present perspective—the possibilities of fish-farming.88 So a follow-up 1953 report notes that, ‘while the development of fisheries is a matter for each individual territory’, ‘fisheries research is organised on a regional basis, since groups of territories (e.g., East Africa, West Africa, Malaysia) tend to have the same fundamental problems’.89 Core-funded regional fish centres employed geneticists, ‘in view of the importance of this work and its long-term character’.90 In Kenya, a ‘fish culture experimental farm’ was started to ‘obtain accurate data’ of fish yields and to determine the ‘life history’ of two ‘most promising species’ in order ‘to control the breeding of mosquitoes and snails, which are responsible respectively for malaria and bilharzia’.91 In Malaya, ‘wherever new land has been brought under controlled irrigation for rice cultivation, provision for fish cultivation has been made’.92 As a result of ‘demonstrations, instructional pamphlets, and financial loans’, more than 1,800 ‘new fish cultivators’ had begun to reap a harvest and by 1952, there were ‘450,000 acres of irrigated padi [sic] land producing fish as a catch crop [sic]’. Moreover, ‘a new form of fish farming, combined with pig raising has been devised under the supervision and guidance of the Fisheries Department’, such that ‘the production 87 Colonial Office (1949). 88 Colonial Office (1949), 8-14. 89 Colonial Office (1954), 5. 90 Colonial Office (1954), 5. 91 Colonial Office (1954), 15. 92 Colonial Office (1954), 19. 9/2014 18 of fruit, pigs and vegetables is integrated with the production of fish, resulting in economy of man-power, land and raw materials’.93 Sustainable development is not an easily applied principle—indeed, such is its inherent vagueness that it may actually be unhelpful in determining policy.94 Nevertheless, where sustainability is sought or claimed in practice to have been achieved, it is through systematic long-term anticipatory action—monitoring, substituting, and proactively replenishing stocks and encouraging linkage between different kinds of food production (fish, rice) and other sectoral issues such as health (malaria, bilharzia). Of many available examples of such practices in the colonial period, we choose fish, precisely because fisheries today generally exemplify unsustainable practice par excellence.95 V. CONCLUSION This theoretical account identifies the historical forerunners of international environmental law in order to clarify two dominant and competing imperatives that drive it. In our sketch we have shown how the broad impetus underlying international environmental law—its principal motivating force—derives from a particular understanding of the human-natural relation that is directly traceable to European romanticism. A newly aestheticised experience of the natural world gave rise to highly specific notions of an authentic human experience of nature and of the divine. We have shown how a romantic sensibility mobilised certain ideas that later find expression in international environmental law. We have indicated how the particularity of this vision underpins preambular language in core international environmental law texts. But its lasting power remains unarticulated, in the promise, hope, and faith invested in the leading principles of international environmental law. The romantics present the non-human world as inherently valuable; essential to a version of human good life that conceives of well-being in a manner that may be described as ‘ecological’: responsive to and respectful of the logos of ‘home’. This imperative reappears throughout environmental movements of the twentieth century, in the direct action of Sea Shepherd, in ‘deep ecology’, in ‘pachamama’ earth rights movements. And of course the vision driving these groups is also romantic in a second sense of the term, in that it brooks little or no compromise with other competing imperatives. 93 Colonial Office (1954), 19. 94 E.g., Giddens (2008), 59-63. The hard questions are ‘develop what’, ‘for how long’ and ‘for whom’? See Kates et al. (2005). 95 E.g., World Bank Global Program on Fisheries, available at http://go.worldbank.org/0I0GPE15Y0, last accessed on 27 January 2014. Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 19 International environmental law is clearly not exhausted by this romantic vision. The second strong lineage we locate derives from practice—the long- standing management of natural resources developed through the colonial era. Colonial practices and conventions are not the only precursors of environmental management, of course—but they are arguably the most relevant to international environmental law precisely because they are constructed within a transnational context, viewing natural resources in terms of global production and demand, and managing them within a context of international trade. Our first example highlights how colonial rule inaugurated and consolidated an administrative capacity for observing and responding to environmental degradation, the threat of loss due to secondary effects (foreshadowing toxic pollution, climate change). Our second example shows colonial authorities positioned over time to understand resource production and consumption within the broadest global context and instituting long-term sustainable management practices for the replenishment and substitutability of stocks.96 On our reading, then, it is no accident that the rise of contemporary international environmental law coincides with the decolonisation period of the 1960s and 1970s. The end of colonialism involved the dismantling of a key coordinating mechanism that had maintained and oiled the global movement of primary commodities and resources, and provided the rationale for a network of conservation areas. When global resource management moved into an ‘international’ domain, as the end of colonialism signalled, it is unsurprising that a body of law should have come into being to manage the exploitation of resources at the margins and their potential defilement through uncontrolled pollution. In short, romanticism and colonialism constitute two imperatives, each non- negotiable in its own way. Each of these imperatives can be seen at work through the key international environmental law principles and treaties. In each case, the promise to respect an inherent bound within ‘nature itself’ is destabilised by the necessity of exploiting, developing, applying the non-human as a ‘resource’. And whereas this body of law and principles is generally portrayed as mediating these competing demands, our analysis demonstrates the extraordinary difficulty of achieving any such mediation. For at bottom, these are not reconcilable views: what one holds sacred, the other profanes. This is not to imply that international environmental law serves no function. Assuredly it does: it is the locus for the recognition of the sacred in the non- human world, and the occasion for its profanation, in full view, as it were. International environmental law publicly enacts the profanation of the thing it has designated as sacred. As a result, this body of law can appear improbably elastic, providing a framework for the ongoing (if occasionally attenuated) destruction and commodification of natural phenomena in a language of care and protection. 96 This insistence on ‘development’ carries from the colonial into the postcolonial era and into international environmental law’s constitutive developmentalism. E.g., Rio Declaration, Stockholm Declaration, UNCCD, UNFCCC. 9/2014 20 International environmental law, then, is a principal locus for the dynamic Raymond Williams remarked 40 years ago: a world split into an upwind of preservation and recreation and a downwind of waste and destruction, a pastoral idyll and a dump. International environmental law excoriates the dump, the waste, the loss of life and species—but it is not equipped to halt it, for ‘a storm is blowing from Paradise [and] this storm is what we call progress’.97 97 Benjamin (1967), 257-8. Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 21 REFERENCES BOOKS, CHAPTERS, AND ARTICLES Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer, Dialectic of the Enlightenment (Stanford UP, 2002) John Barrell, ‘London in the 1790s’ in Chandler, ed. 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Kates, Thomas M. Parris, and Anthony A. Leiserowitz, ‘What is Sustainable Development: Goals, Indicators, Values and Practice’, Environment: Science and Policy for Sustainable Development 47 no.3 (April 2005) 8-21 William Roger Louis, ed., Imperialism: The Robinson and Gallagher Controversy (New Viewpoints, 1976). Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 23 Jean-Francois Lyotard, Political Writings (University of Minnesota Press, 1993) John MacKenzie, The Empire of Nature (Manchester UP, 1988) Max Oelschlager, The Idea of Wilderness: From Prehistory to the Age of Ecology (Yale UP, 1993) Oxford English Dictionary, 3rd ed. (2011), online at: http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/63089 Andreas Philippopolous-Mihalopolous, ed., Law and Ecology: New Environmental Foundations (Routledge, 2011) Andreas Philippopolous-Mihalopolous, ‘Introduction’ in Philippopolous- Mihalopolous, ed. (2011) Martha Roggenkamp, Catherine Redgwell, Anita Rønne, and Iñigo del Guayo, eds, Energy Law in Europe: National, EU and International Regulation, 2nd edn (Oxford UP, 2007) Thomas Röhkramer, ‘Martin Heidegger, National Socialism and Environmentalism’ in Brüggemeier et al., eds (2005) John Ruskin, Modern Painters, in Laurence Coupe, ed., The Green Studies Reader: From Romanticism to Ecocriticism, (Routledge, 2000) Philippe Sands and Jacqueline Peel, Principles of International Environmental Law, 3rd edition (Cambridge UP, 2012) Clifford Siskin, ‘The Problem of Periodization: Enlightenment, Romanticism, and the Fate of System’, in Chandler, ed. 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Yeats, Vol. IV: Early Essays (Scribner, 2007 [1897]) REPORTS A/RES/42/187, Report of the World Commission on Environment and Development: Our Common Future (11 December 1987) (Brundtland Report) Colonial Office, The Production of Fish in the Colonial Empire (HMSO, 1949), Colonial No. 237 Colonial Office, The Production of Fish in the Colonial Empire (Revised Edition) (HMSO, 1954), Colonial No. 300 Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 260, Niger. West African Frontier Force, Reports for 1897-8 (HMSO, 1899) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 271, Gold Coast, Report for 1898 (HMSO, 1899) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 346, Northern Nigeria, Report for the period from 1st January, 1900, to 31st March, 1901, by The High Commissioner of Northern Nigeria, Brigadier-General Sir F. Lugard K.C.M.G., C.B., D.S.O. (HMSO, 1902) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 353, Southern Nigeria, Report for 1900 (HMSO, 1902) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 381, Southern Nigeria, Report for 1901 (HMSO, 1902) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 405, Southern Nigeria, Report for 1902 (HMSO, 1903) Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 25 Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 409, Northern Nigeria, Report for 1902 (HMSO, 1903) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 472, British Central Africa Protectorate, Report for 1904-5 (HMSO, 1906) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 633, Northern Nigeria, Report for 1908-9 (HMSO, 1910) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 695, Southern Nigeria, Report for 1910 (HMSO, 1911) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 773, Bechuanaland Protectorate, Report for 1912- 3 (HMSO, 1914) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 881, East Africa Protectorate, Report for 1914-5 (HMSO, 1916) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 1079, Uganda, Report for 1919-20 (HMSO, 1921) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 1122, Colony and Protectorate of Kenya, Report for 1921-2 (HMSO, 1922) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 1207, Gold Coast, Report for 1922-23 (HMSO, 1924) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 1410, Northern Rhodesia, Report for 1927 (HMSO, 1928) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 1657, Annual Report on the Social and Economic Progress of the People of the Gold Coast, 1932-33 (HMSO, 1934) Colonial Reports—Annual, No. 1904, Annual Report on the Social and Economic Progress of the People of Nigeria, 1938 (HMSO, 1939) TREATIES Stockholm Declaration on the Human Environment, 1971 (Stockholm Declaration) 9/2014 26 UNESCO Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage (World Heritage Convention) (Paris, 16 November 1972, 1037 UNTS 151) Convention on the Prevention of Marine Pollution by Dumping of Wastes and Other Matter (London Convention) (London, 29 December 1972, 1046 UNTS 120) Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Flora and Fauna (CITES) (Washington D.C., 3 March 1973, 993 UNTS 243) UNECE Convention on Long-Range Transboundary Air Pollution (CLRTAP) (Geneva, 13 November 1979, 1302 UNTS 217) Basel Convention on the Control of Transboundary Movements of Hazardous Wastes and Their Disposal (Basel Convention) (Basel, 22 March 1989, 1673 UNTS 57) Convention on Environmental Impact Assessment in a Transboundary Context (Espoo Convention) (Espoo, 25 February 1991, 1989 UNTS 309) Rio Declaration on Environment and Development, 1992 (Rio Declaration) United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) (New York, 9 May 1992, 1771 UNTS 107) Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) (Rio de Janeiro, 5 June 1992, 1760 UNTS 79) United Nations Convention to Combat Desertification (UNCCD) (Paris, 14 October 1994, 1954 UNTS 3) UNECE Convention on Access to Information, Public Participation in Decision- making and Access to Justice in Environmental Matters (Aarhus Convention) (Aarhus, 25 June 1998, 2161 UNTS 447) International Tropical Timber Agreement (ITTA) (Geneva, 27 January 2006, Doc. TD/TIMBER.3/12) Stephen Humphreys and Yoriko Otomo Theorising International Environmental Law 27 CASES 1. World Trade Organization Dispute Settlement Body Appellate Body Report, United States — Standards for Reformulated and Conventional Gasoline, WT/DS2/AB/R, adopted 20 May 1996, DSR 1996:I, 3 (US—Gasoline) Appellate Body Report, EC Measures Concerning Meat and Meat Products (Hormones), WT/DS26/AB/R, WT/DS48/AB/R, adopted 13 February 1998, DSR 1998:I, 135 (EC—Hormones) Appellate Body Report, United States — Import Prohibition of Certain Shrimp and Shrimp Products, WT/DS58/AB/R, adopted 6 November 1998, DSR 1998:VII, 2755 (US—Shrimp) Appellate Body Report, Canada — Certain Measures Affecting the Automotive Industry, WT/DS139/AB/R, WT/DS142/AB/R, adopted 19 June 2000, DSR 2000:VI, 2995 (Canada—Autos) Appellate Body Report, European Communities — Measures Affecting Asbestos and Asbestos-Containing Products, WT/DS135/AB/R, adopted 5 April 2001, DSR 2001:VII, 3243 (EC—Asbestos) Panel Reports, European Communities – Measures Affecting the Approval and Marketing of Biotech Products, WT/DS291/R / WT/DS292/R / WT/DS293/R, Add.1 to Add.9, and Corr.1, adopted 21 November 2006, DSR 2006:III, 847 (EC—Biotech) Appellate Body Report, Brazil – Measures Affecting Imports of Retreaded Tyres, WT/DS332/AB/R, adopted 17 December 2007, DSR 2007:IV, 1527 (Brazil— Retreaded Tyres) 2. European Court of Human Rights López Ostra v. Spain, Application no. 16798/90, Judgment of 9 December 1994 Öneryıldız v. Turkey, Application no. 48939/99, Judgment of 30 November 2004 Fadeyeva v. Russia, Application no. 55723/00, Judgment of 9 June 2005 Budayeva v. Russia, Applications nos. 15339/02, 21166/02, 20058/02, 11673/02 and 15343/02, Judgment of 20 March 2008 9/2014 28 3. International Court of Justice Case Concerning Gabčikovo-Nagymaros Project (Hungary/Slovakia) ICJ Judgment of 25 September 1997, ICJ Rep. 1997, 7 (Gabčikovo-Nagymaros) Case Concerning Pulp Mills on the River Uruguay (Argentina v. Uruguay), ICJ Judgment of 20 April 2010, I.C.J. Reports 2010, 14 (Pulp Mills) 4. Other Trail Smelter Arbitration (United States v. Canada) 1941, U.N. Rep. Int'l Arb. AWARDS 1905 (1949) 
work_2vvzrpjh6bhfpmxif7f4vtgvbm	----	Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. Thoreau da Silva, Edgardo Medeiros, et al. “Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. Thoreau”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 16, 2020, pp. 1–7. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.28 RESEARCH Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. Thoreau Edgardo Medeiros da Silva1,2, Isabel Alves1,3 and Margarida Vale de Gato1,4 1 ULICES – University of Lisbon Centre for English Studies, PT 2 School of Social and Political Sciences of the University of Lisbon, PT 3 University of Trás-os-Montes and Alto Douro, PT 4 School of Arts and Humanities of the University of Lisbon, PT Corresponding author: Edgardo Medeiros da Silva (emsilva@iscsp.ulisboa.pt) Editorial Essay Keywords: Civil Disobedience; H. D. Thoreau; Environmental Humanities; Nature Writing; Self-Governance On the occasion of Henry David Thoreau’s bicentennial in 2017, with the world increasingly severed by the arrogance of majorities, the intolerance of minorities, and the growing anguish of overloaded, overburdened and indebted citizens, the American Studies Research Group of ULICES (University of Lisbon Centre for English Studies) found the right moment to reflect upon individual consciousness and the pursuit of a more frugal life in accord with nature. The poet and essayist’s ideas remain modern – libertarianism, ecology, con- scientious objection, activism – and allow us to question the actions of governments which though elected may be ruled by dubious mechanisms of representativeness, demanding, therefore, resistance when those very actions violate the principles of everyone’s freedom and conscience. The Thoreauvian ideals stand for intransigence to oppression, observation as a source of territorial knowledge, and discipline in daily con- templative experience and subsequent action. From them stems a call to digression, in the sense of physical undertaking and attentive movement through the surrounding environment, and, ultimately, an appeal to the discursive interrogation of the self in interdependence with the writing of nature. In A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers (1849), the first work published in Thoreau’s lifetime, the author’s essential philosophical traits are already present: to turn the discovery of the nearby territory into a wider historical-social context; the spiritual demand of man anchored on the land and carried by the course of its waters; a poetry imbricated with worldly action; an affinity with others defined by a universal empathy. Hereafter, through the significant Walden, or Life in the Woods (1854), in essays such as “Walking” (1862), as well as in his diarist writings and prolific correspondence, Thoreau shows us that waking up with nature is a project that entails daily reawakening and constant vigilance on the part of our conscience as citizens. In “Walking,” for instance, he sustains his faith in individual observation, in the necessary interdependence between the human being and the wilderness – “in Wildness is the preservation of the World” – and in that which is natural: “I believe in the forest, and in the meadow, and in the night in which the corn grows” (Collected 239). Thoreau’s connection with the region where he was born, Concord, Massachusetts, was intimate. In his works, he traces its topography, observes its flora and fauna, inspects the watercourses, measures the water of the lakes, interprets the storms, and shows thorough knowledge of its surrounding fields and woods. His familiarity with this particular geography has led Robert D. Richardson, Jr. to state: “Almost every important aspect of his life and work is bound up, in one way or another, with Concord” (Richardson 12). In 1845, Thoreau built, on the Concord estate of Ralph Waldo Emerson, the mentor of American transcendentalism who was also his friend and protector, a lakeside cabin, and stayed there for two years, two months, and two days. From this experience, around which a whole mythology has developed, emerged the above-mentioned Walden, where, besides reflecting at length on the concept of nature, the author describes and advocates an economy of self-sufficiency and simplicity in opposition to the illusions of progress: “Our life is frittered https://doi.org/10.5334/as.28 mailto:emsilva@iscsp.ulisboa.pt da Silva et al: Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. ThoreauArt. 16, page 2 of 7 away by detail. Simplify, simplify, simplify! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb-nail” (Walden 86). Even if most of Thoreau’s life was lived in a single place, his ideas are vast and they have been an endless source of inspiration for environmentalists and political activists when he advocates a simple way of life and an inner spirituality in harmony with the natural world. In addition, his statements about self-reliance, economy and simplicity are profoundly relevant today when the planet’s resources seem too scarce to sup- port eight billion human beings. As Bill McKibben has recently suggested, Thoreau realized that human beings may choose between two ways to live by in this world: the first one is to increase their income, the second, to reduce their expenses (xv). His option was for frugality. More importantly, however, is the kind of questions Thoreau asks us to consider, namely, “how much is enough,” which functions as a subversive question for contemporary society, as well as “how can I hear my own heart?” (McKibben xvi). Although Thoreau was politically engaged, his most daring questions, then as now, are directed at the human heart, forcing us to think about our deeper options and inner thoughts. In particular, Thoreau asks each of his readers to reflect upon the importance of silence, contemplation and solitude in their lives, upon our human relationship with the rest of the world, including the non-human world. Thoreau’s concern with the local may also alert us to the excesses of today’s mass consumption in a global scale. In McKibben’s words, these aspects show that “Thoreau has become ever more celebrated in theory, and ever more ignored in practice” (xx). And yet, “the secret Thoreau has to offer [is] that promise that the world is sweet” (xxiii). In a passage of Walden, one can read: [T]he indescribable innocence and beneficence of Nature, – of sun and wind and rain, of summer and winter, – such health, such cheer, they afford forever! And such sympathy have they ever with our race, that all Nature would be affected, and the sun’s brightness fade, and the winds would sigh humanely, and the clouds rain tears, and the woods shed their leaves and put on mourning in mid- summer, if any man should ever for a just cause grieve. Shall I not have intelligence with the earth? Am I not partly leaves and vegetable mould myself? (Walden 130) This excerpt illustrates Walden as an experiment in human ecology, though it preceded the term, an exam- ple of environmental writing that, according to Lawrence Buell, in his influential The Environmental Imagi- nation: Thoreau, Nature Writing and the Formation of American Culture, “tries to practice a conceptual resto- rationism in reorienting the partially denaturized reader … to an artifactual version of environment designed to evoke place-sense” (Buell 267). For Buell, in the process of delineating a place-sense for himself, Thoreau creates one for the reader as well, presenting Thoreau’s Walden project (both the event and the book) “as a record and model of a western sensibility working with and through the constraints of Eurocentric, andro- centric, homocentric culture to arrive at an environmentally responsive vision” (Buell 23). The fact that Thoreau’s late naturalist writings show greater mastery of scientific knowledge evinces that his was a career to be understood “as a process of self-education in environmental reading, articulation and bonding” (Buell 23). In this line of thinking, one might suggest that the contemporary environmental crisis is also related to the fact that we – teachers, academics, critics – have been failing to convey the human predicament in a narrative form that accounts for the dynamics between self and place. Claiming a life as simple and as close as possible to nature, Thoreau’s ideas oftentimes seem tainted with nostalgia for the past and with abhorrence for progress (Warner 672). He did not fail to let it be known how upset he was by the railroad that came to pass just a couple of miles from his beloved lake, mourning the loss of the landscape and expressing a legitimate concern for the social costs of progress: “We do not ride on the railroad; it rides upon us. Did you ever think what those sleepers are that underlie the railroad? Each one is a man … The rails are laid on them, and they are covered with sand, and the cars run smoothly over them” (Walden 37). On the other hand, he truly believed that the best path was the least trodden, that of unwieldy nature: “Hope and the future for me are not in lawns and cultivated fields, not in towns and cities, but in the impervious and quaking swamps” (Collected 241–242). With all his devotion to language, manifest in amusing and multifold word puns, he foreshadowed with distrust the repetitive and fast quality of com- munication only technologically incipient in his time: “The penny-post is, commonly, an institution through which you seriously offer a man that penny for his thoughts which is so often safely offered in jest. And I am sure that I never read any memorable news in a newspaper” (Walden 88). In his last years, Thoreau grew more and more interested in science and in the workings of nature, but always trying to relate nature’s processes with those connected to human life. In “The Succession of Forest Trees” (1860) as well as in the posthumously published book Faith in a Seed (1993), we find the da Silva et al: Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. Thoreau Art. 16, page 3 of 7 origin of an ethics and praxis of environmental conservation. In The Maine Woods (1864), he supports the creation of natural parks. As argued by McKibben, even though Thoreau’s writings could not have directly addressed the realities that plague us today, like the extinction of biodiversity and natural resources, carbon emissions, or global heating, they still raise issues that are crucial to the rethinking of our contemporary lifestyle, inextricably bound up with sufficiency and necessity. In that sense, both Walden and “Walking” offer us examples of how to counter global heating, inciting us to consume only what we need, to live close to what is essential, to avoid excess and ostentation. Furthermore, as suggested above, Thoreau’s concerns are seminal to what we call today Ecoliterature, an attempt to break away from the discourse of an exclusively anthropomorphic intellect, allowing for wild life and natural landscape to enter the rhythms of writing: Where is the literature which gives expression to Nature? He would be a poet who could impress the winds and streams into his service, to speak for him; who nailed words to their primitive senses, as farmers drive down stakes in the spring, which the frost has heaved; who derived his words as often as he used them—transplanted them to his page with earth adhering to their roots; (Collected 244) Taking up this legacy of Thoreau, Gary Snyder, the beat-inspired contemporary poet, has given us a great number of poems and essays since the 1950s where he develops the command of hearkening to the voice of nature. As the Concord poet, Snyder insists that we are one with nature, questioning, though, the artificial separateness implied in thinking of nature as something outside the human self. Therefore, inspired by the remarkable title of his poetry collection No Nature (1992), in 2017 the organizers of the bicentennial cel- ebration of Thoreau’s birthday promoted the translation and launch of Snyder first poetry collection. With respect to politics and civil responsibility, Thoreau’s thoughts on interdependence and autonomy are articulated in the essays where he develops his notion of self-government, such as “Resistance to Civil Government” (1849, later published as “Civil Disobedience”), Life Without Principle (1863), or “A Plea for Captain John Brown” (1859). In these texts, he unequivocally refuses unreasonable economic growth and populist sectarianisms and whims, while supporting insurgency as a stronghold against slavery, expansionism, servility and all the unequal and mechanical treatment of others. The first taxation objector in history, Thoreau spent one night in prison during his time at Walden Pond. Convinced that the poll tax was an aberration which was used to fund the war with Mexico and slavery, he refused to pay it, maintaining that civil disobedience was the only means whereby individual reason could prevail over the abuse of power. For him, non-connivance with active discrimination and territorial usurpa- tion, imposed by legal systems and entrenched powers, were essential to any form of human decency: “It is not a man’s duty, as a matter of course, to devote himself to the eradication of any, even to most enormous wrong; he may still properly have other concerns to engage him; but it is his duty, at least, to wash his hands of it, and, if he gives it no thought longer, not to give it practically his support” (Thoreau Collected 209). Moreover, a just man who questions the legitimacy of an unjust state can only end up in prison: “Under a government which imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison” (213). Thoreau not only refuses to pay taxes to a government which imprisons unjustly, but also wishes to prevent that very government from functioning, writing in “Civil Disobedience”: “Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine” (211). This is a variety of activism which aims to bring to a halt the machine of government, caus- ing civic disorder and chaos, its proponents knowing full well that states, with their police bodies, armies and prisons, are by their very nature violent entities, because they have the monopoly of force. Ultimately, the type of civil disobedience that Thoreau calls for is more radical than the peaceful and non-violent protest Mahatma Gandhi and Luther King advocated, representing in a certain way, as Michael Warner argues, the highest form of citizenship (673). A factor which contributed to Thoreau’s suspicion of government was the cause of abolitionism, most likely through the influence of his mother and sister, who were politically active in the movement. Thoreau supported the underground railway network and wrote for William Lloyd Garrison’s The Liberator. In texts such as “Slavery in Massachusetts,” “Resistance to Civil Government” and “A Plea for Captain John Brown,” his ideas on abolitionism are clearly evident. In “A Plea for Captain John Brown,” for example, it is possible to grasp the radicalism of Thoreau’s views on the issue, not just his clear opposition to the institutions that sustained the peculiar institution, but above all his antagonism to those whom he labels as accomplices of the state on account of the material rewards they reap from bonded labor. In “Reform Essays,” slavery is described as a problem of modern political systems, from which the notion of justice is absent, suggest- ing that individual conscience is irrelevant and has, regretfully, no direct implication in the way states are da Silva et al: Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. ThoreauArt. 16, page 4 of 7 funded. Indeed, modern states have been taken over by entrenched interests which undermine the principle of representative democracy. Citizens may vote, but they vote as subjects rather than as free individuals. As Thoreau observes in “Civil Disobedience”: “All voting is a sort of gaming like checkers or backgammon, with a slight moral tinge to it” (Collected 209). In “Slavery in Massachusetts,” conscious of the political readings that may be made of his ideas, he observes: “My thoughts are murder to the state” (Collected 346). Unquestionably, a certain mythology has evolved over time on the substance of some of Thoreau’s ideas concerning slavery. As Michael Warner rightly observes, in those essays in which Thoreau discusses the issue of human bondage, very little does he have to say on the actual racial experience of negroes, preferring to focus his attention on the political debate abolitionism raised in American society, including moral causes (673). Thoreau’s interest in the way of life of American Indians, attested by the innumerable notes he left on the subject, was, on the other hand, manifest. He was steadfast in his sympathetic exploration of Native American culture, acknowl- edging the presence of the Indian tribes of his native Massachusetts in his wanderings. However, this is not a simple issue, for, in “Thoreau and Indian Selfhood,” Barbara Novak points out that there was agreement with the “the teleological idea (shared even by Thoreau) that the Indians must go to make way for the white man, who had been God-blessed in his mission to receive the bounties of America” (44). In other ways, Thoreau’s thought may be said to epitomize American individualism. By suggesting that we turn onto ourselves (and to the natural world), emphasizing self-rule, self-reliance and individual conscious- ness, it asks us to disregard to a certain extent the collective as well as one’s responsibility to others. It is a blind spot in Thoreau’s thinking as it does not take into account the fact that what applies to the individual at a personal level also applies to the community as a whole. If all citizens exhibited in due measure their sense of self and justice, the common good would be safeguarded. The question is that self-interest and personal egoism frequently tend to override collective interest, an issue which is especially true regarding environmental protection, as Stoll has pointed out in connection with Thoreau’s ideas: “Must government defend the common interest in the environment against private profiteering, or has the government hurt the public good by preserving nature?” (39). It seems clear that if the common good is not protected by the state, unrestrained individualism will fill in the vacuum and prevail over the interests of the many. The values of nineteenth-century America, informed as they were by the notion of an invisible hand, by the idea that a state uncommitted to the regulation of the activities of citizens, institutions and markets was best, seem to confirm just that. The editors of this volume of Anglo Saxonica wish to contribute to the ongoing debate surrounding Thoreau’s ideas and to their dissemination overseas and particularly in Portugal. It is hoped that this debate, for which a number of foreign academics were invited, will help to clarify the somewhat tardy reception of Thoreau’s ideas among us, the first reference to him dating from 1903, in Raul Brandão’s “Primavera.” Of late, though, they have received some attention in this country in the form of translation and artistic representation, two examples being the cinema of Rodrigo Areias and the music of Tiago Sousa. Both were showcased in the biblio-iconographic exhibition at the National Library of Portugal (April 10 through May 5, 2017), which, in bringing out a catalogue entitled Thoreau em Portugal, accomplished the goal of dis- seminating Thoreau’s works, and their past and present relevance. The essays here collected complement our endeavor by contributing to a multifaceted discussion of his ideas as they emerged from the academic discussions which took place during two seminars also convened at the time: “Resistência Civil|Acordo com a Natureza: Bicentenário de H. D. Thoreau,” held at the National Library of Portugal and the School of Arts and Humanaties of the University of Lisbon, on April 10 and April 26, 2017. The selection of essays included in this volume purports to represent the variety of aspects covered in our discussion of Thoreau’s writings: two articles are dedicated to Thoreau’s scientific knowledge and environmental mindedness and their pertinence in our day and age, one assessing the philosophical import of Thoreau’s rejection of conventional social restraints and his praxis of spiritual accordance with nature, the other tracing the roots and impacts of the author’s libertarian thought. Three essays examine Thoreau’s impact in our time: one is a pragmatic analysis of the ecocriticism and immigration policies aroused by Thoreau’s eco-social consciousness, while the remaining two address reconfigurations of his ideas by subse- quent art forms, namely experimental music (John Cage) and Portuguese cinema (Rodrigo Areias). Antonio Casado da Rocha, in “Thoreau and Scientific Culture,” engages with the topic of Thoreau’s scien- tific curiosity, his experimental practice, and his eclectic apprenticeship, positioning it in contrast with the factors that contribute to today’s “enlightened illiteracy”: the vast information we access against our scant capacity of integrated knowledge; the standardization and marketing strategies of disseminating knowl- edge; the convictions of technological “solutionism,” or the delegation of knowledge through the belief in technological advancement. Within the framework of the dimensions of knowledge posited by Beyjin Yang, da Silva et al: Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. Thoreau Art. 16, page 5 of 7 Casado goes on to argue that Thoreau trod the path from explicit to implicit (practical) knowledge, and finally to the “emancipatory” stance displayed by his work and his public involvement as a naturalist, that of an “enlightened amateur.” In his essay, Paulo Eduardo Guimarães aims to find possible contacts between rapidly changing Portuguese contexts and the industrial universe of which Thoreau was so critical. It is not so much the identification of possible influences in his thinking that is at stake as the revelation of popular behavior in reaction to environmental changes brought about by mercantile ambitions and the newly institutionalized relationship with the “natural environment.” Guimarães’s text highlights the conflictual nature of Portuguese modern industrial development as it relates to the environment, taking into account the fact that the emerging struggles for environmental justice involved both the weakest sections of society and some political and eco- nomic elites. Although a number of environmental conflicts affecting Portuguese agriculture and fisheries during the second half of the nineteenth century are identified in the essay, the author’s attention is focused on the mining sector and, primarily, the pyrites and cassiterite mining industries. Paulo Borges’s essay takes up Thoreau’s question in his correspondence with Harrison Blake, “Why put up with the almshouse when you may go to heaven?,” equating an “almshouse” with an hospice in order to bring up Jean Yves-Leloup discussion of “normosis” against the emancipatory stance already highlighted in Casado’s essay. Borges’s perspective tends more towards the spiritual quest of Thoreau’s contemplative and wandering nature, equating these with the possibility that they might enlarge our common perception of the world through the awakening of one’s consciousness. The modern libertarian tradition arguably initiated by the essay on “Civil Disobedience” is addressed in António Cândido Franco’s contribution to the volume, in which he draws a parallel between the political ideas of Thoreau and those of Proudhon and Bellagarique. The essay offers a discussion of how the notion of “self-government” allows us to establish a link with libertarian thinking, favoring Thoreau’s reception as a seminal theoretician of anarchism. It also highlights the contingencies that might have delayed this per- ception among Portuguese libertarian and anarchist groups and their press, as well as Thoreau’s growing importance in those milieus from the mid-70s onwards, after the overthrow of the totalitarian regime of Estado Novo. The starting point of Reinaldo da Silva’s essay is Thoreau’s Walden, especially the episode in chapter X, “baker farm.” It discusses Thoreau’s environmental concerns by way of focusing on Otherness, while, at the same time, stressing Thoreau’s complicity with racial stereotyping. Parallel to Thoreau’s view of nature as a retreat into the primitive, da Silva is also interested in pointing out how for Portuguese immigrants, nature, through gardening and farming, was a means whereby they could retreat from the harsh conditions imposed by factory life, commercial fishing, the whaling or dairy industries and intensive farming, common activities amongst Portuguese communities in the United States. The essay argues that strong rhetorical strategies employed by late-nineteenth-century American eugenicists portrayed immigrants from Southern European countries as parasitic. As shown by da Silva’s text, it was believed that immigrants from this part of the world – like the Irish in Thoreau’s Walden – would weaken the fitness of Americans of Anglo origin. Although recognizing Thoreau’s concern for the survival of ecological systems, Reinaldo da Silva underlines Thoreau’s views as those of a man racially accommodated to the WASP mainstream, its prejudices and values. In “Palestra sobre o Tempo: John Cage e Henry David Thoreau,” Ana Luísa Valdeira examines John Cage’s (1912–1992) Lecture on the Weather (1976), a musical piece commissioned by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation to celebrate the bicentennial of the independence of the United States of America, and which Cage composed around excerpts from Thoreau’s Walden, Journal and Civil Disobedience. Valdeira maintains that in this musical piece, which evidences the close poetical affinities between both creators, Cage under- scores the importance of empirical experience derived from present moment awareness. Valdeira shows that Cage’s “silent pieces” have much in common with passages from Walden and Journal in the sense that they also are “drawn from immediate experience and the durational flow of the current moment,” as she puts it. She argues that Lecture on the Weather, a landscape of multiple discourses, just like a natural landscape, forces the listener to pay attention to the uniqueness of each experience at a particular moment in time, in accordance with Cage’s own musical propositions. The poetics of John Cage, therefore, is not one which can be measured by reason, but by experience, she concludes. In “Desobediência Civil em Estrada de Palha: Um Western Português Alentejano,” Maria Antónia Lima argues that the film Estrada de Palha (Straw Road) (2012) of the Portuguese filmmaker Rodrigo Areias evokes not only the American western as a film genre, but also transcendentalist thought and ideas stemming from the poetic and political appeal of Thoreau’s “Civil Disobedience.” The story of a man who returns to his vil- lage to avenge the death of his brother, the film is set in a country beset by corruption, exploitation, and da Silva et al: Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. ThoreauArt. 16, page 6 of 7 governmental abuse. It possesses an aesthetics which aims to raise the awareness of Portuguese spectators to the social and political situation in their own country, though it is neither ideological nor pamphlet-like, so as to show how urgent acts of civil disobedience are in present-day Portuguese society. According to Lima, the western is a genre particularly suited to portray social and political instability, its codes being used in Estrada de Palha to depict Portuguese reality. As Lima sees it, a dialogue is established between cinematic fiction and real life in Portugal – excessive taxes, imposts and duties –, impelling us to think about ways of resisting, questioning and protesting against current social and political realities. The unifying elements in Thoreau’s brief life are his steadfast observation of the landscape which sur- rounded him, his obstinate articulation of thoughts that are his own and equanimous with the universe itself, his hopeful premonition of morning as an invitation to a projective alliance between nature and his- tory, a passport to a world where we may supersede ourselves: “Morning brings back the heroic ages” (Walden 83). His ideas have inspired those who resist the ever-growing pressure to abide by unregulated exploitation and lack of protection as far as the limited natural resources of our planet go. The time has come for us to face the conundrum posed by our post-industrial societies, including the drift towards an individualism that might hold its ground against conventional order but at the price of social isolation. Thoreau shows us that to be “in accord with nature” requires constant watchfulness on the part of our individual consciousness as citizens, refusing unchecked economic growth, sectarianism and populist political demagogy. As Mark Stoll has aptly put it, Thoreau’s writings set forth for future generations the concerns shared by an ever-growing number of active citizens worried about environmental protection, individual freedom, and independence from abuse of power. Moreover, he proposed the love of poetry and of the records of sympathetic observa- tion of nature as a way forward to more justice and equality in the world, notwithstanding his emphasis on individual action over collective or communitarian governance. It is hoped that this volume of essays clearly demonstrates that Thoreau’s texts have a word to say about the possibility of a deeper understanding of nature and the human bond to it, encouraging readers to accept and cherish humanity as part of a larger ecological community. All in all, Thoreau’s most daring legacy is an invitation to wakefulness and attentive- ness to all forms of life, in particular when he asserts that from the recognition of our interconnectedness with the rest of the living world comes “an infinite and unaccountable friendliness” (Walden 124). Competing Interests The authors have no competing interests to declare. References Buell, Lawrence. The Environmental Imagination. Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1996. McKibben, Bill. “Introduction.” Walden. Beacon Press, 2004, pp. vii–xxiii. Novak, Barbara. “Thoreau and Indian Selfhood: Circles, Silence, and Democratic Land.” Voyages of the Self: Pairs, Parallels and Patterns in American Art and Literature. Oxford University Press, 2007, pp. 35–50. Richardson, Robert D., Jr. “Thoreau and Concord.” The Cambridge Companion to Henry David Thoreau. Ed. Joel Myerson. Cambridge University Press, 1995, pp. 12–24. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1017/ CCOL0521440378.003 Stoll, Mark. Protestantism, Capitalism, and Nature in America. University of New Mexico Press, 1997. Thoreau, Henry David. Collected Essays and Poems. Ed. Elizabeth Hall Witherell. Library of America, 2001. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden. Introduction and Annotations by Bill McKibben. Beacon Press, 2004. Warner, Michael. “Henry David Thoreau.” A Companion to American Thought. Ed. Richard Wightman Fox and James T. Kloppenberg. Blackwell Publishers, 1998, pp. 672–4. https://doi.org/10.1017/CCOL0521440378.003 https://doi.org/10.1017/CCOL0521440378.003 da Silva et al: Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. Thoreau Art. 16, page 7 of 7 How to cite this article: da Silva, Edgardo Medeiros, Isabel Alves, and Margarida Vale de Gato. “Civil Resistance|In Accord with Nature – On the Bicentennial of H. D. Thoreau”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 16, 2020, pp. 1–7. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.28 Submitted: 03 December 2019 Accepted: 03 December 2019 Published: 29 January 2020 Copyright: © 2019 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://doi.org/10.5334/as.28 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Competing Interests References 
work_2wxlcgnwiren7bzo6sj2gislcq	----	<italic>Walden; or, Life in the Woods</italic> by Henry David Thoreau Walden; or, Life in the Woods by Henry David Thoreau Author(s): Barbara Celarent Source: American Journal of Sociology, Vol. 115, No. 2 (September 2009), pp. 649-655 Published by: The University of Chicago Press Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/648657 . Accessed: 19/06/2011 17:56 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucpress. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. The University of Chicago Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to American Journal of Sociology. http://www.jstor.org http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucpress http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/648657?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucpress Book Reviews 649 placement. Data for the same cohort observed at different periods do not show a trend toward more mobility. Increasing relative mobility for co- horts, in turn, is explained by educational expansion. The puzzle then becomes why later cohorts in Britain, a country that also experienced educational expansion, did not show more mobility. This would be the case since in Germany the effect of origin on destination is lower at higher levels of education, whereas things are not like that in Britain. But Breen and Luijkx leave this puzzle as a matter for further research. Karl Ulrich Mayer and Silke Aisenbrey’s paper goes beyond that of Breen and Luijkx. Mayer is the German sociologist who recognized that questions of the type “How much father-son class mobility is there in the population of country x at time y?” are rather poor, who popped the pertinent question, and who collected appropriate data. A question about mobility always should invoke two points in time, and the hidden point in the poor question stands for quite different points in time, since the observed people differ in age. Mayer set out in the early 1980s to collect occupational histories for cohorts born in 1920 and for later ones. Against this background, it is remarkable that Breen and Luijkx seem to code persons currently without a job after their last job. That decision forecloses the “special issue” of whether early retirement differs for cohorts. By comparing for various cohorts the origins of persons with their class at age 27 and at age 35, Mayer and Aisenbrey show that the trend toward more father-son and father-daughter relative class mobility reversed with the early 1960s cohort. They too leave this puzzle for further research. Mayer and Aisenbrey say that their chapter provides variations on the theme of mobility. This metaphor misleads. The theme of the generation of mobility sociologists to which Breen and Luijkx belong contains false notes, and readers should know. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. By Henry David Thoreau. Boston: Ticknor & Fields, 1854. Pp. 357. Barbara Celarent* University of Atlantis The emergence of a fully theorized environmental sociology after 2015 brought Walden briefly into sociological prominence. But its semiauto- biographical framework and allusive density made it ill-suited to a dis- cipline with one foot in the scientific study of society, even if the other foot was firmly placed in Thoreau’s home turf—the normative under- standing of social life. Worse yet, the endless riches of Thoreau’s journals proved an inescapable temptation to discover “what Walden really * Another review from 2048 to share with AJS readers.—Ed. American Journal of Sociology 650 means,” reinforcing the book’s status as fixed literary classic rather than open social theory. Yet Walden has much broader sociological relevance than we have usually thought. Of course, it is a central work for environmental soci- ology. But to its theory of man/environment relations it adds theories of consumption, social relations, space-time, and action. Ostensibly auto- biographical, it is nonetheless a sociological classic. It is ironic that Thoreau’s sociological relevance should be urged by one who is neither an American nor a landsman. But sociological canons are usually made by foreigners. It was after all Americans who started the vogue for Durkheim and Weber, just as they would later for Foucault and Habermas. And conversely it took Europeans and Asians to release the theoretical core of the Chicago school from the trammels of its self- veneration. Walden is a short text, but a long read—a paradox not at first apparent. One revels in its simple aphorisms for many pages before realizing that everything in it—from metaphor and paragraph to topic and chapter— is designed by a complex and even devious mind. Thoreau writes very self-consciously—sometimes annoyingly so. Allusions abound. Indeed, the counterpoint of themes and references and arguments becomes at times overwhelming. For Thoreau does not write in rigorous abstractions, be they macrosociological or metatheoretical or even phenomenological. There is no list of concepts, no polemic with predecessors: no formal propositions or clearcut definitions. He simply bushwhacks through the intellectual underbrush that lies between his own particularities and what is universal in the human project. That is the very definition of theory, and if one of Thoreau’s paradoxical conclusions is that our particularities cannot be (indeed should not be) escaped, we are all the wiser for having made the journey, scratches and all. As schoolchildren learn, Walden presents Thoreau’s reflections on two years spent living in a small cabin he built by a pond in Concord, Mas- sachusetts, on land owned by his friend and mentor, the essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson. It begins with a review of the classical problems of social theory by means of reflections on Thoreau’s cabin-building and settle- ment. We see all the stuff of social life: eating, drinking, talking, reading, and working, and beyond them the fundamentals of valuing, acting, and feeling. Love alone escapes, as it escaped—except in one essay and one brief moment—Henry David Thoreau himself. The book then works through the annual cycle, from summer planting in the bean field to autumn moon and harvest, to the frozen pond in winter (whose ice literally supports Thoreau’s elaborately “scientific” in- vestigation of its depths), and finally to the return of spring. “Thus was my first year’s life in the woods completed, and the second year was similar to it,” Thoreau tells us, managing in one characteristically dense sentence to paraphrase the Bible (AV Matt. 22:39), emphasize cyclical temporality, and deftly misrepresent his own activity. He has never told Book Reviews 651 the reader that his main work in two years at Walden was to write or edit three book-length manuscripts, including the first draft (there were seven total) of Walden itself. Nor are we much aware that during his two Walden years he was at one point jailed for civil disobedience and at another took a two week trip to locate and climb Maine’s dramatic roof- top, Mount Katahdin. Any reading must begin with the most familiar Thoreau—the Thoreau who placed man in nature. Walden’s nature is not the Enlightenment’s nature: sublime, awesome, and inscrutable, a challenge to human daring and an omnipotent boundary to human power. Thoreau was not John Franklin, who sailed to icy immortality in the Northwest Passage only a month before Thoreau moved to Walden Pond. He did not seek the North- west Passage; he sought himself. Like Petrarch and Augustine before him, he found humans to be the most puzzling and profound works of nature. Thoreau’s embedding of humanity in nature is clearest not in his ar- guments but in his choice of metaphors. Throughout the book nature is described in human/social metaphors and vice versa. In the brilliant chap- ter “Sounds,” the morning train leaves “a train of clouds stretching far behind and higher and higher, going to heaven while the cars are going to Boston,” while a few pages later “the whippoorwills chanted their vespers for half an hour.” The whole chapter “Solitude” argues that nature provides authentic society, while shortly afterward “The Village” describes Concord as a beast with vital organs, defines news as a grain consumed by “worthies” with “sound digestive organs,” and identifies gossip as “whatever was in the wind” (precisely the same words Thoreau had used for his own ecstatic listening to nature in the opening pages of the book). “Brute Neighbors” allegorizes local fauna—an ant war occupies several pages—and “The Pond in Winter” uses the dimensions of frozen Walden to discuss human ethics. By contrast, “Former Inhabitants” treats bygone locals as passing animals, and in “Visitors” a Canadian woodchopper becomes a (much admired) “animal man.” This melding of the human and the natural rejects the common view that Thoreau aims to exchange society for nature. Rather, he wants to embrace the natural: to collaborate with nature, since we are ourselves natural beings. Not for Thoreau the model (capitalist) farm, “a great grease-spot, redolent of manures and buttermilk. Under a high state of cultivation, being manured with the hearts and brains of men.” He prefers an unmediated, noncommercial encounter with the physical and biological world around us. In sociology, we have seldom theorized such an en- counter. There have been various beginnings; the turn-of-the-century de- bate about gender essentialism, the 19th-century obsession with instincts, the reductionist frivolities of cognitive neuroscience. And of course there are the earnest arguments of more recent environmental sociology. But we still await a truly general theory of man in nature to complement our theories of man in society. While Thoreau’s insertion of man in nature shapes his theory of society American Journal of Sociology 652 decisively, we must recognize here two very different readings of that theory. In the 19th- and 20th-century reading, Thoreau withdrew from society to nature, thereby reducing society to its ultimate unit, the indi- vidual. For such readers, Thoreau rejected not only capitalism and com- merce, but indeed everyday social life itself. The more modern reading has noted that Thoreau left Walden without regret after two years. In later life, he would never forsake the natural world, but neither did he hide in it from future challenges. On this reading, Thoreau at the pond represents not so much an individual as he does the whole of human society itself. He seeks the essentials not only of personal life in nature, but indeed of social life in nature. These essentials are set forth in the early chapters. Political economy is, to be sure, mercilessly parodied (“while [the poor student] is reading Adam Smith, Ricardo, and Say, he runs his father in debt irretrievably”). But at the same time Thoreau considers the basics of food, shelter, and barter as forthrightly as did Smith himself. Indeed, Thoreau’s hymn to the railroad and its commerce (in “Sounds”) is every bit as extravagant as anything in Smith. The railroad is a comet, a rising sun. The ripped sails it carries to the papermaker are “proof sheets that need no correction,” their condition telling “the history of the storms they have weathered.” Commerce, he tells us, is “unexpectedly confident and serene, alert, ad- venturous, and unworried.” Indeed, commercial men may be among the “strong and valiant natures” that Thoreau thinks have no need to read Walden, because they already live as Thoreau would have us live: delib- erately rather than habitually, in the present rather than in the future. In his systematic shedding of what he feels to be the inessentials of social life, Thoreau seems akin to Rousseau, the Romantics, and the other world rejecters. But the book’s narrative is more subtle. It does begin with detachment from everyday society: from the burden of property, from the slavery of divided labor, from the dominance of clock time, from the endless sway of fashion and opinion. (And, it must be noted, from women; there is a fog of misogyny in the early chapters that burns off slowly as Thoreau warms to his task.) But after this detachment, Thoreau parts company with the Romantics, whose ecstasies never ripened into the rigors of subsistence living. For the shedding of inessentials leaves life—both individual and so- cial—founded on necessities: on the one hand, the necessities of daily life—manual labor, exercise, preparation of food; on the other, the ne- cessities of spiritual life—contemplation of the natural world (and of “nat- ural” human artifacts like the railroad) coupled with reading of the clas- sics, of descriptive writing, and of philosophical reflection. By refounding life in daily and spiritual necessities, we can finally see nature for itself, without mediation, in its full complexity. This vision in turn enables a refounding of the self (and, by implication, of society). This self refounded on essentials can return safely to the quotidian world, for it can see reality Book Reviews 653 through the veils of cant and hypocrisy. More important, it can enact reality itself. There is for Thoreau a considerable heroism to this enactment, and the theme of heroism and nobility, strong in the opening pages (where it is tied to the misogyny—one can read Walden as a first essay in the 19th- century reinterpretation of masculinity), runs through the book like a flowing stream. Yet in the end, curiously, the hero is man the dreamer— the artist of Kouroo who strives after perfection, the woodsman who leaves the wood lest he fall into the slough of habit. Thoreau may have admired the captains of capitalism who had no need of Walden. But the artist is his ideal. Like many great books (the Bible is a good example), Walden is obsessed with place and time. It takes its name from a particular place, and the book itself is full of places: the woods, the groves, the village, the ponds and bays. It is also full of links between those places: the railroad track, the turnpike, the paths, the river. Everything in Walden is situated, placed. Indeed, this complexity of place is another device linking man and nature, for Thoreau maps nature by his constant analogies to human geography. But Thoreau’s interwoven geography pales beside his multilayered tem- porality. Walden runs on many times. These include linear times—the Walden sojourn itself, the life course of the individual, the long pattern of human history (seen in the cellar holes around Walden as well as in the much longer endurance of the classics), and beyond all these the vast course of geological and astronomical time. They include also cyclical times—the day, the week, the year, and the irregular rise and fall not only of the pond itself, but also of commercial establishments, of societies, and of peoples. In the midst of all this flow, however, the book focuses intensely on mere being, in which time does not pass at all. Indeed, to dwell in the present is to live at the intersection of the linear and the cyclical, “at the still point of the turning world.” All of these temporalities are run together. For example, the life course is identified with the round of seasons in the book’s very design: Walden begins with the censorious certainty of youth, and passes through work and maturity to its end in the calm of wisdom. “I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there,” Thoreau tells us calmly in the epilogue. For suddenly the idyll is over. “There is an incessant influx of novelty in the world, and yet we tolerate incredible dulness.” To stay at Walden would be to risk that dulness, “a cabin passage”; Thoreau wants to be “before the mast, and on the deck of the world.” (The pun on “cabin” is typical Thoreau; one can easily miss it, whereas the reference to Dana’s Two Years before the Mast leaps out to all who have read sea literature.) Beyond these themes of essentials and of space and time lies Thoreau’s central theme for sociologists: his idea of action. Much is written of Weber’s analysis of action. But Talcott Parsons would have done better to read Thoreau, who invites us to reflect on what exactly it is to “live deliberately.” What Thoreau leaves behind in Concord are his routines. American Journal of Sociology 654 He wishes to intend everything that he does, and to do this he must leave his habits and even his past experience behind, as he will leave his wood- land habits behind in the last pages of Walden. There is (that is, there ought to be) no one set of necessities; there is only the necessity of finding a new present and living in it fully and deliberately. This is true liberation. Although he read so much in the literatures of the East, Thoreau does not follow that literature in its pervasive commitment to inaction, much less to that suppression of desire central to Buddhism (although he does speak of “the inexpressible satisfaction of food in which appetite [has] no share”). He remains committed to a contemplative life, but he would not always contemplate the same things. He has a wish for new experience. It is an obsession with Thoreau that such experience be authentic, that it should involve only the necessities of the self, not false needs implanted by others nor action undertaken to please others nor mediation through any collective will. It is this point that makes Thoreau hard as sociology; few have seemed more insistently individualist. Thoreau’s idea of socia- bility is sitting with a visiting fisherman and not speaking (“Visitors”). Indeed language itself is a problem. He much appreciates the Canadian woodchopper who cannot put his thoughts into words; so much the better, thinks Thoreau, for then those thoughts are unbetrayed. Thoreau’s theme here is that for which Habermas would later become famous. It is not that Thoreau values society little. Rather the reverse. Society, he tells us, is too cheap. We should be more careful of it. Thoreau, that is, wants social life to be like the natural world, to be authentic. He presumes authenticity in nature itself and speaks throughout of the nat- uralness of certain human things: of architecture, of persons, of farms, of the very pond itself. Yet we who read him can see that such “naturalness” is not really “natural.” “The Ponds” hymns Walden’s purity and its place in the endless round of nature. These we too can see in the pond. But Walden is after all an insignificant kettle pond, the remnant of a melting block of glacier whose sand and gravel impurities became the porous bottom that Thoreau so admires. So when Thoreau tells us that “a lake . . . is earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature,” we begin to part company with him. We see that he is Don Quixote and that Walden, however tiny and plain, is his Dulcinea. Walden’s nature in all its purity and depth and complexity, above all in its rich symbolic panoply, is in fact the willed creation of Henry David Thoreau. And in this vision is society complete. Throughout the book, nature is itself a society: from ant wars to avian religious services to “piscine mur- der” to Waldensian pickerel. Thoreau is as much an outsider to societies of animals, plants, and inanimate nature as he is to the society of men. Yet nature, to Thoreau, is an honest society, and in that sense an ideal for the human one riven by deceptions and follies. In both kinds of so- cieties, Thoreau admires the deliberate actor: the animal that does what Book Reviews 655 it must, the pond that is what it is, the visitor who fishes in companionable silence. Even in commerce, he admires the bold and straightforward. Yet what is the aim of this action without illusion and deception, this contact with the necessities and realities? On this, Thoreau is much less clear. He is essentially contemplative, and his aim, in the end, is merely to see both nature and society for what they are. He knew full well—as sociologists should know—that seeing society for what it is inevitably means judging it. But in Walden at least, his moral program is completely negative: simplify life, shed illusions, minimize consumption, ignore fash- ion, and so on. These are the themes so many have taken from him. But his hymn to commerce suggests that he didn’t really believe this program. So also does the fact that he leaves Walden to return to the larger world. Indeed, one can imagine Thoreau writing a book like Walden about hu- man society. Hard Times, North and South, and Madame Bovary—all appearing within a year or two of Walden and none of them read by Thoreau—could all be taken as similarly single-minded meditations on the “natural” life of humans. As sociologists we are among the many inheritors of that literary tra- dition. And our aim, like Thoreau’s, is to see (social) life as it really is, to truly see it. This ties us to Thoreau’s program of “looking things in the eye,” of disillusionment (disenchantment was Weber’s word). But it also ties us to his view of that project as heroic and in some sense noble. And Thoreau ultimately turns the theme of disillusionment on its head; for him, seeing things as they are leads to reenchantment. The deliber- ateness with which Thoreau went to the woods, renouncing human il- lusion, becomes a deliberate imagination (i.e., a choice of illusion): “If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” For of course, even in the woods, we remain in society, the larger society of nature and the universe of which we are an insig- nificant—but to ourselves very interesting—part. Indeed, Thoreau leaves us not as the stoic and disillusioned Roman farmer of the opening pages, but as the Quixote in love with his own dream of a beautiful pond. “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost. That is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.” No better place to look for foundation stone than in Walden. Read it. You will not be disappointed. 
work_2xzrbq4obre5hdvvnooahllmhe	----	02_Todas_as_Letras_v18_n3.indd 131 Os diáriOs dO pOeta e artista plásticO Max Martins 131 Paulo Roberto Vieira* Resumo: Poeta e artista plástico, o paraense Max Martins (1926-2009, Belém- -PA) produziu 48 diários entre 1982 e 1999, cadernos que fundem, por meio da colagem, sua criação poética à plástica. Na esteira do conteúdo dos diários, em cópias fac-similadas, identifiquei as linhas de força natureza, amizade e erotis- mo. Este artigo visa dar mostra da arte de Max Martins, no tocante à plástica e à poesia que transfiguram sua vida. Palavras-chave: Max Martins. Diário. Poesia. IntroIto: Max MartIns e seus dIárIos1 ■ O poeta e artista plástico brasileiro Max Martins (1926-2009, Belém-PA) produziu 48 diários entre 1982 e 1999, cadernos que fundem, por meio da colagem, sua criação poética à plástica, configurando um universo de apropriações de imagens verbais e não verbais que se ligam à pa- lavra, na literatura, e aos eventos do cotidiano, nas representações plásticas. Na esteira do conteúdo dos diários, em cópias fac-similadas, identifiquei as li- nhas de força natureza, amizade e erotismo, analisadas à luz das invenções plásticas resultantes da confluência vida, poesia e imagem não verbal. Max Martins escreveu 11 livros, entre 1952 e 2001: O estranho (1952), Anti- -retrato (1960), H’Era (1971), O ovo filosófico (1975), Risco subscrito (1976), A fala entre parêntesis (1982), livro escrito com outro poeta, Age de Carvalho, Ca- minho de Marahu (1983), livro-pôster 60/35 (1986), Marahu poemas (1992) e Colmando a lacuna (2001). Os dois últimos iniciam, respectivamente, os ajunta- mentos da obra até agora, Não para consolar (1992) e Poemas reunidos (2001). * Universidade Federal do Pará (UFPA) – Altamira – PA – Brasil. E-mail: pauloforest@gmail.com LITERATURA PAulO ROBERtO ViEiRA tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 132 LITERATURA Encerra a fatura Para ter onde ir (1992). todavia, a partir de 1982, essa produ- ção amparou-se num gênero por meio do qual lhe era possível refletir e conjugar elementos do cotidiano e da arte. um lugar de guardar o que na vida se coleta, lê, vê, ouve, sente, fala e silencia: o diário. Philippe lejeune (2008, p. 260), ao reafirmar o diário como um “conjunto de registros do cotidiano datados”, põe em cena o caráter fragmentário e contingen- te desse tipo de relato de cunho testemunhal que capta porções, relevantes ou não, do dia a dia daquele que os escreve. No tocante às motivações que levam certos indivíduos a escrever nesses cadernos diariamente durante anos ou dé- cadas, são os próprios diaristas que nos dão a resposta; aqueles que represen- tam uma estranha multidão de vozes, pois o conteúdo que preenche e particu- lariza um diário é o que fundamenta a sua existência. A motivação está na essência do conjunto daquilo que foi redigido ao longo do tempo. O preenchimento das páginas em um diário indica, antes de tudo, que al- guém registra fatos no tempo de maneira peculiar. um diarista trata do mundo que o rodeia a partir de referencial conhecido, mas complexo – a sua própria existência. O resultado desse experimento traz como legado uma produção ex- tremamente rica e heterogênea. Nessa chave, os diários são o abrigo de relatos da vida que servem como fonte da experiência subjetiva e da história, além de manancial de recolhas do cotidiano que, no caso dos artistas, ligam-se ainda aos seus projetos. Assim, a arte plástica de Max nasce do envolvimento do poeta com o gênero confessional. Aferrado à miscelânea criadora que vai do remate dos diários à peleja da invenção poética, o artista produziu centenas de colagens, desenhos e pinturas, mesclados à escrita, nos seus cadernos do cotidiano. Entre outras funções, os diários ofereciam a ele a página amiga, cúmplice, extra, imprescin- dível ao poeta, e ao artista plástico se convertiam em ateliê no qual articulava figuras, objetos, tintas e palavras. Max Martins foi um poeta na Amazônia. Nela nasceu, viveu e morreu. Poeta “na” e não “da” Amazônia, posto que a sua poesia é díspar. Destoa das escritas regionalistas pelo tom e pela atitude perante o mundo e os indivíduos, sem, no entanto, desprezar a região – telúrica, orgânica – como meio de passagem ao universal. Dizendo de outra maneira, Max não escreveu a Amazônia, a Amazônia é que o escreveu. A essa apropriação cuidadosa dos elementos da terra liga-se a ver- ve erótica de sua poesia. Assim, molda-se a tônica do lirismo amoroso visível desde O estranho, livro de estreia em 1952, até Colmando a lacuna, em 2001, biodiversidade em clímax tropical associada a Eros pela trama de palavras e imagens. O poeta começou a escrever diários aos 56 anos. É de 1982 o mais antigo caderno e de 1999 o mais recente. Foram 48 diários produzidos. O artista dei- xou, em seu arquivo, um vultoso conjunto de manuscritos. Compõe-se a cole- ção, além dos diários, de mais de 20 cadernos de estudo e composição poética; de considerável soma de manuscritos avulsos de toda natureza; de vasta corres- pondência; e da marginália em sua biblioteca pessoal, aproximadamente dois mil títulos. O arquivo integral do poeta encontra-se, desde 2011, no acervo da universidade Federal do Pará (uFPA). Este artigo visa dar mostra da arte de Max 133 LITERATURA OS DiáRiOS DO POEtA E ARtiStA PláStiCO MAx MARtiNS tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 Martins, no tocante à plástica e à poesia que transfiguram a vida do escritor nos diários. LInhas de força e entrosaMentos nos dIárIos lejeune (2008) assinala que cada diarista se situa sem dificuldades nas formas de linguagem que lhe servem de “fôrmas” para as entradas e nunca mais as abandona. Cria, assim, uma identidade expressiva no gênero. A liber- dade que a página em branco do diário dá ao seu redator é pouco a pouco captada e se traduz em certas obsessões temáticas reforçadas pela regularida- de das formas. Nessa chave, três linhas de força conduzem os registros nos diários de Max Martins: erotismo, amizade e natureza. A última liga-se ao interesse do poeta pelo taoísmo, zen-budismo e pela poesia oriental – que procurou estudar e in- corporar à vida e à própria criação poética desde a juventude –, mas também ao seu ambiente natural, a floresta amazônica, representada nos diários pela praia de Marahu, onde Max ergueu sua cabana. A segunda linha temática nos cadernos transpõe as relações de amizade fir- madas ao longo da vida. As ligações amicais estimulam o acúmulo intensivo de registros, criando um tom por vezes melancólico, outras vezes alegre, ligado a partidas, chegadas e saudades. A alteridade, nessa chave, atravessa os diários e deles se apossa como espaço do outro. Finalmente, o erotismo representado nesses cadernos conflui à poesia de Max e às leituras dele. Com efeito, essa tría- de, em certa medida, dirige a escolha dos materiais externos coletados pelo dia- rista para as composições plásticas nos cadernos. Assim, natureza, amizade e erotismo formam o substrato da atividade plásti- ca nos cadernos de Max. Os diários tornam-se o ateliê e a galeria de exposições do artista que neles se move. Mas há ainda um movimento inverso – dos diários aos livros de poesia que o poeta publicou depois de se tornar diarista –, pois os temas e as imagens catalisados na criação plástica nos cadernos são atenta- mente avaliados e incorporados na poesia do “mestre-aprendiz” (NuNES, 2009)1. estreLas-guIas e coLagens Nos diários, a colagem é, para Max Martins, o caminho, a solução para fun- dir a criação do poeta à do artista plástico. Deve-se realçar que no universo das apropriações das imagens verbais ou não verbais nos diários, as que se ligam à palavra, na literatura, exprimem num primeiro plano as preferências do poeta. 1 “Max Martins: mestre-aprendiz” foi o título dado pelo crítico e filósofo Benedito Nunes à consagradora análise que realizou sobre o conjunto da obra de Max Martins. PAulO ROBERtO ViEiRA tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 134 LITERATURA Figura 1 – Quatro fólios dos diários, da esquerda para direita em sentido horário: (D44F0372 – 28 de outubro, 1997); (D13F054 – [? de janeiro], 1990); (D01F088 – 21 de julho, 1982); (D44F020 – [9 de outubro], 1997)3 São poetas, escritores, pintores, filósofos, atrizes, que constroem o panorama das leituras e apropriações literárias e plásticas de Max. Eles sobressaem nas imagens dos diários, ajudando a iluminar a história e a evolução da sua ativida- de poética e plástica, pois constituem opções conscientes e decisivas ao desen- volvimento do trabalho artístico dele. São as “estrelas-guias” pairando no uni- verso das suas representações, articuladas nas páginas dos cadernos de modo a indicar caminhos à originalidade plástica e poética. Nos diários, portanto, o artista mescla imagens verbais àquelas não verbais; por vezes, toma uma pela outra, funde-as, ao se expressar, num movimento de autoindagação, de buscas que configuram dispersão e atenção, conflito e fascínio. “Mente vazia, oficina do diabo”, diz o provérbio, muito pertinente, por analogia, quando nos detemos em um trecho de poema em prosa “Carta ao Age de Carva- lho”, presente na única antologia de seus poemas até o momento, O cadafalso, de 2001. No poema-carta, há uma reflexão em que o artista conjectura em favor da lida poética, algo que inviabiliza à sua existência a adequação do provérbio citado. Esta lida, pela vez dela, sugere-lhe outro rifão: mente vadia, oficina da poesia: Vivo pensando, pensar vagabundamente, poeticamente, penso nas palavras que se vão – o que quero agora? Desfazer-me das palavras, escrevendo-as, sem as sentir, a esmo, como não querendo nem tocá-las – no diário. Depois cato-as, escolho-as e nas palavras agrupadas posteriormente – dou-lhes a minha vida para que a minha vida seja delas. Do meu sangue morto, coagulado nessas palavras a esmo, intocadas, banho-as no meu sangue, no meu ser. Não quero 2 Neste artigo as chamadas das páginas fac-similadas dos diários de Max Martins seguem uma abreviatura de classificação, em que “D” e “F” significam “Diário” e “Fólio” e vêm acompanhados dos números que os determinam, seguidos de datação. 3 A figuras 1, 2 e 3, que integram este artigo, são imagens fac-similadas dos diários do poeta Max Martins, estudadas no período de meu doutorado na Universidade de São Paulo (USP), com apoio da Bolsa Fapesp, entre 2010 e 2014. A pesquisa foi autoriza- da pela família do poeta, falecido em 2009. 135 LITERATURA OS DiáRiOS DO POEtA E ARtiStA PláStiCO MAx MARtiNS tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 tirar de mim as palavras, não quero nelas o meu conteúdo, a minha biografia, posteriormente. Quero uns tempos nelas, não imediato, imediatamente, imedia- tista, citá-las (MARTINS, 2001a, p. 165-166). Escavação profunda na própria subjetividade, tal reflexão exibe a maneira quase solene de se apropriar das palavras; as imagens como força externa mo- tivadora do gesto criador, em que a coexistência com os vocábulos leva a uma relação orgânica e simbiótica. O mecanismo da arte mostra ao artista convivên- cia, demorada e produtiva, com as palavras, feito o trabalho das epífitas na flo- resta. O poeta, no diário, nutre sua poesia sem parasitar a fonte, quer apenas um tempo nas palavras – é hóspede delas – como as orquídeas que vivem nas árvores. Ao mesmo tempo é visível a busca de certa distância das palavras que, into- cadas, são “banhadas” no sangue dele, no seu ser. A distância que o artista pretende visa a uma aproximação futura, equilibrada, decisiva e consciente das palavras (e das imagens delas decorrentes), pois planeja para depois, no diário, catá-las, escolhê-las, agrupá-las, e a elas dar a própria vida. O poeta quer sua ontologia nas palavras, quer cultivá-las e ser parte delas. Esse extrato do poema, portanto, revela dois fatores-chave no processo cria- tivo de Max. Primeiro, indica uma das principais origens da economia verbal percebida na poesia dele. As palavras, vistas de longe, cultivadas, pedem a ele o tempo de se mostrarem. Em média, o intervalo entre a publicação dos livros de Max gira em torno de dez anos. Além disso, são obras de reduzido número de páginas; seus poemas reunidos, ao final de 50 anos de ofício ininterrupto, não chegam a 350 páginas. A segunda revelação importante nesse trecho de poema em prosa é o sentido central dos diários na manutenção da poesia: “Desfazer-me das palavras escre- vendo-as”, diz e conclui o poeta, “no diário”. Ali as palavras estão a salvo, para- doxalmente distantes do diarista e perto o suficiente para serem conquistadas, apreendidas e incorporadas ao “eu” que fala na poesia. Os diários de Max não possuem ilustrações: são registros plasmados na es- treita união da palavra com a plástica, que viceja na feliz fusão do desenho com a colagem. As palavras vêm na tinta de canetas esferográficas e hidrográficas; os desenhos, na mesma tinta, em lápis de cor e lápis-cera, pastel, ligando-se às colagens, presentes em quase todas as páginas. Nessa dinâmica, Max construiu, nos diários, traduções associativas que ex- pressam preferências pessoais, mas também aprofundam lições estéticas que envolvem, em certa medida, traços culturais das imagens verbais e não verbais associadas. Assim, Max baliza as tendências do seu projeto e, ao mesmo tempo, vê o pró- prio rosto espelhado nas constelações que organiza, pois há, nas escolhas – além da expressão da liberdade –, a construção e a consolidação da própria identidade, tendo em conta que a identidade se constrói por meio do diálogo com o “Outro”. Dessa maneira, as apropriações, em qualquer que for a língua ou linguagem, ocorrem numa dinâmica da autorreflexão – do pensar o próprio ser – não apenas por meio dos sentidos extraídos nas leituras e no ver, mas também pelos significados nascentes nas articulações entre verbal e não verbal. O fato de interessar-se por tudo como novidade, porém, é o ponto de partida da criação artística de Max Martins. E isso se dá como um regresso momentâneo PAulO ROBERtO ViEiRA tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 136 LITERATURA ao estado de infância, em que as minúcias do objeto mais simples inebriam o espírito. Baudelaire (2006, p. 856), em O pintor da vida moderna, afirma: “Nada se parece tanto com o que chamamos inspiração quanto a alegria com que a criança absorve a forma e a cor”. Se, no adulto, a razão ocupa espaços conside- ráveis da vida, na criança, a sensibilidade rege quase toda a existência. um ar- tista que de tudo se ocupava com uma curiosidade infantil em estreita aliança com a imaginação, eis o traço biográfico chave por trás do encantamento que esses diários proporcionam. Preocupação central nos diários de Max – que abar- ca todas as demais preocupações –, a colagem foi, para ele, o ambiente perfeito à articulação criadora envolvendo literatura e imagem não verbal, confissão e segredo, palavra e objeto, mundo “real” e mundos imaginados. Figura 2 – Três fólios dos diários, da esquerda para direita em sentido horário: (D32F010 – [? de agosto], 1994); (D32F071 – [? de setembro], 1994); (D32F005 – [? de agosto], 1994) erotIsMo Por meio da carnalidade, as imagens nos versos de Max Martins reconfigu- ram a natureza – que assume um porte transcendental –, em que metáforas trazem à tona todos os entrelaçamentos da linguagem e do sexo que o poeta articula. Contudo, ao dissecar essa poética, Benedito Nunes (2009, p. 353) es- clarece que, nela, “vislumbra-se uma indecisão no regime das imagens e uma oscilação na consolidada conivência de Eros e Poiesis, que denunciam uma cri- se do pessimismo trágico”. Num gesto criativo, o poeta situa tal lirismo quando escreve, no livro H’Era, os versos: “Este rio enorme, paul de cobras/ onde afinal boiei e enverdeci/ amei/ 137 LITERATURA OS DiáRiOS DO POEtA E ARtiStA PláStiCO MAx MARtiNS tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 e apodreci” (MARtiNS, 1971, p. 20). Na poesia de Max, essa crise culmina numa espécie de degradação não apenas do corpo, mas também do ser, à força de um contraditório apodrecimento; de uma decomposição orgânica. todavia, a auto- degradação tende não à extinção, mas à reintegração tortuosa, autoaniquilante e difusa ao ambiente da natureza. O erotismo é sempre uma convocação à vida, pois simula compleição de eter- nidade nas ações que, contraditoriamente, entram em declínio e se mostram fugazes após o ápice extático. No caderno, o diarista quer cristalizar a ideia da carne e da sedução como beleza e motivo perenes da poesia e da existência. As- sim, as articulações eróticas nos diários de Max Martins servem de simulacros à sobrevivência do corpo diante da incontornável consumação desse mesmo corpo. Nessa poesia, a ação é concebida em termos corporais e vegetais, pelos quais se aprecia a sexualização da natureza e a naturalização do erotismo. É uma poesia cíclica, muito ligada à fertilidade, na representação de Eros e tam- bém de Gaia, posto que uma poética de desejo e de terra. Nessa conjugação entre o mundo vegetal e o erotismo da poesia, os diários de Max tornaram-se o ambiente da comunhão entre a esfera carnal e a esfera espi- ritual, que tende ao aniquilamento. Nesses cadernos, a poesia serve de manan- cial do pensamento, e o mundo ali representado frequentemente traz as marcas de um lirismo desolador. O diarista, por meio do manejo de representações femininas e imagens ver- bais, alude ao prazer ligando-o ao ato escritural e plástico. Assim, no plano do diário o poeta simula um mundo erotizado, em que o eu lírico da poesia – como as mulheres representadas – também se “expõe”, mas procurando, frequente- mente, revelar os anseios do eu do diarista. todavia, isso configura a busca do entendimento do prazer e da função das obsessões. O diário passa, em certa medida, a representar o lugar de experimentação de formas líricas e eróticas e de reflexões íntimas que mesclam passagens da vida e pensamento poético. Sabe-se que é função da arte poética simular o improvável. Na ilustração valo- rizada por meio de imagens, a poesia, por vezes, oferece aquilo que nos é vedado ter. Arte de revelar ocultando e de ocultar revelando, a poesia tem por mecanismo fazer-nos almejar algo para, num corte, nos abandonar na ausência do apenas pressentido. todavia, “o papel é um espelho” (lEJEuNE, 2008, p. 236). Essa me- táfora de lejeune, referindo-se aos diários e seus redatores, ajuda a destacar os cadernos como espaço da introspecção, análise e conhecimento do eu. Nessa di- nâmica, os jogos representados por meio da referência ao erotismo nos diários de Max são ainda espelhos paradoxalmente turvos da existência porque, como a poesia, simulam o alcance do improvável e lançam o diarista – sob disfarce – ao centro das obsessões e dos desejos, talvez, inatingíveis. Nos diários, a arte erótica veicula – sob a égide fálica ligada ao corpo feminino – o trabalho reflexivo do diarista com a matéria da poesia. Com efeito, Eros está no centro das tramas plásticas e da linguagem, enquanto o poeta diarista simu- la ambientes de encantamento que no fundo exprimem desencantos líricos. A relação de Max com essas palavras e imagens nos diários é tão contemplativa quanto ativa e as articulações resultantes são atos plásticos que, por vezes, constituem um conflito de atitudes. Assim, o eu dos diários se faz personagem nesses arranjos que fundem testemunhos, confissões, imagens, palavras, o que alivia, nessas projeções e transfigurações, a dor do sujeito real que tenta se es- gueirar nas páginas. PAulO ROBERtO ViEiRA tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 138 LITERATURA Figura 3 – Fólios dos diários (D43F007 – 2 de agosto, 1997) natureza, a cabana Sabe-se que Max Martins começou a aventura de escrever diários em 1982. Entretanto, como vimos, erotismo e natureza já coexistiam e se combinavam na poesia dele desde o início, em meados de 1950. Mas qual a essência dessa na- tureza que o diarista relaciona ao erotismo nos versos e nos diários? Na leitura da poesia publicada e dos cadernos, vê-se ainda que a tônica da natureza incor- porada se liga intimamente ao gosto pelos haicais e ao estudo do taoísmo e do zen-budismo, realizado pelo poeta desde a juventude, mas também se vincula ao seu próprio ambiente natural – a floresta amazônica – nos diários e na poesia representada pela praia de Marahu. Assim, Marahu, distante cerca de 70 quilômetros de Belém, no Pará, tornou- -se o principal cenário do entrosamento entre logos e Eros na poesia de Max Martins. Os reflexos das estadias do poeta na praia não demoraram a se tradu- zir em versos. Em 1983, é publicado Caminho de Marahu, que traz os primeiros poemas de beira-rio, e, em 1986, o livro-pôster 60/35 – 60 anos de vida e 35 de poesia – que, em admirável arranjo, associa poemas a fotografias de Max na praia4. Mas o vigor desse ambiente se fez manifesto ainda nos livros ulteriores, Para ter onde ir, em 1992, Marahu poemas – seleção de inéditos que inicia a pri- meira reunião dos poemas de Max, Não para consolar, nesse mesmo ano – e, por fim, a parte Colmando a lacuna, abrindo Poemas reunidos, em 2001. Passei uma época muito ligado ao zen-budismo, ao taoísmo. As melhores leitu- ras que tive foi ao ler as anedotas, os paradoxos zen-budistas. Aprendi que o 4 O projeto gráfico do livro-pôster 60/35 é do poeta e designer Age de Carvalho e as fotografias de Octávio Cardoso. 139 LITERATURA OS DiáRiOS DO POEtA E ARtiStA PláStiCO MAx MARtiNS tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 melhor que temos a fazer é fazer o que devemos fazer. Não ir para o lado esquer- do, não ir para o lado direito, mas caminhar passo-a-passo para frente (MAR- TINS, 1999). Devo, neste ponto, recapitular elementos desses caminhos filosóficos de Max Martins, para melhor compreensão deles. Nascido no Oriente, o budismo busca difundir os ensinamentos de Siddhartha Gautama, o Buda, que viveu entre os séculos Vi e iV a.C. Por sua vez, Zen é uma prática religiosa que consiste na meditação contemplativa de autoinstrução e autoconhecimento, por meio da observação da própria mente. Meditar é seguir a respiração, abrir-se ao vazio, deixar-se longe de aflições e ansiedades, acalmar-se, numa tentativa de se eva- dir dos conflitos ao encerrar a ação do pensamento. Outros ensinamentos de tradição chinesa, que abarcam a filosofia, a religião e a poesia, estão no taoísmo. trata-se, sobretudo, de um modo de ver a vida como caminho que se abre à natureza. Seus ensinamentos foram condensados em Tao-Té-Ching – o livro do caminho perfeito (lAO-tSÉ, 1973), cuja autoria é atribuída a lao-tsé, personagem lendário, que teria vivido entre 570-490 a.C. A obra compõe-se de máximas e aforismos que buscam interpretar o mundo e os homens com o propósito de uni-los e envolvê-los numa atmosfera harmônica e de profunda compreensão. tao é o caminho perfeito. Para o taoísmo, essa palavra é intraduzível. Expres- são do constante movimento do universo. É algo intangível, inexplicável. Para entendê-lo, é preciso colocar-se em sintonia com ele, senti-lo. A melhor imagem que pode talvez ilustrar o caminho perfeito é a da linha que oferece a menor resistência entre dois pontos. Com efeito, tao é o movimento dos astros celestes, o pipilar dos pássaros, o correr do rio na terra, o percurso que as gotas de chuva traçam após tocarem a copa das árvores, deslizando pelas folhas, pecíolos, galhos, aproveitando as ra- nhuras dos fustes para alcançar a “receptiva terra”5 (MARtiNS, 1990, p. 11), depois de percorrer um caminho que reflete com sabedoria o menor esforço. Além de se interessar pelos ensinamentos orientais desde a juventude, Max também leu Auden (tHOREAu, 2010), do poeta anarquista e naturalista norte- -americano Henry David thoreau (1817-1862). Ao propor um retorno à vida simples, essa obra autobiográfica contém tanto uma declaração de autoinde- pendência quanto uma experiência social, que configura uma viagem de desco- bertas espirituais. Em 1845, thoreau retirou-se para a floresta, inspirado na filosofia de Confúcio – contemporâneo de lao-tsé. Ainda no que concerne a Auden, é preciso dizer que a atitude de thoreau perante o mundo faz lembrar, em certa medida, a de outro poeta, igualmente anarquista e norte-americano, que conviveu com Max e seu grupo em Belém no início dos anos 1950: Robert Stock, o Homem da Matinha, como era conhecido, porque morava em uma choupana de chão batido, no antigo bairro assim deno- minado. Essa convivência intelectual, que durou cerca de três anos, marcou profundamente a poesia de Max. Assim, thoreau e Stock, ambos “from USA”, pela atitude anticonsumista e des- prendimento material perante o mundo, princípios fundadores da “beat genera- tion” – gérmen do movimento “hippie” –, coadunam com o desapego em favor do 5 Verso do poema “Ascensão”. PAulO ROBERtO ViEiRA tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 140 LITERATURA espírito professado nos ensinamentos de Buda, lao-tsé e Confúcio. insira-se ain- da, na poção da alquímica experiência de Max Martins, o seu estudo do oráculo chinês, uma das faces do milenar I Ching, o livro das mutações (WilHElM, 1956). Essa relação evidencia-se, com maior rigor, no livro Para ter onde ir (1992), inteiramente escrito segundo as regras do jogo ritual, que consiste na formula- ção de perguntas ao oráculo. O poeta entregou os sentidos ao acaso, interessado nas revelações proporcionadas pelo i Ching com sua linguagem simbólica, não verbalizada, que se relaciona à manifestação do inconsciente. Nos diários, como na poesia, o desejo surge como ânsia de complementação do eu. trata-se de um processo compensatório, em que o diarista se projeta na- quilo que almeja. Está constantemente sugando aquilo que deseja e não alcan- ça. Nessa dinâmica, os ensinamentos do tao parecem atuar no entendimento das virtudes do desapego, da inação, que leva ao equilíbrio e à autossuficiência. O diarista conjugava esses elementos nas articulações nos cadernos visando alcançar uma continuidade de consciência à vida cotidiana. aMIzade nos dIárIos No tocante às relações de amizade, o diário de Max serve como espaço da alteridade, conjugada ao inelutável pensamento sobre a solidão e a velhice, bem como, e paradoxalmente, à reflexão sobre a conquista de uma espécie de segun- da juventude vivida e celebrada na velhice. isso porque a década de 1980 confi- gura para Max, adentrando os “sessenta anos-sonhos” (MARtiNS, 1992, p. 19)6, o momento da plena maturidade pessoal associada à juventude dos novos ami- gos que o rodeiam e admiram. A amizade não possui uma denotação objetiva, é algo “transcendente” que significa simplesmente o ser. Assim, no ensaio O amigo aventa o filósofo Giorgio Agamben (2009, p. 92): Os amigos não condividem algo, (um nascimento, um lugar, uma lei, um gosto) eles são com-divididos pela experiência da amizade. A amizade é a condivisão que precede toda divisão, porque aquilo que há para repartir é o próprio fato de existir, a própria vida. Assim, configura-se uma espécie de partilha sem objetos. Portanto, nos diá- rios, a experiência do prazer, da alegria e da felicidade proporcionadas no con- vívio daqueles amigos, por vezes, estava justamente em ser com o outro. [...] Marcinha carinhosa, terna, dadivosa. O trio feliz: / eu, ela, Age. Identidade, afetividade. Doces em nossas sensibi- / lidades. Os três quase um só. União. A palavra para os / três hoje no café foi: HARMONIA. Comunhão de carências. / Alegrias íntimas. Bebemos, comemos. Os três lírica- / mente bêbados. Os cora- ções livres, libertos da / alienação do dia-a-dia e plenos de uma comunhão / fraterna de nossos eus. No café a / nossa solidão, a querida solidão a três, um só egoísmo / - os três em um, desligados de todo o resto do pessoal / ali. Cada um de nós voltado unicamente / para nossa harmonia. Mesmo quando faláva- mos / dos outros, de outras pessoas, ou de fatos do “outro / mundo”. Só nos interessava o som de nossas vozes, um / para o outro. Entre nós não havia a mínima / distância, nenhuma ponte. / A distância, as individualidades tinha / 6 Verso do poema “O caldeirão”. 141 LITERATURA OS DiáRiOS DO POEtA E ARtiStA PláStiCO MAx MARtiNS tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 sido absorvidas, naturalmente. Algumas horas / raras de nossas vidas. Bonito. / Da para acreditar na vida. Que valeu a / pena termos e estarmos vivos. / Lépidos e levemente bêbados na madrugada / cambaleávamos em flor pela avenida. / estávamos abençoados pela terna / compreensão da noite, da natu- reza inocente / e feliz (D09F098 – 23 de dezembro de 1988). Para Max Martins, as amizades são dignas de memórias e o diário é para onde elas confluem. No Diálogo sobre a amizade, de Cícero (1930, p. 15), em que o filósofo discute a fundo as relações amicais no seu tempo, o narrador, lélio, diz do amigo Cipião (o Africano), que perdera para a morte: “a lembrança da nossa amizade é para mim tão grata, que tenho por felicidade o viver por haver vivido com Cipião”. Max, nesse trecho de diário, refletindo o encontro daquela noite no café, ex- pressa um sentimento que, de certa maneira, corresponde ao de lélio, mas, no caso do poeta, a mesma plena compreensão dos sentidos da amizade aparece enquanto ele ainda está junto dos seus – “Dá para acreditar na vida. Que valeu a / pena termos e estarmos vivos. / lépidos e levemente bêbados na madrugada / cambaleávamos em flor pela avenida”. Nos diários de Max Martins, para além dos processos de criação poética e das articulações plásticas que se entrosam e ressignificam o cotidiano nas páginas, o diarista coloca as amizades sobre todas as conivências da vida, porque sabe que nada é tão conforme à natureza, nem tão a propósito para os casos favorá- veis ou adversos da existência quanto as relações amicais. Norberto Bobbio (1997) reflete acerca do significado da vida ao observá-la da senescência, aos 87 anos, em O tempo da memória: de Senectute e outros escritos autobiográficos. Contemplando o próprio passado, Bobbio (1997, p. 18) lembra que, psicologicamente, sempre se considerou um pouco velho, mesmo quando jovem, e vice-versa: “Fui velho quando era jovem e quando velho ainda me con- siderava jovem até há poucos anos”. O filósofo italiano reitera que exercem importância determinante sobre esses estados de ânimo as circunstâncias históricas, aquilo que acontece à nossa vol- ta, tanto na vida privada como na vida pública. Deve-se dizer que o começo da velhice para Max Martins trouxe, além do apuro nas memórias de fatos relevan- tes – contraditoriamente cada vez mais longe, no passado – um inesperado acontecimento: novos e decisivos amigos cheios de mocidade. Assim falava Zaratustra: “Eu e Mim estão sempre em conversação demasiado veemente. Como poderia suportar isso se não houvesse um amigo?” (NiEtZS- CHE, 2007, p. 83). Porque nos traz o lastro e a carga da maior parte da existência já transcorrida, na velhice pode-se aspirar desconhecidos ares em novos amigos que – para além dos entes já consagradas no tempo –, jovens, transpiram frescor, avidez, confiança e curiosidade naquilo que ainda desconhecem da vida. todavia, não se trata simplesmente de “aquele” completar “neste” alguma lacuna, ou de um tomar para si parte da carga que o outro acumulou nos anos e décadas. Nietzsche (2007) afirma que o amigo é sempre o terceiro, quer dizer, aquele que significa a válvula impedindo os outros de se abismarem nas profun- didades. Esse terceiro tem vida própria, está fora dos amigos dos quais provém. Assim, a amizade pode ser entendida como algo externo que os amigos devem alimentar e manter, qual seja, a própria relação. A amizade, portanto, não per- tence nem a um nem a outro, mas respira entre eles. PAulO ROBERtO ViEiRA tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 142 LITERATURA Na senilidade pode surgir a melancolia subentendida como consciência do não realizado e do não mais realizável. Essa melancolia é suavizada nos afetos que o tempo não consumiu (BOBBiO, 1997). Se a velhice dura pouco, é justa- mente por isso que nasce um sentimento de urgência. Associa-se o medo de a estrada estar perto do fim à esperança de prolongá-la, de ir além, de alcançar outras paragens. “O tempo acumulando-se sobre os ombros pesa”, mas, incan- sável, o poeta quer seguir adiante: Tanta coisa para fazer /O TEMPO / acumulan- / do-se sobre / os meus om- / bros PESA, / pesa prá / caralho. / tantos livros / novos para / ler. / O universo / é mais / maior do / que eu / pensava. / Ir ali, / acolá, / fazer, / providenciar tais e tais coisas, amar, / não-amar. E não esquecer nada. / Tudo tem de estar na ponta dos / dedos, na ponta da língua. / Meu Deus! São tantas as coisas / a pensar, pensar, dizer, silenciar, anotar para lembrar. / Este trem veloz, velocíssimo / que me leva rápido, rápido / para... para NUNCA MAIS... / fatos, coisas, imagens / afagos, beijos, poemas, / encontros ACABANDO / de repente. Age já se / foi há uma semana, Aonde vamos parar? / Preciso adiar-me, / desfiar mais as estações / viver um pouco / mais devagar / A cabana passou? Está parali- / zada. Um novo livro de / poemas também tem pressa. / É urgente escrever – Rápido / para o Jim, Rose Estela, / Margaret, Márcia, enviar meus livros para Ute Hermann / beijar Rose Risueño, ir à Estrela (D41F006 e F007 – 29 de agosto de 1996). Nessa última passagem do caderno, Max Martins ainda se indaga e se com- preende, mas já não se disfarça. Agarra-se ao diário e às representações da al- teridade – que nele cultivou por cerca de 20 anos – e procura extrair daí a força, a coragem e o ânimo para continuar a jornada da existência. O poeta se pergun- ta ainda, “A cabana passou?”, e logo responde, “Está paralisada”. Benedito Nu- nes (2012, p. 319), amigo fundamental e melhor intérprete do poeta com quem compartilhou a juventude e a velhice, diz da poesia de Max algo que se pode aplicar também aos seus diários: “as vivências passadas, as lembranças parti- culares, transformam-se em episódios de uma só anamnese confundida com o ato de escrever”. Assim, enquanto o mestre aprendiz confessa no diário as saudades de Ma- rahu, da cabana – que representa a natureza e a evasão; o escape do tempo opressor –, transmite ainda uma autossondagem existencial que revela a trans- corrência e a proximidade do fim de uma vida que experimentou plenitude e verdade, uma existência paradoxalmente deslocada e, com todas as forças, agarrada ao “mundo real”. the notebooks of the poet and artIst Max MartIns Abstract: Max Martins, poet and artist from Belem do Para, Brazil, was born in 1926 and died in 2009. He wrote/illustrated 48 journals between 1982 and 1999, notebooks filled with collages, a source for his poetic and pictorial creations. using the actual notebooks and some digital facsimiles, i sought to classify and organize the material. three central themes emerged: the power of Nature, Friendship, and Eroticism. this article shows how Max Martins transformed his life into art from the pictures and the poetry in the notebooks. Keywords: Max Martins. Notebooks. Poetry. 143 LITERATURA OS DiáRiOS DO POEtA E ARtiStA PláStiCO MAx MARtiNS tODAS AS lEtRAS, São Paulo, v. 18, n. 3, p. 131-143, set./dez. 2016 http://dx.doi.org/10.5935/1980-6914/letras.v18n3p131-143 referêncIas AGAMBEN, G. O que é contemporâneo e outros ensaios. tradução Vinícius Nicastro Honesko. Santa Catarina: Argos, 2009. BAuDElAiRE, C. Poesia e prosa. tradução ivan Junqueira. Rio de Janeiro: Nova Aguilar, 2006. BOBBiO, N. O tempo da memória: de Senectute e outros escritos autobiográfi- cos. tradução Daniela Versiani. Rio de Janeiro: Campus, 1997. CÍCERO, M. t. Diálogo sobre a amizade. tradução José Perez. São Paulo: Cul- tura Moderna, 1930. lAO-tSÉ. Tao-Té-Ching – o livro do caminho perfeito. tradução Murilo Nunes de Azevedo. Rio de Janeiro: Civilização Brasileira, 1973. lEJEuNE, P. O pacto autobiográfico: de Rousseau à internet. tradução Jovita M. G. Noronha. Belo Horizonte: Editora uFMG, 2008. MARtiNS, M. H’Era. Rio de janeiro: Saga, 1971. MARtiNS, M. Para ter onde ir. São Paulo: Augusto Massi e Massao Ohno, 1990. MARtiNS, M. O jardim zen de Max Martins. Belém, mar. 1999. Entrevista con- cedida a Ney Paiva. Disponível em: <http://hospiciomoinhodosventos.blogspot. com.br>. Acesso em: 10 jan. 2013. MARtiNS, M. O cadafalso. Belém: Cão Guia, 2001a. MARtiNS, M. Poemas reunidos (1952-2001). Belém: Cejup, 2001b. NiEtZSCHE, F. Assim falava Zaratustra. tradução Mário Ferreira dos Santos. Rio de Janeiro: Vozes, 2007. NuNES, B. A clave do poético. São Paulo: Companhia das letras, 2009. NuNES, B. Do Marajó ao arquivo: breve panorama da cultura no Pará. Belém: Secult-PA, EDuFPA, 2012. tHOREAu, H. D. Auden. tradução Denise Bottmann. Rio de Janeiro: l&PM Pocket, 2010. WilHElM, R. (Org.). I Ching, o livro das mutações. tradução Alayde Mutzenbe- cher e Gustavo Alberto Corrêa Pinto. São Paulo: Pensamento, 1956. Recebido em setembro de 2015. Aprovado em novembro de 2016. 
work_2zxxwlw23rejpju2qrb44uvkmi	----	"They don't understand their own oppression": Complicating Preservation in John Rechy's The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez "They don't understand their own oppression": Complicating Preservation in John Rechy's The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez David J. Vázquez Arizona Quarterly: A Journal of American Literature, Culture, and Theory, Volume 74, Number 1, Spring 2018, pp. 17-43 (Article) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 01:59 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/arq.2018.0001 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/687663 https://doi.org/10.1353/arq.2018.0001 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/687663 Arizona Quarterly Volume 74, Number 1, Spring 2018 • issn 0004-1610 Copyright © 2018 by Arizona Board of Regents David J. Vázquez “They don’t understand their own oppression:” Complicating Preservation in John Rechy’s The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez Introduction Since its publication in 1991, John Rechy’s The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez has been the subject of a number of critical treatments, ranging from the novel’s borderlands ethos (Saldívar), to the challenges it poses to an unproblematic Catholic spirituality (Kevane), to its echoes of Modernist form (Aldama) emotional, and narrational ingre- dients (that is, the subject matter and the formal traits). To this point, however, little attention has been paid to how The Miraculous Day rep- resents relationships between environment, race, and the transnational dimensions of urban space. Rechy’s representations of Chicana/o barrios in El Paso, Hollywood, and East LA underscore how space is controlled and abstracted to disenfranchise the novel’s eponymous protagonist, particularly as an effect of neoliberal discourses that co-opt grassroots resistance like the Chicano Movement.1 As José David Saldívar ob- serves, Rechy’s “liminal cultural critiques have been more accurate and politically perceptive than mainline postmodern realists and urban planners” (Saldívar 97). Indeed, the novel represents and comments on state efforts to enforce social hierarchies through historical preservation and neoliberal urban renewal policies, especially those emerging out of conflicting transnational spaces like Los Angeles. In the face of state attempts to control and racialize space, critics like Raúl Homero Villa and Mary Pat Brady point out that Chicana/ os mobilize home-grown cultural affirmation and preservation projects designed to counter spatial marginalization. Yet these efforts to valo- rize the space of the barrio sometimes have paradoxical results: they 18 David J. Vázquez uncritically memorialize the Chicano Movement and affirm patriar- chal culture and compulsory heterosexuality. What’s more, state and municipal authorities have not been complacent in the face of grass- roots resistance. Indeed, part of the logic of neoliberal urban policy is to co-opt features of grassroots activism—most notably cultural productions like the murals and public art that are ubiquitous in the novel. The primary vectors of these representations are the ironic por- trayals of preservation schemes Amalia encounters as she traverses her “decaying” (Rechy 3) neighborhoods. These preservation schemes range from Chicana/o nationalist murals to state-sponsored infrastruc- ture projects like earthquake retrofitting and historical restoration that disempower and marginalize subjects who, like Amalia, occupy the lower rungs of the social hierarchy. Although Rechy is known for his semi-autobiographical novels such as City of Night and The Sexual Outlaw that chronicle urban, gay experiences, The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez is his only novel told from the perspective of an urban Mexican American woman.2 The Miraculous Day recounts a single day in the protagonist’s life. Upon waking after a disturbing evening where she experiences a traumatic sexual humiliation, Amalia sees—or at least thinks she sees—a silver cross in the sky. While Rechy never confirms its materiality, Amalia embarks on a journey through Hollywood to determine the miracu- lous meaning of the cross—all while keeping the memory of her sex- ual encounter at bay. As her expedition unfolds, we see flashbacks that detail a lifetime of humiliations, including multiple rapes, abusive rela- tionships, traumatic pregnancies, gang violence, omnipresent garbage, and the truth of the aforementioned sexual humiliation at the hands of a coyote (or smuggler who assists in the transit of undocumented immigrants), ironically named Angel. Even though Amalia’s abjection replicates her existential frustration for the reader, the novel culminates in several important realizations. Among these is the fact that her lover Raynaldo has sexually assaulted her daughter Gloria, that her son Juan is gay, and that her eldest son Manny has committed suicide. Amalia realizes that she too has been an agent of oppression in her denial of her children’s pain, her refusal to resist her and their marginalization, and in her dismissal of an undocumented Salvadoran boy who is in a relationship with Juan. To the extent that there is hope in the novel, it comes through Amalia’s final rejection and literal throwing off of an John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 19 assailant who holds her at gunpoint at a Beverly Hills mall. It is at this point that Amalia sees an apparition of La Virgen de Guadalupe, who, as Saldívar points out, paradoxically serves as a symbol of empowering change, despite the difficulties she experiences at the hands of Catholic priests, the intrusive image of another figuration of Mary (La Dolorosa/ Our Lady of Sorrow), and Amalia’s own self-righteous mother, Teresa (Saldívar 121). While Amalia’s abjection and inability to act as an agent in her own empowerment challenge the reader’s empathy, Rechy’s depictions emphasize how space in the barrio overdetermines Amalia’s and her family’s life chances. Referring to spatial relations in Chicana/o com- munities, Mary Pat Brady argues that the “processes of producing space, however quotidian or grand, hidden or visible, have an enormous effect on subject formation—on the choices people can make and how they conceptualize themselves, each other, and the world” (7–8). Brady’s point sheds light on Amalia’s struggles for agency, particularly as they apply to her movement through urban space. Ranging from the physical traces of gang violence to the crumbling buildings relegated to destruc- tion due to a lack of earthquake retrofitting, the spaces that Amalia inhabits in the novel often render her and her fellow barrio denizens marginal. These representations and others demonstrate how The Mirac- ulous Day posits the space of the barrio as a location where conflicting social relations are mediated, including those that encompass aspects of the transnational. The mediation of these conflicting relations often comes through Amalia’s encounters with preservation schemes and figures that range from Chicano Movement murals to environmental activists. Regardless of whether they are Chicano Movement efforts to resist dominant power relations or applications of state power enacted by government officials, authority figures of all kinds silence and mar- ginalize Amalia as she traverses the barrio. Ecocriticism, the Transnational, a n d the Politics of Urban Preservation During the past two decades, ecocritical and Latina/o studies schol- ars have engaged in conversations designed to illuminate the environ- mental stakes of Chicana/o and Latina/o literature—a trend replicated in conversations between environmental studies and other ethnic American literary and cultural traditions.3 Texts like Helena María 20 David J. Vázquez Viramontes’s Under the Feet of Jesus, Ana Castillo’s So Far from God, and Rudolfo Anaya’s Bless Me Ultima, as well as numerous treatments of African American, Native American, and Asian American literature and cultural productions, have garnered importance within ecocritical and environmental justice conversations.4 Along with interest in Lati- na/o texts among ecocritics, a growing group of Latina/o studies scholars is exploring environmental representations in Latina/o and Chicana/o literature and cultural productions.5 These engagements with Latina/o literature and culture tend to focus on rural and agrarian issues—in part due to the nature writing and pastoral traditions in environmental stud- ies and the expansive natural images that appear in Latina/o texts set in agrarian and rural locations. The Miraculous Day participates in a parallel history of Latina/o environmental literature that departs from rural and agrarian represen- tations. Rechy’s novel and others like it are set in urban environments and encounter issues such as toxicity, access to affordable housing,6 and transportation security that underlie much environmental activism in cities. The Miraculous Day can thus be read alongside works that docu- ment urban Latina/o experiences such as Viramontes’s Their Dogs Came With Them, Junot Díaz’s The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Piri Thomas’s Down These Mean Streets, Ernesto Quiñonez’s Bodega Dreams and Chango’s Fire, Ron Arias’s The Road to Tamazunchale, and Mario Acevedo’s X-Rated Blood Suckers. The majority of the Latina/o population in the United States lives in and around major metropolitan areas. According to the 2010 Census, 62.7 percent of all US residents live in cities, a measure that expands to 80.7 percent when one considers people who live in associated met- ropolitan areas. These demographic trends are more attenuated in rela- tion to Latina/o populations, who, as Mike Davis observes “are heavily concentrated in the twenty largest [US] cities, with Los Angeles and New York alone accounting for almost one-third of the national Span- ish-surname population” (Davis 7). A 2013 report authored for the Pew Research Center reinforces this data, finding that 44 percent of the nation’s Latina/o population now reside in the 10 largest metropolitan areas, including Los Angeles, New York, Miami, Houston, Chicago, Phoenix, and San Antonio (Brown and Lopez). This data illuminates the fact that Latina/os’ and other people of color’s experiences are cen- tered in the urban. John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 21 It should be unsurprising, then, that Latina/o urban environments figure prominently in cultural productions produced by and about Latina/os. Texts like The Miraculous Day question the foundations of environmentalism and its impulses toward abstract preservation. As Priscilla Ybarra observes, “much of Chicana/o literature .  .  . testifies to alternative, decolonial environmentalisms evident within Mexican American culture” (20). These ideas do not suggest that taking action to rectify environmental harm is misguided; on the contrary, because “Mexican Americans remain the people for whom environmental deg- radation is most relevant because they are among the most vulnerable to the consequences of environmental destruction” (16), preserving the natural environment is a primary ethical imperative within Chi- cana/o literature and culture. Ybarra makes a case for understanding how environmental crises like climate change, sea-level rise, and deforestation require remedies that take seriously issues of resource allocation and preservation—and that also consider processes of race, racialization, and the legacies of colonialism. Chicana/o environmen- tal thinking thus functions as an untapped resource that articulates inventive ways to think about environmental issues such as space, place, and preservation. Flowing from Ybarra’s suggestion, it is important to imagine alter- native hermeneutics for understanding Latina/o environmental writing. Texts like Rechy’s are not so much contesting, ignoring, or conforming to traditional environmental aesthetics as they are exhibiting genera- tive antagonism toward conventional ideas about environmentalism, urban space, and the transnational. Generative antagonism suggests an engagement with these ideas that interrogates, contests, validates, and revises. It is not that writers like Rechy reject the terms of environmen- talism, urban space, or the transnational. Instead, generative antag- onists seek to problematize issues of power, even as they corroborate and validate progressive acts of environmental, racial, gender, and sex- ual resistance within multiple transnational and translocal contexts.7 Given the importance of environmental crises like climate change, ocean acidification, and exposure to toxic chemicals, it is logical that authors imaginatively respond to these threats in their work. The generative antagonism offered by authors like Rechy calls out regres- sive power dynamics, even as they validate and champion progressive aspects of multiple struggles. 22 David J. Vázquez Implicit to the function of generative antagonism is the role the transnational plays in the construction and preservation of contem- porary cities—especially mega cities like Los Angeles that have been central to urban studies during the past four decades. Michael Peter Smith argues that contemporary theorizations of cities posit a false dichotomy between the local and global.8 He emphasizes instead the interrelated aspects of the “temporally and spatially particular, socially constructed relations of power and meaning” that locate the transna- tional or global on the ground in all of their messy detail. For Smith, migration to and from Latin America has been critical to the forma- tion of resistance networks from below. As such, he understands resis- tance to both local forms of racialized oppression and the effects of neoliberal, global capitalism as centered in grassroots activism. Smith suggests that theorists of the negative, homogenizing aspects of neolib- eral globalization misunderstand that city authorities and institutions of global capital are not the only agents of the transnational. Smith instead considers how local communities resist the forces that have divested from the urban economy and commodified ethnic cultures in the service of neoliberal policies like urban renewal and historical preservation. Smith’s observation about the role of local resistance in relation to the transnational is a useful context for understanding how the novel reframes grassroots resistance. Particularly helpful is Smith’s recognition that transnational migrants enact social networks from below that are used to “cope with perceived threats to their members’ lives and live- lihoods” (Smith 4). These transnational flows are actualized through travel, migration, and political organizing, bringing together translocal communities that share similar political interests. Where Rechy extends this thinking, however, is in his rejection of unproblematically valorizing home-grown memorialization efforts on the part of the Chicano Movement. Because Chicano Movement memorialization efforts reify nature and the pastoral, while also exclud- ing women and queers from the imagined (transnational) community, they often reinscribe many of the hierarchical social dynamics they wish to combat. It is also the case that Chicano Movement memo- rialization efforts have been co-opted by neoliberal city authorities through the marketing of mural tours9, the preservation of what anthro- pologist Arlene Dávila calls “marketable ethnicity” in urban renewal John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 23 (gentrification) schemes (Dávila 11), and the incorporation of ethnic signifiers in tourism campaigns.10 One way to understand Rechy’s generative antagonism is by com- bining ecocritical methodologies that consider environmental repre- sentations in the novel—flowers, trees and other forms of “nature,” as well as buildings, parks, and other public places—with considerations of transnational urban space. Ignacio López-Calvo notes that “ecocrit- icism . . . provides useful tools” for thinking about Rechy’s work (67). While López-Calvo’s analysis focuses on urban vegetation as pathetic fallacy in the novel, environmental themes and ideas affirm Chicana/o cultural preservation, even as The Miraculous Day is critical of institu- tional preservation discourses and the erasure of the disenfranchised from within Chicana/o culture. By understanding the novel as an envi- ronmental text that operates in racialized transnational space, it is pos- sible to see how Rechy critiques preservation projects imposed on and emerging from Amalia’s urban barrios. The Miraculous Day of Amalia Gómez a n d Transnational Urban Preservation The Miraculous Day invests in representations of racialized space and meditates on questions of cultural preservation within the urban transnational. The novel thus represents how space is racialized to produce negative outcomes for Amalia and her family, as well as the advantages and shortcomings of Chicano Movement activism. These representations include the flowers—both real and artificial—that Amalia uses to decorate her home and body, her meditations on gen- dered and racialized transnational space in the city, her fear of natu- ral disasters such as earthquakes, fires, and Santa Ana windstorms, the ubiquity of garbage and decay, the presence of conventional forms of “nature” in urban space such as weeds, rosebushes, and palm trees, and the unfortunate encounter she has with a pair of environmental activ- ists that provides the title for this essay. Environmental representations function as both signifiers of Amalia’s emotional state and the social forces that constrain her. Accordingly, Amalia’s journey through her barrio exposes her to a range of preservation efforts that allow her to question how people like her are written out of imagined communal space—sometimes through community attempts to affirm and preserve Chicana/o culture. 24 David J. Vázquez Key to these preservation efforts are the representations of nature in the city that appear throughout the novel. One such example is the ubiquity of vegetation of various types that persists, even in the con- strained conditions of Amalia’s urban barrio. This ethic of persistence functions within The Miraculous Day, as Patrick Hamilton points out, as a reminder of Chicana/os’ survival within the confines of hostile con- ditions in Los Angeles. For example, describing the exterior of her tiny Hollywood bungalow, Amalia notes “each unit in the court did have a small “garden”—only two feet by four—and there was a rose bush toward the back. The unit was flanked by stubby palm trees” (Rechy 73). Similarly, Amalia notices the presence of the weeds and other plants that cling to life in her barrio: Even the poorest sections retained a flashy prettiness, flowers pasted against cracking walls draped by splashes of bougain- villea. Even weeds had tiny buds. And sometimes, out of the gathering rubble on the streets, there would be the sudden sweetness of flowers. (7) In these passages and others, Amalia notices natural resilience in the persistence of plants and flowers in the city. Even in the midst of rubble, “the sudden sweetness of flowers” perseveres. The determination of life to exist within such confines suggests one strategy of preservation for Amalia: survival by sheer tenacity. Another aspect of the representation of nature in the city is its abil- ity to mediate the pressures of urban life. Here, Rechy evidences gener- ative antagonism that counters paradigmatic environmental figures like Henry David Thoreau or Edward Abbey who remove themselves from urban environments to pastoral settings in order to engage in journeys of self-discovery. By contrast, Amalia’s maternal responsibilities and her lack of financial resources prevent such a retreat to an isolated pastoral existence. The novel de-emphasizes the possibility of pastoral retreat for characters like Amalia. But this rejection of retreat does not suggest a divorce from the natural. Instead, the novel valorizes preservation by noting the resilience of living things in the city and suggests that even these forms of attenuated life have value for people like Amalia. One of the ways she is able to mediate her marginalization in the city is therefore through her relationships to living things. She adorns her John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 25 home, her body, her hair, and her surroundings with flowers in order to emphasize her own and her family’s survival in the face of poverty, gang violence, and racialization. These representations of nature in the urban do not function, how- ever, as mediations that purely and progressively ameliorate Amalia’s painful existence. In fact, nature poses its own dangers, even in the city. During her walk through the neighborhood, Amalia encounters more signs of life in the city: A little farther into the garage area, a plant had managed to squeeze through a large crack in the cement. She had noticed it, but today it had blossoms. In the center, their petals were rolled into folds like candles, and then they opened at the bot- tom and they were white. This is not rare in Los Angeles, that flowers seem to grow overnight, perhaps from seeds scattered by wind and then surprised into premature life by sudden heat. (Rechy 109) The plant in question is likely jimsonweed, or Devil’s snare, a toxic inva- sive nightshade common to Southern California. Amalia is unaware of the risk the weed poses, as she plucks the flower and adorns her hair with it, eventually wearing it to a fast-food restaurant. At the restau- rant, she meets a neighbor, Mrs. Huerta, who points out that the flower is a poisonous weed. Amalia is horrified: “she tore the flower from her hair, threw it on the floor. I put a poisonous weed in my hair! She stared at the blossom, amid scraps of food not yet swept away from an earlier meal” (125). Although it is unlikely that the plant poses a serious threat to her health unless ingested, it symbolizes the risks that Amalia and people like her encounter in urban environments. Even in her attempt to adorn herself, Amalia is unable to completely escape danger. Here, Rechy’s generative antagonism is again visible: while he rejects the idea of idyllic retreat for characters like Amalia, emphasizing instead the idea of nature in the city, he also recognizes that some aspects of nature pose risks. From this standpoint, the natural features of Amalia’s world provide no respite, even in the traces that persist in the city. Although jimsonweed now thrives in every state in the contigu- ous United States, it is not native to Southern California. In fact, it is thought to have evolved in Southern Mexico or Central America.11 26 David J. Vázquez Even though its botanical origins are in Latin America, jimsonweed has been present in North America since at least the Jamestown settle- ment.12 The presence of this toxic weed in urban Southern California thus suggests a transnational dimension to both the persistence of life in the city and the hidden risks such life represents. Its invasive properties (jimsonweed is one of the most common invasive plants in Southern California), as well as its adaptability (jimsonweed thrives in urban, suburban, and even desert climate zones), suggest a naturalization of the transnational. As a transnational migrant of sorts, jimsonweed rep- resents the potential transformation of nature in the city vis-à-vis those elements of Latin America that are deemed unwanted or unauthorized by the Global North. That jimsonweed is able to thrive in Southern California also suggests another preservation technique for Amalia and characters like her: survival through adaptability. Nature in the city is not the only environmental idea worth con- sidering in the novel. Raúl Homero Villa has explored aspects of urban environments and cultural production in Latina/o communities. As Villa explains, the legacies of colonial expansion, including the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo and the subsequent racialization of Chicana/ os has resulted in a process he calls “barrioization.” As Villa puts it, “the consequences of deterritorialization for mexicanos in the newly annexed territories literally put them in their designated place within the emergent social space of Anglo American capitalism” (Villa 2). Barrioization is thus the spatial and geographic deformation of Chi- cana/o communities that places them within racialized space. While geographic emplacement in racialized space has been the fate of Chi- cana/os in many metropolitan areas, these acts of spatial animus are not random. Rather, they represent intentional and systematic structures of disenfranchisement designed to limit life chances for Chicana/os and other Latina/os in urban environments. Racist spatial practices are thus part of the fabric of the transformation of cities like Los Angeles from formerly Mexican villages to global cities. While the deformation of social space through experiences of geo- graphical dis- and re-placing has left indelible marks on Chicana/os as racialized citizens, it has also enabled unique forms of cultural preser- vation and survival. As Villa shows, the process of barrioization does not progress uniformly and without resistance. In fact, Chicana/os have marshaled resistance strategies to preserve the status of their “cultural John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 27 place-identity,” or the articulation of identities that are situated in and emerge out of relationships with specific geographical spaces—and in particular the urban spaces of cities like Los Angeles. It is therefore both the hostile process of barrioization and resistance to barrioization that dialectically produce the external forces that shape urban bar- rios and the internal changes within them. Since the history of urban renewal often results in more destruction than preservation, Villa advo- cates understanding cultural preservation efforts as forms of affirmation that challenge the social deformation of spatial practices. Although Amalia lives in at least four different locations (El Paso, Texas, East Los Angeles, Torrance, and Hollywood), there are similari- ties between the neighborhoods that she and her family call home. The uniformity of these spaces suggests something of a translocal experience based on the similar ways Southwestern cities have historically imple- mented neoliberal urban policies that racialize and segregate Latina/ os. The narrator describes Amalia’s birthplace in El Paso as “a fist of dark tenements” where the view from the room she shares with her two brothers looks out onto “a pile of garbage” (Rechy 15). Later, when she becomes pregnant after her first husband Salvador rapes her, she moves into a series of apartments that are described as “another ugly room” (24), “a one-bedroom government project” (26), and a number of other small, confining, and unattractive spaces. There is no respite for Amalia and her family when they arrive in California in search of her second husband, Gabriel. After a brief stay in Torrance, she relo- cates to a “pinkish bungalow in a small court” that is “old and not exactly well kept” (42) in East Los Angeles. Later, in an attempt to shield herself and her family from gang violence, she moves to a Holly- wood “bungalow in another of the ubiquitous clutches of stucco courts that proliferate throughout Los Angeles” (73). Regardless of her partic- ular geographical location, Amalia’s life is characterized by “tenements, freezing rooms, garbage, beatings, the rape [perpetrated by Salvador], more beatings” (188). On one hand, given her low income and lack of white collar skills,13 it makes sense that Amalia is forced to make do with what she can afford in Los Angeles, a city that has been for the past 40 years one of the most expensive housing markets in the country. Although she lives at various points with at least three different men (Salvador, Gabriel, and Raynaldo), she is largely on her own when it comes to raising and 28 David J. Vázquez providing for her children. Her experience as both a Chicana and as a single-mother with an inadequate income further limits her life chances. On the other hand, her experiences with white authority fig- ures, ranging from a social worker she encounters in El Paso, to the immigration officials who stage surprise raids on the garment factory where she works in Los Angeles, reinforce the racial hierarchies that accrue around Chicana/os in Texas and California. As scholar George Lipsitz and journalist Ta-Nehisi Coates have shown in relation to Afri- can American communities, practices such as redlining (the practice of denying mortgage financing to certain neighborhoods based on race and ethnicity) and block busting (persuading home owners in a par- ticular area to sell their property cheaply due to the fear of incursions from ethnic or racialized neighbors), alongside racist zoning and urban redevelopment practices have limited housing opportunities for people of color since WWII. When considered from the standpoint of neolib- eral urban policy and housing discrimination, it is arguable that Ama- lia’s experiences of sub-standard housing are a reflection of structured and organized practices designed to enforce the racialization of space in urban barrios. This particular dynamic is exacerbated by the fact that Amalia, like many urban Chicana/os in Los Angeles is perpetually treated as a non-citizen, despite the fact that she is born in the United States and speaks fluent (albeit accented) English.14 Part of what produces Ama- lia’s experience of racialization and housing discrimination, then, is the fact that she is treated as an outsider in her home space. This represen- tation suggests that the emplacement Villa describes might be produc- tively reframed in terms of a racial project—to borrow Michael Omi and Howard Winant’s terminology—perpetrated by civic authorities to manage translocal forms of resistance. The very processes of cultural preservation that Villa describes are informed by transnational and translocal connections that blur the transformation of Los Angeles from distinct national spaces (from Mex- ican village to US city). Historian Alan Eladio Gómez explains that this distinction between national spaces does not correspond to the transac- tional development of the Chicano Movement as an aspect of global left activism during the 1960s and 1970s. These global resonances included solidarities with Latin American liberation movements. Gómez lever- ages Américo Paredes’s famous formulation of “Greater Mexico” to John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 29 name the transnational connections and migratory flows between Chi- cana/os in the United States and Mexican and Latin American nation- als. For Gómez, relations between Chicana/os and radical activists in Latin America do not contribute to the privileging of the nation state (Greater Mexico), but instead encompass places “where people of Mex- ican descent lived, worked, dreamed and struggled to make their lives better” (Gómez 3) on both sides of the US/Mexico border. This more expansive conception of Chicana/os and Mexicans as integrally con- nected constitutes a political imaginary that names a way of mobilizing culture to “emphasize how political movements created new narratives, experimenting with new (and sometimes forgotten) retrofitted tactics often inspired by previous movements, ideas, theories, and experiences” (3) in Latin America. These transnational “connectivities” open how political actors created solidarities that circulated, translated, and com- municated ideas about resistance and struggle that shaped forms of political action on both sides of the border (7). Chicana/o left politics created possibilities and inspired political imaginaries of Mexicans and Latin Americans to include Latina/os living in US as part of their polit- ical analysis, and vice versa. As such, Gómez reconsiders how solidari- ties between Latin America and US Chicana/os were established in the shared experiences of struggle, encounter, and trust (9). In fact, such transnational and translocal resonances are a promi- nent feature of the novel, particularly in relation to how Chicano Move- ment efforts to remember the past are represented. For example, after Amalia relocates to East Los Angeles from El Paso she works a series of domestic jobs. On her way to work she encounters Chicano Movement murals “scattered about the area,” “paintings as colorful as those on cal- endars, sprawled on whole walls” (Rechy 45). One such mural features: A muscular Aztec prince, amber-gold faced, in lordly feathers stood with others as proud as he. They gazed toward the dis- tance. Behind them on a hill pale armed men mounted on horses watched them. At the opposite end of the painting brown-faced muslin-clothed men stared into a bright horizon. They were the ones whom the Aztecs were facing distantly. (45) While gazing at the “painting that fascinated and puzzled her,” Amalia encounters a veterano (an experienced former or current gang member) 30 David J. Vázquez who explains the painting’s significance: “‘The conquistadores are about to subdue the Indians with weapons, as they did, but over there’—he pointed to the band of muslin-clad men—‘are the revolucionarios, who will triumph and bring about Aztlán, our promised land of justice.’” Even as she thanks him for his explanation, Amalia notes that “There were no women. Where were they? Had they survived?” (45). First, the image offers iconography common to the Chicano Move- ment: the figuring of Chicana/os as Aztecs. Briefly, the Aztec origin story holds that the Mexica (one of the indigenous groups that became the Aztecs) migrated from what is now either northwest Mexico or the Southwestern portions of the United States to Tenochtitlán, the capi- tal city of the Aztecs which stood on what is now Mexico City. While historians and archaeologists have been unable to locate its precise location, Chicano Movement groups mobilized the idea of Aztlán in order to claim a natural affinity to the Southwest portions of the United States. Some, such as the author, lawyer, and activist Oscar “Zeta” Acosta, even advocated for a separate nation based on the concept of Aztlán.15 The mural thus offers an example of how space was mobi- lized by the Chicano Movement to legitimize claims for civil rights. By pointing to their historical ties to the land and space of the Southwest, activists could claim nativity to and ownership of the landscape—and thereby assert rights within this space. The idea that Chicana/os are the descendants of Aztecs raises another important aspect of Chicano Movement activism. As Gómez points out, the Chicano Movement was not only inspired by struggles for civil and human rights in the United States, but also sought to make transnational connections with activists and artists in Latin America. These dynamics are evident in several aspects of the mural. First, Aztec iconography was fundamental to the Reconquista imagined by the Chi- cano Movement, suggesting an unbroken line that links the coloni- zation of the Americas—including, significantly, Mexico and Central America—with the racialization of Chicana/os in the United States. Related to this figuration is the idea of Aztlán as the space of emanci- pation for subjugated Chicana/os. In both of these claims there is an implicit assumption that the geographies that cities like Los Angeles are built upon are transnational, translocal spaces with connections to Latin America. In other words, the mural imagines historical and cultural continuity with indigenous communities and resistance move- ments in Latin America. John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 31 Another crucial aspect of the image is its linking of race and geog- raphy. Rafael Pérez-Torres argues that Chicana/o public art makes vis- ible “the contours shaping the complex relationship between identity and geography” (Pérez-Torres 115), making the case that urban barrios are part of the cultural and geographical heritage of Chicana/os in the United States. In a similar vein, George Lipsitz argues that Chicano Movement art: documented the struggles of braceros and Brown Berets, of boy- cotts and ballot initiatives, of antiwar activism and immigrant self-defense. They presented a permanent record of mass mobi- lizations and community coalitions against police brutality, educational inequality, and economic exploitation. (169) Lipsitz’s point emphasizes a different feature of Chicano Movement public art: that it serves as repository of history and cultural memory. Viewed through these lenses, the links between geography, history, space, and race are apparent in the veterano’s assertion that Chicano Movement actors “rioted” to let them know that “I [the veterano] was there too” (Rechy 45–46). Here, the veterano’s spatial assertion (“I was there too”) links radical Chicano (masculine ending intended) sub- jectivity to the space of the barrio and instantiates him as a histor- ical agent, whose actions form part of the record of activism within the barrio. Like his problematizing of nature and pastoral retreat, however, Rechy’s generative antagonism questions the mobilization of romantic Chicano Movement imagery. As a distinctly urban form, the mural is ironic in its depiction of the pastoral as a potential antidote to Anglo hegemony. By depicting a prelapsarian space of green hills and agrar- ian productivity, the mural intertwines aspects of social and environ- mental justice as remedies for the decay of barrio space. The mural also draws part of its charge by locating itself in relation to the trans- national history of the Americas.16 The figuring of Chicana/os as the historical inheritors of a resistant Aztec tradition suggests an affinity between forms of indigenous protest staged in (relatively) unspoiled landscapes, and urban forms of protest in the 20th century. Part of the mural’s force emerges from the implicit contrast between the green hills, horses, and muslin-clad men and the painting’s physical loca- tion in, in the narrator’s words, a “decaying” barrio. In this sense, the 32 David J. Vázquez mural’s liberatory potential falls short by imagining environmental justice as necessarily located outside of the barrio. There is thus an ironic disavowal of urban environmentalism inherent in the mural’s iconography.17 Part of Amalia’s confusion in relation to the mural cen- ters on its omission of the urban from environmental imaginaries. As someone who has never lived in a rural or agrarian setting, the pastoral is illegible to her. Rather than advocating for urban space as a valid environmental location, Rechy’s generative antagonism underscores how the image reifies the pastoral and imagines preservation as a rural, agrarian endeavor. Another aspect of Rechy’s generative antagonism emerges in rela- tion to the mural’s gender politics. While the mural evokes the pastoral as potential antidote to the deformation of the urban, it replicates the gender and sexual problematics that, as a number of critics have noted in other contexts, often plagued cultural nationalist movements.18 It should come as no surprise, then, that the novel is critical of Movement iconography that wrote out women or relegated them to subordinate roles. In this context, Amalia’s questioning response—“There were no women. Where were they? Had they survived?”—makes visible how, in its efforts to affirm Chicana/o culture, Movement iconography often erased women. Rechy reinforces these ideas through Amalia’s encounter with a second mural—“a mural that had startled her recently: A tall, plumed Aztec held a bleeding, dying city boy in his arms” (56). The image in question is Manuel Cruz’s 1974 mural “To Ace Out a Homeboy,” (see Figure 1) which originally bore the inscription, “To ace out a homeboy from another barrio is to kill la raza. Viva la Raza” (“Murals”). Like the unnamed mural Amalia encounters earlier, “To Ace Out a Home- boy” also mobilizes romantic Chicano Movement imagery in its central depiction of an Aztec warrior. Unlike the first image, “To Ace Out a Homeboy” situates itself in urban space, eschewing pastoral imagery. Indeed, in its depiction of a car moving toward an unidentified skyline on a golden road, “To Ace Out a Homeboy” imagines urban space as a more appropriate venue for social justice. Part of Amalia’s disturbance may thus emerge from the fact that the image includes a female figure (albeit a passive one) who appears to be mourning the death of the bleeding city boy as she pauses to kneel on the road to another possible vector of empowerment: education, as symbolized by a school door. John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 33 While the image ironically foreshadows the escalating gang-re- lated bloodshed Amalia witnesses in East LA and Hollywood, it also underscores how brown-on-brown violence in Amalia’s neighborhood serves hegemonic power. Rechy’s inclusion of the painting thus suggests a corrective for self-inflicted wounds imposed in the name of Chicana/o nationalism. These points are salient given the “bleeding, dying city” boys who populate the novel: Amalia’s sons Manny, who commits sui- cide to avoid gang violence, and Juan, the victim of a brutal homopho- bic attack. The image also ironically foreshadows Amalia’s implication in homophobia, as she disavows Juan’s homosexuality and evicts his undocumented Salvadoran lover Paco from her garage, likely relegating him to homelessness and sexual exploitation. But Rechy’s complex readings of cultural affirmation and preserva- tion are not limited to the problematics of Chicano Movement iconog- raphy. His critiques of urban decay, garbage, and violence implicate the state as a primary perpetrator of racist neglect. This idea is articulated Figure 1: “To Ace Out a Homeboy,” Manuel Crúz (1974). Photograph by Rich Puchalsky, reproduced by permission of the photographer. 34 David J. Vázquez in a number of scenes where Amalia recognizes the incommensura- bility of Hollywood glamour with her experiences of decay, including endless garbage, the spatial separation between television and movie studios and Amalia’s run-down Hollywood bungalow, and the streams of homeless, gang members, prostitutes, and drug addicts who populate the narrative. For example, Amalia recognizes how neoliberal historical pres- ervation and urban redevelopment efforts are applied unevenly to reinforce racialization in her neighborhoods. Michael Peter Smith recuperates grassroots resistance to neoliberal urban preservation efforts as an occluded form of agency for underrepresented groups. Although Smith’s point is useful for understanding how activists resist the efforts of city authorities from below, it is important to consider characters like Amalia in relation to such valorizations of grassroots organizations. Rechy underscores how neoliberal discourses incorporate and contain grassroots resistance and preservation efforts by depicting Amalia as someone who exists at the bottom of a range of social hierarchies that include race, gender, class, sexuality (by virtue of her son’s homosexual- ity),19 as well as discourses of beauty that exoticize and dehumanize her. We see evidence of these dynamics as Amalia journeys through the barrio to visit her friend Milagros, a former sweatshop co-worker. After crossing MacArthur Park—a park she sees as a “ravaged battlefield” (Rechy 142)—Amalia finds Milagros’s apartment. The building which “had probably once been a stylish hotel” has fallen into disrepair and is now populated by “addicts, drunks, dealers, [and] desolate men and women” (143). Amalia notes the neglect the former hotel suffers at the hands of landlords, urban planners, and city officials: All over the city brick buildings were being torn down or rein- forced to resist the shaking of earthquakes. Amalia had grown used to noticing the giant bolts that indicated a building had been ‘anchored.’ She did not see any on this building. And so it was being abandoned, to decay or to an earthquake. (143) Milagros’s building has not undergone earthquake retrofitting. As a recent FEMA report notes, most municipalities in Los Angeles County established earthquake retrofitting ordinances by the 1970s and had achieved high rates of compliance in the most dangerous buildings John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 35 (brick buildings like Milagros’s) by the 1980s (“Seismic Retrofit Incen- tive Programs”). Amalia’s recognition that Milagros’s building is not anchored is significant in part because it suggests that she is conscious of municipal efforts to secure unsafe buildings, especially those in historic districts. Amalia’s recognition also implicitly acknowledges the differ- ence between retrofitting and historical preservation efforts in nearby neighborhoods like Echo Park, Silverlake, and Wilshire Park—areas that experienced gentrification during the past 20 years—and the neglect of Milagros’s MacArthur Park apartment. Amalia’s final question about the lack of earthquake retrofitting (“Did Milagros know that?”) thus suggests the sinister implications of urban decay and neglect: that urban Latina/os are sacrificed in order to channel resources to areas deemed “worthy” of preservation. Rechy further emphasizes these points in a series of encounters Amalia has with institutional figures. Ranging from a fast-food employee who marginalizes her, to a priest who masturbates during her confession, Amalia’s experiences with powerful figures reinscribe her subordinate position. But Rechy is careful to represent Amalia’s gradual awakening as a potential avenue of empowerment. For example, when she encoun- ters a pair of environmental activists gathering signatures for a petition for clean air legislation, Amalia at first attempts to “dodge” them, misin- terpreting the “aggressively plain woman in her thirties” as an evangeli- cal Christian. When the woman asks her to “sign a petition for cleaning up the air?” (Rechy 161), Amalia at first finds the request incomprehen- sible: “Who didn’t want clean air?” As the woman persists, attempting to communicate in Spanish (“Aire lampio”), Amalia asserts her command of English and corrects the woman’s Spanish (“I understand English” and “you mean ‘limpio’ not ‘lampio’”). When the woman argues, “do you realize that automobile exhausts account for—?” Amalia cuts her off with the admonition that the activists “Feed the hungry” (162). Here, Rechy critiques the perspectives of what Ramachandra Guha and Juan Martíez-Alier have called “First-World Environmentalists” that abstract environmental harm from issues of social and political justice. Amalia’s response draws attention to the fact that the urban poor also care about issues of environmental harm in ways that are indistinguishable from other social justice concerns (Ybarra 23–24). Thus her response: “Feed the hungry.” But, like the city officials who neglect Milagros’s apartment, this point is disturbingly dismissed by the activists: “Didn’t I tell you 36 David J. Vázquez they don’t understand their own oppression” and “It’s the same in India” (Rechy 162). The implicit comparison displaces Amalia as a potential interlocutor (she doesn’t understand her oppression) and spatially aligns her with other abject populations in the Global South. The transnational alignment of Amalia with the abject Global South is another aspect to Amalia’s rejection of the environmental activists. As someone who lives in and has tenuous benefits from her relationship to the Global North, Amalia resents her characterization as the embodiment of stereotypically powerless actors in the Global South. This last point is worth lingering on: given the admonitions of Smith and other theorists of the transnational who invest in grassroots actors as agents of resistance to the homogenizing impulses of neoliberal globalization, it is fascinating that Amalia is divested of her power at the moment that she pushes back against the logic of environmental preservation. In this sense, there is an uncanny return of the abject global: the poor in Los Angeles are equated with disempowered pop- ulations in other parts of the world (“It’s the same in India”), while simultaneously asserting the primacy of neoliberal actors (the environ- mental activists) with the power to “properly” preserve and change the environment. By ironically depicting these environmental activists as the true agents in the transaction, Rechy aligns their perspectives with authority figures who homogenize and stereotype while espousing the language of liberalism. These representations and others in the novel demonstrate how Amalia’s experiences of exploitation and oppression operate on several levels. While she is culpable in the projects of patriarchy and homopho- bia, Amalia’s and her family’s situation owes significantly to the spa- tial politics that accrue within urban barrios as a result of discourses of racialization and neoliberal globalization—especially as they manifest in urban policy. Both Chicano Movement politics and environmental ethics of preservation combine to further marginalize people like Ama- lia. While the novel refuses to postulate a solution to these multifaceted dilemmas, it offers a useful meditation on the consequences of barrio space and contested relationships with the environment. Conclusion Throughout the novel, Rechy offers generative antagonism de- signed to illuminate how ethics of institutional and cultural preservation John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 37 sometimes work paradoxically to reinscribe social hierarchies within the urban transnational. Even though the novel offers a modicum of hope in its denouement—Amalia is able to recognize her abject posi- tion in a glittering Beverly Hills mall and literally throws off the gun being held to her head—the novel does not articulate a comprehensive alternative to dominant conceptions of preservation. Rechy’s novel re- mains important, however, for rethinking how an ethos of preservation might look when theorized from below. Key to this rethinking is the way Rechy complicates the valorization of grassroots movements within theories of the transnational. While Rechy does point to the transnational histories of the Americas as a powerful source of resistance for urban Chicana/os, he also problematizes how the pastoral is mobilized in the service of romantic Chicano Move- ment imagery. He does so by ironically portraying how romantic imag- ery renders women and queers marginal to the imagined (transnational) community. Moreover, Rechy demonstrates how problematic facets of Chicano Movement resistance replicate and reinforce attempts on the part of civic authorities to commodify transnational ethnic cultures in official preservation efforts and urban renewal policies. Consequently, as Amalia traverses her urban barrios, she is confronted by numerous preservation projects that further marginalize her and other liminal den- izens of the barrio. By questioning how these preservation projects are constructed, Rechy brings an important corrective to bear on neoliberal urban renewal projects and heteropatriarchal cultural affirmation efforts in Chicana/o barrios. In essence, he asks us to rethink how preservation discourses collapse in order to clear space for a more egalitarian ethic of transnational and translocal resistance schemes. University of Oregon Notes 1. I use the masculine Chicano to describe the Movement to emphasize both the historical designation (the a/o did not enter the critical lexicon until Chicana feminist critiques of the 1970s and 1980s) and the patriarchal imperatives inherent in many Movement groups. For recent considerations of the Movement’s gender politics, see Bebout, Blackwell, and Gómez. 2. Even though The Miraculous Day is the first of his novels to directly doc- ument Chicana/o experiences, thinkers such as Gloria Anzaldúa and critics such as José David Saldívar, Juan Bruce-Novoa, and Carl Gutiérrez-Jones long ago 38 David J. Vázquez recognized Rechy as a Chicano novelist. See Anzaldúa’s chapter “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” from Borderlands/La Frontera. In the chapter she writes, “In the 1960s, I read my first Chicano novel. It was City of Night by John Rechy, a gay Texan, son of a Scottish father and a Mexican mother. For days I walked around in stunned amazement that a Chicano could write and get published” (Anzaldúa 40). See also Bruce Novoa’s “Canonical and Noncanonical Texts,” Saldívar’s Border Matters, and Gutiérrez-Jones’s Critical Race Narratives. 3. For more on the intersections of ethnic American literature and ecocriti- cism, see Ruffin, Parrish, and Salt on the intersections of ecocriticism and African American and African Diaspora literatures; Hayashi and Wald on intersections with Asian American literature; and Adamson and Monani and Adamson on inter- sections with Native American literature. 4. See, for example, Grewe-Volpp, Fiskio, Wald, Huehls, Platt, Cook, and Martin. 5. See, for example, Ybarra, Ontiveros, Herrera-Sobek, Ramírez-Dhoore, Acosta, and Nuñez. 6. Access to affordable housing is an “environmental” matter, as evidenced by the fact that it is now being driven by issues like sea level rise in places like Miami and New York. In a recent issue of The Atlantic, journalist Matt Vasilogambros links sea level rise to a surge in gentrification in historically black and Haitian neighbor- hoods that occupy higher ground in Miami. Similar dynamics are under way in US cities such as New Orleans, Boston, and Sacramento that are also threatened by sea level rise and other environmental changes. Moreover, in a 2012 executive order, Obama administration Deputy HUD Secretary Shaun Donovan links healthy com- munities to environmental justice by “promot[ing] communities that are healthy, sustainable, affordable, and inclusive” through access to fair housing (“2012–2015 Environmental Justice Strategy”). 7. I use the term translocal as a way to designate solidarities between individ- ual resistance movements in distinct national and transnational spaces. As Michael Peter Smith helpfully defines it, the translocal suggests “the social construction of transnational social ties” that maintain social relations sustained through material connections and/or means of advanced communication (4). For more, see Smith’s Transnational Urbanism: Locating Globalization. 8. Importantly, the relationship between the local and the global is an issue that is also fundamental to environmental studies and ecocriticism. See for exam- ple, Ursula K. Heise’s Sense of Place, Sense of Planet and Ulrich Beck’s World at Risk. 9. Several companies and NGOs currently market “mural tours” in Los Ange- les. See, for example, the Downtown LA Graffiti and Mural Tour, operated by LA Art Tours (http://laarttours.com), Downtown Art Walk (http://downtownartwalk. org), and tours offered by the Mural Conservancy of Los Angeles (http://www. muralconservancy.org). John Rechy’s Amalia Gómez 39 10. See Dávila’s discussion of marketable ethnicity and the ways capital is aligned with urban renewal in relation to the gentrification of Upper Manhattan. See especially pages 10–13. 11. For more on the origins of jimsonweed, see the “Datura Stramonium” web page. 12. “This plant is known to have been in Virginia as early as 1676. It was at Jamestown, Virginia that a group of British soldiers accidentally ate the plant and were affected by its hallucinogenic properties. It is not known, however, if the plant was native to Virginia, or if it was being moved around by the early European settlers. Fernald (1950) reported it from Massachusetts to Ohio and Pennsylvania. It is likely that this plant made its way to the more northern states of New England by contaminated agricultural crops or perhaps intentional introduction” (“Datura stramonium”). 13. Although she works primarily as a house cleaner throughout much of the novel, Amalia is an expert seamstress. She makes a conscious choice not to pursue her trade due to experiences of sexual harassment, frequent immigration raids, and the rigid work hours in the garment factories where she is employed. 14. Like many Chicana/os of her generation, Amalia speaks Spanish as her primary language. The narrator notes that “she spoke no English” when she enters public school and is admonished by teachers and school authorities both directly (“God doesn’t want you to speak with a Mexican accent” [17]) and structurally through her enrollment in special pronunciation courses. See The Miraculous Day, esp. 16–18. 15. Acosta writes in his “Autobiographical Essay,” “Aztlán is the land we’re sitting on now. The land where my forefathers lived hundreds of years ago before they migrated to the valley of Mexico. The Aztecs referred to the entire Southwest as Aztlán” and “You can’t be a class or a nation without land. Without it, it doesn’t have any meaning. It’s that simple. So we are beginning to see that what we’re talking about is getting land and having our own government. Period. It is that clear-cut” (Acosta 11–12). 16. I am indebted to the editors of this special issue for this observation. 17. Again, I am grateful to the editors of this special issue for this formulation. 18. See David J. Vázquez, Triangulations: Narrative Strategies for Navigating Latino Identity, esp. chapters 2 and 3. See also Maylei Blackwell’s Chicana Power!: Contested Histories of Feminism in the Chicano Movement and Catherine Sue Ramírez’s The Woman in the Zoot Suit: Gender, Nationalism, and the Cultural Politics of Memory. 19. Amalia clearly feels a social stigma applied to the mothers of gay men in the barrio. For example, while waiting in line to visit Manny in jail, she notes the presence of a separate line for women visiting men incarcerated for homosexual activities: 40 David J. Vázquez Only then did Amalia notice that there was another line on the opposite side of the entrance to the Hall of Justice. A younger pregnant woman in a bright dress noticed Amalia’s confusion. “That other line is for the visitors of the maricones.” Amalia did not know what to think. She didn’t like homosexuals any more than the next person—sometimes they disgusted her; but why should their families—their mothers, that woman she had just talked to?—be separated as if they shared contamination? (82) Works Cited Acevedo, Mario. X-Rated Blood Suckers. Book Club edition. New York: EOS, 2007. Acosta, Grisel Y. “Environmentalism.” The Routledge Companion to Latino/a Litera- ture. Ed. Suzanne Bost and Francies R. Aparicio. The Routledge Companion to Latino/a Litearture. London: Routledge, 2012. 195–204. Acosta, Oscar Zeta. “Autobiographical Essay.” Oscar “Zeta” Acosta: The Uncollected Works. Ed. Ilan Stavans. Houston: Arte Público P, 1996. Adamson, Joni. 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Web. 11 Nov. 2017. https://www.eddmaps.org/ipane/ ipanespecies/herbs/Datura_stramonium.htm Dávila, Arlene. Barrio Dreams: Puerto Ricans, Latinos, and the Neoliberal City. Berke- ley: U of California P, 2004. Davis, Mike. Magical Urbanism: Latinos Reinvent the US City. New York: Verso, 2000. Díaz, Junot. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. New York: Riverhead, 2007. FEMA. “Seismic Retrofit Incentive Programs: A Handbook for Local Governments.” Web. 6 Oct. 2016. https://www.fema.gov/media-library/assets/documents/1834 Fiskio, Janet. “Unsettling Ecocriticism: Rethinking Agrarianism, Place, and Citi- zenship.” American Literature 84.2 (2012): 301. Web. Gómez, Alan Eladio. The Revolutionary Imaginations of Greater Mexico: Chicana/o Radicalism, Solidarity Politics, and Latin American Social Movements. Austin: U of Texas P, 2016. 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work_3gtcwmge55aflmitcdmqexjksa	----	untitled The Ecology of Adventure Therapy: An Integral Systems Approach to Therapeutic Change Duncan M. Taylor,1 David Segal,2 and Nevin J. Harper 2 Schools of 1Environmental Studies and 2Child and Youth Care, University of Victoria, Victoria, Canada. Abstract Currently, a fragmentation in ideas exists regarding understanding psychological wellness and preferred routes to healing. This is evi- dent in current adventure therapy (AT) literature, where unique combinations of experiential learning, challenge activities, novel experiences, group work, and other psychological theories are often used to account for positive outcomes and to explain mechanisms for change. Rarely is contact with wilderness environments included as an important variable associated with positive outcomes and change. AT has been rightly criticized for not recognizing the ecological paradigm of therapy conducted in wild nature. By including prin- ciples from integral systems theory, we offer adventure therapists a map, allowing for these seemingly disparate parts to fit together into a coherent whole. In addition, we propose that wilderness is a crucial cofacilitator in the change process. If seriously considered, these ideas pose a number of important questions for AT theory and practice. Introduction I n recent years, integral systems theory has been increasingly used in both the natural and social sciences to improve un- derstanding of how human and biophysical systems undergo change and transformation. A child of complexity and evolu- tionary systems theory, integral theory offers important insights for fields as traditionally diverse as forest ecology, developmental psy- chology, and psychotherapy. Further, there are new arguments that suggest immersion in wilderness environments or wild nature during adventure therapy (AT) to be a crucial factor in facilitating lasting change (Nicholls & Gray, 2007; Trace, 2002)—a profoundly inte- grating force in stabilizing transformation following disequilibrium. AT is being defined broadly as a therapeutic approach utilizing challenge and experiential learning in conjunction with therapist- determined techniques. Moreover, despite advocating the use of wild nature in AT, we are not limiting our definition to wilderness AT (WAT). Instead, we wish to reach the broad AT audience and argue for the integration of the natural environment in the AT process. In light of the nature of open systems (all living systems maintain their integrity as a result of exchanging energy with the environ- ment), the context in which therapy occurs is a crucial variable. Thus, AT that ignores the potential therapeutic benefits of wild nature could be failing to utilize a valuable context. In this article we ex- amine AT in light of integral systems theory. We make the argument that it is a useful model to examine the practice of AT—both in terms of how the wilderness adventure experience is a crucial component in facilitating individual change and reorganization, as well as the use of these theories in generating critical questions for further research. Further, AT theorists have been criticized for their reluctance, or oversight, to connect wild nature to therapeutic change processes; AT theory has primarily developed in the context, dominant discourse, and territorialism of conventional psychological approaches (Ber- inger, 2004). Thus, limited AT literature exists, in which the thera- peutic values of the ‘‘wilderness experience’’ in this type of approach are expressed (e.g., Greenway, 1995; Henderson, 1999; Miles, 1987). For the purposes of this article the authors are including contact with wild nature as a key component of AT, whereas current AT definitions often do not—the latter postulating greater influence by experiential learning practices and challenge/risk constructs, along with con- ventional ‘‘clinical’’ approaches, in therapeutic change. With our DOI: 10.1089/eco.2010.0002 ª MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. . VOL. 2 NO. 2 . JUNE 2010 ECOPSYCHOLOGY 77 inclusion of wild nature in AT, this approach may be considered an ideal expression of ecopsychology in action—a fertile ground for application of ecological thought in psychotherapeutic practice.1 We have titled this article The Ecology of Adventure Therapy for the following reasons: (1) The term ‘‘ecology’’ is from the Greek ‘‘oikos’’ meaning house or home and ‘‘logos’’ meaning the study of—hence, the study of our home. This is our extended abode where we all live and upon which our lives and economies (‘‘household manage- ment’’) are utterly dependent (Barber, 1998, p. 442). (2) ‘‘Adventure’’ is from the Latin ‘‘adventura’’ and ‘‘advenire’’ (‘‘ad’’ meaning ‘‘to’’ and ‘‘venire’’ meaning ‘‘arrive’’)—hence, ‘‘to arrive.’’ (3) AT practice often includes the use of wilderness or similar outdoor environments in its definition. ‘‘Wilderness’’ is from the Old English ‘‘wild-deor’’ meaning wild animal. It is the abode of the nondomesticated and is out of the control of humans. Wilderness, then, is a place or context that is chaotic, unruly, and disordered and where people often feel out of control. ‘‘Wild’’ is also etymologically related to ‘‘will’’ and ‘‘willful’’—hence, uncontrollable, chaotic, and without order (Nash, 1979, p. 1). (4) ‘‘Therapy’’ is from the Greek ‘‘therapeia’’ meaning ‘‘curing’’ and ‘‘healing.’’ The title of this article relates to the idea that within wilderness places or contexts (our extended home) where we are ‘‘out of control’’ or which is often ‘‘chaotic,’’ there exists a profound potential for arriving at a new level of wholeness or healing. The rise of systems thinking When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe —John Muir (My First Summer in the Sierra, (1911/1996)) Ecological perspectives and their application to human systems and therapeutic change emerged largely as a response to the growing influence of scientific reductionism in the social sciences. The work of Bertalanffy (1968) and Laszlo (1996) introduced ‘‘general system theory’’ to return science and scientists to a holistic, unified way of thinking. By assuming the existence of structural uniformities at all levels of systemic inquiry, the systems theorist is able to recognize similarities and connections between otherwise disparate types of phenomena. The concept of ‘‘system’’ becomes an invariant facili- tating the movement from one field of investigation to another, without losing one frame of reference or having to adopt another. The result is a significant impact on the conceptualization of physical and social sciences ranging from biologists to political theorists, to mental health professionals. Since that time, advancements in system thinking has brought with it a deep understanding of how systems undergo change and transformation. In recent years, much of this has been synthesized and articulated in integral systems theory. Integral systems theory Integral systems theory2 regards the world in which we live as a self-organizing complex, consisting of a myriad number of systems or ‘‘wholes,’’ all of which are interconnected and interlocked. Within this perspective, an individual system—whether an atom, cell, plant, animal, human, community, or nation—is seen to interact with its environment by means of ‘‘feedback’’ mechanisms. It cannot there- fore be properly understood separate from its relationship with the environment of which it is a part (Wilber, 2001). An integral systems perspective sets out to demonstrate that the world in which we live is not some chaotic heap or aggregate of parts, but is instead an organized and highly elegant structure in which order and structural regularities are always in operation. The tradi- tional systems theorists have typically looked at the implications of systems for the social domain (e.g., Psychology: Bateson, 1972; Po- litical Theory: Taylor, 1999), whereas the integral systems approach also recognizes the importance of the biophysical context, in which human individual and social systems are embedded. The interconnectedness and coevolutionary nature of both bio- physical and social systems is a cornerstone of integral theory. 1Ecopsychology has been questioned in the past for its lack of practical guidelines. This appears to be changing with the release of the recent an- thology, Ecotherapy: Healing with Nature in Mind (2009), edited by Linda Buzzell and Craig Chalquist. It is noteworthy that adventure therapy, which occurs in a wilderness context, is perhaps one of the best articulations of ecotherapy as an application of ecopsychology. Usually referred to as wil- derness adventure therapy, there currently exists a large body of research regarding the use of wilderness environments in terms of therapeutic change (e.g., Bandoroff & Scherer, 1994; Crisp, 1998; Davis-Berman et al., 1994; Harper, 2009). 2Integral systems theory, although largely attributed to the works of Wilber (2001), has also been used in a number of different ways by scholars such as Haridas Chaudhuri and Ervin Laszlo. In this article, we draw on the works of Wilber (2001), Laszlo (1996), and Mahoney (2003) to articulate our own synthesis of ideas in light of adventure therapy. TAYLOR, SEGAL, AND HARPER 7 8 ECOPSYCHOLOGY JUNE 2010 Common to all natural systems are the following properties (see Laszlo, 1996; Taylor, 1999, Wilber, 1996). Agency and communion All natural systems are relative wholes, ‘‘holons’’ in systems ter- minology (Koestler, 1967; Wilber, 2001). Holons are embedded in, and continuously exchange, energy and information with other larger natural systems and environmental contexts. Consequently, a holon has both ‘‘agency’’ or relative identity, as well as ‘‘communion’’ insofar as it is also a part of a larger holon or context. An atom, for example, is part of a molecule and a child is part of a family. The two principles that operate to maintain balance between ‘‘agency’’ and ‘‘communion’’ are discussed in the following paragraph. Stabilization and transcendence Holons attempt to maintain themselves with respect to their larger environment. All living systems are open with respect to energy and information from their surrounding environment. Despite this con- tinual flow-through of matter energy and information, and indeed because of that capacity, systems can self-regulate to compensate for changing conditions in their environment. Examples of this ho- meostasis can be found in biological systems, such as the regulative mechanisms in animals which maintain body temperature, blood pressure, sugar and insulin levels, and so on, notwithstanding vari- ations in the surrounding environment. Open systems tend to return to a level of steady-state following disturbances or perturbations, internally and externally, in their environment. However, at times, when challenges from the envi- ronment persist, they can fall apart (dissolution) or evolve (tran- scendence or self-organization) in response to these perturbations to a new level of complexity with new emergent properties. The four-quadrant model All humans, and arguably all sentient beings, have both agency and communion. At the level of agency, we all have ‘‘exteriority’’ or phys- icality as well as ‘‘interiority’’—thoughts, feelings, perceptions, and so on. At the level of communion, we live in larger social and biophysical contexts of interobjectivity. And at the intersubjective level, we inhabit a world of cultural meanings, world views, values, and language. These four areas are referred to as the four-quadrant model (Fig. 1) (Esbjorn- Hargens & Zimmerman, 2009; Taylor, 2001; Wilber, 2001). Largely attributed to the work of Wilber (2001) the four-quadrant model is a map of reality that encompasses all possible perspectives in which a system exists in the world. Thus, it allows for the most integrated investigation of any holon. The self-system Sato (2003a) refers to the self as the self-system. This is defined by ‘‘anything I feel a sense of unity with, whether it is a person, object, a place, an abstract concept, or a set of procedures’’ (p. 86). The self- system’s identification range can be from just one’s physical body and psychological states to one’s larger social group and biophysical world (Taylor, 1991). The Norwegian philosopher and deep ecologist Naess (2008) has defined the ‘‘self’’ in very similar terms. In turn, we have found it useful to regard the self-system as that which is emotionally and cognitively attached to and strongly identifies with in each of the four quadrants. Sato (2003b) underscores this point by arguing that ‘‘the wider the variety of experiences we have, the more our self-system devel- ops . . . although every response we make is guided by the self- system, every experience including the response and its consequence modifies the self-system as well’’ (p. 39). In essence, we create a conceptual system that allows us to relate to the world in a way we feel comfortable and are able to protect ourselves. From this perspective the self-system is a process, or a verb, not an entity or noun (Davies, 2000). It is not separate or isolated, but instead ‘‘a fluid coherence of perspective from which we experience . . . and the sense of self emerges and changes primarily in relationship’’ (Mahoney, 2003, p. 7). The self-system is central to counseling and psychotherapy as it is the ‘‘dynamic and usually tacit process that holds together the sundry developmental lines, constructing some- thing of a cohesive whole that recursively serves as each person’s psychological universe’’ (Marquis, 2008, p. 153). Again, the first tendency of all systems, including the self-system, is for self-preservation—to maintain its relative autonomy and Fig. 1. Four quadrant model. ECOLOGY OF ADVENTURE THERAPY ª MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. . VOL. 2 NO. 2 . JUNE 2010 ECOPSYCHOLOGY 79 agency in the face of changing environmental circumstances, stress, and perturbations. In terms of the client experience in AT, this could be described as stabilization or ‘‘client resistance.’’ Although dis- cussions pertaining to client resistance to change is commonplace in therapeutic literature, there is little agreement on the details. Viewing resistance through an integral systems lens offers a promising per- spective to understand resistance and breakthrough (or ‘‘transcen- dence’’) in the context of AT. When clients encounter a novel experience they often find themselves resisting the influence of the experience. The self-system is trying to make sense of a novel experience with its current mode of knowing. However, it will only be successful in integrating the ex- perience by reorganizing itself in such a way as to be able to include it (Sato, 2003a). Thus, self-transformation first involves a form of surrender, which usually occurs after all previous resources for re- sistance have been exhausted in attempts to diminish the new ex- perience. Indeed, transcendence involves disidentifying with that which has previously defined us. AT in light of integral systems theory When individual and group systems are highly unstable, both individual and group encouragement and focused intention can make a difference. Like a ball bearing perched on a mountain top, the smallest perturbation can send it into very different valleys. Ac- cording to Corey & Corey (2006), group cohesion is not a static state, but instead a ‘‘process of solidarity that members earn through the risks they take with one another’’ (p. 152). Further, they explain that as a climate of trust is gradually created, members’ willingness to take risks will increase the likelihood that others will do the same. In AT the role of the small group is critical. These experiences serve as turning points in establishing increasingly greater degrees of trust and therefore can often springboard other group members level of readiness for challenge and change. The chaos state The psychology of chaos and its relevance for the practice of psychotherapy has been articulated most notably through the work of Mahoney & Moes (1998). Crisis, from the Greek word ‘‘krisis,’’ means a turning point or time of decision. Thus, a crisis is an op- portunity for something new to emerge. Mahoney (2003) explains that when working with clients in the chaos state it is critical to communicate empathy and understanding for the importance of disequilibrium for potential breakthroughs vs. merely breakdowns. In light of integral theory, adventure therapists and group members are crucially interlocked systems as they serve as a gravitational force attracting those whom are emerging from the chaos point toward transformation as opposed to dissolution. Thus, the chaos state also suggests that AT participants will likely undergo a period of state regression before reorganization occurs. Managing this process warrants further investigation and training as it is crucial that ad- venture therapists be cognizant of this stage, which may be very ‘‘healthy’’ and preclude a major breakthrough. The following narrative is from one of the author’s journal fol- lowing a participant’s experience of ‘‘crisis’’: The 15 year old appeared very tense. The others in his group had already balanced their way along the log that provided the only way of crossing the stream. But he was ‘‘different’’—having been born with no feet and only one hand, he was the ‘‘crippled kid.’’ We all waited. Some shouted words of encouragement and others just held their hands in anxious expectation. For the past three days he had seemed to have gone out of his way to show his unhappiness with the entire trip. In turn, he had been chided for having brought along his I-Pod. Having had it removed only upped his feelings of being thoroughly pissed off. Now he was being asked to cross this. What would be the repercussions if he fell? On–on- slowly-stop, a slight stumble, now a lurch—he had done it! All at once the collective tension broke into cheers and hugs. Later around the campfire our new hero’s tale was told over and over. It began to take on an almost Homeric life of its own and began to being owned by ev- eryone there. Indeed it was a pivotal event that allowed others to partake of a new identity and more courage collective ‘‘self.’’ Witnessing the instability of the chaos state and the appearance of recovery, on the part of the teenage boy was a catalyst for others to let go in turn. But what about the process of reorganization? In terms of integral theory, nature is not just a backdrop to AT, but is a connected larger ‘‘holon’’ that embraces the individual and group system. In this way, the reorganization of both the smaller individual and group systems are facilitated by the support of the AT practitioner as well as the larger biophysical systems of nature in which these experiences are given context. Nature as partner in AT In wildness is the preservation of the world —Henry David Thoreau (Walking, 1862/cited in Nash, 1979) In recent years, there has been increasing evidence suggesting that the natural world can act as a powerful forum for healing—for all of us—and in particular, in the therapy of individuals with physical and psychological challenges. The rationale for this is underscored by integral systems theory, which views humans and their social and TAYLOR, SEGAL, AND HARPER 8 0 ECOPSYCHOLOGY JUNE 2010 biophysical environments as comprising inextricably connected and interdependent wholes. For example, just as a grizzly bear cannot be separated from its larger context—metaphorically it is 5% claws, teeth, fur, and bone and 95% forest, salmon rivers, ocean beach, and alpine meadow—so too, we are very much emergent properties comprising both biophysical and societal contexts. Upon com- mencing AT in wild nature, most clients are still in the metaphorically 95% habituated urban context. Placing them in a very different en- vironmental and cultural context becomes a key element in their disequilibrium and eventual reorganization process. All human systems are open, having the potential to adapt and reorganize with respect to the larger environment. There is now mounting evidence that supports the thesis that natural environments in themselves are contexts for healing and potential therapeutic transformation. The interest in this thesis is becoming more apparent in psychological treatment literature. For example, Berger & McLeod (2006) suggest that nature is more than just a setting but can be an active catalyst and cofacilitator during therapeutic transformation. These findings are echoed in the Scandinavian literature of ‘‘fri- luftsliv’’ or ‘‘free air life,’’ which shows that human internal rhythms and cycles begin to mirror natural cycles after periods spent in wil- derness (Gelter, 2000). In turn, studies by Taylor & her colleagues (2001) at the University of Illinois have confirmed that contact with nature supports attention functioning in children, and an array of other studies suggest that contact with nature has beneficial impacts on both adults as well as children with respect to a range of physical and psychological indices (e.g., Frumkin & Louv, 2009). Currently, most depictions of AT do not consider our connection with nature or the role it plays in the therapeutic process. In addition to the facilitator-initiated ‘‘reflective debrief’’ session, the researches of Trace (2002) and Nicholls & Gray (2007) suggest that allowing participants quiet time to engage in ‘‘mindfulness’’ of their own thoughts and sensations and just experiencing nature without focus may be a vital and underutilized component of processing and in- tegrating change following disequilibrium. There is little doubt that incorporating nature into the client–therapist–environment mix has numerous benefits, although current empirical efforts to understand these relationships seem to result in more questions than answers (Harper, 2009). Consequently, more studies need to take place as to how nature can be most effectively utilized in the AT context. The AT process In light of our discussion regarding the implications for AT of both integral systems theory and the human–nature connection, we pro- pose a model to map out process in Figure 2. Accumulation phase. The self-system is already encountering limits in its ability to maintain balance given its individual and collective social realities. Novel experience. The introduction of manageable novelties is the basis for all therapeutic change. These might be novel social and environmental contexts. Disequilibrium (the decision window or edge). The demands of the situation faced are too much for the current self-system. At this point the self-system’s capacity to maintain its configuration in light of the novelties require it to enter into a period of collapse-regression, also known as ‘‘springboard downward.’’ Facilitators of the AT experience aim to compel the participant into a state of imbalance. The need for support is critical here as the fragile self-system can bifurcate— sometimes referred to as the ‘‘springboard effect.’’ The between—Falling into a hole (springboard down). The self-sys- tem, being forced to collapse, is now at a critical juncture. Its reor- ganization is dependent upon its level of individual resilience as well as the support of the peers, facilitators, and the ability of the par- ticipant to access the transformative potential of nature. New level of complexity phase (reorganization/transcendence— springboard up). The reconfigured self-system has potentially ex- perienced new ways for dealing with the stresses that helped to lead to its collapse. It has become more complex with a greater degree of differentiation. There is an opportunity for a new level of dynamic homeostasis and the reorganization of existing ideas and informa- tion. Conversely, self-stabilization forces may be too strong to allow for a change. Afterward, the world and self-system may be experienced in a slightly different way. For many clients this will be a transitory ‘‘state’’ experience that is contingent upon this particular context. Upon ar- riving home, the negative feedback from habituated patterns of living and previous social relationships commonly force the client into en- trenched patterns. For the reorganization state to be stabilized, it may take a four-quadrant approach over an extended period of time. Lack of this integrated approach has been recognized as an issue in WAT practice (Harper & Russell, 2008). Broader interventions including the family, community, and other systems of influence are required. Conclusion Currently, a fragmentation in ideas exists regarding understand- ing psychological wellness and preferred routes to healing. This is ECOLOGY OF ADVENTURE THERAPY ª MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. . VOL. 2 NO. 2 . JUNE 2010 ECOPSYCHOLOGY 81 evident in current AT literature, where unique combinations of ex- periential learning, challenge activities, novel experiences, group work, and other psychological theories are often used to account for positive outcomes and to explain mechanisms for change. Rarely, contact with wild nature is included as an important variable asso- ciated with positive outcomes and change. Recent research in integral systems theory demonstrates the profound impact of the larger social and biophysical contexts, suggesting AT practitioners consider the following questions: (1) How can adventure therapists effectively midwife clients through the chaos state? (2) What role does nature play in self-stabilization? (3) To what extent is the wilderness experience itself a powerful force for reorganization or transcendence? (4) To what extent have the ‘‘quadrants’’ of the integral approach been investigated with respect to each AT participant? Further, the facilitator cannot consider themselves isolated from this process. Gass (1993) and Norris (2009) have pointed out the im- portance of the change agents in AT, as they need to possess specific skill sets in the areas of therapeutic change as well as adventure pursuits. Having an appreciation and understanding of the impor- tance of chaos in a person’s change process is invaluable. Recognizing the self as an open system requires an understanding that therapists themselves will undergo change as a result of changes in people and contexts around them. In agreement with Mahoney (2003), adventure therapists facilitate change by being open to change themselves. In light of the aforementioned implications, how do we reassess the role of the AT practitioner both as a subject and agent of change? When we recognize that all systems are open, we are compelled to recognize the importance of nature. How willing are conventional therapists, and even office-based ecopsychologists, to venture be- yond the walls of their office and encounter the potential for chaos? As we know, wildness is the realm of the unpredictable and loss of control. It is also the primordial and creative force of the universe that allows for both destruction and rebirth. 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Canada V8W 3R4 E-mail: dmtaylor@uvic.ca Received: January 9, 2010 Accepted: May 5, 2010 ECOLOGY OF ADVENTURE THERAPY ª MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. . VOL. 2 NO. 2 . JUNE 2010 ECOPSYCHOLOGY 83 
work_3cwttq2vdvh6tclkclpefeprg4	----	SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ doi:10.5194/soil-1-543-2015 © Author(s) 2015. CC Attribution 3.0 License. SOIL Case studies of soil in art C. Feller1, E. R. Landa2, A. Toland3, and G. Wessolek3 1Institut de Recherche pour le Développement (IRD), 28 rue Dr Blanchard, 30700 Uzès, France 2Department of Environmental Science and Technology, University of Maryland, College Park, MD 20742, USA 3Department of Soil Protection, Institute for Ecology, Technische Universität Berlin, Ernst Reuter Platz 1, 10587 Berlin, Germany Correspondence to: C. Feller (christian.feller@ird.fr) Received: 14 August 2014 – Published in SOIL Discuss.: 9 February 2015 Revised: 9 June 2015 – Accepted: 16 July 2015 – Published: 13 August 2015 Abstract. The material and symbolic appropriations of soil in artworks are numerous and diverse, spanning many centuries and artistic traditions, from prehistoric painting and ceramics to early Renaissance works in Western literature, poetry, paintings, and sculpture, to recent developments in film, architecture, and contem- porary art. Case studies focused on painting, installation, and film are presented with the view of encouraging further exploration of art about, in, and with soil as a contribution to raising soil awareness. 1 Introduction Soil is a word whose meaning varies according to context. The patriotic understanding of soil (as in the “soil of France”) and the agricultural understanding of soil have very little in common. Even in the environmental and geological sciences, there are often vast differences between the soil of the geolo- gist, the archaeologist, the geotechnical engineer, and the soil scientist, or pedologist. In the history of soil science, numer- ous definitions have been formulated, but all tend to have one or more of the following criteria in common: the presence of, or ability to sustain, life; the state and position of the soil as unconsolidated porous matter occupying the topmost layer of the earth, from the surface to the parent rock below; and the ability to demonstrate a record of physical and chemical change (genesis) due to myriad environmental factors over time (Certini and Ugolini, 2013). Until now, no other planet has been identified with such a substrate fulfilling these criteria. The Earth’s soil is unique in our universe, and yet represents a presence in daily life so common that it is taken for granted. For the non-scientific public at large, soil is mainly the surface on which we walk, or an obscure part of the larger landscape. Because of its life-giving sustenance for all humans and other living be- ings, soils are far too important to be studied by soil scien- tists alone. But we live in a world where disciplinary bound- aries define our work. Within the realm of science, bound- ary crossings – or what Julie Thompson Klein (1990, p. 65) refers to as “border disciplinarity” – are typically of the nearest-neighbor type: i.e., biology + chemistry = biochem- istry, or geology and physics = geophysics. Extensions of soil science outside the agricultural or earth sciences, to the arts and humanities, are far less frequent. The last decades show, however, that the activities of the soil science commu- nity and its traditional partners have been insufficient in pro- tecting our soils and landscapes. Soil degradation due to poor agricultural practice and lack of regulation and soil loss due to sealing and urban sprawl continue to occur at an alarming rate. To encourage more holistic approaches to soil protection, our soil science community must open the doors to develop new perspectives by investigating and initiating transdisci- plinary projects. Art, history, anthropology, sociology, psy- chology, economics, and religious studies represent just a few fields for expanding the scope of soil protection and rais- ing soil awareness. In this contribution we aim to show how artists help reveal the interconnectivity of soil, life, and cul- ture, and in so doing offer a different lens for appreciating the soil. The range of art forms and genres dealing with soil is wide and diverse, spanning many centuries and artistic traditions, Published by Copernicus Publications on behalf of the European Geosciences Union. 544 C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art from prehistoric painting and ceramics to early Renaissance works in Western paintings and sculpture, to recent devel- opments in film, architecture, and contemporary art (Landa and Feller, 2010; Toland and Wessolek, 2010, 2014). With the emergence of environmental awareness and activism dur- ing the second part of 20th century, especially since the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro in 1992, individual artists all around the world began to include soil (and not simply the landscape in general) as a subject of artistic inquiry. En- vironmental art, ecological art, and Land Art are some of the more well-known genres that took up issues of land use, soil ecology, and agricultural change in the latter half of the 20th century. Following Wessolek’s (2002) personal vision “to encour- age a new art style, named Soil Art”, we have assembled a set of case studies that we feel expose the possibilities of this vision. For our purposes of case selection, we will define soil art as “artistic work about, in, or with soil or soil protection issues, that is produced by artists in a multitude of genres and media, to be understood, among other things, as artwork that may contribute to wider environmental and soil protec- tion and awareness-raising discourses” (adapted from Toland and Wessolek, 2010). This definition does not presume the recognition of a new art genre but rather narrows our field of inquiry and opens the door for future discussion. Since the scope of artistic activity with and about soil is so large and diverse, it will be impossible to give examples of all artistic forms and genres in a single article. Rather than attempt a comprehensive overview, we will offer selected ex- amples, from Renaissance paintings to contemporary instal- lation works, to feature films, which reflect our observations as soil scientists with focused interests in art: – Sect. 2 (painting) by C. Feller, with additions by A. Toland and G. Wessolek; – Sect. 3 (installation) by A. Toland and G. Wessolek; – Sect. 4 (film) by E. R. Landa. 2 Painting 2.1 Roots, resurrection, and rural life – examples from the Renaissance Examples of soil in paintings are numerous and date to antiquity. On the one hand, there is soil as the medium itself; soils have been used as a material for art as pig- ments (since the prehistoric wall paintings in caves) (Ugolini, 2010), and more recently in contemporary paintings to give special effects to the subject (Van Breemen, 2010). On the other hand, soil has been represented in paintings and mo- saics in the form of lines or surfaces as an element of the landscape. In some cases, it was a schematic representa- tion, as if the artist appeared to have consciously failed to observe the soil (Feller et al., 2010), as in Venus Stand- ing in a Landscape (see http://www.louvre.fr/oeuvre-notices/ venus-debout-dans-un-paysage). But in other cases, the depiction of the soil (as a surface or a soil profile in the paintings) is remarkable, even when the focus is on another subject. Feller et al. (2010) distinguish three motifs of soil profile representation in paintings from the Renaissance: i. Visualization of the soil profile for the resurrection of the dead In The Last Judgment by Rogier Van der Weyden (1432) (Fig. 1), the resurrection of the dead required the artist to show the soil profile. The complete painting exhibits numerous soil profiles. Details of the emergence of men and women from soil profiles (lower part of the paint- ing) are so true to reality that they might have been painted by a pedologist. ii. Visualization of the soil profile for displaying plant roots In several Renaissance paintings, the representation of a ditch or a soil cut in a painting served very often as an opportunity to picture roots. In St. John the Baptist by Hieronymus Bosch (1450–1516), the figure of St. John leans towards a sharp vertical exposure of soil that in- cludes a strange large root: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ St._John_the_Baptist_in_the_Wilderness). A large root also appears in The Tempest, painted by Giorgione (1477/78–1510) (http://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/The_Tempest_(Giorgione)). These works are just two examples of paintings in which large, forked roots were made evident. The represen- tation of roots was not due to chance, but was chosen for its symbolic value. The root presented in detail in the foreground of the St. John the Baptist painted by Bosch is most likely the mandragora root, as suggested by Marjnissen and Ruyffelaere (1987). The mandragora root is thick, hairy and forked, and in a humanoid form. The roots of the Mandragora genus (mandrake) were extensively used by alchemists and in magic rituals based on their psychotropic properties (see Feller et al., 2010, p. 12, Fig. 1.6).1The mandrake was also a reli- gious symbol for Christians, for whom it was linked to Genesis and aspects of Christ’s life (for further details, see Feller et al., 2010). iii. Visualization of the soil profile to depict rural life and agricultural practices 1To view images of mandragora, (1) go to http://mandragore. bnf.fr/jsp/rechercheExperte.jsp; (2) click on “Département des Manuscrits (occidentaux)”; (3) at “Cote”, enter “français 12322”; (4) click on “Les images numérisées”; (5) at “Folio” box, enter “180v”; (6) hit “Chercher”, then click on the individual images to view. SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ http://www.louvre.fr/oeuvre-notices/venus-debout-dans-un-paysage http://www.louvre.fr/oeuvre-notices/venus-debout-dans-un-paysage http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._John_ the_Baptist_in_ the_Wilderness http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._John_ the_Baptist_in_ the_Wilderness http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tempest_(Giorgione) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tempest_(Giorgione) http://mandragore.bnf.fr/jsp/rechercheExperte.jsp http://mandragore.bnf.fr/jsp/rechercheExperte.jsp C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art 545 Figures for article “Case studies of soil in art” Authors: Feller C., Landa Edward R., Toland A., Wessolek G. Figure 01. Details of Le Jugement Dernier (The Last Jugement), circa 1432, Van der Weyden R., Musée Hôtel-Dieu, Hospices Civils de Beaune, Beaune, France (© Hospices de Beaune). Figure 1. R. Van der Weyden. Details of Le Jugement Dernier (The Last Judgment). Circa 1432. Musée Hôtel-Dieu, Hospices Civils de Beaune, Beaune, France (© Hospices de Beaune). In the 14th and 15th centuries artists also turned their gaze towards the soil in their depiction of agricultural practices. In the Très Riches Heures,2 for example, we see representations of specific agricultural tasks and toils. Here, the soil is depicted with a clear concern of realism and technical specificity, including the tilling of the soil. Herein is an early artistic and technical repre- sentation of what agronomists and pedologists describe as an agricultural profile. In addition to this example, Peter Brueghel the Elder (1525/30–1569) might also be cited for The Fall of Icarus (Fig. 2). Icarus is the tiny fig- ure at the bottom in the right-hand corner, with only his legs visible as he descends into the sea, while in fore- front of the canvas, attention is centered on the good Flemish ploughman tilling furrows. That was the tri- umph of daily working life over Utopia (“falling from the sky”). Besides the ploughman serving as a reference for agriculture, Brueghel the Elder did not fail to sym- bolize other of the world’s riches – animal husbandry in the form of the sheepherder leaning on his staff, and the wealth of the sea shown in the form of a busy fish- erman. It should be also noticed that forked roots are included in the agricultural profile – perhaps meant to be mandrake. 2The Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, or Très Riches Heures, is the most famous example of French Gothic manuscript illumination. It is a book of hours: a collection of prayers to be said at the canonical hours. It was created between ca. 1412 and 1416 for the Duke of Berry by the Limbourg brothers. The “calendar” images are vivid representations of peasants performing agricultural work. 2.2 Abstraction, experience, and inspiration – examples from the 20th century Our next two examples stem from two very different and op- posed artistic traditions of the 20th century: European ab- stract painting and American regionalism, which favored re- alistic representation over abstraction. 2.2.1 Grant Wood (USA) Art critics such as John Arthur (2000) and Lauren Della Monica (2013) have described realism in landscape paint- ing as an ongoing tradition in American art, suggesting that our understandings and relationships with the land are em- bedded in the American cultural experience, as depicted by 19th century painters such as Frederic Church and Winslow Homer, and later by, for example, Georgia O’Keefe and Alex Katz. One of the most well-known proponents of American landscape painting was Grant DeVolson Wood (1891–1942). He is best known for his paintings depicting the rural Amer- ican Midwest, particularly the painting American Gothic, an iconic image of the 20th century (http://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/Grant_Wood). Arbor Day (1932) is well known to soil scien- tists around the world (see http://www.wikiart.org/en/ grant-wood/arbor-day-1932). Arbor Day (from the Latin arbor, meaning tree) is a holi- day in which individuals and groups are encouraged to plant and care for trees. Years before the creation of the first World Soil Day on 5 December 2012, the first Arbor Day, held in the state of Nebraska on 10 April 1872, could also be seen as a day to celebrate the soil. While the founder of Arbor Day, J. Sterling Morton, went on to become the Secretary of www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grant_Wood http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grant_Wood http://www.wikiart.org/en/grant-wood/arbor-day-1932 http://www.wikiart.org/en/grant-wood/arbor-day-1932 546 C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art Figure 2. P. I. Bruegel. La chute d’Icare (The Fall of Icarus). Circa 1568. Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium (Inv. 4030). Photo: RoScan, J. Geleyns (© Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium). Agriculture of the United States (1893–1897), the connection between this American traditional and its agricultural context is evident in Grant Wood’s painting, as the schematization of soil horizons is equally as prominent as the planting of the tree. This contrast between the title and the obvious attention to the soilscape below the main subject (the tree planting) is interesting to consider. It reminds one of the Brueghel paint- ing The Fall of Icarus, discussed above, where the main sub- ject was not Icarus, who is quite invisible, but rather a Flem- ish ploughman tilling the soil. In both examples, the soil and its horizons provide for a richer visual narrative that links cultural tradition and working practices to the soil below. 2.2.2 Jean Dubuffet (France) While painters of genres past used their medium to docu- ment specific land formations and land use practices (Van Breemen, 2010; Zika, 2001; Feller et al., 2010), painters of the European Abstract tradition used soil materials more ab- stractly to explore the physical qualities of a given place rather than to realistically represent it. This turn towards ab- stract painting must be understood as a backlash against es- tablished norms of visual expression dominant in the 19th century salons. With regard to the soil, the Texturology se- ries of works by the French modernist painter Jean Dubuffet (1901–1985) is perhaps the most famous example of what art historian Grant Kester (2011) has described as the “turn towards abstraction”. At the height of action painting and abstract expressionism most notably characterized by artists such as Jackson Pollock and Willem de Kooning, Dubuf- fet began using a plastering technique called the “Tyrolean” method in the early 1950s to create large-format paintings celebrating the complexity of the soil (Alley, 1981). Dubuffet discovered he could do splendid paintings us- ing the soil from his garden (Fig. 3). About his series Topographies or Texturologies or Materiologies, he wrote (15 April 1958) to his friend Henri Matisse (Dubuffet, Cata- logue Gianadda, 1993, p. 104): J’entends par là une nouvelle série de ‘tableaux d’assemblages’ représentant des morceaux de sols. (I mean by that a new series of paintings represent- ing an assemblage of pieces of soils.) While other painters before 1970 used soil as a material or represented soil as a background feature, it was rare for soil to be central and presented in and of itself, as with the work of Jean Dubuffet. Between 1950 and 1960, Dubuffet’s paint- ings even carried “pedological” titles, such as the following: – Terre mon biscuit (Earth, my biscuit). April 1953. – Terre orange aux trois hommes (Orange earth with three men). May 1953. – Histologie du sol (Histology of soil). October 1957. – Série Texturologie (Texturology series). 1957–1958. – Mécanique du sol Texturologie (Mechanics of soil tex- turology). December 1958. SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art 547 Figure 3. Jean Dubuffet with soil (1958) (© Archives Fondation Dubuffet, Paris; photo: Jean Weber and © Fondation Gianadda, Martigny). – Topographie honneur au sol (Topography in honor of soil). December 1958. – Terre mère (Mother Earth). December 1959–May 1960. 2.2.3 Anselm Kiefer (Germany) In addition to works by Joseph Beuys, Hans Haacke, and Herman Prigann, Anselm Kiefer (1945–) is one of the most prominent German artists of 21st century to directly use and depict the soil as an artistic expression of political critique. Until recent years, Kiefer lived for part of the year in Barjac in the south of France (Gard) in a vast domain of “garrigue” (a type of low, soft-leaved scrubland in the Mediterranean woodlands) that he transformed into a huge work of art: a concrete architectural landscape with buildings and towers in ruins, a cathedral of soil and concrete, and a network of tunnels that evokes the landscape in the scale of giant earthworm galleries giving access to small houses as art chapels showing very large paintings or other art works. These cultivated landscapes have been created with mixed materials including soil, but also with reinforced concrete, as in the 2004 giant art work Von den Verlorenen gerührt, die der Glaube nicht trug, erwachen die Trommeln im Fluss at the Art Gallery of New South Wales (Sydney, Australia) (http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/ new-contemporary-galleries/featured-artists-and-works/ anselm-kiefer). It seems that this artist has developed a special relationship with soil: in architecture, with digging the soil in the manner of an earthworm; in painting, with the representation of soil landscape. Some of these paintings (as in many others by Kiefer in various museum and private collections around the world) show cultivated fields which could have caught on fire – a vision of devastation. It looks dry and bare, but some of these paintings exhibit a glimmer of hope as Aperiatur Terra et Germinet Salvatorem (Let the earth be opened and send forth a savior) (2005–2006). The painting was done with oil, acrylic, emulsion, shellac, and clay on canvas with colored www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/new-contemporary-galleries/featured-artists-and-works/anselm-kiefer http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/new-contemporary-galleries/featured-artists-and-works/anselm-kiefer http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/new-contemporary-galleries/featured-artists-and-works/anselm-kiefer 548 C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art Figure 4. Anselm Kiefer. Aperiatur Terra et Germinet Salvatorem. 2005–2006. (© Anselm Kiefer, courtesy of the artist.) flowers gathered at the bottom evocating the new birth of life (Fig. 4). 2.3 Teaching the soil – a place for painting in the soil science curricula One of the main objectives of teaching soil science is to con- vey the concept of a three-dimensional, organized natural body – the pedosphere. Soil is organized into different layers named “horizons”, and the whole of the horizons is the “soil profile” (Fig. 5), with a thickness from some centimeters to more than 10 m. It means that soil is not only “earth” but a “natural body” dependent upon different factors, such as climate, topogra- phy, geology, biology (including human activities), and time. Hence, earth as a material (and Earth as a planet) must not be equated with soil as an organized natural body. This vi- sion of the soil is attributed to the Russian scientist Vasil- lii Dokuchaev, who suggested in his 1883 thesis The Rus- sian Chernozem that the soil be considered the fourth natu- ral kingdom of nature, equivalent to the mineral, animal, and vegetable kingdoms. Every soil scientist knows how students are astonished and fascinated when they discover the soil profile (Hartemink et al., 2014). A new world appears for them with this organi- zation of multi-colored horizons – a world filled with living creatures. For some, the first time seeing a soil profile can be an emotional experience. As Hartemink (2014) noted at the 20th World Congress of Soil Science, “The soil profile speaks to us. . . . The soil profile tells us stories”. Nowadays, in modern soil textbooks, soil profiles are shown and de- scribed with photographs. But the early scientific depictions of soil in paintings dated from the beginning of the 20th cen- tury, either as splendid illustrations in textbooks on soil or prepared for educational exhibitions in lecture halls, gener- ally as canvases representing different types of soil (Fig. 6). The two oil canvases (60×100 cm) shown in Fig. 6 rep- resent soil profiles. These canvases were published as il- lustrations in the soil science textbook of Demolon (1952, p. 86) and were anonymously displayed in the 1940s for a soil science course. In an art exhibition on “the Earth” (2005, Uzès, France), C. Feller presented these paintings, without any technical explanation. The visitors generally found these canvases splendid, and asked if they were painted by an artist. Soil scientists who have written about historical farming practices, land use, and soil geomorphologic processes have often referenced paintings such as those discussed in this chapter, as well as others by Jacob and Salomon van Ruys- dael, Paul Gauguin, Hieronymus Bosch, Peter Brueghel the Elder, and Ambrogio Lorenzetti, in their communications (Feller et al., 2010; Hartemink, 2009; Jenny, 1968). They use artistic examples to make the story of the soil profile come alive. Other soil scientists – for example Gerd Wessolek and Alexandra Toland (Technische Universität Berlin), Ken van Rees (University of Saskatchewan), and Jay Stratton Noller (Oregon State University), and Folkert Van Oort and Béné- dicte and Louis-Marie Bresson (INRA, France) – go beyond showing famous case studies of paintings to include artistic techniques and artistic collaborations in their teaching prac- tices. A transdisciplinary confluence of soil science and art is achieved by including soil science students in artistic activi- ties, and inviting artists to participate in soil science research and teaching endeavors. Paintings by soil scientists are a way of presenting soil scientific concepts in a visual way. Figure 7 explores formal aesthetic features (color, texture, structure, composition of horizons) to describe soil properties. Such aesthetic features are often used in field descriptions for soil mapping but are not referred to as such. Capturing the profile in a painting is an exercise in aesthetic observation and documentation that allows the field scientist or student to capture subtle details not possible in tabular, written form. Painting techniques are also often used in soil awareness- raising activities, such as the “Painting with the colours of SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art 549 Figure 5. Soil profiles and associated vegetation represented as paintings in Walter Kubiena’s textbook (1953) Bestimmungsbuch und Sys- tematik der Böden Europas (The Soils of Europe) the earth” program with Irena Racek in Austria (Szlezak, 2009), the soil painting program at the Museu de Ciências da Terra Alexis Dorofeef (Earth Science Museum) in Brazil (Muggler, 2013), or the soil painting exercises with Marcela Moraga at the Global Soil Week in 2015. Beginning with Wessolek’s international “art and soil” calendar in 2004, the calendar has become a popular format for displaying soils from an aesthetic perspective. Since that time, several soil science societies have developed similar calendars as an ef- fort to raise soil awareness. These examples aim to encour- age a direct physical, personal, and aesthetic experience with materials otherwise rarely seen. 3 Installation Installation art provides artists with unlimited media and tools with which to explore the soil as social, ecological, and political subject. This is not to say that more traditional forms such as painting and sculpture are not sufficient to capture the complexity of the soil, but that installation introduces dimensions of time, space, and sensory experience beyond traditional fields of vision. “By inviting the viewer literally to enter into the work of art, and by appealing not only to the sense of sight but also, on occasion, to those of hearing and smell, such works demand the spectator’s active engage- ment” (Grove Art Online, 2009). Rosenthal (2003) catego- rized installation art into two main groups – filled-space in- stallation, and site-specific installation, to which many exam- ples of land art and public outdoor interventions with soil be- long. We will focus on the “filled-space” type of installation art here, and differentiate between two directions: (i) instal- lation as an immersive spatial experience that relies heavily on architectural design, and (ii) installation as Gesamtkunst- werk, 3 or an assemblage of multiple forms that symbolically, materially, or thematically relate to one another concerning the values and functions of soil in society. 3.1 Immersive experience 3.1.1 Walter de Maria (USA) and Urs Fischer (Switzerland) To begin with the first type of installation, installation as im- mersive experience, we can think about the soil in terms of its 3The term Gesamtkunstwerk was first introduced by the philosopher Karl Friedrich Eusebius Trahndorff in an essay from 1827 and later popularized by Richard Wagner to de- scribe the use of multiple art forms in his operas. Although the term has been hotly debated by art history scholars regard- ing works from the Modernist period to the neo-avant-garde movements of the 1960s, it may be used to interpret instal- lation art as a work of art consisting of many related parts. www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 550 C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art Figure 6. Unknown artist. Paintings of soil profiles used by A. Demolon and colleagues for their lectures in Paris (in the 1940s). Left: “Vertisol” from the Centre region (Clermont-Ferrand, France); right: “Luvisol” from the Île-de-France region (Versailles, France) (private collection). unique spatial qualities. On the one hand, soil is solid ground – a dense, stable, immobile field upon which to walk, stand, and build. On the other hand, soil is a porous zone in per- petual flux – a complex labyrinth of moist pore spaces and crevices churning with microscopic life. Regarding the first vision of the soil, we can cite two well-known examples from New York City: Walter de Maria’s New York Earth Room (1977, Fig. 8) and Urs Fischer’s You (2007, Fig. 9). For the New York Earth Room, the pioneering land artist, Walter de Maria, filled an entire Manhattan loft with soil from a Penn- sylvania farm, only to be viewed (and smelled) through a small doorway blocked off by a Plexiglas window. The in- stallation of earth materials completely occupies the viewers’ experience, bringing the physical, visual awe of land art into a familiar, indoor, architectural space. By filling a loft space in Manhattan with earth, De Maria makes a theatrical use of space. It is the space itself, which is being shown, transformed by both the quantity and nature of the material. . . . A sense of exclusion is experienced by the viewer, as the space occupied by the work cannot be entered (Kastner and Wallis, 1998). Thirty years later and only ten blocks away, Swiss artist Urs Fischer “installed” a formal antithesis of de Maria’s Earth Room by excavating rather than depositing about the same amount of earth from the depths of Gavin Brown’s gallery floor and inviting the viewer to actually enter into the work of art at his or her own risk. Here too, the viewer is overwhelmed by the earth materials that challenge the architecture of the exhibition space. The solid ground necessary for any architectural venture gives way to a new and somewhat ungrounding spatial experience. In Earth Room and You, typical conceptions of earth materi- als, such as ploughed fields or excavated pits for construction work, are brought indoors to disrupt the viewers’ normal re- lationship to the materials and the space they occupy, calling for deeper contemplation of and confrontation with both. SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art 551 Figure 7. G. Wessolek. Soil Aesthetics Criteria. 2007. (Courtesy of the artist.) 3.1.2 Philip Beesley (Canada) Another example of immersive installation soil art explores the more porous, labyrinthine qualities of the soil as a spa- tial entity without actually moving a grain. An ongoing re- search project by architects Philip Beesley, Rachel Arm- strong, Hayley Isaacs, Eric Bury, and Jonathan Tyrell, Hy- lozoic Soil (Fig. 10) is an interactive environment of tiny sensors, “groves of frond-like ‘breathing’ pores, tongues and thickets of twitching whiskers” and other mechanized com- ponents that make up what Beesley envisions as a proto- typical model of “immersive architecture and synthetic ecol- ogy” (Beesley and Armstrong, 2011). With far more potential than the massive, inert, singly functioning building material it is commonly considered, the soil is seen as a responsive framework for myriad encounters and a physical template for social and biological evolution. Where de Maria and Fis- cher challenge the viewer’s experience of architecture by in- stalling soil within the familiar framework of walls and floors in Earth Room and You, Beesley and his partners challenge the very idea of architecture by redefining that framework of walls and floors as a system of reactive pore spaces that imitate the soil. Hylozoism refers to the Greek philosophy that life may be found in all matter. Hylozoic Soil is a multisensory ki- netic installation that uses the sculptural metaphor of fer- tile soil to bring architecture – usually inert – to life. It si- multaneously references the microbial aesthetics of mycor- rhizal plant–root–fungi interdependence and the metaphysics of Graham Cairns-Smith’s controversial clay-life hypothe- sis.4 Like the hyper-reactivity of clay particles, the delicately responsive structures of Hylozoic Soil are predetermined to evolve and change based on human (or other biological) pres- ence. A meshed network of movement sensors, air filters, and flasks filled with ferrofluids sends feedback signals of light and rippling movement triggered by the smallest presence of otherness within the system (Beesley and Armstrong, 2011). It is this juxtapositioning of life as container and as contained that creates tension in Beesley’s work. As an installation, or architectural prototype, Hylozoic Soil succeeds in momentarily transporting human experience to the scale of a springtail, reminiscent of multimedia exhibits that magnify the soil microcosm in natural history museums and soil educational exhibitions.5 But Beesley and his part- ners have created more than an installation to contemplate the 4In his controversial book, Seven Clues to the Origin of Life, Cairns-Smith (1985) proposed that clays were a proto-organic vehi- cle or template for biological replication. 5See, for example, soil pore-space-scale models at the Dig It! The Secrets of the Soil exhibit at the Smithsonian Institution’s Na- tional Museum of Natural History, Washington DC; the Unter Wel- ten exhibit at the Museum am Schölerberg in Osnabrück, Germany; www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 552 C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art Figure 8. Walter de Maria. New York Earth Room. 1977. Long-term installation at 141 Wooster Street, New York City. Photo: John Cliett. Courtesy of Dia Art Foundation, New York. complexity of the soil. They use the concept of the living soil to challenge accepted notions of architecture by focusing on the fantastic universe of soil pore systems – the spaces in be- tween – rather than the predictable boundaries of cubes and spheres that separate life (via traditional architectural struc- tures) from the wilderness beyond. Beesley remarks: In opposition to design principles of the past cen- tury that favored optimal equations where maxi- mum volume might be enclosed by the minimum possible surface, the structures in Hylozoic Ground prefer diffuse, deeply reticulated skins (Beesley and Armstrong, 2011). If we think about the immense surface area of a soil, with pore spaces matching aggregates, and sand, silt and clay frac- tions evenly distributed to allow for optimized flow of water, air, nutrients, and biota, we approach a new vision of archi- tecture where no space is empty and no structure is station- ary. A handful of loam becomes the ultimate installation and architectural template for life itself. and the Unter Unseren Füßen exhibit of the Senckenberg Museum of Natural History in Görlitz, Germany. 3.2 Gesamtkunstwerk 3.2.1 Claire Pentecost (USA) As a term that gained currency in the 1960s to describe a “construction or assemblage conceived for a specific interior, often for a temporary period, and distinguished from more conventional sculpture as a discrete object by its physical domination of the entire space” (Grove Art Online, 2009), in- stallation art has become a household name in the contempo- rary art world. By its nature, installation art can reference and appropriate all other visual art forms, cherry-picking differ- ent styles, media, and techniques to condense meaning into three-dimensional spatial experience. Some artists and crit- ics have referred to installation art as a development of the concept of Gesamtkunstwerk, a total work of art, as it ap- propriates a spectrum of different artistic disciplines brought together into one work (de Oliveira et al., 1993). This reading of installation art as a total work of art consisting of many re- lated parts is exemplified by a further example, Claire Pente- cost’s acclaimed contribution to dOCUMENTA 13 in Kassel, the Soil-Erg (Fig. 11). In the rotunda of the historic Ottoneum, a theater turned hospital turned gallery turned natural history museum, Claire Pentecost assembled a series of drawings, sculptures, worm compost, and appropriated museum pieces that all revolved around a central theme – the soil as post-capitalist currency and common resource that anyone can create by learning how SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art 553 Figure 9. Urs Fischer. you. 2007. Excavation in gallery space (Gavin Brown’s Enterprise, New York). Installation view. Collection of The Brant Foundation, Greenwich, Connecticut (© Urs Fischer. Courtesy of the artist and Gavin Brown’s Enterprise, New York. Photo: Ellen Page Wilson; additional photos at https://www.gavinbrown.biz/artists/urs_fischer/works). to compost. As part of this well-researched Gesamtkunst- werk, Pentecost participated in a three-month residency pro- gram at the University of Kassel’s Faculty of Organic Agri- cultural Sciences, offered workshops at dOCUMENTA 13 on composting, soil health, and capitalist alternatives to land grabbing, and developed a series of pillar-like vertical planters in and around the city together with designer and philanthropist Ben Friton of the CanYa Love Foundation. The installation at the Ottoneum served as the visual cen- terpiece of Soil-Erg, visited by thousands of people over the course of the summer. Lining the walls of the Ottoneum are oversized soil coins, too big and crumbly to fit in anyone’s pockets, and 43 draw- ings in earth-based pigments that reference the graphic style of banknotes. The series of soil-erg bills features images of historic figures of sustainable agriculture such as Rachel Car- son, Wangari Maathai, and Vandana Shiva, as well as influ- ential ecological artists and writers such as Joseph Beuys and www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 https://www.gavinbrown.biz/artists/urs_fischer/works 554 C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art Figure 10. Philip Beesley et al. Hylozoic Soil. 2007. Installation at the Musée des Beaux Arts, Montreal, Canada, 2007 (© PBAI, courtesy of the artist). Henry David Thoreau, and a cast of non-human soil workers from snails and bees to fungal mycelium and bacteriophagic nematodes. The installation proposes a new system of value based on living soil. At the center of the room compost made from local food waste is symbolically pressed and stacked into the shape of gold bars, representing units of a new cur- rency – the soil-erg. Mounted on another wall of the Ottoneum, like the ghost of an affluent fossil fuel past, is the Richelsdorfer Moun- tain Cabinet from 1783, a scale model of Hesse’s geologic strata once used for teaching the fundamentals of extrac- tion. Next to the historical cabinet appropriated from the natural history museum’s collection, a new cabinet squirms with worm compost produced in part by the food scraps of visiting dOCUMENTA guests, offset by a list of current “land-grabbing” deals between sovereign countries in Africa, Asia, and South America and multinational agribusiness con- cerns.6 If we go back to the sheer gravity of Walter de Maria’s Earth Room, we recognize not only a playful approach to redefining architectural space but also an underlying inten- tion to free art from the commodification and value control of the market economy – a reoccurring debate of installa- tion art. A pile of earth cannot be as easily auctioned as 6Pentecost cites the following websites for her list of land- grabbing info presented in the Soil-Erg installation: http:// farmlandgrab.org/ and http://oaklandinstitute.org a landscape painting or ceramic bowl. Claire Pentecost ex- tends such ideas about the de-commodification of art to the soil, using sculpture, drawing, writing, lecturing, collabora- tive engineering, public participation, urban gardening, and composting as a Gesamtkunstwerk to not only explore but also demand new systems of value for the soil. Made of soil and work, the soil-erg both is and is not an abstraction. Symbolically, it refers to a field of value, but that value is of a special nature: soil must be produced and maintained in a con- text. It is completely impractical to circulate it. It is heavy, and, because of the loose structure required of good soil, it falls apart. . . . The physical nature of soil the soil-erg both evokes and denies the pos- sibility of coinage. If currency as we know it is the ultimate deterritorialization, the soil-erg’s value is inherently territorialized (Pentecost, 2012). While human societies have long benefited from the goods and services of the soil, including food production and medicines; materials for pigments, ceramics, and building constructions; and materials for religious and spiritual activ- ities, the notion of valuing and protecting the soil on account of its goods and services is a more recent phenomenon of the mid-20th century. With the emergence of emissions trad- ing and environmental economic accounts in the early 1990s, natural functions have become increasingly instrumentalized and institutionalized under the rubric of ecosystems services SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ http://farmlandgrab.org/ http://farmlandgrab.org/ http://oaklandinstitute.org C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art 555 Figure 11. Claire Pentecost. Soil-Erg. Installation at dOCUMENTA 13 (2012). (© Claire Pentecost, courtesy of the artist, photo Jürgen Hess.) (Gómez-Baggethun et al., 2010), which is effectively an eco- nomic approach to understanding and valuing natural func- tions as “goods”. The role of the soil is not only to provide foods and fibers; its optimal management also considers reg- ulation of climate, mitigation of pollution, maintenance of biodiversity, etc. But this system of goods and services must also be considered in the framework of ethical, spiritual, and aesthetic dimensions. By choosing a unit of energy for the title of her installation (erg is short for the Greek word for work, ergon, and represents the equivalent of 10−7 joules), Pentecost places an abstract value on the soil that challenges the restrictive vision of soil as provider of goods and ser- vices that can be monetarily quantified for dominant market economies. 4 Film In the visual arts, soil is sometimes “in your face” – it is the foreground, the medium, the center of attention, as in the works of the above-mentioned artists. In contrast and not un- expectedly, this is rarely the case in Hollywood films. Nev- ertheless, location scouts and directors clearly recognize that soils can form a visually striking element that adds mood and texture to the viewing experience. Some filmmakers have recognized the human connection to the soil and have used it in their storytelling. A few screenwriters and filmmakers have gone even further and moved from the typical view of soils as a static backdrop on which the action is played out to a view of soils as a dynamic ecosystem feature. Woman in the Dunes (1964) and Dune (1984), two films previously discussed in detail in Landa (2010), focus on not only the dynamism of the moving sands but also on the sub- surface water of the dune as a key ecosystem feature. Soil is central to the story of planet Arrakis in Dune, the David Lynch film based upon the 1965 novel by Frank Herbert. In- deed the “planetary ecologist” who is the hero of the Dune saga was based upon an Oregon soil scientist (Landa, 2010). A 2013 documentary Jodorowsky’s Dune, on the unsuccess- ful mid-1970s attempt of surrealist director Alejandro Jodor- owsky to adapt and film Herbert’s novel, is reviving interest in both the Lynch film and in Herbert as a potent force in the environmental movement. The natural history of the prairie and the abundance de- rived from the soil is exquisitely depicted in Days of Heaven, the 1978 film by acclaimed director Terrence Malick. Char- acterized by rich images and sparse dialog,7 this circa 1915 tale of life on the wheat farms of Texas (actually filmed in Alberta and Montana) includes a brief but memorable time- lapse photography sequence by cinematographer Ken Mid- 7For soil scientists, an endearing and perhaps unscripted line (33:10 to 33:26) in Days of Heaven has a 12-year-old girl, played by Linda Manz, musing in voice-over about her future, as she studies a clod of soil and lowers her ear to the earth: “I could be a mud doctor. . . checking out the earth. . . underneath.” www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 556 C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art dleham.8 The footage (originally shot for the 1979 documen- tary The Secret Life of Plants; Weber, 2007) is accompanied by a soundtrack composed and conducted by Ennio Morri- cone. Images of unfurling seedlings and probing roots have a special magic for scientists and non-scientists alike – see, for example, the 10 January 2014 cover of Science maga- zine showing a lateral root emerging from the main root of a young Arabidopsis thaliana plant (http://www.sciencemag. org/content/343/6167.cover-expansion). Indeed, moving images of elongating roots seem to beg for music, a fact not unnoticed by Auburn University plant phys- iologist Elizabeth (“Betty”) L. Klepper and her US Depart- ment of Agriculture/Agricultural Research Service colleague Morris G. Huck. Their 16 mm film, Time-lapse photography of root growth, depicting research at the Auburn rhizotron (Fig. 12) where cotton roots in soil were observed through glass panels while the plant tops were exposed to field condi- tions (Taylor 1969; Huck et al., 1970), premiered at the 11th International Botanical Congress in Seattle in the summer of 1969. The film opens with a classical musical soundtrack that appears to be a re-write of Luigi Boccherini’s “Celebrated Minuet”9 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= epJahNtJzss). Klepper wrote the film’s narration that was later recorded by a staff member from Auburn University Television. He recommended several possible accompanying music selections to the research team. Klepper and Huck se- lected one that had a dramatic upturn in the music at a point in the edited, final version of the film where a root growing down a pane of glass has disappeared behind the soil and suddenly reappears (e-mail, E. L. Klepper to E. R. Landa; 21 April 2014). The film was given new life in 1999 with its re-release on DVD by the American Society of Agron- omy/Crop Science Society of America/Soil Science Soci- ety of America, and has been a popular instructional video (Kirkham, 2011). The works of Klepper/Huck in the scientific sphere, and of Middleham in the commercial film world, are early ex- amples of the convergence of film with the soil and plant sciences. More recently, soil scientist/geo-archaeologist Paul Adderley (University of Stirling, Scotland) and composer Michael Young (University of London) have collaborated on 8For an in-depth look at the time-lapse photography of Ken Middleham (1927–2001), see Filming the Invisible: The Story of Ken Middleham, Cinematographer at http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=cDElLm1hfSQ and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v= azIXfxqFVQo. Middleham was the natural history cinematog- rapher on The Secret Life of Plants (http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=sGl4btrsiHk), and the soundtrack to accompany his im- ages there was composed and performed by Stevie Wonder. 9The Boccherini minuet has been used in the soundtrack of a considerable number of feature films (http://www.imdb.com/name/ nm0090530/), including the Coen brothers’ The Ladykillers (2004). Exposure: Understanding Living in Extreme Environments (http://www.ground-breaking.net/exposure.html), an instal- lation that integrates sight and sound across scales ranging from the microscopic to the landscape scale and that de- picts both the physicality of soil and its role as a cultural archive of past civilizations (an experimental 12 min video from the installation is available at http://soundsrite.uws.edu. au/soundsRiteContent/volume4/YoungInfo.html). Modern rhizotron facilities, sampling devices adapted from engineering and medicine (including borescopes and laparoscopic samplers), and advanced, three-dimensional to- mographic imaging techniques offer new opportunities for creative explorations at the interface of science and art, with the potential of attracting new collaborators and audiences to soil science. Ken Middleham’s talents in micro-scale motion picture photography were also put to use in the 1974 science fiction film Phase IV, where ants become a threat to human civiliza- tion. Middleham provided the insect photography – which has appropriately been described as “creating a sort of animal acting verisimilitude that has gone unmatched on film before or since” (Gilchrist, 2012). But from a viewer’s perspective of the entire film – aptly described as “an ecological para- ble set within the science fiction genre” (Bass and Kirkham, 2011, p. 257) – soil is primarily featured not in the micropho- tography of ant activity but on the macro-scale, in towering geometric obelisks made of soil. Rising from the desert floor, they are ominous; the massive and alien occurrence of soil in these ant observation towers and in the form of massive solar reflectors, combined with the storyline and soundtrack, is a highly effective conveyor of threat to the viewer. Having ob- served much smaller, cylindrical, indurated-soil ant nests in Oregon (Landa, 1977), this image had particular resonance with me – the unfamiliar soil feature in that case provoking curiosity. The director of Phase IV, Saul Bass (1920–1996), was a noted graphic designer whose corporate logos (e.g., the United Airlines “flying U” and blue/red/orange stripes) are known to all, and whose design of motion picture title se- quences and advertising posters made him a sought-after tal- ent in Hollywood – the directors with whom Bass worked in- cluded Otto Preminger, Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubrick, and Martin Scorsese (who wrote the foreword to the Bass and Kirkham book). There is a strong linear character in many of the Bass graphics, and this signature style is reflected in the imagining and construction of the soil pillars for the only feature film that he directed. Bass conceptualized and designed all of the earthen mani- festations of the ant civilization in the film – the tunnels, tow- ers, reflectors, and the final chamber (e-mail from J. Bass, 6 May 2014). The film critic of London’s Sunday Times picked up on the linkage of design, imagery, and mood, call- ing Phase IV “a film of design, of unsentimental forces set against one another in lines, curves, angles, shining surfaces. Beautiful, but always threatening, mysterious, forbidding.” SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ http://www.sciencemag.org/content/343/6167.cover-expansion http://www.sciencemag.org/content/343/6167.cover-expansion https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epJahNtJzss https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epJahNtJzss http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDElLm1hfSQ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDElLm1hfSQ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azIXfxqFVQo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azIXfxqFVQo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGl4btrsiHk http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGl4btrsiHk http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0090530/ http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0090530/ http://www.ground-breaking.net/exposure.html http://soundsrite.uws.edu.au/soundsRiteContent/volume4/YoungInfo.html http://soundsrite.uws.edu.au/soundsRiteContent/volume4/YoungInfo.html C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art 557 Figure 12. Time-lapse photography setup used by Klepper and Huck at the Auburn rhizotron to examine root behavior behind glass panels (courtesy of Alabama Agricultural Experiment Station). The camera support could be moved to allow photography of any part of the visible root system. The 1/2 in. square grid-wire mesh embedded in the glass panes provided a measuring scale and would reduce shattering if the glass broke (from Taylor, 1969). (Bass and Kirkham, 2011, p. 258). Although the story is set in Arizona, the outdoor filming was done in the Rift Valley of Kenya, and Bass had to be careful not to get a giraffe in the shot (e-mail from J. Bass, 6 May 2014). Bass’ surreal epilogue to the film (cut by Paramount Pictures and not on the presently available DVD) was screened for the first time in Los Angeles in 2012 (Gilchrist, 2012). Available at http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=beLpsWaUDNk, it is a stunning summation that is a must-see to get the unambiguous storyline and to appreci- ate Bass’ artistic vision in its full realization. Marketed by Paramount Pictures as a B-horror movie, Phase IV had only a small footprint in the US, but was a hit in France (Bass and Kirkham, 2011). Hopefully Saul Bass’ pioneering work will receive greater attention when scholars and movie buffs gather to discuss environmental films, and future audiences will get to see the uncut version of Phase IV. As soil scientists, our view of soil in films is admittedly atypical. A case in point is the 2011 film from director Lech Majewski, The Mill and the Cross. A truly unique film in- spired by a still image – Pieter Bruegel’s 1564 painting The Procession to Calvary depicting Christ carrying the cross to the crucifixion in a reimagined 16th century Flemish setting – it has a scene in which a woman is buried alive. The grave has box-like, vertical walls. But even more visually power- ful than the geometry are the color contrasts and the strong horizon boundaries in the soil exposed on the pit walls: – a very dark surface which grades to a somewhat lighter brown, – then a very sharp demarcation to a thick white layer. Captivated by the image, my first thoughts were – Was that the natural color in the soil pit? If yes, was the filming location specifically chosen for this look? – Alternatively, were some profile color effects enhanced through computer-generated imagery or other methods? I had a series of e-mail exchanges with director Lech Majew- ski on these questions (e-mails, L. Majewski to E. R. Landa: 31 December 2012; 26 February 2014). The scene was shot near Katowice, Poland, on an old slag-deposit field. The choice of the pit site was just chance – the look of the soil had nothing to do with the selection of the filming location; rather, the slope was chosen to give a good view of the monks in the same shot. The lesson for me was clear – not all de- pictions of soil, even if eye-catching for a soil scientist, are conscious acts of filmmaking. But one can dream. . . 5 Conclusions Art is one way of communicating the complex visual, cul- tural, and symbolic dimensions embodied in the soil. We www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beLpsWaUDNk http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beLpsWaUDNk 558 C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art have presented a set of case studies taken from three for- mal artistic traditions: painting, installation, and film. While some examples are more incidental depictions of the soil, others are focused on environmental, social, and political questions surrounding soil and land use. Although the ex- amples stem from our personal interests in the given genres, we come to the following conclusions: – Artworks focused on soils and landscapes provide a dif- ferent way of appreciating the soil and could therefore be valuable for soil conservation and soil awareness raising efforts. – Professional soil science societies should encourage in- terdisciplinary collaboration in areas such as soil and art, soil and culture, soil and religion, and soil and his- tory. – At the same time, the soil science community can offer the art world a new analytical lens to examine soil and environmental protection issues. – Artists expand the realm of soil science research with visual, cultural, and symbolic forms of inquiry, offering new ways of visualizing, interpreting, and interacting with soil. In contrast to soil scientific work, artistic work is designed to touch our emotions and provoke discussions on environ- mental, social, and political change. Both science and art are necessary for raising soil awareness. Only when the soil sci- ence community is more broadly based will soil protection become more relevant for the public at large and for decision makers. Acknowledgements. For Sect. 4, thanks to Jennifer Bass, Stephen Henry (University of Maryland; Michelle Smith Perform- ing Arts Library), Pat Kirkham (Bard Graduate Center; Decorative Arts, Design History, Material Culture), Betty Klepper (USDA- ARS, retired), Lech Majewski, and Donald Manildi (University of Maryland; International Piano Archives) for their generous responses to queries. Edited by: C. C. Muggler References Alley, R.: Catalogue of the Tate Gallery’s Collection of Modern Art other than Works by British Artists, Tate Gallery and Sotheby Parke-Bernet, London, 1981. Arthur, J.: Green Woods and Crystal Waters: The American Land- scape Tradition, Philbrook Museum of Art, Tulsa, OK, 2000. Bass, J. and Kirkham, P.: Saul Bass: A life in film & design, Lau- rence King Publishing, London, 2011. Beesley, P. and Armstrong, R.: Soil and Protoplasm, The Hylozoic Ground Project, Architectural Design, 81, 78–89, 2011. Cairns-Smith, A. G.: Seven Clues to the Origin of Life, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1985. Catalogue Gianadda: Dubuffet, Exposition 4 mars – 10 juin 1993, Fondation Pierre Gianadda, Martigny, Suisse, 238 p., 1993. Certini, G. and Ugolini, F. C.: An updated, expanded, universal def- inition of soil, Geoderma, 192, 378–379, 2013. Della Monica, L.: Painted Landscapes: Contemporary Views, Schif- fer Publishing, Ltd, Atglen, PA, 2013. Demolon, A.: Principes d’Agronomie, Tome 1. Dynamique du Sol, 5th Edn., Dunod, Paris, 520 pp., 1952. De Oliveira, N., Oxley, N., and Petry, M.: On Installation, Art & Design Profile, 30, 7–11, 1993. Dokuchaev, V. V.: The Russian Chernozem, in: Selected Works of V. V. Dokuchaev, Vol. 1, 14–419. Moscow, 1948, Israel Pro- gram for Scientific Translations Ltd. (for USDA-NSF), edited by: Monson, S., Jerusalem, 1967 (Translated from Russian into English by N. Kander), 1883. Feller, C., Chapuis-Lardy, L., and Ugolini, F.: The representation of soil in the Western Art: from Genesis to Pedogenesis, in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Springer, Dor- drecht, Heidelberg, London, New York, Netherlands, Chapter 1, 3–22, 488 pp. + Color Plates, 2010. Gilchrist, T.: Saul Bass’ long-lost original ending for “Phase IV” unearthed in Los Angeles, available at: http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/ saul-bass-phase-iv-original-ending-cinefamily-paramount-341449 (last access: 25 January 2015), 2012. Gómez-Baggethun, E., de Groot, R., Lomas, P., and Montes, C.: The history of ecosystem services in economic theory and practice: From early notions to markets and payment schemes, Ecological Economics, 69, 1209–1218, 2010. Grove Art Online: Grove Art Online, available at: http: //www.oxfordartonline.com/public/book/oao_gao (last access: 9 September 2012), 2009. Hartemink, A. E.: The depiction of soil profiles since the late 1700s, Catena, 79, 113–127, 2009. Hartemink, A.: On the relation between soils and climate, oral com- munication (12 June 2014) at the 20th World Congress of Soil Science, Jeju, Korea, 2014. Hartemink, A. E., Balks, M. R., Chen, Z. S., Drohan, P., Field, D., Krasilniko, P., Lowe, D. J., Rabenhorst, M., van Rees, K., Schad, P., Schipper, L. A., Sonneveld, M., and Walter, C.: The joy of teaching soil science, Geoderma, 217–218, 1–9, 2014. Huck, M. G., Klepper, B., and Taylor, H. M.: Diurnal variations in root diameter, Plant Physiol., 45, 529–530, 1970. Jenny, H.: The image of soil in landscape art, old and new, in: Study Week on Organic Matter and Soil Fertility, edited by Pontificiae Academiae Scientarium Scripta, Varia 32, North Holland Publ. Co and Wiley Interscience Division, Amsterdam, New York, 947–979, 1968. Kastner, J. and Wallis, B.: Land and Environmental Art, NY, Phaidon, 1998. Kester, G. H.: The One and the Many – Contemporary Collabora- tive Art in a Global Context, Duke University Press, Durham and London, 2011. Kirkham, M. B.: Elevated carbon dioxide: Impacts on soil and plant water relations, Boca Raton, CRC Press, Florida, 2011. Kubiena, W. L.: Bestimmungsbuch und Systematik der Boden Eu- ropas, Ferdinand Enke Verlag, Stuttgart, 392 pp., 1953. SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/saul-bass-phase-iv-original-ending-cinefamily-paramount-341449 http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/saul-bass-phase-iv-original-ending-cinefamily-paramount-341449 http://www.oxfordartonline.com/public/book/oao_gao http://www.oxfordartonline.com/public/book/oao_gao C. Feller et al.: Case studies of soil in art 559 Landa, E. R.: An unusual ant nest morphology for the ant Formica fusca Linne in western Oregon, Pan-Pacific Entomologist, 53, 250–252, 1977. Landa, E. R.: In a supporting role: Soil and the cinema, in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Dordrecht, Springer, 83–105, 2010. Landa, E. R. and Feller, C. (Eds): Soil and Culture, Springer, Dor- drecht, Heidelberg, London, New York, Netherlands, 488 pp. + Color Plates, 2010. Marijnissen, R. H. and Ruyffelaere, P.: Jérome Bosch, Tout l’œuvre peint et dessiné, Fonds Mercator, Albin Michel, Paris, Anvers, 513 pp., 1987. Muggler, C. C.: Soil paints as a tool to increase soil aware- ness among different publics, Geophys. Res. Abstr., EGU2013- 13986, EGU General Assembly 2013, Vienna, Austria, 2013. Pentecost, C.: Notes from the Underground. dOCUMENTA13: 100 Notes, 100 Thoughts, 61, Hatje Cantz, 2012. Rosenthal, M.: Understanding Installation Art – From Duchamp to Holzer, Prestel, Munich, Berlin, London, New York, 2003. Szlezak, E.: Soilart – Painting with the Colours of the Earth, Project description from the Amt der NÖ Landesregierung, Abteilung Landentwicklung, available at: http://www.soilart.eu/1-0-Home. htm (last access: 20 December 2011), 2009. Taylor, H. M.: The rhizotron at Auburn – A plant root observatory system, Auburn University, Agricultural Experiment Station Cir- cular, 171, 1969. Thompson Klein, J.: Interdisciplinarity: history, theory, and prac- tice, Wayne State University Press, Detroit, MI, 1990. Toland, A. and Wessolek G.: Merging horizons – soil science and soil art, Chapter 4, 45–66, in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Springer, Dordrecht, Heidelberg, London, New York, Netherlands, Chapter 4, 45–66, 488 pp. + Color Plates, 2010. Toland, A. and Wessolek, G.: Picturing soil: aesthetic approaches to raising soil awareness in contemporary art, in: The Soil Un- derfoot. Infinite Possibilities for a Finite Resource, edited by: Churchman, G. J. and Landa, E. R., CRC Press, Taylor & Francis Group, Boca Raton, USA, Chapter 7, 83–102, 421 pp. + Color Plates, 2014. Ugolini, F.: Soil colors, pigments and clays in paintings, in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Springer, Dor- drecht, Heidelberg, London, New York, Netherlands, Chapter 5, pp. 67–82, 488 pp. + Color Plates, 2010. Van Breemen, N.: Transcendental aspects of soil in contemporary visual arts, in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Springer, Dordrecht, Heidelberg, London, New York, Netherlands, Chapter 3, 37–46, 488 pp. + Color Plates, 2010. Weber, B.: Commentary track (1:01:38–1:02:05) by Billy Weber, Criterion Collection (2007) Days of Heaven, DVD, 2007. Wessolek, G.: Art and Soil, Newsletter of the Committee on the History, Philosophy, and Sociology of Soil Science International Union of Soil Science and Council on the History, Philosophy, and Sociology of Soil Science, Soil Sci. Soc. Am., 2, 14–16, 2002. Zika, A.: ParTerre – Studien und Materialien zur Kulturgeschichte des gestalteten Bodens. PhD Dissertation, Fachbereich 5 der Ber- gischen Universität, Wuppertal, 2001. www.soil-journal.net/1/543/2015/ SOIL, 1, 543–559, 2015 http://www.soilart.eu/1-0-Home.htm http://www.soilart.eu/1-0-Home.htm Abstract Introduction Painting Roots, resurrection, and rural life -- examples from the Renaissance Abstraction, experience, and inspiration -- examples from the 20th century Grant Wood (USA) Jean Dubuffet (France) Anselm Kiefer (Germany) Teaching the soil -- a place for painting in the soil science curricula Installation Immersive experience Walter de Maria (USA) and Urs Fischer (Switzerland) Philip Beesley (Canada) Gesamtkunstwerk Claire Pentecost (USA) Film Conclusions Acknowledgements References 
work_3jsl6ep5jnbx5k5obdxujedkii	----	European journal of American studies , Reviews 2009 European journal of American studies Reviews 2009 E. Yiannopoulou on Lisa Blackman’s The Body. Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/7653 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference « E. Yiannopoulou on Lisa Blackman’s The Body. », European journal of American studies [Online], Reviews 2009, document 19, Online since 24 November 2009, connection on 01 May 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/7653 This text was automatically generated on 1 May 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/7653 E. Yiannopoulou on Lisa Blackman’s The Body. 1 Blackman, Lisa. The Body. Oxford and New York: Berg, 2008. 160 pp. 2 “Is there anything natural about the human body?” (1). This is how Lisa Blackman begins her all too daunting task of reviewing and critically evaluating what has come to be known as “body theory” in the field of sociology. Carefully picking her way among numerous theories on the corporeal that have been produced across the humanities in the last twenty years, Blackman lays out her problematic from the start by asking to know what kind of body needs to be brought into social theory. The task she sets herself is threefold: to chart the centrality of the concept of the body for sociological thought, to draw out the key concepts for navigating the literature on the subject and to identify the exciting new directions that are opening up for body thinking as it brings together work from the biological and psychological sciences and work on becoming within social theory, feminism and philosophy. 3 One of the central ideas in the book’s argument is that the “naturalistic” body, with all its attendant assumptions of autonomy, singularity and self-containment, is shaky and well on its way out of social theory. In fact, the point Blackman makes is that this bodily configuration has never appealed to sociology, and initially caused it to refrain from any engagement with the biological. The early sociologists were especially suspicious of the biological determinism underwriting the idea of the “natural” body which is conceived, in opposition to the mind, as a fixed set of physical processes that are closed off from cultural influences and, consequently, cultural analysis. To offset the reductionism of naturalism, social theory, as Blackman argues in chapter 1, moved towards “cultural inscription” models that developed a view of the subject as symbolically constituted. Central amongst them are Michel Foucault’s theories of the docile or disciplined body which Blackman, however, critiques for having substituted social for biological determinism. In her view, although approaches to the socially constructed body recognize its capacity for malleability, they continue to regard it as “inert mass” that is passively written on by social regulation and deprive it thus of the ability to protest and resist the workings of disciplinary power. In other words, social constructionism, in spite E. Yiannopoulou on Lisa Blackman’s The Body. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2009 | 2009 1 of its anti-essentialist politics, continues to sideline the body by configuring it as closed and subordinate to the mind. 4 The shift towards more embodied perspectives in social theory begins as a reaction against social constructionism in the 1980s. This is the time when new idioms develop to enable the reclaiming of the body’s viscerality as a way of articulating a new bodily awareness that relies on affectivity, connectivity and permeability. For Blackman, what is rapidly replacing the “molar” body, fixed and bounded in its physicality, is an understanding of the body as “multiple,” open to other bodies, human and non-human, leaky, porous and “processual.” Four out of the book’s five chapters are devoted to unfolding the crossdisciplinary research that lays out the new sets of concepts behind the variously called “somatically-felt,” “vitalist,” “affective,” “networked” or “enacted” bodies. Differential as they may be in their inception, these bodily configurations all break down the mind and body dichotomy by promoting connectedness, communication and affective exchange between bodies. Equally, they renegotiate the relationship between regulation and corporeal agency by investing the body with a “different form of intelligent thinking that is felt and sensed rather than verbalized and articulated through language or cognition” (86). “Skin knowledge,” which allows Henry David Thoreau to find his way back home in the dark (86-87), and “muscular bonding,” which refers to the kinds of emotional experiences that are often produced when people move together rhythmically in time (30), are only two examples of the kinds of somatic knowledge that escape the subject’s cognitive control and mobilize alternative modes of affective action and connection. 5 Blackman’s call to reinvent the questions we ask about bodies is timely both for body theory and for body awareness in the public sphere where cyborg and cloned bodies are rapidly transforming the rules of corporeal normativity. Her focus on the “affective turn” is also apt and in tune with theorizing in a number of different disciplinary fields, including that of art (which is not one of her immediate concerns here). Moreover, in her concluding statements, she rightly alerts us to the need to investigate how we can assume a sense of coherence in the face of process, movement, multiplicity and becoming without assuming the body as substance (138). By the end of the book, she has come full circle back to discussing and raising questions about culture and subjectivities, concepts that remain at times dormant or straightjacketed in the course of her argument. In her discussion of Foucault’s contribution to social constructionism, for example, her understanding of discourse as operating wholly on a “cognitive level,” as precluding resistance and as being imposed from above on an already existing, passive organic essence certainly lends support to her critique of social construction. However, it also inevitably sidelines readings of Foucault’s concept of discursive practice (coming often from outside the field of sociology) as fundamentally unstable, written into by the possibility of resistance and affected, as all meaning-making processes, by the same psychic and affective states that Blackman openly associates with the bodily. More than conceptual problems in the book’s theoretical positions, however, these are points of fruitful tension that emerge when knowledges from different disciplinary fields enter into dialogue with each other. 6 All in all, this is a well-informed and at once clear and sophisticated account of contemporary body theories and their relationship with the social, and is addressed to the newcomer in the field. Though deliberately non-linear in its structure, it is stylistically accessible and offers comprehensible descriptions and analyses of complex E. Yiannopoulou on Lisa Blackman’s The Body. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2009 | 2009 2 theoretical thinking, which are illustrated through selected case studies in each chapter and further complicated in the questions for essays and classroom discussion located at the very end of the book. Given the proliferating number of body theories in academia today, Lisa Blackman’s book is a useful and challenging guide for both students and teachers of social and cultural theory. E. Yiannopoulou on Lisa Blackman’s The Body. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2009 | 2009 3 E. Yiannopoulou on Lisa Blackman’s The Body. 
work_3namnf5epbganhe5ev6jty2ohy	----	12. Tunnard,C., and Reed,H.H. American Skyline (3/6) Veblen,Thorstein The Theory of the Leisure Class (3/6) Whitman,Walt Leaves of Grass (17^) Po.cket Books Inc. (notes this .selection probably represents only a few of the titles available) Davis,Elmer But We Were Born Free (3/6) Flexner,J.T. A History of American Painting (2/6) Lilienthal,D.E. Big Business: a New Era (376~T~ Melville,H. Moby Dick (abridged! 3/6) Morris,R.B.(ed.) Basic Ideas of Alexander Hamilton (3/6) Poe,Edgar A. Great Tales and Poems (3/6) On American books as a whole, a new monthly publication, Books from the U.S.A. , is distributed by R.R.Bowker (62 West West i^th Street, New York 36). It is "designed expressly for overseas book- sellers, their customers, and libraries — describing the new books published in the United States. The featured book reviews written especially for the foreign reader are largely adapted from the reviews of the Library Journal. All areas of interest ... are covered." It is sent free "to booksellers and libraries actively interested in U.S. books (one subscription to each)11 and at a cost of "§1.50 per year to others abroad, e.g. to an individual who cannot arrange to get it through his bookseller." V/e have not yet seen a copy, but it sounds as though it might prove valuable to many of our members. If possible we will distribute free specimen copies to members. OTHER BOOK NEWS A new book that is almost definable as a BAAS publication is British Essays in American History (Edward Arnold, pp. ix,3^8, 30/-). Its editors, H.C.Allen and C.P.Hill, are both BAAS members. They have also contributed to the 17 essays in the book. All but two of the other contributors, indeed, are members; and of these two, Professor D.W.Brogan is a member of the BAAS advisory council. Here is the complete contents list: J.R.Pole "The Making of the Constitution" H.Hale Bellot "Divided Sovereignty" W.R.Brock .......... "The Ideas and Influence of Alexander Hamilton" Esmond Wright "Thomas Jefferson and the Jeffersonian Idea" R.H.Pear "American Political Parties" Prank Thistlethwaite "Commercial America" John A.Hawgood "Manifest Destiny" H.C.Allen "F.J.Turner and the Frontier in American History" Maldwyn A.Jones "Sectionalism and the Civil War" George Shepperson .. "Reconstruction and the Colour Problem" Marcus Cunliffe .... "The American Military Tradition" C.P.Hill "American Radicalism: Jackson, Bryan and Wilson" Alan Conway "America, Half Brother of the W-.rld" Henry Pelling "The Rise of American La.bour" J.Potter '"Industrial America" Max Beloff "American Foreign Policy and World Power; 1871-1956" D.W.Brogan "American Liberalism Today" There are brief reading lists, two endpaper maps and an index. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0524500100002941 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:58, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0524500100002941 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms 13. Professor Samuel Eliot Morison, of Harvard University, comments that: "It is an unusual experience for Americans to hear about their own history from someone who is not himself an American. This book of essays is an expression of the trend of the times. Thirty years ago it would have been impossible to find three historians in England who would have had anything to say about American history; but here, united under one cover,*are 17 interesting essays on different aspects of United States history, from Colonial times to the present ... Every one of them is worth reading by anyone in- terested in American history." We hope that other reactions will be as kind. It would also be nice to think that before long there might be enough scholars in this country to produce a collection of British Essays in American Literature. George G.Harrap (182 High Holborn, London W.C.I) are the British distributors of the excellent Amherst series, Problems in American Civilization (published in the U.S. by D.C.Heath,Boston). Three new titles in the series, each available from Harrap at 9/-, are The Compromise of 1850; Evolution and Religion; and Wilson at Versailles. There have also been revised editions (1956) of two older titles: The Turner Thesis, and The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Among other quite recent titles in the series are Immigration — An American Dilemma, Loyalty in a Democratic State, and Benjamin Franklin and the American Character. Another noteworthy enterprise is the new Chicago History of American Civilization, under the general editorship of Professor Daniel J. Boorstin. Published by the University of Chicago Press (§3.00 and !:'3.5O per volume in hard covers, 01.75 in paper covers), it will consist of some ten "chronological" studies and a similar nuraber̂ pf "topical" volumes. The first two volumes in the series were Jay'Tracy Ellis, American Catholicism, and Edmund S.Morgan, The Birth of the Republic, 176T=17b9. Forthcoming volumes include Herbert Agar, The Price of Power (America since 19^5); Nathan Glazer, Judaism in America; and Dexter Perkins, The New Age of Franklin Roosevelt. Two BAAS members will be represented. Maldwyn A.Jones is preparing a "topical" volume on American immigration, while Marcus Cunliffe is writing a "chronological" acoount of the period 1789-1837. Our colleagues in Italy have produced two admirable collections of essays (1955 and 1956) under the title of Studi Americani. This annual review (price 1200 lire), devoted to the arts and letters of the United States, is published in Rome by Edizioni di Storin e Letteratura, Via Lancellotti 18, under the direction of Professor Agostino Lombardo. The 1956 volume, of three hundred pages,, contains articles in Italian on Edward Taylor, Emily Dickinson, Hav-thnrne, W.D.Howells, Henry James (four articles on the lister!), Cabell1s Jurgen, the Southern short stories of Eudora Welty and Flannery O'Connor, Robert Lowell, Lionel Trilling, Saul Bellow, and on American symbolism and the American tradition in literature. Profes- sor Lombardo and his lively associates are also bringing out a number of longer studies in a Biblioteca di Studi Americani. The first of these, already published, is a work on Thoreau by Bjancamaria Tedeschini Lalli. In Germany, 1956 saw the appearance of the firstsubstantial volume of another new publication, the Jahrbuch fur Amerikastudien (ed. by Dr. Walther Fischer; Heidelberg, Carl Winter Universitatsver- lag). It contains nine articles on various aspects of American https://doi.org/10.1017/S0524500100002941 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:58, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0524500100002941 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Studies, with — as might be expected — particular reference to German-American relationships. We congratulate Dr.Fischer and his colleagues, and look forward to an exchange of views and pub- lications. Future issues of the BAAS Bulletin will no doubt "x contain a fuller account of the Jahrbuch. • * * * • * • * * OTHER NEWS D-£. Myron L. Koenig, whom many of us had the pleasure of knowing when he was cultural attache at the American Embassy in L-.ndon, is now back at his post as professor of history at George Washington University. He retains, however, a keen interest in our doings, which he has summarized in the April, 1957, issue of American Studies (the newsletter of the American Studies Association). In his place, we are pleased to welcome Dr. Carl Bode, of the University of Maryland. Those who attended the Nottingham con- ference were able to meet Dr. Bode. We hope to see a lot of him during his tour of duty? for apart from being professor of English at Maryland, and a well-known scholar in the field of American lit- erature (the editor of Collected Poems of Henry David Thoreau and co-editor of American Heritage, a two-volume anthology) ," he was the founder and first president of the American Studies Association. His enthusiasms therefore lie very close to ours; and, speaking from a selfish point of view, his is a most happy appointment for the BAAS. Dr. Bode's most recent book is The American Lyceum; T^wn Meeting of the Mind (New York, Oxford U.P., 1956), a fascinating history of this important lecture-movement, written with a nice edge of humour. •*•#•*•*•**• BOOKS RECEIVED We acknowledge with thanks the receipt of the following: - James Woodress (comp,), Dissertations in American Literature, 1891-1955 (Durham, N.C., Duke U.P., 1957, pp. x,100, §2.00, paper covers). This is,.a most useful bibliography. Using more than 2500 theses picduced at about 100 universities in the U.S. and Europe. Titles have been arranged alphabetically by subject, first by individual authors, then by general topics. The writers of the theses are indexed separately. -Allan Houston Macdonald, Richard Hoyey: Man and Craftsman (Duke U.P., 1957, pp. xiii,265, #5.00); a critical biography of an American man of letters and bohemian of the 1890's, who like his contemporaries Frank Norris and Stephen Crane died young — in 1900, at the age of 35. His personality is more interesting than his work. - Hans Galinsky, Amerikanisches und Britisches Englisch (Studien und Texte zur Englischen Philologie, Band k-', Max Hueber Verlag, Munich 13, 1957, pp. viii,96, DM. 7.90, paper covers). Two intelligent, competent and entertaining essays, of which the first is in German and the second in English, by an observer who visited America in 1955. He considers the extent to which "American" and "English" have diverged, and gives examples of American English "as an index to American culture" and as "a linguistic exchange partner"(as revealed in recent https://doi.org/10.1017/S0524500100002941 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:58, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0524500100002941 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms 
work_3atjup5a65elrn4ucpopwdxnhi	----	2020Torcello.docx L. Torcello (✉) Rochester Institute of Technology, United States e-mail: lgtghs@rit.edu Disputatio. Philosophical Research Bulletin Vol. 9, No. 13, Jun. 2020, pp. 00-00 ISSN: 2254-0601 | www.disputatio.eu © The author(s) 2020. This work, published by Disputatio [www.disputatio.eu], is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [BY–NC–ND]. The copy, distribution and public communication of this work will be according to the copyright notice (https://disputatio.eu/info/copyright/). For inquiries and permissions, please email: (✉) boletin@disputatio.eu. Democracy and the Limits of Reason: Why a sustained defense of liberal commitments is necessary to counter democracy’s disinformation and xenophobia L AW R E N C E T O R C E L L O A B S T R AC T Democracy is often used as shorthand for liberal democracy. Despite such casual conflation, the two concepts remain importantly distinct. I argue that democracy unfettered by the constraints of liberal institutions and commitments gives rise to the proliferation of disinformation and to xenophobic populism. I draw upon Plato and the democracy of ancient Athens to illustrate the history of association between disinformation and democracy. Moving on to our more contemporary treatments of liberalism, specifically to the ideal theory of John Rawls, I show that in order to address disinformation and the reactionary politics in which it thrives, we must attend to a robust defense of liberalism against non-liberal and illiberal democracy. W O R K T Y P E Article A R T I C L E H I S T O RY Received: 31–May–2019 Accepted: 31–October–2019 Published Online: 24–November–2019 A R T I C L E L A N G U AG E English/Spanish K E Y W O R D S John Rawls Plato Disinformation Climate Denial Liberal Democracy © Studia Humanitatis – Universidad de Salamanca 2020 2 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 Democracy and the Limits of Reason: Why a sustained defense of liberal commitments is necessary to counter democracy’s disinformation and xenophobia L AW R E N C E T O R C E L L O §1. Introduction ORLDWIDE, REACTIONARY POLITICAL MOVEMENTS are on the rise. Meanwhile, our dependency on fossil fuels drives climate change, and as climate change continues to deplete resources and to stress unstable political regimes, we see more evacuees and refugees seeking safer lands—thus fueling conditions conducive to bigotry and nationalism.1 Directly, if not always obviously related to both anthropogenic global warming and the politics of xenophobia, we face a disinformation crisis that both exacerbates these two emergencies and that is intensified by them. I want to emphasize that the configuration I am describing — the concurrent ascendency of pervasive disinformation, of reactionary nationalistic politics dependent upon xenophobia, and of the refusal to enable realistic responses to climate change — is happening together in ostensibly democratic nations. The United States, and much of Europe’s, far right political groups, to begin with, provide ample case studies of concomitant science denialism paired with xenophobic social and political movements, overt calls to nationalism, and an observable nostalgia for fascism, or other allegedly great bygone periods when foreigners, ethnic minorities, and the environment itself seem to have been better contained.2 Yet despite much public handwringing over the erosion of democracy, more democratic governments exist now than ever before. How is it 1 See Blitzer (2019) for a report on how climate change is effecting Guatemala and fueling migration to North America. 2 See, Farand (2019) for a breakdown of how Europe’s far right populist parties tend towards science denialism. W D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 3 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 possible that a surging tide of disinformation and bigotry is occurring in ostensibly democratic nations? The position I will argue for here is that democracy itself is part of the problem. Specifically, the global democracies which are now party to the undoing of their own liberal institutions. I will not argue for the abandonment of democracy. I will argue that a democracy unconstrained by liberalism has and will create a congenial environment for disinformation and xenophobia. Democracy and liberalism should not be conflated, as they easily can be, given how often democracy alone is used as shorthand for what is more accurately called a liberal democracy. Whereas democracy has ancient Athenian roots, liberalism is a modern concept, developed in starts and fits throughout Europe and the Americas. Our modern liberal democracies draw more guidance from the Roman Republic than the Athenian Ecclesia. I mention this at the outset because I intend to highlight the historical and intellectual heritage which brings liberalism to democracy, and through which the vulnerability and implicit hazards of illiberal democracies first became clear. In the first major section of this paper, I will gloss that history in order to clarify how democracy’s essential nature manifests susceptibility to violence and demagoguery. There, I will make the case that only liberalism, or an intentionally liberal democracy can sustain the health of democratic societies and public cultures. Liberal principles reflect moral and epistemic commitments that are crucial for facing up to the ways that democracy remains vulnerable to campaigns of disinformation and demagoguery. In the second major section of this paper, I describe those commitments, and argue that the kind of responsibility they propose uniquely invests epistemic justifications with a normative, moral dimension. In liberal theory and functioning liberal institutions, democratic forces are ameliorated with the intellectual and practical conditions for sustaining them with fairness and without relativism. Finally, in the third section, I clarify how the historical and philosophically discursive accounts I’ve offered lead to conclusions about the kind of threat disinformation poses to democracy, and about how disinformation ought to be addressed in a liberal democracy. These conclusions take up the nature of coercion and of public reason, and they uphold what I will call the transcendental legitimacy of liberal principles. §2. Democracy and Liberalism a. Democratic pacts and liberal principles Democracy is the expansion and nourishment of political life through the enfranchisement of diverse citizens into a single political body. Democratic 4 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 elections provide a peaceful means for deposing leaders and ensuring that rule by consensus (which will also become a foundational commitment of liberal democracy) does not depend exclusively on violent rebellion. Whereas democracy dissolves the individual into a collective people sharing equally in the power of the state — an artificial body to borrow an image from the non- democratic Hobbes — liberalism brings the individual into focus as an atomistic component with her own relationships, values, and need for equal protections under law. The social pact each individual enters into is summarized by Rousseau: “Each of us puts his person and his full power in common under the supreme direction of the general will; and in a body we receive each member as an individual part of the whole. At once, in place of the private person of each contracting party, this act of association produces a moral and collective body made up of as many members of the assembly have voices, and which receives by this same act, its unity, its common self, its life and its will” (Rousseau 1997, p. 50). Liberalism is essentially a political commitment to principles meant to guard the individual against collective concepts of the “Good” — principles such as freedom of conscience, expression, press, assembly, and rule of law, to name a few. In a well-functioning liberal democracy, the tension between the democratic will and individual protections informs both public policy and political discourse. It is the tension behind the deceptively simple principle animating John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty (1858): “That principle is, that the sole end for which mankind are warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the liberty of action of any of their number, is self-protection. That the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others” (Mill 1962, p. 135). As Mill made clear there are many avenues of harm in society including those rendered by pressures of collective conformity and negligence — Mill’s principle is no crude libertarian maxim. b. Illiberal Democracy The term illiberal democracy was coined by political journalist, Fareed Zakaria, in his Foreign Affairs essay, “The Rise of Illiberal Democracy.” (1997) In his subsequent book, The Future of Freedom: Illiberal Democracy at Home and Abroad (2003) Zakaria introduces the concept as follows: Suppose elections are free and fair and those elected are racists, fascists, separatists,” said the American diplomat Richard Holbrooke about Yugoslavia in D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 5 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 the 1990s. “That is the dilemma.” Indeed it is, and not merely in Yugoslavia’s past but in the world’s present […] Across the globe, democratically elected regimes, often ones that have been reelected or reaffirmed through referenda, are routinely ignoring constitutional limits on their power and depriving their citizens of basic rights. This disturbing phenomenon — visible from Peru to the Palestinian territories, from Ghana to Venezuela — could be called “illiberal democracy (Zakaria 2003, p. 17). Since Zakaria’s book appeared, there has been no decrease in nations describing themselves as democracies but it does not follow that liberalism is flourishing around the globe. Liberal safeguards against authoritarian rule seem to be eroding including in nations like the United States. The democratic abandonment of liberalism is most manifest in the administration of Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orbán. The speech excerpt below, reprinted in The Budapest Beacon, is remarkable for its open rejection of liberalism and endorsement of democracy. “We need to state that a democracy is not necessarily liberal. Just because something is not liberal, it still can be a democracy […] we have to abandon liberal methods and principles of organizing a society, as well as the liberal way to look at the world […] the new state that we are building is an illiberal state, a non-liberal state. It does not deny foundational values of liberalism, as freedom, etc. But it does not make this ideology a central element of state organization, but applies a specific, national, particular approach in its stead” (2014). My hope is not to spar over whether Orbán and other authoritarians charitably interpret the concept of democracy, but on the contrary, to make the case that Orbán understands perfectly well the way that democracy can be exploited in a populistic, nationalistic mode. Zakaria’s and Orbán’s grasp of illiberal democracy recall the ancient Athenian political experiment, wherein the only democracy on order was non-liberal democracy. This is the democracy of which Plato the great diagnostician theorized, in Book VIII of the Republic, to be congenitally geared to give rise to tyranny (Plato 1989, p. 562a-569c). In his book, Zakaria treats the historical, environmental, and economic pressures that encouraged liberalism’s development.3 For us, it must suffice to remember that only during the second half of the 20th century did the combination of liberalism and democracy find widespread success. The 3 Although I do not have the leisure to work through Zakaria’s work here, the book’s conclusions about the conditions of historically successful liberal democracies is consistent with my finding that liberal principles reflect the very moral and epistemic commitments necessary to sustaining democratic societies and their public cultures. 6 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 relationship between democracy and liberalism was not taken for granted by 19th century thinkers who understood the tyrannical dangers of majority rule at a time when liberalism had not yet taken hold globally. As Henry David Thoreau, writes in Civil Disobedience (1849): “…the practical reason why, when the power is once in the hands of the people, a majority are permitted, and for a long period continue, to rule, is not because they are most likely to be in the right, nor because this seems fairest to the minority, but because they are physically the strongest” (Thoreau 1993, p. 2). In the first volume of Democracy in America (1835), Alexis de Tocqueville recognized American democracy’s tendency to encourage mediocrity and stifle free-thought (Tocqueville 1969, p. 254-255). Tocqueville’s criticism was shared by German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, even while Nietzsche tended to conflate democracy and liberalism in his writings, because Nietzsche viewed democracy as nihilistic in its tendency to suppress rather than encourage individual greatness.4 And, as John Stuart Mill emphasizes in On Liberty, tyranny is no less tyrannical when it arises from majority rule instead of a lone despot: “The will of the people, moreover, practically means the will of the most numerous or the most active part of the people; the majority, or those who succeed in making themselves accepted as the majority; the people consequently may desire to oppress a part of their number; and precautions are as much needed against this as against any other abuse of power […] when society is itself the tyrant — society collectively over the separate individuals who compose it — its means of tyrannizing are not restricted to the acts which it may do by the hands of its political functionaries” (Mill 1962, p. 129-130). Once more, albeit in gloss, I hope to retell how vulnerable democracy appeared to nineteenth century theorists before the shifts of the last century — subject specifically to its own tendency toward the “tyranny of the majority” where the ability to sway any majority by manipulating their fears and ideological insecurities remained in force. As those I’ve just quoted and others labored to describe, the systemic titling toward rule by popular opinion is not a good in itself. In an unfettered democracy, it tends rather to stifle autonomy and constructive dissent, while it is perfectly positioned to encourage charismatic demagoguery, the manipulation of social opinions, the readying up of popular prejudice to be deployed on behalf of individual or special interest schemes, and 4 For an argument that Nietzsche was more sympathetic to Liberalism than is usually thought see Egyed (2008). D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 7 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 the division of citizens against one-another. As such, and as Plato knew, rhetorical manipulation and disinformation are the tools par excellence of would-be tyrants. Allow me then, again briefly, to push still further into the congenital link between disinformation and democracy as described from democracy’s ancient home. c. Athenian Democracy “He led them more than he was led by them […] whenever he sensed that arrogance was making them more confident than the situation merited he would say something to strike fear into their hearts; and when on the other hand he saw them fearful without good reason he restored their confidence again. So it came about that what was in name a democracy was in practice government by the foremost man” (Thucydides 2013, p. 129). These are the words of Thucydides, describing the relationship the great statesman Pericles had with his Athenian constituents. While Pericles is not typically described as a despot, Thucydides’ passage illustrates the vulnerability of the democratic polity to charismatic leaders capable of manipulating mass opinion. The name of Pericles even today remains tantamount to the evocation of a stirring speaker. Whereas we tend habitually to associate liberalism and democracy, the ancients familiar with democracy in its purer form knew better. As Thucydides goes on to detail in his account of the Athenian and Peloponnesian war, Athenian democracy did not create a fair, just, or stable society. Reading Thucydides will dispel the romantic nostalgia for Athenian democracy anyone might be inclined to indulge: he describes a polis subjugated to the ambitions of aristocratic men and under the constant manipulative pressure of their speaking, or advertising and promotional skills. Athens repeatedly breaks its treaties, is plunged into distant bloody campaigns and acts of genocide, most always based on votes instigated by narrow interests. In contrast, Thucydides, who was an Athenian general himself, illustrates how the more mixed form of government in Sparta influenced that polis to practice more circumspection and a reluctance to engage in unprovoked war. Plato, and his Socrates, are perhaps the most famous of our witnesses. I would argue that read correctly, Plato’s attacks on sophistry are linked to his understanding of how easily popular superstition, ambition, and violence are stoked, in the context of a democratic citizenry untrained in rigorous inquiry and moral responsibility. I would make the case that Socrates’ commitment to probing epistemic and moral questions were liberal in impulse, in that they were 8 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 focused on harnessing and utilizing the freedom that democratic environment allowed. In any event, Plato intended his Socrates to be seen in contrast to the popular sophists of his day. Where they sought wealth and fame, Socrates wanted neither. Where they claimed knowledge, Socrates claimed none. Where they took on students and taught oratorical skills, Socrates insisted that his interlocutors become self-reliant and critical of received doctrine. Plato’s dialogues teem with examples, but here the more general point is that Athenian democracy provided rich ground for the development of sophistry as a kind of profession, and that not only some particular sophist but the sheer range and approach of the many sophists implied a relativism of values, if not of all possible truth. Above all else, Plato’s Socrates represents the refusal of relative values and truths, and the search for a reality both true and good. Socrates represents the ethos of a civic life devoted to inquiry and deliberative justifications.5 d. Power, Relativism, and Democracy Plato’s Republic begins with Socrates traveling back to Athens from festivities at the Port of Piraeus with Glaucon (likely representing Plato’s brother Glaucon). The duo are stopped by a slave sent by Polemarchus, who is approaching, with a few other acquaintances, from a distance. When Polemarchus reaches Socrates, he insists the pair stay for dinner at the home of Cephalus. Socrates’ narration of the encounter is as follows: Polemarchus said to me: I perceive, Socrates, that you and your companion are already on your way to the city. You are not far wrong, I said. But do you see, he rejoined, how many we are? Of course. And are you stronger than all these? For if not you will have to remain where you are. May there not be the alternative, I said, that we may persuade you to let us go? But can you persuade us if we refuse to listen to you? He said. Certainly not replied Glaucon. Then we are not going to listen; of that you may be assured (Plato 1939, p. 327c). 5 It is important to be clear that I am not proposing an anachronistic reading of Plato as liberal. I am arguing that the impulses of Socrates in the context of a democracy unconstrained by liberalism were indeed liberal in nature. It would of course be wrong to think this makes Plato a liberal. That said, to read Plato as an anti-democratic totalitarian not only misses a great deal about Plato’s philosophical nuance but utterly fails to grasp the nature of Athenian Democracy and its close relationship to sophistry and consequent power politics and violence. One does not need to embrace totalitarianism in order to reject non-liberal democracy. D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 9 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 This encounter provides some insight into the contrast that Socrates poses against the conventional thinking of his time, specifically, the idea that appeals to force are the baseline of human interaction. Though it may seem a trivial literary precursor to the “real” philosophical argument, in fact the whole Republic examines this very assumption about force, and traces its developments in political authority, social organization, and self-mastery. Why obey? Socrates asks at every turn, trying out a host of answers depending on the answers and subsequent assumptions of his friends. Plato is describing what had to be deeply ingrained assumptions indeed. Hesiod has the human race bound to violent contest from the very beginning of its origins — as described in Works and Days: “The father will not agree with his children, nor the children with their father, nor guest with his host, nor comrade with comrade; nor will brother be dear to brother […] for might shall be their right: and one man will sack another's city. There will be no favour for the man who keeps his oath or for the just or for the good; but rather men will praise the evil-doer and his violent dealing. Strength will be right and reverence will cease to be; and the wicked will hurt the worthy man, speaking false words against him, and will swear an oath upon them. Envy, foul-mouthed, delighting in evil, with scowling face, will go along with wretched men one and all” (Hesiod 1977, p. 58). Violence and strife are ubiquitous in nature and human nature according to Hesiod; when humans act otherwise it is necessitated by personal vulnerability rather than virtue. Plato’s Euthyphro takes up and challenges the notion, running throughout Hesiod, that even laws handed down by the Gods themselves are sanctioned by nothing more than the Gods’ arbitrary power.6 But again, recall that during the opening dialogue of the Republic, it is presumed that shear strength of number is enough to compel Socrates and Glaucon to remain against their wishes. The position that strength takes its privilege against weakness is soon assumed again by Thrasymachus, but now in a more argumentative form, where it can become the starting point of Socrates’ (of Plato’s) larger inquiry. We might now think of “might makes right” as a “Thrasymachian” notion, but it was orthodox wisdom in ancient Greece, and it is 6 See Euthyphro 10d (1989) for the challenge to divine command theory that has come to be known as the Euthyphro dilemma, i.e. is something good because it is loved by the gods, or loved by the gods because it is good? 10 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 radically challenged by Plato here, helped along by an absurdly bullying Thrasymachus.7 Plato’s Socrates is not only rebuffing Thrasymachus, he is turning the majority against him, to demand reasons or justifications for his claims about the seat of power in superior force. And when Thrasymachus’ attempted reasons are found lacking, Socrates declares himself—on behalf of all—dissatisfied and deserving of more. A figure within a society dominated by the combined moral influence of mythic poetry and sophism, Socrates himself is deployed (by Plato, though perhaps with apt characterization) to uncover how the sophists came to put rhetoric at the service of political power. The rise of the sophists allowed Plato to recognize rhetoric as its own form of power, enhanced by democratic politics. Socrates presents reason as an alternative to these entrenched, interlocking powers, manifest as they were in the context of illiberal democracy. Where Socrates comes out as anti-democratic, it is always in this context, and usually in the analogical juxtaposition of various forms of expertise against the general populace’s ignorance. Consequently, the Republic involves an extended discourse on why justice, however difficult it may be to define, cannot be bound up with physical coercion, whether prompted by the opinions of the many, the decrees of the Gods, or the ambitions of demagogues (Plato 1989). Whereas the relativistic essence of a politics based on coercive power is portrayed rather crudely in the caricatured Thrasymachus, Plato gives it more respectful and no less critical treatment in his characterization of the sophist Protagoras. Where humankind is the measure of all, truth dissolves into a matter of individual perception, and reasoned discourse aiming at a conclusive truth is pointless. Likewise, as Socrates tells young Theaetetus in the dialogue named for the latter: “[T]o set about overhauling and testing one another’s notions and opinions when those of each and every one are right, is a tedious and monstrous display of folly, if the Truth of Protagoras is really truthful.” (Plato 1989, p.161e) In a world where truth is irrelevant, argument cannot be measured by stable epistemic standards. This leaves manipulation and force as the principle methods of dispute settlement and democratic engagement — a conclusion Plato’s 7 As if to emphasize the common, at that time, sense that rule by brute strength was the natural state of things Thrasymachus is introduced into the conversation like a wild beast: “Now Thrasymachus, even while we were conversing, had been trying several times to break in and lay hold of the discussion but he was restrained by those who sat by him who wished to hear the argument out. But when we came to a pause after I had said this, he couldn’t any longer hold his peace. But gathering himself up like a wild beast he hurled himself upon us as if he would tear us to pieces. And Polemarchus and I were frightened and fluttered apart. He bawled out into our midst, what balderdash is this that you have been talking, and why do you Simple Simons truckle and give way to one another?” (Plato 1989: 336b). D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 11 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 Socrates draws out of the Sophists Callicles and Gorgias in the dialogue named for the latter. Socrates: And is it the same whom you call better and more powerful? […] Is it the physically stronger that you call more powerful and indicate at the time by saying that great cities assail small ones in accordance with natural justice, because they are more powerful and stronger, the more powerful and stronger and better being one and the same thing—or is it possible to be better but weaker and less powerful, or more powerful but more evil? Or have you the same definition clear, whether you consider the more powerful, the better, and the stronger as the same thing or different. Callicles: Well, I can plainly assure you that they are the same. Socrates: Are not the many more powerful by nature than the one? Callicles: Of course Socrates: Then the ordinances of the many are those of the more powerful? Callicles: Certainly. Socrates: And of the better also? For the more powerful are far better, according to you. Callicles: Yes (Plato 1989, p. 488c). The subjectivism of a sophisticated Protagoras reduces to the relativistic power- politics of Thrasymachus and Callicles whenever disputes that require a settlement arise — this problem is far from trivial. It isn’t merely that such relativism is fatally flawed considering the requirements of logical coherence: By holding, categorically, that truth does not exist or cannot be found, one must necessarily make a universal truth claim. One thus refutes oneself, which might matter to those interested in logical coherency, but would not matter at all to those committed to force. If power, and not truth, motivates politics there is no compulsion against deceptive use of rhetoric, marketing, and outright lies in the service of accumulated power. Indeed, under these conditions deceptive rhetoric becomes a legitimate tool of power. Using Socrates as his prod, Plato uncovers the way that democracy necessarily flirts with relativism, the way that sophistry or the rhetorical manipulation of popular opinion flourishes within democracy, and the way that whatever their public claims, citizens and public actors rely upon deeper assumptions shoring up the justification of those claims. Where a Thrasymachus or Protagoras must hold, in the end, that I will do and take as I will because I can — a Socrates and a later liberal thinker will notice the shared communicative context of assertion and will point to another can there: namely the choice of a 12 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 community sharing reasons and basing decision-making on their transparent quality. The idea that the rule of law should be contingent upon transient things, such as strength and popular opinion, is at the heart of the incoherency of relativism addressed in Plato’s writings. That Plato’s Socrates can out-reason the sophists and that he ultimately is murdered by the state for being an especially effective sophist are part and parcel of the danger Plato sees in relativism and its political apologists — or from another angle in arbitrary political force and the mouthpieces that keep it safeguarded from open scrutiny. I would like to close this section with Thucydides’ account of the response the Athenian generals gave to the islanders of Melos before the siege and subsequent genocide of those Spartan colonists. Notice how consistent it is with the sophism of Thrasymachus and Callicles as we’ve come to know them through Plato: “You understand as well as we do that in the human sphere judgments about justice are relevant only between those with an equal power to enforce it. And that the possibilities are defined by what the strong do and the weak accept […] As far as good relations of the gods are concerned we don’t feel that we will be any worse off than you. There is nothing either in our principles or our practice at odds with human assumptions about the gods or with human purposes in their own sphere. In the case of the gods, we believe, and in the case of humankind, it has always been obvious that as a necessity of nature wherever anyone has the upper hand they rule. We were not the ones to lay down this law or the first to take advantage of its existence. We found it already established, expect to leave it to last forever, and now make use of it, knowing full well that you and anyone else who enjoyed the same power as we do would act in just the same way” (Thucydides 2013, p. 380-382). §3. Epistemic Limitations and Liberalism a. The birth of liberal theory Ancient sophistry flourished in part by undermining the idea that truth was meaningful beyond popular perceptions. This may have been an indirect effect, where any given sophist wished foremost to generate wealth and a reputation based on his ability to prepare young men for the life of the citizen or for the courts, but the essential condition of the rise of sophistry as a profession, as Plato saw, was the establishment of a cynical disbelief in the possibility of truth, recognizable in shared explanations or justifiable in reasonably shared norms. Whereas we have become accustomed to phrases such as “alternative facts,” “fake news,” and “gas-lighting” in common parlance about the political discourse and venues of our times, the sophists could rely on a society accustomed to justifications for domination and violence like those offered by the Athenian D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 13 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 generals addressing Melos and by clients willing to pay to learn how to make others into their slaves.8 What the ancient Athenians knew as democracy, Thoreau viewed as a form of epistemic and moral gambling. “All voting is a sort of gaming, like chequers or backgammon, with a slight moral tinge to it, a playing with right and wrong, with moral questions; and betting naturally comes with it. The character of the voters is not staked” (Thoreau 1993, p. 5). Socrates would agree. In a democracy where majority opinion is the final political power and arbiter of truth, the art of sophistry will always thrive — and politicians will turn to polling data for their political justifications, just as they do now. As Zakaria points out, we still hear politicians speaking of popular opinion as if it had all the force of an ancient oracle: ‘The people have spoken!’ (2003). One can imagine how the pretense of non-judgment is a draw of relativism — but egotism and the guilt free manipulation of others offer more realistic descriptors of how relativism gains a hold in politics. I mentioned earlier that Socrates’ critiques of Athenian democracy were liberal in impulse. The impulse remains undeveloped; the term would be a historical misnomer. But we can appreciate Socrates’ characterization in Plato as a person confronting the bounds of their knowledge, the reality of one’s fallibility and ignorance, and in this epistemic mode, coming to the moral necessity of tolerance regarding others’ errors and interested regarding others’ experience, as a consequence of shared epistemic limits and the need to work together, as it were in dialogue. In the Crito, Socrates provides the earliest defense of civil disobedience (Plato 1989, p. 48c- 54c). By accepting the unwarranted result of his trial, Socrates endorses his own freedom of conscience, calls attention to injustice, and confirms the ultimate need for rule of law — all liberal concerns. So Socrates does represent an intentional rejection of sophism, both epistemological and moral, and he does stake out a position against rule by popular opinion that holds common cause with modern liberalism. 8 Again, the dialogue Gorgias provides compelling insight into the form of power taught by ancient sophists, as the sophist Gorgias explains what he considers to be the precise power he offers to his students: “[T]he power to convince by your words the judges in court, the senators in Council, the people in the Assembly, or in any other gathering of a citizen body. And yet possessed of such power you will make the doctor, you will make the trainer your slave, and your businessman will prove to be making money, not for himself, but for another, for you who can speak and persuade multitudes” (Plato 1989, p. 252e). 14 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 In its modern form, liberalism was forged as much in the philosophical works of Hobbes, Locke, Jefferson, Kant, Mill and other thinkers, as it was in the toils of the abolitionists, suffragists, and other labor and civil rights activists who have held nations to account against their professed philosophical and political ideals.9 Yet despite its long and impressive philosophical pedigree, liberalism has proven challenging to define in the popular imagination and even harder to defend. The way that the term itself is even now conflated with a caricatured ideological branch (by detractors who’d identify with the political left-wing as well as the right) is indicative of the difficulty, but as with many a caricature, it is also indicative of a real tension internal to liberalism. “Natural law” conceptions of liberalism, such as Locke’s, unravel insofar as they depend on the existence of a divinely-naturally structured moral law.10 Liberalisms premised on utilitarianism, most notably that of J.S. Mill, depend upon the vitality of utilitarianism — which remains philosophically contested. Similarly, Kantian accounts of liberalism are bound with Kantian deontology, which itself remains subject to philosophical dispute. John Rawls provides the most important and influential defense of liberalism in the 20th century. Rawls’ took his account of liberalism to be consistent with Kantian notions of individual moral agency and autonomy. Obviously and here again, I can only gloss the seminal Theory of Justice (1971) and the later Political Liberalism (1993) and Justice as Fairness: A Restatement (2002). But it is a fair gloss to say that the motivating concern for Rawls, throughout, was to provide a justification of liberalism that itself avoided circularity. 9 Without pretending to offer an exhaustive list of philosophical sources, the following works are of vital importance in liberalism’s modern history: Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan, 1651 (1996) — though Hobbes is no liberal the Leviathan plants many liberal seeds — John Locke’s’ Two Treaties of Government, 1690 (2013); Thomas Jefferson’s Virginia Bill for Establishing Religious Freedom, 1777 (2005); Immanuel Kant’s Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals, 1785 (2012); and John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty, 1859 (1962). Additionally, it is worth noting the influence that natural law theorists like Hugo Grotius (1583-1645), Alberico Gentili (1552-1608), and Francisco de Vitoria (1483-1546) had on liberal thought regarding international law and human rights. In short, the historical influences on liberalism are expansive and this varied history helps to explain why liberalism can’t be narrowed down to a single school of thought. In contrast, I argue that liberalism emerges with a constellation of moral commitments (e.g. freedom of conscience, speech, press, affiliation, etc.) that are informed by epistemological constraints culminating in a political framework focused, in general, on individual rights and protections against overarching dogmas. 10 Such accounts are either circular in dependence on controversial supernatural premises, or, otherwise, when framed secularly, inevitably commit the naturalistic fallacy. D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 15 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 In order to focus on the concern that motivated Rawls, consider the ancient skeptical trope of Agrippa’s Trilemma, which deals with choosing between or justifying alternatives. In our modern world, moral pluralism or value pluralism are givens. We have a plurality of cultures and values, and insofar as we wish to remain a politically modern world, we affirm the plurality of cultures and values without attempting to force their reduction. One value says “x is desirable”; another holds “[the very same] x is not desirable.” Per Agrippa’s Trilemma, any assertion remains a mere assertion unless it is buttressed with appropriate justifications. In attempting to provide appropriate justifications, one must confront the reality that the problem resurfaces for each justification offered. We face an infinite regress of assertions and their justifications. The third horn of the trilemma is the practical necessity of cutting off infinite regress. We must commit to a founding, primary assertion that will remain undefended — thus rendering the entire effort circular at its core. And given this circularity, we have reason to remain skeptical about any given assertion or value and its justification. Note how relativism looms here. In Political Liberalism, Rawls seeks to provide a justification of liberalism itself that is committed to metaphysical neutrality. Insofar as it works, reasonable people across a plurality of value commitments should be able to endorse this liberal justification without abandoning their own metaphysically-circular conceptions of meaning and value, or comprehensive doctrines, as Rawls calls them. Rawls accepts that comprehensive doctrines cannot be mutually reduced to foundational principles compelling to all people; they do not yield a reasonable common denominator. Therefore the pluralism of comprehensive doctrines remains a permanent feature of any free society. Put differently, the only way to get rid of pluralism is by force of oppression. Rawls believes, though, that reasonable comprehensive doctrines will permit an overlapping consensus on liberal principles of justice. b. Socratic Ignorance and Reason Rawls attributes the permanence of value or moral pluralism to what he calls the burdens of judgment. The reason one cannot ultimately justify any one comprehensive doctrine, on this view, is that human beings run up against insurmountable epistemic limitations. For any given claim, we might lack sufficient context, understanding, information, or be misled by implicit forms of confirmation bias. The contemporary formulations of these burdens of judgment were correctly prefigured in Ancient skeptical tropes. Moreover, the foundational principles of logic inherited from Aristotle remind us that valid arguments are 16 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 formal structures — validity is independent of truth-content. These epistemic limits allow people to remain rational in committed disagreement, even when incommensurable first principles guide their comprehensive doctrines. I will not attempt a full defense of Rawls’ principles of justice. Here I want to stick with Rawls’ understanding of human reason as the realm of the political, and to describe what this entails for the legitimacy of liberalism, for public discourse, and for the threat and reality of disinformation. For Rawls and for Socrates, reason (or a kind of wisdom) arises from the realization that one can be wrong about one’s most deeply held beliefs, and that as a consequence of this persistent fallibility, one owes consideration and broadmindedness to those with whom one shares reasonable disagreements. It follows too that we cannot force others to accept views that fall outside the boundaries of reason — nor can the collective state body impose this force. This is consistent with the liberal principle of legitimacy Rawls articulates: “Our exercise of political power is fully proper only when it is exercised in accordance with a constitution the essentials of which all citizens as free and equal may reasonably be expected to endorse in the light of principles and ideals acceptable to their common human reason” (Rawls 1993: 137). This principle underwrites the liberal commitment of prioritizing individual rights and protections over collective, or we might say comprehensive, ideas about the good. From this commitment rooted in the realization of our own epistemic limitations comes, I argue, an entire constellation of liberal commitments deriving from freedom of conscience. For example, freedom of religion, freedom of the press, and numerous legal rights and protections under law become patently warranted for preserving individual rights against encroachments by the state, special interests, and other individuals. c. Public Reason as Sentinel against Coercion and Disinformation The issue of abortion provides an illustration of what sorts of protections are required and how democracies fail insofar as liberal institutions and commitments are absent or weakened. As I have argued elsewhere, there is no metaphysically non-controversial argument that attributes moral relevance to an embryo or fetus (Torcello 2009). One can, in coherent rational fashion, grant such entities moral relevance significant enough to make their destruction morally impermissible within the framework of a particular comprehensive doctrine — religious or otherwise. But such comprehensive doctrines, given their D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 17 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 ultimately circular status, are not in the category of things that others can reasonably be expected to adopt as part of their own comprehensive doctrines. No others, including the state, can force one to accept such metaphysical proposals. It follows that any ban on a woman’s right to an abortion is unwarranted, and therefore, that such a ban would constitute an oppressive use of state power.11 Furthermore, consistent with Rawls, and as I have supported elsewhere, public officials must limit themselves to arguments that are understandable to reasonable others irrespective of their comprehensive doctrines — for only these arguments are consistent with the principle of liberal legitimacy constraining the use of state force. This requirement of public reason allows all reasonable citizens in a pluralistic society to understand, if not agree with, decisions of public legislation and policy. To this end, Rawls advocates the use of public reason in political discourse regarding matters of basic justice (e.g. issues like abortion, same-sex marriage, etc.) and constitutional essentials (e.g. issues like voting and electoral procedure). Moreover, references to scientific findings relevant to public policy, when such findings are not scientifically controversial (e.g. human caused climate change; vaccine safety, etc.) are suitable forms of public reason. All public officials, elected and appointed, ought to limit themselves to the usage of public reason, including accepted science and accurate statistics, when arguing and 11 The concerned reader may wonder why the liberal position isn’t one of prohibitive caution when it comes to the issue of abortion. In other words, given the controversial metaphysical and moral status of the fetus a cautionary prohibition on abortion may seem appropriate to some. The reason such cautionary prohibitions are unwarranted extensions of state power under a liberal regime is due to the uncontroversial personhood, moral status, and autonomy of women. In other words, liberalism requires that the actual moral autonomy and relevance of a non-controversial persons take priority over the uncertain metaphysical and moral nature of the fetus and embryo. This liberal position is rooted in a fallibilism that recognizes how under normal circumstances the most obvious harm caused by prohibitions on abortion is to women’s autonomy — as opposed to the far more uncertain harms one can recognize for a fetus or embryo with perpetually controversial metaphysical and moral status. Therefore, the cautionary liberal position on abortion is entirely permissive of that procedure. See. Torcello 2009. “A precautionary tale: Separating the infant from the fetus” Res Publica 15 (1): 17-31. In that work I show why this permissiveness does not extend to infanticide given that a newborn infant is not directly dependent upon its biological progenitor for survival, as is a fetus, and thus bans on infanticide do not thwart a woman’s autonomy in the same way that bans on abortion do out of necessity. Consequently, the precautionary fallibilist position on infanticide is one of prohibition. It should be noted that I do not extend my argument, in the previously mentioned work, to the question of euthanasia for terminally ill and suffering infants. 18 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 deciding upon matters of public legislation.12 It is permissible to acknowledge one’s comprehensive doctrines, in the interest of transparency, but only arguments made within the terms of public reason, or easily convertible to public reason, are appropriate for such matters. I am aware of the significant and growing gap between the Rawlsian ideal theory defining political liberalism and our current situation — for me, the United States in 2019 during, among other things, a humanitarian crisis at the US Southern border that is rooted in racist, nationalist pandering, and an environmental crisis that intensifies yearly and observably, while the sitting US president and a majority of congressional republicans deny anthropogenic global warming. This is, in fact, why I think it necessary to return to the definition of political liberalism and to insist upon what liberalism was developed to do. Liberalism is a necessary corrective to populist democracy, and in its best, that is its Rawlsian outline, it is sharpened to cope directly with the relativism and disinformation that thrive in illiberal democracies (Torcello 2014). Far of failing to bridge into application, I believe that the example of abortion rights, among others, demonstrates how a liberal polity should cope with relativism and disinformation. When public officials offer arguments against abortion that misrepresent statistics, medical procedures, or scientific findings, they act in ways incompatible with the constraints of liberal neutrality and the requirement of public reason; they have violated the obligations of the public official. Journalist who merely repeat such statements, as if reporting demanded no more, are failing to utilize their own constitutional protections and obligations (Torcello 2014). Instead, journalists and others in any position of public leadership should point out the inappropriateness of such arguments and treat them as if they were an affront to the requirements of a neutral liberal society, with its equalities and protections under law, as indeed they are.13 Additionally, all citizens speaking in and about the public sphere ought to limit ourselves to arguments of public reason — that is, arguments that reasonable others can in principle understand, while nonetheless disagreeing, and while mutually participating in public life. We should all be insisting the legislators do so, and this obviously extends beyond abortion rights, to the science 12 For additional arguments in support of Rawls’ inclusion of science among acceptable forms of public reason, consistent with my own arguments on science and public reason, see Badiola (2018). 13 The referenced, Torcello 2009, explains in detail my argument for the permissive liberal position on abortion and its relationship to public reason. For other examples of how the neutral liberal requirements of public reason apply to contemporary issues of public debate and legislation: see Torcello 2008 on same-sex marriage; 2011 and 2016 on Climate Change. D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 19 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 supporting vaccination or fluoride, to that which explains why we know that humans have seriously and potentially catastrophically changed the climate. Disinformation, here, isn’t simply the latest thing at which we might yell “fake news!” — it is an active threat to the functioning of liberal democracy, with ancient roots in non-liberal democracy itself, and with the potential to be curbed by citizens who choose liberal principles as the conditions of sustainably pluralistic modern political entities. If these sound like miniature solutions to gargantuan problems, consider how far we are from consistently testing them out. Political liberalism has not failed us, we have mostly failed to become practicing political liberals. §4. Transcendental Liberal Legitimacy What of the justification of liberalism? Some argue that liberalism, Rawlsian or otherwise, is still just one more comprehensive doctrine among others, pretending not to compete among them.14 How does one respond to the Viktor Orbáns of the world? To the relativist, to the nationalist, or anyone, who thinks that modern democracy secures their willingness to do political violence to others? I have argued that liberalism is necessitated by our epistemic limitations. This is because liberalism allows reasonable moral pluralism (i.e. non-violent ideologies) to flourish in a free society. The only way to do away with pluralism, as Rawls knew, is through the oppressive use of state force. This truth brings us back to ancient Athens. My argument rests on an essential moral commitment implicit in Plato’s Socratic dialogues, namely that coercion requires justification. This commitment to reasoned argument and justification rather than brute force and manipulation forms the transcendental commitment already accepted by all practitioners of philosophical inquiry. By transcendental, I mean that the commitment is a necessary intellectual condition of knowing oneself to be giving and entertaining (or potentially giving and entertaining) reasons. Yet the commitment to engage in the sharing of reasons, to always be willing to consider others’ reasons, even where they appear to contradict a held belief, is not justified by reason alone, nor alone by the pragmatic fact that it works. It is, as Socrates personifies in Plato’s texts, also an ethical decision about the kind of person one wishes to be. It is a moral choice to treat others as worthy of what Kant would call respect, as being ends in themselves.15 14 See (Gray, 2007) and (MacIntyre 2007) for examples. 15 For a Utilitarian argument with interesting similarity to this Kantian commitment towards the other see Chapter One of Peter Singer’s Practical Ethics (2011) For an argument directly contrasting my 20 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 The twinned epistemic and moral readiness to recognize reasons is consistent with elements of Kantian idealism, as Rawls acknowledges, but it is not dependent upon the acceptance of Kantian philosophy. One might access them as well in a corollary to the transcendental commitment, which is confirmed when one accepts the principle of liberal legitimacy: “Our exercise of political power is fully proper only when it is exercised in accordance with a constitution the essentials of which all citizens as free and equal may reasonably be expected to endorse in the light of principles and ideals acceptable to their common human reason” (Rawls 1993, p. 137). Liberalism is grounded on our moral and epistemic commitment to reasoned justification rather than brute appeals to power — including the coercive power of fallacious forms of rhetorical manipulation and disinformation. To require a justification for this position is to accept the justification of this position — it is to accept a transcendental moral and epistemic commitment to the principle of liberal legitimacy.16 Along the same lines, to recognize another person is to recognize their freedom of conscience. It is not possible to force others to accept one’s own beliefs and values—though we may reason together and sometimes change our minds aware of our common fallibility. It is in recognizing the limits of reason that we identify the freedom of others to hold opposing positions; we recognize that the freedom of others is coextensive with our own. I want to emphasize that these commitments remain a matter of epistemic and moral choice. They are epistemic in that they recognize human epistemological limits, and they are transcendental affirmation of liberalism against conservative (e.g. Alasdair MacIntyre) and postmodern (e.g. Rorty) critiques of liberalism see, Torcello (2011) “Sophism and Moral Agnosticism, or How to Tell a Relativist from a Pluralist,” The Pluralist 6 (1); 87-108. This latter work argues for a distinction between relativism and pluralism that links the latter to liberal democracy while avoiding the philosophical pitfalls of relativism. 16 For arguments, grounded in American Pragmatism, that posit epistemic commitments implicit to democracy see Misak (2000) as well as Aikin and Talisse (2018). See also Misak and Talisse (forthcoming in Raisons Politiques). The arguments I make in this paper, and the arguments they make about epistemic democracy share an emphasis on epistemic commitments. The degree of overlap, compatibility, and difference, between the arguments in this paper and those of the three just referenced goes beyond the scope of this article. Suffice it to say that the present argument involves a transcendental ethics of inquiry that I identify with liberalism whereas the authors just referenced focus on epistemic commitments they identify with democratic practices. See: Torcello (2014) “Moral Agnosticism: An Ethics of Inquiry and Public Discourse” Teaching Ethics 14 (2):3-16, for more on my own position. D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 21 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 moral in that they recognize others are owed justifications against any encroachments we might make on them. Like the Nazi jurist Carl Schmitt, some may choose to view politics as a struggle between moral friends and enemies. The very need to protect ourselves from those others who might reject the requirement of reasoned justification only provides more reason to secure ourselves and society with liberal institutions, services, and laws. The willingness of some to commit violence, conceptual or physical, has always been a danger but never a negation of truth and justice. In closing, I want to highlight the example of climate change denialism as paradigmatic of the way that the forces of disinformation and power politics are playing out in the United States, as liberal constraints on democracy continue to erode. In recent years, the literature on climate change denialism, or pseudoskepticism, has begun to keep up with that denialism. Much of this literature addresses the cognitive science behind belief formation.17 Yet as important as these cognitive mechanisms are, the primary influence behind political inaction and disinformation regarding climate change is still the command of money in politics. The fossil fuel industry and its lobbying force has seen no serious loss of its ability to sway democratically elected politicians. Here the documentation is robust: we know that corporate interests have spent enormous sums on lobbyists, campaign financing, think tanks, and misleading advertisements.18 More recently, fossil fuel interests such as The Charles Koch Foundation have sought to influence academia directly (Gluckman 2018). The organization has invested millions of dollars in higher education grants and sponsorships, some of which comes with conditions that run contrary to standard norms and practices of academic integrity. “When [Charles Koch’s] foundation provided $1.5 million to hire a pair of economics professors at Florida State University, his representatives insisted on a contract with the school that gave them veto power over job candidates” (Schulman 2014). Charles and recently deceased David Koch (1940-2019) have sought to portray themselves as “classical liberals” (Shulman 2014) but their zealous commitment to unregulated markets, their intent to influence public policy by force of wealth, 17 See Stephen Lewandowsky (2016) for an introduction to ongoing work on these topics. 18 See Oreskes and Conway (2011) and Brulle (2018) For arguments tracing the serious moral implications of corporate and ideological disinformation campaigns and related political agendas see Torcello (2018). 22 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 and their record of funding disinformation regarding anthropogenic global warming betray a decidedly illiberal commitment, namely to manipulating democracy, including the right to a liberal education grounded in academic pursuits absent of corporate influence (Farrell 2016). The recent efforts of the Charles Koch Foundation suggest that we will see increased attempts to infiltrate university curriculums and research publications with claims more reflective of their financial interests than fact based academic inquiry. Faculty and student pushbacks against such efforts have prompted the foundation to pledge more transparency in its academic funding — but concerns remain (Flaherty 2018). This recent push into academia is not new, but represents an expansion into more subject areas — it will likely follow the pattern already established in the funding of contrarian climate science research. Few scientists dismiss the overwhelming scientific consensus on human caused climate change, but among those who do many have received substantial funding from fossil fuel interests. Corporate funding does not automatically mean that research is dishonest but the pattern of corporate funding to a minority of contrarian scientists who consistently reject consensus science is troubling (Oreskes and Conway 2010). One such case was brought to broader public attention in 2015 when the depth of corporate money received, but not disclosed in all relevant publications, by the aerospace engineer Wei-Hock Soon who has part-time affiliation with the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics, was exposed (Gillis and Schwartz 2015). While his work is heavily disputed, by the long established scientific consensus on climate change, Soon is well known among those who reject anthropogenic global warming. His dubious research, for instance, has been referenced favorably by Senator James Inhofe of Oklahoma who has long rejected the reality of anthropogenic climate change — and is among a number of Republican legislators also receiving substantial funds from the fossil fuel industry (McCarthy and Gambino 2017). One may hope that our academic institutions are strong enough to weather this challenge to their integrity. But the example — which in fact involves circumstances unfolding even now — reminds us that all who have made sincere liberal commitments, including to education, have a civic responsibility to challenge modern sophistry and relativism in our contemporary institutions and in the public sphere. Special interest money in politics has nothing to do with reasoned justifications but it is a tactic of manipulation — an illiberal commitment to the relativistic politics of power grounded in wealth. With his liberal instincts, Socrates remains a relevant touchstone in our current age of democracy and disinformation. L. Torcello (✉) Rochester Institute of Technology, United States e-mail: lgtghs@rit.edu Disputatio. Philosophical Research Bulletin Vol. 9, No. 13, Jun. 2020, pp. 1-27 ISSN: 2254-0601 | www.disputatio.eu © The author(s) 2020. This work, published by Disputatio [www.disputatio.eu], is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons License [BY–NC–ND]. The copy, distribution and public communication of this work will be according to the copyright notice (https://disputatio.eu/info/copyright/). For inquiries and permissions, please email: (✉) boletin@disputatio.eu. La democracia y los límites de la razón: por qué es necesaria una defensa continuada de los compromisos liberales para contrarrestar la desinformación y la xenofobia L AW R E N C E T O R C E L L O §1. Introducción OS MOVIMIENTOS POLÍTICOS están en aumento a nivel mundial. Mientras tanto, nuestra dependencia de los combustibles fósiles impulsa el cambio climático, y a medida que el cambio climático continúa mermando recursos y enfatizando la inestabilidad de los regímenes políticos, observamos un número creciente de más evacuados y refugiados que buscan tierras más seguras — lo cual establece condiciones propicias para la intolerancia y el nacionalismo19. Al mismo tiempo, si bien no siempre está directamente relacionado con el calentamiento global antropogénico y con las políticas xenofóbicas, enfrentamos una crisis de desinformación que exacerba estas dos emergencias y que se intensifica gracias a ellas. Quiero remarcar que el estado de cosas que describo — la ascendente concurrencia de desinformación generalizada, política nacionalista reaccionaria basada en la xenofobia, y la negativa a poner en práctica respuestas realistas al cambio climático — está ocurriendo en naciones ostensiblemente democráticas. Los grupos políticos estadounidenses de extrema derecha, y gran parte de los europeos, ofrecen amplios estudios de caso de concomitante negacionismo de la ciencia combinado con movimientos sociales y políticos xenófobos, llamamientos al nacionalismo y una observable nostalgia por el fascismo u otros períodos históricos supuestamente grandes, en los cuales los extranjeros, las minorías 19 Ver Blitzer (2019) para un informe sobre cómo el cambio climático está afectando a Guatemala y alimentando la migración a América del Norte. L 24 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 étnicas y el medio ambiente parecen haber estado mejor gestionados20. Sin embargo, a pesar de la discusión pública sobre la erosión de la democracia, existen más gobiernos democráticos que nunca. ¿Cómo es posible que ocurra esta creciente ola de desinformación y fanatismo en naciones aparentemente democráticas? La posición que defenderé aquí es que la democracia en sí misma es parte del problema. Específicamente, las democracias globales que ahora están a la base de la ruina de sus propias instituciones liberales. No argumentaré a favor del abandono de la democracia. Argumentaré, en cambio, que una democracia sin restricciones liberales ha creado y creará un ambiente agradable para la desinformación y la xenofobia. Resulta sencillo confundir democracia y liberalismo, dada la frecuencia con la cual que el término “democracia” se emplea como abreviatura de lo que con más precisión se denomina “democracia liberal”. Mientras la democracia tiene antiguas raíces atenienses, el liberalismo es un concepto moderno, desarrollado en base a avances y retrocesos en toda Europa y América. Nuestras democracias liberales modernas están más orientadas hacia la República romana que hacia la Ekklesía ateniense. Menciono esta distinción desde el principio porque tengo la intención de resaltar el patrimonio histórico e intelectual que trajo el liberalismo a la democracia, a través del cual la vulnerabilidad y los riesgos implícitos de las democracias iliberales se hicieron evidentes por primera vez. En la primera sección de este artículo repasaré dicha historia a fin de aclarar cómo la naturaleza esencial de la democracia manifiesta susceptibilidad a la violencia y la demagogia. Argumentaré que el liberalismo, o una democracia intencionadamente liberal, puede sostener la buena salud de las sociedades democráticas y de sus culturas públicas. Los principios liberales reflejan compromisos morales y epistémicos que son cruciales para enfrentar las campañas de desinformación y demagogia a las que es vulnerable la democracia. En la segunda sección principal de este artículo, describiré esos compromisos y sostendré que el tipo de responsabilidad que proponen invierte de manera única las justificaciones epistémicas, involucrando dimensiones normativas y morales. En la teoría liberal y en el funcionamiento de las instituciones liberales, las fuerzas democráticas se perfeccionan por medio de las condiciones intelectuales y prácticas que las sostienen, con justicia y sin relativismo. Finalmente, en la tercera sección, aclaro cómo las concepciones históricas y filosóficas que he ofrecido conducen a determinadas conclusiones acerca del tipo de amenaza que la desinformación representa para la democracia. También sobre cómo debe 20 Ver, Farand (2019) para un desglose de cómo los partidos populistas de extrema derecha en Europa tienden hacia la negación de la ciencia. D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 25 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 enfrentarse la desinformación en una democracia liberal. Estas conclusiones abordan la naturaleza de la coerción y de la razón pública, y defienden lo que denominaré como “la legitimidad trascendental de los principios liberales”. §2. Democracia y liberalismo a. Pactos democráticos y principios liberales La democracia es la expansión y el enriquecimiento de la vida política a través de la emancipación de diversos ciudadanos en un único cuerpo político. Las elecciones democráticas proporcionan un medio pacífico para deponer líderes y garantizar que el gobierno por consenso (que se convertirá en un compromiso fundamental de la democracia liberal) no dependa exclusivamente de una rebelión violenta. Mientras la democracia disuelve al individuo en un colectivo que comparte equitativamente el poder del estado — un “cuerpo artificial”, tomando prestada una imagen del anti-demócrata Hobbes —, el liberalismo considera al individuo como un componente atomizado, con sus propias relaciones, valores y necesidad de protección legal. Rousseau resume del siguiente modo el pacto social en el que entra cada individuo: “Cada uno de nosotros pone su persona y su pleno poder en común bajo la dirección suprema de la voluntad general; y como en un cuerpo recibimos a cada miembro como una parte individual del todo. A la vez, en lugar de la persona privada de cada parte contratante, este acto de asociación produce un cuerpo moral y colectivo compuesto por todos los miembros de la asamblea con voz, que recibe, de este modo, su unidad, su yo común, su vida y su voluntad ”(Rousseau 1997: 50). El liberalismo es esencialmente un compromiso político con los principios destinados a proteger al individuo de los conceptos colectivos del "Bien" — principios como la libertad de conciencia, de expresión, de prensa, de reunión y el estado de derecho, por nombrar algunos. En una democracia liberal que funcione bien, la tensión entre la voluntad democrática y las protecciones individuales guía tanto las políticas públicas como el discurso político. Es la tensión detrás del principio engañosamente simple que anima On Liberty (1858), de John Stuart Mill: “Ese principio consiste en que el único fin por el cual la humanidad está justificada, individual o colectivamente, a interferir con la libertad de acción de cualquiera de sus miembros, es la autoprotección. El único propósito por el cual el poder puede ejercerse legítimamente sobre cualquier miembro de una comunidad civilizada, contra su voluntad, es evitar daños a otros” (Mill, 1962: 135). 26 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 Dado que Mill dejó en claro que existen muchas vías para dañar en la sociedad, incluidas aquellas generadas por las presiones del conformismo colectivo y la negligencia, el principio de Mill no es una cruda máxima libertaria. b. Democracia iliberal El término democracia iliberal fue acuñado por el periodista político Fareed Zakaria en su ensayo, publicado en Foreign Affairs, "The Rise of Illiberal Democracy" (1997). En su libro posterior, The Future of Freedom: Illiberal Democracy at Home and Abroad (2003) Zakaria presenta el concepto del siguiente modo: “Supongamos que las elecciones son libres y justas, y los elegidos son racistas, fascistas, separatistas”, dijo el diplomático estadounidense Richard Holbrooke sobre Yugoslavia en la década de 1990. "Ese es el dilema". De hecho lo es, y no únicamente en Yugoslavia sino en el mundo actual [...] En todo el mundo, los regímenes democráticamente elegidos, a menudo aquellos que han sido reelectos o reafirmados mediante referéndums, ignoran rutinariamente los límites constitucionales sobre su poder y privan a sus ciudadanos de derechos básicos. Este perturbador fenómeno — visible desde Perú hasta los territorios palestinos, desde Ghana hasta Venezuela — podría denominarse "democracia iliberal" (Zakaria 2003: 17). Desde la publicación del libro de Zakaria no ha habido una disminución en las naciones que se describen a sí mismas como democracias, pero de ello no se sigue que el liberalismo esté floreciendo a nivel mundial. Las salvaguardas liberales contra el gobierno autoritarista parecen estar erosionándose incluso en naciones como los Estados Unidos. Por ejemplo, el abandono democrático del liberalismo es manifiesto en la administración del primer ministro de Hungría, Viktor Orbán. El siguiente extracto de discurso, reimpreso en The Budapest Beacon, es notable por su combinación de rechazo abierto al liberalismo y respaldo a la democracia. “Necesitamos afirmar que una democracia no es necesariamente liberal. Aunque algo no sea liberal, todavía puede ser una democracia [...] tenemos que abandonar los métodos y principios liberales de organizar una sociedad, así como la forma liberal de mirar al mundo [...] el nuevo estado que estamos construyendo es un estado iliberal, un estado no liberal. No niega los valores fundamentales del liberalismo, como la libertad, etc., pero no hace de esta ideología un elemento central de la organización estatal. Por el contrario, aplica un enfoque específico, nacional y particular en su lugar” (2014). Mi objetivo no es discutir si Orbán y otros autoritaristas interpretan o no de forma caritativa el concepto de democracia, sino, por el contrario, argumentar que D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 27 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 Orbán entiende perfectamente cómo explotar la democracia de modo populista y nacionalista. La concepción de la democracia iliberal que sostienen Zakaria y Orbán recuerda al antiguo experimento político ateniense, en el cual la única democracia era la democracia no liberal. Esta es la democracia sobre la cual Platón, el gran diagnosticador, teorizó, en el Libro VIII de La República, que estaría congénitamente orientada hacia la tiranía (Platón 1989: 562a-569c). En su libro, Zakaria analiza las presiones históricas, ambientales y económicas que alentaron el desarrollo del liberalismo21. Aquí debería ser suficiente recordar que la combinación de liberalismo y democracia encontró el éxito generalizado únicamente durante la segunda mitad del siglo XX. La relación entre democracia y liberalismo no fue dada por sentada por los pensadores del siglo XIX, que entendieron los peligros tiránicos del gobierno de la mayoría en un momento en que el liberalismo aún no se había establecido a nivel mundial. Como Henry David Thoreau, escribe en Civil Disobedience (1849): "... la razón práctica por la cual, una vez el poder está en manos de la gente, se permite a la mayoría, durante un largo período de tiempo, gobernar, no es porque es más probable que tengan la razón, ni porque la minoría lo encuentre más justo, sino porque son físicamente los más fuertes” (Thoreau 1993: 2). En el primer volumen de Democracy in America (1835), Alexis de Tocqueville reconoció la tendencia de la democracia estadounidense a alentar la mediocridad y sofocar la libertad de pensamiento (Tocqueville 1969: 254-255). La crítica de Tocqueville fue compartida por el filósofo alemán Friedrich Nietzsche, aún cuando Nietzsche tendía a combinar la democracia y el liberalismo en sus escritos, al considerar la democracia como nihilista dada su tendencia a suprimir en lugar de alentar la grandeza individual22. Y, como John Stuart Mill enfatiza en On Liberty, la tiranía no es menos tiránica cuando surge del gobierno de la mayoría: “La voluntad del pueblo, además, significa en términos prácticos la voluntad de la parte más numerosa o más activa del pueblo; la mayoría, o aquellos que logran hacerse aceptar como mayoría; en consecuencia, la gente podría desear oprimir a la otra parte; y las precauciones son tan necesarias en este caso como respecto a cualquier otro abuso de poder [...] cuando la 21 Aunque no tengo espacio aquí para analizar en detalle el trabajo de Zakaria, las conclusiones del libro sobre las condiciones de las democracias liberales históricamente exitosas son consistentes con mi argumento de que los principios liberales reflejan los compromisos morales y epistémicos necesarios para sostener las sociedades democráticas y sus culturas públicas. 22 Nietzsche simpatizaba más con el liberalismo de lo que generalmente se piensa, ver Egyed (2008). 28 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 sociedad es en sí misma el tirano — la sociedad de forma colectiva sobre los individuos que la componen — sus medios para tiranizar no se limitan a los actos que pueden realizarse mediante las manos de sus funcionarios políticos” (Mill 1962: 129-130). Espero haber explicado cuán vulnerable era la democracia para los teóricos del siglo XIX, antes de los movimientos del siglo pasado, relacionados de forma específica a la "tiranía de la mayoría" — en los cuales la capacidad de influir en cualquier mayoría por medio de la manipulación de sus temores e inseguridades ideológicas se mantuvieron vigentes. Como ejemplifican las anteriores citas y muchas otras, la inclinación sistemática hacia el gobierno de la opinión popular no es un bien en sí mismo. En una democracia sin restricciones, tiende a sofocar la autonomía y la disidencia constructiva, mientras alienta la demagogia carismática, la manipulación de la opinión pública, los prejuicios populares desplegados en nombre de esquemas de intereses individuales o especiales, y la división de la ciudadanía. Como Platón sabía, la manipulación retórica y la desinformación son las herramientas por excelencia de los aspirantes a tirano. Permítanme, nuevamente de forma breve, ahondar aún más en el vínculo entre desinformación y democracia, tal como fue descrito en su antiguo hogar. c. Democracia ateniense "Él los guió más de lo que fue guiado por ellos [...] cada vez que sentía que la arrogancia los hacía más seguros de lo que merecía la situación, decía algo para infundir miedo en sus corazones; y cuando, por otro lado, los vio temerosos sin una buena razón, les devolvió la confianza. Entonces ocurrió que lo que se llamaba democracia era en la práctica el gobierno del líder” (Tucídides 2013: 129). Estas son las palabras de Tucídides, que describen la relación que el gran estadista Pericles tenía con los atenienses. Si bien Pericles no es descrito como un déspota, al menos no en los términos típicos, el pasaje de Tucídides ilustra la vulnerabilidad de la política democrática a los líderes carismáticos capaces de manipular la opinión de las masas. De hecho, el nombre de Pericles aún hoy sigue siendo equivalente a la evocación de un altavoz conmovedor. Mientras tendemos a asociar el liberalismo y la democracia, los antiguos, familiarizados con la democracia en su forma más pura, tenían más clara la distinción. Tucídides continúa con los detalles en su relato de la guerra del Peloponeso: la democracia ateniense no creó una sociedad justa, equitativa o justa. Leer a Tucídides disipará la nostalgia romántica por la democracia ateniense que cualquiera pueda estar inclinado a sostener: describe una polis D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 29 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 subyugada a las ambiciones de los aristócratas, bajo la constante presión manipuladora de sus habilidades para hablar, publicitarse y promocionarse. Atenas rompía de forma repetida sus tratados y se veía inmersa en distantes campañas sangrientas y actos de genocidio, casi siempre en base a votos motivados por intereses particulares. En contraste, Tucídides, que era un general ateniense, ilustra cómo la forma mixta de gobierno en Esparta influyó en que dicha polis fuera más circunspecta y reticente a participar en guerras no provocadas. Platón y su Sócrates son quizás los más famosos testigos. Yo diría que, leído de forma adecuada, los ataques de Platón contra los sofismas están vinculados a su comprensión de la facilidad con la que se alimentan la superstición, la ambición y la violencia populares, particularmente en el contexto de una ciudadanía democrática sin entrenamiento en investigación rigurosa y responsabilidad moral. Diría que el compromiso de Sócrates con la exploración de cuestiones epistémicas y morales fue liberal por impulso, al haberse centrado en aprovechar y utilizar la libertad que permitía el entorno democrático. En cualquier caso, Platón pretendía que su Sócrates fuera visto en contraste con los sofistas populares de su época. Mientras ellos buscaban riqueza y fama, Sócrates no se veía motivado por estas cuestiones. Mientras ellos se arrogaban conocimiento, Sócrates anunciaba no poseer ninguno. Mientras ellos aceptaron estudiantes y les enseñaron habilidades oratorias, Sócrates insistía en que sus interlocutores se volvieran autosuficientes y críticos de la doctrina recibida. Los diálogos de Platón están llenos de ejemplos, pero aquí lo más relevante es que la democracia ateniense proporcionó un terreno fértil para el desarrollo de la sofistería como una especie de profesión; no solo para un sofista en particular, sino una gran variedad de enfoques que implicaban no solo relativismo axiológico, sino prácticamente de toda posible verdad. Por encima de todo, el Sócrates de Platón representa el rechazo de los valores y verdades relativas, la búsqueda de una realidad que sea a la vez verdadera y buena. Sócrates representa el espíritu de una vida cívica dedicada a la investigación y las justificaciones deliberativas. d. Poder, relativismo y democracia La República de Platón empieza con Sócrates regresando a Atenas desde las festividades en el Puerto del Pireo con Glaucón — probablemente representando al hermano de Platón. El dúo es detenido por un esclavo enviado por Polemarco, que se está acercando, junto a algunos otros conocidos, desde la distancia. Cuando Polemarco llega hasta Sócrates, insiste en que la pareja se quede a cenar en la casa de Céfalo. La narración del encuentro de Sócrates es la siguiente: 30 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 Polemarco me dijo: Percibo, Sócrates, que tú y tu compañero ya están de camino a la ciudad. No estás muy equivocado, dije. ¿Puedes ver — se incorporó — cuántos somos? Por supuesto. ¿Y eres más fuerte que todos nosotros? Si no, tendrás que quedarte donde estás. ¿No hay posibilidad — dije — de que podamos persuadirte de que nos dejes ir? Pero, ¿puedes convencernos si nos negamos a escucharte? — dijo. Ciertamente no — respondió Glaucón. Entonces no vamos a escuchar; de eso puedes estar seguro (Platón 1939: 327c). Este encuentro remarca el contraste que supone Sócrates respecto al pensamiento convencional de su tiempo, específicamente, respecto a la idea de que la fuerza es la base de la interacción humana. Aunque parezca un precursor literario trivial del argumento filosófico "real", de hecho, toda La República examina esta concepción de la fuerza, y rastrea sus desarrollos en la autoridad política, la organización social y el autodominio. ¿Por qué obedecer? Sócrates pregunta a cada paso, probando una gran cantidad de argumentos dependiendo de las respuestas y las suposiciones posteriores de sus amigos. Platón describe lo que debieron ser supuestos profundamente arraigados. Hesíodo sostiene que la raza humana está abocada a la competencia violenta desde sus orígenes, como se describe en Trabajos y días: “El padre no estará de acuerdo con sus hijos, ni los niños con su padre, ni el invitado con su anfitrión, ni el compañero con el compañero; ni el hermano será querido por el hermano [...] porque la fuerza será su derecho: y un hombre saqueará la ciudad de otro. No habrá favor para el hombre que mantiene su juramento o para el justo o para el bueno; por el contrario, los hombres alabarán al malhechor y su trato violento. La fuerza será correcta y la reverencia dejará de existir; y el malvado lastimará al hombre digno, pronunciará palabras falsas contra él, y lo injuriará. A los miserables hombres, que sin excepción se deleitan con el mal, los acosará la envidia, el ceño fruncido y las malas palabras” (Hesíodo 1977: 58). La violencia y la lucha son inherentes a la naturaleza, y, según Hesíodo, también a la naturaleza humana; los humanos únicamente actuarían de otra manera a causa de la vulnerabilidad personal más que de la virtud. El Eutifrón de Platón retoma y desafía esta idea, que se extiende por toda la obra de Hesíodo, de que incluso las leyes dictadas por los propios Dioses son sancionadas únicamente por el poder arbitrario de los propios Dioses23. 23 Ver Eutifrón (1989) para el llamado “dilema de Eutifrón”, es decir, ¿algo es bueno porque es amado por los dioses o es amado por los dioses porque es bueno? D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 31 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 Sin embargo, durante el diálogo de apertura de La República se asume que la fuerza de los numerosos es suficiente para obligar a Sócrates y Glaucón a permanecer en contra de su voluntad. En efecto, pronto Trasímaco vuelve a asumir la misma idea de que la fuerza mantiene un privilegio respecto a la debilidad, aunque esta vez de una forma más argumentativa que se convierte en el punto de partida de una discusión más amplia llevada a cabo por el Sócrates de Platón. Podríamos pensar en la máxima de que "la fuerza hace lo correcto" como una noción "trasimaquiana", no obstante, era sabiduría popular, ortodoxa, en la antigua Grecia, y Platón la desafía radicalmente con algo de ayuda por parte del absurdo Trasímaco24. El Sócrates de Platón no se limita a rechazar a Trasímaco, sino que vuelve a la mayoría en su contra al exigir razones o justificaciones para sus afirmaciones sobre el asiento del poder en la fuerza. Cuando los intentos de Trasímaco se descubren como fallidos, Sócrates se declara, en nombre de todos, insatisfecho y merecedor de más. En el marco de una sociedad dominada por la influencia moral de la poesía mítológica y los sofismas, Sócrates es desplegado por Platón, tal vez por medio de una adecuada caracterización, para descubrir cómo los sofistas llegaron a poner la retórica al servicio del poder político. El ascenso de los sofistas permitió a Platón reconocer la retórica como una forma de poder en sí misma, potenciada por la política democrática. Sócrates presenta la razón como una alternativa a estos poderes atrincherados e interconectados que se manifiestan en el contexto de la democracia iliberal. Sócrates a menudo es presentado como antidemocrático en este contexto, generalmente mediante la yuxtaposición analógica entre diversas formas de experticia y la ignorancia de la población general. En consecuencia, La República presenta una extensa discusión acerca de por qué la justicia, por difícil que sea de definir, no puede vincularse con la coerción física, aunque sea motivada por las opiniones de muchos, los decretos de los Dioses o las ambiciones de los demagogos (Platón 1989). Mientras la esencia relativista de la política basada en el poder coercitivo se retrata de manera cruda en el caricaturizado Trasímaco, Platón otorga un trato más respetuoso, aunque no menos crítico, al sofista Protágoras. Cuando la humanidad es la medida de todo, la verdad se disuelve en una cuestión de 24 A fin de enfatizar el sentido común de ese momento, respecto a que la fuerza bruta era el estado natural de las cosas, Trasímaco es introducido en la conversación como una bestia salvaje: "Pese a que estábamos conversando, Trasímaco había estado intentando varias veces interrumpir y apoderarse de la discusión, pero fue reprimido por aquellos que se sentaron junto a él y deseaban escuchar. Sin embargo, cuando se hizo una pausa, ya no pudo mantener la calma. Recobrándose como una bestia salvaje, se arrojó sobre nosotros como si fuera a hacernos pedazos. Polemarco y yo nos asustados al ser zarandeados. Gritó entre nosotros, ¿qué disparates estáis hablando y por qué os molestáis el uno al otro?” (Platón 1989: 336b). 32 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 percepción individual y el discurso razonado que apunta a una verdad certera carece de sentido. Del mismo modo, tal como Sócrates le dice al joven Teeteto en el diálogo que lleva su nombre: “Si la verdad de Protágoras es realmente veraz, revisar y comprobar las nociones y opiniones de los demás cuando todos tienen razón es una exhibición tediosa y monstruosa de locura” (Platón 1989: 161e). En un mundo en el cual la verdad resulta irrelevante, los argumentos no pueden medirse en base a estándares epistémicos estables. Ello deja la manipulación y la fuerza como los principales métodos para solucionar disputas y compromisos democráticos — una conclusión que el Sócrates de Platón extrae de los sofistas Calicles y Gorgias en el diálogo que toma este último nombre: Sócrates: ¿Y es lo mismo el mejor y el más poderoso? […] ¿Es acaso aquel físicamente más fuerte al que llamas poderoso, alegando que las grandes ciudades atacan a las pequeñas de acuerdo a la justicia natural, porque son más poderosas y mejores, siendo ambas cosas una y lo mismo? — ¿O es posible ser mejor pero más débil y menos poderoso, o más poderoso pero más malvado? Teniendo las definiciones claras, quizás consideres que lo más poderoso, lo mejor y lo más fuerte son lo mismo o asuntos diferentes. Calicles: Bueno, puedo asegurar con claridad que son lo mismo. Sócrates: ¿No son los muchos más poderosos por naturaleza que el uno? Calicles: Por supuesto. Sócrates: Entonces, ¿las ordenanzas de los muchos son las de los más poderosos? Calicles: Naturalmente. Sócrates: ¿Y de los mejores también? Porque los más poderosos son mucho mejores, según usted. Callicles: Sí (Plato 1989: 488c). Cada vez que surgen disputas que requieren un acuerdo, el subjetivismo de un Protágoras más sofisticado se reduce a las políticas de poder de los relativistas Trasímaco y Calicles — este asunto está lejos de ser trivial. No se trata simplemente de que tal relativismo sea radicalmente defectuoso teniendo en consideración determinados requisitos de coherencia lógica: al sostener de forma categórica que la verdad no existe o no puede ser encontrada, necesariamente se debe afirmar una verdad universal. Sin embargo, esta autorefutación podría ser importante para aquellos interesados en la coherencia lógica, no para aquellos comprometidos con la fuerza. Si el poder, y no la verdad, motiva a la política, no hay restricciones para el uso engañoso de la retórica, el marketing y las mentiras al servicio de la acumulación de poder. De hecho, bajo estas condiciones, la retórica engañosa se D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 33 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 convierte en una herramienta legítima del poder. Utilizando a Sócrates, Platón descubre que la democracia coquetea necesariamente con el relativismo, que el sofisma y la manipulación retórica de la opinión pública florecen dentro de ella, y que ciudadanos y actores públicos confían en suposiciones para justificar sus afirmaciones. Ahí donde Trasímaco o Protágoras deben sostener el “haré y tomaré lo que quiera porque puedo”, Sócrates y un pensador liberal posterior notarán el contexto comunicativo de la afirmación y señalarán otra vía: la elección de una comunidad que comparta razones y base su toma de decisiones en la calidad de las mismas. La idea de que el imperio de la ley debería depender de contingencias, como la fuerza o la opinión pública, es la piedra angular del carácter incoherente del relativismo que abordan los escritos de Platón. Que el Sócrates de Platón quite la razón a los sofistas y finalmente sea asesinado por el estado acusado de ser un sofista particularmente efectivo es parte del peligro que Platón observa en el relativismo y en sus apologistas políticos — o, desde otro punto de vista, en la fuerza política arbitraria y en los grupos de presión que la protegen del escrutinio público. Me gustaría cerrar esta sección con el relato de Tucídides sobre la respuesta que los generales atenienses ofrecieron a los habitantes de Melos antes del asedio y posterior genocidio de estos colonos espartanos. Nótese cuán consistente es respecto al sofisma de Trasímaco y Calicles, tal como lo hemos conocido a través de Platón: “Comprendéis tan bien como nosotros que en la esfera humana los juicios sobre la justicia son relevantes únicamente entre aquellos con el mismo poder para aplicarla. Y que las posibilidades están definidas por lo que los fuertes hacen y los débiles aceptan [...] En lo que respecta a nuestras buenas relaciones con los dioses, no sentimos que sean peores que las vuestras. No hay nada en nuestros principios o en nuestra práctica que esté en desacuerdo con los supuestos humanos sobre los dioses o con los propósitos humanos dentro de su propia esfera. En el caso de los dioses, creemos, y en el caso de la humanidad, siempre ha sido obvio que es una necesidad de la naturaleza que dondequiera que alguien tenga la ventaja, debe gobernar. No fuimos nosotros los que establecimos esta ley ni los primeros en aprovechar su existencia. La encontramos ya establecida, esperamos que dure para siempre, y ahora la utilizamos, siendo perfectamente conscientes de que vosotros o cualquier otro que disfrutara del mismo poder que nosotros actuaría del mismo modo” (Tucídides 2013: 380-382). §3. Limitaciones epistémicas y liberalismo a. El nacimiento de la teoría liberal Los sofismas florecieron en la antigüedad en parte al socavar la idea de que la verdad era significativa más allá de las percepciones populares. Ello puede haber sido un efecto indirecto, dado que todo sofista deseaba generar riqueza y una 34 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 reputación basada en su capacidad para preparar a los hombres jóvenes para la ciudadanía y los tribunales. Sin embargo, la condición esencial del surgimiento del sofisma como profesión, tal como lo observó Platón, era el establecimiento de una incredulidad cínica respecto a la verdad reconocible por medio de explicaciones compartidas o justificable por medio de normas compartidas que resulten razonables. Dado que nos hemos acostumbrado a frases como "hechos alternativos", "noticias falsas" y "hacer luz de gas" en nuestro lenguaje común acerca del discurso y los lugares públicos, los sofistas de hoy en día pueden sentirse confiados en una sociedad acostumbrada a las justificaciones motivadas por la dominación y la violencia, como aquellas ofrecidas tanto por los generales atenienses a los habitantes de Melos como por aquellos dispuestos a pagar para aprender cómo hacer de los otros sus esclavos25. Lo que los antiguos atenienses entendían como una democracia, Thoreau lo veía como una forma de juego de azar epistémico y moral: “Toda votación es una especie de juego con un ligero tinte moral, como las damas o el backgammon, un juego con el bien y el mal, con cuestiones morales; y apostar viene de forma natural. El carácter de los votantes no está en juego” (Thoreau 1993: 5). Sócrates estaría de acuerdo. En una democracia en la cual la opinión mayoritaria es el poder político definitivo y el árbitro de la verdad, el arte de la sofistería siempre prosperará — y los políticos recurrirán a los datos de las encuestas para justificar sus políticas, tal como hacen ahora. Como Zakaria señala, todavía escuchamos a los políticos hablar de la opinión pública como si tuviera la fuerza de un antiguo oráculo: "¡La gente ha hablado!" (2003). Uno puede imaginar cómo la pretensión de no juzgar a los demás es una de las mayores atracciones del relativismo — aunque el egoísmo y la manipulación libre de culpa ofrecen una descripción más realista de cómo el relativismo se afianza en la política. Mencioné anteriormente que las críticas de Sócrates a la democracia ateniense fueron liberales por impulso. Pero, dado que dicho impulso permanece sin desarrollar, el término sería anacrónico. Es posible interpretar al Sócrates de Platón como una persona que confronta los límites de 25 Una vez más, el diálogo Gorgias ofrece una visión convincente acerca de la forma de poder enseñada por los antiguos sofistas. El sofista Gorgias explica del siguiente modo el tipo de poder que ofrece a sus alumnos: "El poder convencer con sus palabras a los jueces en la corte, a los senadores en el consejo, a las personas en la asamblea, o en cualquier otra reunión de un organismo ciudadano. En posesión de tal poder harán del doctor y del entrenador sus esclavos, y los hombres de negocios se verán haciendo dinero, no solo para sí mismos, sino también para otros, al poder hablar y persuadir a las multitudes” (Platón 1989 : 252e). D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 35 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 su conocimiento, la realidad de la falibilidad y la ignorancia de uno mismo, y que, desde esta postura epistémica, llega a la necesidad moral de tolerar los errores de los demás y a interesarse por la experienca del otro — como consecuencia de los límites epistémicos compartidos y de la necesidad de trabajar juntos, por así decirlo, en el diálogo. En el Critón, Sócrates ofrece la defensa más temprana de la desobediencia civil (Platón 1989: 48c-54c). Al aceptar el veredicto injusto de su juicio, Sócrates respalda su propia libertad de conciencia, llama la atención sobre la injusticia y confirma la necesidad última del estado de derecho — todas ellas preocupaciones liberales. De modo que Sócrates representa un rechazo explícito del sofismo, tanto epistemológico como moral, y se opone al gobierno de la opinión pública, una causa común con el liberalismo moderno. En su forma moderna, el liberalismo se forjó tanto en las obras filosóficas de Hobbes, Locke, Jefferson, Kant, Mill y otros pensadores, como en los trabajos de los abolicionistas, sufragistas y otros activistas laborales y de derechos civiles que han llevado a las naciones a rendir cuentas respecto a los ideales filosóficos y políticos que profesan26. En su forma moderna, el liberalismo se forjó tanto en las obras filosóficas de Hobbes, Locke, Jefferson, Kant, Mill y otros pensadores, como en los trabajos de los abolicionistas, sufragistas y otros activistas laborales y de derechos civiles que han llevado a las naciones a rendir cuentas respecto a los ideales filosóficos y políticos que profesan27. Sin embargo, a pesar de su larga e impresionante 26 Sin pretender ofrecer una lista exhaustiva de fuentes filosóficas, los siguientes trabajos son de vital importancia en la historia moderna del liberalismo: el Leviathan de Thomas Hobbes, 1651 (1996) — aunque Hobbes no es liberal, el Leviathan planta muchas semillas liberales —, Two Treaties of Government de John Locke, 1690 (2013); Virginia Bill for Establishing Religious Freedom, de Thomas Jefferson, 1777 (2005); Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals de Immanuel Kant, 1785 (2012); y On Liberty de John Stuart Mill, 1859 (1962). Además, vale la pena señalar la influencia que los teóricos del derecho natural como Hugo Grocio (1583-1645), Alberico Gentili (1552-1608) y Francisco de Vitoria (1483-1546) tuvieron en el pensamiento liberal sobre el derecho internacional y los derechos humanos. En resumen, las influencias históricas del liberalismo son expansivas y esta variada historia ayuda a explicar por qué el liberalismo no puede reducirse a una sola escuela de pensamiento. Por el contrario, sostengo que el liberalismo surge con una constelación de compromisos morales (por ejemplo, libertad de conciencia, expresión, prensa, afiliación, etc.) informados por restricciones epistemológicas que culminan en un marco político contra dogmas generales, centrado, en general, en los derechos y protecciones individuales. 27 Sin pretender ofrecer una lista exhaustiva de fuentes filosóficas, los siguientes trabajos son de vital importancia en la historia moderna del liberalismo: el Leviathan de Thomas Hobbes, 1651 (1996) — aunque Hobbes no es liberal, el Leviathan planta muchas semillas liberales —, Two Treaties of Government de John Locke, 1690 (2013); Virginia Bill for Establishing Religious Freedom, de Thomas Jefferson, 1777 (2005); Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals de Immanuel Kant, 1785 (2012); y On Liberty de John Stuart Mill, 1859 (1962). Además, vale la pena señalar la influencia que los teóricos del derecho natural como Hugo Grocio (1583-1645), Alberico Gentili (1552-1608) y Francisco de Vitoria (1483-1546) 36 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 tradición filosófica, el liberalismo ha resultado difícil de fijar en el imaginario popular e incluso más difícil de defender. La forma en que el término se combina hoy en día con ramas ideológicas caricaturizadas (por detractores que se identifican tanto con la izquierda como con la derecha política) es un indicativo de dicha dificultad, pero, como ocurre con muchas otras caricaturas, esta también es el reflejo de una tensión interna real del liberalismo. Las concepciones liberales de la "ley natural", como la de Locke, se desmoronan en la medida en que dependen de la existencia de una ley moral divinamente estructurada28. Los liberalismos basados en el utilitarismo, especialmente el de Mill, dependen de la vitalidad del utilitarismo, que sigue siendo discutido filosóficamente. Del mismo modo, las concepciones kantianas del liberalismo están vinculadas con la deontología de Kant, que a su vez permanece sujeta a disputas filosóficas. John Rawls ofreció la defensa más importante e influyente del liberalismo del siglo XX. Consideró que el liberalismo era coherente con las nociones kantianas de agencia moral individual y de autonomía. Otra vez, aquí me limito a pasar por alto su fundamental Theory of Justice (1971) y los posteriores Political Liberalism (1993) y Justice as Fairness: A Restatement (2002). Pero vale la pena mencionar que la preocupación que motivó a Rawls en todo momento fue proporcionar una justificación no circular del liberalismo. A fin de centrarnos en la preocupación central que motivó a Rawls, consideremos el antiguo trilema escéptico de Agripa, que lidia con la elección o justificación de alternativas. En el mundo contemporáneo, el pluralismo moral o pluralismo axiológico nos viene dado. Vivimos en una pluralidad de culturas y valores, y en la medida en que deseamos seguir viviendo en un mundo políticamente moderno, afirmamos esta pluralidad sin intentar forzar su reducción. Un valor dice "x es deseable" mientras otro sostiene que "x no es deseable". Según el trilema de Agripa, cualquier afirmación sigue siendo una mera afirmación a menos que se vea reforzada por medio de las justificaciones apropiadas. Al intentar proporcionar justificaciones apropiadas, uno debe tuvieron en el pensamiento liberal sobre el derecho internacional y los derechos humanos. En resumen, las influencias históricas del liberalismo son expansivas y esta variada historia ayuda a explicar por qué el liberalismo no puede reducirse a una sola escuela de pensamiento. Por el contrario, sostengo que el liberalismo surge con una constelación de compromisos morales (por ejemplo, libertad de conciencia, expresión, prensa, afiliación, etc.) informados por restricciones epistemológicas que culminan en un marco político contra dogmas generales, centrado, en general, en los derechos y protecciones individuales. 28 Tales concepciones son circulares en tanto dependen de premisas sobrenaturales altamente controvertidas y, cuando se enmarcan de forma secular, inevitablemente cometen la falacia naturalista. D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 37 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 confrontar el hecho de que el problema resurge con cada justificación ofrecida. De este modo, nos enfrentamos a una regresión infinita de afirmaciones y sus respectivas justificaciones. El tercer componente del trilema es la necesidad práctica de poner fin a dicha regresión infinita. Debemos comprometernos con una afirmación fundamental y primaria que permanecerá indefensa — lo que, a su vez, hará que todo el esfuerzo justificativo sea circular en su núcleo. Dada esta circularidad, tendríamos razones para permanecer escépticos acerca de cualquier afirmación o valor y su respectiva justificación. Obsérvese cómo el relativismo se cierne sobre esta postura filosófica. En Political Liberalism, Rawls busca proporcionar una justificación del liberalismo que resulte neutral en el plano metafísico. En la medida en que funcione, los sujetos que resulten razonables a través de una pluralidad de compromisos axiológicos deberían poder respaldar esta justificación liberal sin tener que abandonar sus propias concepciones metafísicamente circulares, o doctrinas integrales, como las denomina Rawls. Acepta que las doctrinas integrales no pueden reducirse mutuamente a principios fundamentales que obliguen a todas las partes, dado que no comparten un denominador común universalmente razonable. Por lo tanto, el pluralismo de las doctrinas integrales sigue siendo una característica inherente a cualquier sociedad libre. Dicho de otra manera, la única forma de deshacerse del pluralismo es por la fuerza de la opresión. Sin embargo, Rawls cree que las doctrinas integrales razonables podrían dar lugar a un consenso superpuesto sobre los principios liberales de justicia. b. Ignorancia socrática y razón Rawls atribuye la permanencia del pluralismo axiológico a lo que él denomina como cargas del juicio. La razón por la que uno no puede justificar en última instancia ninguna doctrina integral, desde este punto de vista, es que los seres humanos se enfrentan a limitaciones epistémicas insuperables. Dada cualquier afirmación, podríamos carecer de suficiente contexto, comprensión, información o ser engañados por formas implícitas de sesgo de confirmación. Las formulaciones contemporáneas de estas cargas de juicio fueron prefiguradas de forma certera en los antiguos razonamientos escépticos. Además, los principios fundamentales de la lógica heredada de Aristóteles nos recuerdan que los argumentos válidos son estructuras formales — es decir, la validez argumental es independiente de su contenido de verdad. Estos límites epistémicos permiten a las personas permanecer racionales ante un desacuerdo comprometido, incluso 38 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 cuando primeros principios inconmensurables guían sus respectivas doctrinas integrales. No pretendo llevar a cabo una defensa completa de los principios de justicia de Rawls. Aquí quiero, en cambio, seguir la concepción de Rawls de la razón humana como el reino de lo político, y describir lo que ello implica para la legitimidad del liberalismo, el discurso público y la amenaza real de la desinformación. Para Rawls, y también para Sócrates, la razón (o una especie de sabiduría) surge de la comprensión de que uno puede estar equivocado acerca de sus creencias más profundamente arraigadas, de modo que, como consecuencia de esta persistente falibilidad, uno debe considerar con una actitud abierta a aquellos con quienes comparte desacuerdos razonables. De ello también se deduce que no podemos obligar a los demás a aceptar puntos de vista que caen fuera de los límites de la razón — tampoco el cuerpo estatal colectivo puede imponer este tipo de fuerza. Esto es consistente con el principio liberal de legitimidad que Rawls articula: "Nuestro ejercicio del poder político es apropiado únicamente cuando se ejerce en el marco de una constitución cuyos elementos esenciales suponen que todos los ciudadanos, en tanto que libres e iguales, apoyan principios e ideales razonables, aceptables bajo la luz de la razón humana compartida" (Rawls 1993: 137). Este principio suscribe el compromiso liberal de priorizar los derechos y protecciones individuales por encima de las ideas colectivas, o podríamos decir integrales, sobre el bien. Sostengo que de este compromiso, arraigado en nuestras propias limitaciones epistémicas, surge una constelación de compromisos liberales derivados de la libertad de conciencia. Por ejemplo, la libertad religiosa, la libertad de prensa y numerosos derechos y protecciones legales que encuentran su justificación en la preservación de los derechos individuales respecto a las invasiones del estado, los intereses particulares y, en general, de otras personas. c. La razón pública como un guardián contra la coerción y la desinformación El asunto del aborto permite ilustrar qué tipo de protecciones individuales se requieren y cómo las democracias fracasan en la medida en que las instituciones liberales y sus compromisos están ausentes o se ven debilitados. Como he argumentado en otro artículo, no existe un argumento metafísicamente incontrovertido capaz de atribuir relevancia moral a un embrión o feto (Torcello, 2009). Es posible, sin embargo, otorgar de manera racional y coherente a tales entidades una relevancia moral lo suficientemente significativa como para hacer D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 39 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 que su destrucción sea moralmente inadmisible en el marco de una doctrina integral particular — religiosa o de otro tipo. Pero tales doctrinas integrales, dado su estatus circular, no se enmarcan dentro de la clase de cuestiones que otros podrían adoptar de forma razonable como parte de sus propias doctrinas integrales. Nadie, incluido el estado, puede obligar a otro individuo a aceptar tales creencias metafísicas. De ello se deduce que cualquier prohibición del derecho de la mujer al aborto no está justificada y que, por lo tanto, dicha prohibición constituiría un uso opresivo del poder estatal29. Adicionalmente, de acuerdo con Rawls, y como he apoyado en otro trabajo, los funcionarios públicos deben limitarse a argumentos que sean comprensibles para otros sujetos razonables, independientemente de sus doctrinas integrales — solo estos argumentos son consistentes con el principio de legitimidad liberal que restringe el uso de la fuerza estatal. Este requisito de razón pública permite que todos los ciudadanos razonables inmersos en una sociedad pluralista comprendan, si no están de acuerdo, las decisiones legislativas y las políticas públicas. Con este fin, Rawls aboga por el uso de la razón pública en el discurso político respecto a asuntos de justicia básica (por ejemplo, respecto a cuestiones como el aborto, el matrimonio entre personas del mismo sexo, etc.) y elementos constitucionales esenciales (por ejemplo, respecto a cuestiones como el voto y los procedimientos electorales). Las referencias a hallazgos científicos relevantes para las políticas públicas, particularmente cuando tales hallazgos no son científicamente controvertidos (por ejemplo, el cambio climático antropogénico; la seguridad de las vacunas, 29 El lector preocupado podría preguntarse por qué la posición liberal no invita, en cambio, a la precaución prohibitiva cuando se trata del aborto. En otras palabras, dado el controvertido estado metafísico y moral del feto, una prohibición preventiva del aborto podría parecer apropiada para algunos. La razón por la cual tales prohibiciones son extensiones injustificadas del poder del estado bajo un régimen liberal se basa en la personalidad incontrovertida del estatus moral y de la autonomía de las mujeres. En otras palabras, el liberalismo requiere que la autonomía moral real y la relevancia de las personas no controvertidas tengan prioridad sobre la naturaleza metafísicamente incierta del estatus moral del feto y el embrión. Esta posición liberal se enraíza en un falibilismo que reconoce que, en circunstancias normales, el daño más obvio causado por las prohibiciones del aborto respecto a la autonomía de las mujeres, en oposición a los daños mucho más inciertos y controvertidos que uno podría reconocer para un feto o embrión. Por lo tanto, la posición liberal, cautelosa, sobre el aborto es permisiva. Ver Torcello 2009, “A precautionary tale: Separating the infant from the fetus”, publicado en Res Publica 15 (1): 17-31. En ese trabajo muestro por qué esta permisividad no se extiende al infanticidio, dado que un recién nacido no depende directamente de su progenitor biológico para sobrevivir, como es el caso del feto, y, por lo tanto, la prohibición del infanticidio no frustra la autonomía de una mujer de la misma manera que las prohibiciones sobre el aborto. En consecuencia, la posición cauta, falibilista, respecto el infanticidio es prohibitiva. Cabe señalar que no extiendo mi argumento, en el trabajo mencionado anteriormente, a la cuestión de la eutanasia para bebés que sufren enfermedades terminales. 40 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 etc.), son formas adecuadas de razón pública. Todos los funcionarios públicos, elegidos y nombrados, deben limitarse al uso de dicha razón pública, incluida la ciencia aceptada y las estadísticas precisas, al debatir y decidir sobre asuntos pertinentes a la legislación pública30. Está permitido reconocer las doctrinas integrales de uno mismo, sobre todo en aras de la transparencia, pero únicamente los argumentos elaborados dentro de los límites de la razón pública, o fácilmente convertibles en razón pública, son apropiados para tales fines. Soy consciente de la significativa y creciente brecha entre la teoría ideal rawlsiana empleada para definir el liberalismo político y nuestra situación actual — para mí, Estados Unidos tuvo durante el 2019, entre otras cosas, una crisis humanitaria en la frontera sur que hunde sus raíces en el racismo, el nacionalismo autocomplaciente y una crisis medioambiental que se intensifica anualmente de manera observable, mientras el presidente estadounidense en ejercicio y la mayoría de los congresistas republicanos niegan el calentamiento global antropogénico. De hecho, esta es la razón por la que creo necesario volver a la definición del liberalismo político e insistir en las razones por las cuales el liberalismo fue desarrollado. El liberalismo es un correctivo necesario para la democracia populista, y en su mejor formulación, es decir, en su concepción rawlsiana, se agudiza para hacer frente de forma directa al relativismo y a la desinformación que prosperan en las democracias iliberales (Torcello, 2014). Lejos de no encontrar aplicación, creo que el ejemplo del derecho al aborto, entre otros, demuestra cómo una política liberal debe hacer frente al relativismo y a la desinformación. Cuando los funcionarios públicos ofrecen argumentos en contra del aborto tergiversando las estadísticas, los procedimientos médicos o los hallazgos científicos, actúan de manera incompatible con las limitaciones de la neutralidad liberal y el requisito de la razón pública — es decir, han violado las obligaciones del funcionario público. Los periodistas que se limitan a repetir tales afirmaciones, como si el periodismo no exigiera más, fallan respecto a sus propias protecciones y obligaciones constitucionales (Torcello, 2014). En cambio, los periodistas y otras personas en posición de liderazgo público deben señalar lo inapropiado de tales argumentos y tratarlos como si fueran una afrenta a los requisitos de una sociedad liberal neutral, con sus igualdades y protecciones legales — han de tratarlas como lo que en realidad son31. 30 Para argumentos adicionales en apoyo de la inclusión de la ciencia llevada a cabo por Rawls entre las formas aceptables de razón pública, en la línea de mis propios argumentos sobre la ciencia y la razón pública, ver Badiola (2018). 31 Torcello (2009) explica en detalle mi argumento a favor de la posición liberal permisiva sobre el aborto y su relación con la razón pública. Para otros ejemplos sobre cómo los requisitos neutrales liberales para la D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 41 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 Todos los ciudadanos que discuten en y sobre la esfera pública deben limitarse a argumentos de razón pública — es decir, a argumentos que otros ciudadanos razonables puedan entender y aceptar, aunque no estén de acuerdo con ellos pese a participar también en la vida pública. Todos deberíamos insistir en que los legisladores lo hagan, y esto, obviamente, se extiende más allá del derecho al aborto y a la ciencia que respalda la vacunación, la fluorización del agua de consumo y por qué los humanos hemos modificado el clima de manera grave y potencialmente catastrófica. La desinformación, en estos casos, no es simplemente la última información sobre la que podemos gritar "¡noticias falsas!" — es una amenaza activa para el funcionamiento de la democracia liberal, con raíces antiguas y con el potencial de ser refrenado por ciudadanos que eligen principios liberales como las condiciones básicas de entidades políticas modernas, pluralistas y sostenibles. Si esto suena a soluciones minúsculas para problemas descomunales, le invito a considerar cuán lejos estamos de ponerlos en práctica de forma constante. El liberalismo político no nos ha fallado, en su mayoría somos nosotros quienes le hemos fallado. §4. Legitimidad liberal trascendental ¿Qué sucede con la justificación del liberalismo? Algunos sostienen que el liberalismo, ya sea rawlsiano o de otro tipo, continúa siendo una doctrina más completa entre otras, con las que pretende no competir32. ¿Cómo responder, entonces, a los viktor orbáns del mundo? ¿Al relativista, al nacionalista, o cualquiera que piense que la democracia moderna justifica su voluntad de aplicar la violencia política sobre otros? He argumentado que el liberalismo es necesario debido a nuestras limitaciones epistémicas. Esto se debe a que el liberalismo permite que florezca un pluralismo moral razonable (es decir, ideologías no violentas) en una sociedad libre. La única forma de acabar con el pluralismo, como bien señala Rawls, es a través del uso opresivo de la fuerza estatal. Esta verdad nos lleva de vuelta a la antigua Atenas. Mi argumento se basa en un compromiso moral esencial, implícito en los diálogos socráticos de Platón: la coerción requiere justificación. Este compromiso con los argumentos razonados y las justificaciones razonables en lugar con la fuerza bruta y la manipulación forma parte de un compromiso trascendental ya aceptado por todos los implicados en razón pública se aplican a temas contemporáneos del debate público y la legislación ver Torcello (2008). Sobre el matrimonio entre personas del mismo sexo ver Torcello (2011), y Torcello (2016) sobre el cambio climático. 32 Ver Gray (2007) y MacIntyre (2007) para ejemplos. 42 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 la investigación filosófica. Por trascendental, quiero decir que este compromiso es una condición intelectual necesaria para ofrecer y comprender razones — al menos potencialmente. Sin embargo, el compromiso de participar en el intercambio de razones, de estar siempre dispuesto a considerar las razones de los demás, incluso cuando parecen contradecir nuestras creencias más asentadas, no se justifica únicamente por la razón compartida. Tampoco por el hecho pragmático de que funciona. Es, tal como Sócrates personifica en los textos de Platón, también una decisión ética sobre el tipo de persona que uno desea ser. Es una elección moral tratar a los demás como dignos de lo que Kant llamaría respeto, como si fueran fines en sí mismos33. La disposición epistémica y moral para reconocer razones es consistente con elementos del idealismo kantiano, como lo reconoce Rawls, pero no depende de la aceptación de este sistema filosófico. También es posible acceder a ella mediante el compromiso trascendental, que se confirma de forma implícita al aceptar el principio de legitimidad liberal: "Nuestro ejercicio del poder político es apropiado únicamente cuando se ejerce en el marco de una constitución cuyos elementos esenciales suponen que todos los ciudadanos, en tanto que libres e iguales, apoyan principios e ideales razonables, aceptables bajo la luz de la razón humana compartida" ( Rawls 1993: 137). El liberalismo se basa en nuestro compromiso moral y epistémico con la justificación razonada en lugar de las apelaciones brutas al poder — incluido el poder coercitivo de formas falaces de manipulación retórica y desinformación. Exigir una justificación para este compromiso implica aceptar el propio compromiso — es decir, sería aceptar un compromiso moral y epistémico trascendental respecto al principio de legitimidad liberal34. 33 Para un argumento utilitario con una similitud interesante con este compromiso kantiano hacia el otro, ver el primer capítulo del Practical Ethics de Peter Singer (2011). Para un argumento que contrasta directamente mi argumento trascendental contra las críticas conservadoras (por ejemplo, de Alasdair MacIntyre) y posmodernas (por ejemplo, Richard Rorty) del liberalismo, ver Torcello (2011) “Sophism and Moral Agnosticism, or How to Tell a Relativist from a Pluralist” The Pluralist 6 (1); 87-108. Este último trabajo aboga por una distinción entre el relativismo y el pluralismo, vinculando este último con la democracia liberal. 34 Para argumentos basados en el pragmatismo estadounidense, que postulan compromisos epistémicos implícitos en la democracia, ver Misak (2000) y Aikin y Talisse (2018). Ver también Misak y Talisse (a ser publicado en Raisons Politiques). Los argumentos que despliego en este documento y los argumentos que estos autores desarrollan sobre la democracia epistémica comparten un énfasis en los compromisos epistémicos. El grado de superposición, compatibilidad y diferencia entre los argumentos de este documento y los de los tres autores mencionados va más allá del alcance de este artículo. Basta mencionar D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 43 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 En este sentido, reconocer la libertad del otro supone reconocer su libertad de consciencia. No es posible obligar a otros a aceptar las propias creencias y valores — aunque a veces podamos razonar juntos y cambiar de opinión tras comprender nuestra falibilidad compartida. Al reconocer los límites de la razón reconocemos también la libertad de los demás a sostener posiciones opuestas; reconocemos que la libertad de los demás es coextensiva a la nuestra. Quiero enfatizar nuevamente que estos compromisos siguen siendo una cuestión de elección epistémica y moral. Son epistémicos en el sentido de que reconocen los límites epistemológicos humanos, y son morales en el sentido de que reconocen que los otros están justificados a actuar en contra de cualquier atropello de su autonomía individual. Al igual que el jurista nazi Carl Schmitt, algunos pueden optar por ver la política como una lucha entre amigos y enemigos morales. La necesidad misma de protegernos de aquellos que podrían rechazar el requisito de justificación razonada proporciona razones adicionales para protegernos a nosotros mismos y a la sociedad por medio de instituciones, servicios y leyes liberales. La voluntad de algunos de cometer violencia, ya sea conceptual o física, siempre ha sido un peligro y una negación de la verdad y la justicia. Para concluir, quiero destacar el caso del negacionismo del cambio climático como paradigmático respecto a cómo la desinformación y la política se están desarrollando en los Estados Unidos, a medida que las restricciones liberales a la democracia continúan erosionándose. En los últimos años, la literatura sobre el negacionismo del cambio climático, o pseudoescepticismo, ha comenzado a seguir el día a día de esta forma de negacionismo. Gran parte de dicha literatura analiza los procesos cognitivos que subyacen a la formación de creencias35. Sin embargo, a pesar de la importancia de estos mecanismos cognitivos, la principal influencia tras la inacción política y la desinformación respecto al cambio climático continúa siendo el dominio del dinero sobre la política. La industria de los combustibles fósiles y sus lobbies no han perdido capacidad de influencia sobre los políticos democráticamente electos. La documentación sobre esta cuestión es sólida: sabemos que los intereses corporativos han gastado enormes que el presente argumento involucra una ética trascendental que identifico con el liberalismo, mientras que los autores se limitan a considerar este enfoque entre los compromisos epistémicos que identifican con las prácticas democráticas. Ver Torcello (2014) “Moral Agnosticism: An Ethics of Inquiry and Public Discourse” Teaching Ethics 14 (2):3-16 para más información sobre mi propia posición. 35 Ver Lewandowsky (2016) para una introducción al trabajo en actual sobre estas cuestiones. 44 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 sumas de dinero en lobbies de presión y en el financiamiento de campañas, centros de estudios y anuncios engañosos36. Recientemente, defensores de los intereses que rodean a los combustibles fósiles, como la Fundación Charles Koch, han tratado de influir de forma directa en la academia (Gluckman 2018). La organización ha invertido millones de dólares en subsidios y patrocinios para educación superior, algunos de los cuales incluyen condiciones que son contrarias a las normas y prácticas de integridad académica. "Cuando la fundación [Charles Koch] proporcionó 1,5 millones de dólares para contratar a un par de profesores de economía en la Universidad Estatal de Florida, los representantes de la fundación insistieron en firmar un contrato con la universidad que les otorgara poder para vetar candidatos" (Schulman, 2014). Tanto Charles como el recientemente fallecido David Koch (1940-2019) han intentado presentarse públicamente como "liberales clásicos" (Shulman 2014), pero su celoso compromiso con la desregulación de los mercados, su intención de influir en las políticas públicas por medio de su riqueza, y su historial de financiación de desinformación respecto al calentamiento global antropogénico dibujan un compromiso decididamente iliberal, a saber, manipular la democracia, incluido el derecho a una educación liberal, basada en actividades académicas que se mantengan fuera de la influencia corporativa (Farrell 2016). Los recientes esfuerzos de la Fundación Charles Koch sugieren que veremos mayores intentos de infiltrarse en los temarios universitarios y en las publicaciones científicas, con afirmaciones que reflejen más sus intereses financieros que la investigación académica basada en hechos. El rechazo de la facultad y de los estudiantes frente a tales esfuerzos han llevado a la fundación a prometer más transparencia en su financiación académica — aunque persisten las preocupaciones (Flaherty 2018). Este reciente pulso a la academia no es nuevo y se hará extensivo a más áreas científicas — probablemente siguiendo el patrón ya establecido en la financiación contraria a la climatología. Pocos científicos rechazan el abrumador consenso científico sobre el cambio climático antropogénico, pero, entre aquellos que lo hacen, muchos han recibido sustanciales fondos procedentes de los intereses de los combustibles fósiles. La financiación corporativa no implica de forma automática que la 36 Ver Oreskes y Conway (2011) y Brulle (2018) para argumentos sobre las graves implicaciones morales de las campañas de desinformación corporativa e ideológica. Para las agendas políticas relacionadas, ver Torcello (2018). D E M O C R A C Y A N D T H E L I M I T S O F R E A S O N . . . | 45 Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 investigación sea deshonesta, pero resulta preocupante el patrón de financiación corporativa de una minoría de científicos que rechaza de forma recalcitrante los hechos científicamente consensuados (Oreskes y Conway 2010). Uno de estos casos recibió un mayor nivel de atención pública en 2015, cuando la gran cantidad de dinero corporativo recibido por el ingeniero aeroespacial Wei-Hock Soon no fue declarado en todas sus publicaciones relevantes, pese a estar afiliado a tiempo parcial en el Centro Harvard-Smithsonian de Astrofísica (Gillis y Schwartz 2015). Si bien su trabajo es puesto en entredicho por la comunidad científica que sostiene un consenso desde hace mucho tiempo respecto al cambio climático, Soon es muy conocido entre aquellos que rechazan el calentamiento global antropogénico. Su más que dudosa investigación, por ejemplo, ha sido mencionada de forma favorable por el senador James Inhofe de Oklahoma, que ha rechazado durante mucho tiempo la realidad del cambio climático antropogénico — y que, junto a otros legisladores republicanos, recibe sustanciales fondos procedentes de la industria de los combustibles fósiles (McCarthy y Gambino 2017 ). Sería deseable que nuestras instituciones académicas sean lo suficientemente fuertes como para resistir este desafío a su integridad. Pero estos ejemplos — que se están desarrollando ahora mismo — nos recuerdan que todos los que han asumido compromisos liberales sinceros, incluidos aquellos respecto a la educación, tienen la responsabilidad cívica de desafiar el sofisma moderno y el relativismo, tanto en nuestras instituciones contemporáneas como en la esfera pública. La influencia del dinero procedente de intereses particulares sobre la política no tiene nada que ver con las justificaciones razonadas, pero constituye una eficaz táctica de manipulación — y un compromiso iliberal en relación a las políticas relativistas del poder, basadas en la riqueza. Con sus instintos liberales, Sócrates continúa siendo un referente de enorme relevancia para comprender nuestra era de democracia y desinformación. 46 | L A W R E N C E T O R C E L L O Disputatio 9, no. 13 (2020): pp. 00-00 REFERENCES AIKIN, SCOTT R., and TALISSE, ROBERT B. 2018. Pluralism, Pragmatism, and the Nature of Philosophy. Routledge. 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work_3jo3anhb3fer3pokxqzxz6kbui	----	S0007680516000726jra 405..429 Emily Pawley Cataloging Nature: Standardizing Fruit Varieties in the United States, 1800–1860 The forests and fields of the early American republic teemed with individually varying seedling fruit trees. American nurs- erymen stabilized both this chaotic landscape and their trade by promoting named fruit “varieties” gleaned from domestic orchards and from a global network of botanical gardens. Developing strategies to regulate the production of names and descriptions, they altered both texts and organisms, replac- ing a profusion of “wild” trees with a negotiated list of “named varieties.” Examining this process reveals intersections between commercial and scientific credibility and illuminates the alternative business forms built around living goods. Buried in the New York State Agricultural Society’s Transactions for1842 is a short, irritable essay called “Hints on Describing Fruit.” Its author was John J. Thomas, who, in his early thirties, had just followed his father into the nursery business in Macedon, New York.1 Bemoaning the state of American fruit culture, Thomas complained, “A good fruit garden is at the present moment a great rarity in most parts of our country.” He attributed this to problems that were textual as well as physical: “The numerous errors in the names of fruits” made it hard to procure “those which are genuine,” a problem compounded by “the mul- tiplication of new varieties” and by “the meagreness, looseness, and inac- curacy of nearly all books of descriptions.”2 Worse, Thomas argued, the circulation of fruit trees around the nation fundamentally challenged the act of description itself. When moved, varieties changed. Thus, the Vir- galieu pear, prized in New York, became in Boston “an outcast, Business History Review 90 (Autumn 2016): 405–429. doi:10.1017/S0007680516000726 © 2016 The President and Fellows of Harvard College. ISSN 0007-6805; 2044-768X (Web). 1 “John Jacob Thomas,” in Cyclopedia of American Horticulture, ed. Liberty Hyde Bailey (London, 1907), 1797. 2 John J. Thomas, “Hints on Describing Fruits,” in Transactions of the New York State Agricultural Society (Albany, 1843), 269. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core intolerable even to sight.”3 Clearly the networks of print and plant distri- bution that constituted the mid-nineteenth-century nursery business sat uneasily together. Equally clearly, these networks were transformative. While Thomas fretted, the kinds of orchards he called a “rarity”—filled with named, grafted fruit—were spreading quickly, displacing a landscape of semi- feral seedling trees. Writing two years later, in 1845, Thomas’s fellow nurseryman and author Andrew Jackson Downing boasted, “the plant- ing of fruit-trees in one of the newest States numbers nearly a quarter of a million in a single year.”4 The 1850 federal census, evaluating trees and fruits for the first time, valued them at $7.7 million—a number that would climb to $20 million by 1860.5 Within a few decades, a new commercial landscape would emerge, one populated largely by trees that had been funneled through networks of nurserymen.6 This movement of fruit trees was part of a much larger shift: the wave of introduced or created varieties of plants and animals that swept across the recently appropriated lands of the new United States. A recent body of scholarship has shown that such “biological innova- tions” were crucial to the expanding American economy; just as new varieties of cotton allowed cotton culture to stretch into the rich soil of the black belt, new varieties of wheat made it possible for American farmers to multiply the American wheat crop by eight.7 However, 3 Ibid., 270. 4 Andrew J. Downing, Fruits and Fruit Trees of America (New York, 1845), vi. 5 James D. B. De Bow, The Seventh Census of the United States: 1850 (Washington, D.C., 1853), 153, lxxxiii; Joseph C. G. Kennedy, Agriculture of the United States: Compiled from the Original Returns of the Eighth Census (Washington, D.C., 1864), 186. 6 Cheryl Lyon-Jenness, “Planting a Seed: The Nineteenth-Century Horticultural Boom in America,” Business History Review 78 (Autumn 2004): 381–421; Ulysses P. Hedrick, A History of Horticulture in America to 1860 (Portland, Ore., 1988); Daniel J. Kevles, “Fruit Nationalism: Horticulture in the United States—From the Revolution to the First Centennial,” in Aurora Torealis, ed. Marco Beretta, Karl Grandin, and Svante Lindqvist (Sagamore Beach, Mass., 2008), 129–46; Philip Pauly, Fruits and Plains: The Horticultural Transformation of America (Cambridge, Mass., 2007); Erica Hannickel, Empire of Vines: Wine Culture in America (Philadelphia, 2013). 7 Alan L. Olmstead and Paul W. Rhode, Creating Abundance: Biological Innovation and American Agricultural Development (Cambridge, U.K., 2008). See also Daniel J. Kevles, “Pro- tections, Privileges, and Patents: Intellectual Property in American Horticulture,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 152 (June 2008): 207–13; Daniel J. Kevles, “New Blood, New Fruits: Protections for Breeders and Originators, 1789–1930,” in Making and Unmaking Intellectual Property, ed. Mario Biagioli, Peter Jaszi, and Martha Woodmansee (Chicago, 2011); Deborah Fitzgerald, The Business of Breeding: Hybrid Corn in Illinois, 1890–1920 (Ithaca, 1990); and Tom Okie, “Under the Trees: The Georgia Peach and the Quest for Labor in the Twentieth Century,” Agricultural History 85 (Jan. 2011): 72–101. For more global histories, see Jack Ralph Kloppenburg Jr., First the Seed: The Political Economy of Plant Biotechnology (Madison, Wisc., 2005); Londa Schiebinger, Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World (Cambridge, Mass., 2004); and Emily Pawley / 406 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core American markets moved more than just staple goods. Fruits and fruit trees found an ecological niche in the expanding culture of gentility, as recognizable proof of taste and refinement. Chopped into cuttings that we would now call clones, grafted fruit trees became an easily shipped, varied, and beautiful product. However, businesses selling living things—seeds, cuttings, and living plants and animals—differ sharply from the markets that most histories of business have examined. On the one hand, living goods could not be improvised. While American provincial workshops might independently make elegant chairs out of local wood, the fruit tree trade required the maintenance of the social links through which genetic material passed.8 On the other hand, living goods are often both product and means of production. While a single silk ribbon could not become the ancestor of a population of identical ribbons, or escape from the control of its owner to produce a landscape full of chaotic offspring, fruit trees could and did. Though Thomas was seated at the heart of the booming tree business, he was not wrong to complain about words; indeed, his complaint preoc- cupied most of the nurserymen of his generation. As this article will show, botanical practices of naming and description were foundational to the nursery business, allowing nurserymen to participate in an international network for the movement of varieties while at the same time stabilizing the identity of a product that, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, had been growing freely in North America for two hundred years. In gaining control of varietal names and reputations, nurserymen would alter not only words but also the organisms those words described, replacing a wild profusion of seedlings with a regimented set of named trees—one that, if imperfectly controlled, was also radically simplified. To understand how they did so, we must first understand the special meaning of the concept of the “variety” in the fruit tree trade. Varieties and Commercial Taxonomy Early-nineteenth-century agriculturists agreed that variability was a special quality granted to domesticated species. “By what means the first tendency to change their nature was given to domesticated plants,” British horticulturist John Lindley noted, “we are entirely ignorant.”9 Richard Drayton, Nature’s Government: Science, Imperial Britain, and the “Improvement” of the World (New Haven, Conn., 2000), 225–52. 8 For provincial improvisation, see David Jaffee, A New Nation of Goods: The Material Culture of Early America (Philadelphia, 2010). 9 John Lindley, quoted in William Robert Prince, The Pomological Manual, vol. 2 (New York, 1831), viii. Cataloging Nature / 407 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core Variability not only explained widely differing kinds of dogs, fruit, and flowers, but also made domesticated animals and plants gloriously subject to progressive development. Over generations, they could be manipulated into new forms—“breeds” in the case of animals and “vari- eties” in the case of plants. For gardeners and farmers, it was in these cat- egories, not in species categories like “cow” and “apple,” that the characteristics significant to production and ornament appeared. However, variety was a changeable category, and the particular repro- ductive characteristics of fruit trees gave it a significant form. Fruit trees, particularly apple trees, produce astonishingly variable offspring. Seedlings from the same tree can produce fruits of different colors, flavors, and shapes that appear at different times of year and keep for different periods. This instability means that fruit trees cannot be commercially propagated by seed; the seeds of a fine tree will produce thousands of bizarre, and often useless, offspring. This var- iability could produce an astonishing wealth of forms; early catalogs described striped apples; grey, egg-shaped apples; “twenty ounce” apples; and the “Surprise Apple,” which was “yellow outside, and red to the core.”10 However, most seedlings were undistinguished; to the novice, Andrew Jackson Downing wrote, planting seedlings “appears . . . a lottery, in which there are too many blanks to the prizes.”11 Only a moment of luck combined with judgment qualified a seedling to receive a name and description and thereby to become a variety. In antebellum writing, these moments were cast as discoveries; for example, Prince boasted of having “discovered” the Sine Qua Non apple in a Flushing field.12 However, as horticultural author Walter Elder wrote in the 1840s, this act of discovery fundamentally differed from the collection of botanical specimens: “The botanist considers a plant with a double flower a monster—the florist considers it a beauty. . . . Species are the hobby of the botanist—variation the hobby of the florist.”13 Where naturalists sought representative individuals, horticul- turalists hunted “monsters” and “sports” and dealt in productive oddi- ties. As fruit enthusiasts themselves pointed out, varieties were thus “the artificial productions of culture.”14 “Discovery” offered the fruit tree a new mode of human-mediated reproduction. Because fruit seedlings did not resemble their parents, varieties were propagated asexually. Pieces cut from the original tree 10 Prince & Sons, Catalogue of Fruit and Ornamental Trees and Plants (New York, 1823). 11 Downing, Fruits and Fruit Trees, 2. 12 Prince, Pomological Manual, vol. 2, 15. 13 Quoted in Ann Leighton, American Gardens of the Nineteenth Century: “For Comfort and Affluence” (Amherst, Mass., 1987), 65. 14 Franklin R. Elliott, The Western Fruit Book (New York, 1859), 17. Emily Pawley / 408 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core were either placed directly in the ground or, more frequently, as “scions,” attached to the root system of a different tree, a process called grafting. Once established, they branched and fruited on their new roots and could be split again.15 Described today as cloning, this was, in the nine- teenth century, sometimes considered to be the creation of a single dis- tributed organism; when the original tree died, many thought, so too would its scions.16 However, unlike wind-pollinated varieties of wheat or corn, whose integrity was threatened by every breeze, cuttings seemed to promise a stable identity over time. Easily made and cheaply shipped, cuttings and grafted saplings became the basis of the nursery business. In 1828, correspondents of Bartram’s Garden could order such trees as the Lady’s Finger and the Golden Pearmain; the trees’ value, like their promise of sweetness, lay in their names.17 Unlike a species, the fruit tree variety was not a popu- lation of similar individuals encountered in a landscape, but a network of propagation spreading out from an initial point. It reproduced solely through networks of exchange, maintained its identity through catalogs and advertisements, and lived and died entirely according to the dictates of commercial orchards and consumers. A Wealth of Seedling Fruit Of course, grafting was a millennia-old practice when Thomas wrote his essay; nineteenth-century authors referred with wonder (and skepti- cism) to a tree described by Pliny the Elder onto which grapes, figs, pears, pomegranates, and apples had been grafted.18 During the mid-eigh- teenth century, however, what Thomas would have called a “good fruit garden” was limited to a small coterie of wealthy American merchants and planters and the few coastal nurseries that supplied them. For the majority of American colonists during the eighteenth and early nine- teenth centuries, grafted fruit was a little-known luxury. This did not mean these Americans lacked fruit. The first colonists brought seeds with them as well as a few cuttings and grafted trees, which rapidly spread beyond the colonists’ advance: General Sullivan’s 1779 expedition against the Cayugas and Senecas reported orchards bending with peaches and apples. Pouring westward in the 1790s, 15 Asexual propagation techniques involving cuttings, runners, or split tubers are used for dozens of other plants, from strawberries to potatoes. 16 Pauly, Fruits and Plains, 65. 17 Robert Carr, Periodical Catalogue of Fruit and Ornamental Trees and Shrubs (Philadel- phia, 1828), 39. 18 John Bostock and Henry T. Riley, eds., The Natural History of Pliny, vol. 3 (London, 1855), 484. Cataloging Nature / 409 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core settlers carried fresh infusions of seeds. Planting new orchards allowed settlers to negotiate requirements that they improve the land, and land- lords often made orchard planting a condition in their leases. Wandering pigs and cattle, foddered on windfall fruit, carried fruit seeds beyond the bounds of settler and Native American orchards: apple, plum, and peach trees sprouted unaided in swamps, fields, and forests.19 By the 1810s, settlers, landlords, Native Americans, and animals had created a rich American landscape of fruit. However, these orchards were not the kind Thomas had in mind. A Hudson Valley lease reveals a typical planting practice. The lessee, it declared, should, “the first year, strew apple seed or pomace [the refuse of cider pressing] upon a patch of land for said Farm, for a nursery.”20 Fruits grown in this way were namelessly variable and often inedible when raw. For most Amer- icans during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, fruit became a commodity only when fed to pigs, pressed into cider, or dis- tilled as brandy. These latter uses attracted the ire of temperance advo- cates; one, having written an article entitled “What Should I Do with My Apples?” signed himself, “BURN THEM.” It was seedling apples that would be propagated by the itinerant Swedenborgian nurseryman John Chapman, or “Johnny Appleseed.”21 By contrast, the “good fruit gardens” that nurserymen like Thomas hankered for emulated a model that originated thousands of miles from American shores. Networked Gardens: Nurserymen in Global Context In 1824, the Flushing, New York, branch of the Linnaean Society of Paris celebrated the 115th birthday of the great Swedish botanist Carolus Linnaeus. First launching “the new and elegant boat Linnaeus” in Manhat- tan, flying flags inscribed with Linnaeus’s name, society members pro- ceeded to the Linnaean Botanic Garden and Nurseries—the nursery of Flushing’s most storied firm, Prince & Sons—where they read botanical papers, chanted poetry, and crowned a statue of Linnaeus with flowers, while Governor DeWitt Clinton praised the extension of “the empire of useful truths in Botany and Husbandry.”22 William Prince, proprietor of 19 S. A. Beach, The Apples of New York (New York, 1902); Alfred W. Crosby, Ecological Imperialism: The Biological Expansion of Europe, 900–1900 (Westport, Conn., 1986), 157. 20 Copy of a manuscript letter from Oliver J. Tillson to Helen Miller Gould, daughter of Jay Gould, Oliver Tillson Papers, box 8: “Receipts,” Kroch Library Manuscript and Special Collec- tions, Cornell University, Ithaca, N.Y. 21 Burn Them [pseud.], “What Shall I Do with My Apples,” Religious Intelligencer, 6 Oct. 1827, 299; William Kerrigan, Johnny Appleseed and the American Orchard: A Cultural History (Baltimore, 2012), 19, 189. 22 Celebration at Flushing of the Birthday of Linnaeus, by the New-York Branch of the Linnaean Society of Paris (New York, 1824), 3–5. Emily Pawley / 410 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core Prince & Sons, had good reason to celebrate botany’s most famous name. Prince’s recent inclusion among the136 foreigncorrespondingmembersof the London Horticultural Society (LHS) had not only added over a hundred botanical gardens to his list of global contacts, but had also raised his profile among the LHS’s wealthy plant collectors.23 His 1823 catalog displayed relationships with dozens of botanical luminaries, as well as the “interchange of civilities with Botanical Gardens in different quarters of the Globe” and regular importations from China and Paris.24 Like other major American nurserymen, Prince drew both new plants and credibility from a global network of botanical gardens. Built on a foundation of medical gardens and private collections in the seven- teenth century, this network had been bolstered in the eighteenth century by state gardens such as the Royal Gardens at Kew and the Jardin du Roi (later the Jardin des Plantes) at Versailles—which had, in turn, established competing subsystems of colonial botanical gardens.25 By moving seeds and cuttings, these gardens determined colonial fortunes; for example, the sugar plantations of the Caribbean were saved from global cane epidemics by a supply of new varieties in the 1790s.26 Simultaneously, botanists embarked on inventories of domestic plants, hoping to find unknown local treasures or substitutes for expensive exotics, to reverse a reliance on imports.27 Botanical gardens supplied botanists and horticulturists alike. However, Prince’s most recent contact had made fruit varietals its partic- ular concern. The LHS was the domain of aristocratic members of the Whig Party, for whom luxurious gardens evidenced both rural virtue and the profit that could be wrung from lands operated on scientific prin- ciples.28 In 1818, the society had established a new garden at Chiswick specifically for the testing and naming of fruits. Since the LHS sent free specimens to corresponding nurserymen for testing and distribu- tion, Prince’s connection gave him access to the 3,825 fruit varieties whose names would soon fill Chiswick’s first catalog, in 1826.29 23 Horticultural Society of London (Saint James, U.K., 1828), 65–69. 24 Prince & Sons, Catalogue of Fruit and Ornamental Trees, v–vii. 25 Drayton, Nature’s Government, 85–124; Emma Spary, Utopia’s Garden: French Natural History from Old Regime to Revolution (Chicago, 2000); Kevles, “New Blood.” 26 Stuart McCook, States of Nature: Science, Agriculture, and Environment in the Spanish Caribbean, 1760–1940 (Austin, 2002), 77–85. 27 Fredrik Albritton Jonsson, The Enlightenment in the Highlands: Natural History and Internal Colonization in the Scottish Enlightenment, 1760–1830 (Chicago, 2005); Lisbet Koerner, Linnaeus: Nature and Nation (Cambridge, Mass., 1999), 3, 136; Alix Cooper, “‘The Possibilities of the Land’: The Inventory of ‘Natural Riches’ in the Early Modern German Ter- ritories,” History of Political Economy 35, no. S1 (2003): 129–53. 28 Drayton, Nature’s Government, 139. 29 Catalogue of Fruits Cultivated in the Garden of the Horticultural Society of London at Chiswick (London, 1826), vi–vii, 153. Cataloging Nature / 411 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core Chiswick was not alone in casting itself as a center of nomenclature. Accurate naming was the central practice of both botany and horticul- ture. Without an accompanying name and description, plants could not be exchanged through far-flung networks of correspondence, collec- tions could not be compared, and value could not be determined. It was for developing a system for naming new species of plant that Linnaeus was celebrated around the globe, and it was naming and describing valu- able new species and varieties that allowed aspirants entry into botanical circles. Prince’s discovery of the Sine Qua Non helped launch him into this cosmopolitan world. Within this transatlantic culture, “good fruit gardens” were compre- hensive collections of accurately named fruit. To create a good collection, nurserymen had to foster a dense web of exchange relationships. For example, Andrew Jackson Downing’s Rosselet de Meester pear came from the experiments of Jean-Baptiste Van Mons at the University of Louvain, in Belgium; his Thompson apple came from the Chiswick Garden; and his Downton Pippin from Britain’s most famous fruit expert, Thomas Andrew Knight. However, this stream of specimens also required an exchange. Here, American nurserymen had an advan- tage. Where Van Mons and Knight struggled to breed new varieties, American nurserymen had a thick stack of lottery tickets in the seedling landscape. Circulated through the system, fruits like the Cranberry Pippin—“a strikingly beautiful apple” that Downing “found growing on a farm near Hudson, N.Y.”—eased nurserymen into international cir- cuits of specimen exchange.30 Though American nurserymen started out on the margins of this system, we should not assume that they were permanently peripheral. Like many major nurserymen, Downing characterized his orchard as a site of knowledge production analogous to Chiswick, a place where vari- eties were tested and judged. “Little by little I have summoned [varie- ties] into my pleasant and quiet court,” he wrote, “tested them as far as possible, and endeavored to pass the most impartial judgment upon them.”31 The absence of an American state-sponsored botanical garden or privately sponsored testing garden like Chiswick during the early decades of the nineteenth century gave greater weight to such claims. American nurserymen also benefited from the strength of local markets. By the 1830s, British fruit was in decline—undermined by the waning of cider and perry (pear cider) as working-class drinks, by medical tracts blaming cholera outbreaks on the eating of fresh fruit, 30 Downing, Fruits and Fruit Trees, 106. 31 Ibid., v. Emily Pawley / 412 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core and, in 1838, by the removal of almost all duties on imported fruit.32 Moreover, even as American seedling orchards turned out hundreds of new varieties, British varieties had begun to suffer from inexplicable ail- ments.33 While British fruit culture contracted, American fruit culture expanded, fueled by the spread of rural refinement and the rise of urban markets. Fruit Trees as Marks of Refinement Grafted fruit trees found an important habitat in the expanding con- sumer culture of gardening. Drawing on a tradition of political legitimacy that self-consciously echoed British models, wealthy merchants and planters had long laid out country estates in a manner calculated to express refinement and an attention to the public good.34 In the early nineteenth century, as Richard Bushman, David Jaffee, and Catherine Kelly have argued, a wider array of groups produced their own versions of gentility.35 In doing so, they created new garden spaces. Farmers planted orchards near newly white picket fences and “ornamented barns”; urban entrepreneurs established public gardens for genteel rec- reation; and provincial towns planted their recently deforested centers with intentional greenery.36 Lavish accounts of British estates, printed in horticultural journals and journals of fashion, strengthened the con- nection between gardens and class status. As editor of the Western Farmer and Gardener in the mid-1840s, Henry Ward Beecher expected his readers to share his fantasy of “imaginary visits to the Chiswick 32 Joan Morgan and Alison Richards, New Book of Apples (London, 1993), 107. 33 Thomas Andrew Knight, Pomona Herefordiensis (London, 1811), ii. 34 Tamara Plakins Thornton, Cultivating Gentlemen: The Meaning of Country Life among the Boston Elite, 1785–1860 (New Haven, Conn., 1989). On eighteenth-century tree culture, see Barbara Wells Sarudy, Gardens and Gardening in the Chesapeake (Baltimore, 1998), 39–41, 127–33, 55–88; and Peter J. Hatch, The Fruits and Fruit Trees of Monticello: Thomas Jefferson and the Origins of American Horticulture (Richmond, Va., 1998). 35 Richard Bushman, The Refinement of America: Persons, Houses, Cities (New York, 1993), 240–57; Jaffee, New Nation of Goods; Catherine E. Kelly, “‘Well Bred Country People’: Sociability, Social Networks, and the Creation of a Provincial Middle Class, 1820– 1860,” Journal of the Early Republic 19 (Autumn 1999): 451–71. On this transition, see David H. Diamond, “Origins of Pioneer Apple Orchards in the American West: Random Seeding versus Artisan Horticulture,” Agricultural History 84 (Autumn 2010): 423–50. 36 John R. Stilgoe, Borderland: Origins of the American Suburb, 1820–1939 (New Haven, Conn., 1988), 67–93; Pauly, Fruits and Plains, 53–54; Brenda Bullion, “Hawthornes and Hemlocks: The Return of the Sacred Grove,” Landscape Journal 2 (Autumn 1983): 114. For more on refinement, see Hannickel, Empire of Vines, 57–58; Kevles, “Fruit Nationalism,” 132–33; and David Schuyler, Apostle of Taste: Andrew Jackson Downing, 1815–1852 (Balti- more, 1999). Cataloging Nature / 413 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core Garden [and] the more than oriental magnificence of the Duke of Devon- shire’s grounds at Chatsworth.”37 Grafting promised both direct access to aristocratic spaces and a homegrown source of luxury. Few Americans could afford the effort that the Duke of Devonshire’s servants reportedly devoted to his “monster” Royal George peach tree, which extended over a hundred feet of trellis in a dedicated greenhouse and produced 8,727 peaches in a year. For thirty-five cents, though, they could buy a piece of it.38 Con- versely, American seedling orchards, recast as sources of new varieties, supplied the improvisational provincial gentility described by Kelly and Jaffee.39 A correspondent to the Genesee Farmer lightly mocked the novice gardener who “had just read an account of an extraordinary ‘seedling cherry,’ produced by Mr. A., in one part of the country; a won- derful seedling apple, by Mr. B., in another, a no less remarkable pear, by Mr. C., somewhere else.”40 At a relatively low price, aspiring orchardists could begin to assemble rarities into good fruit gardens. This culture of collecting was at its most elaborate within the horticultural societies founded on the LHS model, starting in 1818.41 At their meetings, pomo- logical gentlemen and prominent nurserymen took turns displaying fine, rare, or novel varieties of fruit; “By Mr. Richards,” noted one report from Boston, “Red Juneating, Curtis’ Early Striped, Shropshirevine or Sops- of-wine, Early Harvest, and a kind without name, a small, pleasant, striped fruit; also Early Bow, a fine, large, well known, sweet fruit.”42 The growing number of agricultural fairs rewarded comprehensive col- lectors; early exhibition reports often consisted only of numbers and names of varieties displayed. Through such accounts, published in the horticultural journals, readers could watch new fruits move through the system and perhaps decide what to buy. Sprouting haphazardly from roadsides and home orchards, seedling fruit had been fair game for passersby and neighbors—but as trees became a consumer good, fruit did too. In the 1840s, a series of state laws hastily enacted against “fruit theft” showed the new importance 37 Henry Ward Beecher, Plain and Pleasant Talk about Fruits, Flowers and Farming (New York, 1859), v. 38 Andrew Jackson Downing, “Mr. Downing’s Letters from England,” Horticulturist 5 (Nov. 1850): 217. 39 Jaffee, New Nation of Goods; Catherine Kelly, In the New England Fashion: Reshaping Women’s Lives in the Nineteenth Century (Ithaca, 1999), 10–11. 40 “Fruit Culture,” Massachusetts Ploughman and New England Journal of Agriculture 9 (8 June 1850): 1. 41 Hedrick, History of Horticulture, 505–16. 42 Samuel Walker and William Kenrick, “Massachusetts Horticultural Society: Exhibition of Fruits,” Horticultural Register and Gardener’s Magazine, 1 Sept. 1836, 352. Emily Pawley / 414 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core of markets in “fine fruit.”43 These markets were real physical spaces. In 1837, New York City had two shops specializing in fruit; eleven years later it had seventy-one, and other large cities followed the same pattern.44 Encouraged by the deregulation of public markets in the 1840s, a new class of urban grocers altered the way that fruit was pre- sented and sold. Public markets had previously been segmented by time: prices dropped during the day, and battered afternoon fruits were sold to the poor. The new groceries, by contrast, were segmented by class: where street vendors served the poor from barrels, groceries in upscale neighborhoods competed to have the most elaborate dis- plays—and new and attractive fruit varieties became key to their strat- egy.45 By mid-century, nurserymen felt the pull of these new spaces. In 1852, the horticulturalist James Watts noted that “consumers have become more particular about kinds.” What they wanted now was “the Esopus, Spitzenberg, Baldwin, Roxbury Russet, Rhode Island Greening, Swaar, Talman Sweeting, Seek-no further, Pearmain, Twenty-Ounce Apple, and Vandevere,” and they called for them by name.46 Calls for named fruit were satisfied by a new landscape of commer- cial orchards, springing up around the East Coast and in the new Great Lakes fruit region. In 1851, Cincinnati alone consumed 24,414 barrels of apples from the new orchards of Western New York and Michigan, worth approximately one hundred thousand dollars.47 In 1845, the Reybold family of Delaware sent 63,344 baskets of peaches from their 117,720 trees to New York, Philadelphia, and Boston by specially hired steamer.48 These orchards reversed the direction of luxury trade. Even before the Revolution, London markets had sold a few Long Island– grown Newtown Pippins, though they were “too expensive for common eating.”49 After the removal of British duties on apples in the mid- 1830s, American exports doubled within a decade—Baldwins from 43 William Kerrigan, “Stealing Apples: Markets, Morality, and the Movement to Criminal- ize Apple-Pilfering in Antebellum Ohio” (paper presented at annual meeting of Society for His- torians of the Early American Republic, St. Louis, July 2013). 44 Longworth’s American Almanac (New York, 1837); Doggetts’ New York City Directory, 1848–1849 (New York, 1848). See also The Boston Directory (Boston, 1823); and The Boston Directory (Boston, 1848). 45 Cindy R. Lobel, Urban Appetites: Food and Culture in Nineteenth-Century New York (Chicago, 2014), 63. 46 Transactions of the Second Session of the American Pomological Society (Philadelphia, 1852), 74. 47 “Apple Trade at Cincinnati,” Ohio Cultivator 7 (Dec. 1851): 360. 48 James Pedder, “A Day at the Reybolds in Peach Harvest,” Farmers’ Cabinet, and Amer- ican Herd-book 10 (15 Oct. 1846): 78–79. 49 Michael Collinson quoted in William A. Taylor, The Fruit Industry, and the Substitution of Domestic for Foreign-Grown Fruits, with Historical and Descriptive Notes on Ten Varie- ties of Apple Suitable for the Export Trade (Washington, D.C., 1898), 311. Cataloging Nature / 415 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core Boston and Albemarle Pippins from Virginia jostled with Long Island fruit in Covent Garden.50 Overseas taste for American apples made pos- sible places like the Pell Orchard of Esopus, New York, which claimed to be the largest commercial orchard in the world, producing about 13 percent of American apple exports in the 1840s.51 Nurserymen benefited from both collectors looking for rarities and “orchardists” looking for large numbers of grafted saplings. During the first half of the nineteenth century, the few dozen nurseries clustered around the major cities of the East Coast would grow to more than a thousand, selling between fifteen and twenty million trees annually.52 Eastern nurseries extended across the continent; for example, the pro- prietor of the Llewelling Nursery arrived in Oregon by wagon in 1847, carrying trees from the nurseries of Ellwanger & Barry and A. J. Downing.53 However, as named fruits and trees became valuable, they posed new problems. Disorder, Confusion, and Counterfeits of Varietal Names Once grafted varieties became an accepted good, names and fruits multiplied together. Following the practice of using European names for American plants, for example, the new varieties springing from American orchards often received old names—William Prince may have discovered the Sine Qua Non, but “Sine Qua Nons” appeared every- where. Seedlings of European varieties often received their parents’ names. Worse, varieties often started with multiple European names. Nurserymen would observe that a customer with a lengthy order—for instance, for “Beurre Dore, Beurre d’Anjou, Beurre d’Or, Beurre d’Am- bleuse, Beurre d’Amboise, Poire d’Amboise, Isambert, Red Beurre, Beurre du Roi, and Golden Beurre, White Doyenne, Doyenne Blanc, Beurre Blanc, Bonneante, Saint Michael, Carlisle, Citron de Septembre, Kaiserbirne, Poire a Courte Queue, Poire de Limon, Poire de Neige, Poire de Seigneur, Poire Monsieur, Valencia, and White Beurre”—had actually purchased just two pear varieties.54 When circulating among neighbors or distributed by agricultural societies, varieties accumulated even more names. The apple known in journals as the Williamson, after the owner of the first known tree, was locally known as the Land Office Apple because the original tree had grown near the land office of the Pultney 50 Taylor, The Fruit Industry, 344. 51 Paul W. Gates, The Farmers Age: Agriculture, 1815–1860 (New York, 1960), 257. 52 Ibid., 259. 53 Willis P. Duruz, “Notes on the Early History of Horticulture in Oregon: With Special Ref- erence to Fruit-Tree Nurseries,” Agricultural History 15 (Apr. 1941): 88, 97. 54 Michael Floy, A Guide to the Orchard and Fruit Garden (New York, 1833), iv. Emily Pawley / 416 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core Estate. Moreover, it was agreed that Williamson had brought the tree from England, so the name Land Office probably obliterated a past Euro- pean name, and identical specimens with that name might have recently been reimported. Through such movements, fruit identities became uncertain.55 As named fruit became valuable, moreover, it became worth faking.56 Advocates of the newly fashionable Northern Spy apple com- plained in 1845 that it, “like all other popular fruits, is counterfeited by the men and boys who sell apples around the streets. . . . [E]very apple they can find, that in any way resembles the ‘Northern Spy,’ is so called by them.”57 Buyers of trees, which did not fruit immediately, fell victim to the worst deceptions. “Many persons,” warned a Prince catalog, “apt to pur- chase trees without regard to any point but their cheapness . . . , after the toil and expense of years, find them, when they arrive at bearing, abso- lutely worthless.”58 The life cycle of fruit trees left both buyers and sellers vulnerable—the first to fraud and the second to damaged reputations. Nurserymen often blamed failed trees on transient laborers who increasingly extended the tree distribution network. The Genesee Farmer complained of farmers’ willingness to rely on “some irresponsi- ble, peddling grafter” who threw different varieties together “promiscu- ously, without mark or label.”59 Working cheaply and in bulk, grafters showed how easy it was to create informal orchards beyond the control of expert nurserymen. In April 1831, the farmer Moses Eames recorded in his diary the arrival of “two men come to graft apple trees” on his father’s farm; the next day he noted, “they do 364 grafts.”60 As in ante- bellum culture generally, peddlers, as T. J. Jackson Lears writes, acted as “a lightning rod for the anxieties of a developing market society.”61 55 W. W. B. “The Williamson Apple,” Genesee Farmer and Gardener’s Journal 5 (30 Apr. 1835): 122. 56 On antebellum counterfeiting, see Stephen Mihm, A Nation of Counterfeiters: Capital- ists, Con Men, and the Making of the United States (Cambridge, Mass., 2007). 57 “Northern Spy,” Genesee Farmer 6 (Feb. 1845): 30. 58 William Prince & Sons, Annual Catalogue of Fruit and Ornamental Trees and Plants (Jamaica, N.Y., 1835), ii. 59 David Jaffee, “Peddlers of Progress and the Transformation of the Rural North, 1760– 1860,” Journal of American History 78 (Sept. 1991): 513; Cheryl Lyon-Jenness, “A Telling Tirade: What Was the Controversy Surrounding Nineteenth-Century Midwestern Tree Agents Really All About?” Agricultural History 72 (Autumn 1998): 675–707; “The Weather,” Genesee Farmer 6 (Dec. 1845): 182. 60 Moses Eames Diaries, vol. 1, 14–15 April 1831, Jefferson County Historical Society, Watertown, N.Y. 61 T. J. Jackson Lears, Fables of Abundance: A Cultural History of Advertising in America (New York, 1994), 69. Cataloging Nature / 417 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core However, as Cheryl Lyon-Jenness has shown, they were often agents of nurserymen themselves, the vanguard of a new consumer gentility. Most fundamentally, it was simply difficult to distinguish among the growing sea of varieties. Miniscule, seemingly insignificant gradations in the shape of the fruit, the pattern of mottling or striping, or the grain and flavor of the flesh became elusive distinguishing marks.62 The Genre of Varietal Description The “only remedy” to the confusing proliferation of poor varieties, declared the Horticulturist, “lies in restricting the right to describe, name, and publish a new fruit, to competent pomologists.”63 The refer- ence to “publishing a new fruit” would not have seemed strange in 1847. A flood of new horticultural journals, manuals, pamphlets, and cat- alogs had come out in the 1830s and 1840s. Conveniently, but not coin- cidentally, prominent nurserymen had a lock on these channels of communication, editing the American Horticultural Magazine, the Horticultural Register, and the Horticulturist, among others.64 While the new journals contained elegant garden descriptions, designs for new homes, letters about blights and beetles, and the occasional poem, fruit descriptions—that is, accounts of individual varieties—were a main- stay of their content. When Downing advertised the Horticulturist in 1847, “the description and cultivation of Fruits and Fruit Trees” headed the list of featured subjects, ahead of “remarks on landscape gar- dening” and well ahead of “flowering plants.”65 In the 1830s, specialized books that described varieties became a staple genre. Containing hundreds of pages of fruit descriptions, books like William Prince’s son William R. Prince’s Pomological Manual (1831) and Robert Manning’s Book of Fruits (1838) allowed nurserymen to operate at both of the levels that their work demanded. On the one hand, such books marked nurserymen as experts worthy of the atten- tion—and the specimens—of a global audience of botanists and horticul- turists. Descriptive catalogs of collected varieties were recognized as a play for authority among major botanical gardens, demonstrating the breadth of a collection and the scholarly accuracy and judgment of the 62 See, for example, Andrew Jackson Downing to William Darlington (c. 1830), Andrew Jackson Downing Papers, New York State Library, Albany, N.Y. 63 “Pomological Reform,” Horticulturist 2 (Oct. 1847): 175. 64 See Elisabeth Woodburn, “Horticultural Heritage: The Influence of U.S. Nurserymen,” in Agricultural Literature: Proud Heritage, Future Promise, ed. Alan Fusonie and Leila Moran (Washington, D.C., 1977), 109–36; and Brenda Bullion, “The Agricultural Press: ‘To Improve the Soil and the Mind,’” in The Farm, ed. Peter Benes (Boston, 1986), 74–94. 65 Subscriptions for the Cultivator and the Horticulturist (broadside), 1847, Manuscripts and Special Collections, New York State Library, Albany, N.Y. Emily Pawley / 418 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core author.66 However, in cataloging orchards, books of fruit description also advertised real, physical places of business. For example, Prince’s descriptions mirrored the varieties available in the Prince & Sons Annual Catalogue.67 More easily reproduced than images, written descriptions acted as banked copy. They could be quoted in advertise- ments for new varieties or reproduced in the puff pieces on new fruits that circulated in the journals. Though they followed an existing European form, American books of descriptions were also shaped by the realities and possibilities of Amer- ican fruit and print markets. Heavy with colored plates suitable for framing, British works such as Pomona Londoniensis (1818) were clearly objects of desire themselves, joining the array of spectacularly illustrated botanical books that were beginning to reach a middle-class British market in the 1830s.68 While a few works imitated these forms, a larger number were, like Prince’s, cheaply designed for rapid national distribution.69 Priced affordably at $1.50 a volume, Prince’s books issued not from a single authoritative printer, but from a carefully spaced con- stellation of them, located in New York City and Boston and the growing fruit region around New York, but also in expected markets in the slave states and in Cincinnati, which in 1831 was a forty-one-year-old city of about twenty-seven thousand people.70 More importantly, like many American works, Prince’s volumes depended not on expensive images but on precision of language to fix varietal identity. Prince’s description of the Mouthwater pear began with shape—“an exact pyramidal form”—and then proportion: “its height thirty-three lines and its greatest diameter twenty-six, tapering very much towards the stalk.” Prince described the place of the eye, length of the stem, and its “uniform shade of rather dark green . . . [with] a grayish streak running lengthwise.” He considered the flesh texture “rather firm, but melting,” and the flavor “pleasant . . . with some sweetness and richness.” Season of ripening and color of foliage followed.71 The characteristics of taste were significant identifying marks, just as color and shape were saleable qualities. All identifying 66 See, for example, Jean Mayer, Pomona Franconica (Nuremberg, 1776); and William Hooker, Pomona Londoniensis (London, 1818). 67 William Prince & Sons, Annual Catalogue of Fruit, vi. 68 Anne Secord, “Botany on a Plate: Pleasure and the Power of Pictures in Promoting Early Nineteenth-Century Scientific Knowledge,” Isis 93 (Mar. 2002): 37. 69 On the sometimes gorgeous, always expensive, and often frustrated efforts of American pomologists to produce images of fruit, see Daniel J. Kevles, “Cultivating Art,” Smithsonian 42 (July/August 2011): 76–82. 70 Prince, Pomological Manual, vol. 2, title page; John Kilbourn, The Ohio Gazetteer (Columbus, Ohio, 1831), 108–9. 71 William R. Prince, Pomological Manual, vol. 1 (New York, 1831), 56–57. Cataloging Nature / 419 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core descriptions were also advertisements, and all desirable qualities were also markers of authenticity. Through catalogs, manuals, agricultural journals, and advertise- ments, printed descriptions of new varieties circulated more rapidly than trees did. Fixed by descriptions, nurserymen hoped, varieties would become true, transparent, safe, and profitable. This fixity, however, depended on the stability of the organisms described. This, as Thomas argued, was not dependable. Place and Shifting Form Unlike the texts that accompanied them, trees were not perfectly replicable. Variety forms differed from place to place—a Hudson Valley apple might be tasteless when grown in Massachusetts. Such difficulties were well known to American horticulturalists; European varieties fre- quently failed in the harsher winters of the northeastern states, a fact that American pomologists had used to justify the development of an American pomology in the first place. However, Thomas put his finger on a knottier problem. Unlike island-bound British specialists, Ameri- cans faced a territory spanning areas “almost as remote from each other as Norway and the Great Desert in the old world,” threatening the national networks of plant distribution.72 In response, Thomas outlined a research program. Arguing that the single authoritative collection established at Chiswick could not address the varied climates of the United States, he suggested a network of fruit tree collections in different states. This would help pomologists deter- mine the differing characters of varieties in different places and establish a true standard of fruit description. Thomas demonstrated such a system using flavor, the category that seemed to him to be most stable over dis- tance. He laid out a standard for taste, describing, for example, the acidity of new varieties on a six-point scale from “sweet” to “very acid and austere.”73 This effort was not enormously successful, perhaps because the language of taste was limited to a remarkably short list of terms: “sweet,” “acidic,” “rich,” and “sprightly.” However, Thomas’s search for fixed qualities was a common one.74 Simple to make and reproduce, the fruit profile was one of the most widely used alternative solutions. Profiles were created by cutting an apple or pear in half, placing one half face down on a piece of paper and tracing around it with a pencil, producing an accurate line that 72 Thomas, “Describing Fruits,” 269. 73 Ibid., 272. 74 Ebenezer Emmons, Agriculture of New York (Albany, 1851), 9. Emily Pawley / 420 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core could be cheaply reproduced in a woodcut. This method of representa- tion had been promoted in Britain as early as 1828; American authors of the 1840s refigured it to meet their need for a fixed character that could be described over distance.75 In a report to the New York State Leg- islature, the horticulturalist Ebenezer Emmons postulated that while size might vary between specimens, the ratio of height to width measured within a profile was unchanging. Next to a much bisected and labeled apple outline, he wrote, “If this is not true, we may despair of describing fruit so as to become useful to inquirers.”76 Depending on structure rather than changeable color (in fruit as in humans, the sun could burn skin) profiles promised to reveal character in a way that was incon- testably accurate and easily recognized. Despite the popularity of fruit profiles, a system of fixed characters was never fully agreed upon. Public negotiation proved a powerful tool not only for fixing identities but also for determining the value of those identities. The Pomological Congress and Pomological Convention of 1848 If Downing’s orchard was a quiet court, the first Pomological Con- vention of 1848 was a noisy one. The seventy delegates were a little over- excited and inclined to interrupt one another. Their scribe, Oliver Dyer, sourly commented that his record was “as accurate and faithful as any one person could possibly have rendered,” since “[w]e do not profess to be able to report more than one speech at a time.”77 The delegates’ agi- tation was understandable; after years of making do with descriptions, sketches, and correspondence, at last they were assembled in one place, carrying with them thousands of actual fruits for comparison. Together they would spend three days determining identities, rejecting unworthy varieties, and commenting on the promise of new seedlings. Delegates expected the national meeting to sweep away all difficulties; Lewis Falley Allen, the president of the New York State Agricultural Society, announced in his opening address, “We must have uniformity, and we can obtain it.”78 Their sense of urgency was heightened by com- petition. One month later, a rival meeting—the National Congress of American Fruit Growers—would be held in New York City. Convention rules confined delegates to the business of varietal description and rating. During daylight, they were to examine varieties 75 W. R. Y., “General and Critical Observations on the Cultivation of the Pear,” Gardener’s Magazine 4 (June 1828): 107–13. 76 Emmons, Agriculture of New York, 9. 77 New York State Fair, Proceedings of the New-York State Fair and of the Pomological Convention Held at Buffalo, Sept. 1848 (Buffalo, 1848), 2. 78 Ibid. Cataloging Nature / 421 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core one at a time. Convention members were to speak “brief statements of facts” (the limits of brevity can be seen in a rule limiting delegates to two ten-minute speeches). Other matters were confined to “evenings and intervals.”79 Delegates attended not to share ideas, but to winnow through the hosts of varieties. Most attendees would have been accli- mated to such rituals of sequential judgment from their service on the “fruit committees” at their local agricultural fairs—indeed, it was there that they gained the credibility and experience needed to act as experts. During the days of the meetings, and during the annual meet- ings that followed, they struggled to make reputations for particular vari- eties and, in doing so, for themselves. Attendees at both conferences came from the several circles of fruit culture—some were “gentlemen curious in fruit,” while others came from the commercial orchards that increasingly dominated the Great Lakes region. The distinction between the two was not always clear. Allen, who had given the opening address at the state society convention was both the founder of the earliest commercial orchard in Buffalo and a noted author of works on genteel rural architecture. However, nursery- men spoke loudest. Of the seven members of the fruit committee who gave initial ratings and presented varieties to the group, the six whom I have traced were nurserymen. Other nurserymen also played active roles; William R. Prince, for example, was the delegate most likely to break into impromptu lectures contrary to the rules. With its five rules, the convention moved to take control of the prac- tice of naming. The first rule raised barriers of entry to upstart fruit and their champions: to receive a name, a new fruit had to be either better than all similar varieties of the first rate or, if judged as second rate, hardier and more productive than higher-ranked fruits. The second rule laid out the boundaries of expertise: names were not to be fixed until the fruit had been “accurately described in pomological terms” by an accepted authority—that is, a fruit committee, a horticultural or agri- cultural journal, a “pomologist of reputation,” or a “pomological work of some standard character.”80 The third rule laid out a checklist of charac- teristics to be used in capturing identity, one familiar from the descrip- tions of Downing and Prince: for kernel fruits such as apples and pears, this included “the size of the core and seeds, the length, position, and insertion of the stalk, and form of the eye.”81 The fourth rule demanded simplicity and particularity in names. The fifth rule institutionalized Thomas’s call for coordinated testing: “No new fruit can be safely 79 Ibid. 80 Ibid. 81 Ibid. Emily Pawley / 422 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core recommended,” it stated, “until the same has been tested and found valuable in more than one locality.”82 For a variety to achieve a recom- mendation, it now had to be accepted by a community distributed over space. Trees that were sensitive to relocation were weeded out. Both convention and congress were intended to produce a specific tool—the varietal list: a short list of varieties judged as “first rate.” Such lists had earlier been published by individual nurserymen, but now they were to be given the power of collective agreement. The stakes were high for the trees and for the participants, whose stocks, if stigmatized as second rate, might have to be chopped off at the collar and regrafted. Varieties were to be graded as first, second, or third rate. (The New York City meeting, more optimistically, used “good,” “very good,” and “excellent.”) The act of judgment, however, was not simple. Fruit specimens proved to be far from transparently meaningful. Some problems were physical: Many had been harvested before or after their peak period, while several were rotten, making their form difficult and their taste unpleasant to determine. By candlelight, fuzzy peach skins proved too indistinct for careful observation, and many fruits had been bruised by transport over hundreds of miles of uneven roads.83 More consequential were differences caused by rivalries over distance. Local cultures of judgment clashed at the national level. “Many fruits which have long enjoyed the most irreproachable character in one part of the country,” wrote an observer at the New York meeting, “are found, on inquiry, to have the most indifferent reputation in another section.”84 Some problems were resolved quickly. The Buffalo delegates instantly pronounced the Van Zandt’s Superb an imposter and voted the Yellow Melocoton peach “unworthy of a name.”85 Other fruits, however, suffered prolonged assaults on their character. Debates around the reputation of the Northern Spy were particularly revealing. A much-counterfeited Western New York staple, the Spy’s reputation away from home was dubious. Mr. Hodge, who moved that the apple be passed as first rate, admitted that “he knew there were persons in the room who considered the apple a humbug.”86 This comment was aimed at Thomas, who had commented publicly that “out of ninety barrels of this apple only seventeen barrels were found fit to market.” Defensively, Hodge assured his peers that “the fruit was 82 Ibid. 83 North American Pomological Convention, Proceedings of the North American Pomolog- ical Convention. Held at Syracuse, September 14th 1849 (Syracuse, 1849), 18. 84 “Proceedings of the National Congress of Fruit Growers,” in Seventh Annual Report of the American Institute of the City of New York (Albany, 1849), 225. 85 New York State Fair, Proceedings, 2. 86 Ibid., 14. Cataloging Nature / 423 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core uniformly as fair as the Spitzenburg—five-sixths of them were fit for bar- reling.”87 Thomas retreated, suggesting that his initial experiences had been marred by poor cultivation. Then, Downing made a fresh attack: “Mr. Chapin, the originator . . . considers the Northern Spy so poor that he will not plant a single tree.” Instantly, pandemonium reigned at the Pomological Convention. The voices of the Spy’s defenders were swallowed up; the stenographer complained, “owing to ‘the noise and confusion’ we could not catch the purport of them.” Shouting, Patrick Barry attempted to have Downing’s statement struck from the minutes. A Mr. Bissell chimed in with an attack on Chapin, accusing him of operating “the hardest looking orchard he ever saw . . . neglected beyond all account.”88 Mr. Coit, of Ohio, attempting to assist, confused matters by praising the Spy’s “fine color . . . a lightish green.” Because the Spy was in fact “a fine light red” the discussion ended in embarrass- ment, and the Spy remained in limbo. At the New York meeting a few weeks later, Spy defender James H. Watts lamented, “Like every new thing now-a-days, to establish its character has been no small task.”89 Rejected at these first two meetings, the Spy appeared on varietal lists in a lesser position as a “variety good for particular places.” However, its mixed reputation can be interpreted in two ways. On the one hand, it may show how instability over distance led to the adoption of more stable fruits. Certainly this was the aim of the varietal lists. On the other, the dispute may have emerged not from changes in the fruit itself, but from differences between regional cultures. In this case, the account of the Northern Spy’s natural changeability made it possible to smooth over social rupture. Labeling the Northern Spy as first rate in Western New York kept the stocks of western nurserymen valuable and kept the Spy alive.90 Later efforts of the society revealed the contin- ued importance of this strategy, producing a catalog with fifty-one close- packed tables keying particular varieties to particular regions.91 We should not allow the seeming eccentricity of these meetings to blind us to an important fact: as long as convention participants devel- oped a consensus opinion, they were structurally well positioned to shape the fruit tree market. The large nurseries represented in the 87 Ibid. 88 Ibid., 15. 89 “Proceedings of the National Congress of Fruit Growers,” 216. 90 Thomas F. Devoe, The Market Assistant (New York, 1867), 370. 91 Patrick Barry, A Catalogue of Fruits for Cultivation in the United States and Canadas; in Two Divisions. Division First—Embracing those States lying North of the Southern line of Virginia, Tennessee, Missouri, etc., and East of the Rocky Mountains, including the Canadas, Division Second—The States South of the line above named, and West of the Rocky Mountains. Compiled under the Direction of the American Pomological Society (Boston, 1869). Emily Pawley / 424 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core room not only maintained small armies of agents, they also often sup- plied the smaller nurseries, and one another—and even some of the “ped- dling grafters.” Their control of major horticulture and agriculture publications amplified their voices. Rejected varieties might survive in home orchards, but the new names that moved through the nursery busi- ness would be filtered by the men in the room. Despite continuing private rivalries, unity prevailed. Most of the del- egates of the first national meeting attended the second, and the institu- tions carried on in parallel until merging in 1850. Institutionalized as annual meetings, such pomological conventions would prove astonish- ingly durable, eventually producing the American Pomological Society, which still produces professional varietal lists. This system also spread beyond American borders. In 1854, the British Pomological Society explicitly modeled itself on the American example, a reverse of earlier hierarchies of expertise.92 More importantly, varietal lists reproduced through the horticul- tural journals began to change how tree buyers navigated the sea of vari- eties. Only two years after the first convention, the Genesee Farmer noted that they “had changed the current of taste among inexperienced planters.” Where once growers had sought “the newest, rarest, and most extraordinary” varieties, now “we see in the nurseries . . . over 100 new or rare varieties of the pear, from which scarcely a tree has been dug, unless for a nurseryman or an experimentalist.” The author, likely Patrick Barry, added contentedly, “This is as it should be. . . . Nurserymen and pomologists alone should cultivate and test these [varieties].”93 The Ambiguous Power of Consumer Taste Though conventions claimed the sole right of judgment, a factor entered the judgment of varieties that was beyond their control: the met- ropolitan market for fruit. In the 1840s, marketability was not yet crucial to a “first rate” ranking. The first rate Early Joe, which nurserymen agreed was “about the best eating apple they had ever known,” had to be eaten in the first hours after it was picked.94 Flavor on its own clearly influenced a variety’s reputation. But what about market qualities like easy shipping? In discussions, fissures appeared between men who grew for the market and a dwindling group who were “curious in 92 Thomas Rivers, “Pomological Society,” Florist, Fruitist, and Garden Miscellany 4 (Apr. 1854): 108–9. 93 In 1850, Patrick Barry edited the horticulture department of the Genesee Farmer. “Fruit Culture,” Massachusetts Ploughman and New England Journal of Agriculture 9 (8 June 1850): 1. 94 New York State Fair, Proceedings, 11. Cataloging Nature / 425 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core fruit.” These tensions surfaced in an attack on the reliable Buffum pear at the Buffalo meeting. Patrick Barry sprang to its defense, declaring “it hardly proper to insinuate anything unworthy or knavish against gentle- men who spoke of fruits, and their qualities as ‘market fruits.’”95 Barry’s defense represented a change in the hierarchies of pomology; the rising power of midwestern markets and the Great Lakes commercial orchards had shifted power toward Rochester, New York—particularly to Barry’s firm, Ellwanger & Barry, which by 1856 would reportedly produce twice as many trees as any other American nursery.96 While Barry might stalwartly defend marketable fruit, even he had to admit that the increasing power of consumer taste made rating complex. Consumer tastes made even the most commercially minded nurs- erymen uneasy. Preferences for fine skin were particularly fraught. Inspection by skilled shoppers and grocers made skin matter, so growers worked hard to protect fruit skin from bruising, inspecting each fruit, wiping it to remove any hint of moisture, and then packing it in sand-filled barrels. Henry David Thoreau, who celebrated the gnarls, stains, and “rusty blotches” of the “wild apples,” complained of the farmer who turned a “specked” fruit “over many times before he leaves it out [of the barrel].”97 The nearly fatal criticism leveled against the Northern Spy—that it was “unfit for barreling”—showed the increas- ing dominance of barreled fruit. Where fruit carried from genteel hot- houses directly to tables might have benefited from a reputation for “delicacy,” new commercial fruits had to be tough. All nurserymen agreed that the beauty of a fruit was a requirement for excellence. However, they fretted, a fine skin was, after all, simply a surface quality. The Red Astrachan, a popular market apple in both Britain and the United States, proved a particular sore spot. A Russian apple, its red skin was given depth of color by Northeastern winters, making it attractive, particularly to Londoners. However, even Barry, who sold it, admitted it was “not a first rate eating apple.” Thomas was more dubious: “it had been remarked that the apple was good for market on account of its beautiful skin; when we get within its skin there is very little left.”98 In selling the Astrachan, were nurserymen preying on the ignorance of “the simple”?99 Were consumers lured against their best interests by a deceptive skin? If so, should consumers 95 Proceedings of the Second Congress of Fruit Growers, Convened under the Auspices of the American Institute, in the City of New-York, 1849, (Albany, 1850), 212. 96 “The Largest Nursery in the World,” Hunt’s Merchant’s Magazine 25 (Sept. 1856): 373–75. 97 Henry David Thoreau, The Succession of Forest Trees and Wild Apples (Boston, 1887), 60. 98 New York State Fair, Proceedings, 12. 99 “Proceedings of the Second Congress of Fruit Growers,” 212. Emily Pawley / 426 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core be catered to, or educated? Was the Red Astrachan, in short, a moral and trustworthy apple? Later lists would use the morally-ambiguous word “showy” for spectacularly-skinned fruit. While nurserymen publicly defined quality, they were also forced to confront, though not to resolve, their anxieties about the public good and the rationality of the consumer. Conclusion Thoreau’s essay “Wild Apples” (1859) celebrated seedlings spread by apple-fed cattle and clipped by grazing cows into spiky pyramids.100 “We have all heard of the numerous varieties of fruit invented by Van Mons and Knight,” he joked. “This is the system of Van Cow, and she has invented far more and more memorable varieties than both of them.”101 Even as he memorialized the seedling landscape, he mocked the one that had come to replace it. He had “no faith in the selected lists of pomological gentlemen . . . their ‘Favorites’ and ‘Non-suches,’ and ‘Seek-no-farther’s.’” Instead, he proposed his own list of names for the hundred varieties of seedling apples to be found in a single cider pile: “the Apple which grows in Dells in the Woods (sylcestrivallis),” and “the Slug-Apple (limacea∼)” not to mention “the Railroad-Apple, which perhaps came from a core thrown out of the cars.”102 Thoreau’s essay reveals not only vivid details of the old wild apple landscape, but also the dominance of the new grafted varieties. An 1860 letter to the Genesee Farmer confirms Thoreau’s impression without his melancholy. D.A.A. Nichols, of Westfield, New York, announced, “The list is heard in every stall in every city market . . . Rhode Island Greening, Esopus, Spitzenburgh, Baldwin, Newtown Pippin, Roxbury Russet, and Red Astrachan.”103 More than two centu- ries after the introduction of apple, peach, and pear trees to the American Northeast, the fertile chaos of the seedling orchards had given way to named trees funneled through and filtered by the networks of nurserymen. Thoreau focused his ire on names for the same reason that nursery- men obsessed over them: the names and descriptions attached to trees were vital to the markets that nurserymen built around them. This was true on multiple levels. By naming new seedling varieties and publishing works of varietal descriptions, American nurserymen bought credibility in and access to global botanical networks. Only such networks could 100 Thoreau, Succession of Forest Trees, 69. 101 Ibid. 102 Ibid., 72–78. 103 D. A. A. Nichols, “Best Fruit for Market Purposes,” Genesee Farmer 21 (Feb. 1860): 59. Cataloging Nature / 427 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core provide the teeming catalogs of fashionable varieties required to main- tain the interest of gentlemen buyers and market growers. Indeed, it was in part these international networks, and their direct link to aristo- cratic landscapes, that helped promote the second important aspect of naming: names were a key focus of the appeal of fruit, whether in urban markets, at agricultural societies, or in nursery catalogs. Without names shared by a wide community, fruit varieties could be the object neither of meaningful taste or judgment nor trade over distance. Where the provincial workshops described by Jaffee were super- seded by larger-scale production in the 1820s and 1830s, both the free-for-all trade in grafted fruit and the seedling landscape shrank with the rise of printed tools for the regulation of names—particularly lists of rated varieties produced by social agreement at pomological con- ventions and publicized through the nurseryman-dominated horticul- tural press. Their control was not total; pomological societies controlled neither the terms of value nor the continued movement of scions between neighbors or the peddler trade. However, their effect was profound. The story of stabilization of the fruit tree variety does not provide a straightforward template for histories of the commercialization of plants. Other varietal stories played out differently, shaped by different biological constraints or possibilities or by alternative cultural pathways. Threatened by the instabilities of sexual reproduction, for example, seed- propagated varieties took decades longer to commercialize.104 As apple and pear growers strove for fruit that could remain identical across space, for example, wine grape growers invented the concept of terroir, embracing the variability created by different soils and seasons.105 However, the story of fruit naming can help us see some of the ways that the marketing of gene-bearing goods could be coordinated and accelerated. This in turn can help us understand both the rapid expansion of an antebellum agricultural economy and the creation of a landscape populated by organisms ordered from a catalog. . . . 104 Moreover, as Barbara Hahn has shown, some plant “varieties” have no basis in genetic difference; Bright Tobacco, the kind of tobacco used to make cigarettes, often assumed to be a variety, is a product of soils and processing. Barbara Hahn, Making Tobacco Bright: Creating an American Commodity, 1617–1937 (Baltimore, 2011). 105 Amy Trubek, The Taste of Place: A Cultural Journey into Terroir (Berkeley, 2008). Emily Pawley / 428 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core EMILY PAWLEY is an assistant professor of history at Dickinson College. Her work examines the interconnections between science, agriculture, and capitalism. Her current book project, “The Balance-Sheet of Nature”: Capital- ism and Knowledge in the Antebellum Agricultural Landscape, examines the kinds of science that emerged from the commercializing farms of New York State. Her recent article, “The Point of Perfection: Cattle Portraiture, Blood- lines, and the Meaning of Breeding, 1760–1860,” appeared in the spring issue of the Journal of the Early Republic. Cataloging Nature / 429 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680516000726 https://www.cambridge.org/core Cataloging Nature: Standardizing Fruit Varieties in the United States, 1800–1860 Varieties and Commercial Taxonomy A Wealth of Seedling Fruit Networked Gardens: Nurserymen in Global Context Fruit Trees as Marks of Refinement Disorder, Confusion, and Counterfeits of Varietal Names The Genre of Varietal Description Place and Shifting Form The Pomological Congress and Pomological Convention of 1848 The Ambiguous Power of Consumer Taste Conclusion 
work_3opiub3szfeflczubcrcxffene	----	I 15-3 Editor's Column: Metaphoric Spaces, Existential Moments, Practical Consequences T he physical site was an elevator at an annual MLA convention. This particular elevator was located in the New York Hilton. (Many of us recall that hotel from the time when we met regularly in Manhattan, until the city’s hostelries, having concluded that academics do not spend as much or tip as well as civilian tourists, banished the MLA from the premises.) Convention elevators are much alike wherever they are, however: smallish metallic containers packed with people who are trying hard not to be too obvious in their attempts to read the name tags of fellow passengers. Of more importance were the psychological features of the site: an unforgettable annual overload of fa- tigue, elation, and anxiety shared among a wedged-in mass of strangers. It was in that place and that context that a question was directed at me over the heads of the others: “Where are you?” Turning, I glimpsed a fa- miliar face. Not stopping to consider that the purpose of my friend’s query was to find out whether I was booked into the Hilton or another of the MLA hotels, I shot back, “Is this an existential question?” Laughter filled the elevator, somewhat nervous yet warm with self-awareness. Where are we, indeed1’ We will be assaulted by this question in many places and at many moments, but are we not inordinately vulnerable to its demands when ringed by the peculiar circumstances of our professional lives and of our function as academic practitioners of languages and literatures? I cite two moments when what I do, and am, as a professor of literature was challenged in a manner that, all of a sudden, forced me to rethink the existential applicability of the words “Where are you?” I recall these mo- ments of personal experience in order to venture certain comments about the situations in which all of us as members of the MLA function in our professorial duties and about the role PMLA may take in these situations. In my persona as a citizen of Los Angeles County, I was summoned for service in a jury “pool.” Eager to escape the boredom of having to pass ten days in the jurors’ “lounge,” I hoped to get assigned to the jury “box” so that I might attend to a case. Finally called into that box for preliminary screening, I was queried by the lawyers for the defense and the prosecution. Al- though it frequently happens that potential jurors are dismissed through peremptory challenges if it is learned that they are employed by academic institutions, the lawyers seemed satisfied with my answers to the basic questions put to me. Yet the presiding judge soon told me to leave the box, step out of the pool, and return to the lounge. I was dismissed “for cause,” as it were. He stated that I could not possibly function prop- erly as a juror. His reason: because I was a litera- ture professor and worked entirely with fantasies, I was incapable of processing the factual evi- dence on which final decisions in legal matters must be based. (He patiently took the time to in- form me about that which he assumed I was un- aware: that court cases depend on evaluating hard facts, not soft fictions.) Another existential moment that caught me offguard took place in yet another closely con- fined space (the backseat of a taxi). As the newly elected president of a national scholarly orga- nization, I was told (told off) by a well-known scholar trained as a dedicated empiricist that I, as a literature professor, represented the particu- lar tradition that was responsible for the murder of six million Jews: "You people only believe in fantasies, and fantasies gave Nazis the power to carry out the work of the Holocaust." The judge chose only to censor me individ- ually for practicing an occupation blind to real- ity. The scholar elected to condemn an entire professional discipline in my name for its mind- less advocacy of untruths that led to the horribly true destruction of an entire generation. Is this, indeed, where we are? Such encounters can shake teachers, schol- ars, and critics toiling in the fields of languages and literatures loose from the comfort of feeling at some peace with the tasks we perform day by day. Such existential moments (in elevators, jury boxes, and taxicabs) have the power to raise doubts about who and what we are. They also have a way of breaking into the monotony of ac- tivities that are more literal in their practice than profound in their commitment. How one re- sponds to such moments is, however, an individ- ual matter. No single call voiced during an MLA Presidential Address, no one item printed in the MLA Newsletter, no set of debates mounted at the Delegate Assembly, and no particular view ad- vanced in a PMLA Editor’s Column will resolve the unsettling circumstances that elicit existen- tial moments, which, by their nature, only take possession of our minds and wills, one by one. Recognition of where the “where” resides remains a private discovery, though one liable to have public consequences. There is an oft-told bit of apocrypha (but one so apt it carries its own truth) about the verbal exchange between Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson after Thoreau was incarcerated for refusing to pay taxes to Massachusetts because it had recently sanctioned the capture and return of runaway slaves. Emerson supposedly queried Thoreau, “Henry, why are you there?” “Why are you not here?” Thoreau flung back in his customarily untactful manner.1 In Thoreau’s view, Emerson’s here was situated midst the corrupt convention- ality of a smugly law-abiding society. Thoreau's here was Concord’s jail, the moral space he elected to occupy to express in real terms his ab- horrence for America’s slave system. Sooner or later, we all need to choose our own “good jails” if we hope to have workable answers to the almost impossible questions of where we situate ourselves. For those of us who lead the academic life, our best jails will proba- bly be the spaces we daily claim, in our own manner, in the classroom, the study, and arenas of community activity. Also consider that PMLA and its parent organization, the Modern Lan- guage Association, strive to offer additional metaphoric spaces for experiencing existential moments and responding to the practical conse- quences these moments call into play. In the March issue of PMLA, Charles S. Adams’s Guest Column describes the real small world inhabited by teacher-scholars in the nation’s many liberal arts colleges. Writers of other Guest Columns in the recent past have also reported on the special spaces they occupy and the practices that follow from these facts. Linda Hutcheon has traced the scholarly geogra- phies Canadian academicians must traverse (114 11999]: 311-17), and Nellie Y. McKay has ana- lyzed the implications of being in “the Wheatley court” for all scholars of African American liter- ature (113 [19981: 359-69). In 1998. the special Forum on PMLA Abroad published communi- ques from members who teach in universities around the world (113 [ 1998]: 1122-50). while the 1999 special Forum on Literatures of the En- vironment addressed the problematics of writ- ing responsibly about the immense entirety of the natural world, that “where” where we all exist, like it or not (114 11999]: 1089-104). Ap- pearing in this issue are the first in PMLA's new series of commentaries, filled with a wide range of spaces, moments, and consequences. These inaugural contributions take us inside the back rooms where arguments over the film studies curriculum and the tight little island of academic book publishing are under way and into the are- nas where debates are taking place over the “where is it going?" of French theory and the “what are they?” of premodern sexualities. I close with a rapid look at the doings last December in Chicago at the annual MLA con- vention. As usual, the elevators are crowded, the lobbies jammed, the barstools occupied, and the session rooms either filled to overflowing or sparsely occupied (each panel its own special world of professional tensions and delights). Sea- soned conventioneers sense it is wise not to think too hard about what is going on upstairs in the rooms where job interviews are being held or downstairs in the large communal areas where other interviews are taking place nakedly in pub- lic view. But whatever precautions the cautious take, the four days of the convention will ball together into one massive existential moment. Lobby, elevator, corridor, room, and meeting place are metaphoric spaces in which persons whose tenure-track positions define for them their “where” are invisibly separated from others who feel, as yet, nowhere in the professional world. Still, there is excitement in the atmosphere and benefits to be gained for those willing to open themselves up to the abrupt experience of the ex- istential question that can come at any moment. Ralph Waldo Emerson had his own jails to deal with. It was often troubled spaces he wished to escape, not the good spaces his acer- bic friend Thoreau fought hard to inhabit. In “Self-Reliance,” Emerson offers a little parable of the person who flees to faraway places in hopes of eluding the unresolved tensions of ex- istence back home: Travelling is a fool’s paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. At home 1 dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty, and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea. and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern Fact, the sad self, unre- lenting, identical, that I fled from. (145) Whether we fly off to distant cities for the annual conventions with sad or happy hearts or remain at home in the study or the classroom, the moment will surely come when a voice calls out from over our shoulder, “Where are you?” The answers to that question are our own to de- vise, but there are positive ways to deal with the practical consequences of our professional exis- tence. PMLA will continue to try to offer the best of all possible “jails,” from whose site we are free to retort, “Why are you not here?” Martha Banta Note 1 The version cited here comes from Henry Seidel Can- by’s biography, Thoreau (233). Walter Harding's The Days of Henry Thoreau reports that Emerson asked Thoreau why he had gone to jail, and Thoreau replied, “Why did you not?" (205-06). Harding takes as his source John Weiss’s 1865 es- say on Thoreau. In the January 1919 issue of the Liberator, Floyd Dell stated that the magazine was addressed “to two classes of readers: those who are in jail and those who are not" (14). Works Cited Canby, Henry Seidel. Thoreau. Boston: Beacon, 1939. Dell, Floyd. “‘What Are You Doing Out There?’" Liberator Jan. 1919: 14-15. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “Self-Reliance.” Ralph Waldo Em- erson. Ed. Richard Poirier. New York: Oxford UP, 1990. 131-51. Harding, Walter. The Days of Henry Thoreau. 1962. New York: Dover, 1982. Weiss, John. “Thoreau.” Christian Examiner July 1865: 96-117. 
work_3p4dc3x57vhudkytg27y7w64vi	----	331 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 Gandhi’s Progressive Disillusionment: Thumbs, Fingers, and the Rejection of Scientific Modernism in Hind Swaraj Keith Breckenridge Gandhi wrote Hind Swaraj — the anticolonial manifesto that defined him as one of the key political actors of the twentieth century — after six years of struggle over the fingerprint registration of Indians in the Transvaal. His little book is an angry disavowal of the political benefits of late- nineteenth- century progressivism — the widely held view that advances in industry and sci- ence were leading to better societies and better individuals. Where progressives extolled the benefits of modern medicine, Gandhi saw new opportunities for evil; where they celebrated the efficiencies and time- saving of long- distance rail transport and the telegraph, he found sources of conflict and disease; where they applauded the social benefits of modern education, Gandhi worried that sym- pathetic morality was being overturned by a “clear, cold, logic engine” of self- interest.1 This rejection of the apparent benefits of progress became the distinc- tive element of Gandhi’s politics after May 1908, but it has few precedents in his political arguments in the previous decades.2 Many scholars have commented on the extraordinary change in his politics in this period, and some have pointed to the special role that the struggle with the Transvaal state played in the development of his political philosophy.3 But Public Culture 23:2 doi 10.1215/08992363-1161940 Copyright 2011 by Duke University Press 1. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, “Hind Swaraj” and Other Writings, ed. Anthony J. Parel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 101. 2. The most influential study of Gandhi’s anti-progressive views is Partha Chatterjee, National- ist Thought and the Colonial World: A Derivative Discourse (London: Zed Books, 1986), 85–126, which creates the misleading impression that the views Gandhi presented in Hind Swaraj were held consistently throughout his life. 3. Surendra Bhana and Goolam Vahed, The Making of a Political Reformer: Gandhi in South Africa, 1893 – 1914 (New Delhi: Monahar, 2005), 19; Paul F. Power, “Gandhi in South Africa,” PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 331 4/6/11 2:44:04 PM Public Culture 332 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 all of these studies rest upon a simplification of Gandhi’s role in these events that effectively clouds our understanding of the origins of Hind Swaraj and his antiprogressive politics. In this article I want to show that Gandhi’s entanglement with the design of the systems of identity in South Africa in the first decade of the twentieth century was the source of the ideas in Hind Swaraj and of his repudia- tion of progressivism. Gandhi’s struggle with the Transvaal state may be one of the most widely known episodes of twentieth- century history. In this story, Gandhi organized popular resistance to a law that subjected Indian and Chinese immigrants to a stigmatizing system of fingerprint identity registration. The key moment in the struggle came in September 1906, when the protesters collectively resolved to accept imprisonment “rather than submit to the galling, tyrannous and un- British requirements” of the new law.4 In the new official history of South Africa this act of defiance was the first in a long history of passive resistance to racist law.5 Aside from ushering into existence the new political philosophy of satyagraha, the pact led to a stunningly successful campaign of noncooperation. The resistance dis- solved during the first weeks of 1908 as Gandhi came to an agreement with the politician Jan Smuts to submit to voluntary registration in exchange for the with- drawal of the stigmatizing law. Two crises then confronted Gandhi: the first was the bewilderment and anger of his constituents at the betrayal of the promise of resistance, epitomized in a vicious assault on the streets of Johannesburg by a group of Pathan veterans, and the second was Smuts’s refusal to withdraw the original act. By the end of 1908, Gandhi’s campaign of mass resistance had col- lapsed and he sought, instead, to mobilize small groups of dedicated satyagrahis who were prepared to sacrifice everything in defiance of the law. It was only in Journal of Modern African Studies 7 (1969): 450; Judith M. Brown, Gandhi: Prisoner of Hope (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1991), 55, 87; Uma Dhupelia- Mesthrie, Gandhi’s Prisoner? The Life of Gandhi’s Son Manilal (Cape Town, South Africa: Kwela Books, 2007), 76 – 77; Louis Fischer, The Life of Mahatma Gandhi (London: HarperCollins, 1997), 109; Judith M. Brown and Martin Prozesky, eds., Gandhi and South Africa: Principles and Politics (Pietermaritzburg, South Africa: University of Natal Press, 1996); Maureen Swan, Gandhi: The South African Experience (Johannesburg: Ravan, 1985), 163. 4. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, “The Mass Meeting.” Indian Opinion, September 15, 1906, in Gandhi, The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi (New Delhi: Publications Division, Govern- ment of India, 1999), 5:337. 5. This narrative is most clearly presented in the museum at the new Constitutional Court, a building fashioned out of the Old Fort Prison complex in Johannesburg. See, as a summary account, “The Satyagraha Campaign 1906,” South African History Online, n.d., www.sahistory.org.za/pages/ governence- projects/passive- resistance/1906.htm (accessed September 2, 2010). PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 332 4/6/11 2:44:04 PM Gandhi’s Progressive Disillusionment 333 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 1912, with his discovery of the grievances of the indentured Indians in Natal, that satyagraha again took on the qualities of a successful mass movement. The South African satyagraha story has a heroic quality that derives from its special place in the biography of one of the great leaders of the twentieth century, but it also brought together a remarkable group of political antagonists. Aside from Gandhi, Smuts was the leading politician of the new South African Union, and a decade later he would become one of the most influential figures in Britain and the empire. As Mark Mazower’s recent study of the United Nations shows, Smuts dragged the conflict with Gandhi with him into the new imperial conflicts of the 1940s.6 There is also an irony here, for Smuts was actually implementing a plan that had been drawn up by Lord Alfred Milner’s government. Milner, it is worth emphasizing, was the outstanding English advocate of the new imperialism and (at this time) Smuts’s bitter enemy. But he was also, like the colonial secre- tary Joseph Chamberlain, an outstanding critic of Gladstonian liberalism and an advocate of social imperialism (the progressives’ theory that the empire should be the source of improved welfare in Britain).7 Milner’s agent in the effort to curtail Indian immigration to the Transvaal — and the architect of the draconian scheme of fingerprint registration — was Lionel Curtis. Curtis, in turn, was the moving spirit of the Round Table movement, and he would go on to confront Gandhi again in India in the 1920s. Important elements of Gandhi’s critique of modernity were shared by those who wielded power in South Africa in the first decade of the twentieth century; he was a product of late- nineteenth- century antimodernism, drawn to the same critiques of laissez- faire liberalism as imperial progressives like Milner and Curtis. T. J. Jackson Lears argues that a yearning for “authentic experience,” a desire to throw off the material encumbrances of industrial civilization, was the common feature of the broad range of late- nineteenth- century antimodernists.8 Anglo- American antimodernism incorporated movements in search of the moral rewards of craft work, of the simple agricultural life, of the self- sacrificing virtue of military service, of the discipline and exultation of ancient religion, and, above all, of minutely arranged therapeutic schemes for an always retreating physical 6. Mark Mazower, No Enchanted Palace: The End of Empire and the Ideological Origins of the United Nations, Lawrence Stone Lectures (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2009). 7. Bernard Semmel, Imperialism and Social Reform: English Social- Imperial Thought, 1895 – 1914 (London: Allen and Unwin, 1960), 183. 8. T. J. Jackson Lears, No Place of Grace: Antimodernism and the Transformation of American Culture, 1880 – 1920 (New York: Pantheon, 1981), 57. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 333 4/6/11 2:44:04 PM Public Culture 334 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 well- being.9 Often following John Ruskin or Lev Tolstoy, these movements were an effort to escape the pervasive and numbing benefits of industrial capitalism. Gandhi shared all of these preoccupations. But unlike his antimodernist peers in the United States and England, whom Lears has followed in coming to a meek accommodation with corporate managerialism, Gandhi broke decisively, and irrevocably, with progressivism in May 1908.10 This rupture was prompted by his realization that the imperial progressives were wedded to the ideology of segrega- tion, and the technologies of fingerprinting, as tools for the making of a racially defined state. What I want to show here is that Gandhi’s radical rejection of pro- gressivism was impelled by his own participation in the design of this racialized modernism. Key, then, to understanding the bitter rejection of Western modernity in gen- eral, and colonial government in particular, in the Hind Swaraj was its author’s earlier involvement in the design of the administrative procedures of progressive imperialism in the Transvaal. Contrary to the popular view of his role, before 1908 Gandhi saw himself as an expert administrator and an architect of more efficient and secure legal mechanisms for regulating the movement and identity of Indians in South Africa.11 He was an early advocate of administrative finger- printing for South African Indians. In 1904, when he recommended to the Natal government that illiterate Indians should be required to provide thumbprints on promissory notes, the law was revised to accommodate his suggestion. While he was in the thick of the conflict with Smuts, he mastered Edward Henry’s Clas- sification and Uses of Finger Prints and became an expert on the administrative costs and benefits of ten- print and thumbprint registration. When he endorsed full- print registration in 1908, he was accepting Smuts’s argument that the state required a scientific basis for identification, and he used the same scientific vir- tues of ten- print registration to cajole the Indians in the Transvaal to register. The emphasis Gandhi placed on consent worked to bolster the reasonable- ness of his protests against stigmatizing administrative requirements, and, after 1908, he argued that it provided a tool to dissolve the hold of the administrative procedures he had helped design. But in this respect he was wrong. Despite his claims, at the time and in years afterward, the Asiatic fingerprint registry that was built in these months remained a tool of policing, taxation, and movement con- 9. Lears, No Place of Grace, 57. 10. Lears, No Place of Grace. 11. In this respect Adam McKeown is correct that Gandhi’s politics encouraged the bureaucrati- zation of immigration systems. See Adam McKeown, Melancholy Order: Asian Migration and the Globalization of Borders (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 317. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 334 4/6/11 2:44:04 PM Gandhi’s Progressive Disillusionment 335 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 trol of precision and longevity unprecedented in the history of the South African state. Despite his constant claims to the contrary, afterward there was no way to withdraw the fingerprint registrations once they had been offered. It was substan- tially for this reason that in the year before the writing of Hind Swaraj he was abandoned and castigated by the group he had toiled to represent. His precocious and furious rejection in 1908 of what Ashis Nandy calls technologism may make particular sense in the light of this horrible predicament.12 Much of what Gandhi believed in 1909 about the virtues of traditional India he learned from fin de siècle antimodernism.13 He rediscovered the virtues of the Gita in London after the encouragement of two English theosophists.14 Two of the three key intellectual figures in his life, Ruskin and Tolstoy, were the pillars of middle- class criticism of industrial society in the Atlantic. The appendix of liter- ary authorities that he appended to the Hind Swaraj reads like a short list of rec- ommended readings for nineteenth- century antimodernism, stressing his devotion to Tolstoy, Edward Carpenter, Ruskin, and Henry David Thoreau. After working in the cities of Durban and Johannesburg for almost his entire adult life, even Gan- dhi’s account of the political virtues of the Indian village was derived from Henry Sumner Maine’s Village Communities in the East and West and his preoccupation with handspinning as the remedy for the economic ills of the subcontinent from George C. M. Birdwood’s Industrial Arts of India.15 I think that it is indeed sig- nificant that, as Nandy pointed out, “almost all of Gandhi’s gurus were Western intellectuals.”16 The significance is double sided — explaining much, on the one hand, about Gandhi’s politics, but also, on the other, about the global history and politics of antimodernism viewed outside the national frames of American (or British) history. The fingerprint registration struggle in the Transvaal was “the crucial moment for Gandhi and the history of colonial resistance movements,” not 12. Ashis Nandy, “From Outside the Imperium: Gandhi’s Cultural Critique of the ‘West,’ ” Alter- natives 7 (1981): 176 – 77. 13. See Nandy, “From Outside the Imperium.” 14. Brown, Gandhi: Prisoner of Hope, 25. 15. Anthony J. Parel, “Editor’s Introduction,” in “Hind Swaraj” and Other Writings, by Mohan- das Karamchand Gandhi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), xlii – xlv; Lears, No Place of Grace, 75 – 82. On Maine, see Gandhi, “Baroda: A Model Indian State,” Indian Opinion, June 3, 1905, in Collected Works, 4:302. That Gandhi had read Birdwood and Maine is clear from Gandhi, “Petition to Natal Legislative Assembly,” June 28, 1894, in Collected Works, volume 1; and Patrick Brantlinger, “A Postindus- trial Prelude to Postcolonialism: John Ruskin, William Morris, and Gandhism,” Critical Inquiry 22 (1996): 466 – 85. 16. Nandy, “From Outside the Imperium,” 172. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 335 4/6/11 2:44:04 PM Public Culture 336 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 because it provided a new kind of political struggle but because, through the Hind Swaraj, it reinvigorated and redirected nineteenth- century antimodernism.17 At precisely the same time as the critics of industrialism in America and England were gradually making peace with the expert- led factory system, Gan- dhi was being driven away from it. In the years between 1893 and 1908 Gandhi offered a continuous stream of helpful suggestions to the colonial government to iron out the kinks, loopholes, and unnecessary injustices of colonial administra- tion. In the manner in which he ran his legal office, and in his relationships with officials in Natal and the Transvaal, he functioned in this period as a volunteer bureaucrat. That practice came, mostly, to an end in 1908. His turn to Tolstoy’s simple life and Ruskin’s critique of industrial capitalism came after the struggle over the fingerprint registration of the Transvaal Indians had begun in earnest. The “remarkable transformation in Gandhi between 1906 and 1909” that many scholars have discerned was his movement from managerialism to antimodern- ism, precisely the opposite journey to the one undertaken by key progressive crit- ics of industrialism in the North Atlantic.18 Gandhi was on the same road as the other progressives, like Beatrice Webb and Jane Addams, but he was moving in the opposite direction.19 Advocate of Thumbprinting Gandhi returned to South Africa from India early in 1903, with the expectation that “our position in the Transvaal is and ought to be infinitely stronger than else- where.”20 He quickly began to realize that the British government under Milner had plans to exercise a more onerous set of administrative controls over the mixed population they defined as Asiatic. When Gandhi managed to secure an audience with Milner in June 1903, the organizations representing the interests of Indian merchants protested the new administration’s plans for enforcement of the old republic’s Law 3 of 1885. The main elements of this newly enforced law included draconian limits on Asian immigration, a registration fee of three pounds for every adult male, and the threat of the restriction of trade to segregated bazaars. 17. Paul F. Power, “Gandhi in South Africa,” Journal of Modern African Studies 7 (1969): 350. 18. Bhana and Vahed, The Making of a Political Reformer, 19. 19. Lears, No Place of Grace, 81 – 83. See also Power, “Gandhi in South Africa,” 450; The Diary of Beatrice Webb, vol. 1, Glitter around and Darkness Within, 1873 – 1892, ed. Jeanne MacKenzie and Norman Ian MacKenzie (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1982); and The Diary of Beatrice Webb, vol. 2, All the Good Things of Life, 1892 – 1905, ed. Norman Ian MacKenzie and Jeanne MacKenzie (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1983). 20. Swan, Gandhi: The South African Experience, 58. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 336 4/6/11 2:44:05 PM Gandhi’s Progressive Disillusionment 337 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 21. Gandhi, “The British Indian Association and Lord Milner,” Indian Opinion, June 11, 1903, in Collected Works, 3:64 – 73; Gandhi, “Oppression in the Cape,” Indian Opinion, December 29, 1906, in Collected Works, 6:201; Gandhi, “A Dialogue on the Compromise,” Indian Opinion, February 8, 1908, in Collected Works, 8:136 – 47. 22. Gandhi, “The British Indian Association and Lord Milner,” Indian Opinion, June 11, 1903, in Collected Works, 3:70. 23. Gandhi, “Fair and Just Treatment,” Indian Opinion, August 11, 1906, in Collected Works, 3:300. 24. Gandhi, “Statement by the Delegates on Behalf of the British Indians in the Transvaal regard- ing the ‘Petition’ from Dr. William Godfrey and Another and Other Matters,” November 20, 1906, in Collected Works, 6:126. A politics of the technology of identification registration quickly moved to the foreground of this conflict. At the meeting Gandhi protested that Indians were being forced to provide three photographs to secure passes to leave, and return to, the colony. He objected that this special requirement implied that “all Indians were criminally inclined,” but, as he remarked repeatedly over the next five years, he also found the use of photographs invasive, and abusive, bearing the taint of criminality.21 Milner promised Gandhi that he would consider “the points you have made about photographs, about the difficulty of getting the title to mosques registered in your own names, and about passes,” but he also announced that the state intended to create a special-purpose Asiatic Department and to impose a systemic program of identity registration on Indians particularly.22 One deeply significant result of this cordial meeting, and the negotiations for the simplifica- tion of the permit system that followed, was that the representatives of the Indians in the Transvaal agreed to take out a new set of registration certificates, incor- porating, for the first time, the use of the thumbprint as a marker of identifica- tion.23 These documents, which Gandhi later claimed were adopted voluntarily “to please Lord Milner,” marked the beginnings of a system of identity for Indians in South Africa that hinged on fingerprinting.24 Gandhi’s own views on thumbprints at this time were shaped by his efforts to foster a politics of discrimination, to separate out his wealthy, literate clients from the broader mass of indentured and ex- indentured workers. A year after his meeting with Milner, Gandhi wrote to the attorney general of the Colony of Natal urging him to include a legal requirement that illiterate Indians should be required to provide a thumbprint on any contracts of debt. “I venture to think that if in this excellent measure a clause,” he noted of the draft bill regulating debt contracts for Indians, “is inserted that those who cannot sign their names in English characters should, in addition to putting the mark, put their thumb impression also, it would be a complete measure for the safeguard sought for in the bill.” While the officials PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 337 4/6/11 2:44:05 PM Public Culture 338 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 in Natal were calling for “promissory notes not written and signed in English in the maker’s own hand- writing” to be invalid unless made in the presence of a mag- istrate, Gandhi suggested, with his experience of the Transvaal permit system in mind, only a “thumb impression would completely protect innocent persons.”25 A week later he elaborated on the same point in Indian Opinion. After first congratulating the Natal government for introducing the bill to control the sign- ing of promissory notes by Indians, he worried about the great legal weight that would be accorded to notes signed before a government representative. “It has been found that it is impossible to forge a thumb- mark,” he advised his readers, “and the thumb- impression would be the surest safeguard against impersonation, for it may happen that the man who may put his mark before a Magistrate or a Justice of the Peace may not at all be the person intended to be charged with the debt.”26 Gandhi’s daily negotiations for his clients suggest that he viewed the thumbprint as a reliable administrative remedy to the “question of fraud.” As late as August 1905, his application for a certificate of return for Abdul Kadir, one of the wealthiest men in Durban and the president of the Natal Indian Congress, noted approvingly that “the thumb impression on the certificate you may issue would prevent its use by any one else.”27 There is no sign in these early interventions of Gandhi’s later concern with the implications of what he, and others, called class legislation or the racial taint — the special, criminalizing focus of legislation on Indians as a group. Indeed, his role in the years between 1902 and 1906 was to act as an advocate of special legisla- tion for Indians. This is probably because he did not see any reason to articulate the need for exemptions for “well- known” members of the merchant elite. His position changed early in 1906 as the state, chiefly through Curtis’s office, began to plan to build a ten- print fingerprint register and apply the routines of thumb- print identification where impersonation was unthinkable.28 When the permit 25. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi to Attorney General, Natal, “Letter to Attorney General,” June 30, 1904, Pietermaritzburg Archives Repository (NAB), Minister of Justice and Public Works (MJPW), Volume 128, Reference MJ1287, “MK Gandhi Re bill to regulate the signing of negotiable instruments by Indians. Suggests the finger prints also be taken,” June 30, 1904. 26. Gandhi, “Indian Promissory Notes,” Indian Opinion, July 2, 1904, in Collected Works, 4:28. 27. Interestingly, Gandhi makes no mention of the history of thumbprinting in India in these recommendations. For that history, see Chandak Sengoopta, Imprint of the Raj: How Fingerprinting Was Born in Colonial India (Basingstoke, U.K.: Macmillan, 2003), and Gandhi, “Letter to Chief Secretary for Permits,” Letter to Chief Secretary for Permits, August 8, 1905, in Collected Works, 4:375. 28. Gandhi, “Deputation to Colonial Secretary,” Indian Opinion, March 17, 1906, in Collected Works, 5:127. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 338 4/6/11 2:44:05 PM Gandhi’s Progressive Disillusionment 339 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 officer at the border post at Volksrust on the road from Durban to Johannesburg “had the effrontery to ask Mr Johari,” the representative of the Natal firm of Aboobaker Amod and Bros. — “a cultured Indian” who had “travelled in Europe and America” — to “put his thumb- impress on his book,” Gandhi protested the unmistakable racist insult. Thumbprints — at least for respectable, known, and literate members of the Indian elite — were horribly degrading. “Well may Mr Johari ask,” he wrote to Indian Opinion, “whether he is to be treated as a crimi- nal, without being guilty of any offence, save that of wearing a brown skin.”29 Scientific Thumbs From the start of 1906, Curtis began to build the case for an elaborate, centralized fingerprint registration scheme designed to “shut the gate against the influx of an Asiatic population” and to “guard the Transvaal as a white reserve.”30 For the next two years Gandhi campaigned locally and internationally to limit the effects of this register without contradicting the “principle of white predominance.”31 Gan- dhi’s objection in this period was to the racist logic of the new law that targeted Indians and Chinese immigrants; he argued for a set of immigration and trade licensing restrictions of “general application,” not the “class legislation” that Cur- tis had in mind.32 This argument worked to delay Curtis’s project until the open- ing of the white legislature in the Transvaal in 1907. Faced with a unanimously racist local parliament, Gandhi insisted that the most effective strategy for remov- ing the racial taint was a combination of collective resistance to the unjust law and the offer of voluntary submission to the requirements of the Asiatic Registrar.33 Toward the end of 1907, before the famous agreement with Smuts, he began to urge his audience to consent to a voluntary round of registration. To do this Gandhi insisted on the scientific qualities of thumbprint identification using his reading of Henry’s Classification and Uses of Finger Prints. His first object was to persuade the audience of Indian Opinion that there was nothing degrading, 29. Gandhi, “A Contrast,” Indian Opinion, March 10, 1906, in Collected Works, 5:113. 30. Lionel Curtis, Assistant Colonial Secretary (Division II), Letter to Patrick Duncan, Colonial Secretary, “Position of Asiatics in the Transvaal,” May 1, 1906. LTG 97, 97/03/01 Asiatics Permits, 1902–7, Transvaal Archives Repository (TAB) Lieutenant Governor (LTG), Volume 97, Reference 97/03/01 Asiatics Permits, 1902–7 31. Gandhi, “Statement Presented to Constitution Committee,” Indian Opinion, May 26, 1906, in Collected Works, 5:238. 32. Gandhi, “Statement Presented to Constitution Committee,” Indian Opinion, May 26, 1906, in Collected Works, 5:239. 33. Swan, Gandhi: The South African Experience, 141 – 61. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 339 4/6/11 2:44:05 PM Public Culture 340 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 or peculiar, about having to give up their thumbprints. “In England they have become a rage,” he assured his readers. “Friends send their thumb- impressions to one another.” He reminded them of the widespread use of thumbprints in India for government transactions and of the fact that in Natal — he did not say that it was owing to his own recommendation — “it is the practice to have thumb- impressions on promissory notes.”34 Writing in Gujarati, Gandhi then explained the workings of the fingerprint repository. He contrasted the system of thumbprints, which he saw as an aid to identification, with the registration of ten fingerprints directed at people who want to hide their identities. His account closely followed the explanation that Henry presented in his book. Fingerprints were taken from criminals precisely because they want to hide, or lie about their names, and the prints allowed the state to deter- mine their identity. “A person who has been required to give impressions of all fingers and thumbs can be identified by means of these impressions,” he explained; by using the different categories of patterns on the prints made it was “possible to prepare an index with the help of the impressions.” And it was the index that made it possible to identify someone, “even if he has not given his correct name.”35 Gandhi was insistent that, because the Indian traders in the Transvaal wanted to be recognized, ten- print finger registration was unnecessarily degrading and wasteful. He had no sympathy for the complaints of confusion and impersona- tion that issued from the Asiatic Registrar’s office, because he believed in the efficacy of the thumbprinting system; he argued in court and in the newspapers that thumbprinting had successfully eradicated “trafficking in permits.”36 Finger- printing, he argued, was completely unnecessary for the Indian in the Transvaal because he “wants himself to be identified.” The special relationship between the Transvaal Indians and the Asiatic Register was at the core of this desire to be recognized. “If his name is not on the records of the Government, he cannot live here,” Gandhi explained; “if he does not describe himself correctly, he cannot live in this country.” Running through this campaign, significant in the light of Gandhi’s later discontent with science in Hind Swaraj, was his insistence that his “argument has a scientific basis.”37 34. Gandhi, “Johannesburg Letter,” Indian Opinion, December 28, 1907, in Collected Works, 8:39. 35. Gandhi, “Johannesburg Letter,” December 28, 1907. 36. Gandhi, “Trial of PK Naidoo and Others,” Indian Opinion, December 28, 1907, in Collected Works, 8:41. 37. Gandhi, “Johannesburg Letter,” December 28, 1907. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 340 4/6/11 2:44:05 PM Gandhi’s Progressive Disillusionment 341 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 38. Assistant Colonial Secretary to Secretary to the Law Department, “Letter to Secretary to the Law Department,” June 19, 1907, Secretary to the Law Department (LD) 1466 AG2497/07 Finger Impressions, 1907, National Archives Repository (Transvaal Archives Bureau) (TAD). 39. Simon A. Cole, Suspect Identities: A History of Fingerprinting and Criminal Identification (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 174. The controversy over the scientific basis of latent identification continues unabated. See Simon A. Cole, “Is Fingerprint Identification Valid? Rhetorics of Reliability in Fingerprint Proponents’ Discourse,” Law and Policy 28 (2006): 109 – 35. For Galton’s demonstration of a one in “ten thousand million” chance of a match between a single fingerprint and the entire global population, see Francis Galton, Finger Prints (London: Macmillan, 1892), 111. 40. Cole, Suspect Identities, 174. Scientific Fingers As the time approached for the Asiatic Bill to become law, Smuts, serving as the colonial secretary of the new responsible government in the Transvaal, began to have doubts about the wisdom of Curtis’s elaborate plan to extract ten fingerprints from each of the Asians in the Transvaal. In June 1907 he wrote, as a “matter of extreme urgency,” to the state’s legal advisers and to the head of the Transvaal Criminal Investigation Division that Henry had set up in 1900. After pointing out that the ten-impression requirement was derived from the system of Chinese indenture, he asked whether “in view of the strong agitation on the subject it might be desirable to adhere to the present system of identification by which the imprint of the right hand thumb only is required.” But Smuts’s question contained a rider, one that would provide the basis not only for his own insistence on ten- print registration but also for a dramatic reversal of Gandhi’s own attitude. He was content to retain the thumbprint system “provided always that the single imprint can be relied upon as sufficient evidence of identification to satisfy the courts.”38 It is important to keep in mind that in the decade after Henry’s departure from South Africa the legal basis of single-fingerprint — what would later be called latent-print — identification did not even exist in theory. There was, at this time, no meaningful statistical basis for the claims popularized by Francis Galton and Henry that each fingerprint was unique. (It was only in 1910 that the Parisian criminologist Victor Balthazard elaborated on Galton’s casual discussion of the improbability of matching fingerprint minutiae to make the kind of statistical claim that might support forensic uniqueness.)39 In the meantime, the claims that the new fingerprint experts were making about single- print identification were being received skeptically in the courts and outside them.40 In the face of this uncertainty the South African state’s legal advisers opted for statistical certainty. “The only really safe course,” they argued, “is to adopt a system of taking ten PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 341 4/6/11 2:44:05 PM Public Culture 342 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 41. T. E. Mavrogordato (Acting Chief Detective Inspector, Criminal Investigation Department), “Letter to Commissioner of Police,” June 19, 1907, TAD; Tennant, Secretary to Law Department to Assistant Colonial Secretary, Pretoria, “Letter to Assistant Colonial Secretary,” June 19, 1907, LD 1466 AG2497/07 Finger Impressions, 1907, TAD. 42. British Indian Association, “Petition to Secretary of State for Colonies,” September 9, 1908, in Gandhi, Collected Works, 9:119. 43. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, The Selected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, vol. 3, Satyagraha in South Africa, ed. Ahriman Narayan (Ahmadabad, India: Navajivan, 1968), 127. 44. Gandhi, “Dialogue on the Compromise.” digit impressions.”41 Here, then, was the argument that Smuts, the lawyer, would use to persuade the lawyer, Gandhi, to change his very public opposition to ten- print registration. Later in the year, after Gandhi had broken off his negotiations with Smuts, he wrote to Herbert Henry Asquith’s government to explain the compromise. The Indians had agreed to give up their fingerprints “only in order to enable the Government to have a scientific classification.”42 In the history of satyagraha that he wrote and published in the 1920s, Gandhi attributed the struggle to Curtis’s clumsy enthusiasm for the “scientific method.”43 But in the months between Janu- ary and June 1908, as he sought to encourage his own supporters to submit to fingerprint registration, he became a passionate advocate of the scientific and pro- gressive merits of fingerprinting. In his writings in Indian Opinion in the month after the compromise, Gandhi repeatedly berated his audience for their obsession with fingerprinting. But he simultaneously presented a fervent case for full fingerprint registration as a tech- nology of government in his letters. The most important of these statements is “A Dialogue on the Compromise,” which adopts, for the first time, the elastic Socratic style that he would use in Hind Swaraj.44 Gandhi’s enthusiasm for the biometric state (elaborating on his earlier claims for the scientific virtues of thumbprinting) showed off his courtroom skills. Gone, now, was his outrage over the criminal- izing effects of ten- print registration, the emotional risks to the family, religious objections to the making of images, and the dangers to the honor of men. In their places, he presented an implausible case for the scientific merits of voluntary sub- mission to ten- print fingerprinting. This argument — which showed his appeals to Smuts as untenable and obnoxious — was the antithesis of the trenchant assault on scientific modernity that he began to articulate the following year (and which finds its completed form in Hind Swaraj). In his attempts to persuade his audience of the virtues of fingerprinting, Gan- dhi echoed the arguments of Henry and Galton. “The fact is that for the identi- fication [of pass holders] and for the prevention of fraud,” he told his bewildered PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 342 4/6/11 2:44:05 PM Gandhi’s Progressive Disillusionment 343 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 audience, “digit- impressions offer a simple, effective and scientific means.”45 The theme of the scientific, modernizing character of fingerprinting provided the core of his new advocacy. He explained that “finger- impressions are likely to be intro- duced everywhere sooner or later” because “from a scientific point of view, they are the most effective means of identification.”46 Fingerprints, he suggested, were “a thousand times better” than the photographs that were being introduced on documents of identification in the Cape, because “they cannot offend anyone’s religious susceptibilities.” To soften the points he had earlier made about the stigma of ten- print fingerprinting, which was used in India and in Britain only to identify criminals, Gandhi pointed to the long experimental relationship between science and the prison system.47 When Edward Jenner discovered the smallpox vaccine, he first tested it on prisoners before offering it to the public. “No one could argue,” Gandhi claimed, “that the free population was thereby humiliated.” Now that fingerprints had been freed from the “enslaving law” that targeted Indi- ans as a race, he urged his readers to embrace them because of their “advantages from a scientific point of view.”48 These recommendations, and the prospect of Smuts’s draconian sanctions, worked well. During February the officials of the Asiatic Registry were overwhelmed by applications. At the end of the month, Gandhi reported that “about 95 per cent of the Indians have already given their finger- impressions.”49 Rejecting the Soulless Machine Gandhi’s manifesto was famously the product of defeat. It was written, as Mau- reen Swan observes, while he was “weighed down by the inadequacies of the first passive resistance movement.”50 In the months after his public agreement to begin voluntary registration, Gandhi began to realize that Smuts would not repeal the Black Act (No. 2 of 1907) that specifically targeted Indians for fingerprint identification, nor did he intend to allow exemptions for a small number of edu- cated Indians under the new immigration law. After encouraging his supporters to undergo registration for the first half of 1908, Gandhi finally announced the 45. Gandhi, “Johannesburg Letter,” Indian Opinion, February 29, 1908, in Collected Works, 8:169. 46. Gandhi, “Dialogue on the Compromise.” 47. Gandhi, “Letter to Colonial Secretary,” Indian Opinion, October 7, 1907, in Collected Works, 8:246–47. 48. Gandhi, “Johannesburg Letter,” February 29, 1908. 49. Gandhi, “Johannesburg Letter,” February 29, 1908. 50. Swan, Gandhi: The South African Experience, 177. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 343 4/6/11 2:44:05 PM Public Culture 344 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 resumption of resistance at a mass meeting held on August 16. Thousands of people gathered at the Fordsburg Mosque to offer up the paper certificates of their voluntary registration to be symbolically burned in a large cast- iron potjie (pot). But the exultant mood that greeted Gandhi’s return to opposition to the Black Act did not last. Faced with a barrage of penalties and punishments and a system of identification that left them naked in the face of the Asiatic Registry’s grasp, opposition collapsed utterly in the early months of 1909.51 Popular resistance on the Witwatersrand, the source of so much hope and strength, had dwindled to a handful of die- hard satyagrahis, many of them tar- geted for deportation. In the months immediately preceding the Hind Swaraj’s composition, Gandhi had been locked in negotiations with the representatives of the Transvaal Boers in London. Smuts had, yet again, rejected his conservative proposals to make space for the principle of nonracial legal equality in the new South African constitution. And in Natal, open conflict had broken out between the (mostly Hindu) ex- indentured small- scale farmers and the (mostly Muslim) merchants.52 Everywhere Gandhi turned, his South African project was in ruins. One result was the retreat of the faithful to Tolstoy Farm, outside Johannesburg, with a growing emphasis was on the moral, and interior, qualities of satyagraha; valuing personal integrity above material benefit and political advantage was another. But Gandhi also began to deploy the apocalyptic language of the social revolutionary, rejecting in sweeping and contemptuous terms the foundations of the English liberal civilization that he had defended so vigorously before 1908. The origins of this militant rejection of Western modernity lay in his bitter experi- ence of the compromises over fingerprint registration. By the middle of 1908, it was the machine, and the horrifying effects of a normative physics that sought to treat human beings as machines, that pos- sessed Gandhi. “Machinery is the chief symbol of modern civilisation,” he says in Hind Swaraj. “It represents a great sin.” Like the Luddites he worried about the destructiveness of modern technologies, but when he claimed that machinery “has impoverished India” he had in mind a much wider cultural and religious decline.53 This obsession was unmistakably taken from Ruskin’s work Unto This Last, which he began to expound on in detail in the last weeks of May, as the com- 51. Swan, Gandhi: The South African Experience, 175, 173 – 78. 52. Swan, Gandhi: The South African Experience, 177, 200; Marilyn Lake and Henry Reyn- olds, Drawing the Global Colour Line: White Men’s Countries and the International Challenge of Racial Equality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 217; Bhana and Vahed, Making of a Political Reformer, 67. 53. Gandhi, Hind Swaraj, 107. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 344 4/6/11 2:44:06 PM Gandhi’s Progressive Disillusionment 345 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 54. John Ruskin, Unto This Last, 1860, www.efm.bris.ac.uk/het/ruskin/ruskin (accessed October 5, 2009). 55. Gandhi, “Sarvodaya,” Indian Opinion, May 16, 1908, in Collected Works, 8:316. 56. Gandhi, “Sarvodaya,” Indian Opinion, May 16, 1908, in Collected Works, 8:316. 57. See the insightful account of the origins of Hind Swaraj in Parel, “Editor’s Introduction,” in Gandhi, Hind Swaraj, xxxvii – xli; Gandhi, “Sarvodaya,” Indian Opinion, July 18, 1908, in Collected Works, 8:455. promise with Smuts was disintegrating. For Ruskin the central problem of modern English political life was the application of a Smithian physics to the govern- ment of human beings. “Let us eliminate the inconstants,” he mocked the political economists, “and, considering the human being merely as a covetous machine, examine by what laws of labour, purchase, and sale, the greatest accumulative result in wealth is obtainable.”54 Raging against the obvious moral effects of the capitalist market as a guide to the good, Ruskin insisted that the human being was “an engine whose motive power is a Soul.” This claim, that Western modernity had abandoned its metaphysical compass in its frantic search for material prosper- ity, became the key argument of Gandhi’s political philosophy. He chose the title “Sarvodaya” (“The Advancement of All”) for his detailed Gujarati paraphrasing of Unto This Last in Indian Opinion.55 And his introduc- tion frames Ruskin as the most important English critic of Jeremy Bentham, dis- missing the claim that the goal of society should be “the happiness of the greatest number,” even “if it is secured at the cost of the minority” and in violation of divine law.56 Two months later, when he had completed the nine- part transla- tion and the compromise with Smuts had collapsed into bitter conflict, Gandhi’s explanation of the significance of Ruskin’s work had expanded into a wholesale rejection of modern capitalism. All of the arguments of Hind Swaraj are presented in summary in this con- cluding comment, with a much more direct link to the lessons of the political struggle in South Africa. Writing a year before his encounters with the young radicals in London in 1909, Gandhi warned the enthusiasts of violence that “the bombs with which the British will have been killed will fall on India after the British leave.”57 He reminded his readers that despite the comparative youth of European civilization, it had already been reduced “to a state of cultural anarchy” and stood on the brink of a terrible war. And he asked them if the sovereignty they hankered for was the kind that Smuts had secured for the Transvaal. Smuts, who “does not keep any promise, oral or written,” represented a political elite “who serve only their own interests” and who “will be ready to rob their own people after they have done with robbing others.” Real sovereignty for India would follow PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 345 4/6/11 2:44:06 PM Public Culture 346 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 from the number of citizens who chose to live a moral life, and it “will not be pos- sible for us to achieve it by establishing big factories” or through the “accumula- tion of gold and silver.” All this, he said very generously, “has been convincingly proved by Ruskin.”58 A key part of this critique, much of which would not have been imaginable by Ruskin writing in the 1850s, was a fierce rejection of the benefits of the tech- nologies of the second industrial revolution. When Gandhi was called to debate the question “Are Asiatics and Coloured races a menace to the Empire?” at the Johannesburg Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) on May 18, 1908, as Smuts’s refusal to withdraw the Black Act was becoming obvious, he spent much of his time rebutting the claims of the new “segregation policy.” Speaking in the city of gold, surrounded by the workshops, railways, and reduction works of the largest mines in the world, Gandhi warned his audience that “South Africa would be a howling wilderness without the Africans.” Segregation, he suggested, was a product of the ascendancy of the Spencerian moral philosophy of the “survival of the fittest,” which made physical and intellectual strength the means and the end of Western civilization. “I decline to believe,” he told the audience at the YMCA in terms that were elaborated in Hind Swaraj, “that it is a symbol of Christian progress that we have covered a large part of the globe with the telegraph system, that we have got telephones and ocean greyhounds, and that we have trains run- ning at a velocity of 50 or even 60 miles per hour.” Machines, on the contrary, had become the measure, and the telos, of a brutal, un- Christian, goalless, progress and the essence of “western civilisation.”59 Ruskin’s targets had been the political- economists, the destructive effects of the market, the mindless pursuit of wealth, and the neglect of the fashioning of good Souls. (Like Marx, he was concerned to inject the social into the economics of exchange.) “The real science of political economy, which has yet to be distinguished from the bastard science, as medicine from witchcraft, and astronomy from astrology,” he argued optimistically, “is that which teaches nations to desire and labour for the things that lead to life.” Ruskin exhorted his readers to consider whether the price they had paid in the market was fair for the producer, but he had almost nothing to say about the political dangers of machinery. That was a lesson Gandhi learned somewhere else. By the 1930s, Gandhi had come to the view that modern bureaucracy was an instrument of genocidal conflict. The state, he argued, was a “soulless machine” 58. Gandhi, “Sarvodaya [- IX],” Indian Opinion, July 18, 1908, in Collected Works, 8:455. 59. All quotations are from Gandhi, “Speech at YMCA.” Indian Opinion, May 18, 1908, in Col- lected Works, 8:319 – 24. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 346 4/6/11 2:44:06 PM Gandhi’s Progressive Disillusionment 347 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 which “can never be weaned from violence to which it owes its very existence.”60 The real danger, for India, was that progressive government threatened to intro- duce the state into every village and every home. He chastised the economic his- torian Manmohan P. Gandhi for suggesting that there were similarities between the character of violence under the Mogul state and its British colonial heir. “Formerly, the [Mogul] government touched the lives of only those who were connected with the administrative machinery,” Gandhi responded, anticipating Michel Foucault’s argument: “It is only in the present age that governments have become eager to extend their grip over entire populations.” In this project of uni- versal administration it was British rule that had “acquired the utmost efficiency” and posed the most serious danger to India.61 Many scholars have noted the profound shift in Gandhi’s politics in South Africa during 1908.62 In his own accounts the turn was a shift away from the external world to the interior self, from politically to personally motivated change, but there is an element of deception here. In South Africa in 1913, and after- ward in India, Gandhi’s interest in personal transformation was always attached (although the connection was often frayed) to the wider political force of mass protest. If anything, after 1908, Gandhi was more attentive to the ideological demands of maintaining a mass constituency than he had been before. His self- conscious adoption of the tactics of saintliness, deploying the life- threatening fast as a weapon against his friends and his enemies, ensured that he was almost invul- nerable to the charges of corruption and self- interest his critics used in 1908.63 The change was certainly not a dramatic disavowal of the British Empire. Gan- dhi’s views of the moral and political virtues, and failings, of the British Empire remained strikingly and consistently ambiguous from the 1890s into the 1930s. Nor was it a fundamental realization and rejection of the simplistic forms of rac- ism coursing through the empire in this period. Gandhi’s broadly Victorian and paternalistic views about the civilizational prospects of different races remained with him after 1908.64 60. Gandhi, “Interview to Nirmal Kumar Bose,” November 9, 1934, in Collected Works, 65:316. 61. Gandhi, “Letter to Manmohandas P. Gandhi,” March 3, 1930, in Collected Works, 48:371. 62. Bhana and Vahed, Making of a Political Reformer; Brown and Prozesky, Gandhi and South Africa; Gandhi, Hind Swaraj; Brown, Gandhi: Prisoner of Hope; Swan, Gandhi: The South African Experience. 63. Brown, Gandhi: Prisoner of Hope, 311. 64. “Administrative inequality must always exist so long as people who are not the same grade live under the same flag.” Gandhi, “Letter to ‘The Star,’ ” September 17, 1908, in Collected Works, 9:153. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 347 4/6/11 2:44:06 PM Public Culture 348 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 The real change was in his understanding of the nature and purpose of the state. Before 1908, he had seen the state as an instrument of harmony, shaped by science and law, and he had understood his own practice as an extension of that power. Afterward he viewed the “administrative machinery,” with its technologi- cal means and telos, as an instrument of destruction. The timing and character of this capsized view of the state suggests that it was his entanglement with the building of the fingerprint register that prompted the change. PC232_08_Breckenridge_2PP.indd 348 4/6/11 2:44:06 PM 
work_3q45vsigi5ajpp66tpgvmxequm	----	Hipness Left Behind: White Encounters with Hip in the Early Twentieth Century Hipness Left Behind: White Encounters with Hip in the Early Twentieth Century quarterlyhorse.org/winter17/cashbaugh Sean Cashbaugh (Stevens Institute of Technology) Hipness has been a recurrent subject of interest for historians and critics of American culture, as well as a common point of reference for discussions of the appropriative dialectic of “love and theft” between white and black subcultures.[1] Scholars have approached the cultural practices concentrated around mid-century black jazz musicians from multiple angles, variously characterizing hip as a distinct style, ideology, and subculture.[2] Recently, Phil Ford has argued that hipness denoted a negative “stance” towards dominant culture, an oppositional logic that undergirded the various practices associated with hipsters. Underlying these different approaches is an assumed narrative about hip’s entrance into the white imagination. It is a commonplace that in the postwar era, white artists like Mezz Mezzrow and Jack Kerouac appropriated the worldview forged by black artists and documented in the black press of the 1930s, extrapolating what LeRoi Jones called a “general alienation” from the specific alienation experienced by black jazz musicians to lay out a radical, albeit deeply problematic, critique of Cold War American culture as psychologically repressive and creatively stifling (219). This narrative’s predominance is not surprising.[3] Hip became a mass cultural phenomenon during this era. However, an overreliance on this narrative might obscure earlier encounters between white cultural rebels and the black cultures of resistance that nurtured hipness. After all, though hip’s etymology is uncertain, its conceptual history may stretch back to the eighteenth century.[4] Members of white subcultures likely encountered hip sensibilities before the late 1940s. An article by Tom J. Lewis titled “Get Hip” that appeared in the December 1910 issue of the International Socialist Review (ISR) suggests as much. Lewis was a white leftist affiliated with the Socialist Party of America (SPA). His article names “hip” as a distinct sensibility and conceptualizes it in terms that reflect contemporary scholarly understandings of hip as it would appear approximately forty years later, challenging common understandings of hip’s history and its entrance into the white imagination. Though obscure today, Lewis was a figure of some influence in the early twentieth century. He was a well-known labor organizer and soapbox orator known to have mentored famed Industrial Workers of the World labor leader and feminist Elizabeth Gurley Flynn (Flynn 62).[5] In 1910, Lewis was a militant member of the SPA, a staunch supporter of its rank-and-file members who served on its National Committee as one of Oregon’s representatives.[6] Though “Get Hip” was a short article and the only time Lewis ever used “hip” in his political writings, given his reputation and the broad reach of the ISR, it cannot be dismissed as anomalous.[7] 1/7 http://www.quarterlyhorse.org/winter17/cashbaugh In “Get Hip,” Lewis critiqued socialists who embraced reformist politics and admonished workers to adopt a militant stance, linking “hip” with revolutionary subjectivity.[8] He urged American workers to recognize that American capitalism could never be reformed, declaring that American workers were “hypnotized” by “such dope as better wages, shorter hours, three- cent car fare, reduction of taxes, and doing away with graft” (351). For Lewis, “such dope” fell short of the substantive structural change that was necessary to liberate the working class, only benefiting capitalists and their apologists, especially the craft-union oriented American Federation of Labor.[9] As he put it, “Our only hope is revolution, so let us keep manfully to our duties; avoid bunko-peddlers, saviors, hero-worshippers, and leaders. Be our own guides and continually agitate, educate, and organize on class, and not on craft, lines” (352). Here, to “get hip” was to recognize how capitalist ideology flowed through social life, dampening the demands of the working class by shoring up ineffective political strategies and tactics. For Lewis, revolutionaries were necessarily hip, possessing a perspective on social life that made revolution possible. Lewis’s call to revolutionary action does not immediately resemble mid-century conceptions of hip, as it lacks any clear connection to the stylistic traits typically associated with the hipness of postwar black jazz musicians and the white writers infatuated with them. However, Lewis’s vision of hip shares the same logic undergirding their conception of hipness. Like later hipsters, Lewis links hip with oppositional secret knowledge. Ford argues that the senses of hipness that first appeared in the 1930s and flourished in the 1950s hinged upon what anthropologist R. Lincoln Keiser has called “game ideology.” As Ford puts it, “Game ideology is a dualistic view, a way of looking at the world divided into false appearance and true-but- unseen reality. In such a schema, knowledge is hidden, occult; truth is esoteric and available only to the initiated” (55). Black hipsters saw American society as a rigged and bankrupt “game,” but one they could “hustle” against if they knew the “score”: such was the content of their secret knowledge. They attributed such bankruptcy to white supremacy. Rather than generalize this sensibility as postwar white hipsters did, Lewis substitutes American capitalism for white supremacy, conceptualizing a version of hip formally consistent with hipsters’ game ideology. He splits the world into authentic and inauthentic spheres, linking the former with revolutionary class consciousness and the latter with capitalist apologia. Militant class- conscious workers possessed the proper knowledge. They were “hip” to the problems of capitalism and to ineffective attempts to reform it. Their “hustle” was revolutionary action. The shared logic between Lewis’s sense of hip and later iterations of it indicates that the concept had accrued critical social valences long before scholars typically assume. Furthermore, it suggests that it was attractive to white radicals seeking a language of dissent before the postwar era. Prototypical forms of hipness can be found throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth century. John Leland, for instance, finds traces of it in various cultural practices ranging from blackface minstrelsy to the work of the Lost Generation. However, the word “hip” was never used in such contexts. Lewis, in contrast, found it appropriate to describe what amounts to a colloquial version of Marxist false-consciousness theory in such terms.[10] His critical deployment of hip suggests that the word and concept already denoted an oppositional logic consistent with that which found prominence in the 1940s and 1950s. 2/7 Given what is known about hip’s history, African American culture is the likely source of Lewis’s invocation of it, meaning the sensibility had crystalized and circulated with such frequency that members of dissident white subcultures could adopt it. This pushes the origins of contemporary understandings of hipness back by decades and urges us to consider postwar hipness not as its debut among white audiences, but as a moment it resonated in new ways. That is not to say a straight line can be drawn between “Get Hip” and the conceptions of it that reached mass audiences in the 1950s. Unlike Franklin Rosemont, who speculates that Lewis’s text might have been the starting point for the conceptions of hip made famous by writers like Kerouac (393-6), I believe Lewis’s is distinct.[11] It is a branch in the concept’s genealogy, one detached from black cultural practices like jazz music and hip’s traditional signifiers. Lewis’s hipness, after all, emerged in a vastly different context. Appearing within the American socialist movement, it was political in a way that of the postwar era never was. Hipsters of the 1940s and 1950s famously chose to “disaffiliate,” as Lawrence Lipton put it, from political institutions and ideologies of all orientations (149). Furthermore, this vision of hip never caught on. It failed: American workers did not answer Lewis’s call to “get hip.” Attending to these differences opens important areas of inquiry in studies of early twentieth century cultures of radicalism. Why did Lewis’s vision of hip fail to catch on? Were white socialists unwilling to adopt sensibilities linked to black communities? This is possible. The SPA was home to militant antiracists and fervent white supremacists, but the latter frequently dominated (Foner 104, Dawson 21-22). Lewis, however, was a known critic of white supremacy.[12] “Get Hip” could point to a synthesis of anti-capitalist and anti-racist critique that never took hold, though Lewis’s “class first” position might have occluded a thorough appreciation of race’s function in American society. It could point to a version of the “hipster” that never was, a lost opportunity for a syncretic cultural radicalism. Exploring the failure of socialists to “get hip” might clarify the relationships in the early twentieth century between whites seeking political modes of dissent and traditions of African American cultural resistance. Attending to the longer history of hip that Lewis’s article points to also challenges scholars and critics to insert the history of American radicalism into the story of hip’s postwar popularization. The recognition of Lewis’s emphatically political, though ultimately unpopular, vision of hip compels us to ask whether or not the turn away from conventional politics among disaffected whites in the postwar era was a precondition for their particular embrace of black argot, jazz, and the other signifiers of postwar hipness. It lets us ask why they “got hip” in a new way, adding another dimension to assessments of hip as an example of the appropriative dialectic of “love and theft” between white and black subcultures. NOTES 1. Norman Mailer’s “The White Negro: Superficial Reflections on the Hipster” (1957) is probably the most frequently cited twentieth century American example of this phenomenon. The phrase “of love and theft” is borrowed, of course, from Eric Lott’s work. 3/7 2. The scholarly literature on postwar ideas of hip is extensive. Ford’s recently published Dig: Sound and Music in Hip Culture (2013) is perhaps the most significant scholarly study of the subject. For other significant works, see Frank, Leland, MacAdams, Ross 65–101, Saul 29–96, and Szalay. 3. Journalist John Leland departs from this approach, citing Walt Whitman, blackface minstrels, Henry David Thoreau, and members of the Lost Generation as prototypical exemplars of hip sensibilities in the second and third chapters of Hip: The History. 4. Dizzy Gillespie, Greil Marcus, and John Leland, for instance, suggest “hip” derives from the Wolof word “hepi,” a verb meaning “to open one’s eyes. Wolof was a West African language spoken by slaves in the Southern United States in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (Ford 20). 5. Flynn describes him in her autobiography: “He was a pioneer Socialist soapbox agitator —‘educated on the breakers in the coal mines,’ he said, ‘but bring on your college professors who want to debate socialism.’ It was not an empty challenge. He was a devastating opponent, his mind overflowing with facts and fast, homely illustrations. He made his living selling pest exterminators by day and ‘worked free to exterminate the pest of capitalism by night,’ he used to say. He was an able and resourceful organizer” (54). Lewis primarily worked in the American Northwest. For instance, William S. Town claimed he organized “street car men” in Duluth, Minnesota during the summer of 1912. For more on socialist activity in the northwest, see Johnson. 6. According to The Chicago Daily News Almanac and Year-Book for 1911 and The Chicago Daily News Almanac and Year-Book for 1912, he served as Oregon’s representative to the National Committee of the Socialist Party through at least 1912. His commitment to rank-and- file Socialist Party members can be seen in his other contributions to International Socialist Review. In the monthly column “News and Views,” he contributed a short essay decrying the Party’s decision to do away with the direct election of its executive committee, declaring, “The management of the Party must be from the bottom up and not from the TOP DOWN. The voice of the rank and file must be SUPREME” (246). 7. International Socialist Review was the socialist periodical of note at this time. On its history, see Ruff 160-165. 8. This was a common point of debate within the Socialist Party at the time. Historian John Patrick Diggins summarizes the conflict: “The rightwing socialists believed the goals of Marx could be realized step-by-step through piecemeal changes, while the left wing held out for an almost apocalyptic leap to socialism. Hence the left wing castigated the palliative reforms sponsored by progressives claiming that socialism could not be legislated into existence until capitalism was abolished” (77). Historian John P. Enyeart explores how these conflicts unfolded among Western Workers like Lewis in “Revolution or Evolution: The Socialist Party, 4/7 Western Workers, and Law in the Progressive Era” (2003). As Allen Ruff demonstrates, the International Socialist Review was a frequent site of conflict between these competing factions in the American socialist movement (124). 9. The American Federation of Labor (AFL) was the most powerful labor organization in the late nineteenth century. It primarily organized skilled laborers along craft lines in attempts to secure higher wages, excluding semi-skilled, unskilled, and industrial workers. Lewis’s critique of the AFL was common: the organization frequently figured as one of the socialist movement’s primary antagonists (Diggins 64-72). 10. The word did circulate as a synonym for “understanding” in itinerate white working-class communities whose members made up the militant rank-and-filers Lewis consorted with, though such uses of it usually lacked any critical edge. For instance, it appears in George V. Hobart’s novel Jim Hickey: A Story of the One-Night Stands (1904), an account of the adventures of travelling performers, when the titular character asks his compatriot, “Are you hip?” (15). It also appears in a 1930 dictionary of American itinerate worker slang, where it is listed as meaning “wise, knowing” (Irwin 99). 11. Rosemont is perhaps the only writer to examine “Get Hip.” 12. As the Proceedings of the National Congress of the Socialist Party Held at Chicago, Illinois, May 15-20, 1910 demonstrate, Lewis criticized other party members for failing to take a properly revolutionary (meaning anti-racist) stance on issues like immigration. He declared, “If that capitalists had it in their power they would exclude every Socialist on this floor from America, and we are folding right in their paths. We would exclude the undesirable races. I can’t understand it” (141). For more on this episode, see Leinenweber 5–16. WORKS CITED Dawson, Michael C. Blacks In and Out of the Left. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2013. Enyeart, John P. “Revolution or Evolution: The Socialist Party, Western Workers, and Law in the Progressive Era.” Journal of the Gilded Age and Progressive Era 2.4 (2003): 377–402. Foner, Philip S. American Socialism and Black Americans: From the Age of Jackson to World War II. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1977. Ford, Phil. Dig: Sound and Music in Hip Culture. New York: Oxford UP, 2013. Frank, Thomas. The Conquest of Cool: Business Culture, Counterculture, and the Rise of Hip Consumerism. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1997. Hobart, George V. Jim Hickey: A Story of the One-Night Stands. New York: G. W. Dillingham Company, 1904. Johnson, Jeffrey A. They Are All Red Out Here: Socialist Politics in the Pacific Northwest, 1895-1925. Norman: U of Oklahoma P, 2008. 5/7 Jones, LeRoi. Blues People: Negro Music in White America. New York: William and Morrow, 1963. Langland, James, ed. The Chicago Daily News Almanac and Year-Book for 1911. Chicago: Chicago Daily News Company, 1910. ---, ed. The Chicago Daily News Almanac and Year-Book for 1912. Chicago: Chicago Daily News Company, 1911. Leinenweber, Charles. “The American Socialist Party and ‘New’ Immigrants.” Science and Society 32.1 (1968): 1–25. Leland, John. Hip: The History. New York: Ecco, 2004. Lewis, Tom J. “Get Hip.” International Socialist Review 11.6 (1910): 351–352. ---. “May Day in Portland Oregon.” International Socialist Review 11.1 (1910): 37–38. ---. “News and Views: Disenfranchisement in the Party.” International Socialist Review 14.4 (1913): 246. Lipton, Lawrence. The Holy Barbarians. Reprint. Mansfield Center, CT: Martino Fine Books, 2010. Lott, Eric. Love and Theft: Blackface Minstrelsy and the American Working Class. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1995. MacAdams, Lewis. Birth of the Cool: Beat, Bebop, and the American Avant-Garde. New York: Free Press, 2001. Mailer, Norman. “The White Negro: Superficial Reflections on the Hipster.” Advertisements for Myself. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1959. 337–359. McDermut, Wilson E., ed. Proceedings of the National Congress of the Socialist Party Held at Chicago, Illinois, May 15-20, 1910. Chicago: Socialist Party, 1910. Mezzrow, Mezz, and Bernard Wolfe. Really the Blues. London: Secker and Warburg, 1946. Miller, Sally M. “For White Men Only: The Socialist Party of America and Issues of Gender, Ethnicity, and Race.” Journal of the Gilded Age and Progressive Era 2.3 (2003): 283–302. Rosemont, Franklin. Joe Hill: The IWW and the Making of a Revolutionary Workingclass Counterculture. Chicago: Charles H. Kerr Publishing, 2002. Ross, Andrew. No Respect: Intellectuals and Popular Culture. New York: Routledge, 1989. Saul, Scott. Freedom Is, Freedom Ain’t: Jazz and the Making of the Sixties. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2003. Szalay, Michael. Hip Figures: A Literary History of the Democratic Party. Stanford UP, 2012. 6/7 Town, William S. “Class War in Duluth.” International Socialist Review 13.4 (1912): 328–331. Quarterly Horse 1.2 (March 2017), http://www.quarterlyhorse.org/winter17/cashbaugh. 7/7 Hipness Left Behind: White Encounters with Hip in the Early Twentieth Century 
work_3r2i745t7bd4tfx757vin54eju	----	Pittsburgh at Yellowstone: Old Faithful and the Pulse of Industrial America Pittsburgh at Yellowstone: Old Faithful and the Pulse of Industrial America Cecelia Tichi Yellowstone National Park became a tourist "Wonderland" only after the 1870s, when a mix of writers, photographers, illus- trators, publishers, and corporations, notably the Northern Pa- cific Railroad, repositioned its public identity from hell-on-earth to "a big wholesome wilderness" (Muir, Our National Parks 37). A significant part of that shift to a new geophysical identity in- volved figuration of the human body, a centuries-long practice in geographic description continued in nineteenth-century Ameri- can public discourse that invoked the body-geography analogy. In Natural History of Intellect (1893), Ralph Waldo Emerson, echoing Scripture, urged geographical exploration because "[n]a- ture ... is bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh, made of us" (165). Other writers exploited bodily terms to describe topographical features and geopolitical entities in the US. Henry David Tho- reau had opened his Cape Cod (1865) with an extended trope of Massachusetts as an anatomically configured pugilist ("Cape Cod is the bared and bended arm of Massachusetts" [851]), while in Life on the Mississippi (1883), Mark Twain observed that the river "is always changing its habitat bodily-is always moving bodily sidewise" (40-41). In the latter decades of the century, as Yellowstone and its geyser region became identified as an Ameri- can "Wonderland," texts supporting the newer identity partici- pated in the kinds of figuration proliferating in contemporary essays and narrative. In part, the bodily terms in texts on Yellowstone operated as a familiarizing stratagem whereby the distant alien land of rocky mountain ranges, erupting geysers, mud volcanoes, boiling springs, and the like became more conceptually accessible. But attention to the role of figuration of the human body in texts on Yellowstone from the 1870s to the 1920s reveals, in addition, the "double discourse of the natural and the technological" (Seltzer 152). This discourse, especially focused on the geyser, Old Faith- ful, produced an icon of industrial America. To recognize this is American Literary History 523 also to see the basis on which the geyser area became a text on the sociocultural disjunctions of the new industrial order. Prior to a series of explorations beginning in 1869, the Yel- lowstone area was known as "Colter's Hell," a tall-tale scene of "burning plains, immense lakes, and boiling springs" (William F. Raynolds, qtd. in Kinsey 45) encountered at first-hand by a few white trappers, hunters, and mountaineers dating back to John Colter's foray in the area in 1807-08, when he split off from the Lewis and Clark expedition and ventured into Yellowstone (Kin- sey 45-46). Colter was not alone, for another of the first white male explorers of the region, James Bridger, had called it "a place where hell bubbles up" ("Yellowstone Park" 248). Such descriptions fit earlier nineteenth-century fables of the far West as "scenes of barronness and desolation," of "the most dismal country" riddled with man-eating grizzlies, of "dismal and horrible mountains," of the "desert," of endless plains "on which not a speck of vegetable matter existed" (Lawson-Peebles 224-25). In order for the Yellowstone area to become credible as a national park and tourist "Wonderland," as it was called by the Helena Daily Herald in 1872, it was necessary that it be assigned a new public identity. This was achieved, as we shall see, in part by bodily figura- tion appearing both in travel and expeditionary texts. But the whole process of Yellowstone's reidentification has been docu- mented as a part of the larger post-Civil War project by which the trans-Mississippi West, theretofore understood to be the Great American Desert, now became a pathway to the "Edenic civilization that would occur as Americans entered the region, settled there, exploited its natural resources, and made the West over in their desired image" (Hales 47). In the case of Yel- lowstone, "Wonderland" replaced the inferno in expeditionary reports by Nathaniel P. Langford (1871) and especially Ferdi- nand V. Hayden (1872), who extolled the beauty and "magnifi- cent features" of the area (qtd. in Kinsey 83). These were aug- mented by guidebooks describing Yellowstone's majesty, beauty, enchantment, and by travel writing in the following decades in such middle-class magazines as Harper's, Scribners, National Geographic, and Atlantic Monthly, whose essays recounted per- sonally inspiring visits and beckoned readers to visit the park for health, adventure, and edification. Throughout one finds a rhetorical strategy using bodily figures to emphasize maternal succor and masculine guardianship. Yellowstone's new identity was also achieved by visual me- dia, such as the Hayden party's expeditionary photographs of William Henry Jackson. These showed male, shaftlike rock for- 524 Pittsburgh at Yellowstone mations and female valleys, along with canyons and waterfalls that, in compositional terms, "continued the Romantic land- scape tradition" (Hales 50). Alan Trachtenberg, discussing the work of Timothy O'Sullivan, another post-Civil War photogra- pher of the West, remarks that such photographs belong to the tradition of landscape art, with landscape referring to a particu- lar genre of academic painting (128). But painting also played a major role in establishing the new identity of Yellowstone. The painter Thomas Moran, also with the Hayden group, sketched scenes that provided illustra- tions for essays in Scribner's on "The Wonders of Yellowstone" and for James Richardson's Wonders of the Yellowstone (1872). Probably more importantly, Moran became nationally known for his huge (7 by 12 feet) oil painting The Grand Canon of the Yel- lowstone (1872), which was publicly exhibited in the US Capitol and instrumental in the creation of the park by an act of Con- gress signed into law by President Ulysses S. Grant in March 1871 and setting the region aside as "a great national park or pleasure ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people" (qtd. in Sears 162; see Sears 158-63). In the painting, as in a series of his watercolors, Moran's compositonal exploitation of arches, towers, rocks, and trees, together with his adaptation of the aesthetic principles of John Ruskin and the painterly tech- niques of Joseph Mallord William Turner in capturing atmo- spheric effects and color, largely enabled Moran to translate Yel- lowstone as a landscape of the American sublime, a response codified earlier in the century in relation to America's first icon of nature, Niagara Falls (Kinsey 20-40; McKinsey 30-36, 99). In Moran's painting shafts of rock and tree trunks frame a wide, deep valley from which a central shaft of white mist rises sky- ward. In bodily terms, one recalls Perry Miller's statement on late-nineteenth-century representations of steam as "the pure white jet that fecundates America," inseminating the "body of the continent" (qtd. in Seltzer 27). Business, too, was centrally involved in the transformation of Yellowstone from "a place where hell bubbles up" to the new "Wonderland." Scribner's evidently funded the exhibition of Moran's huge canvas in Clinton Hall on New York's Astor Place, just as it published numerous essays on the Yellowstone area il- lustrated by Moran, including John Muir's. In addition, execu- tives and financiers of the Northern Pacific Railroad understood the advantages of a sublime, enticing Yellowstone for generating income from passengers, freight, and stockholders (Kinsey 64). Subliminally, at least, that shaft of steamy white mist central to Moran's The Grand Canon of the Yellowstone looked enough like 526 Pittsburgh at Yellowstone nineteenth-century texts also codify Yellowstone National Park as a sentient being expressive of feelings. The "mood" of Yel- lowstone Lake, for instance, "is ever changing." It "laughs" and then turns "angry" ("Washburn" 490). Muir, naturalist and leading proponent of the national park system, feminizes the park in terms of "Mother Earth" (Our Na- tional Parks 50) but moves anatomically inside the body when he says park visitors are "getting in touch with the nerves of Mother Earth" ("Wild Parks" 16). Muir's image is significant for its ana- tomical internalization, a direction that various writers followed. In 1893, in The Significance of the Frontier, Frederick Jackson Turner remarked that "civilization in America has followed the arteries made by geology ... like the steady growth of a complex nervous system for the originally simple, inert continent" (14- 15). F. W. Hayden explicitly linked the railroad's utilitarian rela- tion to this geological arterial system: "[T]he multitude of rivers that wind like arteries through the country ... excavate the ave- nues for our railroads" (qtd. in Hales 69). This textual mapping of the area in terms of internal organ systems is significant because it enables the production of certain social meanings that devolve from the traits of those organs, in- cluding arterial blood flow and cardiac pulse. The arterial rivers conjoin, in cardiovascular terms, with the heart, and, not surpris- ingly, the 5 April 1873 Harpers Weekly Magazine included an article entitled "The Heart of the Continent: The Hot Springs and Geysers of the Yellow Stone Region" (273-74). The heart-as-center was, of course, a centuries-old conven- tion but gained a certain agency from the dictum of Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose American scholar is not only "the world's eye" but "the world's heart" ("American Scholar" 73). Cardiac vitality is correlatively located at the center of the Emersonian universe: "[T]he heart at the centre of the universe with every throb hurls the flood of happiness into every artery, vein and veinlet, so that the whole system is inundated with the tides of joy" (Society 306- 07). In his essay, "The Yellowstone National Park," Muir, a self- proclaimed student and admirer of Emerson, asserted, "The shocks and outbursts of earthquakes, volcanoes, geysers, storms, the pounding of waves, the uprush of sap in plants, each and all tell the orderly love-beats of Nature's heart" (Our National Parks 70). The health of that heart was measured in a pulse manifest by Old Faithful geyser. In his essay on Yellowstone, Muir de- scribes "a hundred geysers," (54) though Old Faithful was, and is to this day, preeminent. Named by Nathaniel P. Langford and Gustavus C. Doane, who had written of the Yellowstone area American Literary History 527 prior to congressional action, Old Faithful is repeatedly singled out as exemplary. It is the "most instructive" geyser, wrote Hayden in 1872: "When it is about to make a display, very little preliminary warn- ing is given. There is simply a rush of steam for a moment, and then a column of water shoots up vertically into the air, and by a succession of impulses is apparently held steadily up for the space of fifteen minutes" ("Hot Springs" 175). In 1878, Joseph Le Conte identified the trait-punctual regularity-for which Old Faithful is best known. "'Old Faithful,' he wrote, "[is] so called from the frequency and regularity of its eruptions, throws up a column six feet in diameter to the height of 100 to 150 feet regularly every hour, and plays each time fifteen minutes" (412; emphasis added). Numerous texts from the 1870s cite the un- varying regularity of Old Faithful, always in terms of approval and admiration: It is "the only reliable geyser in the park. You can always bet on seeing him every sixty-five minutes" (Francis 34); there has been no "appreciable difference in its eruptions ... for over thirty years.... It always displays the same graceful, slender column" (Hague, "The Yellowstone" 523); it is "the gey- ser of the park" (Weed, "Geysers" 294); Old Faithful sets "a no- ble example to his followers" and is as punctual as "a tall, old- fashioned clock" (Rollins 886); it is a "perfect" geyser (Hague, "The Yellowstone" 517); "a model geyser" (Henderson 164); "Old Faithful is a friend to every tourist.... With the regularity of a clock, he pours out his soul toward heaven every sixty mi- nutes and then sinks back to regain new strength" (King 597). The very name-Old Faithful-connotes the cherished, fa- miliar, and dear. The geyser becomes an object of affection be- cause of its very predictability, its punctuality. The hotel beside it would be named the Old Faithful Inn, as if hospitality itself were linked to the geyser, as if it performed intentionally for the visitors who had endured the inconvenience of travel in order to experience what John Sears has called the "sacred places," the sacralized tourist sublime associated throughout the century with such sites as Niagara Falls, Kentucky's Mammoth Cave, Yosemite's sequoias. More than one writer said the road traveled to the geysers was "dull, dusty, glaring, and disappointing" (Rol- lins 872), but if Old Faithful failed to meet expectations, no one but Rudyard Kipling said so in print. This cherished, sacred Old Faithful is clearly central to Emerson's and Muir's idea of the organic, benevolent heart of the natural world. Yet texts from the 1870s to the 1920s indicate that the socio- cultural definition of Old Faithful changed radically from the version embraced by Emerson and Muir. Pulse itself becomes a 528 Pittsburgh at Yellowstone crucial term in this change. Numerous commentators character- ized geyser eruptions as pulsations. "The geyser," said one writer in 1890, "is a pool of limpid, green water whose surface rises and falls in rhythmic pulsations.... [A]t every pulsation, thick white clouds of steam came rolling out" (Weed, "Geysers" 291). A group in 1882 observed "nine successive pulsations" of the Grand (Francis 35). Many of the "springs ... rise and fall every second or two . . . with each pulsation, [by] ... steady im- pulses, . . . regular pulsations" ("Washburn" 437; Hayden, "Hot Springs" 163, 174). The pulse in these statements reverts to the arterial pulse, which in medical history is both mechanistic and organic. Texts such as Muir's ally the geysers' rhythms with those of waterfalls, storms, and avalanches, and thus position them with the rhythms of nature (Our National Parks 54). The many references to the steady, regular, clocklike pulsations and eruptions like those above derive from a mechanistic model. With regard to Old Faithful, the relation of the organic to the mechanic is neither a binary division nor an antithesis but a conjunction. The geyser operates as nature's own clockworks. The regularity of Old Faithful's pulse had a crucial connec- tion to the medical history that linked the body to the clock. Since the early eighteenth century the arterial pulse had been measured by the clock, when Sir John Floyer published The Phy- sicians Pulse Watch (1707), an account of his invention of a me- chanical watch with a second hand subsequently standard in time pieces. The sixty-second minute thus became the standard for pulse measurement. Floyer measured patients with "ex- ceeding and deficient pulses" (qtd. in Clendening 12), and these he worked to reregulate. Those that beat too fast or too slowly, according to the measurement of the pulse watch, were treated with medical regimens involving heat and cold. Life consists, Floyer theorized, "in the Circulation of blood, and that running too fast or slow, produces most of our Diseases" (qtd. in Clen- dening 573-74). The healthy body was that whose pulse throbbed in synchrony with the measurement of the pulse watch. By the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, medi- cal experts agreed that "changes of the pulse are important" (Barwell 89) and recognized a normative range of healthy pulsa- tions even as they named irregularities or arrhythmias, separated the arterial from the venal and hepatic pulses, and devised new instruments for measurement such as the sphygmograph, which showed the pulse is a series of curves (Osler, Principles 650-651). As one specialist wrote in 1902, "The rate of the pulse is the most simple of all signs" and "variations in rhythm are usually readily American Literary History 529 recognized," though "the timing of the various events in a car- diac revolution ... can only be acquired by careful practice ... with the radial pulse as a standard" (Mackenzie 6, viii). Old Faithful, as we have seen, was celebrated for its hourly pulse measured radially. It met the standard of the sixty-second minute encapsulated within the sixty-minute hour. Its health was proven by its very regularity over decades. Yet the pulse regularity of Old Faithful involved more than the apparent synchrony of nature with human horology. Muir tries to adhere to the organic model of the Emersonian "heart at the centre of the universe with every throb hurl[ing] the flood of happiness into every artery, vein and veinlet," but other writers, even Muir himself, were responding to a new model of the body as machine. In fact, the repositioning of Yellowstone as the US "Wonderland" included the technologizing of the body and of the material environment. For the post-Civil War decades not only redefined the American West but witnessed the transforma- tion of the Northeast and Midwest into industrial centers. This process, too, is important to the specific ways in which bodily identity produced Old Faithful as an icon of industrial America. The industrializing American scene is acknowledged in Muir's "Yellowstone National Park," despite the preponderance of pastoral and domestic terms, as though Yellowstone were a designed park, like Frederick Law Olmstead's Central Park or Boston's Fenway or Philadelphia's Fairmount parks. Muir's terms are organic; the very mineral formations are turned into flowers (47, 38). Abruptly, however, Muir invokes a radically different environment as he describes the geyser basin. It is as if "a fierce furnace fire were burning beneath each" geyser, "hiss- ing, throbbing, booming," writes Muir. "Looking down over the forests as you approach [the geysers]," he adds, "you see a multi- tude of white columns, broad reeking masses, and irregular jets and puffs of misty vapor ... entangled like smoke, ... suggesting the factories of some busy town" (Our National Parks 43). The factories of some busy town-so the "fierce furnace," the noises of hissing, throbbing, and booming after all recall the industrial landscape thousands of miles east of Yellowstone, which, ironically, is the very landscape preserved in its natural splendor from the encroachment of industrialism. The sub- lime Yellowstone of William Henry Jackson's photographs, of Thomas Moran's huge painting, of the railroad guidebooks and flyers, for that matter of Muir's own crafting, suddenly is chal- lenged by an apparently incongruous, even antithetical, overt im- age of industrial America. Comparing the geyser area to "the factories of some busy In fact, the repositioning of Yellowstone as the US "Wonderland" included the technologizing of the body and of the material environment. 530 Pittsburgh at Yellowstone town," Muir's diction collapses the boundaries between the two worlds of nature's "Wonderland" and technological industrial- ism. The writer whose name had become synonymous with natu- ralism and conservation, with appreciation of wilderness qua wil- derness, who speaks of mineral formations as bouquets of flowers, who writes that the geyser visitors "look on, awe-stricken and silent, in devout, worshipful wonder" seems inadvertently to reveal a major disjunction in consciousness (Our National Parks 53, 54). The geysers look like a factory, and the most visited site in Yellowstone National Park turns out to be Pittsburgh. Others, in fact, explicitly named the city identified with steel and coke magnates Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick in their descriptions of Old Faithful. The "rising smoke and vapor" reminded one writer "of the city of Pittsburgh" (Koch 503), and another observed that "a view of the city of Pittsburg [sic] from a high point would convey some idea of the appearance of this valley [of geysers and hot springs], except that in the former case the dense black smoke arises in hundreds of columns, instead of the pure white feathery clouds of steam" (Hayden, "Hot Springs" 173). In 1880 S. Wier Mitchell, the physician known for his immobilizing "rest cure" for disordered women, described the area of "mud volcanoes" as comparable to "the exhaust of a steam-engine, and near it from the earth come the rattle and crash and buzz and whirring of a cotton-mill" (701). Signifi- cantly, it was another nature writer, John Burroughs, who com- pared the geyser area to an industrial site when he wrote in 1907 that "as one nears the geyser region, he gets the impression from the columns of steam ... that he is approaching an industrial centre" (63). In part, such comments are utilitarian, measuring waste- fulness against a norm of efficient usage. The geysers emit steam "in extravagant ... prodigality ... Steam enough is wasted here to run all the Western railways" ("Editor's Study" 320). A writer in The Nation observed that enough geyser water shot into the air "to run all the factories of Pennsylvania for a week" ("Yel- lowstone" 249). Burroughs "disliked to see so much good steam and hot water going to waste" because "whole towns might be warmed by them, and big wheels made to go round" (64). Technological analogies providing easily accessible lessons to the reading public also show the extent of middle-class famil- iarity with mechanistic thinking, as when a geologist in 1898 ex- plained that some geysers "have been formed by explosion, like the bursting of a boiler" (Tarr 1575), or when steam vents are said to "keep up a constant pulsating noise like a high-pressure engine on a river steamboat" (Hayden, "Hot Springs" 164), or American Literary History 531 when geysers are termed "natural steam-engines" (Weed, "Gey- sers" 299), their vapor likened to "the smoke of the ... locomo- tive" (Rollins 883). Whether used as a utilitarian measure of usage or waste- fulness, or as a term of explanation or description, however, these references to machine technology, heavy industry, and the indus- trial city provide a context in which the bodily identity of Old Faithful becomes clearer. Though Muir grouped geophysical eruptions, wind-and-wave hydraulics, and botanical cycles as the percussive "orderly love-beats of Nature's heart," the industrial context produced a different cardiac model. The clockwork regu- larity of Old Faithful's pulse, when set within the context of an industrializing America, defines the geyser as an industrial-age bodily icon. The eminent physician William Osler wrote that a man must realize "that he is a machine" (William Oslers Col- lected Papers 5), and the American geophysical expression of that machine body becomes Old Faithful geyser. Old Faithful in this sense is a synecdoche of the valorized body of the industrial era-a body understood as a machine whose pulse must be regular as clockwork. It is male, in that the realm of heavy industry was gendered masculine (despite the female operatives in textile mills), and its eruptions encompass the ejaculative in the arterial. Indeed, Muir emphasizes that gey- sers sometimes erupt for periods of nearly one hour, "standing rigid and erect," "seeming so firm and substantial and perma- nent" (Our National Parks 42, 54). Such expression of male virility is fully consonant with the new industrial ethos of the later nineteenth century, and Old Faithful thus exemplified the ideals of an industrial society orga- nized for maximal rationalized production. Like the railroads and well-run industrial plants, Old Faithful produced on sched- ule. True, its eruptions varied by a few minutes, but the concept of hourly regularity was intact, as the numerous tributes to the geyser as reliable, punctual, regular as a clock all indicate. Old Faithful reassuringly enacted the unvarying, relentless rhythms of an industrial system and thus seemed to be the "American incarnation," in Myra Jehlen's terms, of the capitalistic social or- der of industrial, technological production. Its pulse could be measured by the clock; its very arterial rhythm seemed to be na- ture's own precocious foreordination of the American modernity manifest in the industrial system. "Nature's nation" thus was validated by nature's own indus- trial pulse. The very geophysical heart of America beat the rhythms of mechanization. Those seeing the geyser basin as a version of Pittsburgh or a similar "industrial centre" thus could 532 Pittsburgh at Yellowstone appreciate Old Faithful as the paradigmatic pulse of that very system. Presumably, those responding with approbation also felt their interests well served by the new industrial order. Repre- sented by those who gathered in May 1872 to view Moran's Yel- lowstone painting, these were, as one railroad executive de- scribed them, "the press-the literati- ... the rich people" (qtd. in Kinsey 73). Evidently, however, the geyser basin of Yellowstone also aroused anxieties pertinent to the industrial system and thereby to its bodily identity. No other geyser approached Old Faithful in regularity of pulse. Its punctuality was offset by other geysers' "capricious[ness]" (Francis 34) and "misbehavior" (Weed, "Gey- sers" 294), and some of the geyser names suggest the anxiety evoked by their very irregularity and turbulence: Hurricane, Restless, Spasmodic, Spiteful, Impulsive, Fitful, Spasm. Against Old Faithful, the very unpredictability of other geysers needs to be engaged, not solely in geophysical terms but, as with Old Faithful, in those of sociocultural issues in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century America. For Yellowstone's old identity as hell-on-earth was not quite effaced or even entirely repressed despite the vigorous efforts of its post-1870 spokespersons. The continuation of the infernal identity, however, has less to do with an inadequate cam- paign on behalf of the new Yellowstone "Wonderland" than it does with certain contemporary representations of industrial America. Ironically, just at the point when the cohort of photog- raphers, painters, railroad executives, publishers, et cetera col- laborated to identify Yellowstone as America's "Wonderland," public discourse in the US was fashioning an infernal identity for industrial America. While the West was newly configured in edenic terms, the industrial Northeast and Midwest were as- signed Yellowstone's old identity as hell-on-earth. In fact, from the 1860s, fiction writers, journalists, and illus- trators presented the new urban industrial order in terms of the infernal. Woodcuts and lithographs, for instance, in Harper's Weekly Magazine (1 Nov. 1873; 7 July 1888) showed tense labor- ers shoveling coal into beehive coke ovens as flames roil skyward, while other bare-chested workmen tend the fiery furnaces of the iron mill as flames backlight the night sky in a blinding blaze. Writers, too, produced these kinds of infernal images. Rebecca Harding Davis, in Life in the Iron Mills (1861), published in the Atlantic Monthly, described a "city of fires, that burned hot and fiercely in the night. Fire in every horrible form.... caldrons filled with boiling fire. ... It was like a street in Hell" (20); "like Dante's Inferno" (27). Industrial Pittsburgh, just 60 miles north American Literary History 533 of Davis's Wheeling, was characterized in 1883 by a travel writer as "the great furnace of Pandemonium ... the outer edge of the infernal regions" (Glazier 332). Such accounts of industrial, technologically driven Amer- ica corresponded to the characterization of "American Ner- vousness," which, in 1881, George Beard attributed to an ur- banizing American environment of traction railways, industrial machinery, electrification, steam engines, factories, the very loco- motive rods and pistons moving the passenger cars of the North- ern Pacific, the Burlington Route, and the Oregon Short Line that brought visitors to Yellowstone as of the 1880s. While Turner affirmed the westward path of civilization as "the steady growth of a complex nervous system," Beard blamed that same civilization for overtaxing the body's neural system in a world thought to engender a host of diseases, including consumption and neurasthenia, whose etiology was found in cities, industrial plants, and fast-paced temporal pressures. The tourists at Yellowstone came to experience awe at Old Faithful, but evidence indicates that visitors who produced travel texts on their experience at the park did so as inhabitants of an industrial, technological world. This is to say that the texts repre- sentative of their experience show a Yellowstone-especially Old Faithful and the geyser basin-framed in experience largely of industrialism and its conditions of production and labor. As Old Faithful became an icon of industrial America, the erratic sur- rounding geysers, boiling springs, and mud volcanoes were read as a statement on the industrial pulse/body under mortal threat. The geyser area was a rearview-mirror image of the industrializ- ing US. Muir, the active agent in the production of a Yellowstone "Wonderland," worked to allay anxieties about danger there. Ad- dressing a middle-class reading public, he framed his park de- scription in reassurances that "most of the dangers that haunt the unseasoned citizen are imaginary," that "over-civilized people" are subject to "irrational dread," for instance, of rattle- snakes and murderous Indians ("No scalping Indians will you see" [Our National Parks 51]). "Fear nothing," he says, for "no town park you have been accustomed to saunter in is so free from danger as the Yellowstone" (Our National Parks 57-58). Muir then tries to make the old hellish nicknames sound zany and fun, as though anticipating the later-twentieth-century theme park. Names like "Hell Broth Springs," the "Devil's Cal- dron," and "Coulter's Hell" are "so exhilarating that they set our pulses dancing" (Our National Parks 58). Muir sets up a sympa- thetic pulsing of the geothermal and the arterial in the realm of 534 Pittsburgh at Yellowstone rhythmic movement whose beat is emphatically more musical than mechanical. As partners, the visitors and the geysers have a ball. Others, however, did not reproduce Muir's terpsichorean rhetorical strategy. Travelers' accounts through the 1880s to the 1910s continued to enforce a somber linkage between the geyser basin and the inferno. By implication, their descriptions are shadowed by the presumed presence of demonic, monstrous bodies in hell. And their statements show the extent to which industrial-age America did not efface the old Yellowstone iden- tity as "a place where hell bubbles up" but actually renewed it. They described "a seething caldron over a fiery furnace" emitting a "villainous smell" ("Washburn" 434). One of the mud volca- noes bears "testimony to the terrible nature of the convulsion that wrought such destruction" (Langford 354). A writer in Scribners Magazine noted the "weird, uncanny, sulphurous, and at times even dangerous" aspect of the geyser area (Hague 516). Another said, "It seemed as if we were looking upon a panorama of the Inferno" (King 597), and still another remarked that the air was "burden[ed] ... with such sulphurous odors that at times it was rendered almost unfit for respiration" (Owen 193). A mother shepherding her seven children through a Yellowstone vacation in 1905 recalled that "like everybody else, we loved Old Faithful ... feared Excelsior, admired the Giant and Beehive." But, she said, "the horrible rumbling as if an earthquake were imminent and the smell of brimstone made me eager to get my brood into the valley of safety beyond the Yellowstone" (Corthell 1466). Even the scientists reverted to fraught language in descrip- tion of the geyser: the Excelsior is "a violently boiling cauldron[;] ... its waters may be seen in violent ebullition" (Jagger 324). Absent Old Faithful, and unable to join in the spirit of Mu- ir's injunction to "fear nothing" and dance, texts from the 1870s, including Muir's, link the geyser basin with the inferno in affirming its volcanic geophysics. In 1896, Arnold Hague of the United States Geological Survey asserted that "all geologists who have visited [Yellowstone] concur that the 'great body' of rock and mineral is 'volcanic,"' (Hague, "Age of Igneous Rocks" 447). Two years later, a geologist graphically described the pro- cess: "Volcanoes developed throughout the entire Rockies.... Great masses of lava were intruded into the rocks.... Beds of volcanic ash testify to violent explosive volcanic activity" (Tarr 1407). The novelist Owen Wister's hero, the Virginian, visits the geysers and smells a "volcanaic [sic] whiff" (Sears 169). One writer compared the probable eruptive force of the Yellowstone- area volcanoes with those of the widely publicized recent erup- American Literary History 535 tions of Krakatoa (1883) and of Tarawera, New Zealand (1886) (Weed, "Fossil Forests" 235). US visitors to Yellowstone were not encouraged to consider the likelihood of renewed volcanic activity. (Muir reassured them that "the fire times had passed away, and the volcanic furnaces were banked" [Our National Parks 64]). The "glass road" of vol- canic obsidian over which they rode in wagons and stage coaches to the geysers was considered a wonder, not a threat. Yet images of the inferno indicate anxieties not allayed by reassurances that the fires were extinct. The spewing, hissing eruptions proved otherwise. An 1897 "Editor's Study" column in Harpers cited a "lady" who considered the geyser area of Yel- lowstone as "the safety-valve of the United States": The geysers function as "vent-holes of its internal fires and explosive energies, and but for the relief they afford, the whole country might be shaken with earthquakes and be blown up in fragments" (320). The column's author reported it "not encouraging" (320) to feel the hot crust underfoot and identified the subterranean area as "a terrible furnace" (321). The imagery of safety value and furnace, together with that of the danger, destruction, and chaos of the inferno, also tended to collapse boundaries between Yellowstone and the industrial East and Midwest. Public discourse indicates that apart from the pleasures of Old Faithful, the Yellowstone visitors alighted at the geyser basin only to encounter a geophysical version of the very inferno familiar to them from fictional and journalistic accounts of the material environment of industrial Eastern and upper Midwestern cities of the US. Just as Old Faithful provided reassurance about the health of the industrial order, so the erratic and frightening geyser basin was read as a geophysical text on sociocultural threats to the new industrial order. There is some evidence that such threat was perceived in bodily terms with reference to industrial work- ers occupying "t' Devil's place" (Davis 20), workmen who were "bad" and "desperate" enough to be condemned to hell (Davis 27). The heaving, spewing, violent, and capricious geysers and volcanoes replicated an industrializing scene periodically rife with social turmoil, including strikes and riots devolving from conditions of labor and wages. In this sense, the erratic, arrhyth- mic geysers are a homology of the bodies necessary to keep the industrial world in mechanistic synchrony that instead, at inter- vals, subvert its clockwork rhythms. Such bodies, swarthy, carbon-blacked, and mud-caked-as Davis termed them, "filthy and ash-covered" (24), "coarse and vulgar" (25)-threaten the clockwork pulse of the industrial order. Like erratic geysers, they 536 Pittsburgh at Yellowstone "pulsate in rhythmic beats from the mighty heart of internal chaos" (Townsend 163). In Life in the Iron Mills they are "bois- terous" (Davis 26), but at Yellowstone "infernally angry enough to emit 'sighs, moans, and shrieks"' (Sedgwick 3573). The sulphurous, heaving mud volcanoes, hissing steam vents, and explosive eruptions-the inferno-had a textual fore- ground, moreover, in the dire volcanic social vision recurrent in public discourse in the US from the early nineteenth century and deeply engaged with the social body of nonelites. Political, reli- gious, and educational figures had recurrently exploited volca- noes as a terrifying metaphor for the collapse of social order in the US, as Fred Somkin has shown. Back in 1788 Fisher Ames of Massachusetts warned at a political convention that "a de- mocracy is a volcano, which conceals the fiery materials of its own destruction" (qtd. in Somkin 39). In 1817 the Columbian Orator reprinted Yale president Timothy Dwight's description in the "Conquest of Canaan" of "a fiery Judgment Day marked by quaking, fire-belching mountains" (Somkin 39). The possibility that slavery or some other issue might prompt riotous rupture of the social order led Reverend Ephraim Peabody in 1846 to say that while "all may be smooth and fair on the surface," the "fires of a volcano are moving beneath the thin crust, and ... in a moment they may burst through and lay the labors of centuries in ruins" (7). In 1855 the Reverend Richard Storrs voiced his fear that crime, slavery, vice, and Catholicism threatened the US, which he feared slept "on the crater's edge" as "fiery floods threaten an overflow ... more terrible than was felt by Pompeii or Herculaneum" (21). In a Fourth of July oration of 1842, Hor- ace Mann speculated that the nation "is an active volcano of ignorance and guilt" (29). The eruption of strikes and riots in the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries also prompted description in volcanic terms. The "political and industrial battles" in Colorado from 1894 to 1904, for instance, led to the publication of a report from the US Commissioner of Labor (1905): "The reading of that re- port leaves one with the impression that present-day society rests upon a volcano, which in favorable periods seems very harmless, but, when certain elemental forces clash, it bursts forth in a man- ner that threatens with destruction civilization itself" (Hunter 303). Statements of this kind produce a volcanic social body cor- relative with the rumored western hell-on-earth at Yellowstone, and thus the nineteenth-century US becomes a continuum of volcanic geopolitics. Possibilities for sociocultural "volcanic" explosion appar- ently intensified with the availability of the new explosives in- American Literary History 537 vented by Alfred B. Nobel in 1866 and developed in the US by the Du Pont Corporation and others. Nobel's work enabled pro- duction of a stable explosive in which nitroglycerine was mixed with an inert filler, such as sawdust, then pressed into paper cylin- ders, and set off with a detonator. Used in construction, mining, and civil engineering, it was lightweight and portable. And like the explosive volcano, dynamite served to express deep anxieties about hidden dangers of social disorder. Anybody in possession of a stick of dynamite became a potential one- person volcano. Josiah Strong's best-selling social critique, Our Country: Its Possible Future and Its Present Crisis (1885) de- scribed as "social dynamite" the "largely foreign" male popula- tion of "roughs[,] . . . lawless and desperate men of all sorts" (132). Strong's "social dynamite" gained credence the following year, when some of the eight anarchists found guilty of detonat- ing the bomb that killed a policeman in Chicago's Haymarket riot spoke in the language of explosive social change. August Spies declared, "[F]rom Jove's head once more HAS SPRUNG A MINERVA-DYNAMITE!" (7). Revolutions, he added, result from certain "causes and conditions," like "earthquakes and cyclones" (8). One may recall the Yellowstone visitor anxious about the earth hot under her feet as Spies's speech warned that laboring wage slaves would rise in revolt: "[E]verywhere, flames will blaze up. It is a subterranean fire. You cannot put it out" (10). Spies's fellow anarchist, Albert P. Parsons, who denied using dynamite to cause the 1886 Haymarket riot, nonetheless declared its effi- cacy as "a democratic instrument" and was quoted by one alarmed author as citing it as a "splendid opportunity ... for some bold fellow to make the capitalists tremble by blowing up [the Chicago Board of Trade] building and all the thieves and robbers that are there" (McLean 33). The texts celebrating a clocklike Old Faithful and deploring the infernal adjoining geysers would seem hostile to the notion of dynamiting buildings or otherwise altering the social order with incendiary devices. Such texts were not produced by those laboring 12 hours daily in dangerous, debilitating, low-paying toil, but by those sufficiently affluent to buy rail and coach seats to the Rockies, to stay at hotels or to camp in the Wylie Com- pany's system of tents (beds and meals with campfires at the rate of five dollars per day), to take leave of a primary residence for weeks at a time. These, not the self-described wage-slave labor- ers with anarchist views, were the visitors poised to applaud Old Faithful. And these were the visitors who shuddered when, unexpect- edly, one or another of the other geysers "burst forth again with- 538 Pittsburgh at Yellowstone out warning, and even greater violence" (Francis 35) who saw eruptions "pulsate in rhythmic beats from the mighty heart of internal chaos." For civil violence had abated but not ceased in the decades following the Civil War, as seen in such events as the deadly Great Railroad Strike of 1877 over the issues of hourly wages, the Haymarket riot of 1886 which started over the eight- hour work day, the New Orleans race riots of 1866, the Home- stead Strike of 1892, the Pullman Strike of 1894, the miners' strike at Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, in 1899, the above-mentioned Colorado strikes and riots from 1894 to 1904-all of which seemed to nativists dangerously explosive. Add to these the ac- tual explosives, from the bomb thrown into Chicago's Haymar- ket to the carload of dynamite detonated by striking miners to blow up the mine concentrator, an area where wastes were ex- tracted from ores, at the Coeur d'Alene mine. It is important to recognize that Yellowstone's visitors- camped with their own "wagons, tents, and provisions," their "coffee pot, frying pan and kettle," and "a buffalo robe to spread on a pile of fir, pine, or hemlock twigs, with blankets for covering, [which] makes a bed which renders that city pest, insomnia, an impossibility" (Logan 160)-looked to Old Faithful to help them keep faith in an industrializing nation that was built, some feared, on incendiary volcanic soil. Given their class position, the American body politic and the mechanistic body of the new industrial order must have seemed tenuous, contingent, and con- tested. In the post-1870s decades it was not clear whether the America of Old Faithful would become an industrial-age "Won- derland" or manifest its longterm national, geopolitical identity as "a place where hell bubbles up." Works Cited Armstrong, Katherine. "Work In- Burroughs, John. Camping and doors and Out: The Flowers of Yel- Tramping with Roosevelt. Boston: lowstone Park." Independent May Houghton, 1907. 1898: 562. Clendening, Logan, ed. Source Book Barwell, Richard. On Aneurism. Espe- of Medical History. 1942. New York: cially of the Thorax and Root of the Dover, 1960. Neck. London, 1880. Comstock, Theodore B. "Engineering Beard, George. American Ner- Relations of the Yellowstone Park." vousness. 1881. New York: Arno, American Journal of Science Nov.- 1972. Dec. 1878: 460-61. American Literary History 539 Corthell, N. E. "A Family Trek to the Yellowstone." Independent June 1905: 1460-67. Dale, Stephen M. "Through Yel- lowstone on a Coach." Ladies' Home Journal Aug. 1904: 5-6. Davis, Rebecca Harding. Life in the Iron Mills: Or, The Korl Woman. Old Westbury: Feminist, 1972. "Editor's Study." Harper's New Monthly Magazine Jan. 1897: 320-25. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. "The Ameri- can Scholar." Selections from Ralph Waldo Emerson: An Organic Anthol- ogy. Ed. Stephen E. Whicher. Cam- bridge: Riverside-Houghton, 1957. 63-80. Natural History of Intellect. 1893. Boston: Houghton, 1904. . Society and Solitude. 1870. Vol. 7 of The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Boston: Houghton, 1904. 12 vols. 1903-21. Francis, Fr. "The Yellowstone Gey- sers." Littell's Living Age 8 Apr. 1882: 31-36. Glazier, Willard. Peculiarities of American Cities. Philadelphia, 1883. Hague, Arnold. "Age of Igneous Rocks of the Yellowstone." American Journal of Science June 1896: 445-56. . "The Yellowstone National Park." Scribner's Magazine May 1904: 513-27. Hales, Peter B. William Henry Jackson and the Transformation of the Ameri- can Landscape. Philadelphia: Temple UP, 1988. Hayden, F W. "The Hot Springs and Geysers of the Yellowstone and Fire- hole Rivers." American Journal of Sci- ence and the Arts March 1872: 161-76. . "The Yellowstone National Park." American Journal of Science and the Arts April 1872: 294-97. Henderson, C. Hanford. "Through the Yellowstone on Foot." Outing May 1899: 161-67. Hunter, Robert. Violence and the La- bor Movement. New York: Macmil- lan, 1922. Jagger, T. A. "Some Conditions Affecting Geyser Eruption." Ameri- can Journal of Science May 1898: 323-33. Jehlen, Myra. American Incarnation: The Individual, the Nation, and the Continent. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1986. King, Frank B. "In Nature's Labora- tory: Driving and Fishing in Yel- lowstone Park." Overland Monthly June 1897: 594-603. Kinsey, Joni Louise. Thomas Moran and the Surveying of the American West. New Directions in American Art. Washington: Smithsonian Insti- tution, 1992. Koch, J. "Discovery of the Yel- lowstone National Park." Magazine of American History June 1884: 497-512. 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National Geographic Maga- zine June 1912: 531-39. Sears, John F. Sacred Places: Ameri- can Tourist Attractions in the Nine- teenth Century. New York: Oxford UP, 1989. Sedgwick, Henry D. "On Horseback Through the Yellowstone." The Worlds Work June 1903: 3569-76. Seltzer, Mark. Bodies and Machines. New York: Routledge, 1992. Somkin, Fred. Unquiet Eagle: Mem- ory and Desire in the Idea of American Freedom, 1815-1860. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1967. Spies, August. "Address of August Spies." The Accused, The Accusers: The Famous Speeches of the Eight Chi- cago Anarchists in Court. New York: Arno, 1969. 1-23. Storrs, Richard. Home Missions. As Connected with Christ's Dominion.... New York, 1855. Strong, Josiah. Our Country: Its Pos- sible Future and Its Present Crisis. New York, 1885. Tarr, Ralph S. "Geology of the Yel- lowstone Park." Independent 17 Nov. 1898: 1406-1408; 1 Dec. 1898: 1572- 1576. American Literary History 541 Thoreau, Henry David. Cape Cod. A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers... Cape Cod. New York: Li- brary of America, 1985. 847-1039. Townsend, Mary Trowbridge. "A Woman's Trout-Fishing in Yel- lowstone Park." Outing May 1897: 163-65. Trachtenberg, Alan. Reading Ameri- can Photographs: Images as History, Mathew Brady to Walker Evans. New York: Hill, 1989. Turner, Frederick Jackson. The Sig- nificance of the Frontier. 1893. Re- printed in The Frontier in American History. New York: Dover. 1-38. Twain, Mark. Life on the Mississippi. 1883. Reprint. New York: Penguin, 1984. "The Washburn Yellowstone Expedi- tion, Nos. 1 and 2" Overland Monthly May 1871: 431-37; June 1871: 489-96. Weed, Walter. "Fossil Forests of the Yellowstone." School of Mines Quar- terly 13.3 (1892): 230-36. . "Geysers." School of Mines Quarterly 11.4 (1890): 289-306. "Yellowstone Park as a Summer Re- sort." Nation 27 Sept. 1900: 248-50. Article Contents p. [522] p. 523 p. 524 p. 525 p. 526 p. 527 p. 528 p. 529 p. 530 p. 531 p. 532 p. 533 p. 534 p. 535 p. 536 p. 537 p. 538 p. 539 p. 540 p. 541 Issue Table of Contents American Literary History, Vol. 9, No. 3 (Autumn, 1997), pp. 381-624 Front Matter American Cultural Iconography: Vision, History, and the Real [pp. 381 - 395] "Are We Men?": Prince Hall, Martin Delany, and the Masculine Ideal in Black Freemasonry, 1775-1865 [pp. 396 - 424] Melville, Garibaldi, and the Medusa of Revolution [pp. 425 - 459] Seeing and Believing: Hawthorne's Reflections on the Daguerreotype in The House of the Seven Gables [pp. 460 - 481] Miscegenated America: The Civil War [pp. 482 - 501] Unseemly Commemoration: Religion, Fragments, and the Icon [pp. 502 - 521] Pittsburgh at Yellowstone: Old Faithful and the Pulse of Industrial America [pp. 522 - 541] The Whiteness of Film Noir [pp. 542 - 566] Nuclear Pictures and Metapictures [pp. 567 - 597] Tex-Sex-Mex: American Identities, Lone Stars, and the Politics of Racialized Sexuality [pp. 598 - 616] A Forum, Not a Temple: Notes on the Return of Iconography to the Museum [pp. 617 - 623] Back Matter [pp. 624 - 624] 
work_3vgigqbx2vepdbmu2fmhbbd2w4	----	jnm158329 974..975 I N V I T E D P E R S P E C T I V E S Finding Calcium in Noncalcified Lesions: 18F-Fluoride Offers Insights into Atheroma Evolution H. William Strauss1,2, Jagat Narula2, and Takehiro Nakahara2 1Molecular Imaging and Therapy Section, Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, New York, New York; and 2Cardiology Section, Mount Sinai Icahn School of Medicine, New York, New York It is not what you look at that matters, it is what you see. —Henry David Thoreau Intimal arterial calcification is “a pervasive and likely inevitable program that is intimately entwined with aging, atherosclerosis, and cardiovascular disease” (1). Since 1990, vascular calcification has been quantitated (2) and correlated with the likelihood of cardiovascular events (3). The clinical significance of intimal ar- terial calcification, however, remains controversial. Shaw et al. (4) reviewed the issues in a recent editorial entitled, “The Never-Ending Story on Coronary Calcium: Is It Predictive, Punitive, or Protective?” To understand why this controversy exists, it may be helpful to evaluate the pathophysiology of atheroma. Calcification of atheroma occurs in inflamed lesions. Lesions are inflamed because low-density lipoprotein (LDL) cholesterol is trapped in the subintimal space, irritating the overlying endothe- lium and leading to the production of chemotactic factors. The See page 1019 chemotactic factors attract mononuclear cells to the site (5,6). Mononuclear cells transform to tissue macrophages, enter the lesion, and phagocytize the LDL cholesterol complex. This complex is difficult to catabolize, and in the process of breaking down the pro- tein–lipid complex, oxidized LDL is formed. Oxidized LDL is toxic to the macrophage, resulting in apoptosis or necrosis of the cell. Loss of cell membrane integrity in necrotic cells allows oxidized LDL and numerous proteases to be released into the lesion, increasing the inflammation. The resulting toxic environment induces apoptosis of some adjacent cells, such as smooth muscle cells, causing release of matrix vesicles (7) and further increasing inflammation. The usual clean-up and recycling of elements from these dead cells by effer- ocytosis is impaired (8) by a combination of the age of the patient and the severity of the inflammation (9).The persistence of the toxic lesion attracts additional monocytes, mast cells, and lymphocytes, which produce factors such as bone morphogenetic protein–2 that lead to the formation of microcalcifications (10). Microcalcifications are seen in lesions with pathologic intimal thickening and appear as microscopic foci, typically between 0.5 and 15 mm, on histopathology (7). These lesions are too small to be resolved by conventional CT, which has a spatial resolution of about 6 line pairs per centimeter in a high-contrast phantom (11) and about 5 mm in low-contrast objects (12). As lesions progress through multiple cycles of inflammation and healing, the layers of calcification progress from microcalcifications to sheets of calcium large enough and dense enough to be seen on CT. In addition to calcification, another characteristic of atheroma is increased angiogenesis. Increased vascularity of the lesion enhan- ces delivery of circulating substances to it. Even large molecules such as radioiodinated autologous LDL (13), which has a molecu- lar weight of about 3 · 106, localize in carotid atheroma within hours of intravenous injection (14), likely because of mixing and retention in the large intralesional pool of LDL. Given the local- ization of large molecules, it is not surprising that small particles such as radiofluoride ions (18F as fluoride ion) also localize in these lesions (15). It is likely that the mechanism of fluoride localization is due to adsorption of the ion on the small dystrophic particles of calcification (with a large surface area). Identifying these microcalcifications is important, because a finite element analysis of 35,000 microcalcifications in lesions from 22 patients demonstrated that—depending on the size and distance between particle pairs and the orientation of the particles with reference to the tensile axis of the cap—the local tissue stress could increase by a factor of 5 (16), raising the likelihood of cap rupture. In this issue of The Journal of Nuclear Medicine, Fiz et al. (17) describe the relationship between ionic 18F (18F-NaF) localization in the infrarenal abdominal aorta and the distribution of CT-visible calcification on PET/CT images. The authors observed an average of 6.2 sites of arterial calcification per patient (providing 397 foci of arterial calcification for analysis). There was an inverse correla- tion between 18F-NaF localization and Hounsfield unit plaque den- sity. In fact, the authors found 18F-NaF hot spots at sites without visible calcification in 86% of patients. 18F-NaF intensity at these sites was higher than that observed at sites with calcification on CT. The data reported by Fiz (17) suggest that 18F-NaF localizes at sites of calcification that are invisible at the current clinical CT resolution. Although many of these lesions may not be at immi- nent risk of rupture (because of the distance between foci or their orientation with reference to the tensile strength of the plaque), it Received May 4, 2015; revision accepted May 5, 2015. For correspondence or reprints contact: H. William Strauss, Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, 1275 York Ave., Room S-113A, New York, NY 10021. E-mail: straussh@mskcc.org Published online May 21, 2015. COPYRIGHT © 2015 by the Society of Nuclear Medicine and Molecular Imaging, Inc. DOI: 10.2967/jnumed.115.158329 974 THE JOURNAL OF NUCLEAR MEDICINE • Vol. 56 • No. 7 • July 2015 mailto:straussh@mskcc.org seems that these lesions are a seat of intense activity, with an abundance of inflammation, cytokine excess, and ongoing cellular damage. Such active lesions may result in rapid expansion of the necrotic core and progression of plaque, which happen to be strong predictors of eventful plaques (18). The current investigation is an exciting hypothesis generating study, and we need prospective outcomes data to establish the value of serial 18F-NaF vascular imaging. 18F-NaF imaging might evolve to supplement the overall prognostic importance of the Agatston score by offering lesion-specific prognostic information. REFERENCES 1. Kovacic JC, Randolph GJ. Vascular calcification: harder than it looks. Arterioscler Thromb Vasc Biol. 2011;31:1249–1250. 2. Agatston AS, Janowitz WR, Hildner FJ, Zusmer NR, Viamonte M Jr, Detrano R. Quantification of coronary artery calcium using ultrafast computed tomography. J Am Coll Cardiol. 1990;15:827–832. 3. Zeb I. Budoff M. Coronary artery calcium screening: does it perform better than other cardiovascular risk stratification tools? Int J Mol Sci. 2015;16: 6606–6620. 4. Shaw LJ, Narula J, Chandrashekhar Y. The never-ending story on coronary calcium: is it predictive, punitive, or protective? JACC. 2015;65:1283–1285. 5. Ohtsuki K, Hayase M, Akashi K, Kopiwoda S, Strauss HW. Detection of monocyte chemoattractant protein-1 receptor expression in experimental atherosclerotic lesions: an autoradiographic study. Circulation. 2001;104: 203–208. 6. Hartung D, Petrov A, Haider N, et al. Radiolabeled monocyte chemotactic protein 1 for the detection of inflammation in experimental atherosclerosis. J Nucl Med. 2007;48:1816–1821. 7. Otsuka F, Sakakura K, Yahagi K, Joner M, Virmani R. Has our understanding of calcification in human coronary atherosclerosis progressed? Arterioscler Thromb Vasc Biol. 2014;34:724–736. 8. Van Vré EA, Ait-Oufella H, Tedgui A, Mallat Z. Apoptotic cell death and efferocytosis in atherosclerosis. Arterioscler Thromb Vasc Biol. 2012;32:887–893. 9. Perrotta I, Aquila S. The role of oxidative stress and autophagy in atherosclerosis. Oxid Med Cell Longev. 2015; 2015: 130315. 10. Jeziorska M, McCollum C, Woolley DE. Calcification in atherosclerotic plaque of human carotid arteries: associations with mast cells and macrophages. J Pathol. 1998;185:10–17. 11. Ulzheimer S. Image quality in computed tomography. Siemens Global website. https://health.siemens.com/ct_applications/somatomsessions/index.php/image-quality- in-computed-tomography-2/. Published June 24, 2013. Accessed May 18, 2015. 12. McCollough CH, Yu L, Kofler JM, et al. Degradation of CT low contrast spatial resolution due to the use of iterative reconstruction and reduced dose levels. Radiology. March 26, 2015 [Epub ahead of print]. 13. Fisher WR, Hammond MG, Menquel MC, Warmke GL. A genetic determinant of the phenotypic variance of the molecular weight of low density lipoprotein. Proc Natl Acad Sci. 1975;72:2347–2351. 14. Lees RS, Lees AM, Strauss HW. External imaging of human atherosclerosis. J Nucl Med. 1983;24:154–156. 15. Joshi NV, Vesey AT, Williams MC, et al. 18F-fluoride positron emission tomography for identification of ruptured and high risk coronary atherosclerotic plaques: a prospective clinical trial. Lancet. 2014;383:705–713. 16. Kelly-Arnold A, Maldonado N, Laudier D, Aikawa E, Cardoso L, Weinbaum S. Revised microcalcification hypothesis for fibrous cap rupture in human coronary arteries. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA. 2013;110:10741–10746. 17. Fiz F, Morbelli S, Piccardo A, et al. 18F-NaF uptake by atherosclerotic plaque on PET/CT imaging: inverse correlation between calcification density and mineral metabolic activity. J Nucl Med. 2015;56:1019–1023. 18. Narula J, Nakano M, Virmani R, et al. Histopathologic characteristics of atherosclerotic coronary disease and implications of the findings for the invasive and noninvasive detection of vulnerable plaques. J Am Coll Cardiol. 2013;61:1041–1051. FINDING CALCIUM IN NONCALCIFIED LESIONS • Strauss and Narula 975 http://https://health.siemens.com/ct_applications/somatomsessions/index.php/image-quality-in-computed-tomography-2/ http://https://health.siemens.com/ct_applications/somatomsessions/index.php/image-quality-in-computed-tomography-2/ 
work_3zcbvb7owvek5b7qkwv3bniyli	----	POETS ON POETRY, A WRITER ON WRITING Writer’s Capital by Louis Auchincloss “Does admirably what he sets out to do: to explain what it is in life that has made him the sort of writer he is.” —American Literature “A ripe intelligence informs.. .this charmingly wrought memoir.” —Library Journal $4.95, paperback* photos “A collection of essays by poets, most impressive for its range and richness and its editor’s judiciousness.” -THEODORE WEISS The Poet’s Work 29 Masters of 20th Century Poetry on the Origins and Practice of Their Art edited by Reginald Gibbons Contributors include: Federico Garcia Lorca • Wallace Stevens • Boris Pasternak • Delmore Schwartz • George Seferis • Karl Shapiro • Rene Char • Louise Bogan • W. H. Auden • Marianne Moore • Seamus Heaney • William Carlos Williams $6.95, paperback Published simultaneously in hardcover, $12.50 Anne Sexton A Self-Portrait in Letters Edited by Linda Gray Sexton and Lois Ames “What resides in Anne Sexton’s poems is not only her best self but in a way her only self. The value of these letters is that they record the raw materials from which that self was forged.” — KATHA POLLITT, Saturday Review $6.95, paperback • photos Trade paperback editions from ^Houghton Mifflin Company 2 Park Street, Boston, Mass. 02107 Books from University Presses American Literature and Literary Criticism The Achievement of Margaret Fuller By Margaret Vanderhaar Allen Pennsylvania State, 1979, $13.50 American Essay Serials from Franklin to Irving By Bruce Granger Tennessee, 1978, $13.50 American Indian Literature An Anthology Edited by Alan R. Velie Oklahoma, 1979, $15.95 cl., $6.95 p. Charlotte Perkins Gilman The Making of a Radical Feminist By Mary A. 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Bakker Montreal, March 1980, price not set French Symbolism and the Modernist Movement A Study of Poetic Structures By John Porter Houston Louisiana State, January 1980, $20.00 Handbook of Spanish Verbs By Judith Noble and Jaime Lacasa Iowa State, January 1980, tentatively $7.00 Histoire simple et veritable Les annales de THotel-Dieu de Montreal (1659-1725) By Marie Morin Montreal, 1979, $16.95 Le Negre dans le roman blanc By Sebastien Joachim Montreal, December 1979, price not set Seven Serpents and Seven Moons By Demetrio Aguilera-Malta Translated by Gregory Rabassa Texas, 1979, $12.95 Other Literature and Literary Criticism Player-King and Adversary The Two Faces of Play in Shakespeare By Eileen Allman Louisiana State, January 1980, $20.00 The Transformations of Godot By Frederick Busi Kentucky, January 1980, $12.00 Medieval and Renaissance Studies No. 8 Proceedings of the Southeastern Institute of Medieval and Renaissance Studies Summer 1976 Edited by Dale B. J. Randall Duke, 1979, $14.75 Physiologus Translated by Michael J. Curley Texas, 1979, $9.95 Soft Day A Miscellany of Contemporary Irish Writing Edited by Peter Fallon and Sean Golden Notre Dame, 1979, $5.95 The Word’s Body An Incarnational Aesthetic of Interpretation By Alla Bozarth-Campbell Alabama, February 1980, $15.50 Folklore Birds with Human Souls A Guide to Bird Symbolism By Beryl Rowland Tennessee, 1978, $15.00 Breaking the Magic Spell Radical Theories of Folk and Fairy Tales By Jack Zipes Texas, 1979, $13.95 Fivesquare City By James Dougherty Notre Dame, March 1980, $12.95 Hispanic Folk Music of New Mexico and the Southwest A Self-Portrait of a People By John Donald Robb Oklahoma, 1979, $35.00 Drama, Theatre, and Cinema History of Ideas The Cowboy Hero His Image in American History and Culture By William W. Savage, Jr. Oklahoma, 1979, $12.95 Dreams of Passion The Theatre of Luigi Pirandello By Roger W. Oliver New York, January 1980, $16.00 cl., $6.95 p. New Native American Drama Three Plays By Hanay Geiogamah Oklahoma, February 1980, $9.95 Aristotle, Rhetoric I A Commentary By William M. A. Grimaldi, S.J. Fordham, February 1980, $40.00 A History of Russian Thought From the Enlightenment to Marxism By Andrzej Walicki Translated by Hilda Andrews-Rusiecka Stanford, 1979, $25.00 New French Feminisms Edited by Elaine Marks and Isabelle de Courtivron Massachusetts, January 1980, $13.95 Books from University Presses (continued) The Responsibility of Mind in a Civilization of Machines Essays by Perry Miller Edited by John C. Crowell and Stanford J. Searl, Jr. Massachusetts, 1979, $14.50 Poetic Creation Inspiration or Craft By Carl Fehrman Minnesota, January 1980, $20.00 The Public Hug New and Selected Poems By Robert Hershon Louisiana State, 1979, $11.95 cl., $5.95 p.Linguistics Dialects in Culture By Raven I. McDavid Alabama, 1979, $22.75 Language and Linguistic Area Essays by Murray B. Emeneau Selected and Introduced by Anwar S. Dil Stanford, January 1980, about $15.00 The Pima Bajo of Central Sonora, Mexico Vocabulario en la Lengua Nevome By Campbell W. Pennington Utah, 1979, $16.00 Reference and Bibliography Articles on American Literature, 1968-1975 Compiled by Lewis Leary Duke, 1979, $39.75 Checklist of Narratives of Shipwrecks and Disasters at Sea to 1860 With Summaries. Notes, and Comments Edited by Keith Huntress Iowa State, 1979, tentatively $9.95 Varieties of American English Essays by Raven 1. McDavid, Jr. Selected and Introduced by Anwar S. Dil Stanford, January 1980, $15.95 A Critical Bibliography of French Literature Volume VI, The Twentieth Century, in 3 parts Edited by Douglas W. Alden and Richard A. Brooks Syracuse, January 1980, $120.00/3 book set Poetry John Galsworthy Even the Apple Has Mornings of Doubt Poems by Alain Bosquet Translated by William Frawley Louisiana State, 1979, $7.95 An Annotated Bibliography of Writings About Him Compiled and Edited by Earl E. Stevens and H. Ray Stevens Northern Illinois, January 1980, $30.00 The Function of Mimesis and Its Decline Second edition By John D. Boyd, S.J. Fordham, 1979, $7.50 Greenwich Mean Time By Adrien Stoutenburg Walter Pater An Annotated Bibliography of Writings About Him Compiled and Edited by Franklin E. Court Northern Illinois, January 1980, $20.00 Utah, 1979, $12.00 cl., $7.00 p. Moods: Of Late By Marden J. Clark Brigham Young, 1979, $5.95 The Names of a Hare in English By David Young Pittsburgh, 1979, $8.95 cl., $3.95 p. Journals Tennessee Studies in Literature Volume XXIV Edited by Allison R. Ensor and Thomas J. A. Heffernan Tennessee, 1979, $7.50 cl., $4.00 p. Deutsch als Fremdsprache Der Grope Duden Worterbuch und Leitfaden der deutschen Rechtschreibung mit einem Anhang Worter und Wendungen Worterbuch zum deutschen Sprachgebrauch Herausgegeben von E. Agricola Vorschriften fur den Schriftsatz, unter Mitwirkung von H. Gomer Korrekturvorschriften, Hinweise fur das Maschinenschreiben und R. Kiiftier 878 Seiten Bearbeitet von der Dudenredaktion Ganzgewebe • 22,—M unter Mitwirkung mehrerer Fach- Bestellangabe: 575 473 8— wissenschaftler Agricola, Woerter 768 Seiten • Ganzgewebe • 16,80 M Das Werk ist kein Worterbuch schlecht- Bestellangabe: 576 304 4- hin, sondern es zeigt den Gebrauch von Duden etwa 8000 Wortem des Allgemeinwort- schatzes in den verschiedenen Bedeutun- “Der Grofte Duden*’, das maflgebliche orthographische Nachschlagewerk gen und ihre Verkniipfungsmoglichkeiten. der deutschen Sprache, ist nicht nur fiir alle, die Deutsch als Worter und Gegenworter Muttersprache sprechen, sondern auch fur Deutsch lemende Aus- lander und fur Ubersetzer ein un- Antonyme der deutschen Sprache entbehrliches Hilfsmittel. Von Chr. Agricola und E. Agricola Gropes Fremdworterbuch 280 Seiten Bearbeitet von der Dudenredaktion Festeinband • 9,80 M in Zusammenarbeit mit zahlreichen Bestellangabe: 576 479 2- Fachwissenschaftlem. Antonym woe rterbuch 824 Seiten Bei dem Werk handelt es sich urn ein Genzgewebe • 24,—M Worterbuch von Gegensatz-Wortpaaren, Bestellangabe: 576 481 3- das im Prinzip die konsequente, kon- Grosses Fremdwoerterbuch tinuierliche Fortsetzung und Ergan- zung von Synonymworterbuchern und Es bietet aktuelles und traditionelles Worterbuchem nach Sach-bzw. Be- Wortgut mit Angaben zur Silbentrennung deutungsgruppen darstellt. Betonung, Aussprache, Grammatik, Be- deutung und Herkunft. Redensarten Kleine Idiomatik der deutschen Sprache Von H. Gomer 262 Seiten Festeinband • 7,80 M Bestellangabe: 576 591 2- Redensarten Das Buch enthalt rund 1000 idio- matische Wendungen mit Bedeu- tungsangaben, stilistischen Bewer- tungen und Anwendungsbeispielen. Zu beziehen durch eine intemationale Buchhandlung VEB Bibliographisches Institut Leipzig DDR-701 Leipzig, PostschlieBfach 130 Martin Heidegger and the Question of T .iteratiire Mai tin Heidegger and the Question I of Literature Toward a Postmodern Literary Hermeneutics EDITED BY WILLIAM V. SPANOS Relates the applicability of Heidegger's hermeneutic thought and practice to questions concerning the nature and function of language, the interpretation of literary texts, and the “crisis of criticism” central to the postmodern situation. (Studies in Phenomenology and Existential Philosophy) 352 pages $15.00 J ' ~ _ . , DICKENS AND THE VICTORIAN Available at bookstores or send $1.50 postage and handling for first book, 25G for each additional book, to order from publisher. INDIANA UNIVERSITY PRESS Tenth and Morton Streets, Bloomington, Indiana 47405 ‘In theWind’s Eye’ BYRON’S LETTERS AND JOURNALS Volume IX, 18214822 Edited by Leslie A. Marchand In this, the ninth volume of the series the St. Louis Post Dispatch. refers to as “One of the great modem works in progress,” Byron is deeply saddened by the deaths of his daughter, Allegra, and his friend, Shelley. Even so, the letters are, as Newsweek wrote, “sinewy, funny, electrifying emergency bulle- tins from a man operating... on the extreme edge of despair and disgrace.” $13.50 Vol. I, ‘In My Hot Youth,’ (1798-1810) $11 Vol. II, ‘Famous in My Time,’ (1810-1812) Vol. Ill, ‘Alas! The Love of Women!’ (1813-1814) $11.50 Vol. IV, ‘Wedlock’s the Devil,’ (18144815) $13.50 Vol. V, ‘So Late into the Night,’ (1816-1817) $13.50 Vol. VI, ‘The Flesh is Frail,’ (1818-1819) $13.50 Vol. VII, ‘Between Two Worlds,’ (1820-1821) $13.50 Vol. VIII, ‘Bom for Opposition,’ (1821) $13.50 The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138 The Creation of Nikolai Gogol Donald Fanger "The best thing in English on Gogol." —Edward J. Brown “A major book, destined to mark a turn- ing point in Gogol criticism, if not in fic- tion studies generally."—Hugh McLean Belknap $16.50 Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity Books VI-VIII Richard Hooker P. G. Stanwood, Editor W Speed Hill, General Editor The third and latest volume of this criti- cal edition includes the posthumous books of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity. Books Six, Seven and Eight contain Hooker's analysis of jurisdiction, episco- pacy, and the royal supremacy and are transcribed here from the most authorita- tive versions. This volume also includes Hooker's autograph notes toward those texts (brought to light by Stanwood in the course of his research) and the contem- porary notes by George Cranmer and Edwin Sandys on a lost draft of Book Six. The Folger Library Edition of the Works of Richard Hooker, Volume Three Belknap $50.00 illustrated Tennyson and Tradition Robert Pattison "A genuinely new and exciting reading of Tennyson's poetry."—E.D.H. fohnson “We finish this brilliant book with an enhanced sense of how deeply Tennyson drew upon—yet how radically he trans- formed—the poetic past." —fohn Rosenberg $14.00 Drawing by A. Rybnikov Courtesy of Houghton Library, Harvard University Utopian Thought in the Western World Frank E. Manuel and Fritzie P. Manuel "A masterwork of impeccable scholar- ship—brilliant, profound, extraordinarily wide-ranging, and altogether engrossing. Bound to be the definitive book on its complex subject for a long, long time." —Robert K. Merton Belknap $25.00 Distributed by the Press Art Inscribed Essays on Ekphrasis in Spanish Golden Age Poetry Emilie L. Bergmann Bergmann discusses the poetic tradition of ekphrasis—the description of visual works of art—from Garcilaso de la Vega to Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz. She demon- strates that ekphrasis exposes the bound- aries between the arts and the limitations of artistic imitation, while using that limitation as a source of poetic wit. Harvard Studies in Romance Languages, 35 $12.00 Harvard University Press Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138 The Poet and His Critics The first 5 titles in the distinguished ALA series that examines the work of major American and British writers through an analysis of its criticism Charles Sanders, General Editor Distinctly original in its underlying concept, this series not only summarizes and interrelates the more provocative criticism of each poet’s work by its main themes but, more importantly, har- nesses the critical writings into an evaluative framework. The components of these writings are organized so as to suggest the limitations in the existing corpus and offer fresh prespectives for continuing investigation. Each volume is written in the form of a running text, which incorporates elements of bibliography, literary criticism, and study guide. Additional essays and books on each poet are listed for further study. The series will be of great value to both students who must become familiar with the basic insights into a poet’s work and to the advanced student and instructor who seek directions for expanding their research. Poets to be examined in the five future works in this series tentatively include W. B. Yeats, Ezra Pound, Robert Lowell, E. E. Cummings, and T. S. Eliot. Robert Frost THE POET AND HIS CRITICS by Donald J. Greiner “... one of the best services of scholarship rendered Robert Frost since Lawrance Thompson’s biography.”-—The New England Quarterly 366 pages Cloth ISBN 0-8389-0191-3 (1974) $14.95 William Carlos Williams THE POET AND HIS CRITICS by Paul L. Mariani “ ... fills a gap in Williams scholarship.” —Choice 288 pages Cloth ISBN 0-8389-0199-9 (1975) $14.95 Dylan Thomas THE POET AND HIS CRITICS by R. B. Kershner, Jr. “... a fascinating overview of Thomas scholarship, augmented by much invalu- able bibliographic material.”-—Library Journal 294 pages Cloth ISBN 0-8389-0226-X (1976) $14.95 Langston Hughes THE POET AND HIS CRITICS by Richard Barksdale “.. . the best critical estimate of Hughes’ poetry published so far.”—Resources for American Literary Study 178 pages Cloth ISBN 0-8389-0237-5 (1977) $14.95 Wallace Stevens THE POET AND HIS CRITICS by Abbie F. Willard “Essential for collections of and about major 20th-century American poetry.” —Choice 270 pages Cloth ISBN 0-8389-0267-7 (1978) $14.95 Order Department American Library Association 50 East Huron Street Chicago, Illinois 60611 The Second Volume of the Chaucer Library Kalendarium of Nicholas of Lynn SIGMUND EISNER, editor Nicholas of Lynn was a Carmelite friar who lived at Oxford in the fourteenth century and composed a Latin almanac that Chaucer indicated he used in the Treatise on the Astrolabe and demonstrably used in at least three places in the Canterbury Tales. Following the general practice of the Chaucer Library, this edition presents the work in both the original Latin and an English translation. Mr. Eisner's introduction includes a brief biography of Nicholas, an examination of the general nature of a medieval calen- dar, an analysis of all the manuscripts of the Kalendarium, a statement of editorial principles, and a close study of Chaucer's use of the work. $30 Information about other volumes in the Chaucer Library and standing orders with discounts may be obtained by writing the Marketing Depart- ment. The Expansion and Transformations of Courtly Literature NATHANIEL B. SMITH and JOSEPH T. SNOW, editors This collection brings together twelve selected papers given at the Second Triennial Congress of the International Courtly Literature Society. Because the courtly ethos is the central phenomenon marking medieval vernacular literature, it provides a theme that serves as an ideological guide through the later Middle Ages and on into the Renaissance and as a framework for the essays gathered in this volume. $15 ffl The University of Georgia Press Athens 30602 OXFORD ON NOT BEING GOOD ENOUGH Writings of a Working Critic Roger Sale. Praise for the writer or critic who accepts the possibility of 'not being good enough' is the thrust behind this collection of Roger Sale's finest reviews and essays on current literature, which includes pieces on Mailer, Malamud, Drabble, Vonnegut, Stone, Hammett, Roth, Wellek, Trilling, Kenner, Howe, Kazin, and Mudrick. The book also fea- tures three meditative essays on fiction and the reviewing of fiction. 218 pp., $12.95 STORYTELLING AND MYTHMAKING Images from Film and Literature Frank McConnell. "A very lucidly writ- ten book, dealing intelligently with a great variety of modern and near- modern material, ranging from Henry James's Golden Bond to the Kojak televi- sion programmes.” — Northrop Frye. "One of the rare and authentic aids in bringing together the serious discussion of narrative and image patterns in lit- erature and film. . . . replete with sur- prise in its best senses, freshness, and humane suggestiveness.'' — Harold Bloom 320 pp., illus., $13.95 200 Madison Avenue New York, N.Y. Oxford University Press THE COLLECTED WORKS OF ISAAC ROSENBERG Poetry, Prose, Letters, Paintings and Drawings Edited with an Introduction and Notes by Ian Parsons; Foreword by Siegfried Sassoon. "This beautiful book, which contains reproductions of his paintings and drawings, must be regarded as tex- tuallv definitive — with all the poems, fragments of poems, letters, prose pieces, variant readings." — The Guardian (London). "How far ahead of his con- temporaries Rosenberg was is made plain in Mr. Parson's new, sumptuous, and much needed edition." — The Sundai/ Telegram (London) 320 pp., 52 plates (23 in color), $25.00 SWINBURNE The Poet in His World Donald Thomas. Eccentric and flam- boyantly original, Swinburne shocked the reading public with his vigorous, colorful, and frankly sexual verse. This interpretive biography offers a new criti- cal discussion of his major poems and an assessment of their influence on the development of English literature. 256 pp., illus., $12.95 . Prices subject to change. Henry James: The Later Novels NICOLA BRADBURY, Research Fellow, St. Anne's College, Oxford. The author examines the variety and complexity of James' later novels and gives access to "the quality of mind of the producer." f Ier study ranges from The Portmit of n Lnth/ to the unfinished works, showing how the poise of the unspeakable and tine unsavable in his dramatic novels develops towards the mysteries and paradoxes ot The Golden howl. 1979 240 pp. $34.50 Modernizing Shakespeare's Spelling STANLEY WELLS and GARY TAYLOR, Editor and Assistant Editor of the new Oxford Shake- speare. Edited texts of Shakespeare and his contemporaries have been presented in modernized spelling for centuries, and the degree of modernization that is justifiable has become a bone of scholarly contention during the past thirty or forty years. On his appointment as General Editor of the forthcoming Oxford edition of Shakespeare, which is to be in modern spelling, Dr. Wells regarded this as an important preliminary task. His findings are printed in advance of the edition itself in the hope of stimulating discussion on a topic of interest not only to Shakespeare scholars but more generally to editors, students, and readers of the English Renaissance texts. 1979 236 pp. ' $24.00 The Urewera Notebook KATHERINE MANSFIELD; edited by IAN A. GORDON, Emeritus Professor, Victoria University', Wellington. In 1907, the young Katherine Mansfield, just back from school in London, went camping in the remote Urewera district of New Zealand. She recorded her impressions in a notebook which she took with her to England in 1908 and used as the source of some of her best-known New Zealand stories. The notebook is a key document in her literary development as it provides unusual evidence of a young writer at work. Professor Gordon provides background details from documents of the time and from information given by Mansfield's companions and contemporaries. 1979 108 pp. $22.00 The Freeholder JOSEPH ADDISON; edited by JAMES LEHENY, Associate Professor of English, University of Massachusetts. This edition of fifty-five essays, published as a periodical during the Jacobite uprising of 1715-1716, reveals Joseph Addison's acute political sense, his awareness of popular opinion, and his ability to exploit situations for the benefit of the Whigs and the Hanoverian court. The edition includes a definitive text, an introduction to the political context in which Addison was writing and explanatory notes. 1979 ' 308 pp. $46.00 Humour in the Works of Proust MAYA SLATER, Lecturer, French Department, Westfield College, University of London. This book is the first full-length study in English of Proust's humor which permeated all his work, affecting his character portrayals, style, imagery and themes, and modifying his attitude to the fundamental issues of war, religion and death. The Proust that emerges from this study is a sharp, sometimes merciless observer of human nature, acutely aware of the tiniest humorous detail and courageous enough to expand an amusing idea to extravagant proportions. 1979 232 pp. $24.50 Prices and publication dates are subject to change. OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016 Criticism: We thrive on it. Adultery in the Novel Contract and Transgression Tony Tanner A brilliant exercise in literary interpretation that begins with the general topic of adultery in literature and tnen views specifically the act and con- sequences of adultery in Rousseau's La Nouvelle Heloise. Goethe's Die Wahlverwandtschaften, and Flaubert’s Madame Bovary. "Tanner's book is certainly one of the two or three really important and major books of the novel....The anthropological, psychological, and socio- logical meaning of adultery and marriage are examined with subtlety and perspicacity, and the readings of the three major novels he chooses go beyond anything we now have on these three masterpieces.'' — Edward W. Said, Columbia University $18.50 The Only Kangaroo among the Beauty Emily Dickinson and America Karl Keller This spirited study puts to rest the image of Emily Dickinson as the reclu- sive belle of Amherst by depicting her in her affinities with America and American writers past and present, and with various social and intellec- tual movements. Karl Keller explores Dickinson's relationship to Anne Bradstreet, Edward Taylor, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Walt Whitman, and others, and to generations of writers that followed, from Stephen Crane to Robert Frost. $18.50 Home as Found Authority and Genealogy in Nineteenth-Century American Literature Eric J. Sundquist Home as Found considers the works of four nineteenth-century American writers — James Fenimore Cooper, Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Herman Melville — to demonstrate the way in which personal crisis becomes the material of larger and more engaging questions of social and historical crisis. “The most suggestive and sustained meditation on the significance of the act of writing in American literature that I know. The linking of Amer- ican Romance with the family romance is a brilliant stroke that makes possible an altogether new and exciting perspective.” — Edgar A Dryden. University ojArizona $15.00 Johns Hopkins The Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, Maryland 21218 Criticism: Wethriveonit. The Republic of Letters A History of Postwar American Literary Opinion Grant Webster “A hard-hitting, judgmental history." — Hayden White, University of California Focusing on two major postwar critical schools, the New Critics and the New York Intellectuals, Grant Webster provides a candid assessment of recent critical trends that helps to explain the rise and fall of both critical fashions and the careers of critics themselves. Included are valuable biographical and bibliographical profiles of the major figures of each critical school — among them T. S. Eliot, Lionel Trilling, Edmund Wilson, Irving Howe, Alfred Kazin, Austin Warren, and Rene Wellek. $22.50 Poetic Presence and Illusion Essays in Critical History and Theory Murray Krieger Understanding the nature of poetry as an illusionaiy presence and an ever-present illusion is the subject of this new book by Murray Krieger. In it, he examines both the workings of selected poems (from the Renais- sance to the present) with regard to this dual nature and evaluates the work of literary critics (himself included) who have been concerned with this doubleness. $18.95 Interpreting Interpreting Interpreting Dickens’s Dombey Susan R. Horton Looking at both nineteenth- and twentieth-century interpretations of Charles Dickens's Dombey and Son, and then watching over her own shoulder as she in turn interprets the novel, first one way and then another, Susan R. Horton shows how an infinity of plausible, coherent, and very different readings of Dombey and Son have come to be. In addition to providing a new reading of one novel by Dickens, Horton presents a way of approaching almost any text from a variety of perspec- tives. $12.00 Johns Hopkins The Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, Maryland 21218 Princeton is Well-Versed ANGELOS SIKELIANOS Selected Poems Translated and Introduced by EDMUND KEELEY and PHILIP SHERRARD Although he is generally recognized as the most important Greek poet between Cavafy and Seferis, this is the first broad selection of Sikelianos's poems in English. Included here are works from the full range of the poet's career and in his several voices — those of the lyricist, the narrator, the seer. An introduction outlines the principal stages of the poet's development as thinker and craftsman in relation to the particular translations included. The Lockert Library of Poetry in Translation. Cloth, $12.50. Paper, $5.95 DANTE'S RIME Translated by PATRICK SIDNEY DIEHL Spanning the years from the early 1280s until about 1308, this collection of poems contains Dante's juvenilia as well as his more mature work prior to the Divine Comedy. Patrick Diehl's translation is the first in fifty years to offer in a single volume the bulk of Dante's shorter poetry. The collection, omitting only those poems Dante incorporated into the Vita nuova, contains several masterpieces of medieval poetry and gives us a fascinating look at the poet's development. The Lockert Library of Poetry in Translation. Cloth, $18.00. Paper, $5.95 AN EXPLANATION OF AMERICA ROBERT PINSKY "An Explanation of America ... looks likely to stand as an unequalled example of 20th century American Horatianism for a long time.” — Poetry Wales “It is refreshing to find a poet who is intellectually interesting and technically first-rate. Robert Pinsky belongs to that rarest category of talents, a poet-critic." — Robert Lowell Princeton Series of Contemporary Poets. Cloth, $7.50. Paper, $2.95 Winner of the Oscar Blumenthal Prize given by Poetry Magazine WALKING FOUR WAYS IN THE WIND JOHN ALLMAN Describing this collection of his poems, John Allman writes, “It is a book about the inner and outer worlds, a collection of multiple voices and relationships. In one sense it is about suffering, family, and survival. However, it is also about a world beyond such things, where identity burns by itself, where the self changes but never dies." Princeton Series of Contemporary Poets. Cloth, $8.50. Paper, $3.95 SIGNS AND WONDERS Poems by CARL DENNIS Carl Dennis comments, "I'm interested in making my poems sound like actual speech, like something one might say out loud to a single listener, whether the listener is simply the speaker or someone else. ... In voice and subject the poetry I most admire tries to relate society to solitude, common life to privileged life, and hope to memory." Princeton Series of Contemporary Poets. Cloth, $8.50. Paper, $3.95 New in Paperback ROBERT LOWELL Life and Art STEVEN GOULD AXELROD Illus. $5.95 (Cloth, $14.50) SAPPHO TO VALERY Poems in Translation JOHN FREDERICK NIMS $6.95 (Cloth, $16.50) THE COMPLETE POEMS AND SELECTED LETTERS OF MICHELANGELO Translated by CREIGHTON GILBERT With an Introduction by ROBERT N. LINSCOTT $5.95 (Cloth, $22.00) At bookstores or from Princeton University Press Princeton, New Jersey 08540 Thoreau PRINCETON Coleridge THE COLLECTED WORKS OF cX SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ™ Volume 12: Marginalia, Part 1 Edited by GEORGE WHALLEY In his introduction, George Whalley writes: “There is no body of marginalia — in English, or perhaps in any other language — comparable with Coleridge’s in range and variety and in the sensitiveness, scope, and depth of his reaction to what he was reading.” This multi-volume edition brings together some 8,000 notes, varying from a single word to substan- tial impromptu essays, many of which have never been printed before. In alphabetical order of au- thors, the notes are presented literatim mostly from the original manuscripts, and when appropriate, are provided with the segments of printed texts to which they refer. $60.00 VOLUME 13: LOGIC Edited by J. R. de J. JACKSON 8 Heretofore available only in fragments, the manu- script of Coleridge’s Logic is published here for the first time, along with the texts of manuscripts that are directly related to it Written in the 1820s, Cole- ridge’s intent was to provide for young men about to enter public and professional life a system of logic “applied to the purposes of real life." $20.00 THE WRITINGS OF HENRY D. THOREAU A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers Edited by CARL HOVDE and the staff of the Thoreau Textual Center, WILLIAM L. HOWARTH and ELIZABETH W1THERELL Written as a memorial to his brother and now con- sidered to be an appropriate predecessor to Wal- den, Thoreau's A Week on the Concord and Mer- rimack Rivers has a history of several publications and revisions. This edition derives from careful study of numerous surviving manuscripts and printed texts. The corrected proof sheets bearing Thoreau’s revisions and expressed intentions for both the 1849 and 1868 editions are the most au- thoritative versions and therefore serve as copy-text for this edition, lllus. $22.50 JOURNAL Volume 1, 1837-1844 WILLIAM L. HOWARTH, Editor-in-Chief JOHN C. BRODERICK, General Editor Containing a great deal of newly found unpublished material, this first volume of the Princeton Edition of Thoreau's Journal preserves his words as he origi- nally wrote them. From 1837-1862 Thoreau wrote over two million words into the Journal, a compen- dium of private thoughts and experiences that ulti- mately filled 47 manuscript volumes. Over these years the Journal evolved from a writer's workbook to a principal artifact in Thoreau’s literary career. $22.50 20% subscription discount available to libraries and individuals in the (J.S. and Canada only. Bollingen Series LXXV 10% subscription discount available to libraries and individuals in the (J.S. and Canada only. Perse COLERIDGE’S METAPHORS OF BEING EDWARD KESSLER In an original and provocative demonstration that Coleridge’s later poetry took on a powerful metaphysical conception, Kessler emphasizes Coleridge’s struggle with language as a means of both expressing and creating Being. While many of Coleridge's late poems are generally viewed as fragments that constitute an aesthetic failure, Kes- sler contends that Coleridge’s inability to finish a poem can otherwise be seen as a deliberate rejec- tion of what the poet came to see as a confining form. Princeton Essays in Literature. $12.50 ST.-JOHN PERSE: LETTERS Translated and Edited, ARTHUR J. KNODEL In 1960 the Nobel Prize for Literature was awarded to a poet with the assumed name of St-John Perse. At that date he was already well-known under his given name, Alexis Leger, as one of France’s most distinguished diplomats. Presented here in English translation are letters selected for publication by the poet himself, shortly before his death in 1975, from his wide correspondence with famous writers and public figures such as W. H. Auden, Francis and Katherine Biddle, Paul Claudel, Joseph Conrad, E. E. Cummings, T. S. Eliot, Andre Gide, Dag Hammarskjold, Archibald MacLeish, Igor Stravinsky, and Paul Valery. $20.00 Bollingen Series LXXXVll Princeton University Press Princeton, New Jersey 08540 The State of the g&We***" ^tn !̂ oil i(foa^Vwfading th& >xS*^J? Edited by Leonard Michaels and Christopher Ricks What are we doing with words today? Some of the world's most gifted writers offer informed and lively answers to all aspects of this question. Touching on much of contemporary life—art, religion, communication, science, politics, education, business, and manners—the essayists together embrace what is vital and distinctive in our language as we enter the 1980s. Contributors: Robert M. Adams, Kingsley Amis, Dwight Bolinger, Leon Botstein, Julian Boyd and Zelda Boyd, Leo Braudy, Robert Burchfield, Anthony Burgess, Angela Carter, Basil Cottle, John Dillon, Denis Donoghue, Margaret A. Doody, Judy Dunn, D.J. Enright, Gavin Ewart, Frances Ferguson, M.F.K. Fisher, Ronald Harwood, Kathryn Hellerstein, Liam Hudson, Diane Johnson, Simon Karlinsky, Hugh Kenner, Maxine Hong Kingston, Andre Kukla, Karla Kuskin, Robin Lakoff, David S. Levine, David Lodge, Louis B. Lundborg, Sean McConville. Robert Mezev, Leonard Michaels, Walter Benn Michaels, Josephine Miles, David Miller, Jane Miller, Lisel Mueller, Atwia Ostriker, J.R. Pole, Felix Poliak, Peter Porter, ]. Enoch Powell, Randolph Quirk, Frederic Raphael, tshmael Reed, David Reid, Christopher Ricks, Ian Robinson, Richard Rodriguez, Vernon Scannell, Nathan Silver, John Simon, Quentin Skinner, Geneva Smitherman, Monroe K. Spears, Michael Tanner, Charles Tomlinson, Marina Vaizey, Janet Whitcut, Edmund White, Mary-Kay Wilmers $14.95 At bookstores University of California Press • Berkeley 94720 Virginia Woolf Revaluation and Continuity A Collection of Essays Edited, with an Introduction, by Ralph Freedman The current renaissance of Virginia Woolf reflects a reassessment not only of Woolf as a writer but also of our social and political life as a whole. This is a collection of some of Woolf's most interesting commentators, whose varied concerns, traditional and modern, demonstrate the vitality and scope of Woolf criticism today. $14.95 Conrad in the Nineteenth Century Ian Watt In the first of a two-volume study, Watt deals with Joseph Conrad's career up to 1900, concentrating on four works: Almayer's Folly, The Nigger of the "Narcissus", Heart of Darkness, and Lord Jim. Watt recapitulates the new picture of Conrad's life that has begun to emerge during the last twenty years, but his main emphases are historical and critical. $18.50 Tales of Times Now Past Sixty-Two Stories from a Medieval Japanese Collection Translated, with an Introduction, by Marian Ury A completely new translation of sixty-two representative tales from Konjaku monogatari shu, a neglected classic of world literature from the early twelfth century. $9.95 Literary Architecture Essays Toward a Tradition Walter Pater, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Marcel Proust, Henry James Ellen Eve Frank What is accomplished when writers select architecture as art analogue for literature? Ellen Frank shows that architecture offers to literature a spatial image of mind, of consciousness and perception, while it pro- vides a structure to govern memory. $18.00 Old English Poetry Essays on Style Edited by Daniel G. Calder A comprehensive commentary by outstanding scholars on Old English poetic style. The variety of approaches is certain to stimulate research into this neglected area of Old English studies and will be valuable to specialists and students alike. $15.00 As We Saw Them The First Japanese Embassy to the United States (1860) Masao Miyoshi A historical and literary essay on the first Japanese Embassy to the United States, in 1860. Using diaries, memoirs, and such extraneous documents as American newspaper reports, Miyoshi describes the first contact of Japan with the West in its almost laboratory set of conditions. $14.95 Mastro-Don Gesualdo Giovanni Verga Translated, with an Introduction, by Giovanni Cecchetti Giovanni Verga (1840-1922) was a Sicilian- born novelist who wrote in the style of the French realists. His two masterpieces, Mastro- Don Gesualdo and The House by the Medlar Tree establish him as one of the great European writers of his century. With remarkable accuracy Cecchetti captures the poetic density and exotic flavor of Verga's text. $14.50 The Resonance of Dust Essays on Holocaust Literature and Jewish Fate By Edward Alexander. An examination of the works of Israeli and American Jewish writers since World War II and their attempts to cope with the enormity of the crime perpetrated and the suffering endured during the terrible and systematic destruction by the Nazis of the Jews of Europe. The recurrent themes of this absorb- ing and impassioned book are the incredibility of the Holocaust, its impact on the covenantal structure of Jewish religion, and the rival claims of Israeli and American Jewry to inheritance of the culture destroyed in Europe. Among the writers discussed are Abba Kovner, I. B. Singer, Nelly Sachs, Saul Bellow, and Chaim Grade. $15.00. OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY PRESS OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY PRESS OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY PRESS 2070 Neil Avenue, Columbus 43210 Friday’s Footprint Structuralism and the Articulated Text By Wesley Morris. A penetrating study that brings theoretical unity to the work of a rich variety of recent critics and reconciles struc- turalism and poststructurahsm with the divergent systems of such writers as Cassirer and Wittgenstein, the existentialist Sartre, phenomenologists like Merleau-Ponty and Poulet, and the lin- guists Chomsky and Jakobson — critics whose schools are thought to be antagonistic, not only to the structuralist and poststruc- turalist phenomena, but to one another as well. $20.00. Scripture of the Blind By Yannis Ritsos. Translated from the Greek, with an Introduction, by Kimon Friar and Kostas Myrsiades. One of the most distinguished poets of modern Greece, Yannis Ritsos has been celebrated throughout the world, and has eight times been nominated for the Nobel Prize. Published for the first time in any language, the poems in this bilingual edition were written during a two-month period, between September 28 and November 28, 1972, at the height of the oppression and degradation of the junta years. $20.00. Landscape of Death The Selected Poems of Takis Sinopoulos Translated from the Greek, with an Introduction, by Kimon Friar. In this bilingual edition, with the Greek text of the poems en face, the work of one of the most admired and honored of modern Greek poets becomes available for the first time to an English-speaking audi- ence. Beyond its instrinsic artistic merits, the poetry of Sinopoulos has a special significance: it is a major contribution to modern Greek reinterpretations of ancient Greek themes, and is the strongest and most intense evocation in Greek letters of the hor- rors of life in the poet's homeland during the terrible decade of th< 1940s. $25.00. Fact into Figure Tvpologv in Carlvle, Ruskin, and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood By Herbert L. Sussman. The droll anecdotes that figure so promi- nently in the history of the Pre-Raphaelites strike the modern mind as so curious that commentators have often found it difficult to move beyond such incidents to serious consideration of the principles tfiat inspired the group. By placing the Brotherhood securely within its Victorian setting, however, Professor Sussman discovers it working within a distinctly nineteenth-century mode of typology or figuralism practiced by Thomas Carlyle and John Ruskin; and when examined in light of this connection and coher- ence, the group emerges as a band of serious artists who engaged the crucial artistic and cultural questions of their age. Illustrated. $11.00. Thackeray’s Canvass of Humanity An Author and His Public By Robert A. Colby. The unique commingling in William Makepeace Thackeray of thinker, aesthete, and entertainer, and his easy famil- iarity with all levels of Victorian culture, dictate to some extent the scope and structure of this remarkable book; but the larger part of the study is devoted to intensive contextual analysis of individual novels, taken up chronologically within related groups according to their origins and to stages in Thackeray's development. In a literary biography of a major Victorian, Professor Colby demon- strates persuasively how Thackeray's works can be read against, and as products or, the social ancf literary milieu in which they were composed, and how they reflect bis perceptions of the readers for whom he wrote. Illustrated. $25.00. OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY PRESS OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY PRESS 2070 Neil Avenue, Columbus 43210 Tolstoy in Prerevolutionary Russian Criticism By Boris Sorokin. The first systematic and comprehensive analysis ever undertaken of the divergent philosophical positions that in- formed the major critical approaches of six distinct groups to the writer who has been described as the most momentous phenome- non in nineteenth-century Russia: the radical “pragmatic ration- alists" of the 1850s and 60s, the Slavophile or so-called organic critics, the aesthetes of the Part pour I'art, the narodniki, the sym- bolists and impressionists, and, finally, the Marxists. Published for Miami University. $25.00. Language and Reality in Swift’s “A Tale of a Tftib” By Frederik N. Smith. In the contrasting configurations of style en- countered in Swift's satiric masterpiece, Professor Smith discovers two conflicting approaches to life: one aloof, intellectualized, and abstract; the other earthy, sensate, and empirical. Positing a close connection between an individual's personal habits of language and his private perception of reality, he proceeds to demonstrate how Swift — through artful juxtaposition, adroit interplay, and pointed disparity—manipulates these modes of discourse to reveal two radically different notions of truth, from which, paradoxically, truth itself emerges. $15.00. The Mark and the Knowledge Social Stigma in Classic American Fiction By Marjorie Pryse. The outcast banished by communal rejection; the scapegoat punished in ritual cleansing; the stigmatic branded and disfigured for his special destiny; the exile isolated by his own convictions or his doubts — these are familiar figures in world literature who remain compelling. Professor Pryse observes the American novelist's abiding preoccupation with such individuals, whom she defines as marked characters, and demonstrates how they have come to occupy a central place in American fiction of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Published for Miami University. $15.00. Timon of Athens Shakespeare’s Pessimistic Tragedy By Rolf Soellner. With a Stage History by Gary Jay Williams. Professor Soellner accepts the problematical Timon as a tragedy, albeit one that does not necessarily satisfy standard definitions. And though he readily concedes that there are sporadic textual deficiencies, he finds in the structure of the play, its characterization, imagery, and thematic development, indisputable evidence of the drama's hav- ing been worked out in conformity with a controlling and high tragic design, and of its having been more deliberately and se- curely anchored in the pessimistic intellectual tradition than has heretofore been supposed. Illustrated. $15.50. xcellent Texts from D.C. Heath Our list is growing to meet your course needs! Literature — The Heath Introduction to Literature Alice S. Landy, Lesley College January 1980 Paperbound 992 pages A Literature of Sports Lorn Dodge, Mountain View College January 1980 Paperbound 560 pages The Enlightenment and English Literature John L. Mahoney, Boston College September 1979 Casebound 784 pages Composition — Words: Form and Function Pauline Smolin and Philip T. Clayton, both of the University of Cincinnati September 1979 Paperbound 337 pages The Sampler: Patterns for Composition Rance G. Baker and Billie R. Phillips, both of San Antonio College August 1979 Paperbound 180 pages Correct Writing, Second Edition, Form 3 Eugenia Walker Butler, University of Georgia Mary Ann Hickman, Gainesville Junior College Lalla Overby, Brenau College November 1979 Paperbound 364 pages An Auto-Instructional Text in Correct Writing, Second Edition, Form B Eugenia Walker Butler, University of Georgia Mary Ann Hickman, Gainesville Junior College Lalla Overby, Brenau College November 1979 Paperbound 496 pages Humanities — The Humanities: Cultural Roots and Continuities Volume I Three Cultural Roots Volume II The Humanities and the Modern World Mary Ann Frese Witt, North Carolina State University Charlotte Vestal Brown, Duke University Roberta Ann Dunbar, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill Frank Tirro, Duke University Ronald G. Witt, Duke University December 1979 Paperbound Volume I: 448 pages Volume II: 400 pages French — Franc-Parler, Second Edition Simone Renaud Dietiker, San Jose State University 1980 Casebound 464 pages Workbook/Laboratory Manual, Instructor’s Manual, and Tape Program. Aujourd’hui, Second Edition Maresa Fanelli, Lafayette College Michel Guggenheim, Bryn Mawr College 1980 Casebound 544 pages Workbook/Laboratory Manual and Tape Program. German — Spoken German, Second Edition Renate Hiller 1980 Paperbound 240 pages Italian — Beginning Italian, Third Edition Vincenzo Cioffari, Boston University 1979 Casebound 288 pages Applied Spanish Grammar Ana C. Jarvis, San Bernardino Valley College Raquel Lebredo, University of the Redlands 1980 Paperbound 256 pages Applied Spanish Workbook: Business and Finance 1980 Paperbound 260 pages Applied Spanish Workbook: Medical Personnel 1980 Paperbound 260 pages Applied Spanish Workbook: Oral Communication 1980 Paperbound 260 pages De aqui y de alia: Estampas del mundo hispanico Eduardo Zayas-Bazan and Manuel Laurentino Suarez, both of East Tennessee State University December 1979 Paperbound 224 pages Spanish — Enfoques: Temas de comentario oral y escrito Mireya Camurati, State University of New York at Buffalo with the assistance of Dorothy B. Rosenberg December 1979 Paperbound 288 pages For details or sample copies, call us toll free: 800-225-1388. In Massachusetts, call collect: 617-862-6650, ext. 1344. HEATH D.C. Heath and Company 125 Spring Street Lexington, Massachusetts 02173 (Toronto, Ontario M5H 1S9) A Raytheon Company LOUIS ZUKOFSKY: MAN AND POET Edited with Introduction by Carroll F. Terrell 450 pages, $22.50, Paper $12.95 “In the next century, hundreds of books and articles will be written about Zukofsky: All of them will have to start with this book.”— Paideuma THE SACRED EDICT OF KANG HSI A facsimile reprint of the Chinese text with Bailer’s translation. 215 pages, $16.50, Paper $8.95 “The wisdom of Confucius as the Chinese people really heard it.”—John Nolde JOHN ADAMS SPEAKING Pound’s Sources for the Adams Cantos By Frederick Sanders 530 pages, $15.00 From six thousand pages of letters, documents, memoirs, and reflections written by John Adams, Pound excerpted 80 pages which he wove into the twenty-five hundred line fabric of poetry known as “The Adams Cantos.” Sanders places the 80 pages back into their original contexts. Except for a brief six-page introduction, the book is an easy to read photo-offset reproduction of the ms. DANTE AND POUND The Epic of Judgement By James Wilhelm 188 pages, $ 12.95 Wilhelm looks at Dante and Pound and finds stunning similarities in their exiles, their ideas of the classic and the epic, and their moral attitudes. He shows how Dante’s hell-purgatory-paradise structure became a paradigm for The Cantos and how “the love of money is the root of all evil” became a major theme of both. LETTERS TO IBBOTSON 1935-1952 By Ezra Pound. Edited by V. Mondolfo and M. Hurley 145 pages, Limited edition: 400, $12.95 An annotated transcription of Pound’s letters to a favorite teacher, Joseph Ibbotson, which gives graphic emphasis to the changes in the poet’s mind during these critical years. EZRA POUND’S CANTOS'. THE STORY OF THE TEXT By Barbara Eastman 141 pages, Limited edition: 400, $12.95 This book contains all the textual variants in the many editions of The Cantos with the story of how they got there. Hugh Kenner’s introduction explains why errors have been there so long and how hard it is to get them out. “A correct text must start with this book!”—Paideuma THE NATIONAL POETRY FOUNDATION THE UNIVERSITY OF MAINE ORONO, MAINE 04469 VOICES OF AMERICA SLOUCHING TOWARDS BETHLEHEM by JOAN DIDION "Perhaps it is possible for this collection to be recognized as it should be: not as a better or worse example of what some people call 'mere journalism,' but as a rich display of some of the best prose written today in this country." —Dan Wakefield, New York Times Book Review Recognized with universal acclaim upon its publication, SLOUCHING TOWARDS BETHLEHEM is now accepted as a classic work of the essayist's art and has been adopted in courses nationwide. The essays capture a vision of America as a civilization in which "the center cannot hold" and the superstructure is breaking apart. In the midst of this entropy is Joan Didion, whose personal anguish allows her to observe the transformation of modern America with an acuity and irony shared by few others. #24806-5 $3.95 THE STUDIO by JOHN GREGORY DUNNE "The real contribution of Dunne's book lies in its nicely honed portrait of the Hollywood ethos, that gothic mix of greed, hypocrisy, shrewd calculation, mad hoopla and boundless optimism that shapes American films and, through them, much of the sensibility of the American publ ic."—Newsweek THE STUDIO is an extraordinary portrait of the motion pic- ture industry at work, an account of a year in the life of the real cast of characters at Twentieth Century Fox. John Gre- gory Dunne, the author of Delano, Vegas and True Con- fessions, followed the production of an expensive, but ill- fated, film from conception through final cut. A sometimes chilling and always serious and authentic study of the state of mind called Hollywood, THE STUDIO is an enlightening guide to how movies are made, what makes them a success or failure, and the role they play in American life. #24807-3 $3.95 Examination copies of paperbacks are available by writing to Educa- tional & Library Services, below address.On university letterhead, describe the course for which you are considering using the title requested. A $1.00 service charge for each book must accompany the request. PLAY IT AS IT LAYS by JOAN DIDION "There hasn't been another writer of Joan Didion's quality since Nathaniel West. She writes with a razor, carving her characters out of her perceptions with strokes so swift and economical that each scene ends almost before the reader is aware of it; and yet the characters go on bleed- ing afterward. While the result is not exactly pleasant, it seems to me just about perfect according to its own austere terms." —John Leonard, New York Times PLAY IT AS IT LAYS established Joan Didion's reputation as a novelist of brilliant narrative style and rare sensitivity to nuance of character, a reputation which was confirmed with her later novel, A Book of Common Prayer. In PLAY IT AS IT LAYS she has created a central character who is representa- tive of the assertive woman facing a hostile society; is recog- nizable as an extension of the personality of the author; and is, at the same time, a living and suffering human being in her own right. #24846-4 $3.95 I HEAR AMERICA TALKING An Illustrated History of American Words and Phrases by STUART BERG FLEXNER "The most illuminating word book of the year... a mas- terpiece of cultural history, excitingly laid out and illus- trated, infused with the passion and color of the real world of words."—William Safire, New York Times Book Review A leisurely and fascinating account of the words and expres- sions which best define the culture of America, by the author of The Dictionary of American Slang. Each article probes the history and social influence surrounding a group of Amer- ican expressions and documents the shifts in their usage and acceptability over the centuries. Entries are arranged under such topical headings as "Abolition," "French, French Toast and French Postcards," "The Iron Horse," "Sacco and Van- zetti," "Soda Pop and Soda Water," and "Watergate." Con- temporary illustrations accompany the articles and appropri- ate quotations exemplify usage and often add a touch of humor. Here is a captivating book for browsing, an important reference tool, as well as a stimulating introduction to the use of linguistic analysis in historical and social contexts. #24994-0 $8.95 TOUCHSTONE 7IK SIMON & SCHUSTER ,230 AVENUE OF THE AMERICAS, NEW YORK, N.Y. ,0020 And Waller Wangerin, Jr.'s THE BOOK OF THE DON cow is full of magic —one of those rare books loved by educational and trade reviewers alike. 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Director 20, St. Paul’s Ct. 1J BROOKLYN, N. Y. 11226 Need a Translator? Or looking for a company that does translation work? Now you can find them and more! Pub- lishers, authors and literary agents now need no longer rely primarily on the hap- hazard process of personal contacts to ob- tain skilled translators. TRANSLATION AND TRANSLATORS: An International Di- rectory and Guide will provide you with a register of accredited and/or published translators and interpreters. It also provides information on the translating profession previously available only in part, and never before assembled in one place. After centuries of being a neglected and underpaid profession, translation is at last coming into its own. 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They are: Recent History and Breakthroughs, Associations I Centers I Awards / Fellowships I Grants/Prizes, Training and Access to the Profession, Guidelines I Codes of Practices I Model Contracts/Copyright/Legislation, Jour- nals/Books, Register of Translators and In- terpreters, Translators’ and Interpreters’ Marketplace. “A translation index that will be of im- measurable interest to that neglected sector of the publishing world.” — Helen Wolff, Helen & Kurt Wolff Books, Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, Inc. TRANSLATION AND TRANSLATORS An International Directory and Guide Comp, and ed. by Stefan Congrat-Butlar September 1878. ISBN 0-8352-1158-4. *35.00. BOWKER NEW'lORK&.lDNDON R.R. Bowker Order Dept., P.O. Box 1807, Ann Arbor, HI 48106 Please add sales tax where applicable. Prices apply to U.S.. its territories, possessions and Canada. 10% higher elsewhere in Western Hemisphere. Payable in U.S. funds drawn on U.S. banks only. Postage and handling extra except on pre-paid orders. Prices and publication dates subject to change without notice. Outside W.H.: Bowker, Erasmus House, Epping Essex, England. English Pageantry on Microf iche Classic studies and collections now available in compact, inexpensive microfiche. All texts are reproduced from the original editions in high quality 24X prints, and each set is shipped in a rigid storage frame punched for standard 3-ring binders. English Pageantry: An Historical Outline by Robert Withington, Pioneering study of the history and traditions of English pag­ eantry. An essential reference. Original edition in two volumes. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1919-1920. 6 fiches plus frame ISBN 0-935232-50-8 $9.85 The Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth compiled by John Nichols. The first and best-known compendium of show texts and related materials, covering the entire reign. Indispensable and likely to remain so. Original edition in three volumes. London: J. Nichols, 1 823. 9 fiches plus frame ISBN 0-935232-51-6 $13.85 The Progresses, Processions, and Magnificent Festivities of King James the First compiled by John Nichols. Nichols' sequel to the Elizabeth volumes, detailed and still essential. Original edition in four voulumes. London: J. Nichols, 1828. 12 fiches plus frame ISBN 0-935232-53-4 $18.85 Order from your bookseller or direct from the publisher. J. Moynes & Company, 7319 Dinwiddie Street, Downey, California 90241 SCHOLARS and their PUBLISHERS Edited by Weldon A. kefauver. Written by directors, editors, and managers of university presses, this long-needed guide clarifies the problems of scholars who face increasing pressure to publish at a time when scholarly publishers are subject to severe economic pressures. Six essays discuss scholarly standards and economic factors in the decision to publish, the scholar as publishing author, the publisher’s reader, the publishing contract, and new methods of printing. 1977. 59 pp. Paperbound. $3.00 Send your order and check to: MLA Publications Center 62 Fifth Avenue New York, New York 10011 THOMAS PYLES Selected Essays on English Usage edited by John Algeo Contents: Orthoepia Classica. 1, The Pronunciation of Latin Learned Loanwords and Loreign Words in Old English; 2, Tempest in Teapot: Reform in Latin Pronunciation; 3, The Pronunciation of Latin in English: A Lexicographical Dilemma. De Temporibus et Moribus. 4, That Line Italian/I in American English; 5, Subliminal Words are Never Linalized; 6, “TaskLorce” Makes “Breakthrough”; 7, Inkhornisms, Lustian, and Current Vogue Words; 8, The English of VIPs; 9, The Auditory Mass Media and U. Semantica et Etymologia. 10, Innocuous Linguistic Indecorum: A Semantic Byway; 11, Bollicky Naked; 12, Ophelia’s “Nothing.” Onomastica. 13, Dan Chaucer; 14, British Titles of Nobility and Honor in American English; 15, Onomastic Individualism in Oklahoma; 16, Bible Belt Onomastics; or, Some Curiosities of Antipedobaptist Nomenclature. Pseudodoxia Epidemica Linguistica. 17, Linguistics and Pedagogy: The Need for Conciliation; 18, The Role of Historical Linguistics; 19, English Usage: The Views of the Literati; 20, Dictionaries and Usage; 21, Sweet Are the Usages of Diversity. A University of Florida Book. xiv, 222pp. $18.00 Available from University Presses of Florida, 15 NW 15th Street, Gainesville, FL 32603. Individual orders must be accompanied by remittance. Postage and handling, 75 cents; Florida residents add 4% sales tax. 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Please mail to: Membership Office, Modern Language Association 62 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10011 Malcolm Lowry A Preface to His Fiction Richard K. Cross ‘ ‘The great value of this study is that it presents the glory and the pathos of Lowry’s achievement as clearly, intelligently, and sensitively as they can be presented—not just for the specialist or literary historian, but for the readers to whom Lowry should matter most, and by whom he should be read. —Frank McConnell, Northwestern University Cloth 160 pages $12.50 February In the Meantime Character and Perception in Jane Austen T Fiction Susan Morgan Critics have granted Austen morality and manners, technical genius and an observant eye, but not an original mind. In this volume, Morgan argues that Austen’s work, like that of the romantic poets with whom she was contempo- rary, has as its subject the problem of perception, the relations of the mind to the world outside the mind. 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work_4b7mg2kk5vf5xn5j3txw3rdklq	----	Recasting the Significant: The Transcultural Memory of Alexander von Humboldt’s Visit to Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. humanities Article Recasting the Significant: The Transcultural Memory of Alexander von Humboldt’s Visit to Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. James F. Howell Department of German Studies, University of Arizona, 9720 N. Oak Shadows Pl., Tucson, AZ 85737, USA; jfhowell@email.arizona.edu Academic Editor: Bernd Fischer Received: 1 May 2016; Accepted: 27 June 2016; Published: 1 July 2016 Abstract: Alexander von Humboldt was internationally known as a world traveler, having collected data and analyzed samples from five of the world’s seven continents. He spoke several languages fluently, and split most of his adult life between the cosmopolitan centers of Berlin and Paris. The great deal of time Humboldt spent in Latin America, along with his staunch belief in human equality, led to his reverence in those countries. Indeed, Humboldt was a world citizen in the truest sense of the word. But what of the United States? What claim can this nation make to the heritage and legacy of the world-exploring baron? A brief stop in Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. at the end of Humboldt’s expedition to the equatorial regions of the Americas seems to suffice. This short stay, along with the Humboldt-Jefferson correspondence, constitutes the great American link in Humboldt studies, a link whose nature and importance has, over the years, received an exaggerated amount of attention from authors writing for an American audience. The following analysis, using the tools of transcultural memory studies, investigates why this relatively insignificant event in a long and storied life assumes an inflated role in current accounts of the life and work of Alexander von Humboldt. Keywords: Alexander von Humboldt; cultural memory; transcultural memory; Thomas Jefferson; Founding Fathers 1. Humboldt’s Arrival in the United States On 24 May 1804, Alexander von Humboldt arrived in Philadelphia, marking the beginning of his one and only visit to the United States. Between his arrival and departure on June 30th of the same year, Humboldt traveled between Philadelphia and Washington, D.C., meeting with scientists and dignitaries at every stop. Humboldt was the talk of the new republic, indeed the world, after the completion of his five-year scientific and ethnographic survey of South and Central America. During his almost six weeks in the United States, Humboldt’s inquisitive hosts received him warmly, and he returned the warmth, remarking that the time spent in Washington and Philadelphia was “the most delightful of [my] life” ([1], p. 24), and that he considered himself from then on to be “half an American” ([2], p. ix). Although Humboldt did enjoy his stay in the United States and appreciated the connections he made there, he wrote very little about this pleasant and short detour in his long and storied travels. When later summarizing the final phase of his voyage, Humboldt merely remarked that he sailed from Havana to Bordeaux “by the way of Philadelphia” ([1], p. 30). This succinct characterization seems almost unthinkable when compared to recent textual depictions of Humboldt published in the United States. With the notable exception of Mary Louise Pratt’s volume Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation, Humboldt and his work have experienced an overwhelmingly positive reception in the United States over the past 25 years. In addition to this general positivity, another hallmark of Humanities 2016, 5, 49; doi:10.3390/h5030049 www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities Humanities 2016, 5, 49 2 of 9 American Humboldt literature is the aforementioned visit to Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. in the late spring of 1804. Recently, writers in the United States have interpreted this short stay not merely as a cornerstone of Humboldt’s influence on American culture during the nineteenth century, but also as a defining moment in the Prussian baron’s life and intellectual career. Although Humboldt’s visit and his connection to the Founding Fathers certainly did not damage his notoriety in the United States during the course of the nineteenth century, it is problematic to overemphasize the relevance of these encounters. Indeed, the connections and correspondence Humboldt initiated with numerous American scientists and artists in Paris and Berlin after 1804 were more important in terms of his impact on American science and exploration. Contrary to the representations in many current accounts, the most probable source of the respect and popularity Humboldt enjoyed in the United States came from the translation and publication of the first several volumes of his magnum opus, Kosmos. This work was an international sensation, and within the United States its impact was felt and celebrated by the likes of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman, Henry David Thoreau, and Edgar Allan Poe. Why, then, does this brief and marginally relevant chapter in a life otherwise overflowing with acquaintances and accolades take such a central role in America’s modern understanding and representation of Alexander von Humboldt? This investigation will demonstrate the ways in which Humboldt and his visit to the United States are currently presented to American audiences, as well as analyze the transcultural and mnemonic processes involved in the reintroduction of Alexander von Humboldt to American cultural memory. 2. Framing Humboldt’s Visit One need not look far to find the narrative centrality of Humboldt’s visit in contemporary American texts. Humboldt’s presence on the eastern seaboard and his subsequent relationship with the Founding Fathers represent the starting point, the turning point, or the conclusion of American accounts of his life and works. Aaron Sachs, the author of The Humboldt Current: Nineteenth-Century Exploration and the Roots of American Environmentalism, begins his work with the following harrowing and adventurous account: “It would have been easier to sail straight back to Europe. Politics and weather both favored the conservative course: to make the detour from Havana to Philadelphia, his ship would be forced to brave a British naval blockade and risk a dangerous stretch of water at the beginning of hurricane season” ([3], p. 1). Here, Humboldt’s visit to the United States serves as the introduction to Humboldt and his biography. Only later does the reader learn in full detail from Sachs about Humboldt’s background and accomplishments. The explorer’s scientific influence and contributions to American environmentalism—Sach’s central themes—initially assume a secondary role to the establishment of Humboldt’s true credentials: his connection to the founders, and thereby to the founding, of the new republic. This association bestows a level of authenticity and indigeneity to the influence Humboldt exercised on the imagination and training of early American explorers and scientists. Humboldt impacted the American intellectual tradition not only through books and articles as a distant European scholar; rather by highlighting and prioritizing the dangerous passage from Havana to Philadelphia and the subsequent stay in the United States, Humboldt’s story becomes, in part, an American story. Laura Dassow Walls, author of Passage to Cosmos: Alexander von Humboldt and the Shaping of America, employs Humboldt’s visit to Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. as a turning point in the narrative of Humboldt’s biography, as well as in her own investigation. Although Walls’ account of Humboldt’s life does not begin with his time in Philadelphia and Washington, D.C., these events are afforded special attention and are represented in a way reminiscent of Sach’s narrative. As seen in the following selection, Walls frames Humboldt’s decision to brave the Bahama Strait in familiarly courageous and daring terms: “Beyond the ‘moral obligation’ he felt to see the world’s lone functioning republic, there was every reason to avoid the detour. Humboldt was desperate to get himself, his friends, and his collections safely home to Paris. [...] Heading north risked losing everything they had with them to the British blockades of U.S. ports—assuming his ship was spared by the Humanities 2016, 5, 49 3 of 9 notorious Atlantic storms” ([2], p. 99). This dramatic account of Humboldt’s fateful decision to visit the United States initiates the second half of Walls' analysis, in which she begins to shift her focus away from Humboldt’s biography and onto his influence on nineteenth-century American literary culture. Although Humboldt’s fame in English-speaking North America would truly blossom with the first translations of Kosmos in 1845, Walls, among others, claims that the seeds had already been planted in the late spring of 1804. Gerard Helferich, in his work Humboldt’s Cosmos: Alexander von Humboldt and the Latin American Journey that Changed the Way We See the World, utilizes Humboldt’s brief stopover in the United States to frame the remainder of the explorer’s biographical narrative after having completed his American travels. The twelfth and final chapter of Helferich’s book bears the title of “Washington, Paris, and Berlin” [4]. This condensation of the final two-thirds of Humboldt’s life is indeed noteworthy, as it seemingly gives his time spent in Washington equal weight to his years spent living and working in Paris (1807–1827) and in Berlin (1827–1859). It should, of course, be noted that the biographical narrative crafted by Helferich focuses on Humboldt’s experiences in South and Central America, and therefore leaves little space for details regarding his life prior to and following the years 1799–1804. Considering, however, the fact that the vast majority of Humboldt’s scientific engagement and literary activity took place following his return to Europe, Helferich’s choice is truly remarkable. It suggests that visiting the United States and encountering Thomas Jefferson profoundly affected Humboldt and his legacy in a way equal to the composition of Kosmos, the Russian Expedition of 1829, or participation in the nineteenth-century scientific discourses centered in Paris. These accounts make it clear that visiting the United States was no mere fancy for Humboldt on his return journey; indeed, American authors go to great lengths to suggest that some kind of imperative was at work, compelling Humboldt to look upon this new republic with his own eyes, and meet the men and women who brought it about. Perhaps the most interesting use of Humboldt’s visit to frame a biographical narrative is employed by David McCullough in his essay on Humboldt entitled “Journey to the Top of the World.” McCullough, like Sachs, begins his account with Humboldt’s arrival in the United States in May of 1804; unlike Sachs, however, McCullough does not reveal Humboldt’s identity until the reader has been introduced to a well-known cast of American characters. All the reader knows of the “aristocratic young German” on the first page is that he had “come to pay his respects to the president of the new republic, Thomas Jefferson, a fellow ‘friend of science,’ and to tell him something of his recent journeys through South and Central America. For the next several weeks he did little else but talk, while Jefferson, on their walks about the White House grounds; or James Madison, the secretary of state; or the clever Mrs. Madison; or Albert Gallatin, the secretary of the treasury; or those who came to dine in with the president or to do business with him, listened in awe” ([5], p. 3). Only after the reader is securely ensconced in the thoroughly American context does McCullough reveal on the second page that “The young man’s name was Humboldt, Alexander von Humboldt—Friedrich Wilhelm Karl Heinrich Alexander von Humboldt—or Baron von Humboldt, as he was commonly addressed” ([5], p. 4). Although not even lasting six weeks, Humboldt’s presence in the newly established United States and his subsequent relationship with the Founding Fathers constitute an axis around which current American historical narratives revolve. 3. Humboldt and the Founding Fathers Recent American accounts associate Humboldt’s imperative to visit the United States with his desire to meet and consult with one particular Founding Father. As Joyce Appleby succinctly puts it in her volume Shores of Knowledge: New World Discoveries and the Scientific Imagination: “The purpose of this final leg of their voyage was to meet the president, Thomas Jefferson [...]” ([6], p. 224). Sachs echoes Appleby’s assertion in more detail: “If any particular person in the young Republic could have quieted Humboldt’s wanderlust for a more prolonged period, it would probably have been Thomas Jefferson himself. President not only of the nation, but also of its foremost Philosophical Society, Jefferson seems to have been the real object of Humboldt’s visit to the United States” ([3], p. 3). Humanities 2016, 5, 49 4 of 9 Humboldt had introduced himself to Jefferson in a letter, expressing his interest in discussing some of his paleontological finds from the Andes with the president. He soon found in Jefferson a gracious and intellectually equal host. As David McCullough states: “But there they were in Washington for several days, two of the most remarkable men of their time, fellow spirits if ever there were, talking, talking endlessly, intensely, their conversation having quickly ranged far from fossil teeth” ([5], p. 4). The representation of Jefferson in many of these texts appears as a personification of the new nation itself, an embodiment of its growth, curiosity, and potential. And in accordance, Humboldt’s correspondence with Jefferson has come to symbolize in many cases Humboldt’s continued interest in and preoccupation with the United States. As Helferich explains: “The two men would correspond for many years, and Jefferson’s high regard for Humboldt is obvious in his letters. [...] The friendship, rooted in their shared political philosophy and common love of science, would endure for more than twenty years, until Jefferson’s death in 1826” ([4], p. 299). As will later be argued, however, this epistolary connection proves to be tenuous at best. Jefferson is not the only Founding Father with ties to Humboldt, a fact that is continually underlined in the American investigations of the last 25 years. The best example of this connection between Humboldt and the revolutionary generation is provided by Walls in Passage to Cosmos. Like McCullough and Sachs, Walls mentions in detail Humboldt’s relationship with James and Dolley Madison. Unlike her counterparts, though, Walls goes on to discuss Humboldt’s consultations with other, lesser-known Founding Fathers, such as Dr. Benjamin Rush: “Over several visits with the famous physician Benjamin Rush—the obstinate and passionate reformer who had ridden to the First Continental Convention with John Adams and signed the Declaration of Independence next to Benjamin Franklin—Humboldt shared his speculations over the moral influence of New World gold and silver” ([2], p. 105). A textual connection emerges among Adams, Franklin, and the signing of the Declaration of Independence through Rush and his interactions with Humboldt. Walls again emphasizes this connection to Franklin when she notes Humboldt’s activities in Philadelphia: “The members of the American Philosophical Society, the premier learned society of the United States (founded by Benjamin Franklin in 1743), adopted Humboldt as one of their own, voting him to full membership at their next meeting. [...] It was probably in the fine new building of the Library Company of Philadelphia (founded by Franklin in 1731) that Humboldt shouted for joy when he read the announcement that his irreplaceable manuscripts had arrived safely home” ([2], p. 101). Here the reader is presented with Humboldt’s connection to Franklin expressed either in his membership in an organization, or in a joyous, yet merely probable, event. Some of these connections are tenuous at best, but perhaps the most interesting is the way in which Walls creates a textual connection between Humboldt and George Washington: “One day the party set off for Mount Vernon, where the visitors drank in the view while [Charles Wilson] Peale mourned for the good old days when he sat and drank with George Washington. Peale introduced Humboldt to Billy Lee, the last of Washington’s slaves, who had been granted freedom and an annuity in his will” ([2], pp. 102–3). In this passage, Walls not only connects Humboldt to the central figure among the Founding Fathers, she also connects him to the most problematic and divisive element of their legacy. The establishment of such a link to the Founding Fathers and the complexities of American slavery is remarkable, to be sure, as Humboldt was a lifelong abolitionist and an ardent opponent of the slave trade in the Americas. 4. The Constitution of Convention Perhaps the most intriguing elevation of Humboldt’s visit to the United States and his relationship with Thomas Jefferson comes in the form of two recent books written by European authors for American audiences. The first volume, Humboldt and Jefferson: A Transatlantic Friendship of the Enlightenment by Sandra Rebok, a European scholar working out of the Spanish National Research Council in Madrid, appeared in 2014, and fits neatly into the mold of American Humboldt literature. In Rebok’s account, the reader again finds Humboldt’s imperative to visit the United States: “From Cuba they initially intended to return to Europe and thus conclude their expedition, but instead they took the Spanish Humanities 2016, 5, 49 5 of 9 ship Concepción to Philadelphia and added five weeks in the United States to their journey. As we will see, this unplanned visit would assume a special importance in Humboldt’s life” ([1], p. 11). The special importance alluded to by Rebok takes the form of Humboldt’s subsequent friendship and correspondence with Jefferson. Rebok identifies this relationship as being of extreme importance to both men, as well as being an exemplar of enlightened, transatlantic discourse in a cosmopolitan age. According to Rebok, Humboldt’s experience in the United States and his connection to its founders was indeed formative: “He had met the Founding Fathers and architects of the first independent nation on the American continent, and he had seen for himself the functioning of the first republican institutions in the New World. This was the realization of ideals he passionately embraced” ([1], p. 31). Although Rebok’s text is irreplaceable as perhaps the most detailed and thoroughly researched account of Humboldt’s visit to Philadelphia and Washington, D.C., it contains information that undermines the supposedly strong epistolary connection between Humboldt and Jefferson celebrated in the title, as well as the overall importance of Humboldt’s detour to the United States. Rebok notes that Humboldt was perhaps one of the most prolific letter writers of his day, penning an estimated fifty thousand letters in his lifetime. Jefferson, although not nearly reaching Humboldt’s total, still drafted some nineteen thousand letters. The number of extant letters written by the two men to one another, however, totals a mere fourteen: eight letters from Humboldt to Jefferson, and six letters from Jefferson to Humboldt ([1], pp. 53, 54). This sum certainly bespeaks neither a close and enduring friendship nor a passionate connection to an idealized state; rather it seems much more to be a sign of general good will and respectful interest on the part of both men. It is telling, for instance, that many of the succinct letters were written when the two correspondents sent, received, or requested each other’s publications as a gift. Even a brief correspondence and the polite exchange of written materials can, to be sure, have a profound impact on a person’s life or an intellectual environment, but there simply is no evidence in the extant textual record to suggest that such was the case between Humboldt and Jefferson. In the end, Rebok’s focus seems to be at times misplaced and her study, although thoroughly researched, faces many of the same interpretational issues experienced by her American counterparts. The second work on Humboldt by a European author for an American audience is Andrea Wulf’s The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World, published in 2015. In this—the most recent and best-selling work on Humboldt to appear in the United States over the last several decades—all of the previously mentioned American Humboldt conventions can be found. Echoing the suspenseful depictions of the stormy passage from Havana to Philadelphia crafted by Walls and Sachs, Wulf provides the following riveting account: It was as if the sea were about to swallow them. Huge waves rolled on to the deck and down the stairway into the belly of the ship. Humboldt’s forty trunks were in constant danger of flooding. They had sailed through a hurricane and for six long days the winds would not stop, pounding the vessel with such force that they could not sleep or even think. The cook lost his pots and pans when the water came gushing in, and was swimming rather than standing in his galley. No food could be cooked and sharks circled the boat. The captain’s cabin, at the ship’s stern, was flooded so high that they had to swim through it, and even the most seasoned sailors were tossed across the deck like ninepins. Fearing for their lives, the sailors insisted on more brandy rations, intending, they said, to drown drunk. Each wave that rolled towards them seemed like a huge rock face. Humboldt thought that he had never been closer to death ([7], p. 94). And all of this so that Humboldt could see with his own eyes the new country that supposedly embodied his most heartfelt political and philosophical beliefs, as well as “meet Thomas Jefferson, the third President of the United States. For five long years, Humboldt had seen nature at its best—lush, magnificent and awe-inspiring—and now he wanted to see civilization in all its glory, a society built as a republic on the principles of liberty” ([7], p. 95). Wulf also reminds the reader that it is not only Jefferson with whom Humboldt made a connection while in Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. Madison and Gallatin are also featured prominently in the narrative, along with other luminaries of Humanities 2016, 5, 49 6 of 9 the early republic. Most notably, Wulf employs a familiar literary tactic, which allows Humboldt to forge associations with Founding Fathers in absentia. In a scene reminiscent of Walls’ account, Wulf describes how “Humboldt travelled to Mount Vernon, George Washington’s estate, some fifteen miles south of the capital. Though Washington had died four and a half years previously, Mount Vernon was now a popular tourist destination and Humboldt wanted to see the home of the revolutionary hero” ([7], p. 101). Another way in which Wulf recapitulates American Humboldt literary convention is in her representation of the Jefferson-Humboldt correspondence. In the twelfth chapter of The Invention of Nature, “Revolutions and Nature: Simón Bolívar and Humboldt,” Wulf presents the correspondence between Humboldt and Jefferson as a constant back and forth, in which the finer points of the Latin American independence movements were discussed in detail. With no further point of reference provided by Wulf, the Humboldt-Jefferson correspondence appears to be the primary source material for the political debates of the age. This implicit characterization is unfortunate, as the Latin American struggles for independence were only explicitly thematized in four letters, and often in passing. In Wulf’s narrative, however, this was a passionate and important exchange, in which “the former American president, Thomas Jefferson, bombarded Humboldt with questions [...]” ([7], p. 148). In truth, a handful of questions spread out over a small number of short letters hardly constitutes a bombardment. As previously noted, the exchange of each other’s written works was the primary purpose of the Humboldt-Jefferson correspondence. Here again, an otherwise thoroughly researched and responsibly constructed narrative of Humboldt’s life and work overemphasizes a relatively minor event and the significance of a handful of encounters. 5. The Transcultural Synthesis of Memory Why is it then that so much recent scholarship and popular writing published in the United States inflates the significance of Humboldt’s visit to Philadelphia and Washington, D.C.? Although one might easily make charges of Americentrism or intellectual imperialism, processes of cultural memory and cultural integration are actually at work. For example, Sachs writes somewhat wistfully that: “It is tempting to wonder what Humboldt might have contributed to American politics had he moved to Washington and become an advisor to presidents instead of kings” ([3], p. 104). This statement does not advocate the explicit appropriation or annexation of Humboldt into American culture; rather it expresses much more a desire to share in Humboldt’s cultural and scientific legacy. Instead of appropriation, the talk should be of incorporation. This process of incorporation can be at times a bit cumbersome and problematic, as evidenced by the exaggerated accounts in the selections above; but it is also the process by which a culture’s memory adapts and reconfigures itself, so as to include a new element. In the field of cultural memory studies, an element such as Alexander von Humboldt is best identified as a memory site. This terminology should not be understood as referring to a specific site of historical action; rather memory sites can take any number of forms, including, but not limited to, places, people, events, periods, and ideas. This distinction is essential, as cultural memory studies do not investigate actual past events per se; rather the investigation focuses on how actors in the present create representations and knowledge of the past and to what purpose. Although cultural memory “operiert [...] in beiden Richtungen: zurück und nach vorne,” and “rekonstruiert nicht nur die Vergangenheit, es organisiert auch die Erfahrung der Gegenwart und Zukunft” ([8], p. 42), this is a concept that functions exclusively in the present. In other words, the remembering individual, and thereby the culture to which it belongs, is always present and active, while the event being remembered “is of the past and thus absent” ([9], p. 4). In considering cultural memory as a process of the present, it is important to keep in mind the distinction between history and the past. History is the product of the collection and analysis of textual records of every kind, with the aim of reconstructing a realistic and accurate representation of things that have taken place. The past is also “eine kulturelle Schöpfung” ([8], p. 48), but it is not the locus of thoughtful scholarly reflection as history is thought to be; rather the past serves as a necessary, Humanities 2016, 5, 49 7 of 9 cognitive point of reference and satisfies “das kollektive Bedürfnis nach Sinnstiftung” ([10], p. 13). The past, unlike the material collections and institutions of history, “ensteht überhaupt erst dadurch, daß man sich auf sie bezieht” ([8], p. 31). In other words, the past, along with the memory sites into which the past is divided, serves as a means of orientation that guides cultural actors in the present. If cultural memory is differentiated thus from history, the Age of Discovery or Charlemagne are as much points of reference as the Alamo or Auschwitz; and they therefore constitute memory sites “nicht dank ihrer materiellen Gegenständlichkeit, sondern wegen ihrer symbolischen Funktion. Es handelt sich um langlebige, Generationen überdauernde Kristallisationspunkte kollektiver Erinnerung und Identität, die in gesellschaftliche, kulturelle und politische Üblichkeiten eingebunden sind und die sich in dem Maße verändern, in dem sich die Weise ihrer Wahrnehmung, Aneignung, Anwendung und Übertragung verändert” ([10], p. 18). And these sites, much like the cultural memory they constitute, are contextually specific. Alexander von Humboldt memory sites exist in numerous cultures, but each Humboldt memory site interacts with each culture in a specific manner. The German Humboldt, for instance differs from the Venezuelan Humboldt, and each fulfills a different role in the respective cultures. What then are the ways in which cultural memory functions? How is it that some things are remembered and celebrated while others are not? These questions get to the very heart of the representation and use of Alexander von Humboldt in recent American texts, as they highlight the role of forgetting in the processes of cultural memory. In addition to the aforementioned themes and conventions that pervade contemporary American Humboldt literature, Humboldt’s absence from twentieth and twenty-first-century American culture forms a cornerstone of almost every Humboldt narrative published in the United States. As Sachs notes following his depiction of Humboldt’s rough passage from the Caribbean to the Delaware River: “As far as the twenty-first century memory of Alexander von Humboldt is concerned, he may as well have gone down with his ship: many people have never even heard of him” ([3], p. 2). Helferich concurs with Sachs, in that “[a]lthough many North Americans have a vague sense of Humboldt’s name [...] most would be hard pressed to give particulars” ([4], p. xx). The name might seem familiar to many Americans, considering the number of places and natural phenomena that have been named after Humboldt; but even this, as Appleby concludes, does not protect against cultural amnesia: “What astounds today is how little Humboldt is remembered. [...] Few great men have had their reputations fade so quickly, just leaving his name on a bay, peak, lake, current, sinkhole, penguin, lily, orchid, and oak whose namesake few remember” ([6], p. 229). This is truly astounding to McCullough, who reflects on the fact that Humboldt’s “was a journey that would capture the imagination of the age, but that has been strangely forgotten in our own time. It is doubtful that one educated American in ten today could say who exactly Humboldt was or what he did, not even, possibly, in Humboldt, Iowa, or Humboldt, Kansas” ([5], p. 5). Some authors, such as Walls, do not merely lament the level of American ignorance regarding Humboldt. Indeed, she sees it as a deficiency in America’s understanding of its own history that is in desperate need of correction: “That U.S. American literary and cultural studies have remained oblivious to Alexander von Humboldt is a scandal exactly equivalent to analyzing Romanticism without Goethe, naturalism without Darwin, modernism in ignorance of Einstein, or postmodernism without Heisenberg” ([2], p. x). American authors not only bemoan this absence, it serves as the stated raison d’etre for their work. The reintroduction of Humboldt to American culture and the recovery of Humboldt’s “environmental thinking” will allow for a host of progressive cultural advances, including “a global debate over capitalism and imperial power” ([2], p. 9). Wulf alone slightly breaks with convention and reminds the American reader that not the entire world has forgotten Humboldt in the same way: “Though today almost forgotten outside of academia—at least in the English-speaking world—Alexander von Humboldt’s ideas still shape our thinking. And while his books collect dust in libraries, his name lingers everywhere” ([7], p. 7). Fittingly enough, these images of dusty libraries and tomes of neglected toponyms allude to Aleida Assmann’s groundbreaking work on the role of forgetting in the processes of cultural Humanities 2016, 5, 49 8 of 9 memory. Assmann has identified two types of memory that shape a culture’s understanding and representation of itself, and that are constantly engaged in dynamic interaction with one another. There is the active, or functional, memory of a culture, which is comprised of the memory sites being synthesized and utilized by a culture on a constant basis; and the stored, or saved memory of a culture. The functional memory of a culture can be thought of as a kind of canon that is continually invoked by cultural actors as a means of orientation and reference. No memory site in the functional memory of a culture may be assured of continued thematization, however, “[d]enn Kanonisierung bedeutet obendrein auch die transhistorische Selbstverpflichtung zu wiederholter Lektüre und Deutung. So bleiben die Bestände des Funktionsgedächtnisses trotz der Bewegung beschleunigter Innovation auf den Lehrplänen der Bildungsinstitutionen, auf den Spielplänen der Theater, in den Sälen der Museen, den Aufführungen der Konzerthallen und Programmen der Verlage. Was einen Platz im Funktionsgedächtnis einer Gesellschaft hat, hat Anspruch auf immer neue Aufführung, Ausstellung, Lektüre, Deutung, Auseinandersetzung” ([11], p. 56). In contrast, the archived memory extant within a culture should be understood much more as “a storehouse for cultural relicts,” in which memories “are not unmediated; they have only lost their immediate addressees; they are de-contextualized and disconnected from their former frames which had authorized them or determined their meaning” ([12], p. 99). The contents of a culture’s stored memory have not lost any of their productive power; rather their creative energy has gone from kinetic to potential. To be sure, there is a constant back and forth between a culture’s stored and functional memory; and this continual deactivation and reactivation “entsteht dadurch, dass die Grenze zwischen Funktions—und Speichergedächtnis nicht hermetisch ist, sondern in beiden Richtungen überschritten werden kann. Aus dem vom Willen und Bewusstsein ausgeleuchteten ‘aktiven’ Funktionsgedächtnis fallen beständig Elemente ins Archiv zurück, die an Interesse verlieren; aus dem ‘passiven’ Speichergedächtnis können neue Entdeckungen ins Funktionsgedächtnis heraufgeholt werden.” ([11], p. 57). The dynamic relationship between the two forms of cultural memory provides cultural actors with an almost unlimited set of memory sites with which to work. In turn, cultural actors select, activate, and modify these memory sites based on their current needs and aspirations. Taking all of this into consideration, the textual representations of Humboldt in the United States can be understood as an appeal to the reading public to reincorporate the Humboldt memory site into the functional memory of American culture. Time and again, these American and European authors decry Humboldt’s absence as a loss, and advocate for him and his place in science to be venerated much as they were in the nineteenth century. This advocacy lays bare many of the ways in which cultural memory functions, and provides a fascinating look into the constitution of memory sites in a contemporary context. Beyond even this utility, however, the Humboldt memory site provides unprecedented insight into the potential of transcultural memory and transcultural influences on cultural memory. This investigation contends that the confluence of Humboldt representation in the literary works of American and European authors indicates the initiation of a transcultural memory site. The depictions of Humboldt in North America and Europe, and more importantly, the cultural motivations and aspirations behind those depictions, have aligned to such an extent that a transcultural space has been created in which multiple cultures can communicate about pressing needs and concerns while drawing on common points of reference. Rebok’s Humboldt and Jefferson and Wulf’s The Invention of Nature demonstrate this transcultural coordination most clearly, as both exemplify the ease with which textual representations of Humboldt, and the memory sites they constitute, flow back and forth from European and North American cultural discourses. Most certainly, the litmus test of any element within cultural memory is its importance and relevance to the current conditions and needs of a given culture. Fittingly, the majority of recent Humboldt texts published in the United States and Europe present Humboldt either as a climate change activist avant-la-lettre, or an embodiment of Enlightenment ideals and their potential. By connecting Humboldt as securely as possible to the pantheon of the Founding Fathers and the Olympus of the early republic, these contemporary authors elevate his relevance in a way that might affect the Humanities 2016, 5, 49 9 of 9 reaction of current audiences on both sides of the Atlantic to the issues often associated with him, be it global warming or enlightened discourse. The texts investigated here demonstrate an effort, whether conscious or subconscious, coordinated or uncoordinated, toward reincorporating Humboldt back into America’s active cultural memory. As Andrea Wulf states in the epilogue of The Invention of Nature, “now is the time for us and for the environmental movement to reclaim Alexander von Humboldt as our hero” ([7], p. 337). Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References 1. Rebok, Sandra. Humboldt and Jefferson: A Transatlantic Friendship of the Enlightenment. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2014. 2. Walls, Laura Dassow. The Passage to Cosmos: Alexander von Humboldt and the Shaping of America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009. 3. Sachs, Aaron. The Humboldt Current: Nineteenth-Century Exploration and the Roots of American Environmentalism. New York: Penguin Books, 2007. 4. Helferich, Gerard. Humboldt’s Cosmos: Alexander von Humboldt and the Latin American Journey that Changed the Way We See the World. New York: Gotham Books, 2004. 5. McCullough, David. “Journey to the Top of the World.” In Brave Companions: Portraits in History. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1992, pp. 3–19. 6. Appleby, Joyce. Shores of Knowledge: New World Discoveries and the Scientific Imagination. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2013. 7. Wulf, Andrea. The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2015. 8. Assmann, Jan. Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen. München: C.H. Beck, 2007. 9. Huyssen, Andreas. Present Pasts: Urban Palimpsests and the Politics of Memory. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003. 10. François, Etienne, and Hagen Schulze. “Einleitung.” In Deutsche Erinnerungsorte. Edited by Etienne François and Hagen Schulze. München: Verlag C.H. Beck, 2001, vol. 3, pp. 9–24. 11. Assmann, Aleida. Der lange Schatten der Vergangenheit: Erinnerungskutlur und Geschichtspolitik. München: C.H. Beck, 2006. 12. Assmann, Aleida. “Canon and Archive.” In A Companion to Cultural Memory Studies. Edited by Astrid Erll and Ansgar Nünning. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010, pp. 97–108. © 2016 by the author; licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC-BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Humboldt’s Arrival in the United States Framing Humboldt’s Visit Humboldt and the Founding Fathers The Constitution of Convention The Transcultural Synthesis of Memory 
work_3zqxo44ktra5jbfxolzqzogut4	----	Literary journalism between market and literary field Accepted Manuscript of Verboord, M., Kuipers, G., & Janssen, S. (2015). Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field, 1955-2005. Cultural Sociology. Online first April 6, 2015, doi: 10.1177/1749975515576939 http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1749975515576939 Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field, 1955-2005 Marc Verboord (Erasmus University Rotterdam)1 Giselinde Kuipers (University of Amsterdam) Susanne Janssen (Erasmus University Rotterdam) Abstract Contributing to research on social processes of cultural de-hierchization, this article explores how critical recognition in elite newspapers is related to the recognition that authors receive from other agents in the literary field in the past half-century. We distinguish four types of institutional recognition: (a) long-term recognition in literary encyclopedias, (b) short-term recognition through literary awards, (c) recognition through bestseller list success, and (d) recognition through the prestige of publishers. Our study uses a sample of articles from 1955, 1975, 1995 and 2005 in French, German, Dutch and US elite papers (N=2,419), as well as further information on the extent to which fiction book authors discussed in the newspaper sample received the above forms of institutional recognition. We conduct cluster analysis to inductively establish how these forms of recognition are related, and multinomial logistic regression analysis to predict membership of clusters. Throughout the period 1955-2005 we consistently find three author categories: the unrecognized, the contemporary prestigious, and the historical prestigious. Countries differ, however, in the extent to which these categories are represented in newspaper’ literary coverage. Our analysis of factors determining membership of these clusters points to the lasting importance of symbolic capital, but also to the transnational nature of institutional recognition as local and international recognition show highly similar patterns. Key words: institutional recognition; cultural legitimation; literature; literary; literary field; arts journalism; transnational; transnational cultural production; newspapers; critics; criticism; cultural hierarchies; de-hierarchization 1 Marc Verboord, Erasmus School of History, Culture and Communication, Dept. of Media and Communication, P.O. Box 1738, 3000 DR Rotterdam, Netherlands. Email: verboord@eshcc.eur.n http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1749975515576939 mailto:verboord@eshcc.eur.nl Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 2 Introduction Since the mid-twentieth century, the literary fields of Western countries have undergone profound changes. The status of high arts has declined, and hierarchical distinctions within the literary field have eroded (Peterson & Kern, 1996; Collins, 2010). Moreover, commercial pressures on publishers and authors have increased, new genres have emerged (Sapiro, 2003, 2010; Thompson, 2010; Verboord, 2011; Franssen & Kuipers, 2013), and the issuing of literary awards has evolved into media spectacles (Street, 2005; English, 2005). Also, one of the traditionally most influential institutions in the production of symbolic value (Van Rees, 1987; Janssen, 1997; Baumann, 2007) – literary criticism in elite newspapers – has seen transitions. Between 1955 and 2005, the newspaper coverage of arts and culture in general, and literary books specifically, has expanded, become more diversified in form, become more international and has shifted its attention from highbrow culture to popular culture (Janssen et al., 2008, 2011; Janssen, 2009; Kristensen, 2010). Yet, how do these developments come together? Are processes and practices of symbolic production changing under influence of commercial pressures? Previous work on the production of symbolic value has emphasized the collective nature of this endeavor (e.g. Van Rees & Dorleijn, 2001; Baumann, 2007), yet few studies have examined for the literary field how symbolic recognitions of authors by different institutional agents are linked to each other and how these relations evolve over time. In this paper we analyze how critical recognition in elite newspapers is related to the recognition that authors receive from other agents in the literary field. Critics and editors operating in elite newspapers -- defined as those newspapers that principally target higher educated social classes and whose coverage emphasizes political, economic, and cultural affairs – are influential agents in the symbolic production of culture (Van Rees, 1987; Shrum, 1991; Janssen, 1997; Baumann, 2007). Mediating between semi-autonomous art worlds and Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 3 audiences who rely upon media to inform themselves on the cultural goods on offer, newspaper critics and editors shape public opinions about the importance or ”legitimacy” of cultural products (Bourdieu, 1980; Becker, 1982; Van Rees & Vermunt, 1996). Thus, elite newspapers have an important role in establishing and disseminating what is considered “valuable” culture in society, ultimately affecting school curricula and ideas on cultural capital (Bourdieu, 1984; Van Rees, 1983; DiMaggio, 1991). Previous work has highlighted how critics in elite newspapers function as gatekeepers by making first selections and evaluations from the large cultural supply (e.g. Van Rees, 1987; Shrum, 1991; Janssen, 1997; Curran, 2000). Yet, while it has been argued that critics avoid deviations from the literary norm at a given moment (Van Rees, 1987; Janssen, 1997), empirical research on how critics incorporate information from other institutional sources is still scarce– especially from a longitudinal perspective. Nevertheless, such enterprise would give us more insight in how the production and perception of cultural value have developed against the backdrop of wider societal and cultural changes (see DiMaggio, 1991). For instance, the growth in omnivorous cultural participations has been associated with a decline of cultural authority (e.g. Peterson & Kern, 1996). Determining the degree to which value attributions of literary critics and editors in elite newspapers overlap with those generated by other agents in the literary field – both“legitimate” ones (such as the literary encyclopedia entries written by literary scholars) and less legitimate ones (e.g. bestseller lists published by the book trade) – might thus elucidate whether and how cultural evaluations across relevant institutions diverge or converge over time. Declining readerships and decreasing cultural authority may have changed the status of newspaper criticism as a legitimizing institution (e.g. Janssen et al., 2011). This study starts from the assumption that symbolic recognition – defined here as the acceptance of wide- spread consensual beliefs on cultural value – is a collective construction of social reality in Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 4 which institutional agents, e.g. newspaper critics, play a leading role (Johnston et al., 2006). Institutions, then, play a central role in legitimizing processes because they endow cultural products with value. Scholarship on processes of cultural legitimation and evaluation has employed various analytical strategies. Historical-sociological accounts (e.g. DiMaggio 1982; 1992) have highlighted the institutional basis of cultural capital by analyzing the trajectories of cultural institutions. Content analyses of texts produced by critics show how aesthetic and critical discourses shape and legitimate attributions of cultural value (e.g. Baumann, 2007; Kersten & Bielby, 2012). Others have analyzed to what extent recognition in one institutional context meets with approval in others, thereby expressing consensual beliefs about cultural value (e.g. Allen & Lincoln, 2004; Verboord & Van Rees, 2009; Braden, 2009). This article follows the latter strategy. Concretely, we are interested in the extent to which the evaluations by critics and editors operating in elite newspapers are in agreement with those generated by various other agents in the literary field, and whether this changes over time. For instance, to what extent does the increasing role of bestsellers (Thompson, 2010) manifest itself in the coverage given to different categories of literary authors? Moreover, we are interested in the extent to which authors deemed important in one national field meet with approval in other national contexts. We employ a cross-national comparative design for several reasons. First, this allows us to identify how structures and mechanisms of symbolic value production are shaped by cultural and institutional contexts. Previous studies have shown that perspectives on arts and culture differ significantly across countries resulting in distinct practices of cultural consumption, production and policy (e.g. Lamont & Thévenot, 2000; Janssen et al., 2008). Similarly, media systems, including the position and role of newspapers, often vary cross- nationally (e.g. Hallin & Mancini, 2004; Gripsrud & Weibull, 2010). Most importantly, literary fields and the institutions therein tend to correspond with countries (or sometimes Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 5 language areas). At the same time, all national fields occupy a place in the “world republic of letters” (Casanova, 2004). Thus: literary fields are not completely independent, but they share institutions and probably also ways of producing symbolic value. Moreover, many internationally known authors are read, discussed, and recognized (or not) in different national fields. Hence, comparing countries enables us to compare national fields and therefore validate analyses, but it also allows us to compare if symbolic recognition works in similar ways across national fields. We have selected four countries that each are part of the transnational literary field, yet vary greatly in size and international prestige of their national literary field and literary tradition: France, Germany, the Netherlands and the United States. Our empirical analysis concerns a content analysis of eight elite newspapers from these four countries in 1955, 1975, 1995 and 2005. For all fiction book authors found in four weeks of newspaper coverage, we retrieved information on the extent to which authors in these articles are recognized by other institutional agents in the literary field. Relying on cluster analysis, we show that in each year three author categories can be found in newspapers: unrecognized, contemporary prestigious, and historically prestigious authors. This suggests that -- despite the emphasis of many recent studies on changes -- the structure of the literary field in terms of symbolic production has been quite stable since the 1950s. Furthermore, our analysis of factors determining membership of these clusters points to the lasting importance of symbolic capital (writing “literature”), but also to the transnational character of institutional recognition. Symbolic production in the literary field: changes over time Although actors working in the domain of arts and culture often emphasize individual talents and accomplishments, the process of attributing and disseminating cultural value is ultimately a social process (e.g. Bourdieu, 1993; Becker, 1982). Bourdieu’s (1993) field Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 6 theory has been influential in detailing the multi-layered and relational structure of actors, institutions, and fields all competing to influence symbolic production based upon role and status (“space of positions”) as well as actions and statements (“space of position-takings”). In this framework, it is cultural capital – the competences to understand and appreciate legitimated cultural content – that governs decisions on what is “valuable” or prestigious. The symbolic recognition of authors should thus be seen as the outcome of a social process (see also Griswold, 1987; Janssen, 1997, 1998; Sapiro, 2003; Craig & Dubois, 2010), but how variable or similar has this process been over time? And how has it been modified by the “commercial” or “popular” recognition of authors, or lack thereof, as indicated by, e.g., their sales figures or popularity among “common” readers? Whereas Bourdieu considered economic capital and symbolic capital irreconcilable until the amount of the latter was large enough to transform in it the former, this perspective seems to have become outdated. Over time, the legitimacy of literary criticism and other cultural institutions is thought to have weakened due to social changes starting in the postwar period (DiMaggio, 1991; Janssen et al., 2011). With the growing social mobility since the 1960s, the acquisition of the appropriate cultural capital relies less exclusively on the channels of higher education and socialization within dominant social classes. Consequently, ties between positions in the literary field (e.g. that of newspaper critic, literary scholar or publisher) and social positions (“space of habitus”) have weakened (DiMaggio, 1991; Griswold, 2008). This development can also be observed for patterns of cultural consumption which have become more individualized and less systematically tied to social backgrounds, making it more difficult for cultural producers and organizations to find their audiences (Bennett et al., 2009). In a similar vein, the almost exclusive focus on “highbrow” arts in newspapers has been abandoned to create space for popular culture (Janssen et al., 2011). At universities, the selection of most consecrated works Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 7 – the canon – has opened up to works relying less on traditional literary norms (e.g. Duell, 2000; Berkers, 2009), while in secondary education teachers have become more receptive to what students like to read at the expense of “canonical” works (Verboord & Van Rees, 2009). At the same time, artistic values seem to face stronger competition from market forces within cultural fields (e.g. Verboord, 2011) as well as in the media landscape (Gripsrud & Weibull, 2010; Hellman & Jaakkola, 2012). What is more, the literary book trade has increasingly adopted a market logic that benefits larger publishing companies, “big books” that have commercial potential, and authors that have been successful early on in their career (Thompson, 2010; Childress, 2011; Franssen & Kuipers, 2013). Individual authors and institutional recognition How do individual authors fit in wider patterns and processes of institutional recognition and cultural legitimation? The increasing emphasis on organizational contexts in recent scholarship on legitimation has tended to overlook the role of individual artists (authors). Previous studies do, however, highlight the continuous importance of previous institutional recognition for an artists’ chance of being considered worthy of inclusion in best-ever lists or encyclopedias later in one’s career (e.g. Allen & Lincoln, 2004; Schmutz & Faupel, 2010; Braden, 2009). Another line of research has demonstrated how cultural and social capital impact artists’ current positions in the cultural field, thereby confirming Bourdieu’s hypothesis that actors are positioned in social space in accordance with both their overall volume and relative composition of capital (Anheier & Gerhards, 1991; Anheier, Gerhards & Romo, 1995). More specific analyses of fiction book authors’ careers have detailed how the ‘space of positions’ in the field is related to literary position-takings – not only their writing, but also side-activities, commitments to certain institutions, and engagement with particular social Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 8 themes (Van Rees & Vermunt, 1996; Janssen, 1998; Ekelund & Blom, 2002; Verboord, 2003; Craig & Dubois, 2010; Dubois & Francois, 2013). Authors’ status in the literary field tends to be larger when their activities or relationships accord with elements of literary culture that prominent institutional agents view as signs of distinction. In that sense, authors’ practices are institutional by definition as they are continuously filtered through the prism of the dominant logics in the field at the time. Having said this, one cannot dismiss more structural features – similar to other social domains inequalities based upon, for instance, descent and gender are also part of the literary field (Tuchman & Fortin, 1984; Ekelund & Blom, 2002; Verboord, 2012). Thus, we expect such structural features to affect individual authors’ chances to achieve particular forms of institutional recognition. Our analysis will explore this by looking at three author characteristics for which we have information: genre (as an indicator of symbolic capital), gender (as a structural feature) and national background (as an indicator of an author’s position in the transnational literary field). Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field There is a clear international dimension to artistic career trajectories and processes of symbolic production as cross-national comparisons of newspapers’ art and culture coverage (Janssen et al., 2008; 2011) and publishers’ selection criteria (Weber, 2000; Sapiro, 2010), as well as studies of the literary world-system (Casanova, 2004; Moretti, 2013) have reminded us. Despite the consistency that institutional agents such as literary scholars, newspaper critics and award juries often show in value attribution to authors, the disparity in the status of national literatures makes it more difficult for authors of “small” languages to achieve large global literary reputations (Casanova, 2004). This work accords with studies on translations (Heilbron, 1999; Franssen, 2014) and newspaper coverage of authors (Janssen, 2009). Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 9 Yet, a full-grown understanding of how institutional recognition works on a transnational scale is still in the making. The probably most famous study of symbolic value production in the international literary sphere to date, Pascale Casanova’s (2004) “World Republic of Letters”, is not without controversy as it relies on case studies of selected – highly consecrated – authors and, according to critics, displays a certain bias towards Paris (see D'Haen, 2012: 104ff). Casanova’s contribution lies first and foremost in the recognition of the existence of a global literary space in which the circulating cultural capital has different exchange rates in different places. That she identifies France (more specifically Paris) as the undisputed center of this global economy of literary prestige may imply an underestimation of, for instance, the rise of New York in the last decades, as well as the alleged decline of France’s cultural importance (Morrison & Compagnon, 2010). However, it may well be true for the earlier years of our study (cf. Lamont, 1991; Sassoon, 2006). In our analysis, we compare the two global centers, France and the United States, with each other, with Germany – that has a rich literary history yet without a geographical center such as Paris – and the Netherlands – that has a much more marginal position in the global literary field. While we expect considerable overlap between processes and patterns of institutional recognition in these four countries, we also assume that the centers of the literary world show specific dynamics. For instance, they may be more inwardly oriented than more peripheral literary fields (Heilbron, 1999; Janssen, 2009). Moreover, the US, as the “rising center” of the transnational literary field, with a different historical trajectory, may be organized differently than the three European fields. However, as the prestige of the American field increases, European fields may increasingly adopt American logics. Of course, taking the perspective of authors also points to the importance of language areas: authors coming from relatively peripheral countries but writing in a widely spoken language have better chances to find global distribution (Heilbron, 1999; Sapiro, 2010). In addition, linguistic areas often have Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 10 transnational institutions. For instance, many literary awards are not confined to particular nationalities but to specific languages, and, in a similar vein, literary scholars – and their output – are frequently organized around languages rather than national literatures. Method and data To examine how value attributions to authors by newspapers critics and editors are related to those of other agents in the literary field we relied on existing data on the newspaper coverage of fiction book authors between 1955 and 2005 in four countries, which we then complemented with other information on these authors. The newspaper data consist of all newspaper articles on arts and culture published during four randomly sampled constructed weeksi in the years 1955, 1975, 1995 and 2005 in the newspapers Le Figaro, Le Monde (France), Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, Süddeutsche Zeitung (Germany), NRC Handelsblad, De Volkskrant (Netherlands), the New York Times and the Los Angeles Times (US). ii This dataset contains 18,088 items. We selected all items on ‘literature’ and ‘fiction writing’ (total of 2,899 items). About 87% (N=2,419) of these items concerned a specific author or book of which the author could be identified. Remaining items dealt with publishers, editors or other actors in the literary field and were dropped because of the incomparability of their positions in the field. For all identified authors we collected further information about their position or status in the literary field when the newspaper article was published. We focused on four different forms of recognition that an author may receive from various institutional agents in the literary field. First, we counted the number of words devoted to each author in encyclopedias published around the same time as the article. Encyclopedias are usually compiled by scholars and indicate long-term literary recognition or prestige (Verboord, 2003). Although we aimed for encyclopedias published in the year of our sample newspapers, we were severely limited Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 11 by the restricted choice in encyclopedias and thus sometimes had to use slightly older reference works (see Appendix A2). Since compilation of encyclopedias and lexicons is a task that takes up years, (cf. Van Rees, 1983; 1987; Rosengren, 1998), and is relatively immune to contemporary criticism, we do not think this is a major problem. Second, for all authors in the dataset, we counted the number of literary prizes they won in the twenty years before publication of the article.iii We consider awards an indicator of short-term literary recognition or prestige (English, 2005). We collected data on awards and prizes from the newspaper countries of our sample newspapers, from other countries in the same language area, international prizes open to all language areas (e.g. Nobel Prize for literature) and prizes from other dominant language areas such as Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, etc. In compiling these lists, we mainly relied on Internet sources (see Appendix A1). Third, for each author we counted the number of books that made the bestseller lists in the ten years preceding publication of the newspaper article. We take this to indicate authors’ commercial success (or ‘popular recognition’ in terms of Allen & Lincoln, 2004). We used historical bestseller lists from L’Express (France), Der Spiegel (Germany), Haagse Post, Libris, CPNB (the Netherlands) and the New York Times (US) (see Appendix A3). Note that for literary awards we took a longer time frame (20 years) than for bestseller list success (10 years), as we expect literary prestige to resonate longer than commercial success. Fourth, for each author/book we recorded the publisher and assessed its size and literary prestige. Publishers’ size was established by counting how many authors/books published by a certain publisher were covered in the newspapers of the sample year (restricted to the home country of the publisher). Publishers’ literary prestige was measured by counting the number of national literary prizes authors in the publisher’s catalogue had won in the previous 10 years; and the number of Nobel prize winners of the past 20 years (to account for publishers specialized in foreign literature). We already had information on national literary Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 12 prize winner information (see above). Data on publishers of Nobel laureates was collected additionally for each country. All these indicators of institutional recognition are both longitudinal and cross- national. We have tried to optimize comparability by selecting, as much as possible, long- running indicators that are similar across countries. However, the cross-national comparability of our data is difficult to standardize. While all legitimizing institutions exist in our sample countries (with the exception of bestseller lists in Europe in the 1950s), the position of the countries, and languages spoken in these countries, within the international literary field varied greatly (cf. Casanova, 2004; Heilbron, 1999). We therefore distinguish between indicators which signal an international recognition versus indicators which reflect an author’s recognition in a more restricted, local domain (either a specific national field or a specific language area). For literary awards and encyclopedias we chose to use language as a distinction key since many awards are organized by language area and many encyclopedias tend to pay more attention to authors writing in the encyclopedia’s source language. This is not to say that distinguishing “global” or “international” from “local” recognition could not have been done (better) using nationality as the splitting criterion. However, for now restrictions of the data – for many countries we have (a) low numbers of authors, and (b) little information on awards and encyclopedias – render the present strategy more viable. Bestseller lists are arranged by country of the author. Finally, all this information about the recognition of authors was merged with the newspaper data (see Appendix A4 for details). Results To assess the relative importance of the four forms of institutional recognition, and how these forms of recognition are related, we performed a separate cluster analysis for each year (for all four countries). The analyses contain the amount of prizes won, the number of bestseller Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 13 hits and the number of words in encyclopedias (all in domestic and international variants) and the size and prestige of the publisher. The former four variables were modeled as categorical variables;iv the latter four as continuous variables. Finally, we added dummy variable recording whether the author was alive at the time of publication. Table 1: Trends in author cluster distributions 1955-2005 by country Clusters (characteristics in italics) 1955 1975 1995 2005 1 Unrecognized Overall 57.1% 54.5% 40.2% 41.7% - No LP/BE FRA 32.7% 54.1% 42.2% 46.8% - Low EN/PUB GER 39.3% 38.5% 30.9% 36.0% - Living authors NET 50.8% 48.9% 30.7% 28.1% US 69.9% 72.6% 57.1% 60.1% 2 Contemporary prestigious Overall 24.2% 25.0% 37.4% 38.9% - High LP/BE FRA 48.1% 32.0% 35.4% 39.2% - Medium EN/PUB GER 21.4% 26.2% 40.1% 35.5% - Living authors NET 26.2% 30.0% 45.8% 46.5% US 18.7% 15.1% 29.1% 32.7% 3 Historical prestigious Overall 18.6% 20.5% 22.4% 19.4% - Medium LP/BE FRA 19.2% 13.9% 22.4% 14.0% - High EN/PUB GER 39.3% 35.4% 29.0% 28.4% - Often deceased NET 23.1% 21.1% 23.5% 25.3% US 11.5% 12.3% 13.7% 7.1% Chi-Square 49.3 *** 45.9*** 38.6*** 59.5*** Table 1 shows the outcomes of the cluster analysis. The clusters we found are remarkably consistent over time. For each year, roughly the same three clusters emerge: first, a cluster that consists of authors who have never won literary prizes, have not enjoyed bestseller list success, have received very limited attention in encyclopedias and were published at small and not very prestigious publishers. We call this group the “unrecognized”. The second cluster is formed by authors who have won prizes, have made the bestseller lists, and to some extent have also received sizable entrances in encyclopedias and have been published by respectable publishers. They consist largely of living authors, which is why we call them “contemporary prestigious”. The third and last cluster also contains authors with considerable institutional recognition, albeit this is slightly differently structured. Here, authors have relatively larger encyclopedia entrances, yet are somewhat less likely to have won prizes or Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 14 written bestsellers. Most of the authors in this category are deceased. In other words, this cluster seems to comprise particularly the authors holding more “historical prestige”. The lack of awards and bestsellers therefore reflect changes in the field: the explosion of literary prizes, as well as the expansion of bestseller lists during the time of our study. The consistency of clusters has a number of important theoretical implications. For one thing, it suggests that various forms of institutional recognition are considerably interwoven. While this may have been expected for winning prizes and entering encyclopedias, the correlation with bestseller list success is more surprising. Of course, this result applies to authors who already have been selected for newspaper coverage. The bestseller list authors we encountered may not be representative for the whole population of bestselling authors (with often contains highly popular, “illegitimate” books). Moreover, we find no distinctions between local and international recognition. Institutional recognition appears to be quite transnational in nature as local and international recognition show highly similar patterns. Finally, the number and nature of clusters does not change over time, implying that the underlying structure of forms of recognition has not become more or less complex over time. This comes as somewhat of a surprise, since the proliferation of literary awards and the rise of bestseller lists are trends that have arguably changed the field (e.g. Thompson, 2010; Collins, 2010). While these forms of institutional recognition have become more prominent, this has not led to the emergence of distinctive new patterns of recognition in newspapers’ literary coverage. All these findings suggest that the overall institutional logics underlying the selection/evaluation of fiction book authors in elite newspapers has not changed that much. That is to say, the way in which elite newspaper critics and editors incorporate evaluations of other agents in the field – appears to have stayed the same. First, there are authors who make it into newspapers, but are not recognized (yet) by other institutions. Examples are Enid Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 15 Blyton (NRC, 1955), Olivier Renaudin (Le Monde, 1975), Julia Alvarez (LAT, 1995), and Felicitas Hoppe, (FAZ, 2005). Second, there is a group of contemporary authors who are more or less universally recognized: they receive awards, publish at renowned publishers, are listed in encyclopedias and make bestseller lists. In other words: we find no contradiction between different forms of recognition, or between ‘economic’ and cultural capital. Examples here are Hervé Bazin (NYT, 1955), Gunter Grass (FAZ, 1975), Peter Ackroyd (LAT, 1995), and Amitav Ghosh (NRC, 2005). The third group of authors is characterized by more long-term recognition, which is also rooted in more traditional cultural capital. Examples are Victor Hugo (Le Monde, 1955), Cesare Pavese (FAZ, 1975), Henry David Thoreau (NYT, 1995), and Pablo Neruda (SZ, 2005). To what extent is this pattern manifest over time and across countries? We first describe the overall changes through time (see again Table 1). In 1955, unrecognized authors received about 57% of all literary coverage in newspapers. Another 24% of the attention was paid to contemporary prestigious authors, leaving almost 19% to the historical prestigious authors. In the course of time, unrecognized authors became less omnipresent in newspapers – a transition which took place particularly in the period between 1975 and 1995. Still, these authors continued to be the largest group (around 40%). Contemporary prestigious authors took most of the share that the unrecognized lost: they grew from 24% to almost 39% in 2005. Historical prestigious authors remained the smallest group throughout, although their 2005 proportion is slightly larger than their share in 1955 (19.4% vs. 18.6%). Consideration that newspapers in their cultural gatekeeping role take the first pick out of the new supply of books (cf. Janssen, 1997), and in the journalistic role primarily follow the news, this continuous focus on deceased, often classic authors (e.g. Baudelaire, Goethe, but also 20th century authors such as Italo Svevo, Ivo Andrić) is striking. Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 16 We note important differences among countries, however. Compared to the European newspapers, American newspapers devote significantly more attention to unrecognized authors and less to contemporary or historically prestigious authors. Even in 2005 the space given to the former group amounts to 60%, while historically important authors comprise just 7% of their coverage. European newspapers show a different picture, though not always consistently. In Dutch newspapers, the percentage of historical prestigious authors lies at a fairly constant 21-25%, while the high percentage of unrecognized authors in 1955 and 1975 (around 50%) is outbalanced by a larger group of contemporary prestigious authors in the last two sample years (45-46%). In Germany this latter group also increases strongly after 1995, but here it is at the expense of the historical prestigious authors, who took up more than a third of all book coverage in 1955 and 1975. Finally, France shows one of the most stable cluster distributions of all countries, if not for 1955. That year, contemporary prestigious authors comprise an unprecedented 48% of all authors discussed in the sampled newspapers. Put in a longitudinal perspective, their domination edges out unrecognized authors rather than historical prestigious authors. Possibly this is due to an already quite evolved literary field (including many literary awards), in combination with the strong position of France in the transnational field, at that time. Individual authors and institutional recognition Having mapped the dominant ways institutional recognitions are structured across time, we now examine what author characteristics predict membership of these clusters. Thus, whereas our first analysis disclosed the space of positions of authors in the field (as attributed by institutions in the field), we next connect this to the space of habitus – the system of dispositions based upon capital and social background characteristics (Bourdieu, 1993). More specifically, our analysis explores who gets recognized, in terms of nationality, gender and, as Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 17 an indicator of cultural capital, the predominant literary genre of the author.v The genre was coded in three categories: literary, mainstream and popular fiction, based upon career descriptions in literary encyclopedias and online sources. Mainstream was the default category; an author was coded as “literary” when we found explicit references to a highbrow literary career (including poetry, short stories, essays). Popular fiction authors are those who are explicitly labeled as writing thrillers, detectives, romance, or science-fiction/fantasy books. Our study of institutional recognition centers on elite newspapers which, as was described earlier, are rooted in national media systems and may have changed their editorial policies and journalistic practices over time. Possibly, the way authors are selected and discussed is related to how newspapers bring cultural news: in certain types of articles, focusing on certain content, etc. To rule out the possibility that such newspaper level factors affect the attribution of authors to clusters we introduce two control variables. The first one is the country of the newspaper (via four dummy variables). The second is the type of article in which the author was discussed. For this purpose, we inductively created a new variable indicating the formal traits of every coded newspaper article with a Principal Components Analysis for Categorical Data (CATPCA) for six variables: Type of article (six categories: interview; (p)review; announcement, news, background, other); Article content (six categories: product; award/reception; career; business/juridical/policy; human interest/controversy; other); Type of section in which the article appeared (four categories: general/economic; arts general; books; life style and other); Type of author article (four categories: employee newspaper; freelancer; press agency; unknown); Number of articles by author article in sampled newspaper editions (five categories: no name known; 1 article; 2-3; 4-10; more than 10); Number of illustrations in article (three categories: 0; 1; more than 1). We asked for a default two-dimensional solution. The total eigenvalue was 4.169 meaning Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 18 that the analysis was only able to explain 4.16% of the total variance. The reliability of the first dimension was satisfactory (Cronbach’s alpha=.789). Interpretation of this dimension shows a range from the traditional newspaper article (likely to be: a review article, about a product, positioned in general parts of the newspaper, written by unknown journalists or press agencies, not illustrated) to a more progressive format (likely to be: another type of article, having another subject than product, positioned in book section, written by newspaper journalists). Table 2: Multinomial logistic regression of cluster membership per year 1955 1975 1995 2005 Cluster 1 Unrecognized reference reference reference reference Cluster 2 Cont. prestigious Foreign author (vs. domestic) 2.815 ** 1.364 1.859 ** 2.157 *** Male author (vs. female) 1.705 2.791 ** 1.435 ~ 1.343 Literary author 3.968 ** 3.475 *** 1.762 * 2.330 *** Mainstream author 1.723 0.339 ~ 0.450 0.191 * Popular author Ref Ref Ref Ref French newspaper 4.833 *** 1.790 ~ 1.163 1.151 German newspaper 1.390 1.862 ~ 1.724 * 1.102 Dutch newspaper 1.410 2.357 ** 2.425 ** 1.770 * American newspaper Ref Ref Ref Ref Form article less traditional 1.097 1.552 ** 1.384 ** 1.557 *** Cluster 3 Historical prestige Foreign author (vs. domestic) 6.069 *** 1.500 1.728 * 2.266 ** Male author (vs. female) 1.626 1.829 ~ 2.225 ** 3.396 *** Literary author 2.100 3.487 *** 2.509 ** 2.592 ** Mainstream author 3.124 ~ 1.174 1.652 0.802 Popular author Ref Ref Ref Ref French newspaper 2.784 ~ 0.819 1.249 1.603 German newspaper 3.821 *** 2.918 ** 2.114 * 3.317 ** Dutch newspaper 1.251 1.602 2.196 * 3.821 *** American newspaper Ref Ref Ref Ref Form article less traditional 1.674 ** 1.667 *** 1.844 *** 1.787 *** N 382 488 781 768 -2 log likelihood 534.3 *** 686.5 *** 1221.6 *** 1146.4 *** Nagelkerke R2 30.1% 27.7% 16.1% 23.2% Significance levels: ~ p<.10 * p< .05 ** p< .01 *** p< .001. Coefficients are Exp(B) Controlled for whether author writes in language of one of the newspapers or not. Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 19 Table 2 shows the results of a series of multinomial logistic regression analyses of authors’ cluster membership in the four sample years. The cluster of the unrecognized authors is the reference category. Inspection of the Nagelkerke R2 suggests that the modeled variables best predicted membership in 1955 (30.1%). The level of explained variance decreases to 16.1% in 1995 and rises again to 23.2% in 2005. Overall, the difference between author characteristics in the group of unrecognized and contemporary prestigious authors seems to become somewhat smaller between 1955 and 2005 – particularly in terms of country of origin and genre. The difference between unrecognized and historical prestigious authors seems to have increased slightly with regards to gender. With the exception of 1975, foreign authors have continuously been more likely than domestic authors to be contemporary or historically prestigious authors. Since domestic authors comprise a relatively large proportion of the total newspaper coverage (Janssen, 2009), elite newspapers necessarily apply much less stringent selection criteria (in terms of institutional prestige) for local than for foreign authors. Comparing 1955 and 2005 suggests that the mentioned likelihoods of foreign authors falling into the more prestigious clusters have decreased. Yet, these trends appear to be far from stable, as the odds for 1975 are not significant and those of 1995 are below the level of 2005. For gender, the results are less decisive. Whilst the direction of the effects is uniform – male authors are more likely to belong to the more prestigious clusters – not all effects are significant, and differences occur between contemporary and historically prestigious authors. In 1955, no differences existed between clusters in terms of gender distribution. Twenty years onward, the odds for male authors to be contemporary prestigious were considerably higher Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 20 than for females, while for historical prestige the difference was negligible. But whereas the gap has been closing for the former, it has been widening for the latter. Writing literary fiction generally offers an easier route towards institutional recognition than mainstream fiction and popular fiction. However, 1955 shows a curious exception: here, authors of mainstream fiction receive more recognition. A possible explanation is the less developed literary field at that time, combined with the limited amount of popular authors appearing in the newspapers. Depending on which year to start, the likelihood of literary authors being more historically prestigious than popular authors seems therefore larger in 2005 if compared to 1955, but smaller than in 1975. The odds of belonging to the cluster of contemporary prestigious authors declines slightly after 1975, suggesting that here the advantage of literary authors is decreasing. Traditional markers of symbolic capital and structural inequality thus still seem to impact how literary worth is attributed. This is true while taking into account that countries and form aspects of newspapers may differ. As such, the analysis also contributes to our understanding of cross-national variations. Clearly, European newspapers in general were more likely to devote attention to more prestigious clusters- in other words: European newspapers are more oriented towards “consecrated” authors. This confirms the findings of Table 1, but this time controlling for author and article characteristics. Over time, French newspapers have come to resemble US newspapers in their emphasis on unrecognized authors. At the other end of the spectrum, Dutch and German newspapers pay significantly more attention to historical prestigious authors: the Netherlands only in 1995 and 2005, Germany during the whole period. Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 21 Conclusion and discussion In recent years, the legitimacy of cultural institutions is thought to have weakened due to social changes starting in the postwar period (DiMaggio, 1991; Janssen et al., 2011). While various explanations have been proposed -- e.g. growing social mobility leading to more omnivorous taste patterns among audiences, decline of higher education, increasing commercialization in the arts (Peterson & Kern, 1996; Van Eijck & Knulst, 2005) -- we argue that institutional consensus is among the prerequisites for cultural legitimation and, as such, worthwhile to study from a longitudinal perspective. In this paper, we examined whether and how patterns and structures of institutional recognition in the literary field - as seen in elite newspapers’ literary coverage - , have changed over time. More specifically, our analysis is concerned with how the value attributions to fiction book authors by newspaper critics and editors accord with those of other agents in the literary field (e.g. juries of literary prizes, publishers) in the period 1955-2005. In addition, we add a cross-national layer on existing work by comparing institutions from France, Germany, the Netherlands, and the United States. Hence, our study contributes to Casanova (2004), Kuipers (2011) and other scholars of global and transnational cultural production in detailing how national literary fields are interconnected and intertwined. The results indicate that the institutional logics governing newspapers’ selection of authors has not changed that much since the 1950s. Consistently, institutional recognitions are structured around three understandings of literary worth. Elite newspapers' institutional position manifests itself in the following three clusters of authors: the unrecognized, the contemporary prestigious (who recently won literary awards and/or were listed in bestseller lists), and the historical prestigious (who won literary awards and/or are discussed in literary encyclopedias). Over time, the latter group continues to comprise about 20% of the coverage. Unrecognized authors – those without any form of recognition – lose importance (from about Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 22 three fifth to two fifth) at the gain of contemporary prestigious authors (from one fifth to almost two fifth). These patterns differ significantly across countries, however. In general, the European countries show a much stronger connection to more highbrow forms of institutional recognition than the US. Throughout the period under investigation, American newspapers allocate more than half of their attention to authors with little or no institutional prestige – neither artistic nor commercial. This is in accordance with findings on national “cultural repertoires” (cf. Lamont and Thevenot, 2000), suggesting that the US is generally less hierarchical than European countries. Amongst the European newspapers particularly German and Dutch papers select many historical prestigious authors. Even in 2005 about a quarter of all discussed authors belong to this category. Both countries are more marginal in the transnational literary field, and possibly their lack of international literary prestige and impact contributes to their relatively limited focus on contemporary developments. How institutional agents establish regimes of literary worth obviously affects the recognition individual authors may achieve. Therefore, the second part of our analysis consisted of assessing which types of authors were more likely to be considered for which type of recognition. We find that symbolic capital (writing “literature”) remains important for recognition, though its peak appeared to have been in the 1970s. Foreign authors are more likely to fall in the category of prestigious authors than local authors. This confirms the existence of a transnational literary field in which institutions have consensual beliefs on the value of particular top authors. At the same time, we observe country differences as the US and France tend to pay relatively more attention to domestic authors, which seems to point at their importance in this global field. Since their literatures have high status within the cultural world-system (Casanova, 2004; Janssen, 2009), these countries can afford to deviate slightly from the overall regime. An alternative interpretation would be that more domestic authors Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 23 are being published in the US and France. However, inspection of the figures provided by Janssen (2009: 355) suggests that while this could be true for the US, the literary production in Germany is actually higher than in France. In sum, literary fields in the studied countries – using elite newspaper as our baseline – show little divergence. Trends of commercialization, more omnivorous participation, or increasing institutional polarization are not very clearly reflected in the patterns of institutional recognition we find. Moreover, we find limited differences between national literary fields, although the US and –perhaps more surprisingly – France appear to be slightly more open or “democratic” in their attention to contemporary authors. Along with the stronger historical focus of German and Dutch newspapers, we tentatively interpret this as an effect of the position in the transnational literary field: newspapers in more central countries are more interested in “new” authors, whereas newspapers in less influential countries devote more attention to the “classics”. However, elite newspapers in each country have continued to rely on the value attributions of other institutional agents in the literary field, in a manner which proves to be quite robust over time. Whether this is despite or because of the prominence of highbrow culture -- such as literary fiction -- has shrunk in elite newspapers (Janssen et al., 2011) remains to be seen. There are some limitations to our study, of course, that need to be mentioned. Our choice to analyze a fifty year period comes at the price of not having all information available that would be ideal. For instance, we did not always have access to the complete content of the articles, and for authors from different origin countries than our four countries of focus, we did not consider local bestseller lists, encyclopedias, and literary awards. Also, for older, less famous authors it has proved difficult to find detailed data on careers (e.g. education as an indicator of cultural capital), institutional recognition or contacts with others in the field. What is more, establishing trends requires a certain consistency in available measurements, Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 24 but we acknowledge that cultural fields have evolved in the past fifty years (e.g. the proliferation of bestseller lists). Our results could be affected by such changes, albeit probably more for 1955 than for later years. Furthermore, like in most cultural fields, we ran into the issue of many individuals with few observations (and it was not possible to increase the sample size since we worked with existing (newspaper) data. Because of this problem many previous studies focused on artists who already had some form of success or recognition (e.g. Allen & Lincoln, 2004; Braden, 2009; Dubois & Francois, 2013). While we see the merit of such approaches, at the same time we believe that our study of newspaper classifications makes an important contribution: it clearly unveils the role of the unrecognized in legitimation processes. Literary fields continue to be battlegrounds for recognition in which large portions of the participants remain relatively unnoticed yet are the reference groups to which the worthy are compared. Article Notes This research was financially supported by the Dutch Science Foundation (NWO) funded VICI-project Cultural Classification Systems in Transition (NWO-project 277–45–001). Notes i. The sampling method of the constructed week is a specific form of stratified sampling: every week day is represented equally, but not from the same weeks, to avoid bias towards particularities of one news week (Riffe et al., 1993). So there might be a Monday edition from week one, a Tuesday edition from week five, etc. In our case, we constructed four weeks, one for each quarter of the year to account for seasonal biases. ii. The year 2005 actually concerned the latter half of 2004 and the first half of 2005. For the Los Angeles Times, only three constructed weeks were sampled. Magazines were left out of the analyses. The particular years were chosen for the following reasons: (1) since the original project aimed to map post-War transitions in classification systems, the starting point was the 1950s; (2) decade spreads were the result of balancing (a) the aim to cover a substantial historical period, (b) the level of detail in the analysis of individual newspapers, and (c) time/financial restrictions; (3) the data were collected in 2005/2006. iii. For 1955, we took the period 1940–1955, since not many awards already existed before this time. iv. Bestseller lists were recoded as 1=0; 2=1; 3=2–3; 4=4–10; 5=10+. Literary prizes were recoded as 1=0; 2=1; 3=2–3; 4=3+. Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 25 v. Note that the number of characteristics is somewhat limited because of the difficulty of finding background information on 1000+ authors from three countries for a period dating back to the 1950s. Author biographies Marc Verboord is Associate Professor in the department of Media and Communication at Erasmus University Rotterdam and ERMeCC (Erasmus Research Centre in Media, Communication and Culture). His research focuses on cultural consumption patterns, cultural globalization, classification of cultural products, and the Internet’s impact on the social valuation of cultural products. Giselinde Kuipers is Professor of Cultural Sociology at the University of Amsterdam and Director of the Cultural Sociology Program group at this University. She has published widely on the sociology of popular culture, media, humor, beauty, cultural globalization and comparative sociology, and is the author of Good Humor, Bad Taste: A Sociology of the Joke (Mouton de Gruyter, 2006, revised edition 2015). She is affiliated with the Cultural Classification Systems in Transition project at Erasmus University Rotterdam. Currently, she is the principal investigator in an ERC-funded research project on the comparative sociology of beauty. Susanne Janssen is Professor of Sociology of Media and Culture at Erasmus University Rotterdam. She has published widely on the agents and institutions involved in the creation, dissemination and valuation of literature and other art forms. Her current research focuses on changes and continuities in the classification of culture; the social and cultural significance of popular music heritage; processes, structures and impacts of cultural globalization; and the production and consumption of online media content. Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 26 References Allen, M.P., Lincoln, A.E. (2004). Critical Discourse and the Cultural Consecration of American Films. Social Forces 82(3): 871-894. Anheier, H.K., Gerhards, J. (1991). Literary Myths and Social Structure. Social Forces 69(3): 811-830. Anheier, H.K., Gerhards, J. & Romo, F.P. (1995). 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Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 31 Appendices Table A1: List of literary awards used per country National Names of awards English language United States 2: Pulitzer Prize*; National Book Award*; 1: National Book Critics Circle Award*; PEN/Faulkner Award*; Howells Medal*; Los Angeles Times Book Prize*; National Jewish Book Award; American Academy of Arts and Letters Gold Medal; Hemingway/PEN Award; Dos Passos Prize; Janet Heidinger Kafka Prize; Sue Kaufman Prize; Lannan Award United Kingdom 2: Booker Prize 1: James Tait Black Memorial Prize; Hawthornden Prize; Somerset Maugham Award; WH Smith Prize; Whitbread Prize/Costa Award; Guardian Fiction Prize; Orange Prize Canada 1: Governor General’s Literary Award; Lorne Pierce Medal; Toronto Book Award; Books in Canada First Novel Award Australia 1: Vance Palmer Prize; ALS Gold Medal; New South Wales Premier’s Literary Award; Miles Franklin Award else 1: Commonwealth Writer’s Prize French language France 2: Prix Goncourt*; 1: Prix Fémina*; Prix Renaudot*; Prix Médicis*; Prix Interallié*; Grand Prix du Roman*; Grand Prix de Littérature; Grand Prix de littérature Paul Morand; Prix des Deux Magots; Prix Roger Nimier; Prix Novembre/Decembre Canada 1: Prix Littéraires du Gouverneur Général; Médaille de l’Académie des Lettres du Québec; Grand Prix de Montréal Suisse 1: Grand Prix Schiller; Prix Schiller; Gottfried-Keller-Preis; Prix Rambert Belgium 1: Prix littéraires de la Communauté française de Belgique (Prix quinquennal de littérature; Prix Triennal du Roman); Prix Victor Rossel else 1: Grand Prix littéraire de l’Afrique noire German language Germany 2: Georg-Büchner-Preis*; Deutsche Buchpreis 1: Bremer Literaturpreis*; Heinrich-Heine-Preis*; Kleist-Preis*; Hermann-Hesse-Preis*; Heinrich- Mann-Preis; Heinrich-Böll-Preis; Nelly-Sachs-Preis; Friedrich-Hölderlin-Preis; Peter-Huchel-Preis; Hans-Fallada-Preis; Deutscher Kritikerpreis (Literatur); Grosser Literaturpreis der Bayerischen Akademie der Schönen Künste/Thomas-Mann-Preis; Berliner Literaturpreis Austria 1: Ingeborg-Bachmann-Preis*; Grosser Österreichischer Staatspreis für Literatur; Preis der Stadt Wien für Literatur; Franz-Nabl-Preis Suisse 1: Grosser Schillerpreis; Schillerpreis; Gottfried-Keller-Preis; Conrad-Ferdinand-Meyer-Preis Dutch language Netherlands 2: PC Hooftprijs*; AKO Literatuurprijs* 1: Prijs der Nederlandse Letteren; Constantijn Huygensprijs*; Lucy B. en C.W. van der Hoogtprijs; Multatuliprijs*; F. Bordewijkprijs*; Reina Prinsen Geerligs-prijs; Anton Wachterprijs; Geertjan Lubberhuizen-prijs; Tollensprijs; H. Roland Holstprijs; Libris literatuurprijs* Belgium 1: Grote Staatsprijs/Oeuvreprijs van de Vlaamse Gemeenschap; Prijs v/d Vlaamse Gemeenschap voor Proza; Gouden Uil International 3: Nobel Prize for Literature*; 1: Friedenspreis des Deutschen Buchhandels; Jerusalem Prize; Hans Christian Andersen Award; Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 32 Neustadt Prize; Österreichischer Staatspreis für Europäische Literatur; Premios Príncipe de Asturias de las Letras; Aristeion Prize; IMPAC Dublin Literary Award Prix de Meilleur Livre étranger; Prix Médicis étranger; Prix Fémina étranger; Premio Mondello; Premio Grinzane Cavour (Internacional + Narrativa Straniera); Premio Flaiano; Manès-Sperber- Preis; Franz-Kafka-Preis Spanish language Spain 1: Premio Cervantes; Premio Planeta de Novela; Premios Nadal; Premio de la Crítica de Narrativa Castellana; Premio Biblioteca Breve; Premio Alfaguarra de Novela; Premio Nacional de las Letras Españolas; Premio Nacional de Narrativa various 1: Premios Rómulo Gallegos; Premio Nacional de Literatura de Chile; Premio Casa de las Américas; Premio Nacional de Ciencias y Artes (Lingüística y Literatura)(Mexico); Italian language Italy 1: Premio Viareggio; Premio Strega; Premio Bagutta; Premio Campiello; Premio Mondello; Premio Flaiano; Premio Grinzane Cavour Portugese language Portugal, Brazil 1: Prêmio Camões; Prêmio Machado de Assis; Prêmio Juca Pato; Grande Prêmio de Romance e Novela APE/IPLB Scandinavian Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Finland, Iceland 1: Nordic Prize (also nominations); Norwegian Critics Prize for Literature; Samfundet de Nio stora pris (Sweden); Danish Academy best author prize; Finlandia Prize (best novel); Icelandic Literary Prize Other various 1: Jaroslav-Seifert-Preis (Tschech) Russian Booker Prize; Bialik Prize (Isr); Hertzog Prize (ZAF); Olive Schreiner Prize (ZAF); Naoki Prize (Jap); Akutagawa Prize (Jap); Yomiuri Prize (Jap); Tanizaki Prize (Jap) ‘3’ refers to weight of three; ‘2’ to weight of two and ‘1’ to a weight of one. * Prizes are also used to establish prestige of publishers. Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 33 Table A2: Sources of Encyclopedia data Language 1955 1975 1995 2005 French Dictionnaire biographique des auteurs (1957) Dictionnaire des litteratures (1968) Le nouveau dictionnaire des auteurs (1994) Encyclopedie de la litterature (2003) German Lexikon der Weltliteratur (1950) Wilpert Lexikon der Weltliteratur (1975) Literatur Brockhaus (1988) Der Brockhaus Literatur (2004) Dutch Encyclopedie van de Wereldliteratuur (1954) Auteurs van de 20e eeuw (1966) ** Oosthoek lexicon van de Nederlandse en Vlaamse literatuur (1996)* 2000 auteurs uit de 20e eeuw (2002) ** English Cassell’s encyclopedia of world literature (1953) Cassell’s encyclopedia of world literature (1973) Merriam Webster encyclopedia of modern literature (1995) Encyclopedia of world literature in the 20th century (1999) Benet’s reader encyclopedia (2008) * only Dutch language authors (not used for calculating international score) ** Two 19th century authors receive domestic scores from encyclopedias of preceding period. Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 34 Table A3: Sources of Bestseller list data Country 1955 1975 1995 2005 France List of well sold books in France published between 1945-1955, ordered by author (Quid, 1977) Monthly (1965-1966) and weekly top 10 lists (1966-1974) in L’Express Weekly fiction top 10 (1985-1990) and top 15 lists (1990-1994) in L’Express Weekly fiction top 15 (1995-2002) and top 20 lists (2002- 2004) in L’Express Germany Various lists of well sold books in Germany published between 1945-1955 (Der Spiegel, 30/7/ 1952; 14/1/1953; Faulstich, 1983; Zierman, 2000) Weekly fiction top 10 lists (1965-1974) in Der Spiegel Weekly fiction top 10 (1985-1987) and top 15 list (1987-1994) in Der Spiegel Weekly fiction top 15 (1995-2001) and top 20 lists (2001- 2004) in Der Spiegel Netherlands Janssen (1959): list of most read authors/books in 1952 survey among book readers in the Netherlands Weekly top 10 lists (1968-1973) in Nieuwsblad voor de Boekhandel; and weekly top 10 lists (1974) in Haagse Post Weekly fiction top 10 lists (1985- 1994) in Vrij Nederland (Libris book stores) Weekly fiction top 10 lists (1995-2001) in Vrij Nederland; weekly fiction top 10/15 lists at CPNB.nl (2002- 2004) United States Authors listed in New York Times fiction top 10 according to Justice (1990) Weekly fiction top 10 lists (1965-1974) in New York Times Weekly hardcover fiction top 15 lists (1985-1994) in New York Times Weekly hardcover fiction top 15 lists (1995-2004) in New York Times Sources: Quid 1977 Faulstich, W. (1983). Bestandsaufnahme Bestsellerforschung. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Zierman, K. (2000). Der deutsche Buch- und Taschenbuchmarkt 1945-1995. Berlin: Wissenschaftsverlag Volker Spiess. Janssen, M.J. (1959). Boeken kiezen voor anderen. Den Haag: Uitgeversfonds van de Centrale Vereniging voor O.L.B. en de Nederlandse Vereniging van Bibliothecarissen. Justice, K.L. (1990). Bestseller Index. Jefferson, NC: McFarland. Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 35 Table A4: Merging of institutional data and newspaper data Origin Institutions Authors from countries of sample newspapers (F, G, N, U) Authors from countries with same language as sample newspapers Authors from countries with other language than sample newspapers Domestic ENC (own language) ENC (same language) - LP (own language) LP (same language) LP (own language) BE (own country) - - International ENC (mean other languages) ENC (mean other languages) ENC (mean all languages) LP (int. prizes + other languages) LP (int. prizes + other languages) LP (int. prizes + other languages) BE (mean other cou.) BE (mean all countries) BE (mean all countries) No distinction PUB (publisher in country newspaper)* PUB (publisher in country newspaper)* PUB (publisher in country newspaper)* ENC=Encyclopedia; LP=Literary prize; BE=Bestseller list; PUB=Publisher. * If no publisher was found or only a foreign publisher (in the case of books which were not translated), authors received the minimal score. Appendix B: Results Cluster analysis Dom lp Int lp Dom be Int be Aut dead Dom enc Int enc Pub aut Pub lp 1955 1 – 57.1% (218) * * * * * * * 2 – 24.3% (93) * * * * * * * * 3 – 18.6% (71) * * * * * BIC= 1788.573; RDM = 2.052 1975 1 – 20.5% (100) * * * 2 – 25.0% (122) * * * * * * * * 3 – 54.6% (266) * * * * * * * * * BIC = 2534.270; RDM = 1.874 1995 1 – 40.2% (313) * * * * * * * * * 2 – 37.4% (291) * * * * * * * * * 3 – 22.4% (174) * * * * BIC = 4812.004; RDM = 2.089 2005 1 – 19.4% (149) * * * * * * * 2 – 38.9% (299) * * * * * * * * 3 – 41.7% (320) * * * * * * * * * BIC = 4710.662; RDM = 1.820 * significant contribution according to Chi-Square test BIC=Schwarz’s Bayesian Criterion; RDM=Ratio of Distance Measures Institutional recognition in the transnational literary field 36 i The sampling method of the constructed week is a specific form of stratified sampling: every week day is represented equally, but not from the same weeks to avoid bias towards particularities of one news week (Riffe, Aust, and Lacy 1993). So there might be a Monday edition from week 1, a Tuesday edition from week 5, etc. In our case, we constructed four weeks, one for each quarter of the year to account for seasonal biases. ii The year 2005 actually concerned the latter half of 2004 and the first half of 2005. For the Los Angeles Times only three constructed weeks were sampled. Magazines were left out the analyses. The particular years were chosen for a couple of reasons: 1) since the original project aimed to map postwar transitions in classification systems the starting point was the 1950s, 2) decade spreads were the result of balancing a) the aim to cover a substantial historical period, b) the level of detail in the analysis of individual newspapers, and c) time/financial restrictions, 3) the data were collected in 2005/2006. iii For 1955, we took the period 1940-1955, since not many awards already existed before. iv Bestseller lists were recoded as 1=0; 2=1; 3=2-3; 4=4-10; 5=10+. Literary prizes were recoded as 1=0; 2=1; 3=2-3; 4=3+. v Note that the number of characteristics is somewhat limited because of the difficulty of finding background information on 1000+ authors from 3 countries for a period dating back to the 1950s. 
work_4i7ycvmuwba5vo55y6grmua7s4	----	pp206219 1728..1740 Update on Anthropogenic Climate Change Evolutionary and Ecological Responses to Anthropogenic Climate Change1 Jill T. Anderson*, Anne Marie Panetta, and Thomas Mitchell-Olds Department of Biological Sciences, University of South Carolina, Columbia, South Carolina 29208 (J.T.A.); Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory, Crested Butte, Colorado 81224 (J.T.A., A.M.P.); Department of Evolution and Ecology, University of California, Davis, California 95616 (A.M.P.); and Institute for Genome Sciences and Policy, and Department of Biology, Duke University, Durham, North Carolina 27708 (T.M.-O.) Strategies that enable species to persist in changing environments have historically been divided into eco- logical (distributional shifts and phenotypic plasticity) and evolutionary (adaptation and gene flow). However, most species will likely need to rely on a combination of approaches to mitigate extinction risks from ongoing climate change. For example, increased temporal vari- ation in climate could favor genotypes with adaptive plasticity. Furthermore, even species capable of tracking their preferred climate via migration will encounter different abiotic and biotic conditions; plasticity and/or adaptation could facilitate establishment and popula- tion growth in new geographic ranges. The relative contributions of adaptation, migration, and plasticity to population persistence in a changing world will likely depend on characteristics such as generation time, mat- ing system, dispersal capacity, the strength and direction of selection, the presence of ecologically relevant genetic variation, the extent of genetic correlations among traits, and the genetic architecture of adaptation. Will adapta- tion keep pace with rapid climate change? Here, we propose hypotheses based on ecological and evolution- ary theory, discuss experimental approaches, and review results from studies that have investigated ecological and evolutionary responses to contemporary climate change. We focus our discussion on plants, but owing to the limited number of publications to date that integrate evolutionary and ecological perspectives, we draw from other taxonomic groups as necessary. For species to survive rapid anthropogenic climate change, they must shift their distributions to track preferred conditions (Angert et al., 2011; Chen et al., 2011), adjust their phenotypes via plasticity (Nicotra et al., 2010), and/or adapt to novel stresses (Aitken et al., 2008; Hoffmann and Sgrò, 2011). In most cases, a combination of ecological and evolutionary strategies will be necessary for local and regional persistence in landscapes disturbed by habitat fragmentation, pol- lution, and invasive species. For example, increased climatic variation (Battisti and Naylor, 2009) could selectively favor phenotypic plasticity (Crozier et al., 2008), which, in turn, could contribute to evolutionary novelty and adaptation (Moczek et al., 2011). Fur- thermore, many species have already altered their distributions to more poleward and upslope regions because of increasing temperatures (Parmesan and Yohe, 2003; Hickling et al., 2006; Parmesan, 2006; Lenoir et al., 2008; Chen et al., 2011). Migrating pop- ulations will undoubtedly encounter novel abiotic and biotic conditions and will need to adjust to different photoperiods, edaphic characteristics, growing season lengths, and altered biotic communities via plasticity and/or adaptation. Gene flow and population ad- mixture could facilitate adaptation by introducing warm- or drought-adapted alleles into populations that are locally adapted to a suite of climatic and nonclimatic variables. Finally, the rate of climate change, combined with the effects of habitat fragmentation, could surpass many species’ abilities to track the climate to which they are currently adapted (Davis and Shaw, 2001). Such species will necessarily have to acclimate or adapt in situ to novel selection pressures or face a heightened probability of extinction (Aitken et al., 2008). Evolution can proceed rapidly (Grant and Grant, 2002; Hairston et al., 2005; Franks et al., 2007), but we know little about the interplay of ecological and evo- lutionary processes in the context of climate change. Theoretically, adaptation could keep pace with climate change as long as genetic variation, individual fitness, and effective population sizes remain high against a backdrop of strong selection, short generation times, and minimal environmental and demographic sto- chasticity (Burger and Lynch, 1995; Aitken et al., 2008; Hoffmann and Sgrò, 2011). Will adaptive evolution and/or plasticity allow species to alter their pheno- types fast enough to persist despite rapidly changing conditions (Davis and Shaw, 2001; Franks et al., 2007; Crozier et al., 2008; Teplitsky et al., 2008; Nicotra et al., 2010; Hoffmann and Sgrò, 2011; Shaw and Etterson, 2012)? Can the inheritance of environmentally induced 1 This work was supported by the National Institutes of Health (grant no. R01–GM086496 to T.M.-O.) and the National Science Foun- dation (grant no. EF–0723447 to T.M.-O. and grant no. DDIG DEB– 1110337 to A.M.P. and M.L. Stanton). * Corresponding author; e-mail jtanders@mailbox.sc.edu. www.plantphysiol.org/cgi/doi/10.1104/pp.112.206219 1728 Plant Physiology�, December 2012, Vol. 160, pp. 1728–1740, www.plantphysiol.org � 2012 American Society of Plant Biologists. All Rights Reserved. https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. mailto:jtanders@mailbox.sc.edu http://www.plantphysiol.org/cgi/doi/10.1104/pp.112.206219 https://plantphysiol.org nongenetic modifications alter the rate and direction of species’ evolutionary response to climate change? And can we make robust predictions about the relative contributions of migration, adaptation, and plasticity as a function of attributes of species or the extent of habitat degradation? This review highlights the inter- dependence of ecological and evolutionary processes to mitigate extinction risks. We discuss hypotheses and approaches that will illuminate the relative roles of migration, phenotypic plasticity, and adaptation in responses to global change (Table I). We encourage collaborations between ecologists and evolutionary biologists to connect studies of phenology, physiology, mating systems, and dispersal with those of ecological genetics/genomics and quantitative genetics. RESPONSES TO CLIMATE CHANGE IN CONTEMPORARY VERSUS PALEOCOMMUNITIES We may be able to draw from the paleoecological literature to understand extinction risks, migration rates, and potential adaptive responses to climate change (Davis and Shaw, 2001; Leakey and Lau, 2012), espe- cially by focusing on the few geological intervals during which the rate and magnitude of naturally in- duced climate change were similar to contemporary climate change driven by anthropogenic processes (Willis and MacDonald, 2011). During four geological periods of rapid climate change, macrofossil and pol- len records document extensive changes in species’ distribution patterns, but species likely also adapted to novel climates (for review, see Willis and MacDonald, 2011). Some species experienced dramatic reductions in range size and survived rapid bouts of climate change in outlying refugia surrounded by inhospitable habitat (McLachlan et al., 2005; Willis and MacDonald, 2011). Researchers have long turned to the fossil pollen record to examine rates of migration after the last glacial maximum in the late Pleistocene. Palynological evidence suggests that tree species migrated approxi- mately 100 to 1,000 m year21 after glaciers retreated, a rate that far exceeds average seed dispersal distances measured in natural populations (McLachlan et al., 2005). This discrepancy, known as Reid’s paradox, could result from rare long-distance dispersal events and/or coarse fossil pollen records that do not ade- quately capture small refugial populations (McLachlan et al., 2005; Magri et al., 2006). Postglacial spread from these refugia would artificially inflate migration rates estimated from the fossil record (McLachlan et al., 2005). Instead, seed dispersal distances and life history characteristics of modern populations are more reli- able predictors of the rate of possible range shifts (McLachlan et al., 2005). Today, natural populations face myriad threats that paleocommunities did not experience, including habitat fragmentation and degradation, pollution, and invasive species. These anthropogenic stresses could hinder dis- persal (Kremer et al., 2012), alter patterns of selection on complex traits (Cook et al., 2012), and reduce genetic variation (Jump and Peñuelas, 2006; Willi et al., 2007), Table I. Hypotheses and approaches discussed in this paper LS, Longitudinal studies; PT, provenance trials; RS, resurrection studies; Sim, simulating predisturbance and postdisturbance conditions experi- mentally. In some cases, a hypothesis needs to be tested using combined approaches, indicted here by +. Hypothesis Approach Reference 1. Climate change imposes novel selection LS, RS, PT, Sim Etterson and Shaw (2001); Etterson (2004); Franks et al. (2007); Hoffmann and Sgrò (2011) 2. Adaptation lags behind climate change LS, RS, PT, Sim Etterson and Shaw (2001); Davis et al. (2005); Wang et al. (2006, 2010); Kuparinen et al. (2010) 3. Climate change can reduce fitness and population growth LS, RS, PT, Sim Harte et al. (2006); Willis et al. (2008) 4. Climate change disrupts local adaptation PT, RS + PT, Sim + PT Wang et al. (2010) 5. Climate change favors plasticity LS, RS, PT, Sim Nussey et al. (2005); Crozier et al. (2008) 6. Gene flow increases adaptive potential Population genetics/genomics + LS, RS, PT, Sim Kremer et al. (2012) 7. Admixture enables adaptation Population genetics/genomics + LS, RS, PT, PT and/or Sim + experimentally generated crosses A.M. Panetta and M.L. Stanton (unpublished data) 8. Adaptation is most likely at the center and leading edge of the range LS in multiple populations across the range, RS + large-scale sampling across the landscape, RS + PT, PT, Sim + PT Davis and Shaw (2001); Wang et al. (2006); Aitken et al. (2008); Holliday et al. (2012) 9. Fragmentation reduces adaptive potential Population genetics/genomics + PT and Sim Willi et al. (2007) Plant Physiol. Vol. 160, 2012 1729 Response to Climate Change https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. https://plantphysiol.org thereby restricting evolutionary responses to climate change. For these reasons, the fossil record likely un- derestimates contemporary extinction risks and over- estimates migratory potential and the capacity of species to adapt to global change. HYPOTHESES Since limitations exist on our ability to learn from paleocommunities, we must empirically investigate species’ ecological and evolutionary responses to rapid contemporary climate change. In this section, we out- line several hypotheses that warrant further explora- tion (Table I). Adaptive Evolution and Global Change Industrialization has dramatically increased atmo- spheric CO2 concentration, resulting in rising temper- atures and altered precipitation regimes (IPCC, 2007). However, other abiotic conditions, such as photope- riod and edaphic characteristics, will remain at his- torical levels, leading to future environments that have no current analog (Williams et al., 2007). Thus, it seems likely that climate change will impose strong selection on complex polygenic traits, potentially favoring pheno- logical, ecophysiological, and morphological trait values that enable stress tolerance and avoidance (hypothesis 1: climate change imposes novel selection; Etterson, 2004; Davis et al., 2005; Hoffmann and Sgrò, 2011). Selection imposed by climate change could shift adaptive land- scapes and alter the magnitude of selection gradients (see figure 1 in Anderson et al., 2012). Optimal trait values are likely to continue to change rapidly under increasingly novel conditions, becoming a moving target for natural populations to pursue (hypothesis 2: adaptation lags behind climate change; Etterson and Shaw, 2001; Davis et al., 2005; Kuparinen et al., 2010). Climate change- induced novel selection will likely reduce fitness and population growth in the short term, owing to a mis- match between current average phenotypic values and new optima (hypothesis 3: climate change can reduce fitness and population growth; Willis et al., 2008). Whether populations will be able to respond adaptively in the long run will depend on the extent of genetic variation and can be constrained by genetic correlations and tradeoffs among traits (Etterson and Shaw, 2001). Within species, plant populations are often, but not universally, adapted to highly local conditions (Savolainen et al., 2007; Leimu and Fischer, 2008; Hereford, 2009). Few studies have teased apart the effects of abiotic and biotic agents of selection on local adapta- tion, but climate is clearly not the only factor that drives adaptive evolution (Lowry et al., 2009; Garrido et al., 2012). As climatic variables become decoupled from other agents of selection, genotypes may no longer have the greatest fitness in their home environments (Wang et al., 2010). Therefore, climate change could disrupt patterns of local adaptation that likely took many gen- erations to evolve (hypothesis 4; Fig. 1; Wang et al., 2010). Locally adapted ecotypes may experience greater risk of extinction as climate change accelerates if they have narrow climatic tolerances and limited dispersal capacity (Kelly et al., 2012). In contrast, broad niche breadth and phenotypic plasticity could buffer genotypes from the immediate effects of global change (Banta et al., 2012). We still know relatively little about the genetic basis of local adaptation. Basic research connecting genotype Figure 1. Climate change disrupts patterns of local adaptation (hypothesis 4). In this thought experiment, genotypes from three distinct elevations are reciprocally transplanted into gardens at each elevation. Under contemporary conditions (A), local genotypes have a fitness advantage at their home elevation, reflecting local adaptation. In contrast, future climatic conditions (B) result in local maladaptation, wherein novel conditions favor warm-adapted genotypes from lower elevations. In this case, the fitness of all genotypes is depressed at the lowest elevation. The pattern in B would be more complex if nonclimatic agents of selection, such as edaphic conditions, also contributed to local adaptation. In that case, recombinant genotypes from hybridization of local and lower elevation parents could exhibit maximum fitness in future climates (hypothesis 8). In the long run, rapid evolution could lead to adaptation to global change, restoring patterns of local adaptation. In both panels, local genotypes are represented by closed symbols. 1730 Plant Physiol. Vol. 160, 2012 Anderson et al. https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. https://plantphysiol.org to phenotype, fitness, and climatic variation will even- tually allow researchers to monitor allele frequency changes at loci implicated in climatic adaptation (Umina et al., 2005; Balanyá et al., 2006; Hansen et al., 2012). For example, Umina and colleagues (2005) documented a rapid shift in latitudinal clines in Drosophila melanogaster from 1979 to 2004 for allele frequencies at the alcohol dehydrogenase locus and a chromosomal inversion, two genomic regions associated with climatic adapta- tion. Concordant with changes in the climate over that time frame, tropical alleles shifted into temperate pop- ulations, potentially representing a genetic response to climate change (Umina et al., 2005). In humans, Turchin et al. (2012) found strong evidence for selective changes in allele frequencies at hundreds of height-associated loci in European populations. This study illustrates both the potential for such analyses and the massive work required for successful dissection of complex trait variation. The genetic architecture and basis of complex traits involved in climatic adaptation remains unresolved (Aitken et al., 2008). For polygenic quantitative traits (Rockman, 2012), genomic approaches could be used to detect subtle changes at multiple loci of small effect (Hansen et al., 2012; Turchin et al., 2012). Continuing advancements in genomic technologies and bioinfor- matics will improve our understanding of climatic ad- aptation in model (Fournier-Level et al., 2011; Hancock et al., 2011) and nonmodel (Allendorf et al., 2010) or- ganisms. For example, Eckert et al. (2010a) investigated the genetic basis of climatic adaptation in loblolly pine (Pinus taeda) by evaluating associations between envi- ronmental clines and allelic variation at markers genome wide. Their analysis revealed five loci that were sig- nificantly associated with aridity gradients and puta- tively orthologous to Arabidopsis (Arabidopsis thaliana) genes that confer stress tolerance (Eckert et al., 2010a). Additionally, Hancock et al. (2011) discovered a di- verse series of genes and Gene Ontology categories with an excess of nonsynonymous changes that are correlated with climatic variables in Arabidopsis. Such genome-wide scans could identify candidate genes in- volved in climatic adaptation in other species, but they must be carefully validated experimentally (Hancock et al., 2011). Phenotypic Plasticity Adaptive phenotypic plasticity enables genotypes to prosper in spatially and temporally heterogeneous environments by adjusting trait values to suit specific conditions (Moczek et al., 2011). As such, plasticity is likely to play an important role in the persistence of species in rapidly changing environments (Nicotra et al., 2010). Indeed, long-term studies of pedigreed animal populations have revealed extensive plasticity and little adaptive evolution in the context of climate change, suggesting that species can alter their pheno- types much faster via plasticity than adaptation (Teplitsky et al., 2008; Ozgul et al., 2009). Nevertheless, current levels of phenotypic plasticity that are suffi- cient for short-term response to global change could be inadequate once temperatures and water stress exceed historical levels (Kelly et al., 2012). In some regions, climatic conditions are expected to become increas- ingly variable temporally (IPCC, 2007), which could selectively favor plasticity, promoting evolutionary change in reaction norms (hypothesis 5: climate change favors plasticity; Nussey et al., 2005; Etterson, 2008; Anderson et al., 2012). Gene Flow, Dispersal, and Range Shifts Populations routinely exchange alleles via gene flow (Savolainen et al., 2007), which can increase genetic var- iation and promote adaptive evolution in metapopulation settings (Yeaman and Jarvis, 2006) or constrain habitat specialization and population differentiation (Paul et al., 2011). In the context of major perturbations (e.g. climate change), intermediate levels of gene flow could replen- ish genetic variation and reduce inbreeding (Kremer et al., 2012), especially in fragmented populations (hypothesis 6: gene flow increases adaptive potential). Furthermore, intraspecific hybridization between resi- dents and immigrants from downslope or more equa- torial populations could produce recombinant offspring with warm- or drought-adapted alleles at loci involved in climatic tolerance and locally adapted alleles else- where in the genome. Consequently, admixture could speed adaptive response to global change in species that are locally adapted to both climatic and nonclimatic conditions (hypothesis 7: admixture enables adaptation). Theoretical considerations of migration-selection bal- ance generally presuppose equilibrium conditions in environments that do not deteriorate through time. In such situations, immigrant seeds and pollen may carry maladapted alleles. However, climate change disrupts this implicit assumption, since immigrants from some populations may actually be better adapted to novel conditions than residents. Thus, long-distance seed dispersal could enhance genetic variation and adap- tation as well as facilitate migration and colonization of new habitat patches (Davis and Shaw, 2001; Alsos et al., 2012; Kremer et al., 2012). However, the rate of climate change is predicted to far outpace the rate of migration for more than 25% of the planet (Loarie et al., 2009). Species may more readily track preferred climates along elevation gradients, where short dis- tances upslope or downslope correspond to large cli- matic differences, than along latitudinal gradients, where individuals must move farther geographically to remain within the same climatic region (Loarie et al., 2009; but see Chen et al., 2011). Thus, as climate change con- tinues, in situ adaptation could become a more impor- tant pathway for survival in species that span broad latitudinal gradients than elevational gradients (but see Chen et al., 2011). The risk of extinction from climate change likely varies across the range of a species. Effective population Plant Physiol. Vol. 160, 2012 1731 Response to Climate Change https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. https://plantphysiol.org sizes and genetic variation can be greater in the center of a species’ range compared with the margins, resul- ting in maladaptive gene flow from central to marginal populations (Kirkpatrick and Barton, 1997; Holliday et al., 2012). Such asymmetrical gene flow could accel- erate adaptation to climate change in the leading edge of the range (high elevation or poleward latitudes) be- cause of the influx of warm-adapted alleles but con- strain adaptation near the trailing edge (low elevation or equatorial populations) because of the arrival of cold- adapted alleles (Aitken et al., 2008; Holliday et al., 2012). For these reasons, populations at the trailing edge could have greater risk of local extinction if the climate moves too far outside of genetic tolerances, and adap- tation might be most likely in the center or leading edge of the range (hypothesis 8; Wang et al., 2006; Aitken et al., 2008; Holliday et al., 2012). APPROACHES We now review four powerful methods for testing hypotheses about the interactions between ecological and evolutionary processes in species’ responses to climate change (Table I). Longitudinal Approaches to Detecting Phenotypic Change Longitudinal studies can identify long-term pheno- typic shifts in natural populations and test whether those changes have a genetic basis (Hansen et al., 2012). However, even when long-term records are available, it is often difficult to disentangle the relative contributions of migration, adaptation, phenotypic plasticity, and genetic drift in population-level changes in mean phenotype. Future studies should monitor phenotypes and fitness components in natural pedi- greed populations and/or experimental plantings to (1) quantify the extent of phenotypic shifts related to climatic adaptation; (2) link phenotypes to climatic variables that have also changed; (3) assess genetic variation and selection on traits relevant to adaptation to climate; and (4) evaluate whether phenotypic changes result from migration, plasticity, or genetic adaptation or are a maladaptive response to deteriorating condi- tions (Teplitsky et al., 2008; Ozgul et al., 2009; Hansen et al., 2012). Researchers can model whether the rate of trait changes could be consistent with random genetic drift (Hansen et al., 2012). Longitudinal studies con- ducted in multiple locations could test whether the adaptive potential of populations varies across the range (hypothesis 8) and whether certain microenvi- ronments could buffer populations from the effects of climate change and potentially serve as refugia. Randomized experimental studies have clear advan- tages over observational studies; replicated genotypes of known origin can provide accurate quantitative ge- netic data and robust tests of the mechanisms underlying temporal changes in mean phenotypes. Nevertheless, even purely observational data can provide estimates of quantitative genetic parameters based on statistical tools developed for plant and animal breeding studies and primarily used in long-term monitoring work in natural animal populations (Kruuk, 2004), thus enabling tests of hypotheses 1 to 3 and 5. This “animal model” is most informative when individuals are tagged and fol- lowed through the entire life cycle to generate data on phenotypes, life history transitions, and lifetime fitness (Kruuk, 2004). Implementing the animal model requires information on the relatedness among individuals, which can be estimated from molecular data (Kruuk, 2004; Ashley, 2010). Since observational studies can confound genetic and microenvironmental effects, spatial and temporal variation in microenvironment can and should be incorporated into models to ac- count for environmentally induced phenotypic vari- ation (Kruuk, 2004). Monitoring efforts in natural populations can begin to distinguish plasticity from adaptation (Gienapp et al., 2008). The few such studies done to date suggest that short-term (decades-long) responses to climate change tend to be mediated by phenotypic plasticity and not genetic adaptation (Teplitsky et al., 2008; Ozgul et al., 2009). Evolutionary responses to climate change could also be inferred from shifts in allele frequencies over time at candidate genes associated with tolerance to temper- ature, drought, and other stresses imposed by global change (Hansen et al., 2012). We know of no plant- based study that documents allele frequency changes through time in loci implicated in climatic adaptation, although such studies have been conducted in Dro- sophila spp. (Umina et al., 2005; Balanyá et al., 2006). However, plant biologists could begin to explore allele frequency changes at candidate genes that have been described in model organisms. For example, the ge- netic basis of flowering phenology is well character- ized in Arabidopsis (Wellmer and Riechmann, 2010), and orthologs of many Arabidopsis genes have con- served effects on flowering time in other species (Böhlenius et al., 2006). Furthermore, polymorphisms in various genes of the flowering time pathway can influence local adaptation to climate (Banta et al., 2012). As temperatures increase but photoperiods re- main unchanged, longitudinal studies should test whether climate change alters allele frequencies more rapidly in candidate genes associated with the tem- perature and vernalization pathways than in genes from the photoperiod pathway or other genomic re- gions. Until other climate-related candidate genes and quantitative trait loci are identified in model and nonmodel organisms, researchers conducting longitu- dinal studies should archive tissue and seeds for future analysis of long-term trends. Either immigration from lower elevation or more equatorial populations or in situ microevolution could result in long-term phenotypic change consistent with natural selection and underlain by adaptive shifts in allele frequencies. Data on landscape-level population genetic structure and migration rates over time could illuminate whether phenotypic change results from (1) 1732 Plant Physiol. Vol. 160, 2012 Anderson et al. https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. https://plantphysiol.org replacement of local genotypes by immigrants, which are already adapted to warmer or drier conditions; (2) in situ adaptive evolution from standing genetic vari- ation; or (3) gene flow and introgression of warm- or drought-adapted alleles from immigrants (hypotheses 6 and 7). If migrants simply replaced previous residents (possibility 1, above), we would expect to see allele frequency shifts in both putatively neutral and puta- tively adaptive loci across the genome. Postdisturbance genome-wide patterns of allelic variation would more closely resemble historical patterns from low-elevation/ equatorial populations. However, in this case, post- disturbance populations could be maladapted to non- climatic local conditions. In contrast, rapid in situ adaptive evolution (possibility 2, above) might only affect loci that are the targets of climate change-imposed selection and linked loci (Maynard Smith and Haigh, 1974). If trait change is a consequence of admixture (possibility 3, above), we expect a genome-wide signature of intraspecific hybridization. Next-generation sequenc- ing will soon provide researchers with ample molecular markers even in nonmodel organisms to estimate population structure and migration rates more accu- rately (Allendorf et al., 2010). Although we have sketched an ambitious research program that pushes the limits of current knowledge and technology, rapid progress on similar approaches in human populations (Skoglund et al., 2012; Turchin et al., 2012) illustrates the possibilities for studying genetic responses to climate change. Longitudinal studies can provide a wealth of infor- mation (Hansen et al., 2012); however, long-term phe- notypic and genetic records are not currently available for most species. Repeated sampling of pedigreed pop- ulations over many years will be necessary before gen- eral trends become apparent. The following approaches will provide information on plastic and genetic re- sponses to climate change in a more timely fashion. Resurrecting Predisturbance Lineages and Following Up on Previous Studies By comparing phenotypes, fitness components, and allelic richness in lineages derived from seeds collected before and after environmental change, Franks et al. (2007) detected rapid evolution in response to drought and Nevo et al. (2012) uncovered evolution in response to gradually changing climates. Indeed, a recent large- scale effort to store seeds has the explicit goal of pro- viding lineages for future studies of the evolutionary response to temporal variation, especially in the context of climate change (for review, see Shaw and Etterson, 2012). This resurrection approach could also be applied to agriculturally important species through the use of germplasm repositories to assess the need to breed for specific traits and/or alter where certain crop varieties are planted as the Earth warms. Resurrection studies can estimate the rate of trait ev- olution; investigate the fitness consequences of climate change; dissect the genetic basis of rapid adaptation to disturbance with mapping populations and genomic approaches; distinguish between plasticity and adap- tation; and test hypotheses about how specific envi- ronmental perturbations select on complex traits and plasticity (hypotheses 1, 2, 3, and 5; see Franks et al., 2007; Nevo et al., 2012; Shaw and Etterson, 2012). These investigations could also determine whether populations can evolve to rely on new triggers for life history transitions as temperature, photoperiod and other environmental cues become decoupled from each other. With sufficient sampling across the landscape before and after disturbance, population genomics studies (Stinchcombe and Hoekstra, 2008) would allow researchers to test whether descendent lineages are immigrants, evolved in situ, or resulted from population admixture (hypotheses 6 and 7). Finally, resurrection studies that transplant lineages from across the range into multiple field environments could directly examine local adaptation and range limits (hypotheses 4 and 8). This approach only works when propagules can be stored long term with minimal artificial selection and when previous collecting efforts provide robust sam- ple sizes of historical lineages. When a resurrection approach is not possible, researchers could follow up on earlier studies. For example, Willis and colleagues (2008) capitalized on a 150-year record of flowering phenology and abundance patterns of 473 plant species in natural communities of Concord, Massachusetts, which were initially sampled by Henry David Thoreau in the mid-1800s and resampled between 2003 and 2007. They found a significant phylogenetic signal to the response to climate change and a strong decline in abundance among species that were unable to adjust their flowering phenology (Willis et al., 2008). Thus, climate change can have severe fitness consequences for species that are incapable of plastic or adaptive responses (hypothesis 3). Provenance Trials Environmental variables such as temperature, length of the growing season, and water availability change dramatically and predictably along elevational and latitudinal gradients, which can result in consistent patterns of adaptation to local climatic conditions (Byars et al., 2007; Zhen and Ungerer, 2008; Fournier-Level et al., 2011). Researchers can exploit natural climatic variation along these gradients to explore adaptation in the context of global change (Etterson and Shaw, 2001; Wang et al., 2010; Kremer et al., 2012). Future research directions include conducting multiyear studies along subtle gradients that closely simulate gradually changing conditions, manipulating the biotic environ- ment, and incorporating the offspring of experimental transplants into the experiment in subsequent years to quantify the response to selection across generations (Shaw and Etterson, 2012). Provenance trials established by foresters enable tests of adaptation in the context of climate change Plant Physiol. Vol. 160, 2012 1733 Response to Climate Change https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. https://plantphysiol.org (hypotheses 1–8; Aitken et al., 2008; Wang et al., 2010). These experiments expose genotypes from many pop- ulations across broad climatic gradients to common gardens established in multiple locations, thereby cap- turing a larger range of trait values than would be found in only one population. In this way, provenance trials can test the severity of adaptational lags (hypothesis 2; Wang et al., 2010), in which case, as the climate con- tinues to warm, native ecotypes would have suboptimal phenotypes and fitness compared with foreign geno- types from warmer locales (also hypothesis 4; Fig. 1). In conjunction with population genetic and genomic studies, provenance trials might be able to investigate interactions between gene flow and adaptive evolution (hypotheses 6–8). Fitness can be modeled as a function of climatic variables in both the common garden site and the original provenance of a genotype. Using this ap- proach, Wang and colleagues (2006) discovered that genotypes from populations in the center of the range of lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta) had the greatest performance in diverse conditions. Subsequently, Wang et al. (2010) compared predicted fitness of geno- types in their native provenance with the same geno- types at other sites and demonstrated that climate change will severely disrupt patterns of local adapta- tion in lodgepole pine (hypothesis 4). By the year 2080, genotypes from across the range will no longer have optimal growth patterns in their native provenances; therefore, the overall productivity of lodgepole pine will be reduced (see figure 4 of Wang et al., 2010). This landmark study also indicated that mean annual temperature had a stronger effect on the height of ex- perimental lodgepole pine individuals than did genetic effects (Wang et al., 2010), reinforcing the hypothesis that phenotypic plasticity will play a prominent role in short-term responses to global change. Simulate Predisturbance and Postdisturbance Conditions Experimentally Researchers can impose experimental treatments that simulate future conditions and control treatments that represent contemporary environments (Dunne et al., 2003). Manipulative experiments that include replicated genotypes of known origin, collected from multiple populations across the range of a species, can test all of the hypotheses in Table I (Leakey and Lau, 2012), especially when combined with provenance trials or longitudinal studies. Comparisons of ancestral (pretreatment) and descendant (posttreatment) geno- types in artificial selection experiments can also be used to evaluate whether adaptation to climate change is likely, and if so, how many generations will be needed (Kelly et al., 2012). Future experiments should factorially manipulate CO2 concentration, temperature, growing season length (via altering snowmelt date in high-latitude and high- altitude systems), ozone, and/or drought based on specific projections for a given region (Kardol et al., 2010). Although it may be difficult to simulate future climates precisely because of uncertainties in projec- tions (Shaw and Etterson, 2012), multifactorial ma- nipulative experiments can tease apart the effects of different agents of selection on the evolution of complex traits, investigate the interactive effects of these varia- bles, and more closely resemble future climatic condi- tions. As an example of the need for multifactorial studies, elevated atmospheric CO2 concentration alone could enhance growth, hasten development, and in- crease fecundity, but reductions in performance from drought and warmer temperatures could offset those effects (Ainsworth and Long, 2005; Long et al., 2006; Ziska et al., 2012). Experiments run in controlled en- vironmental facilities can model past, present, and future climatic conditions to test adaptation to climate in isolation from other environmental factors. How- ever, controlled environments do not reflect the com- plexity of abiotic and biotic conditions that species experience in nature (Leakey and Lau, 2012). Labora- tory studies often overestimate heritabilities (Etterson, 2008), thereby inflating the perceived rate of evolution. To predict species’ evolutionary responses to global change, multiyear experimental studies should be conducted in realistic natural settings. Long-term ex- periments capture interannual variation and extreme events and can uncover general patterns rather than transient responses to short-term variation in weather (Harte et al., 2006). Although few evolutionary genetic studies have manipulated climatic variables in the field, results to date suggest that the predominant response to elevated CO2 concentration is physiological, not genetic (for re- view, see Leakey and Lau, 2012); there is a great need for additional research that exposes replicated geno- types to different climatic treatments for multiple gen- erations. Evolutionary biologists should capitalize on long-term ongoing experiments, such as the warming meadow at the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory (Dunne et al., 2003), to investigate the evolutionary im- plications of climate change (A.M. Panetta, M. Stanton, and J. Harte, unpublished data). In cases where warming meadows have been maintained for many years, off- spring of populations from control and warmed plots can be grown in each of the contrasting treatments to address hypotheses 1, 3, and 5 (A.M. Panetta, M. Stanton, and J. Harte, unpublished data). A recent meta-analysis suggests that warming ex- periments might underpredict long-term shifts in phenology (Wolkovich et al., 2012). Yet, Dunne and colleagues (2003, 2004) demonstrated similar flowering phenology responses to two experimental treatments (snow removal and year-round warming) and to two natural sources of variation in climate (interannual and elevational). Thus, our best predictions of ecological and evolutionary responses to anthropogenic climate change come from studies that integrate long-term ex- periments with observational approaches and model phenotypes as a function of appropriate climatic factors 1734 Plant Physiol. Vol. 160, 2012 Anderson et al. https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. https://plantphysiol.org (e.g. the timing of snowmelt instead of mean annual temperature; Dunne et al., 2004). The most powerful tests of the evolutionary and ecological responses to climate change will come from combining approaches. Manipulating climatic condi- tions experimentally can be done in conjunction with provenance trials in the context of natural climatic gradients to test hypothesis 4 and determine whether limited genetic variation constrains adaptation, espe- cially in the trailing edge of the range (hypothesis 8). Additionally, researchers can evaluate the importance of admixture (hypothesis 7) by outplanting offspring derived from crosses between populations at different latitudes/elevations. FUTURE DIRECTIONS Armed with the tools of traditional field ecology and quantitative genetics, as well as continuing technologi- cal advancements in genetics and genomics, we have substantial potential to improve our understanding of plant ecological and evolutionary responses to climate change. The following discussion highlights several emerging research directions, which could yield im- portant insights. Multitrait Evolution and Genetic Constraints on Adaptation Organisms are not composed of independent traits that can freely evolve in response to novel climates (Etterson and Shaw, 2001); rather, natural selection operates on complex, integrated phenotypes. Evolu- tionary responses to climate change could be slow or even maladaptive if novel selection drives genetically correlated traits in antagonistic directions (Etterson, 2008). In a classic study of Chamaecrista fasciculata, an annual legume native to tallgrass prairies of the Great Plains, Etterson and Shaw (2001) demonstrated that genetic correlations among traits restricted adaptation to climate, even though single traits maintained sub- stantial genetic variation. Thus, multitrait evolution depends on genetic relationships among traits, which can be subject to selection (Arnold et al., 2008). The real potential for adaptive evolution may differ substan- tially from expectations derived from studies of one or a few traits (Etterson and Shaw, 2001). To achieve an integrated understanding of plant evolutionary responses to global change, we recommend that researchers inves- tigate multiple traits associated with adaptation to cli- mate and other abiotic and biotic agents of selection (Table II; for a genomic perspective, see Hancock et al., 2011). Functional Traits That Could Enable Adaptation Whether a species will adapt to changing climatic conditions could depend, in part, on life history strat- egy, mating system, generation time, demography, and current thermal tolerances (Kuparinen et al., 2010; Alsos et al., 2012). However, tradeoffs make it difficult to predict which traits or suites of traits will be adap- tive in such a complex, dynamic scenario as global change. For example, short-lived annuals and biennials will likely show faster adaptive responses to climate change than perennials, but habitat fragmentation may deplete genetic variation more rapidly in short-lived species (Aguilar et al., 2008). Outbreeding species have seemingly clear advan- tages over self-pollinators for rapid adaptive responses to climate change, namely high within-population ge- netic variation, extensive gene flow, and limited linkage disequilibrium (Glémin et al., 2006), but a recent meta- analysis suggests that mating system does not influence patterns of local adaptation in contemporary environ- ments (Hereford, 2010). Heritable epigenetic modifica- tions could facilitate adaptive responses in species with little standing genetic variation, such as selfers (Pál and Miklós, 1999; Bossdorf et al., 2008; Becker and Weigel, 2012). Furthermore, outcrossers may suffer more than selfers from climate-induced disruption of pollination (Forrest and Thomson, 2011). Whether outcrossers will evolve faster than selfers likely depends on a complex interplay between existing genetic variation, the source of new genetic variation, and effective population sizes. Seed longevity, seed dispersal, and generation time are complex functional traits that could also influence adaptive responses to changing environments. For ex- ample, long-distance dispersal could enable adaptation and migration (Kremer et al., 2012). Dispersal in time through a seed bank could moderate losses of genetic diversity attributable to habitat fragmentation, but it may impede rapid evolution by introducing genotypes that were best adapted to historical climates. Finally, trees generally have longer distance gene flow (via pollen) and seed dispersal potential than herbaceous species with similar mating systems (Petit and Hampe, 2006), possibly increasing the rates of adaptation and migration in the context of climate change. However, the long generation times of trees could slow adapta- tion, and low mortality rates of established adults could continuously expose local populations to maladapted pollen and seed (Kuparinen et al., 2010). Epigenetics and Evolutionary Adaptation Phenotypic plasticity is often studied as a within- generation phenomenon, but it can also occur across generations (“transgenerational plasticity”) such that the environment experienced by the parents influences trait expression in the offspring (Bonduriansky et al., 2012). Transgenerational plasticity is mediated by nongenetic mechanisms of inheritance, such as the transmission of epigenetic variation (DNA methylation, chromatin struc- ture, and RNA) from parents to offspring (for review, see Jablonka and Raz, 2009). Epigenetic modifications have been tied to ecologically relevant phenotypic plasticity underlying herbivore defense in natural populations of Plant Physiol. Vol. 160, 2012 1735 Response to Climate Change https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. https://plantphysiol.org Viola spp. (Herrera and Bazaga, 2011) and regulation of flowering time in Arabidopsis (Bastow et al., 2004). These environmentally induced epigenetic modifica- tions can be heritable (Richards et al., 2006; Verhoeven and van Gurp, 2012) and could potentially play an important role in species responses to rapid, direc- tional climatic change (Bossdorf et al., 2008; Becker and Weigel, 2012). Although empirical studies have only begun to in- vestigate the link between epigenetic inheritance and environmental change, we know that increased tem- peratures can have positive transgenerational effects on germination rates, biomass, seed production, and thermal tolerance (Blödner et al., 2007). Theoretical work suggests that epigenetic inheritance can reduce lag times associated with within-generation plastic responses to environmental cues (Bonduriansky et al., 2012) and can introduce novel heritable phenotypic variation into populations with little genetic diversity (Pál and Miklós, 1999). Moreover, theory predicts that transgenerational plasticity, mediated by nongenetic inheritance, can in- fluence both the rate and direction of adaptation (Bossdorf et al., 2008; Bonduriansky et al., 2012). Long-term studies that track the stability of epige- netic modifications over time should be combined with artificial selection experiments to elucidate the influence of these modifications on evolutionary change (Bossdorf and Zhang, 2011; Becker and Weigel, 2012). Such studies should evaluate (1) the effects of epigenetic modifications on phenotypes, (2) the degree to which environmental change triggers heritable epigenetic modifications, and (3) the potential for selection to act on epialleles (Bossdorf and Zhang, 2011). Current methods used to sample natural variation of epigenetic inheritance in model (Schmitz and Ecker, 2012) and nonmodel (Bossdorf et al., 2008) organisms can complement many of the approaches highlighted in this review. Tools developed for evolutionary genetics can be applied to studies of epigenetic variation, including statistical measures for describing population differentiation (e.g. FST) and quantitative methods for linking geno- type to phenotype (quantitative trait locus mapping; Bossdorf et al., 2008; Becker and Weigel, 2012). The relationship between epigenetic and genetic var- iation ranges from complete dependency to autonomy, presenting a challenge for researchers (Richards, 2006). Studies can control for the effects of underlying genetic variation by focusing on (1) species that lack genetic variation, (2) asexual populations and/or clones gen- erated by vegetative propagation, (3) natural epimu- tations or epigenetic mutants of model species, (4) induced changes in methylation by the use of deme- thylating agents, or (5) epigenetic recombinant inbred lines (Bossdorf et al., 2008; Schmitz and Ecker, 2012). By successfully controlling for genetic differences be- tween individuals, researchers will uncover relation- ships between environmental cues, epigenetic variation, plasticity, and evolutionary responses to environmental Table II. Ecophysiological, morphological, and life history traits that vary as a function of climate and/or atmospheric CO2 concentration, or proxies for climate such as elevation and latitude The references listed here are by no means exhaustive. Trait Reference Ecophysiology Water use efficiency Ward and Kelly (2004); Ainsworth and Long (2005); Edwards et al. (2012) Photosynthesis Ainsworth and Long (2005); Nakamura et al. (2011); Edwards et al. (2012); Leakey and Lau (2012); Ziska et al. (2012) Chlorophyll fluorescence Edwards et al. (2012) Stomatal conductance Ward and Kelly (2004); Ainsworth and Long (2005); Long et al. (2006) Carbon-nitrogen ratio Nakamura et al. (2011); Robinson et al. (2012) Chlorophyll content of leaves Nakamura et al. (2011) Morphology Leaf thickness, area, length, width Etterson and Shaw (2001); Etterson (2004); Ainsworth and Long (2005); Byars et al. (2007); Edwards et al. (2012) Trichome density Robinson et al. (2012) Stomatal density Ward and Kelly (2004) Root-shoot ratio Nakamura et al. (2011); Edwards et al. (2012) Plant biomass Edwards et al. (2012); Leakey and Lau (2012); Robinson et al. (2012) Secondary metabolites and chemical defenses against herbivores Robinson et al. (2012) Physical defenses against herbivores Robinson et al. (2012) Floral traits (e.g., petal and organ size, reflectance) Edwards et al. (2012); Lacey et al. (2012) Cold/freezing tolerance Howe et al. (2003); Savolainen et al. (2007); Zhen and Ungerer (2008) Phenology Seed dormancy, germination, and seedling establishment Donohue et al. (2010) Bud set phenology Howe et al. (2003); Savolainen et al. (2007) Commencement and cessation of growth Howe et al. (2003); Savolainen et al. (2007) Reproductive phenology Franks et al. (2007); Springer and Ward (2007); Inouye (2008); Anderson et al. (2012) 1736 Plant Physiol. Vol. 160, 2012 Anderson et al. https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. https://plantphysiol.org change. Future research should address the stability of epialleles through multiple generations, as instability or reversions could decrease the evolutionary rele- vance of epigenetic modifications (Becker et al., 2011; Becker and Weigel, 2012). Evolutionary Potential in a Fragmented World The effects of climate change cannot be considered in isolation from pollution, habitat fragmentation, and other anthropogenic disturbances (Barnosky et al., 2012). Habitat fragmentation decreases effective pop- ulation sizes and increases geographic isolation, often eroding genetic variation (Willi et al., 2007; Aguilar et al., 2008; Eckert et al., 2010b). Isolation can limit species’ abilities to track climate via migration and disrupt gene flow among populations (Kremer et al., 2012), further restricting genetic variation. Thus, hab- itat fragmentation likely impedes adaptation to novel climates (hypothesis 9). Furthermore, maladaptive shifts in traits and allele frequencies mediated by ge- netic drift and/or inbreeding depression could further increase extinction risks in fragmented populations. To date, studies of the genetic consequences of habitat fragmentation have focused almost entirely on putatively neutral molecular markers (Aguilar et al., 2008). However, neutral markers might not reflect ge- netic variation in polygenic traits (Carvajal-Rodriguez et al., 2005), and few studies have addressed whether fragmentation depresses variation in complex traits subject to natural selection (Willi et al., 2007). Future studies should compare genetic variation in ecologi- cally relevant traits among populations that vary in the extent of geographical isolation and population size (Willi et al., 2007). Do large/continuous populations maintain greater adaptive genetic variation than frag- mented populations? How does limited availability of pollinators and mates influence trait evolution in small and geographically isolated populations (Eckert et al., 2010b)? Does fragmentation restrict evolutionary po- tential in the context of climate change? These questions remain essentially unresolved, likely because they re- quire multiyear field experiments to quantify genetic variation and selection on complex traits while simul- taneously disentangling the effects of geographic isola- tion and population size (Fig. 2). However, such studies would provide a treasure trove of information about Figure 2. Schematic of steps to test the adaptive potential of fragmented populations (hypothesis 9). In step 1, future studies should sample from populations that differ in size and geographic isolation, represented here by circles of varying sizes. Step 2 assesses genetic diversity at neutral loci as a function of effective population size and geographic isolation. This step is where most studies of the genetic ramifications of habitat fragmentation have stopped. In step 3, common garden experiments quantify fitness as well as genetic variation (VA) in multiple ecologically relevant traits. Statistical analyses should determine whether fitness and VA vary as a function of effective population size, geographic or genetic isolation, and (if known) the time since habitat fragmentation occurred. These analyses could incorporate population genetic data (step 2). Finally, in step 4, researchers expose genotypes to contemporary versus future conditions and quantify fitness components, VA, and predicted responses to selection. As in step 3, researchers could analyze fitness, VA, and other response variables as a function of population size and genetic isolation. The fitness consequences of climate change could be more severe in fragmented than in unfragmented populations. Plant Physiol. Vol. 160, 2012 1737 Response to Climate Change https://plantphysiol.orgDownloaded on April 5, 2021. - Published by Copyright (c) 2020 American Society of Plant Biologists. All rights reserved. https://plantphysiol.org realistic responses to novel stresses associated with anthropogenic change. CONCLUSION Climate change poses severe threats for biodiversity, ecosystem dynamics, and agricultural productivity (Battisti and Naylor, 2009; Barnosky et al., 2012). Models of the effects of climate change on populations and communities generally fail to consider evolutionary responses and assume that populations will respond primarily through distributional shifts (but see Kuparinen et al., 2010). Ultimately, understanding ecological and evolutionary responses to climate change will enable informed conservation decisions (Aitken et al., 2008; Banta et al., 2012). For example, Loss and colleagues (2011) propose an integrated approach to conservation, including improving habitat connectivity, managing for geneticdiversity and adaptivepotential,with assisted migration used as a last resort. This review has focused on evolutionary responses of plants to changing abiotic conditions. However, climate change will continue to alter biotic communi- ties as distribution patterns change, invasive species become more abundant, and shifts in phenology alter species interactions (Barnosky et al., 2012; Robinson et al., 2012). Interacting species might differ substan- tially in their responses to climate change (Davis and Shaw, 2001). Investigating the evolutionary responses of species to their changing biotic community is im- perative, but it will likely be considerably more com- plex than studying responses to abiotic changes. Finally, the overwhelming majority of studies of plant responses to climate change have focused on temperate systems, despite projections of severe drought, unprec- edented heat, and novel climates in tropical ecosystems (IPCC, 2007; Williams et al., 2007; Battisti and Naylor, 2009). In contrast with temperate trees, tropical trees experience limited spatial and temporal variation in climate and, therefore, might maintain less genetic var- iation in complex traits associated with adaptation to climate (Feeley et al., 2012). We encourage interna- tional collaborations that establish large-scale projects with the objective of understanding ecological and evolutionary responses to climate change in a diversity of understudied habitats, from tropical forests to boreal, alpine, and arctic ecosystems. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We are grateful to Maggie Wagner, Monica Geber, Cathy Rushworth, Robin Embick, and two anonymous reviewers for comments on an earlier draft and to Tom Pendergast for valuable discussion. Received August 24, 2012; accepted October 4, 2012; published October 5, 2012. LITERATURE CITED Aguilar R, Quesada M, Ashworth L, Herrerias-Diego Y, Lobo J (2008) Genetic consequences of habitat fragmentation in plant populations: susceptible signals in plant traits and methodological approaches. Mol Ecol 17: 5177–5188 Ainsworth EA, Long SP (2005) What have we learned from 15 years of free- air CO2 enrichment (FACE)? A meta-analytic review of the responses of photosynthesis, canopy properties and plant production to rising CO2. New Phytol 165: 351–371 Aitken SN, Yeaman S, Holliday JA, Wang T, Curtis-McLane S (2008) Adaptation, migration or extirpation: climate change outcomes for tree populations. 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work_4iivcqnhkvcihdaetefxkif7na	----	Simon Glendinning Varieties of neoliberalism Article (Accepted version) (Refereed) Original citation: Glendinning, Simon (2015) Varieties of neoliberalism. Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal, 36 (2). pp. 437-461. ISSN 2153-9197 DOI: 10.5840/gfpj201536226 © 2015 Philosophy Documentation Center This version available at: http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/66159/ Available in LSE Research Online: April 2016 LSE has developed LSE Research Online so that users may access research output of the School. Copyright © and Moral Rights for the papers on this site are retained by the individual authors and/or other copyright owners. Users may download and/or print one copy of any article(s) in LSE Research Online to facilitate their private study or for non-commercial research. You may not engage in further distribution of the material or use it for any profit-making activities or any commercial gain. You may freely distribute the URL (http://eprints.lse.ac.uk) of the LSE Research Online website. This document is the author’s final accepted version of the journal article. There may be differences between this version and the published version. You are advised to consult the publisher’s version if you wish to cite from it. http://www.lse.ac.uk/researchAndExpertise/Experts/profile.aspx?KeyValue=s.glendinning@lse.ac.uk http://dx.doi.org/10.5840/gfpj201536226 https://www.pdcnet.org/ http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/66159/ Varieties of Neoliberalism Simon Glendinning The Copernican Earth is no longer at the centre of the universe, and this is more and more the case one could say. . . . —Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx1 The philosopher is not a citizen of any community of ideas. That is what makes him into a philosopher. —Ludwig Wittgenstein, Zettel2 Abstract The term “neoliberalism” is encountered everywhere today. In popular leftist political rhetoric it is often simply a place-holder for “contemporary capitalism,” “austerity politics,” and “all that is bad in our world,” giving that rhetoric the appearance of a new diagnostic edge. However, one could be excused for thinking that its intelligibility is in inverse proportion to its ubiquity. By defining it in terms of its conceptual relationship with classical liberalism, this paper offers a justification for thinking about our time as a period in which a particular “community of ideas” has sought (with some success) to establish a neoliberal hegemony. Doing so reveals, however, that there are in fact a variety of neoliberalisms, and that the period we now inhabit is best conceived in terms of the rise of a distinctively economic variation. Europe’s history is sketched (anachronistically) in terms of shifting patterns and transitions in which neoliberal variants vie for power. Setting those transitions within a wide-angled vision of Europe’s modernity as inseparable from a movement of the decentering of our understanding of “man,” the chance for a new shift is identified – one to be accompanied, no doubt, by “a surge of laughter” that has been heard, regularly and without fail, throughout the entirety of Europe’s history. [AQ: It is not our practice to have abstracts; would you like to keep this text as an introduction or delete?] 1. Liberal Man In a lecture delivered in Prague in 1935, the German philosopher Edmund Husserl introduced a worry he felt regarding what he called “the total world-view of modern man.”3 That world-view was one that, he thought, constituted a “turning-away from the questions which are decisive for a 1 Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx, trans. Peggy Kamuf (London: Routledge, 1994), pp. 97–8. 2 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Zettel, trans. G.E.M. Anscombe, ed. G.H. von Wright and G.E.M. Anscombe (Oxford: Blackwell, 1981), §455. 3 Edmund Husserl, The Crisis of European Sciences and Transcendental Phenomenology: An Introduction to Phenomenological Philosophy, trans. David Carr (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1970), p. 6; henceforth CES, followed by page number. 2 genuine humanity” (CES 6). These are “questions of the meaning or meaninglessness of the whole of this human existence” (ibid.). Blinded by the astonishing success of the natural sciences, “modern man”—which he will identify strongly with the culture of modern European humanity and its “birthplace” in ancient Greece—has become indifferent to what natural sciences are themselves indifferent to. As he put it, “merely fact-minded sciences make merely fact-minded people” (ibid.). Husserl made the following plea to his listeners in 1935 regarding the “decisive” questions: Do not these questions . . . demand universal reflections and answers based on rational insight? In the final analysis they concern man as a free, self-determining being . . . . What does science have to say about reason and unreason or about us men as subjects of this freedom? The mere science of bodies clearly has nothing to say; it abstracts from everything subjective. As for the humanistic sciences, on the other hand . . . we are told that the scholar carefully excludes all valuative positions . . . . Scientific, objective truth is exclusively a matter of establishing what the world . . . is in fact. But can the world, and human existence in it, truthfully have a meaning if . . . history has nothing more to teach us than that all the shapes of the spiritual world . . . form and dissolve themselves like fleeting waves . . . ? Can we console ourselves with that? Can we live in this world, where historical occurrence is nothing but an unending concatenation of illusory progress and bitter disappointment? (CES 6–7) This is a wonderfully rich passage, beautifully summarizing a sense of the contemporary predicament of modern Europe: of European humanity in the times of science finding itself paradoxically but increasingly resistant to any substantive philosophy of history in terms of which “historical occurrence,” especially its own, is the very opposite of an “unending concatenation of illusory progress.”4 We could explore all of its corners and cornerstones. But I want for the moment to pick up on just one of its most clear, open, and ultimately most problematic assumptions, namely its conception of “man”—the conception of the being that “we men” ourselves are—as essentially “a free, self-determining being,” the conception of “man,” and hence of ourselves, as rational subjectivity (CES 290). This conception of human life is not one among others. Indeed, it is the conception that informs the very sciences that so obsess modern European humanity. Man pursues science and can grasp the 4 The internal relationship between the classic philosophical history of the world and the classic discourse of Europe’s modernity is explored in Jacques Derrida, “Of the Humanities and the Philosophical Discipline: The Right to Philosophy from the Cosmopolitical Point of View,” trans. Thomas Dutoit, Surfaces 4 (1994), pp. 5–21. 3 objective truth about the world. The reason for this is fundamentally related to reason itself, to the possibility of “man” freely determining himself to achieve a rationally grounded and disinterested cognition of the world and genuine knowledge of the facts. The great masters of the philosophical tradition, from Plato to Descartes to Kant and beyond, all subscribe to something like this view of man, of the pure humanity of man as rational subjectivity. I am going to come back to Plato shortly, to an incredible moment in an incredible philosophical text, a text that (incredibly) helped decisively to shape the whole intellectual culture of Europe. But first, I want to note, with Husserl, that none of these great thinkers supposed that the only form of rational inquiry worthy of man was the exercise of theoretical reason (the pursuit of science). On the contrary, the classic view would be that there are various forms of rational activity, and not all of them aim at empirical knowledge of facts. Here is a selection of candidate interests of reason, all of which those who cleave to a conception of man as rational subjectivity might regard as (at least sometimes) worthy of man to pursue. I will describe them as varieties of rational cognition, but the point here is not to presume that they all aim at knowledge of facts. I simply mean that the proper appreciation of their “objects” that they aim to achieve in this or that domain are all taken to require the exercise of reason, and hence are, for this tradition, one and all regarded as distinctively human cognitive interests. Theoretical reason—rational cognition of the world leading to empirical knowledge. Practical reason—rational cognition of right action leading in the ethical sphere to moral knowledge and in the commercial sphere to economic knowledge. Aesthetic judgement—rational cognition of the beautiful and the sublime leading to aesthetic knowledge. Religious faith—rational cognition of the super-sensory leading to knowledge of God. Pure reason—rational cognition of rational cognition leading to wisdom (philo-sophia [GREEK]). 4 Let us suppose (concesso non dato) that “the pure humanity of man” is, indeed, in the final analysis, as Husserl puts it, that of “a free, self-determining being.” If this were true, what would be the optimal conditions of human flourishing? What would be those conditions in which what is here called “man” can most fully realize his being as a free, self-determining being, as rational subjectivity? What are the conditions for the emancipation of rational subjectivity? And are these questions capable of being given “answers based on rational insight” as Husserl supposes? Although I do not really think it is restricted to political liberalism, for reasons that will emerge, I am going to construe what I will call classical liberal thought as offering a positive answer to the last question. The classical liberal response to Husserl’s worries that I am envisaging passes through three steps. First step: a satisfactory account of the conditions for human flourishing must acknowledge the varieties of rational inquiry just outlined. Or to put it differently, classical liberal political thought aims to optimize opportunities for free performance in different and autonomous domains of human life connected to the different interests of reason: Theoretical domain—that part of life lived in devotion to knowledge and wisdom (knowledge/ignorance). Economic domain—that part of life lived in devotion to wealth creation (profitability/non- profitability). Political domain—that part of life lived in devotion to a community of citizens (friend/enemy). Moral domain—that part of life lived in devotion to right action (good/evil). Spiritual domain—that part of life lived in devotion to God (faith/doubt). Artistic domain—that part of life lived in devotion to beauty (beautiful/ugly). Domestic domain—that part of life lived in devotion to family (love/hate). The first six are domains that are usually regarded as part of the public sphere; the last is the private sphere. Classical liberal thought has been, we should note, distinctively gendered with respect to the 5 analysis of rational subjectivity it offers. Women’s “proper” interests are supposed to belong almost exclusively to the private sphere. Second step: power should aim to organize the social world in such a way that each person’s capacity to freely perform (if and where proper) in each of these domains is optimized. Historically, for women this has meant very little at all in anything but the private sphere. For men, however, there should be, within reason, and insofar as it is compatible with the scope for other men to do so too, as wide as possible an opportunity for devoting oneself freely to whatever one especially wants to devote oneself. The ambition of liberal thought is thus to organize society in such a way that it can offer its citizens as great (and as appropriate) an opportunity as possible to pursue their rational interests. One can imagine the classical liberal seeing all sorts of conflicts, all sorts of trade-offs here: individual efforts to strike a balance between incommensurable ambitions and desires and the sacrifices one might have to make in pursuit of one’s chosen interests. There will also be questions about what assistance in all this should be provided by the State and what can be left to individual or collective initiative beyond the State, perhaps with State regulation but without State ownership or control. Government will perforce be limited, however, if the aim is to secure and ensure room for freely chosen life plans. What sort of society would optimize opportunities for the pursuit of freely chosen life plans and patterns of devotion? The liberal political thinker aims at realizing the greatest chance for the greatest number of people to pursue their own interests unfettered by irrational forces or alienating institutions or customs. This requires knowledge of and respect for the norms of conduct of rational inquiry in all its various forms. And it requires doing what one can to realize a society that can institutionally cherish those norms and enable them to flourish. Third step: human history, and especially the history of Europe, is the movement of increasing progress in realizing such a society. Human history, and especially the history of Europe, is the movement of the emancipation of rational subjectivity over time: from origins in primitive 6 human animality, human societies are moving in stages toward the optimal realization of man’s rational powers in a properly civilized society, with Europe at the head. Husserl’s remarks about the world-view of modern European man suggest that what I am calling the classical liberal view is in crisis. Suddenly, the movement of our history seems not to be taking the path we thought we were on. History seems no longer a sequence of increasingly congenial spiritual worlds but a random series of worlds that “form and dissolve themselves like fleeting waves.” 2. Neoliberal Hegemonies What has gone wrong? What is to be done? I said I would go back to Plato. I am not going to say just yet what he proposed as the way to get us on track. But I do want to preface everything I am going to say here with the words that prefaced his own account of what is to be done. In the course of his discussion of an ideal form of society, Plato claims that there is a fault to all the forms of society that have ever actually existed that prevents them from running as they should—prevents them from running, that is to say, in anything like the way the ideal state would run. But Plato also thought that there was a way of putting things right, and very surprisingly, he supposed there was just one thing needful. Here is Plato, speaking through Socrates, in conversation with Glaucon and Adeimantus (Plato’s elder brothers): “I think we can show that the transformation can be effected by a single change,” I said, “but it’s hardly a small or easy one, though it is possible.” “Tell us what it is.” “I’m now facing what we call the biggest wave,” I replied. “I’ll tell you what it is, even if it swamps me in a surge of laughter and I’m drowned in contempt.”5 The laughter and contempt has not gone away. And I imagine it will return in another wave when the reader reaches the conclusion of this text too. So be it. To introduce the Platonic cause of the wave of laughter, first recall the Husserlian anxiety with the waves of failure. Husserl’s paradoxical suggestion is that a new doubt about progress in 5 Plato, The Republic, trans. Henry Desmond Pritchard (Baltimore: Penguin, 1974), 473c. 7 human history arises in the wake of the undeniable progress in what should be humanity’s greatest achievement: in the European sciences of nature. I will be affirming a variation of that thought in this essay, but it is a variation that conceives Husserl’s own position as part of the problem. Husserl cleaves to the thought that philosophy too should aim to be a science of some (very special) sort: namely a science of the transcendental ideality of the essence of everything empirically objective. While the kind of knowledge in view here (a radical form of self-knowledge) has a modern form (taking its point of departure from the thinking subject, the ego cogito), Husserl’s account of ideal essences as the (non-spatio-temporal or irreal) “objects” of some sort of “intuition” displays a cognitivism about philosophy’s results that has been a mainstay of philosophy since Greek antiquity and has a fundamental source in Platonism.6 I will want to refer Husserl’s worries to an understandable anxiety that arises when such cognitivism is no longer something we can seriously entertain. However, I won’t take that to negate [sugg: argue that the contemporary implausibility of this cognitivism negates] his general conception of the formation of modern Europe’s societies; the conception [sugg:, which is a conception] of a form of communalization that is fundamentally shaped by the emergence of philosophy in Greek antiquity. And it is to Plato that I want to turn first for an explanation of why it may be that “all the shapes of the spiritual world” we have witnessed hitherto might seem to amount to no more than “fleeting waves.” Plato compares governance in states with captaincy on ships: Suppose the following to be the state of affairs on board a ship or ships. The captain is larger and stronger than any of the crew, but a bit deaf and short-sighted, and similarly limited in seamanship. The crew are all quarrelling with each other about how to navigate the ship, each thinking he ought to be at the helm . . . They spend all their time milling round the captain and doing all they can to get him to give them the helm. If one faction is more successful than another, their rivals may kill them and throw them overboard, lay out the honest captain with drugs or drink or in some other way take control of the ship . . . .7 6 While it is unforgiving in the extreme on this particular point, Gilbert Ryle’s reading of Husserlian phenomenology at least has the merit of making it [AQ: Could you please clarify what you mean here?]. See Gilbert Ryle, “Phenomenology,” in Collected Papers, Vol. 1 (London: Hutchinson, 1971), pp. 167–78, and “Phenomenology versus The Concept of Mind,” in Collected Papers, Vol. 1 (London: Hutchinson, 1971), pp. 179–96. 7 Plato, The Republic, 488b; emphasis added. 8 In the spirit of this description, I want to propose the following hypothesis. The history of efforts to realize the classical liberal conception of human flourishing—efforts to achieve the emancipation of rational subjectivity—have been subject to more than one neoliberal usurpation or coup by some faction or (as I will put it) community of ideas that wants to achieve hegemony. The thought here is that, like the factions attempting to seize control of the ship, efforts to optimize opportunities for leading a life proper to rational subjectivity have given rise to movements that attempt to achieve the hegemonic domination of the norms that belong to only one of the domains of rational life. Those who belong to the community of ideas that represent or defend the interests of just one of the domains of life attempt to take charge of the whole; they attempt to “take control of the ship,” they want to seize power, become hegemonic, and thence, for as long as they hold the reins of power, displace and subordinate the interests of every other domain to their own interests. Plato’s ship seems occasionally to be overwhelmed by its factions. On the story I am telling, such an achievement is really very rare. Mostly we have been ruled by the “deaf and short-sighted” who are “limited in seamanship.” I define neoliberalism in general, then, as the outlook of a community of ideas that seeks the limitless extension of the norms of conduct of one domain of life to the whole of life. Its emancipatory claim is that it will achieve the optimal flourishing of the whole of life by co- ordinating and controlling it in terms dictated by the norms of that one domain. The guiding assumption of every neoliberal community of ideas is that human flourishing in life in general requires that one particular domain of life—the interests of one particular community of ideas— should rule. Anachronisms are (perhaps) piling up.8 The liberal conception I am describing will have only recently taken that name, and the term neoliberalism is of even more recent vintage and passes for many today as a kind of catch-all for everything bad about capitalism. However, conceptually 8 I say perhaps, because finding early incarnations and affirming “the antiquity of liberal ideas” is actually very hard to resist. For this, see Roger Scruton, A Dictionary of Political Thought (London: Macmillan, 1982), p. 270. 9 speaking the two terms together are well-suited for this discussion, particularly if we accept that behind the various appeals to the idea of neoliberalism made today, there is a basic (if typically poorly articulated) conception of it as a hegemonic movement that seeks the limitless extension of the market model to all spheres of life; a kind of realization of ourselves as homo economicus. Neoliberalism in our time is, that is to say, understood as an economic neoliberalism. It is construed as an ideological conception that says every problem has a market solution or a solution within the logic of the market. Proponents of it might say: the aim of applying market-oriented reasoning everywhere is to optimize the conditions for human flourishing in general.9 It is important to distinguish this kind of economic neoliberalism from, for example, policy preferences for the privatization of previously state-controlled sectors of an economy. That aspiration is compatible with classical liberalism, which would accept that certain kinds of activity might flourish most successfully if they are subject to the rigors of “market disciplines” of competition, of profitability, and so on. The classical liberal would not think, however, that every domain of life should likewise be governed by these norms (cultivation of fairness among friends, love, beauty, wisdom, etc. have other, incommensurable, norms). The defining feature of the 9 This way of describing neoliberalism is not as idiosyncratic as my introduction of it may make it appear. In fact, many thinkers of the contemporary social and political situation say essentially the same thing, and what one might call “the extension thesis” may even be the prevailing understanding in academic literature on the subject. Colin Crouch opens his book on this theme with the claim that “behind [the many branches and brands of neoliberalism] stands one dominant theme: that free markets in which individuals maximize their material interests provide the best means of fulfilling human aspirations” (Colin Crouch, The Strange Non-Death of Neoliberalism [Cambridge: Polity Press, 2011], p. vii). Peter McLaren claims that “neoliberals wish to extend the market principle into the entire social universe” (“Class Struggle Unchained: An Interview with Peter McLaren,” in Pierre Orelus and Curry Malott, eds., Radical Voices for Democratic Schooling [London: Palgrave, 2012] p. 26). Paul Treanor suggests that the “typical” expression of neoliberalism is the “extension of the market principle into non-economic areas of life” (“Neoliberalism: Origins, Theory, Definition,” http://web.inter.nl.net/users/Paul.Treanor/neoliberalism.html [accessed September 14, 2015]). I could extend these affirmations of the extension thesis almost ad nauseam. I would recommend, however, that the reader take a look at Jean-François Lyotard’s discussion of “advanced liberalism” in The Postmodern Condition, trans. Geoff Bennington and Brian Massumi (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1984) for an astonishingly rich introduction to its historical emergence in the post-war world [AQ: Could you please clarify what you mean by this phrase? Do you mean “post-Second World War”? Or, is “post-war” a technical term of Lyotard’s?]. http://web.inter.nl.net/users/Paul.Treanor/neoliberalism.html 10 community of ideas that seeks the hegemony of economic neoliberalism is not a demand that any and every entity be held in private hands, but that there is no domain of life that is not appropriately subject to the rule of market-oriented reasoning. To give an example that will prove not to be one example among others, consider the university. Not every classical liberal will have principled objections to the idea of a private university, and some might even have a preference for that. But the classical liberal will not think that what is called “success in academic inquiry” should itself be conceived and measured in the terms appropriate to a business model, nor would such a liberal regard the activity of a university as something to be measured exclusively by its contribution to economic interests outside it. The economic neoliberal disagrees on both fronts: academics deliver products to consumers and those products can be assessed in the same way we assess any product or commodity—in terms of satisfying consumer preferences. Moreover, the university as a part of wider society should also be judged in terms of its service to national (or more generally commercial) economic goals and interests. A classical liberal might object that while running a university on business lines is fine, the best way of doing so, the best way of delivering the most competitive institution, is, as far as possible, to free a space of “play” within the general economy that maximizes the opportunity for rational inquiry to be unfettered by anything, whether immediate student satisfaction, rapid external impact, or exploitable commercial relevance.10 I’ll come back to this. However, there is a feature of our time that Husserl remarks on in the passage I began with that fundamentally interrupts this ahistorical conceptual contrast between classical liberalism and economic neoliberalism, and it is a feature that can make one feel altogether despairing: namely the absence in our time (unless we are Marxists) of the kind of substantive “philosophy of history” through which the classical liberal conception, in its third step, had understood our lives. We live in a time that, whether temporarily or permanently we do not know, has more or less abandoned such 10 I explore this idea of the university in detail in Simon Glendinning, “Thinking about (going to) the university,” Critical Quarterly 47:1-2 (2005), pp. 111–17. 11 grand historical narratives of world history. The idea of the history of the world as the emancipation and progress of rational subjectivity is (I will claim) simply no longer credible (no more than the idea of world history as leading toward the emancipation of the working subject qua universal subject). In such a time—in a time when we have become increasingly resistant to such teleological meta-narratives—the only game in town for decision-makers within the social world is to make attempts at making “the system” function without undue problems; of improving the “efficiency” of institutions, of “optimizing the system’s performance” [sugg: attempt to make “the system” function without undue problems, to improve the “efficiency” of institutions, to “[optimize] the system’s performance”—with no higher end but improving its functioning.11 In other words, into the space left open by the falling away of classic discourses of emancipation and progress, the community of ideas that champions economic neoliberalism and its market criteria of efficiency and performativity have been able to occupy the field virtually unchallenged. With regard to those who get caught up in any neoliberal seizure of power, the imperative is simple: “be operational (that is, be commensurable [with the norms of the hegemonic domain]) or disappear.”12 With economic neoliberalism there is a “level of terror” associated with this hegemony that is very often, as Jean-François Lyotard says, “hard,” utterly unforgiving.13 And, as Husserl anticipates, it all seems despairingly hopeless, making our existence fundamentally pointless, tragically meaningless. It doesn’t look good. But the situation only seems one of existential “crisis” if, with Husserl, you think that the only way our lives could be regarded as meaningful is against the background of the thought that world history follows a teleological or teleo-eschatological path, program, or design (whether of God, nature, or man). Husserl thinks we cannot find consolation in anything short of 11 Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition, p. xxiv. 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid. 12 such a background. How can the history of the entelechy of rational subjectivity be other than teleological? Indeed, how can it. So perhaps it is not the history of rational subjectivity . . . In the face of this new situation, if we are to learn to see it as something other than the total disaster for European societies today that Husserl worried about we need to learn two things. First, (pace classical liberalism in its third step) we need to learn to see that the idea of living a worthwhile life—what Husserl calls a meaningful existence—really does not depend on the truth of a teleological philosophy of world history. And second, (pace economic neoliberalism in its first step) we need to learn to see that the form of social life that Husserl so clearly, and in my view rightly, wants to protect and defend, namely (and here we see the point of the university example) one which is cultivated or irrigated by and in turn cultivates what he calls “a community of purely ideal interests” (CES 287)—which Jacques Derrida calls (keeping the old name for strategic purposes) “the university without condition”14—cannot be sustained, or has no chance, in conditions of the limitless extension of economic reason, the logic of the market. In our time, what one might call the historical task for European societies may appear modest. Instead of striking out toward a final end of history, the task, as I see it, is to protect and defend a form of communalization that has hitherto been most strongly (but not by any means exclusively) linked to the history of European universities, the development of which is inseparable from what Immanuel Kant claimed to be the distinctive European cultural achievement: the formation of an “educated public which has existed uninterruptedly from its origin [in classical antiquity] to our times.”15 This is a form of communalization that, as Husserl suggests, spreads out from philosophy (CES 286). In other words, and it can now be seen that this is not such a modest proposal, the task is one in which the community of ideas (supposing for a moment that it is one) that has classically championed the unfettered inquiry after truth—the community, that is to say, of 14 Jacques Derrida, “The University Without Condition,” in Without Alibi, trans. and ed. Peggy Kamuf (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002), p. 202. 15 Immanuel Kant, “Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose,” in Kant: Political Writings, ed. Hans Siegbert Reiss (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), p. 52n. 13 those we call “philosophers” and its distinctive will to truth—sustains within society, and as dissidents in an era of economic neoliberalism, a certain will to power [sugg: sustains a certain will to power within society, and functions to provide voices of dissent in an era of economic neoliberalism]. 3. Unless we are Marxists What I want to represent as the opposite of the kind of culture that this aspires to is the one found in apocalyptic texts such as Brave New World and 1984. Here the idea is to arrange things such that the main forms of self-understanding available are of a sort that conditions people to want to be “operational” in a life that is, as it were, essentially hostile to the will to truth. On this view, to keep the system performing you only need to ensure that enough people think they are living worthwhile lives, and so are more or less happily operational creatures of the ruling hegemonic order. They think they are living worthwhile lives, but really they are not. They are alienated by the system, but they think they are not. Some theorists of Europe’s contemporary condition encourage us to think that our situation is already rather like this. For example, some see in Foucault’s ideas of “governmentality” something very like the vision of life imagined in 1984.16 And Marxism has long held the view that our appreciation of our condition is systematically distorted. Here, from the Marxist thinker Alex Callinicos, is one way of making this point: To diagnose alienation is to draw a contrast between the present situation, where the subject may be misled by appearances into failing to recognise her loss, and a counterfactual condition of authenticity, where she has all the powers proper to her.17 At least part of the problem with this kind of diagnosis is that it depends on having, or claiming to have, at our disposal now a viewpoint that is, in principle, immune from the allure of such present appearances and which others now frankly and sadly lack. The worry is not that you need 16 Michel Foucault, Security, Territory, Population: Lectures at the Collège de France 1977–1978, trans. Graham Burchell, ed. Michel Senellart (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007). 17 Alex Callinicos, The Resources of Critique (Cambridge: Polity, 2006), p. 4. 14 exclusively to inhabit such a viewpoint but that some people, unlike most of us in this condition, are nevertheless sometimes able to do so. And, as the sketch from Callinicos suggests, this seems to require that one has at one’s disposal a conception and grasp of the powers that really are “proper” to human beings. That kind of cognitivist presumption (the idea that there is something to be known on this subject—call it a truth or meaning of man) is fundamental to classical liberal political thought as I am (anachronistically and misnomically) presenting it here. And it is a cognitivism about the truth or meaning of man that is increasingly found incredible. As David Wiggins put it in the midst of the Cold War: Unless we are Marxists, we are more resistant [today] than the eighteenth- or nineteenth- centuries knew how to be [to] attempts to locate the meaning of human life or human history in mystical or metaphysical conceptions—in the emancipation of mankind, or progress, or the onward advance of Absolute Spirit.18 In our time—and this is what really worries Husserl too—we no longer find it compelling, indeed we seem to profoundly resist it, conceiving issues concerning the worth of our lives in terms of a contrast between a final or objective truth of man, a truth which the well-adjusted mind manages, despite alluring appearances, to adjust itself to, and various kinds of deluded conceptions which are the upshot of being misled by the shadow play of appearances. On the other hand, as we shall see, the idea of a contrast between the meaningful and the meaningless life, a contrast that Callinicos (with Plato, Kant, Nietzsche, Husserl, et. al.) implicitly insists on, is something I will not want to give up on at all. Moreover, we can be encouraged in this by noting that a concern with this kind of contrast is not in the least restricted to an epistemically privileged minority. On the contrary, it seems to me that even today the number of willing “victims of the system,” those who might be thought of as “misled by appearances into failing to recognise [their] loss,”19 is shrinkingly small. For example, it is encouraging how few people actually seem to want a society everywhere framed by the norms of economic neoliberalism: in contrast to a conception of a life that most of us are 18 Wiggins’ essay was first published in 1976. I will return to the significance of the Cold War context at the end of this paper. 19 Callinicos, The Resources of Critique, p. 4. 15 already quite capable of imagining, it is hard to find anyone who thinks the current neoliberal hegemony is likely to realize it.20 So we certainly need to retain that idea of a contrast. But, we should abandon the idea of an epistemically privileged viewpoint for drawing this contrast. We need to accept that among the conditions under which people can be said actually to be living anything short of a worthwhile life are conditions in which people actually think they are. (Values are like secondary qualities in that respect.) Myths of governmentality and radical alienation encourage the idea that the social world we inhabit creates conditions in which people can think they are living worthwhile lives when really they are not, and hence that the reforms or revolutions that would be needed are at once virtually wholesale and (given people’s thoughts on the subject) depressingly unrealizable. But, first, (if values are like secondary qualities) it is not clear to me that the premise of such radical alienation 20 Two points on this. First, it is a strange mantra sometimes heard on the political Left that affirms that people find it hard to imagine an alternative, or have come to think that there is no alternative to economic neoliberalism (fully knowing that they themselves can imagine one). Of course, if by “alternative” one means: “a fully worked out political-economic model,” then I am sure nobody can “imagine” (plan) it. I just mean: people are sensitive to injustice and the inadequacy of current conditions. For example, very many people think it is not fair or just that city bankers get such (comparatively) high remuneration for their work, and they can easily imagine conditions in which they do not. Knowing how to bring about those conditions is not required for that sense of injustice—though knowing how even to start to bring about those conditions is obviously no small matter. However, on that point, and second, while most people are quite capable of imagining an alternative to what they see as unjust, I think that too many think they do know how to or what will solve the problem. Supposing, as Husserl did in the 1930s and we might well today too, that “the European nations are sick; Europe itself . . . is in crisis” (see CES 270), then one can hardly deny, now as then, that “we are by no means lacking something like nature doctors” who would “proscribe medicine for nations and supranational communities” (ibid.). Indeed we are practically inundated by a flood of suggestions for reform. And as Derrida notes similarly with respect to the present world crisis, “there is no lack of interpretations or analogies—we have too many of them” (“Economies of the Crisis,” in Negotiations: Interventions and Interviews, trans. and ed. Elizabeth Rottenberg [Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002], p. 70). Although it won’t please those who want everything now, I am inclined at this point to affirm a variation of the thought expressed by Henry David Thoreau: that speaking practically and as a citizen, unlike those who call themselves no-representative-government men and women, I ask for, not at once or soon a no-representative- government, but at once and for the foreseeable future a better representative government. See the opening three paragraphs of Thoreau’s great text “Civil Disobedience,” in Civil Disobedience and Other Essays, ed. Philip Smith (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1993), pp. 1–2. There is a lot to be done just there. 16 makes any sense, nor, second, does it seem to be true that we really are so fully duped by the system. For reasons that should now be growing much clearer, I want to illustrate this second point once more with the university example (although, again, it is not one example among others). Here is an attestation from a participant of some unremarkable—but really important—truths about the limits of economic neoliberalism with respect to the temporality of intellectual achievement: Higher education is not about results in the next quarter but about discoveries that may take—and last—decades or even centuries. Neither the abiding questions of humanistic inquiry nor the winding path of scientific research that leads ultimately to innovation and discovery can be neatly fitted within a predictable budget and timetable.21 Values related to such economic incalculables [strike hyphen] really do struggle to be heard under an increasingly economic neoliberal hegemony, but that does not mean that participants are typically “misled by appearances” into failing to recognize them. It is hard to imagine that anyone who is not benefiting personally from the formation of “executive teams” in university administrations could feel remotely close to the language in the document, from King’s College London in 2010, explaining that the institution must “create financially viable academic activity by disinvesting from areas that are at sub-critical level with no realistic prospect of extra investment.”22 This is truly, madly, and deeply stupid. And in the end, that is always going to be the kind of reason why we should decisively resist those who belong to the community of ideas that promotes the economic neoliberal hegemony. It is why we do. On the other hand, I would not reject it here as the vice of capitalism (if there is such a thing as capitalism, or such a thing as capitalism as such, which I doubt; we know today better than 21 Drew Gilpin Faust, “The University’s Crisis of Purpose,” The New York Times, September 1, 2009, http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/06/books/review/Faust-t.html?_r=0 (accessed September 14, 2015). 22 There have been many excellent discussions that pierce the shiny, powerful, but ultimately profoundly fragile facade of economic sophistication in university management in the United Kingdom. See for example, Anthony Grafton and Jeffrey Hamburger, “Save the Warburg Library!,” The New York Review of Books, September 1, 2010, http://blogs.nybooks.com/post/437005501/britain-the-disgrace-of-the-universities (accessed September 14, 2015). http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/06/books/review/Faust-t.html?_r=0 http://blogs.nybooks.com/post/437005501/britain-the-disgrace-of-the-universities 17 before that, insofar as we can speak of it, there are varieties of capitalism, with a variety of vices and virtues). Of far greater significance, I think, is that in a time of incredulity toward the great historical narratives of emancipation and progress, we understandably struggle in these conditions to coherently articulate our (continuing) interest in emancipation and progress themselves. And in a situation in which the community of ideas that calls for the functional “optimization of the system” and its ever greater “efficiency” in terms of economic norms holds so much of the field, prospects for those classic interests can seem bleak indeed. Nevertheless, there is no reason to suppose that the “performativity” criterion has to be dominated by a neo-liberal community of ideas. The “level of terror” endured by those expected to be operational is not bound to be “hard” and beyond reform. Indeed, “the performativity of the system” itself has no chance at all if its continued functioning is constantly threatened by dissatisfaction, demoralization, and resentment. And yet this still sounds immensely depressing. I mean, what’s the point of all this “functioning”? We have for a long time supposed that it is the progressive movement of our forms of social life toward distant ideals that alone gives meaning to our lives. But one does not need such a teleological vision in view to affirm that the future matters to us: one can simply want to make it so that what one does, individually and collectively, here and now will have been some kind of a progressive preface to what remains to come, without any such vision of a final end. Elsewhere in the same essay cited a moment ago, Wiggins recalls that part of the unease that many feel about factory farming, intensive livestock rearing, the general spoliation of nature, and the extinction of innumerable animal species is that it shows us modern men and women, as in a mirror, as at certain points akin to a form of life we might well think “profoundly alien”: akin, that is, to an animal with “no non-instrumental concerns and no interest in the world considered as lasting longer than the animal in question will need the world to last in order to sustain the animal’s own life.”23 Such a life 23 David Wiggins, “Truth, Invention, and the Meaning of Life,” in Needs, Values, Truth: Essays in the Philosophy of Value (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 102. 18 is no preface to what remains to come at all, and “functioning” to such a destructive end is not just depressing but runs totally against the grain of a participant’s sense of the temporal “here and now” of a human life as one in which “the dead and the unborn are also present.”24 The time of our lives is one that “connects us to worlds before and after us.”25 Our lives, our sense of who we are, is conceived out of and within that temporal stretch. “Functioning to no end” might describe the infrastructure of a presently operational life-support system, but not the horizon of a human life worth living; the milieu of our “spiritual spheres”—the “locus of our cares and endeavours” (CES 272)—is a “present” that should be fundamentally linked to those who are not there.26 Derrida claims that “it is in the name of justice that it is necessary to speak about . . . ghosts, inheritance, and generations of ghosts, which is to say about certain others who are not present, nor presently living . . .”27 He continues to summarize as follows: No ethics, no politics, whether revolutionary or not, seems possible and thinkable and just that does not recognize in its principle the respect for those others who are no longer or for those others who are not yet there, presently living, whether they are already dead or not yet born. No justice . . . seems possible or thinkable without the principle of some responsibility, beyond all living present . . . before the ghosts of those who are not yet born or who are already dead, be they victims of war, political or other kinds of violence, nationalist, racist, colonialist, sexist, or other kinds of exterminations, victims of the oppressions of capitalist imperialism or any of the forms of totalitarianism.28 And I think Husserl is right to think that, for European humanity, the characteristic of the “spiritual worlds” that flow through us is most worth defending, and is inseparable from the astonishing development of what Husserl calls the “community movement of education [Bildung],” (CES 286) an enculturation tied to the “ancient canons,” as Derrida calls them,29 and which Kant has in view in his description of modern Europe’s “uninterrupted” classical heritage. This characteristic is tied to those canons but is not “bound to the soil” of any specific region or locale (CES 286). It is a 24 Roger Scruton, Green Philosophy: How to Think Seriously about the Planet (London: Atlantic Books, 2012), p. 234. 25 Ibid. 26 I explore this in detail in Simon Glendinning, “Settled-there: Heidegger on the work of art as the cultivation of place,” Journal of Aesthetics and Phenomenology, 1:1 (2014), pp. 7–32. 27 Derrida, Specters of Marx, p. xix. 28 Ibid. 29 Derrida, “The University Without Condition,” p. 208. 19 European cultural (spiritual) milieu then, without radical attachment to any specific geographical milieu, European or otherwise. We inherit these “ancient canons.” But it is not something to inherit without more ado. Indeed, it is also the heritage of the anthropocentric, androcentric, and Eurocentric conception of the meaning of human life and history—the conception of man—that today we are more resistant to than the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries knew how to be. And yet, for reasons I will return to, I am at one with Derrida in affirming that these “ancient canons . . . ought to be protected at any price.”30 The basic claim of the philosopher, then, is that it is the classical European culture— supranational in its essential tendency—“that radiates out from philosophy” (CES 286), radiates out from the community of ideas (if it is one) that is committed to unfettered inquiry after truth. It is that will to truth that must, today more than ever, assert its will to power. This claim, no doubt, provokes a wave of laughter. We know that the hegemony of economic neoliberalism will not do. However, I want to add immediately that things will not be helped if power is seized instead by those who belong to the community of ideas that seeks the hegemony of political neoliberalism—the limitless extension of the political to every sphere of life. Here the force jostling for hegemonic power is not the one that calls for the maximization of utility, but the one that calls for the maximization of equality. While it seems to be on a distinctly more gilded path than its economic neoliberal cousin, with respect to becoming operational within its hegemony, political neoliberalism is, if anything, worse. I will explain [sugg: Let me now explain this]. 4. The Varieties of Neoliberalism In the course of a remarkable history, part of the post-war settlement in Europe—part of the slow turn toward the current economic neoliberal form of “optimization of the system”—has been the emergence of an increasingly professional, managerial, and technocratic political class and a 30 Ibid.; emphasis added. 20 correspondingly dramatic falling away of political participation by the citizenry. This has led many to call for a re-politicization of society in a more or less traditional sense: the mobilization of a citizenry who actively, self-consciously, and especially directly participate in projects aiming at the realization of greater social and economic equality. This desire for traditional re-politicization in a time of economic neoliberal hegemony is understandable and not in itself unwelcome, but insofar as it seeks social hegemony for political reason it remains nonetheless, in my view, wrong and misguided. In the last three hundred years, European humanity has experienced a fundamental changeover in its default understanding of the world and the significance of our lives: from a primarily religiously construed default (God and God’s plan for humanity), to one that is not religiously construed (humanity’s plan for humanity). Although they do not fully or simply hold the field in these periods, each is characterized by the significant presence and activism of two communities of ideas, two distinctively teleo-eschatological visions of a neoliberal hegemony: a radical religious neoliberal faction in the Middle-Ages prior to the Enlightenment, followed by factions that desire a political neoliberal hegemony in the wake of the general movement of democratization that flows out of the French Revolution. The first supposes that every problem has (or ought to have finally) a religious solution. The second supposes that every problem has (or ought to have finally) a political one. And we have here the germ of the political neoliberal ideal of a society in which a completed political hegemony will have finally transformed social conditions so as finally to realize the good life (on earth). Europe’s political history is inseparable from the growth of this idea.31 There have been many, many great political victories and developments in 31 This is a more complicated point than it looks. Europe’s modern political history can be broadly conceived with two narrative paths out of the French revolution: its mainstream history, which is primarily narrated in terms of the development of representative, parliamentary, and liberal democracy (occasionally fired and inspired by, but also typically almost ruined by revolutionary activists); and, alongside and inside that, revolutionary history, which is primarily narrated as a history of betrayals and failures (the results of which revolutionaries will see as unfolding in the development of parliamentary politics) in which efforts to shift to genuine workers’ power or the people’s power are tragically thwarted. I think both sides of this narrative will recognize it (one way or the other). See, for example, Alain Badiou, “The Paris Commune: A Political Declaration on 21 this time, not least the long struggle for, and still painfully uneven progress of women’s equality. However, when political reason achieves hegemony, in a society in which the political saturates life, we do not have a democracy of ideal adequacy: we have the worst [AQ: Could you please clarify what you mean here?]. Be operational, comrade, or disappear. It is a truly terrifying scene of political intimidation. Here is Lenin describing the scene of life in conditions of what he calls “actual equality”: For when all have learned to administer and actually do independently administer social production, independently keep accounts and exercise control over the parasites, the sons of the wealthy, the swindlers and other “guardians of capitalist traditions,” the escape from this popular accounting and control will inevitably become so incredibly difficult, such a rare exception, and will probably be accompanied by such swift and severe punishment [emphasis added] (for the armed workers are practical men and not sentimental intellectuals, and they will scarcely allow anyone to trifle with them), that the necessity of observing the simple, fundamental rules of human intercouse will very soon become a habit.32 [AQ: The 2009 version of this text that you cite has certain differences in phrasing that I have noted in bold; if you would like to keep the phrasing that you originally cited, we will have to cite another edition. Could you please let me know what you would prefer to do?] The transition to a communist society takes place, Lenin suggests, through the process he thinks of as completing the democratization of the state. This is a transition that brings the need for democratic government—an electorally approved political or ruling class—to an end. The end (telos [GREEK]) of democracy is thus the end (terminus) of democracy as a state system or regime of representative government; it is a condition in which all the members of society completely take over the work of adminstration for themselves. At the same time that political struggle disappears, society would, as it were, have become political through and through; one is a citizen in every dimension of one’s being. And if you do not play the game, if you are not operational, you are an enemy of the people and you must disappear; your failure to conform to the norms in force will “be Politics,” in Polemics, trans. Steve Corcoran (London: Verso, 2006), p. 284. My point is that political neoliberalism belongs with the revolutionary wing of this history. Political liberalism is center-stage in the mainstream. 32 Vladimir Il’ich Lenin, State and Revolution, trans. Foreign Languages Publishing House (Washington, D.C.: Regnery, 2009), pp. 107–8. 22 accompanied by such swift and severe punishment” that for most people it will, understandably enough, “become a habit” to conform—a miserable habit. The mobilization of identitarian affects in the name of equality is the aim of those who belong to the community of ideas that seeks hegemonic power in political neoliberalism. It was the aim of both national and international socialism: the aim is for every properly German citizen or for every properly communist comrade to want to be political through and through, a citizen at every moment, a comrade to the end, etc. It is the ambition to forge a community that really is one because it has become a community that really is one: “The whole of society will have become a single office.”33 Terrifying—at least I think so. I am sure the reader will now have a good sense about where I am going with this, if not why. But to take us there, consider first the following alternatives, the varieties of neoliberalism that have most tenaciously vied for power in Europe’s pre-modern and modern history: Homo Theologicus, Religious Neoliberalism—the limitless extension of religious reason to every sphere of life, the aim of which is to maximize fidelity to God. Homo Politicus, Political Neoliberalism—the limitless extension of political reason to every sphere of life, the aim of which is to maximize equality. Homo Economicus, Economic Neoliberalism—the limitless extension of economic reason to every sphere of life, the aim of which is to maximize efficiency. Perhaps there have been other candidates,34 but the one I want to bring onto the stage here is Plato’s “biggest wave,” the one that has surged through the centuries of Europe’s history, centuries of laughter, the joke ambition of what we call “the philosopher,” and which, in the form of the philosopher kings, was Plato’s cause. 33 Lenin, State and Revolution, p. 107. 34 I am not sure what to say about other possibilities. In principle, the list can be extended as far as you can think of some life interest that someone might wish to rule over the whole of life. For example: Homo Romanticus: a (specific) Aesthetic Neoliberalism—the limitless extension of aesthetic reason to every sphere of life, the aim of which is to maximize beauty. Or, Homo Hedonicus: a (specific) Moral Neoliberalism—the limitless extension of moral reason to every sphere of life, the aim of which is to maximize pleasure. 23 The Platonist conception was, as I have indicated, problematically cognitivist. It implies that the ruler possesses peculiar and distinctive knowledge of the essence of everything empirically actual, every domain of life and, hence, is best placed to rule over the whole of life in an ideally just way. A novel form of this cognitivism survives in Husserl’s subjectivized transcendental phenomenology too, which he had hoped would effect “a complete reorientation of view” for man (CES 18) in terms of his “teleological sense” (CES 269). But the history of the movement Husserl founded, as well as the wider history of philosophy in the last hundred years or so, has witnessed a marked acceleration in what one might call a “deconstructive” turn that exposes and turns away from philosophy’s Platonist cognitivism (turns away from its ontology of an “ideal logos” of “pure idealities”). However, one does not have to be a cognitivist of this kind to embrace the neoliberal cause for philosophy inaugurated by Plato. Even a radical non-cognitivist, like Nietzsche, can hope to see what one might call the limitless extension of philosophical reason to the whole of life and can hope to see actual philosophers rule.35 Homo Philosophicus, Philosophical Neoliberalism—the limitless extension of “philosophical reason” to every sphere of life, the aim of which is to maximize justice. The idea of the philosopher as ruler recurs throughout the history of Europe in different guises, but always with the biggest wave of laughter and, hence, always remaining ahead of us as merely (perhaps only barely and perhaps even not really) “possible.” Possible, as Plato says, merely in the sense that we can approximate it. As an ideal, it is impossible, beyond practical, and we admit it. But: the impossible as “possible,” we still say. “Hardly a small or easy [change],” says Plato.36 So it seems it will not be coming anytime soon—not tomorrow, and not the day after either. But do we even know what such an event would be? Do we know what the philosopher rulers to come will look like? For us, today, the idea is still like a joke, totally absurd. It remains a cause of laughter. 35 See Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future, trans. Reginald John Hollingdale (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974), p. 112. 36 Plato, The Republic, 473c. 24 5. The Pure Humanity of Man What then might the philosopher today say this time, once more to save the name, to honor the name, of the philosopher king? Plato had his word on the idea of a condition in which justice was at one with power. But it depended on an idea of a special kind of knowledge of the super-sensible that “I, philosopher” today am not willing to countersign. Instead, today, I will say this. This philosophical neoliberalism is fundamentally different to every other form of neoliberalism: the norms of the domain that would want to seize power in this case, the norms governing its will to truth, norms concerning what it is to inquire philosophically, are not given but remain in question. And in a culture run through with an openness to endless philosophical in-questioning, even the classical liberal idea of the given “domains of interest” loses its rigor. What it means to be “operational” in such a neoliberalism—the practical levels of terror—should be optimally minimized. The question of how to live is sustained, not finally closed. In a post-cognitivist world, the philosopher’s “knowing,” i.e., what the philosopher specializes in, is no longer the attaining of a certain (special) kind of truth, but remains, as Nietzsche notes, inseparable from aiming at a certain (maximal) reach of responsibility:37 not just responsibility in this or that (supposed) domain of life (logic, politics, or art, for example)—not membership in this or that community of ideas38—but responsibility for the whole of life and, hence, the meaning of our existence: “their ‘knowing’ is creating, their creating is a law-giving, their will to truth is—will to power.”39 But what do I mean by our living in “a post-cognitivist world”? Let’s go back to Wiggins for a moment, and add a little more to his conception of our time: Unless we are Marxists, we are much more resistant [today] than the eighteenth- or nineteenth-centuries knew how to be [to] attempts to locate the meaning of human life or human history in mystical or metaphysical conceptions—in the emancipation of mankind, or progress, or the onward advance of Absolute Spirit. It is not that we have lost interest in emancipation or progress themselves; but whether temporarily or permanently, we have more or less abandoned the idea that the importance of emancipation or progress (or a 37 Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, p. 124. 38 I am picking up here on the remark by Ludwig Wittgenstein that heads this essay. 39 Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, p. 123. 25 correct conception of spiritual advance) is that these are marks by which our minute speck in the universe can distinguish itself as the spiritual focus of the cosmos.40 Wiggins specifies our time as a time after Darwin.41 However, his description of human decentering seems clearly to invoke our time also and (at least) equally as a time after Copernicus. And this recalls Freud’s discussion of the decentring blows to narcissism in the times of science:42 the Copernican blow, in which we can no longer conceive our planetary home as the center of the cosmos; followed by the Darwinian blow, in which we can no longer conceive of our animal existence as inherently special or the center of creation; followed, Freud thought, by his own blow delivered by psychoanalysis, in which we could no longer even regard ourselves as “master in [our] own house.”43 I have explored Freud’s story in detail elsewhere44 and want only to suggest here that this movement of decentering blows maps onto the historic movement in Europe, so clearly perceived by an anxious Husserl, of increasing resistance to philosophies of history, which claim to articulate a final end of man: the anthropocentrism, androcentrism, Eurocentrism (and, yes, the narcissism) elaborated in the classic philosophical history of the world. And at this point we might add a fourth decentering blow—linked to the opening words of Wiggins’ Cold War description from 1976—suggested by Derrida: “the Marxist blow.”45 Not the blow affected by Marx with his non-theological, non-mystical, scientific, and philosophical account of world history as the history of class struggles, but the blow struck by Marxism in the twentieth century. As Emmanuel Levinas put it, the greatest trauma for Europe in our time is not the work of an extraordinary scientific achievement, it is an event, a terrible event: “the end of socialism in the horror of Stalinism, is the greatest spiritual crisis in modern Europe . . . . The noble hope [of Marxism] consists in healing 40 Wiggins, Needs, Values, Truth, p. 91. 41 Ibid., p. 90. 42 Sigmund Freud, Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis: Parts I and II, vol. 15 of The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, ed. James Strachey (London: Hogarth Press, 1963), pp. 284–5. 43 Freud, Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis, p. 284. 44 Simon Glendinning, “The End of the World Designed with Men in Mind,” Journal of Historical Sociology 26:3 (2013), pp. 291–317. 45 Derrida, Specters of Marx, pp. 97–8. 26 everything, in installing, beyond the chance of individual charity, a regime without evil. And the regime of charity becomes Stalinism and [complicitous] Hitlerian horror.”46 The fact that this blow is not the work of a new scientific paradigm in some domain is of special significance. The other blows knock “man” off his pedestal in one way or another and give us newly decentered ways of thinking (about our planet, about our evolution, about our motives) in their place. But in the event of the fourth blow (and with the others surging in again with it), the whole modern European conception of the meaning of man—the conception of man as progressing in a history of the emancipation of rational subjectivity from savage human animality to civilized rational society with Europe at the head—ceases to be a living or vital discourse on our being. With the advent of the nightmare of political neoliberalism—the terrifying failure of the ideal of a man- made program designed (without God, without nature) for the complete emancipation of rational subjectivity and the “end of man”—the classic European conception of man finally loses credibility as a discourse through which we can understand the “who” that we are. In the face of the horror of Stalinism and Nazism (its inseparable adversary), the old European (hi)story of man and the history of man [AQ: Could you please clarify what you mean here?] is exhausted, finished. On the other hand, as Wiggins’ declaration of a surviving commitment to emancipation and progress attests, this “end” is not a dead end. The demise of the old concept of man and the associated discourse of a movement of emancipation and progress toward a final “end of man” does not mean it is all over for us in our time, leaving us with nothing more than “functioning.” Derrida puts it like this: In the same place, on the same limit, where history is finished, there where a certain determined concept of history comes to an end, precisely there the historicity of history begins, there finally it has the chance of heralding itself—of promising itself. There where man, a certain determined concept of man, is finished, there the pure humanity of man, of the other man and of man as other begins or has finally the chance of heralding itself—of promising itself.47 46 Emmanuel Levinas, Is It Righteous to Be?: Interviews with Emmanuel Levinas, ed. Jill Robbins (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002), pp. 80–1. 47 Derrida, Specters of Marx, p. 74. 27 What is heralded by the end of the old European self-understanding is the chance and the promise of a new self-understanding to come. This self-understanding is one according to which our “pure humanity” is no longer normed by the old prejudices that projected a superiority of European man over every other man, and that is no longer simply opposed to “mere animality” either. This, then, is the great task of those creators that Nietzsche called forth as the philosophers of the future: responsibility for the creation of a new self-understanding, a new meaning of human existence, beyond anthropocentrism, beyond androcentrism, and beyond Eurocentrism—beyond “man” in a time that is “more and more” a time after Copernicus.48 But why “philosophers”? Precisely because philosophers are those who are the most committed to the preservation and enhancement of the space within the body of our culture for what already belongs fundamentally to the formation of its body as a whole: to keep the space open for the “intimate community” of those “bound together” by their unconditional commitment to the “critical stance [that] resolves not to accept unquestioningly any pregiven opinion or tradition” (CES 287), where “nothing is beyond question.”49 This community—the community of those who do not belong to any particular community of ideas—responds to the call within the biggest wave of Europe’s history: the call to engage in a renewed effort of “absolute self-responsibility” (CES 283), where “it is a matter of nothing less than rethinking the concept of man.”50 This intimate, powerless, and yet still forceful community are the guardians of the heritage that gave life to Europe’s old universities and to the “community movement of education [Bildung]” those universities cultivated. Whether or not their future waves must or can or even should be situated “within the walls of what is today called the university”51—that is another question. 48 I am picking up here on the remark of Derrida’s that heads this essay. 49 Derrida, “The University Without Condition,” p. 205. 50 Ibid. 51 Ibid., p. 236. Glendinning_Varieties_of_Neoliberalism_Cover Glendinning_Varieties_of_Neoliberalism_Author 
work_4ndndx43ibeapa5ziuixfjxxgu	----	Marouane Moufakkir_Sustainable development supported by responsible and digital finance Information Systems Management & Innovation ISSN: 2509-0933 Volume. 3, Number. 1, September 2019 12 Sustainable development supported by responsible and digital Finance: Reality or sustainable illusion Marouane MOUFAKKIR Université Ibn Tofail, Centre de recherche en Management et Commerce Kenitra, Maroc marouane.moufak99@gmail.com Mohammed QMICHCHOU Université Ibn Tofail, Centre de recherche en Management et Commerce Kenitra, Maroc qmichchou.mohammed@uit.ac.ma ABSTRACT In this paper, we will explore the relationship between digital banking, responsible Finance and sustainable development. We will review the concept of sustainable development briefly shedding light on its theoretical background (history and definition), its three pillars and some limits and issues related to the concept. In addition, we will try to emphasize the correlation between sustainable development and the new digital financial players, namely Fintech who are providing Digital Financial Services (DFS) through digital channels. Some definitions of DFS and Fintech are given in order to provide a clear idea about those concepts for a better understanding of their ecological impact. Indeed, this correlation is seamlessly supported by a high-paced digitization of the banking and financial industry. The overall purpose of this article is to highlight how those new digital players (Fintech) and responsible Finance (Green bonds and ecological credit cards) can contribute to the endorsement and the enhancement of sustainable development for a better social inclusion, more equity and green friendly initiatives for economic growth. Keywords: Sustainable Development, Digital banking, Fintech, Sustainable Finance, Green bonds RESUMÉ In this paper, we will explore the relationship between digital banking, responsible Finance and sustainable development. We will review the concept of sustainable development briefly shedding light on its theoretical background (history and definition), its three pillars and some limits and issues related to the concept. In addition, we will try to emphasize the correlation between sustainable development and the new digital financial players, namely Fintech who are providing Digital Financial Services (DFS) through digital channels. Some definitions of DFS and Fintech are given in order to provide a clear idea about those concepts for a better understanding of their ecological impact. Indeed, this correlation is seamlessly supported by a high-paced digitization of the banking and financial industry. The overall purpose of this article is to highlight how those new digital players (Fintech) and responsible Finance (Green bonds and ecological credit cards) can contribute to the endorsement and the enhancement of sustainable development for a better social inclusion, more equity and green friendly initiatives for economic growth. Mots clès : Sustainable Development, Digital banking, Fintech, Sustainable Finance, Green bonds. © C o p y ri g h t IS M I | J o u rn a l Information Systems Management & Innovation ISSN: 2509-0933 Volume. 3, Number. 1, September 2019 13 To cite this article: MOUFAKKIR M. & QMICHCHOU M. (2019), “Sustainable development supported by responsible and digital Finance: Reality or sustainable illusion”, Journal of Information Systems Management & Innovation, Vol. 3, No. 1, pp. 12-21 Available at: http://revues.imist.ma/index.php?journal=ISMI&page=issue&op=archive 1. INTRODUCTION Companies were always confronted with their responsibilities. Historically, these responsibilities were focused more on economic incomes and legal transparency, than social and ecological issues, in order to embellish the image of the company and build its reputation. Since the 1960’s, a redefinition of the concept "social" has prevailed on a global scale thanks to the works of Bowen, “Social Responsibilities of the Businessman” (1953) and Goyder’s “The Responsible Corporation” (1961). During the last few decades, companies have been forced to assume their social responsibilities. Thus, besides profitability, they begin to focus on social, ethical and ecological issues, while being involved in sustainable development. Notwithstanding, merging the world of Finance with sustainable development seems to be utopian, economically speaking. Indeed, the financial and banking players have always sought maximum benefits despite the collateral damage made to the environment. However, more individuals and customers tend to prioritize the sustainability, more the financial players (banks, financial investors, multinational financial services corporations...) have to consider ecological issues in their global strategies. According to IPSOS survey (2017), 41% of people believe that, products from socially responsible investments can strengthen trust towards the same financial institution that offered them. Nowadays, the banking and financial sector has been radically changed thanks to the digital transformation journey. Indeed, the new entrants such as, Fintech, Information technologies (IT) companies and innovating start-ups, are becoming a serious threat for the traditional financial providers such as banks, finance companies, microfinance institutions, and insurance companies (International Finance Corporation, IFC, 2017). The relevance of digital financial services (DFS) and Fintech is increasing all around the world as a bridge that can help to enhance the financial and social inclusion and reduce poverty. In fact, “Countries are demanding deeper access to financial markets, and the World Bank Group will focus on delivering Fintech solutions that enhance financial services, mitigate risks, and achieve stable, inclusive economic growth” (World Bank Group President Jim Yong Kim, The Bali Fintech Agenda, 2018). Many studies have discussed sustainable development issues, its importance and implications. Whereas significant research has been published in academic journals about the three pillars of sustainable development and digital finance, the interlink review between sustainable development and digital banking and financial industry remains missing and insufficient. Reviewing existing literature affords an opportunity for a better understanding of the existing state of the research, as well as outlines the research area evolution. On one hand, the overall purpose of this paper is to understand, analyze and summarize findings related to sustainable development. On the other hand, the increase of digital finance and new players such as Fintech can be an opportunity for a better financial and social inclusion for more social and economic equity. Firstly, a theoretical framework linked to sustainable development and limits seems to be necessary to place the concept within the appropriate literature. This will help us to have a better understanding of sustainable development, its three pillars and the main criticism toward the concept. Secondly, a clear layout of DFS and the Fintech players’ impact on the improvement of sustainable development is 14 established. This analysis is then used to shed light on the impact of digital finance adoption on the enhancement of financial and social inclusion while taking the ecological issues into consideration. It also summarizes the main conclusions, determines relevant gaps that need more emphasizing, and require further research. 2. SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT: BACKGROUND, DEFINITION AND LIMITS a. Definition and historical background Among all the definitions in the literature, the one given by the Brundtland report remains the most comprehensive and explicit. Indeed, it summarizes very concisely and effectively the core of the concept in simple words. It was the summery report after the first United Nations World Commission related to Environment and Development held in 1987. According to this report, sustainable development is "a development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their needs" (Brundtland report, 1987). This definition leads us to underline two main points. Firstly, the today’s needs are increasingly burdensome and difficult to fill especially for a population living in precarious conditions. This statement is endorsed by Oxfam report (2018) revealing that 1% of the richest have benefited of 82% of wealth created in the world the previous year. Secondly, this race to the satisfaction of our needs, especially for the richest ones, should not be at the expense of ecology and exhaustible natural resources. Accordingly, three elements have to be emphasized: • Economic growth and profitability must take into consideration environmental issues. • Establishment of facilitating conditions for an equitable society with high social inclusion rate. • Setting up international protocols aiming to prevent the natural resources depletion while ensuring that they will be put into practice. Otherwise, the concept of sustainable development has gone through several upheavals since the emergence of the concept. Indeed, we have witnessed a growing awareness related to the concept on a global scale recently, due to international policies about ecological issues that concerns almost all countries. Hence, in order to have a global idea about this evolution, the most relevant key dates can be summarized as follows: • The years 1850 & 1860: Development of ecological thinking and the concept of “Ecology” through the work of the biologist Ernst Haeckel1 and the poet Henry David Thoreau 2 ; • 1963: Publication of "The Silent Spring", which denounces the consequences and drawbacks of pollution; • 1972: First Earth Summit in Stockholm; • 1987: United Nations World Commission summit about Environment and Development and publication of the Brundtland Report about Sustainable Development; • 1992: Earth Summit in Rio; • 2005: Entry into force of the Kyoto Protocol elated to global warming; • 2012: Rio + 20 Earth Summit also known as the United Nations Conference on Sustainable Development (UNCSD). Since 1995, United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) lead conferences every year (COP; Conference of the Parties) around the world in order to emphasize ecological issues, environment protection and evaluating the progress in dealing with climate change. Therefore, as reported by the United Nations website, world leaders and politicians adopted the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development and its 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) in 2015. These new Goals focus on quality and equity in education, no 1 The word "Ecology" was invented by Ernst Haeckel in 1866 in reference to the relationship that organisms have with each other and the relationship between organisms, the physical and chemical characteristics of their habitats. 2 Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) has simultaneously developed a thought of ecology, nature and disobedience. The choice of "life in the woods" being a return to a lost nature, but also a withdrawal from society. 15 hunger, no poverty, more clean and affordable water. This is supposed to mobilize efforts all around the world for the sake of ending all forms of poverty, inequalities, injustice and environmental degradation. b. Limits and issues of the concept In order to be aligned with a successful sustainable development strategy, three pillars must be respected. In other words, the sustainable development undertaken by institutions (States, companies ...) must be: • Economically efficient: ensuring economic profitability and prosperity for countries through sustainable production and consumption. • Socially equitable: reducing social inequities in the world by a better satisfaction of human needs and prioritizing social equity. • Ecologically sustainable: protecting natural resources in the long term, by ensuring the ecological balances. Thus, sustainable development requires "the balanced integration of the economic, social and environmental goals of public institutions, with the concern of enhancing equity as well as to preserve the interests of future generations" (MC Smouts, D. Battistella & P. Vennesso, 2003). In terms of implementing an efficient sustainable development strategy, the “social” must be a purpose for a more equitable living and ecological sustainability. The “economy” has to be ecologically sustainable to growth bearing in mind our manufacture and consumption means. Finally, the protection of natural resources and the environment is, overall, a prerequisite. Nevertheless, any concept mobilizing concrete involvement from everyone, is not accepted with arms wide open by all actors. Indeed, for some researchers, the concept of “sustainable development” is in itself biased because it is based on the concept of "development", which inspires mistrust and suspicion. According to Rist (1996), the “purpose of development” has served for six decades to legitimize, as well in the North as in the South, numerous economic and social policies that could led for a well-being for all. Globalization has taken over, but far from promising development, we are now just trying to fight against poverty by proposing growth as the only option (Rist, 1996). Other supporters of the “Degrowth Theory” also remain doubtful about the concept of "sustainable development" while it is often associated with growth. Who says economic growth, says necessarily, technical progress and industrialization. "To be interested in protecting the environment and the ecology without considering the technical progress, the technological society, the sake for efficiency is to engage an operation that is not only useless, but fundamentally harmful" (Ellul, 1972). Thus, those authors argued that we cannot talk about sustainable development, which cannot be endless and sustainable since that natural resources are limited and transient. Mathias stated that the very idea of joining the two concepts “sustainable” and “development” makes the concept of “sustainable development” a "schizophrenic" concept. Whereas the “sustainable development” pretends to solve environmental issues using the continuous economic growth, the main cause of all ecological issues is the same economic growth: "It is a matter of looking for development with concern for the environment, as long as this concern does not hinder the development in question" (Mathias, 2005). Praised by some and disavowed by others, sustainable development must incontestably move from theory to practice taking tangible actions by all of us, as individuals living on this planet as well as by government, companies and world leaders. Yet, the industrial companies are more involved in the ecological issues, the financial and banking industry is not left behind. Indeed, they can be a huge energy consumer while being known for discriminative financial player. Thus, they need to rethink their business models by including the ecological and social factor into consideration more seriously. 16 3. SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT AND DIGITAL BANKING: WHO SERVES THE OTHER? The current use of the Internet and information and communication technologies (ICT), especially with the fast-paced expansion of technological innovations, makes us realize that we are only at the beginning of the digital transformation journey. Indeed, thanks to the IT revolution and web 2.0 tools, every aspect of human’s life has been radically changed: from transportation and education, to travelling and communication. The sustainable development has also taken advantage of this digital revolution in the financial and banking industry. 3.1 Sustainable development: “bricks & mortar” vs “pure players” Selling products or services through physical stores or branches has always been, for decades, the only delivery way for retailers to offer their merchandise to the customer. This business model was ubiquitous in all kind of industries: food, fashion, supermarkets and of course the financial and banking industry. The Cambridge dictionary defines Bricks and mortar as businesses existing as a physical building (a shop or branch), rather than doing business only online. Since the bricks and mortar model refers to the classic retail banking industry with a physical bank branch, the number of branches in the world matters because they are avaricious in power consumption. Indeed, according to the World Bank (2017), there are 12.5 branches per 100,000 adults in the world, this means a total of 665000 branches with a world population of 7.6 billion people. Taking account of cooling, computers, monitors, servers, heating, automated teller machine (ATM) and all electronic devices, we are likely up for a total consumption for banks close to 100 terawatt hours a year. Therefore, it is a very greedy model in power consumption and thus very ecologically harmful. Moreover, people have to take many trips to their bank branch to manage their accounts and operate financial and banking transactions. Which contributes to increase air pollution and CO2 emission. At the other end of scale, under this financial services delivery, called “Pure players”, these actors have chosen to overpass the classic banking retail by opting for digital channels solely. The transaction is not only remote, but also online in real time (Chabaneix, 1997). In other words, the pure players are companies that have no physical presence. Instead, they are operating exclusively online using the ICT and digital channels to communicate, interact and reach prospects and consumers in order to offer their products and services. As far as the environmental issues are concerned, this model provides very positive and palpable ecological consequences compared to previous model since there are no bank branches. Consequently, no waste of lightning, water, no electronic tools connected 24/7, no ATM’s running all the time. Even customers have easily embraced those digital financial services. A Deloitte consulting survey (2018) stated that only 12% of French customers did use banking services in their bank branches. We can describe the main digital banking services and their ecological impact as shown in table 1. Main digital banking services Digital means Ecological impact Remote access to numerous banking services 24/7 (Cash transfer, daily account management, online account opening…) Voice assisted application (voice first) Mobile application (mobile first) Online banking websites (responsive design) Smart ecological ATM - Less paper consumption and thus preserve biodiversity, environment and deforestation. - Rides to bank branches will be reduced strongly and thus, less pollution, CO² emissions and greenhouse gas effects. - Preservation of air quality. - Electronic devices and IT tools will last longer. Online Taxes and other expenses payment (rental expense…) Online shares management and loan application 17 Bank branches paperless in which all banking services are digitized = 0 paper Smart ecological bank branch Digital tablette with an easy- to-use touch screen. Table 1: Digital banking services and their ecological impact Having said that, the most relevant pure player actors in the financial and banking industry that contribute tremendously to enhance sustainable development and financial/social inclusion, are Fintech players since Fintech is a global phenomenon (Mackenzie, 2015). 3.2 FINTECH AS A MAIN PURE PLAYER ACTOR FOR SUSTAINABILITY “Banking is essential, Banks are not” (Bill Gates, 1994) 3 . These last years, we are witnessing the incarnation of what Bill Gates said 25 years ago in the wake of the advent of DFS and Fintech players. Digital Financial Services can be defined as the broad range of financial services accessed and delivered through digital channels, including payments, credit, savings, remittances, insurance and financial information. The term “digital channels” refers to the internet, mobile phones (both smartphones and digital feature phones), ATM, POS terminals, NFC-enabled devices, chips, electronically enabled cards, biometric devices, tablets, phablets and any other digital system (AFI, 2016). Concerning Fintech definition, several ones can be found in the literature. For instance, “Fintech is a service sector which uses mobile-centered IT technology to enhance the efficiency of the financial system. As a term, it is a compound of ‘finance’ and ‘technology’ and collectively refers to industrial changes forged from the convergence of financial services and IT” (Kim Park, & Choi, 2016). Another definition provides more details: “Fintech refers to the application of technology within the financial industry. The sector covers a 3 See Falk Rieker, “Does the future need banks?” (2 April 2013) SAP, available at <http://blogs.sap.com/banking/2013/04/02/does- the-future-need-banks/> wide range of activities from payments (e.g. contactless) to financial data and analysis (e.g. Credit scoring), financial software (e.g. risk management), digitized process (e.g. authentication) and perhaps most well-known to the wider public, payment platforms (e.g. peer to peer lending).” (Barberis, 2014). Even the Oxford Dictionary has set a definition to the concept of Fintech suggesting that Fintech are computer programs and other technology used to support or enable banking and financial services: Fintech is one of the fastest-growing areas for venture capitalists” (Oxford English Dictionary, 2016). Offering more financial solutions efficiency, easier to use, faster and above all, low-priced and environmentally friendly, this disruptive innovation has been adopted quite rapidly. According to Ernst & Young Fintech Adoption Index 2017 report, the average of Fintech adoption globally is 33% compared with 16% in 2015. Besides, all financial transactions gaps have been fulfilled by Fintech. From mobile peer-to-peer payment platforms, to personal financial management, crowdfunding, robo-advisors as well as digital currencies and distributed ledger technologies. While the use of Fintech is based on having a smart phone to operate all kind of financial operations easily, the average of world mobile subscription penetration in 2017 is 103% (Ericsson mobility report, 2017). This increased use of smart phones facilitates, seamlessly, the adoption of Fintech services and the ability to operate financial transactions. Therefore, contribute to enhance the financial/social inclusion of under-served groups, which was and still difficult and complicated to do for a large citizen all over the word in the classic retail banking. It worth noting that having easy access to financial services can help as a support to reduce the poverty level and social inequity (Asli et al., 2015).As reported by the Global Findex Database report (2017), 1.7 billion adults do not have a bank account, 66% of them, however, have a mobile phone that could allow them to access to financial services. In addition, the report explains that technology could promote financial and social inclusion by replacing cash transactions with digital transactions. 18 In summary, it can be stated that the progress of DFS through Fintech players and different digital channels, namely mobile and digital banking, can help the international community to balance with efficacy the three pillars of sustainable development: socially, economically and ecologically. Consequently, achieving the overall purpose of universal financial access, taking inti consideration environmental issues, and therefore a better financial and social inclusion and well-being. 4. BANKING/FINANCIAL INDUSTRY FOR A SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT Basically, sustainable Finance looks for reaching economic growth while respecting the social and ecological impact. According to the EPSC Strategic Notes (2017), sustainable finance refers to any type of financial service integrating Environmental, Social or Governance (ESG) criteria in business or investment decisions, for the lasting benefit of both clients and society at large (Financing Sustainability: Triggering Investments for the Clean Economy, 2017). We will highlight two main activities in this section, namely eco-friendly credit cards and green bonds, which contribute to foster benefit for customers and financial institutions. 4.1 Eco-friendly credit cards In order to put in practice the ecological consideration in their strategies, the financial actors (banks, multinational financial services corporation…) have designed an ecological credit card that respects the environment. Thus, the overall purpose was to remove the polyvinyl chloride (PVC) which is a strong, versatile and cheap synthetic polymer, and substitute it with recyclable materials. A case in point is the Belgian bank NewB that has developed a payment credit card which meets the sustainable development three pillars: ethical, ecological and economic. Indeed, the GoodPay Prepaid MasterCard is made from corn residue, thus biodegradable. In addition, for each transaction, five cents are donated to a good cause like fighting against exclusion, protecting the environment or promoting solidarity. Another example is held by Credit Agricole of France who implemented an eco-friendly card since 2014. Made on the basis of polylactic acid (PLA) which is an eco-friendly raw material, Crédit Agricole's ecological card can even be recycled when it expires. The banking industry in Morocco is also concerned by the ecological issues as well. The Société Générale Marocaine des Banques (SGMB) has promoted an eco-friendly card called "C'Bio". It is made from vegetable plastic allowing the bank and their customers to take part into the environment protection issues. Another example of Moroccan bank that respects the environment is the BMCI (Banque Marocaine pour le Commerce et l’Industrie). Besides being the first bank to win the CSR (Corporate Social Responsibility) label in 2014, BMCI have been distinguished on several criteria, such as non-discrimination, providing green products/services, balance of power, Top Management effectiveness and responsible contracts. Furthermore, the BMCI provides "green packs" supporting actors who are willing to invest in ecological projects. Moreover, the bank offers credit cards made of 90% biodegradable material. Finally, the Human capital is also involved in this ecological policy, since employees have reduced their paper consumption by 29% from 2012 to 2015 4 . 4.2 Green bonds Fast-paced growing market, "Sustainable Finance" or "Green Finance" intended to accelerate energy transition through new funding mechanisms e.g. Green bonds. Such bonds are issued by a company, a public service institution or banks in the financial markets for the purpose of financing projects that contribute to the ecological transition and preserving the environment. A “Green bond” is different from a regular bond by its label, which suggests a commitment to exclusively use the funds raised to finance or re-finance “Green” projects, assets or business activities (ICMA, 2015). The difference compared to conventional bonds 4 Official website of BMCI : http://www.bmci.ma 19 concerns two points. Firstly, the issuer agrees on the precise use of the collected funds which must be for projects with a positive impact on the environment. Secondly, an annual publication report must be done, giving investors a reporting about how well these projects are progressing. The green bonds are targeting different sectors, as shown in Figure 1. For instance, there are projects targeting global warming and carbon emissions such as "Climate bonds". Another example can be cited which is the "Water bonds". They focus more on the management of scarce resources such as water. The Netherlands, for instance, have issued such bonds to finance adaptation to rising sea levels. As far as the social equity concerns, "Social bonds" take over the financing of projects with a social impact on people welfare. For example, projects facilitating access to school, supporting vaccination campaigns or creating jobs in tenuousness areas and poverty. Fig. 1: The different use of green bonds issuance Source: CBI, 2016 The energy sector leads the green bonds investment so far. Indeed, companies and governments are more likely focusing on this field rather than others, as we can see more emphasis on electric power mostly for cars, green energy such as wind energy, photovoltaic solar energy or even methanation (Anaerobic digestion) 5 . Still, the Green bonds related to water are very weak and more efforts must be done to enhance the access to clean water and sanitation, especially that, more than 2 billion people are living with the risk of reduced access to freshwater resources (UN, 2018). An observation of note is that most reports discuss the fast growth of the green bond market. According to IFC (International Finance Corporation) 6 , new green bond issuance has grown by 78% on 2017, to more than $155 billion worldwide. That number is expected to reach $250 billion in 2018. Most of them came from Asia and Europe, as shown on Figure 2. In fact, France is well away with a good head start. Indeed, the report published by the Climate Bonds Initiative (CBI) in April 2018 reveals that France should continue to bring market growth. With more than 37 billion euros in cumulative emissions since 2012, France ranks third in the world and first in Europe. Fig. 2: Green bonds issuance by region Source CBI, 2016 The feebleness of the African Green Bond market compared to Asia, Europe and North 5 Anaerobic digestion is a collection of processes by which microorganisms break down biodegradable material in the absence of oxygen. The process is used for industrial or domestic purposes to manage waste or to produce fuels (Wikipedia). 6 “Green Bond Impact Report”, (2017), IFC Investor Relations, International Finance Corporation. 20 America is very noticeable. In Africa, the Green Bond issuances are led, mostly, by Banks or big companies. For example, the Moroccan Agency for Solar Energy (MASEN), has issued in 2016 the amount of 1.15 billion MAD ($115 million) as the first Moroccan green bond. The issue was guaranteed by the Government and certified by Vigeo Eiris. It consisted of a private placement with the involvement of other main actors, like Al Barid Bank, the Moroccan Pension Fund, Attijariwafa Bank, and the Central Reinsurance Company. In October 2016, the Moroccan Capital Market Authority published a guide related to green bonds, in order to enable the growth of the green bonds market (Aassouli et al., 2018). Other countries, including Kenya, Nigeria, and South Africa have declared their plans to break through the green bond market as well. 5. CONCLUSION According to Karlan et al., (2016), 2.5 billion people in the word are living with less than 2 USD a day and struggle very hard every single day to get out of poverty. Classically, this escape can be done by finding an employment or launch businesses through entrepreneurship. However, finding a job or being an entrepreneur is not the easiest thing to do in these last years (financial crisis, joblessness rate, the increase of jobseekers…). Hence, people resort to financial tools e.g. personal saving, insurance, credit and especially cash transfer from friends and relatives to help them finding a way out from misery. The accessibility of DFS enables Fintech companies to help deprived population in emerging countries, to be part of the financial system with the ability to undertake financial and banking transactions, send and receive money, loans, etc. Therefore, a tremendous contribution to improve the financial and social inclusion and human wellbeing while respecting ecology. No one can deny the relevance of having green strategies to achieve sustainable development in a global scale and the SDGs by 2030. This cannot be done without taking into consideration the customer and investor who are more likely sensitive toward the ecological issues. Indeed, 72% of individual investors want sustainable development issues to be included in savings products (Ipsos Survey, 2017). Nevertheless, there may be a little bit of ‘darkness’ in this ‘green’ ambition. Besides the criticism toward the concept of “sustainable development” (Rist, 1996 ; Ellul, 1972 & Mathias, 2005), the new digital technologies are like the “Aesop Tongue”. With the existence of large server farms as big as a whole city, the manufacture of smartphones or computers, even sending emails, Internet and new technological innovations are really a big consumer of energy and a large source of pollution. According to a study conducted in 2010 by the French Agency for the Environment and Energy Management (ADEME), an e-mail consumes between 0.3 and 4g of CO² and up to 50g with large attachments sent to several recipients. Still, the banking and financial players needs to rethink their business model by taking into account the ecological factor more seriously. This involves adopting responsible technological financial innovations with an ecological issues concern, promoting social inclusion and equity in order to be able to remain competitive while being "green friendly". Nevertheless, we noticed a lack of indicators for measuring the impact of digital finance on the sustainable development, which could be an interesting direction for future research 6. REFERENCES Aasosouli et al., “Green Sukuk, Energy Poverty, and Climate Change: A Roadmap for Sub- Saharan Africa”, Office of the Senior Vice President, 2030 Agenda, UN Relations and Partnerships, Policy Research Working Paper 8680, 2018. Bihour-Frezal F., Cousté G., “Les Français et l’ISR”, Vigeo Eiris & Forum pour l’Investissement Rentable, Paris, France, 2017. Frandon-Martinez C.; Filkova M., “Opportunities for green bonds in France”, Climate Bond Initiative, Thomson Reuters, 2018. 21 Gulamhuseinwala et al. (2017), “EY FinTech Adoption Index 2017: The rapid emergence of Fintech”, Ernst & Young Global Limited. Kaminke C., “Green Bonds: Mobilising the debt capital markets for a low-carbon transition”, OECD, Better policies for better lives, 2015. Steinfield C. et al. (2002), “The Dynamics of Click- and-Mortar Electronic Commerce: Opportunities and Management Strategies”, International Journal of Electronic Commerce, vol. 7 Issue 1, p. 93, 2002. Climate Bonds Initiative Markets Team, “Green bonds highlights 2016”, The Climate Bonds Initiative, 2017. D. Chabaneix, “La banque directe en Europe“, Banque 586, pp. 22-24, 1997. D. Karlan et al., “Research and impacts of Digital Financial Services”, HKS Faculty Research Working paper series, RWP14-037, 2016. D.-A. Kunt et al., “E-global findex database 2014 measuring financial inclusion around the world. World”, Bank Policy Research Working Paper, (7255), 2015. D.-A. Kunt et al., “The Global Findex Database 2017: Measuring Financial Inclusion and the Fintech Revolution”. Washington, DC: World Bank. doi:10.1596/978-1-4648-1259-0. License: Creative Commons Attribution CC BY 3.0 IGO, 2018. D.-A. Pimentel ; I.-M. Aymar ; M. Lawson, “Share wealth with those who create it “, Oxfam UK, Oxford, UK, 2018. EPSC Strategic Notes, “Financing Sustainability: Triggering Investments for the Clean Economy”, Issue 25, 2017. G. Rist, “Le Développement : Histoire d'une croyance occidentale“, Presses de Sciences Po, Références, Paris, 1996. J. Barberis, “The rise of Fintech: Getting Hong Kong to lead the digital financial transition in APAC”. Retrieved from Hong Kong, 2014. J. Ellul, “Plaidoyer contre la défense de l’environnement “, France Catholique n°1309, 1310, 1311, 14, 21 et 28 Jan. 1972. J.-C. 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work_4nt4i7z6snffpebxsrboni6x2y	----	Phylogenetic patterns of species loss in Thoreau's woods are driven by climate change The Harvard community has made this article openly available. Please share how this access benefits you. Your story matters Citation Willis, C. G., B. Ruhfel, R. B. Primack, A. J. Miller-Rushing, and C. C. Davis. 2008. Phylogenetic Patterns of Species Loss in Thoreau’s Woods Are Driven by Climate Change. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 105, no. 44: 17029–17033. doi:10.1073/ pnas.0806446105. Published Version doi:10.1073/pnas.0806446105 Citable link http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:29362004 Terms of Use This article was downloaded from Harvard University’s DASH repository, and is made available under the terms and conditions applicable to Other Posted Material, as set forth at http:// nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of- use#LAA http://osc.hul.harvard.edu/dash/open-access-feedback?handle=&title=Phylogenetic%20patterns%20of%20species%20loss%20in%20Thoreau's%20woods%20are%20driven%20by%20climate%20change&community=1/1&collection=1/2&owningCollection1/2&harvardAuthors=c30265921a2698d382919ae653f63381&departmentOrganismic%20and%20Evolutionary%20Biology http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:29362004 http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA Phylogenetic patterns of species loss in Thoreau’s woods are driven by climate change Charles G. Willisa, Brad Ruhfela, Richard B. Primackb, Abraham J. Miller-Rushingb, and Charles C. Davisa,1 aDepartment of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology, Harvard University Herbaria, 22 Divinity Avenue, Cambridge, MA 02138; and bDepartment of Biology, Boston University, 5 Cummington Street, Boston, MA 02215 Edited by Michael J. Donoghue, Yale University, New Haven, CT, and approved September 19, 2008 (received for review July 3, 2008) Climate change has led to major changes in the phenology (the timing of seasonal activities, such as flowering) of some species but not others. The extent to which flowering-time response to tem- perature is shared among closely related species might have important consequences for community-wide patterns of species loss under rapid climate change. Henry David Thoreau initiated a dataset of the Concord, Massachusetts, flora that spans !150 years and provides information on changes in species abundance and flowering time. When these data are analyzed in a phylogenetic context, they indicate that change in abundance is strongly corre- lated with flowering-time response. Species that do not respond to temperature have decreased greatly in abundance, and include among others anemones and buttercups [Ranunculaceae pro parte (p.p.)], asters and campanulas (Asterales), bluets (Rubiaceae p.p.), bladderworts (Lentibulariaceae), dogwoods (Cornaceae), lilies (Lil- iales), mints (Lamiaceae p.p.), orchids (Orchidaceae), roses (Rosa- ceae p.p.), saxifrages (Saxifragales), and violets (Malpighiales). Because flowering-time response traits are shared among closely related species, our findings suggest that climate change has affected and will likely continue to shape the phylogenetically biased pattern of species loss in Thoreau’s woods. conservation ! extinction ! phenology ! phylogenetic conservatism ! phylogeny The impact of climate change on species and communities hasbeen well documented. Arctic forests are shifting poleward and alpine tree lines are shifting upward (1–3); spring f lowering time is advancing rapidly (4 –7); pest outbreaks are spreading (8); and numerous species are declining in abundance and risk extinction (9). However, despite these generalized trends, spe- cies vary dramatically in their responses to climate change. For example, although the spring f lowering times of many temperate plants are advancing, some are not changing and others are f lowering later in the season (5, 10, 11). Understanding the evolutionary (i.e., phylogenetic) history of traits that are inf lu- enced by climate (e.g., f lowering phenology) has been an un- derexplored area of climate change biology, despite the fact that it could prove especially useful in predicting how species and communities will respond to future climate change. Closely related species often share similar traits, a pattern known as phylogenetic conservatism (12–16, 17). If closely related species share similar traits that make them more susceptible to climate change (14, 17), species loss may not be random or uniform, but rather biased against certain lineages in the Tree of Life (i.e., phylogenetic selectivity; see ref. 18). However, a deeper inquiry into these patterns has been hampered largely because adequate datasets documenting community-wide responses to climate change are exceedingly rare. During the mid-19th century, the naturalist and conservationist Henry David Thoreau spent decades exploring the temperate fields, wetlands, and deciduous forests of Concord, Massachu- setts, in the northeastern United States. He wrote extensively about the natural history of the area (19) and kept meticulous notes on plant species occurrences and f lowering times (11, 20). Several botanists have since resurveyed the Concord area, thus providing a unique community-level perspective on changes in its f loristic composition and f lowering times during the past !150 years (11, 20). Despite the fact that !60% of all natural areas in Concord are undeveloped or have remained well protected, a striking number of species have become locally extinct: 27% of the species documented by Thoreau have been lost, and 36% exist in such low population abundances that their extirpation may be imminent (20). Also, the species that have been lost are overly represented in particular plant families (20), suggesting that extinction risk may be phylogenetically biased. Although habitat loss due to succession and development (e.g., loss of wetlands, abandonment of farms, reforestation, and construction of homes and roads) has contributed to decreases in abundance for some species in Thoreau’s Concord (20), climate change may also help to explain the seemingly nonran- dom pattern of species loss among certain plant groups. It has been shown recently (11) that the mean annual temperature in the Concord area has risen by 2.4 °C over the past !100 years and that this temperature change is associated with shifts in f lowering time: species are now f lowering an average of 7 days earlier than in Thoreau’s time. Along with changes in f lowering phenology, species range is likely to be inf luenced by climate change (21). Thus, the Concord surveys provide a unique opportunity to examine the extent to which changes in abun- dance may be correlated with these climatologically sensitive traits. Also, by incorporating phylogenetic history into our analyses, we can test whether species that share similar traits are closely related (i.e., phylogenetic conservatism), and to what extent these traits correlate with decreases in abundance. Such findings could identify groups of closely related species that are at higher risk of extinction (18, 22). The data for the 473 species we analyzed were collected by Thoreau (1852–1858), Hosmer (1878, 1888 –1902), and Miller- Rushing and Primack (2003–2007) (see Materials and Methods; see refs. 20 and 23). Scorings include information on changes in species abundance, species habitat, and 2 separate measures of f lowering-time response to temperature (i.e., the ability of species f lowering time to track short-term seasonal temperature changes, and the shift in species f lowering time over long-term intervals). We further scored the current mean latitudinal range and native/introduced status of each species. We constructed a composite phylogeny of all species to test for: (i) the phylogenetic conservatism of each trait, and (ii) correlations between these traits and change in abundance when accounting for phylogeny. Author contributions: C.G.W. and C.C.D. designed research; C.G.W., B.R., R.B.P., A.J.M.-R., and C.C.D. performed research; C.G.W., B.R., and C.C.D. analyzed data; and C.G.W., B.R., R.B.P., A.J.M.-R., and C.C.D. wrote the paper. The authors declare no conflict of interest. This article is a PNAS Direct Submission. Freely available online through the PNAS open access option. 1To whom correspondence should be addressed. E-mail: cdavis@oeb.harvard.edu. This article contains supporting information online at www.pnas.org/cgi/content/full/ 0806446105/DCSupplemental. © 2008 by The National Academy of Sciences of the USA www.pnas.org"cgi"doi"10.1073"pnas.0806446105 PNAS ! November 4, 2008 ! vol. 105 ! no. 44 ! 17029 –17033 EV O LU TI O N http://www.pnas.org/cgi/content/full/0806446105/DCSupplemental http://www.pnas.org/cgi/content/full/0806446105/DCSupplemental Results and Discussion Our results (Fig. 1 and Table 1) indicate that change in abundance and f lowering-time response traits were phyloge- netically conser ved, which indicates that species evolutionar y histor y is important to understanding community response to climate change. Species that are declining in abundance are more closely related than expected by chance. Similarly, species that exhibit similar f lowering-time responses to tem- perature are more closely related than expected by chance. In contrast, latitudinal range was not phylogenetically conser ved Fig. 1. Composite phylogeny of 429 flowering plant species from the Concord flora depicting changes in abundance from 1900 to 2007. Change in abundance ranged on an integer scale from "5 to #4, and was calculated as the difference in abundance for each taxon in 1900 and 2007 based on 7 abundance categories (0 to 6; see Materials and Methods). Branch color indicates parsimony character state reconstruction of change in abundance. For simplicity, we have indicated this reconstruction by using 4 colors: red (major decline, "5 to "3), pink (moderate decline, "2), gray (little to no change, "1 to #1), and blue (increase, #2 to #4). For the complete character reconstruction and taxon labels see Fig. S1. Average decline in abundance was calculated for all internal nodes as the mean change in abundance of descendant nodes weighted with branch length information ascertained from divergence time estimates. An average decline of 2.5 or greater corresponds to a decline in abundance of 50% or greater, based on our most conservative scoring using 6 abundance categories (0 to 5; see Materials in Methods). Clades exhibiting these major declines are indicated with black dots. Each of the most inclusive clades exhibiting these declines are indicated in pink and referenced numerically to their clade name. Subclades in major decline that are nested within more widely recognized clades are labeled with the more familiar name followed by pro parte (p.p.). These clades include some of the most charismatic wildflower species in New England, such as anemones and buttercups (Ranunculaceae p.p.), asters, campanulas, goldenrods, pussytoes, and thistles (Asterales), bedstraws and bluets (Rubiaceae p.p.), bladderworts (Lentibulariaceae), dogwoods (Cornaceae), lilies (Liliales), louseworts and Indian paintbrushes (Orobanchaceae), mints (Lamiaceae p.p.), orchids (Orchidaceae), primroses (Onograceae p.p.), roses (Rosaceae p.p.), saxifrages (Saxifragales), Indian pipes (Ericales p.p.), and St. John’s worts and violets (Malpighiales). Table 1. Statistical tests of phylogenetic conservatism and trait correlations with change in abundance Trait Phylogenetic conservatism Trait correlation Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 n Observed rank n Estimate n Estimate n Estimate Flowering time tracking of seasonal temperature 175 19 ** 175 "0.48 * 166 "0.62 * 140 "1.00 *** Shift in flowering time 1850–1900 319 2 *** 319 "0.02 *** 311 "0.01 * 140 0.03 *** Shift in flowering time 1900–2006 303 2,120 — 303 0.04 *** 296 0.03 *** 140 0.02 *** Shift in flowering time 1850–2006 271 340 † 271 0.04 *** 253 0.03 *** 140 — — Mean latitudinal range 414 3,705 414 "0.10 *** 362 "0.08 *** 140 "0.09 *** Change in abundance 1900–2006 429 1 *** — — — — — — — — — Tests used a phylogeny with branch lengths adjusted for time. The significance of phylogenetic conservatism was tested by comparing the rank of the observed standard deviation (SD) of descendent trait means to a null model based on 9,999 random iterations of trait distributions across the composite phylogeny. The observed rank is compared with a 2-tail test of significance, i.e., an observed rank of 250 equals a P value of 0.05. Trait correlations were tested by using the comparative methods of generalized estimating equations (GEE). Estimates describe the direction and magnitude of the correlation (e.g., a negative estimate $"0.1% of mean latitude with change in abundance suggests that species from more southerly latitudes are increasing in abundance). Model 1 (univariate model), correlation of change in abundance with each trait; Model 2 (multivariate model), correlation of change in abundance with each trait and habitat, abundance (ca. 1900), flowering season, and native/introduced status as covariates; Model 3 (multivariate model), correlation of change in abundance with all traits and habitat, abundance (ca. 1900), flowering season, and native/introduced status as covariates (shift in flowering-time response 1850 –2006 was excluded due to its high correlation with the other flowering-time shift traits). †, P & 0.1; *, P & 0.05; **, P & 0.01; ***, P & 0.001; n & sample size. 17030 ! www.pnas.org"cgi"doi"10.1073"pnas.0806446105 Willis et al. http://www.pnas.org/cgi/data/0806446105/DCSupplemental/Supplemental_PDF#nameddest=SF1 (i.e., phylogeny is not important in explaining the latitudinal distribution of species). The ability of species to track seasonal temperatures was correlated with changes in abundance: species whose f lowering time does not track seasonal temperature have greatly declined in abundance over the past !100 years. Similarly, shifts in species f lowering time across all 3 long-term time intervals (1850 –1900, 1900 –2006, and 1850 –2006) were correlated with change in abundance: species that are not f lowering earlier have declined in abundance. Last, species range was correlated with change in abundance: more northerly species have decreased in abundance in relation to southerly species. Our results are robust: (i) when controlling for multiple variables that may additionally affect decline in abundance [i.e., initial abundance, habitat, native/ introduced status, and f lowering season (date of first f lowering); see Table 1], (ii) to branch length information [supporting information (SI) Table S1], and (iii) to phylogenetic uncertainty (Table S2). These results demonstrate that there is a phylogenetically selective pattern of change in abundance. Decreases in abun- dance have been disproportionately high in certain clades, including asters, bladderworts, buttercups, dogwoods, lilies, louseworts, mints, orchids, saxifrages, and violets (see Fig. 1). This result confirms previous f loristic studies across similar time spans demonstrating that the risk of plant extinction (i.e., occurring in low abundance; see ref. 24) is taxonomically (20, 25–27) and phylogenetically (28) shared among close relatives. However, to our knowledge our study is the first to report that the phylogenetic selectivity of extinction risk is correlated with traits directly inf luenced by climate change. Species whose f lowering times are not responsive to changes in temperature are decreasing in abundance. Most strikingly, species with the ability to track short-term seasonal temperature variation have fared significantly better under recent warming trends. In addition, species whose f lowering times have shifted to be earlier in the year over the long-term have also fared significantly better under recent warming trends. Based on our regression estimates (Table 1), change in abundance over the last !100 years is greatest when assessed against the ability of species to track short-term sea- sonal temperature versus long-term f lowering shifts. Thus, the association between f lowering-time tracking and change in abundance is a better estimator of species response to rising temperatures. Interestingly, these 2 f lowering-time response traits are significantly, but weakly correlated. This weak corre- lation raises the possibility of different mechanisms of pheno- logical response to climate change (e.g., plasticity, adaptation; see refs. 29 and 30). Alternatively, confounding factors such as changes in population size may affect estimates of long-term shifts in first f lowering dates, but would be less likely to inf luence estimates of tracking climate change over the short term (31). Asynchronous phenological responses resulting from rapid climate change can have negative fitness effects on organisms, leading to dramatic declines in population sizes or local extinc- tion (32). Selection on f lowering phenology may be direct, for example, owing to a lack of available insect pollinators (33, 34) or due to increased f lower-predation (35). Interestingly, pheno- logical responses of insects also appear to be correlated with seasonal temperature (7), suggesting that plant species that respond to temperature change may better maintain important synchronous interactions, such as those between plants and pollinators (36), or better avoid negative interactions, such as predation. Alternatively, selection on f lowering phenology may be indirect by acting on phenological traits that are correlated with f lowering time (e.g., leafing out times, germination; see refs. 37 and 38). For example, earlier snowmelt in the Rocky Moun- tains has been shown to induce early spring vegetative growth in certain species, exposing young buds and f lowers to frost damage and causing declines in the sizes of some populations (39). Last, the decline of more northerly distributed species suggests yet another impact of climate change: shifting species ranges. However, in our study species range was not phylogenetically conserved, meaning that it cannot explain the phylogenetic pattern of species loss. Thus, our results suggest that f lowering- time response, and not species range, better explain the phylo- genetic nature of extinction risk among f lowering plants expe- riencing rapid climate change in Concord. For this reason, species range models that attempt to predict species response to climate change may be improved if they include species phenol- ogy, particularly the ability of species to track seasonal changes in climate. Climate change appears to have had a dramatic role in shaping the contemporary composition of the Concord f lora. Given that climate models predict at least a 1.1– 6.4 °C increase in temper- ature during this century (22), changes in the Concord f lora will likely continue to be shaped in a phylogenetically biased manner. Although phylogenetic selectivity of extinction risk has been documented in animals (22) and plants (28), our study provides the strongest evidence to date that the phylogenetic pattern of extinction risk may be due to climate change. To the extent that local extinction of species underlies their global extinction (18, 40), these results represent a link between the impacts of climate change on local community composition and broader patterns of taxonomic selectivity observed in the fossil record during past mass extinction events (41, 42). Patterns of recent species loss under rapid global climate change can potentially illuminate the processes underlying past extinction events where the pattern of loss may be well characterized, but the process is less clear (e.g., the Permian–Triassic mass extinc- tion event). In the near term, this pattern of phylogenetic selectivity is likely to have an accelerated impact on the loss of species diversity: groups of closely related species are being selectively trimmed from the Tree of Life, rather than individual species being randomly pruned from its tips. Given that climate- inf luenced loss of phylodiversity has been so great in Concord, despite 60% of the area being well protected or undeveloped since the time of Thoreau, a more global approach to conser- vation prioritization is necessary to minimize future species loss. Developing global conservation strategies will necessitate in- cluding information not only on species life history, but on their evolutionary history as well (43). Materials and Methods Study Site. Concord, Massachusetts (42°27'38'' N; 71°20'54'' W), is a small township encompassing 67 km2. Although the town has undergone extensive development since the time of Thoreau, !60% of the total area has been undeveloped or remained well protected through the efforts of numerous national, state, local, and private parks, and land-trusts (20). Floral Surveys. Thoreau surveyed the Concord area for flowering times from 1851 to 1858; Hosmer surveyed the same area from 1888 to 1902; and Primack and Miller-Rushing performed the most recent survey between 2003 and 2007 (20). Thoreau and Hosmer did not generally census graminoids, wind- pollinated trees, and wind/water pollinated aquatics due to the difficulty of determining the start of flowering; Primack and Miller-Rushing also did not sample these groups. These exclusions are not likely to affect our results for the following reasons. First, the existing sampling includes the majority (!70%) of species in Concord sensu the most comprehensive flora by Eaton (44). Second, this sampling represents all major branches of the angiosperm phylogeny (Fig. S1; www.huh.harvard.edu/research/staff/davis/Fig. S1.pdf; references for composite phylogeny construction embedded therein). Third, the exclusion of predominately wind pollinated species is not likely to have an effect on the relationship between change in abundance and flowering-time response traits: climate change appears to be much more likely to affect more conspicuously flowered, insect pollinated, species included in our dataset by means of the disruption of plant-pollinator fidelity (36). Abundance Change. The abundances of species were recorded for the 1888 – 1902 (Hosmer) and 2003–2007 (Primack and Miller-Rushing) inventories. Willis et al. PNAS ! November 4, 2008 ! vol. 105 ! no. 44 ! 17031 EV O LU TI O N http://www.pnas.org/cgi/data/0806446105/DCSupplemental/Supplemental_PDF#nameddest=ST1 http://www.pnas.org/cgi/data/0806446105/DCSupplemental/Supplemental_PDF#nameddest=ST1 http://www.pnas.org/cgi/data/0806446105/DCSupplemental/Supplemental_PDF#nameddest=ST2 http://www.pnas.org/cgi/data/0806446105/DCSupplemental/Supplemental_PDF#nameddest=SF1 Records from 1888 to 1902 included the following 6 abundance categories: Very common, common, frequent, infrequent, uncommon, and rare. Abun- dance categories from 2003 to 2007 were approximated to match the 1888 – 1902 survey by using Hosmer’s journal records, and include: very common (found throughout the area), common (occurring in (3 localities), frequent (occurring in 3 localities), infrequent (occurring in 2 localities), rare (occur in 1 locality), and very rare (10 or less individuals in a single locality). These 6 abundance categories were treated as a continuous trait scored from high (6) to low (1) abundance, with an additional scoring of zero for any species absent from a given survey. We also analyzed these data with the categories very common and common combined (i.e., states 5 to 0). This more conservative scoring did not significantly affect our results (results not shown). Change in abundance was defined as the difference in abundance between the 1888 –1902 and 2003–2007 surveys; 44 taxa that were indicated as rare in 1900 and extinct in 2007 were excluded. Rare species are considerably more likely to go extinct by chance alone (24), and so might bias our results by inflating declines in abundance. Habitat. Species were assigned to 1 of 5 habitat categories: forest, grassland and field, roadside, wetland, and aquatic. When species occurred in 2 or more habitats, they were assigned to the habitat where Eaton and Primack and Miller-Rushing saw the species most frequently (20). Habitat was included as a covariate in the models to control for the effect of habitat loss on extinction (see Phylogenetic Conservatism and Trait Correlations below). Importantly, species were lost from all habitats at approximately the same rate (20), which indicates that no habitat was particularly biased toward higher rates of extinction. This result, especially when considering the protected nature of the Concord area, indicates that these patterns of local extirpation cannot be simply explained by human development or succession. Flowering-Time Response: Flowering-Time Tracking of Seasonal Temperature. The 15-year period between 1888 and 1902 provides the longest survey period to quantify the tracking of species flowering time with seasonal temperature. Flowering-time tracking was determined with regard to seasonal variation in winter temperature (average temperature over January, April, and May; see ref. 11). April and May represent monthly temperatures commonly associated with annual flowering in this region. The month of January was also included because it was found to correlate with the flowering time of many species. This correlation is presumably due to the severe cold of midwinter, which can damage plants and, thus, delay spring flowering (23). Flowering-time tracking was quantified as the correlation coefficient between annual first flowering day and winter temperature (11). Unlike flowering-time shift, our measure of flowering-time tracking from 1888 to 1902 is less likely to be affected by changes in abundance because population size was likely more stable during this shorter period (31). This trait provides an important measure of a species ability to respond to short-term temperature variation, allowing us to relate short-term temperature response with long-term changes in abundance from 1900 to 2006. Flowering-Time Response: Shift in Flowering Time. First day of flowering was recorded by Thoreau, Hosmer, and Miller-Rushing and Primack for 465, 461, and 478 species, respectively. Observations were recorded annually for nearly all species over the duration of each botanists’ survey (11). The timing of first flowering for each species was averaged over each botanists’ survey period. Shift in first flowering day was calculated as the difference in mean first flowering day from 1850 –1900, 1850 –2007, and 1900 –2007 (11). Name Standardization. We standardized species names in the Concord flora by using the U.S. Department of Agriculture PLANTS Database (45). The most current accepted species name recognized in the database was used as our ‘‘correct’’ species name. This standardized taxonomy was then used in all downstream applications including species range estimation and phylogentic tree construction (see below). In a small number of cases (18 species), sister species were identified as synonyms. These sister taxa were collapsed into a single taxon. Species Latitudinal Range Estimation. The latitudinal data of species were compiled from several online databases including: the U.S. Department of Agriculture PLANTS Database, the National Herbarium of Canada, the Cana- dian Biodiversity Information Facility, the Royal Botanic Gardens Kew, Fair- child Tropical Botanic Garden, and the Missouri Botanical Garden (TROPICOS). Latitudinal data in these databases were derived from the literature, field- based observations, and herbarium specimens. In total, 384,292 data points were obtained for 530 species with a median of 608 observations per species. Three species with )20 observations were not included in the analysis due to the paucity of data. The average latitude for each species was obtained across the contiguous United States and adjacent Canada. The mean latitude for each species was weighted by the number of observations across the range, which more accurately represents the latitudinal affinity of each species. Local declines in species abundance could be due to populations occurring at the edge of their ranges, and thus their environmental tolerances. Alter- natively, if climate change is shifting environments northward, we would expect species with a range edge more north of Concord to be declining in abundance. We tested for the effect of species range edge on decline in abundance, and found that species with range edges north of Concord, rather than near to Concord, were much more likely to have declined in abundance. This finding supports the notion that species decline is likely associated with shifting environments resulting from climate change rather than to a local range edge effect. Because species mean latitudinal range was found to be a much better predictor of decline in abundance when analyzed with species range edge, however, the latter was excluded from our analyses. Native/Introduced Status. We obtained native/introduced status for each spe- cies from the U.S. Department of Agriculture PLANTS Database (45). Species were scored as ‘‘native’’ if they occurred in the continental United States or Canada at the time of Columbus, and ‘‘introduced’’ if they arrived from other regions since that time. A small number of species (11 species) were coded ambiguously as ‘‘native and probably introduced’’ and were not included in our analyses. Phylogeny Construction. A composite phylogeny of all species was constructed with Phylomatic version 1 (46) and was further resolved above the generic level by using recently published molecular phylogenies. Studies using (1 gene were preferred, and bootstrap support (80% was required to resolve relationships. Branch lengths were scaled to be approximately equal to time with divergence time estimates aggregated in Phylocom version 3.41 by using the ‘BLADJ’ func- tion (47). Our composite phylogeny with branch lengths scaled for time (www.huh.harvard.edu/research/staff/davis/Fig. S2.pdf, references for composite phylogeny construction embedded in Fig. S1) is available on TreeBASE (www.treebase.org). Species were pruned from this tree as necessary depending on data availability for each analysis. To test the robustness of our results to uncertainties associated with divergence time estimation, we also ran our anal- yses on the same composite tree, but with branch lengths set to 1. Phylogenetic Conservatism and Trait Correlations. The phylogenetic conserva- tism of each trait was evaluated separately by calculating the average mag- nitude of standard deviation (SD) of descendant nodes over the phylogeny, by using methods modified from Blomberg and Garland (48) as implemented in Phylocom by using the analysis of traits function (47). Standard trait correlations can be biased by species relatedness (49, 50). To account for evolutionary history in trait correlations, we used the comparative method of generalized estimating equations (GEE; ref. 51), as implemented in APE version 2.1-3 (52). GEE incorporates a phylogenetic distance matrix into the framework of a general linear model. Importantly for this study, GEE also permits the simultaneous analysis of multiple categorical and continuous traits as covariates in the same model. The inclusion of covariates allowed us to control for the effects of other factors that are likely to have an impact on change in abundance, including initial abundance, habitat, native/introduced status, and flowering season. We used 3 models to test for the correlation between change in abundance and our traits of interest (i.e., flowering-time tracking, flowering-time shift, and species latitudinal range). Model 1 tested for the effect of each trait (e.g., flowering-time tracking) on change in abundance: change in abundance & flowering-time tracking. Model 2 tested for the effect of each trait while accounting for the effects of a set of additional covariates that could also influence decline in abundance [i.e., initial abundance (ca. 1900), habitat, native/introduced status, and flow- ering season (date of first flowering)]: change in abundance ! flowering-time tracking " initial abundance " habitat " native/introduced status " flowering season. 17032 ! www.pnas.org"cgi"doi"10.1073"pnas.0806446105 Willis et al. http://www.pnas.org/cgi/data/0806446105/DCSupplemental/Supplemental_PDF#nameddest=SF1 Model 3 tested for the effect of all traits of interest (i.e., in combination) while accounting for the effects of a set of additional covariates that could also influence decline in abundance [i.e., initial abundance (ca. 1900), habitat, native/introduced status, and flowering season): change in abundance ! flowering-time tracking " flowering-time shift " species latitudinal range " initial abundance " habitat " native/introduced status " flowering season. These analyses make the assumption that intraspecific variation is less than interspecific variation. Given the phylogenetic scale at which we are compar- ing species (i.e., across all angiosperms) this is a reasonable assumption and has been demonstrated empirically (53). Sensitivity Analyses. We tested the sensitivity of our results to branch length by setting all branch lengths to 1. Also, we tested the sensitivity of our results to phylogenetic uncertainty (54). All of our analyses were tested across a set of 50 trees where the polytomies were randomly resolved on each by using the program Mesquite (55). All results were robust to these sensitivity analyses (Table S1 and Table S2). ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. We thank W. Anderson, D. Barua, A. Berry, S. Blomberg, K. Bolmgren, M. Dietze, K. Donohue, S. Edwards, K. Feeley, the Harvard Ecology Discussion Group, J. Hall, J. Hatala, R. Hellmiss, J. Losos, M. Klooster, P. Morris, B. O’Meara, L. Nikolov, S. Peters, and C. 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(2007) APE: Analyses of Phylogenetics and Evolution. Version 2.0-2. Available at http://ape.mpl.ird.fr/. 53. Reich PB, et al. (1999) Generality of leaf trait relationships: A test across six biomes. Ecology 80:1955–1969. 54. Donoghue MJ, Ackerly DD (1996) Phylogenetic uncertainties and sensitivity analyses in comparative biology. Philos Trans R Soc London Ser B 351:1241–1249. 55. Maddison WP, Maddison DR (2006) Mesquite: A Modular System for Evolutionary Analysis. Version 1.11. Available at http://mesquiteproject.org. Willis et al. PNAS ! November 4, 2008 ! vol. 105 ! no. 44 ! 17033 EV O LU TI O N http://www.pnas.org/cgi/data/0806446105/DCSupplemental/Supplemental_PDF#nameddest=ST1 http://www.pnas.org/cgi/data/0806446105/DCSupplemental/Supplemental_PDF#nameddest=ST2 Supporting Information Willis et al. 10.1073/pnas.0806446105 Fig. S1. Composite phylogeny of 429 flowering plant species from the Concord (Massachusetts) flora depicting changes in abundance from 1900 to 2007. Branch color illustrates parsimony character state reconstruction of change in abundance as summarized in Fig. 1. For character state scoring see color legend. Lineages that exhibited an average decline in abundance of 50% or greater are indicated by a black dot. Willis et al. www.pnas.org/cgi/content/short/0806446105 1 of 3 http://www.pnas.org/cgi/content/short/0806446105 Table S1. Statistical tests of phylogenetic conservatism and trait correlations with change in abundance and with branch lengths on composite phylogeny set to 1 Trait Trait correlation Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 n Estimate n Estimate n Estimate Flowering-time tracking of seasonal temperature 175 !0.92 *** 166 !1.00 *** 140 !1.33 *** Shift in flowering-time 1850–1900 319 !0.01 * 311 !0.01 * 140 0.01 — Shift in flowering time 1900–2006 303 0.04 *** 296 0.02 *** 140 0.03 *** Shift in flowering time 1850–2006 271 0.03 *** 253 0.02 *** 140 — — Mean latitudinal range 414 !0.05 ** 362 !0.05 *** 140 !0.09 ** Change in abundance 1900–2006 — — — — — — — — — The significance of phylogenetic conservatism was tested by comparing the rank of the observed standard deviation (SD) of descendent trait means with a null model based on 9,999 random iterations of trait distributions across the composite phylogeny. The observed rank is compared with a 2-tail test of significance, i.e., an observed (obs.) rank of 250 equals a P value of 0.05. Trait correlations were tested by using a general estimator equation (GEE). Estimates describe the direction and magnitude of the correlation (e.g., a negative estimate "!0.1# of mean latitude with change in abundance suggests that species from more southerly latitudes are increasing in abundance). Model 1 (univariate model), correlation of change in abundance with each trait; Model 2 (multivariate model), correlation of change in abundance with each trait and habitat, abundance (ca. 1900), flowering season, and native/introduced status as covariates; Model 3 (multivariate model), correlation of change in abundance with all traits and habitat, abundance (ca. 1900), flowering season, and native/introduced status as covariates (shift in flowering-time response 1850 –2006 was excluded due to its high correlation with the other flowering-time shift traits). †, P $ 0.1; *, P $ 0.05; **, P $ 0.01; ***, P $ 0.001; n $ sample size. Willis et al. www.pnas.org/cgi/content/short/0806446105 2 of 3 http://www.pnas.org/cgi/content/short/0806446105 Table S2. Sensitivity analyses of phylogenetic uncertainty Trait Trait correlation Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 n Estimate n Estimate n Estimate Flowering-time tracking of seasonal temperature 175 !0.03 — 166 !1.24 *** 137 !1.58 *** Shift in flowering time 1850–1900 319 0.02 *** 311 0.01 * 137 0.01 — Shift in flowering time 1900–2006 303 0.03 *** 296 0.01 *** 137 0.01 *** Shift in flowering time 1850–2006 271 0.03 *** 253 0.01 *** 137 — — Mean latitudinal range 414 !0.01 * 362 !0.03 * 137 !0.03 — Change in abundance 1900–2006 — — — — — — — — — Phylogenetic conservatism and trait correlations tested over 50 trees with randomly resolved polytomies. Median statistic of these analyses are reported in the table. The significance of phylogenetic conservatism was tested by comparing the rank of the observed SD of descendent trait means with a null model based on 9,999 random iterations of trait distributions across the composite phylogeny. The observed rank is compared with a 2-tail test of significance, i.e., an observed rank of 250 equals a P value of 0.05. Trait correlations were tested by using a GEE. Estimates describe the direction and magnitude of the correlation (e.g., a negative estimate "!0.1# of mean latitude with change in abundance suggests that species from more southerly latitudes are increasing in abundance). Model 1 (univariate model), correlation of change in abundance with each trait; Model 2 (multivariate model), correlation of change in abundance with each trait and habitat, abundance (ca. 1900), flowering season, and native/introduced status as covariates; Model 3 (multivariate model), correlation of change in abundance with all traits and habitat, abundance (ca. 1900), flowering season, and native/introduced status as covariates (shift in flowering-time response 1850 –2006 was excluded due to its high correlation with the other flowering-time shift traits). †, P $ 0.1; *, P $ 0.05; **, P $ 0.01; ***, P $ 0.001; n $ sample size. Willis et al. www.pnas.org/cgi/content/short/0806446105 3 of 3 http://www.pnas.org/cgi/content/short/0806446105 
work_4o72uig7jfabbij3eobdcwqsdm	----	BA330311.pdf www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 567 Books if the focus on the shack and the lab reveals true similarities, or if it is a device that pulls together the mythol- ogy surrounding each man, perhaps obscuring or ignoring the divergent lives they led. After all, Leopold’s shack and Ricketts’s lab were different in purpose, origin, and use. Whereas the lab served to process marine specimens for sale to students and researchers, the shack was a family retreat, where solitude and physical work restored the forests that had been lost to the saw and plow. Ricketts’s lab was a gathering spot for authors and artists (frequent guests included John Stein- beck and Joseph Campbell), whereas Leopold’s shack was a quiet refuge for family and, at times, a few close friends and students. And whereas the lab was a rented building squeezed between a sardine cannery and busy railroad tracks, the shack was in the boondocks, surrounded in Leopold’s day by exhausted farmlands that were an unlikely destination for naturalists or tourists. Similarly, the two men’s person- alities seem equally disparate: Rick- etts, loud and boisterous, provided a meeting place for the unconventional intellectuals who sought freedom in the freewheeling California of the early twentieth century. If Ricketts provided refuge and inspiration for their great works, it was through the unvarnished life he shared with them, which included field excur- sions to Mexico and Alaska, as well as many days in California tide pools and festive evenings in the lab. Leo- pold, the quiet professor, spent most of his time at the shack with his children and students—planting trees, making detailed natural his- tory observations, cleaning, fixing, and restoring, while cementing the personal bonds that come with hard work. Seen in this light, Ricketts and Leopold are a dynamic duo, yin-and-yang voices that together transformed natural history into environmental science and made the leap from insular and specialized disciplines to a new field with sweep- ing societal relevance. most closely identified with their lives and insights: Leopold’s shack in the Wisconsin Sandhills and Rick- etts’s waterfront lab on Monterey Bay. By weaving their stories together around these unassuming buildings, Lannoo manages to create a connec- tion in the mind of the reader, a con- nection that did not exist between these men, who never met. By forg- ing this link, the author integrates the terrestrial and the marine, the introversion of the researcher with the wanderlust of the naturalist, the discipline of science and the passion of activism. By tying these men to the modest structures where their most sweeping ideas came to life, Lannoo makes a connection that is both unexpected and insightful. And although their private lives could hardly have been more different, their impact on society is conver- gent and complementary. From the reader’s perspective, the author’s appreciation of both the men and their contributions is inspiring. Leopold’s Shack and Ricketts’s Lab is a short and entertaining read, a book that fans of both Leopold and Ricketts will appreciate. Each reader is likely to recognize one character and be introduced to the other. The reverence I hold for the shack and the ideas that flowed from it gave me entry to Rick- etts’s life, through his lab, and I expect the reverse will be true for other read- ers. Yet one cannot help but wonder its historic and contemporary impor- tance to human society, and how and why plant organisms will continue to evolve novel compounds in a process that is both dynamic and ongoing. MICHAEL J. BALICK Michael J. Balick (mbalick@nybg.org) is vice president for botanical science, director, and philecology curator of the Institute of Economic Botany at The New York Botanical Garden, Bronx, New York. TWO “DESTINED HUMAN DELIVERERS” OF ENVIRONMENTAL SCIENCE Leopold’s Shack and Ricketts’s Lab: The Emergence of Environmental- ism. Michael J. Lannoo. University of California Press, 2010. 216 pp., illus. $24.95 (ISBN 9780520264786 cloth). Aldo Leopold, forester and wild-life biologist, and Ed Ricketts, marine biologist, were two early twentieth-century naturalists whose works have reverberated across the decades and influenced a genera- tion of environmental scientists and activists. Through intense observa- tion and uncommonly clear writ- ing, both men were able to develop and articulate an understanding of nature that linked the appetites of a rapidly industrializing nation to the vulnerability of its environment, long before the Earth Day awakening and the polarizing politics that consume current science and policy debates. If every discipline has its heroes, Leopold and Ricketts are two of the rock stars of environmental studies. With Leopold’s Shack and Ricketts’s Lab: The Emergence of Environmen- talism, Michael Lannoo has crafted a book designed to pull these two larger-than-life figures into focus, and he does so by linking their very different personalities to the places doi:10.1525/bio.2011.61.7.12 Ricketts and Leopold are a dynamic duo, yin-and-yang voices that together trans- formed natural history into environmental science and made the leap from insular and specialized disciplines to a new field with sweeping soci- etal relevance. Books 568 July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org The central idea that emerges from this interesting volume is the sense that these men led complimentary lives. Together, they express what was then an emerging, uniquely Ameri- can form of environmental aware- ness that still defines a distinctive philosophical direction. A century earlier, a different pairing of intel- lects and personalities collided to define a prior movement in literature and philosophy. Ralph Waldo Emer- son, the renowned poet, and Henry David Thoreau, the anarchic natu- ralist, followed shared insights but contrasting lifestyles that, together, embodied the Transcendentalist movement. This creation articulated an intellectual foundation on which science and nature would be united to confront the future that Thoreau predicted and that Ricketts and Leo- pold encountered in their twentieth- century lives. Without putting too fine a point on it, Lannoo invites us to see the subjects of his book as two lives intertwined in an effort to articulate a modern environmental ethic grounded in empiricism and committed to action—action to save nature from the unwitting march of a society utterly unaware of its destructiveness and its dependency on the natural world. The subtitle of this book—The Emergence of Environmentalism—is somewhat misleading. The emergence of environmentalism is not addressed directly, nor are these men’s roles in fostering it explored in any depth. Instead, we get a sense of the resonance of environmental science as a rigor- ous intellectual pursuit, grounded in method, informed by observation, and leavened with an awareness of its rel- evance to society. Lannoo writes that “the discipline of ecology, as understood by both men, could not be neatly categorized into more traditional academic fields.” Through the interdisciplinary nature of their inquiry, something new and critically important was discovered and carefully communicated to the rest of us. Emerson wrote about how knowledge and nature are “still hid and expectant... as if each waited... for a destined human deliverer.” Lannoo’s homage to Leopold and Ricketts is a convincing claim that the two men, drawing on creativity and social con- science, were so diligent in their com- mitment to natural history that they uncovered a set of vital truths for those who came after. THOMAS D. SISK Thomas D. Sisk (thomas.sisk@nau. edu) is a professor of ecology in Northern Arizona University’s School of Earth Sci- ences and Environmental Sustainability, in Flagstaff. MAKING SENSE OF REMOTELY SENSING VEGETATION Remote Sensing of Vegetation: Prin- ciples, Techniques, and Applica- tions. Hamlyn G. Jones and Robin A. Vaughan. Oxford University Press, 2010. 400 pp., illus. $55.00 (ISBN 9780199207794 paper). An ever-expanding constellation of Earth-observing sensors provides us with a virtual tsunami of data, much of it now freely available. But chan- neling this digital torrent into useful information about the vegetated land surfaces requires a skillful blending of radiation physics, image processing, their work has enjoyed with those who discovered their writings long after the authors were gone. That subsequent generation, those born into the era of environmental crises, read Leopold’s Sand County Almanac and Ricketts’s Between Pacific Tides with wonder, impressed that the authors had such clear thoughts about such important ideas, and that they were able to write about them so artfully that these titles continue to speak today with compel- ling voices. Yet there are others who more fully capture the activist roots of the environmental movement; per- haps most prominent among them is Rachel Carson, who galvanized the nation around the decline of nature with the publication of Silent Spring in 1962. In that context, Leopold, Ricketts, and the Transcendentalists before them were rediscovered and embraced by a new generation, one that gave rise to the great environ- mental leaders of the late twentieth century. The emergence of the envi- ronmental movement has changed the world, but with almost seven billion humans now (three times the popula- tion of the world when Leopold and Ricketts were writing), the planet is changing even faster and, thus far, not in a manner that would give either man much cheer. Can their words inspire the next generation as it has the past two, and will the emergence of environmental- ism contribute to the adoption of the ethical stance on conservation that emerges from their fusion of natu- ral history and philosophy? Lannoo points in this direction, saying in the book, “Leopold shows us what to do, Ricketts shows us how to do it.” But he takes a different path to the book’s conclusion, stepping out of the flow of environmentalism and into the field that his two subjects shared without question: natural history. By recount- ing their decades of detailed observa- tions and the depth of their insights, as well as their love of being in the field and experiencing nature directly, Lan- noo highlights not so much the emer- gence of environmentalism as a social movement, but rather the emergence doi:10.1525/bio.2011.61.7.13 
work_4qabwxy7effildblswnw7mkrvi	----	Dollco S implify, simplify, simplify! So instructed the philosopher Henry David Thoreau, who believed a life lived simply was a life better lived, in his 157-year-old classic book Walden. These words also seem apropos in the increasingly complex world of health care, where making care simpler for patients has been shown to reap benefits. “One way to get around the com- plexity issue is to make a drug regimen less complicated,” says Dr. Mark Fendrick, professor of health manage- ment and policy at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. “How do you do that? You take two pills you take every day and make them into one.” As the burden of chronic diseases, which often require multiple medica- tions, increases around the world, the appeal of fixed-dose combination drugs may also increase. These products, which combine two or more drugs into a single tablet, have been shown time and again to increase adherence to drug regimens. In one study, to which Fendrick con- tributed, 9170 people with diabetes were treated either with two medica- tions or with a fixed-dose combination product (J Gen Intern Med 2008; 23:611-4). Adherence to the drug regi- men was 12.8% higher in the group that took a single-component pill. A meta-analysis of research in this area found an even greater positive effect (Am J Med 2007;120:713-9). Noncompliance to medication decreased by 26% when people took fixed-dose combinations for conditions such as hypertension, HIV and tuberculosis, states the paper, which concludes with a recommendation for increased use of combination drugs for chronic illnesses. “The pill burden becomes an issue for a patient,” says Dr. Franz Messerli, one of the paper’s authors and the director of the hypertension program at the St. Luke’s–Roosevelt Hospital Cen- ter in New York City, New York. Fixed-dose combination products also hold great appeal for the pharma- ceutical industry, suggests Messerli. It can sometimes cost in the neighbour- hood of US$1 billion to bring a new drug to market, he notes, but it may cost only a quarter of that to release a combination of existing drugs. “It’s hard to come up with new drugs,” says Messerli. “It’s easier to com- bine drugs and make money that way.” Of course, drug manufacturers that produce combination products must still go through the regular approval process, even if the individual compo- nents have already been approved for sale. In Canada, manufacturers must submit the same level of evidence of efficacy, safety and quality as for single -component drugs. “All drug submissions must undergo rigorous scrutiny and satisfy scientific requirements under the Food and Drugs Regulations, including those for fixed- dose drugs, before the drug can be mar- keted,” Olivia Caron, media relations officer for Health Canada, writes in an email. “The choice of a primary effi- cacy endpoint in a randomized clinical trial for fixed-dose drugs is based on the same standards established for sin- gle component products.” In the United States, manufacturers must present efficacy and safety data to the Food and Drug Administration (FDA). If sufficient data exists for each individual component, however, drug makers may or may not have to con- duct additional studies, depending on several factors. For example, new research may be required if there is potential for the active agents to interact in a way that could prove harmful, or if there is the possibility that one component could chemically modify another component and compromise its effectiveness. But if there are no apparent safety issues, the manufacturer may not have to con- duct any additional research. “If existing clinical and nonclinical safety data for each separate drug or biologic are sufficient to support the safety or the proposed new indication, including the dose, dosing schedule, duration, and new patient population, then addition nonclinical studies may NewsCMAJ Reducing the “pill burden” © 2012 Canadian Medical Association or its licensors CMAJ, February 7, 2012, 184(2) E117 Some patients find their pill regimen confusing. © 2 0 1 1 T h in k st o ck News not be needed,” the FDA states in a guidance document (www.fda.gov /downloads/Drugs/GuidanceCompliance RegulatoryInformation/Guidances/ucm 079243.pdf). In some situations, FDA may even accelerate the approval process if suffi- cient data exists for the component drugs. This appears to be the case, for instance, for fixed-dose combinations or copackaged drug products made from previously approved antiretrovi- rals to treat HIV. “FDA believes that when adequate evidence of safety and efficacy exists for the use of combination therapy with individually approved HIV drugs, the path to regulatory approval of an FDC [fixed-dose combination] or co- packaged configuration of those drugs is straightforward,” the agency states in another guidance document (www .fda .gov/downloads/Drugs/Guidance ComplianceRegulatoryInformation /Guidances/UCM079742.pdf). “FDA is prepared to move swiftly to evaluate such products when applications are submitted for approval.” This is good news for people with certain conditions, such as glaucoma, who have been shown to not only better comply with fixed-dose combination drug regimens but also to save money while reducing their pill burden, according to the American Academy of Ophthalmology (www.oculist.net /Soft /ShowSoftDown.asp?UrlID=1&SoftID =377#page=162). Those benefits, though, may come at a cost. “In an era of many drug choices and the ability to individualize patient care as never before, the fixed combinations limit clinicians’ ability to customize dosing regimens,” the document states. “Unless prescribed with caution, fixed- combination drugs may result in overtreatment for patients who may be controlled with a single agent or fewer doses of combined medications if dosed concomitantly.” Still, the primary benefit of combina- tion drugs — a substantial increase adherence to treatment — may out- weigh the potential problems as aging populations require more medications to control chronic illnesses, says Fendrick. “As we realize that many chronic dis- eases will require more than one agent to appropriately manage conditions such as hypertension and diabetes and asthma and emphysema, it wouldn’t surprise me at all to see additional and perhaps more sophisticated combination therapies to help patients comply with increasingly complex drug regimens.” — Roger Collier, CMAJ CMAJ 2011. DOI:10.1503/cmaj.109-4076 E118 CMAJ, February 7, 2012, 184(2) 
work_4qlo6fp2rba7vc3lbd44vvkmey	----	Microsoft Word - 036RB.doc Meditative Cognitive Therapies: A Literature Review Rebecca Bhik-Ghanie Bard College at Simon’s Rock, Great Barrington, Massachusetts, rbhikghanie@simons-rock.edu ABSTRACT: Yoga has existed for centuries in the East, beginning in India, as a religious practice of meditation and mindfulness. In the West, however, yoga is more often a popular exercise-based practice with little to no emphasis on its religious or spiritual foundations. Curiously, the mindfulness aspect of yoga has become increasingly popular within the United States, particularly as a method for therapeutic treatments, such as Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapies (MBCT), Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT). These therapies have been useful for patients in the early stages of psychiatric disorders (e.g. Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, Type 1 Bipolar Disorder), as some patients can supplement their medication in exchange for these forms of therapy. This paper investigates the origins of yoga from a Hindu perspective, explaining how recent trends in the U.S. have extracted elements of the traditional practice while adding other elements with a Western influence. This paper also investigates current symptoms and treatments for psychiatric disorders and explores how mindfulness can play an important role in future forms of therapy. KEYWORDS: yoga, mindfulness, brain, cognition, therapy, anxiety, depression, bipolar, religion, exercise Section 1. Traditional Branches of Yoga According to Klostermaier (2007), yoga was developed as a pathway between the physical and spiritual worlds. Those who practiced yoga did so with the intent of achieving a higher state of mind and a closer relationship to the Gods. There are four main branches of yoga, which are divided into the purposes of their use. Raja (translating from Sanskrit to English: king) yoga, is defined as the royal path to meditation (Klostermaier, 2007). The purpose of Raja yoga is to quiet the mind and to concentrate in order to attain a higher state of being. Traditional ways of practicing Raja yoga are to focus on a mantra (Sanskrit: मन््तर), physical object, or a concept. Those who practice Raja yoga hope to possess a mental connection between their physical world and the spiritual. Within this connection, they hope to cleanse their physical bodies of sin, sickness, and suffering, while bringing in peace, happiness, blessings, and health into their bodies. Klostermaier further describes the second branch of yoga, Jnana, which is the yoga of knowledge. Jnana yoga is more of a lifestyle in the sense that this form of yoga is the search for truth and the ability to discern reality from illusion. This knowledge is not to be confused with the intellectual type. It is important to note that the religious practice of Jnana yoga is not only a physical practice but a way of life, in the hopes of becoming a more wholesome, spiritual being (Klostermaier, 2007). Belief systems within Jnana yoga consist of the idea that everything is interconnected and shares one soul, including the Gods. Jnana yoga practices within meditation consist of possessing an awareness of what is perceived as permanent and temporary. Bhakti yoga, the third branch, is about devotion (Bhakti directly translates into devotion). This practice consists of devotees releasing their emotions and undivided attention into a divine being. Figure 1.1 show the nine degrees of bhakti and depicts how devotees of the Hindu religion should act toward Gods as part of a daily practice (Klostermaier 2007). Providing companionship, listening, singing, self-surrender, and servitude are some examples of this daily practice, and these offerings are intended to reciprocate blessings back to worshippers. R A I S RESEARCH ASSOCIATION for INTERDISCIPLINARY STUDIESJ U N E 2 0 1 9 DOI: 10.5281/zenodo.3267706 RAIS Conference Proceedings, June 10-11, 2019 295 Source: Klostermaier 2007) The nine degrees of bhakti are very meditative in themselves, as daily offerings are to be made to divine beings. These offerings must be washed daily, fed, praised, thought of, sung to, all during one's daily practice. Bhakti is the idea of giving oneself to the divine being and sacrificing in order to attain fulfillment (Klostermaier 2007). Bhakti must also be done with joy, as it must come from the heart and the devotee must enjoy their practice in order for the praise to be deemed as genuine. Bhakti practiced under a negative mindset is deemed as less meaningful than engaging in bhakti out of joy. Though the practice of bhakti yoga is generally seen as surrendering to a divine being, bhakti also teaches others to surrender to other people around them and to respect and praise them. This is due to the belief that all living things are interconnected, and deserve praise, respect, and never-ending love from each other. Those who practice bhakti may also experience Narada, which is the pain one feels when they are separated from someone they love (Klostermaier 2007). The love a devotee experiences with a divine being is supposed to be one towards a mother or father, and they are supposed to care for this divine being as they would for someone for whom they have intense amounts of affection. Bhakti is deeply respected and celebrated in Hindu religion, as the initial devotion is supposed to progress into a constant state of joy to the devotee! The fourth branch of yoga is Karma yoga, which pertains to the practice of giving to other people and divine beings, with no expectation of receiving in return. This also connects to the belief, which is common across many yoga practices, that all beings are interconnected and share energies. According to karma yoga, when one offers their love and support to another being, they are also doing so to themselves (Klostermaier 2007). This is one of the many reasons why Hinduism in its ideology can be defined as an ethno science. Hindu cultures teach their devotees how to live within the world, and how to think about specific entities (i.e. plants, food, animals, love, fulfillment). These views within the religion greatly shape the traditional practice of yoga and aid in creating a society that is based upon very similar values. This is important when thinking about how Eastern traditions view yoga as a native science, a way of life, and a path to good health. RAIS Conference Proceedings, June 10-11, 2019 296 The Introduction of Practices of Yoga to the West There are clear differences between yoga in its traditional practice and the way yoga is practiced in much of the Western world. With that said, it is important to note that this paper refers to the “Western world” by focusing on the U.S. The practice of yoga in the U.S., perhaps in particular, is deemed as something that is less of a lifestyle, and more of a workout. Elizabeth De Michelis, the author of A History of Modern Yoga (2004), refers to this mode of practice as "modern yoga". When asking the question of when “modern yoga” began in the West, De Michelis suggests that 1849 is an important year. This is when the influential writer Henry David Thoreau mentions yoga in a letter to a friend, saying, "I would fain practice the yoga faithfully. To some extent, and at rare intervals, even I am a yogi". This shows an acceptance (in whatever form that may be) of yoga, without the widespread modification of traditional practices. De Michelis describes how important religious figures, such as Swami Vivekananda, a spokesperson for Vedanta and author of texts such as Raja Yoga (1896), Karma Yoga (1921), Jnana Yoga (1899), and many other pivotal texts to the understanding of yoga, played a major role in the introduction of yoga into Western societies. In 1893, Swami Vivekananda introduced the practice to the Chicago Parliament of Religions, as well as some other institutions of Hindu thought that he created. With the intent of spreading the idea of yoga to places near and far, the response he received from people was all he needed in order to create a cloud of popularity around his ideas. At the same time, Swami Vivekananda knew that the traditions of yoga would have to be reshaped in order to be approachable to a general Western audience, and with his creation of Raja Yoga, he did just that. While continuing research on the origins of yoga, and reflecting upon traditional, religious texts, Swami Vivekananda found a way to translate the knowledge he had to his Western audiences, thus catering to the mindset of a Western audience. Vivekananda sought those in both the East and West for their opinions and guidance and went to his successors in hopes of writing a book that would make everyone involved satisfied. A. The Instruction of Yoga in the West With the intermingling of traditional and modern views, and an acceptance of which aspects of yoga felt most comfortable to Westerners, De Michelis reviews how a fusion of different forms of yoga entered the U.S. As a result, she observes, this has created different teachings of yoga, different followings of yoga, and different lineations of yoga. It appears that the most popular type of yoga that has emerged into Western society is asana, as popular yoga classes consist of different postures/ways to balance the body. Though this idea can be argued, the second most popular limb that has emerged into the West is pranayama, as the structure of a standard yoga class will end in a brief meditation. It is hard to decipher why it is that these two limbs of yoga have become most popular, but my theory for the asana limb is that yoga was transformed into a form of exercise, which is more accepted when envisioning a Westernized practice (based on societal norms). Pranayama is the backbone of yoga in Eastern societies, so it is not surprising that this limb would cross over into the West. It is also rather interesting to analyze how yoga has changed so greatly. One Western form of yoga, Modem Postural Yoga is particularly popular (DeMichelis 2004). Modem Postural Yoga focuses on asanas, the poses that can strengthen different parts of the body, or can improve flexibility (touching upon gymnastics). An asana is a comfortable, seated position. There are many poses, however, that are called asanas, such as savasana, or adho mukha svanasana. These do not fit under the definition of asana, but in modern yoga are considered to be such. In addition to the transformation of the definition of asana, the names of modern yogic asanas are "translated" into English, so that it is easier for practitioners to identify the poses. Savasana popularly translates to "corpse pose", and adho mukha svanasana translates to the well-known, "downward facing dog." Some instructors make the choice to introduce their students to the traditional Sanskrit terms, while others decide to teach solely based upon the English terminologies. Some instructors also teach a mixture of the languages, which connects back to the scenarios described previously. Modern yoga has successfully taken off in Western societies, particularly as it has been adopted as a form of exercise and became a major cultural trend. Yoga Journal is a good example of RAIS Conference Proceedings, June 10-11, 2019 297 this phenomenon, as the traditional practice of yoga has been completely transformed into something else to meet the Western gaze. Section 2. Common Psychological Disorders and Biological Treatments Mindfulness therapy is a relatively new approach towards patients suffering from generalized anxiety (Mclndoo, File, Preddy, Clark, & Hopko 2016), major depressive disorder, and type I bipolar disorder (Deckersbach, Hölzel, Eisner, Lazar, & Nierenberg 2014). For this reason, I have decided to discuss these three neurological disorders. Though the neurological bases of these contemporary psychological disorders are somewhat understood, treatments that are available contain many side effects and do not quite address the symptoms patients experience in their daily lives. B. Generalized Anxiety Disorder According to the DSM 5 (American Psychiatric Association, 2013), those with generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) display excessive anxiety and worry, difficulty concentrating, irritability, muscle tension, and disturbances in sleep patterns. This disorder affects about 0.9% of adolescents and 2.9% of adults in the United States. Females are twice as likely to be affected by the disorder than males, and some with this disorder can experience somatic symptoms, such as sweating, nausea, and diarrhea. Not only does anxiety make for challenging social situations, but it can lead to increased self-doubt. Between a lack of sleep, constant feelings of doubt/fear, and tension throughout the body, as the DSM describes, those diagnosed with GAD live a life of constant discomfort (American Psychiatric Association, 2013). There are many other disorders that fall under the category of anxiety in the DSM, such as social anxiety disorder, agoraphobia, separation anxiety disorder, etc. The current forms of medical treatment for GAD include selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRls) such as sertraline, escitalopram, citalopram, and fluoxetine (Walker 2013). Potential side effects for these SSRls include anxiety, restlessness, thoughts of self-harm, muscle twitching, seizures, hallucinations, and many other intense after effects. Another form of treatment for generalized anxiety disorder is anxiolytic drugs, which increase the production of GABA (Gamma-aminobutyric acid), thus reducing increased excitatory brain activity (Pastore et al. 2018). An example of a popular anxiolytic drug is Xanax (alprazolam), which is intended to produce the effect of relaxation via the slowing down of neurotransmitter flow. Though some of these medications can be helpful to those suffering from anxiety, the efficacy of these drugs is questionable, given the number of side effects they can also result in for patients. An example of this lies within what is referred to as substance/medication-induced anxiety disorder, which is a disorder that can be developed through the usage of sedatives, and hypnotic or anxiolytic drugs (Markota & Morgan 2017). The fact that drugs meant to treat anxiety can develop anxiety disorders reveals our need for further research in medicinal approaches to neurological disorders. C. Major Depressive Disorder Affecting approximately 7% of individuals in the United States, major depressive disorder (MDD) interferes with the daily processes of life for all, making it challenging to carry out tasks as simple as getting out of bed (American Psychiatric Association, 2013). Individuals between the ages of 18-29 years old make up three times more of this diagnosed population than those 60 years or older. According to the DSM, the diagnostic criteria are as follows: depressed mood for most of the day, feelings of emptiness or sadness, lack of pleasure in almost all to all activities, a change in body weight greater than 5%, insomnia/hypersomnia, fatigue, loss of energy, and other symptoms that are representative of a major depressive episode. Individuals with MDD experience daily feelings of worthlessness or excessive guilt, and also psychomotor agitation (e.g. inability to sit still, pulling of the skin, pacing). Suicidal thoughts are also very common but can vary significantly in the type of thoughts, i.e. not wishing to wake up this morning to feeling happier if dead. The current treatments in terms of medicine that are available for those with MDD tend to overlap with anxiety medications; SSRIs being an example of this. As previously mentioned, sertraline is an SSRI that is used for the treatment of obsessive-compulsive disorder, post-traumatic RAIS Conference Proceedings, June 10-11, 2019 298 stress disorder, panic disorder, social anxiety disorder, as well as major depressive disorder (Walker, 2013). A popular brand of sertraline is Zoloft, which increases the production of serotonin in the body as an attempt to alleviate feelings of depression. Side effects of this drug are anxiety, restlessness, muscle spasms, eye pain, thoughts of hurting oneself and others, etc. Side effects that are deemed as "less serious" are sexual problems, weight loss, mild diarrhea, and vomiting. Another form of treatment for MDD that is also used for generalized anxiety disorder is escitalopram (Zhong, Haddjeri, & Sánchez 2012). A popular brand within this type of SSRI is Lexapro, with side effects such as fever, muscle spasms, fast/uneven heartbeat, seizures, thoughts of hurting oneself and others, confusion, anxiety, and many others. For a person diagnosed with MDD, they are experiencing burdening symptoms every day of their life. Moreover with current treatments that are available, even more negative symptoms may be added to the patient’s concerns, while only moderately alleviating feelings of restlessness and inadequacy. D. Bipolar Disorder (Type I) From a 12-month prevalence estimate in the continental United States, 0.6% of individuals have bipolar I disorder (BD-I) (American Psychiatric Association 2013). With respect to symptoms and side effects, the diagnostic criteria for type I is divided into three sections: manic episode, hypomanic episode, and major depressive episode. Potential symptoms for manic episodes include inflated self-esteem or grandiosity, distractibility, decreased need for sleep, and being more talkative than usual or having the pressure to keep talking. For hypomanic episodes, one diagnostic criterion is "a distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood and abnormally and persistently increased activity or energy, lasting at least 4 consecutive days and present most of the day, nearly every day" (American Psychiatric Association 2013). The difference between manic and hypomanic symptoms is that for manic, the disturbances in mood are severe enough to cause marked impairments in social functioning, while for hypomanic this is not the case (American Psychiatric Association 2013). Within major depressive disorder, the same criteria apply as explained in the previous subsection. Current medicinal treatments available for BD-I are SSRIs, antipsychotics, and anticonvulsants. It is particularly interesting that a medication intended for those who experience epileptic episodes (anticonvulsants) would also be administered to those with bipolar disorder, as the symptoms are not the same. This is reflective of the lack of targeted care the pharmaceutical industry possesses for understanding the functions of neurotransmitters, and neurological disorders for that matter. An example of an anticonvulsant is carbamazepine. Carbamazepine is used to treat seizures, nerve pain, and bipolar disorder and is a sodium ion blocker that prevents the sustained, unnatural firing of action potentials, which is one of the understood sources of epileptic episodes (Ambrosio et al., 2002). Side effects of this drug include blurred vision, chest pains, memory problems, muscle spasms, fever, fainting, etc. Given the complexity of bipolar I disorder, as there are often other neurological disorders connected to it (major depressive disorder, mania, and hypomania), finding medications for treating these symptoms is even harder than treatment for a single disorder. Drugs are administered to patients for treatment, but the mechanism of action for all is still misunderstood. Section 3. Mindfulness-Based Treatments E. Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy: MBCT Combining components of traditional yogic practices (as described above), Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy (MBCT) consists of 8 consecutive weekly sessions (Segal, Williams, & Teasdale 2002) with different themes. MBCT can be described as a multi-faceted approach to strengthening a duality in thought processes within the “doing mode” which can be described as understanding how one may tend to react/feel in a situation versus how they should, in a healthy manner feel/react to that same situation at play (Sipe & Eisendrath 2012). The first session consists of the “Raisin Exercise” (Segal, Williams, & Teasdale 2002) which asks the patient to hold a raisin in their hands, focus on the feeling of it in great detail, and to also take a bite out of the raisin and slowly chew it. This allows the patient to strengthen their awareness within the mode of processing that may not usually focus on the intricate details, a mode of thinking RAIS Conference Proceedings, June 10-11, 2019 299 described as “autopilot mode”. An example of “autopilot mode” would be driving to a frequently visited location, as one’s mind may wander during that drive without focusing on the process of driving the vehicle. Exercises such as the raisin exercise present are a form of neural training, which allows patients to differentiate how they want to react in a situation versus how they should react. The following 7 sessions focus on similar exercises and prepare the patient to engage in more traditional modes of mindfulness, such as focusing on breath (embodying pranayama yoga) and interacting with longer versions of seated meditation. MBCT can especially help those with MDD and GAD as patients can tend to experience negative feedback loops in their thought processes (ex: “I’m not worthy enough”, “Everyone hates me”, “I will be running through this experience in my mind for a while”) and the exercises can help patients to break out of these loops while introducing different ways of processing information. F. Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) is separated into six processes: acceptance, defusion, and contact with the present moment, self as context, values and committed action (Fletcher & Hayes, 2005). One pinnacle of ACT is the fact that patients are urged to embrace events as they arise without the inclination of altering them (acceptance). De-fusion is an attempt to “change the functions of private experiences, even when they have the same form, frequency or situational sensitivity” (Fletcher & Hayes, 2005). Defusion tactics include repeating a word many times in order to change the relationship of the word to the patient. Interestingly enough, this exercise relates to Buddhist chanting or the chanting of mantras within Hinduism. The next process, contact with the present moment allows the patient to interact with their internal and external worlds. This will help the patient to reflect on their experience as it is, almost as an outside observer looking at themselves, which prepares the patient for the next process entitled self as context (Fletcher & Hayes 2005). Self as context relates to Buddhist ideology as it allows the patient to think of themselves as a transcending concept. This process is utilized in an effort to separate the self from their thoughts and feelings (ex: I hate myself) by imagining themselves as an entity. The second to last process, values, allows the patient to evaluate what is important to them/what they prioritize in life in order to shift their energy towards those focal points, and committed action discusses goal-oriented strategies for the short and long-term in order to maintain a perspective of working on oneself. ACT can be used for workplace trainings/mediations, patients with MDD, GAD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, chronic pain and addiction. G. Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), initially geared towards patients with borderline personality disorder (BPD) is an evidence-based treatment that is comprised of five functions of treatment (Chapman 2006). These five functions of treatment also include weekly therapy sessions (1-on-1), weekly group meetings (4-10 patients), and therapist consultation team meetings. The first two functions are entitled: enhancing capabilities and generalizing capabilities. These functions serve to strengthen emotional regulation, including tolerating distress and surviving crises which can then be applied to situations that relate to real- life events. The third function entitled improving motivation and reducing dysfunctional behaviors aims to correct/change behaviors within patients that can negatively affect one’s quality of life, taking place during individual therapy sessions (Chapman 2006). The fourth function entitled enhancing and maintaining therapist capabilities and motivation focuses on the therapist’s well-being by creating therapist consultation team meetings. These meetings include DBT-practicing therapists that get together to discuss strategies for reducing the likelihood of “therapist burnout” (Chapman 2006) by providing support and words of encouragement. This function differs from the other available mindfulness-based forms of treatment as there is a component that solely focuses on the therapist and their state of mind. Emphasizing this form of self-care for the therapist not only benefits themselves, but also exemplifies a healthy approach that the patient can look up to. The final function of treatment, structuring the environment, consists of the therapist and RAIS Conference Proceedings, June 10-11, 2019 300 patient working on ways to re-evaluate unhealthy relationships/social circles that may promote relapse (ex: patients suffering from addiction). DBT incorporates a variety of mindfulness-based techniques as acceptance of the patient and an emphasis on emotional regulation are included within the practice. DBT also focuses on reflecting on current reactions towards situations and learning how to combat those initial impulses with new coping strategies. Conclusion The concoction of traditional yogic practices in the West had led to a positive increase in popularity. This popularity has allowed people to reflect on their personal experiences with the practice and to consider the integration of mindfulness within the field of psychology. Mindfulness-based therapies such as MBCT, DBT and ACT show promising effects for those with certain psychiatric disorders, for example MDD, GAD and BP-I (Farb et al., 2018; Sado et al., 2018; Deckersbach et al. 2014). Though these therapies already exist and current studies suggest the effects they have on patients from a qualitative perspective (Fard et al., 2018; Segal et al. 2019), more research is required within the field of neuroscience to assess how the physiology of the brain may be affected from mindfulness-based practices via quantitative measures (Gard et al. 2015; Lee et al. 2015; Braboszcz et al. 2015). References Alter, J. S. 2006. “Yoga and fetishism: reflections on Marxist social theory.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 12(4): 763–783. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9655.2006.00362.x. Ambrósio, A. F., Soares-Da-Silva, P., Carvalho, C. M., & Carvalho, A. P. 2002. “Mechanisms of action of carbamazepine and its derivatives, oxcarbazepine, BIA 2-093, and BIA 2-024.” Neurochemical Research 27(1–2): 121–130. American Psychiatric Association, & American Psychiatric Association (Eds.). (2013). Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders: DSM-5 (5th ed). Washington, D.C: American Psychiatric Association. Braboszcz, C., Cahn, B. R., Levy, J., Fernandez, M., & Delorme, A. 2017. Increased Gamma Brainwave Amplitude Compared to Control in Three Different Meditation Traditions. PLOS ONE, 12(1), e0170647. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0170647. Chapman, A. L. 2006. Dialectical behavior therapy: current indications and unique elements. Psychiatry (Edgmont, Pa.: Township) 3(9): 62–68. Deckersbach, T., Hölzel, B., Eisner, L., Lazar, S. W., & Nierenberg, A. A. 2014. Mindfulness-based cognitive therapy for bipolar disorder. New York: Guilford Press. De Michelis, E. 2008. A history of modern yoga: Patañjali and western esotericism (Reprint). London: Continuum. Doniger, W. (Ed.). 1981. The Rig Veda: an anthology: one hundred and eight hymns, selected, translated and annotated. Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England ; New York, N.Y: Penguin Books. Farb, N., Anderson, A., Ravindran, A., Hawley, L., Irving, J., Mancuso, E., … Segal, Z. V. 2018. “Prevention of relapse/recurrence in major depressive disorder with either mindfulness-based cognitive therapy or cognitive therapy.” Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology 86(2): 200–204. https://doi.org/10.1037/ccp0000266. Fard, T. R., Kalantarkousheh, M., & Faramarzi, M. 2018. “Effect of mindfulness-based cognitive infertility stress therapy on psychological well-being of women with infertility.” Middle East Fertility Society Journal 23(4): 476–481. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.mefs.2018.06.001. Fletcher, L., & Hayes, S. C. 2005. “Relational frame theory, acceptance and commitment therapy, and a functional analytic definition of mindfulness.” Journal of Rational-Emotive & Cognitive-Behavior Therapy 23(4): 315–336. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10942-005-0017-7. Gard, T., Taquet, M., Dixit, R., Hӧlzel, B. K., Dickerson, B. C., & Lazar, S. W. 2015. “Greater widespread functional connectivity of the caudate in older adults who practice kripalu yoga and vipassana meditation than in controls.” Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, 9. https://doi.org/10.3389/fnhum.2015.00137. Klostermaier, K. K. 2007. A survey of Hinduism (3rd ed). Albany: State University of New York Press. Lee, Y.-H., Shiah, Y.-J., Chen, S. C.-J., Wang, S.-F., Young, M.-S., & Lin, C.-L. 2015. “Improved Emotional Stability in Experienced Meditators with Concentrative Meditation Based on Electroencephalography and Heart Rate Variability.” The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine 21(1): 31–39. https://doi.org/10.1089/acm.2013.0465. Markota, M., & Morgan, R. J. 2017. “Treatment of Generalized Anxiety Disorder with Gabapentin.” Case Reports in Psychiatry 2017, 1–4. https://doi.org/10.1155/2017/6045017. McIndoo, C. C., File, A. A., Preddy, T., Clark, C. G., & Hopko, D. R. 2016. “Mindfulness-based therapy and behavioral activation: A randomized controlled trial with depressed college students.” Behaviour Research and Therapy 77: 118–128. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.brat.2015.12.012. Pastore, V., Wasowski, C., Martin, P., Enrique, A., Higgs, J., Bruno-Blanch, L. E., … Marder, M. 2018. N-propyl-2, 2- diphenyl-2-hydroxyacetamide, a novel α-hydroxyamide with anticonvulsant, anxiolytic and antidepressant-like RAIS Conference Proceedings, June 10-11, 2019 301 effects that inhibits voltage-gated sodium channels. European Journal of Pharmacology 819: 270–280. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ejphar.2017.11.048. Sado, M., Park, S., Ninomiya, A., Sato, Y., Fujisawa, D., Shirahase, J., & Mimura, M. 2018. “Feasibility study of mindfulness-based cognitive therapy for anxiety disorders in a Japanese setting.” BMC Research Notes 11(1). https://doi.org/10.1186/s13104-018-3744-4. Segal, Z. V., Anderson, A. K., Gulamani, T., Dinh Williams, L.-A., Desormeau, P., Ferguson, A., … Farb, N. A. S. 2019. “Practice of therapy acquired regulatory skills and depressive relapse/recurrence prophylaxis following cognitive therapy or mindfulness based cognitive therapy.” Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology 87(2) 161–170. https://doi.org/10.1037/ccp0000351. Segal, Z. V., Williams, J. M. G., & Teasdale, J. D. 2002. Mindfulness-based cognitive therapy for depression: a new approach to preventing relapse. New York: Guilford Press. Sipe, W. E. B., & Eisendrath, S. J. 2012. “Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy: Theory and Practice.” The Canadian Journal of Psychiatry 57(2) 63–69. https://doi.org/10.1177/070674371205700202. Strauss, S. 2005. Positioning yoga: balancing acts across cultures. Oxford ; New York: Berg. Syman, S. 2010. The subtle body: the story of yoga in America (1st ed). New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Vivekananda, S. 2012. Raja Yoga. Retrieved from http://nbn-resolving.de/urn:nbn:de:101:1-2012090518371. Walker, F. R. 2013. A critical review of the mechanism of action for the selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors: Do these drugs possess anti-inflammatory properties and how relevant is this in the treatment of depression? Neuropharmacology, 67, 304–317. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neuropharm.2012.10.002. Zhong, H., Haddjeri, N., & Sánchez, C. 2012. “Escitalopram, an antidepressant with an allosteric effect at the serotonin transporter—a review of current understanding of its mechanism of action.” Psychopharmacology 219(1): 1–13. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00213-011-2463-5. 
work_4qswkhkwxje65nz5ds3xllnw6a	----	Collections: Art and Adventure in Nineteenth-Century California | California History | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content California History Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Richard J. Orsi Prize Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 86, Issue 4 January 2009 Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| January 01 2009 Collections: Art and Adventure in Nineteenth-Century California Amy Scott Amy Scott Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar California History (2009) 86 (4): 14–82. https://doi.org/10.2307/40495231 Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Amy Scott; Collections: Art and Adventure in Nineteenth-Century California. California History 1 January 2009; 86 (4): 14–82. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/40495231 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content California History Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 2009 California Historical Society Article PDF first page preview Close Modal You do not currently have access to this content. Sign in Don't already have an account? Register Client Account You could not be signed in. Please check your email address / username and password and try again. Email address / Username ? Password Sign In Reset password Register Sign in via your Institution Sign in via your Institution Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Mexican American Parrhesia at Troy: The Rise of the Chicana/o Movement at the University of Southern California, 1967–1974 Breaking the Eleventh Commandment: Pete McCloskey’s Campaign against the Vietnam War Fishing on Porpoise: The Origins of Dolphin Bycatch in the American Yellowfin Tuna Industry Keepers of the Culture at 3201 Adeline Street: Locating Black Power Theater in Berkeley, California Suburban Cowboy: Country Music, Punk, and the Struggle over Space in Orange County, 1978–1981 Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Richard J. Orsi Prize Contact Us Online ISSN 2327-1485 Print ISSN 0162-2897 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_4tgwco4oqvchdiaw6ldxx35ioq	----	Nile tensions Let researchers finish their work on the impacts of Africa’s largest hydropower dam. Scientists investigating the hydrology of the Nile are likely to have heard the story of their tenth-century predecessor, mathema-tician and physicist Ibn al-Haytham. The ruler of Egypt asked al-Haytham to dam the river, but it proved too great an engineer- ing challenge. Fearing the caliph’s wrath, al-Haytham is said to have feigned illness to avoid being punished. Thankfully, the scientists currently advising Egypt, Ethiopia and Sudan on the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam do not face anything like the same risks. But they are nevertheless under pressure as talks between the three countries — and especially between Egypt and Ethiopia — have hit an impasse (see page 159). Ethiopia says the hydropower dam is needed urgently, because two-thirds of the country has lacked electricity for too long. Egypt is in less of a hurry. Ninety per cent of its fresh water comes from the Nile, and it is concerned that the dam will create water scarcity for its 100 million inhabitants over the five to seven years needed to fill the dam’s reservoir. Last week, Egypt decided that it wants another country to mediate the dispute — naming the United States as its preferred choice. Ethiopia rejects this proposal. This is an unfortunate turn of events. There might well be a need for mediation, but now is too soon. The countries are still waiting for the outcome of an independ- ent scientific assessment of the dam’s risks to downstream countries. In 2015, Egypt, Ethiopia and Sudan agreed that an expert panel, the National Independent Scientific Research Group (NISRG), would assess the environmental impacts of each country’s preferred timetable for constructing the dam. The group has been meeting regularly and is preparing to produce a consensus report and provide recommenda- tions. But Egypt’s decision to call for mediation before the scientists have had a chance to report puts the NISRG in an awkward position: the researchers representing Egypt, especially, might feel pressure not to write or say anything that could undermine their government’s negotiating position. Instead of rushing straight into mediation, the countries should let their scientific advisers complete the task that has been asked of them. The researchers should be allowed to publish their findings for scrutiny by everyone concerned, not least the citizens of the three countries, who will be most affected by the dam. International involvement might be needed if the scientific advisers are unable to produce a consensus report, or if, once the findings are published, political leaders are unwilling or unable to shift their positions. But until then, Egypt, Ethiopia and Sudan need to let the researchers finish the job they have been asked to do. ■ Gandhi on science The champion of India’s freedom movement was a supporter of sustainable development. India’s tourist shops do a good trade in Gandhi memorabilia. One particularly popular souvenir is a plaque that lists Mohandas Karamchand (Mahatma) Gandhi’s ‘seven social sins’. These include ‘politics without principles’, ‘commerce without morality’ and ‘science without humanity’. During his lifetime and after his assassination in January 1948, Gandhi, the human-rights barrister turned freedom campaigner, has been mischaracterized as anti-science — often because of his concerns over the human and environmental impacts of industrial technologies. But in the month that the world commemorates the 150th anni- versary of Gandhi’s birth, it is time to revisit our understanding of this aspect of his life and work. Gandhi was a keen student of the art of experimentation — his autobiography is subtitled ‘The Story of My Experiments with Truth’. He was an enthusiastic inventor and an assiduous innovator, making, discarding and refining snake-catching tools, sandals made from used tyres, and methods for rural sanitation, not to mention the small cotton-spinning wheels that would become his trademark. Anil Gupta at the Indian Institute of Management in Ahmedabad, who has researched rural innovation in India for 40 years, says that Gandhi was also an early adopter of developing and improving tech- nologies using crowd-sourcing — in 1929 he announced a competition, with a cash prize, to design a lightweight spinning wheel that could produce thread from raw cotton. It would be of solid build quality that would last for 20 years. “Gandhi was an engineer at heart,” adds Anil Rajvanshi, director of the Nimbkar Agricultural Research Institute in Phaltan, India. Gandhi adopted experimental methods equally in his planning and execution of civil-disobedience campaigns against colonial rule. That legacy alone has endured to the extent that climate-change protest groups such as Extinction Rebellion describe themselves as following in a Gandhian tradition. Gandhi drew the line at the resource-intensive, industrial-scale engineering that Britain brought to India after the first waves of the Industrial Revolution. Inspired in part by the writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, John Ruskin, Henry David Thoreau and Leo Tolstoy, he called for manufacturing on a more human scale, in which decisions about technologies rested with workers and communities. Gandhi was aware that he was perceived as being anti-science. His biographer Ramachandra Guha quotes a 1925 speech to college students in Trivandrum (now Thiruvananthapuram) in southern India, in which Gandhi said that this misconception was a “com- mon superstition”. In the same address, he said that “we cannot live without science”, but urged a form of accountability: “In my humble opinion there are limitations even to scientific search, and the limitations that I place upon sci- entific search are the limitations that humanity imposes upon us.” Gandhi understood that technology’s negative impacts are often felt disproportionately by low- income rural populations. In that same speech to the Trivandrum students, he challenged his young audience to think of these communities in their work. “Unfortunately, we, who learn in colleges, forget that India lives in her villages and not in her towns. How will you infect the people of the villages with your scientific knowledge?” he asked them. In the end, Gandhi’s call for less-harmful technologies was out of sync with India’s newly independent leadership, and also went against the grain of post-Second World War science and technology policy- making in most countries. India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, was strongly influenced by European industrial technology and also by the model of large publicly funded laboratories — the forerunners to today’s vibrant and globally renowned institutes of sci- ence and technology. By contrast, Gandhi’s ideas were seen as quaint and impractical. Influential figures from history often leave contested legacies. But in one respect at least, the space for debate about Gandhi’s life and impact has narrowed. As the world continues to grapple with how to respond to climate change, biodiversity loss, persistent poverty, and poor health and nutrition, Gandhi’s commitment to what we now call sustainability is perhaps more relevant today than in his own time. ■ “He was an enthusiastic inventor and an assiduous innovator.” 1 5 0 | N A T U R E | V O L 5 7 4 | 1 0 O C T O B E R 2 0 1 9 EDITORIALSTHIS WEEK © 2019 Springer Nature Limited. All rights reserved. 
work_4xv3wrtpo5d6zj5fguh56sgikq	----	BHR_92_4_BookReviews 762..764 Trump” (p. 244). Surely other factors—both structural and long-term as well as contingent—came into play. Turbulent Empires, then, is best read as a reporter’s notebook about economics and politics in the post-1945 world. While it lacks the you- were-there sense of Robert Kaplan’s writings, Mason’s book takes an expansive view of the post–World War II world and offers some useful insights in prose that is unburdened by academic stuffiness. David C. Engerman is Leitner International Interdisciplinary Professor at Yale University. He is the author, most recently, of The Price of Aid: The Economic Cold War in India (2018). . . . Accounting for Capitalism: The World the Clerk Made. By Michael Zakim. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2018. ix + 247 pp. Illustra- tions, notes, index. Cloth, $50.00. ISBN: 978-0-226-97797-3. doi:10.1017/S0007680519000072 Reviewed by Brian P. Luskey Michael Zakim’s new book is an exemplar of recent scholarship on Amer- ican capitalism in the nineteenth century. Zakim’s succinct, elegant, and smart prose will not surprise readers of his previous work (Ready-Made Democracy [2003] and Capitalism Takes Command [2012]). The impressive methodological breadth of the book under review might do so. Zakim finds capital’s history in unlikely places, from material objects to the built environment, from people’s bodies to the compiling of the federal census. Like the best practitioners in the field, though, he is adept at showing how these multiple methodologies are absolutely necessary if we are to comprehend the intimate relationship between capitalism and American society. Capitalism, Zakim explains, constituted an economic and social revolution that unfolded in the commercial counting room as much as in the artisanal crafts. At desks and store counters, a burgeoning group of young, male clerks took hold of an array of materials—pen, ink, paper—to produce that revolution in text and transaction. Their busy- ness created columns of debts and credits, correspondence, and con- tracts that did not merely reflect the market. Clerks’ work made the flow of capital and credit legible and, in cultural terms, legitimate. Clerks, the foot soldiers in this revolution, encountered the considerable health risks of hunching over desks in service to capital’s commands. Digestive, optical, and postural maladies were the clerks’ lot, born of their alienation from farm and workshop and the industrial revolution Book Reviews / 762 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680519000072 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:12, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680519000072 https://www.cambridge.org/core they experienced and recorded. While clerical handwork made some young men sick, American observers were sickened by the apparent degeneration of American manhood behind the inkstand and till. Capital made men in subtler and more fundamental ways, too. Whereas older cultural histories (mine included) claimed that identity emerged in roiling debates made up of clerks’ assertions of self and the replies of anxious and critical contemporaries who sought to make sense of them, Zakim contends persuasively that identity was prepack- aged in and by capital’s industrializing processes. “Individualism,” he shows, “promot[ed] the private self into the foundation of public order,” but ultimately only funneled commercial men more completely into capital’s vortex (p. 109). The striver’s self-making, therefore, was one of capital’s entrapments, mediated through bookkeeping institutes, mercantile libraries, and the store-bought diaries that functioned for clerks as personal “balance sheet[s]” not unlike the ledgers they tallied for employers (p. 119). Clerks, who typically bathed themselves in excessive self-regard and carped about a lack of respect, were convinced that they would succeed to positions of proprietorship through hard work and perseverance. They would have been dismayed by the logics and fictions—which they only dimly understood—that made them into “human capital,” Zakim’s summation of capitalist transformation’s bleak essence in antebellum America (p. 197). As prescient writers such as Henry David Thoreau knew, however, most everyone had to bend to capital’s incessant pressure to become his or her own bookkeeper or risk the consequences of imminent failure. The only opposition mustered against this powerful economic and social system was made by the languishing and ineffectual “loafer” who, like Herman Melville’s “incomprehensible” Bartleby, “would prefer not to” (p. 84). In the end, as Zakim shows in a compelling chapter on statistics, the numeracy that made markets legible and legitimate would encompass American society and put into question its vaunted individualism. The subtitle of this book, then, undersells what I think Zakim accom- plishes in this book. Accounting for Capitalism is about how capital made “individualistic” American individuals in ways not of their choos- ing. Clerks—read: all Americans—made neither themselves nor the system in which they were forced to operate. Capital came to govern Americans and their society before the Civil War, and Zakim’s book con- stitutes a broad-gauged examination of agency and its absence in modern capitalism. However, because Zakim evokes Eugene Genovese’s The World the Slaveholders Made (1969) and the subtitle of his Roll, Jordan, Roll: The World the Slaves Made (1974), I must ask, in light of the field’s current emphasis on slavery and capitalism: Whither the Slave Power in this exploration of the Money Power? Zakim’s focus is Book Reviews / 763 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680519000072 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:12, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680519000072 https://www.cambridge.org/core on young men in the rapidly growing northeastern metropolis, and that is, for any one book, more than enough. His excellent work should be read alongside new monographs like Caitlin Rosenthal’s recent Account- ing for Slavery (2018) to appreciate the ways worshipping mammon, acceding to its demands, cultivating its attendant processes, and suc- cumbing to its competitions and coercions defined the nation as a whole in the nineteenth century. Brian P. Luskey is associate professor of history at West Virginia University. He is the author of On the Make (2010) and coeditor of Capitalism by Gaslight (with Wendy A. Woloson; 2015). . . . The Moral Economists: R. H. Tawney, Karl Polanyi, E. P. Thompson, and the Critique of Capitalism. By Tim Rogan. Princeton: Princeton Univer- sity Press, 2017. viii + 263 pp. Notes, index. Cloth, $39.95. ISBN: 978-0- 691-17300-9. doi:10.1017/S0007680519000084 Reviewed by Jim Tomlinson The Moral Economists is a highly impressive but also very curious book. It is avowedly political in purpose, but this political endeavor leads to a highly theoretical text. The aim is to search for a theoretical foundation for a solidaristic politics and to do so by reexamining the work of the three historians of modern capitalism listed in the title. These three are seen as constituting a lineage of “moral economists” who grappled with finding an alternative to utilitarianism as an underpinning for understanding society. R. H. Tawney is identified as having been most successful in this endeavor, but, it is argued, his Christianity-based argu- ments have lost their purchase in our secular world; so what we need today is a nonreligious grounding for our anti-utilitarianism. For author Tim Rogan, this is best looked for in the social choice work of Kenneth Arrow and, building on Arrow’s foundations, the work of Amartya Sen. The book is, above all, an exceptionally rich intellectual history, where the work of the three “moral economists” is located in its historical context, but where what is most distinctive is a story of the interconnec- tions between their work. For Tawney, the key text is seen as Religion and the Rise of Capitalism (1922), in which he sought to establish the key moments in the decline of moral constraints on self-seeking eco- nomic action in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Central to his story is the growth of a sharp divide between religious concerns and Book Reviews / 764 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680519000072 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:12, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007680519000072 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
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work_4zajseo3pbhahmg6o6pxmgo4om	----	The Minnesota Case Study Collection: New Historical Inquiry Case Studies for Nature of Science Education Douglas Allchin � Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011 Abstract The new Minnesota Case Study Collection is profiled, along with other examples. They complement the work of the HIPST Project in illustrating the aims of: (1) historically informed inquiry learning that fosters explicit NOS reflection, and (2) engagement with faithfully rendered samples of Whole Science. Education is what survives when what has been learnt has been forgotten. B. F. Skinner. 1 Introduction Substantial consensus now exists among science educators about the value of nature of science (NOS) education, the content aims of such education (Osborne et al. 2003; AAAS 2001–2004; Hodson 2008; OECD 2009), and even many facets that foster effective NOS learning, as consolidated and summarized nicely in HIPST’s (2008a) recent statement of principles. Yet ‘despite this cheery consensus regarding the importance of accurately teaching NOS,’ Clough and Olson cautioned in opening a recent thematic issue of this journal, ‘much remains to be done in moving the vision to a reality in elementary through post-secondary science education’ (2008, 143). An Earth Science teacher echoed the concern (also in this journal) from the perspective of practice (Dolphin 2009): From my research, there are few contextualized experiences which have been created for incorpo- ration within the science classroom. . . . To read and assimilate the information available and then create interesting mechanisms to transfer the information to students, i.e. narratives, dramatizations, activities, and models is a huge effort. . . . ‘‘Teachers and researchers often describe a gap between research and practice’’ [Abell and Lederman 2007, p. xiii]. The history and philosophy of science scholars are encouraged to help bridge that gap by creating and publishing these types of contex- tualized experiences for the classroom teacher. We would all benefit greatly. (p. 439) D. Allchin (&) SHiPS Resource Center, Minnesota Center for the Philosophy of Science, and Department of Curriculum and Instruction, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN 55455, USA e-mail: allch001@umn.edu 123 Sci & Educ DOI 10.1007/s11191-011-9368-x As exmplified in the recent HIPST Project (2010), the challenge has shifted from advocacy to assembling concrete classroom resources that embody standards that are now (despite patchy dissent) relatively well understood. 2 The Minnesota Case Studies Many science educators are familiar with the Harvard Case Histories in Experimental Science, edited and championed by political titan James B. Conant (1957). Yet Conant emphasized mainly the ‘strategies and tactics of science’ (1947, 16–20, 98–106), recog- nizing but largely peripheralizing ‘the interaction of science and society’ (AAAS 2009). By today’s standards in Science Studies, the NOS in his 2-volume collection of cases as far too narrow and thus potentially misleading. It tends to exclude social and cultural factors (such as funding, institutional structures, or cultural values shaping scientific ideas), as well as biographical factors (such as personal philosophical beliefs), the material culture of the laboratory, and dimensions of gender and class. For example, while there is substantial discussion of Joseph Priestley’s work on plants and the ‘goodness of air’, there is little discussion of the patronage that afforded Priestley the leisure time to pursue his activities; the social and communication networks that allowed Priestley to recognize the significance of his work and helped expose some of his errors; Priestley’s more technical work on apparatus (the pneumatic trough) that enabled effective experimental manipulation of gases; Priestley’s philosophical materialism, which helped shape his views on phlogiston; or Priestley’s involvement with religion and politics, which ultimately competed with and affected his ability to do science (Nash 1957; Brock 1992; Johnson 2008). Also, while Conant’s team introduced students to fragments of original texts, their narratives did not usher students into their own NOS reflection, a benchmark now regarded as essential (see below). Indeed, ‘‘it is time,’’ Stinner et al. observed in this journal, ‘‘that the ideas of James Conant’s case studies be updated and revised to serve the needs of 21st century students and societies’’ (2003, 639). Stinner’s implicit challenge has now been addressed. Using the Harvard case studies as an inspiring but outdated model, in the last half-dozen or so years a new collection of historical problem-based case studies has been developed at the University of Minnesota, home to the Minnesota Center for the Philosophy of Science and a large program in the History of Science, Technology and Medicine. The cases are now freely accessible online. The cases are hosted by the SHiPS Resource Center, the internet home of the network of teachers that originated at the First International History, Philosophy and Science Teaching Conference in Tallahasee in 1989. Each case highlights a small set of NOS features, typically based on a significant discovery, as summarized below. Each case offers an opportunity to illustrate and highlight certain dimensions of the nature of science (Allchin 2011) prominent in the history of that case. These are discussed as a guide for educators searching for particular lessons. 2.1 ‘Alfred Russel Wallace & the Origin of New Species’ by Ami Friedman (2010) Most people are familiar with Darwin’s theory of evolution by natural selection. Textbooks (even those without an explicit historical focus) often discuss Darwin’s travels on the H.M.S. Beagle and his great work, On the Origin of Species. Many even discuss the influence of Lyell and Malthus on his thinking. However, historians also credit Alfred Russel Wallace with developing a theory on the origin of species independently. This case D. Allchin 123 study focuses on Wallace’s story, highlighting his middle class background, his career as a collector, and the observations and experience that led to his own insights. It is ideal for introducing evolution in a controversial setting, where mere mention of Darwin can pre- empt engagement in learning. Major NOS themes include: • diversity in scientific thinking • the role of personal motives of scientists • the importance of personal experiences and relationships of scientists • funding • communication in developing and presenting a theory • priority and credit This one case may serve as an exemplar. The basic format is an interrupted narrative, punctuated with questions (see Sect. 3.1 below). The questions aim to engage students in explicit reflection about both the scientific concepts and the nature of science (see Sect. 3.1 below), almost always particular and in the context of a real, historically embedded analysis or decision (see Sect. 3.2 below). First, the case opens with a brief sketch of the cultural context in Britain in 1847. This helps to situate science in an accessible concrete human and cultural setting. It also introduces some cultural themes that will be echoed later: here, the role of increased leisure time (that led to Wallace’s love of reading—about botany, insects, and evolution); and the role of the expanding railroad (which provided a job for Wallace as a surveyor, where he learned drafting skills and deepened his appreciation of geology and the outdoors). Next, the central scientific problem is introduced, along with the main character: Alfred Russel Wallace and historical uncertainties about how new species originate. The problem is also presented biographically: Wallace was trying to couple a personal study of natural history with collecting exotic animal specimens as a way to earn a living. The concrete human context helps to ‘‘motivate’’ the scientific inquiry, inviting the student to participate along with the historical figure. The life story context also helps frame the conceptual resources available for active thinking by students. The remainder of the narrative follows Wallace through the unfolding of his thoughts about evolution over the next decade. Students are thereby able to stepwise develop (or ‘‘construct’’) a concept of the origin of new species through natural selection along with Wallace. There are historical images and occasional quotes from Wallace’s letters and autobiographical writings, giving first hand testimony and vivid human dimension to the episode. Questions punctuate the narrative, engaging the students at several levels. Some questions highlight themes in nature of science. For example, students are asked to imagine how they will finance a natural history collecting expedition, highlighting the role of funding in science. Later, after Wallace’s ship burns and he loses his valuable collection from the Amazon, students ponder whether to try again, collect elsewhere, or find other forms of employment, thereby highlighting the role of personal motives in science. Other questions integrate students into the process of scientific thinking. For example, assuming that Wallace wanted to explain similar species, their varieties, and any laws of nature that might explain them, what types of data would one collect on a voyage through the Amazon? Or, given some examples from South America and the Malay Archipelago, how might Wallace account for two similar types of organisms inhabiting neighboring areas at the same time, rather than in succession to one another? Later, when Walalce notices a series of forms with a large gap, how might he explain the lack of intermediates? These questions involve designing an investigation as well as interpreting evidence. All are The Minnesota Case Study Collection 123 situated with just enough background and information to allow students to reach plausible conclusions on their own, without prior knowledge of the scientific concepts. They also prime cognitive orientation for understanding Wallace’s own reasoning. The questions are primarily situated historically. Thus they are open-ended. Multiple answers are possible. This encourages students to think broadly. With less vulnerability of being held accountable to just one ‘‘correct’’ answer, students may also more readily contribute to class discussion. In addition, the uncertainty underscores that science is about searching for and reasoning towards justifiable answers from the resources at hand (‘sci- ence-in-the-making’), not justifying some ‘‘right’’ answer already known (‘science-made’). One retrospective question (based on understanding the sequence of events, as well as the similiarities and differences between Wallace and Darwin) asks students who they would credit with the discovery of evolution by natural selection. This nature of science feature— about priority and credit—involves a more synoptic perspective, but again is open to several justifiable views. In short, the case study presents a fragment, or cross-section, of ‘Whole Science’, integrating scientific concepts, process of science, and nature of science in biographical and cultural contexts (Allchin 2011). The relevant nature of science features arise from the case itself, not from a limited target list. The case here also integrates supplemental (optional) activities already developed by the Natural History Museum of London, based on reading and reacting to Wallace’s original letters. These can contribute further to underscoring the human dimension of science. As a conclusion, the nature of science elements are reprised explicitly. Students are asked to reflect on and articulate the influence of early encounters and life experiences on the practice of science, the role of personal motivation and opportunities, the challenge of funding, the role of scientific communication, etc. This helps consolidate learning in the case and prepare application to other cases. Finally, the case was developed in tandem with a historian of science, helping to ensure the quality of the history—and thus the authenticity of the nature of science. Towards this end, the case was further reviewed by a renowned Wallace scholar and another historian of science, and endorsed by another Wallace scholar. 2.2 ‘Carleton Gadjusek & Kuru’ by Pierre Paul Gros (2011) In the 1950s, a mysterious neurodegenerative disease called kuru appeared among the primitive Fore people of Papua New Guinea. Natives attributed it to sorcery. American D. Carleton Gajdusek conducted epidemiological studies among the remote tribe and later transmission studies in lab animals. He found that kuru was propagated by a ‘slow virus’, a new disease transmission type, a discovery for which he received a Nobel Prize. Decades later, Gajdusek’s ‘‘slow virus’’ was identified as a prion. Gajdusek’s interactions with the Fore people and, later in his life, sexual relations with Fore boys raise many questions at the intersection of science, culture and ethics. Several NOS features are highlighted by this episode and are the basis of inquiry questions and reflections posed to the student. These include: (1) posing problems. How does one articulate a research question about something one does not yet understand? How does one research the cause of a disease when one must, in a sense, assume a cause to collect the relevant information about it? This case is striking because Gajdusek had encountered a new disease transmission type: a ‘slow virus’, or prion. (2) research ethics. Gajdusek must conduct autopsies and secure tissue samples, not endorsed by the local D. Allchin 123 culture. Should he trade matches and knives with the indigenous people in exchange for scientific evidence? (3) science journalism. Gajdusek was livid over sensationalistic por- trayals (such as one in Time magazine) of kuru as ‘the laughing disease’. What are the appropriate standards for reporting on science and who is responsible for ‘‘enforcing’’ them? (4) interdisciplinary relationships & collective nature of discovery. Ultimately, a solution in this case relied on epidemiologists, anthropologists, a nutritionist, medical clinicians and even a critical clue from a veterinarian. Students must articulate the various roles and imagine how information is shared and collaborations established. (5) public image of scientists. Gajdusek developed a close relationship with the Fore people suffering from kuru. That included several ‘adoptions’ and, later (as noted above), allegations of sexual abuse. Scientists are inevitably human: How should we integrate the personal and professional dimensions of their identity? In parallel, what principles should guide how the scientists themselves integrate these coupled identities? 2.3 ‘Lady Mary Wortley Montagu & Smallpox Variolation in 18th-Century England’ by Erika Remillard-Hagen (2010) Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, author and ambassador’s wife, encountered the practice of variolation during her husband’s stay in Turkey. She came to accept that this treatment effectively prevented the dreaded devastation of smallpox. (Were her beliefs well justi- fied?) Later, back in England, Lady Mary tried to introduce the unconventional ‘‘pagan’’ approach and met much skepticsm. What was needed to establish a persuasive account? Only after many decades, and human experimentation that would raise ethical concerns today, was the practice widely deemed acceptable. Major NOS themes include: (1) credibility in science (evidence versus personal testi- mony). Lady Mary was impressed by observational evidence that Turkish women rarely suffered from the smallpox that had disfigured her own face. Should she believe the Turks about why? Later, should others in the Royal family believe Lady Mary, based merely on her reports, without formal studies? (2) the cultural context of scientific thought and reasoning. How should the British interpret practices in Turkey, where the system of medicine is different and the culture perhaps ‘‘less advanced’’? (3) controlled clinical study. How important is controlled study when there is substantial evidence from expe- rience? Can one use volunteer prisoners to test new treatments? (4) science and gender. Lady Mary was a woman in a culture where authority was given almost exclusively to men. How did her gender influence her reasoning and how her claims were received by men? 2.4 ‘Richard Lower & the ‘Life Force’ of the Body’ by Erin Moran (2009) What makes the heart beat and the blood flow, features so closely associated with life? Even in modern times, vitalist assumptions linger among students. This case study follows the work of remarkable 17th-century physician Richard Lower as he investigates why the color of the blood differs in veins and arteries. Students adopt the role of the scientific community at Oxford in the mid-1600s and address Lower’s problems, successive observations and claims. Ultimately, students discover that fresh air in the lungs, not heat or the motion of the heart, provide blood with the ‘life force’ and its bright red hue. Major NOS themes include: (1) science in personal, cultural and historical contexts. Lower’s relationship with his mentor, as well as others, proved important to both moti- vating his work and shaping his assumptions. His thinking was significantly influenced by a The Minnesota Case Study Collection 123 small, close-knit community of researchers. (2) different interpretations of the same evi- dence. Lower and his colleagues differed in why the blood changed color when it sat. How can such different concepts arise and how are they resolved? (3) conceptual change. Lower’s concept that the air from the lungs provided the ‘life force’ of the blood replaced Harvey’s earlier and authoritative view that it was the heat of the heart that was important. How did Lower manage to escape the former view? (4) collaboration, both direct and indirect. Lower’s insight relied significantly on Fracassati’s finding about blood being exposed to air. This was reported to him by Robert Boyle. He also relied on vivisection techniques developed by Robert Hooke for inflating and insufflating the lungs. What is required for such transfer of information to occur in the promotion of science? 2.5 Debating Glacial Theory, 1800–1870 by Keith Montgomery (2010) In the early 1800s, geologists traveled widely, documenting the landscape, asking various questions about geologic forms and history. By 1840, they were addressing the startling proposal that glaciers occured not just in the Alps, but at one time all across Europe. This case study situates students in the period, allowing them to tour the various sites virtually through GoogleEarth, while accessing original documents, maps and drawings. They then address Agassiz’s glacial theory, either as individuals or, through a simulated debate, as members of the Geological Society of London. Major NOS elements include: (1) conceptual change. Originally, what we now know as glacial erratics and scouring were originally interpreted as evidence of a Noachian flood (Allchin 1996). How did the alternative idea emerge? How did various geologists respond to the evidence as it gradually emerged? (2) nature of field work. What is it like to ‘do’ geology, which involves traversing the countryside and examining rock formations in situ? (3) historical reasoning. How does one reason about the past, if no one was there to observe events? Here, the prospect of a former Ice Age required one to be persuaded that the Earth was once substantially different than it is now. (4) role of personality/politics of science. Debates at the Geological Society in London involved some strong personalities, and the social esteem of some individuals seemed to bias beliefs of others. In addition, new ideas came from abroad, and a fair amount of nationalism shaped debate. In what ways do such perspectives foster effective debate, in what ways do they undermine it? How might the social dimension of science be shaped to accommodate such human emotions and politics? 2.6 ‘Robert Hooke, Hooke’s Law & the Watch Spring’ by Shusaku Horibe (2010) Hooke’s law is a standard feature of introductory physics classes, yet how often do students learn about Robert Hooke himself? This case follows Hooke from a skilled laboratory assistant and instrument maker in 1658 to his rise as a major innovator and theoretician in late 17th-century London. His work on springs led to the familiar relationship on elasticity now named after him, as well as to a heated priority dispute over the invention of a functioning watch spring. Ironically, Hooke never directly related the two, although so vividly linked in our minds today. Major NOS themes include: (1) scientific careers (and social class). Hooke rose from the ranks of a technical assistant and instrument maker to the heights of the Royal Society. Yet he experienced a social distinction between ‘doers’ and ‘thinkers’. How does this relate to the reputations we assign today to science versus technology, and to scientists versus engineers? How do these reflect our values? In what ways might these values be justified, in what ways not? (2) credit and priority (and social class). Hooke’s class origins also D. Allchin 123 seemed to pursue him and influence judgments about his claims to priority on the invention of the watch spring. On what basis should we give credit for scientific discoveries? How does this further express values about ‘‘doing’’ and ‘‘thinking’’? In what ways, if any, should priority matter? (3) nature of discovery. How, indeed, did Hooke develop his understanding of the law that now bears his name? How does scientific discovery happen? Here, there are personal, economic and social factors that influenced the development of a new clock. 2.7 ‘Determining Atomic Weights: Amodeo Avogadro & His Weight-Volume Hypothesis’ by Lindsey Novak (2008) Amodeo Avogadro is memorialized in the number that now bears his name. That constant reflected in part Avogadro’s hypothesis about the number of particles in equivalent vol- umes of gas. In the early 1800s chemists were determining atomic weights, but found some gases—oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen—problematic. Avogadro’s hypothesis resolved those problems by postulating that two atoms paired. But that concept conflicted with other theories, and chemists deferred to the views of the revered Jacob Berzelius. Nor did Avogadro’s erroneous proposals about heat contribute to his credibility. Almost a half- century later, his ideas were revived by Stanislao Cannizzaro, in a different theoretical environment, who connected his proposal to interpreting other phenomena. Avogadro’s hypothesis was finally accepted, with the startling conclusion that atoms and molecules are different, and that some gases as diatomic. Major NOS themes include: (1) politics in science. The reputation of Berzelius greatly diminshed early engagement with the ideas of Avogadro. Yet sometimes credibility matters. How does one balance the tension between relying on the evidence and relying on someone’s past record? (2) conceptual change (entertaining vs. accepting ideas; long- unsolved puzzles; factors in theory acceptance). Why did it take 50 years for Avogadro’s Hypothesis to be accepted? How did science change over that half a century? Should Avogadro’s method have been accepted right away? Why or why not? 2.8 ‘Interpreting Native American Herbal Remedies’ by Toni Leland (2007) This case study begins with the compelling drama of Jacques Cartier and his crew suffering from an unknown illness as winter traps the expedition unexpectedly in remote territory in 1534. The local Iroquois tribe recommends drinking a juniper tea—but could one trust them, or their remedy? In subsequent episodes, students follow James Lind investigating the same ailment two centuries later (but wth different strategies); the recommended use in Colonial times of bloodroot for digestive problems; and several patent medicines in the 1800s advertised as based on Native American cures—some real, some fraudulent. Major NOS elements include: (1) science in different cultural contexts. Here, students repeatedly decide whether to accept testimony and evidence for claims across cultures. The knowledge of different cultures and cultural prejudices become evident through the his- torical events. (2) credibility. Evidence may be central to science, but understanding that evidence also relies on the reports of other scientists. How does one balance these two processes in reaching reliable claims? (3) role of experiment and controlled investigation. How did James Lind’s approach differ from that of Cartier or the Iroquois? Was it appropriate to try the diets on his crew members without their consent? Were Lind’s results more trustworthy than the Iroquois’? On what does one base such a judgment? The Minnesota Case Study Collection 123 2.9 ‘Picture Perfect? Making Sense of the Vast Diversity of Life on Earth’ by Katie Carter (2007) Prince Frederico Cesi in the late 1500s used his wealth in a then novel enterprise: docu- menting the whole of nature and establishing its order. He founded the Accademia Lincei (now regarded as the first scientific society), which included Galileo as one of its esteemed members. Central to Cesi’s mission was an effort to record permanently the essential ‘reality’ of impermanent living specimens through renderings on paper. In this case study, students form mini-scientific societies with the same challenge of documenting and clas- sifying the vast diversity of living things—leading to student discussion and discovery about the role (and limits) of visualization, the significance of a classification system, and the problematic status of anomalous (versus ‘normal’) samples. Major NOS themes highlighted here include: (1) funding. Science is not free. Here, we see how the time for research was provided by someone of wealth with a particular interest. But it poses the question of how scientific study occurs without such individual patrons. (2) institutions for social interaction. The Accademia Lincei provided a structure for collaboration and for constructive mutual criticism. Students get to experience that in their own groups. (3) visualization and documentation. Prince Cesi (and others at the time, like Ulisses Aldrovandi) imagined that an accurate illustration provided an ade- quate record of natural specimens. But as students experience, they encountered prob- lems about perspectives, variation among samples, hidden details and more. Observations may be important, but here one must confront the problems of capturing those observations in a more permanent form that allows study and further discourse. (4) the limits to ‘lawlike’ ordering of nature. Not all natural specimens fit into exhaustive and mutually exclusive groups. How does one deal with overlapping categories and instances that seem to fit into none? Is a goose barnacle a plant, a strange bird, or a mollusk? 2.10 ‘Splendor of the Spectrum: Bunsen, Kirchoff & the Origin of Spectroscopy’ by Sam Jayakumar (2006) Robert Bunsen and Gustav Kirchoff met in 1851 and, even with their strikingly different body types, became life long friends. Bunsen, a chemist, was expert at instruments, including the burner that now bears his name. Kirchoff, a physicist, was more mathe- matically oriented and analyzed electrical circuits. Together, they collaborated on the problem of analyzing the color of light emitted by burning different elements. Their invention of the spectroscope led them to discover two new elements and establish an important form of chemical analysis. Major NOS features highlighted in this episode include: (1) collaboration. In what ways did the development of the spectroscope and the subsequent discoveries of cesium and rubidium depend on the skills of both Bunsen and Kirchoff? How did they come to join their expertise? (In this case, friendship preceded collaboration!) (2) instrumentation. While spectra lines are a standard part of modern analysis, noticing them requires a very specific arrangement of lens and direction of light. Here, the history of the apparatus is critical to the discovery of concepts. (3) long-unsolved puzzles. Students originally think about Wollaston’s and Frauenhofer’s observations of spectra lines in 1802 and 1814. It was nearly a half-century later that Kirchoff brought new approaches that allowed him to explain them, a challenge presented to the students. D. Allchin 123 2.11 ‘Freedom from Decision: The Psychology of B.F. Skinner’ by Adam Gallagher (2005) Psychologist B.F. Skinner observed pigeons roosting outside his window at the University of Minnesota one day, and this led to him using them in what would later become his most famous series of experiments. The significant but unplanned event epitomizes the unex- pected unfolding of his research. This case study follows Skinner from his initial explo- rations of perceived shortcomings in Pavlov’s conditional-response theory. Students follow his emerging thoughts on ‘superstition’ and ultimately reach his provocative views on human’s lack of freedom in decision making. Here the NOS elements that come to the foreground include: (1) nature of scientific discovery and creativity. This case exhibits many occasions where ‘chance’ or historical contingency intervenes. This type of lesson about the nature of science cannot be learned in a student’s own classroom investigation and illustrates the important role of historical cases. (2) growth of knowledge and conceptual change. Students are exposed to the status- quo of psychology in the 1920s, then introduced to B.F. Skinner who took those ideas and changed them to cover some perceived shortcomings. (3) scientific ideas and cultural values. Students reflect on Skinner’s views about determinism and their implications for cultural concepts of free will. 2.12 ‘The King of Colors: The Chemistry of Indigo and Other Dyes’ by Deborah Gangnon (2006) The dyeing of fabrics goes back over 4,000 years. In this module students explore the history and chemistry of indigo, including dye recipes from an Egyptian papyrus from the 4th century and a Liberian legend about how the properties of indigo were discovered. They also investigate how the dye is extracted and produced, including fermentation, reduction and oxidation reactions. Students reflect on the nature of discovery, investigation and the various ways knowledge of chemistry may develop. Major NOS themes include: (1) science in different cultures. The origin of indigo as a dye in many non-Western cultures offers an opportunity to reflect on the modern view of ‘science’. (2) nature of discovery. Plants that yield the blue indigo dye do not appear blue. So how did someone discover their use? How did they make it work? Did they get the results they wanted right away? (3) science and commerce. Students explore the economic impact of indigo on dye-producing countries and the Old and New Worlds. 2.13 ‘The Earliest Microscopes’ by Kristin Gabel (2005) This case study situates students in the 1600s when the first microscopes appeared. Images by Robert Hooke provide inspiration for the student’s own observations and explorations of the technical aspects of this new instrument (lighting, magnification). They also encounter the challenges of recording information visually—and how that once helped pay for science. Major NOS themes include: (1) role of instruments. Students see how certain discov- eries were made possible by the microscope. (2) role of visual rendering (scientific communication). Science is not just about measurement and numbers. The role of accurate drawings is profiled here. (3) role of funding/patronage. Students follow in the footsteps of Galileo, who helped secure financial support by creating a new coat of arms for a wealthy patron—based on a microscopic image of bees. The Minnesota Case Study Collection 123 2.14 ‘Maize: Indigenous Agriculture & Modern Genetics’ by Shawn Kuykendall (2005) Maize, or corn, serves an occasion for a series of lessons about the basis for agricultural knowledge in two different cultures: subsistence maize farming in Mexico and large scale monoculture farming in the U.S. In particular, it shows how practices once considered primitive by Western culture reflect sustainable methods in their native environments and cultures—methods now being taken more seriously by modern societies. Topics also include nutrition, genetic history of modern corn, origins of cultivation, nitrogen cycle and fertilizers, and pesticides. A second module focuses on genetics, using maize as a model organism. Students learn about selective breeding of plants, hybrid plants, basic genetic elements within maize and modern genetic technologies. Includes standard concepts of inheritance, epistasis and transposable genetic elements, illustrated through examples in maize; economics of hybrid corn; ethics of genetically modified (GM) foods. Major NOS elements include: (1) science in different cultural contexts. Students reflect on the surprising effectiveness of indigenous argiculture techniques in southern Mexico when compared with industrial farming. (2) ethical dimensions of scientific knowledge. Students discuss whether humans should genetically modify food crops. (3) model organisms. Here, maize is an exemplar for many scientific concepts, introducing the role of studying certain organisms in depth and generalizing from them. 2.15 ‘Contested Currents: The Race to Electrify America’ by Steven Walvig (2010) At the end of the 19th century, the two titans of the new electrical age, Thomas Edison and George Westinghouse, vied in establishing widescale electrical systems. In this case study, students become members of the 1893 Exposition Planning Committee to decide who should power the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago—and possibly all of America. Information at different levels, from elementary through high school, adds increasing depth of understanding to interpreting the nature and consequences of AC and DC current. Major NOS elements highlighted in this treatment of the case include: (1) the role of personality in science. Through narrative, students learn about the character and ambitions of the two lead scientists and how this propelled their work. This, too, is a nature of science lesson that is hard for students to appreciate from reflecting on their own classroom work, thus underscoring again the role for history. (2) competition in science. Sometimes there are alternative theories to consider and sometimes, as in this case, there is quite literally a contest. Here, the competition was a public policy decision based on scientific knowledge about AC and DC currents. (3) science and commerce. Knowledge about how to transmit electricity over long distances (based on resistance in the lines) had great ecnomic implications. 2.16 ‘The Soul Made Flesh: An Introduction to the Nervous System’ by Michelle Stanley (2007) Where do emotions reside? (Where is the ‘soul’ embodied?) For many years, the heart was considered the source of all emotions. In this case study, student follow Thomas Willis, who built on William Harvey’s work on circulation and shifted focus to the brain in the late 1600s. D. Allchin 123 Major NOS themes include: (1) conceptual change. A prominent case of someone with migraine headaches led to questions about the source of pain and feeling, which eventually challenged existing ideas that the heart was the seat of emotions (as is still expressed in common metaphors today). (2) science, class and gender. The person with the migraines was Lady Anne Conway, who was quite intelligent but as a woman excluded from aca- demic study, even of her own malady. Her class status, however, allowed her access to physicians with whom she could share her ideas. (3) role of social interactions in science. Conway’s physician, Thomas Willis, was part of a circle of friends who shared ideas in investigating the brain. Could he have made all his discoveries alone? (4) ethics of experimentation. Thomas Willis was able to persuade many upper class patients with illnesses to allow post-mortem dissection. But following William Harvey, he also con- ducting vivisections—for example, injecting ink into a dog’s blood and thereby revealing for the first time the massive network of blood vessels supplying the brain. Students are asked to consider (and compare) the effectiveness of such experiments with their moral status. What does ‘good’ science mean? 2.17 Works in Progress Over a dozen more cases, from ‘Marie Tharp & Mapping the Ocean Floor’ and ‘Charles Keeling & Measuring Atmospheric CO2’ to ‘Inventing Temperature’ and ‘Archibold Garrod & Inborn Errors in Metabolism’, have been developed and are awaiting editorial revision and preparation for online publication. Of course, none of the cases, individually, can convey all that students need to know about the nature of science. They complement one another in ensembles of cases, with prominent themes reappearing and reinforcing central lessons. 3 Commentary These cases are examples of much needed resources. They were assembled based on features that recent research and experience have indicated such resources should ideally exhibit (see Minstrell and Kraus 2005; Klassen 2006). The recent HIPST Project articu- lated many of these in their Quality Standards document (2008b), derived from their statement of the theoretical basis for the project (2008a). Here, standards 5–9 are partic- ularly important. They address: • portraying nature of science • portraying the tentative (or provisional) nature of science • portraying the human and cultural context of science • portraying history in its original context • using inquiry learning While the Minnesota cases exhibit a variety of styles (reflecting in part the diverse personalities and styles of individual authors and teachers), all endeavor (with varying levels of effectiveness, perhaps) to address these central aims. Most important, research has indicated that effective NOS lessons tend to be both explicit and reflective (Craven 2002; Schwartz et al.2004; Scharmann et al. 2005; Seker and Welsh 2005). Essentially, this combines the standards for portraying NOS (#5) and using inquiry learning (or any standard constructivist pedagogy; #9). That is, students do not learn merely by watching videos, hearing stories, or even doing experiments. Nor can The Minnesota Case Study Collection 123 one expect lecturing about NOS tenets to be fully effective, even if illustrated with vivid historical examples (McComas 2008). Activities and discussions should actively engage students in thinking about NOS problems and in articulating their developing perspectives. The effectiveness of active learning has already been widely acknowledged throughout all types of education (Bonwell and Eison 1991; National Research Council (NRC) 1997; Mayer 2004; Michael 2006): NOS education is no exception. The Minnesota cases incorporate occasions to engage students through open-ended problems and questions interspersed throughout the text. As noted in a review of the many HIPST cases by the project’s Advisory Board (2010), one particular standard has seemed especially challenging: presenting science as ‘devel- opmental, changeable, tentative and contingent’ (#6). This theme, often labeled ‘tenta- tiveness’ of science, has been central to visions of NOS education for over four decades (Lederman et al. 1998). Five of the Minnesota cases address conceptual change explicitly. For example, one case addresses how Berzelius’s electrical concept of atoms excluded the possibility of diatomic molecules, but was later qualified, opening the way for Avogadro’s hypothesis on the volumes of gases. Another conveys how William Harvey’s landmark work on circulation promoted erroneous views of the role of the heart in vivifying the blood, and how that was ultimately remedied decades later by Richard Lower. Other cases approach the theme of development by underscoring the limitations of scientific thought. For example, the cases on smallpox variolation from Turkey and on Native American herbal remedies highlight the role of credibility and cultural contexts, along with the potential bias they introduce. Second, in aiming to ‘portray science as rooted in culture, history and society as a whole’ (HIPST Quality Standard #7), one should ‘avoid Whiggish views on history of science’ (#8). That is, as noted elsewhere, examples should be authentic (Cunningham and Helms 1998; Schwartz and Crawford 2004; Wong and Hodson 2009a, b). Resources should draw on real science and scientific practice, whether from historical case studies (Conant 1947; Solomon et al. 1992; Irwin 2000), contemporary case studies (Wellington 1991; Dimopoulos and Koulaidis 2003; Wong et al. 2008), a student’s own investigative expe- rience, or all combined (Osborne et al. 2003). Decontextualized ‘‘black box’’ activities, like mock forensics, while not wholly unhelpful, have limited effectiveness (Clough 2006). Indeed, given that an ultimate aim is typically ‘scientific literacy’, the classroom will contextualize science in social, political, economic and cultural, as well as experimental and theoretical, settings. 3.1 Problematizing NOS One may articulate these two primary standards—explicit NOS reflection and authentic cases—in further detail. First, how does one guide students towards reflecting fruitfully on NOS? One may, of course, ask students plainly to comment on features of particular scientific episodes or narratives of research (Clough 2010). Yet such analysis is likely remote, given the student’s role as a spectator, not fully immersed in the scenario. As observed in other fields of education (including science), students learn most effectively when addressing and solving problems. That is, one may consider NOS education in the context of case-based and problem-based learning, already well established and researched in other contexts. While such teaching formats are often framed in narrowly prescriptive and programmatic ways, the extensive literature on these modes of teaching may well inform NOS education (Lundberg et al. 1999; Major and Palmer 2001). The level of student autonomy, or the amount of guidance needed by students, will depend, of course, D. Allchin 123 on the individual classroom, the level of student skills, and a teacher’s own skills in facilitating discussion. The Minnesota cases aim to contextualize and frame NOS reflection through concrete problems in historical and biographical contexts. Most notably, in the model of inquiry learning, instruction ideally becomes student- centered. A primary challenge is to motivate student engagement. Adopting this orienta- tion, one might shift the characterization of NOS: from tenets (to be learned) to questions (to be answered by students through informed reflection) (Clough 2007). That is, declar- ative NOS knowledge needs to be problematized. One needs to reframe familiar NOS tenets (Lederman et al. 2002; Osborne et al. 2003) as unsolved NOS problems. The problems must also be accessible: on a scale of human decisions and choices. A corre- sponding challenge for developing resources, then, includes contextualizing NOS issues in authentic cases and framing them for students at an appropriate developmental level. Historical context can be especially valuable for ‘‘motivating’’ the NOS problems. For example, in one Minnesota case study, the student assumes the role of Robert Hooke and considers the problem of someone else claiming to have invented the watch spring, which he believes is his own discovery (NOS: priority and credit). In another, students must imagine themselves as members of a new academic society in the early 1600s (akin to Prince Cesi’s Accademia Lincei) and decide whether to document a set of new organisms through drawings, descriptions, or some other means (NOS: role of visualization). Another poses an ethical question about Thomas Willis’s surgical experiments with dogs in the 1600s (NOS: research ethics). The role of problems and active reflection is especially important where the goal is developing analytical skills. ‘Scientific literacy’ implies not merely recognizing that ‘science is tentative’ or ‘observations are theory laden’, but being able to assess particular claims encountered in everyday life (Rudge 2010; Allchin 2011). Skill development needs modeling and practice (Minstrell and Kraus 2005), not just stories. The Minnesota cases generally adopt the format of an ‘interrupted case study’ (Hagen et al. 1996; Herreid 2005). That is, a narrative is interspersed with scientific and meta- scientific problems. Further, to foster fruitful reflection and skill development, the prob- lems are open-ended (vs. close-ended) (Cliff and Nesbitt 2005). The aim of problematizing NOS raises the question: how does one identify significant or meaningful NOS problems? Just as one might turn to past episodes of ‘science-in-the- making’ to profitably profile the process of science (Latour 1987), historical perspective can illuminate NOS development. Science methodology, like science itself, has historical roots. Even the notion of controlled experiment has a history (Boring 1954). The effect of gender or ethnic bias in science, too, was not self-evident, with substantive awareness not emerging largely until the 1970s. That is, NOS questions emerge by engaging science in practice. Case studies, when not unduly truncated or abridged, allow one to identify and contextualize NOS problems, and thus stimulate effective NOS reflection, discussion and/ or problem-solving. Another method for framing NOS problems is to profile NOS-anomalies, or ‘discrepant NOS events’ that address popular or naive NOS conceptions. Such occasions of ‘cognitive dissonance’ may, with appropriate guidance, help motivate and orient inquiry specifically on NOS themes and deepen understanding. Accordingly, resources will benefit from sensitivity to student NOS misconceptions as well—and to their historical counterparts. NOS problems may thus frequently focus on errors or missteps in science, because they highlight methodological questions and lead to discussion about how to remedy the mis- takes and/or avoid them in other cases (Allchin 2001b). For example, the Minnesota case on B.F. Skinner underscores the gradual nature of his discovery of operant conditioning— The Minnesota Case Study Collection 123 at odds with the popular notion of ‘eureka’-like moments of scientific insight. In another, discussion of the competition between Westinghouse’s alternating current (AC) and Edi- son’s direct current (DC) challenges the student to consider whether science is always ‘pure’ and how research may intersect with commercial interests. 3.2 Fidelity to Authentic Science The second fundamental NOS teaching standard—fidelity to authentic science—adds yet further challenges to effective resource development. Foremost, case studies must be historically and philosophically and sociologically well informed. Otherwise, rather than convey well informed NOS, they present a distorted caricature, readily susceptible to naive NOS preconceptions (Allchin 2004). That is, they can easily perpetuate the grossly under- or ill-informed NOS views promoted decades ago, which current instruction hopes to remedy (Kelly et al. 1993; NRC 1996). In particular, the process of scientific discovery must be properly contextualized, not ‘rationally reconstructed’ or romanticized—at least if one intends to honor such appeals as Clough and Olson’s (above) to render the nature of science accurately (Allchin 1995, 2003, 2006). NOS problems will likewise be situated in concrete contexts, not abstract metaphysical space. Accordingly, resources worth pre- serving—or worth distributing on a wide scale—will reflect the participation and expert review of professional historians, philosophers and sociologists of science (as exemplified in the Minnesota Case Study Collection). Complementary skills are needed and require cross-disciplinary collaboration. NOS education thus requires integrating expertise beyond the experience of most science educators, just as it requires more educational expertise than most historians, philosophers or sociologists of science can provide unassisted. 3.3 Other Aims, Other Resources Yet other principles guided the development of the Minnesota Case Studies as NOS resources. For example, NOS learning ideally integrates seamlessly with science content and process of science skills: ‘Whole Science’ (Allchin 2011). NOS thereby emerges as a part of science itself, not as a peripheral or dispensable adjunct. When NOS lessons are designed as sidebar vignettes for textbooks, or as anecdotal asides, or possibly even as specialized lessons, one conveys significant messages to students about the (ir)relevance of NOS. A supplemental guiding principle, then, used in the Minnesota cases has been an appreciation for teaching science, process of science skills, and NOS reflection as an integrated ensemble (Hagen et al. 1996, v–vii; Minstrell and Kraus 2005; Friedman 2009). Such a broad-scope approach readily accommodates other widespread objectives, as well, such as profiling ‘science as a human endeavor’ (NRC 1996; Rutherford and Ahlgren 1990). Laboratory activities or investigations can be integrated as opportunity allows. For example, students classify organisms in ‘Picture Perfect’, weigh gases in the case on Avogadro, and explore heat as a variable in dyeing with indigo. Standard labs, such as ones on spectroscopy or exploring light and magnification of the microscope, can also be coupled with and contextualized by the historical narratives (not all the Minnesota Cases include labs). As noted recently by Clough and Olson in this journal, ‘teaching the NOS in this highly contextualized manner is important in persuading teachers that NOS instruction need not detract from, and can likely promote, science content learning’ (2008, p. 144). Finally, perhaps, ideal resources are public, not proprietary. If available online, the ‘‘package’’ should be easily downloadable in one file or compressed folder (Friedman D. Allchin 123 2009). The Minnesota cases are freely available on the SHiPS Resource Center website (http://ships.umn.edu/modules). 4 Prospects The multiple demands of ideal NOS lessons—historically informed inquiry cases that foster NOS reflection and engagement with faithfully rendered ‘Whole Science’—may seem to limit the development of good resources. Advocates of NOS education, however, may be well advised to keep their eye on the ultimate goal, and proceed, like the fabled tortoise, slowly but surely—lest they stray from an ultimately productive trajectory. Still, some such resources, in addition to the Minnesota Cases, are already available. Notably, over a decade ago, Hagen et al. (1996) offered a set of seventeen historical case studies in biology, focusing on such standard concepts as natural selection (peppered moth), homeostasis, sex-linked inheritance, endosymbiosis of mitochondria, the citric acid cycle, production of antibodies, and behavior as an adaptation. One case from that collection, on Nobel Prize-winner Christiaan Eijkman and the search for the cause of beriberi, exem- plifies the potential of such resources (Allchin 2001a). Namely, such cases can, as outlined more recently by Metz et al. in this journal (2007, pp. 320–321): • engage students’ prior NOS conceptions • motivate student interest in inquiry by situating research in human and cultural contexts • foster student reflection with questions that punctuate an investigative ‘‘narrative’’ • allow students to engage in open-ended discussion and problem-solving, both individually and collectively, both orally and in writing. Other fine recent examples, beyond those from the HIPST Project (2010, and profiled in this special issue), and exhibiting a variety of case study styles, include: • Modeling Mendel’s Problems (Johnson and Stewart 1990) • Evolution of the Theory of the Earth (Dolphin 2009) • Sickle-Cell Anemia and Levels in Biology, 1910–1966 (Howe 2010) • William Thompson and the Transatlantic Cable (Klassen 2006) • Henry David Thoreau and Forest Succession (Howe 2009) • Rekindling Phlogiston (Allchin 1997) • Of Squid Hearts and William Harvey (Allchin 1993) Other, more ambitious modules situate students in a richer historical setting suitable for simulation and/or role-playing—that is, rehearsing for scientific-literacy-in-practice: • Darwin, the Copley Medal and the Rise of Naturalism (Dunn et al. 2009) • Debating Galileo’s Dialogue: The 1633 Trial (Allchin 2009a) • Debating Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring: The President’s Committee on Pesticides, 1963 (Allchin 2009b) These large-scale works exemplify the virtues of work developed over several years: work that is ultimately worth sharing and using widely. All these cases, like the Minnesota Case Study Collection, contrast notably to the short stories or vignettes frequently found in textbooks and elsewhere. First, such anecdotes, while entertaining and memorable, may not lead to the desired, more sophisticated NOS lessons. Everyone knows the story of Newton and the apple, but towards what end? Such anecdotes do not engender the explicit reflection that is needed. Second, they are not The Minnesota Case Study Collection 123 http://ships.umn.edu/modules boiler-plate lessons, that merely illustrate some prescribed NOS tenets. Rather, they open inquiry into NOS and invite reflective discussion. They use problems to teach NOS, as found fruitful in other contexts. The role of case studies is to provide substantive lessons in NOS, deeper than the superficial treatment of anecdotes and stories. Resources such as those profiled here, while essential, hardly meet all the various challenges in implementing NOS in the classroom. For example, practicing teachers often tend to follow habits and resist departures from content (Höttecke and Celestino Silva 2010). One major constraint is the trend of institutional accountability, biasing the incentive structure for teachers. Teachers inevitably teach to the tests. However, even where national or state curricula include NOS as a goal, effective tests for assessing NOS understanding are not always present. The instrument most widely used by science edu- cational researchers, VNOS, has a disclaimer against being used in formal classroom assessment (Lederman et al. 2002). VNOS has also been widely criticized for not mea- suring the important dimensions of NOS (Ford 2008; Rudge 2010). However, a new alternative approach, modeled on the standardized Advanced Placement essay, probes NOS understanding through the analysis of contemporary cases in the news (Allchin 2011). It echoes aims sketched by a group of teachers, scientists, policy makers, and philosophers at the 2009 meeting of the Society for the Philosophy of Science in Practice: NOS understanding should contribute to scientific literacy in real-life settings. This approach underscores the need for NOS analytical skills, as developed through complex case studies such as presented here. Still, from the perspective of the practicing teacher, the availability of high quality materials is a significant limiting factor. Development of such materials involves a sig- nificant investment of effort and melding of expertise. Ideally, such resources are thus shared. But they must be developed first. If one believes, for example, that Nash’s account of Joseph Priestley and the gases released by plants (described above) is inadequate, one should write the case study rather than describe how someone else should do it (for example, Matthews 2009, pp. 951–955). 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The Minnesota Case Study Collection 123 http://glacialtheory.net http://www1.umn.tc.edu/ships/modules/biol/lower.htm http://www1.umn.tc.edu/ships/modules/chem/avogadro.htm http://www.oecd.org/document/44/0,3343,en_2649_35845621_44455276_1_1_1_1,00.html http://www.oecd.org/document/44/0,3343,en_2649_35845621_44455276_1_1_1_1,00.html http://www1.umn.tc.edu/ships/modules/biol/smallpox.htm http://www1.umn.tc.edu/ships/modules/biol/willis.htm http://www1.umn.tc.edu/ships/modules/phys/currents/pages/intro.htm http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09500690903104465 The Minnesota Case Study Collection: New Historical Inquiry Case Studies for Nature of Science Education Abstract Introduction The Minnesota Case Studies ‘Alfred Russel Wallace & the Origin of New Species’ by Ami Friedman (2010) ‘Carleton Gadjusek & Kuru’ by Pierre Paul Gros (2011) ‘Lady Mary Wortley Montagu & Smallpox Variolation in 18th-Century England’ by Erika Remillard-Hagen (2010) ‘Richard Lower & the ‘Life Force’ of the Body’ by Erin Moran (2009) Debating Glacial Theory, 1800--1870 by Keith Montgomery (2010) ‘Robert Hooke, Hooke’s Law & the Watch Spring’ by Shusaku Horibe (2010) ‘Determining Atomic Weights: Amodeo Avogadro & His Weight-Volume Hypothesis’ by Lindsey Novak (2008) ‘Interpreting Native American Herbal Remedies’ by Toni Leland (2007) ‘Picture Perfect? Making Sense of the Vast Diversity of Life on Earth’ by Katie Carter (2007) ‘Splendor of the Spectrum: Bunsen, Kirchoff & the Origin of Spectroscopy’ by Sam Jayakumar (2006) ‘Freedom from Decision: The Psychology of B.F. Skinner’ by Adam Gallagher (2005) ‘The King of Colors: The Chemistry of Indigo and Other Dyes’ by Deborah Gangnon (2006) ‘The Earliest Microscopes’ by Kristin Gabel (2005) ‘Maize: Indigenous Agriculture & Modern Genetics’ by Shawn Kuykendall (2005) ‘Contested Currents: The Race to Electrify America’ by Steven Walvig (2010) ‘The Soul Made Flesh: An Introduction to the Nervous System’ by Michelle Stanley (2007) Works in Progress Commentary Problematizing NOS Fidelity to Authentic Science Other Aims, Other Resources Prospects References << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Gray Gamma 2.2) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (ISO Coated v2 300% \050ECI\051) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Error /CompatibilityLevel 1.3 /CompressObjects /Off /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJobTicket false 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work_53sodwtaw5hpjfjz37tgsqlsfu	----	In Defense of Homelessness Andrew F. Smith Published online: 17 November 2013 � Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2013 ‘‘Homelessness simply is not an acceptable lifestyle to us.’’ —Major William G. Nottle, Salvation Army 1 ‘‘Avoiding officially sanctioned shelters at all costs, the homeless take refuge almost anywhere else—in alleys, parks, tunnels, and abandoned buildings, under bridges, and so on. The police have to roust them from these areas regularly, because if the homeless become comfortable anywhere, what motive have they to stop being homeless? The trouble is, for some strange reason, it doesn’t work worth a damn.’’ —Daniel Quinn 2 1 Introduction David Wagner asserts that Americans tend to view the homeless in one of three ways. The most common is a hostile and judgmental view whereby the homeless are regarded as ‘‘disruptive of the public order.’’ 3 Those who hold this view demand that the homeless pull themselves together and return to work and a A. F. Smith (&) Department of English and Philosophy, Drexel University, Philadelphia, PA 19104, USA e-mail: afs52@drexel.edu 1 This quote originally appears in ‘‘New Regime to Operate Baloney Joe’s,’’ The Oregonian, 1 October 1990: B1, B5. It is also referenced by Anthony J. Steinbock, ‘‘Homelessness and the Homeless Movement: A Clue to the Problem of Intersubjectivity,’’ Human Studies 17 (1994): 203–223; quote from 206. 2 Daniel Quinn, Beyond Civilization (New York: Three Rivers, 1999), p. 122. 3 David Wagner, Checkerboard Square: Culture and Resistance in a Homeless Community (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1993), p. 176. 123 J Value Inquiry (2014) 48:33–51 DOI 10.1007/s10790-013-9405-x proper family life—or, barring this, to simply disappear from sight. Less widespread is a charitable view whereby the homeless must be shown compassion and provided with assistance in order to become housed and employed. Particularly prevalent among those who provide social services is a therapeutic view according to which the homeless are considered to be potential clients who can regain their self-esteem and social standing through proper treatment. ‘‘Despite the important differences among these views,’’ Wagner remarks, ‘‘they have strong similarities. Each tradition […] sees the down-and-out person as an individual (or a family); that is, as a disaggregated unit cut off from the social order.’’ 4 And each view communicates to the homeless that their social status is inferior, undesirable, and even pathological. This is the position that I challenge in this paper. Indeed, I contend that advocates for the homeless should accept it as a viable lifestyle. They should seek to help the homeless to thrive while homeless. The best way to accomplish this is to facilitate certain specifiable socio-economic forms of organization that are common among the homeless, operate at least partially independently of state and philanthropic institutions, and embody valuable and worthwhile ways to live and to make a living. This approach has two potential advantages in comparison to focusing solely on reforming state and philanthropic institutions that aim at securing shelter for the homeless. First, it allows us to envision how to mitigate the suffering experienced by the homeless—their constant state of vulnerability to arbitrary interference and stigmatization—by developing a clearer sense of what measures they have employed of their own accord beyond the reach of established institutions to enjoy greater security, autonomy, and dignity. Second, it helps us to see how the norms underlying the current institutional response to homelessness facilitate psycholog- ical distress and social fragmentation not just among the homeless but also among the housed. To the extent that this is so, the ways in which the homeless seek to live and to make a living likewise may be conducive to the wellbeing of the housed. It is for these reasons that I defend homelessness. I proceed as follows. First, I offer a clearer sense of how the current institutional response to homelessness perpetuates and exacerbates suffering by the homeless. Next, I rely on the research of social scientists to highlight forms of socio- economic organization among the very poor in general and the homeless in particular that represent at least a partial rejection of the institutional response. Lastly, I draw on such disparate sources as Friedrich Nietzsche, Henry David Thoreau, novelist Daniel Quinn, historian Marshall Sahlins, and environmental activist Bill McKibben to develop a clearer sense of how these forms of socio- economic organization can benefit the housed—in particular, how they can mitigate societal dysfunction, acute and chronic job-related stress, and even 4 Ibid. 34 A. F. Smith 123 environmental destruction in a state that is largely unresponsive to the needs of all citizens. 5 2 ‘‘Out of Place’’ The homeless are regularly assumed to be mentally ill, of poor character, dangerous, offensive by their very presence, ex-convicts, substance abusers, irresponsible, a public nuisance, lazy, shiftless, unproductive, free riders, moochers, dependent, opportunistic, and so forth. As Talmadge Wright remarks, ‘‘The homeless body in the public imagination represents the body of decay, the degenerate body, a body that is constantly rejected by the public as ‘sick,’ ‘scary,’ ‘dirty and smelly,’ and a host of other pejoratives used to create social distance between housed and unhoused persons.’’ 6 They are, Uma Narayan states, ‘‘people whose destitute presence makes public spaces less enjoyable, comfortable, or aesthetically pleasing for those who are better off.’’ 7 They exhibit deviant and dysfunctional behavior unfit for public display, hence are ‘‘a representation of fundamental and threatening outsiderness,’’ Teresa Gowan remarks. 8 Given these observations, it is widely assumed that the homeless must be kept off the streets and safely shunted away from those who use public spaces for work and leisure. Stuart Bykofsky argues that the rights of taxpayers demand that authorities deal harshly with the homeless. Since tax dollars are spent to pave and clean the streets, taxpayers have a right to evict the homeless from them. 9 As 5 Of course, I claim neither that the housed necessarily would fare better in American society were they homeless nor that steps should not be taken to house the homeless on terms that they accept. My central point, instead, is that we do a genuine disservice both to the homeless and the housed by ignoring the viability and value of certain modes of living and of making a living that have proven to work for the homeless. I also am well aware that my argument may be viewed as romanticizing the plight of the homeless. Linda Alcoff (‘‘The Problem of Speaking for Others,’’ Cultural Critique 20 (1991–1992): 5–32) warns of the discursive dangers associated with members of more privileged classes speaking on behalf of the less privileged. She advocates engaging in dialogue, both listening to and speaking with the subjects of our investigation as dialogical equals while acknowledging that we are not equally socially and politically situated. With this in mind, I have intentionally sought out the work of researcher who have engaged with the homeless in their preferred environs and who have attempted to develop an honest assessment of their needs, interests, and concerns by entering into dialogue with them. I cannot deny that my interpretation of the statements by those interviewed is filtered through what, invariably, is my socially mediated lens: in particular my own relationships with the less privileged. But this is a matter we all face, which makes it all the more important that we expand the debate about how to address homelessness to as wide an audience as possible. This essay represents just one voice in this debate. 6 Talmadge Wright, Out of Place: Homeless Mobilizations, Subcities, and Contested Landscapes (Albany: SUNY, 1997), p. 69. 7 Uma Narayan, ‘‘No Shelter Even in the Constitution? Free Speech, Equal Protection, and the Homeless,’’ in The Ethics of Homelessness: Philosophical Perspectives, ed. John M. Abbarno (Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1999), pp. 153–169; quote from p. 160. 8 Teresa Gowan, ‘‘American Untouchables: Homeless Scavengers in San Francisco’s Underground Economy,’’ International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy 17(3–4) (1997): 159–190; quote from p. 170. 9 See Stuart Bykofsky, ‘‘No Heart for the Homeless,’’ Newsweek 108 (1 December 1986): 12–13. For a compelling criticism of Bykofsky’s argument, see Anita M. Superson, ‘‘The Homeless and the Right to ‘Public Dwelling,’’’ in The Ethics of Homelessness: Philosophical Perspectives, ed. John M. Abbarno (Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1999), pp. 141–151; cf. p. 144. In Defense of Homelessness 35 123 George Will asserts, ‘‘If it is illegal […] to litter the streets, frankly it ought to be illegal for people […] to sleep in the streets. Therefore, there is a simple matter of public order and hygiene in getting these people somewhere else. Not arrest them, but move them off somewhere where they are simply out of sight.’’ 10 Even the far less callous commentator Nel Noddings maintains that the right of the homeless to public dwelling must be curtailed both for their own good and for the good of the housed. 11 For the homeless to be publicly visible thus is for them to be ‘‘out of place,’’ as Wright puts it. They defy the sense of order that authorities seek to convey, which can only be restored if they are made ‘‘invisible’’—made to disappear from public view. Indeed, we may assume that the homeless want to disappear: to get a job, find a home, and resume a normal life. As a result, Quinn asserts, ‘‘The role of officialdom is therefore to assist, prompt, and encourage the homeless to get about the business of resuming that normal life. Above all, nothing must be done that would encourage the homeless to remain homeless.’’ 12 Several institutional responses to homelessness are commonly implemented. Authorities take steps to exclude the homeless in particular from popular work and leisure destinations. 13 Another common response is outright harassment, whether or not it is institutionally sanctioned. 14 Attempts at displacement of the homeless from their accommodations are also common. Danielle Steel (yes, that Danielle Steel) describes witnessing the San Francisco Department of Public Works (DPW) removing one person’s dwelling from the street. ‘‘They arrive with a dump truck, and if the homeless person is momentarily away at a public bathroom, trying to scrounge up something to eat, trying to find work, or maybe just asleep, the DPW truck scoops up all their belonging, and tidies up the mess for them.’’ 15 Steel notes that DPW carried out the same action in numerous tent cities. Finally, the homeless shelter system promotes containment, which represents the most prominent response to homelessness. Shelters are regarded within the U.S. as perhaps the one proper place for the homeless to dwell until they are able to get back on their feet. The homeless are thus placed into shelters where—like prisoners, the clinically insane, and other ‘‘deviants’’—they can safely be ignored by the housed and monitored by authorities. 16 10 This quote appears in Narayan, op cit., p. 163. 11 See Nel Noddings, ‘‘Caring, Social Policy, and Homelessness,’’ Theoretical Medicine 23 (2002): 441–454. 12 Quinn, op cit., p. 122. 13 See David A. Snow and Michael Mulcahy, ‘‘Space, Politics, and the Survival Strategies of the Homeless,’’ American Behavioral Scientist 45(1) (2001): 149–169. 14 See Superson, op cit., p. 141. 15 Danielle Steel, A Gift of Hope: Helping the Homeless (New York: Delacorte, 2012), p. 64. 16 See Noah S. Berger, ‘‘The Guardian of the Birds,’’ in The Ethics of Homelessness: Philosophical Perspectives, ed. John M. Abbarno (Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1999), pp. 15–20; and Michel Foucault, History of Madness, ed. Jean Khalfa and trans. Jonathan Murphy and Jean Khalfa (New York: Routledge, 2006). I do not intend to connote that homeless service providers relish such harsh treatment of the homeless. Rather, they are enmeshed in an institutional framework that heavily constrains their actions. See Jason A. Wasserman and Jeffrey M. Clair, At Homes on the Street (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2010), pp. 172ff. 36 A. F. Smith 123 The stated goal of these various institutional responses to homelessness, taken individually or collectively, is to facilitate reintegration of the homeless into the workforce and into homes with stable families. This goal thus supports two complementary ethics: the work ethic and the family ethic. 17 Liberal and conservative public officials and community leaders alike remain deeply committed to the work ethic: to the idea that personal responsibility and fulfillment can be maintained only through gainful and legitimate employment aimed at individual or familial material success. 18 The family ethic likewise has broad-based political support. From the perspective of those who endorse it, family membership provides the primary means to enjoy economic stability and security. It most readily facilitates the proper maturation and moral education of children. Under the best of conditions, it constitutes a lifelong social support system with ties that bind more strongly than just about any extrafamilial relationship can. For these reasons, states Wagner, ‘‘the family is the unit upon which a variety of social welfare allocations are based in our society.’’ 19 It is impossible to deny that many homeless people experience genuine hardships on the streets. Substance abuse is rampant (although this is hardly unique to this particular demographic). It is estimated that one-third suffer from mental illness (although this is only slightly higher than within the wider American populace). 20 Many homeless youths engage in sex work. Many homeless veterans battle with post-traumatic stress disorder. Violence is commonplace, which sows distrust and fear both of the housed and of other homeless individuals. 21 The unpredictability of street life can cause great anxiety and exhaustion, leading people, remarks Steele, to ‘‘quietly disintegrate on the streets.’’ 22 Unfortunately, the institutional response does more to exacerbate than to alleviate these hardships. 23 Consider, for example, what life is like in many shelters. Many 17 Arguably, in consonance with the psychological distress associated with the institutional response, its unstated goal is to create a sense of terror at the proposition of becoming homeless, which facilitates adherence to the work and family ethics by the housed. I thank Ian Werkheiser for highlighting this point. 18 See Francis Piven and Richard Cloward, Regulating the Poor: The Functions of Public Welfare (New York: Vintage, 1971), p. 34. 19 Wagner, op cit., p. 46. 20 See Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett, The Spirit Level (New York: Bloomsbury, 2009), p. 67. Superson argues that characteristics of mental illness—depression, listlessness, anxiousness, and the like—should be considered ‘‘natural responses’’ to the conditions the homeless face. See op cit., p. 42. See also Paul Koegel and M. Audrey Burnam, ‘‘Problems in the Assessment of Mental Illness Among the Homeless: An Empirical Approach,’’ in Homelessness: A National Perspective, ed. Marjorie J. Robertson and Milton Greenblatt (New York: Plenum, 1992), pp. 77–100; Lisa Goodman, Leonard Saxe, and Mary Harvey, ‘‘Homelessness as Psychological Trauma,’’ American Psychologist (1991): 1219–1225; and Patricia Anne Murphy, ‘‘The Rights of the Homeless: An Examination of the Phenomenology of Place,’’ in The Ethics of Homelessness: Philosophical Perspectives, ed. John M. Abbarno (Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1999), 55–61. 21 See Katherine Coleman Lundy, Sidewalks Talk: A Naturalistic Study of Street Kids (New York: Garland, 1995), p. 80. 22 See Steel, op cit., p. 3. See also Jennifer Toth, The Mole People: Life in the Tunnels Beneath New York City (Chicago: Chicago Review, 1993), p. 5. 23 There are exceptions, including the now defunct Baloney Joe’s in Portland, OR, and Fountain House in New York City. In Defense of Homelessness 37 123 inhabitants are thankful for having an option other than begging and foraging for food in dumpsters. 24 But, first, that inhabitants feel compelled to express thankfulness suggests that shelters tend to operate within the context of what Harold Garfinkel refers to as the ‘‘degradation ceremony’’ to which the homeless must submit. 25 Second, they serve to separate out the deserving from the undeserving: ‘‘Those who obey are deserving. Those who do not are undeserving,’’ states Wright. 26 Obeying often means undergoing screening for substance abuse, abiding by a strict curfew, enduring long waits for food and services, consenting to constant surveillance and regimentation (lining up for meals, submitting to sermons or prayer services before receiving assistance), performing unpleasant chores, engaging in an active search for work and permanent housing, potentially submitting to abuse and robbery at the hands of fellow inhabitants, and putting up with arbitrary interference by shelter staff. It is no wonder, then, that shelters are often used only as a last resort when street life becomes especially precarious or weather conditions too difficult to bear. 27 3 Socio-Economic Forms of Homeless Organization Those who have had sustained contact with the homeless report that three specifiable norms tend to govern their interactions—not because they are somehow more virtuous than the housed but because adhering to these norms fosters the enjoyment of a degree of security, dignity, and autonomy under conditions of great duress. 28 These norms include security through community, free sharing of provisions, and equitable exchange. And they facilitate the creation of a support network on which members can rely as they seek to escape the shelters, family abuse, predatory landlords, and harassment by police and the public. 29 24 See Mike Yankoski, Under the Overpass: A Journey of Faith on the Streets of America (Colorado Springs, CO: Multnomah, 2012), p. 32. 25 See Harold Garfinkel, ‘‘Conditions of Successful Degradation Ceremonies,’’ American Journal of Sociology 61 (1956): 240–244. Offering a similar perspective, hip-hop artist Jay-Z suggests that ‘‘to some degree charity is a racket in a capitalist system, a way of making our obligations to one another optional and of keeping poor people feeling a sense of indebtedness to the rich’’ (Decoded (New York: Spiegel & Gray, 2010), p. 220). 26 Wright, op cit., p. 215. 27 See Dennis P. Culhane and Randall Kuhn, ‘‘Patterns and Determinants of Public Shelter Utilization among Homeless Adults in New York City and Philadelphia,’’ Journal of Policy Analysis and Management 17(1) (1998): 23–43. 28 See James C. Scott, ‘‘The Infrapolitics of Subordinate Groups,’’ in The Global Resistance Reader, ed. Louise Amoore (New York: Routledge, 2005), pp. 71f. 29 Rachel Solnit highlights numerous instances in which natural disasters and comparable events have led those most adversely affected to band together for mutual support. For example, while it was widely reported that in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, which hit New Orleans in 2005, residents were routinely accosting one another, comparably few such incidents actually occurred. Far more commonly city residents and boat owners from outlying areas offered whatever assistance they could provide in the absence of state support. Solidarity, not engagement in a Hobbesian war of all against all, was the most common reflexive response to their travails. See A Paradise Built in Hell (New York: Viking, 2009). 38 A. F. Smith 123 Solitary panhandlers are the most publicly visible of the homeless. Because of this, it is easy to get the impression that the homeless tend to prefer isolation and disaffiliation. But this is not so. Most prefer to maintain contact with other people who are familiar with their experiences. Mike Yankoski spent time on the streets in various cities in the American West. He notes that time and again, fellow homeless whom he encountered for the first time were welcoming and happy to provide information about where to obtain food and where best to panhandle. By his account, moreover, the perceived isolation of panhandlers is itself a sign of territorial respect for fellow panhandlers. 30 Wagner, who studied the homeless community in Portland, Maine, in the 1980s, notes that food, cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, and information about social services were readily shared. 31 When perceived violations of what were intended to be reciprocal exchanges occurred, they were quickly resolved by the intervention of others in the community. These practices maintained and even strengthened the cohesion of the community. Such cohesion even made it difficult for some members of the community to remain in housing units that became available, as they were geographically separated them from peers and left to their own devices. 32 Public officials and the media generally focus on ways in which the homeless consume resources while overlooking or willfully ignoring their productive activities. Perhaps they assume that one cannot be genuinely productive—one cannot care for oneself and contribute to social wellbeing—outside of traditional employment channels, which is incorrect. Or perhaps they take affront to the decision of many homeless to refuse traditional employment, which ignores the fact that the employment options open to the homeless (and the very poor) are generally grueling, oppressive, and fail to guarantee an income that can permit them to escape poverty. Deindustrialization, deunionization, and the rise of the service sector have generated a sharp decrease in well-paying jobs for low-skilled and unskilled workers with no coinciding increase in state support in the United States. 33 Yet the popular assumption that the homeless are indolent freeloaders does not hold up in the face of the resourcefulness and self-discipline that many exhibit. As Wagner remarks, ‘‘The popular ascription […] of ‘laziness’ among the poor can only be upheld by ignoring the dominant underground economy of nonwage labor’’ as well as other productive activities such as parenting and caring for others on the street. 34 Along with panhandling, the homeless spend considerable time scavenging, busking, and selling junk and recyclables. This permits them at least partially to avoid the degradation ceremonies performed by social service institutions and also to maintain dignity through productivity. Consider the activities of recyclers, whose attitudes reflect the demand to be seen as hard working, competent, and self-sufficient. Recycling has become a primary 30 See also Gwendolyn A. Dodrick, Something Left to Lose (Philadelphia: Temple University, 1997), p. 27. 31 See also Wasserman and Clair, op cit. 32 See Wagner, op cit, p. 148; Toth, op cit., p. 16; and Steel, op cit., pp. 28f. 33 See Jacob Hacker and Paul Pierson, Winner-Take-All Politics (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010). 34 Wagner, op cit., p. 77. In Defense of Homelessness 39 123 source of income for people who are excluded from the shrinking formal labor market. Gowan notes that recyclers are confronted by long-standing discourses that treat them and their activities ‘‘as powerful symbols of deviance and decay.’’ 35 In response, recyclers work extremely hard: some earning just a few dollars for working more than twelve hours per day and ‘‘sometimes taking in two or even three loads of 100-200 pounds each.’’ 36 Understandably, this has struck commentators who focus on informal economies as an example of how firms prey on the weak to maximize profits, often with state complicity. Manuel Castells and Alejandro Portes regard the activities of recyclers as a byproduct of the success the state has had at scaling back the social safety net in combination with outsourcing recycling by the firms that process recyclables to parties that receive little income, no benefits, and no leverage with management. 37 This is undoubtedly so; I do not deny that recyclers, and the homeless in general, are deserving of sustained state support, a salient voice with respect to the conditions of their employment, and a living wage. What is peculiar, though, is that these concerns have little resonance with the lived experience of recyclers, according to Gowan. ‘‘Despite the low pay, many of the homeless recyclers really get into their work with enthusiasm. They do not express the sullen resentment of people acting only out of economic compulsion.’’ As one recycler thus declares, ‘‘I work hard, I clear up the neighborhood. Don’t beg, don’t steal, don’t deal drugs.’’ 38 ‘‘Why,’’ Gowan asks, ‘‘should the homeless recycler be so emotionally involved in a job which is physically exhausting, low paid, and most of all, significantly stigmatized by much of the general population as not only disgusting but akin to stealing?’’ 39 The answer may be twofold. Recyclers need not fight for resources given the abundance of recyclable material available in urban spaces. This in turn creates a sense of self-sufficiency and solidarity with fellow scavengers since they can enjoy ‘‘relationships in which friendship, not cash, are seen as security,’’ notes Mark Boyle. 40 Grace Yang notes in a recent article that the American media has all but ignored the existence—let alone the expansion—of tent cities, which now populate some fifty-five cities. 41 When attention is paid to them, the focus is on matters of hygiene, safety, and access to electricity and safe drinking water. For this reason, tent cities are regarded as accommodations of last resort. 35 Gowan, op cit., p. 170. 36 Ibid., p. 161. 37 See Manuel Castells and Alejandro Portes, ‘‘World Underneath: The Origins, Dynamics, and Effects of the Informal Economy,’’ in The Informal Economy: Studies in Advanced and Less Developed Countries, ed. Alejandro Portes, Manuel Castells, and Lauren Benton (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1989), pp. 11–37. 38 Gowan, op cit., p. 169. 39 Ibid., p. 170. 40 Mark Boyle, The Moneyless Man: A Year of Freeconomic Living (Oxford, UK: Oneworld, 2010), p. 42. 41 See Grace Yang, ‘‘US Media Ignores Sharp Increase in ‘Tent Cities’ in 2012,’’ Examiner.com, 2 August 2012; http://www.examiner.com/article/us-media-ignores-sharp-increase-of-tent-cities-2012. 40 A. F. Smith 123 http://www.examiner.com/article/us-media-ignores-sharp-increase-of-tent-cities-2012 But it is important not to overlook that life in tent cities can offer forms of socio- economic support to which residents have access nowhere else. In many encampments (although of course not all; I denote marked tendencies, not certainties), help is not denied to those who seek it, and no one is exposed to regimentation or humiliation in order to receive it. This allows for the freedom and privacy that shelters lack, offers protection and security, and permits residents to make a living collectively. Wright even found encampments in San Jose in which residents self-selected on the basis of alcohol or drug use, which permitted residents to choose locations most suited to their liking. 42 At The Bridge in San Jose, Wright describes finding numerous huts that were well ventilated and well insulated, many with lofts, windows, storage space, and internal stoves for heat and for cooking. 43 Fresh water was available at a nearby fire hydrant that city workers turned on for residents. Privacy and respect for personal space were strictly enforced, and disputes were settled by residents with seniority. In addition, it was typical for residents to work together to appropriate and use resources. As one resident reported to Wright: ‘‘Do what you can for them and they’ll do what they can for you. They go out and work and they bring in whatever they could. We go to a dumpster, get steak, wash it off, cook it, and make stew or whatever.’’ 44 Residents faced low barriers to entry, high levels of camaraderie, and control over their labor practices. So long as their basic needs were met, ‘‘Sharing with each other whatever resources they could find, ‘Bridge’ members were fond of talking about their camp as a ‘family.’’’ 45 This provided a basis for them to make a place for themselves and to enjoy the benefits of collective action. Wright also visited Tranquility City in Chicago. Residents established an extensive social network with area churches, art galleries, and community activists first to resist being uprooted and then to secure public housing. Several former residents lamented the loss of security Tranquility City afforded them in comparison to life in the projects, in which drug dealing and gang violence were a constant concern. 46 As one former resident recalled: ‘As a group we stuck together because we had nobody else.’ […] Decisions were made collectively, although some newcomers would often exclude 42 Wasserman and Clair do note that a good number of encampments replicate wider cultural dynamics when it comes to self-selection. Racial segregation is commonplace. Moreover, authorities are more likely to raid and shut down predominantly African-American encampments than predominantly white encampments. This permits the latter to become more established and comfortable, thus replicating wider trends of differential and asymmetrical treatment by the state on the basis of race. See op cit., p. 103. 43 At the Shanty in New York City, Gwendolyn Dodrick also found huts that had heat, electricity, and locks. There was just one entrance into the encampment, which made it easy to monitor. And the sanitation department collected garbage on a regular basis. Residents, who also embraced an ethic of sharing, were better off in the ‘‘flexible market’’ that they created for themselves ‘‘than in the more expensive and less yielding market of the outside world,’’ op cit., p. 200. 44 See Wright, op cit. p. 270. 45 Ibid., p. 269. See also Megan Ravenhill, The Culture of Homelessness (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2008). For more on basic needs, see Wasserman and Clair, op cit., p. 109. 46 See ibid., pp. 280f. In Defense of Homelessness 41 123 themselves, living on the farther edges of the camp. Those who chose to exclude themselves were still checked upon by the other hut dwellers periodically, and were left alone if they desired. Problems would be worked out collectively. 47 Residents gained a sense of hope, optimism, and place through community involvement: ‘‘what I’ve gained is having people know who I am, which I really like. I am no longer invisible.’’ 48 Jason Motlagh visited Slab City, a squatter’s camp in the California desert. Slab City—which one resident referred to as a ‘‘postapocalyptic vacation zone’’—is home not just to eccentrics but also to victims of the 2008 economic downturn. 49 It affords residents rent-free accommodations; a community in which both resources and skills are readily shared; and a slower, simpler life free from the watchful eyes of authorities. Jennifer Toth ventured into the tunnels beneath Manhattan and found The Condos, a ‘‘quiet and peaceful’’ place where people could set up accommo- dations within easy distance of electric wires to which lighting could be attached and a sprinkler pipe for fresh water. ‘‘Once inside the community, I was safe from random violence of tunnel life,’’ Toth states. ‘‘Even without aboveground law, there was a network of protection.’’ 50 It should go without saying that tent cities are not suitable for everybody. But they are chosen by so many homeless instead of the shelters precisely because they provide a degree of security, autonomy, and dignity in terms of living and making a living that shelters generally do not. Indeed, the forms of socio-economic organization adopted by the homeless, particularly in tent cities, can work quite well for the housed as well. They can act as a powerful counterweight to social and political policies that exacerbate social dysfunction, employment-related hardships, environmental collapse, and state institutions that serve the few at the expense of the many. As such, the homeless highlight possible avenues by which the housed too can at least partially opt out of forms of socio-economic organization that may not work for them. This can assist the housed as well to envision how to challenge the work and family ethics without having to engage in the prohibitively difficult task of directly resisting the powerful forces that defend them. Instead, they can walk away. 4 Unlocking the Food and Other Ways to Opt Out If I am right that the activities of the homeless provide a means to challenge prevailing socio-economic norms, to offer an alternative vision of critique and the facilitation of social change, then the homeless are indeed dangerous—although not 47 Ibid., p. 282. 48 Ibid., p. 291. 49 See Jason Motlagh, ‘‘Slab City, Here We Come: Living Life Off the Grid in California’s Badlands,’’ Time, 3 February 2012. 50 Toth, op cit., p. 252. 42 A. F. Smith 123 in the typically ascribed ways. They are fellow citizens who nevertheless are others, outsiders, threats to the current contours of American society. They represent one of American society’s most salient limiting conditions, for the institutional response has failed—‘‘repeatedly and consistently’’—to neutralize them. 51 Consider, for example, Nietzsche’s discussion of ‘‘ennoblement through degeneration.’’ In Human, All too Human, Nietzsche suggests that social custom is a preserving strength of any community. However, strong communities tend over time to produce ‘‘firm-charactered individuals’’ who, because they face no concerted challenges to their shared customs, end up exhibiting ‘‘the gradually increasing inherited stupidity such as haunts all stability like its shadow.’’ Under such conditions, strong communities greatly benefit from their ‘‘more unfettered, uncertain, and morally weaker individuals’’—individuals who are either unwilling or unable to live in accordance with social custom—who are particularly well situated to discover new pathways to ‘‘spiritual progress.’’ In this respect, Nietzsche declares, ‘‘Degenerate natures are of the highest significance wherever progress is to be effected. Every progress of the whole has to be preceded by a partial weakening. The strongest natures preserve the type, the weaker help it to evolve.’’ 52 If Nietzsche provides a viable lens through which to discuss the problem at hand, from within the purview of prevailing social custom in the United States the homeless must be perceived as degenerate. But it is their very degeneracy that makes possible healthy forms of social transformation. As a result, Lawrence Hatab remarks, from the purview of a society so transformed, the homeless turn out on due reflection to embody a ‘‘life-advancing strength.’’ 53 By contrast, the demands imposed by the work and family ethics can force ‘‘life denying’’ values on those who are commanded to submit to demeaning jobs that provide no pathway out of poverty, abusive family relationships, a foster care system that is indifferent to the needs of its clients, and exploitative landlords against whom tenants have no viable recourse. At best, Nietzsche concludes, such submission would entail the embrace of ‘‘asceticism,’’ the reduction of one’s life to the ‘‘mechanical activity’’ of maintaining a form of domicility that ‘‘brings considerable relief to a life of suffering’’ but only by engaging in a ‘‘hypnotic dampening of the capacity for pain.’’ 54 While life-advancing strength may not be conceptualized by Nietzsche explicitly in terms of what would be socially and economically beneficial to those living on the margins of society, it is quite interesting to note that more than once Wright was told by encampment resident about their newfound ‘‘will to live.’’ 55 They encountered 51 Quinn, op cit., p. 126. See also Peter Marcuse, ‘‘Neutralizing Homelessness,’’ Socialist Review 18 (1988): 69–96; and David Lovekin, ‘‘Technology and Culture and the Problem of the Homeless,’’ The Philosophical Forum 24(4) (1993): 363–374. 52 Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, All too Human, trans. R.J. Hollingdale (New York: Cambridge University, 1986), p. 224. 53 Lawrence J. Hatab, Nietzsche’s On the Genealogy of Morality: An Introduction (New York: Cambridge University, 2008), p. 47. 54 Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals, trans. Douglas Smith (New York: Oxford University, 1996), p. 112. 55 Wright, op cit., p. 295. In Defense of Homelessness 43 123 residents who treated them with respect precisely for having the wherewithal to opt out of the shelter system, to walk away, to choose the ‘‘least worst alternative available to them’’ and, in the process, to reject domicility for the sake of life. 56 Why should this be of value to those among the housed who are not subject to the acute hardships experienced by the homeless? Quinn asserts that the homeless are best viewed as ‘‘reluctant pioneers’’ blazing a path ‘‘beyond civilization’’: beyond a culture in which the idea is perpetuated that there is exactly one right way to live despite the fact that this way of living is profoundly destructive individually, socially, and environmentally. Here, then, is but a glimpse of what a culture beyond the American iteration of civilization might look like, if, indeed, the practices exhibited by the homeless point the way. Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett note that American society is currently at the pinnacle of material and technological achievement yet, at the same time, so many people find themselves anxiety-ridden, prone to depression, and deeply worried about their social status. What Americans have gained in material wealth has come at the expense of meaningful social contact and emotional satisfaction. As a result, Americans all too frequently seek comfort in overeating, obsessive consumption, alcohol and drug abuse, and psychoactive medications. Roughly 25 percent of adults have been diagnosed as mentally ill within the last year. 57 Over their lifetimes, almost half of Americans experience mental illness. That this is comparable to the rates of mental illness among the homeless suggests that members of the wider population likewise suffer in their work and family lives from a lack of security, autonomy, and dignity—if not to the degree experienced by the homeless. According to Wilkinson and Pickett, ‘‘individual psychology and societal inequality relate to each other like lock and key.’’ 58 Rooted in human evolutionary development is extreme sensitivity to differences in social status. In the modern world, ‘‘The scale of income difference has a powerful effect on how we relate to each other.’’ 59 As a result, health and social problems are decidedly worse in more unequal societies. Stark societal inequality strongly correlates—across all social classes—with lower life expectancy; increased mental illness (including drug and alcohol addiction); lower rates of literacy and competence with math; higher rates of infant mortality, teenage births, homicide, and imprisonment; eroded social trust; and reduced social mobility. Jacob Hacker and Paul Pierson note in turn that the precipitous increase in income inequality in the United States over the past thirty years has come at the expense of job security, affordable health insurance and higher education, and a robust social safety net. 60 David Callahan provides an illuminating account of how the increasing emphasis by firms on the bottom line, which has gone hand in hand with increasing income inequality, has led to a sharp 56 Quinn, op cit., p. 125. See also Wagner, op cit., pp. 34 and 68; and Survival Guide to Homelessness, ‘‘How to Solve Homelessness,’’ 23 April 2011; http://guide2homelessness.blogspot.com/2011/04/how-to- solve-homelessness.html. 57 See Wilkinson and Pickett, op cit., p. 67. 58 Ibid., p. 33. 59 Ibid., pp. 4–5. 60 See Hacker and Pierson, op cit. 44 A. F. Smith 123 http://guide2homelessness.blogspot.com/2011/04/how-to-solve-homelessness.html http://guide2homelessness.blogspot.com/2011/04/how-to-solve-homelessness.html increase in job-related stress, particularly for low- and middle-income earners but also for upper-income earners in middle management. 61 If what matters in terms of individual and societal health is how people stand in relation to one another, it stands to reason that poverty should not be viewed as an absolute condition. As Marshall Sahlins contends: The world’s most primitive people have few possessions, but they are not poor. Poverty is not a certain small amount of goods, nor is it just a relation between means and ends; above all it is a relation between people. Poverty is a social status. As such it is the invention of civilization. It has grown with civilization, at once as an invidious distinction between classes and more importantly as a tributary relation. 62 Note the measures that the homeless take to shield themselves from the institutional response to their plight, which reinforces that they maintain an inferior social status that only the state and philanthropic organizations can rectify. Many tent cities are intentionally modeled to have no formal hierarchy. Much as in tribal cultures, note Wasserman and Clair, seniority confers symbolic power, especially in terms of settling disputes. 63 Because this power remains symbolic, the status anxiety to which the homeless are exposed on the streets is alleviated by social conditions in the encampments that foster equality, including mutual systems of support, care of and concern for all, and equitable treatment when disagreements arise. 64 What would opting out of hierarchical conditions involve for the housed? Wilkinson and Pickett call for the eclipse of corporatism: the embrace of forms of employment that reduce income inequality and undercut the rank ordering of bosses and subordinates. This can involve democratizing the workplace and encouraging the development of employee owned and operated businesses. This provides a basis for working conditions that are conducive to the alleviation of status anxiety while also reducing the societal dysfunction that is a direct result of stark social and economic inequality. The rejection of hierarchy in the workplace need not require taking the formal administrative steps that Wilkinson and Pickett identify, however. Quinn advocates opting out of corporate life by seeking to ‘‘live tribally.’’ This involves the establishment of forms of social organization that facilitate ‘‘people working together as equals to make a living’’ not for the sake of a paycheck but for the sake of perpetuating the tribe. 65 The circus is one clear example of tribal living. As Terrell Jacobs of the Culpepper and Merriweather Circus remarks of he and his cohorts, ‘‘We all work together, perform together, eat together, and, yes, bitch and 61 See David Callahan, The Cheating Culture (New York: Harcourt, 2004). 62 Marshall Sahlins, Stone Age Economics (New York: Aldine-Atherton, 1972), p. 38. 63 Wasserman and Clair, op cit., p. 105. 64 See Lisa Gray-Garcia, Criminal of Poverty: Growing Up Homeless in America (San Francisco: City Lights Foundation, 2006), pp. 213ff. Wasserman and Clair comment on the vociferous rejection by encampment residents of ‘‘regulating,’’ or a single person or group seeking to control the distribution of resources. This displays that encampment residents remain highly sensitive to any attempt to subvert their equality and autonomy. 65 Quinn, op cit., p. 65. In Defense of Homelessness 45 123 moan at each other. There’s not enough of us to play chiefs and Indians. It’s got to be a democracy.’’ As David Leblanc of the Big Apple Circus declares, ‘‘Here you not only live in the neighborhood, you’re also working together for a common goal. You’re part of something.’’ 66 The Neo-Futurists, an ensemble of artists in Chicago, together run a theater and art gallery in Chicago. Responsibility for all activities, including writing, directing, and performing plays, as well as working the box office, cleaning up, producing programs, and buying and operating props is shared equally. Tribal life—much like life in tent cities—is not without its difficulties, and it does not make people into saints, notes Quinn. Rather, ‘‘it enables ordinary people to make a living together with a minimum of stress’’: ‘‘wherever it is found intact, it’s found to be working well […] with the result that the members of the tribe are not generally enraged, rebellious, desperate, stressed-out borderline psychotics being torn apart by crime, hatred, and violence.’’ 67 The institutional response to homelessness focuses concerted attention on instilling a sense of individual responsibility while encouraging said responsibility to be directed toward material wellbeing for individuals or the family unit. ‘‘The American social welfare discourse is profoundly individualistic,’’ Gowan states. ‘‘Inability to prosper is an individual failure, stemming from personal deficien- cies.’’ 68 Such measures discourage the collective control exhibited in tent cities in favor of ‘‘individual control over a limited social space,’’ Wright remarks— namely, a single family home or apartment. Both the charitable and therapeutic views ‘‘discourage collective empowerment in favor of individual self-oriented success.’’ 69 Residents of tent cities are quite aware of this, which is one reason why they make keeping people sheltered, fed, and protected a common concern and a common enterprise. In an effort to maintain this cohesion while also considering how to provide the homeless with housing, Wagner offers the following provocation. I quote him at length: What if homeless people […] were offered the opportunity of collective mobility and collective resources rather than individual scrutiny, surveillance, and treatment? What if the dense social networks and cohesive subcultures that constitute the homeless community were utilized by advocates, social workers, and others? What if housing could be provided near the geographic areas in which street people congregate, decent housing that does not require leaving the group but that could be shared by street friends? There is no structural reason why obtaining shelter should entail separation from friends and community, except for the scarcity of adequate housing in U.S. cities 66 Ibid, p. 69. 67 Ibid, p. 61. 68 Gowan, op cit., pp. 171–172. See also Michael Katz, The Undeserving Poor (New York: Pantheon, 1989). 69 Wright, op cit., pp. 190 and 216, respectively. 46 A. F. Smith 123 and the refusal of the service system to acknowledge ties other than traditional families in making housing placements. 70 If such steps were to be taken, Wagner asserts that the homeless could free themselves both from the dangers associated with street life and from the hardships associated with isolation and dispersal. They could carry on quite effectively with the practices that provide them with collective control and empowerment. Being housed in and of itself would not inhibit this. What can the housed learn from this? McKibben states that ‘‘Access to endless amounts of cheap energy made us rich, and wrecked our climates, and it also made us the first people on earth who had no practical need for our neighbors.’’ Due mainly to cheap oil, our food arrives to us sometimes from thousands of miles away. We walk the streets with iPods pumping music into our earphones and commute to and from work alone. We’ve moved from the front porch of our homes to the rear deck. And we can purchase anything with a credit card and an Internet connection without having to leave home. As a result, McKibben notes that the average American eats roughly half as many meals with family and friends as they did fifty years ago. Moreover, ‘‘we have half as many close friends.’’ 71 This hyperindividualism not only facilitates our toleration of stark inequality, it also has adverse psychological effects. 72 We are less happy than we used to be, McKibben asserts, ‘‘and no wonder—we are, after all, highly evolved social animals.’’ 73 For this reason, he highlights a number of promising forms of socio- economic organization that have emerged over the past couple of decades in response to hyperindividualism. In consonance with the Transition Town (or permaculture) movement, people build local barter networks, expand community gardens and local food production, and seek out sources of local energy generation. 74 The Slow Money movement promotes investment in local businesses, while the Slow Food movement focuses on social interaction in the production, purchase, and cooking of locally grown organic foods. Each of these forms of association helps to enhance the social and ecological resilience of communities. Each creates bases for collective empowerment for the housed in a manner similar to what the homeless find in tent cities. And each at least partially circumvents forms of socio-economic organization that rely on individuation and isolation. Hence, they enhance the security, autonomy, and dignity of participants expressly by making them matters of common concern. 70 Wagner, op cit., p 180. By contrast, the anonymous author of the ‘‘Survival Guide to Homelessness’’ calls for providing the homeless with access to affordable capsule hotels like those developed in Japan, clean public toilets, and safe single occupancy showers. Additionally, squatters in Chicago have set about restoring abandoned houses, or so-called ‘‘abandonominiums,’’ that perpetuate blight. See Ben Austen, ‘‘The Death and Life of Chicago,’’ The New York Times, 29 May 2013; http://www.nytimes.com/2013/06/ 02/magazine/how-chicagos-housing-crisis-ignited-a-new-form-of-activism.html?ref=magazine&pagewanted= all&_r=4&. 71 Bill McKibben, Eaarth (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 2010), p. 133. 72 See Bill McKibben, Deep Economy (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 2007), p. 103. 73 McKibben, Eaarth, p. 133. 74 See David Holmgren, Permaculture: Principles & Pathways Beyond Sustainability (Hepburn, AU: Holmgren Designs, 2002). In Defense of Homelessness 47 123 http://www.nytimes.com/2013/06/02/magazine/how-chicagos-housing-crisis-ignited-a-new-form-of-activism.html?ref=magazine&pagewanted=all&_r=4& http://www.nytimes.com/2013/06/02/magazine/how-chicagos-housing-crisis-ignited-a-new-form-of-activism.html?ref=magazine&pagewanted=all&_r=4& http://www.nytimes.com/2013/06/02/magazine/how-chicagos-housing-crisis-ignited-a-new-form-of-activism.html?ref=magazine&pagewanted=all&_r=4& Steps also can be taken to encourage the collective control and empowerment of workers who do not walk away. While their ranks have been decimated over the past several decades, unions continue to serve as an organizational counterweight to corporations. They also continue to be under siege by both political parties, which is tolerated in part due to the all-too-common perception that as their membership numbers decline unions increasingly operate as just another special interest: looking out primarily for the interests of the rank and file even if doing so comes at the expense of the broader population. 75 But this need not be a permanent condition. What if unions were to invest as heavily as possible in outlets that permit them to reconnect with the broader population? What if they were to seek out avenues by which to revivify a sense of solidarity with a broad majority of citizens, in particular by showing the clear connection between a vital labor movement and the protection of robust living standards society-wide? This would better position them to convey that increased economic and social equality is tightly linked with improved physical and mental health, enhanced community life and social relations, reductions in violence, superior educational performance, greater social mobility, and the array of other social factors identified by Wilkinson and Pickett. This requires sustained popular action, including door knocking, phone calls, teach-ins, and community outreach. Community outreach in particular can build more robust institutional linkages if unions can reach across class and racial lines to muster the widespread support of religious communities (most notably those that currently provide material and moral support to the impoverished), voluntary associations, veterans groups, student and faculty organizations, unemployment support groups, and other comparable organizations that have both municipal clout and state- and national-level linkages. Members of these various associations in turn can reach out to unaffiliated members of their communities by means of both formal and informal consciousness raising campaigns. Any such attempt to develop a broad-based organizational counterweight to corporations is bound to be difficult to scale up. 76 Moreover, it is sure to be met with ceaseless misinformation and demagoguery, both of which can spur the perpetuation of what David Harvey calls a ‘‘politics of denial’’—specifically, a political orientation that denies the salience of stark social and economic inequality—among the disempowered and dispossessed. But if their means of operation can be reconstructed, unions and other groups with multilevel linkages have one clear advantage over the corporate community: their memberships are far more deeply rooted in local affairs, which gives them on-the-ground connections with those who are adversely affected by inequality. 77 Along with rejecting hierarchy and hyperindividualism, the forms of socio- economic organization here surveyed facilitate the rejection of wastefulness. Wastefulness comes in two primary forms: the failure to reuse and repurpose 75 See Jeffrey M. Jones, ‘‘Americans Most Confident in Military, Least in Congress,’’ 23 June 2011; http://www.gallup.com/poll/148163/Americans-Confident-Military-Leact-Congress.aspx. See also Jef- frey M. Jones, ‘‘Approval of Labor Unions Holds Near Its Low, at 52 %,’’ 31 August 2011; http://www. gallup.com/poll/149279/Approval-Labor-Unions-Holds-Near-Low.aspx. 76 See Mancur Olson, The Logic of Collective Action (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, 1965). 77 See David Harvey, The Enigma of Capital (New York: Oxford University, 2010), p. 252. 48 A. F. Smith 123 http://www.gallup.com/poll/148163/Americans-Confident-Military-Leact-Congress.aspx http://www.gallup.com/poll/149279/Approval-Labor-Unions-Holds-Near-Low.aspx http://www.gallup.com/poll/149279/Approval-Labor-Unions-Holds-Near-Low.aspx recyclable goods and the production of goods whose main purpose is to perpetuate conspicuous consumption. We have already seen how homeless scavengers counter the first form of wastefulness, saving countless tons of refuse from landfills that would otherwise degenerate into toxic waste. Avoiding conspicuous consumption provides perhaps a clearer path to opting out of wasteful practices for the housed. Sahlins identifies two possible means by which to achieve affluence—either by having much in comparison to others or by desiring little. Inasmuch as they adopt the second strategy, he identifies tribal peoples as ‘‘the original affluent society.’’ This defies the typical view of them, according to which we assume that they, like us, are driven by the desire to consume but lack the technological advantages that make mass consumption a possibility for them. But if they maintain no such drive to consume, then it is incorrect to regard them as impoverished; ‘‘perhaps better to think of them for that reason as free’’ inasmuch as goods can become an acute encumbrance, as anyone who has experienced relocating can attest. 78 Thoreau makes a similar claim in Walden, his testimonial to the advantages of living more simply. He identifies four specifiable advantages that it can provide. First, in line with Sahlins, those who always desire more are perpetually impoverished, regardless of how much they earn or how many goods they already possess. To be able to find contentment with what one has—to be free of the social pressure to have whatever is trending—is to enjoy wellbeing. Second, simplifying our lives is a necessary condition for self-cultivation. It puts oneself in a proper state of mind for an ‘‘elevation of purpose.’’ 79 This makes it possible to mitigate the ‘‘spiritual poverty’’ endemic in consumer cultures. 80 Third, it puts us in a better position to live deliberately in the sense that we are able more easily to track our habits of acquisition: paying closer attention to our consumption practices and better understanding their social and environmental effects. Fourth, in line with Wilkinson and Pickett, it can markedly improve social relations. Thoreau goes so far as to suggest that thievery—which takes place ‘‘only in communities where some have got more than is sufficient while others have not enough’’—would decline precipitously were more and more people willing to live simply. 81 Let us turn now to the matter of unlocking our food, the final means of opting out that I catalog. It is striking that almost half of the produce grown in rich nations is discarded while some 900 million people around the globe face malnutrition. 82 In the United States alone, over 50 million people face food insecurity. This includes one out of every six Americans and one out of every five 78 See Sahlins, op cit., p. 14. 79 Henry David Thoreau, Walden (Lexington, KY: Empire Books, 2013), p. 67. 80 Boyle, op cit., p. 25. 81 Thoreau, op cit., pp. 130–131. 82 See Rebecca Smithers, ‘‘Almost Half of the World’s Food Thrown Away, Report Finds,’’ The Guardian 10 January 2013; http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2013/jan/10/half-world-food-waste. See also World Hunger Education Service, ‘‘2012 World Hunger and Poverty Facts and Statistics,’’ 2012; http://www.worldhunger.org/articles/Learn/world%20hunger%20facts%202002.htm#Number_of_hungry_ people_in_the_world. In Defense of Homelessness 49 123 http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2013/jan/10/half-world-food-waste http://www.worldhunger.org/articles/Learn/world%20hunger%20facts%202002.htm#Number_of_hungry_people_in_the_world http://www.worldhunger.org/articles/Learn/world%20hunger%20facts%202002.htm#Number_of_hungry_people_in_the_world children. 83 Many homeless surely are food insecure. Yet many others have little problem acquiring what they need. ‘‘One thing about being homeless in New York, you can’t starve. There is just too much food around,’’ states one man interviewed by Toth. 84 Grocery stores and restaurants throw away vast quantities of food, and a good deal of it reaches the homeless. Numerous restaurants willingly give away unused and expired food at the end of each night. Both restaurants and supermarkets discard considerably more, making dumpster diving a popular enterprise. 85 While this practice is unlikely to be taken up by most housed people, it should at least cease to be a source of derision or even regarded as theft. Letting edible food rot leads to the release of methane. Add to this the environmental cost associated with transporting food waste to landfills and ‘‘you’d think that those who use waste food would be heroes in a world verging on climactic catastrophe and ecological collapse,’’ states Boyle. 86 This matter aside, it cannot be ignored that the homeless have found a means to opt out of engaging in legitimate forms of employment even for such basic a need as acquiring food. ‘‘The food may be under lock and key,’’ Quinn remarks, ‘‘but they’ve found all the cracks in the strongroom wall.’’ 87 They have found a viable means, without even enjoying a living wage, to unlock this food. This represents a powerful stance against both food waste and forms of socio-economic organization that permit millions to go hungry. The housed need not themselves take up dumpster diving and the related means of unlocking the food to acknowledge this. Perhaps, then, more steps should be taken to assist the homeless in its acquisition and distribution. 5 Conclusion The defense of homelessness that I have offered lays out an alternative vision for socio-economic organization that homeless practices and modes of interaction inspire. So too have I considered how to instigate social changes—by means of at least partially opting out of the work and family ethics rather than by directly challenging them—that call for moving beyond the norms associated with reintegration, hierarchy, hyperindividualism, wastefulness, and locking up food. 83 See Alisha Coleman-Jensen, Mark Nord, Margaret Andres, and Steven Carlson, ‘‘Household Food Security in the United States in 2010,’’ Economic Research Report (ERR-125), 2011; http://www.ers. usda.gov/media/121076/err125_2_.pdf. 84 Toth, op cit., p. 26. 85 David Giles, a graduate student in anthropology at the University of Washington studies dumpster diving culture. He got his monthly grocery bill down to $100 per month and knows many people who spend no money on food whatsoever. See Gillian Tett, ‘‘There’s No Time to Waste,’’ FT Magazine, 2 December 2011; http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/2/3c78c6ac-1bca-11e1-8647-00144feabdc0.html#axzz2b0mqJbF4. 86 Boyle, op cit., p. 139. 87 Daniel Quinn, My Ishmael (New York: Bantam, 1997). p. 201. 50 A. F. Smith 123 http://www.ers.usda.gov/media/121076/err125_2_.pdf http://www.ers.usda.gov/media/121076/err125_2_.pdf http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/2/3c78c6ac-1bca-11e1-8647-00144feabdc0.html#axzz2b0mqJbF4 Homelessness is not for everyone, of course. 88 But this is exactly the point. No one way of living is right for everyone—including the sort of life regarded as normal in American culture. If the homeless desire assistance, provide it for them on their terms. If they wish to be left to their own devices, leave them alone. If they seek to build communities partially or fully beyond the reach of state institutions and philanthropic organizations, permit them to do so and ask what can be learned from them in the process. Both the homeless and the housed stand to benefit from doing so. 88 I remain skeptical, for example, about children experiencing homelessness. Trevor Smith (no relation) also has suggested to me that my thesis speaks more to the plight of homeless men than to homeless women. Given that Wright notes that some men acting as protective figures in encampments exhibited what he perceived to be hypermasculine behavior, I do not take Smith’s suggestion lightly. Whether a defense specifically of female homelessness is viable is a matter for future investigation. In Defense of Homelessness 51 123 In Defense of Homelessness Introduction ‘‘Out of Place’’ Socio-Economic Forms of Homeless Organization Unlocking the Food and Other Ways to Opt Out Conclusion 
work_542gv5r66zgxbaf4lacvszdevy	----	polis43_14.p65 203 Resistencia civil noviolenta: la lucha contra el Socialismo Real en Polonia José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Universidad Complutense, Madrid, España. Email: Jaguil04@ucm.es Resumen: 1 La resistencia civil noviolenta puesta en práctica en la Polonia de los años 70 y 80 del siglo XX tuvo una dimensión muy destacada, tanto que, desde nuestra perspectiva, es un factor ineludible para comprender las causas de la desintegración del Socialismo Real en el país centro-europeo. La pluralidad de formas de acción noviolentas, desde las protestas simbólicas hasta las organizacio- nes paralelas al estado, posibilitó un empoderamiento de la sociedad civil, que tomó la apariencia del Sindicato Solidaridad. Esta organización heterogénea, formada por un gran número de plataformas civiles de distinto cariz, alcanzó un poder social que con posterioridad le otorgó un papel clave en la disolución del régimen socialista y en la conformación de la nueva Polonia democrática. Palabras clave: Noviolencia, sociedad civil, Solidaridad, KOR, PZPR. Civil nonviolent resistance: the struggle against Real Socialism in Poland Abstract: The Nonviolent civil resistance implemented in Poland in the 70s and 80s of the twentieth century had a very prominent dimension, which makes it, from our perspective, an unavoidable factor for understanding the causes of the disintegration of Real socialism in this central European country. The plurality of forms of nonviolent action going from symbolic protests to organizations parallel to the state, made possible an empowerment of civil society, which took on the shape of the Solidarity Trade Union. This heterogeneous organization, formed by a large number of civilian platforms of different particularities, reached a social power that subsequently awarded it a key role in the dissolution of the socialist regime and the establishment of the new democratic Poland. Keywords: Nonviolence, civil society, Solidarity, KOR, PZPR. Resistência civil não-violenta: a luta contra o Socialismo Real na Polônia Resumo: A resistência civil não-violenta colocada em prática na Polônia nos anos 70 e 80 do século XX teve uma dimensão muito importante, de modo que, desde nosso ponto de vista, é uma fator ineludível para a compreensão das causas da desintegração do Socialismo Real nesse país da Europa Central. A pluralidade de formas de ação não-violenta, desde os protestos simbólicos até as organizações paralelas estatais, tornou possível um fortalecimento da sociedade civil, que assumiu a aparência do Sindicato Solidariedade. Esta organização heterogênea formada por um grande número de plataformas civis de diferente perfil, alcançou um poder social que posteriormente outorgou-lheum papel chave na dissolução do regime Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016, p. 203-227 Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 204 socialista e no estabelecimento da nova Polónia democrática. Palavras-chave: Não-violência, sociedade civil, solidariedade, KOR, PZPR. * * * Introducción Entrar de lleno en el ámbito de la Guerra Fría y más concretamente en su etapa final, es una tarea harto complicada, pues existen numerosos estu- dios y perspectivas distintas acerca del período. Aún más se complica el propósito si nos acercamos a la desintegración del llamado Socialismo Real, término usado por historiadores y politólogos para denominar a los regíme- nes surgidos tras la Segunda Guerra Mundial bajo la órbita de la Unión Soviética.Entre ellos se encontraba la República Popular de Polonia en el cual nos centraremos en el presente artículo. Existen múltiples corrientes historiográficas que han interpretado el proceso histórico que nos ocupa, desde las tesis Fukuyamistas (Fukuyama 1992), hasta las stalinistas (Martens 1995) pasando por los que se basan en la Realpolitk (Kissinger 1994). Desde nuestra perspectiva todas ellas han obviado el papel de la sociedad civil y su acción, la cual nos proponemos recuperar con análisis como los que sostiene la historiografía de la noviolencia (Salio 1992). A nuestro juicio, una de las claves que explican la caída del Muro fue la organización de la ciudadanía en torno a planes de actuación de resistencia pacífica muy complejos y poliédricos. De este modo reivindicamos la pertinencia de abordar el estudio del proceso histó- rico polaco teniendo en cuenta la acción noviolenta de la sociedad civil. No queremos decir con esto que las otras formas de acercarse al estudio de la Guerra Fría no sean válidas, sino que la que proponemos juega un papel complementario que enriquece sin duda el conocimiento sobre este impor- tante periodo histórico. Existen muchas prácticas históricas ligadas a lo que hoy día denomi- namos la resistencia civil noviolenta, así como una literatura que apunta elementos de lo que denominaríamos resistencia civil y noviolencia. Pode- mos destacar las aportaciones pioneras de Étienne de La Boétie (1530-1563), que ya en el siglo XVI señalaba lo fundamental de la obediencia de una sociedad a su gobernante, para que las condiciones de posibilidad del régi- men en cuestión fueran plausibles, desapareciendo éstas cuando la obe- diencia era retirada. Su Discurso sobre la servidumbre voluntaria -en tor- no a 1548- sintetiza esta concepción del poder, que va a ser muy influyente en autores de los siglos posteriores, incluso del XX. Sin embargo, como tal, la historiografía y la teoría política de la noviolencia tiene, de alguna mane- ra, su origen en el norteamericano Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) y su Desobediencia Civil y en los escritos libertarios de León Tolstoi (1828- 1910). Ambos casos influyeron poderosamente en la gran figura de Mohandas Gandhi pero, también, en muchos otros que ya venían practi- cando formas de resistencia, insumisión, rebeldía y presión políticas en sus 205 luchas contra el capitalismo o las formas institucionales imperantes, es decir, en los movimientos campesinos, en el obrerismo, en la lucha de las mujeres por el voto, en los movimientos nacionalistas independentistas o en las luchas anticolonialistas entre otras. Recogiendo las enseñanzas y aportaciones de Ghandi, los trabajos de Gene Sharp pretenden sistematizar los métodos noviolentosen relación con planes de estrategia en campañas para la resolución de conflictos, en The Politics of Nonviolent Action(1973), teorizando sobre las fuentes del poder y la desobediencia de las masas. Asimismo, se pueden hallar en la literatura sobre el tema valiosas compilaciones que hacen un recorrido por la historia de dicha disciplina, las cuales establecen comparativas entre las grandes corrientes noviolentas, así como analogías entre el pensamiento de Gandhi y de Sharp, u orientan- do la noviolencia dentro de un amplio panorama de la ciencia política como una solución alternativa y seria a los conflictos de cualquier tipo. En Polí- tica sin violencia (2005 y 2009) Mario López Martínez reflexiona sobre estas cuestiones, puntualizando en el hecho del cambio en el statu quo de la relación entre política y violencia en los últimos años. En el mismo senti- do, de más reciente publicación tenemos Teoría e Historia de la revolución noviolenta (2013) bajo la autoría de Jesús Castañar Pérez. De un modo igualmente teórico, aunque incorporando casos de estudio-entre los que no se incluye Polonia-, es destacable el trabajo de Erica Chenoweth y Maria J. Stephan Why Civil Resistance Works: The Strategic Logic of Nonviolent Conflict (2013). No existe un abundante material sobre el proceso noviolento que contribuyó a acabar con el socialismo real en Polonia, si bien podemos encontrar algunas obras que incluyen algún capítulo en el que se comenta, superficialmente, cómo se desarrolló la acción. Peter Ackerman es uno de los autores de referencia, destacando algunas de sus obras en colabora- ción con otros intelectuales. La primera de ellas es la que edita junto a Christopher Kruegler Strategic nonviolent conflicts: The dynamics of people power in twentieth Century (1994), es decir poco tiempo después de que triunfase el movimiento Solidaridad, por lo que el libro básicamente se dedi- ca a analizar -en uno de sus capítulos- el proceso entre 1980 y 1981, es decir, entre la irrupción popular del sindicato y la Ley Marcial que estableció el gobierno del país en diciembre de 1981. El mismo autor firma A force more powerful: A Century of non-violent conflict (2000) junto a Jack Duvall en el que, nuevamente, podemos encontrar apéndices referidos al proceso pola- co. Sin duda estas obras suponen una aportación valiosa al tema en cues- tión, pero no son capaces de abordar con suficiente profundidad la comple- ja cuestión de la resistencia noviolenta en Polonia pues, su perspectiva sólo está interesada en el método sin armas, sin lograr desentrañar las particularidades de cada lucha o la adopción de tales métodos. De una forma similar opera la obra de Garton Ash y Adam Roberts Civil Resistance and Power Politics: the experience of non-violent action from Ghandi to the present (2009). El profesor Maciej Bartkowski en Poland´s Solidarity Movement (2009),aborda y enumera las acciones noviolentas -basándose en la sistematización de Sharp- que se pusieron en práctica en el país en la lucha contra el socialismo real, aunque de una manera muy José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 206 esquemática.Igualmente destacable es su trabajo general Recovering Nonviolent History: Civil resistance in Liberation Struggles(2013) en el que nos hemos basado para reconstruir los antecedentes de la noviolencia polaca en el siglo XIX. Antecedentes: la noviolencia en la Polonia del siglo XIX Durante toda la segunda mitad del siglo XIX, y los primeros coleta- zos del XX, se desplegó en Polonia una resistencia civil noviolenta muy destacada, que en buena medida, (Michnik 1987) serviría de sustrato para las campañas de resistencia que comenzaron en la década de los 70 del siglo XX, a las cuales dedicamos este artículo. A finales del siglo XVIII, Polonia había sido repartida entre las potencias de la zona, quedando una parte bajo el dominio del Imperio Austriaco- luego Austro-húngaro- otra bajo el Impe- rio zarista ruso y otra gobernada por Prusia-posteriormente Alemania-. La movilización de esta Polonia dividida, tanto en Austria-Hungría, como en Prusia-Alemania y en la Rusia zarista, tuvo un carácter nacionalista en la mayoría de sus variantes (Bartkowski 2013: 273-275). Por consiguiente, muchos de los esfuerzos llevados a cabo por los polacos durante la ocupa- ción estuvieron destinados a mantener y fomentar la identidad polaca, como algo distinto a las naciones rusa o alemana. Es destacable el papel de la educación clandestina basada en los valores tradicionales identitarios po- lacos, cuyo éxito fue incuestionable. En buena parte de los territorios don- de los polacos eran una mayoría étnica, pero se encontraban bajo dominio extranjero, se creó un tejido orgánico destinado no solo a la educación sino también a diversas cuestiones, como creación de movimientos como la Agricultural Circle Society en 1882. Organismos como el señalado sirvie- ron para el fomento de redes autogestionarias que funcionaran al margen del estado y que pusieran en valor lógicas distintas a las hegemónicas en los imperios que se repartían el territorio nacional polaco (Ibid: 262-264). Una importante riqueza de métodos y acciones de resistencia civil noviolenta tuvieron lugar en cada una de las partes del entonces dividido territorio de Polonia. Su eje vertebrador lo encontramos en el nacionalismo identitario, y en la autonomía, pues ante un estado que no percibían como suyo, y que por lo tanto no iba a responder a ningún tipo de demanda en este sentido, la opción alternativa residía en un funcionamiento autónomo y paralelo al mismo (Sharp 1973: 9-11). Las conmemoraciones a héroes na- cionales polacos ilustran perfectamente la manera que adoptaba la resisten- cia civil noviolenta polaca. Pondremos de ejemplo la conmemoración del centenario del levantamiento de 1794, liderado por Tadeusz Kosciusco, contra prusianos y rusos. Las celebraciones que acompañaron en 1894, la memoria de este episodio, congregaron en la ciudad de Cracovia -perteneciente al Imperio Austro-húngaro- a miles de polacos de toda condición. Desde cam- pesinos hasta obreros, pasando por clases acomodadas, asistieron a los actos realizados en Cracovia. La ausencia de violencia de los mismos, impe- día o al menos no conminaba a las autoridades locales a prohibir los actos o detener a los organizadores, puesto que no existía ningún tipo de pretex- 207 to, y un acto de tal cariz hubiera dificultado en demasía el dominio austriaco sobre la región meridional polaca. Por otro lado, este tipo de conmemora- ción resultaba extremadamente útil pues servía al propósito de difundir la noción identitaria polaca, y partir de esto, crear espacios de socialización que aumentaran la conciencia nacionalista, y que sembraran la semilla de la independencia en el imaginario colectivo de los polacos. Este proceder de los movimientos polacos identitarios sorteaba las barreras que los estados que se habían repartido el territorio polaco esta- blecían para conseguir sus fines. Como señala Johan Galtung, un conflicto de este tipo, el cual a todas luces podemos calificar como estructural, ha de manejarse por parte de la potencia ocupante desde varios frentes. El prime- ro de ellos es impedir la concienciación, lo cual se ejecuta por diferentes medios, entre los que destacan la pugna por el imaginario colectivo. El instrumento más eficaz para conseguir imponer una determinada cosmovisión es la educación, y como hemos mencionado con anterioridad, los polacos se emplearon con presteza para conseguir, por medio de la educación crear identidad polaca, impidiendo así que penetraran las visio- nes alternativas de las potencias ocupantes. Por otro lado, la movilización es uno de los caballos de batalla relevantes a la hora de controlar un territo- rio ocupado. El dificultar a una comunidad movilizarse por medio de tácticas de fragmentación y marginación, es garantía de paz social y estabilidad, ya que no se permite la cohesión de la misma (Galtung 2003:135-136). En este sentido, podemos afirmar que, por parte de austriacos, rusos y alemanes- unos en mayor grado que otros- esta tarea fue infructuosa, pues a lo largo del tortuoso siglo XIX y principios del XX, las distintas comunidades pola- cas se cohesionaron en base a la identidad nacional y por métodos noviolentos (Davies 2001). Noviolencia: protestas simbólicas, educación alternativa y medios de comunicación Es al calor de los sucesos de la década de los setenta cuando las circunstancias se van a volver propicias para la creación en la sociedad civilde un verdadero movimiento opositor capaz de hacer temblar los ci- mientos del poder del Polska Zjednoczona Partia Robotnicza -Partido Unificado de los Trabajadores Polacos, desde ahora PZPR o Partido-. Pode- mos tomar como fecha clave diciembre del año 1970 y el manejo de las huelgas tanto por parte de los colectivos opositores al poder, como por parte de las autoridades del Partido para entender los sucesos que comen- zarían a deslegitimar el poder del PZPR. (Ackerman yDuvall 2000: 113-125).El desencadenante del estallido popular que en diciembre de 1970 sacudió numerosas capitales polacas, en especial Gdansk, Gdynia y Sopot, residió en la eliminación por parte del gobierno de los bonos para alimentos, lo que a efectos prácticos suponía una pérdida de poder adquisitivo por parte de la sociedad civil y repercutía en su capacidad de acceso a los bienes de consumo de primera necesidad (Clavijo Mckormick 2009: 15-18). El astillero José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 208 Lenin de Gdansk fue uno de los enclaves donde se iniciaron las protestas de diciembre, pero fue sin embargo en Szczecin donde más cohesión hubo entre los trabajadores, llegando a formar un embrión de lo que llegaría a ser el Mi?dzyzak?adowy Komitet Strajkowy – Comité Interempresarial de Huel- ga, desde ahora MKS-. La consecución de las protestas ciudadanas tuvo como objetivo las sedes locales del PZPR, algunas de las cuales fueron incendiadas, con la consecuente represión por parte del régimen. La acción del ejército en con- tra de los manifestantes fue brutal, con centenares de detenciones, y con la conocida como masacre de Gdynia en la que fueron más de 20 personas las que perdieron la vida ante las balas del ejército polaco (Stefancic 1992: 24). Las consecuencias de la represión fueron la disuasión de las huelgas en buena parte del país, que si bien tuvieron un repunte a comienzos de 1971, claudicaron ante la voluntad de diálogo del nuevo Secretario general del PZPR, Edward Gierek, que prometió una amplia lista de concesiones a los huelguistas. Sin embargo estas quedaron en papel mojado, materializándo- se en una mera subida de sueldos, que si bien no contentaba a los comités de huelga que se habían formado, si apaciguaba los ánimos y postergaba el estallido social. Las lecciones que tanto intelectuales como trabajadores extrajeron de los sucesos de diciembre de 1970 iban a ser posteriormente fundamenta- les para el sustrato ideológico del movimiento social emergente. La repre- sión había sido en buena parte justificada por los arrebatos violentos que culminaron con la quema de sedes locales del PZPR, y se comenzó a crear una conciencia de lo contraproducente de este tipo de prácticas. Es destacable a su vez, el hecho de que en algunas de las organizaciones huelguísticas comenzara a sopesarse la idea de reivindicar el gran caballo de batalla por el que habrían de luchar durante los 80, los sindicatos libres. La libre sindicación comenzaba a ser vista como parte fundamental para la organización de los trabajadores y como contrapeso al omnímodo poder del Partido. Esta disputa del poder, inherente a toda relación social y política, muestra, según la hemos caracterizado, varios elementos para armar la base de un movimiento que ponga en práctica las tácticas noviolentas. La nega- tiva, en las negociaciones posteriores a la huelga, de la libertad sindicalva a suponer en la práctica el desarrollo de instituciones paralelas al estado. Este método de acción posibilitó un mayor despliegue de medios de lucha, pues desde estas instituciones se promovían todo un corolario de procedi- mientos y actuaciones para confrontar el poder (Sharp 1973: 41-62). Esto se debe en buena medida a que el papel paternalista que el PZPR se había afanado en ocupar, fue diluyéndose poco a poco, y la desconfianza hacia el liderazgo sociopolítico del Partido, fue creciendo y tomando forma de redes autónomas que configuran un poder paralelo de fuerza creciente. Después del parche colocado en 1971 por parte del PZPR para impe- dir que la herida de la sociedad polaca sangrase a borbotones, en 1976 el 209 gobierno anunció una subida de precios, que alcanzaría el 100% en el azú- car, el 90% en algunos tipos de carne y más del 50% en otro tipo de alimen- tos diarios. Esto ha sido visto por la historiografía como un suicidio político del régimen, cuyo argumento para justificar la brutal subida del precio de los productos se basaba en una supuesta modernización de la economía (Falk 2003: 104-112). La respuesta de la sociedad polaca no se hizo esperar, y en junio de 1976 se iniciaron en una parte importante del país huelgas y manifestacio- nes de la clase obrera, que en pocas horas hicieron al gobierno rectificar. En las huelgas de 1976 la coordinación de los episodios de resistencia fue mucho más acertada que en ocasiones anteriores, y en los enclaves próxi- mos al Báltico -Gdansk,Gdynia...- la afluencia fue masiva, llegándose a con- trolar más de 130 fábricas y abarcando casi el 75% de los centros de trabajo del país (Bernhard 1992: 53-55). Los episodios violentos fueron muy minoritarios, reduciéndose a altercados de baja intensidad en ciudades como Radom o Plock. No obstan- te la represión por parte de las autoridades volvió a ser importante, contabi- lizándose doce fallecidos, un centenar de detenidos y más de 20000 despe- didos de sus puestos de trabajo. Esta represión ante un movimiento que en su mayoría había sido pacífico, no consiguió si no granjear simpatías entre los escépticos, aumentando así la legimitidad de los huelguistas (Ibid: 56-59). El hecho realmente relevante de las huelgas de 1976 fue la creación de un comité permanente de defensa de los trabajadores: el KOR- Komitet Obroty Robotników-. Este Comité de Defensa de los Obreros tenía como objetivo unas demandas concretas relativas a los recientes sucesos, pero también entraba dentro de la estrategia a medio-largo plazo que algunos intelectuales como Adam Michnik o Jacek Kuron habían previsto para los 70. Con un programa que iba de lo concreto a lo general, las reivindicacio- nes iniciales del KOR pasaban por ayudar a los represaliados tras los suce- sos de junio de 1976, para después funcionar como una autoridad heterogénea paralela al estado, donde cabían todo tipo de condición y franja de edad, agrupando desde los estratos sociales que habían madura- do en la Guerra y la Postguerra Mundial hasta los miembros más jóvenes que lo habían hecho ya en el sistema socialista, ejerciendo como bisagra la generación intermedia, representada entre otros por el propio Kuron. Los objetivos en el horizonte para el KOR pasaban por la lucha contra la discri- minación política e ideológica, una actuación procedimental para proteger de manera efectiva los derechos y las libertades ciudadanas así como para apoyar iniciativas dirigidas a defender los Derechos Humanos. Como enti- dad paralela al estado, el modus operandi se fundamentaba no en el choque con las autoridades del PZPR y sus instituciones, si no en el empoderamiento social, mediante una tarea de concienciación que se materializaría en el desarrollo de numerosas actividades dedicadas a ello.El KOR comenzaba a adquirir un poder social destacado pues su grado de legitimidad era muy elevado ya a finales de los 70, y su capacidad de convocatoria y radio de acción muy amplios (Herrero de la Fuente: 303-309). José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 210 Podemos calificar al KOR como la primera gran organización que va a conformar las movilizaciones sociales de la ciudadanía polaca, viéndose pronto muy acompañada por diversas instituciones que también desarro- llaban una actividad paralela al estado y que acabarían agrupándose todas en torno a Solidaridad. Las bases materiales para la acción noviolenta po- demos decir que están asentadas en el sustrato ideológico del KOR, afron- tando el poder del adversario y toda su maquinaria, pero con el firme propó- sito de no chocar directamente con él y asumiendo los riesgos del proceso. Este proceder llevaa una pérdida progresiva del miedo, que con anteriori- dad había sido frecuente y totalmente fundado, viendo la brutal represión que se había ejercido, sobre todo en diciembre de 1970 en Gdynia. Desde el reconocimiento de la asimetría inicial de la lucha, fue necesaria la puesta en marcha de un operativo para la organización del movimiento que operase con un plan de actuación preciso y estratégico, orientado a actuar en los puntos más débiles del engranaje burocrático y represivo del poder (López 2013: 58-60). Todas estas premisas clásicas de la teoría de la noviolencia presentes en las obras de Mario López en las que nos basamos, son identificables en la acción del KOR. Un ejemplo claro de ello es la actuación en las múltiples fábricas repartidas por el territorio polaco-en especial las de tamaño medio y las situadas en la periferia-, donde el Partido no podía extender su dominio con facilidad. En este tipo de fábricas, la hegemonía del KOR fue muy importante a todos los niveles, desde la concienciación a la organización alternativa, huyendo de la rigidez jerárquica que se promovía desde el poder. Los años que siguieron a 1976, desde la creación del KOR, supusie- ron una auténtica explosiónen el activismo de la clase obrera de Polonia. Una importante cuantía de organizaciones, publicaciones y acciones en contra del gobierno iban a ser puestas en práctica. La idoneidad y éxito de las tácticas de lucha noviolentas en el siglo XX debe mucho a los avances tecnológicos en el ámbito de la comunicación, y el caso polaco es especial- mente claro a este respecto (Ackerman y Kruegler 1994: 283-290). Podemos situar al KOR como artífice principal de la creación de una red de informa- ción independiente capaz de hacer frente a la propaganda estatal y de di- fundir abiertamente los problemas de la clase obrera, con el afán de con- quistar la hegemonía en el sentido gramsciano del término. Robotnik -obrero en polaco- surgió como periódico oficial del KOR convirtiéndose en el aparato de información independiente del estado de mayor difusión ya en los últimos años de la década de los 70. Se manejan datos que sitúan entre 30000 y 100000 los lectores frecuentes de Robotnika comienzos del año 1980 (Bernhard 1993: 160-162). A Robotnik tenemos que añadirle muchas otras fuentes de información alternativa, como el Biuletyn Informacjyny- Boletín Informativo- también asociado al KOR, así como dis- tintos periódicos vinculados con las diferentes organizaciones que comen- zaron a surgir tras los sucesos de 1976. Zapis-Registro, Alternatiwy-Alter- nativa-o Droga-Camino- son algunos de ellos, siendo todos en su conjun- to una muestra de la organización de la sociedad civil y del descrédito del oficialismo mediático propugnado por el PZPR. 211 También se realizaron distintas publicaciones apoyadas por el grue- so de la oposición. Más de 100 intelectuales firmaron Charter of Human Rights, documento desafiante para el poder por su masivo apoyo y por la crítica abierta que en este se vertía sobre el sistema polaco. En ciudades de tradición universitaria, como Lublin y Varsovia,NOW-a como editora inde- pendiente ayudaba a difundir los diferentes manifiestos y diatribas a favor de la clase obrera y en contra del Partido. La potente maquinaria comunicativa fue un aspecto crucial para la potenciación del poder socialde la oposición (Falk 2003: 114-120). A nivel audiovisual la prédica opositora se encontraba a un nivel residual, siendo hasta el debate público entre Lech Walesa y el líder del sindicato oficial en 1988 en la cadena de televisión oficial, práctica- mente el primer espacio de expresión de los movimientos sociales. Sí que podemos señalar sin embargo, el papel de altavozde la oposición-sobre todo ya en la década de los 80- ocupado por Radio Free Europe, aunque fuera más en un sentido de granjearse simpatías internacionales que se sumaran a la causa anti-gubernamental que para la propia difusión interna. La responsabilidad de todo este repertorio de acciones de empoderamiento popular descansaba en las nuevas organizaciones que habían ido surgiendo, en la misma línea del KOR, pero con matices diferen- tes según los componentes y los fines de las mismas. Podemos destacar el Comité para los SindicatosLibres de la Costa, nacido en 1978, que planteaba como objetivo principal la liberalización sindical, pero que también abogaba por establecer un plan de autogestión educativa. En la misma línea iba la Sociedad de Estudios Científicosmanejada por intelectuales opositores como Bronislaw Geremek, que también se dedicaba a impartir cursos y realizar publicaciones clandestinas (Karabel 1992: 8-12). Destacan otras organiza- ciones como ROPcio -Club de Defensa de los Derechos Humanos y Civiles- , KIK -Club de la Inteligencia Católica- o RMP-Movimiento Joven Polaco-. Si algo tenían en común era la conciencia de que el sistema de gobierno polaco no iba a solucionar ninguno de los problemas de la sociedad civil, y que ésta había de organizarse de una manera autogestionaria y totalmente apartada de lo estatal. El ámbito de la educación es también un punto a tener en cuenta entre los mecanismos de intervención social noviolenta puestos en prácti- ca por el movimiento social creciente, que poco a poco iba conformando una identidad política que les diferenciara del oficialismo del PZPR y una cultura alternativa que sembrara la base para la actuación noviolenta. La creación de nuevos patrones sociales dependía del sistema alternativo de comunicaciones, pero también de la puesta en marcha de las conocidas como universidades volantes que al margen del estado, funcionaban en domicilios privados, y algunos locales clandestinos copados por los movi- mientos sociales (Falk 2003: 126). La educación nacionalista polaca que se impartía en estas formas de enseñanza alternativas tenía en buena medida unos valores tradicionalistas, lo cual significaba en Polonia por ejemplo contar una historia de la nación basada en la oposición a lo ruso. José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 212 El papel de los intelectuales en la resistencia civil Existe una destacada polémica historiográfica en torno a la caracteri- zación de los intelectuales y su presencia en los movimientos sociales po- lacos. Uno de los modelos que se esgrimen, pone de relieve una concep- ción de Solidaridad que se asemeja mucho a un movimiento obrero clásico, otorgando a los intelectuales un papel residual. Roman Laba o Lawrence Goodwin son partícipes de esta posición teórica, argumentando que los intelectuales simplemente se quisieron apropiar del ethos del movimiento una vez formado y organizado. Esta postura argumenta que los movimien- tos más importantes habían transcurrido en ciudades como Gdansk o Gdynia, preeminentemente industriales y no en Varsovia o Lublin, de carác- ter más universitario (Goodwin y Laba 1991:11-14) Por el contrario, como señalan otros autores, tales como Barbara Falk o Jerome Karabel, creemos más acertada la caracterización que encuadra a Solidaridadcomo un movi- miento de fuerte base obrera, pero marcado por el gran apoyo de los intelec- tuales. Figuras como Leszek Kolakowski o Tadeusz Mazowiecki habían tra- bajado por la unión de intelectuales y trabajadores, para la consecución de un movimiento social fuerte capaz de establecerse como bloque de poder hegemónico en contra del liderazgo político del PZPR (Hobsbawn 1998: 396). En 1964 se publicaba la Carta abierta al Partido bajo la autoría de Jacek Kuron y Karol Modzelewski, dos miembros activos del Partido, que mostraban su disconformidad con la burocratización del régimen. A su vez llamaban la atención acerca de la violencia con la que la policía y el ejército se empleaban en la disolución de las manifestaciones, siendo esta carta una fuerte denuncia desde dentro del régimen. “La burocracia ya podía pasar a la batalla decisiva. Comenzó por aplastar con la ayuda de los medios policiales la huelgas de los empleados de tranvías en Lodz; continuó clausurando Po Prosty y ordenando a la policía que disolviese violentamente las manifesta- ciones de masas en Varsovia(...) Así todas las conquistas de octubre fueron liquidadas y la izquierda definitivamente aplastada” (Kurony Modzelewski 1968: 83-84). Lo destacable de esta serie de reivindicaciones de dos jóvenes miembros del PZPR, es que aún no se acertaba a vislumbrar ningún tipo de ruptura con el régimen, es decir estaba basada en la ideología tradicional, siendo un mero reformismo que. Además, este tipo de aportaciones no llegaban al grueso de los trabajadores polacos que durante los años 60 fueron un movimiento apático, el cual no se consiguió movilizar en torno a grandes objetivos (Herrero de la Fuente 2009: 33-39). No es hasta los años 70, cuando un movimiento de oposición co- mienza a surgir en las entrañas de la sociedad polaca. Algunos autores han achacado esta reorganización de las masas a la comunión entre intelectua- les y trabajadores, persiguiendo los la libertad de expresión y los segundos una subida de salarios y otras prestaciones socio-económicas. Es entonces cuando se comienza a vertebrar un verdadero movimiento de oposición que a su vez va adquiriendo un posicionamiento activo. El eslogan “No bread without freedom” representa lo que se inició en Polonia a comienzos de los años 70 (Falk 2003: 95-101) 213 Uno de los artífices de este viraje intelectual es Leszek Kolakowski (1927-2009), que asumió de la inutilidad de la estrategia revisionista y, por primera vez, planteó una resistencia activa noviolenta que fuese capaz de aglutinar descontentos y enfrentarse a la estructura del PZPR sin el riesgo de una feroz represión. La estrategia de Kolakowski, la cual podemos en- contrar en artículos como Hope and Hopelessness (1971), supone un paso de disidencia a oposición, evitando el enfrentamiento directo con el régi- men, pero poniendo acento en la organización de la sociedad civil. A la metodología noviolenta de Kolakowski como forma de instrumentalizar la lucha se unieron otros activistas como Kuron o Michnik, a sabiendas de las dificultades de trasladar al grueso de los trabajadores unas propuestas innovadoras, cuya difusión era limitada, y aún a finales de los años 60 y principios de los 70 solo conocida por los intelectuales de oposición al régimen. Uno de los éxitos más destacables de Kolakowski, fue sacar a relucir las contradicciones que sustentaban el sistema. Estas contradicciones se situaban en el ámbito de la unidad-seguridad, ya que el estado mantenía ambas de un modo represivo y centralizado. Por temor a que éste pudiera volverse en su contra había de delegar competencias a los ámbitos locales, donde la vigilancia y el dominio desde arriba no era tan estricto. Kolakowski proponía iniciar las acciones contestarías desde estos ámbitos locales, pues era mucho más sencillo y práctico comenzar creando redes de cooperación anti-gubernamental en la escala micro, y a la su vez entrañaba riesgos com- parativamente menores. Otra importante contradicción era la ideológica, ya que el papel del Partido como representante y protector del proletariado polaco estaba obsoleto por el carácter totalitario y burocrático del régimen, existiendo así un vacío ideológico que Kolakowski proponía rellenar (Bernhard 1993: 307-326). Con estas aportaciones se pretendía provocar una ruptura con la obediencia al poder, no producida solo por el miedo, sino también por muchos otros tipos de razones. Se puede caracterizar la obediencia como hábito e incluso como obligación moral en base a un supuesto bien común, por legitimidad del mando o simplemente por convicción debido a la conformidad con las nor- mas aceptadas (Galtung 2003: 100-110). En la sociedad polaca existía una mezcla de todos estos tipos de razones de obediencia, siendo así muy com- plicado provocar una ruptura entre ellas. En el momento del giro de los intelectuales y su abandono del revisionismo, la sociedad polaca iba aún varios pasos por detrás y el descontento y la pérdida de legitimidad funcio- naban a velocidades distintas a las de los intelectuales -posteriormen- te veremos cómo ya en el inicio de la década de los 70 estas velocidades se iban a igualar-. La actividad de los intelectuales es profundamente intensa a partir de los sucesos de 1976, siendo el KOR una alianza entre intelectuales y trabajadores que había estado rota desde la creación de la República Popu- lar de Polonia tras la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Se publicaron entonces algunos manifiestos y escritos contestatarios que suponían un desafío para José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 214 el gobierno. De relevancia es la obra de Adam Michnik Un nuevo evolucio- nismo (1976) en la que ya no se aprecian resquicios de la estrategia revisionista, calificada de obsoleta, inútil y elitista. Michnik coincide en parte con los planteamientos de Kolakowski, que comentamos con anterio- ridad, y además reconoce que en buena parte son deudores de la política de Moscú, y que esta puede ser muy influyente para la prosperidad del movi- miento. También encontraremos en Michnik reflexiones sobre la pertinencia de enarbolar una estrategia noviolenta, a la cual conceptúa en un primer orden como algo político, y en un segundo plano como una opción moral. Es el pragmatismo lo que, siguiendo a Adam Roberts y Timothy Garton Ash, guía la mayor parte de las campañas de resistencia civil noviolenta, y no iba a ser Polonia una excepción (Roberts y Garton Ash 2009: 10-12). “No es terrorismo lo que Polonia necesita hoy.Es extender la actividad clandes- tina que reconstruirá la sociedad, difundiéndola en pueblos, ciudades, fá- bricas, escuelas y universidades” (Michnik 1985). En 1979 se publicó, bajo la autoría del KOR, la Carta de los derechos de los trabajadores que una vez más incidía en la mala situación de la clase obrera polaca, y era una suerte de diatriba antigubernamental semiencubierta, una más entre la multitud de acciones de protesta simbólicas que iban pre- parando el terreno para lo que iban a ser los sucesos de agosto de 1980 (Judt 2005: 818-820). Con estas aportaciones intelectuales se crea un caldo de cultivo para el empoderamiento de la sociedad civil, pero vemos que pueden que- dar en papel mojado si no se da el paso crucial de la reflexión a la acción. La toma de contacto con la amplia masa social que habría de ser protagonista del cambio aún no se había producido en los finales 60 y, por tanto, no se habían realizado tareas de empoderamiento tales como reforzar las conexio- nes sociales, extender la educación popular, apostar por el desarrollo comu- nitario o establecer contrapoderes autónomos y horizontales que son la base del éxito en lo que al planteamiento de una lucha política noviolenta se refiere (López 2006: 95-96). La resistencia civil: de Solidaridad a los Acuerdos de la Mesa Redonda Hemos de recalcar que el método de análisis que proponemos, basa- do en las acciones noviolentas, no es excluyente, es decir es una explica- ción complementaria que iría de la mano de otros paradigmas que explican el fin de la Guerra Fría. En este caso nos referimosa la actuación de la política del PCUS que en los años 80 de la mano de Gorbachov cambió ostensible- mente tornándose mucho menos represiva y más conciliadora (Schell 2005: 59-60), lo cual facilitó que la resistencia civil polaca tuviera una capacidad de acción mucho mayor. Esta política de relajación se pudo observar ya a comienzos de la década de los 80, entre otras cosas por la debilitación de la posición internacional de la URSS, que iba a sufrir un severo contratiempo 215 con el desastre de la invasión de Afganistán, que comenzó en el mismo año de 1980. Paralelamente, en Polonia los movimientos sociales se empleaban con una intensidad muy destacada.Los hechos que iban a evidenciar el colapso del socialismo real en Polonia y la creación de una nueva hegemo- nía, que se agruparía en torno a las banderas del sindicato Solidaridad, eclosionaron en el mes de agosto de 1980. El desencadenante lo encontra- mos en la subida de precios que, a principios del mes de julio, iba a ser impuesta por el gobierno. En las fechas previas al movimiento huelguístico nacional de agosto, el gobierno había demostrado su inacción y monolitismo, y su solución a la crisis sistémica se había reducido a unas medidas mera- mente paliativas como la subvención de algunos alimentos. Para los movi- mientos de resistencia y para buena parte de los ciudadanos polacos, su poder emanaba más de la coerción que del consenso, el cual habían ido perdiendo poco a poco, gracias a la acción deslegitimadora las nuevas organizaciones paralelas al estado que fueron surgiendo al calor de las movilizaciones sociales (Falk 2003: 261-265). El estallido tuvo lugar en el astillero Lenin de Gdansk, el 14 de agos- to de 1980, demostrando una organización sin precedentes y que posterior- mente anunciaría el nacimiento de un nuevo agente social que vertebraría a la sociedad civil en la correlación de poder de toda la década: Solidaridad. El movimiento tomó un cariz que algunos autores se han aventurado en llamar patriótico, y con celeridad se propagó alcanzando una cantidad importante de centros urbanos y capitales de un carácter eminentemente obrero. Los datos hablan de que involucró a más de 370 empresas, para un total de más de 400.000 trabajadores, es decir una cantidad que alcanzaba cifras nunca antes vista en el país centro-europeo (Garton Ash 1999: 115-120). Tanto es así que el 21 de agosto el gobierno se vio obligado a entablar un diálogo con los movimientos sociales, lo que posteriormente se iba a concretar en los Acuerdos de Gdansk. En los movimientos huelguísticos del año 1980 ya se puede observar cómo el rechazo de la violencia había calado en la sociedad civil polaca, y habían adoptado una estrategia noviolenta, que se va a materializaría en un abanico de acciones extraordinariamente rico. Por lo tanto vemos cómo se enriqueció el campo de actuación de oposición al sistema, manteniéndose la importante cantidad de publicaciones panfletarias, las protestas simbóli- cas y el desarrollo de actividades paralelas al estado que ya se habían llevado a cabo en los últimos años de la década anterior. El grueso de los ciudadanos que ya no creían en el sistema socialista que había imperado desde finales de la II Guerra Mundial, había aprendido bien la lección de 1970, y era consciente de lo erróneo de utilizar la violencia, pues se daba un motivo al poder para iniciar la represión y se deslegitimaba al movimiento. Las acciones noviolentas realizadas en Polonia se pueden clasificar en varios grupos, atendiendo a su naturaleza, en primer lugar tenemos los métodos de persuasión y protesta. Estas se llevaron a cabo por medio de José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 216 declaraciones formales, como la ya citada Carta de los derechos de los trabajadores de 1979 firmada por una serie importante de intelectuales, también es de destacar las 21 reivindicaciones que se pusieron sobre la mesa por parte de las cabezas visibles del movimiento en los Acuerdos de Gdansk. La petición por parte de Solidaridadde establecer un monumento a los caídos en los sucesos de 1970, las misas católicas en las que sacerdotes se pronunciaban en la homilía en favor del sindicato o incluso el apoyo de algunos artistas como Jacek Kaczmarski con su canción Mury -muros- en favor de Solidaridad, son otros de los métodos de protesta que encuadra- mos en esta categoría (Bartkowski 2009). Por otro lado tenemos el ámbito de la no-cooperación, que también fue puesta en práctica de manera exitosa durante las luchas de los movi- mientos sociales. Se realizaban acciones de protesta simbólica en las em- presas en las que los trabajadores abandonaban sus puestos para marchar como autómatas de ciencia ficción. También es destacable el boicot a lo estatal realizado por muchos sectores sociales, en especial, llama la aten- ción por su simbolismo la negativa por parte de los actores a trabajar en la televisión estatal. El simbolismo también se materializaba en todas las ac- ciones que se pusieron en práctica por Solidaridad, desde la Cruz latina que presidía todas las negociaciones entre el sindicato y el gobierno hasta las pancartas con la cara del Papa Juan Pablo II, adalid del anticomunismo, que se podían ver en las manifestaciones masivas de la sociedad civil. Los métodos más comunes y efectivos de la acción noviolenta de Solidaridad se centraron en las huelgas y manifestaciones que, aunque con un objetivo común, tomaban diferente forma. También en algunas de ellas el simbolismo tomaba un papel relevante, un ejemplo de ello son las marchas que se orga- nizaban coincidiendo con el horario del noticiero oficial televisivo, para demostrar que ya no se estaba bajo el influjo de la propaganda del PZPR y que en lugar de aceptarla acríticamente como había sido habitual, se protes- taba contra la manipulación de la televisión (Ackerman y Duvall 2000: 115). La creación de una lógica paralela a la del Partido fue en gran medida res- ponsable de que toda esta coordinación social fuera posible, y que fuera en cierto sentido homogénea en sus reivindicaciones. Este nuevo sentido comúntiene su razón de ser en el aparato mediático, al que aludimos en apartados anteriores, y a una labor de creación de nuevas entidades políti- cas, la construcción del NOSOTROS y el ELLOS, que suponía una ruptura simbólica con los mantras que colocaban al PZPR, como el líder socio- político nacional. Aun habiendo unas relaciones asimétricas entre el poder violento del estado y el poder noviolento de la oposición, existen otras ventajas comparativas con respecto al uso de la violencia en una lucha bipolar, no sólo el poder usar las potencialidades del poder popular abierto, directo y masivo, sino los altos grados de legitimidad que se va adquiriendo en el mismo proceso de lucha, así como el importante capital simbólico de los grupos disidentes y de oposición (López 2006: 180). La complejidad que visualizamos en el entramado social de Solidari- dades la que explica el largo recorrido de la organización, su gran éxito inicial, y su rápida toma de poder. Este estudio lo arrancamos analizando la 217 situación de los años 70 en el movimiento obrero polaco, pues vemos como las bases de lo que llegaría a ser Solidaridad se habían formado mucho antes siendo el gran sindicato la punta del iceberg de un extraordinario movimiento social que recorría a amplios sectores de la sociedad polaca. Solo si iniciamos el recorrido mucho antes de la fecha clave de agosto de 1980 podemos entender que a finales de dicho año, el sindicato Solidaridad contara con casi 9,5 millones de afiliados de 35 millones que tenía el país, más del triple que el PZPR, que había ido reduciendo su número paulatina- mente hasta quedarse por debajo de los 3 millones. El éxito de las huelgas de 1980 se debió a la gran coordinación del movimiento, que centraba su campo de actuación en 3 ámbitos: el lugar de trabajo, el comité nacional y la comisión de coordinación nacional (Davies 2001). Este radio de acción tan amplio unido a la ejemplaridad de los métodos, alejados todos de la violen- cia, posibilitaron que, tras los citados Acuerdos de Gdansk, en septiembre de 1980, el sindicato Solidaridad fuera el primer sindicato libre legalizado en la Historia de la República Popular de Polonia. Es a su vez destacable, como algunos autores mencionan, que en1980 -como ya hemos constatado por su tremenda afiliación- y más claramente en 1981, Solidaridad era vista socialmente como la única entidad capaz de encauzar la situación del país y es, por ello, que se realizaran los pactos entre el gobierno y el sindicato. A pesar de ello, la táctica del sindicato se siguió instalando en la prudencia, y los máximos exponentes, Bujak, Kuron o Walesa, desecharon la idea de realizar un ataque frontal contra el régimen, pues aunque se hallaba en una situación de extrema debilidad, aún se sabía incapaces de derrocarlo (Judt 2005: 845). Había una clara conciencia de cuál era el verdadero propósito de la lucha, pero a su vez sabían que en la situación concreta en la que se encontraban, podía resultar contraprodu- cente exponerlo (Sharp 2003: 49). Por ello la estrategia fue más en el sentido de reforzar el carácter autogestionario del movimiento, apoyando a los sin- dicatos locales y regionales e incrementando todas las tareas que se habían llevado desde la segunda mitad de la década de los 70. Hemos de ser cautelosos a la hora de establecer una etiqueta ideoló- gica para el sindicato Solidaridad. Timothy Garton Ash, asevera que, en 1981, “Polonia era un estado comunista, pero no un país comunista” (Garton Ash 1983: 32). Aparte del visceral antisovietismo de Solidaridad, respecto a la manera de entender la economía y la política, podríamos hablar de una identidad que se situaba a medio camino entre el socialismo de estado y el liberalismo, algo así como una tercera víaque no fue formulada en términos claros. El carácter de Solidaridad recogía el origen izquierdista de los ideólogos del movimiento -Michnik, Kuron, Bujak- y a su vez se alejaba de las contradicciones atávicas del socialismo de estado (Packowski y Byrne 2007: 23-25), el cual rechazaría de plano en sus acciones y reivindicaciones desde su nacimiento en 1980. Los meses que siguieron a los sucesos de agosto y al cambio de perspectiva en el PZPR estuvieron caracterizados por un ascenso social de Solidaridadcomo representante primero de la sociedad, por encima incluso José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 218 del Partido. El poder social del que indiscutiblemente gozaba, tenía visos de convertirse en poder político, y la manera de proceder del sindicato aún acrecentaba esta visión. Son dignas de mencionar las elecciones del año 1981 en las que los casi 10 millones de afiliados a Solidaridad eligieron democráticamente, por primera vez desde antes de la II Guerra Mundial, a sus más de 4000 representantes que actuarían a lo largo y ancho de la geografía del país. Esto fue un nuevo desafío masivo a la autoridad del Partido, que no iba a consentir una pérdida del poder político que habían hegemonizado desde la década de los 40. Todo ello, unido a la nueva direc- ción dura del PZPR, encabezada por el general Jaruzelski, desembocó en el establecimiento de la llamada Ley Marcialen diciembre de 1981, que supo- nía la efectiva militarización de la vida polaca, y que venía acompañada de medidas tan duras como el toque de queda, el corte de las comunicaciones, la amplia persecución de las actividades clandestinas y, por supuesto la ilegalización del sindicato Solidaridad. A todo esto se le sumó la encarcelación de entre 5.000 y 10.000 ciudadanos, algunos de ellos miembros de respon- sabilidad de los movimientos sociales, como el propio Lech Walesa (Petra 2005: 80-83). El tiempo que transcurre entre la declaración de la Ley Marcialpor parte del Secretario General del PZPR Wojciech Jaruzelski y los Acuerdos de la Mesa Redondade 1989, tomadas como referencia para el fin del socia- lismo real en Polonia, podemos calificarlas como una especie de crónica de una muerte anunciada. La Ley Marcialsupuso un total abandono del pacto social y de todo lo que tuviera que ver con la legitimidad gubernamental, y desde entonces el gobierno fue poco a poco retrocediendo hasta verse acorralado y tener que pactar una salida con Solidaridad, debido a lo insos- tenible de su gobierno y a la mala situación económica del país. La Ley Marcialse extendió entre el 13 de diciembre de 1981 y el 22 de julio de 1983 momento en el que fue cautamente levantada. Durante la ins- tauración de este Estado de Excepción en Polonia, los resquicios de la ilegalizada Solidaridad fueron fervientemente perseguidos, y muchos de los principales líderes permanecieron en la cárcel, por ello la actividad clan- destina de oposición se vio duramente mermada. Se creó la Tymczasowa Komisja Koordynacyjna -Comisión Nacional Provisional, desde ahora TKK- con el objetivo de reconstruir los núcleos en torno a los lugares de trabajo y rearmar el movimiento desde abajo. La primera manifestación organizada, aunque de una naturaleza diferente a las de los dos años previos, se produ- jo el primero de mayo de 1982, seguida por algunas otras el mismo año que no se vieron contrarrestadas por una represión muy destacada, a pesar de la situación de excepcionalidad militar en la que se encontraba el país. Esta represión timorata en comparación con la que había existido en los años 70, es vista por historiadores como David Ost como síntoma de la fragilidad del gobierno comunista de Polonia. La TKK, el organismo más activo durante el periodo de medidas extraordinarias, influida por intelectuales como Bujak, tomó la decisión estratégica de mantener la disposición noviolenta de las reivindicaciones, y de no chocar frontalmente contra las altas autoridades del Partido. Esto era percibido como una nueva estrategia a medio-largo 219 plazo, a pesar de saberse en un interregno de incertidumbre en el que el oficialismo era incapaz de gobernar por su total deslegitimación y desapro- bación ciudadana (Ost 1990: 151-152). Progresivamente se fueron abandonando las medidas excepcionales impuestas en diciembre de 1981, quedando suprimido el toque de queda y declarando en 1983 una amnistía parcial de los detenidos, entre los que se encontraba Lech Walesa. Tras el duro golpe inicial de 1981 con las deten- ciones, muy pronto la actividad clandestina, coordinada fundamentalmente por la TKK comenzó a conseguir un nuevo funcionamiento local. De los 38 comités regionales que habían funcionado hasta la Ley Marcial, para el año 1986 se reestablecieron 23, y la circulación propagandística en favor de la oposición y en contra del liderazgo del PZPR contaba con más de 500 periódicos clandestinos, algunos de ellos auspiciados por organizaciones internacionales (Petra 2005: 89-91). La Ley Marcialse derogó definitivamente en julio del año 1983, vol- viendo a una situación de relativa normalidad, pero sin visos de que Solida- ridad fuese a ser nuevamente legalizada. Paralelamente se seguían suce- diendo las movilizaciones, a las cuales el gobierno no tenía ningún tipo de reacción más allá de las encarcelaciones temporales y la propaganda, las cuales ya no eran disuasorias dado el grado de putrefacción política del régimen. En la gran movilización de marzo de 1983 -previa a la abolición de la Ley Marcial- se conjugaron estas dos armas del gobierno, ya que estu- vieron presentes las cargas policiales y las detenciones, así como la distor- sión de la información en cuanto al número de los participantes. Según el gobierno habían sido unos 40.000 los asistentes, pero según otras fuentes más fiables, se contaban por varios cientos de miles los participantes (Falk 2003: 267). El gran error del gobierno en 1981 fue pensar que descabezando e ilegalizandoa Solidaridad se iba a cortar de raíz una oposición que ya auna- ba el descontento transversal de buena parte de las capas de la población, y que encarcelando a unos pocos miles de activistas se iba a frenar a la creciente masa social que pedía un cambio de base. Hemos podido consta- tar a lo largo de este trabajo como la historia de la resistencia civil noviolenta polaca va más allá de su focalización en el sindicato Solidaridad y en las grandes figuras del mismo, en especial la del premio Nobel de la Paz Lech Walesa. En este sentido es útil traer a colación el trabajo de KurtSchock, que concede una importancia relativamente menor a los individuos aisla- dos, y resalta el valor de la descentralización en los procesos de resistencia civil. Son varios puntos los que esgrime el autor para justificar la idoneidad de dicha descentralización. En primer lugar es difícil inutilizar un movimien- to descentralizado, pues no resulta suficiente con implementar acciones contra puntos concretos, ya que estos se encuentran dispersos. En segun- do lugar, el hecho de que tras la Ley Marcial sobreviviera clandestinamente un movimiento como Solidaridad evidencia la relativa importancia de sus líderes, pues muchos de ellos estuvieron en prisión, y no por ello se neutra- lizó el movimiento. Tercero, Schock argumenta que los modelos descentra- José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 220 lizados tienden a ser más democráticos, pues dependen mucho de los comi- tés locales, y no de una voz central que imponga su criterio. Por último, la poca rigidez existente en organismos descentralizados les facilita en gran medida la adaptación a nuevos contextos, como se puede evidenciar en la etapa de Solidaridad bajo la Ley Marcial (Schock 2008: 145-146). Las organizaciones de la sociedad civil, cada vez menos en la clan- destinidad, constituían una losa pesada para el gobierno que, unido a la mala situación económica, hubo de negociar abiertamente con la oposición una suerte de pacto anti-crisis en 1987, que incluía mejoras económicas y legalizaciones-aunque no la del sindicato Solidaridad- a cambio de una cier- ta paz social (Ost 1990: 180-185). Surgieron entonces, en un clima mucho más aperturista nuevas organizaciones. Sobresale Wolnosc i Pukoj-Paz y Libertad, desde ahora WiP-que tras su creación en 1985 pretendió acercase a movimientos pacifistas occidentales como el END (European Nuclear Disarmament). El carácter netamente noviolento de WiP no suponía algo innovador en el contexto polaco, pues ya existían organizaciones como el KOR que habían manifestado su total rechazo a la violencia. Sí que supone por el contrario un punto importante el acercamiento a las organizaciones pacifistas occidentales, que con anterioridad se habían mostrado algo rea- cias a otorgar su apoyo incondicional a Solidaridadpor su imagen conser- vadora y católica, y el hecho de que ponían en un segundo plano el desar- me nuclear (Ruiz Jiménez 2006). Los sucesos que transcurren desde este momento hasta los Acuer- dos de la Mesa Redonda de 1989 con la claudicación efectiva del PZPR, nos indican hasta qué punto estamos ante un frente amplio de movilizaciones que no se reduce a Solidaridad, sino que incluso la desborda llegando a conjuntar sectores de la población que mostraron su descontento con el gran sindicato, y que funcionaron al margen de los postulados del mismo. En las negociaciones contra la crisis económica de 1987 habían inter- venido representantes de Solidaridad -aun ilegalizado-, miembros direc- tos de la Iglesia y las fuerzas gubernamentales. El statu quopresentaba entonces un tablero de ajedrez político en el que las fichas de la oposición ya casi superaban en número a las gubernamentales, y no se entendía un gobierno si no era basado en una especie de coalición que recogiera pro- puestas de ambos lados. Iba a surgir en este punto un nuevo actor opositor formado por las nuevas generaciones, que en buena medida culpaban a Solidaridad de una cierta complicidad con el gobierno e hicieron la marcha por su cuenta. Esto tuvo como resultado las movilizaciones locales de 1988, que comenzaron en Nowa Huta -Cracovia- en marzo y que alcanzaron una cierta dimensión que fue capaz de dar la puntilla al régimen (Kenney 2002: 213-220) También estuvieron auspiciados por una metodología que dejaba la violencia de lado, pero no tuvieron un respaldo incondicional por parte de los miembros de Solidaridad, que se veía entonces muy cerca de alcanzar la legalización efectiva. Solo fue posteriormente cuando los miembros de Solidaridad aprovecharon el relente de las manifestaciones de 1988, que habían sido cuantiosas, para concurrir a la petición de diálogo por parte del 221 gobierno. La claudicación del gobierno tuvo lugar en los ya mencionados Acuerdos de la Mesa Redonda,una serie de conversaciones que se produ- jeron en la ciudad de Varsovia entre febrero y abril de 1989 y que acordaron la total liberalización sindical, la puesta en práctica de elecciones libres para el senado, y parcialmente libres para la Cámara de los diputados. El resultado de todo ello fue la desintegración del sistema. En un primer momento y tras las elecciones de agosto, se eligió como primer mi- nistro al que había formado parte de Solidaridad y había organizado la huel- ga del astillero Lenin en 1980, TadeuszMazowiecki (Fontana 2011: 845-850). Solamente hasta diciembre de ese año fue el socialismo capaz de mantener- se vivo en Polonia, pues fue el 29 de dicho mes del año 1989 la cámara de los diputados cambió la constitución y el nombre oficial del estado, pasando de ser la República Popular de Polonia a la República de Polonia, acabando así con una de las Repúblicas Populares que habían formado parte, desde el final de la II Guerra Mundial, del bloque soviético. Conclusiones A lo largo de este artículo hemos intentado desglosar el trabajo de base de los movimientos sociales polacos- con especial atención a la ac- ción obrera- a lo largo de los años 70 y 80 que se agrupó en torno al sindi- cato Solidaridad y que acabó por derrumbar el régimen socialista en Polo- nia. La epistemología de la noviolencia que hemos intentado aplicar a la hora de analizar cada acción social, ya fuera una movilización o una publica- ción clandestina, nos ha llevado a entender mejor la complejidad de esta disciplina, y el porqué de su importancia para explicar el devenir de numero- sos procesos históricos. En nuestro caso de estudio, hemos constatado el éxito de las acciones noviolentas, mostrando como el apoyo social era mu- cho mayor cuando se procedía de una manera pacífica. Del mismo modo, comenzando el desarrollo de nuestro artículo en las movilizaciones violen- tas de 1970 y acabándolo con las noviolentas de la década de los 80, vemos como el grado de represión fue mucho menor en aquellas en las que la ausencia de violencia era un rasgo característico. Hemos hecho un acercamiento al extraordinario repertorio de activi- dades noviolentas realizadas por los movimientos sociales de oposición anti-régimen y una comparativa al respecto entre los estadios de desarrollo sociales en los que aún se pensaba en la violencia como una alternativa a la violencia estructural y represiva del estado. Por otro lado se ha aludido sucintamente a algunas aportaciones intelectuales que contribuyeron a conceptualizar métodos de acción exitosos, siempre con la noviolencia como elemento pragmático fundamental de dichas acciones Se ha realizado un análisis histórico que muestra como el trabajo de los movimientos de resistencia civil fueron progresivamente actuando en los diferentes ámbitos de la sociedad. Desde la concienciación del ciudada- no polaco medio hasta la proliferación de organizaciones de muy distinto José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 222 carácter, todo ello en pro de un empoderamiento social que permitiese hacer frente al poder político del PZPR. De este modo, consideramos el estudio de la acción noviolenta de la sociedad civil polaca algo ineludible para com- prender las razones de la caída del Socialismo Real en Polonia, si bien es verdad que ha de ser complementada con otros enfoques a los que aludía- mos en la introducción. Por último, resaltar que se ha tenido que acudir en ocasiones a una exposición de los hechos a la manera de la Historia política tradicional, para facilitar al lector la adecuada comprensión del contexto en el que estos movimientos noviolentos están inscritos. 223 Nota 1 Este artículo es el resultado de la ampliación de un Trabajo de fin de Grado, bajo la dirección de Mario López Martínez del Instituto de la Paz y los Conflictos de la Universidad de Granada. Quiero agradecer al profesor López Martínez su inestimable ayuda así como al Instituto Lech Walesa de la Universidad Jagellónica de Cracovia en el que pude colaborar como asistente de investigación. Sin ellos, la consecución de este artículo no hubiera sido posible. José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 224 Bibliografía Ackerman, Peter y Duvall, Jack (2000), A force more powerful: A century of non-violent conflict, Palgrave, Estados Unidos. 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Chenoweth, Erica y Stephan, Maria (2013),Why Civil Resistance Works: The Strategic Logic of Nonviolent Conflict, Columbia University Press, New York. Clavijo Mckormick, Miguel Darío (2009), Revoluciones noviolentas: el éxito del movimiento Solidaridad en Polonia, Universidad de Bogotá, traba- jo de fin de Máster. Davies, Norman (2001), TheHeart of Europe: A short History of Poland, Oxford University Press. Falk, Barbara (2003), Dilemmas of dissidence in Eastern-Central Europe: Citizen intellectuals and philosopher Kings, Ceupress, Hungría. Fontana, Josep (2011), Por el bien del Imperio. Una historia del mundo desde 1945, Pasado y Presente, Madrid. Fukuyama, Francis (1992), El fin de la Historia y el último hombre, Planeta Agostini, Madrid. 225 Galtung, Johan (2003), Paz por medios pacíficos: paz y conflicto, desarro- llo y civilización, Bakeaz, Bilbao. GartonAsh,Timothy (1999), History of the present. Essays, Sketches, and Dispatches From Europe in the 1990s, Random House, Londres. 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Laba, Roman and Goodwin, Lawrence (1991),Theroots of Solidarity: a political sociology of Poland´s Working class democratization, Temple University, Philadelphia. López, Mario (2004), “Poder del pueblo”, en Enciclopedia de paz y conflic- tos. Universidad de Granada. Ídem (2006), Política sin violencia. La noviolencia como humanización de la política, Uniminuto, Bogotá. Ídem (2013), “Política sin matar”, en Vectores de investigación, vol7. Nº7. Bogotá. Ídem (2013), “Viejas y nuevas fronteras: de la caída del Muro al siglo XXI. Ensayo de reflexión desde la no-violencia”, Espacios Públicos, Universidad Autónoma de México vol. 16, núm. 36, enero-abril. José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 226 Martens, Ludo (2014), El trotskismo al servicio de la CIA contra los países socialistas. Ediciones Acción Proletaria, Madrid. Nepstad, Sharon Erickson (2011), Nonviolent Revolution: Civil Resistance in the late twentieth Century, Oxford University Press, New York. Ost, David (1990), Solidarity and the politics of anti-politics, Temple Universitiy Press, Philadelphia. Paczkowski, Andrzej y Byrne, Malcom(Eds.) (2007), From Solidarity to Martial Law: The polish crisis of 1980-1981, National Security Archive Cold War Reader, CEU PRESS. Petra Ramet, Sabrina (2005), Social currents in Eastern Europe: the sources and the consequences of the great transformation, Duke University Press. Roberts, Adam y Garton Ash, Timothy (Eds.) (2009), Civil resistance and power politics: the experience of non-violent action from Ghandi to the present, Oxford University Press. Ruiz Jiménez, José Ángel (2006), Desarme Nuclear Europeo (END). Mo- vimiento social y diplomacia civil, Universidad de Granada. Salio, Nanni (1992), Il potere della nonviolenza. EGA, Turín. Schell, Jonathan (2005), El mundo inconquistable: poder, noviolencia y voluntad popular, Galaxia Gutenberg, Barcelona. Schock, Kurt (2008), Insurrecciones no armadas: movimientos de poder popular en regímenes autoritarios, CEPI, Bogotá. Sharp, Gene (1973), La lucha política noviolenta: poder y lucha, Albert Einstein Foundation. Boston. Ídem (2003), De la dictadura a la democracia, Albert Einstein Foundation, Boston. Stefancic, David (1992), Robotnik: a short history of Polish Labor, University of Cambridge. Sztompka, Piotr (1990), The lessons of 1989 for sociological theory, Jagellonian Universitiy of Krakow. Taibo, Carlos (1995), Crisis y cambio en la Europa del Este, Alianza Edito- rial, Madrid. Ídem (1998), Las transiciones en Europa central y oriental. ¿Copias de papel carbón?, Catarata, Madrid. 227 Tischner Josef (1992), Etykasolidarnosci: Homo Sovieticus, Oraz, Var- sovia. Tismaneau Vladimir (1999), The Revolutions of 1989, Routledge, Londres. * * * Recibido: 30.01.2016 Aceptado: 05.04.2016 José Luis Aguilar López-Barajas 
work_54ynfyuy2rcspaz7ahqbsvj4za	----	  Address for correspondence: 54B Wairere Road, Belmont, Lower Hutt 5010, New Zealand; email: larryl@xtra.co.nz 1 Rhetoric and Keynes’ use of Statistics in The Economic Consequences of the Peace Larry Lepper Readers’ of Keynes Economic Consequences of the Peace [1919] are usually struck by the rhetorical style of his writing. He often used statistics in ways similar to his use of prose, that is, as a way to persuade his audience. Since Étienne Mantoux’s highly critical book The Carthaginian Peace – or The Economic Consequences of Mr. Keynes [1946] most scholars have adopted the view that Keynes must have either deliberately exaggerated the statistics he used or worse, drew on numbers that had somehow been falsified. However, on closer examination of the statistics Keynes used, this appears to be a harsh judgment. Many of the statistics Keynes used in his book come directly from two Treasury memoranda, one dated 1916, and the other 1918. Keynes original handwritten manuscript survives in the King’s College archives at Cambridge in which large sections of these memoranda are ‘cut and pasted’ directly into the manuscript. While Keynes is undoubtedly the primary author, as a Treasury official during the war, it is unlikely the entire Treasury would have been complicit in turning a blind eye to deliberately exaggerated or falsified figures. Key words: Keynes, Quantification, Rhetoric, Treasury, Reparations JEL classifications: B16, B31, N01 1. Introduction As was the norm in the early twentieth century, Maynard Keynes received training in the classics and would have been taught the importance of the “rules of rhetoric” when developing and delivering an argument. The Economic Consequences of the Peace is a particularly good example of the use and effectiveness of Keynes’ rhetorical style. In it there are numerous examples of elevated language, a variety of   2 linguistic expressions that gives force to his written style, in addition to the inclusion of statistics as a means by which Keynes could convince his readers of the “factual, objective and neutral” economic arguments he was making. His inclusion of statistics is also often done to provide a balance to his more elaborate prose and back up his claim that Economic Consequences was a serious work of economics. All communication, whether verbal, written, numerical, or visual, attempts to persuade and can therefore be analysed as rhetoric (Carruthers, B and W. Espeland, July 1991). Robert Clower (1973, p. 10) argues that ‘all communicable knowledge rests in the final analysis upon persuasive rather than demonstrative argument.’ Rhetoric was part of a classics education at the turn of the twentieth century that generally accepted rhetoric as primarily being a “body of rules”1 that enables a speaker or writer to “express himself with eloquence” and “to persuade or influence others.” Furthermore, the written power to persuade is usually to be found in an author’s written style.2 If we accept these views and definitions the applicability to Economic Consequences is quite specific; Keynes was explicit in his attempts at persuasion and quite unashamedly “expressed himself with eloquence,” using elevated language and drawing on the legitimacy of numbers so as to assist in carrying his argument. In doing this he integrates statistics and prose in ways that seem convincing to the reader. 2. The Rhetorical Effectiveness of Keynes’ Statistics To have his statistics accepted by his readers Keynes needed to persuade and convince them of the legitimacy of his economic concerns. The best evidence we have available that he succeeded is that, whereas critics often take Keynes to task for the rhetorical nature of his prose, few mount a similar challenge to his statistics. For example, Keynes uses numerous sets of statistics to support his argument that The Treaty, as proposed at the Conference of Versailles, would place an excessive burden on Germany, destroying not only German industry but put at risk the economies of all European nations. Keynes makes the claim that ‘the statistics of economic interdependence of Germany and her neighbours’ is overwhelming’ (Keynes, 1920, p. 14). According to Keynes economic interdependence came down to three parts of the economy that really mattered: food, coal, and transport.   3 In the matter of coal he provides a set of statistics that authoritatively claim that the fatal consequences of The Treaty, should its terms be imposed, are economic. While food and transport are just as important economically for Europe coal was a pivotal economic resource in post-war Europe, as it provided energy for industrial purposes and a source of energy for private consumption. ‘The German Empire,’ argued Keynes, ‘has been built more truly on coal and iron than on blood and iron’ (Keynes, 1920, p. 75). Any adverse impact on supply directly affected economic growth and development potential, in addition to causing individual privation. Furthermore, when considering the example of coal we can see that Keynes was interested in the rhetorical use of statistics in two ways: first were statements given as facts and then suggested consequences. The facts for Keynes were that: the coal mines in the Saar Basin were to be ceded to France absolutely (refer The Treaty); the Saar district, Keynes points out, had been part of Germany for 1000 years (he assumed this to be common knowledge); Upper Silesia had 23% of the total German output of hard coal (from German statistical sources), yet would be, following a plebiscite, ceded to Poland (refer The Treaty). But, argued Keynes, Upper Silesia had never been part of Poland and ‘economically’ was ‘intensely’ German (his source here was from a German representative at The Conference). Out of the coal that would remain to her, Germany was obligated to make good year by year the estimated loss, which France had incurred by the damage and destruction in the coalfields of her Northern Provinces (again, from The Treaty). Sums due for Reparation were to be partly paid in kind rather than cash. To a number of allied countries she was to provide 40,000,000 tons, leaving 60,000,000 tons against a pre-war consumption of 139,000,000 tons (The Treaty). A number of other Treaty provisions would add to this burden, for example, daily shifts were to be reduced from 8.5 to 7 hours (The Treaty). Having given the reader a set of statements presented as facts, Keynes then paints his picture of consequences. The mining plant, due to the allied blockade, is in bad condition; the physical efficiency of the men impaired by malnutrition ‘made worse by a lowered standard of living because of the reparation demands;’ the casualties of war had diminished the number of efficient mines. Taken together Keynes argued that only 60,000,000 tons of coal would be left for local consumption, based on the hypothetical calculation of there being only 100,000,000 tons available   4 per annum, of which 40,000,000 were to be mortgaged to the allies. Added to the likelihood that German industry would be destroyed as a result of these terms, the situation in other countries would only add to a burden for all European nations. France’s own output had diminished through the war’s destruction. In the UK and Italy a secondary cause of inadequate coal supplies to enable industry to recover, and provide for the economic needs of the population, was organizational breakdown and inefficiencies of new governments. ‘The coal position of all Europe [was] nearly desperate’ (Keynes, 1920, pp. 75-85). The effectiveness of these calculations is that they move from the seemingly “factual, objective, and neutral” statistics the reader would find difficult to refute (that is to say, if The Treaty says it, this makes it factual) to the consequences Keynes is so anxious to impress on his readers. Writing twenty five years after the publication of Economic Consequences Étienne Mantoux, in The Carthaginian Peace (Mantoux, 1946), challenged many of Keynes’ statistics, arguing that contrary to Keynes’ own assessment of the ‘general accuracy’ of his figures, they were anything but accurate and, according to Mantoux, Keynes had used statistics in a way that was either out of context or deliberately exaggerated so as to persuade his readers that the central arguments of Economic Consequences were supported by the authority of statistics. To the present day there are divergent opinions as to which numbers, Keynes’ or Mantoux’s better represent what was taking place in 1919. Regardless of the viewpoint one takes, what this debate does support is McCloskey’s view that economists often use numbers rhetorically. McCloskey argues that ‘the economic conversation has heard much eloquent talk, but its most eloquent passages have been mathematical’ (McCloskey, 1945, pp. 3 and 28). It is, for example, almost impossible to make a reasoned judgment on the ‘accuracy’ of the statistics used by Keynes, such are the difficulties associated with source accuracy, methodologies used to arrive at the numbers, the actual relevance of the statistics to the argument being made and how Keynes might have subtly chosen one set of numbers over another in order to strengthen his case. In reality both Keynes and Mantoux use statistics to, in McCloskey’s words, ‘make conversation.’ Furthermore, while Mantoux disputed many of Keynes’ numbers he acknowledged that Economic Consequences had been most successful in   5 persuading public opinion as to the correctness of Keynes’ economic conclusions. Mantoux cites Winston Churchill who wrote in 1929, ‘Mr. Keynes, a man of clairvoyant intelligence and no undue patriotic bias [was] saturated in the Treasury knowledge of the real facts [and] revolted against the absurd objectives which had been proclaimed, and still more against the execrable methods by which they were achieved. [Keynes] showed in successive chapters of unanswerable good sense the monstrous character of the financial and economic clauses. On all these matters his opinion is good’ (Mantoux, 1946, p. 12). 3. Statistics and The Economic Consequences of the Peace Some scholars (Brady, 1988, p. 1.) believe that Keynes objected to the general use of quantitative methods in economics but this argument does not stand up to close scrutiny. In places he draws heavily on statistics as a means of description, clarification and verification for his arguments. As I have already argued, Keynes was also conscious of the rhetorical impact the use of statistics had on persuading his audience. Rather than object to the use of quantitative methods in economics, Keynes objected to the particular misuse of methods that were developed to investigate phenomena that differed fundamentally from that studied by the economist. Keynes, himself a trained mathematician and author of an important work on probability, was nevertheless hostile to the extensive use of mathematics and regression analysis in economics that is today an important part of the discipline of econometrics. At the time of writing Economic Consequences the discipline of econometrics, insofar as it brings together a theoretical and statistical framework for the analysis of economic data, was in its infancy. However, by the 1930s econometrics had been accepted as a recognized branch of economics and Keynes himself was one of 30 economists from all over the world selected by the Council of the Econometric Society to constitute the first group of Fellows of the Society. In 1944 he was elected President of the Econometric Society, serving in the role for two years (Patinkin, 1976, p. 1092). Yet Phelps argues that Keynes rejected the extensive use of econometrics largely because he viewed the future as being essentially different from the past and because he believed that the extensive use of mathematics encouraged economists to turn from the important question of choosing which among many economic models is appropriate for a particular situation, to the intellectually taxing, but practically   6 unimportant, manipulation of a single economic model (Phelps, 1980, p. 483). While Keynes stated these views explicitly,3 it would be a mistake to say that Keynes did not accept the importance of quantification for economic analysis. On the contrary, Keynes drew on “descriptive statistics” heavily in most of his written work. Keynes would most likely have agreed with Bartholomew when he argues that ‘a prime role of statistics in social science is to provide a quantitative framework within which [questions such as “the quality of life in Britain is worse than 20 years ago”] can be precisely framed and scientifically answered.’ For Keynes it was not so much a need to create new concepts as to operationalise those, which already exist and thus ‘render the theorizing of the social scientist precise and testable’ (Batholomew, 1995, p. 9). Keynes was also an empiricist and inductivist, and in this regard he adopted the legacy left by the first acknowledged individuals, William Petty (1623-87) and John Gaunt (1620-74), to seriously draw on quantification methods in order to gain a better economic understanding. Most scholars credit Petty with being the first to take economic quantification seriously. As with virtually all subsequent analysts in the field of macro-measurement and analysis, Petty’s approach was inductive, trying to interpret the world by close study of the facts and systematic quantification. He adhered to the precepts of Francis Bacon (1561-1626) and is considered the founding father of a group with several members who saw the importance of quantification for better economic understanding. John Gaunt, the first demographer, developed procedures that foreshadowed modern historical demography and was a close friend of Petty. The third member was Gregory King (1648-1712) who systematized and extended Petty’s macro-economic accounts and developed Gaunt’s demographic analysis. A fourth member, Charles Davenant (1656-1714), was an analyst of fiscal policy and war finance options, problems of colonies and foreign trade, who interacted closely with King and used his estimates in assessing the costs and benefits of policy options. The facts Petty and his contemporaries chose to collect, as with later statisticians, were designed to demonstrate the necessity and desirability solely of social reforms, thus establishing a long tradition of the rhetorical use of numbers. Real improvement in macro-economic measurement did not, however, occur until the nineteenth century with the founding of what is now known as the Statistical Movement in early Victorian Britain. Maddison points out that, while data collection   7 and analysis techniques had improved since Petty’s day, ‘there was little improvement in [the quality or comparability of national income estimates for individual countries] over those of the seventeenth-century’ (Batholomew, 1995, p. 287). Significant improvement on the work of the Statistical Movement began to take place later in the nineteenth- and into the twentieth-century, and then because of the work of two economists, Michael Mulhall (1836-1900) and Colin Clark (1905-89). Mulhall made a major contribution to the international comparison of economic data by providing standardized estimates of 22 countries representing about 60% of world product in 1894-5. Clark was considered by many to be the most innovative “economic statistician” since the time of Petty (who was Clark’s hero) (Maddison, 2007, p. 287). Clark interacted closely with Keynes following Clark’s membership of the Economic Advisory Council, which he joined in February 1930 when Keynes was already a member. Clark became a Cambridge lecturer in statistics in the economics faculty (1931-7) and with Keynes (in 1940) pioneered macro-economic measurement as a basic analytical tool for policy analysts and economic historians. Keynes’ How to Pay for the War (Keynes, 1940) demonstrated the usefulness of statistical measurement as a tool for macroeconomic management and Clark’s Conditions of Economic Progress (Clark, 1957) demonstrated its value in interpreting economic history. Keynes would undoubtedly have been aware at the time of writing Economic Consequences of recent developments in the growing discipline of statistical economics but the complete absence from his book of any theoretical discussion or use of economic theory indicates that Keynes stood firmly in the tradition of the early pioneers in the use of statistics for descriptive purposes and insofar as he sought reform as a result of his economic arguments, his use of statistics followed the Victorian reformist methods of statistical usage. In the same way that his predecessors used numbers rhetorically, Keynes saw that by using statistics descriptively he was more likely to persuade his readers with numbers than if he were to use them in ways that could confuse them. 4. Keynes’ Use of Statistics in Economic Consequences I have already argued that a close reading of Economic Consequences supports the view that Keynes placed great weight on the use of statistics from early in his career.   8 As we have seen, while he did not embrace the use of econometrics as it emerged as a discipline in the 1930s and 1940s, the importance he placed on the use of statistics well into his career is clearly shown in his book How to Pay for the War, published in 1940. However, unlike How to Pay for the War his use of statistics in his earlier works appears unsystematic and designed entirely for descriptive and rhetorical purposes. Reference to Table One below provides a view of how Keynes presented his statistical arguments in Economic Consequences.4 While there is a clear cogency to his presentation of numbers and calculations, there is no clear, structured or systematic way in which Keynes uses statistics to support his arguments. However, as with How to Pay for the War, Keynes always used numbers to establish authority and to support and verify his arguments. Despite the appearance of unsystematic presentation in his earlier work, Keynes’ use of statistics remained largely unaltered throughout his career. Moggridge points out that his views on the use of statistics were first formed with his 1907 and 1908 fellowship dissertation submissions (and subsequently published as A Treatise on Probability in 1921) with many of his arguments reappearing ‘in his discussions of statistical arguments between 1910 and 1940’ (Moggridge, 1992, p. 160). At the heart of his use of statistics was the two parts that he believed made up the theory of statistics: the descriptive part concerned with presenting, describing and summarizing series of events or instances; and the inductive or inferential part concerned with extending the description of certain characteristics of observed events to those not observed. A good example of Keynes’ use of this theory of statistics is in his discussion on “Germany’s capacity to pay.” It is also an example of his seemingly unsystematic presentation of the numbers he used. There are three probable explanations for this unsystematic presentation. Firstly the figures appear to be drawn together in a hurried and pragmatic manner where they were initially part of official Treasury memoranda. The use of memoranda typically involves a style of writing that is ‘informal.’ The way in which prose and statistics in memoranda attributed to Keynes are grouped by numbered ‘bullet points’ reflects this informal approach to written communication. An initial analysis of Germany’s capacity to pay had been undertaken by the Treasury during hostilities, with a number of estimates provided in a Treasury memorandum dated January 1916, the authors being W. J. Ashley5 and Keynes. When the Imperial War Cabinet set up the Committee on Indemnity on 26 November 1918 Keynes was   9 called on to be representative of the Treasury where he used this earlier memorandum to warn the committee that ‘[While] our investigation is not yet complete, but so far, it looks very probably that the amount of reparation [calculated by the committee] is larger than the amount that Germany can pay’ (Johnson, 1971, p. 337). The report of the committee, which was never published, came to the conclusion that Germany should pay the whole cost of the war, estimated at £ 24,000 million (a figure Lloyd George branded as a wild and fantastic chimera) at the same time as the Treasury’s investigations were showing that Germany was capable of paying something between £ 2,000 million and £ 3,000 million. Keynes himself thought that without economic growth to stimulate her exports Germany could pay £ 1,000 million of moveable property at once and £ 1,000 million additional tribute amortised over thirty years. Detailed workings were provided to the committee in a memorandum headed ‘Notes on an Indemnity’ and dated 31 October 1918 and, according to Johnson, ‘appears to have been Keynes’ work alone’ (Johnson, 1971, p. 337). In a letter to his mother on 3 November Keynes remarked that ‘an exciting incident of the week was writing a memorandum on indemnities at top speed for an airman to fly to Versailles with’ (Johnson, 1971, p. 338). Adding to this sense of urgency (that helps explain Keynes’ unsystematic and informal presentation) is that many of his hurriedly prepared numbers are ‘cut and pasted’ from the original memoranda directly into Economic Consequences. The structure of the 1918 memorandum is followed closely in Economic Consequences. The memorandum was finalized during November 1918 and most probably presented to the Committee on Indemnity’s meeting of 2 December 1918’ (Johnson, 1971, p. 336). The verbatim lifting of paragraphs from this memorandum was done, according to Johnson, because Keynes must have felt the final version of the memorandum to be enough of his own work without having to formally acknowledge these figures as being Treasury statistics. It is fortuitous that the original hand-written manuscript of Economic Consequences has survived and can be found in the archives at King’s College, Cambridge (Keynes, 1919). Save for the prose most of the statistics have been ‘cut and pasted’ from original Treasury documents into the handwritten manuscript, an example of which is given in Figure One below. A third explanation for the unsystematic way in which Keynes presents his statistics can be found in the level of maturity of the discipline of economics in 1919.   10 During the early part of the twentieth century economists had not yet achieved the professional status that they were to gain by mid-century, and when Lloyd-George, for example, wanted economic advice when he was Chancellor before the First World War he turned to a financial journalist, George Paish, editor of the Statist (Peden, 2000). Down to the 1930s economics was something that government officials who had studied philosophy or mathematics at Oxford or Cambridge were expected to be able to ‘get up,’ if required, and many candidates for the Civil Service examination did so. Keynes himself studied mathematics at Cambridge, and his initial training in economics amounted to no more than directed reading over a summer vacation. Yet, in 1908, within three years of graduation, he was considered to be qualified not only as a lecturer in economics at Cambridge but also as joint editor of the Economic Journal. During the war he was recruited into the Treasury, where he became head of a new division dealing with overseas finance, but his duties differed only in subject matter from those of other officials. Another example that helps highlight the relatively unsophisticated nature of economics at this time is the estimates of national income made by the Treasury between 1914 and 1916. Peden points out these estimates did not represent a serious attempt at analysis of the kind made during the Second World War that required macroeconomic concepts developed by Keynes in the 1930s. ‘The use made of national income estimates in the First World War was bound to be unsophisticated’ (Peden, 2000, p. 93). For example, Reginald McKenna, (Chancellor of the Exchequer, 1915-1916), used his figures in 1916 simply to support his claim that the National Debt created during the war would not be an intolerable burden, since the Debt to be created by the end of 1916/17 would be approximately the same as a year’s national income. Influences such as shifting price levels and inflation were not even taken into account in using these estimates and subsequent studies have argued that these unsophisticated calculations help explain why taxation levels were insufficient to assist with the financial burden created by war. In summary, we can say this about Keynes’ use of statistics in Economic Consequences of the Peace. He uses statistics in line with the way he understood the theory of statistics to be applied. In the first place this meant describing a series of events. In one example Keynes presents, describes and summaries Germany’s holdings of gold and silver at the date of the Armistice. He reasons inductively to   11 argue that of the £ 125,000,000 of gold and silver he estimates is available to the Reichsbank, just £ 60,000,000 can realistically be made available for reparations. The second thing we can say about his use of statistics in Economic Consequences is that while the figures used follow the cogency of his prose, the statistics themselves are presented in an unsystematic and informal manner. There are three explanations for this. First, the statistics that had to be pulled together for the Treasury memoranda in 1916 that ultimately led to the final memorandum in 1918, presented to the Committee on Indemnity, were done against a background of pressure and expediency. In short, there is a clear element of pragmatism over statistical elegance in Keynes’ presentation. The second explanation for the unsystematic way in which Keynes presents his statistics is the way in which he brings the figures from the Treasury memoranda into Economic Consequences. There is little effort at amendment or tidying up from figures previously gathered under pressure and in a hurry, as is evidenced by the large amount of ‘cutting and pasting’ from Treasury documents into Keynes’ manuscript. Finally, the state of economics as a discipline and the more sophisticated attention being paid to the use of statistics in the 1930s and 1940s did not exist in 1919 and while it is acknowledged that Keynes played a major role in the developments of the 1930s and 1940s his unsystematic use of statistics in the war years and immediate post-war period reflected the nature of the discipline at this time.   12 INSERT A   13 5. The Challenge to Keynes’ Statistics To this point I have argued that Keynes used statistics rhetorically as a way to persuade his readers that the reparations to be imposed on Germany following World War One would, if carried through, have severe economic consequences not only for Germany but the whole of Europe. In his use of statistics Keynes, at this time, stood firmly in the traditions of the early ‘political arithmeticians’ of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, who introduced quantification to the emerging discipline of economics. Furthermore, in his use of statistics as a descriptive means to support his arguments, Keynes continued to work within the Victorian tradition of using statistics as a means of encouraging economic and social reform. Most modern scholars believe that Keynes exaggerated his statistics in ways similar to the way, at times, he used exaggerated prose to describe the political leaders at the Conference. This judgment can be traced to the time when Mantoux published his critical analysis of Keynes’ Economic Consequences. But Mantoux’s work was some sixteen years following the publication of Keynes book (1946:1919) and invariably suffers from ‘the benefit of hindsight.’ There had been nothing equivalent to challenge Keynes’ numbers and calculations when he published in 1919, which leave us with some important questions. Why did it take so many years after the publication of such a plethora of statistics in Economic Consequences to mount a challenge to Keynes’ statistical claims? Why, if Keynes’ figures were so exaggerated so as to border on falsity, were they so widely accepted without challenge at the time of publication? And, to what degree does it really matter? If Keynes was able to persuade his readers with selectively chosen statistics, but careful to draw on reputable sources (which he was), is this not a commonly chosen path for those wanting to persuade an audience? 5.1. Contemporary Reaction While reaction to Keynes book came from many different quarters and grew to a considerable quantity, contemporary reaction to, and questioning of, the veracity of Keynes’s statistics was quite muted. Economic Consequences had stirred up considerable controversy around Keynes’ depiction of the political leaders (especially Wilson) who attended Versailles, in addition to his views on reparations and Germany’s “capacity to pay.” But most people seemed to accept without challenge   14 the many statistics Keynes presented. Halperin comments that ‘strangely enough, while the politics of Keynes’ book were the object of much controversy, its economics were almost never seriously challenged’ (Halperin, 1947, p. 932). Moggridge in his discussion of contemporary reaction lumps any criticism of Keynes’ statistics as being among ‘other criticisms of Economic Consequences [that] fastened on details’ (Moggride, 1992, p. 339). Where, however, Keynes took seriously any criticism of his figures and calculations, he was careful to correct his critics and did not accept any figures as being better than his own. Keynes’ exchange with John Foster Dulles is a good example of this ‘fastening onto details’ and Keynes’ rigorous defense of his statistics. The fact that Keynes considered Dulles letter (published in The Times on 16th February 1920) the ‘first serious and responsible’ criticism of his book is helpful in shedding light on the nature of the contemporary debate around the numbers Keynes used. Putting to one side Dulles’ discussion of the inclusion of pensions and separation allowances and what he proposes by way of accounting methods,7 Dulles’s chief complaint was Keynes’ calculation of reparation liability. Keynes had argued that the reparation liability should immediately be fixed at £ 2,000 million but Dulles maintained that Keynes took no account of the marked appreciation of values that had occurred during war time. Dulles maintained that an additional £ 2-3,000 million needed to be added to Keynes’ figure of £ 2,000 million. He also challenged Keynes’ figure of £ 1,500 million to be paid over thirty years. Dulles argued that this amounted to a present capital sum of approximately £ 750 million (that is, only half of Keynes figure of £ 1,500 million). Keynes responded to Dulles’ criticisms in the following way: (1) [That he had not taken account of the marked rise in prices from 1913 to 1919.] ‘This criticism is not well founded. My initial allowance for increased prices, the wide margin I added for contingencies, and the fact that my estimates were in terms of gold and not paper francs, result, so far, for example, as the restoration of houses is concerned, in my upper limit leaving room for an appreciation in the cost of house building, in terms of francs, to nine or ten times the pre-war level. (2) My estimate of what Germany could pay – namely £ 2,000 million at the most. Mr. Dulles does not comment on this estimate. The progress of events since I made it has not led me to modify it upwards. (3) My estimate of what it would be wise on our part to ask from Germany – namely, £ 2,000 million, but with the two important abatements of a   15 rather large allowance for ceded property and the payment of the balance in 30 annual installments without interest. Mr. Dulles thinks my suggested allowance for ceded property too large, on the ground that it would be mainly for war material having little value to the Allies. I intended this figure to cover a great deal besides war material, as, for example, merchant ships, submarine cables, and rolling stock, as well as State property and financial liabilities attributed to ceded territory. … (4) Lastly, there was the German counter proposal of an alleged sum of £ 5,000 million, which to judge from his speech in the House of Commons on February 12 achieved at least as much of its object to deceive Mr. Balfour. But of course the real value of Count Rantzau’s offer was nothing of the kind, as I have explained in detail in pp. 204-209 of my book, and, indeed, as the Allies themselves have pointed out in the official reply which they addressed to him. ….. Mr. Dulles … does not dispute my estimate of the real money value of the offer as being somewhere about £ 1,500 million. But he forgets that even this figure is not comparable with those cited above, since the German offer was conditional on the abandonment of most of the rest of the treaty, including all the territorial clauses and those relating to the mercantile marine and to German property abroad (Johnson, 1977, pp. 26-28). Two aspects about this exchange are striking. In the first place Keynes goes into detail as to how he arrived at his figures (refer point 1) and helps explain why there has been considerable debate around the statistics he uses. In short, statistics can never be taken on face value alone, they are invariably underpinned by a methodology and detail that, if we don’t have access to this information, makes it very difficult to analyse and helps cast doubt on the figures used. If Keynes was working to a methodology for establishing many of his statistics it is not obvious from the archival material that has survived. But in this letter to Dulles he talks of using a contingency factor, allowing for price changes, and his use of the valuation of gold rather than the exchange rate for francs suggests that Keynes had some way of calculating his numbers. However, if he did there seems little consistency to the way in which he applies such a methodology, which means we are left with a high degree of speculation when trying to “get behind” Keynes’ numbers. What Keynes did reasonably well was to provide the reader with references to many of his sources. But this just adds to what we do know, which is that Keynes was interested in statistics as a means of description and authoritative support for his arguments. The second aspect that is important about the exchange between Dulles and Keynes is that it is representative of where most of any challenge to Keynes’ statistics came, namely anything to do with the subject of reparations usually led to debate and   16 disagreement. Moggridge argues that critics fastened onto three aspects of this debate: the nature of the Armistice contract and hence the morality of the inclusion of the claim for pensions and separation allowances; the size of the claims for reparation; and Germany’s capacity to pay. On the first, the debate was one of morality and principle rather than actual figures. If, as Keynes maintained, it was immoral to even consider including pensions and separation allowances then a debate about figures has no meaning. On the second, it is important to note that Keynes’ 1919 estimate of Germany’s liability for reparations was remarkably close to that of the Reparations Commission. In 1921 the Commission set Germany’s liability at £ 6,600 million. Keynes’ estimate was £ 6,400-8,800 million.9 But, this misses the real point of the debate. The point is, as Moggridge argues, that the numbers prove nothing, they establish only orders of magnitude. As such they indicate that in terms of ‘normal’ national income8 and late 1920s average exports, ‘the allies’ demands for reparations from Germany were large relative to German demands on France in 1871 or to other historically large financial transfers’ (Moggridge, 1992, p. 343). Keynes (with Ashley) had foreseen this difficulty as early as 1916 and argued in their Treasury memorandum that historical examples were the fairest way to determine reparations. They used the most recent example they were familiar with, which was the French reparations after her defeat by Germany in 1870. As a proportion of national income the annual figures for France (1871-5) were 7.5-12 per cent.10 France’s indemnity in 1871, of 5 billion francs, represented less than a quarter of a year’s national income. This compared to the allies post-1918 demands of Germany that represented over one and a half times the highest estimates of Germany’s national income in the second half of the 1920s. However, as Moggridge points out, and I have argued already, the numbers mean very little, they only establish an order of magnitude and as such they indicate that in terms of ‘normal’ national income and late 1920s average exports, the allies demands for reparations from Germany were large relative to German demands on France in 1871 or to other historically large financial transfers. Furthermore, the German payments were to continue for a much longer period than those of 1871. This ruled out the possibility of substantial recycling as had occurred in 1871 because when there is a stream of payments for several decades ahead, ‘borrowing to service or anticipate a substantial portion of these payments is hardly feasible’ (Moggridge, 1992, p. 343). Some   17 borrowing might transfer some payments from earlier to later years when incomes and trade would be greater, but for payments the size of those demanded in 1919 a large proportion would have to come from current international earnings. While there was considerable debate at the time around reparation claims, the issue that dominated debate was Germany’s “capacity to pay” reparations and the economic consequences of such payments. One complication in the debate was that the reparation sum was set in nominal terms in foreign currency. A worldwide rise in prices would reduce the real resource costs of any transfer of reparations, a fall would increase it. During the nineteenth century the trend of prices had been flat, but fluctuations around the trend were significant and lengthy. Keynes, having grown up in such a stable era would, argues Moggridge, have been more worried about the risk of a significant fall in prices as this would have the effect of paying large nominal sums over a long period more worrying than in the present day when we live, comparatively speaking, in an inflationary world. When it came to determining Germany’s capacity to pay, most economists were interested in Germany’s ability to expand her exports and/or decrease her imports of goods and services to effect the transfer. The relevant issues in this debate are the time allowed for the changes in question, the magnitude of the changes, and the structure of the relevant markets. On the question of time, Keynes conceded that if the allies nursed the Germany economy back to health over a period of five to ten years they could obtain larger streams of payments than otherwise. There was little disagreement over this view. But there was room for disagreement as to the prospect of such time being allowed and the extent of the ‘nursing’ involved. Keynes, looking at the Treaty and the financial policies of the allies, was pessimistic on both counts. On the question of magnitude the question had to be asked, could Germany transform her international accounts so as to produce an export surplus of the relevant size even if the allies allowed? Was it possible by appropriate policy measures to reduce domestic consumption and raise Germany’s net international receipts? Moggridge argues that to a modern economist the answer would be ‘yes in theory.’ A mixture of tax, monetary and exchange-rate policies would reduce domestic consumption and raise the output of goods moving into international trade relative to those which did not. But in 1919 this was not a theoretical question. Keynes was   18 arguing that there was nothing to give on the consumption side and that, especially after the other allied depredations of the Treaty, the resources were not available and that they were not likely to be available in the foreseeable future. His opponents took a different view, often arguing that Keynes underestimated the recuperative power of the German economy and at the same time that the Treaty would in any case be modified to ease the burdens. ‘Certainly, looking at the magnitudes involved, the figures above, though high, are not impossible for a more normal period. Whether the results would meet the needs or desires of the allies was another matter’ (Moggridge, 1992, p. 344). However, any serious attempt by Germany to pay reparations (which there never was) as laid down in the Treaty would have required a substantial net increase in her exports of coal and manufactured goods. Such an expansion would have inevitably been at the expense of other producers. But, the question whether Germany had the capacity to pay reparations on the scale demanded by the Treaty was never put to the test. In the late 1920s, German reparation payments averaged just over 1.5 billion marks – less than 2 per cent of national income or just over 13 per cent of her exports.11 The proportions rose with the 1929 slump, but it was only in those years that Germany’s export surplus was actually needed to cover her reparations bill, for prior to 1929 German capital imports had more than offset her reparations payments. The system collapsed shortly after. The general consensus among scholars is that she could have paid more than she did if there had been a willingness to pay in Germany, a willingness on the part of the allies to receive and a willingness to tackle associated problems. ‘But whether she could have managed the figures of 1919 remains an open question’ (Moggridge, 1992, p. 345). In summary, the most significant aspect of the contemporary reaction to Keynes’ use of statistics in Economic Consequences is that the reaction was relatively muted compared to the reaction he received on the political nature of the book. However, this muted reaction demonstrates how rhetorically effective Keynes use of statistics was. While often fierce debate centred on many of the reparation numbers, Keynes drew little reaction or dispute to his figures, calculations and conclusions. This reinforces the view that Keynes was widely acknowledged as an ‘expert’ on the subject of indemnities with few alternatives to legitimately stand in disagreement to his own.   19 5.2. Étienne Mantoux: The Carthaginian Peace or The Economic Consequences of Mr. Keynes The first serious and analytical challenge to the statistics used by Keynes in Economic Consequences came from Étienne Mantoux with the publication of The Carthaginian Peace or The Economic Consequences of Mr. Keynes. However, Mantoux’s book was published some sixteen years after Keynes’ book first appeared. Nevertheless, Mantoux’s analysis is systematic and thorough and concludes that the economic defects of the Versailles Treaty were ‘exaggerated and illusory.’ Mantoux argues that Keynes overestimated the impact of change upon the volume of international trade in general and the activity of the German economy in particular, while underestimating the ability of the German economy to produce a national income large enough to raise the revenue necessary to pay reparations. Mantoux’s challenge to Keynes’ statistics went to the heart of many of Keynes’ arguments. For example, Mantoux argues that the German economy during the inter-war period disproved Keynes’ argument that she would not be capable of generating an adequate export surplus. Furthermore, Keynes had predicted that Europe would be threatened with ‘a long, silent process of semi-starvation and of a gradual steady lowering of the standards of life and comfort,’ yet ‘ten years after the Treaty, European production was well above its pre-war level, and European standards of living had never been higher.’ Keynes had predicted a decline in the iron output of Europe when in fact output increased almost continuously. ‘In 1929 Europe produced 10 per cent more iron than in the record year, 1913.’ Keynes has also predicted a decline in iron and steel output of Germany but by 1927 it was 30 and 38 per cent higher, respectively, than in 1913 (within the same territorial limits). He forecast a decline of efficiency in the German coal mining industry but by 1929 the efficiency of labour was 30 per cent higher than in 1913. Keynes also predicted that Germany could not export coal in the near future, yet in the first year following the Treaty, German net coal exports were 15 million tons and in 1926, 35 million tons. He estimated Germany’s national savings for future years at less than 2 billion marks. In 1925 the figure was estimated at 6.4 billion and in 1927 at 7.6 billion. Keynes predicted that Germany could not afford to pay more than 2 billion marks a year in reparations for the next 30 years, yet between 1933 and 1939 Germany spent seven times as much a year on re-armament alone.   20 Mantoux uses these figures to estimate the effect on Germany’s net capital formation before 1929 and this, combined with her arms expenditure under Hitler, leads him to the conclusion that Germany could have easily covered the heaviest possible Versailles reparation annuities, which exceeded four times what Keynes admitted to be her capacity to pay. There were a number of other challenges by Mantoux but regardless of what numbers and arguments were used by both men, the most helpful legacy that Mantoux has left is that he was able to bring to the debate a fresh and revised set of views and analytical means for assessing the veracity of Keynes’ figures. However, Mantoux’s work suffers from a significant defect. Much of Mantoux’s analysis is taken up with dealing with Keynes’ figures as if they had been fixed by Keynes as predictors of the future, when in many cases events turned out far differently than could have been foreseen. In the process we are left with statistics that only have meaning at a particular point in time and within a set historical context. A more convincing analysis would have been to uncover the methods and reasoning Keynes used to come up with the statistics he puts forward, thereby helping to expose how Keynes used figures to persuade, thereby giving us a better idea as to the validity of the claim that Keynes deliberately used statistics in an exaggerated manner. The other difficulty in any acceptance of Mantoux’s challenge is that Keynes was never in a position to respond to Mantoux’s criticisms, having died shortly before Mantoux’s book was published. Tragically Mantoux had also died the previous year, killed during the final days of World War Two. Most of the subsequent reviews of Mantoux’s book were, however, sympathetic to Mantoux’s challenge and most scholars since overwhelmingly side with Mantoux in the broad criticism of Keynes that he exaggerated his statistics.12 But, as with much of the contemporary criticism of Keynes’ figures, it is difficult to assess with any certainty how valid this criticism is because those doing the criticizing provide little to no analytical evidence for why they have this view. Rather they are happy to accept that “Mantoux is right; Keynes was wrong.” 5.3. Assessments since Mantoux’s Book Scholars from the last few decades have tended to take the view that Keynes exaggerated both his argument about Germany’s “capacity to pay” and the figures he used to support those arguments. Many of these arguments suffer the same fate as   21 Mantoux’s analysis; while it is of interest from the armchair of hindsight to point out where Keynes’ statistics were wrong, few scholars have successfully been able to challenge his statistics from within the context of 1919. For example, Singleton argues that it was doubtful whether the Allies ever expected Germany to pay more than the first 50 billion marks of the 132 gold marks handed down in the 1921 London Schedule of Payments and that this figure was not excessive. But, once again, a judgment only possible in hindsight (Singleton, 2007, p. 33). Ferguson also argues that Keynes’ arguments and figures were exaggerated and makes four statistical comparisons between Britain and Germany immediately following the war so as to make his point, although it is not clear why Ferguson chooses these particular figures as they really say nothing about his central claim of exaggeration. In the first example, he contends that some 2.4 million British workers were involved in strikes in 1919, 300,000 more than in revolutionary Germany. Second, in 1921 86 million days were lost in industrial disputes; the German figure was 22.6 million. Ferguson’s third example is that the electorate was increased from 7.7 million to 21.4 million by the 1918 Representation of the People Act, more or less giving Britain the franchise Germans had enjoyed since 1871 (universal male suffrage). In the final example, only in the inflationary stakes did Germany fare worse, having run completely out of control, so that the Reichsmark was worth virtually nothing by the end of 1923 (Ferguson, 1999, p. 396). In reality, argues Ferguson, the peace terms were not unprecedented in their harshness and the German hyperinflation was mainly due to the irresponsible fiscal and monetary policies adopted by the Germans themselves. Moggridge avoids the issue of the accuracy of Keynes’ numbers and does not give a view as to whether or not he thought Keynes exaggerated his figures. Rather he chooses to focus on what he sees as Keynes’ vision in Economic Consequences against how things played out. For example, he argues that in 1919 Keynes probably underestimated the recuperative power of capitalist economies after major wars. German recovery after 1918, as after 1945, was substantial. By the mid-1920s at the latest, output levels exceeded pre-war – as did real wages.13 Her exports of manufactures did not return to pre-war levels, but the decline was not as severe as Britain’s.14 It is also, according to Moggridge, the case that Keynes’ long standing worry about the secular tendency for the terms of trade between primary products   22 (especially foodstuffs) and manufacturers to turn automatically against the latter to the detriment of European standards of life was misplaced, as well as ‘theoretically incorrect.’ However, he was correct about the importance of frontiers, as the economic disintegration of the inter-war European economy was to demonstrate.15 What Keynes did miss, argues Moggridge, is the significance of the concerns the French had about security from future German attack. He acknowledged Clemenceau’s ‘vision’ of a secure Europe but begged to differ over the wisdom of weakening the German economy over the longer term. In disagreeing, he ignored the political dimension of such worries and as a result his success in Britain in making the moral and economic case against the Treaty left France feeling more isolated and more prone to use the reparations issue as the vehicle for prolonging conflict. If he had allowed for French concerns he would have recognized that in place of the softening of the Treaty’s terms on reparations, France required other guarantees from her allies. Hawtrey’s review for Economica (August 1948) stands out as something of an exception to the overwhelming sympathy for Mantoux’s arguments and in so doing helps explain why Keynes may have been as concerned as he said he was with the situation as it existed in 1919. To those who argue that history has proven that Germany could easily have afforded the reparations laid down in the Treaty, Hawtrey reminds us that in point of fact it was the first cash payment of reparations demanded in the Spring of 1921 that started the collapse of the mark. Hawtrey acknowledges the argument that the German government may have been able to avert the result but as he points out, with the progress (or rather lack of) that had been made in restoring German finances, and the monetary stability that had been maintained for a full year up to May 1921, ‘I do not think that accusation can be sustained. But if it were, the Allies had no means of imposing financial rectitude on Germany, short of assuming an overriding authority, which would have amounted to the supersession of the sovereign Republic by an Allied Military Government’ (Hawtrey, 1946, p. 236). Hawtrey also argues that with the inflation of 1921-3 this meant that such payments as Germany made were at the cost of depleting the working capital of German industry and trade. It was for the indispensable purpose of reconstituting this   23 working capital that Germany borrowed on so great a scale from London and New York and other centres in the years 1924-9. On the transfer problem Hawtrey asks, what if transfer had been found possible? That, argues Hawtrey, would have brought Keynes’ argument into play that Germany had in effect ‘engaged herself to hand over to the Allies the whole of her surplus production in perpetuity.’ (Keynes, 1920, p. 154). The charge of some £ 400 million a year for thirty years, according to Hawtrey, would have deprived German economic life of the essential resources of development, or indeed of maintenance, since capital outlay on technological improvements ‘is an indispensable condition of competitive power’ (Hawtrey, 1946, p. 236). This is Hawtrey’s rebuff of Mantoux’s argument that ‘it would not have been economically impossible to exact payments in excess of what was necessary to maintain Germany’s national capital intact’ (Hawtrey, 1946, p. 236). For Hawtrey this would have supported Keynes view that such an imposition on Germany would have meant nothing less than long drawn out ruin, which, in Keynes’ view, had always been Clemenceau’s aim. This would, of course, have freed France from the German threat but, as Keynes had argued, this would have invited their own destruction as well. Hawtrey is also interested in setting to rights Mantoux’s main argument, namely that the Allies were in a position to make Germany hand over something more than the whole of her surplus, but that, owing to the influence of Keynes’ book, they failed to do so. Germany did retain enough of her surplus to achieve a rapid and almost complete recovery, and thereafter used her renewed economic power to re-arm on a scale almost sufficient for her to subjugate the world. But when Mantoux argued ‘that the surplus which Germany yielded to Hitler for rearmament and war can be taken as a measure of what could have been made available for reparations, he was making some rather considerable assumptions.’ Was it, Hawtrey asks, conceivable in the Europe of 1919 that anything like the savage system of coercion and repression to which Hitler resorted could have been imposed on any human society? And surely, he goes on, even in a world become habituated to the outrage of totalitarianism, it would be impossible to extract any comparable surplus in opposition to the patriotic sentiments of the community instead of with their support. Hawtrey argues that ‘the German enslavement of populations of invaded countries during the Second World War was a desperate throw, and met with very limited success.’ Finally Hawtrey   24 points out that even if arguments had favoured emasculating Germany as Keynes believed the Treaty terms would do, ‘in the relatively humane world of 1919 it was a matter of course that resources would flow to a country reduced to urgent need, from more prosperous centres. The idea of destroying German economic power by imposing excessive reparation liability was really moonshine from the beginning’ (Hawtrey, 1946, pp. 237-238). 6. Conclusion Most present day scholars argue that Keynes exaggerated Germany’s inability to meet the reparation terms laid down in The Treaty. Typically they point to the way Keynes underestimated Germany’s economic restorative capability, ultimately a fact that led to World War Two. Some scholars go as far as to lay the blame for Germany’s rapid ability to rearm on Keynes’s publication of Economic Consequences. However, this is a viewpoint that enjoys the benefits of hindsight and does not sufficiently take account of the context within which Keynes’s statistics were drawn. I have argued that most of Keynes’ figures were taken, in many cases verbatim, directly from Treasury memoranda. While in many cases these figures are undoubtedly the work of Keynes himself (as a Treasury official), they are statistics that, prior to any form of publication, would have been known to those he worked with. It seems unlikely that the entire Treasury would have been complicit in turning a blind eye to deliberately exaggerated figures. However, this does not mean that Keynes used statistics other than as a means to persuade his readers. Keynes understood the importance and “rules” of rhetoric. There are numerous examples in Economic Consequences where he effectively marshals numbers and calculations in ways that support his arguments and thus establishes a style of rhetoric his readers found convincing. Keynes believed that the terms as laid out in the Treaty would not only emasculate Germany economically for many years to come, but his real concern was that the Treaty, if carried out, would, in effect, throw the whole of Europe into an economic dark ages. There is little doubt that he was successful in persuading his contemporaries of his arguments. Apart from the obvious publishing success of his book, the clearest evidence we have that his statistics were rhetorically compelling is the widespread acceptance of the figures he used. Some scholars suggest that this is because they   25 were deliberately presented in a confusing manner, whereas Keynes’ prose could easily be challenged due to the elaborate style he often used. However, this is to overlook the fact that Keynes himself saw his book as a serious work of economics and his extensive use of Treasury numbers tends to support this argument. It also overlooks the fact that Keynes’ numbers drew little criticism at the time and were accepted by many of his otherwise critical audience. To suggest otherwise is to cast doubt on the intellectual ability of Keynes’s own contemporaries to analyse and understand his statistical arguments.   26 INSERT B   27 Bartholomew, David J. 1995. What is Statistics? Journal of the Royal Statistical Society. Series A (Statistics in Society), Vol. 158, No. 1. Brady, Michael Emmett. July, 1988. J. M. Keynes’s position on the General Applicability of Mathematical, Logical and Statistical Methods in Economics and Social Science, Synthese, Vol. 76, No. 1. Carruthers, Bruce G., and Wendy Nelson Espeland. July, 1991. Accounting for Rationality: Double- Entry Bookkeeping and the Rhetoric of Economic Rationality, The American Journal of Sociology, Vol. 97, No. 1. Clark, Colin. 1957. The Conditions of Economic Progress, MacMillan, London. Clower, Robert. 1973. Snarks, Quarks, and Other Fictions, L. P. Cain and P. J. Uselding (eds.) Business Enterprise and Economic Change, Kent University Press. Ferguson, Niall. 1999. The Pity of War, Basic Books, London. Halperin, Michael A. Dec., 1946. The Carthaginian Peace, or The Economic Consequences of Mr. Keynes. The American Economic Review, Vol. 36, No. 5. Hawtrey, R. G. Aug. 1948. The Carthaginian Peace, or The Economic Consequences of Mr. Keynes, Economica, Vol. 15, No. 59. Johnson, Elizabeth (ed.). 1971. J. M. Keynes Collected Works: XVI. MacMillan, Cambridge University Press, London. Johnson, Elizabeth (ed.). 1977. J. M. Keynes Collected Works: XVII. MacMillan, Cambridge University Press, London. Keynes, J. M. 1919. King’s College Archives, JMK/EC/8. Keynes, J. M. 1920. The Economic Consequences of the Peace, MacMillan and Co. Limited, St. Martin’s Square, London. Keynes, J. M. 1940. How to Pay for the War, MacMillan and Co., Limited, St. Martin’s Street, London. Maddison, A. 2007. Contours of the World Economy, 1-2030AD: Essays in Macro-Economic History, Oxford University Press, Oxford. McCloskey, Donald N. 1986. The Rhetoric of Economics, Harvester Press, Sussex. Mantoux, Étienne. 1946. The Carthaginian Peace – or The Economic Consequences of Mr. Keynes, Oxford University Press, London. Moggridge, D. E. 1992. Maynard Keynes: An Economist’s Biography, Routledge, London.   28 Patinkin, Don. Nov., 1976. Keynes and Econometrics: On the Interaction between the Macroeconomic Revolutions of the Interwar Period, Econometrica, Vol. 44, No. 6. Peden, G. C. 2000. The Treasury and British Public Policy: 1906-1959, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Phelps, Michael G. Summer, 1980. Laments, Ancient and Modern: Keynes on Mathematical and Econometric Methodology. Journal of Post Keynesian Economics, Vol. 2, No. 4. Singleton, John. 2007. ’Destruction … and misery’: the First World War,” Oliver, Michael J. and Derek H. Aldcroft (eds.), Economic Disasters of the Twentieth Century, Edward Elgar, Cheltenham, U.K.   29 1. The “rules of rhetoric” have their roots in classical Greece and Rome. By the time of Cicero (106- 43BC) Aristotle’s early views of rhetoric had been divided into five major canons; inventio (invention); dispositio (arrangement); elocutio (style); memoria (memory) and pronuntiatio (delivery) Invention: the art of discovering ways to find an argument that would persuade an audience. Arrangement: the method of organizing an argument. Style: presenting an argument in a way designed to stir the emotions. Diction and organization of phrases (tropes) became one’s style. This was divided into three levels: low (teaching), middle (persuading), and high (entertaining). Memory: the ability to use mnemonic devices to call forth and sustain an argument. Delivery: without effective delivery the other canons will not matter. 2. While the importance of style is accepted by most scholars, its importance among well known writers has varied acceptance. Henry David Thoreau for example expressed indifference to style; “Who care’s what a man’s style is, so it is intelligible, as intelligible as his thought.” Matthew Arnold said; “People think that I can teach them style. What stuff it all is! Have something to say, and say it as clearly as you can. That is the only secret of style.” On the other hand, Alfred North Whitehead said of style; “ Style, in its finest sense, is the last acquirement of the educated mind; it is also the most useful. It pervades the whole being.” And, Vladimir Nabokov; “Style and structure are the essence of a book; great ideas are hogwash.” 3. In particular in the essays on Marshall and Edgeworth in Essays in Biography (1972, pp. 161-231, 251-66) and in his review of Tinbergen’s work on business cycles (1973, pp. 306-20). 4. This ‘representative’ table has been stripped of much of Keynes’ prose in an attempt to better understand his statistics. While there is little doubt that the rhetorical success of Economic Consequences lies in the integrated way in which Keynes mixes numbers with prose, it is an intimidating task analyzing his statistics alone unless an approach similar to the one outlined in Table One is used. 5. Ashley (1860-1927) is best known for his work as an economic historian. He differed with Marshall and his followers who sought to sideline economic history in favour of establishing economics as a science. He wrote a book in 1888 Introduction to Economic History and Theory where he outlined his differences with the Marshallians. He argued that deductive, abstract reasoning could not provide the basis for meaningful or effective economic theory or practice, and that statements of economic principle were true only in relation to given historical conditions. With the outbreak of the First World War he was drawn into government service, largely as an expert adviser on, for example, the departmental committee of food prices in 1916, and the Sumner committee on the cost of living in 1918, where his statistical knowledge was at a premium.’ Source: Oxford National Biography. 6. The handwritten manuscript reference is: Keynes, 1919, p. 276. The equivalent section in Keynes, 1920 is pp. 156-7. 7. The debate around the inclusion or exclusion of pensions and separation allowances had more to do with the moral efficacy of their consideration. Keynes was aggressively opposed to any inclusion of such items, which meant there was little point in bothering too much about debating the actual numbers when he did not think they should be considered in the first place. On the subject of accounting treatment for reparations Dulles argues in his letter that even if this was not the intended figure that should be paid by way of reparations, standard commercial practice was to record what creditors owed to their debtors. Refer to Collected Works XVII, p. 24. 8. Refer above to the way in which the use of national income statistics by McKenna led to difficulties in meeting war time debt burdens due to the unsophisticated way in which income was calculated. 9. Keynes estimate of liability should not be confused with the figure he believed should be paid. While his estimate of £ 6,400 – 8,800 was his assessment of German liability, he called for an agreed settlement figure of £ 2,000 million so that all economies could recover as soon as possible.   30 10. Cited in Moggridge, 1992; Maclup 1976, Ch. XV; Trachtenberg 1980, 67-8. 11. Cited in Moggridge, 1992; Machlup 1964, 384, 392-3. 12. A number of reviews of Mantoux’s book appeared shortly after its publication. See, Rappard, (October 1946), The American Political Science Review; Heilperin, (December 1946), The American Economic Review; Hillmann, (January 1947), International Affairs; Jones, (January 1947), The American Journal of International Law; Angus, (February 1947), The Canadian Journal of Economics and Political Science; Viner, (March 1947), The Journal of Modern History; Warren, (July 1947), Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Sciences; Palyi, (July 1947), The Review of Politics; Hawtrey, (August 1948), Economica; Albrecht-Carrie, (June 1953), Political Science Quarterly; Parker, (June 1954), The Journal of Political Economy. 13. Cited in Moggridge. 1992. Phelps Brown and Browne 1967, Appendix 3. 14. Cited in Moggridge. 1992. Maizels 1964, 189. 15. Cited in Moggridge. 1992. Svennilson 1954.   31 INSERT A Figure One below provides an extract comparison of one section ‘Transferable Wealth,’ between the original 1918 Treasury memorandum and it’s almost verbatim appearance in Economic Consequences. The comparison of original memorandum with published text notes in {parenthesis} changes from the memorandum and the prose that appears in the memorandum but not the book, denoted in bold italics: {1.} Immediately Transferable Wealth (a) Gold. After the deduction of the gold to be returned to Russia, the official holding of gold as shown in the Reichsbank’s return of the 30th November 1918 amounted to £ 115,417,900. This was a very much larger amount than had appeared in the Reichsbank’s return prior to the war, and was the result of the vigorous campaign which has been continuously conducted {carried on} in Germany {during the war} for the surrender to the Reichsbank not only of gold coin but of gold ornaments of every kind. Private hoards doubtless still exist, but, in view of the great efforts already made, it is unlikely that either the German Government or the Allies will be able to unearth them. It is not known whether the Reichsbank or the government possess a secret hoard but, as every effort has been made throughout the war to counteract the effect of a largely increased note issue by showing as much gold as possible in the Reichsbank’s return, it is extremely unlikely that any substantial amount is held by the government outside this return. The return {can} should therefore be taken as probably representing the maximum amount which the German Government {are} have been able to extract from their people. In addition to gold there {was} is {in the Reichsbank} a sum of about £ 1,000,000 in silver in the Reichsbank. There {must be} is, however, a further substantial amount in circulation, {for} the holdings of the Reichsbank having been {were} as high as £ 9,100,000 on the 31st December 1917, and having stood at about £ 6,000,000 up to the latter part of October 1918, when the internal run began on currency of every kind. We may, therefore, take a total of (say) £ 125,000,000 for gold and silver together {at the date of the Armistice}.’6 Figure One: Example of how Keynes ‘Cut and Pasted’ from Memoranda into Economic Consequences of the Peace.   32 INSERT B The following table lays out in exact order as they appear in Economic Consequences the statistics Keynes uses to explain the economic terms of the Treaty. They are not the full list of statistics from the book (in fact they represent only a small proportion of all numbers provided by Keynes) but just those related to the Treaty terms. When set out in this way it becomes clearer to the reader why many analysts have had difficulty in understanding his statistical arguments. Presentation is unsystematic, in places overwhelming and by and large Keynes gives us no idea as to the methodology he employs in reaching many of his conclusions. However, what these tables do reinforce is that Keynes used statistics for descriptive and supportive reasons, with no regard to economic theory or the modeling techniques so familiar to modern day economists.   33 Table One: Statistics selected by Keynes from The Treaty Rhetoric and Keynes’ use of Statistics in The Economic Consequences of the Peace 5.2. Étienne Mantoux: The Carthaginian Peace or The Economic Consequences of Mr. Keynes Figure One: Example of how Keynes ‘Cut and Pasted’ from Memoranda into Economic Consequences of the Peace. Table One: Statistics selected by Keynes from The Treaty 
work_555imwjasnaunkidvycr5qrgpu	----	Bodies of Evidence: Understanding the Transformation of Collections from Individuals to Institutions Liana H. Zhou LIBRARY TRENDS, Vol. 66, No. 4, 2018 (“Information and the Body: Part 2,” edited by Andrew M. Cox, Brian Griffin, and Jenna Hartel), pp. 568–84. © 2018 The Board of Trustees, University of Illinois Abstract Alfred C. Kinsey was a biologist turned sex researcher of human sexuality with worldwide acclaim. One of his major achievements was to build a library of sex research materials. Kinsey and his fol- lowers have collected not only studies of sexuality but also evidence of sexual expressions—all together comprising more than 500,000 items now in the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections, Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana. This library of sexual ex- pression constitutes a body of evidence for scholars and researchers to understand sexuality. In this article, the author, who has more than twenty-five years’ collection development experience at the Kinsey Institute and is the head of its collection, will examine three self-documentation collec- tions at the Kinsey, selected from the past fifteen years’ acquisitions, to illustrate the range and scope of this type of material. This article is a descriptive case study, primarily of interest to librarians as prac- titioners of collection development and acquisition of special col- lections. The first is a collection of journals created by an individual who self-identified as a practitioner of Chinese Confucianism/Taoist principles, and who documented his life-long journey of self-sexual practices. The second is a collection of a man who practiced being crushed. Last, there is a collection of erotic albums created by an individual to document his experience of sexuality and aging. Dr. Kinsey: A Pioneer in Sex Research and Sex Research Library Alfred Charles Kinsey (1894–1956), a zoology professor at Indiana Univer- sity’s Biology Department from 1920–1956, undertook an unprecedented, bodies of evidence/zhou 569 large-scale research project on human sexuality. His work had a profound impact on the social, cultural, and legal aspects of contemporary Ameri- can life. Kinsey arrived at IU in 1920 as a teaching faculty with a research focus on gall wasps. In 1938, while teaching a marriage course to under- graduate students, he was disappointed with the scant literature on this topic and discovered gaps in our knowledge about human sexuality. From 1938 to his death in 1956, he devoted himself to collecting and analyzing data pertinent to the sexual behaviors of American men and women. Dr. Kinsey and his research team interviewed and collected compre- hensive sex histories from more than 18,000 individuals. Based on the interviews, he published two bestsellers, The Sexual Behavior in the Human Male (Kinsey, Pomeroy, and Martin [1948] 1998) and The Sexual Behavior in the Human Female (Kinsey et al. 1953), also known as the Kinsey Reports. These two milestone publications established Dr. Kinsey as the most in- fluential sex researcher since Freud (Bullough and Bullough 1994, 333). When the Male volume appeared in 1948, it generated international con- troversy and acclaim. One of the significant findings of the Kinsey Reports was the Heterosexual/Homosexual Scale, also known as the Kinsey Scale, which describes an individual’s sexual orientation based on their experi- ences or response at a given life period. Diversity in sexuality is a norm; in Kinsey’s own words, “It is a fundamental of taxonomy that nature rarely deals with discrete categories. . . . The living world is a continuum in each and every one of its aspects. The sooner we learn of this . . . the sooner we shall reach a sound understanding of the realities of sex” (Kinsey, Prome- roy, and Martin [1948] 1998, 639). Dr. Kinsey’s research was considered one of the most important proj- ects ever funded by the Rockefeller Foundation, and it received unwaver- ing support from IU President Herman B Wells. The relationship between Dr. Kinsey and Indiana University is eloquently expressed in the words of President Wells: Indiana University stands today . . . firmly in support of the scientific research project that has been undertaken and is being carried out by one of its eminent biological scientists, Dr. Alfred C. Kinsey. The University believes . . . that only through scientific knowledge so gained can we find the cures for the emotional and social maladies in our society. . . . I agree in saying that we have large faith in the values of knowledge, little faith in ignorance. (Capshew 2012, 222) This defense of Kinsey’s pioneering research on sexuality helped establish Indiana University as an institution committed to the principle of aca- demic freedom. The Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections cel- ebrates its seventieth anniversary in 2017. As the founding director of the Institute for Sex Research (ISR), estab- lished in 1947, Dr. Kinsey sought to protect the integrity and confidential- ity of his research data. The ISR was later renamed the Kinsey Institute 570 library trends/spring 2018 for Research in Sex, Gender, and Reproduction, in honor of Kinsey after his death. Dr. Kinsey also established the first sex research library in the United States, and, to ensure the library’s legal protection, he hired law- yers to work in the legal case United States v. 31 Photographs. He was suc- cessful in gaining legal protection of his primary sex research materials in a federal court ruling concerning the sexually explicit materials in the Library. Kinsey’s courageous pioneering research and scientific vigor paved the way for sex researchers, such as William Masters and Virginia Johnson. His work also influenced the campaign to improve rights and equality for LGBTQ individuals and communities. In prescient recognition of the profound impact his research had on the social and cultural landscape of contemporary American society, Dr. Kinsey was featured on the cover of Time Magazine, August 24, 1953. In the accompanying article, “Alfred Kin- sey,” Time praised “Dr. Kinsey . . . [who] has done for sex what Columbus did for geography.” Recorded Data vs. Interview Data Kinsey’s studies were based on person-to-person interviews of American men and woman, and such interview data was collected through 300–500 questions and answers. The questions were memorized by the trained in- terviewers, and the answers were coded to protect the participants’ privacy and confidentiality. It is, however, important to recognize that Kinsey’s studies also utilized another type of data: recorded data, which are archi- val data such as calendars, diaries, journals, manuscripts, correspondence, drawing and photographs, objects, records, and artifacts. Kinsey’s study was a study of ordinary individuals, and in his book, he listed the occupations of the women in his study as actress, babysitters, bak- ers, berry pickers, glass blower, inventors, truck driver, welder, x-ray techni- cians, or unemployed (Kinsey et al, 1953, 39). Kinsey studied the sexuality of everyday people, and that is a Kinsey tradition. Kinsey’s recorded data is data of ordinary citizens from all walks of life. Kinsey found such recorded data of great interest for his research at that time and worked toward its preservation for future studies. In the Female volume (1953), he outlined a number of advantages of such data: they are real-time data because they are recorded while or shortly after the sexual activities, and such data may be more reliable and less affected by the passing of time and memory. Such sources often provide more details than person-to-person interviews where time is often limited. It can be true that such recorded data may also contain certain personal biases, but Kinsey argued that even such biases or personal judgements might shed light on a person’s interests. To Kinsey, recorded data can or may include unconscious thoughts or desires, and there are certain types of sexual be- havior that are not practiced, but wished for (84–86). bodies of evidence/zhou 571 Significance of Recorded Data or Personal Records at the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections. Kinsey placed a great deal of research value on recorded data, as he be- lieved that this could shed light on the social and moral attitudes of the in- dividual and such attitudes would, in turn, influence sexual development. Such information may also reveal specific “techniques of their social- sexual approaches, the techniques of their overt relationships, their own evaluation of their sexual experience, and their relations to the person with whom they had been involved” (Kinsey et al. 1953, 85). In his Male volume, Kinsey reached out to his readers and urged those who have kept diaries or journals with a record of their sexual activities to deposit them with the Kinsey Institute (Kinsey, Pomeroy, and Martin [1948] 1998, 74). What types of personal records or recorded data are there at the Kinsey Institute? There are correspondences between or among life or sexual partners. Those recordings often include overt sexual contacts and emo- tional backgrounds. There are scrapbooks or autographical materials that document special sexual interests (Kinsey et al. 1953, 86). Erotica images and, particularly, photographic images are prevalent in personal recorded data as well. Kinsey further states the significance of explicit and erotica materials in this way: “All erotica materials, whatever their nature, provide informa- tion on the interests of the persons who produce them, or of the public which consumes them.” He argued that “the sexual attitudes of one’s cul- tures may be better exposed by their openly erotic drawings, paintings and sculpture than by their more inhibited art” (Kinsey et al. 1953, 87). A Library unlike Any Other Dr. Kinsey died in 1956, but his research library continues. The recorded data or personal records also continue to grow. Almost every week, the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections receives offers of materials from individuals or organization from all over the United States and/or around the world; materials that express sexuality or carry a sexual signifi- cance in some form. For example, a book about sex education published in the 1930s was accidentally discovered by a new homeowner in 2000; it was hidden in the home’s fireplace wall for nearly seventy years. The new owner wanted to donate this book because it might tell a story about how sex education was a taboo topic at home. The book was dusty but other- wise remains intact. Or, there is the example of a collector who offered HIV/AIDS posters collected from around the world in the 1980s and ’90s. Such offers, big or small, represent an evaluation by a person about the significance of a topic of sexuality, a significance in the history of society or community at a particular time. Such offers are greatly appreciated, as the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections are heavily dependent 572 library trends/spring 2018 on donations. Kinsey staff also understand and appreciate that reaching out to a sex research library may require unusual effort, thoughtfulness, courage, and sometimes a willingness to take a risk. But most of all, we sense the deep-rooted desire of our donors to make a positive contribu- tion to better understand sexuality. Perhaps when all the unique concerns and stories or evidence are put together, the materials present a picture of the universality of human interests and fascinations with sexualities, whereas one individual piece alone would not be able to accomplish or arrive at such clarity. Evidence of sexuality is abundant, but not necessarily collected by public or academic libraries in general. The Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections are in a unique position to serve as the destination library for the preservation of, and access to, materials of a sexual nature. Building such a collection requires a special sensitivity by the Kinsey Institute librarians, who must carefully consider the relevant factors and stories of the collections in order to collect, organize, and provide access to these materials. The author of this article has worked with the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections for more than twenty-five years in areas of collec- tion development, organization, and public services, and has experienced many aspects of the detailed effort and work that require understanding and evaluating private collections in relation to sexuality in its broadest sense. Documented sexual experience is not only a commercialized or sometimes artistic and cultural production but also can be a self-reflec- tive, emotional, philosophical, and private experience. Personal records of sexual experiences are often not held in library literatures or collec- tions. In addition, most of the literature in archives and special collections concentrate on the process and arrangement of the collections, not on the aspects of acquisition and transference, these latter involving issues of social and institutional mission, provenance, and sometimes sensitive in- teractions as a collection is transitioned from a personal to an institutional context (Douglas 2017). This article documents both: personal records about people’s relations to their own sexuality, and the librarian’s role in mediating these personal collections into an institutional collection. In terms of this latter, the li- brarian’s sensitivities and work may afford (or not) a personal collection to appear within an institutional collection and the positioning of the for- mer in the latter certainly may influence the understanding of the value and meaning of particular documents and the acquired collection. This “paratext” of the librarian’s evaluation and labor is a lacuna in the litera- ture of library and information science. Without it, our understandings of documents in collections are lacking. Perhaps nowhere is this truer than in special collections of sexual materials, where a great part of their specialness lies in the relation of the documents and their producers (as bodies of evidence/zhou 573 well as the librarian and his or her institution) to social tastes and morals. Without the agency (and later, accounts) of the collection specialists, the collection and to some extent its documents’ meanings, value, cultural significance or importance would not be possible. This article breaks ground in emphasizing a genre of “second docu- ments,” that which can be called professional accounts by librarians and documentalists, as accompaniments to the “first documents,” in order to help us better understand archival and special collection documents and the social, cultural, physical, and even political contexts or affordances by which a documentary “body of evidence” may appear to the public through the agency of authors, professional collection specialists, and institutions. In the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections, the body of evidence that is delivered to the scholarly public by the author, the collections specialist, and the institution is that of human sexuality. In addition, what the meaning of sexuality and sex is in this collection (and similarly in all special collections) is validated by the very existence of the Kinsey, as an institute dedicated to the scientific study of sex. The roles of the collections specialist and institution are not just technical or incidental to the appearance, value, and meaning of documents, but they are intrinsic to such. The collections specialist bridges private and public domains, making the private public, in modes agreeable to the original producers, the provenance of the collection, and the mission and goals of the institution. Professional accounts are not either purely practical nor purely theoret- ical, but, rather, they give empirical details on how meaning and value in special collection documents occur, and they give theoretical understand- ing of the social, cultural, physical, and sometimes political affordances for those occurrences. Theory without empiricism is speculative, and em- piricism without theory is blind to its own occurrences. The attempt here is to bring both theoretical and empirical flesh and bones to the topic of information and the body in a situated and a context-accounting manner. From Uniqueness to Universality—a Pathway to Understanding Humanity From uniqueness to universality, from specificity to generality, marks the research methodology of Dr. Alfred Kinsey, a biologist before turn- ing sexologist. As a biologist, he was fascinated by the diversity of gall wasps and wrote scientific papers about this particular insect based on his collection of several million gall wasp specimens. After turning his attention to human sexuality, he looked for evidence that speaks about sexual behavior, both objectively and scientifically. He received strong support from the then-president of Indiana University, Herman B Wells. Kinsey’s studies and discoveries place him as one of the most significant, 574 library trends/spring 2018 as well as controversial, scientists. He has been considered as the “most important scientist of the Indiana University’s 200 years of institutional history.”1 The Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections are responsible for managing the transfer of materials of interest from a personal sphere to an institutional sphere. This transference involves preserving and enacting two main values: the trust of the donating individuals and the promises of the Institute. The Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections and the librarian’s role is to embrace such philosophical conditions and utilize the tools and methodology to connect these two entities of substance, as well as understandings, aiming to advance sexual knowledge and health worldwide. For the past seventy years, the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Col- lections have acquired and received thousands of donations; many of such acquisitions are from sex researchers and scholars, involving their publica- tions, their correspondence files, and their manuscripts and records. One noteworthy collection came from William Masters and Virginia Johnson’s family (Kinsey Institute 2013). Masters and Johnson were sex research- ers who followed the footprints of Alfred Kinsey and who studied sexual- ity through the direct observation of anatomy and physiological sexual responses of human research participants in the 1950s. Their work pro- duced major understandings of human sexual response, dysfunction, and disorders, and they are considered important sex researchers after Alfred Kinsey. Having Masters and Johnson’s archives at the Kinsey Institute signi- fied the important status of the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Col- lections in the field of sex research. Other major successful acquisitions, as part of the Kinsey Library and Special Collections’ Women Sex Research- er’s Archival Series initiative, include the collections of other prominent scholars and researchers, such as Drs. June Machover Reinisch, Stephanie A. Sanders, Julia Heiman, Leah C. Schaefer, Leonore Tiefer, Joanne Pas- set, Jeanne Hoff, Gina Ogden, and Helen Fisher. Drs. Reinisch, Sanders, and Heiman also served as the Kinsey Institute directors or interim direc- tors in the past. These collections have richly enhanced the scope and diverse contents of the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections. While those collections bring with them some challenges, the donors are not concerned with making their names known through the collection. They are individuals whose careers are already solidly established or cel- ebrated in the field of sex, therapy, and history. They are often publicly known as professional, trained, authoritative researchers, and publicly as- sociating their identities, and therefore their collections, with the Kinsey Institute often does not pose the sensitivity issue that a personal collection might pose. Often, the collections donated by researchers do not deal, primarily or bodies of evidence/zhou 575 predominately, with their private lives, such as their sexual experiences, although there are some exceptions. Personal Records of a Sexual Nature What the author would like to discuss in more detail in this article, how- ever, are those collections of personal interests in sexuality. During Dr. Kinsey’s time they were referred to as recorded data; however, because the materials are outside of Alfred C. Kinsey’s original research scope and are dated after the1960s, we acquired them for general research purposes, and they are used by any researchers, scholars and students. Those donors may not have a professional background in or work in a field of sexual studies or allied areas. Rather, these individuals may have careers in fields and professions that are traditionally far and distant from discourses on sexuality. Moreover, their documentary donations are often exclusively fo- cused on their own sexual life, intimate experiences, and expressions. In such personal records, what is even more significant is that they document their own lives with such details that their sexual preferences, patterns, and practices are revealed to others who are users of their collections. Why donate something that may bring potential risk to their life or ca- reer? We have received materials through the mail service, with no return address and a note accompanying the materials to the effect that, if my employer finds out what I have, I will be fired. There are collection donors who wish to remain anonymous so that their professional reputation and identity are not tarnished by revealing personal and sexual matters. We honor theses requests and make arrangement to address such concerns. The personal records that once were intended only for the donor’s own eyes are now placed in an institution for access by others. Personal materials often capture the life in general, and the sexual life in particular, of an individual in a minute, thoughtful, persistent, and methodical way. The intent of such personal documentation is for individuals to “find” themselves in their own recorded life events, thoughts, and actions. One journal writer recorded these thoughts on February 8, 2009, about his own journaling: “The notebooks have served their purpose no matter what happens to them now”; “The unexamined life is not worth living”; and, “This journal made my life worth living” (Yijing Journal Collection). An examined life is a life worth living. How would such a life embrace sexuality or how sex is considered as part of worthwhile life? How would in- timate thoughts, desires, or sexual activities be recorded and for the same purposes of self-examination? This journal writer was not only speaking about his life of reading great classics, good weather, and food intakes, but also his sexual practices, which follow a specific school of thought deeply rooted in ancient Chinese philosophy (Yijing Journal Collection, entry dated February 8, 2009, discussed in more detail, below.) 576 library trends/spring 2018 Kinsey librarians discuss with potential donors the purpose, intent, and scope of the offer; sometimes the discussion can be straightforward. Yes, sexual experiences are recorded, and in a graphic way, or with a coded method. However, there are times when the discussion can be compli- cated, as sexuality itself is complex and not easily defined. As the Kinsey Institute’s mission is to archive records of sexualities, the presence of dis- cussions of sexuality will be a first concern for any acquisition. Therefore, the personal collections collected by the Kinsey Library and Special Collections present difficult issues of sexuality and person- hood, which also affect acquisition: How do we define sexuality or a lack of sexuality in one’s life? How are our lives lived with or without such sex- ual expressions and experiences? What it is that constitutes sexuality may sound simple and basic, but like many other fields, often times the very fundamental questions are also the most difficult to define and continue to dazzle scholars and researchers to this day. Take the very definition of sexuality, for example. Everyone may define sexuality differently. Some years ago, Kinsey Insti- tute researchers conducted research on whether oral sex constitutes hav- ing “had sex,” under a research project entitled, “Would You Say You ‘Had Sex’ if . . .?” (Sanders and Reinisch 1999). This was during the end of the Bill Clinton impeachment trial. The Kinsey researchers wanted to deter- mine what interactions people would consider as having “had sex.” Out of 599 survey participants, 59 percent of respondents did not consider oral sex as having “had sex” with a partner, while 19 percent responded simi- larly regarding penile-anal intercourse. Americans hold widely different opinions about what behaviors do and do not constitute having “had sex.” When the author of this article first heard from Dr. Trueblood,2 a do- nor who contacted the Kinsey Institute to deposit a collection of his late husband, he described his late partner’s collection as “nongenital fetish materials.” The author asked him if they are fetishes of a sexual nature. The donor said that he was not sure because he did not believe there were any overt sexual practices recorded in the collection. This example poses a very interesting question. As is known, there are many nongenital fetishes, such as foot fetishes, hair fetishes, and shoe fetishes (American Psychiatric Association 2013), that are considered as sexual fetishes because of their association with sexual desires, fantasies, and practices. Therefore, being a nongenital fetish does not preclude be- ing a sexual fetish. After many conversations with the donor and receiving a sample collection of photos and correspondence files, it is still unclear if a nongenital fetish is part of, or associated with, the person’s sexual ex- pression, but it did become clear that such fetishistic acts deeply affected the couple’s relationship, and particularly sexual relationship. The Kin- sey Institute Library and Special Collections accepted the collection as a couple’s archive, which detailed their love stories and struggles. bodies of evidence/zhou 577 Three Documentary Collections of Personal and Private Lives The author selected three personal collections as examples of recorded data, from the acquisitions of the past fifteen years, because they repre- sent a dedicated effort in recording individuals’ lives and life passions. All of them are collections of records created or written by male individuals with college educations, from the East and West Coasts, as well as from the Midwest. I will now examine the three collections as examples of records of personal and private lives, which focus on sexuality and relationships. They are: 1) The Yijing Journal Collection, 2) A nongenital fetish collec- tion, and 3) the Seven Erotic Albums Collection. The “Yijing” Journal Collection The Yijing Journal Collection consists of a personal spiritual diary kept from 1982 to the present by one individual who wishes to remain anony- mous, so in this article we will call him “Mr. Goodwill.” It records the devel- opment and practice of his body, mind, and sexuality, over several years of practicing a yoga system, and his unique moral and sexual self-cultivation exercises as part of it. In the early 2000s, Mr. Goodwill approached the Kinsey Institute with an offer of his personal journals. He lives in a small town in the Midwest, is a man of extensive publishing and editorial experience, and is very fa- miliar with Kinsey’s work. Decades ago, searching for a meaningful and spiritual life, Goodwill became interested in Confucianism, a traditional Chinese philosophy or ideology that emphasizes social obligations and responsibilities as the essence of an individual’s personhood. Food and sexuality are basic human needs in the doctrines of Confucius’s teaching, and Confucianism considers sexuality to be an important social obligation because of its reproductive function. The moral exercises include his daily consultation and study of the Yijing, translated as The Book of Changes. Mr. Goodwill’s sexual exercises are based on the teachings of the contemporary Daoist Dr. Stephen Chang, author of The Great Tao and The Tao of Sexology. Another important and inspirational source for Mr. Goodwill was an ancient Chinese physician’s instructions and medical manual, unearthed in 1973 from a tomb in Mawangdui, Hubei Province, China. In addition, Yijing Gongfu (Gongfu as martial art) is a unique term that Mr. Goodwill coined for his daily practice, which includes the essence of The Book of Changes and the Neo- Confucian meditation practice called quiet-sitting (Kinsey Institute 2012). The journal, totaling some four hundred notebooks, records Mr. Good- will’s consultations of Yijing and his own interpretations of these responses from Yijing, either at the time of inquiry or in later rereadings of the note- books. The notebooks include innumerable extracts from spiritual texts, not only the works of such Neo-Confucian thinkers as Zhu Xi, but also 578 library trends/spring 2018 the writings by Henry David Thoreau, Sri Aurobindo, Epictetus, Ignatius Loyola, and many others (Kinsey Institute 2012). He had given the Kin- sey Collection an initial installment of twenty-nine notebooks and made specific conditions about the access to and publishing of this collection (Kinsey Institute 2012). Mr. Goodwill discovered the sexual elements of ancient Chinese phi- losophies and practiced them for thirty-plus years. When we started to transfer the first installment of his collection, we realized that he was, like Dr. Kinsey, using a coded language for his daily recordings. His journal starts in 1974 when he experienced two powerful spiritual awakenings, after which he chose a life of solitude and celibacy. He practiced fasting in the California mountains and high desert. He started reading the Yijing study in 1979, but he discarded his notebooks of the beginning years. The earliest records of his notebook date back to 1982 (Kinsey Institute 2012). After reviewing sample journals, the author of this article discussed with the donor how best to make the collection accessible. It turns out that readers of the journal need keys to the codes in order to understand the covert messages in his Yijing journal. Here is the key to codes for the Feb- ruary 2009 sample entries, as provided by Mr. Goodwill: A=Main text B=Hypertext comment (or footnote) C=Yijing response (reading and consultation of Book of Changes) E=Daoist exercise or sexual exercise F=reading extract (Yijing Journal Collection) A sample entry of the journal (Yijing Journal Collection) offers a glimpse of Mr. Goodwill’s life during a wintery day in a small town in the Midwest. February 8, Sunday 11:30am A. The notebooks have served their purpose no matter what happens to them now. “The unexamined life is not worth living.” This jour- nal made my life worth living. E. Noon. “Relaxed and unwound, yet acutely sensitive, In solitude, you delight in your own person.” That is a doctor’s prescription for sexual self-cultivation. It comes from a 2,300-year-old Chinese text, probably the oldest Daoist text in existence. F. When you enlarge your mind and let go of it (3/9/09’s added note): means moral self-cultivation. When you relax your vital breath and expand it (3/9/09’s added note): means sexual self-cultivation. When your body is calm and unmoving, and you can maintain the One and discard the myriad disturbances (3/9/09’s added note dated 6/25/09): means care of the phallus and the One point. bodies of evidence/zhou 579 “Your thoughts and deeds seem heavenly,” and “Essence and spirit grow daily more blissful.” “In solitude you delight in your own per- son” (Excerpted from Inward Training XXIV, trans. Harold D. Roth, Original Tao, p. 92) It is an ancient exercise. “The vital breath”=Chi/Qi. Qi means breath; it enters through the One Point. This point is the One that must be guarded and maintained. Meditation on the One Point following the instructions of the Wizen-faced Oldster is the key to guarding the One. 3:15 E. After several e’s, i.d. a. m. and a. d., and o.d, a.d. and o.p. A. Then quite-sat in sun on the patio and had lunch—applesauce (cooked this morning), cheese and crackers, and a can of albacore. Still hungry. Sunny and mild. 8:45 E. After several more e’s to overabundant finale, i.d.a.m and a. w. February 9th, Monday, 4:30 pm. A. Had lunch with Emily, Barbara and Susan in a restaurant. Read- ing notebook 2001, no 19, . . . which I write: “the I Ching (Yijing) embodies the wisdom of many generations of men who were close students of nature. They were Thoreau’s natural philosophers. We must not lose this wisdom.” I add this comment: “It is a kind of madness that drives humans to destroy anything natural and re- place it with everything manmade. Heidegger put his finger on the problem and labeled it technology; the mindset that sees nature as a cornucopia of things standing to be used and exploited by humans.” On September 19th, I write: “The very act of consulting the I Ching involves Heaven (the book), Earth (the coins or stalks) and Man (the one who consults it).” In other words, the man who consults the Sage forms a trinity with Heaven and Earth. E. 7:30 After multiple e’s to overabundant finale, i.d. a. m. and a. w. Which will you have-uninhibited revelry or melancholy? Why not try self-cultivation? (Yijing Journal Collection) At the Kinsey Library and Special Collections, we continue to work with Mr. Goodwill to decode his journals and make it more accessible to students of body, spirituality, and sexualities. It is the donor’s intent and desire that his records of more than thirty years will provide insights for scholars to study sexuality in solitude, as well as male sexualities in general. A Nongenital Fetish Collection A few years ago, one January day, an unexpected call connected Dr. Edward Trueblood with the author. Edward lost his husband, Peter, to cancer only two months earlier, and Edward’s voice carried the sound of deep sadness and inconsolable sorrow. He wanted to see if the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections were interested in his husband Peter’s collection, which was introduced as a nongenital fetish collection. The nongenital fetish collection refers to a collection of “Smashman,” Peter’s alter ego. 580 library trends/spring 2018 Peter, a computer scientist by education and training, was, in his personal and private life, interested in the experiences of himself being physically and forcefully crushed or smashed by persons, a group of athletes, heavy objects, or moving vehicles. After a sample collection arrived at the Insti- tute, we decided to frame the collection as a relationship collection, as it documents the thirty-six-year relationship of the married couple (they married four times when certain states legalized gay marriages), as well as the relationship of the late husband Peter and his self-identified alter ego, the “Smashman.” The Smashman’s engagement and activities cre- ated many problems between the otherwise loving and respectful couple’s relationship. Edward was pleased with the approach to put this collection in a relationship context and decided to make the material donation to the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections over the next couple of years. The subsequently arrived collection covers two areas: Edward and Pe- ter’s relationship of thirty-six years, and Peter’s alternative lifestyle of being “crushed” as his alter ego, “Smashman.” Altogether, the Kinsey Institute received ten boxes of letters, photos, DVDs, Smashman photos, and over- sized framed photos about this couple’s lives together, and apart. These materials (Edward and Peter Collection Inventory) provide evi- dence of a busy social life and vacationing around the world. “Saturday Night Live Parties” were a regular social gathering that Edward and Peter organized over the years to entertain their friends, old and new, coming from near and afar. Photos and documents include the names and con- tact information of the people involved. There are folders of the internet printouts and magazine and newspaper clippings, mostly focusing on gay marriages, a topic dear and near to their hearts. Cards of all kinds—birth- days, holidays, and important occasions—are many. Letters include the one from Edward to his mother and father when he was coming out at the age of 18, and many letters from Edward’s mother to her son. There are Edward and Peter’s correspondences during Edward’s college years as well as during Edward’s professional education and training years. This collection includes hundreds of letters and emails to and from friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and classmates. There are also copies of the marriage licenses of Edward and Peter, from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in 2004 and the City and County of San Francisco in 2004 and 2008, and an Affidavit of Domestic Partnership by San Mateo County in 2001. Many three-ring binders contain negatives, contact sheets, and prints of their life together, and expandable photo albums document their travels around the world, in style and in each other’s company. There are seven photobooks from different trips: Mediterranean odyssey cruise in 2007; Royal clipper cruise in 2008; River-Cruise Mosel Rhine Danube in 2009; and DVDs from an Asia cruise in 2010 that includes touring China, Hong Kong, South Korea, Cambodia, Singapore, Japan, and Vietnam. bodies of evidence/zhou 581 They also lived separate lives, however, due to “Smashman.” While Ed- ward was informed of Peter’s activities of being crushed as well as Peter’s early childhood experiences that may have led to this interest, he never understood the extent of this obsession until after Peter’s death, after go- ing through thousands of Peter’s photos and emails. The impact on Ed- ward was palpable during the months we worked together to transfer the collections. Edward would look at the traveling arrangement document and quietly say, “I had no idea,” or, “I wish I could have known that.” There are Smashman email accounts, flyers, Smashman Challenge paper- work, Yahoo skate masters, and a Yahoo group “Skate masters” members list. And there is additional electronic documentation that includes Frats and Football rosters; a campus map; email correspondence; Smashman stickers; Smashman football; letters; and a crushing folder that contains correspondence, liability forms, and invitations. Edward and Peter met and fell in love while still college students at uni- versities on the east coast. Their love story of thirty-six years did not end in one’s death, and in many ways, the love story continued with Edward continuing to inquire or make sense of their relationship while reading Peter’s writings and correspondence. The Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections and the donor negotiated the terms for the collection and agreed that the collection would be open to other researchers in three years. Seven Erotic Albums Bill and John have maintained an exclusive relationship for over fifty years before gay marriage became legal in their state. They spent decades highly accomplished in their respective fields. They are keenly aware that gay his- tory has not been passed down through generations and institutions of the family, church, and school, and it is particularly important to Bill and John to collect documents and records and to tell gay history. When the author reached out to archive Bill and John’s life stories at the Kinsey Institute in 2013, as part of the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections effort to collect gay couple’s archives, they quickly responded with their agreement. Both of them are very aware that gay people often do not have a recorded history, and they have published articles and books about their lives together. They want the world to remember them and other gay couples, and to bear witness to their individual struggles for self-acceptance and social acceptance. Gay couples have suffered through hard and treacherous times due to discrimination, prejudice, brutality, legal codes, and other real-life circumstances. Gay couple relationships endure challenges when they do not have social, legal, community, and family support in place. Bill and John agreed to send documents of their life together to the Institute, such as copies of their marriage certificate, photographs, Christmas letters, and vacation photobooks. In the recent 582 library trends/spring 2018 past, the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections have been in- terested in collecting marriage certificates as artifacts as well as historical and cultural records—from all cultures throughout history. We are still at a beginning stage of such efforts. A few months later, Bill wrote to the author to express a wish that he would contribute additional materials to the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections, but the new addition will not be part of the couple’s archives. In fact, it should be considered as an anonymous collection. Bill is in his late ’80s and John is in his late ’70s. For this aging and loving cou- ple, one partner desires sexual intimacies, while the other partner wishes to shun away from sexual contacts and only pursue nonsexual intimacies. Because of this disagreement, Bill decided to compile his own erotica as a source for his sexual needs. The erotica album, like a scrapbook, is conceptualized and created for his own pleasure. It consists of newspaper clippings, internet printouts, photos from a magazines or catalogs, or self- ies. For him, it is important to understand aging, sexuality, and different sexual needs in a committed relationship. He does not want to pursue any other sexual outlets such as hook-ups or extramarital affairs because any such activities, in his view, would be considered as a betrayal to his husband. And, even collecting erotica would pose a risk as an emotional betrayal to his partner. Therefore, he wishes this collection to remain anonymous. Nevertheless, it was important for him to have his sexual outlets, and he continued to compile erotic albums for the past seven years, resulting in seven erotic albums. Bill offered his own erotica albums to the Library because he was con- cerned about the sexual lives of his aging peers and wanted to use his own story as a case study for interested scholars and researchers. He originally thought to keep the seven erotic albums safe and sealed and leave instruc- tions to ship as sealed to the Kinsey Institute after his death. He later changed his plan, and decided to send the seven albums to the Kinsey collections during his lifetime. We received them in 2016. Bill has made inquiries to see if researchers are using his collection, and thus we decided to include his collection as an illustrative example in this article, so more researchers may become aware of his collection. Privacy and Confidentiality Policy: A Cornerstone of the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections  It is particularly challenging to work with individuals to transfer a collec- tion of a sexual nature from a private, individual, home to an institution; the responsibilities for librarians and the libraries are real and consequen- tial. How to navigate such narrow pathways? It requires careful communi- cation with the donors, patience, and understanding, as well as a protocol bodies of evidence/zhou 583 within the libraries, in order to make this transition successful. It requires a particular sensitivity to donors and their needs that may not be a com- mon practice in other libraries or contexts. The Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections have had a pri- vacy and confidentiality policy in place for seventy years to protect donors, as well as users, of their privacy and confidentiality. We ask users not to disclose donors’ names because they were likely subjects of the original Kinsey studies. We also will not disclose users’ names unless it is public knowledge. However, in the post-Kinsey era, we have had donations from some of the most well-known sex researchers, and from historians, artists, and photographers who are well known and have well-established careers in their fields. The John Money collection was acquired between 1986 and 2006, The Masters and Johnson collection in 2004, The Leah C. Schaefer Collection in 2007, and the Helen Fisher Collection in 2010. Individual collections developed by researchers in fields not specifically focused on sexuality sometimes include the donors’ name in the collection’s original title; in those cases, we respect the donors’ wishes and have worked with them to name their collection appropriately. Many collections remain anonymous because of the personal and privacy issues involved. Regardless, all users who come to use the collection must sign the stan- dard user registration form. The registration document also informs the users of the rich history of the Kinsey collections and restrictions upon the disclosure of names or identities of third parties included in the Library collection. Historians and scholars often anonymize such names in their published publications. Alfred C. Kinsey’s vision and determination made the Kinsey Institute Library a trusted destination for documenting sexuality. The Kinsey Insti- tute Library and Special Collections are a living monument to Dr. Alfred C. Kinsey. Conclusion The librarians of the Kinsey Library and Special Collections deal with par- ticular sensitivities that are involved in acquiring, collecting, preserving, organizing, and giving access to such an especially special, “special collec- tion” in the area of sexuality. Such sensitivities are not just to public taste but also to the relation of donors to the librarian and the Library, the librarian to various publics, and the cultural and historical interpretations that are attached to different documentary forms and to different per- sonal and social identities. And, of interest to the library or information scientist, are sensitivities to the very documentary categories, methods, nomenclature, and collections of sexuality that are used by both individu- als and librarians in order to bring sexually expressive materials together as bodies of sexual evidence. 584 library trends/spring 2018 Acknowledgement I would like to thank Ron Day, professor in the Department of Informa- tion and Library Science, Indiana University at Bloomington, for his en- couragement and his help editing this article. I wish to thank the donors and supporters of the Kinsey Institute for their support, trust, and confidence in the Institution that houses their life-long stories. I would also like to thank the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections staff who have worked with various aspects of the col- lections over the years. Notes 1. James Madison, email message to author, May 5, 2017. 2. All names that have been used in this article are pseudonyms to protect the donors’ privacy and confidentiality. References American Psychiatric Association. 2013. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. 5th ed. Arlington, VA.: American Psychiatric Association. Bullough, Vern L., and Bonnie Bullough. 1994. Human Sexuality: An Encyclopedia. New York: Garland. Capshew, James H. 2012. Herman B Wells: The Promise of the American University. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Douglas, Jennifer. 2017. “Getting Personal: Personal Archives in Archival Programs and Cur- ricula.” Education for Information 33 (2): 89–105. Library Literature & Information Science Full Text (H.W. Wilson), EBSCOhost. Kinsey, Alfred C., Wardell Baxter Pomeroy, and Clyde E. Martin. (1948) 1998. The Sexual Behavior in the Human Male. Philadelphia: W. B. Saunders. Reprint, Bloomington, Indiana University Press. Kinsey, Alfred C, Wardell Baxter Pomeroy, Clyde E Martin, and Paul Gebhard. 1953. The Sexual Behavior in the Human Female. Philadelphia: Saunders. Kinsey Institute. 2012. “New Collections, New Funds for the Library & Archives.” Kinsey Today (newsletter) 16 (3): 2. www.indiana.edu/~kinsey/newsletter/fall2012/collectionsfall2012. html. ————. 2013. “The Masters and Johnson Collection Now Ready for Primetime.” Kinsey Today (newsletter) 17 (4): 8. https://kinseyinstitute.org/news-events/newsletters/pdf /Fall_2013_newsletter.pdf. Sanders, Stephanie, and June Machover Reinisch. 1999. “Would You Say You “Had Sex” if . . .?” JAMA: the Journal of the American Medical Association 181 (3): 275–77. Wells, Herman B. 1980. Being Lucky: Reminiscences and Reflections. Bloomington: Indiana Uni- versity Press. The Yijing Journal Collection. Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collection. Bloomington, Indiana. Edward and Peter Collection Inventory. Kinsey Library and Special Collection. Bloomington, Indiana. Liana H. Zhou, director of the Kinsey Institute Library and Special Collections, Indiana University, is responsible for the collections chronicling more than 2,000 years of human history, including rare books, institutional records, manuscripts, cor- respondence, fine art and artifacts, photography, media, and scholarly publications, as well as popular culture materials, ephemera, films, and other audiovisual materials reflecting diverse understandings of human sexuality. She leads the effort to organize, develop, and preserve the library and collection archives to ensure continued access by researchers around the world. 
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work_5a2b7lc6fbefziv7irmpevvtgy	----	Beyond town and gown: university economic engagement and the legacy of the urban crisis Margaret P. O’Mara � Springer Science+Business Media, LLC 2010 Abstract University-driven land development and research into the amelioration of social problems are examples of the wider dimensions of economic engagement by large American research universities in metropolitan settings since 1949, and both dimensions are strongly conditioned by the experiences of universities and surrounding neighborhoods during the ‘‘urban crisis’’ of the 1960s. The rise of the modern American research uni- versity between 1950 and 1980 coincided with the economic decline of large American cities and the slide of their poorest neighborhoods into severe socioeconomic distress. The elite identification of the university as a force for economic and social change was a direct response to these urban upheavals, and the dynamics of its new role were fueled by the presumptions of postwar consensus liberalism. The urban crisis had an effect on town- gown relations that endured into the early twenty-first century, not least because it made local governments and universities allies rather than adversaries. Countering definitions of the role the university should take in economic development have arisen from a ‘‘town’’ comprised not of elected officials, but of community members from both within and outside of the university. The long shadow of urban crisis attests to the historical con- tingency of town-gown interactions and the usefulness of historical, case-based approaches to understanding the role of universities in urban and metropolitan economies. Keywords Economic development � Urban crisis � Housing � Urban renewal � Race � U.S. politics JEL Classification N32 � N92 M. P. O’Mara (&) Department of History, University of Washington, 315 Smith Hall, Box 353560, Seattle, WA 98195-3560, USA e-mail: momara@uw.edu 123 J Technol Transf DOI 10.1007/s10961-010-9185-4 1 Introduction ‘‘A University,’’ wrote Abraham Flexner in his 1930 treatise on higher education, Uni- versities: American, English, German, ‘‘is not outside, but inside the general social fabric of a given era.’’ While expressing distress about the suitability of universities as sites of public service, he readily acknowledged that they were ‘‘expressions of the age’’ (Flexner 1930). In the case of large U.S. research universities, Flexner’s point has been proven repeatedly in the nine decades that have passed since he wrote these words. The ivory towers of academe have not stood apart from, but firmly in the middle of, the major social and economic transformations of the twentieth century. From the Great Depression to the Cold War to the Information Age, universities have reflected and responded to changing political priorities, cultural mores, and demographic imperatives through changes in cur- ricula, shifts in administration, and degree of engagement with communities outside their campus. At the same time, there has been continuing debate over the proper role of the university in society. Should it be an active agent of economic or social change, or should it refrain from becoming what Flexner termed a ‘‘weather vane’’ and instead focus on core research and teaching activities? Was it uniquely equipped to tackle society’s problems, or was it temperamentally unsuited to responding in a rapid and policy-relevant way? Could elite institutions bridge deeply rooted racial and class divisions, or did they perpetuate them? These questions have been debated most fiercely in research-intensive elite universities located in large metropolitan areas. 1 Since World War II, these institutions experienced exponential growth, transformed their curricula and their admissions processes, weathered campus violence and community strife, and found themselves integral players in a post- industrial, knowledge-based economy. At the same time, many American cities have seen massive in-migration and out-migration of people and capital, shifted from being majority ‘‘white’’ to becoming home to large populations of minorities and immigrants from Asia and Latin America, experienced economic crisis and neighborhood renaissance, and become part of a much larger metropolitan web of city, suburb, and exurb. Especially in the urban neighborhoods where institutions of higher education have a large physical and political presence, the historical transformations of university and city since the mid twentieth century have been closely intertwined and interdependent. In metropolitan areas, the university has not only been understood to be a force for social and economic improvement on a more abstract, national scale but it simultaneously has been recognized as a powerful catalyst for economic and social transformation in a geographically specific area. Universities are potentially ‘‘good neighbors’’ or ‘‘bad neighbors’’ for a ‘‘community’’ that may encompass a neighborhood, a city, or an entire metropolis. As economic anchors, educators, employers, and entrepreneurs, they relate to urban power structures and urban citizens on a number of dimensions and scales. One 1 This category is best exemplified by what until recently have been known as ‘‘R1’’ institutions that have national and international research reputations and are located in the urban cores of Standard Metropolitan Statistical Areas (SMSAs) of more than one million people. A few prominent examples of the type include Columbia University and New York University in New York City, Yale University in New Haven, Harvard University and MIT in Cambridge (Boston), the University of Pennsylvania and Drexel University in Philadelphia, Carnegie Mellon and the University of Pittsburgh in Pittsburgh, and the University of Chicago. Public flagship universities are more rarely located in urban cores (an unsurprising fact given many systems’ roots in the land-grant college network established by the Morrill Act of 1862 as well as the long history of state governments’ antipathy to their largest cities), but public examples in this category would include the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis, the University of California at Berkeley, the University of Cali- fornia, Los Angeles, and the University of Washington, Seattle. M. P. O’Mara 123 critical relationship is between universities and the elected leadership of the cities, towns, and counties in which they are located. Universities and cities simultaneously admire, mistrust, and misunderstand each other. Depending on time, place, economic conditions, and personal chemistry, the connection between locality and university can waver between wary goodwill and outright hostility, and it reflects fundamentally different organizational structures and institutional purposes. These relationships are strongly conditioned by past experiences and informed by policy feedbacks (e.g., Skocpol 1992). Feedback loops can constrain university-locality relationships and the economic development initiatives that they produce. This article seeks to provide a window into these dynamics by considering university- locality conflict and collaboration in urban renewal and neighborhood revitalization between 1949 and 1980. During these three decades, the changing fortunes of both uni- versity and city forced the two into a different kind of relationship and generated fresh examination of the public service mission of higher education. I argue that the American ‘‘urban crisis’’ of this period—and the response of mainstream liberalism to that crisis— was not simply the context in which modern town-gown alliances were forged, but that it had such a powerful effect on such relationships that it continues to influence university- driven economic development efforts into the twenty-first century. Well into an era of postindustrial capitalism and ‘‘urban renaissance,’’ the upheavals of an earlier urban age influence how both town and gown approach both economic development and social amelioration. The lasting legacy of urban crisis underscores the town–gown relationship’s multidi- mensionality and historical contingency. It indicates the degree to which the relationship is a product of broader factors that are difficult to capture in standard economic impact metrics: shifting urban conditions, institutional leadership, funding imperatives, and the dynamics of race and class. 2 The case for the historical approach Being of immediate concern to academics and academic institutions, the debates over the economic and social purpose of the university have generated many thousands of pages of scholarly prose. Although throughout the modern era there has been remarkably consistent, if not universal, agreement that the university has an obligation to the larger society, the prescriptions of how this should be done have been wide-ranging. A robust literature on the history of American higher education has explored its relation to late nineteenth century industrial corporatism and Progressive reform (Diner 1980; Newfield 2003), state-building from the 1920s through the Cold War (Geiger 1986, 1993; Leslie 1993; Lowen 1997; O’Mara 2005; Nemec 2006), and early twentieth-century global corporate capitalism (Brint 2002; Geiger 2004). The large body of work that has resulted from the perennial impulse to write hefty institutional biographies further adds to our understanding of uni- versities’ relationship to the world beyond the ivory tower. The number of historical assessments of higher education has been met if not exceeded by more prescriptive studies (many written by former university presidents and administrators) that alternatively cel- ebrate or lament the influence of American corporations, governments, and other interests upon university research and teaching (Klotsche 1966; Barzun 1968; Bloom 1987; Kerr 1968; Bok 2003). A good portion of this literature focuses on universities’ ‘‘inside game’’ of academics, administrative structure, and relationship to funders. Those that focus on the ‘‘outside University economic engagement and the legacy of the urban crisis 123 game’’ of economic and social impact beyond the campus fall into two main categories. The first and most extensive is made up of studies of innovation, entrepreneurship, and the role of university-based research and technology transfer (including Rosenberg and Nelson 1994; Feldman 2003a, b) as well as the role of universities in the evolution of regional clusters of innovation (including Markusen 1986; Saxenian 1996; O’Mara 2005; Lécuyer 2006). These focus chiefly on the post-World War II era, with an overwhelming emphasis on the era after the Bayh-Dole Act of 1980. The second major strand focuses on univer- sities’ relationships to the human and built environments surrounding them and the teaching and research activities that respond to and interact with these environments. Often the focus is on universities’ relationship to poverty populations and efforts at social amelioration (including Birenbaum 1969; Mitchell 1974; Murphy 1975; Diner 1980; Bender and University 1988; Harkavy and Puckett 1994; Rodin 2007). There is a growing focus on the university as a real estate developer and change agent in the urban built environment (O’Mara 2005, 2007; Perry 2005). Because the majority of these studies have been written by academics, we know more about how universities have thought of themselves than we know about how outside institutions (governments, businesses, non-profits) have perceived and related to univer- sities. This largely one-sided historical literature reflects the fact that university-community relations often have been crisis-driven. This author’s experience with municipal and institutional archives across the United States has found that cities and universities have the most intense and well-documented interactions with one another around specific events. In times of economic prosperity and social calm, town and gown have little regular com- munication; in times of economic change and social upheaval, engagement increases. File boxes fill with materials describing controversial campus expansion projects, political protests, business incubation projects, or complaints about increased traffic and bad student behavior. The documentary record goes silent once the controversy has passed. Perhaps as a consequence, the role of the university as an economic anchor and political actor is relatively underexplored in American urban historiography (Gilfoyle 1998). Only recently has the commercialization of discovery in the hard sciences and engi- neering become the primary focus of the relationship between university and regional economy. Large research universities have served multiple functions in the modern metropolis, but it has proved challenging to capture and measure the full spectrum of economic and social impacts of urban universities, in part because some of this data is best analyzed qualitatively rather than quantitatively. It also has been difficult to capture these multiple dimensions because universities and localities may not necessarily share the same priorities (see Table 1). University economic impact reports began to proliferate in the United States and Europe in the late 1960s, reached a crescendo in the 1980s, and continued into the early twenty- first century. These studies often focused on two categories of activity: technology transfer and business incubation; and direct and indirect employment. Although the commercial- ization of research is perhaps the most easily measured dimension of university economic impact, it is only one of several ways that the activities of a large research university affect the metropolitan area in which it is situated. It also is relatively recent, coinciding with (1) the liberalization of federal and state intellectual property and technology transfer policies and (2) the late-twentieth-century growth of high-tech, telecommunications, and biotech- nology sectors. Universities are major urban employers, having grown their job base during a half- century period when jobs emptied out of American central cities. By the turn of the twenty- first century, it was estimated that universities and university-affiliated hospitals and M. P. O’Mara 123 medical centers were the largest single employers in over one-third of American cities (Maurrasse 2001, p. 4). Indirect employment stimulated by university activity gives these institutions an even greater regional employment impact. Again, however, the significance of this indicator is somewhat recent, correlated with the increased significance of service- sector jobs in American metropolitan economies since the 1970s. University economic impact reports have also often pointed out the economic and social impact of teaching students and granting higher degrees, but this is perhaps the slipperiest measure of them all. Aggregate impacts have proved difficult to estimate and—even more importantly—difficult to communicate in a politically compelling way to public audiences. University graduates earn more over their lifetimes, which translates into higher tax rev- enues, lower social service costs, and other societal benefits (Day and Newberger 2002). It is harder to pinpoint how this correlates geographically, and how this has played out over time. Demographic effects of universities come well in advance of economic ones (Florax 1992). The high spatial mobility of the American educated workforce makes it difficult to parse out the correlation between presence of university and higher per capita regional income. Some of it may come from the people the university educates; some may come from the people the university community attracts to the region. This is particularly true in the case of ‘‘national universities,’’ in the parlance of US News and World Report (US News 2009). Two enduring dimensions of university economic impact that remain relatively untapped by university economic impact assessments and by the scholarly literature are university-sponsored real estate development and university-community partnerships around applied research and service learning. Both have economic and social outcomes. Table 1 Some dimensions of university-locality interaction, 1950–2009 Concerns of local governments Concerns of research universities University activities that maintain or increase local revenue streams Local actions that support university revenue generation Private-sector job growth Political support for state and federal lobbying efforts (appropriations, technology transfer, tuition authority) Increase in educated workforce Private giving Construction Sponsored research Growth of high-productivity, high-revenue, knowledge-intensive sectors Uses of university-owned and university-controlled property Freedom to develop university-owned and university-controlled property Neighborhood viability Neighborhood viability Increased traffic Public safety Economic stabilization Aesthetics of built environment Effect of student housing on residential housing market Availability of student/faculty/staff housing Behavior of members of university community Behavior of non-university affiliates in the community University as urban amenity and attraction Community as an amenity and attraction for students, faculty, and staff University expertise and human capital applied to local problems and/or resource shortages Student educational experiences enhanced by service-learning University economic engagement and the legacy of the urban crisis 123 The first has a clear economic impact, although it also has important social effects. The second is explicitly intended to have social impact and also can have economic spillovers. While neither has the obvious ‘‘bang for the buck’’ that research commercialization and employment figures convey, they nonetheless are important to our understanding of how universities and localities have related to one another. They also demonstrate the signifi- cance of policy—particularly federal policy—in shaping research universities’ perceptions about their public mission and in determining how both federal and local decision-makers have perceived ‘‘the uses of the university’’ (Kerr 1968). Historical, case-based research may help close the gaps in our understanding of the full economic and social impact of universities in American urban areas because it can capture the complexity and contingency of the process by which gown affects town, and vice versa. It captures the significance of policy feedback mechanisms in conditioning policy approaches, expectations, and outcomes. Similarly, rooting the study of the university more firmly in social history and urban history—rather than considering these institutions as places apart and above—can explicate the choices universities and their leaders make and the impacts of these choices on the wider community. 3 The legacy of the urban crisis The economic significance of the American research university corresponds with its high degree of urbanity. Despite popular discourses about campuses as pastoral and isolated spaces, American research universities are predominantly located in the central cities or suburbs of very large metropolitan agglomerations, and they have been for some time. The rapid growth of American cities between 1870 and 1920 led to a commensurate upswing in colleges and universities with urban campuses. By the 1920s, four out of every ten college students in the nation attended an urban-located university (Berube 1978, p. 46). Some of these institutions, such as many founded by the Catholic Church, functioned explicitly to educate lower-income and immigrant urban populations. Others were schools that had earlier built campuses in lightly settled suburban neighborhoods that quickly became overtaken by the ever-expanding city. Elite private institutions like Columbia in New York and the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia had deliberately moved away from the hurly-burly of downtown in the early nineteenth century only to see the city surround them once again in the twentieth (O’Mara 2005). As of the 2000 Census, the 50 largest American metropolitan areas were home to 56 of the 96 most research-intensive institutions of higher education in the nation. 2 Of this group, 37 are located in the principal city or cities of the metropolitan region. The remaining 19 are in secondary cities and towns, ranging from postwar suburbs (Stanford University and SUNY Stony Brook) and postindustrial exurbs (UC-Irvine and UC-Riverside) to much older municipalities (Northwestern University, Harvard University, and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology) and industrial cities (Yale University). An additional 14 institu- tions in this tier are located in metropolitan areas that may not be among the 50 largest, but they are more than college towns, having diverse populations and economic bases that extend beyond higher education. The correspondence between universities and cities 2 This data is derived from the 2008 list of institutions classified as ‘‘RU/VH’’ (doctorate-granting research universities with very high levels of research activity) by Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching. The ‘‘RU/VH’’ classification replaces the earlier ‘‘R1’’ classification (Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching 2009). M. P. O’Mara 123 extends beyond those institutions with very high research activity. Today, seventy percent of all American research universities are in the nation’s 100 largest metropolitan areas (Muro et al. 2008, p. 15). However, the elite American research university has to a great degree physically and psychically separated its campus from the city. The feeling has tended to be mutual. As one midcentury academic observed: The strategy of the universities has been characterized either by retreat before the advance of the city or by voluntary isolation from it. The tactics of the universities and their scholars have been limited to occasional sallies from their ivory towers to throw fine intellectual dust, verbal pebbles, and occasionally a useful critical rock at the follies of cities. For their part, city officials and most citizens hardly knew that the universities were there (Parsons 1963, p. 205). The mutual antipathy has deep roots. American thinkers from John Adams to Henry David Thoreau forcefully declared that crowded and noisy cities were antithetical to scholarly study; some nineteenth-century state legislatures expressly forbade locating newly founded state universities in cities (Berube 1978, pp. 45–46; Turner 1987, pp. 101). Higher education’s professed distaste for city life is closely related to a broader and enduring anti-urbanism in a nation that was founded by gentleman farmers and that con- tinues to celebrate ‘‘small-town’’ values as authentically American. Although this dis- course has often focused on the appearance, noise, and smells of the city, the fear of what nineteenth-century reformer Josiah Strong called ‘‘the perils of the city’’ (Strong 1876) has had less to do with urban built environments than it does the race and class of the people who live in them. The unique demographics of the research university campus—not only disproportionately young and well-educated but in many cases disproportionately white and middle-class—reinforced its status as a place apart and above. Nonetheless, the intense urbanity of the American research university has given the development of its physical plant significant economic resonance to American metropol- itan areas. Choices made by the university about land development—both the campus and its landholdings beyond the campus’ real or metaphorical walls—have spurred collabo- ration, controversy, and had important economic and social effects (Wiewel et al. 2007). This was particularly evident in the period of American ‘‘urban crisis’’ during the 1950s and 1960s, when federally-funded urban renewal became a tool for both universities and cities to try and boost their economic fortunes and slow down rapid demographic change. The availability of federal urban renewal dollars served as a turning point in university- locality economic cooperation. 3.1 The postwar moment In 1950, the United States was an urban nation. Over sixty percent of the American population lived in urbanized areas; more than 16 percent lived in the fifteen largest cities alone (US Census 1950). Downtown areas continued to be metropolitan areas’ main employment centers and major retail destinations. The wartime mobilization and manu- facturing growth of the early 1940s had pulled the nation out of economic depression and prompted a massive urban migration, swelling populations and straining infrastructure from Washington DC to Chicago to San Francisco. Threats to the city’s urban and political dominance, however, were emerging. Planners and politicians had articulated far-reaching schemes for urban redevelopment and renewal since the turn of the twentieth century; the prosperous 1920s had seen major, University economic engagement and the legacy of the urban crisis 123 City-Beautiful-inspired alterations to the urban fabric, from Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles to Franklin Parkway in Philadelphia. Depression and war put many of these initiatives on hold during the 1930s and 1940s, but by the postwar period urban leaders were eager to take action to replace aging infrastructure and housing. Residential subur- banization had been underway since the nineteenth century, but postwar home financing and real estate development practices vastly accelerated and democratized the process. The GI Bill and federal mortgage subsidy programs were making homeownership possible for young families of relatively modest incomes. Applying the techniques of mass production refined in wartime, developers seized the opportunity to sell to this new class of buyers by creating huge subdivisions of manufactured homes (Hise 1996; Jackson 1985). Downtown business leaders in many cities were already expressing deep concern about the retail threat posed by the suburbs and by Americans’ increased automobility (Isenberg 2005). Using slum removal funds provided by the Housing Act of 1949, cities and their business leaders were by 1950 starting up ambitious inner-city redevelopment plans to remove ‘‘blighted’’ areas. In their place, they hoped to build modern, traffic-friendly streetscapes, improved housing, and retail and commercial developments that would draw middle-class suburbanites back to the city. Large cities embarked upon this redevelopment with great optimism, echoed by urban observers in the national press. Writing about Pittsburgh, one of the first cities to execute urban renewal in a significant way, Fortune magazine wrote in 1950 that the city ‘‘is the test of industrialism everywhere to renew itself, to rebuild upon the gritty ruins of the past a society more equitable, more spacious, more in human scale’’ (quoted in Fitzpatrick 2000). As large cities struggled to reinvent themselves, research universities were gaining new economic power and enlarged in size and prestige. Cold War geopolitics ushered in the age of what University of California Chancellor Clark Kerr later termed ‘‘the multiversity’’ and triggered unprecedented public investment in higher education. Federal investments in university-based research were on the rise, given institutional momentum by the estab- lishment of the National Science Foundation in 1950 and provided a giant boost with the flurry of federal research and teaching investments in the wake of the 1957 launch of Sputnik. The GI Bill’s educational provisions greatly enlarged student populations; the National Defense Education Act of 1958 further expanded teaching and research programs in the sciences, mathematics, and engineering. State governments, most notably California, invested in the expansion of public higher education systems, increasing opportunities for student education and faculty and staff employment. Much of the federal research largesse was concentrated in relatively few institutions, most of which were located in the nation’s largest metropolitan areas (Murphy 1971). These universities enlarged their campuses, grew their employment base, and experienced significant spikes in their revenues. Insti- tutions that had struggled financially prior to World War II found themselves vastly enriched by tuition revenues, federal dollars, and state appropriations. ‘‘The new univer- sity,’’ Columbia Provost Jacques Barzun later wrote in his acerbic critique The New American University, was ‘‘a by-product of its own war effort’’ (1968, p. 7). The way in which universities grew added layer upon layer of wider public obligation. The massive new streams of federal funding to universities were for research and teaching programs of national significance and scope. University faculty ‘‘followed the money’’ and turned their attention to national and global topics rather than local or regional ones. As universities strove to be world-class, local matters seemed increasingly parochial, aca- demically marginal, and less worthy of reward and promotion. At the same time, student populations were growing significantly. Public institutions in particular were called to educate a broader swath of a state’s middle class population and to make accessible and M. P. O’Mara 123 affordable undergraduate education a central component of their institutional mission. In short, many universities became ‘‘national’’ research centers and ‘‘statewide’’ teaching institutions simultaneously. As if these somewhat contradictory missions were not enough already, the growing research budgets and swelling student populations made universities into more significant local actors than ever before. Campus were bursting at the seams by the early 1950s, increasing pressure for the campus to extend its boundaries well into the surrounding neighborhoods. Growing campus populations also lengthened the universities’ shadow in the community of which it was a part; more businesses sprang up to cater to student and faculty needs, and the demand for rental housing grew. 3.2 Urban renewal By the early 1950s, many of these newly exalted institutions found themselves in what one observer memorably termed ‘‘slummy’’ neighborhoods (Henwood 1994). The first impulse by some was to flee to the suburbs as well. Unlike homeowners and most businesses, the massive capital investments already made in urban campuses precluded these kinds of action for most institutions. Those universities that eventually suburbanized were younger and smaller. 3 Unable to move, urban schools instead refocused their energies on growing to meet the demands of the Cold War economy and simultaneously maintain their viability amid urban settings that were undergoing rapid economic and racial change. Campus expansion—and further university control of neighborhood real estate—was the solution to both problems. Universities and colleges banded together to execute these strategies. Some of these alli- ances were local: in Philadelphia, the University of Pennsylvania spearheaded a coalition of higher education institutions, schools, churches, and hospitals in forming the West Philadelphia Corporation, whose activities focused on stabilizing neighborhood change and enlarging the residential population of university faculty and staff (Parsons and Davis 1971; O’Mara 2005). In Cleveland, five urban institutions joined forces to form the Uni- versity Circle Development Foundation to coordinate and finance campus development and neighborhood stability (Stapleton 1995). Institutions also started comparing notes with peers in other cities. In 1957, the presidents of six elite private universities—MIT, the University of Chicago, Columbia, Harvard, Yale, and Penn—met to discuss how to sta- bilize their urban neighborhoods, starting a conversation and collaboration that continued over several years (Rodin 2007, p. 30). 4 This being academia, a cottage industry of 3 For example, California’s private Pepperdine University moved from increasingly poor and African American South Central Los Angeles to the seaside community of Malibu in 1972. Long a small under- graduate college, Pepperdine had only gained university status with the addition of a school of law and other professional schools in 1971. 4 In communities on the urban fringe, institutional expansion posed different kinds of opportunities and challenges. Growing university campuses added prestige and boosted retail and housing activity in com- munities that were rapidly turning from farmland to suburbs in the 1950s and 1960s. As I have argued elsewhere, in the Santa Clara Valley of California the land development activities of Stanford University— not only an anchor institution but a major landholder in its own right—played a decisive role in drawing advanced scientific industry to the area and creating what became Silicon Valley (O’Mara 2005). Further down the California coast, the Irvine Company donated some of its extensive landholdings to the University of California for establishment of a branch campus in the hopes that it would lend distinction and com- munity cohesiveness to the surrounding master-planned suburbs (Piggot 2009). Yet suburban campus expansion was not always welcomed. Associated industrial activity like research parks, while embraced and touted by local economic development officials, caused suburban homeowners to worry about increased University economic engagement and the legacy of the urban crisis 123 publications soon appeared analyzing the changing demographics of the neighborhoods and dissecting university-directed renewal initiatives. At first, campus expansion projects were not received with much enthusiasm by univer- sities’ neighbors and the elected officials who represented them. Institutional encroachment itself was perceived as a further threat to neighborhood stability. White middle-class residents in particular were effective in making their displeasure known, and some mayors and councilmen saw a potent political advantage in characterizing the university as a soulless behemoth (Barzun 1968, pp. 26–27). Losing tax-paying businesses to the suburbs, city officials in some metropolitan areas voiced concern about the prospect of large tax-exempt institutions expanding their territory. Officials in areas with a preponderance of higher education institutions, like Boston, ‘‘warned that the city would not be able to provide the necessary services to its citizens if the uncontrolled expansion of tax-exempt institutions was permitted to continue’’ (Klotsche 1966, p. 74). Yet in other places alliances started to emerge between elite universities and local officials organically over the course of the 1950s, particularly in Rustbelt municipalities in search of a strong economic jolt and modern infrastructure. Cities with active city and regional planning communities already were home to a cohort of urban experts whose careers moved in and out of university settings. By the late 1940s, Northeast Corridor cities like New York, Philadelphia, and Washington DC had active city planning departments that relied upon universities for personnel and for both formal and informal technical assistance. The election of reform-minded mayors after decades of corruption further increased the willingness of university faculty to engage in local reform and redevelopment. Revisions to the Housing Act that expanded the urban renewal program in 1954 increased this level of activity and engagement. In the first decade of the urban renewal, universities in the New York, Chicago, Phil- adelphia, and Pittsburgh regions became active participants and partners with local gov- ernments in urban renewal construction programs in or near their campuses (Parsons and Davis 1971; Nash 1973). Yet, as one contemporary noted: ‘‘these early city-university projects were beset with exceptional difficulties in a[n urban renewal] program loaded with ordinary difficulties’’ (Parsons 1963, p. 206). By the late 1950s, federal policymakers (especially legislators from Rustbelt states) and the American Association of Universities were lobbying for special treatment for university-city partnerships within the urban renewal program. For university-driven development to happen on a grand scale—and for universities to fulfill their potential as what federal urban renewal commissioner William Slayton termed ‘‘one of the great growth industries of our era’’ (1962, September 20)— there needed to be a systemic incentive for true university-locality collaboration. Their lobbying succeeded; the 1959 revisions to the Housing Act added a specific provision permitting cities to count the costs of university campus expansion investments toward the local match for the urban renewal program. Known as Section 112, the program by 1962 was used to finance 34 separate renewal projects, with another 51 on the drawing board (Parsons 1963, p. 207). Reflecting the regional patterns of ‘‘urban crisis,’’ Sec- tion 112 projects clustered disproportionately in the East and Midwest. Campus expansion turned from an economic drag into a huge economic boon to cities, becoming a way to execute very large urban renewal projects for very little money. In city after city, university campuses became critical sites for urban renewal projects that spilled Footnote 4 continued traffic and pollution. The ‘‘technoburbs’’ (Fishman 1987) that sprouted with university campuses as their anchors fundamentally changed the character of what had been rural or largely residential areas and hastened the exodus of white-collar employment to the suburbs by the end of the twentieth century. M. P. O’Mara 123 out into neighboring areas and profoundly changing their form, function, and demo- graphics. In the cities of the Rustbelt, Section 112-sponsored renewal projects targeted neighborhoods that had become destinations for Southern African American migrants, restricted by de jure and de facto segregation to older and crowded central city neigh- borhoods. The contrast between these poorer and blacker neighborhoods and the large elite institutions next to them was stark. During the heyday of urban renewal, from 1949 to roughly 1965, universities and their allies in local government generally approached neighborhood decline as a matter of aesthetics rather than a reflection of deeply rooted economic inequities and systemic racism. In doing so, the university-driven redevelopment efforts of the 1950s and 1960s were a reflection of their times. This emphasis on eradication of ‘‘blight’’ and the replacement of old infrastructure with new was a hallmark of the urban renewal program and of city and regional planning generally. The lack of planners’ consideration of the human dimensions of cities prompted fierce and eloquent critiques by the beginning of the 1960s (e.g., Jacobs 1961). The university-city alliances reflected the politics of the age, and it later became apparent that this contributed to the problems. Leadership of both university and city was largely white, male, and middle-class. The cronyism of machine politics had been replaced by the 1950s by a new kind of old-boy network, one that had great faith in expertise and pride in its incorruptibility. In cities from Atlanta to Pittsburgh to Seattle to San Francisco, urban governments formed close alliances with downtown business leaders to create urban regimes focused on the preservation of land values and the retention of jobs and retail activity (Stone 1989; Teaford 1990; Isenberg 2005). The land development programs they produced were in keeping with postwar liberalism’s understanding of the problem of concentrated poverty and the top-down, grand-scale strategies they employed to help poor people and communities of color. Although priding themselves on their racial liberalism— true racial integration was an objective of many of these projects—university adminis- trators and their allies in government envisioned these renewed communities as spaces as highly educated and as middle-class as the campuses themselves. In a pre-Civil Rights Act era when the most urban minorities were working class or poor, racial integration was impossible without class integration. When the architects of Section 112-funded renewal projects shifted their attention from aesthetics to social infrastructure, they expressed concern and sympathy for the poor and minority residents of university neighborhoods but gave little heed to neighborhood complaints and concerns. This disregard stemmed partially from the newness of demo- graphic change; many of the African American residents of large northern cities had lived there less than a decade, drawn by war work to the metropolis and crowded into central- city neighborhoods by racially discriminatory housing practices. Unlike whites, African Americans could not move to the suburbs as the cities started deteriorating around them; they had to build community in place (Sugrue 2008). Not recognizing the integrity of these communities, universities paid little attention to the fates of those who had moved into these areas of ‘‘blight.’’ Instead, universities and their allies in local government viewed already populated poor and minority neighborhoods as seemingly empty spaces on which to build anew (Perry 2005). 3.3 Social amelioration By the middle of the 1960s, it was clear that the top-down, aesthetically-focused approach of renewal was not working. Business-minded urban governments and universities may University economic engagement and the legacy of the urban crisis 123 have overcome their mutual disdain and joined together in land development initiatives, but now both found themselves the targets of fierce opposition. The consensus liberalism practiced by the expert-elite postwar power structure crumbled in face of a ‘‘thunder on the left’’ (Barzun 1968) that emanated both inside the campus community and from its neighborhoods outside, and that reflected the broader national political changes of the post- civil rights era. Operating in tandem with on-campus protests that vigorously questioned the teaching and research activities of Cold War universities (and sometimes involving the same student leaders), community activism strongly critiqued university-driven renewal projects that had displaced neighborhood populations, uprooted social institutions, and exhibited little sensitivity to the needs of poor and minority citizens. Instead of stabilizing neighborhoods, citizens argued, federally-financed campus expansion had deepened the divide between town and gown and exhibited thinly veiled racism (Nash 1973; Chisholm 1971). Boston College, Temple University, Tufts University, the University of Pennsyl- vania, and the University of Pittsburgh all had to scale back campus expansion plans in the face of this sustained opposition (Berube 1978). If the urban deterioration of the 1940s and 1950s had left elite universities concerned about their future viability, the violent protests of the 1960s increased this worry tenfold. Universities dropped controversial research programs or spun them off into independent research institutes. They added Black Studies programs and injected other minority and non-Western perspectives into the curriculum. And while campus expansion efforts con- tinued apace, universities softened their hard edges with new social outreach programs. The definition of university-driven urban economic development was no longer concen- trated on aesthetics and infrastructure, but it took on a much more explicitly ameliorative mission. Applied research and service learning have long histories in American universities, dating from Progressive-Era reform movements whose leaders moved fluidly in and out of university settings. This occurred most notably at the University of Chicago, whose first president, William Rainey Harper, celebrated the public service mission of higher edu- cation, particularly in urban setting; he noted that ‘‘urban universities are in the truest sense national universities [because] the great cities represent the national life in its fullness and its variety’’ (1905, p. 159). In Chicago, settlement-house reformers became university professors and vice versa, and where explicitly socially ameliorative approaches shaped the sources and methodologies of a new subfield of urban sociology (Diner 1980). As Pro- gressive Era reform movements gave way to New Deal government expansion, the cohort of university-based experts began to migrate to federal agencies, setting in place a pattern of movement between academe and federal service that continued into the Cold War period (Rodgers 1998; O’Connor 2002). The growth in urban research had paralleled that of university land development pro- grams, and it had been fueled by the same funding. Title IV of the 1949 Housing Act established an ambitious housing research program that operated with few limitations until 1952, when pressure from the homebuilding industry narrowed its focus; the program continued, however, into the 1960s (Johnson 1949; Murphy 1975, p. 16). Staff of the Housing and Home Finance Agency (HHFA), the predecessor to the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, engaged university-based researchers in technical assessments of housing, zoning, and related urban infrastructure projects. Coupled with new attention to housing and urban issues paid by national philanthropies, university-based urban research and teaching thrived during the 1950s and helped create a local market for consultancies to local governments by university faculty. M. P. O’Mara 123 The Ford Foundation played a significant role in generating enthusiasm and action around university-based urban research programs. In a 1958 speech, Foundation official Paul Ylviskaver suggested that the Morrill Act of 1862, which had established the land- grant university system, be reworked to meet the needs of an urban era. ‘‘Urbanites,’’ he argued, ‘‘no less than their rural predecessors, need help with family budgets, nutrition, maintenance, land use, housing, vocational guidance, credit, and conservation.’’ Univer- sities, with their abundant resources and urban locations, were the institutions best- equipped to do it (quoted in Klotsche 1966, p. 51; also see Ylvisaker 1957). The Foun- dation followed on this declaration with establishment of grants to universities for the purpose of establishing urban research centers. In their focus on assessing, categorizing, and ameliorating social problems, these initiatives were little different from the Progres- sive-Era approaches. If anything, they were even further removed from the communities they studied, ensconced in large university bureaucracies and enmeshed in disciplinary conventions and grant reporting requirements. Ylviskaver’s urban-grant idea soon attracted the attention of national policymakers. In a January 1965 message on education to Congress, President Lyndon B. Johnson spoke of the great potential he saw in universities for the solution to society’s most pressing problems: The role of the university must extend far beyond the ordinary extension type of operation. Its research findings and talents must be made available to the community. Faculty must be called upon for consulting activities. Pilot projects, seminars, con- ferences, TV programs, and task forces drawing on many departments of the uni- versity—all should be brought into play (Johnson 1965). An urban-grant approach became even more relevant as violence and protest engulfed university campuses in the late 1960s. Clark Kerr, the great proponent of the engaged and economically potent ‘‘multiversity,’’ was unseated from his job as University of California Chancellor because of student unrest. Shortly thereafter, he took up the urban-grant idea in a speech in New York, arguing for ‘‘a type of university which would have an aggressive approach to the problems of the city, where the city itself and its problems would become the animating focus, as agriculture once was and to some extent still is of the land-grant university’’ (Kerr 1968, p. 6). By this time, the federal government’s support of urban research had evolved into an ‘‘urban observatory’’ program established during the early months of the Johnson Administration’s War on Poverty. Created at the suggestion of the National League of Cities and some of its member mayors, this HUD-financed program established ten research centers whose mission was to build ‘‘bridges over which the research and training resources of universities might find their way into the problem-solving processes of City Halls’’ (Barnes 1974, p. 47). 5 Rather than being called to solve particular local problems, the observatories were conceived as places that would identify broader urban trends and identify widely applicable best practices. Yet coordination was hard to muster. Within a few years, each urban observatory had evolved into locally and organizationally distinct entities with few common research emphases across sites (Williams 1972). In the age of Nixon’s New Federalism, when the centralized programs of the Great Society began to devolve and shrink, the urban observatory idea lost momentum and support. It was ter- minated in 1974, after less than ten years of existence. 5 The cities participating in the program were: Albuquerque, Atlanta, Baltimore, Boston, Cleveland, Denver, Kansas City, Milwaukee, Nashville, and San Diego. University economic engagement and the legacy of the urban crisis 123 As the social tumult of the 1960s and 1970s died down, and as cities re-emerged as desirable middle-class destinations in the 1990s and beyond, the amelioration of urban social and economic ills became a less explicit focus and goal of many research univer- sities and their local partners. Attention instead has shifted to regional economic devel- opment, and discourses around these kinds of university-metropolitan partnerships often present increased socioeconomic equity as a spillover effect of a robust, knowledge-driven metropolitan economy. 6 However, the legacy of the 1950s and 1960s endures. The typical urban university performs multiple economic and social outreach functions, from extension programs to service-learning initiatives, technical assistance programs, and development of community infrastructure. Some of the urban universities who were most involved in urban renewal—and polit- ically burned by the reaction against it—have become national leaders in university- community partnerships. At the University of Pennsylvania, a former student protestor (turned faculty member) founded a university-community partnership program that has engaged hundreds of students in service-learning activities and poured resources and energy into supporting neighborhood organizations and public schools (Harkavy and Puckett 1994; Rodin 2007). Similar programs have thrived at formerly embattled private campuses like Chicago, Columbia, and Yale as well as urban public universities like the University of Washington and the University of California, Los Angeles. While service- learning has proliferated, however, there is variation in the degree of institutionalization of this approach (Bringle and Hatcher 2000). There are also many places where citizens continue to feel that universities have failed to meet their promises to poor and disen- franchised populations (Perry 2005). 4 Conclusions In becoming partners in urban renewal, universities often found themselves in a localized and historically particular kind of triple helix, one in which industry, government, and university allied in a pro-growth coalition focused on shoring up the fortunes of large institutions and try to revive the white and middle-class character of urban neighborhoods. The tumult of the 1960s—both the systemic collapse of communities beyond the campus and the student protests inside of it—forced universities to consider the social implications of urban change. In applying their research expertise to urban problems, universities tried to mitigate the political damage done by renewal programs and become a more engaged and empathetic ‘‘good neighbor.’’ Yet this engagement tended to remain a one-way street, in which scholars used local populations as sources of data rather than partners in its analysis and application. The use of the university as a vehicle for social action has proven to be a difficult task for a highly decentralized type of institution whose professional reward systems prioritize basic research and traditional pedagogy over applied research, public engagement, and social outreach. As a 1982 report by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development put it: ‘‘communities have problems, universities have departments’’ (Centre 6 A case in point is the recent trend of urban universities’ commissioning ‘‘economic impact statements’’ that seek to outline the total monetary impact of teaching, research, and employment activities. See for example, Economics Research Associates, ‘‘Economic Impact Analysis of the University of Southern California Annual Operations’’ (September 2006), and University of Kentucky, ‘‘Top 20 Business Plan’’ (December 2005). M. P. O’Mara 123 for Educational Research and Innovation 1982). In the age of urban crisis, economic development and neighborhood social outreach became closely intertwined, involving many of the same administrators and faculty. In the early twenty-first-century university, these two functions usually operate in completely different silos. Community service and service-learning programs involve undergraduate students in large numbers and are often led by faculty in the social sciences as well as schools of public affairs, social work, and urban planning. Economic development efforts—chiefly oriented around the commer- cialization of research—involve central administrators and faculty in the hard sciences and engineering, including schools of law, medicine, and business. Undergraduate student involvement is minimal, although graduate students and postdoctoral researchers may be involved. This separation can obscure the wider impact of these initiatives on perceptions of the university, on relations with governments and nonprofit entities, and on regional economic development. University-driven economic development efforts are products of their times, operate upon multiple dimensions, and are reflective of the broader social and political debates and biases of a given era. The way that universities and their advocates have talked about economic development has not always corresponded with the actions they have taken, partly because of circumstance and partly because of organizational capacity. They have reflected less a broader philosophy of public service and more the universities’ political and fiscal circumstances at that historical moment. As a consequence, discussions of university public service have often revolved around the degree to which universities’ receipt of federal and state appropriations obligate it to respond to social problems, and actions around economic development have depended on what kinds of public funds were available to tackle a given economic or social problem. Employing the university’s resources for specific economic and social ends has not always worked as policymakers presumed it would. The land-grant colleges of the nine- teenth century did not bring stability to agrarian regional economies and create ‘‘a rela- tively classless society’’ (Kerr 1968, p. 47) as was intended. Instead, they did a spectacular job of making the children of farmers into members of the new white-collar service professions that would eventually displace both agriculture and manufacturing in driving the American economy. Similarly, the research universities of the late twentieth century did not halt urban decline and suburban expansion, nor were they able to have much influence on continuing social inequities and racial disparities. But the legacy of urban renewal has had some positive effects. Universities’ pursuant emphasis on more open admissions and adoption of affirmative action policies gave many children from working-class, urban, and minority families entry into the white-collar, middle-class, and largely suburbanized world of postindustrial America. 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University economic engagement and the legacy of the urban crisis 123 Beyond town and gown: university economic engagement and the legacy of the urban crisis Abstract Introduction The case for the historical approach The legacy of the urban crisis The postwar moment Urban renewal Social amelioration Conclusions References << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Gray Gamma 2.2) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (ISO Coated v2 300% \050ECI\051) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Error /CompatibilityLevel 1.3 /CompressObjects /Off /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Perceptual /DetectBlends true /DetectCurves 0.1000 /ColorConversionStrategy /sRGB /DoThumbnails true /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedOpenType false /ParseICCProfilesInComments true /EmbedJobOptions true 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work_5cjzq6fp65ccrbnf5fxe7np3im	----	Transatlantica, 2 | 2018 Transatlantica Revue d’études américaines. American Studies Journal  2 | 2018 Les mots pour le dire. Vocabulaire politique et propagande dans une perspective transatlantique Julien Nègre, L’arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau Danielle Follett Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/13262 DOI: 10.4000/transatlantica.13262 ISSN: 1765-2766 Publisher AFEA Electronic reference Danielle Follett, “Julien Nègre, L’arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau”, Transatlantica [Online], 2 | 2018, Online since 01 February 2020, connection on 25 February 2021. URL: http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/13262 ; DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/ transatlantica.13262 This text was automatically generated on 25 February 2021. Transatlantica – Revue d'études américaines est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d'Utilisation Commerciale - Pas de Modification 4.0 International. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/13262 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Julien Nègre, L’arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau Danielle Follett REFERENCES Julien Nègre, L’arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau, Lyon, ENS éditions, collection Signes, 2019, 353 p., 28€. ISBN: 979-10-362-0115-8 1 This is quite a beautiful book, both in its elegant prose and its color reproduction of many maps consulted or created by Thoreau. Its style is clear and eloquent and its structure limpid. The short introduction distinguishes it from Robert F. Stowell’s The Thoreau Gazetteer (1970), which collects many of the maps relevant to Thoreau’s life, in that the earlier book simply reproduces the maps without explicit commentary, whereas the present volume intends to clarify and theorize the role played by maps and the “cartographical gesture” (38) in Thoreau’s work and thought.1 While Stowell’s book provides images of many of Thoreau’s copies of contemporaneous maps, Nègre’s also offers reproductions of the sources of those copied maps, which meant a good amount of archival research to identify and locate the originals. 2 The introduction also very briefly situates the author’s perspective in relation to that of various scholars of geopoetics and the importance of place in American literature, as well as to several recent trends in Thoreau scholarship. The author rather uses the “prism” (28) of maps to focus on three related aspects of Thoreau’s work: his technical and detailed observation of natural phenomena, his particularly extravagant use of language, and his political positioning and “les contours problématiques des territoires de l’individu et du commun” (29). The map, both as a literal object and a metaphor, is understood as central to Thoreau’s general project of perception and clarification, Julien Nègre, L’arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Transatlantica, 2 | 2018 1 bringing things to light in a new way, “en établissant un nouveau régime de visibilité” (31). 3 The first chapter situates the author’s analysis within the field of map theory, details several essential characteristics of maps, gives an overview of the crucial importance of maps in the 1840s and 1850s in the United States, and introduces Thoreau’s work as a surveyor. An investigation into the dynamic relations between map and text, a recurring concern throughout the book, is also opened in the first chapter. Whereas maps had been theorized in a Foucauldian fashion as representing the rational domination of a space, since the 1990s and especially the 2000s a new more pragmatic (“processual,” 58) approach to maps allows them to be understood as having a fluid nature determined by the dynamic practices associated with them. This approach, according to Julien Nègre, makes it possible to overcome a theoretical antagonism between map and text and to focus on their interactions. Maps may be embraced as expressions of the desire for precision and detail without implying a form of hegemonic domination, thus entering into a “productive tension” (60) with the more intimate representations that a text is capable of. 4 The second, third and fourth chapters generally follow the three-part thematic outline given in the introduction: Thoreau’s exploration of nature, his language play, and his political thought. The three chapters also correspond to different elements of Thoreau’s oeuvre: the second is about the early texts including A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, the third is devoted to Walden, Cape Cod and The Maine Woods, and the fourth concerns the political writings. A fifth and final chapter, before a short conclusion, analyzes Thoreau’s late natural history writings. The journal makes its appearance occasionally when relevant, within this structure. 5 The question of the relation of maps to the discovery of the unknown is a central issue in the second chapter. Through reading the early essays and especially A Week, the author shows that despite the apparently cartographical act of exploration in his excursions, the territory discovered does not therefore become entirely known. “L’espace arpenté ne devient pourtant pas un espace connu” (62). The unknown, represented by the blank areas on the map, remains within the familiar terrain to which Thoreau returns time and again, always experiencing the surprise of novelty. The vocabulary of Deleuze – espace lisse, espace strié – is used here and throughout the book to describe how, despite the cartographical process of exploration and discovery, the territory is for Thoreau never fully closed or comprehended. “En replaçant l’inconnu et ce qui n’est pas perçu (the unseen) au centre de la carte de cet espace bien connu qu’est le Massachussetts, Thoreau refuse implicitement de considérer l’entreprise cartographique comme un geste de normalisation qui rendrait le monde définitivement familier” (82). In discussing A Week, Julien Nègre shows that the map becomes 4-D so to speak, by including the human history of the area explored; thus, space becomes stratified and complexified. 6 The third chapter follows the Deleuzian logic further as it explores how Thoreau’s central texts emphasize disorientation, marginal spaces and phenomena which resist formalization and allow for “play” (110, 193). This play is not only that of language but of thought and space, and the French word “jeu” has a spatial connotation (meaning latitude or the interval between two spaces) and could be translated here perhaps as “cushion,” “breathing space” or “wiggle room” as well as “play.” Julien Nègre shows through comparisons that the three maps used by Thoreau during his excursions in Julien Nègre, L’arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Transatlantica, 2 | 2018 2 Maine differed significantly from one another in the details of the areas he explored, adding to the challenge of the trip, but “cette imprécision est ce qui donne cependant à cet espace toute sa saveur” (130). In Cape Cod Thoreau had access to high-precision maps; here, Thoreau explicitly states how different reality was from the maps he consulted, and the text is analyzed as bringing out everything that the map lacks. Essentially a large sandbar, Cape Cod has few landmarks and is in constant movement as the sand shifts, and the author shows how Thoreau highlights the dynamism of the “land” rather than its fixity. 7 Regarding the political writings, Julien Nègre portrays Thoreau as a surveyor of political space, mapping the relations between the individual and the community, and defining a politically charged boundary between the prison cell and the space outside. Thoreau’s essay “Walking” is discussed in this chapter, as the essay’s speaker intends to walk in the direction away from the community, and yet later in the text, he follows the general movement of civilization in its march toward the West. The essay offers a sort of anti-cartography in that it criticizes the surveyor as a diabolical figure, lauds the swamp as a place that resists surveying and celebrates the Wild as an indeterminate zone. This chapter also discusses the importance of in-between spaces in Thoreau’s writings, situated between the wilderness and the town, and argues that the “undecidability” of Thoreau’s texts has a political dimension (256). 8 The final chapter portrays Thoreau’s late natural history writings as essentially a cartographical endeavor, attempting to map the relations between living things in the Concord region, a practice now called ecology. The Kalendar project is particularly cartographical, displaying an ideal of exhaustivity proper to mapmaking. The late essays also show how the surveyor is an interpreter of natural signs (303). Despite the aim of exactitude, these late texts also offer a celebration of the unexpected: “La cartographie souple et dynamique que déploie le texte sait intégrer le hasard et l’imprévu” (319). In this sense Thoreau becomes a new kind of mapmaker, one who attends to the peripheral and neglected places and entities that do not figure on property maps. 9 The book establishes a dialogue or a back-and-forth between two figures, both essential to Thoreau: the surveyor and the wanderer, l’arpenteur et le vagabond. In many ways, the dialogue implicitly takes place on a deeper level, between two French philosophers: Descartes and Deleuze. The latter reappears throughout the book as the spokesperson for resistance to rational domination of space; the former is continually present en filigrane as the master of mapmaking. This binary is not only expressed in terms of Thoreau’s activities in nature (surveying and wandering) but also generally through various other binaries: the goal of formalization and the resistance to it, determination and indetermination, known spaces and unknown or neglected areas, the marks on maps and the blank spots, civilization and the wild, orientation and disorientation, the organization of systems and chance or aleatory elements of nature, the ideal of exhaustivity and the infinity of nature’s complexity making this ideal impossible. The relations between the two are explored in various ways. The author speaks at times of an “oscillation” between two poles (the texts “oscillent entre, d’une part, un ancrage et une référentialité spatiale solides et, d’autre part, une tendance permanente à l’excursus fantasque et au pas de côté” [193]; see also 249). At other times the relation is described as a paradox (20, 177, 319). It is generally not surprising to find a tense relationship between these two approaches in the work of a thinker who has one foot Julien Nègre, L’arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Transatlantica, 2 | 2018 3 in romantic transcendentalism and one in empirical science. One of the fascinating aspects of this book is to bring these two figures into dialogue, a dialogue which it would have been helpful to broach and analyze in a more frontal way, as they are essential to the work and thought of Thoreau. 10 The study also includes a number of beautiful close readings of passages, revealing how Thoreau’s language dynamically embodies these questions (100, 163-4, 179, 181-2). Beyond the unfortunate lack of an index, it is only to be regretted that the book was written in French and so its readership will be more limited than it deserves. But the beauty of the prose as well as the very high quality of the readings offered will give it an important place in French Thoreauvian studies. NOTES 1. STOWELL, Robert F. The Thoreau Gazetteer. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970. INDEX Subjects: Recensions AUTHORS DANIELLE FOLLETT Université Sorbonne Nouvelle Julien Nègre, L’arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Transatlantica, 2 | 2018 4 Julien Nègre, L’arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau 
work_5f23fe5vfjcurp3t4qcdrpprda	----	Deep Time and Secular Time: a Critique of the Environmental Long View This is a repository copy of Deep Time and Secular Time: a Critique of the Environmental Long View. White Rose Research Online URL for this paper: http://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/132322/ Version: Accepted Version Article: Skrimshire, SA (2019) Deep Time and Secular Time: a Critique of the Environmental Long View. Theory, Culture and Society, 36 (1). pp. 63-81. ISSN 0263-2764 https://doi.org/10.1177/0263276418777307 © The Author(s) 2018. This is an author produced version of a paper published in Theory, Culture and Society. Uploaded in accordance with the publisher's self-archiving policy. eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ Reuse Items deposited in White Rose Research Online are protected by copyright, with all rights reserved unless indicated otherwise. They may be downloaded and/or printed for private study, or other acts as permitted by national copyright laws. The publisher or other rights holders may allow further reproduction and re-use of the full text version. This is indicated by the licence information on the White Rose Research Online record for the item. Takedown If you consider content in White Rose Research Online to be in breach of UK law, please notify us by emailing eprints@whiterose.ac.uk including the URL of the record and the reason for the withdrawal request. mailto:eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ 1 [Final accepted version] Title Deep Time and Secular Time: A Critique of the Environmental ‘Long View’i Keywords Anthropocene, Deep Time, Climate Change, Secularism, Future, Arendt, Taylor, Benjamin, Geological Turn, New Materialism Abstract The Anthropocene concept allows human history to be imagined within the temporal framework of planetary processes. Accordingly some environmentalists increasingly favour lengthening the temporal horizons of concern beyond those of ‘normal’ moral deliberation. Whilst there are defensible reasons for doing so, I wish to take issue with the “secular time” perspective underlying some such approaches. To make my case, I present, in the first section, two recent manifestations of the long view perspective: a) ‘deep future’ narratives in popular climate science and futurism; b) the ideas behind the Long Now Foundation. In the second section, I apply a critical lens to these perspectives via classic analyses of secular time by Charles Taylor, Hannah Arendt and Giorgio Agamben. I conclude by suggesting that these post-secular critiques should be considered alongside recent approaches to the Anthropocene and the ‘geological turn’ from new materialist perspectives. Introduction: What time are we in? The call for a “geological turn” in the humanities (Yusoff 2013; Ellsworth and Kruse 2013) has been described as the need to rethink the time of human life. For those who accept that we are living in the Anthropocene epoch, human life must be thought within the geological processes of vast temporal stretches that both predate, and will outlive, human existence. Human life occurs within the ‘epic narrative’ of far futures. Epic, borrowing from the literary field, indicates a narrative in which ‘the human’ encounters or does battle with “alien orders of magnitude” (Dimock 2013:617). This presents a number of obvious difficulties of representation for literary theoryii, but the implications for ethical 2 environmental discourse - particularly consequentialist traditions, premised upon assessing the effects of our actions upon others, present and future – have yet to be spelled out. How does one theorise the historical, ethical subject of the epic geo-narrative (with her differentiated experiences of suffering and oppression)? How do we live well in deep time? An important confluence of feminist, new materialist and post-humanist thought is providing responses to this question. Such thinkers adopt temporal models that merge human time with the materiality of geological processes, with the explicit intention of undermining the anthropocentricism, sociocentrism and human exceptionalism at the heart of environmental thought (Connolly 2017). For instance, Joanna Zylinska suggests that any credible ethics of the Anthropocene would have to view human and nonhuman life as “dynamic relations between entities across various scales” (Zylinska 2014: 20). Relatedly, and drawing on the influential work of Jane Bennett (2010), Katherine Yusoff (2013) and Elizabeth Grosz (2005) suggest that ethical discourse concerning humanity’s part in the history of climate change, must account for the indebtedness and responsibility of human life to its “inhuman” and also “non-vital” forces of the earth. There are even attempts to see Anthropocene discourse as unlocking the potential for radically transformative conceptions of history and historical action itself. We might consider Manuel De Landa’s (1997) ambitious project of mapping ‘geological time’ of human and inhuman forces side by side as a key example. These are innovative explorations of an ethics of deep time which I will return to in the final section. However, the main focus of my paper is to provide a theoretical critique of the flipside of this new planetary awareness: a more popular (and perhaps more influential) version of the turn to deep time in environmental thought. These, which I am giving the term the ‘long view’, serve to reinforce, rather than problematize, the modernist and anthropocentrist perspective. I offer two examples below: “deep future” narratives in popular science and futurology; and the thinking behind the Long Now Foundation. Both claim to be responding to the political dangers of short-termism and presentism. That is, they implicitly protest against the collapsing of a sense of history in the postmodern era, its flattening of the historical forces of modernity to that of immediacy and simultaneity. The long view thus claims to re-temporalize environmental and political consciousness by fostering care for the further future. The long view endorses a concept of time which continues the powerful legacies of 3 secular modernity in environmental thinking. The basis of my critique thus lies in the temporal model, or time image, which underlies them. By returning to some of the now classic critiques of secular time, I will be referring, following Charles Taylor and Benedict Anderson (both borrowing from Walter Benjamin), to that specifically modern social imaginary, the belief in history as a “horizontal” continuum that stretches indefinitely into the future. In Taylor’s analysis this is specifically contrasted with the theological structure of ‘vertical’ time in Christian eschatological belief. In the final section I will suggest how a critique of secular time, and the use of insights borrowed from theological temporality (via Hannah Arendt and Giorgo Agamben), can combine with the new materialist and feminist approaches to deep time just mentioned, to more adequately respond to the challenges of the Anthropocene. The long view My first step is to outline briefly some of the ways in which a long view has been prefigured in environmental ethics of the global north. Peter Timmerman has claimed that the biggest challenge to environmentalists over the past decade has been radically revising its narrative constructions of the future. With reference to time-sensitive issues such as the disposal of nuclear waste, the main challenge has been a shift to longer timescales – in particular the concept of “slow emergency”. The normative claim of slowness on the activist imagination is uncertain, because it replaces the rhetorical force of imminent danger and political urgency: “the darkening of the long term prospect over the last few years has, I think, led in large part to the loss of faith in the environmental narrative that worked for almost half a century. There is a process of mourning for the loss of that narrative, intertwined with a prospective mourning for losses to come” (Timmerman 2011). Arguably this question has dogged environmentalists since the very beginnings of earth systems analysis. Take the now infamous Limits to Growth report published in 1972. As Michelle Bastian has argued, a central premise of that report was that disastrous cultural assumptions about continued economic growth and consumption were reliant upon a certain conceptualisation of time. It was hoped that these conceptualisations could be transformed via “re-storying” future narratives (Bastian 2015: 10) in order to develop longer-term perspectives. 4 Nevertheless, climate change ethics has conspicuously struggled to respond to this challenge, reflecting the twin problems of temporal dispersion and extreme deferral of impacts. In other words, the fact that whilst some of the effects of our actions can be calculated to affect near future generations, other effects might be incalculably long-term, or in other words can be virtually thought to stick around ‘forever’ (in comparison to human temporal horizons of concern), such is the longevity of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere (Gardiner 2010: 91). With regard to duties towards future generations, consequentialist theories seem inadequately equipped to respond to the vast temporal distances, lags and discontinuities that climate change invokes. Take the implementation of discount rates - in other words, time preferences. These are the rate at which it is assumed that temporally nearer goods are more highly valued than temporally distant ones. They are used by climate ethicists and economists to justify or disqualify taking radical action in the present (in order to reduce carbon emissions, say) to safeguard on egalitarian grounds the interests of those in the far future. If we do grant the rationality of this preference, how far may one go in our calculations? Not infinitely, say the opponents of the ‘zero discounting’ view (arguing normally that any discount would be unethical, favouring the rights, interests or utility of near-future humans against far-future ones). Because there is always a risk of human extinction, then clearly we are assuming some sort of discount rate, even if it is only marginally more than zero. Our efforts to act on behalf of future generations are discounted to the extent that we think they might not exist (Hepburn 2007). Thus, there has always been a certain awkwardness by which long view narratives respond to environmental crises. There is, on the one hand, a common assumption (which the philosopher Derek Parfit analysed in some detail) that people have a time preference for nearness: we ought not to be expected to care for those in 10,000 years time as much as we do those in 100. At the same time, environmental thought today is made daily more aware of humanity’s intimate relationship and entanglement with our far future existence (Morton 2014: 123). This is borne out in calls by ethicists themselves for whom an appeal to the very long term seems normatively relevant (Miller 2016; Norbland; Socolow). Why not mention – in scientific documents such as the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) but also moral-theological documents such as Laudato Si - the fact that it will likely take 400,000 years, or 16,000 generations, for atmospheric CO2 to return to pre- 5 industrial levels? Or the possible 4 million years (or 160,000 generations) it may take for the earth to recover living conditions from a predicted mass extinction event (Miller 2016: 442)? Why does the IPCC continue to focus on mid and end of century scenarios, mirroring the parameters of government planning exercises (Groves et al 2014)? These are important questions for climate ethics which I do not address explicitly here. Suffice to say I am not arguing categorically against repositioning environmental thought within further future narratives. Rather, the purpose of this paper is to critique a particular temporal conceptualisation of the long view. As an example of the ‘awkwardness’ I am referring to here, take this exchange between an environmental reporter and a climate scientist reflecting on the longer term impacts of global warming. It considers a report in Nature (Ganopoloski, Winkelman and Schellnhuber 2016) which confirmed the theory that current and continued CO2 emissions – even by moderate assumptions - will likely delay the next glacial inception by 50,000 years. In other words, humans have cancelled the next ice age, due under 'normal' predictions to occur in around 50,000 years’ time. For Schellnhuber, one of the report’s authors, this neatly confirms the Anthropocene thesis: that humans are a formidable planetary force, "stronger", he says, than orbital forces and all things like that. It is fascinating but also very scary!" But now consider the reporter’s synopsis of the situation: "On the positive side, we can sigh with relief that we have called off the next two ice ages that would represent a very difficult challenge for civilization. However, temper that relief with the growing likelihood that if we don't wake up to climate change, it is unlikely that humanity will exist on Earth in anything like fifty thousand years!" (Breeze 2016). This juxtaposition of temporalities neatly illustrates what Timothy Clark calls “Anthropocene disorder” – that “unstable emotional tone” produced by attempting to think of big picture narratives of the far future (“the finitude of the earth and its incalculable ramifications”) alongside and within the traditional parameters of environmental ethics (e.g. whether or not to take a long haul flight, or to choose to procreate) (Clark 2015: 143). But it also illustrates the more general problem of the long view, in which the far future is seen as an indefinite extension of the present commitments. It is to these examples that I turn next, before critiquing their basis in a ‘secular time’ model. 6 Deep Futures In popular scientific and futurological literature ‘deep future’ refers to the attempt to provide detailed prognoses – ranging from the physical to the cultural - for the next 100,000 years of life on earth. In addition to a series of popular science publications on this topic (Archer 2009; Cocks 2003; Stager 2011), a special edition of New Scientist in 2012 commissioned essays that detail human existence in 100,000 AD and how they might be surviving (Brooks 2012). All assume confidently that the human species will survive this timespan, in some shape or another. The most prominent of these voices, Curt Stager, is representative of how deep future narratives respond directly to the problem of temporal scale variance outlined above. Stager, a paleo-climatologist by training, argues that the timescales involved in his work amount to a mandate for a radical rethinking of ethical responsibility. It means making moral judgments that compare effects across vast stretches of time. Compared to the angst- ridden overtones of Clark’s Anthropocene disorder, Stager’s hopes for the possibility of moral deliberation are overwhelmingly positive. Affirming the delayed glaciation theory, Stager reflects on the possibility that such a scenario may present humans with an ultimate silver lining to its otherwise destructive effect on the planet, prolonging the lifespan of homo sapiens by delaying its scheduled ‘death sentence’ of glaciation: The sustained influence of our actions today on the immensely distant future adds an important new component to the ethics of carbon pollution. If we consider only the next few centuries in isolation, then human-driven climate change may be mostly negative. But what if we look ahead to the rest of the story? On the scales of environmental justice, how do several centuries of imminent and decidedly unwelcome change stack up against many future millennia that could be rescued from ice age devastation? ...We are faced today with the responsibility of determining the climatic future that our descendants will live in (Stager 2011:11-12). For Stager this appears both as challenging news – “a long view is not necessarily welcome to those who are preoccupied with events in the here and now” (2011: 2) – and at the same time a common 7 desire: “most of us are less interested in when the Anthropocene began than in what it’s going to be like from here on out” (2011: 9). The obligation to do so, moreover, is motivated by a sense of epochal responsibility. Where cultural theorists get anxious about conflicting and incommensurable temporal frameworks, the science of deep futures cited above proposes a simple form of consolation. Rather than despair at the catastrophe of the nearer term, deep futures give us a glimpse of how humans might retain control over the longer term. The Long Now The Long Now Foundation was founded by eco-pragmatist and entrepreneur Stewart Brand in 1996. It provides funding and a conceptual framework for a number of projects around a simple normative claim: that ‘longer / slower’ thinking is better than ‘shorter / faster’: a "balancing corrective" to the "short-horizon perspective of market-driven economics" (Brand 1999). Its flagship project, the Clock of the Long Now, involves the design and building of a physical clock that will tick every year for 10,000 years. According to Brand, the project is a visible and imaginative encouragement to question the relatively short time horizons upon which much of western cultural thinking depends. Brand credits the musician Brian Eno, who is named as an inspiration and co-founder of the project, for coining the term. Eno claims that the idea came to him in his New York apartment in 1979 when he reflected on the narrow visions of spatial and temporal living that came with that era: “Everyone had just got there, and was just going somewhere else. No one had investment in any kind of future except their own, conceived in the narrowest terms. I wrote in my notebook that December, ‘More and more I find I want to be living in the Big Here and a Long Now” (Quoted in Brand 1999: 28). Accordingly, each of the Long Now projects reference this desire for imagining bigger and deeper in our everyday parlance – for instance by affixing an extra numeral to millennial dating – thus ‘02016’ instead of ‘2016’.iii Eno’s reference to the spatial analogue – linking the Big Here and the Long Now – is significant because the project bears structural resemblances to the attempts at capturing a scalar sense of space with a previous movement of ‘whole earth’ environmentalists in the 1970s. Brand was, indeed, one of the principle advocates for environmentalists to use the images of planet Earth shot 8 from the Apollo missions in 1970 in their messaging. He believed that doing so would galvanise a sense of a shared planet in a vast universe – Carl Sagan’s famous ‘pale blue dot’ seen from space. To speak of a Long Now suggests a temporal parallel. Namely, the continued extension of a given temporal engagement with the present; an indefinite continuum which paints the future as the extended promise of human time. Brand expresses his own view of the future as a “tragic optimism”, which he explains by way of comparing time as either “long and narrow” or “short and wide”. The latter view inspires a pessimistic and politically disengaged outlook. It suggests that things in the short term are getting worse, and do not inspire optimism. Whereas the long view acknowledges that changes in society and the planet are long and slow and require the patience of the bigger picture. As Brand puts it, “in the long sweep of history, on average, life has been getting steadily better for as long as you care to look” (Brand 1999:108). Long Now’s faith in the transformative power of extending one’s temporal horizon is encapsulated in the embodied, geographically located and mechanically credible status of its flagship project. The clock is designed to inspire, in its very physicality (the ability to visit it; and the promise that even if civilization should die out, another one would potentially discover it), confidence in the prolongation of the human species: “Ten thousand years is about the age of civilization, so a 10K-year Clock would measure out a future of civilization equal to its past. That assumes we are in the middle of whatever journey we are on – an implicit statement of optimism” (Kelly, ‘Clock in the Mountain’, LNF). Long Now thinking associates the ethics of future narratives with measurable time. It acknowledges the narrative force of visualizing and verifying that sense of temporal elongation through projects – most compellingly its own clock construction – that bring longer time processes to public awareness. In this way the thinking behind the Long Now reinforces the same basic temporal priority as that of deep futurism.iv In both cases the bigger picture perspective of the long view – even referring to the unfathomably vast stretches of geological time - is promoted as a kind of consolation for the catastrophe of the present moment and of imminent environmental crises. And, insofar as they do, they embody the horizontal flattening of the time of the future. Or in other words, they reinforce the temporality of secular modernity, which I will now address. 9 Secular Time as False Infinity Charles Taylor claims that at the heart of the process of European secularization from the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries was a transition from belief in cosmos to that of universe (2009: 323). This conceptual shift was driven both by requirements of scale (a widening of horizons of knowledge) and narrative (the ‘re-storying’, to use Bastian’s term, of human and natural histories). Belief in the cosmos for a pre-modern mind referenced an intelligible, limited, ordered and purposeful creation. Whereas the ‘discovery’ of the universe signified something seemingly boundless, incomprehensibly vast (perhaps infinitely so), and potentially meaningless. Beginning with precursors such as Thomas Burnet’s Sacred Theory of the Earth in the 17th century but culminating in the 19th with the geological discoveries of vast stretches of time preceding the evolution of humanity, the transition was misleadingly interpreted by historians as that from a religious to an atheistic worldview. Against such a perspective, Taylor argues that what really marked the secular age apart from other worldviews was the attempt to accommodate the modern self within an intuitive sense (even if this couldn’t constitute a “knowledge”) of the unfathomable vastness of time. Deep time was eventually accepted (after considerable resistance: see Smail 2008) without recourse to the pre-modern, “shallow” narrative of sacred - i.e. biblical - history. Taylor exposes the overlapping directions that the modern mind took by way of response, from Romanticism to the present day. Kantians, for example, accommodated the modern self via the encounter of vastness via the category of the sublime; “wilderness” writers (e.g. Henry David Thoreau) did the same for ecological thought via the contemporary impulse to seek a connection with vastness through recovering “deeper natures” of the self. More recently there have been attempts to connect the human self with its nonhuman origins and conditions in various aesthetic encounters with horror (a phenomenon that is taken more seriously than Taylor by Eugene Thacker, 2003). Finally, the modern period has been marked by an attempt to situate human agency within the “wild, amoral, violent forces projected by post-Schopenhaurian visions” (Taylor 2007: 347). These are useful points to consider when understanding the motivations of a long view perspective. The modern encounter with this “dark abyss of time”v is not simply the abrupt incursion of a ‘scientific’ discovery upon naively comforted religious minds, as the account of the impact of 10 James Hutton’s invention of deep time is often narrated. The point of the reference to this “darkness” is to suggest that the “vast expanse of time which lies behind us… hides the process of our genesis, of our coming to be” (Taylor 2007: 326). In secular time “humans are no longer charter members of the cosmos, but occupy merely a narrow band of recent time” (Taylor 2007: 327). The various ‘options’ that became available to the modern, secular mind in its encounter with deep time help us to understand why proponents of a long view seem at pains to domesticate, represent, and otherwise rationally engage with deep time. The idea of staring into an abyss evokes both terror and awe, and certainly fulfils the criteria for the aesthetics of the sublime in Kant’s sense: that which is “absolutely great” because it overwhelms all sense of scale. Critical theorists are suggest that the Anthropocene demands a parallel response to those of modernity. Claire Colebrook has in light of this proposed that something like a material, “geological sublime” (Cohen, Colebrook and Miller 2016) would be the most appropriate response to the Anthropocene age. This would be an aesthetic encounter with what is unrepresentable, but one which would refuse the teleological, human-centered perspective that was Kant’s legacy. In Taylor’s story of modernity, of course, the transition from cosmos to universe involved the new confident ability to view oneself as part of an infinite continuum. To understand the political significance of this aspect of secular time, and to see how it has come to resource such narratives as the long view, we need to consider Hannah Arendt’s critique of the modern concept of history. In her 1958 essay ‘On the Concept of History’, Arendt retraced the classic division between Ancient and Christian thought in terms of a temporal ontology. For Greek antiquity, history was derived from the experience of nature as regenerative and a belief in time’s eternal recurrence. This led to the conclusion that the natural world is immortal, and that humans are what is left outside of this: the “only mortal things that are” (Arendt 2006: 42). The concept of history was born (with Ulysses as the prototype epic) out of a requirement to narrate the ‘immortal’ legacy of those legends and heroes associated with the establishment of the polis (72). Christian thought, subverting the ancients by way of Plato, reversed this picture by elevating the human soul to immortality against a backdrop of decaying, finite nature (52). 11 Turning the tables once again, the modern notion of history, born amidst the rise of the natural sciences in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was a subversion of that Christian narrative. Modernity became a vision of the human as earthbound in its own world (54) – something that Arendt would define in The Human Condition as “triumphal world alienation” (Arendt 1998: 24). From this perspective what is truly innovative about the secular modern concept of history is not simply that it is a secularization of the Christian story of world alienation, as some accounts have it. Rather, the modern secular concept of history replaces the category of eternity with that of infinity. In Christian traditions it is God’s eternity that punctuates the experience of the present – the saeculum – and is ritualized in liturgical practices as the performance of ‘higher time’. By contrast, adherence solely to the modernist concept of infinity produces an indifference to one’s temporal location, focusing instead on the concept of a never-ending historical process. In Augustinian terms – the subject of Arendt’s doctoral study - the two emphases can be described as different objects of love (Arendt 1996: 13). The Christian is called to live in the finite, perishing time of the saeculum whilst simultaneously loving that higher eschatological time. The latter disrupts the secular order of time because it is incorruptible and not subject to the temporal nature of change. Eschatological hope, according to Augustine, can thus be defined as a “present without a future” (Arendt 1996: 13). In contrast to the Christian distinction between the mortality of nature and the immortality of the human soul, the modern belief in technological progress was able to reconcile the mortal condition within its faith in an infinite future. Hence the (modern secular) belief in history as stretched in both directions, the “twofold infinity of past and future” in which nothing of ultimate significance happens (Arendt 2006:8). Giorgio Agamben’s genealogy of the modern age can clarify why this shift was specifically to do with a new temporal model. According to Agamben, industrial human societies inherited an Aristotelian model of time as infinitely divisible instants (‘nows’) in the temporal structuring of society. The innovation of modernity was thus its adoption of the ‘instant’ as its unit of measurement. For it is this concept that allows belief in the secular idea of “empty time”, that of homogeneously progressing nows, to flourish. Here Agamben is, of course, reliant upon Benjamin’s critique of historicism in Theses on the Concept of History (1999) and in the Arcades Project (2002). The passage of homogeneous historicist progress is “empty” because it merely confirms the conditions of 12 possibility that precede it, withholding the possibility of a radically new thing ever coming to pass. In terms more overtly reminiscent of Marx’s Grundrisse this progress – capitalist progress - is one of “bad infinity” or “false infinity” because its telos never arrives. That is, its appearance denies the very bases of its finite constitution (by promising never-ending progression). As Taylor showed, Benjamin’s critique doesn’t simply describe the construction of temporality with the arrival of secular modernity. There were, for instance, plenty of examples of a disruption to this trend, such as the culture of carnival and other utopian moments of performed radical temporal rupture. Contemporary revolutionary movements still borrow heavily from these traditions, and utilize the language of political moments that unexpectedly interrupt the pre-ordained flow of the secular time horizon. In Benjamin’s terms, these are the performance of jetzzeit, ‘here-and-now time’ (1999: 252-253. Nevertheless, these are exceptions to the rule of a secular time mindset that I believe, and am arguing here, is evident in the long view. Agamben calls it “a secularization of rectilinear, irreversible Christian time, albeit sundered from any notion of end and emptied of any other meaning but that of a structured process in terms of before and after” (Agamben 2006: 96). Agamben’s analysis also provides an additional posthumanist critique to my analysis, which can link the critique of secular time to the new materialist contributions I briefly introduced. He exposes within the promise of secular modern time the precariousness of the very meaning of ‘human’. This is one of the key points offered in his commentary on humanism in The Open. An obsession, since the Renaissance, to compare ‘man’ with his animal counterparts, argues Agamben, belies a secret suspicion that the ‘ends’ of enlightened humanity point not to some emancipation from the rest of creation but on the contrary, the disappearance of a distinguishable human trait altogether. With reference to Kojève, Agamben notes that the Hegelian end of history thesis was interpreted as the end of the human in its dialectical struggle against the inhuman (nature). Thus an identity crisis of what ‘we’ will look like in a post-historical future lurks deep in the heart of humanist thought itself (Agamben 2004: 6-7). I suggest that the hyper-confidence of a vision of ‘far future man’ of the long view betrays precisely this fear within humanism. Thinking of the far future as the long now has the effect of reducing one’s engagement with it to an awesome continuum in which a singular vision of ‘the human’ predominates, and is preserved. 13 For a post-secular critique of the long view I would now like to draw some of my critical threads together. Specifically, I would like to suggest how combining insights from theological categories of time with voices of the new materialist ‘geological turn’ with which I began, provide an alternative to long view environmentalism. First, let me outline how a retrieval of theological temporal models may be of relevance. Consider the way that Stewart Brand invokes the philosophical distinction between chronos (time as sequential chronology) and kairos (time as the opportune or critical moment). His gloss of that distinction is highly instructive. He defines kairos as seizing the day, “opportunistic”; “day-grabbing” and “clever”. He recognizes this as both symptom and cure for short-termism: “While (kairos)…offers hope, (chronos) extends a warning” (Brand 1999: 9). Though it has been interpreted differently by theologians according to their endorsement or resistance of broadly modernist perspectives,vi what is surely missing in this analysis is any sense in which kairos punctuates and transforms ordinary, secular time with a sense of the eternal. In other words, kairos is that which changes our relationship with time itself. Whereas Brand’s clock time calls us to imagine an awesome (because very long) continuation of the future, precisely an indefinite continuation of ‘now’. This is also the point of Agamben’s critique of secular time in The Time That Remains (2005). In Christian messianic thought what makes kairos disruptive is not its transformation of chronos time into an opportune moment, but by its suspension of the rules of chronos time, participating both vertically (with God’s eternity) and horizontally (in the finite continuum). And this relates also to Taylor’s analysis that in a secular culture, even sacred or “higher times” of religious ceremony are subsumed within the “organizing field” of secular, homogeneous time. Arendt also spelled out very clearly the implications of this common misperception amongst advocates of a secularisation thesis. In contrast to the view that a modern concept of progress is simply the secularisation of Christian eschatology, Arendt shows, first, that these were inventions of late Antiquity rather than Christianity (Augustine’s reflections on ‘world history’ are actually more Roman than Christian in origin). Second, she points out that such reflections always ignore eschatology - the fact that Christian time introduces a beginning and an end, punctuated by one significant historical event only (the incarnation of God). 14 Arendt’s perceptive criticism about the reduction of modern time to a ‘secularized Christian teleology’ applies to much contemporary scholarship on the politics of time, and memory. To take a recent example, Smita A. Rahman talks about the Christian, Augustinian origins of “time (as) linear and sequential and structured by the universalizing assumption of progress… Time takes the form of the progressive realization of redemption… time begins with Genesis and the fall of man and ends with the Day of Judgment and the prospect of eternal salvation” (Rahman 2015:5). The misunderstanding of ‘progress’ here vindicates Arendt’s suspicion. The temporal innovation of Christian antiquity (which remained in place arguably up until Hegel) was precisely to set up an opposition between eternal consciousness and human history (a point which Rahman confirms in her later treatment of Augustine). Whereas the modern secular time image is, to repeat Arendt’s concept, time stretching into infinity in both directions, ordered horizontally and homogeneously, i.e. with no significance afforded to any particular instance in time. For Taylor this signifies first and foremost the secular flattening of time once the ‘higher’ times of Christianity disappear from social life; for Arendt it is expressed as the new focus on process as the governing feature of the modern time image: “so far as secular history is concerned we live in a process which knows no beginning and no end and which thus does not permit us to entertain eschatological expectations” (Arendt 2006: 68). The departure from a Christian temporal imaginary and the cultural fallout from that departure laid the groundwork for the futurist discourses of the long view that have been the concern of this study. For Christian Antiquity, the birth of Christ is not simply another event in time, one more ‘instant’ or ‘now’. It is its fulcrum and permanent point of reference, binding every point of secular time, past and future, instantaneously, to its sacred origin and destination. This is how Benedict Anderson, referencing Walter Benjamin, distinguished a pre-modern time apprehension: the “simultaneity of past and future in an instantaneous present” (Anderson 2016: 24) through celebrating the time of redemption in the Christian calendar. The legacy of this sacred time is of course still preserved in the western calendric division of BC / AD, and Christian theologians have begun to explore the relationship between the loss of such a temporal fulcrum, and contemporary environmental attitudes which they see as morally paralysed in the face of deep time perspectives (see Northcott 2015). Taylor also makes much of the destabilizing effect, with the advent of modernity, of the loss of 15 this moral and existential center once provided by a contrast drawn between the eternal time of eschatological faith, and the experiential time of the saeculum. So too Arendt points out – without seeking theological solutions, of course - that the secular modern condition brought back the mortal condition to the political realm, with traumatic consequences: “(with modernity) both life and world had become perishable, mortal, and futile” (Arendt 2006: 74). I am not offering these insights with a view to reasserting a Christian narrative of human exceptionalism over the secularist variety (nor is it the place here to discuss whether a theological temporality is able successfully to overcome such a narrative). Rather, I want to see whether there are some features in common between this post-secular critique, and those voices of new materialism and the ‘geological turn’ with which I began. What is common to many of these thinkers is a conviction that if we are to accept even minimally the concept of the Anthropocene, and want to talk of geological, planetary time inhabiting human time, we cannot do so in way that reproduces a view of human dominance within the linear, monolithic teleology of secular modernity. For example, Manuel De Landa’s A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History (1997), describing history as the flows and stratifications of Deleuzian “intense matter”, has direct implications for a new way to view the planetary future: “To view human history as unfolding immersed in this cauldron of nonorganic life is one way to eliminate notions of progress or unilineal development.” (De Landa 1997: 265). Adopting “nonlinear history” in which planetary ‘flows’ (e.g. lava, or continental shift) intersect with flows of human meaning and action (e.g. language), undermines human exceptionalism and a temporality of linear progress. Along with several other materialists working in this field, De Landa’s relevance for thinking the Anthropocene is evident in his basic insight that Homo Sapiens anticipates the very temporal processes that are so threatening to the mind-set of modern progress. One can even consider our own material constitution – made of bone, “the living material that most easily petrifies, that crosses the threshold back into the world of rocks” (De Landa 1997: 26-27). Similarly, William Connolly relies upon a fusing of human historical subjectivity and an acknowledgement of those temporally vast planetary forces (with examples such as ocean conveyor systems, glacier flows, and species evolution) which now play such a constitutive role (‘entangled’) in human destiny (Connolly 2017). 16 A second point of critique common to many of the thinkers I have engaged would point to the depoliticizing nature of narratives of future crisis. For example, in Deep Future, Stager’s one historical assumption about the (relatively) near future is that humans will burn the planet’s remaining stock of fossil fuels until there are no further means to heat the planet. His densely descriptive narrative of the next 100,000 years that follows this one variable is explicitly devoid of the dynamics of social and political change that would shape it: “We’ll have to wait for time itself to reveal the details of future political systems, technologies, social interactions, and lifestyles; one never really knows what Homo Sapiens will do next. But many features of the physical world are far more predictable” (Stager 2011: 10). Writing as a self-professed paleo-climatologist and not a social scientist, this comes as no surprise. The contrast with attempts, cited above, to understand historical human forces alongside those inhuman planetary forces that Stager so confidently predicts, could not be starker. The effect of a narrative of a human future that survives intact in this abstract, universalized sense (true for the ‘human itself’ rather than particular humans) is to ignore the multiple temporalities and ‘time zones’ (Wolin, S. 1997) that are represented by different global citizens’ experience of the future. Benedict Anderson contrasted the experience of secular time with that of religious time by describing the “common experience” of secular time as one of simultaneity - reducing the multiple temporality of the Christian model (one both lives in secular and sacred or higher time) to a secular modern one in which the myriad events of history have no particular temporal priority. Clearly, the latter that does not reflect the myriad experiences of time and temporality of conflictual experiences - in a globalised world time is experienced along complex differences that still reflect global hegemony. And this point is reinforced by a strong tradition in feminist thought that insists on the multiple and divergent ways in which futures will be experienced. For instance, in Judith Butler’s critique of secular time (2008) sexual politics, and equally geopolitics, is inflected by the priority that is given to the temporal narrative of the west. The question ‘what time is it?’ “already divides us” in the creation of the backward or pre-modern times of subaltern, Islamic and other ‘others’ against which the time of the modern present is justified. Additionally, the work of Elizabeth Grosz, Rosi Braidotti and other feminist voices of new materialism, are crucial to counteract the masculinist tendencies of a long view, projecting abstract, immortalised man, surviving against the odds in its next phase of planetary 17 existence. In the optimistic visions of Stager, the Long Now Foundation, and others, Homo Sapiens is triumphant without being described in any embodied, gendered, material and unpredictable sense. This is deeply problematic given the implications that a long view has for climate change narratives. If, as Stager and others would have us acknowledge, moral deliberation over fossil fuel emissions in the present ought to take into account the lives of human others in the far future, doesn’t it matter what (social, political) form of human life is guaranteed at the end, and which transformations to human life in the present such guarantees will require? Deep future optimism thus deserves the same critique that is levelled at Anthropocene for reducing the complex differentiated and dispersed origins of Anthropos (Malm and Hornborg 2014). As Alberto Toscano puts it: "[in Anthropocene discourse] the species is as much an abstraction at the end of the line as at the source" (Toscano 2016: 117). The long view facilitates a deep future optimism and a deep future pessimism as two sides of the same coin. Whether one imagines a fantastic World Without Us (Wiseman 2006), or a world very much ‘with us’ (as in Stager’s and the New Scientist’s premonitions), both fantasies rely upon a temporality that fulfills the conditions of Arendt’s bad infinity. And what makes both visions alluring is their reliance upon the access to that infinity of time that accommodates – assures - the continued existence of ‘the human’ within the new temporal vastness of geological time. Just as Romantic and Enlightenment narratives gave us a nostalgia for species origins, a secular time model for the deep future reconnects us to a world that we will inhabit triumphally. Conclusion Taylor notes that one of the legacies of Romanticism is this ability to mark the passing of long stretches of time by analogy to the geophysical processes of the earth. We can now talk about the “glacial” pace of change of the universe of which we are part. To environmentalists today this can evoke a humbling wonder and awe, inviting both a “deeper connection” with nature and a “deeper nature” within ourselves, in the light of our membership of this vastness (Heringman 2014). In the contemporary examples I have considered, this invitation is taken up alongside the modern resource which most facilitates inhabiting of homogeneous time. In the example of the Long Now this is articulated through a faith that a moral sensibility might emerge from reimagining that most modern of 18 mechanical inventions, the clock. Not in order to galvanize a sense of the contraction of time (this is the premise, for example, behind the image of the clock whose hands point to “three minutes to midnight” of the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists). On the contrary, the aim is to encourage a culture of slowness through the longevity of its mechanical clockvii and so facilitate a longer view. My aim has been to provide critical resources for responding to the contemporary dilemma as outlined in the introduction: how can we think ethically within the deep futures of geological time? I hope to have shown some of the dangers of simply applying traditional models of environmental risk. Though I have not tried to advance an ethical theory here, it does strike me that deep time ethics would need to relinquish the epistemic certainty of many of our deliberations. For instance, Timothy Morton, like Joanna Zylinska (and drawing similarly on Levinas here), have argued that the Anthropocene warrants a ‘weak’ ethics, meaning that its ethical demand issues from a future that is radically unknown and unknowable (Morton 2014: 123). The beings with whom our current ethical decisions appear to place us in a far future version of the prisoner’s dilemma appear like a “strange stranger”. One cannot even be certain that the very terms of our ethical deliberations – whether rights, duties, or virtues – make sense in the strangeness of the far future. And this, I argue, requires a radical critique of a secular modern temporality. For, in spite of the more radical claims that the concept of the Anthropocene represents a chance to rethink ‘human’ within geological temporalities, we clearly see – in the examples of the long view – the influential legacies of secular temporality that reassert the hegemonic dominance of Anthropos. Whether one takes the ultra-humanist optimism of Stager’s deep future, or the attempt to prolong for as long as possible the ticking of slow, chronos time, the long view in both cases reflects a re-assertion of human dominance. With regard to the Anthropocene debate, this vision should be at the centre of our critique. Stefan Skrimshire is a Lecturer in Theology and Religious Studies at The University of Leeds, where his teaching includes theology and politics, and continental philosophy. His research has investigated the role of theological narratives – particularly apocalyptic - in shaping contemporary environmental and political discourse and practice. 19 Stefan Skrimshire s.skrimshire@leeds.ac.uk Botany House, 13-15 Beech Grove Terrace The University of Leeds LS2 9JT 20 References Agamben G (2004) The Open. California: Stanford University Press. Agamben G (2006) Infancy and History: on the Destruction of Experience trans Liz Heron. London: Verso. Agamben G (2005) The Time That Remains California: Stanford University Press. Anderson B (2006) Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. 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Durham: Duke University Press, 201–218. Breeze N (2016) 'The Anthropocene: age of human driven climate', Envisionation January 2016 [http://envisionation.co.uk/index.php/blogs/nick-breeze-blogs/175-welcome-to-the-anthropocene] [accessed 22.06.2016]. Brooks M (2012) 'Deep Future: Why we'll still be here', New Scientist 2854, March 2012. Brand S (1999) Clock of the Long now: Time and Responsibility. New York: Basic Books. Butler J (2008) ‘Sexual Politics, Torture, and Secular Time’, British Journal of Sociology 59 (1). Cocks D (2003) Deep Futures: Our Prospect for Survival. Sidney: New South Wales: UNSW Press. Cohen T, Colebrook C and Miller J H (2016) Twilight of the Anthropocene Idols. London: Open Humanities Press. http://envisionation.co.uk/index.php/blogs/nick-breeze-blogs/175-welcome-to-the-anthropocene 21 Colebrook C (2016) ‘What is the Anthropo-Political?’. In Cohen, T., Claire Colebrook and J. Hillis Miller Twilight of the Anthropocene Idols. London: Open Humanities Press. Connolly W (2017) Facing the Planetary. Durham: Duke University Press. Davies J (2016) The Birth of the Anthropocene. New York: Columbia University Press. De Landa M (1997) A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History. New York: Zone Books. Dimock W C (2006) Through Other Continents. New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Dimock W C (2013) ‘Critical Response 1: Low Epic’, Critical Inquiry 39, Spring. Ganopoloski A, Winkelman, R and Schellnhuber H J (2016) ‘Critical Insolation – CO2 relation for diagnosing past and future glacial inception', Nature 529: 200–203. Gardiner S (2010) ‘A Perfect Moral Storm’. In Skrimshire, S (ed) Future Ethics: Climate Change and Apocalyptic Imagination. London: Continuum, 2010. Gardiner S, Caney S and Jamieson, D (eds) (2010) Climate Ethics: Essential Readings. Oxford: OUP. Grosz E (2005) Time Travels: Feminism, Nature, Power. Allen & Unwin. Grosz, Elizabeth (2004) The Nick of Time. Durham: Duke University Press. Groves C, Boomsma C, Pahl S and Sheppard S (2014) ‘Perceptions of time in relation to climate change’, WIREs Climate Change 5: 375-388. Hepburn C (2007) ‘Valuing the Far-off Future: Discounting and its Alternatives’, in Atkinson, G. and Dietz S (ed) Handbook of Sustainable Development. London: Elgar. Heringman N (2014) 'Evolutionary Nostalgia in the Anthropocene', Minnesota Review 83 (2014). Malm A (2015) 'The Anthropocene Myth'. Jacobin, 03.30.2015. McGurl M (2012) ‘The Posthuman Comedy’, Critical Inquiry 38, Spring 2012. Miller R W (2014) 'Deep Responsibility for the Deep Future', Theological Studies Vol. 77(2) 436-435. Northcott M (2015) ‘Eschatology in the Anthropocene’ in Hamilton C, Bonneuil C and Gemenne F (eds) The Anthropocene and the Global Environmental Crisis: Rethinking Modernity in a New Epoch. London: Routledge. Parfitt D (2010) ‘Energy Policy and the Further Future’ in Gardiner S, Caney S and Jamieson D (eds) Climate Ethics: Essential Readings. Oxford: OUP. Rahman S A (2015) Time, Memory, and the Politics of Contingency. London: Routlege. 22 Skrimshire S (ed) Future Ethics: Climate Change and Apocalyptic Imagination. London: Continuum, 2010. Skrimshire S (2018) ‘Confessing Anthropocene’, Environmental Humanities, forthcoming. Smail D (2008) On Deep History and the Brain. University of California Press. Stager C (2011) Deep Future: The Next 100,000 Years of Life on Earth. New York: Thomas Dunne Books. Taylor C (2003) Modern Social Imaginaries. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Taylor C (2007) A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Timmerman P (2011) ‘Futurity and the Imagination of the Long Term’, draft of paper presented at Green Words, Green Worlds: Environmental Literatures and Politics in Canada, York University, Toronto, 21-23 October 2011. Toscano A (2016) 'The World is Already Without Us'. Social Text 127 Vol. 33, No. 2. Wolin S (1997) ‘What Time Is It?’ Theory & Event Volume 1, Issue 1, 1997. Yusoff K (2012) ‘Geologic Life: Prehistory, Climate, Futures in the Anthropocene’ Environment and Planning: D 31(5):779-795. Zylinska J (2014) Minimal Ethics for the Anthropocene. Open Humanities Press. i I am indebted to several people with whom I had conversations that inspired, provoked or corrected my thinking on this topic. It was developed during a research fellowship at the Institute for Advanced Sustainability Studies in Potsdam, Germany, summer 2016; I am particularly grateful to Manuel Rivera, Amanda Machin, and Oliver Putz for their insights during this time. The initial idea for the paper was inspired by conversations in Toronto with Peter Timmerman earlier in the year. Finally I am also indebted to Michelle Bastian and Jeremy Kidwell for expert advice and commentary upon a first draft. ii The excellent exchange between Wai Chee Dimock and Mark McGurl in Critical Inquiry Spring 2012 provides a rich survey of these difficulties. iii The foundation’s associated projects include the ‘Long Server’ designing longer lasting digital archives of human knowledge; the ‘Rosetta project’ doing the same for human languages; and the most controversial, Restore and Revive, which funds attempts to genetically revive extinct species of animal, such as the Passenger Pigeon. iv Of course, there are also key differences between the two. For instance, Michelle Bastian has pointed out to me that the design of the Clock of the Long Now assumes a radically changed (and thus uncertain) humanity in its designs, and is attempting to create a machine that could be understood and operated without a shared language. v (the phrase is attributed to de Buffon, who is increasingly credited as an early precursor theorist of the Anthropocene) vi I am indebted to Jeremy Kidwell for pointing out a few of these. See for instance Kidwell (2015). http://muse.jhu.edu/journal/191 http://muse.jhu.edu/issue/2207 23 vii Though note the contradiction that the business ethos of the Clock’s principal funder, Amazon’s Jeff Bezos, suggests the diametrical opposite: round the clock access, flexible working and zero hours contracts. See Bastian M. (2012). 
work_5jzcrteh7jaotixtsvczmntkoa	----	51 Acta Bioethica 2020; 26 (1): 51-60 LA NATURALEZA EN LA CONSTITUCIÓN: VISIONES INDÍGENAS Y PROPUESTAS ANTE LA CRISIS Liliana Galdámez Zelada1, Salvador Millaleo Hernández2 Resumen: Este trabajo analiza la forma en que el derecho y la Constitución del 80 tratan a la naturaleza. Esta visión se contrapone con los enfoques de las filosofías de los pueblos indígenas andinos y mapuche, las cuales apuntan a la interrelación, interdependencia y reciprocidad en las relaciones entre sociedad y naturaleza. A partir de los problemas ambientales que la ciencia ha sistematizado y que afectan al mundo y al país, este trabajo elabora propuestas para una nueva configuración de lo ambiental y la naturaleza en la Constitución. Palabras clave: naturaleza y derecho, ambiente, constitución, pueblos indígenas, crisis ambiental, conocimientos ancestrales, concepción relacional Nature and the Constitution: Indigenous Perspectives and Proposals for the Crisis Abstract: This paper assesses how the law and the 1980 Constitution deal with nature. This view contrasts with the perspective of the philosophies of the indigenous Andean and Mapuche peoples which consider the interrelation, interdependence and reciprocity in the relationships between society and nature. From the standpoint of the environmental problems that science has systematized and that affect the world and the country, this paper puts forward proposals for a new configuration for issues concerning the environment and nature in the Constitution. Key words: nature and law, environment, constitution, indigenous peoples, environmental crisis, ancestral knowledge, rela- tional understanding A natureza na Constituição: visões indígenas e propostas diante da crise Resumo: Este trabalho analisa a forma como o Direito e a Constituição dos anos 80 tratam a natureza. Esta visão se contrapõe com o enfoque das filosofías dos povos indígenas andinos e mapuche, as quais apontam para a interrelação, interdependencia e reciprocidade nas relações entre sociedade e a natureza. A partir dos problemas ambientais que a ciencia sistematizou e que afetam o mundo e o país, este trabalho elabora propostas para uma nova configuração do ambiental e da natureza na Constituição. Palavras chave: natureza e Direito, ambiente, Constituição, povos indígenas, crise ambiental, conhecimentos ancestrais, con- cepção relacional 1 Centro de Derechos Humanos, Facultad de Derecho, Universidad de Chile, Chile 2 Centro de Derechos Humanos, Facultad de Derecho, Universidad de Chile. Red de Imaginarios Críticos e Interseccionalidad (REDICI), Chile Correspondencia: smillaleo@derecho.uchile.cl 52 La naturaleza en la Constitución: visiones indígenas y propuestas ante la crisis - Liliana Galdámez, Salvador Millaleo Introducción Este artículo tiene por objeto la determinación del enfoque sobre la naturaleza que ha sido incor- porado en la Constitución vigente en Chile y sus carencias en el marco de la crisis ambiental. Los enfoques de la naturaleza presentes en las filosofías de los pueblos indígenas han estado tradicional- mente disponibles, indicando las interdependen- cias entre sociedad y naturaleza, enfoques que resultan coherentes con el conocimiento que la ciencia ha creado en este ámbito. Un cambio con- stitucional en la comprensión y tratamiento del medio ambiente debe incorporar otra visión de la naturaleza y debería tener presentes los principios de relacionalidad, interdependencia sistémica e in- terconexión de sus diversos elementos, así como las obligaciones recíprocas entre seres humanos y las otras formas de vida natural. Metodología La metodología consiste en una reconstrucción crítica del modelo constitucional de 1980 sobre la naturaleza desde una mirada sociolegal. Con- traponemos a ello los imaginarios sobre las re- laciones entre naturaleza y sociedad en el mundo andino y mapuche, basándose en la literatura antropológica e histórica, identificando sus rasgos fundamentales, para proponer un cambio consti- tucional que además sea consistente con la visión científica de la crisis ambiental. La naturaleza y el Derecho La naturaleza austral maravilló a Francisco Co- loane (1910-2002), lo que lleva a reconocerlo como el “escritor ecologista” de Chile. Su descrip- ción de los espacios naturales de Magallanes y Tierra del Fuego, y la lucha del hombre frente a su grandeza y afán de conquista, representan una forma de comprensión de los espacios naturales. Belleza, inmensidad, recogimiento, son modos de sentir la naturaleza. De la misma manera que Coloane antes, a mediados del siglo XIX Henry David Thoreau también plasmó en sus escritos su comprensión de la naturaleza como espacio ide- alizado y liberador de las convenciones sociales, y propicio para el desarrollo de la personalidad(1). La naturaleza ha sido un elemento central en la historia de la humanidad: “La naturaleza está pre- sente de forma casi constante desde nuestros tiem- pos inmemoriales en las distintas manifestaciones culturales de los pueblos. Desde vasijas a edificios, tocados a templos, recrean con sorprendente ex- presividad innumerables detalles que evocan es- pecies animales y/o vegetales, plasmando las más variadas formas y colores naturales… Las prim- eras representaciones artísticas conservadas hasta nuestros días corresponden al Paleolítico superior —hace 35.000 años— y en ellas se conjugan sen- timientos de admiración y respeto hacia la extraor- dinaria belleza de la Naturaleza en general, de cada especie animal y vegetal en particular”(2:11). Desde la perspectiva del Derecho, la naturaleza también ha sido tratada desde diversas dimensio- nes. En su “Teoría Pura del Derecho” afirmaba Kelsen: “Para el hombre primitivo los espíritus indican cuál es la conducta correcta, pues de el- los es donde emana la pena o la recompensa. La relación entre la buena conducta y la recompensa y entre la mala acción y la pena, es así establecida por seres sobrehumanos y poderosos que dirigen la naturaleza”(3:78). Para Kelsen, el hombre primi- tivo consideraba que la naturaleza poseía atributos en virtud de los cuales castigaba o premiaba com- portamientos. En su obra, Kelsen buscará apartar elementos no racionales para la comprensión del Derecho. En el Derecho romano y en el medieval, afirma Bermúdez, la protección de bienes que hoy po- dríamos llamar “ambientales” se caracterizó por una protección privada de ellos, y se protegían en cuanto se afectara el patrimonio privado de las personas: “tales acciones estaban íntimamente ligadas a la salubridad pública, antes que a la pro- tección de los elementos ambientales, los cuales eran considerados res nullius”(4:38). Por su parte, Figueroa afirma que, en la moderni- dad, “el ser humano pasa a ser considerado como una parte más dentro de un universo infinito, regi- do por leyes matemáticas, universo que se encuen- tra en permanente evolución”(5:28). Por su parte, François Ost identifica en la apropiación de la naturaleza el paradigma de la modernidad(6:85). Para Ost, el problema no se encuentra, en sentido estricto, en el surgimiento de la apropiación de la naturaleza, sino en el tránsito, a lo largo de los si- 53 Acta Bioethica 2020; 26 (1): 51-60 glos, desde la propiedad disfrute a la propiedad es- peculación(6:66). Asimismo, en el siglo XIX, otra dimensión se de- sarrolla con la protección y valoración de las be- llezas del paisaje. En 1871 se creó el Yellowstone Nacional Park en los Estados Unidos, que buscaba proteger “Los tesoros escénicos extraordinarios de Yellowstone [, que] incluyen la colección más grande del mundo de géiseres, el Gran Cañón del Colorado del río de Yellowstone, numerosas casca- das, y los hatos excelentes de la fauna silvestre”(7). La idea de la necesaria protección de ciertos es- pacios terrestres por sus especiales características, tendrá desarrollo y continuidad a lo largo del siglo XX y se expresa en nuevas normas nacionales e in- ternacionales que buscan la protección del paisaje, las bellezas escénicas y la conservación de lugares de especial importancia para la ciencia. En la década del 40, ya en el siglo XX, se suscri- be el instrumento de alcance interamericano más importante de la época: la Convención para la protección de la Flora, la Fauna y las Bellezas Es- cénicas Naturales de América, también llamada Convención de Washington de 1940, promulgada en Chile el 23 de agosto de 1967. En cuanto a su importancia, afirma Carmen Fernández, “Esta Convención crea determinadas categorías que han servido con posterioridad para gestionar áreas protegidas, si bien más en el nivel terminológico que efectivo, pues se limitó a convenir adoptar —o recomendar la adopción— de determinadas medidas legislativas que integraran disposiciones restrictivas a la caza, recolección, estudio o inves- tigación”(8:72). La convención incide en la Ley Nº 1.836, que crea un Sistema Nacional de Áreas Silvestres Protegidas del Estado (SNASPE), de 27 de diciembre de 1984, y que considera entre otros objetivos: “Preservar y mejorar los recursos escéni- cos naturales y los elementos culturales ligados a un ambiente natural”. Pero en la última parte del siglo XX otros docu- mentos irán dando cuenta de nuevas preocupa- ciones asociadas a la naturaleza: su agotamiento y desgaste frente a la acción humana. El Informe del Club de Roma, de 1972, “Los límites del Cre- cimiento”, llamará la atención sobre el carácter finito del entorno sus los recursos. Tales preocu- paciones también se harán sentir en Chile. En la década de 1970, Luis Oyarzún publica su Defensa de la Tierra: “El hombre es esencialmente depre- dador, destructor de su ambiente y, por ende, de sí mismo… Vivimos tal vez el último momento en que sea posible hacer algo, entre las urgencias paralelas y complementarias de la lucha contra la miseria y el subdesarrollo en favor de una tierra habitable”(9:65). Desde un punto de vista jurídico, la naturaleza será primero un objeto de apropiación, lo que se expre- sa en el reconocimiento del derecho de propiedad; será también un objeto de protección, a propósito de la protección de las bellezas del paisaje; y será también un ámbito de preocupación, que dará lu- gar al Derecho ambiental regulatorio. Desde un punto de vista constitucional, en la Constitución del 80 se garantiza un derecho fundamental, un deber de protección y una cláusula de restricción de derechos. La fragmentación del tratamiento de la naturaleza da lugar a un régimen separado de los elementos que conforman el entorno. Esta constitución, además, ignora las perspectivas de los pueblos indígenas sobre la naturaleza; por el contrario, los pueblos indígenas no son siquiera mencionados en su texto. La naturaleza en la Constitución de 1980 La Constitución chilena de 1980 fue pionera en el tratamiento del ambiente y la naturaleza. Señala, en el artículo 19º Nº 8 que, asegura a todas las per- sonas, “El derecho a vivir en un medio ambiente libre de contaminación. Es deber del Estado velar para que este derecho no sea afectado y tutelar la preservación de la naturaleza”. También contem- pla un problemático derecho de aprovechamiento de aguas, que separa del concepto de “naturaleza” y que trata a propósito del derecho de propiedad en el artículo 19º, Nº 24; en esta misma disposi- ción, la Constitución desarrolla el tratamiento del derecho de propiedad y también de la propiedad minera. La Constitución no contiene principios de índole ambiental. De los principios que desarrollan las bases de la institucionalidad, en el artículo 1º, el que mejor podría aplicarse en la materia, se refiere al bien común como finalidad del Estado, el que debe contribuir a “crear las condiciones sociales que permitan a todos y a cada uno de los integran- 54 La naturaleza en la Constitución: visiones indígenas y propuestas ante la crisis - Liliana Galdámez, Salvador Millaleo tes de la comunidad nacional su mayor realización espiritual y material posible, con pleno respeto a los derechos y garantías que esta Constitución es- tablece”. Esta norma ha tenido un casi nulo desa- rrollo en la jurisprudencia ambiental del Tribunal Constitucional, que solo en sus últimas sentencias lo ha mencionado(10). La Constitución trata al medio ambiente como derecho fundamental, con un deber del Estado de tutelar la preservación de la naturaleza y una cláusula de restricción de derechos (artículo 19º, Nº 8)(10,11,12), y desarrolla un estatuto para el derecho de propiedad. Declara la propiedad del Estado sobre las minas, reconoce el derecho de los privados sobre la superficie terrestre donde se encuentran los yacimientos mineros y afirma que la ley establecerá cuáles de estas sustancias, salvo los hidrocarburos líquidos o gaseosos, podrán ser objeto de concesión de exploración o explotación, además de reconocer, como ya dijimos, el dere- cho de aprovechamiento de aguas (artículo 19º, Nº 24). Lo ambiental se construye sobre la base de dere- chos (de objeto diverso, aunque principalmente de propiedad, como el de aprovechamiento de aguas) y un deber de protección: el deber del Estado de tutelar la preservación de la naturaleza. Destaca la ausencia de interconectividad entre las diversas dimensiones del ambiente, de todas ellas entre sí. El tratamiento separado del agua, por ejemplo, co- existe con el deber estatal de tutelar la preservación de la naturaleza; carece de una visión de conjunto, sistémica. Para la Comisión Ortúzar lo importan- te era que la Constitución se hiciera cargo de los problemas asociados a la contaminación y la pre- servación de la naturaleza. Creemos que, en este último caso, la preocupación de la Comisión se relacionaba más bien con la protección del paisaje, ya que no existen en sus actas registros de discu- siones asociadas a los principios que pudieran regir las relaciones entre humanos y entorno. En las Actas de la Comisión Ortúzar —redactora del anteproyecto de la Constitución del 80— en- contramos reflexiones asociadas a la idea de la pro- tección del paisaje desde una mirada esteticista: “El deber de tutelar la preservación de la natura- leza se dirige a la protección de los elementos na- turales del entorno. Como señala Guzmán Rosen, ‘se trata de proteger sólo uno de los componentes del ambiente, excluyéndose a los artificiales y so- cioculturales’”(12:125). En la Comisión Ortúzar el comisionado Alejan- dro Silva Bascuñán propuso introducir un matiz y se refirió a “tutelar la preservación de los recursos naturales”, apartándose de la noción de “naturale- za”; sin embargo, la Comisión opta por una refe- rencia a la naturaleza. El comisionado Diez se aproximó en una cierta manera a los problemas sistémicos causados por la contaminación: “añade que cree que la Comisión de Reforma Constitucional se está anticipando a una convención o a una declaración de carácter internacional sobre defensa del medio ambien- te, que se está preparando en la Organización de las Naciones Unidas… que va a llegar como una necesidad ineludible, toda vez que, por ejemplo, cuando se derrama petróleo en alta mar, no se tra- ta del territorio de ningún país, y, sin embargo, se afecta gravemente el equilibrio ecológico de la humanidad”(13). Pero estas consideraciones no se tradujeron en otras disposiciones. La Comisión no define su comprensión de la naturaleza ni explica qué entiende por “preserva- ción”. La mayoría de los debates se relacionan con la protección del derecho fundamental a vivir en un medio libre de contaminación. La centralidad de la discusión se produjo a propósito del derecho, no del deber de protección; esta misma perspecti- va ha sido hegemónica en el tratamiento de estas cuestiones en la jurisdicción(10,11). En lo que se refiere a los deberes de protección, como afirma Simón Yarza, se trata de una fórmula usual en el Derecho comparado, así, por ejemplo, la Constitución italiana introduce la protección del paisaje (artículo 9º). Mientras que, en Alema- nia, desde 1994(14:37), el artículo 20º señala: a) “Protección de los fundamentos naturales de la vida y de los animales. El Estado protegerá, te- niendo en cuenta también su responsabilidad con las generaciones futuras, dentro del marco del or- den constitucional, los fundamentos naturales de la vida y los animales a través de la legislación y, de acuerdo con la ley y el Derecho, por medio de los poderes ejecutivo y judicial”. 55 Acta Bioethica 2020; 26 (1): 51-60 Pensando otras visiones de la naturaleza: con- cepción relacional Las visiones ecologistas, en sus diversas corrien- tes, constituyen un desafío a la visión tradicional. Muchos elementos de la crítica ecologista han sido anticipados por las concepciones ancestrales de la naturaleza que han sostenido inveteradamente los pueblos indígenas. Hemos seleccionado dos concepciones pertene- cientes a los pueblos indígenas, de importancia histórica y demográfica en Chile: el conjunto de los pueblos andinos (aymaras, quechuas, likan- antai, diaguitas) y el pueblo Mapuche. Concepción andina: La Pachamama, según di Salvia, es la “denomina- ción reverencial con la que los pueblos andinos adoran a la tierra por ser el lugar de la vida hu- mana y especialmente los pueblos quechuas y ay- maras de los Andes centrales y meridionales, para quienes Pachamama es un ser vivo y consciente que tiene la capacidad de producir”(15:1175). El concepto panadino de Pacha identifica no a la tierra geofísica, sino al ”todo existente en el uni- verso, la realidad”(16:157). Dicha realidad está interrelacionada, significando la Pacha el univer- so ordenado en categorías espacio-temporales. Como tal, constituye el fundamento de todo, pero también es un ser sagrado con agencia. Pacha se identifica con el conjunto de las cosas, un todo experiencial y activo, un aquí y un ahora vital, el cual, en su consistencia real e imperecedera, es un ser vivo que hace concretamente posible la generación y favorece la fructificación productiva natural(17:241). La Pacha es un agente sagrado, porque ejerce su poder proporcionando la vida, como Pachama- ma(17:245). Es la madre-tierra por ser la tierra vivíficamente productiva, la fuente principal de la vida y animadora de todo lo viviente. A partir de su fecundidad, relaciona todos los estratos del uni- verso, como una continuación del proceso cósmi- co de ciclos de regeneración y transformación de la relacionalidad del orden cósmico(16:192-193). Los pueblos andinos establecían una relación me- tafórica entre la mujer, con su potencial fecun- dador, y la tierra-cósmica, en cuanto fecunda y fructífera(16:121). En los Andes centrales del sur, la Pachamama es venerada como una divinidad, pero en todos los Andes centrales se le considera una numinosidad intrínseca(17:378). La tierra- cósmica es, por sí misma, sacralizada como una potencia sagrada que actúa en el mantenimiento del equilibrio natural. Lo que sucede en la tierra-cósmica ocurre según su propio dinamismo y de acuerdo a un orden subyacente. Está gobernada por el principio de relacionalidad, que contiene tres categorías: de correspondencia, de complementariedad o inclu- sión de los opuestos, y de reciprocidad o constante compensación(16:193,18:38). Estos vínculos son estructurados por el Yanantin, principio estructu- ral de organización del mundo andino, que pro- duce y mantiene la oposición complementaria que relaciona los elementos de la tierra-cósmica como interdependientes. Existe un equilibrio fundamental en el universo como totalidad, que se manifiesta en la naturaleza como regularidad de sus ciclos y que en la socie- dad se determina por la justicia en las relaciones humanas(19:119). Los poderes de acción de la Pachamama se con- cretan en la esfera de la productividad agrícola (chaqra) y también pastoril. La agricultura es el templo y lugar de encuentro entre las tres comu- nidades de la gran comunidad de la naturaleza: la de los Runa o humanos, la Sallqa o lo silvestre y las Wacas o deidades(20:26). Estas comunidades se apoyan recíprocamente, manteniendo su equi- librio mediante su interpenetración, intercambio y mutualidad, con una crianza recíproca, esto es, un criar la vida y dejarse criar por ella(21:39). Me- diante estas relaciones, los humanos, lo silvestre y las deidades emparentan entre sí, conformando la gran comunidad natural o Ayllú(22:11). El ser humano es un simple cuidador (ariwa/ara- riwa) de la tierra-suelo de cultivo o chaqra, es co- creador y colaborador en la concreción plena del orden cósmico. El humano actúa en y para la na- turaleza y la sociedad a través del trabajo, de modo de producir alimentos y bienes que necesita para satisfacer sus necesidades con un conjunto de me- 56 La naturaleza en la Constitución: visiones indígenas y propuestas ante la crisis - Liliana Galdámez, Salvador Millaleo dios técnicos que no deben buscar destruir el equi- librio de naturaleza y sociedad(23). El humano debe escuchar, comprender y prestar observancia a la estructura ordenada de la Pacha. El resto de los seres también cumple su rol cósmi- co. Respecto de ellos, los humanos deben guardar sus deberes de reciprocidad. Todas las especies de- ben ser respetadas a un mismo nivel como cria- turas de la Pachamama, donde todos tienen su lugar y todos son personas(24:103). Si el humano respeta, abona, protege y venera la naturaleza, re- conociendo las características propias y sus ritmos, adaptándose a ellos, la naturaleza mantendrá su equilibrio y dará al hombre lo que él quiere recibir de ella(19:119 y 124). El sumak kawsay, sumaq qamaña o allin kawsay es la vida dulce o espléndida, una vivencia de florecimiento, en la que hay satisfacción de las necesidades humanas, una abundancia —o fal- ta de carencias— para compartir y celebrar con los demás. De ella surgen los valores de amistad, alianza, confianza y cooperación mutua, y no se excluye a nadie, ni tampoco a la naturaleza o a las divinidades. Es una experiencia interactiva y coti- diana en la cual las actividades de subsistencia en el trabajo constituyen una recreación alegre de la naturaleza(25:20). La vida feliz en el mundo an- dino se logra cuando hay una crianza respetuosa, cariñosa, en armonía con la naturaleza, deidades y entre humanos(26:81) y con uno mismo(27:199). En años recientes, el buen vivir se ha convertido en un influyente discurso político de actores rele- vantes en América Latina. Este discurso recupera aspectos del Sumak Kawsay andino, y se nutre tam- bién de pensamientos políticos diferentes, a partir de una visión socialista y estatista, y de una tradi- ción ecologista y posdesarrollista(28). Estas varia- ciones interpretativas han generado, desde hace 15 años, una numerosa producción intelectual, que incorpora a las nociones indígenas discursos sobre protección social de los grupos marginados, pro- fundización participativa de la democracia, crítica a la modernización desarrollista y modelos alter- nativos de desarrollo(29). Concepción mapuche El pueblo mapuche concibe la realidad integran- do en una visión holística a la totalidad de los seres. La persona humana, Che, queda vinculada en los espacios territoriales de los cuales forma parte, Mapu, a los demás humanos y a los espíri- tus o fuerzas que los habitan Newen. El territorio vincula a las diversas formas de vida visibles y no visibles(30:37), a través de las mismas fuerzas o energías. La Mapu o tierra no solo abarca la tierra material o geofísica, sino también la dimensión in- material (Wenu Mapu). La concepción mapuche de la naturaleza es hie- rática(31:113). Todas sus dimensiones o niveles están llenos de poder, fuerzas (Newen) o energías ancestrales, los cuales se concretan en seres inma- teriales o espíritus (Ngen). Esta naturaleza total está en una constante, per- petua e inestable transformación, a través de las diversas formas de vida que la integran. El pueblo mapuche concibe el mundo como un conjunto de fuerzas opuestas y complementarias, activas, en eterno conflicto y permanente equilibrio. Lo sagrado está disperso en toda la Nag Mapu, al al- cance de todos, aunque se manifieste prioritaria- mente en ciertos lugares o formas —por ejemplo, los humedales donde crecen plantas medicinales Menoko, los sueños Pewma o las visiones Perimon- tun—. La Mapu Ñuke es una representación de la tierra, en la cual, en su sentido más amplio, radica toda la vida y el origen de las cosas. Ha sido caracte- rizada como una madre protectora a quien se le ruega y que brinda la vida, como don sagrado de la divinidad y como tierra de los antepasa- dos(32:131-132). La Ñuke Mapu, tierra materna, es la tierra concreta heredada de los ancestros, con la cual hay un vínculo económico, emocional, so- cial e ideológico de los grupos familiares que viven juntos(33:134-135). El equilibrio es el principio regulador de las rela- ciones de armonía que deben existir entre todas las formas de vida. El mundo es, ante todo, un mundo viviente, en el que conviven y se interre- lacionan, en mutua codeterminación, humanos, plantas, animales, piedras, agua, cerros, volcanes, lagos, mares, las divinidades, los antepasados y los espíritus. También los seres espirituales, Ngen mo- ran en el Nagmapu, tutelando ciertos lugares rele- 57 Acta Bioethica 2020; 26 (1): 51-60 vantes para la naturaleza, como espacios acuáticos y volcanes, como guardianes de la naturaleza. La vida es una donación de la naturaleza y las fuer- zas que la animan quedan concatenadas y deben ser respetadas para devolver a la naturaleza esta donación originaria, de una manera cíclica y con- tinua. Esta reciprocidad fundacional orienta las creencias y pautas de conducta social mapuche, cuya gran finalidad es mantener insertos a los hu- manos en el orden de la naturaleza. De otra mane- ra, su ruptura significaría la aparición de desastres, calamidades y enfermedades. Los mapuche conciben el Ixofil Mongen como la diversidad de las fuerzas naturales o Newen; los espíritus o Ngen, las personas o Che, están en una convivencia armoniosa, mediante su interre- lación como una integralidad sin fragmentación: una totalidad sin exclusión, en relaciones de re- ciprocidad(34:11). El Ixofil Mongen promueve un uso ético, responsable y sostenible de los recursos naturales, la preservación del hábitat y de la vida mapuche, la solidaridad social e intergeneracional, el mantenimiento de la cultura y la defensa de los espacios ancestrales(35:111). El Küme Mongen deriva del Ixofil Mongen, e im- plica la vida buena y acorde con los equilibrios con las fuerzas cósmicas. Es un anhelo de vida en armonía con todos los seres, incluyendo las fuer- zas espirituales, y con la naturaleza en sus infinitas manifestaciones y con uno mismo(36:2016). El Küme Mongen requiere una condición de relacio- nes horizontales entre los humanos y la naturaleza, en las que exista un respeto recíproco. Para man- tener el equilibrio y la armonía entre sí y con la naturaleza y sus fuerzas, los mapuche crearon sus códigos de conducta y pautas de vida(37:104). Es- tos códigos exigen un respeto incondicional por la naturaleza y sus diversas formas de vida, que vin- cule el entorno con el contexto del sistema nor- mativo consuetudinario del pueblo mapuche (Az Mapu), cuyas normas regulan tanto las relaciones entre los humanos, como las relaciones que se es- tablecen con lo sagrado. La crisis ambiental ante la ciencia El último informe del Programa de Naciones Unidas para el Medio ambiente, GEO 6(38:10), identifica los principales problemas ambientales que se producen hoy en el mundo. De todos ellos, al menos tres son relevantes para la discusión cons- titucional en Chile. 1. Cambio climático: “es una cuestión prioritaria que afecta tanto a los sistemas humanos (inclui- da la salud humana) como a los sistemas natura- les (el aire, la diversidad biológica, el agua dulce, los océanos y la tierra), y que altera las complejas interacciones entre esos sistemas… Las emisiones antropógenas siguen alterando la composición de la atmósfera, lo que da lugar a la contaminación del aire, el cambio climático, la reducción del ozono estratosférico y la exposición a sustancias químicas persistentes, bioacumulativas y tóxi- cas”(38:10,39). 2. Pérdida de la biodiversidad: “Se está desenca- denando un importante proceso de extinción de especies, que pone en peligro la integridad pla- netaria y la capacidad de la Tierra para satisfacer las necesidades humanas. La diversidad biológica se refiere a la diversidad de los seres vivos a ni- vel genético, de especies y de ecosistemas. Ayuda a regular el clima filtra el aire y el agua, permite la formación del suelo y mitiga los efectos de los desastres naturales”(38:11-12,40). 3. Escasez hídrica: “El crecimiento demográfico, la urbanización, la contaminación del agua y el de- sarrollo insostenible están aumentando la presión sobre los recursos hídricos en todo el mundo, y esa presión se ve exacerbada por el cambio climá- tico. En la mayoría de las regiones, los desastres de evolución lenta, como la escasez de agua, la sequía y la hambruna, traen como consecuencia un au- mento de la migración… El aumento del deshielo glacial y del manto nival, a consecuencia del calen- tamiento de la Tierra, influirá en la disponibilidad de los recursos hídricos regionales y estacionales, especialmente en los ríos de Asia y América Lati- na, que abastecen de agua a aproximadamente el 20% de la población mundial… Los cambios en el ciclo hidrológico mundial, incluidos los eventos extremos, están contribuyendo a la aparición de problemas relacionados con la cantidad y la cali- dad del agua, con un impacto distribuido de ma- nera desigual en todo el mundo…”(38:16-17,41). 4. Debilidades regulatorias: “El derecho ambiental 58 La naturaleza en la Constitución: visiones indígenas y propuestas ante la crisis - Liliana Galdámez, Salvador Millaleo y las instituciones han crecido dramáticamente en las últimas décadas… Sin embargo, con demasia- da frecuencia, sigue habiendo una brecha de im- plementación…”(38:33). Y agrega que las normas de Derecho ambiental no están al nivel necesario para abordar los problemas ambientales. Además, a veces, “las leyes adolecen de normas claras o man- datos necesarios. Otras no están adaptadas a los contextos nacionales y locales y, por lo tanto, no abordan las condiciones sobre el terreno”(42:16). La institucionalidad ambiental carece de recursos e influencia frente a la institucionalidad económica y los agentes empresariales, y muchas veces las ins- tituciones estatales sectoriales se entorpecen entre sí en el ejercicio de sus competencias(43:151). A mayores, la sociedad civil defensora de la naturale- za carece de apoyo, se expone constantemente a las amenazas e incluso pierde la vida en esta defensa, sin la debida protección del Estado. Existe un consenso importante en la ciencia, ya entrado el siglo XXI, sobre el carácter integrado e interconectado de todos los elementos que con- forman el entorno, en particular la naturaleza. El Informe GEO6 señala que, para invertir la afecta- ción del medio ambiente que en algunos aspectos parece hoy irreversible, “Se necesita una combina- ción de mejoras e innovaciones sociales y tecno- lógicas, propiciada mediante medidas normativas eficaces y la cooperación a todos los niveles, desde la escala local hasta la internacional”(38:25). Pensando una futura Constitución: conclusión y propuesta La Constitución chilena de 1980, debido a su concepción tradicional, fragmentaria y apegada a visiones esteticistas o muy reservadas de los de- beres del Estado y a la propiedad, no provee las herramientas que se requieren para responder, en el ámbito nacional, a los desafíos de la crisis am- biental. Esta concepción se contrapone de manera elocuente con la concepción relacional que nos aportan los conocimientos ancestrales de los pue- blos indígenas. Los ejemplos de los pueblos andinos y el pueblo mapuche constituyen perspectivas muy claras so- bre la interrelacionalidad de todos los elementos de la biodiversidad, la necesaria mantención y re- generación de los equilibrios naturales, la recipro- cidad que compromete a los seres humanos con el resto de las especies, y la relevancia del entorno —sagrado para los pueblos indígenas— para la so- brevivencia de las culturas. Los informes científicos que están evaluando los diversos factores y dimensiones de la crisis am- biental, concuerdan en que la falta de visión sisté- mica en la respuesta normativa estatal es parte de los problemas que caracterizan a la crisis. Considerando lo anterior, quisiéramos sugerir al- gunas ideas para un cambio constitucional respec- to a la naturaleza, recuperando las visiones indíge- nas y asumiendo los desafíos ambientales actuales. Entre otros cambios, la Constitución debe desarro- llar principios que inspiren todo el tratamiento de lo ambiental con un enfoque sistémico, holístico y de interdependencia, propiciando la solidaridad intergeneracional y buscando sostener los equili- brios biológicos y culturales. También, la nueva Constitución debe garantizar derechos sustantivos individuales y colectivos; derechos que deberán ser interpretados conforme a los principios ambienta- les de la Constitución. Entre otros derechos, debe proteger el derecho a un medio ambiente sano y derechos procedimentales como la participación, información y acceso a tutela judicial en materia ambiental. Todo lo anterior debe reflejarse en la función social de la propiedad y las capacidades de regulación estatal sobre las actividades econó- micas. En cuanto a los principios constitucionales debe- ríamos contemplar: • La preservación de las bases naturales de la vida y su diversidad biocultural como uno de los fines del Estado que compromete a todos sus poderes y a las personas. • Que las cuestiones que afecten el medio am- biente sean consideradas siempre de interés público, comprometiendo a las presentes y futuras generaciones. • Proteger los derechos de los pueblos indígenas sobre sus conocimientos ancestrales, así como su rol de guardadores de la naturaleza. • El agua es un elemento de la naturaleza que 59 Acta Bioethica 2020; 26 (1): 51-60 articula la vida y debe ser asegurado para to- das las personas por el Estado través de una gestión sustentable, solidaria y equitativa. • Los recursos naturales forman parte de la na- turaleza. Se debe propiciar su uso sin compro- meter los equilibrios biológicos y culturales, velando por satisfacer el interés público en su explotación, teniendo presentes los derechos de las futuras generaciones. • Correlativamente, el Estado debe asumir de- beres fuertes de conservación de la naturaleza. El Estado deberá desarrollar acciones y com- promisos para generar condiciones que no profundicen el cambio climático y aportar a su mitigación, promoviendo de forma activa la recuperación de los ciclos naturales de la vida. • El medio ambiente sano contribuye a mejo- rar el bienestar y la salud de las personas y los pueblos, a este fin deben contribuir el Estado y las personas. • La Constitución debe reconocer y proteger las diversidades culturales y biológicas de los territorios del país. Finalmente, en cuanto a las directrices para las ins- tituciones estatales, es crucial la especificación de los principios de probidad y transparencia pública para garantizar que los cuerpos encargados de las decisiones ambientales rindan cuentas a la ciuda- danía, así como de sus deberes de cooperar para hacer posible una implementación integrada de las normativas y políticas públicas ambientales. Referencias 1. Thoureau H. Una vida Salvaje y desobediente. Santiago de Chile: Sonora Ediciones; 2019. 2. Jaquenod S. Derecho ambiental Patrimonio natural y cultural. Más allá de su conservación: Dykinson; 2010. 3. Kelsen H. Teoría Pura del Derecho. 1ª edición: Buenos Aires: Eudeba; 2009. 4. Bermúdez J. Fundamentos de Derecho Ambiental. 2a edición: Ediciones Universitarias de Valparaíso; 2015. 5. Figueroa M. Derechos fundamentales y derecho a vivir en un medio ambiente sano. Antecedentes Históricos. En Galdámez L. (Coord). Una perspectiva constitucional del medio ambiente: Editorial Jurídica de Chile; 2018: 25-38. 6. Ost F. Derecho y Naturaleza. Bilbao: Mensajero; 1996. 7. Parque Nacional de Yellowstone. Disponible en https://www.ecured.cu/Parque_Nacional_de_Yellowstone, acceso el 11 de abril de 2020. 8. Fernández C. La protección del paisaje. Estudios de Derecho español y comparado. Barcelona: Marcial Pons; 2007. 9. Oyarzún L. En Defensa de la tierra. Santiago de Chile: Ediciones Biblioteca Nacional; 2015. 10. Galdámez L. El medio ambiente en la jurisprudencia del Tribunal Constitucional de Chile. Revista de la Facultad de Derecho. Universidad de la República del Uruguay 2019; 48. DOI: https://doi.org/10.22187/rfd2020n48a7 11. Galdámez L. Recurso de protección y medio ambiente en la jurisprudencia de la Corte Suprema. En Galdámez L. (Coord.). Una perspectiva Constitucional del Medio Ambiente. Santiago de Chile: Editorial Jurídica de Chile; 2018: 167-191. 12. Galdámez L. Medio ambiente, constitución y tratados en Chile. Boletín Mexicano de Derecho Comparado 2017; XLX(148): 113-144. DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.22201/iij.24484873e.2017.148 13. República de Chile. Actas Oficiales de la Comisión Constituyente. Sesión 186 de 9 de marzo de 1976. Disponible en: http://www. bcn.cl/lc/cpolitica/ actas_oficiales-r 14. Simón F. Medio ambiente y derechos fundamentales. Madrid: Centro de Estudios Políticos y Constitucionales; 2019. 15. Di Salvia D. Pachamama. En Gooren, H. (edit.). Encyclopedia of Latin American Religions, Religions of the World. Cham, Schw: Springer; 2019: 1175-1182. 16. Easterman J. Filosofía Andina: Sabiduría indígena para un mundo nuevo. La Paz: ISEAT; 2006. 17. Di Salvia D. La Religión de la Tierra en Los Andes Centrales: Imágenes Simbólicas y Trasfondos Ecológicos. Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca; 2014. 18. Yañez del Pozo J. Yanantin: la filosofía dialógica intercultural del Manuscrito de Huarochiri. Quito: Abya-Yala; 2002. 19. Van den Berg, H. La Tierra no da así no más, los ritos agrícolas de los aymaras cristianos de Los Andes. Nijmegen: CEDLA; 1989. 20. Grillo E. La cosmovisión andina de siempre y la cosmología occidental moderna. En Proyecto Andino de Tecnologías Campe- sinas (edit.). ¿Desarrollo o descolonización en Los Andes? Lima: PRATEC; 1993: 9-62. 60 La naturaleza en la Constitución: visiones indígenas y propuestas ante la crisis - Liliana Galdámez, Salvador Millaleo 21. Rengifo G. El retorno a la naturaleza. Apuntes sobre cosmovisión amazónica desde los Quechua-Lamas. Lima: PRATEC; 2009. 22. Rengifo G. Introducción: El Ayllu y su organicidad en la crianza de la diversidad de la chacra. En PRATEC (edit.). Comunidad y biodiversidad, El Ayllu y su organicidad en la crianza de la diversidad de la chacra. Lima: PRATEC; 2001: 7-32. 23. Rivera J. Concepción de la naturaleza en la cultura occidental y en la cultura andino-amazónico. Logos Latinoamericano 1994; 1: 26-31. 24. Meguil I. ILLA, El sentido de la existencia desde una perspectiva tawaísta. Lima: Editorial Paqarina; 2007. 25. Medina J. La buena vida occidental y la vida dulce amerindia. En Medina J. (edit). Suma Qamaña, la comprensión indígena de la buena vida. La Paz: GTZ; 2001: 31-36. 26. Aguirre R, Cutipa S, Asociación Qolla-Aymara Puno. Suma Jakaña Ukhamasa K’uchi Sarnaqaña. En PRATEC (edit.). Respeto y Buen Vivir. Lima: PRATEC; 2019: 79-94. 27. Yampara S. El Viaje del Jaqi a la Qamaña. El Hombre en el Bien Vivir. En Quintero P. (Comp.). Crisis Civilizatoria, Desarrollo y Buen Vivir. Buenos Aires: Del Signo; 2014: 193-199. 28. Cubillo-Guevara A, Hidalgo-Capitán A. El sumak kawsay genuino como fenómeno social amazónico ecuatoriano. Obets 2015; 10(2): 301-333. 29. Vanhulst, J. El laberinto de los discursos del Buen vivir: entre Sumak Kawsay y Socialismo del siglo XXI. Polis 2015; 14(40): 233-261. 30. Quidel J. La regeneración de un currículo propio mapunche no escolarizado a partir de algunos elementos socioreligiosos. Cochabam- ba: Universidad Mayor de San Simón; 2006. 31. Tobar G. Mito, Camino de una experiencia. Una mirada a la cosmovisión y la experiencia religiosa mapuche a partir de la filosofía y la fenomenología de la religión. Santiago de Chile: Ediciones Universidad Finis Terrae; 2016. 32. Foester R. Introducción a la religiosidad mapuche. Santiago de Chile: Editorial Universitaria; 1989. 33. Antona J. Los derechos humanos de los pueblos indígenas, el Az Mapu y el Caso Mapuche. Temuco: Universidad Católica de Temuco Ediciones; 2016. 34. Chihuailaf E. Nuestra lucha es una lucha por ternura. En VV.AA. Historia y Luchas del Pueblo Mapuche. Santiago de Chile: Editorial Aún Creemos en los Sueños; 2008: 9-30. 35. Cetti A. ¿Interculturalidad o multiculturalismo de Estado? Las paradojas del campo de la Salud Intercultural en Chile. Buenos Aires: Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de Buenos Aires; 2009. 36. Rojas N, Soto D. Küme Mongen: El buen con-vivir mapuche como alternativa de desarrollo humano y sustentable. Ponencia al III Congreso social: Ecología humana para un desarrollo sostenible e integral, 4-10; 2016. Santiago de Chile: Universidad Católica de Chile; 2016. 37. Citarella L, et al. Medicinas y Culturas en la Araucanía. Santiago de Chile: Sudamericana; 2000. 38. ONU Medio ambiente. GO6 Perspectivas del Medio Ambiente Mundial. Planeta sano, personas sanas. New York: ONU; 2019. 39. IPCC. Summary for Policymakers. En Shukla P, Skea J, Calvo E, et al. (eds.). Climate Change and Land: an IPCC special report on climate change, desertification, land degradation, sustainable land management, food security, and greenhouse gas fluxes in terrestrial ecosystems. Geneva: IPCC; 2019. Disponible en: https://www.ipcc.ch/site/assets/uploads/2019/11/02_Summary-for- Policymakers_SPM.pdf 40. IPBES. Summary for Policymakers. En Diaz S, Sttele J, Brondizio E et al. (eds.). Global Assessment report on biodiversity and ecosystem services of the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services. Bonn: IPBES secretariat; 2019. Disponible en: https://ipbes.net/sites/default/files/inline/files/ipbes_global_assessment_report_summary_for_policy- makers.pdf 41. WWAP. Informe Mundial de las Naciones Unidas sobre el Desarrollo de los Recursos Hídricos 2019: No dejar a nadie atrás. París: Programa Mundial de Evaluación de los Recursos Hídricos de la UNESCO; 2019. Disponible en: https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ ark:/48223/pf0000367304 42. Environmental UN. Environmental Rule of Law. First Global Report. Resumen 2019. New York: UN; 2019. 43. Latin H. Climate Change Policy Failures. Why Conventional Mitigation Approaches Cannot Succeed. Singapore: World Scientific Publishing Co.; 2012. Recibido: 22 de abril de 2020 Aceptado: 27 de abril de 2020 
work_5ptdkpxlcrfbnizkybwnnczwbu	----	Outdoor Adventure Education: Trends and New Directions—Introduction to a Special Collection of Research education sciences Editorial Outdoor Adventure Education: Trends and New Directions—Introduction to a Special Collection of Research Nina S. Roberts ���������� ������� Citation: Roberts, N.S. Outdoor Adventure Education: Trends and New Directions—Introduction to a Special Collection of Research. Educ. Sci. 2021, 11, 7. https://doi.org/ 10.3390/educsci11010007 Received: 28 December 2020 Accepted: 29 December 2020 Published: 30 December 2020 Publisher’s Note: MDPI stays neu- tral with regard to jurisdictional clai- ms in published maps and institutio- nal affiliations. Copyright: © 2020 by the author. Li- censee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and con- ditions of the Creative Commons At- tribution (CC BY) license (https:// creativecommons.org/licenses/by/ 4.0/). Department of Recreation, Parks, & Tourism, San Francisco State University, San Francisco, CA 94132, USA; nroberts@sfsu.edu 1. The Origins of Outdoor Adventure Education: From the Field to the Classroom This special issue on “outdoor adventure education” contains seven articles focused on varied topics in outdoor adventure education (OAE) from the impact of COVID-19, creating a mobile App and girls outdoors to urban programming, systems of privilege and more. Outdoor adventure education is characterized by a wide range of features such as outcome uncertainty, compelling tasks (e.g., involving relationship building), state of mind and completion of a journey, the search for excellence, and the expression of human dignity, all of which encompass action and intensity [1]. OAE has a rich and rewarding history and has played a vital part in human develop- ment. The roots of our current OAE date back to the philosophical work and scholarship of John Dewey, Aldo Leopold, John Muir, Henry David Thoreau, Kurt Hahn, Willi Unsoeld and others. Plato in the 1920s, for example, spoke about how physical skills have a higher educational value yet embracing moral values far outweighs those physical skills [2]. Al- though women have often gone unnoticed and unrecognized, they have also contributed to the philosophy, theory and program implementation of OAE for many decades [3] Furthermore, while elements of real or perceived risks are an essential ingredient, OAE has moved beyond the concept of personal survival to one of thriving and contributing to quality of life and providing extraordinary opportunities for growth [1]. While Ewert and Sibthorp define OAE using an integrated approach, others have described this field simply as people with or without disabilities sharing the rewards of experiencing nature and meeting challenges with a group of supportive peers [4]. With experiential learning at its core, there has been an extraordinary increase in the number and type of OAE programs during the past 70+ years and research has followed with a broad spectrum of topics and studies. The origins of OAE are evident as early as the late nineteenth century when opportunities such as organized camping, and scouting became available and the first Outward Bound center was established in Wales during World War II. Fast forward to the 1990s, when Schleien noted that this is “a discipline in which the participants develop an understanding and appreciation of the natural environ- ment and a recognition that such an understanding contributes greatly to one’s quality of life. It is education in, about, and for the outdoors. It may be a process, a place, a purpose, or a topic” [4], p. 20. Subsequently, “high adventure” became an additional feature of organized excursions in urban environments and wilderness areas, leading participants through a series of often risky activities and ultimately leading to personal growth, satis- faction, self-fulfillment, locus of control, leadership development, and other assets. It is beyond the scope of this brief introduction to offer a more in-depth history or discuss the more modern facets of OAE. Interested readers are encouraged to explore the plethora of literature available on this topic. 2. Contributions to This Special Issue: Overview Contributors to this collection of seven essays reflect on outdoor adventure education using case studies originating from the United States, Italy, Greece, and the United King- Educ. Sci. 2021, 11, 7. https://doi.org/10.3390/educsci11010007 https://www.mdpi.com/journal/education https://www.mdpi.com/journal/education https://www.mdpi.com https://www.mdpi.com/2227-7102/11/1/7?type=check_update&version=1 https://doi.org/10.3390/educsci11010007 https://doi.org/10.3390/educsci11010007 https://creativecommons.org/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://doi.org/10.3390/educsci11010007 https://www.mdpi.com/journal/education Educ. Sci. 2021, 11, 7 2 of 3 dom. Their articles address the following questions: What is the socio-economic impact of COVID-19 on Italian nature-based programs in the educational, therapeutic, training, and leisure areas? How can a mobile app (complemented by a web application and a database) establish a system that enables teachers to create educational treasure hunt activities for their students and monitor their performance? How can a recreation intervention created with a focus on introducing middle school girls to outdoor recreation increase participants’ self-efficacy and self-empowerment? What are the challenges and opportunities for urban outdoor education centers with regard to partnership and programming? Can outdoor adventure education really play a role in learning to see and affect systems of privilege? How are the different purposes of school-based OAE approached internationally regarding earning might best be supported to achieve particular outcomes, and what are the most frequently reported forms of outdoor learning practiced in schools across different coun- tries? Additionally, what are typical outdoor adventure education instructors’ inclusive praxis and the conditions that influence their praxis on their courses and in their instructing experiences? The discussions on outdoor adventure education in this collection contribute to our understanding of how complex variables such as gender, privilege, school-based programs, operating under a pandemic, technology literacy for students, enhancing programming through partnerships, and fostering inclusive group cultures on courses can support the intersection of environmental sustainability and human relationships. This research is an international collection of studies focusing on the connection between education, the natural environment, use of technology, instructor/teacher abilities, power dynamics, and the challenges of partnerships. The contributors examine how a wide range of OAE programs and services have influenced participants’ worldview and enhanced their quality of life through reflection, personal growth, social and physical challenges, and beyond. 3. What’s Next for Outdoor Adventure Education? The future is ours to create so what will it be like? As the Earth is on the edge of eco- logical devastation, the future of outdoor adventure education must contribute to greater sustainability for the ecosystem as a whole, including the human dimension as an integral part; we cannot separate us from nature. OAE must respond to the challenges we are experiencing. As noted by Mitten, “Through thoughtfully designed programs that support, encourage, and model healthy relationships with the nature, participants experience health- ier ways of relating with themselves, others, and the environment.” [5]. Maybe we need a new model of outdoor learning to spark a cultural revolution in educational philosophy, connecting children to nature in new ways, and promoting community action on a level currently unimaginable so we can build the sustainable future we all desire? One thing is for sure. Outdoor adventure education is a perfect channel for trans- forming young people into well-informed and globally responsible citizens. We need to develop inhabitants who are more ecologically literate with well-rounded values and a change-maker mindset on nature-based sustainability issues; this must be coupled with a wide range of dynamic skills that are useful for supporting youth and adults in creating social, environmental, political, and cultural change for an optimistic future. In conclusion, this leaves us—academics, educators, and learners—with a daunting challenge. This special issue, although just a few select studies, is a call to action for teachers, youth and their parents, outdoor educators, and even software developers to make all this possible. Once we build the momentum to move beyond our current status, changes in environmental stewardship and sustainability are more conceivable; schools, governments, institutions, nonprofit organizations, and even corporations around the globe will be forced to become more “woke” and act. Funding: This editorial received no external funding. Institutional Review Board Statement: Not applicable. Informed Consent Statement: Not applicable. Educ. Sci. 2021, 11, 7 3 of 3 Data Availability Statement: Not applicable. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References 1. Ewert, A.; Sibthorp, R.J. What is outdoor adventure education? In Outdoor Adventure Education: Foundations, Theory, and Research; Human Kinetics: Champaign, IL, USA, 2014. 2. Hattie, J.; Marsh, H.W.; Neill, J.T.; Richards, G.E. Adventure Education and Outward Bound: Out-of-Class Experiences that make a Lasting Difference. Rev. Educ. Res. 1997, 67, 43–87. [CrossRef] 3. Warren, K. Women’s Voices in Experiential Education; Kendall-Hunt: Dubuque, IA, USA, 1996. 4. Schleien, S.T. Outdoor Education Adventure: Challenges and Rewards for All. Integrated Outdoor Education/Adventure. Feature Issue. 1992; EC 301 007. Available online: https://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/ED343323.pdf (accessed on 29 December 2020). 5. Quay, J.; Gray, T.; Thomas, G.; Allen-Craig, S.; Asfeldt, M.; Andkjaer, S.; Beames, S.; Cosgriff, M.; Dyment, J.; Higgins, P.; et al. What future/s for outdoor and environmental education in a world that has contended with COVID-19? J. Outdoor Environ. Educ. 2020, 93–117. [CrossRef] http://dx.doi.org/10.3102/00346543067001043 https://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/ED343323.pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s42322-020-00059-2 The Origins of Outdoor Adventure Education: From the Field to the Classroom Contributions to This Special Issue: Overview What’s Next for Outdoor Adventure Education? References 
work_5q52ahkw6ve4vhvthyrisrnz5y	----	Transcendentalism and Chinese Perceptions of Western Individualism and Spirituality religions Article Transcendentalism and Chinese Perceptions of Western Individualism and Spirituality Sikong Zhao 1,* and Ionut Untea 2 ID 1 Institute of Philosophy, Shanghai Academy of Social Sciences, 1610 West Zhongshan Road, Shanghai 200235, China 2 School of Humanities, Department of Philosophy and Science, Wenke Building A, Jiulonghu Campus, Southeast University, Nanjing 211189, China; untea_ionut@126.com or 108109055@seu.edu.cn * Correspondence: zhaosikong@126.com or zhaosikong@sass.org.cn; Tel.: +86-021-64862266 Received: 3 July 2017; Accepted: 16 August 2017; Published: 22 August 2017 Abstract: The article presents essential aspects of the intellectual debates in China over the theoretical achievement of Transcendentalism to generate a conception of individualism that bears the mark of Confucian and Daoist influences. The peculiar profile of the Transcendentalist individual avoids western dimensions that have been perceived in China as overindividualistic. Therefore, the inquiry over Transcendentalism opens up the intellectual debates on how traditional Confucian and Daoist teachings may be used also in China to bring about a renewed conception of the self and the individual’s life in social relationships that would be closer to a modern understanding of individualism. The Chinese problematization of the value of the individual in Chinese traditional culture sheds light on the non-western debates regarding cultural renewal. Keywords: transcendentalism; individualism; humanism; Confucianism; Daoism; over-soul; vast-flowing vigor; comprehensive thinking; cultural renewal 1. Introductory Remarks The connection operated by Transcendentalist thinkers between individualism and Chinese religions, has been acknowledged in western scholarship, although to a limited extent. One of the major causes of this limitation consists in the way the content of Asian religions has been appropriated by leading figures of Transcendentalism. As Arthur Versluis observes, Ralph Waldo Emerson read “countless” books emanating from the “Oriental” cultural space (Versluis 1993, p. 77). Given this “assimilation” of elements of Vedanta, Confucianism, and other “myths and ethical injunctions” from India, Persia, and China, the scholar’s task to isolate the influence of one particular system of thought on the leading Transcendentalist thinker becomes an overcomplicated task: “so intertwined are these ‘influences’ on Emerson, and so much does he make them his own, that it is almost impossible to say where ‘Emerson’s thought’ begins and his reinterpretation of Vedantic, Confucian, and other like currents ends” (Versluis 1993, p. 77). Versluis’s interpretation is that what made possible this assimilation of the rich sources into one coherent whole was Emerson’s “sense of contemporaneity with all ages”, and his “attempted transcendence of temporal and cultural boundaries” (Versluis 1993, pp. 78–79). It is in this aspect that Versluis identifies a common perspective in Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau in dealing with the rich thesaurus of the “Orient”: “for both of them sought to return to origins, emphasizing inspiration and ignoring cultural context and ritual” (Versluis 1993, pp. 78–79). What distinguishes the two, in Versluis’s opinion, is the way they make use of this heritage: on the one hand Emerson advances toward a path that Versluis calls “literary religion”, that is a way “to return to origins intellectually”, while Thoreau’s approach was “to live”, to experience this literary religion in practice: “Walden is an experiment in literary religion made actual” (Versluis 1993, pp. 78–79). Religions 2017, 8, 159; doi:10.3390/rel8080159 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0003-2336-1389 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel8080159 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2017, 8, 159 2 of 12 It is significant that both Emerson’s and Thoreau’s perspectives are connected by Versluis’s interpretation via a sense of atemporality and what may be called ideals of universal acculturation, since this opens up possibilities for an intercultural interpretation that is not led by a western-centered view. Nevertheless, an orientation toward a closer analysis of the Asian elements in Emerson’s and Thoreau’s Transcendentalism and a wider perspective, beyond the field of studies in western literature, seems to be discouraged by views that Emerson “came to Asian religious texts with a Platonist bent”, or that both Emerson and Thoreau came rather with a literary interest toward these sources (Versluis 1993, p. 78). The present article explores the approaches emanating from Chinese scholarship emerging in early 1990s—at about the same period that Versluis’s monograph was published in the west—up to contemporary times, in order to show Chinese scholars’ interest for what they saw as an essential point where Transcendentalism had exerted an essential influence on American culture precisely under the impression left on its illustrious thinkers by traditional elements of Chinese culture. As we will argue, this essential point was the peculiar new face of the individualism that Emerson and Thoreau inserted into the American conception of the Enlightenment individual. Versluis indeed acknowledges the influence of Confucianism on the forging of Emerson’s and Thoreau’s perspectives on the individual, and his relationships within society, or the influence of Daoism on Thoreau’s conception on the relationship between the individual and nature. For instance, he remarks that Thoreau wrote in the first chapter of Walden that “the ancient philosophers, Chinese, Hindoo, Persian and Greek” lived “a more simple and meager life than the poor”, and that no other class in history has been “poorer in outward riches”, or “so rich in inward” (Thoreau 1989, p. 14). Versluis appreciates that the order chosen by Thoreau is “no accident”, since Confucianism and the Laws of Manu had “the most to do with daily life” (Versluis 1993, p. 84). Moreover, Thoreau’s project of living close to nature at Walden pond “closely parallels” the “love for and absorption into nature” as cultivated by Daoism (Versluis 1993, p. 93). At the same time, Versluis believes that “Confucianism reinforced Emerson’s emphasis on the moral imperative for every individual”, and that “the Confucian ideal of the ethical, solitary, learned, and decorous man” actually reinforced Emerson’s “sense of himself in the face of all the retreats from society in which the other Transcendentalists engaged” (Versluis 1993, p. 70). Indeed, reacting to his fellow Transcendentalists’ projects of getting closer to nature, Emerson puts forth “the Confucian ideal of the decorous and urbane scholar who refuses to leave society but seeks to perfect his relations with mankind” (Versluis 1993, p. 71). This view on a “solitary” personality, but nevertheless engaged in an active relationship either with nature, or with other individuals in society, places not only Transcendentalist individualism as a particular positioning of human personality in the context of natural and social environments, but also brings together Confucian and Daoist perspectives in ways unexplored in Chinese tradition. This is the aspect that incites the most the Chinese scholarship on Transcendentalism. Beyond the question of the degree of influence of Chinese traditional culture and religion on the minds of the leading representatives of Transcendentalism, the peculiar position of Chinese scholars, emerging from the 1990s onwards, has been to advance toward a twofold perception of Transcendentalist individualism: on the one hand, to produce a theoretical perspective on the transformations of the American individualism under the influences of the Transcendentalism’s conception of the self that owes to the Chinese traditional culture and religion; on the other hand, to explore the possibilities of a renewed sense of individualism and the self in the late twentieth-century and early twenty-first century Chinese society. As we will argue, this renewed individualism might be accomplished, according to the Chinese scholars Qian Mansu, Chen Changfang, Ni Feng, Xie Zhichao, Fang Hanwen and Xu Wen via a greater reception and awareness of the impact of Confucianism and Daoism on the western cultural model of individualism. This peculiar reception of Transcendentalism is not exclusively connected with literary studies, but also shows an opening toward cultural communication, a reinterpretation of Chinese political culture or religious traditions, and the ideal of a renewed understanding of a revolutionary self-cultivation. Religions 2017, 8, 159 3 of 12 We chose to open this article with a first section dedicated to what appears, in our view, as three basic points of departure of the inquiries in Chinese scholarship about the theoretical connection between Transcendentalist individualism and Chinese traditional culture. The first point relates to Transcendentalist emphasis on the inner independence of the individual, that owes to the influence of Confucianism and Daoism; the second shows this independence as always connected to the social or natural environment of the individual; the third consists in the relative agreement of the Chinese scholars that Transcendentalist use of the Chinese view on the self remains significant for contemporary Chinese debates centered upon individualism. The second section deals with the way a central concept in Emerson’s thought, the over-soul, has been compared with the traditional concept of “vast-flowing vigor”. The aim of this inquiry consisted in showing how Chinese scholars reacted to a western concept forged under the influence of Chinese, and other Asian elements, together with western concepts. We found that the Chinese scholars’ interest in drawing parallelisms between the over-soul and vast-flowing vigor has been fruitful, prompting reflections on western terms like “incarnation”, “love”, and “trinity”, and deepening the Chinese scholars’ interest in a version of Transcendentalist individualism that would avoid what they perceived as an overindividualistic American culture. In the third section we focused on Chinese scholars’ critical views addressed to traditional elements of Confucianism and Daoism, and their inquiry on the theoretical possibilities of such traditional elements to make possible the emergence of a renewed Chinese perspective on the self and individual life that would be more compatible with a modern conception of the individual. From this point of view, the Transcendentalist model of the individual generated under the influence of Daoist and Confucian elements serves as an intellectual precedent for the Chinese scholars in search of a stricter individualist interpretation of the traditional views of the self. Qian Mansu’s perspective on “comprehensive thinking” represents one of the more detailed arguments, aiming at transgressing the boundaries of a strictly moral interpretation of the self, and advancing toward a wider cultural acceptance of the value of the individual in the Chinese political and social spheres. 2. Individual Life in Social Relationships In this preliminary part we illustrate how Chinese scholars acknowledge what is already known in western scholarship about the connection between Transcendentalism’s peculiar conception of individualism and the influences of Chinese traditional culture. Nevertheless, if the point of departure is the common ground of the western and Chinese interpretations about the fruits of the importation of Chinese elements in the overall Transcendentalist conception of the individual, the Chinese scholars display a willingness to explore how their reading of the Transcendentalist individual feeds back into the contemporary intellectual representations of the Chinese traditional culture. There are three preliminary points in which a view on Transcendentalist individualism emerges throughout Chinese scholarship. There are, of course, different intensities, given by different scholars, to each of these points, but their similarity of understanding of Transcendentalist individualism determined us to place the three points as foundational for the further development of the analysis. The first point is the Transcendentalist emphasis on a certain independence emanating from the self, but a kind of independence that, under the influence of Confucianism and Daoism, gives rise to a self-cultivation in all simplicity of life and connection to nature. Already in 1993, the year of the publication of Arthur Versluis’s American Transcendentalism and Asian Religions, the Chinese scholar Ni Feng appreciates that, in virtue of the connection with the Chinese religion and culture, Thoreau placed a high emphasis on the destiny and the freedom of the “independent individual” (独立个体, dú lì gè tı̆) (Ni 1993, p. 110). A few years later, Qian Mansu connects Emerson’s and Thoreau’s conception on individualism with the Confucian and Daoist “idealized” (理想化, lı̆ xiăng huà) poverty. She states that, if Emerson manifested an admiration for this state of mind of poverty in Chinese culture, Thoreau actually went out to experience the Confucian idea by living in Walden (Qian 1996, pp. 74–75). The independence of the self gained a high visibility in the Transcendentalist reading of traditional Religions 2017, 8, 159 4 of 12 Chinese elements, according to Xie Zhichao, due to Emerson’s and Thoreau’s interest in the individual’s “intuition” (直觉, zhí jué) and “sensibility” (感悟, găn wù) (Xie 2007, p. 9). The second point is the peculiar depiction of the individual’s independence always in intimate connection with her or his milieu, be it nature or society. When speaking about the “independent individual” in Thoreau, Ni Feng considers that this independence remains conciliated, in Thoreau’s thought, with the social and natural environment (Ni 1993, p. 110), while Qian sees this kind of connection between individual and milieu as the expression of Emerson’s appeal to the Confucian Golden Rule: Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself” (“己所不欲，勿施于 人”, jı̆ suŏ bù yù, wù shı̄ yú rén) (Qian 1996, p. 120). When talking about intuition and sensibility in Emerson and Thoreau, Xie puts them in direct relationship with the individual’s “soul” (灵魂, líng hún), which is never isolated from reality. Because of this, “the influence of transcendentalism on American culture is very close to the influence of Confucianism on Chinese culture” [authors’ translation] (Xie 2007, p. 9). According to Xie, it is the influence of the Confucian conception of “vast-flowing vigor” (浩然之气, hào rán zhı̄ qì) on Emerson’s idea of virtue that leads to the Transcendentalist conclusion that the individual’s self-cultivation cannot be isolated from others (Xie 2007, p. 8). Xie’s interpretation also leads to the third point that we chose to briefly emphasize in this preliminary part, since he appreciates that Thoreau did adopt the conviction of the importance of self-cultivation, and maintained that “a man with good self-cultivation pursues truth, believes in justice and cares about others” [authors’ translation] (Xie 2007, p. 8). This third point introduces the Chinese scholars’ opinion that the study of western Transcendentalist individualism feeds back into the way traditional values are reinterpreted within the Chinese society at large, thanks to a fruitful Chinese reinterpretation of individualism within the framework of a cultural dialogue. Xie alludes to the Confucian idea that “personality is bound to be perfect” (人格必将完善, rén gé bì jiāng wán shàn), and to the ideal of the individual’s state of “self-governance and self-consciousness” (自治自觉, zì zhì zì jué) (Xie 2007, p. 8). He sees in this aspect a close correspondence with Emerson’s and Thoreau’s conviction “that man is the inseparable part of nature, nature is man’s teacher and friend” and their advocating of the “sublime human spirit and perfect morality in nature” [authors’ translation] (Xie 2007, p. 9). This is always seen in Confucianism as an active orientation toward bettering the surrounding human and natural environment, an attitude which in modern interpretation might resonate well with ideas of progress and reform. Well before Xie’s article, Ni Feng had expressed a clearer commitment toward a conception of an individual that would reflect both western and Chinese aspirations: “[t]he real power of a society or a country is to solve the problems of this society or country by individuals” [authors’ translation] (Ni 1993, p. 110). Nevertheless, Qian Mansu expresses the strongest intellectual stance of this individualistic ideal: “In the first half of 19th century, in America, Emerson launched a revolution in ideas—his new measure of evaluating everything is the alive soul of the individual person” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 1). The connection between the “alive soul” (活的灵魂, huó de líng hún) and the independent self-development of the individual is so strongly depicted by Qian, that she goes on to assert that “a person can make a contribution to society at least by making oneself into an ‘individual’, reach the standard of capital ‘Man’, develop people’s potentiality of mind and morality, and even have a little Transcendental consciousness. This is the purpose of Emerson’s Transcendentalism” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, pp. 235–36). The last part of the sentence is striking, and reveals the aspect of a returning influence, on the intellectual understanding of Confucian Chinese contemporary values by Transcendentalism, a system of thought that had been originally constructed with traditional Confucian ideas. Moreover, she adds that Emerson, in spite of his admiration for the Confucian attitude to morality and self-cultivation, could not accept the Confucian view on hierarchy. That is why, Qian believes, while producing a new type of individualism within the American culture, Emerson also “refreshes the essence of Confucianism” (“复活了儒家思想中的精华”, fù huó le rú jiā sı̄ xiăng zhōng de jı̄ng huá) [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. ii). Religions 2017, 8, 159 5 of 12 The three points briefly presented above make appear, in essence, many facets of the intricate connections between the Chinese traditional values and the Transcendentalist understanding of individualism. What follows is an exploration of a number of more detailed critical inquiries dedicated by certain Chinese scholars to specific aspects of the relations between Transcendentalist individualism and contemporary intellectual representations of the Chinese traditional culture. 3. The Vast-Flowing Vigor and the Over-Soul One of the key elements that link Transcendentalism to the Chinese traditional cultural heritage remains Emerson’s concept of “over-soul”. Although Emerson’s over-soul contains indeed elements from multiple religious and philosophical traditions from both the East and the West, like Hindu, Chinese, Buddhist, Judeo-Christian, Greek Philosophy, and even from later philosophies like that of Emanuel Swedenborg or Friedrich Schelling (Dilworth 2010, p. 206), the aspect that drew the Chinese scholars’ attention remained its connection to a way of expressing a kind of individualism that resonates well with contemporary representations of Chinese traditional culture. As Tiffany K. Wayne appreciates, the concept of over-soul indeed contributes to the forging of Emerson’s “true individualism and originality of thought”, as this individualism emerges, as Emerson indicates in his essay “The Over-Soul”, through “ the influx of the Divine mind into our mind” (Wayne 2006, p. 205; Emerson 2009, p. 203). In trying to represent the ecstatic experience of the “individual consciousness of that divine presence”, Emerson uses terms like “submission” (Emerson 2009, p. 200) and “obedience” (Emerson 2009, p. 202), which receive nevertheless their full liberatory meaning at the light of phrases like “joyful perception”, “enthusiasm”, or “consciousness” (Emerson 2009, p. 203). They are meant to rehighlight a revelation of the over-soul that can only be an “individual’s experience” (Emerson 2009, p. 203), and not one of a blind obedience in rituals dictated by official religious institutions. It is only after breaking with the god of tradition that God may “fire the heart with his presence” (Emerson 2009, p. 207). Emerson insists thus upon cultivating the individualistic experience of the divine, especially during “our lonely hours”, when “the soul gives itself, alone, original and pure, to the Lonely, Original and Pure” (Emerson 2009, p. 208). The over-soul that “both guides and is changed by humankind”, being understood as a “human force that replaces a belief in God or the supernatural” (Wayne 2006, p. 205), has received particular attention in Chinese scholarship for several parallelisms that might be distinguished between some given facets of the over-soul and traditional Chinese concepts. For instance, Qian Mansu compares Laozi’s “Dao” with Emerson’s “over soul” and finds the following common aspects: “they are both all-inclusive, being-in-itself and being-for-itself, transcendental and perfect; they are both source and end of all things” (Qian 1996, p. 68). Fang Hanwen and Xu Wen also argue that there is a close parallelism between the concept of the over-soul and neo-Confucian concepts of Li (理) and Qi (气), as Li expresses soul’s communication between man, nature and God, while Qi is the essence of Heaven and Earth and “the meaning of individual life” (Fang and Xu 2014, pp. 165–66). Nevertheless, the one who initiates, already in 1991, a closer analysis of the core concept of over-soul is Chen Changfang, who evaluates the influence of the Confucian concept of “vast-flowing vigor” (浩然之气, hào rán zhı̄ qì) on Emerson’s thinking. Chen displays a critical reading of Emerson’s over-soul by comparing the Transcendentalist concept with Mencius’s vast-flowing vigor. He argues that the influence of the vast-flowing vigor on Emerson’s thought modeled Emerson’s view on an invisible spiritual power, but this influence was manifested upon a mind already bearing the mark of the western Christian heritage: “This metaphor of invisible spiritual power is exactly the certain incarnation of God and also the controlling power of different religions, e.g., ‘love’ in Christianity” (Chen 1991, p. 6). Chen emphasizes that “incarnation” and “love” have been placed in key points by Emerson, a gesture that actually transforms the original Confucian vision of the vast-flowing vigor. Chen’s critical reading reveals both commonalities and differences between the Chinese and the American concepts. The common characteristics may be identified in: the perspective of a peculiar individualism, allowing any individual who develops the Religions 2017, 8, 159 6 of 12 inner spirit to act outwardly in a moral manner; a vision of an omnipresent spirit that, in spite of its ubiquity remains “invisible”, i.e., accessible only to those who take the pains and have the patience to orient themselves toward revelatory experiences in their natural or social milieu; a mysterious and invisible spirit which nevertheless exerts a “controlling” influence over individuals, but in such a way that it leaves enough space for the manifestation of the individual’s inner freedom. Nevertheless, Chen emphasizes rather the differences from the original Confucian understanding of the vast-flowing vigor: “Of course, this explanation is much different from the meaning in Mencius ( . . . ). What Mencius emphasized is that inner personality, bounded by discipline, can be exteriorized into majestic moral power, and not that some omnipresent spirit can be internalized into moral meaning and image. This difference for Emerson is not clear and is ambiguous. Emerson cannot agree to put the mysterious source of human soul under any limit and bound” [authors’ translation] (Chen 1991, p. 6). In spite of allowing a margin for the discussion on the similarities between Confucian vast-flowing vigor and Emerson’s over-soul, which still presents vestigial features taken from Christianity, like “love” and “incarnation”, Chen cautions about letting too much of the Christian heritage dominate the discourse on the over-soul: his point is that the individualism made possible by Transcendentalism under the influence of Confucianism works relatively well when it is about “exteriorizing” moral power, in turn Confucian heritage would not allow the reading of an internalization of the omnipresent spirit into a moral teaching or an image. Actually Emerson was able to operate this in virtue of his conception of the “incarnation” and of the “controlling power” of love. We may understand thus that Chen presents his reservations regarding the idea that the vast-flowing vigor itself could be perfected by human individual participation and still remain without limit or unbounded. In his perspective, which follows that of Mencius, the “inner personality” that represents the internal manifestation of the spirit can only express itself in exterior only if bounded by self-discipline. It is in this point that Chen still remains attached to the necessity of guidance by sages, while Emerson’s view refuses to acknowledge a privileged status of any sage. For instance, in “The Over-Soul”, Emerson asserts: “It is of no use to preach to me from without. I can do that too easily myself. Jesus speaks always from within (...). The position men have given to Jesus, now for many centuries of history, is a position of authority.” (Emerson 2009, p. 208). In spite of this difference, Chen’s efforts toward an individualistic reading of the concentration of the vast-flowing vigor in a person’s self remains closely connected to Emerson’s vision, as he asserts: “The mandate of heaven is in me ( . . . ). The personality of things and persons is also my personality, but with different forms ( . . . ); in this case, man can just be one of Heaven-Earth-Man” [authors’ translation] (Chen 1991, p. 37). This remains an individualistic reading of Confucianism in the spirit of a Transcendentalist vision, since the mandate of heaven can become impersonated in any individual, the possibility of becoming a sage being thus open to anybody, even though the individual’s soul is not superior to the areas of the vast-flowing vigor present in Heaven or Earth. This implication of Chen’s interpretation is a departure from the Confucian insistence on the privileged status of the sage. In this point, in order to acquire a larger margin for his individualistic reading of the vast-flowing vigor, Chen links the vast-flowing vigor also to Thoreau’s individualism, since “Thoreau cares about the self-elevation of the individual soul as Daoism does: purify mind and insight, cultivate oneself and get rid of desires, obey natural law, hope that all humans can reach the state of a harmonious and free relationship with Heaven and Earth and can be fused with all things into one” [authors’ translation] (Chen 1991, p. 87). The connection between the vast-flowing vigor and the individualistic interpretations of Emerson and Thoreau also attracts the attention of Xie Zhichao, who asserts that Emerson and Thoreau shared the idea of virtue with Confucianism and even that they borrowed the term of vast-flowing vigor “to explain the importance of virtue” [authors’ translation] (Xie 2007, p. 8). Like Chen, Xie believes that Mencius’s “vast-flowing vigor” was only partially understood by Thoreau and Emerson, but he appreciates the influence of the Confucian concept on Emerson and Thoreau’s formulation of individualistic morality: Emerson and Thoreau “focus on the individual’s intuition and sensibility as Religions 2017, 8, 159 7 of 12 Confucianism advocated” [authors’ translation] (Xie 2007, p. 9). In spite of the fact that “Emerson and Thoreau criticized alienation between man and nature produced by capitalist pell-mell development” (Xie 2007, p. 8), what limits the individualistic perspective initiated by Transcendentalism is its pragmatic aspect, because in Xie’s view, Emerson thought that virtue was “more useful than power” (Xie 2007, p. 7). Xie tends thus to suspect a possible pragmatic turn in the Transcendentalist individualism’s take on Confucianism. He notes that Transcendentalism “borrows Confucian ideas about family, friends, communities to develop individualism”, but the Transcendentalist version of individualism still illustrates strong ties to the “individual’s independent freedom and individual will” [authors’ translation] (Xie 2007, p. 7) that characterizes the broader western conception of individualism. Xie appreciates thus that the result of the confluence between western individualism and Confucian perspective on the self in the Transcendentalist thought points toward the adoption of the perspective of the centrality of virtues, but this emphasis on virtues may not have the same motivations as in Confucian thought. Xie’s argument may be understood from the wider perspective of Confucianism on virtue, as in Confucianism virtues flow rather naturally from the inner self in immediate connection with family, friends, and community. That is why the way the vast-flowing vigor is internalized by the individual in Transcendentalism risks to be limited by the more general western conception of individualism, which may still involve preferences and judgments about what is useful for someone. Xie’s suspicion reflects indeed Emerson’s effort in countering the effect of the traditional philosophical problem in the west about the free choice. “What your heart thinks great, is great. The soul’s emphasis is always right”, Emerson notes in “Spiritual Laws” (Emerson 2009, p. 163). Nevertheless, Emerson’s success in this point might only be limited, since the pragmatic aspect of choice is not completely eliminated in Emerson’s argument, but rather subordinated to the power of the individual heart listening to the soul’s guidance. Qian Mansu is more optimistic than Xie Zhichao regarding the Transcendentalist individualist project based on the traditional Chinese values, as she believes that, in his conception of the over-soul, Emerson involved, besides elements from Confucianism, also moral elements of Daoism. The main reason is that, even if Emerson did not directly use Daoist texts, actually in virtue of the fact that “Confucianism focuses on the moral aspect of Dao” (Qian 1996, pp. 68–69), the dose of Daoism present in Emerson’s moral thinking involved in his presentation of the over-soul was sufficient to effectively do away with the overindividualistic perspective of the west. That is why she openly expresses her confidence that “enthusiasm” and a “living soul” characterize an essential attitude in Emerson’s individualistic thought (Qian 1996, p. 13). A key element that functions as a catalyst, in her opinion, for Emerson’s dealing away with the western problem of the free choice is his rejection of organized Christianity: “He opposed traditional Christianity. His new standard for everything is the individual alive soul (活的灵魂, huó de líng hún) and the always-updating spirit of universe (宇宙之灵, yŭ zhòu zhı̄ líng) which all the individuals’ souls are connected with. This is spiritual religion, which has nothing to do with institutions, with ritual. Under the guidance of this new faith, Emerson split with the church, starting to advocate his ideas about over-soul and self-reliance, becoming the standard bearer of American Transcendentalism” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 2). 4. Humanism and Individualism: Beyond the Temptation of Comprehensive Thinking The common aspects of the concept of the over-soul and the vast-flowing vigor have opened up a promising field of discussion regarding the Chinese perspectives on the self and the role of the individuality embedded in the intercultural, social and political milieus. As mentioned above, Chen Changfang expressed confidence that “the mandate of heaven” may be in every individual, provided that the individual works toward bettering the ones he enters in contact with, but warned about conceding too much confidence in the individual capacities to influence the vast-flowing vigor. In this point, by criticizing this Transcendentalist confidence, he also disagrees with the Transcendentalist model of contesting the authority of sages or the institutions promoting the sages’ Religions 2017, 8, 159 8 of 12 teachings. Nevertheless, Chen suggests that the ultimate authority comes from the vast-flowing vigor, which encompasses not only the humanity, but it is expressed at three levels: “man can just be one of Heaven-Earth-Man” (Chen 1991, p. 37). Writing a few years later, Qian Mansu takes this issue further, and while she is arguing in the same direction as Chen, to preserve the idea of the equal influx of the vast-flowing vigor in all the three levels of existence, she places a specific emphasis on the individualist implications of the Confucian perspective. She succeeds in securing the traditional view of the equal influx of the spirit in the three levels of existence, by using a Christian terminology: “The Chinese trinity is Heaven-Earth-Man.” (Qian 1996, p. 69). The use of the term “trinity” suggests this equality of influx and the fusion of Heaven-Earth-Man into one, and at the same time establishing a certain differentiation between them, while avoiding exclusivist individualism. In order to harmonize this version of individualism with the perspective of the traditional Confucianism on the self, Qian talks about “Confucian humanism”: “Confucian humanism has three aspects: worshiping the ‘sacred’, abstract, not concrete personified god; putting human interest above theocracy, placing man in the center of universe; focusing on the meaning of the human ethical relationships” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, pp. 90–91). The fact that Confucianism is centered so much on “human affairs and things around man” can be explained, Qian asserts (Qian 1996, p. 97), because “in the Chinese Heaven-Earth-Man trinity, Man has actual superiority to Heaven” (Qian 1996, p. 96). We may understand that, in Qian’s interpretation, this is just a superiority of the intensity of the way the vigor is made concrete within and by every individual, not a superiority in the influx of the vast-flowing vigor in every man. That is why only a few individuals can perfectly reflect the richness of the vast-flowing vigor: “sage is the man who embodies human ethical relationships perfectly” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 97). This interpretation of Qian’s view is also suggested by her peculiar statement, in the first pages of her book, recalling Protagoras’s famous humanist dictum “man is the measure of all things”, but this time reshaped as to resonate with both Transcendentalist and Confucian humanism: “Emerson’s new measure of evaluating everything is the alive soul of the individual person (...) [H]e is sure that man has an independent value from God, and he himself can live a spiritual life independently from the church. (...) Religion becomes, eventually, purely spiritual, personal and ethical” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, pp. 2–3). It is thus through the way the over-soul is individualized or given concrete intensity of life that the man advances toward the perfect virtuous status, and this personal advancement is not primarily related to following other sages’ teachings. Although referring directly to Emerson’s critical attitude toward the church, she makes it clear that her argument is actually about any organized religion or system of thought. Is, in this respect, Confucianism an exception? Qian suggests that, given the influence of Confucianism on Emerson’s conception of the over-soul, Confucianism has the humanistic resources that would allow a more individualized application and creative reinterpretation of the Confucian heritage. Nevertheless, throughout its history of thought, Confucianism allowed only a limited individualistic approach. For instance “for Confucius, there is only one truth, which is found by the ancient sage king” (Qian 1996, p. 186), while “Mencius is intolerant to different schools of thought of his time” (Qian 1996, p. 187). In other words, instead of a positive focus on the individual possibilities of advancing toward, and reaching the status of sage, Confucian teachers have preferred the negative approach, by rejecting relativism that could sow confusion in the individual souls: “Confucianism teaches people to follow ancient sages and not to deviate from ancestors’ way. But Emerson insisted that the past must not stifle alive people, and creativity is the life of the soul, imitation is suicide for the soul” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 189). The challenge that contemporary interpretations of Confucianism are facing is thus to advance more decidedly on the path of individualism. Comparing Qian Mansu’s perspective to that of the other two intellectuals of the same era (Chen Changfang and Ni Feng), it may be observed that all three place an emphasis on the necessity for the Chinese theoretical discussions about self and individualism to extend beyond the sphere of Religions 2017, 8, 159 9 of 12 interpersonal morality. Qian argues: “Confucianism has some potential for individualism, but the Confucian concept of self cannot become individualism. Because, first, Confucian self is a strictly moral concept, not a political or lawful one. It is mainly about a person’s personality. But from the perspective of politics or society, individual is a part of group, individual’s value lies in the social relationship” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 213). Qian hopes thus to initiate in her contemporary intellectual culture an endeavor to extend the inquiry and application of Confucian individualism to the political and social culture. The example of this renewal cannot exclusively come from traditional Chinese culture, because “there are some individualist elements in the Chinese traditional culture, but they have nothing to do with modern individualism” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 212). This explains the importance she finds in the reception of Transcendentalism by Chinese scholars working on Chinese humanism in the 1990s, since the Transcendentalist approach regarding the individual, an attitude that had been influenced by Confucian ideas, could constitute an important example of bringing about a Confucian-inspired modern individualism. Taking Transcendentalist individualism as a source of inspiration for the exploration of the possibilities of traditional Chinese culture to enrich the content of individualism beyond its moral applications, Chen Changfang had stated that, in principle, according to the traditional ideas of the Chinese culture, the “mandate of heaven” could be exteriorized by any individual in virtuous relationships with his environment. Nevertheless he had found a smaller margin for a creative restatement of individualism in Confucianism, than in Daoism (Chen 1991, p. 37). Writing a few years later, Qian Mansu argues that, although Daoism does offer the traditional resources for a theoretical restatement of a Chinese version of modern individualism, the major setback that would appear for the theoretician consists in Daoism’s retreat from society: “In Chinese philosophy, Daoism is the closest to individualism. Daoism advocates going back to nature ( . . . ) focusing on inner freedom ( . . . ), escaping society. ( . . . ) It is impossible for Daoism to set up a new social order to guarantee everybody’s individual freedom” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 216). Not only the moral, but also the social and political guarantee of individual freedom had also been the object of Ni Feng’s theoretical preoccupations on widening the sphere of the application of the Chinese perspective on individualism. Ni Feng argues that Thoreau’s social and political thought “centers around the person as an independent individual (独立个体, dú lì gè tı̌) and his social and natural environment”, and concludes that “the real power of a society or a country is to solve the problems of this society or country by individuals” [authors’ translation] (Ni 1993, p. 110). Although using the phrase “independent individual”, Ni Feng signals that he is not talking about an exclusivist individualism, as he conceives an independent individual, but nevertheless engaged in his social and political environments. Ni Feng suggests that this peculiar position of an individual’s independence voluntarily oriented toward solving the problems of his society and country resonates well with the traditional Chinese culture. Nevertheless, he argues that, if the society or the country benefit from the work of the individual toward practical and spiritual achievements, it follows naturally that this independence should be protected at both the societal and political level: “in Thoreau’s political thinking, his focus has always been on protecting human rights and freedom, worrying about potential harms made by the government to the individual at the level of human rights and freedom” (Ni 1993, p. 116). The discussion about the connection between Transcendentalist individualism and the extension of the sphere of traditional Chinese understanding of the self to include an individualism not only in morality, but also in society and the political community, is also raised by Xie Zhichao, who concedes that “Emerson and Thoreau found inspiration from Confucianism, especially from conceptions of individual and nature to make up for the shortcomings of Transcendentalism” [authors’ translation]. Nevertheless, “Confucianism does not talk about individualism”, but rather about the “individual living in social relationships” (Xie 2007, p. 7). Xie’s suggested solution in conciliating the two apparent contradictory views, a version of individualism generated under the influence of the Chinese culture and a version of an individual life accepted by the mainstream traditional interpretation, consists in Religions 2017, 8, 159 10 of 12 linking questions regarding individual value to the question of rights and liberties of the groups that they connect with: “According to Confucianism ( . . . ) the value of the individual belongs to different groups” (Xie 2007, p. 7). At the light of this idea, which Xie does not develop sufficiently, we may now go back to Qian Mansu’s efforts of finding a solution for a higher visibility of the individual in the social and political spheres in order to observe that she had proposed a similar view. Taking as a point of departure the situation of a minority group in China, the Jewish community of Kaifeng, Qian believes that there is no perceived gap between their Jewish and Chinese identities, at least from the point of view of the Chinese political culture. This is mainly due, in her opinion, to the adoption, in the political sphere, of an attitude of inclusiveness, which remains the merit of Confucian traditional values: “The comprehensive thinking of Confucianism determines its inclusiveness, e.g., the Jews are assimilated into Chinese in Kaifeng, China, which is different from the Jewish isolated situation in other countries” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 78). Her choice of talking about the Jewish community is meant to help her maintain that the Confucian traditional values inspired a Chinese culture of inclusiveness toward Jews for many centuries, in contrast with the negative perception of Jewish communities in the political and social cultures of the European countries. Nevertheless, although she finds positive the aspect of inclusiveness, she warns that this kind of attitude, if reinforced unilaterally by the state, or the majority groups, may lead to what she calls “nihilism”, i.e., the erasure of all that makes the specific of a particular community: “The tendency of comprehensive thinking is to find commons instead of discussing about differences (...). If taken to the extreme, this way of thinking may lead to nihilism” (Qian 1996, p. 78). Qian does not hesitate to express her opinion that even “Zhuangzi’s On Leveling All Things (《齐物论》) has this tendency to nihilism” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 78). Erasing the individual identities for the sake of inclusiveness may generate “nihilism”, a word with strong anti-social connotations. Qian indicates thus the danger of a clash of identities and the social turmoil that would be generated by misrepresented traditional ideals of inclusiveness. The temptation of comprehensive thinking, Qian suggests, characterizes all modern political cultures, as even “Emerson’s thinking tends to comprehension too, but his background of the western tradition balances it” [authors’ translation] (Qian 1996, p. 78). In other words, it is the background of the value of the individual and his freedom that discourages the all-too inclusive attitudes of majorities in western political communities, even if, as we have seen, this background had given Emerson a hard time conciliating the western philosophical problem of the free choice with his own conception of spiritual laws (Emerson 2009, p. 163). If comprehensive thinking can be kept away from radical applications, Qian expresses hopes that it may become a medium of reciprocal exchange and assimilation of wisdom, even if this means assimilating new wisdom, that doesn’t characterize a traditional culture throughout its history: according to Emerson, comprehension means to “assimilate the true and the good in anybody’s thinking” (Qian 1996, p. 78). This means that this attitude of acculturation may prove itself fruitful for both majority and minority groups, and opens up the political culture of the majority toward the assimilation of new insights, allowing fresh reevaluations of the elements provided by the majority group’s historical and cultural heritage. In Qian’s case, the Transcendentalist model appears as an important cultural opportunity to reorient the resources of the traditional Chinese culture toward a revolutionary take on the internal possibilities of the Confucian self engaged in his surrounding milieu. 5. Conclusions The Chinese cultural influence on Transcendentalism has received only a limited attention in western scholarship, given the western perception of the “Oriental” thesaurus explored by Emerson and Thoreau as a conglomerate of elements melted and reshaped into the two thinkers’ ideal of a “literary religion”. The theoretical reason behind the exploration of the Chinese influences consists Religions 2017, 8, 159 11 of 12 in showing that, in spite of the perceived Transcendentalist melting pot, traditional Chinese elements have not been distorted, but rather the intellectual and spiritual experiment performed by the Transcendentalists have given these elements a special elasticity, that has been positively received by Chinese scholars. The inquiry over the role of traditional cultural elements of Confucianism and Daoism in shaping Emerson’s or Thoreau’s conception of the individual is not strictly an issue that concerns only Chinese scholars, as it might be interpreted, but rather concerns the larger framework of cultural exchange. It seems indeed striking to learn from a Chinese scholar like Qian Mansu that Emerson, born and brought about in a cultural space external to the Chinese culture, has oriented himself toward an attitude that “refreshes the essence of Confucianism”. As we have seen, this kind of assertion is indeed backed by an argument about the importance of the openness toward “comprehensive thinking” and “inclusiveness”. As we have seen, Chinese scholars responded to the Transcendentalist attitude of using traditional Chinese terms with the willingness to explore the possibilities of western terms like “incarnation” and “trinity” in order to generate a comparative approach accessible to the modern day intellectual living in China and being acquainted with core western values. Another particularly striking assertion, coming from Chen Changfang, “the mandate of heaven is in me”, is meant to suggest to the Chinese intellectual audience that the vast-flowing vigor may become activated not only in idealized historical sages or institutions, but also within the personal self of any individual. This is one of the main aims of the debates regarding the connection between Emerson’s over-soul and the vast-flowing vigor. Although we find relative agreement in Chen Changfang, Ni Feng, Qian Mansu and Xie Zhichao that the Chinese version of individualism should avoid an exclusivist individualism that is most characteristic to western culture, their separate efforts converge in the way they are problematizing the limits imposed on the self by the Chinese traditional culture. The aim of this problematization has been the widening of the attention given to the value of the self and individual life, not only in moral matters, but also in the area of the political culture and social mentalities. Taking transcendentalism as a source of inspiration, Chen, Ni, Qian and Xie seem to agree that this renewal in cultural perception remains possible if the traditional resources of Confucianism and Daoism are involved in a creative way in cultural renewal and dialogue. One of the possible solutions regarding the place and value of the individual in Chinese contemporary political and social culture and mentalities has been suggested by Xie Zhichao, and in a more detailed manner by Qian Mansu. She argues that a model of “inclusiveness” should be pursued, as it has been fruitful in the past and in addition has been inspired by the Chinese traditional culture. At the same time she insists upon refreshing the essence of this model by introducing new perceptions of the Chinese traditional culture that have generated social change in other cultural spaces. She intends thus to raise awareness about the positive impact of the model of Transcendentalist individualism upon humanism as understood in China. Qian’s term “assimilation”, and her example of the Jewish community of Kaifeng, may raise questions about Qian’s model of cultural exchange. Nonetheless, the emphasis she places on the necessity of avoiding “nihilism” reveals her view on refreshing the idea of assimilation itself in the Chinese intellectual understanding. That is why, following the Transcendentalist model, she talks about assimilating wisdom, a dynamic attitude which, in her opinion, should be reciprocal: the Jewish community was “assimilated” in the sense that the Chinese larger culture assimilated “the true and the good” in their thinking, and also that the “the true and the good” of the Chinese traditional culture has been assimilated by the Jewish community in Kaifeng during the centuries that they lived in China and enjoyed a wider freedom, than in the European countries, to identify common grounds, to link their Jewish and wider identities together. This is a rather optimistic reading of this phenomenon of acculturation as a reciprocal assimilation of wisdom, but Qian hopes to present the model of Transcendentalist individualism as an opportunity to refresh the debate on cultural exchange, and provide a reinforced theoretical model for promoting a stronger conception of individualism embedded in the Chinese framework of thought. Qian Mansu’s Religions 2017, 8, 159 12 of 12 model of “comprehensive thinking”, together with elements of the theoretical interpretations of Chen Changfang, Ni Feng, Xie Zhichao, Fang Hanwen and Xu Wen on the use of Confucianism and Daoism by Emerson and Thoreau, show how Transcendentalist individualism has brought, in the late twentieth century and contemporary Chinese intellectual space, a new opportunity for inquiry upon the resources of the Chinese traditional culture to reinvigorate the theoretical debates about humanism and the value of the individual. Author Contributions: S.Z. had the original idea, and designed the work plan after consulting with I.U. S.Z. translated the Chinese texts into English and received assistance from I.U. regarding the philosophical implications of the translated texts for a western audience. Both S.Z. and I.U. worked separately and jointly on several drafts before assembling the final draft. I.U. gave the English formulation and style of the text, and S.Z. made the final revision. Conflicts of Interest: The authors declare no conflict of interest. References Chen, Changfang. 1991. Thoreau and China (梭罗与中国). Taibei: San Min Book. Dilworth, David A. 2010. The Over-Soul. In Critical Companion to Ralph Waldo Emerson; a Literary Reference to His Life and Work. Edited by Tiffany K. Wayne. New York: Facts on File, pp. 206–9. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 2009. Essays and Lectures. Overland Park: Digireads. Fang, Hanwen, and Wen Xu. 2014. Interpretation and Reconstruction of Emerson’s Transcendentalism on Chinese Confucian Humanity Thinking (美国爱默生超验主义对中国儒学人文思想的阐释与再建). Social Sciences in Guangdong 2: 162–69. Ni, Feng. 1993. The Political Thought of Henry D. Thoreau (梭罗政治思想述评). American Studies Quarterly 4: 107–28. Qian, Mansu. 1996. Emerson and China: Reflecting on Individualism (爱默生和中国：对个人主义的反思). Beijing: SDX Joint Publishing Company. Thoreau, Henry D. 1989. Walden. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Versluis, Arthur. 1993. American Transcendentalism and Asian Religions. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wayne, Tiffany K. 2006. Encyclopedia of Transcendentalism; the Essential Guide to the Lives and Works of Transcendentalist Writers. New York: Facts on File. Xie, Zhichao. 2007. The Meeting of American Transcendentalism and Chinese Four Books (美国超验主义与中国 《四书》的碰撞). Social Sciences in Hunan 3: 6–9. © 2017 by the authors. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introductory Remarks Individual Life in Social Relationships The Vast-Flowing Vigor and the Over-Soul Humanism and Individualism: Beyond the Temptation of Comprehensive Thinking Conclusions 
work_5s5jgs53enezjge3b62d2pbf7u	----	The echoing greens: The neo-romanticism of earth first! and reclaim the streets in the U.K. Skip to main content Home Research Outputs People Faculties, Schools & Groups Research Areas Accountancy Africa Ageing Agricultural Management Agriculture Agriculture & Food Animal Care Any Arts Arts & Humanities Biomedical Sciences Biomedical/Medical Sciences/Health Biotechnology & Informatics Business Administration Cancer & Neurodegeneration Cell Signalling Chemical Engineering Chemistry Civil Law Computer Science Computing Social Sciences Criminal Law Education Energy Engineering Fisheries Food Food Analysis Food Management Fossil Fuels Gene Expression Health Higher Education Housing Humanities Infectious Diseases Journalism Education Land Management Law Management & Commerce Mathematics Mechanical Engineering Medical Science Other Miscellaneous Categories Peace Studies Physics Renewable Energy Sources Science & Technology Seafood Vegetables Research Centres/Groups Air Quality Management Resource Centre Applied Marketing Research Group Applied Statistics Group Bat Conservation Research Lab Big Data Enterprise and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory Bristol Bio-Energy Centre Bristol Centre for Economics and Finance Bristol Centre for Linguistics Bristol Economic Analysis Bristol Group for Water Research Bristol Inter-disciplinary Group for Education Research Bristol Leadership and Change Centre Bristol Robotics Laboratory Centre for Appearance Research Centre for Applied Legal Research Centre for Architecture and Built Environment Research Centre for Fine Print Research Centre for Health and Clinical Research Centre for Machine Vision Centre for Moving Image Research Centre for Public Health and Wellbeing Centre for Research in Biosciences Centre for Sustainable Planning and Environments Centre for Transport and Society Centre for Water, Communities and Resilience Collaborative Entrepreneurship Research Group Commercial Law Research Unit Computer Science Research Centre Creative Technologies Laboratory Data Research Access and Governance Network (DRAGoN) Digital Cultures Research Centre Document and Location Research Group Education Innovation Centre Engineering Modelling and Simulation Research Group Environmental Law and Sustainability Research Group Global Crime, Justice and Security Research Group Human Resources, Work and Employment Innovation, Operations Management and Supply Institute for Sustainability, Health and Environment Institute of Bio-Sensing Technology Mathematics and Statistics Research Group Moving Image Research Group Psychological Sciences Research Group Regional History Centre Research Group in Mathematics and its Applications Robotic Engineering and Computing for Healthcare - FET Science Communication Unit Social Justice Research Group Social Science Research Group Software Engineering Research Group Sustainable Economies Research Group (SERG) The WHO Collaborating Centre for Healthy Urban Environment Unconventional Computing Group Visual Culture Research Group Browse By Year By Author By Type About OAI Research Repository All Output Person Project Advanced Search The echoing greens: The neo-romanticism of earth first! and reclaim the streets in the U.K. Hunt, Stephen E. Home Outputs Authors Stephen E. Hunt stephen.hunt@uwe.ac.uk Abstract Influenced by American naturalist William Bartram, Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge provided much of the literary heritage for American Transcendentalists, such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and succeeding nature appreciators Henry David Thoreau and Walt Whitman. The network was born of disillusionment with the perceived limitations of Greenpeace and the Sierra Club, coupled with inspiration from the bandit spirit of Abbey's Monkey Wrench Gang. In this 1975 novel, Hayduke and his comrades take radical direct action in defense of the wilderness. The area next to Dungeness nuclear power station is an example. This is one of the largest expanses of shingle in Europe, through which sea kale and viper's bugloss push up, next to extraordinary Edwardian chalets. While the surrounding area, designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI), boasts significant ecological diversity, EF!'s English debut was about opposing nuclear power, not the kind of wilderness defense called for in Oregon or Clayoquot Sound. Citation Hunt, S. E. (2013). The echoing greens: The neo-romanticism of earth first! and reclaim the streets in the U.K. Capitalism Nature Socialism, 24(2), 83-101. https://doi.org/10.1080/10455752.2013.784526 Journal Article Type Article Publication Date Jan 6, 2013 Journal Capitalism, Nature, Socialism Print ISSN 1045-5752 Electronic ISSN 1548-3290 Publisher Taylor & Francis (Routledge) Peer Reviewed Peer Reviewed Volume 24 Issue 2 Pages 83-101 DOI https://doi.org/10.1080/10455752.2013.784526 Keywords romanticism, Earth First!, Reclaim the Streets, new social movements, ecological activism Public URL https://uwe-repository.worktribe.com/output/931737 Publisher URL http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10455752.2013.784526 Related Public URLs http://www.cnsjournal.org/ Additional Information Additional Information : This is an Accepted Manuscript of an article published by Taylor & Francis Group in Capitalism Nature Socialism on 24 May 2014, available online at: http://www.tandfonline.com/10.1080/10455752.2013.784526 Files Hunt NeoRomanticism abstract UWE.docx (15 Kb) Document Download Hunt NeoRomanticism abstract UWE.pdf (216 Kb) PDF Download Preview Echoing Greens Final proofs March 2013.pdf (1.4 Mb) PDF Download Preview Organisation(s) Library Careers and Inclusivity You might also like Prospects for Kurdish ecology initiatives in Syria and Turkey: Democratic confederalism and social ecology (2017) Journal Article Skill up! 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work_5ywvamgr2fe6nirvvwc7w3vmx4	----	scs_a12 Horiz. antropol. vol.3 no.se Porto Alegre 2007 Political ecology as ethnography: a theoretical and methodological guide Paul Elliott Little University of Brasilia - Brazil ABSTRACT Some of the most important recent transformations in the ecological paradigm are the development of transdisciplinary syntheses between the social and natural sciences, the heuristic proposal of epistemological symmetry and the methodological dialogue with complexity studies. These transformations form the groundwork for a discussion of the contributions of anthropology to the new field of study of political ecology. After the delimitation of the sub-field of the "ethnography of socioenvironmental conflicts," the specific practices of multi-actor ethnography, which identifies and differentiates between social and “natural” actors, and of the use of multiple spatial and temporal levels of analysis are delineated. The article ends with a brief discussion of the academic, critical and policy implications of political ecology research. Keywords: ethnography, political ecology, socioenvironmental conflicts, fractal analysis. Introduction During the last twenty years, “political ecology” has emerged as a new field of research bringing together human ecology’s focus on the interrelations between human societies and their respective biophysical environments and political economy’s analyses of the structural power relations occurring between these societies (Little, 1999a; Sheridan, 1988; Stonich, 1993). This field is the result of an intensive dialogue between the disciplines of biology, anthropology, geography, history and political science, creating a unique transdisciplinary space within the natural and social sciences. Against the grain of much of the literature on transdisciplinarity, I posit that this space does not eliminate differences between the disciplines, and in fact may even highlight them. Each of these disciplinary matrixes deploys its concepts and techniques within the field of political ecology in order to shed light over different aspects of ecological relationships emerging from new realities. This article seeks to map some of the conceptual and methodological contributions that anthropology, and more specifically ethnography, has to offer to political ecology. Notwithstanding this emphasis on ethnography, I will not present here any ethnographic material, since my analysis will be limited to expressly methodological and theoretical matters. For ethnographic analyses within a political ecology framework, I refer the reader to some of my previous works (Little, 1992, 1999b, 2001, 2006). Politicizing and complexifying the ecological approach The multiple sub-fields of the ecological paradigm The word “ecology” was first used in 1858 by the U.S. naturalist Henry David Thoreau, and acquired a properly scientific sense from German biologist Ernst Haeckel in 1866. Since then, the concept of ecology experienced a dual development: one within civil society as the ecology social movement, and the other within academia as a scientific discipline (Bramwell, 1989). My interest in this article is limited to the latter development. In the early twentieth century, ecology was established as a sub-discipline of biology known as “natural ecology”. During the 1930s, “human ecology” was founded, applying the methods of natural ecology to human societies (Hawley, 1950). At around the same time, the anthropologist Julian Steward began to analyze the cultural dimensions of the ecological adaptation of indigenous groups (Steward, 1938), later on codifying this line of research as “cultural ecology” (Steward, 1955). Cultural ecology then branched out within anthropology, engendering such sub-fields as ethnoecology (Conklin, 1954), neo-functionalist ecology (Rappaport, 1968), human ecology (Moran, 1990), processual ecology (Bennett, 1993), spiritual ecology (Kinsley, 1995) and political ecology, which is our main interest here (Schmink; Wood, 1987).1 These multiple sub-fields of the ecological paradigm reveal a constant increase in the scope of its application, and represents ecological science’s response to the new political and environmental realities faced by contemporary societies. Two of today’s chief forces are the rapid acceleration of globalizing processes during the last half-century and the increasing seriousness of 1 Each of these sub-fields has produced an extensive literature. The few references presented here are either foundational or paradigmatic texts. the environmental crisis on a planetary scale. The current phase of globalization unfolds within an expansion of the capitalist system, under the aegis of neoliberal ideology and instances of political neo-colonialism and cultural neo-imperialism. As for the environmental crisis, in addition to planetary problems such as global warming, the growth of the hole in the ozone layer and changes in oceanic currents, at a regional level recurrent environmental crises – such as desertification, flash floods in urban areas, natural resource depletion, air, water and soil contamination, climate change and loss of biodiversity – have emerged. It is precisely within and against this background that the emergence of political ecology as a field of research should be understood. It is necessary to underscore that political ecology does not aim to “correct” or to “replace” the aforementioned sub-fields of ecology. Each of them produces its own body of knowledge and offers its own insights, which can be used to understand different dimensions of socioenvironmental realities. The introduction of political economy within the ecological paradigm has had, however, the unique effect of revealing the clashes amongst productive systems, thus highlighting the connections between economic changes and the environmental crisis. In this broader picture, anthropology is particularly useful for the analysis of the culturally specific modes of ecological adaptation of diverse social groups – the productive systems and technologies they employ, the natural resources they exploit and the ideologies they use to justify their mode of adaptation and territorial claims - as well as the dynamic and contested interaction stemming from the clash between these modes of adaptation. The focus on social groups invariably raises the issue of conflicting environmental practices in such a way that the analysis of so-called “socioenvironmental conflicts” has become a central element of political ecology. The analysis of such conflicts is not limited to the flow and depletion of natural resources. It seeks to answer questions such as: who uses these resources? when? for what purposes? at what cost? with what impacts? Crossing the divide between nature and culture Ecological research works on both sides of the divide between the biophysical world (“nature”) and the social world (“culture”). This task is especially difficult due to the large gap, both epistemological and institutional, between the natural and the social sciences. If the social sciences face the challenge of incorporating the dynamics of the biophysical world within its practice, the natural sciences face the reverse challenge: it needs to take the human world and its political and socioeconomic structure into account in its understanding of natural cycles. Thus, for a truly ecological science to exist, a sustained dialogue between the social and the natural sciences, focusing on the dynamic and interdependent relationship between the biophysical and the social worlds, is necessary. This requires certain paradigmatic changes in scientific practice at the epistemological, methodological and institutional levels. One of the solutions to this difficulty lays in the proposal to eliminate, once and for all, the nature/culture distinction. Haraway (1992, p. 42) coins the concept of “cyborgs”, defined as “compounds of the organic, the technical, the mythical, the textual, and the political”. Latour (2004, p. 373) uses the concept of “the collective”, which he defines as “a procedure for assembling associations of humans and non-humans”. Rabinow (1992) argues that we are entering the epoch of “biosociality” in which nature will become artificial just as culture will become natural. Notwithstanding the importance of this conceptual move and its implications for research, I suggest that its radicalism presents an exceedingly strong dose of anthropocentric hubris, insofar as it postulates that human beings are so powerful, so omnipresent, that we have already left our mark throughout the entire biophysical world – which is clearly an overstatement. The Sun, the Moon, gravitational and electromagnetic forces, black holes, the Milky Way, just to mention a few, can all exist quite well without human beings, and thus are neither cyborgs nor collectives, and do not dwell in the epoch of biosociality. Another way out of this deadlock, which I consider to be more fruitful, is the elaboration of transdisciplinary syntheses. Goodman and Leatherman (1998), for instance, are shaping a new “biocultural synthesis” in which the contribution of disciplines situated on both sides of the nature/culture divide are utilized within a unified theoretical framework. Within ecological theory, Holling and Sanderson (1996) acknowledge the differential dynamics between social and natural systems in order to build models of ecologic dynamics that emerge from the interface between the two kinds of systems (see also Bateson, 1972). The building of an ecological paradigm capable of incorporating these syntheses implies a series of heuristic challenges requiring further explicative procedures. The notion of “epistemological symmetry” holds that the causes of a certain phenomenon can originate from both the social and the natural worlds (Barnes; Bloor, 1982). In many cases, social scientists look only for social causes and ignore biophysical causes. Vayda and Walters (1999) are critical of much of the political ecology literature which privileges a priori the political dimension at the expense of other dimensions, particularly biophysical dynamics. When analytically implementing such symmetry, social sciences have used the concept of “natural agency”, according to which the forces of nature are regarded as a sort of actor, in the sense that they “act” upon a specific reality, which is nonetheless qualitatively different from social actors, since they lack “will” or “intentionality”. Since both kinds of actors are treated with the potential to influence the construction of a particular landscape in this type of analysis, the principle of epistemological symmetry is applied. Law (1987, p. 114), in a historical study, asserts that in order to properly explain the technological developments of Portuguese navigation in the sixteenth century it is necessary to “treat the natural and social adversaries in terms of a common analytical lexicon”. On the other hand, natural scientists, which tend to deal exclusively with biophysical causes, also need new concepts in order to incorporate anthropic action as an integral element in their analyses. In order to do so, the political ecology researcher should map the main biophysical forces – such as the geological configuration of an area, the biological evolution of the flora and fauna and the flow of water resources – together with the chief human activities, such as agricultural systems, industrial effluents discharged in the environment and the transportation and communication infrastructure installed in the area. Besides being attentive to both sides of causality, the researcher also seeks to identify the socioenvironmental realities emerging from the interactions between the biophysical and the social worlds that only an ecological approach is capable of revealing. Ecology’s transdisciplinarity Much of political ecology research directly targets specific problems, be they environmental, territorial or health related. These problems are manifested in multiple “spheres of interaction,” each of which has its own rules and norms of functioning. When one thinks, for instance, of viral interactions, one is apparently operating within the sphere of epidemiology. But when a world pandemic such as HIV/AIDS is at stake, it is also necessary to understand sexual behavior (sphere of sexuality), migration flows (demographic sphere), human inter-relations (socio-psychological sphere), market forces (economic sphere) and immunological breakthroughs (medical sphere), just to mention a few. Ecological sciences always deal with many different spheres of interaction, thus requiring a transdisciplinary approach. This is why political ecology incorporates concepts, methods and foci from disciplines as diverse as anthropology, human ecology, geography, medicine, political economy, botany and history. There are numerous ways of conflating scientific disciplines, each of which produces diverse transdisciplinary configurations. What is ecology’s transdisciplinary configuration? A basic guideline is the notion of “holism”, understood as an approach that “ascribes priority to an integral understanding of phenomena, as opposed to the analytical procedure in which their components are taken in isolation” (Houaiss Electronic Dictionary, 2004). Given the complexity of the phenomena under analysis, holism is extremely difficult (if not impossible) to accomplish. As such, it is difficult to completely overcome reductionism, given the fact that all ecological research requires some kind of geographical and thematic delimitation. Simultaneously, holism should not be seen as an invitation for carrying out what Haraway (1988) has dubbed the “God trick”, that is, present a seemingly an omnipresent vision of reality which only God could have. I identify three principles which are part of the basic ecological paradigm, with each particular application of each varying according to the subject and site of research: 1) the central focus of ecological research is always relationships – social, natural or socioenvironmental – and not substantive objects. Concepts such as trophic chains, territorial conflicts, energy flows, clash of values and homeostasis, for instance, need to be understood in relational terms; 2) the use of contextualist analyses which place relationships within their respective historical and environmental references is a second principle. The concepts of niche and adaptation, central to ecological analysis, are only meaningful when the specific context in which flows and relationships take place is known; 3) ecology uses processual methodologies where the analysis of flows (of energy, of people, of seeds, of ideas, of pollen, etc.) and the identification of their internal dynamics are an essential part of research. The concepts of dialectics, stochasticity, dynamicity and evolution convey such a processual dimension. The use of these three principles during the last two decades has brought the ecological paradigm closer to the field of research known as “complexity studies” (Kauffman, 1991; Waldrop, 1992). I believe a dialogue between political ecology and the complexity paradigm would serve as a good guard against any tendency towards reductionism in ecological theory. The ethnography of socioenvironmental conflicts Anthropological definition and delimitation of conflict As stated above, the analysis of socioenvironmental conflicts is an intrinsic element of the political ecology approach. Socioenvironmental conflicts refer to a complex set of struggles amongst social groups stemming from their different modes of ecological inter-relationship. A properly anthropological concept of conflict goes beyond a focus upon political and economic struggles to incorporate cosmological, ritual, identitary and moral elements that are not always clearly perceived from other disciplinary perspectives. The anthropological perspective can detect latent conflicts that are not yet politically manifest in the formal public sphere because the social groups involved are politically marginalized or “invisible” to the State. Since anthropologists work directly with many such groups – indigenous peoples, maroon societies, rubber-tappers, riverside fishing communities, shantytown dwellers – the ethnography of socioenvironmental conflicts reveals the latent foundations of conflicts and places such marginalized groups in the foreground of analysis. In this sense, the ethnographic method is a significant tool which anthropology has to offer to political ecology. By putting conflict itself, rather than a particular social group, at the center of ethnography the anthropologist is forced to identify the diverse social actors and environmental resources involved in the conflict, analyze these actors as they interact with each other and with their biophysical and social environment, as well as survey each group’s claims and their respective shares of formal and informal power. The mapping of these political interactions helps the researcher to understand the particular dynamics of each conflict. A conflict can oscillate over several years between the latent and manifest modes: there can be moments when the conflict is very “hot”, then it looses its momentum and visibility, only to “heat up” again afterwards. An understanding of the conflict’s internal dynamics includes identifying the polarization of stances and the mapping of alliances and coalitions, always bearing in mind that throughout the conflict’s trajectory the position of the different groups may change, such that former allies become enemies and vice-versa. The ethnographer should also analyze the numerous tactics and strategies used by social groups and catalogue the diverse attempts at conflict resolution. Thus understood, the ethnography of social conflicts fits well into the ecological paradigm: it focuses on relationships; it makes use of a processual methodology; and it contextualizes the knowledge produced. Multi-actor ethnography The ethnography of socioenvironmental conflicts diverges from traditional ethnography in various essential aspects. First, the focus of ethnography is not the way of life of a social group, but socioenvironmental conflicts and the multiple social and natural interactions upon which they are grounded. Second, it deals simultaneously with several social groups, rather than just one. Third, the geographic scope is rarely limited to the biophysical environment of the local group, since it incorporates several levels of socio-political articulation. Finally, while traditional ethnographies dedicate one chapter to the natural habitat of the group, in the ethnography of socioenvironmental conflicts the biophysical environment becomes a crucial element in almost all subjects to be tackled. One of the first tasks faced by the ethnographer is to identify and analyze the main social actors involved in the conflict, a task that becomes complicated when the number of such actors is high. Besides the incorporation of marginalized social groups, multi-actor ethnography needs to present “phantasmagorical” social actors, who are not physically present at the site of the conflict but nevertheless exert influence from a distance (Giddens, 1990). This type of ethnography is never exhaustive, since the ethnographer should provide “equal treatment” to multiple groups, thus reducing the depth of each one of them (Bennett, 1969). Once gain, the goal is not descriptive ethnography, but the study of specific conflicts and inter-relations by means of the ethnographic method. Another fundamental element of this kind of ethnography is the identification of interests and claims to land and natural resources, followed by a depiction of the interactions between each of the social actors within the political sphere. The ethnographer should also identify the different discourses in conflict and the respective bases of their political and cultural legitimacy, whether these are explicit or not. A further step is to analyze the differential quotas of power of each of the social actors. In many cases, the exercise of power does not take place in formal arenas, forcing the researcher to describe veiled power games – whether these occur in the State’s official records (as in the case of false land titles), or in the darkness of night in the countryside (as in murders carried out by hit men). These research tasks require the ethnographer to gain access and establish a dialogue with all main social actors in conflict (that is, both with the “bad guys” and the “good guys”). In order to do so, the ethnographer needs a minimal dose of empathy with these social actors, even those whom one does not like personally – be they garimpeiros (wildcat gold prospectors), drug dealers, ranchers, oil companies, clandestine logging firms, etc. - since it is almost impossible to write a good ethnography about a group one disdains. The effort to establish dialogue with members of distinct social groups and to understand their respective points of view requires that the ethnographer set aside his own values to some degree, as well as avoid explicit support for one side in the conflict. The ethnography of “natural agency” The biophysical forces involved in conflicts, particularly those related to natural resources, represent much more than the mere context in which social forces act. Biophysical forces operate according to their own internal dynamics, which constantly modify the ecological relations in dispute. In recent works, environmental historians propose that phenomena such as the depletion of natural resources, prolonged droughts, extensive forest fires, desertification and pandemics could be comprehended as kinds of “agency” of the biophysical world, radically different from “social agency” (Merchant, 1989; Worster, 1993; Dean, 1995). In socioenvironmental conflicts, the interactions between human and natural agencies must be analyzed in order to clarify the dynamics of the conflict. This interaction does not operate according to a type of environmental determinism – see Roosevelt (1991) and Diamond (1997) for opposing perspectives – but points to a reciprocal, two-way relationship between natural and social agencies (Levins; Lewontin, 1985). When biophysical forces are understood as a type of non-social agency, social concepts such as sovereignty and autonomy, for instance, need to be reformulated (Kuehls, 1996). If a social group lacks power (or knowledge) to “restrain” or “control” the action of biophysical forces within a territory, the sovereignty and the autonomy of this group are compromised. Natural agency must be understood as inherently multiple, that is, as a variety of agencies related to many natural agents, and not as a homogeneous agency stemming from a generic “nature.” A gorilla’s agency, which might be best explained by a primatologist, is radically different from a volcano’s agency, better understood by a volcanologist. Recent ethnographical analyses have incorporated such natural agents as the El Niño ocean current (Meltzoff; Lichtensztajn, 1999) and hurricanes (Emanuel; Greenberg, 1999) as integral parts of the socioenvironmental dynamics. Fractal spatial scaling During its first century of existence as an academic discipline, anthropology became specialized in the study of local phenomena, producing rich and dense ethnographical works amongst small-scale societies. With the progressive extension of anthropological scope to the study of rural societies, metropolitan neighborhoods and, later on, globalization processes, the ethnographic method had to face (and is still facing) the challenge of elaborating new analytical tools. The study of contemporary planetary struggles for environmental resources, which political ecology proposes to undertake, urgently demands the incorporation of other levels of articulation and analysis (Bennett, 1976) with the purpose of better understanding the so-called “biosphere people” (Dasmann, 1988) and their unprecedented socioenvironmental impacts. A social actor might operate on local, regional, national or global levels of articulation. In general, each social actor has a specific level that works as its main level of operation, aiming to maximize its political efficacy. A transnational corporation, for instance, might be very effective at a global level, but be unable to meet its production goals at a local level. An indigenous community, to take another example, might have a significant political presence in a regional ethnic federation, but might have little impact at a national level. The main level of articulation thus functions as a reference for the description of further relations that social actors maintain with groups or institutions functioning at higher or lower levels. When strategically approached, these “trans-level relations” can be a source of power to social actors. Local groups might find support from social aactors operating at regional, national or international levels in order to promote their specific interests by actions such as applying political pressure, a mass-media campaign or blocking the construction of a large-scale development project. The mobilization of social actors located at other levels rarely functions in a mechanical way, tending to be volatile and irregular, since it depends on the political and social context, on the proximity and intensity of relations and on the particular issues addressed (Ribeiro; Little, 1998). Local social actors may be able to “skip” levels by contacting social actors operating on an international level that have common interests as a way of circumventing hostile regional and national social actors. The analysis of this web of relationships goes far beyond a “contextualization”, aiming to expose how these trans-level connections are established, cultivated and activated during the different moments of a conflict. Similar multi-level dynamics occur with natural agents, but instead of local, regional, national or global articulations, they are articulated through distinctive scales of organism, population, habitat, ecosystem, biomes, continent and planet, also portraying inter-scale relations such as intercontinental migration, climatic catastrophes and rapid landscape changes. In an effort to deal with these complex trans-level relations produced by social actors, by natural agents and between each other, I make use of the concept of fractal scales, where these relations reveal self-similar, but irregular, connections, as in geometrical objects (Briggs, 1992). The use of the fractal analogy helps the ethnographer to refine systemic analyses, in which each level is hierarchically and functionally dependent upon each other, and neo-Marxist approaches, where higher levels control and determine the functioning of lower levels, in order to account for the sui generis manner in which contingent factors combine with structural ones. The ethnographer of socioenvironmental conflicts has the responsibility of indentifying and mapping these multiple fractal connections. Although this task carries some affinities with what Marcus (1995) calls “multi-sited ethnography”, where the ethnographer follows a social group through its cultural manifestations in different parts of the world, there is a basic difference: the delimitation of multi-sited ethnography is provided by the social group under study, whereas in multi-actor ethnography this delimitation is established by the dynamics of the conflict. In summary, the challenges for political ecology consist in identifying the distinct levels in which social actors and natural agents operate and to describe the way in which they interact transversally in the complex process of sociopolitical and environmental struggle. The strategic level of the region While acknowledging that multiple social and natural actors operate at distinct levels, the ethnographic analysis of a socioenvironmental conflict still demands some type of biogeographical delimitation. The ethnographer might choose any level for this delimitation – local, regional, national, global – and from this perspective map out the higher and lower trans- level fractal connections engendered by the actors. For our purposes, I would like to stress the intermediary level of “region” as a strategic delimitation to explore these relations, since it offers insights not necessarily revealed in studies that focus on other levels. Environmental historians have successfully used regional delimitations based in biomes, as in the case of the Brazilian Atlantic Forest (Dean 1995) or the Great Plains of the US and Canada (Worster, 1979). Research on Amazonia has used the biogeographical delimitation of hydrographic basins, which also display fractal scale dynamics (Little, 2001). A hydrographic basin is simultaneously a geographical entity that contains multiple ecosystems; an area where diverse social groups, with their respective socioeconomic organizations, construct a particular way of life; and the locus for political and environmental mobilization around the socioenvironmental conflict. Still another form of biogeographical delimitation is found in Bennett’s (1969) concept of “socionatural region”, defined as: “a system in which diverse human groups have adapted in patterned ways to plant, animal and environmental resources, to one another, to hierarchical market and administrative forces, and to pressure groups and other forms of quasi-organized social and political interest” (Smith, Reeves, 1989, p. 14). Multiple temporal scales A political ecology perspective entails the enlargement of the temporal reference of the research in order to encompass geological (expressed in billions of years), biological (expressed in millions of years) and social (expressed in thousands of years) temporalities. As part of this endeavor, the concept of landscape is of great utility, since it includes both human and biophysical dimensions and registers climatic, vegetational, faunal and oceanic changes, which only become be visible after an extended period of time. The dialectical combination of natural and social processes produces a unique historical dynamic, systematically approached by the field of research of historical ecology (Crumley, 1994; Balée, 1998). Aiming to understand landscape transformations, the political ecologist might employ the historiography of “long duration”, developed by French historians of the 1920s and later expanded upon by Fernand Braudel (1976). The field of research of environmental history represents a recent attempt to incorporate temporalities of the biophysical world into the analysis of human history. Under this new framework, historians formerly restricted to social history, and geologists and biologists, who reconstructed the natural history of a place, combine their perspectives within an ecological paradigm with the purpose of understanding the landscape’s long term transformations, based on the analysis of distinct waves of human occupation and their respective socioenvironmental impacts. The uses of political ecology Having presented the theoretical and methodological challenges of the ethnographic variant of political ecology, a brief reflection on its practices and uses in relation to society in general is in order. Aiming to clarify the ethnographer’s position vis-à-vis the understanding of the conflict, I assume that he or she is a social actor who “participates” in the conflict, though playing a differential role with regard to the other social actors. For the ethnographer, there is no place outside the conflict where one is able to “impartially” observe it. On the contrary, the ethnographer is intentionally situates him/herself along the interstices of the conflict, so as to investigate the nature of the connections between the groups in conflict and constructing his/her own place in order to produce knowledge about the conflict. The ethnographic goal is, therefore, to carry out an ecological analysis of the conflict which: 1) identifies and differentiates the variety of socioenvironmental actors involved; 2) incorporates their multiple points of view and interests; 3) maps their trans-level relations; and 4) documents ethnographically the history of the conflict, with its ad hoc political alliances, its mutual accommodations, its negotiations and its political ruptures. When conducting research equipped with this refined set of analytical and communicative tools, the ethnographer generates strategic knowledge, one that incorporates multiple points of view. In some cases, the ethnographer possesses information that no other social actor has access to, which endows him with a specific quota of power within the conflict’s political arena. The very option of conducting ethnography of a particular conflict represents a political decision and, in the process, transforms a social problem into an object of scientific scrutiny. With regard to the conceptual consequences of the social analysis, political ecology research not only contributes to our understanding of the conflicts, but also gives visibility to marginalized socioenvironmental actors, revealing oft-ignored connections and relations of power. This knowledge, therefore, contains the potential for being appropriated by the very social actors involved, and may even promote the questioning of existing public policies and the proposal of new forms of action and public control. When presenting diverse social groups, the ethnographer emphasizes their respective claims as well as the internal and external basis of their legitimacy. In many cases, this provides particular attention to marginalized or phantasmagoric groups. The identification of the rights in conflict has the capacity of enlarging the scope of the political debate in order to encompass cultural or social rights previously ignored by the State and by hegemonic actors. As such, both hegemonic and the counter-hegemonic discourses and their relations are brought to the fore. The ethnography of socioenvironmental conflicts raises a series of ethical questions about scientific research in itself. The ethnographer needs to be careful that the information published by him/her is not directly used against the interests of the person or group from which he/she gained the information based upon relations of mutual respect and confidence. While recognizing that the researcher never fully controls the knowledge he/she produces once it enters in public sphere, awareness of the conflict’s power setting and its historical dynamic serves to orient the management of the knowledge produced. Moreover, any ethnographical attempt to deal with multiple groups needs to ensure that it presents the attributes and claims as well as the failures and maneuvers of all the groups involved, eluding the tendency of hiding “unfavorable” data related to one’s “preferred” group. That is the only way for a researcher to be an honest and open knowledge broker. The description and analysis of cases of socioenvironmental change, along with their respective social and environmental impacts, is a form of expanding the debate beyond strictly political considerations. In many cases, the ethnographer needs to support his/her analyses with quantitative and qualitative data produced by natural scientists with the original aim of dealing with phenomena such as the depletion of petroleum deposits, changes in the pluvial regime, soil erosion and air, water and soil contamination. The integration of anthropologists into transdisciplinary groups helps to incorporate to the study the sociocultural impacts of biophysical changes and, thus, to enlarge our understanding of the conflict. Knowledge generated by research in political ecology might also serves as inputs for the reformulation and implementation of public policies that deal with the claims of the social groups in conflict. By exposing hidden or latent aspects of the conflict at stake and giving visibility to marginalized groups, the anthropologist might even contribute to an eventual resolution of the conflict. And, in so far as he earns the trust of the main agents involved in the conflict, the researcher occupies a privileged position in the mediation between the actors involved. 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work_66ut2kchonhthbghgn53mtr7u4	----	REFLECTIONS IN FAMILY MEDICINE How I Think: Perspectives on Process, People, Politics, and Presence William B. Ventres, MD, MA The author, a seasoned midcareer family physician, summarizes his personal practice philosophy as it relates to encounters with patients. By focusing on 3 aspects of care—process issues, people issues, and political issues— he explores the unique characteristics of his clinical decision-making process. He concludes by noting that it is through examination of the question “How do I think in the work I do?” that family physicians can best bring their signature presences to their encounters with patients and their families. ( J Am Board Fam Med 2012;25:930 –936.) Keywords: Culture, Family Medicine, Medical Education, Narrative, Philosophy, Primary Care Over the past several years, 2 books have been published entitled How Doctors Think. One, by Har- vard hematologist– oncologist Jerome Groopman, covers how medical subspecialists see and respond to their professional responsibilities.1 The other, by the medical humanities scholar Kathryn Montgom- ery, is an ethnographic review of hospital-based clinical decision-making by academic general inter- nists.2 Reading these books inspired me to consider how I think as a seasoned family physician. My current thinking clearly reflects my history. I trained in the mid-1980s at a residency program that was heavy on management of both in-hospital and ambulatory conditions but light on the process of clinical care. My schooling took place in block rotations, all narrowly circumscribed by patients’ ages or sex, location of care, and organ system subspecialty. I experienced the requisite continuity clinic experience and rotations in behavioral and community medicine as add-ons to the “real” work of clinical medicine. After I had finished my residency, it took me approximately another 5 years to figure out what it meant to be a family physician. Two books that I encountered, Ian McWhinney’s Introduction to Family Medicine and Gayle Stephens’ The Intellec- tual Basis of Family Medicine, opened my eyes to how I might conceptualize my work.3,4 Then, in 1992, my colleague John Frey and I had the opportunity to gather a series of oral histories from many founders of the family medicine movement. I am deeply indebted to these people for their influence on my practice style.5 I am also grateful to the people who were my patients during that time, both for their help in my professional formation and for their patience. I subsequently gained additional insight from several other writings. In his Textbook of Family Medicine, John Saultz proposed several factors to consider when approaching patient care, including access, continuity, comprehensiveness, coordina- tion, and context.6 Other scholars have examined what family physicians actually do in practice—the proverbial “black box”— by focusing on issues ranging from the content of outpatient visits to the cognitive strategies that family physicians use to manage those visits.7,8 More recently, the study of This article was externally peer reviewed. Submitted 3 April 2012; revised 5 July 2012; accepted 9 July 2012. From the Master’s Program in Public Health, School of Medicine, University of El Salvador, San Salvador, El Sal- vador; and the Department of Family Medicine, Oregon Health and Sciences University, Portland, OR. Funding: Funding was received from the Fulbright Pro- gram of the US Department of State, Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs. Conflict of interest: none declared. Disclaimer: Neither the Fulbright Program nor the US Department of State had any role in the preparation, review, or approval of the article. The views expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not reflect those of the U.S. Department of State, the Institute of International Educa- tion, or the Fulbright Program. Corresponding author: William B. Ventres, MD, MA, Pro- grama de Maestría en Salud Pública, Universidad de El Salvador Facultad de Medicina, Edificio “La Rotonda,” 2nd o Piso, Final Calle Arce y 25 Avenida Sur, San Salvador, El Salvador (E-mail: wventres@gmail.com). 930 JABFM November–December 2012 Vol. 25 No. 6 http://www.jabfm.org o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .ja b fm .o rg / J A m B o a rd F a m M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .3 1 2 2 /ja b fm .2 0 1 2 .0 6 .1 2 0 0 9 3 o n 7 N o ve m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.jabfm.org/ complex systems—the science of investigating and describing both how the relationships between a system’s parts influence its overall behavior and how the system in turn interacts with its environ- ment— has been used to elucidate the varied con- siderations family physicians must consider when attending to their patients.9,10 The British practi- tioners Iona Heath and John Launer astutely re- viewed the roles of family physicians as witnesses to the human experience and cocreators of personal narratives, respectively.11,12 In addition, I have found wisdom in family physician David Lox- terkamp’s many essays describing his rural practice in Maine.13–15 Although each of these works has helped me to conceptualize my work, there was something miss- ing from them. They omitted some important as- pects of how I think about patients and their pre- senting concerns. In this essay, I hope to fill in those missing areas. I frame my personal practice philosophy around 3 sets of issues— of process, of people, and of pol- itics—all within the context of the primary issue I face as a family physician: what to do at any given time with any �1 patients who present to me with any �1 problems. Process Issues As I see it, every patient encounter encompasses several needs: these include recognition, assess- ment, understanding, documentation, and commu- nication. Each patient presents with a story that is formed by his or her personal experience of illness and the context of care (including, among other factors, the setting of care, the historical and rela- tional dimensions of care, and such concerns as healthcare policy and economics).16 At a minimum, I listen to this story and conduct an examination. Simultaneously, I use my clinical knowledge, expe- rience, and external resources to reorganize this information into an integrated clinical case that is amenable to the development of an assessment and plan. I also document and communicate this plan to my patient—a requisite part of any routine visit. Five strategies help me manage this integration. First, I use a hypothesis model to assess presenting problems. I work from a clinical hypothesis using a combination of quantifiable information and clini- cal intuition born of learned experience to deter- mine a working diagnosis. Knowing what is com- mon and serious and what is not, keeping in mind the lessons of past mistakes, and attending to cur- rent realities (such as community patterns of dis- ease and the unique characteristics of each patient), I balance the possibility that I might be wrong against the probability that I will be right. When a hypothesis needs revision, I expand the range of my thinking, step by step and visit by visit. This model works well for the kinds of undifferentiated prob- lems with which many if not most patients present to every type of generalist practitioner. When clinically stumped, I resort to assessing problems using the differential model that I learned in medical school. (Table 1.) As I review lists of diagnostic categories, Up-to-Date® and clinician colleagues are frequent companions, reminding me of possibilities beyond my immediate recollection. Yet, as professionally rewarding as it may be to uncover a clinical anomaly (think of all the atten- tion paid to “zebras” in medical education), I do not ascribe to the school of diagnostic thinking whose highest goal is to discover a “plum of pathology.”17 My expertise lies elsewhere. Second, I use a “waterline” model for deciding on diagnostic and therapeutic strategies (Harrison R, Scherer J, Short RR. Waterline model. Ken- more, WA: Leadership Institute of Seattle; 2001; unpublished data; Figure 1). Knowing that time is often on my side in clinical practice—that many concerns are self-limited and that many others will make themselves known with time—I perform di- agnostic testing only as I deem necessary at any given point in the process. A million dollar workup is not my first priority. Rather, my commitment is to continuing care: I go deeper below the waterline (ie, expand the scope of diagnostic testing and ther- Table 1. Categories of Illness from a Differential Diagnosis Model VINDICATE � P Vascular Inflammatory/infectious Neoplastic Degenerative Intoxication/toxic Congenital Allergic/autoimmune Traumatic Endocrine/metabolic Psychosomatic doi: 10.3122/jabfm.2012.06.120093 Perspectives on Process, People, Politics and Presence 931 o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .ja b fm .o rg / J A m B o a rd F a m M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .3 1 2 2 /ja b fm .2 0 1 2 .0 6 .1 2 0 0 9 3 o n 7 N o ve m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.jabfm.org/ apeutic intervention) 1 step at a time and only as needed. Third, I keep in touch with the special spot in my brain that helps me to identify and address urgent and emergent needs when they arise. This spot is a place to store details of conditions like testicular torsion and appendicitis that, although not especially common, do present in the ambula- tory setting. I view keeping up to date with these conditions and their treatments as part and parcel of my work. I also cultivate the skill of retaining a calm and disciplined presence of mind when facing such problems. Fourth, I focus on how I use time in each and every patient encounter. So often we focus on time only within the clinical encounter itself: how little of it we have, how we can manage it so as to adequately address patient concerns without falling behind in our schedules, and how we can use new information technologies to become more effec- tive. Such issues are important: several authors have suggested valuable ways to approach office encoun- ters efficiently without compromising patient-cen- tered care.18 –20 The interval of time I am most concerned with, however, is that which takes place between office visits. This interval starts the moment my hand touches the examination room door handle as I get ready to leave. This is the instant many physicians fear most—the time when patients are prone to bring up their most pressing personal concerns. However, it is then, at the time of standing on the threshold, that I try to extend my presence with patients: I might recall some moment of impor- tance in the visit, remind them of a key plan, or, very simply, let them know they have been heard and will continue to be heard. With most health concerns, especially chronic ones, the real work begins once the visit is over. (Consider, for exam- ple, the importance of patient adherence to taking a variety of medicines multiple times a day.) It is then that my role shifts; I become less a diagnosti- cian and more an advisor and guide in absentia. Fifth, as a family physician I choose from a repertoire of different thought patterns and re- sponses based on who it is I am greeting in my office or at the hospital and what their presenting concerns may be. At certain times, systems theory, with its feedback loops and wide scope of consid- eration, is the most appropriate paradigm. At oth- ers, a narrowly defined, stepwise approach—first do A, then B, then C—is better suited to the task at hand. Increasingly, too, I find that distributing and assigning tasks among office staff members (dele- gating work responsibilities to other members of the healthcare team) makes up an important part of my clinical decision-making. Developing routine standards for such tasks has become an exciting new role given the rapid implementation and institu- tionalization of nascent communication technolo- gies.21 People Issues It is vital for me to remember that “good enough care,” exemplified by adopting intent and follow-up Figure 1. Waterline Model of Diagnostic and Therapeutic Intervention (adapted from Harrison R, Scherer J, Short, RR. Waterline model. Kenmore, WA: Leadership Institute of Seattle; 2001; unpublished data). 932 JABFM November–December 2012 Vol. 25 No. 6 http://www.jabfm.org o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .ja b fm .o rg / J A m B o a rd F a m M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .3 1 2 2 /ja b fm .2 0 1 2 .0 6 .1 2 0 0 9 3 o n 7 N o ve m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.jabfm.org/ as mantras for excellence, and by taking both prac- tical and moral responsibility for the whole person (not, conveniently, for just 1 part of the patient or for just 1 intervention), most often outperforms the “best” care, especially when “best” is defined as an unrealistic goal of perfection.22 An orthopedic sur- geon replacing the arthritic hip of an 82 year old may seek perfection in the procedure itself. A fam- ily physician recognizes that other factors will also influence this patient’s outcomes and must be taken into account. For instance, the patient may have a cognitive inability to complete a postsurgical reha- bilitation program; in that case, analgesic medica- tions to reduce pain and improve function slightly, even with known side effects and lack of definitive “cure,” might be a better option. Adopting a holis- tic approach to patient care has helped me to ac- cept, examine, and learn from the normal nuances of patients’ lives. My observation and belief that poor outcomes are caused not just by mistakes but by ordinary human variability has sustained me in the face of the emotional and intellectual rigors of sustaining a medical practice over a long time. Revisiting my role in relation to the people I serve has also nourished my professional life. In any medical practice, there is always a dialectic between patient management and patient guidance, and I have come to think it unwise to assume that I can “manage” patients. Maybe I have some control in hospital settings— environments especially struc- tured to maximize my ability to monitor and manip- ulate patients’ body functions and minimize patients’ ability to evade or deviate from my interventions. In ambulatory practice, however, I am forced to abdicate a position of being “in charge” the instant my patients exit the office. Given this reality, it helps for me to assume a stance vis-à-vis patients of leader or guide. When I lead patients, I engage with them as partners. I am invested in their future, not simply telling them what to do. I encourage them by explicitly affirm- ing their personal strengths and wisdom. I illumi- nate their potential by figuratively holding it in my awareness. By doing so openly, I invite patients to join me in creating a shared experience of trust, respect, and connection that is in itself therapeutic. Although I may use motivational interviewing tech- niques in this process, my best leadership goes well beyond these techniques.23 A major part of offering leadership is valuing pa- tients’ latent resiliencies in the face of suffering. The Austrian psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl talked about developing a vision for whom clients can become rather than seeing them just as who they are.24 He used the metaphor of swimming across a river beginning at point A (Figure 2). Due to the flow of the river, one needs to swim upstream (toward point C) to reach point B. It is the same with patients. Should I see them only in their pres- ent state, they are likely to end up “downstream” (at point D). Should I see them— despite their limita- tions—as worthy of high esteem and possessing the potential to improve their well-being through their own efforts, they are more likely to improve their health outcomes and endure episodes of illness with dignity and grace. As Henry David Thoreau noted in a similar vein, “Men hit only what they aim at. Therefore, . . . they had better aim at something high.”25 It is my job to help guide their aim. Political Issues In mentioning politics, I am not referring to Re- publicans or Democrats, or to healthcare policy, or to the question of whether, as family physicians in the United States, we work in anything resembling a medical “system.”26 Rather, I refer to how I ne- gotiate power within my relationships with pa- tients, families, and other practitioners given the culture in which we live and work. Patients, to use the psychologist Donald Ran- som’s words, are not “dirty windows” through which we must peer in order view disease, the Figure 2. Viktor Frankl’s metaphor on “Why Believe in Others.” doi: 10.3122/jabfm.2012.06.120093 Perspectives on Process, People, Politics and Presence 933 o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .ja b fm .o rg / J A m B o a rd F a m M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .3 1 2 2 /ja b fm .2 0 1 2 .0 6 .1 2 0 0 9 3 o n 7 N o ve m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.jabfm.org/ “real” subject of medical practice.27 “Lifestyle choices” and “social determinants of health” are but 2 of many factors that contribute to patients’ per- ceptions of their presenting problems and form a framework for how they intend to address them. Patients are not usually explicitly aware of these factors, and psychological and structural forces of- ten limit their ability to make and follow through on their own decisions. It is of vital importance, I believe, to keep these factors and limitations in my awareness as I work. Several qualities and skills mediate my awareness and my ability to elicit, hear, and understand pa- tients’ stories to help them gain confidence in my assessments and plans. These include presence, touch, inquiry, authenticity, empathy, and words (Table 2). They help me conceptualize how pa- tients understand their illness experiences— often, as something vastly different from a disease pro- cess. They also help me to connect with my pa- tients by seeing them as inhabitants of worlds that extend well beyond the confines of the office ex- amination room or hospital suite. That I cannot address all the medical or psycho- social needs of everybody does not bother me as it used to early on in practice. There are subspecial- ists to call on just as there are social workers and counselors, community health workers, and nurses and teachers and public health advocates. I no lon- ger feel embarrassed when I cannot remember the initial workup for patients whose diseases are un- usual or whose conditions, although common, just do not respond to what I can offer as a first-line- of-care physician. Most days, year in and year out, I am able to help most people who come to my office. Even when I do not know the answers and choose to refer a patient, I am still able to help. Then I commonly become a trusted advisor, an interpreter of maladies 1 step removed from the exigencies of hands-on clinical care. In the long run, it is very difficult to estimate with any accuracy the course that any patient’s life will take in relation to his or her illness. As much as family medicine is a discipline of evidenced-based practices, it is also one respectful of individual dif- ferences. Any patient’s future, however probable, is challenging to predict—and equally challenging to communicate in a meaningful way. This uncertainty will always be part of the work I do. However, by reframing this uncertainty— by looking at it as a mystery to be explored with patients rather than a threat to be avoided—I have come to better terms with the unknown in medical practice.29 Such a view has helped me to under- stand the meanings that patients ascribe to their illnesses, whether they see them as natural devia- tions on life’s path or as unexpected and unwanted bumps in the road. It has also helped me to come closer to elucidating and articulating my own work as a family physician. Concluding Philosophy As a family physician, I am not some kind of “super-poly-mini-subspecialist” using knowledge culled from the many subspecialty silos in which I was trained. Rather, I practice a synergistic integra- tion of medicine and epidemiology and psychology and anthropology and theology. It is a studied prac- tice that integrates general medical principles (ap- plicable across divisions of time, age, sex, and place) with an understanding of patients within the con- text of family and community. Historically, there have been discussions about what the “family” in family medicine means; I take it as a metaphor for all that is not strictly biomedical, for all that can be seen using the insights gleaned from reflections on the human experience in the face of illness and infirmity.30 –32 How I think as a family physician may be very different from how other family physicians think. I Table 2. Qualities and Skills in Physician–Patient Relationships ● Presence—An attentive and focused responsiveness to patients and their concerns. I am present when, irrespective of the time I have with patients, I demonstrate my interest in their well-being a people, rather than being distracted by chart or computer or even information I weigh while developing clinical assessments and plans. ● Touch—As a physician, the physical examination may aid in confirming clinical suspicions. For some patients, the contact of my hands on their bodies may be the only way they get appropriate physical contact all day or all month. ● Inquiry—The ability to convey interest in hearing what patients have to say in whatever way they know how to express it. ● Authenticity—The sincerity with which I approach patients not only as their personal physician, but also as my true self—another human being. ● Empathy—A feeling born of the knowledge that “we’re all in the same boat” or that “I could be you.”28 ● Words—The primary medium through which I communicate assessments and plans to patients, words can help or can harm. I hope I choose them with conscious intent, to maximize the clarity and emotional power they can convey. 934 JABFM November–December 2012 Vol. 25 No. 6 http://www.jabfm.org o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .ja b fm .o rg / J A m B o a rd F a m M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .3 1 2 2 /ja b fm .2 0 1 2 .0 6 .1 2 0 0 9 3 o n 7 N o ve m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.jabfm.org/ have observed colleagues at work, and their styles of practice suggest that some hold radically differ- ent views of either the patients and families to whom they attend or of their role relative to patient care.33,34 I also know that in their work with pa- tients they have had clinical successes and failures, as I have. The fact that these differences exist and that they can coexist across a group practice as well as across an entire discipline is not my concern in writing this essay and outlining my thinking. My concern is that too often we go through our days migrating from 1 examination room to an- other and relying on biomedical models of thought that exempt us from the work that is the core of our discipline: truly seeing patients as people, valuing them, recognizing the burdens they face, and then integrating these insights with our medical knowl- edge and experiential wisdom to form shared as- sessments and treatment plans with confidence and with compassion. I believe that continuously refo- cusing on this deep and touching work is, or should be, a critical part of our practice.35 To foster this process and help myself reflect on the values that guide my thinking and actions as a family physician, I have asked the question “How do I think in the work I do?” Examining this ques- tion (and its companion, “How do I feel about the work I do?”) enables me to bring my most complete self—my authentic persona as a family physician and my passion for the profession—to my encoun- ters with patients and their families. I believe that it can be so for all family physicians. Through this kind of self-examination—through questioning, re- flection, and increased awareness—we could each cultivate our own signature presence. This would provide a place from which we could bring the best of who we are to every patient encounter and fully offer our unique gifts and talents.36 In this way we can touch the soul of our vocation, as each of us defines it, at the same time as also increasing our capacity to touch our patients’ souls—and our own. I thank Don Ransom, Mike Magill, and Jeff McAuliffe for their thoughtful comments on this article. I thank the faculty mem- bers at the LIOS Graduate College of Saybrook University for reminding me to value my signature presence. I also thank Deane DeFontes, my practice partner of several years at the Multnomah County Health Department, and my colleagues at the Oregon Health and Sciences University for graciously bringing to light many of the ideas presented in this article. References 1. Groopman G. How doctors think. Boston (MA): Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; 2008. 2. Montgomery K. How doctors think. Oxford (UK): Oxford University Press; 2006. 3. McWhinney I. An introduction to family medicine. Oxford (UK): Oxford University Press; 1981. 4. Stephens GG. The intellectual basis of family med- icine. Tucson (AZ): Winter Publishing; 1982. 5. American Academy of Family Physicians Founda- tion, Center for the History of Family Medicine. “Voices from Family Medicine” Project, 2011. Avail- able at: www.aafpfoundation.org/online/foundation/ home/programs/center-history/oralhistory/voicesfm. html. Accessed June 15, 2012. 6. Saultz J. Textbook of family medicine. New York (NY): McGraw-Hill; 2000. 7. Stange KC, Zyzanski SJ, Jaén CR, Callahan EJ, Kelly RB, Gillanders WR, et al. Illuminating the ‘black box’: a description of 4454 patient visits to 138 family physicians. J Fam Pract 1998;46:377– 89. 8. Christensen RC, Fetters MF, Green LA. Opening the black box: cognitive strategies in family practice. Ann Fam Med 2005;3:144 –50. 9. Sturmberg J. Systems and complexity thinking in general practice—part 1: clinical application. Austral Fam Phys 2007;36:170 –3. 10. Markham FW. A method for introducing the con- cepts of chaos theory to medical students. Theor Med Bioeth 1998;19:1–4. 11. Heath I. The mystery of general practice. London (UK): Nuffield Provincial Hospitals Trust; 1995. 12. Launer J. Narrative-based primary care: a practical guide. Oxford (UK): Radcliffe Medical Press; 2002. 13. Loxterkamp D. A vow of connectedness: views from the road to Beaver’s farm. Fam Med 2001;33:244 –7. 14. Loxterkamp D. Being there: on the place of the family physician. J Am Board Fam Pract 1991;4: 354 – 60. 15. Loxterkamp D. Doctors’ work: eulogy for my voca- tion. Ann Fam Med 2009;7:267– 8. 16. Charon R. Narrative medicine: honoring the stories of illness. New York (NY): Oxford University Press; 2006. 17. Magraw R, Odegaard C, Ruhe CH, Fink D. Voices from family medicine: cooperation across disciplines. Interview by William B. Ventres, John J. Frey, and Alfred O. Berg. Fam Med 1992;24:618 –22. 18. Mauksch LB, Dugdale DC, Dodson S, Epstein R. Relationship, communication, and efficiency in the medical encounter: creating a clinical model from a literature review. Arch Intern Med 2008;168:1387–95. 19. Epstein RM, Fiscella K, Lesser CS, Stange KC. Why the nation needs a policy push on patient-centered health care. Health Aff 2010;29:1489 –95. doi: 10.3122/jabfm.2012.06.120093 Perspectives on Process, People, Politics and Presence 935 o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .ja b fm .o rg / J A m B o a rd F a m M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .3 1 2 2 /ja b fm .2 0 1 2 .0 6 .1 2 0 0 9 3 o n 7 N o ve m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.jabfm.org/ 20. Ventres W, Frankel R. Patient-centered care and electronic health records: it’s still about the relation- ship. Fam Med 2010;42:364 – 6. 21. Ventres W, Kooienga S, Marlin R. EHRs in the exam room: tips on patient-centered care. Fam Pract Manag 2006;13:45–7. 22. DeGruy F. Mental health in the primary care set- ting. In: Donaldson MS, Yordy KD, Lohr KN, Van- selow NA, editors. Primary care: America’s health in a new era. Washington (DC): The National Acade- mies Press; 1996. p. 285–311. 23. Miller WR, Rollnick S. Motivational interviewing: preparing people to change. 2nd ed. New York (NY): Guilford Press; 2002. 24. Frankl V. Why believe in others. Presentation to the Toronto Youth Corps, 1972. Available at: www.ted. com/talks/viktor_frankl_youth_in_search_of_meaning. html. Accessed March 8, 2012. 25. Thoreau HD. Cramer JS, editors. Walden: a fully annotated edition. New Haven (CT): Yale Univer- sity; 2004. p. 26. 26. Ferrer RL. Within the system of no-system. JAMA 2001;286:2513– 4. 27. Ransom DC. Random notes: the patient is not a dirty window. Fam Syst Med 1984;2:230 –3. 28. Spiro H, Peschel E, Curnen MGM, St James D. Empathy and the practice of medicine: beyond pills and the scalpel. New Haven (CT): Yale University Press; 2008. 29. Ventres W. The joy of family practice. Ann Fam Med 2012;10:264 – 8. 30. Carmichael LP, Carmichael JS. The relational model in family practice. Marriage Fam Rev 1982; 44:123–33. 31. Ransom DC, Vandervoort HE. The development of family medicine: Problematic trends. JAMA 1973; 225:1098 –102. 32. Schmidt DD. The family as the unit of medical care. J Fam Pract 1978;7:303–13. 33. Ventres W, Nichter M, Reed R, Frankel R. Limita- tion of medical care: an ethnographic analysis. J Clin Ethics 1993;4:134 – 45. 34. Ventres W. Kooienga S, Marlin R, Vuckovic N, Stewart V. Clinician style and examination room computers: a video ethnography. Fam Med 2005;37: 276 – 81. 35. Schön DA. The reflective practitioner: how profes- sionals think in action. New York (NY): Basic Books; 1983. 36. Burgess G. Dare to wear your soul on the outside: live your legacy now. San Francisco (CA): Jossey- Bass; 2008. 936 JABFM November–December 2012 Vol. 25 No. 6 http://www.jabfm.org o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .ja b fm .o rg / J A m B o a rd F a m M e d : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .3 1 2 2 /ja b fm .2 0 1 2 .0 6 .1 2 0 0 9 3 o n 7 N o ve m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.jabfm.org/ 
work_5yxjzz2nozgznjwmr2cu7gh3nq	----	Virtual nonviolence? Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese The author Andrew Calabrese is Associate Professor, University of Colorado, Boulder, Colorado, USA. Keywords Violence, Communications, Internet Abstract Nonviolent civil disobedience is a vital and protected form of political communication in modern constitutional democracies. Reviews the idea of both demonstrating its continued relevance, and providing a basis for considering its uses as an information- age strategy of radical activism. The novelty of the forms of speech and action possible in cyberspace make it difficult to compare these new methods of expression easily. Whether in cyberspace or the real world, civil disobedience has historically specific connotations that should be sustained because the concept has special relevance to the political theory and practice of constitutional democracy. Civil disobedience is a unique means of political expression that is used to provoke democratic deliberation about important questions of just law and policy. Among the significant problems that new forms of radical political practice in cyberspace introduce is that their practitioners and advocates neglect the need to distinguish between violence and nonviolence. Examines that problem and others that are central to considering theoretical and political implications of radical activism in general, and civil disobedience in particular, in cyberspace. Electronic access The Emerald Research Register for this journal is available at www.emeraldinsight.com/researchregister The current issue and full text archive of this journal is available at www.emeraldinsight.com/1463-6697.htm Nonviolent challenges to state power are an honored tradition in Western history, and so is their repression, with origins tracing back as far as the trial and conviction of Socrates on trumped-up charges of blaspheming the gods and corrupting the youth of Athens. Katz (1985, p. 915; see also Columbia Law Review, 1968, pp. 1109-17) characterizes as the principal aim of nonviolent civil disobedients in modern times “to communicate to others their concern over some social evil,” and for this reason they desire publicity, particularly in the form of press coverage, of their actions. Civil disobedience is, first and foremost, the public expression of the politics of shame. To shine light on injustice usually means exposing and embarrassing those who perpetuate it. And that can be a dangerous thing, not only for those who are shamed, but also for those who would use the means of publicity in such a manner. That is why acts of civil disobedience are often correctly understood to be acts of courage. The right, and what for some is the duty, of nonviolent civil disobedience is a major focus of this essay. How is it possible to break the law and be civil? And why might one choose to do so? To convey objections to an injustice by breaking the law while doing it in what is generally accepted to be a civil manner is to commit an act of civil disobedience. It is also an act of political communication. I review the idea both to demonstrate its continued relevance, and as a preface to considering its uses and interpretation as an information-age strategy of political activism. I also argue for the need to distinguish the idea of civil disobedience from other forms of political activism. American cyberlaw theorist Lessig has highlighted the challenge of translating legal concepts from the “real” world into cyberspace. Lessig puts a technological edge on an older discourse about the tensions between “originalism” in constitutional thought - thought that focuses on literal fidelity in interpreting what the framers of the US Constitution may have intended – and “translationism,” based on a belief that not only is a constitution a living doctrine, but that the spirit of law can only be preserved through conscious efforts to adapt to a changing world. For example, Lessig points out how interpretations of the Fourth Amendment have adjusted to new material conditions. The Fourth Amendment, originally designed to protect citizens from unlawful search and seizure, is the principal foundation of a right to privacy in the USA (Lessig, 1999, pp. 111-21)[1]. Is there a meaningful basis for translating the concept of civil disobedience from the real world to cyberspace? info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · pp. 326-338 q Emerald Group Publishing Limited · ISSN 1463-6697 DOI 10.1108/14636690410564834 326 http://www.emeraldinsight.com/researchregister http://www.emeraldinsight.com/1463-6697.htm Although it seems feasible, there also are good reasons for considering questions of the fidelity of the idea of “electronic civil disobedience” to the tradition made famous by Thoreau, Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. As new technologies are introduced into the range of possible means of political speech and action, radical political actors are testing the limits of their imaginations by inventing ways to use these technologies to further the causes they advocate. But the very novelty of the forms of speech and action that are possible through the uses of new media – particularly Internet-based – make it difficult to see easily how the new methods represent continuity (or discontinuity) with older traditions of nonviolent civil disobedience. For this reason, it is essential to have an understanding of the tradition, and of how it contrasts with other forms of radical engagement, particularly political violence. Civil disobedience as political communication The tradition of nonviolent civil disobedience has tended to be justified as a form of speech, or expression – as symbolic action – and has not been treated simply as criminal conduct. What the civil disobedient person depends on is that his or her actions will generate meaning beyond the mere fact of breaking a law and being punished for it, and instead that these actions will form the basis of a public discussion about a question of injustice. Furthermore, it is for this reason – because civil disobedience is an act of public communication – that those who perform such actions are accorded a different, sometimes elevated, status in the criminal justice system. In granting special status to those who deliberately break a law in order to provoke a discussion about questions of justice, we have recognized civil disobedience as a special form of speech or expression. But while expression is intrinsic to an act of civil disobedience, such acts are also judged as conduct, for example, trespassing on restricted property while protesting. However, in recognizing the primacy of the expressive content of the action, we accept not only that the speech-conduct dichotomy is sometimes not as clear as is supposed, but also that the scale we use to judge such speech-actions will tend to privilege the speech element. As Ledewitz points out, because speech and conduct are so intertwined in an act of civil disobedience, to issue an injunction against the act would imply imposing a prior restraint on free speech. Ledewitz (1990, pp. 122-4) explains from within the framework of American jurisprudence that punishing a civil disobedient for a minor criminal offense after the fact is not a betrayal of the spirit of the First Amendment, while enjoining a would-be civil disobedient prior to such action, when there is no clear risk of harm to the public, defies that spirit. Although many writers have endorsed the right to disobey the authority of the state, few have taken on the task of attempting to argue why we should not do so. One notable exception is Kant, who argued that it is logically impossible to justify such resistance because, in a democratic constitutional state, the sovereign is “the united will of the people,” and the sovereign cannot logically resist its own authority. Kant (1996, p. 93) argues that, under popular sovereignty, citizens cannot be both lawgivers and revolutionaries against their own laws. He maintains that when a constitution is defective, there is no right to rebellion or revolution, but only to legislative reform (Kant, 1996, p. 98). Ultimately, what Kant is arguing is that if we were to make it a maxim that there is a right to revolt (as the US Declaration of Independence asserts), then we render all constitutions “insecure,” and we create a lawless state of nature (Kant, 1991a, p. 82). Although Kant (1991b, p. 59) recognized no right to disobey, he argued vigorously in favor of the right to criticize a ruler, stating in his famous essay on the meaning of enlightenment, “Argue as much as you like and about whatever you like, but obey!”. Indeed, Kant (1991b, pp. 54-5) argued not only that criticism is a right, but also that in the name of enlightenment, citizens should exercise the courage and the will to express their criticism openly, as a means of promoting public reason. Although Kant clearly maintains that it is self- contradictory under popular sovereignty for the people to resist “the sovereign” (who, in a constitutional democracy, is “the people”) in the form of a revolution, he also argues that “negative resistance” is not inconsistent with this purpose, that is, “a refusal of the people to accede to every demand the government puts forth as necessary for administering the state” (Kant, 1996, p. 98). Schwarz (1977, p. 258) extrapolates from this distinction that while for Kant “coercive resistance” against state authority is always wrong, “some resistance is not coercive”. Reflecting a similar viewpoint, Habermas (1985, p. 112) captures and embraces the liminal status of this concept of resistance by stating: “The ‘right’ to civil disobedience remains suspended between legitimacy and legality for good reasons. But the constitutional state which prosecutes civil disobedience as a common crime falls under the spell of an authoritarian regime”. In the USA, the legacy of civil disobedience is linked for many to the memory of essayist Henry Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 327 David Thoreau, who spent one night in jail in 1846 for refusing to pay the Massachusetts poll tax as a way of protesting the US war against Mexico (1846-1848). When Thoreau was visited in jail by his friend and mentor, Ralph Waldo Emerson, he reportedly was asked “What are you doing in there?” to which he replied, “What are you doing out there?” He was released from jail when his friends paid the tax without his consent (Zinn, 1995, p. 154). Two years later, Thoreau (1980), gave a lecture that was subsequently published as the essay “On the duty of civil disobedience.” In that essay, he expressed disgust toward the practice of citizens who, while privately professing to be opposed to injustice caused by a government, do nothing to register their dissent publicly to their government and their fellow citizens, and in so doing they tacitly support it: Those who, while they disapprove of the character and measures of a government, yield to it their allegiance and support, are undoubtedly its most conscientious supporters, and so frequently the most serious obstacles to reform (Thoreau, 1980, p. 228). Thoreau’s principled position has been a worldwide inspiration to practitioners of civil disobedience, which is evident in the writings and practices of Leo Tolstoy, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr, among many others. In the twentieth century, the person whose example comes closest to defining the ideals modern of civil disobedience is Mohandas K. Gandhi, whose sources of inspiration, in addition to Thoreau, also included The Bhagavad-Gita and Jesus Christ. Through speeches, writings, and by example, Gandhi articulated a set of principles and practices that reflect what seems to be an unimpeachable philosophy of nonviolent civil disobedience, which was put to the aim of ending British colonialism in India. Although Gandhi’s role was not the single determinant in bringing an end to British rule, no one would argue that his moral and spiritual leadership were not fundamental. The importance of the life of Gandhi was recognized by a younger generation, particularly outside of India, by way of the 1982 film Gandhi, directed by Richard Attenborough, and featuring the actor Ben Kingsley in the title role. What is perhaps the most disturbing scene in the film is the re-enactment of an important event in the symbolic decline of Britain’s empire in India. In 1930, about 2,500 Indian volunteers followed the example set by Gandhi, who had previously defied the British monopoly on the manufacture and sale of salt, and marched to the sea to make salt from seawater. According to the Salt Tax Act of 1882, no Indian was permitted to produce salt without British permission. The volunteers marched to the Dharasna Salt Works on May 21, and were met and brutally beaten with batons and rifle butts by 400 police, resulting in the injury and hospitalization of more than 300 persons, and the deaths of two, but they held to the principle of nonviolence and did not fight back. This famous incident was a decisive moment in discrediting British rule in India in the eyes of the world (Brown, 1977; Beck, 1986). According to Brown’s (1977, pp. 113-14) account, the goal of the “Salt Satyagraha”[2] was to shame the British raj publicly: More important from the satyagrahis’ point of view was the publicity value of the raids and the police methods their suppression elicited. The raids were not intended to get salt but to force the government into violent retaliation, even to the extent of firing on unarmed crowds, to show not just to local sightseers but to a world-wide public “the fangs and the claws of the Government in all its ugliness”. The strategy of publicly shaming a government that perpetuates, or fails to discourage, injustice was practiced famously by the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr, the Baptist minister and spiritual and symbolic leader of the American civil rights movement. In the spring of 1963, King was arrested for participating in a demonstration in Birmingham, Alabama. On April 16, he wrote, from his jail cell, a letter to fellow clergy members from Alabama, responding to their published statement that his activities were “unwise and untimely.” In his famous “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” King called for nonviolent civil disobedience now – that it cannot wait – because to wait and heed calls for greater patience is to accept and suffer injustice while clinging to the hope that history will right today’s wrongs: We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed . . . We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that “justice too long delayed is justice denied” (King, 1963, emphasis added). In arguing in defense of when to practice civil disobedience, King distinguished between just and unjust laws, and he stated that just as one has a moral responsibility to obey just laws, one also is morally responsible to disobey unjust laws. He also articulated what are the accompanying duties of one engaged in such action, including reverence for just law: One who breaks an unjust law must do so openly, lovingly, and with a willingness to accept the penalty. I submit that an individual who breaks a law that conscience tells him is unjust and who willingly accepts the penalty of imprisonment in order to arouse the conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the highest respect for the law (King, 1963). Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 328 In reflecting on when civil disobedience is justified, Rawls (1971, pp. 351-5) states that if a law is unjust, but “the basic structure of society is reasonably just,” then in most cases we should not engage in civil disobedience. However, he argues, civil disobedience may be required to transform or even overturn laws that exceed certain limits of injustice, and he admits that the norms he specifies are certainly arguable (Rawls, 1971, pp.351, 363). Consistent with the views of Gandhi and King, Rawls considers civil disobedience a mode of public address that is, by definition, nonviolent. If an act is violent, then it contradicts the duty of civility that underlies the concept of civil disobedience (Rawls, 1971, p. 366). It is also important to recognize that civil disobedience generally is not seen as a vague rejection of “the system,” but rather it is more focused. That is, it aims at a particular injustice, or type of injustice. In that sense, civil disobedience is generally distinguished from revolution. Rawls imposes a high threshold in arguing for when civil disobedience is justified because the practice is founded on the premise that a democratic regime should be preserved by fidelity to the rule of law. However, he also acknowledges the ambiguous status of civil disobedience. For Rawls (1971, p. 363): “the problem of civil disobedience is a crucial test for any theory of the moral basis of democracy”, a point that has been elaborated on by Habermas (1985, p. 103), who argues that “civil disobedience can only occur under conditions of a constitutional state that remains wholly intact”. Likewise, Dworkin (1985, p. 105) argues that those who practice civil disobedience appeal to, rather than oppose, constitutional legitimacy, and he notes that since the civil rights and antiwar movements of the 1960s, this form of dissent is generally accepted in the USA. The right to disobey also has been extended in limited ways to protect acts of “corporate disobedience,” as in the right to strike and the right to collective bargaining (Walzer, 1970). The writings and actions of numerous authors illustrate certain common principles that constitute a fairly coherent doctrine that distinguishes civil disobedience from other sorts of political engagement. According to prevailing thought, an act of civil disobedience is committed under circumstances in which there is hope that relevant interlocutors will come together to reason publicly about what is just. The doctrine also generally specifies that persons who act as civil disobedients must be willing to present their bodies before the public. In his “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” King (1963) wrote about the presentation of protesters’ bodies “as a means of laying our case before the conscience of the local and the national community”. In doing so, they agree to risk encountering imprisonment, physical harm, and even death. In the process, it is believed that the injustice to which they are opposed will weigh even more heavily upon those who bear responsibility for perpetuating it. Acting in secrecy instead of openly runs counter to the doctrine of nonviolent civil disobedience as a form of public address, and therefore of effective political communication (Sharp, 1973, pp. 609-11). At the turn of the millennium, we have seen an increase in large-scale protest activity in the USA and many other countries, as illustrated in the worldwide campaign against neoliberal globalization policies and for global justice. While most of the people who participated in these demonstrations did so with the knowledge and grudging support of local authorities, some practised various forms of civil disobedience, and many were arrested. Still others stepped beyond the pale of law-breaking, that would be recognized as civil disobedience, sometimes destroying corporate and public property. Later in this essay, I explore the question of violence as a form of political communication. But before doing so, I turn my attention towards the emergence of claims made about new forms of civic engagement and civil disobedience. Virtual nonviolence? It has been argued that, in the age of the Internet, “nomadic power” can only be challenged effectively by nomadic forms of resistance (CAE, 1996). Not surprisingly, the Internet has become a focal point in the invention of such nomadic forms. As symbols and as material reality, computer networks are conduits of mobile capital, fluid expressions of identity and much more. No longer viewed as a passing fad, the Internet has become an indispensable tool for political activism, its uses including the dissemination of vital information about candidates and issues, fund-raising, the maintenance of networks and organizations of activists, and the mobilization and coordination of protest activity (Calabrese, 1999). Added to these uses is a set of activities that have become an intriguing subject for technologically-skilled activists. In January of 2001, an MIT graduate student made worldwide news by circulating on the Internet his correspondence with a customer service representative of the Nike corporation. The student, Jonah Peretti, played a poker-faced game with Nike by asking if they would kindly fulfill their offer that came with his new shoes and personalize them by stitching the word “sweatshop” next to the trademark Nike “swoosh.” In a series of e-mail Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 329 exchanges, the Nike representative tried to maintain the upper hand by justifying a refusal to fulfill the order, despite the company’s offer to personalize this particular style of shoe. Not surprisingly, Peretti failed to get Nike to fulfill his request, but he probably brought far more negative publicity to the company than either he or Nike had imagined possible. After circulating the correspondence to ten people on January 17, 2001, Peretti became something of an international celebrity. According to his account in The Nation, the story hit the big time, with the correspondence between Peretti and Nike being posted on Web sites, and stories about it appeared in prominent Web sites and mainstream US newspapers and magazines, including the Los Angeles Times, USA Today, Time, the Wall Street Journal, and Business Week. The BBC also covered the story, and Peretti was flown to New York to appear on NBC’s Today Show so that he could tell his David-versus-Goliath story to American viewers. There is no doubt that Peretti’s story put smiles on the faces of many who share his view that the popularity and financial success of the Nike brand, with its image of “freedom, revolution and personal exuberance,” rests on a foundation of labor practices that have not been legal in the USA since before the Great Depression. Regardless of whether the working conditions to which he alludes are better than what existed in many poor countries before the arrival of Nike and other global brands that subcontract there, using humor to bring these conditions to the attention of affluent consumers is no disservice. Although Nike suffered PR hassles for a brief period of time, what is remarkable is that a simple act of forwarding some e-mail could draw so much attention. In summing up the experience, Peretti correctly recognized that “in the long run this episode will have a larger impact on how people think about media than how they think about Nike and sweatshop labor.” Peretti’s “Nike Media Adventure” became noteworthy and widely publicized because of the novelty of it. However, who is to say that this type of activism, a high-tech expression of the politics of shame, has exhausted its potential? This sort of “culture jamming,” as it is sometimes called, has been the basis of growing optimism about the potential of new media as tools of political empowerment (Peretti, 2001). Peretti’s adventure adds to a long list of stories that can be told about culture jamming, a set of practices that Klein (1999, p. 280) calls “semiotic Robin-Hoodism”. It follows a tradition that includes Dadaism, street theater, and underground publishing. Among the most prominent of the culture jammers is Kalle Lasn, founder of Adbusters Media Foundation and publisher of Adbusters magazine. Adbusters prints slick and provocative responses to the logo-saturated commercial media by creatively appropriating the familiar images of advertising and turning them against their sponsors. Among its more famous examples are its “Joe Chemo” spoof advertisements that depict the cool, cigarette-smoking cartoon character Joe Camel, now a chemo-therapy patient, bald and sunken-eyed, head drooping, and with an intravenous line to his arm. Adbusters (n.d.) takes the anthropomorphized Camel and makes him all the more human. How do we make sense of the political significance of culture jamming? Borrowing from Umberto Eco, Dery (n.d.) describes culture jammers as “part artistic terrorists, part vernacular critics.” In today’s political culture, Dery’s reference to terrorism is unfortunate, in that it offers some legitimacy to repressive attitudes toward peaceful dissent, but it is appropriate in that this sort of “semiological guerrilla warfare” is perceived as such by those who would put any sort of trespass, creative parody, and “subcultural bricolage” on a par with breaking into the Pentagon’s computers (Dery, n.d.). Much of what is called culture jamming involves risking legal prosecution by playing with intellectual property, particularly corporate logos and ads. As an electronic form of graffiti, such defacement takes the advertiser’s image of cool and one-ups it through public ridicule and criticism. Much of this activity reflects a playful sort of anti-rationalism in its treatment of widely recognized symbols of capitalism. Culture jammers mess with the images of powerful corporations, and corporations are wise in their own self-interest when they choose to keep a low profile in response. To respond with overwhelming force to criticism, as the McDonald’s corporation did in its British lawsuit against two activists, may result in winning a legal battle but it can harm brand identity (Vidal, 1998). From a corporation’s perspective, it seems ill- advised to go the litigious way of McDonald’s corporation and end up under a harsh “McSpotlight” (McSpotlight, n.d.). Klein (1999, p. 288) notes that advertisers are generally not inclined to bring charges against “Adbusters” to trial, one big reason being that it would put them on the side of censorship in the eyes of the public. An ostensively freedom-loving corporation like Nike would need to see the stakes as very high before it publicly engages with culture jammers. By appropriating and manipulating corporate images, the Adbusters variety of culture jamming tests the limits of legality, although it does not seem to pose a threat to profits. But Adbusters does not define the limit of the practices. Moving along Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 330 a continuum from less to more invasive is when a culture jammer manages to hijack a corporate Web site and post messages or re-design pages to embarrass the company. This has also been done to government Web sites in the USA and other countries, and it is one expression of the culture jammer as so-called “hacktivist.” Of course the risks are higher when an activist moves from creative spoof ads to trespassing and vandalism. Writing in 1998 in the radical environmental journal, Earth First!, Wray (1998), a New York University graduate student and self-proclaimed “hacktivist,” described hacktivism as the electronic equivalent of civil disobedience: We are witness to a convergence of the computerized activist and the politiczed hacker. This coming together of forces will open up unforeseen doors and possibilities. As a way to envision what this hybridized activist-hacker might engage in, it is instructive to borrow the metaphor of civil disobedience with its tactics of trespass and blockade. When we apply this metaphor to cyberspace we imagine electronic civil disobedience. This conception of hacktivism includes “virtual sit-ins,” involving people loading and re-loading their Internet browsers at a specific Web site, thus overloading the targeted server and disabling the site. As a technical advance beyond this practice, hacktivists now employ automated “ping engines,” computer programs that enable users to refresh a Web page automatically. Wray (1998) also highlights other hacktivist practices, including “offshore spam engines,” software that enables users “to automatically distribute massive quantities of e-mail to particular addresses,” which can overload a server or a targeted recipient’s e-mail account. Wray’s (1998) essay, “Virtual Luddites: monkeywrenching on the Web,” concludes by advocating that activists should “use computers to take political action that goes beyond political communication”. Wray and his fellow practitioners of “electronic civil disobedience” who in the late 1990s referred to themselves as the “Electronic Disturbance Theater” (EDT), have been responsible for a number of actions intended to shut down government Web sites. Most notably, the EDT made the heady achievement of conducting a Web “sit-in” in support of the Mexican Zapatistas by using a ping engine it had developed, called “FloodNet,”. This enabled a Web browser to re-load a targeted Web site automatically several times per minute, effectively denying access to Mexican President Zedillo’s Web site on April 10, 1998. Wray claims that the action was conducted by more than 8,000 participants. The EDT also attacked Pentagon Web sites, the stated reason being that the US Government has been a supporter of the Mexican Government, which is oppressive in its treatment of Mexico’s indigenous populations. Other hacktivist actions have included attacks on Sri Lankan embassies and consulates in several countries, the US Department of Energy, the Frankfurt Stock Exchange, the City of London, and India’s Atomic Research Center (Harmon, 1998, p. A1). According to one report, the rate of hacktivist defacements of Web sites has grown dramatically in recent years, both because the practice brings publicity to the groups responsible, and because it is not difficult to do (Denning, 2003). The hacktivist persona that Wray describes as a blend of “the computerized activist and the politiczed hacker” is a curious one, in that few of the two groups whose identities are involved – progressive activists and computer hackers – endorse such an image or practice. For the legitimacy of the “hacker ethic” is threatened by the association made by law enforcement and the press between civil disobedients and the criminalized image of the “black hat” hacker. Not only is it the case that hacker culture tends to be libertarian, and therefore not inclined towards unified political action, but also there is nothing particularly skillful about the sort of methods that Wray describes, at least not sufficient to warrant the label “hacking.” Hacker culture affirms an intellectual project and a set of technical competencies that are far removed from the criminal association so familiar in the popular press construction of hacking. Instead, hacker traditions revolve around invention, innovation, and collaborative efforts at puzzle solving. For the most part, hacker culture tends to not have a high- profile and clearly articulated political agenda, at least when measured by the bold standards of radical protest[3]. That is not to say that hacker culture lacks political and economic influence. Hacking is best recognized in recent times by the so-called “open source movement,” which is largely aimed at finding alternatives to mega- corporate domination of the software industry. One of the open-source movement’s prominent spokespersons, Raymond (1999), describes hacker culture in its most positive light, emphasizing the anti-commercial ethos of “hackerdom,” its focus on peer-review, humility, professionalism, and a relatively non-hierarchical form of social organization for software development. By contrast, the “politicized hacker,” or “hacktivist,” bears closer resemblance to what is generally considered a “cracker,” of whom Raymond (1999, p. 232) writes disparagingly: “Unfortunately, many journalists and writers have been fooled into using the word ‘hacker’ to describe crackers; this irritates real hackers no end. The basic difference is: hackers build things, crackers break them”. The Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 331 spreading of computer viruses, breaking into high security corporate and military servers, defacing government and corporate Web sites, causing financial losses to individuals, businesses, and governments through a variety of disabling and destructive tactics, and even threatening public safety and health, are more commonly what the police and the press instruct the public to associate with the term “hacker” (Burrough, 2000; Levy and Stone, 2000). The message that hackers are dedicated to a more innovative, collaborative, and responsive economic model of software development does not carry into the mainstream. The prevailing message to the public is that their property and their safety are threatened, and therefore that hacker culture must be destroyed, which is a felicitous message from the perspective of software giants. With this view constantly being reinforced by law enforcement and popular media, what is called “hacktivism” is susceptible to being categorized under the image of the hacker as criminal or terrorist[4]. One point that has been made about hacktivism that warrants attention is that it “goes beyond political communication” (Wray, 1998). This claim highlights the fact that some uses of computer networks can be more accurately described as “action” rather than “expression,” to use a dichotomy discussed above. Furthermore, some forms of action on computer networks – for example, the destruction of server files – would accurately be called acts of violence. Nevertheless, it is often quite easy to recognize the political significance of an act of violence. For example, suicide bombers typically are quite clear about communicating what they are opposed to and why they are committing such violent acts. We may not accept the political or moral justification for such an act, but that is a matter apart from whether we understand what the intended message was. To use a less dramatic example, during the late November-early December 1999 street protests of the ministerial meeting of the World Trade Organization (WTO) in Seattle, Washington, considerable damage was done to the property of certain targeted corporations. These acts of sabotage and vandalism were clearly meaningful to those who know about the Nike Corporation’s use of sweatshop labor, and about the Starbucks Corporation’s predatory business practices and reliance on coffee beans that are not produced according to “fair trade” labor standards. Regardless of whether one approves, anyone who follows protests against these companies had no difficulty understanding why the destruction took place, and therefore its symbolic significance was recognized by many who witnessed it live or on television. Most familiar among the practices of hacktivists are denial of service attacks on corporate, government and military Web sites, sometimes referred to as “virtual sit-ins.” An overloaded Web site cannot be accessed by others, and in a sense this is what occurs when a group of protesters occupy a physical space (say, for instance, a sitting room outside a university president’s office) and refuse to move so that others may pass through. Student protesters who conduct such actions do so by presenting their bodies in physical space and allowing themselves to be identified, which of course makes it possible for police to come and arrest them, or for them to be identified for possible subsequent prosecution. By contrast, in cyberspace, a virtual protest aimed at crashing computer servers could in fact be the action of only one or a very small number of individuals. Granted, civil disobedience need not be done by many people at once in order to qualify as such, but the scale of “disobedience” that occurs when a vital Web site is disabled by a few clever hacktivists raises questions about the fidelity of translation from real space to cyberspace. And by remaining anonymous, the public dimension of their action is limited because, unlike civil disobedients, they did not stand with the courage of their convictions, and thus they may have done harm to the cause they claim to represent. In defending the practices of “electronic civil disobedience” (ECD), a collective called the “Critical Art Ensemble” (CAE) claims that it is necessary for an avant-garde to exercise its superior political and technical knowledge and skills in cyberspace: The only groups that will successfully confront power are those that locate the arena of contestation in cyberspace, and hence an élite force seems to be the best possibility. The increased success of local and regional resistant configurations, in part, depends upon the success of the avant-gardein the causal domain of the virtual (CAE, 1996, pp. 28-9). The CAE (2001, p. 14) not only explicitly questions the broad egalitarian premises of the tradition of nonviolent civil disobedience in real space, but it also rejects another defining principle of that tradition, namely, public accountability, arguing that ECD: . . . should be kept out of the public/popular sphere (as in the hacker tradition) and the eyes of the media . . . Rather than attempting to create a mass movement of public objectors, CAE suggested a decentralized flow of particularized micro- organizations (cells) that would produce multiple currents and trajectories to slow the velocity of capitalist political economy. Apart from this grandiose and self-important claim, the CAE (2001, pp. 26-7) also states that Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 332 “nearly all political as opposed to consciousness raising and pedagogical actions” share a common preference for covert action. Based on this self- image by a group that has articulated manifestos for the theory and practice of “electronic civil disobedience,” it is difficult to see much fidelity toward the tradition to which it claims a nominal heritage. Not only do its advocates reject the egalitarian and public nature of the tradition, but they also embrace violent alternatives: For more radical cells ECD is only the first step. Electronic violence, such as data hostages and system crashes, are also an option. Are such strategies and tactics a misguided nihilism? CAE thinks not (CAE, 1996, p. 24). In sum, the CAE distorts the idea of civil disobedience and misappropriates the label by rejecting the primary principles that define it. By eliding violent practices with the language of civil disobedience, the CAE offers greater justification for crackdowns against all uses of the Internet as a political tool for radical action, regardless of whether it is nonviolent. As the Internet has become an increasingly vital tool of commerce, government and everyday life, we have seen a commensurate rise in security concerns over “hackers,” “anarchists” and “cyberterrorists” (Sinrod and Reilly, 2000; Stanton, 2002). According to researchers at the RAND National Defense Research Institute, a variety of groups, “be they criminals, terrorists, or peaceful social activists,” pose significant threats to state legitimacy and power. Included in their profile are ethnic, racial and tribal factions, transnational drug cartels, international terrorists, guerrilla fighters, and NGOs (Ronfeldt et al., 1998, p. 18; see also Arquilla and Ronfeldt, 1993, 1997). And, these authors argue, governments must adapt to the network form in order to counter their increasingly effective network adversaries: It takes networks to fight networks. Governments that would defend against netwar will, increasingly, have to adopt organizational designs and strategies like those of their adversaries (Ronfeldt et al., 1998, pp. 17-18, emphasis in original)[5]. Furthermore, they argue that in order for “counternetwar” to be effective, governments “may require very effective interagency approaches, which by their nature involve networked structures” (Ronfeldt et al., 1998, p. 18). Ronfeldt et al. (1998, p. 18), in anticipating this move by governments, speculate that “By creating effective hybrids, governments may become better prepared to confront the new threats and challenges emerging in the information age, whether generated by terrorists, militias, criminals, or other actors”. In the wake of the attacks against the USA on September 11, 2001, it has become clear that a hybrid of institutional hierarchy and the network form figures prominently in the government’s massive counter-terrorism initiative. But now, in addition to the ongoing worries of further terrorism, comes a new worry. Who are the “other actors” that must be combated, and at what cost? Will governments adapt to “the network form” not only in order to fulfill their legitimate missions of preserving peace, but also in order to monitor and disrupt legitimate speech and association? How far will governments go in embracing the network form, and at what point do such efforts subvert democratic expression? Political violence and its rationales The doctrine of nonviolent civil disobedience puts a tremendous burden on those who choose to abide by it. But what about conditions under which the system is so tyrannical and unjust that it would seem hopeless to try and reform it by an appeal to reason? Some of the leading intellectuals of the twentieth century, including Sartre and Arendt, have concluded that the use of violence is a rational choice under some circumstances (Sartre, Preface in Fanon, 1963a; Arendt, 1969; see also Wolff, 1969; Paust, 1983). Such are the circumstance when we are no longer talking about what Rawls calls a “nearly just” system. For Rawls, when a system cannot be called “nearly just,” that is, when the legal foundations of the system are not worthy of respect and obedience, violent opposition is a defensible course of action. Such conditions may also be seen as a justification for being secretive about one’s responsibility for breaking the law. In this case, Rawls (1971, p. 367, emphasis added) notes, “militant action is not within the bounds of fidelity to the law, but represents a more profound opposition to the legal order”. In contrast to the Gandhian principle of nonviolence, other conceptions of justified disobedience do not reject the possible use of outright physical violence (Zinn, 1968, pp. 39-53; Bay, 1968, p. 474). Writing about French colonial rule in Algeria, Fanon (1963b, p. 61) argued that at a certain point it becomes convenient for oppressors to preach the doctrine of nonviolence “for the public good”: “Colonialism is not a thinking machine, nor a body endowed with reasoning facilities. It is violence in its natural state, and it will only yield when confronted with greater violence”. We will never know if Algerian liberation from French colonial domination would have been achieved, or if the French withdrawal would have taken longer, without violent Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 333 resistance. But there is no doubt that the French colonial domination of Algeria was widely considered a grossly unjust system of governance, not one that was “nearly just.” Lest Fanon’s views on justifiable violence be judged far too radical, any defender of American liberty should not forget the violent origins of the USA, and the justifications that were offered for it. We should also not forget that one of the key founding documents of the USA, the Declaration of Independence, argues that “the People” have the right and duty to abolish and replace a despotic government[6]. Thomas Jefferson, the man who penned that document, also is remembered for another statement he made in defense of political violence. In 1787, he famously reaffirmed his view in a private letter, written from Paris: “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure” (Jefferson, 1996)[7]. Certainly, nonviolence is always preferable to violence, but we may have greater difficulty in arguing that all forms of injustice and violent oppression can be dissolved nonviolently. Although some theorists of nonviolence argue that just ends can never be achieved by violent means, few would argue that violence was uncalled for in the belated efforts to bring about an end to the Nazi Holocaust. Noncooperation, obstruction, and circumvention by countless European Jews, and by many non-Jewish supporters, did not prevent or end the Holocaust. Since we cannot rewrite history, assertions by theorists that nonviolence could have worked, had it been given a chance, are nonsensical[8]. The choice between nonviolence and violence is made murkier by the historical co-presence in many instances of both types of direct action, leading us to question in retrospect whether nonviolence alone did in fact carry the day in cases in which an injustice was brought to an end. In 1930, the year of the Salt Satyagraha in India, the British Government was more concerned about violent attacks than about nonviolent demonstrations. According to historian Brown (1977), in Calcutta, “Terrorist ‘outrages’ jumped to thirty-six compared with four in 1929, causing nineteen deaths compared with one the previous year.” Among those killed were two high-ranking British officials (Brown, 1977, pp. 112, 38). In the USA in 1963 and 1964, there was growing unrest about the denial of civil rights to blacks, about grossly disproportionate rates of black unemployment and poverty, and about continued racist violence against nonviolent demonstrators. Despite the advances of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965, many black activists found the pace of progress in official efforts to undo deeply embedded racial inequality to be too slow, and the scope of change too limited. In 1967, black ghettos were sites of uprisings on an unprecedented scale (Zinn, 1995, p. 451). The Black Panther Party, which drew inspiration from Malcolm X and Frantz Fanon, alarmed many whites and middle-class blacks. This explains why black militant groups were primary targets of the FBI’s Counterintelligence Program (COINTELPRO), which went to great lengths to infiltrate, discredit and break up their activities (Zinn, 1995, p. 455; see also Jones and Jeffries, 1998; Singh, 1998; Churchill, 1998). In 1968, the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, also known as the “Kerner Commission,” found that US society was moving further and further toward a separate, unequal, and racially divided society (Kerner Commission, 1968). After the assassination of Martin Luther King in 1968, the nonviolent Christian message of turning the other cheek had lost ground to the message of armed self-defense advanced by Malcolm X, whom Cornel West calls “the prophet of black rage” (West, 2001, p. 136). Speaking at an earlier time about nonviolence, Malcolm X (1992) said: “Black people shouldn’t be willing to bleed unless white people are willing to bleed. And black people shouldn’t be willing to be nonviolent unless white people are going to be nonviolent”. The historical context in which nonviolent civil disobedience occurred during the most active period of the civil rights movement in the USA was one in which the fear of violence by the caretakers of a structurally racist, white-dominated political and legal system cannot be discounted as a significant impetus for social reform (Churchill, 1998). Writing about fears in the 1960s of black militancy, Zinn (1968, p. 51) notes that it was only when black demonstrations began to become violent that civil rights legislation became a top priority, as the national government responded with alarm to the growing popularity of the idea of “Black Power”. Despite the fact that strict advocates of nonviolence do not welcome the threat or use of violent force, it is reasonable to assume that their message becomes more effective in a context in which the threat of violence looms as a clear alternative. Complicating the picture is the question of whether we should distinguish between violence to persons, on the one hand, and aggression directed at property, on the other. The latter, as Zinn (1968, p. 121) notes, “might include depreciation (as in boycotts), damage, temporary occupation, and permanent appropriation”. Not surprisingly, some find it less problematic to justify property damage and destruction than harm to persons. In discussing the “trashing” of corporate property Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 334 that took place during the demonstrations that interrupted the meeting of the WTO in Seattle, Washington in 1999, Neumann (2000) defends some of these actions against a blanket rejection of all forms of political violence: When speaking about “violence,” it’s important to distinguish the rock thrown through a window from the rock thrown at another human being. This is not a semantic distinction. All expression of anger is on a continuum, but historically property destruction doesn’t necessarily lead to violence toward other human beings. The person-property distinction is well-developed among radical environmentalists. In the March- April 1998 issue of Earth First!journal, several contributors took part in a debate forum on “the cult of nonviolence” (Earth First! The Radical Environmental Journal, 1998). This forum was organized in response to an essay that was published in the journal in November-December 1997, in which some of the authors reject the view that nonviolence is the only acceptable code of activism: What we [those who adhere to a strict code of nonviolence] have complicitly created is a romantic backdrop for herd mentality. We build heroes, inflate martyrs and devalue the roles of other activists. People feel compelled to win approval by getting arrested, perhaps rejecting what they feel is right or effective (McFarlane and Echt, 1997, p. 17). By contrast, there are a number of examples of arguably violent practices, including tree-spiking (which endangers the lives of loggers), and “monkeywrenching,” or rendering power equipment inoperable. In some cases, monkeywrenching can deprive an independent logging contractor of a livelihood in a rural area where there are no other jobs, an act one writer terms “a flagrant abuse of class privilege” (Arcky, 1998; see also Sarvis, 1998; Foreman 1993). In contrast, one defender of monkeywrenching concludes: “How can a creed fashioned with the ostensible aim of preserving the Earth even acknowledge the idea of ‘property’?” (Spike and Friends, 1998). Not surprisingly, such challenges to the sanctity of corporate property have been applied not only to environmental issues, but also to issues of civil rights, workers’ rights, and human rights in general. In either cyberspace or the real world, destruction of corporate or government property, including capital equipment, may be based on very rational grounds, reflecting opposition to the destruction of a way of life in all of its complexity, as in the case of the early nineteenth century Luddite movement (Bailey, 1998). Regardless of one’s views of these practices, in most cases, they cannot be simply dismissed as random, wanton or meaningless, but instead they are often clearly motivated and highly symbolic acts of political communication. Conclusion Nonviolent civil disobedience has been criticized for being a predictable, domesticated, and sometimes disempowering form of civic action that imposes little pressure on corporate leaders and government officials to rectify injustices for which they are responsible. That is one reason why efforts to translate the spirit of nonviolent civil disobedience to cyberspace should be taken seriously. These new practices reflect innovation and adaptation beyond a fixed and normalized repertoire. The politics of shame, which are central to the practice of civil disobedience, constitute an appeal to public reason about what is morally just, and it should come as no surprise that such activities have migrated to the Internet, a medium that has fast become an indispensable and influential political tool in many levels and contexts. However, much of what is described under the label of “electronic civil disobedience” is not faithful to the tradition of Thoreau, Gandhi and King. Much is conducted anonymously, and yet public accountability is a defining characteristic of civil disobedience. For example, if the identities of those responsible for a computer attack are concealed, this may cloud the public perception of the purpose of the action, thereby impeding informed deliberation. This also lends greater legitimacy to police, media and public condemnations of it as an act of cowardice, and the subsequent treatment of suspects as common criminals, not civil disobedients. The concept of civil disobedience has historically specific connotations that should be sustained, if for no other reason than that the concept’s meaning has relevance to a system of political thought which, for better and for worse, has evolved to protect the rights of individuals and groups to nonviolently break the law as a way of publicly expressing opposition to injustice. To the extent that political activism in cyberspace can meet those standards, then it deserves to be called civil disobedience. Otherwise, its advocates undermine the meaning of this tradition. Not only is nonviolence intrinsically virtuous, it also lends moral authority to the effectiveness of civil disobedience as a form of strategic action. In the post-9/11 context of heightened surveillance and apprehension of terrorism suspects by the governments of the USA and its allies in the “war on terrorism,” many examples have arisen of intensified scrutiny, infiltration and Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 335 repression of peaceful opponents of US foreign policy. This is manifested, for example, in unfair associations made between nonviolent civil disobedience and “terrorism” by critics and opponents of the global justice movement (Chang, 2002; Cole and Dempsey, 2002)[9]. The discourse on terrorism has become even more vital to civil society since that day, particularly as it relates to the freedom to dissent and the right not to be enjoined from practicing a form of political communication known as nonviolent civil disobedience. There historically have been and continue to be many cases to illustrate how martial law and police power have been used to counter legitimate and nonviolent resistance by inciting violence and creating polarizations within movements, and there is no reason to assume that cyber-activism is immune to such practices[10]. However, whether in cyberspace or the real world, disruptive but nonviolent strategies of dissent that are practised in order to insert marginalized voices into institutional politics ought to be understood and accommodated as much as possible by any government that professes democratic ideals. Notes 1 Amendment IV of the US Constitution reads: “The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized” (Thomas Legislative Information on the Internet, n.d.). 2 The Sanskrit term “satyagraha” was used by Gandhi used to refer to the particular conception of nonviolent action he advocated, which aimed not only toward civil disobedience, but also toward the spiritual enlightenment of both oppressor and oppressed. It means pursuit of truth, but it also translates as “truth-force” or “the force that is generated through adherence to truth” (Shepard, 1990; see also Gandhi, 1999). 3 The term “hacker ethic” is said to have been first coined by Levy (1984). See particularly chapter two, in which Levy describes the hacker ethic in terms of the aesthetic elegance of writing parsimonious computer code, a libertarian mistrust of authority and egalitarian sentiment, and an optimistic appraisal towards the social benefits of computers. See also Himanen’s (2001) The Hacker Ethic, in which the author characterizes the “hacker ethic” as central to the cultural ethos of the information age. 4 For a good explanation of the shift towards the criminalization of the hacker image, see Ross (1991). Sterling’s (1993) The Hacker Crackdown is the best chronicle of the seeds of a criminal element in hacker culture, and of the eventual law enforcement crackdown. See also US Federal Bureau of Investigation director Freeh (2000). 5 The term “netwar” is defined by the RAND researchers as follows: “information-related conflict at a grand level between nations or societies . . . A netwar may focus on public or elite opinion, or both. It may involve public diplomacy measures, propaganda and psychological campaigns, political and cultural subversion, deception of or interference with local media, infiltration of computer networks and databases, and efforts to promote dissident or opposition movements across computer networks” (Arquilla and Ronfeldt, 1993, p. 144). 6 In part, the Declaration of Independence reads: “But when a long Train of Abuses and Usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a Design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their Right, it is their Duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future Security” (Second Continental Congress, 1776). 7 For a vigorous challenge to and exploration of the implications of Jefferson’s view, see O’Brien (1996a, b). 8 For arguments that nonviolence would have been an effective weapon in cases when it was not chosen, including against the Holocaust, see Lakey (2001) and McReynolds (n.d.). 9 To illustrate how peaceful activism and terrorism have been conflated by law enforcement officials, in December 2003, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) released an October 2003 FBI Intelligence Bulletin to alarm law enforcement officials about “relevant terrorism information developed from counterterrorism investigations and analysis.” Actions that the FBI suggests are “extremist” include wearing gas masks for protection against the tear gas and pepper spray that is often used to disperse crowds, carrying shields and wearing body protection, and videotaping incidents of police brutality. The memorandum also states, “Post-demonstration activities can include fundraising in support of the legal defense of accused protestors and demonstrations of solidarity calling for the release of the accused” (FBI, 2003). 10 A recent example of federally funded efforts in the usa to repress civil disobedience is the case of police violence, infiltration, provocation and false arrest of protesters at the November 2003 Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA) Summit in Miami, Florida. President Bush added to an $87 billion Congressional bill to fund post-war reconstruction in Iraq an $8.5 million grant to the city of Miami, which is competing with other cities to become the location of FTAA headquarters, for law enforcement during the Summit. By many credible accounts, the level of police response in Miami was far out of proportion with the scale of protest activity. Not only were several hundred demonstrators gassed, beaten, shot indiscriminately with rubber bullets, and arrested, but so were many independent reporters who were documenting the scenes. Multiple incidents were reported of the police confiscation, destruction and failure to return video cameras and other equipment used by reporters. The Miami police gave privileged access and protection to “embedded” journalists who traveled with officers in armored vehicles and helicopters. The overwhelming force used against nonviolent protesters, involving cooperation from over 40 local, state and federal law enforcement agencies, was praised by Miami Mayor Manny Diaz as “a model for homeland defense.” The “Miami Model” of how to handle demonstrators was observed during the FTAA Summit by officials visiting from other US cities where future major political conventions and economic summits are scheduled to take place (Klein, 2003; Hanks, 2003; Ridriguez-Taseff, 2003; Goldberg, 2003). Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 336 References Adbusters (n.d.), Adbusters tobacco spoof ads, available at: http://adbusters.org/spoofads/tobacco/ (accessed July 18, 2004). Arcky, A. (1998), “The sum of the parts”, Earth First! The Radical Environmental Journal, Vol. 18 No. 4, March-April, p. 12, available at: http://ef.enviroweb.org/old/Eostar98/ (accessed June 12, 2000). Arendt, H. (1969), “On violence”, Crises of the Republic, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, New York, NY. Arquilla, J. and Ronfeldt, D. (1993), “Cyberwar is coming!”, Comparative Strategy, Vol. 12, pp. 141-65. Arquilla, J. and Ronfeldt, D. (Eds) (1997), In Athena’s Camp: Preparing for Conflict in the Information Age, RAND, Santa Monica, CA. Bailey, B.J. (1998), The Luddite Rebellion, New York University Press, New York, NY. Bay, C. 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(1998), “‘Don’t believe the hype’: debunking the Panther mythology”, in Jones, C.E. (Ed.), The Black Panther Party (Reconsidered), Black Classic Press, Baltimore, MD. Kant, I. (1991a), “On the common saying: ‘This may be true in theory, but it does not apply in practice’”, in Nisbet, H.B. (Ed.), Political Writings, Reiss, H. (trans.), Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Kant, I. (1991b), “An answer to the question ‘What is enlightenment?’”, in Nisbet, H.B. (Ed.), Political Writings, Reiss, H. (trans.), Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Kant, I. (1996), “The doctrine of right, part i: public right”, in Gregor, M. (trans. and Ed.), The Metaphysics of Morals, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Katz, B.J. (1985), “Civil disobedience and the First Amendment”, UCLA Law Review, Vol. 32 April, pp. 904-19. Kerner Commission (1968), Report of the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, Bantam, New York, NY. King, M.L.K. Jr (1963), “Letter from Birmingham Jail”, April 16, available at: www.geocities.com/Athens/Forum/9061/afro/ birmingham.html (accessed April 11, 2000). Klein, N. (1999), No Logo: Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies, Picador, New York, NY. Klein, N. (2003), “The war on dissent”, Globe and Mail, November 25, available at: www.commondreams.org (accessed December 26). Lakey, G. (2001), “Nonviolent action as ‘the sword that heals’”, Training for Change, March, available at: www. trainingforchange.org/reports_0103_pacifismR.html (accessed July 12). Ledewitz, B. (1990), “Civil disobedience, injunctions, and the First Amendment”, Hofstra Law Review, Vol. 19, pp. 67-141. Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 337 http://www.emeraldinsight.com/rpsv/cgi-bin/linker?ext=i&reqidx=0149-5933()12L.141[aid=6290077] http://www.emeraldinsight.com/rpsv/cgi-bin/linker?ext=i&reqidx=0149-5933()12L.141[aid=6290077] http://www.emeraldinsight.com/rpsv/cgi-bin/linker?ext=i&reqidx=0067-5830()30L.95[aid=6290076] http://www.emeraldinsight.com/rpsv/cgi-bin/linker?ext=i&reqidx=0067-5830()30L.95[aid=6290076] http://www.emeraldinsight.com/rpsv/cgi-bin/linker?ext=i&reqidx=0067-5830()30L.95[aid=6290076] http://adbusters.org/spoofads/tobacco/ http://ef.enviroweb.org/old/Eostar98/ http://www.san.beck.org/WP19-Gandhi.html http://www.essentialmedia.com/Shop/Dery.html http://www.essentialmedia.com/Shop/Dery.html http://www.aclu.org http://www.gandhiinstitute.org/nonvio21.html http://www.salon.com http://ef.enviroweb.org/old/Eostar98/ http://www.miami.com http://www.theatlantic.com/issues/96oct/obrien/blood.htm http://www.theatlantic.com/issues/96oct/obrien/blood.htm http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Forum/9061/afro/birmingham.html http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Forum/9061/afro/birmingham.html http://www.commondreams.org Lessig, L. 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(1998), The Zapatista Social Netwar in Mexico, RAND, Santa Monica, CA. Ross, A. (1991), “Hacking away at the counterculture”, in Penley, C. and Ross, A. (Eds), Technoculture, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, MN. Sarvis, D. (1998), “Monkeywrenching: what’s up with that?”, What Exactly Is Earth First!? An Introductory Primer, last updated May 20, available at: http://ef.enviroweb.org/ primer/index.html (accessed June 26, 2000). Schwarz, W. (1977), “The ambiguities of ‘resistance’”, Ethics, Vol. 87 No. 3, April, pp. 255-9. Second Continental Congress (1776), The Unanimous Declaration of the Thirteen United States of America, July 4, Thomas: Legislative Information on the Internet, available at: ttp://lcweb2.loc.gov/const/declar.html (accessed July 18, 2004). Sharp, G. (1973), The Politics of Nonviolent Action, P. Sargent Publisher, Boston, MA. Shepard, M. (1990), “Mahatma Gandhi and his myths”, 1990 Annual Gandhi Lecture for the International Association of Gandhian Studies, delivered at the University of Virginia at Charlottesville, October 2, available at: www.markshep. com/nonviolence/Myths.html (accessed May 26, 2000). Singh, N.P. (1998), “The black panthers and the ‘undeveloped country’ of the Left”, in Jones, C.E. (Ed.), The Black Panther Party (Reconsidered), Black Classic Press, Baltimore, MD. Sinrod, E.J. and Reilly, W.P. (2002), “Cyber-crimes: a practical approach to the application of federal computer crime laws”, Computer and High Technology Law Journal, Vol. 16 May, pp. 177-232. Spike and Friends (1998), “Cult of ass kissing”, Earth First! The Radical Environmental Journal, Vol. 18 No. 4, March-April, available at: http://ef.enviroweb.org/old/Eostar98/ (accessed June 12, 2000). Stanton, J.J. (2002), “Terror in cyberspace”, American Behavioral Scientist, Vol. 45 No. 6, February, pp. 1017-32. Sterling, B. (1993), The Hacker Crackdown: Law and Disorder on the Electronic Frontier, Bantam, New York, NY. Thomas Legislative Information on the Internet (n.d.), “Bill of rights, first ten amendments to the US Constitution”, available at: www.archives.gov/national_archives_ experience/charters/bill_of_rights_transcript.html (accessed July 18, 2004). Thoreau, H.D. (1980), “On the duty of civil disobedience”, Life in the Woods and on the Duty of Civil Disobedience, Penguin, New York, NY. Vidal, J. (1998), McLibel: Burger Culture on Trial, New Press, New York, NY. Walzer, M. (1970), “Civil disobedience and corporate authority”, Obligations: Essays on Disobedience, War, and Citizenship, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA. West, C. (2001), “Malcolm X and black rage”, Race Matters, 2nd ed., Random House, New York, NY. Wolff, R.P. (1969), “On violence”, The Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 66 No. 19, October, pp. 601-16. Wray, S. (1998), “Virtual Luddites: monkeywrenching on the Web”, Earth First! The Radical Environmental Journal, Vol. 17 No. 6, June-July, available at: http://ef.enviroweb. org/old/Litha98/virtualudd.html (accessed April 12, 2000). Zinn, H. (1968), Disobedience and Democracy, Random House, New York, NY. Zinn, H. (1995), A People’s History of the United States, Harper Perennial, New York, NY. Further reading DiBona, C., Ockman, S. and Stone, M. (1999), Open Sources: Voices from the Open Source Revolution, O’Reilly & Associates, Sebastopol, CA. Smith, J. (2001), “Cyber subversion in the information economy”, Dissent, Vol. 48 No. 2, Spring, available at: http://dissentmagazine.org/archive/sp01/smith.html (accessed March 21). Civil disobedience and political violence in the information age Andrew Calabrese info Volume 6 · Number 5 · 2004 · 326-338 338 http://www.emeraldinsight.com/rpsv/cgi-bin/linker?ext=i&reqidx=0014-1704()87:3L.255[aid=6290081] http://www.emeraldinsight.com/rpsv/cgi-bin/linker?ext=i&reqidx=0014-1704()87:3L.255[aid=6290081] http://www.emeraldinsight.com/rpsv/cgi-bin/linker?ext=i&reqidx=0002-7642()45:6L.1017[aid=5695594] http://www.emeraldinsight.com/rpsv/cgi-bin/linker?ext=i&reqidx=0002-7642()45:6L.1017[aid=5695594] http://www.nonviolence.org/commentary/messages/2323.htm http://www.nonviolence.org/commentary/messages/2323.htm http://www.mcspotlight.org/ http://www.dissentmagazine.org http://www.nationalreview.com http://www.thenation.com http://www.miami.com http://ef.enviroweb.org/primer/index.html http://ef.enviroweb.org/primer/index.html http://www.markshep.com/nonviolence/Myths.html http://www.markshep.com/nonviolence/Myths.html http://ef.enviroweb.org/old/Eostar98/ http://www.archives.gov/national_archives_experience/charters/bill_of_rights_transcript.html http://www.archives.gov/national_archives_experience/charters/bill_of_rights_transcript.html http://ef.enviroweb.org/old/Litha98/virtualudd.html http://ef.enviroweb.org/old/Litha98/virtualudd.html http://dissentmagazine.org/archive/sp01/smith.html 
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work_5sugq3pezjdi7fpbz4fhhqj4i4	----	Phylogeny and Speciation of Felids | Request PDF ArticlePhylogeny and Speciation of Felids July 2005 Cladistics 16(2):232 - 253 DOI: 10.1111/j.1096-0031.2000.tb00354.x Authors: Michelle Y. Mattern Michelle Y. Mattern This person is not on ResearchGate, or hasn't claimed this research yet. Deborah A. Mclennan University of Toronto Request full-text PDFTo read the full-text of this research, you can request a copy directly from the authors. Request full-text Download citation Copy link Link copied Request full-text Download citation Copy link Link copied To read the full-text of this research, you can request a copy directly from the authors. Citations (141) References (140) Abstract The phylogeny of the Felidae is reconstructed using a total evidence approach combining sequences from 12S rRNA, 16S rRNA, NADH-5, and cytochrome b genes with morphological and karyological characters. The 1504-character data set generated two equally parsimonious trees (CI = 0.413, 1795 steps) of which a strict consensus revealed one polytomy in the placement of the bay cat group. The tree supports several traditional groupings such as the genera Panthera and Lynx and the ocelot group of small South American felids, and it provides additional resolution of relationships within and among the major felid lineages. Combining phylogenetic, distributional, and ecological data indicates that vicariant speciation has played a relatively minor role in the diversification of the felids (approximately 26% of events), while sympatric speciation has been more important than expected on theoretical grounds (approximately 51.8% of events), although postspeciation dispersal may have blurred the boundaries between sympatric, parapatric, and peripheral isolate modes. An examination of ecological changes on the felid tree shows repeated patterns of resource partitioning in time (activity patterns), space (preferred habitat type), and food (as measured by body size) among closely related species. The rapid diversification of the cats thus appears to have been associated more with ecological than with geological separation. Discover the world's research 20+ million members 135+ million publications 700k+ research projects Join for free No full-text available To read the full-text of this research, you can request a copy directly from the authors. Request full-text PDF Citations (141) References (140) ... It could be that the two species diverged when Borneo first became an island during PLIO 3, or if temmincki is considered to be of Indochinese affinity and badia of Sundaic affinity, then it is possible that the two lineages separated during PLIO 2 when the Sundaic and Indochinese subregions may have become separated. It should be noted, however, that Mattern and McLennan (2000) suggested a process of sympatric speciation associated with an increase in body size in C. temmincki. More generally, these latter authors suggested that vicariant speciation appears to have played a limited role in the Felidae. ... ... These three species probably diverged from a common ancestor some 3.95 Mya (Johnson & O'Brien 1997). According to Mattern and McLennan (2000) these species evolved sympatrically associated with movement into thicker forest, coupled with the origin of climbing ability in bengalensis. It could also be that these species evolved as the result of allopatric speciation, when high sea levels during PLIO 2, may have split Sumatra from the rest of Sundaland and Sundaland from the Asian mainland; ecological specialization of the 3 species would then have occurred after their initial divergence and was not the direct cause of it. ... ... Pardofelis marmorata, the Marbled Cat of the Himalayas, Indochina, and Sundaland, formed part of the radiation in a group including the genus Lynx (O'Brien 1996), although in the study by Johnson and O'Brien (1997), this species did not consistently associate with any other felid; a relationship with the Puma group was in that study more likely. Mattern and McLennan (2000) found a more likely close relationshio between Catopuma and Pardofelis marmorata. Finally, the radiation of the group containing Panthera and Neofelis (the Clouded Leopard) occurred some 6-5.5 Mya, according to O'Brien et al. (1987) and Johnson and O'Brien (1997), although in another paper O' Brien (1996) estimated that this radiation occurred in the Pleistocene. ... Solving Mammalian Riddles : A reconstruction of the Tertiary and Quaternary distribution of mammals and their palaeoenvironments in island South-East Asia Thesis Full-text available Jan 2004 Erik Meijaard Since the mid 19th century, the biogeography of island South-East Asia has been the subject of much study. Early researchers explained many of the species distribution patterns by the rise and fall of sea levels and land. This and the work of other researchers culminated in a theory that emphasized the role of Pleistocene sea level low stands in species evolution. With the advent of newly developed molecular techniques, however, it became clear that many species divergence events had taken place before the Pleistocene and a biogeographical theory focusing on Pleistocene sea level changes was inadequate. In this research, I have developed a new biogeographic model that explains present-day distribution patterns and evolutionary relationships between species. I use this new model to explain 10 ‘mammalian riddles’, i.e. evolutionary or distribution patterns in selected mammal species groups that could not be explained with the existing theories. I developed the new model by analyzing the geological literature for this region, and by mapping palaeogeographical and palaeoenvironmental changes for the last 20 million years. In addition I compiled information on the palaeontological record for the region and on divergence times between taxa using a molecular clock assumption. These phylogenetic data were compared with the palaeomaps to assess whether particular divergence events could be correlated with certain palaeogeographical or palaeoenvironmental changes. The combination of these two information sources has resulted in a much-improved understanding of mammalian evolution in island SE Asia. Using this model it is now possible to relate important palaeoenvironmental events, such as the Late Miocene cooling, an Early–Middle Pliocene highstand, or the emergence and submergence of a land bridge between the Malay Peninsula and Java to evolutionary changes in species. I test the accuracy of the new model by analysing the relationships within several mammal groups using craniometric and molecular analysis. The observed relationships and deduced timing of divergence between taxa could in many cases be explained by the model, which indicates that it is relatively accurate. In addition, with the new model I have been able to find solutions to most mammalian riddles, although these results require further testing. Overall, I therefore believe I have made a significant contribution to the biogeographical understanding of island SE Asia. View Show abstract ... There have been long debates about the systematics of the felids. Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. ... ... Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. Lately the cat family has been divided into 37 species; however numbers vary between 36 and 39 species, depending on the author. ... ... Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. Lately the cat family has been divided into 37 species; however numbers vary between 36 and 39 species, depending on the author. ... Ecology and population status of the Serval Leptailurus serval (SCHREBER, 1776) in Zambia Thesis Full-text available Feb 2011 Christine Thiel-Bender View ... There have been long debates about the systematics of the felids. Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. ... ... Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. Lately the cat family has been divided into 37 species; however numbers vary between 36 and 39 species, depending on the author. ... ... Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. Lately the cat family has been divided into 37 species; however numbers vary between 36 and 39 species, depending on the author. ... Ecology and population status of the Serval Leptailurus serval (SCHREBER, 1776) in Zambia Thesis Feb 2011 Christine Thiel Little is known about the Serval’s ecology, its needs and population status. This thesis is providing a new and detailed groundwork on this elusive felid species. The study was conducted between 2006 and 2008 in Zambia, with the focus area being Luambe National Park (LNP) in the Luangwa Valley. Keywords: Felidae, Serval, Leptailurus serval, diet, habitat, minimum population size, SDM model, ticks, Zambia, Africa View Show abstract ... The Felidae include 37 extant species (Wozencraft, Wilson & Reeder, 2005), occurring in all continents except in Antarctica (Redford & Eisenberg, 1992;Sunquist & Sunquist, 2009). The species are separated into eight lineages (Johnson et al., 2006;O'Brien & Johnson, 2007), of which the monophyletic Panthera lineage, supported by both morphological and molecular evidence (Hemmer, 1978;Herrington, 1986;Salles, 1992;Janczewski et al., 1995;Johnson et al., 1996Johnson et al., , 2006Bininda-Emonds, Gittleman & Purvis, 1999;Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Bininda-Emonds, Decker-Flum & Gittleman, 2001;Jae-Heup et al., 2001;Yu & Zhang, 2005;Christiansen, 2008a;Davis, Li & Murphy, 2010), comprises six large felid species widely distributed in the world (Wozencraft et al., 2005). Pantherines had an ancestor whose lineage branched off the rest of the felids at about 6.4 Mya (Fig. 1, Johnson et al., 2006;O'Brien & Johnson, 2007). ... ... Herrington, 1986;Janczewski et al., 1995;Johnson et al., 1996;Bininda-Emonds et al., 1999Jae-Heup et al., 2001;Christiansen, 2008a;Davis et al., 2010), although in some studies P. leo and P. onca (e.g. Johnson et al., 2006) or P. onca and P. tigris (Mattern & McLennan, 2000) are sister species. ... Three‐dimensional cranial ontogeny in pantherines (Panthera leo, P. onca, P. pardus, P. tigris; Carnivora:, Felidae) Article Aug 2016 Biol J Linn Soc Valentina Segura Guillermo Cassini Francisco Juan Prevosti The Panthera lineage is a monophyletic clade of felids, supported by both morphological and molecular evidence. The lineage includes large species with cranial similarity such as Panthera leo and P. tigris, and other with very different cranium such as P. pardus. The aim of our work was to study the cranial ontogeny of Pantherines, elucidating whether their cranial shape is a product of size or phylogeny, and to compare these findings with available information about other carnivores. We studied 370 specimens using geometric morphometrics technique in three dimensions. Panthera leo and P. tigris show similar ontogenetic trajectories, sharing adult crania with wider rostrum, shorter basicranium and vertical occipital plate. The cranial configuration of P. leo is a scaling version of P. tigris. P. pardus shows the most different cranial pattern, with adults having a rounded braincase and zygomatic arches less expanded than the rest, whereas P. onca occupies an intermediate place between these patterns. P. pardus is the species with the smallest birth weight and the lowest growth rate, reaching a final size and shape later than the remaining species. Adult shape morphology reflects no relation to phylogenetic placement of the species and it is probably related to Pantherine body size. View Show abstract ... All felids exhibit relatively little variation of body shape and lifestyle across their worldwide distribution (Martin, 1989;Rothwell, 2003;MacDonald, 2009;Sunquist and Sunquist, 2017;Piras et al., 2018). Regardless of their overall phenotypic similarities, they show an incredible range of size and mass from around 1 kg (Prionailurus rubiginosus) (Mattern and McLennan, 2000) to over 300 kg for Panthera tigris (Hayward et al., 2012). Cuff et al. (2015) demonstrated that felids show two selective body mass optima: (i) around 5 kg for "small cats", and (ii) around 100 kg for "big cats", and that their body masses were significantly different among prey choice classes (small, mixed, large). ... ... For these carnivores a large number of functional studies, including paleontological investigations, suggest that locomotion and predatory behavior are major evolutionary pressures on body size and mass (Mattern and McLennan, 2000;Hayward and Kerley, 2005;Meachen-Samuels andVan Valkenburgh, 2009a, 2009b;Slater and Van Valkenburgh, 2009;Hayward et al., 2012;Samuels et al., 2013). Indeed, felids also show similarities in their behavior related to locomotion. ... Iliac auricular surface morphofunctional study in felidae Article Oct 2019 ZOOLOGY Jean-Pierre Pallandre Raphaël Cornette Marie-Ange Placide Vincent Bels Felids show remarkable phenotypic similarities and are conservative in behavioral and ecological traits. In contrast, they display a large range in body mass from around 1kg to more than 300kg. Body size and locomotory specializations correlate to skull, limb and vertebral skeleton morphology. With an increase in body mass, felids prey selection switches from small to large, from using a rapid skull or spine lethal bite for small prey, to sustained suffocating bite for large prey. Dietary specialization correlates to skull and front limbs morphology but no correlation was found on the spine or on the hind limb. The morphology of the sacroiliac junction in relation to ecological factors remained to be described. We are presenting a study of the overall shape of the iliac auricular surface with qualitative and quantitative analyses of its morphology. Our results demonstrate that body mass, prey selection, and bite type, crucially influence the auricular surface, where no significant effect of locomotor specialization was found. The outline of the surface is significantly more elevated dorso-caudally and the joint surface shows an irregular W-shape topography in big cats whereas the surface in small cats is smoother with a C-shape topography and less of an elevated ridge. Biomechanically, we suggest that a complex auricular surface increases joint stiffness and provides more support in heavier cats, an advantage for subduing big prey successfully during a sustained bite. View Show abstract ... Some of the assumptions are based purely on the experience of cat owners found on the internet [3]. The average weight of a cat can be estimated to be 4.5 kg [5]. The height of one floor of an average house of blocks in post-Soviet republics varies from 2.5 m to 3.0 m. ... ... , m is the mass of the cat estimated as[5] ... Free fall of a cat—freshman physics exercise Article Jul 2016 EUR J PHYS Filip Studnička Jan Slegr David Štegner This paper describes theoretical calculation of the terminal velocity of falling cat, taking the air drag into account. The results show that a fall from the seventh floor is critical for the cat so we introduce a new quantity called the 'coefficient of the cat's fear' during free fall. A subsequent experiment with a model of a cat carrying the accelerometer confirmed this conclusion. This calculation and experiment can act as a strong motivational factor during introductory physics courses. View Show abstract ... The fossil record of the ocelot (Leopardus pardalis) is scarce, and includes several fragmentary finds from the North American Pleistocene [53,54]; most are Irvingtonian, but the species may well have persisted into the Sangamonian [55]; it is still found in the southern USA today [56,57]. The lineage was inferred to be 5.1 MYA by Mattern & McLennan (2000), but only 2.9 MYA by Johnson et al. (2006) [10,58]. We infer an age of 6.5 MYA for this entire lineage, to accommodate the age of Lynx-Acinonyx. ... ... The fossil record of the ocelot (Leopardus pardalis) is scarce, and includes several fragmentary finds from the North American Pleistocene [53,54]; most are Irvingtonian, but the species may well have persisted into the Sangamonian [55]; it is still found in the southern USA today [56,57]. The lineage was inferred to be 5.1 MYA by Mattern & McLennan (2000), but only 2.9 MYA by Johnson et al. (2006) [10,58]. We infer an age of 6.5 MYA for this entire lineage, to accommodate the age of Lynx-Acinonyx. ... Text S5 Data Full-text available Mar 2009 Michael Doube Alexis Wiktorowicz Conroy Per Christiansen Sandra J Shefelbine Construction of the felid cladogram for phylogenetic contrasts. Justification for the construction of the felid cladogram and description of the phylogenetic control applied to the allometric calculations. (0.11 MB PDF) View Show abstract ... In a relatively short span of geologic time, modern big cats diversified and colonized Asia, Europe, and the Americas. It has been suggested that their speciation relied more upon ecological divergence than geographic separation (Mattern & McLennan, 2000). Many species in the genus Panthera have died out, with fairly frequent new fossil discoveries continuing to be reported. ... ... From our present perspective, these factors also obscure the relationships among extinct and living species. They make it difficult to identify clear pathways from jaguars' beginnings to where the species is today, and it is evident that the complete story has not yet been told (Mattern & McLennan, 2000). ... Jaguar Care Manual Book Full-text available Sep 2016 Stacey Johnson Cheri Asa William Baker Ann Ward View ... Secondly, since all species are evolutionarily linked, and consequently, do not represent truly independent determinations as required by the rules of statistic, we constructed a phylogenetic tree to calculate phylogenetic independent contrasts. To this end, we used the NCBI Taxonomy Browser (http:// www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/Taxonomy/CommonTree/wwwcmt.cgi) in conjunction with the works of several authors (Randi et al., 1998;Martin et al., 2000;Michaux et al., 2002;Perelman et al., 2011;Vilstrup et al., 2013;Robovský et al., 2008;Mattern, 2000) that were instrumental to resolve most polytomies. One remaining polytomy was arbitrarily resolved (Fig. 3A). ... Genetic instability and aging under the scrutiny of comparative biology: A meta-analysis of spontaneous micronuclei frequency Article Apr 2016 Eleonora Croco Silvia Marchionni Antonello Lorenzini In gerontology, comparative biology of longevity offers a powerful observation point thus far underexploited. We use this approach to evaluate the role of genetic stability in longevity determination, extrapolating existing data from the literature. Screening eight pre-existing studies, we collected data from 47 mammalian species and analyzed the relationship of spontaneous micronucleated erythrocyte frequency to species maximum longevity and species adult body mass. Since in 26 of these species the spleen removes micronucleated erythrocytes from the peripheral circulation, we conducted further comparative analysis on the remaining 21 species. We demonstrate that spontaneous micronucleated erythrocyte frequency correlates primarily with body mass and not with maximum longevity. We suggest that other data on genetic stability could be collected from published works in different species and analyzed in a similar way to test further the role of genetic stability in aging. View Show abstract ... A composite phylogenetic tree for North American carnivores (Fig. 3) was based on a number of phylogenetic studies (Erdbrink, 1953;Van Valkenburgh et al., 1990;Mazza and Rustioni, 1993;Baskin, 1998aBaskin, , 1998bHunt, 1998;Mattern and McLennan, 2000;Wesley-Hunt and Flynn, 2003;Flynn and Wesley-Hunt, 2005;Wesley-Hunt, 2005;Johnson et al., 2006;Polly et al., 2006;Fulton and Strobeck, 2007;Yu et al., 2007;Sato et al., 2009;Tedford et al., 2009;Agnarsson et al., 2010;Eizirik et al., 2010;Flynn et al., 2010;Wolsan and Sato, 2010;Fuentes-González and Muñoz-Durán, 2012;Spaulding and Flynn, 2012;Tseng et al., 2013). Divergence dates for the tree's nodes are based on fossils that have been subjected to rigorous phylogenetic analyses in the above Fig. 3. Phylogeny of living North American Carnivora with divergence times calibrated with key fossil occurrences. ... Clade sorting has a greater effect than local adaptation on ecometric patterns in Carnivora Article Full-text available Feb 2017 EVOL ECOL RES Paul David Polly Jesualdo Arturo Fuentes-González A. Michelle Lawing Robert G Dundas Background: Ecometric patterning is the sorting of mean values of functional traits in communities in space through time at continental scales. Ecometric patterns can emerge from intraspecific population-level processes (selection along an environmental gradient), species-level processes (geographic sorting of species based on functional trait differences), or clade-level processes (geographic sorting based on phylogenetically shared traits). We analysed a hind limb ratio related to locomotion in carnivores (Mammalia, Carnivora) to determine (1) whether its ecometric patterning involves intraspecific population-level evolutionary processes; (2) whether ecometric patterning is produced by clade sorting processes; and (3) how ecometric patterns are altered by species turnover during glacial–interglacial cycles. Data: We analysed (1) intraspecific variation in hind limb ratio in five species to evaluate the importance of population-level processes in ecometric patterning; (2) the distributions of ratios within and among communities to evaluate the importance of clade sorting; and (3) the distributions of ratios of seven glacial fossil assemblages to evaluate temporal dynamics in ecometric patterns. We also analysed three-dimensional calcaneum shape to assess the strength of phylogenetic and functional components of hind limb variation. Analytical methods: Geometric morphometrics, phylogenetic comparative methods, and phylogenetic community assembly methods were used to evaluate trait-based clade sorting; RLQ analysis was used to measure the correlation between vegetation openness, spatial scale, species occurrences, phylogeny, and hind limb traits; and trait space was used to analyse turnover between glacial and extant carnivore communities. Results: Population-level selection is either too weak or ineffective to produce hind limb trait gradients within carnivore species; however, clade-level trait-based sorting has a strong impact on community-level trait distributions. RLQ analysis demonstrates that clade membership interacts with hind limb ratios and vegetation openness in carnivore community assembly. Glacial–interglacial cycles produced turnover in faunas and hind limb trait distributions regardless of location or biome. View Show abstract ... We found no consistent signal of the geography of speciation. This is surprising given widespread agreement that allopatric speciation is probably the norm in mammals (e.g., Patton and da Silva 1998;Alexander and Riddle 2005; but see Mattern and McLennan 2000). Our failure to detect consistent phylogenetic signal in geographic range overlap suggests that ARC analyses have limited power for many mammals. ... The geography of mammalian speciation: Mixed signals from phylogenies and range maps Article Full-text available Mar 2006 Evolution Benjamin Minault Fitzpatrick Michael Turelli Abstract The importance of geographic isolation in speciation has been debated since the 19th century. Since the beginning of the 20th century, the consensus has been that most speciation involves divergence in allopatry. This consensus was based largely on decades of observations by naturalists and verbal arguments against speciation without isolation. Recent attempts to quantify the importance of allopatric versus sympatric speciation using comparative methods called “age-range correlation” (ARC) suggest that allopatric speciation is more common than sympatric speciation. However, very few taxa have been studied and there are concerns about the adequacy of the methods. We propose methodological improvements including changes in the way overlap between clades is quantified and Monte Carlo methods to test the null hypothesis of no relationship between phylogenetic relatedness and geographic range overlap. We analyze 14 clades of mammals, chosen because of the availability of data and the consensus among mammalogists that speciation is routinely allopatric. Although data from a few clades clearly indicate allopatric speciation, divergence with gene flow is plausible in others and many results are inconclusive. The relative rarity of significant correlations between phylogenetic distance and range overlap may have three distinct causes: (1) postspeciation range changes, (2) relative rarity of range overlap, and (3) a mixture of geographic modes of speciation. Our results support skepticism about ARC's power for inferring the biogeography of speciation. Yet, even if few clades provide clear signals, meta-analytic approaches such as ARC may set bounds on the prevalence of alternative modes of speciation. View Show abstract ... Remarks: The fossil record of this genus is very scarce (Soibelzon and Prevosti, 2007), and the available diagnoses and descriptions for species of this genus are based on soft tissue characters (Seymour, 1999) and upper teeth (Salles, 1992;Mattern and McLennan, 2000). ... Quaternary biostratigraphy and biogeography of mountain region of Córdoba, Argentina Article May 2017 Jeronimo Krapovickas Adan Tauber José Augusto Haro In Argentina, Quaternary paleontological and biostratigraphic studies were mainly conducted in the Pampas plains of the provinces of Buenos Aires, Córdoba, Formosa and Santa Fe. The aim of the present study is to analyse the Pleistocene-Holocene record of the high plains of mountain in Córdoba in order to make interpretations on their biostratigraphical, geochronological, and paleobiogeographical significance. Representatives of 20 extinct and four living mammal species are listed, documenting the existence of two successive Assemblage Zones: Scelidotherium leptocephalum-Glyptodon reticulatus (between 37,095 ± 2020 and 14,040 ± 785 years BP) and Panochthus- Equus (Amerhippus) (between 14,040 ± 785 and 9181 years BP). The presence of supposed Ensenadan or Bonaerian taxa (e.g., Mesotherium sp., Catonyx tarijensis, Megatherium americanum, and Glossotherium sp.) in late Pleistocene sediments suggests that the mountainous area of Córdoba has acted as a refuge area or reservoir. The Quaternary faunas recorded in the Pampean highlands, Pampean flats, and western and northern regions of Argentina do not show differences in the morphological characteristics and numbers of taxa. View Show abstract ... In contrast, the genetic hypothesis states that the genus Lynx probably originated in North America around 6.7 million years ago (Mattern and McLennan 2000;Johnson et al. 2006 (Janczewski et al. 1995;Johnson et al. 2006). This common ancestor gave rise to L. rufus 3.24 million years ago and then differentiated into L. canadensis and the progenitors of L. lynx and the Iberian lynx L. pardinus 1.61 million years ago (Johnson et al. 2006). ... Lynx canadensis (Carnivora: Felidae) Article Dec 2019 Maxime Lavoie Aurélie Renard Serge Larivière Lynx canadensis Kerr, 1792, commonly called the Canada lynx, is a medium size felid and is the second largest of the four species in the genus Lynx. It is distributed throughout the boreal forest of most of Canada and Alaska and across portions of the northern United States. It prefers dense, regenerating coniferous forests with moderate canopy and understory cover. L. canadensis is a snowshoe hare specialist, and its ecology, morphology, and behavior closely reflect that of its main prey. It is listed as “Least Concern” by the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources, is on Appendix II of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora, and its population size trend is considered stable. However, the status of United States subpopulations, being largely peripheral to the Canadian population, is more tenuous and the species is protected. View Show abstract ... Traditionally it has been included in the genus Herpailurus, by Severtzow in 1858, although it was recently included in the genus Puma (Bininda-Emonds et al., 2001;Johnson et al., 2006;Mattern and McLennan, 2000). The majority of molecular phylogenetics studies show close genetic relationships among the puma (Puma concolor), the cheetah (Acynonix jubatus) and the jaguarundi (Johnson et al., 2006;Li et al., 2016). ... Mitogenomics of the jaguarundi (Puma yagouaroundi, Felidae, Carnivora): unclear correlation between morphological subspecies and molecular data Article Full-text available Nov 2017 PLOS ONE Manuel Ruiz-García Myreya Pinedo Joseph Shostell We analyzed 80 mitogenomes of the elusive jaguarundi (Puma yagouaroundi, Felidae, Carnivora), representing seven of the eight putative morphological subspecies traditionally described. The mitochondrial genetic diversity levels were very high in this cat species and therefore similar to other Neotropical cats. Nonetheless, the number of significantly different molecular clusters did not align well with putative morphological subspecies. We detected three possible molecular subspecies: P. y. yagouaroundi (wide distribution in Central and South America), P. y. melantho (Central Andean, and their inter-valleys, Peruvian area) and P. y. eyra (Paraguay and northern Argentina). There were also small geographical clusters with no correspondence with the morphological subspecies, especially in Costa Rica, northern and eastern Colombia, and Pacific trans-Andean Colombia and Ecuador. Thus, the number of molecular subspecies in jaguarundi could be less than the number defined morphologically. However, well-differentiated mitochondrial lineages could exist in the area of the putative P. y. panamensis and correspond to undescribed subspecies. The temporal split of the ancestors of the puma and jaguarundi and the initial mitochondrial diversification within the jaguarundi occurred during the late Pliocene, but the major fraction of haplotype proliferation happened during the Pleistocene. All the procedures we used detected a strong population expansion for the jaguarundi during the Günz-Mindel interglacial period of the Pleistocene. The spatial genetic analyses showed that the isolation-by-distance patterns are not well developed in this species. In contrast, we detected a very significant circular cline with spatial autocorrelation. Therefore, from a molecular perspective some of the individuals far removed from each other geographically are also very similar. This new information may be very helpful to conservation ecologists and managers of jaguarundi habitats as we continue to improve our understanding of the evolutionary history of this cat species. View Show abstract ... However, despite the 300-fold range in body mass in felids, limb posture is remarkably uniform throughout the clade and, instead, some bone allometry is observed in limb long bones' cross-sections (Day & Jayne, 2007;Doube et al., 2009;Zhang et al., 2012). Indeed, it has been hypothesized that the lack of correlation between body size and limb posture in felids may reflect a large-bodied ancestral condition for the clade (Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Johnson et al., 2006;Day & Jayne, 2007; but see Cuff et al., 2015). ... Cryptic complexity in felid vertebral evolution: Shape differentiation and allometry of the axial skeleton Article Full-text available Mar 2016 ZOOL J LINN SOC-LOND Marcela Randau Anjali Goswami John R. Hutchinson Stephanie E Pierce Members of the mammalian family Felidae (extant and extinct cats) are grossly phenotypically similar, but display a 300-fold range in body size, from less than 1 kg to more than 300 kg. In addition to differences in body mass, felid species show dietary and locomotory specializations that correlate to skull and limb osteological measurements, such as shape or cross-sectional area. However, ecological correlates to the axial skeleton are yet untested. Here, we build on previous studies of the biomechanical and morphological evolution of the felid appendicular skeleton by conducting a quantitative analysis of morphology and allometry in the presacral vertebral column across extant cats. Our results demonstrate that vertebral columns of arboreal, scansorial and terrestrial felids significantly differ in morphology, specifically in the lumbar region, while no distinction based on dietary specialization was found. Body size significantly influences vertebral morphology, with clear regionalization of allometry along the vertebral column, suggesting that anterior (cervicals and thoracics) and posterior (lumbar) vertebrae may be independently subjected to distinct selection pressures. View Show abstract ... Actualmente se encuentra en discusión su clasificación taxonómica. Algunos autores lo clasificaron dentro del género Puma (Bininda-Emonds et al. 1999, Mattern y McLennan 2000, Johnson et al. 2006, Eizirik et al. 2008. Sin embargo, Agnarsson et al. (2010) y Segura et al. (2013), sugieren que no pertenece al mismo género que el puma, por lo que el Grupo de Especialistas de Felinos de la IUCN volvió a clasificar al yaguarundí dentro del género Herpailurus (Caso et al. 2015 siendo considerado un felino raro en la mayoría de las regiones en donde se distribuye (Oliverira et al. 2015). ... Distribución, requerimientos de hábitat e interacciones ecológicas de los felinos medianos y pequeños del Bosque Atlántico del Alto Paraná de la provincia de Misiones Thesis Full-text available Mar 2017 Paula Cruz The ocelot (Leopardus pardalis), a medium-sized felid, and the small felids, jaguarundi (Herpailurus yagouaroundi), margay (Leopardus wiedii), and oncilla (Leopardus guttulus), have a mostly sympatric distribution throughout most of the Neotropics, but little is known about their habitat requirements and the mechanisms that allow their coexistence. Due to differences in size, it is expected that the three small cats maintain strong indirect competitive relationships among them, and ocelots exert an interference competition on the small felids. The aim of this thesis was to study the distribution and habitat requirements of these felids in the Atlantic Forest of Misiones, understand their interspecific interactions and how they are affected by changes produced by humans on the environment. Using Species Distribution Models I evaluated the distribution of and habitat suitability for these felids in the region. Using data obtained by camera traps in low and moderately disturbed areas and analyzed with Occupancy and Co-occurrence models I evaluated habitat use and potential spatial avoidance between species at a more detailed scale. I also evaluated overlap in diet and activity patterns. Due to the scarcity of data obtained for margays and jaguarundis I could not analyze their habitat use at this detailed scale or their diet. The four felids were associated with the presence of native forest. Ocelot occupancy was significantly higher in continuous native forest sites with low human accessibility. Oncilla occupancy did not vary according to habitat conditions, but was significantly higher in sites with a low probability of ocelot occurrence. Oncillas´ spatial avoidance of ocelots was higher as human disturbance increased. Oncillas and ocelots had a large degree of trophic niche overlap. None of the felines modified their activity in relation to the presence of the ocelot or the level of human impact. Some of my results support the hypothesis that oncillas are sensitive to competitive pressure of ocelots. In order to preserve long term populations of these felids it is necessary to conserve continuous native forest and areas with fragmented forest to ensure landscape connectivity. View Show abstract ... Actualmente se encuentra en discusión su clasificación taxonómica. Algunos autores lo clasificaron dentro del género Puma (Bininda-Emonds et al. 1999, Mattern y McLennan 2000, Johnson et al. 2006, Eizirik et al. 2008. Sin embargo, Agnarsson et al. (2010) y Segura et al. (2013), sugieren que no pertenece al mismo género que el puma, por lo que el Grupo de Especialistas de Felinos de la IUCN volvió a clasificar al yaguarundí dentro del género Herpailurus (Caso et al. 2015 siendo considerado un felino raro en la mayoría de las regiones en donde se distribuye (Oliverira et al. 2015). ... DISTRIBUTION, HABITAT REQUIREMENTS AND ECOLOGICAL INTERACTIONS OF MEDIUM AND SMALL FELIDS OF THE UPPER PARANA ATLANTIC FOREST OF MISIONES PROVINCE Thesis Full-text available Mar 2017 Paula Cruz The ocelot (Leopardus pardalis), a medium-sized felid, and the small felids, jaguarundi (Herpailurus yagouaroundi), margay (Leopardus wiedii), and oncilla (Leopardus guttulus), have a mostly sympatric distribution throughout most of the Neotropics, but little is known about their habitat requirements and the mechanisms that allow their coexistence. Due to differences in size, it is expected that the three small cats maintain strong indirect competitive relationships among them, and ocelots exert an interference competition on the small felids. The aim of this thesis was to study the distribution and habitat requirements of these felids in the Atlantic Forest of Misiones, understand their interspecific interactions and how they are affected by changes produced by humans on the environment. Using Species Distribution Models I evaluated the distribution of and habitat suitability for these felids in the region. Using data obtained by camera traps in low and moderately disturbed areas and analyzed with Occupancy and Co-occurrence models I evaluated habitat use and potential spatial avoidance between species at a more detailed scale. I also evaluated overlap in diet and activity patterns. Due to the scarcity of data obtained for margays and jaguarundis I could not analyze their habitat use at this detailed scale or their diet. The four felids were associated with the presence of native forest. Ocelot occupancy was significantly higher in continuous native forest sites with low human accessibility. Oncilla occupancy did not vary according to habitat conditions, but was significantly higher in sites with a low probability of ocelot occurrence. Oncillas´ spatial avoidance of ocelots was higher as human disturbance increased. Oncillas and ocelots had a large degree of trophic niche overlap. None of the felines modified their activity in relation to the presence of the ocelot or the level of human impact. Some of my results support the hypothesis that oncillas are sensitive to competitive pressure of ocelots. In order to preserve long term populations of these felids it is necessary to conserve continuous native forest and areas with fragmented forest to ensure landscape connectivity. View Show abstract ... Lynch (1989) proposed that range overlap and relative range sizes of sister species or supra-specific taxa could be used to infer geographical modes of speciation, with substantial overlap pointing to sympatric speciation, and little overlap indicating allopatric speciation. Such reasoning has been used to argue for greater frequencies of sympatric speciation in nature than previously thought (e.g. Mattern & McLennan 2000), but has also received criticism given that a key assumption—that geographical ranges of natural organisms are constant through time—is probably seldom true (reviewed in Losos & Glor 2003; Coyne 2007). Extending the logic of studying range overlap, Coyne & Price (2000) emphasized the value of looking for 'sister species' (species that are each other's closest relatives ) that are both vagile yet restricted geographically to the same small area, such as an oceanic island (also see White 1978). ... Speciation processes in putative island endemic sister bat species: False impressions from mitochondrial DNA and microsatellite data Article Oct 2015 Mol Ecol Hao-Chih Kuo Shiang-Fan Chen Yin-Ping Fang Stephen J Rossiter Cases of geographically restricted co-occurring sister taxa are rare and may point to potential divergence with gene flow. The two bat species Murina gracilis and M. recondita are both endemic to Taiwan and are putative sister species. To test for non-allopatric divergence and gene flow in these taxa, we generated sequences using Sanger and Next Generation Sequencing, and combined these with microsatellite data for coalescent-based analyses. MtDNA phylogenies supported the reciprocally monophyletic sister relationship between M. gracilis and M. recondita, however, clustering of microsatellite genotypes revealed several cases of species admixture suggesting possible introgression. Sequencing of microsatellite flanking regions revealed that admixture signatures stemmed from microsatellite allele homoplasy rather than recent introgressive hybridization, and also uncovered an unexpected sister relationship between M. recondita and the continental species M. eleryi, to the exclusion of M. gracilis. To dissect the basis of these conflicts between ncDNA and mtDNA, we analysed sequences from 10 anonymous ncDNA loci with *BEAST and isolation-with-migration (IM) and found two distinct clades of M. eleryi, one of which was sister to M. recondita. We conclude that Taiwan was colonized by the ancestor of M. gracilis first, followed by the ancestor of M. recondita after a period of allopatric divergence. After colonization, the mitochondrial genome of M. recondita was replaced by that of the resident M. gracilis. This study illustrates how apparent signatures of sympatric divergence can arise from complex histories of allopatric divergence, colonization and hybridization, thus highlighting the need for rigorous analyses to distinguish between such scenarios. This article is protected by copyright. All rights reserved. View Show abstract ... In recent years, the biogeographic history and phylogenetic relationships of felids have received increased attention (Mattern and McLennan 2000; Johnson et al. 2006; Goswami and Friscia 2010; Christiansen 2013). The Felidae was one of the most successful groups during the Great American Biotic Interchange (GABI) (Webb 2006; Johnson et al. 2006; Prevosti 2006; Prevosti et al. 2011; Bacon et al. 2015), when numerous independent diversification and migration events occurred in both directions (Johnson et al. 2006; Prevosti 2006; Cione et al. 2007; Prevosti and Soibelzon 2012). ... Wild Felid Range Shift Due to Climatic Constraints in the Americas: a Bottleneck Explanation for Extinct Felids? Article Full-text available Dec 2017 J Mamm Evol Andrés Arias-Alzate José F. González-Maya Joaquin Arroyo-Cabrales Enrique Martínez-Meyer Theoretical and empirical evidence suggests that the ecological niche of species tends to be conservative over evolutionary time in many taxonomic groups, thus representing long-term stable constraints on species geographic distributions. Using an ecological niche modeling approach, we assessed the impact of climatic change on wild felid species potential range shifts over the last 130 K years in the Americas and the potential of such shifts as an extinction driver. We found a significant range shift for most species (both living and extinct) across their distributions driven by large-scale environmental changes. Proportionally, the most drastic range increase for all species occurred in the Last Glacial Maximum (LGM: 18 K years)–Current transition, while for the Last Inter-Glacial (LIG: 130 K years)–LGM transition an important range reduction occurred, which was larger for extinct North American species. In conclusion, the reduction of climatically suitable areas for many species in the transition LIG–LGM may have produced population reductions, which, in turn, may have played an important role in species’ extinction throughout the continent. View Show abstract ... Thus, an intriguing hypothesis remains to be tested: whether the genetic boundary merely reflects a contact zone between historically isolated populations that have subsequently expanded in range, or whether ongoing processes are contributing to their separation. Evidence from phylogeographical, phylogenetic, and ecological research suggests that both Pleistocene climate processes (glacial cycles) and current environmental conditions may contribute to creating and maintaining current genetic and spatial distribution patterns within the family Felidae (Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Reding et al., 2012). Remington (1968) suggested that the central Great Plains ecozone represents a region of secondary contact for many mammalian species that were isolated during the LGM and that possible aridification during the Pleistocene Epoch may have prevented dispersal until recently (Remington, 1968). ... Combining ecological niche modelling and morphology to assess the range-wide population genetic structure of bobcats ( Lynx rufus ) Article Full-text available Nov 2015 Biol J Linn Soc Allison Marcella Loveless Dawn M Reding Paul Glover-Kapfer Monica Papes Despite a broad distribution, general habitat requirements, and a large dispersal potential, bobcats (Lynx rufus) exhibit a genetic division that longitudinally transects central North America. We investigated (1) whether the climate of the Last Glacial Maximum (LGM; 21 kya) isolated bobcats into refugia and also whether the current climate influences gene flow between the segregate populations and (2) whether the geographical patterns in cranial morphology reflect population identity. We created ecological niche models (ENMs) to evaluate climatic suitability and to estimate distributions of the disparate populations under both historical (LGM) and contemporary conditions. We used two-dimensional geometric morphometric methods to evaluate variations in the cranium and mandible. These variations were then regressed across geographical variables to assess morphological differences throughout the range of the bobcat. ENMs projected onto LGM climate provided evidence of refugia during the LGM via increased suitability in the north-west and south-east portions of this species' range. Contemporarily, our models suggest that the Great Plains may be restricting bobcat migration and gene flow, effectively maintaining disparate populations. Morphological analyses identified a significant linear trend in shape variation across latitudinal and longitudinal gradients rather than distinct morphological divergence between lineages. Similar shape variations, however, did converge in approximate locations of assumed refugia. The findings of the present study provide a robust assessment of the biogeographical considerations for the population genetic structure of bobcats. View Show abstract ... The functional morphology of limb bones of many vertebrates dis- plays pattern associated to locomotion or modes of substrate explora- tion (e.g., Snyder, 1954Snyder, , 1962Jenkins, 1971;Taylor, 1978;Cartmill, 1985;Hildebrand, 1985a, Hildebrand, 1985bVassallo, 1998;Andersson, 2004;Ercoli, Prevrosti, & Alvarez, 2012;Ibrahim et al., 2014;Houssaye & Fish, 2016;Lee et al., 2016). For both, extant and fossil mammals, authors have tried to correlate limb morphology and func- tion, ontogeny or phylogeny (Jenkins, 1971;Gasc, Jouffroy, Renous, & Von Blottnitz, 1986;Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Andersson & Werdelin, 2003;Andersson, 2004;Plummer, Bishop, & Hertel, 2008;Samuels & Van Valkenburgh, 2008; Bassarova, Janis, & Archer, 2009; ... Functional morphology and paleoecology of Pilosa (Xenarthra, Mammalia) based on a two-dimensional geometric Morphometrics study of the Humerus Article Aug 2018 J Morphol Alessandro Oliveira Charles Morphy D. Santos The relationship between humerus shape and the modes of exploring substrate among extinct and extant Pilosa (especially anteaters and ground sloths) were investigated here. We used geometric morphometrics and discriminant analyses to relate morphological patterns and their possible ecological categories. Our results suggest that plesiomorphic taxa such as Nothrotheriidae, most Megalonychidae and basal Megatheriidae tend to have more slender humerus, associated to generalist habitus (climbing, swimming and digging activities), and while Mylodontidae developed specialized digging habitus. Additionally, we inferred ground sloths which inhabited the Brazilian territory during the Quaternary likely occupied at least four different niches. Mammals display morphofunctional adaptations on the limbs which are reflected on their modes of substrate exploration. Herein, we analyzed the humerus morphology of ground sloths and anteaters. Our results suggest that most of the Pleistocene Mylodonts were fossorial taxa, while most of the Santacrucian sloths plus extant anteaters were semiarboreal or semiaquatic taxa. The Pleistocene Megatheriidae should be ambulatory. View Show abstract ... Habitat preferences cannot thus have influenced the evolution of white spots on ears, but white spots may have contributed, at least partly, to the adaptation of felids to closed habitats. A similar contribution to the successful occupance of closed habitats by felids may have been provided by the presence of slit-like pupils in some species (Mattern and McLennan 2000;Werdelin et al. 2010). ... Correlated Evolution of White Spots on Ears and Closed Habitat Preferences in Felids Article Full-text available Sep 2020 J Mamm Evol Ismael Galván The pigmentation patterns of many carnivorous mammals comprise contrasting white patches of hair in different parts of the body whose evolution remains largely misunderstood. Some felids (Felidae) exhibit conspicuous white spots on the posterior part of the ears, while the ear color of others is uniform. On the basis that ear movement in felids has a role in intraspecific communication and that color contrast enhances detection, here it is hypothesized that white spots on ears may be particularly adaptive under conditions of poor visibility and thus be associated with the occupancy of closed habitats. This prediction was tested using phylogenetic logistic regression models with all species of extant felids. Results show a clear association between the occurrence of white spots on ears and preference for closed habitats, and this is independent of body size and whether species that occupy both closed and open habitats are considered as closed- or open-habitat specialists. Phylogenetic signal analyses indicate that the occurrence of white spots on ears is a highly conserved trait while habitat preferences are evolutionarily labile, suggesting that the presence of white spots may have partly contributed to the adaptation of felids to closed habitats. These findings indicate that some subtle pigment traits have fulfilled a significant role in determining the success of habitat occupancy by felids and possibly other mammals, which in turn has driven the evolutionary maintenance of such traits. View Show abstract ... 例如, 化石证据显示, 来自东非的最早的豹属化石, 地质年代属于更新世 (2MYA), 形态上类似于虎和狮, 暗示这两个物种具 有较近的亲缘关系. 但是, Neff [67] 和 Hemmer [68] [15] , Mattern 和 McLennan [72] 基于形态学、 细胞学以及许多 分子数据分析得出, 雪豹位于豹属系统关系分支的 基部; 最近基于化学信号 [14] 、线粒体控制区序列 [54] 和线粒体与核基因整合数据 [1] 分析又认为, 它与虎具 有最近的亲缘关系. 然而, Yu 和 Zhang [70] ... 豹属线粒体基因组分析 Article Sep 2011 孝兵 吴 立新 诸 磊 魏 志刚 蒋 View ... In the concept of total evidence (Kluge, 1989), all relevant character information is combined in a single phylogenetic analysis. The total evidence approach has been practised successfully in diverse organismal groups at various systematic levels (e. g., Eernisse and Kluge, 1993;Mattern and McLennan, 2000;overview in Chippindale and Wiens, 1994), including birds (e. g., Zink and Blackwell, 1996;Griffiths, 1999;Johnson and Sorensson, 1999). ... S27-5 Molecular modules and morphology Article Full-text available Dec 2006 Antonio Arnaiz-Villena Hans Leo Nemeschkal Renate Van den Elzen We present a phylogenetic perspective on morphological and molecular characters and character complexes and their properties at different hierarchical levels, using both examples from literature and case studies in carduelid finches and pigeons. Phylogenetic hypotheses inferred from both molecular (cytochrome-b) and morphological characters (plumage ornamentations), and combined analyses in carduelids, indicate that in both datasets corresponding patterns occur at particular nodes and systematic levels. A new method is introduced to partition and quantify correlation in cladogenetic, anagenetic and environmental signal, to estimate by their degree of similarity the underlying factors producing that correspondence. View Show abstract ... silvestris), the sand cat (F. margarita), and F. s. catus (Mattern and McLennan 2000). Hybridizing occurs between this species and F. s. catus (Tonkin 1972). ... Felis nigripes (Carnivora: Felidae) Article Full-text available Sep 2015 Aurélie Renard Maxime Lavoie Justin A. Pitt Serge Larivière Felis nigripes Burchell, 1824, commonly called the black-footed cat, is the smallest felid in Africa. F. nigripes is a pale tawny cat with dark markings and prominent horizontal stripes on the limbs. It is distributed in the central part of South Africa and mainly occurs in open country often near brush cover. F. nigripes is listed on Appendix I of the Convention for the International Trade of Endangered Species of Fauna and Flora and is listed as "Vulnerable" by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources. View Show abstract ... This varies depending on breed [12] . The average feral adult male weighs 4 kg (9 lb.), and the average adult female 3 kg (7 lb.) [13] . Cats average about 23-25cm (9-10 in.) in height and 46cm (18in.) in head/body length (males being larger than females), with tails averaging 30cm (12in.) in length. ... Diversity of cats in Quetta city Article Full-text available Jan 2020 Zaib-Un-Nisa Hanif Muhammad Kamran Taj Nosheen Rafiq Sakina Khan This study was conducted to determine the diversity of cats in Quetta city. All cats belonged to the family Felidae, genus Felis. These cats are considered only domesticated species in the family Felidae that's why often referred to as the "domestic cat" to distinguish it from wild members of the family. The study was carried out from March to December 2019 in Quetta city. During the study period, 1000 cats were documented randomly from Quetta city which resulted in the enumeration of different cats such as Mackerel Tabby cat, Classic Tabby cat, Ticked Tabby cat, Spotted Tabby cat, Persian cat, Bombay cat, Oriental short hair cat, Turkish van cat and Main coon cat, Calico cat and Tortoiseshell cat. Identification of cat was done on the basis of physical characteristics such as coat pattern, coat color and hair (fur) length. The most diverse and abundant cat was tabby cats, recorded 74.2% represented by observing four coat patterns. Mackerel tabby coat patterned cats were found 37.7% followed by Spotted tabby patterned cats 26%, Ticked tabby patterned cats were 6% and classic tabby pattrned cats were found 4.5%, While among various breeds of cats, the most dominant breed was persian cats (8.8%) followed by Bombay cat (4.8%), Turkish van cats (2.8%), Maine coon cats (1.2%) and least was observed Oriental short hair cats (1%) in the study area. While Calico cats were recorded 5.6% and Tortoiseshell or tortie cats were found 1.8%. View Show abstract ... Pampas cats are typical of open areas and show a broad elevational distribution from sea level up to 5000 m (Redford & Eisenberg, 1992;García-Perea, 1994;Nowak, 1999;Sunquist & Sunquist, 2002, 2009. Phylogenetic studies show that pampas cats are part of the group informally known as the 'ocelot lineage', which corresponds to small-and medium-sized Neotropical spotted cats of the genus Leopardus Gray, 1842 (Johnson et al., 1999(Johnson et al., , 2006Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Li et al., 2016;Kitchener et al., 2017). Pampas cats are closely related to the Andean mountain cat, Leopardus jacobita (Cornalia, with seven subspecies: Leopardus colocola colocola, Le. c. wolffsohni, Le. c. pajeros (including crucina), Le. c. budini (including steinbachi), Le. c. garleppi (including thomasi), Le. c. braccatus and Le. ... Taxonomic revision of the pampas cat Leopardus colocola complex (Carnivora: Felidae): an integrative approach Article Full-text available Feb 2021 ZOOL J LINN SOC-LOND Cheng Jilong Fabio Oliveira do Nascimento Anderson Feijó The pampas cat Leopardus colocola has been subject to conflicting classifications over the years. Currently, one polytypic species with seven subspecies is recognized, but integrative taxonomic study for this debated group has never been done. Here, we combine the broadest morphological coverage of the pampas cat to date with molecular data and ecological niche models to clarify its species composition and test the validity of recently proposed subspecies. The multiple lines of evidence derived from morphology, molecular, biogeography and climatic niche datasets converged on the recognition of five monotypic species: L. braccatus, L. colocola, L. garleppi (including thomasi, budini, steinbachi, crespoi and wolffsohni as synonyms), L. munoai and L. pajeros (including crucina as synonym). These five species are morphologically diagnosable based on skin and skull traits, have evolved in distinct climatic niche spaces and were recovered in molecular species delimitation. Contrary to previous taxonomic arrangements, we do not recognize subspecies in pampas cats. To objectively define the two most controversial species, we designate neotypes for L. colocola and L. pajeros. The diversification of pampas cats is associated with Middle Pleistocene glaciations, but additional genetic samples from the central Andean region are still needed to conclusively reconstruct its evolutionary history. View Show abstract ... We may determine how true surface area changes with body size by measuring hair spacing and geometry. We do so with 17 mammals (Wilcox, 1950;McManus, 1974;Jenkins and Busher, 1979;Estes, 1980;Willner et al., 1980;Olsen, 1983;Conley and Porter, 1986;Pass and Freeth, 1993;Koprowski, 1994;Lariviere and Walton, 1998;Pasitschniak-Arts and Marinelli, 1998;Sidorovich et al., 1999;Mattern and McLennan, 2000;Scott et al., 2001;Fish et al., 2002;Valencak et al., 2003;Spotorno et al., 2004;Fedosenko and Blank, 2005;Mecklenburg et al., 2009;Dickerson et al., 2012) and 10 insects (Carlson and Chi, 1974 and data from a range of online SEM images). These measurements yield scalings given in Table 2. ... Cleanliness is next to godliness: Mechanisms for staying clean Article Oct 2015 J EXP BIOL Guillermo J. Amador David L. Hu Getting dirty is a fundamental problem, and one for which there are few solutions, especially across the enormous range of animal size. How do both a honeybee and a squirrel get clean? In this Review, we discuss two broad types of cleaning, considered from the viewpoint of energetics. Non-renewable cleaning strategies rely upon the organism as an energy source. Examples include grooming motions, wet-dog shaking or the secretion of chemicals. Renewable cleaning strategies depend on environmental sources of energy, such as the use of eyelashes to redirect incoming wind and so reduce deposition onto the eye. Both strategies take advantage of body hair to facilitate cleaning, and honeybees and squirrels, for example, each have around 3 million hairs. This hair mat increases the area on which particles can land by a factor of 100, but also suspends particles above the body, reducing their adhesion and facilitating removal. We hope that the strategies outlined here will inspire energy-efficient cleaning strategies in synthetic systems. View Show abstract ... His studies are often used in current total-evidence phylogenetic analyses as sources of data in attempts to detect phylogenetic relationships and conflicts among data partitions for particular taxa, and are also used to reconstruct the evolution of particular morphological characters (e.g. Salles 1992, Mattern and McLennan 2000, Vrba and Schaller 2000, Zrzavý and Řičánková 2004, Goswami and Friscia 2010. Additionally, his studies provide a source of diagnostic characters of recognized groups or species (e.g. ... On the shoulders of giants: Reginald Innes Pocock and integrative mammal research in museums and zoos Article Full-text available Feb 2018 MAMMALIA Gippoliti Spartaco Tommaso De Francesco Jan Robovský Seventy years after his death, Reginald Innes Pocock’s prominence in mammalogy is demonstrated by the continuing amount of citations in recent works and the final acceptance of some of his systematic proposals at generic and suprageneric levels. Pocock’s ability to synthesize and integrate classical taxonomy with the then dominant polytypic species concept, utilizing both skull and external characters, of zoo and museum animals as unique opportunities for the advancement of mammal comparative biology – including the study of several extinct taxa – are an enduring legacy for mammalogy that deserves to be better appreciated especially among European zoologists. View Show abstract Behavior of Single Cats and Groups in the Home Article Dec 2006 Penny L. Bernstein View Checklist of South Asian Mammals Chapter Apr 2012 Chelmala Srinivasulu Bhargavi Srinivasulu The checklist includes enumeration of all the living and recently extinct species known to occur or have occurred in South Asia. Taxonomic arrangement is following Wilson and Reeder (2005) and comments are added at appropriate places where deviations were incorporated following works published after 2005. Necessary taxonomic comments have been provided at order, family, genus, and species levels. Wherever necessary, additional classification levels have been included. The checklist is based on the best of our knowledge on mammalian species diversity as on 31.12.2011. Any omissions are purely unintentional. View Show abstract Comportement et phylogénie des cervidae Book Full-text available Jan 2010 Pierre Deleporte Jean Joachim David Reby Henri Cap View Snow leopards: Conflict and conservation Article Full-text available Jan 2010 Rodney Jackson Charudutt Mishra T.M. McCarthy Som Ale View Behavior and Evolution: Crossed Glances Article Oct 2015 Henri Cap Ethology was founded successively by the naturalist, psychological and neurophysiological trends. After the classic opposition between the environmentalist and the objectivist view on behavior, and then the constructivist currents of the naturalist ethology, a fi rst synthesis was proposed by Tinberghen’s four questions, integrating several scientifi c disciplines, and including the evolutionary question of ultimate causalities. In order to analyse what the theory of evolution brought to ethology and conversely, we collected and commented the opinions of several ethologists of different currents, in the context of the naturalist thought in ethology and the recent development of phylogenetics. Compared to the other data, the use of behavior in systematics raised some methodological problems concerning its ephemeral nature, the supposed diffi culty to identify homology and the pretended lack of reliability of behavioral data compared to morphological and molecular ones. As a matter of fact, behavioral characters mapped on a tree or integrated into the phylogenetic data matrix have great potential, even though they remain controversial in systematics. As a source of heritable characters for phylogeny inference, behavior embodies both a product of evolution and one of the evolutionary factors. Hence behavioral studies can bring complementary explanations to evolutionary processes of speciation involving behavioral factors. A further and promising interest of the combined study of behavior and evolution concerns the epigenetic perspective of the infl uence of behavior on the rate of DNA methylation, which confi rms that numerous behavioral adaptations appear before corresponding genetic modifi cations or mutations. View Show abstract Felids and Hyenas of the World: Wildcats, Panthers, Lynx, Pumas, Ocelots, Caracals, and Relatives Book Sep 2020 Jose R Castelló Alexander Sliwa Andrew C Kitchener View Early-Onset Progressive Retinal Atrophy Associated with an IQCB1 Variant in African Black-Footed Cats (Felis nigripes) Article Full-text available Mar 2017 Annie Oh Jacqueline W Pearce Barbara Gandolfi Lives Consortium African black-footed cats (Felis nigripes) are endangered wild felids. One male and full-sibling female African black-footed cat developed vision deficits and mydriasis as early as 3 months of age. The diagnosis of early-onset progressive retinal atrophy (PRA) was supported by reduced direct and consensual pupillary light reflexes, phenotypic presence of retinal degeneration, and a non-recordable electroretinogram with negligible amplitudes in both eyes. Whole genome sequencing, conducted on two unaffected parents and one affected offspring was compared to a variant database from 51 domestic cats and a Pallas cat, revealed 50 candidate variants that segregated concordantly with the PRA phenotype. Testing in additional affected cats confirmed that cats homozygous for a 2 base pair (bp) deletion within IQ calmodulin-binding motif-containing protein-1 (IQCB1), the gene that encodes for nephrocystin-5 (NPHP5), had vision loss. The variant segregated concordantly in other related individuals within the pedigree supporting the identification of a recessively inherited early-onset feline PRA. Analysis of the black-footed cat studbook suggests additional captive cats are at risk. Genetic testing for IQCB1 and avoidance of matings between carriers should be added to the species survival plan for captive management. View Show abstract Reproductive Biology and a Genome Resource Bank of Felidae Article Full-text available Mar 2017 Russ J Dev Biol Serge Amstislavsky Valeria Kozhevnikova V. V. Muzika Elena Kizilova The main achievements in applying modern reproductive technologies to the banking of the genetic resources of the Felidae family are reviewed. The classification of felids at the level of species and subspecies is revised in the light of recent molecular data. Special emphasis is made on such mainstream technologies as semen collection and cryopreservation followed by artificial insemination, as well as on in vitro maturation and fertilization of oocytes combined with the culture of in vitro-derived felid embryos. View Show abstract Análisis Filogenéticos Cuantitativos en el siglo XXI Article Full-text available Dec 2007 REV MEX BIODIVERS Daniel R Brooks Jaret Bilewitch Charmaine Condy David T. Zanatta We review Hennigian phylogenetics and compare it with Maximum parsimony, Maximum likelihood, and Bayesian likelihood approaches. All methods use the principle of parsimony in some form. Hennigian-based approaches are justified ontologically by the Darwinian concepts of phylogenetic conservatism and cohesion of homologies, embodied in Hennig's Auxiliary Principle, and applied by outgroup comparisons. Parsimony is used as an epistemological tool, applied a posteriori to choose the most robust hypothesis when there are conflicting data. Quantitative methods use parsimony as an ontological criterion: Maximum parsimony analysis uses unweighted parsimony, Maximum likelihood weight all characters equally that explain the data, and Bayesian likelihood relying on weighting each character partition that explains the data. Different results most often stem from insufficient data, in which case each quantitative method treats ambiguities differently. All quantitative methods produce networks. The networks can be converted into trees by rooting them. If the rooting is done in accordance with Hennig's Auxiliary Principle, using outgroup comparisons, the resulting tree can then be interpreted as a phylogenetic hypothesis. As the size of the data set increases, likelihood methods select models that allow an increasingly greater number of a priori possibilities, converging on the Hennigian perspective that nothing is prohibited a priori. Thus, all methods produce similar results, regardless of data type, especially when their networks are rooted using outgroups. Appeals to Popperian philosophy cannot justify any kind of phylogenetic analysis, because they argue from effect to cause rather than from cause to effect. Nor can particular methods be justified on the basis of statistical consistency, because all may be consistent or inconsistent depending on the data. If analyses using different types of data and/or different methods of phylogeny reconstruction do not produce the same results, more data are needed. View Show abstract Taxonomic revision of The tigrina Leopardus tigrinus (Schreber, 1775) species group (Carnivora, Felidae) Article Full-text available Jun 2017 Fabio Oliveira do Nascimento Anderson Feijó The tigrina Leopardus tigrinus (Schreber, 1775) is a small-sized Neotropical spotted cat found from northern Argentina and southern Brazil to Costa Rica. Four subspecies are traditionally recognized: L. t. tigrinus (Schreber, 1775) from northern Brazil, the Guianas and eastern Venezuela; L. t. pardinoides (Gray, 1867) from western Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador and Peru; L. t. guttulus (Hensel, 1872) from southern Brazil, Paraguay and northern Argentina; and L. t. oncillus (Thomas, 1903) from Costa Rica. We studied external and craniodental morphology in quantitative and qualitative terms from 250 specimens in order to clarify the taxonomic status of tigrina. Based on the characters analyzed in this study, we recognize three diagnosable morphogroups, each with a distinct geographic distribution: northern/northwest-ern/west (samples from northern Brazil, the Guianas, Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, northwestern Argentina and Costa Rica), eastern (samples from northeastern and central Bra-zil), and southern (samples from southern Brazil, Paraguay and northeastern Argentina). Taking into account the morphologic evidence presented here, supported by biogeographic data and molecular studies available, we recognize three full species for tigrinas: L. tigrinus (including the putative subspecies L. t. pardinoides and L. t. oncillus as junior synonyms) for northern/ northwestern/west group; L. emiliae (Thomas, 1914) for eastern group; and L. guttulus for southern group. View Show abstract Functional and Systematic Implications of the Postcranial Anatomy of a Late Miocene Feline (Carnivora, Felidae) from Batallones-1 (Madrid, Spain) Article Full-text available Mar 2019 J Mamm Evol Manuel J. Salesa Gema Siliceo Mauricio Anton Jorge Morales The Spanish late Miocene locality of Batallones-1 yielded a rich sample of large carnivorans, including saber-toothed felids, amphicyonids, and ailurids, but also of smaller species, with the small cats being especially interesting. Two species are known from Batallones-1, one of them the size of a wildcat, Felis silvestris, the other one the size of a caracal, Caracal caracal. The former is represented by skulls, mandibles, and postcranial bones, whereas the latter is known from a collection of long bones. Both species are less abundant than their larger relatives, the saber-toothed felids Promegantereon ogygia and Machairodus aphanistus, but the available sample allows us to assess body proportions and adaptations of the smallest species, and to propose a new genus for this feline, Leptofelis vallesiensis. Its limb bones are remarkably gracile compared to fossils of the earlier genera Pseudaelurus, Miopanthera, and Styriofelis, and comparable in cursorial adaptations to the wildcat, very different from extant arboreal cats. While middle Miocene felids were likely semi-arboreal forest dwellers, L. vallesiensis would be mostly terrestrial, climbing essentially for protection. This indicates an adaptation to a mosaic of habitats, including relatively open terrain, and may be related to the climatic changes detected in Eurasia during the late Miocene. View Show abstract Does the marbled cat exist in Nepal? Article Full-text available Nov 2017 Sagar Dahal The marbled cat Pardofelis marmorata is an elusive small cat on which few specific studies were conducted. This article reviews the literature on distribution records of marbled cat to assess the likelihood of its current existence in Nepal. Beside a single record from the early 1980s, there are no recent records to prove the existence of the marbled cat in Nepal. However, the Government of Nepal and the distribution map of the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species assume that the marbled cat is extant in Nepal. To support the Government’s official statement on marbled cat presence in the country and to validate the IUCN distribution map for Nepal, a marbled cat targeted camera trap survey in potential habitats is urgently needed. View Show abstract Temporal changes in prey composition and biomass delivery to African Crowned Eagle nestlings in urban areas of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa Article May 2018 OSTRICH Tim van der Meer Shane McPherson Colleen T Downs Globally urban areas are expanding rapidly and this usually has negative effects on biodiversity. Despite this, some species manage to persist in urban areas, as is the case with African Crowned Eagles Stephanoaetus coronatus in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. As relatively little is known about African Crowned Eagle nestling diet, especially about how it changes with nestling age, we investigated this with nest camera-traps. We analysed temporal changes in prey composition and biomass delivery during the nestling stage. We also recorded which adults provisioned and attended the nest. The main prey fed to nestlings were Rock Hyrax Procavia capensis and Hadeda Ibis Bostrychia hagedash. Adult males did most of the food provisioning, especially at the start of the nestling period. We found a decrease in total prey number and biomass with nestling age. This may be caused by changing requirements of nestlings. Furthermore, delivering fewer prey at later nestling stages may be a facilitating mechanism to enhance fledging of the nestling. Although the total number of prey brought to the nest decreased, we found an increase in numbers of Vervet Monkey Chlorocebus pygerythrus in the diet with nestling age. This indicated an increase in larger prey being delivered to the nests as the nestling aged. We suggest that this could be caused by increased participation in hunting by the larger female as her nest attendance time decreased as the nestling aged. We conclude with emphasising the importance of protecting the Durban Metropolitan Open Space System (D’MOSS) zones for the persistence of this Near Threatened raptor species, and populations of its prey in urban areas for its breeding success. View Show abstract Sperm cryopreservation in the Far-Eastern wildcat ( Prionailurus bengalensis euptilurus ) Article Full-text available Jul 2018 REPROD DOMEST ANIM E. Yu. Brusentsev Elena Kizilova Sergey Naidenko Serge Amstislavsky The Far‐Eastern wildcat (Prionailurus bengalensis euptilurus) is a rare and poorly investigated nondomestic felid species. An attempt of freezing and cryopreserving Far‐Eastern wildcat spermatozoa in CaniPlus Freeze (CPF) medium is reported. Sperm was collected by electroejaculation from five adult Far‐Eastern wildcat captive‐born males. Epididymal spermatozoa from five adult randomly bred domestic cat males were used as a reference. The viability of frozen–thawed spermatozoa evaluated by double staining with SYBR Green I and PI followed by the subsequent confocal laser scanning microscopy (CLSM) was 38.2% ± 3.0% for the domestic cat and 38.0% ± 10.2% for the Far‐Eastern wildcat. The motility of frozen–thawed spermatozoa was 30.8% ± 9.8% for the domestic cat and 33.7% ± 15.1% for the Far‐Eastern wildcat. Sperm morphology was assessed by light microscopy. The total percentage of normal spermatozoa after freezing and thawing was 51.9 ± 5.9 for the domestic cat and 55.0% ± 6.4% for the Far‐Eastern wildcat. Defects of flagella were the most frequently observed abnormalities in both species (32.2% ± 4.8% and 30.8% ± 4.4% of all reported anomalies for the domestic cat and Far‐Eastern wildcat, respectively). Domestic cat epididymal and Far‐Eastern ejaculatory spermatozoa fertilized in vitro‐matured oocytes of the domestic cat (30.0% ± 5.5% and 35.5% ± 15.0%, respectively). Taken together, these results suggest that the freezing of Far‐Eastern wildcat spermatozoa with CPF medium is a suitable method for Felidae cryopreservation. View Show abstract New evidence for the emergence of the human-pet relation in early Roman Berenike (1st–2nd century AD) Article Full-text available Jul 2018 Marta Osypinska Osypinski Piotr Animals were as inextricable a part as they were indicative of the system of common ancient Egyptian beliefs. Their special role was manifested in a rich iconography and in multitudes of animal mummies deposited in the major sacral complexes. Seen in this light, the cemetery of small animals of 1st–2nd century AD date, excavated since 2011 in the Red Sea port town of Berenike, comes across as entirely unique, notwithstanding the spiritual aspects of cats, dogs and monkeys. Contrary to Egyptian animal burials of all periods associated with human ones, the Berenike inhumations were not intended as afterlife companions of their last owners; neither were they ever mummified. Recent results of research present the variety of species kept in the households and insight into their behaviour. Pathological changes on one of the dog skeletons suggest a deadly condition, that is, osteosarcoma. The Berenike data also shed new light on the distribution of the cat beyond Egypt and a rising preference for keeping the animal as a pet in Europe and the Middle East. View Show abstract Spermatozoa cryopreservation in small feline species Article Full-text available Dec 2018 CRYOBIOLOGY Valentina Mokrousova Konstantin A Okotrub Serge Amstislavsky E. Yu. Brusentsev The aim of this study was to compare different methods of feline semen freezing using domestic cat as a model species and to apply these methods for the purposes of Far-Eastern wildcat (Prionailurus bengalensis euptilurus) biodiversity conservation. Two different commercially available freezing media, i.e. CaniPlus Freeze (CPF) (Minitube, Germany) and Sperm Freeze (SF) (Ferti Pro, Belgium) were tested for epididymal domestic cat spermatozoa freezing. The use of a commercial product has the advantage to be standardized and easy to perform in field conditions. The viability of domestic cat epididymal spermatozoa evaluated by the VitalScreen test was 68.7 ± 3.0% for nonfrozen group; 51.2 ± 6.3% for CPF group and 54.4 ± 3.1% for SF group. In vitro fertilization (IVF) of domestic cat oocytes with nonfrozen and frozen-thawed spermatozoa produced developing embryos. The same freezing method based on CPF freezing medium was applied to Far-Eastern wildcat ejaculatory spermatozoa at the Experimental Station of A.N. Severtsov Institute of Ecology and Evolution (near Moscow) where this species is bred in captivity. The frozen spermatozoa were transported to Novosibirsk and analysed. The viability of Far-Eastern cat frozen-thawed spermatozoa was 36.7 ± 6.5%. These spermatozoa fertilized in vitro matured oocytes of the domestic cat and 35.5 ± 15.0% heterologous embryos developed successfully. The cell number per embryo was 26.9 ± 5.1 on the 5th day of the in vitro culturing. The results of this study demonstrated the applicability of CPF-based semen freezing method for conservation of rare felid species. View Show abstract ETHOLOGY AND BIOLOGICAL RHYTHMS OF THE CAT Thesis Full-text available May 2019 Marine Parker Biological rhythms are of importance for living organisms as they help to schedule most behavioural processes within the most suitable temporal window. Literature on daily rhythmicity is scarce and conflicting regarding domestic cats. To sharpen our knowledge on the subject, we used advanced telemetry technologies to record and characterise the daily rhythms of locomotor activity and feeding in cats according to the seasons and housing conditions. The cats were sensitive to photoperiod and to human presence. Along 24-hour periodicity, they displayed bimodality in their daily patterns, with mid-day and mid-night troughs of locomotor activity and food consumption. The two main activity/eating periods corresponded to dawn and dusk at each season, regardless of the twilight timings, confirming the crepuscular intrinsic nature of the species. The feeding rhythm of the cats was more variable daily than their locomotor activity rhythm, recalling the opportunistic character of this predator. Cats displayed plasticity in their behaviour, such as weaker daily rhythms and more nocturnal exploratory behaviour outdoors, compared to indoors where they were more prone to routine. Our results open new avenues for developing nutritional and housing guidelines fitted to the rhythms of the cats according to their way of life. View Show abstract Carnivoran Dietary Adaptations: A Multiproxy Study on the Feeding Ecology of the Fossil Carnivorans of Greece Thesis Nov 2019 Nikolaos Kargopoulos This Thesis deals with the palaeoecology of the fossil carnivorans of Greece and, in particular, with their diet. Carnivora don’t eat exclusively meat, but they frequently are omnivores, insectivores or even herbivores. In this study extant Carnivora were divided into 12 dietary categories. The studied fossil material belongs to 47 species from 8 families, coming from two periods of geological time: the Late Miocene (11.6-5.3 Mya) and the Villafranchian (3.5.-0.8 Mya). These periods include some of the richest fossiliferous localities in Greece, providing enough material to apply the necessary methods. To test the made assumptions, a comparative sample of 75 species belonging to 13 families of extant carnivorans was used. The main focus of this work is to calculate a number of proxies which are connected to the diet of these species. The proxies studied here were: bite force, upper canines’ and incisors’ bending strength, endocranial volume, relative rostrum width, mastoid musculature, dental mesowear, dental carnassial and grinding surfaces, dental intercuspid notches and dental morphology in general. All these parameters are combined, in order to extract a more accurate result. The first chapter of the results concerns the diets of some enigmatic species. Indarctos atticus resulted to be an omnivore, based mostly on plant material. Ursus etruscus, Ursavus ehrenbergi and Ursavus depereti were found being opportunistic omnivores. Simocyon primigenius resulted being probably a scavenger, but also a predator of small-medium sized mammals and probably completed its diet with a small amount of plants. A similar niche, without the ability of bone-cracking, is proposed for Plesiogulo crassa. Baranogale helbingi resulted to be a meat-based omnivore, similar to extant martens. The second chapter of the results deals with the coexistence of species that seem to have a similar ecology. The first part were the Crocuta-like hyenas of the Turolian (Adcrocuta eximia, Lycyaena chaeretis and Belbus beaumonti). It was found that Adcrocuta is so dominant over the other species because it was larger, more robust, better adapted to bone-cracking and probably social, resulting to lower abundances for the other two genera. The next case were the ictitheres of Late Miocene (Plioviverrops orbignyi, Protictitherium crassum, Ictitherium viverrinum and Hyaenotherium wongii). The first two genera were found to be opportunistic insectivores-omnivores. However the other two genera seem to have a similar ecological niche, with Hyaenotherium being more carnivorous and Ictitherium being more opportunistic. This niche overlapping is probably the cause for their distinct biogeography, with Ictitherium thriving in Pikermi and Hyaenotherium in Samos. The third case of coexistence was the felids of Pikermi (Pristifelis attica, Metailurus parvulus, Metailurus major, Paramachairodus orientalis and Amphimachairodus giganteus). These species were able to coexist, because they did not have the same body size. Therefore, their prey also had a relevant body size. The only species of the same size were Paramachairodus and Metailurus major, which represent two different evolutionary stages of sabertooths. Thus, these two taxa must have been competitive with each other and maybe that’s the reason for their infrequency. Another part was the small-sized mustelids of Turolian (Martes woodwardi, Promeles palaeattica, Promephitis lartetii, Parataxidea maraghana, Sinictis pentelici and a new species of mustelid). These species seemed to cover similar niches and having similar body sizes, with the exception of the smaller Promephitis. Probably this is the reason for their low abundance and the distinct biogeography of Promeles and Parataxidea (present in Pikermi and Samos respectively). The fifth case was the coexistence of the sabertooths Homotherium and Megantereon in the Villafranchian. It seems that this coexistence was possible due to the size difference between the two taxa and because of their different hunting strategies, since Homotherium was more cursorial and probably didn’t make an instant canine-shear bite as Megantereon. A similar case can be seen with Chasmaporthetes lunensis and Pliohyaena perrieri, with the former being a social and cursorial hunter and the latter being a solitary scavenger. The last case of coexistence were the canids of Apollonia (Vulpes praeglacialis, Lycaon lycaonoides, Canis arnensis, Canis etruscus and Canis apolloniensis). Vulpes praeglacialis occupied a niche similar to extant foxes and Lycaon similar to extant wolves. The other three canids probably represent a gradual transition from a form similar to jackal (Canis arnensis) to a form similar to a small wolf (Canis etruscus) with Canis apolloniensis being the intermediate stage. This coexistence of three species of canids probably led to interspecific competition between them. The third chapter of results dealt with the temporal alternation (or no alternation) of some phylogenetic lines. The first case was the transition Promeles palaeattica - Meles dimitrius - Meles meles. This lineage seems to adapt to a more plant-based diet and an increase in size. The second line was that of Nyctereutes: N. donnezani - N. megamastoides - N. procyonoides. This line also moved to a more plant-based omnivory, but this time the body size of the species was reduced. The next two cases dealt with two lineages that had similar representatives in the fossil record of Greece from the Miocene until the Late Pleistocene. The first lineage was that of Crocuta-like bone-crushing hyenas: Dinocrocuta - Adcrocuta - Pliohyaena - Pachycrocuta - Crocuta and the second was that of large felids Amphimachairodus / Paramachairodus / Metailurus major - Homotherium / Megantereon / Panthera gombaszoegensis - Panthera leo / pardus. Finally, the dietary category for every species was defined in a table and a suggestion for its possible prey genera (based on its already known associated faunas) was made, accompanied with the reference of a modern analogue species. View Show abstract Large Felid Predators and “Man-Eaters”: Can We Successfully Balance Conservation of Endangered Apex Predators with the Safety and Needs of Rapidly Expanding Human Populations? Chapter May 2020 Suzanne Shepherd The large felid carnivores are among the most endangered, and the most challenging, species to conserve on this increasingly human-dominated planet. In modern times, large felid carnivores were widely distributed in the continents of Asia, Africa, and the Americas. Unfortunately, global human expansion, loss of prey species, hunting and poaching, and retaliatory killings after livestock predation have greatly reduced and fragmented their original ranges and decimated their populations. In this chapter, large felid carnivore characteristics, usual habitats, ecology, and predatory behaviors are reviewed. Changes in great cat distribution, changes in wild prey populations resulting in a shift to increased livestock predation, and the resulting human-felid conflicts are discussed. Preservation of remaining wild large felid carnivore populations has become a global conservation priority as populations have plummeted over the last century. Current approaches to better understand and conserve these apex keystone predators and to maintain ecosystem integrity are discussed. Current strategies and policies to ameliorate and resolve the intricate and difficult problems of predator-human conflict are examined. The complex issues of “problem carnivores” and “man-eaters” are discussed. Finally, recommendations on creative, fluid, and scientifically sound strategies that might be employed to address these conflicts in a manner acceptable to all key stakeholders are discussed. View Show abstract The Pleistocene Jaguar Corridor Chapter Jan 2014 Dr. Alan Rabinowitz F eeling much older than my 42 years, I sank to my knees in snow as we crossed a gully and climbed towards the top of the plateau. Gasping for breath, I forced myself to speed up just so I could move one step ahead of the man beside me, Russia’s premier living tiger expert, Dimitri Pikinov. Dimitri grunted, lengthened his stride, and moved ahead of me again, never taking his eyes off the ground while he scanned intently for the telltale tracks or sign of the animal we were there to find. I smiled to myself, pleased I had at least elicited a grunt, then planned my next attack when we hit a downhill slope. It was a game that both of us played, while pretending we were not. Though I had no expectation of outpacing Dimitri on his home turf and in sub-zero weather, the physical challenge and the competition with a man I respected was exhilarating. I was giving him a run for his money, of that I was sure. The voices drifting downwind from behind us were our fellow cat experts, Drs. Howard Quigley and Dale Miquelle, who were quietly amused at this test of wills between Dimitri and myself that started with our first meeting in Vladivostok and had continued into the wintry cold of the Russian Far East. It was primal. Two middle-aged, type-A personalities, pounding their chests. View Show abstract A revised taxonomy of the Felidae. The final report of the Cat Classification Task Force of the IUCN/SSC Cat Specialist Group Article Full-text available Jan 2017 Andrew C Kitchener Christine Breitenmoser Eduardo Eizirik Shanan S. Tobe 1. The current classification of the Felidae was reviewed by a panel of 22 experts divided into core, expert and review groups, which make up the Cat Classification Task Force CCTF of the IUCN Cat Specialist Group. 2. The principal aim of the CCTF was to produce a consensus on a revised classification of the Felidae for use by the IUCN. 3. Based on current published research, the CCTF has fully revised the classification of the Felidae at the level of genus, species and subspecies. 4. A novel traffic-light system was developed to indicate certainty of each taxon based on morphological, molecular, biogeographical and other evidence. A concordance of good evidence in the three principal categories was required to strongly support the acceptance of a taxon. 5. Where disagreements exist among members of the CCTF, these have been highlighted in the accounts for each species. Only further research will be able to answer the potential conflicts in existing data. 6. A total of 14 genera, 41 species and 77 subspecies is recognised by most members of the CCTF, which is a considerable change from the classification proposed by Wozencraft (2005), the last major revision of the Felidae. 7. Future areas of taxonomic research have been highlighted in order to answer current areas of uncertainty. 8. This classification of the Felidae will be reviewed every five years unless a major new piece of research requires a more rapid revision for the conservation benefit of felid species at risk of extinction. View Show abstract Show more What do we really know about speciation? Article Full-text available Jan 1982 Guy L. Bush View The Plio-Pleistocene Cheetah-like cat Miracinonyx inexpectatus of North America Article Full-text available Dec 1990 J Vertebr Paleontol Blaire Van Valkenburgh Frederick Grady Björn Kurtén The taxonomy of the North American cheetah-like cats is unresolved as they have been assigned at different times to Felis, Puma, or Acinonyx. A recently discovered, nearly complete skeleton of a large, slender-limbed cat of Irvingtonian age from West Virginia prompted this study of their relationships. We describe the new specimen and compare it with the living puma (Puma concolor) and cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus) as well as with the extinct Old World cheetah (A. pardinensis) and New World cheetah-like cats most recently assigned to Acinonyx trumani and A. studeri. The new specimen appears to be a member of the earlier of the two North American species, previously known as A. studeri, here called Miracinonyx inexpectatus based on the priority of Cope's (1895) name. A cladistic analysis suggests that the New and Old World forms are distinct at the generic level and we remove the North American taxa from Acinonyx and place them in the genus Miracinonyx. The two genera are distinguished by a minimum of ten features of the skull and postcranial skeleton. Miracinonyx differs from Puma primarily in limb proportions, slenderness of the long bones, and aspects of the nasomaxillary region of the skull. A review of the fossil record suggests that the extinction of M. inexpectatus preceded the appearance of both the cursorial M. trumani and the shorter-limbed Puma concolor. Thus, M. inexpectatus could have given rise to both of these taxa in the middle Pleistocene. View Show abstract Systematics of Mustelid-Like Carnivores Article Full-text available May 1997 J Mammal J.W. Dragoo Rodney L Honeycutt The phylogenetic relationships of the skunks to the Mustelidae and other caniform carnivores were examined using mitochondrial-DNA (mtDNA) sequence data from portions of the 12S and 16S ribosomal RNA (rRNA) genes. Data were combined with partial sequences of the cytochrome b gene and morphological data obtained from the literature, and used in a total-evidence analysis. The Mustelidae represented a paraphyletic group, with the skunks (Conepatus, Mephitis, and Spilogale) and the Oriental stink badger (Mydaus) forming a monophyletic clade separate from a clade containing the rest of the Mustelidae and the monophyletic Procyonidae. Within the Mustelidae, minus the skunks and stink badger, only one currently recognized subfamily, the Lutrinae, represented a monophyletic group. The families Phocidae, Otariidae, and Odobenidae formed a monophyletic group that was the sister group to the clade composed of the skunks, procyonids, and mustelids. The families Ursidae and Canidae occurred at the base of the Caniformia clade. It is proposed that the skunks be elevated to the level of family and be referred to as the Mephitidae. The family Mephitidae includes the genera Mephitis (striped and hooded skunks), Conepatus (hog-nosed skunks), Spilogale (spotted skunks), and Mydaus (Oriental stink badgers). View Show abstract Integrating Phylogenetic and Experimental Analyses: The Evolution of Male and Female Nuptial Coloration in the Stickleback Fishes (Gasterosteidae) Article Full-text available Sep 1996 SYST BIOL Deborah A. Mclennan Both male and female gasterosteid fishes display nuptial coloration. Male nuptial coloration originated in the ancestor of the Pungitius + Culaea + Gasterosteus clade. Patterns of origin and diversification of characters involved in male-male, male-female, and parental interactions indicate that the evolution of male color was influenced by intersexual selection, natural selection during parental care, and intrasexual selection, in decreasing order of importance. This macroevolutionary hypothesis was corroborated by examining changes in male color across the breeding cycle for two stickleback species, Gasterosteus aculeatus and Culaea inconstans. Female nuptial coloration may have originated before the male signal. The phylogenetic diversification of the male and female signals are decoupled, suggesting that they have been subject to different selection pressures throughout their evolutionary histories. Macroevolutionary patterns and experimental studies indicate that color signal evolution has been more complex in this group of fishes than was previously thought. View Show abstract Methods for Computing Wagner Trees Article Full-text available Mar 1970 Syst Zool James Farris Farris, J. S. (Biol. Set., State Univ., Stony Brook, N.Y.) 1970. Methods for computing Wagner Trees. Syst. Zool., 19:83-92.—The article derives some properties of Wagner Trees and Networks and describes computational procedures for Prim Networks, the Wagner Method, Rootless Wagner Method and optimization of hypothetical intermediates (HTUs). View Show abstract The role of phylogeny and behavioral competition in the evolution of coexistence among primates Article Full-text available Feb 2011 Can J Zool Alain Houle No analysis of coexistence among primates has ever considered phylogenetic distances and behavioral competition. The present model proposes that high levels of behavioral competition strongly incite divergence of the respective positions of sympatric species in niches, especially when these species are closely related. This divergence is then reflected in the morphologies of coexisting species (individuals exploit new dimensions of niches and their associated morphologies are selected for) and consequently in their phylogenetic distances. Sister species (defined here as those from the same subgenus or same species group) are phylogenetically closer than kin species (of the same genus but different subgenera or species groups). Accordingly, if a minimum phylogenetic distance is a condition of stable coexistence, then kin (and higher ranking) species, but not sister species, are expected to coexist in ecological communities. Moreover, the intensity of behavioral competition among coexisting species should be inversely proportional to phylogenetic distance. (Taxa are said to have high levels of behavioral competition if they display high rates of aggressive behaviors and simultaneous low rates of grooming behaviors.) To test these hypotheses, 41 ecological communities were reviewed. The conclusions are that (i) primate sister species do coexist, but very exceptionally compared with kin species (Wilcoxon's signed ranks test, p < 0.0001), suggesting that coexistence is possible provided a minimum phylogenetic distance is respected; (ii) there is a negative relationship between taxonomic distance and the rate of aggression among sympatric primates (p = 0.04) and a positive relationship between this distance and the rate of interspecific grooming behaviors (p = 0.028), supporting the hypothesis that stable coexistence is possible if sympatric species reduce and maintain low levels of behavioral competition. View Show abstract The Importance of Recent Ice Ages in Speciation: A Failed Paradigm Article Full-text available Sep 1997 Science John Klicka Robert Zink Late Pleistocene glaciations have been ascribed a dominant role in sculpting present-day diversity and distributions of North American vertebrates. Molecular comparisons of recently diverged sister species now permit a test of this assertion. The Late Pleistocene Origins model predicts a mitochondrial DNA divergence value of less than 0.5 percent for avian sister species of Late Pleistocene origin. Instead, the average mitochondrial DNA sequence divergence for 35 such songbird species pairs is 5.1 percent, which exceeds the predicted value by a factor of 10. Molecular data suggest a relatively protracted history of speciation events among North American songbirds over the past 5 million years. View Show abstract Phylogeographic Subspecies Recognition in Leopards (Panthera pardus): Molecular Genetic Variation Article Full-text available Aug 1996 Conservat Biol Sriyanie Miththapala John Seidensticker Stephen J. O'Brien The incorporation of precise definitions for taxonomic units into wildlife legislation has necessitated the reevaluation of the taxonomy of endangered and threatened species. We used the subspecies recognition criteria proposed by Avise and Ball (1990) and O’Brien and Mayr (1991) to examine the infraspecific taxonomy of the leopard, Panthera pardus, a geographically widespread species with 27 currently recognized trinomial designations. Samples from named subspecies revealed appreciable genetic diversity using three molecular methods: allozymes, mitochondrial DNA restriction sites, and feline-specific minisatellites. Continental populations and subspecies from Africa and Asia possessed the highest amount of molecular genetic variation, whereas relatively lower amounts of diversity were present in island populations. Molecular data were analyzed using three phylogenetic methods (distance-matrix, maximum parsimony, and maximum likelihood) to resolve genetic differentiation below the species level The combined results revealed phylogenetic distinction of six geographically isolated groups of leopards: (1) African, (2) central Asian, (3) Indian, (4) Sri Lankan, (5) Javan, and (6) east Asian. Based on the combined molecular analyses and supporting morphological data (Miththapala 1992), u,e recommend that subspecific leopard taxonomy be revised to comprise eight subspecies: (1) P. p. pardus, Africa; (2) P. p. saxicolor, central Asia; (3) P. p. fusca, Indian subcontinent; (4) P. p. kotiya, Sri Lanka; (5) P. p. melas, Java; (6) P. p. orientalis, Amur; (7) P. p. japonensis, northern China; and (8) P. p. delacouri, southern China. In most cases, designated subspecies conform to historic geological barriers that would have facilitated allopatric genetic divergence. View Show abstract BODY SIZE, NATURAL SELECTION, AND SPECIATION IN STICKLEBACKS Article Feb 1998 Evolution Laura Nagel Dolph Schluter There is little evidence from nature that divergent natural selection is crucial to speciation. However, divergent selection is implicated if traits conferring adaptation to alternative environments also form the basis of reproductive isolation. We tested the importance of body size differences to premating isolation between two sympatric sticklebacks. The species differ greatly in size, and several lines of evidence indicate that this difference is an adaptation to alternative foraging habitats. Strong assortative mating was evident in laboratory trials, but a few hybridization events occurred. Probability of interspecific mating was strongly correlated with body size: interspecific spawning occurred only between the largest individuals of the smaller species and the smallest individuals of the larger species. Probability of spawning between similar-sized individuals from different species was comparable to spawning rates within species. Disruption of mating between individuals from different species can be traced to increased levels of male aggression and decreased levels of male courtship as size differences increased between paired individuals. Interspecific mate preferences in sympatric sticklebacks appears to be dominated by body size, implicating natural selection in the origin of species. View Show abstract A PHYLOGENETIC ANALYSIS OF CHARACTER DISPLACEMENT IN CARIBBEAN ANOLIS LIZARDS Article May 1990 Evolution Jonathan B Losos Twenty-seven islands in the Lesser Antilles contain either one or two species of Anolis lizards. On nine of the ten two-species islands, the species differ substantially in size; 16 of the 17 one-species islands harbor an intermediate-sized species. Two processes could produce such a pattern: size adjustment (or character displacement), in which similar-sized species evolve in different directions in sympatry; and size assortment, in which only different-sized species can successfully colonize the same island together. Previous analyses implicitly have assumed that size is evolutionarily plastic and determined solely by recent ecological conditions, and consequently have tested the hypothesis that character displacement has occurred on each of the ten two-species islands. Other studies have focused only on size assortment. View Show abstract MODES OF SPECIATION IN BIRDS: A TEST OF LYNCH'S METHOD Article Apr 1994 Evolution R. Terry Chesser Robert Zink View SYMPATRIC SPECIATION VIA HABITAT SPECIALIZATION DRIVEN BY DELETERIOUS MUTATIONS Article Dec 1997 Evolution Tadeusz J Kawecki Theoretical studies have suggested that the evolution of habitat (host) races, regarded as a prelude to sympatric speciation, requires strong trade-offs in adaptation to different habitats: alleles that improve fitness in some habitats and have deleterious effects of similar magnitude in other habitats must be segregating in the population. I argue that such trade-offs are not necessary; the evolution of habitat races can also be driven by genetic variation due to loci that affect fitness in one habitat and are neutral or nearly so in others, that is, when performance in different habitats is genetically independent. One source of such genetic variation are deleterious mutations with habitat-specific fitness effects. I use deterministic two-locus and multilocus models to show that the presence of such mutations in the gene pool results in indirect selection favoring habitat fidelity or habitat preference over acceptance of both suitable habitats. This leads to the evolution of largely genetically isolated populations that use different habitats, from a single panmictic population of individuals accepting both habitats. This study suggests that the conditions favoring habitat race formation, and thus possibly sympatric speciation, are much less stringent than previously thought. View Show abstract A MOLECULAR PHYLOGENY OF THE FELIDAE: IMMUNOLOGICAL DISTANCE Article May 1985 Evolution Glen Collier Stephen J. O'Brien The phylogenetic distances between 34 of the 37 extant species of Felidae were estimated using albumin immunological distances (AID). Albumins from ten cat species were used to prepare antisera in rabbits. A consensus phylogeny was constructed from a matrix of reciprocal AID measurements using four distinct phylogenetic algorithms. A series of one-way measurements using the ten index antisera and those 24 species for which albumins were available (but antisera were not), permitted addition of these "species' limbs" to the previously derived phylogenetic trees. The major conclusions of the derived topology were: 1) the earliest branch of the feline radiation occurred approximately 12 million years B.P. and led to the small South American cats (ocelot, margay, Geoffroy's cat, etc.); 2) the second branching occurred 8-10 million years B.P. and included the close relatives of the domestic cat (wildcats, jungle cat, sand cat, and black-footed cat) plus Pallas's cat; 3) the third lineage which began to radiate 4-6 million years B.P. was the pantherine lineage, which included several early branches (cheetah, serval, clouded leopard, golden cats, and puma) and a very recent (2 million years B.P.) split between the lynxes and the modern great cats (Panthera). The topology of the Felidae derived from albumin immunological distance is highly consistent with the karyological disposition of these species, as well as with the fossil record of this family. Because of the recent divergence of this group, the presented data set and the derived topology contain certain unresolved phylogenetic relationships which are so indicated. View Show abstract ORIGIN AND EVOLUTION OF CONTINENTAL BIOTAS: SPECIATION AND HISTORICAL CONGRUENCE WITHIN THE AUSTRALIAN AVIFAUNA Article Sep 1986 Evolution Joel Cracraft Factors governing the origin and evolution of continental biotas were investigated using an analysis of speciation patterns within the Australian avifauna. Phylogenetic relationships within seven lineages of birds were analyzed by numerical cladistic techniques applied to data sets of morphological characters. These relationships revealed extensive congruence among the spatial and temporal histories of lineages whose species are endemic to common areas of endemism. A general hypothesis is constructed to explain this congruence in which widespread biotas are postulated to have been partitioned into areas of endemism by the origin of geomorphological and/or ecological-climatic barriers. Congruence in these phylogenetic patterns of differentiation suggests the following historical pattern of interrelationships for areas of endemism along the northern and eastern coasts of Australia: (Kimberley Plateau + Arnhem Land) + ([New Guinea + Cape York Peninsula] + [Atherton Plateau + Eastern Coastal Rainforest]). Likewise, this study indicates that the arid interior avifauna was segregated into two closely related biotas (Eastern and Western Desert biotas) by the Eyrean Barrier. These biotas are, in turn, related to a more mesic avifauna that was itself subdivided into areas of endemism located in the Southwest and Southeast corners of the continent. View Show abstract Prior agreement: Arbitration or arbitrary? Article Dec 1997 SYST BIOL Mark E. Siddall View A Phylogenetic Analysis and Definition of the Carnivora Chapter Jan 1993 André R. Wyss J.J. Flynn View Hyoid structure, laryngeal anatomy, and vocalization in felids (Mammalia, Carnivora, Felidae) Article Jan 1994 Gustav Peters M.H. Hast View Fossil history of living Felidae Article Jan 1979 H. Hemmer View Evolutionary Strategies of Parasitic Insects and Mite Chapter Jan 1975 Guy L. Bush The appearance of new insect pests on economically important plants is a well-known phenomenon to many applied biologists. In addition, populations of introduced or native insects are frequently encountered which exhibit different host preferences, but which are morphologically indistinguishable from one another (Brues 1924, Simms 1931, Mayr 1942, Andrewartha and Birch 1954, Zwölfer and Harris 1971). These so-called host races sometimes actually represent previously unrecognized reproductively isolated sibling species. Others appear to retain their distinct host preferences and other biological traits in the absence of any observable barriers to gene flow between the races. Two classic examples in North America are the codling moth (Laspeyresia pomonella), introduced from Europe in 1750, which shifted from apples to walnuts about 26 years after it reached California in 1873 (Essig 1931, Foster 1912), and the apple maggot (Rhagoletis pomonella) which moved from its native host hawthorn to introduced apples in 1864 and cherries less than 20 years ago (Bush 1966, 1969a,b, 1974). View Show abstract Sympatric Speciation Article Nov 1966 AM NAT J. Maynard Smith View Biogeography Article Jun 1984 Syst Zool John A. Endler James H. Brown Arthur C. Gibson View Genetic Variability and Biochemical Systematics of Domestic and Wild Cat Populations (Felis silvestris: Felidae) Article Feb 1991 J MAMMAL Ettore Randi Bernardino Ragni Genetic variability and phylogenetic relationships among domestic and wild populations of cats were studied by allozyme electrophoresis. Tissues were obtained from 67 specimens of European wild cats (Felis silvestris silvestris), African wild cats (F. s. libyca), and domestic cats from Italy; 54 presumptive loci were resolved. The average proportion of polymorphic loci and heterozygosity were P̄ = 0.11, H̄ = 0.042 in the wild cat, and P̄ = 0.20, H̄ = 0.066 in the domestic cat. Despite reduced genetic variability, local populations of wild cats were not inbred, as indicated by nonsignificant FIS values. Both FST and Nei's genetic distances between domestic and wild populations were low (F̄ST = 0.04; D̄ = 0.0082). Dendrograms indicate that the domestic cat belongs to the African wild cat lineage, which supports current hypotheses on cat domestication. Based on the genetic evidence, we suggest that the European wild cat, the African wild cat, and the domestic cat belong to the same polytypic species (Felis silvestris Schreber, 1777), and that the European and African wild cats diverged approximately 20,000 years ago. View Show abstract Origin and Evolution of Continental Biotas: Speciation and Historical Congruence within the Australian Avifauna Article Sep 1986 EVOLUTION Joel Cracraft Factors governing the origin and evolution of continental biotas were investigated using an analysis of speciation patterns within the Australian avifauna. Phylogenetic relationships within seven lineages of birds were analyzed by numerical cladistic techniques applied to data sets of morphological characters. These relationships revealed extensive congruence among the spatial and temporal histories of lineages whose species are endemic to common areas of endemism. A general hypothesis is constructed to explain this congruence in which widespread biotas are postulated to have been partitioned into areas of endemism by the origin of geomorphological and/or ecological-climatic barriers. Congruence in these phylogenetic patterns of differentiation suggests the following historical pattern of interrelationships for areas of endemism along the northern and eastern coasts of Australia: (Kimberley Plateau + Arnhem Land) + ([New Guinea + Cape York Peninsula] + [Atherton Plateau + Eastern Coastal Rainforest]). Likewise, this study indicates that the arid interior avifauna was segregated into two closely related biotas (Eastern and Western Desert biotas) by the Eyrean Barrier. These biotas are, in turn, related to a more mesic avifauna that was itself subdivided into areas of endemism located in the Southwest and Southeast corners of the continent. View Show abstract Resource Partitioning in Amphibians and Reptiles Article Feb 1985 COPEIA Catherine A. Toft Resource partitioning, or differences in how species use resources, has been studied in a wide variety of amphibians and reptiles, and causes for resource-partitioning patterns are now understood in several well-documented cases. This study, a review of these papers, reveals a common theme: Resource-partitioning patterns result from three categories of causes, of which competition is just one; the other two are predation and factors that operate independently of interspecific interactions, such as physiological constraints. Moreover, in each of the case histories presented below, we find two or more mechanisms interacting in complex ways. In no case does a single factor, for example competition, ever act alone. These case histories therefore provide an admonishment to single-minded tests of community-wide patterns that pit competition against everything (or nothing) else. Rather, a variety of factors may cause community-wide patterns such as resource partitioning, and the relative importance of these factors may differ among taxa and among communities at different geographic locations. View Show abstract A Phylogenetic Analysis of Character Displacement in Caribbean Anolis Lizards Article May 1990 Evolution Jonathan B Losos Twenty-seven islands in the Lesser Antilles contain either 1 or 2 species of Anolis lizards. On 9 of the 10 2-species islands, the species differ substantially in size; 16 of the 17 one-species islands harbor an intermediate-sized species. Two processes could produce such a pattern: size adjustment (or character displacement), in which similar-sized species evolve in different directions in sympatry; and size assortment, in which only different-sized species can successfully colonize the same island together. Size evolution appears rare (a minimum of 4-7 instances of substantial size evolution). In the northern (but not the southern) Lesser Antilles, size change was significantly greater when a descendant taxon occurred on a 2-species island and its hypothetical ancestor occurred on a 1-species island, supporting the size adjustment hypothesis, though size adjustment might have occurred only once. The relative rarity of size evolution suggests that size assortment might be responsible for non-random patterns. Similar-sized species might not coexist because they interbreed and coalesce into one gene pool. Competitive exclusion is probably responsible for the pattern of size assortment in the N Lesser Antilles; both competitive exclusion and interbreeding of closely related species of similar size might be responsible for the patterns evident in the S Lesser Antilles. -from Author View Show abstract Modes of Speciation in Birds: A Test of Lynch's Method Article Apr 1994 Evolution R. Terry Chesser Robert M. Zink View Body Size, Natural Selection, and Speciation in Sticklebacks Article Feb 1998 Evolution Laura Nagel Dolph Schluter There is little evidence from nature that divergent natural selection is crucial to speciation. However, divergent selection is implicated if traits conferring adaptation to alternative environments also form the basis of reproductive isolation. We tested the importance of body size differences to premating isolation between two sympatric sticklebacks. The species differ greatly in size, and several lines of evidence indicate that this difference is an adaptation to alternative foraging habitats. Strong assortative mating was evident in laboratory trials, but a few hybridization events occurred. Probability of interspecific mating was strongly correlated with body size: interspecific spawning occurred only between the largest individuals of the smaller species and the smallest individuals of the larger species. Probability of spawning between similar-sized individuals from different species was comparable to spawning rates within species. Disruption of mating between individuals from different species can be traced to increased levels of male aggression and decreased levels of male courtship as size differences increased between paired individuals. Interspecific mate preferences in sympatric sticklebacks appears to be dominated by body size, implicating natural selection in the origin of species. View Show abstract Phylogeny, Ecology, and Behavior Article Apr 1992 J Parasitol John Janovy Daniel R Brooks Deborah A. Mclennan View A Molecular Phylogeny of the Felidae: Immunological Distance Article May 1985 EVOLUTION Glen Collier Stephen J. O'Brien The phylogenetic distances between 34 of the 37 extant species of Felidae were estimated using albumin immunological distances (AID). Albumins from ten cat species were used to prepare antisera in rabbits. A consensus phylogeny was constructed from a matrix of reciprocal AID measurements using four distinct phylogenetic algorithms. A series of one-way measurements using the ten index antisera and those 24 species for which albumins were available (but antisera were not), permitted addition of these "species' limbs" to the previously derived phylogenetic trees. The major conclusions of the derived topology were: 1) the earliest branch of the feline radiation occurred approximately 12 million years B.P. and led to the small South American cats (ocelot, margay, Geoffroy's cat, etc.); 2) the second branching occurred 8-10 million years B.P. and included the close relatives of the domestic cat (wildcats, jungle cat, sand cat, and black-footed cat) plus Pallas's cat; 3) the third lineage which began to radiate 4-6 million years B.P. was the pantherine lineage, which included several early branches (cheetah, serval, clouded leopard, golden cats, and puma) and a very recent (2 million years B.P.) split between the lynxes and the modern great cats (Panthera). The topology of the Felidae derived from albumin immunological distance is highly consistent with the karyological disposition of these species, as well as with the fossil record of this family. Because of the recent divergence of this group, the presented data set and the derived topology contain certain unresolved phylogenetic relationships which are so indicated. View Show abstract Animal Species And Evolution Book Jan 1963 Ernst Mayr View The Out-Group Comparison Method of Character Analysis Article Mar 1981 SYST BIOL Larry E. Watrous Quentin Wheeler The out-group comparison method of character analysis. Syst. Zool., 30:1–11.—An operational rule for analyzing character polarity with out-group comparison is presented and a series of observations, including potential problems in applying the rule, are discussed. The “commonality principle” (=“frequency of occurrence,” “common equals primitive”) for determining character polarity is reviewed and dismissed as a reliable alternative to out-group comparison. Based on the rule and observations, a general method for character analysis is synthesized. View Show abstract A Concern for Evidence and a Phylogenetic Hypothesis of Relationships Among Epicrates (Boidae, Serpentes) Article Mar 1989 SYST BIOL Arnold G. Kluge Character congruence, the principle of using all the relevant data, and character independence are important concepts in phylogenetic inference, because they relate directly to the evidence on which hypotheses are based. Taxonomic congruence, which is agreement among patterns of taxonomic relationships, is less important, because its connection to the underlying character evidence is indirect and often imperfect. Also, taxonomic congruence is difficult to justify, because of the arbitrariness involved in choosing a consensus method and index with which to estimate agreement. High levels of character congruence were observed among 89 biochemical and morphological synapomorphies scored on 10 species of Epicrates. Such agreement is consistent with the phylogenetic interpretation attached to the resulting hypothesis, which is a consensus of two equally parsimonious cladograms: (cenchria (angulifer (striatus ((chrysogaster, exsul) (inornatus, subflavus) (gracilis (fordii, monensis)))))). Relatively little (11.4%) of the character incongruence was due to the disparity between the biochemical and morphological data sets. Each of the clades in the consensus cladogram was confirmed by two or more unique and unreversed novelties, and six of the eight clades were corroborated by biochemical and morphological evidence. Such combinations of characters add confidence to the phylogenetic hypothesis, assuming the qualitatively different kinds of data are more likely to count as independent than are observations drawn from the same character system. Most of the incongruence occurred in the skeletal subset of characters, and much of that independent evolution seemed to be the result of paedomorphosis. View Show abstract Evolution as Entropy: Toward a Unified Theory of Biology Book Nov 1986 TAXON Daniel R Brooks E. O. Wiley View Cladistic Analysis and Vicariance Biogeography Article Jan 1983 AM SCI Joel Cracraft Cladistics (phylogenetic systematics) recognizes natural groups by uniquely derived characters (synapomorphies); only natural groups (defined by synapomorphies to be monophyletic) are admitted into the Linnean classification scheme. Just as cladistic analysis provides a method for revealing the degree of congruence among the characters of organisms, vicariance biogeography assesses the degree of congruence in the distributional pattern of taxa. Knowledge of biogeographic pattern is essential to understand evolutionary history and the processes postulated to have preceded it. An example is taken from northern and eastern Australia, which can be described biogeographically in terms of 5 areas of endemism.-P.J.Jarvis View Show abstract Walker's Mammals of the World II Article Feb 1993 J MAMMAL Ronald M Nowak View The Anolis Lizards of Bimini: Resource Partitioning in a Complex Fauna Article Jul 1968 ECOLOGY Thomas Schoener The tiny island of South Bimini contains 4 species of lizards of he genus Anolis, a number surpassed only on the 4 largest islands of the Greater Antilles and on 2 very large and nearby satellite islands. These species are syntopic with respect to a two-dimensional area of the ground but divide the habitat according to perch height and perch diameter: sagrei is partly terrestrial but occurs more often on small and large low perches; distichus prefers the trunks and large branches of medium to large trees; angusticipes inhabits small twigs, especially at great heights; and carolinensis is found mostly on leaves or on the adjacent twigs and brances. The size classes of the species are staggered in such a way that the interspecific classes which overlap most in habitat overlap least in prey size. Similarities in prey size and prey taxa for classes of the same species are somewhat greater than those expected on the basis of habitat and morphology alone. The distribution of the species among the vegetation communities of Bimini can be explained on the basis of perch height and diameter preference. Within the same species, the larger lizards usually eat larger food, fewer items, and in sagrei more fruit; and they have a greater average range of food size per digestive tract. One species (distichus) is extremely myrmecophagous: about 75-90% of its food items are ants. In 3 of the 4 species, subadult males take more food and average smaller prey then females of the same head length. That species (distichus) which takes the smallest food items and whose classes overlap the most in habitat preference with those of other species is least dimorphic is size between the sexes. It is suggested that such small, nondimorphic species are best suited for insinuation into complex faunas, whereas larger, dimorphic forms are best for the colonization of empty areas. The usefulness of various measures of "overlap" and "specialization" is evaluated for this lizard association. View Show abstract Evolution of the Felid Brain; pp. 214–228 Article Jan 1975 Brain Behav Evol L. Radinsky Endocranial casts of 15 genera of fossil felids provide a record of felid brain evolution over the past 35 million years. Brains of the earliest felids, known as paleofelids, had coronolateral, suprasylvian and variably developed ectosylvian sulci as their only neocortical sulci. The last paleofelids, which became extinct around 8 million years ago, show little change in external brain morphology except for the addition of a presylvian sulcus. The other group of felids, the neofelids, appears about 25 million years ago, with coronolateral and suprasylvian sulci their main neocortical sulci,plus a discontinuous ectosylvian sulcus and small postlateral, sylvian and presylvian sulci. The posterior cerebellar vermis was straight and unexpanded. Beginnings of expansion of the sigmoid gyri and development of the cruciate sulcus are evident in neofelids 15–20 million years ago, and by 5–9 million years ago neofelids had brains that appear modern in external morphology. Endocasts of four genera of Pleistocene saber-toothed felids are similar in sulcal pattern to those of modern felids, except for Dinobastis, which had a unique expansion of visual cortex. Endocasts of 27 species of modern felids, representing the six commonly recognized genera, are strikingly similar in external morphology, although the brains of a few species, such as cheetahs, lynxes and jagouarundis, display distinguishing features. Modern felid brains average about the same size relative to body weight as do those of viverrids, but are about 25&percnt; smaller in relative size than those of canids. Olfactory bulbs are relatively smaller in felids than in canids or viverrids.Copyright © 1975 S. Karger AG, Basel View Show abstract Sympatric Speciation via Habitat Specialization Driven by Deleterious Mutations Article Dec 1997 EVOLUTION Tadeusz J Kawecki Theoretical studies have suggested that the evolution of habitat (host) races, regarded as a prelude to sympatric speciation, requires strong trade-offs in adaptation to different habitats: alleles that improve fitness in some habitats and have deleterious effects of similar magnitude in other habitats must be segregating in the population. I argue that such trade-offs are not necessary; the evolution of habitat races can also be driven by genetic variation due to loci that affect fitness in one habitat and are neutral or nearly so in others, that is, when performance in different habitats is genetically independent. One source of such genetic variation are deleterious mutations wit:? habitat-specific fitness effects. I use deterministic two-locus and multilocus models to show that the presence of such mutations in the gene pool results in indirect selection favoring habitat fidelity or habitat preference over acceptance of both suitable habitats. This leads to the evolution of largely genetically isolated populations that use different habitats, from a single panmictic population of individuals accepting both habitats. This study suggests that the conditions favoring habitat race formation, and thus possibly sympatric speciation, are much less stringent than previously thought. View Show abstract The Red List of Threatened Animals Article Jan 1996 J.E.M. Baillie B. Groombridge View Adaptive differentiation following experimental colonization in Anolis lizards Article May 1997 Nature Jonathan B Losos Thomas Schoener If colonizing populations are displaced into an environment that is often very different from that of their source1, they are particularly likely to diverge evolutionarily, the more so because they are usually small and thus likely to change by genetic restructuring or drift2,3. Despite its fundamental importance, the consequence of colonization for traits of founding populations have primarily been surmised from static present-day distributions1,2,4,5, laboratory experiments6 and the outcomes of haphazard human introductions7-9, rather than from replicated field experiments. Here we report long-term results of just such an experimental study. Populations of the lizard Anolis sagrei, introduced onto small islands from a nearby source, differentiated from each other rapidly over a 10-14-year period. The more different the recipient island's vegetation from that of the source, the greater the magnitude of differentiation. Further, the direction of differentiation followed an expectation based on the evolutionary diversification of insular Anolis over its entire geographic range. In addition to providing a glimpse of adaptive dynamics in one of the most extensive generic radiations on earth, the results lend support to the general argument that environment determines the evolution of morphology. View Show abstract Stable Underdominance and the Evolutionary Invasion of Empty Niches Article Jun 1986 AM NAT David Sloan Wilson Michael Turelli Complex adaptations are frequently polygenic passing through several relatively poorly adapted intermediate stages. Evolutionists frequently invoke density- and frequency-dependent selection to explain this process. The initial poorly adapted morphs are assumed to have high fitness because they use an unexploited resource or otherwise occupy an 'empty niche'. This process is explored with a single-locus selection model based on the differential utilization of 2 distinct resources. Unexploited niches can be invaded by poorly adapted morphs. Heterozygotes often have the lowest fitness at stable polymorphic equilibria. Stable 2-locus polymorphisms exist, in which the most heterozygous individuals are the least fit. In general, maladaptive phenotypes are frequently maintained in these models, and may present a biologically plausible framework in which to investigate evolutionary modifications of dominance, linkage, and mating that reduce the frequency of maladaptive phenotypes. -from Authors View Show abstract The Evolutionary Species Concept Reconsidered Article Mar 1978 Syst Zool E. O. Wiley Wiley, E. O. (Division of Fishes, Museum of Natural History, University of Kansas, Lawrence, KS 66045). 1978. Syst. Zool. 27:17-26.-The concept of species (as taxa) adopted by an investigator will influence his perception of the processes by which species originate. The concept adopted should have as universal applicability as current knowledge permits. Simpson’s definition of a species is modified to state: A species is a lineage of ancestral descendant populations which maintains its identity from other such lineages and which has its own evolutionary tendencies and historical fate. This definition is defended as that which has widest applicability given current knowledge of evolutionary processes. Four corollaries are deduced and discussed relative to other species concepts: (1) all organisms, past and present, belong to some evolutionary species; (2) reproductive isolation must be effective enough to permit maintenance of identity from other contemporary lineages; (3) morphological distinctiveness is not necessary; and (4) no presumed (hypothesized) single lineage may be subdivided into a series of ancestral-descendant “species.” The application of the evolutionary species concept to allopatric demes and to asexual species is discussed and it is concluded that the lack of evolutionary divergence forms the basis for grouping such populations into single species. It is suggested that some ecological species definitions lead to under-estimations of the rate of extinction due to interspecific competition because their logical framework excludes unsuccessful species from being species. Finally, the implications of accepting an evolutionary species concept to the field of phylogeny reconstruction are discussed. [Species concepts; evolution; phylogeny reconstruction.]. View Show abstract Vicariant Patterns and Historical Explanation in Biogeography Article Jun 1978 Syst Zool Donn E. Rosen Rosen, D. E. (Department of Ichthyology, American Museum of Natural History, New York, New York 10024) 1978. Vicariant patterns and historical explanation in biogeography. Syst. Zool. 27:159-188.-Geographic coincidence of animal and plant distributions to form recognizable patterns suggests that the separate components of the patterns are historically connected with each other and with geographic history. To seek evidence of these historical connections, cladograms of geographic areas, representing sequences of disruptive geologic, climatic, or geographic events, may be compared with biological cladograms, representing sequences of allopatric speciation events in relation to those geographic areas. Such comparisons, when they meet the minimum requirements of being among dichotomized three- taxon cladograms, can resolve similar or dissimilar historical factors; two-taxon statements do not distinguish between groups with different histories. Congruence of biological and geological area-cladograms at a high confidence level (such as congruence of a five-taxon clado- gram or four three-taxon cladograms with a geological cladogram, where the confidence level can be shown in cladistic theory to be 99%) means that specified events of paleogeography can be adopted as an explanation of the biological patterns. In such a cause and effect relationship, where the earth and its life are assumed to have evolved together, paleogeography is taken by logical necessity to be the independent variable and biological history, the dependent variable. Drawing a mathematical simile, the biological cladogram y (dependent variable), is a function of the geological cladogram x (independent variable), as in a simple regression of effect y on cause x where we are given no free choice as to which is the independent variable. Such a view implies that any specified sequence in earth history must coincide with some discoverable biological patterns; it does not imply a necessary converse that each biological pattern must coincide with some discoverable paleogeographic pattern, because some biological distributions might have resulted from stochastic processes (chance dispersal). Determining that all discoverable biological patterns conflict with a given corroborated or observed sequence of geologic, climatic, or geographic change (i.e., that y is not a function of x), in theory, therefore should falsify vicariance biogeography. Because dispersal biogeography presupposes stochastic processes, and any failure to meet the expectation of a postulated dispersal is explained by an additional dispersal, dispersal biogeography is immune to falsification. Without resort to paleontology or earth history, whether a given historical relationship implied by congruence of biological area-cladograms is the result of dispersal or vicariance can also be thought of in terms which minimize the number of necessary assumptions: Did the sedentary organisms disperse with the vagile ones or did the vagile organisms vicariate with the sedentary ones? Cladistic congruence of a group of sedentary organisms with a group of vagile ones rejects dispersal for both. Hence, distributions of sedentary organisms have the potential to falsify dispersal theories as applied to vagile organisms, but distributions of vagile organisms cannot falsify vicariance theories as applied to sedentary ones. The problems that arise in various kinds of historical explanation are exemplified by several specific distributions of fishes and other organisms in North and Middle America and in the larger context of Pangaean history, and are discussed in relation to current species concepts. [Vicariance; species concepts; biocladistics; biohistory; geocladistics; geohistory; Neotropics; Gondwanaland.]. View Show abstract Species Concepts and Speciation Analysis Article Jan 1983 Joel Cracraft Systematic biologists have directed much attention to species concepts because they realize that the origin of taxonomic diversity is the fundamental problem of evolutionary biology. Questions such as, What are the units of evolution? and, How do these units originate? thus continually capture the attention of many. It is probably no exaggeration to say that most believe the “systematic” aspects of the problem have been solved to a greater or lesser extent, whereas the task before us now is to understand the “genetic” and “ecologic” components of differentiation, i. e., those aspects often perceived to constitute the “real mechanisms” of speciation: A study of speciation is, to a considerable extent, a study of the genetics and evolution of reproductive isolating mechanisms (Bush, 1975, p. 339). ... a new mechanistic taxonomy of speciation is needed before population genetics, which deals with evolutionary mechanisms, can be properly integrated with speciation theory; that is, the various modes of speciation should be characterized according to the various forces and genetic mechanisms that underly [sic] the evolution of isolating barriers (Templeton 1980, p. 720). View Show abstract Mitochondrial DNA comparisons between the African wild cat and the domestic cat Article Jun 1997 S AFR J WILDL RES M Faadiel Essop Nomusa Mda E H Harley There has been dispute regarding the evolutionary relationship between three closely related felids, Felis lybica, Felis catus and Felis silvestris. Recent molecular studies have reported conficting results. Some authors described F. lybica and F. silvestris as distinct, separate species, while others classified them as being conspecific. We constructed mitochondrial DNA restriction site maps of F. catus, F. silvestris and F. lybica using 16 restriction endonucleases. Our results show complete identity between F. catus and F. lybica, whereas an estimated sequence divergence of 0.9% was found between their mitochondrial DNA and that of F. silvestris. This is consistent with F. lybica and F. catus being regarded as subspecies of F. silvestris. View Show abstract The Origin of Species By Means of Natural Selection Article May 1951 ACAD MED Charles Darwin View Morphological and pelage characteristics of wild living cats in Scotland: Implications for defining the 'wildcat' Article Feb 2006 J Zool Mike J. Daniels D. Balharry David Hirst Richard Aspinall The indigenous wildcat, Felis silvestris Schreber, 1775, and the introduced domestic cat, F. catus L., have been sympatric in Britain for more than 2000 years. As a result of interbreeding, any distinction between these two forms has become obscured, although a range of morphological criteria (pelage patterns, body measurements, gut lengths, skull morphometrics) and genetic techniques (immunological distances, electrophoresis, DNA hybridization) have been used previously to distinguish between them. View Show abstract Total Evidence Or Taxonomic Congruence: Cladistics Or Consensus Classification Article Jun 1998 Cladistics Arnold G. Kluge Miyamoto and Fitch's (1995, Syst. Biol. 44: 64-76) verificationist arguments for taxonomic congruence are evaluated and found to be unconvincing. In particular, there is no logical connection between the truth of phylogenetic hypotheses and the independence of the sets of characters analysed for their consensus. Further, the character set partitions emphasized by Miyamoto and Fitch must be considered arbitrary, because they are based on untestable process assumptions. (C) 1998 The Willi Hennig Society. View Show abstract Carnivore body size: Ecological and taxonomic correlates Article Dec 1985 OECOLOGIA John L. Gittleman Variation in body size (weight) is examined across the order Carnivora in relation to taxonomy (phylogeny), latitude, habitat, zonation, activity cycle, diet, prey size, and prey diversity. Significant differences in body weight are observed with respect to family membership. Some of these differences may be explained by phylogenetic history and/or dietary effects. Body weight is not correlated with habitat, zonation, activity cycle or latitudinal gradients. Significant differences in body weight are found among insectivorous, herbivorous and carnivorous species, and some of these differences may relate to energetic constraints. Among predatory carnivores, prey size and diversity increases with body weight. The adaptive significance, both intra- and inter-specifically, of prey characteristics (size, availability, diversity) and carnivore body weight qualities (strength, endurance, hunting technique) is discussed. View Show abstract Interspecific size regularities in tropical felid assemblages Article Jun 1988 OECOLOGIA Richard A. Kiltie I extend an earlier analysis of size relationships in Neotropical cats to felid assemblages in tropical Africa and Asia. Jaw length is the size measure, which apparently correlates well with modal prey size. Each assemblage contains two species (convergents) that are indistinguishable in jaw length. When, the convergent species are treated as separate entities, there is little evidence of even ratios, but there is a tendency for ratios to be larger on average than expected by random assembly, especially among the larger species. This tendency may reflect greater prey size variance for the large species or fewer alternatives to prey size as a basis for niche segregation among large species. Extreme evenness in size ratios observed among the larger Neotropical cats is not repeated in the other assemblages. Because demonstration of strong size ratio evenness depends on merging the convergents, the significance of such regularity must await greater knowledge of the habits of the convergent species. Differences between the convergent species in habitat use or predatory behavior are suggested by the fact that in each convergent pair, one species has dappled (striped or spotted) coat coloration and the other a plain coat. View Show abstract Show more Recommendations Discover more Project The Salmoninae group and The Phylogeny of Behaviour Manu Esteve Deborah A. Mclennan Mitsuru Kawahara View project Project Speciation of big cats Maria Pontier View project Conference Paper Anthropometric characteristics and gait transition speed in human locomotion September 2008 Rakovac Marija Davor Sentija Vesna Babić The purpose of this study was to investigate the relationship between anthropometric parameters and the preferred transition speed (PTS) in human locomotion, in both genders. The studies exploring body measures as determinants of the PTS are biased toward longitudinal dimensions, as the relationships between the PTS and transverse body dimensions have not been examined so far. Longitudinal and ... [Show full abstract] transverse anthropometric parameters were measured in 54 PE students (23 males, 31 females), and an exercise test was performed for determination of the PTS. Correlation coefficients between the anthropometric variables and the PTS were calculated, and a stepwise multiple linear regression analysis was derived. Weak to moderate correlations between several body size and body shape variables and the PTS were found. In males, a significant negative correlation of the bitrochanteric diameter/height (BD/H) ratio with the PTS was found (r=-0.61, p<0.01). In females, calf girth was significantly negatively correlated with the PTS (r=-0.55, p<0.01). The results of this study suggest that gait transition speed in humans is related to transverse and longitudinal body dimensions, and that sexual dimorphism in body size and shape should be taken into consideration for proper interpretation of the PTS. Read more Article Snout-to-hind-leg as a measure of the body size of eastern red-backed salamanders September 2002 · Herpetological Review K.J. Szuba B.J. Naylor D.F. Hackett M.P. Twiss Read more Article Body size and composition and colon cancer risk in women March 2006 · International Journal of Cancer Robert Macinnis Dallas English John L. Hopper [...] Graham G Giles Studies of colon cancer risk in males have reported strong positive associations with obesity, particularly with central adiposity. The association has been weaker and less consistent for women. In a prospective cohort study of women, body measurements were taken directly; fat mass and fat-free mass being estimated by bioelectrical impedance analysis and central adiposity by waist circumference ... [Show full abstract] and waist-to-hip ratio (WHR). Among 24,072 women followed on average for 10.4 years, 212 colon cancers were ascertained via the population cancer registry. We reviewed medical records of all cases and classified them according to anatomic site and stage. The central adiposity measures of WHR (hazard ratio per 0.1 unit increase = 1.31, 95% confidence interval (CI) 1.08-1.58) and waist circumference (hazard ratio per 10 cm increase = 1.14, 95% CI 1.02-1.28) were positively associated with colon cancer risk. There was little or no association between other anthropometric measures and risk of colon cancer. There was some evidence that the associations were stronger for proximal tumors, but no evidence that risk differed by stage for any of the anthropometric measures. Central adiposity appears to be associated with colon cancer risk in women. Read more Article Full-text available Resurrection of Staurois parvus from S. tuberilinguis from Borneo (Amphibia, Ranidae) February 2007 · ZOOLOGICAL SCIENCE Masafumi Matsui Maryati Mohamed Tomohiko Shimada Ahmad Sudin Two forms of Staurois that are differentiated by body size occur parapatrically in the Crocker Range, Sabah, Borneo. Analyses of a total of 1,499 bp of the mitochondrial cytochrome b, 12S rRNA, and 16S rRNA genes revealed that the two forms could be completely split genetically. The two forms could be also clearly differentiated morphologically, not only by snout-vent length but also by the ... [Show full abstract] relative sizes of snout, eye, and finger disk. Comparisons of the two forms with all known species of the genus revealed the large and small forms to be S. tuberilinguis and S. parvus, respectively. The latter species has long been synonymized with the former, but we here consider them to represent different species. View full-text Last Updated: 10 Oct 2020 Looking for the full-text? You can request the full-text of this article directly from the authors on ResearchGate. Request full-text Already a member? Log in ResearchGate iOS App Get it from the App Store now. 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work_6fplzdp2izbphcvnwq7cbmhrj4	----	Using Computers for Intensive Care Unit Research Using Computers for Intensive Care Unit Research Nicholas S Ward MD Introduction CIS for Electronic Data Retrieval The CIS Relational Database As a Tool for Research Problems With Data Accuracy Examples From a Computerized ICU Code Status Arterial Blood Gas Testing Protocol Pitfalls of CIS Data Summary A computerized clinical information system (CIS) is potentially a very important information tool for research and improving health care processes as well as for optimizing data management and thereby minimizing health care costs. The newest CISs automatically collect patient data from various sources, including monitors, the laboratory, radiology, and patient notes, and make the data highly organized and readily accessible. In the future CISs may be able to conduct signal analysis, assist in care decisions, provide advanced graphical data presentation, and generate warnings to clinicians. Most CIS systems include large databases, and the advent of relational databases has improved data retrieval and ma- nipulation and thus made the data a powerful tool in outcomes research. On the whole CISs collect more frequent and more accurate data than do clinicians using paper-based data collection systems, but research continues on how accurate CIS data is, how to improve that accuracy, and how much data checking and correction is needed. At my institution we have used CIS data to study changes in patients’ code status and to evaluate a protocol for arterial blood gas (ABG) testing. The primary challenges to optimizing a CIS are ensuring accurate data entry, learning to query the data so as to avoid misleading conclusions, and to administer and maintain the hardware and software so as to minimize the chance of data loss and system down time. CISs are in a relatively early stage of their development, and engineering improvements will eventually make CIS data highly accurate and easily accessible and queryable so that CISs become even more valuable for research. Key words: computers, information management, research, data processing, data collection, research methodology, research techniques. [Respir Care 2004;49(5):518 –522. © 2004 Daedalus Enterprises] Introduction Computers are becoming an increasingly large part of the practice of critical care medicine. They are now an integral part of all aspects of intensive care unit (ICU) care and monitoring, from ventilators to medication orders to charting. Over the last decade many elements of comput- Nicholas S Ward MD is affiliated with the Department of Pulmonary and Critical Care Medicine, Rhode Island Hospital, Brown Medical School, Providence, Rhode Island. Nicholas S Ward MD presented a version of this report at the 33rd RESPIRATORY CARE Journal Conference, Computers in Respiratory Care, held October 3–5, 2003, in Banff, Alberta, Canada. Correspondence: Nicholas S Ward MD, Department of Pulmonary and Critical Care Medicine, Rhode Island Hospital, Brown Medical School, 593 Eddy Street, Providence RI 02903. E-mail: nicholas_ward@ brown.edu. 518 RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 erized patient data have been linked into clinical informa- tion systems (CISs). The term CIS, however, is still neb- ulous. Currently, it is used to describe a diverse array of computer hardware and software that aid in the care of patients. Generally these systems are able to record patient data, either directly, through links with monitoring equip- ment, or indirectly. A state-of-the-art CIS gets patient data from various sources, such as vital-signs monitors, labo- ratory data, radiology, and patient care notes, and incor- porates those data into a format that is readily accessible and well organized (Fig. 1). These qualities have made CISs increasingly popular in intensive care units, where large amounts of data are generated. Most CISs today also have features that make them more than just electronic patient charts. A CIS can also incorporate elements such as signal analysis,1 decision anal- ysis,2,3 advanced graphical data presentation,4 and com- puter-generated warnings that further aid in patient care. In addition, most systems today have large databases. The advent of relational databases has made data retrieval and manipulation much easier. It is the addition of these data- bases that have made the CIS a potentially powerful tool in outcomes research. An investigator can, theoretically, search for, collect, cross-reference, and analyze tremen- dous amounts of patient data very quickly. CIS for Electronic Data Retrieval One obvious way in which computers can potentially improve research is through gathering, recording, and pre- senting the tremendous amounts of data generated on pa- tients. This can be a daunting task in the modern ICU where, every minute, data are generated by patient moni- tors. The ICU also uses laboratory and imaging services more frequently than do other departments. The shortcom- ings of hand-written patient charts are well documented.5 The most commonly cited problems with paper charts have been missing records, poor documentation, and illegible writing. A CIS can eliminate handwriting-legibility prob- lems and automatically gather and store all pertinent clin- ical information, such as medications, vital signs, test re- sults, and narrative notes. Many commercially available CISs today have those abilities. In terms of gathering physiologic data, a CIS offers 2 potential advantages over other methods. The first is that the CIS theoretically can provide more frequent and accurate data that are more easily stored. This aspect of a CIS seems initially to be nothing but a benefit. Com- puting and automatic data entry eliminate transcription errors, tabulation errors, and incomplete data, and save time, but, unfortunately, continuous or near-continuous physiologic data entry has some problems: as always, there is the potential for erroneous measurements (eg, when a blood pressure cuff is off the patient’s arm) and signal noise, as is common with electrocardiograms. To ensure data accuracy, it is frequently necessary to re- view data before accepting them into the record. Also, in physiologic data the range of extreme high and low values increases with the frequency of measurement, which can impact the calculation of disease-severity scores.6 Another potential advantage of a CIS is the possibility of adding secondary data to the primary data via complex signal analysis. An example of this that is familiar to many is the automatic interpretation of electrocardiogram sig- nals. Many cardiac telemetry systems identify and record events such as ventricular tachycardia through signal anal- ysis. A CIS could potentially record events such as shock and ventilatory failure and analyze them for known pat- terns by interpreting the primary data. That said, it is un- likely that automatic signal analysis and interpretation by CISs will play an important role in the near future, because the variables of human physiology are so complex. The CIS Relational Database As a Tool for Research Much of the current interest in computers for ICU re- search focuses on databases of clinical information col- lected during patients’ stays. In the early days of CISs the effective use of clinical databases was greatly limited by the technology. More than any other component of a CIS, the database requires a tremendous amount of computer memory. Furthermore, efficiently querying a large data- base requires a very fast computer. As computer memory and speed have rapidly improved, so have the utility of CIS databases. The other development that made CISs powerful re- search tools was the invention of the relational database. A relational database essentially “tags” every piece of data as it is stored, much like a library card catalog. By way of those tags the program can quickly relate a piece of data to other similar types of data without searching the entire database (Fig. 2). A state-of-the-art CIS with a relational database can quickly search years of patient data and re- Fig. 1. Schematic of a clinical information system with a relational database. USING COMPUTERS FOR INTENSIVE CARE UNIT RESEARCH RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 519 trieve specific data. Unfortunately, most commercially available CISs either do not have an archived database or have databases that are very difficult or too time consum- ing to query effectively. There are 3 fundamental requirements for a database to be useful for outcomes research: accuracy, feasibility, and appropriateness.7 The problems with accuracy are discussed below. The feasibility of owning and accessing such a database is increasing because the systems are becoming less expensive. The ability to create a large clinical data- base on site—as is possible with the latest commercially available systems—makes them more appropriate for a given clinician or researcher than most outside databases. Furthermore, outcome data can be analyzed in context with resource utilization data from the same institution. Cowen and Matchett believe this to be perhaps the “great- est ability of a clinical database.”8 In any case, outcomes research on ICU patients should become much more com- prehensive and faster to produce with the latest clinical databases. Problems With Data Accuracy The potential for data inaccuracy in a CIS is a problem that has not received much attention. Investigators have attempted to determine the accuracy of various commer- cial and noncommercial databases for measuring specific data such as medications,9 diagnoses,10 and patient phys- iologic data.11 Wagner and Hogan reviewed 20 studies that compared CIS data accuracy12 and found that CIS patient data was more accurate than other databases or paper charts. In reviewing this topic Hogan and Wagner helped eluci- date the complexity of the problem with computer-based patient records. They divided the concept of accuracy into 2 components: completeness and correctness. Of the 20 studies they reviewed almost all measured only complete- ness, not correctness. In addition to that problem most authors who have at- tempted to validate CIS data accuracy have compared CISs to paper charting. Multiple studies have documented the inaccuracies of handwritten medical records. Instead of being a standard by which to judge CIS data accuracy, handwritten records may be less accurate.12 A better stan- dard is needed by which to measure data accuracy, but that can be a complex task in a large, comprehensive system. Examples From a Computerized ICU At Rhode Island Hospital we have been using a com- mercially available CIS in our 18-bed medical ICU (MICU) for the last 6 years. In those years we have collected a tremendous amount of data and have used our relational database to answer some important clinical questions. We have also run into many problems. Two topics we have studied with our CIS data include code status and arterial blood gas testing. Code Status In order to better understand one end-of-life issue in our MICU, we studied the code status of admitted patients. For the study a row was added to the nursing flow sheet and the nurse was required to pick from a list of code statuses and input the patient’s code status at MICU admission (eg, do not resuscitate [DNR], do not intubate [DNI], or full code). On subsequent days, if the patient’s code status changed, the nurse was prompted to enter the new code status in the patient flow sheet. The database was queried to determine the numbers and percentages of patients with various code statuses at admission, code-status changes from initial status, and the time to change. The study con- sidered data from a 6-month period. At admission 91.5% of our MICU patients had full code status (no restrictions on advanced cardiac life support or intubation), 4.6% were DNR/DNI, and 3.9% were in the category “other.” During MICU stay 25% of the patients’ code status changed: 7% to DNR, 11% to DNR/DNI, and 5% to comfort measures only. One percent whose original status was DNR were changed to full code status. Sixty percent of code-status changes were made within 48 hours of MICU admission. Figure 3 shows an example of that type of data. Arterial Blood Gas Testing Protocol To evaluate our practices and reduce unnecessary arte- rial blood gas (ABG) tests in our MICU, we instituted a protocol for ordering them. First we queried our database to determine the daily average number of ABG tests per mechanically ventilated patient. Then doctors and nurses were asked to limit ABG tests to only those situations indicated in the protocol. In the flow sheet the nurse was Fig. 2. A simplified example of a relational database showing links between data tables. The patient identification number (ID#) is the key to associating types of data. (Figure courtesy of Steven B Nelson MSc RRT FAARC.) USING COMPUTERS FOR INTENSIVE CARE UNIT RESEARCH 520 RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 prompted to choose from a list of reasons the ABG was done. If none of the reasons in the list applied, the clinician could input “other.” At the end of the trial period we queried the database to compare ABG ordering before and after implementing the protocol. The protocol decreased the average number of ABG tests per patient per ventilator day from 4 to 2. However, we found that no reason was given (ie, “other” was selected) 92% of the time, indicat- ing poor compliance with the protocol. After further edu- cation of the medical staff and eliminating the choice “other,” we discovered that a new clinical intervention was the most common reason for conducting an ABG test. Table 1 summarizes the results. Pitfalls of CIS Data The 2 most common CIS problems are getting quality data into the system and querying the right data. As with any clinical study one must be careful how a question is asked or the resulting data can be inaccurate or confusing. In addition, given that much of the data entered into a CIS is entered or confirmed by human staff, there are limits to how much data can be entered accurately. It has been our experience that the more data entry is asked of the staff, the less accurate and complete the data will be. This makes choosing what data to ask for even more challenging, be- cause quantity impacts quality. Another major CIS pitfall is technical problems in the hardware and software. At times we have suffered major data losses from our system, from outages of the system and from loss of stored data. Good system administration is a vital component to doing research with a CIS, and the importance of system administration should be empha- sized by any group considering implementing a CIS. Summary Information gathering via computerized systems is becoming a large part of modern ICUs. These systems offer many advantages over older data gathering sys- tems, including more complete and accurate records. Relational databases enable the study of large volumes of data from various fields and can combine that data quickly and easily. In the future, additional computing capabilities, such as complex signal analysis, could make relational databases even more powerful tools, which should enhance ICU care. Concerns remain about the accuracy of CIS data but in the future the data will probably become consistently accurate enough to facil- itate definitive studies. REFERENCES 1. Goldstein B, Fiser DH, Kelly MM, Mickelsen D, Ruttimann U, Pollack MM. Decomplexification in critical illness and injury: rela- tionship between heart rate variability, severity of illness, and out- come. Crit Care Med 1998;26(2):352–357. 2. Evans RS, Pestotnik SL, Classen DC, Clemmer TP, Weaver LK, Orme JF Jr, et al. A computer-assisted management program for antibiotics and other antiinfective agents. N Engl J Med 1998;338(4): 232–238. 3. Evans RS, Classen DC, Pestotnik SL, Clemmer TP, Weaver LK, Burke JP. A decision support tool for antibiotic therapy. Proc Annu Symp Comput Appl Med Care 1995:651–655. 4. Cole WG, Stewart JG. Metaphor graphics to support integrated de- cision making with respiratory data. Int J Clin Monit Comput 1993; 10(2):91–100. 5. Sado AS. Electronic medical record in the intensive care unit. Crit Care Clin 1999;15(3):499–522. Table 1. Reasons Given for Obtaining an Arterial Blood Gas Measurement After Adjustments Reason No. Percent of Total* No reason charted 2 � 0.01 Clinical intervention 2201 73.9 Assess PCO2 54 1.8 New intubation 18 0.6 Other/unexplained 33 1.1 Patient deterioration 156 5.2 Study 89 3.0 Unable to obtain pulse oximeter reading 30 1.0 Ventilator setting change 396 13.3 * Because of rounding, percent values do not total 100%. Fig. 3. Data generated by query of patient code status. DNR � do not resuscitate. DNI � do not intubate. CMO � comfort measures only. NA � not applicable. USING COMPUTERS FOR INTENSIVE CARE UNIT RESEARCH RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 521 6. Suistomaa ME Ruokonen E, Takala J. Lack of standardized data collection causes bias in APACHE II and SAPS scores. Intensive Care Med 1997;23:A545. 7. Pronovost P, Angus DC. Using large-scale databases to measure outcomes in critical care. Crit Care Clin 1999;15(3):615–631. 8. Cowen JS, Matchett SC. The clinical management database. Crit Care Clin 1999;15(3):481–497. 9. Wagner MM, Hogan WR. The accuracy of medication data in an outpatient electronic medical record. J Am Med Inform Assoc 1996;3(3):234–244. 10. Jollis JG, Ancukiewicz M, DeLong ER, Pryor DB, Muhlbaier LH, Mark DB. Discordance of databases designed for claims payment versus clinical information systems: implications for outcomes re- search. Ann Intern Med 1993;119(8):844–850. 11. Hammond J, Johnson HM, Varas R, Ward CG. A qualitative com- parison of paper flowsheets vs a computer-based clinical information system. Chest 1991;99(1):155–157. 12. Hogan WR, Wagner MM. Accuracy of data in computer-based pa- tient records. J Am Med Inform Assoc 1997;4(5):342–355. Discussion MacIntyre: What are the HIPAA [Health Insurance Portability and Ac- countability Act] implications of searching these databases? I realize you’re not going to publish patient in- formation, but you are matching things about specific patients to other things without their permission. Are there HIPAA issues? Ward: Yes, there are. You do need consent from these patients, and ap- proval from your internal review board. Nowadays you’re definitely go- ing to need consent if you’re going to prospectively collect data that include patient identifiers. If the data is col- lected only for quality assurance, you don’t need consent, but you can’t pub- lish it. So that makes it that much harder. At a computer I used to be able in 15 minutes to collect enough data for a report. Now I have to go back and figure out if I need consent and otherwise address data security is- sues. It’s becoming a lot more com- plicated. Stewart: If you remove patient iden- tifiers in your database, then you can query that information without it be- ing a HIPAA violation and without needing to have an audit trail of who accessed the information. One thing we’ve done is to remove patient iden- tifiers and send the clinical informa- tion to a central repository. If the data has any patient identifiers, then you have to go through the institutional review board process and have pa- tients’ permission to access that infor- mation. However, most privacy no- tices, which patients sign at admission, indicate that the patient allows the use of some information, though the pa- tient can check the restriction clause that reads: “Do not use my medical record for research.” It depends on the institution’s privacy notice. You can avoid HIPAA problems by having the privacy notice read, “Your clinical in- formation may be used for research.” Pierson:* You touched on quality assurance, and your presentation very nicely showed how data that is pri- marily generated for one purpose, or maybe a couple of purposes, such as patient management and keeping track of things and billing, can be desirable to use for another purpose such as re- search. We’re all required to do QA [quality assurance] activities and we’re often interested in doing research as well. A commonly done thing is to take this year’s departmental QA plan and just write it up and submit it for pub- lication and say, “Look at all this data.” From an editor’s perspective this has been very problematic. It gets back to exactly what you were saying: “Gar- bage in, garbage out.” You have to design something to be of acceptable rigor for research at the front end be- fore you collect any data if those data are going to be worth anything for research. So a QA activity can be valid research if it’s designed as that from the beginning. But it’s unlikely that if you retrospectively go back to a QA project you’ve done, that you’ll be able to get good enough data to answer the right questions with it to make it fill the needs for research. Ward: That brings up an interest- ing point. CISs have been around for about 10 years, depending on where you want to draw the starting line. At the trade shows you hear these ven- dors describe these systems, and the first thought that pops into my mind is, why aren’t researchers around the country cranking out reports on a daily basis if the system could quickly give you perfect data on, say, the rate of ventilator-associated pneumonia in people over 65 who have COPD? I think the fact that we don’t see such reports is a tip-off that these systems are not as easy to operate as they are sometimes advertised to be, that the data is not as good as is needed, and that CISs are still in their clunky stage. Nelson: Correlation does not equal causation. In this data-mining adventure that you described in several of your examples, do you think it’s just coinci- dental that you found those results or was there more than just correlation? Were you able to find causation? Ward: It depends on which of these things you’re talking about. For ex- ample, there was a correlation between alcoholism and pneumonia, but that’s just a correlation, although some other literature shows that same thing. Peo- ple in alcohol withdrawal have a very high rate of respiratory failure from pneumonia. Regarding the other stuff * David J Pierson, MD FAARC, Editor in Chief, RESPIRATORY CARE Journal, Seattle, Washington. USING COMPUTERS FOR INTENSIVE CARE UNIT RESEARCH 522 RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 I showed on accuracy, I don’t know what to make of that data. I’d chosen 2 com- monly used methods for collecting that data, and I compared them and showed there was a difference. And so the ques- tion is, which is more accurate? In a number of those cases I’d say my sys- tem is more accurate, though I know that’s a value judgment. The reason why is that in a couple of those things—not so much with the diagnoses but defi- nitely with things like medications—we are much closer to the point of care than these other systems are. Duration of ICU stay is another example: we’re much closer to where the duration of stay de- cision is made in the hospital computer. So I can’t prove that our duration-of- stay data is more accurate than some other institution’s duration-of-stay data, but ours is collected by the team taking care of the patient. It’s almost as good as if I had a research nurse in my ICU prospectively collecting that data. Volsko: When you said that your system is more accurate than the hos- pital’s system, especially with your reference to duration of stay, is it re- ally a matter of accuracy or is it stan- dardization? I encountered a similar problem when analyzing cystic fibro- sis data. I captured my cystic fibrosis duration-of-stay data based on a 24- hour rolling calendar. I looked at date and time of admission, and date and time of discharge, in 24-hour incre- ments. So if you were admitted at 2:00 in the afternoon on April 1, at 2:00 in the afternoon on April 2nd that was 24 hours, whereas the hospital looked at their data on the 24-hour rolling calendar based on the midnight cen- sus. Before that problem was cor- rected it caused disparities and an inability to compare baseline to care path outcomes when duration of stay was calculated. Wouldn’t it behoove us to standardize those practices to capture the most accurate reflection of what our patients are doing, and so that we can compare that within and among institutions, to facilitate benchmarking? Ward: That’s exactly right. That form of error came in dramatically in the data for time on the ventilator. I had 2 sys- tems for calculating time on the venti- lator in terms of days, which is kind of loose, and they weren’t standardized to each other. That could reflect some of the difference in duration of stay but, clearly, with differences up to 8 days or more. The point I thought you were go- ing to make is that the hospital system is more accurate because the patient re- ally is in the ICU for, say, 8 days. One could argue that, too. Gardner: How did you get the data out of the CareVue [CIS] system into your [Microsoft] Access database? Ward: All I have to do is launch Access and it accesses the CareVue database through some intermediary software. I have a lot of help with that part by people who understand the sys- tem better than I do. Gardner: But did you do your data- base searches on a separate desktop com- puter that wasn’t on the CareVue sys- tem, or was it on the CareVue system? Ward: CareVue operates on desk- top computer. The computer in the head nurse’s office is configured with Access so that it plugs right into the CareVue database, which I guess is kept in the bowels of the hospital. Gardner: The reason I ask is that part of the issue you’re talking about is data mining and data structures. There would be things that you’d want to do in CareVue, such as you’d want data to come up quickly and have it organized in a different way than you’d want it for the database searches. Many people have 2 or more copies of the database—sec- ondary databases that we call “data- marts.” Pharmacy data, for instance, would be in one datamart, data about ICD-9 [International Classification of Diseases, Ninth Revision] codes would be in another datamart, and so on. We use that strategy because there are researchers who query the HELP system [Health Evaluation Through Logical Processes system, at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah] and they look at 10 patients and find something interesting and then want to look at the data for last 10 years, which can dramatically im- pact the speed of the clinical data collection system. So generally you pull that data off to a datamart. I’ve heard the complaint about CareVue and other systems that the data are very hard to get out of the vendor system to pull off into datamarts. Ward: There is some sort of data- mart intermediary in between Access and the database. Walker: It really caught my atten- tion that not all of the ventilators interface with your CIS, which ne- cessitates manual data entry. That dovetails into Rob Chatburn’s dis- cussion1 about ventilator manufac- turers. I’m not so sure that all the ventilator manufacturers have it as a high priority to interface their ven- tilators to CISs. At the technology meeting in Washington DC last week, I was assured that there are many standards being discussed and that the vendors are being included, but when I talked to the ventilator manufacturers, I got the impression that that’s really not the case. From a respiratory care standpoint my concern is that our devices might be somewhat left out while all the other devices are electronically interfaced with the CIS. However, at the same time, are we going to have to buy a whole new fleet of ventilators to elec- tronically capture patient data? If we’re going to improve our produc- tivity by using these emerging tech- nologies, I think that we have to get the manufacturers to work with us both with regard to the “front end” (the user interface) and the “back end,” so that the devices interface with CISs. USING COMPUTERS FOR INTENSIVE CARE UNIT RESEARCH RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 523 REFERENCE 1. Chatburn RL. Computer control of mechan- ical ventilation. Respir Care 2004;49(5): 507-515; discussion 515-517. Ward: I agree. Gardner: There is an Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers [IEEE] standard, number 1073,1–3 and we’ve been using versions of it for more than a decade. The whole indus- try, including vendors such as Care- Vue and manufacturers of bedside monitors and ventilator equipment, has to use it. The standards work, but we’ve got to get all vendors to use them. REFERENCES 1. IEEE 1073 Medical Device Communica- tions. Available at: http://www.ieee1073.org. Accessed March 4, 2004. 2. Kennelly RJ. Improving acute care through use of medical device data. Int J Med Inf 1998;48(1–3):145–149. 3. Kennelly RJ, Gardner RM. Perspectives on development of IEEE 1073. The Medical Information Bus (MIB) standard. Int J Clin Comit Comput 1997;14(3):143–149. Walker: Dr Gardner, is that some- thing you could have input into? You’re on the leading edge and you make these devices work. Do you see that happening in the near future? Gardner: Yes I do, and you can too, because the IEEE establishes standards with a consensus process. They’re the people who came up with Ethernet and lots of other standards. There’s a very active group, and I was involved in the standardization development process for about 10 years. USING COMPUTERS FOR INTENSIVE CARE UNIT RESEARCH 524 RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 Not So Fast! The Dark Side of Computers in Health Care Steven B Nelson MSc RRT FAARC Introduction Rights Security Reliability Regulations Support Acceptance Privacy Summary There are now computers in numerous health care devices, from thermometers to ventilators, and there are pitfalls to avoid in our increasing dependence on computers. To be useful, information must be delivered in the right context. Computer systems must be protected from worms, viruses, and other harmful code, and they must prevent unauthorized access to data. The source of all underlying decision algorithms must be known and appropriate for the population being served. And there must be contingency plans to mitigate losses caused by system unavailability. Key words: computers, computer security, medical informatics, software, data security, data protection, patient data privacy, information management, medical errors, medication errors, computer viruses, computer hack- ers, disaster planning. [Respir Care 2004;49(5):525–530. © 2004 Daedalus Enterprises] Introduction This conference has so far extolled the virtues of com- puterizing nearly every application imaginable in respira- tory care. Though that is a commendable goal, there is a “dark side” to computers that extends beyond the sensa- tional headlines on the nightly news warning of the latest virus or identity theft scheme. The goal of this report is not to support a Luddite men- tality regarding technology but to warn of pitfalls that may be encountered before and after the decision to use a com- puter as a solution. The Luddites were originally a group of displaced textile workers. In the early 1800s steam- and water-powered weaving and spinning frames were being installed in an area of Nottingham, England. By 1811 the workers had banded together under “General” Ned Ludd and formed the “Army of Redressers.”1 Their goal was to destroy the frames and regain their jobs. By 1812 over 800 frames had been destroyed. The movement was crushed after a defeat at Lancashire and the declaration that de- struction of a frame was a capital offense. In the mid-1990s various neoLuddites, including Ted Kaczynski (the “Unabomber”) warned that computers were evil and exclusionary. Ironically, they used the very tools they derided to write and spread their message. Though Kaczynski proved to be a murderous madman, he made Steven B Nelson MSc RRT FAARC is affiliated with Pulmonary Indus- trial Testing Associates, Overland Park, Kansas. Steven B Nelson MSc RRT FAARC presented a version of this report at the 33rd RESPIRATORY CARE Journal Conference, Computers in Respira- tory Care, held October 3–5, 2003, in Banff, Alberta, Canada. Steven B Nelson MSc RRT FAARC is a technical consultant for Sun Mi- crosystems, Santa Clara, California. The opinions in this report are solely those of the author and do not represent the views of Sun Microsystems. Correspondence: Steven B Nelson MSc RRT FAARC, Pulmonary In- dustrial Testing Associates, 8314 W 128th Street, Overland Park KS 66213. E-mail: sbn_kc@mac.com. RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 525 several cogent points regarding computers and decision- making; he warned of a future where (1) decisions will become so complex that humans won’t be able to process all the data, (2) decisions will be made by a small group acting as a “benevolent parent,” or (3) decisions will be taken from humans by accident.2 Those warnings are per- tinent to the growing use of computers in health care. This report proceeds on the premise that computer technology should not be avoided but should be considered no more than a tool. I will provide information and opinion on how we can wisely and safely use that tool. A principle to be aware of is the “rule of unintended consequences,” which is illustrated by the use of DDT to control malaria-carrying mosquitoes. The mosquitoes de- veloped resistance to DDT, and the DDT concentrated in the food chain and resulted in weakening of bird eggshells, causing a rapid decline in birds of prey and an increase in rodents. Often people are tempted into what appears to be a quick solution to a problem, and they implement it with- out proper analysis that could avoid unexpected results and cascading consequences.3 There are 7 subjects to address regarding computers and information management: rights, security, reliability, reg- ulations, support, acceptance, and privacy. Rights Pharmacists speak of 4 “rights”: the right medication, in the right dosage, by the right delivery method, to the right patient. Health care information has a similar set of “rights”: the right information, in the right time frame, delivered in the right format, to the right user. The right type of information is derived from a hierarchy, such as the one in Table 1. Data by themselves are not gen- erally useful. They require a context to become information. Knowledge of the subject matter is needed to determine whether the data are normal or valid. Understanding allows one to create new knowledge to assess the patient. Wisdom is the integration of knowledge from multiple sources and the ability to apply judgment and respond. Many computerized systems are unable to rise above the knowledge level, pri- marily because of a lack of integrated information. The fol- lowing example and Table 1 show the hierarchy. Say a re- spiratory therapist (RT) is given the value “42.” By itself that piece of data is useless, because it could be the value of any of several physiologic variables, including PaO2, PaCO2, or hematocrit. Knowledge that it is a PaCO2 value would lead the RT to the conclusion that the value is in the normal range. Additional information that the patient is on a ventilator, has acute lung injury, and is supposed to be maintained with permissive hypercapnia might lead to the conclusion that the minute ventilation was too high. As the Mexican novelist Carlos Fuentes said, “The greatest crisis facing modern civ- ilization is going to be how to transform information into structured knowledge.” Information has a time value. A normal result from a screening spirometry of a patient in an extended care fa- cility may be delivered after many hours. Normal spirom- etry in a dyspneic emergency-room patient is generally reported within minutes. The findings might be the same, but in the emergency room the information might cause immediate changes in treatment. Information’s format should be appropriate for the device that receives it. It makes little sense to send more than a few seconds of video to a mobile computer such as a personal digital assistant, because those devices do not have large enough displays, enough memory, or fast enough data-trans- fer, though with engineering improvements that may change. Information should be delivered to the right user. There are many classes of information in a hospital and many people who provide care for a hospitalized patient. Only the required information should be made available. For example, it is probably not necessary for a billing clerk to see an RT’s comments about colorful, thick secretions, although a medical records clerk may need that informa- tion for diagnostic coding purposes. Security Computer security depends on software elements, physical elements, and human elements. Software security involves preventing the running of inappropriate code (eg, worms, viruses, or Trojan horses). A worm is a self-replicating, self- propagating program. Robert Morris at Cornell University wrote the first widespread computer worm in 1988. It ex- ploited a weakness in an e-mail program used by nearly all of the 56,000 computers connected to the Internet at the time. In a matter of hours it had slowed communications to a crawl. Morris soon realized the extent of the damage and tried to send out a message about how to stop it, but many of the systems had already been disconnected from the Internet. It took about 5 days to recover and bring the systems back online. In September 2003 a worm called Sobig.F exploited a weakness in a widely used e-mail program, and it spread to about 150,000,000 computers in a matter of days. It created havoc on the Internet, primarily by the vast number of e-mail messages it was generating. Internet service provider AOL Table 1. Information Hierarchy Data 42 Information FEV1/FVC, PaO2, PaCO2, hematocrit Knowledge COPD, hypoxia, normocapnea Understanding Change bronchodilator, increase FIO2 Wisdom Judgment of correctness FEV1 � forced expiratory volume in the first second; FVC � forced vital capacity; FIo2 � fraction of inspired oxygen. NOT SO FAST! THE DARK SIDE OF COMPUTERS IN HEALTH CARE 526 RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 scans incoming e-mail for viruses, and at the peak of the outbreak they found 23,000,000 copies of the worm during 1 day. Recently worms have been responsible for computer outages in hospitals, government offices,4 airlines,5 and nu- clear facilities.6 Even after 15 years of experience that well- known computer exploitation method is still effective. A computer virus differs from a computer worm in that a virus requires a user action to activate it. Most viruses, such as Melissa and Blaster, take advantage of functions in com- monly used desktop-computer applications. A user is enticed to open a file or an e-mail message that appears to be from an acquaintance. Opening the file or message runs a program that can alter files and/or send more e-mail messages to rep- licate the virus. Viruses are simple to write, using a common scripting language found on nearly every desktop computer. Numerous Internet sources show the basics of writing vi- ruses, and all that is required after writing the virus is to attach it to an e-mail message and send it. Trojan horses are small programs hidden in larger pro- grams. They can open a “back door” in a computer and thus give access to unauthorized users. One type of Trojan horse is called “spyware,” which resides within a program installed by a user and sends information about the user’s operating system, memory, hardware, and/or software to the company that wrote the spyware. Spyware can be used to monitor for illegal distribution or for marketing. It may also do nothing more than connect to a company Web site to check for updates. The most prevalent example of spy- ware is in Web browsers. By setting the Web browser’s “cookie” authorization to “prompt” (rather than “accept” or “block”), you can see how many cookies a Web site is attempting to place on your computer and surmise how much information would be passed. (Cookies are small files used to track Web page accesses or transactions.) Software security measures are simple to implement. Security steps include: • Do not open attachments in e-mail messages. Attachments are the most common means for spreading viruses. • Regularly install security patches, which should be ob- tained only from a known source. • Install antivirus software in all the computers in your system, including computers that can connect from the outside through a dial-in or virtual private network. The virus scan function should be set to start automatically on a regular basis. • Keep the antivirus software up to date. Antivirus com- panies quickly respond to new threats and issue up- grades as viruses are found. The false sense of security offered by outdated antivirus software is probably more dangerous that not having any installed at all. Physical security concerns access to a computer or a network connection. A computer should be secured to an immovable object to prevent theft. The computer’s case should be locked, if possible, to prevent removal of disks or other components. Disks can easily be removed from an unsecured case and the data read on another computer. No computer should be connected directly between the Internet and an internal network at the same time, because that may allow unauthorized access to restricted information if the system is compromised. Though that configuration may sound rare, consider that many laptop computers include both a wired Ethernet connection and a wireless connection. An improperly configured network card may allow a connection from one source to be bridged to the other source, thereby circumventing normal network access methods. Implementation of a physical security plan is usually the responsibility of the asset management, security, information technology, and/or networking departments. The appropriate groups should be contacted before connecting any device (wired or wireless) to a hospital information system. Computer security also includes a human element. The phrase “social engineering” has been used to describe ex- ploitation of a computer user’s trust to gain unauthorized access to systems or information. Staff education is the most effective means of prevention. Computer security policies must be included in new-employee orientation and reviewed regularly. Like patient information, informa- tion regarding computer systems should never be given to anyone who is not positively known to have the authori- zation for the information, no matter how authoritative he or she sounds. Passwords should never be shared. They should be diffi- cult to guess and changed regularly. In many cases a simple “dictionary attack” can identify a password. A simple method for creating good passwords is to select a phrase that is easily remembered and then take the first letter or number of each word and the punctuation to create a string. For example, the phrase “Four score and 7 years ago” could be used to create the password “Fsa7ya”, which is secure from a dictionary attack and reasonably easy to remember, even though the characters appear to be random. Finally, managers should be certain that employee ac- cess to all computers is terminated immediately when em- ployment ends, voluntarily or otherwise. Reliability Computer reliability depends on starting with a good design. Any project, whether it involves hardware or soft- ware, must start by defining the problem to be solved, what is available at present, and what needs to be done to reach the goal. Software reliability is critical to maintain a functional computing environment, but unfortunately, software is far NOT SO FAST! THE DARK SIDE OF COMPUTERS IN HEALTH CARE RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 527 from perfect. Almost every program of any length has errors, as anyone who has seen a computer freeze with the “blue screen of death” or “general protection fault” can testify. Industry estimates predict 1–5 software defects per 1,000 lines of code. Even attaining Six Sigma levels of quality (99.9999% accuracy) allows 38 defects per million lines of code. Current estimates of the economic impact of faulty software are in the range of $60 billion per year.7 In extreme cases software defects have caused injury and death. The most widely publicized case of death due to software involved a cancer-treatment radiation device, the Therac-25, which was manufactured by Atomic En- ergy of Canada Ltd8 between 1985 and 1988 and was used for cancer treatment at several centers in the United States. It was designed to deliver a radiation dose of 10 –200 rads, but if a certain sequence of keystrokes was entered, a software bug prevented proper control of the beam inten- sity and the device could administer 1,000 to over 4,000 rads. Six patients died from radiation exposure or compli- cations. The only clue that something was wrong was an error message: “Malfunction 54.” The malfunction codes were to be used by Atomic Energy of Canada Ltd to de- termine problems, but that particular error code did not even exist, according to the company’s documentation. Hardware reliability can be measured in terms of “up- time” (percentage of time the system is operational vs nonoperational) and response time. The up-time and re- sponse time influence the service-level agreement, which is an agreement between the user and the computer sys- tem’s support staff. It specifies contact information, main- tenance periods, and expected availability. The service- level agreement may be included as part of the hospital- wide information system plan, but it may be necessary to obtain a separate agreement if the respiratory care depart- ment’s management information system is a stand-alone system apart from the hospital-wide information system. A service-level agreement might, for example, state that one goal is to have 99% of all new or changed orders sent from the floor to a respiratory care management system in under 10 min. That might require timely logging of the order at or near the patient, a network connection from the terminal to the hospital information system, translation of the order information by a common data dictionary, then formatting for a respiratory care management information system. Factors that commonly affect system availability are the mean time between failures and the mean time to repair. Hardware and software vendors should know those values. If the basic components are not reliable enough to provide the desired reliability or service, different architectures are available that have better reliability. Information technology is fragile, and our increasing dependence on it has left us susceptible to large-scale dis- ruptions. A recent example was well documented.9 –11 A simple file-sharing search created a chain reaction of events that led to a 4-day system outage at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center (Boston, Massachusetts) in November 2002. The chief information officer was very forthcoming with the event details, in order to help other hospitals assess their exposure and plan for similar occurrences. One of the benefits of the outage was that it caused the institution to develop the ability to isolate systems during subsequent e-mail worm attacks and thus prevent other extended outages. When the SQL Slammer worm struck in January 2003, it caused only a short outage of 6 hours. When the W32.Blaster worm struck in August 2003, they were able to stop it before it even entered the system. Other institutions were not so well prepared and wasted thousands of hours in removing the virus.12 The best method to reduce risk is to minimize equip- ment and software. For example, there is little reason to have a floppy disk drive on a networked computer. Elim- inating floppy disk drives prevents outside disks from be- ing used, reducing the chance of a virus entering via that route. Software should be limited to only what is required for the tasks to be conducted on that computer. The most widely used desktop software has unfortunately been shipped and installed with a number of usually unneeded services turned on. These may provide an avenue for un- authorized access. The information systems team should be consulted to make sure that only required network ports are open and other services are shut down. Loading multiple versions of software can cause problems with licensing and software piracy. The alternative is central- ized application servers that distribute only authorized appli- cations to authorized smart terminals (known as “thin cli- ents”) that do not have local hard drives or local software, thereby reducing support costs. They can also be configured so that information follows the user. For example, an RT can check a master schedule from any terminal. Use of “smart cards” allows information to follow the RT from unit to unit so that he or she does not need to repeatedly log in, access the schedule page, then log out. The card provides authentication and a central server remembers what was being viewed and displays it in the new location. Medical computer systems should strive for the same reliability that users of the telephone system have come to expect. Computer system administrators should work to- ward making the systems robust enough to provide critical information even in the event of power failures or natural disaster. Identification of critical systems needs to be an institution-wide effort. The institution’s business continu- ity plan should delineate what will be done during com- puter system failure. Corporate longevity is also an issue. Many software companies did not survive the recent economic depression. To mitigate the risks from companies going out of busi- ness, proprietary software source code should be held in escrow so that if the company fails, the source code can be NOT SO FAST! THE DARK SIDE OF COMPUTERS IN HEALTH CARE 528 RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 used for creating replacement software. Companies are frequently bought and sold, and support needs to be avail- able regardless of who is the current owner of the com- pany, so support contracts should cover the possibility of corporate successors. Also it is wise to minimize propri- etary components. For example, if information exchange depends on a specific widget from a single vendor, failure of that vendor could jeopardize access to information. Regulations The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) specifically rec- ognizes as “medical devices” software products used by blood banks in their collection, maintenance, and distribution of blood and blood components.13 In addition, the FDA’s Cen- ter for Devices and Radiological Health has issued guidelines for premarket submission of medical device software.14 The extent of the software review required is proportional to the severity of injury that a device could permit or inflict. Those guidelines establish requirements for software development, traceability, validation, verification, and testing. It also re- quires a list of all unresolved software anomalies (bugs) and their impact. Hardware must be described and tested in a similar manner. In general, software that is written for a sin- gle purpose and not further distributed does not fall under the regulations of the FDA and Center for Devices and Radio- logical Health. However, it is the software author’s respon- sibility to make sure that the same procedures are followed for due care and diligence. Support Software support is simple with purchased software prod- ucts: you simply pay for the level of support you require. Support for custom-made applications is more difficult. If an RT writes a program that becomes an essential part of everyday operations, there is the risk that if that person leaves the department, he or she may no longer be able or willing to support the software. In most cases it is unwise to depend on a single individual to write and support a critical software element. Acceptance Before final acceptance of a system there are several questions to ask. The purchase agreement should state whether you are purchasing the software itself or only a license to use the software and, if the latter, what is the period of use. Any information classification or diagnostic algorithms should be based on current best practices and references must show the source of medical authority. If the algorithms are not applicable to your institution, you must determine whether they can be changed and whether practice changes required by evidence-based medicine are reflected in new versions of the software. Privacy In the words attributed to Sun Microsystems’ Chief Ex- ecutive Officer Scott McNealy, “You have no privacy: get over it!” Though the Health Insurance Portability and Ac- countability Act provides safeguards to protect health in- formation, many people unknowingly sign away their pri- vacy when they fill out credit applications, insurance forms, and other forms, most of which include explicit permission to release health information. Whether access to that in- formation is actually needed remains debatable. There are 2 medical data bureaus that catalog all information sub- mitted by health care providers to insurance companies. By aggregating disparate bits of information from numer- ous sources a complete health profile might be recon- structed. Summary A computer should be recognized as nothing more than a tool, no greater in importance or mystique than a chain saw. As such, proper training is required for safe use. Information must be delivered only to authorized users as it is needed. Systems need to be protected from software threats, such as viruses, and from hardware threats, includ- ing unauthorized access and theft. Employees need to know security policies and how to prevent system compromise. Technology will break down; plan for that and identify methods for mitigation. One hundred and sixty years ago Henry David Thoreau warned of the dangers of technology becoming our master when he said, “We do not ride upon the railroad: it rides upon us.”15 Rob Chatburn provided more optimistic ad- vice about 20 years ago, which is still relevant today: “Whether we use or are used by computers. . . depends on how well we understand them.”16 REFERENCES 1. Charnwood Borough Council. History of Charnwood. February 2003. Available at: http://www.charnwoodbc.gov.uk/charnwood/ history.htm. Accessed February 27, 2004. 2. Kaczynski T. Industrial society and its future. 1997. Available at: http://www.time.com/time/reports/unabomber/wholemanifesto.html. Accessed February 27, 2004. 3. Joy B. Why the future doesn’t need us. April 2000. Available at: http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/8.04/joy_pr.html. Accessed February 27, 2004. 4. Computer worm wiggles way into beacon hill network. August 13. 2003. Available at: http://www.thebostonchannel.com/news/ 2403530/detail.html. Accessed February 27, 2004. 5. Lemos R. ‘Good’ worm, new bug mean double trouble. August 19, 2003. Available at: http://zdnet.com.com/2100–1105-5065644.html. Accessed February 27, 2004. NOT SO FAST! THE DARK SIDE OF COMPUTERS IN HEALTH CARE RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 529 6. Poulsen K. U.S. warns nuke plants of worm threat. September 3, 2003. Available at: http://www.securityfocus.com/news/6868. Ac- cessed February 27, 2004. 7. The economic impact of inadequate infrastructure for software test- ing. Gaithersburg MD: National Institute of Standards and Technol- ogy; May 2002. 8. Leveson N, Turner CS. An investigation of the Therac-25 accidents. IEEE Computer 1993;25(7):18–41. 9. Bednarz A. Hospital sounds alarm after 3-day struggle. November 25, 2002. Available at: http://www.nwfusion.com/news/2002/ 1125bethisrael.html. Accessed February 27, 2004. 10. Kilbridge P. Computer crash—lessons from a system failure. N Engl J Med 2003;348(10):881–882. 11. Weise G. Emergency surgery on a hospital computer system. March 1, 2003. Available at: http://www.spectrum.ieee.org/WEBONLY/ wonews/mar03/bhosp.html. Accessed February 27, 2004. 12. IT department works its magic. Aug 29, 2003. Available at: http:// mercy.winningit.com/news/news8–29-03.asp. Accessed February 27, 2004. 13. Zoon KC. Letter to computer software manufacturers. Software used in blood establishments (3/31/94). Section 201(h) Federal Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act (the Act) [21 U.S.C. 321(h)]. 14. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Food and Drug Administration. Guidance for FDA reviewers and industry guidance for the content of premarket submissions for software contained in medical devices. May 29, 1998. 15. Thoreau HD. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden and civil disobedience. Thomas O, editor. New York: W W Norton & Co; 1966:62. 16. Chatburn RL. Dynamic respiratory mechanics. Respir Care 1986; 31(8):708–711. Discussion Gardner: The FDA regulates soft- ware under the 1976 Medical Devices Act and they classify and regulate soft- ware as a “contrivance.” They regu- late devices such as the Therac-25 ra- diation therapy device,1 but the only medical-records software they’ve reg- ulated so far is that used for blood banks. The American Medical Infor- matics Association and other groups I’ve been involved with have pub- lished on the topic.2 Clearly, devices such as implantable pacemakers and defibrillators need to be regulated. I’m not sure that Microsoft Word, Word- Perfect, or Excel files need to be reg- ulated. At this point the FDA is not doing that. REFERENCES 1. Leveson NG, Turner CT. An investigation of the therac-25 accidents. IEEE Computer 1993;25(7):18–41. 2. Miller RA, Gardner RM. Recommendations for responsible monitoring and regulation of clinical software systems. J Am Med Inform Assoc 1997;4(6):442–457. Nelson: I think you’re correct up until your last sentence, that Microsoft Word and Excel files don’t need to be regulated. Several people at this con- ference have said that they use Excel spreadsheets to make clinical deci- sions. If you can’t depend on Excel having an audit trail that shows ev- erything has been tested and if you’re not absolutely sure that it works as expected, you shouldn’t be using it. If you’re assuming that because it came from Microsoft it’s bug-free and all the calculations are correct, you’re probably making conclusions that shouldn’t be made. The other thing about software is that the FDA doesn’t exactly regulate software per se, but the software in a handheld spirometer is regulated. Gardner: Yes, that’s a medical de- vice. Nelson: Right. If you move the in- formation that’s displayed on the hand- held spirometer’s screen from one line to another line, then you need to re- submit the device to the FDA, because it’s a change in the device. So whether it’s software, hardware, or the system, that’s where the fuzziness comes in as far as the FDA is concerned. I agree with you on that. Gardner: I would just point out that Microsoft Excel will do a lot better than most physicians or par- ents in calculating medication doses for children. Vilma Patel1 did some very interesting research on how peo- ple guess at what should be done. There have been jokes about people swallowing suppositories, but that really happens. I would still disagree with you. REFERENCE 1. Patel VL, Kaufman DR, Arocha JF. Emerg- ing paradigms of cognition in medical de- cision-making. J Biomed Inform 2002; 35(1):52–75. Nelson: And that’s why the two of us got sued for $98 million for testing computerized spirometers a decade ago. Giordano:* You said not to use Mi- crosoft Outlook. What do you use? Nelson: There are other e-mail pro- grams available, such as Eudora and Mulberry, which come pre-configured with automatic opening of attachments turned off, with all the other things that Outlook assumes that you want to do and turns on for you by default. I’m not saying you shouldn’t use Out- look, but if you use it, be aware that those functions are turned on and that bad things can happen without your knowledge. Of course you can always get a Macintosh computer. I noticed that with the mannequin that Dr MacIntyre showed us in his presenta- tion, all the slides appeared to have come from a Macintosh, so apparently they’re using a Macintosh to control that quarter-million-dollar mannequin. * Sam P Giordano MBA RRT FAARC, Exec- utive Director, American Association for Re- spiratory Care, Irving, Texas. NOT SO FAST! THE DARK SIDE OF COMPUTERS IN HEALTH CARE 530 RESPIRATORY CARE • MAY 2004 VOL 49 NO 5 
work_6pp5wlsdrnf4jhayasbb4xrina	----	Communicating Ecology Through Art: What Scientists Think Copyright © 2012 by the author(s). Published here under license by the Resilience Alliance. Curtis, D. J., N. Reid, and G. Ballard. 2012. Communicating ecology through art: what scientists think. Ecology and Society 17(2): 3. http://dx.doi.org/10.5751/ES-04670-170203 Research Communicating Ecology Through Art: What Scientists Think David J. Curtis 1, Nick Reid 1, and Guy Ballard 1 ABSTRACT. Many environmental issues facing society demand considerable public investment to reverse. However, this investment will only arise if the general community is supportive, and community support is only likely if the issues are widely understood. Scientists often find it difficult to communicate with the general public. The role of the visual and performing arts is often overlooked in this regard, yet the arts have long communicated issues, influenced and educated people, and challenged dominant paradigms. To assess the response of professional ecologists to the role of the arts in communicating science, a series of constructed performances and exhibitions was integrated into the program of a national ecological conference over five days. At the conclusion of the conference, responses were sought from the assembled scientists and research students toward using the arts for expanding audiences to ecological science. Over half the delegates said that elements of the arts program provided a conducive atmosphere for receiving information, encouraged them to reflect on alternative ways to communicate science, and persuaded them that the arts have a role in helping people understand complex scientific concepts. A sizeable minority of delegates (24%) said they would consider incorporating the arts in their extension or outreach efforts. Incorporating music, theatre, and dance into a scientific conference can have many effects on participants and audiences. The arts can synthesize and convey complex scientific information, promote new ways of looking at issues, touch people’s emotions, and create a celebratory atmosphere, as was evident in this case study. In like manner, the visual and performing arts should be harnessed to help extend the increasingly unpalatable and urgent messages of global climate change science to a lay audience worldwide. Key Words: art and environment, arts and society, environmental behavior, music, performance, scientific communication, social effects of the arts, sustainability INTRODUCTION Many environmental issues facing society, such as ecosystem collapse, demand considerable public investment to reverse. However, this investment will only arise if it is supported by the general community, and community support is only likely if the issues are widely understood (Miller 2004, Miller et al. 2006). The need for effective communication, public outreach, and education to increase support for collective action and behavior change is perhaps most pressing in the context of anthropogenic climate change (Moser and Dilling 2007). The role of the arts is often overlooked in extending scientific information and yet the role of the arts in communicating issues, influencing and educating people, and challenging dominant paradigms has a long tradition in the humanities (Belfiore and Bennett 2006). Throughout history artists have produced artworks that have attempted to jolt their communities out of complacency, articulate concerns about social justice and other issues, define and summarize debate, and provide enduring images that continue to inspire people down through the ages (Reichold and Graf 1998). Artists have a history of social activism (Gibson 2001, Belfiore and Bennett 2006, Jordaan 2008) and among the most pressing concerns of many contemporary artists is the deteriorating environment (Cembalest 1991, Goldberg 1991, de Groat 1994, Cless 1996, Kirn 2000, Branagan 2003a,b,c). The association between artists and those who attempt to conserve the natural environment has a long history (Bonyhady 2000), and many artists use their work to communicate important insights into human relationships with the natural environment (Pollak and MacNabb 2000, Williams 2001). Indeed, poets and writers, such as Henry David Thoreau in the USA and William Wordsworth in the UK, and visual artists have been influential in shaping attitudes toward landscape (Gold and Revill 2004). This has also been the case in Australia (Papadakis 1993, Curtis 2009) and there is growing recognition among practitioners of the role of the arts in facilitating societal transformation to environmental sustainability (Hawkes 2003, Mills and Brown 2004, Dieleman 2008, Kagan and Kirchberg 2008). , Artists are able to communicate with a large audience and their work has been used as an important component of protest movements against war, social injustice, poverty, AIDS, and Third World debt, and as part of the nonviolent, environmental protest movement (Doyle 2001, Branagan 2003a,b,c, Educational Broadcasting Corporation 2005, Jordaan 2008). In the USA, Underground Railway Theatre’s eco-cabarets highlighted environmental issues (Sanders 1996) and Wes Sanders’ eco-cabaret ‘Beat the Heat’ was an important part of the campaign to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and pollution in Vermont (C. Cevoli and W. Sanders, unpublished manuscript). In Australia, the photograph ‘Rock Island Bend, Franklin River, Southwest Tasmania’ by Peter Dombrovskis was used by The Wilderness Society in their successful campaign to prevent the damming of the Franklin River, and the photographs of Olegas Truchanas helped galvanize 1University of New England http://dx.doi.org/10.5751/ES-04670-170203 mailto:irf@une.edu.au mailto:nrei3@une.edu.au mailto:guy.ballard@industry.nsw.gov.au Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ opposition to the flooding of Lake Pedder (Angus 1975, Dovers 1994, Kent 2010). Sirocco’s performance of the ‘Wetlands Suite’ in the Macquarie Marshes highlighted the plight of a wetland system starved of water by irrigation and was broadcast to millions of viewers throughout the world (Bill O’Toole, personal communication). A small number of contemporary scientists use the arts in a practical way to assist in their research, to gain insights that feed into their research, or to communicate their research to the general public. Nalini Nadkarni studies forest canopy biota and establishes connections with nonscientific audiences and artists for the purposes of heightening awareness of canopy ecology (Nadkarni 2004, 2007, 2008). Other scientists manage to merge an interest in aesthetics and science (e.g., Sullivan and McCrary 2002). Some UK and Australian scientific organizations have hosted artists in residence who have created works that were inspired by, or were a response to, science. Collaborations between science and art internationally include the Colorado EcoArts festival (www.ecoartsonline.org/ ); Art and Science Collaborations (www.asci.org/), Synapse (www.synapse.net.au/index.php), Gene(sis) project (Stern 2005), Orion (www.oriononline.org/), and Greenmuseum ( greenmuseum.org/). In Australia, such collaborations include the Australian Network for Art and Technology (www.anat.o rg.au/), and the Mildura Palimpsest (www.artsmildura.com.au/ old_sites/palimpsest/pdfs/Palimpsest 5.pdf). Other direct interactions between ecology and the arts include the use of art to illustrate botanical and zoological texts (Hewson 1999, Olsen 2001). The foregoing illustrates the potential for using the arts to communicate scientific information to a lay audience. Despite the range of collaborations between science and the arts internationally, only a tiny minority of scientists is involved and the environmental and sustainability literature is largely silent on the role of the arts in mass communicating science (e.g., Mercer 2000, Dodds and Middleton 2001, Goldie et al. 2005). This is reflected in higher education courses on sustainability. In a survey of 77 undergraduate and graduate environmental programs, none included the arts as an area of study (Sherrin 2008). This raises questions about why scientists do not use the arts more to communicate their results, whether they would consider using the arts, and, if so, in what roles. To explore the responses of scientists to using the arts to expand audiences to ecological science, a series of constructed examples were performed for delegates over five days at an annual conference of the Ecological Society of Australia (ESA). The views of the conference attendees, which included research students as well as professional scientists, were surveyed at the end of the conference closing ceremony. The research explored the attitudes of ecological scientists and research students to the use of the arts for communicating scientific information. METHODS Description of the event The 2003 ESA annual conference was held in Armidale, New South Wales, Australia in December of that year. The arts program was developed as a part of the conference to: (1) encourage scientists to reflect on alternative media to communicate their science to society; (2) provide a conducive environment for the delegates to receive information; (3) show scientists how the visual and performing arts may be used to aid understanding of complex scientific information, including synthesizing information and communicating ideas; (4) entertain, i.e., marvel at skills, enjoy something beautiful, laugh, relax, break monotony, affirm, and energize delegates; (5) aid conference logistics and processes; and (6) make the conference memorable by showcasing the depth and richness of Armidale’s arts community. Table 1 summarizes the components of the arts program, and the objectives of each component. The visual arts program included a specially commissioned conference image (Fig. 1), installations and art works summarizing various elements of the conference (Fig. 2), artists in residence (Fig. 3), especially commissioned conference mugs, and tours of the Armidale art galleries that featured exhibitions of ecological art. The performing arts program commenced with an opening ceremony that featured local Indigenous didgeridoo player Duan Pittman, the local dance group Body Moves, and the Armidale Sing NSW choir accompanied by the world-music folk band, Sirocco. All three performances were inspired by the Australian landscape and ecosystems, large images of which were screened behind the performers. At the conference barbeque, Duan Pittman told Indigenous ecological stories accompanied by didgeridoo. Eco-band, Tre Los Lantana, entertained delegates at the conference dinner with a cabaret show written for the event and that commented on some of the issues addressed at the conference. Six theatrical performances were scattered throughout the conference as an alternative medium for communicating science, to emphasize various themes of the conference, and to entertain delegates. They featured the Armidale High School Performing Group. Their performances included virtuoso juggling and circus skills, physical skills, comedy, and dance. Rural tree dieback was explained through a juggling act, a piece of sketch comedy (Appendix 1), and street theatre (Digby Dieback Meets Theresa Green; Appendix 2). Landscape conservation planning was presented using narrative sketch theatre, and ecological balances and cycles were portrayed in An Ecological Circus (Figs. 4, 5, 6). Woodland decline and regeneration processes were theatricalized by changing an auditorium installation after each speaker to reflect the content of the papers in a symposium on the topic (Fig. 7). http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ http://www.ecoartsonline.org/ http://www.asci.org/ http://www.synapse.net.au/index.php http://www.oriononline.org/ http://greenmuseum.org/ http://www.anat.org.au/ http://www.anat.org.au/ http://www.artsmildura.com.au/old_sites/palimpsest/pdfs/Palimpsest 5.pdf http://www.artsmildura.com.au/old_sites/palimpsest/pdfs/Palimpsest 5.pdf Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Fig. 1. As part of the arts program of the Ecological Society of Australia (ESA) conference, Armidale, 2003, this commissioned image by Anna Curtis, In the Balance, summarized the themes of the conference. The seed sprouting in the innermost circle represents new growth, the essence of life. The tiny seed represents a container of huge potential, whether plant or animal. The second circle represents the spiral of life; the force ‘within us and beyond us, that which is the continuum of life.’ The third circle represents Australian native fauna and includes the extinct gastric brooding frog, the endangered bilby and dugong, the echidna, possum, wombat, platypus, and flying fox. The fourth circle represents native flora and includes some of Australia’s best known native flowers and fruits (Eucalyptus, Grevillea, Banksia, Acacia, Melaleuca, Callistemon, and Leptospermum). These four circles together represent the earth. The circle is ‘womb like, protecting and nurturing.’ The area surrounding the earth represents sky and ocean. Like embryonic fluid, it’s a buffer zone. The birds and fish represent evolution, i.e., a sense of timelessness and continual change. The border incorporates changing landscapes caused by human interaction and intervention, including fire and regeneration, native grassland, woodland, wetlands, drought, erosion, salinity, insect attack, land clearing. The healthy rural setting includes biodiversity, greenbelts, tree planting, waterways, farming trees, crops, animals, and people. In her artist’s statement the artist wrote: “To keep everything In the Balance, we must learn to work with nature, not against it. To respect the land, not abuse it. Through this artwork, I have attempted to communicate these concerns as well as creating an image that can be viewed on many levels. It is a meditative image, a mandala, a place to contemplate. What lies over the hill? What’s hidden beyond the mountain? Will the new shoot grow into a giant tree or a bean stalk? The unknown holds a sense of hope for the future.” Lino reduction print on paper, 30 x 30 cm, 2003. See www.annacurtis.com.au/ for how the image was constructed (Copyright Anna Curtis). http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ http://www.annacurtis.com.au/ Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Table 1. Matrix of components of the arts program, and intended objectives: (1) encourage scientists to reflect on alternative media to communicate their science to society; (2) provide a conducive environment for the delegates to receive information; (3) show scientists how the visual and performing arts may be used to aid understanding of complex scientific information; (4) entertain; (5) aid conference logistics and processes; and (6) make the conference memorable by showcasing the depth and richness of Armidale’s arts community. See text for further details. Objectives Components of Arts Program 1 2 3 4 5 6 Opening YES YES YES YES Conference image YES YES Theatre group (symposia) YES YES YES YES YES YES Theatre group lunchtime YES YES YES YES Invited art works YES YES YES YES YES Artists in residence YES YES YES Installations in auditoria YES YES YES YES Outside artworks, flags etc. YES YES Circus/dance performance (BBQ) YES YES YES YES Indigenous performance (BBQ) YES YES Cabaret (conference dinner) YES YES YES YES Closing ceremony (An Ecological Circus) YES YES YES YES YES Art gallery tour YES YES YES Analysis The success of the arts program in achieving its objectives and the response of the delegates to the program were evaluated by means of an anonymous questionnaire conducted by the conference organizing committee at the end of the closing ceremony. Of the 500 delegates, 239 completed the questionnaire. The authors acted as participant observers in the conference (Ballard 2004). The archive of written material relating to the project and held by the authors includes minutes of meetings, correspondence, press clippings, project documentation, the delegate database, and a photographic and video record. Fig. 2. One of the main Ecological Society of Australia (ESA) conference venues with artworks with an ecological theme from eight local artists: Stuart Boggs, Marty Branagan, Jenny Evelyn, Kerry Gulliver, Julia Hardman, Belinda Nano, Fay Porter, and Len Zell. Photo: David Curtis. Fig. 3. Artists in residence, Jenny Evelyn (right), and Anna Curtis (left). Photo: David Curtis. RESULTS Of the 239 respondents to the questionnaire, about 80% were members of the ESA, half were professionals and the other half research students. Delegates’ responses revealed that the arts program achieved most of its objectives (Tables 1, 2). Eighty-six percent of respondents indicated that they found some parts of the arts program entertaining (Objective 4). Around 50% of respondents said that the arts program encouraged them to reflect on alternative ways to communicate science, helped provide a conducive environment to receive information, and assisted in conference http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Table 2. Results of the survey of attendees at the 2003 Ecological Society of Australia Conference, in Armidale, New South Wales (n = 239). Percent response (%) Yes No Unsure No response Did some elements of the arts program encourage you to reflect on alternative ways to communicate science? 55.2 31.8 10.5 2.5 Did some elements of the arts program help to provide a conducive environment to receive information? 49.8 23.4 24.3 2.5 Did some elements of the arts program convince you that the arts have a role in helping people understand complex scientific information? 51.5 29.7 16.3 2.5 Did you find some parts of the arts program entertaining? 86.2 6.7 3.8 3.4 Did some elements of the arts program assist in conference processes such as helping you to identify the conference precinct? 46.9 29.7 20.5 2.9 Would you consider using the arts in conjunction with your work in the future? 23.9 53.6 18.4 4.2 processes (Objectives 1, 2, and 5). About 50% of respondents said that elements of the arts program convinced them that the arts have a role in helping people understand complex scientific information (Objective 2). It is assumed in the context of this survey and the arts program at the conference that the respondents will have interpreted ‘helping people’ to mean lay people or the general public. However, only 24% of respondents said that they would consider using the arts in conjunction with their work in the future (Table 2). The main Fig. 4. Armidale High School Performing Group: from left to right Brendan Hatte, Ben Coleman, Angie Torbay, Vaughan Curtis, Rachel Goldsworthy, Robin Curtis. Photo: David Curtis. uses of the arts contemplated by delegates were to facilitate processes such as commanding people’s attention, conveying key nonscientific information, providing an alternative communication medium, and aiding understanding of scientific information (Table 3). Most aspects of the arts program were favorably received, particularly the conference image, the various performances, and the artworks in the lecture theatres (Table 4). The aspect that conference-goers were least positive about was the conference dinner performance, probably because it was hard to hear because of poor acoustics at the venue (a large woolshed) and the large number of people, some of whom had to dine outside. As a result most attendees spent most of the evening talking over the noise. Fig. 5. Armidale High School Performing Group as Barry Fay and Warren Streuth presenting a theatrical ‘paper’ in the symposium: ‘Managing profitable and biodiverse production systems.’ Photo: Laszlo Szabo. http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Table 3. Responses of people attending the 2003 Ecological Society of Australia Conference to the question: ‘Would you consider using the arts in conjunction with your work in the future, [if yes] how might you do this?’ (n = 115). Method of using the arts Percentage of respondents who chose this option As an alternative communication medium 26 To provide a conducive environment for receiving information 18 To aid understanding of scientific information 24 To entertain at a conference or in association with a presentation 27 To facilitate processes such as getting people’s attention or conveying key nonscientific information 28 None of these 2 No response 52 DISCUSSION Our results support the proposition that the arts have an important role in communicating scientific information. Over half the delegates said that elements of the arts program encouraged them to reflect on alternative ways to communicate science and convinced them that the arts have a role in helping people understand complex scientific information. Our results are consistent with the findings of the few researchers who have written about the use of the arts in communicating science (e.g., Lovett 2004, Nadkarni 2004, 2007, 2008). The social psychology literature emphasizes the importance of knowledge in shaping beliefs, attitudes, intention to act, and ultimately environmental behavior (Jackson 2005). Knowledge about an issue leads to an awareness of consequences, which is an important factor influencing proenvironmental behavior (Stern 2000). The view that the arts have a role in educating people has a long tradition in the humanities (Belfiore and Bennett 2006). Through communicating scientific and environmental knowledge the arts therefore appear to have a role in encouraging people to adopt proenvironmental behavior. The case study highlighted several features of the arts that lend themselves to communicating science. Fig. 6. Armidale High School Performing Group presenting An Ecological Circus in the closing ceremony of the conference. Photo: Laszlo Szabo. Fig. 7. Installation in a symposium about factors that were degrading or regenerating woodland ecosystems. The installation was altered between speakers to reflect the changes that ecologists spoke about (e.g., a decline in habitat led to loss of birds). Photo: David Curtis. (1) Synthesizing and conveying complex scientific information The capacity of both visual and performing arts to synthesize, simplify, and convey complex ecological or scientific ideas makes the information both more interesting and easier to remember. This feature is exemplified in the capacity of the visual arts to portray different landscape scenarios (e.g., Rob Youl, as cited in Campbell et al. 1988, Saunders and Hussey 1996, Salt and Lindenmayer 2004). Such features make the arts a valuable tool to raise awareness of particular issues. At the conference, the capacity of the arts to synthesize and convey complex information was exemplified by the conference image (Fig. 1) as well as several performances. For example, abstracts on woodland decline and restoration were converted into a comic piece of theatre that was presented as a ‘paper’ in a session on that topic (Appendix 1). Scientific research from over 20 years on rural eucalypt dieback was http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Table 4. Views of 2003 Ecological Society of Australia Conference attendees about different components of the arts program. Data are percentages of 239 respondents. †Note: ‘No response’ or ‘Unsure’ responses generally indicated that delegates did not experience this component. Percent response Positive Neutral Negative Unsure† No response† Conference image 72.8 12.6 2.9 0.4 11.3 Conference opening 68.2 11.7 2.5 4.2 13.4 Performance group 63.2 16.3 4.2 3.8 12.6 BBQ 53.1 18.8 4.2 11.3 12.6 Cabaret/conference dinner 29.0 16.7 7.1 25.1 22.2 Art gallery tour 3.4 6.3 1.3 59.0 30.1 Artworks in lecture theatres 53.6 15.9 2.5 9.6 18.4 Closing performance 42.3 2.5 0.0 13.0 42.3 converted into entertaining street theatre (Appendix 2) and a virtuoso juggling act. Keynote abstracts were converted into the ecological circus that was performed in the final plenary session, including, for example, explanation of the nitrogen, water, and carbon cycles in a dramatic unicycle act, the juggling of conservation and productivity in a four-person club juggling act, and the balancing of ecosystem conservation and consumption in a balancing act (Fig. 6). Delegates’ acknowledgement of the ability of the visual and the performing arts to synthesize complex ideas and communicate them in an engaging form highlights the value of the arts in enhancing the teaching of scientific or environmental material and raising awareness about environmental issues in a wide range of contexts. Some practitioners have used them exactly in this way in Australia and overseas (D. J. Curtis, F. M. Curtis, I. McColm, J. Scrine, T. Blomfield, M. Howden, and I. Reeve, unpublished manuscript). Just as the visual and performing arts are used by the marketing industry to promote consumption, this study showed how they can be used to foster ecological sustainability. The responses of delegates showed that various art forms were viewed positively (Table 4). The main component that could have been improved was the performance at the conference dinner, which did not work particularly well because of the venue and background noise. Scientists struggle to communicate their research to the general public (Moser and Dilling 2007, Cribb and Sari 2010), and often find that their academic arenas of professional practice do not encourage direct public engagement (Nadkarni 2008, Nadkarni and Stevenson 2009). This case study showed that ecologists recognize that the visual and performing arts are useful in communicating scientific information, over and above the traditional and widespread use of scientific illustration in taxonomy and biology publications, and in providing a conducive atmosphere in which to receive that information. (2) Promoting new ways of looking at issues The arts can give a voice to marginalized or silenced perspectives and thus play an emancipative social role and contribute to progressive political change (Alexander 2003, Belfiore and Bennett 2006). Socially critical art does this by synthesizing information, portraying new ways of looking at issues, and assisting public campaigns (Curtis 2012). Some of the performances in this case study contained elements of social criticism such as the opening photographic sequence, which was open to members of the public as well as conference delegates. The use of photography is an art form that has particular applicability in communicating ecological information and is rated highly by those involved in extension of scientific information to the public (Curtis 2011). This art form was therefore selected for the opening ceremony where evocative images of the Australian landscape were choreographed to music. The images depicted the variety of Australian ecosystems to familiarize overseas visitors to Australian landscapes, and allow Australian ecologists to feel pride in their natural ecosystems. The narrative of the imagery included jarring images of ecosystem degradation, a topic of the conference and the focus of the keynote presentations by members of the Wentworth Group of Concerned Scientists held immediately following the opening ceremony. Images of pollution, desertification, high-risk industries, and urban sprawl toward the end of the opening ceremony were intended to shock the audience and raise concerns about the ecosystems vulnerable to climate change and other threatening processes. (3) Touching peoples’ emotions One of the attributes of the arts is their ability to evoke emotions. Emotions are physiological responses to particular types of sensory experiences (Atkinson et al. 1990). The performances at the conference were designed to be emotive. Emotional responses included happiness, manifested by tears of joy and laughter, indignation, surprise, pride, and catharsis (in the final circus performance). The standing ovation for the final performance and some respondents’ unsolicited comments suggested that they were moved deeply by different http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ elements of the arts program. When people become emotional, they tend to pay more attention to events and as a consequence commit the experience to long-term memory (Atkinson et al. 1990). Emotions are an important influence on environmental behavior in Triandis’ Theory of Interpersonal Behaviour (Jackson 2005). Kollmuss and Agyeman (2002) point out that the emotions of fear, sadness, and anger evoked by environmental degradation can encourage proenvironmental behaviors, although in some people, emotional distancing or denial can also enable a degree of comfortable inaction. Thus, through evoking an emotional response, the arts may aid memory and analysis of the subject of the artistic work. (4) Creating a celebratory atmosphere The ability of the arts to create memorable moments and a celebratory atmosphere was evident at the conference. The conference itself could be viewed perhaps as a ‘celebrationist event,’ that is, an event that by emphasizing beauty and wonder of the natural environment celebrates the natural environment and incorporates many art forms (Curtis 2007). We theorize that a conference can function to a degree as a celebrationist event by providing: (1) ‘neutral ground’ for discussion of contentious issues; (2) a ‘suspension of normality,’ i.e., a break in normal day-to-day life; (3) ‘liminality,’ i.e., a condition of psychological ambiguity in which basic ideas and mental constructs of identity and society are broken down or weakened and can be reworked (Meekison and Higgs 1998); and (4) ‘communitas,’ that is, the shared or collective experience of the symbolic or liminal (Turner 1982). Although many ESA conference-goers would eschew this characterization of their national ecological conference in favor of the paradigm of the ‘objective science meeting,’ ecological conferences share many of the characteristics of a celebrationist event. Some of the art forms exhibited at this conference celebrated the natural environment, e.g., the conference image, the art exhibition, the photographic images, and the performances by Sirocco, the children’s choir, the dancers, and the Indigenous story teller and didgeridoo player. However, did the scientific component of this conference celebrate the natural environment? It is possible to infer from the tone and tenor of papers presented at such a conference that ecologists feel, at the very least, a warm regard for the ecosystems they investigate. The scientific discourse usually avoids displays of emotion but people working in the natural resources sector often feel a strong emotional bond to the natural environment (Curtis 2011). Because of this, one may infer that the scientific work presented at an ecological conference perhaps unintentionally celebrates the natural environment. Given this, the integration of performances and visual arts are likely to be especially useful in re-energizing those with a strong ecocentric ethos because of the deliberative capacity of the arts to move people emotionally. The arts program at ESA 2003 provided a dimension that is normally lacking in scientific conferences. Years later, people still remark unprompted to the authors that the conference was ‘special.’ Many people working in ecology or the environment spend a lot of time working on depressing issues, e.g., biodiversity decline or climate change. The arts have a role in uplifting the spirits and reinvigorating people, and the standing ovation for the final performance of the conference (An Ecological Circus) is perhaps evidence that the arts program at ESA 2003 performed this function. Scientists acknowledge the potential of the arts in communicating science but appear to be held back from using them. In this study, 86% of ecologists and research students responded favorably to the use of the arts in a scientific forum, over half saw their potential in communicating science, but only 24% would consider using them. This begs the question why so few scientists are willing to communicate their science through the visual and performing arts? This is an important area for further research given that humanity will have to use all means at its disposal in the 21st century to convince a skeptical society of the importance of transforming the dominant development model of run-away consumption to one of the sustainable global village. CONCLUSION Scientists struggle to communicate their research to the general public, and often find that their academic arenas of professional practice do not encourage direct public engagement. This case study showed that ecologists respond favorably to the use of the arts in a scientific forum and recognize that the visual and performing arts are useful in communicating scientific information and providing a conducive atmosphere in which to receive that information. The literature reveals the dramatic role of the arts in communicating issues, influencing and educating people and challenging dominant paradigms. Despite acknowledging the potential of the arts in communicating science, few scientists merge science with the arts. There is, therefore, considerable scope to grow this area of endeavor and, potentially, have a huge impact on public attitudes. In an era when skeptics threaten to undermine a scientific view of major environmental concerns such as climate change (Mooney 2007), the use of the arts to connect with people emotionally may indeed be an effective way to win support for actions to reverse problems like anthropogenic climate change and deserves further research effort. Responses to this article can be read online at: http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/responses/ Acknowledgments: A sincere thanks to all those artists and performers who participated in the arts program for the 2003 Ecological Society of Australia Conference, to those who participated in http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/responses/ Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ surveys, and to those who gave permission for the use of their images. Thanks to Land and Water Australia and the Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation for funding for this research. Thanks to Ian Reeve (Institute of Rural Futures, University of New England, Armidale NSW) for advice on the analysis of the project and to Laszlo Szabo and Anna Curtis for the use of images. LITERATURE CITED Alexander, V. D. 2003. Sociology of the arts: exploring fine and popular forms. Blackwell Publishing, Malden, Massachusetts, USA. Angus, M. 1975. The world of Olegas Truchanas. The Olegas Truchanas Publication Committee, Hobart, Tasmania, Australia. Atkinson, R. L., R. C. Atkinson, E. E. Smith, D. J. Bem, and E. R. Hilgard. 1990. Introduction to psychology. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Orlando, Florida, USA. Ballard, G. 2004. ESA Ecology 2003 Armidale conference: feedback from delegates. Bulletin of the Ecological Society of Australia 34(1):8. Belfiore, E., and O. Bennett. 2006. Rethinking the social impact of the arts: a critical-historical review. Centre of Cultural Policy, University of Warwick, Coventry, UK. Bonyhady, T. 2000. The colonial earth. Melbourne University Press, Carlton South, Victoria, Australia. Branagan, M. 2003a. The art of nonviolent activism. Social Alternatives 22(3):50-55. Branagan, M. 2003b. The art(s) of protest in Australia: 1982-2002. Dissent 11:36-40. Branagan, M. 2003c. Environmental education, activism and the arts. Convergence 38(4):33-50. Campbell, R., R. Chandler, and G. Thomas. 1988. Victoria felix: improving rural land with trees. Monash University, Clayton, Australia. Cembalest, R. 1991. The ecological art explosion. ARTnews 90(6):96-105. Cless, D. 1996. Eco-theatre, USA: the grassroots is greener. The Drama Review 40(2):79-102. http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/1 146531 Cribb, J., and T. Sari. 2010. Open science: sharing knowledge in the global century. CSIRO Publishing, Collingwood, Victoria, Australia. Curtis, D. J. 2007. Creating inspiration: how visual and performing arts shape environmental behaviour. Dissertation, University of New England, Armidale, New South Wales, Australia. Curtis, D. J. 2009. Creating inspiration: the role of the arts in creating empathy for ecological restoration. Ecological Management & Restoration 10(3):174-184. http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1111/j.1442-8903.2009.00487.x Curtis, D. J. 2011. Using the arts to raise awareness and communicate environmental information in the extension context. Journal of Agricultural Education and Extension 17 (2):181-194. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/1389224X.2011.544458 Curtis, D. J. 2012. Articulating a critical voice: artists who ‘rattle the cage’ about the environment. Chapter 20 in S. Bingham, editor. The art of social critique: painting mirrors of social life. Rowman & Littlefield, Lanham, Maryland, USA. Curtis, D. J., F. M. Curtis, I. McColm, J. Scrine, T. Blomfield, M. Howden, and I. Reeve. 2010. Using drama in environmental education: Australia and Canada. VII World Congress of IDEA 2010 Live, Living Diversity, Live! Embracing the Arts of Transformation! Belém, Brazil, 17-25 July. de Groat, G. 1994. Artists and the environment: a report from the 81st College Art Association Conference in Seattle. Electronic Green Journal 1(1). [online] URL: http://escholars hip.org/uc/item/50r7n1c7 Dieleman, H. 2008. Sustainability, art and reflexivity: why artists and designers may become key change agents in sustainability. Pages 108-146 in S. Kagan and V. Kirchberg, editors. Sustainability: a new frontier for the arts and cultures. Verlag fur Akademische Schriften, Frankfurt, Germany. Dodds, F., and T. Middleton, editors. 2001. Earth summit 2002: a new deal. Earthscan, London, UK. Dovers, S. 1994. Australian environmental history: essays and cases. Oxford University Press, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. Doyle, T. 2001. Green power: the environmental movement in Australia. University of New South Wales Press, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. Educational Broadcasting Corporation. 2005. Get up, stand up: the story of pop and protest. Educational Broadcasting Corporation, New York, New York, USA. [online] URL: htt p://www.pbs.org/wnet/getupstandup/ Gibson, L. 2001. The uses of art: constructing Australian identities. University of Queensland Press, St Lucia, Queensland, Australia. Gold, J. R., and G. Revill. 2004. Representing the environment. Routledge, London, UK. http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/1146531 http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/1146531 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1442-8903.2009.00487.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1442-8903.2009.00487.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/1389224X.2011.544458 http://escholarship.org/uc/item/50r7n1c7 http://escholarship.org/uc/item/50r7n1c7 http://www.pbs.org/wnet/getupstandup/ http://www.pbs.org/wnet/getupstandup/ Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Goldberg, V. 1991. A terrible beauty. ARTnews 90 (6):106-113. Goldie, J., B. Douglas, and B. Furnass. 2005. In search of sustainability. CSIRO Publishing, Collingwood, Victoria, Australia. Hawkes, J. 2003. The fourth pillar of sustainability: culture’s essential role in public planning. Common Ground Publishing, Champaign, Illinois, USA. Hewson, H. 1999. Australia: 300 years of botanical illustration. CSIRO Publishing, Collingwood, Victoria, Australia. Jackson, T. 2005. Motivating sustainable consumption: a review of evidence on consumer behaviour and behavioural change. University of Surrey, Guildford, UK. Jordaan, J. 2008. Art, advocacy, and social development: designing and implementing art-based human rights advocacy campaigns at the organisation of art for humanity. Pages 290-319 in S. Kagan and V. Kirchberg, editors. Sustainability: a new frontier for the arts and cultures. Verlag fur Akademische Schriften, Frankfurt, Germany. Kagan, S., and V. Kirchberg, editors. 2008. Sustainability: a new frontier for the arts and cultures. Verlag fur Akademische Schriften, Frankfurt, Germany. Kent, R. 2010. In the balance: art for a changing world. Museum of Contemporary Art, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. Kirn, M. 2000. They shoot puppets, don’t they? The state of eco-art. Arts Paper 3(2):1-2. Kollmuss, A., and J. Agyeman. 2002. Mind the gap: why do people act environmentally and what are the barriers to pro- environmental behaviour. Environmental Education Research 8(3):239-260. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13504620220145401 Lovett, S. 2004. Capacity building and knowledge exchange methods for community-based river and riparian management. Final Report SIW4 – Canadian Travelling Fellowship, Lovett Clarke Consulting, Canberra, Australian Capital Territory, Australia. Meekison, L., and E. Higgs. 1998. The rites of spring (and other seasons): the ritualising of restoration. Restoration and Management Notes 16(1):73-81. Mercer, D. 2000. A question of balance: natural resources conflict issues in Australia. Federation Press, Annandale, New South Wales, Australia. Miller, J. D. 2004. Public understanding of, and attitudes toward, scientific research: what we know and what we need to know. Public Understanding of Science 13:273-294. http:/ /dx.doi.org/10.1177/0963662504044908 Miller, J. D., E. Augenbraun, J. Schulhof, and L. G. Kimme. 2006. Adult science learning from local television newscasts. Science Communication 28:216-242. http://dx.doi.org/10.117 7/1075547006294461 Mills, D., and P. Brown. 2004. Art and wellbeing. Australia Council for the Arts, Strawberry Hills, New South Wales, Australia. Mooney, C. 2007. Spreading the word. Sydney Morning Herald, 26 April. Moser, S. C., and L. Dilling. 2007. Creating a climate for change: communicating climate change and facilitating social change. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK. http:// dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511535871 Nadkarni, N. 2004. Not preaching to the choir: communicating the importance of forest conservation to nontraditional audiences. Conservation Biology 18:602-606. http://dx.doi.or g/10.1111/j.1523-1739.2004.01832.x Nadkarni, N. 2007. Portrait of the artist as a young sapling: trees as artists and mobile entities. Science Creative Quarterly Jan-March (2):1-5. Nadkarni, N. 2008. Between earth and sky: our intimate connections with trees. University of California Press, Berkeley, California, USA. Nadkarni, N., and R. Stevenson. 2009. Summary of symposium: linking scientists with non-traditional public audiences to enhance ecological thought. Symposium 9 ESA meeting, August 5, 2008. Bulletin of the Ecological Society of America 90(1):134-137. Olsen, P. 2001. Feather and brush: three centuries of Australian bird art. CSIRO Publishing, Collingwood, Victoria, Australia. Papadakis, E. 1993. Politics and the environment: the Australian experience. Allen and Unwin, St. Leonards, New South Wales, Australia. Pollak, M., and M. MacNabb. 2000. Hearts and minds: creative Australians and the environment. Hale and Iremonger, Alexandra, New South Wales, Australia. Reichold, K., and B. Graf. 1998. Paintings that changed the world: from Lascaux to Picasso. Prestel, Munich, Germany. Salt, D., and D. Lindenmayer. 2004. Trees and biodiversity. Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, Canberra, Australian Capital Territory, Australia. Sanders, W. 1996. The making of InTOXICating: an Eco- cabaret. Orion Autumn:12-16. Saunders, D., and P. Hussey. 1996. Creating a Hans Heysen: painting saline lands into a nature conservation picture. Australian Journal of Soil and Water Conservation 9:15-19. http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13504620220145401 http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0963662504044908 http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0963662504044908 http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1075547006294461 http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1075547006294461 http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511535871 http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511535871 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1523-1739.2004.01832.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1523-1739.2004.01832.x Ecology and Society 17(2): 3 http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ Sherrin, K. 2008. Higher environmental education: core disciplines and the transition to sustainability. Australian Journal of Environmental Management 15:189-195. Stern, L. E. 2005. The Gene(sis) project: a laboratory for arts- based civic dialogue. Case study: Henry Art Gallery. Animating Democracy, American for the Arts, Washington, D.C., USA. [online] URL: http://www.americansforthearts.org/ animatingdemocracy/pdf/labs/henry_art_gallery_case_study. pdf Stern, P. C. 2000. New environmental theories: toward a coherent theory of environmentally significant behavior. Journal of Social Issues 56(3):407-424. http://dx.doi.org/10.1 111/0022-4537.00175 Sullivan, A., and A. B. McCrary. 2002. Mudflat: the aesthetics of a marine biologist’s engagement with her work. Curriculum Inquiry 32(3):357-365. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1467-873X .00235 Turner, V. 1982. From ritual to theatre: the human seriousness of play. Performing Arts Journal Publications, New York, New York, USA. Williams, J. 2001. Using art to communicate science. Bulletin of the Ecological Society of Australia 31(3):2-3. http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol17/iss2/art3/ http://www.americansforthearts.org/animatingdemocracy/pdf/labs/henry_art_gallery_case_study.pdf http://www.americansforthearts.org/animatingdemocracy/pdf/labs/henry_art_gallery_case_study.pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/0022-4537.00175 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/0022-4537.00175 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1467-873X.00235 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1467-873X.00235 David Curtis). David Curtis). Title Abstract Introduction Methods Description of the event Analysis Results Discussion (1) synthesizing and conveying complex scientific information (2) promoting new ways of looking at issues (3) touching peoples emotions (4) creating a celebratory atmosphere Conclusion Responses to this article Acknowledgments Literature cited Figure2 Figure3 Figure4 Figure5 Figure6 Figure7 Figure1 Table1 Table2 Table3 Table4 Appendix 1 Appendix 2 
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work_6uc7r5knwnf7dltwlx4m6hcsye	----	Rhetorical and Pedagogical Interventions for Countering Microaggressions From the SelectedWorks of Beth Godbee 2019 Rhetorical and Pedagogical Interventions for Countering Microaggressions Beth Godbee Rasha Diab, University of Texas at Austin Cedric Burrows, Marquette University Thomas Ferrel, University of Missouri Kansas City Available at: https://works.bepress.com/beth_godbee/42/ https://works.bepress.com/beth_godbee/ https://works.bepress.com/beth_godbee/42/ Rhetorical and Pedagogical Interventions for Countering Microaggressions Rasha Diab, Beth Godbee, Cedric Burrows, Thomas Ferrel Pedagogy, Volume 19, Issue 3, October 2019, pp. 455-481 (Article) Published by Duke University Press For additional information about this article Access provided at 20 Sep 2019 00:12 GMT from Marquette University https://muse.jhu.edu/article/733098 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/733098 Rhetorical and Pedagogical Interventions for Countering Microaggressions Rasha Diab and Beth Godbee, with contributions by Cedric Burrows and Thomas Ferrel In bringing critical attention to dynamic relationships, we open new pathways by which to gain rhetorical knowledge and understanding in more fully textured ways. — Jacqueline Jones Royster If the field views rhetoric and literacy as a means to social change, how do our choices — how we sponsor students and community members, participate in relevant rhetorics, and provide resources — position our discipline to address the most fundamental abuses of power? — Ben Kuebrich Responding to these calls for action, we write at a time of increased urgency to bring attention to dynamic relationships toward addressing the most fun- damental abuses of power. Both relationships and power abuses are essential rhetorical and pedagogical matters that call on all of us, as communicators and educators, to respond. These abuses are enacted in everyday, seemingly small, yet cumulative and consequential acts, so responses must be, too.1 Cross- disciplinary literature on micro-inequities (Rowe 1990) and microag- gressions (e.g., Solórzano, Ceja, and Yosso 2000; Sue et al. 2007; Young 2010; Sue 2010; Kohli and Solórzano 2012; Nadal 2013) shows that everyday ways of Pedagogy: Critical Approaches to Teaching Literature, Language, Composition, and Culture Volume 19, Number 3 doi 10.1215/15314200-7615417 © 2019 by Duke University Press 4 5 5 4 56 Pedagogy being and interacting cumulate over time such that inequities compound like interest in a bank. This literature calls on us to address microaggressions, or “everyday exchanges that send denigrating messages to certain individuals because of their group membership” (Sue 2010: xvi). In such exchanges, we see great stakes. The damage exceeds individual harm when microaggres- sions “assail the self- esteem of recipients, produce anger and frustration, deplete psychic energy, lower feelings of subjective well- being and worthi- ness, produce physical health problems, [and] shorten life expectancy” (Sue 2010: 6). Cumulative impact is more insidious still, for microaggressions deny access, constrain agency, and tend to be subtle and unrecognized, undermin- ing possibilities for equity and justice. Pedagogical spaces inside and outside the classroom abound with microaggressions, and we are haunted by their impact. This article names microaggressions as a rhetorical and pedagogical phenomenon that is con- spicuous in many pedagogical spaces. To make the case for rhetorical and pedagogical intervention, we begin by defining and tracing microaggressions (though not named as such) in the literature from rhetoric, composition, and literacy studies. From there, we share cross- disciplinary understandings of microaggressions, discussing three forms: microinsult, microassault, and microinvalidation. We apply this deeper understanding of microaggressions to three instantiations or illustrations of microaggressions in academic con- texts. In the first illustration, we describe how epistemic injustice, or harm to persons as knowers (Fricker 2007), impacts undergraduate and graduate student writers as well as marginalized scholars. Educators can counter the various invalidations associated with epistemic injustice by affirming and upholding epistemic rights, or the rights to know, experience, and share with others (Godbee 2017). In the second illustration, we unpack damaging cultural scripts that not only naturalize and recycle microaggressions but also underwrite many of our encounters. These scripts appear in composi- tion textbooks and underline the need to rewrite both the textbooks and the broader stories we tell about rhetoric and rhetors (Burrows 2016). In the third illustration, we identify microaggressions that educators face in their service activities, such as being discounted in meetings, and propose the interven- tion of a “critical pedagogy of service” (Ferrel 2017), which engages faculty in interrupting business as usual. Together, these illustrations ask us to (re)consider microaggressions in our everyday lives. We focus on higher education as the space in which we spend much of our time in research, teaching, and service. To focus on these activities is not to say that microaggressions happen only within educational Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 4 57 institutions but to say that we must look at all aspects of our lives, especially those that become familiar and second nature. As coauthors, we are differently positioned in the world: two of us identify as women, two as men, all of us as cisgender; two of us as white, two as racialized in the United States (as black and brown); three of us with US nationality and one as an international scholar; and all of us as able- bodied, though in different body types and with different visible markers of identity. Together, these and other positionalities allow us to recognize, witness, expe- rience, and perpetuate microaggressions differently. In addition to other posi- tionalities (e.g., class, religion, ethnicity, and linguistic background), these locations in the world provide insights into and, conversely, limit recognition of varied microaggressions. And recognition is further constrained by the additional layer of western- centric (Euro- American) disciplinary training. Certainly in an article of this length we can attend neither to all types of microaggression nor to the many intersectional identities. Instead, we affirm that our theoretical and analytical endeavors address how varied forms of oppression underwrite microaggressions, which hurt individuals and communities. Collectively, we can learn to better understand and respond with increasing awareness to the many microaggressions on and off campus. Toward this goal, we attend to cases that address sexism and racism while recognizing and affirming that additional attention and further research are needed into microaggressions related to many interlocking systems of oppres- sion. With the hope of inspiring additional rhetorical and pedagogical invest- ment in countering microaggressions, we turn next to discussions in writing studies to show the sometimes subtle, sometimes explicit, and always insidi- ous nature of microaggressions. Microaggressions and Rhetoric Scholars in rhetoric, composition, and literacy studies have long invested in understanding violence and injustice, holding the space for thinking about what’s now understood as everyday microaggressions. For example, the rela- tion between violence and rhetoric is long and complicated, as evidenced in a recent forum on the violence of rhetoric (Engels 2013). For centuries, learned leaders, rhetoric scholars, and philosophers alike have grappled with rhetoric’s potential to counter or retrench deceit, glibness, and power abuse in its varied forms. We think, for example, of Plato in the western rhetorical tradition, Confucius in the Chinese (Ding 2007), and Ptahhotep’s wisdom literature in the ancient Egyptian tradition (Fox 1983). To illustrate, scholars of argumentation define rhetoric as an “other to violence” (e.g., Crosswhite 4 5 8 Pedagogy 2013) and highlight the “duty to dialogue” as a prerequisite to countering the potential abuses of rhetoric (e.g., Perelman and Olbrechts- Tyteca 1969). Their work seeks to counter a recurring and consequential rhetorical phenomenon: rhetors have used language to manipulate others; to cause physical, sym- bolic, and other types of harm; and even to build armies and launch wars. As another example, Kenneth Burke (2006) describes how discourse has been used to conscript soldiers and reconstitute citizens to fight for the nation even when this meant turning against their compatriots. Similarly, scholars explicate how rhetorical misrepresentations have been used systematically to rally people behind policies that bar disenfranchised groups from access to education (e.g., Canagarajah 1999; Prendergast 2003) and health care (e.g., Scott 2003), among other matters. These works critique large- scale violence while helping us understand rhetoric’s role in injustice. A different and complementary line of scholarship looks at more immediate and interpersonal forms of violence while linking violence to institutional, cultural, and disciplinary dynamics. This line of scholarship is the most relevant to our exploration of microaggressions and helps us see why many scholars, especially scholars of color and scholars from marginal- ized groups, keep shedding light on rhetorical violence, which remains ever present. For example, in her 2012 Conference on College Composition and Communication (CCCC) chair’s address, Malea Powell and other invited scholars offered reflective, testimonial accounts of what we would analyze as acts of microaggression in pedagogical spaces.2 As a case in point, Leon Kendall recounted: I remember once, during a job interview [the typical entry point for being a teacher], the well- meaning scholar who used me as a teachable moment, letting me know that while I studied Chicanas, using Chicana theory, that some of what these Chicanas were saying had been said by this theorist named Foucault. As if I was not using Foucault because I had not read any of his work and hadn’t ever heard of him. (qtd. in Powell 2012: 395) In this brief reference, Kendall reports how her choices as a scholar were invalidated. Assuming her ignorance and that Chicana theory is not of the same caliber, the interviewer, in a corrective (and we’d argue shaming) mea- sure, references Foucault. Though Kendall does not name this as a micro- aggression, she explains that “what was lost on this scholar was the inten- tionality of my practice, the intentionality in citation, in making a lineage worth building upon,” especially since this lineage “comes from a place that, Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 4 59 as Cherrie Moraga writes, is emergent from the “physical realities of our lives” (395). What Kendall recounts here dovetails neatly with the cross- disciplinary scholarship on microaggressions, which shows that similar moments arise from such problematic assumptions. A multitude of documented microaggressions, even if not named as such, abound in scholarship in rhetoric, composition, and literacy studies. Across studies informed by feminist, Indigenous, critical race, postcolonial, transnational, and queer scholarship, we see attention to documenting and explicating moments when someone’s knowledge, expertise, voice, and intel- lectual pursuits are flattened if not totally erased. For example, in “When the First Voice You Hear Is Not Your Own,” Jacqueline Jones Royster (1996: 30 – 31) layers three scenes that showcase how her voice and knowledge (and many others’), as well as the African American creative and intellectual his- tories, are absented — literally and symbolically: I have been compelled on too many occasions to count to sit as a well mannered Other, silently, in a state of tolerance that requires me to be as expressionless as I can manage, while colleagues who occupy a place of entitlement different from my own talk about the history and achievements of people from my ethnic group, or even about their perceptions of our struggles. I have been compelled to listen as they have comfortably claimed the authority to engage in the construction of knowledge and meaning about me and mine, without paying even a passing nod to the fact that sometimes a substantive version of that knowledge might already exist, or to how it might have already been constructed, or to the meanings that might have already been assigned that might make me quite impatient with gaps in their understanding of my community, or to the fact that I, or somebody within my ethnic group, might have an opinion about what they are doing. I have been compelled to listen to speakers, well- meaning though they may think they are, who signal to me rather clearly that subject position is everything. I have come to recognize, however, that when the subject matter is me and the voice is not mine, my sense of order and rightness is disrupted. In metaphoric fashion, these “authorities” let me know, once again, that Columbus has discovered America and claims it now, claims it still for a European crown. Once again, the voices and interpretations of “these ‘authorities’ ” are cen- tered, earning them credit, while the voices, experiences, and expertise of Royster and others are invalidated, denying credit. Such invalidating happens repeatedly. Like Royster, Victor Villan- ueva (2006) presents numerous representative moments of microaggres- sions in educational settings. These include interactions with his daughter’s 4 6 0 Pedagogy teacher, who responds to a disrespectful action by saying, “That might be okay in your culture but not in mine” (13), and a writing center consultation in which the tutor fails to address the author’s writing off or excusal of racism in the movie Crash. Articulations of how rhetoric and rhetorical education recycle and entrench sexist, racist, classist, homophobic, and other micro- aggressions can be seen also in the work of Mike Rose (1989), Vershawn Ashanti Young (2010), Eric Pritchard (2013), Elaine Richardson (2013), and Aja Y. Martinez (2016), among others. These scholars recount moments when microaggressions undermined their and others’ literacies, learning potential, humanity, and worth. Such moments happen all too frequently in educa- tional settings and in related disciplinary spaces. Though many of these studies (like Kendall’s case) foreground moments of microaggressions, those moments cumulate and take larger, systemic turns. Presentation by presentation, article by article, book by book, micro- aggressions add up to an exclusionary and inequitable disciplinary landscape (Royster 2003). Royster describes how rhetorical landscapes have typically centered white, male, and elite rhetors and rhetoricians and the rhetorical tra- ditions and practices they represent. Similarly, in Bootstraps: From an Ameri- can Academic of Color, Villanueva (1993) traces how rhetorical education and histories deflect attention from nonwestern rhetorical traditions. This deflec- tion, in turn, excludes peoples, traditions, regions, and centuries from rigor- ous exploration and results in a very limited view of what we see and count as rhetoric. Within this vicious circle, interpersonal acts of microaggression are informed by and result in macro- level acts of invalidation, which demand disciplinary intervention. The consequences of multilayered invalidations and absenting are addressed in numerous edited collections (e.g., Lipson and Binkley 2004, 2009; Richardson and Jackson 2004; Stromberg 2006; Mao and Young 2008; Baca and Villanueva 2009), anthologies (e.g., Logan 1995; Ritchie and Ronald 2001), and monographs (e.g., Royster 2000; Cushman 2012; Lathan 2015; Ramírez 2015; Carey 2016; Diab 2016; Pritchard 2016; Pandey forthcoming). Across these works, microaggressions and their consequences are rhetorical phenomena. Microaggressions are mediated by rhetorical acts, assume many forms, are complex, evoke historical discourses, silence their recipients, and mandate a rhetorical response. Yet, this response is challeng- ing for a variety of reasons. When considering an instance of microaggression as a rhetorical situation, it becomes incumbent on us to know its recurring features, how it demands responsivity (Sheridan 2014), and why interlocutors often feel that they have missed the communicative moment. We turn next, Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 4 61 therefore, to defining and explaining microaggressions, believing that this cross- disciplinary (and primarily social science) research provides insights for rhetoricians and educators, while rhetoricians and educators have insights to share across disciplines as well. Understanding Microaggressions In Microaggressions in Everyday Life, psychologist Derald Wing Sue (2010: 5) defines microaggressions as “the brief and commonplace daily verbal, behav- ioral, and environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative racial, gender, sexual- orientation, and religious slights and insults to a target person or group.”3 These indignities are acts of aggression that are often dismissed as small (i.e., micro- and everyday) and therefore inconsequential. What Sue’s definition underlines is the complexity of microaggressions: they assume many forms, target people whose identities are marginalized or Othered, and manifest deep, structural, and societal problems like systemic racism and sexism. As we attempted to show in the literature reviewed above, microaggressions send hurtful, denigrating messages. Figure 1 provides the taxonomy that Sue and colleagues developed for racial microaggressions, which includes three forms: microinsult, microassault, and microinvalidation. This taxonomy has since been used to explain relationships among forms of microaggressions as well as microaggressions faced by people based on other identities and group memberships. Examples include Kevin L. Nad- al’s (2013) research focused on gender and sexuality, as well as Mary Louise Gomez et al.’s (2011) work on student status. Across studies, microaggressions both reflect and further ingrain deeper cultural logics, those represented, for example, in the treatment of people as second- class citizens and in the per- petuation of the myth of meritocracy. To illustrate, our text and talk can evidence assumed incompetence, criminality, or even objectification, resulting in microinsults, microassaults, or microinvalidations. Consider, for example, the statement: “You cannot have written this paper yourself. Who helped you?” Assumed incompetence is a form of microaggression that informs these assertions and makes them insulting, hurtful, accusatory, and pernicious, even when held unconsciously. The implied accusation operates on the basis of assumptions that Sue and colleagues label as “ascription of intelligence” and “pathologizing cultural values/communication styles” (see fig. 1). Such assumptions similarly show up in “compliments” or “positive” articulations for being “articulate,” “elo- quent,” or “a good speaker.” Consider statements like “You are a credit to 4 62 Pedagogy your race” and “You sound well educated” (Sue 2010: 32). These surface compliments are made possible because the opposite is assumed typical and true (i.e., people who look like me aren’t typically articulate or intelligent, so I stand out as exceptional and praiseworthy). Regardless of packaging (e.g., praise or doubt, compliment or criticism, overt hindrance or on- the- surface helping), microaggressions do violence. And they do this violence in the form of language, as rhetoric, and within pedagogical settings. Figure 1. Categories and relationships among microaggressions. Adapted from Derald Wing Sue, Christina M. Capodilupo, Gina C. Torino, Jennifer M. Bucceri, Aisha M. B. Holder, Kevin L. Nadal, and Marta Esquilin, “Racial Microaggressions in Everyday Life: Implications for Clinical Practice,” American Psychologist 62, no. 4 (2007): 278. APA is not responsible for the accuracy of this reproduction. Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 4 6 3 Especially when they are unnamed or un(der)recognized as violence (as is typically the case), microaggressions are perniciously impactful to indi- viduals and communities alike. Sociologist Joe R. Feagin (1992: 549) alerts us to “cumulative discrimination” as cumulative violence.4 Cumulative violence is debilitating. Microaggressions have been shown to have far- reaching nega- tive outcomes, from lowered self- confidence to depleted energy, heightening harm not only to individuals’ physical or psychological well- being but also to the economy, local/national communities, and international relations. Such negative outcomes impact all of us as communicators, as they entrench wider injustice and inequities. Certainly, all three forms of microaggressions have negative outcomes, but in this article we focus on just two: microinsults and microinvalidations. These two forms are typically implicit, invisible to perpetrators, and inter- woven into everyday patterns of life, leaving us unsure or unable to act.5 Because microaggressions are subtle, they are often difficult to document: “The subtle nature of microaggressions makes it easy to doubt their existence or to dismiss them as innocuous, which contributes to their power” (McCabe 2009: 142). Documenting microaggressions has become a public political project, as we see through the Tumblr/Twitter project @microaggressive (n.d.) and recent news stories (see, e.g., De Witte 2016; Ganote, Cheung, and Souza n.d.; Garcia and Crandall 2016). Without a record to cite as evidence, response to individual microaggressions can feel pointless. These records help make the case that microaggressions — particularly microinsults and microinvalidations — impact graduate students and faculty of color. These records ask those of us in academic spaces to consider whether we recognize violence when we see it, especially when it’s packaged as a microinsult or microinvalidation. We believe that rhetoricians are especially well positioned to name and explain the rhetorical dynamics of microaggressions — to explicate the rhetorical literacies needed to break dysfunctional lack of response. Rhetori- cians are particularly well suited to explain what happens in communicative moments — in interactions, utterances, and texts — in which microaggressions occur. Rhetoricians are also trained to read scenes and to imagine (even pro- pose) alternative responses toward alternative ends. Thus, rhetorical educa- tion can — should — take up the work of understanding and intervening into microaggressions. We perceive this education to exceed single moments or classroom spaces and to include our disciplinary knowledge, identities, and passing interactions as relevant areas of the reflection- theory- practice cycle. Because we draw on an expanded definition of pedagogy, we also imagine 4 6 4 Pedagogy expansive interventions that include relations, identities, activities, programs, and other matters that directly and indirectly impact, shape, support, or undermine pedagogical praxis. Though we can’t illustrate the many expan- sive interventions, we spend the remainder of this article with three cases, illustrating where and how we can begin to intervene as educators. Illustration 1: Countering Microinvalidations by Affirming Epistemic Rights Given the pervasiveness of microaggressions in everyday life, it is no surprise that they similarly shape writing activities, especially complicating one’s rights to speak, write, conduct research, and share expertise. In particular, microinvalidations can undercut people as knowers — a type of wrongdoing that philosopher Miranda Fricker (2007) describes as “epistemic injustice.” In Fricker’s words, epistemic injustice hurts “someone specifically in their capacity as a knower” (1). When microinvalidations undermine people as knowers, they also undermine full personhood, which includes having one’s experiences acknowledged by others, being able to construct new knowledge, and being able to contribute as a knowledgeable agent within one’s community. Acts of Microaggression: Epistemic Injustice In academic settings, microinvalidations and microinsults can manifest when someone is assumed less intelligent (ascription of intelligence) or their com- municative practices are assumed abnormal (pathologizing cultural values/ communication styles) (see fig. 1). As such, microaggressions undermine or discredit writers (undergraduate and graduate students and faculty) as well as limit what is known and knowable — that is, what questions can be asked, what experiences are deemed worth knowing, and what knowledge counts as intellectual currency. The edited collection Presumed Incompetent (Gutiérrez y Muhs, Neimann, González, and Harris 2012) shows that widespread epis- temic injustice occurs within higher education, especially for women of color, who are frequently, even typically, presumed incompetent by colleagues, students, administrators, and others. This presumption arises in interac- tions and often around writing and other communication, resulting in the invisibility of one’s presence, perspectives, and lived experience. Presumed incompetence impacts one’s entire career: in academic contexts, as Angela P. Harris and Carmen G. González (2012: 4) note, “reputation is the coin of the realm, and reputations are built not only by objective accomplishments but through images and sometimes outright fantasies — individual or collective — that cling to the nature of the work and the person being evaluated.” As Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 4 6 5 Harris and González and other authors in Presumed Incompetent illustrate, judgments about research need, value, and contributions “are especially susceptible to unconscious bias” (4), and because of bias, microinvalidations happen commonly (not exceptionally) within higher education. Take this example of epistemic injustice — the experience of being “presumed incompetent” — that we recorded from years of documenting (col- laboratively sharing and writing with colleagues) microaggressive moments in writing centers: A PhD student in education is “sent” to the writing center by her faculty adviser after failing her first attempt at comprehensive exams. She has been told that her writing is not “graduate level” and not “academic” enough. She comes in devastated. She says that her 20+ years of teaching in a major metropolitan city school system and her intimate knowledge of culturally relevant curriculum are worth nothing in her department, and she feels acutely isolated and misunderstood (if not worse) as the only woman and only person of color in her program. She has also been accused of plagiarizing a complicated diagram in one of her exam papers. After the faculty member who refused to pass her exam learned that she created the diagram herself by integrating several commonly used diagrams into one, he wants to use her work in a textbook he’s writing. In this example, we see ascription of intelligence. Deficit thinking results in significant material consequences when the only student of color in this graduate program fails her prelim exam because she is assumed not capable of creating high- quality work. Not only is the writer tokenized and assumed inferior within her program, but she also undergoes excessive scrutiny, has to work harder than peers to gain professional recognition and respect, and lacks the professional support of her faculty adviser. Adding insult to injury, the faculty member wants to reproduce her diagram — that is, to earn credit and the related academic currency for publishing her work. This scenario exemplifies the typical move of microinvalidation caused by presumed deficit: the writer (and their intellectual capacities) is diminished, while the adviser, who arbitrates the value of the work and can use it for their own personal gain, benefits. Microinvalidations like these occur far too often when graduate stu- dents negotiate projects with advisers, candidates face hiring committees, faculty are reviewed for tenure and promotion, and researchers submit their work for publication. How often do microinvalidations impact professional possibilities or have professional consequences like those Kendall faced dur- ing her job search? How often are authors asked to cite Foucault rather than 4 6 6 Pedagogy Anzaldúa or other Chicana scholars for the lineage of their knowledge claims? Judgments about the worthiness of a project reflect/are shaped by the larger disciplinary landscaping (Royster 2003), which we know to be exclusionary and marginalizing. At the same time, these judgments add up to disciplinary norms, constructing the larger landscape. Facing an assumed epistemic defi- cit, therefore, has far- reaching consequences not only for individual scholars but also for the perpetuation of institutions, disciplines, and higher education as white, male, and elite endeavors. Rhetorical Intervention: Affirming Epistemic Rights To counter this sort of epistemic injustice, we must name and unpack the relationships among microinvalidations and linguistic and other forms of prejudice. Within rhetoric, composition, and literacy studies, we have an ever- growing body of literature that advocates for writers’ linguistic and cul- tural rights and, in doing so, addresses the microinvalidation of pathologizing cultural values/communication styles. Such scholarship has led to numer- ous position statements, including the CCCC’s “Students’ Right to Their Own Language (SRTOL)” ([1974] 2006) and “Statement on Ebonics” ([1998] 2016). These statements and the policies and practices they advocate for are important starting points for rhetorical intervention. Building on this language of rights, we can do more to develop an understanding of epistemic rights, or rights to knowledge, experience, and earned expertise (Godbee 2017). During interactions and as a counter to epistemic injustice, educators can affirm marginalized writers’ rights to speak from/about experience, to contribute new knowledge, and to share expertise. Rather than undercut and invalidate marginalized writers, we must invest in affirming writers’ many rights. Ongoing, persistent validation may be the best antidote to microinvalidation, if/when marginalized colleagues and our/their scholarship are advocated for, read widely, and responded to with mindful reflexivity. Illustration 2: Recognizing and Rewriting Microaggressions in First- Year Composition Textbooks Microaggressions manifest not only through interactions around and judg- ments made about students’ and colleagues’ writing but also through the writing we bring into classrooms and ask students to read. We have unpacked deficit thinking and presumed incompetence facing writers and their writing, and we turn now to an analysis of textbooks to show how they enact microag- gressions through coded, racially charged language that treats marginalized Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 4 67 writers’ works as oddities. We show how authors of color and other margin- alized writers are limited in the issues they are allowed to address and must defend their views on race and racism, even though they are recipients of direct, cultural, and institutional racism. Looking at the selection, placement, and editorial framing of works by authors of color, we trace microaggressions across four composition textbooks: Rereading America (Colombo, Cullen, and Lisle 2007), The Conscious Reader (Shrodes et al. 2009), The Bedford Reader (Kennedy, Kennedy, and Aaron 2010), and A World of Ideas ( Jacobus 2010). Reading textbooks as rhetorical documents that are responsive to cul- ture and condition us for particular uptakes, we revisit these four examples, which are not exceptional but rather representative of pervasive cultural scripts replicated across textbooks in our field (Burrows 2016). Textbooks shape countless interactions in classrooms, teacher- student conferences, and student conversational space. Through reading, discussing, sharing, and other activities that take place around textbooks, microaggressions further compound into wide- reaching pedagogical implications. Acts of Microaggression: Selection, Placement, and Editorial Framing Read as rhetorical documents, textbooks can be analyzed for the placement of racially coded language as well as the arrangement of selected texts. To begin, arrangement creates a series of microaggressions when all authors of color are lumped into one theme or category, such as in The Bedford Reader’s section on “the minority experience” (Kennedy, Kennedy, and Aaron 2010: xxxiii). The phrase and category “minority experience” is microaggressive: it creates a binary of whites versus every racialized group of color and perpetu- ates a narrative of the white experience as “majority,” even when factually inaccurate (i.e., already in some states, including Texas and California, the population of people of color has surpassed the white population). Addition- ally, grouping every racialized group under “minority experience” fails to recognize diversity. More important, minority is a problematic term because it connotes that people of color are a minor part of US culture: the white male author continues to hold the “universal” voice that is tacitly understood as the authoritative figure, while the author of color is considered minor or insignificant. As the “majority” (i.e., white) experience is centered, all others are invalidated and pushed aside. This compartmentalization of marginalized groups extends to how the editors define “good writing” through coded language. According to its editor, A World of Ideas ( Jacobus 2010: v) includes selections of “highest qual- ity” because they clarify “important ideas” while “sustaining[ing] discussion 4 6 8 Pedagogy and stimulat[ing] good writing,” meaning that students should generate good writing from reading “the great works.” Among the forty- seven selections are works by Niccolo Machiavelli, Virginia Woolf, Plato, Karl Marx, Henry David Thoreau, and Carl Jung — thinkers who, the editor believes, created “ideas that shaped generations.” The selections seem to be informed by a tacit script: because Plato and Thoreau are “serious and important,” stu- dents will take the writing course more seriously and will learn to “read more attentively, think more critically, and write more effectively” (vi). This script undermines writers of color, including Martin Luther King Jr. and Frederick Douglass, who are tacitly deemed not “serious.” The textbook reinforces deeply problematic ideas about white, male, western, elite authors as “the greats” (see Royster 2003), writing into the textbook a multitude of microag- gressions that invalidate writings by people of color and other marginalized writers. Similarly, The Conscious Reader (Shrodes et al. 2009) encourages students to develop self- awareness and broaden worldviews; accordingly, the editors caution students not to dismiss a worldview different from their own, especially one that is considered “weird” or “offensive” (23). Words like weird and offensive indicate that writings by scholars of color and other marginal- ized people are exotic and entertaining, if not wrong. The implication is that their voices and insights are relevant only for members of their own racial group. In short, the editors’ comments undercut the few selections of writers of color, leading readers to dismiss or at least downplay their work. Again, editorial coded language highlights the textbooks’ focus on making the white male’s voice universal (i.e., normative, not weird; compelling, not offensive). In short, the editors’ comments undercut the few selections of writers of color, leading readers to dismiss or at least downplay their work. Representations of the white, male, elite voice as universal are addi- tionally apparent through microaggressive language that limits how and what marginalized writers can discuss. To illustrate, the textbooks reviewed tended to ghettoize marginalized groups (e.g., women, people of color, Indigenous peoples, nonwestern peoples, LGBTQ folks, poor people) according to specific topics, such as racism and sexism, matters that could be considered “special interest,” whereas others are treated as “universal.” African American authors in The Bedford Reader (e.g., Maya Angelou, Brent Staples, Alice Walker, Gloria Naylor) focus on racism; Latin@ authors (e.g., Sandra Cisneros and Richard Rodriguez) speak to immigration issues; and the majority of Asian and/or Asian American writers (e.g., Maxine Hong Kingston and Yiyun Li) address assimilation. While there is nothing wrong Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 4 69 with including writings that reflect an author’s background, the trouble occurs when marginalized authors speak about only a few focused topics, while white male writers discuss a wide range of topics from world affairs, finance, and politics to questions of philosophy, human existence, and happi- ness. To illustrate further, in a section like “Cultural Diversity, Communica- tion, and Community,” authors of color are the majority, while in “Childhood and Family,” the majority of the writers are women. This compartmentaliza- tion conditions students to believe that white men can speak about anything, while marginalized authors are further marginalized to singularly write their experiences with oppression. Microaggressions appear also in the texts selected from marginalized writers. For African Americans, the most anthologized authors are Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, and Frederick Douglass. King is usually rep- resented by “Letter from Birmingham Jail” and “I Have a Dream.” Malcolm X is represented by the stories of when he reads in prison or straightens his hair. Frederick Douglass is represented by his narrative of learning to read with help from his mistress and later his white playmates. The effect is that all of these selections relate personal encounters with racism while background- ing the cultural and institutional racism that is at the heart of the narratives. Selected texts could highlight the importance of marginalized communi- ties reclaiming voice and speaking out against oppression; instead, the ones selected are framed to illustrate only personal narratives and are devoid of any mention of how institutional racism is a factor in their writings. To illus- trate, textbook editors commonly retitle Malcolm X’s “Saved” as “Learning to Read,” invalidating and stripping away the deeply political and spiritual meanings of the text and treating it as a simple literacy narrative. Further, by anthologizing the same three authors as spokespersons for their race, text- books reduce the diversity of authors, leaving students to imagine that only a few people of color have successfully written, and they did so in the past (at pivotal historical moments). As a result, these textbooks perpetuate narra- tives of exceptionalism and tokenism. What is more pernicious is that white audiences can easily believe that racism has been conquered, and there is no need for contemporary voices that call for equity and justice. These microaggressions continue with the discussion questions. Across composition textbooks, discussion questions put the onus of racism or discrimination on the marginalized group, treating racism as an indi- vidual (not systemic) problem and thus excusing people with privilege from complicity. To illustrate, Rereading America (Colombo, Cullen, and Lisle 2007) reiterates the trope of the angry black man while not investigating how 470 Pedagogy whiteness contributed to his anger and therefore obfuscates the question of racial justice. For instance, the textbook does not ask students to think about how whiteness constructed Malcolm X’s language; instead, it makes Malcolm X the victim whose views have to be justified or defended: “Some readers are offended by the strength of Malcolm X’s accusations and by his grouping of all members of a given race into ‘collectives.’ Given the history of racial injustice he recounts here, do you feel he is justified in taking such a position?” (251). Malcolm X’s words are the ones critiqued instead of the “invisible” whiteness and injustices targeting African Americans. As a result, students risk seeing racialized bodies as unnecessary, angry critics of rac- ism while never having to research how institutions that uphold whiteness make racialized bodies critical of those institutions. Taken together with the deeply problematic selection, placement, and editorial framing of marginal- ized writers, these discussion questions perpetuate microaggressions, further entrenching larger injustices. Rhetorical Intervention: Recognizing and Rewriting Damaging Cultural Scripts Analysis of composition textbooks (the surface of which is barely scratched here) necessitates an immediate and strong response if we are to counter the harms that so casually enter the classroom along with these textbooks. Educators, students, editors, and publishers alike need first to recognize educational materials as rhetorical texts that can convey damaging cultural scripts. These scripts authorize racial coding and other microaggressive acts that move outward, beyond the pages of textbooks, and therefore mandate interrogation. Next, educators, students, editors, and publishers alike need to rewrite these damaging scripts — both in the textbooks and beyond. In doing so, we challenge how society writes about and writes off (i.e., invalidates) people of color and other marginalized peoples. We must all be involved in questioning and revising notions of who is allowed to speak in the public sphere — and about what, when, and to what ends. For example, we can posi- tion more diverse voices from marginalized groups throughout textbooks, highlighting intersectional identities and recognizing the diversity of voices within communities of color. These voices would show that conversations about race are grounded in both historical and current cultural moments and are still ongoing and evolving. We need, too, to include writings by women, people of color, LGBTQ+ folks, and other marginalized peoples, not as marked but as part of multiple traditions, so that there is no default standard of who is allowed to address particular issues. The rhetorical work of rewriting composition textbooks highlights the Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 471 need for and urgency of ongoing rhetorical interventions to counter microag- gressions in/through teaching. This work calls on all of us to create account- ability systems that truly embrace this critique of damaging cultural scripts and to recognize the humanity of all people. Such rewriting could bring publishers and editors into dialogue with people from marginalized commu- nities about how their peoples are portrayed in textbooks. And it necessitates conversations in and out of classrooms, among teachers and students to reflect critically on any texts or textbooks in use. Certainly, this work connects with other sorts of rewriting, revising, and re- seeing needed across our disciplin- ary practices and lives, as we show next by zooming in on faculty service. Illustration 3: Intervening through a Critical Pedagogy of Service In this section, we expand pedagogy to go beyond teacher- student interac- tions and educational materials to consider service. Typically, service is seen as an “amorphous category” that entails “an almost endless number of cam- pus activities — sitting on committees, advising student clubs, or performing departmental chores” (Boyer 1990: 22). As “departmental chores,” these and other service activities are undervalued and even viewed as getting in the way of more important work. Yet, service encompasses numerous rhetorical interactions with far- reaching consequences, shaping not only pedagogical decisions but also larger institutional cultures and cultural scripts. Some of the most obvious involve the allocation of faculty and staff time, the contours of the curriculum, and the reach of student support services. Think about the ramifications of hiring, promotion, budgeting, policy making, program review, community engagement, and many other types of leadership. Service has the potential to build or tear down, to inspire or frustrate, to alleviate or cause pain in the pedagogical spaces where we work inside and outside classrooms. Like the production and reception of writing and the use of com- position textbooks illustrated above, service is a site of everyday microaggres- sions, which arise repeatedly: from disembodied online exchanges through listservs and email threads to decision making in committee meetings and behind closed doors. It mandates, therefore, a savvy rhetorical response. Acts of Microaggression: Service Contexts To find evidence of microaggressions in service, we can look at our pub- lished literature, which includes varied testimonial narratives. In Bootstraps, Villanueva (1993) does not just document a personal story of microaggres- sions involving epistemic injustice, presumed incompetence, and damaging cultural scripts. Villanueva also shows how microaggressions have larger 472 Pedagogy programmatic and curricular ramifications, including an entire curriculum being undermined and written off. The following excerpt comes from a larger story in which Villanueva describes multiyear work on trying to save and make meaningful a basic- writing program: Victor convinces the higher administration that the basic- writing program is a cultural education, not remediation. The program survives, eventually acquiring a regular, permanent administrator. But while Victor was still there, there was still the disgruntled and the irate to contend with. He prepares a memo that quotes Louis Faraq’an, a naive move. The memo notes that Faraq’an defines black power as the ability for black people to come to the table with their own food. The point is to have teachers stop proffering academic charity, no matter how well intentioned. Victor knows the pain of charity. He returns to find a memo announcing his replacement for the coming academic year. He had not been consulted. The rationale was that he would surely get a job. But he remembered the teachers’ argument in that television show. He had gone too far. (94) This narrative shows how microaggressions arise from closed- door decision making, from people being invalidated and seen as expendable, and from efforts to keep the status quo. When microaggressions arise within service contexts, careers are sidetracked if not railroaded; people’s contributions are diminished if not destroyed; institutions are made inhospitable if not outright hostile to research and pedagogical initiatives like basic writing, multi- and translingual writing, and cultural studies. We see in this example that a personnel decision (one that could be read as simply impacting Villanueva personally) functions institutionally also. It feeds into larger institutional actions, including the elimination of pro- grams that support students of color and the institutionalization of epistemic injustice when Louis Faraq’an’s call is treated as a problem and when cultur- ally relevant pedagogy isn’t valued and instead dismissed. Rhetorically, such microaggressions shape thinking about and enactments of everything from what gets taught (curriculum and course assignments) to who does the teach- ing (faculty hiring and retention). In this way, remarks made behind closed doors get written into memos and have the potential to tear down important pedagogical work. Moving from local/departmental to national/disciplinary service, we revisit Villanueva’s accounts to see how invalidations in committees shape not only individuals’ careers but also broader disciplinary landscapes: Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 473 The chair of a national organization on composition studies, an African American woman that year, gives Dr. V a call. She calls to warn him that his candidacy for a committee position has been questioned — to her — on the grounds that the seven- seat committee already has three minorities on it. The committee threatened to have representation rather than tokenism. The committee’s charge is to review and comment on manuscripts submitted for publication. He reads like never before, more careful than ever before, at pains to demonstrate his thorough understanding of rhetoric, composition, literacy, philosophy — his competence despite his color. (119) Here again, microaggressions are much more than micro, much more than a personal story or a single occurrence. Instead, we see how the rhetoric of invalidation creates narratives that reverberate outward: from one com- ment to inequitable work patterns when the work of disproving invalida- tion demands never- ending thoroughness to prove “competence despite . . . color.” The rhetoric used to question one’s candidacy and then the sub- sequent time and energy that goes into disproving that rhetoric show how microaggressions represent “the everyday reality of slights, insults, invalida- tions, and indignities” (Sue 2010: xv) in academic spaces. By documenting his experience, Villanueva underlines not only how microaggressive rhetoric perpetuates inequitable work patterns but also how those patterns result in different (differently consequential) conditions in the lives of educators. This microaggressive rhetoric has rippling impact not only on potential, current, and future committee members but also on larger disciplinary participation and leadership. The examples from Villanueva’s Bootstraps illuminate how research, teaching, and service collectively and similarly support or constrain ped- agogical spaces, as we continue to see in our own service activities. For example, we see diversity initiatives implemented as token gestures (e.g., Milem, Chang, and Antonio 2005), scholarship by faculty of color being overlooked/invisible despite our recognition of the politics of citation (e.g., hooks 2003; Gutiérrez y Muhs, Neimann, González, and Harris 2012), and faculty of color being asked/expected to perform more than their fair share of service (e.g., Gloria 1998; Harris and González 2012). Such microaggressions become normalized because they are so casual, so common, so everyday, all the while seemingly unconnected. Yet, as we’ve tried to establish throughout this article, they are consequential. How will we respond, as rhetoricians and educators, who are also committee members, program administrators, and professional leaders? 474 Pedagogy Rhetorical Intervention: Adopting a Critical Pedagogy of Service To intervene into microaggressions, we must ask when, where, how, why, to whom, and for whose benefit they occur. Such rhetorical inquiry reminds us of the goals of critical pedagogy, which include developing critical con- sciousness and using critical literacy skills to transform institutions (e.g., Horton 1990; Freire [1970] 2000). Just as critical pedagogy aims to address oppression and enact justice, so too might we conceive of a critical pedagogy of service that works for change within programs, departments, colleges, universities, professional organizations, community settings, and other local and (inter)national networks (Ferrel 2017). A critical pedagogy of service aligns with a rhetoric of responsivity, which asks us to develop and use our response- abilities (e.g., Sheridan 2014). To enact a critical pedagogy of ser- vice, we need to build consciousness that reveals how universities and other institutions work: how they oppress marginalized peoples, deny agency and personhood for some, and entrench power and privileges for others. We have opportunities to rhetorically intervene into inequitable con- ditions whenever we lead programs, revise curriculum, amend departmental policies, allocate funds, construct strategic plans, and do countless other activities identified as service. To intervene, we must remember that institu- tions and individuals are not separate but one and the same. James Porter et al. (2000: 611) address the interconnectedness of individuals and institutions, locating the feasibility of institutional change in people: “Though institu- tions are certainly powerful, they are not monoliths; they are rhetorically constructed human designs (whose power is reinforced by buildings, laws, traditions, and knowledge- making practices) and so are changeable. In other words, we made ’em, we can fix ’em. Institutions R Us.” Truly acting as though “Institutions R Us” invites a different sort of agency, ownership, par- ticipation, and leadership in service: all can help us rethink praxis in terms of creating and sustaining pedagogical initiatives and teachers/leaders com- mitted to justice. This differently agentive rhetorical stance, we hope, allows us all to see and intervene into everyday microaggressions, as we actualize a critical pedagogy of service. A Call for Rhetorical Intervention Returning to the opening epigraphs, we find calls to address abuses of power, and we respond by calling attention to microaggressions — an all- too- frequent occurrence that necessitates response. We see public recognition of micro- aggressions daily, as we open news feeds to read about the latest swastika drawn on a school building, the latest incident of bullying or hate speech at Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 475 one of our campuses, the latest institutional response that falls flat, calling for “unity” without addressing deep hurts. As we hope the three illustrations show, microaggressions run deep, impacting multiple pedagogical spaces and all facets of our teaching/learning lives. The three illustrations underline the need for rhetorical intervention, for an approach to invest rhetorically in life- giving rather than life- denying speech and writing. In the first illustration, such an intervention invites us to rethink what Rochelle Harris (2004: 409) refers to as “pedagogy of response.” Truly, our pedagogies must consider how we respond to writers, doing more to give feedback that affirms writers’ rights and counters epistemic injustice. In the second illustration, we see the need for critical reading and rewriting of textbooks to reverse the racially coded language embedded in pedagogical materials. In the third illustra- tion, a call emerges for educators to enact a critical pedagogy of service, an intentional approach to institutional leadership. Reminding us that “Institu- tions R Us,” Porter et al. (2000) invite us to reconsider our rhetorical agency in spaces seemingly unrelated to our pedagogical practices. Together, these interventions add up to the need for rhetorical interventions to countering microaggressions. As rhetoricians and educators, we spend much of our lives devoted to the activities of research, teaching, and service, which inform the learning environments we cocreate. Within these activities, we have daily the poten- tial to enact or, alternatively, to resist microaggressions. We have daily the potential to keep things as they are or, alternatively, to disrupt the status quo and create a different set of relations. We have daily the choice of whether to acknowledge microaggressions as a problem to be reckoned with. Will we choose to invest our energies toward creating a more just world? Will we choose to consider the micro- (microaggressions) alongside the macro-logics that generate and fuel aggression or its inverse: affiliation, solidarity, collec- tive action, and social justice? Returning to the opening epigraphs, we find disciplinary mandates that call on all of us to reflect on how our disciplinary choices position us to sponsor particular narratives, recognize particular rhetorics, provide particu- lar resources, and so on. Taking up Ben Kuebrich’s (2015: 568 – 69) question, we ask: “How do our choices . . . position our discipline to address the most fundamental abuses of power” in the macro as well as the micro? As rhetori- cians and educators, we value creative invention as a path to intervention, believing that we must “be adventurous enough in our thinking to take a dif- ferent path, to find a different viewpoint, and to critique the terms of engage- ment” (Royster 2003: 161). In resetting terms of engagement, we are guided 476 Pedagogy by Kuebrich’s and Royster’s powerful critiques and by the many rhetoricians mapping rhetorical literacies that counter violence and strive for justice. May our call for rhetorical intervention contribute to this work, and may we com- mit to the ongoing, everyday work of countering microaggressions. Notes We’d like to thank the editors, anonymous reviewers, and participants in our studies as well as Jacqueline Jones Royster, who encouraged us and offered insightful feedback as we shared several drafts. We also acknowledge Marquette University’s Center for Peacemaking for providing financial support and for holding the space for us to share early versions of this work. 1. We attempt here to take a “self- reflexive look at our roles as rhetoricians,” as Ellen Cushman (1996: 8) attempted to do and modeled for us. For Cushman, a self- reflexive look involves “turn[ing] our work as scholars inside out, upside down, and back in upon itself ” (8) toward necessary re- seeing of what’s often unseen. We similarly hope to call attention to what’s normalized in our everyday lives. In doing so, we rethink our roles and responsibilities to intervene into everyday violence, injustice, and microaggressions, rhetorically and pedagogically. 2. We find microaggression after microaggression recounted in Powell’s collaborative address, so we offer this text as a starting point for readers interested in seeing the range and impact of everyday violence. Powell frames these microaggressions within and speaks to the long reach of colonial legacies as related to national memory/ forgetting; sovereignty and political subjecthood; and the meaning and significance of land, belonging, and self to Indigenous communities. 3. Certainly people also face microaggressions through other group memberships (e.g., socioeconomic class, nationality, and language background). It is equally important to recognize intersectionality (Crenshaw 1991) — that is, multiple and interlocking identities that, at the same time, influence social interactions and through which microaggressions and other forms of violence may compound, resulting in double or triple jeopardy. 4. Feagin (1992) studies how manifestations of racism morph, sheds light on a continuum of hostile acts, and explicates how hostile acts cumulate and exceed the negative impact of any one instance. Hostile acts comprise “(a) aggression, verbal and physical; (b) exclusion, including social ostracism; (c) dismissal of subculture, including values, dress, and groups; (d) type- casting, including assuming Blacks are all alike” (574). Feagin explains cumulative discrimination as not “just the occasional or isolated discriminatory act in one of the enumerated categories . . . but rather a college career or lifetime series of blatant and subtle acts of differential treatment by Whites, which often cumulates to a severely oppressive impact” (575). 5. Among other scholars, Julie Minikel- Lacocque (2013: 454) has questioned whether microassaults should be considered part of the microaggressions taxonomy, as they Diab, Godbee, Burrows, and Ferrel Interventions for Countering Microaggressions 477 are the most overt, explicit, and often intentional. Even Sue et al. (2007: 274) describe microassaults as the most like “old- fashioned racism,” referencing highly visible acts like intimidation, racial slurs, and physical violence. Similarly, Gina A. Garcia and Marc P. Johnston- Guerrero (2015) found in their study of racially biased campus incidents that microassaults are intentional and therefore unlike microinsults and microinvalidations. All of this led Gina A. Garcia and Jennifer R. Crandall (2016) to focus on just the two forms of microinsults and microinvalidations. Similarly, we focus on these forms of microaggressions, as they illustrate the everyday, communicative, rhetorical work of enacting or, alternatively, countering microaggressions. Works Cited Baca, Damián, and Victor Villanueva, eds. 2009. Rhetorics of the Americas: 3114 BCE to 2012 CE. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Boyer, Ernest L. 1990. Scholarship Reconsidered: Priorities of the Professoriate. Princeton, NJ: Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching. Burke, Kenneth. 2006. “The Rhetoric of Hitler’s Battle.” In Readings in Propaganda and Persuasion: New and Classic Essays, edited by Garth S. Jowett and Victoria O’Donnell, 149 – 68. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. 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work_73enib2dejh2fnajmkbkowbxdy	----	Publications of the Modern Language Association of America May 1980 Toward the Making of Thoreau's Modern Reputation Selected Correspondence of S. A. Jones, A. W. Hosmer, H. S. Salt, H. G. O. Blake, and D. Ricketson edited by Fritz Oehlschlaeger and George Hendrick Some 500 newly discovered and previously unpub- lished letters are available in this volume —the correspondence of freethinker Henry S. Salt, Dr. Samuel Arthur Jones, and Alfred W. Hosmer and two of Thoreau's surviving friends, Ricketson and Blake, who in the 1890s set about reevaluating Thoreau's life and work. “Their findings shifted the critical view of Thoreau from sentimental poet-naturalist to flinty social critic. ... a carefully edited volume. The introduction offers biographic sketches of the five correspondents, sets the stage for their contribu- tions, and evaluates their collaborative efforts. The letters themselves are a happy reflection of the best amateur spirits —independent minds working self- lessly to shatter a false image of a great artist and thinker.” —Library Journal. "... a goldmine of material for the Thoreau scholar.” —Walter Harding, author of The Days of Henry Thoreau. $22.50 still in demand Puritan Influences The in American Shores of Literature America edited by Emory Elliott Nine essays on selected writers whose works reflect fragments of the Puritan vision. Included are pieces on such major nineteenth-century writers as Nathaniel Hawthorne, Henry David Thoreau, Herman Melville, and Emily Dickinson. The contributors write of our Puritan literary heri- tage while treating such key subjects as the con- trasting views of the role of the writer in the community, the nature of literary aesthetic, divine unity, the persistence of philosophical idealism, and the relationships between popular attitudes and political ideology. $12.00 Sherman Paul The growth of Thoreau’s philos- ophy and thought, as revealed in his essays, letters, and journals. "A distinguished study of the mind and art of Thoreau. ... an ‘inner biography' addressing itself to the heroic aspects of Thoreau's life as he tried to live an ‘authentic’ life, where nature could be the means for repossessing the dignity of the individual.” — Virginia Quarterly Review. Paper, $3.95 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS PRESS, Box 5081, Station A, Champaign, IL 61820 May 1980 Publications of the Modern Language Association of America Volume 95 Number 3 PUBLISHED SIX TIMES A YEAR BY THE ASSOCIATION The Modern Language Association of America ORGANIZED 1883 INCORPORATED 1900 OFFICERS FOR THE YEAR 1980 President: Helen Vendler , Boston University First Vice-President: Peter Demetz , Yale University Second Vice-President: Wayne C. Booth , University of Chicago Executive Director: Joel Conarroe Deputy Executive Director: Hans Rutimann For the term ending 31 December 1980 Geoffrey H. Hartman Yale University Winfred P. Lehmann University of Texas, Austin Marilyn L. Williamson Wayne State University For the term ending 31 December 1982 Ruth K. Angress University of California, Irvine Walter H. Sokel University of Virginia Ruth H. Webber University of Chicago TRUSTEES OF Gordon N. Ray Guggenheim Foundation, Managing Trustee EXECUTIVE COUNCIL For the term ending 31 December 1981 Barbara Bowen University of Illinois, Urbana James Lawler University of Chicago Marjorie G. Perloff University of Southern California For the term ending 31 December 1983 Paul Fussell Rutgers University Barbara K. Lewalski Brown University Gita May Columbia University INVESTED FUNDS C. Waller Barrett Charlottesville, Virginia Robert Lumiansky American Council of Learned Societies PMLA is issued six times a year, in January, March, May, September, October, and November, by the Modern Language Association of America, 62 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011. Member- ship is open to those persons who are professionally interested in the modern languages and literatures. 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Single copies of the January, March, May, and October issues may be obtained for $5 each; the No- vember (Program) issue for $15; the September (Directory) issue for $25. Issues for the current year are available from the MLA Publications Center. Claims for undelivered issues will be honored if they are received within one year of the publication date; thereafter the single issue price will be charged. For information about the availability of back issues, inquire of Kraus Reprint Co., Millwood, NY 10546; (914) 762-2200. Early and current volumes may be obtained on microfilm from University Microfilms, Ann Arbor, MI 48106. Purchase of current volumes on film is restricted to subscribers of the journal. OFFICE OF PUBLICATION AND EDITORIAL OFFICES 62 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10011 Tel.: 212 741-5588 All communications including notices of changes of address should be sent to the Membership Office of the Association at 62 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10011. If a change of address also involves a change of institutional affiliation, the Membership Office should be informed of this fact at the same time. Second-class postage paid at New York, NY, and at additional mailing office. Copyright © 1980 by The Modern Language Association of America. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 12-32040. Contents • May Editor’s Column............................................................................307 Presidential Address 1979. E Pluribus Unum. Jean A. Perkins . 312 Lying as Dying in Heart of Darkness. Garrett Stewart . . 319 Abstract. As thematic actions, dying and lying divide up Conrad’s narrative in Heart of Darkness between main story and controversial coda. Steeped in the formulas of literary fatality, including the symmetries of ironic reprisal and the summarizing retrospect of last words, Kurtz’s death is modeled on fictional expec- tations so as to secure its dark transmissible import, only for that import to be betrayed by the supposedly beneficent mendacity of Marlow’s lie in the final inter- view with Kurtz’s Intended. Marlow as reader or interpreter of tragic meaning degenerates to Marlow as false author of a euphemizing fiction. The essay traces the complex preparation for Kurtz’s death, including the suicide and murder of earlier surrogates for Marlow, as these scenes establish an interpretive framework by which to assess a coda that becomes, for a narrator repulsed by the “flavour of mortality in lies,” yet another indirect but self-indicting death scene. (GS) My Hideous Progeny: Mary Shelley and the Feminization of Ro- manticism. Mary Poovey .....................................................332 Abstract. As the daughter of two notorious Romantic rebels and as the wife of a third, Mary Shelley was encouraged from her youth to “enrol [herself] on the page of fame,” to prove herself by her pen and her imagination. But since Shelley also wanted to conform to the more conventional feminine model—to be modest, self- effacing, and devoted to a family rather than to a career—she developed a preva- lent ambivalence toward self-assertion. In the 1818 edition of Frankenstein, this ambivalence surfaces in her criticism of the egotistic imagination and in the gro- tesque but sympathetic monster that symbolizes its essence; the 1831 revision ap- plies this judgment more forcefully to her own youthful “transgression.” Neverthe- less, by characterizing the artist as the victim of an uncontrollable destiny, Shelley also sanctions the very self-expression she professes to regret and elevates the dilemma of the female artist to the status of myth. (MP) “Much Depends on the Acting”: The Original Cast of Le Misan- thrope. Roger W. Herzel .....................................................348 Abstract. The printed text of Le Misanthrope is only a partial record of Moliere’s creation. Moliere wrote his plays to be performed, not to be read, and he tailored each role in his plays to the individual talents of the particular actor who would play the role. In the original production of Le Misanthrope, each actor’s perform- ance was part of an intricate web of contrasts and balances. Moliere himself » played Alceste; as in all his plays, his acting style, while unmistakably comic, occupied a middle ground between the grotesque style of one group of actors and the elegant polish of the actor who played Philinte. (RWH) The Context of Browning’s Painter Poems: Aesthetics, Polemics, Histories. David J. De Laura ............................................. 367 Abstract. The neo-Catholic apologist Alexis Rio argued in 1836 that the idealism of medieval art was destroyed in the fifteenth century by a growing “paganism” and “naturalism.” Browning’s refutation in “Pictor Ignotus” of Rio’s defense of the Italian Pre-Raphaelites involved a severe distortion of the historical record. Rio’s thesis was widely debated in the late forties; above all, Charles Kingsley, whose definition of a “Protestant” realism was a direct response to the new ascetic theory, was a source of Browning’s more complex views of the fifties. “Fra Lippo Lippi” answers Rio, though its sensualism is only one component of Browning’s unstable doctrine. Browning’s polemical designs, which led him to play fast and loose with historical fact, explain both the iconoclasm and the conformity of the poem. Elsewhere, Browning’s endorsement of realism was limited by fear of an art that proclaims beauty to be its own self-sufficing end. (DJD) History, Fiction, and the Ground Between: The Uses of the Doc- umentary Mode in Black Literature. Barbara Foley . . 389 Abstract. Although the so-called nonfiction novel is ordinarily seen as a distinctly post-World War it phenomenon, Afro-American literature has from its beginnings relied to a marked degree on the documentary mode. Close scrutiny of Afro- American prose narrative provides the basis not only for revising some common literary-historical generalizations but also for examining the nature of mimesis and historicity, since Afro-American writers have employed a wide range of tech- niques to persuade their readers of the truths proposed in their texts. A considera- tion of the uses of factuality in this body of literature enables us to make broader theoretical distinctions among the kinds of propositions conveyed by various types of fictional narratives and to illuminate the shady borderline between factual and Active discourse. (BF) Report of the Executive Director............................................. 404 Forthcoming Meetings and Conferences of General Interest . 414 Professional Notes and Comment 424 PUBLICATIONS OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA Published Six Times a Year Indexes: Vols, 1-50, 1935; 51-60, 1945; 51-79, 1964 EDITORIAL BOARD Mary Ann Caws , 1980 Hunter College and Graduate School City University of New York Dorrit Cohn , 1981 Harvard University Jackson I. Cope , 1980 University of Southern California James R. Kincaid , 1981 University of Colorado, Boulder Elias L. Rivers , 1981 State University of New York, Stony Brook Larzer Ziff , 1981 University of Pennsylvania Charles Altieri , 1982 University of Washington Sacvan Bercovitch , 1983 Columbia University Leo Braudy , 1983 Johns Hopkins University Victor H. Brombert , 1983 Princeton Udiversity Peter Brooks , 1980 Yale University Jonathan D. Culler , 1982 Cornell University Stuart Curran ,1982 Udiversity of Pennsylvania Andrew Debicki , 1980 University of Kansas Franco Fido , 1983 Brown University Blanche Gelfant , 1982 Dartmouth College ADVISORY COMMITTEE Eric P. Hamp , 1983 University of Chicago Ihab Hassan , 1983 University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee Constance B. Hieatt , 1982 University of Western Ontario Paul A. Jorgensen , 1982 University of California, Los Angeles U. C. Knoepflmacher , 1981 University of California, Berkeley John W. Kronik , 1981 Cornell University Wolfgang A. Leppmann , 1983 University of Oregon Martin Meisel , 1982 Columbia University David H. Miles , 1983 University of Virginia Sidney Monas , 1983 University of Texas, Austin Janel M. Mueller , 1981 University of Chicago Neal Oxenhandler , 1980 Dartmouth College Elaine C. Showalter , 1983 Rutgers University J. L. Simmons , 1980 Tulane University Patricia Spacks , 1980 Yale University Catharine Stimpson , 1982 Barnard College Alex Zwerdling , 1982 University of California, Berkeley Editor: Joel Conarroe Editorial Supervisor: Claire Cook Assistant Editor: Irene Zubiel Managing Editor: Judy Goulding Assistant Managing Editor: Roslyn Schloss Administrative and Editorial Assistant: Lisa Wolff Production Manager: Jeffrey Howitt A STATEMENT OF EDITORIAL POLICY PMLA publishes articles on the modern languages and literatures that are of significant interest to the entire membership of the Association, Articles should therefore normally: (1) employ a widely applicable approach or methodology; or (2) use an interdisciplinary approach of importance to the interpretation of literature; or (3) treat a broad subject or theme; or (4) treat a major author or work; or (5) discuss a minor author or work in such a way as to bring insight to a major author, work, genre, or critical method. Articles of fewer than 2,500 or more than 12,500 words are not nor- mally considered for publication. Only members of the Association may submit articles to PMLA. Each article submitted will be sent to at least one consultant reader and one member of the Advisory Committee. If recommended by these readers it will then be sent to the members of the Editorial Board, who meet every three months to discuss such articles and assist the Editor in making final decisions. The name of the author of a manuscript is not made known, until after a final decision is reached, to consultant read- ers, members of the Advisory Committee, the Editorial Board, or the Editor. Submissions, prepared according to the second edition of the MLA Style Sheet (now incorporated in the MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers, Theses, and Dissertations), should be ad- dressed to the Editor of PMLA, 62 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011. The author’s name should not appear on the manuscript; instead, a cover sheet, with the author’s name, address, and the title of the article, should accompany the article. Authors should not refer to themselves in the first person in the submitted text or notes if such references would identify them; any necessary ref- erences to the author’s previous work, for example, should be in the third person. Only an original typescript, not a photocopy or a carbon, should be submitted. 
work_756352rxznhjza5ksqjnh6mfau	----	Quote from Thoreau Special Issue on “Dark Side of Information Technology Use”: an Introduction and a Framework for Research Forthcoming in Information Systems Journal, 25,3 doi: 10.1111/isj.12070 Monideepa Tarafdar (m.tarafdar@lancaster.ac.uk) Ashish Gupta ( Gupta@utc.edu) Ofir Turel (oturel@fullerton.edu) Abstract We introduce the Special Issue on “Dark Side of Information Technology Use”. We first provide a brief summary of the literature and suggest a framework as guidance for future research on dark side phenomenon. We then comment on and characterize the papers presented in this Special Issue using this framework. We do not ride on the railroad; it rides upon us – Henry David Thoreau, 1854 1. Introduction We see the “dark side” of IT use as a broad collection of ‘negative’ phenomena that are associated with the use of IT and that have the potential to infringe the wellbeing of individuals, organizations and societies. Early understanding of the negative consequences of IT use focused on IT mediated control of individuals in the workplace made possible by the automatic and electronic capture of information generated by tasks and activities (Zuboff 1988), workflow rigidity caused by computer- integrated manufacturing systems (Corbett et al. 1989), decreased interpersonal interaction and social support from use of electronic performance monitoring systems (Carayon 1993), psychological effects on individuals such as computer anxiety (Heinssen et al. 1987) and workplace stress, and technical vulnerabilities such as Y2K. Other negative consequences studied were among others, loss of employment due to computerization, thefts of intellectual property and identity, ergonomics- related injuries, and software-related accidents (Kling 1996). While this early understanding helped sensitize IS and management researchers to the potentially negative impacts of IT use, current trends have dramatically increased the potential ambit, scope and intensity of dark side phenomena. First, increasing reach (Keen 1991) of IT enables use by people from a variety of demographic backgrounds and locations for work and non-work tasks, implying increased pervasiveness of IT-mediated activity. Second, increasing richness (Rayport and Sviokla 1995) makes for IT products and applications that can be flexibly customized to individual user requirements through software components injected into hardware. Third, increasingly user friendly, reliable and embedded IT are paving the way for its decentralized, un-guided, and continuous use. mailto:m.tarafdar@lancaster.ac.uk mailto:Gupta@utc.edu mailto:oturel@fullerton.edu One fall-out of these trends is that users experiment and improvise (Ciborra 1985) in how they use system features. Such experimentation can have unexpected, designer-unintended and potentially negative consequences for the user and the social unit where IT is being used. For example, the same software that is designed for testing network security and vulnerability by corporate IT or law enforcement departments, can also be used for illegal network hacking and break-ins. Further, it is not possible for system designers or users to anticipate and foresee all of these negative consequences (Markus and Mentzer 2014). Another fallout is that IT-mediated activities generate data that is easily stored, manipulated, analysed and accessed. Much of this data resides in the thin space between individuals’ right to privacy and ownership and the collective’s use of them for profit, surveillance and common-good activities; the possibilities for dark side phenomena abound. Recent studies have therefore examined a number of emerging phenomena associated with the negative consequences that may be experienced by individuals, such as technostress, technology addiction, technology-induced interruptions, information overload, and deviant IT-use behaviours by employees in organizations. In this Special Issue, and as stated in its call-for-papers, we build on this stream to explore “complex social and individual situations where the very benefits that the use of IT brings contain the seeds of potentially transformative negative changes in ways of working, collaborating and living - changes that can lead to non-beneficial, if unintended consequences.” 2. Current Research: Theorizing Dark Side Phenomenon Theories that have traditionally informed studies on the negative impacts of IT have included economic approaches to study labor-capital substitution and sociological approaches to understand IT-enabled control. In more recent studies, given the large scope and variety of emerging and potential dark side phenomena, we find the opportunity to examine theories from a number of disciplines in explaining negative impacts associated with the use of IT. As examples, in studies on technostress for instance, transaction and coping theories of stress from psychology (Lazarus and Folkman 1964) have been used to identify conditions pertaining to IT use that create chronic conditions of stress in the workplace and associated potential inhibiting mechanisms (Ragu-Nathan et al. 2008) as well as the negative outcomes (e.g. Ayyagari et al. 2010). Meanwhile, moral disengagement theory has been used to explain coping mechanisms (D’Arcy et al. 2014), and social cognitive theories have been used to identify mechanisms for countering the effects of technostress (Tarafdar et al. 2015b). The concept of the panopticon (Bentham 1787/1995) has been used to characterize the dark side of IT-based surveillance and control (Zuboff 1989). Studies of technology addiction have been informed by theories of substance (Robinson and Berridge 2003) and behavioural (Turel et al 2011b) addiction, and by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual criteria for problematic behaviors and addictions (American Psychiatric Association 2000). For studying IT induced interruptions and multitasking behaviors, distraction conflict theory (Baron, 1986) provides a theoretical perspective for understanding the distribution of attention between the primary task and the interruption. A workflow and process-oriented approach to analyzing IT-based interruptions enables identification of impacts on performance of critical tasks (Gupta et al. 2013a). 3. Looking Forward: Themes for characterizing the dark side and directions for future research We note here that ‘dark side’ is an over-arching term that includes several phenomena, some of which have been studied, many which have not, and perhaps many more that have not yet been actuated. We suggest that it is useful at this stage, as guidance for future research, to identify salient themes according to which these phenomena can be classified. Looking forward, we develop a framework (Figure 1) that can be used as basis for future research on dark side phenomena. It describes four themes - context of their occurrence, negative outcomes, mitigation mechanisms and level of analysis. The first three themes characterize key aspects of dark side phenomena and the fourth suggests that these aspects can be investigated at different levels of analysis. Figure 1: Framework for characterizing dark side phenomena 3.1. Context of Occurrence ‘Context’ refers to the specifics of a given situation in which IT is used or developed (Lee and Baskerville 2003). Given the increasing variety of IT users and usage situations, and given that those characteristics of IT that make it useful are also key enablers of dark side phenomena, dark side behaviours and outcomes depend on the context. Zimmerman et al (2007) describes five elements of context that are salient in this respect, viz.: individuality (e.g. individual characteristics, demographic groups), activity (e.g. task), location (e.g. spatial or physical setting), time (e.g. temporal characteristics), and relations (e.g. how different individuals are related). https://exchange2010.lancs.ac.uk/owa/%23_ENREF_1 To exemplify these elements, individuals, depending on factors such as age and polychronicity (the natural tendency to engage in multi-tasking) (Conte and Gintoft 2005), may have different propensities to suffer from dark side consequences of IT-based interruptions. Such findings convey the importance of tailored technology design and push technology designers away from the ‘one technology fits all’ paradigm. Second, in terms of tasks, as more organizational functions and units are expected to be involved in dark side phenomena (Tarafdar et al. 2015a), there is a need to understand the different activities where dark side phenomena can occur. Third, in terms of location, the effects of phenomena such as interruptions and IT addiction have been studied in work and non-work contexts (Chen and Karahanna 2014, Turel et al. 2011a). Increasingly however, use of IT takes place both continually, that is, not confined to a specific physical location, and seamlessly across life-activities, that is, not easily classified as ‘work’ or ‘non-work’. This is possibly more so for digital natives (Vodanovich et al. 2010). Future research should thus also examine dark side phenomenon in such ‘virtual’ milieus. Fourth, it is possible that the effects of dark side phenomena are manifested differently over time. For example, while multitasking may lead to instant task accomplishment in the short term, it may cause productivity loss or poor health in the long term. Fifth, consideration of how individuals are related provides the opportunity for understanding group level phenomena. For example, social media-enabled and rapid rumor spreading in times of natural and human-precipitated disasters can thwart public safety and rescue efforts; social networks and relationships become particularly potent during such incidents. 3.2. Negative Outcomes Dark side phenomena, by definition are associated with various negative outcomes. We see four aspects of negative outcomes: individual, organization, industry and society. Outcomes for individuals have included those that are adverse workplace job and task related (e.g. Gupta et al. 2013b, Selander and Henfridsson 2012), problematic/deviant IT use related (e.g. Turel et al. 2011b, D’Arcy et al. 2014), and work-life conflict related (Turel et al. 2011a, Chen and Karahanna 2014). Organizational outcomes studied have included reduced employee commitment, security breaches and employee turnover (Tarafdar et al 2015a). There is potential for research that examines the impact of the individual’s dark side cognitions and behaviors on organizational outcomes such as efficiency, productivity, reputation and financial performance. The mortgage and related financial services industry provides a good example for industry related outcomes. Standardization of IT applications used in the mortgage industry, while enabling process https://exchange2010.lancs.ac.uk/owa/%23_ENREF_22 efficiencies through automated under-writing systems, might also have been associated with a decline in under-writing standards and a focal point for co-evolving industry changes such as lender- concentration, increased sub-prime lending, and easy/quick trading of mortgage-backed financial securities (Markus and Mentzer 2014). These effects may have been major contributors to the 2008 global financial crisis. To give another example, high-speed trading systems have been known to cause "flash crashes": research (reported in Tracy and Patterson 2014) shows that a key reason for these crashes is the use of super-fast, automated trading algorithms that obtain asymmetrically early access to price and policy information published by trading firms through high speed IT networks. During one such crash that occurred in May 2010, the Dow Jones Index fell an unprecedented 1000 points in the space of a few minutes (Smith 2014), as USD 1 trillion was wiped off the value of markets; profits from such crashes often accrue to a miniscule percentage of those who participate in the stock markets. Studies of similar phenomena would be helpful in understanding industry-level dark side aspects. Although past research has examined societal impacts such as lack of work life balance (Ahuja et al. 2007), the area of dark side outcomes at the societal level remains largely unexplored. There is strong interest in examining the societal impacts of IT (Majchrzak et al. 2014). Taken together with the dark side imperative, there is thus particular interest and scope for research in this area. In terms of societies and nations, future research could focus on potential outcomes in terms of information exclusion (e.g. Castells 1996), disruptive patterns of work/living, Internet crime and pornography, identity theft and related issues, cyber-attacks and loss of privacy. 3.3. Mitigation Mechanisms Mitigation mechanisms are important because they can alleviate dark side phenomena and/or their negative outcomes (e.g. Nelson and Kletke 1990). Pre-emptive mechanisms could be interventions that make a particular dark side phenomenon less likely to occur. They could be measures such as identifying and reducing the number of IS design features likely to cause stress, overload or addiction for instance, a fruitful area for future research. Another potentially fruitful area is the pre- emptive design of organizational policies regarding use of common applications such as email and social networks. Other mitigating mechanisms might be directed at the individual to alleviate his or her dark side behaviors and attitudes after they are manifested. These could include workplace mechanisms directed towards employees such as education/counselling, awareness, institutional support, job/role re-design and altered reporting structures. They could also comprise educational and social support at the level of the family and other social units, for creating awareness of IT addiction, cyberbullying, Internet pornography, privacy problems and intellectual property theft. While some mitigating mechanisms have been suggested (Tarafdar et al 2015a), research in this area is relatively sparse. We also see legal, civic and political policies as powerful mitigation mechanisms. Similar to policies on health, we are now seeing the wide-scale deployment of policies shaping IT use activities such as checking email (Stuart 2014). National policies which are relevant for dark-side IT phenomena may include, for instance, restricting access to potentially harmful or dangerous websites (for instance, child pornography) (Quayle et al. 2002), ensuring cyber-security (Givens et al. 2013) and developing appropriate industry-specific regulations, such as in the financial sector. 3.4. Level of Analysis It is important to study the level of analysis of dark side phenomena because IT use causes changes in the work and lives of individuals, organizations and other social collectives. Much of the recent research cited in this editorial introduction has focussed on the individual level of analysis in terms of the individual’s experience and behaviour regarding dark side phenomena. Associated outcomes such as impaired task performance and negative job attitudes have also been examined at the individual level (e.g. Tarafdar et al. 2015b). However, these individual-level effects can also have repercussions in teams, families and organizations. For example IT addiction can increase conflicts between family members and the intention to switch jobs (Turel et al. 2011a) while misuse of IT or non-compliance with organizational security policies may have financial- or reputation-related organizational implications. Equally, individual level variables such as misuse can be affected by organizational level variables such as leadership, culture or IT use policies (D’Arcy et al. 2009), or national/societal level variables such as general work-culture and government policies (Xu et al. 2012). Thus, we call for attention to levels of analysis other than the individual, and to cross-level effects, i.e., when predictors at one level influence outcomes at a different level. Further, a particular dark side phenomenon may exhibit a temporal progression from one level to another or within the same level. For instance prolonged misuse of IT by individuals, if unchecked, might eventually lead to loss of sensitive organizational data, or prolonged exposure to techno- stressors might lead to negative impacts on health. Accordingly, appropriate policies at national and organizational levels may lead, over time, to reducing the frequency of occurrence of dark side phenomena, as has been seen in the case of temporal impacts of government policies on smoking and drinking (e.g. Ponicki et al. 2007). Thus longitudinal studies tracing particular phenomena over time and across levels represent another fruitful avenue for research. Dark side phenomena can be studied using the qualitative and quantitative approaches typically employed in IS research. In addition, given that the negative consequences of IT use are largely unintended and unforeseen by designers, the use of future-oriented approaches such as scenario planning (Markus and Mentzer 2014) can provide foresight about possible system uses and thus sensitize IS designers to the proactive anticipation of potential dark side effects from their use. Further, design approaches that can offer persuasive support at the moment of use (Fogg 2002) or utilize concepts such as value-based design (Schwartz 1994) could be used to design IS for minimizing dark side effects. For instance, one may examine how interventions at the moment of use might lead to better interruption/overload handling, multi-tasking or overuse management. Experimental designs that capture IT use in meaningfully simulated environments have the potential to reveal dark side use behaviours. 4. Contribution of Papers In response to our call for papers for the Special Issue on the Dark Side of IT in the Information Systems Journal, we received a large number of manuscripts, each of which went through the Journal’s peer review process consisting of reviewers’ comments and editorial feedback from the Associate Editors and Guest Editors of this Special Issue. The final set of papers went through two or three rounds of review and revisions. They are diverse in terms of author demographics and AIS region affiliations. We are deeply grateful to the Associate Editors and reviewers, who put in many hours of work in order to help the authors of the papers we present here, improve their works. This special issue would not be possible without their commitment, dedication and hard work. We thank the Journal’s Editors for their support with this Special Issue. In this first part of the Special Issue, we present a collection of four papers that report on studies on familiar and new dark side phenomena, conducted in different contexts and associated with different negative consequences. We characterize the papers using the framework developed in this editorial. We note here that most of these papers address the individual level of analysis and do not address mitigation mechanisms. This is representative of the total set of papers that were initially submitted; these ‘missing’ themes point to areas we see as being important to future research. The paper “Illuminating the Underground: The Reality of Unauthorised File Sharing” by Beekhuyzen, J., von Hellens, L., and Nielse. S., explores a relatively unexamined type of online community, namely one that focuses on the illegal sharing of music files. This is perhaps not a new dark-side phenomenon, but the IS literature is relatively silent about it. In this study the authors contribute by theoretically developing this context, explaining the nature and formation processes of such communities and systematically exploring the reasons for engaging in such illicit behaviors. The overarching theoretical perspective is Actor Network Theory. The study’s findings, based on qualitative data, describe negative outcomes at multiple levels and indicate that people engage in such illicit behaviors because the resources they seek are scarce in traditional markets. The context for the study is an online community focused on the free and unauthorised sharing of music files. Negative outcomes include, for individuals, possible legal actions which can result in fines and jail time, for online communities, legal action and dismantlement, and for the music industry, financial damages. The phenomenon is analyzed at the level of individual participants, the online community and the music industry. Given the growth of illegal file sharing and associated problems, this paper presents a topical issue. The paper, “Leveraging fairness and reactance theories to deter reactive computer abuse: An empirical study of the influence of counterfactual reasoning and organizational trust”, by Lowry, P., Posey, C., Bennett, R., and Roberts, T., uses fairness and reactance theories to explain security- related reactions to unfair events that result in reactive computer abuse. This study explains how factors such as explanation adequacy, trust, age, organizational security awareness, training and education, and computer use at work, could influence the formation of a dark side phenomenon such as computer abuse. It emphasizes how certain training and security programs could result in negative outcomes for the organization if employees are ignored. The context for the study is employees’ use of IT in organizations from the banking, financial and insurance sectors in the US. The data is quantitative, from a survey administered to working professionals. Negative outcomes relate to abuse of computers detrimental to the organization analysed at the level of individual behaviour. This study could lead to initial work on integrating other theories such as Justice Theory to understand employees’ reactive computer abuse. The paper, “The Effects of Technostress and Switching-stress on Discontinued Use of Social Networking Services: A Study of Facebook Use”, by Maier, C., Laumer, S., Weinert, C., and Wetzel, T., examines technostress in the context of switching from one social network application to another. It extends the literature by conceptually developing the association between technostress and IT use discontinuance, and by developing the concept of switching stress creators, that is, the stress caused by switching from one application to another. It also focuses on system use termination, which few studies have addressed so far and thus also extends the literature on adoption and usage phases of the IS life cycle. The context for the study is individuals’ use of a social networking application (Facebook) in a non-work context. The data is longitudinal, collected through surveys, interviews, diaries and experiments at different points in time. Negative outcomes include exhaustion from social-network stress and switching stress experienced by the user and discontinued use of the application for the commercial application provider. The paper, “The Many Faces of IT Interruptions: A Taxonomy and Preliminary Investigation of Their Performance Effects studies”, by Shamel and Pinsonneault examines the effects of IT interruptions on productivity and develops a taxonomy of interruptions using data from qualitative log diaries of 14 participants and 21 qualitative interviews. The process of analysis leads the authors to define new categories of interruptions based on message content. The context for the study is individuals working on real, interdependent tasks within a larger project in an interruptive organizational work environment. Negative outcomes include interruptions and reduced task performance for individuals. The level of analysis is the individual’s handling of interruptions. The study extends the IS literature on interruptions by suggesting that hybrid interruptions are neither completely relevant nor irrelevant to the task at hand. It adds to existing understanding of different interruption types and how they impact performance. 5. Conclusion Research on the dark side of IT use can form an important bulwark of study in the IS field by reinforcing conceptual and critical richness in our research, and by providing a backdrop for mindful and thoughtful use of IT in its implications for impact and practice. 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In the Age of the Smart Machine: the Future of Work and Power, Basic Books, New York. http://link.springer.com/book/10.1007/978-3-540-74255-5 http://link.springer.com/bookseries/558 
work_7ewgly663zfohazdjd4mqkp6v4	----	© 2013 Taylor & Francis. This is an Accepted Manuscript of an article published by Taylor & Francis in Ethics and Education on 23/10/13, available online: http://wwww.tandfonline.com/ 10.1080/17449642.2013.842752 Satisfaction, Settlement and Exposition: Conversation and the University Tutorial Amanda Fulford Department of Secondary Education, Leeds Trinity University, Leeds, United Kingdom Brownberrie Lane Horsforth Leeds LS18 5HD UK a.fulford@leedstrinity.ac.uk mailto:a.fulford@leedstrinity.ac.uk - 2 - Abstract In this paper I consider the tutorial conversation in Higher Education. To focus the discussion I use the scenario of a tutorial conversation between a lecturer and a student. I begin by suggesting that the increasing emphasis placed on student satisfaction in certain Higher Education Institutions tends to focus the tutorial conversation towards a form of settlement that I then consider in light of Thoreau’s Walden. To explore what other conversation might be possible, I turn to the philosophical writing of Martin Buber. I discuss his ‘life of dialogue’ in relation to the distinction he draws between I - Thou and I - It and to how Nancy Vansieleghem and Jan Masschelein analyse this in relation to the 2002 film, Le Fils. With reference to the film adaptation of Alan Bennett's The History Boys I suggest a different starting point for the tutorial conversation. I conclude that the tutorial discussion, seen as an invitation to speak, and as a form of exposition and dialogue, is the possibility of the opening up of a new dimension of thinking and acting. This is the invitation to a conversation in education that is itself truly educative. - 3 - Scenario Tutor: I saw from your email yesterday that you wanted to talk about your assignment for the module on research methods; that’s fine, but tell me exactly what you want to focus on in this tutorial. Student: Yeah, I know you went through the structure and the writing guidelines for the assessment in the last session, and I can follow that, but I want to check if my plans for the research proposal are right. Tutor: Do you mean that you’re not sure whether your research proposal is feasible? Student: Erm, I’m not sure really. I just want to make sure that what I’m going to do will be ok and that I’ll be able to collect the data I need and that it will be enough. Tutor: It is important to make sure that your plans for the research are manageable for you. In research it’s often not easy to say that one approach is ‘right’, and therefore that another is ‘wrong’ in some way. But let’s leave that aside. At this stage we need to make sure that you feel happy with what you’re doing, so let’s look at your plans. I seem to remember that you’re hoping to conduct a focus group, is that right? Student: Yeah – I was going to tape it so that I didn’t miss anything when I came to do the analysis. Tutor: Ok, but have you tried this out, piloted this yet? It’s really difficult to tape a group of people taking, and then identify the different voices when people are interrupting and talking over one another. This could potentially make the analysis much more difficult. I’d suggest that you made a video of the focus group; this would make things much easier to manage when you came to do the analysis as you’d have the visual and the audio data to go on. This would help you to untangle the various ideas as they were discussed and differentiate the voices and contributions more easily. Student: And so if I do that, and discuss why I’ve done it that way, will that be ok? Tutor: Well, you need to make sure that you’ve given a clear rationale for your choice of approach to data collection. You would need to justify your choices with reference to some literature that you’ve read on conducting focus groups. That will help you meet this learning outcome [Tutor points the student to a section in the module handbook] Student: Ok, I’ll do that. So, if I amend my data collection method like you said, and put in some references, that will be ok? Tutor: In that section, yes. The more reading and criticality you can work into your assignment, the better, but making those changes will mean you’re doing what’s needed for a grade in the ‘pass’ band. Look, here it says: ‘Students demonstrate a sound understanding of the principles and limitations of their chosen approach to research’ [Tutor points to a section of the marking criteria in the module handbook]. Are you happy with that? Student: Yep – Thank you! - 4 - Satisfying Talk: Conversations in the University Tutorial In this paper I give attention to how the current discourse of ‘student satisfaction’ in some universities plays out in the tutorial conversation. I use the word ‘tutorial’ here to refer to the one-to-one meeting that a tutor has with her tutee to discuss course content, concepts, or often how the student should approach the course essay or assignment. Such a tutorial is distinct from the kind of discussion that a student might have with a designated ‘personal tutor’ to address sensitive issues that might be affecting study, from the ‘Oxford tutorial’ (common in a small number of élite English universities), and from group tutorials or seminars that form part of the delivery of a course. It is common to think of the one-to-one university tutorial as offering the space for a dialogue that enables the student to engage with the ideas and concepts to which she has been introduced: in short, it is to provide a space for what Kala Retna et al. (2009) describe as ‘intellectual growth’ (2009: 253). However, such a laudable aim is, I argue, often at risk of being hijacked by the pressing need for the tutorial to result in a kind of student ‘satisfaction’. Satisfaction with the student experience is now, as Elizabeth Staddon and Paul Standish identify, ‘reiterated, as if de rigueur, in university policy statements and in the burgeoning literature on student satisfaction’ (2012: 631). Such satisfaction in this context is characterised by a lack or ‘want’ (of resources, of clarity or of understanding). Satisfaction, and the related concepts of happiness and well-being, are not new fields of enquiry: philosophers since Socrates have considered happiness as experienced through the virtuous life. There has been, though, in recent years, an upsurge in the numbers of popular self-help texts on happiness and life satisfaction (eg Pryce- Jones 2010; Summers and Watson 2006), international comparative studiesi and work from within more academic fields such as psychology, all of which are concerned in some way with strategies for happiness (Lyubomirsky 2010). - 5 - Measuring Student Satisfaction Higher Education has not been exempt from this trend towards foregrounding improvements in the student experience, student wellbeing and, in particular, student satisfaction. The marketising of Higher Education, with its focus on league tables and student surveys, has inevitably led to an increased emphasis on measuring student satisfaction. In the UK, this emphasis is most clearly expressed in the importance accorded by universities to the annual National Student Survey (NSS). The NSS, commissioned by the Higher Education Funding Council for England (HEFCE) has, since 2005, gathered data annually on the quality of undergraduate courses in UK universities.ii The NSS websiteiii headlines the fact that in 2012 satisfaction rates were up on the previous year in every area surveyed. Overall satisfaction stood at 86%, with big improvements in academic support (up from 70% to 79% of students who were ‘definitely or mostly satisfied’). Only 8% were dissatisfied and the data shows the highest ever satisfaction ratings since the survey’s inception. Even the lowest figure is stable (55% of full-time students rated the promptness of feedback as definitely or mostly satisfactory, - an increase of 1% on the 2011 figures).iv Satisfaction and the University Tutorial Increasingly the university tutorial has become one of the key contexts in which student satisfaction can be addressed (Retna et al. 2009). With a whole section of the NSS dedicated to ‘academic support’, it is not surprising that tutors are charged with ensuring that the student leaves the tutorial ‘satisfied’. Clearly this is working: 78% of students responded with the most positive indicators to the statement: ‘I have received sufficient advice and support with my studies’. But this empirical data begs a number of important questions. First, how can satisfaction with, say, access to IT facilities (one of the sub- - 6 - questions asked under ‘Learning Resources’ in the NSS), be understood - or measured – in the same way as satisfaction with one’s education (questioned under the sub-headings of ‘Teaching’ and ‘Learning’)? Second, what is the nature of the satisfaction being measured? Let me initially address the second of these questions. The understanding of satisfaction that appears to underpin these somewhat crude measures is a very narrow one. It equates with a form of contentment, with the positive and happy feelings that derive from everything being settled. I suggest that in the scenario that opens this paper, the tutorial conversation is characterised by such satisfying talk, the kind that is a form of settlement: of closing down and securing. Perhaps the etymology of the word ‘conversation’ is useful in illustrating the point here. The Latin roots indicate that in ‘con-versation’, we ‘turn’ (vertere) ‘with’ (cum) others. There is a sense of accord here that is entirely absent from conversation’s common synonym, ‘discussion’ with its roots in the Latin discutere meaning ‘to strike asunder’ and from dis (apart) and quartere (to shake).v Student satisfaction, in the tutorial context, derives from a conversation (rather than a discussion) which is based on the contentmentvi derived from knowing exactly what is required to gain a pass mark in an assignment, or to achieve a certain degree classification. For the tutor, a tutorial conducted in this way gives assurance that the student, satisfied with the discussions, subsequently evaluates the module well, and scores ‘Academic Support’ highly in the next survey of satisfaction. This satisfaction discourse is indicative of the ways in which both the tutor and the student (in the scenario) tend to think, and of the power of certain discourses to authorise such thinking. It is as if these discourses have a stifling effect. This is not to say that student satisfaction is, in itself, not an appropriate topic of discussion in the university. - 7 - Nor is it the case that ensuring that students have the information necessary for them to perform to their best ability in all forms of assessment is not a right and proper approach. It is rather to draw attention to where the blinkered pursuit of the prestige that high levels of student satisfaction brings gets in the way of other kinds of thinking or talking. Furthermore, where there is an ineluctable link between satisfaction and the student’s assessment, there is a tendency for the tutor to restrict her conversation with students to what is required to pass the module assessment. For her part, the student – keen to pass the assignment and gain a good degree classification – wants to take advantage of the tutorial to be assured of what she must do to pass. Whilst the student must meet the all- important learning outcomes, a conversation dominated by such issues neglects other (less easily measured) matters such as what it is to learn, what it is that one still has to learn, and how our education can be pursued through conversation with another. But in a culture which obsesses with student satisfaction, these thorny issues are settled into more palatable, ‘student-friendly’ sound bites such as ‘The course has helped me to present with confidence’ and ‘My communication skills have improved’. Settling To return to our scenario, this type of talk is satisfying because of the way in which it ‘settles’ thinking. This theme of settlement is one that is taken up in the transcendentalist literature of Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson. In these writers’ work, especially in Thoreau, human becoming is marked by ideas of leaving, departure and sojourning, that are described in terms of a lack of settlement. In Walden (Thoreau 1854/1999), Thoreau espouses a way of living, thinking (and crucially of using languagevii) that disrupts ideas of security and settlement. He writes: ‘I was more independent than any farmer in Concorde, for I was not anchored to a house or a farm, but could follow the bent of my genius’(p. 51), and later: ‘You want room for your thoughts - 8 - to get into sailing trim and run a course or two before they make their port’ (p. 127). Such ideas are also central to Emerson’s perfectionismviii: our journeying (through education or cultivation) to a further state of becoming, of the self. This journeying is a necessary part of one’s becoming; it is in the constant losing of the self (characterised by a lack of settlement and by leaving) that is its finding. But we should not see Emerson’s perfectionism in terms of some kind of developmental model. The perfectionist journey cannot be described with reference to particular delineated stages; it rather requires that ‘A man should learn to detect and watch the gleam of light that flashes across his mind from within’ (Emerson 1841/2003: 267). Branka Arsić (2010) highlights the significance of the concept of leaving to Emerson’s writing on the perfection of the self. She writes that for Emerson, ‘To allow for change, to abandon the stationary, to overcome the fear of rupture, and to face interruption are all, in fact modes of leaving where and what one is’ (p. 3). For Arsić, Emerson’s ‘ontology of becoming is fundamentally … an ontology of leaving’ (p. 5). In terms of the tutorial conversation, I do not want to generalise here and to claim that tutorial conversations are characterised per se by such settling talk. I do want to emphasise, though, that such conversations are indicative of a particular culture within some universities. It is as if something in this culture steeps those who pass through it in particular ways of thinking and talking that block and force out other ways. But just as certain topics of conversation are ‘allowed’, others are off-limits, excluded. At one point, the tutor in our scenario hints at a broader issue that might lead to fruitful discussions with the student: whether it is possible to say that certain approaches to empirical research are ‘right’ or ‘wrong’; but then this discussion is abandoned with the comment: ‘But let’s leave that aside’. - 9 - Such a settling of conversation happens certainly because of the time constraints, but may also be indicative of a certain cultural expectation, a preoccupation with the latest drive to improve satisfaction and to enhance the student experience at the expense of a space for speaking about the trickier issues of learning one’s subject and with ‘intellectual growth’. What would it be like, for example, if the tutorial conversation were to run along these lines: ‘I hear what you say about the assignment, and about the learning outcomes, but let me ask you another question: What do you think research is for? Why should universities give attention to it in the way they do?’ What I am drawing attention to here is a re- thinking of the tutorial discussion that goes beyond a conversation driven by accountability and service-level agreements. It is to ask whether an unsettling education can be a satisfying one.ix Martin Buber and the ‘Life of Dialogue’ Martin Buber (1958, 1961) writes about how our human relationships are played out by way of our encounters with each other and with language through a ‘life of dialogue’ (1961: 37). In contrasting the life of dialogue with one of monologue, Buber claims that the ‘basic movement – or essential action of the former is the act of “turning to the other”’ (1961: 40). But this kind of dialogue is not to be equated with endless conversation. As he writes: ‘The most eager speaking at one another does not make a conversation’ (1961: 19). Whilst this would be a speaking of sorts, it is only genuine dialogue when: [E]ach participant really has in mind the other, or others, in their present and particular being, and turns to them with the intention of establishing a living mutual relation between himself and them. (1961: 20) For Buber, such an encounter is indicative of an I-Thou relationship, one characterised by mutuality and exchange. In contrast, Buber outlines how ‘technical dialogue, prompted solely by the need of objective understanding’ (1961: 37), constructs individuals as - 10 - objects to be used to serve particular interests. Such dialogues, and such relationships, are described in terms of I-It. So let me return to the tutorial scenario that opened this paper. Do the questions that the student asks, and the responses the tutor gives, betray a form of what Buber calls ‘technical dialogue, a conversation prompted solely by the need of objective understanding’ (1961: 37)? In our scenario, this objective understanding focuses on what is needed to pass the assignment. But for either party to try to change the conversation, without actually engaging with the life of dialogue, would be an artificial move; it would, in Buber’s words, be ‘monologue disguised as dialogue’ (1961: 37). To be in dialogue, though, is necessarily to be engaged in an un-settling conversation; to ‘speak from being to being’ (Buber 1961: 39), writes Buber, is to be exposed to the other; it is a risk, and it is unsettling. Conversation and Exposition: Let me develop this idea of unsettling with reference to Le Fils, a French film from 2002 directed by the brothers Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne. The plot concerns a carpenter, Olivier Gourmet, whose young son was brutally murdered. Some years later we see Olivier working as a joinery tutor at a training centre. Olivier agrees to take on a boy, Francis Thorion, as a trainee. Olivier finds out from the training centre records that Francis is in fact the boy who murdered his son, and has just been released from prison. The majority of the film shows their developing relationship and conversation. In their discussion of le Fils, Nancy Vansieleghem and Jan Masschelein draw attention to a kind of speaking that disrupts the idea of communication as mediation, self-empowerment or exchange, in favour of what they call ‘speaking that exposes us to what happens, to what is present’ (2012: 90). They argue that the film illustrates this particular kind of speaking - 11 - that ‘implies the need to abandon and be abandoned. It requires the willingness to put oneself … at stake, to free oneself from oneself, to see and think differently’ (p. 90). Such speaking is a form of ‘exposition’, not in the sense of a laying out a point of view, but rather an: ‘“ex-position” - that is, a speaking that puts one out of position … a movement outside or beyond oneself’ (p.87). If Olivier were to engage in the kind of discourses and practices that emphasise dialogue and communication, then he might well want to demand of Francis why he killed his son. He might feel some claim to a right to such information, and feel that Francis is obliged to provide it. Some form of satisfaction could come from this.x Instead, the kind of speaking in which Olivier engages is such that he is put out of position. In many ways he is simply exposed to what happens: to Francis’ arrival at the training centre, to the questions Francis asks in learning his craft, to his plea for Olivier to become his guardian. When Olivier does speak, it is not to engage in conversation aimed at settling matters, or conversation concerned with ‘the world of causalities, explanations and the accumulation of knowledge’ (Vansieleghem and Masschelein 2012: 92); rather he says to Francis: ‘Je veux juste qu’on parle’ (‘I just want to speak with you’). This speaking does not suggest the I- It relationship that has its basis in the world of objects; it has rather the characteristics of I-Thou. As Buber writes: ‘I do not experience the man to whom I say I-Thou. But I take my stand in relation to him’ (1958: 22). It is not that there is a method here, a set of procedures that must be followed or a technique that can be taught or learned. The speaker puts herself rather than the object of the conversation at stake, and in this is the ‘abandoning of any comfortable security’ (Vansieleghem and Masschelein 2012: 85). A conversation for education - 12 - So how might we think, then, of the extract of conversation in our opening scenario? In one sense, there is nothing at all wrong with it. Advice is given and, it appears, understood and eagerly accepted by the student. An observer may think that this tutorial conversation is exemplary: the student is encouraged to contribute; she is given specific feedback in relation to the module learning outcomes, and the targets are SMART.xi The student might have every right to be satisfied in some respects: the thorny issues are ironed out, her plans are validated and the pass mark is likely assured. All is settled – Thoreau might say ‘sedimented’.xii To continue with this analogy, though, what would it be like if the sediment were stirred up? What life would come from the silt? In this is the possibility for an education where the discussion, rather than settling rights and obligations, is ‘an abandoning or exposing of oneself, is about giving and accepting words, about inspiring and being inspired’ (Vansieleghem and Masschelein 2012: 97). Such a discussion is one in which both the student and the tutor are put at stake, just as both Francis and Olivier are exposed to what happens. This is the outcome of the ‘life of dialogue’. In the exposure of this discussion is a space for education. So how might this kind of discussion be initiated and continued in the current culture of some universities, and could this unsettling discussion be satisfying? In the scenario, the starting point for the tutorial is the student’s work and her concerns about passing the assessment. It is from this point that the conversation runs its unswerving course towards its ultimate goal where the tutor asks ‘Are you happy with that?’ and the student replies ‘Yep – Thank you!’ But what if the starting point of such tutorial discussions were not the student’s work; what if it were a text or a film, a picture or a piece of music? And what if the physical space for this discussion were not the confines of the academic office or the seminar room? Just as in Thoreau’s Walden, the stirring up of the sediment is a physical action (as is his building of the hut, his hoeing of the beans and his plumbing of the pond), - 13 - are the conditions for the un-settling of our thinking and speaking to be found outside the tutorial room? In a scene from the 2006 film adaptation of Alan Bennett’s The History Boysxiii. Irwin, the teacher parachuted in to give the boys, in the Headmaster’s words, ‘polish … edge’, takes a history lesson on the First World War. Instead of being in the classroom, the boys are seen sitting in a circle on the grass in the school grounds. Dorothy (who teaches history) and Hector (general studies), watch from a window as Irwin takes the boys for a walk and Dorothy comments ‘Oh, going walk-about’. The boys have prepared essays and are being given feedback, much like in the tutorial scenario. But in the film the essays are left in the classroom and the boys gather around a war memorial, and starting with Philip Larkin’s poem, MCMXIV, discuss not only history, but truth, art and then relationships. Irwin, cognisant of the pressure of time, needs to ensure that they pass the exam. But his approach (which attempts to disrupt the boys’ ideas of what makes for a good history essay – at least for the Oxbridge entry exam) seems still imbued with the same kind of settling discourse. Hector’s approach, on the other hand, seems largely unaffected by the upcoming examinations. Let us consider briefly the following short extract of dialogue from a discussion on poetry: Hector: And now for some poetry of a more traditional sort. Timms: Oh, God! Hector: Er, Timms, w-w-what is this? Timms: Sir, I don’t always understand poetry. Hector: You don’t always understand it? Timms, I never understand it. But learn it now, know it now, and you will understand it, whenever. Timms: I don’t see how we can understand it. Most of the stuff poetry’s about hasn’t happened to us yet. Hector: But it will Timms, it will. And when it does, you’ll have the antidote ready. Grief, happiness, even when you’re dying. We’re making your deathbeds here, boys. Hector is here acknowledging that learning cannot be understood wholly in terms of having particular facts worked out or settled. It is rather that not knowing allows one to - 14 - embark on a journey, one that, though unpredictable, might ultimately be more satisfying. Ian Munday, writing about this same extract, puts it like this: It is not to say that the boys will take ownership of a poem’s meaning and be able to nicely fit it into a conceptual schema .... Rather, it is the acknowledgement that the poem will transform and take on different meanings as both Hector’s and the student’s experience of the world changes and also, that the poem might generate or shape those experiences—that with the poem, they will go on a nomadic, rhizomatic and unpredictable journey (2012:56). Perhaps we can conclude, then, by saying that there is little wrong with measuring student satisfaction with issues such as the provision of computer facilities or the menu in the cafeteria, by means of a simple rating scale. However, satisfaction with one’s learning goes beyond what can be measured by means of simple numerical scales; it can come from discussions that do not seek to solve, but rather to acknowledge the situation in which the student finds herself. It is discussion in which there is the possibility of ‘a form of learning that intensifies or unsettles desires rather than simply aspiring to satisfy them’ (Staddon and Standish 2012: 631). Such learning would surely be characterised by the kind of tutorial discussion seen in terms of Buber’s distinction between Thou and It. The world of It, he writes, moves man: to look on the world of It as the world in which he has to live, and in which it is comfortable to live, as the world, indeed, which offers him all manner of incitements and excitements, activity and knowledge. In this chronicle of solid benefits the moments of the Thou appear as strange lyric and dramatic episodes, seductive and magical, but tearing us away to dangerous extremes, loosening the well-tried context, leaving more questions than satisfaction behind them (1958: 50-51). **** - 15 - References Arsić, B., 2010. On leaving: A reading in Emerson. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Buber, M., (1958), I and thou, Transl. Roland Gregor Smith. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Buber, M., (1961), Between man and man, Transl. Roland Gregor Smith. London: Collins. Emerson, R. W., 1841/2003. Selected writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Ed. William H. Gilman. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Lyubomirsky, S., 2010. The how of happiness: A practical guide to getting the life you want. London: Piatkus. Munday, I., 2012. Roots and rhizomes – some reflections on contemporary pedagogy. Journal of Philosophy of Education 46,1: 42 - 59. Pryce-Jones, J., 2010. Happiness at work: Maximising your psychological capital for success. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Retna, K., Chong, E., and Cavana, R.Y., 2009. Tutors and tutorials: students’ perceptions in a New Zealand university. Journal of Higher Education Policy and Management 31, no. 3: 251 – 260. Staddon, E., and Standish, P., 2012. Improving the student experience. Journal of Philosophy of Education. 46, no. 4: 631 – 648. Summers, H., and Watson, A., 2006. The book of happiness: Brilliant ideas to transform your life. Oxford: Wiley. Thoreau, H. 1854/1999. Walden. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vansieleghem, N., and Masschelein, J., 2012. Education as invitation to speak: On the teacher who does not speak, Journal of Philosophy of Education. 46, 1: 85 - 99. i See, for example the OECD’s Life Satisfaction survey [ONLINE], Available at: http://www.oecdbetterlifeindex.org/topics/life-satisfaction/, Accessed 3rd December 2012. ii The NSS measures student opinion – using a six item rating scale – in seven core areas: teaching; assessment and feedback; academic support; organisation and management; learning resources; personal development; overall satisfaction. A further eight optional questions (using the same rating scale) cover - 16 - satisfaction with: careers; course content and structure; work placements; social opportunities; course delivery; feedback from students; physical environment and welfare services. iii The National Student Survey, [ONLINE], Available at: < http://www.thestudentsurvey.com/index.html#.UcBCsWfdWOE>, Accessed June 18th 2013. iv Statistical data is published as 2012 National Student Survey Summary Data, [ONLINE], Available at: < http://www.hefce.ac.uk/whatwedo/lt/publicinfo/nationalstudentsurvey/nationalstudentsurveydata/2012/>, Accessed June 18th 2013. v See the dictionary entry, [ONLINE], Available at: < http://etymonline.com/?term=discussion>, Accessed June 21st 2013. vi The association of ‘satisfaction’ with ‘contentment’ dates from the sixteenth century. Earlier uses, dating from c.1300 relate to the act of a Church authority in satisfying, or atoning for, sin and later for satisfying a debt or creditor, [ONLINE], Available at: <,http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?allowed_in_frame=0&search=satisfaction&searchmode=none> Accessed May 28th 2013. vii In Walden Thoreau uses the notions of the ‘mother tongue’ and ‘father tongue’ to describe our human relationship to language (1954/1999: 93). A father tongue relationship to language comprises a different economy of living, one that is characterised by a lack of settlement and security – and is a distinctive way of living with our words as individuals and as part of a community of speakers, readers and writers of language. Paul Smeyers, Paul Standish, and Richard Smith see in Walden a text that proposes an economy of living that is not to be understood as mere self-sufficiency, but as a call to a form of education, an uncommon-schooling. This economy of living is characterised by what they call ‘the realizing of a language (or the possibility of a language) that can provide the conditions for the economy that he [Thoreau] seeks’ (2007: 126). viii By ‘perfectionism’, Emerson means an orientation towards a better self. Because it has no finality, it is always partial and on its way; it is to be contrasted with an idea of perfectibility. ix I take the term ‘un-settle’ here to mean disrupting, confounding, making uneasy (of thoughts and ideas); this should be seen in contrast to the ‘unsettling’ (upsetting, making anxious) of an individual. Whilst I am not advocating that tutorials should set out to unsettle (to upset) students, the un-settling of ideas might result in a disconcerting of the student that is opens up new ways of thinking and therefore is, as such, educative. x Compare again the etymology of ‘satisfaction’ in terms of atonement. Just as the confession is the means of absolution in the Catholic Church, Francis’ confession to Olivier, understood in the dialogic sense that Vansieleghem and Masschelein outline (and to which their notion of speaking as ‘ex position’ contrasts) is a form of satisfaction. xi A commonly used mnemonic for setting targets: Specific, Measurable; Attainable; Relevant; Timely. xii Thoreau, writing of the pond in Walden, makes numerous references to the physical sediment in Walden Pond. He also uses this imagery to signal what he saw as the sedimenting (or settling, lifelessness) of thinking and of society more generally. xiii The film’s action is set in the fictional Cutlers’ Grammar School in Sheffield in the early 1980s. A group of high achieving boys are completing an additional year to prepare for the Oxford or Cambridge entrance examinations and interview. Under the supervision of the ambitious Headmaster, the boys are taught by Hector for General Studies and Irwin, a contract teacher, who works alongside Dorothy Linott, the Deputy Head, to prepare them in History. http://www.thestudentsurvey.com/index.html#.UcBCsWfdWOE http://www.hefce.ac.uk/whatwedo/lt/publicinfo/nationalstudentsurvey/nationalstudentsurveydata/2012/ http://etymonline.com/?term=discussion 
work_77hqwalnt5hcbo3bvbkzde7i4i	----	HENRY DAVİD THOREAU’NUN DEMOKRASİYE İLİŞKİN DÜŞÜNCELERİ ÜZERİNE BİR DEĞERLENDİRME Makale Gönderim Tarihi: 13.08.2018 Yayına Kabul Tarihi: 01.10.2018 Kafkas Üniversitesi İktisadi ve İdari Bilimler Fakült esi KAÜİİBFD Cilt, 9, Sayı 18, 2018 ISSN: 1309 – 4289 E – ISSN: 2149-9136 Selçuk AYDIN Dr. Öğr. Üyesi. Atatürk Üniversitesi, Edebiyat Fakültesi, selcuk.aydin@atauni.edu.tr, ORCID ID: 0000-0001- 8997-9283 Şükrü NİŞANCI Prof. Dr., Atatürk Üniversitesi, İktisadi ve İdari Bilimler Fakültesi, sukrunisanci@atauni.edu.tr, ORCID ID: 0000-0002- 3761-065X ÖZ Siyaset bilimi ve siyaset sosyolojisi bağlamında demokrasi hem akademik dünyanın hem de reel hayatın sıkça konuşulan ve tartışılan kavramlarından birisidir. Demokrasi yaşadığımız zaman dilimi itibariyle bir siyasal sistem olmanın oldukça ötesine geçmiş, siyasal sistemlerin değerlendirilmesinde kullanılan temel bir ölçüt halini almıştır. Demokrasinin bu derece geniş bir içerik üzerinden kendisini var etmesi ise demokrasiye dönük beklentileri farklılaştırmıştır. Bir siyasal sistem olarak demokrasi çağımızın egemen siyasal söylemini oluştursa da kendisine dönük sorgulamalar ve eleştiriler tarihsel süreç içerisinde daima var olmuştur. Bu sorgulamaların bir kısmı demokrasiyi daha olgun bir düzleme taşıma iddiasını dile getirirken, diğer bir kısmı ise demokrasinin kendi içsel dinamiklerinden dolayı bir takım haksızlıklar üreten bir sistem olduğunu vurgulayarak ona karşı cephe almıştır. Bu çalışma, demokrasi açısından ortaya konulan bütün bu yeni arayış ve sorgulamaları, yaşadığı zaman dilimi itibariyle önceleyen ve temsili demokrasiye yönelik eleştiriler getiren Henry David Thoreau’nun düşünceleri bağlamında analiz etmeyi amaçlamaktadır. Anahtar kelimeler: Temsili Demokrasi, David Henry Thoreau, Sivil İtaatsizlik. Jel Kodları: H11, H19, H83 Alanı: Siyaset Bilimi Türü: Kavramsal DOI:10.9775/kauiibfd.2018.032 Atıfta bulunmak için: Aydın, S. & Nişancı, Ş. (2018). Henry David Thoreau’nun demokrasiye ilişkin düşünceleri üzerine bir değerlendirme. KAÜİİBFD, 9(18), 675-703. mailto:selcuk.aydin@atauni.edu.tr https://posta.atauni.edu.tr/CID callto:0000-0001-8997-9283 callto:0000-0001-8997-9283 mailto:sukrunisanci@atauni.edu.tr callto:0000-0002-3761 callto:0000-0002-3761 AN ANALYSIS OF HENRY DAVID THOREAU’S IDEAS ABOUT DEMOCRACY Article Submission Date: 13.08.2018 Accepted Date: 01.10.2018 Kafkas Üniversity Economics and Administrative Sciences Faculty KAUJEASF Vol. 9, Issue 18, 2018 ISSN: 1309 – 4289 E – ISSN: 2149-9136 Selçuk AYDIN Assistant Professor Atatürk University Faculty of Arts selcuk.aydin@atauni.edu.tr ORCID ID: 0000-0001- 8997-9283 Şükrü NİŞANCI Professor Atatürk University EASF sukrunisanci@atauni.edu.tr ORCID ID: 0000-0002- 3761-065X ABSTRACT Democracy, in the context of political science and political sociology, is one of the most widely talked about and discussed topics in the academia and in general public. In the contemporary world, democracy went far beyond being a political system and became the criterion for the evaluation of political systems. Such a broad standing of it differentiated expectations from democracy. Even though democracy constitutes the dominant political discourse of the contemporary world, criticisms towards it continue exist in the historical process. While some of these criticisms claim to carry democracy to a more mature level, others attacked democracy asserting that it is a system which produces injustices because of its internal dynamics. This study aims to analyze in the context of the ideas of Henry David Thoreau, who prioritizes all these new quests and interrogations in terms of democracy in terms of the time period he lived and brought criticism against representative democracy. Keywords: Representative Democracy, Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience Jel Codes: H11, H19, H83 Scope: Political Sciences Type: Review Cite this Paper: Aydın, S. & Nişancı, Ş. (2018). An analysis of Henry Davıd Thoreau’s ideas about democracy. KAUJEASF, 9(18), 675-703. mailto:selcuk.aydin@atauni.edu.tr https://posta.atauni.edu.tr/CID callto:0000-0001-8997-9283 callto:0000-0001-8997-9283 mailto:sukrunisanci@atauni.edu.tr callto:0000-0002-3761 callto:0000-0002-3761 KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 677 1. GİRİŞ Demokrasi, çağımızın siyasal alanda en gözde kavramlarından biri olmasına rağmen kendisiyle ilgili yoğun tartışmaların yaşanması hasebiyle üzerinde tam bir uzlaşı sağlanamayan bir kavram yahut anlayıştır. Buna rağmen küresel ölçekte demokrasi ulus devletler bağlamında siyasal sistemlerin temel argümanlarından ve meşruiyet kaynaklarının başında gelmektedir. Günümüzde hemen hemen bütün iktidarlar kendi siyasal yönetimlerini demokratik olarak tanımlamaktadır. Bu durumda demokrasi üzerine var olan tartışmaları güncel kılmaktadır. En bilinen tanımı itibariyle demokrasi halkın kendi kendisini yönetmesi şeklinde ifade edilmektedir. Halkın kendi kendisini nasıl ve ne şekilde yöneteceği ise farklı usul ve şekillerde olabilmektedir. Bu derece idealize edilen bir kategori olmasına rağmen demokrasi var olduğu günden beri ciddi sorgulamalara tabi tutulmuştur. Özellikle, katılım olgusu, temsil ve temsilin mahiyeti noktasında bir takım soru işaretleri söz konusudur. Bu noktada demokrasiyi daha ideal bir düzleme taşıma adına son dönemlerde katılımcı demokrasi başlığı altında birçok yeni demokrasi teorisi ortaya çıkmıştır. Bu teoriler, temsili demokrasi bağlamında ortaya çıkan sorunları ortadan kaldırma iddiasıyla daha çoğulcu ve katılımcı bir siyasal sistem elde etme amacına yönelmişlerdir. Öte yandan bazı düşünürler için ise demokrasi, gerçekleşmesi çok da mümkün olmayan bir ideal olarak algılanmaktadır. Yaşadığımız çağ itibariyle en yaygın yönetim şekli olan temsili demokrasi aslında halkın sadece kendi önüne konular arasında bir tercihte bulunduğu ve yönetim mekanizmasının dar bir kadronun elinde bulundurduğu bir sistem olarak algılanmaktadır. Bu durumu rasyonelleşmenin bizzat kendisine hamleden bakış açıları olduğu gibi, temsili demokrasinin yapısal bağlamının buna neden olduğunu iddia eden farklı yaklaşımlar söz konusudur. Aynı zamanda demokrasiyi yapısal bağlamı itibariyle bir takım haksızlıkları üretme potansiyeli olan bir sistem olarak algılayan ve bu nedenle ona karşı çıkan/cephe alan çok sayıda düşünür olduğu da unutulmamalıdır. Demokrasiyi bu açıdan teşrih masasına yatıran düşünürler içinde Henry David Thoreu özel bir yere ve öneme sahiptir. Henry David Thoreau yaşadığı zaman dilimi açısından Amerikan demokrasisini sorgulayan sarsıcı görüşlerin ve eylemsel pratiklerin temsilcisidir. Thoreau, özellikle sivil itaatsizlik bağlamında dünya ölçeğinde kabul edilmiş bir düşünür olmasının yanı sıra, yaşadığı zaman diliminde hem kölelik kurumuna hem de Amerika’nın Meksika’ya açmış olduğu savaşa da şiddetle karşı çıkmıştır. O, yaşadığı çağın egemen söylemlerine karşı başkaldırmış; demokrasi, devlet, iktidar, hükümet, KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 678 seçim, modernleşme, ulus devlet gibi kavramları eleştirel bir gözle değerlendirmiş, bu çerçevede Amerika’da uygulanan temsili demokrasiyi gerçekçi bir gözle sorgulamış ve onun adına ortaya konulan pratiklerin yapısal olarak ne tür sorunlara neden olduğunu/olabileceğini gözler önüne sermeye çalışmıştır. Bu çalışma ile öncelikle demokrasinin kavramsal temellerini ve son dönemde demokrasiye yönelik yapılan sorgulamaları ve eleştirileri genel hatlarıyla ortaya koyarak bu eleştirilerin oldukça öncesinde yaşamış olan Thoreau’nun yaşadığı çağın egemen paradigmalarından birisi olan demokrasiye dönük düşüncelerinin ele alınması amaçlanmıştır. Buna bağlı olarak günümüzde fazlasıyla idealize edilen bir sistemin reel bağlamı itibariyle ortaya koymuş olduğu sistematiğin ne tür problemler ürettiği, bahse konu düşünürün genel felsefesi üzerinden tarihsel ve betimsel yöntemle değerlendirilmeye çalışılmıştır. 2. KAVRAMSAL ÇERÇEVEDE DEMOKRASİ Demokrasi, sosyal bilimler söz konusu olduğunda gündemi çokça meşgul eden kavramlardan birisidir. Daha önce de ifade edildiği gibi, bu denli güncel bir kategori olmasına rağmen demokrasi kavramı üzerinde tam anlamıyla bir uzlaşı sağlanmış değildir. Bilindiği gibi demokrasi yaşadığımız çağ, siyasal yönetimler ve hem de bu yönetimlerin dayandıkları halk kitleleri açısından siyasal meşruiyetin temel unsurlarının başında gelmektedir. Bu durum ise siyasal yönetimler için demokrasi kavramını bir noktada sanki de vazgeçilmez kılmaktadır. Burns, hiçbir siyasal idealin, demokrasi kadar sağlam bir şekilde yerleşmiş görünmediğini, demokrasi idealinin, aydınlar, entelektüeller, çoğu burjuva liberalleri ve sosyalistler arasında kutsal bir saygınlığına sahip olduğunu belirtir. Özellikle de demokrasi sözcüğünün tarihsel süreç içerisinde birçok ülkede, despotluk ve geçmişten kalan feodal kalıntılara karşı birçok insan tarafından bir parola gibi kuşaktan kuşağa aktarıldığını iddia eden Burns (Burns, 1984, s. 3) demokrasinin bu derece farklı ideolojiler tarafından benimsenmesi ve de geniş bir alana yayılmasının, beraberinde bir takım sorunları da gündeme getirdiğine vurgu yapmaktadır. Mesela ona göre, demokrasi, kavramının kendi bağlamından kopartılıp bir takım siyasal sistemlerin veya siyasal figürlerin kimi uygulamalarını meşrulaştırmaya yarayan bir araç olarak algılanma tehlikesiyle karşı karşıya kalmasına neden olmaktadır. Benzer bir tehlikeye dikkat çeken Marshall, demokrasinin erdemine çok sayıda siyasal sistem ve ideolojinin sahip çıkması nedeniyle, bu sözcüğün gündelik kullanımının fiilen anlamsızlaşmaya yüz tuttuğunu, her türlü siyasal düzenlemeyi meşrulaştırmak için demokrasi terimine başvurulmasının artık çok sık rastlanılan bir durum olduğunu belirtmektedir (Marshall, 2009, s. 140). Her ne kadar demokrasi her türlü KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 679 siyasal yönetimin meşruiyetini sağlayan önemli bir argüman olarak kendi bağlamından uzaklaşma tehlikesiyle karşı karşıya kalsa da halen küresel ölçekte güncelliğini korumaya devam etmektedir. Demokrasinin en yaygın ve bilinen tanımlarından birisi Amerika Birleşik Devletleri eski başkanlarından Abraham Lincoln’a aittir. Lincoln demokrasiyi halkın, halk için, halk tarafından yönetimi şeklinde ifade etmektedir (Uygun, 2003, s. 9). Demokrasinin dünya ölçeğinde bir yönetim biçimi ve de yaygın bir siyasal düşünce sistemi haline gelmesi ise İkinci Dünya Savaşından sonra gerçekleşmiştir. İkinci Dünya Savaşını demokrasi cephesinin kazanması küresel ölçekte güçlü bir demokratikleşme dalgası yaratmıştır. Bu tarihe kadar demokrasi (Atina demokrasisi anlamında) bir istisna olarak var olmuştur. Demokrasi kelime olarak milattan önce dördüncü ve beşinci yüzyıllarda Grekçede kendisine has bir site örgütlenmesini ifade etmek amacıyla kullanılmış olsa da, kavramın benimsenmesi ve ona yüklenen anlam on dokuzuncu yüzyıldan beri büyük bir çeşitlenme / gelişme göstermiştir. Demokrasinin bu derece geniş bir alana/anlama yayılmış olması, onun sadece bir rejim adı olmayıp aynı zamanda her türlü siyasal rejimin alanını belirleyen bir içeriğe kavuşmasını da beraberinde getirmiştir. Bu durumda demokrasinin tanımlanan kurumlardan daha çok insan hakları şeklinde kategorize edilen değerler bütünüyle ifade edilmesine neden olmuştur. Bu nedenle de farklı kullanımlarının da işaret ettiği gibi sadece siyasal düzenle ilgili bir kavram olmanın ötesine geçen demokrasi bir bakıma çok farklı siyasal projelerin hem ortak hem de belirsiz kaynağı olarak kabul edilmeye başlanmıştır (Kervégan, 2011, s. 187). Demokrasi en bilinen anlamıyla, halk veya halk kitlesi manasına gelen “demos” ile iktidarı kullanmak ya da egemen olmak şeklinde karşılık bulan “kratein” kelimelerinden oluşmuş olan Yunanca kökenli bir kavramdır. Demokrasi kavramsal olarak, halkın doğrudan veya dolaylı bir şekilde egemenliğini ya da güç kullanımı anlamına gelmektedir (Tosun, 2005, s. 22). Atina tecrübesinden sonra demokrasi kavramı, toplum sözleşmesi kuramlarıyla yeniden hayat bulmuştur. Genel anlamda demokrasi, gücün tek bir elde toplanmasının doğuracağı muhtemel bir takım tehdit ve tehlikelere karşı, yönetimin bir takım kural ve ilkelerle sınırlandırılması anlayışı üzerine kurulan bir sistemdir. Demokrasi tarihsel süreç içerisinde, gücün tek elde toplanmasının doğuracağı sakıncanlar nedeniyle, geleneksel diktatörlüklere ve kralların ilahi olduğunu iddia ettikleri haklarına dayanan yönetim anlayışlarına karşı verilen bir tepki olarak ortaya çıkmıştır. Toplum sözleşmesi kuramlarının etkisiyle devlet, artık organik ve tarihsel bir siyasal oluşum olarak değil de tamamen insanlar tarafından oluşturulmuş yapay ve mekanik bir yapı olarak anlaşılmaya başlanmış, bu da insanlığı, siyasal meşruiyetin asli kaynaklarını sorgulamaya KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 680 ittiği gibi hükümet otoritesinin yani iktidarın son kaynağının, doğal hak ve özgürlüklere sahip bireylerden başka bir yerde aranamayacağı düşüncesine götürmüştür. Neticede iktidara kaynak teşkil etme noktasında, Tanrısallık ve kalıtsallık iddialarına dayalı yönetim anlayışı/tasarımı zamanla bütün meşruiyetini kaybetmiştir. Toplum sözleşmesi kuramlarıyla ortaya çıkan bireyi bir bakıma iktidarın kaynağı olarak gören ve karşılıklı hak ve yükümlülükleri esas alan bu yeni fikirsel tema zamanla hem demokrasinin hem de tarih sahnesinde yer alan demokratik hükümetlerin bir nevi esasını ve meşruiyet zeminlerini oluşturmuştur. On sekizinci yüzyılla birlikte ise demokrasi bir bakıma herhangi bir rejim biçimi olmanın ötesine geçerek bir rejimin değerlendirilmesinde kullanılan temel bir ölçüt haline gelmiştir (Miller, 1994, s. 165). Demokrasi kavramsal çerçevede, özgürlüğün ve eşitliğin hukuki bir takım normlarla belirlendiği ve bu normlar sayesinde güvence altına alındığı bir siyasal sistem olarak da kabul edilmektedir (Erdoğan, 1995, s. 3). Genel anlamıyla demokrasi, bir bakıma halkın hem yöneten ve yönetilen olması hem de en azından yönetilenlerin sayısal olarak en büyük sayıdaki kısmının mümkün olduğu derecede iktidara katılmasını esas alan bir sistemdir (Çam, 1977, s. 135). Seküler bir düzen/dünya içinde ortaya çıkan egemenlik anlayışı anlamına da gelen demokrasi, nihai olarak halkın iktidar mekanizmasının tek kaynağı olarak değerlendirildiği sisteme verilen isimdir (Schmidt, 2001, s. 16, Arblaster, 1999, s. 27) . Demokrasinin halkın halk tarafından yönetimi olarak hayat bulabilmesinin pratik olarak bir değere sahip olması için bir takım temel ilkeleri bünyesinde barındırması gerekmektedir. Bu ilkeler ise genel olarak; “birey, toplum ve devlet ilişkilerinin belirlenmesi sürecine halkın etkin bir şekilde katılması”, “azınlıkların hak ve özgürlüklerine saygıyı esas alan çoğunluk yönetiminin oluşturulması”, “bireylere ait hak ve özgürlüklerin korunarak güvence altına alındığı bir hukuk sisteminin bulunması” ve “toplumu oluşturan bireylere dönük fırsat eşitliğini sağlayacak mekanizmalara sahip olunması” şeklinde özetlenebilir (Çam, 1977, s. 135). Bugünün dünyasında, halkın iradesini bizzat temsil ettikleri iddiasıyla demokratik olduğunu iddia eden çok sayıda tek partili sistem bulunmaktadır ancak bu yapıların demokratik olmadığı açıktır. Çünkü genel kabulden yola çıkarak biliyoruz ki parti içinde gerçek bir rekabet ortamının olması ve farklı çıkarların gerçekten temsil edilmesi sağlayacak uygun bir atmosferin oluşturulması da demokrasinin var olma koşulları arasında yer almaktadır. “Kuvvetler ayrımı”, “serbest ve adil seçimler”, “tüm yurttaşların medeni haklara sahip olması”, “adaylar ile politikalar arasında tercih yapma olanağının bulunması”, “parlamentonun esas bir iktidara sahip olması” ve “hukukun egemenliği” gibi ilkeler de demokrasinin KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 681 zorunlu şartları arasında sayılabilir (Marshall, 2009, s. 141). Genel hatlarıyla özetlenecek olursa demokrasinin temelinde, yönetimin halkın rızasına dayanması, idarenin işlemlerinin yargı denetimine tabi olması, bireylerin kanun önünde eşit olmaları yer almaktadır. Bu özellikler ise bize demokrasinin halkın yönetiminin ötesinde bazı başka unsurları da içerdiğini ya da içermesi gerektiğini düşündürtmekte hatta telkin etmektedir. Dolayısıyla halkın kendi kendisini yönetiminin yanında, böyle bir yönetimin arzu edilen ölçülerde hayat bulabilmesi adına; gerekli özgürlük, hukuk devleti ve insan hakları gibi kategorilere de ihtiyaç duyulduğu anlaşılmaktadır (Yılmaz, 2003, s. 289). Modern anlamda demokrasiyi tekçi bir tanımlamayla izah etmek mümkün değildir. Bugünkü içeriği ile modern demokrasinin antik Yunan demokrasisinden ayrılan ve çoğunluğun despotizmine kaymasını engelleyen bir takım öğeleri de söz konusudur. Bu hususta Uygun, (2003) cumhuriyetçi gelenek, kuvvetler ayrılığı, siyasal temsil, liberalizm, doğal haklar kuramı, laiklik gibi ögelerin demokrasinin ideal ölçütlerde hayat bulması noktasında ihtiyaç duyduğu kavramların başında geldiğini belirtmektedir. Tüm bu düşüncelerin totaline bakıldığında, demokrasi bağlamında ortaya konan tema, düzenden daha çok özgürlüğün temel alındığı ve bireyin dokunulmazlığı noktasında, en azından toplum çıkarı kadar bireyin de önemli olduğu sonucuna dayanmaktadır. Bu nedenle hukuk devleti ya da hukukun üstünlüğü, seçim ve temsil ilkesi yanında demokratik siyasal rejim için bireyin özgünlüğü/özgürlüğü de olmazsa olmaz koşullar arasında yer almaktadır (Şaylan, 2009, s. 20). Anlaşılacağı üzere demokrasi çok boyutlu bir kavramdır. Her ne kadar bir yönetim biçimi olarak hayat bulsa da, demokrasinin ideal ve arzu edilen düzlemde var olabilmesi için hem yaşam biçimi olarak hem de bu yaşam biçiminin hayata aksettirilmesi adına bir takım değerlere sahip olması gerekmektedir. Onu sadece bir takım ölçütler üzerinden siyasal bir sistem olarak kabul etmek bugün için genel kabul gören modern demokratik anlayıştan uzaklaşmak anlamına gelmektedir. Bu nedenle demokrasi teorik düzlemde sadece siyaset bağlamında değerlendirilebilecek bir kavram olmanın oldukça ötesine geçmiştir. Toplumsal yaşamın bütün formasyonlarını kapsayan bütünsel bir kavramdır. Belki de bu derece geniş bir anlam yumağına denk düşmesi demokrasinin tanımlanmasını zorlaştırdığı gibi demokrasi üzerine yapılan tartışmaları da güncel kılmaktadır. Yine de demokrasinin en temel noktası bir siyasal sistem olarak hayat bulmasıdır. Bir siyasal sistem olarak hayat bulan demokrasi genel hatları itibariyle üç farklı biçimde ortaya çıkmaktadır. Bunlardan ilki “doğrudan demokrasi”dir. Doğrudan demokrasi halkın yasaların kabulü için toplanarak doğrudan KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 682 doğruya kararlar aldığı ve kendi kendini araya başka herhangi bir aracı koymadan yönettiği bir sitemi tanımlamaktadır. Halk, böyle bir sistemde yasaların yapımını bizzat kendisi üstlendiği gibi egemenliği/iktidarı herhangi bir kuruma devretmeden aracısız/doğrudan bir şekilde kendisi kullanmaktadır. Yani böyle bir pratikte, yasama erkini halkın kendisi üstlendiği için bu erk hiçbir kişi ve kurumla paylaşılmamakta devlet/polis/toplum için gerekli tüm kararlar bizzat halk tarafından alınmaktadır. Önemli kararların alınması, yasaların yapılması ve bunların nasıl ve ne şekilde uygulanacağı gibi konularda yetkili merci özetle halkın kendisidir. Doğrudan demokrasinin en bilinen örneği ise eski Yunan site devletlerinde hayat bulmuştur. Bugün ise sadece İsviçre’nin bazı kantonlarında ve ancak bazı konularda çok sınırlı doğrudan demokrasi uygulamaları görülmektedir (Arslan, 2011, s. 269). Doğrudan demokrasinin ilk örneğini oluşturan Atina demokrasisi, temelde, yurttaş sayılan erkek halkın meclis toplantılarına katılarak sitenin yönetiminde söz sahibi olmasını nitelemektedir. Yani yurttaşlar sitenin yönetimine temsilciler aracılığıyla değil doğrudan katılma hakkına sahiptir. Meclis, bir nokta da Atina demokrasisinin merkezi ve hayat bulduğu yerdir. Yurttaş olarak kabul edilen her birey polisin hayatını şekillendirme hakkı ve sorumluluğuna sahiptir (Heater, 2007, s. 46). Atina demokrasisinin üç temel özelliği söz konusudur. Bunlar eşitlik ideali, özgürlüğe sahip olmak, katılıma inanmaktır. Ancak bu özellikler sadece Atina’da yurttaşlık hakkına sahip olanlarla ilgilidir. Kölelerin, Atina dışında doğan ve burada çoğunlukla ticaret için yerleşmiş bulunan “metek”lerin (yabancılar) ve insan hukukuna sahip olmadıkları varsayıldığı için kadınların bu demokrasi tecrübesine ortak olma ya da alınan kararlara katılma hakları yoktur. Kısaca Heater’ın tanımladığı gibi: “Atina demokrasisi, bir bakıma sadece yurttaş olanların eşitliği, özgürlüğü ve katılımı anlamında bir değere sahiptir” (2007, s. 40-43). Atina demokrasisi genel hatlarıyla değerlendirildiğinde kararların alınması ve uygulanması noktasında bir takım sorunların ve şüphelerin olduğu açıkça görülecektir. Bu sorunların başında; doğrudan demokrasinin sadece elit bir kesimi ilgilendirmesi, toplumu oluşturan ana kütleyi dışarda bırakması gelmektedir. Antik Yunan uygulamalarının da gösterdiği gibi “doğrudan demokrasi” ancak sayıca az ve türdeş topluluklar için uygun bir yönetim biçimi olabilir. Toplumsal yapının karmaşıklık arz ettiği, nüfusun sayıca kalabalık ve geniş bir coğrafyaya yayıldığı yerlerde doğrudan demokrasinin hayat bulabilmesi oldukça zordur. Ayrıca kent devletlerinde ortalama 6000 kişilik “halk meclisi”nde herkesin teorik olarak konuşma hakkı olmasına rağmen, kamu işlerini iyi bilen ve hitabet yeteneği güçlü kişilerin mecliste hâkimiyet kurarak alınacak olan kararları etkileme potansiyeline sahip olmaları da önemli bir sorundur. Bu durum ise karar alınma sürecinde yurttaşların kararlarının KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 683 birileri tarafından kolayca yönlendirilmesi (manipülasyon) ihtimalini gündeme getirmektedir. Diğer bir zorluk da demokrasinin bizzat kendi yapısal durumundan kaynaklanabilir. Yani doğrudan demokrasi, “çoğunluğun diktatörlüğü” ihtimali gibi yüksek bir riski bünyesinde barındırmaktadır. Kararların çoğunlukla alınması azınlıkta kalanların haklarının ve isteklerinin dikkate alınmama ihtimalini de akla getirmektedir. Yine yurttaşlık kavramsallaştırması bağlamında yapılacak tanımlamanın içeriğinden kaynaklanabilecek sorunlar da katılım olgusu noktasında çeşitli problemleri gündeme getirebilir. Doğrudan demokrasinin uygulamada yaşadığı zorluklar ve bünyesinde barındırdığı sorunlar “temsili demokrasi” diye adlandırılan yeni bir demokrasi türünün doğmasına neden olmuştur. Toplumsal sözleşme kuramlarından hareketle bireylere ait olan egemenliğin sözleşme aracılığıyla bir üst egemene devredilmesi şeklinde kendisini gösteren bu yönetim şekli aslında büyük topluluklarda herkesin bir araya gelerek karar almasının zorluğuna bağlı olarak ortaya çıkmıştır. Bu durum ise temsili demokrasinin bir noktada esasını oluşturmuştur. Temsili demokrasi, genel bağlamıyla yetişkin olarak kabul edilen bireylerin yönetim sürecine eşit olarak katılmalarını ve siyasal gücü kullanacak olanların halkın temsilcisi olarak yine halk tarafından seçilmesini ve denetlenmesini kapsayan bir siyasal yönetim şeklidir. Mamafih Şaylan, tam da bununla ilgili bir gerçekliğe, siyasetin ya da toplumdaki insanlar arasında vuku bulan iktidar ilişkilerinin temel kaynağı olarak çıkar dağıtımı olgusuna vurgu yapmaktadır. Bu noktada, siyasal sistemlerin temel işlevi Şaylan için toplumdaki kaynakların bölüşümünü sağlamaktır. Bu yoruma göre temsili demokrasi, toplumdaki bütün yetişkin insanların seçim ve temsil ilkesinin işlerliği içinde siyasal iktidarın belirlenmesine katıldıkları ve böylece toplumdaki her yetişkin insanın oy vererek, bölüşümdeki konumunu daha iyiye getirmeye çalıştığı bir sistem olarak hayat bulmaktadır (Şaylan, 2009, s. 26-27). Diğer bir demokrasi türü de “yarı doğrudan demokrasi”dir. Melez diyebileceğimiz demokrasinin bu özgün olmayan türü, temsili demokrasiyle doğrudan demokrasiyi bir bakıma sentezlemeye çalışan bir yönetim şeklidir. Temsili demokraside halk iktidarı bütünüyle temsilcilerine bıraktığı gibi yönetenlerin yeniden seçilmeme durumu hariç yönetilenler tarafından kontrol edilememektedir. Yarı doğrudan demokrasi ise halkın bir bakıma temsilcilerini bir takım araçlarla kontrol ettikleri ve de iktidarı bu araçlar sayesinde temsilciler ile paylaştıkları bir sistemdir. Halk, temsili demokrasi de olduğu gibi temsilcilerini seçmekte ancak önemli konularda, karar alma yetkisini bizzat kendisi üstlenmektedir. Halk bu yetkisini ise veto, referandum ve telif hakkı (inisiyatif alma) şeklindeki araçlarla kullanmaktadır. Veto; yönetenler KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 684 tarafından alınmış bir kararın, halkın istememesi halinde yasanın yayımını izleyen belirli bir zaman dilimi içinde anlamı sayıda dilekçe ile gerçekleştirilebilir. Referandum ise, temsilciler aracılıyla hazırlanmış ve mecliste kabul edilmiş yasaların yürürlüğe girebilmesi için halk tarafından onaylanması demektir. Halk inisiyatifi de hükümet politikalarına doğrudan yön verebilmek için, anlamlı sayıda yurttaş tarafından imzalanmış dilekçeler ile bir takım değişiklikler yapılması veya herhangi bir yasa taslağının yasama meclislerine götürülmesi esasına dayanmaktadır (Çam, 1977, s. 153-154). Bugün dünya ölçeğinde demokrasi noktasında en yaygın uygulamaların başında temsili demokrasi gelmektedir. Temsili demokrasi ise özellikle referandum uygulamalarını sürece dahil ederek daha etkin bir siyasal sistem oluşturma amacına yönelmiştir. Temsilin mahiyetini artırmak adına istisnalar dışarıda bırakılmak kaydıyla referandum aracılığıyla halkın önemli konulara katılımının sağlanmasına çalışılmaktadır. Ancak referandum uygulamasıyla ilgili olarak bir takım sorunlar söz konusudur. Referanduma konu edilen değişiklikler paket halinde kitlelere sunulduğunda toptan bir evet ya da hayır şeklinde iki seçeneğin söz konusu edilmesi olayın demokratik tarafını zedeler mahiyettedir. Ayrıca yaşadığımız çağın karmaşık yapısı ve yönetim konularında ortaya çıkan bilginin mahiyeti göz önünde tutulduğunda referandumun konusunu oluşturan değişiklikler hakkında halkın bilinç düzeyi ve bu kapsamda da manipülasyon olgusu devreye girebilmektedir. Aynı zamanda yol açtığı maliyetler ve günümüzde özellikle dış politikada hızlı karar alma ihtiyacına elverişli olmaması, referandum uygulamasına dönük haklı tartışmaları gündeme getirmektedir. 3. DEMOKRASİYE YÖNELTİLEN ELEŞTİRİLER VE YENİ ARAYIŞLAR Bugün geldiğimiz noktada demokrasi bir siyasal sistem olarak daha çok “temsili” bir niteliğe sahip olarak hayat bulmaktadır. Demokrasi halkın temsilciler aracılığıyla yönetime katılımını sağlayan bir rejim olmakla birlikte sadece halkın partiler ve onların aracılığıyla temsilcilerini seçtikleri bir yapı olmanın ötesinde bir takım değerler yumağını da zorunlu kılan bir sistemdir. Bu durum demokrasi üzerinden yaşanan tartışmaların yoğunlaşarak artmasına neden olmaktadır. Özellikle “temsil” ve “katılım” bağlamında demokrasi ağır bir takım eleştirilere maruz kaldığı gibi bu durum aynı zamanda yeni bazı arayışları ve sorgulamaları da beraberinde getirmektedir. Bu nokta da özellikle son yıllarda katılım kavramı köklü bir biçimde eleştirilmekte ve temsili demokrasi bağlamında katılımın sosyo- ekonomik yapının bir takım özellikleri tarafından iyice sınırlandığı iddia edilmektedir. Ayrıca yaşanan çağ itibariyle bölüşüm olgusunun giderek artan ölçekte küresel KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 685 mekanizmalara bağımlı hale gelmesi neticesinde ulusal/ulus devlet bağlamında temsili demokrasinin, en azından anlam ve işlevinin değiştiği/dönüştüğü yeni bir durumun söz konusu olduğu ileri sürülmektedir. Şaylan bu nokta da katılım kavramının kendi içinde bir paradoks barındırdığını özellikle gelişmiş toplumlarda seçimlere katılım oranlarının uzun dönemde sürekli değişme eğilimi göstermesinin de sözü edilen bu durumun göstergelerinden biri olduğunu ifade etmektedir. Ona göre oy vermenin dışında vatandaş-bireyin siyasete nasıl katılacağı artık belli değildir. Vatandaş-bireyin işi, kültürel yaşamı ve eğlencesi dışında siyasal sürece katılmak için ne zamanı ne de gerekli kaynağı söz konusudur. Öte yandan küreselleşme sürecinin dünya ölçeğinde katılımı zorlaştırdığı, katılım ve etkileme yerine evrensel bir yönlendirmenin geçerli olmaya başladığına ilişkin iddialarda bu noktada dikkat çekici bir niteliktedir. Bu durum ise yirmi birinci yüzyılın eşiğinde, temsili demokrasinin bir kriz durumuyla karşı karşıya olduğuna dönük tartışmaları ve de demokrasinin idealize edilen bağlamının dışında bir yapıya sahip olduğu eleştirilerini gündeme getirmektedir (Şaylan, 2009, s. 26-27). Keza yaşadığımız çağın karmaşıklık arz etmesi, uzmanlaşmanın her geçen gün yaygınlaşarak yönetim kavramının ciddi oranlarda bilgi ve yetenek gerektirmesi, demokrasi noktasında bir takım yılgınlıklara, kafa karışıklıklarına neden olmaktadır. Bu kapsamda Joseph A. Schumpeter’in modern demokrasilerde siyaset olgusunun bir meslek olduğunu ve siyasal sürecin bu mesleğin erbabı olan siyasetçiler arasındaki rekabetine dayandığını ileri süren görüşleri oldukça manidardır. Bu noktadan hareketle Schumpeter, demokrasinin halkın yönetimi anlamına gelmediğini, sadece halkın yönetenleri kabul etmek ya da reddetmek imkânına sahip olduğu bir yönetim biçimi olarak anlam kazandığını belirtmektedir. Bu şartlar altında demokrasi aslında siyasetçiler ve bürokratları (üst kademe kamu görevlileri) içine alan siyaset sınıfının yönetimini akla getirmektedir. Yapısal karmaşıklık ve teknolojik gelişmenin belirleyici unsur olduğu modern toplumlarda sıradan vatandaşın kamu düzenine dair ortaya koyacağı herhangi bir proje yoktur (Vergin, 2011, s. 133-134). Max Weber’in modern çağı ifade etmek için kullandığı ve bu kapsamda da Schumpeter’in ifade ettiği ussallaşma/rasyonelleşme anlayışı hayatın her alanında kendisini uzmanlaşmanın yaygınlaşması şeklinde ortaya koyduğu gibi bu durum siyaset alanını da kapsayan bir gelişme olarak karşımıza çıkmaktadır. Siyaset niteliği gereği artık profesyonellerin kuşatabildiği ve hükmedebildiği bir alandır. Profesyonellerin egemen olduğu bu alanda yönetim bağlamında gerekli olan bilginin mahiyeti dikkate alındığında, sıradan vatandaşın ortaya koyacağı her türlü bilgi ya da yetenek şüpheyle karşılanacaktır. Öte yandan değişimin oldukça yoğun yaşandığı bir dünyada hayatın her alanında entegrasyonun sağlanabilmesi adına kararların hız ve çabukluk KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 686 gerektirmesi vatandaşın istek ve beklentilerinin kısa ve etkin bir şekilde demokratik sistemlere entegre edilmesini zorlaştırmaktadır. Yönetim/iktidar noktasında hem temsilde adaletin sağlanması hem de temsilin etkinliğini artırmak ve katılım olgusunu işler hale getirme adına alınacak kararlar bir bakıma yönetimde istikrarın sağlanması hususunda sorunlara neden olabilmektedir. Kendi içsel dinamikleri göz önüne alındığında demokrasi “temsilde adalet”in sağlanması ve katılım olgusunun yaygınlaşması gibi iki ana vektörü gerekli hatta zorunlu kılsa da pratikte gerilimli bir süreç olarak işlemektedir. Buna bağlı olarak dünyadaki yaygın örneklerinden görüleceği gibi demokrasi uygulamaları, temsilde adaletten vaz geçme pahasına yönetimde istikrarın sağlanması şeklinde tecelli etmektedir. Bu durum ise demokrasinin gerçekte bir ideal olarak var olduğu reel politikte ise demokrasi adı altında biçimlenen siyasal yönetimlerin az sayıda insandan oluşan elit bir tabaka tarafından yönlendirildiği eleştirilerine neden olmaktadır. Faaliyetlerinin niceliği ve niteliği artan ve aynı ölçüde karmaşıklaşan devlet mekanizmasında yönetim faaliyetlerinin giderek daha fazla uzmanlık gerektirmesi ve bu noktada toplumun aslında sınırlı sayıda olan ve diğerlerinden/toplumdan ayrılan yeteneklere sahip bir tabaka tarafından yönetildiği iddiaları ise akla, siyaset sosyoloji bağlamında seçkinci/elitist yaklaşımları getirmektedir. Vilfredo Pareto, Robet Michels, C.Wright Mills, Joseph A. Schumpeter ve Gaetano Mosca gibi elitist düşünürler, tüm toplumlarda var olan seçkin bir grubun, yani az sayıda elit bir kesimin, siyaset kurumunu yönlendirdiklerini ve toplumu yönettiklerini iddia etmektedirler. Söz konusu zevatın düşüncelerinin ortak kesim kümesi, “eşitsizlik” olgusunun tüm toplumsal ilişkilerin değişmez bir paradigması olduğu şeklindedir. Bu düşünürlere göre eşitsizlik olgusu toplumsal hayatta var olduğu sürece (-ki hep var olacaktır) demokrasi adı altında hayat bulan bütün siyasal sistemler bir aldatmaca ve yanılsamadan öteye gidemeyeceklerdir. Aslında demokrasi bu kabil düşünenler nezdinde bir yönüyle de erişilmesi çok da mümkün olmayan bir idealdir. Kısaca elitist düşünürlere göre, seçkinler ile kitleler arasındaki ayrımın evrenselliği söz konusudur; her toplumda seçkinler(yönetenler) ve kitle(yönetilenler) şeklinde iki katman vardır ve bu olgu toplumların bir bakıma değişmez kaderidir ve toplumsal bir yasasıdır (Vergin, 2011, s.122-123). Bu ve benzeri argümanlar eşliğinde katılım ve temsil süreçlerinde yaşanan aksaklıklar nedeniyle temsili demokrasi pek çok düşünür tarafından ciddi bir takım sorgulamalara tabi tutulmuştur. Beri yandan söz konusu kuşku ve eleştirilere paralel olarak son dönemde katılımcı demokrasi başlığı altında demokrasinin yeniden yorumlanması ve etkinliğinin artırılmasına dönük arayışlar da söz konusudur. Demokratik teori temelinde yaşanan tartışmalara paralel olarak geliştirilen katılımcı demokrasinin son dönemde birçok modeli KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 687 ortaya çıkmıştır. Radikal demokrasi, müzakereci demokrasi, güçlü demokrasi, diyolojik demokrasi, feminist demokrasi, genişlemeci demokrasi, yeşil(ci) demokrasi, kozmopolit demokrasi, yeni-doğrudan demokrasi, tanım skalasının/silsilesinin en çok bilinen modelleridir. Aslında bu kuramları bir birinden ayırt etmek oldukça güç olsa da bu kuramların temelde en büyük ortak paydası aktif siyasal yurttaşlığı yeniden kurgulamak istemeleridir. Tüm bu modeller bir bakıma cumhuriyet ve katılım noktasında yurttaş tipolojisini ideal ölçülerde yeniden kurgulayarak bu durumu normatif bir karaktere taşıma bağlamında benzerlikler taşımaktadır. Liberal temsili modelin eleştirisi üzerine bina edilen bu teoriler, liberal temsili demokrasinin mevcut, tanımlarını, kurumlarını ve unsurlarını hem kendi içlerinde hem de birbirleriyle olan ilişkileri bağlamında yeniden kurgulamak istemişlerdir. Özellikle liberal demokratik söylem ve bu söylem üzerinden hayat bulan kurumlara dönük şüphe ve güvensizlik bu yeni teorilerin ortaya çıkma nedenidir (Tosun, 2005, s. 25). Bu teorilerin esas amacı, demokrasiye duyulan bu güvensizliği ortadan kaldırarak, demokrasiyi daha ileri bir perspektife taşımaktır. Katılımcı demokrasi bağlamında ise iki farklı ucu temsil eden “radikal demokrasi” ve “müzakereci demokrasi”ye kısaca değinmek gerekirse, ilki açısından, Chantal Mouffe ve Ernesto Laclau tarafından ortaya konulan “çekişmeci” (Agonistik) yaklaşım ön plana çıkmaktadır. Çekişmeci yaklaşımın temel odak noktası kamusal yaşam “farklılıklar ve çatışma üzerine inşa edilmiştir” fikrine dayanır. Bu alanda yaşanan çatışma ve gerilimlerin müzakere süreciyle ortadan kalkmasının mümkün olmadığını iddia eden bu yaklaşım, aslında demokrasinin var olma nedeninin bizzat çatışma ve gerilim ile açıklamaya çalışmaktadır. Bu nedenle de farklı kimlikler arasında ortaya çıkabilecek bir uzlaşı ortamının bir bakıma çoğulculuğa dayalı ideal demokrasiyi yok edeceği varsayılmaktadır. Toplumsal dünyada yaşanan çatışma ve çelişki olgularının demokrasinin olmazsa olmaz koşulları olarak kabul eden model, bu durumu ortadan kaldırmaya dönük atılacak her adımın (her türlü uzlaşmanın) demokratik bir içerikte olmasının oldukça ötesinde değerlendirilebileceğine vurgu yapmaktadır (Mouffe, 2000, s. 310). Çekişmeci model, yaşanan çağın odak noktasının kimlik siyaseti/savaşı üzerine bina edileceğini ve bu süreçte yapılması gereken temel şeyin ise kimlikler arasındaki ilişkileri düzenlemek ve çoğul bir kimlik siyaseti için gerekli olan unsurları belirlemek şeklinde ifade etmiştir. Bu doğrultuda, toplumsal ve siyasal alanda farklılıkların beraber yaşamasını ve var olmasını sağlayarak oldukça özgün bir kamusal alanın varlığını ima etmektedir. “Çekişmeci/agnostik demokrasi”, farklılıkları ortadan kaldıran ve aynılaşma üzerinden farklı kimlikleri tek tipleştirmeye çalışan temsili liberal demokrasinin ortaya koyduğu çoğulculuk anlayışını reddetmekte; her türlü sınıfsal, ideolojik KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 688 ve kültürel isteklerin tek tipleştirilmeden kamusal alanda temsil edilmesini savunmaktadır (Özdemir, 2013, s. 83-84). Katılımcı demokrasi kategorisinde ele alınması gereken yaklaşımlardan bir diğeri de “müzakereci demokrasi” yaklaşımıdır. Jürgen Habermas’ın öncülüğünde şekillenen bu yaklaşım, temsili liberal demokrasinin yaşadığı temel sorunlardan olan meşruiyet krizinin farklılıkları esas alan bir iletişim tarzı ile müzakere ve diyalog süreciyle ortadan kalkabileceğini savunmaktadır. Habermas, meşru demokratik bir yönetimin, sadece yasalarla ya da hukukun üstünlüğü gibi normlar üzerinden kendisini var edemeyeceğini vurgular. Bu noktada demokrasinin ideal ölçekte hayat bulabilmesi ve yaşadığı sorunları ortadan kaldırabilmesi adına aynı zamanda farklılıkların birbirleriyle diyaloğunu sağlayacak bir müzakere ve iletişim sürecini hayata aksettirecek bir karar alma mekanizması geliştirmek zorunda olduğunu belirtir. (Habermas, 2010, s. 26-27-43-44). Çağımızın önde gelen düşünürlerinden olan Habermas,“kamusal alan” kavramını müzakere ve iletişime raptederek oldukça özgün bir tanıma ulaşır. Habermas, kamusal alanı her türlü farklı fikir ve düşüncenin kendisini rahat bir şekilde ifade edebileceği aynı zamanda bu farklı isteklerin, belli bir düzen dâhilinde kolektif bir şekilde tartışılabileceği söylemsel bir etkileşim alanı olarak görmektedir. Habermas, demokrasiyi sadece devlet-yurttaş ilişkisi olarak algılamamaktadır. O, kamusal alanı iletişim ve konuşma aracılığıyla siyasal katılımın sahnelendiği bir tiyatroya benzetir. Bu alan kavramsal olarak devletten ayrı bir içeriğe sahiptir (Sarıbay, 2000, s. 4). Bu kapsamda da demokrasi, Habermas için kamusal alan üzerinden hayatın her veçhesinde farklı kimliklerin eşit birer özne olarak kabul edildiği ve söz konusu bu kimliklerin kendi hayatlarını etkileyen kararlara doğrudan ve aktif bir şekilde katıldıkları, alınacak kararlar üzerinde ise her türlü iletişim, tartışma ve sorgulama yapabildikleri söylemsel bir süreç olarak anlaşılmaktadır. Uzunca bir süre hakim siyasal paradigma olan temsili demokrasi kendine dönük beklentileri arzu edilen düzeyde karşılayamaması nedeniyle sorgulanmış ve bu arıza ve eksikliklerin telafisi yahut minimize edilmesi için “katılımcı demokrasi” bağlamlı birçok yeni yaklaşım önerilmiştir. Katılımcılık olgusuna yeni bir soluk kazandıran bu modeller temsili demokrasiye yeni bir alan açmış ve yirmi birinci yüzyıl bağlamında insanoğlunun farklılaşan ihtiyaçlarına karşılık bir nebze olsun demokrasinin demokratikleşmesi adına bir takım katkılar sağlamıştır (Özdemir, 2013, s. 75). Ancak katılımcı demokrasi etrafında ortaya konan bütün bu yaklaşımların reel düzlemde nasıl karşılık bulacakları/buldukları oldukça tartışmalıdır. Örneğin reel düzlemde agnostik demokrasi açısından özellikle Ulus devlet ölçeğinde farklı kimliklerin nasıl temsil edilebileceği ya da katılımcı demokrasi bağlamında müzakere ortamının nasıl tesis edileceğine dair şüpheler söz konusudur. Bu durumda reel dünyada KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 689 bütün bu yeni teorilerin ortaya koymuş oldukları sistematiğin tam ve uygulanabilir bir stratejiye dönüşme potansiyelinin oldukça zor olacağına ilişkin iddiaları akla getirmektedir. Neticede yirminci yüzyılın sonu ve yirmi birinci yüzyılın başlarında demokrasi bağlamında ortaya konulan eleştiriler ve yeni arayışlar dikkate alındığında Henry David Thoreau’nun bu konuda ortaya koymuş olduğu fikirlerin yeniden değerlendirilmesi anlamlı hale gelmiştir. Çünkü Thoreau, günümüzde demokrasi konusunda dile getirilen ya da ima edilen sorunları yıllar öncesinden gündeme getirmiş ve Amerikan siyasal sistemi üzerinden demokrasi uygulamalarını net bir şekilde eleştirmiştir. 4. HANRY DAVİD THOREAU’NUN YAŞAMI VE GENEL FELSEFESİ Henry David Thoreau Amerika Birleşik Devletlerinde 12 Temmuz 1817 günü Massachussets’in Concord kentinde doğmuş ve yaşamının büyük bir kısmını da burada geçirmiştir. 1837 yılında Harvard’daki öğrenimini tamamlayan Thoreau mezun olduktan sonra belli bir süre öğretmenlik yapmıştır. Öğrencilik yıllarında tanıştığı ve kendisini oldukça fazla etkileyen düşünür Ralp Waldo Emerson’un (1841-1843) bir süre asistanı gibi çalışan Thoreau, 1845 yılında Concord’un dışında bulunan Walden Gölü kıyısında bir kulübe inşa ederek burada modern yaşamdan uzak iki yıl geçirmiştir (Thoreau, 1963, s. 6). Bu süre zarfında sağlığında yayınlanmış olan “Walden” ve “A Week on the Concord and the Merrimack Rivers” adlı eserlerini yazmıştır. Amerika’da uygulanan kölelik uygulamalarını ve de köleliğe karşı savaşan John Brown’un verdiği savaşı destelemek için yazdığı “A Plea for Captain Brown”, “Martyrdom of Brown” ve “The Last Days Of John Brown” adlı denemeleri ve günlükleri ise ölümünden sonra yayınlanmıştır. Özellikle 1849 yılında yazdığı “Civil Disobedience” isimli makalesi yaşadığı dönemde olmasa da ölümünden sonra kendisine iyi bir ün kazandırdığı gibi dünya çapında da yankılar uyandırmıştır (Thoreau, 2014, s. 4). Thoreau 6 Mayıs 1862 günü doğduğu yer olan Concord’da ölmüştür. Thoreau’nun “On the Relations of the Individual to the State / Resistance to Civil Government /Civil Disobedience” adlı makalesi ölümünden sonra Thoreau’nun tanınmasına ve dünya ölçeğinde sivil itaatsizlik olgusu bağlamında önemli bir figür olarak anılmasına neden olmuştur. Concord’dan birkaç kilometre uzaklıkta, kendi inşa ettiği kulübede yazar olarak geçirdiği yıllar esnasında, sivil itaatsizlik tartışmasının kavramsal temellerinin atılmasına neden olan olayları da Thoraeu burada yaşamıştır. 1846 yılı Temmuz ayında seçim vergisini (poll tax) ödemediği gerekçesi ile bir günlüğüne nezarethanede tutulan KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 690 Thoreau bir aile üyesinin söz konusu cezayı ödemesi üzerine ertesi gün salıverilmiştir. Thoreau’nun sivil itaatsizlik noktasında yaşadığı tek eylemsel deneyim bu olaydır. 1848 yılında Concord’da verdiği bir konferansta bu eyleminin meşruluğunu ve kuramsal temellerini ortaya koymaya çalışan Thoreau’nun bu tebliği 1849’da “Aesthetic Paper” adlı dergide “Resistance to Civil Government” başlığıyla yayınlamasına rağmen çok fazla dikkat çekmemiştir (Thoreau & Gandhi, 2012: s. 27-35). Bu makale ile Thoreau sivil itaatsizliği ete ve kemiğe büründürmeye ve haksızlık karşısında bireylerin ne yapabilecekleri noktasında sivil itaatsizliği etkin bir araç olarak gündeme getirmeye çalışmıştır. Thoreau, ölümünden sonra özellikle sivil itaatsizlik üzerine yazdığı makalesiyle ünlenmesine rağmen hem yaşadığı dönemde kölelikle ilgili düşünceleri bağlamında hem de Amerika’nın Meksika’ya karşı açmış olduğu savaşa karşı takındığı tavır noktasında farklı bir gözle değerlendirilmeyi hak etmektedir. Thoreau kendi yaşadığı çağ dikkate alındığında özellikle modernleşme, devlet, temsili demokrasi ve onun somut yansıması olan iktidar/hükümet kavramlarına karşı eleştirel bir bakış açısıyla yaklaşmıştır. Thoreau hakkında fikirlerin çatallaşmasının temel sebebi de bu olmalıdır. Olumlu ya da olumsuz Thoreau hakkındaki peşin ve acele kararlar onun demokrasi hakkındaki görüşlerini bulanıklaştırarak anlaşılmasını zorlaştırmıştır. Öyle bir dezenformasyon ve çarpıtma süreci yaşanmıştır ki Thoreau bazı düşünürler tarafından liberal demokrasiyi kutsayan bir demokrat gibi gösterilebilmiştir. Öte yandan yaşadığı çağ ve Amerika’da uygulanan demokratik sisteme dönük yönelttiği radikal eleştirileri farklı bir gözle değerlendiren ve bu kapsamda da Thoreau’yu demokrasi karşıtı cepheye yerleştiren çok sayıda düşünürün olduğu da bir vakıadır. Thoreau’yu önemli kılan onun demokrasi taraftarlığı ve karşıtlığı noktasındaki duruş ve görüşleri değildir. Demokrasi gibi siyasal konular dahil onun en dikkate değer yönü, her düşünceyi, her eylemi üst bir ahlak anlayışına rapt etmesidir. “Eğer ben boğulmakta olan bir adamın elindeki tahtayı çekip almışsam, bunu kendi boğulmam pahasına geri vermek zorundayım” (Thoreau, 2007, s. 362) diyen Thoreau aslında bütün düşünce sistematiğini ve bu sistematiğin arkasında yatan temel unsurları net bir şekilde ortaya koymaktadır. Adalet kavramını temel bir prensip olarak kabul eden Thoreau, hangi koşulda olursa olsun haksızlığın ortağı olmamak şeklinde bir ahlaki bakış açısı geliştirmiştir. Haksızlıkların söz konusu olduğu durumlarda ise Thoreau, insan onuruna yakışan bir duruş sergilenmesi gerektiğini savunmuştur. Önce insan(erdemli bir birey) olunması gerektiğini sonrasında uyruk/vatandaş olunabileceğini belirten Thoreau, ulus devletin harcını teşkil eden vatandaşlığı ve bu temelde yükselen demokrasiyi ahlak ilkesiyle mihenge KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 691 vurarak mevcut kabullerin sorgulanmasının önünü açmıştır. Mesela modern siyasal paradigmada bir muta (dogma) gibi görülen vatandaşlık(uyrukluk) bir takım kabulleri zorunlu kıldığı gibi bu uyrukluğun mahiyeti de bir takım hakların ortadan kalkmasına ya da görmezden gelinmesine neden olabilir. Thoreau böylesi bir duruma maruz kalmamak adına insanlığı/vicdanı önceleyen bir bakış açısı geliştirmiştir. Thoreau’nun insanilik/vicdanilik felsefesinin temeli “doğal haklar” felsefesinin ta kendisidir. Yaşantısı boyunca da bu felsefeyle uyumlu bir tavır ortaya koymuştur. Köleliğe karşı olması, Meksika savaşını reddetmesi ve Walden gölünde devletin ona sunduğu imkânlardan uzakta yaşaması ve de vergi vermeği reddederek cezaevine atılması aslında hiçte tesadüfi değildir. Bu tercihlerin hepsi aslında Thoreau’nun benimsediği ahlak anlayışının bizzat kendi yaşamına aktarılmasının sonucudur. Thoreau’nun bütün arayışı ve sorgulamaları daha adil bir yaşamın nasıl sağlanacağı üzerinedir. İdealize ettiği değerler bağlamında erdeme dayalı, adil, eşitlikçi ve özgürlükçü bir toplumsal sistem arayışı ise Thoreau’nun yaşamının özünü oluşturmaktadır. Komşuluk kavramına ayrı bir parantez açan Thoreau, devletinde bir noktada sorumlu bir komşu gibi davranmasını önermektedir. Bütün bu veriler değerlendirildiğinde Thoreau, adalet kavramını kendisine prensip olarak seçmiştir. Yaşadığı dönemde karşılaştığı haksızlıklara karşı üst bir adalet anlayışıyla cevap vermiştir. İktidar, hükümet, demokrasi, savaş, daimi ordu, ayrımcılık, modernitenin ortaya koymuş olduğu ilkeler ve bunun karşılığında insanın ödediği bedellere karşı Thoreau, adaleti ve insan olarak hak edilen insan onuruna yakışan bir anlayışı benimsemiştir. Haksızlıklar karşısında direnmenin meşruluğunu ise her fırsatta dile getirmiştir. 5. H.D. THOREAU’NUN DEMOKRASİ HAKKINDAKİ DÜŞÜNCELERİ Her ne kadar Thoreau üzerine yazan düşünürler Thoreau’yu farklı şekillerde kategorize etseler de bu çalışma, Thoreau’nun genelde demokrasi özel de ise temsili demokrasi bağlamında ortaya koyduğu fikirleri değerlendirmeyi hedeflemektedir. Bazı düşünürler Thoreau’nun demokrasi taraftarı olduğunu ve demokrasinin kendi içsel dinamiklerinden kaynaklanan bir takım sorunları ortaya koyduğunu ve demokrasinin daha işler bir hale gelebilmesi adına eleştiriler yönelttiğini ifade etmektedir. Bu düşüncenin karşısında olanlar ise Thoreau’nun tam tersine, demokrasinin temel dinamiklerini sorgulamasının demokrasiyi daha meşru bir zemine taşımaktan ziyade bizzat genelde demokrasiyi özel de ise temsili demokrasiyi reddeden bir içeriğe sahip olduğunu belirtir. Aslında iki yaklaşımda kendi içinde tutarlı ve mantıklı bir bütünlük göstermektedir. Bu durum Thoreau’ya dönük beklentilerin yansımasının sonucu olarak bu tür farklı algılama süreçlerinin yaşanmasına KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 692 neden olmaktadır. Onu hem bir demokrat hem de demokrasi karşıtı bir anarşist olarak algılamanın haklı nedenleri vardır. Bu kapsamda Thoreau’nun genel fikirleri değerlendirildiğinde Nancy Rosenbulm, George Katep, Brian Walker gibi düşünürler Thoreau’nun fikirlerinin liberal demokrasiyle bağdaşır bir mahiyette olduğunu ve modern temsili demokrasi ideallerini barındırdığını ifade ederken onu liberal demokrasinin eksiklerini ortaya çıkarmaya çalışan liberal bir söylemi ön gören bir düşünür olarak ifade etmeye çalışmıştır. Leigh Kathryn Jengo gibi düşünürler ise Thoreau’nun demokrasiye yönelik eleştirilerinin bütüncül bir karakter taşıdığını aslında onun demokrasi taraftarı olmak bir tarafa zihinsel olarak demokrasinin yapısal durumunun bizzat bir takım haksızlıkları ürettiğini ve bu nedenle de onun liberal bir düşünür olmak yerine anarşizme daha yakın durduğunu belirtir. Jengo, Thoreau’nun demokrasiyi bireysel bir takım hakları ve özgürlükleri ortadan kaldıran bir içeriye sahip bir sitem olarak algıladığını savunmaktadır (Jengo, 2011, s. 98-119). Neticede Thoreau hakkında söylenenler ideolojik iki farklı bakış açısını yansıtsa da önemli olan Thoreau’nun demokrasi hakkında ne söylediğidir. Thoreau’nun ölümünden sonra ün kazanmasına ve dünya çapında tanınmasına vesile olan “Haksız Yönetime Karşı/Sivil İtaatsizlik” adlı denemesinin ilk giriş cümlelerinde iktidar ve hükümet kavramlarına yüklediği anlam aslında Thoreau’nun siyasal sistemler bağlamında fikirlerinin anlaşılmasını sağlar mahiyettedir. Thoreau, (2013, s. 29-30) iktidar, hükümet ve otorite gibi kavramlara her şeyden önce şüpheyle yaklaşır. Bu durumu ise şu şekilde açıklar: “En iyi hükümet, en az yöneten hükümettir parolasını kendime düstur edindim. Bu amaca ulaşmak üzere daha hızlı ve daha sistemli çaba gösterilmesi beni çok mutlu eder. Böyle bir adımın atılması, gerçekleşeceğine inandığım, ikinci adımın atılmasını da sağlayacaktır: “En iyi hükümet, hiç yönetmeyen hükümettir.” Eğer insanlar olgunlaşırsa, bir gün sahip olunacak hükümet böyle bir hükümet olacaktır. Bir hükümet en iyi durumda yararlı bir araçtır; ancak hükümetlerin çoğunluğu daima –zaman zaman da hepsi- lüzumsuzdur. Daimi orduya yönelik ciddi ve de kabul edilebilir birçok itiraz sonuç olarak daimi hükümete karşı da yöneltilebilir. Daimi ordu daimi hükümetin bir kolundan başka bir şey değildir. Halkın isteklerini yerine getirmesi için seçtiği bir hükümet, halkın herhangi bir şekilde müdahalesine fırsat kalmadan kolayca kötüye kullanılabiliyor. Bunun en iyi tanığı bugün Meksika’da yapılan savaştır. Az sayıda insan grubu, daimi hükümeti, halkın baştan desteklemeyeceği bir davanın aracı olarak kullanıyor.” KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 693 Yukarıdaki satırlar incelediğinde Thoreau, hükümet ve iktidar kavramları bağlamında hem bir özlemi dile getirmekte hem de gerçeklik bağlamında bir takım yapısal eleştiriler ortaya koymaktadır. Aslında burada iki farklı durum söz konusudur. Bunlardan ilki Thoreau’nun iktidar kavramına dönük yaptığı eleştirilerdir. İkincisi ise temsili demokrasinin açmazlarına dönük yapılan yapısal sorgulamalardır. Thoreau, iktidarın en iyi durumda yararlı bir araç olabilme ihtimalini ortaya koymakla birlikte, böylesi bir durumun aslında söz konusu olmadığını ifade etmektedir. Hükümet/iktidar denen aygıt aslında Thoreau’nun zihninde oturmuş bir gerçekliğe sahip değildir. Böyle bir aygıtın var olma sebebi sadece insanlara yardım etmektir. Lakin yaşantısal olarak fark ettiği şey böyle bir ihtimalin olmadığıdır. Bir özlem olarak insanların olgunlaşmaları durumunda aslında böyle bir yapının da ortadan kalkacağına dair bir inanç söz konusudur. Bu durum bize Thoreau’nun anarşizmin genel anlamda ortaya koyduğu otoritesiz bir toplum iddiasını çağrıştırır niteliktedir. İnsanların olgunlaşmaları ve bir birlerine karşı insani ve sorumlu tavırlar takınmaları durumunda otorite denen aygıta ihtiyaç duyulmayacağına dair bir anlayışı yansıtır. Yine bu cümleler üzerinden hareket edecek olursak Thoreau bizim karşımıza temsili demokrasinin özellikle temsil bağlamında ciddi problemlere neden olabilecek bir yönetim tarzı olduğunu Meksika savaşı örneğiyle açıklamaya çalışır. Halkın kendisini yönetmek için seçtiği bir yönetimin, halkın isteklerini dikkate almadan farklı tutumlar takınabileceğini belirten Thoreau, az sayıdaki insanın çoğunluğun kararlarının üstünde bir tavır benimseyebileceğini gözler önüne sermektedir. Bu durum aynı zamanda elitist kuramları ve bu kuramların demokrasiye karşı takındığı tavrı hatırlatmaktadır. Bu eleştiriler aslında sadece mevcut andaki uygulamalara dönük bir eleştiri olmaktan ziyade temsili demokrasi bağlamında temsilin mahiyeti ve işlerliğine dönük eleştirileri de içermektedir. Bu cümleler aynı zamanda Thoreau’ya dönük ideolojik olarak var olan farklı bakış açılarının da temel nedenidir. Plea Captain Brown adlı denemesinde de Thoreau temsili demokrasi bağlamında eleştirilerini daha da sertleştirerek mevcut andaki temsili hükümete oldukça ağır ithamlarda bulunur. Temsili hükümeti toplumun kalbi ve zihni melekelerini temsil etmeyen bir canavar gibi beyni ve kalbi olmayan yarısı insan yarısı öküz ya da kaplan olan bir varlığa benzetir. Bunun gibi bir hükümet tarafından yapılan iyi bir şey olmadığını ve tarihsel süreçte birçok kahramanın da bu yapının kökleriyle savaştığını belirtir. İnandığı hükümetin toprakları üzerinde adaletsizliği değil de adaleti kuran bir güç olabileceğini belirten Thoreau kendi topraklarındaki bütün cesur ve adil insanların düşmanı olan ve bunlara baskı yapanların arkasında duran bir hükümetin üzerine düşünmenin bir anlamı olmayacağını vurgular. Hükümetin ironik olarak Hıristiyan gibi KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 694 davrandığını ve her gün bir milyon Mesih'i çarmıha (işkence eden) gerdiğini belirten Thoreau Amerika’nın 4 milyon kölesi olan bir esir kafilesine benzediğini ve hükümetinde bu durumu muhafaza etmeye kararlı olduğunu belirtir (Thoreau, 1866, s. 171-172). Temsili hükümetin insanları nasıl kandırdığını ve onları nasıl aldattığını ise Thoreau (2013, s. 30-31) şu şekilde açıklar: “Yani hükümetler bize insanların nasıl kolaylıkla aldatılabileceğini, hatta –tabii ki kendi çıkarları için- kendi kendilerini bile nasıl aldatabileceklerinin örneğini sunuyorlar. (…)Hükümet insanların birbirlerini rahat bırakmalarını sağlayabilecek bir araçtır ve yararlılığı belirtildiği gibi, yönetilenleri rahat bıraktığı ölçüde artar. Peki, gerçekte durum nasıldır? (...) Ben her koşul altında hükümetin her türüne karşı çıkan insanların ağzıyla değil, somut konuşmak istiyorum. Hemen şimdi daha iyi bir hükümet istiyorum. Herkes ne tür bir hükümete saygı duyabileceğini söylemelidir. Bu, öyle bir hükümete ulaşmanın ilk adımını oluşturacaktır.” Bu cümlelerden ve satır araları okumalarından Thoreau’nun “hükümet”/ “siyasi otorite” kavramını tümüyle inkâr etmediği rahatlıkla anlaşılmaktadır. Hükümet ya da iktidar için iki görev tanımı yapan Thoreau bunlardan ilkinin insanların birbirleriyle olan ilişkilerinde düzeni sağlamak ikincisinin ise yönetilenleri rahatsız etmemek olduğunu belirtir. Özgürlükçü bir tavır benimseyen Thoreau’nun, alıntı yapılan ifadelerinde iktidarın hayatın her alanına nüfuz ettiği ya da nüfuz etmek istediği bir çağda gücün alanını sınırlandırmaya vurgu yaparak onun başka bir hüviyete bürünmesini engellemek istediği sezilmektedir. Ayrıca bir manifesto ortaya koymuşçasına çarpıcı şekilde sarf ettiği cümleler ideal bir yönetim arayışını da yansıtır mahiyettedir. Onun idealize ettiği formül tek cümlede özetlenebilir: Bütün yönetilenlerin onayını/rızasını almış bir hükümet. Bu da hem katılım hem de iktidar ve birey bağlamında ideal bir yönetim arayışının sonucu olarak karşımıza çıkmaktadır. Aynı zamanda Thoreau’nun ideal bir yönetim arzusunun doğal sonucu olarak, demokrasiyi daha olgun/insani/vicdani bir sürece taşıyacak bir arayış olarak da yorumlayabiliriz. Temsilin mahiyetini artırmak adına insanların görüşlerinin alınması ve daha ideal bir temsil kurumunun oluşmasına Thoreau’nun bir itirazı yoktur. Fakat esas odaklandığı nokta reel düzlemde temsili demokrasinin yapısal bağlamı itibariyle insanları aldatan bir format üzerinden kendisini var ettiğidir. Aslında Thoreau’nun dile getirdiği, demokrasiyi daha adil bir düzene taşıma düşüncesi bir, bir buçuk asır sonra kendisini “katılımcı demokrasi” adı altında farklı isimlerle, varyantlarla gündeme gelmiştir. Bilindiği gibi katılımcı KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 695 demokrasinin ana fikri, katılım olgusunun yaygınlaştırılması, demokrasinin alanının genişletilmesi üzerinedir. Katılımcı demokrasi adında ortaya çıkan bütün yeni yaklaşımların temel odak noktaları katılım ilkesine yaygınlık kazandırarak herkesi içine alan bütün fikirlerin temsil edildiği ve katılımın sağlandığı ideal bir demokrasi anlayışını hayata aksettirmektir. Thoreau da bir noktada böyle bir özlemi hayata aksettirmek adına iktidar ve hükümet kavramlarını sorgulamaktadır. Net bir çözüm sunmasa da katılım ve temsil bağlamında temsili demokrasinin yaşadığı yapısal sorunlara dikkat çekmek istediği anlaşılmaktadır. Buna göre Thoreau’nun fikir düzlemi ve eylem planı, onunla ilgili olarak demokratik anlayışları/arayışları öncelediği şeklindeki yorumlara haklılık kazandırmaktadır. Thoreau’nun adalet anlayışı, kendisini, demokrasi kavramının ikizi gibi kabul edilen ya da takdim edilen çoğunluk yönetimine karşı eleştirel bir duruş geliştirmeye itmiştir. Bu noktada hem çoğunluğun yönetme hakkının meşruiyetinin nereden geldiğini sorgulamış hem de çoğunluğun yanılabilme ihtimaline dikkat çekmek istemiştir. Thoreau bireylerle hükümetin karşı karşıya geldiği anlarda bireylerin haklı olabilme ihtimalini gözler önüne sermiştir (Thoreau, 1866, s. 178-179). İktidarın halkın elinde olduğu, bir çoğunluk yönetiminin var olabilmesinin ve iktidarda kalabilmesinin esas nedeninin ise çoğunluğun doğruyu yapması ya da azınlığa karşı adil olmasından değil de basitçe fiziki olarak en güçlü olmasından kaynaklandığını belirtmiştir. Bu durumu eleştirerek, sadece çoğunluğun mutlak egemen olduğu bir hükümetin adil olamayacağını vurgulamış, doğrunun ve yanlışın ne olduğuna çoğunluğun değil de vicdanın karar verdiği bir hükümet sisteminin olup olamayacağına dönük bir soru yöneltmiştir. Vicdanın karar verici ya da belirleyici olduğu bir yönetimde ise çoğunluğa sadece yararlılık kuralının geçerli olduğu alanlarda karar hakkı verilebileceğini savunmuştur (Thoreau, 2013, s. 31). Anlaşılacağı üzere Thoreau çoğunluğun demokratik bağlamda temsil yetkisine tek başına sahip olsa dahi, bu yönetim tarzının doğru ve adil olduğu anlamına gelmediğini, karar verme noktasında karar vericilerin çoğunluk ve onun temsilcileri yerine vicdanın belirleyici olduğu bir yönetim anlayışının gerekli olduğunu iddia etmiştir. Vicdanların yönetime nasıl katılacağını ya da vicdan üzerinden yönetimin nasıl kurgulanacağına ilişkin bilgiler vermese de demokrasi bağlamında geçerli olan seçim ve onun sonucunda ortaya çıkan çoğunluğun egemenliğine karşı kısaca şüpheyle yaklaşmıştır. Bu durum aslında katılımcı demokrasi bağlamında gündeme getirilen düşüncelerin bir bakıma öncellenmesi anlamını taşımaktadır. Çünkü Thoreau, “çoğunluk yönetimi” ilkesiyle uygulanan demokrasinin; adalet, temsil, katılım, eşitlik, vicdan, farklılık ve farkındalık gibi kavramlarla tam anlamıyla mütekabiliyet(karşılıklılık, uyuşma) göstermediğini belirtmektedir. Katılımcı KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 696 demokrasi olarak ortaya çıkan bütün teoriler temsili demokrasiyi daha demokratik bir düzeye taşımak ve bireysel olan farklılıkların temsil kabiliyetini artıracak daha adil bir demokrasi yapısı inşa etmek istemektedirler. Ahlaki olarak yurttaşların vicdanlarını kısa süreliğine olsa dahi yasa koyucuya devredip devretmemelerinin gerekliliğini sorgulayan Thoreau, eğer böyle bir devir gerekliyse her insanın neden bir vicdanı olduğunu gündeme getirmiştir. Bu noktada önce insan, daha sonra uyruk olunabileceğini ve yasaya değil de adalete saygının esas alınmasının gerektiğini vurgulayan Thoreau, üstlenmeye hakkı olan tek sorumluluğun ise her zaman doğru olduğunu düşündüğü şeyi yapmak olduğunu belirtmiştir. Thoreau, kitlelerin vicdanı olmadığını ancak vicdanlı insanların oluşturduğu bir topluluğun vicdanlı bir topluluk olabileceğini vurgulamıştır. Ayrıca yasaların insanları daha adil bir hale getirmediği gibi yasalara duyulan saygı nedeniyle, iyi niyetli birçok insanın da adaletsizliğe alet olduklarını iddia etmiştir (Thoreau, 1963, s. 12). Demokrasi bağlamında yaşadığı anda temsilin mantığına ve de çoğunluğun yönetimine karşı eleştiriler getiren Thoreau iki kavramı temel prensip olarak benimser: Vicdan ve adalet. Aynı zamanda yasa ve adalet kavramı arasındaki farklılıklara dikkat çekmekle, yasaların, sırf yasa olmaları dolayısıyla, insanları daha adil yapmadıkları tezine ulaşır. Bu durumda bize temsili demokrasinin temel saç ayaklarından olan yasama ve yürütme ilişkilerinde ortaya çıkan ya da çıkması muhtemel sorunları hatırlatmaktadır. Demokrasilerde yasaları yapan ve uygulayanlar ekseriya çoğunluğun temsilcisi olduğu için azınlığın hakları konusunda ister istemez bir tehdit algısı doğacaktır. Thoreau’nun kuramsal/teorik olarak demokrasinin temel ilkelerine karşı duyduğu derin şüphenin çıkış noktası “çoğunluğun yönetimi” ilkesinin giderek bireysel vicdanı yok edecek şekilde sorgusuz bir uygulama şeklini almış olmasıdır. Yaşadığı çağda Amerika’yı sahte bir kanun fabrikası ve bir köle ülkesine benzeten Thoreau yasaları ve yasa yapıcıların meşruiyetini sorgulamaya çalışır. Çok basit bir meraktan yola çıkarak “yasaların yasa yapıcılar tarafından basitçe yapıldığı için mi, yoksa yasa yapıcılarından ziyade çok sayıda iyi insan tarafından ilan edildiği için mi uygulandığını” anlamaya çalışır. Bu nokta da uygulamada olan yasalardan kaynaklanan haksızlıkları gözler önüne seren Thoreau, bir insanın iyi doğasının onaylamadığı bir işi yapmak için her hangi bir zorunluluğun olup olmadığını ve de yasa yapıcıların niyetinin iyi insanları asmak mı olduğunu sorgulamış, bunun neticesinde böyle bir mantıktan neşet eden(çıkan) bir hukuktan özgür insanlar için hiçbir şey umulmayacağı sonucuna ulaşmıştır (Thoreau, 1866, s. 178-179). Amerika’da Kongre’de halkı temsil edecek kişilerin ya da başkanın KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 697 belirlenme sürecinin de sorunlu olduğunu belirten Thoreau, alınan kararlarda olduğu gibi aynı zamanda aday belirleme sürecinde de aslında bireylerin/seçmenlerin bir dahlinin olmadığını bireylerin sadece belirlenen adayı onaylandıklarını ifade etmiştir. Bu onay sürecinin eleştirel ve adil bir mantıkla değil de sorumsuz bir şekilde farklı bir takım saiklerle yapıldığını belirten Thoreau, aslında seçmenin bu tavrının tamamen bencil bir takım amaçlarla ve bu amaçlar doğrultusunda da kendince gerekçelendirilen bir takım meşru atıflarla belirlendiğini savunmuştur (Thoreau, 2013, s. 36). Bu durum daha önce de sözü edilen, demokrasinin halkın kendi kendisini yönetmekten ziyade, kendisini yönetmesi için belirlenen bir takım adayları seçtiği elitist uygulamaların gerçekte egemen olduğu düşüncesini pekiştirmektedir. Ayrıca demokrasilerde yönetim işlerini üstleneceklerin belirlenmesi hususuna dönük kuşkular ve de demokrasi bağlamında insanların tercihlerini belirleyen şeyin daha adil ya da daha demokratik tercihler yerine bencil bir takım istekler olarak hayat bulması Thoreau bağlamında politika/siyaset olgusunu tartışmalı kılmaktadır. Bu nedenle Thoreau politikaya şüpheyle yaklaşmış ve politikanın ahlakı olmadığını fakat insanoğlunun bu durumu kolay kolay öğrenemeyeceğini belirtmiştir. İnsanların sadece önlerine konan adaylardan birini seçtiğini, seçilen bu insanların da ışığı/adaleti temsil etmek gibi bir kaygılarının olmadığını ifade etmiştir. İnsanlık için aslında aranılan temel prensip ne çoğunluğun kararı ne de anayasadan daha yüksek bir hukuku tanıyan bir politika değil de dürüstlüktür. Bu nedenle Thoreau için önemli olan oy vermek değildir. Önemli olan her sabah sokağa nasıl bir adam bıraktığınızdır (Thoreau, 1866, s. 111). Thoreau bu noktada sıradan vatandaşın kendisine vatandaşlık hakkı olarak verilen oyu kullanırken bunun sonuçlarını çok da umursamadığını dolayısıyla temsili demokrasi olarak uygulanan seçim sürecinin bir oyuna/kumara benzediğini ifade eder. Bütün seçimlerin satranç ya da tavla gibi hafif ahlaki esintisi olan bir oyun olduğunu aynı zamanda bu oyunda bahis de bulunduğunu belirtir. Fakat seçmen bahse herhangi bir şey koymaz. Sandık başında oy’unu kendince doğru bildiği şekilde kullanır. Seçmenin amacı haklının galip gelmesi değildir. Seçmen bu durumu çoğunluğa bırakmaya razıdır. Aslında seçmenin tavrı usullerin ötesine geçmez. Adalet ya da haklıdan yana oy kullanmak onu çokta da ilgilendirmez. Bu kabil umarsızlıkları eleştiren Thoreau, akıllı bir insanın adaletin gerçekleşmesini ne çoğunluğa ne de tesadüflere bırakmayacağını çünkü kitlelerin davranışlarında erdemin etkisinin oldukça sınırlı olduğunu belirtir (Thoreau, 1963, s. 19). Amerika’yı kastederek ülkedeki insanların çoğunluğunun ilkeli olmadığını belirten Thoreau, bu ülke insanlarının oy verirken ve kongreye temsilci gönderirken, ne insani niyet taşıdığına, ne de adalet kaygısıyla hareket ettiğine dikkat çeker. İnsanlar KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 698 kamçılanırken ve özgürlük aşkı için asılırken çoğunluğu ilgilendiren tek şey altın, taş, ağaç ve demirin kötü idaresidir (Thoreau, 1866, s. 108). Yine önce insan olmak mı yoksa yurttaş olmak mı sorusuna karşı verdiği cevapta insanlığı seçen Thoreau bir takım gerçeklere dikkat çekmek istemiştir. Çünkü yurttaşlığın mahiyeti ait olunan toplumun ya da sistemin doğrularına göre belirleneceği için bu durumda insani olan noktasında problemleri gündeme getirecektir. “Ben” ve “öteki” noktasında ortaya konacak tavır adil bir anlayıştan öte yurttaşın sahip olduğu kimliğe göre değişecektir (Çiçek & Aydın, 2018, s. 85). Bu durumdan hareketle Thoreau, devletin kendiyle paralel bir kimlik arzu ettiği tezine ulaşmaktadır. Çünkü ona göre insanların büyük bir kısmı, devlete insan olarak hizmet etmek yerine bir makine gibi hizmet etmektedirler. Devletin var olmasını sağlayan bu insanlar, genelde ne herhangi bir yargıda bulunur ne de ahlaki bir duyguyu ifade ederler. Bir bakıma bunlar kendilerini ağaç veya taş seviyesine indirdikleri için Thoreau’nun nazarında bir kukladan, şekilsiz bir bez yığınından fazla saygıyı da hak etmezler. Dolayısıyla da atlar ve köpeklerle aynı değerdedirler. Gel gör ki bu tür insanlar geleneksel olarak devlet ve sistem tarafından iyi yurttaşlar olarak değerlendirilir. Sadece az sayıda insan devlete vicdanlarıyla hizmet eder. Ancak bu insanlarda vicdanlarının sesini dinledikleri için birçok konuda devlete karşı çıkarlar. Bu nedenle de devletten genellikle düşman muamelesi görürler (Thoreau, 2013, s. 32-33). Eğer özel insanlar hükümetin görevlerini yerine getirmeye zorlarsa, adaleti dağıtmak ve zayıfları korumak için ondan sonra hükümet sadece kiralık bir adam ya da kâtip gibi hizmetçi ve tarafsız hizmetleri gerçekleştirecektir. (Thoreau, 1866, s. 172). Ancak bu tür insanların sayısı az olduğu için sorunları düzeltemediklerini belirten Thoreau, geri kalan çoğunluğun da sorumlu davranacak yeterliğe sahip olmadığını, kölelik ve savaş durumlarında ortaya çıkan tablonun ise bunu kanıtlar mahiyette olduğunu belirtir. İlke olarak kölelik ve savaşa karşı olmalarına rağmen bu tür insanların gerçekte takındıkları tavır oldukça farklıdır. Onların nezdinde özgürlük sorunu ilke olarak önemli görünse de yaşantı noktasında ikincil bir konumdadır. Bazen bu insanlar tereddütte düşüp kederlenebildikleri gibi vicdanlarını rahatlatmak için arada bir dilekçeler imzalayabilirler. Ancak gerçekte hiçbir ciddi adım atmayan bu insanların yaptıkları tek şey sadece seçimlerde oy vermekten ibarettir (Thoreau, 2013, s. 35). Bütün bu atıflar dikkate alındığında Thoreau’nun son dönemlerde demokrasi ve katılım bağlamında dile getirilen sorunlara çok önceden işaret ettiği anlaşılacaktır. Demokrasinin geleceği açısından sıradan vatandaşın tavrı ve siyasal sürece katılım noktasında çıkan tablo son derece düşündürücü sayılmalıdır. Thoreau’nun da vurguladığı gibi sıradan yurttaşın en büyük KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 699 önceliği kendisidir. Öteki konusunda gerçekleşen haksızlıklar ya da demokrasiden kaynaklanan yanlışlar için kılını bile kıpırdatmaya istekli değildir. Basit yakınmalar, kınamalar veyahut takip bile edilmeyen dilekçeler, geniş halk kitlelerinin demokratik tavır olarak ortaya koyacağı tavrın özeti gibidir. Belki bu da bizi Schumpeter’e kadar götürebilir. Demokrasi sadece uzmanlar/siyaset sınıfının kendi aralarındaki rekabetine dayanan bir sistem olarak algılandığında sıradan vatandaşın yapacağı tek şey önüne konulan alternatiflerden birisi hakkında tercihte bulunmaktan başka bir şey değildir. Öte yandan olayın esasını oluşturan uzmanlar/siyaset sınıfı ise mümkün olduğunca sıradan vatandaşı karar alma sürecinin dışında tutmanın kendilerine sağlayacağı avantajın farkındadır. Aslında iki tarafın da karşılıklı beslendiği bir durum söz konusudur. Sıradan vatandaş alınacak kararlardan ne derece uzak olursa ortaya çıkacak sonuçlardan da vicdani olarak o derece uzak olmanın konforunu yaşayacaktır. Uzmanlar/siyaset sınıfı ise bir şekilde kendi bildiklerini hayata aksettirmenin kolaylığını doyasıya yaşama hüviyetine sahip olacaklardır. Çünkü temsili demokraside muhtemel olumsuz sonuçlar için risk uzmanlara/siyaset sınıfına aittir ve bir sonraki seçimde bu riskin artı ya da eksi kazanımlarını ya da kayıplarını bir şekilde ödemek zorundadırlar. Ancak aradaki haksızlıklar ve bunların doğuracağı mağduriyetler ise sistemin insafına bırakılmış gibidir. Thoreau’nun demokrasiye yönelik eleştirel tutumunun arkasında yatan en önemli neden anlaşılacağı üzere sahip olduğu ya da benimsediği yüksek ahlaki duyarlılıktır. Bu duyarlılık demokrasi bağlamında bir takım ön kabullerin ötesinde bir takım değerleri zorunlu kılan bir bütünsel forma ihtiyaç duyulduğunu akla getirmektedir. Demokrasi ve siyasal tercih bağlamında insanların erdemli ve sorumlu davranmalarının insani bir zorunluluk olmasına rağmen insanların büyük bir çoğunluğunun böyle bir ahlaki duyguya sahip olmadığı gerçeğini gözler önüne serilmektedir. Yine insanların ikiyüzlülüğünü de vurgulayan Thoreau, insanın kendi dışında olan haksızlıklara karşı takındığı tavrı acı bir şekilde eleştirmektedir. Kendisinin bile severek boyun eğebileceği bir devlet otoritesinin saf biçimiyle olmadığını belirten Thoreau, adil bir devletin her durumda yönetilenlerin vekâletini ve onayını alması gerektiğini belirtir. Bir hükümetin kendi şahsı ve mülkiyeti üzerinde mutlak olarak değil ancak kendisinin izin verdiği ölçüde hak sahibi olacağını ifade eder. Bu kapsamda mutlak monarşiden sınırlı monarşiye geçişi bireye saygı noktasında atılmış ileri bir adım olarak kabul etmekle birlikte demokrasinin muhtemel en ideal yönetim biçimi olup olmadığını sorgulayarak insan haklarına dönük kazanımların geliştirilmesi noktasında daha ileri adımlar atmanın mümkün olup olmadığını anlamaya çalışır. Thoreau, kendi gücünün ve otoritesinin kaynağı olarak bireyi bağımsız KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 700 bir güç olarak merkezine yerleştirmediği müddetçe hiçbir zaman gerçek manada özgür ve aydınlatılmış bir devletten bahsedilemeyeceğini belirtir. Bu meyanda hayal ettiği ideal devletin bütün insanlara adaletli davranan aynı zamanda bireye saygıyı esas alan ve bir komşu muamelesini layık gören bir yapı olması gerektiğine vurgu yapar. Böyle bir devletin ise insanlık ve komşuluk görevlerini yerine getirdiği müddetçe kendisine mesafeli ve soğuk duran bireyleri sorun olarak görmeyeceğini ifade eder. Ancak hayalini kurduğu bu tür bir devleti ise henüz hiçbir yerde görmediğini belirtir (Thoreau, 1963, s. 48). Öte yandan reel olarak bir hükümetin kabullenemeyeceği en büyük saldırının kendi otoritesinin bilinçli ve aktif bir biçimde reddedilmesi olduğunu vurgulayan Thoreau bu konu da verilen cezaların ölçüsüzlüğünün bu durumu kanıtlar mahiyette olduğunu belirtir. Hükümet olgusunu bir makineye benzeten Thoreau, makinenin ataletinden kaynaklanan bir haksızlığın zamanla ortadan kalkabileceğini ancak eğer haksızlık makinenin parçalarından ya da bizzat kendisinden kaynaklanıyorsa o zaman tavrın faklı olması gerektiğini vurgular. Yasa bireyi zorunlu olarak başkasına yönelik haksızlığın aracı durumuna düşürüyorsa o zaman yasanın çiğnenmesi gerektiğini belirten Thoreau, haksızlık karşısında bireyin yaşamını makineyi durdurmak için kullanması lüzumuna ve insan yaşamında temel ölçünün kendi tabiriyle “lanetlediği kötülüğün aracı olmamak” şeklinde belirlenmesi gerekliliğine dikkat çeker (Thoreau, 2013, s. 39). Neticede Thoreau’nun demokrasiye ilişkin düşünceleri demokratik sistemin basit bir eleştirisi olmanın oldukça ötesinde bir anlama sahiptir. Thoreau, temsil mekanizmasından kaynaklanan sorunların o günün güncel yönlerini aştığını, bunun kök nedeninin bir takım yapısal sorunlardan kaynaklandığını gözler önüne sermek istemiştir. Yasama faaliyetinde bulunanların birçok konuda temsil ettiklerinin istek ve beklentilerini yasa yapımına yansıtmadıklarını net bir şekilde ortaya koymuştur. Yurttaşın temsilcisi olduğunu iddia edenlerle yurttaşın tercihleri arasında ciddi farklılıklar olduğunun/olabileceğinin altını çizmiştir. Temsil edenle temsil edilen arasında hem yaşantı hem de düşünce noktasında simetrik bir ilişkinin olmadığını göstermeye çalışan Thoreau, bu kabil düşünceleriyle liberal demokrasiyi güncellemek isteyen bir anlayışın oldukça ötesine geçmiş sayılır. Kısaca onun düşünce ve eylem pratiklerinde temsili demokrasiyi doğrulamak yerine ona yeni bir soluk kazandırmak için bu mantığa ve onun işleyişine meydan okuyan bir içerik söz konusudur. Bu nokta da Jengo, (2011, s. 125) Thoreau’nun eleştirisinin, demokrasinin bütün ahlaki bağlılıkları uzlaştırma noktasında kendisine atfedilen özellikleri sağlamada aslında yetersiz olduğunu ispatladığı için değerli olduğunu KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 701 vurgular. Jengo, Thoreau’nun siyasal eleştirisini yanlış bir şekilde yorumlayarak onu demokrasi taraftarı ilan etmenin bir bakıma siyasal hayat anlayışımıza yaptığı benzersiz katkıyı gözden kaçırma tehlikesine neden olacağını belirtir. Thoreau’nun demokratik meşruiyet mercek altına alınmadığı zaman tehdit altında kalanları işaret ettiği gibi ahlaki bağlılıklarla yurttaşlık görevleri arasındaki karmaşık ilişkiye dikkat çektiğini iddia eder. Bu kapsamda da Thoreau’nun demokrasinin amaca uygunluğunu ve menfaatin adalet pahasına yüceltilmesini ve de ahlaki ödünler de dahil olmak üzere, demokrasinin hiçte önemsiz sayılmayacak yan etkilerini görmemize yardımcı olduğunu belirtmektedir. 6. SONUÇ Thoreau, bütün düşünce formasyonunu adalet kavramı üzerine kurmuştur. Hem haksızlıkları göz önüne sermek hem de haksızlık olgusunu ortadan kaldırmak için yaşamı ve düşünce dünyasındaki sorgulamaları bu minval üzerindendir. Bu kapsamda demokrasi olgusu ve bu olgu bağlamında hayata akseden hükümet, iktidar, seçim gibi kavramları adalet terazisi üzerinden sorgulamaya tabi kılmıştır. “Yasa mı yoksa adalet mi” sorunsalı konusunda derinlemesine tahliller yapmış adaleti temel alarak yasaların her zaman insanları daha adil kılmadığını ve iyi niyetli insanların bile yasalar yüzünden haksızlıkların aleti olduklarına dikkat çekmiştir. Haksızlıklar karşında bireylerin insan onuruna yakışır bir duruş sergilemeleri gerektiğini ise önemle ve ısrarla vurgulamıştır. İster Thoreau demokrasi yandaşı isterse demokrasiyi reddeden bir düşünür olarak ele alınsın neticede Thoreau’nun hem yaşamı hem de eserlerinde demokrasiye yönelttiği eleştiriler çağdaş dünyada demokrasi krizini aşmada ya da onu hafifletmede önemli bir referans kaynağı olabilir. O, demokrasiyi diğer sistemlerle kıyaslandığında daha ileri bir adım olarak ele alsa da mutlak manada tamamlanmış insanlığın sorunlarına çözüm olabilecek tek ve en yetkin sistem olma iddiasına şüpheyle yaklaşmaktadır. Demokrasi bağlamında ortaya çıkan temsil sisteminin kendi mantığı uyarınca bir takım haksızlıkları ürettiğini ya da üretebilme ihtimalini Thoreau gözler önüne sermiştir. Hem sivil itaatsizlik ile ilgili çalışmasında hem de kölelik karşıtı denemelerinde bu durumu net bir şekilde ortaya koymuştur. Çoğunluğun mutlak erkine şüpheyle yaklaşan Thoreau, aynı zamanda temsili demokrasi konusunda temsil yetkisinin sınırlarının nasıl belirlendiği ve bu sınırlar üzerinden ortaya çıkabilecek haksızlıkları dile getirmektedir. Bu bakımdan günümüzün giderek aciliyet kesbeden siyasal ilgi alanı olan daha adil bir siyasal sistem arayışının ilham kaynakları arasına yer almaktadır. Kendisinden yüzyıl sonra demokrasiye yöneltilen eleştirileri ve arayışları kendi KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 702 yaşadığı çağın örnekleri üzerinden sorunlaştırması oldukça önemlidir. Sistemli bir yapı ortaya koymamış olsa bile, kendisinden sonra demokrasi tartışmalarının merkezine yerleşen konulara sağladığı katkı hayati bir öneme sahiptir. 7. KAYNAKÇA Arblaster, A. (1999). Demokrasi. Çev: Nilüfer Yılmaz, Ankara: Doruk Yayımcılık. Arslan, R. (2011) Karşılaştırmalı yönetim sistemleri: Parlamenter-başkanlık- konkordanz yönetim sistemi, Siyaset Biliminde Kuram-Yöntem-Güncel Yaklaşımlar, Ed: Baran Dural, İstanbul: Kriter Yayınları. Burns, E. M. (1984) Çağdaş siyasal düşünceler 1850-1950. Çev: Alaeddin Şenel, Ankara: Birey ve Toplum Yayıncılık. Çam, E. (1977) Siyaset bilimine giriş. İstanbul Üniversitesi İktisat Fakültesi, İstanbul: Güryay Matbaacılık. Çiçek A. C.& Aydın S. (2018) Sivil itaatsizlik ve anarşizm. İstanbul: Doruk Yayınları. Erdoğan, M. (1995) Demokrasi laiklik resmi ideoloji. Ankara: Liberal Düşünce Topluluğu. Habermas, J. (2010), Kamusallığın yapısal dönüşümü. Çev: Tanıl Bora, Mithat Sancar, İstanbul: İletişim Yayınları. Heater, D. (2007) Yurttaşlığın kısa tarihi. Çev. Meral Delikara Üst, İstanbul: İmge Yayın Evi. Jengo, L. K. (2011) Thoreau’nun demokrasi eleştirisi. Cogito, Yapı Kredi Yayınları, Ed: Şeyda Öztürk, Sayı:67, 98-119. Kervégan, J. F. (2011) Demokrasi, Siyaset Felsefesi Sözlüğü. Yay. Haz. Philippe Raynaud, Stéphane Rials, Çev.İsmail Yerguz vd., İstanbul: İletişim Yayınları, 187-190. Marshall, G. (2009), Demokrasi, Sosyoloji Sözlüğü. (Çev.: Osman Akınbay, Derya Kömürcü), Ankara: Bilim ve Sanat Yayınları, 140. Miller, D. (1994) Demokrasi. Blackwell’in Siyasal Düşünce Ansiklopedisi 1, (Yay. Haz., David Miller, Janet Coleman, Willam Connolly, Alan Ryan), Çev: Bülent Peker-Nevzat Kıraç, Ankara: Ümit Yayıncılık, 163-171. Mouffe, C. (2000) Deliberative democracy or agonistic pluralism. Vienna: Institute for Advanced Studies. Özdemir, G. (2013) Farklılıkların kesiştiği coğrafyalar için bir öneri: Radikal demokrasi. Yönetim ve Ekonomi, Celal Bayar Üniversitesi İ.İ.B.F. (20)1, 73-93. Schmidt, M. G. (2001), Demokrasi kuramlarına giriş. Çev: M. Emin Köktaş, Ankara: Vadi Yayınları. Şaylan, G. (2009) Postmodernizm. Ankara: İmge Kitapevi. Thoreau, H. D. (1866), Yankee in Canada, with anti-slavery and reform paper. University Press: Welch Bigelow, & Co, Cambrige, Thoreau, H. D. (1963) Haksız yönetime karşı. İstanbul: Çan Yayınları. Thoreau, H. D (2014) Ekonomik itaatsizlik. Çev: Eylül Desen Kaytancı, İstanbul: Kültür Yayıncılık. Thoreau, H. D (2007), Doğal yaşam ve başkaldırı-sivil itaatsizlik makalesi ve Walden Gölü. Çev: Seda Çiftçi, İstanbul: Kaknüs Yayınları. Thoreau, H. D. (2013), Devlete karşı itaatsizlik görevi üzerine. Kamu Vicdanına Çağrı- KAÜİİBFD 9(18), 2018: 675-703 703 Sivil İtaatsizlik, Çev: Yakup Çoşar, İstanbul: Ayrıntı Yayınları, 29-55. Thoreau, H. D. & Gandhi, M. K. (2012) Sivil itaatsizlik ve pasif direniş. Çev: C.Hakan Arslan-Fatma Ünsal, Ankara: Vadi Yayınları, 27-35. Torun, Y, (2005) Demokrasi ve cumhuriyet. Ankara: Orion Yayınevi. Tosun, G. E. (2005), Birleştirici demokrasi devlet-sivil toplum ilişkisinin yeniden yapılandırılması için bir analiz aracı olabilir mi?. Sivil Toplum ve Demokrasi, İstanbul: Kaknüs Yayınları. Uygun, O, (2003) Demokrasinin tarihsel, felsefi ve ahlaki boyutları. İstanbul: İnkılap Kitapevi. Vergin, N. (2011) Siyasetin sosyolojisi. İstanbul: Doğan Kitap. Yılmaz, A. (2003) Çağdaş siyasal akımlar-modern demokraside yeni arayışlar. Ankara: Vadi Yayınları. 
work_7i4rukf52ffrzdjxoss6hbme7e	----	Spatial and temporal residential density patterns from 1940 to 2000 in and around the Northern Forest O R I G I N A L P A P E R Spatial and temporal residential density patterns from 1940 to 2000 in and around the Northern Forest of the Northeastern United States Miranda H. Mockrin • Susan I. Stewart • Volker C. Radeloff • Roger B. Hammer • Kenneth M. Johnson Published online: 7 February 2012 � Springer Science+Business Media, LLC (outside the USA) 2012 Abstract Over the past 60 years, housing growth has outpaced population growth in the United States. Conservationists are concerned about the far-reaching envi- ronmental impacts of housing development, particularly in rural areas. We use clustering analysis to examine the pattern and distribution of housing development since 1940 in and around the Northern Forest, a heavily forested region with high amenity and recreation use in the Northeastern United States. We find that both proximity to urban areas and an abundance of natural amenities are associated with housing growth at the neighborhood level in this region. In the 1970s, counterur- banization led to higher rates of growth across rural areas. The Northern Forest now has extensive interface between forest vegetation and residential development, which has the potential to profoundly alter the ecological and social benefits of these forests. Keywords Housing density � Housing growth � Sprawl � Amenity growth � Cluster analysis � Northern Forest M. H. Mockrin (&) Rocky Mountain Research Station, USDA Forest Service, Fort Collins, CO 80521, USA e-mail: mhmockrin@fs.fed.us; mmockrin@gmail.com S. I. Stewart Northern Research Station, USDA Forest Service, Evanston, IL 60201, USA V. C. Radeloff Department of Forest Ecology and Management, University of Wisconsin, Madison, WI 53706, USA R. B. Hammer Department of Sociology, Oregon State University, Corvallis, OR 97331, USA K. M. Johnson Carsey Institute and Department of Sociology, University of New Hampshire, Durham, NH 03824, USA 123 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 DOI 10.1007/s11111-012-0165-5 Introduction Suburban sprawl first emerged as an environmental issue with the American public in the 1990s, popularized in part by then-Vice President Gore. But as the initial media attention faded and scientists had time to examine this phenomenon more closely, concern shifted from urban expansion in particular to residential growth more generally. Housing development across all landscapes, including urban, suburban, and exurban, has significant environmental impacts, although there remain major gaps in our understanding of this population-environment relationship (Brown et al. 2005; Radeloff et al. 2005a; Theobald 2001). Interest in the environmental impacts of housing development emerged along with the realization that housing development has outpaced population growth in the United States since the 1940s. While population has roughly doubled since 1940, housing has tripled (Hammer et al. 2009). This divergence between housing and population growth rates means that land use per person is not constant, but is rising. Divergence results from decreasing household size, more widespread home ownership, and multiple-home ownership. Urban centers are still the dominant organizing force shaping settlement patterns in the United States and worldwide, but their influence has waned in the United States. Selective deconcentration, or movement out of dense urban areas, is one characteristic of recent settlement patterns in the United States (Johnson et al. 2005), resulting in a net decline in areas with very low-density and very high-density housing, and expansion of medium and low-density housing (e.g., Radeloff et al. 2005b). The environmental impacts of residential growth are extensive and somewhat independent of population density as many result from the removal and disruption of vegetation and the creation of impervious surfaces. Therefore, the same rate of population growth will have a greater impact on the environment when housing densities are lower, households are smaller, and more people own multiple homes (Brown et al. 2005; Theobald 2001). Rural residential growth is of special conservation concern, because rural development typically occurs at lower densities with larger individual lot sizes, spreading the impacts of each house over a larger area and maximizing the cumulative footprint of housing development (Heimlich and Anderson 2001; Pejchar et al. 2007; Theobald et al. 1997). The genesis of rural housing growth in the United States is in the migration turnaround or ‘‘rural renaissance’’ of the 1970s, which represented the first reversal of longstanding rural-to-urban migration trends in the United States (Fuguitt 1985; Long and DeAre 1988). Preferences for small towns and natural amenities, together with affluence, portable pensions, and workplace flexibility, have spurred housing development in rural areas, driven by demand for seasonal homes, retirement homes, and permanent homes for telecommuters (Brown et al. 1997; Fuguitt and Brown 1990; Stewart and Johnson 2007). There are growing concerns about the environmental impacts of this expanding housing development, as housing development is known to have prolonged and complex effects on biodiversity and ecosystem function (Hansen et al. 2005; Liu et al. 2003; McKinney 2002). New housing development affects natural systems in both direct and indirect pathways (Hansen et al. 2005). Housing and infrastructure Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 401 123 construction remove vegetation directly, which fragments remaining habitat. Ecosystems are dynamic and complex, so that even small disturbances such as clearing a lot for construction of a home may initiate a cascade of changes in vegetation, with implications for wildlife populations and ecosystem functioning (Green and Baker 2003). Once developed, housing strongly influences transporta- tion infrastructure and thus generates secondary impacts by shaping travel modes and patterns. Homeowner behavior is an additional factor in increasing or decreasing the effects associated with each structure. Homeowners pave driveways and patios; manage yards, pets, and bird feeders; and kill or remove ‘‘nuisance’’ wildlife, creating indirect environmental problems such as altered hydrologic systems, well-supported exotic plants, and predatory domestic pets, and light pollution (Gavier-Pizarro et al. 2010; Lepczyk et al. 2004; Longcore and Rich 2004). Even lacking a precise and comprehensive understanding of the impacts of housing on forest ecosystems, it is apparent that houses are a locus of many different effects of human presence and behavior on the ecosystem. Therefore, housing distribution is often considered a better, more spatially accurate indicator of human impact on ecosystems than population distribution (Liu et al. 2003). Because the landscape ecological changes associated with residential develop- ment of forests and other wildlands occur over a long time period (Dupouey et al. 2002; Fraterrigo et al. 2005; Rhemtulla et al. 2009; Theobald et al. 1997), a record of when disruption occurred, such as in a land-use history, is an important tool for understanding ecological processes and conditions. Various sources of insight into land-use history have been developed and used, surveyors’ notes (Rhemtulla et al. 2009), physical artifacts (Dupouey et al. 2002), historic airphotos (Gonzalez- Abraham et al. 2007), and remotely sensed images (Brown 2003), all of which are time-intensive to construct and limited in the extent of their coverage. As a result, land-use histories are not always feasible, and vary widely in their basis, extent, and time period. The census of housing is a unique form of decadal social information that embeds land-use history; a house rarely moves from its original location, so its presence and age indicate when its lot and surrounding vegetation was disturbed. Fine-scale spatially detailed housing census data are available in the United States over a longtime period, providing insights into land-use history (Hammer et al. 2004). Most of the past studies of housing and land use in the United States have focused on areas where land is being converted to housing for the first time, often in the West or Midwest (Jackson-Smith et al. 2006; Nelson 2001; Radeloff et al. 2005a). In contrast, in the Northeastern United States, there is a long history of intensive land use and settlement, but also relatively low population growth over recent decades in comparison to other regions of the United States (Johnson 2008), suggesting that patterns of housing growth and land use might differ from other regions. Yet, there has been no large-scale investigation of housing patterns across the region. Accordingly, we set out to study housing development across the Northeastern United States from 1940 to 2000, to both examine the spatial distribution and timing of housing development in the Northeastern United States, and to demonstrate use of historic housing data as a tool for land-use history. Our study area, which we refer 402 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 123 to as the upper Northeast, includes Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and portions of New York (excluding the New York City/Long Island metro area). This is a region that currently combines high amenity and recreation use (Johnson and Beale 2002), a dense human population, and a small public land base. To better understand the relationship between housing and rural areas with natural amenities, we specifically examine housing development within the Northern Forest, the heavily forested northern sub-region of the upper Northeast, compared to the rest of the upper Northeast. In order to interpret our research findings, we also present data on current land cover and prevalence of seasonal housing inside and outside the Northern Forest. If the upper Northeast conforms to patterns found in national studies and studies of other regions, we expect to find widespread housing development in areas that were initially lower density (i.e., rural), with the 1970s emerging as a peak decade in housing growth, and significant housing development in the amenity-rich and more rural Northern Forest (Hammer et al. 2004; Johnson et al. 2005; Long and DeAre 1988; Nelson et al. 2004). Both the methods and data employed here are available for use in subsequent investigation of the environ- mental consequences associated with residential growth. Background The upper Northeast study area The upper Northeast (Fig. 1) has a long history of intensive settlement including many cycles of population and land-use change. Starting in 1620, European settlers colonized this region, and 75% of the arable land in the region was cleared for agriculture by the early 1800s (Foster 1992). The remaining forests on less productive soils or steeper slopes were intensively logged (Cogbill et al. 2002). Large-scale logging accelerated in northern New England as southern New England and New York City developed, peaking in 1850. After 1850, agriculture declined rapidly as farms in the region were abandoned for more productive farmland in the Midwest (Foster 1992). As the Northeast’s agriculture declined, loggers pushed further into its remote forests, exploiting Maine’s woods for the first time (Foster 2002). Logging continued into the 20th century, with pulp and papermaking industries concentrated in the Northern Forest. After farmland was abandoned in the 1800s, forests entered a long period of regrowth. While virtually no ‘old-growth’ forest remains today in the Northeastern United States (Cogbill et al. 2002), current forests are older, more complex, and have higher wildlife densities than at any time in the previous two centuries (Foster 2002). Fully understanding present-day trends in forest cover is made difficult by contrasting definitions and methods by which forests are inventoried. By Forest Service inventory measures, forest cover throughout the Northeastern United States was extensive in the 1990s, due to forest re-growth (McWilliams et al. 2000). A newer analysis using different methods finds evidence that a shift has occurred from decades of forest cover increase along the East Coast, to a net loss of forest cover during the period from 1973 to 2000 as urban areas expanded, land use intensified, Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 403 123 and the stock of former agricultural areas that can be recruited into forest dwindled (Drummond and Loveland 2010). Residential development has the ability to effect substantial land-cover changes because unlike the western states, where there are extensive Federally owned protected lands, the majority of forested lands in the Northeast are privately owned (up to 94% in Maine (McWilliams et al. 2005) and 75–76% in New Hampshire, Vermont, and New York (Morin and Tansey 2008)). Many parcels of nonindustrial private forest land are small and land management practices are heterogeneous, complicating landscape-scale planning and conserva- tion (Kittredge 2005). Northeastern states also have extensive wildland-urban interface (Stewart et al. 2003), meaning that large areas with forest cover are either residential forest with houses under the canopy or are close to housing. Recognizing these potential threats, Foster et al. (2010) raise serious concerns about this region’s long-term forest health and sustainability. Residential development in the region stems in large part from population growth due to in-migration (i.e., amenity migration Stewart 2002), as the region as a whole shows only moderate population growth (Johnson 2008). In contrast, the major metropolitan areas further south (the Boston-New York City megalopolis) have stable or declining populations due to net out-migration and minimal natural increase (Johnson 2008). Housing development in a region like the Northeast, where Land Cover Northern Forest Water Urban Barren Forest Grassland/Shrub Agriculture Wetlands 0 150 30075 Kilometers Fig. 1 National land-cover database for the upper Northeast study area and the northern forest 404 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 123 rural community decline and metropolitan population loss have been prevalent, is not universally seen as a problem. In fact, to many, it may be seen as a real sign of improvement, a return of growth, and a source of local tax revenue and jobs (Pfeffer and Lapping 1994). Recreation tied to natural amenities also has a long history in this region. Intensive land use at the expense of forests helped inspire the first conservation movement in the 19th century (for example, Henry David Thoreau) (Foster et al. 2010) and nature-based tourism emerged as an industry in the 19th century as well (Brown 1995). Nature-based tourism remains economically and culturally important today. Northeastern states currently have some of the highest seasonal home concentrations in the United States: Maine with 15.6%, Vermont 14.6%, and New Hampshire 10.3% (Bureau of the Census 2001). These forests therefore hold substantial cultural, recreational, and environmental importance. Examining the pattern and rate of housing growth is thus an important first step in understanding the region’s recent land-use history, and planning for a sustainable land-use future. The Northern Forest The Northern Forest is located within the upper Northeast, a swath of forested, largely rural land stretching from northern Maine through the Adirondacks (Northern Forest Center 2010) (Fig. 1). The Northern Forest is the largest remaining contiguous forest area on the East Coast. The region’s distinct cultural identity stems from its forest-based economy and smaller rural communities removed from state policy centers. The economy and cultural identity of the Northern Forest region is undergoing significant changes with the declining importance of the forest products sector. The forest products industry has an ample timber supply but lacks cost competitiveness in the global market (Schuler and Ince 2005). Vertically integrated forest product companies that operated mills supplied by their own timberland have almost entirely divested their real estate holdings (Foster 2002; Hagan et al. 2005). Most large tracts of divested timberland have remained intact (particularly those in Maine), but there are growing concerns that these forests will be further fragmented and developed (Egan et al. 2007; Kluza et al. 2000). Social resilience is also a concern, as the largely rural communities in the Northern Forest work to both maintain the region’s cultural identity and facilitate economic growth (Colocousis 2008; Northern Forest Center 2000). As more traditional economies wane, service economies built around tourism, recreation, and retirement are becoming prominent components of local economies, causing significant social and economic changes for local communities (Foster 2002; Johnson 2008; Northern Forest Center 2000). Methods Housing growth data are unique in its ability to capture the combined outcomes of demographic trends (population growth, migration, household formation, urban/ rural settlement trends, urbanization) and to indicate the location and concentration Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 405 123 of human impact on the environment (Hammer et al. 2004; Radeloff et al. 2005a). The persistence of housing through time makes contemporary housing counts particularly useful. It is possible to estimate historic settlement patterns based on houses that remain and to do so at a scale finer than that at which historic census records are kept (Syphard et al. 2009). Not only do houses archive historic data regarding population, they also indicate the timing of series of environmental changes that result from the land-use and land- cover changes caused by housing construction. During construction, vegetative cover (whether farmland, field, or forest) is removed and is left permanently altered once housing is complete. When forests are partially cleared to make way for home building, new edge habitat is created and remaining forests experience changes in light, moisture, and exposure to wind (Pidgeon et al. 2007). Exotic plants introduced for landscaping purposes escape to adjacent wildlands but invade over a period of years or even decades (Gavier-Pizarro et al. in review) and hence areas adjacent to older neighborhoods should have greater concentrations. Conversely, urban vegetative cover often increases over time as newly planted trees mature and homeowners landscape their lots (Boone et al. 2010; Brown 2003). Hence, the ability of decadal housing data to indicate when the forest in each neighborhood began its response to housing development is valuable. Another benefit of housing growth data is its relationship to urban/rural status, a widely used delineation of settlement types. In simplest terms, the distinction between urban and rural areas is based on the density of either population or housing. Definitions of urban and rural are subject to change, and the classification of a given area as urban or rural changes with the definitions, and as it grows (Redman and Jones 2005). Working from housing data itself makes definitions, classifications, and changes in status less significant, because housing is a direct indicator of settlement density and extent. In our Northeastern United States study area, the urban/rural distinction is not altogether meaningful or clear. Metropolitan areas encompass rural neighborhoods, and high-rise resorts and casinos are found in rural areas. Interstate highways string residential areas along vast corridors between small and medium-sized cities, and the major metropolitan areas have become a single megalopolis along the East Coast. Identifying an urban-to-rural gradient (e.g., McDonnell and Pickett 1990) is difficult because few vectors could originate in a rural area and progress monotonically (as the term ‘‘gradient’’ suggests) to an urban center. Housing data offers an alternative basis for research on anthropogenic effects on the environment, one without the encumbrances and vagaries of the urban/rural distinction (Hammer et al. 2004; Redman and Jones 2005) or the assumption of urban-to-rural gradients. Data analysis United States Census data can provide longtime series housing data at fine resolution. Digitized census boundaries at fine scales (block, block groups, and tracts) only became available nationwide in 1990, and boundaries of these units change so frequently that earlier data at these scales cannot be easily mapped. We used the partial block group (PBG) geography (Hammer et al. 2004), which are 406 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 123 formed when block groups are subdivided into smaller spatial units by boundaries of incorporated places, legal and census-designated county subdivisions, and rural/ urban areas. Block groups thus frequently consist of multiple ‘‘partial’’ block groups. Using partial block groups maximizes variations in housing density between PBGs and minimizes within PBG variation. Using PBGs, we can estimate historic housing density by decade, back to 1940 (Hammer et al. 2004). Estimates of historic sub-county housing counts are based on answers to the 2000 census long-form question ‘‘In what year was this housing unit built?’’ For each decade, we summed responses by PBG for all prior decades (e.g., an estimate of a 1970 housing count sums housing units built before 1940 with those reported built in each subsequent decade through the 1960s). This method is likely to underestimate the true count because it misses housing units that did not persist to 2000 (and hence were not surveyed in the 2000 Census) due to demolition, destruction, or removal. To adjust for lost units, we summed the PBG-level estimated counts for each county by decade, compared them to historic county-level totals provided by the US Census Bureau, and distributed the difference proportionally across all PBGs in the county. Adjustment rates (proportion of a county’s housing allocated by this process) were larger for earlier decades: 1940 �x = 0.24, SD = 0.09; 1950 �x = 0.22, SD = 0.07; 1960 �x = 0.17, SD = 0.07; 1970 �x = 0.10, SD = 0.05; 1980 �x = 0.10, SD = 0.03; 1990 �x = 0.06, SD = 0.03 (n = 92 counties). This pattern conforms to expectations, as older houses are more commonly subject to demolition. To identify areas with similar housing growth trends, we used a two-stage clustering process to group PBGs from Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and New York that share similar housing attributes. This is very similar to the approach used in Hammer et al. (2004), but uses the 2000 PBGs, rather than the 1990 PBGs used in that study. We then clustered log-transformed values of housing density per km 2 over six decades, where log transformation limits the effect of large outliers. All analyses were conducted in R, version 2.13.1 (R Development Core Team 2011). Only PBGs with housing units present in 2000 were used in these analyses (n = 12,123, mean size = 17.2 km2, SD = 62.4 km2). In the first step, we started with an initial random sample of 3,000 PBGs (sampled with replacement) and used hierarchical agglomerative clustering to create 25 unique clusters. The average-linkage rule was used to create distinct clusters with internal cohesion (Aldenderfer and Blashfield 1984; Kaufman and Rousseeuw 1990). We used a Euclidean distance measure for clustering, as it is the most commonly used distance measure in hierarchical clustering. Because the Euclidean measure is strongly affected by value differences, allowing large values to disproportionately affect cluster designation (Aldenderfer and Blashfield 1984), we log-transformed the housing density data. In order to reduce the effect of outliers, we dropped clusters with few PBGs as members, using a cut-off of less than five PBGs per cluster, resulting in 14 unique clusters for housing density. For the second step of the cluster analyses, we used the cluster centroids for a K-median partitioning of the full data set (Gordon 1999). K-median partitioning differs from the K-means method in that it uses a Manhattan distance measure (i.e., in attribute space) to limit the effects of outliers in assigning cluster status. Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 407 123 For each density cluster, we calculate an average housing unit density per decade, creating a trajectory of housing unit change over time, as well as the rate of change from each decade to the next (percent growth in housing units/km 2 ). We repeated the full clustering routine ten times and found that results were stable, with the majority (6/10) of the runs yielding 14 clusters with similar housing densities. Among the lower- and higher-density housing clusters, starting and ending housing densities were essentially the same in all six runs examined, and among the medium housing density clusters, we generally saw two similar local optima. To display housing clusters graphically, we then mapped the distribution of all clusters in ArcGIS 10. In order to better focus on housing growth in lower-density areas, we combined the five housing clusters with the highest densities (each starting with greater than 100 housing units per km 2 in 1940) and mapped these clusters together as ‘very high-density’ areas. The area and number of PBGs for each housing density cluster, as well as the total number of housing units per cluster in 2000, is shown in Table 1. To examine residential development inside and outside the Northern Forest, we compared the total area occupied by each cluster and the proportion of ‘wildland’ vegetation cover for each cluster, both inside and outside the Northern Forest. We derived vegetation information from the US Geological Survey (USGS) National Land Cover Data (NLCD), classified 30-m resolution Landsat TM satellite data from 2001 (Homer et al. 2004) (Fig. 1). We estimated percent wildland for each cluster by calculating the ratio of combined forest, grassland/shrub, and wetlands relative to the total land area of the cluster, thereby excluding areas classified as urban, agriculture, water, and barren. We note that the term ‘wildland’ does not refer to the ecological status of the vegetation, but is used merely to refer to those Table 1 Decade of highest growth, number of partial block groups, area, and housing units for each housing density cluster in the upper Northeast study area Decade of highest growth n (PBGs) Area (km 2 ) % Study area Total housing units (2000) % Total housing units (2000) No housing NA 72,832 31,417 13.1 0 0 Low (D0-5) 80s 297 43,286 18.0 53,595 1.2 Low (D2-6) 70s 724 48,270 20.1 223,375 5.1 Low (D3-9) 70s 1,065 50,663 21.1 398,759 9.0 Med (D4-15) 70s 1,131 35,603 14.8 463,439 10.5 Med (D7-24) 70s 1,012 17,314 7.2 366,057 8.3 Med (D14-38) 50s 724 4,927 2.0 177,497 4.0 High (D30-89) 50s/70s 758 2,104 0.9 179,361 4.1 High (D9-156) 70s 369 1,139 0.5 152,680 3.5 High (D56-167) 50s/70s 1,126 2,335 1.0 388,728 8.8 Very high ([100 in 1940) NA 4,917 3,468 1.4 2,012,126 45.6 Sum 84,955 240,525 100 4,415,617 100 408 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 123 areas with vegetative land-cover types that are not directly determined by human influence. Throughout the following discussion and figures, housing density clusters are named with ‘‘D’’, the average starting density in 1940, and the average ending density in 2000, so that D9-156 is a housing density cluster that started with an average density of nine housing units per km 2 in 1940 and had 156 housing units per km 2 in 2000. Lastly, to provide more social context on housing development in the upper Northeast, we calculated the number and proportion of seasonal housing units at the county level, inside and outside the Northern Forest, using 2000 Census data. Results Clustering housing densities over six decades grouped PBGs into nine distinct clusters throughout the study area, each with a unique trajectory (Fig. 2). Most clusters experienced a peak in housing growth in the 1970s (five clusters), with two clusters showing equal peaks in housing growth rates in the 1950s and 1970s, and one cluster growing the fastest in the 1980s. Except for the cluster that grew the fastest in the 1980s (D0-5), all clusters showed lower and declining rates of growth in the 1980s and 1990s (Table 1). Because the ‘very high-density’ clusters started at Fig. 2 Distribution of housing density clusters in the upper Northeast study area. Densities are divided among low, medium, and high final densities in 2000 and named by the average housing density in 1940-average housing density in 2000 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 409 123 high housing densities in the 1940s, and we do not have any information prior to this date, we do not include these areas in the discussion of housing growth rates. Across the entire study area, 13% of the land area had no housing units, over half (59%) of the study area fell within the lower-density clusters (average of 9 or fewer housing units/km 2 in 2000), and over a third (24%) in the medium-density clusters (between 15 and 38 housing units/km 2 in 2000) (Table 1). Only a small portion of the study areas fell in the high-density and very high-density clusters (2.4 and 1.4%, respectively) (Fig. 4). Clusters were distributed unevenly inside and outside the Northern Forest, with most of the variation in distribution among the lower housing density clusters (correlation of proportion area by cluster between the two regions: r = 0.27, p = 0.4) (Fig. 4). Examining the distribution of the clusters by decade of highest percent growth revealed that clusters with peak growth rates in the 1970s made up the majority of the study area. Examining only these nine focal density clusters (excludes the no housing and ‘very high-density’ housing areas), 90% of the area occupied outside the Northern Forest experienced the highest growth rate in the 1970s versus 61% inside. The cluster that grew the fastest in the 1980s made up 2% of area covered by the nine main density clusters outside the Northern Forest, but 37% inside the Northern Forest. Clusters with maximum growth rates in the 1950s, and those with equal maxima in the 1950s and 1970s occupied relatively little area. Examining only the nine main density clusters, those with maximum growth rates in the 1950s were 1% of the area inside the Northern Forest and 4% of the area outside the Northern Forest (Fig. 4). Clusters with equal maxima in the 1950s and 1970s were similarly 1% of the area inside the Northern Forest and 3.6% of the area outside the Northern Forest (Fig. 4). Analysis of land cover showed that proportion wildland decreased across clusters of different housing densities (Fig. 4). There was no significant difference in proportion wildland by density cluster inside and outside the Northern Forest (correlation between proportion wildland by cluster between the two regions, r = 0.97, p \ 0.001), so we report proportion wildland by cluster for the study area as a whole (Fig. 4). Below, we divide each group of housing density clusters by their final housing unit density in year 2000 (low, medium, and high- density clusters) and discuss each group in turn. Much of the study area remains sparsely developed: Just over fifty percent of the study area fell into clusters with an average density of less than or equal to 6 houses/ km 2 in 2000. The trajectory for the lowest-density housing cluster (D0-5) showed minimal growth in housing units until the 1980s, when a high-percentage increase resulted in part from the cluster’s low starting base (Fig. 3). Growth in the number of housing units in the next clusters (D2-6, D3-9) peaked in the 1970s, although density of housing increased steadily through 2000 (Fig. 3). Examining the distribution of clusters over the landscape, areas with no housing or very low housing (D0-5) were overwhelmingly found in the Northern Forest, most prominently in Maine and in the Adirondacks of northern New York (Fig. 2). Sparse settlement and minimal growth are consistent with timberland management; changes in ownership may alter these patterns in coming decades. Cluster D2-6 was widespread over the entire study area (20%), but covered twice the area inside the Northern Forest than outside. The next highest-density cluster, D3-9, showed a similar trajectory over time to D2-6 and was also widespread throughout the study 410 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 123 area (21%), but covered a greater area outside the Northern Forest than inside. When combined, areas with no and low-density housing covered nearly three-forths of the study area. The proportion wildland land cover was greater than 70% for each low-density cluster, with lower-proportion wildland vegetation in clusters with higher housing density (Fig. 4). The three medium housing density clusters (D4-15, D7-24, D14-38) made up a combined 24% of the total study area. Each housing density cluster followed a similar moderate increase in housing over time (Fig. 3). The lower two density clusters (D4-15, D7-24) grew the fastest in the 1970s, but D14-38 showed the fastest growth in the 1950s. In New York, this moderate housing development followed the Hudson Valley north to the Albany area and continued west along the I-90 corridor 9 156 56 167 30 89 0 40 80 120 160 200 1940 1950 1960 1970 1980 1990 2000 H o u si n g u n its /k m 2 E 36 26 42 0 20 40 60 80 100 1940s 1950s 1960s 1970s 1980s 1990s P e rc e n t h o u si n g g ro w th D 0 5 2 6 3 9 0 2 4 6 8 10 1940 1950 1960 1970 1980 1990 2000 H o u si n g u n its /k m 2 A 7 24 14 38 4 15 0 10 20 30 40 1940 1950 1960 1970 1980 1990 2000 H o u si n g u n its /k m 2 C 99 49 40 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 1940s 1950s 1960s 1970s 1980s 1990s P e rc e n t h o u si n g g ro w th B 29 29 27 27 114 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 1940s 1950s 1960s 1970s 1980s 1990s P e rc e n t h o u si n g g ro w th F Fig. 3 Trajectories of housing density clusters over time (a, c, e), along with relative rates of change in housing densities, with the decade of highest growth labeled (b, d, f) Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 411 123 to Buffalo. Outside of New York, medium-density clusters occurred along the coast (southern New Hampshire and Maine), with some outgrowths along the Canadian border, and around Burlington, Vermont (Fig. 3). These clusters were predomi- nantly found outside the Northern Forest (40,800 km 2 or 40% of total area outside the Northern Forest, as opposed to approximately 17,000 km 2 or 12% of the area inside the Northern Forest) (Fig. 2). Proportion wildland vegetation was stable across medium housing density clusters at just over 65%. Those clusters with high housing densities in the year 2000 (D30-89, D9-156, D56-167) occupy a very small proportion of the total study area (2.4%). Two of the clusters (D30-89 and D56-167) showed fairly steady growth rates over time, with equal maxima in growth rates in the 1950s and 1970s. Cluster D9-156, however, showed a sharp increase in housing units beginning in the 1960s, peaking in the 1970s at a growth rate of 114%, with housing growth remaining high in the 1980s (56%), and further declining in the 1990s. This cluster’s growth far surpassed other clusters with similar starting densities (e.g., D7-24, D30-89). As a group, these high- density housing clusters largely surround urban areas and are widely distributed along the eastern seaboard and around the older and bigger cities in New York, consistent with metropolitan spillover growth (Fig. 2). However, high-density clusters are also found in wider and patchy distribution over the landscape; for example, around the Finger Lakes region of New York, the northern reaches of Lake Champlain in Vermont and New Hampshire, and areas outside of Berlin, New Hampshire, and Montpelier, Vermont. The fast growing D9-156 cluster is most prominent along southern New Hampshire (Boston-Manchester suburbs) and southern Maine and is generally outside or between areas of very high density 0 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 100 0 10000 20000 30000 40000 50000 60000 No housing Low (D0-0) Low (D2-6) Low (D3-9) Med (D4-15) Med (D7-24) Med (D14-38) High (D30-89) High (D9-156) High (D56-167) V high (>100 1940) Total study area Outside N Forest Northern Forest % Wildland Fig. 4 Area and percent wildland vegetation for each housing density cluster, with area inside and outside the Northern Forest. Total area inside the Northern Forest was 138,460 km 2 , area outside Northern Forest equal to 102,065 km 2 412 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 123 ([100 housing units/km2 in 1940) (Fig. 2). There are also small pockets of high- density clusters in less developed areas within the Northern Forest (e.g., Watertown in northern Jefferson County, NY or areas south of the White Mountain National Forest in New Hampshire). These high-density clusters are more common outside the Northern Forest boundaries (4.2% of total area outside the Northern Forest and 0.9% of total area inside the Northern Forest). Proportion of wildland declined steadily across these clusters, but even the highest-density cluster (D56-167) had 44% wildland cover. The ‘very high-housing-density’ cluster (where housing densities were [100 units/km 2 in 1940) is mostly located on the coast north of the Boston area and along the Erie Canal and Hudson Valley corridors, with the largest concentrations found in the older cities of New York State (Fig. 2). While difficult to see on the larger map, this cluster is also found in more isolated developed areas within the Northern Forest (for example, in Saranac Lake and Watertown in New York; Burlington and Montpelier in Vermont; Berlin, New Hampshire; and Presque Isle and areas along 1-95 from Bangor to the Canadian border in Maine) (Fig. 2). Although high numbers of housing units are found here, this area occupies only a small proportion of the total study area (1.4% total study area). Area of these very high-housing- density clusters was greater outside the Northern Forest by a ratio of 4.5:1 (0.5% of the area within the Northern Forest, 2.8% of area outside Northern Forest) (Fig. 4). Wildland vegetation is the lowest here at 22% or half the level seen in next closest cluster (D56-167). Seasonal homes are common throughout the upper Northeast, but are more prevalent within the Northern Forest region than outside. At the county level, an average of 20.2% (SD = 13.5) of all housing units are seasonal homes within the Northern Forest, while an average 9.5% (SD = 8.4) of homes outside the Northern Forest are seasonal homes (t = -4.68, p \ 0.001, df = 90). Northern Forest counties have fewer housing units, so that the actual numbers of seasonal housing units per county are more similar within and outside the Northern Forest, but remain significantly higher within the Northern Forest counties (Northern Forest, �x = 4,867 housing units, SD = 3,062; outside Northern Forest, �x = 3,372, SD = 3,225; t = -2.19, p = 0.03, df = 90). Discussion Examining the spatial extent and trajectories of housing growth over the upper Northeast demonstrates that housing growth has been extensive in the region, both inside and outside the Northern Forest, but that the Northern Forest remains an area with slower housing growth. Like the rural areas in the North Central region (Hammer et al. 2004) and in many parts of the United States (Johnson et al. 2005; Long and DeAre 1988; Nelson et al. 2004), the upper Northeast experienced a peak in housing development in the 1970s. Much of this development occurred on the metropolitan periphery—that is, in rural areas proximate to large urban centers, but a significant portion also occurred in the Northern Forest, with 74 and 21% of the Northern Forest experiencing the highest rates of growth in the 1970s and 1980s, Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 413 123 respectively (this percentage area excludes areas with no housing or ‘very high’ housing). This is consistent with the patterns seen in the North Central Region, where high-growth PBGs were often concentrated in remote natural resource amenity areas. Despite the 1970s/1980s growth, the Northern Forest has largely retained its regional identity as a rural landscape. The proportion of houses classified as seasonal homes in 2000 was substantially higher here than outside the Northern Forest, indicating that amenity-based migration and recreation are associated with the region. Even with the surge of growth in the 1970s/1980s, housing growth in this region was not as heightened as patterns seen in rural housing development in the North Central Region (Hammer et al. 2004). Housing growth in the upper Northeast also took a different form; rural sprawl was not the only source of growth. Nearly, all areas across the upper Northeast (urban, suburban, exurban, and rural) grew during this period. We saw little evidence for a 1990s spike in growth, with nearly all clusters growing at rates equal to or less than 20% over this decade (D0-5 and D9- 145 were the exceptions). This result varied from other regions with more intense growth in the 1990s (e.g., Radeloff et al. 2005a), and national data showing that the 1990s were an important period for population growth in newly developing, previously nonmetropolitan areas (Johnson et al. 2005). However, our findings are consistent with research by Johnson and Cromartie (2006), who report that in the rural Northeast population did not diminish as much as other rural areas during the 1980s nor did it accelerate as much as other rural areas during the 1990s. Having been widely settled a century earlier, migration in this region may not have had as much impact on the spread of housing, as existing housing stock may have absorbed migrants. Larger initial housing densities also result in lower housing growth rates. On the whole, the trajectories and spatial distribution of housing growth in our study area were more consistent with the outcomes expected across the country in the coming decades, a movement toward moderate density centers in both metropolitan and nonmetropolitan areas, but with an uneven spatial distribution (not all sparsely settled areas will grow in population) (Johnson et al. 2005). Analysis of land cover by housing cluster showed that at lower densities of housing, land cover remained predominantly forest, grassland/shrub, or wetland. In part, our findings reflect the 30-m pixel resolution of the remotely sensed land cover. In satellite imagery at this resolution, moderate- and low-density housing are often effectively hidden under the tree canopy. For example, present-day land cover through New Hampshire and Vermont is classified as mostly forest (Fig. 1), but much of this area had average 2000 housing density of 6 housing units/km 2 (or about one house per 40 acres), suggesting the land use was low-density to medium- density residential. Even areas with high housing density in 2000 (D30-89, D9-156) retained over 50% land cover classified as forest, grassland/shrub, and wetland. These results conform with research from the North Central United States, where even PBGs with high housing densities retained significant wildland vegetation cover (Radeloff et al. 2005a). Future research on the relationships between land cover and land use (such as housing) on a finer scale will help refine our understanding of the circumstances under which wildland vegetation persists with housing development and how this relationship changes over time. The relationship 414 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 123 between agriculture and land cover is also likely to be of interest in the upper Northeast, as high amounts of forest cover are often retained in the small-scale noncommodity farming practiced in this region (for example, in one study an average 57% of farm land was forested at the 1 m scale Lovell et al. 2010). In addition, our research shows that different areas on the landscape experienced variable maximum rates of housing growth and variable timing of these peak rates of housing growth. It is unclear how the intensity and timing of land-use change combine to alter ecological factors of interest, including land cover. Despite the retention of wildland vegetation at a broad scale, there is concern about maintaining forest and other wildland resources with continued housing development in the region (Drummond and Loveland 2010). Continued expansion of housing into remaining high-amenity rural areas has the potential to significantly impact the forest resources that already serve some of the most dense and largest human populations in the country. Rural amenity areas that experienced particularly high rates or relatively expansive areas of housing development include the region around Burlington, Vermont; the area north of Albany, New York through Saratoga Springs to the Adirondacks; the area north of Utica, New York to the Adirondacks; and the area around the White and Green Mountains. Even moderate growth, especially in small communities, raises concerns about the community’s capacity for change and accommodation, potentially including adequate planning, zoning, and enforcement of land-use statutes and regulations (Nelson 2001; Warner et al. 1999). The two largest remaining blocks of the Northern Forest (the Adirondacks and Northern Maine) are increasingly surrounded by urbanized or urbanizing regions. Isolation of protected area due to housing growth is a common problem in the United States and poses a significant challenge to biodiversity protection (Radeloff et al. 2010). In short, the Northeast has a vast expanse of residential forest, where houses, streets, and associated commercial development coincides with forest vegetation. This extensive wildland-urban interface shares characteristics with urbanized regions in its human density and presence, automobile traffic, and extensive human manipulation of, and impacts on vegetation, hydrology, and airshed. But this wildland-urban interface also shares characteristics with wildland forests in its vegetative type, canopy cover, and wildlife habitat, particularly for synanthropic species (Radeloff et al. 2005b). Like urban forests, residential forests may be heterogeneous and unstable in time and space, but they may also fulfill many ecosystem services and continued development threatens these. Future conservation will require understanding the ecological and social benefits of different forest types and working to maintain them in configurations that assure the continued delivery of ecosystem services. Scientists and managers working in New England call for a recognition of five different types of ‘woodlands’: urban, suburban, rural, connected, and continuous, each with a different level of desired forest cover and different potential to deliver ecosystem services (Foster et al. 2010). For example, the most important benefits of urban forests may be their ability to reduce water runoff and provide cooling through shade (Pataki et al. 2011), while rural forests can support widespread wildlife populations. More research is necessary to understand how different landscape configurations alter social and ecological needs, and how Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 415 123 these needs may combine, as the inhabitants of the Northern Forest try to preserve their traditional identity as a rural and forest-based place. Identifying the desired landscape configurations and ecological benefits must also be accompanied by a better understanding of the policy instruments likely to effectively encourage the desired housing development patterns. Thus far, the policy responses to sprawl have been numerous, both in more urban and rural settings. Policy tools to manage growth (such as urban growth boundaries) or preserve undeveloped space and agricultural lands (such as zoning) have been used both in isolation and together (Bengston et al. 2004). However, no one policy instrument has emerged as most effective in constraining and shaping housing development on the landscape. A multi-faceted policy approach, with consistent implementation, appears to be most effective in preserving open space (Bengston et al. 2004). Given that housing development in rural areas is certain to continue, some planners and researchers have promoted the use of ‘conservation’ housing developments, where houses are purposefully constructed on smaller lots and clustered together in order to retain open space (Arendt et al. 1996). While research suggests that some impacts of housing development can be mitigated through clustering houses or limiting density, there are still remaining questions about the ecological efficacy of conservation-oriented subdivisions (Hansen et al. 2005; e.g., Lenth et al. 2006; Milder et al. 2008; Pejchar et al. 2007). The impacts of housing stem not only from the physical structures of houses and roads interrupting flows and processes essential to ecosystem functionality, but also from the behavior and activities of those living in the homes and using the wildland that surround them. Even when homes are carefully placed and clustered, the people living in them will likely hike off-trail, let dogs run, use tools or machines that can start fires, let cats outside, landscape the yard, feed birds, and fertilize and water the garden. Planning and zoning to alter the placement of homes are a necessary first step, but routine chores, leisure behavior, and all manner of mundane activities the average person does not connect to ecological outcomes remain a significant source of stress on ecosystems. Thus, recommendations for changing the ecological effects of ongoing housing growth should include support for more ecological education and to make ecological homeownership a topic of widespread informal and ongoing discussion. The wildland-urban interface appears to be a permanent feature of life in America and other developed countries; if the health of the ‘‘wildland’’ part of the setting concerns us, we have to both learn and teach how to protect it. Acknowledgments We gratefully acknowledge support for this research by the U.S.D.A. Forest Service and the Northeastern States Research Cooperative. References to software products are provided for information only and do not constitute endorsement by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, or the U.S. Government, as to their suitability, content, usefulness, functioning, completeness, or accuracy. References Aldenderfer, M. S., & Blashfield, R. K. (1984). Cluster analysis. Sage University Paper 44, Newbury Park, CA: Quantitative Applications in the Social Sciences. Arendt, R., Harper, H., & Trust, N. L. (1996). Conservation design for subdivisions: A practical guide to creating open space networks. Washington, DC: Island Press. 416 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 123 Bengston, D. N., Fletcher, J. O., & Nelson, K. C. (2004). Public policies for managing urban growth and protecting open space: Policy instruments and lessons learned in the United States. Landscape and Urban Planning, 69, 271–286. Boone, C. G., Cadenasso, M. L., Grove, J. M., Schwarz, K., & Buckley, G. L. (2010). Landscape, vegetation characteristics, and group identity in an urban and suburban watershed: Why the 60 s matter. Urban Ecosystems, 13, 255–271. Brown, D. (1995). Inventing New England: Regional tourism in the nineteenth century. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. Brown, D. G. (2003). Land use and forest cover on private parcels in the Upper Midwest USA, 1970 to 1990. Landscape Ecology, 18, 777–790. Brown, D. L., Fuguitt, G. V., Heaton, T. B., & Waseem, S. (1997). Continuities in size of place preferences in the United States, 1972–1992. Rural Sociology, 62, 408–428. Brown, D. G., Johnson, K. M., Loveland, T. R., & Theobald, D. M. (2005). Rural land-use trends in the conterminous United States, 1950–2000. Ecological Applications, 15, 1851–1863. Bureau of the Census. (2001). Housing characteristics: 2000. In J. Woodward, & B. Damon (Eds.), Census 2000 Brief C2KBR/01-13. Cogbill, C. V., Burk, J., & Motzkin, G. (2002). The forests of presettlement New England, USA: Spatial and compositional patterns based on town proprietor surveys. Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1279–1304. Colocousis, C. (2008). The state of Coos County: Local perspectives on community and change. Issue Brief. Durham, New Hampshire: The Carsey Institute, University of New Hampshire. Drummond, M. A., & Loveland, T. R. (2010). 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Fraterrigo, J. M., Turner, M. G., Pearson, S. M., & Dixon, P. (2005). Effects of past land use on spatial heterogeneity of soil nutrients in southern Appalachian forests. Ecological Monographs, 75, 215–230. Fuguitt, G. V. (1985). The nonmetropolitan turnaround. Annual Review of Sociology, 11, 180–259. Fuguitt, G. V., & Brown, D. L. (1990). Residential preferences and population redistribution: 1972–1988. Demography, 27, 589–600. Gavier-Pizarro, G., Radeloff, V., Stewart, S., Huebner, C., & Keuler, N. (2010). Housing is positively associated with invasive exotic plant species richness in New England, USA. Ecological Applications, 20, 1913–1925. Gavier-Pizarro, G., Radeloff, V., Stewart, S. I., Huebner, C., & Keuler, N. Seventy-year legacies of housing and road patterns are related to non-native invasive plant patterns in the forests of the Baraboo Hills, Wisconsin. Ecosystems (in review). Gonzalez-Abraham, C. E., Radeloff, V. C., Hawbaker, T. J., Hammer, R. B., Stewart, S. I., & Clayton, M. K. (2007). Patterns of houses and habitat loss from 1937 to 1999 in northern Wisconsin, USA. Ecological Applications, 17, 2011–2023. Gordon, A. D. (1999). Classification (2nd ed.). London: Chapman & Hall/CRC. Green, D. M., & Baker, M. G. (2003). Urbanization impacts on habitat and bird communities in a Sonoran desert ecosystem. Landscape and Urban Planning, 63, 225–239. Hagan, J. M., Irland, L. C., & Whitman, A. A. (2005). Changing timberland ownership in the Northern Forest and implications for biodiversity. Report# MCCS-FCP-2005-1. Brunswick, Maine: Manomet Center for Conservation Sciences, p. 25. Hammer, R. B., Stewart, S. I., & Radeloff, V. C. (2009). Demographic trends, the wildland–urban interface, and wildfire management. Society and Natural Resources, 22, 777–782. Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 417 123 Hammer, R. B., Stewart, S. I., Winkler, R. L., Radeloff, V. C., & Voss, P. R. (2004). Characterizing dynamic spatial and temporal residential density patterns from 1940–1990 across the North Central United States. Landscape and Urban Planning, 69, 183–199. Hansen, A. J., Knight, R. L., Marzluff, J. M., Powell, S., Brown, K., Gude, P. H., et al. (2005). Effects of exurban development on biodiversity: Patterns, mechanisms, and research needs. Ecological Applications, 15, 1893–1905. Heimlich, R. E., & Anderson, W. D. (2001). Development at the urban fringe and beyond: Impacts on agriculture and rural land. Agricultural Economics Reports, 803. Homer, C. C. H., Yang, L., Wylie, B., & Coan, M. (2004). Development of a 2001 national landcover database for the United States. Photogrammetric Engineering and Remote Sensing, 70, 829–840. Jackson-Smith, D., Jensen, E., & Jennings, B. (2006). Changing land use in the rural intermountain west. In W. A. Kandel & D. L. Brown (Eds.), Population change and rural society (pp. 253–276). The Netherlands: Springer. Johnson, K. M. (2008). 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Forest resources and conditions. In R. A. Mickler, R. A. Birdsey, & J. Hom (Eds.), Responses of northern US forests to environmental change. Ecological studies, Vol. 139 (pp. 3–26). New York: Springer. Milder, J. C., Lassoie, J. P., & Bedford, B. L. (2008). Conserving biodiversity and ecosystem function through limited development: An empirical evaluation. Conservation Biology, 22, 70–79. Morin, R. S., & Tansey, M. (2008). New Hampshire’s forest resources, 2006. Newtown Square, PA: Northern Research Station, USDA Forest Service. 418 Popul Environ (2013) 34:400–419 123 Nelson, P. B. (2001). Rural restructuring in the American West: Land use, family and class discourses. Journal of Rural Studies, 17, 395–407. Nelson, P. B., Nicholson, J. P., & Stege, E. H. (2004). The baby boom and nonmetropolitan population change, 1975–1990. Growth and Change, 35, 525–544. Northern Forest Center. (2000). Northern forest wealth index: Exploring a deeper meaning of wealth. Concord, NH: Northern Forest Center. Northern Forest Center. (2010). Webpage. www.northernforest.org. Accessed 16 September 2010. Pataki, D. E., Carreiro, M. M., Cherrier, J., Grulke, N. E., Jennings, V., Pincetl, S., et al. (2011). Coupling biogeochemical cycles in urban environments: Ecosystem services, green solutions, and miscon- ceptions. Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment, 9, 27–36. Pejchar, L., Morgan, P. M., Caldwell, M. R., Palmer, C., & Daily, G. C. (2007). Evaluating the potential for conservation development: Biophysical, economic, and institutional perspectives. Conservation Biology, 21, 69–78. Pfeffer, M. J., & Lapping, M. B. (1994). Farmland preservation, development rights and the theory of the growth machine: The views of planners. Journal of Rural Studies, 10, 233–248. Pidgeon, A. M., Radeloff, V. C., Flather, C. H., Lepczyk, C. A., Clayton, M. K., Hawbaker, T. J., et al. (2007). 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work_7ll6sbkyj5bhffwwoojrcoebym	----	Principles for allocation of scarce medical interventions Department of Ethics www.thelancet.com Vol 373 January 31, 2009 423 Principles for allocation of scarce medical interventions Govind Persad, Alan Wertheimer, Ezekiel J Emanuel Allocation of very scarce medical interventions such as organs and vaccines is a persistent ethical challenge. We evaluate eight simple allocation principles that can be classifi ed into four categories: treating people equally, favouring the worst-off , maximising total benefi ts, and promoting and rewarding social usefulness. No single principle is suffi cient to incorporate all morally relevant considerations and therefore individual principles must be combined into multiprinciple allocation systems. We evaluate three systems: the United Network for Organ Sharing points systems, quality-adjusted life-years, and disability-adjusted life-years. We recommend an alternative system—the complete lives system—which prioritises younger people who have not yet lived a complete life, and also incorporates prognosis, save the most lives, lottery, and instrumental value principles. In health care, as elsewhere, scarcity is the mother of allocation.1 Although the extent is debated,2,3 the scarcity of many specifi c interventions—including beds in intensive care units,4 organs, and vaccines during pandemic infl uenza5—is widely acknowledged. For some interventions, demand exceeds supply. For others, an increased supply would necessitate redirection of important resources, and allocation decisions would still be necessary.6 Allocation of scarce medical interventions is a perennial challenge. During the 1940s, an expert committee allocated—without public input—then-novel penicillin to American soldiers before civilians, using expected effi cacy and speed of return to duty as criteria.7 During the 1960s, committees in Seattle allocated scarce dialysis machines using prognosis, current health, social worth, and dependants as criteria.7 How can scarce medical interventions be allocated justly? This paper identifi es and evaluates eight simple principles that have been suggested.8–12 Although some are better than others, no single principle allocates interventions justly. Rather, morally relevant simple principles must be combined into multiprinciple allocation systems. We evaluate three existing systems and then recommend a new one: the complete lives system. Simple allocation principles Eight simple ethical principles for allocation can be classifi ed into four categories, according to their core ethical values: treating people equally, favouring the worst-off , maximising total benefi ts, and promoting and rewarding social usefulness (table 1). We do not regard ability to pay as a plausible option for the scarce life-saving inter ventions we discuss. Some people wrongly suggest that allocation can be based purely on scientifi c or clinical facts, often using the term “medical need”.13,14 There are no value-free medical criteria for allocation.15,16 Although biomedical facts determine a person’s post-transplant prognosis or the dose of vaccine that would confer immunity, responding to these facts requires ethical, value-based judgments. When evaluating principles, we need to distinguish between those that are insuffi cient and those that are fl awed. Insuffi cient principles ignore some morally relevant considerations. Conversely, fl awed principles recognise morally irrelevant considerations: inherently fl awed principles necessarily recognise irrelevant considerations, whereas practically fl awed principles allow irrelevant considerations to aff ect allocation. Principles that are individually insuffi cient could form part of an acceptable multiprinciple system, whereas systems that include fl awed principles are untenable because they will always recognise irrelevant con- siderations. Treating people equally Many scarce medical interventions, such as organ transplants, are indivisible. For indivisible goods, bene- fi ting people equally entails providing equal chances at the scarce intervention—equality of opportunity, rather than equal amounts of it.1 Two principles attempt to embody this value. Lottery Allocation by lottery has been used, sometimes with explicit judicial and legislative endorsement, in military conscription, immigration, education, and distribution of vaccines.10,17,18 Lotteries have several attractions. Equal moral status supports an equal claim to scarce resources.19 Even among only roughly equal candidates, lotteries prevent small diff erences from drastically aff ecting outcome.18 Some people also support lottery allocation because “each person’s desire to stay alive should be regarded as of the same importance and deserving the same respect as that of anyone else”.20 Practically, lottery allocation is quick and requires little knowledge about recipients.18 Finally, lotteries resist corruption.18 The major disadvantage of lotteries is their blindness to many seemingly relevant factors.21,22 Random decisions between someone who can gain 40 years and someone who can gain only 4 months, or someone who has already lived for 80 years and someone who has lived only 20 years, are inappropriate. Treating people equally often fails to treat them as equals.23 Ultimately, although allocation solely by lottery is insuffi cient, the lottery’s Lancet 2009; 373: 423–31 Department of Bioethics, The Clinical Center, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, Maryland, USA (G Persad BS, A Wertheimer PhD, E J Emanuel MD) Correspondence to: Ezekiel J Emanuel, Department of Bioethics, The Clinical Center, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, MD 20892-1156, USA eemanuel@nih.gov Department of Ethics 424 www.thelancet.com Vol 373 January 31, 2009 simplicity and resistance to corruption suggests that it could be incorporated into a multiprinciple system.22 First-come, fi rst-served Within health care, many people endorse a fi rst-come, fi rst-served distribution of beds in intensive care units24 or organs for transplant.25 The American Thoracic Society defends this principle as “a natural lottery—an egalitarian approach for fair [intensive care unit] resource allocation.”24 Others believe it promotes fair equality of opportunity,25 and allows physicians to avoid discontinuing interventions, such as respirators, even when other criteria support moving those interventions to new arrivals.26 Some people simply equate it to lottery allocation.19 As with lottery allocation, fi rst-come, fi rst-served ignores relevant diff erences between people, but in practice fails even to treat people equally. It favours people who are well-off , who become informed, and travel more quickly, and can queue for interventions without competing for employment or child-care concerns.27 Queues are also vulnerable to additional corruption. As New York State’s pandemic infl uenza planners stated, “Those who could fi guratively (and sometimes literally) push to the front of the line would be vaccinated and stand the best chance for survival”.28 First-come, fi rst-served allows morally irrelevant qualities—such as wealth, power, and connections—to decide who receives scarce interventions, and is therefore practically fl awed. Favouring the worst-off : prioritarianism Franklin Roosevelt argued that “the test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much; it is whether we provide enough for those who have too little”.29 Philosophers call this preference for the worst-off prioritarianism.30 Some defi ne being worst-off as currently lacking valuable goods, whereas others defi ne it as lacking valuable goods throughout one’s entire life.8 Two principles embody these two interpretations. Sickest fi rst Treating the sickest people fi rst prioritises those with the worst future prospects if left untreated. The so-called rule of rescue, which claims that “our moral response to the imminence of death demands that we rescue the doomed”, exemplifi es this principle.31 Transplantable livers and hearts, as well as emergency-room care, are allocated to the sickest individuals fi rst.21 Some people might argue that treating the sickest individuals fi rst is intuitively obvious.32 Others claim that the sickest people are also probably worst off overall, because healthier people might recover unaided or be saved later by new interventions.33 Finally, sickest-fi rst allocation appeals to prognosis if untreated—a criterion clinicians frequently consider.14 On its own, sickest-fi rst allocation ignores post-treatment prognosis: it applies even when only minor gains at high cost can be achieved. To circumvent this result, some Advantages Disadvantages Examples of use Recommendation Treating people equally Lottery Hard to corrupt; little information about recipients needed Ignores other relevant principles Military draft; schools; vaccination Include First-come, fi rst-served Protects existing doctor-patient relationships; little information about recipients needed Favours wealthy, powerful, and well-connected; ignores other relevant principles ICU beds; part of organ allocation Exclude Favouring the worst-off : prioritarianism Sickest fi rst Aids those who are suff ering right now; appeals to “rule of rescue”; makes sense in temporary scarcity; proxy for being worst off overall Surreptitious use of prognosis; ignores needs of those who will become sick in future; might falsely assume temporary scarcity; leads to people receiving interventions only after prognosis deteriorates; ignores other relevant principles Emergency rooms; part of organ allocation Exclude Youngest fi rst Benefi ts those who have had least life; prudent planners have an interest in living to old age Undesirable priority to infants over adolescents and young adults; ignores other relevant principles New NVAC/ACIP pandemic fl u vaccine proposal Include Maximising total benefi ts: utilitarianism Number of lives saved Saves more lives, benefi ting the greatest number; avoids need for comparative judgments about quality or other aspects of lives Ignores other relevant principles Past ACIP/NVAC pandemic fl u vaccine policy; bioterrorism response policy; disaster triage Include Prognosis or life-years saved Maximises life-years produced Ignores other relevant principles, particularly distributive principles Penicillin allocation; traditional military triage (prognosis) and disaster triage (life-years saved) Include Promoting and rewarding social usefulness Instrumental value Helps promote other important values; future oriented Vulnerable to abuse through choice of prioritised occupations or activities; can direct health resources away from health needs Past and current NVAC/ACIP pandemic fl u vaccine policy Include but only in some public health emergencies Reciprocity Rewards those who implemented important values; past oriented Vulnerable to abuse; can direct health resources away from health needs; intrusive assessment process Some organ donation policies Include only irreplaceable people who have suff ered serious losses Table 1: Simple principles and their core ethical values Department of Ethics www.thelancet.com Vol 373 January 31, 2009 425 misleadingly claim that sick people with a small but clear chance of benefi t do not have a medical need.13 Sick recipients’ prognoses are wrongly assumed to be normal, even though many interventions—such as liver transplants—are less eff ective for the sickest people.34 If the failure to take account of prognosis were its only problem, sickest-fi rst allocation would merely be insuffi cient. However, it myopically bases allocation on how sick someone is at the current time—a morally arbitrary factor in genuine scarcity.16 Preferential allocation of a scarce liver to an acutely ill person unjustly ignores a currently healthier person with progressive liver disease, who might be worse off when he or she later suff ers liver failure.8,22 Favouring those who are currently sickest seems to assume that resource scarcity is temporary: that we can save the person who is now sickest and then save the progressively ill person later.8,22 However, even temporary scarcity does not guarantee another chance to save the progressively ill person. Furthermore, when interventions are per- sistently scarce, saving the progressively ill person later will always involve depriving others. When we cannot save everyone, saving the sickest fi rst is inherently fl awed and inconsistent with the core idea of priority to the worst-off . Youngest fi rst Although not always recognised as such, youngest-fi rst allocation directs resources to those who have had less of something supremely valuable—life-years.8 Dialysis machines and scarce organs have been allocated to younger recipients fi rst,35 and proposals for allocation in pandemic infl uenza prioritise infants and children.36 Daniel Callahan37 has suggested strict age cut-off s for scarce life-saving interventions, whereas Alan Williams38 has suggested a system that allocates interventions based on individuals’ distance from a normal life-span if left unaided. Prioritising the youngest gives priority to the worst-off —those who would otherwise die having had the fewest life-years—and is thus fundamentally diff erent from favouritism towards adults or people who are well-off .8,9 Also, allocating preferentially to the young has an appeal that favouring other worst-off individuals such as women, poor people, or minorities lacks: “Because [all people] age, treating people of diff erent ages diff erently does not mean that we are treating persons unequally.”39 Prudent planners would allocate life-saving interventions to themselves earlier in life to improve their chances of living to old age.39 These justifi cations explain much of the public preference for allocating scarce life-saving interventions to younger people.40,41 Strict youngest-fi rst allocation directs scarce resources predominantly to infants. This approach seems incorrect.5 The death of a 20-year-old young woman is intuitively worse than that of a 2-month-old girl, even though the baby has had less life.40 The 20-year-old has a much more developed personality than the infant, and has drawn upon the investment of others to begin as-yet-unfulfi lled projects. Youngest-fi rst allocation also ignores prognosis,42 and categorically excludes older people.34 Thus, youngest-fi rst allocation seems insuffi cient on its own, but it could be combined with prognosis and lottery principles in a multiprinciple allocation system.34 Maximising total benefi ts: utilitarianism Maximising benefi ts is a utilitarian value, although principles diff er about which benefi ts to maximise. Save the most lives One maximising strategy involves saving the most individual lives, and it has motivated policies on allocation of infl uenza vaccine5 and responses to bioterrorism.43 Since each life is valuable, this principle seems to need no special justifi cation. It also avoids comparing individual lives. Other things being equal, we should always save fi ve lives rather than one.44 However, other things are rarely equal. Some lives have been shorter than others; 20-year-olds have lived less than 70-year-olds.40 Similarly, some lives can be extended longer than others. How to weigh these other relevant considerations against saving more lives—whether to save one 20-year-old, who might live another 60 years if saved, or three 70-year-olds who could only live for 10 years each—is unclear.45 Although insuffi cient on its own, saving more lives should be part of a multiprinciple allocation system. Prognosis or life-years Rather than saving the most lives, prognosis allocation aims to save the most life-years. This strategy has been used in disaster triage and penicillin allocation, and motivates the exclusion of people with poor prognoses from organ transplantation waiting lists.7,21,46 Maximising life-years has intuitive appeal. Living more years is valuable, so saving more years also seems valuable.8 However, even supporters of prognosis-based allocation acknowledge its inability to consider distribution as well as quantity.46 Making a well-off person slightly better off rather than slightly improving a worse-off person’s life would be unjust; likewise, why give an extra year to a person who has lived for many when it could be given to someone who would otherwise die having had few?8,47 Similarly, giving a few life-years to many diff ers from giving many life-years to a few.8 As with the principle of saving the most lives, prognosis is undeniably relevant but insuffi cient alone. Promoting and rewarding social usefulness Unlike the previous values, social value cannot direct allocation on its own.20 Rather, social value allocation prioritises specifi c individuals to enable them to promote other important values, or rewards them for having promoted these values. In view of the multiplicity of reasonable values in society and in view of what is at stake, social value allocation must Department of Ethics 426 www.thelancet.com Vol 373 January 31, 2009 not legislate socially conventional, mainstream values.1 When Seattle’s dialysis policy favoured parents and church-goers, it was criticised: “The Pacifi c Northwest is no place for a Henry David Thoreau with kidney failure.”48 Allocators must also avoid directing interventions earmarked for health needs to those not relevant to the health problem at hand, which covertly exacerbates scarcity.8,49 For instance, funeral directors might be essential to preserving health in an infl uenza pandemic, but not during a shortage of intensive-care beds.5 Instrumental value Instrumental value allocation prioritises specifi c individuals to enable or encourage future usefulness. Guidelines that prioritise workers producing infl uenza vaccine exemplify instrumental value allocation to save the most lives.5 Responsibility-based allocation—eg, allocation to people who agree to improve their health and thus use fewer resources—also represents instrumental value allocation.50 This approach is necessarily insuffi cient, because it derives its appeal from promoting other values, such as saving more lives: “all whose continued existence is clearly required so that others might live have a good claim to priority”.20 Prioritising essential health-care staff does not treat them as counting for more in themselves, but rather prioritises them to benefi t others. Instrumental value allocation thus arguably recognises the moral importance of each person, even those not instrumentally valuable. Student military deferments have shown that instrumental value allocation can encourage abuse of the system.51 People also disagree about usefulness: is saving all legislators necessary in an infl uenza pandemic?20 Decisions on usefulness can involve complicated and demeaning inquiries.52 However, where a specifi c person is genuinely indispensable in promoting morally relevant principles, instrumental value allocation can be appropriate. Reciprocity Reciprocity allocation is backward-looking, rewarding past usefulness or sacrifi ce. As such, many describe this allocative principle as desert or rectifi catory justice, rather than reciprocity. For important health-related values, reciprocity might involve preferential allocation to past organ donors,8 to participants in vaccine research who assumed risk for others’ benefi t,53 or to people who made healthy lifestyle choices that reduced their need for resources.50 Priority to military veterans embodies reciprocity for promoting non-health values.54 Proponents claim that “justice as reciprocity calls for providing something in return for contributions that people have made”.53 Reciprocity might also be relevant when people are conscripted into risky tasks. For instance, nurses required to care for contagious patients could deserve reciprocity, especially if they did not volunteer. Reciprocity allocation, like instrumental value allocation, might potentially require time-consuming, intrusive, and demeaning inquiries, such as investi- gating whether a person adhered to a healthy lifestyle.52,22 Furthermore, unlike instrumental value, reciprocity does not have the future-directed appeal of promoting important health values. Ultimately, the appropriateness of allocation based on reciprocity seems to depend in a complex way on several factors, such as seriousness of sacrifi ce and irreplaceability. For instance, former organ donors seem to deserve reciprocity since they make a serious sacrifi ce and since there is no surplus of organ donors. By contrast, laboratory staff who serve as vaccine production workers do not incur serious risk nor are they irreplaceable, so reciprocity seems less appropriate for them. Assessing principles: allocation systems Which principles best embody morally relevant values? First-come, fi rst-served is fl awed in practice because it unwittingly allows irrelevant considerations, such as wealth, to aff ect allocation decisions, whereas a lottery is insuffi cient but not fl awed. Similarly, sickest-fi rst allocation is inherently fl awed, whereas the youngest-fi rst principle, though insuffi cient, recognises the important value of priority to the worst-off . Both utilitarian principles—maximising lives saved and prognosis—are relevant but insuffi cient, and usefulness and reciprocity are relevant where irreplaceable individuals make serious sacrifi ces, such as those during public health emergencies. Ultimately, no principle is suffi cient on its own to recognise all morally relevant considerations. Combining principles into systems increases complexity and contro- versy, but is inevitable if allocations are to incorporate the complexity of our moral values (table 2). People disagree about which principles to include and how to balance them. Many allocation systems do not make their content explicit, nor do they justify their choices about inclusion, balancing, and specifi cation.1 Elucidating, comparing, and evaluating allocation systems should be a research priority.9 United Network for Organ Sharing (UNOS) points systems The UNOS points systems are used for organ allocation (table 2). They combine three principles: sickest-fi rst (current medical condition); fi rst-come, fi rst-served (waiting time); and prognosis (antigen, antibody, and blood type matching between recipient and donor). UNOS weights principles diff erently depending on the organ distributed. Kidney and pancreas allocation is mainly by waiting time, with some weight given to sickest-fi rst and prognosis.55 Conversely, heart allocation weights sickest-fi rst principles heavily and waiting time less so.55 Lung and liver allocation takes into account waiting time, sickest-fi rst, and prognosis.55 Historically, no UNOS system has emphasised prognosis, although Department of Ethics www.thelancet.com Vol 373 January 31, 2009 427 UNOS’s most recent policy discussions on lung allocation suggest such a change.56 The UNOS point systems are fl exible: conceivably, they could include any simple principle by translating it into a points framework. The systems are easily revisable to weight one principle more heavily than others. Current UNOS systems incorporate two fl awed simple principles: fi rst-come, fi rst-served and sickest fi rst. They are also vulnerable to additional exploitation. Taking advantage of the fi rst-come, fi rst-served principle, well-off patients place themselves on multiple waiting lists.57 Exploiting the sickest-fi rst element, some transplant centres have temporarily altered or misrepresented their patients’ health state to get them scarce organs, making sickest-fi rst both practically and inherently fl awed.58,59 Furthermore, UNOS points systems do not appropriately consider the benefi t-maximising principles, prognosis, and saving the most lives, nor do they include youngest-fi rst allocation. Most dramatically, multiple- organ transplants to one individual are permitted, even when a heart-lung-liver combination could save three lives if transplanted separately.8,60 Similarly, policy revisions during the 1990s de-emphasised organ-recipient matching even though poorer matching leads to fewer lives saved.61 Attempts to remedy these defi ciencies have been covert and haphazard. In an eff ort to implement prognosis allocation tacitly, ill or old people have been excluded from supposedly fi rst-come, fi rst-served waiting lists.62 Physicians can misdiagnose comorbidities as contra- indications, wrongly implying that transplants will harm recipients, rather than explicitly practising prognosis- based allocation.63 Some have proposed so-called old-for-old policies that match donor organ age to recipient age—misrepresenting both youngest-fi rst and prognosis-based allocation as biological fact.64 Others have advocated local rather than national waiting lists to circumvent sickest-fi rst allocation.60,65 Explicit and public acknowledgment of allocation strategies would be preferable to this surreptitious and piecemeal approach. Quality-adjusted life-years Allocation systems based on quality-adjusted life-years (QALY) have two parts (table 2). One is an outcome measure that considers the quality of life-years. As an example, the quality-of-life measure used by the UK National Health Service rates moderate mobility impairment as 0·85 times perfect health.66 QALY allocation therefore equates 8·5 years in perfect health to 10 years with moderately impaired mobility.67 The other part of QALY allocation is a maximising assumption: that justice requires total QALYs to be maximised without consideration of their distribution.46,68 QALY allocation initially constituted the basis for Oregon’s Medicaid coverage initiative, and is currently used by the UK’s National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence (NICE).69,70 Both the ethics and effi cacy of QALY allocation have been substantially discussed.46 The QALY outcome measure has problems. Even if a life-year in which a person has impaired mobility is worse than a healthy life-year, someone adapted to wheelchair use might reasonably value an additional life-year in a wheelchair as much as a non-disabled person would value an additional life-year without disability.71 Allocators have struggled with this issue.72 More importantly, maximising the number of QALYs is an insuffi cient basis for allocation. Although QALY advocates appeal to the idea that all QALYs are equal, Principles included Advantages Objections UNOS points systems for organ allocation in the USA First-come, fi rst-served; sickest-fi rst; prognosis Can combine all possible principles; fl exible Includes least justifi able principles: fi rst-come, fi rst-served and sickest-fi rst; low priority given to prognosis; vulnerable to bias and manipulation, such as being listed on multiple transplantation lists and misrepresentation of health status; allows multiple organ transplants, thus saving fewer lives QALY allocation Prognosis; excludes save the most lives Maximises future benefi ts; considers quality of life; used in many existing, quantitatively sophisticated frameworks Outcome measure disadvantages disabled people; incorrect conception of equality by focusing on equality of QALYs rather than equality of persons; does not incorporate many relevant principles DALY allocation Prognosis; instrumental value; excludes save the most lives Maximises future benefi ts; includes instrumental value, saving people whose productivity is key to a fl ourishing society Outcome measure disadvantages disabled people; age considered as modifying value of individual life-years, rather than from standpoint of distributive justice; defi nition of instrumental value is too focused on economic worth, and could justify bias towards heads of household and other “traditional” social positions; does not incorporate many relevant principles Complete lives system Youngest-fi rst; prognosis; save the most lives; lottery; instrumental value, but only in public health emergency Matches intuition that death of adolescents is worse than that of infants or elderly; everyone has an interest in living through all life stages; incorporates the largest number of relevant principles; resistant to corruption Reduced chances for persons who have lived many years; life-years are not a relevant health care outcome; unable to deal with international diff erences in life expectancy; need lexical priority rather than balancing; complete lives system is not appropriate for general distribution of health care resources UNOS=United Network for Organ Sharing. QALY=quality-adjusted life-years. DALY=disability-adjusted life-years. Table 2: Four multiprinciple systems Department of Ethics 428 www.thelancet.com Vol 373 January 31, 2009 people, not QALYs, deserve equal treatment.73 Treatment of a serious disease such as appendicitis gives a few people many more QALYs, whereas treatment of a minor problem like uncapped teeth gives many people a few more QALYs.70 Even though the two strategies produce equal numbers of QALYs, they treat individuals very diff erently.8 Likewise, giving QALYs to someone who has had few life-years diff ers morally from giving them to someone who has already had many.8,47 Ultimately, QALY allocation systems do not recognise many morally relevant values—such as treating people equally, giving priority to the worst-off , and saving the most lives—and are therefore insuffi cient for just allocation. Disability-adjusted life-years WHO endorses the system of disability-adjusted life-year (DALY) allocation (table 2).74 As with QALY allocation, DALY allocation does not consider interpersonal distribution. DALY systems also incorporate quality-of-life factors—for instance, they equate a life-year with blindness to roughly 0·6 healthy life-years.74 Additionally, DALY allocation ranks each life-year with the age of the person as a modifi er: “The well-being of some age groups, we argue, is instrumental in making society fl ourish; therefore collectively we may be more concerned with improving health status for individuals in these age groups.”74 This argument, although used to justify age-weighting, would equally justify counting the life-years of economically productive people and those caring for others for more. DALY allocation wrongly incorporates age into the outcome measure, claiming that a year for a younger person is in itself more valuable. Priority for young people is better justifi ed on grounds of distributive justice.41 Also, the use of instrumental value to justify DALY allocation resembles that used in Seattle’s dialysis allocation, which inappropriately favoured wage earners and carers of dependants.7,48 The complete lives system Because none of the currently used systems satisfy all ethical requirements for just allocation, we propose an alternative: the complete lives system. This system incorporates fi ve principles (table 2): youngest-fi rst, prognosis, save the most lives, lottery, and instrumental value.5 As such, it prioritises younger people who have not yet lived a complete life and will be unlikely to do so without aid. Many thinkers have accepted complete lives as the appropriate focus of distributive justice: “individual human lives, rather than individual experiences, [are] the units over which any distributive principle should operate.”1,75,76 Although there are important diff erences between these thinkers, they share a core commitment to consider entire lives rather than events or episodes, which is also the defi ning feature of the complete lives system. Consideration of the importance of complete lives also supports modifying the youngest-fi rst principle by prioritising adolescents and young adults over infants (fi gure). Adolescents have received substantial education and parental care, investments that will be wasted without a complete life. Infants, by contrast, have not yet received these investments. Similarly, adolescence brings with it a developed personality capable of forming and valuing long-term plans whose fulfi lment requires a complete life.77 As the legal philosopher Ronald Dworkin argues, “It is terrible when an infant dies, but worse, most people think, when a three-year-old child dies and worse still when an adolescent does”;78 this argument is supported by empirical surveys.41,79 Importantly, the prioritisation of adolescents and young adults considers the social and personal investment that people are morally entitled to have received at a particular age, rather than accepting the results of an unjust status quo. Consequently, poor adolescents should be treated the same as wealthy ones, even though they may have received less investment owing to social injustice. The complete lives system also considers prognosis, since its aim is to achieve complete lives. A young person with a poor prognosis has had few life-years but lacks the potential to live a complete life. Considering prognosis forestalls the concern that disproportionately large amounts of resources will be directed to young people with poor prognoses.42 When the worst-off can benefi t only slightly while better-off people could benefi t greatly, allocating to the better-off is often justifi able.1,30 Some small benefi ts, such as a few weeks of life, might also be intrinsically insignifi cant when compared with large benefi ts.8 Saving the most lives is also included in this system because enabling more people to live complete lives is better than enabling fewer.8,44 In a public health emergency, instrumental value could also be included to enable more people to live complete lives. Lotteries could be used when making choices between roughly equal recipients, and also potentially to ensure that no individual—irrespective of age or prognosis—is seen as beyond saving.34,80 Thus, the complete lives system is complete in another way: it incorporates each morally relevant simple principle. When implemented, the complete lives system produces a priority curve on which individuals aged between roughly 15 and 40 years get the most substantial chance, whereas the youngest and oldest people get chances that are attenuated (fi gure).78 It therefore superfi cially resembles 0 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 Age (years) Maximum MinimumPr ob ab ili ty o f r ec ei vi ng a n in te rv en ti on Figure: Age-based priority for receiving scarce medical interventions under the complete lives system Department of Ethics www.thelancet.com Vol 373 January 31, 2009 429 the proposal made by DALY advocates; however, the complete lives system justifi es preference to younger people because of priority to the worst-off rather than instrumental value. Additionally, the complete lives system assumes that, although life-years are equally valuable to all, justice requires the fair distribution of them. Conversely, DALY allocation treats life-years given to elderly or disabled people as objectively less valuable. Finally, the complete lives system is least vulnerable to corruption. Age can be established quickly and accurately from identity documents. Prognosis allocation encourages physicians to improve patients’ health, unlike the perverse incentives to sicken patients or misrepresent health that the sickest-fi rst allocation creates.58,59 Objections We consider several important objections to the complete lives system. The complete lives system discriminates against older people.81,82 Age-based allocation is ageism.82 Unlike alloc- ation by sex or race, allocation by age is not invidious discrimination; every person lives through diff erent life stages rather than being a single age.8,39 Even if 25-year-olds receive priority over 65-year-olds, everyone who is 65 years now was previously 25 years.16 Treating 65-year- olds diff erently because of stereotypes or falsehoods would be ageist; treating them diff erently because they have already had more life-years is not. Age, like income, is a “non-medical criterion” inappro- priate for allocation of medical resources.14,83 In contrast to income, a complete life is a health outcome. Long-term survival and life expectancy at birth are key health-care outcome variables.84 Delaying the age at onset of a disease is desirable.85,86 The complete lives system is insensitive to international diff erences in typical lifespan. Although broad consensus favours adolescents over very young infants, and young adults over the very elderly people, implementation can reasonably diff er between, even within, nation-states.87,88 Some people believe that a complete life is a universal limit founded in natural human capacities, which everyone should accept even without scarcity.37 By contrast, the complete lives system requires only that citizens see a complete life, however defi ned, as an important good, and accept that fairness gives those short of a complete life stronger claims to scarce life-saving resources. Principles must be ordered lexically: less important principles should come into play only when more important ones are fulfi lled.10 Rawls himself agreed that lexical priority was inappropriate when distributing specifi c resources in society, though appropriate for ordering the principles of basic social justice that shape the distribution of basic rights, opportunities, and income.1 As an alternative, balancing priority to the worst-off against maximising benefi ts has won wide support in discussions of allocative local justice.1,8,30 As Amartya Sen argues, justice “does not specify how much more is to be given to the deprived person, but merely that he should receive more”.89 Accepting the complete lives system for health care as a whole would be premature. We must fi rst reduce waste and increase spending.81,90 The complete lives system explicitly rejects waste and corruption, such as multiple listing for transplantation. Although it may be applicable more generally, the complete lives system has been developed to justly allocate persistently scarce life-saving interventions.39,80 Hearts for transplant and infl uenza vaccines, unlike money, cannot be replaced or diverted to non-health goals; denying a heart to one person makes it available to another. Ultimately, the complete lives system does not create “classes of Untermenschen whose lives and well being are deemed not worth spending money on”,91 but rather empowers us to decide fairly whom to save when genuine scarcity makes saving everyone impossible. Legitimacy As well as recognising morally relevant values, an allocation system must be legitimate. Legitimacy requires that people see the allocation system as just and accept actual allocations as fair. Consequently, allocation systems must be publicly understandable, accessible, and subject to public discussion and revision.92 They must also resist corruption, since easy corruptibility undermines the public trust on which legitimacy depends. Some systems, like the UNOS points systems or QALY systems, may fail this test, because they are diffi cult to understand, easily corrupted, or closed to public revision. Systems that intentionally conceal their allocative principles to avoid public complaints might also fail the test.93 Although procedural fairness is necessary for legitimacy, it is unable to ensure the justice of allocation decisions on its own.94,95 Although fair procedures are important, substantive, morally relevant values and principles are indispensable for just allocation.96,97 Conclusion Ultimately, none of the eight simple principles recognise all morally relevant values, and some recognise irrelevant values. QALY and DALY multiprinciple systems neglect the importance of fair distribution. UNOS points systems attempt to address distributive justice, but recognise morally irrelevant values and are vulnerable to corruption. By contrast, the complete lives system combines four morally relevant principles: youngest-fi rst, prognosis, lottery, and saving the most lives. In pandemic situations, it also allocates scarce interventions to people instrumental in realising these four principles. Importantly, it is not an algorithm, but a framework that expresses widely affi rmed values: priority to the worst-off , maximising benefi ts, and treating people equally. To achieve a just allocation of scarce medical interventions, society must embrace the challenge of implementing a coherent multiprinciple framework rather than relying on simple principles or retreating to the status quo. Department of Ethics 430 www.thelancet.com Vol 373 January 31, 2009 Confl ict of interest statement We delare that we have no confl ict of interest. Acknowledgments We thank Dan Brock, Daniel Callahan, David Heyd, Frances Kamm, Dennis Thompson, members of the Department of Bioethics, and two peer reviewers for helpful suggestions. The views expressed are the authors’ own. They do not refl ect any position or policy of the National Institutes of Health, US Public Health Service, or Department of Health and Human Services. References 1 Rawls J. A theory of justice. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. 2 Harris J. QALYfying the value of life. J Med Ethics 1987; 13: 117–23. 3 Caplan AL. Organ transplant rationing: a window to the future? Health Prog 1987; 68: 40–45. 4 Truog RD, Brock DW, Cook DJ, et al. Rationing in the intensive care unit. Crit Care Med 2006; 34: 958–63. 5 Emanuel EJ, Wertheimer A. Who should get infl uenza vaccine when not all can? 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work_7pnjfra26ffwxnypcbifoil6qq	----	Sociohydrology: A new science of people and water HYDROLOGICAL PROCESSES Hydrol. Process. (2011) Published online in Wiley Online Library (wileyonlinelibrary.com). DOI: 10.1002/hyp.8426 Socio-hydrology: A new science of people and water Murugesu Sivapalan,1,2* Hubert H. G. Savenije3 and Günter Blöschl4 1 Department of Civil and Environmental Engineering, Department of Geography, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, Urbana, IL 61801, USA 2 Department of Civil and Environmental Engineering, University of Technology Sydney, Broadway, NSW 2007, Australia 3 Department of Water Management, Faculty of Civil Engineering and Geosciences, Delft University of Technology, Delft, The Netherlands 4 Institute for Hydraulic and Water Resources Engineering, Vienna University of Technology, Vienna, Austria *Correspondence to: Sivapalan, Murugesu, Geography and Civil and Environmental Engineering, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign E-mail: sivapala@illinois.edu Received 10 November 2011 Accepted 14 November 2011 Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. Humans have changed the way the world works. Now they have to change the way they think about it, too. The Economist, May 26, 2011 THE COUPLED HUMAN-WATER SYSTEM Dateline November 2010, Murrumbidgee River Basin, Australia: Irrigators are up in arms over proposed government plans to cut their water allocations and return flows back to the basin’s rivers to support the environment and restore lost biodiversity. The Australian of November 04, 2010 reported on the community backlash, including the resort to ‘book burning’ to highlight their plight. Community backlash and ‘book burning’ notwithstanding, the reality is that this conflict had been brewing for decades. Now, wind back the clock 100 years to the early 20th century. Up until 1900, there were virtually no dams and almost no irrigation on the Murrumbidgee. With demand for food for a growing population and the possibility of generating agricultural exports, irrigated farming expanded along the river corridor from 1920 onwards. By 1940, abstractions during low flows had increased to 50% of the natural flow and by 1950 to almost 100% (Roderick, 2011). Over this period, the predominant direction of farming development, construction of water ‘assets’ (e.g. dams and weirs) as well as water extractions was upstream. However, things came to a head in the 1980s, with increasing deterioration of river health and the recognition that previous farming practices were no longer sustainable. Protection of the environment was on the political agenda, along with a commitment not only to return water to rivers to nurse them back to health, but also to help agricultural industries to rise up to the challenge of a drier future. After 30years of seemingly ongoing crisis conditions, a protracted drought and a looming federal election precipitated government action in early 2007. The result was a concerted plan by government to buy back water rights of willing farmers and build new assets aimed at increasing water use efficiency and protecting the environment [Murray-Darling Basin Authority (MDBA), 2010]. For example, there has been an increasing trend for upstream rice growers to sell back their annual allocations, and for downstream horticulturalists to purchase fresh allocations during low allocation seasons. This meant that, from 2000 onwards, water abstractions as well as water assets that had been migrating upstream in the early 20th century are now beginning to move back downstream (Figure 1). Whereas the sole customer for 100 years was irrigated farming, now there is a new ‘customer in town’, called the ‘environment’. More and more, much of the business of water management in the basin, including the building of new assets, is aimed at satisfying the environment, a phenomenon that wouldn’t have been foreseen in the heady days of irrigation development and dam building. No wonder the irrigators are up in arms. If the competition between irrigation and the riparian environment continues in this way in the Murrumbidgee over the next decades, one can foresee a landscape, including human population patterns and human-induced structures, which could look very different from what it is now (Figure 1). Could we predict this? What will be the role of 1930 1980 2030 (projected) Irrigation moving upstream Irrigation moving downstream Figure 1. Schematic of the evolution of the spatial patterns of irrigation (shaded area) in the Murrumbidgee system (84,000 km²), Southeast Australia. In the early 20th century, irrigation moved upstream. Recently, the government has started buying water rights from farmers to protect the environment. Panel 3 is one projection that is based on the possibility of cutting back irrigation upstream. M. SIVAPALAN, H. H. G. SAVENIJE AND G. BLÖSCHL hydrology in any changes in the landscape including societal changes, and in return, what will be the impact of the societal changes on water cycle dynamics? Should such predictions be the business of hydrologists or social scientists? The common history of hydrology and the societal changes seen in the Murrumbidgee is an example of unexpected process dynamics. With such dramatic changes to the landscape, prediction of water cycle dynamics over long timescales is not feasible without including the interactions and feed- backs with human systems. Welcome to socio-hydrology, the science of people and water, a new science that is aimed at under- standing the dynamics and co-evolution of coupled human-water systems. As pointed out in a recent editorial in the Economist magazine (see below), natural scientists have for too long ignored the human factor. Hydrologists are not exceptions to this. In traditional hydrology, human-induced water resources management activities are prescribed as external forcings in the water cycle dynamics, under the assumption of stationarity (Milly et al., 2008; Peel and Blöschl, 2011). In socio-hydrology, humans and their actions are considered part and parcel of water cycle dynamics, and the aim is to predict the dynamics of both. “Too many natural scientists embrace the comforting assumption that nature can be studied, indeed should be studied, in isolation from the human world, with people as mere observers. Many environmentalists—especially those in the American tradition inspired by Henry David Thoreau—believe that “in wilderness is the preservation Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. of the world”. But the wilderness, for good or ill, is increasingly irrelevant.” – Editorial in the Economist, May 26, 2011 But what of the science of integrated water resources management (IWRM), which has been around for a long time, and is also clearly, and strongly, about people and water. In what way is socio-hydrology different from IWRM? A typical question addressed in IWRM is: in what way does a management decision affect runoff and, conversely, in what way is management constrained by runoff? IWRM is also about interac- tions of humans and water, and often uses the ‘scenario- based’ approach as the common means to explore these interactions (Savenije and Van der Zaag, 2008). However, this approach may be unrealistic, especially for long-term predictions, as it does not account for the dynamics of the interactions between water and people. For example, it is unlikely that the coupled system dynamics of the Murrumbidgee basin, as reported above, could have been predicted by a ‘scenario-based’ approach that does not account for the co-evolutionary dynamics of coupled human-water systems, including spontaneous or unexpected behaviours, as illustrated in Figure 1. Hence, whereas the focus of IWRM is on controlling or managing the water system to reach desired outcomes for society and the environment, the focus of socio-hydrology is on observing, understanding and predicting future trajectories of co-evolution of coupled human-water systems. In this sense, one could say that socio-hydrology is the fundamental science underpinning the practice of IWRM. There is considerable similarity between the proposed new science of socio-hydrology and the now established field of eco-hydrology. Eco-hydrology explores the co- evolution and self-organisation of vegetation in the landscape in relation to water availability (Eagleson, 1982, 2002; Rodriguez-Iturbe, 2000; Berry et al., 2005). Socio-hydrology, on the other hand, explores the co- evolution and self-organisation of people in the landscape, also with respect to water availability. We believe that socio-hydrology stands to learn a lot from the success of eco-hydrology, which has added new life to hydrology through introduction of the concepts of co-evolution and optimality that have previously been foreign to hydrology. The introduction of eco-hydrology has helped spawn new connections between hydrology and neighbouring disciplines such as pedology, plant physiology and geomorphology, and in this way it has helped to expand the horizons of hydrology. In the same way, the advent of socio-hydrology could also lead to a similar broadening of the science, extending into the social sciences. However, even while socio-hydrology will take on increasing importance in the context of a changing, human- dominated world, its practice may turn out to be more challenging than eco-hydrology. This is because humans Hydrol. Process. (2011) INVITED COMMENTARY possess more powerful ways and means of controlling water cycle dynamics beyond the optimality, adaptation and acclimation strategies that natural vegetation pos- sesses and has developed over time. Finally, the timing is just right for the launch of socio- hydrology, as a new interdisciplinary but quantitative science of people and water, with the ambition to make predictions of water cycle dynamics, and thus underpin sustainable water management. At a time when hydrol- ogy textbooks continue to dwell on the complexities of processes occurring in undisturbed places or under idealized conditions, which are the exception rather than the rule in the real world, and almost all water bodies are affected by people in one way or another, there is an urgent need for hydrology itself to adapt and evolve to cope with the emergent scientific and practical challenges in a changing world (Wagener et al., 2010), and prevent and resolve conflicts between humans and the environ- ment, and amongst humans themselves (Postel, 2011; Koutsoyiannis, 2011). Socio-hydrology addresses this strongly felt need. In fact, there have already been several early attempts at exploring the co-evolution of human-water systems. For example, Geels (2005) studied the trajectories of co-evolution of water technology and society in present-day Netherlands. Kallis (2010) studied the co-evolution of water resource development in ancient Athens. Pataki et al. (2011) have provided an outline of the interplay of sociological and ecological processes in urban water management. EMERGENT DYNAMICS ACROSS SPACE AND TIME The essence of socio-hydrology, the point of departure from IWRM, is, as mentioned before, the study of the Figure 2. Precipitation shed of the Sahel (yellow contour). The scale indi growing season, in absolute terms. Hence, from each pixel in the black Sahel during the growing season. This has to be multiplied by the ratio o the contribution to the rainfall in the target are Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. co-evolution of humans and water on the landscape. Winder et al. (2005) and Kallis (2007) have pointed out that for a system to be considered co-evolutionary, there must be a process of generation of ‘new variations’, as they called them. New variations, also known as ‘emergent behaviour’, are brought about by feedbacks between processes at a range of scales, and may lead to exceedance of ‘tipping points’ through which the systems may evolve into new, perhaps previously unobserved, states. The Murrumbidgee example is a case in point. In the Murrumbidgee basin, the spatial patterns of organisation arising from co-evolutionary dynamics are nevertheless underpinned by a directed stream net- work. This is often the case; water abstraction upstream will invariably affect people living down- stream, and so will changes to water quality. However, one can think of cases where such connections and feedbacks are less obvious. The Sahel drought in the 1980s led to widespread famine and involuntary human migration. One of the compounding factors that contributed to the drought was land use change in upwind areas (i.e. East Africa), leading to reduced moisture cycling westward, and the consequent reduc- tion of precipitation locally. The nature of moisture recycling that contributed to drought in the Sahel is illustrated in Figure 2, which was obtained by analysing 10 years of re-analysis data on global water circulation (Van der Ent et al., 2010; Van der Ent and Savenije, 2011), and shows that 60% of the rainfall in the Sahel is derived from terrestrial evaporation upwind (see Figure 2). Reduction in moisture recycling from upwind can introduce a positive feedback locally, with the reduced precipitation leading to overgrazing, which then leads to lower evaporation, which in turn leads to cates how much each coloured region contributes to the rainfall in the region, 25–30 mm of the evaporation contributes to the rainfall in the f the contributing area to the target area (the yellow contour) to obtain a (personal communication by Van der Ent). Hydrol. Process. (2011) M. SIVAPALAN, H. H. G. SAVENIJE AND G. BLÖSCHL still lower precipitation. The Sahel example is one where, rather than being affected by human activities upstream, the water cycle is affected by human activities upwind. Consequently, instead of having to deal with a ‘watershed’, we now have to deal with a ‘precipitation shed’. The critical issue facing socio-hydrology is that the local people are powerless to affect the ‘precipita- tion shed’. How could people in the Sahel seek local solutions outside of the watershed? The traditional way under such circumstances is via food imports. Unfor- tunately, war and conquest tend to be other unintended consequences. This is an example of the primary challenges of the new field of socio-hydrology. As mentioned before, while eco-hydrology studies how vegetation organises itself in the landscape with respect to water, socio-hydrology studies how people organise themselves in the landscape with respect to water. Ancient human settlements were mostly orga- nised along streams, which they used as a means of transport and water supply, and therefore access and proximity to water courses or sources governed the primary human settlement patterns. With increasing technological capability, humans could manage to settle away from streams and access water through recourse to technology and to use alternative means for transport. Therefore, just as eco-hydrology aims to learn from vegetation patterns and their evolution, socio-hydrology can potentially learn from human settlement patterns, through interpreting them in terms of access and proximity to water resources and socio- economic and technological factors impacting differen- tially on these in different parts of the world. In other words, there are many parallels between eco-hydrology and socio-hydrology, even as there are substantial differences. An important feature of non-linear systems is that fast processes interact with slow processes to produce complex and rich dynamics. For example, these interactions may lead to exceedance of critical thresh- olds or tipping points. Resilient social-ecological systems are those that continually change and adapt yet remain within critical thresholds (Folke et al., 2010). Climatic, hydrological and societal drivers often appear as shocks (floods, droughts, wars, economic collapse) and may push the system beyond these resilience thresholds. In a hydrological landscape such as the Sahel, resilience may be low, so change to a different mode – e.g. desertification, famine and human migra- tion in the case of the Sahel – may occur more readily (Folke et al., 2004). On the other hand, in temperate climates the resilience thresholds tend to be higher. But even in relatively wet regions, unexpected changes of the system may yet occur. For example, the traditional source of drinking water in Bangladesh used to be rain- fed ponds. When the community switched to groundwater as a source of water supply in the 1980s, responding to the Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. contamination of the ponds by pathogens, there was not the expectation that the pumping would lead to arsenic mobilisation and widespread poisoning. In classical hydrology, feedbacks across space and time scales are very important (Blöschl, 2001; Merz and Blöschl, 2008; Montanari et al., 2010), but due to non- linear feedbacks with human activities, the socio- hydrologic system has the tendency to lead to surprises (Gordon et al., 2008), otherwise known as Black Swan events (Taleb, 2007), which therefore make predictions a real challenge. A better understanding of the resilience thresholds and the likelihood for surprises may assist in management decision making by account- ing for wider process dynamics (Kumar, 2011). As socio-hydrology is concerned with longer term dynam- ics, predicting possible trajectories of the system dynamics are of most interest to governments who are faced with making strategic, long term-decisions. DRIVERS OF SOCIO-HYDROLOGIC PROCESSES An important part of understanding socio-hydrologic processes is to understand which way the water is flowing and why this is so. In subsurface hydrology, the main driver of flow and transport is a potential gradient. Streams flow in response to topographic gradients, and evaporation occurs due to humidity gradients. In socio- hydrology there is a wider range of controls related to the interplay of socio-economic and hydrologic processes at a range of scales. For example, water flows downhill except in the case of diversions when it can be pumped uphill. The pumping is the social component and demonstrates that social factors can be a powerful force. An example of flows that socio-hydrology might address is the so-called ‘virtual water trade’. Figure 3 illustrates the fluxes of virtual water along shipping lanes in relation to wheat. Virtual water refers to the amount of water needed to produce food (or other commodities), which is then transported to the place of consumption (Chapagain et al., 2006; Mekonnen and Hoekstra, 2010; Koutsoyiannis, 2011). The gradients that drive the flow of virtual water tend to be differences in policies, subsidies, economic incentives, technologies, fuel costs and historical factors. Trade barriers also play a role. In principle, one could argue that the flows should be from regions that are water abundant and produce more efficiently in respect of water use to those that have less access to fresh water and produce less efficiently with respect to water use. Increasingly, however, policies and markets tend to be the main drivers. For example, the world food market is increasingly controlled by multinationals, retailers, supermarkets and powerful countries. The interplay of these global interests with the temporal and spatial variations of the water resources at the local level, which are often the determining factors for water scarcity, leads to complex systems dynamics (Savenije, 2000). Hydrol. Process. (2011) Figure 3. National virtual water balances and net virtual water flows related to trade in wheat products in the period 1996–2005. Only the largest net flows (>2Gm³/year) are shown (taken from Mekonnen and Hoekstra, 2010). INVITED COMMENTARY Socio-hydrology is therefore concerned with analys- ing the following why questions: What drives this system (for example, as a part of the international trade of food)? What are the fluxes, what are the gradients and can they be related? But quantity of water is not the only factor; water quality may be equally or even more important, in particular in water-rich countries. The European Water Framework Directive and the Clean Water Act in the US have both led to a major wave of human actions. Non-consumptive water trans- fers (such as water use in industry and households) often change the quality or reduce the opportunity for beneficial use both in terms of location and quality. In particular, this reduces the opportunities for other functional uses, or ecosystem services. For example, the food industry in Holland uses imported food from Brazil (soybean, tapioca) for pork production. This is tantamount to the import of nutrients from Brazil (which itself is nutrient poor) and its transport to the Netherlands (which has a nutrient rich environment). The resulting financial profit is not in balance with the environmental harm that such imports cause. Further- more, there is a perverse incentive introduced by the fact that the environmental costs are not charged to the consumer. An interesting socio-hydrologic challenge will be how virtual water flows will change and co-evolve if taxes were placed on the virtual water trade. SOCIO-HYDROLOGY: THE WAY FORWARD We argue in this paper for a new science of socio- hydrology that treats people as an endogenous part of the water cycle, interacting with the system in multiple ways, including through water consumption for food, energy and drinking water supply, through pollution of fresh- water resources, and through policies, markets, and technology. What sets socio-hydrology apart from IWRM is that socio-hydrology explicitly studies the co-evolution Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. of humans and water. It explores the way the coupled human-water system evolves and possible trajectories of its co-evolution, including the possibility of generating emergent, even unexpected, behaviours. Socio-hydrology is aimed as a discovery-based fundamental science, whose practice is informed through observing, understanding and predicting socio-hydrologic phenomena in real places in the landscape where real people live. Socio-hydrology will also have to accommodate the time arrow by focusing on longer time scales including on dynamics we never had to deal with. We insist, however, that socio-hydrology must strive to be a quantitative science. While broad narratives may be important for context, quantitative descriptions are needed for testing hypotheses, for modelling the system and for predicting possible future trajectories of system states. What is the way forward in socio-hydrology? We believe there are at least three avenues through which socio-hydrology can advance: 1. Historical socio-hydrology: First and foremost, we can learn from reconstructing and studying the past, both in the immediate past, and in the distant past. Indeed, water has played a key role in the growth, evolution and eventual collapse of numerous ancient (and not so ancient) civilisations. The collapse of the Sumerian civilisation has been attributed to rising water tables and salinisation as a result of extensive irrigation (Ponting, 1991). Apart from collapse of civilisations, interesting patterns of water governance and technologies have evolved throughout history. For example, Iran saw the development and evolu- tion of ‘Qanats’, sloping tunnels that tap into the groundwater without the need for pumping, which have survived the test of time over millennia. 2. Comparative socio-hydrology: Sivapalan (2009, p.1395) has suggested that ‘. . . instead of attempting to reproduce the response of individual catchments, Hydrol. Process. (2011) M. SIVAPALAN, H. H. G. SAVENIJE AND G. BLÖSCHL research should advance comparative hydrology, aiming to characterize and learn from the similarities and differences between catchments in different places, and interpret these in terms of underlying climate-landscape-human controls.’ In the context of socio-hydrology, this implies a comparative analysis of human-water interactions across socio-economic gradients, as well as climatic and other gradients, to map any spatial or regional differences back to processes and their temporal dynamics (Blöschl et al., 2007; Wagener et al., 2010; Peel and Blöschl, 2011). 3. Process socio-hydrology: To complement the temporal and spatial analyses, it would be of interest to study a small number of human-water systems in more detail, including routine monitoring, to gain more detailed insights into causal relationships. This may involve detailed data collection of the hydrological and sociological processes involved, including real-time learning, to understand human-water system functions in the present to be able to predict possible trajectories in the future. To make headway in the new science, we need new scientific laws at the scales of interest, but particularly dealing with human-nature interactions. Examples of such laws are flux-gradient relationships, which have served classical hydrology well in many ways. Since socio-hydrology is about co-evolution and feedbacks operating at multiple scales, the notions of optimality and goal functions are likely to be important and useful, just as they have been in eco-hydrology (Schymanski et al., 2009; Schaefli et al., 2011). The important feature in all three areas of enquiry, to reiterate, is the focus on co-evolution and emergent patterns, including the unexpected, which are the main points of departure from the recourse to scenario analyses that is common in IWRM. With the advent of socio-hydrology, the way we will do our science, as well as the way we teach, will be different as humans begin to play a much bigger role in water cycle dynamics. Just as in the case of eco-hydrology, there will be a need for new partnerships that go beyond our usual networks. As socio-hydrology embraces processes beyond purely physical (or biological) relationships, Sivapalan’s (2005) call for a paradigm shift towards more holistic descrip- tions and process interactions may become critically important. All of these point to both challenging and exciting times for the future of hydrologic science. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This paper is a part contribution of the NSF-funded Hydrologic Synthesis Project: Water Cycle Dynamics in a Changing Environment: Advancing Hydrologic Science through Synthesis (NSF Grant EAR-0636043). We would also like to thank Austrian Science Funds (FWF) project DK-plus W1219-N22 for their financial Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. support. The paper benefited from interactions with several people, including Sally Thompson, Ciaran Harman, Thorsten Wagener, Alberto Montanari, Saket Pande, Larry Band, Amit Chanan, Jaya Kandasamy and Vigi Vigneswaran. We are grateful for their valuable contributions to our thoughts on the subject. Special thanks to Michael Roderick for many insightful comments, which reminded us that we have only scratched the surface of a complex challenge. The paper also benefited from critical review comments by Demetris Koutsoyiannis. REFERENCES Berry S, Farquhar LGD, Roderick ML. 2005. Co-evolution of Climate, Soil and Vegetation. 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work_7wg4ag6w6bhxnhxalpg6sjquxm	----	The Deep, Long-Range Ecology Movement: 1960-2000--A Review The Deep, Long-Range Ecology Movement: 1960-2000--A Review Bill Devall Ethics & the Environment, Volume 6, Number 1, Spring 2001, pp. 18-41 (Article) Published by Indiana University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/een.2001.0004 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/11195 https://doi.org/10.1353/een.2001.0004 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/11195 ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200118 ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 2001 ISSN: 1085-6633 ©Indiana University Press All rights of reproduction in any form reserved. Direct all correspondence to: Journals Manager, Indiana University Press, 601 N. Morton St., Bloomington. IN 47404 USA journals@indiana.edu TH E DE E P, L O NG- RANGE E CO L OGY MOV E ME NT 1960–2000—A REVIEW ABSTRACT Aarne Naess, in a seminal paper on environmental philosophy, distin- guished between two streams of environmental philosophy and activ- ism—shallow and deep. The deep, long-range ecology movement has de- veloped over the past four decades on a variety of fronts. However, in the context of global conferences on development, population, and environ- ment held during the 1990s, even shallow environmentalism seems to have less priority than demands for worldwide economic growth based on trade liberalization and a free market global economy. “If nature is not a prison and earth a shoddy way-station, we must find the faith and force to affirm its metabolism as our own—or rather, our own as part of it. To do so means nothing less than a shift in our whole frame of reference and our attitude towards life itself, a wider perception of the landscape as a creative, harmonious being where relationships of things are as real as the things. Without losing our sense of a great human destiny and without intellectual surrender, we must affirm that the world is a being, a part of our own body” (Shepard 1969, 3). When Paul Shepard wrote this passage, he summarized a stream of thought that was developing during the 1960s in the writings of Gary 19BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT Snyder, Alan Watts, and Rachel Carson, among others. Two books were particularly effective during the 1960s in stimulating conservation activ- ism, Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring (1962) and Stewart Udall’s The Quiet Crisis (1963). These books emphasize both the unintended and negative impact that certain human behaviors have on ecological relationships and the philosophy that humans are part of, not apart from, the rest of nature. This stream of thought and activism has been traced to John Muir and Henry David Thoreau and to pre-Socratic Greek philosophers and eventu- ally to the Sumerians in the Epic of Gilgamesh at the beginning of civiliza- tion (Nash 1989; Oelschlaeger 1991; Sessions 1981; Sessions 1995a). Professor Arne Naess of the University of Oslo catalyzed discussion of two streams of environmental philosophy when he articulated the distinc- tion between “shallow ecology” and the “deep, long-range ecology move- ment” (DEM) in a short paper published in 1973. He characterized the shallow ecology movement as “Fight against pollution and resource deple- tion. Central objective: the health and affluence of people in the developed countries” (Naess 1973). When Naess outlined principles of the deep, long-range ecology per- spective, he included “fight against pollution and resource depletion,” but he went beyond that statement to include principles that are not part of the dominant social paradigm. These included “ecocentrism,” “wide sustainability,” “complexity, not complication,” and “rejection of man-in- environment image in favor of a relational, total-field image” (Naess 1973). Naess made it socially acceptable for academics to be activists on conser- vation issues by relating reflection to action. He also showed how people can move from denial to creative, nonviolent direct action based on their core values.1 When Naess wrote his original essay on deep ecology, he knew there was limited scientific data available on the impact of industrial civilization on free nature. That is why he was inspired by both the science and the feelings for free nature expressed by Rachel Carson in Silent Spring.2 The wave of enthusiasm for the environment that began with Earthday 1970 was reaching a climax in the United States with the passage of the federal Endangered Species Act. Many supporters of deep ecology in the U. S. consider the federal Endangered Species Act to be the most ecocen- tric environmental legislation because the underlying premise of the act is that humans have no right to willfully cause the extinction of other spe- cies, regardless of their value, or lack of value, for humans. ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200120 The Endangered Species Act therefore moves us, in the words of Robyn Eckersley, “beyond human racism.” “Green political theorists can make a contribution here in critically exploring and articulating fundamental value orientations and defending principles which enable the mutual satisfaction of human and nonhuman needs. A more proactive task for green political theorists might be to explore how social institutions might be arranged to expand conventional boundaries of care in day to day practices, while also redressing the problems of willful neglect and ignorance of ecosystems. Indeed, in the light of the history of discrimination against nonhuman spe- cies, it might even be said that there is now a case for ‘affirmative action’ for nonhuman nature” (Eckersley 1998). Many researchers have documented the recurring, anthropogenic- caused collapse of natural systems at the regional or landscape level since modern humans began spreading across the planet approximately 35,000 years ago. However, the contemporary environmental crisis is the first plan- etary-wide anthropogenically caused extinction crisis (Wilson 1992; Bright 1998) and environmental crisis. Much of the scientific research advanced during the 1970s, which had been proclaimed the “decade of the environment” by President Richard Nixon, is summarized in a report authorized by President Jimmy Carter and published in 1980, The Global 2000 Report to the President: Entering the Twenty-First Century (CEQ 1980). This report concluded, “if present trends continue, the world in 2000 will be more crowded, more polluted, less stable ecologically, and more vulnerable to disruption than the world we live in now (i.e., 1980). For hundreds of millions of the desperately poor, the outlook for food and other necessities of life will be no better. For many it will be worse.” Those trends did continue, and the Global 2000 report was written before the AIDS epidemic and before the emergence of a general agree- ment among scientists that global warming is occurring, probably at least partially due to anthropogenic causes. While the Global 2000 report is phrased within the framework of conservation of natural resources for human populations, it foreshadowed reports written from a deep ecology perspective during the past two de- cades that focus on “wide ecological sustainability.” The well-known equa- tion I=PAT means that human impact on a region, or on the whole planet, is a combination of human population growth, plus affluence (or rate of consumption) and technology. 21BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT The Global 2000 report was intended as a warning to humanity to collectively change its behavior, and this warning has been reaffirmed many times during the past two decades. For example, using computer modeling of a simulated world system, the authors of Beyond the Limits ran several computer models of the ‘world system’ varying rates of resources use, in- dustrial output, human population growth, food production, and pollution. Projected from 1900 to 2100, all of the computer runs, using different rates for the different variables, forecast an overshoot of carrying capacity and collapse of the collective human enterprise around 2050 (Meadows, Meadows, and Rander 1992). They argue, however, that collectively the human species can learn to change its behavior in a short (decade ) period of time and move into a “sustainable” mode of collective behavior. A convergence of various trends has led to what is frequently called the “environmental crisis.” On a finite planet there is no “new land” avail- able for expansion of industrial civilization. Yet human population has continued to grow; per capita consumption has increased; and technolo- gy has been applied on a grand scale. Demographers proclaimed that the six billionth human was born in October 1999. While some people believe that humans will find solutions to many problems through technology, the pace of technological change continues to disrupt the lives of hundreds of millions of people. The process of worldwide economic integration, called globalization, continues to disrupt the social and economic security of billions of people while global warming, acid rain, destruction of the ozone layer and other effects of industrial civilization undermine the integrity of natural systems across the planet. William Catton, Jr., a sociologist trained in ecological theory, con- cluded that there are several modes of adaptation that societies may take to ecologically inexorable change. In many contemporary societies includ- ing both developed nations, such as the United Kingdom and the United States as well as so-called Third World nations, such as India and China, many people continue to insist that “sustainable” economic growth is pos- sible. Catton labels this mode of adaptation “ostrichism.” Some proponents of reform environmentalism used the images of earth sent from platforms orbiting the earth in space to argue that “spaceship earth” or the “blue planet” is an appropriate image for “ecological con- sciousness” as a response to the contemporary environmental crisis. How- ever, critics writing from a deep ecology perspective have warned that, at ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200122 best, such metaphors are ambiguous. For example, Wolfgang Sachs con- cluded that “shooting a satellite into space is perhaps the most radical way of establishing the distance from our world necessary for fantasies of large- scale planning. The image of the Blue Planet—so small and easily compre- hensible—suggests that what has hitherto provided the preconditions for diverse forms of human existence may now be planned and managed as a single unit” (Sachs 1994). In contrast, poet-ecophilosopher Gary Snyder suggests the meta- phor of humans singing and dancing around “a little watering hole in deep space.” The choice of metaphors and slogans is crucial for any social move- ment. When supporters of deep ecology reject the phrase, “spaceship earth,” they are rejecting a mechanistic worldview. When they accept slogans such as “Earth First!” or “thinking like a mountain,” they are rejecting human hubris and placing Homo sapiens, as a species, in a more modest position in the cosmos. In a short essay, “Modesty and the Conquest of Mountains,” Naess reflects that “ . . . modesty is of little value if it is not a natural consequence of much deeper feelings, and even more important in our special context, a consequence of a way of understanding ourselves as part of nature in a wide sense of the term. This way is such that the smaller we come to feel ourselves compared to the mountain, the nearer we come to participating in its greatness. I do not know why this is so” (Naess 1979, 16). In the face of a crisis of planetary scale, some radical environmental- ists argue that mild reforms in public policy and practices are basically useless. Deep changes in society require a ‘paradigm shift’ from the domi- nant modern paradigm of industrial civilization to a “new environmental paradigm” or “new ecological paradigm” (Catton 1980b; Drengson 1980). THE ROLE OF THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT IN PROMOTING SOCIAL CHANGE Several scholarly summaries of themes in the emerging DEM and the deep ecology perspective show the intellectual development of the move- ment over the past four decades (Devall 1979, 1980, 1991, 1995a, 1995b; LaChapelle 1988; Sessions 1981). Anthologies drawing from the deep ecol- ogy literature include those edited by Sessions (1995a) and Drengson (1995). In 1984, while camping together in the California desert, Arne Naess and George Sessions compiled the platform for the deep, long-range ecol- ogy movement. Some supporters of the DEM assert that the ‘platform’ is 23BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT the “heart of deep ecology” (McLaughlin 1993). Other supporters of the DEM disagree, arguing that the gestalt of deep ecology, the intuition of deep ecology, is the heart of the movement (Glasser 1997). Naess said his purpose in developing this ‘platform’ was ‘modest’, that is, to develop a set of very general principles or statements upon which supporters of deep ecology could comment and discuss. Naess’s goal is to help people articulate their own deep ecological total view. The deep ecol- ogy “platform” therefore is a pedagogical tool to assist people in the pro- cess of developing their own statement of ecosophy and as a device to stimulate dialogue between supporters of and critics of the DEM. PLATFORM OF DEEP ECOLOGY 1. The well-being and flourishing of human and nonhuman life on Earth have value in themselves (synonyms: inherent worth; intrinsic value, inherent value). These values are independent of the usefulness of the nonhuman world for human purposes. 2. Richness and diversity of life forms contribute to the realization of these values and are also values in themselves. 3. Humans have no right to reduce this richness and diversity except to satisfy vital needs. 4. The flourishing of human life and cultures is compatible with a sub- stantial decrease of the human population. The flourishing of non- human life requires such a decrease. 5. Present human interference with nonhuman world is excessive, and the situation is rapidly worsening. 6. Policies must therefore be changed. The changes in policies affect basic economic, technological, and ideological structures. The resulting state of affairs will be deeply different from the present. 7. The ideological change is mainly that of appreciating life quality (dwell- ing in situations of inherent worth) rather than adhering to an increas- ingly higher standard of living. There will be a profound awareness of the difference between big and great. 8. Those who subscribe to the foregoing points have an obligation di- rectly or indirectly to participate in the attempt to implement the nec- essary changes (this version of the deep ecology ‘platform’ is found in Devall 1988). The DEM is based on radical pluralism in ‘foundational’ beliefs. Bud- ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200124 dhists, Christians, Jews, Moslems, pantheists, agnostics, and materialists can come to a kind of deep ecology position or perspective both from their own experience (which Naess calls ‘the intuition of deep ecology’) and from historic philosophic and religious traditions (Naess 1989). Naess defines ecosophy as “ . . . a philosophy of ecological harmony or equilibrium. A philosophy as a kind of sofia (or) wisdom, is openly normative, it contains both norms, rules, postulates, value priority an- nouncements and hypotheses concerning the state of affairs of our uni- verse. Wisdom is policy wisdom, prescription, not only scientific descrip- tion and prediction. The details of an ecosophy will show many variations due to significant differences concerning not only the ‘fact’ of pollution, resources, population, etc., but also value priorities’ (in Sessions 1995a). Thus, when individuals and communities articulate their own authentic ecosophy they provide an intellectual and emotional basis for their prac- tice of deep ecology. Arne Naess calls his version “ecosophy T.” His philo- sophical reflection on his own ecosophy is based on his experiences in a mountain hut in Norway where he has worked for many decades. A com- plimentary statement of ecosophy by Vice President Albert Gore, Jr. is developed in his book, Earth in the Balance (Gore 1992). Although Gore devotes a few paragraphs in his book to denouncing “deep ecology” based on misconceptions of the movement, his own ecosophy is grounded in deep ecology kind of thinking (Glasser 1996; Carmer 1998). The slogan, “simple in means, rich in ends,” emphasizes that the DEM encourages rich experiences, and rich experience includes experiences in free nature. As modern life continues to encroach on our daily lives, mil- lions and millions of people are less and less able to have rich experiences in free nature. The importance of such experience is emphasized in the growing field of ecopsychology. For Naess, rich experiences in free nature contributes to a sense of maturity. Both Dolores LaChapelle (1988) and Paul Shepard (1973, 1998) have contributed thoughtful commentary on the usefulness of looking at other cultures, especially primal cultures, for models of appropriate expe- riences that encourage greater human maturity. The practice of deep ecology includes both personal lifestyles and com- munity lifestyles (Devall 1993). In the United States several organizations have arisen to assist individuals and communities who want to change their lifestyles to incorporate simple means and rich experiences.3 Some supporters of the DEM see a need to develop more emphasis on 25BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT developing public policy initiatives from a deep ecology perspective. A recent study of the impact of deep ecology perspectives on public policy in the United States concludes, “The deep ecology movement continues to struggle against its critics with hopes of one day transforming society and politics. Though deep ecologists have enjoyed success in developing an alternative political and social vision from their deep respect for nature, they have had only limited success in advancing their agenda” (Cramer 1998, 226). However, many supporters of the DEM remain quite active in politics. For example, Arne Naess who is in his 80s, continues to engage in political action. The development of argumentation based on Naess’s prin- ciples provides a way of getting the camel through the eye of the needle in making public policy decisions by establishing priorities for policy and action (Glasser 1996). Naess concludes that the DEM has a special role in political life. “For one, it rejects the monopoly of narrowly human and short-term argumen- tation patterns in favor of life-centered long-term arguments. It also re- jects the human-in-environment metaphor in favor of a more realistic hu- man-in-ecosystems and politics-in-ecosystems one. It generalizes most ecopolitical issues: from ‘resources’ to ‘resources for . . . ’; from ‘life qual- ity’ to ‘life quality for . . . ’; from ‘consumption’ to ‘consumption for . . . ’; where ‘for . . . ’ is, we insert ‘not only humans, but other living beings’. Supporters of the Deep Ecology movement have, as a main source of mo- tivation and perseverance, a philosophical/ecological total view (an ecosophy) that includes beliefs concerning fundamental goals and values in life which it applies to political argumentation. That is, it uses not only arguments of the usual rather narrow kind, but also arguments from the level of a deep total view and with the ecological crisis in mind. But sup- porters of the Deep Ecology movement do not consider the ecological cri- sis to be the only global crisis; there are also crises of social justice, and of war and organized violence. And there are, of course, political problems which are only distantly related to ecology. Nevertheless, the supporters of the Deep Ecology movement have something important to contribute to the solution of these crises: they provide an example of the nonviolent activism needed in the years to come” (in Sessions 1995, 452). Naess continues to emphasize that most of supporters of the DEM are not intellectuals nor ideologues but ordinary people who continue to struggle to find a way to live based on their core beliefs and values. How- ever, even when people want to “do the right thing” they are hamstrung by ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200126 force of habit, a sense of despair, lack of community support for change, and institutional constraints. Anthropological research in the U. S. has found widespread acceptance of major principles in the ‘platform’ of deep ecology across a wide spectrum of the population including labor union members, rural and urban residents, as well as members of conservation organizations (Kempton et al. 1995). Some researchers suggest the “biophilia hypothesis” provides a socio- biology explanation for agape, love of nature as something more than a social construction, although a biologically-based love of nature is con- stantly mediated by socio-psychological expressions of biophilia (Kellert 1993). The translation of values and the ‘intuition’ of deep ecology into ac- tion in the midst of industrial civilization requires purposeful, collective action and attention to “ecological self.” The “ecological self,” defined by Naess as “broad identification” with nature, whether based on biophilia or on experiences in the “wildness” of nature, has stimulated some of the most provocative theories developed from a deep ecology perspective (see for example Mathews 1991; Everden 1993; Macy 1991; Fox 1990). When people have gone from denial to despair, how do they recatalyze energy to respond effectively and creatively to the environmental crisis? Teachers such as John Seed and Joanna Macy have pioneered in developing ex- periental workshops where participants are invited to explore “broader identification” through a “council of all beings” (Seed 1988). At least one researcher has concluded that experiences individuals have during a “council of all beings” can assist in helping participants engage in nonviolent direct action based on their awareness of their “ecological self” as part of an unfolding, interdependent “net” of relationships (Bragg 1995). Joanna Macy, and other teachers who are supporters of the DEM, have demonstrated that participation in the “council of all beings” and other rituals and exercises designed to explore the “ecological self,” is ef- fective cross-culturally. Macy herself has led such exercises in Russia, Aus- tralia, several European nations, as well as in the United States with participants from culturally diverse backgrounds.4 Since many supporters of the DEM have been critical of some of ma- jor assumptions of modernity, it is not surprising that deep ecology has been greeted with hostility both by some critics on the left and critics on the right, as well as post-modern theorists (for example, van Wyck 1997). However, as Glasser has documented, some of the criticism of deep ecol- 27BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT ogy perspectives is the result of misconceptions and fallacies committed by the critics. It is difficult to speak across paradigms when the basic ap- proach of different paradigms is phrased in language that is incommer- surable (Glasser 1998). The “Eight points” platform of the DEM formu- lated by Arne Naess and George Sessions does not concern the question of what is the main cause of the ecological crisis. There are a variety of views about causes such as those advanced by social ecologists and ecofeminists. Supporters of the DEM can also support social ecology and ecofeminism and vice versa.5 Some postmodern critics have had special difficulties with the DEM. But Charlene Spretnak, a scholar who has specialized in the development of ‘green’ politics, concludes that ‘deconstructionist postmodernism’ should not be confused with ‘ecological postmodernism’ (Drengson 1996; Spretnak 1997). The key metaphor of ‘ecological postmodernism’ is ecology and the primary truth is ‘particular-in-context’, or bioregionalism. Naess asserts that there are three great social movements of the 20th century—the ecology movement, the peace movement, and the social jus- tice movement. These three movements speak to our yearning for libera- tion and can be compatible with each other in specific political campaigns. However, in situations of conflict, priorities must be established. Soon after Earthday 1970, commentators were warning of possible conflicts between environment and civil rights (Hutchins 1976) and be- tween economic growth and environmental quality (Heller 1973). As the deep ecology perspective became more widely discussed during the 1980s, critics from postmodern schools of thought, feminism, and social ecology argued strenuously for nonessentialist, anthropocentric approachs to envi- ronmental ethics. Supporters of the DEM demonstrated that there are par- allels between ecofeminism and deep ecology (Fox 1989; Plumwood 1992). Some critics assume that the DEM is inappropriate for the Third World because the Third World must address problems of militarism, poverty, food supply, and demands for gender equality (Guha 1989). On the con- trary, supporters of the DEM conclude it is most appropriate for the Third World because of its emphasis on long-range sustainability of natural sys- tems within which humans as well as all other species must dwell (Naess 1995; Cafaro 1998). During the 1980s and 1990s, shallow or reform environmental move- ments continued to emphasize the tenet that “sustainable economic growth and development” for both developed and “underdeveloped” societies is ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200128 desirable, and indeed necessary, in order to achieve goals of cleaner air and water as well as protection of natural resources for sustained use by a growing human population (see the Bruntland Report, Our Common Fu- ture 1987, and Agenda 21 approved by the Rio Summit on Development and the Environment 1992). The subtext of all the major documents, based on reform environmentalism, is that an increasing population of humans will “sustainably” use increasing amounts of “natural resources” by ef- ficiently using evolving technologies such as biotechnology, computer tech- nology, nanotechnology, and energy technology. Most of the documents issued at world conferences on the environ- ment fail to clearly answer the questions “what is being sustained,” “how long is it being sustained,” and “how will conflicts between priorities or between the short-term interests of various categories of people be re- solved?” “How will priorities of the current generation of humans and future generations be resolved?” Supporters of the DEM recognize the need to address the great dispar- ity between the opportunities of people living in the Third World to sus- tain their vital needs and people living in Japan, the United States, Canada, and the European Union. Much effort has been given by supporters of the DEM to addressing issues of environmental justice raised by a globalizing economy and the impact of free trade treaties such as NAFTA (and the WTO) on our ability to speak for the protection of wild species and their habitat, as well as the impact that global financial structures have on the lives of ordinary people around the world (Mander 1991). When the demands for redistribution of money, power, and wealth, in the short-term, between more wealthy and less wealthy societies, between genders, between age groups, between politically defined ethnic groups, and so forth, become the primary agenda of social activists, there is a dan- ger, as George Sessions has concluded, of “the demise of the ecology move- ment” because social justice concerns frequently replace concern for the ecological integrity of the Earth (Sessions 1995b, 1995c ). While many social issues can be addressed simultaneously, even if a utopian social jus- tice society could be established, it may be on a planet that is rapidly losing biodiversity, primary forests, and free nature. WARNINGS TO HUMANITY Before the Rio Summit on Development and the Environment in 1992, the Union of Concerned Scientists circulated the World Scientists’ Warn- 29BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT ing to Humanity, signed by over 1,700 scientists, including 104 Nobel laureates. The Warning stated, in part, “Human beings and the natural world are on a collision course . . . A great change in our stewardship of the earth and the life on it is required, if vast human misery is to be avoided and our global home on the planet is not to be irretrievably mutilated . . . No more than one or a few decades remain before the chance to avert the threats we now confront will be lost” (Ehrlich 1996, Appendix B). In April 1999, the World Commission on Forests, created after the Rio Summit of 1992, concluded that nearly 15 million hectares of primary for- ests, an area the size of England and Wales, have been lost due to logging and other human activities each year since 1980. Original frontier forests have all but disappeared in 76 countries, and declined by at least 95 % in 11 countries. The planet’s original forest cover of 6 billion hectares has been reduced to 3.6 billion hectares (World Commission on Forests 1999). During the 1980s some commentators suggested that the 1990s would be a “turnaround decade” or a “turning point” where rapid changes would encourage the emergence of a new social paradigm or a new type of social organization based on ecology (Capra 1982). Has a paradigm shift occurred, or is it occurring on a planetary scale at the beginning of the 21st century? It is widely accepted that reform environmentalism is now part of the political agenda of most nations. Politicians are expected to include “the environment” as part of their campaign promises and public policy objec- tives. Many governments of developing nations are willing to participate in conservation programs—if they are given cash in exchange for their participation, such as the “debt for nature” agreements reached with some nations in South America. Findings from cross-cultural surveys indicate that even in poor nations, there is widespread awareness of and concern with environmental issues (Brechin 1994). Radical grassroots environmental movements have developed in many Third World nations (Taylor 1995). Whether or not motivated by deep ecology or reform environmental per- spective or demands for tribal or First Nations sovereignty from national governments, grassroots movements have irritated governments, some cor- porations, and other economic and political interest groups who ignited a backlash against radical environmentalism both in the United States and in many developing nations. Campaigns of suppression, detention, and even murder of grassroots radical environmentalists have been extensively documented (Rowell 1996). ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200130 Leaders of all the major world religions including Native American pantheism, Orthodox Christianity, Roman Catholic, Buddhism, Islam, and Judaism have presented statements that echo the World Scientists’ Warn- ing to Humanity. Religious leaders have presented statements affirming that conservation is part of their ethical teachings and that humans have no right to destroy the integrity of natural systems (Oelschlaeger 1994). In 1982, the United Nations General Assembly passed the World Char- ter for Nature, sponsored by a Third World nation—Zaire—with only one dissenting vote, the United States. The World Charter contains significant deep ecology statements including, 1. Nature shall be respected and its essential processes shall not be dis- rupted. 2. The genetic viability on the earth shall not be compromised; the popu- lation level of all life forms, wild and domesticated, must be at least sufficient for their survival, and to this end necessary habitats shall be maintained. 3. All areas, both land and sea, shall be subject to these principles of conservation; special protection shall be given to unique areas, repre- sentative sample of all ecosystems and the habitats of rare and endan- gered species. 4. Ecosystems and organisms, as well as land, marine and atmospheric resources which are utilized by man shall be managed to achieve and maintain optimum sustainable productivity, but not in such a way as to endanger the integrity of those other ecosystems or species with which they coexist. 5. Nature shall be secured against degradation caused by warfare or other hostile activities. The Charter challenges national and local governments to select the appropriate mix of social, political, and economic methods to achieve their goals (Wood 1985). However, the major world environmental conferences held during the 1990s, including the Rio Summit on Development and the Environment (1992) and the Kyoto Conference on Global Warming (1998), presented documents that retreated from deep ecological statements found in the World Charter for Nature. Even by their own anthropocentric criteria, the world environmental conferences of the 1990s have had limited success. Five years after the Rio summit, the United Nations Environmental Programme issued a report, 31BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT The Global Environmental Outlook. The report concludes that “significant progress has been made in confronting environmental challenges. Never- theless, the environment has continued to degrade in nations of all re- gions. Progress toward a sustainable future has simply been too slow” (UNEP 1997). Agenda 21, the document approved by governments attending the Rio Summit, clearly states that sustainable development would be achieved through trade liberalization. Since the Rio Summit, forest destruction from Mexico to Siberia and from Brazil to Indonesia has increased due to the impetus provided by “free trade” and globalization of the timber trade (Menotti 1998). An Earth Charter was to have guided the Rio Summit on Environment and Development, but governments could not agree on such a statement of ethical principles. However, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) were interested in the idea and formed a network of NGOs to develop a citizens’ Earth Charter. In early 1997, an Earth Charter Commission com- posed of distinguished persons from each continent was appointed at a meeting of international NGOs to draft a citizens’ Earth Charter. A Draft Earth Charter was released in March 1997 at the Rio+5 Fo- rum. The Earth Charter is supposed to provide “an ethical framework for decision making on all matters of environment and development.” The Draft Earth Charter contains eighteen planks. The first plank says, “Re- spect Earth and all life. Earth, each life form, and all living beings possess intrinsic value and warrant respect independent of their utilitarian value to humanity,” and plank 2, “Care for Earth, protecting and restoring the diversity, integrity, and beauty of the planet’s ecosystems. Where there is risk of irreversible or serious damage to the environment, precautionary action must be taken to prevent harm.” The clear statement that ecological sustainability must take precedence in all policy decisions in the citizens’ Draft Earth Charter contrasts starkly with the development tone of official Agenda 21 documents released through the United Nations. The United Nations sponsored Cairo conference on Development and Population in 1994 presented documents primarily devoted to develop- ment of women’s opportunities to participate in economic growth in Third World nations. Decline in birth rates was linked to “empowerment” of women and to “economic opportunities” for women in a growing economy. It was assumed that if women participate in economic growth under capi- ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200132 talism, have access to contraceptives and choice on abortions, and are more educated, that the birth rate will fall. Some critics of the Cairo conference statement, including representatives of Moslem nations and the Catholic church, noted the ideological tone of the Cairo statement and failure of the Cairo statement to respect cultural diversity. Five years after the Cairo conference, at a world conference of governments and nongovernmental organizations called to assess the outcomes of the Cairo conference, the political consensus of 1994 was in disarray. The environmental caucus of Cairo+5 in particular insisted that “we cannot address access to food, water safety, and migration without addressing the environment as well. A healthy environment should be a priority when seeking to address human health and welfare.”6 It was also unclear if contributing nations would raise the programmed $10 billion a year for implementation of the Cairo agree- ment and the anticipated $22 billion a year that will be needed by 2015. The United Nations Conference on Women held in Beijing in 1995 included “environment” as one of the twelve planks in its “platform for action.” However, that plank read, “Eliminate all obstacles to women’s full and equal participation in sustainable development with equal access to and control over resources; integrate rural women’s traditional knowl- edge and practices into environmental management programs; support women’s consumer initiatives by promoting recycling, organic food pro- duction and marketing and product labeling that is clear to the illiterate.” There was no plank in the women’s platform that emphasized the role of women in maintaining wide ecological sustainability by responsibly lim- iting the number of children they have, nor any support for intrinsic values of other species, nor support for programs that protect the habitat of na- tive species in each bioregion. In commenting on this platform, a British writer, Sandy Irvine, concludes, “ . . . Some fundamental aspects of the eco-crisis, particularly overpopulation, are ignored or denied. Organisations such as the Women’s Environment Movement specifically deny that exist- ing human numbers are already too great for the global ecosystem to sus- tain” (Irvine 1995). With the prospect of a conscious, collective movement of rapid social turnaround fading, some supporters of the DEM suggest that the human species has exceeded the limits of natural systems to respond to anthropo- genic changes, and that radical changes in human society will occur during the 21st century because “nature bats last” (Catton 1980a; Meadows et al. 1992). 33BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT In his 1971 book, The Closing Circle, Barry Commoner summarized these ‘laws’ of ecology: Nature is more complex than we know, and prob- ably more complex than we can know. Everything has to go somewhere. There is no such thing as a free lunch. And, the most controversial ‘law’, Nature knows best (Commoner 1971). Some commentators conclude that humans in industrial civilization have become like a cancer on the planet, killing the host organism. Other visionary writers hypothesize that as a species Homo sapiens is evolving toward a planetary civilization that “ . . . will come from the synergy of the collective experience and wisdom of the entire human fam- ily—the entire species. The world has become so interdependent that we must make it together, transcending differences of race, ethnicity, geogra- phy, religion, politics, and gender. It is the human species that must learn to live together as a civilized and mutually supportive community. To fo- cus on the development of civility among the human species is not to inflate unduly the importance of humanity within the ecosystem of life on Earth; rather it is to recognize how dangerous the human race is to the viability of the Earth’s ecosystem. Humanity must begin consciously to develop a plan- etary-scale, species-civilization that is able to live in a harmonious rela- tionship with the rest of the web of live” (Elgin 1993, 14). Philosopher Thomas Berry calls this project the “great work” of hu- mans. Berry concludes that humans live in a “moment of grace” as we move into the 21st century which enables humanity to “be present to the planet in a mutually beneficial way” (Berry 1999). Others believe that Gaia herself, a conscious, self-organizing system, will regulate such an unruly species as Homo sapiens. The Gaia hypothesis has stimulated not only controversy among scientists but also has stimulated numerous religious, mystical, and feminist responses that indicate a yearning for integration with the “Earth Mother.”7 Naess himself says he remains an optimist “for the 22nd century.” “There is no time for overly pessimistic statements that can be exploited by passivists and those who promote complacency. The realization of what we call wide ecological sustainability of the human enterprise on this unique planet may take a long time, but the more we increase unsustainability this year, and in the years to come, the longer it will take. . . . The Deep Ecol- ogy movement is concerned with what can be done today, but I forsee no definite victories scarcely before the twenty-second century” (in Sessions 1995a, 464). ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200134 The resurgence of interest in bioregionalism, restoration, locally-based agriculture, and new initiatives to establish huge nature reserves in many nations indicates that supporters of the DEM will continue to be leaders in developing new agendas for the conservation movement as we move into the 21st century. For example, there is a growing number of alliances be- tween conservation groups and tribal or First Nation peoples (a designa- tion most commonly used in Canada) with the objective of assisting tradi- tional cultures and protecting wildness. From Ecuador to British Columbia, numerous NGOs continue to implement projects with tribal and First Na- tion peoples.8 Yet, since liberals and conservatives, capitalists and socialists, as well as green parties in Europe, Japan, and North America, have found it diffi- cult to integrate a deep ecology perspective and environmental justice agen- da into their political agendas, it is difficult to see where the political mo- mentum for radical social change based on the norm of wide ecological sustainability will arise. Fritjof Capra, however, concludes that “while the transformation (from one paradigm to another) is taking place, the declin- ing culture refuses to change, clinging ever more rigidly to its outdated ideas; nor will the dominant social institutions hand over their leading roles to the new cultural forces. But they will inevitably go on to decline and disintegrate while the rising culture will continue to rise, and eventu- ally will assume its leading role. As the turning point approaches, the real- ization that evolutionary changes of this magnitude cannot be prevented by short-term political activities provides our strongest hope for the fu- ture” (Capra 1982, 419). Joanna Macy, and other visionary scholar/teachers who are support- ers of the deep, long-range ecology movement and who utilize system theory approaches in their teaching, emphasize that emergent forms of social or- ganization that arise out of the chaos and breakdown of current social systems may be very different from present forms of social organization and cannot be predicted based on linear trend analysis. CONCLUSION Ecological systems approaches to global modeling and analysis have developed extensively over the past several decades to the extent that some scientists are calling for “international ecosystem assessment.” These sci- entists argue that an international system of ecosystem modelling and monitoring, integrating the many differing factors—climate change, bio- diversity loss, food supply and demand, forest loss, water availability and 35BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT quality—is urgently needed. The magnitude of human impacts on ecosys- tems is escalating. One-third of global land cover will be transformed in the next hundred years. In twenty years world demand for rice, wheat, and maize will rise by 40%. Demands for water and wood will double over the next half-century. At the turn of the millennium, they argue, we need to undertake the first global assessment of the condition and future pros- pects of global ecosystems (Ayensu 1999). The continuing collective efforts to change human behavior to fore- stall global warming indicates that some attempts at effective political ac- tion in the face of a “global environmental crisis” are being made (Depledge 1999). Deep ecology perspectives and the DEM have contributed to the development of ecophilosophy, ecopsychology, and intellectual discussions of these issues over the past four decades, in particular by helping people articulate and develop their own ecosophy both individually and as part of a community (Glasser 1996). However, how the planet as an interdepen- dent ecosystem, subject to increasing and generally negative human inter- ventions, will fare in the 21st century remains an open question. There are those who see hope for the future of Homo sapiens living in harmony with the rest of nature. They maintain that Homo sapiens have the capacity to develop into mature human beings both as individuals and collectively if humanity practices CPE on the earth—conservation, preser- vation, restoration (Brower 1995). Others, seeing that even small popula- tions of Homo sapiens armed with simple but very effective technology of fire and stone arrowhead have, over the past 35,000 years, had immense impact on landscapes of whole continents (such as Australia), and con- clude that at best Homo sapiens can be seen as an auto immune disease on the world system, on Gaia, or as a cancer on the world system that at this time has begun to destroy the vital organs of the planet. Another forecast is presented by Bill Joy, chief engineer for Sun Elec- tronics and one of the creators of Java for the Internet. He begins with Murphy’s Law, “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong,” and with the premise from systems theory that when systems involved are complex, involving interaction among and feedback between many parts, any changes in such a system will cascade in ways that are difficult to predict; this is especially true when human actions are involved. Joy explores the unin- tended consequence of developing the new fields of technology including robotics, genetic engineering, and nanotechnology. Since “biological species almost never survive encounters with supe- rior competitors” and given that robotics, at the current rate of develop- ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200136 ment, could be superior in intelligence to Homo sapiens within fifty years, and could self-replicate, it is likely that cyborgs will out-compete current Homo sapiens and win control of the planet. For Joy, the only hope for Homo sapiens in the 21st century is if, as a species, we relinquish research on robotics, genetic engineering, and nanotechnology. Exploring the love and compassion that is more basic to our humanness than the “will to power” in capitalist, free-market economies based on exponential growth of technology, humans can enter a path toward a utopia based on altruism (Joy 2000). We are left to contemplate the question asked by John Muir, consid- ered by many historians to be the founder of the American conservation movement, in 1875. Returning to the Central Valley of California, after spending another summer meditating in the Sierra Nevada, Muir wrote in his journal: Every sense is satisfied. For us there is no past, no future—we live only in the present and are full. No room for hungry hopes—none for re- grets—none for exaltation—none for fears. Enlarge sphere of ideas. The mind invigorated by the acquisition of new ideas. Flexibility, elasticity. I often wonder what men will do with the mountains. That is, with their utilizable, destructable garments. Will he cut down all, and make ships and houses with the trees? If so, what will be the final and far upshot? Will human destruction, like those of Nature—fire, flood, and avalanche—work out a higher good, a finer beauty. Will a better civi- lization come, in accord with obvious nature, and all this wild beauty be set to human poetry? Another outpouring of lava or the coming of the glacial period could scarce wipe out the flowers and flowering shrubs more effectively than do the sheep. And what then is coming— what is the human part of the mountain’s destiny? (Engberg and Wesling 1980, 162) ACKNOWLEDGMENT The author expresses thanks to Harold Glasser for his extensive com- mentary and help on preliminary drafts of this article. NOTES 1. The Selected Works of Arne Naess, edited by Harold Glasser and published by Kluwer Academic Publishers, will be available in early 2001. Information con- cerning the current status of this project is available from the Foundation for Deep Ecology, Building 1062, Ft. Cronkhite, Sausalito, CA 94965. 37BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT 2. Naess frequently uses the term “free nature” to refer to landscapes that are relatively unmodified by human activities. Other supporters of the DEM fre- quently use the term “wild nature” to refer to landscapes that may contain human communities such a tribal societies, but are relatively untrammeled by industrial civilization, agriculture, roads, cattle, or sheep grazing. Henry David Thoreau expressed one of the central axioms of the modern conservation move- ment when he wrote “in wildness is the preservation of the world.” Virtually all regions of the planet are currently impacted by planetary in- dustrial civilization as witnessed by “global warming,” the “hole in the ozone layer,” and massive deforestation of all the primary forests on the planet (World Commission on Forests 1999). 3. See, for example, the Northwest Earth Institute, Suite 1100, 506 SW 6th St., Portland, OR 97205. 4. Recent educational material on the deep, long-range ecology movement in- cludes the 13-part radio series, “Deep Ecology for the 21st Century,” available from New Dimensions Broadcasting Network, P.O.Box 569, Ukiah CA 95482. Two videos highlight the work of Arne Naess in articulating deep ecology; “Crossing the Stones,” produced by Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation in 1992 and available in the United States from Bullfrog Films, Oley PA; and “The Call of the Mountain,” produced by ReRun Produkties in 1997, distrib- uted in the United States by the Foundation for Deep Ecology, Building 1062, Ft. Cronkhite, Sausalito, CA 94965. 5. The International Forum on Globalization, Building 1062, Ft. Cronkhite, Sausalito, CA 94965, provides books, articles and other material on the envi- ronmental and social impacts of globalization. 6. Population and Habitat Update: Cariro+5: Identifying Successes, New Chal- lenges: National Audubon Society’s Population and Habitat Campaign, May/ June 1999. 7. When James Lovelock and Lynn Margulis presented the Gaia Hypothesis, it was embraced by the broader public before it was embraced by the community of scientists (Lovelock 1987). Surfing through Amazon.com, I found more than 120 books that use the word Gaia in titles published after 1988. These included “a guided meditation for vibrational medicine cards and Gaia matrix oracle,” “from eros to Gaia,” “Gaia and God: an ecofeminist theology of earth healing,” “gay and Gaia, ethics, ecology, and the erotic,” and “the goddess in the office: a personal energy guide for the spiritual warrior at work.” 8. The agenda of the DEM now includes “rewilding,” a term not yet found in the dictionaries. According to Michael Soule, author of numerous books on bio- diversity and president of The Wildlands Project, rewilding means “the process of protecting Nature by putting all the ecological pieces back together and restoring the landscape to its full glory and building a network of conservation reserves—cores, corridors, and mixed-use buffers—with enough land to allow wolves, jaguars, bears and other large carnivores to move freely and reclaim a part of their former range” (Soule 1998). ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200138 REFERENCES Ayensu, Edward, et al. 1999. “International Ecosystem Assessment.” Science 286 (October): 685–86. Berry, Thomas. 1999. The Great Work: Our Way Into the Future. New York: Bell Tower. Bragg, Elizabeth. 1995. “Towards Ecological Self: Individual and Shared Under- standings of the Relationship Between Self and Environment.” Dissertation. North Queensland: James Cook University. 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work_7wgfjpwzdvavfl4dffwtgewr34	----	1 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like This is a preprint early vesrion of the article Schwarz, Ori (2013) 'What Should Nature Sound Like? Techniques of engagement with nature sites and sonic preferences of Israeli visitors', Annals of Tourism Research 42: 382-401. The definitive version of this article is available online at: http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0160738313000492 What Should Nature Sound Like? Techniques of engagement with nature sites and sonic preferences of Israeli visitors Ori Schwarz Tel Aviv University Abstract: Tourist experiences are not merely visual but multisensory. When considering the sounds of nature, tourists often have conflicting preferences regarding the appropriate and desired soundscape. The article explores these preferences and how they relate to different ways of engagement with nature, each having its own historical roots, agents and social meanings; each focused on different affordances of nature and demanding different prerequisites. Interviews with Israeli visitors of nature sites show that what they consider 'noise' depends on their social (class/ethnic) identification, but also on the mode of touristic engagement they employ. Thus, tourists who render themselves subject to nature's therapeutic, aesthetic or spiritual influence have very different sensitivity to human-made sounds than those who consider nature a stage for social or physical activity Keywords nature; quiet; music; social identity; tourist experience; senses If suddenly people opened a barbecue in the middle of a green spot and shouted, it would kill me. I'd like to kill them (...) so out of place, all those who barbecue with Mizrahit (Middle- Eastern pop) music, it kills me. I just wanna go away. (23f, student, upper-middle class) If it's a popular site and there's a group of pupils nearby who make a lot of noise, I find it awful; but if you stand near a waterfall and hear the noise of water, it contributes to the experience (70f, upper-middle class) INTRODUCTION Modern tourism is usually understood—by sociologists (Adler, 1989b; Urry 1990) and tourists alike—as visual consumption of places qua landscape. However, growing interest in tourism as an embodied activity evoked calls to explore how other senses, especially sound, inform tourist practices and experiences (Obrador-Pons, 2003; Waitt & Duffy, 2009). This article follows these calls by studying the diversity of preferences regarding the sonic ordering of nature sites. Perceived 'noise' impacts significantly on tourist satisfaction and dissatisfaction (Alegre & Garau, 2010), yet we know little about how tourists classify sounds as noise. As demonstrated below, the category of noise does not simply coincide with 'loud sounds' or even 'jarring sounds', but rather with 'sound out of place' (Bailey, 1996). Noise thus often resides in the ear of the listener (Coates, 2005). This article explores which sounds are 'out of place' in nature sites for different kinds of tourists, and why. Tourists differ in their expectations and preferences regarding the ideal sonic order of nature sites: some seek 'natural silence'; others prefer personal hiking-soundtrack on their headphones; while still others reshape the whole soundscape with boom-boxes (Bell & Lyall, 2002:44). For some tourists encounters with loud tourists or music may ruin the tourist experience, whereas others are indifferent to these sounds, or even criticise silencing attempts. While evaluating engagement with nature and its sounds, tourists employ different ethical-normative frameworks and imperatives, including reverence to nature, considerateness, and http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0160738313000492 2 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like friendliness. Whereas these differences in sensitivity could be explained away as psychological or even physiological interpersonal variance, sociocultural and historical enquiry may arguably yield more satisfying explanations, since the norms regarding which sounds are out of place where are historically and culturally specific. Thus, whereas conversations during classical concerts have been common and acceptable until well into the 19th century (Johnson, 1995; Sennett, 1977), today the slightest cough is often unbearable, yet this does not apply to most other musical genres. Similarly, the status of howling wolves shifted throughout the 20th century from 'noise' to 'natural quiet', whereas the sound of forests is no longer considered threatening silence, but rather lively, peaceful and pleasant (Coates, 2005). Culturally-specific sonic norms sometimes co-exist simultaneously: whereas Western tourists believe the Taj Mahal should be admired through silent contemplation, this is not the case for Indian tourists who do not stop talking, which for middle-class Britons qualifies them as 'crap tourists' (Edensor, 1998:126; 2002:96). Even within a single national culture and era sonic preferences vary across class and life-style lines (Author). Based on interview data from Israel, I suggest that two factors are crucial in understanding nature tourists' sonic preferences. The first factor is boundary work (Lamont and Molnar, 2002). Whereas sonic preferences do not simply map onto class or ethnic identities, sonic practices and preferences in nature sites are associated with certain social identities and read as identity markers that mark group boundaries. The second dimension is modes of engagement that identify and exploit certain affordances of nature sites. Below I differentiate between four major modes of engagement employed by nature users. Following recent developments in cultural sociology, I concentrate on how people attend to and engage with things (and places) rather than what things and places they prefer (Author; Benzecry, 2011; Hennion, 2007). This strategy improves our understanding of variance in (sonic) preferences of nature users. METHOD AND STRUCTURE The analysis relies on in-depth interviews with 65 Israelis conducted over a 10-months period in 2010/2011 for a wider research on sound and society. Interviewees were recruited from five designated groups: affluent retirees, subscribers of a classical orchestra; middle-class married urbanites who moved to the countryside; residents of an ethnically-diverse working-class town; university students; and librarians. This non-representative sample is extremely diverse in ethnicity, age (20-80), class, status, education, lifestyle and residence. The project explores the relationships between embodied sonic sensitivities (preferences and reactions to sound of the socialized body); social identities and identifications; and discourses on noise. Nature was central to the project, since many interviewees were especially concerned about undesired sounds in nature sites. Visiting nature reservations, national parks and forests is a common practice in Israel. During holidays, the media reports millions of visitors. This has historical reasons: schools and youth movements have encouraged hiking to strengthen Israeli-Jews' bond to their new homeland (Gurevitch, 2007). While this national dimension has since been marginalised, the centrality of nature hiking in Israeli culture persisted (Ben-David, 1997), while new patterns of backpacking abroad emerged (Noy, 2007). Thanks to the near- universality of nature tourism in Israel, I could direct questions on nature tourism to people not recruited for being nature users. The term 'nature users' is used below to denote people who visit nature sites (nature reservations, forests, trails) for leisure. This term was preferred over 'travellers' or 'nature tourists' since it highlights engagement with the materiality of nature sites. In their accounts interviewees associated some sonic and other tourist practices with ethnicised or classed life-styles. Israel has a class structure and mobility regime typical of industrialised nations, although with slightly higher mobility levels (Goldthorpe et al., 1997). Class, ethnicity and cultural stereotypes are strongly associated with one another. Mizrahim (Jews of Asian/African descent) have suffered from education, employment and housing discriminatory policies; were viewed by early state establishment as uneducated population in need of Westernization (Shohat, 1988; Swirski, 1990); and are still underrepresented among the elites. While class, classed lifestyles and inequality (the levels of which are roughly as high as in the USA) are central for understanding Israeli society, the word 'class' itself is rarely used. Whenever interviewees are identified as members of a class, the attribution is mine. I did so only when the occupations of interviewees and their immediate relatives as well as their neighbourhood unanimously and clearly marked them as belonging to a certain class. 3 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like Interviews were used to produce data on (1.) how different tourists judge and evaluate sounds in nature and sounds of nature, and what cultural meanings they ascribe these sounds; (2.) how tourists engage with nature sites and what they expect to experience; and (3.) discourses on identities of selves and others. This facilitated the exploration of the connections between sonic preferences, tourist practices and identifications. While interviews conducted in retrospect in urban settings (cafes/homes/offices) have obvious limitations, my interest in subjective perceptions, experiences, meanings, expectations and judgements ruled out external observations. Sound diaries (Duffy & Waitt, 2009), though a promising method, cannot be used to study attention to sounds, since the very documentary task given to participants would significantly transform their attentiveness to nature and its sounds. Interviews are most appropriate to collect data on corporeal sense experience as already socially meaningful, i.e. on the intersection of discursive frameworks and embodied sense experiences, and their interrelations. This proved helpful in understanding the sonic regulation of nature. Interviewees were asked about their images of 'ideal' and 'catastrophic' vacations; their actual tourist practices and preferences, including accommodation and activities; their sonic practices while hiking (music listening, talking, singing, listening to nature); things and sounds they prefer not to meet in nature; and their opinion about the claim of some people that they need quiet to experience landscapes—a quasi-experiment in which interviewees could either identify with this judgement or criticise it, engaging in moral evaluation of sonic practices. Interviewees referred to multiple tourist practices: national and international tourism, short excursions and multiple-day tracks (as they were asked about both nature trips [tiyulim] and vacations [nofesh]). Very often interviewees concentrated on hiking, yet some interviewees mentioned different kinds of sites in a single interview, while others made general statements. Furthermore, the same ethic, interpretive and evaluative frameworks were employed to sounds in different kinds of sites and trips. Hence, the primary categories used for analysis were not sites-types but modes of engagement, which explained better differences in sonic preferences, styles and judgements. Following the literature review are three sections dedicated to the findings on the sonic regulation of nature sites: first I discuss four main modes of embodied engagement with nature and how they shape sonic preferences of nature users. Then I discuss the general tendency to differentiate nature soundscape from mundane soundscapes. Finally I discuss the role of sonic preferences in boundary work, as statements in negotiation over social identities. LITERATURE REVIEW Ocularcentric tourism scholarship has not paid sounds in nature the attention they deserve. Historical accounts refer to silence as another component in the romantic construction of nature as sublime in the 19th century (Coates, 2005; Nash, 1982). For Walter (1982), quiet has semiotic/symbolic value: since intensively toured sites become noisy, silence becomes indexical of a site's rarity, which is, its value as a positional good. Edensor (2000) goes further, suggesting that beyond mere rarity, engagement in solitary silent walking in the countryside (contrary to loud group rambling) has been constructed as a class marker of distinction. The semiotic stress of Walter and Edensor comes, however, at the expense of full acknowledgement of the experiential, sensuous dimension of quiet. As Bennett (2002) demonstrates, silence played an important role in Thoreau's use of nature for self-transformation. But what about contemporary nature users? The search for analytical tools to explore this question may start with the extensive literature on the plurality of tourist experiences. Models that classify tourist experiences according to their existential depth (Cohen, 1979; Elands and Lengkeek, 2000) or psychological motivations—be they escapism, interest, recreation, hedonic pleasure or ontological security (Elands and Lengkeek, 2000; Wickens 2002)—can hardly tell us anything about sonic preferences. These categories are much too abstract and universal to be convincingly associated with concrete, culturally-specific practices and preferences. More promising is the tradition that studied the classed character of tourist styles. John Urry (1990) distinguished between two tourist 'gazes': the individualistic, sacralising 'romantic gaze' of middle-class tourists who seek semi-spiritual, authentic experiences; versus the 'collective gaze' of sociability-seeking working-class group-tourists. Yet, tourist styles are more than 'gazes': they are sets of embodied practices and sensuous orientations, including sonic orientations ignored by Urry. Furthermore, there are surely more than two such sets, which never map so neatly to class. However, the opposition of solitariness and sociability is crucial to the sonic shaping of nature experience. Edensor (2000) offered a more corporeal and practice-oriented attitude. For Edensor, different techniques of walking in the countryside don't simply reflect class: rather they are status claims that 4 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like embody meanings embedded in discourses on class. Indeed, whereas perfect correlations between social class and engagement in cultural practices are very rare (and cannot be found in my data), tourist styles are still 'classed' through association with classed identities. Tourist practices mediate not only relations between people (e.g. identity claims) but also people's relations with non-humans—the sites themselves. A main component in tourist practices is tourists' ways of paying attention to and engaging with space and humans and non-humans within it. The Schuetzian sociological tradition studied 'finite provinces of meaning' (e.g. art consumption), distinguished from everyday 'practical attention' in their unique modes of attention and forms of spontaneity/engagement, sociality, self-experience, temporality and consciousness (Berger & Luckmann, 1966; Schuetz & Luckmann, 1973). Structures of spontaneity, such as active preparation followed by passive absorption, may be shared by very different practices such as those of music aficionados, drug addicts (Gomart and Hennion, 1999) and (as shown below) nature tourists. Yet, there is more than one mode of attention toward art or nature. Contemporary research demonstrates that sensuous experience of objects is culturally specific, since it is always mediated by particular techniques of engagement and paying attention to them (Author; Csordas, 1993; Hirschkind, 2001; Kesner, 2006). In tourism research Adler acknowledged the cultural and historical specificity of tourist 'styles' (1989a) shaped by the historical cultivation of sensuous attentiveness (1989b). Thrift (2007:56-74) studied the uniquely modern sensuous orientation towards 'slow' nature, an intense attention to present time that relies on contemplative modes of attention borrowed from the performance arts, new-age spirituality and therapies. However, even within modernity, different subjects employ multiple 'consumption techniques' while attending to the same objects (e.g. nature sites). A 'consumption technique' is a sequence of actions conducted by a subject and directing the operation of her body, mind and sensuous attention while interacting with the object of consumption, in order to achieve a certain experience, feeling or understanding (Author). Different consumption techniques identify and use different affordances of nature sites (Gibson, 1979; Rantala, 2010). People are socialised to apply certain modes of attention under certain circumstances, and they hone these skills and sensibilities throughout their biographies of interactions with particular objects, which thus shape their subjectivity. Mastery of these embodied ways of engagement with objects—especially with sanctified objects that ennoble those who acknowledge their value, like Nature and high art—is often central to group identity- and boundary-work. In this tradition both public status/identity claims and the production of internal experience consist in how people engage with objects, e.g. nature sites (Author; Benzecry, 2011; Hennion, 2007) no less than in what objects are preferred (as in Bourdieu, 1984). As demonstrated below, a single category like 'hiking' may aggregate different practices of engagement with and attending to nature that strive toward different goals or effects and set different ethical and practical demands. Below I ask not only what social meanings people ascribe different tourist techniques (the social semiotics of style) but also: what people expect to result from their encounters with nature sites? How they evaluate the success of these encounters? What sensual ambiences would enable or constrain successful consumption? Whereas in some techniques presented below quiet is necessary for successful consumption, in others it is irrelevant or undesired. MODES OF ENGAGEMENTS This section presents four modes of engagement with nature sites. These four categories were developed based on the accounts interviewees gave as to how they engage with people and places while visiting nature sites, what they enjoy and what disrupts their experience. While analytically helpful, this categorisation should not be taken as either exhaustive or realist. Since the article's aim is to make sense of the diversity of sonic preferences, categories were constructed while focussing on those components in the accounts that are related to production and evaluation of sound. Although modes of engagement may shape motivations and anticipations, they are not motivations themselves: people may be recruited to a practice in various ways (Shove 2007), often different from the criteria practitioners apply to assess the successfulness of consumption episodes. The four modes presented below are: (1.) Rendering the self subject to the influence of nature, be it therapeutic, aesthetic or spiritual; (2.) Using nature as a mediator between the tourist and his/her interiority; (3.) Nature as a stage for sociality; and (4.) Nature as a set of props for physical activity. Although people may shift between these modes of engagement, it may be hard to employ them simultaneously, as some of 5 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like them imply contradicting orientations of attention and incompatible embodied ways of involvement with humans and non-humans (Obrador-Pons, 2003). Silencing of self and others is crucial for the first two modes, but adverse to the third and irrelevant at best to the fourth. 1. Absorbing Nature The most noise-hostile interviewees usually described their travelling experience in terms of enjoying the therapeutic, aesthetic or spiritual powers of nature, strongly associated with the 'romantic gaze' (Urry, 1990). Nature can positively act on these nature users once they created the right conditions, which are often believed to include silence. Nature may heal, purify or move users, who report experiencing interior peacefulness or relaxation, sublimity or spirituality, a dream-like feeling of elevation from the mundane, oneness with the cosmos, freedom or beauty. Interviewees described these experiences as embodied, entailing transformations in their breath and posture or feelings of bodily liberation. Some of these interviewees explicitly described nature as 'sacred', but many others referred to it as sacred in the sociological sense: for them, non-natural (human or technological) objects and sounds may defile nature's purity. Interviewees repeatedly used the verb 'absorb': they wanted to 'absorb' nature into their bodies, and sonic distractions threatened to thwart this internalisation endeavour. Their engagement with nature may be compared to Gomart and Hennion's account of music connoisseurs and drug users who actively engage with nonhumans in order to then shift to passivity and be manipulated by them, preparing skilfully a situation in which they may be taken over (Gomart and Hennion, 1999). This constructed passivity is rarely incidental (Author; Hennion, 2007): it demands heightened, undistracted attention. For Nurit (f41, classical musician), '[T]he sounds of nature are, maybe, actually, the sounds that have the best mental impact on me, more than any music, and music would ruin it'. While asked what she means by 'mental impact', she replied: 'Elevating the soul. Really making me breathe more easily, open up my lungs, really, I see the sea, or, and everything opens-up, or if I'm in the mountains, hearing the trees moving in the wind, it's like, it liberates the whole body'. Other interviewees experienced the effects of nature on themselves in rather spiritual terms: 'For me nature is a place of spirituality, I just love to listen to the birds, the sea, the nature, the water (…) even while just sitting, while walking, I love to absorb everything around me (…) It makes me happy; gives me peace of mind (…) happiness, and peacefulness, and cleanliness, like, I connect with nature' (f23, student, upper-middle-class). Still others compared hiking with meditation: 'The main noise is the noise in your head, that's why quiet places, where there is quiet, may echo unto your internal state, and create relaxation inside your head. My head. And if there's enough time, it actually works (…) The thoughts inside your head, this noise inside your head, it's a kind of separation, between you and the environment, or even between you and yourself. In quiet you may connect to yourself, to the environment, [you can] be aware, see the bird, the tree, the painting. In noise, you react'. (f44, occupational therapist). These effects of nature sites are not merely social construction: for subjects familiar with these modes of engagement, the physical characteristics of nature, its unique landscape and soundscape (quiet that could 'echo'), are affordances for these desired effects. 'Absorbers' attended to nature with all their senses, including hearing: interviewees reported noticing and enjoying gusts of wind rustling the trees or the sound of twigs breaking under their feet. Listening to music that would block these sounds, even on headphones, is criticised for irreverence. Even while privileging vision, absorbers need silence to look at landscapes, just as 'serious' listening to 'serious' music demands closing one's eyes to focus attention on a single sense—a comparison actually made by one interviewee. This silencing enhances sacralisation, clearly distinguishing sacred objects of attention from profane, undesired 'background noises'. Paradoxically, this increased attention only makes these 'noises' more conspicuous (Ihde, 2007). For Nurit, quiet was necessary for natural sound to work on her body and soul. Hence, she ruled out listening to recorded music in nature sites. Other sounds she reported could thwart nature's desired effects were 'din of people. A mob, many people shouting, talking too loud'. This impacts her tourist practices: she reported putting much effort to visit sites off the beaten track or off-season. She felt best when—travelling in the Alps—she met only cows and goats. Whereas non-representative samples preclude distributive claims, the data clearly indicates that absorbing nature is more common among high-status, highly-educated individuals, which are also more prone to be familiar with new-age spirituality or high-art consumption techniques. Whereas aesthetic experience is not a privilege of the elites (lower-class interviewees did report enjoying landscapes), it seems 6 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like that 'immersive body practices' (Thrift, 2007:57) are more prevalent (though not ubiquitous) among privileged groups. High-status individuals seem more prone to expect nature to act on them and to try to create conditions they perceived as required—including avoiding groups and self-silencing. The socialisation of their body, their anticipations and mastery of specific consumption techniques surely impact their subjective experience (cf. Author; Becker, 1953). Nature absorbers used the same language as art-lover interviewees who described successful museum visiting experiences. Nature absorbing is also comparable to 'serious' reading: a private, silent, autonomous technique of self-betterment (Bell & Lyall, 2002:34-35). While some interviewees employed absorptive consumption in a single context only, others demonstrated it across contexts, which may indicate their reliance on general dispositions—not merely discursive frameworks but actual embodied orientations. Thus, Nurit described successful art viewing experiences in the same language she used for hiking: 'a healing experience', 'extension of the heart', 'more oxygen in the body' and sudden disappearance of her nervousness and sadness. This technique of silent, attentive 'good hiking' has deep roots in the 19th century. According to Bennett (2002), Henry David Thoreau offered a model of hiking as a 'technique-of-self' in Foucault's sense: a technique of embodied and spiritual self-transformation (Foucault, 1993). This model included introspection; keeping quiet; and 'microvisioning'—the direction of the gaze towards a single point and delving into its details, thus aestheticising the objects of gaze, rendering them sublime and wild, and turning them into awe- inspiring 'nature'. John Muir, the father of American national parks, promoted a similar attitude for different reasons. For Muir, urban civilisation threatened people's nerves, whereas the quiet of nature offered a safe haven. He insisted nature was not silent; it only seemed so to tourists who could not appropriately silence themselves to indulge in its natural, enjoyable sounds (Coates, 1995). For Thoreau and Muir, nature had the power to help people forge independent interiority and heal themselves from the damages of urban modernity and superficial sociability, if only they kept quiet and intensified their attention. Other contemporaries maintained that nature's silence enables commune with god (Nash, 1982:62). Silent and attentive 'absorptive' hiking—and the cult of wilderness in general—were initially elitist scholarly pastimes, and nature sites visits are still much more common among educated whites (Edensor, 2000; Jarvis, 1997; Urry, 1990; Walker & Kiecolt, 1995), where the love of nature has become a cultural and moral litmus test. For Muir and his contemporaries the ability to aesthetically appreciate nature was not only a class-marker of gentility: it also marked moral and spiritual character, the capacity to elevate above materialism (e.g. Nash, 1982:158), similar to ennobling fine art consumption. Silence is part of this performed sacralisation of nature, which always entails self-ennoblement. My interview data offers many 21th century manifestations of the same romantic belief in the power of walking in the nature, away from the city and society, to facilitate aesthetic contemplation; meditation; or psychotherapeutically valuable expression of the authentic self (Edensor, 2000). Still powerful as manifestation of legitimate culture, this model of 'good hiking' is far from being the only model around. Nature sites have other affordances that nature users—middle-class and working-class alike—exploit in various ways. 2. Nature as a Mediator In the second mode of engagement nature users do not direct their attention outwards to let nature transform their interiority but rather inwards, in order to explore their interiority. In this process, nature sites play a role as mediator: interviewees believe nature helps them be 'in touch with [themselves]' (f44, occupational therapist), offering them a space they consider supportive of introspection and self-examination by isolating them from their everyday. This experience of authentic, reflexive self-exploration may also take place in pairs: by isolating the couple from the larger crowd and bracketing their time together from the everyday, it offers them intimacy. For some couples nature may support not only exploration of interiority but also communication of this self-understanding. By eliminating references to social roles and enabling full expression of 'pure' feelings, nature is 'the romantic decor par excellence' (Illouz, 1997:92). Here any encounter with strangers is a nuisance, in particular sonic encounters, which violate the sensuous social isolation. Many interviewees reported engaging in solitary reflection and self-exploration or in heart-to-heart conversations with partners or soulmates in nature sites. Interviewees complained that music or loud nature users distracted them from these self-absorbed activities. As one respondent explained, quiet enabled 'listening to your own thoughts, to the sound that rises from the thoughts, from the silence' (f32, librarian). To function as a mediator, 'nature' must be purified from human and civilisational sounds. 7 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like 3. Nature as a Social Stage In this mode tourists engage with nature's affordance to accommodate social interaction, rather than its affordances and roles in technologies-of-self. Here nature is mainly not an object of contemplation, and may remain for the most part in the margins of consciousness (Gurwitsch, 1985). It is basically a pleasant, beautiful place where people sit (picnicking or barbecuing) or walk (rambling) in order to interact, talk and enjoy each other's presence. Thus, one interviewee suggested that while travelling with friends there is 'joking and relaxation and darbukas, and songs, and action', and 'you may bring the darbuka and sing while walking (...) and it all turns into a marching choir' (f23, bookstore clerk). Similarly, a middle-aged interviewee contrasted museums, as sites of contemplation, with nature, which for her is a space of freedom: in museums quiet is required to create the right 'atmosphere, where you may think about something, view, calmly and quietly. When someone speaks loudly it disturbs. But with the landscape, it's the very opposite: you may play, you may make noise'. Here nature is not a consecrated contemplation object, but is still important: by offering a pleasant place, isolated from the everyday, the usage of which is free-of-charge, it facilitates sociability. Thus, a working-class interviewee told me that usually on weekends he enjoys nature sites with friends. Sometimes they hike, at other times they have a barbecue and listen to music, but usually they just 'make coffee, drink it, talk, if there's water [a stream, a spring, or the sea] you get into the water, and you get back' (m22, soldier). In the Israeli context, the construction of nature as a social stage partly relies on the youth movements' tradition, where hiking is usually accompanied by sociability and loud singing. These common practices are often rejected by cultural elites. In the United Kingdom Edensor (2000) identified discursive continuity from the 19th century to our time: working-class fast-moving ramblers who engage in group sociability are described as bestial 'stampeding cattle', much inferior to the individual traveller who jars on the silence. The same aversion was shared by some Israeli 'absorptive' or 'mediating' interviewees, who try to avoid these 'human herds'. Whereas Urry (1990) suggested that for the 'collective gaze' of working-class tourists tourist sites are more vital when populated by many other unfamiliar tourists, I want to stress a different sociability: the (often loud) social interaction among the group of acquaintances, friends or family, which for many interviewees is the main point of visiting nature sites. Whereas Edensor distinguished between travelling alone and together, I suggest we focus on patterns of engagement and social interaction rather than the number of co-travellers, since sociability is not an automatic reaction to hiking in a group—even in large groups some people immerse themselves in objects (museum exhibits; nature sites) rather than engage in sociability and vice versa. Social travelling also restrains sonic behaviour, although in a different way. Interviewees who privileged this mode of engagement often described listening to music with headphones as inappropriate because it blocks communication, 'alienates', and gives others the impression they cannot address the music- listener, e.g.: 'It disturbs me when people (…) are connected to their music, and that's it, they don't communicate with the world. I don't like it. Like, on the one hand they're, like, the cool folks, but I don't like the quiet around, I rather like interaction between people, [I like it when] there are people, and talking, and laughing, and when it entails singing, which is an experience of everyone, not of one person alone' (Tami, f26, graduate student). Her preferences put her in potential conflict with both quiet-seeking 'nature absorbers' and 'soundtrack travellers' who absorb themselves in nature and music simultaneously. We have come a long way from the nature absorbers: here engagement with nature sites is practical and social, not contemplative and reclusive. Travelling is done by a group, as a group and for the group, and demands for silence or pretensions to sublimity may be mocked at or viewed as mere snobbery, as demonstrated below. Once nature sites are viewed as social spaces, disciplinary silencing of space becomes an obstacle. 4. Nature as a Stadium 8 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like A fourth way to engage with nature is through its physical properties, the challenges it poses to the user's body. While nature absorbers often consider slow pace beneficial for exploiting nature's spiritual efficacy (Thrift, 2000) and try to adapt themselves to the 'rhythm of nature', physical nature users usually pace-up movement. They employ highly masculinised consumption techniques, which in Israel are strongly associated with hegemonic masculinity—be it purposeful, fast and down-to-earth hiking comparable with military navigation trainings (Noy, 2007 terms this enmeshing of touristic and military registers 'militouristism') or playful, fun-seeking engagement mode, which is closer to that of the rollercoaster than that of the museum—two styles demonstrated respectively by the following excerpts: '[while hiking] you talk, and keep walking toward the destination. Now, during walking time, you just walk, you don't do much. When there's a camp or something, you put a tent and then there are all the things around it, like music and such'. Interviewer: while you walk, are there things that make you stop? 'Well, if somebody fell'. (Igor, m21, physics and engineering student) Beyond this sarcastic, down-to-earth reply, he added that he may also stop to get into a pond, or take photos. A more fun-seeking account was offered by another interviewee, who told me about biking trips with friends: 'Sometimes we were shouting. You know, when you, nothing special, we shouted to each other, [and we had] laughs, when we bike, when we try to climb it in an angle, [or] when you're going downhill and you scream 'WAHHHH', you brake, and like.. it's kind of fun. Yea' (m30, call-centre representative). In both cases, nature users exploited affordances of the sites, physical characteristics such as steep slopes that enabled militouristic or theme-park experience. In the latter case, engagement is both highly physical and highly social, and its pleasure and excitement involve unrestrained sonic expression. This fast, strenuous movement through landscape—especially when accelerated by instruments such as bicycles and rafts—is diametrically opposed to the meditative slowness of the romantic, 'absorptive' mode. Some scholars view it as a shift from the 19th century static picturesque landscape to a late-modern dynamic, accelerated nature experience (Bell & Lyall, 2002). However, the tradition of travelling as a masculinity-test has roots already in the late 19th century (Edensor, 2000; Nash, 1982:145-156); whereas sporting activity in nature has roots in the 'back to nature' movement. In Israel, militouristic hiking that engages with nature as a challenge is often shaped by, acquired in, and gains its meaning from combat army service (Noy, 2007). Sporty engagement with nature is still related to identification and identity claims, mainly in terms of gender and life-style identities. Most important for us is that this dynamic body is very different than the attentive body: while some absorbers moved carefully while listening to their own steps, which were comparable to the small, careful steps of museum visitors (Trondsen, 1976), strenuous sport activity usually entails big, fast movements—and often also loud sounds such as screams that both express and increase excitement ('WAHHHH'). DIFFERENTIATING THE SOUND OF NATURE Though less strict than some nature absorbers, even social nature users were not indifferent to the soundscapes of the sites they visit. A common preference shared by many nature users across class, ethnicity and modes-of-engagement lines, was that nature sites remain distinct in soundscape from residential areas. Whereas contemporary tourism literature acknowledges the continuities between tourism and non- tourist activities (Uriely, 2005), these continuities render the differentiation of tourist experience from non- tourist experiences a practical challenge for tourists: tourist spaces, moments and experiences must be differentiated from the world of the mundane in order to construct tourism's pleasure and value. By being purified from mundane civilisation sounds, nature gains value. Nature users often construct a nature/society opposition and identify with 'nature' (Ben-David 1997), while occasionally casting other nature users in the role of 'society'. The sonic differentiation of the 'natural' was a recurrent theme among interviewees from various backgrounds, e.g. 'if there suddenly comes a car with music it ruins everything. It ruins everything, [it ruins] all the quiet—you feel you're in the neighbourhood' (m30, working-class); another interviewee said that for her, music 'belongs to home'; hence not to nature. The value of the touristic endeavour relies on this sensuous differentiation. Conceiving of a place as 'nature' means constructing it as the opposite of civilisation. While the literature explored the historical-discursive construction of 'nature' as the opposite of human culture (e.g. Cronon, 1995), this dichotomy must be enforced by continuous sensuous purification of 9 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like nature sites from 'non-natural' features, including sonic features. A typical appalled reaction of an interviewee who was asked whether she takes a music-player to hikes was: 'No! Definitely not! Civilisation is out, no way'. For the same reason mechanical/technological sounds (SUVs, mobiles) are often experienced as disturbing noises, whereas loud natural sounds (waterfalls, waves, wind, animals and even human-made pastoral artefacts like cow-bells) were described as pleasant. Technology itself is out of place as it undermines purification of 'the natural'. The degree, to which sounds are tolerated, reflects their assumed position on the nature-civilisation and harmony-noise continua. Yet interviewees drew the boundary differently, taking different stances on whether the sound of children voices is 'natural'; whether human conversation is as unnatural as engine sounds; and whether all musics are equally unnatural—stances that were also influenced by their preferred modes of engagement. One interviewee tried bringing a radio to a long hike, but soon decided to leave it off : 'it feels a bit unnatural, I must say, when you sit in the middle of I don't know what—a park, near a stream—and then suddenly hear [mainstream radio], it's kind of.. you don't expect to hear it there'. However, music is not necessarily bad in nature: some interviewees distinguished between recorded music, considered out-of-place for symbolising technology and urban civilisation; and acceptable, technology-free live music. For them, singing or playing together is integral to the experience of hiking in a group. Others distinguished between different genres of music conceived as 'quiet' (e.g. classical music) or 'noisy' (e.g. trance music), regardless of volume. The latter are inappropriate in nature sites since nature is considered inherently quiet—even its loudest voices are considered 'natural quiet' (Coates, 2005). Thus, one interviewee found music in nature sites acceptable, as long as it was 'calm music, something classical (...) Jazz' rather than Arabic darbuka drums (f52, graphic designer). Whereas most interviewees avoided listening to recorded music in nature sites, or restricted it to the periphery of the journey (e.g. evening camps), a small portion did, suggesting that by adding 'soundtrack' to natural visual images they may intensify their experience. This quasi-post-modern attitude is not interested in purifying the consecrated, 'authentic' experience of nature from foreign elements, but rather in intensifying experience as such. Those who practised it suggested that whereas music blocks aural attention to nature, it also blocks aural distractions by other nature-users. Rather than cleansing experience from non-natural sounds, they purify it from uncontrollable sounds, bringing hiking closer to cinematic total experience, as their vocabulary attests. Like musical genres, some social groups were also identified as inherently loud. The excerpt that opened the article demonstrates well this common conflation of sound hierarchies with social hierarchies. The stereotype of loud lower-class Mizrahim, who practice 'Levantine' behaviour—listen to Mizrahit music, shout and barbecue in nature sites—was often mentioned as a noise nuisance 'so out of place'. Since 'uncivilised' loudness is a central component in the stereotypes of disadvantaged ethnic and class groups (Author), they are sometimes considered especially out-of-place in nature sites. This role of sound in boundary work is the topic of the next section. SOCIAL DISTINCTION AND BEYOND Bourdieu's classical model (1984) suggests that embodied habits and engagement in cultural practices function as semiotic identity markers and tokens of social value. My data shows that this also applies to sonic practices and sensitivities among nature users. Their role as signifiers of social difference emerged, for example, in the following excerpt: Interviewer: Are there any sounds that if encountered while hiking would ruin [your trip], disturb you, or seem to you out-of-place? 'Yes. Also, I know this is something that all my family [share], whenever we hike and encounter, I don't know, someone, for example, who hikes with loud music, or [whenever we] walk past people who barbecue, yelling to each other—it hurts. It disturbs'. (Mickey, m26, industrial engineering student) Mickey stressed that his disposition is not an individual tendency but a collective sensibility shared by his whole family, i.e. related to their collective identity and the way he was raised. As in the opening excerpt, sonic incivilities are associated with barbecue. This association relies on the 'ugly Israeli' stereotype as often presented in Israeli popular culture. Thus, Israel's most popular entertainment television show brought together in many sketches the travel guide Chizki, a quasi-incarnation of legitimate culture; and the vulgar 10 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like 'ugly Israeli', a lower-class, lower-education Mizrahi. Whereas Chizki repeatedly implores the group to 'speak quietly' to avoid disturbing the nature's quiet and wildlife, the ugly Israeli remains loud and vulgar and destroys the sites he visits. Seen from this perspective, loud behaviour in nature sites is reduced into a mere signifier of difference, the significance of which derives from its diacritical distinctive function. One middle-class Ashkenazi interviewee (f48, artist) collapsed two non-hegemonic ethnic groups together, saying she hates when people play 'some Russian rock or Mizrahit music' from their car radio by a brook, thus constructing her group as quiet compared to less civilised ethnic and class others. Furthermore, interviewees who stressed the importance of quiet while hiking also engaged in other self-differentiating, exclusionary consumption practices: they avoided large hotels (preferring intimate Bed and Breakfasts, rented houses or camping), tried to avoid meeting other Israelis while abroad, and preferred small, quiet, privately-owned boutique-shops and cafes over large chains—which further supports the distinction hypothesis. As Edensor (2000) suggested, choosing a particular travelling technique is often an identity- or status-claim. Silently hiking (and being appalled by boom-boxes or shouts) is thus a technique of social self-distinction. Aversion to loud hiking among higher-status groups and the stigmatisation of loud nature-using practices associated with low-status groups are obviously related to power relation and social distinction. However, this is only part of the story. Tourism is not only significatory/semiotic but also hedonic; not merely about making social statements but also about embodied engagement with places that impacts on body and soul. These experiences are more than veils hiding the real motivation of social distinction stressed by Bourdieu (1984)—these actual effects of sensuous engagement with places may well have a motivational force, as acknowledged by contemporary cultural sociology. The semiotic/distinctive and hedonic/attentive dimensions are not separate but intertwined, sometimes within a single statement. We hear this in Mickey's reply when he says this loud behaviour disturbed him 'not only since it interferes with listening to the other sounds, but simply because it takes the whole attention', and may distract one from one's thoughts. His belief in one's right for quiet and retreating to one's thoughts represents a highly modern (Sennett, 1977) and mainly middle-class (Author) habitus. Nature sites, as shown above, are especially appreciated by some users for their affordances (including relative quiet) that support such musing. Hence, sonic intrusions there may be less tolerated than elsewhere. Whereas Mickey's discourse on loud others surely partakes in delineation of symbolic boundaries, it simultaneously relies on his mode of engagement with nature. Interviewees who criticised loudness in nature sites also claimed that undesired sounds distract them from indulging in their thoughts (i.e. thwarting nature's efficacy qua mediator); damage nature's spiritual effect (thwarting absorptive attention); or make nature feel like their neighbourhoods (thwarting purification). Beyond distinction, their preferences were shaped by these practical engagements. Philosophers with ADD Criticising loud nature users relies on a specific ethic of considerateness (not disturbing others) and sacralisation (paying sonic attention exclusively to nature). However, the sonic squeamishness of 'nature absorbers', who claim they need quiet to enjoy nature, is itself morally criticised, since its use as a weapon of social distinction is no sociological secret but a common knowledge shared by its victims. For Tami, claiming you need quiet to enjoy a landscape seemed 'a bit philosophising (...) like, come- on, really! Can't you experience it when there is noise?!' She criticised both silence-seeking nature absorbers and head-phone wearing soundtrack travellers on an ethical ground, both for not participating in social interaction and for snobbery. She would prefer people to avoid these separatist strategies and instead seize the opportunity for sociability. Sceptical about any real contribution of quiet or music to experience, she viewed these practices as mere social weapons of snobbery and distinction: self-identification with high culture ('philosophizing') and subcultural capital (being 'the cool folks') respectively. This sceptical critique is similar to that of critical sociologists since Bourdieu (1984), who suspected that more than disinterested interest, aesthetic statements are instrumental in distinction strategies, status claims based on cultural capital. Here sensuous squeamishness and mastery of legitimate consumption techniques are viewed by actors themselves as social weapons, tokens of cultural capital. Igor explained he does not need quiet while facing a landscape or a painting, since 'I am not really a humanities person': he explained that noise does not prevent him from seeing physical objects, and that he never sees 'anything beyond it'. Here, claims for quiet are interpreted by their audience as claims to 'see beyond' the material, that 11 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like is, for intellectual or artistic tendencies. While not explicitly denying the existence of 'anything beyond', he makes clear it is other people's territory. His attitude to hiking remains militouristic and down-to-earth. Portraying quiet-seekers as philosophising humanists points to their social position and hints at their symbolic interest in seeking quiet: distinction and status claims. A very different strategy is transvaluation (Wimmer, 2008). Whereas the first strategy aimed at unveiling the contribution of sonic preferences to the reproduction of social hierarchies, transvaluation strives to directly challenge these hierarchies. Diana (f23, cleaner) reacted with great hostility once asked about people who claim they need quiet to fully enjoy the view, claiming they 'should take Ritalin. No, really, let them take Ritalin, it would calm them down, it would open up their senses some more'. This is a strategy of pathologisation: attentiveness is claimed to actually indicate abnormal hypersensitivity. For her, expecting others to stay quiet is 'unfair', since—as long as those making these claims do not suffer from ADD—they could probably enjoy nature anyway if they only tried, 'with music or without music'. Later, she suddenly starts talking about 'her', concretizing critique by imagining a female quiet-seeker. This is not surprising: according to my data, hushing others is stereotypically associated with women, especially older Ashkenazi women. Although the question did not refer to someone who actively tells others to be quiet, this is the scenario Diana imagined. She reacted angrily: 'Well, she wants quiet, all these people who ask for quiet while viewing something beautiful or any, so come on, put on earplugs and you won't need to hear what you've got to hear. And asking people to be quiet, you still won't hear what you've got to hear, since it's not you, it's against the world. There are other people who participate in.. situations, and if, let's say, you stand on something beautiful (sic!) and you hear ten more people chirping in your ear, so everybody will stand there and hear the same chirping, so you have an experience, maybe not the same experience you wanted to have, but you have an experience'. People who want quiet are advised to either take Ritalin or use ear plugs. Their sense of entitlement to quiet and to the experience they planned to consume evokes a strong emotional reaction from this lower-class interviewee. Diana was outraged by the expectation (presented by middle-class interviewees) that loud lower-class nature users curb their loudness and be considerate. She herself often remains silent while hiking with her boyfriend, enjoying nature's soundscape. Yet, she considered silence expectations rude and unjustified, and criticised the attitude of nature absorbers as egocentric and spoiled. This is a clear attempt at transvaluation: against traditions as old as the 19th century, she suggests that people who do not put any demands to the sonic behaviours of others are better than spoiled middle-class ladies, the demands of which she considers illegitimate and even pathologises. However, this attempt is not as idiosyncratic as it might seem: Chizki is likewise exposed at the end of each television sketch as a mentally ill person who needs silence to avoid psychotic attacks. In the show, viewers are invited to construct themselves as normative people and mock both the noisy 'ugly Israeli' and the hyper-sensitive psychotic representative of silent civilised order. As modes of engagement with nature and tourist consumption techniques are believed to be socially stratified, this mainstream show invites viewers to safely locate themselves in the middle by simultaneously criticising those below and above themselves. The sonic regulation of nature is thus strongly related to classed identities and identification. The efficacy of sonic squeamishness as a weapon in boundary work is experienced even by its victims, who criticise it. However, it is not merely a social weapon but also the result of practical engagement with nature sites. Disregarding this dimension amounts to reducing non-humans to props and the sensuous somatic experience of non-humans to a mere illusion. CONCLUSION While usually caring about the soundscapes of nature sites, nature users often disagree about their regulation. This disagreement has two sources. First, sonic preferences are informed by modes of engagement and their practical prerequisites, as soundscapes may afford or restrict ways of engaging with nature sites and with people within them. Secondly, nature users use sonic practices and preferences as social markers of identification and distinction. This is most conspicuous when nature users criticise one another, making ethical claims regarding nature usage. Yet, sensuous experience is more than an illusion or pretext in the struggle for status: sounds (in combination with other material 12 Schwarz / What Should Nature Sound Like features of nature sites) have effects on the bodies and minds of tourists and inform their encounters with others. Different modes of engagement with nature sites—as museums, enclaves of intimacy, new-age temples, stadia or social stages—pose different demands to the sensory regulation of space. Nature users care about these experiences, and prefer sonic ambiences that are compatible with their modes of engagement. Similarly, the construction of 'nature' is not merely a discursive construction: it must be constructed in materiality through the sensuous purification of nature sites from cultural contaminators in order to make tourist experience special, and hence valuable and pleasurable. The consumption of places is a sensuous, somatic, and yet highly-cultural achievement. As demonstrated above, (1.) Sonic preferences shape general touristic preferences, e.g. visiting sites off-season to experience quiet; (2.) Tourist experiences are also sonic experiences, and some tourist styles demand particular sonic prerequisites; (3.) Conflicting sonic preferences may shape and be shaped by tensions between tourist groups; and (4.) Although sonic practices and modes of engagement with nature are informed by social identities and transposable dispositions, they also retain specificity that depends on the local history and sociology of tourist practices. For all these reasons, the sonic dimension of tourist experience deserves our attention. The sociology of tasting offers us some of the appropriate tools for the job. Choosing highly diverse sample resulted in similarly diverse experiences and judgements and facilitated exploration of the diversity of sonic preferences among nature tourists. The framework outlined above tries to explain this diversity while acknowledging both the declarative/semiotic and the experiential/hedonic dimensions of tourist practices, and their interplay. However, further research in other national contexts and studies focused on specific populations may surely refine our understanding and help identify other modes of engagement. Furthermore, reifying consumption techniques and studying them seriously may help tourism scholars identify other practical demands these techniques set, beyond the sonic dimension. 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work_7xbvhwtztjdyrbhx2r37q7pwke	----	417The Journal of American HistorySeptember 2008 Hearing American History Richard Cullen Rath I came to the history of sound and hearing by chance as an undergraduate. I was reading Keith Thomas’s Religion and the Decline of Magic and David D. Hall’s Worlds of Wonder, Days of Judgment for a class that covered folk beliefs in old and New England. When I started working with some of the primary sources Hall and Thomas used, I noticed that where the two historians usually referred to beliefs about lightning, the sources spoke of thunder. I asked what that inconsistency meant and decided to look some more.1 I found more odd substitutions of the same sort that piqued my interest in the history of sound: A nineteenth-century pamphlet on thunderstorms in seventeenth-century New England changed thunder to lightning. The antiquarian Sidney Perley noted in his 1891 book about storms in colonial New England that “it was generally supposed that thunder and not lightning caused the damage,” though he gave no explanation for the supposition or why it changed. With the exception of attention to “oral culture,” which, as we shall see, is not historically well-grounded, after Perley’s observations this older audible world slipped from historical consciousness.2 One problem that came up immediately when I set out to write sonic history was the belief that, unlike a document, sound is ephemeral, going out of existence even as it hap- pens. Three factors mitigate this objection. The first is that this comparison is misleading, if not mistaken. Historians do not usually write the history of documents (discounting for the moment the important work on the history of the book as material culture); they interpret the past, all of which has gone out of existence as soon as it came into being, just like its sounds. And like any other experiences, sound and hearing can be partially recov- ered and interpreted from documents and material culture. Second, sound is not as ephemeral as we might first think. Thunder presumably sounds much the same today as it did three or four centuries ago. Bells toll for the most part the same notes (where they have not been muffled or replaced with amplified recordings). Acoustic spaces designed to reverberate a particular way centuries ago still do so today. Or take, for example, the Puritan John Gyles’s description of the sound of turtles copulat- ing as like the sound of “a Woman washing her Linnen with a batting staff” heard from Richard Cullen Rath is associate professor of history at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa. He would like to thank Mark Smith, Ed Linenthal, Susan Armeny, Monisha Das Gupta, Robert McGlone, and the anonymous readers for their comments. 1 Keith Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic: Studies in Popular Beliefs in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth- Century England (New York, 1971); David D. Hall, Worlds of Wonder, Days of Judgment: Popular Religious Belief in Early New England (Cambridge, Mass., 1990). 2 Nathaniel Bradstreet Shurtleff, Thunder and Lightning; and Deaths at Marshfield in 1658 and 1666 (Boston, 1850), i, 5–8, 10, 14, 37, 38, 51; Sidney Perley, Historic Storms of New England (Salem, 1891), 68. a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 418 The Journal of American History September 2008 half a mile away.3 Presumably the turtles still make the same sounds. Gyles wrote for an audience that he assumed knew the sound of batting staffs on laundry, a sound no longer common in the twenty-first century. The turtles let us listen in not only on their amorous adventures, but on a sound culled from seventeenth-century everyday life, one that would normally mark the hearer as being within half a mile or so of a familiar community. The problem of ephemerality is often used to discount oral histories, with historians likening the degradation of knowledge transmitted orally to the children’s game of tele- phone where a message is written down and then whispered from one person to the next, with the result of successive transmissions often differing greatly from the input. The analogy is flawed, however, in that it likens the privacy of reading silently to oneself to the reliance on community in the preservation of oral histories. Knowledge transmission in Native American oral cultures took place, not in an individualistic way, but communally. At eighteenth-century treaty negotiations, the Iroquois assigned each article proposed by the whites to a particular sachem and his people. When the whites had finished speaking, the Indian whom the Iroquois assigned as “orator” would repeat the speech, prompted at the right moments by the sachems responsible for particular points. When framing their own proposals, the Iroquois would give a stick corresponding to each point to a particular sachem. As the orator spoke, he would be prompted by the appropriate sachems. Each sa- chem, in turn, relied on all of the people under him to get his part right. The process had a built-in accountability and redundancy that made it robust through time.4 Interestingly, a couple of the supposed flaws of oral cultures have been reframed in the Internet age as features. Continuously updateable media are touted for their ability to in- corporate corrections and new information: texts need never become obsolete. But that feature is just the “problem” of ephemerality given a positive spin. Proponents of the ef- fects of print touted the fixity of knowledge as a wellspring of civilization itself. Similarly, wide-area computer networks, with the Internet as the prime example, are connected by many different routes, so that if any one node is knocked out, the network stays connect- ed and no knowledge is lost. This massive redundancy is the measure of a robust network. Knowledge is distributed rather than centralized in the new media. But the distribution of knowledge across a human network was precisely the flaw that print and literacy cor- rected through the centralizing of knowledge in authoritative editions. In principle, mas- sive redundancy is no different from Native American communal memorization. Perhaps the return of these characteristics of oral cultures indicates another shift in the wind for the senses, toward a new kind of audible world. Catastrophic change, on a scale that would have disrupted the transmission of knowl- edge even in a literate society, did take its toll on Indian knowledge and memory. When the majority of a population dies young, the redundancy and robustness break down and knowledge is lost. In fact, the same broad process of catastrophic change wiped out the histories of one literate Native American people, the Aztecs, who lost, not just a huge pro- 3 John Gyles, Memoirs of Odd Adventures and Strange Deliverances, etc. in the Captivity of John Gyles, Esq.: Com- mander of the Garrison on St. George’s River (Boston, 1736), 26; Richard Cullen Rath, How Early America Sounded (Ithaca, 2003), 43–119. 4 John Romeyn Brodhead, Berthold Fernow, and E. B. O’Callaghan, Documents Relative to the Colonial History of the State of New-York (15 vols., Albany, 1853–1887), XIII, 102–3; Cadwallader Colden, The History of the Five Indian Nations Depending on the Province of New-York in America (New York, 1727), 89; Rath, How Early America Sounded, 168–72; Philipp Waldeck, “Diary,” typescript [1776], p. 42b, trans. Bruce E. Burgoyne, Hessian Manu- script 28 (1776–1781), Bancroft Collection (New York Public Library, New York, N.Y.); [Conrad Weiser],The Trea- ty Held with the Indians of the Six Nations, at Lancaster, in Pennsylvania, June, 1744 (Williamsburg, 1744), viii–ix. a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 419Hearing American History portion of their population, but their written records to the Spanish colonial onslaught. But we must not exaggerate such losses. Some wampum belts—and their meanings—re- main with Indian nations, their stories intact to this day. The U.S. government still hon- ors the treaty of Canandaigua, made and recorded in wampum in 1794, by distributing bolts of cloth to the Six Nations each year. The implications of this treaty for sovereignty and land ownership are being played out in the federal court system today, with initial findings in favor of the Iroquois based on knowledge maintained orally through time in this fashion.5 The third solution to the problem of ephemerality, and perhaps the most important for my own work, has been to delineate carefully what I am studying, namely something I call soundways: “the paths, trajectories, transformations, mediations, practices, and tech- niques—in short, the ways—that people employ to interpret and express their attitudes and beliefs about sound. I am not so much concerned with the underlying beliefs, his- torically inaccessible as they often are, or the concrete expressions themselves [where the problem of ephemerality does come up], so much as the ways between them.” Soundways can readily be found in many types of documents, textual and otherwise, and they are no more nor less ephemeral than any other human patterns in the past.6 A problem, not just of sonic history, but of sensory history in general has been the question of significance. Some scholars have made a compelling case that paying atten- tion to senses other than vision can further our understanding of long-standing historical problems.7 Another argument is that the senses are causal themselves, though I remain a skeptic in this regard.8 A third justification for sensory history, which guides my research, is that if we are to understand people from the past on their own terms and if they per- ceived their worlds differently than we do, then we need to understand those differences in perception in order to understand the people at all. For the century or so after Perley’s 1891 book, nearly all historical work that treated sound was concerned with music, the ethnography of speaking, or something called oral culture. The work of one musician holds a place as a forerunner to today’s sonic histories. In his 1977 book, The Tuning of the World, R. Murray Schafer coined the terms soundscape and soundmark. The first is the sonic analog to a landscape, with all the connotations of social constructedness that come with that term. Soundmarks are the sonic equivalent to landmarks. They are the keynote sounds that define a soundscape. Schafer’s founding contribution is invaluable, but his work is of limited value for historians. Notions of de- clension, loss, purity, and pollution imbue his work with nostalgia for a past that prob- ably never existed.9 Much of the research on music and the ethnography of speaking has not been directly concerned with sound, but historians of hearing can claim it as an antecedent. For ex- ample, much of what we know of African Americans’ historical culture in centuries past 5 Irving Powless, G. Peter Jemison, and Anna M. Schein, Treaty of Canandaigua 1794: Two Hundred Years of Treaty Relations between the Iroquois Confederacy and the United States (Santa Fe, 2000); George C. Shattuck, The Oneida Land Claims: A Legal History (Syracuse, 1991). 6 Rath, How Early America Sounded, 2. 7 For the best examples of this approach, see Mark M. Smith, How Race Is Made: Slavery, Segregation, and the Senses (Chapel Hill, 2006); and Mark M. Smith, Listening to Nineteenth-Century America (Chapel Hill, 2001). 8 For this approach, see Peter Charles Hoffer, Sensory Worlds in Early America (Baltimore, 2003). For my res- ervations, see Richard Cullen Rath, review of Sensory Worlds in Early America by Peter Charles Hoffer, William and Mary Quarterly, 61 (April 2004), 381–83. 9 R. Murray Schafer, The Tuning of the World: Toward a Theory of Soundscape Design (New York, 1977); Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory (New York, 1995). a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 420 The Journal of American History September 2008 comes to us via descriptions of the sounds they made, their language and music in par- ticular. Africans used drumming and horn music as expressions of an immanent state power. African griots used the sounds of their songs to record histories and provide legiti- macy to rulers. Enslaved Africans successfully carried both of these practices—and many others—to the Americas in creolized forms, the stateliness of African practices replaced with musical languages used to organize revolts and to pass on knowledge under the du- ress of slavery. The role of music in strengthening African American life—and later, as it became a multibillion-dollar international industry, American life in general—has been widely and ably documented.10 Another fruitful field has been the study of African American dialect patterns as evi- denced in documents from the eighteenth through the twentieth centuries. Until the 1950s, linguists and historians dismissed black speechways as corrupted and degraded forms of European language. Only when linguists began seriously to study creolization did it become apparent that complex social forces came into play in the formation of Af- rican American dialects. The sounds of the resulting speech patterns, though valued dif- ferently by insiders and outsiders, became important markers of race, and linguists have demonstrated that black English was systematically different from that of whites.11 During the late 1980s and early 1990s, scholars such as Kathleen M. Brown, Jane Ka- mensky, Mary Beth Norton, and Robert Blair St. George did remarkable work on the ethnography of speaking in early American history. Attending to speech crimes, gossip networks, and prescriptive literature that attempted to “govern the tongue,” these histo- rians have deepened our understanding of early Americans who are otherwise neglected. The study of speech patterns has gone a long way toward the gendering of early American history, as these scholars have determined that men’s and women’s speech differed in im- portant ways. Of particular note is Brown’s nuanced and compelling explanation for the evolution of race, class, sex, and gender relations in seventeenth-century Virginia.12 During the late 1990s, acting independently, several scholars began thinking about the history of sound and hearing. Lisa Gitelman, Douglas Kahn, John M. Picker, Leigh Eric Schmidt, Bruce R. Smith, Mark M. Smith, Jonathan Sterne, Emily Ann Thompson, Shane White and Graham White, and I were all working then on projects dealing with the soundscape. It is unclear what precipitated that simultaneous interest, but it has pro- duced a spate of books and articles in the past few years.13 10 Richard Cullen Rath, “Drums and Power: Ways of Creolizing Music in Coastal South Carolina and Georgia, 1730–1790,” in Creolization in the Americas, ed. Steven G. Reinhardt and David Buisseret (College Station, 2000); Richard Cullen Rath, “African Music in Seventeenth-Century Jamaica: Cultural Transit and Transition,” William and Mary Quarterly, 50 (Oct. 1993), 700–726. On the meanings of African American music and speech during the nineteenth century, see Shane White and Graham White, The Sounds of Slavery: Discovering African American History through Songs, Sermons, and Speech (Boston, 2005). 11 Salikoko S. Mufwene, African-American English: Structure, History, and Use (London, 1998); John R. Rick- ford, African American Vernacular English: Features, Evolution, Educational Implications (Malden, 1999); White and White, Sounds of Slavery. 12 Kathleen M. Brown, Good Wives, Nasty Wenches, and Anxious Patriarchs: Gender, Race, and Power in Colonial Virginia (Chapel Hill, 1996); Jane Kamensky, Governing the Tongue: The Politics of Speech in Early New England (Oxford, 1998); Mary Beth Norton, Founding Mothers and Fathers: Gendered Power and the Forming of American Society (New York, 1996), 203–80; Mary Beth Norton, “Gender and Defamation in Seventeenth-Century Mary- land,” William and Mary Quarterly, 44 (Jan. 1987), 4–39; Robert Blair St. George, “‘Heated’ Speech and Literacy in Seventeenth-Century New England,” in Seventeenth-Century New England: A Conference Held by the Colonial Society of Massachusetts, June 18 and 19, 1982, ed. David D. Hall and David G. Allen (Boston, 1984). 13 Veit Erlmann, ed., Hearing Cultures: Essays on Sound, Listening, and Modernity (Oxford, 2004); Lisa Gitel- man, Scripts, Grooves, and Writing Machines: Representing Technology in the Edison Era (Stanford, 1999); Douglas Kahn, Noise, Water, Meat: A History of Sound in the Arts (Cambridge, Mass., 1999); Douglas Kahn and Gregory a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 421Hearing American History A theme common to all is the relation of sound to modernity. My How Early America Sounded is concerned with sonic worlds that antedated and attended the early modern transformation. Schmidt’s work proposes a counter-Enlightenment religious tradition running from the late eighteenth century through the present that is suspicious of the visible world and by extension modernity and much more attuned to sound than the En- lightenment tradition. Mark Smith, writing about the nineteenth century, showed how the North and the South had their own keynote sounds, the modernizing hum of indus- try in the former and the antimodern sounds—and silences—of slavery and the planta- tion in the latter. In the years leading up to the Civil War, each side became more dis- turbed with the other’s keynote sounds. Attitudes and beliefs about sound, argued Smith, both reflected and fostered sectional differences. Gitelman, Kahn, and Sterne examined the relationship between the introduction of new sonic media in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and modernity, while Thompson found that modernity devel- oped a defining sound of its own in the first half of the twentieth century. In my own work, the more I sought out aural beliefs in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, the more I found: thunder given priority over lightning, bells over steeples, oaths over signatures, hearsay over eyewitnessing, and saying over writing. But like Thomas’s English folk magic, this rich audible world was in a slow decline. By the late eighteenth century, a gradual but radical shift toward the visual terminology favored today had occurred. Lightning did the damage; visual considerations overrode acousti- cal design in places of worship; to make an agreement tangible, signatures replaced oaths; cursing ceased to be a crime. I wondered what the older, audible world was like, and what it and its subsequent visualization meant. Mid-twentieth-century debates about orality provided a key to explaining both the earlier audibly richer world and the shift toward the visual that I found. In 1962 Marshall McLuhan, drawing on the work of the historians Harold Adams Innis and Lucien Paul Victor Febvre, argued that Europeans and European Americans traded an ear for an eye with the rise of print in the sixteenth century. In a less provocative moment, McLuhan said what he meant more exactly and more defensibly, namely, that print led to a shift in “the ratio [of the] senses” away from sound and hearing and toward the visually observ- able world, culminating in the aptly named Enlightenment.14 Understanding that shift is crucial to the history of hearing, but a few caveats are in order. First, when discussing the history of the senses, the production and reception of sensory stimuli need to be treated together. Integral as they are to each other, pulling them apart to treat one without considering the other will always distort the results. Second, we Whitehead, eds., Wireless Imagination: Sound, Radio, and the Avant-Garde (Cambridge, Mass., 1992); John M. Pick- er, Victorian Soundscapes (New York, 2003); Leigh Eric Schmidt, Hearing Things: Religion, Illusion, and the American Enlightenment (Cambridge, Mass., 2000); Bruce R. Smith, The Acoustic World of Early Modern England: Attending to the O-Factor (Chicago, 1999); Smith, Listening to Nineteenth-Century America; Jonathan Sterne, The Audible Past: Cultural Origins of Sound Reproduction (Durham, 2003); Emily Ann Thompson, The Soundscape of Modernity: Architectural Acoustics and the Culture of Listening in America, 1900–1933 (Cambridge, Mass., 2002); White and White, Sounds of Slavery; Rath, How Early America Sounded; Elena Razlogova, The Listener’s Voice: A Story of Radio, Reciprocity, and Greed in America (Philadelphia, forthcoming). 14 Lucien Paul Victor Febvre, The Problem of Unbelief in the Sixteenth Century: The Religion of Rabelais, trans. Beatrice Gottlieb (Cambridge, Mass., 1982); Lucien Paul Victor Febvre and Henri Jean Martin, The Coming of the Book: The Impact of Printing, 1450–1800 (London, 1976); Harold Adams Innis, The Bias of Communication (To- ronto, 1951); Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographic Man (1962; Toronto, 1965), 26, 28, 125, esp. 24. For an account of the “ocularcentrism” of the Enlightenment that is not concerned with oral- ity, literacy, or a shift in the senses, see Martin Jay, Downcast Eyes: The Denigration of Vision in Twentieth-Century French Thought (Berkeley, 1993). a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 422 The Journal of American History September 2008 in the present are implicated in the historical process of sensory shift. There is no place of sensorial neutrality, outside of history. We need to ask: How do our present habits of perception shape the ways we perceive the past? Awareness of such biases—denaturalizing our own perception and placing it in its historical time and place—is a necessary first step in any attempt at a history of the senses. Third, we never went deaf and we never were blind, at least collectively. Sound, vision, and the other senses all remained in play, so thinking in absolutes is misleading. The rises and falls were relative and perhaps not quantifiable (though, as discussed below, there is value in counting). The reason it makes sense to speak of a ratio of the senses is because of the role of attention, which acts as a filter on sensory data, letting some through to consciousness but not others. Cognitive scientists have established beyond a doubt that a person’s attention is limited to one or two things at a time at most. What we attend to can of course be multisensory, but when we attend more to sight, with reading being the ob- vious example, we tune out sounds and other sensory impressions not related to the task at hand, as anyone who has ever been startled by a sudden sound or a touch while read- ing deeply can verify. According to McLuhan, the case for a shift in the ratio of the senses rests on the habitual and constant increase in taking information in through the eyes via reading that occurs in a culture inundated with print.15 That leads to a final caveat, against the assumption that we can just add on more sen- sory data in an unlimited fashion. Attention is a zero-sum game when it comes to sensory impressions. The tendency to ignore this limitation comes up most often in relation to new technologies or media. To prevent sensory overload, while attending to the exten- sions of the self that new media and technologies allow, something else must be sacrificed. Although there may be infinite variability of individual sense ratios in a society, two fac- tors create an overall trend at the societal level. First, the zero-sum nature of the senses in the individual means that a shift in many individuals adds up to a societal shift. Second, if many people adopted new sense ratios and others wanted to understand them, the latter would have to comprehend and accommodate the new ways of perceiving, as happened at the onset of mass print culture, when even the illiterate partook via discussions of news- paper articles in taverns and listening to and talking about broadsides that were read out loud.16 The fact that more attention to one thing leads to less to another salvages the no- tion of a ratio of the senses being quantifiable in some way, but how? The senses are quali- tatively different from each other. Perhaps they can be conceived of as being like complex numbers, which combine real with so-called imaginary numbers. Although equations cannot be solved for either a real or an imaginary number when both are involved, com- plex numbers still produce useful results. One possibility for measuring sensory shift is through analysis of large corpora of data. Terms that reference one sense or another could be tagged and counted, looking for shifts through time. To take a small example, the 103 English-language books pub- lished between 1600 and 1799 that I found in the WorldCat database in 2000 that had “thunder” and/or “lightning” in their titles show “thunder” in the earlier titles giving 15 McLuhan, Gutenberg Galaxy, 24; Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (New York, 1964), 54. For limits on visual attention, see Marvin M. Chun and Jeremy M. Wolfe, “Visual Attention,” in Blackwell Handbook of Perception, by E. Bruce Goldstein et al. (Oxford, 2001), 273–99. 16 For print in eighteenth-century tavern culture, see David W. Conroy, In Public Houses: Drink and the Revo- lution in Authority in Colonial Massachusetts (Chapel Hill, 1995), 177–81. Much the same phenomenon that I call mass print culture is described as “print-capitalism” in Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London, 1991), 37–46. a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 423Hearing American History way to “lightning” in the later ones. (See figure 1.) Of course, the dataset is too small to prove anything, but the results line up well with the qualitative observations made about thunder and lightning and suggest that larger datasets could produce useful results. One might object that the spike in lightning titles is solely attributable to Benjamin Franklin’s electrical discoveries, published in the early 1750s, but a closer look at the data does not bear out that argument. For one thing, the discussion of electricity shifted its terms from thunder to lightning between the 1740s and the end of the century. (See figure 2.) For another, even with the titles that mention electricity removed, the pattern still shows up clearly. (See figure 3.) A second objection, firmly ensconced in a visual mind-set, might assert that to refer to lightning was to recognize what electricity really is. But what makes electricity reducible to its visual, to the exclusion of its audible, manifestations? Espe- cially when scientists from the Royal Society continued to explain electricity by thunder throughout the eighteenth century?17 Thunder and lightning are the audible and visible manifestations of the real force at work, in this case, electricity. Assuming that shifts in both the senses and cognitive skills arise from literacy, the liter- ary critic Walter J. Ong and the anthropologist Jack Goody have framed a highly influen- tial but problematic theory about the effects of literacy or the lack thereof. They argued that the ability to read causes cognitive and perceptual shifts in readers and deemed those who have not undergone this shift “preliterate” members of “oral cultures” and under- 17 Henry Eeles, A Letter from Mr. Henry Eeles, to the Royal Society, Concerning the Cause of Thunder (London, 1753); Henry Eeles, Philosophical Essays, in Several Letters to the Royal Society, Containing a Discovery of the Cause of Thunder (London, 1771); John Read, A Summary View of the Spontaneous Electricity of the Earth and Atmosphere wherein the Causes of Lightning and Thunder, as well as the Constant Electrification of the Clouds and Vapours, Suspend- ed in the Air, are Explained (London, 1793); William Watson, A Letter of Mr. W. Watson, F.R.S. to the Royal Society, Concerning the Electrical Experiment in England upon Thunder-Clouds (London, 1753). Source: WorldCat database, cited in Richard Cullen Rath, “Worlds Chanted into Being: Soundways in Early America” (Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 2001), appendix 1. Figure 1 English-language books with “thunder” and/or “lightning” in the title, 1600–1800 0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 1750–17991700–17491650–16991600–1649 lightning thunder and lightning thunder n=103 a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 424 The Journal of American History September 2008 stood them to be in a state of nature. Historians have relied on the literacy hypothesis extensively, sometimes without knowing it. In it, orality serves as the background from which the edifice of print and mass literacy arose in post-Reformation Western culture. According to Ong and Goody, if we want to know what oral culture was like, we need only find pristine oral cultures in the present that have not been influenced by print cul- ture.18 According to proponents of the literacy hypothesis, modern (here synonymous with “literate”) forms of thought with their visual, textual base are inevitable because they are what actually happened. Adopting Ong and Goody’s position means that historians conceive of orality as an initial, natural, and primitive state of mind. Being in a state of nature, it is unchanging, ahistorical. Thus, once we know the intrinsic properties of orality, we know how people labeled oral are, without needing to document anything. Ong suggested that orality is the more accurate term for what Lucien Lévy-Bruhl and Claude Lévi-Strauss have called the “savage” or “primitive” mind. He cataloged traits he believes arise from intrinsic proper- ties of sound in oral cultures and of vision in literate cultures. Goody has also focused on the different cognitive sets available to literate and preliterate peoples, aiming his anthro- 18 In its present incarnation, the literacy hypothesis can be traced largely to McLuhan, Gutenberg Galaxy. Jack Goody, The Domestication of the Savage Mind (Cambridge, Eng., 1977); Jack Goody and Ian Watt, “The Conse- quences of Literacy,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 5 (April 1963), 304–45; Walter J. Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (London, 1982). On the problems of the term preliterate, see Sam D. Gill, Beyond the Primitive: The Religions of Nonliterate Peoples (Englewood Cliffs, 1982). Gill’s alternative, nonliterate, still defines people only in reference to literacy. Traditional as an alternative has its own set of problems. Figure 2 “Thunder” and/or “lightning” in titles of English-language books about electricity, 1600–1800 Note: All the English-language books about electricity with “thunder” and/or “lightning” in the title that were published from 1600 to 1800 appeared after 1739. Source: WorldCat database, cited in Richard Cullen Rath, “Worlds Chanted into Being: Soundways in Early America” (Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 2001), appendix 1. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 1790–17991780–17891770–17791760–17691750–17591740–1749 lightning thunder and lightning thunder n=20 a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 425Hearing American History pological gaze specifically at twentieth-century residents of northern Ghana. According to McLuhan, Ong, Goody, and their adherents, oral cultures perceive sound as ephem- eral, face-to-face, and having a tangible, efficacious presence. In contrast, vision and the mind-set that goes along with literacy and print is associated with objectivity, list making, repeatability, mass distribution, archiving, and the manipulation of information without reference to its original context. These scholars argue that oral or preliterate people are not cognitively equipped for abstract thought; they always think in concrete terms.19 Scholars have relied on the theory of orality, not documentary sources, to say much about societies where print and literacy were rare. Those variously deemed oral and thus premodern include Native Americans, seventeenth-century Puritan women, seventeenth- century Puritans in general (though they were the most literate population in the world in their time), seventeenth-century New Yorkers along with their Dutch predecessors, eighteenth-century Virginians, women of the early republic who could not read, and Afri- can Americans. All of these claims take Ong as their source, though some do so indirectly and perhaps unintentionally. For example, Michael Warner explicitly rejected Ongian readings of oral culture, instead embracing Rhys Isaac’s interpretation of early Virginians’ 19 Lucien Lévy-Bruhl, Primitive Mentality, trans. Lilian A. Clare (London, 1923); Claude Lévi-Strauss, The Sav- age Mind, trans. Doreen Weightman ([Chicago], 1966). Walter J. Ong, The Presence of the Word: Some Prolegomena for Cultural and Religious History (New York, 1970). For a rebuttal of the concrete/oral formulation, see Carol Fleis- cher Feldman, “Oral Metalanguage,” in Literacy and Orality, ed. David R. Olson and Nancy Torrance (Cambridge, Eng., 1991), 47–65. For a critique of the notion of the oral/primitive/savage mind and its contrastive association with literacy and “civilization,” see Francis Jennings, The Invasion of America: Indians, Colonialism, and the Cant of Conquest (New York, 1975), 6–12, 15–16. Figure 3 “Thunder” and/or “lightning” in titles of English-language books about topics other than electricity, by decades, 1600–1800 Source: WorldCat database, cited in Richard Cullen Rath, “Worlds Chanted into Being: Soundways in Early America” (Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 2001), appendix 1. 179017801770176017501740173017201700 17101690168016701660165016401630162016101600 0 2 4 6 8 10 12 lightning thunder and lightning thunder n=83 a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 426 The Journal of American History September 2008 orality as more nuanced. Yet Isaac based his construction of Chesapeake orality on Ong rather than documentary sources.20 A broader conception of sonic history, one that takes in more than just the portions of speech that can be reduced to print, provides a corrective to this ahistoricism. For some- one new to sonic history, perhaps the biggest obstacle to implementing such a historically grounded approach to orality is the difficulty of decentering and denaturalizing one’s own sensory world. The modern soundscape is shaped extensively by literacy, so speech—or at least the portion of speech reducible to text—holds a privileged position for us. If we dis- pense with orality for a moment, historians of sound can move away from defining orality only as a lack of what it is held up against, namely print literacy. A historically grounded orality needs to be more than simply a foil for literacy and print culture. A full consideration of the soundscape would include silence, nonhuman sounds, hu- man instrumental sounds, vocal but nonverbal sounds, as well as orality. Silence is ob- viously differentiated from sound. Mark Smith in particular has demonstrated the im- portance of African American silences in the antebellum South, which planters read uncertainly, with a sense of foreboding. Silences gave enslaved African Americans some- thing of their own, out of reach of the master class. Once in the realm of the audible, we now tend to divide sounds into animate and inanimate. The latter category includes the sounds of thunder, wind, waves, or running water. While few people today, particularly those educated in the Western intellectual tradition, ascribe agency to such sounds, in the seventeenth century both Native Ameri- cans and Europeans associated sound with living, intentional forces. Our category of inanimate sounds would have seemed oxymoronic to most people. For most if not all seventeenth-century Europeans and Euro-Americans, many natural sounds had an intel- ligent, willful source. That made sense in a world with few mechanical sounds that were not produced by the continual application of human or animal power (one notable excep- tion was water-driven mills). If no earthly source was attributable, then the sounds were usually considered supernatural messages. For example, the sounds of thunder and storms were understood as efforts to communicate with humans. In thunder, either God or dev- ils could be at work. As early as 1686, Harvard College students heard Charles Morton lecture on thunder as simply a natural phenomenon, but Morton was fighting a lonely battle. While Morton’s lectures did not see publication until 1940, Increase Mather’s book of remarkable providences, which interpreted thunder as the loud-speaking voice of God, went through many editions as a perennial best seller. The belief in the animacy and intentionality of thunder was pervasive in the seventeenth century.21 20 James Axtell cites the work of Walter J. Ong and Jack Goody; Daniel K. Richter cites Axtell. See James Ax- tell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York, 1985), 14–15, 338n27; and Daniel K. Richter, The Ordeal of the Longhouse: The Peoples of the Iroquois League in the Era of European Coloniza- tion (Chapel Hill, 1992), 46–47, 307–8n36. Richard D. Brown and Michael Warner both rely on Rhys Isaac, who builds his notion of orality on that of Ong and Goody. See Richard D. Brown, Knowledge Is Power: The Diffusion of Information in Early America, 1700–1865 (New York, 1989); Michael Warner, The Letters of the Republic: Publica- tion and the Public Sphere in Eighteenth-Century America (Cambridge, Mass., 1990), 11–12, 27–28; and Rhys Isaac, The Transformation of Virginia, 1740–1790 (Chapel Hill, 1983), 98, 121–31, 373n12, 377n8. Michael G. Kam- men, Colonial New York: A History (New York, 1975), 96–97, 121–22; Linda K. Kerber, Women of the Republic: Intellect and Ideology in Revolutionary America (Chapel Hill, 1980), 190; Carol F. Karlsen, The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial New England (New York, 1987), 268–69n10. 21 Charles Morton’s “Compendium Physicae” (Boston, 1940); Charles Morton, “Compendium Physicae,” c. 1700, octavo vols. “M,” Manuscript Department (American Antiquarian Society, Worcester, Mass.). On those and other examples of natural soundways in New England, see Rath, How Early America Sounded, 10–26, 195n32. In- crease Mather, An Essay for the Recording of Illustrious Providences (Boston, 1684), [7r–8v in preface], 72–74, 76, 78, a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 427Hearing American History A slightly different pattern held for Native Americans. Like Euro-Americans, they tied sound and intelligent life to each other. But where Europeans heard messages directed to themselves, Native Americans interpreted natural sounds as intentional acts of intelligent beings not necessarily intended for humans. People were not the center of the attention of the supernatural world, so whereas in thunder Puritans might have heard the voice of God telling them to repent, Native Americans might have heard a ball game that had little to do with them. The thunder might have been just a poorly aimed shot.22 Setting aside orality has already yielded historically documented ways of hearing that subvert the literacy hypothesis. If New England Puritans were the most literate society in the world at the time, how is it they held those—and many other—powerful sonic beliefs that seem strange to us today? And limiting Native American beliefs to orality deafens us to rich, historically documented soundways other than speech. Adding in animacy (setting aside animal sounds), we come to human-made sounds. Animate sounds can be divided into vocal and nonvocal sounds. Perhaps a better term for the latter would be instrumental sounds. These would be sounds made by shaping the environment, and there are two types of human-made devices involved: those actively producing a sound, such as musical instruments or bells, and instruments for shaping the sounds within them, such as the interiors of buildings. The latter constitutes much of the field of acoustics. In colonial America much care was given to the obtaining and upkeep of bells and to the mapping out of proper acoustic spaces in churches and meetinghouses. People rang in the birthdays of royalty; soldiers were drummed out of the corps. Bells and other nonvocal sounds belie the claim that sound-based cultures are by definition face-to-face. Protestant church acoustics avoided grave sounds like excessive reverberation in favor of short echoes that amplified and reinforced the clarity of the minister’s voice. Seating patterns in Puritan churches that make no sense when considered visually clearly show the rank and status of the churchgoers when we factor in acoustics.23 Vocal sounds can in turn be considered in two different ways: verbal and nonverbal vo- calizations. Nonverbal vocalizations—or the nonverbal portions of a verbal vocalization (the latter are called paralinguistic sounds)—include grunting, groaning, ranting, railing, murmuring, whispering, moaning, or the timbre, pitch, and rhythm of a vocalization. The seventeenth century reveals this category to be present for Euro-Americans, but val- ued in different ways than it now is. A continuum from nonverbal to verbal vocalizations located a person’s utterances outside, on the edges, or within one’s community, with such space constituted aurally, a public hearing rather than a public sphere. To Puritans, Native Americans and the wilderness howled from outside, a threat to the social order within. Quakers ranted, the latter an interesting term, as it meant, besides its present meaning of an incoherent speech that vents the passions, the half-wild, half-domesticated edge of a cultivated field, a place to be watched carefully, for if left untended, the wild would take over. This construction of aural space had another dimension as well. Nonverbal groans and moans were heard in the spiritual world. Prayers were groaned. A woman’s groaning time—childbirth—was considered auspicious, and anything she said during the time a new soul was coming into the world was considered beyond doubt to be true. Questions 80–84, 91, 109–10, 124–26, 130. The book became popularly know as “Remarkable Providences.” 22 Rath, How Early America Sounded, 26–38. 23 Ibid., 43–119. a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 428 The Journal of American History September 2008 of paternity were often held for just that moment. Early Americans paid close attention to the groans of the dying to interpret their passage into the next world.24 Finally comes speech, which the modern soundscape places at the highest position, more or less in a class by itself. Considering vocal yet nonverbal sound also makes it clear that orality is constructed of that part of speech that can be reduced to print. But the pre- ceding analysis makes it obvious that there is much more to the soundscape than is com- prised by orality. Armed with the tools that permit the historicization of the rest of the soundscape, we can return to orality as a legitimate, documented historical phenomenon that has a history of change and continuity over time. I am not calling for the dismissal of orality; rather, I would like to see it historicized so that it no longer serves as a palliative, or bland euphemism, for the primitive or savage. This construction of the soundscape is not meant to be ironclad. It is intended as a rubric, recognizable to most people once elucidated. Many of the sounds people encoun- ter fall under more than one category. Singing for example, gives an instrumental quality to the use of the voice, and although words are sung, the nonverbal aspects of song are at least as important as the verbal. Acoustic spaces are not merely instrumental, as most often they are shaped to control the sound of the voice, whether acoustical tiling to keep modern workplaces quiet, or the carefully designed reverberation qualities of an opera house. The rubric is useful as a starting point for efforts to unearth historically construct- ed assumptions about how we hear. It gives us a frame for comparisons with other times and places and thus helps us denaturalize and historicize our sense of hearing. The literate yet oral Puritans seem to throw a wrench in the McLuhanite theory. If sonic beliefs were still strong among them in the late seventeenth century, long after the invention of print, what caused the shift in the eighteenth century? But McLuhan was not so far off. Rather than the printing press itself or movable type or individual acqui- sitions of literacy, the chief cause of the shift was probably mass print culture, a socially driven saturation in which the whole society was so imbued with print that even the illit- erate were affected, so much so that it led to complex shifts in habits of perception. That happened in New England in the eighteenth century, with the increased output of the presses, the circulation of broadsides, and the arrival of newspapers, centuries after the invention of movable type. Newspapers and broadsides were often read aloud at meet- inghouses, taverns, and other public spaces to give them a public hearing, a fact that un- derscores the complexity of the shift. The diffusion of new perceptual habits was uneven, with a thousand local variants, inflected differently by race, region, religion, social posi- tion, gender roles, and a plethora of other social variables, and the shift was never total. So McLuhan might have a point, but the effects of the printing press took centuries, rather than decades, to unfold. The shift away from the audible world and toward the visual was intertwined with the rise of mass print culture, the early modern transformation, and the onset of the Enlight- enment. That complex has generated a set of recurring questions concerning the roles of media, technology, and society. Was the shift away from the audible world socially driven? Driven by innovations in media and technology? Or some middle path between the two? The implications go far beyond the early modern transformation, and they are a chief concern of many of the authors now working on the history of sound and hearing. 24 Ibid., 120–44. a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 429Hearing American History A long-running debate has ensued between those arguing that all media have biases that shape how they are used (a particularly important point for sensory historians) and those emphasizing the precedence of human agency and social forces in making new media and technologies possible. The latter, calling themselves social constructionists, often misleadingly label the former technological determinists. Neither side denies that new technologies and new media open up new possibilities or that social and other fac- tors have been crucial in bringing about change, intended or otherwise. Straw arguments aside, the debate rests on two differences. The first, particularly important to the social constructionists, is the temporal order of events: Did social change create the conditions in which new media and technologies could emerge? Or did the new media and tech- nologies create the conditions that made possible such social changes as the early modern transformation? The second, more important to those emphasizing the role of new media and technology, concerns unintended consequences, with McLuhan uncharacteristically providing the voice of common sense. A proper understanding of the effects of media— which McLuhan claimed to be providing—could lead to better control of their intended and unintended effects, which in the past had caused major societal rifts, largely as a result of ignorance and incomprehension. Never one to think small, McLuhan gave the rise of nationalism as an example, quoting Harold Innis to argue that “the effect of the discov- ery of printing was evident in the savage religious wars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Application of power to communication industries hastened the consolidation of vernaculars, the rise of nationalism, revolution, and new outbreaks of savagery in the twentieth century.” The corrective was a proper understanding of the effects of new me- dia. “Unconsciousness of any force is a disaster,” concluded McLuhan, “especially a force that we have made ourselves.”25 A middle way makes the most sense for sensory historians. We see new human-led techniques and technologies emerging in tandem with social change. The two are co- articulated in a sort of feedback loop, each driving the other. Media have sensory biases, but people, not technologies, make the changes that lead to new sensory practices. Yet without the new media, the explorations would be impossible, especially if no one origi- nally intended the uses to which a medium is put. As the historian of science Donna Har- away framed this middle way, “the machine is us, our processes, an aspect of our embodi- ment.” “Why should our bodies end at the skin,” she asked, proposing instead that we are all cyborgs, the “theorized and fabricated hybrids of machine and organism.”26 Media that have possibilities beyond what their creators imagined or intended, what I call generative media, tend to have the greatest impact and, I think, the greatest potential for shifting how we go about sensing our worlds. Print is the prima facie example from early America, but study of it has led to explorations of vision rather than hearing.27 A spate of sonic inventions at the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth opened up new possibilities for sound, some intended, some not foreseen. The telegraph—a sonic code—disembodied communication, accelerating a process begun by writing and print that R. Murray Schafer pejoratively called schizophonia. Many celebrat- 25 Innis, Bias of Communication, 29, cited in McLuhan, Gutenberg Galaxy, 216. Ibid., 248. On the debates be- tween social constructionism and technological determinism, see Daniel Chandler, “Technological or Media Deter- minism,” 1996, Prifysgol Aberystwyth University, http://www.aber.ac.uk/media/Documents/tecdet/. 26 Donna Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature (New York, 1991), 149–81. 27 On the possibilities opened up by print that developed into a major factor in the early modern transforma- tion, see Elizabeth L. Eisenstein, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change: Communications and Cultural Transforma- tions in Early Modern Europe (2 vols., Cambridge, Eng., 1979). a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 430 The Journal of American History September 2008 ed the invention, however. Henry David Thoreau heard “a universal harmony, a music of the spheres through telegraph posts and wires.” For the first time, information could travel long distances faster than a human could, namely at the speed of light. This marvel was multiplied with the telephone, which disembodied the voice itself. Almost simulta- neously, the phonograph synesthetically transformed grooves felt by a stylus into sound, releasing the sound and voice from their ephemerality, at least potentially. As Jonathan Sterne pointed out, the idea of permanent sound preceded the media, which remained frail concoctions of wax or tinfoil. Nonetheless, the potential seemed infinite. Voices could come back long after the speakers had died. New forms of intimacy traveled over the wires, along with new social conventions to frame conversations, such as today’s ubiq- uitous “hello,” which took on its present meaning and status only with the popularization of the telephone. Race had to be reconfigured without its visual referents. Whites might pass as black or vice versa.28 The electro-acoustic worlds of amplification and broadcasting added other new dimen- sions to sound. Public address systems could convey a person’s voice farther than ever be- fore, making possible huge gatherings of people all of whom could hear the same thing. The radio made that distance potentially infinite and changed the nature of the relation- ship between performer and audience, removing the feedback of attention and approval. The new sounds were distinctively modern and called for a new acoustics in which to be heard. Without a live audience, radio performers could create different kinds of spaces, more intimate or sometimes more distant. Modernity began to have its own sound, a neu- tral, echoless acoustics in which sounds could be amplified and carefully controlled. By removing reverberation, Emily Ann Thompson noted, architects broke the age-old con- nection between sound and space. In the 1920s one scholar went so far as to compare the modern, Protestant, clear, scientific acoustics with the old, Catholic, reverberant “acous- tics of the cave.” By the 1950s, reverberation had become a sound effect associated with, depending on whom one read, masculinity or femininity. As a sort of postmodern coda, Thompson noted that reverberation, often electronically reconstructed, is making its way back into the acoustics of the Western world as ambience.29 With advances in digital au- dio processing, acoustically dead recordings can be manipulated to sound like any space imaginable. Sound and space are being reconnected, but with new possibilities. The invention of recording was meant to copy sound, to reproduce and preserve an original. To some extent, as Sterne pointed out, the original was artificial too, a perfor- mance pulled out of context that existed only to be reproduced. Nonetheless, the goal in recording Enrico Caruso’s voice was to make a copy faithful to the original, however con- structed. Indeed one strain of audiophile has pursued this goal, with high-quality, realistic stereo, and surround sound the result.30 28 R. Murray Schafer, The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World (Rochester, Vt., 1993), 88–91. The idea, though not the word, appeared in McLuhan, Gutenberg Galaxy, 22–23. Gitelman, Scripts, Grooves, and Writing Machines; Schmidt, Hearing Things, 244; Sterne, Audible Past. See oed online edition, s.v. “hello.” 29 Hope Bagenal, “Musical Taste and Concert Hall Design,” in Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association, Seventy-eighth Session, 1951–52 (London, 1952), 11–29, esp. 14; Peter Doyle, Echo and Reverb: Fabricating Space in Popular Music, 1900–1960 (Middletown, 2005), 195–96; Michael Forsyth, Buildings for Music: The Architect, the Musician, and the Listener from the Seventeenth Century to the Present Day (Cambridge, Mass., 1985), 4–13; Rebecca Leydon, “The Soft-Focus Sound,” Perspectives of New Music, 39 (no. 2, 2002), 96–107; Thompson, Soundscape of Modernity, 172, 321–24. 30 Sterne, Audible Past, 215–86. For an approach that somewhat exaggerates the importance of realism, see Lars Nyre, Fidelity Matters: A Historical Theory of Sound Media (London, forthcoming). a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 431Hearing American History Along the way, however, people discovered possibilities in the medium that had noth- ing to do with fidelity to an original performance. Early in the history of talkies, movie makers began to add sound effects and music to go along with voices on the sound track. The guitarist Les Paul picked up on this and modified a tape recorder so that he could play back one track while recording a new one, thereby accompanying himself. Performers and engineers have developed this innovation, called multitracking, so that performance and recording have often swapped roles, with live performance aiming to sound as good as the recording. There is no longer an “original” performance in most of today’s popular music. This ability to manipulate sound in time has changed our conception of time itself. Now we have the “real time” of the performance or the playback juxtaposed with the “asyn- chronous time” of the recording. These reformulations of time have bled into other do- mains, particularly in cyberspace, where real-time chats are distinguished from asynchro- nous threaded (a textual equivalent of multitracking) discussions or e-mail exchanges. The use of distortion, particularly on electric guitars, is another unintended option opened up by technology. The aesthetic preference for fuzzy, buzzing sounds can be found in African and African American music. Not coincidentally, the pioneering uses of distor- tion come from African American electric blues guitarists such as T-Bone Walker, who be- gan recording in 1929. Without that aesthetic, it was—and is—treated as a problem, dis- tortion from overdriven vacuum tubes, but pioneering musicians took the flaw and made it a feature. Young people have reconfigured their relationships to sound with Walkmans, iPods, bass-heavy car stereos, and boom boxes, sometimes dissociating from and some- times claiming public space with them.31 In short, modernization is full of unintended sonic consequences of generative media. We have to come to grips with the fact that the senses are historically situated and sub- ject to change over time. Understanding how people heard their worlds in the seventeenth century opens up new possibilities for understanding people in the past on their own terms. The sociology of speech and hearing in the eighteenth century sheds light on the role of print culture and the emergence of American identity. Understanding the sound and hearing of the nineteenth century helps us make sense of evangelical religion, section- alism, industrialization, plantation slavery, and the coming of the Civil War. The sound of modernity was integral to the phenomenon of modernity itself, and even today, new ways of using sound are changing what and how we hear. Hearing the past even helps us navigate a via media in the old debates between social constructionists and so-called tech- nological determinists, finding roles both for people and generative media in explaining social change. As McLuhan predicted half a century ago, sound might be entering a new era, which perhaps explains the sudden interest in the subject in the past decade. I think the importance of a history of hearing speaks for itself. 31 Michael Bull, “Thinking about Sound, Proximity, and Distance in Western Experience: The Case of Odys- seus’s Walkman,” in Hearing Cultures, ed. Erlmann, 173–90; Robin D. G. Kelley, Yo Mama’s Disfunktional: Fight- ing the Culture Wars in Urban America (Boston, 1997), 1; Mark Anthony Neal, What the Music Said: Black Popular Music and Black Public Culture (New York, 1998), 159–72. a t S e ria ls D e p a rtm e n t, U n ive rsity o f H a w a ii a t M a n o a L ib ra ry o n Ju n e 1 2 , 2 0 1 1 ja h .o xfo rd jo u rn a ls.o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jah.oxfordjournals.org/ 
work_7yfumvf45zd4xac5ufd5o6yymu	----	NCTE - National Council of Teachers of English Loading... 
work_a52w72tm7jc3fjosoqvoreyoxy	----	The Deep, Long-Range Ecology Movement: 1960-2000--A Review The Deep, Long-Range Ecology Movement: 1960-2000--A Review Bill Devall Ethics & the Environment, Volume 6, Number 1, Spring 2001, pp. 18-41 (Article) Published by Indiana University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/een.2001.0004 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/11195 https://doi.org/10.1353/een.2001.0004 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/11195 ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200118 ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 2001 ISSN: 1085-6633 ©Indiana University Press All rights of reproduction in any form reserved. Direct all correspondence to: Journals Manager, Indiana University Press, 601 N. Morton St., Bloomington. IN 47404 USA journals@indiana.edu TH E DE E P, L O NG- RANGE E CO L OGY MOV E ME NT 1960–2000—A REVIEW ABSTRACT Aarne Naess, in a seminal paper on environmental philosophy, distin- guished between two streams of environmental philosophy and activ- ism—shallow and deep. The deep, long-range ecology movement has de- veloped over the past four decades on a variety of fronts. However, in the context of global conferences on development, population, and environ- ment held during the 1990s, even shallow environmentalism seems to have less priority than demands for worldwide economic growth based on trade liberalization and a free market global economy. “If nature is not a prison and earth a shoddy way-station, we must find the faith and force to affirm its metabolism as our own—or rather, our own as part of it. To do so means nothing less than a shift in our whole frame of reference and our attitude towards life itself, a wider perception of the landscape as a creative, harmonious being where relationships of things are as real as the things. Without losing our sense of a great human destiny and without intellectual surrender, we must affirm that the world is a being, a part of our own body” (Shepard 1969, 3). When Paul Shepard wrote this passage, he summarized a stream of thought that was developing during the 1960s in the writings of Gary 19BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT Snyder, Alan Watts, and Rachel Carson, among others. Two books were particularly effective during the 1960s in stimulating conservation activ- ism, Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring (1962) and Stewart Udall’s The Quiet Crisis (1963). These books emphasize both the unintended and negative impact that certain human behaviors have on ecological relationships and the philosophy that humans are part of, not apart from, the rest of nature. This stream of thought and activism has been traced to John Muir and Henry David Thoreau and to pre-Socratic Greek philosophers and eventu- ally to the Sumerians in the Epic of Gilgamesh at the beginning of civiliza- tion (Nash 1989; Oelschlaeger 1991; Sessions 1981; Sessions 1995a). Professor Arne Naess of the University of Oslo catalyzed discussion of two streams of environmental philosophy when he articulated the distinc- tion between “shallow ecology” and the “deep, long-range ecology move- ment” (DEM) in a short paper published in 1973. He characterized the shallow ecology movement as “Fight against pollution and resource deple- tion. Central objective: the health and affluence of people in the developed countries” (Naess 1973). When Naess outlined principles of the deep, long-range ecology per- spective, he included “fight against pollution and resource depletion,” but he went beyond that statement to include principles that are not part of the dominant social paradigm. These included “ecocentrism,” “wide sustainability,” “complexity, not complication,” and “rejection of man-in- environment image in favor of a relational, total-field image” (Naess 1973). Naess made it socially acceptable for academics to be activists on conser- vation issues by relating reflection to action. He also showed how people can move from denial to creative, nonviolent direct action based on their core values.1 When Naess wrote his original essay on deep ecology, he knew there was limited scientific data available on the impact of industrial civilization on free nature. That is why he was inspired by both the science and the feelings for free nature expressed by Rachel Carson in Silent Spring.2 The wave of enthusiasm for the environment that began with Earthday 1970 was reaching a climax in the United States with the passage of the federal Endangered Species Act. Many supporters of deep ecology in the U. S. consider the federal Endangered Species Act to be the most ecocen- tric environmental legislation because the underlying premise of the act is that humans have no right to willfully cause the extinction of other spe- cies, regardless of their value, or lack of value, for humans. ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200120 The Endangered Species Act therefore moves us, in the words of Robyn Eckersley, “beyond human racism.” “Green political theorists can make a contribution here in critically exploring and articulating fundamental value orientations and defending principles which enable the mutual satisfaction of human and nonhuman needs. A more proactive task for green political theorists might be to explore how social institutions might be arranged to expand conventional boundaries of care in day to day practices, while also redressing the problems of willful neglect and ignorance of ecosystems. Indeed, in the light of the history of discrimination against nonhuman spe- cies, it might even be said that there is now a case for ‘affirmative action’ for nonhuman nature” (Eckersley 1998). Many researchers have documented the recurring, anthropogenic- caused collapse of natural systems at the regional or landscape level since modern humans began spreading across the planet approximately 35,000 years ago. However, the contemporary environmental crisis is the first plan- etary-wide anthropogenically caused extinction crisis (Wilson 1992; Bright 1998) and environmental crisis. Much of the scientific research advanced during the 1970s, which had been proclaimed the “decade of the environment” by President Richard Nixon, is summarized in a report authorized by President Jimmy Carter and published in 1980, The Global 2000 Report to the President: Entering the Twenty-First Century (CEQ 1980). This report concluded, “if present trends continue, the world in 2000 will be more crowded, more polluted, less stable ecologically, and more vulnerable to disruption than the world we live in now (i.e., 1980). For hundreds of millions of the desperately poor, the outlook for food and other necessities of life will be no better. For many it will be worse.” Those trends did continue, and the Global 2000 report was written before the AIDS epidemic and before the emergence of a general agree- ment among scientists that global warming is occurring, probably at least partially due to anthropogenic causes. While the Global 2000 report is phrased within the framework of conservation of natural resources for human populations, it foreshadowed reports written from a deep ecology perspective during the past two de- cades that focus on “wide ecological sustainability.” The well-known equa- tion I=PAT means that human impact on a region, or on the whole planet, is a combination of human population growth, plus affluence (or rate of consumption) and technology. 21BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT The Global 2000 report was intended as a warning to humanity to collectively change its behavior, and this warning has been reaffirmed many times during the past two decades. For example, using computer modeling of a simulated world system, the authors of Beyond the Limits ran several computer models of the ‘world system’ varying rates of resources use, in- dustrial output, human population growth, food production, and pollution. Projected from 1900 to 2100, all of the computer runs, using different rates for the different variables, forecast an overshoot of carrying capacity and collapse of the collective human enterprise around 2050 (Meadows, Meadows, and Rander 1992). They argue, however, that collectively the human species can learn to change its behavior in a short (decade ) period of time and move into a “sustainable” mode of collective behavior. A convergence of various trends has led to what is frequently called the “environmental crisis.” On a finite planet there is no “new land” avail- able for expansion of industrial civilization. Yet human population has continued to grow; per capita consumption has increased; and technolo- gy has been applied on a grand scale. Demographers proclaimed that the six billionth human was born in October 1999. While some people believe that humans will find solutions to many problems through technology, the pace of technological change continues to disrupt the lives of hundreds of millions of people. The process of worldwide economic integration, called globalization, continues to disrupt the social and economic security of billions of people while global warming, acid rain, destruction of the ozone layer and other effects of industrial civilization undermine the integrity of natural systems across the planet. William Catton, Jr., a sociologist trained in ecological theory, con- cluded that there are several modes of adaptation that societies may take to ecologically inexorable change. In many contemporary societies includ- ing both developed nations, such as the United Kingdom and the United States as well as so-called Third World nations, such as India and China, many people continue to insist that “sustainable” economic growth is pos- sible. Catton labels this mode of adaptation “ostrichism.” Some proponents of reform environmentalism used the images of earth sent from platforms orbiting the earth in space to argue that “spaceship earth” or the “blue planet” is an appropriate image for “ecological con- sciousness” as a response to the contemporary environmental crisis. How- ever, critics writing from a deep ecology perspective have warned that, at ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200122 best, such metaphors are ambiguous. For example, Wolfgang Sachs con- cluded that “shooting a satellite into space is perhaps the most radical way of establishing the distance from our world necessary for fantasies of large- scale planning. The image of the Blue Planet—so small and easily compre- hensible—suggests that what has hitherto provided the preconditions for diverse forms of human existence may now be planned and managed as a single unit” (Sachs 1994). In contrast, poet-ecophilosopher Gary Snyder suggests the meta- phor of humans singing and dancing around “a little watering hole in deep space.” The choice of metaphors and slogans is crucial for any social move- ment. When supporters of deep ecology reject the phrase, “spaceship earth,” they are rejecting a mechanistic worldview. When they accept slogans such as “Earth First!” or “thinking like a mountain,” they are rejecting human hubris and placing Homo sapiens, as a species, in a more modest position in the cosmos. In a short essay, “Modesty and the Conquest of Mountains,” Naess reflects that “ . . . modesty is of little value if it is not a natural consequence of much deeper feelings, and even more important in our special context, a consequence of a way of understanding ourselves as part of nature in a wide sense of the term. This way is such that the smaller we come to feel ourselves compared to the mountain, the nearer we come to participating in its greatness. I do not know why this is so” (Naess 1979, 16). In the face of a crisis of planetary scale, some radical environmental- ists argue that mild reforms in public policy and practices are basically useless. Deep changes in society require a ‘paradigm shift’ from the domi- nant modern paradigm of industrial civilization to a “new environmental paradigm” or “new ecological paradigm” (Catton 1980b; Drengson 1980). THE ROLE OF THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT IN PROMOTING SOCIAL CHANGE Several scholarly summaries of themes in the emerging DEM and the deep ecology perspective show the intellectual development of the move- ment over the past four decades (Devall 1979, 1980, 1991, 1995a, 1995b; LaChapelle 1988; Sessions 1981). Anthologies drawing from the deep ecol- ogy literature include those edited by Sessions (1995a) and Drengson (1995). In 1984, while camping together in the California desert, Arne Naess and George Sessions compiled the platform for the deep, long-range ecol- ogy movement. Some supporters of the DEM assert that the ‘platform’ is 23BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT the “heart of deep ecology” (McLaughlin 1993). Other supporters of the DEM disagree, arguing that the gestalt of deep ecology, the intuition of deep ecology, is the heart of the movement (Glasser 1997). Naess said his purpose in developing this ‘platform’ was ‘modest’, that is, to develop a set of very general principles or statements upon which supporters of deep ecology could comment and discuss. Naess’s goal is to help people articulate their own deep ecological total view. The deep ecol- ogy “platform” therefore is a pedagogical tool to assist people in the pro- cess of developing their own statement of ecosophy and as a device to stimulate dialogue between supporters of and critics of the DEM. PLATFORM OF DEEP ECOLOGY 1. The well-being and flourishing of human and nonhuman life on Earth have value in themselves (synonyms: inherent worth; intrinsic value, inherent value). These values are independent of the usefulness of the nonhuman world for human purposes. 2. Richness and diversity of life forms contribute to the realization of these values and are also values in themselves. 3. Humans have no right to reduce this richness and diversity except to satisfy vital needs. 4. The flourishing of human life and cultures is compatible with a sub- stantial decrease of the human population. The flourishing of non- human life requires such a decrease. 5. Present human interference with nonhuman world is excessive, and the situation is rapidly worsening. 6. Policies must therefore be changed. The changes in policies affect basic economic, technological, and ideological structures. The resulting state of affairs will be deeply different from the present. 7. The ideological change is mainly that of appreciating life quality (dwell- ing in situations of inherent worth) rather than adhering to an increas- ingly higher standard of living. There will be a profound awareness of the difference between big and great. 8. Those who subscribe to the foregoing points have an obligation di- rectly or indirectly to participate in the attempt to implement the nec- essary changes (this version of the deep ecology ‘platform’ is found in Devall 1988). The DEM is based on radical pluralism in ‘foundational’ beliefs. Bud- ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200124 dhists, Christians, Jews, Moslems, pantheists, agnostics, and materialists can come to a kind of deep ecology position or perspective both from their own experience (which Naess calls ‘the intuition of deep ecology’) and from historic philosophic and religious traditions (Naess 1989). Naess defines ecosophy as “ . . . a philosophy of ecological harmony or equilibrium. A philosophy as a kind of sofia (or) wisdom, is openly normative, it contains both norms, rules, postulates, value priority an- nouncements and hypotheses concerning the state of affairs of our uni- verse. Wisdom is policy wisdom, prescription, not only scientific descrip- tion and prediction. The details of an ecosophy will show many variations due to significant differences concerning not only the ‘fact’ of pollution, resources, population, etc., but also value priorities’ (in Sessions 1995a). Thus, when individuals and communities articulate their own authentic ecosophy they provide an intellectual and emotional basis for their prac- tice of deep ecology. Arne Naess calls his version “ecosophy T.” His philo- sophical reflection on his own ecosophy is based on his experiences in a mountain hut in Norway where he has worked for many decades. A com- plimentary statement of ecosophy by Vice President Albert Gore, Jr. is developed in his book, Earth in the Balance (Gore 1992). Although Gore devotes a few paragraphs in his book to denouncing “deep ecology” based on misconceptions of the movement, his own ecosophy is grounded in deep ecology kind of thinking (Glasser 1996; Carmer 1998). The slogan, “simple in means, rich in ends,” emphasizes that the DEM encourages rich experiences, and rich experience includes experiences in free nature. As modern life continues to encroach on our daily lives, mil- lions and millions of people are less and less able to have rich experiences in free nature. The importance of such experience is emphasized in the growing field of ecopsychology. For Naess, rich experiences in free nature contributes to a sense of maturity. Both Dolores LaChapelle (1988) and Paul Shepard (1973, 1998) have contributed thoughtful commentary on the usefulness of looking at other cultures, especially primal cultures, for models of appropriate expe- riences that encourage greater human maturity. The practice of deep ecology includes both personal lifestyles and com- munity lifestyles (Devall 1993). In the United States several organizations have arisen to assist individuals and communities who want to change their lifestyles to incorporate simple means and rich experiences.3 Some supporters of the DEM see a need to develop more emphasis on 25BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT developing public policy initiatives from a deep ecology perspective. A recent study of the impact of deep ecology perspectives on public policy in the United States concludes, “The deep ecology movement continues to struggle against its critics with hopes of one day transforming society and politics. Though deep ecologists have enjoyed success in developing an alternative political and social vision from their deep respect for nature, they have had only limited success in advancing their agenda” (Cramer 1998, 226). However, many supporters of the DEM remain quite active in politics. For example, Arne Naess who is in his 80s, continues to engage in political action. The development of argumentation based on Naess’s prin- ciples provides a way of getting the camel through the eye of the needle in making public policy decisions by establishing priorities for policy and action (Glasser 1996). Naess concludes that the DEM has a special role in political life. “For one, it rejects the monopoly of narrowly human and short-term argumen- tation patterns in favor of life-centered long-term arguments. It also re- jects the human-in-environment metaphor in favor of a more realistic hu- man-in-ecosystems and politics-in-ecosystems one. It generalizes most ecopolitical issues: from ‘resources’ to ‘resources for . . . ’; from ‘life qual- ity’ to ‘life quality for . . . ’; from ‘consumption’ to ‘consumption for . . . ’; where ‘for . . . ’ is, we insert ‘not only humans, but other living beings’. Supporters of the Deep Ecology movement have, as a main source of mo- tivation and perseverance, a philosophical/ecological total view (an ecosophy) that includes beliefs concerning fundamental goals and values in life which it applies to political argumentation. That is, it uses not only arguments of the usual rather narrow kind, but also arguments from the level of a deep total view and with the ecological crisis in mind. But sup- porters of the Deep Ecology movement do not consider the ecological cri- sis to be the only global crisis; there are also crises of social justice, and of war and organized violence. And there are, of course, political problems which are only distantly related to ecology. Nevertheless, the supporters of the Deep Ecology movement have something important to contribute to the solution of these crises: they provide an example of the nonviolent activism needed in the years to come” (in Sessions 1995, 452). Naess continues to emphasize that most of supporters of the DEM are not intellectuals nor ideologues but ordinary people who continue to struggle to find a way to live based on their core beliefs and values. How- ever, even when people want to “do the right thing” they are hamstrung by ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200126 force of habit, a sense of despair, lack of community support for change, and institutional constraints. Anthropological research in the U. S. has found widespread acceptance of major principles in the ‘platform’ of deep ecology across a wide spectrum of the population including labor union members, rural and urban residents, as well as members of conservation organizations (Kempton et al. 1995). Some researchers suggest the “biophilia hypothesis” provides a socio- biology explanation for agape, love of nature as something more than a social construction, although a biologically-based love of nature is con- stantly mediated by socio-psychological expressions of biophilia (Kellert 1993). The translation of values and the ‘intuition’ of deep ecology into ac- tion in the midst of industrial civilization requires purposeful, collective action and attention to “ecological self.” The “ecological self,” defined by Naess as “broad identification” with nature, whether based on biophilia or on experiences in the “wildness” of nature, has stimulated some of the most provocative theories developed from a deep ecology perspective (see for example Mathews 1991; Everden 1993; Macy 1991; Fox 1990). When people have gone from denial to despair, how do they recatalyze energy to respond effectively and creatively to the environmental crisis? Teachers such as John Seed and Joanna Macy have pioneered in developing ex- periental workshops where participants are invited to explore “broader identification” through a “council of all beings” (Seed 1988). At least one researcher has concluded that experiences individuals have during a “council of all beings” can assist in helping participants engage in nonviolent direct action based on their awareness of their “ecological self” as part of an unfolding, interdependent “net” of relationships (Bragg 1995). Joanna Macy, and other teachers who are supporters of the DEM, have demonstrated that participation in the “council of all beings” and other rituals and exercises designed to explore the “ecological self,” is ef- fective cross-culturally. Macy herself has led such exercises in Russia, Aus- tralia, several European nations, as well as in the United States with participants from culturally diverse backgrounds.4 Since many supporters of the DEM have been critical of some of ma- jor assumptions of modernity, it is not surprising that deep ecology has been greeted with hostility both by some critics on the left and critics on the right, as well as post-modern theorists (for example, van Wyck 1997). However, as Glasser has documented, some of the criticism of deep ecol- 27BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT ogy perspectives is the result of misconceptions and fallacies committed by the critics. It is difficult to speak across paradigms when the basic ap- proach of different paradigms is phrased in language that is incommer- surable (Glasser 1998). The “Eight points” platform of the DEM formu- lated by Arne Naess and George Sessions does not concern the question of what is the main cause of the ecological crisis. There are a variety of views about causes such as those advanced by social ecologists and ecofeminists. Supporters of the DEM can also support social ecology and ecofeminism and vice versa.5 Some postmodern critics have had special difficulties with the DEM. But Charlene Spretnak, a scholar who has specialized in the development of ‘green’ politics, concludes that ‘deconstructionist postmodernism’ should not be confused with ‘ecological postmodernism’ (Drengson 1996; Spretnak 1997). The key metaphor of ‘ecological postmodernism’ is ecology and the primary truth is ‘particular-in-context’, or bioregionalism. Naess asserts that there are three great social movements of the 20th century—the ecology movement, the peace movement, and the social jus- tice movement. These three movements speak to our yearning for libera- tion and can be compatible with each other in specific political campaigns. However, in situations of conflict, priorities must be established. Soon after Earthday 1970, commentators were warning of possible conflicts between environment and civil rights (Hutchins 1976) and be- tween economic growth and environmental quality (Heller 1973). As the deep ecology perspective became more widely discussed during the 1980s, critics from postmodern schools of thought, feminism, and social ecology argued strenuously for nonessentialist, anthropocentric approachs to envi- ronmental ethics. Supporters of the DEM demonstrated that there are par- allels between ecofeminism and deep ecology (Fox 1989; Plumwood 1992). Some critics assume that the DEM is inappropriate for the Third World because the Third World must address problems of militarism, poverty, food supply, and demands for gender equality (Guha 1989). On the con- trary, supporters of the DEM conclude it is most appropriate for the Third World because of its emphasis on long-range sustainability of natural sys- tems within which humans as well as all other species must dwell (Naess 1995; Cafaro 1998). During the 1980s and 1990s, shallow or reform environmental move- ments continued to emphasize the tenet that “sustainable economic growth and development” for both developed and “underdeveloped” societies is ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200128 desirable, and indeed necessary, in order to achieve goals of cleaner air and water as well as protection of natural resources for sustained use by a growing human population (see the Bruntland Report, Our Common Fu- ture 1987, and Agenda 21 approved by the Rio Summit on Development and the Environment 1992). The subtext of all the major documents, based on reform environmentalism, is that an increasing population of humans will “sustainably” use increasing amounts of “natural resources” by ef- ficiently using evolving technologies such as biotechnology, computer tech- nology, nanotechnology, and energy technology. Most of the documents issued at world conferences on the environ- ment fail to clearly answer the questions “what is being sustained,” “how long is it being sustained,” and “how will conflicts between priorities or between the short-term interests of various categories of people be re- solved?” “How will priorities of the current generation of humans and future generations be resolved?” Supporters of the DEM recognize the need to address the great dispar- ity between the opportunities of people living in the Third World to sus- tain their vital needs and people living in Japan, the United States, Canada, and the European Union. Much effort has been given by supporters of the DEM to addressing issues of environmental justice raised by a globalizing economy and the impact of free trade treaties such as NAFTA (and the WTO) on our ability to speak for the protection of wild species and their habitat, as well as the impact that global financial structures have on the lives of ordinary people around the world (Mander 1991). When the demands for redistribution of money, power, and wealth, in the short-term, between more wealthy and less wealthy societies, between genders, between age groups, between politically defined ethnic groups, and so forth, become the primary agenda of social activists, there is a dan- ger, as George Sessions has concluded, of “the demise of the ecology move- ment” because social justice concerns frequently replace concern for the ecological integrity of the Earth (Sessions 1995b, 1995c ). While many social issues can be addressed simultaneously, even if a utopian social jus- tice society could be established, it may be on a planet that is rapidly losing biodiversity, primary forests, and free nature. WARNINGS TO HUMANITY Before the Rio Summit on Development and the Environment in 1992, the Union of Concerned Scientists circulated the World Scientists’ Warn- 29BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT ing to Humanity, signed by over 1,700 scientists, including 104 Nobel laureates. The Warning stated, in part, “Human beings and the natural world are on a collision course . . . A great change in our stewardship of the earth and the life on it is required, if vast human misery is to be avoided and our global home on the planet is not to be irretrievably mutilated . . . No more than one or a few decades remain before the chance to avert the threats we now confront will be lost” (Ehrlich 1996, Appendix B). In April 1999, the World Commission on Forests, created after the Rio Summit of 1992, concluded that nearly 15 million hectares of primary for- ests, an area the size of England and Wales, have been lost due to logging and other human activities each year since 1980. Original frontier forests have all but disappeared in 76 countries, and declined by at least 95 % in 11 countries. The planet’s original forest cover of 6 billion hectares has been reduced to 3.6 billion hectares (World Commission on Forests 1999). During the 1980s some commentators suggested that the 1990s would be a “turnaround decade” or a “turning point” where rapid changes would encourage the emergence of a new social paradigm or a new type of social organization based on ecology (Capra 1982). Has a paradigm shift occurred, or is it occurring on a planetary scale at the beginning of the 21st century? It is widely accepted that reform environmentalism is now part of the political agenda of most nations. Politicians are expected to include “the environment” as part of their campaign promises and public policy objec- tives. Many governments of developing nations are willing to participate in conservation programs—if they are given cash in exchange for their participation, such as the “debt for nature” agreements reached with some nations in South America. Findings from cross-cultural surveys indicate that even in poor nations, there is widespread awareness of and concern with environmental issues (Brechin 1994). Radical grassroots environmental movements have developed in many Third World nations (Taylor 1995). Whether or not motivated by deep ecology or reform environmental per- spective or demands for tribal or First Nations sovereignty from national governments, grassroots movements have irritated governments, some cor- porations, and other economic and political interest groups who ignited a backlash against radical environmentalism both in the United States and in many developing nations. Campaigns of suppression, detention, and even murder of grassroots radical environmentalists have been extensively documented (Rowell 1996). ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200130 Leaders of all the major world religions including Native American pantheism, Orthodox Christianity, Roman Catholic, Buddhism, Islam, and Judaism have presented statements that echo the World Scientists’ Warn- ing to Humanity. Religious leaders have presented statements affirming that conservation is part of their ethical teachings and that humans have no right to destroy the integrity of natural systems (Oelschlaeger 1994). In 1982, the United Nations General Assembly passed the World Char- ter for Nature, sponsored by a Third World nation—Zaire—with only one dissenting vote, the United States. The World Charter contains significant deep ecology statements including, 1. Nature shall be respected and its essential processes shall not be dis- rupted. 2. The genetic viability on the earth shall not be compromised; the popu- lation level of all life forms, wild and domesticated, must be at least sufficient for their survival, and to this end necessary habitats shall be maintained. 3. All areas, both land and sea, shall be subject to these principles of conservation; special protection shall be given to unique areas, repre- sentative sample of all ecosystems and the habitats of rare and endan- gered species. 4. Ecosystems and organisms, as well as land, marine and atmospheric resources which are utilized by man shall be managed to achieve and maintain optimum sustainable productivity, but not in such a way as to endanger the integrity of those other ecosystems or species with which they coexist. 5. Nature shall be secured against degradation caused by warfare or other hostile activities. The Charter challenges national and local governments to select the appropriate mix of social, political, and economic methods to achieve their goals (Wood 1985). However, the major world environmental conferences held during the 1990s, including the Rio Summit on Development and the Environment (1992) and the Kyoto Conference on Global Warming (1998), presented documents that retreated from deep ecological statements found in the World Charter for Nature. Even by their own anthropocentric criteria, the world environmental conferences of the 1990s have had limited success. Five years after the Rio summit, the United Nations Environmental Programme issued a report, 31BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT The Global Environmental Outlook. The report concludes that “significant progress has been made in confronting environmental challenges. Never- theless, the environment has continued to degrade in nations of all re- gions. Progress toward a sustainable future has simply been too slow” (UNEP 1997). Agenda 21, the document approved by governments attending the Rio Summit, clearly states that sustainable development would be achieved through trade liberalization. Since the Rio Summit, forest destruction from Mexico to Siberia and from Brazil to Indonesia has increased due to the impetus provided by “free trade” and globalization of the timber trade (Menotti 1998). An Earth Charter was to have guided the Rio Summit on Environment and Development, but governments could not agree on such a statement of ethical principles. However, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) were interested in the idea and formed a network of NGOs to develop a citizens’ Earth Charter. In early 1997, an Earth Charter Commission com- posed of distinguished persons from each continent was appointed at a meeting of international NGOs to draft a citizens’ Earth Charter. A Draft Earth Charter was released in March 1997 at the Rio+5 Fo- rum. The Earth Charter is supposed to provide “an ethical framework for decision making on all matters of environment and development.” The Draft Earth Charter contains eighteen planks. The first plank says, “Re- spect Earth and all life. Earth, each life form, and all living beings possess intrinsic value and warrant respect independent of their utilitarian value to humanity,” and plank 2, “Care for Earth, protecting and restoring the diversity, integrity, and beauty of the planet’s ecosystems. Where there is risk of irreversible or serious damage to the environment, precautionary action must be taken to prevent harm.” The clear statement that ecological sustainability must take precedence in all policy decisions in the citizens’ Draft Earth Charter contrasts starkly with the development tone of official Agenda 21 documents released through the United Nations. The United Nations sponsored Cairo conference on Development and Population in 1994 presented documents primarily devoted to develop- ment of women’s opportunities to participate in economic growth in Third World nations. Decline in birth rates was linked to “empowerment” of women and to “economic opportunities” for women in a growing economy. It was assumed that if women participate in economic growth under capi- ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200132 talism, have access to contraceptives and choice on abortions, and are more educated, that the birth rate will fall. Some critics of the Cairo conference statement, including representatives of Moslem nations and the Catholic church, noted the ideological tone of the Cairo statement and failure of the Cairo statement to respect cultural diversity. Five years after the Cairo conference, at a world conference of governments and nongovernmental organizations called to assess the outcomes of the Cairo conference, the political consensus of 1994 was in disarray. The environmental caucus of Cairo+5 in particular insisted that “we cannot address access to food, water safety, and migration without addressing the environment as well. A healthy environment should be a priority when seeking to address human health and welfare.”6 It was also unclear if contributing nations would raise the programmed $10 billion a year for implementation of the Cairo agree- ment and the anticipated $22 billion a year that will be needed by 2015. The United Nations Conference on Women held in Beijing in 1995 included “environment” as one of the twelve planks in its “platform for action.” However, that plank read, “Eliminate all obstacles to women’s full and equal participation in sustainable development with equal access to and control over resources; integrate rural women’s traditional knowl- edge and practices into environmental management programs; support women’s consumer initiatives by promoting recycling, organic food pro- duction and marketing and product labeling that is clear to the illiterate.” There was no plank in the women’s platform that emphasized the role of women in maintaining wide ecological sustainability by responsibly lim- iting the number of children they have, nor any support for intrinsic values of other species, nor support for programs that protect the habitat of na- tive species in each bioregion. In commenting on this platform, a British writer, Sandy Irvine, concludes, “ . . . Some fundamental aspects of the eco-crisis, particularly overpopulation, are ignored or denied. Organisations such as the Women’s Environment Movement specifically deny that exist- ing human numbers are already too great for the global ecosystem to sus- tain” (Irvine 1995). With the prospect of a conscious, collective movement of rapid social turnaround fading, some supporters of the DEM suggest that the human species has exceeded the limits of natural systems to respond to anthropo- genic changes, and that radical changes in human society will occur during the 21st century because “nature bats last” (Catton 1980a; Meadows et al. 1992). 33BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT In his 1971 book, The Closing Circle, Barry Commoner summarized these ‘laws’ of ecology: Nature is more complex than we know, and prob- ably more complex than we can know. Everything has to go somewhere. There is no such thing as a free lunch. And, the most controversial ‘law’, Nature knows best (Commoner 1971). Some commentators conclude that humans in industrial civilization have become like a cancer on the planet, killing the host organism. Other visionary writers hypothesize that as a species Homo sapiens is evolving toward a planetary civilization that “ . . . will come from the synergy of the collective experience and wisdom of the entire human fam- ily—the entire species. The world has become so interdependent that we must make it together, transcending differences of race, ethnicity, geogra- phy, religion, politics, and gender. It is the human species that must learn to live together as a civilized and mutually supportive community. To fo- cus on the development of civility among the human species is not to inflate unduly the importance of humanity within the ecosystem of life on Earth; rather it is to recognize how dangerous the human race is to the viability of the Earth’s ecosystem. Humanity must begin consciously to develop a plan- etary-scale, species-civilization that is able to live in a harmonious rela- tionship with the rest of the web of live” (Elgin 1993, 14). Philosopher Thomas Berry calls this project the “great work” of hu- mans. Berry concludes that humans live in a “moment of grace” as we move into the 21st century which enables humanity to “be present to the planet in a mutually beneficial way” (Berry 1999). Others believe that Gaia herself, a conscious, self-organizing system, will regulate such an unruly species as Homo sapiens. The Gaia hypothesis has stimulated not only controversy among scientists but also has stimulated numerous religious, mystical, and feminist responses that indicate a yearning for integration with the “Earth Mother.”7 Naess himself says he remains an optimist “for the 22nd century.” “There is no time for overly pessimistic statements that can be exploited by passivists and those who promote complacency. The realization of what we call wide ecological sustainability of the human enterprise on this unique planet may take a long time, but the more we increase unsustainability this year, and in the years to come, the longer it will take. . . . The Deep Ecol- ogy movement is concerned with what can be done today, but I forsee no definite victories scarcely before the twenty-second century” (in Sessions 1995a, 464). ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200134 The resurgence of interest in bioregionalism, restoration, locally-based agriculture, and new initiatives to establish huge nature reserves in many nations indicates that supporters of the DEM will continue to be leaders in developing new agendas for the conservation movement as we move into the 21st century. For example, there is a growing number of alliances be- tween conservation groups and tribal or First Nation peoples (a designa- tion most commonly used in Canada) with the objective of assisting tradi- tional cultures and protecting wildness. From Ecuador to British Columbia, numerous NGOs continue to implement projects with tribal and First Na- tion peoples.8 Yet, since liberals and conservatives, capitalists and socialists, as well as green parties in Europe, Japan, and North America, have found it diffi- cult to integrate a deep ecology perspective and environmental justice agen- da into their political agendas, it is difficult to see where the political mo- mentum for radical social change based on the norm of wide ecological sustainability will arise. Fritjof Capra, however, concludes that “while the transformation (from one paradigm to another) is taking place, the declin- ing culture refuses to change, clinging ever more rigidly to its outdated ideas; nor will the dominant social institutions hand over their leading roles to the new cultural forces. But they will inevitably go on to decline and disintegrate while the rising culture will continue to rise, and eventu- ally will assume its leading role. As the turning point approaches, the real- ization that evolutionary changes of this magnitude cannot be prevented by short-term political activities provides our strongest hope for the fu- ture” (Capra 1982, 419). Joanna Macy, and other visionary scholar/teachers who are support- ers of the deep, long-range ecology movement and who utilize system theory approaches in their teaching, emphasize that emergent forms of social or- ganization that arise out of the chaos and breakdown of current social systems may be very different from present forms of social organization and cannot be predicted based on linear trend analysis. CONCLUSION Ecological systems approaches to global modeling and analysis have developed extensively over the past several decades to the extent that some scientists are calling for “international ecosystem assessment.” These sci- entists argue that an international system of ecosystem modelling and monitoring, integrating the many differing factors—climate change, bio- diversity loss, food supply and demand, forest loss, water availability and 35BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT quality—is urgently needed. The magnitude of human impacts on ecosys- tems is escalating. One-third of global land cover will be transformed in the next hundred years. In twenty years world demand for rice, wheat, and maize will rise by 40%. Demands for water and wood will double over the next half-century. At the turn of the millennium, they argue, we need to undertake the first global assessment of the condition and future pros- pects of global ecosystems (Ayensu 1999). The continuing collective efforts to change human behavior to fore- stall global warming indicates that some attempts at effective political ac- tion in the face of a “global environmental crisis” are being made (Depledge 1999). Deep ecology perspectives and the DEM have contributed to the development of ecophilosophy, ecopsychology, and intellectual discussions of these issues over the past four decades, in particular by helping people articulate and develop their own ecosophy both individually and as part of a community (Glasser 1996). However, how the planet as an interdepen- dent ecosystem, subject to increasing and generally negative human inter- ventions, will fare in the 21st century remains an open question. There are those who see hope for the future of Homo sapiens living in harmony with the rest of nature. They maintain that Homo sapiens have the capacity to develop into mature human beings both as individuals and collectively if humanity practices CPE on the earth—conservation, preser- vation, restoration (Brower 1995). Others, seeing that even small popula- tions of Homo sapiens armed with simple but very effective technology of fire and stone arrowhead have, over the past 35,000 years, had immense impact on landscapes of whole continents (such as Australia), and con- clude that at best Homo sapiens can be seen as an auto immune disease on the world system, on Gaia, or as a cancer on the world system that at this time has begun to destroy the vital organs of the planet. Another forecast is presented by Bill Joy, chief engineer for Sun Elec- tronics and one of the creators of Java for the Internet. He begins with Murphy’s Law, “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong,” and with the premise from systems theory that when systems involved are complex, involving interaction among and feedback between many parts, any changes in such a system will cascade in ways that are difficult to predict; this is especially true when human actions are involved. Joy explores the unin- tended consequence of developing the new fields of technology including robotics, genetic engineering, and nanotechnology. Since “biological species almost never survive encounters with supe- rior competitors” and given that robotics, at the current rate of develop- ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200136 ment, could be superior in intelligence to Homo sapiens within fifty years, and could self-replicate, it is likely that cyborgs will out-compete current Homo sapiens and win control of the planet. For Joy, the only hope for Homo sapiens in the 21st century is if, as a species, we relinquish research on robotics, genetic engineering, and nanotechnology. Exploring the love and compassion that is more basic to our humanness than the “will to power” in capitalist, free-market economies based on exponential growth of technology, humans can enter a path toward a utopia based on altruism (Joy 2000). We are left to contemplate the question asked by John Muir, consid- ered by many historians to be the founder of the American conservation movement, in 1875. Returning to the Central Valley of California, after spending another summer meditating in the Sierra Nevada, Muir wrote in his journal: Every sense is satisfied. For us there is no past, no future—we live only in the present and are full. No room for hungry hopes—none for re- grets—none for exaltation—none for fears. Enlarge sphere of ideas. The mind invigorated by the acquisition of new ideas. Flexibility, elasticity. I often wonder what men will do with the mountains. That is, with their utilizable, destructable garments. Will he cut down all, and make ships and houses with the trees? If so, what will be the final and far upshot? Will human destruction, like those of Nature—fire, flood, and avalanche—work out a higher good, a finer beauty. Will a better civi- lization come, in accord with obvious nature, and all this wild beauty be set to human poetry? Another outpouring of lava or the coming of the glacial period could scarce wipe out the flowers and flowering shrubs more effectively than do the sheep. And what then is coming— what is the human part of the mountain’s destiny? (Engberg and Wesling 1980, 162) ACKNOWLEDGMENT The author expresses thanks to Harold Glasser for his extensive com- mentary and help on preliminary drafts of this article. NOTES 1. The Selected Works of Arne Naess, edited by Harold Glasser and published by Kluwer Academic Publishers, will be available in early 2001. Information con- cerning the current status of this project is available from the Foundation for Deep Ecology, Building 1062, Ft. Cronkhite, Sausalito, CA 94965. 37BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT 2. Naess frequently uses the term “free nature” to refer to landscapes that are relatively unmodified by human activities. Other supporters of the DEM fre- quently use the term “wild nature” to refer to landscapes that may contain human communities such a tribal societies, but are relatively untrammeled by industrial civilization, agriculture, roads, cattle, or sheep grazing. Henry David Thoreau expressed one of the central axioms of the modern conservation move- ment when he wrote “in wildness is the preservation of the world.” Virtually all regions of the planet are currently impacted by planetary in- dustrial civilization as witnessed by “global warming,” the “hole in the ozone layer,” and massive deforestation of all the primary forests on the planet (World Commission on Forests 1999). 3. See, for example, the Northwest Earth Institute, Suite 1100, 506 SW 6th St., Portland, OR 97205. 4. Recent educational material on the deep, long-range ecology movement in- cludes the 13-part radio series, “Deep Ecology for the 21st Century,” available from New Dimensions Broadcasting Network, P.O.Box 569, Ukiah CA 95482. Two videos highlight the work of Arne Naess in articulating deep ecology; “Crossing the Stones,” produced by Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation in 1992 and available in the United States from Bullfrog Films, Oley PA; and “The Call of the Mountain,” produced by ReRun Produkties in 1997, distrib- uted in the United States by the Foundation for Deep Ecology, Building 1062, Ft. Cronkhite, Sausalito, CA 94965. 5. The International Forum on Globalization, Building 1062, Ft. Cronkhite, Sausalito, CA 94965, provides books, articles and other material on the envi- ronmental and social impacts of globalization. 6. Population and Habitat Update: Cariro+5: Identifying Successes, New Chal- lenges: National Audubon Society’s Population and Habitat Campaign, May/ June 1999. 7. When James Lovelock and Lynn Margulis presented the Gaia Hypothesis, it was embraced by the broader public before it was embraced by the community of scientists (Lovelock 1987). Surfing through Amazon.com, I found more than 120 books that use the word Gaia in titles published after 1988. These included “a guided meditation for vibrational medicine cards and Gaia matrix oracle,” “from eros to Gaia,” “Gaia and God: an ecofeminist theology of earth healing,” “gay and Gaia, ethics, ecology, and the erotic,” and “the goddess in the office: a personal energy guide for the spiritual warrior at work.” 8. The agenda of the DEM now includes “rewilding,” a term not yet found in the dictionaries. According to Michael Soule, author of numerous books on bio- diversity and president of The Wildlands Project, rewilding means “the process of protecting Nature by putting all the ecological pieces back together and restoring the landscape to its full glory and building a network of conservation reserves—cores, corridors, and mixed-use buffers—with enough land to allow wolves, jaguars, bears and other large carnivores to move freely and reclaim a part of their former range” (Soule 1998). ETHICS & THE ENVIRONMENT, 6(1) 200138 REFERENCES Ayensu, Edward, et al. 1999. “International Ecosystem Assessment.” Science 286 (October): 685–86. Berry, Thomas. 1999. The Great Work: Our Way Into the Future. New York: Bell Tower. Bragg, Elizabeth. 1995. “Towards Ecological Self: Individual and Shared Under- standings of the Relationship Between Self and Environment.” Dissertation. North Queensland: James Cook University. 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Plumwood, Val.1992. Gender and Ecology: Feminism and the Mastery of Nature. London: Routledge. Rowell, Andrew.1996. Green Backlash: Global Subversion of the Environmental Movement. New York: Routledge. Sachs, Wolfgang.1994. “The Blue Planet: An Ambiguous Modern Icon.” The Ecolo- gist 24 (5): 170–175. Seed, John, Joanna Macy, Pat Fleming, and Arne Naess. 1988. Thinking Like a 41BILL DEVALL THE DEEP, LONG-RANGE ECOLOGY MOVEMENT Mountain: Towards a Council of All Beings. Santa Cruz, Calif.: New Society Publishers. Sessions, George.1981. “Shallow and Deep Ecology: A Review of the Philosophi- cal Literature.” In Robert C. Schultz and J. Donald Hughes, eds. Ecological Consciousness: Essays from the Earthday X Colloquium, University of Denver, April 21–24, 1980. Washington, D.C.: University Press of America. Sessions, George, ed.1995a. Deep Ecology for the 21st Century: Readings on the Philosophy and Practice of the New Environmentalism. 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work_a676vs43qnhxzng5lrbpt2f6dy	----	1320 CHR 92.4_02_bonnell .Web. 607..636 JENNIFER BONNELL An Intimate Understanding of Place: Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley, 1927–1989 Abstract: Every summer from 1927 to 1968, Toronto conservationist Charles Sauriol and his family moved from their city home to a rustic cottage just a few kilometres away, within the urban wilderness of Toronto’s Don River Valley. In his years as a cottager, Sauriol saw the valley change from a picturesque setting of rural farms and woodlands to an increasingly threatened corridor of urban green space. His intimate familiarity with the valley led to a lifelong quest to protect it. This paper explores the history of conservation in the Don River Valley through Sauriol’s expe- riences. Changes in the approaches to protecting urban nature, I argue, are reflected in Sauriol’s personal experience – the strategies he employed, the language he used, and the losses he suffered as a result of urban planning policies. Over the course of Sauriol’s career as a conservationist, from the 1940s to the 1990s, the river increas- ingly became a symbol of urban health – specifically, the health of the relationship between urban residents and the natural environment upon which they depend. Drawing from a rich range of sources, including diary entries, published memoirs, and unpublished manuscripts and correspondence, this paper reflects upon the ways that biography can inform histories of place and better our understanding of indi- vidual responses to changing landscapes. Keywords: Toronto, Don River, conservation movement, twentieth century Résumé : Chaque été de 1927 à 1968, l’écologiste torontois Charles Sauriol et sa famille quittent leur maison de ville pour s’installer dans un chalet rustique quelques kilomètres plus loin, dans la zone naturelle de la vallée de la rivière Don, au cœur de Toronto. Durant ces années, Sauriol a vu la vallée pittoresques, aux fermes et régions boisées se transformer en corridor vert urbain toujours plus menacé. Fort de sa très grande con- naissance de la vallée, tout au long de sa vie, il se donnera pour mission de la protéger. Cet article explore l’histoire de la conservation dans la vallée de la rivière Don par le biais de ce qu’a vécu Sauriol. Je soutiens que l’expérience personnelle de Sauriol, y compris les stratégies qu’il a employées, le langage qu’il a utilisé, les pertes qu’il a lui- même subies dans la foulée des politiques de planification urbaine – reflète les change- ments d’approche déployés pour assurer la protection de la nature urbaine. Au fil de la carrière d’écologiste de Sauriol, des années 1940 aux années 1990, la rivière est devenue une représentation symbolique de plus en plus puissante de la santé urbaine et plus The Canadian Historical Review 92, 4, December 2011 6 University of Toronto Press Incorporated doi: 10.3138/chr.92.4.607 précisément de la relation saine entre les citadins et le milieu naturel duquel ils dépen- dent. Puisant à une riche collection de sources – notes de journal personnel, de mémoires publiés et de correspondance et manuscrits inédits –, cet article réfléchit aux façons dont une biographie peut nous renseigner sur l’histoire d’un lieu et nous aider à mieux com- prendre les réactions individuelles aux mutations du paysage. Mots clés : Toronto, rivière Don, mouvement pour la conservation, vingtième siècle In the summer of 1983, Toronto conservationist Charles Sauriol sat down to capture some of his memories of the Don River valley in the 1920s. He recalled a time before sewage fouled the waters of the upper river, before highway development sent a ribbon of pavement along the valley bottom – a time when the upper valley was still largely rural, and partly wild. ‘I remember,’ he wrote, ‘seeing the full moon break over the pines, spreading its beams . . . over the misty shrouds that rose from the river. . . . Seated in front of the cottage, I could hear the water flowing over the river stones, and sometimes, just at dusk, the strident call of a whippoorwill.’1 For Sauriol, lived experience in the Don Valley led to a lifelong quest to protect it. Over the forty-one summers that he and his family spent in a cottage at the Forks of the Don, Sauriol moved from a casual appreciator of ‘open spaces’ to a fervent champion of the valley as a vital green space for wildlife and harried urban residents alike. Major events for the Don – including the construction of the Don Valley Parkway in the late 1950s and the protection of remaining floodplain lands in the early 1960s – would make themselves felt in deeply personal ways within Sauriol’s own life history. Through Sauriol’s experience, furthermore, we can chart the beginnings of the twentieth-century environmental movement, including the ideological shifts from private nature appreciation to nature as a public good, and later in the century, from the sober tactics of postwar conservationists to the more playful and publicly engaged advocacy of the new environ- mentalism. For most observers, the Don is an insignificant river notable only for the fact that it drains Canada’s most urbanized watershed. Thirty- eight kilometres in its entirety, the river runs from its headwaters in the moraine lands north of the city south to its outlet in Lake Ontario, immediately east of the present city centre. Two main branches, the East and West Don, join to form a single stream (the Lower Don River) at the Forks about seven kilometres north of the lake. A third tributary, Taylor-Massey Creek, flows into the Forks from the east. 1 Charles Sauriol, Tales of the Don (Toronto: Natural Heritage / Natural History, 1984), 19. 608 The Canadian Historical Review The area below the confluence is known as the Lower Don; the wider watershed surrounding the east and west branches, the Upper Don. Despite its inconsequential size, the river has played a significant role in Toronto’s development and in the conservation initiatives that developed in the city through the mid- to late-twentieth century. As we shall see in Sauriol’s experience, it has also had a profound effect on individual lives. This paper explores the intersections between Sauriol’s life narra- tive and the history of the valley he loved, weaving from these inter- connections a history of individual experience in place. Discernible in Sauriol’s life story is the history of the river itself, bending a serpentine and mutable path through some of the major events in his life. It was the river that drew his father, Joseph, to the city in 1886, when he relocated from eastern Ontario to take a job operating one of the dredges that straightened the Lower Don. Sauriol was born eighteen years later in 1904, the youngest of seven children in his francophone figure 1 Charles Sauriol, ca. 1992. Source: File 14, Series 101, Photographs of Charles Sauriol, Charles Sauriol Fonds, City of Toronto Archives. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 609 figure 2 The Don River Watershed. Source: Prepared by Jordan Hale. 610 The Canadian Historical Review Catholic household. Less than two blocks from his childhood home near Toronto’s Queen Street and Broadview Avenue, the canalized lower river appears to have been of little interest to Sauriol as a child. Instead it was the upper valley with its rolling ‘pine-clad’ hills and deep swimming holes that captured his teenage imagination. When his family relocated to east Toronto in 1919, Sauriol joined other neighbourhood boys in the East Toronto 45th Boy Scouts Troop. The troop organized regular hikes and weekend camping expeditions to the East Don and Taylor-Massey Creek. Recalling his first camp-out in the valley at the age of sixteen, Sauriol wrote, ‘It was a wilderness at our door, an escape from home, school, discipline . . . which held every- thing a red-blooded nature-loving boy could ask for.’2 Sauriol’s time with the Scouts would rank among his fondest boyhood memories. The experience he gained constructing lean-tos and identifying plants and animals, and the values he absorbed, including core Scouting principles of self-reliance, civic leadership, and rational scientific judg- ment, shaped his later work as a conservationist and his lifelong passion for the outdoors.3 Through a Scouting contact Sauriol landed his first job in publish- ing, as a messenger with the Saturday Night Press. He later commuted this experience into a job with the Montreal publishing firm Poirier Bessette, accepting by the early 1930s the position of advertising manager that he would hold for thirty years. As his career in publish- ing began to take hold, positioning him within a distinctly urban and cosmopolitan milieu, Sauriol turned to the valley for release, occupy- ing his time away from work with long solitary hikes in the upper valleys of the Don. In 1927, at the age of twenty-four, he arranged to lease a small farm worker’s cottage near the Forks of the Don. The cottage would become the focal point for his experiences in the valley, a retreat from the pressures of urban life that he shared first with his father and brothers, and later with his wife, Simonne, and their four children. Biography offers to studies of environmental history an alternate history of place, one informed by individual experience. It allows us 2 Charles Sauriol, ‘Boyhood Memories of South Riverdale,’ ca. 1980, file 6, box 107297, series 107, Manuscripts of Charles Sauriol, [194-]–1995, Charles Sauriol Fonds, City of Toronto Archives (cta). 3 Ben Jordan outlines the connections between the early twentieth-century conservation movement and the Scouting movement in the United States in his recent article, ‘ ‘‘Conservation of Boyhood’’: Boy Scouting’s Modest Manliness and Natural Resource Conservation, 1910–1930,’ Environmental History 15, no. 4 (Oct. 2010): 612–42. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 611 to move from the macro-narrative of landscape change to the intimate territory of personal observation, memory, and response to changing circumstances. For environmental historians concerned with chang- ing human expectations of and experiences in nature, it helps us to better comprehend the personal toll exacted by large-scale environ- mental change. More than this, too, it enables us to more evocatively imagine a landscape lost. While maps and archival images carry us some distance toward picturing the early-twentieth-century Don Valley, Sauriol’s deep engagement with this place as a boy and later as a cottager breathes life into these renderings. Through his accounts of painstakingly replanting trees on a denuded slope, cavorting in the river with his children on a hot July afternoon, discovering the founda- tions of a former mill on a winter hike through the upper valley, he attaches stories to place. His loss of this storied landscape becomes, vicariously, our loss too. Thus, Sauriol’s story is significant in part because it offers rare insight into the changing environments of the urban fringe in mid-twentieth-century Canada. Most biographies in environmental history have taken as their sub- jects those prominent individuals whose influence shaped public con- sciousness or mapped the future of treasured national landscapes: John Muir, John Wesley Powell, Rachel Carson, Rosalie Edge.4 Far fewer have explored the lives of less-celebrated figures, or those who dedicated themselves to efforts at the regional or local level.5 This 4 Jack E. Davis, An Everglades Providence: Marjory Stoneman Douglas and the American Environmental Century (Athens, ga: University of Georgia Press, 2009); Dyana Z. Furmansky, Rosalie Edge, Hawk of Mercy: The Activist Who Saved Nature from the Conservationists (Athens, ga: Wormsloe Foundation Nature, 2009); Mark Hamilton Lytle, The Gentle Subversive: Rachel Carson, Silent Spring, and the Rise of the Environmental Movement, 1st ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Donald Worster, A River Running West: The Life of John Wesley Powell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); Donald Worster, A Passion for Nature: The Life of John Muir (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). In the Canadian context, see James King, Farley: The Life of Farley Mowat (Hanover, nh: Steerforth, 2002); Anthony Robertson, Above Tide: Reflections on Roderick Haig-Brown (Madeira Park, bc: Harbour, 1984); Donald B. Smith, From the Land of the Shadows: The Making of Grey Owl (Vancouver: Douglas & McIntyre, 1999). 5 Among very few monograph-length studies is Daniel Nelson’s study of Ohio Congressman John F. Seiberling Jr, and his role in the creation of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park (A Passion for the Land: John F. Seiberling and the Environ- mental Movement [Kent, oh: Kent State University Press, 2009]). Other con- servationists of regional significance receive coverage in monographs focused on particular places or developments, such as Adam Rome’s The Bulldozer in the Countryside: Suburban Sprawl and the Rise of American Environmentalism 612 The Canadian Historical Review article joins a recent trend in biographical writing in exploring the lives of less prominent historical actors.6 Here the interest rests not so much on individual achievement and influence as on the relation- ship between the individual and his or her social and political (and in this case, physical) milieu. As Alice Kessler-Harris notes, the importance of the individual rests not so much in ‘what she or he may have done, but [in] what her thoughts, language, and contests with the world reveal.’7 What I aim at here is not a comprehensive narrative of Sauriol’s life but rather a selective mapping of key events in his life upon the environmental history of the river – an overlaying of personal biogra- phy upon a biography of place. Through Sauriol’s efforts to observe, record, and in many cases resist what he viewed as the unwelcome encroachments of urban development upon a remnant swath of wilder- ness within the city, we can discern the influence of changing ideas about the environment through the twentieth century, and the ways those ideas, in turn, had concrete ramifications for the geography and environmental integrity of an urban river valley.8 Sauriol makes such a compelling subject for study in part because he left behind such a rich record of his life experiences. Author of six books about his experiences as a conservationist, an apiarist, and a cottager in the Don Valley, together with numerous unpublished manuscripts and regular diary entries throughout his life, he gathered meaning from the act of self-documenting. Executed with less ele- gance than the works of Muir or Leopold, Seton or Haig-Brown, and focused on a place perhaps less compelling than Yosemite or the wilds of British Columbia, his work never received the recognition that other conservationist-writers enjoyed in this period: most of his books are out of print, and his name is unknown to most Torontonians beyond local history and environmental advocacy circles. His influence survives, however, in the physical landscape of valley parklands, including the Charles Sauriol Conservation Reserve created in the East Valley in (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), and Richard Walker’s Country in the City: The Greening of the San Francisco Bay Area (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2008). 6 David Nasaw, ‘Historians and Biography,’ American Historical Review 114, no. 3 (June 2009): 576. 7 Alice Kessler-Harris, ‘Why Biography?,’ American Historical Review 114, no. 3 (June 2009): 626. 8 Jack Davis makes a similar argument in charting the development of core ideas in American environmentalism against the long twentieth-century life of Florida Everglades advocate Marjory Stoneman Douglas (An Everglades Providence). Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 613 1989, and a number of other protected areas he had a hand in creat- ing across the province. While there is a growing body of work on the conservation move- ment in Canada, the urban open space movement of the postwar years is a subject that has received only peripheral attention by Canadian scholars.9 Focusing on the activities of grassroots conservationists at mid-century helps to demonstrate the endurance of conservationist thought beyond the movement’s heyday in the 1910s. Changes in the approaches to protecting urban nature, I argue, are reflected in Sauriol’s personal experience – the strategies he employed, the language he used, and the losses he suffered as a result of urban planning policies. Over his years as a rambler, a cottager, and later a campaigner for valley conservation, Sauriol’s environmental consciousness shifted from a personal appreciation of nature on his private valley holdings to embrace the principles of rational management for the public good. Dramatic and unsettling change in a place that French historian Pierre Nora would identify as his milieu de mémoire, a setting ‘in which memory is a real part of everyday experience,’ also prompted acts of commemora- tion. Beginning in the 1940s, Sauriol produced a series of manuscripts reflecting on the character and history of a rapidly changing landscape. This personal archive of experience – including his five-volume The Don Valley As I Knew It, and his 1945 manuscript ‘Fourteen Years on Four Acres’ – became, in Nora’s terms, a lieu de mémoire, a symbolic representation of a place transformed beyond recognition.10 In this way the river valley remained a source of inspiration, and a seat for memory, throughout Sauriol’s long twentieth-century life (1904–95). summering in the don In his 1982 memoir Remembering the Don, Sauriol looked back on over forty summers spent with his family at a cottage on the East Don, recalling summers that ‘filled my time with the orchard, the garden, the apiary, the easy living by the then clean Don River.’11 Having first 9 While there is a considerable literature on the history of urban sprawl in Canadian centres, very little has been written about grassroots responses to suburban development and its connections to strains of conservationist thought in Canada. 10 Pierre Nora, Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), 1:1. 11 Charles Sauriol, Remembering the Don: A Rare Record of Earlier Times within the Don River Valley (Toronto: Consolidated Amethyst Communications, 1981), 19. 614 The Canadian Historical Review spotted the cottage on a weekend Scouting expedition at the age of sixteen, Sauriol arranged to lease the building and its surrounding four acres from the Canadian National Railway seven years later, in 1927. Constructed in 1899 by landowner John Taylor to house a farm hand, the cottage had been sold to the cnr along with a portion of the Taylor estate when railway construction divided the property in 1904.12 It had seen a series of tenants in the intervening years and by 1927 was in a state of considerable disrepair. The ‘Lily of the Valley,’ as Sauriol came to call it, the cottage was a simple clapboarded structure consisting of a living room, a pantry, and three small bedrooms. Bounded by the Don on the east, north, and west, the property in 1927 was completely denuded of trees, ‘save for two old apple trees . . . [and] an ancient willow tree.’13 With the assistance of his father, and later his wife and children, Sauriol worked over the years to better the condition and comfort of the cottage, to expand and nurture his garden, and to reforest the property. He purchased the cottage from the railway com- pany in 1930, and after years of lobbying, finally purchased the land from them in 1939. Crucially for Sauriol in the years that followed, the land included a second, tenanted cottage (the former home of Philip de Grassi, a military officer who was first granted the land at the Forks in 1831) situated closer to Don Mills Road. Sauriol’s years at the cottage were guided by a closely held vision of self-sufficiency. In this wild place at the city’s edge he aimed to pursue a ‘simple life’ of discriminating consumption. ‘So indoctrinated was I in my love of simple things,’ he wrote in 1929, ‘that I was beset with remorse over the wiring of the cottage, which seemed as a desertion of my ideal towards country living.’14 A self-described ‘back-fence producer,’ he bottled honey from his apiary, made maple syrup from trees he had planted, fashioned preserves (presumably with his wife Simonne’s assistance, though she is rarely mentioned in his writings) from the wide variety of fruits and berries he grew on site, and harvested the annual bounty from his vegetable garden to feed his family and friends.15 In his writings, he made conscious comparisons to the 12 Charles Sauriol, ‘The Don Valley as I Knew It,’ vol. 5 (1938–42), [194-?], file 38, box 123723, series 107, Manuscripts of Charles Sauriol, [194-]–1995, Charles Sauriol Fonds, cta. 13 Sauriol, Remembering the Don, 137. 14 Sauriol, ‘Fourteen Years on Fourteen Acres,’ 1945, file 4, box 107297, series 107, Charles Sauriol Fonds, cta. On ‘simple living’ movements in American history, see David E. Shi, The Simple Life: Plain Living and High Thinking in American Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). 15 Sauriol, Remembering the Don, 31. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 615 families that worked the land before him. He and his father, he wrote in 1945, ‘were as pioneers, re-carving in this semi-wilderness a fine place to live.’16 While framing himself as a pioneer, Sauriol empha- sized the divergence between his objectives and those of his forebears on the property. Philip de Grassi cleared the land of its trees to make it suitable for agricultural development. Sauriol, in contrast, worked to reforest the property as a ‘beautification’ project: ‘I thought only to turn [my acres] into a place of beauty. Forest trees were planted by the thousands. Rich soil was wrested from sod and twitch grass, . . . [to become] a garden land in which fine fruits and vegetables grew.’17 Here Sauriol’s personal ethic of self-sufficiency, and the importance he placed upon the rehabilitation and ‘beautification’ of degraded lands, demonstrate his connection with the diverse strains of conser- vationist thought that existed in Canada in the early decades of the twentieth century. A member of the rising professional middle class, Sauriol enjoyed a privilege inaccessible to many in the 1930s and 1940s of owning 16 Sauriol, ‘Fourteen Years.’ 17 Sauriol, Remembering the Don, 136. figure 3 Charles Sauriol in front of the original cottage at the Forks of the Don, July 1935. Source: File 8, Series 80, Photographs of the Don Valley, Charles Sauriol Fonds, City of Toronto Archives. 616 The Canadian Historical Review not only a cottage property but a primary home within the city. Suffi- cient time away from work to enjoy and improve his holdings also characterized his position in society. As an urban advertising execu- tive, Sauriol occupied the ambivalent position of promoting consump- tion while at the same time constructing a self-image of the discerning anti-consumerist. As such, he epitomized what T.J. Jackson Lears has identified as the ambivalence of antimodernist dissent in early- twentieth-century America: typically held by the urban educated elite, antimodernist sentiment placed value in the hard but satisfying lives of rural premoderns; its backward-looking impulses, however, often coincided with an enthusiasm for material progress and possessive individualism in a rapidly urbanizing, secularizing society.18 Sauriol’s professed goals of self-sufficiency and his desire to seek solace in nature define him as a man of his times as much as they set him apart. While forging a summer home out the wilds of the city’s Don Valley would have been considered an esoteric activity by most early-twentieth-century Torontonians, Sauriol’s self-image in this period drew upon an established rhetoric of social and particularly urban reform. Between 1881 and 1921, the proportion of Canadians living in urban areas doubled from about 15 per cent to almost 50 per cent of the total population. In the same period, Toronto’s popula- tion multiplied by six.19 A wide range of problems, including poverty, crime, and a pervasive sense of anxiety, were thought to stem from the rapid industrialization and urban growth transforming Canadian centres. Social reformers in Canada, like their American counterparts, responded with a diverse array of movements to address the ills of urban life, among them what has generally been defined as a ‘back- to-nature’ movement.20 Distinctly urban and middle-class in impetus, the movement promoted the benefits of outdoor life as an antidote 18 T.J. Jackson Lears, No Place of Grace: Antimodernism and Transformation of American Culture, 1880–1920 (New York: Pantheon Books, 1981). Ian McKay has documented similar trends in the Canadian context in The Quest of the Folk: Antimodernism and Cultural Selection in Twentieth-Century Nova Scotia (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1994). 19 Alan F.J. Artibise and Gilbert A. Stelter, ‘Conservation Planning and Urban Planning: The Canadian Commission of Conservation in Historical Perspective,’ in Consuming Canada: Readings in Environmental History, ed. Chad Gaffield and Pam Gaffield (Toronto: Copp Clark, 1995), 154. 20 The ‘back-to-nature’ movement differed from the ‘back-to-the-land’ movement of the same period, which ‘sought both to revitalize rural life for those already on the land and to encourage city dwellers to take up homesteading.’ Back-to- nature, in contrast, championed short respites in nature as a tonic for city-weary urban dwellers (Shi, The Simple Life, 194). Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 617 to the hectic pace and corrupting influences of the city. Nature study in the schools, summer camps and Scouting organizations for boys, hiking clubs, and the proliferation of summer cottages among wealthy urbanites were among the outlets for a widespread desire to reconnect with nature in the early decades of the twentieth century. Sauriol’s writings reveal the influence of these ideas. In keeping with back-to-nature ideals, he saw the Don Valley as ‘a realm of wild life that the city had not despoiled.’21 During the hard years of the Depression and Second World War, the cottage provided solace for his ‘harassed mind.’ He wrote in 1945, ‘I went out to my place thou- sands of times. . . . Often an absent lover I wooed the place in fleeting moments. It may have been only to gather a basket of apples from the snug root cellar on a snowy evening, or to plant a seedling tree, or to gather an armful of wood . . . but out I went, and as often as I went I cast overboard the debris of the day. Those pinched, sordid thoughts of wars, misery, consternation, and the woe of the world.’22 Like many Canadian men of his generation, he recalled that the works of nature-writer and back-to-nature enthusiast Ernest Thompson Seton ‘kindled within me a dormant love for the outdoors.’ Works by Henry David Thoreau and American naturalist and writer John Burroughs (1837–1921) also featured among his ‘perennial reads.’ Parallels with Thoreau are readily discerned: both men found a meditative retreat from a rapidly changing society in a woodland cottage close to home; both sought a life of self-provisioning simplicity. No mention is made, perhaps surprisingly, to other conservationist-writers of the period, including John Muir, Aldo Leopold, and Canadian writers Roderick Haig-Brown and Grey Owl (Archibald Belaney). Unlike these men, Sauriol seems to have professed little interest in testing himself in remote wilderness locations or engaging in manly wilderness activities such as fishing and hunting. It was perhaps the very domesticity of Seton and Thoreau’s projects that appealed to him: Thoreau, with his ‘experiment in simple living’ a mile outside of Concord; Seton, who set his Two Little Savages in Sauriol’s own Don Valley. Sauriol’s fascination with the valley was more than a summer cottager’s desire for escape. His search for solace met with a deeply held ethic of conservation. Efforts over many years to improve degraded areas in the valley through reforestation and bank stabiliza- tion reflected a belief in the rational management of nature’s bounty. At the same time, in his writings and his later advocacy work, Sauriol 21 Sauriol, ‘The Don Valley as I Knew It,’ 2:194. 22 Sauriol, ‘Fourteen Years.’ 618 The Canadian Historical Review expressed a passionate conviction that the valley should be protected from urban encroachment, its ‘beauty spots’ preserved as places for the physical and spiritual health of the city’s residents. In Sauriol we can see what George Altmeyer has identified as a particularly Canadian strain of early-twentieth-century conservationist thought, one that combined a concern for pragmatic scientific management of natural resources with a sense of moral duty to preserve nature’s aesthetic beauty for future generations (and not, as they are often portrayed, mutually exclusive impulses).23 threatened paradise, 1940s In the years following the Second World War, pressures from popula- tion growth and corresponding residential development were beginning to make themselves felt in Sauriol’s beloved valley. More and more valley lands (and the adjacent tablelands that drained into them) were becoming earmarked for residential and industrial development. The growing expanse of paved surfaces, particularly in the lower valley, produced detrimental effects for the watershed’s hydrological regime, including soil compaction, increased surface run-off, and correspond- ing declines in groundwater reserves. By 1949, the Ontario Depart- ment of Planning and Development concluded, 15 per cent of lands within the watershed had been urbanized; this figure would grow exponentially in the decades that followed.24 ‘The city is expanding feverishly,’ Sauriol wrote in 1953. ‘Bulldozers are eliminating the beauty spots of centuries. Chain saws are heard all day long. . . . Once tranquil highways, including Don Mills Road, are crowded ‘‘bumper to bumper’’ with traffic. The fields of yesteryear contain rows of houses. Expansion, 23 George Altmeyer, ‘Three Ideas of Nature in Canada, 1893–1914,’ in Consuming Canada: Readings in Environmental History (Toronto: Copp Clark, 1995), 105. The development of the land conservation movement in late-nineteenth and early-twentieth-century Canada is further explored in Peter Gillis and Thomas R. Roach, ‘The Beginnings of a Movement: The Montreal Congress and Its Aftermath, 1880–1896,’ in Consuming Canada, 131–51; and A.H. Richardson, Conservation by the People: The History of the Conservation Movement in Ontario to 1970 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, for the Conservation Authorities of Ontario, 1974). 24 Ontario Department of Planning and Development (odpd), ‘Don Valley Conservation Report’ (Toronto: ospd, 1950), pt 1, 10. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 619 we are told, will continue.’25 In the same year that Sauriol wrote, con- struction of Don Mills, Toronto’s ‘first modern suburb,’ began in the valley north of the Sauriol cottage. While the upper valley remained largely rural in the early 1950s, signs of change were, for Sauriol, unsettlingly present. With population growth came increasing pollution. Storm sewer outlets carried herbicides, pesticides, road salt, and dog excrement from the city’s ever-increasing paved surfaces into urban waterways. In the upper watershed, residential development quickly overtaxed a series of small and outdated sewage treatment plants, resulting in the discharge of partially treated effluents into the river.26 Tests by the Pro- vincial Board of Health in 1949 found a daily average of 6,500 pounds of suspended solids in the waters of the Don – almost double the normal summer flow of the river itself. Conditions became so bad that in 1950, a provincial conservation report described the Don as an ‘open sewer’ and ranked its water as the most heavily polluted in the province.27 Such environmental degradation was not confined to the Don. Across the province and in other parts of North America, farmers, naturalists, and foresters expressed growing alarm about the effects of deforestation, soil erosion, and flooding, and their conse- quences for agriculture and forestry. In 1946, the province responded by passing the Conservation Authorities Act, which enabled local resi- dents to request a conservation authority funded by the local and provincial government to manage and conserve resources in their watershed. Two years later, in 1948, the Don Valley Conservation Authority formed to address resource conservation throughout the Don watershed. At the same time as these initiatives, grassroots activism was build- ing upon local level concerns. Ongoing encroachment by residential and commercial development onto valley lands led Sauriol and two conservation-minded colleagues to form the Don Valley Conservation 25 Don Valley Conservation Association (dvca), ‘Presentation of a Plan for the Protection and Beautification of the Don Valley,’ 19 Oct. 1953, file 8, box 103027, series 104, Publications of Charles Sauriol, ca. 1939–1995, Charles Sauriol Fonds, cta. 26 Gore and Storrie, Consulting Engineers, Toronto and York Planning Board Report on Water Supply and Sewage Disposal for the City of Toronto and Related Areas, 1949, p. 90, file 227, box 107792, series 40, Records of the Information Officer for the Metropolitan Toronto Planning Department, Municipality of Metro- politan Toronto Fonds, cta; Richard W. White, Urban Infrastructure and Urban Growth in the Toronto Region: 1950s to the 1990s (Toronto: Neptis Foundation, 2003), 11. 27 odpd, Don Valley Conservation Report, pt 6, 15. 620 The Canadian Historical Review Association (dvca) in the spring of 1947. Attracting a membership of over three hundred Toronto residents, the dvca worked to protect valley resources and inform the public about a threatened wilderness at their doorsteps. Nature walks, annual tree-planting days, and auto- mobile tours of the watershed emphasized the still ‘wild and serene’ Don Valley as a ‘green buttress’ to the growing city below it. A con- temporary of the better-resourced Don Valley Conservation Authority (which confusingly adopted the same acronym), the association fuelled its activities almost entirely with the energies of its founders and the support of its membership.28 Like the open space campaigns of other North American centres in this period – notably American urbanist William Whyte’s efforts to protect the Brandywine Valley outside of Philadelphia, and Congressman John Seiberling’s efforts to protect the Cuyahoga Valley near Cleveland, Ohio – the dvca emphasized con- servation, aesthetic amenity, and outdoor recreation in their efforts to protect the Don.29 While Sauriol makes no explicit reference to conservation initiatives elsewhere, he was well connected to conserva- tion advocates locally, and clearly he drew upon established tropes of conservation and wilderness preservation in advancing his campaign. Some of the earliest initiatives of the dvca involved efforts to control public behaviour in nature. Incensed by ‘despoilers of the beautiful,’ Sauriol and his colleagues set out to curb such ‘menaces to conserva- tion’ as ‘the shooting of songbirds, ducks [and] pheasants, the setting of grass fires, [and] the hacking of trees by juveniles.’ In 1947 they established a citizens patrol of the valley to protect trees from the hatchets of young boys and rare wildflowers from the enthusiasm of their admirers. That same year, an Easter week ‘Save the Valley’ cam- paign proved especially successful in ‘uproot[ing] vandalism.’ Visits to schools and Scout groups informed children about the benefits of non-intrusive nature study, while collaboration with local police saw the seizure of ‘18 axes, 7 bayonets and a few butcher knives’ from would-be valley vandals.30 As much as the dvca aimed to cultivate respect for the non-human world, they also forwarded an understanding of nature as a place in which humans had no part, except as contempla- tive visitors or caring stewards. By proscribing certain behaviours and promoting others, they aligned themselves with their counterparts in 28 dvca, Cardinal, Fall 1954, file 14, box 115736, series 104, Publications of Charles Sauriol, ca. 1939–1995, Charles Sauriol Fonds, cta. 29 Nelson, A Passion for the Land; Rome, Bulldozer in the Countryside, 119–52. 30 Sauriol, ‘Beginnings of the Don Valley Conservation Association,’ Cardinal, Spring 1954; Charles Sauriol, Trails of the Don (Orillia, on: Hemlock, 1992), 268–9. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 621 wilderness conservation in constituting nature as a static entity that, bounded and regulated, could be protected from human interference.31 In this ideological shift from private enjoyment to regulated public use of nature lay deeply personal consequences for Sauriol in the years to come. In 1949 the dvca reorganized into three regional branches within the Don watershed, Sauriol taking up the leadership of the East York branch (dvca-ev). Two years later, Sauriol launched the dvca-ev’s quar- terly magazine, the Cardinal. Written and produced entirely by Sauriol with modest financial assistance from the dvca-ev, the magazine con- tained a mixture of short articles on valley history, fictional stories emphasizing the moral righteousness of nature stewardship, news about conservation activities, and educational ‘conversations’ between the dvca mascots, Canny and Candid Cardinal. Sauriol wrote in his inaugural Spring 1951 issue, ‘Persons residing in the Toronto metro- politan area have at their disposal a . . . bower of natural beauty which is the envy of many other cities: The Cardinal will endeavour to make . . . the streams, woodlands, birds and flowers at your door . . . mean more to you than ever before.’ Between 1951 and 1962, annual steam loco- motive trips through the valley capitalized on a general public nostalgia for train touring.32 These ‘Conservation Specials’ brought considerable exposure to the dvca cause, attracting an average of eight hundred passengers each year.33 The dvca continued to provide a grassroots voice for valley conservation into the early 1960s, when rapid environ- mental change and a shifting socio-cultural landscape gave rise to new strategies. Conservation activities in the valley received a boost from an unex- pected source in the early morning of 16 October 1954. A tropical storm originally projected to dissipate over southern Ontario suddenly re-intensified, pounding Toronto with winds that reached 110 kilo- metres per hour. From his home on Hillside Drive overlooking the valley, Sauriol watched through the night as heavy rain and winds 31 On the exclusionary effects of the twentieth-century conservation policies in the United States and Canada, see Karl Jacoby, Crimes against Nature: Squatters, Poachers, Thieves, and the Hidden History of American Conservation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); Tina Loo, States of Nature: Conserving Canada’s Wildlife in the Twentieth Century (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2007); and John Sandlos, Hunters at the Margin: Native People and Wildlife Conservation in the Northwest Territories (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2007). 32 John R. Stilgoe, Metropolitan Corridor: Railroads and the American Scene (New Haven, ct: Yale University Press, 1983). See especially chap. 13. 33 Sauriol, ‘Beginnings of the Don Valley Conservation Association’; Sauriol, Tales of the Don. 622 The Canadian Historical Review figure 4 ‘Stop: Don’t Cut Trees,’ Don Valley Conservation Association, 1947 (with unidentified dvca member). Source: File 73, Series 81, Photographs of the Sauriol Cottage, Charles Sauriol Fonds, City of Toronto Archives. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 623 transformed the Don into a torrent with an astonishing capacity for destruction. ‘The quiet of the night,’ he wrote, ‘was shaken by the reverberations of huge floating trees pounding objects in their path; the water was littered with fast-moving objects scarcely discernible in the darkness.’34 In the space of forty-eight hours, Hurricane Hazel dumped 285 millimetres of rain in the Toronto area, washing out bridges and roads across the city and taking eighty-one lives across southern Ontario. In Toronto alone, over 1,800 people were left home- less, and damage across the province was estimated at roughly $100 million (about $1 billion today). Although no lives were lost in the Don Valley, two cars and their occupants were swept into the river.35 The storm and its consequences marked a turning point for con- servation initiatives in the valley, and across the city; it also signalled a transition for Sauriol and his career as a conservation professional. As the city rebuilt over the winter of 1954–5, it did so with a new awareness of the significance of valley lands as natural drainage channels figure 5 Cover plate, the Cardinal, first edition, Spring 1951. Source: File 14, Series 104, Publications of Charles Sauriol, ca. 1939–1995, Charles Sauriol Fonds, City of Toronto Archives. 34 Sauriol, Trails of the Don, 282. 35 Jim Gifford and Mike Filey, Hurricane Hazel: Canada’s Storm of the Century (Toronto: Dundurn, 2004); Toronto and Region Conservation Authority (trca), ‘Hurricane Hazel 50 Years Later,’ http://www.hurricanehazel.ca/. 624 The Canadian Historical Review http://www.hurricanehazel.ca/ for flood waters.36 In 1957, four Toronto-area conservation authorities, including the Don, amalgamated to form the Metropolitan Toronto and Region Conservation Authority (mtrca), which allowed for greater coordination among jurisdictions in regulating the use of urban water- sheds. The mtrca had the power to acquire valley lands for flood control and recreation – a decision that would have important implica- tions for the future of the Don Valley. Sauriol played a key role in these acquisitions as chairman of the mtrca Conservation Areas Advi- sory Board from 1957 to 1971, and as the first executive director of the mtrca Foundation – the fundraising arm of the mtrca – from 1963 to 1966. Between 1957 and 1994, approximately 15 per cent of lands within the Don watershed were protected as part of the mtrca flood- plains protection program.37 At the same time, the newly created Municipality of Metropolitan Toronto38 took up the massive task of overhauling the city’s aging sewage infrastructure. Between 1956 and 1965, Metro removed five over-burdened sewage-treatment plants from the Don watershed. These developments had implications not only for river water quality, but also for the enjoyment of newly created valley parklands, once made unbearable by the stench of sewage. The removal of upstream plants contributed to a change in the public per- ception of urban ravines. Once viewed as inaccessible wastelands and barriers to development – obstacles to be bridged or filled – these rugged valley landscapes were increasingly recognized as urban amenities, vital corridors of green space slicing through the heart of the city.39 In the protection of valley lands from private development and the removal of outdated sewage infrastructure, major milestones had been achieved in the conservation history of the Don. Flood control strategies 36 While Hazel can be credited with tipping the balance toward watershed con- servation in southern Ontario, and greatly accelerating plans for the acquisition of valley lands, floodplain protection had been a subject of discussion among conservation-minded planners and scientists for a number of years before the storm hit. The City Planning Board’s 1943 Master Plan for the City of Toronto and Environs, for example, proposed (unsuccessfully) to protect the Don and Humber River valleys from ‘encroachment and vandalism’ by incorporating them within a U-shaped green belt linked by a low-speed ‘drive-way.’ 37 Metropolitan Toronto and Region Conservation Authority, Plan for Flood Control and Water Conservation (Woodridge, ON: mtrca, 1959); trca, ‘The History of Flood Control in the trca,’ http://trca.on.ca/flood-monitoring/index.dot. 38 For more on the history of the Municipality of Metropolitan Toronto and its powerful position as a ‘municipal corporation,’ see Timothy J. Colton, Big Daddy: Frederick G. Gardiner and the Building of Metropolitan Toronto (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1980), 71–2; and White, Urban Infrastructure. 39 Thanks to Toronto historian Richard White for this insight. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 625 http://trca.on.ca/flood-monitoring/index.dot that focused on large infrastructure developments such as dams and channel reinforcements and parks that laid a uniform carpet of turf through valley lowlands, however, had their own consequences for fragile valley habitats. Furthermore, large portions of valley ravine lands remained in private hands, providing sweeping vistas for Rosedale mansions and backyard play space for houses perched on the valley’s edge. In the decades that followed, groups like the Toronto Field Naturalists pressed for more comprehensive ecological protection for urban valley lands, and a new generation of environmental activists began to lament the ongoing pollution of the river by stormwater run- off and riverside industries. heartbreak In the late 1950s and early 1960s, dramatic changes in the landscape of the valley brought related upheavals in Sauriol’s life. Foremost among these was the construction of the Don Valley Parkway (dvp) and the Bayview Avenue Extension through the valley. ‘I was standing in a pine grove of my own planting one day last June,’ Sauriol wrote in the spring of 1956, ‘when two men came along with maps in their hands. They were trying to locate the position of a roadway in relation to my acres. To any but my unbelieving eyes, the plan was clear enough; the road led across the meadows through my orchard, to the plateau on which stood the cottage. That road . . . would wipe out the work of thirty years.’ Once again, the course of larger events in the history of the valley, and of the city more broadly, would have for Sauriol intensely personal ramifications. As Joy Parr has demon- strated so compellingly in her work on the destabilizing influences of megaprojects in people’s daily lives in Canada, the massive environ- mental changes occasioned by such projects disrupted people’s embodied understandings of the world – their daily, sensory experi- ence of place. As familiar places became unrecognizable, people lost established ways of knowing themselves.40 Sauriol experienced some- thing similar, endeavouring as he did to capture his own experience, and that of others before him, of a place in rapid flux. Sauriol’s shock notwithstanding, the parkway would have been a familiar topic of discussion for most Toronto residents through the 1940s and early 1950s. First proposed in 1943 as a scenic – and slow- moving – access route to future green belt lands, it took on speed and 40 Joy Parr, Sensing Changes: Technologies, Environments, and the Everyday, 1953– 2003 (Vancouver: ubc Press, 2009). 626 The Canadian Historical Review width with Metro’s plans for a network of expressways radiating outward from downtown Toronto in the early 1950s. Metro Chair Frederick Gardiner was a powerful advocate. He envisioned a modern multi- lane highway through the valley that would relieve congestion in the downtown core and carry automobile traffic efficiently to the city’s rapidly expanding suburban districts. Famous for ‘[punching] things through’ without pausing to consider objections, Gardiner had no patience for the caution advised by consulting engineers in planning the dvp. According to Timothy Colton’s 1980 biography, Gardiner spent many weekends tramping through the valley with an aide in tow, deter- mined to find a way to do what his engineers said was impossible. ‘The engineers were saying you couldn’t put a six-lane highway in [the valley],’ he recalled in a 1961 interview with the Toronto Star. ‘So we’d have a look at [it and] say: We’ll move the railway over a piece. We’ll tear down the hill. We’ll shift the river over a piece, then we can have the highway through there. That’s what was done years later.’41 Rapid population growth in the postwar period created its own logic. Here Sauriol’s appreciation of the valley as a place, for recreation, reflection, and restoration, met with Gardiner’s reductive vision of the valley as a corridor through which to move automobiles and sewage pipelines. Metro Council approved plans for the parkway in 1956; work began on the southern reaches of the highway two years later. In 1961, work- men pulled down the Sauriols’ cherished cottage. The road right-of- way was surveyed, leaving Sauriol and his family with a portion of their original holdings, including the old de Grassi cottage on the west side of the river. Restored after Hurricane Hazel as the head- quarters of Sauriol’s Don Valley Conservation Association, the cottage provided an opportunity to regroup and start over. Demonstrating great pluck, Sauriol and his family packed their possessions and moved across the river. By 1964 construction was completed from the Gardiner Expressway north to Bloor Street; the parkway reached its end-point at Highway 401 in 1967 (to be continued as Highway 404 in the 1970s and 1980s). Typically portrayed by chroniclers of Toronto as ‘winding mostly through inaccessible ravine land’ and therefore causing little disrup- tion to established communities,42 the dvp nevertheless had signifi- cant ramifications for human experience in the valley, forever altering the capacity for what Sauriol, or Seton, before him, would have described 41 Colton, Big Daddy, 62. 42 Ibid., 165. This relative lack of disruption to existing neighbourhoods differed markedly from Toronto’s proposed Spadina Expressway plan of the same period, ultimately completed only in part before being cancelled in response to public protest. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 627 figure 6 Sauriol cottage locations, before and after the construction of the Don Valley Parkway. Upper map, ca. 1950, lower map, ca. 1970. Source: Prepared by Jordan Hale. 628 The Canadian Historical Review as moral and physical rejuvenation achieved through experience in an ‘unspoiled place.’43 For the river system, the consequences were more dramatic still. As Gardiner’s recollections suggest, highway construction forced the alteration of the river’s course in places, removing ox-bows and softening curves. For the lower river, already strait-jacketed by a railway line along its western bank, the highway further cemented its future as a canal bolstered by steel piling and divorced from its floodplain. Most significantly, the project sent a ribbon of pavement through sensitive riparian lands south of the Forks, compromising the river’s function as a wildlife corridor and adding a further source of oil-laced road run-off to the watershed. For all its deleterious effects, however, the parkway also acquainted thousands of Torontonians with valley landscapes as a backdrop to their daily commute. Never before had so many people experienced the valley; this connection, however passive, would make itself felt in future efforts to protect valley green space. For Sauriol, the loss of the cottage in the late 1950s coincided with a period of major transition in his working life. In December 1956, about a year before the cottage was torn down, he received a call from Frederick Gardiner asking if he would represent Metro on the future Metropolitan Toronto and Region Conservation Authority (mtrca). Sauriol was stunned, and deeply honoured. ‘For years,’ he later recalled, ‘I had been humiliated, ignored, and put to one side, with no clout . . . to do what I thought should be done.’44 Especially humiliating and perplexing for Sauriol was his exclusion from the mtrca’s predecessor, the Don Valley Conservation Authority. Sauriol accepted Gardiner’s invitation, and in February 1957 took up the (unpaid) position of chair of the mtrca’s Conservation Areas Advisory Board. Working with an annual budget of $500,000, Sauriol was expected ‘to assemble land for conservation areas’ across the Metro- politan Toronto region. ‘A more pleasant task could not have been handed to me,’ he recalled in 1991.45 Sauriol held the position for fourteen years, stepping down in 1971. Six years later, Sauriol faced change of a more destabilizing nature. Having worked for Poirier Bessette since the early 1930s, Sauriol left 43 dvca, ‘Presentation of a Plan.’ 44 Charles Sauriol, Green Footsteps: Recollections of a Grassroots Conservationist (Toronto: Hemlock, 1991), 13. 45 Ibid. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 629 as the result of ‘changing fortunes’ in 1963.46 He found himself with- out an income for three years, a situation that in retrospect created the space for him to devote himself more fully to conservation. Later in 1963, Sauriol accepted a position as the first executive director of the mtrca Foundation, the fundraising arm of the mtrca. The position granted him travel expenses as well as a 5 per cent commission on monies raised. Three years later, Sauriol parlayed his experience with the mtrca into a job with the newly established Nature Conservancy of Canada (ncc), where he remained for the next twenty-one years, taking up the role of executive director from 1982 to 1986, before his retirement in 1987. These personal triumphs reflected a growing environmental awareness within Canadian society that built momen- tum, much like Sauriol’s conservation career, through the 1960s. As Samuel Hays has concluded for the American context, a key difference between the environmental movement of the 1960s and 1970s and its pre-war predecessors was the broad popular support it achieved.47 Public concern for the environment stemmed in part from the gravity of ongoing problems, including, in the urban context, air and water pollution, consumption and waste, and the shrinking availability of what was then termed ‘open space.’ In the loss of meadows, forests, and popular children’s play areas close to home, American historian Adam Rome argues, lay the origins of postwar environmentalism. ‘The desire to preserve wilderness was . . . [only] the most visible part of a much larger concern about the destructive sprawl of urban civili- zation.’48 For Torontonians, such concerns came to focus increasingly on the Don. By the late 1960s, the river had emerged as a potent symbol of environmental degradation and mismanagement. Despite major improvements to sewage treatment and disposal following Hurricane Hazel, the Don remained dangerously polluted. Local industries continued to discharge harmful effluents into the sewage system, and combined sewers in the older parts of Toronto, including most of the Lower Don, continued to overflow during periods of heavy rain, sending raw sewage into the river. Fecal coliform levels soared as high as 61 million counts per 100 mL in the late 1960s, 25,000 times the safe swimming level of 2400 counts.49 The river 46 Sauriol, ‘Sauriol, Charles, 1932–1995,’ folio 3, file 28, box 103027, series 103, General Subject Files of Charles Sauriol, Charles Sauriol Fonds, CTA. 47 Samuel P. Hays, Beauty, Health, and Permanence: Environmental Politics in the United States, 1955–1985 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 48 Rome, Bulldozer in the Countryside, 7–8. 49 Thomas Claridge, ‘Pollution Probe Mourns for Beloved, Dead Don,’ Globe and Mail, 17 Nov. 1969, 1. 630 The Canadian Historical Review had also become increasingly inaccessible to Toronto residents, espe- cially in its lower reaches. The construction of the Don Valley Park- way and other arterial roads in the late 1950s and early 1960s had cemented the perception of the Lower Don as an urban wasteland criss-crossed with rail and road arteries and littered with abandoned industrial buildings, road salt storage sites, and equipment storage yards. Fences erected along the freeways made public access to the lower river valley very difficult, further sealing the fate of the Don as out of sight, out of mind. Sauriol’s approach to conservation, which combined public educa- tion about the wonders of Toronto’s ‘back yard wilderness’ with efforts to shame offenders, was joined in the late 1960s by a new and more playful brand of activism. In November 1969, an ad hoc group of Uni- versity of Toronto professors and students organized under the name of Pollution Probe brought the plight of the Don to public attention.50 Declaring the river ‘dead’ as a result of years of pollution and detri- mental development, Probe members led a hundred-car cavalcade, including a hearse, from the university grounds to a funeral ceremony on the river, north of the Bloor Street Viaduct. Funeral organizer Martin Daly detailed for a crowd of about two hundred the history of abuses to the river, while a student dressed as eighteenth-century writer and artist Elizabeth Simcoe played the role of the river’s widow, weeping as she read excerpts from her diary describing a river once teeming with salmon and water fowl. As subway passengers looked on from the viaduct above, Daly concluded the event by tossing a wreath into the river. ‘And now,’ he announced to the mourners, ‘we await the resurrection.’51 Pollution Probe’s tactics were connected to larger trends in environ- mental activism in this period, where groups such as Greenpeace (established 1971) employed guerrilla theatre, stunt-work, and other unconventional techniques to capture public attention and bring a sense of urgency to their cause.52 Close to mind for many observers would have been the June 1969 oil fire on the Cuyahoga River in Cleveland, brought to international attention by Time magazine in the 50 For more on the history of Pollution Probe and its influence on environmental politics in Ontario, see Ryan O’Connor, ‘Toronto the Green: Pollution Probe and the Rise of the Canadian Environmental Movement’ (PhD diss., University of Western Ontario, 2010). 51 ‘Mock Rites Mourn Death of Don River Killed by Pollution,’ Toronto Star, 17 Nov. 1969, 21; Claridge, ‘Pollution Probe.’ 52 Robert Gottlieb, Forcing the Spring: The Transformation of the American Environ- mental Movement (Washington, dc: Island, 2005), 252–3. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 631 summer of 1969.53 The funeral for the Don received widespread media coverage and fuelled new demands from individuals and community- based organizations for a cleaner and more accessible Don River. Sauriol’s response was dismissive: ‘All of my associations with the Don were reasonable and rational,’ he wrote in 1991, aligning himself with an earlier generation of sober conservationists. ‘I avoided such misfits in common sense as the burial held for the Don, complete with coffins and mourners.’54 Probe’s message reiterated what long- established groups such as the Toronto Field Naturalists (and Sauriol’s own dvca, defunct since the early 1960s) had been saying for years: the Don had the potential to be a vibrant green space in the heart of the city, a refuge for wildlife, and a destination for recreation, and it was worthy of protection. Unlike earlier groups, however, who struggled to deliver their message to a largely uninterested public, Pollution Probe spoke for a new generation that refused to accept the degradation of the environment as an inevitable consequence of development. figure 7 Pollution Probe’s Funeral for the Don, November 1969. Source: Courtesy of Tom Davey. 53 ‘America’s Sewage System and the Price of Optimism,’ Time, 1 Aug. 1969, http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,901182,00.html (accessed 18 July 2010). 54 Sauriol, Green Footsteps, 21. 632 The Canadian Historical Review http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,901182,00.html The 1969 funeral was followed by a brief surge of interest in the Don, and a 1971 campaign by the Ontario Water Resources Commis- sion to reduce phosphates in Ontario waterways was successful in raising oxygen levels in the Don and improving aquatic habitat.55 In the summer of the same year, college students hired for the mtrca’s ‘Don Patrol’ removed more than two hundred tons of litter from the river and surrounding valley. It wasn’t until the late 1980s, however, that heightened public concern for the environment generated new and sustained visions for a restored river environment. As the public awakened to deplorable conditions in environments close to home, Sauriol learned of a new threat to his holdings in the valley. Ironically, the threat would come from initiatives close to his own heart. ‘I am somewhat fearful for the cottage,’ he wrote in his diary 19 September 1966. ‘Acquisition is in the [mtrca’s] 25 years plan.’ With his children grown, the cottage had become more a place 55 Toronto Area Watershed Management Study and Paul Theil Associates Ltd, Strategy for Improvement of Don River Water Quality: Summary Report (Toronto: Queen’s Printer, 1989), 4. figure 8 De Grassi cottage, Winter 1955. Source: File 7, Series 80, Photographs of the Don Valley, Charles Sauriol Fonds, City of Toronto Archives. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 633 of solitary retreat and communion with friends than the active hub of family life it had once been. Nevertheless, he resolved to ‘put up a fight to keep the old place.’56 In January 1967, Sauriol received the expropriation papers for de Grassi, and he was crushed. Still chair of the mtrca Conservation Areas Advisory Board, he understood well the Authority’s policy of removing dwellings from risky floodplain areas in the aftermath of Hazel, and of divorcing parklands from past signs of human occupation. He had held out hope, however, that his efforts in the valley would be celebrated rather than erased. ‘I would like to hold the dwelling’s hands these next few years,’ he wrote 25 January 1967, ‘watch the things I have planted grow, and take an interest in their affairs, so they are truly mine. . . . There will be a price [per] acre. . . . But the appraisal will not take into account the tiny pocket of bullrush that . . . brought the swamp tree frogs. . . , nor the border where my herbs grow. . . . This is the value I place on it.’57 By the fall of 1967 Sauriol had purchased property in eastern Ontario’s Hastings County, upon which he planned to rebuild a summer retreat. The mtrca took possession of de Grassi in 1968, bringing to an end over forty years of summering in the Don Valley. Over those years, Sauriol had seen the valley change from a rural borderland of farms and woodlands to an increasingly threatened corridor of urban green space. In the ironic loss of the cottage to conservation initiatives of his own making lay a recurrent tension in Sauriol’s life between private nature appreciation and the public good, and, for this newly created urban parkland, a tension frequently observed in parks his- toriography between the desire to create both a space for human recrea- tion and a wilderness devoid of human influences. That this wilderness should exist just a few hundred metres from a major expressway, and within one of Canada’s most urbanized watersheds, only furthered this irony. valley remembered In September 1989, Sauriol’s beloved East Don Valley received protec- tion as a nature reserve within the Toronto Parks system. Sauriol recalled the dedication as ‘the most rewarding, significant day in [his] long career as a conservationist.’58 Named in his honour, the Charles Sauriol 56 Sauriol, ‘Diary,’ 1964–9, file 27, box 123692, series 292, Diaries of Charles Sauriol, 1926–1994, Charles Sauriol Fonds, CTA. 57 Ibid. 58 Sauriol, Green Footsteps, 279. 634 The Canadian Historical Review Conservation Reserve stretched from the Forks northeast to Eglinton Avenue, encompassing sixty-seven hectares of signature valley lands. Fittingly, it commemorated both his lifelong commitment to valley conservation and a valley landscape mostly lost. Later that fall, Sauriol received the Order of Canada for his life’s work to protect natural spaces in Canada. 1989 also marked a turning point in citizen efforts to revitalize the Don. In February, Toronto City Council responded to concerns from local residents associations by endorsing a recommen- dation ‘that the Don River and its related recreation and wildlife areas be made fully useable, accessible and safe for the people of Toronto no later than the year 2001.’59 Two months later, Toronto magazine hosted a day-long public forum on the future of the Don at the Ontario Science Centre. Attended by about five hundred people, the forum represented a watershed in public awareness about the Don. Later that spring, the newly created Task Force to Bring Back the Don presented a vision for a clean, green, and accessible Don – a resurrec- tion, of sorts, of a long-neglected urban river. Since its establishment, some ten thousand Task Force volunteers have planted tens of thou- sands of trees, shrubs, and wildflowers in the Lower Don Valley, removed many tons of garbage and debris, and thrown their muscle behind forty restoration projects throughout the central and lower valley.60 The slow process of de-industrialization had created space for new possibilities. By the time of Sauriol’s death in 1995, the river had re-emerged as a symbol of urban health – specifically, the health of the relationship between urban residents and the natural environ- ment upon which they depend. Looking back on Sauriol’s remarkable life, and on the parallel history of the river in this period, one can discern the impressions of key moments in the environmental and cultural history of twentieth- century North America. As Sauriol planted trees to reforest his hold- ings and restore his land to health, he did so within the context of the early 1930s Dust Bowl in prairie Canada and the midwestern United States, and the conservationist ideologies of Aldo Leopold and others that emerged in response to such disasters. In the 1940s, when 59 Toronto City Council Proceedings, 23 Feb. 1989, cited in Mark J. Wilson (chair of the Task Force to Bring Back the Don 1991–8), ‘How Did the Task Force to Bring Back the Don Get Started?,’ http://www.toronto.ca/don/faq.htm). 60 A number of other citizen-led groups have since formed to address concerns about habitat degradation, access, and pollution in the watershed. See Jennifer Bonnell, ‘Bringing back the Don: Sixty Years of Community Action,’ in HtO: Toronto’s Water from Lake Iroquois to Lost Rivers to Low-flow Toilets, ed. Wayne Reeves and Christina Palassio (Toronto: Coach House Books, 2008), 266–83. Charles Sauriol and Toronto’s Don River Valley 635 http://www.toronto.ca/don/faq.htm Sauriol spearheaded a campaign to protect the Don Valley from urban encroachment, and to kindle in Torontonians a sense of respect for the ‘wilderness at [their] doorsteps,’61 he benefitted from (and con- tributed to) the shift toward watershed-level management of natural resources in Ontario. The construction of the Don Valley Parkway, with its huge reverberations in Sauriol’s life, had larger consequences still for the ecology of the watershed – the parkway constituting the largest single piece of infrastructure in the river valley. The turn toward floodplain protection following Hurricane Hazel and its con- sequences for Sauriol’s remaining holdings on the Don transformed remaining valley-bottom lands into public recreational amenities, reflecting at the same time an established trend in parks management of erasing signs of past habitation from the landscape. Finally, in Sauriol’s trajectory from conservationist-practitioner on his valley hold- ings to local activist to ‘conservation professional,’ we can chart the parallel development of the environmental movement in Canada, with its deeply pragmatic farmer-scientist roots. Historical participants in Toronto’s tumultuous twentieth century, both Sauriol and the Don emerged as hybrids: glancing backward to a rural, pre-modern past while moving inevitably toward an urban, modern future. Inasmuch as Sauriol’s ‘paradise’ was itself a hybrid landscape, part natural system and part cultural artifact, Sauriol himself personified this hybridity in his identity as part urban professional, part ‘back-fence producer.’ This ambivalence also emerged in his choice to live out his dream of the ‘simple life’ not in the wilds of Algonquin Park, but within a threatened rural landscape on the urban periphery. Witness to so much dramatic change through his long twentieth- century life, Sauriol gave voice to a profound sense of loss in his reflections about the river and its past. ‘One by one I have seen the landmarks of my day and of my surroundings disappear. . . . The farm- lands, the trails, the trees, buried in, covered over or chopped down,’ he wrote in 1981.62 Facing the loss of this milieu de mémoire, Sauriol drew comfort from his personal archive of experience – the documents, photo albums, books, and decades of diaries that comprised a personal lieu de mémoire, a symbolic representation of lived past experience. ‘I need but go to any one of them,’ Sauriol wrote in 1991, to ‘relive . . . those days when, as a young fellow, I . . . hefted a pack on a trek up the Don.’63 61 Sauriol, Remembering the Don, 18. 62 Ibid., 140. 63 Sauriol, Green Footsteps, 6. 636 The Canadian Historical Review 
work_a74qr52bmza75gvnjxr7shl27y	----	- 210 - Uluslararası Sosyal Araştırmalar Dergisi / The Journal of International Social Research Cilt: 11 Sayı: 59 Ekim 2018 Volume: 11 Issue: 59 October 2018 www.sosyalarastirmalar.com Issn: 1307-9581 http://dx.doi.org/10.17719/jisr.2018.2631 LOUISA MAY ALCOTT’IN GOOD WIVES ESERİNİN TÜRKÇE İKİ ÇEVİRİSİNİN ÇEVİRİ TARİHYAZIMI BAĞLAMINDA İNCELENMESİ ANALYSIS OF TWO TURKISH TRANSLATIONS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT’S WORK GOOD WIVES IN THE CONTEXT OF TRANSLATION HISTORIOGRAPHY Arsun URAS YILMAZ Serpil YAVUZ ÖZKAYA** Öz Çevirmenlerin kimliği, yaşadığı ve çalıştığı toplumsal bağlam, çeviri tarihinde önemli bir yere sahiptir. Bu çalışmada çevirmenlerin yaşam öykülerinden ve çeviri kararlarından yola çıkarak çevirmen kimliklerinin ortaya çıkarılması ve çeviri tar ihine katkıda bulunulması amaçlanmıştır. Bütünce olarak Amerikalı yazar Louisa May Alcott’ın Good Wives eseri ve Türkçeye Belkıs Sami (Boyar) (1930) ve Necmettin Arıkan (1966) tarafından yapılan iki çeviri seçilmiştir. Sami’nin çevirisi eserin Türkçeye yapılmış ilk çevirisidir. Arıkan’ın çevirisi ise ikinci çeviridir. Çalışmanın kuramsal çerçevesini Anthony Pym’in çeviri tarihyazımı oluşturmaktadır. Çevirmenlerin etkili toplumsal aktörler olarak ele alındığı Pym’in modelinde yer alan “arkeoloji” alanı doğrultusunda “kim, nerede, ne zaman, hangi metin” soruları, “tarihsel eleştiri” alanı doğrultusunda bir çevirinin yarattığı etki ve “açıklama” alanı doğrultusunda, belli bir yer ve zamanda neden arkeolojik olguların oluştuğunu ve bunların değişime nasıl katkıda bulunduğu ele alınmıştır. İncelemede, Amerikan Kız Koleji’nde öğrenim görmüş Sami’nin, çevirilerinde Amerikan kültürünü yansıtan tercihler yaptığı ve özellikle dini kavramları erek kültür e aktardığı ve bir eğitimci olan Arıkan’ın ise çevirisinde yabancı sözcüklere yer vererek bunları açıkladığı görülmüştür. Çevirmenlerin, sosyal sorumluluk, misyonerlik gibi çeşitli amaçlar doğrultusunda belirli tercihler yaptığı, çevirmenler ve çeviriler üzerinde yapıl an incelemelerle ortaya koyulmaya çalışılmıştır. Sonuç olarak, çevirmenler etkili toplumsal aktörler olarak ortaya çıkmıştır. Anahtar Kelimeler: Çevirmen Kimliği, Çeviri Tarihyazımı, Çeviri Arkeolojisi, Tarihsel Eleştiri, Açıklama. Abstract The identities of the translators and the social context in which they live and work have an important place in translation history. The aim of this study is to reveal the translators’ identity by making use of their translational choices and biographical information and to contribute to translation history. The corpus of this study includes American writer Louisa May Alcott’s Good Wives and its two Turkish translations by Belkıs Sami (Boyar) (1930) and Necmettin Arıkan (1966). Sami’s translation is the first translation of the work into Turkish. Arıkan’s is the second translation. Anthony Pym’s translation historiography constitutes the theoretical framework of the study. The questions “who translated what, how, where, when, for whom and with what effect” in line with “translation archeology”, the effects of the translators in line with “historical criticism” and the reasons “why archeological artefacts occurred when and where they did” in line with “explanation” are discussed according to Pym’s model which treats translators as effective social actors. In the analysis, it has been observed that Sami, who went to American College for Girls, reflected American culture, transferred and explained the religious terms in her translation while Arıkan, as an educator, borrowed and explained foreign terms in his translation. It can be said that th e translators made some choices reflecting their aims which include social responsibility and missionary. In conclusion, the translators appeared as effective social actors. Keywords: Translator’s Identity, Translation Historiography, Translation Archaeology, Historical Criticism, Explanation. 1. Giriş Bu çalışmada çevirmenlerin yaşam öykülerinden ve çeviri kararlarından yola çıkarak çevirmen kimliklerinin ortaya çıkarılması amaçlanmıştır. Bütünce olarak Louisa May Alcott’ın Good Wives eseri ve Türkçeye Belkıs Sami (1930) ve Necmettin Arıkan (1966) tarafından yapılan iki çeviri seçilmiştir. Çalışmanın kuramsal çerçevesini Anthony Pym’in çeviri tarihyazımı oluşturmaktadır. Bu bölümde öncelikle Louisa May Alcott’ın hayatı hakkında bilgi verilecektir. 1.1. Louisa May Alcott ve Good Wives Eseri Amerikalı yazar Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888) aile hayatı ve toplumsal konularla ilgili verdiği eserlerle tanınır. Bu konuları ele almasında içinde yetiştiği çevre etkilidir. Alcott’ın babası, eğitimci ve transandantalist filozof ve aynı zamanda Ralph Waldo Emerson ve Henry David Thoreau gibi yazarların arkadaşı olan Amos Bronson Alcott, kızlarının ahlaki ve düşünsel eğitiminde etkin rol oynar. Alcott’ın annesi Abba May Alcott ise çeşitli işlerde çalışarak ailenin geçimini sağlayan kişidir. Alcott’ın ailesi ekonomik açıdan sıkıntı içinde olduğundan Alcott ve ablası, belli bir yaşa gelir gelmez annelerinin izinden giderek dikiş dikme ve mürebbiyelik gibi çeşitli işlerde çalışmaya başlar. Yaşadığı  Prof. Dr., İstanbul Üniversitesi, Fransızca Mütercim Tercümanlık Bölümü. ** Arş. Gör., Kırklareli Üniversitesi, Fen-Edebiyat Fakültesi, Mütercim Tercümanlık Bölümü. Uluslararası Sosyal Araştırmalar Dergisi Cilt: 11 Sayı: 59 Yıl: 2018 The Journal of International Social Research Volume: 11 Issue: 59 Year: 2018 - 211 - ekonomik sıkıntılar onun yazarlığa da erken yaşta başlamasını sağlar. İlk eserleri masal, skeç ve aile romanı türündedir. Alcott, yirmili yaşlarında çeşitli işleri sebebiyle ailesinden uzakta yaşamaya başlar ve eserlerini de yaşadığı tecrübelerinden yola çıkarak oluşturur. Amerikan İç Savaşı’nda (1861-1865) gönüllü olarak hemşirelik yaptığı sıralarda yaşadıklarından yola çıkarak yazdığı Hospital Sketches (1863) başlıklı bir eseri bulunur. Alcott, Little Women eserini tavsiye üzerine yazar. Roberts Brothers Yayınevi, 1867’de erkek çocuklar için yazdığı hikayelerle büyük satış rakamlarına ulaşan yazarlara (Horatio Alger, Oliver Optic, vb.) bir karşılık olarak, Alcott’ın kızlar için ve kızlar hakkında bir kitap yazmasını tavsiye eder (Eiselein & Philips 2001, 178). Bir ablası (Anna Alcott Pratt) ve iki de küçük kızkardeşi (Elizabeth Sewall Alcott ve Abigail May Alcott Nieriker) olan Alcott yazdığı hikayede kendi ailesini model alır.1868’de yayımlanan Little Women büyük bir başarıya ulaşır. Bu eserin başarıya ulaşmasını sağlayan özelliklerden biri belirli toplumsal cinsiyet rolleri salık veren 19. ve 20. yüzyılda kızlar hakkında yazılan kitaplardan farklı olarak, bu eserde ele alınan karakterlerin hepsi birbirinden farklı isteklere, değerlere, zayıf yönlere ve özelliklere sahip olmasıdır. Bu yönüyle bu roman, o döneme kadar hakim olan didaktik, ahlakçı ve baskıcı çocuk edebiyatı eserlerinden ayrılır. Çünkü bu eser çocukları ve özellikle kız çocuklarını hayalpereset ve kusurları olan çocuklar olarak ele alır. Bu sebeple Little Women eserinin çocuk edebiyatında bir devrim gerçekleştirdiği iddia edilir (Eiselein & Philips, 2001, 181). Bu kitabın yayımlanması Alcott’ın, Amerika’daki en popüler ve en başarılı kadın yazar olmasını sağlar. Bu kitabın ulaştığı başarı ve okurların ilgisinden sonra Alcott, kitabın ikinci kısmını yazmaya başlar. Serinin ikinci kitabı İyi Zevceler de (İyi Hanımlar) [Good Wives] (ya da Little Women Wedded olarak da bilinir), altı ay sonra, 1869’da yayımlanır ve binlerce kopya satar. Bu iki kitap İngilizcede çoğu zaman tek cilt olarak birlikte yayımlanır. Amerika’daki İç Savaş döneminin tarihsel arka plan olarak geçtiği Little Women eserinde Jo, Meg, Beth ve Amy isimli dört kız kardeşin çocukluktan gençliğe geçişleri anlatılırken, Good Wives eserinde dört kız kardeşin yetişkinliğe geçişi ele alınır. Eser, Meg ve John’un düğünleriyle başlar. Meg, bir eş olarak yeni hayatına alışmaya çalışırken Amy, resim eğitimi almak için Carrol Teyze ile yurtdışına gider. Jo, yazmaya olan tutkusunu geliştirir ve çeşitli dergilere gönderdiği hikayelerle para kazanır ve ailesine destek olur. Annesi ve sağlık sorunları yaşayan kardeşi Beth’i deniz kenarına gönderir. Daha sonra Jo, March Teyze’nin arkadaşı Mrs. Kirke’nin çocuklarına mürebbiyelik yapmak için New York’a gider. Burada Friedrich Bhaer ile tanışır. Bhaer ona Almanca öğretir, yazdıklarını eleştirip kendisini geliştirmesini sağlar ve bir gazetede hikayelerinin yayımlanması için yardımcı olur. Jo, New York’tan döndüğünde sağlığı gittikçe kötüleşen Beth ile zaman geçirir. Kısa bir süre sonra Beth ölür. Kitabın sonunda üç kızkardeşin hepsi evlenirler ve mutlu bir yaşam sürerler. Bu seri Little Men (1871) ve Jo’s Boys (1886) eserlerinin yayımlanmasıyla devam eder. Alcott’ın birçok eserinde ele aldığı konularla feminist tartışmalara katkıda bulunduğu söylenebilir. Little Women eserinin yayımlandığı 1868’den öldüğü yıl olan 1888’e kadar yazdığı çok sayıda roman ve kısa hikayede 19. yüzyılda yaşayan kadınların hayatının bir kronolojisini sunar. Little Women üçlemesinin yanı sıra yazdığı Moods (1865), Work: A Story of Experience (1872), A Modern Mephistopheles ve A Whisper in the Dark (1888) başlıklı üç yetişkin romanının konusunu genellikle 19. yüzyılda kadınların yaşadığı aile hayatı ve bireysellik ikilemi oluşturur. Bu açıdan bakıldığında Alcott’ın bütün romanlarında ele alınan hem aile hayatı ve hem de bireysellik hakkı konusundaki ısrarıyla feminist tartışmalara katkıda bulunduğu söylenebilir. Little Women eserinin çok popüler olması onun farklı sanat alanlarında da ele alınmasını sağlar. Eser birçok kez sahneye, müzikale, opera, anime, bale ve sessiz filme uyarlanır. 2018 yılı kitabın yayımlanışının 150. yılı olduğu için bu sene yayımlanması planlanan bir film daha vardır. (bkz. http://www.willowandthatch.com/little-women-literary-film-adaptations/). Little Women akademik olarak da sıkça üzerinde çalışılan bir eserdir. 1940’lardan itibaren ve özellikle 1970’lerin ortasında akademik açıdan ele alınmaya başlayan eser (Eiselein & Philips, 2001, 180) uzun bir süredir çocuk edebiyatı derslerinin temel konularından birini oluşturur. Ayrıca, son zamanlarda Amerika çalışmaları ve kadın çalışmaları dersleri kapsamında da ele alınmaktadır (Eiselein & Philips, 2001, ix). Good Wives eseri Türkçeye ilk kez 1930’da “İyi Zevceler” başlığıyla Belkıs Sami tarafından çevrilir ve Muhit Neşriyat Şirketi tarafından yayımlanır. Eser, 1966’da Necmettin Arıkan tarafından yeniden çevrilir ve Rafet Zaimler Yayınevi’nce yayımlanır. Daha sonra “İyi Eşler” başlığıyla Mustafa Delioğlu tarafından çevrilmiş ve Yuva Yayınları’nca yayımlanmıştır. Eser 2007’de “İyi Eşler” başlığıyla Türkan Çolak tarafından çevrilmiş ve Artemis Yayınları tarafından yayımlanmıştır. 2009’da “İyi Eşler” başlığıyla Nilgün Erzik tarafından çevrilmiş ve Epsilon Yayınları tarafından yayımlanmıştır. Cevdet Serbest tarafından 2012’de “İyi Hanımlar” başlığıyla çevrilmiş ve Türkiye İş Bankası tarafından yayımlanmıştır. Bu çalışma kapsamında Good Wives eserinin 1930 ve 1966 yıllarında yapılan çevirileri ele alınacaktır. Cumhuriyet’in ilk yıllarında, 1930’da Belkıs Sami tarafından yapılan çeviri, Amerikan Edebiyatı’ndan Türkçeye yapılan ilk çeviriler arasında olması sebebiyle önemli görülmüştür. O tarihlerde bu eserin, Amerikan Uluslararası Sosyal Araştırmalar Dergisi Cilt: 11 Sayı: 59 Yıl: 2018 The Journal of International Social Research Volume: 11 Issue: 59 Year: 2018 - 212 - misyonerlik faaliyetleri doğrultusunda ve Amerikan tarzı yaşam biçiminin Türkiye’de yerleştirilmesi amacıyla çevrildiği düşünülebilir. Bu çalışmada ele alınacak, Good Wives eserinin çevirmenlerinden biri olan Belkıs Sami (Boyar) edebiyat tarihimizin önemli siması Halide Edip’in kız kardeşidir. Belkıs Sami 1894’te doğar ve Halide Edip gibi Amerikan Koleji’nde öğrenim görür. Burada aldığı Amerikan tarzı eğitimin hem çevirdiği eserlerin seçiminde hem de çeviri kararlarında etkili olduğu söylenebilir. Amerikan Kız Koleji, Osmanlı’da yaşayan Müslümanları Protestanlığa döndürme amacı taşıyan Amerikan Misyoner Heyeti’nin bu konuda başarısız olunca Amerikan tarzı eğitim vermek üzere açtığı okullardan biridir. Sami’nin Türkçeye çevirdiği birçok eser arasından ilki Müslüman - Hristiyan ilişkilerinde önemli bir figür olan ve 1899-1928 yılları arasında Mısır’da misyoner olarak hizmet eden William Henry Temple Gairdner’ın “İlk Fasih Bayramı Gecesi” başlıklı eseridir. Bu eser Türkçede 1923’te Amerikan Misyoner Heyeti tarafından yayımlanmıştır. Amerikan Koleji’nde eğitim görmüş olan Sami’nin bu eseri çevirmesi, Hristiyanlığı yayma amacı taşıyan Amerikan Heyeti’nin misyonerlik faaliyetlerine uygun düştüğü söylenebilir. Sami, Alcott’ın üçlemesinin ilk ikisini, yani Little Women ve Good Wives eserlerini çevirir. Little Women, Sami tarafından 1925’te çevrilmiş ve bir Ermeni matbaası olan Samoil Harutyonyan Matbaası tarafından yayımlanmıştır. Bu eserlerin seçimi de, Osmanlı topraklarında yaşayan Türk kadınlarının genç kızlık dönemi olmadığını düşünen Amerikan misyonerlerinin bu görüşlerini yansıttığı söylenebilir. Amerikan Kız Koleji’nde 1900 - 1909 yılları arasında İngilizce ve Latince öğretmenliği yapan Hester Donaldson Jenkins, Osmanlı topraklarında yaşayan Türk kadınlarıyla ilgili yazdığı kitabında, kız çocuklarının yeterince eğitim almadan doğrudan genç eşlere dönüştüğünü iddia eder (Kahlenberg, 2016, 155). Alcott’ın kitaplarında yer alan dört kız kardeşin hayatları, Amerika dışındaki okurlar için alternatif yaşam tarzları sunması özelliğiyle dikkat çekicidir. Sami’nin çevirdiği bir diğer gençlik eseri de İskoç yazar Robert Michael Ballantyne’ın The Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean başlıklı eseridir. Sami, bu eseri, Türkçeye “Mercan Adası: Cenubi Bahr-i Muhiti Kebir’de Sergüzeşt” başlığıyla aktarmıştır. Sami’nin çevirileri dışında bir de telif eseri bulur. 1926’da kaleme aldığı “Aşkımı Öldürdüm” eseri o dönem “Son Saat” gazetesinde tefrika olarak yayımlanmıştır. Bu eser 2017’de Koç Üniversitesi Yayınları tarafından kitap olarak yayımlanır. Belkıs Sami’nin kendi yaşamından izler barındıran eser döneminin popüler edebiyat yapıtları arasında yer alır. Toplumun üst sınıfına temas eden bu aşk romanı, yazarının ve ana karakterinin kadın olması ve anlatının kadın merkezli olması itibariyle de ayrı bir önem taşır. Son olarak Sami, William Shakespeare’in VIII. Henry: the Famous History of the Life of King Henry VIII başlıklı eserini çevirmiştir (bu çeviride Belkıs Boyar olarak geçer). Eser, Milli Eğitim Basımevi tarafından “dünya edebiyatından tercümeler” serisi kapsamında 1947’de yayımlanmıştır. Bu çeviri, 19 Mart 1947 tarihinde yayımlanan 41 - 42 sayılı Tercüme dergisinde, Tercüme Bürosu’nun hazırladığı klasikler listesinde Tercüme Bürosu tarafından Türkçeye çevrilen 303 İngiliz klasik eserinden biri olarak geçer. Bu kitabın girişinde dönemin cumhurbaşkanı İsmet İnönü’nün yazdığı ve tercüme külliyatının kültürümüzdeki önemini vurguladığı yazısı, o dönemde çeviriye verilen önemi gösterir. Louisa May Alcott’ın Good Wives eserinin bir başka çevirmeni Necmettin Arıkan Türk çeviri edebiyatı dizgesine büyük katkılarda bulunmuş bir çevirmendir. Robinson Kruzoe’dan Pinokyo’ya birçok çocuk edebiyatı eserini Türkçeye kazandırmıştır. Ayrıca Arıkan, “yabancı dil derslerinde güçlük çeken öğrencilere yardımı dokunacak, onların rastlayacağı güçlükleri gerekli açıklamalar ve örneklerle ortadan kaldıracak ve bu suretle sayın öğretmenlerin de daha memnun edici bir randıman almalarında rolü olacak bir kitap serisi” hazırlamış bir öğretmendir (Arıkan, 1975, 3). Bunların yanı sıra çocuk edebiyatı alanında telif eserleri de bulunan Arıkan, Louisa May Alcott’ın Good Wives eserini 1966’da çevirmiştir. Bu çalışmada, bu çevirilerin belirli bir zaman ve mekânda neden üretildiğinin, çeviri tarihyazımı kapsamında araştırılması amaçlanmaktadır. Bunların çevirmenlere odaklanılarak anlaşılabileceğini düşünen Anthony Pym çeviri tarihinde dört temel ilke önerir (Pym, 1998, ix). Birinci ilke, çeviri tarihinin belli bir zaman ve mekânda neden çeviri üretildiğini açıklaması gereğidir. Başka bir deyişle çeviri tarihi, toplumsal nedenselliğe işaret etmelidir. İkinci ilke, tarihsel bilginin merkezdeki nesnesinin çevirmen olması gerektiğini görmektir. Çevirilerin neden ortaya çıktığını anlamak için sürece dâhil olan kişilere bakılmalıdır. Üçüncü ilke, çeviri tarihinin çevirmenlere, onların yaşadıkları yerlere ve toplumsal bağlamlara eğilmesi gereğidir. Dördüncü ilke ise neden çeviri tarihi çalışıldığının açıklanmasıdır. Bu ilkeler doğrultusunda Pym, çeviri tarihyazımını “çeviri arkeolojisi” [translation archaelogy], “tarihsel eleştiri” [historical criticism] ve “açıklama” [explanation] olmak üzere üç aşamaya ayırır. Bu modelde “arkeoloji” alanı “kim, nerede, ne zaman, hangi metin” sorularını araştırır ve varsayımları savunmak için veri sağlar. “Tarihsel eleştiri” alanı bir çevirinin yarattığı etkiyi belirler. “Açıklama” alanı, belli bir yer ve zamanda neden Uluslararası Sosyal Araştırmalar Dergisi Cilt: 11 Sayı: 59 Yıl: 2018 The Journal of International Social Research Volume: 11 Issue: 59 Year: 2018 - 213 - arkeolojik olguların oluştuğunu ve bunların değişime nasıl katkıda bulunduğunu açıklamaya çalışır. Burada çevirmenler etkili toplumsal aktörler olarak ortaya çıkar (Pym, 1998, 5-6). Çeviriler ve çevirmenler tarihsel bağlama ne kadar iyi yerleştirilse yerleştirilsin, çevirilerin nasıl yapıldığı ve alımlandığı bilinmeden tarihsel bilgi yarım kalır. Çevirilerin nasıl yapıldığını görmek çevirilerin okunması ve çözümlenmesini gerektirir. Pym “aktif” ve “pasif” yeniden çeviriler arasında yapılacak karşılaştırmalardan bahseder ve aktif yeniden çeviriler arasında karşılaştırma yapmayı tavsiye eder (Pym, 1998, 106-107). Pym, aktif ve pasif çevirileri şöyle açıklar: Erek kültürde meydana gelen dilsel ve kültürel değişimlerin sonucu periyodik olarak yeniden çeviriler yapılır. Bunun gibi, aralarında çok az çekişme olan ve içindeki bilgilerin birbiriyle çelişmediği çeviriler “pasif yeniden çeviriler” olarak adlandırılır. Pym’e göre, pasif yeniden çeviriler arasında yapılan incelemeler, erek kültürdeki tarihsel değişimler hakkında veri sağlama eğilimindedir (Pym, 1998, 82). Aralarında farklılıklar bulunan, farklı okurlara hitap eden ve farklı işlevler gören çeviriler de “aktif yeniden çeviri” olarak adlandırılır. Aktif yeniden çevirilerin karşılaştırmalı çözümlemesi, patron, yayımcı, okur ve kültürlerarası politikalarla çevrili çevirmenle ilgili gerekçeler tespit etme eğilimindedir. Pym’e göre aktif yeniden çeviriler üzerinde yapılacak çalışmalar, çevirinin doğasıyla ilgili daha iyi fikir verebilir (Pym, 1998, 82- 83). Bu çalışmanın bütüncesini oluşturan Belkıs Sami ve Necmettin Arıkan’ın yaptığı çeviriler arasında tarihsel farklılık bulunmakla birlikte bu iki çevirinin farklı işlevler gördüğü düşünülebilir. Bu çeviriler arasında yapılacak karşılaştırmanın aktif yeniden çeviriler arasında gerçekleştiği söylenebilir. Bu çalışmada ele alınan iki çeviride, erek kültürde meydana gelen tarihsel değişimlerin bir sonucu olarak değerlendirilebilecek farklılıkların yanı sıra çevirmenlerin farklı amaçlarından kaynaklanan farklılıklar bulunduğu söylenebilir. Aktif yeniden çeviriler olarak ele alınan bu iki çeviride yer alan örnekleri “Amerikan Kültürüyle İlgili Söylem Örnekleri” ve “Tarihsel Değişimle İlgili Söylem Örnekleri” olarak ikiye ayırmak mümkündür. Ele alınan her örnek, çeviri tarihyazımını oluşturan çeviri arkeolojisi, tarihsel eleştiri ve açıklama aşamaları göz önünde bulundurularak açıklanmıştır. 2. Amerikan Kültürüyle İlgili Söylem Örnekleri 2.1. Örnek/Bağlam (1) L.M.A: John Brooke did his duty manfully for a year, got wounded, was sent home, and not allowed to return (s. 2). B.S.: Con Bruk bir sene kadar mert bir vatandaş gibi vazifesini yaptı, yaralandı evine gönderildi, tekrar cebheye avdetine müsaade edilmedi (s. 7). N.A.: John Brooke bir yıl vazifesini erkekçe yaptı, yaralandı; kendisini evine gönderip tekrar dönmesine müsaade etmediler (s. 4). Kitabın giriş bölümünden alınan bu örnekte daha sonra Meg’le evlenen John Brooke karakterinden bahsedilmektedir. B.S. karakterlerin isimlerini Türkçe okunuşlarıyla N.A. ise orijinalinde yer aldığı şekliyle yazmıştır. B.S.’nin bu tercihiyle, okurlar tarafından kolayca kabul edilen bir eser ortaya koymayı amaçladığı söylenebilir. Pym’in çeviri tarihyazımı modelinde çevirinin yarattığı etkiyi ele alan tarihsel eleştiriye göre, B.S.’nin yabancı kültürü okurlara tanıdık kıldığı iddia edilebilir. 2.2. Örnek/Bağlam (2) L.M.A.: When she came down, looking like a pretty Quakeress in her dove-colored suit and straw bonnet tied with white, they all gathered about her to say “good-by”, as tenderly as if she had been going to make the grand tour (s. 22). B.S.: Küçük bir Kuveyker (*) gibi kurşunî esvabı beyaz kurdela ile bağlı hasır şapkasiyle aşağı indiği zaman herkes veda için etrafına toplandı (s. 38). (*) “Kuveyker”lik bir mezheptir ki mensupları çok sade, bilhassa kurşunî elbise giyerler. N.A.: Meg pembeye çalan kurşunî renkli elbisesi içinde ve beyaz kurdelâyla bağlanmış hasır şapkasiyle güzel bir rahibeyi andıraraktan, aşağı indiği zaman, bütün ev halkı sanki uzun bir yolculuğa çıkıyormuş gibi ona şefkatla: “Güle güle!” demek için etrafını aldı (s. 23). Meg karakterinin düğünden sonra evden ayrılışıyla ilgili bölümden alınan bu örnekte B.S., kaynak metindeki Quakeress sözcüğünü “Kuveyker” şeklinde çevirmiş ve bunu açıklamak için dipnot vermiştir. Burada Sami’nin Hristiyanlığa ait bir kavramı tanıttığı görülürken N.A.’nın okurlara tanıdık bir sözcük tercih ederek, bu kavramı nötrleştirdiği söylenebilir. Çevirinin yarattığı etki düşünülecek olursa, Sami’nin, Hristiyanlığa ait bir kavramı ön plana çıkararak okurlarda yabancı kültürün etkisini hissettirdiği söylenebilir. Uluslararası Sosyal Araştırmalar Dergisi Cilt: 11 Sayı: 59 Yıl: 2018 The Journal of International Social Research Volume: 11 Issue: 59 Year: 2018 - 214 - 1930’lu yıllarda Türkiye’de yapılan bu çevirinin değişime olan katkısı, okurların Hristiyan kültürüne yakın olmalarını sağlamak şeklinde ifade edilebilir. Sami etkili toplumsal bir aktör olarak ortaya çıkmıştır. 2.3. Örnek/Bağlam (3) L.M.A.: […] and Laurie’s birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch- guard (s. 34). B.S.: Lorinin Eymiye isim günü hediyesi olarak verdiği ne idi biliyor musunuz? Saat kordonuna takılmak üzre tılısım şeklinde küçük kırmızı bir istakoz! (s. 57) N.A.: Laurie de doğum gününde, saatine takması için Amy’ye süs olarak yapılmış mercandan mini mini bir istakoz hediye etti… (s. 35). Laurie’nin Amy’ye verdiği doğumgünü hediyesinden bahsedilen bu örnekte B.S., kaynak metinde geçen birthday sözcüğünü Hristiyanlığa ait bir gelenek olan “isim günü” şeklinde karşılamıştır. Tarihsel eleştiri doğrultusunda, Sami’nin, kaynak kültürdeki bu dini geleneği tanıtmak amacıyla erek kültürde yabancı kültürün etkisini hissettirdiği söylenebilir. Bu çevirinin yapıldığı dönemde, okurların Hristiyan kültürüne yakın olmalarını sağladığı iddia edilebilir. Bunun yanı sıra “isim günü” eski Türk geleneklerinde olan ve Dede Korkut Hikayeleri’nde geçen “ad günü”nü akla getirdiğinden farklı yorumlar da yapılabilir. 2.4. Örnek/Bağlam (4) L.M.A: “This will be a regularly merry Christmas to me, with presents in the morning, you and letters in the afternoon, and a party at night, said Amy […] (s. 176). B.S.: O vakit Eymi: “Bu benim için tam bir Krismıs olacak,” dedi. Öğleden evel hediyeler, öğleden sonra sen, mektuplar (s. 266). N.A.: […] Amy: -Benim için dört başı mamur bir yılbaşı bu: Sabahleyin hediyeler, öğleden sonra sen, mektuplar.. (s. 173). Amy ve Laurie’nin Nice’te karşılaşıp birlikte Noel kutlamasına katılmalarının konu edildiği bölümden alınan bu örnekte B.S., kaynak metinde geçen Christmas sözcüğünü “Krismıs”, N.A. ise “yılbaşı” olarak çevirmiştir. Hristiyanların kutladığı dini bir gün olan Christmas, Sami tarafından erek metinde korunmakla birlikte okunduğu gibi yazılmıştır. Çevirinin yarattığı etki söz konusu olduğunda bu örnekte, Sami’nin yabancı kültüre ait bir geleneği erek okurlara aktardığı söylenebilir. Bu çevirinin, okurların Hristiyan kültürüne yakın olmalarını sağladığı iddia edilebilir. 2.5. Örnek/Bağlam (5) L.M.A.: […] having located it in Lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a striking and appropriate dénouement (s. 38). B.S.: Mevzuuna sahne olarak Lizbon şehrini intihap ettiği için canlı ve minasip bir netice olarak da zelzele koymağı düşündü (s. 62-63). N.A.: […] hâdiseleri Lizbon’da geçiriyormuş gibi gösterdikten sonra, göze çarpan ve yerinde bir dénouement olarak ta hikâyeyi bir yer sarsıntısıyla sona erdirmişti (s. 38). Jo’nun yazdığı bir hikayeden bahsedilen bu bölümde kaynak metinde geçen Fransızca dénouement sözcüğünü B.S. “netice” sözcüğü ile karşılamış ve N.A. ise dénouement sözcüğünü kullanmıştır. Önceki örneklerde yabancı kavramlara çevirisinde yer verme eğilimi olduğu görülen B.S.’nin özellikle dini kavramlar söz konusu olduğunda misyonerlik düşünceleri doğrultusunda bu yöntemi tercih ettiği, N.A.’nın ise yabancı bir kavramı tanıtma düşüncesiyle ödünçleme yaptığı iddia edilebilir. Çevirinin etkisi düşünüldüğünde N.A.’nın yabancı kültürün etkisini erek okura hissettirdiği söylenebilir. Ayrıca eğitimci kişiliğinin de etkisiyle okurlara yeni kavramlar öğretme çabasının olduğu da iddia edilebilir. 2.6. Örnek/Bağlam (6) L.M.A: The Palais Royale is a heavenly place,-so full of bijouterie and lovely things that I’m nearly distracted because I can’t buy them (s. 97). B.S.: Pale Royal cennet gibi bir yer. O kadar güzel şeyler, o kadar elmasvari, onları alamamak yesiyle çıldırıyorum (s. 150). N.A.: Palais Royal sanki cennetten bir köşe: o kadar bijouterie (*) ve güzel şeylerle dolu ki, onlardan alamıyorum diye nerdeyse aklımı oynatacağım (s. 97). (*) Mücevherat Amy’nin Paris’te bulunduğu sırada yazdığı bir mektuptan alınan bu örnekte kaynak metinde geçen bijouterie sözcüğü B.S. tarafından “elmasvari”, N.A. tarafından “bijouterie” olarak çevrilmiştir. Ayrıca N.A. bir dipnot ekleyerek bu sözcüğü “mücevherat” olarak açıklamıştır. Bu örnekte de N.A.’nın yabancı bir kavramı Uluslararası Sosyal Araştırmalar Dergisi Cilt: 11 Sayı: 59 Yıl: 2018 The Journal of International Social Research Volume: 11 Issue: 59 Year: 2018 - 215 - tanıtma düşüncesiyle ödünçleme yaptığı iddia edilebilir. Çevirinin yarattığı etkiyi ele alan tarihsel eleştiri bağlamında N.A.’nın kaynak metnin yabancılığını okura hissettirdiği söylenebilir. Ayrıca Arıkan’ın eğitimci kişiliği okurlara yeni kavramlar öğretme çabasında etkili olmuştur. 2.7. Örnek/Bağlam (7) L.M.A.: “’Yes; and she’s jolly and we like her lots,’ added Kitty, who is an enfant terrible (s. 124). B.S.: Yaramaz Keti ilâve etti: “Çok şen, biz onu çok seviyoruz.” (s. 190). N.A.: Bir enfant terrible olan Kitty hemen ilave etti (*) -Evet.. O kadar şen ki, hepimiz onu pek çok seviyoruz.. (s. 122) (*) Sözleriyle, hareketleriyle anasını babasını müşkül vaziyette bırakan yaramaz, geveze çocuk. Jo’nun New York’ta mürebbiyelik yaptığı iki kızdan biri olan Kitty’nin onu Mr. Bhaer ile tanıştırdığı bölümden alınan bu örnekte kaynak metinde geçen enfant terrible sözcük öbeği B.S. tarafından “yaramaz”, N.A. tarafından “enfant terrible” olarak aktarılmıştır. Ayrıca N.A. bir dipnot ekleyerek bir açıklama yapmıştır. Bu örnekte de N.A.’nın yabancı bir kavramı tanıtma düşüncesiyle ödünçleme yaptığı iddia edilebilir. Tarihsel eleştiri bağlamında N.A.’nın yabancı kültürün etkisini vurguladığı görülmektedir. Ayrıca bir eğitimci olarak okurlara yeni kavramlar öğretmeyi amaçlamış olduğu söylenebilir. 3. Tarihsel Değişimle İlgili Söylem Örnekleri 3.1. Örnek/Bağlam (1) L.M.A.: “I don’t want a fashionable wedding, but only those about me whom I love, and to them I wish to look and be my familiar self.” (s. 15). B.S.: “Bugün hazırlanmış bir yabancı olmak istemiyorum, diyordu, alamot bir düğün istemiyorum. Etrafımda yalnız sevdiklerimi ve onların arasında da asıl kendimi görmek isterim” (s. 28). N.A.: “Bugün acayip görünüp herkesin gözünü üzerime dikmesini istemiyorum,” diyordu; “ben modaya uygun bir düğün değil, fakat yalnız sevdiklerimi etrafımda görmek istiyor, ve onlara her zamanki halimle görünmeyi arzu ediyorum.” (s. 17). “İpek, dantel ve portakal çiçeği gibi şeylere rağbet etmeyen” ve sade bir düğün isteyen Meg’e ait bu cümlede geçen fashionable sözcüğünü B.S. Türkçeye Fransızcadan geçen “alamot” sözcüğü ile karşılamıştır. Bu sözcük bazı Türkçe kaynaklarda “alamod” olarak yer alır. N.A. bu sözcüğü “modaya uygun” şeklinde karşılamıştır. Çevirinin yarattığı etki düşünülecek olursa, Sami’nin sözcük seçiminin onun elitist bir yaklaşım benimsediğini ve okur kitlesi olarak Fransızca bilen üst sınıfları hedef aldığını gösterir. 1930’larda İngilizceden Türkçeye yapılan bu çeviride Fransızca sözcüklerin olması, o dönemde Fransız kültürünün Türkçe üzerindeki etkisiyle açıklanabilir. 3.2. Örnek/Bağlam (2) L.M.A.: But overstrained eyes soon caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a bold attempt at poker-sketching (s. 23). B.S.: Bu sefer daha cür’etkâr teşebbüsle pirogravör, yani kızgın demirle tahta üzerine resim yapmağa başladı (s. 39). N.A.: … büyük bir cesaretle Poker-Sketcing işlerine kalkıştı;… (s. 23). Amy’nin sanat teşebbüslerinin konu edildiği bir bölümden alınan bu örnekte B.S. kaynak metinde geçen poker-sketching [ahşap yakma sanatı] sözcüğünü Fransızca “pirogravür” sözcüğü ile karşılamıştır ve bu kavramın ne olduğunu açıklamıştır. N.A. ise sözcüğü kaynak metindeki gibi bırakarak “Poker-Sketcing” şeklinde karşılamıştır. Tarihsel eleştiriye göre, Sami’nin sözcük seçimi onun belli bir kesimi hedeflediğini ve yabancı bir kavramı tanıtmayı amaçladığını gösterir. Bu sözcüğün Türkçeye Fransızcadan geçmesi, Fransız kültürünün o dönemdeki etkisini gösterir. 3.3. Örnek/Bağlam (3) L.M.A.: Just now it’s the fashion to be hideous,-to make your head look like a scrubbing-brush, wear a strait- jacket, orange gloves, and clumping, square-toed boots. If it was cheap ugliness, I’d say nothing; but it costs as much as the other, and I don’t get any satisfaction out of it (s. 12). B.S.: Şimdiki moda kendini korkunç yapmak mıdır? Başınızı tahta fırçasına benzetirsiniz, düz bir jaket, turuncu eldiven, dört köşe burunlu koça botinler, bari ucuz çirkinlik olsa bir şey demiyeceğim (s. 24). N.A.: Şimdi de moda galiba çirkin olmak – Başın tahta fırçası gibi kel kel, arkanda bir deli gömleği, elinde turuncu eldivenler, ayağında tak-tak öten dört köşe uçlu kunduralar. Bu çirkin şeyler ucuz olsa bari, canım yanmaz; ama paradan yana ötekilerden hiç aşağı kalır yerleri yok.. (s. 14). Uluslararası Sosyal Araştırmalar Dergisi Cilt: 11 Sayı: 59 Yıl: 2018 The Journal of International Social Research Volume: 11 Issue: 59 Year: 2018 - 216 - Jo ve Teddy arasında geçen bir konuşmada Jo’ya ait bu cümlede geçen boot sözcüğü B.S. tarafından “botin”, N.A. tarafından “kundura” sözcükleriyle karşılanmıştır. Sami’nin tercih ettiği “botin” sözcüğü, Türkçeye Fransızcadan geçen birçok giyim teriminden biridir. Çevirinin etkisi düşünülecek olursa, Sami’nin sözcük seçimi, onun okur olarak Fransızcaya hâkim olan üst sınıfları hedeflediğini gösterir. Ayrıca Fransız kültürünün etkisi özellikle giyimle ilgili sözcüklerde dikkat çekicidir. 3.4. Örnek/Bağlam (4) L.M.A.: Her “scribbling suit” consisted of a black woollen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action (s. 35). B.S.: İş esvabı, istediği zaman serbestçe kalemini silebileceği siyah bir göğüslük ve neş’eli kırmızı fiyongosuyla ayni kumaştan siyah bir başlıktı (s. 58). N.A.: Jo’nun “yazı takımı” istediği vakit mürekkepli kalemini silebildiği siyah yün bir önlükle, yazı yazmaya başlıyacağı zaman, içine saçlarını soktuğu, kırmızı bir şeritle süslü, aynı maddeden yapılmış bir başlıktan ibaretti (s. 35). Jo’nun romanını yazmasıyla ilgili bölümden alınan bu örnekte kaynak metinde geçen bow sözcüğü B.S. tarafından “fiyongo”, N.A. tarafından “şerit” olarak çevrilmiştir. “Fiyango” İtalyancadan geçmiş bir sözcüktür. Çeviri tarihyazımı modelindeki tarihsel eleştiri bağlamında, Sami’nin sözcük seçimiyle Fransızcaya aşina olan elit çevrelere hitap ettiği görülür. 1930’larda İngilizceden yapılan bu çeviride İtalyanca ve Fransızca sözcüklerin olması, özellikle giyim terimleri konusunda bu kültürlerin Türkçe üzerindeki etkisiyle açıklanabilir. 4. Sonuç Bu çalışmada çevirmenlerin yaşam öykülerinden ve çeviri kararlarından yola çıkarak çevirmen kimlikleri ortaya çıkarılmaya çalışılmıştır. Bütünce olarak Louisa May Alcott’ın Good Wives eseri ve Türkçeye Belkıs Sami ve Necmettin Arıkan tarafından yapılmış çeviriler ele alınmıştır. Pym’in deyişiyle aktif yeniden çeviriler olarak ele alınan iki çevirinin çözümlenmesi sırasında çevirmenlere odaklanılarak, çevirilerin belirli bir zaman ve mekânda neden üretildiğinin anlaşılması amaçlanmıştır. Bu doğrultuda, Pym’in çeviri tarihyazımı modelini oluşturan çeviri arkeolojisi, tarihsel eleştiri ve açıklama başlıkları altında, çevirmenlerin kararları ele alınmıştır. Pym’in modelinde yer alan tarihsel eleştiri kapsamında düşünüldüğünde, Amerikan Kız Koleji’nde öğrenim görmüş Sami’nin, çevirilerinde Amerikan kültürünü yansıtan tercihler yaptığı ve özellikle dini kavramları erek kültüre aktardığı iddia edilmiştir. Bu iddia örneklerle desteklenmeye çalışılmıştır. Tarihsel değişimle ilgili örneklerde Sami’nin, okur kitlesi olarak Fransızca bilen üst sınıfları hedef aldığını gösteren sözcük seçimleri ele alınmıştır. Arıkan’ın ise çevirisinde yabancı sözcüklere yer vererek bunları açıklaması onun eğitimci kişiliğiyle açıklanmıştır. Sami ve Arıkan’ın yaşam öyküsü ve çeviri kararları ile çevirmen kişiliği arasındaki ilişki ortaya koyulmaya çalışılmıştır. Bir insan olarak çevirmenin, çeviri tarihinde merkezi bir role sahip olduğu söylenebilir. Bu doğrultuda Pym, bir çevirinin belli bir zaman ve mekânda neden yapıldığını anlamak için çevirmenlere odaklanılması gerektiğini söyler ve çeviri tarihinde çevirmenlere özel bir önem atfeder. Çünkü ona göre sadece insanlar, sosyal nedenselliğe uygun sorumluluğa sahiptir. Pym’in de belirttiği gibi çevirmenlerin yaşadıkları ve çalıştıkları toplumsal bağlamlar incelenerek çevirmenlerin çeviri tarihindeki izlerine ulaşılabilir. Bu çalışmada çevirmenlerin, sosyal sorumluluk, misyonerlik gibi çeşitli amaçlar doğrultusunda belirli tercihler yaptığı, çevirmenler ve çeviriler üzerinde yapılan incelemelerle ortaya koyulmaya çalışılmıştır. Sonuç olarak, yapılan incelemede de çevirmenlerin toplumsal ve kültürel konumu ve kimliğinin çevirilere yansıdığı görülmüştür. KAYNAKÇA Alcott, Louisa May (2016). Good Wives. London: Collins Classics. Alcott, Louisa May (1930). İyi Zevceler. İstanbul: Muhit Neşriyat Şirketi. Alcott, Louisa May (1966). İyi Zevceler. İstanbul: Rafet Zaimler Yayınevi. Arıkan, Necmettin (1975). Türkçe Karşılıklarıyla Herkes İçin Yardımcı İngilizce Dersleri Orta: 2. İstanbul: Rafet Zaimler Yayınevi. Eiselein, Gregory & Philips, Anne K. (2001). The Louisa May Alcott Encyclopedia. Connecticut: Greenwood Press. Elbert, Sarah (1984). A Hunger for Home: Louisa May Alcott and Little Women. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Kahlenberg, Caroline (2016). ‘The Gospel of Health’: American Missionaries and the Transformation of Ottoman/Turkish Women’s Bodies, 1890-1932. Gender & History, S. 1, Cilt. 28, s. 150-176. Pym, Anthony (1998). Method in Translation History. Manchester: St. Jerome. Yararlanılan İnternet Erişim Adresi http://www.willowandthatch.com/little-women-literary-film-adaptations 
work_aaaaivz7wzadhl2fgqwh3yjmq4	----	Nature in the Eye of the Beholder: A Case Study for Cultural Humility as a Strategy to Broaden Participation in STEM education sciences Concept Paper Nature in the Eye of the Beholder: A Case Study for Cultural Humility as a Strategy to Broaden Participation in STEM Maria N. Miriti Department of Evolution, Ecology and Organismal Biology, The Ohio State University, 318 W. 12th Avenue, Columbus, OH 43210, USA; miriti.1@osu.edu Received: 12 November 2019; Accepted: 6 December 2019; Published: 8 December 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: Science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM) disciplines suffer from chronically low participation of women and underrepresented minorities. Diversity enhancement initiatives frequently attempt to mitigate skill deficits such as math skills in an attempt to improve preparedness of these students. However, such interventions do not address cultural or social barriers that contribute to the isolation and marginalization that discourage continued participation in STEM. Science exists and is developed within social constructs.; because of this, cultural conflicts can occur pertaining to contrasting cultural belief systems between educators and students, or to socially-biased perspectives that are embedded in disciplinary values. These conflicts are implicated in the low recruitment and retention of underrepresented students in STEM. To address the relationship between culture and STEM diversity, I present a case study that examines the role of culturally-biased views of nature on the lack of diverse participation in ecology and environmental biology. I conclude by advocating the use of inclusive, culturally-sensitive teaching practices that can improve the climate for underrepresented students and increase diverse recruitment and retention in STEM. Keywords: cultural competence; biocultural homogenization; Anglo-Eurocentrism 1. Introduction Lack of broad participation may be one of the biggest challenges to achieving diversity in science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM) disciplines. Interventions that range from “pipeline” strategies such as the Summer Research Opportunities Program (SROP) sponsored by the Big 10 Alliance Universities, funded programs such as the National Science Foundation’s Louis Stokes Alliance for Minority Participation (LSAMP) grants, to prioritization of research funding for proposals that include meaningful broader impact strategies, have been developed to incentivize diverse participation in STEM. Access to research opportunities such as these figure prominently in STEM diversity enhancement strategies, and there is evidence-based support that such activities attract diverse participants [1–4]. Nevertheless, retention of underrepresented students remains low for many STEM disciplines [5]. Research opportunities are valuable for recruiting underrepresented students, but they do not readily address cultural and social barriers that can contribute to the isolation and marginalization that reduce student retention in STEM academic programs [6,7]. Cultural barriers in STEM participation may be challenging to address because of the value of objectivity in these disciplines and research emphases on empirical, objective, and largely non-cultural topics. However, Vakil and Ayers [8] caution that STEM is not independent of socio-political biases—scientific values and knowledge production have frequently omitted the contributions and experiences of those outside the dominant culture. Consequently, cultural and social barriers are exacerbated with low diversity in certain academic disciplines or institutions [7,9,10]. Barriers persist, Educ. Sci. 2019, 9, 291; doi:10.3390/educsci9040291 www.mdpi.com/journal/education http://www.mdpi.com/journal/education http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0002-6976-0265 http://www.mdpi.com/2227-7102/9/4/291?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/educsci9040291 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/education Educ. Sci. 2019, 9, 291 2 of 10 in part, because of challenges to accept counter-narratives (e.g., [11]) from underrepresented groups; this will be extensively examined in the case study that follows. Counter-narratives from underrepresented people depict lived experiences that challenge traditional paradigms established by the dominant culture. Therefore, these narratives can raise awareness of institutional practices that are socially- or culturally-biased and contribute to marginalization. Many underrepresented students in STEM negotiate their degrees never seeing themselves represented in their major departments [7,12], which contributes to social isolation. Taken together, a catch-22 dilemma for STEM diversity efforts can emerge—low diversity in STEM contributes to social and cultural barriers among STEM practitioners and educators, which in turn compromises retention of underrepresented students. Since science exists within social constructs, cultural conflicts can refer to contrasting cultural belief systems between educators and students, or to socially-biased perspectives that are embedded in disciplinary values. The former may be general to STEM education, but the latter is more commonly discipline-specific. To nurture diverse participation, cultural competence [13] or humility on the part of educators, rather than “deficit” approaches, is a promising method to increase recruitment and retention of underrepresented students. To exemplify how cultural biases can be embedded in disciplinary values with negative consequences toward broad participation in STEM, I examine a foundational concept, in ecology and environmental sciences (EE), which is the role of nature. Although I am combining these disciplines, as a practicing ecologist, I feel it is worth noting that these two disciplines are not as synonymous in practice as they might seem to non-practitioners [14]. Ecology is defined in most textbooks as the scientific study of interactions that determine the distribution of life [14]. In contrast, as Donald Strong, editor-in chief of the journal Ecology argues, “ . . . ecology is science and environmentalism sometimes is and sometimes isn’t” [15]. Strong goes on to conclude that ecology requires environmentalism, but attitudes towards environmental advocacy are not unilateral among ecologists. Based on recent survey data, ecologists self-define as researchers of the natural world with social responsibility ranking as a very low priority [16,17]. In contrast, environmentalists advocate on behalf of the environment and society. This distinction is meaningful because it reflects differences in training and curricula. Many environmental studies or environmental sciences programs include policy or social science courses that are not required in ecology programs. Nevertheless, both disciplines share culturally laden concepts of the natural world. The overall objective is to demonstrate how social and cultural factors influence scientific practice and science education. As with other STEM disciplines, recruitment and retention of underrepresented students is notably low in EE despite much investment in diversity enhancement initiatives [18,19]. Taylor [19] reports that while ethnic minorities (including Asians) represent 29% of the Science and Engineering workforce, representation in environmental organizations, broadly defined, is only 16%. This lack of representation is concerning given that climate change and environmental justice issues disproportionately and negatively impact people of color and people with low socioeconomic status [20], namely, those who are underrepresented in EE disciplines. By examining relevant ecological, social science, and education literature, I describe how cultured perspectives can become embedded in, and influence scientific and teaching practice in EE. Papers for review were selected using the Web of Science and search terms that captured the concepts of ecological education, environmental education, STEM education, STEM diversity, culture, cultural competence or humility and broadening participation. The rest of this paper will consist of four sections. In the first, I present cultural biases in the definition of nature, and how this definition influences disciplinary priorities. I will also present efforts within EE to address cultural biases in professional practice. In the following section, I present studies documenting how narrow biases stemming from cultured perceptions of nature negatively impact the recruitment of underrepresented students. Third, I present inclusive pedagogical strategies that have been advocated for both EE and STEM education that can improve cultural conflicts with the goal of broadening participation. I conclude with a discussion of how disciplinary attitudes towards the public can detract from achieving diversity and inclusion goals, Educ. Sci. 2019, 9, 291 3 of 10 and I present studies that support the use of inclusive, culturally sensitive teaching practices that can improve the climate for underrepresented students and increase their recruitment and retention. The objective of this article is to exemplify how the social construction of science can reduce broad participation, and introduce culturally responsive teaching interventions that may improve recruitment and retention of underrepresented students. As will be presented below, the knowledge production that informs all science is the product of human interactions that are vulnerable to social and political influence. Therefore, this discipline-specific case study can serve as a template for interrogating and mitigating cultural biases in other academic disciplines that strive to broaden participation. The application of culturally competent education in other STEM disciplines will involve similar examination of the social and cultural influences on foundational, disciplinary values. 2. Cultural Biases in the Concept of Nature “Our efforts to engender respect and inspire active participation in the care and management of our forests and parks means embracing the cultural experiences and environmental values of all segments of American society.” ([21], p. 9) The statement is a reminder that culture influences ways of knowing and learning that include perceptions of the natural world and the value of nature [21–23]. The prevailing paradigm of nature in an ecological sense, and one that informs the environmental movement, including conservation and the designation of National Parks, has been determined largely by white, middle- or upper-class, men such as John Muir, Henry David Thoreau, and John James Audubon [21,23–25]. This paradigm reflects their values and positions on nature as remote and pristine with little influence from human activity. It is noteworthy that the concept of pristine nature is debated within EE for reasons that include its disregard for pre-colonial human activity, even in regions as iconic as the Amazon (e.g., [26]), and the observation that in the current Anthropocene, human impacts are too pervasive to be ignored in any contemporary habitat (e.g., [27]). Nevertheless, these debates do not confront the cultural biases embedded in disciplinary priorities and values that stem from the accepted concept of nature. Within the current decade, however, prominent ecologists have acknowledged that race, ethnicity, class, and gender are embedded in disciplinary values and practice (e.g., [28]). Unfortunately, consideration of the social and disciplinary impact of these issues is most commonly encased in frameworks that do not directly address the lack of diverse participation. For example, in 2011, the Cary Institute for Ecosystem Studies, a not-for-profit environmental research organization, hosted a conference entitled, “Linking Ecology and Ethics for a Changing World.” During this conference, ecologists, social scientists, and philosophers gathered to address, in part, the ethical relationship between human values and environmental decision-making. Within the two edited volumes that resulted from this collaboration [29,30], ecological responsibility towards social issues, and the impact of “Anglo-Eurocentrism” on ecological priorities are linked to “biocultural homogenization” [28,31], a process that disregards cultural diversity in a manner that can lead to social injustice. (Rozzi (2012, 2013) uses the term “Eurocentrism.” Other authors in the anthologies resulting from the 2011 Cary Conference (Rozzi et al. 2013) emphasize Anglo-American or Anglo-European influences. For simplicity, I use the term “Anglo-Eurocentrism” in reference to the collective conclusions from these collaborations.) However, these injustices are situated in a global context that emphasizes developing countries, and locations where linguistic barriers may exist. Aspects of the culture of ecology that can negatively impact disenfranchised people are acknowledged, and a cultural shift is advocated that includes and improves the ethical responsibility of ecologists to society. Domestically, the impacts of narrow, normative perspectives such as Anglo-Eurocentrism are considered in terms of gendered [32], or otherwise privileged concepts of nature that compromise environmental justice [28,33,34], ethical environmental education [35], and communication with non-scientists [36,37]. For example, Poole and colleagues [35] describe how divorcing societal dimensions from ecological education can compromise ethical management decisions on environmental problems. In these presentations, the responsibility of ecologists to societal issues is promoted; in other Educ. Sci. 2019, 9, 291 4 of 10 words, the domain of the discipline resides beyond an “ivory tower” and has social ramifications. These disciplinary examinations of the social and ethical consequences of scientific culture provide a valuable and much needed opportunity to adjust disciplinary priorities and practices. However, they do not address the impact of class, gender, and race on who participates in EE research and decision-making and who does not. 3. Cultural Barriers in Ecology and Environmental Biology “ . . . the development of knowledge is a necessarily social rather than individual activity, and it is the social character of scientific knowledge that both protects it from and renders it vulnerable to social and political interests and values. . . . science is socially constructed.” ([38], p. 12) Longino’s assertion is not to argue that science is a social construct, but to position the practice of science within the realm of societal influences. Consideration of the problem of low disciplinary diversity generally does not question the role of Anglo-Eurocentrism itself as a barrier to recruitment of underrepresented students. More commonly, low representation is linked to issues that are correlated with underrepresented groups such as educational limitations (e.g., [39]) or unique responses to nature that are not conducive to disciplinary expectations (e.g., [40]). Not to diminish the importance of such factors, but they shift the cultural lens away from the disciplinary culture to that of broader society and various underrepresented groups. This shift can present cultural barriers in EE that can undermine the ability to attract and retain underrepresented students. Recognizing that Anglo-Eurocentrism influences how EE practitioners interact with society at large allows the possibility that this narrow perspective influences recruitment and retention of underrepresented students. Bias in prevailing attitudes of what is nature or the value of experiences in nature, can present cultural confrontations in EE education if the experiences or perceptions of non-dominant populations are not included in disciplinary values. Cultured definitions of the natural world are most readily exemplified when considering fieldwork. Fieldwork, or conducting research in natural settings, is identified as a transformative experience in the training of many who pursue EE degrees, and was recently endorsed by the Ecological Society of America as a relevant skill that should be included in ecology curricula [41]. It is perhaps not surprising that field experiences figure prominently in discussions of underrepresentation in EE. A common perception is that minority and low-income populations do not value the environment, which in turn contributes to low representation of minority and low-income students in EE, in part because of a reluctance to participate in fieldwork. This perception of low environmental valuing represents a cultural confrontation because it is not supported by quantitative studies [42–44]. Pearson and colleagues [43] present this cultural mismatch as an “environmental belief paradox.” Although this misperception may be associated with individuals conflating studies examining urban students’ attitudes towards nature (e.g., [45]), it is consistent with the omission of diverse experiences in the prevailing concepts of nature [21,23,46]. In other words, if a person’s concept of nature lies outside of the accepted definition, for example, a person who has never been to a national park or does not enjoy being in remote areas, they are not recognized as valuing nature. This cultural mismatch can contribute to low diversity in EE because of the relationship between social perceptions and individual performance. Geiger and Swim [47] term inaccurate perceptions of the beliefs of others as pluralistic ignorance, and describe how social dynamics can lead to self-silencing of individuals based on fears of being perceived as lacking competence. Social cues influence performance in academic settings along with gender [48,49] and other underrepresented identities [50,51]. For example, studies of personal interactions between racially diverse or homogeneous groups of undergraduates suggest that racially homogeneous networks disadvantage minority, but not white, students [52]. These dynamics are related to self-efficacy and belonging. Self-efficacy, or a person’s belief in their ability to succeed, is a strong predictor of academic performance among college students [51,53,54], career choices among college-bound African American youth [55], and STEM performance among students globally [56]. Educ. Sci. 2019, 9, 291 5 of 10 Consequently, pervasive signals that students’ understanding or experience is not included within disciplinary norms are not likely to encourage retention. The role of pluralistic ignorance regarding valuing nature in EE education has not been directly examined, but it is implicated in studies suggesting that perceptions of discrimination [40] and the role of devalued racial experiences [57], that include racialized concepts of environmental valuing [58], serve as cultural barriers in EE education. These will be examined more thoroughly below. 4. Cultural Humility and Education “No one has unmitigated experiences in/of the environment; rather all experiences in nature and conceptions of the environment are always culturally mediated.” ([24], p.1) The cultural dimensions of the definition of nature and perceptions of which demographics value nature exemplify distinct cultural lenses between educators and students that can contribute to poor retention of underrepresented students. The average ecologist is a 55-year-old, white male who values field work [59] and devalues social responsibility [16]. Therefore, most educators at the college level will be white and male, in contrast to a student population that is anticipated to be increasingly diverse. Sensitivity to cultural differences on the part of educators and mentors will be a necessary tool to increase positive experiences of nature for diverse students and to nurture a foundation that can increase diversity in EE professions. Cultural competence, an approach first applied in medical disciplines [13], offers a promising framework to address barriers to broad recruitment and retention in STEM education. This framework is in contrast to common “pipeline” strategies that tend to employ interventions aimed to improve critical-thinking, communication skills (e.g., writing), or to provide research experiences. Recent studies in pedagogy and scientific communication challenge such “deficit” (sensu [60]) approaches by examining disciplinary and institutional practices that contribute to lower recruitment and retention of underrepresented students [61,62]. Research training is an important component of STEM education, but there is increasing recognition [5,8,63,64] that awareness of social identities (i.e., cultural competency or humility), can support institutional and disciplinary efforts to diversify STEM participation at all educational levels. Cultural humility in education promotes an “intercultural” awareness that responds to the biases that, intentionally or not, are part of academic disciplines. An “intercultural” pedagogy fosters inclusivity by appreciating that individual and collective identities influence learning [65]. Humility on the part of instructors and advisors is in recognition of the demographic skewedness that exists in higher education and that favors white, middle-, and upper-class people. The pedagogical significance of culture is gaining traction in EE. A number of environmental education scholars promote the inclusion of environmental understanding and environmental contributions of non-dominant groups as part of the curriculum [24,57,63,66,67]. Jenkins [66] notes that because cultures are typically distributed discretely, curricula may consequently become more local than is customary in order to adapt to student-centered pedagogies. Such a strategy is similar to participatory approaches that have been applied in civic settings (e.g., [68–70]). Similarly, the interrelatedness of nature and culture in the context of fieldwork is beginning to be embraced by EE practitioners who accept that traditional ways of thought regarding nature are not inclusive [67]. The integration of culture in teaching can be viewed as analogous to the conventional awareness of the significance of local, natural history that is employed when conducting fieldwork. In addition to a greater awareness of cultural contributions to disciplinary biases, culturally responsive pedagogy [71], or empathy on the part of educators, can increase the retention of underrepresented students. Instructors have little influence on the past experiences of their students, but instructors can practice sensitivity to their diverse ways of knowing. Active-learning practices have been adopted in many college courses in lieu of traditional lecture-based course designs. As a complement to active-learning, or student-centered pedagogies, Cotner and Balen [61] advocate alternative evaluation methods such as mixed assessments that reduce reliance on high-stakes exams to improve performance Educ. Sci. 2019, 9, 291 6 of 10 of women in STEM. Such practices involve competence training on the part of educators, and the development of novel curricula. Further, these interventions require broad institutional support in order to be sustainable. Nevertheless, they should be encouraged. STEM-specific models for inclusive teaching strategies that include cultural sensitivity are becoming more readily available for undergraduate education [72,73] and promise to be adaptable to discipline-specific challenges. Finally, it is important to consider cultural biases in the use of language in education. Metaphors are a commonly used tool to simplify complex information, but these can also be value-laden in favor of dominant cultural values that can exclude underrepresented students [74]. Language is a way of knowing, and as such, it can bias the accumulation of scientific information and how that information is communicated [28,75,76]. In his presentation of biocultural ethics, Rozzi [28] argues that one loss of cultural diversity in knowledge is due to the language limitations in accruing formal knowledge. Similarly, Kolawole [77] echoes the need for scientific institutions to create opportunities to be more inclusive in the way knowledge is produced. Although not every culture can be fairly represented in a single classroom, participatory, student-centered pedagogies provide a template for sharing broader experiences in an inclusive manner. 5. Conclusions The value of STEM diversity is frequently presented in terms of the societal benefits that can be improved when individuals with different experiences collaborate to solve problems [78–80]. Within EE, global issues such as climate change and environmental justice are most commonly discussed as disciplinary topics with societal consequences (e.g., [3,66]). However, the question of societal responsibility should not end with these justice issues. EE practitioners make decisions that affect the natural world. Independent of disciplinary definitions, these choices are felt broadly in terms of perceived abilities to participate in decision-making and in terms of the quality of local natural resources. Culturally competency can influence teaching in other STEM disciplines, but the willingness to examine cultural biases that are embedded in individual scientific disciplines is required. Geosciences [81] and anthropology [82] are currently confronting the societal and cultural biases embedded in their respective disciplinary practices, including the recognition that these influence a lack of diverse participation. There are even science educators that are willing to address such polemic issues as the perspective that religion and science cannot coexist by asserting the separation of belief systems and scientific practice [83]. 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This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09505431.2019.1645825 http://dx.doi.org/10.1038/d41586-018-05316-5 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/29875493 http://dx.doi.org/10.1038/scientificamerican1014-38 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00330124.2012.735941 http://dx.doi.org/10.1002/ajpa.23382 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction Cultural Biases in the Concept of Nature Cultural Barriers in Ecology and Environmental Biology Cultural Humility and Education Conclusions References 
work_abloypegajgxplumkgij2wuinu	----	Landscape, Memory, and the Shifting Regional Geographies of Northwest Bosnia-Herzegovina This is a repository copy of Landscape, Memory, and the Shifting Regional Geographies of Northwest Bosnia-Herzegovina. White Rose Research Online URL for this paper: http://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/96110/ Version: Accepted Version Article: Riding, J. (2015) Landscape, Memory, and the Shifting Regional Geographies of Northwest Bosnia-Herzegovina. GeoHumanities, 1 (2). pp. 378-397. ISSN 2373-566X https://doi.org/10.1080/2373566X.2015.1093917 eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ Reuse Unless indicated otherwise, fulltext items are protected by copyright with all rights reserved. The copyright exception in section 29 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 allows the making of a single copy solely for the purpose of non-commercial research or private study within the limits of fair dealing. The publisher or other rights-holder may allow further reproduction and re-use of this version - refer to the White Rose Research Online record for this item. Where records identify the publisher as the copyright holder, users can verify any specific terms of use on the publisher’s website. Takedown If you consider content in White Rose Research Online to be in breach of UK law, please notify us by emailing eprints@whiterose.ac.uk including the URL of the record and the reason for the withdrawal request. mailto:eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ Landscape, Memory, and the Shifting Regional Geographies of Northwest Bosnia-Herzegovina James Riding, University of Sheffield Abstract Writing and arguing with older discourses that have informed the subdiscipline of regional geography and setting them against new ways of conceiving of the region, this article considers the northwest of Bosnia-Herzegovina as a site that calls for a newly animated form of regional study. Of particular concern here is the role that memory and commemorative practices play in such a spatial schema. The monumental landscapes of the Tito regime and its collective commemoration of World War II sit alongside and are troubled by the more recent traumas and spaces of unmarked death associated with the ethnic war in Bosnia during the early 1990s. Read together, northwest Bosnia-Herzegovina functions as a vivid exemplar for understanding traumatic historical mourning as a phenomenological process that is inseparable from the wider geopolitical landscape. Keywords Bosnia-Herzegovina, landscape, memory, phenomenology, regional geography We did not just think that what was going on was a tragedy—all wars are tragic—but that the values that Bosnia-Herzegovina exemplified were worth preserving … a society committed to multiculturalism … an understanding of national identity as deriving from shared citizenship rather than ethnic identity … What remains is the obligation to bear witness, the obligation to the dead as well as the living. —Rieff (1995, 10) Memory is never shaped in a vacuum; the motives of memory are never pure. —Young (1993, 2) For centuries people have travelled and written of their excursions south from Zagreb, crossing the River Sava and entering the Balkans. These journeys were in the main driven by an interest in the region as somehow different from Europe: as exotic, out of the way, and on the edge of civilization. In 1875, the twenty-four-year-old English archaeologist, Arthur J. Evans—later to become significant in the formation of Yugoslavia—journeyed through Bosnia and the Herzegovina on foot with his brother in tow, noting in the opening few pages of his travelogue that what he was witnessing might have never been described, or even visited, by a European before (Evans 1876, vi). On crossing the River Sava, he felt as if he was entering a different continent, first traveling south through Bosnia before reaching the Herzegovina in the south, and eventually Ragusa, now Dubrovnik, in southern Croatia, or Dalmatia. Through Bosnia and the Herzegovina on Foot narrates what Evans took to be a shared cultural identity, found in artefacts and practices. The journey the young archaeologist took was also to become a political intervention, undertaken while an insurrection against the ruling Ottomans was underway. In its emphasis on the material manifestation of a Bosnia- Herzegovina, the account Evans produced bears many of the hallmarks of an older regional geography. Yet, his excursion is not a tired mode of geographic inquiry to be dismissed as old fashioned. Through Bosnia and the Herzegovina on Foot speaks to contemporary accounts of region both methodologically and conceptually. In the spirit of Evans’s descriptive regional study, I follow his footprints, creating a contemporary phenomenological reimagining of his template. Evans had never been to Bosnia-Herzegovina before resolving to undertake his initial adventure through the country with his brother Lewis. It was early 2014 before I finally reached the border of Bosnia-Herzegovina. Yet, it seemed to hold some sort of connection to my own past, having growing up with the country on television over two decades prior to this crossing. Images of emaciated inmates on the nightly news reached a northern industrial town in England where, as a seven-year-old boy, I sat cross-legged in front of a little screen, watching what British journalists had revealed to the world. The memory from childhood contained moving images of what I later found out to be detention camps: Trnopolje, Omarska, and Keraterm. First unveiled in August 1992, they soon lit up televisions thousands of miles away, in all corners of the globe. Images of concentration camps again in the rural hinterlands of Europe shocked viewers and shook their conscience. Being so young, I understood little of why people were behind barbed wire, why they were starving, or who these people were. I recently rediscovered these films, and I remembered the moment of my first seeing these in the front room of my old house. While preparing for my own journey through northwest Bosnia-Herzegovina, I was constantly asked: Why does it concern you? You are not from there. We have, perhaps, become so desensitized to images of suffering and trauma in distant regions on rolling news that it seems strange to say: As a child I was affected by what I witnessed on television in 1992 (see Sontag 2003; Butler 2010). Taking my childhood memories of a war-torn country as a starting point, I followed Evans across the border into Bosnia-Herzegovina. Tracing the line that now divides the country roughly in half, here I consider two extremely violent periods in the history of this place. Passing by monumental memorials built to collectively mourn World War II, I eventually reach and remember the mostly unmarked sites of detention camps in use during the war in Bosnia, seen on television as a child years earlier. These camps—Omarska, Trnopolje, and Keraterm—have since been cleared away and evidence of war crimes covered up; a simultaneous politics of denial and a cultivated remembering has taken place in this regionally altered land. Commemorative practices, of course, often reflect and consolidate the interests of power, in so far as the past becomes leashed to the services of new state and nation building (see Hung 1991; Young 1993; Esbenshade 1995). Such power is revealed in this part of Bosnia-Herzegovina through the absence of monuments; what is absented from sight here reveals an official narrative, reflecting the interests of those in power. Yet, these sites of nonremembrance, lacking any official state monument, have become sites of intervention where memory is a means to promote change and challenge the current political system. This dissident form of remembering has been explored elsewhere by Jenny Edkins (2003). In an attempt to escape the context in which they occur—a country that has been separated along ethnic lines since the series of secessionist wars that occurred in the final decade of the previous century—these acts of remembering are freed from their collective and nationbuilding capacities and are instead reclaimed by the more discrete, idiosyncratic valences of the individual voice. In the process, the body—dehumanized by the traumatic event—has been recuperated by individuals who see it as necessary to the work of mourning (see Butler 2010). A vulnerability and susceptibility to violence and abuse is precisely why using the body to commemorate is a vital and powerful counternarrative to the material representations reinforcing nationhood. Specifically, the bodily act of commemoration becomes a counterpoint to the tendency in postconflict regions to constantly collectivize the individual voice, a voice that was perceived as animal howl for those that reside in the mass grave (see Arsenijević 2011). Traveling between sites of commemoration as a travel writer might, my research drifts somewhat against previous ethnographic and geopolitical research conducted in BosniaHerzegovina since the collapse of Yugoslavia (see, e.g., Jeffrey 2006). A substantive engagement is made instead with the landscape of this region, and—through a close historical reading and a tracing of past journeys through the Balkans—with a well-established literature on Balkanism; that is, the representation of the Balkans as a backward, deviant, liminal region both within and beyond Europe. In what follows I first outline the issue of commemorating trauma in the former Yugoslavia after World War II, before examining the role of Balkanist literature in shaping Bosnian identity, which creates narratives that construct and reaffirm the cleaving apart of Europe—effecting what is deemed necessary to commemorate and remember as part of the European story. I then articulate a new regional geography in the Balkans, describing through the lens of monument building the creation and destruction of Yugoslavia, reaching, at the end of my journey, sites where the state has suppressed commemorative practices in the years after the collapse of Yugoslavia. This section offers an alternative to official new nationalist projects in the Balkans. The narrative I produce is attuned to the travel writing examined at the opening of this article, describing the Balkans. There is a reason for this. Travel writing transports the reader to a different place and a different time through the art of a plain but vivid description of the specifics of time and place. It is this descriptive affect that I would like to harness, using it to displace and disrupt the Balkanist literature of the past and the nationalist revisionism of the present. Part memoir, part meditation on the relationship between landscape and memory, the human and natural worlds, my purpose here is to resurrect and refigure the classic regional study offered from those, such as Evans, speaking grandly of traveling into the Balkans, narrating the story of its nation making. Commemorating Trauma in the Former Yugoslavia In Black Lamb and Grey Falcon: A Journey Through Yugoslavia, a story of a six-week ethnographic trip taken by the British travel writer Rebecca West (1941), the past is shown side by side with the present it created. The publication of the book coincided with the Nazi invasion of Yugoslavia. The epigraph reads “To my friends in Yugoslavia, who are now all dead or enslaved.” Spomenici—the plural form of the word spomenik, meaning monument in this part of the world—emerged after the conflict, built to memorialize the dead to whom West referred. Unlike many of the monuments built after World War II across Europe, they could not remember a triumph. After the Kingdom of Yugoslavia was invaded by the Axis powers in 1941, internal fighting began between the Partisans—Europe’s most effective antiNazi communist resistance movement, led by Marshal Josip Broz Tito—the Ustaše— Croatia’s fiercely Catholic, fascist, ultranationalist, terrorist organization, murdering Serbs, Jews, and Roma while ruling part of Axis-occupied Yugoslavia—and the Chetniks—Serbia’s anti-Axis movement, seeking to retain the monarchy and striving for an ethnically homogenous Greater Serbian state. World War II in Yugoslavia was not simply a war of liberation against an encroaching occupier, Nazi Germany; it was instead a multilayered and divisive conflict in Yugoslavia, which could still be felt long into the twentieth century. The giant monuments built to commemorate World War II, on sites where battles were fought and concentration camps existed, are not statues of human warriors. Spomenici instead resemble abstract organic sculptures, emerging from the Earth, as if there was a silent acceptance that to use the body—the site of trauma, violence, degradation, and extermination—was both ethically and aesthetically impossible. Nature, apparently, is less problematic. Indeed, what type of human form might be possible here after a divisive and multilayered conflict that dehumanized so many? Nonfigurative concrete spomenici stand as an alternative to statues of human figures, alone in dense forests, teetering on the top of mountain peaks, or clinging to cliffs. Solidly anchored to the land beneath, abstract swirls of material large enough to top the trees round about them, socialist-era spomenici take on the organic form as if grown straight out of the soil. These giant swirling concrete shapes, dotted across the landscape, each gesturing toward the organic, provided a shared monumental history and identity for socialist Yugoslavia. They commemorate those who died as a result of nationalist ideology, remember the antifascist struggle begun in the region during World War II, and celebrate the socialist revolution achieved in its aftermath. Despite their massive, somewhat ambiguous, organic material presence—a warning from history of the evils of Nazism and fascism—nationalism returned to the region before the end of the twentieth century. After the fall of communism and the death of Partisan guerrilla leader and unifying symbol Josip Broz Tito in the same decade, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia seemed increasingly doomed. Remembered affectionately by many, the benevolent dictator, “father Tito,” eventually became president for life, serving concurrently in various other roles until his death in 1980 at the age of eighty-seven. Many citizens of Yugoslavia who lived through the Tito regime actively removed themselves from nationalist and identitarian debates, which were geared toward the ending of socialism and Yugoslavia (see Alcalay 2004, ix). Ammiel Alcalay (2004, ix) wrote of an “intellectual surrender” fed by the heroic imagery of Partisans, and the promise of stability that socialism and father Tito provided. Without Tito, Yugoslavia soon ceased to be. Following the Slovenian and Croatian secessions from the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia in 1991, the multiethnic Socialist Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina, which was inhabited by mainly Muslim Bosniaks, mainly Orthodox Serbs, and mainly Catholic Croats, passed a referendum for independence in February 1992. This was rejected by Bosnian Serbs, who boycotted the referendum. Supported by the Serbian government—with a newly emergent Chetnik character—Bosnian Serbs mobilized their forces inside the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina to secure Serbian territory. Calls for a Bosnian Serb entity to be created within Bosnia-Herzegovina grew alongside efforts to construct a Bosnian Croat entity. Controlled from and supplied by Croatia—evoking the efforts of the Ustaše— war soon spread across the country as Bosniaks fought back, supported in turn by the Mujahedeen, stationed in Travnik, who saw the war as religious as well as ethnic. In an absurd situation, each town and village began to fight amongst themselves, as warmongers attempted to define individual besieged citizens as Bosniak, Bosnian Croat, or Bosnian Serb, where a matter of months earlier they were all Yugoslav. Europe dithered in providing assistance, and ethnic cleansing left up to 100,000 soldiers and civilians dead as the war in Bosnia raged for more than three years (see Glenny 1992; Thompson 1992; Little and Silber 1996; Campbell 1998). The war in Bosnia was brought to an end in December 1995, when the Dayton Agreement was signed in Paris. Preceded by an agreement between Bosniaks and Croats signed in Washington in 1994, the country was separated into two political entities, Republika Srpska and the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, sometimes informally referred to as the BosniakCroat Federation. In this fractured geopolitical landscape, attempts to historicize the war in Bosnia—to firmly locate it in the past—have been unattainable. Remnants of the past remain embedded in, buried beneath, strewn among, enfolded within, and always dimly recognizable in the present. Wartime—a time of continuing unease (Baille 2013)—persists in the cartographic idiosyncrasy of the Dayton Agreement, imposed on the citizens of a small nation in Europe, dragged into a conflict not of their making two decades ago. As the twentieth anniversary of the genocide in Srebrenica passes, sites of mass murder remain unmarked to this day. Those sites of commemoration that are present often remember a single ethnic group, thus reinforcing the geopolitical categories the murderers imposed on their victims. People are remembered as Bosnian Serb, Bosnian Croat, or Bosniak; as Orthodox, Catholic, or Muslim; not as fathers, mothers, daughters, or sons. There are few common sites of commemoration, or collective spaces to remember civilian victims. What is more, remembering has become a political statement, as those mourning are categorized and enfolded within a persistent ethnic and identitarian narrative. My task, when journeying through northwest BosniaHerzegovina, traveling in the footprints of Evans, was to travel and write outside of and beyond these ever present geopolitical discourses—discourses through which the representation, conduct, and resolution of the war were sought (Campbell 1998, 15). Writing the Balkans It is possible, according to Robert Munro (1895) in his Rambles and Studies in Bosnia- Herzegovina and Dalmatia, that from the earliest times the Balkan Peninsula was inhabited by a mixed population, open to fluctuating civilizations from the shores of the Mediterranean to the nomadic hordes from Asia and northeastern regions of Europe (Munro 1895, 4). Little is known of this period, when the western half of the Balkan Peninsula was called Illyria. Northern wanderers—Avars, Serbs, Slavs, and Croats—found a footing in mountainous Bosnia and the Romans were driven to the Adriatic coast (Munro 1895, 4). Without ever being in a commanding position, the Ottomans took control in this liminal land of Orthodox and Latin Christendom, with, in the twelfth century, its own mystic creed of Christianity, Bogomilism. The Church condemned Bogomilism and persecuted the people of these lands. After the Ottoman conquest, many Bogomils became Muslims. By the mid-fifteenth century the Ottoman Empire stretched across much of the former Yugoslavia, linking Europe and the Middle East. A rival of Orthodox Russia and Western Europe, it lasted for more than four centuries. In 1875, when Evans was writing, an insurrection was underway against four centuries of Ottoman domination, with Bosnian peasants demanding a redistribution of land and fair taxes (see Evans 1876). Only when Serbs, Croats, and Montenegrins joined the insurgency did it become a national war of liberation of the south Slavs—the Yugoslavs. The revolt lasted three years and was brought to an end only through the diplomacy of the Great Powers, culminating in the 1878 Congress of Berlin. It was decided that Bosnia and Herzegovina would be occupied by Austria- Hungary. Several decades later, Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary was shot in Sarajevo in 1914 by a revolutionary, Gavrilo Princip, precipitating a declaration of war against Serbia, and World War I. After the mass conflict, in December 1918, the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes emerged. The revolutionary movement, though, was hampered by lingering religious differences—Orthodoxy, Catholicism, and Islam—coupled with a renewed sense of nationalism across Europe postempire. As is revealed in these shifting regional geographies, Bosnia-Herzegovina has been a meeting point of cultures for centuries. The culture of Bosnia-Herzegovina was formed through this interaction, undermining a sense of a nationalist political identity in the form of a homogenous nation-state. Nonetheless, as Evans traveled through the region he noted the Islamic nature of the country as its most distinguishable trait (see Evans 1876). This was a standard response in the travel writing of the era, evident also in the Rambles and Studies in Bosnia-Herzegovina and Dalmatia undertaken by Munro (1895). In 1851, Edmund Spencer wrote, “Scarcely a ray of Western thought had penetrated during the four centuries that had passed away since the Crescent replaced the Cross on the dome of Saint Sophia, and the empire of Constantine crumbled before the might of the Othman; centuries of ever increasing intellect, civilisation and prosperity” (Spencer 1851, 1). For Spencer, the dawn of a brighter day had arisen on the night of Turkish misrule, rekindling the hearts of a neglected and uncared-for Christian people: Awakened from a trance, to a consciousness of their own power, to an appreciation of that lofty destiny, from which for centuries they have been excluded … Unheeded and uncared for, by those nations of Europe claiming the swarthy son of distant India and Africa, while a portion of her very self remained torpid and corpse-like. (2) In To the Land of the Eagle, Paul Edmonds (1927) extolled the hospitality of these exoticized and primitive locations, where an Englishman could travel without fear of being shot. The places through which Evans, Munro, Spencer, and Edmonds traveled, walked, and rambled were for centuries known by the Ottomans as Rumeli. Only relatively recently did the name Rumeli fall out of use, the region becoming instead European Turkey, or Turkey in Europe, and, eventually, around the time Evans and Munro had completed their travels, the Balkans. The name the Balkans refers to the mountains near the center of the peninsula, across which travel writers would journey to Istanbul. Echoing the well-established literature on representations of the Balkans in literary studies and geography—such as Inventing Ruritania (Goldsworthy 1998) and Imagining the Balkans (Todorova 1997)—Mark Mazower (2002, 4), in his comprehensive study of the Balkans, wrote of how the Balkans became loaded with negative connotations as Europe’s “other” that was yet not quite separate from Europe. The term Balkan, drew scathing remarks and definitions; inharmonious conditions, small antagonistic states, hostile nationalities, all of which conspired to form the intractable Balkan or Eastern “question” (Carter 1977, xi). Despite it being a relatively recent term, the idea of a separate, distinctly Balkan region is a powerful blanket. It enabled the rest of Europe—countries both in the East and West—to keep the war that brought an end to Yugoslavia at a distance. Slavoj Žižek (2000, 1–2) wrote of the Balkans as Europe’s ghost, down there, always somewhere a little further to the southeast, a photographic negative of tolerant, multicultural, postpolitical, postideological Europe. A “postmodern racism” exists, he argued, where the Balkans is seen as the intolerant other, while the rest of Europe has supposedly come to terms with otherness in its much vaunted—indeed marketed—language of cosmopolitanism and multiculturalism (see Žižek 2000, 1–2). Echoing this argument, Misha Glenny (1999, xxi) introduced his magnum opus, The Balkans, 1804–1999, with reference to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, in which the Balkans occupied the center of some sort of imaginative whirlpool, where every known superstition in the world was gathered. In his memoir Postcards from the Grave, Srebrenica survivor Emir Suljagić (2005) argued for the existence of a new Europe, a new European imaginary, where Auschwitz and Srebrenica are a part of the same human—or inhuman—story. As Guido Snel (2014) observed in his examination of spatial metaphor and the persistence of imaginary European geographies post- 1989, Suljagić was at pains to associate his experience in Srebrenica with the events that took place in the Third Reich’s extermination camps. The Holocaust—a moral touchstone for inhumanity and banal evil—influenced the way Suljagić interpreted ethnic persecution, and the failure of the European world to identify with his personal position revealed to him the persistence of a Balkan regional imaginary. For Susan Sontag (2003, 101), to set the sufferings of the people of Bosnia alongside the sufferings of others is to “compare” them, denigrating human life; this might well lead to a kind of competition between mere comparables. Yet, I would argue, Suljagić’s was a targeted questioning of “what is deemed necessary” to commemorate as part of the European story. For the cosmopolitan Europeans, Bosnia was not their tragedy (see Nancy 2000). Emir Suljagić was evacuated from Srebrenica in 1995, before the spa town was overrun. Almost every man he had ever known subsequently lost their lives in the genocidal massacre. A New Regional Geography in the Balkans One of the central impulses of regional literature is to evoke a sense of the place in which it is set. Deep, thick, or dense descriptions of landscape can be seen in the spiritual regionalism of Henry David Thoreau (1854) dwelling in Walden Pond, near Concord, Massachusetts; the comments of Richard Jefferies (1880) walking around the great estates of Wiltshire; and the observations of Edward Thomas (1909), looping the gently rolling hills of the South Downs. In recent years, this old form of regional writing has been dimly present in the books of Tim Robinson (1985) exploring the coast of Ireland, Robert Macfarlane (2007) seeking out the wild places of Britain, and Kathleen Jamie (2012) tracing sightlines in the northern fringes of Scotland. What is more, cultural geography has been witness to the reemergence of regional writing, documenting the rhythms of the subject in landscape as one lingers, waits, detours, and ruminates. Such work stresses direct bodily contact with and experience of landscape, attending to the phenomenological emergence of space (see Wylie 2002, 2005; Lorimer 2003, 2006; Pearson 2006; Wylie and Lorimer 2010; Dubow 2011; M. Rose 2012; Riding 2015). Researching the “regionness” of Bosnia-Herzegovina, my research is attuned to this phenomenological turn. I suggest one can both retain the impulse of phenomenological investigation, narrating self and landscape, while also addressing—as the traumatized landscapes of BosniaHerzegovina demand—more obviously political (and geopolitical) aspects that, some critics caution, can be glossed (Castree and Macmillan 2004; Van Dyke 2013). Going back to regional geography can also be a way of moving forward (see Thrift 1994, 200). Described simply, regional geography is the study of world regions, paying attention to the unique characteristics of people and place. Preeminent during the second half of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century, regional geography was confronted by the scientism of the quantitative revolution in the 1950s. The works of Carl Sauer (1925) and Paul Vidal de la Blache (1926), for example, were to be critiqued for their singular modes of description. Since the 1980s, there have been attempts to reintroduce a new form of regionalism. Here, working across different scales and between regions—as undertaken by Anssi Paasi (1991, 1999, 2002, 2003), Martin Jones and Gordon MacLeod (2004; see also MacLeod and Jones 2001, 2007), and John Agnew (2013)—exposes the ambiguities, blurrings, borrowings, dabblings, and cleansings, in the name of space and identity that a divisive nationalist politics assumes to be cartographically fixed. For my part, and building on the work of David Matless (2014), I would add that ideas of the region might effectively be enhanced by reasserting the role of phenomenological experience. The critical turn in human geography has brought a healthy, if unresolved, concern about doing ethnographic research to describe a particular region. Broadly these concerns are attentive to a discipline littered with the skeletons of murderous neglects and encounter (J. Robinson 2003, 277). The skeletons of the past bear consideration for any new regional geography to exist. Both postcolonial and feminist perspectives on the situatedness of knowledge and the concomitant relational nature of researcher positionality have done much to avoid replicating colonial era power relations (England 1994; G. Rose 1997). In what follows, I hope that such an unreflective, distantiated, and voyeuristic account of the Balkans—accounts that have for decades worked to create a European “other”—is undercut by the incorporation of my own situated voice, and an acknowledgement of the historically intersubjective nature of the practices that I witness. Crossing the Sava After borrowing a rickety old Fiat Panda from a friend of a friend in Zagreb, I began my journey south in late May 2014. The car spluttered into motion only after I squeezed the clutch far into the floor. Turning the tin can through the busy streets of Croatia’s capital proved difficult while trying to read a map. A well-thumbed copy of the book Arthur J. Evans wrote in this region slid about on the passenger seat. Keep going, I told myself, as I revved around in circles. On the open road the car was equally unsure, rattling along the motorway. Heading for a commemoration day in the town of Prijedor, I turned the car right, off the A3 and toward the River Sava. On the southern edge of the Pannonian Plain and the northern edge of the Balkan Peninsula, just a few kilometers from the border between Bosnia- Herzegovina and Croatia, I met Evans and the Sava. At Sisak we followed the river together, traveling beside it to Jasenovac. Evans continued on to Slavonski Brod where he crossed the river; this is still the most common way of entering Bosnia-Herzegovina, the Balkans, from the North (Evans 1876, 42–85). Evans wrote little of Sisak and Jasenovac, both now a part of the same tragic past. Sisak was the first place where an armed antifascist resistance unit was formed in occupied Yugoslavia during World War II. It was established on June 22, 1941—the day Germany invaded the Soviet Union—and marked the start of the antifascist Partisan resistance in occupied Yugoslavia. Sisak was also the site of the Sisak Children’s Concentration Camp, set up by the Croatian pro-Nazi Ustaše government for Serbian, Jewish, and Romani children, part of the Jasenovac cluster of concentration and death camps and the wider Nazi genocidal effort. Figure 1. Sisak Antifascist Spomenik in the forest of Brezovica Source: Author Parking the little Panda at the end of a gravel track, I sought out a relic of the former Yugoslavia, a spomenik built to commemorate the beginning of the antifascist resistance. I had seen images of spomenici before, but I was still surprised by what I could see ahead. Many had been destroyed, left to the elements, ignored, damaged, and graffitied. This one, resembling a concrete tree (Figure 1), appeared intact and maintained. I walked down a tree- flanked alleyway for a mile or so, with the concrete monument always just about visible in the distance. I could not take my eyes off it, so alien to the rest of the landscape did it appear. At the end of the straight path, the spomenik reached up out of the trees in a clearing. Mosquitoes were buzzing about in the damp warmth. Evidence of a bonfire, and burnt red, white, and blue plastic, sat in front of the monument. Nobody else was around. I circled the concrete spomenik a few times, stepping over branches in long grass. Then I decided to stand inside it for a while, stamping my foot to create an echo, breaking the immense silence. I soon turned back down the green lane toward the car, feeling a little odd in this place all on my own. Before I left, I gazed at an embossed star placed next to the number 1941 engraved in concrete. The gravity of what the monument symbolized became apparent in that moment. Strange in appearance, dedicated to the 1st Sisak Partisan Detachment, founded in 1941, the spomenik was designed by Želimir Janeš. Sited in the middle of nowhere, in the forest of Brezovica, it was built in 1981 on the exact site where the Partisan detachment was established. I climbed back inside the car after a walk back through the avenue of trees. The spomenik was still visible, just about, in the rear view mirror. Figure 2. Jasenovac Concrete Flower on the site of the Jasenovac Concentration Camp Source: Author Continuing downstream for an hour or so, I traced the footsteps of Evans along the Sava until it met the River Una, on the border between Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina. A spomenik built on the site of the former concentration camp Jasenovac stuck out of the flat landscape to my left, as the road twisted out of a copse, beside a gray block of a school where children played football on a tarmac yard. Shaped like a flower (Figure 2), this spomenik grew out of the marshland like a rebirth in concrete for the dead. Nature reclaimed what surrounded the monument sordidly and delicately, as the calcium carbonate of bones, buried in the earth, tinted the grass greener. Parking up next to the school, I wandered around the site, fending off mosquitoes. Death mounds, once piles of bodies, were neatly covered by the emerald grass, surrounding an almost pretty lake emanating from the base of the concrete flower. Two coaches full of what sounded like German tourists were clicking with their cameras. Beside the water, tracks led to a train that could be from a railway museum. But here the locomotive was sinister, having delivered people to their death. This flat, swampy expanse was the last view for many, their final image. The site was serene, calm, after the coach had pulled away, taking the tourists to their next site. The silence belied the torture, the unheard of horror, and death buried within, in the soil. Directly beneath the monument a moment of sustained mourning, of reflection, was enabled, in the company of a cat. Inside the crypt of the concrete flower, paved with railway sleepers, a poem was engraved on a bronze plaque, written by Ivan Goran Kovačić, killed near Foča, southeast Bosnia-Herzegovina by Chetnik troops in 1943. The poem, chosen to memorialize the horror of Jasenovac, was called Jama— the pit—and starkly condemns fascist atrocities committed by the Ustaše, as blood replaces both light and darkness while the victim’s eyes are plucked out with a knife: Blood is my daylight and darkness too. Blessing of night has been gouged from my cheeks Bearing with it my more lucky sight. Within those holes, for tears, fierce fire inflamed The bleeding socket as if for brain a balm— While my bright eyes died on my own palm. On the memorial site, beside the concrete flower, a plaque mapped the mounds of dead and quotes a figure of up to 100,000 victims. The majority were Serbs who the Ustaše wanted to remove from the Independent State of Croatia, created after the Kingdom of Yugoslavia fell to the Nazis. Dedicated to the extermination camp victims, the stone flower designed by Bogdan Bogdanović was built in 1966. Like all other spomenici built to commemorate the dead of World War II, it has a certain aesthetic. The scale and strength of the object is clear, and the architecture mimics natural shapes, rather than representing the human form, leading some to argue that these have become sites of forgetting, not remembering. Leaving Jasenovac behind, I got back inside the old banger and drove a short distance to the River Sava, the border between Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina. Visible just beyond the checkpoint was a sign with WELCOME TO REPUBLIKA SRPSKA written on it, and a fluttering Serbian flag. Exiting Croatia and the European Union, in the footsteps of Evans, I glanced at his travelogue on the seat beside me. The nature of this border and the freight of its world historical importance struck Evans (1876, 76), who reached the historic military frontier while an insurrection against the ruling Ottomans was underway and these lands would soon become Austro-Hungarian: “We are now on the watery boundary-line between Christendom and Islam, and the contrast of the two shores is one of the most striking that can be imagined.” Climbing Kozara The Bosnian Frontier, Bosanska Krajina—the historic name for the northwest of Bosnia- Herzegovina—was known for its strong resistance during World War II, incorporating all citizens. It was the most ethnically diverse of the antifascist Partisan brigades, liberating an area of Nazi-occupied Yugoslavia, known as the Republic of Bihać, in 1941. To the east, in what is now Republika Srpska, the Rivers Sana and Gomjenica descend the Kozara Mountain into the Prijedor Valley. This picturesque landscape was proclaimed a protected National Forest in 1967. Up on the mountain, among the trees, the Kozara Offensive was fought in 1942. The battle was pivotal to the success of the Partisan movement, when outnumbered and outgunned Partisans and civilians fought off the invading Nazis, Ustaše, and Axis forces. Protecting the iron mine at nearby Banja Luka, the Nazis attempted to destroy the movement on the mountain of Kozara, sending many Serbian civilians to Jasenovac as they tightened their grip on the region. The Partisan soldiers who survived the onslaught founded the Fifth Krajina Brigade, and met with the main Partisan group, and Tito, moving east, eventually regaining parts of the lost area. According to a tourist map—which I picked up in the foyer of Hotel Prijedor—the spomenik built to commemorate the battle in what is now the Kozara National Park is flanked by a bronze memorial wall with the names of 9,921 Yugoslav Partisans who gave their lives for the freedom of this region during World War II. It went on to say that at thirty-three meters tall, the cylindrical spomenik, “symbolically presents the value of freedom for the population of Kozara and their traditional freedom-loving spirit.” The next morning, with the tourist map to hand, jagged mountains broke the horizon for the first time in the journey as the mini motor wheezed its way out of Prijedor. I was joined for this leg of the journey by an artist from Prijedor called Nemanja, and we could see through the car windows the peaks of the Kozara Mountain. Up there stands the Monument to the Revolution, remembering those killed during the Kozara Offensive. Turning left, away from Trnopolje and Omarska, we began to weave our way upward, passing through the tiny Bosniak village of Kozarac, covered in Bosnian flags. As the car growled uphill in first gear, tires screeching, the road became increasingly difficult to continue along. Miles up into the forest we eventually stopped by a concrete staircase ascending one of the highest peaks, Mrakovica. At the beginning of the ascent we could see the top of the monument in the distance (Figure 3). With each step up a little more of the spomenik appeared, drawing the eye forward and away from the rest of the landscape. Mimicking a gravestone, it seemed to gather in the landscape around it. The ghosts of those unfortunate enough to have fought their way up and down the vertiginous escarpment came to mind as we climbed higher and higher. Another installment appeared with each step we took, intertwining ourselves, the monument, and the landscape. When we landed at the top of the concrete steps, Nemanja sat in the middle of the clearing, while I eagerly looped the spomenik to see it from all angles. At once it appeared as both sculpture and architecture. I squeezed through a tight gap, into the core of the spomenik, and looked upward at the sunlight, as if in the dense forest, or the trunk of a tree. Firmly grounded, it stabbed into the mountain surface like a flag, shattering it, claiming the Krajina for the antifascist movement. From above, the spomenik appeared as a sundial, or clock, as concrete tentacles explode out from the center. Nemanja told me that it was designed by Dušan Džamonja and completed in 1972. It teeters on the top of the peak, and uses dark and light to symbolize life and death. The bulges sticking out of the cylindrical spomenik represent life, the recesses death. Enemy forces are represented by darkness, unable to win through and destroy light, life. After I returned to Nemanja, we sat for a while talking about the spomenik beside us. He said, “The Monument to the Revolution is now a monument to exactly that.” Figure 3. The Monument to the Revolution, Mrakovica Peak, Kozara National Park Source: Author No official monuments on the hillside refer to the war in Bosnia, from 1992 to 1995. Nemanja walked me to a crumbling Tito-built concrete bunker, which he recently graffitied with the words, SHELTER FOR THE NEXT GENERATION. An arrow, painted into the forest floor, beckons you in. Beside the bunker, two sound waves sculpted by another local artist, from the sticks of the forest, are stuck into the ground like a picket fence. Each sound wave represents a speech, one by Radovan Karadžić—former Bosnian-Serb politician and president of Republika Srpska—and the other a speech by Slavoj Žižek—Slovenian Marxist philosopher and cultural critic. According to Nemanja, the pieces in the forest, overshadowed by the Monument to the Revolution, aim to escape any ethnic flattening of the individual by producing art that does not command you to remember in an instrumentalized way. They instead draw you into the complicated history of the region. This type of antipolitical art—antipolitical in the sense that the artists do not want to be drawn into the usual nationalist political debates—intends for a remembering to occur in this landscape that incorporates all citizens. The shelter and wave are surrounded by other pieces aimed at further critiquing the geopolitical landscape in which they are produced. Unlike the vast, solid spomenici, anchored to the rock, the art collective give over the finishing of their artwork to nature, as they decay over time, like bodies in the ground. Walking through Prijedor The war in Bosnia dramatically changed the composition of the population of Bosanska Krajina. Expulsion, forced relocation, emigration, and killings meant that the various parts of the frontier became less ethnically diverse, leaving homogenous enclaves in place. This has meant that confronting the violent past—as Tito’s spomenici did—in the places where torture and murder occurred has proven difficult. After Srebrenica, the Prijedor Massacre represents the largest episode of mass extermination during the war in Bosnia. Unlike Srebrenica, however, the Prijedor Massacre is largely forgotten by the wider world, while the main perpetrators, Radovan Karadžić and Ratko Mladić, continue to deny the extent of the systematic ethnic cleansing that occurred. Survivors were forced into exile, leaving with the baggage of their wartime traumas and prewar memories, as their houses were targeted and destroyed. Some of those convicted of war crimes by the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia—set up in 1992, a couple of months after the discovery of detention camps in Bosanska Krajina—are now free, as their victims are still being exhumed from mass graves in the Prijedor area. Other perpetrators still await trial, or their cases are ongoing. Detainees at the nearby detention camps—Omarska, Keraterm, and Trnopolje—who lived in an atmosphere of constant fear and terror, have had their efforts to place a monument at execution sites continually rebuffed by the local Bosnian Serb authorities. Nevertheless, a memorial walk has taken place for the past few years. Citizens who wish to mourn the atrocities that occurred in this region during the war in Bosnia mark May 31 each year by wearing a white armband and walking together through the center of Prijedor. For the past two years, on the last day of May, Ahmed and Belma—friends I met along the way— have arrived in Prijedor early in the morning, on a bus from Zenica. As we mingled at the end of the main shopping street in Prijedor, with a few hundred others, Ahmed tied a white ribbon around my upper arm. This ritual symbolically refers to a decree issued on May 31, 1992, via local radio, for all non-Serbs to mark their houses with white flags or sheets and to wear a white ribbon when leaving home. Not since the Nazi invasion of Poland in 1939, when Polish Jews were made to wear the Star of David, had an ethnic or religious group been marked in this way. Slowly, the crowd began to move down the street in silence carrying banners marked with jer me se tice—“because it concerns me”—and holding up roses labeled with the names of children killed nearby. Despite threats from their neighbors and family, some locals joined the group, now stretching back the length of the street. Other residents watched on from shops lining the pedestrian street, as the traumatized passed by, some visibly distraught at the experience of returning to the place. Figure 4. Laying 102 roses in Prijedor, as part of the White Armband Day memorial Source: Author At the square in the center of Prijedor, underneath a dominating concrete building, we stopped to place the roses carried by mourners in a circle. I stood beside Nemanja and his artist friends, here to speak to the crowd. They vented their disgust and sorrow over loudspeakers. In Prijedor, their hometown, a monument to commemorate dead children remains absent because of continued ethnic division. Two speakers loudly boomed out the names of the 102 children killed, followed by their ages when they died. Eight-year-olds, twelve-year-olds, fifteen-year-olds, caught up in a war twenty years ago, here. On the opposite side of the square I could see Emir—an activist and traveling acquaintance—busily checking that everyone was ready to place their roses in the center of the main square. A few years earlier Emir had stood on this square with a small group of mourners, wearing white ribbons around their arms. The commemoration has grown through the insistence of victims that their trauma should be remembered. “I was that age during the war,” I heard from many. “It could have been me,” they went on to say. As the roses were laid down, I was drawn forward. Someone hugged me and dragged me closer. In turn, people came forth from the crowd to place a rose on to the ground. In the background the names and ages of the children still echoed around the square. Each rose had a white label wrapped round the thorny stalk, with a name and an age. Once all had given their roses to the square, a circle had been left. “We have to leave now,” I then heard from many. Soon the square was deserted, only the rose circle remaining (Figure 4). Exiting the Krajina On August 6, 1992, British journalists from Independent Television News (ITN) and The Guardian unveiled to the world the existence of camps for non-Serb civilians near Prijedor. Shocking images of emaciated inmates encircled the globe, shaking the conscience of humanity. Before driving south to Sarajevo, I attempted to find the former detention camps. The closest camp to the town, Keraterm, was a ceramics factory. I had an idea of where it was after asking people the day before, at the white ribbon commemoration. Difficult to locate in the mass of sprawling industrial buildings cluttering the edges of Prijedor, Keraterm eventually came into view. A rusty white metal fence was recognizable from photographs I had previously seen. It appeared to be largely unchanged, and the squat building with a single row of windows looked to be still in use as a warehouse. Beside Keraterm, there is a small memorial, set in long grass, under a tree. The unassuming, inconspicuous memorial was the first site of slaughter to be marked in Republika Srpska, commemorating non-Serb victims of the war in Bosnia (Clark 2014, 95). The huge cross I had seen the night before in the center of Prijedor, commemorating Bosnian Serb victims of the war in Bosnia came to mind, as I wandered away from the camp, with its half-hidden memorial, back to the road. Out of Prijedor, a few miles down the road to Banja Luka, I turned right to find the detention camp, Trnopolje. There was no sign, or at least I could not see a sign, on entering the village. What stopped me in my tracks was a monument. I immediately recognized the imposing eagle. A few Serbian flags sat at the base of the concrete bird, stuck inside a wreath of flowers. The stomach of the eagle, a common heraldic symbol in Serbia, was defaced with a cross. Wings outstretched from the marked body, emblazoned with metal plaques explaining the meaning of the monument, and extended down to the ground. In the immediate vicinity of the bird are a school and a community hall, buildings that housed detainees at the former detention camp, Trnopolje. I could see what I thought was one of the buildings. It was neat and tidy with two floors of large square windows and a chimney. Wandering around, I noticed kids hanging around on the trimmed grass encircling it. White paint flaked off the adjacent building, revealing the brick beneath. Scaffolding held it together. An external staircase climbed to the first floor, appearing to go nowhere. New plastic windows remained half-fitted under a corrugated metal roof. Something was being done to the place. There was, though, no public memorial to be found, remembering those who died in the camp. The eagle I saw as I entered Trnopolje commemorates the Bosnian Serb combatants who died to build the nation, Republika Srpska. I was an odd presence in this place. Feeling a little uncomfortable being watched, I walked back across a tarmac basketball court, keeping my camera out of view. It is hard to believe that a peaceful little village, dotted with typical rural Bosnian houses, could contain such a sinister camp. This is the most disturbing thing about visiting Trnopolje: the unassuming, unremarkable, nothingness of it. Placing a camp in Trnopolje, among the rolling farmlands, away from prying eyes, reveals foresight. In the distance, I could see a few people in their gardens, tending vegetables. A horse pulling a cart full of straw and a couple of men passed me, followed in the other direction by an old man chugging a tractor along, spitting out a plume of toxic exhaust smoke. Children cycled loops of the street, in its wake, as I struggled to restart the car. Turning away from the Kozara National Park, which dominated the skyline, I drove toward a mine. The presence of minefields and unexhumed mass graves are a feature of this landscape. Proceed with caution. Do not enter. At the perimeter fence surrounding Omarska, entry was refused and I was told not to take photographs. I parked the little car out of sight, dwarfed by lorries going in and out of the mine, and walked the edges of the site. I could see faceless blocky buildings in the distance, buildings—including the villainous torture chamber the White House, where people went never to be seen again—once used for detainees, buildings that now serve as offices for steel and mining giant AncelorMittal. Promises made a decade ago to keep the White House intact were ignored, and the building of a memorial in and around it never came to fruition. Negotiations between Bosniak survivors and AncelorMittal came to an abrupt end when the local Bosnian Serb authorities became aware of them (Clark 2014, 95). There is nothing visible in Omarska to admit a detention camp was ever there. Those that now live in exile, former detainees, continue to petition AncelorMittal. Trauma is endured privately. A spomenik-like sculpture, the AncelorMittal Orbit in Hackney, built for the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games, has been reclaimed as the Omarska Memorial in Exile. The looping criss-crossing metal sculpture in exile, lying in London, could hardly be more appropriate, remembering the shocking images of emaciated inmates behind barbed wire fences at Omarska. Driving out of a dust cloud created by vehicles much larger, I made my way through the little village of Tomašica. Twenty years after the end of the war that tore the former Yugoslavia apart, Bosnia-Herzegovina is still unearthing its dead. In October 2013, a mass grave was discovered here, containing the jumbled bones of Bosniak and Bosnian Croat victims killed by Bosnian Serb forces. When mass graves are discovered, the trauma of war is relived, albeit in a region where local authorities suppress remembering. From the mass grave I drove south, out of the Bosnian Frontier, to meet up once more with Evans, West, and the rest of the travel writers, visiting castles and waterfalls in Travnik and Jajce. Conclusion: Confronting Trauma The articulation of a new regional geography outlined in my journey through northwest Bosnia-Herzegovina has been deployed not as a way of writing the unique nature of a particular region, but to interrogate and breach the divide between the two political entities of Bosnia-Herzegovina: the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina and Republika Srpska. As David Campbell (1998, 15) reminded those who attempt to write about the war in Bosnia, the task is to think outside the political discourses through which the representation, conduct, and resolution of the war are sought. In just such an attempt to escape the ethnonationalist context in which commemorative practices take place, different emotions—trauma, celebration, denial, forgetting, nostalgia, mourning—are evoked in my historical and experiential journey through the contested landscape of Bosanska Krajina. The frontier region has been subject to the regional machinations of those in power over the centuries, and at present is divided in two, after undergoing two extremely violent periods in the long twentieth century. There is, as this article explores, a stark difference between the ways in which these violent periods have been commemorated and remembered. The absence of official spomenici—and a public acknowledgement that there were atrocities committed in this region during the war in Bosnia—leaves a gap in the landscape and in the lives of people who live with traumatic memories. Yet, dissident forms of remembrance have begun to occur in Bosnia-Herzegovina. These subversive acts of remembrance enable survivors to interrogate and tell their stories of trauma, promoting change and challenging the current divided political system (see Edkins 2003). Returning to the site of a traumatic event on a commemoration day is not, however, only an act of remembrance. Commemorative events are gatherings of the wounded; they are insistent reenactments of the past, where mourners bear witness to the testimony of survivors. Survivors of a traumatic event are able, on these rare days, to tell and retell their stories. There is an imperative to tell. Survivors do not only need to survive to tell their stories; they also need to tell their stories to survive (Laub 1995, 63). There is no single response to hearing traumatic memories, experiences, and histories, but since the war in Bosnia—over two decades ago now—interest in the psychological traumatic reaction to violent events has grown considerably. Ethnographic research in postwar regions has begun to recognize the necessity of testimony—listening and responding to traumatic stories—as a means to alleviate suffering. Our memory repeats to us what we have not yet come to terms with; what still haunts us (Erikson 1995, 184). Telling someone these memories seems to be—and is—for many survivors a way to permit the recurring traumatic haunting event to be forgotten (see Caruth 1995, vii). I witnessed these attempts to come to terms with an important reality, a giving up of troubling memories from the past— a dilution of a special truth—on my journey through Bosnia-Herzegovina. 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work_accdajcfwrcajpc7hsx6y6kmta	----	The importance of phylogeny to the study of phenological response to global climate change | Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences Login to your account Email Password Forgot password? Keep me logged in New User Institutional Login Change Password Old Password New Password Too Short Weak Medium Strong Very Strong Too Long Congrats! Your password has been changed Create a new account Email Returning user Can't sign in? Forgot your password? Enter your email address below and we will send you the reset instructions Email Cancel If the address matches an existing account you will receive an email with instructions to reset your password. Close Request Username Can't sign in? Forgot your username? 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SearchGo Advanced Search Skip main navigationJournal menuClose Drawer MenuOpen Drawer MenuHome Home Content Latest issue Forthcoming All content Subject collections Blog posts Information for Authors Guest editors Reviewers Readers Institutions About us About the journal Editorial board Policies Journal metrics Open access Sign up Purchase eTOC alerts RSS feeds Newsletters Request a free trial Propose an issue Restricted access MoreSections Get Access Get Access Tools Add to favorites Download Citations Track Citations Share Share on Facebook Twitter Linked In Reddit Email Cite this article Davis Charles C. , Willis Charles G. , Primack Richard B. and Miller-Rushing Abraham J. 2010The importance of phylogeny to the study of phenological response to global climate changePhil. Trans. R. Soc. B3653201–3213http://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2010.0130 Section Restricted access ArticlesThe importance of phylogeny to the study of phenological response to global climate change Charles C. Davis Charles C. Davis Department of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology, Harvard University Herbaria, 22 Divinity Ave, Cambridge, MA 02138, USA Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author , Charles G. Willis Charles G. Willis Department of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology, Harvard University Herbaria, 22 Divinity Ave, Cambridge, MA 02138, USA Department of Biology, Duke University, Durham, NC 27708, USA Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author , Richard B. Primack Richard B. Primack Department of Biology, Boston University, Boston, MA 02215, USA Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author and Abraham J. Miller-Rushing Abraham J. Miller-Rushing USA National Phenology Network, Tucson, AZ 85721, USA The Wildlife Society, Bethesda, MD 20814, USA National Park Service, Acadia National Park, Schoodic Education and Research Center, Bar Harbor, ME 04609, USA Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author Charles C. Davis Charles C. Davis Department of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology, Harvard University Herbaria, 22 Divinity Ave, Cambridge, MA 02138, USA Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author , Charles G. Willis Charles G. Willis Department of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology, Harvard University Herbaria, 22 Divinity Ave, Cambridge, MA 02138, USA Department of Biology, Duke University, Durham, NC 27708, USA Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author , Richard B. Primack Richard B. Primack Department of Biology, Boston University, Boston, MA 02215, USA Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author and Abraham J. Miller-Rushing Abraham J. Miller-Rushing USA National Phenology Network, Tucson, AZ 85721, USA The Wildlife Society, Bethesda, MD 20814, USA National Park Service, Acadia National Park, Schoodic Education and Research Center, Bar Harbor, ME 04609, USA Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author Published:12 October 2010https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2010.0130 Abstract Climate change has resulted in major changes in the phenology—i.e. the timing of seasonal activities, such as flowering and bird migration—of some species but not others. These differential responses have been shown to result in ecological mismatches that can have negative fitness consequences. However, the ways in which climate change has shaped changes in biodiversity within and across communities are not well understood. Here, we build on our previous results that established a link between plant species' phenological response to climate change and a phylogenetic bias in species' decline in the eastern United States. We extend a similar approach to plant and bird communities in the United States and the UK that further demonstrates that climate change has differentially impacted species based on their phylogenetic relatedness and shared phenological responses. In plants, phenological responses to climate change are often shared among closely related species (i.e. clades), even between geographically disjunct communities. And in some cases, this has resulted in a phylogenetically biased pattern of non-native species success. In birds, the pattern of decline is phylogenetically biased but is not solely explained by phenological response, which suggests that other traits may better explain this pattern. These results illustrate the ways in which phylogenetic thinking can aid in making generalizations of practical importance and enhance efforts to predict species' responses to future climate change. Previous Article Next Article Access options Sign in for Fellows of the Royal Society Please access the online journals via the Fellows’ Room Not a subscriber? You canrequest a library trial. Personal login Username or email Password Forgot password? Keep me logged in Institutional login Purchase Save for later Item saved, go to cart Philosophical Transactions B - PPV issue - 11 to 25 years old $191.00 Add to cart Philosophical Transactions B - PPV issue - 11 to 25 years old Checkout Restore content access Figures Related References Details Cited ByKellermann V, Hoffmann A, Overgaard J, Loeschcke V and Sgrò C (2018) Plasticity for desiccation tolerance across Drosophila species is affected by phylogeny and climate in complex ways, Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 285:1874, Online publication date: 14-Mar-2018. Irons R, Harding Scurr A, Rose A, Hagelin J, Blake T and Doak D (2017) Wind and rain are the primary climate factors driving changing phenology of an aerial insectivore, Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 284:1853, Online publication date: 26-Apr-2017. Halupka L and Halupka K (2017) The effect of climate change on the duration of avian breeding seasons: a meta-analysis, Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 284:1867, Online publication date: 29-Nov-2017. Mazaris A, Kallimanis A, Pantis J and Hays G (2013) Phenological response of sea turtles to environmental variation across a species' northern range, Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 280:1751, Online publication date: 22-Jan-2013. Wilczek A, Burghardt L, Cobb A, Cooper M, Welch S and Schmitt J (2010) Genetic and physiological bases for phenological responses to current and predicted climates, Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 365:1555, (3129-3147), Online publication date: 12-Oct-2010. Chuine I (2010) Why does phenology drive species distribution?, Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 365:1555, (3149-3160), Online publication date: 12-Oct-2010. Forrest J and Miller-Rushing A (2010) Toward a synthetic understanding of the role of phenology in ecology and evolution, Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 365:1555, (3101-3112), Online publication date: 12-Oct-2010. 12 October 2010 Volume 365Issue 1555 Theme issue 'The role of phenology in ecology and evolution' compiled and edited by Abraham J. Miller-Rushing and Jessica Forrest Article Information DOI:https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2010.0130 PubMed:20819813 Published by:Royal Society Print ISSN:0962-8436 Online ISSN:1471-2970 History: Published online12/10/2010 Published in print12/10/2010 Copyright and usage: © 2010 The Royal Society Statistics from Altmetric Keywords phylogeny climate change phenology invasive species extinction community ecology Close Figure Viewer Browse All FiguresReturn to FigureChange zoom levelZoom inZoom out Previous FigureNext Figure Caption PHILOSOPHICAL TRANSACTIONS B About this journal Propose an issue Contact information Purchasing information Open access membership Recommend to your library Help Author benefits Purchasing information Submit Open access membership Recommend to your library Contact information Help ROYAL SOCIETY PUBLISHING Our journals Open access Publishing policies Permissions Conferences Videos Blog Manage your account Terms & conditions Privacy policy Cookies Our journals Historical context Open access Publishing policies Permissions Conferences Videos Blog Manage your account Terms & conditions Privacy policy Cookies THE ROYAL SOCIETY About us Contact us Fellows Events Grants, schemes & awards Topics & policy Collections Venue hire About us Contact us Fellows Events Grants, schemes & awards Topics & policy Collections Venue hire Back to top Copyright © 2021 The Royal Society 
work_ahpwigcpbrblnjnceq6wh4mtm4	----	Black Walden: Slavery and Its Aftermath in Concord, Massachusetts (review) Black Walden: Slavery and Its Aftermath in Concord, Massachusetts (review) Joanne Pope Melish The Journal of the Civil War Era, Volume 1, Number 1, March 2011, pp. 98-100 (Review) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/cwe.2011.0007 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/417315 https://doi.org/10.1353/cwe.2011.0007 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/417315 9 8 j o u r n a l o f t h e c i v i l w a r e r a , v o l u m e 1 , i s s u e 1 to each other, rude and refi ned masculinities were (and indeed still are) at the core of mainstream American culture, attitudes and behaviors that white American men use to cultivate and maintain power. br i a n p. lusk e y br i a n p. lusk e y is assistant professor of history at West Virginia University. He is the author of On the Make: Clerks and the Quest for Capital in Nineteenth- Century America (2010). Black Walden: Slavery and Its Aftermath in Concord, Massachusetts. By Elise Lemire. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009. Pp. 248. Cloth, $29.95.) Near the beginning of Walden; or, Life in the Woods, Henry David Thoreau expresses wonder that so much attention is being paid to the “somewhat foreign form of servitude called Negro Slavery” when “there are so many keen and subtle masters that enslave both north and south.” A northern overseer is worse than a southern one, although worst of all is “when you are the slave-driver of yourself,” he observes. “Self emancipation even in the West Indian provinces of the fancy and imagination,—what Wilberforce is there to bring that about?” By “foreign,” Thoreau meant alien to white people, not foreign to New England; he knew very well that “Negro Slavery” was once a common practice in his beloved Concord, and he tells the stories of Cato Ingraham, Zilpha (Zilpah White), and Brister Freeman and his wife Fenda, former slaves who had occupied Walden Woods within the memory of the oldest Concord residents living in the 1840s.1 Despite the popularity of Walden since the 1890s, the sections invoking the history of these local New England slaves seem not to have registered with many readers. Elise Lemire, who grew up two miles from Walden Pond, fi nally read Walden in graduate school, discovered the former slaves of Walden Woods, and decided to write the history of slavery in “the nation’s birthplace” by exploring the lives of both the African Americans invoked by Thoreau and the Concord families who once owned them (9). The result is Black Walden: Slavery and Its Aftermath in Concord, Massachusetts, a rich and absorbing account that seems to confi rm Thoreau’s notion that northern overseers were worse than southern ones and raises interesting questions about “self-emancipation.” Lemire’s book is one of a growing number of eff orts to excavate the his- tory of slavery hiding in plain sight in the towns and cities of New England. b o o k r e v i e w s 9 9 While many earlier studies foregrounded blacks, a number of scholars in the 1990s began to bring whites back into the story, reorienting their investiga- tions toward the engagement of blacks and whites in slavery and freedom, and its ideological implications. While her title might suggest otherwise, Lemire’s fascinating study focuses on such engagement. Lemire has unearthed an astonishing amount of detailed information about more than a dozen African and African American slaves and the interconnected white families who built their fortunes and genteel repu- tations on their backs. The Concord slaveholders were part of a web of commercial and social relations and family alliances stretching across Massachusetts to London and the Caribbean, and these relations were conduits for acquiring and passing along slaves. She follows the life stories and interrelationships of the slaves in the context of the vicissitudes of their owners’ fortunes, and then traces their subsequent struggles as free people of color in the enclave they created in Walden Woods. Lemire has made a number of choices here, one stated in her intro- duction and others implicit in her approach, that bear mention. She has elected to use only fi rst names for members of white slave-owning families and of Thoreau himself in order “not to continue to accord him [and them] more authority and respect” than the enslaved men and women, most of whom started life with only one name (14). This is an admirable notion that occasionally makes for some confusion, although a concluding sec- tion entitled “Dramatis Personae,” which gives everyone, black and white, a last name and places slaves and slaveholders together in family group- ings, is helpful (177–82). Lemire’s interpretation of the worldview of colonial New England slaveholders raises some questions. The overwhelming motivation for obtaining slaves appears to be an obsession with obtaining genteel status. This is especially evident in the fi rst chapter, where she introduces two couples, John and Elizabeth Hoar and John and Abigail Cuming, whose parallel acquisition of slaves named Brister begins the long chain of family connections and land purchases that peoples Concord with slaveholders and slaves. Elizabeth acquires Brister for John to advance his career, just as the gift of another Brister from Chambers Russell to Timothy Wesson had advanced the latter’s career. Wesson, in turn, gives his Brister to John Cuming, soon to marry his daughter Abigail, for the same reason: “Like the slave he received from his father-in-law, the desk John received from his father was also a status symbol” (21). Although Lemire does make clear that slaves performed the hard labor necessary to free their elite owners for more gentlemanly pursuits, she seems nonetheless to emphasize the status value of Concord slaves over their labor value, which threatens to 1 0 0 j o u r n a l o f t h e c i v i l w a r e r a , v o l u m e 1 , i s s u e 1 rejuvenate the old argument that rendered New England slavery economi- cally unimportant. Black Walden raises a second issue about colonial slaveholders’ world- view that harks back to Thoreau. As Lemire sees them, “northern overseers” were indeed terrible people. In her telling, Concord slaveholders always acted out of the very basest motives; negative results were always the conse- quence of deliberation. Slaveholders “typically” underfed their child slaves (19); freeing slaves was always an act of “abandonment” (28, 108, 125, 128), and testamentary arrangements to keep them together were intended pri- marily to ensure “continued compliance” and white family “safety” (94). All slaves aggressively resisted their enslavement and seized their freedom unless they were coerced to do otherwise, and slaveholders purposefully redefi ned their freedom as a negative prize in any case; in the end there were only two kinds of former slaves—those who “had succeeded in get- ting themselves abandoned to their freedom” and those who “felt compelled to stay” (111). These stark characterizations threaten to leach the variety and complexity—and yes, humanity—out of the relations of slavery. Walter Johnson warns that historians’ desire “to label slaveholders’ behavior ‘inhu- man’” should not lead historians to misunderstand “slaveholders’ goals . . . as a loosely intentioned or even fl atly functionalist desire to ‘dehumanize’ the slaves,” and that “any notion of ‘agency’ that confl ates activity with ‘resis- tance’ is politically empty.”2 Although many slaveholders certainly acted toward their slaves in self-consciously cruel ways, many did not; while many slaves struggled mightily to emancipate themselves, others lacked Thoreau’s internal “Wilberforce” and sought merely to survive or collaborated with their enslavers. It was the ideological environment of slavery as an institu- tion—the set of assumptions that undergirded it—that poisoned the eff ects and the very meaning of both slaveholders’ actions and slaves’ responses; it did not fatally corrupt intention so much as it rendered it meaningless. In sum, Black Walden is a beautifully written, fascinating, and chal- lenging piece of historical detective work. joa n n e pope mel ish not es 1. Henry David Thoreau, Walden; or, Life in the Woods (Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1854), 4. 2. Walter Johnson, “On Agency,” Journal of Social History 37, no. 1 (Fall 2003): 116. joa n n e pope m el ish, associate professor of history at the University of Kentucky, is the author of Disowning Slavery: Gradual Emancipation and “Race” in New England, 1780–1860 (1998). 
work_ajcljlohxngajizjhhsge62vqm	----	Afterword: Comparing Vegetarianisms This article was downloaded by: [Vienna University Library] On: 27 June 2011, At: 08:00 Publisher: Routledge Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number: 1072954 Registered office: Mortimer House, 37-41 Mortimer Street, London W1T 3JH, UK South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/csas20 Afterword: Comparing Vegetarianisms Jakob A. Klein a a School of Oriental and African Studies Available online: 22 Jun 2010 To cite this article: Jakob A. Klein (2008): Afterword: Comparing Vegetarianisms, South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies, 31:1, 199-212 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00856400701874767 PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTICLE Full terms and conditions of use: http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and- conditions This article may be used for research, teaching and private study purposes. Any substantial or systematic reproduction, re-distribution, re-selling, loan, sub-licensing, systematic supply or distribution in any form to anyone is expressly forbidden. The publisher does not give any warranty express or implied or make any representation that the contents will be complete or accurate or up to date. The accuracy of any instructions, formulae and drug doses should be independently verified with primary sources. The publisher shall not be liable for any loss, actions, claims, proceedings, demand or costs or damages whatsoever or howsoever caused arising directly or indirectly in connection with or arising out of the use of this material. http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/csas20 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00856400701874767 http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions Afterword: Comparing Vegetarianisms Jakob A. Klein School of Oriental and African Studies Cross-cultural comparisons have been rare in the recent anthropology and sociology of meat-eating and vegetarianism. The search for general principles that hold true across time and space, which underpinned the heated debates between proponents of ‘symbolic’ and ‘materialist’ approaches to dietary prohibitions, 1 no longer whets most anthropological appetites. 2 As in the current issue, scholars have instead fleshed out the meanings of meat in a single locality or country, or carried out careful comparisons between adjacent locales or within broadly-defined cultural ‘regions’. In this Afterword I first consider some of the differences in approaches to the studies of meat and meat avoidance in two such ‘regions’: the West; and South Asia. With the help of additional cases drawn from research on meat prohibitions in East Asia, I then go on to suggest that a comparative, cross-regional approach to meat avoidances and prohibitions is in fact increasingly important to understanding the social dimensions of vegetarianism, including at ‘local’ and ‘regional’ levels. A number of recurring themes, ranging from articulations of meat-eating with ‘masculinity’, ‘alcohol’ and ‘luxury’, to the embroilment of meat—and especially beef—in national politics, can be found in accounts from both South Asia and the West (and elsewhere, such as East Asia). Nevertheless, the economic, social and cultural contexts in which prohibitions against meats, dairy products and eggs occur may appear so radically different from one another as to make such recurrences seem irrelevant to understanding avoidances in any one of these regions. Thus, social scientists studying meat 1 Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966); and Marvin Harris, Good to Eat: Riddles of Food and Culture (Long Grove, Ill.: Waveland Press, rpr., 1998). 2 Ladislav Holy, ‘Introduction: Description, Generalization and Comparison: Two Paradigms’, in Ladislav Holy (ed.), Comparative Anthropology (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987), pp.1 – 21; and Richard G. Fox and Andre Gingrich, ‘Introduction’, in Andre Gingrich and Richard G. Fox (eds), Anthropology, By Comparison (London and New York: Routledge, 2002), pp.1 – 24. South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies, n.s., Vol.XXXI, no.1, April 2008 ISSN 0085-6401 print; 1479-0270 online/08/010199-14 � 2008 South Asian Studies Association of Australia DOI: 10.1080/00856400701874767 D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 avoidances in South Asia have tended to work within a very different framework to those working in Western societies. ‘Vegetarian’ and ‘vegetar- ianism’, terms whose original usage can be traced to the emergence of a vegetarian movement in nineteenth-century Europe and North America, 3 are used not so much as tools for making explicit comparisons across these regions but rather as convenient shorthand for a range of beliefs and practices associated with meat rejection and operating in radically different milieux. As Staples, Caplan and Desai indicate in this issue, the scholarship on South Asian ‘vegetarianism’ has previously paid little attention to the possibility that the adoption of a meat-free diet might be related to a person’s strongly-held convictions or aspirations for personal fulfilment and well-being. Instead, the consumption and avoidance of meat or particular meats has been viewed as largely pre-determined by ethnic and religious divisions and caste hierarchies. In this scholarly tradition, Hindu notions of pollution and the rules governing food exchange between castes and genders have been given particular weight. 4 To the extent that the exercise of ‘choice’ has come into it at all, the adoption of vegetarian diets has been interpreted as an attempt at status improvement, usually by an entire caste. 5 By contrast, the question for most sociologists studying vegetarianism in Western countries has been: why is it that in societies where meat is generally not only highly valued but also increasingly abundant and affordable, certain people choose to avoid—or claim to avoid—meat, fish, eggs or dairy products? In discussing self-proclaimed vegetarians’ ‘choices’ and ‘rhetorical strategies’, 6 scholars have highlighted a variety of themes, including ethical debates on the environment, food distribution and animal welfare and rights, concerns with personal health and the construction of individual identities. 7 Many of these accounts draw on cases from industrialised countries throughout Western 3 Alan Beardsworth and Teresa Keil, Sociology on the Menu (London and New York: Routledge, 1997), pp.222 – 3. 4 R.S. Khare, The Hindu Hearth and Home (Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, 1976); and Louis Dumont, Homo Hierarchicus: The Caste System and Its Implications (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1970). 5 McKim Marriott, ‘Caste Ranking and Food Transactions: A Matrix Analysis’, in M. Singer and B.S. Cohn (eds), Structure and Change in Indian Society (Chicago: Aldine, 1968), pp.133 – 71. 6 Donna Maurer, ‘Meat as a Social Problem: Rhetorical Strategies in the Contemporary Vegetarian Literature’, in Donna Maurer and Jeffery Sobal (eds), Eating Agendas: Food and Nutrition as Social Problems (New York: Aldine de Gruyter, 1995), pp.143 – 63. 7 Beardsworth and Keil, Sociology on the Menu; Anna Willetts, ‘‘‘Bacon Sandwiches Got the Better of Me’’: Meat-Eating and Vegetarianism in South-East London’, in Pat Caplan (ed.), Food, Health and Identity (London and New York: Routledge, 1997), pp.111 – 30; and Deidre Wicks, ‘Humans, Food, and Other Animals: The Vegetarian Option’, in John Germov and Lauren Williams (eds), A Sociology of Food and Nutrition: The Social Appetite (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2nd ed., 2004), pp.263 – 87. 200 SOUTH ASIA D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 Europe, North America and Oceania. They do not, however, use examples from Asia, Africa or Latin America, where comparatively low levels of meat- eating are assumed to be due to either the effect of religion and ‘tradition’, and/ or to poor access to meat (resulting from poverty or other factors). 8 The impression is created of a dichotomy between a ‘voluntary’ and ‘modern’ 9 form of vegetarianism located in the West and an ‘involuntary’ and ‘traditional’ form of vegetarianism found elsewhere. There may be some compelling empirical reasons behind these differences of approach—including, of course, massive nutritional inequalities—although to complicate matters further, increasingly these inequalities are marked not only by a polarity between ‘the North’ and ‘the South’, but also by the fact that a growing number of countries, including India, face problems associated with both under-nutrition and over-nutrition. 10 In South Asia, to return to the core theme of this collection, the consumption and prohibition of meats is a key medium through which social divisions are communicated, enforced and, as the writers in this collection demonstrate, imagined and negotiated. The abstention from meat, and beef in particular, has enjoyed a privileged status through its association with the purity of the Brahmin varna. In recent decades, with the rise of Hindu nationalism, this status has been enhanced, and as Chitageri in this issue points out, in some cases violently enforced as well as resisted. Indeed, the politics of Hindu nationalism are an explicit or implicit factor in nearly all of the foregoing contributions. Even Desai, who is highly critical of the assumption that low castes and ‘tribals’ turn to vegetarianism out of a desire to enhance their social standing, nevertheless accepts that his ‘tribal’ informants themselves associated vegetarianism with Hindu nationalism and attempts at status enhancement (even though people in the village who adopted vegetarian diets may originally have done so for very different reasons). In the West, by contrast, vegetarianism has only occasionally been associated with social elites and political power. Although advocated by a number of thinkers since antiquity, and particularly from the seventeenth century, 11 the practice did not really take off until the middle of the nineteenth century, when vegetarian societies were established in England, Germany and elsewhere. 8 Beardsworth and Keil, Sociology on the Menu, p.218. 9 Wicks, ‘Humans, Food, and Other Animals: The Vegetarian Option’, pp.263 – 87. 10 Gary Gardner and Brian Halweil, Underfed and Overfed: The Global Epidemic of Malnutrition (Washington, DC: Worldwatch Institute, 2000). 11 Tristram Stuart, The Bloodless Revolution: Radical Vegetarians and the Discovery of India (London: Harper Press, 2006). AFTERWORD 201 D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 Thereafter it became increasingly widespread, and by the twentieth century it had become linked with a number of radical social movements, including socialism and feminism. 12 And since the late twentieth century various practices of meat avoidance have been on the rise, leading some writers to argue that vegetarianism has become ‘mainstream’ and a consumerist ‘lifestyle choice’— one of many popular forms of ‘ethical consumption’ 13 —while others have identified in this rise signs of a shift in Western understandings of humanity’s relationship to the wider environment, understandings which have previously emphasised domination over nature, including the right to kill other species for food. 14 Arguably, however, Western societies remain hegemonically carnivor- ous. Vegetarian practices continue to play a part in ‘counter-cultural’ movements and sub-cultures, and the rejection of meat within these groups is represented by actors themselves or interpreted by outside observers as an inversion of the dominant gastro-social order, in which the eating of meat—in particular of ‘red’ meat—continues to be associated with power, status and patriarchy. 15 Yet despite such differences, the articles in this issue demonstrate the inadequacy of the distinction between ‘voluntary’ Western vegetarianism and ‘rule-governed’ vegetarianism in South Asia. Instead, people in South Asia as elsewhere can make situated decisions to consume or avoid certain foods— decisions often embedded in constructions of space and place, as among Caplan’s and Donner’s middle-class Hindu urban families where certain household members, in particular men and children, enjoy meat outside the home but observe stricter rules inside it. Such place-making dimensions of food choices include the construction of regional identities. 16 Again, decisions to eat or accept particular foods may be highly strategic. According to Michelutti, for example, North Indian Yadavs embraced vegetarianism in an attempt to forge caste unity and raise their standing within the broader caste hierarchy, but Yadav men also consume chicken, milk and whisky to cultivate and perform their ‘masculine’ strength and sexual prowess, and to create political alliances with other groups. Decisions to eat or reject meats are, as is clear from these 12 Beardsworth and Keil, Sociology on the Menu, pp.219 – 23. 13 Willetts, ‘‘‘Bacon Sandwiches Got the Better of Me’’’, pp.111 – 30; Wicks, ‘Humans, Food, and Other Animals: The Vegetarian Option’, pp.263 – 87; and Bob Ashley, Joanne Hollows, Steve Jones and Ben Taylor, Food and Cultural Studies (London and New York: Routledge, 2004), p.191. 14 Nick Fiddes, Meat: A Natural Symbol (London and New York: Routledge, 1991). 15 Julia Twigg, ‘Food for Thought: Purity and Vegetarianism’, in Religion, Vol.9, no.1 (Spring 1979), pp.13 – 35; Carol Adams, The Sexual Politics of Meat: A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory (New York: Continuum, 1990); and Dylan Clark, ‘The Raw and the Rotten: Punk Cuisine’, in Ethnology, Vol.43, no.1 (Winter 2004), pp.19 – 31. 16 Donner; Mookherjee; Osella and Osella; and Caplan in this issue. 202 SOUTH ASIA D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 examples, often highly gendered,17 and they can in some instances be read as forms of resistance against caste oppression 18 or against domination in the household. 19 Furthermore, while the political and cultural contexts within which such situated avoidances take place may appear so different as to make explicit comparisons between ‘Indian’ and ‘Western’ vegetarian practices superfluous, in practice however the boundaries between apparently-discrete foodways frequently become blurred through the movements of people, ideas, images, commodities and capital. As several writers in this collection demonstrate, the ‘Indian’ vegetarian/non-vegetarian divide is not encapsulated in a bubble. Rather, it is informed and challenged by, and sustained and reshaped through, the consumption of goods from both near and far and the interactions with, and imaginings and memories of, peoples from across ethnic divisions and national borders. 20 People in South Asia and elsewhere reflect upon their own practices as they compare and contrast them with those of others—both ‘foreign’ others and ‘internal’ ones. Indeed in everyday life such comparisons are made all the time, as people are confronted with others’ habits in shared spaces, at public events and in the media. People partake of each other’s foods, sometimes in carefully managed situations of commensality, 21 at other times through conspicuous or surreptitious experiments with others’ cuisines in commercial eating establishments or in homes. 22 Nevertheless these boundary-blurring encounters can include interactions with anthropologists. In this collection Staples and Mookherjee provide vivid accounts of how their own decisions to accept or reject certain foods offered to them provoked responses among their hosts—responses which raised new questions and produced new insights about the communities they were studying and the meanings of food within them. 23 17 Michelutti; Caplan; and Donner in this issue. 18 Chitageri; and Staples in this issue. 19 Donner in this issue. 20 Mookherjee; Osella and Osella; and Caplan in this issue. 21 Caplan; and Michelutti in this issue. See also Maris Boyd Gillette, ‘Children’s Food and Islamic Dietary Restrictions in Xi’an’, in Jun Jing (ed.), Feeding China’s Little Emperors: Food, Children, and Social Change (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000), pp.71 – 93. 22 Osella and Osella; Mookherjee; Donner; Staples in this issue. See also Pierre L. van den Berghe, ‘Ethnic Cuisine: Culture in Nature’, in Ethnic and Racial Studies, Vol.7, no.3 (July 1984), pp.387 – 97; and Melissa L. Caldwell, ‘Tasting the Worlds of Yesterday and Today: Culinary Tourism and Nostalgia Foods in Post- Soviet Russia’, in Richard Wilk (ed.), Fast Food/Slow Food: The Cultural Economy of the Global Food System (Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, 2006), pp.97 – 112. 23 See David Sutton, ‘The Vegetarian Anthropologist’, in Anthropology Today, Vol.13, no.1 (Feb. 1997), pp.5 – 8. AFTERWORD 203 D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 As anthropologists have argued, it is precisely in encounters with others that food prohibitions and other dietary rules may become solidified as markers of one’s own group, but it is also through such meetings that these prohibitions and rules may be transgressed and challenged. 24 Such culinary encounters, as Mookherjee, Staples and Osella and Osella point out, do not simply challenge one’s classifications intellectually. Rather, eating events, including those involving various forms of ‘culinary tourism’, are multi-sensory bodily experiences. 25 The consumption or even thought of certain unfamiliar or prohibited foods may provoke visceral reactions of disgust—or in some cases intense feelings of pleasure—just as familiar tastes and smells can transport one instantaneously to distant times, places and occasions. 26 The study of such culinary encounters and exchanges might, it is hoped, include more investigations of the movement of ideas concerning meat rejection and consumption. Such investigations would consider which avoidances become accepted, by whom and under what conditions, and how the social, political and philosophical-ethical meanings of these meat avoidances become reshaped in new settings. Simoons’ cultural geography of flesh avoidances in the ‘Old World’, in which he notes that ‘food avoidances can change in a culture with the passage of time; and they can be diffused to other cultures and reinterpreted by them’,27 is one early and ambitious attempt to understand such processes. The book is an excellent reminder of just how interconnected foodways have been throughout history, although its broad comparative ambitions leave little space for ethnographic depth. Recent historical studies may provide more useful models. Tristram Stuart explores the ways in which Indian philosophy, and in particular the doctrine of ahimsa, was taken up in European debates on vegetarianism between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries in a process which involved both the undeniable impact of India on Western debates, but also radical 24 Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo; Mary Douglas, ‘Deciphering a Meal’, in Clifford Geertz (ed.), Myth, Symbol, and Culture (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1971), pp.61 – 81; Frederick J. Simoons, Eat Not This Flesh: Food Avoidances in the Old World (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1961); and Emiko Ohnuki-Tierney, Rice as Self: Japanese Identities Through Time (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993). 25 Caldwell, ‘Tasting the Worlds of Yesterday and Today: Culinary Tourism and Nostalgia Foods in Post- Soviet Russia’, pp.97 – 112; and David Sutton, Remembrance of Repasts: An Anthropology of Food and Memory (Oxford: Berg, 2001). 26 Mookherjee in this issue; Efrat Ben-Ze’ev, ‘The Politics of Taste and Smell: Palestinian Rites of Return’, in Marianne Elisabeth Lien and Brigitte Nerlich (eds), The Politics of Food (Oxford: Berg, 2004), pp.141 – 60; Deborah Lupton, Food, the Body and the Self (London: Sage, 1996); and Paul Rozin, ‘Food is Fundamental, Fun, Frightening, and Far-Reaching’, in Social Research, Vol.66, no.1 (Spring 1999), pp.9 – 30. 27 Simoons, Eat Not This Flesh: Food Avoidances in the Old World, p.109. 204 SOUTH ASIA D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 reinterpretations of Indian thought.28 Indeed, the inspiration that vegetarian movements in the West continue to draw from India 29 makes the lack of interest in South Asian vegetarianism in sociological studies of meat avoidance in the West all the more striking. Conversely, one might also ask in what ways Western interests in Indian vegetarian philosophies may have impacted on the meanings of meat rejection in India itself. In this vein, Stuart discusses Gandhi’s encounter with the Vegetarian Society during his time as a student in London at the end of the nineteenth century, and argues that English and American advocates of vegetarianism such as Henry Salt and Henry David Thoreau—themselves indebted to Indian philosophy—had a profound impact on Gandhi’s own political vegetarianism. 30 Stuart writes: ‘Western vegetarian- ism had been heavily influenced by Indian culture for more than 300 years; in Gandhi’s hands it was re-exported to India as a core element in the great national freedom struggle’. 31 Historians have also demonstrated that patterns of influence may be rather complicated, however, and that in some cases where practices seem to have spread from one place to another, the links may actually be rather weak or even non-existent. Kieschnick, for example, argues that although nowadays ‘Buddhism is closely associated with vegetarianism in China . . . this link was not inevitable’.32 Rather, he demonstrates that the more or less universal adoption of vegetarianism by the Chinese Buddhist clergy occurred many centuries after the introduction of Buddhism from India—and then only partially under the influence of Indian and Chinese Buddhist scriptures. Other important factors, Kieschnick maintains, included Chinese associations between meat-eating and luxury which predated the arrival of Buddhism. Similarly, while the widespread ‘beef taboo’ in late imperial China has often been assumed to be the result of Indian influence through Buddhism, Goossaert 33 —echoing aspects of Harris’ famous argument concerning the ‘riddle of the sacred cow’ in India 34 —has recently contended that the ban on beef-eating and on the use of beef as a sacrificial meat among temple 28 Stuart, The Bloodless Revolution: Radical Vegetarians and the Discovery of India. 29 See for example Rynn Berry, Food for the Gods: Vegetarianism and the World’s Religions (New York: Pythagorean Publishers, 1998). 30 Stuart, The Bloodless Revolution: Radical Vegetarians and the Discovery of India, pp.423 – 30. 31 Ibid., p.424. 32 John Kieschnick, ‘Buddhist Vegetarianism in China’, in Roel Sterckx (ed.), Of Tripod and Palate: Food, Politics, and Religion in Traditional China (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), p.186. 33 Vincent Goossaert, ‘The Beef Taboo and the Sacrificial Structure of Late Imperial Chinese Society’, in Roel Sterckx (ed.), Of Tripod and Palate: Food, Politics, and Religion in Traditional China (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), pp.237 – 48. 34 Harris, Good to Eat: Riddles of Food and Culture, pp.47 – 66. AFTERWORD 205 D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 communities were closely linked to the growing importance, beginning in the tenth century CE, of draught bovines in Chinese agriculture. We might also consider how and when trans-regional and trans-national connections may be involved in the abandonment and revival of food prohibitions. In Japan, argues Cwiertka, the taboo on beef began to disappear in the 1860s as a result of the association of beef consumption with the Westerners residing in the treaty ports whose carnivorous practices were emulated by many ‘progressive’ Japanese. 35 Although levels of meat consump- tion remained low in Japan for another 100 years, the ban formally ended in 1872 with the announcement that the emperor ate both beef and mutton, a move which ‘elevated [beef consumption] into the symbol of Japan’s transformation into a modern nation’. 36 Goossaert suggests that the decreasing importance of the beef prohibition in early-twentieth-century China was closely related to the state’s attacks on temple communities. 37 However, despite the extraordinary rise in meat-eating since the early 1980s, beef consumption remains far from universally accepted in China, and meat still carries a sense of dangerous excess. 38 Indeed, with the religious revival of the post-Mao era, 39 both beef avoidances and the adoption of vegetarian diets, particularly on certain days of the ritual calendar, may be on the rise. There are also signs of the emergence of a ‘new’ vegetarianism among urban intellectuals inspired by animal rights’ movements and ecological activism in the West, Taiwan and Japan. Shi Youbo’s Vegetarianism is a fascinating vegetarian manifesto for contemporary China which draws primarily on Western sources to develop an argument for vegetarianism on the grounds of environmental protection, human health and animal welfare. It also strategically draws the reader’s attention to Chinese and other East Asian traditions of vegetarianism and vegetarian cuisine, and describes the recent rise of vegetarian associations on Chinese campuses. In this book, meat avoidances with very different historical, ethical and cultural underpinnings become articulated into a single ‘vegetar- ianism’. 40 35 Katarzyna J. Cwiertka, Modern Japanese Cuisine: Food, Power and National Identity (London: Reaktion Books, 2006), pp.24 – 34. 36 Ibid., p.33. 37 Goossaert, ‘The Beef Taboo and the Sacrificial Structure of Late Imperial Chinese Society’, p.246. 38 Judith Farquhar, Appetites: Food and Sex in Postsocialist China (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002). 39 Daniel L. Overmeyer (ed.), ‘Special Issue: Religion in China Today’, in The China Quarterly, Vol.174 (June 2003). 40 Shi Youbo, Sushizhuyi (Vegetarianism) (Beijing: Beijing Tushuguan Chubanshe, 2004). 206 SOUTH ASIA D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 The role of trans-national encounters and ideas in shaping local foodways draws our attention to the political-economic processes and wider discourses that create the conditions within which people and ideas travel. As Cwiertka demonstrates, for example, Japanese aspirations to resist Western imperialism and join the ranks of nation-states played a crucial role in the acceptance of beef-eating. 41 Conversely, in India, nationalist movements have enhanced the status of vegetarianism and furthered the ban on cow slaughter, as Chitageri and others have highlighted in this issue. At the same time, Staples suggests that increases in beef consumption among Christians in the area where he conducted his research can be interpreted as a form of resistance to Hindu oppression, 42 and he tells us that beef-eating was associated there with the West and with modernity, and in fact enjoyed a rather high status. Indeed, prior to becoming, in Stuart’s phrase, a ‘born-again vegetarian’ in London, Gandhi had been briefly an advocate of meat-eating as a means of strengthening Indians in their struggle against colonial rule. 43 These Japanese and Indian articulations of beef-eating with nationhood and advancement are, of course, not wholly unrelated to nineteenth-century Orientalist writings which presented meat-eating Europeans as physically and mentally superior to the ‘meat-deprived’ Indians and Chinese. 44 Indeed, Stuart’s discussion of Indian influence on Western vegetarianism 45 needs to be juxtaposed to these imperialist discourses, which represented India’s reliance on grain and vegetables as a sign of its innate inferiority, irrationality and need for deliverance by enlightened carnivores. Culinary encounters and exchanges are of course not new, but the scale and speed of such transactions, within and across various ‘regions’, have intensified in recent centuries—and perhaps especially in recent decades—as a result of increased migration and other forms of travel, new technologies in areas such as communication, food preservation and transportation, and the expansion of capitalist markets and consumerism. 46 Clearly, the rise of consumer capitalism and the increase of international trade are crucial to the understanding of 41 Cwiertka, Modern Japanese Cuisine: Food, Power and National Identity, pp.24 – 34. 42 See Chitageri in this issue. 43 Stuart, The Bloodless Revolution: Radical Vegetarians and the Discovery of India, pp.424 – 5. 44 Warren Belasco, Meals to Come: A History of the Future of Food (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), pp.8 – 14. 45 Stuart, The Bloodless Revolution: Radical Vegetarians and the Discovery of India. 46 Sidney W. Mintz, ‘Afterword: Swallowing Modernity’, in James L. Watson (ed.), Golden Arches East: McDonald’s in East Asia (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), pp.183 – 200; Sidney W. Mintz, ‘Food at Moderate Speeds’, in Richard Wilk (ed.), Fast Food/Slow Food: The Cultural Economy of the Global Food System (Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, 2006), pp.3 – 11; and Jack Goody, Cooking, Cuisine and Class: A Study in Comparative Sociology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), pp.154 – 74. AFTERWORD 207 D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 contemporary food exchanges.47 Donner’s argument that middle-class married women in Calcutta in the 1990s were adopting strict vegetarian diets to carve out personal spaces for themselves in the household is set against the backdrop of a city with increasing opportunities for transgressive meat-eating outside the home, and where consumption was becoming an important means of self-expression. Her comment that women referred to themselves using the English word ‘vegetarian’ is intriguing, suggesting both the emergence of ‘the vegetarian’ as a consumerist identity, and that the practice may derive some of its significance through association with the West. Caplan draws attention to how the growing popularity of eating out and home catering among middle-class Brahmins in Madras required flexible approaches to caste purity and the vegetarian/non-vegetarian divide. Indeed, the introduction of commercially-prepared and -packaged foods may not necessarily entail the attenuation of social ties, as Counihan has argued, 48 but may in fact create new possibilities for commensality across ethnic, caste or religious divides. Gillette argues that while the Islamic pork prohibition had previously made it nearly impossible for ethnic Han in Xi’an to invite Hui Muslims into their homes, canned Coca Cola and wrapped, Western-style sweets have provided new sustenance for social interactions between Hui and Han in the Chinese city. 49 The increasingly trans-regional and trans-national food markets and the growing power of agribusiness within these are highly relevant to the study of food prohibitions, and not only in terms of the consumption of fast foods and ready-made meals. In Western contexts, the growing popularity of vegetarian- ism has been interpreted by some as a form of ‘risk management’ in a context where food economies have become less localised, and the long-term and short- term health risks associated with foods have become experienced as diffuse, untraceable and unfamiliar. 50 Either as a form of risk management or as an ethical consumerism addressing the power of the meat industry, vegetarianism can be seen as one of a number of reactions to trans-local and trans-national food economies and trade regimes, reactions which include movements toward organics, local foods, Slow Food and fair trade. 51 In China, food safety has 47 James L. Watson (ed.), Golden Arches East: McDonald’s in East Asia (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997). 48 Carole Counihan, ‘Bread as World: Food Habits and Social Relations in Modernizing Sardinia’, in Carole Counihan and Penny Van Esterik (eds), Food and Culture: A Reader (New York and London: Routledge, 1997), pp.283 – 95. 49 Gillette, ‘Children’s Food and Islamic Dietary Restrictions in Xi’an’, pp.71 – 93. 50 Ashley, Hollows, Jones and Taylor, Food and Cultural Studies, pp.187 – 97. 51 Richard Wilk (ed.), Fast Food/Slow Food: The Cultural Economy of the Global Food System (Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, 2006). 208 SOUTH ASIA D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 become a major concern among urban residents.52 Shi begins his book Vegetarianism with the argument that the recurrence of food scares, such as the recent SARS epidemic, demonstrates the relevance of Pythagoras to contemporary China. 53 What I am advocating here, then, is that anthropologists investigating meat avoidances incorporate explicitly comparative approaches into their research. This is comparison in search of the convergences—and also divergences— which may illuminate the specific cases at hand, not a comparative method in search of underlying principles or laws. I have in mind, on the one hand, something akin to what Fox describes as ‘the study of historical transforma- tion’.54 Following this method, one might explore how specific vegetarianisms move through time and space, diverge and converge with one another, and take on new forms and new meanings in different contexts. On the other hand, ‘vegetarianisms’ with no traceable connections may also shed light on each other by virtue of operating under similar historical conditions. The two types of comparison are not really unrelated either, as a comparison of (apparently) disparate dietary practices and beliefs in contact with different spheres of a trans-national food economy, for example, could help us understand how that economy operates, what its limitations are, and how it is transformed by specific economic and cultural contexts.55 Moreover, as we have seen, historically-distinctive practices may suddenly become articulated through social encounters or imaginings. The papers in this issue demonstrate the significance of regional, national and trans-national dimensions to the ‘local’ practices of vegetarianism and meat-eating they explore—be they in middle- class urban settings or ‘remote’, ‘tribal’ villages. My hunch is that with the intensification of trans-national connections, including not least a globalised food economy, a comparative perspective that addresses historical conver- gences and divergences will become increasingly necessary to understanding vegetarianisms and meat-eating, not just in South Asia, but also in the West, in East Asia and elsewhere. 52 Peter Ho and Eduard B. Vermeer, ‘Food Safety Concerns and Biotechnology: Consumers’ Attitudes to Genetically Modified Products in Urban China’, in AgBioForum, Vol.7, no.4 (2004), pp.158 – 75. 53 Shi Youbo, Sushizhuyi (Vegetarianism), p.2. 54 Richard G. Fox, ‘The Study of Historical Transformation in American Anthropology’, in Andre Gingrich and Richard G. Fox (eds), Anthropology, By Comparison (London and New York: Routledge, 2002), pp.167 – 84. 55 Wilk (ed.), Fast Food/Slow Food: The Cultural Economy of the Global Food System. See also Fox, ‘The Study of Historical Transformation in American Anthropology’, pp.167 – 84; and Aram A. Yengoyan, ‘Introduction: On the Issue of Comparison’, in Aram A. Yengoyan (ed.), Modes of Comparison: Theory and Practice (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2006), pp.1 – 27. AFTERWORD 209 D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 Bibliography Adams, Carol, The Sexual Politics of Meat: A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory (New York: Continuum, 1990). Ashley, Bob, Hollows, Joanne, Jones, Steve and Taylor, Ben, Food and Cultural Studies (London and New York: Routledge, 2004). Beardsworth, Alan and Keil, Teresa, Sociology on the Menu (London and New York: Routledge, 1997). Belasco, Warren, Meals to Come: A History of the Future of Food (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006). van den Berghe, Pierre L., ‘Ethnic Cuisine: Culture in Nature’, in Ethnic and Racial Studies, Vol.7, no.3 (1984), pp.387 – 97. Ben-Ze’ev, Efrat, ‘The Politics of Taste and Smell: Palestinian Rites of Return’, in Marianne Elisabeth Lien and Brigitte Nerlich (eds), The Politics of Food (Oxford: Berg, 2004), pp.141 – 60. Berry, Rynn, Food for the Gods: Vegetarianism and the World’s Religions (New York: Pythagorean Publishers, 1998). Caldwell, Melissa L., ‘Tasting the Worlds of Yesterday and Today: Culinary Tourism and Nostalgia Foods in Post-Soviet Russia’, in Richard Wilk (ed.), Fast Food/Slow Food: The Cultural Economy of the Global Food System (Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, 2006), pp.97 – 112. Clark, Dylan, ‘The Raw and the Rotten: Punk Cuisine’, in Ethnology, Vol.43, no.1 (2004), pp.19 – 31. Counihan, Carole, ‘Bread as World: Food Habits and Social Relations in Modernizing Sardinia’, in Carole Counihan and Penny Van Esterik (eds), Food and Culture: A Reader (New York and London: Routledge [1984] 1997), pp.283 – 95. Cwiertka, Katarzyna J., Modern Japanese Cuisine: Food, Power and National Identity (London: Reaktion Books, 2006). Douglas, Mary, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966). Douglas, Mary, ‘Deciphering a Meal’, in Clifford Geertz (ed.), Myth, Symbol, and Culture (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1971), pp.61 – 81. Dumont, Louis, Homo Hierarchicus: The Caste System and Its Implications (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1970). Farquhar, Judith, Appetites: Food and Sex in Postsocialist China (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002). Fiddes, Nick, Meat: A Natural Symbol (London and New York: Routledge, 1991). Fox, Richard G., ‘The Study of Historical Transformation in American Anthro- pology’, in Andre Gingrich and Richard G. Fox (eds), Anthropology, By Comparison (London and New York: Routledge, 2002), pp.167 – 84. Fox, Richard G. and Gingrich, Andre, ‘Introduction’, in Andre Gingrich and Richard G. Fox (eds), Anthropology, By Comparison (London and New York: Routledge, 2002), pp.1 – 24. 210 SOUTH ASIA D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 Gardner, Gary and Halweil, Brian, Underfed and Overfed: The Global Epidemic of Malnutrition (Washington, DC: Worldwatch Institute, 2002). Gillette, Maris Boyd, ‘Children’s Food and Islamic Dietary Restrictions in Xi’an’, in Jun Jing (ed.), Feeding China’s Little Emperors: Food, Children, and Social Change (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000), pp.71 – 93. Goody, Jack, Cooking, Cuisine and Class: A Study in Comparative Sociology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982). Goossaert, Vincent, ‘The Beef Taboo and the Sacrificial Structure of Late Imperial Chinese Society’, in Roel Sterckx (ed.), Of Tripod and Palate: Food, Politics, and Religion in Traditional China (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005), pp.237 – 48. Harris, Marvin, Good to Eat: Riddles of Food and Culture (Long Grove, Ill.: Waveland Press, [1985] 1998). Ho, Peter and Vermeer, Eduard B., ‘Food Safety Concerns and Biotechnology: Consumers’ Attitudes to Genetically Modified Products in Urban China’, in AgBioForum, Vol.7, no.4 (2004), pp.158 – 75. Holy, Ladislav, ‘Introduction: Description, Generalization and Comparison: Two Paradigms’, in Ladislav Holy (ed.), Comparative Anthropology (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987), pp.1 – 21. Khare, R.S., The Hindu Hearth and Home (Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, 1976). Kieschnick, John, ‘Buddhist Vegetarianism in China’, in Roel Sterckx (ed.), Of Tripod and Palate: Food, Politics, and Religion in Traditional China (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005), pp.186 – 212. Lupton, Deborah, Food, the Body and the Self (London: Sage, 1996). Maurer, Donna, ‘Meat as a Social Problem: Rhetorical Strategies in the Contemporary Vegetarian Literature’, in Donna Maurer and Jeffery Sobal (eds), Eating Agendas: Food and Nutrition as Social Problems (New York: Aldine de Gruyter, 1995), pp.143 – 63. Marriott, McKim, ‘Caste Ranking and Food Transactions: A Matrix Analysis’, in M. Singer and B.S. Cohn (eds), Structure and Change in Indian Society (Chicago: Aldine, 1968), pp.133 – 71. Mintz, Sidney W., ‘Afterword: Swallowing Modernity’, in James L. Watson (ed.), Golden Arches East: McDonald’s in East Asia (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), pp.183 – 200. Mintz, Sidney W., ‘Food at Moderate Speeds’, in Richard Wilk (ed.), Fast Food/Slow Food: The Cultural Economy of the Global Food System (Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, 2006), pp.3 – 11. Ohnuki-Tierney, Emiko, Rice as Self: Japanese Identities Through Time (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993). Overmeyer, Daniel L. (ed.), ‘Special Issue: Religion in China Today’, in The China Quarterly, Vol.174 (June 2003). Rozin, Paul, ‘Food is Fundamental, Fun, Frightening, and Far-Reaching’, in Social Research, Vol.66, no.1 (1999), pp.9 – 30. AFTERWORD 211 D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 Shi Youbo, Sushizhuyi (Vegetarianism) (Beijing: Beijing Tushuguan Chubanshe, 2004). Simoons, Frederick J., Eat Not This Flesh: Food Avoidances in the Old World (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1961). Stuart, Tristram, The Bloodless Revolution: Radical Vegetarians and the Discovery of India (London: Harper Press, 2006). Sutton, David, ‘The Vegetarian Anthropologist’, in Anthropology Today, Vol.13, no.1 (1997), pp.5 – 8. Sutton, David, Remembrance of Repasts: An Anthropology of Food and Memory (Oxford: Berg, 2001). Twigg, Julia, ‘Food for Thought: Purity and Vegetarianism’, in Religion, Vol.9, no.1 (1979), pp.13 – 35. Watson, James L. (ed.), Golden Arches East: McDonald’s in East Asia (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997). Wicks, Deidre, ‘Humans, Food, and Other Animals: The Vegetarian Option’, in John Germov and Lauren Williams (eds), A Sociology of Food and Nutrition: The Social Appetite (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2nd ed., 2004), pp.263 – 87. Wilk, Richard (ed.), Fast Food/Slow Food: The Cultural Economy of the Global Food System (Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, 2006). Willetts, Anna, ‘‘‘Bacon Sandwiches Got the Better of Me’’: Meat-Eating and Vegetarianism in South-East London’, in Pat Caplan (ed.), Food, Health and Identity (London and New York: Routledge, 1997), pp.111 – 30. Yengoyan, Aram A., ‘Introduction: On the Issue of Comparison’, in Aram A. Yengoyan (ed.), Modes of Comparison: Theory and Practice (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2006), pp.1 – 27. 212 SOUTH ASIA D ow nl oa de d by [ V ie nn a U ni ve rs it y L ib ra ry ] at 0 8: 00 2 7 Ju ne 2 01 1 
work_ak7escpqtjcyxbbvdyqvzenme4	----	MergedFile Review: “The ‘Conspiracy’ of Free Trade. The Anglo-American Struggle over Empire and Economic Globalization, 1846–1896” by Marc-William Palen Author: Dennis Kölling Stable URL: http://www.globalhistories.com/index.php/GHSJ/article/view/68 DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.17169/GHSJ.2016.68 Source: Global Histories, Vol. 2, No. 1 (Oct. 2016), pp. 96–99 ISSN: 2366-780X Copyright © 2016 Dennis Kölling License URL: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Publisher information: ‘Global Histories: A Student Journal’ is an open-access bi-annual journal founded in 2015 by students of the M.A. program Global History at Freie Universität Berlin and Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. ‘Global Histories’ is published by an editorial board of Global History students in association with the Freie Universität Berlin. Freie Universität Berlin Global Histories: A Student Journal Friedrich-Meinecke-Institut Koserstraße 20 14195 Berlin Contact information: For more information, please consult our website www.globalhistories.com or contact the editor at: admin@globalhistories.com. http://www.globalhistories.com/index.php/GHSJ/article/view/68 http://dx.doi.org/10.17169/GHSJ.2016.68 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://www.globalhistories.com/ mailto:admin@globalhistories.com 96 The “Conspiracy” of Free Trade: The Anglo-American Struggle over Empire and Economic Globalization, 1846- 1896 By Marc-William Palen, Cambridge UK; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Pp. 331, Hardback $99.99, ISBN: 978-1-107-10912-4 REVIEWED BY DENNIS KÖLLING Dennis Kölling holds an undergraduate degree in North American Studies from the John-F.- Kennedy-Institute at Freie Universität Berlin and is studying in the MA program in Global His- tory at Freie Universität Berlin and Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. He is currently spending a semester abroad at Vanderbilt University. His main research interests include the Global Cold War, modern cultural history with a focus on meanings of music, and the history of the interplay of executive, legislative, and judiciary in US American Foreign Policy. While in the last few decades the United States was regarded by many as the most vocal proponent of neoliberal economic policy and international trade de- regulation, recent criticisms arising from heated debates around trade agreements such as TTIP, TPP, and CETA, as well as the Sanders and Trump 2016 campaigns’ flirtation with protectionism, have shown that US free trade policy still remains a divisive and relevant issue today. Marc-William Palen, in his book The “Con- spiracy” of Free Trade, explores this historic struggle, framing his study around free trade and protectionism in the United States during the nineteenth century, and contextualizing the rise of liberal economic thinking within Anglo-American relations. Palen’s monograph aims at deconstructing common historical depic- tions of the nineteenth century as a ‘laissez-faire era’ in domestic economic policy with little control by a ‘weak’ state. Palen instead emphasizes the prevalence of economic nationalism and restrictive policies aimed at protecting the American market, including high protective tariffs, restrictions on immigration, and federal subsidization. He then follows a growing movement of British-influenced cos- mopolitan free traders, opposing protectionist policies in the public discourse and in the government’s policy conduct. Palen’s work ultimately serves as a major contribution to the economic and imperial history of the United States, as he lays out a variety of original claims, challenging the way the rise of American informal empire has been portrayed in historiography. The genesis of the division between prevalent protectionists and struggling free traders in American history has been widely overlooked by the dominant strand of scholarly publications in economic and diplomatic history, advocating the nar- rative of the US as an ‘open door’ empire. Notably, the Wisconsin school of dip- lomatic history and its revisionist founder William Appleman Williams have es- 97 Global Histories Volume ii october 2016 Review: The “Conspiracy” of Free Trade tablished the tradition of describing the US as an ‘empire of free trade’, pursuing liberal economic policies in world politics in order to maintain informal, capitalist imperial ambitions. Palen’s foremost and most original claim stresses that the idea of an ‘empire of free trade’ neglects the prominence of protectionism in the United States govern- ment during the nineteenth century. He proposes instead that US economic policy in that period is better described as the ‘imperialism of economic nationalism’, forcing access to foreign markets while staying protective at home. Palen supports his argument by tracing the debate surrounding free trade and protectionism to an ideological battle between ‘Cobdenites’ and ‘Listians’. ‘Cob- denites’ subscribed to the economic thinking of British reformer Richard Cobden, leading thinker of the Manchester school of economic liberalism. ‘Listians’ on the other hand drew inspiration from the German economist Friedrich List, main proponent of the German Zollverein and one of the first economists to argue for an Entwicklungsökonomie – proposing that economically underdeveloped nations like France, Germany, and the US would be able to catch up with developed na- tions like the British empire inside a system of protective tariffs only. Palen illus- trates how both Cobdenites and Listians saw free trade as a sort of economic goal, but Cobdenites wanted to establish a free trade economy modeled after the British system right away, while Listians stressed the importance of only establishing free trade policies between equally developed countries. Palen successfully links Cobdenite ideology to intellectuals like William Cul- len Bryant, Edward Atkinson, and Henry Ward Beecher, all of whom were in the latter half of the nineteenth century organized into the so-called ‘Cobden Clubs’ that were founded in England and the US. He furthermore argues that these intel- lectuals were invested in abolitionism and then traces the rise of free trade senti- ment in the Republican Party before and during the Civil War in connection to the party’s abolitionist stance. He finally identifies an estrangement of free traders from the Republican Party following the end of the Civil War resulting in a party realignment that became widely visible in the 1884 elections when many former Cobdenite Republicans voted for the Democrat Grover Cleveland. Palen’s book is structured chronologically and greatly illustrates the ideolog- ical battle between Cobdenites and Listians in the American party system, the press, and even popular culture. Palen’s narrative draws upon a wide variety of sources ranging from personal communication between intellectuals involved in the ideological battle, various press articles from newspapers engaging in the de- bate, to the writings of authors such as Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Em- erson, and Edward Bellamy. The “Conspiracy” of Free Trade contributes widely to the history of the American party system by connecting the realignment of the Republican Party to its prevalent protectionist members, with the Cobdenites as “mugwumps” moving to the Democratic Party as a result. Global Histories Volume ii october 2016 98 Dennis Kölling As a second big claim, Palen links the ideology of Listian protectionism to a sentiment of Anglophobia, which served as the basis of various ‘conspiracies’ surrounding free traders in the US during the 19th Century. While Palen’s use of archival sources illustrates greatly how Listians linked Cobdenities to British money and accused them of promoting free trade as agents of the British empire, he falls short of defining the very term ‘conspiracy theory’ and connecting it to the wide array of scholarly research in that respective realm. In the end, Palen’s allusion to conspiracy, already present in the title, fails to be properly addressed in his monograph. Another shortcoming of his book is its failure to provide a truly global narrative of the intellectual networks he proposes. While Palen connects the story of the battle between Cobdenites and Listians to the globalization of ideas and elabo- rates widely on the influence of American tariff policies on a global scale, he fails to address perspectives from countries outside the Anglo-American realm. He discusses Canadian and Australian Cobdenites and Listians in detail in the sixth chapter of his book, but neglects to look into more detail as to how reformers in Latin America reacted to the US imperialist policy of forcing access to markets. He acknowledges the influence of Listian economics on the Meiji period in Japan but then does not provide any further information about how the Japanese reform- ers interacted with the network of globally connected Listian thinkers he proposes. However, it has to be said that Palen does state from the beginning that his focus will center on the influence of Cobdenism and Listian economics on the Anglo- American relationship. Ultimately, the globally-connected network approach he chose deserves further academic attention and the integration of intellectuals from a wider array of national backgrounds. Despite these shortcomings, Palen very originally ties the debate within the US to the history of American imperialism, keeping in mind its global implications. He succeeds in showing how Cobdenites, despite their adherence to worldwide free trade, were very much invested in cosmopolitan anti-imperialist movements. His evaluation therefore does not only serve as a great contribution to the history of domestic economic policy in the United States but also challenges the way American empire building is perceived in a global history of modern imperialism. Scholars of global history should especially embrace Palen’s eighth chapter Free Trade in Retreat in which he traces the global implications of the protectionist McKinley Tariff of 1890 and furthermore links the policy to rising demands for a ‘Greater Britain’ pursuing protectionist policies all over the British empire. The Conspiracy of Free Trade serves as a fresh take on the history of the Ameri- can party system and the economic relationship with Great Britain. Its compelling narrative illustrates greatly the struggle around trade liberalization and empire that was prevalent in the nineteenth century United States. The book challenges the traditional notion of an ‘open door empire’ and instead proposes a new take on US imperialism by emphasizing protection at home and the forced access to 99 Global Histories Volume ii october 2016 Review: The “Conspiracy” of Free Trade markets abroad. Global historians and practitioners working on the history of the American party system alike should consider this publication when researching historical economic dynamics in the United States and positioning these in the context of a globalizing Anglo-American realm. 
work_aotvg2wwubd5ddllzrvafka7iy	----	Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia postscriptum: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Literary Studies Volume 1 Number ii (July 2016) Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in Biswas, Anandarup. “Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia” pp. 1-19 Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia Anandarup Biswas Assistant Professor in English, Shibpur DB College, Howrah The author teaches English Literature in Shibpur Dinobundhoo College, affiliated to the University of Calcutta where he is an Assistant Professor. He is pursuing his doctoral research on Eric Rolls and Australian Environmentalism from Burdwan University. He has received the Australia-India Council Fellowship to visit reputed Australian Universities for research activities. He also has interest in travel writing, particularly pilgrimage writing on the Himlayas in late 19th and early 20th Century Bengal. He has completed a UGC Minor Research Project on that subject. Abstract The discourse of environmentalism now cuts across several disciplinary fields of studies. The scope of environmentalism has widened to such an extent that it is no longer a local or national phenomenon involving a particular group or community but a global and international issue ridden with crises that often touch upon common lives. In Australia the role of man in shaping the natural environment and vise-versa has been extremely important since the time of human settlement and more so after it was settled by the Europeans. Although it is customary to trace the origins of environmentalism to the rise of green movements in North America in the 1950s and 60s, in Australia too much has been written from the perspective of an environmentalist. Environment now comes up as a top priority issue in policy making and planning. Simultaneously, the cultural and literary output that deals with environment has also grown significantly. This paper will look into one of Australia’s most well-known writer in this evolving field of environmental discourses and try to analyze his contribution as an environmentalist. Eric Rolls (1923 – 2007) stands out as an important figure in the field of literary and environmental activism in Australia. His woks can be best appreciated from the perspective of a living and growing tradition of writing in Australia which overlaps the fields of literature, environmental history and cultural ecology. The issues of resource use and settlement are fundamental to the understanding of Australian nature writing and the importance of Eric Rolls in this context needs to be emphasized. Through his writings on the evolution and formation of Australian wildlife and vegetation after the settlement by the whites, he provided rich commentary on the early colonial attitudes to the continent. The history of environmentalism is a combination of individual and collective activism expressed through cultural, social and political movements. Eric Rolls was not part of any organized environmental campaign. But his writings give us an important insight into the intellectual aspect of environmentalism in Australia. By looking at a few of Rolls’s works this paper will look to understand the multidisciplinary discourse of environmentalism in Australia. It will also make a modest attempt to position Rolls in a dynamic and shifting scenario of environmental change and contextualize his views and observations. Keywords environmentalism, Eric Rolls, Australia, activism Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 2 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia This paper aims to address two sets of queries: on a more general level it looks to explore a broader and relatively general issue of the interaction between literary activism and environmentalism; on a more particular and specific level it sets out to appraise the writings of Eric Charles Rolls (1923–2007) as a participatory dialogue in the discourse of environmentalism in Australia. The primary issue needs to be clarified in a broader historical context. Many mass movements in human history have been significantly enriched and empowered by literary writings, political treatise, pamphlets, lectures, and so on i .The relationship between writing and activism is therefore not a novel phenomenon; nor are the two mutually exclusive in their domains. Emancipatory movements have frequently benefitted from intellectual discourse either as an instrument of empowerment or as a medium for voicing protests. Henry Louis Gates Jr., one of the most important voices of African American critical theory argues that the very act of writing is an essentially enabling act: ―The act of writing . . . was no idle matter; it represented a profound definition and defense of the critical self. In an act of self-defense, the writer asserts the integrity of the self through the device of displacement‖ (Gates Jr., 1984, 2).Other movements of protests against discrimination and for emancipation have consistently produced literatures that have helped people to fight for their rights. Whether it is gender, race, caste, civil rights, political rights, land rights, social movements have always had a close and symbiotic relationship with writing. When it comes to the environment, the scenario becomes a little complex. Most other mass movements try to assert rights of human beings and therefore address the issues of identity, difference and representation as categories of primary contention. But in case of environmental movements it is almost always that the activist fights or writes for the cause of a non-human world although the interests of human communities may often be closely related to them. Whether it was in the creation of the world‘s first national park in Yellowstone in 1872 or the sustained campaigns of people like Myles Dumphy ii for the conversation of the Blue Mountains forest, or the Chipko iii movement and the Narmada Bachao iv (save the river Narmada) movement in India, or the campaigns of Dai Qing v to protest the construction of the three gorges dam in Chinaor the activism of Jose Lutzemberger vi in Brazil, there has been a persistent intellectual involvement from writers and activists. The contours of the history of the relationship between environmental activism and literary writing have to be mapped with significant emphasis before exploring the distinctly Australian characteristics of that relation. Most scholars prefer to look at the rise of organized environmental protest movements from the 1960s. Several important works began to come out particularly in the USA which prioritized wilderness values. Roderick F Nash‘s Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 3 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia (Nash, 2001) classic study of the wilderness ethos and its role in the American conservation movement still remains a landmark text. So does Rachel Carson‘s (Carson, 2000) groundbreaking study of the disastrous effects of the use of chemical pesticides and Aldo Leopold‘s land ethic. M Zimmerman, in a serious study of radical environmentalism sees the development of green philosophies and movements as part of a wider counterculture movement in North America. Arguing in favour of a close affinity between ecological movements and other countercultures particularly in the USA, Zimmerman seeks to establish the interrelatedness of ecofeminism, social and deep ecology with the postmodern agenda as a whole which challenges the erstwhile grand-narratives of modernism.Of the other American environmentalists vii who were strong proponents of the conservation of wilderness also wrote extensively on the importance of preservation of natural environment for its own sake. Even though scholars viii include people like John James Audubon (1785-1851), George Perkins Marsh (1801-1882), Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) as significant contributors to the growth of the conservation movement and green consciousness in America, the rise of organized and collective social movement is considered to have begun during the 1960s. At least two directions in which the environmentalism of the late 20 th Century progressed were noticeable. One, the conservation of wilderness for its own values and based on an ethical rather than economic value, two, the conservation of natural resources for their commercial value. This debate is often symbolized by the names of two conservationists who took the two sides – namely John Muir who stood for the first cause and G. Pinchot, who stood for the second ix . How did the green movement gain importance in America in the 60s and 70s and then move on to become a global concern in the next few decades? Nash argues that the preoccupation with wilderness alongside environment and ecology grew out of a ―counterculture‖, as a criticism of American culture itself. Wilderness was seen as an ―antipode of civilization‖: . . . the American fascination with wilderness was gaining momentum. Pushing it were broad changes in American values and priorities that we know as 1960s environmentalism, the ecological perspective and the counterculture. Rachel Carson published Silent Spring in 1962, Aldo Lepold‘s A Sand County Almanac...became a best seller, and Bob Dylan sang about changing times. The Wilderness Act became law in 1964. .... The biggest preservation fight of the century was shaping over the proposal to dam the Grand Canyon. Suddenly it seemed that wilderness was ―relevant‖. (Nash, 2001, vii) Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 4 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia Recent scholarship has however traced the origins of environmentalism outside the arena of organized mass movements to include a wide range of writing dating back to the 19 th Century (Drew & Connors, 1999) (Guha, 2009) (Guha, 2006) (Alier, 2002). With the rise of postcolonial critical theory, the need to reconstruct and reorient the grand-narratives of history was felt at various levels and environment gathered importance as a piece in a much wider jigsaw puzzle. Just as post modern and postcolonial interventions are making the environment relevant often by appropriating them, environmental movements too, have not developed in isolation; they have been shaped by political, cultural, economic and geographical factors. The site of environmental protest movement therefore also becomes the site of ideological and cultural interaction.The rise of the deep ecology movement, social ecology, ecofeminism, conservation biology, pollution studies, population studies have all contributed towards promoting an ecocentric consciousness.Writers from diverse fields have protested against the indiscriminate exploitation of natural resources. The impact of such a dynamic and multi- perspectival approach to environmental writing has been manifested in the sheer volume and variety of literatures that have environment at its centre. The term literary environmentalism is often used to imply literary writings which play a significant role in engendering ecological consciousness or awareness. I wish to use the term in a broader sense to include not only literary types but also other forms of writing like environmental history, travel-journals and personal memoirs that have a recognizable impact in creating environmental consciousness. In Australia the history of literary activism in general has not followed a linear pathway of protest nor has it been wholly successful in leaving lasting footprints for successive generations to trace. The literary writer‘s role as a public intellectual in Australia is conditioned by complex factors. Brigid Rooney (Rooney, 2009) raises a few pertinent questions about the role of the writer as a public intellectual in general. ―What motivates writers to function as public intellectuals? How do writer‘s public interventions impact on their careers or reputations? How should we interpret their representations, and their writings, in this light?‖ (Rooney 2009, xxii). Given that the intellectual and the activist form ―mutually exclusive categories‖ (Rooney 2009, xxii), she argues that ―some writers are better described as intellectuals, and others better described as activists in their mode of public intervention. More often, however these categories overlap and intersect‖ (Rooney 2009, xxii). In her consideration of how literary writing becomes part of public life in Australia, Rooney explores some central critical conditions on which the Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 5 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia identity of the writer-intellectual is contingent: ―The contradictory role of writers, especially of those who seek to distance themselves from market forces even as they anticipate, write for and address their readerships, is only heightened and exacerbated in Australia with its colonial history, its long standing cultural insecurity and its relatively small population‖ (Rooney, 2009, xxvii). Tim Bonyhady argues that even for Judith Wright, one of Australia‘s ―great artist activists‖, the label ‗activist‘ could not be applied for ―historical‖ reasons: When ‗activism‘ emerged as a term in the early 1900s, it was used either to identify a brand of philosophy – a theory that assumed the objective reality and active existence of everything – or to describe any form of energetic action. It was only later . . . perhaps only in the 1960s, that it became a term for a form of political activity, almost always on the left, dissenting, the stuff of the fervent minority, starting it seems with union activists and anti-war activists, and followed only later by environmental activists, Aboriginal activists and even judicial activists. (Bonyhady, Torn Between Art and Activism, 2007, 19) According to Bonyhady, becoming an activist ―requires more direct social and political engagement‖ (Bonyhady, Torn Between Art and Activism, 2007, 20). John Kinsella (Kinsella, 2010), one of Australia‘s more articulate poet-activists, is categorical about the role of the artist (poet) as activist: ―‗Environmentalism‘, for want of a better word, is what I do in life and in my writing. ... Rarely does one write a poem about pure anything, but ultimately, though not exclusively I try to keep the balancing in favour of the open ended lyric rather than the propagandist rhetoric‖ (Kinsella, 2010, 1). Judith Wright in her essay ―The Writer as Activist‖ argues that ―partisan and activist art has been excluded from our canons. Yet it has a long and honourable history and present‖ (Wright 132). Wright is critical of the fact that dissident voices in Australia have by and large remained aloof from canonical discourses. Historians are generally dismissive of the scope and impact of environmental awareness campaigns which were active in Australia since the time of the European settlement (Drew & Connors, 1999). Stuart Macintyre sees the rise of environmentalism as a phenomenon of the 1970s and he argues that the reason for the rise of this ―new voice‖ (Macintyre 2006, 278) of environmentalists was a need to put control over unmonitored immigration. Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 6 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia The rise of environmental movement in Australia may be seen as a later development but the role of writers in creating a public awareness about the natural world has a fairly long tradition. At least two trends are traceable. One, the tradition of literary environmentalism which cuts across several forms of literary writing including poems, fiction, memoirs and essays, and second, the rise of environmental history in the later decades of the 20 th Century.Naturewriting was a part of a larger attempt at creating awareness about an unfamiliar natural world. The beginnings of Australian nature writing in English could be traced to the early ―bushwalkers‖ (Harper, 2008) who were highly enthusiastic about documenting the brown open country for their fellow Europeans at the continental mainland. Driven by an exploratory and antiquarian zeal, the white settler made frequent rambles into the Australian mainland since the early decades of settlement. Tom Griffiths (Griffiths, 1996) argues that much of early Australian nature writing was ―haunted‖ by a sense of ―migrant nostalgia‖ (Griffiths 1996, 3), dispossession, hostility and tension. Griffiths argues that the white Australian response to nature was directly and sub-consciously shaped by a desire for the ―emotional possession of the land‖ (Griffiths 1996, 4): ―These historians, nature writers, antiquarians and urban progressives who influenced popular attitudes to nature and the past in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries tried to confront and overturn the melancholic strain of the local environmental and historical imagination. In doing so they had to conflate a narrative of avoidance, one that curiously conflated a vision of pastoral peace and anticipation of war‖ (Griffiths, 1996, 5). This view, suggested by Griffiths, imparts vital importance to early Australian nature writing. By constructing a narrative of the natural environment from a subject position conditioned by wonder, distance, violence, antiquarianism, exploratory zeal, and progressivist ethics, the early writers were engaged in a conflictual relation to the landscape. They could neither do away with their colonial notions of landscape and nature nor could they fully assimilate the new environment as part of their emerging literary culture. In an illuminating study of the development of the culture of bushwalking, Melissa Harper (Harper 2008) argues that while finding new land for production was the obvious reason for most walking expeditions, many white Australian walkers were also inspired by the aesthetic appeal of the wilderness which was part of the English Romantic movement. Usually regarded as the ―early heroes of the conservation movement‖ (Harper, 2008, xi), the likes of Fred Eden, George Morrison, Alexander Sutherland, Percy Grainger, William Hamlet and Bill Waters (Harper, 2008), (Griffiths, 2001) were keen observers of the natural world and eager to share their thoughts with the public. Even John Monash x was an inveterate walker and climber. Many of these writers Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 7 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia maintained journals or diaries (Harper, 2008, p. xiii) but there was not much scope for publishing their experiences xi . For most walkers, a good way of interacting with the public and sharing their knowledge about the bush were walking clubs, nature study clubs, and ornithological societies. Between 1866 and 1914 several societies were established across Australia, which campaigned for preservation of natural species. Some of the most well known clubs were The Field Naturalists‘ Club in Victoria (1880), Tasmanian Ornithological Society (1888), South Australia Ornithological Society (1899), Wallaby club in Melbourne (1894), the Warragamba walking club in Sydney (1895) and Wildlife Preservation Society in NSW (1909). During this time international influences seem to be operating on Australian activists as well. In Queensland for example, R M Collins who was inspired by the Yellowstone National Park during his visit to the US and Romeo Lahey lobbied relentlessly and Lamington National Park was established in 1915. About half a century earlier, the publication of G P Marsh‘s Man and Nature (Marsh, 1864) in the USA also proved influential among Australian conservation enthusiasts (Drew & Connors, 1999, 51). The laying of railway tracks along with a growing interest in life as a bushwalker contributed to the rise of tourism (Horne, 2005) (Harper, 2008) (Griffiths, 2001). More and more Australians (and foreigners) began to venture into the newly developed tourist destinations like the Blue Mountains, Mt. Kosciusko and Southern Highlands in New South Wales, Mount Wellington, Lake District and Hartz Mountain in Tasmania, Mt. Buffalo in Victoria and so on. Later a scientific interest in the natural world led many like John Gould xii Francis Ratcliffe xiii , and others to write extensively on the species of flora and fauna in Australia. Eric Rolls spent his lifetime in recreating a vision of Australia which seemed to have been lost under a ―permanent drab coat over its loveliness‖ (E. C. Rolls 2002, vii).Working for the most part outside the institutionalized academia, he pursued research as one who was deeply bonded with the land he grew up in. Often seen as a ―farmer-poet‖, Rolls‘s writing falls into two major groups. His literary writings consist of poems, memoirs and reflections on the Australian landscape while his non-fictional works include at least three seminal works of Australian environmental history (E. C. Rolls 1977) (E. C. Rolls 1981) (E. C. Rolls 2000). His other environmental writings are also informed with a deep sense of history in which he attains a fine balance between man and nature (E. C. Rolls 2000), (E. C. Rolls 1993) (E. C. Rolls 2002)Rolls also wrote extensively about the history of Australia‘s relation with the Chinese people (E. C. Rolls 1996). How do these writings contribute to environmental activism? Or, to reframe our question, in what sense is Eric Rolls an activist? Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 8 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia Not stereotyped as a public intellectual, Rolls was an insider for whom nature was not a distant utopia to be worshipped and adored, but a real, dynamic entity. It is therefore difficult to classify Rolls as a literary environmentalist alone. His environmentalism, being inspired by curiosity and interest, evolved through his poetry as well as his historical writing. His activism was never allied to a definite political agenda or a particular wave of social protest, but it permeated his thoughts as a farmer, as a poet, but most strongly as an environmental historian. Slovic studies the tradition of American nature writing with Thoreau as a reference point and explores the psychological orientation Edward Abbey, Annie Dillard, Wendell Berry and Barry Lopez. Awareness according to Slovic is central to the writings of many American nature writers: ―Most nature writers, from Thoreau to the present, walk a fine line . . . between rhapsody and detachment, between aesthetic celebration and scientific explanation. And the effort to achieve an equilibrium, a suitable balance of proximity to and distance from nature, results in the prized tension of awareness‖ (Slovic 1996, 353). Rolls is neither ―rhapsodic‖ nor fully detached. Instead of celebrating an exclusionary view of nature which was the subject of American pastoralism, Rolls views the environment as dynamic and constantly engaged with human agency. Rolls‘s approach to environment and nature is typically Australian. Compared to early American environmentalists who were proponents of a wilderness-aesthetics that relied heavily on a pre-discursive, cultural construct rather than a realistic space shared by humans and nature, Rolls was a pragmatic writer who saw the environment as a man-nature continuum. As a result he was free from the central paradox that influenced almost all of American environmental thinking. The champions of wilderness like Thoreau and Muir promoted a ―rhetoric of retreat‖ (Garrard 2007, 66) in their celebration of the sublime. Later literary environmentalists like William Cronon and Lawrence Buell among others were critical of this view. For Cronon the idea of wilderness is pivoted on a ―central paradox: wilderness embodies a dualistic vision in which the human is entirely outside the natural‖ (Cronon 1995, 80). Alison Byerly also points out the same paradox in American wilderness thinking. ―The aestheticization of landscape‖, she argues, ―removed it from the realm of nature and designated it a legitimate object of artistic consumption.‖ ―The idea of wilderness refers to the absence of humanity, yet, ―wilderness‖ has no meaning outside the context of the civilization that defines it. The paradox requires that we experience the wilderness without changing its status as wilderness. This can only be done by constructing an aesthetic image of the wilderness that allows us to avoid confronting its reality‖ (Byerly Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 9 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia 1996, 53-4). For Lawrence Buell, nature has been ―doubly otherized in modern thought. The natural environment as empirical reality has been made to subserve human interests, and one of these interests has been to make it serve as a symbolic reinforcement of the subservience of disempowered groups: nonwhites, women and children‖ (Buell 1995, 21). How does this debate affect the writings of Eric Rolls in particular and Australian literary environmentalism in general? I wish to situate Rolls within a revisionary discourse of environmentalism which began in Australia only in the second decade of the 20 th Century even though debates about the poverty of, and limits to, Australian natural resources began in the nineteenth century and have been energetically canvassed since the 1920s (Beinart and Hughes 2007, 99). The literary environmentalism of Rolls draws heavily on the idea that the Australian landscape was already shaped and modified by thousands of years of human activity on the Australian landmass before the Europeans actually settled it. His works therefore may be treated as a counter-narrative to the plethora of descriptions by early settlers who tried to portray the Australian landscape as fresh, uncontaminated and unsettled. Also for Rolls a central axiomatic premise was that the pre-colonial environment was neither static nor was it outside the scope of regular land management policies practiced by the aboriginal people. For Judith Wright, the question of environmental exploitation by the white settlers is inextricably linked with the usurpation of land rights of the Aboriginal people (Wright 1985). Other environmental historians (Griffiths and Robin 1997) (Bonyhady 2000), (Kohen 2003), (Gammage 2012), who concur with Rolls‘s views take his argument further. Bill Gammage emphatically suggests the contribution of Rolls along with that of a few others when he says that the 1788 landscape was shaped through fires: ―. . .Not until the 1960s did researchers begin to sense system and purpose in Aboriginal burning. Tim Flannery develops the idea with a sense of historical continuity. He argues that both the Aboriginal peoples as well as the white settlers were conditioned by the natural environment of Australia. Timothy Doyle argues that ―the subjugation of the Aboriginal people was part of one of the earliest and most central environmental issues in white Australia‖ (Doyle and Kellow 1997, 2). Eric Rolls understood the centrality of the issue of subjugation of the Aboriginal people without committing himself to the dualism between whites and Aborigines (E. C. Rolls 1981). As an environmental historian Rolls seeks to build a fascinating picture of the past bit by bit, trying to fit in each appropriate element in a giant puzzle. In ―The Nature of Australia‖ (E. C. Rolls 1997, 35-45) Rolls gives us an insight into Australia‘s environmental history which posits the role of humans and particularly European settlers in a new light. For Rolls the first impressions of the Europeans reveal their admiration for Australia xiv . Unfortunately, he Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 10 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia argues ―That attitude has been lost, clouded over by later literary assessments of men like the poet Adam Lindsay Gordon, who was a bad observer, or Henry Lawson who was a brilliant short story writer but who saw the land through the eyes of settlers on insufficient areas of land, trying to make a go of it with money borrowed at 20 percent‖ (E. C. Rolls 1997, 39). Instead of getting himself preoccupied by the vicious binary between man and nature that so consistently shaped the views of early American environment writers, Rolls recognizes the importance of interconnectedness between human activity and environmental change. Even when he is critical of the policies and practices of the colonial government, he is never cynical about the future of environmentalism in Australia. Throughout his body of work there are ample instances of this balanced critical opinion which emanates out a deep and personal engagement with the natural environment of Australia. Rolls is always conscious of the fact that he was looking at a relatively young settler society which, for all its material goals, must not be ―unfairly criticized‖ (Powell 1991, 231). He is equally scathing in his critique of the ―ugly word de-commercialization‖ which suggested the implied aim of the government to ―control‖ rabbits, not to ―eradicate‖ them (E. C. Rolls 1981, 112). As a historian then, Rolls contributed to the discourse of environmentalism in Australia in a way which few others could do. Positioned outside the institutionalized centers of research (from which much of Australia‘s environmental history has evolved), Rolls was truly what Stephen Dovers calls ―a notable exception‖ (Dovers 1994, 7-8). The history that he wrote was guided by broad, simple aims. ―Much of the game of writing history is keeping it true‖ – he says (E C Rolls 1981, 7). He draws heavily on official documents, newspaper reports, travel accounts, journals and even scientific observations to reconstruct the Australia he ―did not see‖ (E. C. Rolls 2000, 1). But he was able to keep his inferences free from the privileging of scientific or any other particular form knowledge over other perceptions of the environment. That way he could practice a brand of environmental history which was free from the imperial legacy of ascribing a privileged position to ―science, (especially agricultural science) in environmental policy‖ (Robin and Griffiths 2004, 451). Libby Robin and Tom Griffiths contend that in Australia and New Zealand this British legacy has influenced the environmental historiography. Rolls is wary of ―too many environmental impact studies‖ that are ―carried out by dubious scientists willing to substantiate whatever is desired of them‖ (E. C. Rolls 1981, 405). With a historian‘s insight and a relentless pursuit of knowledge, Rolls combined a poet‘s simplicity of expression and an artist‘s sensibility. I look Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 11 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia to conclude this essay with a word on these qualities as they have been quite inseparable from the research he conducted. Speaking of the poems of Les Murray, Jonathan Bate says ―To interpose his antipodean voice into the English literary canon is to force awareness of biodiversity upon us: for a reader accustomed to Keats‘s autumn or the shepherds‘ calendars of Edmund Spenser and John Clare, it is a peculiar and peculiarly liberating experience to read ‗The Idyll Wheel: Cycle of a Year at Bunyah, New South Wales, April 1986 – April 1987‘ and discover spring coming in September‖ (Bate, The Song of the Earth, 2001). When Eric Rolls wrote his first published poem at the age of fifteen, ―Australian poetry‖, he recalls, ―was then floundering out of the tedious embrace of English poetry‖ (Rolls E. 1990, 2). In the course of his career as a poet Rolls continued to write about the Australian nature with ecological accuracy and a real bonding with the places where he lived. In the preface to The Green Mosaic, a collection of poems which evolved out of his stay at Papua New Guinea he makes a very significant admission: ―Most of the poems I have experienced; some I have been told about‖ (Rolls E. , 1977 v). As in the case of his prose, experience lies central to the craft of his poetry too. Bioregions with their plant and animal life are primary subjects of his poetry but they are refracted through the prism of his personal experiences. Places come alive through their sights and sounds, animals and plants, people and rituals. Butterflies, caterpillars, leeches and frogs share space with tree kangaroos, rats, water lizards, and birds of paradise. But every animal is represented with biological authenticity: Length of body and length of snout suggest bandicoot But bandicoots would be acting in the proper manner of bandicoots. These are certainly rats acting like rats. (Rolls E. , 1977, 26) The perception of place is planted into the fabric of poetry. Metaphors of place carry implications of similarity between a poem and a desert flower, both of which are capable of inspiring wonder: A poem is an immaculate setting of exact words But they are not arranged to a probable pattern. A good poem is as startling as a desert flower – (Rolls E. 1977, 1) In a poem titled ―Mosaic‖ the pattern of a region is compared to an endless mosaic of tiles fitting into perfect alignment. Rolls points out how appearance of places can be illusory to the Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 12 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia human eye and links up that illusion with a questioning of our established and normative patterns of behaviour. The whole pattern is no pattern at all: There are beginnings but no endings. Tile fits tile haphazardly. The only law Is that each shall fit the board immovably. (Rolls E. 1977, 1) As we move further into the poem, established images of beauty are broken up to accommodate what is real and not necessarily delicate and picturesque. The surprises of the Australian natural world are too often too violent and discordant for the reader fed on a surfeit of soft zephyrs and fragrant roses. Human actions are set against the broader scenario of the nature to be judged not in terms of human ethics but environmental ethics: Murder and beauty abound. The sun spills through the leaves like blood. A man laughs as he kills For the last word of a severed head Is the name of his new son. (Rolls E. 1977, 2 ) The balance between rhapsodic expression and detached rendering is struck here as in many other poems. Greg Garrard distinguishes between ―poetics of authenticity, for which wilderness is the touchstone” and ―poetics of responsibility, that takes ecological science rather than pantheism as its guide‖ (Garrard 2007, 71). If awareness building is important to the development of environmental activism, and responsibility is the key word of its future, then Rolls was someone who reiterated the values of responsible thinking and acting by humans as part of their natural environment, not as outsiders engaged in a presupposed relationship of conflict and violence with it. Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 13 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia i Some of the major movements that have gained impetus and momentum through written literature are the abolition of slavery in the early 19 th Century, African American Civil Rights Movements in the USA, the Harlem Renaissance in the early twentieth century, the Reformation movement in Europe and particularly England in the 17 th Century, the rise of communism across the world and several localized environmental movements in several countries. All these movements have relied on written literatures to generate awareness and influence public opinion. ii Myles Joseph Dunphy (1891-1985), architect and conservationist, was well known for his adventurous walks in the Blue Mountains area. He campaigned for several decades to prevent the Blue Gum Forest from logging and later lobbied extensively for declaring the Blue Mountains as a reserved forest area. (Meredith 1999). iii The Chipko (literally meaning ―hug‖) movement took place in the 1970s in Garhwal Himalayas in Northern India. Villagers, mostly women, hugged trees and intervened with their bodies to prevent them from being cut down. It was led by many village women like Mira Behn, Sarala Behn, Bimala Behn, Hima Devi, Gunga Devi and men like Sunderlal Bahuguna, Chandi Prasad Bhatt, Ghanshyam Shailani and others. It later spread farther East and became active in Arunachal Pradesh. (Jain 1991, 163 ff), (Guha 2000) iv ―Narmada Bachao‖ was an environmental and social protest movement that took place in the 1980s to prevent from the Sardar Sarovar Dam being built on the river Narmada. v See Qing, Dai. Yangztse! Yangztse! (1994). vi Jose Lutzemberger (1926-2002) founded the AGAPAN or the Association for the Protection of the Natural Environment in Brazil which marks the beginning of modern environmentalism in that country. Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 14 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia vii Aldo Leopold (18870-1948), John Muir (1838 -1914), Edward Abbey (1927 – 1989), Robert Marshall, Sigurd Olson (1899 – 1982) were significant contributors of the environmentalism that celebrated a non-anthropocentric value of nature. viii See for instance (Mongillo and Booth 2001). ix See (Mongillo and Booth, 2001) pp188-192 and 233-238. x Sir John Monash (1865 – 1931) ―soldier, engineer and administrator‖ (Australian DN) was a great leader and inspired generations after him with his wide knowledge, resolve and visionary qualities. xi One journal by F J Cockburn which recorded his experiences in Australia while he was on leave from his duties in India was published from Calcutta in 1856 (Cockburn 1856). xii John Gould (1804-1881) was a zoologist who wrote illustrated literature on birds of the Himalayas, Europe and Australia. xiii Francis Noble Ratcliffe (1904-1970), ecologist and conservationist, is most well known for his work on flying foxes in Queensland and northern New South Wales. xiv Rolls accumulated several of these impressions of Australia by the first visitors in a fascinating anthology in support of his argument. (E. C. Rolls 2002). Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 15 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia Works Cited Alier, Juan Martínez. The Environmentalism of the Poor: A Study of Ecological Conflicts and Valuation. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar, 2002. Bate, Jonathan. The Song and the Earth. London: Picador, 2000. Beinart, William, and Lotte Hughes. Environment and Empire. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Bonyhady, Tim. The Colonial Earth. Carlton, Victoria: Miegunyah Press, Melbourne University Press, 2000. —. "Torn Between Art and Activism." Local-Global: Identity, Security, Community 3 (2007): 19-23. Buell, Lawrence. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1995. Burgmann, M, and V Burgmann. Green Bans, Red Unions. Sydney: UNSW Press, 2000. Byerly, Alison. 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"Environmentalism: A Global History" The Ramachandra Guha Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 17 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia Omnibus. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009. —. How Much Land Should a Man Consume: Environmentalism in India and the United States. New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2006. —. The Unquiet Woods: Ecological Change and Peasant Resistance in the Himalaya. Berkley and LA: University of California Press, 2000. Harper, Melissa. The Ways of the Bushwalker: On foot in Australia. Sydney: UNSW Press, 2008. Horne, Julia. The Pursuit of Wonder: How Australia's Landscape was Explored, Nature Discovered and Tourism Unleashed. Melbourne: Miegunyah Press, 2005. Jain, Shobita. "Standing Up For Trees: Women's Role in the Chipko Movement." Women and the Environment: a Reader: Crisis and Development in the Third World, edited by S A Sontheimer. London: Earthscan Publishers, 1991. Kinsella, John. Activist Poetics: Anarchy in the Avon Valley. Edited by Niall Lucy. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2010. Kohen, James L. Aboriginal Environmental Impacts. Sydney: UNSW Press, 2003. Louis Gates Jr., Henry. Black Literature and Theory. New York and London: Methuen , 1984. Macintyre, Stuart. A Concise History of Australia (2nd edition). Cambridge University Press, 2006. Marsh, G P. Man and Nature. New York: Charles Scribner, 1864. Mazel, David. "American Literary Environmentalism as Domestic Orientalism." The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, edited by Cheryll Glotfelty and Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 18 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia Harold Fromm. Athens and London: The Univeresity of Georgia Press, 1996. Meredith, Peter. Myles and Milo. Sydney, NSW: Allen and Unwin, 1999. Mongillo, John, and Bibi. Booth. Environmental Activists. Connecticut & London: Greenwood Press, 2001. Morgan, Kenneth. Australia: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Nash, Roderick. Wilderness and the American Mind. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2001. Powell, J M. An Historical Geography of Modern Australia: The Restive Fringe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. —. "Historical geography and environmental history: an Australian interface." Journal of Historical Geography 22, no. 3 (1996): 253-273. Robin, Libby, and Tom Griffiths. "Environmental History in Australasia." Environment and History 10 (2004): 439-74. Rolls, Eric Charles. A Million Wild Acres: 200 Years of Man and an Australian Forest. Melbourne: Nelson, 1981. —. Australia: A Biography. Queensland: University of Queensland Press, 2000. —. Citizens: Flowers and the Wide Sea. Queensland : UQLD Press, 1996. —. From forest to sea : Australia's Changing Environment. St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 1993. —. "My Places." A Place on Earth: An Anthology of Nature Writing From Australia and North America, edited by Mark Tredinnick. Sydney: UNSW Press, 2002. Online – Open Access – Peer reviewed postscriptum.co.in 1.ii July 16 19 Biswas, A. Eric Rolls and Environmentalism in Australia —. The Green Mosaic: Memories of New Guinea. Melbourne: Nelson, 1977. —. "The Nature of Australia." Ecology and Empire: Environmental History of Settler Societies, edited by Tom Griffiths and Libby Robin. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1997. —. They All Ran Wild: The Story of Pests on the Land in Australia. London, Sydney: Angus and Robertson Publishers, 1977. —. Visions of Australia: Impressions of the Landscape 1642 - 1910 . Melbourne: Lothian Books, 2002. Rooney, Brigid. Literary Activists: Writers-intellectuals and Australian Public Life. St Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 2009. Slovic, Scott. "Nature Writing and Environmental Psychology." The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, edited by Cheryll Glotfelty and Harold Fromm. Athens and London: The University of Georgia Press, 1996. Wright, Judith. Born of the Conquerers:Selected Essays by Judith Wright. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press, 1991. Wright, Judith. "Landscape and Dreaming." Daedalus (The MIT Press) 114, no. Winter No. 1 (1985): 29-56. Zimmerman, Michael. Contesting Earth's Future: Radical Ecology and Postmodernity. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. 
work_apbyfdxglveydocwofqfkpby5m	----	duh6293.tmp .... ‘, ?-”--,-. ..- !$ .L-&J c >. MAKING NEPA MORE EFFECTIVE AND ECONOMICAL FOR THE NEW ,,.-~ :>’,~, MI LLENIUM fd!ll r+ x~~: ~ :3 ;: Roger P. Hansen, J.D., Hansen Environmental Consultants, Pagosa Sprin~ ~~% :.+:. Colorado qnd Theodore A. Wolff, Ph.D., Sandia National Laboratories, @ *:,:, ~y:,:., Albuquerque, New Mexicol %&J ABSTRACT This paper focuses on a ten-element strategy for “streamlining” the NEPA process in order to achieve the Act’s objectives while easing the considerable burden on agencies, the public, and the judicial system. In other words, this paper proposes a strategy for making NEPA work better and cost less. How these ten elements are timed and implemented is critical to any successful streamlining. The strategy elements discussed in this paper, in no particular order of priority, are as follows: (1) integrate the NEPA process with other environmental compliance and review procedures; (2) accelerate the decision time for determining the appropriate level of NEPA documentation; (3) conduct early and thorough internal EIS (or EA) scoping before public scoping or other public participation begins; (4) organize and implement public scoping processes that are more participatory than confrontational; (5) maintain an up-to-date compendium of environmental “baseline” information; (6) prepare more comprehensive, broad-scope “umbrella” EISS that can be used effectively for tiering; (7) encourage preparation of annotated outlines with detailed guidance that serve as a “road map” for preparation of each. EIS or EA; (8) decrease the length and complexity of highly technical portions of NEPA documents; (9) increase and systematize NEPA compliance outreach, training, and organizational support; and (10) work diligently to influence the preparation of better organized, shorter, and more readable NEPA documents 1.0 INTRODUCTION According”to the Council on Environmental Quality (CEQ), which has the primary responsibility for implementing NEPA, an estimated 20,000 environmental impact statements (EISS) have been prepared by Federal agencies since NEPA was signed by President Nixon on”New Year’s Day, 1970. This means that the average number of EISS filed annually over the 30-year period was 667. Another estimated 50,000 environmental assessments (EAs) were prepared during the same period. It can be assumed that the costs of NEPA compliance for both the public and private sectors have run into the billions. Finding ways to streamline the NEPA process, while maintaining the Act’s goals and = Sandia is a multiprogram laboratory operated by Sandia Corporation under contract DE-AC04–94AL85000 1 DISCLAIMER This report was prepared as an account of work sponsored by an agency of the United States Government. Neither the United States Government nor any agency thereof, nor any of their employees, make any warranty, express or implied, or assumes any legal liability or responsibility for the accuracy, completeness, or usefulness of any information, apparatus, product, or process disclosed, or represents that its use would not infringe privately owned rights. Reference herein to any specific commercial product, process, or service by trade name, trademark, manufacturer, or otherwise does not necessarily constitute or imply its endorsement, recommendation, or favoring by the United States Government or any agency thereof. The views and opinions of authors expressed herein do not necessarily state or reflect those of the United States Government or any agency thereof. DISCLAIMER Portions of this document may be illegible in electronic image products. Images are produced from the best available original document. objectives, can only serve to make federal agency decisions more sensitive to environmental values. Even after 30 years of experience with implementing the EIS requirements of the Act, most of the same major NEPA compliance problems remain: ● ● ● ● ● ● ● The ten Avoidance of NEPA compliance at all costs, even if it means stopping the project. Documentation procrastination that results in setting impossible schedules for EA or EIS preparation. Failure to use NEPA to make better decisions. “Encyclopedia mania” which results in producing massive multi- volume, often unreadable NEPA documents. Inadequate public and agency involvement, causing delay. Atrocious writing, editing, and formatting of documents. Preparing an EA where an EIS is required and vice versa. “streamlining” strategy elements described in this paper are based on the authors’ nearly 30 years of experience with NEPA compliance and documentation and their own independent research. However, these elements cannot resolve problems that are historically endemic to the NEPA process. For example, they camot overcome anti-NEPA attitudes long harbored by some agency and private sector project proponents. However, if implemented, they have the potential to make the NEPA compliance task easier and more helpful to decision makers and the public. 2.0 NEPA PROCESS STREAMLINING ELEMENTS The ten strategy elements addressed in this paper do not comprise an exhaustive list. A number of other strategy elements could easily be added - None of the NEPA process streamlining strategy elements discussed below is entirely new or untried. After all, they are mostly common sense. For the most part, they are uncomplicated, easy to implement, and apparent to most NEPA professionals. Nevertheless, they are restated and reemphasized because they are often ignored or resisted by both Federal agencies and NEPA practitioners. 2.1 Element 1: Integrate the NEPA Process With Other Environmental Compliance and Review Procedures The CEQ NEPA implementation regulations require federal agencies to: Integrate the requirements of NEPA with other planning and environmental review procedures required by law or by agency practice so that all such procedures run concurrently rather than consecutively.2 The CEQ specifically requires that agencies integrate environmental impact analyses with related “surveys and studies” required by the Fish ’40C.F.R.$1500.2(c). 2 . < and Wildlife Coordination Act,3the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA),4and the Endangered Species Act (ESA)5. Further, an EIS must list all federal “permits, licenses, and other entitlements” that are needed to implement the proposed action.G EAs and EISS are frequently used as vehicles for archaeological surveys, biological assessments, and other investigations associated with compliance with the ESA for threatened and endangered species and the NHPA for historic and archaeological resources. They are less frequently used to document permits or other compliance required by other environmental laws and regulations. Consolidating regulatory compliance documentation in a single NEPA document can save time, resources, and paperwork. However, careful scoping is required to avoid preparing a “one-stop shopping” environmental compliance document that is too lengthy and complex for efficient and effective public review. Thus , a ProPer balance must be maintained between complying with the NEPA process and addressing other environmental review requirements. 2.2 Element 2: Accelerate the Decision Time for Determining the Appropriate Level of NEPA Documentation Delaying a decision to attain the appropriate level of documentation - EA, EIS, or categorical exclusion (CX) - can prove costly. Government contractors and project managers awaiting agency decisions on whether or . how to comply with NEPA for a particular project can consume an extraordinary amount of time and resources. The problem is particularly acute when awaiting a determination on whether to prepare an EA or an EIS. If the decision is wrong (i.e., the agency decides to prepare an EA when an EIS is really required, or vice versa) even more delay and waste of resources results. Any attempt at “streamlining” the process is “dead on arrival. ” Generally, there is a critical need to accelerate the CX vs. EA vs. EIS decision making process. The early and comprehensive internal EA or EIS scoping recommended in Section 2.3 below can be used to determine the level of documentation needed. Another way to reach the EA VS- EIS decision is to determine early if an EIS is required (e.g., when there is a major public controversy or it is apparent that there will be major unavoidable impacts) . In such cases, time and resources should not be wasted on an EA. Also, a “mitigated” Finding of No .Significant Impact (FONSI), often necessary for an EA on a particular project, may not be feasible, realistic, or credible to the public. Obviously, the agency should not wait until ordered by a court to prepare an EIS. ‘16U.S.C.$661 efseq. ‘16U.S.C.$470 e[seq. ‘16U.S.C.$1531 efseq. 640C.F.R.$1502.25(b) 3 2.3 Element 3: Conduct Early and Thorough Internal NEPA Document Scoping Internal scoping of an EA or EIS is vital and should not be confused with public scoping. NEPA documents should be thoroughly scoped internally before the public scoping process begins. Scoping should be completed before document preparation commences. Attempting to conduct internal scoping and public scoping simultaneously is often a recipe for disaster because it is easy for the agency to be “blindsided” by new issues raised by the public. The agency cannot be adequately prepared for a public scoping process when it has not done its own internal homework. Whenever possible, internal scoping should involve both agency and EA or EIS contractor personnel. Of course, if NEPA document preparation contractors are selected too late in the process, they cannot function as scoping participants. Contractors often lose considerable time at the front end of a project because they have not participated in either the agency’s internal scoping or the public scoping process. 2.4 Element 4: Organize and Implement Public Scoping Processes That Are Participatory Rather Than Confrontational There are many tools and techniques that can be used in public scoping to avoid its becoming an adversarial process. Public involvement specialists use many techniques including public meetings, participatory workshops, citizen advisory committees, public opinion surveys, and combinations of these and other methods to foster a dialogue. Generally, the least desirable public scoping process is the one often used in the past in which public meetings or hearings are adversarial. A more participatory approach, where a project’s proponents, stakeholders, and the public form working groups based on the major issues in the NEPA document, should be considered. This approach is receiving wider acceptance today. Requirements for an “early and open” public scoping process are detailed in the CEQ regulations.’ Federal, state, and local agencies, affected Indian tribes, the project proponent, and “other interested persons” must be invited to participate. While public scoping meetings are optional under the CEQ regulations, they are conducted routinely by some agencies (e.g., the U.S. Forest Service) . Although’ public controversy can never be avoided altogether, its effects can be mitigated if the public and other agencies feel they are being given the opportunity to really participate. 2.5 Element 5: Maintain An Up-to-Date Compendium of Environmental ~~Baseline” Information This element applies primarily to large federal installations that face frequent NEPA compliance challenges. For sites of this nature, 740C.F.R.$1501.7 4 — — “baseline” environmental information is needed for both day-to-day NEPA compliance and to support the broad-based “umbrella” documents discussed in Section 2.6 below. The existence of up-to-date “environmental baseline reports” significantly decreases the time and cost associated with NEPA document preparation. It is a proven way to avoid “reinventing the wheel” for each “description of the affected environment” section required for all EAs and EISS. “Environmental baseline” refers to the existing physical, biological, and socioeconomic environment before it is altered by a proposed project. The baseline should consist of data on a wide diversity of environmental parameters (e.g., air and water quality, hydrology, meteorology, cultural resources, sensitive species, and socioeconomic) . While all of the baseline information compiled will not be relevant to every proposal, having it readily available will result in greater efficiencies. Standardizing this information and focusing on what is important helps enormously in eliminating encyclopedic discussion and insignificant or unnecessary detail. Preparing environmental baseline reports can also address esoteric or uncommon topics that may arise in NEPA documents less frequently than others . For example, NEPA documents do not regularly analyze parameters such as noise, vibration, visual resources, or seismic events. Nevertheless, these should be included in a baseline document in case such issues arise in the future. Good environmental baseline information may allow actions of lower impact significance potential to be “filtered out” and thus allow some EAs or EISS to be prepared at less cost. Figure 1 illustrates how potentially significant Federal actions and their impacts may be filtered so that actions are analyzed in proportion to their significance.s *Some federalactionsexempt by statue do have significant impacts. 5 . . . < LOW - IMPACT SIGNIFICANCE POTENTIAL - HIGH r si@ficance / Actiom thtrequire prep azation of Emiro]unmtal Imlpactstztelllerlts, (EISS).,,proposals for %mjor f. dcral actions significantly Iffding the qualiq of the hmmn env-irollment-’ @“ @z$>‘- GXzmimd inEAs This figure shows how un&r the N~tionJ EnviromnentzlPo licy Act potddijj sigficmt Fe&ri actions md thm unp~ct5 .m fkred So that actions are ~dj~d “m proportion to tiwir sigficmm. “ a process Aerredto as the ‘slicbng scale approach? Figure 1. 2.6 Element 6: Prepare More Broad-Scope “Urnbrella’~ EAs and EISS That Can be Used for Tiering New emphasis must be placed on preparing more comprehensive, broad-scope EAs or EISS that can be used for “tiering”: using a broad–scope document on an entire program or set of related actions from which to “tier” a document of narrower, more project-specific scope.g Preparation of more “umbrella” documents will contribute significantly to reducing the overall level-of-effort. Documents of narrower scope can incorporate by reference a considerable amount of material from broad-scope documents and avoid needless preparation of redundant paperwork. While “tiering” refers to broad–scope or “programmatic” EISS in the CEQ regulations, the concept need not be confined to EISS and subsequent documents. A broad-scope EA can also be used for a tiering document. Figure 2 illustrates how successful comprehensive NEPA documents may minimize the need to gain approval individually for numerous related actions. ‘40 C.F.R. $1502.20 6 . “Bounding” Environmental Impacts oActivity 12 0Activity11 Activity 3 Activity 10 Environmental Impact Boundary NoIe: Each “Activity”’ k pmt of m overall action. Activities 11 imd 12 we not bounded by the EA or EIS and require scpmte NEPA documerrtxion or a Suppkmentrd EIS. See Wolff and Hansen 1994. Figure 2, It is incumbent upon every project manager and NEPA practitioner to take advantage of possible tiering opportunities. 2.7 Element 7: Prepare Annotated Outlines That Serve As a “Road Map” for EA or EIS Preparation Time and resources are wasted needlessly by assigning NEPA document topics or “sections” to selected authors with little, if any, specific guidance regarding content or approach. Authors may spend days or even weeks struggling with an EA or EIS section only to d’iscover that what they have produced is seriously flawed and that another iteration is required. Authors are frequently poorly directed. They often work in a “vacuum” with little understanding of what has to be covered in the entire document. Although the CEQ regulations recommend a “format” for preparing an EIS, l“they provide no guidance for preparing a detailed outline of NEPA documents. ‘“40C.F.R.$1502.10 7 .- . . Annotated outlines serve as a “blueprint” or “road map” for the preparation of each EA or EIS. Such an outline is much more than a mere table of contents. Annotated outlines are generally organized in a tabular format consisting of four columns: (1) outline element (table of contents); (2) target number of pages for each element; (3) persons (authors) responsible; and (4) contents and data needs. The latter column is particularly important because it provides specific guidance to the authors on the desired content of each section or subsection of the document, the recommended approach to the topic, and what data gaps need to be filled. 2.8 Element 8: Decrease The Length and Complexity of Highly Technical Portions of NEPA Documents Some parameters addressed in NEPA documents have greater technical complexity than others do. Also, some scientific and technical disciplines are more difficult for the general public to understand. Examples of highly technical topics include, but are not limited to: human health and ecological risk assessment; radioactive waste transportation; electromagnetic radiation; ground water modeling; and noise modeling. Authors in these highly specialized areas tend to communicate only with their peers. What they write for NEPA documents may not be amenable to the public review and comment required by the NEPA process. Highly technical data must be presented in a succinct, understandable manner and interpreted for the benefit of both the general public and sophisticated readers. Detailed technical data should be placed in an appendix or provided in a separate document and incorporated by reference. 2.9 Element 9: Increase and Systematize NEPA Compliance Outreach, Training, And Organizational Support One of the major reasons for decision delays, confusion over “levels” of documentation, writing reiterations, inability to meet schedules, and repeated cost overruns is the lack of NEPA training for project managers, document authors, and others with NEPA compliance responsibilities. Training in the philosophy; purpose, legal requirements, and method of NEPA compliance is imperative for everybody involved in the NEPA process. Unfortunately, such training is often lacking. Training in the NEPA process and the preparation of NEPA documents may be done by in-house NEPA professionals or by consultants. Getting the most qualified training professionals should be the main consideration. 2.10 Element 10: Work Diligently to Prepare Better Organized, Shorter, and More Readable NEPA Documents None of the other nine NEPA process streamlining strategy elements discussed above will be effective if EAs and EISS are poorly organized 8 . , . . . and written in language that is incomprehensible to public reviewers (see Section 2.8 above). The CEQ regulations require, not merely suggest, that NEPA document authors “reduce excessive paperwork”,” curtail document length, prepare documents that are “analytic rather than encyclopedic,” write in “plain language, ” and follow a “clear format.’”l Paperwork reduction methods identified by the CEQ12 include: reducing “background” material; narrowing the scope to focus on “’significant” issue’s; incorporating by reference; “tiering” narrow-scope project EISS from broad-scope “program” documents (see Section 2.6); and integrating the NEPA process with other environmental review requirements (see Section 2.1 above) . Most NEPA professionals would agree that NEPA documents are too long, detailed, encyclopedic, and technical to be understood by the public. This is understandable because, for many authors of NEPA documents, it is easier to write a Ph.D. thesis than it is to write two succinct paragraphs. Henry David Thoreau noted in 1857: “Not that the story need be long, but it will take a long while to make it short” (Bartlett, 1980) . NEPA document authors predominantly write for their peers in the same discipline rather than attempting to “insure that environmental information is available to public officials and citizens before decisions are made and before actions are taken.”13 Project managers and NEPA professionals must learn to focus at least as much attention on the organization and writing of NEPA documents as on their technical content. “ In his book, O.IJ. The Last Word, famed Wyoming trial attorney Gerry Spence laments the failure of lawyers to communicate effectively with jurors . Although his comments are addressed to the need for lawyers to improve their verbal communications, they apply equally to anyone writing a technical document: While Explaining technical facts requires the ability to speak in clear, understandable language. Lawyers who do not know, and do not want anyone to know that they do not know, use big words. The same goes for the expert witness . Albert Einstein was able to explain the theory of relativity in a simple, straightforward way on a few handwritten sheets of paper that any high school physics teacher could understand . . .The most difficult, the most complicated issue, legal. technical, sc~entific, or otherwise, can be made understandable by those who understand it themselves and who are able to speak [or write] in plain English. (Spence, 1997) not everyone can be a literary giant, the following suggestions 9 for improving the quality of NEPA documents may be helpful: “40C.F.R. $1500.4 ‘240 C.F.R. $1500.4 ‘340 C.F.R. $1500.I(b) . , ● ● ● ● ● ● Authors should write for agency and public reviewers who are not experts in a particular discipline. Authors should avoid including encyclopedic detail for any topic but, particularly, topics like description of the affected environment and risk assessment. Authors should refer regularly to the annotated outline prepared for the EA or EIS (see Section 2.7). Document reviewers should refrain from insisting on the inclusion of additional technical detail that only detracts from public understanding. Technical editors should check grammar, spelling, syntax, references, typographical errors, formatting, and conduct other strictly editorial tasks. They should not be delegated the function of writing or rewriting the NEPA document. Agencies, consulting firms, and other NEPA document preparation contractors should issue awards or other incentives to authors who prepare succinct and understandable documents that meet NEPA objectives while remaining technically and scientifically credible. CONCLUSION As stated at the beginning of this paper, none of these “streamlining” elements are new. These and many other strategy elements have been used or attempted over the 30-year history of NEPA. “Lessons learned” can easily become “lessons unlearned” without persistent endeavor and determination. NEPA must be made to work efficiently and effectively if it is to fulfill its promise as a great tool for environmental management REFERENCES Bartlett, J., 1980, Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations, Fifteenth and 125th Anniversary Edition, Edited by Emily Morison Beck, Little, Brown and Company, Boston, Toronto, and London. Spence, G, 1997, 0.LJ. The Last Word, St. Martin’s Press, New York, NY Sullivan, W. C-, Frances E. Kuo, and Mona Prabhu. Assessing the Impaccs of Environmental Impact Statements on Citizens, Environ Impact Asess Rev 1996; 16:171-182. U-S. Department of Energy, 1997, “National Environmental Policy Act Lessons Learned, ” DOE Quarterly Report, Issue No. 13, December 1, 1997, Washington, D.C. Wolff, T. A., and R. P. Hansen, 1994, “Use of Comprehensive NEPA Documents to Reduce Program Risk” in Proceedings of the 1994 conference of the National Association of Environmental Professionals, Global “Strategies for Environmental Issues, New Orleans, Louisiana, June 12-13, 1994. 10 
work_alm66caxujdyrmdbxpl4lolupu	----	Citizen science: a new approach to advance ecology, education, and conservation FORUM Hiromi Kobori • Janis L. Dickinson • Izumi Washitani Ryo Sakurai • Tatsuya Amano • Naoya Komatsu Wataru Kitamura • Shinichi Takagawa Kazuo Koyama • Takao Ogawara • A. J. Miller-Rushing Citizen science: a new approach to advance ecology, education, and conservation Received: 7 May 2015 / Accepted: 8 October 2015 / Published online: 17 November 2015 � The Author(s) 2015. This article is published with open access at Springerlink.com Abstract Citizen science has a long history in the eco- logical sciences and has made substantial contributions to science, education, and society. Developments in information technology during the last few decades have created new opportunities for citizen science to engage ever larger audiences of volunteers to help address some of ecology’s most pressing issues, such as global envi- ronmental change. Using online tools, volunteers can find projects that match their interests and learn the skills and protocols required to develop questions, col- lect data, submit data, and help process and analyze data online. Citizen science has become increasingly important for its ability to engage large numbers of volunteers to generate observations at scales or resolu- tions unattainable by individual researchers. As a cou- pled natural and human approach, citizen science can also help researchers access local knowledge and implement conservation projects that might be impos- sible otherwise. In Japan, however, the value of citizen science to science and society is still underappreciated. Here we present case studies of citizen science in Japan, the United States, and the United Kingdom, and de- scribe how citizen science is used to tackle key questions in ecology and conservation, including spatial and macro-ecology, management of threatened and invasive species, and monitoring of biodiversity. We also discuss the importance of data quality, volunteer recruitment, program evaluation, and the integration of science and human systems in citizen science projects. Finally, we outline some of the primary challenges facing citizen science and its future. Keywords Citizen science Æ History Æ Human-natural system Æ Web-based approach Æ Worldwide case studies H. Kobori (&) Tokyo City University, 1-28-1 Tamazutsumi, Setagaya, Tokyo 158-8557, Japan E-mail: kobori@tcu.ac.jp Tel.: +81-03-5707-0104 J. L. Dickinson Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY 14850, USA I. Washitani Faculty of Science and Engineering, Chuo University, Kasuga, Bunnkyo-ku, Tokyo 112-8551, Japan R. Sakurai College of Policy Science, Ritsumeikan University, 2-150, Iwakura, Osaka 567-8570, Japan T. Amano Department of Zoology, University of Cambridge, Cambridge CB2 3EJ, UK N. Komatsu Graduate School of Environmental and Information Studies, Tokyo City University, 3-3-1, Usujkubo, Tsuzuki, Yokohama 224-8551, Japan W. Kitamura Department of Environmental Studies, Tokyo City University, 3-3-1, Usujkubo, Tsuzuki, Yokohama 224-8551, Japan S. Takagawa The Nature Conservation Society of Japan, Tokyo 104-0033, Japan K. Koyama Bird Research, 1-29-9, Sumiyoshi, Japan Takao, Chofu 183-0034, Japan T. Ogawara The Center for Ecological Education, 1-13-27,Sakae, Higashimurayama City, Tokyo 189-0013, Japan A. J. Miller-Rushing Schoodic Education and Research Center and Acadia National Park, US National Park Service, Bar Harbor, ME, USA Ecol Res (2016) 31: 1–19 DOI 10.1007/s11284-015-1314-y http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s11284-015-1314-y&amp;domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s11284-015-1314-y&amp;domain=pdf Introduction The term citizen science is used in many ways—indeed citizen science projects can take a variety of approaches, have different goals, and involve many disciplines of science. In this Forum, we define citizen science as engaging the public in a scientific project, a definition that is gaining general acceptance among citizen science researchers and practitioners (Bonney et al. 2014; Shirk et al. 2012; Silvertown 2009). Citizen science has long been used to collect reliable data and information for scientists, policymakers, and the public (Miller-Rushing et al. 2012; Silvertown 2009). As a research enterprise, it should be and is open to the same system of peer review that applies to conventional science (McKinley et al. 2015; Theobald et al. 2015). At the same time it engages the public through science practice, which is distinctly different from reading digests of scientific findings. This coupling of deep engagement in the process of science with the opportunity to co-create knowledge with others is thought to have profound effects that are, as yet, lar- gely unstudied. In Japan, however, ecologists, the public, and deci- sion makers have not fully recognized the significance and potential of citizen science as a way to monitor and understand some of the public’s grand challenges for science and society, such as rapid global environmental change and the loss of biodiversity. There is good reason to believe that engaging the public with these problems in a hands-on way will lead to productive partnerships in science and problem solving, and that it will help to ensure that scientific information can be appreciated and understood across a broader sector of society. Recent advances in information technology have created new opportunities for citizen science projects to invite large numbers of the public to monitor the natural environment and biodiversity over broad geographic regions (Fink et al. 2014; Sauermann and Franzoni 2015; Silvertown 2009). In many cases participants can use online tools to access, visualize, and interpret the huge data sets they contribute to. Additionally, online interfaces can allow organizations to gather information required to better understand their participants, to facilitate understanding data accuracy, build tools par- ticipants want, and provide incentives that build moti- vation and sustain participation. For scientists, citizen science provides an opportunity to gather information that would otherwise be impos- sible to collect because of limitations on time and re- sources. Fields such as macroecology, geographical ecology, and landscape ecology, which focus on large spatial scales, stand to gain disproportionately (Haklay 2013; Theobald et al. 2015). Citizen science is also useful for urban ecology, where private lands provide an eco- logical matrix of potential importance to conservation that is usually not accessible to research and where there are large concentrations of people—potential volunteers to help collect data (Evans et al. 2005; Kobori and Pri- mack 2003). The benefits are already apparent. A recent analysis of 388 English-language citizen science projects that engage 1.3 million volunteers showed that projects have contributed up to US$2.5 billion in-kind annually (Theobald et al. 2015). One project alone, eBird, collects five million bird observations every month, and has contributed to at least 90 peer-reviewed articles or book chapters in ornithology, ecology, climate change, and statistical modeling (Sullivan et al. 2014). The full potential for science has yet to be tappe- d—only 12 % of English-language projects provide data to peer-reviewed scientific articles, despite the fact that a third of these projects have verifiable, standardized data (i.e., observations made according to standard methods controlling for effort) that are accessible online (Theo- bald et al. 2015). Even so,, the use of citizen science data in peer-reviewed publications is typically underestimated because papers often neglect to mention the role of cit- izen science or volunteers in their studies (Cooper et al. 2014). For volunteers, citizen science allows authentic participation in research (Shirk et al. 2012). Citizen science can improve science literacy and contribute to lifelong science education (Bonney et al. 2009; Wals et al. 2014). Moreover, many federal and local govern- ments, research institutes, museums, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and conservation organizations rely on volunteer-compiled datasets to inform their re- source management and conservation strategies (McKinley et al. 2015). In this Forum, we review the history of citizen science and describe pioneering case studies of citizen science in research, education, and conservation. In these sections, we include examples from the United Kingdom and United States—where the field of citizen science is better developed and described (but not older) than in Ja- pan—for purposes of comparison. We close by dis- cussing the importance of evaluation and some of the primary challenges facing citizen science and its future. History Citizen science has a history as long as science itself (Miller-Rushing et al. 2012). The first people following the scientific method to solve problems were amateur scien- tists; they predated the professionalization of science. Since science has become a formal profession, the role of citizen science and the contributions of non-professionals to science have become somewhat marginalized (Miller- Rushing et al. 2012). Only now is the value of citizen sci- ence becoming more widely recognized. In this section, we describe the history of citizen science in Japan, the United Kingdom, and the United States. The histories in the United Kingdom and United States have been previously described, but they provide valuable lessons and points of comparison, especially given the lesser known history of citizen science in Japan. 2 Japan Some of the longest-running citizen science records in the world are from Japan. For example, the timing of cherry blossom has been recorded in Kyoto for 1200 years, so long that they have been used in climate reconstructions (Aono and Kazui 2008). Centuries-long phenology data also exist for other plant and animal species across Japan (Primack et al. 2009). Many nationwide biodiversity monitoring surveys also have long histories. The oldest ongoing such survey is probably the Sea Turtle Survey, which censuses sea turtles laying eggs on beaches. The Sea Turtle Survey started in 1954 on one beach, and now takes place on about 40 beaches across Japan. The annual waterbird census has also occurred for more than 40 years, and takes place at about 200 locations throughout the country. The Dandelion Mapping Survey, which started in 1975, surveyed about 74,000 specimens in 2010 from the whole of the western part of Japan. Together, these projects comprise long-term data sets that today are of importance to environmental biology. Japan’s oldest citizen science projects, such as cherry blossom records, focused on culturally important events. Conservation-focused citizen science projects, in con- trast, began more recently—in the 1970s when environ- mental issues caused by urbanization, reclamation, and air pollution were particularly acute and attracted much popular attention. Most started primarily as educational activities to increase the public’s awareness of the importance of the natural environment. Now scientists and conservationists are increasingly recognizing the scientific value of the data these projects collect. For example, phenological observations made by volunteers, often thought of as primarily a cultural practice, are now used to evaluate the effects of climate change on Japan’s species and ecosystems (Kobori et al. 2011). Nationwide citizen science projects in Japan, like those in other countries, are managed primarily by na- tional NGOs, such as the Wild Bird Society of Japan, the Sea Turtle Association of Japan, The Nature Con- servation Society of Japan, and Japan Bird Research Association. These projects have been now integrated into one national project ‘‘Monitoring Sites 1000,’’ a collaboration among the Ministry of the Environment, NGOs, university scientists, and many volunteer citizens (NACS-J 2013). The Monitoring Sites 1000 project started in 2003, following from the national biodiversity strategy, and aims to detect changes in ecosystem con- ditions through long-term (100-year) monitoring of biodiversity at about 1000 sites in various ecosystems, including forests, lakes, beaches, satoyama (agricultural ecosystems), grasslands, and reefs. As an example of the participation in and outcomes of these citizen science programs, the Monitoring Sites 1000 Satoyama citizen science project was developed in 2003. It is run by the Nature Conservation Society of Japan, and more than 200 local NGOs with 2500 citizen scientists participating at 200 monitoring sites. The project aims to help monitor progress toward achieving the Aichi Biodiversity Targets (CBD 2010a) and the conservation of satoyama. The flora, birds, butterflies, mammals, and fireflies at various satoyama sites are recorded every year using standard protocols. More than 900,000 observations have been recorded since 2008. As a result, gradual but significant trends have been found for several biodiversity indicators (all declining), including species richness of native plants, birds, and butterflies, and population sizes of birds (MOE 2014). Additionally, volunteers participating in the project improved their taxonomic skill (MOE 2014), contributing to the goals of the global taxonomy ini- tiative (CBD 2010b). Although the monitoring sites 1000 program has existed for just 12 years, limiting its ability to detect long-term trends, the development of a long- term, nationwide monitoring network supported by citizen involvement is itself a significant achievement whose payoffs will increase as time goes on. United Kingdom The history of citizen science in the United Kingdom dates back to the beginning of scientific and natural history observation in the country, including the work of John Ray, the great 17th century naturalist who in- volved many volunteers in collecting specimens. Volun- teer involvement in science in the United Kingdom has continued through a host of programs—especially pro- grams focused on phenology, birds, and butterflies—and has grown rapidly in recent years. Like in Japan, phenological observations provide the longest-running citizen science data sets in the United Kingdom. In 1736, Robert Marsham started recording 27 phenological events, such as first flowering, leafing and the appearance of migratory birds, for more than 20 common plant and animal species in his family estates in Norfolk (Margary 1926). He continued recording until his death in 1797, after which the work was continued by successive generations of his family until 1958 (Sparks and Carey 1995), providing a valuable 223-year record of phenological changes. Today a citizen science project, Nature’s Calendar, encourages mass observation of 67 spring and 24 autumn phenological events nationwide. Approximately 40,000 people across the United King- dom volunteer for this project, providing extensive sampling (Amano et al. 2010a). These records, together with many other data sets, are now compiled by the UK Phenology Network as one big database with more than three million records, providing a powerful opportunity to explore the effects of long-term climate changes on species’ phenology (Amano et al. 2010a). For birds, the British Trust for Ornithology has organized at least eight ‘‘core’’ nationwide volunteer- based surveys (BTO 2015a). Together they cover a wide range of phenomena on the ecology of birds and are designed with a statistical rigor that is unusual for na- tional biodiversity surveys (Greenwood 2012). One 3 example, the Breeding Bird Survey—launched in 1994 as a successor to the Common Birds Census, which started in 1962—monitors the population changes of common bird species breeding in the United Kingdom. The area surveyed by the Breeding Bird Survey has more than doubled in the past 20 years. In 2013 2854 volunteers surveyed 3619 km 2 across the nation and recorded a total of 224 species (Harris et al. 2014). The Wetland Bird Survey shares the same objective with the breeding bird survey, but is targeted at non-breeding waterbirds. In the 2012–2013 season, count surveys were carried out at 2631 sites by 3100 volunteers under this scheme (Austin et al. 2014). The Nest Record Scheme, starting in 1939, has recorded the timing of breeding, the location of bird nests and the numbers of eggs and nestlings. For this scheme, over 600 volunteers locate and monitor more than 30,000 nests each year, provid- ing a long-term dataset of over 1.35 million nest records from 232 species (BTO 2015b). These surveys by the British Trust for Ornithology have benefited from rig- orous sampling schemes, a strong commitment to pro- gram management, and investment in building capacity for scientific data analysis. Butterflies are another species group that has attracted much attention from citizen science in the United King- dom. The UK Butterfly Monitoring Scheme has moni- tored changes in the abundance of butterflies since 1976, covering a total of 2302 sites across the country (Brereton et al. 2014). The wider countryside butterfly survey was established in 2009 to complement the UK butterfly monitoring scheme because the latter was biased towards good quality semi-natural habitats. In 2013 the wider countryside butterfly survey attracted more than 700 re- corders, who counted over 142,217 butterflies of 45 spe- cies across 857 km 2 (Brereton et al. 2014). United States Initially, most citizen science in the United States was done by individual amateur naturalists exploring wilderness and reporting species new to science. One of the earliest organized efforts to recruit a large number of volunteer participants involved collection of data on bird strikes by lighthouse keepers around 1880 (Dick- inson and Bonney 2012). Later, in 1890, the National Weather Service Cooperative Observer Program began to facilitate and encourage amateur meteorologists to collect weather data (Havens and Henderson 2013). That program continues today. Christmas Bird Counts, organized by the National Audubon Society, began in 1900 to survey wintering bird populations, and have continued for more than a century. Citizen science projects exploded in popularity in the United States in recent years and there are now dozens of formal pro- grams, and many amateur naturalists who continue recording their observations independently. Formal programs are particularly focused on birds and other charismatic animals, such as amphibians and butterflies. As in Japan and the United Kingdom, citizen science phenology monitoring has a long tradition in the United States; however, the oldest known records are not con- tinuous and were collected mainly by individuals, such as Henry David Thoreau and Thomas Jefferson (Miller- Rushing and Primack 2008). Geographically widespread phenology monitoring began in the late 1950s with a network devoted to monitoring lilac and honeysuckle flowering (Schwartz et al. 2012). That network was created by the US Department of Agriculture, and has now been expanded by the USA National Phenology Network, which collects professional and citizen science observations of hundreds of plant and animal species (Denny et al. 2014; Rosemartin et al. 2014). Citizen science data have contributed greatly to ad- vances in ecology and provide information of importance to the conservation of birds, fish, insects, plants, mam- mals, and other taxonomic groups in the United States (Dickinson et al. 2010). For example, Feed- erWatch—originally organized as a regional survey by Bird Studies Canada (then Long Point Bird Observatory) in the 1970s—has expanded across North America in partnership with the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Data collected by FeederWatch helped to reveal the impact of an emergent infectious disease, mycoplasmal conjunc- tivitis, which caused a wave of mortality in populations of house finches across the United States (Altizer et al. 2004; Hochachka and Dhondt 2000; Hosseini et al. 2004). Historical and new citizen science data from biodi- versity surveys, naturalists’ journals, and museum col- lections have improved scientists’ and the public’s understanding of the impacts of global issues such as cli- mate change, overexploitation, pollution, invasive spe- cies, and land-use change throughout the United States and in many other countries (e.g., Schwartz et al. 2012; Willis et al. 2008, 2010; Zoellick et al. 2012). These same sources of historical citizen science data have also been used to understand shifts in the abundance and distribu- tion of species (Feeley and Silman 2011). Furthermore, current citizen science observations, when combined with these historical data, have revealed important new in- sights, such as the observation that plant phenology has responded more quickly to warming temperatures than has bird phenology (Ellwood et al. 2010; Marra et al. 2005). The long history of citizen science collection in Concord, Massachusetts, including observations by the famous philosopher and writer Henry David Thoreau, provide a particularly productive example of the scientific and communication benefits of combining old and new citizen science and professional science as well (Miller- Rushing and Primack 2008; Primack 2014; Primack and Miller-Rushing 2012; Primack et al. 2012). Case studies: outcomes and insights A strength of citizen science is its ability to simultane- ously achieve a variety of outcomes, including scientific 4 research, learning, and environmental stewardship behavior, goals that vary in their emphasis across pro- jects (figure i.2 in Dickinson and Bonney 2012). The case studies in this section illustrate a variety of ecological and conservation applications of citizen science and highlight considerations that are unique to citizen sci- ence when compared to conventional or professional science. The first four case studies are from Japan, fol- lowed by examples from the United Kingdom and the United States, countries where the practice of citizen science is being studied extensively (Dickinson and Bonney 2012). Citizen science as a producer of ‘‘big data’’ for spatial ecology Trans-disciplinary collaborations between conservation ecology and data engineering have provided novel ways to contribute, manage, analyze, and engage with data, including growing amounts of spatially explicit ‘‘big data’’ (i.e., data sets too large or complex for traditional methods of storage and analysis) (Dickinson et al. 2010; Hochachka et al. 2012). In Japan, two new prototypes of monitoring programs highlight the potential for collab- oration between conservation ecology and data engi- neering to engage in large-scale data collection to address conservation issues. The first, Invasive Alien Bumblebee, is a monitoring program in Hokkaido aimed at early identification of an invasive bumblebee species, Bombus terrestris (which is listed in the Invasive Alien Species Act of the Ministry of Environment), with the goal of preventing their invasion into native ecosystems. The second is Butterflies in Tokyo, which provides opportunities to appreciate and share experi- ences with wild nature by monitoring butterflies in a rapidly changing urban environment. In addition to providing opportunities for environ- mental education and enjoyable outdoor activities, the programs strengthen public engagement and contribute to research. To provide evidence for this point, program organizers and researchers evaluated the scientific value of the data collected by two of the citizen science mon- itoring programs: Invasive Alien Bumblebee in Hok- kaido and Butterflies in Tokyo. Evaluation focused particularly on accuracy of species identification and sufficiency of the data—that is whether the data cover a large enough area to be useful for scientific modeling or hypothesis testing. Program organizers attempted to improve the accuracy of species identifications by pro- viding field manuals and an Internet-based learning service with experts available to help with proper iden- tification. Invasive Alien Bumblebee in Hokkaido—The target invasive species, Bombus terrestris, was first introduced into Japan from Europe in early 1990s as a commercial pollinator, and soon naturalized in northern Japan where it expanded its range across Hokkaido (Mat- sumura et al. 2004; Washitani 2004). The invasive bumblebee is highly competitive, and rapid declines in native bumblebees have been observed in areas where this species has become established (Inoue et al. 2008). In the monitoring program, volunteers catch the invader bumblebees they find and send data (including when, where, and how many bees were caught) via an online interface to the laboratory of conservation ecology in the University of Tokyo. In the early stages of the pro- gram, volunteers sent specimens to the lab to check the accuracy of identifications. Misidentification rates were very low, less than 1 %, probably because the color pattern of the bee species is distinctive compared to common native bumblebee species (Kadoya et al. 2009). This citizen science monitoring program has played an important role in the management of the invasive bumblebee, both through capture and removal of indi- vidual bees (direct management) and by providing data to inform modeling of species range expansion. Through the monitoring program, 300,000 invasive bees were caught and removed from the wild. To inform models of range expansion, volunteers expanded their monitoring to include areas not yet invaded by the bees. These additional data allowed for successful observation of the species’ rapid range expansion (Kadoya et al. 2009) and the development of models to forecast future range expansion (Kadoya and Washitani 2010). Butterflies in Tokyo—Identification of butterflies is particularly difficult because of the large number of butterfly species. In this project volunteers submit but- terfly photographs online along with their proposed species identifications. Experts check each photograph, and if necessary, images are checked by more than two experts to ensure correct identification. Then data are compiled into a project database, at which point vol- unteers can check their species identifications online. This learning process has proven to be effective. Each year the volunteers’ ability to identify species correctly increases—i.e., a greater proportion of their identifica- tions are correct as confirmed by experts. Data collected from the program are also useful for hypothesis testing. More than 18,000 butterfly records over 4 years allowed researchers to test whether the abundance or commonness of butterfly species depends on the prevalence of host plants and length of repro- ductive cycles. Researchers found that the most com- monly observed species relied on small weeds common in urban environments as host plants and also went through several reproductive cycles each year. For example, Pseudozizeeria maha, the most commonly ob- served species, relies on a host plant, Oxalis corniculata, very common in urban landscapes. Additionally, P. maha is known to reproduce 5–6 times annually (Wa- shitani et al. 2013). Researchers also tested whether range expansions of butterflies from southern areas are linked to warming in Tokyo caused by the heat island effect and global cli- mate change. New citizen science monitoring, when compared with past butterfly records made by amateur naturalists, showed that all species new to Tokyo are 5 from southern regions. In contrast, species that spe- cialize on woodland and grassland communities have tended to disappear from Tokyo. These results suggest that warming temperatures and the loss of woodland and grassland communities are both contributing to shifts in the composition of butterfly species in Tokyo. In conclusion, ‘‘big data’’ collected by a carefully designed citizen science monitoring program can be valuable for modeling and hypothesis testing in the field of spatial ecology, even for studies of insects, which tend to be more difficult to identify and attract less interest than other animal species, such as birds. Heavy invest- ment in monitoring data quality could be reduced through automation if engineers interested in machine learning could work with experts to ‘teach’ computers to recognize species from images. Further collaborations between conservation scientists, ecologists, and data engineers promise to result in new ways to improve and expand these big-data citizen science efforts to provide important data for pressing conservation problems. Overcoming barriers to participation: matching projects with volunteers When planning a citizen science project, organizers must consider not only the field methods but also ways to recruit and retain volunteers with skills and interests that match the needs of the project. Barriers to volunteer participation in citizen science projects can vary and may include asking volunteers to submit data too fre- quently, in inconvenient locations, or using protocols that are too complex. Many techniques can help to overcome these barriers and attract appropriate audi- ences; techniques include implementing simple sampling methods, targeting audiences already interested in the activity, providing recognition for volunteers, and facilitating positive social interactions among partici- pants. In this section we discuss examples of barriers to participation for two types of citizen science surveys: (1) one-time surveys that require relatively little skill and (2) one-time surveys that require more skill. Examples of entry-level surveys include the Spring and Autumn Watch programs run by the Japan Bird Research Association (JBRA). In these surveys, volun- teers record the first sighting or sound of breeding or wintering birds. The target species are easy for novice birdwatchers to identify, and the project interests many birdwatchers and nature-lovers; in 2013, 589 volunteers participated. Barriers to participation are low. Every year, JBRA notifies its members about the start of the Spring and Autumn Watch programs and announces the programs on the JBRA’s public website. Volunteers enter observations using an online map interface. Data from the project can be used to investigate variation in bird phenology and its relationship with climate (Ueta and Koyama 2014). The Duck Sex Ratio Survey, also run by JBRA, has higher barriers to participation: it requires higher iden- tification skill, is more time consuming for volunteers, and interests a narrower audience; 184 volunteers par- ticipated in 2014. Volunteers are asked to identify duck species and to count the numbers of male and female ducks. They submit their data through email and the resulting data show geographical and temporal changes in sex ratios of duck species. Barriers to participation affect the recruitment strategies for both programs. In the relatively low-skill Spring and Autumn Watch, the pool of potential vol- unteers is large, so announcements are sent to both JBRA members and the general public. In contrast, the duck sex ratio survey requires skilled volunteers, more effort, and interests fewer people, so announcements are sent to the JBRA members and to volunteers already registered for duck surveys (i.e., those already interested in this type of monitoring). Survey coordinators also cultivate relationships with volunteers; volunteers investing greater effort and time expect more from the survey coordinators. The spring and autumn watch and duck sex ratio surveys do not require volunteers to make repeated observations; volunteers can participate in one year, and different volunteers can participate in another year. Certain types of surveys, especially those requiring occupancy analysis, require volunteers to make obser- vations repeatedly across months or years. These types of surveys present barriers to participation and require different solutions. When the period of the survey or monitoring is long, coordinators must take steps to keep volunteers moti- vated (Theobald et al. 2015). Promptly reporting survey results, providing the right tools and clear protocols, and explicitly recognizing volunteers’ effort can help main- tain volunteers’ interest and can acknowledge their contribution. Social bonds formed by participating in citizen science surveys or meetings can also contribute to maintaining volunteer participation in long-term sur- veys. Volunteer-based organizations usually regard so- cial relationship as vital and provide opportunities for volunteers to meet each other (Krasny and Tidball 2012; Sakurai et al. 2015). Although many online citizen sci- ence projects provide guidance remotely, a few provide opportunities for online social interaction among par- ticipants or facilitate the organization of in-person gatherings or trainings. Positive social relationships are not only beneficial for individual citizen science projects, but can also contribute to growing an entire organiza- tion, such as JBRA. Ultimately, only organizations supported by many volunteers can sustainably imple- ment good citizen science surveys, and the relationships developed and nurtured through long-term participa- tion, whether in person or online, can be critical to maintaining and growing that volunteer community. One-time or short-term citizen science surveys, like the spring and autumn watch and duck sex ratio surveys, can be excellent introductions to citizen science partici- pation and can be used to recruit volunteers for longer- term participation in citizen science monitoring projects. 6 For all citizen science projects, though, coordinators must match the science needs of projects with the interests and skills of volunteers, while also providing adequate training if they want participants to develop skills necessary to contribute to more advanced projects. Informing urban conservation: birds’ use of urban gar- dens The extent and quality of urban green areas in Japan and the biodiversity they support have declined since the 1960s as a result of rapid development and population growth (Kobori et al. 2014). There is currently interest in reversing this trend—for example, by improving the quality and quantity of small private green areas such as gardens, which comprise much of the urban ecological matrix and are important for maintaining biodiversity (Kobori et al. 2014; Sakurai et al. 2015). To inform ur- ban greening efforts that aim to reduce the loss of bio- diversity, studies must collect long-term and large-scale data from many urban areas. Citizen science is well suited for collecting these data (Dickinson and Bonney 2012). In particular, some studies have explored the types of animals or plants seen in private gardens and green areas (Nakao and Hattori 1999; Owen 2010); however, few studies have investigated the characteris- tics of gardens that are associated with use by particular species or overall support of biodiversity. In this section, we assess the results of the citizen science project, Gar- den Wild Life Watch, a nationwide web-based project investigating the relationships among birds observed in private gardens, traits of the gardens, and characteristics of the surrounding area. Garden Wild Life Watch, organized by the center for ecological education, consists of three programs, wildlife watch for beginners, garden bird watch, and index of wildlife. Participants report observations of animals in private gardens during a four-month period, from May to August, each year. To investigate garden traits that were associated with the presence of birds, we analyzed observations of 15 species of birds made by 130 volun- teers over four years, 2010 to 2013, as a part of Garden Bird Watch. Volunteers also reported characteristics of gardens and surrounding areas. We used a general linear model to quantify the relationship between the number of species of birds observed in gardens and various charac- teristics of gardens and surrounding areas (Table 1). Tree sparrows (Passer montanus) were the species observed most frequently in private gardens (n = 122, 94 %). Brown-eared bulbuls (Hypsipetes amaurotis, n = 88, 68 %), eastern turtle doves (Streptopelia ori- entalis, n = 68, rate = 52 %), Japanese tits (Parus minor, n = 67, 52 %), and barn swallows (Hirundo rastica, n = 56, 43 %) were also abundant in gardens (Fig. 1). The number of species of birds observed in- creased significantly as the size of garden areas in- creased—i.e., bigger gardens hosted more species. Gardens with clumps of trees and hedges of deciduous trees had significantly more bird species than gardens with isolated trees or no trees at all. Gardens with parks and forests nearby also tended to have more birds (Table 1). Although we did not monitor survival and repro- duction, many of the species observed in private gardens can persist in areas with little greenery; they do not necessarily require green areas. Volunteers rarely ob- served forest and grove-loving species, such as bull- headed shrikes and varied tits, suggesting that urban green spaces are not yet adequate in quality or extent for these species. When designing new green spaces and improving existing spaces, results from the Garden Bird Watch suggest that planting trees in clumps or hedges would help to maximize the diversity of bird species served. Further research, including monitoring of reproductive success, could further help to assess the value of enhanced gardens for bird populations. Without volunteer participation, this project would have been prohibitively expensive. It is also difficult for researchers to study private gardens without engaging householders. Engaging volunteers to contribute to sci- ence by measuring the value of their gardens to biodi- versity can help to engage householders to take action to improve their gardens. We believe that this project re- flects the larger role that citizen science projects can play in biodiversity and restoration research. Adaptive management of a threatened bird species Citizen science can contribute to conservation of endangered species by developing and implementing conservation programs for target species, and by informing conservation practices and policies of gov- ernment agencies, NGOs, and other relevant organiza- tions. In recent years, many NGOs have been applying Table 1 Relationship between number of bird species and characteristics of private gardens observed as a part of Garden Bird Watch, a project of Garden Wild Life Watch Environmental factors of the garden Estimate SE LR.Chisq P value Area 0.001 0.001 8.028 0.005 Components Clamp of trees 0.228 0.113 4.115 0.043 Green area near the garden Park 0.240 0.110 4.793 0.029 Forest 0.277 0.124 5.019 0.025 Border Hedge of deciduous trees 0.345 0.149 5.216 0.022 7 citizen science to achieve their conservation goals, including the protection of endangered species. Here, we show the activities of a Japanese NGO, little tern pro- ject, as an example of this type of project. The little tern project was established for conserva- tion of little terns, Sterna albifrons, which are threatened in Japan. Little terns are summer migrants and they form breeding colonies of ten to several thousands of individuals (del Hoyo et al. 1996). In the absence of human disturbance they prefer to nest on bare ground on sandy coasts or graveled riversides (del Hoyo et al. 1996); however, in Japan these sites have been destroyed by human activities. As a result of this habitat loss, breeding populations of little terns have declined in abundance, and the little tern is now listed as vulnerable on the Japanese Red List (MOE 2014). Without their native habitat, little terns now nest on artificial bare ground on developed lands, airports, car parks, and other areas. For example, a colony has formed on the rooftop of the Morigasaki water reclamation center, in Ota City, Tokyo (Fujita et al. 2009). Since this rooftop breeding colony was discovered in 2001, the Little Tern Project has constructed and man- aged the artificial breeding habitat on the rooftop with help of the Ota City Office and the Sewer commission of the Tokyo metropolitan government (LTP 2011). Vol- unteers maintain the colony site, remove plants to maintain bare ground, use decoys and calls to attract little terns, monitor breeding, spread sand and stones on the rooftop to prevent eggs from rolling in the wind, and erect shelters to protect eggs and nestlings from preda- tors. For the 10 years from 2001 to 2010, approximately 5500 nests have been found and over 3000 nestlings have been hatched at this colony-site (LTP 2011). The results of the project’s work have been published in interna- tional scientific journals (Fujita et al. 2009) and pre- sented at academic meetings. The little tern project’s citizen science monitoring has contributed to adaptive management of little terns. Monitoring data suggested that little terns preferred to nest at sites with a white-colored surface substrate. To investigate further, little tern project volunteers and scientists worked together to conduct an experiment to test this observation; specifically, they spread white shell pieces on some of the nest sites. Sites with white-colored substrate attracted a significantly higher nest density than did unchanged rooftop (Kitamura et al. in prepa- ration). As a result of this experiment, the Little Tern Project now treats the entire colony site with white surface substrate. The conservation activities of the Little Tern Project have also received support from the local government in Ota City and have informed local policy. Little tern conservation and citizen science were, for example, in- cluded in the basic environmental plan of Ota City (Ota City 2012). For one of the six fundamental objectives of the plan, ‘‘establishing a society that coexists with nat- ure,’’ the rooftop colony was identified as an important habitat for the threatened species and designated as a core area in Ota City’s ecological network. Data and 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 140 N um be r o f o bs er va tio ns Species name Fig. 1 Number of observations in birds in Garden Bird Watch during the years 2010–2013. Tree sparrow (Passer montanus), Brown-eared bulbul (Hypsipetes amaurotis), Eastern turtle dove (Streptopelia orientalis), Japanese tit (Parus minor), Barn swallow (Hirundo rustica), Jungle crow (Corvus macrorhynchos), Japanese white-eye (Zosterops japonicus), White-cheeked starling (Sturnus cineraceus), Japanese pied wagtail (Motacilla alba lugens), Carrion crow (Corvus corone), Azure-winged magpie (Cyanopica cyana), Japanese pygmy woodpecker (Dendrocopos kizuki), Oriental greenfinch (Carduelis sinica), Bull-headed shrike (Lanius bucephalus), Varied tit (Parus varius) 8 knowledge related to little terns living in this area are treated as an indicator for achieving this fundamental objective. Governments may be particularly disposed to work with conservation programs that use citizen sci- ence because they involve citizens (and often other key stakeholders) while also being based on scientific meth- ods and evidence. Citizen science and conservation: a perspective from the United Kingdom The use of data acquired by citizen science is particularly well integrated into formal biodiversity monitoring, re- search, and policy-making processes in the United Kingdom (Greenwood 2012), probably more thoroughly and for longer than in Japan. Thus, it is useful to review the approaches, outcomes, and lessons learned from conservation applications of citizen science in the United Kingdom. Some of these programs and approaches could be repeated in Japan—some already are being done or could be done with existing data—while others would require modifications to be applied in Japan. Perhaps the best example of the application of citizen science for conservation in the United Kingdom relates to birds (Greenwood 2012). For example, data based on the Breeding Bird Survey, Common Bird Census and the Nest Record Scheme, together with other volunteer- based surveys, form the basis for assessing the popula- tion status of common breeding birds in the United Kingdom. For each of the 120 species, annual reports provide the latest information on temporal trends in population size, breeding performance and survival rates (Baillie et al. 2014). Such species-level information is then used to identify species of conservation concern (Eaton et al. 2009) and to develop wild bird indicators (DEFRA 2014), which summarize composite population trends of birds as measures of environmental health (Gregory and van Strien 2010). Most notably, these ef- forts have led to the finding of severe population declines and range contractions among farmland birds since the mid-1970s in the United Kingdom (Fuller et al. 1995; Siriwardena et al. 1998), which has stimulated huge growth in research on the impact of agricultural inten- sification on biodiversity as well as the effectiveness of potential interventions (for birds, see Wilson et al. 2009). As a consequence in 2002, the UK government adopted a public service agreement target to reverse the long- term decline in farmland birds by 2020, and its progress is measured annually against the indicators developed for farmland birds (Gregory and van Strien 2010). Similarly, in Japan citizen science data from pro- grams such as the National Surveys on the Natural Environment and ‘‘Monitoring Sites 1000’’ project have been used extensively in national-scale studies on bird conservation. For example, citizen science data have been used to assess long-term range contractions (Amano and Yamaura 2007; Yamaura et al. 2009) and population declines (Amano et al. 2010b; Kasahara and Koyama 2010), to understand the role of landscape heterogeneity in explaining spatial distribution (Ka- tayama et al. 2014), and to identify priority areas for conservation (Naoe et al. 2015). Data based on citizen science projects have also shed light on how species are responding to and being influ- enced by recent climate change. Many of the first studies showing the evidence of climate change impacts on species, such as poleward range shifts in butterflies (Parmesan et al. 1999; Warren et al. 2001), earlier laying in bird species (Crick et al. 1997) and earlier flowering in plants (Sparks and Carey 1995), have based their find- ings on long-term data sets derived from citizen science projects in the United Kingdom. Citizen science often provides extensive data on large-scale ecological phe- nomena for a number of species and these data enable us to describe detailed responses by species to climate change. For instance, Amano et al. (2010a) used 395,466 observation records for 405 plant species from 1753, supplied by the UK Phenology Network, and quantified 250-year changes in first flowering dates in British plant communities. Amano et al. (2014) further combined the outputs of this study with another citizen science data set on changes in spatial distribution of plant species (Botanical Society of Britain and Ireland 2008), and revealed a link between the level of phenological changes and the degree of northward range shifts; species that failed to track an increasing temperature by advancing flowering dates showed greater northward range shifts. These studies would have been impossible without both of the above citizen science data sets, which together cover different types of ecological phenomena (changes in phenology and spatial distribution over the last few decades, in this case) for hundreds of species. Citizen science has also shown a great potential to raise public awareness about the changing status of biodiversity by involving a large number of citizens in observing nature. One of the United Kingdom’s biggest citizen science projects, the Big Garden Birdwatch, led by the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, in- volves nearly half a million citizens every year in bird count surveys in gardens during just one weekend of January (http://www.rspb.org.uk/discoverandenjoy nature/discoverandlearn/birdwatch/). Results from the project attract significant media interest. The survey method for this project is easy enough for anyone, including children, to participate without training, pro- viding excellent opportunities to engage people with nature and to introduce them to citizen science. The same is true for the Nature’s Calendar project. This project has been supported by United Kingdom’s pop- ular television programmes, BBC Springwatch and Autumnwatch, since 2004 (Kate Lewthwaite, personal communication). The coverage has helped to attract more people and has boosted the number of records being submitted (see figure S1B in Amano et al. 2010a). The project now serves as a basis for informing people of how climate change is affecting species—it produces live maps online showing submitted observations of pheno- 9 http://www.rspb.org.uk/discoverandenjoynature/discoverandlearn/birdwatch/ http://www.rspb.org.uk/discoverandenjoynature/discoverandlearn/birdwatch/ logical events and also produces annual reports (Woodland Trust 2014). Rapid advances in computer and communication technologies are also transforming the way citizen sci- ence works in the United Kingdom. One such example is iSpot, which launched in 2009 (Woods and Scanlon 2012). iSpot provides a web-based system where partic- ipants post photographs of animals and plants. The iS- pot community, in turn, helps to identify them reliably (Scanlon et al. 2014). A key feature of iSpot is its sophisticated means of assessing the credibility of those who identify species. Specifically, the system assesses their previous activities and accuracy of identification (Clow and Makriyannis 2011). The iSpot community now has over 31,000 registered users and 200,000 observations (Scanlon et al. 2014). Over 80 % of observations are identified within 24 h after they are posted (Snaddon et al. 2013). This project thus repre- sents an excellent opportunity to nurture and inspire a new generation of naturalists by enabling people to learn more about their local environment efficiently. Citizen science as a human computation system: a per- spective from the United States The United States has a history of engagement in citizen science, especially with birds. The Internet age, however, has contributed to major growth in use of citizen science methodologies. In part, this was due to the development of Internet-based Web applications, such as those pio- neered at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and National Audubon Society (Kelling et al. 2004). Today over 300,000 people participate in the six citizen science projects (Great Backyard Bird Count, eBird, Nest- Watch, FeederWatch, YardMap, and Celebrate Urban Birds) run by the Lab (some of these six are co-led by Bird Studies Canada or the National Audubon Society). Citizen science, when done at these scales, is a form of crowdsourcing, with a central organization providing protocols, learning content, and Web architectures that allow contributors to collect, enter, and see their data within the context of larger temporal and geographic patterns generated by the collective. This is best seen in eBird, which allows participants to count birds any- where in the world, enter the data online, and visualize information by species, time period, and locale. This feedback allows participants to see what they and others have seen, as well as what they might be able to see at a particular place or time of year; the project’s success has largely been due to emphasis on building in features known to be attractive to birdwatchers (bird hobbyists). Citizen science architectures, when built in this way, not only crowdsource biodiversity data collection, they represent a ‘‘virtuous circle’’ in which the data collected enhance the experiences of participants by providing information that allows them to see and enjoy more birds. The resulting data set is longitudinal and allows researchers to account for changes in the skill levels of participants and to use this information to develop ma- chine learning algorithms that help build better models of bird distributions (Fink et al. 2014). Because eBird was built with the interests of birders in mind, it was able to garner a loyal following, grow, and encourage the most engaged participants to follow more rigorous and stan- dardized protocols (Sullivan et al. 2014). By helping a robust and growing community of birders parse their data in ways that they enjoy (i.e. seeing their life lists, county lists, monthly lists) and integrating social tools that allow people to build reputations, eBird became a community. Today an online leader board allows eBird participants to compete in their favorite sport (birding) and map features provide social visibility around bird sightings (it is possible to zoom into the map and see who reported what and where). This social awareness allowed eBird to build the largest global data set on bird occu- pancy and abundance. In mining information on the observers and their observations, eBird has become a human computation system that can generate dynamic maps and provide new insights into which geographic areas may be most important for a particular bird species. The model re- sults are fine grained enough to determine that a par- ticular species may in fact be two subspecies that breed in allopatry. These models can provide peeks at previ- ously undetected macro-scale patterns and can lead to new insights that can be followed with more detailed studies on the ground. New technologies play a major role in crowdsourcing models of citizen science. These include apps for smart phones that facilitate species identification and data entry as well as development of automated filters that request verification from participants when data are geographically or numerically outside the expected range. By producing automated emails to participants these filtering systems can confirm rare or out-of-range sightings, while records lacking such confirmation are flagged in the database. Filtering, in combination with robust informatics approaches and data mining efforts, is often necessary to make large and somewhat ‘‘messy’’ data useful for scientific research, which even then re- quires innovation in data mining based on marrying statistics with computer science (Fink et al. 2014). Citizen science has led to a range of ecological studies tracking the movement, correlates, and impacts of introduced bird species (e.g., the Eurasian Collared Dove) (Bonter et al. 2010), tracking the impact of recent introductions of non-native insects on native bird pop- ulations (e.g. the Emerald ash borer) (Koenig et al. 2013), examining the correlates of eruptions of boreal birds (Koenig and Knops 2001), testing hypotheses about latitudinal variation in hatching success (Cooper et al. 2005), and documenting advancing lay dates (Dunn and Winkler 1999), extinctions, and shifting distributions of birds as a result of multiple stressors, including climate change and habitat loss (Pimm et al. 2014). Measures of probability of occurrence gleaned from eBird data have been used in the near-annual State 10 of the Birds Report, a collaborative effort between the US government and conservation NGOs organized to provide the US Department of the Interior with infor- mation to help identify the relative conservation importance of different federally and state-managed lands as well as private lands (North American Bird Conservation Initiative 2014). The Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s newest citizen sci- ence project, YardMap, combines bird monitoring with data on human practices on privately held lands to study the effects of restorative acts in residential landscapes across the urban-to-rural gradient. Briefly, people mark off a site, then map the site characteristics (e.g., trees, shrubs, lawn, feeders, etc.), and indicate which practices they engage in (e.g., using pesticides and fertilizers or not, keeping cats out of the wild, planting native plants). The project suggests a broad palette of restoration activities and practices that participants can adopt, and many use eBird to monitor birds on their sites. Today, with nearly 16,000 maps, YardMap is becoming the largest network of on-the-ground, conservation practitioners in the world. Its research goal is to test socially explicit hypotheses describing the kinds of interventions that increase the range of conservation efforts that partici- pants engage in (Dickinson and Crain 2014; Dickinson et al. 2013), while also exploring the complex relationship between social interaction, interactions with the Yard- Map app, and learning. In terms of ecology, YardMap (much like Japan’s Garden Wild Life Watch mentioned earlier) can help address questions regarding which combinations practices have positive impacts on wildlife, and under what conditions, densities, and landscape re- gimes, backyards can be managed to become habitats for wildlife. Ultimately, we expect YardMap to enable the study of various feedbacks among learning, behavior, and ecological outcomes within a complex, but tractable, socio-ecological system (Crain et al. 2014). Project sustainability and evaluation Nearly all projects benefit from built-in mechanisms for evaluation and adaptive project management, but citizen science and its complex and highly interdisciplinary nature make evaluation and adaptive project manage- ment particularly important. Here we describe methods for and benefits of evaluating citizen science, discuss the recruitment and retention of volunteers, and provide insights from a survey of leading citizen science NGOs in Japan. Evaluation and human dimensions research to increase project effectiveness Many citizen science projects focus on ecology and conservation and were started by natural scien- tists—e.g., ecologists and biologists—with minimal involvement of social scientists (Romolini et al. 2012). This is understandable as many conservation-related activities such as observing nature, monitoring bird populations, and censusing species that inhabit certain areas, are the domains of natural scientists, not social scientists. However, the skills of social scientists are critical for motivating and educating participants, transferring research skills, effectively communicating research results and other project outcomes to the public, and evaluating project impacts (Dickinson and Bonney 2012). These topics make up the human dimensions of citizen science projects. In this section, we discuss how human dimensions research and social sci- ence approaches are important to the effective imple- mentation of ecological and conservation citizen science projects. In particular, we focus on four tools: logic models, front-end evaluation, formative evaluation, and summative evaluation. Logic models A logic model is a diagram that shows resources invested in the program, contents of activities, and intended goals or outcomes. The specific factors included in logic models can vary, but they all aim to achieve the same goal of clearly outlining the roadmap of the program to get from inputs to desired outcomes. Here we show elements of logic models as recommended by Ernst et al. (2009) and an example logic model (Table 2), but see Phillips et al. (2014) and Kellogg Foundation (2004) for templates with other elements: 1. Situation: needs, setting, or context in which program is developed, 2. Inputs: resources needed to accomplish the project’s outcome, 3. Outputs: activities, events, or services provided through the project, 4. Outcomes: changes expected, categorized as learning (immediate changes), actions (changes in behavior), and impacts (long term changes in environmental and social conditions) 5. Assumptions: principles that guide the project. Front-end evaluation Human dimensions research prior to implementing citizen science projects, called front-end evaluation or needs assessment, can help project organizers understand the needs of potential participants and assess the feasibility of running the program (Ernst et al. 2009; Phillips et al. 2014). For example, if an organization is planning a new citizen science project to study dragonflies in a certain town, a survey of residents could reveal important factors—such as the number of residents interested in participating; characteristics of those potential participants; and times, places, and activities that would attract the most people or that would attract specific target audiences—that would be very helpful in guiding the design and devel- opment of a project (more topics listed in Table 3). Interviewing representative samples of target audiences or convening focus group discussions (usually 8–12 participants) can reveal useful information about the 11 T a b le 2 S a m p le o f a lo g ic m o d el b a se d o n re su lt s o f fr o n t- en d ev a lu a ti o n (n ee d s a ss es sm en t) b ef o re th e p ro g ra m st a rt ed . M o d ifi ed fr o m S a k u ra i et a l. (2 0 1 2 ) In p u ts O u tp u ts O u tc o m es W h a t w e in v es t A ct iv it ie s: w h a t w e p ro v id e P a rt ic ip a ti o n : w h o w e re a ch S h o rt te rm : le a rn in g (o n e y ea r a ft er th e p ro g ra m st a rt ed ) M ed iu m te rm : a ct io n (t h re e y ea rs a ft er th e p ro g ra m st a rt ed ) L o n g te rm : im p a ct (t en y ea rs a ft er th e p ro g ra m st a rt ed ) S ta ff : p re fe ct u ra l g o v er n m en t/ U n iv er si ty / C it y G o v er n m en t S it e v is it s to d a m a g e si te s in th e re g io n 3 0 re si d en ts 7 0 % o f lo ca l re si d en ts w il l fo st er m o ti v a ti o n to en g a g e in in te rv en ti o n s to p re v en t d a m a g e b y b o a rs 9 0 % o f lo ca l re si d en ts en g a g e in in te rv en ti o n s to p re v en t d a m a g e b y w il d li fe P a rt ic ip a to ry d a m a g e p re v en ti o n in te rv en ti o n s co n d u ct ed b y re si d en ts w il l cr ea te lo ca l re g io n in w h ic h w il d li fe d a m a g e ra re ly o cc u r M o n ey : b u d g et o f p re fe ct u ra l g o v er n m en t (t ra n sp o rt a ti o n fe es o f le ct u re rs ) S em in a rs to le a rn h o w to p re v en t d a m a g e b y b o a rs 2 0 re si d en ts H a lf o f lo ca l re si d en ts k n o w h o w to p re v en t d a m a g e b y b o a rs L o ca l re si d en ts w il l h a v e h ig h er a w a re n es s a n d k n o w le d g e re g a rd in g w il d li fe is su es th a n re si d en ts in su rr o u n d in g re g io n s C le a ri n g b ru sh a ro u n d re si d en ti a l a re a 3 0 re si d en ts L o ca l re si d en ts w il l a n sw er 7 0 % o f q u es ti o n s re g a rd in g in te rv en ti o n s to p re v en t d a m a g e b y b o a rs co rr ec tl y S em in a r to le a rn w il d li fe is su es a n d in te rv en ti o n s to p re v en t d a m a g e 2 0 re si d en ts S it u a ti o n : in cr ea se o f a g ri cu lt u ra l d a m a g e b y w il d li fe /d ep o p u la ti o n a n d a g in g o f lo ca l co m m u n it y A ss u m p ti o n s: h a v in g se m in a rs a n d si te v is it s to d a m a g e si te s w il l in cr ea se re si d en ts ’ a w a re n es s a n d k n o w le d g e o f, a n d w il li n g n es s to p re v en t w il d li fe d a m a g e T a b le 3 E x a m p le q u es ti o n s ex p lo re d d u ri n g fr o n t- en d , fo rm a ti v e, a n d su m m a ti v e ev a lu a ti o n s F ro n t- en d ev a lu a ti o n F o rm a ti v e ev a lu a ti o n S u m m a ti v e ev a lu a ti o n It em s W h o is th e a p p ro p ri a te ta rg et a u d ie n ce o f th e p ro g ra m ? H o w w el l d o a ct iv it ie s ed u ca te p a rt ic ip a n ts ? D id p a rt ic ip a n ts d ev el o p sk il ls a n d in te re st s fo r co n d u ct in g ci ti ze n sc ie n ce a ct iv it ie s? W h a t a re ch a ra ct er is ti cs a n d n ee d s o f ta rg et a u d ie n ce ? Is th e in fo rm a ti o n p ro v id ed in a ct iv it ie s a cc u ra te a n d b a la n ce d ? D id p a rt ic ip a n ts ’ k n o w le d g e re g a rd in g lo ca l n a tu re a n d d ra g o n fl ie s in cr ea se d a ft er se ri es o f a ct iv it ie s? W h a t a re th e a p p ro p ri a te a ct iv it ie s th a t w o u ld a tt ra ct lo ca l re si d en ts ? W h a t a re th e re a ct io n o f p a rt ic ip a n ts ? D id p a rt ic ip a n ts ch a n g e th ei r b eh a v io rs a ft er a ct iv it ie s? W h a t a re p o te n ti a l b a rr ie rs to th e su cc es s o f p ro g ra m ? W a s ex p ec te d n u m b er o f p a rt ic ip a n ts sh o w ed u p in a ct iv it ie s? D id lo ca l re si d en ts ’ a w a re n es s o f th e p ro g ra m in cr ea se ? 12 needs, interests, and motivations of potential partici- pants. With insights from front-end evaluations, citizen science organizers can establish realistic objectives and improve the design of their projects to achieve specific goals. Formative evaluation Formative evaluation is used to guide program improvement and is usually conducted in the early stages of a project to see whether it is gener- ating the intended outcomes. This evaluation can in- clude monitoring of many factors, including how activities are conducted (e.g., number of participants, materials used for recruiting participants, and number of activities implemented) and how satisfied participants are. Potential questions addressed by formative evalua- tion are shown in Table 3. Formative evaluation can reveal whether projects are achieving the intended out- puts and short-term outcomes (as described in project logic models) and can be used to identify areas of success and areas for improvement. Summative evaluation—In the later stages of projects, organizations must understand whether their projects achieved their intended goals or impacts (Table 3). Summative evaluations reveal this type of information by assessing changes in participants’ knowledge, atti- tudes, and behaviors after a reasonable period of time (e.g., 2–3 years) (Ernst et al. 2009; Phillips et al. 2014). Results from summative evaluations can inform deci- sions on whether citizen science programs should con- tinue as is, be revised and re-evaluated, or be discontinued. In terms of logic models, summative evaluations can reveal mid-term and long-term out- comes. Ideally, these tools of human dimensions re- search should be used throughout the development of a citizen science project. By monitoring, communicating, and responding to findings from evaluation research, project leaders can substantially enhance the significance of citizen science projects for conservation, education, and research. Recruiting and retaining volunteers Strategies for attracting, sustaining, and growing the numbers of participants in citizen science projects, and for incentivizing high quality contributions, are critical to the success of citizen science projects; however, successful strategies are not always intuitive and are receiving increasing attention from researchers, including work well beyond project evaluations (Easley and Ghosh 2013; Ghosh and McAfee 2011). The first challenge is attract- ing people to participate in a project, which requires communication. These efforts can include reaching out through media (e.g., radio, television, newsletters, and print media), launching competitions, developing strategic partnerships, recruiting corporate sponsorships or partnerships (e.g., television stations, field equipment manufacturers, or big data companies), or asking par- ticipants to help recruit and publicize (e.g., by writing articles for local newspapers) (Chu et al. 2012). The second challenge—making a project ‘‘sticky’’ enough to elicit and sustain significant effort over the long term—is even more difficult to solve. Participation in citizen science projects can often be described by the ‘‘Zipf curve,’’ in which a small share of participants contribute most of the data and many contribute very little (Zipf 1949). Highly active participants may expect a lot of feedback or reward for their contributions; less active participants may turn over frequently, as de- scribed for the Spring and Autumn Watch programs run by the Japan Bird Research Association mentioned earlier. Project FeederWatch, however, provides a counterintuitive example; participants make field observations on two consecutive half-days and repeat these observations every 7–10 days between October and May. FeederWatch participants also pay an annual fee that supports the project (Bonter 2012). The project re- tains 70 % of participants annually and some partici- pants have stayed with project since it began in 1987. It is clear that identity and motivation are crucial to maintaining committed volunteers, but it is much less clear just how projects can best cultivate that identity and motivation of their participants; future research in this area (and more rigorous evaluations of individual projects) is badly needed. Challenges identified through interviews with NGOs In Japan, conservation NGOs, such as The Nature Conservation Society of Japan (NACS-J), host nation- wide citizen science projects—e.g., citizen-based moni- toring of Satoyama, a rural landscape of Japan (Kobori and Primack 2003)—in which residents monitor biodi- versity of local environments (NACS-J 2015). Similar citizen science projects are conducted across Japan by NGOs, local governments, and residential associations; however, no one has summarized all of those activities, attempted to assess their effects, or identified their challenges (Sakurai et al. 2014). One of the few studies that reviewed citizen science activities across Japan found that one of the biggest challenges facing most citizen science projects and organizations was a lack of young volunteers and the loss of older volunteers as they age (NACS-J 2013). In this section, we examine the impacts of and challenges facing three organizations that implement nation-wide citizen science projects, as determined by interviews with personnel from each organization. Three organizations were NACS-J, the Center for Ecological Education, and the Japan Bird Research Association. The results of the interviews are summarized in Table 4. The interviews indicate that Japanese conservation organizations and citizen science projects are run with limited numbers of staff (Sakurai et al. 2014). For example, the NACS-Japan has 28 staff members, only a few of whom are involved in running the citizen science projects. As a point of comparison, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, which is a leader in citizen science and runs 13 several nation-wide and global citizen science projects, has more than 250 staff and scientists, although most of their individual citizen science projects, such as Nest- Watch and FeederWatch, have few dedicated staff (1–4 staff members per project). Lack of staff is often asso- ciated with lack of funding, which is another common challenge for NGOs in Japan and elsewhere. Intervie- wees indicated that support from the Japanese govern- ment, companies, and citizens will be important for the NGOs to continue or expand their citizen science activities. The lack of young participants in citizen science projects and difficulty of recruiting them was also men- tioned by interviewees from two organizations. To foster the participation of younger people, who may be busy with school or raising families, citizen science activities must meet their needs and pique their interest. For example, citizen science organizations might collaborate with universities so that students can participate in cit- izen science projects as part of their coursework. Addi- tionally, studies (Imai et al. 2014; Sakurai et al. 2015) have found that citizen science projects in Japan must consider cultural norms that may differ from Western cultural norms—e.g., a sense of collective responsibility is common in East Asian cultures whereas Western cultures generally place greater emphasis on individual identity and responsibility—when designing recruitment and retention strategies for citizen science projects (e.g., Krasny and Tidball 2012; Svendsen and Campbell 2008). Overcoming the challenges of attracting large numbers of participants and understanding the role of culture in participation in citizen science requires further research and collaboration among many organizations and individuals. Conclusion and future perspectives The Web has greatly altered our ability to gather par- ticipants, deliver content, collect data, and provide opportunities for interactions with and among partici- pants. Keeping up with advances on the Web presents a major challenge spurring continued innovation and requiring collaborations with the fields of machine learning (artificial intelligence), human computation, and social computing. These are exciting areas of re- search in their own right and these cross-disciplinary connections will be vital to taking full advantage of advancing mobile technologies, sensors, and human data collection to study coupled human and natural systems. Electronics are inevitably involved in the cou- pled systems of today and working to develop and test new design principles will be vital to maintaining a ro- bust collection of ecological data for both local and macro-ecology studies in coupled systems of the future. Although Web-based citizen science is remarkably well suited to questions in spatial and macro-ecology, the field as a whole will benefit from moving beyond pattern detection and into the realm of testing importantT a b le 4 S u m m a ry o f re su lt s o f in te rv ie w s w it h p er so n n el le a d in g ci ti ze n sc ie n ce p ro je ct s in Ja p a n . N A C S -J re p re se n ts th e N a tu re C o n se rv a ti o n S o ci et y o f Ja p a n . M o d ifi ed fr o m S a k u ra i et a l. (2 0 1 4 ) N a m e o f o rg a n iz a ti o n s T h e n a tu re co n se rv a ti o n S o ci et y o f Ja p a n (N A C S -J ) C en te r fo r ec o lo g ic a l ed u ca ti o n B ir d re se a rc h N a m e o f p ro je ct s* S h iz en sh ir a b e (n a tu re st u d y ) G a rd en W il d L if e W a tc h B ir d w a tc h in g a t te rr a ce C h a ra ct er is ti cs o f o rg a n iz a ti o n s/ a ct iv it ie s O n e o f th e b ig g es t n a tu re co n se rv a ti o n o rg a n iz a ti o n s in Ja p a n /N a ti o n w id e n et w o rk A ct iv it ie s w er e d es ig n ed b a se d o n B ri ti sh ci ti ze n sc ie n ce p ro je ct S ta ff a re re se a rc h er s a n d h a v e h ig h IT sk il ls C o n te n ts o f a ct iv it ie s S en d in g in fo rm a ti o n o f b u tt er fl ie s o b se rv ed th ro u g h em a il o r m a il R ep o rt w il d li fe o b se rv ed in g a rd en s R ep o rt n u m b er o f b ir d s se en fr o m te rr a ce o r w in d o w s N u m b er o f st a ff 2 8 F u ll -t im e: 6 , p a rt -t im e: 3 6 P a rt ic ip a n ts C it iz en : m o jo ri ty is m o re th a n 4 0 y ea rs o ld M o st o f p a rt ic ip a n ts a re m em b er s o f S ek is u i H o u se (h o m eb u il d in g co m p a n y ) C it iz en : m a jo ri ty is 4 0 a n d 5 0 s W a y to re cr u it p a rt ic ip a n ts F li er s, a d v er ti se m en t in n ew sp a p er D is tr ib u te in fo rm a ti o n o n w eb -p a g e a n d m a il in g li st A d v er ti si n g th ro u g h w eb -p a g e, em a il s, m a g a zi n es a n d b o o k s Im p a ct s o f p ro g ra m s F o st er ci ti ze n ’s u n d er st a n d in g o f n a tu re co n se rv a ti o n P a rt ic ip a n ts u n d er st a n d w il d li fe in g a rd en s a n d ra is e a w a re n es s fo r co n se rv a ti o n C o ll ec ti n g b ro a d sc a le d a ta o f b ir d p o p u la ti o n /i n cr ea se o f p eo p le w h o g et in te re st ed in a ct iv it ie s H o w re su lt s a re u se d /p re se n te d B o o k s, w eb -p a g es , n ew sp a p er , sy m p o si u m s N ew sp a p er F ee d b a ck to p a rt ic ip a n ts B a rr ie rs fo r co n ti n u in g th e p ro je ct s L a ck o f p a rt ic ip a n ts o f n ex t g en er a ti o n (s u cc es so rs ) L a ck o f en o u g h st a ff to in cr ea se co m m u n ic a ti o n w it h p a rt ic ip a n ts / m a in ta in q u a li ty o f d a ta a p p li ca b le fo r sc ie n ti fi c re se a rc h L a ck o f y o u n g p a rt ic ip a n ts /l a ck o f tr u st o n d a ta ci ti ze n co ll ec te d b y g o v er n m en t * A lt h o u g h N A C S -J a n d B ir d R es ea rc h im p le m en t v a ri o u s ci ti ze n sc ie n ce p ro je ct s, in th is st u d y , w e fo cu se d o n o n e p ro je ct fo r ea ch o rg a n iz ti o n 14 ecological hypotheses. Although not unique, we have seen an excellent example of this in Japan (Washitani 2004) and we expect to see more such examples into the future. Citizen science can be designed to support the critical scientific loop among data collection, results, and management, and is particularly well suited to the adaptive management paradigm (Cooper et al. 2007). This is a transition we expect to see as citizen science projects mature. Once a faithful and skilled participant base is committed to citizen science, it should be possible to increase investment in doing experimental work to strengthen the inference that can be gleaned from citizen science research. A future in which national experiments are launched to address specific environmental or bio- diversity problems would certainly bode well for engaging the public in the problems of the day, such as pollinator declines, control of invasive species (Wa- shitani 2004), and climate change. These impacts depend largely on the proliferation of project designs that inte- grate tools that help ensure data validity (Amano et al. 2014) and also adapt to the needs and desires of the intended audience. The rapid growth of citizen science projects in the world is inspiring. More than 500 English-language citi- zen science projects on biodiversity research are known. With so many projects, some may appear (or may actually be) redundant in the questions they address and the data they collect; the number of options and the apparent redundancy may confuse potential participants. Recently, efforts have been made to create databases, such as can be found at CitizenScience.org and SciStarter.com, to help project organizers avoid redundancy and enable partici- pants to find projects that match their interests. Efforts also exist, especially in the United Kingdom and United States, to integrate small local projects into larger scale or nation-wide projects to increase the value, utility, and accessibility of data. The USA National Phenology Net- work and it’s citizen science project, Nature’s Notebook, is one example of a national-level project comprised of many local and regional efforts (Rosemartin et al. 2014). Expanding citizen science projects internationally through collaboration—such as is happening through projects like eBird and iSpot, and through the newly formed Citizen Science Association—may help to further reduce redundancy and improve utility to science and conservation. Table 5 shows the website of Citizen Science Association as well as websites of select organizations and programs described in this paper. Recommendations for future work Increase coordination among existing citizen science projects and enhance the development of services, such as CitizenScience.org and SciStarter.com, that help connect citizen science project organizers and volunteers with projects related to their interests. This work will be key to making the most efficient use of volunteer efforts, meeting their needs and interests, and sustaining their involvement. Develop cyberinfrastructure and other resources to support the long-term management and sharing of citi- Table 5 Websites of select organizations and programs described in this paper Organization or program URL International Citizen Science Association citizenscienceassociation.org Japan Center for Ecological Education www.wildlife.ne.jp/ Japan Bird Research Association www.bird-research.jp Little Tern Project www.littletern.net/ Monitoring Sites 1000 www.nacsj.or.jp/project/moni1000/about.html The Nature Conservation Society of Japan www.nacsj.or.jp Sea Turtle Association of Japan www.umigame.org Wild Bird Society of Japan www.wbsj.org United Kingdom British trust for ornithology www.bto.org iSpot www.ispotnature.org Nature’s calendar www.naturescalendar.org.uk Royal Society for the protection of birds www.rspb.org.uk UK butterfly monitoring scheme www.ukbms.org United States (and Canada) Bird Studies Canada www.birdscanada.org Christmas Bird Count www.audubon.org/conservation/science/christmas-bird-count Cornell Lab of Ornithology www.birds.cornell.edu CitizenScience.org citizenscience.org CitSci.org citsci.org DataONE www.dataone.org eBird ebird.org FeederWatch feederwatch.org National Audubon society www.audubon.org National weather service cooperative observer program www.nws.noaa.gov/om/coop USA National Phenology Network www.usanpn.org 15 http://www.wildlife.ne.jp/ http://www.bird-research.jp http://www.littletern.net/ http://www.nacsj.or.jp/project/moni1000/about.html http://www.nacsj.or.jp http://www.umigame.org http://www.wbsj.org http://www.bto.org http://www.ispotnature.org http://www.naturescalendar.org.uk http://www.rspb.org.uk http://www.ukbms.org http://www.birdscanada.org http://www.audubon.org/conservation/science/christmas-bird-count http://www.birds.cornell.edu http://www.dataone.org http://www.audubon.org http://www.nws.noaa.gov/om/coop http://www.usanpn.org zen science data, metadata, and related digital media. Cyberinfrastructure is a major hurdle to many citizen science projects in large part because it can require a large team of programmers, designers, and others to implement well. Platforms like CitSci.org and DataO- NE.org are taking important steps toward this, but much more work is needed. Museums may be valuable contributors to development of these resources given their expertise with curation, communication, and pro- viding access to resources. Increase social science research (including project evaluations) exploring how and why people participate in citizen science, what they gain, and how best to match people with projects that interest them. How does the importance of learning compare to the role of identity and agency or civic responsibility? How can we best recruit, maintain, and grow citizen science participation so that it benefits science and participants? Explore questions of privacy, credit, and intellectual property regarding volunteer contributions to citizen science. To what extent should citizen scientists be considered helpers versus collaborators with full rights to co-authorship on a project? How should citizen sci- ence projects serve the needs and interests of diverse participants, some of whom will want more involve- ment, credit, and ownership, and others of whom will want more privacy? Increase the use of citizen science in ecology and conservation, including by expanding its use in experi- mentally testing hypotheses. There are many pressing questions that citizen science can help address, many of which are difficult or impossible to address otherwise. As we gain understanding of how to implement citizen science well, we should further use this important tool to advance science and learning simultaneously. Conclusion Citizen science can contribute to a paradigm shift taking place in science, wherein scientists and the public work together to investigate and address emergent environ- mental issues. Quality collaborations among scientists, project organizers, government agencies, and the public are still relatively rare, but are necessary to make full use of citizen science to support community resilience and policy decisions (Enquist et al. 2014; McKinley et al. 2015). By generating data unachievable otherwise and by engaging the public in authentic science, we can in- crease our ability to understand and respond to envi- ronmental challenges and stem the continued degradation of ecosystems in Japan and worldwide. Acknowledgments Dr. Janis L. Dickinson was the keynote speaker at the international symposium at the 61th annual meeting of the Ecological Society of Japan. We appreciate the Ministry of Edu- cation, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology in Japan for providing grant to Hiromi Kobori (25282044). Tatsuya Amano is financially supported by the European Commission’s Marie Curie International Incoming Fellowship Programme (PIIF-GA-2011- 303221). 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Front Ecol Environ 10:310–313. doi:10.1890/110277 19 http://dx.doi.org/10.1890/110281 http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pbio.1000447 http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/2405185 http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rsbl.2012.1029 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2013.11.003 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2014.10.021 http://dx.doi.org/10.1073/pnas.0806446105 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1469-1795.2008.00227.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1890/110277 Citizen science: a new approach to advance ecology, education, and conservation Abstract Introduction History Japan United Kingdom United States Case studies: outcomes and insights Citizen science as a producer of ‘‘big data’’ for spatial ecology Overcoming barriers to participation: matching projects with volunteers Informing urban conservation: birds’ use of urban gardens Adaptive management of a threatened bird species Citizen science and conservation: a perspective from the United Kingdom Citizen science as a human computation system: a perspective from the United States Project sustainability and evaluation Evaluation and human dimensions research to increase project effectiveness Recruiting and retaining volunteers Challenges identified through interviews with NGOs Conclusion and future perspectives Recommendations for future work Conclusion Acknowledgments References 
work_asq233xavresdahkuct5matlke	----	[PDF] With a Little Help for Our Thoughts: Making It Easier to Think for Pleasure | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1037/emo0000278 Corpus ID: 27392077With a Little Help for Our Thoughts: Making It Easier to Think for Pleasure @article{Westgate2017WithAL, title={With a Little Help for Our Thoughts: Making It Easier to Think for Pleasure}, author={Erin C Westgate and T. Wilson and D. Gilbert}, journal={Emotion}, year={2017}, volume={17}, pages={828–839} } Erin C Westgate, T. Wilson, D. Gilbert Published 2017 Psychology, Medicine Emotion Can people enjoy thinking if they set their mind to it? Previous work suggests that many people do not enjoy the deliberate attempt to have pleasurable thoughts. We suggest that deliberately thinking for pleasure requires mental resources that people are either unwilling or unable to devote to the task. If so, then people should enjoy pleasant thoughts that occur unintentionally more than pleasant thoughts that occur intentionally. This hypothesis was confirmed in an experience sampling study… Expand View on Wolters Kluwer people.virginia.edu Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 15 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 1 Background Citations 7 Methods Citations 1 Results Citations 2 View All Figures, Tables, and Topics from this paper table 1 figure 1 table 2 figure 2 table 3 table 4 table 5 View All 7 Figures & Tables Thinking, function Happiness Paper Mentions News Article Culture 4.4.2020 4:29 PM 6 ways to fight off boredom ... while self-isolating Erin C. Westgate More and more of us are staying home in an attempt to slow down the spreading coronavirus. Inverse 4 April 2020 News Article Coronaboredom Got You Down? Here Are Six Solutions The National Interest 29 March 2020 News Article MIL-OSI Global: 6 things you can do to cope with boredom at a time... Foreign Affairs New Zealand 27 March 2020 News Article 6 things you can do to cope with boredom at a time of social distancing The Conversation 27 March 2020 News Article 6 things you can do to cope with boredom at a time of social distancing Yahoo! News 27 March 2020 Blog Post 6 things you can do to cope with boredom at a time of social distancing Noozilla Top 27 March 2020 Blog Post Think good thoughts National Affairs Online 26 February 2017 15 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency The Mind in its Own Place: The Difficulties and Benefits of Thinking for Pleasure T. Wilson, Erin C Westgate, Nick Buttrick, D. Gilbert Psychology 2018 4 PDF View 9 excerpts, cites background and results Save Alert Research Feed You can do it if you really try: The effects of motivation on thinking for pleasure S. Alahmadi, N. Buttrick, D. Gilbert, Amber M. Hardin, Erin C. Westgate, Timothy D. Wilson Psychology 2017 8 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Cross-cultural consistency and relativity in the enjoyment of thinking versus doing. Nicholas R. Buttrick, Hyewon Choi, +27 authors D. Wilks Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2018 4 PDF View 6 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed “Just Think”—Students Feel Significantly More Relaxed, Less Aroused, and in a Better Mood after a Period of Silence Alone in a Room E. Pfeifer, Nikolas Geyer, Storch, Marc Wittmann Psychology 2019 3 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Solitude as an Approach to Affective Self-Regulation T. Nguyen, R. Ryan, E. Deci Psychology, Medicine Personality & social psychology bulletin 2018 38 PDF View 3 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Why Boredom Is Interesting Erin C Westgate Psychology 2020 6 Save Alert Research Feed Boring Thoughts and Bored Minds: The MAC Model of Boredom and Cognitive Engagement Erin C Westgate, T. Wilson Psychology, Medicine Psychological review 2018 52 View 12 excerpts, cites background, methods and results Save Alert Research Feed Waiting, Thinking, and Feeling: Variations in the Perception of Time During Silence E. Pfeifer, Marc Wittmann Psychology, Medicine Frontiers in Psychology 2020 2 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed It is all relative: Contextual influences on boredom and neural correlates of regulatory processes. S. Perone, Alana J. Anderson, E. Weybright Psychology, Medicine Psychophysiology 2020 Save Alert Research Feed Psychological and physiological effects of applying self-control to the mobile phone David M Markowitz, J. Hancock, J. Bailenson, Byron Reeves Psychology, Medicine PloS one 2019 2 Highly Influenced PDF View 8 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 63 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Just think: The challenges of the disengaged mind T. Wilson, David A. Reinhard, +5 authors Adi Shaked Psychology, Medicine Science 2014 209 PDF View 5 excerpts, references background and results Save Alert Research Feed The (perceived) meaning of spontaneous thoughts. Carey K. Morewedge, Colleen E. Giblin, M. I. Norton Psychology, Medicine Journal of experimental psychology. General 2014 34 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Inspired by Distraction Benjamin Baird, J. Smallwood, Michael D. Mrazek, J. Kam, M. S. Franklin, J. Schooler Psychology, Medicine Psychological science 2012 482 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Future thought and behaviour change G. Oettingen Psychology 2012 288 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Conscious thoughts and the causation of behavior R. Baumeister, E. Masicampo, K. Vohs Psychology 2015 6 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Conscious thought is for facilitating social and cultural interactions: how mental simulations serve the animal-culture interface. R. Baumeister, E. Masicampo Psychology, Medicine Psychological review 2010 223 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed The Unengaged Mind J. Eastwood, A. Frischen, M. Fenske, D. Smilek Psychology, Medicine Perspectives on psychological science : a journal of the Association for Psychological Science 2012 288 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The costs and benefits of writing, talking, and thinking about life's triumphs and defeats. S. Lyubomirsky, L. Sousa, R. Dickerhoof Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2006 382 PDF Save Alert Research Feed How to increase and sustain positive emotion: The effects of expressing gratitude and visualizing best possible selves K. Sheldon, S. Lyubomirsky Psychology 2006 676 PDF View 1 excerpt Save Alert Research Feed The management of unwanted pre-sleep thoughts in insomnia: distraction with imagery versus general distraction. A. Harvey, S. Payne Psychology, Medicine Behaviour research and therapy 2002 146 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... 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work_aukgrcrlbvfvdjcv66gi77rh7u	----	AVANT Volume III, Number 1/2012 www.avant.edu.pl/en 101 From the immune self to moral agency Comments 45 Alfred I. Tauber Center for Philosophy and History of Science Boston University, USA Editorial abstract Author comments on the changes in the philosophy of immunology that have oc- curred since the publication of his book The Immune Self: Theory or Metaphor?, as well as on the dangers, misunderstandings and expectations in this area. Finally, he presents his account of moral agency in the context of his own works discussing this question. Keywords: Alfred Tauber; philosophy of immunology; metaphor; morals; self. From The Immune Self to...? What has changed in the Author’s approach and in the contemporary philosophy of immunology since The Immune Self: Theory or Metaphor? The views I expressed almost 20 years ago have not significantly changed. I still believe that the self-metaphor governs the practice and theoretical orientation of most practicing immunologists, but the neat boundaries of “self” and “other” con- tinue to be broken and replaced by a spectrum of functions based on a gradation of immune responses that do not neatly fit the self-other division. When the centrali- ty of self/non-self discrimination is contested, much controversy ensues. In a spe- cial issue of Seminars in Immunology in 2000 the issues were well-aired. While some detractors generously called for a pluralistic approach, and others regarded the crisis over the “self” as overblown, most would agree that immune selfhood is increasingly a polymorphous and ill-defined construct. Contemporary transplanta- tion biology and autoimmunity studies have demonstrated phenomena that fail to allow faithful adherence to a strict dichotomy of self/non-self discrimination, and as new models are emerging, the immune self's grounding appears unsteady and thus increasingly elusive as the putative nexus of immunology's doctrines. 45 Editor of the Comments: Witold Wachowski. Immune System, Immune Self 102 My thinking in terms of the organism per se has developed to a growing apprecia- tion of how the host’s internal ecology confers an ever-evolving identity. In a fasci- nating inversion of our body mythology, we find that an individual‘s immune sys- tem itself is in part created by the resident microbiome. (For example, in verte- brates, the gut-associated lymphoid tissue becomes specified and organized by bacterial symbionts, and the immune system does not function properly and its repertoire is significantly reduced if the symbiotic microbes are not residing with- in the gut.) Simply, the immune system is constructed in concert with “foreign” elements. So while the defensive role of immunity is clearly prominent in the med- ical and agricultural contexts, that point of view must be balanced with how the individual organism participates in a community of others that contribute to its welfare. From this ecological vantage, there can be no circumscribed, self-defined entity that is designated – the self. So when one refers to the greater ecology of the immune system – the larger con- text that includes both internal and external universes sensed and acted upon – the borders must remain open to allow free exchange between the host and its envi- ronment. On this understanding, the immune system is endowed with a high de- gree of communicative abilities for sensing both the environment (in the form of pathogens, allergens, toxins, etc.), but also, and just as importantly, allowing the free exchange of even a larger universe of substances and organisms to be engaged for the organism's benefit. In short, the immune system possesses cognitive func- tions for the on-going negotiation of various interactions between the host and its environment. To remain restricted within an analysis that already assumes only a defensive posture limits understanding how animals live in exchange with others. Accordingly, by describing that interactive economy, immunology becomes an im- portant member of the ecological sciences. That ecological sensibility has been the focus of my more recent writings, which are summarized in the Stanford Encyclo- pedia of Philosophy 46 . The dangers and the misunderstandings Are there any dangers threatening the philosophy of immunology and, generally, the philosophy of science? Are the questions concerning immunity still underestimated? Are there still some misunderstandings in this area? If we look at the “big picture,” immunology is adjusting to the twin demands of increasing molecular elucidation, on the one hand, and an ecological sensibility, on the other. In both contexts, the “self” has slipped into an archaic formulation. I have already discussed the ecological dimension above, and, from the molecular- ists' perspective, atomic delineations have outstripped explanations of immune regulation so that no molecular signature of selfhood suffices to explain the com- plex interactions of immunocytes, their regulatory products, and the targets of 46 http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/biology-self/ AVANT Volume III, Number 1/2012 www.avant.edu.pl/en 103 their actions. Reactivity has become the functional definition of immune identity. Accordingly, self/non-self discrimination recedes as a governing principle when immunity is appreciated as both outer-directed against the deleterious, and inner- directed in an on-going communicative system of internal homeostasis. From this dual perspective, immune function falls on a continuum of reactivity, where the character of the immune object is determined by the context in which it appears, not by its character as “foreign” per se. More simplistic models have too often ob- scured this cardinal lesson. Two misunderstandings have caught my attention. 1) The first is specific to the way immunity has been co-opted by culture critics. Indeed, I am intrigued that the immunization idea has been applied to characteriz- ing society. This approach was first used, at least in America, by Donna Haraway and Emily Martin, but the parallels they described between ways immunity was conceived by scientists and the seepage of those ideas into Western societies has more recently been radically extended by Sloterdijk, Esposito, Beck, Derrida and Baudrillard. In their writings, the self metaphor (appearing as immunization) re- turns into the socio-political lexicon to model social theory, namely by their asser- tion that immunisation has become the core dynamics of contemporary biosocie- ties. I find this circularity very interesting, albeit these commentators see no irony. They have bought the immunization paradigm wholesale and applied that con- struction to analyzing culture and to building a political theory, of sorts, one itself made up of analogues and metaphors from the very science that has carried those metaphors originally from that culture (in everyday psychology and philosophy) for its own purposes! In other words, both the immunologists and the social theor- ists are eating from the same trough, but, apparently, each is unaware that they share the same metaphor, albeit from two different perspectives. So, while I sug- gest we watch the metaphor play in different domains, these critics are playing the game with no perspective of how their own use of the digested metaphor of self- hood has returned. Indeed, one must ask to what degree does the immunization idea describe some underlying, heretofore hidden understanding of the social, as opposed to simply applying a fecund metaphor to culture, where resonance or correspondence ap- peals to the reader? What differentiates this work from literature (as opposed to a more rigorous, empirically-based social theory)? In other words, is theoretical in- sight provided by the immunization idea applied to society? I think not, for I con- sider the effort in many ways intellectually facile and superficial when the meta- phor is extended to everything – from religion and metaphysics to housing and cities – and thus becomes a universal solvent to dissolve all of human culture into one vat. This exercise is simplistic, radically reductionist, and ultimately pointless. Immune System, Immune Self 104 2) The other misunderstanding is much more general: When I ponder the en- trenched notion of selfhood in immunology, I am reminded of an exchange I had with Stephen Weinberg, the Nobel laureate physicist, who asked me, “What has the philosophy of science ever done for science?!” to which I replied, “Not much. Phi- losophy of science is about philosophy. Science fends for itself.” That was not quite a complete answer, but it sufficed for him. The self, the embodiment and the morals What is the connection between the immune self (or, generally, the bodily self) and the moral self? I have argued, in line with Charles Taylor (Sources of the Self 1989) that the self is a moral category, serving as the nexus of how we conceive the moral agent exercis- ing values and ethical choices. That agent, of course, cannot be construed as an entity, aka, the self, but rather a focus upon which moral philosophers, politicians, jurists, and artists each might refract the person qua person. This modernist con- struction has suffered grievous blows over the past century to the point that we may wonder what, indeed, is such a self who has been effectively deconstructed by postmodern criticism. Yet “self-ness” serves as the operative function of that which is mine, or identified as “me.” This adjectival approach then meets the imbroglio of the discarded cer- tainty of the indubitable Cartesian cogito with an alternate, more “open” notion of personal identity. No longer a noun, selfhood has shifted its grammatical alliances to the verbs and adverbs, which may, under duress, serve as adjectives as well. Leaving the parameters of selfhood to a possessive identity function embraces the postmodern view of the self as having been decentered, and/or disenfranchised, from its modernist conceit, while at the same time allowing for a functional defini- tion of me or I, i.e., that for which I take responsibility. This orientation does not gainsay the critique of individuality as a product of both manipulative social pow- er (Foucault), unconscious opportunism (Freud) or distorted subject-object rela- tions (Heidegger). It makes only a modest claim: The ‘me’ (or ‘I’) serves as the vari- able linguistic label of a function of possessive identity, which in the translation of Freud’s das Ich has been forever called (inaccurately) “the ego.” And that which assumes responsibility also commits “itself” to personal freedom. Here we witness the slide of the epistemological knowing agent into its moral con- text. The Western precept of individuality and the freedom adjoining this self- image is not readily mortgaged, much less forsaken. Indeed, despite efforts to dis- place the modernist metaphysics of the Western mind, the basic precept of human autonomy is not easily dislodged. So the collective “error” of adhering to “the self” concept is in service to a larger agenda, namely to fortify a subjective commitment to individualized self-fulfillment, on the one hand, and personal responsibility, on the other hand. Rights and obligations held hand-in-hand. Assuming a moral post- ure in the face of contradictions is hardly a unique case in which putative objective AVANT Volume III, Number 1/2012 www.avant.edu.pl/en 105 knowledge is employed to support an ideological, religious, or social belief. Simply, strict conceptual coherence has been forfeited for a mosaic of commitments, and perhaps both acknowledging and accepting that fragmentation is the key characte- ristic of our age. Bibliography Langman R.E., Cohn M. red. 2000. Seminars in Immunology, 12(3): 159-344. Tauber, A.I. The Biological Notion of Self and Non-self. Source: http://plato.stanford.edu/ entries/biology-self/, 10.08.2012. Tauber, A.I. 1994. The Immune Self: Theory or Metaphor? New York and Cambridge: Cam- bridge University Press Taylor, Ch. 1989. Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tauber, A.I. 2010. Freud, the Reluctant Philosopher. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Tauber, A.I. 2005. Patient Autonomy and the Ethics of Responsibility. Cambridge: The MIT Press. Tauber, A.I. 2001. Henry David Thoreau and the Moral Agency of Knowing. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. 
work_avwknexgjnclldv3hjqhbzb5vu	----	In Egypt’s Nile delta at Abu Qir Bay lie the remains of two cities. In 500 bc, C anopus and Thonis-Heracleion were crucial ports for trade with Greece and Greek settlement. Even their names re f l e c t Gre e k my t h ol o g i c a l f i g u re s : Kanopos, pilot of Spartan king Menelaus’s ship in the Trojan War, and the hero Herakles. The cities continued to flourish until at least the late fourth century ad, through Alexander the Great’s founding of Alexandria in 332 bc, the Ptolemaic period of Greek rule that ended in 30 bc, and Roman rule. At some point, however, they began to sink. By the eighth century ad, the cities were submerged several metres under the Mediterranean sea bed, their precise loca- tions lost for centuries. In the late 1990s, they were found as part of a technically chal- lenging and scien- tifically sophisticated o p e r a t i o n b y t h e European Institute for Underwater Archaeol- ogy (IEASM) in Paris, directed by Franck G o ddio. The team used side-scan sonar, nuclear magnetic resonance magnetometers and sub-bottom profilers to reveal slices through the geological strata beneath the sea bed, allowing them to begin partial excava- tion. Divers uncovered buildings, massive sculptures and a huge range of objects, from bronze incense burners to gold jewellery. More than 750 ancient anchors and 69 ships were also detected in the ooze, most of them from the sixth to second centuries bc, in Thonis-Heracleion’s harbour. An exhibition of this extraordinary trove, Sunken Cities, is the first large-scale show of underwater discoveries at the British Museum in London, and the most complete presentation of this complex Egyptian– Greek society so far. More than 200 IEASM finds are exhibited, denoted on the information panels by a hier- oglyphic zigzag symbolizing water. Many of them were displayed in Berlin’s Martin- Gropius-Bau and the Grand Palais in Paris in 2006–07, but much has been discovered since. Among the stone statues of deities and rulers in pharaonic or Greek dress is a 5.4- metre figure of Hapy, god of the Nile inunda- tion, which greets visitors as it once greeted Greek sailors approaching the mouth of the Nile. Nearby are inscriptions in hieroglyphic and Greek on stone and gold, intricate jewel- lery in recognizably Greek styles and deli- cate lead models of votive barques used in the cult of Osiris. These exhibits are supple- mented by objects from other sites, lent by a number of museums in Alexandria and by the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, as well as the British Museum’s renowned Egyptian col- lections (notably, those from the upstream ancient Greek port of Naukratis). Ethereal silent underwater film footage strategically positioned throughout the exhibition shows divers investigating and rescuing a few key objects, including a sycamore barge of Osiris. The hybrid culture on show may surprise, and at times confuse, visitors familiar with the art and objects characteristic of earlier Egyptian dynasties found at sites such as Luxor and Abu Simbel. Says exhibition cura- tor Aurélia Masson-Berghoff: “People some- times assume that when two cultures mix, the essence of each is diluted and, as a result, weakened; Sunken Cities demonstrates the opposite.” She notes that ancient Egypt was not isolated, as is sometimes thought, but an “outward looking, influential and inclusive” society. This is amply borne out in the history and culture of Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt. Alexander and his friend and general Ptolemy — who became Ptolemy I A colossal statue of Hapy, the ancient Egyptian god of Nile flooding, being raised from Abu Qir Bay. F R A N C K G O D D IO /H IL T I F O U N D A T IO N /C H R IS TO P H G E R IG K A R C H A E O L O G Y Soaked in history Andrew Robinson tours an enthralling exhibition of finds from two ancient cities, long sunk in the Nile delta. Sunken Cities: Egypt’s Lost Worlds British Museum, London. Until 27 November 2016. NATURE.COM For more on science in culture see: nature.com/ booksandarts 4 6 6 | N A T U R E | V O L 5 3 3 | 2 6 M A Y 2 0 1 6 © 2016 Macmillan Publishers Limited. All rights reserved. in 306 bc — worshipped at Egyptian shrines; and Cleopatra and her lover the Roman gen- eral Mark Antony presented themselves as the living Egyptian–Greek deities Isis– Aphrodite and Osiris–Dionysus. A ter- racotta lamp with an Egyptian Isis motif, dating from the second century ad and on show from the British Museum collection, was found in far-off Roman Britain. Ancient Egyptian science also appears. The black granite of a fascinating shrine from the fourth century bc known as the Naos of the Decades is heavily inscribed with hieroglyphs and a large figure of a lion. In submerged Canopus, it broke apart and the pieces spread far and wide: the roof ended up in the Louvre in Paris in 1817; the base and rear wall were found on site underwater in 1933 and deposited in the Graeco-Roman Museum in Alex- andria. Amazingly, the IEASM team stumbled on four further pieces in 1999. Egyptologist Anne-Sophie von B omhard exam- i n e d t h e Na o s , reconstructed after more than a millennium. Its external surfaces depict a calendar dividing the Egyptian year into ten-day sections (‘decades’), connected with the successive rising of certain stars (‘decans’). This proved that ancient Egyp- tian astrology was based on astronomical observations. The exhibition discusses theories about why Canopus and Thonis-Heracleion sank without favouring any one cause, for lack of definitive historical or contemporary evi- dence. Possibilities range from tsunamis and earthquakes to floods, variations in sea level and geological subsidence, all known to have occurred in the region. There was, for instance, an earthquake in ad 796 or 797 that damaged the top section of Alex- andria’s Pharos lighthouse, according to ninth-century ad Arab historian al-Tabari. These natural forces may have contributed to another, human-made, phenomenon revealed by core samples taken from the sediments under Abu Qir Bay: the liquefac- tion of the clay soils, triggered by pressure from the cities’ heavy temple buildings. According to Goddio, perhaps as little as 5% of the area around the sunken cities has been investigated. As he writes at the exhi- bition’s end: “What we know now is just a fraction. We are still at the very beginning of our search.” ■ Andrew Robinson is the author of Cracking the Egyptian Code: The Revolutionary Life of Jean-François Champollion. e-mail: andrew@andrew-robinson.org Jellyfish: A Natural History Lisa-Ann Gershwin University of ChiCago Press (2016) One resembles an exquisitely ruffled and pleated confection of pale silk chiffon; another, a tangle of bioluminescent necklaces cascading from a bauble. Both marine drifters (Desmonema glaciale and Physalia) feature in jellyfish expert Lisa-Ann Gershwin’s absorbing coffee-table book on this transparent group with three evolutionary lineages. Succinct science is intercut with surreal portraiture — from the twinkling Santa’s hat jellyfish (Periphylla periphylla) to the delicate blue by-the-wind sailor (Velella velella). Barbara Kiser The Physics of Life: The Evolution of Everything Adrian Bejan st Martin’s (2016) Energy scientist Adrian Bejan defines life as freely evolving movement in both the inanimate and animate worlds — from a lightning strike to a sprouting seed. This organizational phenomenon is, he argues, underpinned by a principle of physics: “constructal law”, which holds that “power and dissipation conspire to facilitate all movement on earth, animate and inanimate, animal, human, and machine”. Bejan’s treatise crackles with ideas, but seeing analogous patterns in river systems, the spread of ideas and the shift to sustainability can seem a stretch in places. Love Canal: A Toxic History from Colonial Times to the Present Richard S. Newman oxford University Press (2016) In this chronicle of a notorious US environmental crisis, historian Richard Newman focuses on how community activism forced policy change. In 1978, a health emergency was declared at Love Canal, a suburb of Niagara Falls, New York, when clusters of birth defects and other health issues were discovered — a legacy of chemicals leaching from a 20,000-tonne toxic-waste dump. Protests over the extent and impact of contamination helped to spur the 1980 ‘Superfund’ federal statute that enabled the clean-up of hazardous-waste sites. Newman stresses, however, that the legal and medical saga is not over. Following the Wild Bees: The Craft and Science of Bee Hunting Thomas D. Seeley PrinCeton University Press (2016) Beekeeping is modish. But as melittologist Thomas Seeley reveals in this captivating study, there is another, uniquely thrilling window on Apis mellifera: the sport and science of ‘hunting’ for wild-bee trees. Seeley’s passion for the social insects blazes as he quotes historical accounts by Henry David Thoreau and describes the intricacies of the chase, from baiting with anise-scented sugar syrup to patiently amassing location data. And he delivers the timely reminder that wild honeybee colonies with genetic resilience are key in an era of widespread colony collapse. The Sting of the Wild Justin O. Schmidt Johns hoPkins University Press (2016) Entomologist Justin Schmidt takes an immersive approach to his work. Notching up the stings of 83 insect species, he ranks them on a pain index from ‘ethereal’ to ‘satanic’. His low-down on sting biochemistry and physiology is relentlessly zestful, even as he recounts the swelling, burning consequences of his curiosity. We also meet perpetrators such as the bullet ant (Paraponera clavata), equipped with a fearsome sting and chemical warnings smelling of burnt garlic; and the tarantula hawk wasp (Pepsis spp.), whose scream-inducing jab delivers mysteriously non-toxic venom. “Ancient Egypt was not isolated, but an outward looking, influential and inclusive society.” 2 6 M A Y 2 0 1 6 | V O L 5 3 3 | N A T U R E | 4 6 7 BOOKS & ARTS COMMENT Books in brief © 2016 Macmillan Publishers Limited. All rights reserved. Archaeology: Soaked in history References 
work_axhrql3nyvgufbncfxh2g3pd2m	----	Thinking Outside the Cell: A Key Role for Hyaluronan in the Pathogenesis of Human Type 1 Diabetes Marika Bogdani Thinking Outside the Cell: A Key Role for Hyaluronan in the Pathogenesis of Human Type 1 Diabetes Diabetes 2016;65:2105–2114 | DOI: 10.2337/db15-1750 The important thing in science is not so much to ob- tain new facts as to discover new ways of thinking about them. —William Lawrence Bragg For more than 50 years, chronic immunological processes have been considered central to type 1 diabetes patho- genesis. Studies in pancreata from patients with type 1 diabetes have revealed the presence of insulitis, identified histologically as immune cell infiltrates around and within the islets. Finding the insulitis lesion in a por- tion of patients with recent-onset type 1 diabetes indicates heterogeneity of the pathogenic process, while the un- even occurrence of the lesion within diabetic pancreata supports the view that the process of islet damage does not take place in all the islets concomitantly. The intermittent pattern of insulitis and the differential recruitment of islets into the pathological process despite the continuous presence of b-cell autoreactive immune cells in circulation suggest the islet pathological process may not be solely dependent on the presence of these cells. Changes in islet tissue-specific structural character- istics and in the local microenvironment may take place in the course of islet inflammation, which predisposes for islet invasion by the immune cells. Local tissue extracel- lular matrix (ECM) constituents are active participants in the regulation of in situ inflammatory processes during which the functional and structural properties of the local tissue components and of the immune cells themselves are continuously modulated. Recent studies in human di- abetic pancreata have indicated the presence of greatly altered hyaluronan (HA), a major ECM component, in the diabetic islets, which is associated with the extent of invasive insulitis and b-cell loss. These novel observations led to the hypothesis that HA guides immune cell migra- tion into the islets and regulates the immune cell pheno- type and that alterations in islet HA contribute to the increased vulnerability of the b-cells to inflammatory in- sult. This Perspective reviews the evidence supporting a key role for this ECM component in type 1 diabetes pathogenesis. COMPOSITION AND PROPERTIES OF THE ECM Most cells are surrounded by a . network of outer defenses and scaffoldings . . Such structures are not part of the cells but are built from precursor material that are secreted by the cells and that subsequently join together into a variety of combinations of almost every possible shape or consistency . they provide every sort of visible form that life creates on our planet. Without them there would be nothing but an amorphous covering of oozy slime made of a myriad of naked cells crawling over each other. (1) With these words, Christian de Duve defines the extracellular substance, termed the ECM, and the essen- tial function of the ECM structures as the physical support to the living matter. ECM functions extend beyond simply supporting and buttressing the tissue parenchymal cells and provide biochemical and biome- chanical cues to the cells crucial for tissue development, function, and homeostasis. The extracellular matter exerts an active role in the regulation of a variety of cellular activities such as cell adhesion, migration, proliferation, and differentiation. While there is considerable variety in the composition of different tissue ECM, fundamentally, the ECM compo- nents form two morphologically distinct types of matri- ces, the basement membrane (BM) and the interstitial matrix (IM), which occur as adjacent structures in vivo (Table 1) (2). The ECM forms a reciprocal relationship with the cells in contact with it, which significantly influ- ences cellular behavior (3,4) and it is critical for tissue development and maintenance of mature tissue homeo- stasis as illustrated by the consequences of genetic abnor- malities in the ECM proteins. Genetic deletion of HAS2, Matrix Biology Program, Benaroya Research Institute, Seattle, WA Corresponding author: Marika Bogdani, mbogdani@benaroyaresearch.org. Received 1 January 2016 and accepted 16 April 2016. © 2016 by the American Diabetes Association. Readers may use this article as long as the work is properly cited, the use is educational and not for profit, and the work is not altered. See accompanying article, p. 2130. Diabetes Volume 65, August 2016 2105 P E R S P E C T IV E S IN D IA B E T E S http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.2337/db15-1750&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2016-06-28 mailto:mbogdani@benaroyaresearch.org the major HA synthesizing enzyme, or the absence of dif- ferent types of laminin or of both chains of the collagen IV isoform causes embryonic lethality due to defective cardiac and neural morphogenesis or defects in BM sta- bility (5–7). Deletion of the genes encoding the enzymes involved in the synthesis or undersulfation of heparan sulfate (HS) cause cell growth arrest early in embryonic development (8,9). ECM IN INFLAMMATION An increased rate of ECM remodeling is observed under pathological conditions such as fibrotic diseases and cancer and is particularly high during inflammation (10). The tissue ECM could be envisioned as the “ground” for the passage of the immune cells from the blood into the injured tissue. Migrating immune and damaged pa- renchymal cells at the site of inflammation release inflam- matory mediators that affect the expression of different ECM molecules and enzymes that break down ECM. As a result, ECM components are either generated in excess and deposited, fragmented, or lost. These modifications in the amount and composition of ECM result in a remod- eled matrix endowed with the capacity to amplify immune cell recruitment in a feed-forward manner and to affect the behavior of these cells. Accumulation of ECM results from altered enzymatic activity and is a major histopathological feature of inflam- matory conditions such as autoimmune diseases, granulo- matous diseases, and fibrosis. Deposition of collagen and fibronectin in tissues takes place in inflammatory bowel disease, asthma, scleroderma, lupus nephritis, and glomer- ulonephritis (11–14). Significant increases in HA and pro- teoglycans have been observed in rheumatoid arthritis, inflammatory bowel disease, chronic inflammatory vascu- lar disease, lupus nephritis, Graves ophtalmopathy, and type 1 diabetes (15–20). The marked accumulation of the ECM in human tissues in different diseases and in corresponding experimental animal models (21–24) pre- cedes or coincides with an influx of inflammatory cells, suggesting that the altered ECM influences the trafficking and recruitment of leukocytes into the site of inflammation. Infiltrating leukocytes and the resident cells in the in- flamed tissues release proteolytic and degrading enzymes that cause degradation of intact ECM molecules into frag- ments. The ECM fragments are bioactive and may serve as chemoattractants for leukocytes to the site of inflamma- tion. Collagen, fibronectin, HA, HS, and elastin fragments are chemotactic for neutrophils, monocytes, and lympho- cytes; augment phagocytic functions of macrophages; and modulate gene expression of mononuclear cells (22,25–27). Instillation of elastin fragments or intratracheally adminis- tered collagen I peptides recruit monocytes and neutrophils in the rat lung in vivo, while HA fragments generated by overexpression of hyaluronidase 1 activated migration of skin dendritic cells toward regional lymph nodes (28–30). Other data indicate that besides promoting immune cell migration, the ECM has the capacity to regulate im- mune cell activation, gene expression, proliferation, sur- vival, and differentiation (31–33). Given the engagement of the ECM in chronic inflam- matory responses, it is likely that the ECM is involved in islet inflammation, a chronic process that is associated with altered local tissue integrity and loss of insulin-producing b-cells, brought about by infiltrating immune cells (34). IMMUNE CELL MIGRATION INTO THE INFLAMED ISLET IN TYPE 1 DIABETES Entry of immune cells from blood through the blood-islet endocrine cell barrier of microvasculature and the ECM into the islets is a key step in the development of insulitis. Immune cell trafficking (35,36) is a three-step process in which the selectin-dependent initial adhesion of leuko- cytes to vascular endothelium (step 1) is a prerequisite for their subsequent chemokine- and integrin-regulated firm adhesion (step 2). Finally, utilizing protease-dependent or -independent mechanisms, leukocytes migrate through the endothelial wall and the BM into the underlying tissue (step 3; transmigration) where they receive addi- tional signaling cues that guide them to specific tissue environments. L-selectin, chemokines, and integrins have been impli- cated in the development of diabetes in NOD mice. Blockade of L-selectin by early administration of anti– L-selectin monoclonal antibody impaired the development of adoptively transferred diabetes (37), yet other studies (38) indicate that L-selectin may not be required for leu- kocyte migration in insulitis. Chemokines involved in the firm adhesion step of leu- kocyte transmigration have been associated with progres- sion to type 1 diabetes. Serum levels of chemokine CXCL10 Table 1—The major components of the ECM IM Nonproteoglycan polysaccharides, HA Proteoglycans HS Chondroitin sulfate Keratan sulfate Other (versican, aggrecan, neurocan, brevican, biglycan, decorin, lumican) Collagen Fibrillar (type I, II, III, V, XI) Short chain (type VIII, X) FACIT (type IX, XII, XIV, XVI, XIX-XXII) Other (type VI, VII, XIII, XVII, XXIII-XXIX) Elastin Fibronectin BM Collagen type IV, XV, XVIII Laminin HS proteoglycans Nidogen/entactin FACIT, fibril-associated collagens with interrupted helices. 2106 Hyaluronan in Human Type 1 Diabetes Diabetes Volume 65, August 2016 were elevated in patients recently diagnosed with type 1 diabetes (39,40). CXCL10 was present in human diabetic islets, while its receptor CXCR3 was expressed in insulitic cells (41,42). Development of spontaneous insulitis in RIP-CXCL10 transgenic mice and prevention of diabetes in mice by antibody blockade of CXCL10 or genetic de- letion of CXCR3 indicated that the CXCL10–CXCR3 axis could be important in type 1 diabetes (43,44). However, a recent study challenged this view (45). CXCR3 was also expressed by autoreactive preproinsulin-specific CD8+ cell clones derived from patients with type 1 diabetes (46). When such islet-reactive CXCR3+ T cell clones isolated from patients prior to or at clinical onset of type 1 diabe- tes were transferred into hyperglycemic NOD-SCID mice, the CXCR3+ clonal cells were observed around blood vessels in the exocrine pancreas but not in the inflamed islets, in- dicating that CXCR3 interactions per se are not sufficient to guide the entry of T cells into the inflamed islets (47). CCL19 and CCL21, which interact with CCR7 to direct the migration of T cells into lymphoid tissues, were also highly expressed in insulitis areas, and conversely CCR7-deficient NOD mice did not develop diabetes (48,49). Lymphocyte integrins LFA-1, VLA-4, and LPAM-1 and the cell surface receptors they interact with to enable firm adhesion of leukocytes on the vascular endothelium may regulate immune cell migration in the initial phase of insulitis. Treatment of neonatal NOD mice with a combination of antibodies against a4, b2, and b7 integrin subunits and their ligands VCAM-1, MadCAM-1, and ICAM-1 led to retention of CD4+ and CD8+ T cells and macrophages at the islet periphery (50,51). This treatment was less effective when administered to young adult NOD mice and ineffective following the adop- tive transfer of diabetogenic cells (52,53). It is possible that integrin-mediated immune cell adhesion is important during the early phase of insulitis and that the inflammatory islet microenvironment may give rise to new cell–cell and cell– matrix interactions that facilitate integrin-independent cell trafficking. Additional chemokines, chemokine receptors, integrins, and cytokines, such as CCL2, CCL3, CCL5, CXCL12, CCR2, CXCR4, IFN-g, and integrin aLb2, have been considered as modulators of the interactions of diabetogenic T cells with islet vascular endothelium (43,54–56), but whether these molecules are essential to these interactions is not known. The sequence of the events and the precise mechanisms of islet immune cell infiltration in human insulitis are still unknown. In the process of extravasation, leukocyte cross talk with the tissue ECM present on the surface of endo- thelial cells and in the extracellular environment suggests that interactions between leukocytes and the ECM are important in the regulation of immune cell trafficking. CONTRIBUTION OF ISLET ECM TO INSULITIS The Components of the Islet ECM In normal human islets, IM (Table 2) locates along and in intimate association with the islet microvessels separat- ing them from the endocrine cells. Differently from IM collagen and fibronectin that lie along the islet capillary pathway, IM HA occurs in a discontinuous pattern around the periphery of human islets and appears sparsely dis- tributed within the islets (20). Quantitative analysis indicated that HA is similarly distributed within the “peri-islet” and “intra-islet” sites and that the distribution and relative amounts of HA in normal human islets did not change significantly with age (20). HA-binding molecules versican and intera-inhibitor (IaI), two molecules that serve to cross-link HA and help stabilize the HA complexes, are present in normal human islet and locate in the HA-rich areas (20). The islet BM displays a peculiar structure com- posed of two layers, the vascular endothelial BM surround- ing the microvessels, and a second distinct peri-islet BM which penetrates into the islet along the microvessels and forms an endocrine BM lying outside the vascular endothe- lial BM (57). HS and the proteoglycans syndecan-1 and syndecan-4 have been detected in rodent b-cells but not in the other islet hormone-producing cells (58,59). The HA-binding molecule tumor necrosis factor-stimulated gene 6 (TSG-6), the heavy chains of IaI, and the proteo- glycan bikunin also locate intracellularly in the human and mouse pancreatic endocrine cells (20,60). Islet ECM in Type 1 Diabetes Studies in tissue specimens from patients with type 1 di- abetes show that the b-cell mass is reduced at the time the disease becomes clinically overt and that the loss of residual b-cells continues over time, which is consistent with a chronic inflammatory process, probably driven by islet- associated macrophages and lymphocytes (34,61). Medi- ators of inflammation released locally by infiltrating macrophages, endothelial, and ductal cells have been shown to be detrimental to b-cell function and survival (62). It is not clear how these immune cells find their way from the blood through the islet vascular wall into the islet interior. Earlier studies in NOD mice showed that dispersed immune cells, mainly dendritic cells (DC), histiocytic-like macrophages, and macrophages with scavenging potential, Table 2—The ECM components identified in human islets IM HA HA-binding proteins versican, IaI HS Collagen type I, III, V, VI Fibronectin BM Collagen type IV Laminin isoforms 411/421, 511/521 Perlecan Islet endocrine cells HA-binding protein TSG-6 HS diabetes.diabetesjournals.org Bogdani 2107 were present at birth and persisted in the peri-islet, periductular, and perivascular areas during the first month of life in NOD mice (63,64). Concomitantly, fibro- nectin levels were increased in the pancreas from new- born NOD mice, and a strong fibronectin immunostaining was observed in the interlobular septa, at the islet periph- ery, and at the islet-ductal pole, concurrent with increased laminin labeling in the BMs of the vascular and ductal structures and of exocrine acini (65). The increase in the pancreatic fibronectin and laminin was associated with altered islet morphology, as indicated by larger rela- tive islet areas and larger islets that were also of irregular shape. Further macrophage and DC accumulations were observed at the islet-ductal pole in young adult NOD mice, which preceded the later lymphocyte accumulation in these areas. The increased number of macrophages in the fibronectin-positive peri-islet regions was likely a result of their defective migratory capacity due to inade- quate a4b1 fibronectin receptor expression (66,67), which could cause these cells to be entrapped in the islets. Since increased peri-islet fibronectin and accumulation of macrophages were concurrent in the neonatal NOD mice, it is unclear whether macrophages were halted by the already altered fibronectin or whether the arrested mac- rophages themselves were the source of accumulated fibro- nectin. Accumulation of abnormal DC and macrophages in fibronectin-containing peri-islet areas and in association with altered islet morphology early in life, during the period of rodent endocrine pancreas remodeling (65,68,69), sug- gested that functionally impaired macrophages and DC and altered islet ECM impact islet morphology and may be involved in the generation and/or progression of the auto- immune response in NOD mice (70). Recent systematic studies in human diabetic pancreata have implicated other specific ECM components in the regulation of leukocyte trafficking (20,71,72). These stud- ies suggest that ECM components impact b-cell function and survival, and thus contribute to b-cell damage in di- abetes (58,72). Immunohistochemistry for laminin, perlecan, and collagen showed that these components of the peri- islet BM were lost at sites of leukocyte infiltration in is- lets in NOD mice and in pancreata from type 1 diabetes donors (71,73). Time-course analysis of pancreatic islets during development of insulitis in NOD mice revealed an increase with age in the proportion of islets showing disruption of the BM along with an increasing number of islets infiltrated by immune cells (71). Association of invasive insulitis with degradation of the peri-islet BM indicates that removal of the BM physical barrier takes place during leukocyte entry into the islets. In addition, expression of the proteolytic enzymes cathepsin C, H, S and W was upregulated in inflamed islets versus healthy islets of NOD mice, indicating a possible direct involve- ment of cathepsins in peri-islet ECM degradation. These studies indicate that the peri-islet BM serves as a physical barrier to insulitic leukocytes accumulated at islet periphery. Yet the mechanisms that control immune cell adhesion and accumulation at the islet border, what modifications take place in the islet microenvironment that would confer migratory properties to leukocytes, and whether and how islet ECM contributes to the directed migration and phenotype of the immune cells within the islet are unknown. THE ROLE OF HA IN TYPE 1 DIABETES PATHOGENESIS HA, a Regulator of Immune Responses HA is a linear, high–molecular-weight glycosaminoglycan consisting of repeating disaccharides of 4-D-glucuronic acid and 3-N-acetyl-D-glucosamine ubiquitously present in the ECM of vertebrate tissues. HA participates in the regulation of cellular responses elicited by the microenvi- ronment (74,75). Occurrence of HA in variable molecular sizes and configurations leads to a diversity of interac- tions of HA with various ECM molecules. These modify the structure and the properties of HA and promote the formation of multimolecular assemblies with distinct structural organization endowed with different physiolog- ical and biological functions (76). HA synthesis, sizing, and removal are highly regulated to maintain its physiological concentration in tissues, which is essential to ECM stability and tissue homeostasis (74). Importantly, HA has been increasingly implicated in the regulation of immune responses (26,74,77,78). Intact HA in its high–molecular-weight form (HMW-HA) is in- trinsically anti-inflammatory (26,79). The large HA poly- mers function as tissue integrity signals and serve to suppress the inflammatory response. HMW-HA present in the pericellular matrix protects tissue-resident cells from lymphocyte-mediated cell killing, prevents immune cell recognition, promotes the maintenance and enhances the activity of regulatory T cells, and inhibits angiogenesis (31,79). In contrast, altered HA generated during in- flammation is proinflammatory. HA-rich ECM formed in response to inflammatory stimuli controls vascular permeability, edema, angiogenesis, leukocyte extravasa- tion, and leukocyte phenotype (26,78,80,81). Increased accumulation of HA in tissues occurs during cellular stress responses or viral infection and in a variety of inflammatory diseases (23,82,83). Following tissue injury, intact HMW-HA (.1,000 kDa) breaks down into fragments of low–molecular-weight HA (LMW-HA) through enzymatic degradation by endogenous or microbial hyal- uronidases and nonenzymatic processes such as mechanical forces and oxidative stress (26,77,84). The LMW-HA frag- ments have proinflammatory effects, and their persistence leads to unremitting inflammation. Exogenously added LMW-HA and HA oligomers (,30 kDa) have been shown to activate macrophages and to increase chemokines, cyto- kines, growth factors, proteases, and nitric oxide (85–88). HA oligomers induced the phenotypic maturation of hu- man monocyte-derived dendritic cells and promoted endo- thelial cell proliferation (89). LMW-HA facilitates the differentiation of several types of mesenchymal cells that 2108 Hyaluronan in Human Type 1 Diabetes Diabetes Volume 65, August 2016 are activated following injury and influence macrophage polarity toward an M1 proinflammatory phenotype. An active role of HA in inflammation can be demon- strated by studies in animal models of inflammatory diseases such as chemically induced colitis, experimental autoimmune encephalomyelitis, and type 1 diabetes, in which large HA deposits are present in the intestine, brain, or pancreatic islets, respectively. Reducing HA accumu- lation attenuated the inflammatory infiltrates in these tissues and delayed the development or the onset of the disease. Disruption of the HA synthase 3 gene led to minor leukocyte infiltrate in the dextran sulfate sodium–induced experimental colitis model (90). Injection of hyaluronidase transiently ameliorated the symptoms and delayed the onset of experimental autoimmune encephalomyelitis due to deg- radation of HA and impaired CD4+ T-cell extravasation, while administration of an inhibitor of HA synthesis to DORmO mice prevented development of invasive insulitis and hyperglycemia (21,24). In inflamed tissues, HA interactions with leukocytes are governed by a diverse group of HA-binding proteins called hyaladherins, such as IaI, versican, and TSG-6 (76). TSG-6 is a secreted glycoprotein that is expressed at sites of inflammation and injury (91). IaI is a component of the pericellular HA matrix of different cells that accumu- lates in inflamed tissues along with HA (16,92). During the inflammatory process, TSG-6 catalyzes the covalent transfers of heavy chains (HCs) from IaI to HA leading to the formation of a specific HC–HA complex that is highly adhesive for leukocytes (80,93). Versican, another proteoglycan that binds HA with high affinity, also con- tributes to the formation of a cross-linked HA/versican- rich complex with proinflammatory properties (94,95). Thus, the hyaladherins cross-link HA into complexes that interact with a variety of cell surface and secreted proteins to regulate leukocyte recruitment into the site of injury and inflammatory gene expression (23,80,93). HA macromolecules on the cell surface can ligate tissue- or cell-specific HA protein receptors such as CD44, RHAMM, HARE, LYVE-1, laylin, and different members of the toll- like receptor family. Through these interactions, HA can trigger a network of signal transduction from the ECM to the nucleus that affects the transcriptional activation of genes involved in a variety of cellular processes during inflammation including cell activation, proliferation, dif- ferentiation, migration, and extravasation (77). Briefly, the ability of HA to exert proinflammatory properties is dependent upon its molecular size, availabil- ity of specific HA-binding molecules and the structure of the complexes they form with HA, and the organization and composition of tissue-specific microenvironment. HA and Hyaladherins in Human Islets and Lymphoid Tissue in Type 1 Diabetes We recently demonstrated that HA and hyaladherins accumulated in areas of insulitis in human type 1 diabetes pancreatic tissue (20) (Fig. 1A–G). HA deposits occurred along the edge capillaries of diabetic islets, where leuko- cytic infiltrates in insulitis are frequently observed, and along the intraislet microvessels. The increase in islet HA mass was more pronounced in tissues of younger donors with type 1 diabetes and those collected within the first year from diagnosis. HA morphological patterns in insu- litis-free tissues from donors with long-standing diabetes were comparable to those observed in normal islets. HA also amassed within the clusters of leukocytes situated at the islet periphery, adjacent to the endocrine cells. The leukocytes were surrounded by HA, seemingly entrap- ped in the HA-rich meshwork. The proportion of islets with leukocytic infiltrates correlated with the islet HA mass. Tissues were characterized by changes in the distri- bution and quantity of hyaladherins, IaI, and versican, which amassed in HA-rich regions in diabetic islets, while TSG-6 was decreased. These observations strongly indicate an association between HA deposits, pancreatic b-cell loss, and insulitis. Concomitant occurrence of HA, versican, and IaI with insulitic leukocytes suggests that HA and proteins that associate with HA form a matrix that interacts with myeloid and lymphoid cells. We also observed HA changes in human secondary lymphoid organs (20) (Fig. 1H–N) where substantial ac- cumulations of HA and IaI were found within the follic- ular germinal centers and T-cell areas, suggesting that HA accumulation in these specific immune cell regions in- duces T-cell phenotype changes by altering immune cell interactions or their migratory and adhesive properties. In addition, HA accumulation was not evident in other regions of the pancreatic lymph nodes (PLN) and spleen, such as PLN medulla or splenic red pulp, or in thymus. Also, HA did not appear to accumulate in intestine tissue or in the exocrine pancreas surrounding the islets in hu- man type 1 diabetes. Further, circulating HA levels did not increase in patients with type 1 diabetes with recent disease onset. Altogether, these observations point to HA accumulation specifically in the tissues directly involved in type 1 diabetes pathogenesis. Such observations raise impor- tant new questions regarding the functional significance of these specific ECM components in the pathogenesis of hu- man type 1 diabetes. HA also impacts different events associated with im- mune regulation in type 1 diabetes. In vitro studies showed that a HA-rich matrix controls human T-cell motility (81). Further, intact HMW-HA enhances the suppressor activity and viability of human regulatory T cells and induces phe- notypic maturation of the dendritic cells and their cytokine production. The occurrence of HA in the immune synapse suggests a crucial role for the molecule in antigen presenta- tion (31,32). We found increased islet HA and HA deposi- tion in insulitis areas in different autoimmune models of type 1 diabetes, the NOD mouse (31), the BB rat (M.B., unpublished data), and the DORmO mouse (24). We have also found that inhibiting the synthesis of HA using a chem- ical inhibitor blocks the development of type 1 diabetes in DORmO mice (24). Antibody blocking of the HA receptor diabetes.diabetesjournals.org Bogdani 2109 CD44 conferred resistance to diabetes development, and administration of hyaluronidase partially prevented adop- tive transfer of diabetes (96). Human mesenchymal stem cells secreting the HA-binding molecule TSG-6 delayed onset of type 1 diabetes in NOD mice, in part by the suppressive effects of TSG-6 on antigen presentation and cytotoxic T-cell activation (97). Altogether, these studies in- dicate multiple mechanisms by which HA and associated proteins can regulate events associated with development of type 1 diabetes. HA can generate a number of HA complexes that interact with cells through specific HA receptors. We showed that both IaI and versican closely associate with HA in normal human islets but only IaI occurs in the HA-rich regions in normal lymphoid tissue (20). In these tissues, it is possible that the HA-IaI-versican–rich and the HA-IaI–rich complexes may constitute ECM substrates with distinct properties, with the former repulsing im- mune cells from the islet endothelium surface and the latter facilitating homing and migration of immune cells in lymphoid tissue. By using a limited number of HA-binding molecules and HA receptors, HA may thus generate assemblies with tissue-specific structural and functional properties. In this way, although ubiqui- tously found in all tissues, HA may behave as a tissue- specific molecule. Figure 1—HA accumulates in human pancreatic islets and insulitis areas and in PLN in type 1 diabetes. A–G: Pancreas tissue. Staining for HA (green) and synaptophysin (SYN, red) of normal (A and D) and diabetic (B and E) islets shows accumulation of HA around and within the diabetic islet. Colabeling of HA (green) with the leukocyte common antigen CD45 (red) confirms the presence of HA in the site of inflammatory infiltrate (C and F). The islet is delineated with a white dashed line. Morphometric quantification of HA in pancreatic islets is shown in G. Panels D, E, and F show higher magnification of the boxed areas in A, B, and C, respectively. H–N: PLN tissue. Histochemistry for HA (brown) in normal (H–J) and diabetic (K–M) islets is shown. Higher magnification of B-cell–rich germinal centers (GC) and T cell–rich interfollicular regions (IFR) present in H and K are shown in I and J and in L and M, respectively. Morphometric quantification of HA in PLN is shown in N. Scale bars: 100 mm (H, I, K, and L), 50 mm (A–C, J, and M), 25 mm (E and F), and 10 mm (D). Blue bars, normal tissues; red bars, diabetic tissues. T1D, type 1 diabetes. Panels A, C, D, F, G, K, L, and N are reproduced from Bogdani et al. (20). *P < 0.001 vs. normal tissues. 2110 Hyaluronan in Human Type 1 Diabetes Diabetes Volume 65, August 2016 HYPOTHESIS: REGULATION OF INSULITIS BY HA-RICH MATRIX On the basis of our studies in human diabetes and in vitro and in vivo studies by other investigators, we propose a model for the role of HA in the regulation of insulitis (Fig. 2). Our model implies that enhanced production of islet HA and unceasing generation of bioactive HA fragments create a constantly HA-rich islet microenvironment that contrib- utes to islet inflammation and continuous injury to b-cells. The model, shown schematically in Fig. 2, represents the vicious cycle of HA changes contributing to initiation, promotion, and maintenance of islet inflammation. In- flammatory stimuli, such as inflammatory cytokines, viral infections, or ER stress, enhance HA synthesis by islet en- dothelial cells, leading to accumulation of HA in islet micro- vessels. Available plasma-derived or islet cell–synthesized hyaladherins cross-link HA to form an HA-hyaladherin– rich matrix around islet endothelium that is adhesive for leukocytes. Leukocytes arrested at the islet border release hyaluronidase and a variety of degrading and proteolytic enzymes that break down HA and other islet ECM constit- uents and finally destroy the islet vascular barrier, enabling leukocyte entry into the islet. The breakdown of HA results in formation of bioactive HA fragments that convey pro- migratory signals to leukocytes and enhance leukocyte activa- tion and gene expression. Inflammatory stimuli generated inside the islets further induce synthesis of HA by endothe- lial cells and also by the recruited leukocytes themselves. The newly formed HA will enter the cycle of degradation and generation of new HA breakdown products, the persistence of which leads to continual leukocyte recruitment into the islet and their activation of gene expression, which contrib- ute to ongoing islet inflammation. In addition, the HA-rich matrix deposited between the endocrine cells and islet capillaries constitutes a quantitatively and qualitatively al- tered islet ECM that in itself may impact islet endocrine cell function and viability possibly via altering biomechan- ical properties of the islet microenvironment and/or intra- cellular signaling pathways regulating b-cell function and survival. Figure 2—Proposed model for the role of islet HA in the regulation of insulitis and b-cell damage in type 1 diabetes. The model represents the vicious cycle of HA changes contributing to initiation, promotion, and maintenance of islet inflammation. Initiation (blue and red boxes and arrows): Inflammatory stimuli enhance HA synthesis by islet endothelial cells and generation of an HA-rich ECM that is adhesive for leukocytes, causing the leukocyte arrest at the islet border. Promotion (green boxes and arrows): HA-degrading enzymes released by the arrested leukocytes break down HA into bioactive HA fragments, which, by themselves and as structural components of islet HA com- plexes, conduct leukocyte migration into the islets and enhance leukocyte activation and gene expression. Maintenance (purple arrows): Leukocyte cell surface–associated or vicinal HA and fragmented HA provide structural and cell-signaling cues that maintain a vicious circle of islet inflammation. In addition, alterations in structural complexes of HA and other islet ECM components lead to altered islet integrity and impairment of b-cell function and viability. diabetes.diabetesjournals.org Bogdani 2111 CONCLUSIONS Our observations and those of others highlight novel potential roles for different components of the ECM in the regulation of insulitis in human type 1 diabetes. Collective changes in the structural complexes of ECM components are proposed to create a proinflammatory microenviron- ment that regulates crucial steps in the pathogenic process of type 1 diabetes such as immune cell adhesion and migration, immune cell activation, and b-cell death. The JDRF Network for Pancreatic Organ Donors with Diabe- tes (nPOD) ECM working group composed of three re- search teams (72) has initiated studies that will lead to our better understanding of the collective changes in the ECM that take place in human islets and lymphoid tissues during development of type 1 diabetes. Understanding the contribution of the ECM in type 1 diabetes could complete the “unfinished harmony” of the pathogenic process of the disease. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost, that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. —Henry David Thoreau Acknowledgments. The author is grateful to Drs. Carla J. Greenbaum and Thomas N. Wight, Benaroya Research Institute, Seattle, WA, for their comments and for editing the manuscript. This research was performed with the support of the Network for Pancreatic Organ Donors with Diabetes (nPOD), a collaborative type 1 diabetes research project sponsored by JDRF. Organ Procure- ment Organizations (OPO) partnering with nPOD to provide research resources are listed at http://www.jdrfnpod.org/for-partners/npod-partners/. Funding. This study was supported by the Leona M. and Harry B. Helmsley Charitable Trust George S. Eisenbarth nPOD Award for Team Science (2015PG- T1D052). Duality of Interest. 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Day AJ, de la Motte CA. Hyaluronan cross-linking: a protective mechanism in inflammation? Trends Immunol 2005;26:637–643 81. Evanko SP, Potter-Perigo S, Bollyky PL, Nepom GT, Wight TN. Hyaluronan and versican in the control of human T-lymphocyte adhesion and migration. Matrix Biol 2012;31:90–100 82. Lewis A, Steadman R, Manley P, et al. Diabetic nephropathy, inflammation, hyaluronan and interstitial fibrosis. Histol Histopathol 2008;23:731–739 83. Lauer ME, Dweik RA, Garantziotis S, Aronica MA. The rise and fall of hy- aluronan in respiratory diseases. Int J Cell Biol 2015;2015:712507 84. Cyphert JM, Trempus CS, Garantziotis S. Size matters: molecular weight specificity of hyaluronan effects in cell Biology. Int J Cell Biol 2015;2015:563818 85. Horton MR, Burdick MD, Strieter RM, Bao C, Noble PW. Regulation of hy- aluronan-induced chemokine gene expression by IL-10 and IFN-gamma in mouse macrophages. J Immunol 1998;160:3023–3030 86. Noble PW, Lake FR, Henson PM, Riches DW. Hyaluronate activation of CD44 induces insulin-like growth factor-1 expression by a tumor necrosis factor-alpha-dependent mechanism in murine macrophages. J Clin Invest 1993;91:2368–2377 87. Termeer C, Benedix F, Sleeman J, et al. Oligosaccharides of hyaluronan activate dendritic cells via toll-like receptor 4. J Exp Med 2002;195:99–111 88. Ghosh S, Hoselton SA, Wanjara SB, et al. Hyaluronan stimulates ex vivo B lymphocyte chemotaxis and cytokine production in a murine model of fungal allergic asthma. Immunobiology 2015;220:899–909 89. Cui X, Xu H, Zhou S, et al. Evaluation of angiogenic activities of hyaluronan oligosaccharides of defined minimum size. Life Sci 2009;85:573–577 90. Kessler S, Rho H, West G, Fiocchi C, Drazba J, de la Motte C. Hyaluronan (HA) deposition precedes and promotes leukocyte recruitment in intestinal in- flammation. Clin Transl Sci 2008;1:57–61 91. Milner CM, Higman VA, Day AJ. TSG-6: a pluripotent inflammatory medi- ator? Biochem Soc Trans 2006;34:446–450 92. Yingsung W, Zhuo L, Morgelin M, et al. Molecular heterogeneity of the SHAP-hyaluronan complex. Isolation and characterization of the complex in sy- novial fluid from patients with rheumatoid arthritis. J Biol Chem 2003;278: 32710–32718 93. Baranova NS, Nilebäck E, Haller FM, et al. The inflammation-associated protein TSG-6 cross-links hyaluronan via hyaluronan-induced TSG-6 oligomers. J Biol Chem 2011;286:25675–25686 94. Wight TN, Kang I, Merrilees MJ. Versican and the control of inflammation. Matrix Biol 2014;35:152–161 95. Wight TN, Kinsella MG, Evanko SP, Potter-Perigo S, Merrilees MJ. Versican and the regulation of cell phenotype in disease. Biochim Biophys Acta 2014; 1840:2441–2451 96. Weiss L, Slavin S, Reich S, et al. Induction of resistance to diabetes in non- obese diabetic mice by targeting CD44 with a specific monoclonal antibody. Proc Natl Acad Sci U S A 2000;97:285–290 97. Kota DJ, Wiggins LL, Yoon N, Lee RH. TSG-6 produced by hMSCs delays the onset of autoimmune diabetes by suppressing Th1 development and enhancing tolerogenicity. Diabetes 2013;62:2048–2058 2114 Hyaluronan in Human Type 1 Diabetes Diabetes Volume 65, August 2016 
work_aw227zqbezd4jopg46f7e6d6ym	----	Turkish Studies - International Periodical For The Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014, p. 1931-1951, ANKARA-TURKEY ANARŞİZM VE “GEZİ PARKI” OLAYLARI* Suat Tayfun TOPAK** ÖZET Anarşizm denilince hemen herkesin aklına yıkmak, dökmek, dağıtmak ve zarar vermek gelir. Hatta anarşizmi terörizmle bağdaştıranlar bile vardır. "Anarşizm" ve "anarşi" şüphesiz siyaset teorisinde de en fazla yanlış algılanan kavramların başında gelmektedir. Bu bağlamda genel anlamı ile kaos, kargaşa veya düzensizlik kelimeleri ile eş anlamlı tutularak, anarşistlerin toplumsal kaos, kargaşa ortamı ile birlikte kanunsuzluğa geri dönüşü istediği düşünülmüştür. Fakat bahsedilen anlamları da içerecek şekilde anarşizm, aslında yönetimsizlik-lidersizlik anlamına gelmektedir. Anarşistler, hükmedenin olmadığı anarşinin, uygulanabilir bir toplumsal sistem biçimi ve bir ideoloji olduğunu savunurlar ve bireysel özgürlük ve toplumsal eşitliğin maksimizasyonu için çalışırlar. Görülmektedir ki, anarşizm kavramı ontolojik bağlamda kafalarda çok aydınlanamamış bir terimdir ve anarşizm kavramının anlamının ve içeriğinin bilinmesine ihtiyaç vardır. Bu bağlamda, öncelikle anarşizm kavramının ne demek olduğu ya da ne demek olmadığı açıklanmaya çalışılacaktır. Daha sonra ise 2013 yılının Mayıs ayı sonlarında patlak veren “Gezi Parkı Olayları” incelenecek ve söz konusu olaylarda anarşizm ideolojisinin izleri sürülecektir. Bilindiği üzere Gezi Parkı olayları medeni protestolar bağlamında başlamış fakat giderek farklı bir boyuta sürüklenmiştir. Her türlü protesto ve eylemin sergilendiği bir sosyal laboratuvara dönüşen Gezi olaylarında elbette anarşizm ideolojisinin teorik parametrelerinin pratiğe dönüştüğü eylemlere de rastlanmıştır. Bu bağlamda, yurt içinde ve yurt dışında ses getiren ve pek çok kaynakta “Türk Baharı” olarak adlandırılan Gezi Parkı olaylarının anarşizmle bağlantılı olduğu yerler gözler önüne serilmeye çalışılacaktır. Anahtar Kelimeler: Anarşizm, Gezi Parkı, Protesto, Terör, İdeoloji. *Bu makale Crosscheck sistemi tarafından taranmış ve bu sistem sonuçlarına göre orijinal bir makale olduğu tespit edilmiştir. ** Doktora Adayı, Turgut Özal Üniversitesi, Sosyal Bilimler Enstitüsü, Siyaset Bilimi ve Uluslararası İlişkiler Ana Bilim Dalı, El-mek: tayfuntopak@hotmail.com 1932 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 ANARCHISM AND “GEZİ PARKI” EVENTS ABSTRACT "Anarchism" is undoubtedly one of the most misunderstood concepts in political theory. This term is generally perceived as breaking down, collapsing, scattering etc. In fact, someone may associate the anarchism with terrorism. In this context, it is thought that the anarchists have been would like to return lawlessness with chaos, turmoil and disorder. But anarchism actually means lacking of administration or leader. Anarchists argue that anarchy without rule is a feasible form of social system and ideology. They also seek to maximization of individual liberty and social equality. Apparently, in the ontological context, the concept of anarchism is a term that has not brightened much in mind. So, it is required to know the meaning and content of anarchism. In this context, the concept of anarchism will be firstly explained. After that "Gezi Parkı events" which erupted in May of the 2013 will be examined and traces of the ideology of anarchism will be driven in those events. As is known, Gezi Parkı events began as civil protests but increasingly have been dragged into a different dimension. At the Gezi Parkı events which was displayed all kinds of protests and turned into a social laboratory, surely were observed the actions that theoretical parameters of the ideology of anarchism in practice context. In this paper, Gezi Parkı events which followed both domestically and abroad and called "Turkish Spring" in many sources will be studied in the context of anarchism. Key Words: Anarchism, Gezi Parkı, Protest, Terror, Ideology. 1. Giriş Anarşizm kavramı her daim merak edilen ve üzerine çok çeşitli anlamlar yüklenen bir kavram olmuştur. Anarşizm kelimesi ilk duyulduğunda akla, söz konusu ideolojiyi içselleştiren ve bunu pratiğe dökme girişiminde ısrarcı görülen anarşistler gelmektedir. Anarşist kelimesi ise, “teröristi” ya da “yakan, yıkan, parçalayan, dağıtan, var olan sistemi çökertmeye çalışan ve ülkeleri kaos ortamına sürükleyen insan ya da insan gruplarını” akıllara getirmektedir. Fakat daha yakından bakıldığında Anarşizm’in, yönetimsizlik, hiyerarşi karşıtlığı olduğu fark edilecektir. Bakunin gibi bazı Anarşistlerin, yer ve zamana göre şiddeti savunduklarını da göz ardı edemeyiz fakat bu durum Anarşistlerin her daim şiddeti istediklerini ve yakmanın, yıkmanın, dağıtmanın savunulan tek gerçek olduğu olgusunu bize kanıtlamaz. Bu yüzden Anarşizmin iyi anlaşılması gerekli görülmüştür. Çalışmanın ilk bölümünde genel bir açıklama ve makalenin akış sırası izah edilmektedir. Kavramsal incelemenin yapılacağı ikinci bölümde ise, yukarıda bahsedilen kavramsal muğlaklığa kısaca ışık tutulacak ve “Anarşizm” kavramı açıklığa kavuşturulmaya çalışılacaktır. Anarşizm’ in ne olduğu ve bu ideolojinin tarihsel süreçteki gelişimi izah edilecek ve söz konusu ideolojinin ayrıldığı temel ve alt kollar, en göze çarpan savunucularıyla birlikte izah edilecektir. Çalışmamızın üçüncü bölümü ise, 2013 yılı Mayıs ayı sonlarında İstanbul’da başlayan ve Türkiye’nin pek çok iline sıçrayan “Gezi Parkı” eylemlerini mercek altına almayı amaçlamaktadır. Anarşizm Ve “Gezi Parkı” Olayları 1933 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 Pek çok ulusal ve uluslararası medya kuruluşunda “Türk Baharı” olarak yer bulan Gezi Parkı olayları1 ile birlikte Türkiye gündemi değişmiş ve ilginç gelişmeler cereyan etmiştir. İstanbul Taksim Meydanı’nda tekrar inşası düşünülen eski Topçu Kışlası binasının ve bu kompleksin içerisine yerleştirileceği iddiası ayyuka çıkan alışveriş merkezinin (AVM), Taksim Gezi Parkı’nın yerine yapılacak olması çevrecileri harekete geçirmiştir. Önceleri “ağaç katliamını engelleme girişimi” olarak görülen olaylar, bir süre sonra farklı bir amaca evrilmiş ve kolluk kuvvetleri ile eylemciler arasında ciddi çatışmalar yaşanmıştır. Bu bağlamda, Gezi olayları incelenirken, bir taraftan da Gezi olayları - Anarşizm bağlantısı araştırılacak ve söz konusu örnek olay üzerinden Anarşizm ideolojisinin kavramsal yaklaşımlarına uyan pratik uygulamaların var olup olmadığı sorgulanacaktır. Çalışmamızın sonuç kısmını ise genel bir değerlendirme oluşturacaktır. 2. Kavramsal Çerçeve Yunancadan gelen "anarşi" kelimesi, "olmaksızın", "-sız", "...-in isteği", "...-in yokluğu" ya da "...-in olmaması" anlamlarını veren an (veya a) öneki ile "hükümdar", "şef", "sorumlu kişi", "otorite" anlamına gelen “archos” kelimesinin birleşiminden oluşur. Ünlü Anarşist yazar Kropotkin'in ifadesiyle de, Anarşi, "otoriteye karşı" anlamına gelen Yunanca kelimelerden kaynaklanır. Yunanca anarchos ve anarchia kelimeleri genellikle "hükümetin olmaması" veya "hükümetsizlik" anlamlarında ele alınırken; anarşizmin asıl anlamı basitçe "hükümetsizlik" değildir. "An-archy", "hükümdarın olmadığı" veya daha genel bir ifadeyle "otoritenin olmadığı" anlamına gelir. Anarşistler kelimeyi, daha çok otoritesizlik anlamıyla kullanırlar. Örneğin, Kropotkin'ine göre anarşizm, "sadece sermayeye değil, kapitalizmin asıl güç kaynağına, yani hukuk, otorite ve Devlet'e de saldırır". Anarşistlerin geneline göreyse, anarşi kelimesi, "genelde varsayıldığı üzere düzenin yokluğu anlamına gelmez, hükmetmenin olmaması anlamına gelir.2 Görüldüğü üzere, ilk duyulduğunda, yıkan, dağıtan, parçalayan ve terörize eden bir ideoloji olarak algılanan Anarşizm, aslında güce, şiddete, zorlamaya, baskıya, tahakküme, hiyerarşiye dayalı ve her şeyi reddeden bir ideoloji olarak değerlendirilmektedir. Bu bağlamda anarşistler, bireysel ve toplumsal öz yönetime dayanan, özgürlük temelli bir toplumsal düzeni savunurlar. Dolayısıyla Anarşist toplum; devletin, yasanın, hükümetin, kısacası otorite ve iktidarın olmadığı bir toplum3 olarak görülmektedir. Fakat Anarşistler, “olmaması arzu edilen” kavramların yerini ne ile dolduracakları konusunda ortak bir karara varmış gözükmemektedir. Anarşistlerin literatürü tarandığında da açıklıkla görülmektedir ki, var olan iktidarın, gerekirse güç kullanılarak yıkılması bile savunulmakta fakat oluşan yönetim boşluğunun yerinin ne ile doldurulacağı konusunda tatmin edici cevaplar verilememektedir. Siyasal doktrin olarak kargaşacılığa inanan, siyasal kurumları devirmek isteyen kişi4 olarak tanımlanabilecek anarşistler genel olarak otoritenin tüm biçimlerine karşıdırlar. Ama özellikle siyasal otoriteye ve onu uygulayan devlet mekanizmasına karşı çıkarlar. Onlara göre otorite insan özgürleşmesinin önündeki en büyük engeldir. Devlet herkes için baskıcı ve yıkıcı bir güçtür. Devlet, doğal olmayan yapay bir kurumdur. Daha önce de ifade edildiği üzere, devletin ortadan kaldırılmasından sonra nasıl bir düzen kurulacağı farklı tartışmalara yol açmıştır. Pozitif bir özgürlük fikrini benimseyenlere göre, insan doğal olarak toplumsallığa, işbirliğine, dayanışma ve fedakârlığa eğilimlidir. Bu yüzden, tüm bunların açığa çıkması için kapitalist devlet sisteminin 1 “Gezi Parkı Eylemleri/Olayları” kavramı, makalenin bundan sonraki bölümlerinde, kamusal-toplumsal bağlamda ve medya bağlamında daha geniş bir kabul gördüğü şekliyle, “Gezi olayları” kavramı ile ifade edilecektir. 2 http://www.geocities.ws/anarsistbakis/makaleler/sss-kisima01.html, 15.11.2013. 3 Çaha Ö. ve Şahin B., “Dünyada ve Türkiye’de Siyasi İdeolojiler” içinde, Tok, Nafiz ve Koçal, Ahmet Vedat, ‘Anarşizm’, Orient Yayınevi, İstanbul, 2013, s. 395. 4 Dağ, Ahmet Emin, “Uluslararası İlişkiler Sözlüğü”, Ağaç Kitabevi Yayınları, 3. Basım, İstanbul, 2009, s. 32. 1934 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 ortadan kaldırılması gereklidir. Negatif özgürlükçüler ise, bireyin çıkarları ve özgürlüğünü esas alırlar ve devletin ortadan kaldırılmasında pozitif özgürlükçülerle hemfikirdirler.5 2.1. Tarihsel Süreçte Anarşizm Anarşizm 19. yüzyıldan günümüze çalkantılı bir tarihe sahiptir. William Godwin’in görüşleriyle belirmeye başlayan ve Proudhon ile ilk defa gün yüzüne çıkan anarşizm, temel olarak Avrupa düşüncesi içinde şekillenmiştir. 19. yüzyıl Avrupa’sının çalkantılı siyasi ortamında Aydınlanma Hareketi’nin sonucu olarak dinsel otoritenin sorgulandığı bir dönemde, anarşizm bütün otoritelerin sorgulamasına girişmiştir. Anarşist bakış açısı içinde toplumdaki sorunların kaynağı hiyerarşide görülmektedir; hiyerarşinin var olduğu bir yaşam özgürlüklerin kısıtlandığı, insan gelişiminin engellendiği toplumları doğurmaktadır. İnsan doğasının iyiliğine güvenmek, karşılıklı yardımlaşma ve dayanışmaya dayalı toplumların hiyerarşiyi ortadan kaldıracağına inanmak anarşizmin temel varsayımlarındandır.6 Anarşizm, günlük dilde başıboşluk, kuralsızlık, kargaşa, kaotik durum veya düzen karşıtı saldırı anlamlarında kullanılabilmektedir. Kavramın algılandığı bu olumsuz anlam Antik Grek uygarlığına kadar gitmektedir. Bir felsefe ekolü ve siyasal ideoloji olarak da yine Antik Grek uygarlığına kadar gitmekte ve lidersiz-yöneticisiz anlamları yüklenmektedir. Modern çağda kullanımının başlangıcı ise 1789 Fransız Devrimi iledir. Anarşizm, yönetime gerek duymayan bir topluma ilişkin olumlu anlamda da kullanılmaktadır. Anarşi, düzensizlik, kargaşa, kaos ve eski düzen yerine, kendi görüşleri doğrultusunda bir düzen seçeneği ve arayışı olarak da ifade edilmektedir.7 Anarşizmin antik izlerine Çin uygarlığında rastlanmaktadır. Taoizm’in her türlü yönetim modelini mahkûm etmesi ve eleştirmesi, anarşizmle uyumludur. Anarşizmin antik kaynaklarından ikincisi, Budizm ya da Budacılık mistisizminde ve bir kolu olan Zen öğretisinde görülebilmektedir. Ruhsal arınma, dünyevi hırslardan kurtulma, zararsızlık erdemleri paralelinde; eşitlikçi, dayanışmacı birey kişiliği ile anarşizmin temel kurgusu örtüşmektedir. Grek-Ege uygarlığının felsefi düşünce birikiminde de anarşizmin temel bazı parametrelerine rastlanmaktadır. Özellikle Sokrates’in, ölüm cezası konuşmasındaki otorite karşıtı meşhur savunması, anarşizm vesikası olarak algılanmaktadır. Sokrates’in öğrencileri tarafından oluşturulan Sinizm ve Stoa okulları da anarşizmin antik kökenleri olarak görülmektedir. Günümüze yakın tarihte ise Tolstoy, Hristiyan anarşizminin önemli bir temsilcisi olarak görülmektedir. Hristiyan inancının özündeki bireycilik ve bunun kurtuluş yolu olduğu inancı, Tolstoy’un argümanlarında kendini bulmaktadır. Anarşizmin modern çağdaki tarihsel kaynakları Aydınlanma, Fransız ve İngiliz devrim süreçleri iken, düşünsel kaynağı ise sosyal ve liberal düşünce gelenekleridir. Anarşizm de, Sosyalizm gibi sanayi devriminin bir sonucu olarak devletin ve toplumun giderek burjuvalaşmasına, liberalleşmesine, toplumsal alanın giderek bireyselleşmesine, sosyo-ekonomik eşitsizlikten kaynaklanana tahakküm ilişkilerine karşı bir tepki olarak doğmuştur.8 Görüldüğü üzere anarşizm, diğer pek çok ideolojinin de başlangıcına kaynaklık eden 19. yüzyıl gelişmelerine paralel olarak gelişti gibi değerlendirilse de, aslında binlerce yıllık geçmişi olan bir ideolojidir. Pek çok düşün ve yazın insanının eserlerinde ve sözlerinde kendine yer bulan bu ideoloji, o zamanlar anarşizm olarak isimlendirilmese de, içeriği itibariyle anarşizmin temel parametrelerini bünyesinde barındırması ve günümüz anarşist yazar ve düşünürlerine kaynaklık etmesi açısından önemli görülmektedir. 5 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., s. 397. 6 Uğur, Gökhan, “Dünden Bugüne Anarşizm ve Anarşizmin Çözmesi Gereken Sorunlar”, Gazi Üniversitesi İktisadi ve İdari Bilimler Fakültesi Dergisi, 12/1, 2010, ss. 133-158, s.136. 7 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., s.396. 8 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., s.396. s.398. Anarşizm Ve “Gezi Parkı” Olayları 1935 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 2.2. Anarşizm Çeşitleri Genel anlamıyla anarşizm bütün insan gruplarında görünen otoriteye karşı oluşmuş bir reaksiyon niteliğindedir. Anarşistler iyi bir yaşamın zora başvurmaksızın düzenlenmiş bir toplumda gerçekleşeceğine inanırlar. Bu inançları sebebiyle yöneticiler ve yönetenleri barındıran siyasal örgütlenmeler olmaksızın bir toplumsal yapı inşa etmeye çalışırlar. Hiçbir otoriteye inanmayan, insanların eşit ve özgür bireyler olabilmesi için kişileri baskı altında tutan bütün kurumların feshedilmesini savunan anarşizm esasında sahip olduğu ilkelerin de bir sonucu olarak zamanla pek çok farklı guruplara ayrılmış, tek bir yapı sergileyememiştir. Bu durum ise anarşizm ile ilgili yapılan çalışmalar için ciddi bir sorun teşkil etmektedir. Fakat yine de, genel eğilimler ve yapılan bilimsel çalışmalar doğrultusunda anarşizmde bir takım gruplandırmalara gidilebilir.9 Diğer siyasal ideolojilerde görüldüğü üzere, anarşizm de çok farklı yorumlara konu olmuştur. Dolayısıyla tek tip bir anarşizmden söz edilemez.10 Bu bağlamda anarşizmi öncelikle klasik ve modern anarşizm olarak ikiye ayırmak mümkündür. Söz konusu iki anarşizm çeşidinin ise alt kategorileri oldukça fazladır. Hemen tüm anarşizm alt kategorileri ise, isim babalarıyla ya da kavramın öz içeriğiyle anılmakta ve yazın literatüründe bu şekilde yer almaktadır. Anarşizmin demokrasiye bakışı sahip olunan çizgileri istikametinde şekillenir. Klasik anarşizmin devlete ve onun otoritesine karşı net karşıt duruşu, demokrasiye, yani temsili demokratik düzene yaklaşımının olumsuz olduğunu göstermektedir. Anarşistler, temsili demokrasinin baskıcı olduğunu düşünürler. Hiç kimse bir başkasını gerçekten temsil edemez. Godwin’e göre, monarşi ve aristokrasi ile karşılaştırıldığında demokrasi, en az kötü yönetim biçimidir. Proudhon, bireyin tüm özgürlüklerinin ve haklarının güvence altına alınmasını sağlayacak bir “özgür sözleşme” önermiştir. Ona göre demokrasi, çoğunluğun diktatörlüğü durumudur. Temsili hükümet, kar ve çıkarı, iktidarın temsil edilenlerin çıkarına ters düşecek şekilde sürekli kötüye kullanılmasıdır. Kropotkin ve Bakunin de benzer kötümser düşünceleri paylaşmaktadır. 2.2.1. Klasik Anarşizm Klasik anarşizm ile modern anarşizm arasındaki temel ayrım önemlidir. Klasik anarşizmin, daha çok Fransız Devrimi’nden ve daha çok sosyalizmden aldığı felsefi kaynağı ile sınıf merkezli ideolojik bir bakışı varken; modern anarşizm ise yeni-liberalizme uyumla, kimlik, cinsiyet, çevre sorunları merkezli yaklaşımlar geliştirmiştir. Klasik anarşist geleneğin temel argümanı, bir doğa teorisi ve toplumsal özgürlük anlayışıdır. Buna göre, insanın doğasındaki ahlak ve adalet duygusu, bireyin mutlak özgürlüğünü gerektirir.11 Klasik anarşizmi iki alt başlıkta incelemek mümkündür. Bunlardan ilki, Walter’ın da ifadesiyle, toplumu bir organizmadan ziyade topluma karşı sorumlulukları olmayan ama diğer bireylere karşı sorumlu olan özerk bireylerden oluşmuş bir bütün olarak gören “Bireyci Anarşizm”dir. Diğeri ise, devletin yıkılması ve bireysel özgürlüğün sağlanmasının ancak yıkıma dayalı bir devrim ile mümkün olacağını belirtmesiyle,12 diğer “barışçıl anarşizm kategorilerinden ayrılan” Toplumcu-Kollektivist Anarşizm anlayışıdır. 2.2.1.1. Bireyci Anarşizm Bireyci anarşizm, en basit açıklaması ile özgürlüğü bireyin çerçevesi ile tanımlayan, ulus, toplum, sınıf hatta aile gibi bireyselliği aşan ve onu sınırlayan her türlü yapay çerçevenin, bireyin doğal varoluşu ile hak kazandığı özgürlüklerin karşıtı olduğunu ileri süren klasik anarşizm ekolüdür. Liberal düşünceden beslenen bu ekol için, Liberal bireyciliğin mantıksal sınırlarının 9 Uğur, a.g.m., s.138. 10 Türköne, Mümtaz’er (Ed), “Siyaset” içinde, Türk, H. Bahadır, ‘İdeoloji’, Lotus Yayınevi, İstanbul, 2010, s. 132. 11 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., s.403. 12 Uğur, a.g.m., s.139. 1936 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 zorlanarak anarşist çıkarımlara vardırılması da denebilir.13 Bireyci anarşizmin savunucuları ve savundukları konseptlerde de açıkça görüleceği üzere, bireyin diğer bireylere karşı sorumlulukları olduğu, bu sorumluluğun topluluğa karşı gerekli olmadığı tezinin altı özellikle çizilmektedir. Bu ekolün savunucularının başında William Godwin gelmektedir. Otoritenin ve yasaların insan doğasına aykırı olduğunu ileri süren görüşleri ile anarşizmin öncülerinden kabul edilen Godwin,14 otorite ve devlet eleştirisini adalet ve ahlak düşüncesi üzerine kurmuştur. Otoritenin insan doğasına aykırı olduğunu, devletin var olduğu bir ortamda, gerçek anlamıyla bir özgürlükten bahsedilemeyeceğini ifade etmiştir. Hükümet, doğrudan ya da dolaylı olarak zenginlerin yasa koyuculuğudur. Adil ve ahlaklı bir yaşam için devlet ortadan kaldırılmalıdır. Eğitim politikası, Althusserin “Devletin İdeolojik Aygıtları” ve bu bağlamda “eğitim aygıtı” kavramlarının öncüsü niteliğindedir. Ulusal bir eğitim projesi, tüm zihinleri tek bir modele uydurmaya çok eğilimli olduğu için terk edilmelidir. Din kurumu, “körü körüne bir itaat ve sefil bir ikiyüzlülük” olarak algılanmaktadır. Evliliği “bütün tekellerin en iğrenci” saymıştır. Godwin bireyi sınırlandıran her şeyi kötü, devleti ise tamamen kötü görmüştür.15 Max Stirner da bir başka bireyci anarşizm savunucusudur.16 Stirner Hegel’in öğrencilerindendir. Bireyi, toplumdan bütünüyle, sınırsız ölçüde soyutlayan (egoist) bir bakışla ele almıştır. “Hiçbir şey benden üstün değildir” görüşünü benimsemiştir. Stirner’a göre özgürlük, kişinin hiçbir dışsal etki ve sınırlama altında olmaksızın kendiliğidir. Özgürlük için kişinin benliği ve kendiliği haricindeki tüm kurallar ve kurumlar kaldırılmalıdır. Din, insanların baskı altına alınması için bir araçtır. Devlet bir despotizm örneğidir. Devlet kendi şiddetine hukuk, bireyinkine ise suç adını vermektedir. Devletin tek amacı, bireyi kısıtlamak, bastırmak ve tabi kılmaktır.17 Henry David Thoreau ise devletin buyruğunu kabul etmeme ve uygulamama hakkını ortaya koymakla bireyi edilgen kılan ve bu nedenle “tembellik hakkı” diye adlandırılan bir anlayış geliştirmiştir. “Pasifizm” ya da “Pasif Anarşizm” akımına ilham olmuştur. 1849 tarihli “Sivil İtaatsizlik” başlıklı makalesi,18 anarşist yazını için çok önemli bir katkı olarak değerlendirilmektedir. Thoreau’ya göre birey, devletin kanunları ya da toplumun isteklerine bağlı olmaksızın vicdanı doğrultusunda doğru bildiği şeyleri yapabilmelidir.19 Benjamin Tucker20 da Amerikan bireyci anarşizmi akımının savunucularındandır. Tucker’a göre bir bireyin kendini yönetme hakkı varsa, bütün dış etkiler baskıdır. Buna göre, temel ahlaki yasa, “kendi işine bakmak”, temel suç ise “başkasının işine karışmaktır”. Bu temel kurallar dışında kalan tüm kurum ve kurallar, ahlaki ve yasa olma iddiasında olsa bile zorbalıktır. Tucker, özerk bireylerin, serbest piyasa düzeni içinde, karşılıklı değişim anlayışı ile çatışma ve itaatsizlik olmaksızın bir arada yaşayabileceklerini ileri sürmüştür.21 13 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 404-405. 14Wenzer, Kenneth C., “Godwin'in Anarşist Gelenek İçindeki Yeri: İkiyüzüncü Yıl Anısına”, http://www. geocities.ws/anarsistbakis/makaleler/kwenzer-godwinanarsistgelenek.html, 08.12.2013. 15 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 405-406. 16 Detaylı bir anlatım için bkz. Türkdoğan, H. İbrahim, “Max Stirner ve (Bireyci) Anarşistler”, http://www.projekt maxstirner.de/anarsi.htm, 14.12.2013. 17 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 407-409. 18 Türköne, a.g.e., s. 133. 19 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 410-412. 20 Benjamin Tucker’ın detaylı görüşleri için bkz. “Bireyci Ve Toplumsal Anarşistler Arasındaki Ayrımlar Nelerdir?”, http://anarsistbakis.wordpress.com/2008/09/08/bireyci-ve-toplumsal-anarsistler-arasindaki-ayrimlar-nelerdir/, 09.12.2013. 21 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 412-413. Anarşizm Ve “Gezi Parkı” Olayları 1937 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 2.2.1.2. Toplumcu-Kollektivist Anarşizm Toplumcu anarşizm akımı, temelde, sanayi devriminin yarattığı toplumsal sorunlar sonucunda gelişen 1848 İhtilalleri sürecinde işçi sınıfının ayaklanmalara varan düzeyde dile getirdiği tepkisi ile anarşizmin yeniden düşünülmesi olarak tanımlanabilir. Özgürlüğün önündeki toplumsal, siyasal, ekonomik, kültürel engeller ortadan kalkmadıkça bireyin özgürlüğünün de olanaklı olamayacağını ileri sürer.22 Kolektivist Anarşizm’de üretim araçlarının ortaklığı söz konusudur. Bu anarşizm türünün en önemli temsilcisi ise yıkımın aynı zamanda yaratıcı bir eylem olduğunu belirten Mihail Bakunin’dir.23 Bakunin “Özgürlükçü Sosyalizm” olarak adlandırılabilecek bir akımın içerisinde kendisini devrimci-sosyalist olarak tanımlamıştır. Bakunin’in Marx ve Engels düşüncelerine sert itirazları olmuş,24 otoriter komünizm ya da devletçi sosyalizm diye nitelendirdiği marksist sosyalizmin karşısına anarşist sosyalizm düşüncesi ve örgütlülüğü ile çıkmıştır. Özgürlüğü bireyin öznelliğinde değil, toplumun genelliğinde arayan Bakunin, cinsiyetler arası mutlak eşitliği ve kadınların seçme hakkını savunmuştur. Özgürlük ancak ve ancak tüm toplumun ekonomik eşitliği ile olanaklı hale gelebilecektir. Bakunin, Proudhoncu barışçıl bir çizgiden, radikal, tepkici ve devrimci bir çizgiye kaymıştır. Devrim yoluyla devletin ortadan kaldırılmasını ve anarşist toplumsal düzenin kurulmasını savunur.25 Pierre Joseph Proudhon,26 anarşist teriminin isim babası olarak bilinmektedir. Özel mülkiyetin eşitlik ve dolayısıyla adalet duygusu ile çeliştiğini savunur. Proudhon’a göre, toplumun işleyişini sağlayan yasaların otoriteyle ve devletle ilgisi yoktur; bu yasalar topluma dayatılamaz, toplumun kendi doğasından çıkarlar. Proudhon, yasaların yerini özgür sözleşmelerin almasını, mal ve hizmetlerin rahatça dönüşümde olduğu, özgür bireylerin karşılıklı yardımlaştıkları bir toplum modeli hayal eder. Merkezi devlete karşı, özerk-yerel toplulukların öz yönetimlerinden oluşan bir federalizm modelini önermiştir. Yine Proudhon’a göre sınıfsal çatışmanın baş sorumlusu devlettir ve özgür bir toplum, devletin yerini alacak alternatif kurumları üretmek zorundadır. Anarşist toplum düzeninin, şiddete başvurmaksızın, barışçıl yollarla kurulabileceğine inanmıştır.27 Pyotr Kropotkin ise bir başka toplumcu-kollektivist anarşist yazardır. “Karşılıklı Yardımlaşma” ve “Etika” adlı eserleriyle bilinir. Bu kitaplarında, Darwin’in evrim kuramında önerdiğinin tersine, türlerin birbirleriyle mücadele etmediği, karşılıklı yardımlaşma-dayanışma ile yaşamlarını sürdürdüğü “barışçıl” bir evrim tasarımı önermiştir. Klasik anarşizme “barışçıl anarşizm” anlayışını katmıştır. Anarşist düşünceyi politik olmaktan çıkarıp, bütünlüklü bir ahlak felsefesi haline getirmiştir. Her bir bireyin mutluluğunun, herkesin mutluluğuna sıkı sıkıya bağlı olduğunu ileri sürmüştür. Ahlakın temeli, eşitlik duygusudur. Eşitsizliğin olduğu yerde adaletten bahsedilemez. Kropotkin’e göre özgür ve eşit insanlardan oluşan bir toplumda, ahlak, yani eşitlik ve adalet duygusu; onu koruyabilmek için polis, hapishane, gardiyan vb. gereksinim duyan çağdaş devlette olduğundan daha iyi korunacaktır.28 2.2.2. Modern Anarşizm Modern anarşizm denilince de akla gelen çeşitli akımlar ve bu akımların isim babaları sayılacak savunucuları29 vardır. Örneğin “Anarko - Komünizm” denilince yine Kropotkin ismi akla 22 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., s. 413. 23 Uğur, a.g.m., s.139. 24 Yetkin, Çetin, “Siyasal Düşünceler Tarihi – III XX. Yüzyıl Başlarına Kadar Batı ve Osmanlı-Türk Siyasal Düşüncesinde Ütopyacılık, Sosyalizm, Anarşizm, Sendikalizm, Bilimsel Sosyalizm”, Gürer Yayınları, İstanbul, 2012, ss.1236-1243. 25 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 416-418. 26 Ayrıntılı bir analiz için bkz. Yetkin, a.g.e., ss.1230-1235. 27 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 414-415. 28 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 419-420. 29 Heywood, Andrew, “Politics”, Palgrave Macmillan, USA, 2007, s. 63. 1938 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 gelmektedir. Kropotkin, anarşist-komünizmi, herkesin hoşnut olduğu, bolluk içinde olduğu bir düzen olarak betimlemiştir. Kropotkin, anarşist-komünizmi, ekonomik özgürlük ile siyasal özgürlüğün bileşkesi ve özgürlük ile eşitliğe duyulan sevginin ifadesi olarak açıklamıştır. Kropotkin, marksist kuramın tersine, toplumcu değil, bireyci bir komünizmi savunmuştur.30 “Anarko - Sendikalizm” ise,31 işçi sınıfının kapitalizme karşı üretim etkinliği içinde mesleki çerçevede örgütlenmesi ve mücadele etmesi gerektiğini, bunun dışında, verili düzeni yıkmaya dönük olsa bile doğası gereği yenisini kurmayı amaçladığı için siyasal hedefler gözeten politik eylemlerden ve örgütlenmelerden uzak durması gerektiğini savunan anarşist akımdır. Proudhon, anarko-sendikalizmin de babası kabul edilmektedir. Bu akım temelde, Fransız sendikalist kuramcı George Sorel’in ortaya attığı genel grev düşüncesi çevresinde biçimlenir. Proudhon’a göre otoriter düzeni ve sömürüyü ortadan kaldıracak devrim, ancak işçilerin genel grev yoluyla sistemi işlemez duruma getirmeleri ile sağlanabilir. Bu sendikacılık türü, parti güdümlü sendikacılıktan farklı olarak, kapitalist sanayinin kontrolünü ele geçirmeyi değil, sistemi topyekün ortadan kaldırmayı amaçlar.32 “Anarko - Kapitalizm” ise doğallık yani doğal düzene uyum düşüncesinden hareketle üretilmiştir. Anarko-kapitalistler bütünüyle serbestleştirilen piyasanın, özel çıkarı genel yarara dönüştüreceğine inanırlar. Devletin tüm işlerinin piyasa mekanizmasına devredilmesini savunurlar. Özellikle Amerikan bireyci anarşistlerinin herhangi bir siyasi örgütlenmeye gerek kalmaksızın, piyasanın görünmez eli marifetiyle tüm sosyal etkileşimleri düzenleyebileceğine inanırlar. Bu aşamada bir hususun altını çizmekte fayda vardır. Anarko-kapitalistler, minimal devlet fikrine asla tahammül edemeyen akımı temsil ederler. Anarko-kapitalistler devlet mekanizmasının gereksizliğine vurgu yaparlerken, Robert Nozick, devletin bütünüyle değil fakat önemli ölçüde ortadan kaldırılabileceğini savunur. Nozick’in savunduğu bu akıma, minimalizm ile anarşizmin birleşimi olarak oluşturulan “minarşizm”, “minarkizm” veya “sınırlı devlet liberteryenizmi” de denmektedir. Tamamen özgün bir kategori olarak ele alınan minarşizme göre, herkes kendi adalet anlayışını uygulama olanağı bulamaz. Adaletin topluma dağıtılması için bir aygıt gerekir. Bu bağlamda Nozick, Locke’un doğal hukuk düşüncesini anımsatan bir devlet kurgusu paralelinde düşünür ve minimal devleti, sadece koruma ve adalet dağıtımı görevi ile donanmış bir aygıt olarak tasvir eder. 33 Modern anarşist kuramlardan birisi de “Pasif Anarşizm” dir. Bu kuram, Thoreau’nun sivil itaatsizlik kavramından türetilmiş bir akımdır. Tolstoy’un dinsel temelli şiddet karşıtı düşünceleri de bu akım içinde değerlendirilebilir.34 Gandhi’nin İngiliz direnişine karşı direnişi; Amerika’daki ırkçılığa karşı siyah hareketinin önderi Martin Luther King’in barışçıl-şiddet içermeyen söylem ve eylemleri; Vietnam savaşı sonrası yükselen savaş ve zorunlu askerlik karşıtlığı da (vicdani ret) bu kapsamda eylemler olarak değerlendirilmektedir.35 Anarko-Feminizm ise ekonomik, siyasal ve toplumsal otoriteye karşı eleştirisini onların temelinde toplumsal bilinçaltındaki ata-erkilliğin bulunduğu savına dayandıran akımdır. Devlet erkek egemen bir kimliğe sahiptir. Toplumsal adalet, ancak cinsiyetlerin eşit hale getirilmesi ile olanak kazanabilir. Bunun içinse erkek egemen düzen ve onu yöneten otorite ortadan kaldırılmalıdır. 36 30 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 422-423. 31 Ayrıntılı bilgi için bkz. Atılgan, Gökhan ve Aytekin, E. Attila (Ed), “Siyaset Bilimi: Kavramlar, İdeolojiler, Disiplinler Arası İlişkiler” içinde, Zileli, Gün, ‘Anarşizm’, Yordam Kitap, İstanbul, 2012, ss. 318-321. 32 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 423-424. 33 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 425-427. 34 Türköne, a.g.e., s. 133. 35 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., s. 429. 36 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 429-430. Anarşizm Ve “Gezi Parkı” Olayları 1939 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 İnsani yaşam ile doğal düzen arasındaki uyumu ve bütünleşmeyi gözeten Eko-Anarşizm yaklaşımı37 ise, özellikle sanayi devriminden sonra gelişen boyutu ve içeriği ile teknolojik ilerlemenin, dünyamızın doğal yapısını, tüm yaşamsal varlığı tehdit edecek derecede tehlikeli bir boyutta bozduğuna dikkat çekmektedir. Bu akım, toplumun ekolojik değerlere göre yeniden biçimlendirilmesi üzerine argümanlar üreten bir akım olarak göze çarpmaktadır. Murray Bookchin’e göre, endüstri çağının ve siyasal-toplumsal düzenin temel verisi olarak hiyerarşi, insanın doğayla ve kendisiyle ilişkisinde bozucu bir etkiye sahiptir. İnsanın doğaya hâkim olma anlayışı, tam da insanın insan üzerindeki gerçek tahakkümünden kaynaklanır. Modern sanayi toplumunun yaşamakta olduğu ekolojik krizin temel nedeni de budur. Ekolojik toplum, doğa üzerinde insanın, kadın üzerinde erkeğin ve toplum üzerinde devletin tahakkümünü ortadan kaldıran hiyerarşik olmayan bir toplum tasarımıdır.38 Anarko-Nihilizm akımı da tüm sosyal kurumlara karşı kuşku ile bakan bir tür bireyci radikalizm akımıdır. En özet ifadeyle, kişinin özgürlüğünü, ancak toplumdan ve toplumsallıktan uzaklaşarak, kendi bireysel varlığı dışında kalan tüm yaşam alanı ile bağlarını koparıp kendi gerçekliği ile sınırlı bir yaşam içinde elde edebileceğini ileri süren akımdır.39 3. Anarşizm ve Gezi Parkı Eylemleri Gezi Parkı denildiği zaman önceleri, İstanbul Taksim Meydanı’nda bulunan ve insanların istifade ettikleri küçük ve şirin bir park akla gelirdi. Fakat 2013 yılı Mayıs ayının sonları itibariyle Gezi Parkı başka bir olayla gündeme geldi. İktidardaki hükümetin ve özellikle bu hükümetin başı olan Başbakan Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’ın söylemleriyle vücut bulacak bir projenin kamuyla paylaşılması bazı çevrelerin yoğun tepkilerine neden oldu. Söz konusu tepkilerin hükümet aleyhtarı aktif protesto ve gösterilere dönüşmesi ve Türkiye’nin yoğun bir “Gezi” gündemi yaşaması ise gecikmedi. Söz konusu olayları ve süreci anlayabilmek ve anarşizm bağlamında değerlendirebilmek içinse Gezi olaylarının oluşum aşamalarına kısaca göz atmanın faydalı olacağı düşünülmektedir.40 Zira kavram ve teorileri bu örnek olay üzerinden inceleyerek bir sonuca ulaşmak, çalışmanın esas amacını teşkil etmektedir. 3.1. Gezi Olayları Gezi olayları, Taksim Gezi Parkı’nda Alışveriş Merkezi (AVM) ve rezidans yapılacağına ilişkin siyasilerce yapılan açıklamalar ve medyada çıkan haberler üzerine, bu duruma “çevreci” söylemlerle yaklaşan bazı sivil toplum örgütleri ve siyasi partilerin 27 Mayıs’tan itibaren başlattıkları protesto gösterilerinin polis tarafından aşırı güç kullanılarak bastırılmasıyla büyümüş ve ülke sathına yayılmıştır. Gezi Parkı’nda inşaat çalışmalarının başlayacağı bilgisini alan ilk eylemci grup 27 Mayıs’tan itibaren tam gün nöbet tutarak duruma engel olmaya çalışmış, eylemin bitirilmesini isteyen emniyet güçlerine, parkta çadır kurmak suretiyle direnmiştir. 30 Mayıs günü sabaha karşı emniyet ve belediye ekipleri çadırları sökmüş, yakmış ve ardından yoğun miktarda biber gazı ve cop kullanarak göstericileri dağıtmaya çalışmıştır. Son derece şiddetli algılanan bu müdahale, eylemin çevreci karakterini değiştirmiş ve çapını büyütmüştür. Olayların sosyal medyada farklı tonlarda, kimi zaman gerçek dışı kolektif ifadelerle ve yoğun şekilde gündeme getirilmesi ile kalabalığın boyutları daha da artmıştır. Takip eden 31 Mayıs günü tekrarlanan polis 37 Detaylı bir inceleme için bkz. Karataş, Yılmaz, “Murray Bookchin ve Eko-Anarşizm Üzerine Notlar”, http://www.ozgurlukdunyasi.org/arsiv/263-sayi-170/692-murray-bookchin-ve-eko-anarsizm-uzerine-notlar, 11.12.2013. 38 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss. 430-432. 39 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., s. 433. 40 Ayrıntılı bir Gezi olayları kronoloji için bkz., http://tr.wikipedia.org/wiki/2013_Taksim_Gezi_Park%C4%B1_ protestolar% C4%B1_zaman_%C3%A7izelgesi. 1940 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 müdahalesi gösterileri daha da büyütmüş, olaylar çığ gibi büyüyerek Türkiye’nin başka şehirlerine yayılmıştır.41 Olayların şiddetli yaşandığı şehirlerin başında Ankara gelmiştir. 31 Mayıs 2013 tarihinde İstanbul’daki Gezi Parkı eylemlerine destek olmak ve polisin orantısız şiddet kullanımını protesto etmek amacıyla barışçıl şekilde Kuğulu Park ve etrafında yapılan eylemde Gezi Parkı’na destek veren sloganlar atılmıştır. Sonraki günlerde de devam eden eylemler sırasında halk, Kızılay Meydanı ve Kuğulu Park’ta eylemlerine devam etmiş,42 pek çok Ankaralı tencere ve tava eylemleri, çeşitli protestolar ve yürüyüşlerle Gezi olaylarına müdahil olmuştur. Bütün bu olaylar devam ederken, süreç içerisinde göstericilerin profili ile birlikte söylem ve yöntemleri de değişmiş, çevreci talepler hükümete, iktidar partisi ve ona oy verenlere ve özellikle Başbakan’a karşı bir söyleme dönüşmüş; eylemciler yoğun şiddet kullanarak kamu ve özel şahıslara ait malları yakıp tahrip etmeye ve olaylarla ilgisi olmayan insanlara karşı şiddet ve hakaret içeren davranışlar sergilemeye başlamışlardır. Başbakan ve kamu görevlilerinin şahıslarına ve ailelerine yönelik küfürler asli slogan haline getirilmiş, başbakana oy vermiş insanlar da benzer hakaretlerden nasibini almıştır. 31 Mayıs’a gelindiğindeyse, İstanbul 6. İdare Mahkemesi’nin Topçu Kışlası’yla ilgili yürütmeyi durdurma kararına rağmen gerek hükümet gerekse göstericiler tarafından bir uzlaşma adımı atılmaması sadece karşılıklı gerilimi yükseltmiştir. Olayların güvenlik güçlerine yansıyan bölümleri ise tartışmaları da beraberinde getirmiştir. Polis tarafından basınçlı su, cop, gaz bombası ve yer yer ateşli silah kullanılmış; bir gösterici polis silahından çıkan kurşunla hayatını kaybetmiştir. Yine polis tarafından haksız gözaltı yapıldığı ve gözaltına alırken ve sonrasında kötü muamelede bulunulduğu iddiaları da sosyal ve yazılı medyada sıklıkla dillendirilmiştir. Gösterici gruplar tarafından ise taş, sapan, demir bilye, molotof kokteyli, havai fişek vb. araçlar kullanılmıştır. Yine göstericiler iktidar partisinin bazı binalarını ateşe vermiş ve bazı belediye otobüslerini ve özel şahıslara ait otomobilleri kullanılamaz hale getirmiştir.43 Olaylar esnasında kamu görevlilerinin yaralandığı da ilgili makamlarca belirtilmiş, Başbakan ve hükümet üyelerince sıklıkla polisi destekler açıklamalar44 yapılmıştır. Sonuç olarak, yaklaşık bir ay süren Gezi olayları sürecinde can kayıpları, yaralanmalar, kamu binalarına, bazı özel mülklere ve iktidar partisi binalarına saldırılar gerçekleştirilmiş, siyasi ve toplumsal bir kutuplaşma meydana gelmiştir. Şiddetin bilançosu hükümet tarafından kesin olarak açıklanmamış olmakla beraber basın bilgilerine göre 5 ölü, 12 kişinin gözünü kaybetmesi, 60 ciddi yaralanma, yüzlerce hafif yaralanma ve yüzlerce gözaltı olduğu iddia edilmektedir. Olayların tırmanması ile birlikte ulusal medyanın yaşananları ilk günler yayınlamaktan kaçınması, sosyal medyayı ön plana çıkarmış, bu da olayların iyice yaygınlaşmasına ve dezenformasyon ile manipüle edilebilmesine sebep olmuştur. Bu süreçte Başbakan, önce AVM ve rezidanstan vazgeçtiğini, sonra da sadece şehir müzesi olarak işletilecek olan kışla inşa edileceğini söylemiş, 14 Haziran 2013’te de gösterici temsilcileri, sanatçılar ve gazetecilerle yaptığı toplantılar sonucunda, yargı kararının kesinleşmesini bekleyeceğini, karar aleyhte çıkarsa, uyacağını; lehte çıkarsa plebisite götüreceğini ve sonucuna göre davranacağını söylemiştir. Gelinen bu noktada tansiyon büyük ölçüde düşmüş ve göstericilerin bir kısmı gösterileri sonlandırmış bir kısmı da kamuya açık parklarda gösterilere devam etme kararlarını açıklamışlar, bu kararda ısrar ise, polisin kalanları dağıtmak için tekrar güç kullanmasına ve olayların yeniden tırmanmasına yol açmıştır.45 41 Candemir, Ümran Sırımsı ve İzmir, Mehmet (Ed), “Taksim Gezi Parkı Olayları Raporu”, Mazlumder İstanbul Şubesi, 2013, s. 3. 42 “Gezi Parkı Olayları Dosyası”, s.6, http://www.ankarabarosu.org.tr/siteler/ankarabarosu/hgdmakale/2013-1-1/2.pdf, 16.12.2013. 43 Candemir ve İzmir, a.g.m., s. 3. 44 “Başbakan: Bu Tayyip Erdoğan değişmez”, http://www.hurriyet.com.tr/gundem/23479966.asp, 18.12.2013. 45 Candemir ve İzmir, a.g.m., s. 4. Anarşizm Ve “Gezi Parkı” Olayları 1941 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 Buraya kadar kısaca açıklanmaya çalışılan olaylara bakılacak olursa, Gezi Parkı olayları üç aşamalı bir süreçte cereyan etmiş denebilir. İlk aşama ki, olayların başladığı günlerin hemen sonraki günlere denk gelen aşamadır, çevreci taleplerin dillendirildiği dönemdir. Bu dönemin talepleri de göstericileri de sonraki döneme göre farklıdır. Yaşanan ve ölçüsüz olduğu iddia edilen polis müdahalesi, olayların Türkiye sathına yayılmasına ve süreç içinde katılımcıların da taleplerin de değişerek “hükümet karşıtı” mahiyete dönüşmesine sebep olmuştur. Ölçüsüz ve orantısız bulunan polis müdahalesinin soruşturulması talebi de bu ilk dönemde dillendirilmeye başlanmıştır. 31 Mayıs-14 Haziran arası dönem ise çevreci taleplerin ortadan kaybolduğu ve gösterici- talep profilinin değiştiği dönem olarak göze çarpmaktadır. Bütün can kayıplarının ve önemli ölçüde yaralanma ve mala gelen zararların yaşandığı dönem bu dönemdir. Bu döneme, çevre ve ağaç sevgisi kaygısıyla hareket edenlerle; bozguncu ve kaotik bir ortam hayal ederek hükümete ve otoriteye karşı anarşist eylemlere başvuranlar arasındaki çizginin kesin olarak ayrıldığı dönem de diyebiliriz. Eylemlerin yayıldığı pek çok ilde görülen bu bozguncu hareketler polisten sert karşılıklar görmüş, fakat bu durum da yine sosyal-ulusal ve uluslararası medyada çokça eleştirilmiştir. 14 Haziran sonrası dönemde ise Başbakan’ın yargı kararının kesinleşmesini bekleyeceğini ve karar lehte çıksa bile plebisite gideceğini açıkladığı dönemdir. Fakat bu açıklama eylemciler tarafından yeterli bulunmamış ve bu tarihten sonra Gezi Parkı’ndaki göstericilerin bir kısmı eyleme devam etme kararlarını açıklamışlardır. Başbakan tarafından açıklanan bu karar yine de önemli ölçüde tansiyonu düşürmüş ve eylemlerin zaman içinde azalmasına sebep olmuştur. Bu tarihten sonra sokak eylemleri artık tamamen hükümeti hedef alan bir söyleme dönüşmüş ve gösterici profili de tamamen değişmiştir.46 Daha önce yaralanan eylemcilerden biri olan Ethem Sarısülük’ün 14 Haziran günü vefat etmesi de göstericiler arasında ve sosyal medyada kullanılmış ve ölen eylemci direniş ve olayların sembollerinden birisi haline getirilmiştir. Bu tarihten sonra da olaylar devam etmiş, fakat söz konusu eylemler yukarıda bahsedildiği üzere - birkaç olay hariç - daha çok “şiddetsiz eylemler” şeklinde kendini göstermiştir. 15 Haziran 2013 tarihinde, Başbakan Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’ın Ankara’nın Sincan bölgesinde yaptığı “Milli İrade’ye Saygı” mitinginde yaptığı açıklamalarda, Taksim Meydanı’nın boşaltılacağını duyurması yine tepkiyle karşılanmıştır. Başbakan’ın polis teşkilatına yönelik desteği de artarak devam etmiş; özellikle 18 Haziran 2013 günü yaptığı bir konuşmada Başbakan sert üslubunu sürdürerek, “polisi daha da güçlendireceğini ve eylemlerde polisin çok başarılı bir demokrasi sınavı verdiğini, şiddet uygulayanların terörist ve anarşist gruplar olduğunu” söylemiştir.47 Taksim Dayanışma Platformu gibi bazı oluşumların ve bazı aydın-gazeteci-yazar topluluklarının münferit ya da toplu açıklamalarının devam ettiği; “Duran Adam”, “Kırmızı Giysili Kadın” gibi sembolik eylem ya da eylemcilerin rol aldığı son dönemde eylemler ve eylemci sayısı iyice azalmış, özellikle Haziran ayı sonu ve Temmuz ayı başı itibariyle eylemler sonlanmaya başlamıştır. 3.2. Anarşizm Bağlamında “Gezi Olayları” nın Analizi Anarşizm denilince ne anlaşıldığını ya da ne anlaşılması gerektiğini; bu ideolojinin hangi kişilerce nasıl ele alındığını yukarıda özetlemeye çalışmıştık. Yine örnek olayımız olan Gezi olaylarında nelerin yaşandığını ve olayların nasıl sonuçlandığını da aktarmaya çalıştık. Örnek olayın Anarşizmle bağlantılı olduğu yerlerin analizinden önce Gezi olaylarına katılan grupların 46 Candemir ve İzmir, a.g.m., s. 4. 47 “Gezi Kronolojisi”, http://www.sosyaldemokratdergi.org/2013/08/gezi-kronolojisi/, 19.12.2013. 1942 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 profiline, eylemcilerin hedeflerine ve sonra da eylem tarzlarına kısaca göz atmanın faydalı olacağı değerlendirilmektedir. Gezi olayları ile ilgili pek çok anket ve çalışma48 yapılmıştır. Medya da sıklıkla yer bulan bu anketlere ya da yayınlanan raporlara bakılacak olursa, Gezi Parkı eylemcilerinin daha çok sistem karşıtı, ulusalcı çizgiye yakın ve küçük bazı sol gruplardan oluştuğu gözlenmiştir. Olayların en başından beri hükümetin İstanbul eksenindeki projelerine karşı çıkan Taksim Platformu üyelerinin farklı sol kesimlere mensup kişiler oldukları hususu bu görüşü desteklemektedir. Ülke genelindeki eylemcilerin de hem devrimci hem de ulusalcı sol çizgiye mensup kişilerden oluştuğu dikkati çekmiştir. Eylemlerin yoğunlaştığı bölgeler göz önünde bulundurulduğunda, Alevi kesimin de yoğun bir şekilde eylemlere katıldığı iddia edilmiştir. Stratejik Düşünce Enstitüsü’nün Gezi olayları ile ilgili yayınladığı raporda da belirtildiği üzere, oldukça geniş sayılabilecek bir yelpazeye sahip olan eylemci profilinin ana hatlarıyla aşağıdaki eğilimlerden oluştuğu söylenebilir:  Belirgin bir siyasal eğilimi olmayan, muhalif söylemin etkisinde kalan gençler,  Devrimci sol parti ve örgüt mensupları (TKP, EMEP, ÖDP seçmeni, DHKP-C gibi yasadışı sol örgütler),  Marjinal kesimler (Anarşist gruplar, feministler),  Seküler eğilimli milliyetçiler (MHP seçmeninin genel merkezle sorunlu dar bir bölümü),  Alevilerin genelde yukarıda sayılan gruplara yakın kesimleri,  Kendilerini Müslüman kapitalistler veya devrimci İslamcı şeklinde nitelendiren gruplar (İhsan Eliaçık grubu, bazı eski Has Partililer vb.),  Karışık ortamdan yararlanmak isteyen kriminal gruplar ile geçmişte de siyaset üzerinde belirli vesayet mekanizmaları oluşturmak isteyen militarist gruplar,  Yukarıda sıralanan kesimlere aidiyet hisseden bazı sanatçılar, akademisyenler ve gazeteciler, iş çevrelerinden bazı isimler,  Belli ideolojisi olmayan maceraperest veya meraklı kişiler.49 Görüleceği üzere, Gezi olaylarına katılan grupların daha çok sol eğilimli ve radikal gruplar olduğu dikkati çekmektedir. Öte yandan eylemlerin kısa sürede kitleselleşmesi ve bu kadar çeşitlilik sergileyen grupların böylesine hızlı bir şekilde ortak bir paydada buluşmaları da dikkati çeken bir durum olarak değerlendirilmiştir. Cumhuriyet mitingleri denilen süreçte de rol alan yukarıdaki grupların, yine bir eylemde birlikte hareket edebilmeleri ve bu sefer Cumhuriyet mitingleri sürecinde yapılan bazı hataların yapılmamasına yönelik pratikler de Gezi olaylarına yüklenen anlamı derinleştirmiştir. Diğer taraftan eylemi yönlendirenlerin toplumun yapısını iyi analiz ettikleri de görülmüştür. Toplumun bazı kesimlerinde on yıldan daha fazla bir süredir devam eden AKP iktidarına karşı güçlü bir öfkenin biriktiği bilinen ve dillendirilen bir gerçektir. Biriktirilen bu öfkenin birikmesinde 4-5 tane günlük gazete ve özellikle 2 TV kanalının her gün sistematik şekilde ve çoğu zaman yukarıda zikredilen grupların hayat görüşleri istikametinde yayınlar yapması da son 48 Bunlardan bir tanesi de, “Gezi parkı araştırması” dır. Söz konusu eylemcilerin profilleri, neden parka ve eyleme geldikleri ve daha pek çok soru ve cevabı, Konda şirketinin yapmış olduğu bir anketten öğrenmek mümkündür. Ayrıntılı bilgi için bkz. http://t24.com.tr/files/GeziPark%C4%B1Final.pdf, 23.12.2013. 49 “Taksim Gezi Parkı Eylemleri Raporu - Gezi Parkı Etrafında Yaşanan Toplumsal Olaylara İlişkin İzleme ve Değerlendirme”, Stratejik Düşünce Enstitüsü, Haziran 2013, ss.16-17, http://www.sde.org.tr/userfiles /file /SDE %20Taksim20Gezi%20Park%C4%B1%20Raporu%20Haziran%202013.pdf, 23.12.2013. Anarşizm Ve “Gezi Parkı” Olayları 1943 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 derece etkili olmaktadır. Bütün bunlara, kamuoyunu etkileme güçleri nispeten yüksek olan ve kamuoyunda “Beyaz Türkler” olarak da nitelendirilebilen eski rejimin elitlerinin hükümetten ciddi şekilde rahatsız oldukları gerçekliği de eklendiğinde durum daha da karmaşık bir hal almıştır.50 Esasında üzerinde durulması gereken asıl konu, Cumhuriyet mitinglerinin de ana aktörü olan mezkûr kesimlere gençlerin de eklenmesidir. Özellikle 1990’lı yıllarda doğan gençlerin olaylara katılması bağlamında izlenen stratejinin başarılı olduğu görülmüştür. Belirli yaş gruplarındaki gençlerin özellikle “otorite karşıtı” hareketlere sempati duyabilecekleri gerçeğinden hareketle, eylemleri örtülü şekilde destekleyenler bu dinamikleri önceden tespit etmiş ve harekete geçmesini sağlamıştır. Uzunca bir süredir Türkiye’de “yaşam tarzı” eksenli haberlere dikkat çekildiği bir ortamda, gelecekleriyle ilgili endişe duymaya sevk olunan bu gençler, AKP karşıtlığı ile sokaklara dökülmüş ve “otoriter” lider olarak görülen Başbakan’ın iktidardan indirilmesi ya da en azından koltuğundan edilmesi sürecinin belirginleştiği dikkati çekmiştir. Gelinen son noktada görülmüştür ki, özellikle gençlerin ve toplumun muhalif gruplarının, hükümetin yaşam tarzına müdahaleci tavrından rahatsızlık duyduğu ve Gezi Parkı olayları vasıtasıyla bardağın taşması sağlanarak sokaklara döküldüğü gözlenmiştir.51 Gezi eylemlerinin hedefine geçmeden önce eylemcilerle ilgili bir hususa daha değinmek faydalı olacaktır. Seta’nın “2013’te Türkiye” raporuna göre, eylemciler başlarda aynı hedef üzerine odaklanmışken (ağaç sevgisi, parkın yıkılmaması, Avm vs. inşa edilmemesi vs.), daha sonraları artan olaylar ve anarşist uygulamalar (bilindik şekliyle yakma, yıkma, otoriteye baş kaldırma, hükümeti devirme alt yapısı, kaos çıkarma vs.) eylemci ve/veya destekçilerin ayrışmasına yol açmıştır.52 Bu durum, eylemci profilinin değişmesi ve ayrışması ile birlikte eylemlerin niteliği ve seyrini de etkilemiştir. Peki, Gezi olaylarının hedefi ya da hedefleri nelerdi? Bir sosyal patlama olarak kabul edilen Gezi olayları, belli bir olay tarafından tetiklenen bir hadise miydi yoksa ön hazırlıkları yapılmış planlı bir aksiyon muydu? Aslında, eylemcilerin eylem alanına giderek olaylara katılmalarını sağlayan bireysel ve kolektif motifler, yine bir başka Seta raporuna göre “çeken faktörler” ve “iten faktörler” ikiye ayrılmaktadır. Eylemcilerin eylem alanına gelmelerini sağlayan saiklere çeken faktörler, eylemcilerin eylem sahasına gitmelerini sağlayan motiflere ise iten faktörler diye isim veren rapora göre, iten faktörlerin, zaman içerisinde oluşmuş derin ve köklü saikler; çeken faktörlerin ise daha yüzeysel ve ani gelişen faktörler olduğu dikkatlerden kaçmamıştır. Gezi Parkı eylemcilerini eylem sahasına çeken faktörlerden başlıcaları, Taksim Meydanı’nın lojistik bakımdan elverişli olması; eylem sahasının hereketliliği; eylemcilere polisin sert müdahalesi; eylem sahasındaki insan sayısındaki artış ve tüm bunların medyadaki yansımalarıdır. Gezi Parkı eylemcilerini eylem sahasına iten faktörler ise başlangıçta Gezi Parkı’ndaki yenileme ve modernizasyon çalışmalarıyken, yukarıda da belirtildiği gibi, gelişmelerle birlikte katılımcı profilinin değişmesine paralel olarak AK Parti hükümetine ve Başbakan’a duyulan kızgınlık ve nefret; temel hak ve özgürlükler kadar gündelik yaşamdaki bireysel özgürlüklere de müdahale edildiği yönündeki endişe; etnik, mezhepsel ve dini bakımdan birikmiş öfke; devlet otoritesine ve siyasal sisteme karşı edinilmiş muhalif pozisyonlardır.53 Seta “2013’te Türkiye” raporunda, hedeflerin oluşmasında eylemcilerin sürdürdüğü eylemler kadar, eylemler devam ederken ve sönümlendikten sonra birçok aktör ve kesimin 50 “Taksim Gezi Parkı Eylemleri Raporu……., a.g.m., s.19. 51 “Taksim Gezi Parkı Eylemleri Raporu……., a.g.m., s.19. 52 Ensaroğlu, Yılmaz, Ete, Hatem, Gür, Bekir S., Karagöl, Erdal Tanas, Ulutaş, Ufuk, “2013’te Türkiye”, Seta Yayınları, Ankara, 2013, s. 75. 53 Ete, Hatem ve Taştan, Coşkun, “Kurgu İle Gerçeklik Arasında Gezi Eylemleri”, Ankara, 2013, s.45-46. 1944 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 ürettikleri söylemlerle, eylemlere yükledikleri anlamında etkili olduğu ifade edilmektedir. Aynı rapora göre, eylemleri tek bir motife indirgemenin yanlış olduğu da ifade edilerek, Gezi eylemlerinin arkasındaki en belirleyici yaygın dinamiğin, Yeni Türkiye’nin dindar-muhafazakâr kesimlerin arzusu doğrultusunda AK Parti eliyle ve Erdoğan önderliğinde inşa edilmesine yönelik bir itiraz olduğu da dillendirilmektedir. Ülke çapındaki eylemler bir bütün olarak ele alınırsa, eylemlerin kısa ve orta vadeli hedeflerinde muhatap Başbakan Erdoğan iken, uzun vadeli hedefin muhatabı Erdoğan’ın yanı sıra AKP kadroları ve AKP’yi mümkün kılan-destekleyen toplumsal- siyasal kesimler olarak görülmektedir. Söz konusu bu hedefler, Gezi eylemleri süresince ve sonrasında yazılıp konuşulmuş, Gezi olayları ile var olan hükümetin hedeflendiği açıkça görülmüştür. Aynı raporda, Gezi eylemlerinin orta ve uzun vadeli hedefi ise, eski siyasal sistemin tasfiyesi sonrasında kurulacak olan yeni siyasal sistemin koordinatlarının belirlenmesinde Erdoğan ve AKP’yi vesayet altına almak, inşa projelerini hayata geçirmekten alıkoymak olarak ifade edilmiştir.54 Gezi Parkı eylemcileri arasında siyaset kurumuna duyulan güvensizliğin ileri boyutta olması, yayınlanan pek çok raporda ya da çalışmada55 açıkça görülmektedir. Siyaset kurumuna güvensizliğin ileri boyutta olması, esasen eylemlerin ortaya çıkışında ve katılımcı sayısının yüksek olmasında da etkili bir faktördür. Gençler siyasete ve siyasetçilere güven duyuyor olsalardı, doğal olarak kurumsal siyasetin kuralları içerisinde hareket etmeyi tercih edecekler ve belki de daha ılımlı hareket edeceklerdi. Fakat eylemler belli bir aşamadan sonra ve çok açık bir şekilde bizatihi siyaset kurumunun ve siyasi aktörlerin varlığına karşı bir pozisyona oturmuştur. Dolayısıyla bu karşıtlık, siyasetin ve siyasi aktörlerin eylemlerinin meşruiyetini değil varlığını ve kuruluş biçimini sorgulayan bir karşıtlığa evirilmiştir. Bu karşıtlık da, özellikle 19. Yüzyılda ortaya çıkan ve 20. yüzyılda güçlenerek etkisini gösteren sosyalizm, Marksizm ve anarşizm gibi ideolojilerin, içerisinde bulunduğumuz yüzyılda da tüm itirazlarıyla beraber canlı ve aktif olacağının işareti olarak algılanmaktadır.56 Burada dikkat edilmesi gereken temel husus, anarşizmin doğasında var olan “otoriteden yoksunluk ya da otoriteden arınma” söyleminin, Gezi olaylarında sıklıkla dillendirilmesi, fakat daha çok hissedilen tutumun var olan siyasi iktidarın devrilmesi üzerinde yoğunlaşması hususudur. Hatta burada Bakunin’e ait anarşist uygulama vücut bulmakta ve pratiğe geçirilmeye çalışılmaktadır. Daha önce de bahsedildiği üzere Bakunin -daha sonra da Kropotkin-, Proudhoncu barışçıl bir çizgiden radikal, tepkici ve devrimci bir çizgiye kayan görüşleriyle tanınmaktadır. Bakunin, devrim yoluyla devletin ortadan kaldırılmasını ve anarşist toplumsal düzenin kurulmasını savunmuştur. Dolayısıyla Bakunin, sadece bir düşünür değil, aynı zamanda bir eylem adamı olan ve tarihsel olarak anarşist hareketin kurucusu olarak kabul edilmektedir.57 Bahsedilen Bakuninci düşünce tarzı, Gezi olaylarında basit bir gerekçe ile örgütlenen, fakat var olan iktidara ve özelde Başbakan’a ve iktidarına biriken öfke ile harekete geçen anarşistleri eylemde bulunmaya ve başarılabilirse iktidarı düşürmeye heveslendirmiş görünmektedir. Sözü edilen bu husus pek çok medya organında tekrarlanmış fakat Gezi olaylarının eylemci profilinin değişmesi ve hükümetin yumuşak-sert ve kararlı tedbirler alması ile kadük kalmıştır. Konda araştırma şirketinin yaptığı Gezi araştırmasında dikkati çeken bir husus, aslında anarşist tutumun sayı-misyon bağlamında çok da abartılmaması gerektiğinin altını çizmektedir. Nitekim söz konusu ankette58, “neden Gezi parkındalar” sorusuna katılımcıların verdikleri 54 Ensaroğlu, Yılmaz, Ete, Hatem, Gür, Bekir S., Karagöl, Erdal Tanas, Ulutaş, Ufuk, “2013’te Türkiye”, Seta Yayınları, Ankara, 2013, s. 76. 55 Bu makalede yer verilen tüm raporlarda bu husus tespit edilmiştir. 56 Ete ve Taştan, a.g.m., s.39-41. 57 Çaha ve Şahin, a.g.e., ss.418-419. 58 “Gezi parkı araştırması”, http://t24.com.tr/files/GeziPark%C4%B1Final.pdf, 23.12.2013. Anarşizm Ve “Gezi Parkı” Olayları 1945 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 cevaplarda, “Devlet düzenine karşıtlık” cevabı % 19,5 gibi bir düzeyde kalmaktadır. Bir başka araştırma da kendilerini anarşist görenlerin oranı da % 1,6’da59 kalmaktadır. Buradan çıkan sonuç, anarşist tutum sergileyenlerin, genele oranla oldukça az sayıda olmaları ve olayları Bakuninci yaklaşımla algılamadıklarını göstermektedir. Olayların çığırdan çıktığı ve Taksim Meydanı, Kızılay Meydanı gibi yerlerin savaş alanına döndüğü sahnelere göre bu okumayı ele alacak olursak, aslında anarşizm kavramının terörle birlikte düşünüldüğü ve teorik olarak indirgendiği sonucu doğrulanmış olmaktadır. İlk bölümde de bahsedildiği üzere, anarşizm denilince yakan, yıkan, kaos ortamı oluşturan, terörize eden insanlara ait düşünüş biçimi akla gelmekte ve anarşist de bu uygulamanın savunucuları ve pratiğe geçiricileri olarak algılanmaktadır. Dolayısıyla, gerekirse sistemin ya da iktidarın ortadan kaldırılması için gerekirse devrim yapılması düşüncesi, Gezi eylemcilerinde görülen ciddi bir husus değildir. Aynı araştırmada “Özgürlüklerin kısıtlandığını düşündüğü için” ifadesinin % 58.1, “Ak Parti’ye ve politikalarına karşıtlık” ifadesinin % 37.2 ve “Erdoğan’ın açıklamalarına, tavrına tepki” ifadesinin de % 30.3 karşılık bulduğu görülmektedir. Söz konusu oranlara bakıldığında, Gezi eylemcilerinin, hükümeti-iktidarı-Başbakan’ı devirmeyi istemekten ziyade, özgürlüklerinin ya da diktatör uygulamaların karşısında tavır aldıkları görülmektedir. AKP düşmanlığı ya da “diktatör Başbakan” imajı kafalarına işlenen kitleler ise hırslarını yakarak, yıkarak, parçalayarak ve saldırarak çıkarmışlar; bu pratikler de eylemcilerin enerjilerinin boşalmasına vesile olmuştur. Gezi Parkı Direnişine, aslında bazı karakteristik yönlerden bakmak da faydalı olacaktır. Nitekim hiçbir siyasal pratik tek başına ve kaba anlamıyla sadece bir politik protesto değildir. Bazen kişisel mutsuzluklar da bir devrim gerekçesine dönüşebilmekte ve ortaya çıkan toplumsal gerekçelerle insanlar sokaklara dökülebilmektedir. Dolayısıyla Gezi olaylarını daha iyi anlamlandırmak için, toplumsal muhalefetin geleneksel güçleri (örgütler/partiler/sivil toplum örgütleri) ile örgütsüz mutlu ve mutsuz kesimlerin nasıl bir araya geldiği sorusu da önem kazanmaktadır. Tekin’e göre Gezi Parkı Direnişi dört noktada yoğunlaşmaktadır. Bunlar Reformizm, Hedonizm, Nihilizm60 ve Anarşizmdir. Konumuzla ilgili olan anarşizm faslını son sıraya bırakarak diğer üç noktaya61 da kısaca değinmenin faydalı olacağı düşünülmektedir. Tekin’e göre “öncelikle Gezi Parkı Direnişi devrimci değil reformisttir. Küçük ve bazı geleneksel partiler ile örgütler dışında direnişe katılan hiçbir bireyin tamamen devrim istediğini varsaymak ve buna dair gözlemler, yorumlar sunmak mümkün değildir. Siyasal rejimden ortaya çıkan rahatsızlıkların tümü hükümetin tasarrufunda bulunan kent (İstanbul) yönetiminin pervasız, bireyci ve çıkarcı politikalarının yol açtığı rahatsızlıklardı. Bu açıdan Başbakan Recep Tayyip Erdoğan'ın Gezi Parkı Direnişi daha patlak vermeden birkaç gün önce ortaya attığı konuların, verdiği söylevlerin fundamental içeriği ve yine kışkırtıcı üslup ve yöntemi, toplumda ve yine tek tek birey bazında psikolojik bir gerilmeye yol açmıştır. Bu yönüyle toplumun ve bireylerin bu köşeye sıkışma hissiyatı Gezi Parkı Direnişinin psikolojik alt yapısına giden yolu açmıştır. Merkezi hükümetin bu köşeye sıkıştırma politikalarına karşı örgütlü ve örgütsüz gruplar, bireyler dur ihtarı çekerek sokaklara akın etmiştir. İşte Gezi’nin reformist yanı tam da burada ortaya çıkmaktadır.” 59 Ete ve Taştan, a.g.m., s.52-53. 60 Nihilizm hakkında ayrıntılı bir inceleme için bkz., Aydemir, Mustafa, “Ret ve İnkârın Kıskacındaki Nihilist Karakterler: Bazarov ve Suat/The Nihilist Characters Surrounded By Denial and Denegation: Bazarov and Suat”, Turkish Studies - International Periodical For The Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic, Volume 8/8 Summer 2013, http://www.turkishstudies.net/Makaleler/1093599013_009AydemirMustafa-123-138.pdf, DOI Number: 10.7827 /TurkishStudies.5249, p. 123-138, 18.05.2014. 61 Tekin, Yılmaz, “Post-Modern Bir Meydan Okuma: Gezi Parkı Direnişi”, http://blog.radikal.com.tr/Sayfa/post-modern- bir-meydan-okuma-gezi-parki-direnisi-31285, 14.12.2013. 1946 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 Yine Tekin’e göre,62 Hedonizm yani “hazcılık” bağlamında konuya bakılacak olursa, “insan varoluşu itibariyle bilinçli veya bilinç ötesi bir dürtü ile hayatı boyunca bir haz arayışındadır. Dünyada insanın haz duyabileceği sınırlı pratikler vardır. Güç, yemek yemek, seks veya seyahat bu haz duyulacak eylemlerin başlıcaları olarak sıralanabilir. Fakat insanın güç arzusu her zaman için tatmini zor bir dürtüdür. İşte tam da bu noktada haz duyulacak ve hazzın peşinde koşulan bir arzuya dönüşmesi ve bunu tatmin etme arayışı için diğer bir alan ise isyan etmektir. İsyan son noktada insanın haz duyabileceği müthiş bir eylemlilik durumudur… İsyan etme hali insanın haz arayışında son noktadır… Otoriteye isyanı teşvik eden temel dürtü insanın isyan etme halinden aldığı müthiş hazdır. Devletler kendilerini korumak isterken seçtikleri en iyi yol bireyin haz arayışını bastırmak ve onu manipüle etmektir. Tarihsel örneklerinden öğrendiğimiz kadarıyla otoriter rejimler insanları durmadan çalıştırırlar… İşte Gezi Parkı Direnişi, isyan etme hazzından yoksun olan ve çoğunluğu 1990 sonrası doğmuş bir kuşağı isyan etmenin inanılmaz üst boyutlarda olan hazzı ile tanıştırmıştır… Bu genç kesim sosyolojik ve hatta psikolojik olarak isyan etmeme üzerine yetiştirilmişti. Evde babasına bile karşı gelemeyen çocuk devlete, otoriteye ve onun türevi her şeye karşı geldi. İşte bu kesim için Gezi Direnişi isyan etmenin hazzı demektir.” Gezi Parkı Direnişinde nihilistlerin sayıca çok olmadığı fakat Taksim ve çevresinde kümelenen 30 yaş üstü bir kesimin direniş boyunca varlığını örgütsüz ve birbirinden bağlantısız bir şekilde bir eğilim olarak koruduğu da söylenebilir. Tekin’e göre, “onların temel rahatsızlığı siyasal olmaktan öte daha ahlaki değer sistemi ile ilgiliydi. Türkiye gibi ülkelerde tanrı ve türevi otorite kavramlarını reddediyorsan, onların ahlak ve değer sistemlerinin dışında konumlanıyorsan ciddi anlamda yaşam alanı bulmakta zorlanırsın. Taksim ve çevresi toplumun diğer kesimleri için sadece hafta sonları bir uğrak yeriyken kendisini kavram olarak nihilist olarak tanımlamasa bile yaşam ve duruş bakımından bu kavramın içeriğine yakın duran kesim için mekân olarak Taksim bir var olma yeridir. İşte merkezi hükümetin Taksim'i ele geçirme operasyonuna bu nedenle bu kesim karşı koymuştur.”63 Tekin’e göre, “Anarşizm kavramı kapsamına direniş boyunca bir şehir efsanesi olarak anlatıya kavuşan cipten inip taş atan adam da giriyor, hayatını bir sokak çocuğu olarak Taksim ve çevresinde geçiren çocuk da giriyor. Anarşist kavramını daha özgün bir biçimde anarşist fikriyatın türevleri olmakla birlikte otoriteye karşı gelme güdülenmesini bir var oluş şekli olarak ele alan kesim için kullanan Tekin, Gezi Direnişinde gözlemlediği bir olayı şöyle anlatıyor. “31 Mayıs akşamı İstiklal Caddesi üstünde gecenin en hareketli saatleri yaşanırken bir sokak çocuğu ve giyiminden anlaşıldığı kadarıyla gayet üst orta sınıfa mensup biri samimi bir ortaklık kurmuş, bankaların camlarını kırıyorlardı. Bu farklı sosyal sınıflara ait iki kişiyi bir araya getiren temel motivasyon kesinlikle otoriteye karşı gelme arzusuydu. Daha da ileri taşırsak bu tam olarak saf bir anarşizmdir. Anarşist olmanın bir sınıfı yoktur. Anarşizm mutlak anlamda bir eşitlenme halidir. Bir sokak çocuğu ile bir iş adamı veya benzeri bir konuma sahip birini başka türlü bir şey asla bir araya getiremez. İşte bu eşitlenme hali direnişin en güzel karelerinden biriydi. Direniş boyunca en anarşist tipleri oluşturan sokak çocuklarının bu düzende mutlak anlamda bir yerleri yoktu ve büyük ihtimal direnişten tek beklentileri ve tek hazları bu eşitlenme durumunu yaşamaktı. Burada eşitlenmeyi yaratan şey kuşkusuz şiddet değildi. Banka camlarını kırmak, düzenin kurumsal kimlikleri ile özdeşleşen yapılara saldırmak bir şiddet değildir! Çünkü sömürü ve eşitsiz düzenin yegâne ve vahşi temsilcileri bankalardır. O sokak çocuklarının bankalara saldırması bir nevi hayattan ve düzenden kendi intikamlarını almaktı. Bunu bilinçlice yapmamış olsalar bile bu en derine indiğimizde karşımıza çıkacak bir duygu durumudur. Ayrıca politik bir güdülenmeden uzak ve ekonomik olarak rahat diye tarif edeceğimiz kesimlere ait bireylerin bu anarşist tutumları ise onların felsefi tercihleri ile ilgilidir. İşte anarşizm Gezi Parkı Direnişi gibi aniden patlak veren 62 Tekin, a.g.m. 63 Tekin, a.g.m. Anarşizm Ve “Gezi Parkı” Olayları 1947 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 olaylarda insanları hemen eşitler ve güçlendirir.” Tekin’ göre, “nasıl ki 1968 Fransa ayaklanması Avrupa'da sosyal, entelektüel, akademik vb. birçok alanda bir alt üst oluş yarattıysa Gezi Direnişi de akıl ve anlam bakımından Türkiye'de bir alt üst oluş yaratmıştır. Bunu bugünden doğru tam olarak görmezsek bile önümüzdeki yıllarda bunun kıymetini daha iyi anlayacağız. İşte bu nedenle Gezi’nin varsa bir ruhu o da örgütsüz, plansız ve hiçbir modernist kalıba, öze sığmayan bu post- modern meydan okumasıdır.64 Gezi olaylarında anarşizmin pek çok alt unsuruna rastlamak da mümkün olmuştur. Örneğin, “otoriter düzeni ve sömürüyü ortadan kaldıracak devrimin, işçilerin genel grev yoluyla sistemi ya da düzeni işlemez hale getirmeleri ile olanaklı hale geleceğini” savunan anarko- sendikalizmin pratiği Gezi olaylarında denenmiştir. 04 Haziran 2013 tarihinde, KESK'in Gezi Parkı protestolarına destek için başlattığı grev, Ankara'da DİSK, bazı siyasi parti ve dernekler ile STK'ların da katılımıyla mitinge dönüşmüştür. İstanbul'da Taksim Meydanı ve İzmir'de Gündoğdu Meydanı'nda da gösteriler tertip edilmiş65 ve grev yoluyla sistemin “hizaya sokulması” pratiği sergilenmiştir. Bir başka husus da doğa sevgisi ya da ağaç katliamı ile ilgilidir. Söz konusu Gezi olayları, Gezi Parkı’nda kesilen üç-beş tane ağaca yönelik eylemler ile başlamıştır. Dolayısıyla eylemlerin ilk kıvılcımı, “doğa katliamı” argümanı ve eylem pratiği ile hayata geçirilmiştir. Bu durum, Eko- anarşizm akımının ifade ettiği “teknolojik ilerleme ve dünyanın doğal yapısının bozulmasını sağlayan modern yaşam düzenine karşı bir tepki” ve “toplumun ekolojik değerlere göre yeniden biçimlendirilmesi; toplumla doğa arasında yeni bir denge ve ilişki tesis edilmesi” argümanlarıyla uyumlu bulunmuştur. Kesilen birkaç ağaç ve bu ağaçlara gösterilen tepkinin, polisin sert uygulamalarıyla kitleselleşmesi, ekolojik unsurların anarşist bir pratiğe evrilmesinde katkı verebileceğinin ispatı olarak görülmüştür. Yine anarko-kapitalist yaklaşım sergilendiğini düşünen bir internet yazarı, “Taksim Gezi isyanında ne bir kahraman vardı ne de bir halk önderi. Kırsallardaki pek çok mücadelede olduğu gibi iktidarsız alanlarda özdenetimleriyle, öz disiplinleriyle ve gönüllülükleriyle bir araya gelen bireyler “devlete” ve “kapitalizme” karşı verdikleri mücadelede otoriteden rekabetten ve bencillikten uzak, bir ilişki biçimi deneyimlediler. Yine kırsallardaki pek çok mücadelede olduğu gibi Gezi Parkı’nda da deneyimlenen paylaşma ve dayanışma ilişkileri; siyasi duyarlılığı olmayan pek çok bireyi etkilemeye, dönüştürmeye yetti”66 diyerek, anarko-kapitalizmin rekabetten arınmış, kişisel çıkar ve bireysel özgürlük bağlamındaki düşüncelerine gönderme yapmıştır. Daha önce de ismi zikredilen Konda şirketine ait Gezi araştırmasında belirtilen bir istatistik, Robert Nozick’in “minimal devlet” tanımında ifade ettiği görüşlerin pratik bir yansıması gibi algılanmaktadır. Söz konusu ankette, “neden Gezi parkındasınız?” sorusuna, “Özgürlüklerin kısıtlandığını düşündüğü için” cevabını verenlerin oranı % 58,1’dir.67 Nozick’e göre minimal devlet gereklidir fakat mezkûr devlet, sadece koruma ve adalet dağıtımı görevi ile donanmalıdır. Buradan anlaşılan, Gezi eylemcilerinin de istediği, özgürlükleri kısıtlayan değil, sadece belli bir koruma ve adalet sağlayan devlet modelidir. Gezi eylemlerinde “mini” düzeyli pasif anarşizm pratikleri de sergilenmiştir. Tamamen durarak ya da polisin karşısında saldırı yapmaksızın bekleyerek gerçekleştirilen eylemler, Gezi eylemlerine damgasına vurmuştur. Yerli ve yabancı basında oldukça fazla yer verilen “Duran 64 Tekin, a.g.m. 65 “Sendikalardan 'Gezi' grevi”, http://www.ntvmsnbc.com/id/25447157/, 28.12.2013. 66“Devrimci Anarşist Faaliyet, Selanik’te “Mücadeleye Devam” başlıklı oturumda Taksim Gezi Direnişi’ni anlattı”, http://anarsistfaaliyet.org/sokak/devrimci-anarsist-faaliyet-selanikte-mucadeleye-devam-baslikli-oturumda-taksim-gezi- direnisini -anlatti/, 15.12.2013. 67 “Gezi parkı araştırması”, http://t24.com.tr/files/GeziPark%C4%B1Final.pdf, 23.12.2013. 1948 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 Adam”68 ve “Kırmızılı Kadın”69 eylemleri, “sivil itaatsizlik” temalı eylemler olarak tarihe geçmiş pasif anarşizm pratikleri olmuştur. Görüldüğü üzere, ifade edilen anarşizm akımları ve bunlarla ilişkili anarşist eylemlerin nitelik ve nicelikleri Gezi olaylarına damgasını vurmuştur. Belki bu tip anarşistler, küçük gruplar olarak ve sesleri çok da çıkmayan eylemciler olarak sahneye çıkmışlarsa da, Zileli’nin de ifade ettiği gibi, “Gezi hareketinde anarşizm önemli bir bileşendir ve daha önemlisi anarşist fikirler Gezi hareketine çok önemli bir katkı sağlamıştır.”70 Daha göze görünen ve gerek polisi gerekse hükümeti etkileyen eylemler ise, daha çok teröriste eşit algılanan, dağıtan, yıkan, parçalayan, kıran, döken anarşist pratikler olmuştur. 4. Sonuç Anarşizm, günlük kullanımda terör, kaos, şiddet, düzensizlik ya da kargaşa gibi olumsuz anlamlarla kullanılan bir ideoloji çeşididir. Daha çok bu olumsuz anlama göre algılanan anarşistler ise teröristlerle eşdeğer düşünülmektedir. Birkaç tane de olsa, şiddete cevaz veren anarşist akımın varlığı, anarşistlerle şiddet yanlılarının aynı kefeye konulmasına katkı sağlamaktadır. Fakat otoriteyi hazmedemeyen, hiyerarşik yapılanmayı reddeden anarşist kuramların pek çoğu aslında şiddeti reddetmektedir. Ancak Bakunin ya da Kropotkin’in düşüncelerinde yer bulan devrimci anarşizmde bile şiddet, istenen devrim gerçekleştirilinceye kadar geçici bir süre için uygulanabilir görülmüştür. Dolayısıyla anarşizm denince akıllara gelen şiddet eylemlerinin tümünü anarşizme bağlamak ve tüm anarşizm savunucularını yakıcı-yıkıcı-devirici-dökücü anarşistler olarak anlamak insafsızlık ya da en basit ifadeyle cahilliktir. Daha önce de ifade edildiği üzere, bohemliği ya da otoritesiz yaşamı, başkalarının özgürlük alanlarını da hiçe sayar bir şekilde şiddetle süsleyen insanların anarşist olarak adlandırılmasının, terörist ya da bozguncu ile anarşistin arasındaki çizginin ayırt edilememesinden kaynaklandığı açıktır. Bu çizginin ayırt edilemediği olaylardan birisi de şüphesiz Gezi olaylarıdır. Gezi olayları ilk başlarda masumane oturma eylemleri şeklinde başladıysa da, bahsedildiği üzere, polisin sert karşılık vermesiyle başka bir istikamete evirilmiş ve söz konusu olay, eylemci profili ve eylem hedefleri olarak da ilk halinden ayrışmaya başlamıştır. Dolayısıyla, Gezi olaylarının kabuk değiştirerek çevreci kaygılardan daha geniş siyasi hedefler ortaya koyması, eylemlere sempatiyle bakan kesimler tarafından inşa edilen dilin sorgulanmasını da beraberinde getirmiştir. Gezi eylemleri, Haziran ayının ilk günlerinden itibaren demokrasi ve kişisel özgürlükler gibi evrensel kavramlar yerine Başbakan Erdoğan özelinde AKP hükümetini tehdit eden bir nitelik kazanmıştır. Aynı dönemde farklı kurum ve kuruluşlar tarafından yapılan bir dizi nicel araştırma, görünürde tamamen heterojen olan gösterici kitlesi içerisinde sol ve seküler eğilimlerin ağırlığını ortaya koymuştur. Bu gelişmeler, eylemlere destek vermeyen kesimlerin sokak gösterilerine katılan kitleye dair somut eleştiriler geliştirmesini mümkün kılmıştır.71 Dolayısıyla Gezi olayları şeklinde kavramsallaştırılan olayların etkileri giderek azalmış, eylemlere katılan insanlar ise gitgide radikal unsurlara bölünmüştür. Sayıları da azalan bu unsurlar çareyi yakmakta, yıkmakta, parçalamakta ve birikmiş kin ve kızgınlıklarını bu şekilde boşaltmakta bulmuşlardır. Hükümetin Haziran ayı sonunda son kararını vermesi, Taksim Gezi Parkı’nın boşaltılacağı ve Taksim meydanının “anarşistlerden” temizleneceğini açıklaması ile olaylar durulmaya başlamış, bundan sonra yapılan 68“Taksim'de "duran adam" eylemi”, http://www.cnnturk.com/2013/turkiye/06/18/taksimde.duran.adam.eylemi/712011. 0/index.html, 29.12.2013. 69 “'Kırmızılı Kadın' İngiliz basınına konuştu”, http://www.ntvmsnbc.com/id/25447981/, 29.12.2013. 70 Zileli, Gün, “Gezi Hareketi Notları-4”, http://www.gunzileli.com/2013/07/31/gezi-hareketi-notlari-4-gezi-hareketinin- bilesenlerinden-anarsistler-uzerine/, 19.12.2013. 71 Ete ve Taştan, a.g.m., s.92. http://www.cnnturk.com/2013/turkiye/06/18/taksimde.duran.adam.eylemi/ Anarşizm Ve “Gezi Parkı” Olayları 1949 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 eylemler ise Türkiye’nin çeşitli illerinde icra edilen basit yürüyüşler ve toplanmalardan öteye geçmemiştir. Söz konusu Gezi olayları yaklaşık bir ay kadar tüm Türkiye’nin gündemine oturmuş, yerli ve yabancı basının en çok ilgi gösterdiği olay olarak tarihe geçmiştir. Bağlamı gereği bu makalede çok bahsedilmeyen sosyal medya boyutu ile kitlelerin bir anda organize olduğu ve aslında birbirleriyle çok alakasız grupların aynı amaç uğruna birlik olabildiği Gezi olaylarında pek çok insan yaralanmış ve 5 insan da yaşamını yitirmiştir. Sonuç olarak denebilir ki, 2013 yılı Mayıs ayı sonlarında, Taksim Gezi Parkı içerisindeki birkaç ağacın kesilmesi ve ardından bu olaya tepki gösterenlere, polis tarafından orantısız ve çok sert olduğu iddia edilen bir şekilde müdahale edilmesiyle patlak veren Gezi olayları da, kavramsal olarak açıklanmaya çalışılan anarşist pratiklerden etkilenmiştir. Fakat ağaç sevgisi, kapitalizm karşıtlığı, sivil itaatsizlik ya da pasif anarşizm, özgürlük ve sosyalist yaşam özlemi, komünist ideal, sendikal anarşizm, minimal devlet özlemi ve nihilistik anarşizmin izlerini taşıyan Gezi olayları, bahsedilen anarşizm akımlarının denendiği bir laboratuvar olmaktan öteye geçememiştir. “Hükümet uygulamalarının ve Başbakan’a duyulan öfkenin, Gezi olayları bahane edilerek gündeme getirilmesi ve çıkacak sonuçtan nemalanmayı bekleyen kesimlerin, sonu şiddete ve kargaşaya dönüşen eylemlerden medet umması” şeklinde ifade edilebilecek Gezi olaylarının sonuçlandırılması ile söz konusu gündem sıcaklığını kaybetmiştir. Yaşanan Gezi olaylarından geriye kalanlar ise, ülkenin ve ülke insanının karşı karşıya kaldığı maddi-manevi kayıplar; bozulan ülke itibarı; siyasal, sosyal ve ekonomik açıdan incelenmesi gereken pek çok konu ve elde edilen istatistiklerdir. KAYNAKÇA * Yazarı Olan Kaynaklar ATILGAN, Gökhan ve AYTEKİN, E. Attila (Ed), “Siyaset Bilimi: Kavramlar, İdeolojiler, Disiplinler Arası İlişkiler” içinde, Zileli, Gün, ‘Anarşizm’, Yordam Kitap, İstanbul, 2012. AYDEMİR, Mustafa, “Ret ve İnkârın Kıskacındaki Nihilist Karakterler: Bazarov ve Suat/The Nihilist Characters Surrounded By Denial and Denegation: Bazarov and Suat”, Turkish Studies - International Periodical For The Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic, Volume 8/8 Summer 2013, http://www.turkishstudies.net/Makaleler/ 1093599013 _ 009 AydemirMustafa-123-138.pdf, DOI Number: 10.7827/TurkishStudies.5249, p. 123- 138, 18.05.2014. CANDEMİR, Ümran Sırımsı ve İZMİR, Mehmet (Ed), “Taksim Gezi Parkı Olayları Raporu”, Mazlumder İstanbul Şubesi, 2013. ÇAHA Ö. ve ŞAHİN B., “Dünyada ve Türkiye’de Siyasi İdeolojiler” içinde, Tok, Nafiz ve Koçal, Ahmet Vedat, ‘Anarşizm’, Orient Yayınevi, İstanbul, 2013. DAĞ, Ahmet Emin, “Uluslararası İlişkiler Sözlüğü”, Ağaç Kitabevi Yayınları, 3. Basım, İstanbul, 2009. ENSAROĞLU, Yılmaz, ETE, Hatem, GÜR, Bekir S., KARAGÖL, Erdal Tanas, ULUTAŞ, Ufuk, “2013’te Türkiye”, Seta Yayınları, Ankara, 2013. ETE, Hatem ve TAŞTAN, Coşkun, “Kurgu İle Gerçeklik Arasında Gezi Eylemleri”, Ankara, 2013. HEYWOOD, Andrew, “Politics”, Palgrave Macmillan, USA, 2007. 1950 Suat Tayfun TOPAK Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 9/5 Spring 2014 KARATAŞ, Yılmaz, “Murray Bookchin ve Eko-Anarşizm Üzerine Notlar”, http://www. ozgurlukdunyasi.org/arsiv/263-sayi-170/692-murray-bookchin-ve-eko-anarsizm-uzerine- notlar, 11.12.2013. TEKİN, Yılmaz, “Post-Modern Bir Meydan Okuma: Gezi Parkı Direnişi”, http://blog.radikal. com.tr/Sayfa/post-modern-bir-meydan-okuma-gezi-parki-direnisi-31285, 14.12.2013. TÜRKDOĞAN, H. İbrahim, “Max Stirner ve (Bireyci) Anarşistler”, http://www.projekt maxstirner.de/anarsi.htm, 14.12.2013. TÜRKÖNE, Mümtaz’er (Ed), “Siyaset” içinde, Türk, H. Bahadır, ‘İdeoloji’, Lotus Yayınevi, İstanbul, 2010. UĞUR, Gökhan, “Dünden Bugüne Anarşizm ve Anarşizmin Çözmesi Gereken Sorunlar”, Gazi Üniversitesi İktisadi ve İdari Bilimler Fakültesi Dergisi, 12/1, 2010, ss. 133-158. WENZER, Kenneth C., “Godwin'in Anarşist Gelenek İçindeki Yeri: İkiyüzüncü Yıl Anısına”, http://www.geocities.ws/anarsistbakis/makaleler/kwenzer-godwinanarsistgelenek.html, 08.12.2013. YETKİN, Çetin, “Siyasal Düşünceler Tarihi – III XX. Yüzyıl Başlarına Kadar Batı ve Osmanlı- Türk Siyasal Düşüncesinde Ütopyacılık, Sosyalizm, Anarşizm, Sendikalizm, Bilimsel Sosyalizm”, Gürer Yayınları, İstanbul, 2012. ZİLELİ, Gün, “Gezi Hareketi Notları-4”, http://www.gunzileli.com/2013/07/31/gezi-hareketi- notlari-4-gezi-hareketinin-bilesenlerinden-anarsistler-uzerine/, 19.12.2013. * İnternet Kaynakları “Başbakan: Bu Tayyip Erdoğan değişmez”, http://www.hurriyet.com.tr/gundem/23479966.asp, 18.12.2013. “Bireyci Ve Toplumsal Anarşistler Arasındaki Ayrımlar Nelerdir?”, http://anarsistbakis.wordpress.com/2008/09/08/bireyci-ve-toplumsal-anarsistler-arasindaki- ayrimlar-nelerdir/, 09.12.2013. “Devrimci Anarşist Faaliyet, Selanik’te “Mücadeleye Devam” başlıklı oturumda Taksim Gezi Direnişi’ni anlattı”,http://anarsistfaaliyet.org/sokak/devrimci-anarsist-faaliyet-selanikte- mucadeleye-devam-baslikli-oturumda -taksim-gezi-direnisini-anlatti/, 15.12.2013. “Gezi Kronolojisi”,http://www.sosyaldemokratdergi.org/2013/08/gezi-kronolojisi/, 19.12.2013. “Gezi parkı araştırması”, http://t24.com.tr/files/GeziPark%C4%B1Final.pdf, 23.12.2013. “Gezi Parkı Olayları Dosyası”, http://www.ankarabarosu.org.tr/siteler /ankarabarosu /hgdmakale/2013-1-1/2.pdf, 16.12.2013. “'Kırmızılı Kadın' İngiliz basınına konuştu”, http://www.ntvmsnbc.com/id/25447981/, 29.12.2013. “Sendikalardan 'Gezi' grevi”, http://www.ntvmsnbc.com/id/25447157/, 28.12.2013. “Taksim Gezi Parkı Eylemleri Raporu - Gezi Parkı Etrafında Yaşanan Toplumsal Olaylara İlişkin İzleme ve Değerlendirme”, Stratejik Düşünce Enstitüsü, Haziran 2013, http://www.sde.org.tr/userfiles/file/SDE%20Taksim%20Gezi%20Park%C4%B1%20Rapor u%20Haziran%202013.pdf, 23.12.2013. 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work_axytpkv6svc7bndq5kryw6scg4	----	Energy Conservation Framework MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. • Vol. 4 No. 5 • October 2011 • DOI: 10.1089/sus.2011.9659 Sustainability 245 Introduction If the goal is to reduce the environmental footprint of our energy usage, then a strategy that emphasizes reduced energy consump- tion is less costly and has fewer negative consequences than a strategy of produc- ing and using new energy, regardless of the energy source or the degree of efficiency. Abstract The quickest, cheapest, and most effective way to reduce the environmental impacts of energy usage is to conserve, i.e., to consume less energy. However, one potential pathway to reduce energy usage—efficiency—has become dominant over all other forms of energy conservation. Among the reasons for the dominance of efficiency are the narrowness and fuzziness in our understanding of what conservation actually means, and in particular the confusion and conflation between conserva- tion and efficiency. We define conservational as reducing the environmental footprint of energy generation or consumption relative to the pre- conservation state. This paper clarifies this concept of conservation through offering a four-dimensional integrative frame- work. Conservation is, within this framework, an “end,” with four “means” to get there: 1.) reducing demand through behavioral changes that decrease actual consumption; 2.) eliminating waste through behavioral and technological changes that remove energy usage, which engenders no gain in utility; 3.) substituting for higher impact methods of using energy with lower impact methods through behavioral and technological alterations of fundamental approaches and technologies; and 4.) using energy more efficiently through technological improvements to existing approaches. The integrative framework is presented at three levels of implementation—individual household, commercial building, and institutional—to demonstrate the power of an integrative, holistic approach to conservation. Our assertion is that the real progress toward reducing the environmental footprint of energy usage, as well as the interrelated social and economic impacts, comes from carefully analyzing and balancing the full mix of potential conservation strategies, including, but not limited to, efficiency. Research and Solutions Energy Conservation Framework An Integrative Framework for Energy Conservation Planning, Policy, and Strategy By Jack Edelstein, Ph.D.1 and Michael Shriberg, Ph.D.2 1Energy Conservation Strategies LLC, Ann Arbor, Michigan. 2Graham Environmental Sustainability Institute, Program in the Environment, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Michigan. This position represents a consensus view in the theoretical literature as well as, increas- ingly, among energy management practitio- ners. 1-4 Despite this consensus, the focus of energy policies, strategies, and project funding reveals a very strong bias toward using and producing energy more efficiently (efficiency), rather than reducing energy consumption (conservation). 5- 9 Why has conservation, given its strong theoretical and practical pedigree, not been more wide- ly embraced by policy makers, institutions, practitioners, academics, and homeowners? While there are many reasons for the domi- nance of efficiency over conservation— including cultural, political, and technologi- cal factors—one potential explanation stems 246 Sustainability MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. • Vol. 4 No. 5 • October 2011 • DOI: 10.1089/sus.2011.9659 from the narrowness and fuzziness in our thinking about what conservation means and how it is different from efficiency. The two concepts require deeper differentiation and more structured thinking in order to be effectively balanced and operationalized. This definitional fuzziness has more than intellectual consequences: efficiency gains do not always lead to reduced consump- tion and may in fact lead to the opposite outcome, as the rebound effect and related economic theories demonstrate. 10-13 To more clearly understand conserva- tion and to maximize its application, we present a four-dimensional integrative framework for defining conservation and its application, based in part on our experience with the Planet Blue program for energy conservation (http://www. planetblue.umich.edu/) at the Univer- sity of Michigan. Examined in terms of the implications of decision making by individual homeowners, multi-occupant buildings, and institutions, this framework places efficiency as one strategy to conserve energy rather than as an end goal in and of itself. Our assertion is that the real progress toward reducing the environmental foot- print of energy usage, as well as the inter- related social and economic impacts, comes from carefully analyzing and balancing the full mix of potential conservation strategies, including, but not limited to, efficiency. Efficiency’s Dominance There are strong cultural impediments to conservation that are embedded in val- ues and norms, such as the widely held beliefs (particularly in Western societies) that growth is a desirable social goal,6 that energy is an inalienable right2, that the energy market is rational and will correct for inefficiencies, and that conservation equates with deprivation.14 Conservation and efficiency have battled for supremacy in American ideology for at least a century. The deeply held notions of frugality and simplic- ity stem from such American icons as Benja- min Franklin (“waste not, want not”), Henry David Thoreau, and the classic images of self-sufficient Yankees or pioneers. This con- servation-oriented ethic was most visibly enacted last century during the world wars (although the social goals were quite differ- ent) and then again during the energy crisis of the 1970s.15 However, the concept and social goal of efficiency—not just in energy but in business and social policy writ large— appears to have won the battle to dominate American culture, professional practice, and academic research. This trend has become more prominent since President Carter’s largely derided pleas for conservation and an ethic of self-sufficiency.6 Conservation has come to have a negative connotation associated with sacrifice and discomfort that runs counter to progress.15 Meanwhile, efficiency, and the growth in GDP that goes along with it, is now the largely un- questioned policy and social goal in energy policy and beyond. Efficiency has an over- whelmingly positive connotation associated with economic and social progress. Even in academic circles, research on energy conser- vation behavior is being minimized in favor of the technological, efficiency-oriented approach.9 Policy makers, analysts, and practitioners emphasize technological improve- ments over behavioral, ethical, and more socially challenging notions of conser- vation. For example, the New York Times recently reported that “Governments around the world that used to promote en- ergy conservation are shifting their focus toward energy efficiency as a way to curb global warming without constraining eco- nomic growth.”14 As this dominance of efficiency has progressed, the terms conservation and efficiency have been confused and conflated, sometimes even by conservation advocates who believe their goals have a better chance of being actualized when tied to the domi- nant concept of efficiency. For example, the assertion that “…increased energy efficiency could lead to halving of per capita energy requirements in the industrialized world” disregards the fact that increased efficiency in the United States over the past 40 years has coincided with a consistent annual increase in energy consumption. Simi- larly, the claim that “the U.S. building sec- tor can produce 30-50% of its energy needs by more efficient use of energy, i.e., by conservation,”17 directly conflates the two terms. The contention that “energy conser- vation in [the] building industry refers to replacement or retrofit of old and inefficient equipment with new energy-efficient tech- nologies”18 also confounds the terms. Even the renowned energy analyst Amory Lovins seems to confuse the terminology, or not be concerned about the distinction, when he asserts that “…for me, efficiency and conser- vation is the same thing.”19 This analytical fuzziness manifests itself in institutional and governmental policy as well as individual behavior. An Integrative Framework for Defining Ways To Conserve Energy A solid yet broad conceptual framework for energy conservation can help advance both practice and theory by providing specific terminology, parameters, and benchmarks for planning, implementing, and measuring across the full spectrum of the conserva- tion doctrine. Our framework offers insight for integrating technological systems and individual behaviors, thereby enabling the development of a more organic approach that will result in enhanced energy con- servation outcomes. We define conserving as reducing the environmental footprint of energy generation or consumption rela- tive to the preconservation state. Conser- vation is, within this framework, an “end,” with four “means” to get there. Each of the four conservation strategies is associated with characteristic behavioral and/or tech- nology choices and a unique life-cycle cost (Table 1). Research and Solutions Table 1. Costs of the Four Components of an Integrative Energy Conservation Framework Reduce demand Eliminate waste Substitute Maximize efficiency Zero Low Moderate HighCost Decreasing demand. Demand reduc- tions involve conscious behavioral choices to reduce usage of the prod- uct or output derived from an energy resource despite the loss of utility. There- fore, this parameter typically involves psychologically based initiatives that encourage individuals or institutions to alter consumption patterns even though doing so involves some sacrifice. The direct costs for reducing demand in this way are typically minimal. Eliminating waste. Wasting is the act of consuming resources without deriving any value. This is distinguished from 1. 2. MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. • Vol. 4 No. 5 • October 2011 • DOI: 10.1089/sus.2011.9659 Sustainability 247 These four strategies form a continuum in which the boundaries are fluid for certain actions and issues and are dependent upon the assumptions about actors, benefits, and system boundaries. For example, home weatherization is a strategy to eliminate waste from the perspective of the home- owner and the home itself, since heating or cooling that leaks out of the home provides no utility to the homeowner. From the per- spective of furnace output, weatherization is an efficiency measure since increases in weatherization lead to increased heating or cooling per unit of energy consumed by the furnace. Therefore, for analyses to be use- ful, they must pay careful attention to the boundaries of the system as well as the per- spective of the analyst. Applying the framework at the homeowner level Applying the Integrative Energy Conser- vation Framework at the individual level in situations in which the individual has a relatively high degree of control over the amount of resource consumption (e.g., a homeowner) reveals the usefulness of as- sessing conservation options. We use the example of showering (Table 2) because the possible decisions are easily comprehensible, and because it allows us to apply the frame- work to water as well as energy (e.g., natu- ral gas) to heat the water. The principles for energy conservation apply equally well to other resources such as water. This exam- ple does not delve into the life-cycle cost of production and disposal of the shower components (e.g., the water heater, shower stall or tub, shower head, and faucets, etc.). Options to decrease demand when show- ering include reducing the shower time or number of showers taken, lowering the flow rate (i.e., accepting less water), or accepting less hot water by lowering the water tem- perature, thereby reducing the amount of energy used in heating the water. In each case, the solution is entirely behavioral and involves some sacrifice of utility. Potential actions to reduce or eliminate waste when showering include fixing a leak- ing showerhead, turning off the shower while soaping up (e.g., when the water is not serving a need), or adjusting the water heat- er thermostat to match actual usage of hot water, i.e., reducing the amount of energy devoted to heating water that does not actu- ally get used. These activities do not involve any loss of utility. A simple example for substitution of show- ering is taking a sponge bath, thereby drasti- cally reducing the use of water, along with the energy required to move and heat it. Another example is substituting solar hot water collectors for a conventional fossil- fuel based water tank. The sponge bath approach is relatively low cost and includes both behavioral as well as technological ele- ments, while the solar panel solution is more expensive and technologically oriented. Both require a change in approach to achieve the same goal. Improved efficiency when showering can be achieved by installing a low-flow shower- head (assuming shower duration and satis- faction stay constant), which also results in less energy used to heat the smaller volume of water. Similarly, even more energy reduc- tion can be attained by replacing a lower- efficiency with a higher-efficiency hot water heater. These approaches provide the same service for less energy through technological improvements. Applying the framework at the multi-occupant building level Applying the integrative framework at the multi-occupant building level (Table 3) offers insights into combining systems- based solutions with individually oriented approaches. Too often, facility managers operate the building’s mechanical sys- tems so as to minimize or even eliminate occupant complaints, rather than to seek the more challenging objective of systematically balancing occupant comfort with lower resource consumption. This framework can help counteract this tendency. Examples of conserving energy through decreasing demand in buildings and facili- ties include accepting lower temperatures in winter and higher temperatures in summer and shortening building operating hours during periods of less intensive use (e.g., during holidays). Behavior-based efforts to reduce demand in operating the build- ing may involve some loss of utility among excess, which involves some marginal utility. Waste is exacerbated when the perpetrator of the waste feels no con- sequence, e.g., a college student or an office worker who does not pay (directly) for the utilities used by his or her institution. Therefore, the conse- quences of wasteful behavior are hid- den. Eliminating waste is typically both a behavioral and technological action, involving no sacrifice or loss of utility but reliant on education and expertise. Reducing or eliminating waste is gener- ally a low-cost strategy since there is no value lost. Substituting less resource-intense alternatives. Substitution means switching a current behavior or method with one that delivers similar benefits in ways that result in a smaller footprint. This substitute parameter can be both behavioral, when the demand side is being substituted, or technological, when the supply element is being sub- stituted. The expense of substituting is variable; it is generally high when it involves an advanced technology com- ponent (e.g., solar collectors), but it can also be low when the changes are behavioral. The key distinguishing fea- ture of substitution is that the practice or technology is fundamentally altered, not just reduced or improved. Maximizing efficiency. Increasing efficiency of production or consump- tion means using fewer resources to create a given unit of output, or receiv- ing more output for the same level of input. This standard way of thinking about “saving energy” is largely tech- nological and generally requires signifi- cant upfront investment. 3. 4. Table 2. Integrative Energy Conservation Framework at the Individual Level: Showering Example Reduce demand Eliminate waste Substitute Maximize efficiency Shorter shower Lower flow rate Lower the water temperature Shut off when lathering Fix leaKs Turn down when not being used Sponge bath Solar Low flow shower head High-efficiency hot water heater Water Natural Gas 248 Sustainability MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. • Vol. 4 No. 5 • October 2011 • DOI: 10.1089/sus.2011.9659 Substitution is perhaps the most challeng- ing of the four elements for buildings, yet it also offers the most opportunities for cre- ative solutions. For example, using a desk lamp instead of overhead lights can reduce the amount of energy used for lighting by 90 percent. This technological and behavioral switch is probably the most effective way that an individual can reduce energy use in the office. Other examples include wear- ing more clothing during the winter—i.e., substituting thermal layers of clothing for higher heat settings—and substituting a fan or space heater for a change in the heating or air-conditioning level. While the traditional approach in the energy conservation com- munity is to shun the use of fans or space heaters, the strategy of selectively substitut- ing these accessories for increased HVAC may actually contribute to energy reduction, particularly in light of the fact that there is a very high correlation among those who complain about being cold in the winter and hot during the summer.20 Efficiency improvements typically involve upgrading or replacing equipment, rang- ing from minor system modifications such as exchanging standard serpentine belts with cog-belts, to larger investments such as replacing an absorption chiller with a centrifugal chiller. These technologically oriented solutions tend to absorb the most time and resources of energy professionals. Applying the framework at the institutional level Using the example of an institution of higher education (Table 4), this framework can help categorize and assess the many programs and policies relating to conservation at the institutional level. Reducing demand in a higher education institution typically involves investing in a behavioral change program that attempts to influence decisions and choices. For example, according to the Association for the Advancement of Sustainability in Higher Education,21 over 50 colleges and universi- ties have Eco-Rep programs in which stu- dents and/or staff attempt to model environ- mentally responsible practices that reduce demand for energy (and other resources). Many others have simple signs encouraging students to take shorter showers or to lower lighting levels, for example. A more com- prehensive approach to reducing demand would involve shutting down buildings or entire institutions during certain periods (e.g., winter break). While the effectiveness of these campaigns varies widely, the insti- tutional investments tend to be small when compared with maximizing efficiency or resource substitution. There are typically no formal policies, but rather informational or motivational campaigns. Similar to reducing demand, institutions of higher education tend to invest in elimi- nating waste through individual campaigns or initiatives. These initiatives may even be started and maintained by students as Research and Solutions Table 3. Integrative Energy Conservation Framework at the Building Level Reduce demand Eliminate waste Substitute (smaller footprint) Maximize efficiency Accept lower temperature in winter, higher in summer Shorten building hours Close down portion of building during slow times Use natural light Eliminate some ceiling light fixtures Share equipment among units Avoid flushing after smaller output Ongoing preventative maintenance Tighten building envelope Schedule HVAC to match actual building hours Turn lights off when not in use Occupancy sensors Apply power- save mode Use motion- sensing power strip Shut down when facility is unoccupied Repair leaks Insulate pipes Wear more (less) clothing during winter (summer) months Use fan or space heater Use task lamp instead of overhead lights Upgrade equipment Install new equipment Use CFL or LED bulbs Purchase Energy Star equipment Low-flow aerators Waterless urinals Dual-flush handles HVAC Lighting Equipment Restroom occupants, arising from decisions made by the facility manager or business admini- strator. Although we have a great deal of data about how much energy is consumed by various societal functions (e.g., transportation, food production, facility operations), there is sur- prisingly little data about how much energy is wasted in buildings. Nonetheless, even a casual observation of almost any building fa- cility will reveal various levels of waste (e.g., lights on in empty rooms, HVAC systems operating when the building is unoccupied, and dripping water faucets). The sources of this waste vary from technological to behav- ioral, as do the potential solutions. Table 4. Integrative Energy Conservation Framework at the Institutional Level: Higher Education Example Reduce demand Eliminate waste Substitute Maximize efficiency Behavioral change programs Vampire slaying campaign Computer shutoff program Renewable energy investments Green building policy Efficiency revolving loan funds Institutional Policy/ Program MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. • Vol. 4 No. 5 • October 2011 • DOI: 10.1089/sus.2011.9659 Sustainability 249 opposed to institutions. The resultant behav- ioral changes involve no sacrifice since the activity being encouraged is not producing any value, distinguishing them from reduc- ing demand. For example, vampire power— defined as power used by electronic devices when they are plugged in but not in use—is drawing increasing attention from clean- energy advocates. Campaigns to ensure that these devices are left unplugged (“slay the vampires”) are being run by students on many campuses. Other campuses are focused on educating students and faculty to turn off computers and monitors when not in use, particularly overnight. Reducing waste in lighting can be achieved via coor- dinated efforts to leave rooms dark when not in use. However, investments in these initiatives tend to be scattered and small unless they are tied specifically to procure- ment waste reduction initiatives. A familiar institutionalized way to conserve energy in higher education is through poli- cies and investments that substitute renew- able energy for fossil fuels. Whether it is installing solar panels or wind turbines on campuses, committing to a renewable energy standard, or purchasing Renewable Energy Certificates (RECs), this substitu- tion often receives the most attention and resources. This strategy is often the focus of student activism and administrative public relations efforts. The most common way to conserve energy at the institutional level in higher educa- tion, as elsewhere, is through investments in efficiency. The proliferation of green build- ing policies (typically using a LEED stan- dard), energy efficiency loan funds, and institutional building retrofits, focus almost exclusively on this parameter. Invest- ments in these technologically based efforts dominate institutional efforts and are often implemented through formal policy and programs. Conclusion Under the assumption that the quickest and most cost-effective way to reduce our impacts from fossil fuels is through avoid- ing the usage of nonrenewable energy, we define energy conservation from an inte- grative perspective. Our assertion is that this integrative, systemic approach is more effective in promoting reductions in energy usage (and usage of other resources) than policies and strategies that focus on efficiency only. The current dominance of efficiency results in capital-intensive and technology-based solutions, disempowering individuals and institutions by encourag- ing them to overlook the more behavioral- oriented options for energy conservation. For example, replacing an old furnace with a more efficient one may not be as effective as simpler measures to reduce demand, such as shortening the building’s operating hours. For efficiency measures to achieve a maxi- mum impact they should be combined with the other elements of the integrative frame- work. The endorsement of an integrative approach to energy conservation should not be misin- terpreted as an argument against efficiency, for efficiency has a central role to play in the goal of reduced energy consumption. Rath- er, any effort to conserve energy—whether at the individual, building, or institutional level—should examine all four elements of the conservation framework and select the specific strategy mix that matches the par- ticular situation. The strength in this defini- tional approach to conservation lies in the clarity with which decision makers can ana- lyze potential options to achieve an end goal of reducing the environmental footprint of energy usage. Acknowledgments The authors wish to thank David Gard and Andrew Horning for their thoughtful reviews, and Jennifer Geiger for her research and analytical acumen. Author Disclosure Statement No conflicting financial interests exist. References 1.Coltrane S, Archer D, and Aronson E. The social-psychological foundations of suc- cessful energy conservation. Energy Policy 1986;1(4):133-148. 2. Harris J, Diamond R, Iyer M, et al. Towards a sustainable energy balance: Pro- gressive efficiency and the return of energy conservation. Energy Efficiency 2008;1:175- 188. 3. Kollmuss A, and Agyeman J. Mind the gap: Why do people act environmentally and what are the barriers to pro-envi- ronmental behavior? Environ Educ Res 2002;8(3):239-260. 4. Winet RA, and Ester P. Behavioral sci- ence and energy conservation: Conceptual- izations, strategies, outcomes, energy policy applications. J Econ Psychol 1983;3:203- 229. 5. Harris J, Diamond R, Payne C, et al. Don’t supersize me! Toward a policy of consumption-based energy efficiency. Pro- ceedings of 2006 ACEEE Summer Study on Energy Efficiency in Buildings. American Council for an Energy-Efficient Economy, Asilomar, CA. 6. Herring H. Energy efficiency—A critical view. Energy 2006;31:10-20. 7. Princen T. The Logic of Sufficiency. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, 2005. 8. Spence A, and Pidgeon N. Psychology, climate change & sustainable behaviour. Environment: Science and Policy for Sus- tainable Development 2009;1(6):8-18. 9. Wilhite H, Shove E, Lutzenhiser L, et al. The legacy of twenty years of energy demand management: We know more about individual behaviour but next to nothing about demand. In Jochem E, Sathaye D, and Bouile D (eds.). Society, Behavior, and Climate Change Mitigation. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, the Netherlands, 2000. 10. Alcott B. Jevons’ paradox. Ecol Econ 2005;54(1):9-21. 11. Greening LA, Greene DL, and Difiglio C. Energy efficiency and consumption—the rebound effect—a survey. Energy Policy 2000;28:389-401. 12. Khazzoom JD. Economic implica- tions of mandated efficiency in standards for household appliances. Energy Journal 1980;1(4):21-40. 13. Sorrel S. Jevons’ Paradox revisited: The evidence for backfire from improved energy efficiency. Energy Policy 2009;37:1456- 1469. 14. Strauss MJ. Efficiency replaces con- servation as the goal of energy saving policies. New York Times, 2007. http:// www.nytimes.com/2007/10/30/business/ worldbusiness/30iht-reneff.1.8110766.html (last accessed 5/12/2011). 15. Moezzi M. The predicament of ef- ficiency. Proceedings of the 1998 ACEEE Summer Study on Energy Efficiency in Buildings. American Council for an Energy-Efficient Economy 1998;4:273-282. 16. Shippee G. Energy consumption and conservation psychology: A review and 250 Sustainability MARY ANN LIEBERT, INC. • Vol. 4 No. 5 • October 2011 • DOI: 10.1089/sus.2011.9659 Research and Solutions conceptual analysis. Environ Manage 1981;4(4):297-314. 17. Shama A. Energy conservation in US buildings: Solving the high potential/low adoption paradox from a behavioural per- spective. Energy Policy 1983;11(2):148-167. 18. Yalcintas M, and Kaya A. Conservation vs. renewable energy: Case studies from Ha- waii. Energy Policy 2009;37(8):3268-3273. 19. Lovins A. Morning Edition, All Things Considered. NPR, January 12, 2010. 20. Marans R, and Edelstein J. The human dimension of energy conservation & sus- tainability: A case study of the University of Michigan’s energy conservation program. J. Sustain. in Higher Educ 2010;11(1). 21. Association for the Advancement of Sustainability in Higher Education (AAS- HE). Peer to Peer Sustainability Outreach Campaigns. http://www.aashe.org/re- sources/peer-peer-sustainability-outreach- campaigns (last accessed 6/30/2011). Address correspondence to: Michael Shriberg, Ph.D. Graham Environmental Sustainability Institute University of Michigan 625 E. Liberty Street, Suite 300 Ann Arbor, MI 48104 Email: mshriber@umich.edu 
work_az3zfajvojanbc6gcc554fby54	----	Studies, with — as might be expected — particular reference to German-American relationships. We congratulate Dr.Fischer and his colleagues, and look forward to an exchange of views and pub- lications. Future issues of the BAAS Bulletin will no doubt "x contain a fuller account of the Jahrbuch. • * * * • * • * * OTHER NEWS D-£. Myron L. Koenig, whom many of us had the pleasure of knowing when he was cultural attache at the American Embassy in L-.ndon, is now back at his post as professor of history at George Washington University. He retains, however, a keen interest in our doings, which he has summarized in the April, 1957, issue of American Studies (the newsletter of the American Studies Association). In his place, we are pleased to welcome Dr. Carl Bode, of the University of Maryland. Those who attended the Nottingham con- ference were able to meet Dr. Bode. We hope to see a lot of him during his tour of duty? for apart from being professor of English at Maryland, and a well-known scholar in the field of American lit- erature (the editor of Collected Poems of Henry David Thoreau and co-editor of American Heritage, a two-volume anthology) ," he was the founder and first president of the American Studies Association. His enthusiasms therefore lie very close to ours; and, speaking from a selfish point of view, his is a most happy appointment for the BAAS. Dr. Bode's most recent book is The American Lyceum; T^wn Meeting of the Mind (New York, Oxford U.P., 1956), a fascinating history of this important lecture-movement, written with a nice edge of humour. •*•#•*•*•**• BOOKS RECEIVED We acknowledge with thanks the receipt of the following: - James Woodress (comp,), Dissertations in American Literature, 1891-1955 (Durham, N.C., Duke U.P., 1957, pp. x,100, §2.00, paper covers). This is,.a most useful bibliography. Using more than 2500 theses picduced at about 100 universities in the U.S. and Europe. Titles have been arranged alphabetically by subject, first by individual authors, then by general topics. The writers of the theses are indexed separately. -Allan Houston Macdonald, Richard Hoyey: Man and Craftsman (Duke U.P., 1957, pp. xiii,265, #5.00); a critical biography of an American man of letters and bohemian of the 1890's, who like his contemporaries Frank Norris and Stephen Crane died young — in 1900, at the age of 35. His personality is more interesting than his work. - Hans Galinsky, Amerikanisches und Britisches Englisch (Studien und Texte zur Englischen Philologie, Band k-', Max Hueber Verlag, Munich 13, 1957, pp. viii,96, DM. 7.90, paper covers). Two intelligent, competent and entertaining essays, of which the first is in German and the second in English, by an observer who visited America in 1955. He considers the extent to which "American" and "English" have diverged, and gives examples of American English "as an index to American culture" and as "a linguistic exchange partner"(as revealed in recent https://doi.org/10.1017/S0524500100002953 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0524500100002953 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms 
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work_b3zlurofyrgnbfgnqet4ubvm2i	----	The Scarlet Lever: Hester's Civil Disobedience The Scarlet Lever: Hester's Civil Disobedience Michael Pringle ESQ: A Journal of the American Renaissance, Volume 53, Number 1, 2007 (Nos. 206 O.S.), pp. 31-55 (Article) Published by Washington State University DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/esq.2007.0005 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/223486 https://doi.org/10.1353/esq.2007.0005 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/223486 31esq | v. 53 | 1st quarter | 2007 The Scarlet Lever: Hester’s Civil Disobedience michael pringle The A on Hester Prynne’s breast both demands and defies interpretation. That “scarlet letter, so fantastically embroi- dered. . . had the effect of a spell, taking her out of the ordi- nary relations with humanity, and inclosing her in a sphere by herself.”1 Exactly what her extraordinary “relations” to the community are, and how the A functions as social symbol, punishment, and act of rebellion, are questions that grow more complex as the story progresses. Despite this complexity, critical commentary on The Scarlet Letter frequently privileges one theoretical position over another. Of particular concern in this discussion, deconstructionists and semioticians of the 1980s tended to give short-shrift to political aspects of the power struggle, while subsequent New Historical readings have rarely done justice to the intricacies of signification. The A, however, clearly operates in more than one arena; the focal point of the novel, it is—among other things—text and penalty, public brand and private albatross, obvious symbol and mystic rune, badge of shame and emblem of pride. Both Derridean possibilities of signification and Foucauldian notions of power relations are certainly useful for interpreting the struggle over the A; indeed, the complicated push and pull between the two comes sharply into focus when we view Hawthorne’s novel through the lens of Thoreau’s contemporaneous model of symbolic political action in “Resistance to Civil Government.” As many readers have noted, The Scarlet Letter foregrounds ESQ53.1.indb 31 9/25/07 8:35:45 AM From the inside cover to the first edition of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter: A Romance (Boston: Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1850). Reproduced by permission of the Huntington Library, San Marino, California, call no. 120122. ESQ53.1.indb 32 9/25/07 8:35:45 AM the scarlet lever 33 the signifying process, and while this would seem to invite de- constructionist glosses, such glosses raise a problem of circular logic in a text that foregrounds indeterminacies in significa- tion. One way around this problem is to claim Hawthorne as a deconstructionist—as does Ralph Flores, who sees the novel as an “allegory of an allegory” in which the A is endlessly re- allegorized and the symbol’s meaning is endlessly deferred.2 While there is much in the text to support such a reading, it is not fully adequate to understanding the function of the A in the novel. Hawthorne’s Puritans speak through the “godly magistrates” with an unquestioning dependence on moral authority; they are a people for “whom religion and law [are] almost identical” (54, 50). Where political power is linked to God and religion is the center around which the community is structured, there cannot be any casual questioning of the official decree that brands Hester an adulteress. The very core of the Puritan experiment depends on the ability to fix the play of interpretation through access to grace, and hence to God. If the A Hester wears begins to signify contrary to what the mag- istrates have publicly determined, then that shift in meaning constitutes a loss of control and poses a serious threat to the entire structure’s grounding. The beginning of this “ungrounding” is inherent in Dim- mesdale’s private fall from grace and is later strengthened by Hester’s public actions. While at first the magistrates seem to have the power to fix the meaning of the A within narrow boundaries, those boundaries expand as the narrative unfolds. Admittedly, the nature of the sign as a sign offers Hester an in- herent instability she can exploit; however, she must first find the power to act as an individual against a seemingly monolithic Puritan society if she is to resist the brand of “Adulteress.” The A isolates Hester, but hardly equips her with the power to resist; however, its indeterminacy enables her to exploit a weakness in the punitive, politically imposed emblem her community uses to discipline her. Indeed, the strategy she employs to gain political power parallels Thoreau’s model of civil disobedi- ence, where action itself becomes symbolic and, conversely, the symbol can become a form of action. If the symbolic A can be used to exert pressure on Hester, then it can also, to ESQ53.1.indb 33 9/25/07 8:35:46 AM michael pringle 3� borrow Thoreau’s figure, be “a counter friction to stop [or slow] the machine.”3 The metaphor of a lever implies a large imbalance in force at the different ends, which pertains in the novel: “The unhappy culprit sustained herself as best a woman might, under the heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all fastened upon her, and concentred at her bosom. It was almost intolerable to be borne” (56). Yet, if the symbol is the lever, then signification is the fulcrum, even though it proves a very slippery site from which to pry. zzz As Derrida notes, part of “the structurality of structure” is that it necessarily posits a center: “The function of this center [is] not only to orient, balance and organize the structure—one cannot in fact conceive of an unorganized structure—but above all to make sure that the organizing principle of the structure [will] limit what we might call the freeplay of the structure.”4 The desire for closure is closely linked to repression in Derrida’s model of how language functions in Of Grammatology: the clo- sure of semantic play is of prime concern to those invested in a system. While Derrida avoids directly discussing the nature of political power in this text, it is implicated in the establish- ment and guardianship of a proposed center: even as it offers a guarantee of meaning, it is an instrument of repression. Basic to Derrida’s position here is that the very invocation of this “center” to guarantee meaning (through access to some proposed transcendental signifier for ordering all signifieds) risks putting that seemingly fixed center back into play and thus raises the possibility of rupture.5 This looming possibility runs through The Scarlet Letter: when Arthur Dimmesdale attempts to take the A from Hester in the final scaffold scene, the ephemeral nature of the center is ultimately exposed. Rupture can pro- duce a crisis of emptiness, where the center is shown to be nonexistent, and therefore must be refixed, or supplemented (replaced), in some altered form. The A on Hester’s chest ob- viously poses a threat to her (in the form of repression) and, less obviously, to the community (in the risk of rupture). To stop play and fix a center requires power, even violence, as the ESQ53.1.indb 34 9/25/07 8:35:46 AM the scarlet lever 35 famous opening scene of The Scarlet Letter clearly shows when the Puritan magistrates demand that Hester name Pearl’s father. Michael Gilmore recognizes in Hester a thinker who re- sembles Henry David Thoreau and suggests “Thoreau may well have been in [Hawthorne’s] mind when he wrote The Scarlet Letter.”6 G. Thomas Courser convincingly argues that Thoreau influenced “The Old Manse” (the prefatory sketch to Mosses from an Old Manse, 1846) and shows that Hawthorne was in close contact with Thoreau and his ideas in the period leading to the composition of The Scarlet Letter, as does Buford Jones.7 “Twice, during the winter of 1848–1849,” for example, Hawthorne “arranged for Thoreau to lecture, offering to put the young man up at his Mall Street house.”8 “Resistance to Civil Govern- ment” (or “Civil Disobedience”) was first published in 1849, one year before The Scarlet Letter, in “Article X” of Aesthetic Papers; Hawthorne’s “Main Street” appeared in “Article VIII” of the same publication, which was edited by his sister-in-law, Eliza- beth Peabody. Given this suggestive proximity, Hawthorne’s deepest explorations of the boundaries of society and the powers of individualism—particularly the portrayal of Hester Prynne’s resistance—need to be read in dialogue with Thoreau’s essay. As Thoreau recognizes, to “unground” the center one questions requires some access to the system itself: the call to civil disobedience in “Resistance” offers a model for the entangled individual to exert a form of power back against the “machinery” of government. If the injustice is part of the necessary friction of the machine of government, let it go, let it go: perchance it will wear smooth,—certainly the machine will wear out. If the injustice has a spring, or a pulley, or a rope, or a crank, exclusively for itself, then perhaps you may consider whether the remedy will not be worse than the evil; but if it is of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law. Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine. (“RCG,” 73–74) ESQ53.1.indb 35 9/25/07 8:35:46 AM michael pringle 3� How deliberate was Hester’s decision to break the law in the first place is left to the reader’s imagination, but in the marketplace she openly defies authority, her husband, and her lover by refusing to implicate Dimmesdale in return for proffered clemency. Furthermore, she frames the A as beyond their control: “Never! . . . It is too deeply branded. Ye cannot take it off. And would that I might endure his agony, as well as mine!” (68). Dimmesdale interprets her refusal to name him as the “generosity of a woman’s heart,” and she does seem more generous than he deserves. Is this honor among thieves, or is it, in Thoreau’s terms, a refusal to “be the agent of injustice to another”? The portrait of Hester that emerges from The Scarlet Letter indicates that she finds the imposition of the A and the pillory wrong and is strong enough to do what she believes is right. Hester refuses to implicate Arthur even though he is proof that the magistrates do not have access to the font of moral authority—the “thing itself”—implied by the sentence they impose. She alone among the listeners knows this, and the knowledge cannot help but strengthen her sense of be- ing wronged. Arthur Dimmesdale, whose civil power derives more from an interpretative than from a formal judicial role, is also keenly aware of the hollowness at the center, a perfidy he implores Hester to expose: “Take heed how thou deniest to him—who, perchance, hath not the courage to grasp it for himself—the bitter, but wholesome, cup that is now presented to thy lips!” (67). To speak, to accuse, and to share the stigma under public pressure and scrutiny would, in part, validate the signification the magistrates put on the A. To name Arthur would save Hester from wearing the embroidered A, but it would help secure the title “Adulteress” as the magistrates define it. Hester chooses silence. The “godly magistrates” rest their authority upon the Divine, and Hester makes an important claim when she denies them the power to remove the A or to commute her sentence. Like the elaborate embroidery she has worked into the letter, this claim serves to disassociate the symbol from the magistrates and to link it more directly to herself. The power imbalance between the magistrates and the lone “Adulteress” is great, yet the possibility of rupture in the source of their power is appar- ESQ53.1.indb 36 9/25/07 8:35:46 AM the scarlet lever 37 ent to both Hester and Arthur. Initially, Hester is shamed and punished on the pillory, for she has neither sufficient power nor authority to force that rupture or take sole ownership of the A, and the community meets not only to fix the symbol upon her breast but to fix its signification as well. Hester lacks the power to avoid being branded, but by publicly accepting the punishment meant for two and personalizing the A she leaves no doubt that her own hand affixed the symbol. After being released from prison she takes to the “coarsest materials and the most sombre hue; with only that one ornament,—the scarlet letter,—which it was her doom to wear” (83). Hester effaces her beauty to highlight the A, and she keeps it prominently in the public eye. The scarlet letter is the lever the community uses to apply pressure to Hester, but as Thoreau points out, such machinery works both ways. Hester takes up the A in earnest and begins to apply pressure back against the community, yet this struggle costs her dearly. Thoreau’s rational and moral criteria for disobeying unjust laws implies a critical detachment from those who govern, a collective entity that “never intentionally con- fronts a man’s sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body, his senses”: “It is not armed with superior wit or honesty, but with superior physical strength” (“RCG,” 80). Hawthorne’s protagonist faces a seemingly more formidable “state” in the form of the “godly magistrates,” for it is precisely the intellec- tual and moral senses that they claim as their source of power. Hester cannot stand aloof and utter Thoreau’s confident chal- lenge: “Let us see who is the strongest” (“RCG,” 81). This is where the model of civil disobedience in The Scarlet Letter most differs from Thoreau’s, for Hawthorne posits less potential for individual agency and a greater personal toll for being “a counter friction to stop the machine.” Hester is in a grim battle, not of her choosing, from which she cannot emerge unscathed. As she leaves the prison, she muses on her future: “The accumulating days, and added years, would pile up their misery upon the heap of shame. Throughout them all, giving up her individuality, she would become the general symbol at which the preacher and moralist might point” (79). This is a stark contrast to Thoreau’s jail release, where he immediately ESQ53.1.indb 37 9/25/07 8:35:46 AM michael pringle 3� joins a huckleberry party, and soon is “on one of our highest hills, two miles off; and then the State [is] nowhere to be seen” (“RCG,” 84). Hester learns in the marketplace both the cost of becoming a symbol and the high price of resistance, but she will not give the magistrates the name they want, will not acknowledge their right to impose or remove the letter, and will not relinquish the symbol. zzz In a deconstructive, Derridean reading of the novel, the distribution of power between Hester and her community implicitly involves how much “play” will be present when the magistrates impose the signifier for “Adulteress” upon her. In Flores’s reading, “play” is never repressed, and signification is endlessly deferred by an infinite number of allegorical substitu- tions. Allan Lloyd Smith agrees that the A is always in play but argues that Hawthorne provides moments of “true-speech—as in Hester’s moving defense of her right to keep Pearl, and Dimmesdale’s final ability to ‘speak out the whole.’”9 Smith’s recourse to “true-speech” is at root non-Derridean, and he reads the overall novel in terms of Dimmesdale saving himself by escaping indeterminacy, by finding access to “true-speech” and “winning ultimate victory over the letter” (80). For Smith, play is a dangerous force aligned with the darker aspects of the novel, but for Monika Elbert slippage in signification is a posi- tive event, which allows Hester to save herself. Elbert sees Hester (ultimately) operating from a position of Amazonian strength: “The emblem that she wears and invests with her own meaning . . . makes her untouched, untouchable, and strong.”10 Sacvan Bercovitch agrees that Hester takes up the struggle against, and in fact represents a radical threat to, the community, but in his view the “office of the letter” involves a process of socialization, where “Hester’s ‘badge of shame’ becomes the ‘mystic’ token of integration.”11 For Elbert The Scarlet Letter is an affirmation of the maternal and of Hester’s power, while for Bercovitch (in his first assessment of the novel) it is “a subtle and devastating critique of Hester’s radicalism.”12 Both interpretations presup- pose that the power of the signifier is crucial: in the former ESQ53.1.indb 38 9/25/07 8:35:47 AM the scarlet lever 3� Hester gains control over the signification of the A; in the latter she is finally defined by the community’s imposed meaning. But the novel resists the assumption that power lies unilater- ally with either Hester or the Puritan community. Foucault has also observed that power has no locus, but exists in complex relational webs: “One impoverishes the question of power if one poses it solely in terms of legislation and constitution, in terms solely of state and the state apparatus.”13 This is to say, not that an institution cannot wield power, but that power does not flow from any one source or in only one direction. The balance of power within the novel at first seems to weigh overwhelmingly against Hester. If the A is a lever, she is clearly on the short end of the stick. Hawthorne’s Puritan Boston is rigidly ordered into a solid community “as befit[s] a people amongst whom religion and law [are] almost identical” (50). While the reader sees some interpretive play in the crowd, to Hester it appears monolithic, and though the settlement is relatively new, the narrator describes it in terms that lend it an air of stolid permanence. The community that gathers to condemn Hester is “somber . . . grave . . . heavy . . . unrelent- ing . . . solemn . . . leaden”: clearly, they are not to be taken lightly (56–57). The town’s people present an apparent front of moral certainty around Hester as she emerges from her jail cell, and they make up the bulk of the audience as she is displayed on the pillory: “They were stern enough to look upon her death, had that been the sentence, without a murmur at its severity” (56). The clergy and magistrates (with the notable exception of the tremulous Arthur) claim to speak with absolute, tran- scendent authority: “Woman, transgress not beyond the limits of Heaven’s mercy!” (68). Hester is displayed, with the A and Pearl, and a formidable force arrays itself around her to fix these conjoint symbols with a single, irrevocable signified. Hester is separated from the community and exhibited as a criminal to ensure that all know the meaning of the A and to whom it applies. Yet even had Hester been among that “lead- en” crowd, she would have stood out markedly by dint of her commanding beauty and assertive individualism: “The young woman was tall, with a figure of perfect elegance, on a large scale. She had dark and abundant hair, so glossy that it threw ESQ53.1.indb 39 9/25/07 8:35:47 AM michael pringle �0 off the sunshine with a gleam, and a face which, besides being beautiful from regularity of feature and richness of complex- ion, had the impressiveness belonging to a marked brow and deep black eyes” (53). Hester, presumably, is not ignorant of her own beauty; nor is the community: “Those who had before known her, and had expected to behold her dimmed . . . were astonished, and even startled, to perceive how her beauty shone out.” Her pulchritude, her fatherless child, and her A work to set Hester apart from the community; yet, from the outset of this “spectacle of guilt and shame,” she does some staging of her own, by the only means available to her (53, 56). For this occasion Hester wears a rich gown that accentuates her beauty, just as she accentuates the red A with gold thread and elaborate needlework. “She hath good skill at her needle, that’s certain,” a female spectator exclaims; “but did ever a woman, before this brazen hussy, contrive such a way of showing it!” The letter, “so fantastically embroidered,” defies expectation, and Hester’s detailed illumination invites different interpre- tations (54, 53). The older women see her action as proud and disrespectful, while a young woman interprets it as a sign of burden and pain: “Do not let her hear you! Not a stitch in that embroidered letter, but she has felt it in her heart” (54). Even at the moment when the magistrates bring to bear the full weight of the community’s legal, religious, and social power, Hester works her needle to create a small space for alternate interpretations. She personalizes the symbol and makes it even more conspicuous on her breast, confounding expectation by taking ownership of the letter rather than trying to distance herself from it. Hester plies her needle in an act of resistance against her punishment, although her powers of resistance are limited by the role assigned her in the community’s drama of discipline.14 “Knowing well her part, she ascended a flight of wooden steps, and was thus displayed to the surrounding multitude” (55–56). Thoreau turns his act of civil disobedience into a public speech, first delivered at the Concord Lyceum on 26 January 1848, but Hester has no such avenue open to her. Thoreau’s famous opening line, “I heartily accept the motto,—‘That gov- ernment is best which governs least,’” has its ironic opposite in ESQ53.1.indb 40 9/25/07 8:35:47 AM the scarlet lever �1 the edicts of the Puritan magistrates, who attempt to govern not only behavior but also individual souls. The only public voice allowed Hester is to answer the magistrate’s question, to which she replies, “Never! . . . I will not speak!” (68). Elbert—who sees the conflict in this scene in terms of matriarchy and patri- archy—claims that “Hester’s silence is victorious over her male judges.”15 Silence is a part of Hester’s strategy for resistance, but the long battle is only begun in the marketplace, and it is difficult to infer victory for her from this encounter: “After her return to the prison, Hester Prynne was found to be in a state of nervous excitement that demanded constant watch- fulness, lest she should perpetrate violence on herself, or do some half-frenzied mischief to the poor babe” (70). Hester’s limited power lies in the secret of her lover’s identity and in her symbolic actions. Her first action is to make the letter distinctly her own, and her second, when she is released from prison, to “besto[w] all her superfluous means in charity, on wretches less miserable than herself.” The public plying of her needle is equally overdetermined and excessive: “By degrees, nor very slowly, her handiwork became what would now be termed the fashion” (83, 82). In numerous critical studies that attend to Hester’s artistry, the A, as well as Pearl, figure as extensions of her creativity. Hester uses her needle to draw further attention to the A as well as to Pearl through the latter’s gorgeous clothing: “It was a remarkable attribute of this garb, and, indeed, of the child’s whole appearance, that it irresistibly and inevitably reminded the beholder of the token which Hester Prynne was doomed to wear upon her bosom. It was the scarlet letter in another form; the scarlet letter endowed with life!” (102). When the magistrates stand Hester alone before the community and brand her with the A, denying her the power to turn away from the public gaze, her first impulse is to cover the symbol by hugging Pearl to her breast; “however, wisely judging that one token of her shame would but poorly serve to hide another, she took the baby on her arm, and, with a burning blush, and yet a haughty smile, and a glance that would not be abashed, looked around at her townspeople and neighbours” (52–53). Hester defiantly returns the gaze and quickly realizes that cowering ESQ53.1.indb 41 9/25/07 8:35:47 AM michael pringle �2 or hiding the emblem would tacitly grant the full signification the community attempts to attach to her letter (and her Pearl). Rather, she chooses to do everything in her power to display these “tokens” as prominently as possible, and throughout the novel characters attempt to read their significance. Thanks in part to Pearl’s visibility, she remains largely outside of the community, and as a signifier she becomes increasingly ungrounded, and thus open to interpretation and appropriation. Until Hester steps forward to claim her, Governor Wilson initially has no clue what to make of Pearl when he finds her in his mansion. Chillingworth, who knows more about Pearl than most, is also confused by her: “There is no law, nor reverence for authority, no regard for human ordinances or opinions, right or wrong, mixed up with that child’s composition. . . . What, in Heaven’s name, is she?” (134). Often even Hester isn’t sure: “Child, what art thou?” (97). Pearl is the A rampant: cut loose from any “center” or transcendent signifier, she represents the sort of “play” that threatens to undermine the authority of those who would fix meaning. While Hester deliberately works to create a parallel between Pearl and the A, it proves to be a dangerous maneuver, for it excites the magistrates’ interest in the child’s “present depravity, and future destiny.” As a result Hester nearly loses her Pearl, and only a thinly veiled threat to Dimmesdale saves her: “Speak thou for me! . . . thou knowest what is in my heart. . . . Look thou to it! I will not lose the child! Look to it!” (112, 113). Dimmesdale promptly looks to it, and Wilson puts Pearl’s soul into his care. Although Elbert claims that “Hester’s maternity is ulti- mately her weapon against patriarchy,” Hester actually miscal- culates here and nearly loses her daughter.16 She is too sure of her own power, “so conscious of her own right, that it seem[s] scarcely an unequal match between the public, on the one side, and a lonely woman, backed by the sympathies of nature, on the other” (101). The “public,” however, still has the power to determine what is “right,” and her voice falls on deaf ears. Through her leverage on Dimmesdale she is able to keep Pearl, but Hester’s relative powerlessness before the magistrates is once again forcibly impressed on her. They will not hear of ESQ53.1.indb 42 9/25/07 8:35:47 AM the scarlet lever �3 any “right” but what they decree, and to resist them she must return to her silent strategy of ungrounding the letter. Even Pearl cannot draw glosses on the letter from her, for Hester does not have the power of voice to change its signification, and she would not have Pearl know of its “meaning.” When Pearl creates an imitation A of grasses and places it on her chest, she wonders “if mother will ask [her] what it means!” Pearl, herself an unreadable rune of both innocence and sin, comes before her mother “dancing, laughing, and pointing her finger to the ornament upon her bosom.” “‘My little Pearl,’” Hester says, “after a moment’s silence, ‘the green letter, and on thy childish bosom, has no purport. But dost thou know, my child, what this letter means which thy mother is doomed to wear?’” (178). Hester is unable here to determine how much the child actually understands about why she must wear the letter, but Pearl does accurately link it to a concealed cause: “It is for the same reason that the minister keeps his hand over his heart!” (179). Pearl’s response is typically both naïve and perceptive, but it reinforces the novel’s exploration of links between social action and meaning. Hester opposes the magistrates through limited action combined with passive resistance, and she uses both the letter and Pearl to create alternate possibilities for signification. Hester creates friction, keeping her fantastical A in the public gaze, year after year, constantly forcing it back upon the community, forcing interpretation and reinterpretation. She acts, in the limited space allowed her, slowly building a public identity as an agent of mercy and kindness: “Such helpfulness was found in her,—so much power to do, and power to sym- pathize,—that many people refused to interpret the scarlet A by its original signification. They said that it meant Able; so strong was Hester Prynne with a woman’s strength” (161). The town begins to call her “our Hester,” but she is not their Hester; she is working to become her own Hester—and becomes less theirs with every reinterpretation of the A. In spite of these reinterpretations, the A never completely loses its original stigma, for those who praise her also remember the scene in the marketplace: “Then, it is true, the propensity of human nature to tell the very worst of itself, when embodied in the person of ESQ53.1.indb 43 9/25/07 8:35:47 AM michael pringle �� another, would constrain them to whisper the black scandal of bygone years” (162–63). Nonetheless, Hester succeeds in open- ing up some play, and the signifier begins to invoke different signifieds: Adulteress, Able, Affection, Apostle, Angel, and so on. This ungrounding of the signifier represents a threat to the Puritan community—which has invoked a transcendent, divine center to fix the letter’s tendency toward play—but it also represents a threat to Hester. If we accept the premise that signification depends on lim- iting play—on protecting a “center” linked to power structures within a given society—then Hester’s project threatens to cut her loose from the very powers that hold society together. When, after seven years, Chillingworth mentions that the magistrates are considering removing the letter, Hester again denies the community’s power to apply or reclaim the A. “It lies not in the pleasure of the magistrates to take off this badge. . . . Were I worthy to be quit of it, it would fall away of its own nature, or be transformed into something that should speak a different purport” (169). Her distance from the community is meta- phorically represented in chapter 16, “A Forest Walk.” Like Young Goodman Brown’s before her, Hester’s journey into the woods offers an ambiguous mix of freedom and danger. The narrator is alert to the gender issues raised: “The scarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared not tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her teachers,—stern and wild ones,—and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss” (199–200). In The Politics Aristotle claims: “The man who is isolated . . . is no part of the polis, and must therefore be either a beast or a god.”17 The portrait of isolation that Hawthorne paints in The Scarlet Letter is con- gruent with Aristotle’s dictum, for as Hester wanders further (in thought and belief) from her community, she becomes more “wild.” Ultimately, all that binds her to it is the letter and Dimmesdale, and when Dimmesdale agrees to escape with her, she decides to sever the final tie and throws the A into the brook. The decision to leave, take Arthur with her, and cast off the symbol shows Hester’s remaining strength and her heroic qualities; beside her, Arthur seems like a tremulous wisp of a human being. However, for all her strength, Hester is neither ESQ53.1.indb 44 9/25/07 8:35:48 AM the scarlet lever �5 a beast nor a god, and she cannot safely sever the ties to com- munity. Years of resistance have worn her down, and her life at the periphery of society has plunged her into a “dark labyrinth of mind,” with “wild and ghastly scenery all around her, and a home and comfort nowhere” (166). In this novel there is no solid place to stand outside of society to criticize it, no con- dition of “sainted individualism,” and when Hester casts off the last vestige of her community (even one she is deliberately undercutting), she is adrift. For Hawthorne, stepping outside of society is akin to decentering the self. zzz If we view Hester’s resistance as civil disobedience, using the office of the A as a lever to exert “a counter friction to stop the machine,” then we find in The Scarlet Letter an implicit criti- cism of Thoreau’s positioning of the individual in relation to the slave-holding society of the era. Thoreau posits the state as a collection of autonomous individuals who must decide for themselves what is just and unjust, and he assumes a solid margin where a citizen dissenting from the dominant slavery- tolerating society may operate as a “free agent.” While the model of dissent in The Scarlet Letter critiques such a concept of radical individualism, it does not necessarily critique radicalism or individualism per se. The view that people cannot separate themselves from their culture does not inevitably lead to the conclusion that they cannot resist societal pressures. It is also important to note that despite Hester’s humbled and seemingly powerless position, it is not the most humble or powerless position imaginable to Hawthorne’s or Thoreau’s readers. The specter of slavery haunts The Scarlet Letter, most obviously in the figure of Hester on the scaffold in the marketplace, and in what Jean Fagan Yellin terms the novel’s “obsessive concern with blacks and blackness.”18 Teresa Goddu situates Hawthorne in a market economy permeated by the slave trade and links his customhouse duties to a commerce dependent on slavery: “Realigning Hawthorne’s career through his edited works and situating him within a circum-Atlantic maritime/mercantile culture makes intelligible ESQ53.1.indb 45 9/25/07 8:35:48 AM michael pringle �� how the slave trade structures Hawthorne’s authorship, as well as his art.” Goddu convincingly argues the pervasiveness of slavery in the New England market economy; however, her claim that “Pearl is not only figured as a commodity but also associated with the Caribbean” and that she “signifies slave as property” is less compelling.19 The slave occupies the most helpless and alienated place in society, and even as Hester and Pearl bring slavery to mind we must recognize the racial advantages that privilege them above African slaves in North America. Leland S. Person clearly maps the distinction: Refusing to name her child’s father, resisting the efforts of the good masters to take her child away, planning an escape to freedom—Hester resembles the slave mothers like Harriet Jacobs even as her actions signify and thereby under- line the politics of racial difference. Situating Hester in a complex and objective position in which slave motherhood and anti-slavery feminism come together, [Hawthorne] rep- resents the presumption—the identification of black and white women’s experiences and politics—that cuts as sharply today as it would have in the nineteenth century. Hester’s ab- ject dependence upon patriarchal sufferance for her mothering rights links her to her slave sisters, but her ability to mother at all marks her feminist difference from slave mothers like Harriet Jacobs.20 The echoes of the slavery debates of the mid–nineteenth century that occur in The Scarlet Letter do indirectly correlate with the characters of Hester and Pearl, but Hawthorne does not take on the issue of abolition directly in the novel. Despite Hester’s “blackness,” she retains racial privileges that allow her to resist in ways that slave women could not.21 Hawthorne’s protagonist is invested in her community, and vice versa, in ways never open to antebellum slaves but often afforded to white reformers and radicals. Hester, with all of ESQ53.1.indb 46 9/25/07 8:35:48 AM the scarlet lever �7 her heroic qualities, risks becoming lost when cut off from her community—even to the point of considering infanticide and suicide—but Arthur Dimmesdale also contemplates shocking forms of antisocial behavior. Arthur is a community-minded creature: “his native gifts, his culture, and his entire develop- ment would secure him a home only in the midst of civiliza- tion and refinement” (215). Once he accepts Hester’s plan to abandon the community, he is completely ungrounded; he becomes the “Black Man” who haunts the forest, the devilish deconstructionist who wants to wreak mischief. Hester makes this connection when Pearl asks if she has ever met the Black Man: “Once in my life I met the Black Man! . . . This scarlet letter is his mark!” (185). Disrespect, lechery, blasphemy, and absurdity all boil over in the minister as he walks from the woods, and in several impetuous moments he longs to undo what he has spent a lifetime helping to build. Hester becomes self-destructive, but Arthur becomes a menace to the Puritan strategy of repressive order, wishing to uncover all that has been suppressed and disciplined: “Scorn, bitterness, unprovoked malignity, gratuitous desire of ill, ridicule of whatever was good and holy, all awoke, to tempt, even while they frightened him” (222). Hawthorne vividly portrays the danger of cutting loose the bonds of society in the decentered Arthur Dimmesdale, but he also shows that Hester fares better. In Hester’s strong and intuitive individualism, her ability to walk the margins of soci- ety, and her desire to change the status quo, we can see strong parallels to Thoreau. Conversely, in Dimmesdale’s reaffirma- tion of the center, and his implicit defense of the status quo, we can find echoes of Hawthorne’s conservatism: the support of Franklin Pierce, the defense of inaction, and the failure to support abolition.22 It is, then, not too large a leap to suggest that the unusual and troublesome union between Hester and Arthur may have some of its genesis in the unlikely friendship between Thoreau and Hawthorne. Arthur cannot live, even briefly, outside of his society. He has neither Hester’s long-suffering practice nor her strength, and he spins out of control in the first hour after he cuts him- self free. Dimmesdale must recenter himself, and he does so at his peak, in his final election sermon, at Hester’s expense. ESQ53.1.indb 47 9/25/07 8:35:48 AM michael pringle �� “He stood, at this moment, on the very proudest eminence of superiority, to which the gifts of intellect, rich lore, prevailing eloquence, and a reputation of whitest sanctity, could exalt a clergyman in New England’s earliest days, when the professional character was of itself a lofty pedestal” (249–50). In a stunning final act of betrayal, Arthur attempts to take from Hester the symbol she has worked seven long years to make her own, and over which she has repeatedly denied the magistrates power. “People of New England! . . . [B]ehold me here, the one sin- ner of the world!” (254): Arthur belatedly imposes the letter on himself in the very spot where Hester withstood her trial and attempts to reinvest it, using all of his power and prestige, with the magistrates’ original meaning. In this act, while Hester physically supports him, he undermines her long battle with the symbol by opting to “save” himself: “‘Is not this better,’ murmured he, ‘than what we dreamed of in the forest?’” Ar- thur, determined to die pure, goes out preaching to the woman he never claimed as his wife. However, Hester is unwilling to accept his moral dictum, the one she has fought throughout the novel; she is still metaphorically in the woods, harboring the destructive thoughts brought on by the rupture with her community: “‘I know not! I know not!’ she hurriedly replied. ‘Better? Yea; so we may both die, and little Pearl die with us!’” (254). In belatedly claiming his shame, Arthur reinvokes the stigma on Hester with nearly its original fixity and then leaves her to bear it alone. Worn down, humiliated, betrayed, and deserted, Hester finally breaks. Unable to live any longer with the Puritans, or apart from community, Hester ends her resistance and flees to Europe with Pearl. Dimmesdale’s final act, where he literally bares his breast to display “the ghastly miracle” of his hysterical A, confuses his parishioners as much as it reinscribes the symbol (255). Debate ensues as to whether the A actually appeared, what it means, and how he acquired it. Inadvertently, Arthur’s action further puts the signification of the symbol into play, and even the narrator cavils: “The reader may choose among these theories” (259). Arthur attempts to reenact the original scaffold scene and expunge his moral cowardice by taking the letter on himself; however, his confession casts serious doubt on the magistrates’ ESQ53.1.indb 48 9/25/07 8:35:48 AM the scarlet lever �� access to an inviolable font of moral authority, which allowed them to fix the signifier with only one meaning. At his zenith as a minister, Arthur Dimmesdale confesses before the whole community that he was never any better than Hester. By seizing and elaborating the A with which she was branded, Hester had wrested alternative possible meanings of the talisman from the “fixed” original, and Arthur’s confession (though far from his intent) further decenters the signifier. Hester had melded with the letter: “giving up her individuality, she [became] the general symbol at which the preacher and moralist might point, and in which they might vivify and embody their images of women’s frailty and sinful passion” (79). After Arthur’s confession “their images” lose a great deal of authority. With Arthur dead and Hester (along with her scarlet letter) gone, the signifier becomes a mystical symbol in the imagina- tions of the interpretative community: “The story of the scarlet letter grew into a legend. Its spell, however, was still potent, and kept the scaffold awful where the poor minister had died, and likewise the cottage by the sea-shore, where Hester Prynne had dwelt” (261). The revivified, embodied signifier disap- pears, but the conflict over signification gains a life of its own, ambiguously divided between the symbols of the scaffold and Hester’s empty hut. The potent spell of Hester’s story not only holds sway over the Puritan community but pins her firmly in New England despite her years of absence after Arthur’s death. Hawthorne likens the social bond, reified in the scarlet letter, to an iron chain that “never could be broken” (80). Hester never allowed those bonds to form on Pearl, and what initially appears to be an escape from the repressive community of Puritans is merely a trip to transplant the “little elf” (92) into a more hospitable environment. We are not to imagine that Pearl remains free of societal bonds, only that they form elsewhere, without her mother’s stigma. Pearl makes a clean break and lives, presumably happily, married and wealthy, somewhere in Europe. Hester comes back: “There was a more real life for Hester Prynne, here, in New England, than in that unknown region where Pearl had found a home. . . . She had returned, therefore, and resumed,—of her own free will, for not the sternest magistrate of that iron period would have ESQ53.1.indb 49 9/25/07 8:35:48 AM michael pringle 50 imposed it,—resumed the symbol of which we have related so dark a tale” (262). Why Hester takes up the symbol again is important to under- standing The Scarlet Letter. Although Bercovitch once saw the novel as a “subtle and devastating critique of Hester’s radicalism,” in his fuller treatment of The Scarlet Letter he modifies that view to one that credits both socialization and resistance: “the scarlet letter is an adversarial representation of cultural process, whose radical office lies in its capacity to be nourished by the structures it resists.” Bercovitch acknowledges Hester’s individualism and defiance, yet still sees the resumption of the letter as “her final acquiescence.” 23 Bercovitch’s argument has largely defined the critical debate surrounding The Scarlet Letter in the last decade, and one of the most thoughtful responses is Robert Milder’s nuanced account of Hawthorne’s uneasy acceptance of “the requirements of social and moral order that make suppression, repression, and human deformity a condition of society as it has always existed.”24 While any discussion of Hester’s return necessarily enters into the extended discussion of the A and its disciplining office, the primary purpose here is to tease out the model of Hester’s civil disobedience in conjunction with Thoreau’s ideas.25 When we view Hester’s actions through the lens of civil disobedience, it is not her return, but rather her departure that signals capitulation to societal forces. Hawthorne opens the novel with the epitome of powerless- ness: a disenfranchised, unwed, defiant mother standing before the authority of the Puritan magistrates and her community, branded with the cruel and unusual symbol of the A. Consid- ering that at least half of the culpability for the “crime” lies in the very bosom of the magistrates, this is clearly an example of Thoreau’s notion of an “injustice [which] has a spring, or a pulley, or a rope, or a crank exclusively for itself.” Thoreau warns that the remedy (resistance) may be worse than such an evil, and sets the additional criteria that “it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another” before advocating civil disobedience (“RCG,” 73). The parallels between Thoreau’s model and Hester Prynne’s resistance are more than coin- cidence—Hester refuses to speak the father’s name and takes the penalty, literally, onto herself, meeting all of Thoreau’s ESQ53.1.indb 50 9/25/07 8:35:49 AM the scarlet lever 51 criteria for becoming a “counter friction to stop the machine” (“RCG,” 74). After Arthur’s attempt to recenter and reclaim the A, Hester surrenders her long struggle for a time, but her return is not an acquiescence; rather, it is a resumption of her resistance. Hester is tied to her community, but so too is it bound to her. The narrator tells us that not the “sternest magistrate of that iron period” would re-impose the symbol on Hester when she returns, but her resumption of the A shows that it no longer belongs to the magistrates. Hester’s return opens old wounds, forces back on the interpretative community a symbol it would rather forget, and reinitiates the long struggle over signification. It is too triumphant a reading of Hester’s return to suggest that she has succeeded in making the A completely indeterminate (as Flores suggests), or that she has managed to affix her own signified (as Elbert claims). The special properties of the signifier aid Hester in her resistance, and she succeeds in opening some play within the structure—a Herculean task considering the forces set against her. She cannot deconstruct the Puritan patriarchy, nor gain access to any transcendental signifier on her own; however, she does unground the A enough that it “cease[s] to be a stigma which attract[s] the world’s scorn and bitterness,” a relatively small but important victory for friction against the Puritan order (263). The Scarlet Letter is a fictional arena where Hawthorne pits an apparently powerless individual against a repressive social order and shows the high cost of resisting civil government. Those who see Hester as the “winner” of this elemental struggle, a model of individualism triumphant, miss the important fact that Hester never escapes the pressures of her community and that she incurs grave risks in living too close to the outer boundaries of her society. Conversely, the view of Hester as a soul crushed into conformity by socialization—a proto-Winston Smith who finally loves Big Brother—ignores the pressures that she applies back onto her community as well as the space for dissent she opens within the Puritan order. While Hawthorne does not agree with Thoreau that the “individual [is] a higher and independent power, from which all [the state’s] own power and authority are derived,” The Scarlet Letter is dynamic evidence ESQ53.1.indb 51 9/25/07 8:35:49 AM michael pringle 52 that he believes in the power of individual action to change the social order (“RCG,” 89). Hester Prynne never stands above or beyond her community, and when she escapes to give Pearl a fresh start in Europe, she leaves behind an “awful,” empty space where she had worn a niche for herself. The scarlet letter is not only Hester’s life sentence; it is her life’s work. When she returns to take it up again, it is not with enthusiasm but with a grim, weary determination, and the community immediately feels the heat. She who had once been “the general symbol at which the preacher and moralist might point” becomes a kind of authority herself. The aggrieved, the sorrowful, the confused and the discontented all “c[o]me to Hester’s cottage, demanding why they [are] so wretched, and what the remedy!” (263). Hester has no better answer than that she believes things will eventually change, but her own transformation encour- ages them to hope and to question their social conditions in a manner markedly different from the “monolithic” crowd at the novel’s beginning. Hawthorne’s model of resistance to civil government dif- fers from Thoreau’s insofar as the individual must work from within a community rather than from a proposed neutral margin, but he ultimately agrees that an individual can create friction to wear against the machine, and that such friction can eventually smooth out some injustices. Hester is not a heroic figure with a lever searching for some imagined archimedean site from which to move her world; rather, the conflict between the magistrates and Hester can be visualized as a Venn diagram, where Hester’s “counter friction” creates a gap—a “magic circle of ignominy”—from within the magistrates’ sphere of influence (246). The cost of resistance is high because the friction wears both ways, but Hester succeeds in exploiting the instability of the symbol and altering the status of the A through stamina and courage. The combined weight of the magistrates’ power, the condemning communal gaze, and the societal chains that bind Hester to New England all mount up to a more formidable civil opponent than Thoreau posits in “Resistance”; however, and perhaps surprisingly, The Scarlet Letter supports Thoreau’s position that effective individual resistance is possible against, and healthy for, the civic body. The dark, gloomy aspect of the ESQ53.1.indb 52 9/25/07 8:35:49 AM the scarlet lever 53 novel shows that Hawthorne believes that such resistance will be long and difficult—in stark contrast to Thoreau’s caustic efforts to wake (and shame) his neighbors into action—and that the results may be somewhat ambiguous. Hester, after all, ends up next to Arthur beneath a “simple slab of slate” with the A rendered in “the semblance of an engraved escutcheon.” The armorial A, both as blazon and shield, signifies for both combatants in the fray, and the struggle for control over the signifier literally follows Hester to her grave, leaving the reader to “perplex himself with the purport” (264). Dimly, an “ever- glowing point of light gloomier than the shadow” retains the lambency of friction and counter friction, and continues to produce some critical heat. Gonzaga University notes 1. Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter, ed. William Charvat et al., vol. 1 of The Centenary Edition of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne (Ohio State Univ. Press, 1962), 53–54. All further references are to this edition of The Scarlet Letter and are cited parenthetically by page number. 2. Ralph Flores, “Underground Allegory: The Deadly Living Letter in Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter,” Criticism 29 (1987): 338. 3. Henry D. Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government,” in Reform Pa- pers, ed. Wendell Glick, in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1988), 73–74. All further references are to this edition and are cited parenthetically as “RCG.” 4. Jacques Derrida, “Structure, Sign and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences,” in Writing and Difference, trans. Alan Bass (Chicago: Chicago Univ. Press, 1978), 278. 5. Jacques Derrida, Of Grammatology, trans. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1997). 6. Michael Gilmore, American Romanticism and the Marketplace (Chicago: Chi- cago Univ. Press, 1985), 85. 7. G. Thomas Courser, “‘The Old Manse,’ Walden, and the Hawthorne- Thoreau Relationship,” ESQ: A Journal of the American Renaissance 21 (1975): 11–20; Buford Jones, “‘The Hall of Fantasy’ and the Early Hawthorne- ESQ53.1.indb 53 9/25/07 8:35:49 AM michael pringle 5� Thoreau Relationship,” PMLA 83 (1968): 1429–38, esp. 1434. 8. James R. Mellow, Nathaniel Hawthorne in His Times (Baltimore: Johns Hop- kins Univ. Press, 1998), 289. 9. Allan Lloyd Smith, “The Elaborated Sign of the Scarlet Letter,” ATQ 1 (1987): 69–82. 10. Monika M. Elbert, “Hester’s Maternity: Stigma or Weapon?,” ESQ: A Journal of the American Renaissance 36 (1990): 198. 11. Sacvan Bercovitch, The Office of “The Scarlet Letter” (Baltimore: Johns Hop- kins Univ. Press, 1991), xii. 12. Sacvan Bercovitch, “Hawthorne’s A-Morality of Compromise,” Rep- resentations 24 (1988): 1. 13. Michel Foucault, Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972–1977, trans. Colin Gordon, et al. (New York: Pantheon, 1980), 158. 14. For further discussion of Hester’s needlework as an act of resistance, see Gilmore, American Romanticism, 85; Rita K. Gollin, “‘Again a Literary Man’: Vocation and the Scarlet Letter,” in Critical Essays on Hawthorne’s “The Scarlet Letter” (Boston: G. K. Hall, 1988); Leland S. Person Jr., Aesthetic Headaches: Women and a Masculine Poetics in Poe, Melville, & Hawthorne (Athens: Univ. of Georgia Press, 1988); and Jon B. Reed, “‘A Letter,—The Letter A’: A Portrait of the Artist as Hester Prynne,” ESQ: A Journal of the American Renaissance 36 (1990): 79–108. 15. Elbert, “Hester’s Maternity,” 179. 16. Elbert, “Hester’s Maternity,” 198. 17. Aristotle, The Politics. trans. Benjamin Jowett (New York: Modern Li- brary, 1943), 6. 18. Jean Fagan Yellin, Women & Sisters: The Antislavery Feminists in American Culture (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1989), 138. 19. Teresa A. Goddu, “Letters Turned to Gold: Hawthorne, Authorship, and Slavery,” Studies in American Fiction 29 (Spring 2001): 49–76, 65. 20. Leland S. Person, “The Dark Labyrinth of the Mind: Hawthorne, Hester, and the Ironies of Racial Mothering,” Studies in American Fiction 29 (Spring 2001): 49–76. 21. In addition to the studies cited above, see the following for a more complete discussion of slavery in The Scarlet Letter: Deborah L. Madsen, “‘“A” for Abolition’: Hawthorne’s Bond-Servant and the Shadow of Slavery,” Journal of American Studies 25 (1991): 255–59; Jean Fagan Yellin, “Hawthorne and the American National Sin,” in The Green American Tradi- tion: Essays and Poems for Sherman Paul, ed. H. Daniel Peck (Baton Rouge: ESQ53.1.indb 54 9/25/07 8:35:49 AM the scarlet lever 55 Louisiana State Univ. Press, 1989), 75–97; Jay Grossman, “‘A’ is for Abolition?: Race, Authorship, The Scarlet Letter,” Textual Practice 7 (Spring 1993): 13–30. 22. In her biography of Hawthorne, Brenda Wineapple comments on the roots of Hawthorne’s conservatism: “To one who never felt quite at home, the symbolic loss of one—the dissolution of the Union—was intolerable”; see Hawthorne: A Life (New York: Alfred A Knopf, 2003), 262. 23. Bercovitch, Office of “The Scarlet Letter,” 154, 116. 24. Robert Milder, “The Scarlet Letter and Its Discontents,” Nathaniel Hawthorne Review 22 (Spring 1996): 23. This issue of NHR carries a series of re- sponses to Bercovitch. 25. Bercovitch published a subsequent article, with some response to the criticism in NHR 22, in the following fall edition: “The Scarlet Letter: A Twice-Told Tale,” Nathaniel Hawthorne Review 22 (Fall 1996): 1–20. These two issues, in conjunction with The Office of “ The Scarlet Letter,” offer an excellent entry point into this complex discussion of The Scarlet Letter. ESQ53.1.indb 55 9/25/07 8:35:50 AM 
work_b4ufskmq35frlibo3gq4jx2fou	----	10393_2009_209_5_4-web 460..471 UC Davis UC Davis Previously Published Works Title Top 10 Principles for Designing Healthy Coastal Ecosystems Like the Salish Sea Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/8df9m840 Journal EcoHealth: Conservation Medicine: Human Health: Ecosystem Sustainability, 5(4) ISSN 1612-9210 Authors Gaydos, Joseph K. Dierauf, Leslie Kirby, Grant et al. Publication Date 2008-12-01 DOI 10.1007/s10393-009-0209-1 Peer reviewed eScholarship.org Powered by the California Digital Library University of California https://escholarship.org/uc/item/8df9m840 https://escholarship.org/uc/item/8df9m840#author https://escholarship.org http://www.cdlib.org/ Top 10 Principles for Designing Healthy Coastal Ecosystems Like the Salish Sea Joseph K. Gaydos,1 Leslie Dierauf,2 Grant Kirby,3 Deborah Brosnan,4 Kirsten Gilardi,5 and Gary E. Davis6 1 The SeaDoc Society, UC Davis Wildlife Health Center, Orcas Island Office, 942 Deer Harbor Road, Eastsound, WA 98245 2Regional Executive for the Northwest Area, United States Geological Survey, 909 First Avenue, Suite #800, Seattle, WA 98104 3Northwest Indian Fisheries Commission, 224 Stewart Road, Suite 175, Mt. Vernon, WA 98273 4 Sustainable Ecosystems Institute, P.O. Box 80605, Portland, OR 97280 5The SeaDoc Society, UC Davis Wildlife Health Center, School of Veterinary Medicine, 1 Shields Avenue, Davis, CA, 95616 6GE Davis & Associates, 204 Los Padres Drive, Westlake Village, CA 91361 Abstract: Like other coastal zones around the world, the inland sea ecosystem of Washington (USA) and British Columbia (Canada), an area known as the Salish Sea, is changing under pressure from a growing human population, conversion of native forest and shoreline habitat to urban development, toxic contamination of sediments and species, and overharvest of resources. While billions of dollars have been spent trying to restore other coastal ecosystems around the world, there still is no successful model for restoring estuarine or marine ecosystems like the Salish Sea. Despite the lack of a guiding model, major ecological principles do exist that should be applied as people work to design the Salish Sea and other large marine ecosystems for the future. We suggest that the following 10 ecological principles serve as a foundation for educating the public and for designing a healthy Salish Sea and other coastal ecosystems for future generations: (1) Think ecosystem: political boundaries are arbitrary; (2) Account for ecosystem connectivity; (3) Understand the food web; (4) Avoid fragmentation; (5) Respect ecosystem integrity; (6) Support nature’s resilience; (7) Value nature: it’s money in your pocket; (8) Watch wildlife health; (9) Plan for extremes; and (10) Share the knowledge. Keywords: coastal ecosystem health, Georgia Basin, marine, Puget Sound, restoration, Salish Sea INTRODUCTION The inland sea of Washington State (USA) and British Columbia (Canada) is recognized as an international treasure (Fraser et al. 2006). Corresponding to the ancestral home of the Coast Salish people and often referred to as the Salish Sea (Fraser et al. 2006), the ecosystem stretches from Olympia in the south to Campbell River in the north and extends from the crest of the surrounding mountain ranges (Olympic, Cascade, Vancouver Island, and Coast Range) to the deepest part of the marine waters (Figure 1). The area south of the international border is called the Puget Sound Basin, and to the north, the Georgia Basin (Figure 1). Thousands of streams and rivers drain 7470 km of coastline into 16,925 square kilometers of marine water (1:250,000 scale World vector Shoreline and TEOPO2 topographic/ bathymetric GIS grid). In addition to nearly 7 million people, the region is home to over 200 species of marine Published online: March 4, 2009 Correspondence to: Joseph K. Gaydos, e-mail: jkgaydos@ucdavis.edu EcoHealth 5, 460–471, 2008 DOI: 10.1007/s10393-009-0209-1 Original Contribution � 2009 The Author(s). This article is published with open access at Springerlink.com and anadromous fish, over 100 species of marine birds, 26 species of mammals, and thousands of invertebrate species (Puget Sound Partnership 2006; Brown and Gaydos 2007; Puget Sound Action Team 2007). Like other coastal zones around the world, the Salish Sea has been dramatically altered under pressure from a growing human population, conversion of native forest and shoreline habitat to urban development, toxic contamination of sediments and spe- cies, and overharvesting of resources (Thom and Levings 1994; Puget Sound Action Team 2007). Washington State Governor Christine Gregoire recently initiated a statewide effort to restore the Puget Sound portion of this ecosystem by the year 2020 (Puget Sound Partnership 2006). Similar efforts have been undertaken in other estuarine and coastal regions of the United States and around the world. However, despite billions of dollars spent on ecosystems such as the Chesapeake Bay or Florida Everglades, their restoration remains a distant goal (Finkl and Charlier 2003; Powledge 2005). Figure 1. Map outlining the boundaries of the Salish Sea (solid black line), from the mountain tops to the marine water, showing terrestrial topography, marine bathymetry, and the ‘‘arbitrary’’ international border (white-gray dotted line) separating the Puget Sound Basin (United States) to the south and the Georgia Basin (Canada) to the north. Designing a Healthy Salish Sea 461 Efforts at ecosystem restoration generally look back- ward in time, attempting to reconstruct complex, dynamic, self-organizing systems of living and non-living elements. The challenge is that conditions that existed prior to the present might never reoccur or could be impossible to recreate as species are extirpated, invasive species are introduced, and atmospheric and oceanic conditions change. We suggest that it is more appropriate to talk about designing future ecosystems that reflect current societal values and use what we know of ecological principles to guide the design process. The concept of health provides a flexible, overarching framework for designing ecosystems. We agree with the definition proposed by the Puget Sound Partnership (2006) that defined a healthy ecosystem as a place where: • Fish and shellfish are plentiful and safe to eat, air is healthy to breathe, and water and beaches are clean for swimming and fishing; • People are able to use and enjoy the lands and waters of the region, tribal cultures are sustained, natural resource- dependent industries such as agriculture, tourism, and fisheries thrive, and the region is economically prosper- ous; and • The rich diversity of species flourish and are supported by plentiful, productive habitat, as well as clean and abundant water. Rebuilding a healthy Puget Sound and Salish Sea is an exercise in place-based ecosystem management. Place- based conservation strategies require that stewards know and understand the ecosystem, restore impaired resources, protect the ecosystem, and connect people wholeheartedly to the place (Davis 2005). Educating local citizens, scien- tists, businesses, and policymakers to ‘‘know, protect, and connect’’ to the Salish Sea will require a comprehensive strategy built on sound ecological principles that can serve as a foundation for the process. Using well-accepted eco- logical principles to educate society improves upon efforts of other ecosystem restoration educational efforts that provide citizens with lists of things to do without educating them on a guiding ecological rationale. We propose 10 fundamental ecological principles to serve as a guiding framework for designing a healthy coastal ecosystem like the Salish Sea. These imperatives are designed to form a basis for educating and energizing policymakers and citizens in the concepts of place-based management. While this article is focused on the Salish Sea, the ecological principles are applicable to other ecosystem- based restoration efforts around the world. THE 10 PRINCIPLES Think Ecosystem: Political Boundaries Are Arbitrary Although there is a major statewide effort to restore Puget Sound by the year 2020 (Puget Sound Partnership 2006), the Puget Sound basin is only one half of a large and unified ecosystem, the Salish Sea (Fraser et al. 2006). Efforts to restore Puget Sound will fail if they do not incorporate and integrate similar efforts on the Canadian side of the border. The international political boundary separating the Puget Sound and Georgia Basin is invisible to marine fish and wildlife; species listed as threatened or endangered under the US Endangered Species Act (ESA) or the Cana- dian Species at Risk Act, including Southern Resident killer whales (Orcinus orca), marbled murrelets (Brachyramphus marmoratus), and some ecologically significant units or species of Pacific salmon (Onchorynchus spp.), traverse the boundary daily (Brown and Gaydos 2007). Oceanographic processes such as freshwater inflows and wind-driven sur- face currents exchange biota, sediments, and nutrients throughout the larger ecosystem. For example, the less saline, more buoyant Fraser River plume can be observed by satellite imagery flowing across the international boundary throughout the year (Wilson et al. 1994), and tidal oscillations move huge volumes of water across the border four times daily (Thomson 1981). International, state, provincial, or tribal, political boundaries impede ecosystem restoration. Management of the iconic Pacific salmon is a striking example of the un- ique challenges created when ecosystem and political boundaries do not align. The migration patterns of the five species of Pacific salmon in this ecosystem create trans- boundary fishery regimes containing mixed stocks from numerous river systems of origin (some from the USA and others from Canada). In 1945, the United States and Canada implemented the first bilateral Pacific salmon- sharing agreement, followed by the 1985 Pacific Salmon Treaty. However by 1997, as salmon stocks were declining, accusations from both sides about the interception and harvest of fish destined for the other country became so heated that the USA and Canada independently shifted their fishery regimes, foregoing all concerns about stock 462 Joseph K. Gaydos et al. declines. These ‘‘salmon wars’’ ultimately culminated in a renewed salmon harvest agreement signed in 1999 (Ruckelshaus et al. 2002). While the governments of Washington State and British Columbia signed an Environmental Cooperative Agreement in 1992 to work together on marine issues in the Salish Sea (British Columbia/Washington Marine Science Panel 1994) the agreement is hampered by internal con- straints imposed by tribal and federal laws. For instance, a 1974 court decision reaffirmed the treaties between the U.S. Federal Government and 19 tribes in Washington signed in 1885, and ruled that 17 tribes with usual and accustom fishing areas in Puget Sound have the right to 50% of the harvestable fish and shellfish resources (Boldt decision 384 F. Supp. 312; 1974 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 12291). By contrast, in Canada, the Federal Government regulates all tribal harvest. ‘‘Thinking ecosystem’’ requires focusing restoration efforts from the start on all sides of the political border and finding mutually agreeable solutions among all levels of government. The principle worked in the design of the Mount Elgon Regional Ecosystem Conservation Program, a transboundary natural resource management program involving the republics of Kenya and Uganda (Muhweezi et al. 2007), and will work for multi-national coastal eco- systems as well. Focus on the ecosystem as its own legiti- mate entity can help prevent the past experiences where agreements made when resources were abundant quickly unraveled as those resources declined. Account for Ecosystem Connectivity Ecosystems are more interconnected than most people appreciate. Citizens, scientists, managers, and policymakers filter out these connections in order to focus on specific areas or species of interest, using compartmentalization to simplify the daunting challenges of managing complex systems. Understanding the connectivity and linkages between seemingly unrelated species and ecosystems is key to suc- cessful restoration. Like most ecosystems, the factors determining the fate of the Salish Sea extend hundreds of kilometers from the sea to the crest of the mountains that surround these waters (Figure 1). For example, the amount and configuration of impervious surfaces (e.g., concrete parking lots, roads) and harvested forests impact the biotic integrity of streams feeding into the Salish Sea (Alberti et al. 2007), which, in turn, affects the health of the entire ecosystem. Forest health impacts the abundance of the marbled murrelet, an endangered seabird that nests up to 50 miles inland in old growth forests, but spends the remaining 11.5 months of the year feeding at sea (Raphael 2006). Intricate food webs can connect species across eco- systems. For example, gray whale (Eschrichtius robustus) abundance is linked to productivity in the Bering Sea (Calambokidis et al. 2002); the abundance of migrating gray whales feeding in the Salish Sea could be important for the recovery of declining surf scoter (Melanitta perspicilla- ta) populations (Anderson and Lovvorn 2008). Commerce and transportation are powerful non-bio- logical forces that link the biota of Puget Sound to other ecosystems. For instance, in 2006–2007 Washington State and tribal fishermen harvested over 225 metric tons of sea cucumbers (Parastichopus californicus), the majority of which were exported to Asian markets [M. Ulrich, Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, personal communication]. Increasing non-local demand for fisheries can potentially drive unsustainable harvests and hinder restoration. The robust shipping industry that links the Salish Sea to most of the world also is a source of invasive species that can threaten the integrity of biological com- munities (Ruiz et al. 2000). Connectivity contributes to ecosystem functions, and understanding these intricacies is important for designing healthy ecosystems. For example, recent modeling suggests that the mangrove-based ontogenetic migrations of par- rotfish could, through a trophic cascade on macroalgae, enhance the recovery rate of midshelf Caribbean coral reefs from hurricanes (Mumby and Hastings 2008). Conse- quently, preserving or replanting mangroves will improve Caribbean coral resiliency in the face of predicted increased hurricane frequency and intensity (Knutson et al. 2001). While it is tempting to filter out the apparent ‘‘noise’’ from other species and ecosystems, acknowledging and identi- fying key cross-species and cross-habitat connections are essential to understanding changes in the system and measuring performance. Understand the Food Web Food webs represent complex trophic interactions among species; they can change seasonally and geographically (Paine 1980). Although often simplified for communica- tion purposes, food web linkages are complex, subtle, and interactive; they play a major role in ecosystem connec- tivity, as well as in ecosystem resiliency and capacity for renewal. Designing a Healthy Salish Sea 463 A working food web model is a powerful tool for managing ecosystems. Around the world, traditional har- vest management tools, such as maximum sustainable yield models, focus on how many individuals can be harvested sustainably by humans. However, the models fail to take into account the full range of trophic interactions and trophic needs (Struhsaker 1998; Walters et al. 2005). For example, an acceptable salmon harvest level is designed to ensure that sufficient individuals are left to spawn in order to maintain viability of the salmon run into the future. What it fails to account for are the needs of other species dependent on the same salmon run, i.e., those species that prey on salmon (e.g., whales) or those species that are salmon prey. Determining the impact of human-harvested salmon on killer whales, eagles, or any of the other 136 vertebrate species that rely on salmon or salmon carcasses (Cederholm et al. 2000) has proved elusive. Yet it has important biological and policy consequences. For instance, an important factor in listing Southern Resident killer whales as threatened under the ESA was the decline in its primary prey, salmon (Brosnan 2006). Food webs can be used to identify priority or key species in biological communities. Measures taken to protect them and their habitats benefit the entire ecosystem. For instance, Pacific sand lance (Ammodytes hexapterus) and surf smelt (Hypomesus pretiosus) are key forage fish for some Puget Sound birds and mammals (Davoren and Burger 1999; Robards et al. 1999; Lance and Thompson 2005). Locating and protecting their intertidal gravel-sand spawning beaches and associated upland riparian habitats assures food sup- plies for many species. Human alteration of the shoreline can change environmental conditions of these beaches and halve egg survival (Rice 2006), resulting in ‘‘bottom up’’ impacts on the ecosystem through the food web. Knowledge of food web dynamics allows managers to monitor movement of contaminants in the ecosystem (Ross et al. 2004) and the effects of the toxins on species composition, abundance, diversity, and ultimately, the food web itself. Bioaccumulation of toxins has been shown to impact multiple species in many ways, from the immu- nologic health of harbor seals (Ross et al. 1996) to the density and species richness of Phoxocephalid amphipods (Swartz et al. 1982). Avoid Fragmentation Human activities that break otherwise contiguous habitat (land and seascapes) into smaller pieces fragment ecosys- tems, reduce their ecological integrity, and threaten their capacity to renew themselves (Soulé and Lease 1995; Vitousek et al. 1997). Habitat is the place where species interact and form complex communities. Habitat size is directly linked to population size and the nature of species interactions. All species require a minimum number and density of individuals to persist (Shaffer 1981), thus they also require a minimum amount of suitable habitat. For most species, habitat configuration is also important (Hovel 2003). When habitats are fragmented, and shrink below the size required to support a minimum viable population or are significantly modified or disturbed, a sequence of events begins that can end with species extinction. At low densities (associated with small habitats), individuals may be unable to find mates (the Allee effect). For example, this is particularly critical for benthic animals with little mobility such as abalone and some rockfish species (Davis et al. 1998; Yoklavich 1998). Small popula- tions are more susceptible to extinction by extreme natural events and are more likely to lack the genetic diversity needed to adapt to changing physical and biological con- ditions (Tilman and Downing 1994), such as climate change or competition from invasive species. Unlike the terrestrial environment, where habitat size is visible and easily monitored, fragmentation in the marine environment is notoriously hard to study. Thus, it has received far less attention. Steneck et al. (2002) point to several ways in which people inadvertently fragment marine habitats. For instance, seafloor trawling can have devas- tating effects on the seafloor and result in isolated ‘‘islands’’ of unaltered submarine habitats too small to maintain viable populations. Pelagic species and large mammals can experience habitat fragmentation through fisheries and reserve policies. For instance, reserve areas may be too small to contain the necessary food resources to sustain populations of marine mammals. Where the land meets the ocean, anthropogenic shoreline alterations can fragment the nearshore marine habitat and reduce productivity. For example, terrestrial insects falling into nearshore marine water are an important food source for migrating juvenile salmonids; the removal of overhanging shoreline vegetation reduces this important food source (Brennan and Culverwell 2004). Additionally, removal of overhanging shoreline vegetation can alter the microclimate of beaches and reduce their suitability for incubating eggs of intertidal spawning fish (Rice 2006). Some tools used to address ecosystem fragmentation in terrestrial ecosystems also could be used to address eco- 464 Joseph K. Gaydos et al. system fragmentation in coastal ecosystems. Fragmentation through land subdivision and the loss of large-scale dynamic processes such as wildlife migrations and fire was identified as the major threat to the world’s grassland ecosystems (Curtin and Western 2008). Cultural exchange between Masai pastoralists from Kenya and ranchers from the United States helped address these fragmentation threats by speeding up understanding and adaptation (Curtin and Western 2008). Respect Ecosystem Integrity Intact ecosystems are more than the sum of their parts. Processes and forces that bind the parts into a system produce synergies and properties that the individual parts do not possess when simply collected together. Ecological integrity, in which a system has all its parts and no ‘‘extra’’ ones, is a hallmark of environmental health (Leopold 1949). An intact ecosystem has a complete suite of species, and a full range of size and age classes of each component species. Ignoring the ecological integrity and the power of biological interdependence in marine systems has been catastrophic. Historically, fishery practices targeted preda- tors and preferentially removed old, large organisms (those with the greatest reproductive capacities; Berkeley et al. 2004), while relying on smaller, rapidly growing and barely reproducing younger animals for replenishment (Pauly et al. 1998). As a consequence, fishery collapses became widespread. But the ecosystem-wide impacts were just as disastrous. Because predators mediate competition among prey species (Paine 1969) and help assure that a few, fit individuals of all kinds survive to produce another gener- ation, such single-species management strategies not only doomed targeted populations to death spirals, but also triggered trophic cascades with ecological effects that per- sisted for decades and involved hundreds of species (Day- ton et al. 1995; Jackson et al. 2001). Adding, or introducing, invasive species, toxic mate- rials, and pathogens also reduces ecological integrity. In the Salish Sea, non-native species like the purple varnish clam (Nuttallia obscurata) likely were introduced in ballast water (Dudas 2005). Other species, like the Japanese seaweed Sargassum muticum, likely were introduced with the intentionally introduced Pacific oyster (Crassostrea gigas), and now compete with native kelp, impacting benthic subtidal communities (Britton-Simmons 2004). The ocean, a historical out-of-sight–out-of-mind dumping ground for industrial waste, now bears the burden of tonnes of orga- nochlorines and other persistent organic pollutants that have bioaccumulated in the food chain and impacted the health of top predators (Moss et al. 2006). The Salish Sea’s resident and transient killer whales are considered some of the most contaminated cetaceans in the world (Ross et al. 2000). Support Nature’s Resilience A resilient ecosystem can rebound after a disturbance. Resilience is a measure of health and indicates how much stress a system can absorb before it permanently changes into an alternative state or collapses (Holling 1973, 1986; Gunderson 2000). While resilience is essential in a healthy ecosystem, it is frequently ignored in conservation plan- ning. This is because it is hard to measure, and often only recognized once the system is on the verge of collapse. Biological communities have several natural attributes that make them resilient in the face of change and distur- bance. For example, the presence of a keystone species determines persistence and stability (Paine 1969; Estes et al. 1989; Walker 1995; Walker et al. 1999), and in the Salish Sea’s rocky intertidal zone, the sea star Pisaster ochraeus is essential to maintaining a highly diverse and stable com- munity. In their absence, a monoculture of mussels (Mytilus spp.) occurs (Paine 1969). Other communities lacking a keystone species rely on a suite of interacting organisms to build resilience (e.g., Tilman and Downing 1994; Walker 1995; Carpenter and Cottingham 1997; Walker et al. 1997, 1999; Gunderson 2000). Genetic diversity has also been shown to increase ecosystem resil- ience in seagrass (Zostera marina) communities stressed by elevated temperatures (Reusch et al. 2005). Human actions can inadvertently disrupt the factors that allow ecosystems to respond and persist in the face of change. Removal of a keystone species can lead to ecosystem collapse (e.g., Estes et al. 1989). Overfishing can have a detrimental impact on resilience: 20 years of data from reserve versus fished sites showed that reserves maintained a greater complement of species, and were consistently able to withstand and rebound from extreme, but not unusual, environmental conditions such as El Niño years. Fished (non-reserve) sites had fewer species and communities and habitats within the fished sites (e.g., kelp forests) frequently collapsed during El Niño events (Lafferty and Behrens 2005). The principle of building ecosystem resilience is gain- ing ground. Hughes et al. (2005) highlight the international Designing a Healthy Salish Sea 465 emergence of a complex systems approach for sustaining and repairing marine ecosystems, linking ecological resil- ience to governance structures, economics, and society. Previously, several authors (e.g., Hughes et al. 2003) noted that corals in the Indo-Pacific and elsewhere are showing signs of resilience in their ability to adapt to climate change and called for international integration of management strategies that support reef resilience. Since then, toolkits on effective ways to build reef resilience as an integral part of designing healthy marine ecosystems have been devel- oped and are being applied worldwide on reefs from India to Africa, the Caribbean, and the Americas (see http://www. reefresilience.org). Value Nature: It’s Money in Your Pocket Economics is the allocation of limited resources among alternative, competing ends; it is about what people want, and what they are willing to give up in exchange (Daly and Farley 2004). Human well-being is derived from access to, and often the marketing of, essential ecological goods and services provided by ecosystems. These include fossil fuels, minerals, wood, fish, meat, edible plants, watchable wild- life, biofiltration of contaminants, and a multitude of other ecological ‘‘inputs.’’ While higher values of waterfront properties are considered luxuries, most ecological goods and services are considered basic needs for human survival. Despite the complexities of economic globalization, healthy ecosystems support economic prosperity and well- being (Srinivasana et al. 2008). The Salish Sea provides the people who live in the region with abundant natural capital which contributes substantially to the financial prosperity of the region. In Washington alone, marine fish and invertebrates support commercial fisheries worth $3.2 bil- lion a year; the ports of Seattle and Tacoma enable over $70 billion in international trade; and water activities such as sailing, kayaking, whale-watching, and SCUBA diving generate 80% of all dollars spent on tourism and recreation in the state every year (Puget Sound Partnership, unpub- lished data). Healthy ecosystems support economic prosperity. Unhealthy systems cost money to repair and in lost opportunity to benefit from the natural capital. Overhar- vesting, pollution, and loss of wild habitat reduce the quality and quantity of ecosystem services and, ultimately, the economic potential of a region (Clausen and York 2007). Fecal coliform contamination of nearshore waters closed a third of Washington’s $97 million shellfish beds to harvest in 1 year alone (Puget Sound Action Team 2007; Pacific Coast Shellfish Growers Association 2008). In the Salish Sea, ecosystem services provided by higher trophic species like salmon and killer whales, which generally dis- appear before those provided by species lower in the food chain (Dobson et al. 2006), are decreasing. The cumulative economic and ecosystem services losses associated with the depletion of these higher trophic species is incalculable, but likely astronomical. When appropriately balanced, ecosystem services can be used to simultaneously advance conservation and human needs, as has been shown with projects like Quito, Ecuador’s Water Fund, China’s Sloping Lands Program, Kenya’s Il’Ngwesi Ecolodge, and Namibia’s Conservancy Program (Tallis et al. 2008). A healthy Salish Sea that provides services such as plentiful and safe fish and shell- fish, clean water, natural resource-dependent industries, is money in our pockets. Ecosystem services provide revenue from the marine-based industries that are the lifeblood of the region’s economy, and mean less spent on major repairs to reverse ecological damage. Decision-makers and citizens working to restore ecosystems around the world need to grasp nature’s economic benefits or they will grossly underestimate the full benefits of a restored ecosystem while overestimating the relative costs of restoring it. Watch Wildlife Health Disease in marine wildlife can serve as a sentinel for human health. Animals, particularly wildlife, are thought to be the source of over 70% of all emerging infections (Chomel et al. 2007). A burgeoning human population, increased travel opportunities, booming commerce, frequent animal relo- cations, and expanding aquaculture increase human expo- sure to zoonotic diseases from marine wildlife (Friend 2006). Blooms of the phytoplankton Pseudo-nitzschia have caused closures of recreational, commercial, and tribal subsistence shellfish harvest in the Salish Sea (Trainer et al. 2006). These organisms produce domoic acid, a biotoxin known to cause seizures and death in marine mammals and amnesic shellfish disease in humans (Van Dolah et al. 2001). Marine mammals are exposed by eating fish that have consumed domoic acid (Lefebvre et al. 2002). Exposed animals often will strand on beaches and can serve as an early warning indicator for potential exposure of humans through shellfish consumption (Van Dolah et al. 2001), thereby allowing managers to close shellfish harvesting areas to protect human health. 466 Joseph K. Gaydos et al. http://www.reefresilience.org http://www.reefresilience.org Discovering that the feline parasite Toxoplasma gondii infected marine wildlife alerted people to the fact that raw shellfish consumption also could be a route of exposure for humans. If a pregnant woman becomes infected with this parasite, the parasite can infect the fetus, leading to mental retardation, seizures, blindness, and death in children (Alvarado-Esquivel et al. 2006). Interestingly, this cat par- asite has been discovered to infect marine wildlife, such as sea otters (Enhydra lutris; Conrad et al. 2005), marine- foraging river otters (Lontra canadensis; Gaydos et al. 2007), and harbor seals (Phoca vitulina; Lambourn et al. 2001). It is believed that marine wildlife are exposed to T. gondii when cats shed the infective stage (oocyst) in feces, which is then transported by freshwater run-off into the marine ecosystem (Miller et al. 2002). Increased numbers of domestic and feral cats and their associated feces (Dabritz et al. 2006), as well as modifications in freshwater run-off (Miller et al. 2002), have probably increased marine mammal exposure to this parasite. Because shellfish can concentrate the infective T. gondii oocysts (Arkush et al. 2003), humans, like marine mammals, also are at risk for exposure by eating uncooked shellfish. Human, wildlife, and ecosystem health are intimately connected. Understanding and monitoring diseases in both groups will help to identify where and when a stressed ecosystem is contributing to increased disease in people and wildlife, and how the ecosystem can be redesigned. In the Salish Sea region, high-quality public health programs exist, but efforts to monitor and understand marine wildlife health in both countries are limited and not well linked to human health networks. In many less-developed parts of the world, both human and wildlife health need to be better studied and incorporated into designing healthy ecosys- tems. Plan for Extremes Knowing that the daily average temperature is 71�F has little meaning if the daily temperature ranges from 115�F during the day and 27�F at night. We all know the perils of walking across a river with an ‘‘average depth of 4 feet.’’ Planning for the extremes, and not just the average, is prudent. High variation and diversity are key characteristics of living systems, and averages can mislead people seeking to understand and manage nature. For instance, fisheries management based on ‘‘average abundance’’ will fail to account for poor years, and is likely to drive the species extinct. Yet resource users often will prefer to manage for the average. A major discovery of environmental science in the 20th Century was the ecological significance of ‘‘natural extreme events.’’ Many people still view these kinds of events only as disasters that wreak havoc on society and cause humani- tarian tragedies (Kumar et al. 2005). The emergence of disturbance ecology (e.g., Connell 1978; Paine and Levin 1981) illustrated the critical roles that rare extreme events like wildfires, hurricanes, droughts, floods, and El Niño Southern Oscillation events have played in sustaining bio- diversity and ecological integrity in oceans (Dayton and Tegner 1984). As citizens, scientists, and decision-makers begin to envision a restored Salish Sea, that vision must include policies, laws, and management actions that ac- count for extreme but natural events. Share the Knowledge Humans are integral parts of ecosystems. Citizens who understand that their own physical, mental, and economic well-being is intimately connected to the health of the ecosystem are more likely to support and engage in eco- system restoration. While the people of the Salish Sea are believed to value their ecosystem, in reality there currently seems to be little support for restoring it. Despite over- whelming scientific evidence about declines in the health of Puget Sound, a 2006 poll found that only 8% of respon- dents felt the condition of the environment was the most important problem facing people in the Puget Sound region (Puget Sound Partnership, unpublished data). Widespread public education about the issues and what is at stake could build a connection to the ecosystem and rally support for its restoration. But public support alone will not restore the Salish Sea. Political leadership and funding are equally essential. In the Florida Everglades, citizens have expressed their desire for ecosystem restoration to their political representatives, and the representatives themselves are charged with providing the long-term support and funding required for restoration (Kiker et al. 2001). Only an educated and dedicated polit- ical leadership, demonstrating vision and stamina, will keep a long-term focus on restoring ecosystems in the face of numerous short-term competing interests. Marine resources of the Salish Sea are managed by multiple local, state, federal, tribal, and national govern- ments. The common bonds among these myriad of gov- ernance agencies is the human community they serve and Designing a Healthy Salish Sea 467 the ecosystem they seek to sustain as healthy and produc- tive. Scientists play a unique role in linking citizens, poli- ticians, and nature. By sharing knowledge, they can help inform citizens and decision-makers so that actions are science-based and take account of the key factors that will help ensure success. MOVING FORWARD The issues people face in designing a healthy Salish Sea are not unique. Human communities worldwide gather in ever increasing numbers at the coast, adding pressure on the ecosystem’s goods and services. Human use threatens the sustainability of the natural, social, and economic values that attracted them to the coast in the first place (Martı́nez et al. 2007). Ocean and aquatic systems generate more than 60% of the world’s ecosystem services (Costanza et al. 1997). Human communities ignore or degrade these ser- vices and their value at their own peril. These 10 ecological principles can guide people in designing local actions that will have persistent global im- pacts on environmental quality and human health and well- being. These science-based principles will be most effective in informing political processes if they are communicated to citizens and policymakers in ways that are both tangible and memorable (Figure 2). Societies around the world that have cultural, religious, and economic differences are working to design healthy ecosystems. Expressing ecological principles in ways that might capture the attention and interest of local communities (e.g., Figure 2) will benefit place-based edu- cation and conservation efforts. In summary, issues at political boundaries can be resolved with cooperation, while nature’s boundaries are immutable, dynamic connections that cannot be negotiated or changed by policy; think ecosystem. Great thinkers and philosophers from Henry David Thoreau to Edward O. Wilson have espoused the global interdependence of people and other parts of nature that is inescapable in designing sustainable communities; account for ecosystem connec- tivity. Knowing how plants and animals are related to each other by their diets is a practical way to visualize connec- tivity, interdependence, and system integrity and helps predict how nature will respond to stresses; understand your food web. Habitats of adequate size and quality to support high levels of biodiversity are critical characteristics of healthy ecosystems; avoid fragmentation. Loss of integ- rity threatens nature’s stability, beauty, and capacity for self-renewal, but integrity can be rebuilt and sustained by design; respect ecosystem integrity. While healthy ecosys- tems have tremendous capacity for self-renewal, resilience can be overwhelmed by collective human activities. Again, resilience can be restored by people, by design. Healthy ecosystems are money in your pocket because they save on Figure 2. Top 10 ecological prin- ciples translated into a format intended to capture the attention of, and be meaningful to, people living in and around the Salish Sea. 468 Joseph K. Gaydos et al. repair costs and deliver essential goods and services; value nature. Diseases in marine animals are closely linked to human health and can provide early warnings as sentinels of ecosystem stress; watch wildlife health. Nature is variable and rarely average, and remember, extreme natural events test fitness, mediate competition, and assure diverse opportunities; plan for extremes. Finally, people matter from grassroots to government, and little will happen without educating and incorporating humans at every level into designing a healthy ecosystem for the future; share the knowledge. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This manuscript was prepared thanks to the private donations that support the SeaDoc Society (http://www. seadocsociety.org), a program of the Wildlife Health Cen- ter; the Wildlife Health Center is a center of excellence at the UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine. The United States Geological Survey, the Northwest Indian Fisheries Commission, the Sustainable Ecosystem Institute, and GE Davis & Associates provided in-kind contributions of time. We thank Norm Maher for creating the map of the Salish Sea, Miguel Arboleda for his design of the cartoon figure, ‘‘The Ten Commandments of Coastal Ecosystem Design,’’ Alison Kent for graphics assistance, and two anonymous reviewers for providing helpful comments that improved the quality of the manuscript. 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NOAA/NMFS Technical Memo- randum SWFSC 255 Designing a Healthy Salish Sea 471 http://www.pcsga.org/pub/uploads/production.pdf http://www.pcsga.org/pub/uploads/production.pdf Top 10 Principles for Designing Healthy Coastal Ecosystems Like the Salish Sea Abstract Introduction Fig1 The 10 Principles Think Ecosystem: Political Boundaries �Are Arbitrary Account for Ecosystem Connectivity Understand the Food Web Avoid Fragmentation Respect Ecosystem Integrity Support Nature rsquo s Resilience Value Nature: It rsquo s Money in Your Pocket Watch Wildlife Health Plan for Extremes Share the Knowledge Moving Forward Fig2 Acknowledgments CR1 CR2 CR3 CR4 CR5 CR6 CR7 CR8 CR9 CR10 CR11 CR12 CR13 CR14 CR15 CR16 CR17 CR18 CR19 CR20 CR21 CR22 CR23 CR24 CR25 CR26 CR27 CR28 CR29 CR30 CR31 CR32 CR33 CR34 CR35 CR36 CR37 CR38 CR39 CR40 CR41 CR42 CR43 CR44 CR45 CR46 CR47 CR48 CR49 CR50 CR51 CR52 CR53 CR54 CR55 CR56 CR57 CR58 CR59 CR60 CR61 CR62 CR63 CR64 CR65 CR66 CR67 CR68 CR69 CR70 CR71 CR72 CR73 CR74 CR75 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work_b6eaclpnivbephsqqzbtywgb4y	----	The freedom of conscience and sociological perspectives on dilemmas of collective secular disobedience: the case of Israel The freedom of conscience and sociological perspectives on dilemmas of collective secular disobedience: the case of Israel ALEK D. EPSTEIN This paper analyses the transformation of the conscientious objection patterns that occur in a large number of countries, and Israel (discussed in this paper more profoundly) is one of them. Para- doxically, paci� st conscientious objection, which often lacks acknowledgement by the civil society, has received legal recognition in various countries, whereas conscientious disobedience, which is usually justi� ed by a large number of ‘legitimate’ civil society organizations and groups, as a rule is not assigned any recognized status by the legal authorities. The broadening of conscientious disobedi- ence and the rise in a number of civil society groups that evidently express their disagreement with the state authorities’ current policy certainly demonstrate a decline in the extent of the legitimacy of the state and its institutions. The changing sociopolitical reality and the transformation of conscien- tious objection require a rede� nition of the phenomenon of conscientious disobedience by the legal and legislative authorities. Introduction Being one of the basic liberties of the individual, the right to freedom of conscience is thus represented in all international conventions concerning human rights. It is unlikely, however, that any acts of collective (and not only individualistic) secular (and not only religious) objection can be advocated in the light of the principle of the freedom of conscience. Moreover, the connection between the freedom of conscience and other rights, such as the freedom of thought, as well as the connection between conscientious objection and civil disobedience are debatable as well. Michael Walzer has mentioned that it is illogical to � nd a secular state allowing conscientious objection on religious grounds only. The transformation of the conscientious objection patterns takes place in a large number of countries, and Israel (discussed in this paper more profoundly) is one of them. Contem- porary conscientious objection is likely to be secular rather than religiously based, to be a widespread rather than a marginal occurrence, and to include service people in uniform as well as those who avoid conscription. In this paper I would like to strengthen the argument that John Rawls’s and Joseph Raz’s distinction between conscientious objection and civil disobedience, which often serves as an ostensibly legitimate basis for ignoring secular patterns of conscientious disobedience, is very problematic. Paradoxically, the paci� st conscientious objection, which often lacks acknowledgement in the civil society, has received legal recognition in various countries, whereas conscientious disobedience, which is usually justi� ed by a large number of ‘legiti- mate’ civil society organizations and groups, as a rule is not assigned any recognized status by the legal authorities. JOURNAL OF HUMAN RIGHTS, VOL. 1, NO. 3 ( SEPTEMBER 2002), 305–320 Journal of Human Rights ISSN 1475-4835 print/ISSN 1475-4843 online © 2002 Taylor & Francis Ltd http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals DOI: 10.1080/1475483021015655 3 I would like to claim that the broadening of conscientious disobedience and the rise in a number of civil society groups that evidently express their disagreement with the state authorities’ current policy demonstrate a decline in the extent of the legitimacy of the state and its institutions. As a result, state authorities use the force of law in order to de-legit- imize the patterns of conscientious disobedience that can really endanger their status in society. Although religious objectors constitute only an insigni� cant minority of the total number of conscientious objectors in any European country, in no society have the state authorities ever recognized secular grounds before religious motives as the basis for accept- ing conscientious objection and exempting COs from combatant military service. In order to manage this paradoxical situation adequately, the current de� nition of conscientious disobedience should be re-formulated. The changing sociopolitical reality and the trans- formation of conscientious objection require the adoption of a relevant de� nition of the phenomenon of conscientious disobedience by the legal and legislative authorities. Freedom of conscience and the transformation of conscientious objection Being one of the basic liberties of the individual, the right to freedom of conscience is thus represented in all international conventions concerning human rights. Article 18 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states: Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief, and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in teaching, practice, worship and observance. A similar formulation appears in Article 18.1 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which was adopted and opened for signature, rati� cation and accession by General Assembly Resolution 2200 on 16 December 1966 and entered into force in March 1976. Article 18.2 of this convention prohibits any coercion directed at deprivation of a person’s right to have or adopt a religion or belief of his/her choice: Everyone shall have the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion. This right shall include freedom to have or to adopt a religion or belief of his choice, and freedom, either individually or in community with others and in public or in private, to manifest his religion or belief in worship, observance, practice and teaching. No one shall be subject to coercion which would impair freedom to have or to adopt a religion or belief of his choice. The recognition of the right to freedom of conscience, as it appears in the UN Declar- ation of 1948, is quoted also in Article 9 of the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, which was signed by the Foreign ministers of the members of the Council of Europe in Rome on 4 November 1950 (and entered into force in 1953). According to this Convention, ‘Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion’. Article 12.2 of the American Convention on Human Rights, which has been in legal force since 1978, also prohibits any oppression of persons as a result of their faith: ‘No one shall be subject to restrictions that might impair his freedom to maintain or to change his religion or beliefs.’ Article 27 of the American convention is concerned with the state’s privilege to limit some human and civil rights in 306 ALEK D. EPSTEIN case of a war or national emergency, ensuring, however, the right to freedom of conscience even in these extreme circumstances: In time of war, public danger, or other emergency that threatens the independence or security of a state party, it may take measures derogating from its obligations under the present convention . . . . The foregoing provision does not authorize any suspen- sion of the following articles: . . .; Article 12. Freedom of conscience is guaranteed to everyone, with no distinction as to race or nation- ality, by the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimi- nation,1 which entered into force in 1969, and by the Teheran Proclamation of the International Conference on Human Rights held in 1968. According to this Proclamation (Article 5), every state is to guarantee the right to freedom of conscience without discrimi- nation based on race, nationality, language or political belief: The primary aim of the United Nations in the sphere of human rights is the achieve- ment by each individual of the maximum freedom and dignity. For the realization of this objective, the laws of every country should grant each individual, irrespective of race, language, religion or political belief, freedom of expression, of information, of conscience and of religion. Although various countries have made great efforts to advance the freedom of conscience in their political cultures, it seems that there is no agreement as to whether any acts of collective (and not only individualistic) secular (and not only religious) conscientious objec- tion can be advocated in the light of this basic principle. Moreover, the connection between freedom of conscience and other rights, such as freedom of thought, as well as the connec- tion between conscientious objection and civil disobedience, are debatable as well. According to Ruth Gavizon, freedom of conscience is a particular instance of the freedom of thought. Freedom of conscience is the freedom to hold certain opinions, particularly of a moral nature. Commitment to freedom of conscience means that there must be no compulsory intervention to prevent an adult from forming his/her own responses to moral issues (Gavizon 1994: 45). At the same time, according to a more reduced de� nition: Despite their closeness and similarity, freedom of thought and belief is not identical to that of conscience and religion. Freedom of thought and belief includes research and political activities aimed at the formation of a social framework in accordance with a general world outlook. Political activity undoubtedly has nothing to do with freedom of conscience and religion. (Shelach 1990: 48) Hugo Adam Bedau has even stated that civil disobedience and conscientious objection ‘differ in their primary purpose’. The primary purpose of conscientious objection ‘is not public education but private exemption, not political change but (to put it bluntly) personal hand-washing’ (Bedau 1991: 7). Peter Singer has presented a similar point of view: ‘The distinctive feature of the disobedience of the person usually called a “conscientious objector” is . . . that it is neither an attempt to force the majority to alter its decision, nor an attempt to gain publicity, or to ask the majority to reconsider its decision’ (Singer 1974: 7). This distinction is rooted in John Rawls’s and Joseph Raz’s de� nitions of conscientious FREEDOM OF CONSCIENCE AND SECULAR DISOBEDIENCE 307 objection and civil disobedience. Rawls describes conscientious refusal as ‘noncompliance with a more or less direct legal injunction or administrative order’ (Rawls 1972: 368). Rawls’s point is that an administrative injunction or order, unlike a law, is addressed to the objector personally and, normally at least, the refusal does not escape the notice of the authorities. For Rawls, conscientious refusal may be grounded on an appeal to a shared conception of justice but need not be; civil disobedience, however, must be so grounded by definition. Raz characterizes conscientious objection as ‘a breach of law for the reason that the agent is morally prohibited to obey it’, whereas civil disobedience is described as ‘a politically motivated breach of law designed either to contribute directly to a change of law or to express one’s protest against, and dissociation from, a law or public policy’ (Raz 1979: 263). Undoubtedly, this distinction, accepted by legal authori- ties (that often recognize only religiously predetermined patterns of conscientious objec- tion), is rather comfortable for the state, which can grant ‘freedom of conscience’ without feeling that its own policies are being challenged. Moreover, as Raz maintains, ‘in a liberal state there can be no right to civil disobedience which derives from a general right to political participation. One’s right to political activity is, by hypothesis, adequately protected by law. It can never justify breaking it’ (Raz 1979: 273). I shall not concentrate here on the critics of this statement in part because Raz himself mentioned that ‘a liberal state was defined in a rather technical and narrow sense. It is simply one which respects the right to political participation and may contain any number of bad and iniquitous laws, and sometimes it will be the right to engage in civil disobedience to protest against them or against bad public policies’ (Ibid., 274). I would like to argue, however, that the distinction between conscientious and civil disobedience, which often serves as an osten- sibly legitimate basis for ignoring secular patterns of conscientious disobedience, is, at least, problematic. Usually, as civil disobedience is designed to bring a change in the policy or the prin- ciple served by the law being disobeyed, and as conscientious objection is not intended to achieve these goals, disobedience of the latter type is not acknowledged as political. This gives expression to an excessively narrow conception of what is political, a conception according to which only acts of disobedience accompanied by full intentions of achieving political results are indeed political. As has been stated by Chaim Gans (1992: 138–139): There is no justi� cation either for this conception, or for the conclusion following from it that conscientious objection is not political. It is dif� cult to see why acts of disobedience, which are likely to affect the realization of the principles and goals served or expressed by the laws being disobeyed, shouldn’t count as political even if they aren’t intended to achieve these effects. This is especially true with reference to conscientious objection based on an objection which is conceived of by the objector as applying to humanity in general or at least to his fellow society members. Moreover, disobedience which is based on such an objection is political even if it does not, or is unlikely to, have any actual effect on the realization of the goals of the law being disobeyed. Such disobedience is political as it is, by de� nition, based on an objection of universal validity, and thus its performer cannot lack an interest in affecting the realization of the goals of the law in question. Many acts of conscientious objection, at least the ones placed at the centre of public attention in the course of the last two decades – the selec- tive conscientious objection against wars such as that waged by the USA in Vietnam, and that waged by Israel in Lebanon – were acts of disobedience based on objections that were, by their very inner logic, of universal or general social validity. Due to this, and due to the 308 ALEK D. EPSTEIN results which it was reasonable to expect of them, and which they indeed had, they were political in nature, though they were not necessarily also acts of civil disobedience. It was Michael Walzer who remarked that it is illogical to � nd a secular state allowing conscientious objection on religious grounds only (Walzer 1970: 120–145). Basically, conscience is ‘our blanket name for the personal governing principles to which a man is ultimately committed’ (Cohen 1968: 270). Thus conscience can also be described as a form of moral knowledge that we share not with God, but with other people – our fellow citizens, for example, or our comrades in some movement, party or sect. Secularization of conscience and modern individualism have been the driving forces in the exponential rise of the resistance to military service. Religious motivation has diminished dramatically in importance. In those Northern and Western European countries where current data are available, religious objectors make up only a small minority of the total number of consci- entious objectors; the percentages are remarkably similar even among different nations: 15% in The Netherlands, 18% in Germany, 14% in Norway (Moskos and Chambers 1993: 197). Walzer himself focused on secular conscientious objectors whose claims are not merely personal but based on shared group principles and mutual engagements. Limiting the discussion to objectors’ groups – or to individuals belonging to such groups – allowed Walzer to justify conscientious objection by claiming that it is inconceivable to demand of political groups in pluralist democracies to behave contrary to their most intense commit- ments. Freedom of association virtually guarantees that certain laws will be met with demands for exemption, or for repeal, by groups of associated individuals. Walzer comes to the conclusion that ‘as conscientious objection in its Protestant form is the natural product of religious pluralism, so conscientious objection in its secular form is the natural product of political pluralism’ (Walzer 1970: 132). For the purposes of analysis, conscientious objectors can be divided into several sub- categories.2 On the basis of their motivation, conscientious objectors can be religious COs (including variously those coming to their beliefs through historic peace sects, through mainline churches, or through non-mainline denominations) or secular COs (including those with either political or private motives). On the basis of the scope of their beliefs, conscientious objectors can be universalistic COs, who are opposed to all wars (this is the kind most commonly recognized by the state) or selective COs, who oppose a particular con� ict or the use of particular weapons (primarily weapons of mass destruction and notably nuclear weapons). Also distinguishing one type of conscientious objector from another is one’s willingness to cooperate with the state, speci� cally represented by the military or the government’s conscription agency. Noncombatants are conscientious objectors willing to serve in the military without bearing arms; typically they serve in the medical corps. Alternativists agree, in lieu of military service, to participate in civilian alternative service in public or private agencies; most of these COs engage in education, health, or cultural work. In many coun- tries, willingness to perform alternative service has become increasingly the de facto measure of the ‘sincerity’ of the conscientious objectors. In 1990, 35 states participating in the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe agreed to consider introducing alternative service for conscientious objectors in lieu of military service. Absolutists refuse to cooperate with the authorities in any way in regard to the conscription system; they decline to participate in alternative service programmes, even if these programmes are unrelated to the military system. The absolutists are the COs who are most likely to be imprisoned in modern democratic states. It should be explicitly mentioned that the transformation of the patterns of con- scientious objection takes place in a large number of countries (Levi and DeTray 1993). FREEDOM OF CONSCIENCE AND SECULAR DISOBEDIENCE 309 Generally speaking, the contemporary conscientious objection ‘is likely to be secular rather than religiously based, to be a widespread rather than a marginal occurrence, and to include service people in uniform as well as conscription avoiders’ (Moskos 1992: 21). Concerning the latter category, Gabriel and Savage stress that in a democratic society a resignation from the military, or a request to be relieved of a command position, can be consistent with the of� cers’ code of ethics, moral judgement, and values; it can be an integral consequence of commitment to the profession (Gabriel and Savage 1978, see also Gabriel 1982). Challenging the state: conscientious objection and civil disobedience in Israel A similar process of transformation of the patterns of conscientious objection has been taking place in Israel. Up to and through the Six-Day War, almost all instances of refusal had a speci� c paci� st basis in opposition to violence.3 However, unlike the paci� st, educational, Zionist and non-political line that characterized the Israeli Association of Conscientious Objectors during the � rst 20 years of statehood, at the time it had been led by Nathan Hofshi, Toma Schick (who had been an indisputable leader of the group since the Six-Day War until November 1995, when he left Israel) and his followers transformed the association to an ultra-radical political movement.4 As Shalom Zamir claimed, ‘the essence of our struggle is not the exemption of conscientious objectors but the � ght against a policy of nationwide discrimination, oppression, humiliation, and the infringement of democracy and human rights’ (Zamir 1972: 4). As Michael Walzer stated the argument, ‘conscience may well lead individuals like ourselves to challenge the state and refuse to play the patriot’ (Walzer 1970: 131). Toma Shick, Uri Davis and their supporters transformed the association into a radical group that was to challenge the political consensus of the Israeli society. The Six-Day War in June 1967 marked the passage from a nation-state-in-the-making to a de facto bi-national state (Kimmerling 1993); it also opened a new chapter in the history of conscientious objection in the State of Israel. A consensus exists in Israel that the Six-Day War was a just war. As such, no instances of refusal are known to have occurred during the course of the � ghting. Four years later, however, after Israel had begun to tighten its hold over the territories conquered in the war, a new pattern of non-compliance emerged: selective refusal, that is, refusal to serve in the captured territories. A new type of objection occurred in this period – political refusal with the intent to in� uence government policy. It was a de� nite attitudinal change toward continued Israeli control of the occupied territories. Political objectors were concerned that government policies were not bringing peace any closer.5 Nevertheless, until the outbreak of the Lebanon War in 1982, there were few refusals on political ground connected with national security. The infrequent refusals after 1967 stemmed from the debate over the future of the territories and were con� ned to the marginal political left. Refusal during the Lebanon War, by contrast, was a means of protest openly adopted by a few hundred individuals. Some of them were of� cers, some had served in combat status, and not all of them were identi� ed with marginal political groups. The conscientious objection at the time of the Lebanon campaign (1982–85) and the Intifada (1987–93) de� nitely did not originate either in Dr Schweitzer’s legacy of peaceful creation or in the spiritual Zionism of Ahad Ha’Am, Gordon and Buber. Although there exists an argument that civil disobedience did not begin with Socrates, but with the Hebrew Bible, which rejected the supremacy of human law (Hazony 1998), the Israeli 310 ALEK D. EPSTEIN conscientious objection transformed into a completely different story – the story of Israeli followers of Henry Thoreau and Martin Luther King, the story of the citizen’s responsi- bility for the mistakes of government, the story of the appearance of non-violent civil disobedience in the changing Israeli society. Probably the most landmark case was that of Gad Elgazi in 1979. Gad Elgazi was one of the group of 27 high school seniors who published a letter objecting to the occupation of the West Bank and Gaza Strip and stating that, when called to military service, they would refuse to serve in the occupied territories. They added that by so refusing they believed they contributed to peace in the Middle East. It should be mentioned that from 1971 till 1979, the Ministry of Defense pragmatically allowed such selective objectors, when drafted, to serve within the ‘green line’ separating Israel from the occupied territories (Epstein 1999). The case-by-case effort to resolve the issue of refusal through various means without raising public awareness continued for years. Elgazi asked the army to consider his request for selective exemption. However, in contrast with its previous policy, the Ministry of Defense rejected doing so. Elgazi considered the army’s rejection of his petition to be a case of illegal discrimination. After serving three consecutive one-month prison sentences, he appealed to the Supreme Court, claiming discrimination in the light of former exemptions given by the Ministry of Defense.6 The IDF was unable to deny the petitioner’s claims. Instead, the army’s counsel explained: Army authorities had given objectors a guarantee that they would be stationed according to their wishes, within the borders of Israel, as long as refusal was an isolated phenomenon. Now policy has changed. What had once been sporadic instances of refusal with which the IDF was prepared to live, has changed in char- acter and become an organized protest whose aim is to turn the IDF – the national army, necessarily disengaged from any political or ideological arguments – into the battleground for a kind of confrontation which the army cannot be associated with.7 The Supreme Court left no question concerning its position in regard to the individual’s obligation to perform military service: ‘No military organization can tolerate the existence of a general principle according to which individual soldiers can dictate their place of service, be it for economic or social reasons, or for reasons of conscience’8. Although Justice Cohen, who wrote a separate opinion, expressed dissatisfaction with the lack of a clear policy by the army regarding service in the occupied territories, all three Justices agreed that this was not a reason to consider as discriminatory the change of practice according to which soldiers were now compelled to serve in the occupied territories. The principles to which Justices Levin and Beiski referred, especially the need to leave questions of military policy to the army, were essentially consequentialist: ‘We believe we had better refrain from stating an opinion as to the utility-calculations of the authority when it implements its policy; this is a matter for the respondents and their experts to handle and we see no legal reason to contradict its calculations’9. Consequentialist arguments were dominant in Yaakov Shain’s case as well. In 1983, Yaakov Shain was called up for one month’s military service in southern Lebanon. Shain refused, claiming that, in his view, ‘the IDF presence in southern Lebanon is unlawful and inconsistent with basic notions of justi� cation of belligerent acts’. He was put on disci- plinary trial and given 35 days’ detention. He was later sentenced to 28 days more for refusing another reserve service call-up order. On receiving a third order for reserve duty, Shain appealed to the Supreme Court. He submitted a petition to the Supreme Court, FREEDOM OF CONSCIENCE AND SECULAR DISOBEDIENCE 311 maintaining that the second summons was not dictated by the ‘military needs’, as speci- � ed in the Defense Service Law, but was in� icted on him as a punishment. The state attorney claimed in response that the practice of calling objectors to duty after they had been punished for their refusals stemmed from the need to overcome the phenomenon of refusal to serve in Lebanon, which had severely jeopardized the foundations of military discipline and the morale of soldiers serving there. The Supreme Court rejected Shain’s claim that his second summons was not in line with military and security needs, and that the military instructions, updated in 1983 regard- ing summon objectors who had already been punished, were illegal.10 In the decision, written by Justice Menachem Elon, consequentialist arguments were adopted as well: ‘The purpose of the updated instructions is to insure that every reserve soldier ful� lls his duty and provides military service in accordance with the military and security needs of the IDF, which are determined by the IDF authorities’ consideration’11. Justice Elon added that the petitioner was not entitled to determine the military policy and to decide what the army’s security needs were. He surveyed responses to the selective conscientious objection, i.e. objection to serve in a speci� c war for ideological reasons, in England and the USA, where this was seen as infringing upon the process of democratic decision making and as consti- tuting a real danger of applying unequal criteria in military recruitment. He claimed that this danger existed in the case in front of him; moreover, he made sure to differentiate between the Israeli context, with its higher stakes and unique utility considerations, and that of other countries: The whole great complex affair of law on the one hand and conscience on the other, of the duty and need to maintain military service in order to defend the sovereignty of the state and the well-being of its inhabitants on the one hand and refusal to go to war for reasons of personal conscience on the other, must be reviewed in light of the particular circumstances of time and place; but the dif� cult security situation of Israel does not resemble the security situations of other states, securely ensconced within their borders. This material difference is also a major and important consider- ation in elucidating the issue before us12. Although denying the possibility of one’s selective disobedience, Justice Elon con� rmed one’s right to be fully exempt from the military service for reasons of conscience. He stated: The reasons of conscience can serve as one of possible arguments the authorities consider, in order to exempt one from the obligation to serve in the military. The recruits having a paci� stic outlook asked – and got – such exemptions individually, after they had personally appealed to the Defense minister. And yet 143 reserve soldiers refused to join their units in their assigned military mission in Lebanon (Linn 1986). The � rst cases of refusal became known to the public on 22 September 1982, following the quasi victory of the war – the evacuation of the PLO terrorists from Beirut. The IDF spokesman announced that morning that three reserve soldiers had been tried for refusing to serve in Lebanon for moral reasons. In the follow- ing months, there were on average three refusals per month, reaching a peak in one month (May 1983) of 27 objectors. One also has to account for the phenomenon of hidden refusal, which grew during that period. The total number of 143 includes only those soldiers who actually refused to obey the order and were sentenced to jail for from 14 to 35 days (about 15 of them went to jail two or three times throughout the entire war – from 312 ALEK D. EPSTEIN June 1982 to June 1985 – when facing additional drafts). The number noted above does not include the potential objectors, whose request not to serve in Lebanon was granted by their immediate sympathetic commanders; in her study on the conscientious objectors during the period of the Intifada, Ruth Linn found that 27% of the objectors unsuccess- fully tried to avoid service using various excuses such as illnesses or job dif� culties (Linn 1996: 98). More than 1470 ‘Yesh Gvul’ [‘There Is a Limit’] members signed declarations stating that if called up, they would refuse to serve in Lebanon.13 Therefore, the real number of objectors was signi� cantly larger. In 1986, Lt Gen. Moshe Levi, approaching the end of his tenure as chief of staff, admitted that refusals to serve in Lebanon had played a role in Minister of Defense Moshe Arens’s decision to begin a withdrawal of the IDF from Lebanon (Peri 1993: 155). Even though refusal in the Intifada was more of an option than the Lebanon war, the number of objectors within its � rst four years of existence, namely 165, does not suggest that the process of refusal was easier on the individual reserve soldier than it was in Lebanon (Linn 1995). An even more signi� cant change appears in the social background of the conscientious objectors. The civilian background of the Intifada objectors was similar to that of the Lebanon war objectors: both groups come from the elite of society, one- quarter are kibbutzniks, one-quarter are of� cers, and a disproportionate number are university graduates. According to Ruth Linn’s data, the ‘ideal type’ of the contemporary Israeli conscientious objector refers to a secular, 30-year-old male of European origin (ages 21–49, mode = 34), who lives in a city (92%), is highly educated (79% have already � nished at least their BA studies, 48% hold MA or PhD degrees), and is a member of the liberal professions (92%); most of them (52%) actively participated in protest groups prior to their refusal. The Intifada objectors appear to be experienced military of� cers (27%) and soldiers (73%); half of them (50%; 61% among the Lebanon objectors) had participated in previous wars in a combat role (Linn 1996: 88–91). The protestors were not paci� sts, but they maintained that political dialogue with the Palestinians was the sole means of achieving peace. War was only a last-resort means of ensuring survival. In their view, attacks on civilians represented the dehumanizing element of wars conducted with the aim of occupying territories rather than thwarting an exis- tential danger. ‘Shalom Akhshav’ [‘Peace Now’] preached a peace initiative, including dialogue with both PLO-af� liated and other Palestinian delegates. Most of its several thousand members, repudiating the Israeli consensus, deemed the Palestinian national movement legitimate. Most of the media advocated dissent, leading protestors to hope that the government would accede to their demands. The last decade’s objectors do not belong to those sectors of Israeli society that have traditionally been estranged from the army. The opposite is true: they represent groups whose contribution to the state’s military security has traditionally been high (Per 1993: 155). The political background of the conscientious objectors has also changed: this group now comprises those from the ‘legitimate’ parts of the political left. What is more, organiz- ations of the non-radical left have expressed either their support for or, at least, an ‘under- standing’ of the refusal to � ght against the Intifada. Even though the overall numbers of objectors are not large, the shift in attitude is signi� cant. A survey of high school students’ attitudes to military service found that 53% justify, to one extent or another, refusal to serve in the territories. Thus there exists a paradox: paci� st conscientious objection that lacks any recognition in civil society has received the recognition of various Israeli state insti- tutions,14 whereas conscientious-civil disobedience, which is justi� ed by a large number of ‘legitimate’ civil society organizations and groups, has not been assigned with any recog- nized status by the legal authorities. FREEDOM OF CONSCIENCE AND SECULAR DISOBEDIENCE 313 It should be explicitly mentioned that since 1973 political protest and civil disobedi- ence have also become the tools of Israeli right-wing radicals (Sprinzak 1991: 18). In the mid-1990s the idea of civil disobedience for reasons of conscience became an essential part of the political philosophy of Israeli extreme right organizations. Ehud Sprinzak argues that ‘many young Israelis learned for the � rst time about the civil rights movement, Martin Luther King Jr, and the struggle against the Vietnam War’ from the extreme right ‘Zo Artzenu’ (‘This Is Our Land’) leaders’ interviews to the media in 1995 (Sprinzak 1999: 271). The chairman of ‘Zo Artzenu’, Moshe Feigelin, argued that only a real struggle, i.e. uncom- promising civil disobedience and the readiness of a large number of people to be arrested, could mobilize the masses against the government and effectively stop the Israeli–Pales- tinian peace process.15 Elyakim Haetzni, a prominent secular leader of the Judea and Samaria settlement movement, was the � rst to introduce the language of personal dele- gitimization into the struggle dictionary of the radical right. Since 1992 he has devoted most of his intellectual energy to the development of a settler version of civil disobedience. Haetzni’s justi� cation of civil disobedience starts with the universal proposition that Western civilization has always recognized limits on citizens’ obligation to obey human laws. Eminent thinkers – from Socrates to Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr – argued that above the law of every state there are higher principles of justice, religion or natural law that make disobedience legitimate and sometimes obligatory. While Socrates associ- ated disobedience with the right to engage in a free philosophical discourse and to educate the young, Henry David Thoreau placed the limit on slavery and lack of human freedom. Charles de Gaulle, in a case analogous to that of Israel, refused to go along with the surren- der of homeland territories to the enemy. Martin Luther King Jr believed that the inhu- manity of racial segregation fully justi� ed civil disobedience. Even the members of Israel’s ‘Yesh Gvul’ argued that military service in the occupied territories violated their beliefs and justi� ed disobedience to the law. Drawing on all these precedents, Haetzni asked his readers, friends and foes alike, to respect the right of the settlers to disobey orders involv- ing the surrender of Eretz Israel territories. Israel’s settlers, he warned, would refuse to evacuate their settlements despite any agreement the government might conclude with the Palestinians.16 Haetzni’s interpretation of civil disobedience consistently ignored the Palestinian side of the dilemma; neither did it take into consideration the plight of people who had never chosen to live as second-class citizens under Israeli occupation. Haetzni failed to notice that civil disobedience theories were developed by the poor and the powerless, usually against oppressive governments – not by mighty colonizer committed to the sacred Land of Israel as if no people had lived there for generations. What Haetzni had in mind was not an ethical theory of disobedience but an instrument of popular mobilization that would appeal to educated settlers and legitimize efforts to bring down the government in the streets. As Haetzni stated: A process [of disobedience] will feed into an internal process of alienation of the people of Israel from the government, will intensify . . . the message of the demon- strators, rioters, individuals who block the roads, founders of settlements on lands owned by the Palestinian land authority, those who put barbed wires around these lands before their return to the enemy, the jailed, the sentenced, the locked. This will be the day when this alien government will collapse and a new dawn sheds light on a new Israel, a better Israel, pure and untarnished. (Haetzni 1994: 25–27) The initiative to refuse military service by reason of conscience manifested itself at the 314 ALEK D. EPSTEIN extreme right wing in the Chai Ve-Kayam (‘Alive and Existing’) group. This group was estab- lished by Yehuda Etzion, the ideologue of the Jewish Underground in the 1980s. In his view, the failure of the state to become Jewish, redeem the land, assert authority against the Arabs, and start building the Third Temple made it illegitimate. While neither engaging in violence against the Palestinians nor physically confronting the Israeli secure forces, Chai Ve-Kayam activists (whose number never exceeded three dozen) raised the level of anti- government resistance through incessant efforts to pray as a group on the Temple Mount, an act prohibited by Israeli law. By calling upon the settler community to dissociate them- selves from state institutions and to stop paying taxes, Chai Ve-Kayam also contributed to the spread of civil disobedience as a strategy among the settler community. At the beginning of November 1993, 11 members of Chai Ve-Kayam led by lieutenant (res.) Mordechai Karpel signed an open letter to the Prime Minister declaring their unwillingness to serve in the military, which ful� ls the government’s orders that endanger the future of the Israeli settlements in Judea and Samaria.17 Today the idea of legitimacy of civil disobedience has become an essential part of the Israeli right’s intellectual and political vision. In his paper entitled ‘The Jewish origins of the Western disobedience tradition’, Yoram Hazoni, director of the Shalem Center in Jerusalem (the most prominent right-oriented centre for public policy research and social thought in Israel), argued: Today, we are left to operate the state without prophecy. But we do have the heritage of the prophets – a heritage in which individuals possess a ‘constitutional’ standing as against that of the state, and which removes them a step or two beyond its reach. It is this distance from the dictates of men which affords us the freedom to judge and to abhor, to speak and to demand, and, when necessary, to disobey. Of course, for such a tradition to bear fruit ultimately depends on the strength of individual men. And there always exists the possibility that, when actually confronted with the injus- tice of the state, the many will simply turn their backs on the disobedience tradition of the West, submitting to the state and ‘just following orders’, as so many did in Germany not so long ago. Yet the political tradition of the democratic states of our time, as epitomized by their judgment at Nuremberg, continues to hold before us the alternate possibility: That even men who are not prophets can � nd strength in the disobedience tradition of the Hebrew prophets, and will prove worthy of its legacy when the terrible moment comes. (Hazony 1998: 63) To my mind, the fact that, based on the freedom of conscience, the idea of civil disobedi- ence has become an essential part of the political ideology and practice of various civil society organizations (on both the right and the left wing) should entail re-examination of the traditional attitude towards the limits and the legitimacy of conscientious disobedience. Reframing the discussion: towards a recognition of collective secular disobedience Although conscientious objection may be an act of very few, there appears to be a positive correlation between reliance on conscientious objection and other forms of dissent. Moreover, conscientious objection, unlike other forms of refusing consent, requires an explicit and public statement of opposition to government demands (Levi 1997: 165–199). Many countries have made allowance for conscientious objectors in their conscription FREEDOM OF CONSCIENCE AND SECULAR DISOBEDIENCE 315 laws. However, the acceptance of the right to conscientious objection by the government does not occur uniformly in every country. The USA was the � rst to allow some right to conscientious objection at the national level. This took place in the mid-nineteenth century during the Civil War. Britain in 1916 was the � rst European nation to grant of� cial recognition to conscientious objectors while at war. The Netherlands in 1924 was the � rst to accept selective conscientious objection and the � rst European nation to estab- lish civilian alternative service. In the late 1950s, the Federal Republic of Germany was the � rst country to move toward a massive alternative civilian service programme for conscientious objectors. By the 1980s Denmark became the � rst country in which alterna- tive service was made less onerous than peacetime military service (Sorensen 1993). Conscientious objection and alternative service have been recognized in France (1963; re-formulated in 1983) (Martin 1993), in The Netherlands (1924; re-formulated in 1964 and 1978) ( Jan Van Der Meulen 1992), in Italy (1972) (Nuciari 1992), in Austria (1975), in Poland (1988) (Modzelewski 1994) and in almost all other liberal democratic countries. In some of these countries, especially in Denmark and in Germany, conscientious objec- tion has now become the ‘normal behaviour’ of the young man (von Bredow 1992). However, even in Scandinavian countries, where non-religious objection was furthest advanced, secular criteria for conscientious objection followed closely after the de facto recognition of religious motives. In no society has the state ever recognized secular grounds before religious motives as the basis for accepting conscientious objection and exempting COs from combatant military service.18 It is sometimes said that if governments allowed exemption to those who based their judgement on the particular facts of a war, this would in some way be allowing the objec- tors’ assessments of the facts to prevail over the assessment of the government itself, thus giving legal recognition to the superiority of the dissentient views (Van den Haag 1972: 50). This is a dubious argument, for if allowing an objector’s judgement of fact to excuse him from military service accorded legal recognition of the superiority of his views, allowing a paci� st’s moral judgement to excuse him should have the same effect. It is in any case not true that to accept a judgement, whether of fact or morality, as a ground for exemption is to accord legal recognition to the soundness of that judgement. In fact, under the laws of most countries, the of� cials or judges responsible for exemptions are required to test sincerity of conviction, but not soundness of belief. It looks, therefore, as if the discussion on conscientious objection and civil disobedi- ence in legal systems of most contemporary democracies is asymmetrical and its validity is thus limited. Conscientious objection bears an obvious family resemblance to civil dis- obedience. However, the current discourse is based on the assumption that a state has the exclusive right to legislate and determine its policy and lays the burden of justi� cation of objection on the individual. In order to obtain a comprehensive discussion on the issue, the responsibility for justi� cation should be divided between the individual and the state. Coercion is always in need of justi� cation, and coercing a man to do something contrary to his most deeply held moral beliefs (which he is normally encouraged to follow) requires special justi� cation. The state also has to show that its laws and policy are consistent with the goals and culturally determines values of the society. The difference between state’s and civil society’s justi� cations of controversial political issues conceptually corresponds to the difference between legality and legitimacy.19 The legality of a policy is de� ned by the state authorities; as has been claimed by Max Weber, one of the essential characteristics of a modern state is the institutionalization of citizen- ship de� ned by legal and rational criteria. On the other hand, the extent of the legitimacy of a state policy is de� ned by the civil society according to the accepted cultural values. 316 ALEK D. EPSTEIN Thus not every initiative of the regime is likely to be taken for granted as legitimate, the extent of the civil protest against the authorities indicating the degree of legitimacy of the state and its institutions. A democratic state is enormously dependent on the willingness and ability of its citizens to commit themselves to political values and to act consistently in their name. The Govern- ment, writes Ronald Dworkin: Will not re-establish respect for law without giving the law some claim to respect. It cannot do that if it neglects the one feature that distinguishes law from ordered brutality. The law must state, in its greatest part, the majority’s view of the common good. The institution of rights is therefore crucial, because it represents the majority’s promise to the minorities that their dignity and equality will be respected. If the Government does not take rights seriously, then it does not take law seriously either. (Dworkin 1978: 205) However, it should be mentioned that citizens’ commitments are generally made in groups, where values are collectively worked out and the strategy and tactics of political action are debated. Such moral positions as obedience and refusal are usually constructed and mani- fested in connection with other people. In the words of Michael Walzer, ‘disobedience, when it is morally, religiously, or politically motivated, is almost always a collective act, and it is justi� ed by the values of the collectivity and the mutual engagements of its members’ (Walzer 1970: 4). The ‘connected’ moral critic is a person who has ties to a particular culture; his/her sense of justice emerges from shared understandings or agreements with other individuals who are aware of their historical moral selves and who form part of that society (Walzer 1988). As has already been stated, Protest behavior by a military professional is not necessarily an act of mutiny or disobedience. In fact, if compliance and obedience are one side of military pro- fessionalism, reservation and protest may be the other. While the former behavior is the rule as long as military decisions and operations are considered ‘legitimate’, the latter is called for when legitimacy is questionable. (Gal 1985: 560) Human rights that can be promoted by regional and global institutions, on the one hand, and by citizen movements, on the other, represent the two main structural challenges to the primacy of the state in world affairs. These challenges to statism suggest the relevance of levels of analysis above and below the level of the state and call for a more complicated image of ‘actor’ with respect to human rights. The negotiation process between individuals and state over the meaning and practices of citizenship ensues from changes in the logic of the state. Such a change took place in the state’s practices during the war in Lebanon. As has been claimed by Sara Helman, ‘a change in the logic of the state, as this change was perceived and interpreted by groups and individuals during the war in Lebanon, caused crises of state legitimacy and social motivation. Conscientious objection evolved as an ultimate expression of both crises’ (Helman 1993: 2). I would like to argue that the rise in a number of civil society groups that evidently express their disagreement with current state authorities’ external or/and internal policy certainly demonstrates a decline in the extent of legitimacy of the state and its institutions. Therefore, because the broadening of conscientious disobedience indicates the reduction of the legitimacy of the state policy, state authorities use the force of law in order to de-legitimize those patterns of conscientious disobedience that can endanger their FREEDOM OF CONSCIENCE AND SECULAR DISOBEDIENCE 317 status in the ruled society. The phenomenon that is stigmatized as ‘selective conscientious objection’ provides a signi� cant illustration of such an attitude – in the USA, in the European countries, and also in Israel. An entity like ‘humanity’ acquires some ‘collective conscience’, and in fact, since the Second World War, it has been accepted that democratic law is subordinate to higher values of human dignity and civil freedoms, and that under certain extreme conditions a citizen must refuse to obey a law. As has been stated in Henry Thoreau’s famous lecture, published one hundred years before the Nuremberg trials, majority rule by itself is not identical with justice. As argued by Richard Falk, ‘Human rights are not, in the main, legal or moral abstractions. They are embedded in historical process’ (Falk 1981: 6). In the words of Noam Chomsky, ‘After the lesson of Dachau and Auschwitz, no person of conscience can believe that authority must always be obeyed. A line must be drawn somewhere. Beyond that lines lies civil disobedience’ (Chomsky 1969: 201). In the third section of his book on Non-Violent Resistance (Satyagraha), Mohandas Gandhi explicitly stated: Civil disobedience becomes a sacred duty when the State has become lawless. . . . It is possible to question the wisdom of applying civil disobedience in respect of particu- lar act or law; but the right itself cannot be allowed to be questioned. It is a birthright that cannot be surrendered without surrender of one’s self-respect.20 The liberal democratic state must recognize this basic principle; therefore, the current de� - nition of conscientious disobedience should be re-formulated. The changing sociopolitical reality and the transformation of conscientious objection require the adopting of a currently relevant de� nition of the phenomenon of conscientious disobedience by the legal and legislative authorities. Acknowledgements This paper originated from research on the changing patterns of conscientious objection and political protest in Israel conducted by the author with the assistance of the Center for Human Rights, Faculty of Law, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. The author gladly expresses his acknowledgment to the academic director of the Center Professor David Krechmer and to the administrative director Mrs Francine Hazan. The current manuscript is based on two lectures by the author (both were presented in Hebrew); the � rst of them, entitled ‘Legitimacy of Disobedience: Conscientious Objec- tion and Civil Protest as a Re� ection of State – Society Interrelations’ was presented at the Historical Society of Israel workshop, Maale-haHamisha, 28–30 December 1997; the second, entitled ‘Social and Legal Status of Paci� sm in Contemporary Israel’, was presented at the Center for Human Rights Research Seminar at the Belgian House, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 26 April 1998. I would like to thank all those participants of these seminars who contributed their ideas and suggestions. Notes 1. ‘In compliance with the fundamental obligations to the Convention, States Parties undertake to prohibit and eliminate racial discrimination in all its forms and guarantee . . . the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion’. International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination, Article 5. 2. This analysis presented below is based on Charles Moskos, ‘The secularization of conscience’. International 318 ALEK D. EPSTEIN workshop on Conscientious Objection: from Religious Paci�sm to Political Protest papers (Zihron-Yakov: Israeli Insti- tute of Military Studies, 1992), 20–42. 3. See Blatt et al. (1975). The most famous case – that of Amnon Zichroni (1954) – has been recently analysed by Keren (1998). 4. For further details see Epstein (1998). 5. For further discussion see Scheleff (1989). 6. For more detailed discussion see Shachar (1982). 7. Proceedings of the Supreme Court, 24 September 1980; cited in Peri (1993). 8. H.C. 470/80, Elgazi v. Minister of Defense and Others (unpublished; State Archives), 5. 9. Ibid., 6. 10. The discussion of this case is based on Klosko et al. (2000). 11. H.C. 734/83 Shain and the Israeli Association for Civil Rights v. the Minister of Defense and Chief of Staff, P.D. 38 (3), 399. 12. Ibid., 403; translated into English and cited in Barzilai, 1996. 13. Ha’aretz, 29 November 1983. 14. Responding to Epstein’s appeal, the General Attorney informed the High Court that in the light of the freedom of conscience, given to the citizen in a democratic state, one ought to be exempted from the military service if the latter contradicts his/her consciousness, faith and world outlook. Though there is no explicit recognition of men’s right to be exempted from the military service for reasons of conscience, certain of� cials within the military are assigned a recognized authority to exempt a man from military service for these reasons [General Attorney’s Response to H.C. 4062/95 Epstein v. The Minister of Defense (submitted to the Supreme Court on 23 July 1995), section 10 and section 13]. In another case Justice Heshin explicitly stated that there is no doubt that the Defense minister is authorized to exempt a recruit military service for reasons of religion or conscience. The Defense Minister has been assigned this authority by paragraph 36 of the Military Service Act, 1986 [H.C. 2700/96 Baranovsky v. the Minister of Defense (unpublished), 5]. 15. See Feigelin (1994); discussed by Sprinzak (1999: 273–274). 16. See Haetzni (1993); discussed by Sprinzak (1999: 226–228). 17. See Objection for the sake of the rescue of Eretz-Israel, HaIr, 5.11.1993 (in Hebrew). 18. For further details see Noone (1993). 19. For further discussion of the issue see D’Entreves (1967); Dyzehnaus (1996). 20. Cited in Crawford (1973). References BARZILAI, G. (1996) Wars, Internal Con�icts, and Political Order. A Jewish Democracy in the Middle East (Albany: State University of New York Press). BEDAU, H. A. (ed.) (1991) Civil Disobedience in Focus (London: Routledge). BLATT, M., DAVIS U. and KLEINBAUM, P. (eds) (1975) Dissent and Ideology in Israel. Resistance to Draft, 1948–1973 (London: Ithaca). CHOMSKY, N. (1969) Intolerable evils justify civil disobedience. In H. Bedau (ed.) Civil Disobedience (Pegasus: New York). COHEN, C. (1968) Conscientious objection. Ethics: An International Journal of Social, Political and Legal Philosophy, 78. CRAWFORD, C. (ed.) (1973) Civil Disobedience: A Casebook (New York: Thomas Crowell). D’ENTREVES, A. (1967) Legality and legitimacy. In A. D’Entreves The Notion of the State. An Introduction to Political Theory (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), pp. 141–150. DYZEHNAUS, D. (1996) The legitimacy of legality. University of Toronto Law Journal, 46, 129–180. DWORKIN, R. (1978) Taking Rights Seriously (Cambridge: Harvard University Press). EPSTEIN, A. (1998) For the peoples of the Promised Land. Intellectual and social origins of Jewish paci� sm in Israel. Journal of Israeli History, 19(2), 35–50. EPSTEIN, A. (1999) In search of legitimacy: development of conscientious objection in Israel from the founding of the state to the Lebanon campaign. Israeli Sociology, 1(2), 319–354 (in Hebrew). FALK, R. (1981) Human Rights and State Sovereignty (New York: Holmes & Meier). FEIGELIN, M. (1994) The ideological failure and the tactical blunder. Nekuda, No. 180 (September) (in Hebrew). GABRIEL, R. A. (1982) To Serve with Honor (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press). GABRIEL, R. A. and SAVAGE P. L. (1978) Crisis in Command (New York: Hill & Wang). GAL, R. (1985) Commitment and obedience in the military: an Israeli case study. Armed Forces and Society, 11(4), 553–64. GANS, C. (1992) Philosophical Anarchism and Political Disobedience (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). GAVIZON, R. (1994) Human Rights in Israel (Tel-Aviv: MOD) (in Hebrew). HAETZNI, E. (1993) Crossing the red lines. Nekuda, No. 168 (May) (in Hebrew). HAETZNI, E. (1994) Civil disobedience now. Nekuda, No. 180 (September) (in Hebrew). HAZONY, Y. (1998) The Jewish origins of the western disobedience tradition. Azure: Ideas for the Jewish Nation, 4, 17–74. FREEDOM OF CONSCIENCE AND SECULAR DISOBEDIENCE 319 HELMAN, S. (1993) Conscientious objection to military service as an attempt to rede� ne the contents of citizen- ship. PhD dissertation, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. KEREN, M. (1998) Justi� cation of conscientious objection: an Israeli case study. International Journal of the Sociology of Law, 26, 121–137. KIMMERLING, B. (1993) State building, state autonomy and the identity of society: the case of the Israeli state. Journal of Historical Sociology, 6(4), 396–429. KLOSKO, G., KEREN, M. and NYIKOS, S. A. (2000) Political Obligation and Military Service in United States, Germany, and Israel (forthcoming), pp. 10–11. LEVI, M. (1997) Consent, Dissent, and Patriotism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). LEVI, M. and DETRAY, S. (1993) A weapon against war: conscientious objection in the United States, Australia, and France. Politics and Society, 21(4), 425–464. LINN, R. (1986) Conscientious objection in Israel during the war in Lebanon. Armed Forces and Society, 12, 489–512. LINN, R. (1995) Resistance and motivation – moral, political, or personal? Israeli soldiers as selective conscien- tious objectors during the Intifada. Social Behavior and Personality, 23(1), 35–44. LINN, R. (1996) Conscience at War. The Israeli Soldier as a Moral Critic (Albany: State University of New York Press). MARTIN, M. (1993) France: a statue but no objectors. In Moskos, C. and Chambers, J. (eds) The New Conscientious Objection (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 80–97. MODZELEWSKI, W. (1994) Paci� sm, anti-militarism and conscientious objection in Poland. Polish Sociological Review, 105, 59–67. MOSKOS, C. and CHAMBERS, J. (1993) The secularization of conscience reconsidered. In C. Moskos and J. Chambers (eds) The New Conscientious Objection (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 196–208. NOONE, M. (1993) Legal aspects of conscientious objection: a comparative analysis. In Moskos, C. and Chambers, J. (eds) The New Conscientious Objection (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 177–195. NUCIARI, M. (n.d.) Conscientious objection in Italy: secularization and ethical commitment in the consideration of military service. International workshop on Conscientious Objection: from Religious Paci�sm to Political Protest papers, pp. 62–72. PERI, Y. (1993) Israel: conscientious objection in a democracy under siege. In Moskos, C. and Chambers, J. (eds) The New Conscientious Objection (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 146–157. RAWLS, J. (1972) A Theory of Justice (Oxford: Clarendon Press). RAZ, J. (1979) The Authority of Law: Essays on Law and Morality (Oxford: Clarendon Press). SCHELEFF, L. (1989) The Voice of Honor: Civil Disobedience and Civilian Loyalty (Tel-Aviv: Ramot (in Hebrew)). SHACHAR, Y. (1982) The Elgazi trials – selective conscientious objection in Israel. Israel Yearbook on Human Rights, 12, 214–259. SHELACH, H. (1990[1968]) On the de� nition of conscientious activity. In R. Gavizon (ed.) Freedom of Conscientious and Religion ( Jerusalem: Association for Civil Rights), pp. 47–55 (in Hebrew). SINGER, P. (1974) Democracy and Disobedience (New-York: Oxford University Press). SORENSEN, H. (1993) Denmark: the vanguard of conscientious objection. In Moskos, C. and Chambers, J. (eds) The New Conscientious Objection (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 106–113. SPRINZAK, E. (1991) The Ascendance of Israel’s Radical Right (New York: Oxford University Press). SPRINZAK, E. (1999) Brother Against Brother. Violence and Extremism in Israeli Politics from Altalena to the Rabin Assassina- tion (New York: Free Press). VAN DEN HAAG, E. (1972) Civil disobedience. Quadrant (Australia), April 50. VAN DER MEULEN, J. (1992) Full circle and farewell: conscientious objection in The Netherlands. International workshop on Conscientious Objection: from Religious Paci�sm to Political Protest papers, 73–86. VON BREDOW, W. (1992) Conscription, conscientious objection, civil service and political culture of post-World War II Germany. Journal of Political and Military Sociology, 20(2), 289–303. WALZER, M. (1970) Obligations: Essays on Disobedience, War and Citizenship (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press). WALZER, M. (1988) The Company of Critic: Social Criticism and Political Commitment in the Twentieth Century (New York: Basic Books). ZAMIR, S. (1972) Alon [The inner bulletin of the Israeli Association of Conscientious Objectors], September (in Hebrew). 320 ALEK D. EPSTEIN 
work_b6tkmbafyfds3lmnslmzdw6qze	----	Recent Advances in the Climate Change Biology Literature: Describing the Whole Elephant Advanced Review Recent advances in the climate change biology literature: describing the whole elephant A. Townsend Peterson,1∗ Shaily Menon2 and Xingong Li3 Climate change biology is seeing a wave of new contributions, which are reviewed herein. Contributions treat shifts in phenology and distribution, and both document past and forecast future effects. However, many of the current wave of contributions are observational and correlational, and few are experimental in nature, and too often a conceptual framework in which to contextualize the results is lacking. An additional gap is the lack of effective cross-linking among areas of research, for example, connection of sea-level rise and climate change implications for distributions of species, or evolutionary adaptation studies with distributional shift studies. Although numerous important contributions have emerged in recent years, synthesis of this phenomenon and its consequences has not yet been achieved.  2010 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd. WIREs Clim Change In the celebrated story of an elephant being describedby blind men, adapted from an Indian fable by the poet John Godfrey Saxe (1816–1887), six men attempt to comprehend an elephant, but each describes the part that is nearest to him. One touches its trunk, another its tusk, another its tail, and so on, each deducing the elephant’s shape from the part that he has touched. Scientists fall into this same trap: they become engrossed in particular lines of research, and yet miss swaths of the burgeoning literature or miss putting together pieces that might shed better light on the overall whole. In this way, each of us becomes a scientific blind man trying to describe an elephant. The question that we address in this review is akin to the one that those six men faced: how much information has the scientific world accumulated that could help us to comprehend the broader picture of climate change biology? Climate change is increasingly the subject of research attention from scientists concerned about its likely impacts. Literature related to climate change is being published at prolific rates, so as to make ∗Correspondence to: town@ku.edu 1Biodiversity Institute, The University of Kansas, Lawrence, KS 66044, USA 2Department of Biology, Grand Valley State University, Allendale, MI 49401, USA 3Department of Geography, The University of Kansas, Lawrence, KS 66044, USA DOI: 10.1002/wcc.59 us all susceptible to misdescribing the elephant. By some reports, the number of climate change biology publications is doubling every 11 years and approached 10,000 by the year 2000.1 Periodic reviews of current literature, such as this one, serve to rescue from this syndrome those who, like the authors of this review, do not always stay on top of the literature as much as we might wish. The aim of this review is to catch up on climate change biology literature published in the last 3 years. We assessed the climate change literature from 2007 to 2009 in considerable detail, with diverse searches over several search engines. After assembling a first suite of publications that we regarded as poten- tially important, we read through all, sorted them into functional categories, and discarded more minor contributions. We divided contributions into docu- mentation of changes in phenology and geographic distributions and then explored exercises in fore- casting effects of climate on species directly, as well as indirectly via sea level rise and marine intrusion. Finally, we reviewed efforts toward incorporation of climate change considerations into biodiversity conservation efforts. The result is a view of the recent climate change literature that is somewhat eclectic, focusing in particular on organismal dimensions of climate change implications for biology and reviewing in somewhat less detail the burgeoning literature on ecosystem-level implications. Nonetheless, we hope that it will be useful in providing an overview  2 0 1 0 J o h n W i l e y & S o n s, L t d. Advanced Review wires.wiley.com/climatechange of recent activity and findings in climate change biology. PHENOLOGY CHANGES Considerable evidence is accumulating to indicate that the seasonal phenology of diverse organisms is changing, mainly in response to shorter winters and earlier springs. The evidence is without exception consistent with climate change expectations (e.g., no evidence is presented for shifts to later spring initiation of activity). However, as will be appreciated in the more detailed treatment below, the picture is not without considerable complexity. Two exemplary studies have examined general landscape-level shifts in seasonality and vegetation phenology. Julien and Sobrino2 examined normalized difference vegetation index greenup and browndown timing over 1981–2003. Their analyses indicated an advance of spring greenup globally by 0.38 days/year and a delay of browndown by 0.45 days/year. Over the more restricted area of boreal Eurasia, Delbart et al.3 used a combination of remote sensing and observational data sources to extend the comparisons back to the 1920s—they found both region-to-region variation and temporal variation across decades, although the present advance in greenup timing is almost universal across Eurasia. In sum, then, global and regional trends are consistently toward earlier springs and later falls, with consequently longer growing seasons each year. On more local scales, a rich literature is emerging, particularly as regards plant phenology. For example, Miller-Rushing and Primack4 used a novel long-term data set originated by Henry David Thoreau in 1852 to measure phenological changes in >500 plant taxa in Massachusetts and showed an overall change of ∼7 days in greenup dates, but considerable variation among taxa and functional groups of plants. In a more comparative vein, Vitasse et al.5 used 3 years’ data across 41 populations of four tree species over 1500 m of elevation in southern France to estimate advances of 1.9–6.6 days/◦C for greenup and delays of 0.0–5.6 days/◦C for browndown. Finally, Inouye6 showed both advancing greenup and emergence in montane wildflowers, but a serious fitness cost of earlier greenup incurred by frost damage, and Meis et al.7 showed a 1.6 day/year advance of spring chlorophyll blooms in aquatic systems, but linked the advance to temperature increases rather than to changes in ice cover. Overall, the complexity in the details of phenological responses in plants appears to be considerable. The other taxon for which phenological infor- mation relevant to climate change has been abundant is birds, given the legions of observers and data gather- ers. For example, taking advantage of a novel 46-year data set for bird migration in eastern North America, Buskirk et al.8 showed earlier Spring arrival times, but no overall change in Autumn return dates, again with considerable variation among species in magnitude of effects. A 23-year data set from central North Amer- ica showed short-distance migrants responding more acutely to temperature variation than long-distance migrants, but again considerable complexity and variation was the dominant theme.9 Finally, Møller et al.10 demonstrated that European migratory bird species not showing phenological responses tended to be those species that are presently in population declines. Experimental studies offer additional functional detail and considerably improved inferential power over correlational approaches. For example, Post et al.11 used experimental manipulations of warming on life histories of three alpine plant species to iso- late causative factors, finding considerable variation among species’ responses. Taylor et al.12 and Wipf et al.13 both used detailed experimental approaches to confirm effects of particular factors (e.g., CO2 concentration, snow depth, timing of snowmelt) and parse effects of rising atmospheric CO2 concentrations and frost events from temperature effects, respectively. Similarly, Visser et al.14 used experimental tempera- ture manipulations to show direct temperature effect, independent of food availability, in timing of repro- duction in European tits (Parus major). Finally, van Asch et al.15 offered a distinct perspective, using detailed studies of heritability and genetic correla- tions to reflect on the evolutionary potential of a moth (Operophtera brumata), showing ample potential for evolutionary adaptation to restore herbivore–plant synchrony in the face of changing climatic conditions, and adding a useful evolutionary perspective on these questions; work by Jump et al.16 has yielded simi- lar conclusions of ample evolutionary potential for adaptive response in a Mediterranean shrub. Such incisive studies of complex evolutionary and ecologi- cal phenomena will be key in elucidating likely future dynamics of species in changing climates.17,18 POPULATION AND DISTRIBUTION CHANGES A body of evidence is accumulating that shows manifold populational and distributional trends that are at least correlated with and attributed to climate change effects. The vast majority of this accumulating  2 0 1 0 J o h n W i l e y & S o n s, L t d. WIREs Climate Change Recent advances in the climate change biology literature evidence is coincident with general expectations of effects of warming climates, and particular studies have found associations that appear causal. However, these range effects may well be only the tip of the iceberg that happens to be visible; some studies cited below are suggestive of much more dramatic effects soon to be manifested. Examples of the sorts of populational and distributional changes being documented include the following. Whitfield et al.19 documented dramatic population declines in terrestrial amphibians and reptiles at La Selva Biological Station, in Costa Rica, which they link to reduced quantity of forest-floor leaf litter, a critical microhabitat in that ecosystem. Similarly, Chen et al.20 showed elevational increases of 67 m over 42 years along a 1800-m elevational transect on Mount Kinabalu in Borneo, and Seimon et al.21 found significant new high-elevation records of amphibians in the Peruvian Andes, as well as records of the fungal pathogen Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis, which bodes ill for high-elevation amphibian populations. In what is perhaps the best- documented suite of studies in this vein, the early biodiversity surveys at key sites in California in 1908–1930 by the Museum of Vertebrate Zoology of the University of California at Berkeley were repeated for both birds and mammals and a very detailed documentation of range dynamics was obtained: upward shifts of ∼500 m in half of the mammal species, ranges contracting and expanding, and clear evidence of climatic niche tracking.22,23 Visser et al.24 showed significant decreases in migratory distances in half of 24 bird species examined between 1932 and 2004, based on banding information. An emerging suite of studies offers a comple- mentary viewpoint, focusing on the importance of spatial scale in likely climate change effects on species. Recent work by Trivedi et al.25 has compared coarse- and fine-resolution estimates of climate change effects on species and has noted that the coarse-resolution view typically overestimates the strength of effects; similar studies by Ashcroft et al.26 similarly indicate that coarse-resolution analyses will frequently miss key factors. This work should offer both a cautionary tale of the effects of possible microrefugia on species’ persistence in areas and the potential for a calibration of effects estimated at different spatial resolutions. Finally, a few studies are going beyond sim- ple documentation of patterns of shift and decline to arrive at mechanistic views of the process. Portner and Knust,27 for example, identified thermally limited oxygen delivery as the key constraint on distribu- tional potential in the eelpout (Zoarces viviparus), and Andrushchyshyn et al.28 used experimental manipulations to identify specific drivers in ciliate community shifts in the face of changing climate. Peterson and Martı́nez-Meyer29 showed population- level shifts in abundance northward in large numbers of North American bird species: although not as yet manifested in range shifts, these northward popula- tion swells are expected to be manifested as geographic shifts in coming years, with potentially massive impli- cations for bird distributions and community compo- sition patterns. Changes in disease population biology provide a further mechanism for biotic effects: e.g., the chytrid thermal optimum hypothesis (CTOH) relates climate change-induced temperature increases to spread of the chytridiomycosis-causing B. dendro- batidis, which in turn leads to widespread amphibian declines. While the evidence is strong for climate- caused amphibian declines, predictions of the CTOH remain to be fully supported.30 FORECASTS The literature on climate change biology has seen numerous speculations and commentaries virtually since the inception of the field.31,32 In recent liter- ature, particularly insightful commentaries include Carpenter et al.33 regarding the potential broad endangerment of reef-building corals, Vermeij and Roopnarine34 on likely broad invasions of the Arc- tic by marine mollusks, and Rahel and Olden35 on aquatic invasive species. Although these commentaries are useful in terms of marshaling research efforts, they do remain general, and not based on specific data or analyses. As a consequence, we focus below on actual analytical approaches to anticipating future climate change biology phenomena. In general, we discern four types of forecast- ing exercises emerging in the climate change biol- ogy literature. (1) Simplest are scenario-based explo- rations—for example, Sekercioglu et al.36 explored four Millennium Assessment-based scenarios and an intermediate estimate of 2.8◦C surface warming to arrive at estimates of likely climate change-induced bird extinctions. (2) More detailed, species-specific forecasts can be derived from ecological niche models, which have been applied to climate change questions for some time—recent examples include Peterson,37 who estimated likely climate-driven shifts in distri- butions of malaria vector mosquitoes in Africa and Cheung et al.38 who incorporated dispersal consid- erations into an otherwise simple climatic envelope approach to estimate likely climate change effects on marine biodiversity. (3) An alternative that has not as yet been compared quantitatively and satis- factorily with the niche modeling approaches is that  2 0 1 0 J o h n W i l e y & S o n s, L t d. Advanced Review wires.wiley.com/climatechange of process-based modeling of species’ distributions.39 Although these first-principles approaches are concep- tually attractive, their ability to incorporate the full complexity of distributional phenomena has not been established firmly enough (but see excellent explo- rations by Porter et al.40) Finally, (4) a conceptually quite distinct approach is that of dynamic vegetation modeling, which integrates Earth system processes to develop ecosystem-level forecasts.41 Although each of these four forecasting approaches has strengths, we see little integration among them; important steps forward have included incorporation of processes of dispersal, demography, and disturbance in the niche modeling framework,42 although much development and exploration remains ahead. A growing number of studies has now gone beyond simple development of forecasts to test and corroborate model predictions. For example, Gregory et al.43 showed significant relationships between areal trends predicted by niche models and actual population declines over 1980–2005 in European bird populations; Kharouba et al.44 developed similar corroborative tests for Canadian butterfly populations. On broader temporal scales, Guralnick45,46 tested a previous hypothesis about relative effects of climate change on flatlands versus montane species by means of comparisons of present-day and Late Pleistocene distributional areas. Probably, the clearest test is that of Foden et al.,47 who used broad surveys of mortality in a South African tree to test predictions of niche models, finding significant and clear predictivity regarding population trends and range retraction patterns predicted from niche models. Given sufficient and appropriate corroboration of climate change model predictions for biodiversity, genuine forecasts can be assembled. For example, Carroll et al.48 explored the possibility of reintroduc- tions of two regionally extinct butterfly species into Great Britain, based on ecological niche model pro- jections. In an application akin to niche modeling, Schlenker and Roberts49 used very detailed data on crop yields for several crop plants to infer likely trends in productivity across the United States. These actual forecasts integrate known and assumed causal link- ages with modeled future climatic shifts to make an educated guess at future situations. What is emerging—if not since our blind scientists began touching the elephant, at least over the past decade of climate change biology research—is a suite of general principles that appear to guide or constrain biological responses to warming climates. The obvious ones have been known for a long time: species’ activity will shift to initiate earlier and terminate later in the year, and geographic distributions should shift poleward in latitude and upward in elevation when relief is available; these ideas have seen abundant support in the studies reviewed above and others. Certainly, species in bounded systems will confront particular problems (e.g., islands, or mountain ranges, rivers, deserts, or other barriers that run east to west). More recently, the suggestion has been made that species distributed in flatlands areas will see more dramatic horizontal shifts of their habitable areas than species distributed in montane areas,50 which has now seen support from subsequent studies.45,46 Finally, a broad consensus is emerging that species’ responses to changing climates are highly idiosyncratic and do not follow clear or consistent patterns, even in the case of (currently) co-distributed species. SEA LEVEL RISE/MARINE INTRUSION A dimension of climate change biology that has been relatively much less well explored is that of sea level rise and its consequent effects on species and ecosystems. To our knowledge, no studies have as yet addressed this phenomenon in relation to elements of marine biodiversity, although estuarine and terrestrial systems are beginning to see attention (see overview in Ref 51). An important step forward was the improvement in techniques for identifying areas of inundation over broad regions, based on scenarios of sea level rise and digital elevation models of coastal areas.52 The work done on sea-level rise implications for biological systems has focused mostly at the level of ecosystems. Retrospective analyses have analyzed ecosystem health in relation to sea level and identified key factors in loss or gain of area.53,54 Prospective analyses have depended on models of ecosystem growth and decline,55,56 but have been limited to local areas only, resulting in a proposal for broader-area monitoring networks for tracking these phenomena.57 Factors implicated as critical have been varied, from individual species’ tolerances and interactions with drought58 to human management regimes.59 Mangrove systems, located at the land–sea interface, have seen most attention and appear to be particularly vulnerable.60,61 Finally, a few experimental manipulations have been developed (e.g., Ref 62), which have emphasized species-level tolerances in determining responses to sea level rise. What is missing, nonetheless, is a more comprehensive view of sea-level rise implications for biodiversity. Only one study has taken a broader- scope view of these implications.63 Much more in- depth exploration of sea-level rise implications for  2 0 1 0 J o h n W i l e y & S o n s, L t d. WIREs Climate Change Recent advances in the climate change biology literature terrestrial and marine systems is needed, linking detailed biodiversity information with scenarios of marine intrusion (or extension, in the case of marine systems). At the moment, this gap is a significant failing in the climate change biology literature. CONSERVATION As with the question of forecasting, general discus- sions of likely conservation challenges abound in the climate change literature. Recent reviews include those of Galatowitsch et al.64 on conservation futures in the central portion of North America and Mawdsley et al.65 and Heller and Zavaleta66 on climate change adaptation strategies that have been proposed for con- servation initiatives. Once again, however, we prefer to see conservation planning based on actual forecasts rather than generalities. If nothing else, this preference is predicated on the perpetual emergence of naysayers: for instance, Hodgson et al.67 argue that connectiv- ity and future sustainability are less important than present habitat area and quality, even though present- day habitat area and quality may mean little as species’ ranges reorganize and shift dramatically, the reality of which should be clear from the studies reviewed above. Coetzee et al.68 demonstrated the reality of one of those initial speculations—that present-day conservation planning and protected area networks will likely become less effective over coming decades. This sort of situation, we suspect, will become quite common in the coming decades. Further challenges for conservation planning in changing climates were pointed out by Grivet et al.69, who emphasized the need for inclusion of spatial genetic structure of species, beyond simple representation of species in protected area networks. Initial examples of how present-day conservation networks can be adapted to be ’climate change proof’ are now being developed, as exemplified by the analyses of Vos et al.70 over northwestern Europe. However, as pointed out by Hannah et al.,71 remediation steps taken earlier in the process of climate change will be more effective and less costly; still, they found that none of the strategies explored avoided climate change-caused losses completely. A comprehensive conceptual framework for such adaptation-based strategies has still been lacking in large part in this work. Moffett and Sarkar72 presented an extremely promising analytical framework, termed multicriteria decision-making methods, within which distinct suites of factors can be incorporated, assigned different weights, and considered at distinct points in time. This sort of multifactorial approach offers considerable promise for development of truly integrative conservation planning exercises. CONCLUSIONS This article reviews a swath of literature concerning climate change biology that has appeared in the past 2–3 years. Many of the studies that we have reviewed emphasize the fundamental value of long-term and legacy data sets—in one case going back even to Henry David Thoreau in the middle 19th century.4 Climate change being a relatively slow process, its emergence as a global change phenomenon has placed a premium on long-term, longitudinal data sets that can speak to climate change influences on biodiversity and biology. Still more generally, climate change biology demands broad-scale points of view which underline the need for open sharing of biodiversity data73 to make such analyses even possible. Although much research activity has emerged and been published in recent years, we still see little if any work that can be termed genuinely compre- hensive. Climate change biology covers aspects of genetics and evolutionary potential, phenology and seasonality, range and dispersal corridors, and inter- actions among species, and thus includes considerable complexity. We see need for better documentation of climate change effects on biodiversity, in terms of observations and experiments, but these documentary studies should be developed within explicit conceptual frameworks. Better forecasts are also necessary, with broader exploration of forecasting applications, more robust methods used, and more tests of predictions to make the forecasts more realistic and believable. More generally, we urge climate change biologists to place their studies within a broader overall per- spective, in which climate change affects individual physiology, which maps onto population change, which in turn translates into phenological changes and geographic range shifts. The end result of these changes and shifts is genuine community turnover and biotic change, as has been anticipated since the earli- est commentaries31,32 and climate change forecasting exercises. So, temporarily rescued from misdescribing the elephant, we are pleased to see that the climate change biology community has made significant progress with documenting and tracking the emergence of climate change effects on species, basically confirming the reality of this phenomenon. However, in spite of significant advance along several lines of investigation, we see relatively little in the way of cross-linking among those areas, and so the field remains somewhat  2 0 1 0 J o h n W i l e y & S o n s, L t d. 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work_ba4ujmeyknb2jphh3ao7ncm2z4	----	Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 1 ‘Mountain top experiences’ and the Psalms of Ascents (Ps 120-134) Prof. H Viviers Religion Studies Auckland Park Kingsway Campus, 607, B-Ring University of Johannesburg South Africa E-mail: hviviers@uj.ac.za Abstract Mountains are not only appreciated for their natural beauty but notably also for their inspirational and elevating effect on the mind, ‘mountain top experiences.’ To illuminate the last-mentioned, insights from Attention Restoration Theory (ART; developed by environmental psychologists Stephen and Rachel Kaplan) have been utilised, as well as insights from Dark Green Religion (DGR; Bron Taylor). It is especially the ART human:nature relational properties of ‘fascination’ (awe) and ‘extent’ (order, mystery), complemented by the DGR notions of ‘interconnectedness’ and ‘sacredness’ (intrinsic worth), that explained the cultural constructs of mountains as the centre(s) of the world, sources of life, sites of identity, symbols of power, seats for deities and places of inspiration/transformation/renewal. The Psalms of Ascents collection (šîrê hamma‘ălôt; Ps 120-134) provided an exemplary (ancient) expression of a ‘mountain top experience’ for a group of post-exilic Israelites in search of their identity. Apart from a few explicit references to mountains in the collection, the overall focus is on an ‘ascent’ to Jerusalem, to Mount Zion and the temple where Yahweh chose to reside. This was the centre of the (then Israelite) world, where earth and heaven meet. The rather insipid Mount Zion became larger than life, where pilgrims experienced security, solace, blessing, unity and a transcendence to ‘a greater reality’ in the presence of their deity. Keywords: Mountain top experiences, Attention Restoration Theory, Dark Green Religion, Psalms of Ascents, interconnectedness, sacredness. ‘Gone to stand on your mountain in the wild - 21 st June 2008’1 Introduction Many years ago (1987) Mark Johnson wrote a book, The Body in the Mind: The Bodily Basis of Meaning, Imagination and Reason, emphasizing the centrality of our bodily experiences in conjuring up thoughts. Bodily sensations become ways to metaphorize, to symbolize, or to ‘have a world’ (1987:102). Different so-called image schemata such as containment, force, balance, paths, cycles, scales, links and centre-periphery, to name but a few (1987:126), assist in translating bodily sensations into abstract metaphors. Thinking of a container that is filled, ‘up’ becomes ‘more’ and translates into being ‘upright’ with a positive meaning, while emptying the container means ‘less’ or going down and has a negative connotation. Being on a mountain extends the body’s capacity to be ‘up’ quite remarkably, that is to be elevated both physically and mentally. The last-mentioned is captured by the expression ‘mountain top experience’ or a moment of inspiration, when reflecting on and expanding the self (Seney, 2016:210-211). Illustrating the last-mentioned, Seney (2016:214) refers to a young girl Elizabeth sitting on a cliff overlooking the Pacific, feeling her mind ‘…transported beyond the 1 A memorial plaque for an Honorary Ranger, the late Dorothy Bickley, on a bench at the highest point of the Waterberg Mountains in Marekele National Park. Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 2 ocean…she beheld the total interconnectedness of the universe…’ It can also be described as a transcendental experience that can be religious or not. And this is the aim of this article, to highlight the elevating effect of mountains on the human mind. In what follows the theoretical lenses of Attention Restoration Theory (ART) and Dark Green Religion (DGR) will be discussed first. Both these approaches emphasize the intrinsic connectedness between humans and nature. Following this, these theories will be concretized with experiences of mountains in general. Here a key source, Edwin Bernbaum’s beautiful book, Sacred Mountains of the World (1997), will be focused on, but also older writers, 19th- century American naturalist writers Henry David Thoreau and John Muir (nicknamed ‘John of the Mountains’) as well as a few modern mountaineers, eloquently verbalizing their emotional experiences of mountains. Lastly a close scrutiny of the ‘Psalms of Ascents’ (Ps 120-134) will be done, to determine whether this collection also reflects a so-called ‘mountain top experience.’ Green hermeneutics: Attention Restoration Theory and Dark Green Religion Attention Restoration Theory (ART)2 provides an apt psychological explanation of what happens (positively) to the human mind when exposed to nature. What does ART, developed by the environmental psychologists Stephen and Rachel Kaplan (1989), comprise? This theory departs from the view (à la William James) that humans in their evolutionary history evolved two mental mechanisms, allowing for a well-adaptive rational and emotional functioning. The first is the voluntary attention mental mechanism, that can simplistically be called ‘concentration,’ and enables us for instance to work in a focused way. This capacity is, however, limited and therefore needs to be rested to be restored when it becomes exhausted. Indications of mental fatigue are emotional instability, impulsivity and irritation. The other mechanism that assists in the restoration process is the involuntary attention mental mechanism, also called ‘fascination.’ Here our attention is captured in an involuntary and relaxed way through the fascinating world of nature: beautiful sunsets, cloud formations, breathtaking landscapes, the lush greenness of the plant kingdom, water and animals. Meditation, music and art, the intake of glucose and ordinary sleep can also restore our concentration capacity (Berman et al, 2008:1211; Kaplan & Berman, 2010:52-53; S Kaplan, 2001), but nature is always available surrounding us and comes for free.3 To be attracted to (and be fascinated by) nature it has to be savanna- or parklike, because such environs provide safety, free movement and appeal to our adaptiveness, something that we inherited from our ancient forebears. To be able to have a restorative effect, nature needs to meet certain human:nature relationship properties. The Kaplans have identified four such properties that overlap and complement one another: ‘being away’ – this implies the welcome getting away from it all, from the daily, boring and tiresome toil and to be exposed to ‘... cognitive content different from the usual’ (Kaplan & Kaplan, 1989:189); ‘compatibility’ – this implies the tallying or ‘resonance’ with nature to attain a certain goal or fulfil a certain need (adventure, scientific excursion, fishing, hunting, bird watching, nature photography, etc.). This happens quite naturally and effortlessly, even for the urbanised city dweller, confirming that we are part and parcel of nature (Kaplan & Kaplan, 1989:185, 193). This makes good sense because of our innate bond with nature, aptly verbalized by the founder of the Biophilia hypothesis, the biologist EO Wilson (1993:31): ‘…the innately emotional affiliation of human beings to other living organisms;’ ‘fascination’ – this implies the involuntary capturing of our attention by some 2 See Viviers (2016a) for a more detailed discussion and application of Attention Restoration Theory to the book of Song of Songs in the Hebrew Bible. 3 The Kaplans (1989:150 – 174) make a distinction between ‘nearby nature’ and ‘faraway nature.’ The first- mentioned can be a small, interesting suburban garden/park while the last-mentioned usually refers to exotic nature reserves or wild nature. Both can be restorative in so far as they meet the properties of ‘being away,’ ‘compatibility,’ ‘fascination’ and ‘extent.’ Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 3 inspiring natural phenomenon, as mentioned already.4 It also implies the transcendence of our thoughts to other, invisible (metaphysical) ‘worlds’ to which we feel deeply connected whilst experiencing our minuteness in the bigger scheme of things; ‘extent’ – has to do with order, structure and the coherence of different nature elements that guarantee our safety, enhance our memory so as not to get lost and ‘belonging.’ ‘Extent’ also implies that which is interesting and mysterious, to contemplate and be transferred to other unknown ‘realities’ (R Kaplan, 2001:511). In this dialectical relationship with nature, we imaginatively construct/fashion it according to our cultural and time-bound convictions, nowadays positively as meaning-giving and life-fulfilling.5 Moving from a psychological to a religion science perspective, Dark Green Religion (DGR) developed by Bron Taylor (2010),6 in essence comprises a deep sense of awareness of humans’ connectedness to nature, and reminds of the etymology of the word ‘religion’ – ‘… from Latin re (again) and ligare (to connect) …’ (Taylor, 2010:2). It is not a superficial, romantic and momentarily ‘green good feeling’ towards nature, but implies an ethics of embracement of the natural environment, of live and let live. ‘Dark’ therefore indicates a profound experience of nature.7 ‘Dark’ within Dark Green thought can, however, also have a rather negative connotation, especially within some ‘green’ activist groups, generally characterized by misanthropy, almost seeing no place for humans on planet Earth (Taylor, 2010:101). The term ‘religious’ not only encapsulates the experience of believers, but also provides a religious-like expressive jargon for those who adhere to a secular worldview. A telling example is Ursula Goodenough (1998:xx), a cell biologist, who departed from her earlier theistic convictions. She nevertheless expresses her intense experience of the wonders of nature, as exposed by science, in religious jargon: ‘For example, the evolution of the cosmos invokes in me a sense of mystery; the increase in biodiversity invokes the response of humility; and an understanding of the evolution of death offers me helpful ways to think about my own death.’ The eighteenth- century John Muir ‘of the mountains’ is an earlier, similar example (see below), who also departed from his childhood (Scottish Calvinistic) fundamentalist religious convictions under the influence of (inter alia) evolutionary thought, but nevertheless used religious language to capture the wonders of nature (Devall, 1982:75). Taylor’s (2010:13) definition of Dark Green Religion is as follows: … a deep sense of belonging to and connectedness in nature, while perceiving the earth and its living systems to be sacred8 and interconnected. Dark green religion is generally deep ecological, bio-centric, or eco-centric, considering all species to be intrinsically valuable, that is valuable apart from their usefulness to human beings. This value system is generally (1) based on a felt kinship with the rest of life, often derived from a Darwinian understanding that all forms of life have evolved from a common ancestor and are therefore related; (2) accompanied by feelings of humility and a corresponding critique of moral superiority, often inspired or reinforced by a science- based cosmology that reveals how tiny human beings are in the universe; and (3) reinforced by metaphysics of interconnection and the idea of interdependence (mutual influence and reciprocal dependence) found in the sciences, especially in ecology and physics. 4 ‘Hard’ fascination (e.g. watching a highly competitive tennis match) taps into directed attention and can also deplete it, while the effortless, attention-grabbing of our minds through ‘soft’ fascination (e.g. beautiful sunset) assists the replenishing process (Kaplan & Berman, 2010:49). ‘Fascination,’ as used in this article refers to the last-mentioned. 5 In the Middle Ages (wild) ‘nature’ was seen as something dangerous, even evil, and was avoided. 6 See Viviers (2016b; 2017) for more detail on this methodological-hermeneutical approach and its application to biblical texts. 7 Taylor (2010:223-224) prefers not to name his approach deep ecology, to prevent confusion with the work of Arne Naess and the ‘politics of radical environmentalism…’ 8 In an earlier work Taylor (2008:89) says the following: ‘By dark green religion, I mean religion that considers nature to be sacred, imbued with intrinsic value, and worthy of reverent care.’ Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 4 Taylor (2010:14, 15) furthermore differentiates between four kinds of dark green expressions ‘…embedded in worldviews and narratives that are believed to cohere with science – but they are also often grounded in mystical or intuitive knowledge that is beyond the reach of scientific method.’9 There is therefore a dividing line between natural (scientific) and supernatural (faith) worldviews, but the line is porous and the one does not necessarily exclude the other. There are two supernatural versions of Dark Green Religion, the first is ‘spiritual animism,’ where it is believed that a supernatural spirit/deity incarnates a natural phenomenon (e.g. a holy stone, tree, mountain, river and animal, as is found in nature religions). The second is named ‘Gaian spirituality’ where Gaia (‘Earth’) refers to the Greek goddess that incarnates mother earth. Earth is regarded as one big harmonious and balanced organism that is upheld by a supernatural deity. The two natural expressions of Dark Green are ‘natural spirituality’ and ‘Gaian naturalism.’ In ‘natural spirituality’ animals for instance are appreciated as intelligent and mindful without necessarily being ‘inspired’ or animated by some kind of supernatural being. In ‘Gaian naturalism’ the earth is still considered as a perfect whole, self-regulative and even ‘trustful’ (according to the scientist James Lovelock), but not having a ‘godly’ status. The well-known primatologist, Jane Goodall, being both scientist and someone with theistic views,10 is a good example of someone who finds herself in both worlds of the dividing line between natural and supernatural. It is clear that Taylor’s approach represents a ‘broad church,’ a bricolage of viewpoints, diverse convictions and ethical codes carried by a wide array of prominent figures and institutions who might be mainstream or subculture (2010:77, 217). However, what might seem confusing can also be regarded as an accommodating space for creative ferment, with one ‘confession’ or bond that brings all these expressions together, the depth of their embracement of nature or according to Taylor (2010:102): ‘The heart of dark green religion is to be found in the belief that everything in the biosphere is interdependent, intrinsically valuable, and sacred.’ It is especially the notions of belonging, interconnectedness and sacredness of DGR that are important for complementing ART. ‘Belonging’ indicates (inter alia) that nature is our home. It is aptly reiterated by the ART property of ‘being away.’ To get away from it all, back to nature, is actually ironic, since it implies a (real) homecoming of sorts. This is understandable because this is where we come from, where we exist meaningfully and is also our final destination, therefore also ‘(inter-) connected.’ The last-mentioned simultaneously matches ART’s ‘compatibility,’ the fit into or resonance with nature, accentuated by the Biophilia hypothesis that we are innately attracted to nature (Wilson, 1993:31). And the closely related ART properties of ‘fascination’ and ‘extent,’ encapsulating the elevating effect of exposure to the rich biodiversity of the natural world, describe the psychological process that leads to the conclusion that DGR has emphasized, the ‘sacredness’ or intrinsic worthiness of nature. It is time to take a closer look at how mountains specifically, concretize the theoretical insights of ART and DGR when exposed to them. An ART and DGR explanation of ‘mountain top experiences’ Mountains form part of the oldest formations of Earth, some more humble (e.g. Mt Zion) and others soaring to incredible heights, the highest on Earth (Mt Everest), born from the clash of tectonic plates or volcanic eruptions when our planet was in its infant years. Their sheer height 9 Taylor (2010:2) expands the narrow boundaries and intellectual definitions of traditional religions (e.g. substantialist and functionalist) and follows a ‘family resemblances’ (‘polyfocal’) approach to religion. Applied to the treatment of nature, a wide array of beliefs and behaviours are accommodated, including those that are ‘religious-resembling.’ 10 Goodall believes animals (e.g. primates) also have a mental world (intelligence/mind/soul) similar to humans, derived from a ‘superordinate intelligence’ (Taylor, 2010:31). Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 5 and fascinating shapes are immediately attention grabbing as they can be seen in their entirety. Bernbaum (1997:208, 214) says: ‘More than any other place, even the ocean, the view from the summit of an isolated peak offers a concrete sensation of feeling ourselves placed in the very middle of the world, enclosed within the vast circle of the horizon around us,’ or ‘a god’s eye view.’ Apart from other natural settings, a mountain forms a complete ecosystem in itself, with forests, meadows, rivers/springs, lakes, glaciers and granite peaks, with climates ranging from tropical to arctic, forming microcosms of the world (1997: preface, 214). They cannot be tamed, yet they sustain life around them for hundreds of kilometres, for instance the highest point in Africa, the snow-capped Kilimanjaro, nourishing its environment (1997:128). The presence of ‘green’ and ‘water’ on the mountain, indicators of the life force, naturally attract humans, animals and other life forms, as emphasized by ART (Kaplan & Kaplan, 1989:9; see also Bernbaum, 1997:211). But mountains also have spiritual meaning, as we tend to see more than meets the eye. Climbing a mountain is like climbing to the ‘gates of heaven,’ says Thoreau (1973b:123), and pondering on the comprehensive intelligence that formed them (2001:53). Some indigenous tribes like the Bushmen of Botswana see mountains as petrified forms of their ancestors (Bernbaum, 1997:130) and will therefore revere them. The Chagga bury their dead facing their sacred mountain Kilimanjaro (1997:135). Mountains offer an escape that is a ‘tonic’ for the soul according to Thoreau (Anderson 1973:12), and Muir speaks eloquently of getting good tidings from the mountains, where nature’s peace will flow into you like sunshine into trees (quoted by Bernbaum, 1997:243). Mountains are indeed special places and spaces for our well-being. What happens to us when we escape to the mountains? ‘Being away’ or breaking away implies giving the mind a break from the daily toil (directed attention), and expose it to cognitive content of a different kind (indirect attention), so that it can be restored. Bernbaum (1997: preface) encapsulates succinctly: ‘People see them (mountains - HV) as places where they can go to leave behind the materialistic, competitive concerns of the urban world and immerse themselves in a primordial reality that renews them spiritually and physically.’ The new sounds, fresh smells11 and captivating sights of a mountain environment are indeed cognitive content of a different kind. Whilst inhaling the microbes of this new environment it frees the body’s natural pharmacy of feel-good hormones, and we immediately experience excitement, anticipation and happiness. To be in ‘another world,’ both physically and mentally, comes easily as mountaineers confess. Edwin Herzog describes his first ascent in 1950 of Annapurna (Himalayan peak) as a ‘different universe’ with ‘an astonishing happiness welling up in me’ (1997:xv). Thoreau, when climbing Wachusett (2001:49), describes the mere elevation of 1900 feet above the village of Princeton as ‘…infinitely removed from the plain…we feel a sense of remoteness, as if we had travelled into distant regions, to Arabia Petrea…’ As mentioned already, ‘breaking away’ simultaneously (and ironically) implies coming home or ‘belonging’ (DGR), reiterated by Bernbaum (1997:xvii): ‘we…let go of our feelings of separateness and merge with the mountains around us or feel at home (HV) in their awesome presence.’ And likewise Thoreau (Harding, 1959:153) who experiences a ‘correspondence’ (at home) with nature and Muir who claims that going to the mountains is ‘going home’ (Devall, 1982:69; Payne, 1996:98; McDowall, 2010:1631). ‘Compatibility’ or the natural ‘resonance’ that we have with nature, because of our interconnectedness, makes the ‘fit’ with nature quite effortlessly, for whatever reason or purpose we venture into it. Long before Wilson came up with his Biophilia Hypothesis to indicate our innate attraction to the natural world, Thoreau (Harding, 1959:153) spoke similarly of an intuitive ‘correspondence’ with nature, spending as much time as he could (up to four hours a day) in his natural environs towards a fuller and consoled life. He wrote a whole essay on ‘Walking’ in 1862 (1973c:133, formerly known as ‘The Wild’),12 regarding this kind of escape 11 Thoreau (1973c:142) speaks of ‘mountain air that feeds the spirit and inspires.’ 12 In this essay Thoreau (1973c:144) also refers to his famous dictum, ‘In Wilderness is the preservation of the World,’ his deliberate choice of the wild above the tamed. Aldo Leopold (1966:129-133) later on read this saying Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 6 into nature as a kind of ‘crusade’ (1973c:133). Incidentally, ‘walking’ is one of the basic, almost effortless ways of spending time in nature to become restored, according to ART (De Young, 2010). Thoreau was part of the group of ‘transcendentalists’ of his time but nevertheless also embraced animism and pantheism (Taylor, 2010:54-55) as can be seen in his ‘musing,’ contemplative thought. Muir, on the other hand, although also sharing these sentiments but far more radical in his views on interconnectedness,13 left the orthodox faith, as he immersed himself more and more in scientific, conservationist work during his numerous nature and mountain retreats later on (McDowall, 2010:1630). His work on floristic biogeography and especially glaciation, earned him to be recognised among names like Darwin and Wallace who were his contemporaries in Europe (McDowall, 2010:1634). One of the conspicuous purposes for visiting mountains globally, since time immemorial up until today, is that of pilgrimage. What Bernbaum (1997:12) says of pilgrims visiting Mount Meru and Kailas (Himalayan peaks), that this is a journey to the centre of the universe where the cosmic beginning and end meet, and encountering the divine, is true of most pilgrimages to mountains the world over (see pilgrimage to Mt Zion below). And this pertains also to ‘modern pilgrims’ who do not believe in supernatural deities but nevertheless come under the spell of the natural power and beauty of mountains for inspiration, expanding the self and experiencing fulfilment (1997:xvi, 141). What William James called the involuntary attention mental mechanism, the effortless grabbing of our attention through beautiful nature scenes for instance (whilst blocking out the bombardment of stimuli depleting our directed attention), is called (‘soft’) ‘fascination’ by the Kaplans. We need ‘soft fascination’ to become restored. Bernbaum (1997:247) captures this need through mountain exposure: ‘Much of the special appeal of mountain climbing comes from the fact that it takes us out of the ordinary world of everyday life to a magical place where we can experience spontaneous feelings of wonder and awe.’ Mountains offer us visions of that which is pure and eternal, elevated above the daily mundane wheeling and dealing. That is why many Europeans14 for instance flock to the Alps and Pyrenees seeking spiritual nourishment from sights that emit transcendent power and mystery, to enrich their dull, everyday lives (Bernbaum, 2005: 1459). The first climber of Everest without oxygen, Reinhold Messner, described his ascent not as an accomplishment but as an Allgefühl (all- inclusiveness), a deep happiness/bliss inside his head and breast that left him speechless (Von Stuckrad, 2005:1120). And in almost similar vein Johnson (2005:1400): ‘…climbing…still affords the chance to gain a celestial view from a terrestrial perch… allows for an oceanic experience that inspires a caring rather than a conquering attitude toward the rock (HV).’ Being on a mountain top, however, not only inspires joy but can also evoke dreadful fear15 and awe, as an indication of ecological balance. If a mountain is stripped of its wolves, it ‘fears’ devastation through an overabundance of deer. The same is true also of African elephants who destroy plant life (and other animal species) when their numbers become too many. 13 According to Devall (1982), Muir can be seen as an early predecessor of ‘deep ecology,’ an essential non- anthropocentric stance and a radical empathy with nature (Muir, however, was not misanthropic; 1982:76). It is marked by ‘biocentric egalitarianism,’ emphasizing the deeply interconnected flow of everything in nature (‘the great clod’ -Taoist) – ‘to think like a tree,’ ‘listening with a third ear’ and ‘taste the freedom of the mountain.’ On Muir’s love for mountains, Devall (1982:69) says: ‘Muir did not go into mountains seeking pleasure in a superficial sense nor did he climb mountains to make a “first accent,” to get his name in the record books of some mountaineering association. He went walking in mountain landscapes, experiencing them to the fullest, letting go of social self…’ The last-mentioned is often defined by the ‘American dream’ to conquer, subdue and over-utilize (plunder) nature through capitalism and modern technology. 14 Not only Europeans but many urbanites the world over are nowadays aptly diagnosed as suffering from ‘Nature Deficit Syndrome’ (see also Wilson, 1993:35). 15 Anderson (1973:19) states: ‘“Climbing Mount Ktaadn” is a striking American exemplum (Thoreau – HV) of Edmund Burke’s famous essay on “The Sublime and the Beautiful,” though it illustrates these two concepts in reverse order,’ where the ‘sublime’ (opposite of ‘beauty’) inspires awe and fear (even terror) through power, vastness/infinity and obscurity (darkness). In this regard Bernbaum (1997:xv) also refers to Rudolf Otto who emphasized the fascination and fear of the ‘wholly other’ when encountering the sacred in mountains. Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 7 an experience that is so overwhelmingly terrifying that it blocks out comprehension and speech and leaving us with feelings of humility. They can become places of ‘hell’ instead of ‘heaven.’ Bernbaum (1997:242), experiencing an avalanche, describes this near encounter with death. It evoked an awakening of the spirit and mind where everything around him became sharper and brighter, and a deep appreciation for life (see also Taylor, 2010:118). Thoreau (1973a:118), on top of Mt Ktaadn where it seems as if eerie rocks have rained down from a foreign planetary quarry, and the wind a ‘young whirlwind,’ poetically captures these immense forces of nature: ‘Nature was here something savage and awful, though beautiful. I looked with awe at the ground I trod on, to see what the Powers had made there…This was that Earth of which we have heard, made out of Chaos and Old Night. Here was no man’s garden, but the unhandseled globe.’ Despite having the ‘compatibility’ to access even the highest mountains, on some of them we do not ‘belong’ as they become wholly other ‘holy ground.’ It makes good sense therefore that humans have since the dawn of history almost always regarded mountains as ‘sacred.’ ‘Extent’ implies two things, namely order and mystery. Mountains notably form markers, borders, orientation points, safe refuges and centres of the cosmos for a particular people. Their visibility makes them a great asset in simply finding your way. In Cape Town for instance, the lone standing Table Mountain ensures that getting lost is almost impossible, the mountain is always there for orientation. Their life-sustaining capacities (providing especially water) make them centres around which life is organised, and people sometimes even prefer to live on them instead of close by.16 They do not only form physical centres but more than often mythological centres, a linking axis around which earth and heaven revolves. Their ‘deep valleys and high peaks conceal what lies hidden within and beyond them, luring us to venture ever deeper into a realm of enticing mystery’ (Bernbaum, 1997:xviii). Their reaching into the skies, surrounded by clouds evokes the impression that they open up into ‘other worlds,’ and easily lures the mind to wander. Many of these peaks, so endowed with physical beauty and therefore regarded as earthly ‘Gardens of Eden,’ easily transmute into symbols of a heavenly ‘paradise’ in the myths of people across the globe (1997:252). When climbing Saddleback Thoreau says (1973b:127): ‘It was such a country as we might see in dreams, with all the delights of paradise.’ John Muir regarded mountains as godly temples and altars: ‘The hills and groves are God’s first temples…’ (Payne, 1996:96), providing good tidings and inspiration. They become places and spaces of revelation (e.g. Moses on Sinai, Muhammad in a cave on Mt Hira; Bernbaum, 2005:1459), of meditation to discover one’s ‘…true place in the scheme of things’ (Bernbaum, 1997:41, commenting on mountains in Chinese art), or just regular reflection. Thoreau liked to read Wordsworth and Virgil on his excursion to Wachusett (2001:50), Muir to reflect on evolution when he was in the mountains (McDowall, 2010:1631- 1635). A rested/restored mind promises to come up far more easily with an “aha!” moment, as many have discovered.17 Whether used for religious or non-religious purposes,18 it is clear that mountains have become ‘sacred,’19 that what DGR pleads for, special places accorded intrinsic worth without which the human mind would be impoverished. Bernbaum (1997:248) lastly notes that when mountains (and nature in general) are regarded ‘sacred,’ this would be a huge step forward for nature conservation. As unlikely as one would desecrate a church, so 16 Bernbaum (1997:135) captures an insightful remark from a member of the Chagga tribe, near Kilimanjaro: ‘You are not a full human being if you don’t come from Kilimanjaro. In fact, the higher up the mountain you live, the more fully human and blessed you are.’ 17 For instance, Isaac Newton, enjoyed walking in a garden into which his laboratory at Trinity College, Cambridge opened. He would often rush back indoors and write down some new insight that he obtained whilst wandering (Thielen & Diller, s.a.). 18 On climbing Mount Sinai, Bernbaum (1997:99) remarks: ‘An immense vista of undulating ridges and distant deserts opens around the awestruck pilgrim. Even those who have no spiritual attachment to the place feel themselves in the presence of something that far exceeds their limited conceptions of the world they think they know.’ 19 See the telling title of Edwin Bernbaum’s 1997 book, Sacred Mountains of the World. Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 8 would one desecrate/plunder the San Francisco Peaks in Arizona, regarded by the Hopi and Navajo Indians as ‘holy ground.’ The mountain top experience just explained is aptly summarized by Bernbaum (1997:255): The sense of the sacred awakened by mountains reveals a reality that has the power to transform our lives. Whatever that reality is, however we may conceive it - as a deity, the ground of being, emptiness, the unconscious, the self, nature, the absolute – our encounter with it frees us from our usual conceptions of ourselves so that we can grow beyond the persons we think we are. The ‘mountain top experience’ of the Psalms of Ascents (Ps 120-134) Bernbaum (1997:253) makes an insightful remark on Mount Zion/Jerusalem, the at-centre space where the Psalms of Ascents are situated. It is a built-over mountain, densely populated since ancient times, but it nevertheless, as a (elevated) city, offers a place of spiritual renewal and enrichment as the wilds are able to do.20 The two most important mountains in Israel are Mount Sinai (9000 feet) and Mount Zion (only a rounded hill):21 ‘Sinai is the awesome peak of the covenant and the law…Zion, on the other hand, is the beautiful site of the temple…Sinai is the mountain of the beginning, Zion the mountain of the end’ (Bernbaum, 1997:102). Zion is also a Leitmotiv in the collection of the Psalms of Ascents (Ps 120 -134), compared to the rest of the Psalter (Prinsloo, 2005:476 n 81). There is an agreement that the collection of the Psalms of Ascents forms a coherent unity in terms of structure and meaning, and in its final form probably served as a post-exilic ‘devotieboekje’ (Van der Ploeg, 1974:347), meditation book or book of confidence (in Yahweh). It could have been used during pilgrimages, ‘ascending’ to Zion/Jerusalem, as its later redactional heading, šîrê hamma‘ălôt (added to each individual psalm), indicates (Viviers, 1994:288; Grogan, 2008:16). The overall theme of confidence could have assisted in rediscovering their identity in the presence of their blessing (and creator) deity and evoked hope for the future also (see Ps 132), amongst the post-exilic Jewish community.22 Levin (2016:400), after an incisive analysis of the layering that the collection underwent through redactional and (final) editorial activity, comes to the same conclusion: ‘Hence whoever makes his own dwelling place in the proximity of Zion will forever enjoy the blessing of the unsurpassable nearness of God (Ps 133). The last line summarizes once more the message of the collection: “Yahweh bless you from Zion, he who made heaven and earth!” (Ps 134:3).’ Levin (2016:382, 399-400), however, interestingly emphasizes that the journey (‘pilgrimage’) of diaspora Jews to Zion, is one way - a single journey - and this special place should never be left again. The ‘spatial’ study of Prinsloo (2005) on this collection is insightful, as it touches on the centrality of ‘space’ as symbolized by Zion/Jerusalem, where heaven and earth meet (2005:461). À la Lefebvre and Soja, Prinsloo (2005:460) prefers to use ‘space,’ because of its emotional undertones that imply more than ‘place.’ He distinguishes between first space (physical, concrete space), second space (imagined space, bringing into play especially the emotive meaning of space) and third space (lived space, emphasizing the ideological stances of different groups).23 To be off-centre is to be in negative space, and to be at-centre in positive space. In the Psalms of Ascents, Zion/Jerusalem becomes the at-centre space par excellence, the source of all physical and spiritual life to 20 This would be an example of ‘nearby nature,’ in and around us even in very busy cities (see footnote 3). 21 Allen (1983:167, following Keel) says Zion is a modest hill compared to its surrounding mountains. It is 66 metres below Mount of Olives, 76 metres below Mount Scopus, 33 metres below the hill to its west, and 53 metres below ras el-mekkaber. 22 On Book V of the Psalter of which Ps 120-134 form part, Prinsloo (2005:475-476) indicates that it is concerned with the restoration of Israel after the exile, with an eschatological and Messianic flavour. 23 Prinsloo (2005:462) says: ‘In a very real sense the one is the other.’ Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 9 which one should ‘ascend,’24 no different than the many sacred mountains that have served their surrounding communities elsewhere (see above). Prinsloo (2005:472, 473) encapsulates as follows: ‘The poem (Ps 134) stands in stark contrast to the complete negative tone of Psalm 120. Space has been recreated through the physical experience of ascending to Jerusalem and the emotional experience of ascending to YHWH from negative to positive space, from off-centre to at-centre…A real pilgrimage to Jerusalem and the temple became a spiritual pilgrimage from lwav to ~ymv, an ascent into the arms of YHWH,’ creating an inclusio.25 And this movement/ascent happens through the five triads (120-122; 123-125; 126-128;26 129- 131; 132-133) of the collection, forming its storyline (Prinsloo, 2005:472-474).27 What is lacking in Prinsloo and the other authors mentioned thus far, is a stronger emphasis also on the Zion mountain as an implied ‘subject,’ or at least having some kind of ‘agency,’28 to co- create or enhance with Yahweh the atmosphere of confidence and trust in the collection. Jerusalem, the temple and Zion are more than often conflated, the one recalling the other, and the conspicuous personification of Jerusalem in Psalm 12229 implies the (natural) Zion hill also. Does Zion meet the (emotive) properties of ART of ‘being away,’ ‘compatibility,’ ‘fascination’ and ‘extent,’ and the ‘sacredness’ of DGR, as Prinsloo with his emphasis on ‘space’ as something more than ‘place’ has already suggested (see also Ps 48)? Does it ‘create’ restoration and upliftment? The negative note on which the ma‘ălôt-collection starts in Psalm 120, of being far away in Meschech in the north and Kedar in the south,30 distanced from the ‘centre’ Zion/Jerusalem, raises the need for ‘being away,’ or as indicated above, coming ‘home.’ The well-known ‘I lift up my eyes to the mountains, where does my help come from?’ of Psalm 121:1 could very likely indicate a far-away glimpse of the supplicant of Zion/Jerusalem and its surrounding mountains, en route to this destination (see Ps 125; Mays, 1994:389; Clifford, 2003:221; Grogan, 2008:200).31 And ‘homecoming’ is soon, sweet and joyous, Psalm 122: ‘I was glad (śāmaḥetî)…’ when they arrived in the fortified city on the hill, the seat of the law and judgement founded by David who much earlier made it his ‘home.’ Its built structure (gates, walls, citadels, etc.) captures the attention of something ‘new’ compared to where the ‘pilgrims’ toiled and suffered earlier. Prinsloo (2005:464-465) encapsulates: ‘The sense of belonging (sic!-HV), of 24 Prinsloo (2005:461) encapsulates: ‘To “ascend” is to be close to Yahweh, to experience life. To “descend” is to sink down into the Deep, the realm of death.’ 25 At a formal level Viviers (1994:281-282) also indicates a so-called ‘semantic-sonant-chiasmus’ between Psalms 121 and 134, binding the collection as a whole through inclusio. 26 When Prinsloo (2005:473) refers to Psalm 126-128 as the ‘heart’ of the collection, it interestingly also matches Viviers’ earlier structural analysis of the collection (1994:287). Views among scholars, however, differ at where the ‘climax’ of the collection lies, and remains an open question. Some regard the long Psalm 132 as the climax, whilst Levin (2016:396) sees Psalm 133 as the highpoint. 27 Commenting on ‘third space’ or the competing ideological stances of groups, Prinsloo (2005:474-477) argues that at the beginning of the fourth century BCE, a group of displaced Levites were vying for power which they have lost under the post-exilic temple aristocracy. It is their ‘voice’ that is heard in the collection. Levin (2016:381- 382, 399-400), however, argues that the collection is all about post-exilic Jews who are urged to return to Zion/Jerusalem from the diaspora. 28 Habel (2011:51, 62) argues convincingly that Earth (Adamah) should be seen as a ‘co-agent’/subject along with God in the creation process in Genesis 2-3. Person (2008) argues similarly that the role of non-human characters in the book of Jonah should be recognized. These ‘voices’ are often hidden in official Israelite theology although the lines sometimes blur, especially among lay people. Indigenous peoples with their emphasis on ‘spiritual animism’ (see DGR) do not have a problem with nature elements being ‘alive,’ and in their own unique way contribute to its ‘sacredness.’ 29 See the vocative ‘O Jerusalem’ in vs 2; On Psalm 122 Mays (1994:393) says: ‘They are to ask after the peace of Jerusalem (v. 6a) as if Jerusalem were a person being greeted by each pilgrim…’ 30 Prinsloo (2005:462) indicates that the two place names form a merism. 31 Allen (1983:151) summarizes some views on this sight of the mountains, e.g. source of danger, mountain sanctuaries of other gods, (positive) heavenly heights, cultic reference to the mountains of Jerusalem and the cosmic mountains on which Yahweh dwells (see Ps 48:1-3; 87:1-3; according to Habel). Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 10 being at centre, explains the urgent prayer for the “peace32 of Jerusalem” (6ab).’ The Jerusalem-mountains in Psalm 125:1-2 become nature elements that are ‘good to think by’ or physical space transmuting into imaginative space (see Prinsloo above). The mountains ‘assist’ in evoking new thoughts: Yahweh believers are as steadfast as Mt Zion,33 and Yahweh encloses his followers like the mountains embrace Jerusalem. This home is safe and secure, the kind of habitat that ART emphasizes for human well-being. In ancient Israel ‘home is where Yahweh is’ and this is stated explicitly in the eschatological royal psalm, Psalm 132:13-14: ‘For the Lord has chosen Zion, he has desired it for his dwelling (lĕmôšāb lô), this is my resting place (z’ōt -mĕnǔḥātȋ) for ever and ever, here I will sit enthroned, for I have desired it …’ (see also vs 7-8). And Zion will also be the centre of the future ‘paradise,’ the Messianic era when Yahweh will ‘make a horn grow for David…’ (vs 17; see also Is 2:1-5) and shower Israel with his abundant blessings. Home spells ‘good (-ness)’ and ‘pleasant’ (ṭôb, nā‘ȋm)” in Psalm 133 when the nation lives together in harmony and Yahweh bestows his blessings from Zion (‘from there [šām]…’; vs 3), life forever. Commenting on Psalm 131 and the supplicant’s trustful confidence in Yahweh, Levin (2016:396) says about the space from which the person praying is ‘…Mount Zion or in its immediate vicinity (cf. 125:2).’ And the repeated formula ‘from this time forth and for evermore’ (vs 3), indicates that the journey to Zion/Jerusalem is a ‘one-way- ticket.’ The temple on Mt Zion in Psalm 134 (‘house of Yahweh,’ ‘holy place’) is also the supplicants’ spiritual home, from where their creator blesses them. For the Israelites Zion/Jerusalem is the ‘sacred home’ at the centre of the universe, the geographical first space turned into imaginative second space of a fulfilled life, a mountain top experience. ‘Compatibility,’ the ‘fit’ into or the ‘resonance’ with Mt Zion/Jerusalem has just been touched on by emphasizing it as ‘home’ where the early Israelites experienced a deep sense of belonging. Other than a wild, untamed mountain range or peak that may require good planning and sometimes extraordinary efforts to access it (e.g. Everest and the need for oxygen), Mount Zion has been ‘humanized’ (Bernbaum, 1997:99) and is therefore easily approachable by all. Sinai on the other hand is far more difficult and represented ‘holy ground’ for only an initiated few (Moses), recalling many inaccessible peaks across the world amongst indigenous peoples. Bernbaum (1997:99) captures one of the primary purposes of ascending Mount Zion/Jerusalem: ‘In going up to Jerusalem, pilgrims could go up to the Lord as Moses had on Mount Sinai. And indeed, a number of psalms sung on pilgrimages to the holy city bear the title “A Song of Ascents.”’ The spiritual upliftment, meeting the deity in the temple where earth and heaven meet, has been indicated already (see Ps 134). But not only early Israelites, Jews and Christians have visited Jerusalem for this specific reason; Muslims also regard Jerusalem as the third most important pilgrimage site, with Mecca and Medina rated first and second (1997:100). The journey to Jerusalem, however, comprised more than just a pilgrimage, but implied permanent settlement in or around Mt Zion/Jerusalem, vindicating Levin’s view of a one-way journey from the diaspora. Psalms 126-128, the third triad in the collection, consisting of a (trustful/confident) supplicatory prayer that Yahweh would change their fate similarly as that of Zion34 earlier (126:1), and the twin wisdom Psalms 127 and 128, speaks of settlement. Prinsloo (2005:473) verbalizes as follows: ‘…their daily business of sowing and reaping (Psalm 126), working and raising families (Psalm 127), and experiencing the fruit of their labour (Psalm 128).’ And the similar blessing from Zion as in Psalm 134:4 in 128:5: ‘May the Lord bless you from Zion…,’ the ‘earthly link with Yahweh’ (Allen, 1983:185),35 the source and centre of life. Being off-centre has been indicated in Psalm 120 already, and is aptly expressed in Psalm 130:1 ‘Out of the depths (mimma‘ămaqȋm) I cry to you O Lord…’ To be in the ‘clutches of lwav’ is the experience of being off-centre (Prinsloo 2005:469), distanced from 32 Clifford (2003:225) and most commentators note the alliteration and conspicuous wordplay in vs 6a: ‘… ša’ălǔ šālôm yĕrǔšālām.’ 33 Briggs & Briggs (1907:454) note that ‘the royal city is enthroned as a king, cf. 482sq.’ 34 Prinsloo (2005:467 n 44, following Kraus) notes that ‘Zion’ here refers to Israel as a people. 35 Commenting on Ps 129:5 ff., Allen (1983:190) speaks eloquently of Zion as the ‘touchstone’ of God’s purposes. Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 11 Yahweh and therefore an in –‘compatible’ space where no one wants to be. Yahweh and his abode, the height of Zion, is the desired ‘compatible’ space to be. ‘Fascination’ implies the effortless capturing of the mind through some kind of beautiful scenery, sound, smell, taste or touch, and simultaneously soothing the mind. Heights like mountains, a special part of nature, do this notably and lead to mountain top experiences. Fascination and awe usually go together, that which leaves us speechless, surprised and submissive when overwhelmed by something vast, great and powerful (Keltner & Haidt, 2003:303). The far-off sight of Zion and its mountainous surrounds, ‘I lift my eyes to the mountains…’ (Ps121:1) does exactly this, leaving an unforgettable impression on the traveller (Clifford, 2002:235). And the dangers of such a perilous journey (vs 3-8; possible attackers, sunstroke, ‘moonstroke,’ sun and moon also as harmful deities; Clifford, 2003:222) evoke anxiousness and fear. The entrance into Jerusalem (Ps 122) is marked by ‘…joyful fascination with the scene and the occasion,’ almost ecstacy. This is exactly what impressive architectural structures (in this case elevated) also do to us (Keltner & Haidt, 2003:303). Mount Zion in Psalm 125:1, seemingly small but becoming larger than life though faith as the cosmic mountain (Eaton, 2005:431), intrigues as a symbol of stability anchored in the womb of the earth (see also Ps 36:6; 65:6; 76:4; 90:2; Clifford, 2003:232; Weiser, 1962:757). And the embracing mountains of Jerusalem, evoking the simile of Yahweh embracing his people (vs 2), creates comforting consolation. Psalm 132, apart from celebrating Zion as Yahweh’s resting place, an astonishing thought within Israelite faith that their almighty creator God (Ps 121:2; 124:8; 134:3) has chosen this particular earthly seat, also harbours his ‘footstool’ (vs 7). The ark notably evokes awe as a holy and dangerous object (2 Sam 6:1-7). Fascination is up front in Psalm 133 with the word- pictures of the aromatic, ‘glistening’ oil dripping from Aaron’s beard onto his garment, and the life-giving dew of the exotic Hermon (Song 4:8) descending on Mount Zion (Clifford, 2003:260- 261),36 and exemplifying Yahweh’s blessing of unity. These images convey beauty, charm, refreshment and abundance (Weiser, 1962:785; Allen, 1983:215). The last-mentioned is also the point of comparison of the Hermon dew falling on Zion, a geographical impossibility but poetic licence at work here (Eaton, 2005:446-447). The Psalms of Ascents ends on a doxological note in Psalm 134 in the temple on the Zion height, where supplicants ‘lift up’ their hands in praise to Yahweh, and he reciprocates with a blessing, a captivating picture of serenity, harmony and restoration. ‘Extent’ focuses on two things, ‘order’ and ‘mystery,’ the last-mentioned that ‘lets the mind wander.’ The emphasis on Zion/Jerusalem as the centre of the universe, the cosmic orientation point of all, the ‘at-centre space’ according to Prinsloo, has been highlighted already and aptly captures the notion of ‘order.’ This centre becomes the ultimate point of belonging and has the capacity to restore the mind with feelings of security and tranquility. ‘Mystery’ evokes the transcendence into ‘other worlds,’ of escaping from the mundane to the sublime. Mays (1994:189-190) eloquently captures these ideas when he comments on the Zion psalm, Psalm 48: ‘The psalm views the city as a medium through which God can be known…the visible is transparent to the invisible and focuses mind and spirit on what cannot be seen… It (city-HV) is tangible evidence that the Lord has taken them as flock…a way of envisioning the earthly in terms of the heavenly, the temporal in terms of the everlasting.’ Most commentators agree that it is not primarily about Zion (city and mount) but about God. Without God there would not have been a ‘Zion,’ but the opposite is equally true, without Zion no God. Mount Zion subtly functions as ‘co-agent’ (May’s ‘medium’) in evoking mystery.37 The 36 ‘It is like a mountain towering into heaven, its sides running with the life-giving dew of God’s blessing , which flows down upon arid lands,’ according to Eaton (2005: 447; see also Briggs & Briggs, 1907:476). 37 See Goldingay (2007:93), indicating the interconnectedness between God and Zion, the heavenly and earthly, although the last-mentioned should be understood in terms of the first, similar as Mays argues. However, here one needs to critically turn the argument the other way round (see main text), would there be any ‘God’ if there were no ‘mountain’? What comes first, doesn’t the tangible (first) evoke the abstract and only then does the abstract Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 12 experiencing of the ‘peace’ of and in Jerusalem (Ps 122) already uplifts the pilgrim to a blissful, imaginative space of serenity, reminding of the ‘oceanic feeling’ of interconnectedness that like-minded people (e.g. believers) experience. The same applies to Psalm 133 with its emphasis on unity. The mystery of life-giving dew from the mountains opens up thought to Yahweh who ‘“on the hills of Zion” … confers the height of blessing - life…’ (Eaton, 2005:446), the concrete leads to the abstract. The being part of a greater whole38 is also present in Psalm 134, portraying a group of supplicants who is one of mind and faith, savouring the mystical presence of their blessing deity. Psalm 132’s focus on the earthly Zion, opens up to a future, Messianic ‘paradise.’ The mysterious future is depicted in terms of the tangible and well- known here and now (abundant provisions…food – vs 15; salvation…joy – vs 16). Allen (1983:218) summarizes aptly: ‘Zion is Yahweh’s powerhouse…Zion is a doorway that opens out into the power behind the world.’ ‘Extent’ also implies contemplation and reflection and its range in the ma‘ălôt-collection is wide. It focuses on their centre of faith, Zion/Jerusalem (e.g. Ps 121; 122; 132), their creating, saving and blessing deity Yahweh (e.g. Ps 121; 124; 134), the characteristics of their faith itself (e.g. Ps 123; 125; 131), their unified identity (e.g. Ps 133), their trials and tribulations of the past (e.g. Ps 120; 124; 126; 129; 130), on nature, wisdom and making a living (e.g. Ps 126-128), in short, all of the themes covered in the collection. As with other mountains, Mount Zion/Jerusalem also becomes something ‘good to think by,’ as the mind moves from the concrete to the abstract. It allows for a mountain top experience, uplifting, expanding and restoring the mind. The words of the ninth-century Theodore of Constantinople captures this succinctly (in Bernbaum, 1997:90): ‘It seems to me that a mountain is an image of the soul as it lifts itself up in contemplation. For in the same manner as the mountain towers above the valleys and lowlands at its foot, so does the soul of him who prays mount into the higher regions up to God…’ And for those who situate themselves under the porous line between supernatural and naturalistic worldviews (see DGR above), this experience of elevation is the same. Conclusion Attention Restoration Theory (ART) and Dark Green Religion (DGR) provide apt explanations of what nature does to the human mind. When exposed to nature, it not only restores the mind but simultaneously has an elevating effect on human thought, to ceaselessly transcend into ‘other worlds.’ We not only live from nature but also become fulfilled through nature, and therefore it makes good sense that nature has throughout the ages been seen as intrinsically worthy (‘sacred’). Mountains, a special part of nature that immediately captivates the attention, not only form eco-systems in themselves to sustain life but also provides a ‘god’s eye view,’ a tangible experience of being at the centre of the universe, leading to moments of inspiration or ‘mountain top experiences.’ Writers of the past and present have therefore sung their eulogies of mountains for what they do to sustain both physical and spiritual life. It was no different with the biblical ma‘ălôt- collection (Ps 120 -134), where Israelite/Jewish supplicants/pilgrims experienced not only a physical ‘ascending’ to the safe, confidence-inspiring and life-giving Mt Zion/Jerusalem, but a meeting of their deity YHWH who chose to reside there. The rather insipid (and largely ‘humanized’) Mount Zion compared to other ranges, nevertheless along with YHWH, became co-creative in establishing this inspiring space as the centre of its inhabitants’ universe and life, their ‘paradise’ and ‘heaven.’ Mountains throughout the ages and globally have been very special, both ecologically and culturally. shape ideas also of the concrete? See also how all of life is conceptualized metaphorically in terms of (concrete) bodily experiences according to Johnson (1987). 38 Here somewhat (Israelite) particularistic, but elsewhere universalistic (see Is 2:1-5). Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 13 References Anderson, C.R. (1973). The Essayist. In C.R. Anderson (ed). Thoreau’s Vision: The Major Essays, Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, 1-30. Allen, L.C. (1983). Psalms 101-150, Word Biblical Commentary, 21, Word Books, Waco. Berman, M.G., Jonides, J. & Kaplan, S. (2008). The Cognitive Benefits of Interacting with Nature, Psychological Science 19 (12), 1207-1212. Bernbaum, E. (1997). Sacred Mountains of the World, University of California Press, Berkeley. Bernbaum, E. (2005). Sacred Mountains. In B. Taylor (ed). Encyclopedia of Religion and Nature, Volume 11: K – Z, Continuum, London, 1456-1460. Briggs, C.A. & Briggs, E.G. (1907). The Book of Psalms, Vol II, The International Critical Commentary, T&T Clark, Edinburgh. Clifford, R.J. (2002). Psalms 1-72, Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries, Abingdon Press, Nashville. Clifford, R.J. (2003). Psalms 73-150, Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries, Abingdon Press, Nashville. De Young, R. (2010). Restoring Mental Vitality in an Endangered World: Reflections on the Benefits of Walking, Ecopsychology, 2 (1), 13-22. Devall, B. (1982). John Muir as Deep Ecologist, Environmental Review, 6 (1), 63-86. Eaton, J. (2005). The Psalms: A Historical and Spiritual Commentary with an Introduction and New Translation, Continuum, London. Goldingay, J. (2007). Psalms: Volume 2, Psalms 42-89, Baker Commentary on the Old Testament, Baker Academic, Grand Rapids. Goodenough, U. (1998). The Sacred Depths of Nature, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Grogan, G.W. (2008). Psalms, The Two Horizons Old Testament Commentary, WB Eerdmans, Grand Rapids. Habel, N. (2011). The Birth, the Curse and the Greening of Earth: An Ecological Reading of Genesis 1-11, The Earth Bible Commentary, Sheffield Phoenix Press, Sheffield. Harding, W. (1959). A Thoreau Handbook, New York University Press, New York. Johnson, G. 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The Role of Space in the twl[mh yryv (Psalms 120 - 134), Biblica 1 (1), 457-477. Seney, W. (2016). The Importance of ‘Mountain Top Experiences’ in Discovering Self, Gifted Education International, 32 (3), 209-215. Taylor, B. (2008). From the Ground Up: Dark Green Religion and the Environmental Future. In D.K. Swearer (Ed). Ecology and the Environment: Perspectives from the Humanities, Center for the Study of World Religions, Harvard University Press, Cambridge (USA), 89-107. Taylor, B. (2010). Dark Green Religion: Nature Spirituality and the Planetary Future, University of California Press, Berkeley. Thielen, A. & Diller, K.A. (s.a.). Through the Lens of Attention Restoration Theory: The Pursuit of Learning in Gardens throughout History, Undergraduate Research Journal High School Series, (2002-2014), 11, 1-10. Thoreau, H.D. (1973a [1848]). Climbing Mount Ktaadn. In C.R. Anderson (Ed). Thoreau’s Vision: The Major Essays, Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, 105-119. Thoreau, H.D. (1973b [1849]). Ascent of Saddleback. In C.R. Anderson (Ed). Thoreau’s Vision: The Major Essays, Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, 121-129. Pharos Journal of Theology ISSN 2414-3324 online Volume 99 - (2018) Copyright: ©2018 Open Access- Online @ http//: www.pharosjot.com 15 Thoreau, H.D. (1973c [1862]). The Wild. In C.R. Anderson (Ed). Thoreau’s Vision: The Major Essays, Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, 133-158. Thoreau, H.D. 2001 (1842). A Walk to Wachusett. In E.A. Witherell (Ed). Henry David Thoreau: Collected Essays and Poems, The Library of America, New York, 42-56. Van der Ploeg, J.P.M. (1974). Psalmen, deel 1, Boeken van het Oude Testament, 7B, JJ Romen, Roermond. Viviers, H. (1994). The Coherence of the ma‘alôt Psalms (Pss 120 -134), Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 106, 275-289. Viviers, H. (2016a). Natural Retreats and Human Well-being: Reading the Song of Songs through the Lens of Attention Restoration Theory, Scriptura 115 (1),1-19. doi:http://dx.doi.org/10.7833/115-0-1286. Viviers, H. (2016b). Can the Song of Songs be Described (also) as a Form of Dark Green Religion? Verbum et Ecclesia, 37 (1), 8 pages. doi: 10.4102/ve.v37i1.1581 Viviers, H. (2017). Can Psalm 104 be Described (also) as a Form of Dark Green Religion? HTS Teologiese Studies/ Theological Studies, 73(3), a3829. Von Stuckrad, K. (2005). Mountaineering. In B. Taylor (Ed). Encyclopedia of Religion and Nature, Volume 11: K – Z, Continuum, London, 1119-1120. Weiser, A. (1962). The Psalms: A Commentary, Old Testament Library, SCM, London. Wilson, E.O. (1993). Biophilia and the Conservation Ethic. In S.R. Kellert & E.O. Wilson (Eds). The Biophilia Hypothesis, Shearwater Books, Washington, 31-41. 
work_bcrrrz544bbxnnvlwfjj5nvnue	----	Science Walden: Exploring the Convergence of Environmental Technologies with Design and Art sustainability Article Science Walden: Exploring the Convergence of Environmental Technologies with Design and Art Hyun-Kyung Lee 1,*, Kyung Hwa Cho 2, Changsoo Lee 2, Jaeweon Cho 2, Huiyuhl Yi 1, Yongwon Seo 2, Gi-Hyoug Cho 2, Young-Nam Kwon 2, Changha Lee 2 and Kyong-Mi Paek 1 1 Division of General Studies, Ulsan National Institute of Science and Technology, UNIST-gil 50, Ulsan 44919, Korea; huiyuhl@unist.ac.kr (H.Y.); kpaek@unist.ac.kr (K.-M.P.) 2 School of Urban and Environmental Engineering, Ulsan National Institute of Science and Technology, UNIST-gil 50, Ulsan 44919, Korea; khcho@unist.ac.kr (K.H.C.); cslee@unist.ac.kr (C.L.); jaeweoncho@unist.ac.kr (J.C.); ywseo@unist.ac.kr (Y.S.); gicho@unist.ac.kr (G.-H.C.); kwonyn@unist.ac.kr (Y.-N.K.); clee@unist.ac.kr (C.L.) * Correspondence: hlee@unist.ac.kr; Tel.: +82-52-217-2032 Academic Editor: Vincenzo Torretta Received: 10 October 2016; Accepted: 23 December 2016; Published: 28 December 2016 Abstract: Science Walden, which is inspired by two prominent literary works, namely, Walden by Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862) and Walden Two by Burrhus Frederic Skinner (1904–1990), is aimed at establishing a community that embodies humanistic values while embracing scientific advancement to produce renewable energy and water sources. This study attempts to capitalize on feces standard money (FSM) and artistic collaboration between scientists and artists as a means of achieving the forms of life depicted in Walden and Walden Two. On our campus, we designed and built a pavilion that serves as a laboratory where scientific advantages, design, and art are merged. In the pavilion, feces are processed in reactors and facilities for sustainable energy production, and rainwater is harvested and treated for use in daily life. Our application of design and art contributes to easing interaction between the general public and scientists because it visualizes an ambiguous theory and concretizes it into an understandable image. Keywords: feces standard money (FSM); collaboration of science & art; sustainable energy production 1. Introduction 1.1. Why “Science Walden?” The term “Science Walden” is the product of the dialectical development of thought on two eminent literary works: Walden by Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862) and Walden Two by Burrhus Frederic Skinner (1904–1990). The life of Thoreau portrayed in Walden is an isolated one. He keeps himself away from other human communities, leading a genuinely self-sustaining life in his cabin at Walden Pond [1]. His minimalist lifestyle stems from a distrust of capitalism, which causes unbridled competition and expands vulgar materialism. Meanwhile, Walden Two depicts an agricultural commune where citizens lead pleasant and peaceful lives [2]. They seem to represent an exemplar of collective life: the inhabitants share labor, enjoy various kinds of recreation, and pursue their own choices of artistic projects in a crime-free environment. However, those who live in this community turn out to be carefully controlled to conduct themselves in certain ways by behavioral engineers. For example, they are conditioned to be cooperative and gentle and to desire only what they can have or choose. Influenced by the forms of life in Walden and Walden Two, Science Walden is aimed at establishing a community that embodies humanistic values while positively embracing the technological advancement of modern civilization. It accords with Thoreau in that a nature-oriented life is pursued, Sustainability 2017, 9, 35; doi:10.3390/su9010035 www.mdpi.com/journal/sustainability http://www.mdpi.com/journal/sustainability http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/journal/sustainability Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 2 of 17 but it deviates from his orientation in that it does not shun scientific accomplishments. Science Walden, instead, considerably emphasizes the use of cutting-edge technologies in constructing an infrastructure for an environment-friendly life. The community of Science Walden is also based on the systematic and well-organized managerial principles described in Walden Two but does not infringe on the autonomy of its members. Voluntary participation in social events and activities is encouraged. These practices embody a place of convergence where human beings engage with science and technology. In sum, our project inherits the philosophical legacies underlying the two literary works and establishes a pragmatic community, with the benefit of scientific improvement as a backdrop. 1.2. Sa-Wol-Dang Pavilion In the project, two ways of connecting scientific technologies and implementation in a community were attempted: the use of feces standard money (FSM; refer to edge.org/response-detail/26660) and artistic collaboration between scientists and artists. FSM is not a substitute for, but a complement to, the currency used in present economic and social systems. We believe that arts, or liberal arts, can ignite imagination and provide courage as we map out a community through scientific concepts and ideas. To experience all of the target endeavors, we designed and built a pavilion that serves as a laboratory where scientists and artists study the goals of Science Walden together (Figure 1). The pavilion is called Sa-Wol-Dang, which is Chinese for “a place to think about what is beyond”. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 2 of 16 technological advancement of modern civilization. It accords with Thoreau in that a nature-oriented life is pursued, but it deviates from his orientation in that it does not shun scientific accomplishments. Science Walden, instead, considerably emphasizes the use of cutting-edge technologies in constructing an infrastructure for an environment-friendly life. The community of Science Walden is also based on the systematic and well-organized managerial principles described in Walden Two but does not infringe on the autonomy of its members. Voluntary participation in social events and activities is encouraged. These practices embody a place of convergence where human beings engage with science and technology. In sum, our project inherits the philosophical legacies underlying the two literary works and establishes a pragmatic community, with the benefit of scientific improvement as a backdrop. 1.2. Sa-Wol-Dang Pavilion In the project, two ways of connecting scientific technologies and implementation in a community were attempted: the use of feces standard money (FSM; refer to edge.org/response-detail/26660) and artistic collaboration between scientists and artists. FSM is not a substitute for, but a complement to, the currency used in present economic and social systems. We believe that arts, or liberal arts, can ignite imagination and provide courage as we map out a community through scientific concepts and ideas. To experience all of the target endeavors, we designed and built a pavilion that serves as a laboratory where scientists and artists study the goals of Science Walden together (Figure 1). The pavilion is called Sa-Wol-Dang, which is Chinese for “a place to think about what is beyond”. Figure 1. Sa-Wol-Dang at the UNIST campus. 1.3. Objectives of the Study The Sa-Wol-Dang pavilion is designed to use space efficiently so that it accommodates as many research facilities as possible. The pavilion also helps advertise the participating activities of this project to the public, including the students of UNIST. While inviting people to experience the laboratory at the pavilion, we have met more than 2600 visitors since we opened it on 25 May 2016. We have listened to their opinions and comments thereafter. We believe that the feedback delivered to us, both positive and negative, help us build certain meanings and images so that we can adopt them to set up the future projects for our communities in both urban areas and rural villages, and see how to implement them. We noted that not many of the visitors used the non-flushing toilet, which reflected the public perception of our project concept. Though we did not interview the toilet users to obtain responses and comments, we could envision the next step of our project and corresponding activities based on the experience. Even with relatively high wastewater treatment rate, we are experiencing many different kinds of environmental pollutions, including large-scale eutrophication, probably due to nitrogen and phosphorus contamination in rivers of Korea. Our society may have a public perception that environmental protection cannot accompany economic development or technological achievement. On the contrary, we believe that the preservation of environment may contribute to enhancing economic values. Our belief is evidenced by the realization of FSM: we can create value by Figure 1. Sa-Wol-Dang at the UNIST campus. 1.3. Objectives of the Study The Sa-Wol-Dang pavilion is designed to use space efficiently so that it accommodates as many research facilities as possible. The pavilion also helps advertise the participating activities of this project to the public, including the students of UNIST. While inviting people to experience the laboratory at the pavilion, we have met more than 2600 visitors since we opened it on 25 May 2016. We have listened to their opinions and comments thereafter. We believe that the feedback delivered to us, both positive and negative, help us build certain meanings and images so that we can adopt them to set up the future projects for our communities in both urban areas and rural villages, and see how to implement them. We noted that not many of the visitors used the non-flushing toilet, which reflected the public perception of our project concept. Though we did not interview the toilet users to obtain responses and comments, we could envision the next step of our project and corresponding activities based on the experience. Even with relatively high wastewater treatment rate, we are experiencing many different kinds of environmental pollutions, including large-scale eutrophication, probably due to nitrogen and phosphorus contamination in rivers of Korea. Our society may have a public perception that environmental protection cannot accompany economic development or technological achievement. On the contrary, we believe that the preservation of environment may contribute to enhancing economic values. Our belief is evidenced by the realization of FSM: we can create value by producing energy from human feces (Figure 2). We have been attempting to increase the efficiency of the energy production edge.org/response-detail/26660 Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 3 of 17 while trying to change the public perception towards feces and their environmental/economic values. By redesigning our societal system to utilize the resources of recycled feces and bioenergy, and subsequently using the FSM as an alternative currency, we believe that we can renovate our current welfare system. In particular, the fact that everyone can provide more or less the same amount of feces as an energy source forms an underlying basis for the societal welfare system; everyone has the equal right to be benefitted by the communal energy management system as he or she is able to supply the sources of alternative forms of energy. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 3 of 16 producing energy from human feces (Figure 2). We have been attempting to increase the efficiency of the energy production while trying to change the public perception towards feces and their environmental/economic values. By redesigning our societal system to utilize the resources of recycled feces and bioenergy, and subsequently using the FSM as an alternative currency, we believe that we can renovate our current welfare system. In particular, the fact that everyone can provide more or less the same amount of feces as an energy source forms an underlying basis for the societal welfare system; everyone has the equal right to be benefitted by the communal energy management system as he or she is able to supply the sources of alternative forms of energy. As a means of materializing the hardware that enables the FSM, we manufactured a prototype of a waterless toilet, which we dubbed as “the BeeVi toilet”. The dried forms of feces generated by the BeeVi toilet are delivered into the anaerobic digestion bioreactor. The bioreactor produces biogas, from which we separate methane and carbon dioxide using either the hydrophobic membrane gas separation or semi-clathrate method. In order to illustrate that the energy thus produced may contribute to everyday life, we opened many interesting research events to perform eco-friendly activities. For instance, we once invited the university students to Sa-Wol-Dang pavilion where they cooked barley sprouts, which had been cultivated within the pavilion using the composts from feces, using the bioenergy generated by the separated methane in the pavilion lab as well. Water is another crucial source in producing the bioenergy. We harvest rainwater with the green roof and treat rainwater using the bi-metal and membrane processes. Artistic beauty permeates into the mid-products of our experimental procedures. Our participating researchers designed a future-oriented model of the BeeVi toilet (dummy) so that visitors can observe and give their suggestions for further improvements. The participating artists successfully visualized the bioenergy production rate from the digestion reactor in the form of the artistic works exhibited on the pavilion walls. The nature artists associated with our project created urban farming presentations where we can cultivate flowers and vegetables, such as barley, using the compost generated by our toilet system. Figure 2. In the pavilion, there is a restroom where anyone from our campus or the nearby cities can come and experience defecation activities with waterless toilets. They can earn some credits from these activities and exchange them with a cup of coffee or other foods at the university cafe. 2. Methods 2.1. Survey Study at UNIST We conducted structured interviews first randomly with 140 students enrolled at UNIST, who are the main residents of this community. We asked them three questions: (1) What kind of buildings or a symbol do you want to have in your community? (2) Do you have any preferences for functions that this building might have? (3) What is your favorite building or creative structure? The responses were thematically analyzed. Although the interviewees majored in different types of engineering studies, similar themes emerged when categorizing their answers. Three themes were found: Figure 2. In the pavilion, there is a restroom where anyone from our campus or the nearby cities can come and experience defecation activities with waterless toilets. They can earn some credits from these activities and exchange them with a cup of coffee or other foods at the university cafe. As a means of materializing the hardware that enables the FSM, we manufactured a prototype of a waterless toilet, which we dubbed as “the BeeVi toilet”. The dried forms of feces generated by the BeeVi toilet are delivered into the anaerobic digestion bioreactor. The bioreactor produces biogas, from which we separate methane and carbon dioxide using either the hydrophobic membrane gas separation or semi-clathrate method. In order to illustrate that the energy thus produced may contribute to everyday life, we opened many interesting research events to perform eco-friendly activities. For instance, we once invited the university students to Sa-Wol-Dang pavilion where they cooked barley sprouts, which had been cultivated within the pavilion using the composts from feces, using the bioenergy generated by the separated methane in the pavilion lab as well. Water is another crucial source in producing the bioenergy. We harvest rainwater with the green roof and treat rainwater using the bi-metal and membrane processes. Artistic beauty permeates into the mid-products of our experimental procedures. Our participating researchers designed a future-oriented model of the BeeVi toilet (dummy) so that visitors can observe and give their suggestions for further improvements. The participating artists successfully visualized the bioenergy production rate from the digestion reactor in the form of the artistic works exhibited on the pavilion walls. The nature artists associated with our project created urban farming presentations where we can cultivate flowers and vegetables, such as barley, using the compost generated by our toilet system. 2. Methods 2.1. Survey Study at UNIST We conducted structured interviews first randomly with 140 students enrolled at UNIST, who are the main residents of this community. We asked them three questions: (1) What kind of buildings or a symbol do you want to have in your community? (2) Do you have any preferences for functions that this building might have? (3) What is your favorite building or creative structure? The responses were thematically analyzed. Although the interviewees majored in Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 4 of 17 different types of engineering studies, similar themes emerged when categorizing their answers. Three themes were found: a. Inspirational, symbolic, and Earth-friendly toilets and FSM system. b. A place to know about what kind of science and technology is needed for this project. c. An interactive artwork that stimulates. Therefore, the students here at UNIST want a symbolic art installation as well as a place to know about science and art related to this project. We shared these findings from the community with the other members of our collaborative team in order to discuss the building directions for our research lab. Therefore, each lab decided to put some necessary system in the pavilion. The next section will offer a detailed description of each lab and how it functions in this project. 2.2. Biogas Production from Feces In the pavilion, feces were subjected to a series of sustainable energy production processes, from anaerobic digestion and methane (CH4) and carbon dioxide (CO2) separation to green algae cultivation (Figure 3). The reactors and facilities for these processes were located within the pavilion and operated by supervisors who lead different research teams. We intended to use the produced CH4 for heating and both the CH4 and biodiesel generated from the green algae as fuel for a community bus. In this regard, the residents can use FSM as a means of payment. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 4 of 16 a. Inspirational, symbolic, and Earth-friendly toilets and FSM system. b. A place to know about what kind of science and technology is needed for this project. c. An interactive artwork that stimulates. Therefore, the students here at UNIST want a symbolic art installation as well as a place to know about science and art related to this project. We shared these findings from the community with the other members of our collaborative team in order to discuss the building directions for our research lab. Therefore, each lab decided to put some necessary system in the pavilion. The next section will offer a detailed description of each lab and how it functions in this project. 2.2. Biogas Production from Feces In the pavilion, feces were subjected to a series of sustainable energy production processes, from anaerobic digestion and methane (CH4) and carbon dioxide (CO2) separation to green algae cultivation (Figure 3). The reactors and facilities for these processes were located within the pavilion and operated by supervisors who lead different research teams. We intended to use the produced CH4 for heating and both the CH4 and biodiesel generated from the green algae as fuel for a community bus. In this regard, the residents can use FSM as a means of payment. We could have restricted the project to employing a non-flushing toilet, producing energy out of feces or manure, and recycling water to protect the environment and conserve energy and water. However, we envisioned a horizon that goes beyond these aims and accordingly designed Sa-Wol-Dang to motivate people to participate more sustainably in all of the activities proposed by Science Walden. Figure 3. Reactors and facilities for sustainable energy production from feces. 2.2.1. Beevi Toilet The flushing toilet has been recognized as one of the greatest and worst inventions in scientific history from the perspectives of sanitation and the natural environment, respectively. Forgoing the use of flushing toilets means that, with the help of scientific developments, we can achieve something important that transcends what we can imagine. We hope to bring new value from the experience of not using flushing toilets and create a new horizon for our community. Accordingly, we placed three non-flushing toilets in the pavilion. 2.2.2. Biogas Production Anaerobic digestion has been widely applied to the treatment of high-strength organic wastes because it can stabilize pollution loads and produce renewable energy, in the form of biogas, simultaneously. Biogas consists of approximately 60% CH4 and 40% CO2 (v/v) and is attracting Figure 3. Reactors and facilities for sustainable energy production from feces. We could have restricted the project to employing a non-flushing toilet, producing energy out of feces or manure, and recycling water to protect the environment and conserve energy and water. However, we envisioned a horizon that goes beyond these aims and accordingly designed Sa-Wol-Dang to motivate people to participate more sustainably in all of the activities proposed by Science Walden. 2.2.1. Beevi Toilet The flushing toilet has been recognized as one of the greatest and worst inventions in scientific history from the perspectives of sanitation and the natural environment, respectively. Forgoing the use of flushing toilets means that, with the help of scientific developments, we can achieve something important that transcends what we can imagine. We hope to bring new value from the experience of not using flushing toilets and create a new horizon for our community. Accordingly, we placed three non-flushing toilets in the pavilion. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 5 of 17 2.2.2. Biogas Production Anaerobic digestion has been widely applied to the treatment of high-strength organic wastes because it can stabilize pollution loads and produce renewable energy, in the form of biogas, simultaneously. Biogas consists of approximately 60% CH4 and 40% CO2 (v/v) and is attracting increasing attention as a promising energy source in the future. In Science Walden, feces and food waste (the major organic waste streams from human activities) are converted to biogas by anaerobic digestion, which forms the core unit of the energy recovery system in the Pavilion (Figure 3). Anaerobic digestion is a series of biological reactions involving diverse microbial groups with different metabolic functions and physiological characteristics [3]. Its performance, therefore, depends on the concerted activity of microorganisms involved, and is sensitive to changes in environmental conditions (e.g., temperature, pH, oxidation reduction potential, salinity, and feed characteristics). Despite its high organic content, human feces has mostly been treated by aerobic processes due to hygiene and scalability issues. We examined feces (collected from the volunteer members of the project) and food waste (collected from a student cafeteria at UNIST campus) for biochemical methane potential (BMP) under mono- and co-digestion conditions. The BMP tests were performed for 28 days at 35 ◦C in triplicate. 2.2.3. CO2 Capture from Biogas Using Semiclathrates Many quaternary ammonium salts (QASs), such as tetra-n-butyl ammonium halides (F, Cl, Br), form semiclathrates with water at atmospheric pressure. In QAS semiclathrates, anions, such as F-, Br-, and Cl-, participate in building up host cage structures with water molecules, and tetra-n-butylammonium cations are incorporated into the partially broken large cages [4,5]. Since QAS semiclathrates have small empty cages, which are available for capturing small-sized gas molecules (Figure 4), they can be effectively used for gas storage and separation. QASs are also non-volatile and non-toxic and can thus be used repeatedly without loss in a semiclathrate-based separation process [6,7]. CO2 from biogas (CH4 + CO2) can be separated using semiclathrates because CO2 preferentially occupies the small cages of QAS semiclathrates, as shown in Figure 3. Such occupation is due to the higher thermodynamic stability of CO2 in semiclathrates than that of CH4. In this study, tetra-n-butylammonium chloride (TBAC) was used as a semiclathrate former to capture CO2 from biogas because among QASs, TBAC has the highest gas storage capacity and yields the highest equilibrium dissociation temperature [6,7]. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 5 of 16 increasing attention as a promising energy source in the future. In Science Walden, feces and food waste (the major organic waste streams from human activities) are converted to biogas by anaerobic digestion, which forms the core unit of the energy recovery system in the Pavilion (Figure 3). Anaerobic digestion is a series of biological reactions involving diverse microbial groups with different metabolic functions and physiological characteristics [3]. Its performance, therefore, depends on the concerted activity of microorganisms involved, and is sensitive to changes in environmental conditions (e.g., temperature, pH, oxidation reduction potential, salinity, and feed characteristics). Despite its high organic content, human feces has mostly been treated by aerobic processes due to hygiene and scalability issues. We examined feces (collected from the volunteer members of the project) and food waste (collected from a student cafeteria at UNIST campus) for biochemical methane potential (BMP) under mono- and co-digestion conditions. The BMP tests were performed for 28 days at 35 °C in triplicate. 2.2.3. CO2 Capture from Biogas Using Semiclathrates Many quaternary ammonium salts (QASs), such as tetra-n-butyl ammonium halides (F, Cl, Br), form semiclathrates with water at atmospheric pressure. In QAS semiclathrates, anions, such as F-, Br-, and Cl-, participate in building up host cage structures with water molecules, and tetra-n-butylammonium cations are incorporated into the partially broken large cages [4,5]. Since QAS semiclathrates have small empty cages, which are available for capturing small-sized gas molecules (Figure 4), they can be effectively used for gas storage and separation. QASs are also non-volatile and non-toxic and can thus be used repeatedly without loss in a semiclathrate-based separation process [6,7]. CO2 from biogas (CH4 + CO2) can be separated using semiclathrates because CO2 preferentially occupies the small cages of QAS semiclathrates, as shown in Figure 3. Such occupation is due to the higher thermodynamic stability of CO2 in semiclathrates than that of CH4. In this study, tetra-n-butylammonium chloride (TBAC) was used as a semiclathrate former to capture CO2 from biogas because among QASs, TBAC has the highest gas storage capacity and yields the highest equilibrium dissociation temperature [6,7]. Figure 4. QAS semiclathrate. 2.2.4. Purification Using a Membrane Technique In this study, CO2 separation in a digester was evaluated using a polypropylene hollow fiber membrane (Liqui-Cell ©), which is a straw-like small tube with numerous tiny pores. The membrane is a selective physical separator of two phases and can pass one component more easily than others. Biogas flowed into the bore side (lumen) of the hollow fiber and was transported through the membrane pores. The CO2, having a higher Henry’s constant, was selectively dissolved in the pure water in the shell side (outside). Thus, a high amount of soluble gas was removed from the reactor. 2.3. Rainwater Reduction and Treatment We prepared water necessary for the pavilion by harvesting rainwater from a green roof, after which the harvested water was filtered and disinfected (Figure 5). The gardens in the pavilion were Figure 4. QAS semiclathrate. 2.2.4. Purification Using a Membrane Technique In this study, CO2 separation in a digester was evaluated using a polypropylene hollow fiber membrane (Liqui-Cell ©), which is a straw-like small tube with numerous tiny pores. The membrane is a selective physical separator of two phases and can pass one component more easily than others. Biogas flowed into the bore side (lumen) of the hollow fiber and was transported through the membrane pores. The CO2, having a higher Henry’s constant, was selectively dissolved in the pure water in the shell side (outside). Thus, a high amount of soluble gas was removed from the reactor. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 6 of 17 2.3. Rainwater Reduction and Treatment We prepared water necessary for the pavilion by harvesting rainwater from a green roof, after which the harvested water was filtered and disinfected (Figure 5). The gardens in the pavilion were designed together with an artist and a scientist, and we grow crops, such as barley, using the remaining compost converted from feces and the purified rainwater. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 6 of 16 designed together with an artist and a scientist, and we grow crops, such as barley, using the remaining compost converted from feces and the purified rainwater. Figure 5. Rainwater harvesting and treatment system. 2.3.1. Green Roof and Sand Filter System: Rainwater Reduction Under unexpected climate change, rapid and uncontrolled urbanization have resulted in severe flooding events and surface water pollution. Low-impact development (LID) has been proposed as a promising approach to reducing urban stormwater runoff and pollution [8,9]. LID aims to preserve the water cycle of a pre-development area by maximizing water infiltration into the soil layer and reducing surface runoff. A green roof is a building rooftop laid over permeable media and vegetation to control runoff volume and improve water quality, as well as reduce the occurrence of urban heat islands. It can be categorized into extensive or intensive types on the basis of the depth of a roof layer. The soil thickness of an intensive green roof is generally greater than 150 mm, and that of an extensive green roof is less than 150 mm. A green roof was placed on the center part of Sa-Wol-Dang’s roof, covering approximately 50% of total area (2 m × 2 m × 0.3 m). The other 50% was considered as normal roofs. Effluent from a green roof is transported to a sand filter system, which improves the quality of the effluent. 2.3.2. Integrated Adsorption-Disinfection System for Rainwater Treatment Rainwater harvesting has been considered a sustainable option of supplying water for potable and non-potable uses [10,11]. Rainwater treatment can be a simpler process than reclamation from wastewater because the former is characterized by better water quality. Using rainwater for different purposes (cleaning, laundry, toilet flushing, drinking, etc.) necessitates that potential contaminants, such as particles, organics, heavy metals, and pathogens, be properly removed to satisfy the water quality standard for each purpose. Large particles are relatively readily removed by sedimentation in a storage tank, and membrane filtration can be optional when microparticles are problematic. The removal of dissolved contaminants (e.g., dissolved organics and heavy metals) and the disinfection of pathogenic microorganisms are more challenging processes. An integrated adsorption-disinfection system was developed in this study to simultaneously control dissolved contaminants and microorganisms in rainwater. This system is a continuous-flow column packed with functional materials (Figure 6). The packing material comprises granular or powdered activated carbon doped with fine particles of iron oxide or zerovalent iron-copper bimetal (denoted as nFe-Cu). The porous activated carbon provides a high surface area with active sites on which heavy metals and organic substances effectively adsorb. nFe-Cu doped on activated carbon is a new biocide capable of inactivating both bacteria and viruses. Figure 5. Rainwater harvesting and treatment system. 2.3.1. Green Roof and Sand Filter System: Rainwater Reduction Under unexpected climate change, rapid and uncontrolled urbanization have resulted in severe flooding events and surface water pollution. Low-impact development (LID) has been proposed as a promising approach to reducing urban stormwater runoff and pollution [8,9]. LID aims to preserve the water cycle of a pre-development area by maximizing water infiltration into the soil layer and reducing surface runoff. A green roof is a building rooftop laid over permeable media and vegetation to control runoff volume and improve water quality, as well as reduce the occurrence of urban heat islands. It can be categorized into extensive or intensive types on the basis of the depth of a roof layer. The soil thickness of an intensive green roof is generally greater than 150 mm, and that of an extensive green roof is less than 150 mm. A green roof was placed on the center part of Sa-Wol-Dang’s roof, covering approximately 50% of total area (2 m × 2 m × 0.3 m). The other 50% was considered as normal roofs. Effluent from a green roof is transported to a sand filter system, which improves the quality of the effluent. 2.3.2. Integrated Adsorption-Disinfection System for Rainwater Treatment Rainwater harvesting has been considered a sustainable option of supplying water for potable and non-potable uses [10,11]. Rainwater treatment can be a simpler process than reclamation from wastewater because the former is characterized by better water quality. Using rainwater for different purposes (cleaning, laundry, toilet flushing, drinking, etc.) necessitates that potential contaminants, such as particles, organics, heavy metals, and pathogens, be properly removed to satisfy the water quality standard for each purpose. Large particles are relatively readily removed by sedimentation in a storage tank, and membrane filtration can be optional when microparticles are problematic. The removal of dissolved contaminants (e.g., dissolved organics and heavy metals) and the disinfection of pathogenic microorganisms are more challenging processes. An integrated adsorption-disinfection system was developed in this study to simultaneously control dissolved contaminants and microorganisms in rainwater. This system is a continuous-flow column packed with functional materials (Figure 6). The packing material comprises granular or powdered activated carbon doped with fine particles of iron oxide or zerovalent iron-copper bimetal (denoted as nFe-Cu). Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 7 of 17 The porous activated carbon provides a high surface area with active sites on which heavy metals and organic substances effectively adsorb. nFe-Cu doped on activated carbon is a new biocide capable of inactivating both bacteria and viruses. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 7 of 16 Figure 6. Schematic of integrated adsorption-disinfection system. 3. Results 3.1. Beevi Toilet There are three types of Beevi toilet in the pavilion; the first is a commercialized unit with which we can convert feces into compost in approximately one week, the second is a designed and fabricated unit that can produce powder out of fresh feces in about 30 min to 1 h, and the last is not intended as a toilet but as an exhibition of a model design and sitting experience. We opened our restroom to the public, available for viewing with a reservation, so that visitors can experience and obtain an FSM currency called Ggool (Korean for “honey”) in exchange for their participation through either a developed smartphone application or payment with paper money. 3.2. Biogas Production The co-digestion runs (at three different mixing ratios between feces and food waste) and the mono-digestion runs treating feces or food waste all showed similar CH4 yields (0.404–0.434 L/g volatile solids fed (VSfed), Figure 7). These results suggest that feces has promising potential as a feedstock for biogas production. Although, in contrast to a previous study [12], a synergetic effect was not shown in the co-digestion runs, it was demonstrated that feces and food waste can be effectively co-digested without antagonistic effect. Two identical continuously-stirred tank reactors with a working volume of 15 L are being operated in Sa-Wol-Dang to evaluate the efficiency and stability of the co-digestion process in continuous mode. The reactors have been operated with gradual increases in organic loading rate from 1.5 to 2.5 g VS/L∙day for more than 100 days after the initiation (Figure 8). Currently, approximately 0.7 L biogas/g VSfed with 64% CH4 content (v/v) is stably produced in each reactor. The digester effluent contains large amounts of nitrogen (>2500 mg NH4+-N/L) and phosphorus (>100 mg PO4−-P/L), which must be further treated prior to discharge. The project team is developing a post-treatment process for nutrient removal using microalgae under non-sterile conditions. The microalgal biomass harvested from the process can be used to produce biodiesel or feed the digesters for further energy recovery via biogas. Figure 6. Schematic of integrated adsorption-disinfection system. 3. Results 3.1. Beevi Toilet There are three types of Beevi toilet in the pavilion; the first is a commercialized unit with which we can convert feces into compost in approximately one week, the second is a designed and fabricated unit that can produce powder out of fresh feces in about 30 min to 1 h, and the last is not intended as a toilet but as an exhibition of a model design and sitting experience. We opened our restroom to the public, available for viewing with a reservation, so that visitors can experience and obtain an FSM currency called Ggool (Korean for “honey”) in exchange for their participation through either a developed smartphone application or payment with paper money. 3.2. Biogas Production The co-digestion runs (at three different mixing ratios between feces and food waste) and the mono-digestion runs treating feces or food waste all showed similar CH4 yields (0.404–0.434 L/g volatile solids fed (VSfed), Figure 7). These results suggest that feces has promising potential as a feedstock for biogas production. Although, in contrast to a previous study [12], a synergetic effect was not shown in the co-digestion runs, it was demonstrated that feces and food waste can be effectively co-digested without antagonistic effect. Two identical continuously-stirred tank reactors with a working volume of 15 L are being operated in Sa-Wol-Dang to evaluate the efficiency and stability of the co-digestion process in continuous mode. The reactors have been operated with gradual increases in organic loading rate from 1.5 to 2.5 g VS/L·day for more than 100 days after the initiation (Figure 8). Currently, approximately 0.7 L biogas/g VSfed with 64% CH4 content (v/v) is stably produced in each reactor. The digester effluent contains large amounts of nitrogen (>2500 mg NH4+-N/L) and phosphorus (>100 mg PO4−-P/L), which must be further treated prior to discharge. The project team is developing a post-treatment process for nutrient removal using microalgae under non-sterile Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 8 of 17 conditions. The microalgal biomass harvested from the process can be used to produce biodiesel or feed the digesters for further energy recovery via biogas. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 8 of 16 Figure 7. CH4 production profiles in BMP test runs. Runs are labeled with the percentage of human feces (HF). FW100 indicates the mono-digestion run using food waste. Figure 8. Biogas production in duplicate digesters (R1 and R2) installed in Sa-Wol-Dang. 3.3. CO2 Capture from Biogas Using Semiclathrates The preliminary experiment in the current work showed that only one step of TBAC semiclathrate formation and dissociation produced 75% CO2 in the semiclathrate phase. With an additional step of semiclathrate formation and dissociation, almost-pure CO2 is expected to be enriched in the semiclathrate phase. However, researchers should further investigate the enhancement of the reaction rate and CO2 selectivity, the exploration of better semiclathrate formers, and the design of a continuous process to develop an energy-efficient semiclathrate-based process for CO2 capture. 3.4. Purification Using a Membrane Technique Figure 9 shows the concentration of CH4 gas under various pH conditions during membrane operation. Even when using pure water as a solvent for removing CO2, a concentration higher than Figure 7. CH4 production profiles in BMP test runs. Runs are labeled with the percentage of human feces (HF). FW100 indicates the mono-digestion run using food waste. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 8 of 16 Figure 7. CH4 production profiles in BMP test runs. Runs are labeled with the percentage of human feces (HF). FW100 indicates the mono-digestion run using food waste. Figure 8. Biogas production in duplicate digesters (R1 and R2) installed in Sa-Wol-Dang. 3.3. CO2 Capture from Biogas Using Semiclathrates The preliminary experiment in the current work showed that only one step of TBAC semiclathrate formation and dissociation produced 75% CO2 in the semiclathrate phase. With an additional step of semiclathrate formation and dissociation, almost-pure CO2 is expected to be enriched in the semiclathrate phase. However, researchers should further investigate the enhancement of the reaction rate and CO2 selectivity, the exploration of better semiclathrate formers, and the design of a continuous process to develop an energy-efficient semiclathrate-based process for CO2 capture. 3.4. Purification Using a Membrane Technique Figure 9 shows the concentration of CH4 gas under various pH conditions during membrane operation. Even when using pure water as a solvent for removing CO2, a concentration higher than Figure 8. Biogas production in duplicate digesters (R1 and R2) installed in Sa-Wol-Dang. 3.3. CO2 Capture from Biogas Using Semiclathrates The preliminary experiment in the current work showed that only one step of TBAC semiclathrate formation and dissociation produced 75% CO2 in the semiclathrate phase. With an additional step of semiclathrate formation and dissociation, almost-pure CO2 is expected to be enriched in the semiclathrate phase. However, researchers should further investigate the enhancement of the reaction rate and CO2 selectivity, the exploration of better semiclathrate formers, and the design of a continuous process to develop an energy-efficient semiclathrate-based process for CO2 capture. 3.4. Purification Using a Membrane Technique Figure 9 shows the concentration of CH4 gas under various pH conditions during membrane operation. Even when using pure water as a solvent for removing CO2, a concentration higher than Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 9 of 17 90% was achieved within 100 min at pH 8. The aim of this research was to advance fermentation reaction favorably by removing CO2 in an anaerobic digester. The experiments (Figure 9) showed that the fermentation reaction was easily achieved when a hydrophobic membrane was used. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 9 of 16 90% was achieved within 100 min at pH 8. The aim of this research was to advance fermentation reaction favorably by removing CO2 in an anaerobic digester. The experiments (Figure 9) showed that the fermentation reaction was easily achieved when a hydrophobic membrane was used. Figure 9. Separation of CH4 from the biogas mixture by a hydrophobic membrane process; initial gas composition was 50% CO2 and 50% CH4. 3.5. Green Roof and Sand Filter System: Rainwater Reduction Figure 10 compares the hydrographs and water quality concentrations of roofs and the green roof of Sa-Wol-Dang; the figures apply to the concentrations achieved on 3 August 2016. The comparison showed that surface runoff significantly decreased with the implementation of the green roof. This finding demonstrates that a green roof can contribute to reducing flooding events and pollutant loading into a receiving water body. Effluent from green roofs can be characterized by high phosphate and total phosphorus concentrations. Aitkenhead-Peterson et al. mentioned that phosphorus can be released from the soil layer in a green roof. However, the concentrations of NH4+ and NO3− decrease when a green roof system is adopted [13]. Figure 9. Separation of CH4 from the biogas mixture by a hydrophobic membrane process; initial gas composition was 50% CO2 and 50% CH4. 3.5. Green Roof and Sand Filter System: Rainwater Reduction Figure 10 compares the hydrographs and water quality concentrations of roofs and the green roof of Sa-Wol-Dang; the figures apply to the concentrations achieved on 3 August 2016. The comparison showed that surface runoff significantly decreased with the implementation of the green roof. This finding demonstrates that a green roof can contribute to reducing flooding events and pollutant loading into a receiving water body. Effluent from green roofs can be characterized by high phosphate and total phosphorus concentrations. Aitkenhead-Peterson et al. mentioned that phosphorus can be released from the soil layer in a green roof. However, the concentrations of NH4+ and NO3− decrease when a green roof system is adopted [13]. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 9 of 16 90% was achieved within 100 min at pH 8. The aim of this research was to advance fermentation reaction favorably by removing CO2 in an anaerobic digester. The experiments (Figure 9) showed that the fermentation reaction was easily achieved when a hydrophobic membrane was used. Figure 9. Separation of CH4 from the biogas mixture by a hydrophobic membrane process; initial gas composition was 50% CO2 and 50% CH4. 3.5. Green Roof and Sand Filter System: Rainwater Reduction Figure 10 compares the hydrographs and water quality concentrations of roofs and the green roof of Sa-Wol-Dang; the figures apply to the concentrations achieved on 3 August 2016. The comparison showed that surface runoff significantly decreased with the implementation of the green roof. This finding demonstrates that a green roof can contribute to reducing flooding events and pollutant loading into a receiving water body. Effluent from green roofs can be characterized by high phosphate and total phosphorus concentrations. Aitkenhead-Peterson et al. mentioned that phosphorus can be released from the soil layer in a green roof. However, the concentrations of NH4+ and NO3− decrease when a green roof system is adopted [13]. Figure 10. Cont. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 10 of 17Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 10 of 16 Figure 10. Runoff volumes and water quality from normal and green roofs. 3.6. Integrated Adsorption-Disinfection System for Rainwater Treatment Previous studies on microbial inactivation using iron and copper compounds suggested that the biocidal activity of nFe-Cu results from multiple antimicrobial actions, including oxidative stress by in situ-generated reactive oxidants and the cytotoxicity of cuprous species [14–16]. nFe-Cu not only prevents microbial growth on the surface of activated carbon but also inactivates microorganisms in water inflow. Therefore, the hybrid material of activated carbon and nFe-Cu plays dual roles as adsorbent and disinfectant. Preliminary data showed that the developed integrated adsorption-disinfection system effectively removed arsenic (a heavy metal) and Escherichia coli and MS2 coliphage (surrogates for bacteria and viruses, respectively) (Figure 11). Figure 11. Preliminary data on arsenic removal and microbial inactivation using the packing material and the developed system. Experimental conditions for arsenic removal: [As(V)]0 = [As(III)]0 = 2 mg/L, pH = 7, contact time = 6 h, batch-type operation, material = iron oxide-doped granular activated carbon, [Material]0 = 1 g/L. Experimental conditions for microbial inactivation: [E. coli]0 = [MS2]0 = 106 CFU or PFU/mL, pH = 7, retention time < 1 min, continuous-flow operation, material = powdered activated carbon doped with nFe-Cu. Figure 10. Runoff volumes and water quality from normal and green roofs. 3.6. Integrated Adsorption-Disinfection System for Rainwater Treatment Previous studies on microbial inactivation using iron and copper compounds suggested that the biocidal activity of nFe-Cu results from multiple antimicrobial actions, including oxidative stress by in situ-generated reactive oxidants and the cytotoxicity of cuprous species [14–16]. nFe-Cu not only prevents microbial growth on the surface of activated carbon but also inactivates microorganisms in water inflow. Therefore, the hybrid material of activated carbon and nFe-Cu plays dual roles as adsorbent and disinfectant. Preliminary data showed that the developed integrated adsorption-disinfection system effectively removed arsenic (a heavy metal) and Escherichia coli and MS2 coliphage (surrogates for bacteria and viruses, respectively) (Figure 11). Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 10 of 16 Figure 10. Runoff volumes and water quality from normal and green roofs. 3.6. Integrated Adsorption-Disinfection System for Rainwater Treatment Previous studies on microbial inactivation using iron and copper compounds suggested that the biocidal activity of nFe-Cu results from multiple antimicrobial actions, including oxidative stress by in situ-generated reactive oxidants and the cytotoxicity of cuprous species [14–16]. nFe-Cu not only prevents microbial growth on the surface of activated carbon but also inactivates microorganisms in water inflow. Therefore, the hybrid material of activated carbon and nFe-Cu plays dual roles as adsorbent and disinfectant. Preliminary data showed that the developed integrated adsorption-disinfection system effectively removed arsenic (a heavy metal) and Escherichia coli and MS2 coliphage (surrogates for bacteria and viruses, respectively) (Figure 11). Figure 11. Preliminary data on arsenic removal and microbial inactivation using the packing material and the developed system. Experimental conditions for arsenic removal: [As(V)]0 = [As(III)]0 = 2 mg/L, pH = 7, contact time = 6 h, batch-type operation, material = iron oxide-doped granular activated carbon, [Material]0 = 1 g/L. Experimental conditions for microbial inactivation: [E. coli]0 = [MS2]0 = 106 CFU or PFU/mL, pH = 7, retention time < 1 min, continuous-flow operation, material = powdered activated carbon doped with nFe-Cu. Figure 11. Preliminary data on arsenic removal and microbial inactivation using the packing material and the developed system. Experimental conditions for arsenic removal: [As(V)]0 = [As(III)]0 = 2 mg/L, pH = 7, contact time = 6 h, batch-type operation, material = iron oxide-doped granular activated carbon, [Material]0 = 1 g/L. Experimental conditions for microbial inactivation: [E. coli]0 = [MS2]0 = 106 CFU or PFU/mL, pH = 7, retention time < 1 min, continuous-flow operation, material = powdered activated carbon doped with nFe-Cu. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 11 of 17 4. Design and Art Design and art can ease interaction between the general public and scientists because these serve as a means of visualizing an ambiguous theory and concretizing it into an understandable image. Our attempts reflect the considerable possibility that design and art can create products that are more human-centered, comfortable, and convenient. These products then serve liaison-like purposes. That is, the divergent nature of art earns it the recognition as an effective means of facilitating cognitive flexibility and creative imagination. This nature enables art to act as a central site from which diverse paths of thinking can grow in the context of interdisciplinary studies. At Science Walden—an interdisciplinary research project that envisions a world yet to come—this potential of art is valued and expected to enable researchers to move beyond conventional scientific practice and toward many other possible alternatives [17,18]. 4.1. Media Art: Citizen-Friendly Presentation by Info-Blind Technology To clearly communicate the activities of our research center and help people easily understand how these activities proceed, an Info-Blind structure with LED lights is used with media art. The specific functions of the Info-Blind are as follows: (1) Figure 12. The Info-Blind functions as a shading material. Its LED lights are set horizontally on each wing so that it can express the media art connected to the computer in the research center. People can see the media art outside the building through the center’s wall, which is semi-transparent. (2) The biogas that the lab produces every day is visualized as a tree on the blinds, thereby enabling people who pass by the center at night to recognize how much output is produced on a given day. This is an attempt at motivating interaction between the public and the lab’s engineers. Without this visualization, the public would be unaware of what is going on in the lab. Ultimately, this media art connects and indirectly communicates with the public as an intermediary by attracting interest. (3) The logos intended to express the characteristics of each lab involved in the project are presented on the architecture. This is an endeavor at easily communicating to the public what kind of engineering departments have been collaborating in the project and how they are harmonized. People have commented that the entire structure resembles an art museum that offers exhibitions of content to the public. (4) Figure 13. Community engagement and interpretation as an experimental data collection was used. The authors invited community kindergarten students and explained about what this pavilion is and let them draw anything they learned to see their interpretation. They then admirably drew energy symbols, poo-poo shapes, and toilet images. Their interpretation leads to our results that art is an easy communication tool to understand each other. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 11 of 16 4. Design and Art Design and art can ease interaction between the general public and scientists because these serve as a means of visualizing an ambiguous theory and concretizing it into an understandable image. Our attempts reflect the considerable possibility that design and art can create products that are more human-centered, comfortable, and convenient. These products then serve liaison-like purposes. That is, the divergent nature of art earns it the recognition as an effective means of facilitating cognitive flexibility and creative imagination. This nature enables art to act as a central site from which diverse paths of thinking can grow in the context of interdisciplinary studies. At Science Walden—an interdisciplinary research project that envisions a world yet to come—this potential of art is valued and expected to enable researchers to move beyond conventional scientific practice and toward many other possible alternatives [17,18]. 4.1. Media Art: Citizen-Friendly Presentation by Info-Blind Technology To clearly communicate the activities of our research center and help people easily understand how these activities proceed, an Info-Blind structure with LED lights is used with media art. The specific functions of the Info-Blind are as follows: (1) Figure 12. The Info-Blind functions as a shading material. Its LED lights are set horizontally on each wing so that it can express the media art connected to the computer in the research center. People can see the media art outside the building through the center’s wall, which is semi-transparent. (2) The biogas that the lab produces every day is visualized as a tree on the blinds, thereby enabling people who pass by the center at night to recognize how much output is produced on a given day. This is an attempt at motivating interaction between the public and the lab’s engineers. Without this visualization, the public would be unaware of what is going on in the lab. Ultimately, this media art connects and indirectly communicates with the public as an intermediary by attracting interest. (3) The logos intended to express the characteristics of each lab involved in the project are presented on the architecture. This is an endeavor at easily communicating to the public what kind of engineering departments have been collaborating in the project and how they are harmonized. People have commented that the entire structure resembles an art museum that offers exhibitions of content to the public. (4) Figure 13. Community engagement and interpretation as an experimental data collection was used. The authors invited community kindergarten students and explained about what this pavilion is and let them draw anything they learned to see their interpretation. They then admirably drew energy symbols, poo-poo shapes, and toilet images. Their interpretation leads to our results that art is an easy communication tool to understand each other. Figure 12. Nighttime media art reflected status and Info-Blind with LED lights attached. Figure 12. Nighttime media art reflected status and Info-Blind with LED lights attached. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 12 of 17 Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 12 of 16 Figure 13. Community engagement and interpretation. 4.2. Futuristic Toilet Design: User-Centered Approach for Better Convergence The aim of designing a futuristic waterless toilet (the Beevi toilet) was not only to raise community awareness of water scarcity but also to save water in South Korea. The toilet features a radical technology-push nature that examines the effectiveness of eliminating phosphorus from the fuzzy front end stage of new product development [19]. An important consideration, however, is that designing a product that is meaningful to users requires an understanding of user experience and perception, as well as how people make sense of things [20]. A thorough understanding of target users and their needs is necessary for success. We, therefore, explored how people as future users in the community perceive water scarcity and the waterless toilets. This is a reflective problem-solving approach [21] to designing a prototype, which can be a solution, an evaluation tool, or a vehicle for team collaboration [22]. The packaged experience thus defines the characteristics of a product, service, or brand [23] and provides economic value as a planned journey with multiple touch points [24]. To investigate users’ perceptions and understanding of water scarcity and the waterless prototype, we conducted focus group interviews with 54 participants (15 females and 39 males). The participants were asked about (1) their awareness of water scarcity in the country; (2) their previous experience of attempting to save water; (3) how they would be motivated to conserve water; (4) their perception of a waterless toilet; and (5) their dream toilet. The thematic analysis revealed three thematic categories: (1) disbelief about water scarcity; (2) incentives for saving water, such as receiving economic benefits or improving health through the use of the Beevi toilet; and (3) the necessity of cleaner and more sanitary experiences than those offered by current toilets. The results of the interviews indicated that although people have heard of the water scarcity problem, they have not attempted to conserve water given the ease and convenience with which they can access water sources. People want improved experiences from current toilets. This design activity exposed new issues and information needs as the work progressed [24]. We triangulated research methods for designing an alpha prototype on the basis of the interviews and three case studies on experiential civic engagement, in which actual and visual designs were provided and seven expert interviews in the fields of design policy and service design were conducted [25]. These were thematically analyzed, and two themes emerged: (1) readability and (2) vivid color for nudging. The results indicated that in achieving improved civic engagement, a useful approach is to capture people’s interest through eye-catching forms of design, vivid colors, or unexpected shapes. Correspondingly, we designed an alpha prototype that deviates from the design of currently available toilets (Figure 14). The prototype is displayed at the Science Walden Pavilion, where people can visit and experience sitting on this futuristic and unconventional toilet. Figure 13. Community engagement and interpretation. 4.2. Futuristic Toilet Design: User-Centered Approach for Better Convergence The aim of designing a futuristic waterless toilet (the Beevi toilet) was not only to raise community awareness of water scarcity but also to save water in South Korea. The toilet features a radical technology-push nature that examines the effectiveness of eliminating phosphorus from the fuzzy front end stage of new product development [19]. An important consideration, however, is that designing a product that is meaningful to users requires an understanding of user experience and perception, as well as how people make sense of things [20]. A thorough understanding of target users and their needs is necessary for success. We, therefore, explored how people as future users in the community perceive water scarcity and the waterless toilets. This is a reflective problem-solving approach [21] to designing a prototype, which can be a solution, an evaluation tool, or a vehicle for team collaboration [22]. The packaged experience thus defines the characteristics of a product, service, or brand [23] and provides economic value as a planned journey with multiple touch points [24]. To investigate users’ perceptions and understanding of water scarcity and the waterless prototype, we conducted focus group interviews with 54 participants (15 females and 39 males). The participants were asked about (1) their awareness of water scarcity in the country; (2) their previous experience of attempting to save water; (3) how they would be motivated to conserve water; (4) their perception of a waterless toilet; and (5) their dream toilet. The thematic analysis revealed three thematic categories: (1) disbelief about water scarcity; (2) incentives for saving water, such as receiving economic benefits or improving health through the use of the Beevi toilet; and (3) the necessity of cleaner and more sanitary experiences than those offered by current toilets. The results of the interviews indicated that although people have heard of the water scarcity problem, they have not attempted to conserve water given the ease and convenience with which they can access water sources. People want improved experiences from current toilets. This design activity exposed new issues and information needs as the work progressed [24]. We triangulated research methods for designing an alpha prototype on the basis of the interviews and three case studies on experiential civic engagement, in which actual and visual designs were provided and seven expert interviews in the fields of design policy and service design were conducted [25]. These were thematically analyzed, and two themes emerged: (1) readability and (2) vivid color for nudging. The results indicated that in achieving improved civic engagement, a useful approach is to capture people’s interest through eye-catching forms of design, vivid colors, or unexpected shapes. Correspondingly, we designed an alpha prototype that deviates from the design of currently available toilets (Figure 14). The prototype is displayed at the Science Walden Pavilion, where people can visit and experience sitting on this futuristic and unconventional toilet. The toilet also enables a sitting posture that differs from that offered by regular toilets. As a person Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 13 of 17 sits on the prototype toilet, the position of the seat gradually drops to a level lower than the initial seat height, thus enabling a person’s leg to be slightly raised. This allows for a healthier posture when expelling excrement. The prototype offers possibilities for further research in terms of integrating FSM (as economic value) and universal toilet sitting postures for healthier expelling of excrement. The prototype was designed in accordance with a user-centered approach as a sociable design, which “is for the benefit of the people who use it, taking into account their true needs and wants” [26]. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 13 of 16 The toilet also enables a sitting posture that differs from that offered by regular toilets. As a person sits on the prototype toilet, the position of the seat gradually drops to a level lower than the initial seat height, thus enabling a person’s leg to be slightly raised. This allows for a healthier posture when expelling excrement. The prototype offers possibilities for further research in terms of integrating FSM (as economic value) and universal toilet sitting postures for healthier expelling of excrement. The prototype was designed in accordance with a user-centered approach as a sociable design, which “is for the benefit of the people who use it, taking into account their true needs and wants” [26]. Figure 14. Alpha prototype of the futuristic Beevi toilet displayed at the Science Walden Pavilion. The characteristics of the prototype are listed below. (1) UV lights were installed on the toilet cover not only for a hygienic look but also for actual sanitation of the seating component. As people occupy the seat, the design provides them a sense of freshness. (2) The lid automatically opens when it detects a user. The unoccupied seat remains at a horizontal angle, similar to a typical toilet, but when people sit on it, the angle is adjusted to a level that most effectively facilitates comfort and bowel movement through the straightening of the rectum. After use, the seat spring gently nudges the user upward, so people, including the elderly, can easily stand up. The toilet features an ergonomic design that helps people avoid constipation and eventually improve their health conditions. (3) Form-wise, the waterless toilet does not have a cylindrical shape for water centrifugal force. Instead, it has a catenary shape that resembles a wine glass or a vanity table. The shape accords with the idea of a toilette, a French word that roughly translates to “furniture that one can make oneself up”. The white color scheme gives people the sense of increased cleanliness. Figure 14. Alpha prototype of the futuristic Beevi toilet displayed at the Science Walden Pavilion. The characteristics of the prototype are listed below. (1) UV lights were installed on the toilet cover not only for a hygienic look but also for actual sanitation of the seating component. As people occupy the seat, the design provides them a sense of freshness. (2) The lid automatically opens when it detects a user. The unoccupied seat remains at a horizontal angle, similar to a typical toilet, but when people sit on it, the angle is adjusted to a level that most effectively facilitates comfort and bowel movement through the straightening of the rectum. After use, the seat spring gently nudges the user upward, so people, including the elderly, can easily stand up. The toilet features an ergonomic design that helps people avoid constipation and eventually improve their health conditions. (3) Form-wise, the waterless toilet does not have a cylindrical shape for water centrifugal force. Instead, it has a catenary shape that resembles a wine glass or a vanity table. The shape accords with the idea of a toilette, a French word that roughly translates to “furniture that one can make oneself up”. The white color scheme gives people the sense of increased cleanliness. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 14 of 17 4.3. Futuristic Community Design: Hexagon The proposed environmental technology and products that are characterized by the convergence of art and technology are intended to be systematically integrated and materialized in the community design. In designing Science Walden, we first presumed a small neighborhood composed of 50 households and identified the key functionality and spatial usage within the community. We then developed a Science Walden community concept that is flexible and easily expandable in the future. The design involved four steps. First, we classified the socio-demographic features of potential residents into multiple classes: elderly couple households, working couple with children households, and single-person households. The living scenarios of each family were then depicted in detail. We presumed that the living patterns in Science Walden are fundamentally different from those in ordinary communities. Living schedules in our community include community building activities, Science Walden education, community farming, and consuming products with FSM. Second, we identified commonly-observed behavioral patterns across diverse social classes on the basis of the living scenarios and connected these behaviors to specific spatial functions. For instance, production occurs at the biocenter that generates bio-energy, monetary activities take place at a golden bank where inhabitants exchange feces for FSM, and local food production happens in a community farm. Third, a system for the Science Walden community was developed. The built environment and functionality of Science Walden design resembles the town of Arcosanti in Arizona, US. Arcosanti, designed by Paolo Soleri, emphasize the principles of social integration, self-containment of habitat and food and energy production [27]. The innovative feature of the Science Walden community is the introduction of FSM. The community system incorporates various key functions of the community, the circulation of FSM, local exchange, and community education. FSM becomes the key element that connects various activities in the integrated system. Figure 15 illustrates the proposed system of the Science Walden community. Finally, we developed a prototype Science Walden design, which has several features. To apply the design concept in various city contexts, the shape of an envisioned community should be flexible. The proposed community is not a neighborhood with fixed forms and functions but allows metabolic change and expansion. These principles share common ground with the metabolism movement in architecture, which considers society a living and mutable entity and pursues the transformation of society through technology and urban design [28]. In terms of geometry, the proposed prototype design is of a hexagonal plan. The hexagon plan was introduced to an alternative to the rectangular grid for residential subdivisions and buildings [28]. Each unit of the hexagon has a unique functionality of space, and spaces are arranged next to one another in patterns that are appropriate for creating different Science Walden communities. The size of the hexagonal module and the manner by which modules are combined and converted is easy, thus corresponding with the local context of a given neighborhood. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 14 of 16 4.3. Futuristic Community Design: Hexagon The proposed environmental technology and products that are characterized by the convergence of art and technology are intended to be systematically integrated and materialized in the community design. In designing Science Walden, we first presumed a small neighborhood composed of 50 households and identified the key functionality and spatial usage within the community. We then developed a Science Walden community concept that is flexible and easily expandable in the future. The design involved four steps. First, we classified the socio-demographic features of potential residents into multiple classes: elderly couple households, working couple with children households, and single-person households. The living scenarios of each family were then depicted in detail. We presumed that the living patterns in Science Walden are fundamentally different from those in ordinary communities. Living schedules in our community include community building activities, Science Walden education, community farming, and consuming products with FSM. Second, we identified commonly-observed behavioral patterns across diverse social classes on the basis of the living scenarios and connected these behaviors to specific spatial functions. For instance, production occurs at the biocenter that generates bio-energy, monetary activities take place at a golden bank where inhabitants exchange feces for FSM, and local food production happens in a community farm. Third, a system for the Science Walden community was developed. The built environment and functionality of Science Walden design resembles the town of Arcosanti in Arizona, US. Arcosanti, designed by Paolo Soleri, emphasize the principles of social integration, self-containment of habitat and food and energy production [27]. The innovative feature of the Science Walden community is the introduction of FSM. The community system incorporates various key functions of the community, the circulation of FSM, local exchange, and community education. FSM becomes the key element that connects various activities in the integrated system. Figure 15 illustrates the proposed system of the Science Walden community. Finally, we developed a prototype Science Walden design, which has several features. To apply the design concept in various city contexts, the shape of an envisioned community should be flexible. The proposed community is not a neighborhood with fixed forms and functions but allows metabolic change and expansion. These principles share common ground with the metabolism movement in architecture, which considers society a living and mutable entity and pursues the transformation of society through technology and urban design [28]. In terms of geometry, the proposed prototype design is of a hexagonal plan. The hexagon plan was introduced to an alternative to the rectangular grid for residential subdivisions and buildings [28]. Each unit of the hexagon has a unique functionality of space, and spaces are arranged next to one another in patterns that are appropriate for creating different Science Walden communities. The size of the hexagonal module and the manner by which modules are combined and converted is easy, thus corresponding with the local context of a given neighborhood. Figure 15. Proposed system of the Science Walden community. Figure 15. Proposed system of the Science Walden community. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 15 of 17 5. Conclusions: Convergence of Science and Art Throughout the sequential process on energy production and water purification, we demonstrated that our community can be constructed in an environmentally-friendly manner by reducing human waste, producing energy, and purifying rainwater. However, deeper research on the sequential processes should be incorporated to achieve high efficiency and to make water more valuable. With respect to the biogas production, we need to develop a more reliable post-treatment process to remove nutrients. Additionally, our climate can be characterized by monsoons, where precipitation mostly concentrates in the summer season. This implies that we need to propose the optimal size of the green roof and the integrated adsorption-disinfection system. We believe that we need to develop a system wherein scientists and artists can freely communicate with each other. The system can be actualized in the form of a project in which all kinds of communicative acts, behaviors, and events occur; Science Walden may serve as a representative example of such a system. The system comprises not of participating persons but of communication activities. It is, therefore, unfixed; it is a very flexible system given that it varies with the incorporation of diverse elements, whose boundaries are demarcated differently by diverse times and spaces. In the project, we communicate with one another by sharing information that is based on our own experiences. A project is an open space where we can collaborate, practice and, most importantly, cultivate ourselves. We need a medium of communication, such as a language, especially in this project, wherein scientists and artists collaborate. We share the common goals of the project and discuss the selection of media for effective communication; letters are an example, but images, sounds, smells, and other sense-provoking items may also be considered. An observation of an object gives us an impression, a representation, a sensation, and an image that will eventually form knowledge of concepts or ideas. Transfer of knowledge occurs through media, and such formation and transfer are the goals for which scientists and artists are responsible. Of course, we can create knowledge of concepts by using language and many other types of media. Let us take the concept of FSM as an example: artists can help scientists understand this concept and represent it through scientific experiments, such as bio-energy production of feces. As we discussed, artists share some parts of their methodology in establishing the concept with scientists. Artists are adept at treating non-textual knowledge, which is composed of non-propositional concepts. We can collect both textual and non-textual knowledge in our faculty of concepts, titling it as the non-textual library of FSM. Instead of publishing numerous papers in journals, like most scientists do, we can contribute to our community in a different manner. To achieve this goal, we should first understand the language of other fields. For instance, science and art can converge as scientists and artists learn each other’s modes of presenting ideas. They should meet to communicate in their own language. In so doing, they naturally expose themselves to each other, understand their difference in terms of modes of communication, and eventually determine how to reduce the gap between them. As a next step, a project that elicits the interest of scientists and artists should be launched. Such a project will ease encounters between scientists and artists. A project is not a pursuit exclusive to privileged experts; rather, all people can participate in an endeavor and, in the process, become qualified experts as they engage in project-related practices. Participants do not perform, but use the project itself to study. After this, artists and scientists should try to find common ground in the design of a product for the project. Upon finding appropriate materials, they can proceed to the design of next steps, which include the selection of meaningful activities. Finally, scientists and artists must share visions and goals. Only then can we find a way to transform what is currently unimaginable and intangible into a realizable and perceptible outcome. Acknowledgments: This work was supported by the National Research Foundation of Korea (NRF) Grant funded by the Korean Government (MSIP) (No. NRF-2015R1A5A7037825). Author Contributions: Kyung Hwa Cho and Hyun-Kyung Lee conceived and designed the experiments; Changsoo Lee and Jaeweon Cho and Huiyuhl Yi performed the experiments; Yongwon Seo and Gi-Hyoug Cho analyzed the data; Young-Nam Kwon and Changha Lee and Kyong-Mi Paek contributed reagents/materials/ analysis tools; Kyung Hwa Cho and Hyun-Kyung Lee wrote the paper. Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 16 of 17 Conflicts of Interest: The authors declare no conflict of interest. References 1. Thoreau, H.D. Walden; or Life in the Woods; Ticknor and Fields: Boston, MA, USA, 1854. 2. Skinner, B.F. Walden Two; Hackett Publishing Company: Indianapolis, IN, USA, 1948. 3. Ahring, B.K. Biomethanation I; Springer: New York, NY, USA, 2003. 4. Fowler, D.; Loebenstein, W.; Pall, D.; Kraus, C.A. Some unusual hydrates of quaternary ammonium salts. J. Am. Chem. Soc. 1940, 62, 1140–1142. [CrossRef] 5. Aladko, L.; Dyadin, Y.A.; Rodionova, T.; Terekhova, I. 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Living with Complexity; The MIT Press: Gotham, NY, USA, 2010. http://dx.doi.org/10.1021/ja01862a039 http://dx.doi.org/10.1023/A:1023698728342 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.apenergy.2015.05.107 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.cej.2015.04.083 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.watres.2015.08.038 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/26432400 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/19443994.2014.939502 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.desal.2008.05.046 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.scitotenv.2012.11.016 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/23247290 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s11252-010-0137-4 http://dx.doi.org/10.1021/es800408u http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18678028 http://dx.doi.org/10.1021/es302379q http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/22998466 http://dx.doi.org/10.1021/es403155a http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/24180265 http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/1511512 Sustainability 2017, 9, 35 17 of 17 27. Pernice, R. Metabolism reconsidered its role in the architectural context of the world. J. Asian Arch. Build. 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Introduction Why “Science Walden?” Sa-Wol-Dang Pavilion Objectives of the Study Methods Survey Study at UNIST Biogas Production from Feces Beevi Toilet Biogas Production CO2 Capture from Biogas Using Semiclathrates Purification Using a Membrane Technique Rainwater Reduction and Treatment Green Roof and Sand Filter System: Rainwater Reduction Integrated Adsorption-Disinfection System for Rainwater Treatment Results Beevi Toilet Biogas Production CO2 Capture from Biogas Using Semiclathrates Purification Using a Membrane Technique Green Roof and Sand Filter System: Rainwater Reduction Integrated Adsorption-Disinfection System for Rainwater Treatment Design and Art Media Art: Citizen-Friendly Presentation by Info-Blind Technology Futuristic Toilet Design: User-Centered Approach for Better Convergence Futuristic Community Design: Hexagon Conclusions: Convergence of Science and Art 
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work_bfc2wtddy5aa3exlloy6i3tuye	----	Charged Moments: Landscape and the Experience of the Sacred among Catholic Monks in North America religions Article Charged Moments: Landscape and the Experience of the Sacred among Catholic Monks in North America Jason M. Brown Faculty of Environment and Department of Humanities, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, BC V5A 1S6, Canada; jason.minton.brown@gmail.com Received: 30 November 2018; Accepted: 24 January 2019; Published: 29 January 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: In light of calls to ‘re-enchant’ the world in the face of our ecological crisis, where do Christians stand on the question of land being sacred? I put this question to monks living at four monastic communities in the American West. For monks living on the land, the world is sacramental of God’s presence. However, this sacramental character was not universally recognized as being sacred, or divine. The monastic presence on the land can give places a sacred character through their work and prayer. Far fewer monks admitted that land was intrinsically sacred. However, during what one monk called “charged moments” the sacredness of God was seen as manifesting through the land. Thus, while there is no consensus among monks as to the sacredness of land, there is a deep reverence for place and landscape at the heart of monastic spirituality. Keywords: religion; monasticism; sacred places; landscape; religion and ecology 1. Introduction The March rain was holding off, even as dark clouds threatened, but Brother Salvatore1 and I decided to do the interview on foot anyway. We exited the north side of the cloister, and chatted as I adjusted my microphone and clipped it to my left shoulder. We entered the closed-canopy Douglas fir forest that had been planted, maintained, and carefully harvested by the monks of Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist Abbey since their arrival in Western Oregon in the early 1950s. As we walked, we passed a rather large, quaint, statue of Jesus who stood with open arms at the head of the trail, seeming to welcome us into the woods. We immediately began to climb the steep grade that dominates the eastern half of the property. Brother Salvatore and I had ambitions to hike to the small brick shrine dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe at the very top of the monastery’s property. She had been the patroness of the monastery the monks had originally founded in New Mexico, and travelled with them to Oregon when they decided to give up on farming in the desert. Brother Salvatore had a soft demeanor, and a sharp intelligence, and as we walked and talked, he pointed out a section of the trail that he said had always felt particularly sacred to him though he was not sure why. We walked and talked at a moderate pace. When we got winded from climbing the steep slope, we would stop to look up into the canopy, down at a beetle, or muse at a lethargic rough-skinned newt. On my mind was a line of reasoning within contemporary environmental discourses of the ‘Deep’ variety. One strategy of cultural shift toward sustainability is the project of “re-enchantment” of the earth as a sacred entity. Under widespread modernism and secularization, the world has lost its mysterious, sacred value and character, and in order to save it, we must look deeper than technological 1 I have used pseudonyms for all of the monks throughout this paper from the novel The Name of the Rose by Umberto Echo. Religions 2019, 10, 86; doi:10.3390/rel10020086 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/2077-1444/10/2/86?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel10020086 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2019, 10, 86 2 of 9 fixes, toward a spiritual paradigm shift that revalues the earth as sacred in and of itself. We will not save something we do not love the argument goes, and the effect of this shift will impact how we interact with the earth community. Religion is an ally in this shift, but so too is a broadly defined spiritual ecology movement that blends science, Deep Ecology and ecocentric ethics (Taylor 2009; Curry 2011). Walking and talking with over 50 monks from four monastic communities located in the American West, I wanted to know how they experienced the sacred. Each community inhabited between 400 and 1300 acres, and each came from a monastic lineage that saw rootedness to place as a central part of their path to God. But was the land sacred? In this essay, I will describe how Roman Catholic monks living in the American West experience land they have taken vows never to leave. My overall project was interested in the meaning and relationality monks develop with place over time. However, in this particular essay I focus on one aspect of this overall interest: how monks responded to the question of whether or not land was sacred. Due to their various theological positions, there is no one monastic approach to sacred place and landscape; reflections are diverse and still evolving. Most of the monks saw land as sacramental of God’s creative power rather than sacred in and of itself. Others saw sacredness as a product of their consecrated presence on the land, their work and prayer. However, when the sacred was experienced through land, it often manifested itself at unpredictable times and places, rather than a fixed site or shrine. These ‘charged moments’, as one monk called them, are a component of the lived, embodied experience of contemporary monastic dwelling, wherein the land participates in the sacred through particular spiritual experiences that reveal God’s mysterious presence to the monks. 2. Methods Because of their focus on land-based livelihoods and spirituality, this study focused on Benedictine and Trappist Roman Catholic monastic communities. There are approximately 21 monasteries of these orders living in the American West. The study did not include any Anglican, Carmelite, cloistered Franciscan, Dominican, Brigidtine, Norbertine, Oriental, or Eastern Orthodox communities in order to maintain consistency. I spent approximately 10–15 days as a participant observer/monk at four monastic communities located in the American West and Southwest between December 2015 and April 2016. The monastic communities that participated in this study were: New Camaldoli Hermitage on the Big Sur Coast; Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist Abbey in Carlton, Oregon; New Clairvaux Trappist Abbey in Vina, California; and, Christ in the Desert Benedictine Abbey in Abiquiu, New Mexico. The four communities visited in this study were selected based on the criteria that they own and manage land which was in some way integrated into their spirituality or livelihoods. The communities tended to focus primarily on contemplative monasticism, rather than other ministries (also known as apostolates) such as universities, seminaries, or hospitals. None of the monasteries were sought out for a particular approach to land management or environmental focus, however. Recruitment was conducted via email invitation. The four monasteries in this study each responded positively to an invitation to participate in the study. Though I was initially interested in comparing male and female communities, I decided against visiting women’s monasteries because of the limitations posed to my primary method of participant observation within such communities. I conducted walking interviews with voluntary able-bodied participants and the rest were conducted as sitting interviews due to age or time constraints on the part of the monks. I conducted approximately 50 interviews that lasted between 40 and 90 min. My interview transcripts were then coded using simple categories and subcategories that were anticipated in my research questions, and created based on patterns within the interviews. I paid particular attention to references to the environmental movement, the monastic tradition, biblical and spiritual symbolism, stories and memories, references to work, and moral lessons. For this particular essay, I focused on responses the monks gave to my question of whether or not land was sacred in their theological frame of reference or experience. Religions 2019, 10, 86 3 of 9 3. Background: Landscape and the Sacred The Latin root for the word sacred is sacrare. In its conventional sense, sacred means to set apart, usually for religious purposes, and emerged from the sacred groves and temple precincts of the cults of the Greek and Roman pantheons. This polytheistic notion that certain deities had dominion over particular areas of land is almost universal among pre-Christian European paganism. In Roman religion, the Genius Loci, or, the ‘spirit of the place,’ was venerated, consulted, or at the very least revered as an unquestioned reality. Collective associations built shrines or temples to these spirits, and with the rise of the Roman Emperor, the Genius eventually became the protective spirit of the entire Roman Empire (Brisch 2008). Mostly, however, local gods and goddesses were associated with specific places or ecologies such as springs, wells, mountains, groves, the sea, caves, to name only a few sites. In other words, sacredness was located in a particular locale, set apart for religious purposes. However, the sense of these places was not always affection or fondness, but could just as easily be fear, dread, and awe (Tuan 2013). Asserting that the land is sacred is not as straight forward a task from an orthodox Christian perspective. The heresy of pantheism, in which God is assumed to be the same as or coterminous with the world, has always been a thorn in the side of theologians who wish to keep God and the world at a distance. However, Christianity, especially in its Orthodox and Catholic varieties, has always held certain locations up as sacred or holy. The Holy Land, where Jesus lived and died, particular grottos, wells, mountains, hermitages, or shrines to the saints and their relics are also held to be sacred in their relation to God (Inge 2003). In the 20th century, however, Christianity has also been at the center of blame for the burgeoning ecological crisis (White 1967). As historian of technology Lynn White Jr. wrote, Christianity’s insistence on the separation between God and the world led to the disenchantment of the world, and our ability to see the world as a material object gifted to humanity by God for our well-being. One proposal for shifting our cultural relationship to the earth has broadly called for the “re-enchantment” of our relationship to the earth, wherein we must reclaim a sense of the earth’s sacredness in order to be better motivated to preserve and protect its vulnerable ecosystems. For Sufi activist and spiritual ecologist Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee, the environmental crisis is not a technical problem but a moral-ethical one: The world is not a problem to be solved; it is a living being to which we belong. The deepest part of our separateness from creation lies in our forgetfulness of its sacred nature, which is also our own sacred nature. We are all part of one, living spiritual being. (Vaughan-Lee 2013, pp. i–ii) The origins of this process in the West lie with Transcendentalists Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, who saw that nature was a kind of material symbol of spiritual truths. Wilderness, places perceived to be devoid of human cultivation and modification then became the new sacred groves (Gatta 2004). In addition, the spiritual implications of James Lovelock’s Gaia Hypothesis, and an increasing commitment to ethical ecocentrism, have continually emphasized the idea that the earth is sacred and that the human attitudes toward her should be one of reverence. Proposed by James Lovelock, the Gaia Hypothesis, after the Greek goddess of the earth, suggested that the earth acts like a super-organism which naturally regulates the planet’s conditions so as to maintain optimal conditions for life. While Lovelock himself never proposed that the earth was divine, his ideas quickly spread into more spiritual circles which took up his scientific claims as evidence for more metaphysical or ecospiritual ones (Lovelock 2000; Taylor 2009). For advocates of ecocentrism as a normative ethic, this means that nature is sacred because it is the ultimate source of our value, being, and of life as we know it (Curry 2011). Shifting our understanding toward an earth that is a sacred being to whom we belong could motivate more of us to act in defense of the destruction of the earth and its fragile ecosystems. Religions 2019, 10, 86 4 of 9 In Christianity, the field of ecotheology has sought to show that while God is ultimately transcendent, God as creator and sustainer of the universe is also immanent to the world. This is assumed based on the Trinitarian nature of God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Building on the incarnational nature of Jesus, theologian Sallie McFague argues that our models for God matter, and that shifting our understanding of God away from a heavenly king would help heal our relationship to the earth. For McFague, the material world can be seen as God’s body and thus sacred in and of itself (McFague 1993). Others have sought to engage the findings of science over the last 200 years as a sacred narrative of its own. Cultural Historian Thomas Berry (1914–2009) has called on Christianity to pay closer attention to the findings of science, so that our universe story can become a kind of sacred myth. One of the major events in the Christian environmental movement in recent years has been the release in the summer of 2015 by Pope Francis of an Encyclical Letter that addresses environmental issues. Laudato Si: On Case for our Common Home is the most extensive and significant contribution to official Catholic environmental teachings and calls for an “Integral Ecology” in response to climate change and the ecological crisis. Francis uses Catholic social teaching to show that there is an intimate connection between caring for the poor and caring for the earth. In addition, he notes that the earth is not just a means to human ends, but possesses its own dignity and worth independent of its use to human beings (Francis 2015). In addition to the many essays and defenses being made around Christian ecological theology, the long history of Benedictine monastic spirituality is being retrieved as an example of an alternative approach to the environment by Christianity. For example, in Sara McFarland Taylor’s book Green Sisters, she finds that many orders of Catholic Nuns and Sisters are creatively engaging both their own religious traditions and the wider environmental movement by adopting certified organic gardening, erecting green buildings, transitioning to renewable energy, conducting habitat restoration and protection. They are also adapting and experimenting with new liturgical styles and rituals that celebrate the seasons of the year, or the history of the universe as told by science (Taylor 2007). 4. Findings: Monastic Sacred Place and Landscape Speaking with monks about the meaning of sacred, there was, of course, a consensus that God was sacred, or that the Eucharist, the consecrated presence of God in the form of bread and wine consumed during daily Mass, was sacred. In addition, for a majority of the monks I spoke with almost every aspect of land, sky, water, creature, and soil was capable of invoking a spiritual lesson, or was a potential icon of God’s presence. However, to the question of whether or not land is sacred, a majority of the monks felt more comfortable asserting that land was sacramental, rather than itself divine. This means that land as creation can reveal something of God’s mark as Creator. None of the monks venerated or worshipped the many beautiful places on their property, and only a few spoke of specific places that were perhaps more sacred than other locales. For a majority of monks, encounters with the sacred were not bounded by certain locales. Sitting with Brother Ubertino of Christ in the Desert in his office, I asked if he thought the land he lived on was sacred. He sat for a while, and then drew out the question, testing his own assumptions against it, but ultimately not willing to say one way or the other whether the land was sacred in itself: My hesitation is this. A church is four walls, and it is four walls where we human beings set aside a space to worship God, thus it becomes sacred. One foot outside of the church, is that sacred? Well it could be, but is less so. Anything set apart for God alone, that has the greatest sacral character and so a church is a sacred place, it’s a refuge, its sanctuary, Sanctus, you know, holy . . . . We can take holy things and make them unholy you know, I’m sure plutonium has good uses [laughs]; because it exists, and God created everything. There’s not a destructive drug among them, but it’s the way we use them. So clearly land has been put to abysmal use, and land has been put to holy use. So is the land sacred? It’s nuanced. Religions 2019, 10, 86 5 of 9 Sacred, in its classical definition is a space that has been dedicated to God. His fellow monk, Brother Malachi, also of Christ in the Desert, spoke excitedly and quickly as we exchanged ideas and thoughts on the banks of the Chama River. He too would take exception with a straightforward land is sacred conclusion: God isn’t imminent in nature; he’s ultimately transcendent. He’s not incarnate in anything that we see around here, but we believe that the mountains, the grass, the river, everything, is like an icon in that way . . . Any sort of natural experience, any sort of experience of natural beauty can be spiritual in that way. It’s not God, but it’s God who upholds it in being . . . . God didn’t make you and then leave. God is the reason why you are still alive. God is the reason why everything around us still exists. From the most complicated city down to the simplest ant that’s crawling in the grass somewhere . . . since God is upholding nature in being at every moment, there is an invitation in nature to see the divine reality that is making all of this possible from moment to moment. Just as an icon of Christ reveals something of the divine nature because Christ was God incarnate, so creation reveals the love and purposes of God. God is not a distant watchmaker, but intimately involved with all of creation. Brother Nicolas was also more comfortable with a sacramental sense of land. Walking with Brother Nicolas along the narrow entrance road that leads to the New Camaldoli Hermitage, perched on the tenuous cliffs of the Big Sur coast, we were stopped in our tracks by a small rough-skinned newt that lay motionless in the middle of the driveway. We knelt down to see what she was up to and Brother Nicolas said: Gosh to me they seem like the world’s most vulnerable creatures, just no protection! And they move, you know, anything could squash them [laughs]! I love to see them. There’s a beautiful expression ... have you ever heard this? It’s credited to Meister Eckhart,2 ‘Every creature is a word of God, and a word from God.’ These creatures we see they’re just like a little word. What’s God saying!? If creation was a like a book that could be read, creatures were words, and God their author. I asked Brother Nicolas to tell me more and he said, I believe that creation is sacramental. Reflecting God, conveying God. Somehow speaking of God. Everything kind of showing forth some aspect of God. Maybe the mountains [are] more his strength, and the flowers his delicate beauty . . . What is God saying? ... The deer are almost like creatures from another world. They move so delicately and beautifully and they make no noise. They just seem to vanish! They are kind of a reminder of a world beyond this one, and just a plain beautiful thing to see. The land is not God, the deer is not venerated as divine, or a person, or ancestor spirit, but their existence speaks of God’s qualities and purposes. The deer is a reminder both of God’s mysterious immanence, and ultimate transcendence; here one moment, and beyond reach the next. Another set of monks saw sacred as an action, something that the monks do to and with the land where they dwell. Brother Bernardo of New Clairvaux Abbey affirmed that it was in fact the work of the monks that makes the land sacred, rather than some intrinsic property. As we stood in the restored 12th century Chapter Room, I asked Brother Bernardo to talk about how the land contributes to the purpose of monasticism. After discussing the importance of good stewardship, he anticipated my question on whether or not it was sacred: 2 Johannes (Meister) Eckhart (1260–1328) was a German Dominican Priest, theologian, and mystic. Religions 2019, 10, 86 6 of 9 The community of monks and nuns take the land and make it a sacred space. Of course in terms of creation, God created it so that’s why creation itself is sacred, its beauty puts one in touch with God . . . . we take the property and make it a sacred space . . . So in that sense, where the land was supporting the monastery, the monks take the land and make it what it is. While he flirts with the possibility that the land is beautiful, and that beauty is sacred, ultimately he feels more comfortable with a consecrated view of sacred. Monasteries are consecrated to God, and they do God’s work. That work affects the place where they live. Because the monks had been on the land for so long, their prayers had made the land a sacred place. Brother Berengar from Guadalupe Abbey affirmed this position by suggesting that all the years the monks were present on the land, praying, in fact had changed it: A community praying in this valley all those years changes the place, I’m convinced of that. People will tell me that when they turn into the place they sense something different. Praying makes a difference, it really does, it changes the environment. Many of the monks commented on how often retreatants point out just how different their monastery feels from the day-to-day world, that there is something unique about the place. Monks like Brother Bernardo and Berengar would say that this is a result of their presence and prayers on the land. Consecrating the land to God also influenced the affective atmosphere of the place. This idea often came up when monks cited that there really was a difference between the monastic property and the surrounding landscape. A sacred space is a space devoted to the worship of God. And, in fact, monastic landscapes are devoted to God’s purposes through the monastic work, hospitality, and efforts to protect the local ecology. There was consensus among the monks in every community that caring for the land was their duty. Representatives from each monastery also admitted that the environmental movement had had an influence on how they perceive and care for their properties. As I walked with Brother Salvatore up the steep trail leading to the shrine, he provided me with a thorough historical overview of why some Christians are wary of the term sacred being applied to creation, but also, why others were beginning to embrace it as synonymous with their own sacramental views. When I asked him if he thought of the land as sacred, he reflected a moment and then said: I’ve heard it said that from a more animistic or ancient pagan way of looking at nature or creation, you couldn’t mess with it, you couldn’t alter it too much because everything was ‘God-haunted.’ I mean there were gods everywhere and spirits, and so you had to be very careful how you related to everything. Well once Christianity became dominant with the sense that creator and creation aren’t exactly the same, and there is a transcendence of creator from creation on the one hand, that bestows a different way of looking at God. But also a sense that creation comes from an all-powerful, all-wise artificer. Brother Salvatore saw the Second Vatican Council of the 1960s as the beginning of an opening of Catholicism in general and his particular monastic community in particular to the wider world, including a more overt affection for nature, evident in the certain wings of the tradition, but de-emphasized in the more austere monastic communities such as the Trappists. He also admitted that the environmental movement had had a real impact on his own thinking about the natural world, and worried about the realities of climate change, pollution, technology, and overconsumption. Using the language of intrinsic value that the environmental movement seeks to engender, Brother Salvatore believes that his own monastery has made significant progress: I think it has advanced in the sense of both we want to, out of our enlightened self-interest, to maintain the land from generation to generation in good condition for our own welfare; Religions 2019, 10, 86 7 of 9 but also, that we recognize that it has value in itself, because God made it and loves it. And so it has its own dignity as well . . . . So I think we have that sense too; that God is not only the transcendent creator and artificer, but also is here in everything and with everything. Thus for Brother Salvatore, a sacramental theology rooted in the assumption of God’s transcendence of the world is beginning to open to the intrinsic value of creation as rooted in God that might lead him to eventually believe that land is sacred. Brother Michael from New Camaldoli Hermitage, who was heavily influenced by the California environmental movement, also suggested that land was intrinsically sacred: The basic creation story: God created creation and declared it good, and we talk of natural revelation. God’s love and beauty and wisdom is declared through nature first of all, and then comes a special Christian revelation, [scripture]. But no, nature is sacred in and of itself, and for me in a special way mountains. To say that nature is sacred in and of itself is to make a metaphysical claim that many of the monks were not comfortable with. While Brother Michael did not grant nature an independent spirit, or godly status, he imbued it with a kind of saintliness. The land comes from God, and at some level actually participates in God. Theologically speaking, the majority of monks were comfortable in the domain of land’s sacramental character; its ability to act as an icon of God’s beauty, majesty, and mystery. However, several of the monks, a minority, were willing to characterize this sacramental theology as evidence of land’s sacredness. Charged Moments: Experiencing the Sacred through the Land While the question of whether and to what degree land is sacred varied with the monks, all of the monks I spoke with admitted that they had experienced the sacred in some way or another through the place they were living. Whether walking, worshipping, chanting, working, or praying on the land, the sacred often broke through at unexpected moments. So, while much of the literature on sacred landscapes or sacred natural sites is concerned with specific locales, or the ways in which a given cultural or religious group constructs an idea of what is sacred and what is not, within the monastic context experiencing the sacred through the land is not as simple as walking into a shrine or sacred grove. Praying in the monastic cell, in church, or on the land, engaging in manual work, opens one to God’s presence in different modes and avenues, but one cannot simply expect to return to the same place or activity every day and feel the same connection. In other words, while God is understood to be everywhere by the monks, God tends to manifest in particular places or experiences (Inge 2003). The question of sacred landscape is not just a semiotic problem of interpretation, or even of blending of subjective and objective characteristics. It is an event of affective, visceral encounter that can shift and change at unexpected times and places when God bursts forth into the heart or onto the scene unexpectedly and without warning. This could be during a spectacular sunset, or a particularly drab subset, during a long walk on the land, or simply walking from cell to chapel; a particular moment in the Mass, or, while mowing the lawn. Unlike the bounded, consecrated area of a church, or the domain of an ancient goddess protecting a sacred grove, the simultaneous imminence and transcendence that God holds for the monks can shine through at any given moment. Certainly the monks had their favorite places to pray, think, recreate, walk, and hike, but it was often in unexpected moments or locales that the presence of God was experienced, that the sacred was most intimately felt. For example, during holy week, Brother William of Guadalupe Abbey noticed three familiar trees silhouetted in the distance, trees that had been there for as long as he could recall, but on that particular day, at that particular time touched him profoundly. He said that their symbolism was “a really charged moment.” Perhaps during other times of the year, the trees might not have spoken so Religions 2019, 10, 86 8 of 9 powerfully, but at that time and in that place, they did. These charged moments bring together inner and outer landscapes and give one a sense of sacredness. Brother Alinardo of Guadalupe Abbey had a deep gratitude for the profound impact the place had had on his soul, not only through his formation years, during the liturgy and work hours, but through those mysterious moments of encounter that could not be repeated: I’ve been blessed, where I’ve been to a lot of different parts of the country and backpacked and gotten to beautiful spots in nature, so I really do appreciate those moments, but the deeper moment of what the land has meant to me is more of a mystery. Where you’re on a hike and it’s like somehow God touches you in the hike in this particular spot and you can’t repeat it. You go back there it’s not going to be the same as when God touched you in that spot, but the memory is there. Beauty was very important to Brother Alinardo, but the most profound moments on the land were those that could not be repeated. Brother Berengar shared this experience with me about a kind of epiphany moment, where God was revealed in the most familiar of places: One experience I do remember was with Brother John; we had to make a book run3 into Lynnfield College in McMinnville, and it was late afternoon, it was in December and we were driving back and it was dusk, and you could see where on Abbey Road before you turn into the drive way coming close to the turnoff, I could see the ridge, this ridge behind the Abbey [pointing]. And it was just palpable, it just spoke to me of God. You know Edith Stein, when she went to Paris she said ‘there’s a there.’ So, to me it was like it was palpable, there was a silhouette up against the sky, it was dusk, winter day, and I’ll never forget that. It was just very consoling. Like, God’s behind all of this . . . I’d seen that ridge many times so you can’t make it happen, so my experience of God is that God hits you from the side, surprises you. The sacramental character of the world provided a doorway through which the monks sought entry, but the door opens from the inside. The affective qualities of landscape are co-constituted, but that constitution is not a formula. The metaphysical commitment of the monks to the reality of God ultimately speaks to these ‘charged moments’ and the sacredness of the landscape becomes contingent upon the sacredness of the moment. While these experiences were often reported to me after the fact, in one instance, I was present for a moment of such transcendent beauty, that made both the monk I was interviewing and I stop and stare for several minutes before speaking again. This happened during my interview with Brother Adelmo. We decided to have a seat on a bench on the outskirts of New Clairvaux’s Abbey cemetery, which was lined on two sides by Italian Cypress trees that used to form a cross, until several of the trees were killed by disease. The weather was clear, but the air was still chilly with morning moisture, and I shivered a little until the sun rose above the trees’ canopy. Soft-spoken and insightful, Brother Adelmo responded to each of my questions, and as we neared the end of the interview, I stiffened my back to stretch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the pollen that had been wafting from the cypress trees all morning had caught the sunlight as it was now rising over the Abbey church, and we were suddenly in the midst of a transcendent display of light that danced in rays through the thick cypress pollen behind a massive cross at the center of the cemetery. It was beautiful, and we both simply paused and watched the display in silence. As I sat watching the pollen dance in the morning sunlight, the cemetery cross took on its full visual potential as a symbol of resurrection, life and light. This ‘charged moment’ burst through the surface of the everyday in a display of beauty that held Brother Adelmo and I in speechless silence for several minutes. When the pollen diminished and the sun shifted its position, we resumed our interview. 3 The monks run a small book bindery. Religions 2019, 10, 86 9 of 9 5. Conclusions Brother Salvatore and I never made it to the Shrine at the top of the ridge. We had to turn back about halfway into the interview in order to return in time for the afternoon prayer of Vespers. Our slow pace and our frequent stops kept us from reaching the top, and as we walked back, the structure of conversation wandered away from my research into more personal and general topics. As we descended past the Jesus statue once again, I was reminded of just how deeply many of the monks see Christ in the land; not necessarily as a quaint smiling man, but as God’s cosmic and mysterious presence in and love for the world. And even though most would not say that the land is Christ, there were hints and whispers of his presence everywhere, if one is willing to stop and look. Funding: This research was funded as part of my dissertation Research at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver. I received a four-year International Student Fellowship from the University of British Columbia. The Ethics review of this project was conducted through the UBC Behavioral Research Ethics Board, under the project title “Dwelling in the Wilderness,” Certificate Number H14-02005. Acknowledgments: I would like to thank the monastic communities that participated in this study. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References Brisch, Nicole. 2008. Religion and Power: Divine Kingship in the Ancient World and Beyond. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Curry, Patrick. 2011. Ecological Ethics. Cambridge: Polity Press. Francis, Pope. 2015. Laudato Si: On Care for our Common Home. Vatican City: Vatican Press. Gatta, John. 2004. Making Nature Sacred: Literature, Religion, and Environment in America from the Puritans to the Present. New York: Oxford University Press. Inge, John. 2003. A Christian Theology of Place. New York: Routledge. Lovelock, James. 2000. Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. New York: Oxford University Press. McFague, Sallie. 1993. The Body of God: An Ecological Theology. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress. Taylor, Sara McFarland. 2007. Green Sisters: A Spiritual Ecology. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Taylor, Bron. 2009. Dark Green Religion: Nature Spirituality and the Planetary Future. Berkeley: University of California Press. Tuan, Yi-Fu. 2013. Landscapes of Fear. New York: Pantheon. Vaughan-Lee, Llewellyn. 2013. Spiritual Ecology: The Cry of the Earth. Inverness: The Golden Sufi Center. White, Lynn, Jr. 1967. The Historical Roots of our Ecologic Crisis. Science 155: 1203–7. [CrossRef] [PubMed] © 2019 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://dx.doi.org/10.1126/science.155.3767.1203 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/17847526 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction Methods Background: Landscape and the Sacred Findings: Monastic Sacred Place and Landscape Conclusions References 
work_bfvdrlbkljhu5abdcl4frh7bbe	----	The View From Here Mark R. Dixon, Southern Illinois University Almost 100 years before B. F. Skinner wrote his fic- tional novel of the optimal future of our world through a behavioral utopia in Walden 2, the author of the original Walden, Henry David Thoreau, presented us with an inner retrospective of life from a solitary indi- vidual seeking simple living and self-sufficiency. In his book, Thoreau encouraged embracing of solitude, and escaping society in an effort to produce a greater sense of self-reliance. Years after my initial read of Walden, I found myself intrigued by it once again, now however from the viewpoint of a behavior analyst. I kept dig- ging into the text wondering why Skinner sought out a twist on its title in his own “sequel” about cultural contingencies. As I further reflected, I found the two texts distantly similar, both attempting to move the self into a more optimal state of affairs. Walden approached it via isolation, and Walden 2 through community. As I now start my undertaking as editor of Behavior Analysis in Practice (BAP), I find myself wondering who had it right—Thoreau or Skinner? Is the better tomorrow each envisioned best gained through isolation or integration? Of course I need to vote for Skinner, and I am sure most readers would too. However, the question not so easily answered is: Have we actually created our field accord- ing to the vision of Walden “1” or 2? Are we content in isolation, or do we seek and thrive on community? BAP is clearly not a metric of our entire field, but it does serve as a visible appendage. So, I ask you the reader, are we a welcoming integrated community made up of a variety of practitioners within and beyond behavior analysis, or are we content with self-reflection on our field’s own accomplishments? In the opening paper of my first issue, you will see the outcome of an extensive survey that my editorial team presented to about 300 Board Certified Behavior Analysts®. I was shocked by many of the responses, and I believe you will be too. Not only was BAP unknown to many of these front-line behavior analysts, but also many responders tended to find the journal inaccessible or too expensive to justify purchasing. With the mission of BAP claiming to “provide science-based, best-practice information relevant to service delivery,” if the service delivers are not consuming the information, who exactly are we speaking to? And how can a journal that costs less than a cell phone bill be too expensive? Seems to be we are more like Thoreau than we might want to be. I vividly recall the spring of 2008 when the first issue of Behavior Analysis and Practice was published. It was a very important event in the evolution of the discipline of Behavior Analysis. This issue was a true indicator that the field had changed. We were no longer exclusively made up of scientists. The professionalization of our field had occurred, and the numbers practitioners were rapidly exceeding the numbers of researchers. Although the front line of behavior analysts could obviously pick up a JEAB or JABA, it seemed that the introduction of BAP signified that a sort of legitimacy had been estab- lished for clinically centered behavior analysts. Empiri- cal-based interventions were to remain paramount, but the extreme experimental rigor that often limited true application finally might take a second place to practice utility. Over the past six years, under the leadership of two outstanding editors, the vision of BAP became a reality. Many articles found in those initial issues are From the Editor 2 From the Editor required reading for a generation of graduate students. Mine included. As I take the helm for this third chapter of BAP, you will see a variety of new features that I hope assist us in moving into the hands of more practitioners. In addi- tion to the empirical peer-reviewed manuscripts, which will continue to be BAPs foundation, you will now find Field Reports that showcase locations around the world that are truly engaging in the practice of behavior analy- sis. These Field Reports will be a regular feature in BAP, and I encourage practitioners to submit requests for their organizations to be reviewed by my associate editors for inclusion in upcoming issues. We will each provide a new Report every issue. An- other new supplement to the journal is a regular dedicated column of Field Gear by Josh Pritchard. Josh will be reviewing behavioral tech- nologies, computer software, and materials, and provide an unbiased evaluation of their benefits for practitio- ners. Vendors and developers of behavioral “gear” should submit their products to the journal for possible future review. In upcoming issues, we will examine rankings of the best places to work in behavior analysis, graduate training program outcome measures, and clinical case formulations by leaders in the field. Under my editor- ship, you will find that BAP will continue to embrace its history of original empirical and conceptual papers, and evolve into an even more comprehensive informa- tion source for the behavior analyst of today. In this issue, you will find diverse topics such as employee performance, energy consumption, a school for students with behavior disorders, a facility treating children with autism, and interventions for those with developmental disabilities. I am pleased to see such variety of papers, and I will strive to ensure that BAP continues to repre- sent the wide-reaching applications of behavioral science. Behind the pages of each issue, my editorial team will be generating press releases for every article and field report found within BAP. For too long our field has remained an unnoticed blip in the mainstream me- dia. In order to reach the general public, we will need to talk like the general public from time to time, and our press releases are designed to do just that. It is my hope that these efforts will produce more visibility for the journal outside of the behavioral community, and maybe even a more visible field of behavior analysis in general. Behavior analysts have many evidence-based practices to offer the world. It is my hope that information published in BAP springboards us to the popular press, nightly news programs, website blogs, and social media. Finally, allow me to intro- duce you to the editorial staff. Under my editorship I have enrolled the assistance of Derek Reed and Tristram Smith, who will be serving as my associ- ate editors for the three years ahead. Rachel Enoch will serve as our editorial assistant. To- gether, we bring you a board of editors that has been selected for breadth and depth across many dimensions of our robust field. From animal researchers to applied behav- ior analysts, and from laboratory scholars to clinicians, the new BAP Board of Editors is truly impressive. It is an honor for me to be working among such an extraor- dinary list of people. Together we plan on taking BAP to exciting new frontiers. As Thoreau concluded in the original Walden, “Things do not change; we change.” I too conclude with a promise of change. One in which we begin to better integrate the journal of Behavior Analysis in Practice into the very fabric of what it is to be a practicing behavior analyst, and move its contents out- ward to the general public. As I look out over the pond, personally, I want some company. 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work_blqjcvrignaohamvu3w4aqenfu	----	Public Understandings of Nature: A Case Study of Local Knowledge About "Natural" Forest Conditions Society and Natural Resources, 14:325 – 340, 2001 Copyright Ó 2001 Taylor & Francis 0894-1920/2001 $12.00 1 .00 Public Understandings of Nature: A Case Study of Local Knowledge About “Natural” Forest Conditions R. BRUCE HULL DAVID P. ROBERTSON ANGELINA KENDRA College of Natural Resources Virginia Tech Blacksburg, Virginia, USA This study is intended to serve as an explicit and speci� c example of the social construction of nature. It is motivated by the need to develop a more sophisticated language for a critical public dialogue about society’s relationship with nature. We conducted a case study of environmental discourse in one local population in hopes of better understanding how a place-based community of environmental stakeholders relates to its local natural environment. We did this by analyzing discussions with local residents about the values and physical indicators they associated with the wild, authentic, healthy, and natural qualities of the forest. Findings from this type of study (such as our � nding of “cultured naturalness”) can enable a more sophisti- cated discussion about which of the many possible natural conditions are desirable environmental conditions for the future. Keywords authenticity, discourse, environment, health, landscape, naturalness, wildness Environmental decision making is a tournament of value wherein stakeholders compete over which de� nitions of nature and environmental quality are ultimately used to set land-use goals and policy. If stakeholders are to compete effectively in the tourna- ment, then they must command the rhetorical resources to de� ne these key concepts. At a minimum, participating stakeholders must be able to recognize the similarities and differences among competing de� nitions. Unfortunately, as Williams (1985) noted in his oft-cited quote, “Nature is perhaps the most complex word in the [English] language,” and thus its de� nition is notoriously slippery. This study is motivated by the call to develop a more sophisticated understanding of the multiple and situation- ally speci� c meanings of key concepts in contemporary environmental discourse (Bird 1987; Ingerson 1994; Norton 1998; Shrader-Frechette and McCoy 1993). In particular, this study is an attempt to better understand a range of meanings in public understandings of nature and naturalness. We solicited citizen-stakeholders living in the region of a prominent public forest to discuss the local forest landscape Received 20 October 1999; accepted 26 April 2000. The North Central Forest Experiment Station of the U.S. Forest Service supported this work. The views expressed here do not necessarily re� ect the views of the sponsor. Address correspondence to R. Bruce Hull, College of Natural Resources, Virginia Tech, 304 Cheatham Hall, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0324, USA. E-mail: hullrb@vt.edu 325 326 R. B. Hull et al. in terms of its “naturalness,” “health,” “wildness,” and “authenticity.” Other studies that describe alternative understandings (i.e., social constructions) of nature include the Ross et al. (1997) work on “health,” Peterson’s (1997) work on “sustainable devel- opment,” Takacs’s (1996) work on “biodiversity,” Lele and Norgaard’s (1996) work on “sustainability,” Cronon’s (1995) work on “wilderness/nature,” and Scarce’s (2000) work on “salmon.” Literature Review In reviewing the literature (mainly North American), we gleaned three observations that are important to this study: (1) Some people believe nature is balanced and at its “best” when dehumanized, (2) a wide range of environmental conditions count as “natural,” and (3) nature is socially constructed. These are discussed next. Nature Knows Best Many people believe that nature is at its best (i.e., most healthy, maximum envi- ronmental quality) when humans leave it alone. Several studies serve to illustrate this point. Dizard (1994) studied public responses to management alternatives for the Quabbin Reservoir in Massachusetts (water source for the city of Boston). The reser- voir managers believed that overgrazing by a protected deer herd was preventing forest regeneration and thereby threatening the soil stability, water quality, and water reten- tion capabilities of the reservoir. People opposed to active management (in the form of a deer hunt) employed a “balance of nature” argument (i.e., nature knows best and, if just left alone, the forces of nature would regulate the deer population to the proper level). Others involved in the controversy (and Dizard himself) dismissed the balanced nature argument as romantic idealism and inappropriate for the dynamic and humanized environment of the Quabbin. In a different study, Kempton et al. (1995) interviewed and polled a diverse sample of Americans about their environmental values and perceptions of environmental prob- lems such as global warming. They found that people not believing in a balanced nature were more comfortable with interventionist solutions, while people believing that nature knows best would rather not intervene to solve environmental problems. People typi- cally offered one or more of three explanations for why they took a “nature knows best” position: (1) Nature has homeostatic or self-healing properties; (2) nature is vulner- able to large-scale disturbance and might collapse if greatly disturbed by humans; and (3) nature is too complex and unpredictable for humans to safely modify it without the risk of causing more harm than good. It is because of this and related literature (e.g., Ross et al. 1997) that we chose the word “healthy” as one of the keywords used to prompt our discussion with local residents about forest conditions. There Exists a Range of Conditions Considered Natural The second conclusion from the literature review is that people seem able to recognize a range of landscape conditions that count as natural. Mausner (1996) found that people effectively use � ve different construals (or schema) of naturalness: “totally natural,” “civilized natural,” “seminatural,” “quasi-natural,” and “nonnatural.” But Purcell et al. (1994) found that people are more likely to agree on the naturalness of landscapes at the extremes of the continuum (e.g., forests vs. city street scenes) than on landscapes in the middle (e.g., agriculture and canals). In recognition that there exists a continuum Public Understandings of Nature 327 of naturalness in popular discourse about the environment and that most landscapes exist somewhere in the middle, many land management systems have abandoned the more simplistic human – nature dichotomy (whereby the mere presence or absence of human in� uence is the criterion for naturalness) for a more nuanced understanding of naturalness (e.g., Crumley 1994; Jacques 1995). It has been suggested that some people misinterpret the cause of “natural” land- scape features. Magill (1994), for example, found that some people believe forest clearings result from “natural” (i.e., nonhuman) causes when in fact they are the result of deliberate management practices. Historical ecology and environmental history are full of examples of landscapes that once were thought to be pristine but are now known to be the product of extensive and intensive management (e.g., Crumley 1994). Several recent studies have examined public perceptions of nature at the primitive or wild end of the continuum. MacNaghten, Brown, and Reicher (1992) found that people could discriminate between a humanized type of naturalness, where signs of human activity have the visual appearance of being in balance with nonhuman elements, and a more wild type of naturalness, where nature is unmarked by human intrusion. Habron’s (1998) study of Scotland residents found that most people believed wildness exists in the Highlands of Scotland, even though that area has been highly manipulated and shaped by human activity since the last ice age. Authenticity is another condition of naturalness commonly referenced in environ- mental literature (Katz 1997; Elliot 1997) and debated extensively in the context of ecological restoration programs (Gobster and Hull 2000). It refers to a state of nature that existed at some previous point in time (e.g., in an original or pristine condition). It is because of this literature that we chose the words “authentic” and “wild” as keywords in our discussions with locals about forest conditions. Nature Is Socially Constructed Social constructivists debate the extent to which nature can be known and shared independently of the social context that shapes the process and purpose of knowing (Bird 1987; Evernden 1992; Escobar 1999; Proctor 1998). Greider and Garkovich (1994) explained that landscapes are symbolic environments used by people to de� ne themselves; thus, the diversity of de� nitions of naturalness re� ects the diversity of cultures, values, beliefs, and purposes of the people doing the de� ning. For example, the real-estate developer looks across an open � eld and sees housing sites, the farmer envisions rows of wheat, and the hunter sees deer feeding patterns. Two illustrations seem especially relevant to natural resource managers. Peterson (1995) found con� icts between environmental regulators and the landowners being regulated attributable to differences between the groups’ construals of nature. And Richardson et al. (1996) found that natural resource professionals’ understandings and expectations of the nature they manage varied according to their disciplinary training and agency alliances. Especially relevant to this study is evidence that people living near or in “natural” areas tend to view evidence of human culture as appropriate, acceptable, and compatible features of the natural landscape. In contrast, seasonal tourists, visiting recreation- ists, and other people “from away” tend to see the same place as a wild, green, natural spot on the map, a place where human presence degrades the valued natural qualities (DuPuis and Vandergeest 1996; Weaver 1996). Senecah (1996) found these differing perceptions of naturalness in the public debate over the future of the Adiron- dack Park in upstate New York. One group, mostly local residents that wanted to continue living in the area, became characterized as “greedy” developers, “taming” 328 R. B. Hull et al. the wilderness, “marring” vistas, “maiming” shorelines, “contaminating” water and pristine beauty, and otherwise threatening a “vulnerable” nature. Those wanting to exclude or minimize human development were construed as “nature nazis,” “forest faggots,” and “watermelons” (green on the outside, red on the inside), wanting to create a “scenic gulag” that did not value the local history and culture. The side of the debate composed mostly of seasonal visitors and people living outside the park boundaries wanted to minimize evidence of humans from the landscape. They char- acterized the area as a “spiritual” retreat, the “timeless” splendor, the green “oasis,” the “forever wild” jewel that was a biological “treasure chest.” They characterized those wanting to include or promote human development as environmental “rapists” promoting “unbridled, unwarranted, irresponsible, and massive” development. To one side of the debate, human culture and nature can coexist and even complement one another. Those on the other side of the debate believe that human presence can only degrade nature. These different perspectives can be interpreted as a revival of the old and overly simplistic human – nature dichotomy wherein “the human” and “the natural” are polarized as oppositional categories. Methods Setting The setting for the study is the Mount Rogers district of the Jefferson National Forest. It is located in the Appalachian Mountains of southwestern Virginia, approximately a 4-hour drive from any city larger than 100,000 people. Numerous small communities (fewer than a thousand people) and two modest communities (several tens of thousands) exist within or within view of the boundaries of Forest Service lands. Recreation is becoming the dominant use (mostly horse, hike, bike), but timber, grazing, mining, and other extractive uses occur. Informant Selection Local Forest Service staff helped identify involved citizen-stakeholders for our inter- views. Most names were drawn from the list used to solicit public input regarding potentially controversial management actions (i.e., the “scoping” list for environ- mental assessments conducted according to the National Environmental Policy Act, NEPA). These people represented numerous professional communities of interest (e.g., educators or environmentalists) concerned about or affected by the forest. We formed small groups using people with similar professional interests but living in different geographical locations. The shared professional interests served as a common ground for small-group discussions that took place during the summer of 1997: E, educa- tors/teachers (5 people); O, recreational out� tters (2); T, tourism of� cials (3); R, real estate agents (2); N, local newspaper writers/editors (2); P, elected community leaders or politicians (3); and A, environmental group activists (4). Quotes from members of these groups are presented in the following text and denoted by the letters just given. Procedure As the participants lived sometimes more than an hour’s drive from one another, we held the interviews in public buildings (e.g., library) at a central location. A semistruc- tured interview guide was used to organize the interview-discussion (McCracken, 1988). Health, wildness, and authenticity were qualities of naturalness identi� ed from Public Understandings of Nature 329 the literature, so we asked speci� cally about these forest conditions. We also asked two sets of less direct questions: one about naturalness in general and one question about other qualities of the forest that might explain why people care about and value the local forest. For each forest condition (e.g., healthy) we � rst asked whether partic- ipants valued that condition and, if so, why. We then asked how they would know or recognize that forest condition if they were to encounter it on the ground. Twenty to 40 minutes was spent discussing each forest condition. Two of the authors were present for each group interview. A video camera located in the room was used to record the interviews for later viewing and transcription. Analysis of the interview data identi� ed discursive themes and patterns within each forest condition. The analytical process was iterative in that themes identi� ed evolved through repeated analysis in which the raw data were frequently referenced. Each author worked independently for the initial analysis; then we met to discuss the themes that were emerging. We repeated this process until we were con� dent and comfortable with our interpretations. We then presented our preliminary interpretations to local U.S. Forest Service (USFS) personnel and learned that our interpretations held power and intuitive appeal for managers knowledgeable about the local forest and the concerns of local communities. We videotaped and transcribed that meeting for analysis because the USFS staff’s interpretations, use, and explanations of our � ndings helped us further understand our data. We further increased our con� dence with a member check when we asked all the interview participants to comment on a draft project report that contained (in much more detail than is presented here) the summary and conclusions from our interviews. The intent and rigor of this study follow the research tradition set forth by the scholars cited in the literature review. While our methods of data collection and analysis are guided by the work of discourse scholars in a number of disciplinary � elds, a valuable reference text is the work of social psychologists Potter and Wetherell (1987). Limitations Participants were selected because their opinions were deemed relevant to local deci- sion making. While these people may not be statistically representative of the larger community, they are in� uential in a local planning and decision-making process, and therefore provide an illustrative case study that can help us to understand related popu- lations. The more serious limitation of this study, which can be tested in subsequent study, is that we forced people to discuss “the forest” in relation to the concepts we discussed earlier in the literature review: health, natural, wild, and authentic. We tried not to direct the discussion about these terms, but we did legitimize them by introducing them into the discussion. Despite these cautions, we believe the results offer lessons that generalize beyond the particulars of this study. We have examined one speci� c case of the social discourse that de� nes natural areas management (not just traditional forest management, but broader issues such as predator reintroduction, exotic species removal, and � re management), and the results provide insight into how these and other management alternatives are understood and discussed. Results and Discussion The results are reported in the order in which we asked the questions (health, natural, authentic, wild, other). Each of the following sections is comprised of three parts: The � rst describes the concept in relation to how or why informants valued it, the second 330 R. B. Hull et al. describes the concept with respect to the physical indicators used to identify it, and the third discusses possible implications for management. The longer quotes presented here are speci� cally attributed to the type of interview group. The shorter quotes are characteristic of comments made by multiple participants in different groups and thus are not speci� cally attributed. Forest Health Values for Health Detailed and passionate answers followed when we asked whether forest health mattered. The volume, clarity, and intensity of these responses far exceeded anything we received in response to our other questions. Analysis of comments revealed six major reasons for why forest health was valued. They are presented here in no particular order. 1. Health ensures the continued provision of resources (timber, recreation, clean water, tourism, etc.) and protects communities from � ooding. 2. Health ensures the forest’s ability to renew itself and stay a forest for future gener- ations. 3. People believe forest health and human health are linked or related via a “food chain” or an “ecological chain,” and whatever degrades forest health will likely work its way through this chain to affect human health. 4. The forest has a right to be healthy (i.e., biorights ). 5. A forest in good health connotes positive images about local communities. 6. Poor health threatens local autonomy. The � rst four reasons are ones commonly voiced in much of the popular and tech- nical discussions and writings about forest health and environmental quality. They serve as the initial and continuing justi� cation for federal management of many forested land- scapes. However, the last two reasons seem more speci� c to the region and deserving of more discussion. A forest in good health connotes positive images about local commu- nities. As one tourism of� cial noted, it is like having “money in the bank. You feel better about yourself.” In contrast, a forest that is “clear-cut, eroded, with no trees” is thought to suggest to visitors and community members alike that the locals are so poor “that we had to sell everything,” even destroy our forests just to survive. “It is like a Grapes of Wrath image,” where the family is so poor they “worked the land to [its] death just to survive” and � nally had to abandon their home. Such a concern is best understood by recognizing that some locals believe that rural Appalachia has been stigmatized as a place that lacks self-respect, as a place that is “backwards, strip mined, clear-cut, and now [the setting of an aggressive state program of building] prisons.” In the minds of some, a healthy forest offsets those negative images. Poor health also threatens local autonomy because distant environmental groups and federal regulators have a justi� cation for imposing their national values at the expense of local values. If the forest gets unhealthy we are likely to lose autonomy, the ability to manage the forests for ourselves. If the forest gets unhealthy, we are more likely to get activist outsiders involved to tell us what to do. (N) We � nd it worthy to note that � ve of the six reasons discussed above are strongly anthropocentric (i.e., forest health is valued because it affects local human commu- nities). We heard very little of a biorights rationale for forest health (i.e., the forest Public Understandings of Nature 331 ecosystem or its components have an intrinsic right to health) and only then from leaders of local environmental groups. Local human community needs, rather than the rights of nature, seem to dominate the concerns of people we spoke with. For many people there was an explicit link between forest health and forest natu- ralness. Some participants explicitly stated that dehumanized nature would “be more healthy.” Several people explicitly used the phrase “balance of nature” to explain why naturalness was healthy, and others similarly reasoned that nature has the ability to “heal itself” or that “naturalness is more desired because it represents . . . something we know is right for the place.” Consistent with the literature reviewed here, however, not everyone believes that nature knows best and some believe that “humans know better.” Several people suggested forests planted by humans could be healthy, and still others suggested that human management could restore or even enhance forest health. Indicators of Forest Health Trees were key indicators of forest health. Almost everyone assumed that dead trees indicated poor forest health. Some people were a bit more discriminating and suggested poor forest health was associated with poorly formed trees, minimal and/or yellow foliage, small trees, or prevalence of scrub brush. Soil stability is another indicator of health. More precisely, visible mud, dust, and other evidence of erosion signify poor health: “The key thing is the soil, and trees keep the soil from eroding.” A few people mentioned that species diversity indicates forest health. One of the out� tters stated proudly that “we have 21 different kinds of salamanders here” but quickly cautioned that he did not have the skills to document it. But, despite the importance people placed on forest health, most people had great dif� culty describing indicators of it. People generally struggled with our question: “How do you know when a forest is healthy?” In the end, people seemed dissatis� ed with their answers and suggested they did not know. Many stated an expectation and hope that we knew (as people associated with a college of natural resources) and/or that the local U.S. Forest Service knew. In addition to direct indicators of health, people relied on indirect indicators, what Nassauer called “cues to care” (1995, 167). These cues suggest that someone is paying attention to and tending to the forest. Some of our interviewees assumed that if a manager is caring for the forest, then the manager must also be concerned about forest health (i.e., concerned about the future of the thing in which the manager invests time and energy). Cues to care provide powerful but indirect measures of forest health; they indicate a condition of forest management rather than the forest ecosystem. A Potential Implication Some of the people we interviewed mentioned that the silvicultural practice of clear-cutting is often a cause of poor forest health (they were not prompted about clear- cutting but mentioned it during their attempts to de� ne forest health). When asked to explain their concerns about clear-cutting they offered vague answers with which they were not comfortable. The � ndings reported earlier might offer some insights into the reasons behind these strongly held but poorly defended concerns. People obviously care deeply about forest health and thus are concerned about any dramatic change to the forest condition that might degrade it. However, most people don’t know how to evaluate forest health other than using vague assumptions that big, green trees are good and exposed soil is bad. When they see a clear-cut, they see something that removes trees and exposes soil, hence degrading the only direct indicators of forest health. Some people also hold a belief that undisturbed nature knows best; they believe that nature is balanced and human disturbance can only do harm. Combining the insecure feelings 332 R. B. Hull et al. of not knowing how to evaluate forest health with the trust that nature knows best may lead some people to prefer inaction over aggressive manipulation of the forest, and thus oppose clear-cutting. In a recent newspaper article, popular environmental critic Michael Pollan (1998) wrote, “I suppose that when you don’t trust yourself to make wise decisions about the land, letting nature decide the matter is an appealingly straightforward approach.” Naturalness Values for Forest Naturalness People valued natural qualities of the forest, but their reasons were noticeably less speci� c than their reasons for valuing forest health. As mentioned earlier, many people believe that a natural forest is a healthy forest. Hence, many of the bene� ts people attribute to a healthy forest were also attributed to a natural forest. Naturalness is also valued for its aesthetic and recreational bene� ts. Not only does it provide “good � shing” and “natural beauty,” but it also provides an escape. It allows one to “get away from civilization, to get away from phones and chores and crowds.” When discussing the role nature plays in their lives, some people offered explanations that resonate with the Romantic and Transcendental experiences of John Muir and Henry David Thoreau: It gets me back to what I really am . . . lets me know what is really important in life . . . some of this other stuff will be gone but hopefully this forest is going to be here in 100 years . . . the forest is more enduring than most of what goes on in this day and age. (E) One educator made explicit references to enhanced spirituality, suggesting that viewing the natural landscape, in particular the mountains, made him feel “connected with God”: You can go back to the Bible . . . I look up [at a particular mountain] . . . you look up for help. And there is something about that, I feel good, I draw strength from that. (E) Indicators of Forest Naturalness As with indicators of forest health, residents struggled to articulate what made the forest natural. It is not at all obvious when something changes from being natural to being unnatural. At some point, human-induced change to a natural setting exceeds the standards for naturalness and the setting becomes “arti� cial” or “built” or “urban.” Some con� dent statements were made that “you know it when you see it.” Emphati- cally, it is “Not Disney! Not Gatlinburg!” and “Walmart would ruin it.” Clear indicators of these standards include large-scale construction. Other indicators were not easily articulated by participants. Typical of many interview participants, a tourism of� cial described a relativistic perspective of what constitutes naturalness, arguing that different people have different perceptions of what is natural and therefore it is not possible to de� ne naturalness according to consistent or objective criteria: One group may stay in a cabin, go hiking for the day, and have meals catered and they call that a natural experience, another may want to do rough camping, another may want isolated cross-country skiing. All of them want to get back to nature, they all want to get back to green nature. (T) Public Understandings of Nature 333 The randomness and consequent unpredictability of a setting provide an indicator of naturalness. Many participants suggested that trees planted in rows were less natural. One person illustrated this point by describing a picture of a daisy he has in his of� ce. The image had been photographically manipulated so that each petal was identical, with the exact same shape, size, and (im)perfections: You can tell in an instant that it is so arti� cial, not natural . . . I would not like [the forest] planted in rows, it’s not natural. I’d rather have it random, just the way it came. (P) This randomness leads to unpredictable experiences, which seem to be a related indicator of naturalness. One of the out� tters explained: Natural also would mean that you’re seeing trees that are growing from seeds that have dropped from the trees. You’re seeing mayapples that have just spread at random because that’s where they went; nobody went out and decided we’re going to have a thing of mayapples over here and a thing of something else over here. That’s the surprise. Anytime you’re on a trail or something like that or walking cross-country and you just sort of stumble upon these wonderful surprises that are around every little bend, whatever they are — a funny tree root, or some kind of a bird or something like that. It’s a constant surprise. (O) The symbolic distance from contemporary society emerged as another important indicator of naturalness. Human-caused alterations that symbolize or remind people of modern society are viewed as less natural: “Don’t bring the thing in that people are trying to get away from” because it makes the place less natural: “no houses, no phones, no lights, no motorcycles.” Even seeing “logs cut to length” could symbolize unnatural conditions for some. An ongoing debate over methods for protecting the local high-country meadows (grassy balds) from “natural” reforestation is illustrative of symbolic distance as an indicator of naturalness. These meadows are a valued resource to many in the local community because they provide dramatic panoramic views as well as tasty blue- berries. There are proposals to reintroduce elk or buffalo as grazers, in part justi� ed because these practices are more “natural” than the current practices of maintaining the openings through grazing by cows and feral ponies, prescribed burning, spraying herbicides, and mechanical brush removal. There are also proposals to let the forest reclaim the meadows. Much of our discussion with local educators dwelt on manage- ment alternatives for the balds. We present a sample of their comments to illustrate how notions of naturalness in� uence people’s preferred management options: It is more pleasing to look at animals grazing than mowing or spraying because it is more the way it was before people got involved. (E) The elk are most acceptable because they were here before, the cows are not as acceptable because . . . [the cow] is a symbol of the barnyard. The ponies are acceptable because they are an animal, and from that stand point I can accept them being there even though they are not native to this part of the world. They are that far removed from the use of today that . . . they are more acceptable. (E) 334 R. B. Hull et al. [Prescribed] burning is [more acceptable than chemical spraying because it is] a replication of something that happens anyway, [something that] is uninten- tional. (E) Spraying is unacceptable because it is not natural, it introduces something that does not belong there. (E) A Potential Implication Brunson (1993) reported that public acceptability of forest management practices can be enhanced if the practices are perceived to be natural or mimic natural processes. The example of managing the grassy balds supports this conclusion (i.e., the � re is preferred over spraying because it is “something that happens anyway”). In addition, our � ndings suggest that acceptability may be enhanced if the management appears more natural because of its symbolic distance from civilization. For example, as a means to keep the balds clear of invading forest, grazing by elk is more acceptable than grazing by ponies, which, in turn, is more acceptable than grazing by cows. In these cases, naturalness and acceptability are enhanced by management actions that have greater symbolic distance from contemporary civilization: The cows symbolize the commerce of agriculture, the ponies were introduced by humans a long time ago, and the elk not only were here for a long time but were here independently of human enterprise. Authenticity Values for Forest Authenticity Our questions about authenticity evoked the most silence and quizzical looks of all our questions. When further prompted with the term “original” most people still had no comment. Several participants suggested that authentic nature provides a powerful educational tool, a cultural history lesson and a useful supplement to the classroom experience. They have to see it. They have to stand next to it and witness it and go . . . wow. That experience has value because it teaches people about what was here and what could be here. (P) On a more pragmatic level, authentic nature is valued because it sells. Authen- ticity provides a tourist attraction. Some tourism of� cials were concerned to learn (from discussion during the group interview) that the high meadows (balds), which attract tourists from outside the region, require active management and thus were not “authentic.” The reason for their concern is captured in the following quotation, which is repeated here because it illustrates that people conceptually grasp that nature exists in different states associated with different stages in local history. If tourists learned the balds were man-made the balds would not sell as well. . . . It is more valuable as a tourist destination if it is older, the result of Native Americans. It makes all the difference if we can say it is 500 years old instead of 100 years. (T) Indicators of Forest Authenticity The most common response was “I don’t know.” Some participants mentioned the “pre-European condition” of the forest but were unable to describe attributes of Public Understandings of Nature 335 this state of nature. A few people described direct indicators such as “big trees” and “bountiful wildlife.” The pre – Native American state was mentioned less frequently. A Potential Implication The ecological conditions believed to exist at the time of pre-European settlement often serve as the goal for ecological restoration efforts (Katz 1997; Elliot 1997). While the merit of these goals is heavily debated within the community of restoration professionals, volunteers, and scientists (Gobster and Hull 2000), the ability to build public support for such goals may be limited because this condition of nature is not well understood, at least by the people we interviewed. Wildness Values for Forest Wildness The term “wild” was easily used and seemed part of the vocabulary of most (but not all) people we interviewed. Some interview participants appreciated wildness because it symbolizes a “simpler” or “saner” lifestyle (what scholars refer to as primitivism ; Oelschlaeger 1991). Wild nature provides the means for humans to � nd what agriculture and the enlightenment lost: “Getting back to wildness would help us get back to our roots.” Also, wild areas provide very special recreation experiences for locals: “It provides a type of recreation experience that some . . . [not all] people value. Some people like to really get back to nature, to rough camp, and they should have that opportunity.” Wild nature was also valued because it is assumed to be healthy, apparently drawing on the common assumption that nature “knows best” and, as one environmental activist noted, wildness is valued because “that is where evolution takes place.” People also valued wildness because it provides educational and scienti� c bene� ts to society. “The purpose of [a] wilderness area is not recreation, but rather as a place to study nature, to learn how trees grow, etc.” We also heard (and not just from the tourism of� cials) that wild nature was valued because it attracts outsiders to visit and spend money in the local economy. Other participants pointed out that wildness has little value or even negative value to the economy. Some think it is of “no use at all.” In a wild state, the land loses productivity and the ability to generate taxes: “The wild qualities do not add anything to the economy.” Indicators of Forest Wildness Some people knew that federally designated Wilderness areas existed and used this as an indicator. To some, a wild forest required a very large, contiguous area without management, and they argued that these conditions no longer existed in the local region, and probably did not exist anywhere on the eastern coast of the United States: “Maybe out West somewhere, but not here.” The local forest is fragmented by roads, trails, pipelines, airplane over� ights, transmission towers, and human communities. Can’t get there [i.e., wild] from here because land is too cut up, too small, too changed, no wildlife migration. The land is not now functioning as a wild system and it has changed too much to get it back. (N) For many people, especially those who felt wildness still exists in the region, indicators of wildness were very similar to indicators of naturalness that we described earlier as a symbolic distance from civilization; that is, wild nature exists where vivid 336 R. B. Hull et al. reminders of civilization are absent. Another frequently mentioned indicator was the absence of people. Wild places are associated with “few or fewer people.” Many interviewees seemed to associate wildness with solitude, a type of recreation experience where few people are encountered. Wildness also implied, to some, unmanaged processes, where nature charts its own course. The emphasis here is on the unmanaged ecological processes rather than evidence of humans or human impact. As can be seen from the following quote, and consistent with the literature review, some people believe that these wild processes can occur despite considerable previous human in� uence: If I took the thirty acres [of previously harvested forest] and for the next 50 years I let it grow uncontrolled, if I let the trees fall here or there, then that would be wild. (N) The discussion of a potential implication of our � ndings about wildness is combined with the discussion in the next section. Cultured Naturalness After considerable discussion about the health, naturalness, wildness, and authenticity of the local forest, we asked people several very general questions: “What do you value about living near the forest? How does the forest impact you? How do you and others depend on the forest?” Answers to these questions revealed an image of a forest that was lived in, storied, and full of local culture. Respondents described their local landscape as a natural one that also contained highly valued symbols of human culture. Values for Cultured Naturalness Cultured naturalness is valued because it promotes and communicates local identity. “It is not just the forest, it’s the turn back in time . . . we have a quality here . . . that connection to the past is as important as the natural quality.” It also reminds locals that contemporary people are making a living off the land: “I don’t have any problem seeing Christmas trees in rows. It symbolizes that people are making a living,” offered one politician. Or, “[The District Ranger] told me that they give out grazing permits partly to maintain cultural roots . . . links to the small farm heritage . . . I agree with this.” Cultured naturalness is also valued because it creates rich and intense recreation experiences for locals and visitors alike. The out� tters were particularly vocal on this point, describing how the cultural histories of natural places create profound experi- ences for their clients. [People want to] step back in time, they want to see evidence of living off the land, to see farms, meadows, barns. They want to hear and to see stories of how ancestors used the land, sold horses, worshipped God, fought one another, and celebrated life. . . . These people want to know geology . . . they [also] want to know the folklore. (O) Indicators of Cultured Naturalness Just because a forest evidences culture does not mean that the culture dominates nature. Some modi� cation of nature is required to create a sense of cultured naturalness, but too much modi� cation would “ruin it.” As one out� tter con� dently stated, “There Public Understandings of Nature 337 are some ways we can intrude into the forest and it is mostly natural.” Or, as a local teacher more tentatively stated, “Maybe by just not constructing too much in those nonwilderness areas, we can recognize that as nature.” How much modi� cation is too much? As noted in the discussion of indicators of naturalness, it is not clear where along the human – nature continuum something natural becomes unnatural. Based on the comments we heard, we concluded that our interview participants felt that this critical point has not been crossed in the forest surrounding these communities. Access is an indicator that many people used to describe cultured naturalness. Landscapes with cultured naturalness have convenient access by roads and trails. However, this access is acceptable only if it gives the appearance of not imposing on or threatening the naturalness of the landscape. An out� tter, acutely aware that his business required both naturalness and access, argued: We need the access . . . nice country roads that are suf� cient. We have done all we need to do to make it accessible. If we do more than that, we do damage [to the natural qualities]. (O) The type and conditions of roads are a key indicator of the type of access that is acceptable in cultured naturalness. Small, paved or gravel, winding two-lane roads are appropriate. Four-lane, Interstate-straight, indifferent-to-terrain roads are not appro- priate. A recent and hotly debated local issue was the widening of the major highway bisecting the region. In the end, the four-lane, Interstate-type road was rejected in favor of adding one lane to the existing two-lane, winding and scenic road. The image of the Blue Ridge Parkway was invoked as appropriate and consistent with people’s image of the region characterized as cultured naturalness. The Blue Ridge Parkway . . . they keep it mowed nicely, it’s asphalt, it certainly wasn’t there to begin with, but I can get up there and see that beautiful Appalachian and Blue Ridge forest . . . [from that] unobtrusive path. (E) Another important component of cultured naturalness is the story of local life that landscapes tell. Obvious symbols illustrating the meanings that make up local stories include small-scale agriculture: “small farms,” “small grazing efforts,” “small roads through hollows,” and “seeing horses.” Small-scale and primitive technology rather than large-scale industrial agricultural practices are also indicative of cultured naturalness. The meanings and stories are further promoted by forest settings that serve as venues for cultural activities such as bluegrass festivals, ramp festivals, and arts and crafts festivals. Additionally, events such as Arbor Day tree plantings, organized trail clearings, and � re prevention training build respect, investment, and commitment to the forests among community participants. Historical personalities are illustrated through formal Forest Service and community sponsored interpretative efforts. People value these programs because they further enhance cultured naturalness by strengthening the attachment of the cultural story to the landscape. Forest staff go to festivals and portray past cultural � gures. This is critical for our children and valued by our community for the same reason that commu- nities build museums or teach history. . . . It teaches children something about their history and their ancestors . . . how they dressed, what they did, how they acted, what they cared about. . . . We all need to know something about our heritage. [P] 338 R. B. Hull et al. A Potential Implication Previous studies such as the one by Senecah (1996) of the Adirondack Park (reviewed in the introduction) found differences between local and distant constituen- cies. Some of the locals we interviewed portrayed outsiders, especially those from distant urban centers, as thinking of the forest as a wild, unpopulated, green place on the map where nature, not people, resides. We have no data to support these state- ments about outsiders because we interviewed only locals. But it was clear that some locals assumed that outsiders valued the wild qualities of nature more than they valued cultured naturalness. Furthermore, these locals resented outsiders for trying to impose their construal of the forest on discussions about local planning issues. Outsiders who advocate wild qualities for the . . . area seem to be ignorant of the heritage here that is being preserved in the landscape. Outsiders think they know what beauty is, but they don’t. They have different expectations than locals. (N) Locals seem more likely to evaluate potential forest management actions using cultured naturalness as the basis of comparison (i.e., as the desired future condition). Using cultured naturalness as a standard, locals conclude that many forest management actions enhance desired qualities such as cultural identity, recreation, convenience, and employment. Some of these same locals perceive that when outsiders evaluate potential forest management actions they use dehumanized, wild nature as the ideal and thus conclude that no management is better than any management. There are locals that share this preference for a dehumanized nature and, no doubt, there are distant constituencies that value a cultured nature. Nonetheless, these differences in perspectives, real or perceived, lead to con� icting goals about the type of naturalness that should be promoted through forest management. Constructing referents that clearly illustrate different types of naturalness along the human – nature continuum might help resolve (or at least expose) some of these con� icts. Conclusion Naturalness is a powerful yet contested construct in contemporary society. One of the challenges facing stakeholders concerned about the environment is communicating with one another about intentions and values associated with the nature being managed and studied. Clearly there are many interpretations of terms associated with natural- ness. We detailed several of them in the previous section and speculated about several implications these � ndings suggest. By way of conclusions, we would like to note that our � ndings reinforce and add depth to the � ndings of other studies summarized in the literature review. People care deeply about environmental quality: Some assume nature is balanced and knows best, others believe that human intervention can improve environmental quality, and most admit they really don’t know how to assess it. Like- wise, a range of natural conditions seems to exist, from the wild, dehumanized extreme through to conditions that clearly evidence the care and culture of humans. Society will be better able to engage in sophisticated discussion about which nature we want and why we want it if we have more explicit examples of the social constructions of nature, environmental quality, and desired future conditions. Public Understandings of Nature 339 References Bird, E. A. 1987. The social construction of nature: theoretical approaches to the history of environmental problems. Environ. Rev. Winter:255 –264. 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work_blqyzedz35agdcbjgd3gs3upfq	----	Born to Be Wild? Non-governmental Organisations, Politics and the Environment © 2009 The Author Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Born to Be Wild? Non-governmental Organisations, Politics and the Environment Raymond L. Bryant* King’s College London Abstract The ways in which non-governmental organisations (NGOs) pursue environmental agendas via political processes have been a subject of growing interest to geogra- phers, anthropologists, sociologists and political scientists. This article examines how and why that interest has grown by assessing selected different approaches to the study of NGOs, environments and politics that characterise such research. Against a backdrop of growing debate over the ultimate significance of NGO action, I discuss three broad if interlinked approaches: ideology-related accounts, critical perspectives, and scholarship that ‘normalises’ NGOs as objects of study with the latter standing the best chance of capturing the contested and multifaceted con- temporary significance of this actor. Born to be Wild Like a true nature’s child We were born, born to be wild We can climb so high I never wanna die Born to be wild Born to be wild (Lyrics by Mars Bonfire 1968) Introduction Non-governmental organisations (NGO) are would-be ‘saviours’ of the environment. Witness names such as: Greenpeace, Friends of the Earth, Conservation International, Royal Society for the Protection of Birds and Environmental Defence Fund. They wish to be seen to be ‘non-governmental’ and ‘not-for-profit’ in order to differentiate themselves from states and business corporations. NGOs would purify and protect, cleanse and combat – oftentimes reminding us of the value of the ‘wild’ in our increasingly urban world. NGOs do for politics what TV nature documentaries do for culture: inform, motivate, enchant and disturb. NGOs have ‘vision’ – and wish us to share it too. © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Born to be wild? 1541 Powerful currents work against them. The phenomenon of global capi- talism is complex but one of them (Bryant and Bailey 1997; Peet and Watts 2004; Swyngedouw 2004). What Schumpeter (1975) termed ‘creative destruc- tion’ is central to this system, yet its vicissitudes seem to entail widespread environmental destruction (Harvey 1996; Heynen et al. 2007; Himley 2008). Ecological Marxists speak of a ‘second contradiction of capitalism’ (O’Con- nor 1998) and the ‘ecological contradiction of capitalism’ (Altvater 1993). Then there is the modern state. Here, complicated political and economic calculations encompassing everything from personal enrichment to national security, from bureaucratic rivalry to interstate geopolitics seem to ensnare this actor in a web of ‘creative duplicity’. The norm is environmental sacrifice in a world in which short-term and non-holistic thinking is privileged – despite occasional evidence to the contrary (Carter 2007; Johnston 1996; Kjellén 2008; Whitehead 2008). Finally, there are prolifer- ating cultural visions of how people should live under conditions of ‘liquid modernity’ (Baumann 2000) whereby qualities of contingency, irony, self- centredness and profligate consumerism are critical in identity formation. While geographers (among others) debate political meaning and conse- quences here (Bryant and Goodman 2004; Clarke et al. 2007; Mansvelt 2008), these qualities do challenge NGO environmental visions that rely on steadfast commitment, anti-consumerism, and ‘other’ regarding behaviour. Overall, then, formidable political, economic and cultural obstacles hinder NGOs. And yet research highlights how bad news – paradoxically – can be good news for NGOs. The more difficult the environmental challenge, the more successful they seem to have become as a social actor (Bryant 2005; DeLuca 1999; Fisher 1998). NGOs have grown in number, size and influence over time (but with growth tailing off: Dowie 1995). Their voices are heard in the corridors of political power as well as in the boardrooms of large corporations. Some of them (e.g. Greenpeace; Friends of the Earth) are household names in some parts of the world and key stakeholders in inter- national negotiations over such issues as climate change and ozone deple- tion (Newell 1999). In organisational terms, they are a great success – so far (Heins 2008; see below). This article explores some of the connections between NGOs, politics and the environment. It does so by assessing in a selective manner key approaches and debates in diffuse literatures. The ways in which NGOs pursue environmental agendas via political processes have been a subject of deep interest to geographers, anthropologists, sociologists and political scientists. This article examines how and why that interest exists by dis- cussing different if linked approaches to the study of NGOs, politics and the environment. It does so in four main sections. The first section sets the historical context by assessing how the origins of environmental NGOs are understood. The second considers work that adopts an ideology-related approach to understanding NGOs, environment and politics – one seeing 1542 Born to be wild? © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd these organisations as purveyors of progressive politics. The third section encompasses the backlash by canvassing research critical of upbeat views of NGOs. The final section describes work that interrogates what might be the distinctive impact and meaning of NGOs through an approach that ‘normalises’ this organisation as an object of study. In the process, this paper simultaneously considers in a selective manner important shifts in the nature and dynamics of ‘environmental’ NGOs as well as trends in academic analyses of them over time. For our purposes, NGOs are understood as mainly concerned with protecting ‘wild’ aspects of the biophysical environment such as forests or oceans, even as some of them also seek to acknowledge related development issues, especially in the South. To be sure, discourses of the ‘wild’ resonant more in some settings (e.g. USA) than in others (e.g. Europe) while perhaps even meaning dif- ferent things in different places and times – prompting divergent environ- mentalisms. At the same time, NGOs perform ‘wild’ political behaviour to a greater or lesser extent depending on diverse considerations, prompting in turn divergent political dynamics. And yet, there is something of the ‘wild’ about many who work in the NGO sector even if, as this article suggests, that may now only be a fading ‘scent’ for many be-suited and policy-oriented NGO ‘professionals’. NGO Origins: Penitent Butchers or Guardians of the Wild? To appreciate debates that NGOs engender is to understand their complex and ambiguous lineage as vehicles for action designed to save the envi- ronment. As scholars observe with regard to NGOs who purport to be ‘guardians of the wild’, there is nothing necessarily ‘progressive’ about conservation even if images of anti-whaling and anti-logging campaigns may suggest otherwise (Adams and Hutton 2007; Neumann 1998). Debate begins over what a ‘non-governmental organisation’ is since a great diversity of entities exist. Organisations differ according to size, structure, funding, philosophy, aims, strategy, nationality, scale of operation and issues. A definition by Clarke (1998, pp. 2–3, italics in the original) is useful: ‘private, non-profit, professional organisations with a distinctive legal character, concerned with public welfare goals’. For our purposes, ‘public welfare goals’ relate to a myriad of environmental issues, while ‘distinctive legal character’ refers to legal registration of an organisation – not whether it acts in a legal manner. Concerns about ahistorical understanding led scholars to examine the origins of the NGO. The resulting picture is decidedly ambiguous. Work thus underscores the mix of passion, power, calculation and even remorse that motivated elites in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to safeguard the environment (for a fascinating analysis of how contempo- rary conservation intertwines wealth, power and celebrity, see Brockington 2009). The notion of the ‘penitent butcher’ (Beinart and Coates 1995) illuminated the shifting involvement of elites in the despoliation and © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Born to be wild? 1543 subsequent protection of prized bits of the ‘natural world’. Mixed up in patriarchal colonial assertions of political, economic and cultural power, European elites spearheaded the mass slaughter of mega-fauna: tigers, lions, elephants and rhinos in Africa and Asia, bison, moose and bear in North America (Adams 2004; MacKenzie 1988). Yet, as the number of species plummeted, prominent hunters from England and America became con- cerned about the need to conserve them. The result was the creation of influential NGOs such as the Society for the Preservation of the Fauna of the Empire established in England in 1903 and the Sierra Club founded in the USA in 1892 (Carter 2007; Neumann 1998). The goal of the penitent butcher was to use these associations to press for modest reforms centred on the creation of game reserves and parks. Seen from another light, these reforms were hardly modest. Political ecologists thus reveal that it entailed the wholesale displacement of indigenous residents as part of ‘a self- conscious attempt at wilderness creation in formerly inhabited lands’ (Adams and Hutton 2007, p. 154). In these areas, though, European elites could still hunt according to a ‘sporting ethos’ (Neumann 1996). Elite-based conservation also reflected a romanticising of the environ- ment. Here was a larger cultural movement in the arts and literature that elaborated an Anglo-American nature aesthetic thereby re-shaping Euro- pean visions about social-natural interaction (Adams 2004; Neumann 1998). This was never innocent: it presumed a moral politics of ecological trans- formation insofar as it specified how natural and social relations ought to look, with protected areas and parks its territorial expression (Adams and Hutton 2007). Early NGOs were an organisational expression of that new look drawing on the writings of influential naturalists, landscape architects and foresters such as John Muir, Frederick Law Olmsted, George Perkins Marsh, Dietrich Brandis and Henry David Thoreau. As scholars show, these organisations mounted sophisticated political campaigns to enshrine con- servation at the heart of rural land policy at a time when (neo) colonial territorial expansion and consolidation in the Americas, Antipodes, Asia and Africa was the norm (Adams 2004; Anderson and Grove 1987; Jacoby 2001; Neumann 1998). These campaigns were often authoritarian and racist and thus not surprisingly held considerable appeal in Nazi Germany (Bramwell 1989). The push to create conservation NGOs finally reflected a reaction to the deepening hold of modernity on society. This was certainly embedded in the aforementioned romanticising of the environment since nature ‘worship’ was the flipside of disgust about environmental destruction wrought under capitalism. Yet it was more than that. As Sutter (2002) shows in his account of the wilderness movement in early twentieth century America, the foundation of the Wilderness Society reflected a deep fear of hordes of automobile-owning Americans using their leisure time for wilderness recreation. Here, that key symbol of modernity – the automobile – was the threat as a rapidly growing road network enabled people to be much 1544 Born to be wild? © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd more mobile than before, and hence able to reach hitherto unreachable lands. Degradation of ‘pristine’ wilderness was the result. Yet this was a love–hate relationship inasmuch as membership in the new wilderness organisations grew as a direct by-product of such ‘automobility’ (Paterson 2007). Thus, citizens enamoured with wilderness became members of the Sierra Club, the National Audubon Society, the Wilderness Society and other organisations – using automobiles to pursue their new passion! Typically elite-based, prone to nature romanticising, often politically conservative, and frequently distrustful of yet dependent on modernity – these were key features that scholars note in describing early conservation NGOs. By the late 1960s, though, other environmental concerns had combined with a new generation of activists to transform the environmental movement, thereby lending a whole new meaning to the description of NGOs as ‘wild’. Green Pin-ups: Embodying Ideologies of Political Action The new NGOs involved in environmental action became poster bearers of green thinking: seemingly the organisational embodiment of a progres- sive politics. Many writers tended to evaluate them in relation to green ideology and usually in a normative tone. It is not difficult to see why. For one thing, attention was focused on NGOs created in the late 1960s and early 1970s in order to confront an array of environmental problems. Initially, they were part of radical move- ments that privileged political confrontation over cooperation. Two NGOs – Greenpeace (founded in Canada in 1971) and Friends of the Earth (FoE) (founded in the USA in 1969) – captured the popular imagination via media- savvy anti-whaling and anti-nuclear campaigns. Scholars commonly saw them as the face of a modern environmentalism – to be distinguished from elite conservationism. For another thing, people involved with these NGOs were usually young, radical and combative – the 60s generation critical of the Vietnam War, industrial capitalism and patriarchal society. The new NGOs exported their model of political action to other countries in the North (on France, see Cans 2006) and the South (Wapner 1996), even while such models were usually adapted to local political, economic and cultural conditions (Eccleston and Potter 1996). That NGOs like FoE and Greenpeace were often seen to embody a radically new form of environmentalism is owed in no small measure to a steady stream of insider accounts. This literature created an impression of organisations driven by a selfless ideology based on progressive green politics. Thus, Lamb (1996) accounted for FoE’s development from a small band of protestors into a large transnational entity battling against everything from tropical deforestation to toxic waste, while writers such as Hunter (1979), Bohlen (2001), and Weyler (2004) catalogued how Greenpeace became perhaps the global protest organisation (see Figure 1). © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Born to be wild? 1545 Most scholars eschew such hagiography. Yet they tend to share its core assumptions about the ideological significance of these NGOs as purveyors of modern environmentalism (Dobson 2007; Pepper 1996). In the North, influenced by models of political pluralism, resource mobilisation and social movement behaviour, writers have described the development of NGOs in terms of political lobbying and protest (Doyle and McEachern 2008; McCormick 1991), relative ‘greenness’ (Mauch et al. 2006) or change in organisational structure and practice (Lowe and Goyder 1983; Doherty 2002). Debate notably centres on the political efficacy of NGOs as well as the extent to which they reflect internally the progressive politics they espouse (Rucht 1995; Rawcliffe 1998). Comparative work has probed divergent political opportunity structures and NGO styles of engagement with the state across the industrialised countries (Dalton 1994; Dryzek et al. 2003). This literature, mainly based on political science, seeks to assess the potential of environmental movements to transform mainstream political practices (Carter 2007). However critical of specific NGO practices, there tends to be a disposition to see them as a positive and indeed an essential interven- tion in politics. A similar disposition can be seen in scholarship that addresses NGO action over the environment in the South. Here, research relates the politics of environmental action to the issue of development, thereby tapping into an established pro-NGO literature (Edwards and Hulme 1992; Ekins 1992; Korten 1990). Environmental issues are usually related to people’s liveli- hoods in recognition of the links that bind people and environments together (Bebbington and Kothari 2006). A classic example is Plundering paradise: the struggle for the environment in the Philippines (Broad and Cavanagh 1993): Fig. 1. Greenpeace is an environmental activist group that campaigns to change attitudes and behaviour and to protect and conserve the environment. Source: Greenpeace (http://www.greenpeace.org). http://www.greenpeace.org 1546 Born to be wild? © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd an epic account of Philippine NGOs that approvingly noted how they lead in pursuing sustainable development. This kind of work was also expressed through comparative texts (Farrington and Bebbington 1993; Fisher 1993, 1998; Heyzer et al. 1995; Hjelmar 1996) – many stressing the social and ecological benefits of NGO action in societies wracked by corruption and violence (Figure 2). NGO action is often understood in relation to the notion of civil society: that part of society formally separate from the state yet not part of the business world. Here, we have an appreciation of the NGO as a specific kind of ideological actor: one that promotes liberal democracy. This perspective receives its most sophisticated treatment by writers who probe the political novelty and dynamics of NGO-led civil societies that promote new forms of social and often environmental interaction (Clarke 1998; Fisher 1998; Meyer 1999; Silliman and Noble 1998; overview by Mercer 2002). At the same time, scholars scale up analysis to assess the potential of NGOs to create a global civil society. Some work focuses on niches in which NGOs operate – for example, debt for nature swaps ( Jakobeit 1996) and the protection of globally valuable environmental public goods (Meyer 1996). More ambitious still is scholarship exploring how NGOs transform international relations through new global spaces of civil action. Whether seen in the rise of NGOs as global actors (Wapner 1996), the formation of new forms of global citizenship (Desforges 2004), or the creation of NGO- promoted international environmental agreements (Arts 1998; Lipschutz and Conca 1993; Lipschutz and Mayer 1996), there is a sense of a new form of political practice that may serve as a counterweight to interstate relations Fig. 2. June 5, 2008, a child stands outside a Greenpeace Climate Defenders camp built to oppose the construction of a coal power plant in Iloilo City, central Philippines. Source: Greenpeace (http://www.greenpeace.org). http://www.greenpeace.org © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Born to be wild? 1547 and TNC behaviour (Doherty and Doyle 2007; Keck and Sikkink 1998; Khagram et al. 2002). Critiquing NGO Action Perhaps it was inevitable that there would be a backlash against research that has tended (on balance) to accentuate the positive about NGOs. True, there has always been critique coming from the political mainstream. Such writing views NGOs as self-serving organisations staffed by misguided and dangerous ideologues. For example, Beckerman (1995) and Lewis (1992) condemn radical environmentalism for its anti-capitalism while highlighting the ‘fallacies’ of its solutions. Easterbrook (1995) echoes these views stressing how the post-Cold War triumph of capitalism ought to inspire environ- mental optimism. Lomborg (2001) ignited controversy over the allegedly biased nature of NGO science – suggesting that such data were cynically calculated to advance NGO projects. By the mid-1990s, it was not only these sorts of mainstream writers who were questioning NGOs. Thus, critical social scientists challenged ‘myths’ about NGO democratic accountability and transparency, altruism, political efficacy and respect for human rights (Slim 1997; Smillie 1995; Sogge et al. 1996; Tvedt 1998). True, problems facing NGOs were acknowledged. Yet there was ‘no magic [NGO] bullet’ in the quest for social transformation (Bebbington 2004; Vivian 1994). Such criticism mainly targeted ‘develop- ment’ NGOs, but it often also held true for ‘environmental’ counterparts (even as it is to be noted that, particularly from the early 1990s, the bound- aries between ‘environment’ and ‘development’ NGOs were becoming ever more blurred; see Bryant 2005). Based on Malaysian and Indonesian case studies, for example, Eccleston (1996) reflected a wider trend when he described the political contradictions of NGO action that seemed only to lead to intensified resource degradation and human rights abuses by pro- development states (see also Eccleston and Potter 1996; Potter 1996; Silva 1994; Vitug 1993). Indeed, Northern NGOs such as the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) and Conservation International became ‘eco-imperialists’ as their quest to save wilderness reputedly damaged the livelihoods of poor people in the South. Reminiscent of colonial-era conservationism, ‘environment first’ NGOs seemingly believed that the displacement of people and their livelihoods was a small price to pay for the protection of globally important flora and fauna in the ‘biodiversity phase’ of some strands of modern environmen- talism (Zimmerer 2006, p. 64). ‘Coercive conservation’ involving ‘imposed wilderness’ areas harked back to a history of politically repressive action (Kolk 1996; Neumann 1998; Peluso 1993; Princen 1994). Other criticism targeted how some large NGOs were depending on funds provided by trans- national corporations accused of perpetrating environmental degradation (Chatterjee and Finger 1994). There was anger too about how international 1548 Born to be wild? © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd NGOs were purportedly depriving smaller and less powerful NGOs in the South of funding and personnel as they capitalised on economies of scale and international connections to build global project portfolios (Chat- terjee and Finger 1994; Livernash 1992). The political effectiveness of ‘global civil society’ was even called into question, as power inequalities and value differences among NGOs were seen to hinder cooperation (Rohrschneider and Dalton 2003). In general, NGOs were condemned as ‘too close for comfort’ to elites (Hulme and Edwards 1997). Here was a Faustian bargain: NGOs seek funds from and political influence with states and corporations, but leave them- selves vulnerable to cooptation and mission drift (Bryant 2002a; Sogge et al. 1996; Tvedt 1998). They become a mere ‘protest business’ ( Jordan and Maloney 1997). Such unease over political and economic trade-offs relates to a trend that scholars describe as the institutionalisation of the environmental movement. This process is most widely analysed in relation to North America and Europe (Bosso 2005; Carter 2007; Dryzek et al. 2003). Institutionalisation – which Van der Heijden (1997) defines as organisational growth; internal professional development plus centralisa- tion; and external reorientation from direct action to political lobbying – varies between NGOs and over time. Furthermore, it is more of a problem for some NGOs (‘radical’ Greenpeace) than others (‘mainstream’ WWF) – thereby underscoring the heterogeneous nature of environmental and political assumptions, beliefs and practices among NGOs. Still, even the mainstream Sierra Club suffered an internal split in the 1990s as a group of dissidents calling themselves ‘John Muir’s Sierrans’ broke away claiming that the NGO had lost its way (Doyle and McEachern 2008, p. 151). Elements of institutionalisation have also taken hold in the South, notably as a result of donor demands and with contradictory effects across the ‘environment’ and ‘development’ NGO sectors (Fisher 1998; Fowler 2000; Mohan 2002; Wilson and Rigg 2003). This process has prompted anger and disillusionment among activists who believe that hitherto radical NGOs have ‘sold out’ to businesses and states. Periodic ‘political soap operas’ – as with Greenpeace and the case of the disputed disposal of the Brent Spar oilrig – seek to counteract this impression, but with ambiguous results ( Jordan 2001). NGOs as ‘Normal’ Objects of Study As the place of the NGO in environmental politics has shifted in complex ways, so the place of this organisational phenomenon in academia has changed. As with many of the pioneering members of the NGOs them- selves, NGO scholarship has matured in ways that are sometimes pre- dictable. Thus, the latter is institutionalised (e.g. NGO degrees and research centres) and ‘normal’ in the sense that these organisations are now a standard object of dispassionate inquiry – like other actors such as states © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Born to be wild? 1549 or corporations. Largely gone, for instance, is the tacit ‘rule’ about having to proclaim in one’s work sympathy (however qualified) for the organisation(s) under analysis (e.g. Broad and Cavanagh 1993; Fisher 1993; Korten 1990). As such, the opportunity has never been greater for research to explore in a dispassionate manner what is distinctive or not about the NGO, as it seeks to change, and is in turn changed by, the wider world. Much inter- esting work draws on post-structural theories that explain the ambiguities and multifaceted impacts of NGOs as culturally savvy agents and image- making artists, even as it remains sensitive to the ways in which these organisations may also be purveyors of unintended (and potentially unde- sired) consequences. Scholars document the sophisticated means by which NGOs commu- nicate messages to the public to frame an issue in a particular way. The potential political potency of media-linked NGO communications is noted (Carter 2007; Doyle and McEachern 2008; Jordan 2001). Yet it is research that often combines insights from the new social movements literature and cultural studies that actually demonstrates how NGO communications strat- egies function. For example, Lahusen (1996) assesses the rhetorical devices and modes of popular cultural expression that NGOs (including Greenpeace) use to disseminate messages to audiences – including popular music and celebrity endorsements (see also Brockington 2009). Visual stimuli are key here as the ‘truthfulness’ of pictures and videos – showing the killing of baby seals, slaughter of whales, toxic waste spills or felling of rainforest – orient expectations and provoke responses that lead to action. It was such ‘image politics’ that DeLuca (1999) explored in his study of how organi- sations such as Greenpeace and Earth First! Boost campaigns via ‘mind bombs’ (Adbusters 2001) that modify people’s mental worlds. Writers also describe how mind bombs are embedded in written discourses that equally aim to inform, enrage and activate. For example, Epstein (2008) deconstructs the birth of anti-whaling discourse led by the likes of Green- peace that transformed international relations surrounding the whaling industry by rendering it problematic. In Taiwan, Wang (2008) charts how one environmental group (the Chilan Alliance) interwove image and text to discredit forestry agency plans for one old growth forest. This and other work (Darier 1999; Elden 2007; Sending and Neumann 2006) is often influ- enced by Foucault’s (2000) theories on bio-politics and governmentality. Such research addresses complexities surrounding NGOs, often relating to states, which produce contentious geographies under liberal governmentality (Dean 1999; Escobar 1995; Goodman et al. 2008; Luke 1999; Whitehead 2008). Research highlights other ways in which NGOs seek to be culturally savvy influenced by theorists ranging from Bourdieu to Honneth. One focus is how these organisations relate to the issue of morality. Building on an affective turn in the social sciences (Bryant and Jarosz 2004; Smith 2000), scholars probe how NGOs embed themselves in moral discourses 1550 Born to be wild? © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd and politics as well as how this process creates opportunities and constraints for them (Bennett and Shapiro 2002). Jasper (1997) explores the strategic dimensions of moral protest in individual biographies, organisational iden- tity building and issue construction, while a subsequent collection (Goodwin et al. 2001) assesses the role of emotion here. Bryant (2005) evaluates how the reputation of an NGO relates to its possible empowerment describing a sector characterised by the competitive quest for distinction based on the accumulation of moral capital. Heins (2008) meanwhile relates NGO action to a critical theory of recognition that posits that NGOs are ‘other regarding’ but not a priori ‘good’ even as they are distinctive in leading struggles against the harm of others. All this work thus investigates how NGOs may behave in culturally savvy ways, while also exploring ambiguous outcomes – for example, vis-à-vis territorial control, accountability politics, crises of legitimacy and multiscale governance (Hickey and Mohan 2008; Sidaway 2007; Walton 2008). Finally, there is research probing the ‘unintended consequences’ that surround NGOs now that their multiscale role in environmental politics has seemingly hardened into place. For example, Bryant (2002b) illustrates how NGOs keen to promote biodiversity conservation and indigenous rights in the Philippines have helped the state transform hitherto periph- eral people into centrally defined and controlled ‘citizens’ through entan- gling bureaucracies of ancestral claims-making and environmental (re) education: new geographies of green governmentality (Rutherford 2007). That NGOs become disciplining agents in wider power structures inevi- tably raises questions about their potential to spearhead social transforma- tion – let alone their ability to remain autonomous in a neoliberalising world of audit cultures and ‘professional’ development (Ebrahim 2003; Fowler 2000; Martens 2006; Themudo 2003). NGOs are thus caught in webs of compromise – pulled by great expectations one way and tugged by require- ments of ‘respectability’ the other (Fisher 1997; Kellow 2000). This dilemma leads in turn to more unintended consequences as scholars document the purported shifting of radical activism away from ‘compro- mised’ NGOs towards ‘new’ forms of grassroots environmentalism. Direct action involving anti-capitalist and anti-state sentiments is the norm in ‘21st century dissent’ (Curran 2006): poignantly echoing thereby the early days of FoE and Greenpeace. It can be seen in such campaigns as anti-logging conflict in the USA (Rucht 1995), anti-road/airport struggles in the UK (Routledge 2003), the ‘blood diamonds’ furore (LeBillon 2006), animal rights battles (Hobson 2007), linked anti-racism and toxic waste protests emanating from the environmental justice movement (Schlosberg 1999) and anti-globalisation initiatives (Fisher and Ponniah 2003). These struggles stress alternative forms of organising – flat networks not hierarchies – and use of web-based technology to disrupt and inform via ‘dotcauses’ that result in complex geographies of local and transnational action (Clark and Themudo 2006; Cumbers et al. 2008; Reitan 2007; Teivainen 2007). © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Born to be wild? 1551 True, the ‘new’ activism is not necessarily antithetical to the NGO sector – although it does seem to be requiring that the latter adapt (Bomb- erg and Schlosberg 2008; DeMars 2005; Sandler and Pezzulo 2006). Indeed, in many cases, it is not even that ‘new’ at all – except with regard to the use of web-based technology, many of the forms and content of ‘direct action’ have been around for a long time, with activists often working in parallel with NGOs ( Juris 2008). And yet, the ‘new’ activism does appear to capture a sense of youthful energy and grassroots outrage that is today weakly reflected in the actions of aging NGOs – hence question marks in both the ‘development’ and ‘environment’ literatures over their role in a changing world (Bebbington et al. 2008; Carter 2007; Escobar 2008; Lewis and Kanji 2009). They simply may not be cool enough for a ‘no logo’ generation (Klein 2000). Conclusion: Taming the Wild Ones This article explored some of the connections between NGOs, politics, and the environment. Inevitably, I was highly selective in coverage – after all, this is a large and complex topic with an equally large and complicated set of literatures. At the risk of over-simplification, therefore, I described how a selection of writers tackled the subject through a process that simultaneously tracked the maturation of the NGO as an actor and marked the emergence of a field of NGO studies. That scholarship regularly comes back to the motif of the wild: the saving of the ‘wild’ as a focus of action, NGOs as ‘wild cards’ (DeMars 2005) in national and international politics, or the behaviour of activists seemingly ‘born to be wild’ – as per the lyrics of the Steppenwolf song opening this article. Explicitly or implicitly, the cultivation of wildness has long been seen as both a noteworthy feature of NGOs and a basis for (often positive) normative judgement. True, some cultivate the ‘wild’ more than others, even as NGOs do so in different ways reflecting divergent political, economic and cultural circumstances. Still, there is something of the ‘wild’ about many who work in the NGO sector – perhaps because to make a difference is sometimes partly about challenging political and economic elites. Yet this is a deceptive image. Just as the wildness of ‘pristine’ nature was exposed as a bloody myth ( Jacoby 2001; Neumann 1998), so the mantra of organisations born to be wild – surmounting all odds to achieve a progressive politics – is increasingly seen as self-serving publicity by aging activists gone ‘respectable’. The ‘wild’ has seemingly gone out of some if not many NGOs – who are victims of image overkill, a soul destroying neoliberal audit culture, or both. Writers have also tussled with the idea that NGOs ‘do good’. For some, the contribution of NGOs is important because they have been standard bearers of a progressive green politics in neoliberal times seemingly hostile to serious environmental action (Bandy and Smith 2005; Keck and Sikkink 1552 Born to be wild? © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd 1998). It is thus not that they have often failed that is important, but rather that they have sometimes succeeded despite the odds. For others, the pursuit of that politics inevitably ensnarls NGOs in webs of compromise with elites leading to unintended consequences that sour their good name (Holloway 2002; Reitan 2007). But as we saw lastly, there are still others who eschew normative evaluation in favour of dispassionate analysis that often sees NGOs as culturally savvy if ambiguous actors traditionally deprived of conven- tional sources of political and economic power (DeLuca 1999; Heins 2008). It is perhaps ironic that, as scholars describe in detail key cultural and creative activities that NGOs undertake in pursuing environmental politics, the conditions that have long been propitious for the success of these organisations may be vanishing (even as they enable ‘new’ grassroots activism and ‘counter movements’ to flourish, see Munch 2007). In the end, it may not be the achievement of their goals that ‘kills off ’ NGOs as a distinctive actor, but rather the fact that many of them were simply not seen to be ‘wild’ enough by a new generation. Dispassionate inquiry may have arrived just in time to write the obituary of this organisational phenomenon. Still, it stands the best chance today of capturing the contested and multifaceted significance of the rise and perhaps fall of an actor that has charmed and enraged people in equal measure. Acknowledgements I wish to thank two anonymous referees for their constructive comments as well as the editorial team for their support. Short Biography Raymond Bryant is a Professor of Political Ecology at King’s College London. He has written widely on political ecology, non-governmental organisations and natural resource conflicts. He has authored numerous papers on these topics for journals that include Political Geography, Transac- tions of the Institute of British Geographers, Geoforum, Political Studies, Society and Natural Resources, Progress in Human Geography, Geographical Journal, Pacific Affairs, Modern Asian Studies, Area and the Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics. He is the author of Nongovernmental Organizations in Environmental Struggles: Politics and the Making of Moral Capital in the Philippines (Yale University Press, 2005), The Political Ecology of Forestry in Burma, 1824 –1994 (University of Hawaii Press, 1997), co-editor of Environmental Change in South- East Asia: People, Politics and Sustainable Development (Routledge, 1996, with Michael Parnwell), co-author of Environmental Management: New Directions for the 21st Century (UCL Press, 1997, with Geoff Wilson), and co-author of Third World Political Ecology (Routledge, 1997, with Sinead Bailey). He is presently writing a book about the political ecology of the rich and famous who reside on the Côte d’Azur in the south of France. He holds © 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/4 (2009): 1540–1558, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00248.x Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Born to be wild? 1553 a BA from the University of Victoria, a MA from Carleton University, and a PhD from the School of Oriental and African Studies. Note * Correspondence address: Raymond L. Bryant, Department of Geography, King’s College London, Strand, London, WC2R 2LS. E-mail: raymond.bryant@kcl.ac.uk. References Adams, W. M. (2004). Against extinction: the story of conservation. London: Earthscan. Adams, W. M., and Hutton, J. (2007). People, parks and poverty: political ecology and biodi- versity conservation. Conservation and Society 5, pp. 147–183. Adbusters, (2001). Toxic culture. Special issue of Adbusters: Journal of the Mental Environment 36 ( July–August). Altvater, E. (1993). 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work_bm2sfsodyneovntqragg7mix6q	----	PDF hosted at the Radboud Repository of the Radboud University Nijmegen The following full text is a publisher's version. For additional information about this publication click this link. http://hdl.handle.net/2066/77151 Please be advised that this information was generated on 2021-04-06 and may be subject to change. http://hdl.handle.net/2066/77151 From Origin to Destination: Trends and Mechanisms in Social Stratification Research, edited by Stefani Scherer, Reinhard Pollak, Gunnar Otte, and Markus Gangl From Origin to Destination: Trends and Mechanisms in Social Stratification Research by Stefani  Scherer; Reinhard  Pollak; Gunnar  Otte; Markus  Gangl Review by: Wout Ultee American Journal of Sociology, Vol. 115, No. 2 (September 2009), pp. 647-649 Published by: The University of Chicago Press Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/648656 . Accessed: 27/02/2012 04:28 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. The University of Chicago Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to American Journal of Sociology. http://www.jstor.org http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucpress http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/648656?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Book Reviews 647 and juridical and state interventions into this “private sphere” necessary for protecting the rights of women and children (pp. 154–59), and his defense of universal human rights in a contemporary world situation in which many see no alternative to a resurgent Realpolitik (pp. 197–99). Two lines of critical questioning directed against Honneth’s project are worthy of mention here. The first concerns reservations about whether the category of recognition, however finely differentiated, can bear the full burden of the theoretical weight that Honneth places upon it. Hints of Honneth’s response to such queries may be found in Disrespect, but the issues have been more fully explored in his extended dialogue with Nancy Fraser in Redistribution or Recognition? (Verso, 2003) In this debate, Honneth continues to defend a “normative monism” based upon the theory of recognition, while Fraser argues for a “perspectival dualism” capable of integrating the insights derived from a theory of distribution and a theory of recognition, each necessary but incapable of reduction to the other. A second line of critical interrogation derives from the concern that the attempt to anchor the theory of recognition in existing institutions and practices runs the risk of conceding too much to the existing social order, thus potentially lapsing into ideological justification of the status quo. Honneth has recently responded to this line of criticism, among others, in Recognition and Power: Axel Honneth and the Tradition of Critical Social Theory (edited by Bert van den Brink and David Owen [Cambridge University Press, 2007]). From Origin to Destination: Trends and Mechanisms in Social Stratifi- cation Research. Edited by Stefani Scherer, Reinhard Pollak, Gunnar Otte and Markus Gangl. Frankfurt: Campus, 2007. Pp. 323. $34.00 (paper). Wout Ultee Radboud University, Nijmegen From Origin to Destination, edited by Stefani Scherer, Reinhard Pollak, Gunnar Otte, and Markus Gangl, was presented to Walter Müller when he retired from the University of Mannheim, Germany. It contains, apart from a useful introduction, 11 papers written by 20 persons who coop- erated with Müller during his long career in the field of social stratification. These include established scholars such as Robert Erikson, from Sweden, John Goldthorpe, from Britain, and Yossi Shavit, from Israel, as well as rising stars from Germany, and the papers attest to Müller’s profound influence. Each paper is worthy of publication in sociology’s major jour- nals. However, the papers do not fully add up. They show that although normal science occurs in social stratification, this field does is not driven by major puzzles. In addition, the book rehearses the by-now dated prob- lem shift from questions about absolute mobility rates to questions in- volving relative mobility chances. It also understates the problem shift American Journal of Sociology 648 that occurred in stratification research during the collaboration of Erikson, Goldthorpe, and Müller. Contrary to the volume’s subtitle, some papers do not present trends, and several papers are weak on mechanisms. Indeed, the goal of finding mechanisms behind trends does not seem well advised. Since Peter Hed- ström and Richard Swedberg’s 1998 Social Mechanisms (Cambridge Uni- versity Press), the term mechanism has become a buzzword. Whereas a mechanized worldview explains the fall of an apple toward the earth, the path taken by the moon around the Earth, and the ellipse of the Earth around the sun by one and the same principle, mechanism sociologists do not attempt such unifying explanations. The book is divided into two parts. The first is concerned with the long-established field of “educational inequality and social mobility,” and the second takes on “special issues in current stratification research,” to wit, self-employment, youth unemployment, second-generation migrants, occupational sex segregation, and educational homogamy. It is debatable whether these issues are that much out of the way. If in Europe, with its frequent double-digit unemployment rates, persons with a job worry whether they will keep it, and if school leavers fear never to find a job and those who have found one postpone marriage and pregnancy, the question of father-son class mobility should take the backseat. I will comment on the three most interesting papers. In an exposé of the literature Goldthorpe kills off Bourdieu’s concept of cultural capital, as well as recent research that employs it. What is sound in Bourdieu’s oeuvre is not new, and what is original in it is not sound. The latter applies to Bourdieu’s thesis that the content of cultural capital is arbitrary. This may be doubted. It is a perennial problem of universities that cur- ricula are outdated. And the art historian E. H. Gombrich has shown in Ideals and Idols (Phaidon, 1979) that the logic of vanity fair, with its over-the-top spiraling processes, is at work in matters of style and taste. In addition, perhaps because it does not fit nicely into the peculiar dis- tinction between the wild and the domesticated Bourdieu, Goldthorpe misses out on Bourdieu’s proposition that upon the opening up of sec- ondary and tertiary education to students from lower classes by govern- mental financial measures, higher-class parents changed strategy. They offset the declining effects of their material resources by calling upon cultural resources. Because Bourdieu is not only about habitus, but also about strategies that higher-class parents pursue to counter unintended consequences of state policies that further upward mobility (downward mobility from the higher classes being one such effect), Bourdieu’s theses are closer to the rational action models than Goldthorpe and his editors admit. Richard Breen, from Britain, and Ruud Luijkx, from the Netherlands, ascertain a trend toward more father-son relative class mobility in Ger- many but not in Britain when comparing observations for three decades. They also show that the German trend is accounted for by cohort re- Book Reviews 649 placement. Data for the same cohort observed at different periods do not show a trend toward more mobility. Increasing relative mobility for co- horts, in turn, is explained by educational expansion. The puzzle then becomes why later cohorts in Britain, a country that also experienced educational expansion, did not show more mobility. This would be the case since in Germany the effect of origin on destination is lower at higher levels of education, whereas things are not like that in Britain. But Breen and Luijkx leave this puzzle as a matter for further research. Karl Ulrich Mayer and Silke Aisenbrey’s paper goes beyond that of Breen and Luijkx. Mayer is the German sociologist who recognized that questions of the type “How much father-son class mobility is there in the population of country x at time y?” are rather poor, who popped the pertinent question, and who collected appropriate data. A question about mobility always should invoke two points in time, and the hidden point in the poor question stands for quite different points in time, since the observed people differ in age. Mayer set out in the early 1980s to collect occupational histories for cohorts born in 1920 and for later ones. Against this background, it is remarkable that Breen and Luijkx seem to code persons currently without a job after their last job. That decision forecloses the “special issue” of whether early retirement differs for cohorts. By comparing for various cohorts the origins of persons with their class at age 27 and at age 35, Mayer and Aisenbrey show that the trend toward more father-son and father-daughter relative class mobility reversed with the early 1960s cohort. They too leave this puzzle for further research. Mayer and Aisenbrey say that their chapter provides variations on the theme of mobility. This metaphor misleads. The theme of the generation of mobility sociologists to which Breen and Luijkx belong contains false notes, and readers should know. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. By Henry David Thoreau. Boston: Ticknor & Fields, 1854. Pp. 357. Barbara Celarent* University of Atlantis The emergence of a fully theorized environmental sociology after 2015 brought Walden briefly into sociological prominence. But its semiauto- biographical framework and allusive density made it ill-suited to a dis- cipline with one foot in the scientific study of society, even if the other foot was firmly placed in Thoreau’s home turf—the normative under- standing of social life. Worse yet, the endless riches of Thoreau’s journals proved an inescapable temptation to discover “what Walden really * Another review from 2048 to share with AJS readers.—Ed. 
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work_bse42wno2rghvi2jop7zam3oym	----	Exploring youth activism on climate change: dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent Copyright © 2018 by the author(s). Published here under license by the Resilience Alliance. O'Brien, K., E. Selboe, and B. M. Hayward. 2018. Exploring youth activism on climate change: dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent. Ecology and Society 23(3):42. https://doi.org/10.5751/ES-10287-230342 Insight Exploring youth activism on climate change: dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent Karen O'Brien 1, Elin Selboe 1 and Bronwyn M. Hayward 2 ABSTRACT. The policies and decisions made today will influence climate and sustainability outcomes for the remainder of this century and beyond, and youth today have a large stake in this future. Many youth are expressing dissent toward economic, social, and environmental policies and practices that contribute to climate change in diverse ways, but clearly not all forms of climate activism have the same impact or repercussions. We have presented a typology for understanding youth dissent as expressed through climate activism. Recognizing the complex empirical reality of youth concerns about climate change, this typology has distinguished three types of activism as dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent. By drawing attention to multiple ways for youth to express their political agency both within and outside of traditional political processes, we have highlighted and analyzed the diverse ways that youth are challenging power relationships and political interests to promote climate-resilient futures. Key Words: activism; climate change; dissent; politics; sustainability; youth INTRODUCTION “Change the system, not the climate!” This statement can be seen on posters and banners in most climate change demonstrations. Few would argue that this is not important; research has made it clear that we need to transform systems to meet the challenges of climate change (Rockström et al. 2017, O’Brien 2018). Indeed, the implications of failing to transform toward a more sustainable future are profound (IPCC 2014). The stakes in meeting the 1.5° C to 2°C targets associated with the 2015 Paris Agreement are particularly high for youth, who will have to live with and manage future risks and uncertainties associated with climate change. How can young people contribute to change within a political climate that is marked by powerful interests, strong rhetoric, and weak action on climate change? This question conjures up an age-old political problem, where marginalized citizens and those living in distant places and times are materially and existentially threatened by the decisions and actions of other individuals, companies, or states. In the context of climate change, the challenge for democratic theorists, activists, and citizens is not just about how young people can be included in decision making. It is also a question of how they can dissent from prevailing norms, lifestyles, decisions, and actions that perpetuate business as usual and its far-reaching, long-lasting, and in some cases irreversible global impacts (Bohman 2007, Barry 2012, O’Loughlin and Gillespie 2012, Song 2012, Crayton 2014, IPCC 2014). Widespread expressions of anger in the face of advancing climate change have resulted in some commentators describing the current period as a new “age of dissent” (Okolosie et al. 2016). We use dissent to refer to a conscious expression of disagreement with a prevailing view, policy, practice, decision, institution, or assumption that is exacerbating climate change. Some youth work directly to address climate change through small-scale and informal community-based actions, including awareness-raising events, educational programs, and sustainability campaigns (United Nations 2009, 2013). Others are active in formal and voluntary global organizations, such as 350.org, Global Power Shift, Friends of the Earth, Gen Zero, and Climate Youth (Hayward and Selboe 2014). Still others are politically engaged in more individualized and specialized ways, such as through issue-specific activism or low-threshold and part-time activities, e.g., promoting recycling or bicycling, signing petitions on social media, or consuming “green” products and following vegetarian or vegan diets (Ødegård and Berglund 2008, Ødegård 2009a, Fenton 2010, Ward 2010, Wayne et al. 2010, Manning 2013). Many young activists concerned about climate change are expressing dissent through actions that challenge business-as- usual economic and social policies, including their emphasis on economic growth (Escobar 2015). This includes attempts to shift political and economic power away from the fossil fuel industries and carbon polluters through divestment campaigns, boycotts, and legal actions that emphasize environmental justice (Partridge 2008, United Nations 2013, Fisher 2016). With youth dissent expressed through actions ranging from symbolic acts to political mobilization, clearly not all forms of climate change activism are the same (Partridge 2008, O’Loughlin and Gillespie 2012, Stitzlein 2012, Hörschelmann 2016). However, surprisingly little attention has been given to analyzing expressions of dissent among youth and their impacts on politics and power relationships. This is a concern, for as Corner et al. (2015:530) note, “Young people do not necessarily see what they can do in response to climate change, and when perceived self- efficacy is limited, personal engagement with climate change is likely to be lower.” By focusing on the diversity of climate change activism, we address different ways that youth are challenging power relationships that are used as a means to constitute, legitimate, and normalize certain imaginaries and practices that perpetuate climate change (O’Brien and Selboe 2015a). Our focus is mainly on youth in high-emissions societies, though we recognize that young people all over the world are expressing their dissent against the status quo, often through climate justice movements (Escobar 2015). 1Department of Sociology and Human Geography, University of Oslo, Norway, 2Department of Political Science and International Relations, University of Canterbury, New Zealand https://doi.org/10.5751/ES-10287-230342 mailto:karen.obrien@sosgeo.uio.no mailto:karen.obrien@sosgeo.uio.no mailto:elin.selboe@sgeo.uio.no mailto:elin.selboe@sgeo.uio.no mailto:bronwyn.hayward@canterbury.ac.nz mailto:bronwyn.hayward@canterbury.ac.nz Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Subsequently, we consider the political impacts and repercussions of different types of dissent, including how differing forms of climate activism may be perceived and met by those with strong interests in maintaining the status quo. We use status quo to refer to the “taken-for-granted” logics, institutions, and social practices that are perpetuating an inequitable and unsustainable future for youth. These include a fossil fuel–based economy that focuses on the extraction and consumption of resources to meet real or perceived needs and short-term goals, including profits for shareholders (Klein 2014). Drawing on analyses of interviews with youth conducted and informed by literature and our research on climate change activism and political participation, we present a typology of dissent among youth. This typology refers to youth activism as dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent. Importantly, it is not based on the motivations or intentions of youth, but rather on the ways youth dissent(ers) could be seen from the perspective of those with political power. Recognizing that many young people engage simultaneously or sequentially with all three forms of dissent, whether as individuals or as members of organizations and social movements, we consider the ways that diverse acts of dissent can together contribute to climate-resilient futures that are both equitable and sustainable. YOUTH AND CLIMATE CHANGE What does climate change mean for youth today? According to the IPCC (2013), by the year 2050, a child born in 2000 is likely to experience atmospheric concentrations of CO2 of between 463 and 623 parts per million by volume (ppmv), compared with about 400 ppmv in 2016. They are likely to be living with 8.4-11.3 billion others on a planet that is 0.8°C to 2.6°C warmer, with sea levels higher by 5-32 cm compared with 1990 (IPCC 2013). The wide range of potential futures is significant, as there is a tremendous difference between temperature increases of 0.8°C and 2.6°C in terms of impacts, risks, adaptation potential, and loss and damages. The impacts of these changes will be distributed unevenly, with the greatest risks experienced by the poor and marginalized, many of whose livelihoods are threatened by climate change. However, wealthier communities will also be affected, both directly and indirectly, through changes in ecosystem functions, extreme weather events, and the social and economic consequences of climate change (IPCC 2014). The policies and decisions made today will influence outcomes over the remainder of this century and beyond, and youth today have a large stake in this future. In defining “youth,” we have adopted the United Nation’s practice and considered the term to include people between the ages of 15 and 24 years (United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs [date unknown]). In everyday life, however, there are differing views on what constitutes youth, with attitudes varying within communities and across cultures about who is considered young and what roles different age groups are expected to play (Ho et al. 2015, Fisher 2016). Seen in this light, youth represents not only an age but a developmental stage characterized by expanding capacities and broadening perspectives, alongside the personal challenges associated with moving into adulthood (Arnett Jensen and Jensen Arnett 2012). Adolescence and emerging adulthood is considered a time of life characterized by openness to diverse cultural beliefs and behaviors, as well as a “relationally based social status dependent on political and historical context” (Fisher 2016:230). Youth as a demographic category includes and conceals a diversity of beliefs, values, worldviews, and expectations about the future, as well as differing senses of agency and responsibility. Cognitive development influences the capacity of an individual to understand complex issues, and in general, youth are engaged in “an active process of increasingly organizing the relationship of the self to the environment” (Kegan 1982:113). However, many factors influence whether and how young people perceive and engage with the issue of climate change. Youth attitudes may be influenced by gender, class, social expectations, ethnicity, life course, values, and education, the same factors that influence engagement with climate change within all age groups (Leiserowitz 2006, Lorenzoni and Hulme 2009, Fisher 2016, Fløttum et al. 2016). How messages and information about climate change are framed can influence youth perceptions and responses (Corner et al. 2015). The framing of climate change as an impending environmental disaster may contribute to a sense of despair and feelings of helplessness, which can lead to disillusion, apathy, and inactivity, or a perceived lack of potential to influence sustainability outcomes (Schreiner and Sjøberg 2005, Ødegård and Berglund 2008, Ojala 2015). However, more positive framings and emotions can invoke a sense of hope, engagement, and more constructive strategies of coping (Ojala 2012a, b, 2013). Some researchers suggest that children and youths’ concern and activism about the environment is also influenced by direct exposure to climate change impacts (Strazdin and Skeat 2011). In contexts where young people have experience in securing desired change, often on unrelated issues, climate change problems may be perceived as opportunities for action and leadership (Schreiner et al. 2005, Hayward and Selboe 2014). Cultural beliefs about knowledge, for example, whether knowledge is viewed as fixed and certain or context dependent and evolving, often guide the interpretation of climate science (Fazey 2010). Next, we discuss the politics of dissent in general, before turning to youth dissent and the potential impacts of their activism on systemic change. THE POLITICS OF DISSENT When young citizens learn about and begin to address the issue of climate change, they inevitably have to grapple with some tough questions about how society collectively deals with complex global problems and the future. In engaging with climate change, young people are implicitly or explicitly entering into debates that involve dissenting from prevailing norms, beliefs, and practices, including economic and social norms like consumption, fossil energy use, and the unjust use of power in decision making. Such dissent is closely linked to issues of social injustice, poverty, and violence, as well as to environmental issues such as pollution and biodiversity loss. Dissent has a long history in political thought and environmental movements throughout the world (Guha 2000, Stitzlein 2012). In his extended tract on civil disobedience, Henry David Thoreau (1849) draws on the examples of his own resistance to laws of slavery and the Mexican-American War to illustrate the concept of purposeful expression of a view at odds with the dominant opinion, even when it seems unlikely to carry the day. Thoreau argues that rather than perpetuating an injustice, citizens should follow their own conscience by doing what is right, even if this https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ requires breaking the law. Thus, for Thoreau, citizens have a duty to dissent and to exercise “their own moral judgement” rather than to obey an unjust law or a government, which is often advancing the interests of a small group of powerful actors (Glick 2004:xiv). Historically, political dissent has often been associated with conscience and the responsibility to withhold consent and support, often nonviolently, but also with anger at dominant values and institutions of decision making (Malone-France 2012). In democracies, dissent is often expressed through formal politics, particularly through opposition politics and political activism, which can be broadly described as the contestation of the exercise of unjust or illegitimate power (Stitzlein 2012, Arneil 2015). However, dissent can also be expressed informally or “off the radar” from those with power. James Scott’s (1990) notion of “infrapolitics” captures the hidden, behind-the-scenes actions that do not openly confront power, yet are foundational expressions of dissent. Ann El Khoury (2015) describes how infrapolitical activism that is often covert, understated, and informal can corrode the status quo by generating options and alternatives that dilute the reach of the dominant ideology, without directly or openly challenging it. For example, the increasing number of teenagers choosing not to get driver’s licenses (Sivak and Schoettle 2016) may in some cases represent an infrapolitical expression of dissent that is not directly perceived or registered as a threat to power. Dissenting youth We begin our analysis of youth activism by asking whether youth today are actually dissenting. The idea of dissenting youth runs counter to a common suggestion that many young citizens are indifferent to or relatively disengaged from the issue of climate change (Feldman et al. 2010, Wray-Lake et al. 2010, Liu et al. 2014). Certainly, some responses to climate change among youth can be better described as disengagement than as dissent. Young people, like adults, may avoid thinking about climate change for any number of reasons. Reasons can include fear or grief; overconfidence in the potential for technology to solve the problem; the assumption that they will be able to adapt to negative impacts; concern about an inability to effect change; frustration with existing political processes; denial of the problem; distractions and diversion of attention to more immediate social, economic, cultural, and political issues; or disinterest or disbelief in the science of climate change (Ojala 2012a, Machin 2013, Burke 2014, Fildes et al. 2014, Liu et al. 2014, Head 2016). According to Norgaard (2011), many people may also be subjects of socially organized denial, whereby information about climate change is understood in the abstract, yet disconnected from everyday political, social, and private lives. Early studies of youth political protest about global environmental issues, peace, and civil rights often suggested that young people were predisposed to oppositional politics as a struggle to develop their identity, independent of parents or preceding generations (Erikson 1970, Iyengar 1980). More recent studies suggest that direct participation in political protest with peers has a profound, positive influence on propensity to dissent from prevailing norms (Erikson and Stoker 2011), and that the experience of participation in acts of dissent encourages greater tolerance of and respect for dissent by others (Torres 2007). However, in either case, the ability to express political dissent rather than simply frustration requires a mature level of social consciousness, moral reasoning, and insight into the situation that an individual or community is experiencing (Schlitz et al. 2010). In this sense, expression of any form of political dissent requires support, including education, to enable young people to reflect critically. It also requires courage, particularly in situations where public opinion is highly polarized and where dissenters may be vulnerable to the scrutiny or criticism of others, or risk being attacked, repressed, or criminalized (Hayes et al. 2006, Taft and Gordon 2013, Hörschelmann 2016). There has been long-standing contention that participation in politics and engagement with environmental issues such as climate change are the preserve or outcome of well-resourced, educated, and “postmaterialist” youth (Ingelhart 1997, Ødegård and Berglund 2008). In a North American context, Wray-Lake and Hart (2012) speculate that more educated youth, especially those with greater access to resources, are exposed to more novel and effective opportunities to engage in politics and influence policy outcomes. However, Wray-Lake and Hart (2012) add nuance to this, arguing that social inequalities compound the lack of institutional support for civic participation during childhood and adolescence. Research suggests that increasingly unequal access to education, unstable employment, and high housing costs can have a complex effect on depressing civic engagement (Flanagan and Levine 2010, Wray-Lake and Hart 2012, Honwana 2013). In an African context, some research finds that a combination of education, aspiration, and frustration at lack of opportunities for social mobility can increase the likelihood of young people engaging in protest (Resnick and Casale 2011). Disengagement may in some cases be a response to exclusion from decision-making processes at multiple levels or an expression of frustration about political arrangements that might give voice but have little real impact and power (Ødegård 2009b, Taft and Gordon 2013). In relation to climate change, some youth may feel excluded from meaningful participation in current debates and decisions, and others may resist situations where their contributions are reduced to tokenism or “decoration” at events or forums (Hart 2008, Checkoway 2011, Taft and Gordon 2013). Such invited and managed forms of participation and citizenship do not acknowledge youth as autonomous political actors or recognize their engagement in the many alternative political arenas where they arrive at their own meanings of community, participation, and responsibility (Coleman 2010). Nonengagement with climate change might on occasion represent an active decision to express dissent from prevailing unjust norms, policy processes, or political institutions that youth regard as illegitimate. For example, youth from ethnic minorities or low- income communities who are experiencing diminishing prospects for effective participation in formal political processes may actively withdraw and resist engaging with national institutions that they regard with suspicion and instead seek to create alternative local forums to create a meaningful sense of belonging and agency (O’Loughlin and Gillespie 2012). However, Scoones et al. (2018) found that in many countries, state-sponsored youth organizations in rural areas aim to channel and “tame” youth aspirations in ways that suppress autonomous political mobilization. https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Describing young people as merely apathetic or indifferent to climate change can reflect a failure to take their voices seriously and to comprehend the complex situation facing new generations, including the myriad of political responses now emerging (Weller 2007). The consequence of experiencing exclusion or reduced possibility for real influence in the invited spaces of formal politics may thus encourage youth who want to make a difference to begin to critique power and express this critique through other forms of dissent (O’Loughlin and Gillespie 2012, Taft and Gordon 2013, Hörschelmann and El Refaie 2014). It has been argued for some time that “the younger generation, in particular, may be at the forefront of those who have adapted to the newer forms of political expression, mobilization and engagement” (Norris 2003:2). New forms of dissent may include spontaneous public gatherings for discussion and expression of dissatisfaction, such as the loosely coordinated urban social movements of “indignation” in Spain, Nuit DeBout (“Night Standing”) in France, or civic “occupations” in the United States (Hayward 2012). There are also forms of dissent that are less visible or obvious, expressed through subcultures of resistance over time (Stitzlein 2012). Although social media can facilitate surveillance and encourage self-censorship (Bauman and Lyon 2013), it can also be an important arena for climate change activism, contributing to information distribution, logistical support, participation fora, and “e-movements,” all of which can also play a role in radical politics (Earl et al. 2010, Olsson and Dahlgren 2010, Collin 2015, Neumayer and Svensson 2016). DISSENT: DUTIFUL, DISRUPTIVE, AND DANGEROUS We present a typology that captures the diverse ways that youth are expressing dissent against a status quo that is contributing to dangerous climate change. The typology draws on both research and an extensive review of the literature on youth activism and political theory, based largely on Western notions of engagement and activism. This work was part of a research collaboration about youth responses to climate change carried out in Norway between 2011 and 2017 through the Voices of the Future project. This research involved literature reviews and in-depth qualitative interviews, focus groups, and discussions and feedback from young people about climate change activism (Hayward and Selboe 2014, Hayward et al. 2015, Selboe and Sæther 2018). In developing the typology, we explicitly recognize youth as political agents who may be engaging in activism in a diversity of ways. In other words, youth are neither in a state of “becoming” future citizens nor training to be participants in the sphere of formal politics; they are citizens with agency. The typology identifies three interrelated ways of dissenting from the policies, systems, and relationships that contribute to climate change: dutiful dissent, disruptive dissent, and dangerous dissent. It is important to stress that the three types of dissent are not mutually exclusive, nor are they descriptions of how youth see or judge their own actions. Instead, they capture the different ways that youth activism engages with political power and is likely to contribute to desired changes in the status quo. We recognize that the expression of dissent is fluid and evolving, and that some youth and movements may engage with all types of dissent, either sequentially or simultaneously. Indeed, all forms of dissent play important and complementary roles in youth activism on climate change, and we do not advocate one type over another. The three modes of dissent can be considered ideal types. For us, ideal does not mean perfect or statistically averaged; it refers to theoretically derived ideas, constructions, or mental images: An ideal type is formed by the one-sided accentuation of one or more point of view and by the synthesis of a great many diffuse, discrete, more or less present and occasionally absent concrete individual phenomena, which are arranged according to those one-sidedly emphasized viewpoint into a unified analytical construct. (Weber, in Shils and Finch 1997:90) The three ideal types presented are thus abstractions, or selections of elements that depict only certain characteristics of youth dissent and activism on climate change. Such analytical constructs are useful to simplify, synthesize, and make sense of the diversity, obscurity, and seeming chaos of the social world. Similar to the typology developed by Checkoway and Aldana (2013) to describe youth civic engagement with socially just diverse democracy, our typology recognizes that each form of dissent has its own orientation to power. Like Checkoway and Aldana (2013), we recognize the importance of new epistemologies and new forms of civic engagement to build capacity for the future. Subsequently, we begin by describing what we mean by dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent, providing some examples of each and discussing their strengths and limitations. Dutiful dissent Dutiful dissent represents cases in which young people’s concerns are voiced within existing or newly created institutional spaces. Dissent is often expressed through “joining” activities that support existing and emerging institutions and social norms to express resistance to dominant practices, such as fossil fuel production and consumerism. Through participation in established cultural practices, political institutions, and decision- making processes, young people may engage and interact with technical, managerial, and political elites. Dutiful dissent includes climate activism in political parties and processes, as well as in nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) that support a variety of approaches and actions for reducing greenhouse gases emissions or facilitating adaptation. These may focus on urban planning, green transport, adaptation and sustainable development projects, or national policies to support international climate agreements. Dutiful actions work through existing political and economic institutions in ways that strengthen and uphold their legitimacy, but they can also draw on existing social norms and rules to challenge unfair or unjust institutionalized practices. Through dutiful dissent, youth activists work within existing systems to express their discontent with business as usual and to promote alternative responses to climate change. This type of dissent represents resistance to the status quo, yet it also adheres to the “script” of current institutions, hegemonic powers, and economic systems. Rather than challenge existing political decision processes, it remains dutiful to their logic and existence. For example, one young Norwegian activist acknowledged that the environmental movement in Norway has become professionalized and bureaucratic but explained that engaging with the formal political system, for instance, through writing proposals and participating in official hearings, is necessary if you want to change something (Selboe et al. 2014). https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Climate activism through membership in mainstream environmental and political organizations is the most common expression of dutiful dissent. However, young people’s sense of agency, i.e., their ability to imagine and effect change, and their actions, i.e., what behaviors they engage with as citizens, may also be expressed as dissent through traditional loyalties (Bennett 2008). For example, young citizens may be encouraged to seek alternatives to prevailing ideals or practices through their religious convictions. Within this context, Pope Francis’s call to address climate change could be interpreted as an appeal for dutiful dissent: Young people demand change. They wonder how anyone can claim to be building a better future without thinking of the environmental crisis and the sufferings of the excluded. I urgently appeal, then, for a new dialogue about how we are shaping the future of our planet. We need a conversation which includes everyone, since the environmental challenge we are undergoing, and its human roots, concern and affect us all. (Francis [pope] 2015:12) There are, however, significant risks and limitations to dutiful dissent. One risk is that climate change and other environmental issues end up as merely pollution problems to be regulated and managed, for example, through energy policies, green technologies, “smart” cities, and climate capitalism (Newell and Paterson 2010). A dutiful approach seldom disrupts the underlying causes of climate change, including the economic and development paradigms or models that are responsible for the climate change in the first place (Hayward 2012, Pelling et al. 2012, Klein 2014, Eriksen et al. 2015, O’Brien and Selboe 2015b). Furthermore, although such actions may reflect or foster an important sense of responsibility for others, deeper structural issues and political power imbalances are seldom challenged through dutiful dissent. By its very nature, dutiful dissent may promote a depoliticized or postpolitical response to climate change that frames it in consensual and technocratic terms (Swyngedouw 2010a, b, 2013, Kenis and Lievens 2014). Politics and participation, as well as citizenship education, can be promoted and directed toward consent, cohesion, and loyalty, rather than contestation and dissent (Taft and Gordon 2013, Crossouard and Dunne 2015, Hörschelmann 2016). To be clear, dutiful dissent expressed though youth activism on climate change should not be confused with pandering to the status quo. Young people engaged in dutiful dissent are committed to change and recognize the importance and power of exploiting windows of opportunity within current structures and systems. Indeed, dutiful dissent plays an important and constructive role in ensuring that conversations about climate change are visible and that responses are prioritized and enacted through policies and practices. Dutiful actions like community gardening can also create new public spaces that provide a forum for discussions and alliances of solidarity with marginalized members of the local community, potentially encouraging collective agency and promoting progressive political activities (Crossan et al. 2016). Dutiful dissent can provide young people with important skills and insights on the current political, economic, and institutional landscape that may inspire or motivate engagement with other types of dissent, including more disruptive modes. Disruptive dissent Disruptive dissent can be considered a type of activism that arises when young citizens concerned about climate change question and seek to modify or change existing political and economic structures, which include norms, rules, regulations, and institutions. Disruptive actions explicitly challenge power relationships, as well as the actors and political authorities who maintain them, often through direct protests and collective organization. They may involve starting or joining petition campaigns or boycotts, disrupting international climate meetings to draw attention to hypocrisy and exclusion of important voices, or protesting key concerns through political marches or rallies. Disruptive dissent raises awareness about the underlying political, economic, and social drivers of climate change, and it draws attention to the justice and equity dimensions, acknowledging vulnerability to multiple and interacting global processes and recognizing the systemic nature of the problems and their solutions (Leichenko and O’Brien 2008, Klein 2014). Disruptive dissent is sometimes expressed through official organizations and NGOs that are considered “radical” or “alternative,” but it is an essential feature of most social movements, expressed when “traditional norms no longer succeed in providing a satisfactory structure for behaviour” and when an individual finds him or herself forced to challenge the prevailing social order through various forms of nonconformity (Della Porta and Diani 2006:13). Disruptive dissenters usually report that they are more interested in critiquing, challenging, and changing the system than working dutifully within it. Climate activists engaged with disruptive dissent are thus mobilizing against the systems and institutions they perceive as maintaining unsustainable and unjust policies and practices. This involves questioning not only the “script” of hegemonic powers and institutions, but also the actors who perpetuate them in their own interest. Through critique and action, disruptive dissent can create new spaces for alternative political voices and actors and “unveil” the underlying power dynamics and interests behind what might seem as neutral, unavoidable, or common-sense arrangements and policies (O’Brien and Selboe 2015b). Collective action against the production and distribution of fossil fuels is a good example of disruptive dissent. This includes campaigns for universities to divest from fossil fuels, such as the Divestment Student Network (http://www.studentsdivest.org/). It is also exemplified in the “Break Free from Fossil Fuels” campaign, which describes itself as “Unwavering resistance. Fierce solidarity. Courage by the gigaton” (https://breakfree2016. org/). Although open to people of all ages, this initiative provides a platform for youth to engage in dissent that adheres to strategic values such as peaceful direct action, escalating levels of risk and pressure, mass participation, and global action. Actions include blockading and shutting down several branches of a bank in New Zealand that had $13.5 billion invested in fossil fuels; protesting oil drilling in the Yasuni National Park in Ecuador by planting trees at the future site of an oil refinery; and dropping banners from machinery unloading coal in West Java, Indonesia, thereby bringing the coal terminal to a standstill for several hours (https:// breakfree2016.org/). https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ http://www.studentsdivest.org/ https://breakfree2016.org/ https://breakfree2016.org/ https://breakfree2016.org/ https://breakfree2016.org/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Visible critiques and symbolic acts of dissent can trigger awareness and social reflection, generate debate, open spaces for new actors and issues, and create momentum for social change. By introducing new concepts, ideas, methods, or tactics for achieving desired change, disruptive dissent can represent an important strategy with far-reaching impacts. However, the alternative forms of citizenship and participation expressed by youth are typically resisted, rejected, or ignored by the political elite and establishment (Weller 2007, Selboe 2010, Taft and Gordon 2013). This approach also introduces risks, particularly the risk of being co-opted by prevailing agents and institutions that constrain the autonomy of youth, especially within the context of globalization and neoliberal reforms (Hayward 2012). In fact, when disruptive dissent truly threatens key economic interests or postpolitical formal politics, it may lead to silencing, exclusion, repression, or criminalization (Taft and Gordon 2013, Hörschelmann 2016). In some cases, individual rights may be curtailed through antiprotest laws or by invoking counterterrorism laws to keep people quiet. Politicizing climate change through a critique of the status quo can open up spaces for new actors, but it may also contribute to an antagonistic and polarizing discourse that can limit mobilization and inhibit new visions and alternatives for the future (Kenis and Lievens 2014, O’Brien and Selboe 2015b). This was the case of the political movement Climate Justice Action (CJA) and its struggle to challenge the postpolitical and consensual debate on climate change. The CJA created spaces for formerly unheard voices, but the capacity and outreach of the movement intensified a we/them distinction and was limited by lack of an elaborate perspective on alternatives (Kenis and Mathijs 2014). Although disruptive dissent draws attention to power structures and represents a force operating “against power,” the failure to offer viable alternatives represents a major challenge. In some cases, those who are interested in social change eventually work with those in power and express their dissent in a more dutiful manner. In other cases, disruptive dissent may provide a platform for solidarity while youth pursue change through other means, including what we refer to subsequently as dangerous dissent. Dangerous dissent Dangerous dissent involves a type of political activism that defies business as usual by initiating, developing, and actualizing alternatives that inspire and sustain long-term transformations. This includes a wide spectrum of actions, ideas, discourses, practices, tactics, alliances, and technologies. Dangerous dissent refers to the degree of threat that these alternatives present to established power elites and investments over the medium and long term. Like disruptive dissent, it does not recognize existing institutions and power relationships as fixed or given. What makes this type of dissent dangerous is that it generates new and alternative systems, new ways of doing things, new types of economic relationships, and new ways of organizing society. The “danger” also lies in the way that youth are claiming, taking back, or generating their own power and strengthening their personal and political agency, or simply questioning what to others appears to be inevitable, such as a fossil fuel–based economy, hyperconsumption, and increasing social inequality. Although dangerous dissent is not always recognized as climate change activism, it can be a powerful move to undermine influential interests and transform social norms that are complicit in maintaining current systems of unsustainable growth, high greenhouse gas emissions, and deep social injustice. Dangerous dissent challenges existing paradigms or ways of understanding the relationship between climate change and social change. As Jeanes (2006:133) notes, some of the most dangerous new thinking embodies “the courage to resist the ‘realization’ of current creative practices in favour of the actualization of the new (previously unknown) ways of thinking.” In relation to climate change, dangerous dissent is perhaps most powerfully expressed through the postdevelopment and anticonsumerist philosophies of degrowth movements and the climate justice and just transition movements (Demaria et al. 2013, Schlosberg and Collins 2014, Escobar 2015). Degrowth movements are dangerous in that they challenge a basic tenet of capitalism, instead advocating for downscaling of production and consumption and a greater focus on care, solidarity, and cooperation. Aljets and Ebinger (2016:6) describe how some young people in Germany’s degrowth movement are dissenting from unsustainable development pathways: To us, the topic of sufficiency and the question of how everyone can have enough appears to be one of the central interfaces between the German degrowth movement and the youth environmental movement. Young environmental activists place great emphasis on personal sufficiency, and demonstrate as far as possible how sufficiency can be implemented in everyday life. They question the prevailing logic of forever-higher-faster-further-more, and derive great pleasure from energy saving, climate control, sharing, gifting, and rejecting packaging. They are pioneers of a consistently ecological and sustainable lifestyle, and demand that this be made accessible to others as well. They have recognised that the lifestyle in industrialised countries can only be achieved at the expense of the environment, nature and people in the Global South, and that their generation’s environmental footprint will fall on the shoulders of the following generation. Some actions may be dangerous without involving an open critique of the systems and structures that contribute to and perpetuate climate change. Dangerous dissent may be expressed in subversive ways that can inspire action over time, akin to what was referred to previously as infraglobalization or “subterranean” practices of everyday politics that inform and prefigure significant new social movements (Scott 1990, El Khoury 2015). In this process, new visions and powerful narratives emerge from a different view of what the system and the future might look like, and responses are no longer focused on one specific claim, e.g., reducing carbon emissions. Instead, they offer plausible alternative orientations, practices, and social arrangements for prosustainable change. It is most often expressed through propositional rather than oppositional actions, where “the aim in propositional praxis is to transmute resistance strategies towards substantive acts of creation, to make resistance secondary to the more enduring goal of building processes and structures that embody the fought-for ideals” (El Khoury 2015:109). The propositional praxis of youth activism can be particularly https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ dangerous to those in power and to those with vested interests in maintaining systems that undermine sustainability. Dangerous dissent describes actions and strategies of youth that have the potential to fundamentally change the goals, priorities, and assumptions of the “given” world. Dangerous dissent against transborder policies and environmental governance in the U.S.- Mexico border region, for example, is expressed through the Sonoran Desert Narrative Network, which emerged from a meeting of the Next Generation Sonoran Desert Researchers as a means to create a new shared narrative, an alternative discourse, and the potential for grounded policy change through ecological democracy (Lejano et al. 2013, Ingram et al. 2015). Through three case studies, Lejano et al. (2013:177) reflect on how narrative networks can “enable people to present organized challenges to mainstream power relationships and conventional environmental behavior.” The seeds of dangerous dissent often germinate when young people’s values and worldviews diverge from those holding power, and they flourish when young activists learn how to sustain these new values and actions, gaining not only a sense of self transcendence that can support activism in the face of repeated disappointment, the pressures of student debt, or active resistance from powerful interests, but also new solidarities with other groups that enrich and reenergize the process of effecting desired change (Hayward 2017). Indeed, socially conscious young people are increasingly seeking options that they consider to be more meaningful and that contribute to a better world, to the detriment of traditional sectors, including investment banks and established news organizations. According to a Gallup (2016) study, although millennials in the United States want a purposeful job and a life with active community and social ties, many report feeling less emotionally and behaviorally connected to their job and organization. This disengagement has repercussions for the economy. A New York Times article by Sidney Ember (2016) describes the difficulties faced by the advertising industry in recruiting young talent: A lot is at stake: If agencies cannot recruit and retain top young talent, the craft of traditional advertising—an important part of culture for better or worse—could disappear. “We have to fill the pipeline with young talent,” said Tony Weisman, chief executive in North America for the agency DigitasLBi. If agencies fail to recruit and keep top young employees, he said, “We’re going to become archaic.” Dangerous dissent does not have to be strategic, but it often involves a clear vision of new and desired futures (Satell and Popovic 2017). It may emerge as part of social activism, but it goes beyond the critiques associated with disruptive dissent. For example, alternative market relationships, such as direct farmer- to-consumer exchanges, can evolve to become a form of dangerous dissent. In this case, these new relationships can pose challenges to food distributors and supermarket chains. Bringing together new, seemingly unrelated actors and issues and experimenting with economic models that prioritize human relationships or with plant-based diets that respect the rights of animals while decreasing greenhouse gas emissions can be a powerful way to elicit change. Dangerous dissent thus forms the seedbed for new forms of solidarity (Bauman 2013). However, one of the possible drawbacks to dangerous dissent is that it may pose no immediate threat to dominant systems. To some extent, dangerous dissent can be tolerated. For example, alternative communities such as transition towns may not actually challenge dominant power relations and may in fact help maintain them if the movement remains the preserve of middle-class and young elite communities (Smith 2011, Feola and Nunes 2014). In some cases, novel forms of social organization, such as the sharing economy, may not be as progressive as they seem. One criticism of the sharing economy is that venture capital and for-profit platforms have too frequently co-opted what began as a progressive, socially transformative idea (Schor 2014). Creativity and innovation have indeed become modern mantras that support capitalism (Jeanes 2006), and together with arts and literature, they may be part of what Amitav Ghosh (2016) refers to as a form of collusion with “the great derangement.” Art practices that refuse to be co-opted by capitalism, such as creating noncommercial art in public spaces to share new ideas about climate change or injustice, may provide some latent examples of dangerous dissent. Dangerous dissent is not merely about withdrawal from the system, subversion, or practices that stay “under the radar.” Nor is not to be confused with the dangerous methods sometimes used to display dissent, such as violent riots of rage and extreme or fundamentalist attacks. As Barber (2003:126) argues, a “mob is not a citizenry, if an action is to be political it must ensue from forethought and deliberation, from free and conscious choice.” Dangerous dissent is instead about creating alternatives that in the long run can threaten vested interests and the status quo in unconventional ways. As we discuss subsequently, a combination of dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent may be necessary to support social transformations as an effective response to climate change. DISCUSSION The clock is ticking, and the future for young people today will be largely decided by generations that will be gone before the most severe impacts of climate change are felt. Dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent represent three complementary and mutually reinforcing pathways for youth to express dissent, agency, and influence over their future. Table 1 summarizes some of the distinguishing factors among the three types, as well as the risks associated with each of them, as discussed previously. The point of this typology is not to advocate for one type of dissent over another, but rather to draw attention to the ways that the three types actively work together as expressions of dissent through climate change activism among youth. Indeed, most successful social movements, such as the civil rights, women’s rights, and LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) rights movements, involved all three types of dissent, each of which contributed to reclaiming, reframing, and transforming previously stigmatized accounts of group membership. The degrowth movement, presented previously as an example of dangerous dissent, illustrates the way that multiple types of dissent can support each other. It was launched as a challenge to continuous economic growth, with the goal of realizing a voluntary societal shrinking of production and consumption consistent with social and ecological sustainability. Demaria et al. (2013) draw attention to the diversity of ideas, strategies, and https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Table 1. Summary of three types of dissent and their distinguishing factors. Type of Climate Change Activism Dutiful Dissent Disruptive Dissent Dangerous Dissent Orientation to prevailing power relationships Works within existing systems and power structures to effect policy change Contests prevailing social norms and policy practices to redirect policy and change outcomes Creates and (re-)generates new and alternative systems, subverting existing power structures by mobilizing citizens around new norms and values Approach Reformist Oppositional Propositional Example of activism Helping university to develop an ethical investment policy Protesting outside a local bank to get them to divest from petroleum industries Setting up an alternative local currency that does not rely on existing financial institutions Strengths Provides insights into how current institutions and systems function Offers direct access to those holding power Builds legitimacy and authority within existing system Increases awareness and engagement Highlights justice and equity dimensions Focuses on underlying causes of climate change Opens spaces for new actors and voices Bypasses existing systems and can potentially undermine them Demonstrates viability of alternatives Tends to be “off the radar” from those threatened by alternatives Risks Co-optation; enrollment in the reward system of current structures; danger of normalizing the status quo Polarization; promotion of antagonisms rather than alternatives Creation of “parallel systems” that are progressive but do not challenge status quo or that risk being co-opted to reproduce business as usual actors involved in the degrowth movement. By identifying, naming, and valuing different socio-environmental futures and proposing radical change through alternative meanings and ways of doing things, the movement can indeed be considered a powerful example of dangerous dissent. However, elements of disruptive dissent are also visible in the movement’s oppositional activism, as well as in the critique of the hegemony of economic growth. At the same time, there are also reformist strategies within the degrowth movement; dutiful dissent can be expressed by working for social transformation within existing institutions or by calling for their preservation and reform, e.g., defending democratic institutions while supporting the development of a more participatory democracy (Demaria et al. 2013). According to Demaria et al. (2013), it is precisely the innovative and coherent combination of heterogeneous concerns, demands, means, and actors within the movements that keep them dynamic and innovative. Contradictions and conflicts may create tensions within the degrowth movement, but when they are recognized and valued, they contribute to the movement’s continuous evolution. An awareness of the different modes of dissent and their strengths, limits, and implications for climate activism among youth is critical. Education plays an important role in empowering youth with the knowledge and skills to engage effectively with climate change (Westheimer and Khane 2004, Westheimer 2008). Youth education on climate change often focuses on providing information about the climate system and the impacts and consequences of climate change for society. Education for dissent and action on climate change requires critical thinking, including reflection on individual and collective attitudes and approaches to power, as well as greater attention to issues of social and environmental justice. Critical thinking is essential to challenging the assumptions and interests that maintain business as usual and for developing strategies and actions that directly confront those with vested interests in systems and structures that perpetuate climate change and social inequality (Mitchell 2007). Hytten (2016) argues that studying and participating in civic activism, social movements, collective mobilization, and resistance can provide valuable resources for deepening democracy. We suggest that through direct experiences with dutiful, disruptive, or dangerous dissent, youth may gain important insights into social change, systems change, citizenship, and democracy that many education systems are currently failing to provide (Hayward 2012). CONCLUSION Our goal has been to draw attention to the complex relationships of power that young activists are frequently required to navigate and to the varieties and likely consequences of diverse expressions of dissent. The typology we presented supports critical reflection on the effectiveness of diverse strategies of youth dissent, and as philosopher Hannah Arendt discussed in The Human Condition (Arendt and Canovan 1998:5), it encourages us “to think about what we are doing.” If the goal is to change the system, not the climate, it may be necessary to do more than just educate young people about climate change and encourage youth activism. Instead, it may be time to recognize the many facets, forms, spaces, and expressions of youth dissent. Despite diverse expressions, all forms of political dissent suggest a belief or presumption of agency, that is, the ability of individuals to imagine a different future and a sense of purposeful expression of opinions or actions that are at variance with dominant or commonly held beliefs. By drawing attention to multiple ways for youth to express their agency both within and outside of traditional political processes, we highlight the ways that they are challenging the interests and power relationships that are perpetuating an unsustainable future. However, not all forms of dissent and climate activism are equally challenging to the status quo, and not all forms of dissent can be interpreted in a positive light. Indeed, dissent can be manufactured as a result of failed expectations and frustration with the lack of alternatives or as a result of a lack of voice and access to democratic processes (Herman and Chomsky 2008). If there are no constructive outlets for dissent, there is a risk of moving toward withdrawal, inaction, or angry violence. Within the context of climate change, such https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ anger may be directed against other marginalized people, such as migrants fleeing violent conflict, economic impoverishment, and environmental degradation. As we have emphasized, the lines between dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent are fluid rather than fixed. Rather than representing “boxes” or “categories” for classifying discrete actions, these ideal types can help us to understand and analyze the complexity of youth activism on climate change. The typology may be equally relevant to “adult” expressions of dissent. It may be particularly interesting to investigate whether the lines between “youth” and “adult” are becoming blurred as young people take greater responsibility for their future, while many adults behave as children, protecting their toys and games as the climate continues to warm. However, more empirical research is needed in different geographic and social contexts to identify how different modes of dissent are both evolving and challenging existing cultural, social, economic, and political systems, while also creating viable alternatives. There is no doubt that the visions and values of young people have to be seen, heard, prioritized, and realized through climate change activism. We argue that young people will be better placed to reclaim, reframe, and transform their future in a changing climate through critical reflection and a combination of dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent. 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Rusten, http://dx.doi.org/10.1017%2FCBO9781139149389.002 http://dx.doi.org/10.1017%2FCBO9781139149389.002 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F13676260802247573 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F13504622.2011.637157 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F13504622.2011.637157 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390%2Fsu5052191 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390%2Fsu5052191 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F00958964.2015.1021662 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F00958964.2015.1021662 http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jan/22/why-i-protest-demonstrations-five-activists-direct-action http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jan/22/why-i-protest-demonstrations-five-activists-direct-action http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jan/22/why-i-protest-demonstrations-five-activists-direct-action http://dx.doi.org/10.1093%2Fpa%2Fgsr055 http://dx.doi.org/10.1093%2Fpa%2Fgsr055 http://dx.doi.org/10.1126%2Fscience.aah3443 http://dx.doi.org/10.1126%2Fscience.aah3443 https://hbr.org/2017/01/how-protests-become-successful-social-movements https://hbr.org/2017/01/how-protests-become-successful-social-movements http://dx.doi.org/10.1002%2Fwcc.275 http://dx.doi.org/10.1002%2Fwcc.275 http://www.tellus.org/pub/Schor_Debating_the_Sharing_Economy.pdf http://www.tellus.org/pub/Schor_Debating_the_Sharing_Economy.pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F03057260508560213 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F03057260508560213 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007%2F1-4020-3808-9_5 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F03066150.2017.1339693 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F08039410.2010.497934 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F08039410.2010.497934 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ editors. 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PS: Political Science & Politics 45(3):456-461. http://dx. doi.org/10.1017/S1049096512000339 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080%2F14742837.2011.545229 http://dx.doi.org/10.1017%2FS1752971911000248 https://www.psychology.org.au/Assets/Files/strazdins-Skeat-2011-cc-aracy-report.pdf https://www.psychology.org.au/Assets/Files/strazdins-Skeat-2011-cc-aracy-report.pdf https://www.psychology.org.au/Assets/Files/strazdins-Skeat-2011-cc-aracy-report.pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1177%2F0263276409358728 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007%2F978-90-481-3106-8_11 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007%2F978-90-481-3106-8_11 http://dx.doi.org/10.1177%2F1746197913475765 http://www.gutenberg.org/files/71/71-h/71-h.htm http://www.gutenberg.org/files/71/71-h/71-h.htm https://www.wmo.int/youth/sites/default/files/youth_pub_2013_en_m.pdf https://www.wmo.int/youth/sites/default/files/youth_pub_2013_en_m.pdf http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/documents/youth/fact-sheets/youth-definition.pdf http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/documents/youth/fact-sheets/youth-definition.pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1057%2F9780230274754 http://dx.doi.org/10.1057%2F9780230274754 http://dx.doi.org/10.3102%2F00028312041002237 http://dx.doi.org/10.3102%2F00028312041002237 http://dx.doi.org/10.1177%2F0013916509335163 http://dx.doi.org/10.1017%2FS1049096512000339 http://dx.doi.org/10.1017%2FS1049096512000339 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Title Abstract Introduction Youth and climate change The politics of dissent Dissenting youth Dissent: dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous Dutiful dissent Disruptive dissent Dangerous dissent Discussion Conclusion Responses to this article Acknowledgments Literature cited Table1 
work_bt43c3xlm5cndo2ljd3oavrvpu	----	61 From Jacob Bronowski, Director of the Council for Biology in Human Affairs at the Salk Institute, some thoughts on "Technology and Culture in Evolution" (American Scholar, Spring): "The fact, the dreadful fact, is that the assertion by those who speak for a counterculture that tech- nology distorts human nature is not only false, as biology and as history. It is a deliberate act of mis- chief, for it is a recapitulation in modern dress of the anti-intellectual, irrational and illiberal prej- udices that have always been endemic in America. In the past this homespun obscurantism has been a defensive faith for the old; now it is being sold to the young as a respectable brand of snake oil that will dull the itch of ignorance. . . . "What we have done, and should be proud to own, is to make the benefits of technology (in the sense of a high standard of health, convenience, privacy and information) a$ much a human right as life and liberty. . . . Of course, the proliferation of the ap- paratus to do these things, the water mains and the sewers, the apartment houses, the roads and the tele- phone wires, the tin cans and the gift wrappings, for a time has turned the landscape cockeyed. But that distortion is not the price of technology—it is the price of revolution anywhere, at any time, like the guillotine springing up in the Place de la Con- corde. . . ." PAMPHILUS Correspondence [from p. 2] were too young to hear it will come to understand the truly radical and revolutionary meanings of it. Otherwise, change will be sought by "radicals" who are creatures of the culture's overemphasis of vi- olence, and their "revolution" will produce no real change at all. Pat Watters Southern Regional Council, Atlanta, Ga. The End of Progress? To the Editors: Noel Perrin's "The End of Progress" (Worldview, April) brings to mind the story about the private tutor who tried to teach her wealthy charge about the life of the poor. The little rich girl sat down to write a story, which began: "Once upon a time there was a very poor family. Everybody was poor. The Papa was poor, the Mama was poor, the children were poor, the cook was poor, the maid was poor, the butler was poor, the gardener was poor— Everybody was poor." Members of one class cannot help judging mem- bers of other classes in terms of their own class expectations and values. Of all forms of ethnocentrism, class ethnocentrism is one of the most dif- ficult to restrain. The only two qualitative changes in social living that man has ever known are the agricultural and the industrial-scientific revolutions. Nei- ther has attracted much or very fav- orable attention from literary intel- lectuals or pure scientists. . . . Although Perrin cautions that he doesn't feel confident of his abilities as prophet, he assures his readers that he thinks he can see correctly "the assumptions that Americans, and people of the developed world in general, have lumped together un- der the name of progress." He main- tains that we are at a transitional state in our history that will be noted as the "end of the age of lin- ear movement known as progress, and the beginning of a new age of that universal recycling known as process." This new period will be a time when people recognize their animal instincts and enjoy the pro- cess of living from day to day rather than pursue material goals that have proven to be hollow victories, once attained. . . . A bucolic Utopia like that enjoyed by the British poet of nature William Cowper and his American counterpart Henry David Thoreau awaits those willing to drop out of the race for material success. Cowper and Thoreau, however, made the choice voluntarily. . . . The world's underprivileged would also appreciate a choice. If Perrin, as a matter of personal choice, goes into the White Moun- tains and exists the way much of the world's lower class does—half- starved, frequently sick and dis- eased, illiterate and prone to die prematurely—then he can use the editorial "we" and claim to be speak- ing for mankind. What he does, however, is to propose that the choice be imposed upon others who are not free to choose. . . . Almost unanimously, in any country where they have had the chance, the poor have chosen to move from farm to factory. Instead of losing freedom to in- dustrialization, the common man has gained it through this process, as witness Western Europe, the United States and Japan. The case of the, rural-Southern Negro can hardly be a better illustration. Although the Bostonian and the New Yorker may lament overcrowding and wish for a return to nature, he could hardly be forced to live in rural areas in the South and Midwest that have con- sistently lost population to urban- industrial areas. The historian Carl Becker once derided the proclivity of some of the younger members of his profession to predict "without fear—and without research." . . . I, too, lack confidence in my ability as a prophet. My sug- gestion, nonetheless, is to look at the situation of the entire world pop- ulation at present in terms of health, education, wealth and general well- being and compare it with any other period in our history. One cannot escape the indisputable truth that the situation as a whole, rather than being catastrophic, is better than ever and that there still exists a great deal of room to expand. My es- timation is that people looking back will see our day as one of a rapid in- crease in the well-being of the world's dispossessed in spite of admonitions from the established classes that man has already ac- quired so much power, knowledge, freedom, life expectancy and refine- 62 ment that these benefits are begin- ning to turn into a burden. Rolland Dewing Chairman, Division of Social Sciences, Chadron State College, Neb. Noel Perrin Responds: Mr. Dewing has a good point, that one should not renounce things on behalf of other people. An American who owns a car, as I do (a truck, anyway), looks rather odd telling Malays they will be happiest if they keep their water buffalo. Mr. Dewing's main point, how- ever, that industrialization and prog- ress have always produced net ben- efits for the common man—and still do—will not bear scrutiny. The ex- amples he offers are Western Eu- rope, the United States, and Japan. Of course industrialization has pro- duced benefits in all three places, or it would not have occurred. But if Mr. Dewing cares to examine the quality of life in England, say, in 1772 and then in 1972, what will he find? He will find that the 50 million Englishmen now living do indeed have better medical care, a higher literacy rate, faster means of getting from London to Brighton. But he will also find that the 7 million En- glishmen living in 1772 had a better diet—or at least one more to their taste—since present luxuries such as lobsters, oysters and roast beef were then available to the common man. He will also find that they had some- what more sunlight (yes, literally), a humane noise level, easy access to open countryside, etc. etc. As for Japan, the great Japanese scholar at Columbia, Ivan Morris, has remarked that it took the Japan- ese about 2,000 years to create their landscape and one generation (1945- 72) to destroy it. Certainly it is true that the Japanese are moving from farm to factory. How much choice is involved is another matter. I myself would explain a good deal of the move by the fact that because of in- dustrialization it is no longer pos- sible for most small farmers to make a comfortable living: Did American blacks want to leave the rural South and move to urban ghettos? Yes, plainly they sometimes did. But I do not think Mr. Dewing can safely ignore the role played by cotton- picking machinery, by the battery chicken farm (which ended pin money for the black farmer's wife with thirty hens), by the effects tractors have had on mules. The example I want to end with, though, is India. Mr. Dewing thinks that "people looking back will see our day as one of a rapid increase in the well-being of the world's dis- possessed." I presume he would agree with me that the most dis- possessed large population in the world is to be found in Calcutta and throughout India. Are people there enjoying a rapid increase in well- being? Not in their own estimation. I once heard the Indian ambassador to the U.S. make a speech to a large audience of American doctors in which he blamed most of the ills of India on Western science in general and English and American doctors in particular. He gave them credit for good and sometimes even noble intentions. But their intentions didn't alter the facts, he said. Which were (I quote from memory) that India in 1750 had a stable population of 150 million, enough food to go around, and sufficient surplus wealth to at- tract the avarice of both England and France. Then British govern- ment doctors and English and Amer- ican medical missionaries began to introduce a rather lopsided "pro8~ ress" in death control. So that now there are around 500 million In- dians, a large proportion of them underfed, underhoused, underevery- thing. Some advance. If Mr. Dewing can really look at India (or Puerto Rico or Tahiti or New Jersey) and say that the lower class in these places is better off than it was a century ago, then he and I have very different ideas in- deed of what it is to be well off. African Literature To the Editors: One cannot help but feel distressed at how "black" a picture Kofi Awoonor draws of cur- rent African politics and ideology ("Africa's Literature Beyond Pol- itics," March). . . . His account of the genesis of negritude is accurate. But negritude has spawned a brood of interests in black cultural values, and some of these have proved both scientific and salutary. (I have in mind current interest in the nexus of cultural continuity between Africa and the "New World.") More crucial is Awoonor's view of pessimism in the post-colonial Af- rican novel, and his dichotomy of (either?) political crusading and (or?) illuminating life for all people. There is much in current or past Af- rican life worthy of disillusionment, sadness and anger, and sometimes the culprits are identifiable. All these can be mentioned, even stressed, without despair. They are, for ex- ample, in Peter Palangyo's Dying in the Sun and Robert Serumaga's Re- turn to the Shadows. Is description of the negative without proposing a program pessimism; is "fingering" the causes political crusading? Fur- thermore, there are novels of tradi- tional (Legson Kayira's Jingala), colonial (Mongo Beti's King Laz- arus) and independent life (Gabriel Ruhumbika's Village in Uhuru) full of criticism, love and joy. Many of my examples may be tak- en as too "light" for comparison with works of Armah, Awoonor or Soyin- ka. Such dismissal will automatically distort our view of African literature. Furthermore it implies criteria of form and (individualistic) content derived from Euro-America's haute cuisine of Kultur. African novelists most attuned to this esthetic do in- deed produce Fragments or Voices in the Dark—the Western fashion. Most literature which has ap- pealed to the world at large was written to, for, and of a parochial culture; most written to illuminate life for all people has been unin- spired nonsense. Let us reject even veiled calls to universalism. It is the reader's job to be "universal," to find illumination in books not writ- ten with him in mind. How dis- tressing it would be if Western read- ers accepted only familiar, psyche- delic light from black Africa. David F. Dorsey, Jr. Department of Classics, New York University 
work_buvyf4k5azcs5nbb67fk7pyjii	----	Intended and Unintended Life 11-03-12 1     This is a preprint of an article published in The Philosophical Forum, Vol. 43, No. 4 (Winter 2012), 395-403. The definitive version is available at www.blackwell-synergy.com. A direct link to the article is http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1467-9191.2012.00434.x/abstract. A companion article, entitled “God’s Silence as an Epistemological Concern,” was published in the same issue (pp. 383-393) and is available at http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1467-9191.2012.00433.x/abstract. INTENDED AND UNINTENDED LIFE1 BROOKE ALAN TRISEL Some people feel threatened by the thought that human life might have arisen by chance. For example, the philosopher of religion William Lane Craig argues that, without God: [M]an and the universe would then be simple accidents of chance, thrust into existence for no reason. Without God the universe is the result of a cosmic accident, a chance explosion. There is no reason for which it exists. As for man, he is a freak of nature – a blind product of matter plus time plus chance. . . . We are victims of a kind of genetic and environmental roulette. . . . If God does not exist, then you are just a miscarriage of nature, thrust into a purposeless universe to live a purposeless life.2 What does it mean to say that life arose “by chance”? Should we feel threatened if life originated by chance? Regarding whether one’s individual life can be meaningful and worth living, does it matter how life originated? These are the questions that I will address in this article. Before proceeding to address these questions, a distinction should be made between whether human life has a purpose and whether one’s individual life is purposeful. Human life could have been                                                                                                                             1  I would like to thank an anonymous referee and Thaddeus Metz for providing helpful comments on an earlier version of this paper.   2 William Lane Craig, “The Absurdity of Life Without God,” The Meaning of Life, E. D. Klemke (ed.), (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 45. 2     created for a purpose, yet an individual’s life could be devoid of purposes or meaning. Conversely, human life could have been unintended, yet an individual’s life could be purposeful. Christians believe that God has a plan for the universe and that one’s life is meaningful to the extent that one helps God carry out this plan. Theists may acknowledge that each of us, as individuals, can find meaning in life through certain actions, experiences, or relationships. However, they contend that, without God, human life would not have an “objective” meaning or “ultimate” significance. In the following sections, I will first provide an overview of contemporary research regarding the origin of life, including discussing three possible scenarios by which life might have arisen. I will then attempt to demonstrate that, in regards to whether one’s individual life can be meaningful, it does not matter whether life was intended or arose by chance. AN OVERVIEW OF RESEARCH ON THE ORIGIN OF LIFE Evolution via genetic mutation with natural selection would explain the diversity of life on Earth. But what is the explanation for how life originated? Iris Fry has conducted a detailed review of the field.3 She notes that the majority of origin-of-life researchers reject the view that life arose by chance. They believe, as does Fry, that the probability that a single cell or even a primitive polypeptide could have arisen by chance is so low that it is implausible. The word “chance” has various meanings. In rejecting the view that life arose by chance, the scientists are not denying that there might be indeterministic processes operating in quantum physics. Rather, the scientists are denying that, at the macroscopic level, a chance collision of simple molecules in a primordial soup could have generated a structure capable of reproduction. Most scientists do not believe that the requirements for life “fell together just by a fluke, like so many dice tumbling out of a bag and                                                                                                                           3 Iris Fry, The Emergence of Life on Earth: A Historical and Scientific Overview (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2000). 3     landing all sixes,” as Roger White indicates.4 Although the majority of the researchers do not believe that life arose by chance, they also do not believe that life was created by intelligent design. The researchers and Fry support the following view, as expressed by Fry: “Rather it involved the working of physical and chemical mechanisms responsible for the self-organization of matter into living systems. Such mechanisms, given the appropriate environmental conditions, could have produced similar results elsewhere in the universe.”5 Some scientists, such as Stuart Kauffman, believe that the existence of life was unplanned, but inevitable, given the apparent self-organizing capabilities of matter. For the purposes of the following discussion, I will classify the preceding views as follows: 1. Life arose by chance and thus was unintended. 2. The emergence of life was highly likely or inevitable, but unintended. 3. Life was created by God or another intelligent designer. I will not argue for one of these views. The point that I will attempt to make is that, in regards to whether one’s life can be meaningful, it does not matter which of these three views is correct. SHOULD WE FEEL THREATENED IF LIFE WAS NOT INEVITABLE? Kauffman, a molecular biologist who does not believe in a supernatural God, writes: Random variation, selection sifting. . . . Here lies the brooding sense of accident, of historical contingency, of design by elimination. At least physics . . . implied a deep order, an inevitability. Biology has come to seem a science of the accidental, the ad hoc, and we just                                                                                                                           4 Roger White is puzzled why scientists are so reluctant to believe that life could have originated by chance. See White, “Does Origins of Life Research Rest on a Mistake?” Noûs 41, no. 3 (2007), 453. 5 Fry, 7. 4     one of the fruits of this ad hocery. Were the tape played over . . . the forms of organisms would surely differ dramatically. We humans . . . need never have occurred.6 What is it about “chance” that some people find threatening? If chance was involved in the emergence of life, this suggests that life was unintended and that it was not inevitable that life would develop. In discussing the advances in science and the resulting feeling of alienation that some people have experienced, John Cottingham, a philosopher and theist, writes: “the modern scientific universe . . . is one which has no relationship at all to our human concerns, our moral and spiritual values, or the direction of our lives. It is just ‘out there’ – silent, enigmatic. The fear is not about size, but about alienation; shut up, trapped like a speck in a immeasurable cosmos that encloses us but is utterly indifferent to us . . . .”7 As mentioned, Kauffman believes that molecules have the capability to self-organize into living entities. He is heartened by the thought that this purported self-organizing capability may have made the emergence of life inevitable. He writes: “If we are, in ways we do not yet see, natural expressions of matter and energy coupled together in nonequilibrium systems, if life in its abundance were bound to arise, not as an incalculably improbable accident, but as an expected fulfillment of the natural order, then we truly are at home in the universe.”8 Kauffman’s comments imply that we would be alienated from, or not “at home” in, the universe if life arose by chance. Even if life arose by chance, the universe contained the potential to create human life, as demonstrated by our existence. Furthermore, human life is comprised, and nourished and sustained by, materials from the universe and is a part of the universe. This is true regardless of whether life arose by chance or was inevitable. Therefore, there is as much reason for us to feel “at home” in the universe if life arose by chance, as there would be if life were inevitable.                                                                                                                           6 Stuart Kauffman, At Home in the Universe: The Search for the Laws of Self-Organization and Complexity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 7. 7 John Cottingham, The Meaning of Life (London: Routledge, 2003), 35.   8  Kauffman, 20.   5     We need not feel threatened if human life was not inevitable. If the Big Bang theory of creation is correct, as Kauffman seems to believe, and the creation of the universe was not inevitable, then the creation of human life would not have been inevitable either. Whether life would have arisen would have depended on whether the universe came into existence. Even if God exists and he created the universe and humanity, it would not have been inevitable that human life would occur. God could have decided not to bring the universe and humanity into existence. SHOULD WE FEEL THREATENED IF LIFE WAS UNINTENDED? As argued, we need not feel threatened if the emergence of life was not inevitable. Should we feel threatened if human life was unintended? In discussing the origin of life, it is easy to lose sight of how each of us came to exist in this world. Your birth into this world was solely dependent on the actions of human beings (i.e., your parents). It is ironic that people care about whether life in general was intended, but may not have ever wondered whether their own existence was intended by their parents. In the literature, human beings and the first life-form are subsumed under the term “life,” which leads the discussion to center on the question of whether life was intended. No distinction has been made between whether we, as individuals, were intended by our parents and whether the creation of the first life-form was intended. One reason that it is important to make this distinction is because one’s own existence may have been unintended by one’s parents and yet the first life-form could have been intended. Alternatively, the first life-form could have been unintended whereas one’s own existence may have been intended by one’s parents. The remaining two possibilities are that both one’s own existence and the first organism were intended or that neither of them were intended. “Parental intent,” as I will call it, will refer to whether parents intended to have the child they brought into existence. The issues surrounding parental intent are pertinent to the question of whether divine intent is a necessary condition for one’s life to be meaningful for the following reason. If it does not matter to us whether or not our parents - the most immediate cause of our existence – intended to 6     create us, as I suspect, then why should it matter whether there was some remote intent behind the creation of the first unicellular organism(s) billions of years ago? Before exploring this question, I will provide a little background on the subject of unintended births. It is estimated that nearly half (49%) of all births in the United States in 2001 were the result of an unintended pregnancy.9 Unintended pregnancies include those that were “mistimed,” meaning that the woman wanted to become pregnant at some point, but not when it occurred. They also include pregnancies that were “unwanted,” meaning that the woman did not want to become pregnant at any time. Because unintended pregnancies may lead to abortions, and to negative health and social outcomes for the children who are brought into existence, educational efforts are made by the Institute of Medicine and other organizations to prevent unintended pregnancies.10 However, the Institute of Medicine also acknowledges that “an unintended pregnancy can result in a much anticipated birth and a cherished child.”11 I suspect that many people live their lives without ever wondering whether their own birth and existence were intended by their parents. There is likely another group of people who at times may have wondered whether they were intentionally created, but it has not caused them enough concern to seek out                                                                                                                           9 L. Finer & S. Henshaw, “Disparities in Rates of Unintended Pregnancy in the United States, 1994 and 2001,” Perspectives on Sexual and Reproductive Health 38, no. 2 (2006), 90-96.   10  Some intended and unintended newborns are brought into this world under deplorable conditions, such as extreme poverty, which can result in suffering by the new people. For further discussion and an examination of proposed solutions to this problem, see Brooke Alan Trisel, “How Best to Prevent Future Persons From Suffering: A Reply to Benatar,” South African Journal of Philosophy 31, no. 1 (2012), 79-93.   11 Sarah Brown and Leon Eisenberg (eds.), The Best Intentions: Unintended Pregnancy and the Well-Being of Children and Families (Washington: National Academy Press, 1995), 22-23. 7     an answer to their question. A third group of people may have been concerned enough to discuss this matter with their parents. If they were told that they were unintended, but loved nonetheless, they may have initially felt a little humbled, but I seriously doubt that this information precipitated an existential crisis or prevented them from leading a meaningful life. Instead of feeling distraught by knowing that they were not intentionally created, it likely prompted them to reflect on how fortunate they were that events happened as they did such that it provided them with the opportunity to experience life and this world even though it was not planned and will not last forever. Of course, if a person was told that they were unintended, unwanted, and unloved, then this information would likely cause psychological distress and may even lead this person to believe that his or her life is not worth living. What seems to matter to people is not whether they were created as a result of intent, but whether they were accepted, nurtured, and loved after they arrived into the world. If there is support for this hypothesis, which could be tested, and it does not matter to us whether there was parental intent behind the creation of our own existence, then it also should not matter whether there was remote intent behind the creation of the first organism(s). In response, one might argue that it does matter whether one’s own existence was intended by one’s parents and, therefore, that there is no inconsistency in maintaining that divine intent is a necessary condition for life to be meaningful. There does not, however, appear to be support for this argument. Albert Einstein is often mentioned as someone who led a meaningful life.12 In judging whether his life was meaningful, no one would ever ask “Was his existence intended?” Whether or not a person’s existence was intended is irrelevant to whether this person’s life is meaningful. Having been unintended by one’s parents does not detract from the meaning in one’s life. Furthermore, being intended does not add meaning to one’s life. In some situations, being created for a                                                                                                                           12 See, for example, Susan Wolf, “Happiness and Meaning: Two Aspects of the Good Life,” Social Philosophy and Policy 14 (1997), 209. 8     purpose could even constrain the meaning in a person’s life, such as if a child was created to provide assistance on a farm, or in a different family-operated business, and was not permitted to pursue his or her own purposes in life. One might agree that parental intent does not matter and yet maintain that divine intent is necessary for human life to be “truly” meaningful. For example, one who believes that a personal God created the first life-form, established the process of evolution, and then let it proceed on its own without any further intervention, could respond that divine intent is necessary for life to be “truly” meaningful because it reflects the intent of a necessary being whereas parental intent does not. As long as human life, in general, was intended by God, then human life would purportedly have an “objective meaning” regardless of whether the existence of a particular individual was intended by his or her parents or God. Along these lines, one might argue that it does matter whether the first organism(s) were intended because all life on Earth may have descended from this life-form. Therefore, if the first life-form were intended, this would show, one might argue, that humankind was also intended by God. Even if it could somehow be shown that the first life-form was the product of intent, this would only demonstrate that this particular life-form was intended. It would not, however, establish that all subsequent life, including the development of human life, was also intended by God. Let us suppose that God came forth and sought to answer our questions. In response to the question of whether humanity was intended, suppose that God responds: “I created the first life-form and the process of evolution because I was curious to see what life-forms would evolve. Although I did not intend to create humanity, all forms of life are good and worthy of love.” If God responded in this manner, I doubt that finding out that humanity was unintended would lead theists to conclude that life is not “truly” meaningful. I think that theists would be comforted that God came forth to answer their questions and that he affirmed that all forms of life are good. If so, then this suggests that what theists are ultimately seeking is not for human life to have been intended, but to receive an affirmation of the 9     goodness of life from God. This desire to receive such an affirmation is reflected in Genesis 1.31 (NRSV), where it indicates: “God saw everything that he had made and indeed, it was very good.” Is there a need to receive an affirmation of the goodness of human life from a superior being? If there is no superior being to provide us with this affirmation, it does not mean that our lives are bad or not truly meaningful. Rather, it simply means that our judgments about our lives cannot be confirmed. However, if we conclude, using objective criteria, that our lives are good and that one’s life can be meaningful, the lack of a confirmation from a superior being does not, in any way, undermine or invalidate this judgment. WOULD BEING ASSIGNED A PURPOSE BE DEGRADING? In the following well-known and influential passage, Kurt Baier had argued that having been created for a purpose by a god would be degrading to human beings: We do not disparage a dog when we say that it has no purpose, is not a sheep dog or a watch dog. . . . Man is in a different category, however. To attribute to a human being a purpose in that sense is not neutral, let alone complementary: it is offensive. It is degrading for a man to be regarded as merely serving a purpose. If, at a garden party, I ask a man in livery, ‘What is your purpose?’ I am insulting him. I might as well have asked, ‘What are you for?’ Such questions reduce him to the level of a gadget, a domestic animal, or perhaps a slave. I imply that we allot to him . . . the aims which he is to pursue; that his wishes . . . are to count for little or nothing.”13 In response, Thaddeus Metz has argued that it would not necessarily be disrespectful for God to                                                                                                                             13  Kurt Baier, “The Meaning of Life,” The Meaning of Life, E. D. Klemke (ed.), (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 120.   10     have assigned human beings a purpose.14 God could assign us a purpose in such a way that it would be respectful. I believe that this is correct. However, as I argue in a companion article in this issue,15 God has not clearly informed us of his purpose or our role in carrying out this purpose. Furthermore, despite the conflicting interpretations of the Bible over the last 2000 years, God has not sought to clarify his purpose or our role, which raises doubt whether there is such a purpose. If God exists and he created humanity as a means to fulfilling a purpose, but then chose not to clarify his purpose or our role, leaving people in a state of doubt, then this would be disrespectful to human beings. A HIGHLY IMPROBABLE OUTCOME We need not feel threatened if life arose by chance. There are many natural occurrences that people value, not because they were intended and it was inevitable that they would occur, but for the opposite reasons. They are valued, in part, because it was highly improbable that they would occur, which makes them special. One such occurrence that comes to mind is the natural emergence of rainbows. Thoreau states it eloquently when he writes: “Once it chanced that I stood in the very abutment of a rainbow’s arch, which filled the lower stratum of the atmosphere, tinging the grass and leaves around, and dazzling me as if I looked through colored crystal.”16 Suppose that a mayor of a city, using a projector, decided to display a rainbow above the city at all times. The rainbow did not arise by chance and was designed by an intelligent being for a purpose.                                                                                                                             14  Thaddeus Metz, “Could God’s Purpose be the Source of Life’s Meaning?” Religious Studies 36 (2000), 293-313. His discussion can be found on pp. 297-300.         15  Brooke Alan Trisel, “God’s Silence as an Epistemological Concern,” The Philosophical Forum 43, no. 4 (2012).   16 Henry David Thoreau, Walden, Stephen Fender (ed.), (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 182. 11     However, this rainbow would be valued much less by people than a naturally occurring, unintended rainbow. If intelligent life arose by chance and is extremely rare, this is not a reason to disparage life, as Craig does when he refers to human beings as “victims” of a roulette and a “miscarriage of nature.” Rather, it is a reason to appreciate and value our existence. Life is not a “miscarriage of nature,” but it is “at home” in the universe, as argued earlier. It was once thought that animal life might be widespread throughout the universe. As Peter Ward and Donald Brownlee write: Ever since Danish astronomer Nicholas Copernicus plucked it from the center of the Universe and put it in orbit around the sun, Earth has been periodically trivialized. We have gone from the center of the Universe to a small planet orbiting a small, undistinguished star in an unremarkable region of the Milky Way galaxy – a view now formalized by the so-called Principle of Mediocrity, which holds that we are not the one planet with life but one of many. Various estimates for the number of other intelligent civilizations range from none to 10 trillion.17 Ward and Brownlee hypothesize that microbial life is common throughout the universe, but that animal life is exceedingly rare in the universe, perhaps existing only on Earth. A highly improbable set of conditions and sequence of events resulted in the development of intelligent life, they argue, including that Earth was a suitable distance from the sun to allow liquid to exist on the surface of the planet. Andrew Watson has refined a stochastic model to derive probability estimates for passing through critical steps in the evolution of complex life.18 Watson argues that if complex life evolved early in the habitable period, then this would suggest that the evolution from simple to complex life was likely to                                                                                                                           17 Peter D. Ward & Donald Brownlee, Rare Earth: Why Complex Life is Uncommon in the Universe (New York: Copernicus, 2000), xxiii-xxiv. 18 Andrew J. Watson, “Implications of an Anthropic Model of Evolution for Emergence of Complex Life and Intelligence,” Astrobiology 8 (November 1, 2008), 175-185. 12     occur. However, he writes: “it is now believed that we evolved late in the habitable period; this suggests that our evolution is a comparatively unlikely occurrence.”19 Watson indicates that his analysis lends theoretical support to the “Rare Earth” hypothesis of Ward and Brownlee. He concludes: “there is no need to postulate any directionality to evolution; and, in general, the kind of outcome seen on Earth may be vanishingly unlikely.”20 As adults going about a daily routine, it is easy to lose that sense of wonder that we had as young children. One way to reclaim that sense of wonder is by reflecting on the improbability of human life. Science may reveal that intelligent life is extremely rare in this universe and is perhaps unique. If we take into account what scientists are learning about humanity’s place in the universe, we see that the evolution of human life was much more improbable than the rainbows that dazzle us with their spontaneous arising, beauty, and fleeting nature. It is liberating and inspiring to think that one’s own life, and life in general, may have been highly improbable and unintended outcomes.                                                                                                                           19 Ibid., 177. 20 Ibid., 183. 
work_bxmdddjj4bhfbp7gcwvwhere3y	----	D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 CHALLENGING ASSUMPTIONS Silences and Double Binds: Why the Theories of John Dewey and Paulo Freire Cannot Contribute to Revitalizing the Commons C. A. Bowers The growing awareness that the rate and nature of change in the world’s cultures is not sustainable by the Earth’s ecosystems now makes it possible to ask questions about certain ideas of John Dewey and Paulo Freire that were overlooked by earlier followers and critics. Indeed, a case can be made that the recent revival of interest in Dewey is partly due to the assumption that he has been overlooked as an early environmental thinker. 1 A recent work by Moacir Gadotti, the Director of the Instituto Paulo Freire in Brazil, makes a similar attempt to represent Freire as a leading environmental educator. 2 However, both Dewey and Gadotti (and by extension, Freire) fail to give sufficient value to differences in cultural knowledge systems. Instead, they postulate that edu- cation can create a planetary consciousness only by not degenerating into a process of cultural transmission. This was integral to Dewey’s philosophy of education and became a hallmark of Freire’s argument for an emancipatory pedagogy. These efforts raise the basic question of whether the cultural assumptions that both Dewey and Freire took for granted doom their efforts to failure from an environmental or, to be more exact, an ecological perspective. I will argue that in spite of their concern with social justice, Dewey and Freire shared a number of assumptions with today’s proponents of globalizing the industrial/consumer-based culture which drives planetary ecological breakdown. I begin by summarizing four major trends that put our collective future at risk. This summary is intended to serve as a reference point for assessing whether the pro-environmental interpretations of the core ideas of Dewey and Freire can turn them into sources of resistance to these destructive trends. 1 Andrew Light and Eric Katz (eds.), Environmental Pragmatism (New York: Routledge, 1996). 2 Moacir Gadotti, Pedagogy of the Earth and Culture of Sustainability (Sao Paulo: Instituto Paulo Freire, 2002), pp. 1 �11. ISSN 1045-5752 print=ISSN 1548-3290 online=06=030071-17 # 2006 The Center for Political Ecology www.cnsjournal.org DOI: 10.1080=10455750600874563 CAPITALISM NATURE SOCIALISM VOLUME 17 NUMBER 3 (SEPTEMBER 2006) D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 The Ecological Crisis The ecological crisis has many elements: the depletion of fisheries beyond their capacity to renew themselves; the increasing shortage of potable water; global warming that is changing habits and threatening species; loss of topsoil now estimated at 33 percent on a worldwide scale; the increasing amount of toxins in the environment*including the oceans. In short, the ability of nature to sustain the life of humans and other species is being rapidly diminished. Globalization of the West’s Technological, Consumer-dependent Culture The expansion of the world’s population is accompanied by the globalization of the money-based economy, with greater dependence upon consumerism and the adoption of new technologies*including technologies that contribute to out- sourcing to regions where workers can be more easily exploited. These trends are broadly under the aegis of a Western capitalist culture that undermines what remains of the intergenerational knowledge, both here and in other cultures, which represents alternatives to a consumerist lifestyle. These trends are enforced by international institutions such as the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, and the World Trade Organization*all of which are based on neoliberal ideas and values that represent all aspects of human activity, as well as the natural environment, as exploitable markets. Loss of Cultural/linguistic Diversity The forces that promote consumerism and the Western form of consciousness* the media, computers, corporate advertising, Western universities, etc.*also contribute to the loss of linguistic diversity. A large number of the approximately 6,000 languages still spoken today (some by only a few members of the culture) will disappear in the next few decades. The loss of these languages will contribute to the further loss of species, as it is now understood by some linguists that these languages encode the knowledge of the renewing cycle of plants and animals within the bioregion where they are spoken. 3 Within these cultures, language carries forward the intergenerational knowledge of how to meet daily needs without degrading the ecosystems they depend upon, and thus is inextricably related to how a culture impacts the local environment. However, languages based on Western assumptions represent the rational process as being able to overcome the adverse impact of humans on the environment, and thus distort how to understand a sustainable relationship between cultural practices and the sustaining capacity of the environment. 3 Daniel Nettle and Suzanne Romaine, Vanishing Voices: The Extinction of the World’s Languages (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000) pp. 60 �68. Peter Muhlhausler, Linguistic Ecology: Language Change and Linguistic Imperialism in the Pacific Region, (London: Routledge, 1996). 72 C. A. BOWERS D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 Revitalization of the Cultural and Environmental Commons Represents Sites of Resistance to the Forces of Globalization While the enclosure of the environmental commons began well before the Industrial Revolution, both the cultural and environmental commons are now being monetized and integrated into industrial/consumer-oriented culture on a global scale. Every aspect of the cultural and environmental commons is now subject to being appropriated as private or corporate property, from the intergenerational knowledge and skills that enabled people to live less con- sumer-dependent lives to the gene lines of humans, plants, and animals. Even the airwaves and the new commons of cyberspace are being monetized. Resistance to the further enclosure of the commons can be found in many Third World cultures, including those of Mexico, Peru, Bolivia, and India. In addition, individuals, groups, and institutions in so-called developed countries are resisting the further enclosure of what were previously public lands. Resistance in these countries is also taking the form of living lives of voluntary simplicity, recovering the tradition of ‘‘slow food,’’ and renewing networks of mutual support. These groups are attempting to conserve traditions that enable people to live less monetary-dependent and environmentally destructive lives, and their mindful conservatism stands in sharp contrast to what Jorge Ishizawa refers to as the ‘‘colonizing gaze’’ of the neoliberals that equate progress with the economic exploitation of the commons. 4 While the above summary does not adequately identify the social justice issues in some of the world’s commons, it nevertheless foregrounds the key ideas and issues that will be used here to assess whether the ideas of John Dewey and Paulo Freire are complicit in promoting global culture that can expand only as it further encloses the world’s cultural and environmental commons. The task is to assess where these two theorists stand on the key issues summarized above, which may be further condensed into a portrait of the dominant culture as follows: viewing change as linear and progressive in nature; promoting the assumptions and ways of thinking that gave conceptual direction and moral legitimacy to the development of the Industrial Revolution that is now in its digital phase of development*while reproducing the assumptions of classical liberal social theorists; failing to recognize that cultural/linguistic diversity contributes to conserving species diversity and sustainable habitats; and failing to recognize the nature and importance of the cultural commons as an alternative to the money- dependent lives required by the industrial/capitalist culture. Further, we need to scrutinize the ideas of Dewey and Freire with respect to their failure to recognize that critical inquiry is as important to determining what needs to be conserved as it is to determining what needs to be changed. 4 Personal conversation when I was in Peru. SILENCES AND DOUBLE BINDS 73 D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 Silence of Dewey and Freire About the Nature of the Ecological Crisis At first glance it may appear unfair to criticize Dewey for ignoring the ecological crisis since scientists and elements of the public did not recognize that the sustaining capacity of natural systems was being undermined until well after his death. Yet the fact remains that the essentials of the ecological crisis as we now understand it were well underway during Dewey’s formative years. The method of intelligence, he tells us over and over again, is initiated by problematic situations*that is, when there is doubt as to how to proceed. There was a great deal of ecologically relevant doubting going on during Dewey’s active period, which somehow eluded him. Clear-cutting of the forests across the United States was in full swing during his years in Chicago and New York*but he gave no evidence of concern about this. The killing off of millions of bison, which was given wide press coverage, also escaped his attention as a problematic situation. The writings of Henry David Thoreau and John Muir also appear to have escaped his attention, as well as the conservation arguments of Theodore Roosevelt and Gifford Pinchot. It should be pointed out as well that Dewey, the apostle of democratic decision-making, also ignored the killing off of indigenous people in order to appropriate their land which, along with the cultural subjugation of those who survived can arguably be called genocide. As Dewey was born in 1859, his early years were spent in the context of continuous warfare against native people, particularly in the West. The campaign against the Sioux lasted from 1854 to 1890, against the Southern Plains indigenous cultures from 1860 to 1879, and against the Nez Perce in 1877, and lasted against the Apache from 1861 to 1900. The best explanation for Dewey’s silence about these morally problematic situations is that he shared the racist attitudes of his era*which was reflected in his references to how the lives of ‘‘savages’’ (his word) were governed by habits rather than the use of intelligence. As many of his current followers are likely to react negatively to the criticism that Dewey shared the racist attitudes of his times, I shall provide a quotation from Democracy and Education that reveals a surprising degree of ignorance and prejudice from one of the country’s leading philosophers. Here is how Dewey explains the ‘‘savage’s’’ lack of intelligence: Savages react to a flaming comet as they are accustomed to react to other events that threaten the security of their life. Since they try to frighten wild animals or their enemies by shrieks, beating of gongs, brandishing weapons, etc., they use the same methods to scare away the comet. To us, the use of the method is plainly absurd *so absurd that we fail to note that savages are simply falling back upon habit in a way which exhibits its limitations. 5 5 John Dewey, Democracy and Education (New York: Macmillan, 1916), p. 396. 74 C. A. BOWERS D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 Dewey’s way of representing habits, or what in a cultural context can be understood as traditions, as the opposite of what he calls the method of intelligence exemplifies a basic misconception, with broader implications that will be examined later. Paulo Freire, a more contemporary theorist with an active following around the world, also ignored the ecological crisis. His most influential book, Pedagogy of the Oppressed ,6 as well as his other books published in the 1970s and 80s, are totally silent on the implications of the ecological crisis for educational reform. The closest he comes to acknowledging the crisis is a generalized reference to environmental problems. But this did not lead to any rethinking of his main concern, which was to explain how the practice of conscientizacao (awaking of critical awareness) en- ables people to realize their fullest potential as human beings. Moacir Gadotti, as mentioned earlier, claims that Freire began to write on the need for an ‘‘ecopedagogy’’ just before his death. At an international conference held in Toronto in 2003, Gadotti predicted that when Freire’s initial thoughts on the nature of an ecopedagogy are published, he will be recognized as a leading environmental thinker. In the meantime, Gadotti’s writings were to be understood as an elaboration on Freire’s unpublished insights. While we currently only have access to Gadotti’s elaborations on Freire’s last thoughts on the educational implications of the ecological crisis, it is important to recognize that Gadotti’s proposals are consistent with Freire’s two main ideas: that there is only one legitimate approach to knowledge (critical reflection) and that knowledge should not be passed on from generation to generation, which Freire labeled as the banking approach to learning. To quote Gadotti: ‘‘Education, then, would not be as Emile Durkheim explained, the transmission of culture ‘from one generation to the next,’ but the grand journey of each individual in his interior universe and the universe that surrounds him.’’ 7 Gadotti’s recommendation that a planetary consciousness should replace the current diversity of the world’s cultures is consistent with Freire’s idea that there is only one approach to knowledge. This profoundly questionable recommendation is justified on the following grounds: ‘‘Globalization in itself does not pose a problem, since it constitutes an unprecedented process of advancement in the history of humankind.’’ 8 Gadotti’s sweeping generalization that knowledge should not be passed from one generation to the next is equally questionable. Given that being born into a culture and learning its linguistic and communicative patterns is an inescapable aspect of human existence as well as cultural transmission, Gadotti’s recommendation seems extremely naı̈ve as well as problematic. Yet, Gadotti is accurately representing Freire’s 6 Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed , trans. Myra Bergman Ramos (New York: Continuum [Seabury], 2000). This, the thirtieth anniversary edition, states on the jacket that 750,000 copies have been sold. 7 Gadotti, op. cit., p. 8. 8Ibid . SILENCES AND DOUBLE BINDS 75 D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 hard-and-fast distinction between what he identifies as the de-humanizing banking approach to learning and the humanizing nature of critical reflection. As Freire put it: Human existence cannot be silent, nor can it be nourished by false words, but only by true words, with which men transform the world. To exist humanly, is to name the World, to change it. Once named, the world in its turn reappears to the namers as a problem and requires of them a new naming . Men are not built in silence, but in word, in work, in action-reflection. But while to say the true word*which is work, which is praxis *is to transform the world, saying that word is not the privilege of some few men, but the right of every man. Consequently, no one can say a true word alone *nor can he say it for another, in a prescriptive act which robs others of their words. 9 Freire goes on to discuss the importance of dialogue as a way of avoiding any form of domination, but he ignores the problem of whether it is totally possible to avoid what he refers to as ‘‘dehumanizing aggression.’’ The important point here is that each individual and, by extension, each generation, is expected to arrive at her/ his own understanding*including what changes are occurring in the environment and what the implications are for ‘‘transforming the world.’’ Even if individuals were to arrive at an understanding of the extent of the ecological crisis, this knowledge could not be passed on to the next generation without it becoming an example of dehumanizing aggression*to recall Freire’s words. The Problem of Reconciling the One-True-Approach to Knowledge of Dewey and Freire With the Need to Conserve the World’s Cultural and Linguistic Diversity It is surprising that the ethnocentrism that characterizes the thinking of both Dewey and Freire has gone unnoticed by their followers. Perhaps this is because they are rooted in the same ethnocentrism, and therefore find self-recognition difficult. It is also surprising that both Dewey and Freire have been acclaimed as promoters of democracy as well as emancipation from past sources of injustice, given these core assumptions. This is to overlook Dewey’s argument, repeated over and over, that what he calls the method of intelligence (experimental inquiry) is the only valid approach to knowledge*knowledge which is always to be held provisionally. Dewey’s ethnocentrism can be seen in the book, Reconstruction in Philosophy , based on lectures he presented in 1919 at the Imperial University in Japan. Although he must have been aware that his hosts and the audience attending his lectures lived in accordance with profoundly different traditions and had a very high level of cultural achievement, the only aspect of their culture that he mentions in the Prefatory Note 9Ibid ., p. 77. 76 C. A. BOWERS D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 to the book Reconstruction in Philosophy is their extreme courtesy.10 The main message he presented to his Japanese audience was that change is the dominant reality, that the use of the experimental method of inquiry is the only way to control the direction of change and thus to experience progress, and that cultures that do not adopt this new scientifically based way of thinking would remain locked in a spectator approach to knowledge. He further warned that without the method of experimental inquiry for reconstructing experience, there would be no chance of achieving a democratic society, nor of realizing the ‘‘industrialization (that) is the direct fruit of the growth of the experimental method of knowing.’’ 11 Dewey’s claim that there is only one approach to knowledge is given ontological status rather than being recognized as the privileged way of thinking of the elites who were then building an industrial-based culture in the West. This is basically undemocratic. The contradiction inherent in associating the worldwide promotion of Dewey’s experimental approach to knowledge and values with the spreading of democracy, when in reality it would undermine the diversity of the world’s cultures, has also gone unnoticed by his followers. The universalizing of Dewey’s ideas represents a form of cultural colonization that undermines what many cultures have accumulated as a fund of intergenerational knowledge about how to live within the limits of the local ecosystems. 12 Freire’s rejection of all forms of cultural transmission as impeding the right of each individual to rename the world of the previous generation has also become the basis for justifying, in the name of emancipation and freedom, the colonization of what are considered less evolved cultures. Today, Freire’s idea that each individual is to name the world anew is the basis, along with the ideas of Dewey and Piaget, of what is now referred to as a constructivist approach to learning. The idea that each student is to construct her/his own knowledge is now an orthodoxy in many colleges of education in English-speaking countries, and it has been adopted as the basis of educational reform in 29 other countries, including Japan, Taiwan, Mexico, Peru, Bolivia, and Brazil. In effect, Freire’s culturally uninformed argument that the individual’s construction of knowledge through critical reflection leads to emanci- pation and progress is the source of the double bind where emancipation requires 10 John Dewey, Reconstruction in Philosophy (Boston: Beacon Press, 1948), p. xlii. 11 John Dewey, The Quest for Certainty (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1960 edition), p. 79. 12 As some readers may still hold to the uninformed idea that all indigenous cultures destroyed their environment, I suggest that they read: G. Bonfil Batalla, Mexico Profundo: Reclaiming a Civilization (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1996); Keith Basso, Wisdom Sits in Places: Landscape and Language Among the Western Apache (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1996); Frederique Apffel Marglin (ed., with PRATEC), The Spirit of Regeneration: Andean Culture Confronting Western Notions of Development (London: Zed, 1998); and Jared Diamond, Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed (New York: Viking Penguin, 2005). These are only a few of the books to document the ecological wisdom of cultures that have combined careful observation of changes occurring within their environment, intergenerational knowledge of how to live in mutually supportive ways, and a sense of responsibility to the well-being of future generations. Their diverse approaches to renewing cultural practices that are ecologically sustainable require multiple forms of learning and renewal *strengths that do not fit Dewey’s narrow scientifically based prescriptions. SILENCES AND DOUBLE BINDS 77 D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 colonization by a Western Enlightenment ideal that has remained ignorant of both the differences in cultural knowledge systems and the impact of these knowledge systems on the environment. Although Freire does not dismiss non-Western cultures as ‘‘savage,’’ i.e., pagan and primitive, he shares with Dewey a Social-Darwinian orientation, within which he clearly states that humans evolve through three stages of development. In Education for Critical Consciousness , he explains the three stages in human evolution as ‘‘semi-intransitivity of consciousness,’’ ‘‘transitivity of consciousness,’’ and ‘‘critical transitivity of consciousness.’’ The groups living in the interior of Brazil, according to Freire, exist at the level of semi-intransitive consciousness, and thus ‘‘cannot apprehend problems situated outside their sphere of biological necessity.’’ In this animal stage of existence, ‘‘their interests center almost totally around survival, and they lack a sense of life on a more historical plane.’’ 13 The second stage of human evolution, ‘‘transitivity of consciousness,’’ initially begins with a naı̈ve phase where there is an over-simplification of problems, a nostalgia for the past, and a tendency to underestimate the potential of the common man. But as humans evolve further and reach the stage of critically transitive consciousness, they are capable of engaging in critical reflection, dialogue, and participating in democratic regimes. 14 Freire identifies himself as well as his followers with the most evolved state of human development. Recently, a group of Third World activists reflected upon their experience of attempting to use Freire’s approach to teaching literacy in cultures where they spoke the local languages*in India, Central Mexico, Peru, and Bolivia. They found that his pedagogy represented a Western way of thinking, and that the indigenous cultures that Freire identified as living at an animal stage of existence possessed a complex understanding of the local ecosystems that had enabled them to survive over thousands of years in the same bioregion. 15 Given the view of the non-Western cultures held by both Dewey and Freire, it is not surprising that they failed to recognize that different cultures develop, in part, in response to the differences in the bioregions they inhabit. Their followers have also ignored the fundamental question of our era, which is the focus of Jared Diamond’s book, Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed . Ironically, many of the cultures that Freire categorized as existing at an animal level of existence have not collapsed. Instead, as the Third World activists initially attempted to introduce critical thinking as part of the literacy program, they discovered that Freire’s emphasis on emancipation from the knowledge of previous generations would undermine the complex knowledge of the sustaining characteristics of the local ecosystems*and would thereby lead to the culture’s collapse. 13 Paulo Freire, Education for Critical Consciousness (New York: Seabury Press, 1973), pp. 17 �18. 14Ibid . 15 C. A. Bowers and Frederique Apffel-Marglin (eds.), Rethinking Freire: Globalization and the Environmental Crisis (Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2005). 78 C. A. BOWERS D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 Dewey and Freire Share Cultural Assumptions with Globalized Industrial Culture Our earlier discussion has identified a number of cultural assumptions that Dewey and Freire share with the Western elites who were responsible for the industrial culture that is undermining the local commons. While Dewey and Freire were critical of the undemocratic and exploitive nature of the West’s industrial culture, they took for granted the need for continual experimentation without regard for the traditions that were being undermined. They also took for granted the assumption that change is linear and progressive when guided by critical reflection, along with an anthropocentric way of understanding human/nature relationships. In addition, they shared with the promoters of the industrial culture a way of regarding non-Western cultures as backward and thus in need of being rescued. They also identified themselves with liberalism without recognizing that a key component of liberal thinking is to view the expansion of free markets as the basis of social progress*and the expression of a natural law that humans can only ignore at their peril. Readers may flinch at this criticism of Dewey and Freire. But they need to recognize that the experimental approach to knowledge advocated by Dewey is essential to the development of new technologies and to creating the infrastructure necessary for exploiting new markets. As Dewey put it, ‘‘the modern mine, factory, railway, steamship, telegraph, all the appliance and equipment of production and transportation express scientific knowledge.’’ 16 The task facing philosophers, as Dewey understood it, was to establish a new basis for determining the moral values that would make the benefits of the industrial culture available on a more equitable basis. This is a very different task than resisting the development of a global monoculture where, ironically, Dewey’s method of scientific inquiry has been co-opted by technologists and business elites who have achieved greater efficiency in continually reconstructing daily experience through the introduction of new technologies and consumer products. It also needs to be emphasized that Freire’s assumption that critical inquiry would always be used in the service of emancipation and in helping people achieve their highest potential as humans was equally naı̈ve. What is generally not recognized by people who associate critical reflection with social justice is that critical reflection is also integral to instrumental problem solving that leads to new technologies, to plan wars of aggression, and to manipulate elections. And like Dewey’s experi- mental inquiry, critical reflection has no built-in safeguards against ethnocentric thinking. 16 John Dewey, 1948, op. cit ., pp. 43 �44. SILENCES AND DOUBLE BINDS 79 D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 Why Dewey, Freire, and their Followers Continue to Ignore the Cultural and Environmental Commons as Sites of Resistance to Economic Globalization and Environmental Destruction The emphasis of Dewey and Freire on achieving progress through the continual reconstruction and renaming of experience (i.e., the cultural patterns that are intergenerationally handed down) involves a double bind that they did not recognize. This may account for their criticism, as well as that of many of their followers, of what turns out to be the dominant characteristic of how the cultural and environmental commons are renewed: namely, the intergenerational knowledge of how to live less consumer-dependent and environmentally destructive lives. The intergenerational knowledge of the world’s diverse cultural and environmental commons*narratives that in many instances encode the moral norms governing human/nature relationships, technologies adapted to the local environment, patterns of mutual support, mentoring in crafts and healing practices, and so forth*are also known as traditions. As explained earlier, both Dewey and Freire were against traditions, even as they re-enacted many of the traditions of their respective cultures in the act of speaking, writing, preparing a meal, overcoming illnesses, using money, and so forth. The rejection of the ‘‘banking’’ approach to learning and the equally formulaic prescription that ‘‘speaking a true word changes the world’’ was Freire’s way of dismissing all traditions as sources of oppression. Kirkpatrick Sale makes an observation in Rebels Against the Future that has particular relevance for under- standing the implications of Freire’s simplistic understanding of tradition*one which is also reproduced in the writings of his many followers. In writing about the difference between the Luddite’s understanding of the relationship between the community and technology and the impact of the industrial approach to production on community, he notes that All that ‘‘community’’ implies *self-sufficiency, mutual aid, morality in the market place, stubborn tradition, regulation by custom, organic knowledge instead of mechanistic science *had to be steadily and systematically disrupted and displaced. All the practices that kept the individual from being a consumer had to be done away with so that the cogs and wheels of an unfettered machine called the ‘‘economy’’ could operate without interference, influenced merely by invisible hands and inevitable balances and all the rest of the benevolent free- market system. 17 Sale’s observation about the form of individualism needed by the industrial culture*that is, the individual who has been liberated from the community’s 17 Kirkpatrick Sale, Rebels Against the Future: The Luddites and Their War on the Industrial Revolution (Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley, 1995), p. 38. 80 C. A. BOWERS D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 knowledge and patterns of moral reciprocity that contributed to living more self- sufficient and less consumer-dependent lives*corresponds with Freire’s ideal of the fully humanized individual who relies upon critical reflection to continually rename the world. Freire’s ideal individual has abandoned the mentoring relationships, direct observation and embodied learning provided by the traditional community. But this also means sacrificing learning the skills suited to maintaining the built culture that fit the local environmental conditions, the patterns of mutual aid within the community, the arts and narratives that help to renew the culture’s values and sense of identity, and the knowledge of acquiring the fiber and protein necessary to sustain life without degrading the environment. In his last book, Mentoring the Mentor , Freire urges his followers to respect the cultural identity of the students and warns against the dangers of developing a paternalistic relationship with them. What appears as an awakening on Freire’s part to the importance of maintaining the diversity of the world’s cultures (which would be a potential first step to recognizing the connections between culture and biodiversity) turns out to be a ritualistic gesture dictated by the current stage of politically correct thinking. Later in the book, Freire demonstrates that he still does not understand that other cultures, such as the Quechua of the Peruvian Andes, the Inuit of the sub-artic North, and cultures based on Buddhist, Confucian, and Hindu cosmologies*to cite just a few*do not interpret freedom and development as leading to the total autonomy of the individual. It is also important to recognize that Freire’s idea of mentoring was limited to emancipating students from the knowledge systems of their communities. He did not understand, for example, that mentors play an important role in passing on the knowledge, skills, and moral norms governing healing practices, artistic performances, human/nature relationships, agricultural practices, preparation of food and the social setting in which it is shared, and so forth. Rather, Freire addressed the potential pitfall in the teacher/student relationship and then ignored his own warning by proclaiming that the god-words of the West must be given primacy over all other cultural traditions. As he put it, The fundamental task of the teacher is a liberatory task. It is not to encourage the mentor’s goal and aspirations and dreams to be reproduced in the mentees, the students, but to give rise to the possibility that the students become owners of their own history. This is how I understand the need that teachers have to transcend their merely instructive task and assume the ethical posture of a mentor who truly believes in the total autonomy , freedom , and development of those he or she mentors. (italics added) 18 Again, it needs to be emphasized that if the person reading this statement is unaware of the profound differences in other cultural ways of knowing and is equally 18 Paulo Freire (ed.), Mentoring the Mentor: A Critical Dialogue with Paulo Freire (New York: Peter Lang, 1997), p. 324. SILENCES AND DOUBLE BINDS 81 D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 uninformed that the industrial culture relies upon many of the same assumptions that both Dewey and Freire took for granted, they are likely to consider Freire’s statement as representing the highest ideals that all progressive reformers should strive to attain. How the Ideas of Dewey and Freire Contribute to Undermining What Remains of the World’s Diverse Commons Part of the explanation of how Dewey, Freire, and their contemporary followers contribute to the further enclosure of the commons by the industrial culture has already been touched upon. A summary would include their long silence on the worsening state of natural systems, their emphasis on approaches to knowledge that are also the basis of technological innovation and of bringing more aspects of the cultural and environmental commons under the control of market forces, and their Social Darwinian thinking that justified the imposition of the high-status approaches to knowledge on other cultures*all in the name of democracy and freedom. Even though Dewey argued that experimental inquiry would free humankind from the constraints of the spectator approach to knowledge as well as superstitions, he could not escape conforming to the cultural practices and ways of thinking of his era. His argument for the use of the method of intelligence was based on a false dichotomy that prevented him from examining the taken-for-granted cultural patterns, assumptions, and silences that are not experienced as part of problematic situations. But before examining more closely why his approach to knowledge could not take account of one of the more distinctive characteristics of the commons, it is necessary to identify an aspect of his thinking essential to the renewal of the cultural commons*and which, by extension, would help to reduce the adverse impact of industrial/cultural practices on the environmental commons. One of the chief characteristics of the cultural and environmental commons is that access and use are not restricted by private or corporate ownership (though they may be restricted by the status system and other cultural norms). In today’s world, access to water in urban and most rural towns is provided by municipal water systems. This is still, in most places, under the local control of democratic decision- making, as is access to water from nearby streams or even private wells. Democratic decision-making is part of the process of deciding what is to remain part of the commons, and what is to be governed by the laws and greed of the marketplace. A case can be made that even though the monetizing of the cultural commons has been carried to an extreme in the United States and other Western countries, there are still aspects of the cultural commons that are governed by local decision-making. While Dewey emphasized that the experimental method of inquiry was best suited to resolving problematic situations, he also emphasized that the widest possible communication between members of the community would ensure the fullest understanding of the problematic situation*and thus would lead to solutions that 82 C. A. BOWERS D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 best fit the community’s expectations. In effect, his emphasis on participatory decision-making (as long as all the participants did not fall back on other sources of moral authority and approaches to knowledge) is in line with how many cultures have protected the commons over the past centuries. While this aspect of Dewey’s thinking supports a core feature that is essential but not always successful in sustaining the commons, his reductionist way of understanding the nature of traditions is the source of a double bind in his thinking. Unfortunately, environmentalists who are beginning to look to Dewey’s ideas as the foundation for addressing environmental issues fail to recognize how other aspects of his thinking support the Western project of neoliberal globalization. Dewey should not be criticized because he did not understand how the metaphorical nature of language reproduces earlier culturally based misconceptions (though Nietzsche had written about this in the 1880s). It is also debatable whether he should be judged for ignoring the writings of Edward Sapir on how different languages reproduce different cultural ways of knowing (Sapir’s paper on ‘‘The Status of Linguistic as a Science’’ was presented in 1929). But that his understanding of tradition should be criticized should be beyond debate. In addition to his support of scientifically based technologies that have enclosed many aspects of the cultural and environmental commons, Dewey’s arguments about the non-intelligent nature of traditions places nearly his entire social justice agenda in opposition to sustaining what remains of the world’s diverse cultural and environmental commons. It will be useful here to give a more extended account of how Dewey understood the nature of ‘‘tradition,’’ a notion that still connotes for many progressives the meanings given by the Enlightenment that represent traditions as maintaining the status quo, special privileges, and backwardness. Needless to say, certain traditions do serve such roles. But by totalizing all tradition as the antagonist of experimental inquiry, Dewey failed to both understand the full meaning of tradition and recognize that his anti-tradition way of thinking is itself a longstanding tradition in the West. Looking more closely, it appears that Dewey relied upon an implicit meaning of tradition in order to account for the non-problematic aspects of daily experience. He also acknowledges that past ideas and practices which are part of the experience being reconstructed may be incorporated into the formation of the hypothesis that is to be tested in action. But he fails to recognize that most of daily experience*writing from left to write (in English-speaking cultures), using a subject-verb-object pattern of writing and speaking, re-enacting the cultural message system of non-verbal communication, making assumptions about the importance of separation of church and state, valuing literacy, promoting the traditions of thinking that underlie Western science and technology*including the myth that technology is simply a neutral tool*and so on, are themselves examples of traditions. If he had given attention to the role of traditions in daily life, as well as the traditions of other cultures, he would have recognized that some traditions are sources of empowerment, SILENCES AND DOUBLE BINDS 83 D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 some change too slowly, while other are displaced before we realize how important they were*such as the right to privacy, and now the undermining of the separation of church and state. He would have also recognized that some traditions were unjust from the outset (indeed he writes about the unjust nature of capitalism in Liberalism and Social Action ); and he might have come to the insight that some people make the opposite mistake to the one he makes: While they assume wrongly that traditions do not change, he assumes wrongly that everything is in a state of change. Because he brings the existence of traditions in through the back door, so to speak, where their complex nature does not have to be recognized, he is unable to ask the most important question raised by the industrial culture he celebrates: namely, what traditions need to be conserved and renewed because they contribute to the commons as sites of resistance to the industrial culture that reduces both nature and people either to an exploitable resource or to an exploitable market? Instead of being a careful observer of the cultural patterns enacted in daily experience, Dewey chose instead to treat both experimental inquiry and traditions as theoretical abstractions in his writings. Thus, in Democracy and Education , he equates traditions with habits and almost gets it right when he states that habits involve the ‘‘formation of intellectual and emotional disposition as well as in ease, economy, and efficiency of action.’’ 19 He then goes on to stake out a position that he will restate over and over again: Habits reduce themselves to routine ways of acting, or degenerate into ways of action to which we are enslaved just in the degree in which intelligence is disconnected from them. Routine habits are unthinking habits; ‘‘bad’’ habits are habits so severed from reason that they are opposed to the conclusions of conscious deliberation and decision. As we have seen, the acquiring of habits is due to an original plasticity of our natures; to our ability to vary responses till we find an appropriate and efficient way of acting. Routine habits, and habits that possess us instead of our possessing them, are habits that put an end to plasticity. 20 In Reconstruction in Philosophy , traditions are explained as man’s efforts to preserve past experiences. Rather than use specific traditions such as the traditions of habeas corpus, trial by a jury of peers, the presumption of innocence until proven guilty, Dewey makes the sweeping and culturally uninformed generalization that traditions are only a source of memory*and that ‘‘the primary life of memory is emotional rather than intellectual and practical.’’ 21 In The Quest for Certainty , he goes further in setting up a false dichotomy between tradition and knowledge when he writes that ‘‘knowledge which is merely a reduplication in ideas of what exists 19 John Dewey, 1916, op. cit. , p. 57. 20Ibid. , p. 58. 21 John Dewey, 1948, op. cit ., p. 2. 84 C. A. BOWERS D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 already in the world merely affords us the satisfaction of a photograph, but that is all.’’ 22 Dewey represents intelligence (experimental inquiry) as the opposite of tradition (habit) just as Freire represents critical inquiry as the opposite of passing on intergenerational knowledge. What is important to keep in mind in assessing the relevance of these two theorists for helping to sustain the commons is that neither one took a truly critical account of the traditions within their own cultures, or the traditions of other cultures. Dewey, the celebrated champion of democracy and of making experience an integral part of experimental inquiry, ends up promoting another set of abstractions that provide legitimacy for the neoliberal/corporate interest by conditioning the public to equate constant technological change with progress. Furthermore, the influence of Dewey and Freire on the current generation of their followers can also be seen in how differences in the knowledge systems of other cultures are totally ignored in their prescriptions for educational reform. Peter McLaren, for example, responded to my efforts to explain the danger of ignoring how indigenous cultures such as the Quechua of the Peruvian Andes were sustaining the commons by claiming that I was re-introducing the notion of the ‘‘noble savage.’’ 23 Another influential follower of the idea that education should foster constant change (or as it is now known in the field, ‘‘transformative learning’’) is Henry Giroux. Writing in EDucate! , a journal published in Pakistan, ¯he recommended that teachers should become transformative intellectuals by developing ‘‘a discourse that unites the language of critique with the language of possibility, so that social educators can recognize that they can make changes.’’ 24 Edmund O’Sullivan’s Transformative Learning: Educational Vision for the 21st Century , is yet another example of how the idea of change in the Deweyian and Freirean tradition of thinking continues to be central to the current discourse of supposedly radical social justice educational theorists. 25 It needs to be reiterated here that the industrial culture, in its never-ending need to create new markets by introducing new technologies as well as commoditizing more aspects of the commons, is now the greatest transformative force in the world. And like the followers of Dewey and Freire, the neoliberal ideologues of eco- nomic globalization are silent about conserving traditions in the areas of civil liberties, intergenerational knowledge of how to live less consumer- dependent lives, and the cultural/linguistic diversity so essential to conserving biodiversity. 22 John Dewey, 1916, op. cit. , p. 137. 23 Peter McLaren and Donna Houston, ‘‘The Nature of Amnesia: A Response to C. A. (Chet) Bowers,’’ Educational Studies , 37, 2, 2005, pp. 196 �205. 24 Henry Giroux, ‘‘Teachers as Transformatory Intellectuals,’’ EDucate! , 1, 2, July �Sept. 2002, pp. 46 �49. 25 Edmund O’Sullivan, Transformative Learning: Educational Vision for the 21st Century (London: Zed Books, 1999). SILENCES AND DOUBLE BINDS 85 D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 Ways of Knowing Essential to Revitalizing the Commons as Sites of Resistance to Globalization and Environmental Degradation Rather than attempting to address the problem of globalization and the ecological crisis by relying upon the theories of Dewey and Freire, we should retain those aspects of their theories that were part of the Western tradition of thought before the non-historically informed followers of Dewey and Freire assumed that they were originators of these ideas. Critical reflection, which can be traced back at least to Socrates, needs to be practiced, but within an entirely different set of priorities. That is, critical reflection is essential to making explicit those traditions and new political, economic, and technological developments that undermine the cultural and environmental commons. For example, critical reflection is essential to clarifying what is wrong with E. O. Wilson’s argument for evolution becoming the new ‘‘master’’ narrative that all cultures should adopt, and that scientists should make the decision about which cultural practices and values should be retained. 26 The current efforts to reverse the gains in the labor movement, to genetically alter seeds so that they are sterile*thus forcing the farmer to purchase seeds for the next year’s planting*should also be subjected to critical reflection. In terms of these examples, critical reflection helps to bring to attention what is being overturned*that is, the traditions that need to be renewed and carried forward. Democratic decision-making as well as dialogue were understood and practiced long before Dewey and Freire incorporated them into their theories. And they need to be retained, especially since they are essential to local decision-making about how to sustain the commons. However, the idea that each individual (Freire) and each generation (Dewey) should reconstruct the problematic aspects of community by relying solely upon the modes of thinking that are also the sources of scientific/ technological innovation and the growing hegemony of market forces must now be questioned. Similarly, we should question the idea that reading the various proposals for an environmental ethic, such as Aldo Leopold’s ‘‘Land Ethic,’’ or the collection of essays in Environmental Ethics (edited by Andrew Light and Holmes Rolston III, 2003) will lead in themselves to the actual daily practice of an environmental ethic. Reading may lead to energetic discussions in the classroom, but it may be less effective in terms of living in ways which have a smaller ecological foot print, such as learning to prepare a meal from wholesome ingredients, to repair a roof, to play an instrument, to return work and thus help a neighbor, to develop a talent under the guidance of a mentor, to plant a garden, and so forth. What is often overlooked in our reading-oriented culture, which is now being transformed by computer-mediated literacy, is that the daily enactment of the knowledge and practices that sustain the commons represents the practice of an environmental ethic. Moreover, if theorists and critics of globalization are to avoid the double binds inherent in the ideas of Dewey and Freire, they will need to acquire a more complex understanding of the nature of tradition*their own as well as those of other cultures. 26 E. O. Wilson, Consilience: The Unity of Knowledge (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1998), pp. 264 �265. 86 C. A. BOWERS D ow nl oa de d B y: [I nd ia na U ni ve rs ity L ib ra rie s] A t: 15 :2 8 11 F eb ru ar y 20 08 The cultural commons are not a theoretical abstraction. Rather, their many dimensions exist in the knowledge, embodied experiences, practices, and patterns of moral reciprocity that characterize those aspects of daily life that have not been co- opted by the market. The commons vary from culture to culture, but a key feature of all the world’s diverse commons is that they are not created anew by each generation or by individuals who rely exclusively on critical reflection. ‘‘Tradition’’ is the best word for describing the varied characteristic of the commons*with some of the traditions being sources of injustice and environmental degradation, while others contribute to community self-sufficiency and are sources of resistance to globaliza- tion (sometimes within the same culture). Instead of continuing to be captives of the Enlightenment thinkers’ narrow and culturally uninformed understanding of tradition, which has been passed down over generations and reproduced in the thinking of many current progressive theorists, there is a need to learn about the traditions carried on within what remains of the local commons*traditions that both include the language of moral reciprocity and sustain the memory of the civil institutions and practices that are safeguards against the forces of fascism and economic exploitation that are now again on the rise. The failure of progressive theorists such as Dewey and Freire, as well as university and public school teachers, to examine the complex nature of traditions and to help students learn to assess traditions in terms of whether they contribute to morally coherent and ecologically sustainable commons has had at least two undesirable consequences. One is the silence on the part of progressive theorists about the importance of determining which aspects of the cultural and environ- mental commons need to be conserved and renewed. The other is the widespread misunderstanding of the complex nature of tradition that now underlies the thinking of fundamentalists and other extremists, who hold that traditions should not be changed*and that the present must be made to fit their interpretations of the past (even while they support the expansion of economic globalization). The challenge will be to realign our political language in ways that take account of what sustains the commons as sites of resistance to the further expansion of market forces, and thus to escape the linguistic hegemony that Dewey, Freire, and their followers accepted so readily. SILENCES AND DOUBLE BINDS 87 
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work_byrlpublvfgrvb2iaso3myk6ca	----	A challenge to objective perception in hearing and seeing in counselling psychology. P.Baron University of Johannesburg. pbaron@uj.ac.za    Structured Abstract  Purpose:   Mainstream counselling psychology with its Western epistemology implies several assumptions about the  therapeutic conversation. One assumption is the ability of the therapist to hear and see accurately during  the  therapy  session.  Apart  from  language  difficulties  and  multi‐cultural  awareness,  training  in  psychological  counselling  does  not  adequately  address  aspects  of  hearing  and  seeing  as  cognitive  processors that are observer dependent and circular in nature. This paper addresses this missing link by  providing a single document addressing errors in hearing and seeing, which can then be used for training  new therapists.     Design:  Using  a  Western  epistemology,  an  argument  based  on  multidisciplinary  research  findings  is  used  to  challenge the ideas of objective hearing and seeing in the therapeutic conversation of the counselling  activity.     Findings:   Research findings show that the act of hearing and seeing are personal and subjective. This would be in  keeping with a cybernetic epistemology; however, cybernetic psychology is not well known nor widely  accepted  in  mainstream  institutions.  Teaching  counsellors  who  have  a  Western  epistemology  poses  challenges  when  attempting  to  negate  the  objective  reality  of  the  trainees.  Training  counsellors  to  incorporate  a  cybernetic  ethic  of  participation  has  obstacles,  especially  when  the  training  has  time  constraints.  Using  Western  positivistic  research  findings  as  a  basis  for  providing  an  argument  for  subjectivity in perception may be a quicker method to achieve at least partial observer dependent thinking  for counsellors in a short time space during training sessions.    Research Implications:   This paper presents a concentration of multidisciplinary research that can be used as part of counsellor  training  for  the  purposes  of  providing  a  basis  for  the  error  and  filtering  that  take  place  in  human  perception of sound and vision.    Originality:  The modalities of hearing and seeing are not readily addressed  in counselling psychology praxis. The  errors in human sense perception are integral in framing the therapeutic conversation as one of subjective  co‐construction  between  observers,  moving  closer  to  an  empathetic  position.  This  paper  provides  a  research based argument in denying objectivity in human perception during the therapeutic conversation.    Keywords  Hearing, seeing, counselling, cybernetics, objectivity, empathy, training              1. Counselling Psychology  Counselling psychology stretches over several domains  including education and career development,  therapy, supervision and training. This paper is specifically focussed on the therapeutic relationship in  terms  of  counselling  psychology.  The  therapeutic  conversation  rests  on  several  underlying  principles  including the  idea that the counsellor  is trained and skilled  in assisting people who are experiencing  mental discomfort. According to Norcross (2000), counselling psychology does not generally deal with  clients who are severely disturbed, rather people who have problems with living, or who are experiencing  developmental crises. However, this does not preclude clients with severe mental problems, it is just not  common. Thus, the practice of counselling psychology rests significantly on conversations between actors  with the hope that the conversation may create new meanings and new ways of dealing with life events.  The  epistemology  of  the  therapist  plays  an  important  role  in  the  counselling  relationship.  The  most  downloaded paper from the Journal of Counseling Psychology (impact factor 2.95) is titled “Counselor  characteristics  and  effective  communication  in  counselling”.  In  this  popular  paper,  Brams  (1961:25)  states:  It is an accepted fact amongst most counselling and clinical psychologists that effective counselling is due to  more than the objective methods and techniques the therapist employs in the counselling interview. Counseling  is thought of as a dynamic process built on the relationship existing between counsellor and client…    Psychiatrist Mike Shooter tells of a story between him and his son (2005:239):   [Son speaks first] ‘But do you mind if I ask you a daft question?’ he said, as we sat in a pub at the end of the day.  ‘What is it that you do?’ Trying hard not to be offended, I asked him what he thought I did. ‘Just listening I  suppose… .’   ‘Just listening’, I told him, was the most difficult skill he would ever learn and the easier it looked the more skilful  it would be…Listening with his ears. No problem there… Listening with his eyes. More difficult. Finally… Listening  with his heart. Very difficult indeed.    Shooter eludes to the challenge of empathetic listening ‐ the catch word in most counselling courses.  However, is it possible to teach empathy? Without opening this up in too much detail, it is known that  some  people  have  an  empathetic  ability  without  having  had  any  training  as  a  counsellor,  yet  some  qualified counsellors battle to actively experience an empathetic position in their sessions. Empathy is  accepted as a major personal trait for successful counselling ‐ attempting to see and experience the world  through the eyes and ears of the other, acknowledging the perceptions of the other, while also being  aware  of  one’s  own  limitations  in  the  here  and  now.  It  can  be  a  humbling  experience  to  work  in  subjectivity, sidelining ideas of objective perceptions. An awareness of one’s own self and what one brings  into the therapy room is crucial. Cybernetic psychology is one epistemology that strives for this goal.    1.1  A Cybernetic Perspective  Therapists are both part of the therapeutic system as well as co‐directors in its change. The therapist is  not independent from the client. There is a responsibility on the therapist for creating an atmosphere of  curiosity, openness and respect. Curiosity manifests itself in an environment of seeking an understanding.  The therapist takes the stance of realising that she does not have exact answers as to how the behaviours  of the client needs to be, or how the family members need to be (family therapy session). An awareness  of one’s own ego and arrogance in that the therapist cannot know for sure how to solve the problem.  Curiosity is lost by a therapist who is a “know it all”. The therapist is seen as a conversational architect  who has extensive experience in the art of creating a domain for and facilitating a dialogical conversation  (Anderson & Goolishian, 1992). The therapist uses therapeutic questions as her primary tool to facilitate  the conversational domain and the process of dialogue. Cyberneticians note that a dualistic usage of  language may lead to dismemberment of whole systems (Keeney, Sprenkle, 1992), and thus the choice of  words  and  mechanism  of  speaking  too  are  important  in  the  therapy  process.  The  therapist’s  conversational framework is that of ‘not knowing’. She is not looking for specific answers as she has no  preconceived ideas or diagnostic definitions that require a method for therapy. The therapist needs to  include herself in the description of the client’s system (Haley, 1973). The client is conceptualised to the  therapist within the therapist’s own framework, which is a product of her past lived experience as well as  the characteristics of her nervous system. This brings  into question the ethics and responsibilities of  providing diagnosis to clients within the therapy domain. The reverse of this is that the systems that are  being treated are also effecting the therapist (Keeney, 1983). Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle fits well  into a cybernetic approach, which states that the observer constantly alters what he observes by the  obtrusive act of observation (Keeney, 1983:129).    Another important aspect of many cybernetic approaches is the awareness of the influence of bodily  states for conversation. Bodily states that show care, trust, sharing and active listening promote reflection  as a process of meaning reconstruction (Griffith, Griffith & Slovik, 1992). The therapist should be aware  of the bodily states of the family members, as well as her own state as having an influence on the dialogue.  An awareness of facial expression, posture, breathing, tone of voice, eye‐contact and direction of gaze  help to improve one’s understanding of what is manifesting in the therapy. An awareness of incongruent  bodily  states  helps  to  understand  the  relationship  between  the  verbal  and  analogue  information.  Therapeutic  dialogue  must  make  way  for  alternative  solutions,  new  meanings,  reconstructions  and  reinterpretations. Curiosity, openness and respect are manifested in a joint manner by the people present  but  it is the responsibility of the therapist to enter the therapy room with an emotional posture that  invites these factors to evolve.      1.2  Changing Lanes  There  is  an  increasing  need  for  therapeutic  psychology  as  a  profession  to  demonstrate  that  its  interventions yield tangible and measureable results to clients and their families, as well as to human  rights groups in light of inhumane practices of some psychiatric institutions, or abusive traditional healing  practices in some low to middle‐income countries (Kagee & Lund, 2012, p. 103; WHO, 2011). Cybernetic  psychology could be seen as the most ethically orientated intervention, owing to the following factors:  the importance of the conversation, the relationship, and how the actors observe each other in therapy;  the awareness of systems, observation, circularity, feedback, ethics and communication – including Pask  and colleagues’ Conversation Theory. However, there are not many cybernetic counsellors and most who  do know of cybernetics think of it as something that was once popular in the 1970’s, while others have  not  heard  of  it  at  all  (Baron,  2014;  Scott,  2011).  The  counsellors  who  do  aspire  to  a  cybernetic  epistemology do not readily fall within mainstream universities or training institutions, as the majority of  counselling psychology courses are  imbedded  in a Western epistemology. One reason for this  is the  difficulty  in  teaching  a  cybernetic  epistemology  as  well  as  its  challenges  to  positivistic  research  methodologies (Baron, 2014).    Having spent time working with psychology students who were trying to learn a cybernetic approach, I  realised that there are extensive challenges faced when attempting to exemplify a cybernetic approach  to counselling. One major problem  is that people tend to modularise  information. Attempting to set  cybernetics as a model in the same way as the mainstream psychology curriculum sets out the different  models  ‐  psychodynamic  model,  the  cognitive  model,  person‐centred  model  and  so  forth  –  creates  obstacles to acting and understanding cybernetics, as the moment cybernetics is modelled, it is no longer  cybernetics.   Learning  cybernetics  is  challenging  on  many  levels  and  takes  considerable  time  for  not  only  the  principles to be understood, but also the added challenge of both thinking and acting cybernetically. This  is especially difficult for people who have a Western sense of objectivity, reality and causality. It is my end  goal to create a cybernetic approach to training in counselling psychology, but in certain circumstances it  is not appropriate or useful to attempt this approach. When one is a guest presenter for the day at a  university, or a trainer of volunteers, one may not find it possible to start a cybernetic approach to a group  who will only be seen on one or two occasions. To achieve an understanding that during counselling the  counsellor needs to take responsibility for their perceptions, beliefs and observations ‐  including any  labels/diagnosis they may attach to their clients‐, as well as an understanding of circular causality, much  time  is  needed  for  an  exploration  in  cybernetics.  Thus,  this  is  not  an  easy  task  in  a  severely  time  constrained training, where one does not want to risk creating confusion. In such situations, I adopted a  different approach, while still having a goal of challenging the group’s sense of objectivity. Instead of  introducing the principles of cybernetics,  I used the same Western epistemology to negate the core  assumptions of the trainees in terms of objective sense perception. Thus, by using an epistemology that  was  already  understood  by  the  group,  I  was  able  to  generate  a  similar  outcome  in  terms  of  the  responsibility  and  ethic  of  the  therapist  in  the  therapeutic  conversation.  This  paper  now  proposes  a  technical argument against objectivism in terms of two overlooked acts in the counselling process: the  act of seeing and hearing.    I challenge these two assumptions1:  1. I can hear you with my ears.  2. I see you with my eyes.   The purpose of this paper is to provide an argument based on research findings, which can be used for  training new counsellors in an attempt to challenge a traditional Western objective view of hearing and  seeing, to one that is closer to a cybernetic approach: one of observer dependent sense perception and  questionable objectivity.       2. Biological filtering: Counselling Psychology as a Science  It is uncommon to find mathematical formulae, biology or engineering science in counselling text books.  Students  who  study  cognitive  and  neuro‐  psychology  would  have  a  head  start  in  understanding  the  processes involved in the modalities of seeing and hearing as a form of perception. However, even in  these tracts, one does not find how hearing and seeing relate to counselling. As conversation rests on  listening and seeing, these two  items are central aspects of a therapy session. Sitting with a client  in  therapy, the counsellor spends most of the time observing and  listening. The counsellor acts on the  information they perceive, both visual and auditory, but just how accurate are these modalities?    2.1  Hearing  It is thought that sound is mainly associated with the ear and that sound can be explained in terms of  physics. While the process of hearing can be narrowed down to mechanics, hearing is more complex than  the dynamics of the ear system. The human ear can hear from 0dBs to over 130dBs, with the latter being  the pain threshold.   The subjective perception of sound level does not show complete linearity with that  of power radiated from a sound source. One reason is that the human ear has differing sensitivities across  1 In the case with disabled counsellors, either deaf or blind, this would only partially apply.  the frequency range. A further complicating factor is that for each frequency, our ears do not always  perceive consistent Sound Pressure Level (SPL) increments that are applicable to another frequency’s SPL  increase. In particular, the low frequency range has an uneven distribution of perceived loudness when  compared to the same SPL of higher frequencies. For example, generally, a young person’s ears should  be able to hear a 1kHz sound at an SPL of 25dB, but would only be able to hear a low frequency sound of  say 60Hz  if the SPL  is  increased by a further 30dBs. From Figure 1.1, the perceived  loudness of each  contour exhibits both a non‐linear shape along the frequency axis, as well as each contour tracing a slightly  different  pattern.  Another  complicating  factor  relates  to  the  time  duration  of  the  signal.  There  is  a  difference on the perceived loudness for steady state versus impulse sounds. Generally the shorter the  sound impulse (less than 70ms), the lower its loudness is perceived to be (Brüel & Kjær, 1984:8).     Figure 1.1: Equal loudness contours (Robinson & Dadson, 1956). This figure shows the frequency response  of the human ear – frequency versus sound level given in dBs.      The interesting item in this discussion is that not all acousticians agree on the equal loudness curves.  There are at least 17 equal loudness contour graphs to choose from, based on different sample groups  used to generate the curves. While the first popularised contour mapping was presented by Fletcher and  Munson in 1933, it was later found that it was not completely accurate. In 1956, Robinson and Dadson  presented their contour map, which has been used extensively with the ISO226:1987 standard being  based on this loudness contour map. Further research has shown that this too was not entirely correct. A  newer standard has been set out namely, ISO226:2003 [or TC43], which seeks to portray a more accurate  loudness contour map based on 12 studies starting in 1983 (Suzuki & Takeshima, 2004; ISO, 2009). This  means that for more than 65 years of acoustic research, equal loudness curves have been in dispute. This  in a field where technological advancements and computing in playing and measuring sound have already  met the industry requirements 30 years ago. This means that for each study conducted on a different  target group, a different sound distribution was realised, illuminating the point that hearing sensitivities  are not a uniform experience for all people. There are individual differences. This is not surprising as the  range of sensitivity in the human senses are not equal for all people and adds to the uniqueness of each  person, yet people too often assume we should all hear the same sounds in the same manner. Concert  hall music conductors work with the response of the concert hall in order to obtain the sound they like by  adapting  to the  hall’s  strengths and  weaknesses.  For  example, conductors  may ask  the  musicians  to  stretch out the endings of notes to enable a reverberant effect, or in one noted case, ask the violinists to  play out of unison when the hall’s response was dry (Beranek, 2004:3). Few people could quantify and act  on such auditory information as conductors do as part of their normal work.     One fascinating research challenged the idea of there being a fixed upper frequency limit of 20kHz to  human hearing. Tsutomu and colleagues (1991) set up a listening experiment where they played back a  recording  that  had  active  frequencies  up  to  60kHz.  They  set  up  a  speaker  system  and  included  an  independently powered tweeter that was to excite frequencies above 26kHz. The tweeter was switchable  to be on or off during the test. An EEG (electroencephalogram) was incorporated as part of the listener’s  response data. The finding was that the subjective evaluation of the music played was altered by whether  the high‐frequency tweeter was turned on or off, as well as changes to the EEG were noticed (Tsutomu,  Emi, Norie, Yoshitaka, & Hiroshi, 1991). While most music is designed for our hearing range of 20Hz‐ 20kHz, many musical instruments have a large portion of their vibration energy well above our hearing  range; such as the cymbal instrument, which has 40% of its energy between the range of 20kHz and  100kHz (Boyk, 2000). This means that for many people, they will choose to hear sound sources that offer  the sound frequency range that  is several times higher than the human ear’s threshold frequency of  20kHz, without knowing why they do that. Science has no answer for this situation as physics has already  accepted 20kHz as the upper hearing limit. In terms of everyday appliances, certain noisy electronics are  designed to have their oscillation noise above 20kHz so that they do not annoy us. The switched mode  power supply, which is commonplace in many electronic devices, is one example. If the frequency of the  oscillating driver circuit is reduced to 8kHz it can be most unfavourable for the nearby person’s auditory  system. This raises interesting questions as to the effects of sounds that are not “heard” but are still at  play  in our consciousness. The harmonics that are present several ranges above the assumed human  hearing threshold of 20kHz, even for human voices are at play in determining if we enjoy what we hear.  When a person speaks and is recorded and played back, even on a high definition sound system, the  sound of the live versus the recorded are not the same. The measured sound distribution may be almost  identical, yet the experience of the sounds completely different. Similarly, hearing one’s own voice on a  music  system  is  quite  different  from  what  we  hear  when  we  speak  live.  Having  a  conversation  in  a  reverberant room may irk some people, while others are just as bothered by a dry almost anechoic room.   Glanville (2001:46) recounts a life‐changing auditory experience:   On a recent visit I joined in a piece of his (and his partner Marian Zazeela), “Dream House”, that has been being  played continuously for over seven years. The musical element consists of a complex chord made of frequencies  that are defined by prime numbers. This extraordinary chord is generated on a computer, and has, it is claimed,  not been changed in all the time the piece has been playing. The piece is played in an apartment on the third  floor of a building in TriBeCa. As you walk around the space, the sound you hear changes, although the generated  sound is said not to. The explanation science gives us is that this is due to standing waves, and also to the effect  we have on the sound environment as both reflectors and absorbers. It is also due to the interaction of the  sound waves, producing beat frequencies—that is, pitches that are not generated by the computer acting as a  sound source, but rather at each particular point in space. However, I found that, even when I lay on the floor,  as still as could be, without breathing, and with no one else present to change the sound, what I heard kept  changing. I discovered I could even adjust what I heard by focusing my concentration and listening the pitches  up or down.   Yet all the time, I was told, the computer was (at least assumed to be) giving out the same instructions leading  to the production of the same frequencies of air pressure waves (which I choose to call sound). The question  that inescapably persisted in my mind was what did I hear? What is the basis for believing that the sound was  unchanging? How can I know the computer did not change the sound? What was I hearing? What was it when  it changed? …   What I call the pressures which made sounds was all my construction. There was nothing I experienced that was  not my experience for which I was responsible.    The  experience  of  listening  and  attitude  change  is  a  large  field  of  enquiry,  with  music  appreciation  including concert hall design part science and part art. Designing concert halls ‐even with the latest state  of the art acoustic mapping software and equipment – does not always translate to end user praise. Often  experienced acousticians are still needed to “fix” the sound properties of the hall when on paper the hall  did actually meet the required acoustic footprint or design specification (Baron, 2009).   Different sounds mean different things to different people. Often it is one’s attitude to the sound that  can determine if one would call it noise. The sound of a loud engine exhaust may be music to the ears of  the drag racer but noise to his/her neighbours. Unwanted sounds do not have to be loud before they  annoy us. The loud crash of thunder can be as annoying as a creaking floor that is only a fraction of the  sound level. Psychoacoustics forms a critical part of sound perception. Auditory responses are not uniform  across groups of people. Some adults and children exhibit defensive behaviours to auditory stimulation.  These symptoms occur in the apparent absence of accompanying disorders, and there is relatively little  research exploring the correlates and antecedents of sensory defensiveness (Goldsmith, et.al., 2006).  Counselling a client who has a tone of voice that is bothersome for the counsellor will surely impact the  therapist’s behaviour, whether conscious or unconscious. A buzzing air conditioner in the room may offset  one’s concentration. Counsellors need to be aware that what they are hearing are sound vibrations that  are filtered by their own auditory system and interpreted by their own nervous system. They are not  hearing what the client says; rather, they are hearing what their auditory system allows them to perceive  along with their unconscious attachments that they add to the linguistic information. In every relationship  there are instances when one says “I heard you say xyz”, while the other party maintains they never did.  This is often followed by “I wish had recorded you”. Analysing this further, if a recording was available, all  this would prove is that one party made an auditory processing error. Another approach would be to  discern what each party understands by the communication, rather than attempting to pin someone to  an error. Objective hearing is a myth.       2.2  Vision  It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see.  ― Henry David Thoreau (2006:102)    With the normal retina of the human eye containing at least one million rod cells – activated during low  illumination  ‐  and  seven  million  cone  cells  –  activated  during  high  illumination,  there  exists  several  different anomalies that relate to different colour perceptions (Neitz & Neitz, 2011). Colour vision defects  do not necessarily all fall into an inherited class. Acquired vision problems could arise from industrial or  environmental chemicals, accidents and medications. For individuals with colour blindness, reliance on  environmental cues becomes important for daily functioning. For example, the placement of the traffic  signals  –  red,  yellow  and  green  –  are  often  standardized,  allowing  enough  information  to  construct  meaning. Even within a group of normal sighted people, individual perceptions of colour differ. Asking  each person to differentiate the boundary between green and blue colours quickly shows the differing  personal colour interpretations. Reversible colour perception abnormalities following medication is not  uncommon  and  can  occur  for  medicines  including  erectile  dysfunction  agents,  iron,  antibiotics,  anti‐ tuberculosis drugs, high blood pressure and nervous disorder medications (Fraunfelder, 2005; Santaella  & Fraunfelder, 2007; Hallberg & Ryttinger & Solvell, 1966; Yee et.al, 2003; Jägle, et.al., 2004). What is  more interesting is the prevalence of the nocebo effect in human visual sensitivities. This is a situation  where a group of people in a medication study are given an inert substance, yet present with negative  visual disturbances. The converse of this is a placebo where people in the group also taking the inert  substance report improvements. Both these outcomes are thought to be based on psychogenic factors  as the substance administered to both groups are  inert. The nocebo  is a real problematic and costly  problem in the medical profession and is poorly understood (Barsky et.al, 2002).     An experiment first described by Otto von Guericke in 1672 and later by Maturana and Varela (1998)  Illustrates  an  interesting  phenomenon  about  the  experience  of  colour  perception.  To  perform  this  experiment one needs two nearby white light sources set up to shine onto on a common spot on a white  surface, with one light source having red cellophane wrapped around the globe. The globes should be  directional or have a directional shade allowing each globe to shine only in the shared space on the surface  below. The light reflecting from the spot to one’s eyes is called additive mixing because it contains the  colours from both lights. Inserting one’s hand under the globes to create shadows, an interesting situation  occurs where bluish‐green colour shadows appear. Measuring the light with a wavelength meter does not  agree with the colour perception that a human experiences. For example, people experience green and  blue, yet when measuring the light there is no predominance of green or blue, but only the distribution  proper to white light (Maturana & Varela, 1998). One would predict pink or combinations of shades of  red would be predominant, not blue and/or green, as the source was a white and red light. Maturana and  Varela believe that our experience of the world of coloured objects is independent of the wavelength  composition of the light emitted from any scene (1998:22):  The experience of a colour corresponds to a specific pattern of states of activity in the nervous system which its  structure  determines…  What  states  of  neuronal  activity  are  triggered  by  the  different  perturbations  is  determined in each person by his or her individual structure and not by the features of the pertaining agent…  our experience is moored to our structure in a binding way. We do not see the “colours” of the world; we live  our chromatic space.     There is an array of visual disturbances including various hemianopsias (decreased vision in half of the  visual field of one or both eyes). These disturbances are mainly related to tumour, stroke or trauma.  Damage to different areas of the brain relate to different types of hemianopsias. However, even in people  who have not suffered physiological injury, there exists conditions that disturb vision. For example, people  suffering from migraines also report visual loss. What is interesting is that the visual disturbances are  different for different people. These include visual auras that are blind spot like, “kaleidoscope” effects,  flashing lights and a shimmering zig‐zag. Some people may have migraines yet never have any associated  visual disturbances, while others have to get to a safe place immediately, as they will have reversible visual  blindness for the early stage of their headache. Actual blind spots are a reality for every human being, as  we  all  have  a  scotoma  (blind  spot)  within  our  eye’s  visual  field.  There  is  a  lack  of  light‐detecting  photoreceptor cells on the optic disc of the retina where the retinal ganglion cell axons of the optic nerve  exit the retina2. The brain fills in the gaps for us by use of the other eye’s visual field. Thus, the missing  piece in our vision is constructed by our self for our self. This has serious implications when driving a  vehicle for example.   The optic nerve travels through various structures until it arrives at the visual cortex situated at the  back of the head. The visual cortex is generally accepted as the part of the brain responsible for visual  information  processing.  According  to  Banich  (2004),  large  amounts  of  the  neural  stimulus  that  are  interpreted by the visual cortex as visual information has originated from the structures that the optic  nerve travels through. From Figure 1.2, one can view the neural pathways for visual data and how the  pathway travels through various structures along the route to the visual cortex. Maturana and Varela  (1987) note that for each neuron on the retina projected to our visual cortex that travel via the Lateral  Geniculate Nucleus (LGN), hundreds of neurons from other areas within the nervous system too project  at  the  LGN.  The  LGN  acts  not  only  as  a  relay  station,  but  also  as  a  convergence  point.  The  visual  2 There are also pathological scotomas which also effect the visual field.   information undergoes some processing before being interpreted by the visual cortex of the brain, known  by positron emission tomography studies. The visual cortex thus uses information that was sensed on the  retina as well as further information that was generated by various structures of the brain. For example,  when one is hungry, one’s perception becomes more attuned to noticing items in the environment that  will bring about equilibrium/homeostasis in the body.  The awareness of our world is constructed from parts to give us the picture to which we use for our  decision making. We do not have the ability to observe our environment perfectly as we are limited by  our biological structures and functions. Maturana and Varela (1987) performed a radical experiment  whereby  they  surgically  rotated  the  eye  of  a  newt  (amphibian  of  the  Salamandridae  family)  by  180  degrees. The newt thus had one eye at its normal position while the other eye was 180 degrees out of  phase. When covering the rotated eye, the newt was able to catch  its prey by projecting  its tongue  correctly in the direction of the food (fly). When covering the normal eye and exposing the rotated eye,  the newt was unable to obtain its food as it kept extending its tongue 180 degrees away from the direction  of where the food was. The newt was never able to get its food. Maturana and Varela (1987) concluded  with the following statement:  This experiment reveals in a very dramatic way that, for the animal, there is no such thing as up and down, front  and back, in reference to an outside world, as it appears to the observer doing the study. There is only internal  correlation between the place where the retina receives a given perturbation and the muscular contractions  that move the tongue, the mouth, the neck… The operation of the nervous  system  is an expression of  its  connectivity or structure of connections and that behaviour arises because of the nervous system’s internal  relations of activity (p125‐126).    In sum Maturana and Varela (1987:242) expressed it well: “We do not see what we do not see, and what  we do not see does not exist.”            Figure 1.2: Pathway from the visual receptors in the retina to the brain (Extracted from Banich, 2004:24).      Visual processing is divided into discrete segments in the brain. Damage to some parts of the brain  may  not  stop  people  from  perceiving  all  aspects  of  vison.  A  condition  called  Blindsight  (Riddock  Phenomenon) refers to an ability to detect shape, colour, or motion in the area of an otherwise complete  hemianopsia  (blindness).  This  has  challenged  the  common  belief  that  perceptions  must  enter  consciousness to affect our behaviour (Carlson, 2013). People with Blindsight do not consciously see in  their lost visual field in the manner we all experience vision, but on forced‐choice tests demonstrate they  can detect forms, colours or motion. However, these people do not report it as vision, but rather as a  non‐visual sensation or “feeling” of a shape, colour or motion. This has important implications for the  philosophy of mind (Kentridge & Heywood, 1999).      In the popular book “A Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales” (Sacks, 1998),  there is a case about a women who suffered a stroke which affected the back portions of her right cerebral  hemisphere.  Her  intelligence  was  intact  including  a  good  sense  of  humour;  however,  she  often  complained that her food portions were too small. She only ate from the right half of her plate as it did  not occur to her that there is a left half as well. She would put make‐up on only the right side of her face,  leaving the left completely neglected. Sacks (1998) stated it is almost impossible to treat these symptoms  as her attention cannot be drawn to them yet she does understand it intellectually and can even laugh  about it, but impossible for her to directly know it. She cannot turn herself left and if she needs to see  something on the  left, she turns herself right until  it eventually comes  in view from the right (Sacks,  1998:78).  The  women  had  no  problem  with  her  eyes;  it  was  the  brain's  processing  of  the  visual  information that had become problematic. This book as the title suggests, tells of several cases whereby  people have disturbances in their cognitive processing.    In  the  therapeutic  conversation,  the  interpretation  of  the  client  is  based  on  how  and  what  one  perceives. The therapist needs to take responsibility for their observations, as it is within the therapist’s  own  neurology  that  visual  information  is  quantified  and  interpreted.  Each  therapist  will  observe  a  different view of the same client, and in a way is creating the client in each instant. This raises ethical  implications.    2.3  Questionable Reality – closer to empathy  Challenging objectivity provides a basis for an empathetic position in the therapy setting. This technical  argument provides an alternative training resource to providing a challenge to objective sense perception  and a challenge to linear causality. As Keeney (1983:129‐130) states “All of this is old hat to the cybernetic  epistemologist who knows that the map  is always  in the territory, the observer  in the observed, the  therapist  in  the system  being  treated”.  However,  there are  challenges faced  by  psychology students  learning a cybernetic perspective (Baron, 2014). Further, understanding cybernetic psychology does not  guarantee an empathetic posture in counselling ‐ albeit it should provide a strong basis for one.   Using a traditional linear approach to challenge objectivity has been found to be a viable method for a  “quick fix” in time constrained training. This paper presents a basis for further study in methods of training  counsellors where the goal  is a challenge to objective confident attitudes  in counselling. This  is also  applicable in multi‐cultural settings where the therapist is faced with language challenges.    3. Conclusion  Two often overlooked biopsychosocial processes are seeing and hearing. The term biopsychosocial was  used  to  signify  the  biological,  psychological as well  as  social aspects  of  the  modalities  of  seeing  and  hearing.  The idea of objective seeing and hearing are disproved based on accepted studies on human  physiology to remind the actors in the counselling process that sense perception is an ongoing filtering  process. Our understandings of our observations rests on our ability to perceive correctly. With our sense  perception error prone, so too are our understandings of our observations, which are based on the  sensory information. Western approaches do not readily teach a subjective interpretive circular view of  reality. The counselling practitioner is reminded that accuracy in hearing and seeing are based on their  own physiology, and individual differences are common. When the accuracy of one’s perceptions are  challenged, a new way of being evolves in the therapy process ‐ one of meaning construction, personal  responsibility and an ethic of co‐creation of shared/negotiated reality, which is closer to the goal of a  cybernetic  epistemology.  Actors  in  the  therapeutic  conversation  are  not  only  responsible  for  their  interpretations of the  information, but also for the sensing and the associated filtering of the sensed  information.  Heinz  von  Foerster  reminds  us:  “It’s  the  listener,  not  the  speaker,  who  determines  the  meaning of an utterance” (Glasersfeld, 2007). This can be extended to: It’s the observer who determines  what was seen and heard. Bearing this in mind, I can no longer rely on my senses for the Truth. The two  assumptions of seeing and hearing should be reframed from:   1. I hear you with my ears – to become, I receive sound energy not meaning.   2. I see you with my eyes – to become, I receive light energy not meaning.     Acknowledgments  The  financial  assistance  of  the  National  Research  Foundation  (NRF)  towards  this  research  is  hereby  acknowledged.  Opinions  expressed  and  conclusions  arrived  at,  are  those  of  the  author  and  are  not  necessarily to be attributed to the NRF.    References:  Anderson, H., & Goolishian, H. (1992). The client is the expert: A not‐knowing approach to therapy. In McName, S., & Gergen,   K.J. (Eds.) Therapy as social construction (pp25‐39). London: Sage.  Norcross, J. C. (2000). Clinical psychology vs. counseling psychology: What’s the diff? Eye on Psi Chi, 5(1), 20‐22.   Banich, M.T. (2004) Cognitive neuroscience and neuropsychology. (2nd) Houghton Mifflin Company. Boston. USA   Beranek, L. L. (2004). Concert halls and opera houses: music, acoustics and architecture. (2nd ed). Springer‐Verlag. New York  Baron. P. (2014). Overcoming obstacles in learning cybernetic psychology. Kybernetes, Vol. 43 Iss: 9/10, pp.1301 – 1309  Baron. P. (2009). Acoustic reverberation: a basis for sound recording in moderately anechoic rooms. (Masters dissertation).   Retrieved from http://ujdigispace.uj.ac.za/handle/10210/22/   Barsky AJ, Saintfort R, Rogers MP, Borus JF. Nonspecific Medication Side Effects and the Nocebo Phenomenon. JAMA.   2002;287(5):622‐627. doi:10.1001/jama.287.5.622.  Boyk, J. (2000). There's life above 20 kilohertz! a survey of musical instrument spectra to 102.4 kHz. retrieved from   http://www.cco.caltech.edu/ boyk/spectra/spectra.htm on 10 July 2009.  Brams, J. M. (1961). Counselor characteristics and effective communication in counseling. Journal Of Counseling Psychology,   8(1), 25‐30. doi:10.1037/h0047997  Brüel & Kjær. (1984). Measuring Sound. ( Rev. ed). BR0047‐13. Brüel & Kjær. 2850 Nærum. Denmark  Carlson, Neil (2013). Physiology of Behavior, 11th edition. University of Massachusetts, Amherst: Pearson Education, Inc  Fraunfelder, F. W. (2005). Visual side effects associated with erectile dysfunction agents. American journal of ophthalmology,   140(4), 723‐724.  Glanville, R. (2001). An Observing Science. Foundations of Science, special issue on "The Impact of Radical Constructivism on   Science", edited by A. Riegler, 2001, vol. 6, no. 1–3: 45–75.  Glasersfeld, E. (2007). The Constructivist View of Communication In A. Müller & K. H. Müller (Eds.), An unfinished   revolution? (pp. 351‐360). Vienna: Echoraum  Goldsmith, H., Hulle, C., Arneson, C., Schreiber, J., & Gernsbacher, M. (2006). A Population‐Based Twin Study of Parentally   Reported Tactile and Auditory Defensiveness in Young Children. Journal Of Abnormal Child Psychology, 34(3), 378‐392.  Griffith, J.L., Griffith, M.E & Slovik, I.S. (1992). Owning one’s epistemological stance in therapy. Dulwich Centre Newsletter, 1,   5‐11  Haley, J. (1973). Uncommon therapy. New York: Norton.  Hallberg, L., Ryttinger, L., & Sölvell, L. (1966). Side‐Effects of Oral Iron Therapy A double‐blind study of different iron compounds   in tablet form. Acta Medica Scandinavica, 180(S459), 3‐10.  Jägle, H., Jägle, C., Sérey, L., Yu, A., Rilk, A., Sadowski, B., ... & Sharpe, L. T. (2004). Visual short‐term effects of Viagra: double‐  blind study in healthy young subjects. American journal of ophthalmology, 137(5), 842‐849.  Kagee, A. and Lund, C. (2012), “Psychology training directors’ reflections on evidence‐based practice in South Africa”, South   African Journal of Psychology, Vol. 42 No. 1, pp. 103‐113.  Keeney, B. P., & Sprenkle, D. H. (1992). Ecosystemic epistemology: Critical implications for the aesthetics and pragmatics of   family  therapy.  In  R.  B.  Miller,  R.  B.  Miller  (Eds.)  ,  The  restoration  of  dialogue:  Readings  in  the  philosophy  of  clinical  psychology (pp. 477‐495). Washington, DC, US: American Psychological Association. doi:10.1037/10112‐041   Keeney, B. P. (1983). Aesthetics of change. Guilford Press. New York. NY  Kentridge, R. W., & Heywood, C. A. (1999). The status of blindsight: near‐threshold vision, islands of cortex and the Riddoch   phenomenon. Journal of consciousness studies, 6(5), 3‐11.  Maturana, H.R., & Varela, F.R. (1987) The Tree of Knowledge. The biological roots of human understanding. (Revised Ed).   Shambhala Publications. Boston. MA.  Neitz, J. & Neitz, M. (2011). The genetics of normal and defective color vision. Vis Res, 51, 633‐651.   Robinson, D. W., and Dadson, R. S, (1956). A Re‐Determination of the Equal‐Loudness Relations for   Pure Tones. British Journal of Applied Physics. 7, No 5 166‐181  Sacks, O. (1998). The man who mistook his wife for a hat: And other clinical tales. Simon and Schuster. New York, NY  Santaella, R. M., & Fraunfelder, F. W. (2007). Ocular adverse effects associated with systemic medications. Drugs, 67(1), 75‐      93.  Scott, B. (2011), Explorations in second order cybernetics. Edition Echoraum, Vienna  Shooter, M. (2005). The soul of caring. Advances in Psychiatric Treatment, 11(4), 239‐240.  Suzuki, Y., & Takeshima, H. (2004). Equal‐loudness‐level contours for pure tones. Journal of the Acoustical Society of America.   Vol 116 (2), pp918‐933   Thoreau, H. D. (2006). Walden. Yale University Press. USA  Tsutomu, O., Emi, N., Norie, K., Yoshitaka, F. & Hiroshi, I. (1991). High‐Frequency Sound Above the Audible Range Affects Brain  Electric Activity and Sound Perception. Audio Engineering Society. AES Convention:91 (October) Paper Number:3207  Valiquette, C., Pelletier, M., Parisien, I., Rocher, I., & Menzies, D. (2003). Incidence of serious side effects from first‐line   antituberculosis drugs among patients treated for active tuberculosis. American journal of respiratory and critical care  medicine, 167(11), 1472‐1477.  WHO (2011), “Chain free initiative”, available at: www.emro.who.int/mental‐health/chain‐freeinitiative/(accessed 30   December 2013).  Yee, D., Valiquette, C., Pelletier, M., Parisien, I., Rocher, I., & Menzies, D. (2003). Incidence of serious side effects from first‐line  antituberculosis drugs among patients treated for active tuberculosis. American Journal of Respiratory and Critical Care  Medicine, 167(11), 1472‐1477.    
work_c53xjpsvsfa7zjqdnqxwzxchlm	----	Microsoft Word - Andrews.docx Transmotion Vol 1, No 1 (2015)     91   Rifkin, Mark. Settler Common Sense: Queerness and Everyday Colonialism in the American Renaissance. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014. Xxii, 293 pp. http://www.upress.umn.edu/book-division/books/settler-common-sense As I read Mark Rifkin’s Settler Common Sense: Queerness and Everyday Colonialism in the American Renaissance, I was reminded of British literary critic Frank Kermode’s description of his relationship to the advent of Deconstruction in the 1980s: A good part of the pleasure I derived from my profession had come from finding out what texts seemed to be saying as it were voluntarily, and in conveying this information to others; and I should have felt uneasy to join a party whose sole business it was to elicit what they were saying in spite of themselves. (5) Rifkin’s project may be labeled Queer (perhaps even Decolonization) rather than Deconstruction, but in reading works by Nathaniel Hawthorne, Henry David Thoreau, and Herman Melville, he attempts to do the latter of the projects Kermode describes rather than the former. Settler Common Sense explores ways that these canonical American writers expressed their rebellion against conformist pressures within their nation and communities while being dependent upon those power structures to have cleared space (figuratively and literally) for their rebellion by dominating native nations. Settler in the title of course refers to settler colonialism; Common Sense refers to the “quotidian” ways the mechanics of settler colonialism operate, many times doing so in ways the settler/author does not recognize. In the texts Rifkin examines, the past and ongoing domination of the native nations has been naturalized or disappeared from view, and so he looks for traces of those acts of domination in the language of Hawthorne, Thoreau, and Melville. He also historicizes the moments of composition for key texts, describing the many ways the authors would have or could have been fully aware of native presence in New England, despite their texts’ refusal or reluctance to acknowledge it. The readers of this journal may be surprised that Rifkin mentions Gerald Vizenor just once, in an endnote. There he states that his project is different from Vizenor’s in Manifest Manners: Narratives in Postindian Survivance, but that his “discussion of tropes of Indianness owe a debt to [Vizenor’s] theorization of the ways figuration of Indianness substitute for (rather than point to) engagements with Native peoples and ‘the tribal real’” (198). Rifkin’s notion of “settler common sense” could be understood as a version of (or at least akin to) Vizenor’s “manifest manners.” Vizenor states, “Manifest manners are the simulations of dominance” (5); those simulations are the narrative representations of native conquest that produce and reinforce the dominant ideology (made most clear in Manifest Destiny). The ideological work of those simulations is more important than their veracity, and so they misrepresent actual native people. Vizenor has in mind texts (including films) that take “Indians” as their explicit topic, while Rifkin considers texts that may refer to Indians only in passing, but still he explores ways that Hawthorne, Thoreau, and Melville enable the continued dominance of native communities by the United States of America, even in the process of critiquing it; in this sense, Rifkin’s readings, although informed by critical theories that have come to the forefront since Vizenor’s book was published in 1999, seem to outline these texts as examples of “manifest manners.” Scott Andrews Review of Settler Common Sense     92   For Hawthorne, Rifkin analyzes The House of the Seven Gables. The novel represents the tensions among various ways of owning land on the “Maine Frontier”: inheriting it, speculatively buying and selling titles to it, and taking possession of it through one’s labor. Hawthorne represents the last of these as the most democratic, as a method for escaping the normative pressures of society and the state. However, all of these methods of ownership require the mitigation of native claims to the land. The novel suggests working the land is a means of ownership beyond the authority of the state, but, ironically, this requires the state to have cleared the land of tribal people and their claims of ownership. The novel presents inherited fortunes (built upon an obligatory heterosexuality) as suspect because they limit democratic access to property and because they descend from treaties and purchases from the region’s tribes, and it suggests those original native claims of ownership (by the Penobscot, in this case) were illegitimate, since native people did not labor on the land in ways John Locke would have recognized. For Thoreau, Rifkin examines Walden and its binary oppositions of city and nature. The city is a space for the corrupting and conforming pressures of civilization, especially “expanding and intensifying capitalist networks” (92), while nature is a space for the individual to enjoy unrestrained personal exploration with no regard for productivity—or reproductivity, as Rifkin emphasizes Thoreau’s escape from heterosexual conformity. Despite associations of the Indian with nature, in Thoreau’s formulation the regenerative qualities of nature require the absence of Indians—“living like an Indian, not among them” (92). Rifkin cites Thoreau’s famous example of the Indian who made baskets no one wished to purchase; for Thoreau, this Indian represented a misunderstanding of commercial endeavors and a desire to escape a system built upon such exchanges. But Rifkin cites examples of the Mashpee (quoting William Apess) and the Penobscot in Thoreau’s time and region who were engaged in commercial exchanges and who understood how to make that system work for their benefit (or at least their survival). In this case, Thoreau projects his fantasies onto the Indian, disregarding the very real Indians around him. For Melville, Rifkin examines Pierre, which represents the city rather than nature as the site for escaping social, economic, and sexual pressures to conform. Rural land is held by the wealthy, so people must go to city to compete for wages, and there they can escape the “institutionalized regulation” of their desires (167). However, Rifkin describes the ways New York City in the 19th century “depends upon the continued displacement of Native peoples” (172) and is dependent upon the continued domination of the region’s native people, making this “queer urban liberation… a form of settler fantasy” (172). Melville’s novel is historicized with Seneca and Oneida resistance to dispossession. Rifkin’s project of finding a text’s internal contradictions, its unspoken ideologies, or its unconscious desires has much in common with the style of criticism that made Kermode uncomfortable but which became the dominant methods of literary criticism in the 1990s; and those methods have much in common with the project of decolonization, which reveals to the dominant culture the contradictions and disavowed consequences of its own ideologies. However, Rifkin may strike some readers as stretching a bit too far with a few points. He perhaps makes too much of Hawthorne’s single use of the word “tribe” in The House of Seven Transmotion Vol 1, No 1 (2015)     93   Gables, and he perhaps too eagerly finds veiled references to masturbation wherever he looks in Thoreau’s discussion of life alone in the woods. If I may paraphrase Kermode in reference to Rifkin’s writing style: Sometimes his sentences can challenge a reader to find what they are trying to say voluntarily, as it were, in spite of themselves. Kermode was famous for his eloquence; Rifkin’s book, meantime, can be tough sledding; they are dense with references (a fourth of the book is devoted to Notes and Bibliography), and sometimes the sentences are constructed like Russian nesting dolls or are simply too long scan easily. The references are much appreciated and will be useful to other researchers and students, though the style will limit its audience and usefulness in classrooms. Scott Andrews, California State University, Northridge Works Cited Kermode, Frank. The Art of Telling: Essays on Fiction. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1983. Print. Vizenor, Gerald. Manifest Manners: Narratives on Postindian Survivance. Lincoln, Neb.: Bison Books, 1999. Print. 
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work_c7qfkmv5vjgudjh3mghlszbyxm	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
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work_caj45ayvwzfnlgdexgw6xxmaqu	----	Changing Pollen Types/Concentrations/ Distribution in the United States: Fact or Fiction? Estelle Levetin, PhD, and Peter Van de Water, PhD Corresponding author Estelle Levetin, PhD Biology Department, University of Tulsa, 800 Tucker Drive, Tulsa, OK 74104, USA. E-mail: estelle-levetin@utulsa.edu Current Allergy and Asthma Reports 2008, 8: 418– 424 Current Medicine Group LLC ISSN 1529-7322 Copyright © 2008 by Current Medicine Group LLC The buildup of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere has resulted in global climate change that is having a signifi - cant effect on many allergenic plants through increases in plant productivity and pollen allergenicity and shifts in plant phenology. Based on experimental studies, increased atmospheric levels of carbon dioxide have directly increased plant productivity. This has affected the total amount of pollen produced in some species. Research has also shown increased levels of birch aller- gen at warmer temperatures. Warmer temperatures have resulted in earlier fl owering for many spring-fl owering species in many countries, recorded through visual obser- vations of fl owering and by airborne pollen. Increases in the cumulative season totals of various pollen types also have been recorded; some of these increases may be explained by changes in plant distribution. Introduction During the past 200 years, human activities such as the burning of fossil fuels have produced increases in greenhouse gases in the atmosphere; the buildup of these heat-trapping gases has resulted in changes to the global climate, especially increasing global temperature [ 1 ]. The direct and indirect effects of these changes may involve ecosystem disturbance, sea level rise, changes in the dis- tribution of plants and animals, and changes in plant productivity and phenology (the timing of developmental stages). Changes in productivity are directly related to the enriching effects of increased carbon dioxide on rates of photosynthesis. Changes in plant phenology are related to the warmer spring temperatures and considered a sensitive, easily observable measure of climate change. Data from Europe and North America show earlier fl owering and fi rst leaf appearance for many plant species. Although many of these studies are focused on plants (eg, lilac) with insect- pollinated fl owers, other studies also show earlier fl owering in anemophilous, wind-dispersed species. Other signifi cant consequences of climate change concern human health and increased incidence of plant and animal diseases [ 2 ]. Direct effects on human health include deaths due to extreme weather events (eg, heat waves, hurricanes, and fl ooding). The spread of some infectious diseases is an indirect effect that can be linked to global warming, as the distributions of mosquitoes and other arthropod vectors have expanded. The severity of respiratory diseases such as asthma and allergic rhinitis also can be considered an indirect effect attributed to cli- mate change because of changes in the concentrations of airborne pollen and spores [ 2 ]. Many excellent review articles address various aspects of global climate change [ 1 , 3 ]. The present review addresses some of the evidence of global climate change and emphasizes the recent literature showing changes in aeroallergen exposure that result from shifts in plant pro- ductivity, allergenicity, and phenology. Global Climate Change The anthropogenic emission of greenhouse gases is increasingly recognized as a signifi cant contributor to the rise of average global temperatures and climate change [ 1 ]. Natural greenhouse gases (carbon dioxide, methane, and nitrous oxide) have risen substantially since the beginning of industrialization in the mid-1700s. Carbon dioxide has trended upward exponentially from preindustrial levels of approximately 280 ppm [ 1 ] to the current average global level (November 2007) of 384 ppm [ 4 ]. Methane has risen from a relatively stable pre- industrial value of approximately 700 parts per billion (ppb) to its 2005 value of 1774 ppb [ 5 ]. Nitrous oxides have also risen from 314 ppb to 319 ppb (1998–2005), much higher than the average value of 180 to 260 ppb found in longer geologic records covering the last gla- cial to interglacial cycle. Synthetic greenhouse gases Changing Pollen Types/Concentrations/Distribution Levetin and Van de Water 419 (chlorofl uorocarbons, hydrofl uorocarbons, perfl uorocar- bons, halons, and sulfur hexafl uoride) also contribute to warming, although most of these are declining because of restrictions imposed by the Montreal Protocol to pro- tect upper atmospheric ozone. Models of carbon dioxide use project increases in atmospheric carbon dioxide levels above 500 ppm before the beginning of the next century [ 6 ]. This increase presents the clearest potential for and danger of continued changes to global climate. Increases in greenhouse gases have concurred with the rise of the estimated global mean surface temperatures by 0.74ºC ± 0.18ºC over the last century (1906–2005). However, the trend is not linear. During the past 50 years, temperatures have increased 0.76ºC ± 0.19ºC more than the fi rst 50 years of instrumental records (1850–1899) [ 7 ]. Also, the rate of warming over the past 50 years is almost double the rate over the past 100 years. Beyond the global average temperature rise, daily and seasonal temperature ranges continue to show high levels of spatial variability. For example, the overall increase in maximum tempera- tures was greater than increased minimum temperatures from 1950 to 2004, resulting in a declining diurnal tem- perature range. Since then, the diurnal temperature range has remained nearly constant, as minimum and maximum temperatures have risen simultaneously [ 8 ]. With this increase in temperatures has come an overall reduction in the number of frost days at the mid-latitudes. Changes in extreme temperatures are also noted, with observed extreme cold conditions becoming more rare from 1951 to 2003 and warm nights more frequent. How- ever, stochastic variability continues to impact vegetation, as short, sharp temperature fl uctuations below freezing remain. Coupled with temperature changes are increased levels of precipitation at the higher northern latitudes and signifi cant reductions in rainfall within the deep tropics. Precipitation patterns are more spatially and temporally heterogeneous compared with temperatures. However, individual heavy precipitation events appear to be more common in areas of increased and decreased total precipi- tation amounts, an observation consistent with an overall rise in water vapor levels around the globe [ 9 ]. At the same time, a marked increase in the severity, duration, and aerial extent of drought conditions and heat waves and the reduc- tion of soil moisture have been recorded regionally. Changes in Plant Productivity Increased atmospheric carbon dioxide is one of the most important drivers of climate change. Carbon dioxide also directly affects carbon availability for plants as the primary carbon resource obtained through photosynthesis. The temperature increases resulting from the accumulation of greenhouse gases also may affect plant productivity and development. Over the past two decades, experiments have been undertaken to determine the projected effects of increasing atmospheric carbon dioxide on plants and ecosystems. These have included greenhouse experiments, the use of indoor and outdoor growth chambers, and the study of entire ecosystems using Free Air Carbon Dioxide Enrichment experiments [ 10 ]. The resulting data were produced using a wide range of experimental designs and, therefore, have become increasingly diffi cult to synthesize. Researchers have increasingly turned to meta-analyses to provide quantitative summaries and generate higher-order conclusions from the wide variety of experimental designs and data [ 10–12 ]. Studies in response to increasing carbon dioxide Research shows that increasing atmospheric carbon diox- ide by about 200 ppm above ambient atmospheric levels (600 ppm), a near-doubling from historic, preindustrial levels of 280 ppm, increases photosynthesis by as much as 60% in some C 3 plant species [ 11 , 13 ]. This shift in carbon acquisition has predicted direct and indirect effects on plant physiology, such as shifts in species biogeographic distribution, phenology, and reproductive behavior. The impact of increasing atmospheric carbon dioxide on plant systems and potential allergen production focuses on increased plant biomass, fl ower production, and pol- len. A natural split occurs within the literature between crop plants and wild species, with a further differentia- tion between physiologic types based on photosynthesis (C 3 legumes, C 3 , and C 4 physiology). Jablonski et al. [ 12 ] analyzed 1391 pairs of observations from 159 reports on 79 crop (75%) and wild (25%) species reported between 1983 and 2000. Their meta-analysis was designed to assess the effects of carbon dioxide enrichment (500–800 ppm) on reproductive organs, including plant biomass, fl ower number and carbon allocation between plant mass, and reproduction. Within all plant types, total plant mass increased by 31% in elevated carbon dioxide compared with controls, with the greatest response in C 3 legumes, then C 3 , and then C 4 plants. Signifi cantly greater fl ower production (+ 19%) occurred, with no signifi cant dif- ferences between crop and wild species or when species were split into physiologic categories of C 3 legumes, C 3 , and C 4 plants. Overall reproduction allocation was not signifi cantly different between ambient and raised car- bon dioxide levels. The only categorical difference was between crop and wild plants, with crop plants show- ing little change but high levels of variability and wild plants showing reduced reproduction allocation and vari- ability. The increase in fl ower number is consistent with the fi ndings of Kimball [ 14 ], who compiled 430 historic experimental observations of 37 agricultural species grown under enriched atmospheric carbon dioxide con- ditions. These historic studies show a 33% increase in crop yield measured as changes in crop plant biomass by weight. However, the species analyzed included a sub- category of species raised specifi cally for their fl owers. These fl oral crops (carnation, chrysanthemum, cyclamen, nasturtium, rose, and snapdragons) showed a signifi cant 420 Allergens increase in fl ower production, with the implication being that increasing carbon dioxide produces more fl owers. The frequent use of carbon dioxide burners in commercial greenhouses to boost fl oral production is further evidence of this phenomenon. Studies of pollen production at elevated CO 2 levels Increases in biomass and, subsequently, greater numbers of fl ower heads are expected to increase pollen produc- tion. Rogers et al. [ 15•• ] grew three cohorts of Ambrosia artemisiifolia separated by 15-day increments at ambi- ent and carbon dioxide concentrations of 700 ppm. At heightened carbon dioxide levels, plants from the two later cohorts had greater biomass and overall increased pollen production of 32% and 55%, respectively. Initial cohorts showed similar values with both treatments. Higher pol- len production levels also occurred in subordinate versus dominant plants in dense stands with increased carbon dioxide levels. Ziska et al. [ 16 , 17 ] reported similar results of increases in fl ower heads along with overall plant bio- mass in A. artemisiifolia . Elevated levels of carbon dioxide increased the number of fl oral spikes per plant. In addi- tion, an overall increase in the number of pollen grains per spike increased, resulting in increased pollen production as measured by grams of pollen per plant. However, it is unclear if there were any changes in the number of pol- len grains per fl ower. From preindustrial carbon dioxide levels to current levels and from current levels to 600 ppm, the number of fl ower spikes per plant remained steady but increased signifi cantly from current to future carbon dioxide levels. However, pollen production increased ini- tially and then held steady as future carbon dioxide levels were applied. Overall, the change from historic to ambi- ent levels increased pollen production by 132%, and the shift from ambient to 600 ppm increased production by approximately 90%. Wayne et al. [ 18 ] found similar but overall reduced pollen production levels (+ 61%) with heightened carbon dioxide concentrations of 350 ppm to 700 ppm. Some caution must be exercised in interpreting these results. Prasad et al. [ 19 ] and Koti et al. [ 20 ] found the normally high pollen production values signifi cantly decreased in kidney beans ( Phaseolus vulgaris ) and soy- beans ( Glycine max ) when they were grown with higher temperatures. Koti et al. [ 20 ] found similar results for high UVB concentrations. These studies show that other envi- ronmental variables may mitigate some of the increases observed with only increasing carbon dioxide levels. A signifi cant portion of allergenic pollen is produced by larger perennial plants, shrubs, and trees. These large plants are harder to study, as their size and the time needed to reach fecundity necessitate a signifi cant investment to realize results. Curtis and Wang [ 11 ] reviewed 508 observa- tions of the effects of heightened carbon dioxide on woody plant biomass accumulation taken from 79 reports and 59 species. Results indicated a signifi cant increase in biomass with high carbon dioxide levels (28%). However, stress effects signifi cantly reduced overall gains. For example, plants grown under nutrient stress showed about half of the average gains (+ 15.5%) compared with plants without stress (+ 30.9%). In the Duke forest Free Air Carbon Diox- ide Enrichment experiment [ 21 ], Pinus taeda was grown at ambient and ambient-plus-200-ppm carbon dioxide con- centrations [ 22 , 23 ]. After more than 5 years of growth at heightened carbon dioxide concentrations, the proportion of trees reaching fecundity was greater, the diameter of the fecund trees smaller, and the overall number of male and female cones and seeds increased. In the male cones, the absolute amount of pollen per cone was not altered. How- ever, with greater cone numbers and earlier fecundity, this led to increased stand-level pollen production [ 23 ]. Another potential impact of global change and aller- genic particles occurs when developmental changes within individual pollen grains heighten their allergenicity. For example, birch ( Betula pubescens subsp czerepanovii ) growing at different temperatures showed an increase in the major allergen protein Bet v 1 at higher temperatures [ 24 ]. These results are supported by earlier work that showed increased allergenicity in pollen from the warmer southern side of individual B. pubescens trees [ 25 ]. Changes in secondary plant products with heightened carbon dioxide, such as allergens, are not unprecedented. For example, poison ivy ( Toxicodendron radicans ) grown at high levels of atmospheric carbon dioxide exhibits changes in secondary plant products. Plants grown at twice current ambient conditions (570-ppm carbon diox- ide) show increased production of and a more allergenic form of urushiol, the cause of contact dermatitis [ 26 ]. Studies of fl owering in response to warming In contrast to the previous studies, which examined plant responses to increased carbon dioxide levels, several researchers have examined responses to experimental warm- ing in fi eld plots. Wan et al. [ 27 ] examined the responses of Ambrosia psilostachya (western ragweed) in a tallgrass prairie to experimental warming over 2 years and found that warming increased the number of ragweed stems in the plot by 88%. Warming caused no change in the pollen produc- tion per stem, but total pollen per plot increased by 84% because of the increased number of stems. Sherry et al. [ 28•• ] showed the effects of experimental warming on fl owering in a variety of species from another tallgrass prairie site. They found advanced fl owering in species that fl ower in spring and early summer but delayed fl owering in species that nor- mally fl ower in late summer and fall. Nine spring-fl owering species showed earlier fl owering. Two summer-fl owering grasses showed a signifi cant change in fl owering time. Panicum spp fl owered 17 days earlier, and Andropogon spp fl owered 10 days later. Ambrosia spp plants emerged earlier than unwarmed plants, developed buds at the same time, but fl owered later in the warmed plots. The authors concluded that the delayed fl owering for Ambrosia spp was due to a prolongation of the bud stage. Changing Pollen Types/Concentrations/Distribution Levetin and Van de Water 421 Plant Phenology Plants and animals in temperate zones display seasonal changes that are synchronized to climate. Phenology is the scientifi c discipline that studies these changes and includes investigations of phenomena such as the appearance of the fi rst leaves, fi rst fl owers, autumn leaf coloration, ani- mal migration, and onset of egg laying by birds and other animals. Although researchers have reported on pheno- logic observations for centuries [ 29 ], the recent interest in global climate change has imparted a renewed emphasis on documenting these events [ 30 ]. In this review, we con- fi ne our discussion to fl owering phenology. It has long been recognized that reproductive phenol- ogy in many plants is more closely related to temperature than other environmental factors [ 31 ]. This is especially true for plants that fl ower in spring and early summer, whereas species that fl ower in late summer and fall gener- ally are correlated with photoperiod. Flowering in spring is largely a response to accumulated temperature above a specifi c threshold value; therefore, years with warmer springs show earlier fl owering [ 32 ]. In addition to year-to- year fl uctuations of spring temperatures, increases in global temperature have resulted in warmer winters and springs and, consequently, earlier fl owering of many spring taxa in various locations [ 33 , 34 , 35•• ]. Although a few studies have shown an extension of the fl owering period for some species that bloom in fall [ 28•• ], most phenologic reports have focused on shifts in spring fl owering. Visual observations of fl owering Long-term phenologic databases for fl owering are often based on visual observation at a single location or mul- tiple locations. Typically, the date of fi rst bloom is recorded, although some studies have used other metrics. Fitter and Fitter [ 33 ] reported on the fi rst fl owering date for 385 species over a period of 47 years. One of the authors recorded all the observations from a single location. From 1991 to 2000, the dates of fi rst fl owering were on average 4.5 days earlier than those from 1954 to 1990. Sixty species from this group had signifi cantly earlier fl owering (at least 15 days in advance). Also, insect-pollinated species showed a greater change than wind-pollinated ones (4.8 vs 3.5 days earlier). Menzel [ 30 ] reported on observational data obtained from the International Phenology Gardens, a network of gardens in Europe that has genetically identical trees and shrubs. Many of the trees in the gardens are of allergenic importance, including Betula , Populus , Quercus , and Salix spp. Data for 16 taxa from 1959 to 1996 showed trends for earlier fl owering, although different countries varied in regard to the species showing this trend. Overall, the data indicated that spring phenologic events advanced 6.3 days during the period of study. Menzel et al. [ 34 ] published a Europe-wide meta-analysis of all recorded changes in phe- nology from 1971 to 2000 for 542 species in 21 countries. The datasets analyzed consisted of more than 100,000 phe- nologic time series. Their results showed that 78% of all leaf unfolding and fl owering records were advanced, with 31% signifi cantly advanced. Overall, the average advance in spring phenology was 2.5 days per decade. The authors concluded that the spring phenologic signal is an excellent indicator of the impact of climate change. Plant phenology data for North America are not as widely available as European datasets. Fewer species have been studied and for shorter periods of time. The lilac ( Syringa vulgaris and Syringa chinensis ) and hon- eysuckle ( Lonicera tatarica and Lonicera korolkowii ) databases are the longest in the Western Hemisphere. Regional plantings of these species were established in the late-1950s and 1960s to develop phenologic datasets that could be used to optimize farming practices [ 36 ]. These species were chosen because they can grow in many soil types and geographical areas and under various climatic conditions [ 37 ]. Phenology data from these plants have been analyzed in various studies. Schwartz and Reiter [ 38 ] examined lilac fl owering data from 1959 to 1993 and found regional differences in North America along with a 4.2-day advance in fi rst bloom date. First bloom dates for lilac (1957–1994) and honeysuckle (1968–1994) from 12 western states showed extensive variability among states and from year to year [ 37 ]. For example, the average fi rst bloom date for lilac ranged from mid-March in Arizona to early-June in Montana and Washington. Overall, there was a trend toward earlier fl owering for lilac and honeysuckle since the mid-1970s. For lilac, fl owering was advanced 7.5 days over 38 years, and honeysuckle 10 days over 27 years. Wolfe et al. [ 36 ] examined lilac fi rst fl ower date from 1965 to 2001 in the northeastern United States along with midbloom dates for apple ( Malus domestica ) and grape ( Vitis vinifera ). Earlier fl owering was found in most lilac locations, with an average of 9.3 days over the 36-year period. Although the datasets for apple and grape had very few locations, these species showed a 5- to 7-day earlier midbloom date. In western Canada, Beaubien and Freeland [ 32 ] exam- ined changes in fl owering using historical and modern phenologic datasets. They found a linear trend toward earlier fl owering in aspen ( Populus tremuloides ) trees, with an advance of 26 days from 1900 to 1997. Several investigators used specimens in large herbaria and historical observations to determine fl owering dates as a surrogate for long phenologic observations. Primack et al. [ 39 ] used herbarium specimens in Arnold Arboretum in Boston to compare fl owering times from 1885 to 2002. They found that plants fl owered 8 days earlier from 1980 to 2002 than they did from 1900 to 1920. Miller-Rushing and Primack [ 40 ] analyzed 500 taxa growing in Concord, Massachusetts. Observations were taken by Henry David Thoreau from 1852 to 1858, then by Alfred Hosmer in 1878 and 1888 to 1902, and fi nally by the authors from 2004 to 2006. Analysis showed spring-fl owering plants advanced on average 7 days earlier. Over the same period, summer-fl ower- ing species showed greater interannual variation; the overall 422 Allergens correlation of summer-fl owering species with temperature was less than it was for spring-fl owering taxa. Airborne pollen Data from airborne pollen levels also have been used as evidence of earlier fl owering in select taxa, although pollen databases generally are not as long as the records of visual observations. Various studies have examined several pollen season parameters, including start date, peak date, peak val- ues, total seasonal pollen, and length of pollen season. Most of these studies have been conducted in Europe because of the availability of longer aerobiologic databases. Birch ( Betula spp) pollen is a major aeroallergen in many European countries; consequently, many studies have focused on changes in airborne birch pollen concen- trations. Rasmussen [ 41 ] examined birch pollen from two cities in Denmark and documented several changes from 1979 to 1998. The season start date became signifi cantly earlier in Copenhagen by 12 days and in Viborg by 10 days. The peak date for the birch season was also earlier in both cities. During those 20 years, there was a signifi cant increase in total pollen levels for the season and increases in the peak values. Emberlin et al. [ 42 ] investigated trends in the start of the Betula spp pollen season at several sites in Europe, including Kevo, Turku, London, Brussels, Zur- ich, and Vienna. The authors compared birch pollen data from 1982 to 1999, although longer datasets were used for some sites. They found marked regional differences in the birch seasons. London, Brussels, Zurich, and Vienna showed clear trends toward earlier start dates. By contrast, Kevo, located within the Arctic Circle in northern Finland, showed a trend toward cooler springs and, consequently, later start dates during this period. Turku (southern Fin- land) showed fl uctuating temperatures in spring and no clear long-term trends for the start of the Betula spp season. Van Vliet et al. [ 43 ] showed that the start date for birch pollen in Leiden (the Netherlands) was signifi cantly earlier (by 10 days) from 1969 to 2000. In another multicity study in western Europe, Spieksma et al. [ 44 ] investigated the cumulative annual totals of several pollen types, includ- ing Betula spp. The datasets vary from 20 to 33 years in fi ve cities, and increasing trends for total birch pollen were noted at all sampling stations. The trends from Delmen- horst (Germany), Helmond (the Netherlands), and Brussels were not signifi cant; however, Derby (United Kingdom) and Leiden had signifi cant increases in annual totals over 32 and 33 years, respectively. European researchers also have found signifi cant trends over time for other airborne pollen types. Ear- lier season starts have been documented for Juniperus , Ulmus , Populus , Salix , and Quercus spp in the Nether- lands [ 43 ] and for Platanus spp pollen in Spain and Italy [ 45 ]. Spieksma et al. [ 44 ] found signifi cant increases in annual pollen totals for Urtica spp pollen at Delmenhorst, Helmond, Brussels, Leiden, and Derby and for Quercus spp pollen at Brussels, Leiden, and Derby. The air-sampling datasets at several European cit- ies extend back to the late-1960s; very few US sampling stations have been in continuous operation for that long. Although newspaper stories and anecdotal reports based on 2 or 3 years of data have described earlier start dates and increased pollen levels, long-term datasets are needed to rule out changes due to year-to-year fl uctuations in weather conditions. As more sampling stations maintain yearly pollen records, data for the United States should become available in the future. Daily aerobiology data from Tulsa, Oklahoma, extend back to 1987 using a Burkard sampler and show several long-term trends in airborne pollen levels. Levetin [ 46 ] reported signifi cant increases in cumulative season totals of Juniperus , Quercus , Carya , and Betula spp pollen from 1987 through 2000 and also found earlier but non- signifi cant start dates for Juniperus , Ulmus , and Morus spp pollen. Perhaps the most important change in the Tulsa pollen record has been the increase in Juniperus spp pollen totals, which continued to show a signifi cant increase in cumulative season totals ( r = 0.61, P < 0.005) from 1987 to 2006 [ 47 ]. The Juniperus spp pollen increase registered in Tulsa paralleled increases in Juniperus virginiana trees through- out Oklahoma and other states in the Central Plains over the past several decades [ 48 ]. Similar increases have been documented with other Juniperus spp in the central, west- ern, and southwestern US; this includes the highly allergenic species Juniperus ashei [ 49 ]. Various theories have been proposed to explain the expansion of Juniperus spp popula- tions, including fi re suppression, overgrazing, and climate change. Knapp and Soulé [ 50 ] examined the expansion of Juniperus occidentalis populations in central Oregon and suggested many environmental factors, including carbon dioxide increase, have contributed to the population change. The carbon dioxide increase preferentially enhanced the growth of young J. occidentalis trees [ 50 ]. Cumulative Ambrosia spp pollen totals in the Tulsa atmosphere showed a signifi cant decrease ( r = – 0.78, P < 0.001) during this same period (1987–2006) [ 51 ]. Although increased urbanization may contribute to the decrease in ragweed pollen totals, analysis of meteorologic factors showed that increasing August temperature was a signifi cant negative variable. These data are somewhat in contrast to those of Wan et al. [ 27 ], who showed that experimental warming increased the number of A. psilo- stachya stems per plot and, consequently, the total pollen per plot. A. artemisiifolia and Ambrosia trifi da , the most common ragweed species in the Tulsa area, are annuals. It is possible that the perennial ragweed A. psilostachya responds differently than the annuals. Conclusions Elevated levels of atmospheric carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases have resulted in global warming. The Changing Pollen Types/Concentrations/Distribution Levetin and Van de Water 423 effect of these changes has impacted plant production, with increases in plant biomass, numbers of fl owers, pollen per plant, and potential changes in pollen per anther. These effects have been shown in select plants through studies at elevated carbon dioxide levels. The timing of fl oral development and pollen release depends upon environmental signals, especially temperature for spring-fl owering species, and as a result of global climate change, these natural cycles potentially may be disrupted by shifts in climate that result in an advance in the tim- ing of pollen development and dispersal. Data from European studies have documented these changes in phenology through visual observations of fl owering and airborne pollen. Increases in peak concentrations and cumulative annual pollen levels also have been recorded. Parallel changes are occurring in the United States, although the databases for both measurements are not as extensive. The most widely documented changes in plant distribution and, consequently, pollen levels are the expansion of Juniperus spp across the Central Plains and southwestern and western United States. Although the reasons for the expansion are complex and not fully understood, changing carbon dioxide levels may be a contributing factor. Continued pollen monitoring in the United States is essential to document these and other future pollen trends related to climate change. Disclosures No potential confl icts of interest relevant to this article were reported. References and Recommended Reading Papers of particular interest, published recently, have been highlighted as: • Of importance •• Of major importance 1. Le Treut H, Somerville R, Cubasch U, et al. : Historical overview of climate change science. In Climate Change 2007: The Physical Basis. Contribution of Work- ing Group 1 to the Fourth Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Edited by Solomon S, Qin D, Manning M, et al. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; 2007: 93 – 127. 2. Beggs PJ, Bambrick HJ: Is the global rise of asthma an early impact of anthropogenic climate change? 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work_ci52ej2cxbacpkugivwo4dzd2a	----	journalist Theodore Hittell, and promoter, P. T. Barnum – Adams successfully staged himself a generation before Cody and his primary mythmaker, Ned Buntline. Hunting paradigms also bring new nuance to the cultural meanings of Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane, within and beyond entertainment arenas. At times, the power of the performance studies analysis falters. Some discussion of the hunt’s contributions to transnational imperialism, white masculinity, and quest narra- tives seems well-worn, adding little to the field’s rich scholarship from Richard Slotkin onwards. At other moments, the analysis travels too quickly to do full justice to its range of subjects. For all the gesture to Bruno Latour’s actor-network theory, for example, the discussion does less with the agency of nonhuman “relational participants” (animals, landscapes, firearms) than it promises to (). Jones too glancingly suggests echoes with Indigenous cosmologies and parallels between trophy and lynching photographs (and between hunting and torture more generally) – all intriguing directions which need more development lest they be recontained within eurocentric frameworks. Nevertheless, this is a study full of provocative reconceptualizations, from the hunting guide as choreographer to the hunter as curator. Arguing that western hunting was centrally a “testimonial culture” () and tracing the “dramaturgy of the game trail” () in its constitution and ramifications, Jones pinpoints the embed- dedness of performance, the need to show and tell – that is, the need for an audience – at the heart of the ostensibly solitary frontier on which so much US mythology rests. C H R I S T I N E B O L DUniversity of Guelph Journal of American Studies,  (), . doi:./S Kathryn Cornell Dolan, Beyond the Fruited Plain: Food and Agriculture in U.S. Literature, – (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, , £.). Pp. . ISBN     . Over the past decade, cultural histories of US food and restaurant culture such as Cindy R. Lobel’s Urban Appetites: Food and Culture in Nineteenth-Century New York (), Andrew P. Haley’s Turning the Tables: Restaurants and the Rise of the American Middle Class (), Harvey Levenstein’s Revolution at the Table: The Transformation of the American Diet (), and Pysche Williams-Forson’s Building Houses out of Chicken Legs: Black Women, Food and Power (), and lit- erary studies such as Marie Drews and Monica Elbert’s Culinary Aesthetics and Practices in Nineteenth-Century American Literature (), Kyla Wazana Tompkins’s Racial Indigestion: Eating Bodies in the Nineteenth Century (), and Allison Carruth’s Global Appetites: American Power and the Literature of Food (), have done much to reshape the alimentary landscape of nineteenth-century  Richard Slotkin, Regeneration through Violence: The Myth of the American Frontier, –  (Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, ); Slotkin, The Fatal Environment: The Myth of the Frontier in the Age of Industrialization, – (New York: Atheneum, ); Slotkin, Gunfighter Nation: The Myth of the Frontier in Twentieth-Century America (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, ).  Bruno Latour, Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ).  Reviews terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001529 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:03, subject to the Cambridge Core http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/S0021875817001529&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001529 https://www.cambridge.org/core American literary study. Kathryn Cornell Dolan’s Beyond the Fruited Plain contrib- utes to this conversation by turning our attention from what, where, or why nine- teenth-century Americans ate to the shifting spaces and cultural as well as technological machinery that at once produced and transformed their food. Beyond the Fruited Plain centers on the period following the Mexican–American War through the Spanish–American War – on, in other words, a key moment of US territorial expansion and an underexplored era of what Dolan aptly terms “agri- expansion” (). It persuasively links the reformist impulses and literary critiques of this agricultural revolution in the nineteenth century to our contemporary concerns about agribusiness and industrial food apocalypse, and, most crucially, uncovers how nineteenth-century America’s technological and economic expansion was intertwined with – indeed, solidified by – the project of vastly industrializing and expanding US agricultural production. For as Dolan reminds us, “the national importance of the wheat trade [in the years following the Civil War] was so great that U.S. production and distribution of wheat was second only to Britain’s, and it significantly influenced the U.S. economy well into the twentieth century” (). Dolan focusses her study on five key literary figures who indexed, critiqued, and at times celebrated US “agri-expansion”: Herman Melville, Henry David Thoreau, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Mark Twain, and Frank Norris. Chapter , “Expanding Agriculture,” convincingly argues that Melville’s land-focussed writings challenge glo- balization as much as his sea-based ones do, and that in texts like Pierre he critiques feudal agriculture, modern reforms, and the effects of agribusiness in both the South Pacific and the Berkshires. Her second chapter, “Local Beans, Apples, Berries,” chronicles what might be described as locavorism avant la lettre by way of Henry David Thoreau’s dietary and local eating experiments in Walden (), arguing that Thoreau “realizes that the trend of excessive use of lands by the United States as part of an expanding agricultural, territorial, and political goal has a correlation in the national diet” (). In chapter , “Fruits of Regionalism,” Dolan turns to Stowe’s postbellum championing of the orange as a form of culinary regionalism aimed at reuniting a fractured nation and boosting tourism while simul- taneously supporting local rather than global forms of agricultural trade. Her fourth chapter, “Sweet Fruits of Empire,” intriguingly charts Twain’s increasing (if not exactly linear) anti-imperialist sentiments through his uneasy evocations of sugar in his Autobiography () and Tom Sawyer (), his initially laudatory views of the global expansion of US sugar plantations to Hawaii, and his eventual concerns over coolie labor exploitation and the parallels between US expansion and the British Empire in Following the Equator (). And her fifth chapter, “The Wheat Strikes Back,” unsettles traditional readings of Frank Norris as simply a pro- ponent of the agri-expansion he chronicles in The Octopus () and The Pit () by detailing the way these novels turn their attention to “the potential conse- quences of capitalist forces becoming exploitative of the natural world and those people who work the land” () and thus enact what Dolan compellingly identifies as “an early form of second-wave eco-criticism” (). Ultimately, Beyond the Fruited Plain asks us to rethink the role of agriculture in nineteenth-century American literature and culture and to question how writers we might not initially have thought of as eco-critical might speak to the “agri-expansion” of our own day. This study would have been enriched by situating this discussion within the broader recent conversation begun by Tompkins on dietary reform as a nineteenth-century technology of racial formation and, more recently, by Carruth Reviews  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001529 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:03, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001529 https://www.cambridge.org/core on the global power dynamics of US food culture, as well as by drawing on the ongoing critical conversation on postbellum regional reconciliation begun by the work of Nina Silber in The Romance of Reunion: Northerners and the South, – () and more recently continued by Jennifer Greeson in Our South: Geographic Fantasy and the Rise of National Literature () in its analysis of Stowe’s work “to use diet and agriculture, the production and consumption of regional U.S. foods, to make the South and the North ‘friends’ once again” (). Its readings would also have benefited from greater attention to the wider cultural rhetoric of food and agricultural expansion against which its chosen authors wrestled. This is, nevertheless, a fascinating and much-needed book, and one that will surely broker important further avenues of study in the fields of both food studies and the environmental humanities. J . M I C H E L L E C O G H L A NUniversity of Manchester Journal of American Studies,  (), . doi:./S Georg Rable, Damn Yankees! Demonization and Defiance in the Confederate South (Baton Rouge: Louisiana University Press, , $. hardback, $. epub). Pp. . ISBN     ,     . The strength of this monograph resides in its extensive quotation of primary sources. The author, a chaired professor of southern history at the University of Alabama, has combed through extensive materials both public and private, creating a sort of anatomy of official and media propaganda and private rhetoric with which the Confederacy whipped up warfever inthe years immediately leading up to, bolstered morale and solidarity during the war years, and tried to explain away defeat afterwards. The rhetorical purposes of the language amply quoted here are predictable. Like all wartime propagandists the writers seek to demonize the enemy, to justify their own side’s actions and to mobilize society for the pain and sacrifice exacted by a war fought on an enormous scale. Nor is there anything unexpected about the verbal tech- niques employed. Hyperbole and distortion surely head this list, as in this description of “the Puritan” Yankee created by a Georgia newspaperman: “More cruel than the Spaniard, more treacherous than the Italian, more blood-thirsty than the Turk, there is no wrong or humiliation, however atrocious, that his malignant ingenuity would not devise, and in which his savage nature, would not find diabolical pleasure” (). Theauthor catalogues theinconsistentandeven contradictoryusages foundin anti-nor- therndiscourse. In the run-up to the war, Yankeeswere weak and militarily inept, cowardly by nature and by upbringing alike. Yankees might go to war for mercenary reasons, but had no deeper motivations upon which to draw martial resolve. “This race of sharpers … have less fight in them than any white race now on the globe,” opined the Charleston Mercury, a source that frequents the monograph. When they came, northern successes could be explained away by the aforementioned “Puritan” diabolism that disdained the valorous rules of conduct adhered to by the “Cavalier” southern soldier. As the war ground on, the image of northern weakness (we’ll whip the cowardly Yankees, and quick) gave way to depictions of northern wickedness (the devils will stop at nothing to win). Confederate vituperation expanded to include the treatment of civilians and POWs. Rape, pillage, plunder, and murder – again and again, wartime southern accounts emphasize the categorical wickedness of northern conduct. The Union use of black troops was alternatively depicted as both ludicrous (imagine a society so addled as to  Reviews terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001529 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:03, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001529 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_cgmudk6arne3jigjx3kiavvujy	----	Johnston, S. F. (2018) Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists. Annals of Science, 75(2), pp. 97-119. (doi:10.1080/00033790.2018.1460691). This is the author’s final accepted version. There may be differences between this version and the published version. You are advised to consult the publisher’s version if you wish to cite from it. http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/159848/ Deposited on: 30 March 2018 Enlighten – Research publications by members of the University of Glasgow http://eprints.gla.ac.uk http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00033790.2018.1460691 http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/159848/ http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/ Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 1 Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists Sean F. Johnston SUMMARY This paper traces how media representations encouraged enthusiasts, youth, and skilled volunteers to participate actively in science and technology during the twentieth century. It assesses how distinctive discourses about scientific amateurs positioned them with respect to professionals in shifting political and cultural environments. In particular, the account assesses the seminal role of a periodical, Scientific American magazine, in shaping and championing an enduring vision of autonomous scientific enthusiasms. Between the 1920s and 1970s, editors Albert G. Ingalls and Clair L. Stong shepherded generations of adult ‘amateur scientists’. Their columns and books popularized a vision of independent non-professional research that celebrated the frugal ingenuity and skills of inveterate tinkerers. Some of these attributes have found more recent expression in present-day ‘maker culture’. The topic consequently is relevant to the historiography of scientific practice, science popularization and science education. Its focus on independent non-professionals highlights political dimensions of agency and autonomy that have often been implicit for such historical (and contemporary) actors. The paper argues that the Scientific American template of adult scientific amateurism contrasted with other representations: those promoted by earlier periodicals and by a science education organization, Science Service, and by the national demands for recruiting scientific labour during and after the Second World War. The evidence indicates that advocates of the alternative models had distinctive goals and adapted their narrative tactics to reach their intended audiences, which typically were conceived as young persons requiring instruction or mentoring. By contrast, the monthly Scientific American columns established a long-lived and stable image of the independent lay scientist. Contents 1. Introduction 2. Problematizing the lay scientist and technical enthusiast 3. Portraying the scientific amateur 4. Albert Ingalls and the Scientific American model of the adult amateur 5. Contrasting audiences for Scientific American and Science Service 6. Citizens as Scientific Americans: C.L. Stong and ‘The Amateur Scientist’ 7. Reconceiving and educating the Cold War scientific citizen 8. Celebrating dependent versus independent lay scientists Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 2 9. Conclusions: advocates, media models and curated enthusiasms 1. Introduction Through the twentieth century, scientific amateurs multiplied in response to evolving leisure, commercial, educational and political contexts. This paper examines the role of media representations in shaping American public discourse about non-professionals, and in encouraging enthusiasts, youth and skilled volunteers to participate actively in science and technology. Influenced significantly by their portrayals in print, lay scientific activities played significant roles in shaping public understandings, spawning waves of career workers, supporting economies and achieving national goals. My focus is a seminal periodical, Scientific American magazine, and its role over five decades in championing a popular template of the scientific amateur. I argue that the Scientific American vision of lay science was shaped during a fertile period for American publishing, and contrasted with earlier media portrayals and significant contemporary alternatives promoted by the activities of an influential media organization, Science Service, and by rising national demands for generating scientific labour during and after the Second World War. While other media sources actively adapted their narrative tactics to influence youthful practitioners, the monthly Scientific American columns established a long-lived and stable image of the adult lay scientist. I show that that the rhetoric and reality of scientific enthusiasms have not always matched. Publishers, engineering and supply companies, educators and government were active agents in deliberately promoting and guiding subsets of amateur scientific activities. In distinct contexts, sponsors and mentors have portrayed amateur passion for science variously as an innate juvenile interest to be nurtured; as an enabling trigger to launch adolescents towards nationally valuable careers; or, as an inspirational adult avocation that can be harnessed to promote wider public understandings of science. These conceptions periodically have been supported by, or conflicted with, commercial marketing, professional scientific practice, and government policy. Such unnuanced portrayals under-represent the richly varied social contexts in which scientific amateurs and enthusiasts have practised, as well as the disparate goals and networks that have motivated them. The central claim of the paper is that media portrayals of amateur science have evolved episodically as a product of context and agency. The range of portrayals, and the contexts and motivations that influenced them, provide a valuable Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 3 empirical resource for understanding not only the historical contexts and trajectory of amateur science, but also the present-day expression and future potential of such activities in wider culture. 1 The topic consequently is relevant to the historiography of scientific practice, science popularization and the educative dimensions of scientific enquiry. I also explore the changing political and cultural contexts in the United States to highlight more general political dimensions of agency and autonomy for the historical actors. 2. Problematizing the lay scientist and technical enthusiast The historiography of lay science has been shaped by contributors ranging from established scientists and scholars in varied disciplines to amateurs themselves and, as foregrounded here, by portrayals in popular media. Consequently, the appropriate definition, place and role for scientific amateurs have evoked recurrent debate. In popular understandings through the twentieth century, the term amateur often has been employed as a label that crudely demarcates, and often subtly disparages, certain scientific activities and competences. Drawing on the better known context of sport, common usage defines it merely as unpaid and non-career-oriented work, suggesting an activity that is both unvalued and unranked. Amateurs may engage in their activities without financial recompense, hinting at an individualistic or self-interested dimension; they may be bereft of recognized qualifications in a scientific discipline, and so have low status in the hierarchy of expertise. In professional and scholarly usage, too, such negative characterisations of amateurs were increasingly contrasted with those of career workers as science became professionalized in the late nineteenth century. 2 Thus scientific amateurism may be relegated to a byway 1 For example, amateur enthusiasms during the early twenty-first century have been expressed through so- called ‘maker culture’ and ‘maker spaces’, which encourage and facilitate the sharing of expertise between peers in special cultural environments. 2 The seminal work on the topic is Nathan Reingold, 'Definitions and Speculations: The Professionalization of Science in America in the Nineteenth Century', in: J. Oleson and A. Voss (ed.), The Pursuit of Knowledge in the Early American Republic (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press 1976), pp 33-69. On related case studies, see also John D. Holmfield, 'From Amateurs to Professionals in American Science: The Controversy over the Proceedings of an 1853 Scientific Meeting', Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 114 (1970): 22-36; Allan Chapman, The Victorian Amateur Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 4 in the historiography of professionalization. On the other hand, closer to the themes developed by Scientific American magazine, lay practitioners may be conceived as free of client, funder or even peer relationships, allowing unconstrained exercise of their creativity. In short, the qualities and status of the amateur are variously configured, hinting at a practitioner who may be a free spirit driven by intellectual curiosity, or alternatively a dilettante pursuing a pastime on the periphery of science. An equally important historiographical thread is the presumed link between applied science and invention, and the role of amateur participants in these activities. The rise of scientific amateurism, particularly in the American context, has been framed in popular and scholarly discourse in terms closely allied with technical enthusiasms during the twentieth century. Both built on, but had a distinct orientation from, earlier hobbies. The zeal to collect, for example, has long had documented scientific expressions (as in cabinets of curiosities and Victorian botany). 3 Alternatively, traditional hobbies centring on manual skills such as model-making could be extended to inform experimental studies. Thus both aspects of hobbies – collecting and making – could combine a leisure activity with scientific explorations. New pastimes incorporated these traditional attractions, but fitted a rapidly changing scientific and technological environment. Photography melded chemistry and physics; electrical technologies for lighting, communication and mechanical power began to invade public spaces, institutions and some middle-class homes; petrol engines flourished in farm equipment and urban automobiles. Such technologies transformed life and aspirations, providing attractions for both passive and active participation. Historians of technology have highlighted the cultural contexts of invention in industrialized countries, and the inspiration provided by new science. 4 On the one hand, the principles were mysterious and inspired reflection: how did a car engine work, for example, and what exactly was electricity? On the Astronomer (London: Wiley, 1999); Jack Meadows, The Victorian Scientist: The Growth of a Profession (London: British Library, 2004). 3 Oliver R. Impey and Arthur MacGregor, The Origins of Museums: The Cabinet of Curiosities in Sixteenth and Seventeenth-Century Europe (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985); Robert E. Kohler, 'Finders, keepers: collecting sciences and collecting practice', History of Science 45 (2007): 428-54. On Victorian life-science amateurs see, for example, Elizabeth B. Keeney, The Botanizers: Amateur Scientists in Nineteenth-Century America University of North Carolina Press, 1992). 4 See, for example, Thomas P. Hughes, American Genesis: A Century of Invention and Technological Enthusiasm, 1870-1970 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989); John L. Wright (ed.), Possible Dreams: Enthusiasm for Technology in America (Dearborn, 1992). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 5 other, the new technologies fostered a growing culture of active tinkerers, offering empowerment for those who mastered them. The roles of innovator and knowledge-seeker carried wider groups of imitators in their wake. The work of Ronald Kline has explored the interpretation of engineering innovation as applied science, which, as discussed below, was to distinguish American publishing initiatives after the First World War. 5 Among professionals across disciplines, scientific amateurism has been understood and valued in distinctive terms. The link between scientific enthusiasms, education and youth has been a perennial theme for science educators and scholars, as discussed below, and is well depicted in the historical research of Sevan Terzian, Rebecca Onion and others. 6 The historical implications for children’s activities and for education policy have also been examined, for example, by Ronald Tobey and Patrick McCray, and by contemporary policy-makers. 7 This categorization by age mirrors the equally obvious hierarchy of authority between adult professional and non-professional science practitioners. The power relations between amateurs and professionals – particularly during the period of greatest change, between the mid- nineteenth and early twentieth centuries – consequently have attracted studies oriented toward political 5 Ronald Kline, 'Construing "technology" as "applied science": public rhetoric of scientists and engineers in the United States, 1880-1945', Isis 86 (1995): 194-221. 6 Sevan G. Terzian, 'The 1939-1940 New York World's Fair and the Transformation of the American Science Extracurriculum', Science Education 93 (2009): 892-914; ---, Science Education and Citizenship: Fairs, Clubs, and Talent Searches for American Youth, 1918-1958 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013); Rebecca Stiles Onion, Innocent Experiments: Childhood and the Culture of Popular Science in the United States (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2016). On historical studies of education, see, for example, Michael D. Stephens, 'The role of the amateur in nineteenth century American and English scientific education', The Vocational Aspect of Education 34 (1982): 1-5; E. W. Jenkins, 'School science, citizenship and the public understanding of science', International Journal of Science Education 21 (1999): 703-10; Michael G. Gibbs and Margaret Berendsen, 'Effectiveness of amateur astronomers as informal science educators', Astronomy Education Review 5 (2006): 114-26. 7 E.g. Ronald Tobey, The American Ideology of National Science (Pittsburgh, Pa: University of Pittsburgh Press., 1971); W. Patrick McCray, Keep Watching the Skies! The Story of Operation Moonwatch and the Dawn of the Space Age (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008). On historically-informed present-day policy-making, see P. J. Fensham, 'The link between policy and practice in science education: the role of research', Science Education 93 (2009): 1076-95. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 6 philosophy. 8 It is important to note that such preceding accounts identify contentions about the notion of the ‘amateur’ in American science, while sometimes adopting working definitions aligned to prevailing models. Prior studies are further distinguished by social and disciplinary context. The work of Robert Stebbins, for example, has explored sociological dimensions of scientific amateurism as a leisure activity. 9 Broader social history investigations of the relationship between hobbies, work and leisure pastimes have argued for their dependence on specific political and economic contexts. In particular, the rise of hobbies during the late nineteenth century, especially among the working class, was both a reflection of, and a limited resistance to, industrialization and the free market. 10 The histories of two of the popular fields discussed here – the domains of amateur astronomy, which straddled the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and amateur radio – have also attracted enduring interest of enthusiasts themselves, and more recently the analytical work of Gary Cameron and Kristen Haring, respectively. 11 The studies of Marcel 8 This is a theme of the sources cited in footnote 2, but more explicit in Morris Berman, '"Hegemony" and the amateur tradition in British science', Journal of Social History 8 (1975): 30-50, and Marc Rothenberg, 'Organization and control: professionals and amateurs in American astronomy, 1899–1918', Social Studies of Science 11 (1981): 305-25. Linking historical and contemporary contexts, see; Richard Edwards, 'The ‘citizens’ in citizen science projects: educational and conceptual issues', International Journal of Science Education, Part B 4 (2014): 376-91; Sean F. Johnston, Benjamin Franks and Sandy Whitelaw, 'Crowd- sourced science: societal engagement, scientific authority and ethical practice', Journal of Information Ethics 26 (2017): 49-65. 9 E.g. R. A. Stebbins, 'The amateur: two sociological dimensions', Pacific Sociological Review 20 (1977): 582-606; ---, 'Avocational science: the amateur routine in archaeology and astronomy', International Journal of Comparative Sociology 21 (1980): 34-48; ---, 'Science amateurs? Rewards and costs in amateur astronomy and archaeology', Journal of Leisure Research 13 (1981): 289-304. 10 See, for example, Ross McKibbin, 'Work and hobbies in Britain, 1880-1950', in: J. Lerner (ed.), The Working Class in Modern British History: Essays in Honour of Henry Pelling (Cambridge: Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp 143-5; Steven M. Gelber, Hobbies: Leisure and the Culture of Work in America (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999); Rachel P. Maines, Hedonizing Technologies: Paths to Pleasure in Hobbies and Leisure (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009). 11 Gary L. Cameron, Public Skies: Telescopes and the Popularization of Astronomy in the Twentieth Century, thesis, Iowa State University (2010), esp. Chapter 4; Kristen Haring, Ham Radio's Technical Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 7 LaFollette and John Burnham draw attention to the role of magazines and other media in shaping popular understandings of professional science. They conclude that stereotypes and misrepresentations dominated popular accounts. 12 The present research extends prior studies in three key respects. First, it focuses on amateurs as active practitioners of science: experimenting, innovating and generating physical and intellectual scientific products. Second, it compares and contrasts how productive scientific enthusiasms were channelled by key media sources – particularly Scientific American magazine – to represent and shape distinctive audiences and practices of lay science. And third, the paper explores how practising amateurs responded to these portrayals and, in highly constrained contexts, represented themselves. 3. Portraying the scientific amateur Scientific pastimes had become an increasingly visible activity from the early nineteenth century, communicated to growing audiences through publications. Popular science periodicals proselytized the values, achievements and (most ardently and consistently) the practical products of modern science. 13 Culture (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2007). The American Astronomical Society has also favoured historical studies of its membership, e.g. Brant L. Sponberg, 'Amateurs in the Early A.A.S.,' Washington DC, 1999. 12 Marcel C. LaFollette, Making Science Our Own: Public Images of Science 1910-1955 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990); Marcel C. LaFollette, Science on the Air: Popularizers and Personalities on Radio and Early Television (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008); Marcel C. Lafollette, Science on American Television: A History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013); John C. Burnham, How Superstition Won and Science Lost: Popularizing Science and Health in the United States (New Brunswick NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1987). 13 Susan Sheets-Pyenson, 'Popular science periodicals in Paris and London: The emergence of a low scientific culture, 1820–1875', Annals of Science 42 (1985): 549-72. For complementary coverage see also Peter Broks, Media Science Before the Great War (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1996) and Peter Bowler, Science for All: The Popularization of Science in Early Twentieth-Century Britain (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009). Ina Heumann, Gegenstücke: Populäres Wissen im transatlantischen Vergleich (1948–1984) (Wien: Böhlau Verlag, 2014), esp. pp. 298-311, explores some of the primary sources and historical actors discussed in the present paper, comparing the popular communication of scientific Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 8 In the American context, science was vaunted with specifically utilitarian and economic dimensions. Scientific American was born in 1845 to capture this public enthusiasm, chronicling new invention week by week, and later on a monthly schedule. Over the following seventy years, it was joined by a growing number of popular periodicals that conflated scientific discovery with invention. 14 Popular writing constructed a specifically American identity for the scientific enthusiast. As depicted by adolescent fiction in the first two decades of the century, American science was active, innovative and profitable. The Tom Swift series of books (1910-41) devised by American writer and publisher Edward Stratemeyer (1862-1930) focused on a young inventor and his adventures with exhilarating electrical and transport technologies. The Stratemeyer Syndicate churned out mysteries that mixed invention, clear thinking, adventure, wondrous capabilities and industrial secrecy, usually with boys as protagonists. 15 Mirrored by other publishers, several thousand titles provided role models for three generations of American children and young adults. 16 Some of those same audiences were inspired further by magazines dedicated to hands-on experimentation and innovation. Another seminal American publisher was responsible for a large fraction of these ventures. Hugo Gernsback (1884-1967), an entrepreneur in the early American radio industry, chronicled invention through his periodicals aimed at technical amateurs and emerging science fiction knowledge after the Second World War in the USA and Germany via Scientific American and Bild der Wissenschaft. 14 Among the more prominent of the genre were Popular Science (1872-), Electrician and Mechanic (1890-1914), Popular Mechanics (1902-) and Technical World Magazine (1904-1923). 15 John Dizer, Tom Swift & Company: “Boys’ Books” by Stratemeyer and Others (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1982); Deirdre Johnson, Edward Stratemeyer and the Stratemeyer Syndicate (New York: Twayne, 1993); Francis J. Molson, 'The boy inventor in American series fiction: 1900-1930', Journal of Popular Culture 28 (1994): 31-48. 16 The successful format fitted the American cultural and political landscape between about 1910 and 1970. Everett Bleiler argues for the capitalist underpinnings of such juvenile fiction into the twentieth century, noting that the Tom Swift stories communicated ‘economic parables’ about intelligence and hard graft as much as scientific adventure [Everett F. Bleiler, 'From the Newark Steam Man to Tom Swift', Extrapolation 30.2 (1989): 101-16, (112)]. A late example of such fiction is a series of adventures (1954- 71) featuring the updated inventions of the original protagonist’s son, Tom Swift Jr, to capture the enthusiasm of readers of the baby-boom generation. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 9 enthusiasts. He followed his first magazine, Modern Electrics (1908), with dozens more seeking to capture a growing public appetite for popular science and invention. 17 During the early twentieth century, then, ‘science’ was broadly construed for American readers of popular literature as what today might be labelled ‘optimistic technoscience’: a progressive and culturally transformative activity linked with personal improvement, economic benefits, and expanding knowledge. In the periodicals, scientific curiosity was blended with technological enthusiasms and individual expertise to generate new pastimes and potential career skills. The content and themes of such publications altered markedly after the First World War to offer overt encouragement to amateurs. In the postwar environment, new publishing initiatives, including a renewed Scientific American, were oriented towards articles displaying more explicit scientific content and aiming to promote active engagement by enthusiasts. Gernsback’s Everyday Mechanics (1915-16), for instance, included articles and colourful cover art that depicted scientific experiments, and The Experimenter, subtitled ‘Electricity – Radio – Chemistry’, specialized in articles providing hands-on projects to build and use scientific apparatus. 18 Through the twenties, popular titles mutated to reflect science-oriented content more explicitly. Thus Gernsbach’s Practical Electrics (launched 1921) became The Experimenter from 1924; Electrical Experimenter (launched 1913) became Science and Invention from 1920; Everyday Mechanics (1915-16) was reintroduced as Everyday Science and Mechanics (1931). 19 In distinctive ways, a smaller cohort of organizations was to champion active amateur engagement in science by hands-on experimentation and invention. The increasingly public face of science after the 17 Keith Massie and Stephen D. Perry, 'Hugo Gernsbach and radio magazines: an influential intersection in broadcast history', Journal of Radio Studies 9 (2002): 264-81; Mike Ashley, The Gernsback Days (Holicong, PA: Wildside Press, 2004). 18 E.g. 'How two boys cultivated plants with electricity', Everyday Mechanics, 1 (3), ; 'How to make an electric water-finder', The Experimenter 1 (Nov 1924): 24-8. 19 In Britain, a similarly prolific and influential publisher was Frederick J. Camm (1895-1959), promoting active engagement in scientifically-informed hobbies. His first book was on model aircraft, and he founded Practical Wireless (1932-), Practical Mechanics (1933-63), and Practical Television (1934- 2008), authoring over a hundred books to become the doyen of amateur British radio in the interwar and postwar periods [Gordon G. Cullingham, F. J. Camm, The Practical Man (Windsor, UK: Thamesweb publishing, 1996)]. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 10 First World War was sensed by an American journalist, Edward W. Scripps (1854-1926). His initial notions of science promotion focused on popularizing exemplary American scientists; his planned approach was hierarchical and paternalistic, seeking to influence a receptive but largely passive and unskilled audience. In 1919, he proposed an American Society for the Dissemination of Science that would employ syndicated press stories to instruct the public ‘quickly and well’ on the ‘painstaking research carried on by a few hundred, or at most a few thousand, well-trained men equipped with great mental capacity’. Scripps’s aim – sharpened by his conviction that the past war could have been avoided by rational international dialogue – was to provide unbiased scientific information that would allow an educated public to ‘think like a scientist’, and foster reasoned decision-making. 20 This initial notion was nonetheless an arms-length greeting: members of the public were meant to appreciate the exceptional powers and authority of elite scientists, rather than to actively emulate them. As explained in a discussion paper by its co-founder, zoologist William Ritter, the organization’s early aim was ‘to beget in the public generally more of the scientific attitude than now exists… by presenting such facts which seem mysterious and arouse feelings of astonishment and wonder and awe’. 21 On the other hand, the organization sought ultimately to expunge mysticism and anti-science feeling. Its first Director, chemist Edwin Slosson (1865-1929), warned the trustees that ‘the chemist has become conspicuous as maker of poison gas and regarded as a malignant power as in the Middle Ages’, and noted the ‘wave of superstition and reaction… now sweeping the world’, with both science and medicine popularly regarded as modern forms of magic. Slosson argued that the way forward was ‘an aggressive campaign for the popularization of science’ to enrol a larger public in scientific enthusiasms: not just the ‘minority consisting chiefly of men and largely mechanics who read the scientific and technical periodicals with great eagerness’, but also the ‘large majority that never touch scientific books or papers, even the lightest of the popular scientific periodicals’. 22 20 E. W. Scripps, "The American Society for the Dissemination of Science," in Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington DC (henceforth SI) RU7091 Box 1 Folder 1 (1919). 21 W. E. Ritter, 'Possible aims of "The American Society for the Dissemination of Science"', Oct 1919, SI RU7091 Box 1 Folder 1. 22 Edwin E. Slosson, 'Notes of a talk to trustees of Science Service at the meeting of 17 June 1921: Hostility toward science', typescript, 17 Jun 1921, SI RU7091 Box 1 Folder 2. See also David J. Rhees, A New Voice for Science: Science Service Under Edwin E. Slosson, 1921-1929, MA dissertation thesis, History, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (1979). Chemists re-presented their science in Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 11 Founded under the unassuming title ‘Science Service’ in 1921, the not-for-profit organization consequently provided a news syndication service focusing on the accurate reporting of science. 23 American periodicals began to pick up the news feeds encouragingly, but the impact of the items on readers proved difficult to gauge for local newspaper editors as much as for Science Service itself. The young organization was agile in adapting its goals and methods, and consequently launched a new initiative: promotion of scientific hobbies. The aim was to encourage enthusiastic hobbyists to gain first- hand experience with scientific culture, in order to transmit their passions to friends, families and acquaintances. The first such campaign was Science Service’s popularization of experimental amateur radio. Radio amateurism had spun-off from professional activities during the First World War, when many operators and technicians had been trained in the use of communications equipment. With the availability of war-surplus components and the explosion of voice transmission experiments from the early 1920s, amateurs kept pace with commercial development and expanding government regulation. Their activities led to scientific and technological advances: experimental transmissions between radio amateurs, for example, discovered the utility of frequency bands that had not been considered viable by the nascent industry. 24 Non-professionals, this seemed to suggest, could genuinely extend scientific knowledge just as Stratemeyer’s adventure fiction portrayed them as doing. Amateur enthusiasts also gained the interest of government as the social locus of grassroots science. In 1922, Herbert Hoover, then Secretary of Commerce and responsible for allocating radio broadcasting frequencies, identified ‘the genius of the American boy’ as the best means ‘to make the possession of receiving sets almost universal in American homes’, a message echoed by Science Service. 25 positive terms; see ---, The Chemists' Crusade: The Rise of an Industrial Science in Modern America, 1907-1922, PhD thesis, University of Pennsylvania (1987), especially Chapter 5. 23 Edwin E. Slosson, 'A new agency for the popularization of science', Science, 53 (1371), 8 Apr 321-3. 24 An amateur radio club station in Connecticut, 1BCG, transmitted Morse signals around the world in Dec 1921, and enthusiasts experimented with two-way communication during 1923-24. 25 Herbert Hoover, 'Statement of the Secretary of Commerce at the opening of the Radio Conference on February 27, 1922', press release, 27 Feb 1922, SI RU7091 Box 11 Folder 2. Science Service identified this as citizen empowerment: ‘There is one block of the ether that the conference granted to “that precious thing – the American small boy, to whom so much of this rapid expansion of interest is due”.’ [Watson Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 12 The Bureau of Standards drafted informational pamphlets; the Department of Agriculture fostered Boys and Girls Radio Clubs for adolescents who would master radio and serve as information conduits between government departments and farmers; and Science Service disseminated the information through feeds to major newspapers and popular periodicals such as Good Housekeeping, Harper’s Magazine and Popular Science Monthly. 26 As more practical magazines were gaining would-be inventors as readers, Science Service sought to align with government views to convert the ‘boy geniuses’ into science popularisers. 27 By the end of the decade, its second Director, physicist Watson Davis (1896-1967), argued that his organization’s instructional articles had inspired a new generation of active young experimenters by linking abstract scientific advances to hands-on experience: Science Service in its early days pioneered in giving newspaper readers accurate and understandable instructions for building radio sets. When Lindbergh flew it told how to build model airplanes. When radiovision became experimental the organization described the construction of a radiovisor. 28 While these campaigns of Science Service, government departments and industry were increasingly targeted at young people, it is notable that there was no acknowledged involvement of schools or teachers. Despite targeting a variety of audiences and cultural niches, media sources in the first three decades of the century portrayed a broadly consistent vision of scientific amateurism. Across popular fiction, practical magazines and newspaper ‘feeds’, science experimenters were conceived as young latent scientists and eager individualists who required not mentoring, but merely a kick-start. Davis, 'A new addition to our national life: results of the Radio Conference', typescript, n.d., c Mar 1922, SI RU7091 Box 11 Folder 3] 26 Bureau of Standards, 'Construction and operation of a very simple radio receiving equipment’ ', Letter Circular LC 43, 16 Mar 1922, SI RU7091 Box 11 Folder 2; U.S. Dept. of Agriculture and State Agricultural Colleges, 'Cooperative extension work in agriculture and home economics - boys and girls radio clubs', n.d., c 1922, SI RU7091 Box 11 Folder 3. 27 Articles linking youth, innate abilities, and scientific enthusiasms were common, e.g. Gaston P. Fontaine, 'Fourteen year old genius makes own successful television receiver', Television: America's First Television Journal, 1 (3), Jan-Feb: 76 (1929). 28 Watson Davis, 'Make your own telescope', promotion letter to newspaper editors, n.d., 1930, SI RU7091 Box 120 Folder 9. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 13 4. Albert Ingalls and the Scientific American model of the adult amateur In this science-conscious cultural milieu of post-First World War publishing, a more self-directed scientific amateurism was promoted by Scientific American magazine. Relaunched in 1921 under new editorial management, the periodical was reoriented towards more educated and aspirational audiences. One of its contributors, Albert Graham (‘Unk’) Ingalls (1888-1958) – who had done ‘fifteen courses on geology at Cornell 1910-14, tho forgotten most of it’, and worked for a time as a telegraph operator – joined the magazine as an associate editor in 1923. 29 Over the next decade, as Science Service was extending its activities, Ingalls at Scientific American magazine carefully defined and nurtured a cohort of enthusiasts, beginning with a regular column on amateur telescope-making. Ingalls’s vision of the amateur evolved over a decade. ‘Sheer accident’ is how he described the growth of amateur telescope making in the USA, although it appears to have been more a case of tactical publishing. Browsing the public library, Ingalls had come across an article, ‘The Poor Man’s Telescope’ in a 1921 Popular Astronomy magazine. Its author, Russell W. Porter (1871-1949) – a sometime artist, Arctic expeditioneer, university teacher of architecture, research engineer and amateur astronomer – described a group of Vermont telescope enthusiasts whom he had mentored following a course on practical astronomy. 30 Ingalls was intrigued enough to build his own telescope but discovered only a single book on the topic by an Irish cleric and director of the Armagh Observatory, William F. A. Ellison (1864-1936). Ellison’s publishing path and readership – the book being a collection of some 100 pages of articles that he had published in The English Mechanic and World of Science during 1918 – appears to have informed Ingalls’s own writing. 31 Ingalls published an article in Scientific American about the 29 Albert G. Ingalls to Bernard Williams Powell, 10 Apr 1953, Archives Center of the National Museum of American History, Washington DC (henceforth ACNMAH) 0175 Box 8, folder 2 1953. 30 Russell W. Porter, 'The poor man's telescope', Popular Astronomy 29 (1921): 527-36; see also Horace A Smith, 'Popular Astronomy Magazine and the Development of Variable Star Observing in the United States', The Journal of the American Association of Variable Star Observers 9 (1980): 40-2. On Porter, whose father and uncle had been inventors, see Berton C. Willard, Russell W. Porter - Arctic Explorer Artist Telescope Maker (Freeport ME: Bond Wheelwright Company, 1976); Jordan D. Marché II, 'Porter, Russell W.', in: (ed.), Biographical Encyclopedia of Astronomers Springer, 2007), pp 926-7. 31 W. F. A. Ellison, The Amateur's Telescope (Belfast: Carswell & Son, 1920). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 14 Springfield amateur group in 1925. 32 The result was unexpectedly direct evidence of the enthusiasm that Science Service had been seeking: over 300 readers responded with requests for further information. So, beginning with Porter’s assistance the following year, Ingalls launched a monthly column, ‘The Back Yard Astronomer’, in Scientific American and published a slim book, Amateur Telescope Making, which included extensive extracts from Ellison’s work. 33 Expanded editions quickly followed, supplemented by the accounts of avid readers, and two more advanced volumes were published in 1937 and 1953, respectively. 34 While noting that the topic ‘was imported from Great Britain’, Ingalls credited his magazine column and later volumes of the book with stimulating communities of ‘scientifically minded persons’ showing ‘keen enthusiasm, sometimes almost fanatical’ for the growing hobby ‘wherever the Scientific American circulated’. 35 Explaining this unexpected response from ‘eager workers, young and old, skilled and less skilled, men and women (several of these)’, Ingalls summarized the qualities of the scientific amateur: It exacts intelligence; requires patience and sometimes dogged persistence in order to whip the knotty but fascinating problems which arise; demands hard work – is not dead easy; and compels the exercise of a fair amount of handiness – enough to exclude the born bungler but no more than is possessed by the average man who can ‘tinker’ his car or the household plumbing, or dissect and wreck a watch. 36 This model of the scientific enthusiast was not Ingalls’s alone, but rather that distilled from Porter’s community of Springfield Telescope Makers. Ingalls attended their conventions at Springfield, Vermont, each summer from their origin in 1926 (Fig. 1). The cohort exhibited the diversity, handiness and curiosity 32 Albert G. Ingalls, 'The heavens declare the glory of God: how a group of enthusiasts learned to make telescopes and became amateur astronomers', Scientific American 133 (1925): 293-5. 33 Ingalls visited Ellison in Ireland in 1928 [--- to O. Gingerich, letter, 2 Dec 1948, ACNMAH 0175 Ingalls papers, Box 3 file 6]. 34 On Ingalls’s influence on the amateur telescope movement, see Thomas R. Williams, ‘Albert Ingalls and the ATM Movement,’ Sky & Telescope, 81 (February 1991), 140-42. 35 Albert G. Ingalls, Amateur Telescope Making (New York: Scientific American, 1933 (3rd edition)), cited on pp. vii-viii, x. 36 ---, Amateur Telescope Making (New York: Scientific American, 1933 (3rd edition)), quotation p. viii. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 15 that Ingalls later praised in his columns. Contemporary articles identified them as engineers, poets, inventors, cooks and writers; among their ranks was a stereograph photographer, a bank cashier, a foundry-man, an artist, a pattern-maker, a high-school teacher, a lathe operator and a bookkeeper. Several were mechanics at the company for which Russell Porter worked as an engineer. 37 Porter described their activities as relating to ‘laymen… not to the dilettante, but to the seriously-inclined amateur as compared to the professionals themselves’. 38 Ingalls portrayed Porter’s cohort as independent and autonomous adult amateurs, not followers of published instructions as in Science Service news feeds and practical magazines. His synthesis also owed much to Ellison’s decade-old British columns. Like Ellison’s writing, Ingalls’s columns vaunted individual innovation. Providing recognition for contributors as role models, it enabled a new mode of communication between enthusiasts as peers operating independently of professional scientists. By uniting isolated individuals across the continent, Ingalls’s columns picked out and knitted together a virtual community of enthusiasts as equals who were unlikely ever to meet, some seventy years before this style of interaction was popularised by internet news groups. The publications of Ellison, Porter and Ingalls provided an appealing template for such scientific hobbyists and promoted a kind of avocation. 37 Oscar S. Marshall, 'Russell W. Porter -- some glimpses of the Vermonter who will assist in designing and building the World's Greatest Telescope', The Vermonter 33 (1928): 118-22; Webb Waldron, 'On a mountaintop in Vermont I found one really happy man', American Magazine 112 (Nov 1931): 50-3; Anonymous, 'Hobby of a Theta Chi brings happiness to many and scientific recognition and gain to himself', The Rattle of Theta Chi 20 (1932): 18-22. 38 'From Russell W. Porter', Engineering and Science Monthly 11 (1948): 32. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 16 Figure 1: Albert Ingalls and Russell Porter at the Stellafane Convention, late 1920s [courtesy of Springfield Telescope Makers Inc]. They also literally gave the amateur a face. Porter’s original article on the Springfield group included photographs of individuals with their telescopes, and Ingalls’s subsequent articles and books depicted everyday people making, using and displaying their apparatus. 39 These exemplars – soon multiplied by the self-portraits sent in by Ingalls’s readers – were not mere snapshots. They were carefully staged by their creators: well-dressed men (not boys, and only rarely women) displaying innovation with scarce resources. The photos displayed a recognizable shared identity, mirroring the Springfield amateurs. This was not depersonalized objective science. Nor was it applied science of the kind that contemporary engineering periodicals and do-it-yourself magazines were touting. The images and captions (frequently prefaced ‘A Home Made Telescope’) underlined the attributes of the Scientific American amateur: not the rare qualities of genius emphasized in the popular press, but rather the more democratic and attainable qualities of clear thinking, innovation and dedication. Typical of their frugal ingenuity and emulation was ‘C. C. Chapman with his small telescope, driven by an alarm clock movement, assisted by a phonograph 39 Russell W. Porter, 'The telescope makers of Springfield, Vermont: one way of absorbing astronomy', Popular Astronomy 31 (1923): 153-63. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 17 spring’ (Figure 2). 40 The focus of Ingalls’s amateurs was on character and process, not product. Figure 2: C. C. Chapman, in Amateur Telescope Making p.306. The complementarity between lay technical enthusiasts, on the one hand, and dedicated career scientists, on the other, was seldom addressed. The Scientific American columns and books stressed the satisfaction of independent tinkering, while only occasionally did a professional voice intrude to suggest the fulfilment of playing a subordinate role in knowledge acquisition. Professional astronomer Harlow Shapley, for example, suggested in the Foreword to Ingalls’s book that amateurs model themselves on professionals. Linking their hobby to Christiaan Huygens and his seventeenth century telescopic investigations, Shapley hinted at their position as potential acolytes or junior partners. ‘If you have “fashioned some glasses” into a telescope’, he noted, ‘you can do some valuable work on variable stars. The American Association of Variable Star Observers would welcome you to its international membership, give you instructions, charts and encouragement’. He offered them a niche as subordinate contributors: ‘your observations will be directed and studied by professionals... If you communicate your earnest astronomical aspirations to any of the observatories, you will be freely counselled’. 41 40 Albert G. Ingalls, Amateur Telescope Making Advanced: A Sequel to Amateur Telescope Making (New York: Munn, 1937), p. 306. Among them, as an adolescent in 1948, was the later historian of astronomy, Owen Gingerich [ACNMAH 0175, Box 3 file 6 (correspondence, 1946-48)]. 41 Harlow Shapley, ‘Foreword’, in Ingalls, Amateur Telescope Making, (note 35), p. xi. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 18 Ingalls’s correspondents nevertheless resisted such direction and counselling. Instead, they offered to their peer readers insights embodied in an uncommon mixture of competences. As the editor reported, they nurtured the artisanal skills of mirror grinding and telescope building alongside scientific proficiencies such as optical testing, celestial mechanics and patiently systematic astronomical observation. The material product of such a devoted worker, promised Ingalls, would be ‘a valuable scientific instrument which places him on the threshold of astronomy and astrophysics, perhaps the most romantic branch of modern science’. 42 The publications communicated a sense of enduring values for lay scientists, too. As depicted by Ingalls, amateur telescope-making and astronomy were virtuous activities. The frontispiece for his first book, drawn by Porter, was entitled ‘3 AM And Still At It’. Unlike illustrations in a professional scientific periodical, it depicted the human investment required of practical science: an enthusiast standing at a basement work-bench, ‘utterly absorbed in the most exacting and demanding part of the work – parabolizing the mirror’. 43 Scientific romance could even be recast as a transcendent pursuit having affinities to religious devotion. The opening chapter of Ingalls’s second book, Amateur Telescope Making Advanced, was introduced by a contributor’s poem about the seemingly utilitarian drudgery of mirror grinding, revealing how ‘that simple disk’ revealed ‘suns and stars, yea universes,… for man to ponder – and adore’. 44 As suggested by the section title ‘backwoods philosophy’, Ingalls and Porter sought to evoke essential qualities of the scientific amateur akin to characteristics that Henry David Thoreau had written about in Walden eighty years earlier: virtues of simple living, experimentation, self-reliance, reflection, and spiritual discovery. 45 5. Contrasting audiences for Scientific American and Science Service The distinctive Scientific American and Science Service visions of the lay scientist were first measured against each other when the two publishing organizations embarked on a collaborative project in 1930. As 42 Albert G. Ingalls, Amateur Telescope Making (New York: Scientific American, 1933 (3rd edition)), p. xi. 43 ---, Amateur Telescope Making (New York: Scientific American, 1933 (3rd edition)), p. iii. 44 C. A. Olson, 'A Piece of Glass', in: A. G. Ingalls (ed.), Amateur Telescope Making Advanced (New York: Scientific American, 1937), pp 3. 45 Henry David Thoreau, Walden; or, Life in the Woods (Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1854). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 19 it had with amateur radio, Science Service sought to promote amateur telescope-making as a scientific hobby to wider audiences. Its newsletter editor, James Stokley (1900-1989), lobbied Russell Porter, but eventually convinced Albert Ingalls, to write a series of articles on the subject to be syndicated in newspapers nationally. 46 Stokley was at the time writing a column in his organization’s Science News periodical about night sky observations, and was well acquainted with existing astronomical societies and their mainly non- professional members. He and Ingalls had traded texts, figure illustrations, sources and anecdotes for a couple of years. Conforming to the Science Service vision, Stokley sought broad audiences, urging Ingalls to ‘write articles very simply and to conceive them as a way of tempting amateurs into their hobby. 47 For his part, Ingalls regularly jibed that Scientific American readers were of a higher standard, and confided to Porter: ‘Remember the newspaper readers of Stokley’s Scripps-Howard papers are mostly morons… Can’t assume even a knowledge of geometry. Everything [sic] got to be purely empirical and concrete. Abstractions are beyond such readers; they think wholly in concrete terms, having heads of concrete’. ‘Fact is’, he concluded, ‘telescope making is not suited to such folks but that’s Stokley’s worry – they wanted the articles’. 48 Aptitude was one line of demarcation between their readers, but so, too, was age. For Stokley, amateur telescope-making mapped neatly onto his organization’s earlier promotion of amateur radio, which had been taken up most actively by adolescents. Ingalls, by contrast, complained that youths would not make competent scientific amateurs, and might even drag down popular engagement by their failures at such a difficult endeavour: ‘this is pre-eminently not work for boys or boy scouts’, he cautioned; ‘they lack the schooling, the judgment and particularly the patience. We have almost no record of lads making telescopes’. 49 Via both editors, however, science hobbies and amateur experimentation reached mass audiences. The building and using of telescopes, estimated by Ingalls as a hobby involving about three thousand enthusiasts during the early 1930s, had been taken up by some fifty thousand individuals by the end of the decade. Similarly, Science Service’s original promotion of amateur (‘ham’) radio grew steadily as a 46 James Stokley to A. G. Ingalls, letter, 28 Mar 1930, SI RU7091 Box 120 Folder 8. 47 --- to A. G. Ingalls, letter, 21 Mar 1930, SI RU7091 Box 120 Folder 8. 48 Albert G. Ingalls to R. W. Porter, letter, n.d. c1930, ACNMAH 0175 Box 22, folder 7. 49 --- to J. Stokley, letter, 8 Apr 1930, SI RU7091 Box 120 Folder 8. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 20 technical pastime, enrolling an estimated 100,000 American enthusiasts by 1945. 50 A changing political context further divided the publishers’ vision of scientific amateurs and sharpened their contrasting depictions. The context of the Second World War, and its aftermath, shaped how the age profile of scientific amateurism was portrayed in the USA. On America’s entry into the war in 1941, Science Service expanded its campaigns to focus consistently on youthful enthusiasts. It launched clubs and competitions, and promoted scientific engagement through its syndicated articles and radio programs. That year, the organization championed an offshoot, Science Clubs of America, as a means of nurturing adolescent science enthusiasts for the war effort and national benefit. 51 As Watson Davis explained, the initiative stressed enthusiasm and active group participation over competence: ‘Almost anyone can organize a science club... the members of the clubs should be interested in doing something or studying a particular thing’. He also stressed enthusiasm and freedom from authority: ‘You can make your own rules and hold meetings when and where you wish. 52 On his regular CBS radio series, Adventures in Science, Davis preached the advantages of cooperation, recasting the solitary hobby of telescope-making as a collective effort in the national interest and having career potential: ‘Many telescope makers are organized into telescope making clubs and have special workshops… Telescope makers today are in great demand by optical firms around the country, since the experience gained in making a telescope is just the kind one needs to help make optical equipment for the army and navy’. 53 50 Usage of the terms ‘amateur radio’ and ‘amateur telescope making’ trebled in print by 1939 and 1945, respectively. The terms ‘telescope making’ and ‘telescope makers’ appeared most frequently in publications between 1930 and the early 1950s, peaking in the late forties, falling by a factor of four by the mid-1950s. See http://books.google.com/ngrams.com (retrieved 7 Jun 2017). 51 Watson Davis, 'Science teaching and science clubs now and postwar', School Science and Mathematics 45 (1945): 257-64. On the national and corporate dimensions, see Sevan G. Terzian, Science Education and Citizenship: Fairs, Clubs, and Talent Searches for American Youth, 1918-1958 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013); Sevam G. Terzian and Leigh Shapiro, 'Corporate Science Education: Westinghouse and the Value of Science in Mid-Twentieth Century America', Public Understanding of Science (2013): 1- 20 52 Watson Davis, ‘Science for Everybody,’ Science News Letter, 25 Oct 1941. 53 Watson Davis, 'Adventures in Science: Charles A. Federer, amateur astronomy (radio script broadcast 2 Jul 1941)', CBS radio script, 2 Jul 1941, SI RU7091 Box 388, folder 42. On this radio series, see Sevan G. Terzian, '“Adventures in science”: casting scientifically talented youth as national resources on American radio, 1942–1958', Paedagogica Historica 44 (2008): 309-25. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 21 Albert Ingalls, in his turn, organized a group of “prismaniacs” from readers of his Scientific American column to hand-produce instrument prisms for the Navy. His column, now retitled ‘Telescoptics’, hinted at the practical value of amateur astronomy, and continued to be aimed at skilled mature hobbyists. 54 Science Service went further during the first year of the war, linking science hobbies to formal education in schools. The organization founded Science Talent Search, a scholarship competition for students in their final year of secondary school, to encourage university studies in science and engineering. With sponsorship from Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company, local clubs and prize events spread quickly. 55 Davis proselytized to his ‘scientists of tomorrow’ that ‘what grass roots are to agriculture, science clubs are to science education’. The informal science clubs, ‘squeezed in after school with the help of a teacher-sponsor, or the equivalent gang that makes models, or builds a radio set, or does chemical experiments, or collects insects’, would be just as valuable to the contributors as their school work. 56 By 1945, Davis could claim that ‘our best amateurs have started from the interest… developed in clubs in the national high schools’, with an impressive ‘200,000 boys and girls in more than 8,000 clubs’. 57 In some respects, the end of the Second World War reproduced an environment conducive to scientific pastimes for all ages. As had been the case immediately after the First World War, public enthusiasm for science was amplified. The postwar popular appeal of science was extended further by the new availability of television. 58 Watch Mr Wizard, a popular weekly program between 1951 and 1965, portrayed a science enthusiast demonstrating his latest home experiments to visiting children. Within three years of its first airing, the after-school show was being telecast on some 90 stations. Fostered by the 54 Albert G. Ingalls to G. Chartier, letter, 11 Jul 1949, ACNMAH 0175 Box 3, folder 4. 55 See David J. Rhees, A New Voice for Science: Science Service Under Edwin E. Slosson, 1921-1929, MA dissertation thesis, History, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (1979). Eventually the organization oversaw some 800 science clubs across the USA and its possessions, and later still in Canada, Portugal and the British West Indies. 56 Watson Davis, ‘Science Clubs and the Future,’ in SI RU7091 Box 444 Folder 1 (1948). 57 Watson Davis, 'Adventures in Science: Fourth Annual Science Talent Search (radio script, broadcast 17 Feb 1945),' SI RU7091 Box 391, folder 1, 1945. 58 Marcel C. Lafollette, Science on American Television: A History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 22 program, a growing network of ‘Mr Wizard science clubs’ spread to primary-school students through the USA and Canada. 59 Who were the postwar adult counterparts of these young enthusiasts? At war’s end, adults were able to return in much-increased numbers to the independent pursuit of scientific hobbies that had been the hallmark of the interwar period, many of them with practical training in mechanics, electronics and optics. In the early postwar years, fed by low-cost components and increasing leisure time, new technical hobbies – electronics, ham radio, model aircraft, hot-rodding – exploded in popularity. 60 Amateur radio boomed from 1946, when wartime government restrictions on shortwave radio broadcasting were lifted. 61 A Science Service broadcast suggested that many hobbyists were ex-servicemen who, as during the previous war, had been trained as technicians or operators. And a considerable fraction of the amateurs tempted into science hobbies before the war returned to it, raising the average age of licensed radio amateurs from 22 to 30 years old. They came from all walks of life: ‘students, financiers, newsboys, princes, miners, motion picture stars, airplane pilots, farm hands, concert pianists, famous doctors and newspaper men’. One in 35 of them were women although, as relative outsiders, they still had to contend with the Morse- code moniker YL (for ‘young lady’) or XYL (‘ex-young lady’, meaning married). Building 95% of their own transmitting equipment, the qualities of such hobbyists again emphasized hands-on expertise and national benefit: ‘The amateur is an experimenter… Not hesitating to tackle problems that he has not heard were insoluble, he frequently turns up with the answer’. 62 Amateur astronomers similarly characterized themselves as thinkers and innovators who could improvise from available resources. A rare newsletter article provided a tongue-in-cheek survey of its readership: ‘the A.T.N. [Average Telescope Nut]... realizing that science does not require intricate apparatus and experiments for all research shows respect for its greatest tool, the human mind’. It 59 See also Don Herbert, Mr Wizard's Science Secrets (USA: Popular Mechanics Co., 1952). Rather like a junior version of ‘The Amateur Scientist’, the book and program sought to encourage curiosity and practical skills ‘while learning science, …the part of science that’s fun to investigate for yourself right at home. Milk bottles are your flasks, glasses are your beakers and the whole house is your laboratory’ [p.5]. 60 H. F. Moorhouse, 'The work ethic and leisure activity: the hot rod in post-war America', in: P. Joyce (ed.), The Historical Meaning of Work (New York: 1987), pp 257-81. 61 Kristen Haring, Ham Radio's Technical Culture (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2007). 62 Watson Davis, ‘Adventures in Science: George W. Bailey, President of the American Radio Relay League,’ in SI RU 7091 Box 388, folder 36 (1945). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 23 concluded, ‘we find the ATN to be intelligent, well cultured, and interested in science and the scientific method’. 63 Such activities illustrated another nuance to Scientific American’s dissenting vision of the amateur: that of the lone adept versus a club member. Albert Ingalls disclosed to Porter his amusement at ‘the goings of these clubs’, which were ‘so deadly serious… with cliques, sub-cliques, fights’, that he consequently preferred channelling the work of individuals. 64 6. Citizens as Scientific Americans: C. L. Stong and ‘The Amateur Scientist’ Scientific American did adapt to the growing cohorts of postwar amateurs, but retained a more exclusive vision. In 1948, the struggling magazine, last revitalized after the First World War, was reimagined under new ownership and pitched at a yet more refined audience. Graphically striking, it adopted a novel approach to authorship for its articles: instead of journalistic interpretations, scientists would write about their own field, aided by a staff editor and illustrator. As guidance to these expert contributors, the magazine advised focusing on non-expert enthusiasts, presenting the ‘progress of science to an audience of educated laymen’. Thus, ‘An author who is a physicist, for example, should address his article to a botanist, a teacher of science, a chemical engineer, a lawyer interested in science, and so on’. 65 The ethos behind the new house style was, in effect, a generalization of Albert Ingalls’s interwar column in which scientific amateurs had shared their own experiences, carried over to career scientists – a then-uncommon example of non-professionals influencing the professional sphere of practice. And as the magazine was reoriented to professional scientists as writers, the column itself was recast in broader and clearer terms. Combined with the wider cultural enthusiasm for science and Scientific American’s reorientation, Albert Ingalls’s telescope and astronomy column was retitled ‘The Amateur Scientist’ in 1952 and, until his retirement in 1955, largely ghost-written by one of the founding editors of the new 63 AAFI -ATM, 'Personality analysis results', TN News, 1 (3), Oct 2, cited p.5. 64 Albert G. Ingalls to R. W. Porter, letter, 3 Dec 1954, ACNMAH 0175 Box 8, folder 3. 65 Scientific American magazine, 'An Author's Guide to Scientific American,' New York, 1949. On the evolving adult readerships for popular science, see Bruce V. Lewenstein, 'Magazine Publishing and Popular Science After World War II', American Journalism 6 (1989): 218-34. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 24 magazine, Clair L. (‘Red’) Stong (1902-1975). 66 The new editor was to broaden and stabilize Ingalls’s vision of the amateur. He epitomised both the professional that the new magazine sought as reader, and also the type of mature enthusiast that Ingalls had envisaged. Having pursued electrical engineering at the University of Minnesota, and then graduate courses at the University of Michigan, C. L. Stong was employed at the Western Electric Company from 1926 until his retirement in 1962, latterly in the newly defined post of information manager. Stong’s interests had ranged from barnstorming aviation in the 1920s to shortwave and ham radio in the 1940s. 67 For a would-be contributor to the column, Stong described himself as ‘an engineer of sorts’ and ‘a classical old Newtonian duffer’. His contributions to Scientific American were equally avocational, constituting ‘what is known locally as the “night shift”, plus being the Saturday, Sunday and Holiday shift. Scientific American makes quite a nice hobby, really’. 68 Stong recounted that he had socialized with ‘Gerry Piel, scion of a local beer maker; Dennis Flanagan, former science editor of LIFE; Leon Svirsky, former science editor of TIME’, and his breezily- drafted account revealed postwar attitudes about popular science circulating through American publishing: ‘ Science seemed to make more sense to us than God. (Proof, doubtless, that we are much in need of the analyst’s couch.) Seemed to us that the Common Man could come more effectively to grips with his social problems if he knew a bit more about the cultural force which (in our opinion) above all others currently shapes them – science’. The group had raised $1.25 million and ‘took over the decrepit Scientific American and proceeded happily 66 The changing vision of the imagined readership – as well as their varying commitment to science over engineering – is indicated by successive titles of Ingalls’s column: ‘The Back Yard Astronomer’ (1928-9), ‘The Amateur Astronomer’ (1929-1935); ‘The Amateur Telescope Maker’ (1935-7); ‘Telescoptics’ (1937-48) and, again, ‘The Amateur Astronomer’ (1948-52). 67 John Morton Stong (son), 'J. Morton Stong', http://www.qsl.net/w0zs/aboutme.html, last updated 2004; accessed 03 Apr; Marjorie Adickes (daughter) to author, email, 14 Apr 2015. On Stong’s manual arts of science, see James E Hammesfahr and Clair L. Stong, Creative Glass Blowing (New York: W. H. Allen, 1968). 68 C. L. Stong to H. Morgenroth, letter, 2 Feb 1955, ACNMAH 0012 Box 4, folder 1. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 25 about the business of transforming it into a magazine’. 69 The result was a tripling of circulation within three years, but the ‘Amateur Scientist’ column was nevertheless a shot in the dark. Stong recognised the popular connotations of ‘amateur’ and privately admitted ‘we sometimes feel that “non-professional scientists” would be a more accurately descriptive title for the group we have in mind’. He speculated that scientific hobbyists (‘gifted laymen who have turned to science as an avocation’) might welcome recognition alongside professionals, and serve as a model for wider publics interested in active involvement. ‘Not only would publication aid the amateur in gaining professional recognition’, he suggested, but more importantly ‘it would encourage a broader public understanding and participation in science’. Yet he was unsure initially whether amateurs would be competent contributors and likely readers. He asked, ‘[do] amateurs of accomplishment exist in sufficient numbers to maintain a flow of adequate editorial material? By adequate, we mean reports of work meriting the attention of professional scientists in all fields’. 70 Making matters worse, Albert Ingalls found adult readers’ interest in amateur astronomy declining markedly after the column changed its name to ‘The Amateur Scientist’. To one friend he complained, ‘Just now they are asking me to ease up on telescope descriptions and write on things all, and not merely a fraction, of the readers understand or find interesting...’, and a year later he was ‘completely demoralized’ by the ‘very little material left that will make up real articles’. 71 Capturing audiences for amateur science seemed to require active and continuing promotion. Desperately seeking contributors, ‘trying to find enough stuff to fill the void after Unk’s retirement’ and now writing the column under his own name, Stong’s model of the amateur sharpened. He ‘rounded up middle-aged amateurs who do really first grade work’. 72 From a New Zealand correspondent, he chased up leads on ‘any amateurs who are doing interesting things in avocational science’, ranging from ‘butterfly collecting to the home-brewing of “H” bombs, (almost!)’. 73 Offering $100 per article 69 --- to H. Morgenroth, letter, 2 Feb 1955, ACNMAH 0012 Box 4, folder 1. 70 --- to H. H. Larkin, letter, 11 Sep 1951, ACNMAH 0012 Box 1, folder 1. 71 Albert G. Ingalls to B. W. Powell, letter, 17 Mar 1953, ACNMAH 0175 Box 8, folder 2; --- to R. Hayward, letter, 26 Oct 1954, ACNMAH 0175 Box 13, folder 1. 72 C. L. Stong to R. Hayward, letter, 3 Apr 1955, ACNMAH 0012 Box 4, folder 8 (emphasis added). 73 --- to A. J. Southgate, letter, 1 Jul 1955, ACNMAH 0012 Box 4, folder 1 (emphasis added). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 26 during the first year that the column carried his name, the avuncular Stong eventually found himself channelling readers who had contacted the magazine eager to describe their own leisure-time scientific achievements. While he never included their photographs as his predecessor had done, Stong faithfully reported first-person accounts, giving the contributors a collective sense of identity and control, and readers a template to emulate. Ingalls had typically identified their towns, but Stong offered to publish home addresses, allowing readers to directly contact the enthusiasts described in the column. To one contributor, Stong emphasized the column’s role in linking enthusiasts: ‘The Amateur Scientist Department is conducted primarily as a forum through which those who turn to the sciences for recreation may exchange data’. 74 Just as under Ingalls’s editorship, their correspondence nevertheless indicates how closely contributors conformed to Stong’s published model, capturing not the full spectrum of amateur enthusiasts, but merely those who self-selected themselves as fitting the Scientific American template. Stong also quickly discovered for himself the difference between the Science Service and Scientific American notions of amateurs. Soliciting the first year’s articles from recent crops of Science Talent Search contestants recommended by his contacts proved disappointing. With few exceptions, Stong argued, ‘brilliant youngsters’ in mentored clubs did not meet his criteria of a dedicated amateur scientist: Primarily, we are seeking the advanced amateur, the fellow whose interest in science keeps him on the job year after year. In contrast, the Westinghouse youngsters usually tackle a project suggested by their science teacher, complete it with the teacher’s help and then either drop it for some other field of inquiry or abandon science altogether… None make an avocation of science. 75 Just as Ingalls’s photographs of proud telescope makers had done, Stong sought to inspire his readership by carefully selecting exemplary topics. He aimed to ‘bridge the gap between professional journals and so-called popular magazines’, explaining to another early contributor that his intended readers were not ‘amateur craftsmen’ but ‘the amateur scientist [who] deserves the encouragement that 74 C.L. Stong to S. M. Heumann, 30 Jun 1966, ACNMAH 0012 Box 23, folder 7. 75 C. L. Stong to I. C. Cornog, letter, 4 Mar 1952, ACNMAH 0012 Box 1, folder 4. Only one column was to feature a Westinghouse winner: Carol De Decker on geological analysis [A. G. Ingalls, ‘The Amateur Scientist: Mountain geology and an amateur contribution to a new ruling engine’, Scientific American, June 1952; see ACNMAH 0012 Box 1 folder 3]. Adolescents were occasional contributors, as they had been in Ingalls’s columns. Examples include columns on mouse genetics (Dec 1952), an observatory (Jun 1955), archaeology (Dec 1967), and a spectrometer (Jan 1975). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 27 comes with publication’. 76 Initially, he sought accounts involving ‘tools or special gear’ that the magazine’s artist could illustrate in the appealing ‘how-to-build-it’ sketches similar to Porter’s illustrations from the earlier ‘Back Yard Astronomer’ column. 77 Once having published examples of amateurs in action, ‘The Amateur Scientist’ column became self-sustaining. A surplus of potential contributors corresponded with Stong over the next twenty-two years, and his columns described an inspiring range of investigations and apparatus ranging from studies of reptile vision to amateur seismology to a home-made atom-smasher. Stong made no attempt to classify them into conventional disciplines, but subject areas traditionally claimed by physicists, engineers and astronomers dominated (about two-thirds of the total), while topics identifiable as biology, chemistry and natural/earth sciences shared the remainder. 78 None of Stong’s columns linked amateur science explicitly to education, careers or national benefit. But, like Science Service, ‘The Amateur Scientist’ Department was attuned to its times. The launch of the Sputnik satellite in October 1957, for example, led to an article just three months later on how to view and time it, and coverage of even more challenging home-made lasers and holograms followed in short order (Fig. 3). 79 76 --- to C. L. De Decker, letter, 10 Feb 1951, ACNMAH 0012 Box 4, folder 8. 77 --- to F. H. H. Roberts Jr, letter, 25 Mar 1952, ACNMAH 0012 Box 1, folder 4. Most columns were illustrated by artist/engineer Roger Hayward, who also illustrated the books of mid-century chemist Linus Pauling and experimental physicist John Strong, aimed at the same readership. 78 Analysis by the author of some 400 ‘Amateur Scientist’ topics, Apr 1953 - Jan 1976. Some months’ columns included two or three subjects, and numerous topics had an instrumentation slant, such as recording voiceprints of birdsongs (Feb 1975), apparatus to measure wind speed (Oct 1971) and bio- medical telemetry (Mar 1968). Stong’s 1960 book collection of 56 articles had a similar distribution, with discipline-labelled chapters and contents weighted towards the physical sciences: Astronomy (6), Nuclear Physics (7), Aerodynamics (7), Optics/Light/Heat (7), Mathematical Machines (7) and Earth Sciences (8, featuring instruments to measure seismology, satellite tracking, earth rotation and charge). The other three chapters, located nearer the beginning of the book, were Archaeology (2), Biology (5) and Natural Sciences (5), and dealt principally with experimental procedures such as growing algae, experimenting with animals, and performing chemical analysis by electrophoresis. 79 C. L. Stong, 'The Amateur Scientist: Mostly about how to study artificial satellites without complex equipment', Scientific American, 201 (1), Jan 98-109; ---, 'The Amateur Scientist: How a persevering Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 28 Figure 3: Making holograms in 'The Amateur Scientist', Feb 1967 [original illustration by Roger Hayward, 1966, ACNMAH 0012 Box 23, folder 7 (by permission of Miriam and Jim Kramer, Roger Hayward estate)]. Unsurprisingly, given Stong’s ongoing employment at Western Electric, the ‘Amateur Scientist’ column also became more visibly attuned to business. The new magazine format had been conceived to attract new sponsors. While impressive corporate advertisements trumpeted the postwar advances of American industry interspersed among the professionally-penned articles in the magazine, the ‘Amateur Scientist’ column was surrounded by ads from smaller firms offering component parts, tools and measuring instruments. Its active scientific enthusiasms were fuelled by a glut of cheap war-surplus components and equipment ranging from optics to exotic electronics. The Edmund Salvage Company, for example, founded in1942 to resell government contract ‘seconds’ to amateurs seeking inexpensive optical components, had been a frequent advertiser alongside Ingalls’s postwar ‘Amateur Astronomer’ columns, and was renamed the Edmund Scientific Corporation in 1951 to capitalize on the association. His successor typically identified suppliers of useful war surplus components in the ‘Amateur Scientist’, and the co-evolution of the column, amateur scientists and burgeoning supply companies is evident. 80 amateur can build a gas laser in the home', Scientific American, 211 (9), Sep: 127-34; ---, 'The Amateur Scientist: How to make holograms and experiment with them or with ready-made holograms', Scientific American, 216 (2), Feb 122-8. 80 Other postwar suppliers of optics parts advertising in Scientific American included the Associated Surplus Company, United Trading Company, F. W. Ballantyne, Columbo Trading Company, A. Cottone, A. Jaegers and Harry Ross, each based in either California or New York. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 29 7. Reconceiving and educating the Cold War scientific citizen The relatively cosy postwar portrait of the science hobbyist painted by ‘The Amateur Scientist’ and its advertisers – that of an inventive individual personally motivated and fuelled both by make-do solutions and a burgeoning supply of inexpensive components – was subsumed within wider political and economic transformations. The successes of government-funded wartime scientific research and development, combined with postwar concerns about Cold War supremacy and competition in international markets, encouraged the American government to promote science education at the national level. 81 In August 1949, detection of the first Soviet atomic weapon test received blanket coverage in American newspapers and popular magazines. The resulting rhetoric, escalating through the decade, strengthened the link between amateur enthusiasms and national needs. 82 Caught up in the rising cultural tide favouring popular science and technology and hastened by anxieties about Soviet competition, the vogue for science clubs and science fair competitions intensified through the 1950s. Science Service urged closer convergence of firms, educators and government funding to train young enthusiasts as ‘cures for threats’: ‘If high schools would take as much pride in outfitting chemistry and physics labs as they do in outfitting their football teams’, claimed a 1956 press release, ‘the United States would be well on its way to solving the serious threat to its survival posed by the alarming shortage of engineering and scientific man-power and the growing threat of Soviet technological superiority’. 83 The three Sputnik launches over the following two years galvanized government support. Science clubs were drafted into efforts to urgently produce a generation of technically-competent scientists, technicians and managers. After-school science clubs became a bridge to more formal teaching initiatives. The National 81 Jessica Wang, American Science in an Age of Anxiety: Scientists, Anticommunism, and the Cold War (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1999). See also Wendy Swanberg, ‘The Forgotten Censorship of Scientific American in 1950’, Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication Annual Conference. Chicago IL, 2008. 82 John L. Rudolphs, Scientists in the Classroom: The Cold War Reconstruction of American Science Education (New York: Palgrave, 2002). 83 The Science Talent Institute, 'Teen-age scientists offer cures for threats to U.S. technological survival', press release, 5 Mar 1956, SI RU7091 Box 330 Folder 5. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 30 Science Foundation (NSF), founded in 1950 ‘to promote the progress of science, to advance national health, prosperity and welfare and to secure national defense’, found itself suddenly emphasizing education. 84 ‘Bookish’ studies of scientific knowledge in primary and secondary schools were rapidly replaced by opportunities to practise hands-on science. At the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, a group of physics teachers, the Physical Science Study Committee (PSSC), designed a curriculum based on assembling simple experimental equipment to stimulate students’ interest and intellectual independence. Supporting these educational reforms were a series of rapid institutional innovations to support research and development in the national interest, including the creation of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) and the Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA) in 1958. Westinghouse scholarships were soon supplemented by awards and achievement medals from scientific societies and the American military. In this political context, the rhetoric of amateurism was reconfigured. Gone were the interwar notions of lone geniuses and dedicated experimenters; in their place were visions of active all-rounders. Science Service radio broadcasts and brochures promoted a new trope for the model American science student. Science Talent Search winners, for example, were now epitomized by: ‘ a mathematician-chemist from Pennsylvania who stars in his high school’s varsity tennis team… A soft- spoken brown-eyed girl scientist who is a self-taught biologist and an accomplished pianist… A Colorado boy entomologist who excels in his chosen field, has a consuming interest in Shakespeare, and plays a hot guitar’. 85 Exemplars of scientific amateurism were not only shifted downward in age but also scaled up by schools’ initiatives and new technical hobbies that required group involvement and hierarchical direction. The case of model rocketry traces the new template. As a professional pursuit, rocketry had blossomed between the wars, when work in several countries combined hobbyist enthusiasm with state funding. Technologist Willy Ley (1906-1969) noted after Sputnik I that ‘for a year or so, virtually every youngster wanted to make rockets’. Countering claims about the dangers of hobbyist rocketry, he argued that amateur experimentation was essential for gaining experience. His examples foregrounded the links 84 The American Congress allocated $40 million to the NSF in 1958, eleven times more than in 1952, and its subsequent budgets spiralled upwards to reach one billion dollars in 1983. 85 Science Service, '1955 Science Talent Search winners', press release, 28 Feb 1955, SI RU7091 Box 330 Folder 5. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 31 between amateurism and science, and included ‘a high-school teacher called Strache; a man who had studied mainly zoology and who had thought he would become a geologist, myself’, comprising a ‘group of rank amateurs [who] built the first German liquid fuel rockets’. 86 Such amateur activities, argued the popular literature, demanded supervision. Science fairs were supplemented by teacher-sponsored after-school clubs and activities, and now further encouraged by official support from American military experts. 87 Rocketry was a hierarchical and collective activity rather than an individual hobby or typical science-fair project. Teamwork, not individual expertise, marked out this new breed of scientific amateurs. As the captain appointed director of the First Army Amateur Rocket Liaison Program observed, ‘Successful groups have generally been made up of members whose particular interests are quite different, but whose general interest in the advancement of scientific knowledge about the universe is mutually shared by all other members of the group’. He also emphasised that mentoring was essential: If I were asked to define the average or typical amateur rocket group in America that is successful in its work and has an intelligently planned program of study and developmental projects under way, I would say that it consists of seven bright young men between the ages of 13 and 17, one sympathetic and understanding parent or high-school teacher who acts as the adult adviser of the group, and one engineer or chemist who acts as a technical adviser. The Army’s interest in these amateur enthusiasts, he implied, extended Science Service’s post-Sputnik activities, ‘to support and maintain the rocket programs of the United States [, which] will require the best thinking of thousands of young scientists and technicians’. 88 Business rhetoric, too, adapted to the new political environment to represent amateurs in ways that promoted both scientific pastimes and profits. Supported by national goals for technical education and manpower in the context of the Cold War, scientific amateurs were being portrayed and actively courted by companies seeking no longer to exploit war surplus stocks, but to create expanding markets. Unlike the previous organisational initiatives, this was more genuinely a grassroots affair. A handful of enthusiasts 86 Willy Ley, ‘Foreword,’ in: Bertrand R. Brinley, Rocket Manual for Amateurs (New York: Ballantyne, 1960), p. vi. 87 Charles M. Parkin Jr, The Rocket Handbook for Amateurs (New York: John Day, 1959). 88 Brinley, Rocket Manual for Amateurs, (note 85), p. 16 (original emphases). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 32 promoted early commercial ventures via new hobbyist groups. Applying a marketing model familiar since the 1920s, model rocket companies, for example, fostered neophyte experimenters and mentored their development via a graded range of tempting projects. Thus some amateurs were translated into business people directly channelling the enthusiasms of their peers. 89 The company literature written by these amateurs-turned-businessmen appropriated the role that Scientific American and Science Service had pioneered between the wars, and provided an updated model of the scientific enthusiast. 90 The promotional literature of such firms emphasized the scientific dimensions of the hobby to align themselves explicitly with government rhetoric, educational initiatives and popular media. Thus the Estes Company supported its products – and characterized its customers – through its Model Rocket News and a series of technical reports detailing advanced topics. Their publications described the principles and practice of stable rocket design, wind tunnel testing and multi- staging. The link between the exhilarating technology, deeper science and scientific enthusiasms was a recurring refrain that echoed the style adopted by the successful Edmund catalogues: Today’s youth are finding model rocketry an ideal means for aiding their studies in aerodynamics, math, physics, optics, biology, space medicine, astronautics, electronics, photography and psychology…These young people who are pursuing, on their own, a study of the sciences with 89 E.g. Orville Carlisle (1917-1988), a pyrotechnics enthusiast, developed the ‘Rock-A-Chute’ in 1954, a development of traditional fireworks technology. With G. Harry Stine (1928-1997) – a physicist and writer of popular science who had worked at White Sands Proving Grounds, the Naval Ordnance Missile Test Facility and Martin during the 1950s – he founded the National Association of Rocketry in 1957. Fireworks manufacturer Vernon Estes (b. 1930), supplying ‘kits, engines, information and supplies for future space scientists’, sold a growing variety of model rockets in the form of nearly-ready-to-fly packages, complete kits of rocket parts, tools and ‘scientists’ specials’ – grab bags of varied components – for the self-constructor [G. Harry Stine, 'The roots of model rocketry', Sport Rocketry, (Jan-Feb 1998), 6- 9; ---, The Handbook of Model Rocketry (Chicago: Follet Publishing, 1965)]. 90 Estes sold associated items to broaden scientific expertise further. An ‘Altiscope’, provided with trigonometric tables, allowed maximum altitude to be measured; a ‘2-D Computer’ consisting of graph paper and rulers could plot the trajectory of a flight, and slide rules could help compute rocket performance and stability. Both accessories fitted neatly into high school mathematics curricula. With them, the hobbyist could adopt the roles of designer, flight technician and applied scientist. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 33 model rocketry are a vital part of this new generation of scientists. These are the young people who will explore the planets and beyond. 91 The transition from Scientific American’s model of autonomous enthusiasts to the postwar emphasis on mentored teams was consolidated by growing recognition of another form of amateur activity: volunteer scientific assistants for national and international programs. The amateur astronomy promoted by Scientific American could be allied with contemporary enthusiasms for space flight. W. Patrick McCray has discussed the role of amateurs in satellite tracking made briefly popular during the activities of the International Geophysical Year (IGY) in 1957-8. Initiated by the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory, Project Moonwatch had aims similar to those of Science Service between the wars: to foster interest and direct involvement in scientific practice and to discover latent aptitudes that could generate a new generation of professional scientists. Initially enrolling amateur astronomers and radio buffs, it soon extended to wider publics. 92 8. Celebrating dependent versus independent lay scientists By 1960, when Clair Stong published a selection of his ‘Amateur Scientist’ articles in book form, the Scientific American model of the amateur was thriving and yet increasingly out of step with evolving rhetoric. The values of amateurism espoused in his columns traced a direct lineage from William Ellison’s British articles, Albert Ingalls’s columns and Russell Porter’s Springfield telescope amateurs, but had been subtly shaped, and increasingly eroded, by competing templates. The syndicated newsfeeds, radio 91 Estes Industries Inc, Model Rocket Supplies Catalog No. 651 (Penrose CO: Estes Industries Inc, 1966). From the early 1950s, Edmund had pioneered the educational market by packaging low-cost collections of components and demonstration supplies for schools, and during the late 1960s the firm expanded into home meteorology apparatus, chemistry kits and science gadgets to satisfy the rising interest in amateur science and technology. Other firms of the period aimed at other markets, notably Atomic Laboratories Inc (Berkeley, CA) specializing in kits marketed directly to schools, and Science Associates (Princeton, NJ) focusing on equipment for industrial prototype and training departments [American Institute of Physics Niels Bohr Library and Archives (College Park MD), ‘Education and Manpower Division’ box 4, ‘American apparatus firms correspondence’, 1958]. 92 W. Patrick McCray, 'Amateur scientists, the International Geophysical Year, and the ambitions of Fred Whipple', Isis 97 (2006): 634-58; ---, Keep Watching the Skies! The Story of Operation Moonwatch and the Dawn of the Space Age (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 34 programs, science clubs and competitions promoted by Science Service stressed youth, careers and national relevance; Cold War initiatives had seen government, educators, and business become active voices in portraying and capturing scientific enthusiasms. The Scientific American model of the amateur nevertheless remained stable and popular. Where Ingalls had vaunted intelligence, patience, persistence, handiness and even a transcendental spirit, Stong addressed his readers even more overtly as curiosity-driven individualists, who ‘take boundless delight in finding out what makes things tick, whether the object of your interest has been fashioned by nature or man’: ‘ You are an inveterate tinkerer. You love to take organized structures apart and put them together again in new and interesting ways – be they rocks, protozoa, alarm clocks or ideas... you are an amateur scientist.’ 93 The growing disjuncture between this life-long, aptitude-driven model and contemporary trends is hinted at, however, in the Introduction to the collection. In it, Vannevar Bush (1890-1974) – electrical engineer, university administrator and famed wartime overseer of the Manhattan Project – emphasized the link between amateur enthusiasms, science and the progress of modern society. ‘There are’, he said, ‘lots of amateur scientists, probably a million of them in this country’: The Weather Bureau depends on some 3,000 well-organized amateur meteorologists. Other groups observe bird and insect migrations and populations, the behavior of variable stars, the onset of solar flares, the fiery end of satellites, earth tremors, soil erosion, meteor counts, and so on… there are amateurs who are truly masters of their subjects, who need take a back seat at no professional gathering in their field. It was an amateur who discovered Pluto, and an amateur who was primarily responsible for the development of vitamin B1. 94 Bush’s commendation carried a hint of faint praise, and also stressed social and political dimensions that the Scientific American columns did not address. Scientific enthusiasts, he suggested, should be 93 C. L. Stong, ‘Preface’, in: The Scientific American Book of Projects for the Amateur Scientist (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1960), p. xxi. 94 V. Bush, ‘Introduction’, in C. L. Stong, The Scientific American Book of Projects for the Amateur Scientist (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1960), pp. xviii-xix. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 35 recognized by others, and should understand themselves, as a resource for professionals. And while individually amateurs could achieve remarkable scientific success, collectively they could serve national interests. As portrayed by Stong, Science Service and Bush, the traits of the amateur enthusiast were different but equally intense. While the pages of Scientific American magazine proselytized a vision of independent amateurs co-existing with professional scientists without hierarchy or condescension, anecdotal accounts suggest that the distinctive models exemplified by Science Service’s amateur radio campaigns and postwar rocketry clubs all were represented in its readers. Teamwork, mentored projects and independent experimentation characterized particular historical periods and contexts, but could also be combined in individual motivations, too. 95 Scientific American’s distinctive format dedicated to the independent amateur was retained until Stong’s death in 1975. 96 Its half-century run had proven perennially appealing, but arguably was a partial portrayal of the scientific enthusiast. Enthusiasms shifted: as hands-on tinkering declined in popular culture in favour of computer programming and consumption of packaged technologies, the active amateur found new ways of channelling curiosity and creativity. 9. Conclusions: advocates, media models and curated enthusiasms I have traced the evolution of a publishers’ construct: the notion of the modern amateur scientist and technical enthusiast and have argued that the portrayals of scientific amateurism by the Scientific American columnists were uniquely empowering representations that served as a rallying-call for a tranche of readers through the five middle decades of the twentieth century. Its advocacy of lay scientists as independent adult researchers differed from the shorter-lived and episodic templates provided by earlier popular magazines, later commercial brochures, and its principal American cultural cousins, Science Service’s syndication initiatives and the rhetoric of Cold War government, educators and businesses. 95 For one such biographical account, see Homer Hickam Jr, Rocket Boys (New York: Delacorte, 1998), and footnote 97. 96 The magazine published Stong’s pending columns monthly until Jan 1976, and subsequently reoriented the column towards simple home scientific experiments under physicist Jearl Walker until 1988. It appeared intermittently thereafter without a regular editor until 1995. Monthly columns resumed under Shawn Carlson until 2001. Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 36 These imagined lay identities, actively shaped by their promoters, nevertheless carried generations of enthusiasts along in their wake. The fifty-year backbone of Scientific American columns provided a stable vision that suited a large subset of adult amateurs and the commercial firms that evolved to supply them. The magazine depicted the scientific amateur as a dogged individualist pursuing a scientific avocation. The readership promoted by Ingalls and Stong was buttressed by the rhetoric and products of supply companies, and arguably faltered as war-surplus supplies became scarcer, and pre-packaged science kits and inexpensive electronics short-circuited home experimentation. 97 By contrast, the Science Service notion of amateurism identified adolescents, innate aptitudes and mentors as key components of technical enthusiasms. Their model challenged that of Scientific American when national circumstances demanded an increase in the scientific workforce. The urgent contexts of the Second World War and early Cold War encouraged government, scientific institutions, educators and commercial suppliers to expand the interwar initiatives of Science Service in new directions. While revealing much about shared cultural notions of the scientific amateur, the present focus on their portrayals by publishers and institutions veils the lay practitioners themselves. While it is clear that adolescent adventure novels, Scientific American, Science Service and post-Sputnik initiatives attracted large numbers of scientific enthusiasts, relatively little is revealed about participants’ inherent aptitudes, personal motivations, and ‘fit’ to the proffered templates of amateurism. The sources investigated suggest that the social contexts of amateur activities were largely invisible to the publishers who promoted them. Typically, there was little information to be found regarding the prosopography of the participants, and the subsequent progression of their amateur (or professional) lives. A handful of contributors revealed lives of varied education and chronic curiosity. 98 This is a dimension requiring further study, and ongoing 97 The model of independent innovators and experimenters re-emerged in the home computing movement and, more recently, ‘Maker culture’. The Ingalls/Strong identity for amateurs contrasts with the end-of- century stereotype of the ‘geek’, but links a recognizable culture of autonomous enthusiasts that mutated over the second half of the century from radio hams to electronics hobbyists to software hackers. See, for example, Roli Varma, 'Women in computing: the role of geek culture', Science as Culture 16 (2007): 359- 76 and Douglas Thomas, Hacker Culture (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2003). 98 Perhaps because of the no-nonsense correspondence from Ingalls and Stong, their correspondents typically focused on the technical details, and strayed into social dimensions only rarely. Ingalls found a confidante in Bernard Powell, for example, who saw ‘Science as a way of life’, having studied creative Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 37 historical investigation is focusing on the network of peer interactions, knowledge sharing, and relationships with professionals at the grassroots level of practising amateurs. Nevertheless, this historical examination of publishers’ constructs of amateur identity, and their adaptation in changing cultural environments, illustrates three characteristics. First, the history of lay science enthusiasms during the twentieth century demonstrates perennial engagement in an evolving variety of forms. The cultural visibility of amateur scientists and their jostling portrayals were particularly high in mid-century. Such distinctive expressions of scientific amateurism were neither progressive nor inevitable, but rather were firmly shaped in changing cultural and political contexts. 99 Second, these evolving amateur activities were strongly influenced by the agency of publishers and other advocates. We may imagine amateur science to be a free-wheeling expression of individualistic and social aptitudes and interests, but the contexts examined here suggest, instead, a paternalistic (and sometimes patronizing) hierarchical shaping by sponsors. The growth of hands-on scientific amateurism was a mediated process in which publishers through the twentieth century identified latent readership, advertising and labour markets among technological enthusiasts, and promoted their distinct visions of the writing, philosophy and geology at college, experimented with fossil collecting, radioactivity, and micrometeorite detectors [Bernard Williams Powell to A. G. Ingalls, letter, 28 Mar 1953, ACNMAH 0175 Box 8, folder 2]. Stong found his equivalent sounding-board in another traceable amateur, Sylvain (later Sylvan) Heumann (1925-2013), a New Jersey furniture-maker with lifelong interests in ham radio, astronomy, aviation, home computing and new technologies, who contributed not only two articles on home-built lasers to the ‘Amateur Scientist’ column during the 1960s, but also pieces for Sky & Telescope and Experimental Aircraft magazines, and who remained an active amateur into his later years [Wendy Heumann to author, email, 21 Jan 2015; Makerbot llc, ‘We love the Makerbot operators: Sylvan Heumann’, www.makerbot.com/blog/2011/09/09/we-2/, (9 Sep 2011, consulted 16 Feb 2015)]. 99 Particular cases have been explored in studies of amateur meteorology by inter-comparing historical and contemporary practices of non-professional science, e.g. in V. Jankovic, Reading the Skies. A Cultural History of the English Weather, 1650-1820 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), Carol Morris and Georgina Endfield, 'Exploring contemporary amateur meteorology through an historical lens', Weather 67 (2012): 4-8, and in the practice of amateur experimental biology, identifying a continuity between Victorian garden practices and the empowerment of present-day non-institutional science [Helen Anne Curry, 'From garden biotech to garage biotech: amateur experimental biology in historical perspective', British Journal for the History of Science 47 (2014): 539-66]. http://www.makerbot.com/blog/2011/09/09/we-2/ Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 38 typical or desirable amateur scientist. Third, these successful initiatives to promote amateur science each sampled a point on the spectrum of individual autonomy. The dependence, and independence, of scientific amateurs was variously portrayed. Where Scientific American courted the mature amateur as a self-sufficient practitioner unneedful of professional direction and validation, Science Service and its associated Science Clubs of America, Westinghouse Scholarships and young scientist programs on radio and television saw their audience as youthful would-be scientists to be mentored by more knowledgeable superiors. The current term ‘citizen science’ captures the essence of Vannevar Bush’s vision in which volunteers act as assistants or adjuncts under the direction of a professional scientist, often as junior members of cooperating teams. Bush’s vision downplays age as a relevant dimension, but highlights the subordinate and dependent status of citizen scientists. 100 Over the past century, the longstanding advocacy of Scientific American and the distinctive, but typically shorter-lived initiatives of other publishers, firms, institutions and educators generated waves of scientific enthusiasts who identified with their portrayals. The historiography of publishers’ representations of the amateur scientist reveals the contrasting views about autonomy that are at the heart of their practices. The Scientific American model of the independent lay scientist represents a long-lived model that continues to challenge prevailing notions of the relevance of age, competence and dependence on professionals. Acknowledgements I am grateful for the support of this research from grants provided by the Center for the History of Physics of the American Institute of Physics and the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland, and for the helpful comments of anonymous referees. 100 Such citizen science projects have been particularly promoted for astronomy, distributed computing and ecology. See, for example, Eric Paulos, Sunyoung Kim and Stacey Kuznetsov, 'The rise of the expert amateur: citizen science and microvolunteerism', in: M. Foth, L. Forlano, C. Satchell and M. Gibbs (ed.), From Social Butterfy to Engaged Citizen: Urban Informatics, Social Media, Ubiquitous Computing and Mobile Technology to Support Citizen Engagement (Cambridge MA: MIT Press, 2011), pp 167-91; Janis Dickinson and Rick Bonney (ed.), Citizen Science: Public Participation in Environmental Research (Ithaca, 2015). Final edits for Annals of Science, 29 Mar 2018. ‘Vaunting the independent amateur: Scientific American and the representation of lay scientists’ 39 Disclosure statement No conflict of interest was reported by the author. 
work_cj5jribzvvg5dhizsbmpyzcgem	----	SÖZ VARLIĞI Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 İSMET ÖZEL ŞİİRİNDE ŞEHİR ALGISI Secaattin TURAL* ÖZET Edebiyata baktığımızda şehir imgesinin zengin bir literatür oluşturduğu görülmektedir. Kimi yazarlar doğrudan doğruya modern öncesi dönemlerin şehir algısını da içine alacak bütüncül bir yaklaşımla meseleye yaklaşırken, kimileri de yalnızca modern çağın ortaya çıkarttığı “metropol” denilen devasa şehirleri imgeleştirirler. İşte gerek şiirlerinde gerekse düz yazılarında “medeniyet” ve bunun türevlerinden biri olan “şehir” kavramını, gelenekçi-modernist karşıtlığının da ötesinde bütüncül bir bakışla ele alan yazarlarımızdan biri olan İsmet Özel, bir hak arama dili olarak gördüğü şiiri, barbarların diline benzetir. Çünkü şehir ona göre haksızlığın ve sömürünün çeşitli ideolojik araçlarla gizlenebildiği, insanların tüketim kültürü içinde bireyselliklerini, kimliklerini yitirerek bir yığın haline getirildiği bir mekândır. Barbarın verili dilin ve hayatın kodlarına yabancı oluşunu, insani değerlere yabancılaşmaması için bir imkan olarak gören İsmet Özel’in, temeli İbni Haldun’a kadar gidebilecek bir metaforu kullanarak, “sivil itaatsizlik” metaforunu da içine alacak biçimde kendi özüne ve dünyaya yabancılaşan bireyin “sahici olan”la temas kurma çabasını şiirinin ana izleklerinden biri haline getirdiği görülüyor. Anahtar Kelimeler: Medeniyet, imge, şehir, şiir, barbar, modernizm. * Yrd. Doç. Dr., Kırklareli Üniversitesi Fen-Edebiyat Fakültesi Türk Dili ve Edebiyatı Bölümü, secaattintural@yahoo.com mailto:secaattintural@yahoo.com İsmet Özel Şiirinde Şehir Algısı… 1347 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 PERCEPTION OF THE CITY IN POETRY OF ISMET OZEL ABSTRACT It appears that the image of city bore rich in the literature. While some authors study this question in a comprehensive manner including the pre-modern period city image, some others, too, describe merely, the so called metropolis, gigantic cities which are appeared as a result of beginning of modern ages. İsmet Özel, who sees the poem as a tool of claiming and analogize to it for the language of barbarians, is one of the authors deals with the civilization and one of its derivatives the city, in a comprehensive methods beyond the discussions based on traditionalist and modernist conflict. This is because, according to him, the city is a place where injustices and exploitations are able to easily disguise themselves by various ideological means and a place where people turn to a mass losing their individual characteristics and their identities in the culture of consumption. The barbarians could not communicate with the shared language and had no way of knowing the codes of life, to Özel, well facilitated not to alienate to themselves from human values and hence it appears that Özel tries to make the struggle of alienated person to achieve a touch to myself and to the real one is one of his main guidance for his poems comprising civil disobedience which may well be traced back to Ibn Khaldun. Key Words: Civilization, image, city, poem, modernizm barbarian. Sermaye-emek, merkez- çevre ilişkilerinin, teknolojinin, temsil ve söylemsel aidiyet biçimlerinin kazandığı karmaşıklık dolayısıyla, modernitenin ürünü olarak görülen şehir, ortaçağdan bu yana, toplumsal yaşamın canlılığının ve durgunluğunun, hızlılığının ve donmuşluğunun, zenginliğinin ve yoksulluğunun, neşesinin ve kederinin en açık biçimde gözlemlenebildiği yerdir. 1 Şehir, gerek modern öncesi ve gerekse modern çağlarda “medeniyet”in en önemli 1 Ahmet Oktay, Metropol ve İmgelem, Türkiye İş Bankası Yay., İstanbul 2002, s.23. 1348 Secaattin TURAL Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 sembolü olarak görülmüş ve şehirli insan da “medeni insan”ın yegane temsilcisi sayılmıştır. Fakat 18. yüzyılın sonlarından itibaren özellikle Romantizmin en önemli temsilcisi olan J.J. Rousseau’nun “soylu vahşi”ye yaptığı vurguyla 2 bu değer yargısı sorgulanmaya başlanmıştır. 3 Aslında Romantiklerin yaptığı, Aydınlanma devri düşünürlerinin ihmal ettiği “duygu”yu hatırlatmaları ve böylece insan doğasının eksikliğini tamamlamalarıdır. Dolayısıyla Romantizm aydınlanma hareketine toptan bir karşı çıkıştan ziyade, bir bakıma diyalektik düşüncenin bir aşamasıdır. Daha başka bir deyişle Aydınlanmanın öne çıkardığı akılcılığın “tez”, duyguya vurgu yapan romantizmin “antitez” olduğu düşünülürse, bugünün Batı düşüncesinin “sentez” olduğu söylenebilir. Edebiyata baktığımızda şehir imgesinin zengin bir literatür oluşturduğu görülmektedir. Divan şiirinin bir medeniyet şiiri olduğu göz önüne alındığında şehrin türlü özellikleriyle bu şiirde yer alması da kaçınılmazdır. Divan şairi şehrin şairidir ve şehir medeniyetin sembolü olarak olumlu özellikleriyle anılır. 4 Zaten modernizmin ortaya çıkardığı şehirden kaçış arzusunun ya da şehri kutsayışın divan şiirinde izlek olarak bulunması da beklenemez. Fakat Tanzimat sonrası gelişen edebiyatımızda özellikle Abdülhak Hâmid’in “Sahra”sıyla medeniyetin temsil ettiği şehirden kaçış temi romantiklerin tesiri altında görülmeye başlanmış ve Servet-i Fünun’dan Cumhuriyete uzanan bir süreçte Modernleşme 2 Rousseau’dan çok daha önceleri Endülüslü Müslüman düşünür İbn-i Haldun meseleye benzer tarzda yaklaşır ve “barbar-ilkel” kavramlarına denk gelen “bedevi- hadari” ayrımı üzerinde durur: …Şehir ahalisi her çeşit lezzetler, bolluk ve genişlik içinde yaşamaya alıştıkları, dünyanın ve kendi arzu ve heveslerinin düşkünü oldukları için şehirlilerin fena ve bozuk bir çok huy ve kötülükleriyle nefislerini lekelerler..Bundan dolayı iyilik yollarından o nisbette uzaklaşırlar…Göçebe ve köy hayatı yaşayanlar ancak vücutlarını koruyabilecek miktarda dünyaya düşkün olup, nefis ve arzularının sebep ve vasıtalarına ve dünya lezzetlerinden hiçbirine ve sebeplerine sahip değillerdir. Bunlar tabi olan iyi hulk ve tabiata yakın ve kötü ve yerilen alışkanlıkların çokluğundan dolayı husule gelen alışkanlıklardan ve bunların nefiste yerleşip kalmasından uzaktır (İbn Haldun, Mukaddime I, çev.Zakir Kadiri Ugan,. Milli Eğitim bak. Yay., İstanbul 1986, s. 310.) 3 Türk edebiyatında J.J.Rousseau’nun ortaya attığı “tabiat güzeldir, medeniyet çirkindir” tezini ilk kez işleyen şair Abdülhak Hamid’dir. “Sahra”(1878) adlı şiir kitabında romantiklerden esinlenerek “kır-şehir”, “köylü-şehirli”, “tabiîlik-sun’îlik” temlerini mukayese ederek, tercihini tabiattan yana yani “bedevi”likten yana kullanır. Fakat yayımlanma sırası daha sonra olsa bile Sahra’dan önce yazılan “Belde”(1885) adlı şiir kitabında da Paris’i anlatırken dikkatini parklar, bahçelere çevirerek tabiat hakkındaki intibalarını kaydetmesi Hâmid’deki romantizm etkisini göstermesi bakımından önemlidir. (bkz. Mehmet Kaplan, Türk Edebiyatı Üzerinde Araştırmalar, “Tabiat Karşısında Abdülhak Hâmid”, Dergah Yay. İstanbul 1976.) 4 Şiir-şehir ilişkisi hakkında geniş bilgi için bkz. Mehmet Narlı, Şiir ve Mekan, Hece Yay., Ankara 2007. İsmet Özel Şiirinde Şehir Algısı… 1349 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 hareketlerinin etkisiyle şehir bir problem olarak şiirlerde yer almıştır. Burada hemen akla Tevfik Fikret’in İstanbul’u lanetlediği “Sis” şiiri gelebilir. Her ne kadar siyasi-psikolojik temelli bir şiir olsa da edebiyatımızda bir dönüm noktası oluşturması bakımından önemli olan bu şiir, Divan şiirinin kutsadığı bir şehri lanetlemesiyle farklı açılardan yorumlanma imkanına sahiptir. Gerek Milli edebiyat ve gerekse Cumhuriyet döneminde İkinci Yeni kuşağına kadar ideolojik bir bakış açısıyla şehir ve karşıtı olan kır imgesi birbiriyle çatışmaksızın şiirlerde yer almıştır. Yalnız Burada Yahya Kemal, Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar gibi medeniyet algılarını şehir bağlamında estetik bir zevkle işleyen şairleri, Necip Fazıl Kısakürek gibi Baudlaire’in Paris sıkıntısına benzer bir biçimde şehre yaklaşımlarını hatırlamak gerekir. 1950 sonrası şiirinde yani İkinci Yeni’den itibarense sanayileşmenin ve şehirleşmenin getirdiği problemler şiirlerde işlenmeye başlanmış ve şehir algısı yepyeni imgelere açılmıştır. Yalnız daha öncesinde Attila İlhan’ın modern şehrin kapitalist doğasını öne çıkaran romantik-sosyal gerçekçi şiirlerinin etkisini de unutmamak gerekir. Kimi yazarlar doğrudan doğruya modern öncesi dönemlerin şehir algısını da içine alacak bütüncül bir yaklaşımla meseleye yaklaşırken, kimileri de yalnızca modern çağın ortaya çıkarttığı “metropol” denilen devasa şehirleri imgeleştirmişlerdir. Halbuki şehir imgesinin yalnızca modern insanın mekânı olan metropollere indirgenmesi, bütünüyle insanlık tarihinin oluşturduğu medeniyetin insan ve tabiat üzerindeki etkisinin paranteze alınmasına ve meselenin yalnızca modernizm eleştirisiyle sınırlı kalmasına yol açar. İşte gerek şiirlerinde gerekse düz yazılarında “medeniyet” ve bunun türevlerinden biri olan “şehir” kavramını, gelenekçi-modernist karşıtlığının da ötesinde bütüncül bir bakışla ele alan yazarlarımızdan biri de İsmet Özel’dir. 5 5 İsmet Özel yalnızca şiirlerinde değil özellikle “Üç Mesele” adlı deneme kitabında da medeniyet kavramını ele alarak, medeniyet kavramına olumsuz bir anlam yüklemiştir. Fakat şu unutulmamalıdır ki Özel’in medeniyete itirazı yalnızca Batı medeniyeti ile sınırlı değildir. O, İslam medeniyeti tabirine de eleştirel yaklaşarak Müslümanların “medeniyet”e yaptığı olumlu vurgudan rahatsızlığını dile getirir. O, Müslümanlara yalnızca vahiy ve sünnetin yeteceğini, ayrıca bir “medeniyet” arayışına lüzum olmadığını düşünür. Ona göre İslamiyetin ilk dönemleri zaten “medeniyet” adı altında insanlığı sömüren güçlere bir karşı çıkıştı. Daha sonraki dönemleri eski medeniyetlerin bir türevi sayan Özel, bütünüyle medeniyet ve onun en önemli göstergesi olan şehir kavramına karşı olumsuz anlamlar yükler. (bkz. İsmet Özel, Üç Mesele:Teknik, Medeniyet, Yabancılaşma) 1350 Secaattin TURAL Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 İsmet Özel’in medeniyete ve dolayısıyla onun en önemli ürünü olan şehre yaklaşımı, poetikası olarak kabul edeceğimiz “Şiir Okuma Kılavuzu”nda açıkça ortaya konulmuştur. Özel, şiiri barbarların dili olarak kabul eder ve bir hak arama dili olarak gördüğü şiirle barbarlığı eş tutar. Ona göre nasıl ki şiir, verili dilin dışındalığıyla “hakikat”le bir bağ kurmanın bir aracıysa; barbar da geçerli insan ilişkilerinin hakim olduğu düzene başkaldırışı ve medeniyetin kendine biçtiği rolü reddedişiyle medenilerin zevklerine ve dillerine yabancı kalarak “hakikat”le bağını koparmamış, medenilerin aksine dünyayı kendilerine “yurt”, “ev” edinmemiş insanın sembolüdür. 6 İsmet Özel’i modernizmi eleştiren yazarlardan ayıran en önemli fark belki de “tutunamayanlık”ın çağrıştırdığı edilgenlikten çok etkin oluşu çağrıştıran “barbar” kelimesine yaptığı vurgudur. İsmet Özel şiirinde gözden kaçırılmaması gereken en önemli yan bizce budur. O, dünyaya şiirle saldırır ve insanı toplumsallaşmanın tehlikelerinden korunmaya, özüne yabancılaşmamaya, bir başka deyişle dünya karşısında tetikte durmaya çağırır. “Barbar-medeni” kavramlarını modern zihinlerin algılayışının tersine yorumlayan İsmet Özel’i daha iyi anlamak için İbni Haldun’un şu sözü aslında bizim için ipucu olabilir.“Şehirlerin inşa edilmesi ve kasabaların kurulması için mülkün, hanedanlığın ve devletin mevcudiyeti şarttır.” 7 Böylece birey politik-sosyal bilinç sahibi kılınır, yani vatandaş. Bu ise ancak örgütlü bir toplumun oluşturduğu şehirlerde gerçekleşebilir. Şehir devletlerinde yaşayan Eski Yunanlıların ve imparatorluk düzeyine yükselen Romalıların kendi yurttaşları dışındakileri “barbar” olarak adlandırdıkları burada hatırlanabilir. Kentli olmanın uygar olmakla eş değer tutulması, görüldüğü gibi yalnızca modern dünyaya ait bir bakış açısı değildir. 8 Bu yüzden “Kan Kalesi” 9 gibi erken dönem şiirlerinden başlayarak şehir imgesi İsmet Özel’in şiirinde hep olumsuz çağrışımları barındırır: “Gizemli bir dehliz gibi şehri dolaşıyorum/ sıkıca tutuyorum kendimi şehre karışmaktan alıkoymaya” 6 İsmet Özel, “Barbarın Dili Şiir”, Şiir Okuma Kılavuzu, Şule Yay., İstanbul 1997, s. 71. 7 İbni Haldun, Mukaddime, C.2, çev. Süleyman Uludağ, Dergah Yay., İstanbul 1983. 8 Latincede şehir anlamındaki “civitas”tan “medeniyet anlamına gelen “civilization” türetilirken, Arapçada da benzer bir şekilde şehir anlamına gelen“medine”den “medeniyet” türetilmiştir. Bu da bize şehir-medeniyet kavramları arasındaki yakın ilişkinin bir çok dilde benzerlik taşıdığını gösterir. 9 İsmet Özel, Erbain, Çıdam Yay., 3.bs., İstanbul 1990, s. 101. İsmet Özel Şiirinde Şehir Algısı… 1351 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 mısralarında görüldüğü gibi “dehliz”, “gizem” gibi kelimelerle bir yandan grotesk bir atmosfer oluşturulurken, bir yandan da şairin kendi “ben”iyle giriştiği mücadele söz konusu edilmiş ve imgesel düzeyde bir gerilim yaratılmıştır. İsmet Özel “Jazz” adlı şiirinde 10 aynı gerilimli atmosferle, modern hayatın hızlı temposuna yetişmek için çabalayıp duran, kendini şehre karışmaktan alıkoymayı başaramayan, dar vakitlere sıkıştırılmış bireyin trajedisini çizer. Modern hayatın kurallarının dakikliğe, belli bir programa ayarlandığı ve bireyin hem zamanla hem de rakibi olan hemcinsleriyle yarışması şiirin söyleyiş temposuna da yansımıştır. Bu vapuru kaçırırsam beni belki de cinnet basar belki kanser olurum bu yıl sınıfta kalırsam ….. etimde şirpençe çıkar bu kızı alamazsam bu işi bitiremezsem şehirden beni kovarlar izin kağıdım yanar konuşacak olursam bu senet bankalar kapanmadan ruhumun rengini kapatmayacak olursa ölür kuyuya düşen çocuk Modern insanın her gün yaşadığı hızlı tempoyu oldukça çarpıcı imajlarla dile getiren şair, bu hayata ayak uydurmak zorunda olan bireyin nesneleştiğine dikkat çeker. Bu hayatta artık “kadere rıza, rızık, sabır, arkadaşlık, dostluk, merhamet” gibi huzuru, sükuneti, affetmeyi çağrıştıran erdemler yoktur. İnsan insanın kurdu olmuş ve ruhlar artık “banka”lar tarafından arıtılmaktadır. Bankayı “şehir işletmesi”nin kalbi olarak düşünürsek şiirde, “mabed”i sembolize ettiğini söyleyebiliriz. Şiirin devamındaysa modern dünyanın kuşatmasını yaran, kalabalıklar içinde sıkışıp kalmışlıktan kurtulmak isteyen, “yaşayıp giden” değil gerçekten “yaşayan” olma arzusuyla dolu olan şairin “ben”iyle karşılaşırız. alnımı kapıp getirmeliyim denizi karşılamaya kırlangıcın kanadındaki kezzap leylakta sıkışan buhar için nabzımı bulmalıyım nerede bulacaksam nabzımı çünkü ben kasadan fiş alarak yağmuru, selvileri zor durumda bıraktım benim yongalarımdan yapıldı bu çelenkler 10 A.e., s. 20. 1352 Secaattin TURAL Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 ben papatyaları şımartmadım diye oldu Mata Hari’ler casus Al Capon’lar gangster Yukarıdaki mısralarda geçen “kırlangıç, leylak, yonga, yağmur, papatya, selvi” gibi kelimeler “bozulmamışlığı, saflığı, sahiciliği, geleneği, tabiatı”, hülasa şehir karşıtlığını temsil etmektedir. Kendini dünyaya ve insanlara karşı sorumlu hisseden, kalabalıklardan biri olmamak, herkesleşmemek isteyen, özüne ve tabiata yabancılaşmayı reddeden bireyin çığlığıdır bu. “Nabzını bulmak” ise hayata, öze dönüşü, “yaşamayı bilen” şairin bilinçlenmesini sembolize eder. Dolayısıyla şiir iki katmanlı dokusuyla dikkati çekmektedir. “Dişlerimiz Arasındaki Ceset” şiirinde 11 ise İsmet Özel’in şehir insanının iki yüzlülüğüne yaptığı vurgu dikkat çekicidir. Biz şehir ahalisi, Kara Şemsiyeliler! Kapçıklar! Evraklılar! Örtü Severler! çığlıklardan çadır yapmak şanı bizdedir. bizimdir yerlere tükürülmeyen yerler. nezaketten, haklılardan yanayızdır hepimiz sevinmemiz çapkıncadır, ağlatır bizi küpeşteler yaşamak deriz –Oh dear- ne kadar tekdüze katliamlar ne kötü be birader Şehir insanının kendisini, harici çevresinin tehditkar cereyanlarına ve çelişkilerine karşı-ki bunlar onu köksüz bırakacağından bizzat öz varlığına karşı bir tehdittir-koruyacak en önemli kalkanının bencilliği ve hesapçılığı 12 olduğunu düşünen şair, “gösteri(ş) toplumunun bireyleri olarak gördüğü şehir ahalisinin içtenliğini kaybederek “nezaket”, “zerafet” maskesi altında gerçek niyetlerini gizlediğini ironik bir dille ifade eder. Yalnız modern insanı değil bütünüyle medeni insanı sembolize eden şehirlinin, duygularının sahicilikten uzak, her şeyi kişisel çıkara çevirebilme yeteneğine sahip bireyler olduğu; hesap ve çıkar dünyasının dışında herhangi bir nedenle bu insana ulaşmanın imkanının kalmadığı, bir başka şiirinde de karşımıza çıkar. Her şeyi pazarlık konusu yapan, her türlü manevi ve ahlaki değeri metalaştıran şehir ahalisine “Gelin bir pazarlık yapalım sizinle ey insanlar!” diye seslenerek ilginç bir ödeme teklifinde bulunur: 11 A.e., s.16. 12 Ahmet Aydoğan, Şehir ve Cemiyet, İz Yay., İstanbul 2000, s. 29. İsmet Özel Şiirinde Şehir Algısı… 1353 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 Üyesi olduğunuz dernek toplantısında bir söyleve ne dersiniz?/ Bir söylev: Büyük İnsanlık İdeali Hakkında 13 Görüldüğü gibi “nezaketten ve haklılardan yana” olan şehirlinin bunları ancak ekonomik ve siyasi bir rantı da beraberinde getirebilecek olan bir “dernek toplantısı”nda gösteriye dönüştürmek suretiyle dile getirebileceği ironi dozu yüksek bir dille ifade edilmiştir. Bütün imkânın yaşanmakta olandan ibaret olduğunu kabul eden ve bu kabulünü “tarihin akışı”, “objektif koşullar”, “insanlık ideali”, “tanrısal ilke” gibi soyut, baskıcı kavramlarla haklılaştırmak isteyen insanı, yeryüzündeki bütün pislikleri üzerine almaya hazırlanmış ve zorbalarla işbirliğine önceden razı olmuş bireyler olarak gören İsmet Özel, 14 siyasi-felsefi akımların bu insanın üretilmesinde oynadığı role atıfta bulunmuş olur. “Dişlerimiz Arasındaki Ceset” şiirine tekrar döndüğümüzde şairin eleştiri oklarını modernizmin en önemli inşası olan bilgi ve teknoloji toplumuna yönelttiğini görüyoruz. Aşağıdaki mısralarda yalnızca bedensel zevklere, ideolojilerin belirlediği bir tarih ve kültür anlayışına mahkum edilen bireyin trajedisi orjinal imgelerle verilmiştir. Saframızla kesemizi birleştiren anatomi bilgisi Hadım tarih, kundakçı matematik, geri kafalı gramer İnsanın bir hammaddeye dönüştüğü, sömürüldüğünün farkına varmaması için ideolojik aygıtların devreye girdiği bir çağı eleştiren şair, bilimin bu sömürüyü örtmede, gizlemede hatta insanın daha da özgürleştiği yanılsamasının sürmesinde oynadığı rolün altını çizmektedir. Evet bunlar gizlice örgütlenerek alnımıza Verem Olmak Üretimi Düşürür ibaresini çizer Kentsel bir varlığın hizmetlerini en düşük maliyette ve en büyük miktarda gerçekleştirmesi, verimli çalışması, bütçe açığı vermemesi için bir makine gibi “tıkır tıkır” işlemesi gerekir. 15 Büyük bir işletmeyi andıran şehir için insan, bir makine parçasındaki dişliden farksızdır, yani nesneleşmiştir. İsmet Özel de teknoloji toplumunda insanın ve tabiatın sömürülmesinin bilimsel bir hal aldığını; kutsallık 13 Özel, age., “Celladıma Gülümserken Çektirdiğim Son Resmin Arkasındaki Satırlar”, s.15. 14 Özel, Şiir Okuma Kılavuzu, s. 50. 15 Murray Bookchin, Kentsiz Kentleşme, çev.Burak Özyalçın, Ayrıntı Yay., İstanbul 1999, s. 37. 1354 Secaattin TURAL Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 kazanan bilimin, insanları “rıza”yla köleleştirdiğine dikkat çekerek, şehri söz konusu sömürünün üretildiği bir mekan olarak tasvir eder. Şehir aslında özgür olduğu yanılsaması içinde olan modern kölelerin yurdudur. Şiirde şehrin bir imge olarak kapitalizmin bütün unsurlarını çağrıştırdığını görüyoruz.“Senet”in geleceği elinden alınmış şehirli insanın simgesi olması buna bir örnektir. Biz şehir ahalisi, üstü çizilmiş kişiler Kalırız orada senetler, ahizeler ve tren tarifesiyle Artık böylesi bir toplumda “Duygular paketlenmiş, tecime el verişli”dir. 16 Dolayısıyla her şey pazarlanabilir bir meta haline gelmiştir. Hayat, bir bilanço; idealler satın alınan şeylerdir; modern dünyanın simgeleri olarak kullanılan “senet, ahize, tren tarifesi” kelimelerinin çağrıştırdıkları ise ihtiyaçtan çok arzuların eseri olan tüketime yönelik bir hayat; sanal ilişkilerin hakim olduğu iletişimsizlik; mekansızlık, yersiz yurtsuzluktur. “Kimbilir kimden umarız emr-i bi’lmaruf/ kimbilir kimden umarız nehy-i ani’l münker” mısralarıyla yalnız İslamiyetin değil hemen her dinin insanın üzerine yüklediği “iyiliği emredip, kötülükten men etme” sorumluluğuna atıfta bulunan şair, şehrin, insanı biçimlendiren, onu yalnızca üreten ve tüketen, dolayısıyla varoluşunu tamamen maddi düzeyde algılayan “homo economicus”a indirgeyişini “eşref-i mahlukat”ın sırrına yabancılaşma olarak görür. Kapitalizme özgü zihniyetin yalnızca modern çağlarda değil, daha öncesinde uygarlık tarihinin her safhasında var olduğunu savunan İsmet Özel’in “eşref-i mahlukat” olarak andığı insan, aslında onun literatüründe bir bakıma “barbar”a karşılık gelir. Yani, özüne yabancılaşmamış, konformizmin neden olduğu bencillik hastalığına tutulmamış “sahih insan”. “Ölüm Cantabile” adlı şiirinde 17 de benzer şekilde şehirliyi “kaypak ilgilerin, zarif ihanetlerin, bozuk paraların, sivilcelerin, pahalı zevklerin ve ucuz cesaretlerin” insanı olarak tanımlayan şairin, kendini şehre karışmaktan alıkoyma mücadelesini sürdürdüğünü görüyoruz. ogünbugün, şehri dünyanın üstüne kapatıp bıraktım kapattım gümüş maşrapayla yaralanmış ağzımı ham elmalar yemekten göveren dudaklarım mırıldanmasın şehrin mutantan ve kibirli ağrısını 16 Özel, “Esenlik Bildirisi”, Erbain, s. 53. 17 A.e., s. 28. İsmet Özel Şiirinde Şehir Algısı… 1355 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 mısralarında da görüldüğü gibi şair, insanın varoluş problemini aşmasının ve sahici olanla temas etmesinin tek yolunun şehri terk etmekten geçtiğine inanır. Şehrin dışladığı her şey şiirde “sahiciliğin, bozulmamışlığın” simgesi olarak kullanılmıştır. Azıcık gece alayım yanıma yalnız serçelerin uykusuna yetecek kadar gece böcekler için rutubet/örümcekler için kuytu biraz da sabah sisi yabani güvercin kanatları renginde Modern şehirlerin “ışık”sızlığa tahammülsüzlüğü ve gecenin bu şiirde “hakikat”in, “sahiciliğ”in simgesi olması, Aydınlanma felsefesinin “ışık” metaforuna yüklediği anlamı akla getiriyor. İsmet Özel modern algının tersine gündüzü, dolayısıyla aydınlığı sahteliğin; geceyi ise hakikatin sembolü olarak görmektedir. Gece, şiirde insanın unuttuğu özünü ve teknolojinin adım atmadığı ve dolayısıyla zarar veremediği “tabiat”ı temsil ederken; “örümcek, serçe, böcek, sabah sisi, güvercin” kelimelerinin oluşturduğu imgeler, tabiatı hükmü altına almaya çalışan medeni insanın yerine, onunla uyum içinde yaşayan fakat kendisine “barbar”, vahşi, ilkel” gibi sıfatlarla saldırılan, değerden düşürülmeye çalışılan “sahih insan”ı akla getirir. Söz konusu kelimeler ayrıca şehrin dışladığı maddi manevi her türlü değerin de sembolü olarak yorumlanabilir. Tabiata dönüşün temsil ettiği varoluşsal aydınlanma isteği yine benzer imajinatif göndermelerle şiirde yer alır. Durmadan beyaz bir aygırla taşardım derin göllerden Bir gebe kısrakla kaçardım derin ormanlara Güneşin zekasıyla doymak isterdim Kaba solgun kağıtlar sunardı şehrin insanı bana Şehrin insanı, şehrin insanı, şehrin Kaypak ilgilerin insanı, zarif ihanetlerin Şehre karışmanın ve onun değerlerini kabul etmenin insanın “sahici olanla” temasını keseceğini düşünen şair bunu imajinatif değeri son derece yüksek söz dizimleriyle ifade eder. “Göllerden beyaz aygırla taşmak”, “derin ormanlara gebe kısrakla kaçmak” ve “güneşin zekasıyla doymak” istemek. Bu kelimeler hep tertemiz ve duru olana ulaştıktan sonra orada çoğalma istencinin birer ifadesi, anti-konformizmin bir uzantısıdır. 18 Şiirde geçen “kaba solgun kağıtlar”, daha öncesinde sözünü ettiğimiz “senetler” gibi insanı nesneleştirerek tüketim toplumunun bir üyesi haline gelmesini sağlayan her türlü aracın sembolüdür. 18 İbrahim Tüzer, İsmet Özel, Şiire Damıtılmış Hayat, Dergah Yay., İstanbul 2008, s. 227. 1356 Secaattin TURAL Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 Toprağa meydan okuyan, tabiatla çelişen, hatta onu inkar eden, tabiattan daha başka daha üstün yüksek bir şey olmayı talep eden şehirden “öç almak” gerektiği ise yukarıda bir mısrasından söz ettiğimiz “Esenlik Bildirisi” adlı şiirde 19 yer almaktadır. Bir şehrin urgan satılan çarşıları kenevir kandil geceleri bir şehrin buhur kokmuyorsa yağmurdan sonra sokaklar ortadan kalkmıyorsa o şehirden öç almanın vakti gelmiş demektir Bu mısralarda bizim en başından beri vurguladığımız “eylemci” ruhun izlerini görüyoruz. 20 Bu eylemci ruh halini İsmet Özel’in devrimci duyarlılığına bağlayan yorumlara katılmamak mümkün değildir. Gerçekten de hem otobiyografik metinlerinde hem de düşünsel denemelerinde kendisi de buna benzer yorumlarda bulunmuştur. 21 Dolayısıyla şairin özellikle şehirde kendisini gösteren sosyo-ekonomik ilişkilerin kapitalist doğasına yaptığı olumsuz vurgu, onun şiir evreninin ana temalarından biridir. Vandal yürek! Görün ki alkışlanasın Ez bütün çiçekleri kendine canavar dedir Haksızlık et, haksız olduğun anlaşılsın Yaşamak bir sanrı değilse öcalınmak gerektir. Konformizmin vermiş olduğu rahatlıkla sergiledikleri davranışın anlamını sorgulamadan yaşayan “herkes”lerin eleştirisini yapan şair, şehrin içerisindeki insanın davranışının haksızlık olduğunu fark etmesinin, ancak aynı haksızlığa kendi uğramasıyla mümkün olacağını okuyucunun dikkatine sunar. 22 Şiirin adındaki “esenlik” kelimesinin bir kavga şiirine ad olması ise şiiri daha da ilginç kılar. 19 A.e., s.53. 20 İsmet Özel, “Sivil İtaatsizlik” adlı manifesto mahiyetindeki metnin yazarı Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)’nun adını otobiyografik eserlerinde kullanmıştır. 1988’de yayınlanan “Henry Sen Neden Buradasın” kitabına ad olan sorunun sahibi Thoreau’nun arkadaşı olan Waldo Emerson’dur. Emerson, Meksika savaşında kullanılmak üzere A.B.D hükümetinin topladığı “kelle vergisi”ni vermeyi kabul etmediği için hapse girmiş ve onu ziyarete gelen Emerson da bu soruyu ona yöneltmiştir. Thoreau da arkadaşına o meşhur cevabı vermiştir: “Waldo Sen Neden Burada Değilsin”. Haksızlık ve sömürüye karşı çıkmanın insanlığın doğası gereği olduğuna dair bu “soru-cevap” İsmet Özel’in bahsi geçen otobiyografik eserlerinin isimlerini oluşturmuştur. (bkz. İsmet Özel, Waldo Sen Neden Burada Değilsin, Şule Yayınları; Henry Sen Neden Buradasın I-II”, Şule Yayınları) 21 İsmet Özel’in başlangıçta sosyalizm kaynaklı devrimci duyarlılığını Müslüman dünya görüşüne bağlandıktan sonra da devam ettirerek şiirinin ana izleklerinden bir haline getirdiği, İbrahim Tüzer tarafından yazılan “İsmet Özel, Şiire Damıtılmış Hayat” adlı kitapta geniş bir biçimde ele alınmıştır. 22 Tüzer, a.e., s.345. İsmet Özel Şiirinde Şehir Algısı… 1357 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 İsmet Özel’in dünya görüşünü değiştirme evresinde yazdığı bu şiirdeki modernizm eleştirisinin daha sonraki şiirlerinde kapsamını genişleterek bütünüyle bir medeniyet eleştirisine evrildiği söylenebilir. Devrimci duyarlılık istikamet değiştirmemiş, kapitalizm eleştirisi İsmet Özel şiirinin ana omurgalarından birini oluşturmaya devam etmiştir. Merkezinde ise şairin şiirin imkanları içinde haksızlıklara karşı duyarlı, hayatı sahici kılma çabasındaki kendi “ben”inin var olma çabası vardır. “Erbain” adlı şiir kitabından sonra yayımladığı şiirlerinde de şehre eleştirel gözle bakmaya devam eder. “Otoyoldaki Kavşakta Kavrulmuş Ruh Satıcısı” 23 adlı şiirdeki şu mısralar buna örnektir. Şehre git şehirden al çünkü şehirli insan Tınlatır boş fıçının egzoz ritmiyle köçek Şehirden bahsederken “köçek”, “boş fıçı”, “tınlamak” gibi olumsuz çağrışımlı kelimelerle oluşturduğu imajinatif söyleyişe, “Savaş Bitti” şiirinde 24 de yer verir. Matbuattan gizlendi şehre inmekten maksadımız Giderek matbuat gizledi bizden kendi maksadımızı Yadırganmadı bu koca kalabalığın Daracık yerlerde sıkış tepiş gizlenişi … tarlalardan kovulanların irin topladı derisi İrinliler kabilesi Yarası cerahatlenmeyenin şehirli sayılmadığına yapılan vurgu, şehirlinin “irinliler kabilesi” olarak nitelendirilmesiyle sağlanan eleştiri dozu hayli yüksek mısralar “John Maynard Keynes’ten Nefretimin Yirmi Sebebi” 25 şiirinde de karşımıza çıkar. Sana göz koymayan ey şehr/ Saldı mı Ur’dan Uruk’tan beri/…Şehir karartıyor ömrün furyasını/ karanlık bastırıyor/yorganaltı irisi/Ur’dan Uruk’tan beri alevle kuşatılmış/ Ur’lu Uruk’lularla kavranmış şehir ahalisi 26 23 İsmet Özel, Of Not Being A Jew, Şule Yay., İstanbul 2005, s.85. 24 A.e, s. 62. 25 John Maynard Keynes (1883-19469, I. Dünya Savaşı sonrasında baş gösteren ekonomik krize karşı önermiş olduğu çözümlerle “Keynesci ekonomi akımı”nı oluşturarak IMF, Dünya Bankası gibi kuruluşların kurulmasına önderlik eden ekonomisttir. İsmet Özel, çökmekte olan “kapitalizm”e yeniden can veren adam olarak gördüğü Keynes’ten nefretini bu şiirde dile getirmektedir. (bkz. Tüzer, age., s.193-194.) 26 Ae., s. 121. 1358 Secaattin TURAL Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 Nuh Tufanı’nın gerçekleştiği yer olarak düşünülen Ur ve Uruk şehrinde yaşayan insanları “ur”lular olarak tanımlarken, kelimenin Türkçedeki anlamına gönderme yapan İsmet Özel, “Ey saklı ağılların yüksek yüzü!Mülkiyet tapıncası” diye seslendiği şehrin kapitalist doğasını öne çıkarmayı da unutmaz. Şehre karışmak ve şehirli olmak için “komşunu geçmen”, “ziyaretçini haklaman” gerekir: Bize sığmak için şehre/ Komşunu geç diyorlar/ Ziyaretçini hakla../ geçtiğimiz koridor bilmiyoruz neden para koktu/ Mabudun rengi sarı dediği dedik çaldığı düdük 27 Kapitalizmin tanrısı olan madde şiirde sarı renkle simgelenen “altın”dır, dolayısıyla “para”dır. Burada paranın yerine özellikle “altın”dan bahsedilmesi yukarıda da belirttiğimiz gibi kapitalizmin uygarlık tarihindeki derin köklerine bir göndermedir. “Parayı verenin düdüğü çaldığı”, “statü” ve “etiket” sahibi olmayanın “oyun dışı” kaldığı, bu yüzden de rekabetin körüklendiği, kutsalın içinin boşaltılarak değersizleştirildiği kapitalist sistemin ancak şehirde filizlenip serpileceğini düşünen şair, insanın özünü temsil eden “ruh”un bile “verili olanla astarlanmış” olduğunu söyleyerek, ideolojilerin insanın “hakikat”le kuracağı bağı örtmek için bir araç olduğuna da işaret eder. “Verili olan üstü sözle örtülmüş olandır diyorlar” mısrası İsmet Özel’in “Bir hak arama dili olarak şiirin modern dünyada tuttuğu yer, toplum ilişkileri açısından barbarın tuttuğu yere uygun düşer” 28 ifadeleriyle daha bir anlam kazanır. Çünkü ancak ideolojik aygıtlar-okul, aile, medya, partiler, güdümlü edebiyat- yoluyla insan sömürüldüğünün farkına varmayabilir. Özgür olduğuna inandırılan insan, değerli olanın değil, değersizin peşine düşerek bencilliğinin ve ahlaksızlığının süslediği bir yalanın içinde yaşamaya mahkum hale gelir. Şiirde geçen “Stadluft macht frei” yani “kent havası insanı özgür kılar” anlamındaki 29 Alman atasözünü de bu bağlamda değerlendirebiliriz. Özellikle modern dönemlerde etkisini iyice hissettiren bu düşünce, insanoğlunun modernliğe özgü bir düşünce ve pratik sistemi içine hapsedilmesini beraberinde getirirken, 30 hiç kimsenin bunu bir kapatılma, esaret olarak görmemesi söz konusu verili dilin sayesindedir. Şair, bu alıntıyla söz konusu yanılsamaya ve “örtük sömürü”ye gönderme yaparak “gösterge bombardımanı” 27 Ae., s. 126. 28 Özel, Şiir Okuma Kılavuzu, s.71. 29 Tüzer, age., s. 347. 30 James, W. Bernauer, Foucault’un Özgürlük Serüveni, çev.İsmail Türkmen, Ayrıntı yay.,İstanbul 2005, s.34. İsmet Özel Şiirinde Şehir Algısı… 1359 Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 altında gözleri kamaşmış ve örgütlü bir toplumun vatandaşı olmakla “özgür” kılınacağına inandırılarak bireyselliğini kaybetmiş insanlardan biri olmadığını ise “Celladıma Gülümserken Çektirdiğim Sona Resmin Arkasındaki Satırlar” şiirinde 31 şu mısralarla dile getirir: haytanın biriyim ben, bunu bilsin insanlar ruhumun peşindedir zaptiyeler ve maliye kara ruhlu der bana görevini aksatmayan kim varsa Bireyin modern dünyada nasıl bir kuşatılmışlık içinde yaşadığı ve herkesleşmeyi, yığından biri olmayı reddeden insanın toplumun gözünde nasıl da değersizleştirilip gözden düşürülebileceğini imleyen şiirde, “zaptiye”, “maliye” kelimeleri “denetim toplumu”nu, “hayta-görev adamı” ise “barbar-medeni” karşıtlığını akla getirmektedir. Nasıl ki medeniler, kendilerinden olmayanı, barbar kelimesiyle ötekileştirmek suretiyle toplum dışı hatta tarih dışı kılıyorlarsa, modern dünya da benzer biçimde var oluşunu kendi bireyselliğinde duyumsamak isteyen, verili değerlerin dışında kendisine ontolojik bir güvenli bölge arayışı içine girerek var oluşunun anlamını sorgulayan, tüketim toplumun bir ferdi olmayı reddederek sahici değerlerin peşinde koşan insanın akıl ve ruh sağlığından yoksun olduğunu bile iddia edebilir. Nitekim şiirde “sınıflarını doğrudan geçip/ gerçekleri gören gençleri gözünde” onların “hayta, kara ruhlu” olarak değersizleştirildiklerini görüyoruz. İsmet Özel, “rüya”, “okşayış” “Tevrat” gibi kelimelerle sembolize ettiği “hakikat”in gündem dışı bırakılmasına 32 “kuyuya düşen çocuğun (Hz. Yusuf) ölmemesine” şaşıran 33 ve inanmak için kanıtlara, belgelere, resmi mühür ve imzalara (otorite) ihtiyacı olan 34 pozitivist mantığa, “ölümün, doların dalgalanmasına bırakıldığı”, 35 sanal olanla gerçeğin ayırt edilemediği bir dünyada “şehirlerin bayındır olduğu yalanına”, 36 kısaca “insanın gölgesiyle tanımlandığı bir çağ”a 37 tahammül edemediği için “Bir hayatı, ısmarlama bir hayatı bırakıyorum/ görenler üstünde iyi duruyor derdi” 38 diyerek, kendini “uzun yola çıkmaya” mahkum eder. Uzun yola çıkmaya hüküm giydim Beyazların yöresinde nasibim kalmadı 31 Ae., s.11. 32 Özel, Erbain, “Ils Sont Eux”, s. 25. 33 Ae., “Jazz”, s. 20. 34 Ae., “Amentü”, s.46 35 Ae.,“Üç Frenk Havası” s.29. 36 Ae., “Amentü”, s. 47 37 Amentü, s. 48. 38 Ae., “Mataramda Tuzlu Su”, s. 19. 1360 Secaattin TURAL Turkish Studies International Periodical For the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/1 Winter 2010 Şair, “yolculuk” metaforu etrafında ördüğü şiirinde, kendi “ben”inden yükselerek insanlara ulaşan bir tür “kendilik” çağrısı yapmakta, bu çağrı onun diğer şiirleri de göz önünde bulundurulduğunda, merkezinde “sahicilik arayışı” ve “otantik olma” durumunun yer aldığı bir “ayık olma” bilincine doğru yükselmektedir. 39 “Ismarlama bir hayatı” bırakması bu bilince erişinin sembolüdür. Genel bir değerlendirme yaptığımızda görürüz ki İsmet Özel şiirinde şehir algısı “medeniyet” ve onun son aşaması olan “modernizm” eleştirisi ile beraber yürümektedir. İsmet Özel’in modern dünyayı da kapsayan ama giderek onu da aşarak bir “medeniyet” eleştirisine yönelmesi, onu gelenekçi-modernist, materyalist-mistik tartışmalarının dışında daha özgün bir konumda ele almamızı beraberinde getirmiştir. İsmet Özel, insanların verili dil ve kültür içinde sıkışarak benliklerinden koptuklarını, varoluşlarının anlamını sorgulamayan, kendine ve birbirlerine yabancılaşan varlıklar haline geldiklerini vulgarize bir dille ifade ederken, barbar-medeni metaforunu tersinden yorumlayarak bir çıkış yolu da gösterir şiirlerinde. Bir başka dikkat çekici husus da şairin şehrin kapitalist doğasına dikkat çekmesi ve insanın tüketim ve gösteri toplumunun birer nesnesi haline geldiğine dair yaptığı vurgudur. Teknoloji ve bilimin adeta kutsallık kazanarak gizli sömürünün birer aleti olarak yorumlanmasıysa medeniyetin ahlakîliğinin sorgulandığı dizelere dönüşmüştür. Kısaca söylemek gerekirse şehir onun şiir evreninde insanî olan her şeyin karşıtını temsil eden imgelerle yer almıştır. 39 Tüzer, age., s.292. 
work_cpmc5xqjmnfyvmnzkqsvqyip6e	----	Learning to speak Franklin: nature as co-teacher ORIGINAL PAPER Learning to speak Franklin: nature as co-teacher Daniel Ford1 & Sean Blenkinsop1,2 Published online: 29 December 2018 Abstract Through the personal this article seeks to extend the lived experience felt by the authors that all-inclusive nature, the more-than-human world, is agential and possesses the potential to be considered as guide and co-teacher. As a combination of vignettes and reflections it is auto-ethnographic (Holman-Jones 2013) in tone and method. Yet this personal ethnography is extended by an attempt to include the voice of the river and its more-than-human inhabitants. Throughout the paper there is a persistent concern for the etymological roots of the terms wild and pedagogy that anchors the article in its core concerns of self-will and agency. Twin voices are utilised in parallel to explore several touchstones of wild pedagogies. Keywords Wild . Pedagogy. Child . More-than-human . Nature . Co-Teacher A tentative introduction The river was so generous. We drank of its water and slept on its beaches. Its inhabitants lit up our camps at night and flew over our rafts by day. The river was also dangerous and we travelled with it as respectfully as we could. On occasion our dreams became infused with its roar and thunder. Over the course of our journey we began to think alongside, and with the river. This thinking was at times as refreshing as the cool draught that we received from its waters, at others as troubling and as challenging as the rapids themselves. What follows is an attempt to honour our experience with the river and the thinking that it supported. Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42322-018-0028-3 * Daniel Ford d.ford@2015.hull.ac.uk Sean Blenkinsop sblenkin@sfu.ca 1 University of Hull, Cottingham Rd, Hull HU6 7RX, UK 2 Simon Fraser University, Burnaby Mountain Campus 8888 University Drive, Burnaby, BC V5A 1S6, Canada # The Author(s) 2018 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s42322-018-0028-3&domain=pdf mailto:d.ford@2015.hull.ac.uk Nature speaks Author 1 We have been silent in the boat all morning, awed by the landscape and by our growing reverence for the river. As sunlight begins to break through the canopy and flickers across the surface of the water, the voices of birds can be heard, and I too am moved to sing. I begin to softly sing a song sung to greet the dawn. It is a song of creation, sung by the first people of another continent. My voice is quiet and tremulous, yet sincere despite being amongst strangers. I have a feeling for the place, and for this moment, there is a sense of peace opening up and an invitation to respond. The river is singing and it feels appropriate to join in, to make my feeling known, to express this outwardly to the river and its inhabitants, rather than simply to my fellow travellers. They have only known me for 2 days but I have known this full feeling before in gardens, forests and seas. For a while my song ripples out across the water, then another traveller, sitting at the front of the boat, abruptly turns towards me, hushing, gesturing to the far bank. There an animal sits, hunched at the water’s edge, its head turned toward us. In that moment its dark eyes meet mine. It does not move. I can feel it sensing us. BWallaby^ our guide says, withdrawing his paddle from the water. We glide by in slow motion, the landscape appearing to fold back on itself bringing the animal curiously closer to our gaze. BDo you know how unusual that is,^ whispers our guide, Bto see a wallaby, here?^ I do not answer. I know little about wallabies or this land. I feel petrified in the creature’s gaze. The sensation of joy, the sensation of the traveller in a foreign land seeing something new gives way sharply to a deep sadness, almost a sense of shame. I ‘hear’ the Franklin River’s vulnerability, despite currently being protected, politically, from human interests. Again, I fall silent. Later another traveller, an experienced river guide who knew the river well, spoke about seeing the wallaby. He suggested that in over thirty trips he had rarely seen a wallaby on the bank of the river. He said he thought the wallaby might have been sick or injured. I had never seen a wallaby before. I had never been on this river before. What I know of wallabies I learnt in my exchange with that wallaby, in this place, in this moment. For me, the wallaby had intimated something unexpected, unanticipated and had done so in a way that cannot be reduced to a simple refrain. When the wallaby spoke to me it was all at once. The communication was instant and seemingly contained within it a profound sense of melancholy, a warning of the future and maybe a moment of deep kinship. With its look the wallaby impressed itself on me, directing my mind. Reflecting on the encounter over the distance of time, I am challenged to consider if the recounting of my experience was simply a personal projection, an anthropomorphising of sorts? As the months pass, I begin to doubt my own experience, yet no matter how many times I replay the encounter it remains as vividly participatory as in the first instance. David Bohm (2004) explores the concept of participation, breaking open the meaning and assisting my thinking. The earliest meaning was, Bto partake of,^ as you partake of food… Symboli- cally, or even actually… it meant partaking of the source. The second meaning is 308 Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 Bto partake in,^ to make your contribution… it means that you are accepted, you are being taken into the whole. You can’t take part in something unless that thing in some sense accepts your participation. Taken together, these ways of thinking do not create a separation of object and subject. (p. 99) A question arises. If we can cultivate the ability to be open and aware, to really listen, to participate might we find the whole of the river directing us? Author 2 The first warming comes as a gentle whisper – a quiet puff rising upriver and caressing exposed skin. For those not literate in Franklin River speak it is, if noticed, a welcome change from colder temperature and harsher conditions. Yet for those who speak Franklin it is a moment of being put on notice. For a solitary breath of warmth might be nothing, but when the river starts to push sentences and paragraphs of the same language into your face that means rain is coming. And in this narrow trench of a river canyon rain means rising water levels. And that means increasing danger and flooding. The meteorological explanation appears to involve warm air from the desert lands of central Australia colliding with moisture sodden cold air being drawn up from the southern Indian Ocean, but that all sounds like a post- rationalization of hard-earned knowing. For those who have spent a long time paddling this river the discussion is short – warm air up river = rain = be careful. There are none that I have spoken to who do not have stories of high waters and hair-raising encounters. Groups squeezed onto tiny ledges trying to sleep as white foam inches ever higher. Trips waylaid for days at a time with no hope of continuing until levels recede. Or worse, decisions made to carry on in spite of all warnings through hubris, illiteracy, or commitments to a human timetable and worldview that is not honoured, or even considered, in/by this place that ended in disaster of some kind. Questions arise: what, and how long, does it take to learn the language/s of the Franklin River? And, how might one expedite that learning? Embarking on a wilder pedagogy Author 1 I had embarked on the river journey as a teacher and researcher in search of solidarity and answers to a puzzle I am exploring in my doctoral studies: what might happen when young people have wild experiences within and alongside, or as part of, their formal education? My search brought me into contact with a group of academics pursuing what they termed ‘wild pedagogies’ (Jickling 2016, Jensen 2014), an intriguing conjunction that I was working with, albeit with a different focus, on another continent (Ford 2016). Generously they invited me to join them and contribute to the growing shape of ideas and practices. They were a welcoming group, good company both critically and personally. However, the river and my encounter with the wallaby had, for the most part, silenced Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 309 me: seemingly activating an additional layer of sensitivity to the world around me. As we left the river and our collective physical adventure I was encouraged by the offer of a written collaboration and with the suggestion of compiling personal vignettes. Returning home, I sought the insight of authors, poets and naturalists alongside pursuing conversations about the kind of boundary crossing I felt I had encountered, trying to make sense of the experience. The thoughts of the environmental writer Barry Lopez (1986) support the feeling I had, Bfor some people, who they imagine they are does not end where the boundary of the skin meets the world. It continues with the reach of their senses out into the land^ (p. 234). Lopez’s words remind me that in my work as a teacher I might seek to enable the opportunity of boundary crossing, that stretching out of the imagination through the senses into the land. Yet it felt that something was missing from the river trip, thus far. The river journey was an attempt to further explore the potential of wild pedagogies and the extent to which its emerging philosophy and practices may assist in extending these experiences. In particular, for me, this means working directly with children and young people, yet where was the child in all this? Author 2 My entry into this conversation has been slightly different than the first author, given I am one of the ‘loose group of academics’ described earlier and have been involved in previous gatherings and publishing projects (e.g. Jickling et al. 2018a, 2018b; Blenkinsop et al. 2018). My work, most recently, has been focused on education for cultural change with a particular emphasis on naming the environmental crisis and educating for a changing world where the natural world is an active part of process and we, in Sartre’s terms, are preparing students for a world ‘not yet’ rather than the world ‘no longer’ (Blenkinsop and Morse 2017). I have enjoyed being part of a project that attempts to enact that which is being advocated for. That is, this project has purposefully worked towards bringing the voices of the natural world to the fore, fostering idea sharing crucibles, being present upon and immersed in wilder places and seeing education as pivotal to change. The ideas of shared writing, diversity of voice, and researching in partnership with non-human others challenge and, I think, enrich my work. They have also led me into an on-going process of uncovering my own personal, academic, and cultural limitations. The successes and failures of each gathering of wild pedagogues have offered differing insights. Travelling in such a place as the Franklin River allowed me, as a Cascadian dwelling Canadian, to return to an obvious position of infancy with regard to understanding the language and ways of being of that place. Where were the big leaf trees? How are the seasons demarcated? What happens if there are no obvious apex carnivores? Who, or maybe what crazed group, figured out the move of pulling the rafts over that giant boulder in the middle of the rapid, then dropping them into the tiny crevice behind, and jumping into them while they bucked and bounced like a wild horse (see can’t even find the place specific metaphor … Tasmanian devil?)? As a kind of child in this place I realized that there were skills, orientations, perhaps that I might employ to assist me in becoming more able in, alert to, conscious of this magnificent place, community and culture. 310 Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 Author 1 Over the course of my study and my work as a classroom teacher I have embraced the challenges of Max Van Manen (1990) and his methodological approach to educational research. Van Manen is forthright in his critical stance toward educational practices that are divorced from what he sees as addressing the question of how to apply the measure of pedagogy to the standard of one’s own work with children. To be unresponsive to pedagogy could be termed the half-life state of modern educational theory and research which has forgotten its original vocation: that all theory and research were meant to orient us to pedagogy in our relations with children. (p. 135) Van Manen (1990) urges us to maintain a strong and orientated pedagogical relation, likening Bthe products of much educational research to a puzzle – each puzzle carrying the same caption: ‘Can you find the child?’… Where does all this theorising and research still connect with the life-worlds of children?^ (p. 139). And he invites researchers to return to the source of language in the hope that Bbeing attentive to the etymological origins of words may sometimes put us in touch with an original form of life where the terms still had living ties to the lived experiences from which they originally sprang^ (p. 59). His point being that if the term pedagogy is looked at hard enough, a return to the child will be inevitable. With this challenge in mind, an interpretation of wild pedagogies hinges on the meaning of wild and of pedagogy. Wild is, of course, a complex term and cannot easily be reduced to a single interpretation. Its meaning often relies on the interplay of related words and concepts, those such as nature and culture, concepts that are notoriously contested and misunderstood. Henry David Thoreau (1817– 1862), perhaps the most famous advocate of the wild as educator, explored the meaning of wild in his journals. Trench says a wild man is a willed man. Well, then, a man of will who does what he willed or wishes, a man of hope and of the future tense, for not only the obstinate is willed, but far more the constant and persevering.^ (Thoreau 2007, p. 179) In this quote Thoreau leans on a definition of wild from Richard Trench’s On the Study of Words that is worth considering: ‘Wild’ is the participle past of ‘to will’; a ‘wild’ horse is a ‘willed’ or self-willed horse, one that has been never tamed or taught to submit its will to the will of another; and so with a man. (Trench, 1853, in Thoreau 2007, p. 179) Pedagogy then, too, is a notoriously problematic term, particularly within educational theory and practice (Smith 2012) but which etymologically and historically could be considered to mean, to lead the child, from ‘pais’, Greek for child, and ‘agogos’, to lead, or drive. How then would this river trip enable us to think and act pedagogically in the absence of children and young people? How would our journey on the river enable us Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 311 to consider the will of the child? And how might this self-willed land lead us to important ideas and insights. That there were no children on the trip was understandable from several vantage points. The river was physically demanding and unpredictable. In addition, the trip was a re-imagining of the academic conference where, typically, educator researchers share and promote ideas about teaching and learning. Since educational conferences often, perhaps perplexingly, exclude children and young people, maybe this is an important re-imagining for the next wild pedagogies gathering? Perhaps the absence of children pointed in another direction? Author 2 The campsites on the river tend to be small, the product of steep walls, the geology, small volume and little to no available flat space. The result, for an enjoyer of sound like myself, is that one tends to find small one-person nooks for sleeping on the outskirts of the main campsites. Tonight I am perched on top of a knoll pressed against the canyon wall. Above me the cliff forms a slightly overhanging right angle. It is covered in thick moss and saturated with water. My only hope is that it doesn’t rain heavily in the night. I have chosen this risky site because it fits me and gives me a little separation from the group, but mostly because someone mentioned in passing that the glow-worms were good in this soggy overhanging corner. Drawn by this possibility I am excited, like the anticipation of a childhood birthday party. I have seen glow-worms before in various caves and subterranean venues but never have I slept alongside a wall with their glow-stick neon green, looking for love, lights. And, to finish the tale, they do not fail to impress. I fall asleep admiring the tiny constellations that rise up the wall above me and push back the deep darkness of night in this narrow gorge. Martin Buber (1970), philosopher and theologian, has suggested that although we cannot make dialogical relationships (which he calls I/Thou relationships) happen through the power of our own will, we can orient ourselves to the possibility of relationship should the moment and necessary ingredients appear. And over the course of my own work as an outdoor/environmental educator I have tried to find ways to support students into such a relational orientation. My sense is that we can push Van Manen in his pedagogical request to find and remember the child by finding and remembering our own child within. The newness of the Franklin environment positioned me in a place of deep not-knowing, wonder, and possibility. Yes, I understand how energies are transferred, how water and nutrients flow, how living beings can interact, but the specifics of this given locale were far from obvious for me. A metaphor (or is it?) that I found useful was to consider this place as a culture of its own, and this allowed me to draw on the skills of cross-cultural experiences to position myself as the limited knower, the excited and not yet explana- tion filled discoverer, the curious child. The result was a night immersed in glow-worm stars, a day spent locating all the colours of the rainbow (including personal visits by translucent butterflies as my orange life-jacket masqueraded as a munificent flower), and some lovely time spent just watching the deep brown, tannin-filled water curl back upon itself in a deep eddy. 312 Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 Nature as a childhood cradle Author 1 Surprisingly, my response to the previous question – perhaps the absence of children pointed in another direction? – was that I found myself examining my own childhood. My childhood was turbulent. My experiences of nature by contrast were not. The places, beings and living things of my childhood, the woodland, the meadow, the seashore, the birds, the tall grasses, the raspberry canes, the storms, seemed to cradle me, offered me safety and solace and granted me insights into my own being. I felt whole among them and I still do. As a child I lived in a small village close to the sea with access to public woodland, streams and fields. It seems almost unreal to me now, but then I would leave my house early in the morning and would not return until after dark, spending hours and hours outside inventing games, fantasies, bird-spotting, catching fish; behaviour that I can only describe as closer to feral than tame. Self-willed and at home amongst the wild. Now, when I fall out of the practice and habit of being in and attending to the wild world, I lose this traction, this freedom to think and be attentive to the thoughts of the wilder world, the dominant stories of human culture return and insinuate themselves again, seemingly preventing relation. The river was reminding me again to be unen- cumbered and vitally receptive. In the early stages of becoming a teacher I discovered a book that dramatically affected my outlook: The Wild Places by Robert MacFarlane (2008). At the time MacFarlane was amongst a small group of writers who were re-engaging with nature writing and have since popularised it in the mainstream in the United Kingdom. While reading MacFarlane on holiday in Wales, I would embark each day on an exploration of the wild costal headland and woods: walking, playing, watching, thinking, recollecting. The descriptions in the book and the experience of the holiday returned me to my childhood. And the river was doing this too. Ahead of the Franklin River trip some of the group had formulated a draft paper with guidelines and prompts that they called ‘touchstones’, a series of vignettes and prov- ocations addressed to ‘early childhood environmental educators’ (Blenkinsop et al. 2018). The document circulated amongst participants during our journey becoming the focus for further questions and conversations. One touchstone resonated with my experience of the river, my prior experiences during nature immersion, and my commitment to pedagogy in particular – that of nature as agent and potential co-teacher. Author 2 I have long been struck by this tale of the child in an unsafe, unstable, chaotic or troublesome environment who finds belonging, a sense of acceptance, a permission to be themselves when immersed in the local natural world. My sense is that it is worth noting this, especially given our current age of apparent instability; and its significance has been growing for me as I work in the Canadian context in which parents are making decisions not to place their children in the public school system. It appears for many that their own experience of public schooling was chaotic, unsafe, and troubling, with some even using the language of trauma (Ho and Block 2017). As an educator this is Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 313 deeply concerning. Might belonging, acceptance and a sense of safety become potential primary outcomes of outdoor-based / nature oriented education? I have been struggling lately with the seeming necessary trope in environmental education that there was some magical and relationally significant time in our child- hoods that has led those who really care to do something about it, to be the caring way they are with regard to the natural world. And yet, I wonder, a) if this is true, or at least if it is directly cause and effect as is often presumed; and b) whether there is a danger in freezing one’s relationship in a childlike state? What might a mature adult relationship with the natural world look like if one has been nurturing it and caring for it since childhood? How do relationships avoid becoming passé, assumption filled, and taken- for-granted? If our students are engaged in on-going and substantial relationships with the world and its beings around them, might I need to leave space for those non-humans to change, to surprise me, to be myriad things, other than what I think they are? One touchstone that has been resonating for me in relation to this conversation has to do with practice and time. Nature as agent and co-teacher – a familiar impulse Author 1 Reassuringly the voice of the child illuminates the opening vignette of the first touchstone – agency and the role of nature as co-teacher – in the draft paper we carried with us down the river. Raven: ‘Well, see, you speak your way, they [different members of the natural world] speak different ways, like thousands of different ways. Billions. It’s like the birds with those signals, like when you see a bird flapping up in the sky and a flock of birds how they all move at the same time, it’s because they tell each other like through mental speaking.’ (Blenkinsop and Piersol 2013, 54) In an effort to continually renew my commitment to the child I have tried to perceive pedagogy as methodology; as a study of the way to discover how better to act as an educator. This study returned me to those that have lived lives committed to working with and understanding children. Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi’s observations and insights into how children learn have had profound consequences for pedagogy as a practice. Pestalozzi’s (1900) accounts of the child in the process of growing and becoming, and his citing nature as an educational catalyst, suggest for the child Bthat ‘from the moment in which his mind can receive impressions from Nature, Nature teaches him^ (p. 25). In this way Pestalozzi was advocating for nature as co-teacher more than a century earlier. We leave children up to their fifth year in the full enjoyment of nature; we let every impression of nature work upon them; … they already know full well the joy of unrestrained liberty and all its charms. And after they have enjoyed this happiness of sensuous life for five whole years, we make all nature round them vanish before their eyes; tyrannically stop the delightful course of their 314 Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 unrestrained freedom, pen them up like sheep, whole flocks huddled together, in stinking rooms; pitilessly chain them for hours, days, weeks, months, years, to the contemplation of unattractive monotonous letters. (Pestalozzi 1900, p. 28) Raven, the child quoted earlier, in perceiving the mental speaking of birds, had perhaps felt the impression of nature. Could Raven be assisted to stay connected to that unrestrained liberty offered by the natural world indicated by Pestalozzi? As an educator, could I? Author 2 In thinking about and writing into the touchstone called practice and time, it has pushed my own commitments to engage with the natural world in active, dedicated, and on-going ways. I made a commitment 10 years ago to spend at least 100 days/year in my tent and, to this point, despite some dubious inclusions, I have managed to achieve this. For me, it is easy to forget about the natural world and its myriad denizens during time spent in built environments. It is also incredibly easy to lose sight of, connection to, and relationship with them when I am surrounded by other interesting and active humans even if they share my interests. This commitment to working on a relationship with the others that live around and in parallel to me has also had an impact on my pedagogy. Moving students into dialogical relationships with the natural world has startled and shuddered some of my educational and anthropocentric assumptions. And it has forced me to reconsider the pedagogical skills necessary for this kind of educational work. There appears, at times, to be a kind of identity crisis that accompanies this work for all the students who engage with it. And there are at least two sources that I can identify. The first, which I frame here as loss, but it is clearly much more than that, involves a coming to know, or consciously recognize, the pain and suffering that the world and its myriad denizens have and are going through. This includes human suffering as well. This realization then seeks a need to grieve, a need to rage, a need to name the sadness and also a recognition that you yourself have lost something in all of this destruction. Part of your possibility, your freedom, your self-will, your wildness as human, as living being, has been taken from you. The second source of the identity crisis, which I think the fields of outdoor and environmental education have been slower to acknowledge, has to do with the coming to recognize oneself as benefitting from and/or being privileged by our colonization of the non-human world. In other words, that we are often actively playing the part of coloniser/oppressor in the violence and destruction taking place within the world. I can’t hear the voices of natural beings because I am part of a process that has taken their voices away and deems them unworthy if they were heard. And I benefit and profit from that. Thus, in parallel to the kind of identity crisis, avoidance strategies and ‘moves to innocence’ that one might anticipate seeing in the work of critical, decolonizing and cross-cultural educational work, this pedagogy requires a very different skill set. How does one hold the space for truth and pain, for identity exploration and the voices of the margins, for building the abilities needed such that the privileged/ colonizers can Blean into^ these difficult conversations, for listening and alliances building, for finding ways to act/live/interact/relate that begin to change the alienated, colonial, violent status-quo? Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 315 Wild. Pedagogy Author 1 I have not spent my life as a professional outdoor educator or naturalist. I am, rather, a teacher working in an everyday setting, most often working against nature, not with it, despite my best intentions, occupying a windowless classroom, facing computer screens, working on abstract problems divorced from hearing the lan- guage of nature. On refection it seems easy, within the culture of a traditional school aiming at its civic duties, to forget or turn aside from this relationship with the more-than-human world. Now, in this wilderness, on the surging river, along its unpopulated beaches and inside its formidable forests I am able to recollect the potency of nature to act as agent, to impress itself on me, to direct my attention, to shape and guide my thoughts, whilst leaving space for my own becoming. I am reminded again of the writings of Lopez (1997) and in particular his exhortation to: Put aside the bird book, the analytic frame of mind, any compulsion to identify and sit still… the purpose of such attentiveness is to gain intimacy, to rid yourself of assumption… the key I think is to become vulnerable to a place. If you open yourself up, you can build intimacy. Out of such intimacy may come a sense of becoming. (p. 25) My encounter with the river and the wallaby is not the first time that I have felt spoken with, or to, by a being who is not a human being. It was, however, the first time in a long time that I felt able to really listen and be open to hearing. Stripped of my usual comforts and concerns by the river, and with time, I was once again rendered open to other voices, songs and stories beyond the human. Martin Freeman (2014), drawing on the philosophical work of Emmanuel Levinas, Simone Weill and Martin Buber challenges our disconnection from the Other. He suggests that we look Binstead to the various Bobjects^ outside ourselves – other people, nature, art, God – that draw us beyond our own borders and thereby open up the possibility there of a larger, unbounded Self, one that knows, and feels, its kinship with the world^ (p. 2). For Freeman, Bself is secondary; the Other comes first and is thus the primary source of meaning, value, and existential nourishment. This is the first and most basic meaning of the priority of the Other^ (p. 5). I feel myself nourished by the river and my encounter with the wallaby. This other seemed to have the power, perhaps the will, to call me into relationship and shape me in the process. What might all this mean for me as an educator, for me as a wild pedagogue? A tentative conclusion What has this meant to us? We are two human beings, joined together, first on the river, and now by the river, seeking to interpret our experience and honour the meaning of that experience in our actions, both in these words and in our future actions. It has, for 316 Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 us, meant becoming an authentic participant, whilst being returned to the source of our own learning and growth. It has meant being in a place where we were not judged in traditional ways, or asked questions, but where questions could arise, where encounters with other active constituents could take place. Perhaps, these experiences, these recollections, could act as a starting point for us - as educators hoping to support the child into a relation with(in) the world, the wild, and their own liberty. It is imperative that the child is not overlooked in any drive to engage in a different kind of relationship with the rest of the planet. Indeed, what we experienced might not be accessible to a child in the same way. But perhaps our experiences of attempting to learn to speak Franklin, with the wallaby, the river, the wind, the rain, the glow-worms, and everything beyond could be available in different ways, given conditions of support and challenge, of foregrounded co-teacher and of habit and practice? We don’t yet know what this might mean precisely to the children and young people in our lives. We do know, though, that we will urgently seek ways to find out. We know that we will continue to explore this wilder pedagogy, attempting to participate in the more-than human world, whilst seeking the support of nature as co-teacher. Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and repro- duction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. References Blenkinsop, S., & Morse, M. (2017). Saying yes to life: The search for the rebel teacher. In R. Jickling & S. Sterling (Eds.), Post-sustainability and environmental education: Remaking education for the future (pp. 49–61). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Blenkinsop, S., & Piersol, L. (2013). Listening to the literal: orientations towards how nature communicates. Phenomenology and Practice, 7(1), 41–60. Blenkinsop, S., Jickling, B., Morse, M., & Jensen, A. (2018). Wild pedagogies: Six touchstones for childhoodnature theory and practice. In A. Cutter-Mackenzie, K. Malone, & E. Barratt Hacking (Eds.), Research handbook on childhoodnature: Assemblages of childhood and nature research. Cham: Springer International Publishing. Bohm, D. (2004). On dialogue. New York: Routledge Classics. Buber, M. (1970). I and thou (trans:Kaufmann, W.). New York: Simon and Schuster. Ford, D. (2016). Stepping off the well-trodden path: Is a wilder pedagogy possible? FORUM, 58(3), 391–398. Freeman, M. (2014). The priority of the other: Thinking and living beyond the self. London: Oxford University Press. Ho, Y. C. J., & Block, S. (2017). School, nature and educational wounds: Parents’ stories. Pathways: The Ontario Journal of Outdoor Education, 29(1), 20–25. Holman-Jones, S. (2013). Handbook of autoethnography. London: Routledge. Jensen, A. (2014). Wild pedagogy (in short). Retrieved from http://norwegianjournaloffriluftsliv. com/doc/wild_pedagogy-in_short.pdf. Accessed 30 May 2017. Jickling, B. (2016). Wild pedagogies: A floating colloquium. Unpublished manuscript, Lakehead University, Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada. Jickling, B., Blenkinsop, S., Morse, M., & Jensen, A. (2018a). Wild pedagogies: Six initial touchstones for early childhood environmental educators. Australian Journal of Environmental Education. Published online first https://doi.org/10.1017/aee.2018.19. Jickling, B., Blenkinsop, S., Timmerman, N., & Sitka-Sage, M. (2018b). Wild pedagogies: Touchstones for re- negotiating education and the environment in the Anthropocene. London: Palgrave-MacMillan. Lopez, B. (1986). Arctic dreams: Imagination and desire in a northern landscape. London: Vintage. Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 317 http://norwegianjournaloffriluftsliv.com/doc/wild_pedagogy-in_short.pdf http://norwegianjournaloffriluftsliv.com/doc/wild_pedagogy-in_short.pdf https://doi.org/10.1017/aee.2018.19 Lopez, B. (1997). A literature of place (pp. 22–25). Summer: The University of Portland Magazine. MacFarlane, R. (2008). The wild places. London: Granta. Pestalozzi, J. H. (1900). How Gertrude teaches her children (trans: Holland, L. E. and Turner, F. C.). Syracuse: Swan Sonnenschein & Co. Smith, M. K. (2012). ‘What is pedagogy?’ The Encyclopaedia of Informal Education. Retrieved from http://infed.org/mobi/what-is-pedagogy/. Accessed 29 April 2018. Thoreau, H. D. (2007). I to myself: An annotated selection from the journal of Henry D. Thoreau. New Haven: Yale University Press. Van Manen, M. (1990). Researching lived experience: Human science for an action sensitive pedagogy. Albany: State University of New York Press. Daniel Ford is a doctoral candidate and the recipient of the Freedom to Learn scholarship from the Faculty of Education at the University of Hull. Sean Blenkinsop is Professor, Faculty of Education at Simon Fraser University and Co-Director, Imaginative Education Research Group (IERG). 318 Journal of Outdoor and Environmental Education (2018) 21:307–318 http://infed.org/mobi/what-is-pedagogy/ Learning to speak Franklin: nature as co-teacher Abstract A tentative introduction Nature speaks Author 1 Author 2 Embarking on a wilder pedagogy Author 1 Author 2 Author 1 Author 2 Nature as a childhood cradle Author 1 Author 2 Nature as agent and co-teacher – a familiar impulse Author 1 Author 2 Wild. Pedagogy Author 1 A tentative conclusion References 
work_cy6dfzmpvvez3ik72dodpkfhyi	----	untitled ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER Confluence of arts, humanities, and science at sites of long-term ecological inquiry FREDERICK J. SWANSON� United States Forest Service, Pacific Northwest Research Station, 3200 Jefferson Way, Corvallis, Oregon 97331 USA Citation: Swanson, F. J. 2015. Confluence of arts, humanities, and science at sites of long-term ecological inquiry. Ecosphere 6(8):132. http://dx.doi.org/10.1890/ES15-00139.1 Abstract. Over the past century, ecology, the arts, and humanities diverged, but are now converging again, especially at sites of long-term, place-based ecological inquiry. This convergence has been inspired in part by the works of creative, boundary-spanning individuals and the long-standing examples of arts- humanities programs in intriguing landscapes, such as artist and writer residencies of the National Park Service and the National Science Foundation’s Antarctic program. In the past decade many US biological field stations, marine laboratories, and Long-Term Ecological Research sites have substantially increased the presence of arts and humanities in their programs for reasons both practical (e.g., public outreach, increasing student and class offerings) and fundamental (e.g., foster creativity within individuals and research teams, collect a record of artistic/humanities engagement with place). Motivations include communicating about science agencies’ missions, the scientific process, and science discoveries to the public who support the research work. The overarching accomplishment of this work has been to advance near-term ‘‘science outreach,’’ but some of this work can be viewed as ‘‘basic’’ arts and humanities in the sense that its impacts won’t be known for a long time. A next challenge is for interdisciplinary teams to address complex problems, which falls in the ‘‘intellectual merit’’ realm of the National Science Foundation evaluation criteria. The growing body of works at the ecology-arts-humanities interface will be a valuable resource for future study of science-society-nature relations. These efforts potentially contribute to initiatives emerging from the ecological sciences community that seek greater connection with society— initiatives promoting sustainability and stewardship, and the practice of science citizenship, such as development of future scenario projects and regional conservation plans. Despite the large number of programs undertaking these collaborations, their existence is a well-kept secret with little representation on individual site websites and no organized network to support the work. The strong, grassroots emergence of arts, humanities, and science collaborations at sites of long-term ecological inquiry signals a recognition that these are places of cultural as well as scientific work. Their appearance late in ESA’s first century may foreshadow an important role for such endeavors in the next century of ESA. Key words: art; artists in residence; ESA Centennial Paper; field stations; humanities; long-term ecological research; marine laboratories; writers in residence. Received 8 March 2015; revised 14 May 2015; accepted 19 May 2015; published 7 August 2015. Copyright: � 2015 Swanson. This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ Editors’ Note: This paper was commissioned by the members of the Ecosphere Editorial Board to commemorate the ESA Centennial celebration. � E-mail: fred.swanson@oregonstate.edu v www.esajournals.org 1 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 INTRODUCTION The human instinct to treat seamlessly what we today distinguish as science, arts, and humanities has expression at least as deep as the Paleolithic cave paintings of western Europe and Indonesia (Guthrie 2005). Great individuals, such as Michelangelo and Leonardo de Vinci, and 19th century natural history explorations, such as the voyage of the Beagle, embody this integration. Leading American conservation thinkers of the past century or two unified understanding of natural history with eloquent writing, based on sustained inquiry in inspiring and even humble places. John Muir had the monumental muse of the High Sierra, Henry David Thoreau the modest woodlot by Walden Pond, Aldo Leopold the old fields around his shack in degraded farm lands of sand country Wisconsin, Edward Ricketts the Great Tidepool close to his Cannery Row lab. Many amazingly creative contemporary individuals are producing a wealth of works bridging science, arts, and humanities, based in part on sustained, place- based inquiry. Examples include PhD-creden- tialed scientists who are acclaimed for their wide- ranging writings (e.g., Pyle 2000, Nadkarni 2008, Haskell 2012, Kimmerer 2013) and poets and essayists who strongly embrace science (e.g., Deming 1994, Sanders 2009). The enduring objective has been to understand the natural world and ourselves, and to share that knowl- edge for the betterment of others. Science, arts, and humanities were once insep- arable, then quite separated, and now, perhaps, reintegrating (Miller 2014). A recent surge of interest in linking arts and sciences is manifest in many forms, such as the frequent appearance of articles and reviews in Science that touch on the arts, the numerous art-science laboratories and environmental humanities programs sprouting up around the world, the Dance Your PhD competition, and the growing art-science pro- grams based at National Endowment for the Arts. A rich variety of the arts and humanities is involved—visual arts, dance, song, all forms of creative writing, environmental ethics, history, and more. The motivations for promoting these science-arts interactions have been wildly di- verse: achieve science outreach, stimulate crea- tivity within individuals and interdisciplinary teams, and just have fun by unleashing creative urges, to name a few. New challenges and opportunities are on the horizon, such as mustering scientist-artist teams to tackle impor- tant, complex problems. Among the sciences, ecology is especially well suited for linking science, arts, and humanities to help connect people with the land. Unlike astronomy and nanotechnology, ecology embrac- es space and time scales directly accessible to human experience. The subject matter of ecology has strong, natural public appeal because it bears on species conservation, land stewardship, and use of natural resources. Interesting landscapes of ecological study, both wild and constructed, can be powerful stages for shared experiences and conversations with the public. Sustained, place-based inquiry that is an important feature of ecological research and education forms fertile ground for dissolving disciplinary boundaries. To the well-argued ecological reasons for invest- ing in long-term ecological research (Callahan 1984), we can add the benefit of the time to build personal and interdisciplinary relationships that can mature and bear fruit. Infrastructure provid- ed by investment in environmental sciences and education provides a foundation for engagement of arts and humanities—field facilities, field experiments, science-inspired stories, and cadres of inter-disciplinary scientists, students, and support staff. Field experience can be personally transformative, as the student Maud Brown stated in 1910 reflecting on returning from a collecting venture at the Iowa Lakeside Labora- tory, ‘‘Little did I realize as I stepped ashore that I had reached a turning point in my life’’ (Lannoo 2012:10). These factors and the accomplishments of creative, multi-disciplinary individuals have in- spired the engagement of artists and humanists in many places dedicated to public appreciation of the natural world and to ecological research and education. US National Park Service (NPS) lands attracted artists in the 19th century even before their establishment as parks. The US National Science Foundation (NSF) supported the participation of artists and writers beginning in early stages of science programs in Antarctica in the 1950s. In contrast, involvement of artists and writers in programs at biological field stations, marine laboratories, and sites in the v www.esajournals.org 2 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON NSF-supported Long-Term Ecological Research (LTER) ( public communications, http://www. lternet.edu/) network has been a grassroots effort, based on the initiative of single individuals and individual sites, which has grown dramat- ically in the past few years. Despite this enthusiastic, widespread embrace of ecology- arts-humanities collaborations at dozens of sites, the programs are rather poorly known and the intensity of interaction among sites is quite limited. In this essay I offer an overview of properties of these collaborations in their different institu- tional and geographic settings, which influence the roles of place, the strength of arts-science collaborations, and the nature of their outreach programs. I begin by introducing and contrasting the ecology-arts-humanities confluence at NPS, NSF-Antarctic, biological field station, marine lab, and LTER sites. Next, descriptions of ecology-arts-humanities programs at four LTER sites display the wide variety of approaches that has been employed to share outcomes of collab- oration—public performances, scholarly and lit- erary books authored by individuals and groups, art exhibits, creative writing, and education projects. Reflection on these collaborations re- veals the durability, expanding scope, and future prospects of these programs. CONFLUENCE OF ECOLOGY, THE ARTS, AND HUMANITIES IN SPECIAL PLACES An brief overview of field-based, arts-human- ities programs at collections of sites administrat- ed from the top down (NPS and NSF-Antarctic) and from the bottom up (biological field stations, marine labs, and LTER sites) provides contrast- ing examples of program objectives; roles of place; strengths of interactions among ecology, the arts, and humanities; opportunities for the public to visit the sites; and the resulting outreach efforts. By tracing a few steps in the history of confluence of art, ecology, and the public in special places, we witness a trajectory of increasing numbers of programs and connection with ecology. Stunning US landscapes attracted renowned, 19th century artists whose paintings were instru- mental in establishing national parks, attracting visitors, and paving the way for formal artists-in- residence programs to be instituted much later (Winfree 2011). Now more than 50 NPS proper- ties—parks, monuments, preserves—offer artist- in-residence programs with the overarching objective to ‘‘engage people to make enduring connections to America’s Special Places’’ ( public communications, http://www.nps.gov/subjects/ arts/index.htm). Many NSP places host several artists in residence per year and ask them to donate a work and conduct a public event. Past development of these properties for public visitation provides the infrastructure that accom- modates resident artists. An on-line gallery shares examples of the wealth of visual, literary, and sonic art by professionals and art works by non-professional visitors ( public communications, http://www.nps.gov/subjects/arts/index.htm), and a single web portal leads to links to the individual site programs, which are managed locally by agency and private foundation staff ( public communications, http://www.nps.gov/ getinvolved/artist-in-residence.htm, http://www. nationalparksartsfoundation.org/). A great deal of art and humanities work and sharing occurs outside the residency programs, as exemplified by the exhibit and book of art celebrating the centennial of Zion National Park (Zion Natural History Association 2008). Although ecological features are icons of many park land ecosystems and the artists’ works and statements display keen attention to natural history, the intensity of ecological research varies greatly from place to place, and there is little evidence of close links among artists, writers, and ecologists, except in special cases. With early roots dating from the 1950s, the NSF’s Antarctic Artists & Writers Program has produced a wealth of impressive works with wide public exposure, although very few people have the opportunity to directly experience that stunning, exceedingly remote landscape ( public communications, http://www.nsf.gov/geo/plr/ aawr.jsp). The program’s purpose is ‘‘to enable serious writings and the arts that increase understanding of the Antarctic and help docu- ment America’s Antarctic heritage.’’ That heri- tage began as exploration, but has been strongly focused on science since the mid-20th century. Several artists per year encounter Antarctica through NSF’s three year-round stations, several ships, and numerous austral-summer field v www.esajournals.org 3 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON camps. The resulting body of works includes many forms of visual and installation art, fiction and non-fiction writing, and studies of the history of human presence. Ecology has been an important part of the Antarctic science program, especially in studies over the past several decades concerning topics such as large, near-shore marine animals and the cryptic biology of terrestrial and freshwater environ- ments. Artists and writers have tended to emphasize the stark physical landscape, and ecological themes make limited appearance in their works. Biological field stations and marine laborato- ries (FSMLs) are ‘‘centers of scientific research embedded in the environment’’ to provide access to model ecosystems, logistical support, and a community of scholars (Billick et al. 2013). The earliest FSMLs were established in the late 19th century (Lannoo 2012), and by 2014 member sites of the Organization of Biological Field Stations (OBFS) numbered 255 and the National Associ- ation of Marine Laboratories had 144 member sites (F. Felix, personal communication). Staff at these sites and their home institutions, mainly colleges and universities, conduct research and/ or education programs in field locations that are generally not destinations for public visitors. The strong natural history heritage and field settings serve as a foundation that prompted leaders of many individual FSMLs to initiate arts and humanities programs at an accelerating pace over the past decade. A survey in 2014 suggests that at least 40 FSMLs have some form of arts and humanities engagement (F. Felix, personal communication). Motivations for undertaking these programs include diversifying the intellec- tual environment of the participants, strengthen- ing education programs by adding to student and class numbers, and promoting community outreach through artist and writer residencies that include a component of interaction with the local public. The long-standing artist residency program at Huyck Preserve and Biological Research Station, for example, aspires to ‘‘con- tribute to the community by enhancing environ- mental awareness through the aesthetics of art’’ ( pub l i c c om m uni c at i on , h t t p s: //w w w. huyckpreserve.org/comenart-program.html). The resulting programs have been extremely varied in intensity of effort, artistic and literary media, and ways of connecting with local communities, as described on the FSML Art at Field Stations and Marine Labs blog (see No- vember 16, 2014, posting, public communication, http://fsml-art.blogspot.com/). Some art and writ- ten works remain in the confines of classrooms at field stations and marine labs, while others reach wide audiences, such as in the form of installa- tion pieces in the field, galleries, and museums. When the National Science Foundation (NSF) created the LTER program in 1980 without mention of arts and humanities, it unknowingly set the stage for strong development of such programs three decades later. Substantial, sus- tained funding for LTER has supported develop- ment of infrastructure for long-term research, including field facilities, long-term field experi- ments, information management systems, and interdisciplinary communities of scholars. All these factors contribute to engaging arts and humanities. The locations of LTER sites are very diverse, ranging from remote locations in Ant- arctica and the North Slope of Alaska to urban ecosystems of Baltimore and Phoenix. Other LTER lands are a mix of properties with histories of past natural resource extraction and in some cases interspersed with native ecosystems, such as found in experimental forests of the US Forest Service, five of which are also LTER sites. Some LTER sites are strongly allied with federal land management agencies, which increases the mo- tivation and avenues for outreach to the land managers and the public. Research topics at most LTER sites mesh with conservation and natural resource management issues of their home bioregions, tightly linking site science programs with society and feeding the desire to involve arts and humanities in communications programs (Driscoll et al. 2012). A majority of the two dozen LTER sites has independently started arts and humanities programs with intensities ranging from a single artist in residence per year to major public performances, art exhibits in galleries, and residency programs for half a dozen artists and writers per year (Goralnik et al. 2015). Many other sites and institutions have arts and humanities residency programs in natural envi- ronments; and in some cases connection with ecologists and the public is possible and even expected. Hundreds of individual artist- and writer-in-residence programs with much deeper v www.esajournals.org 4 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON roots in the arts and humanities than science are based in beautiful settings across the country. These are generally highly independent, private- ly-funded programs with a primary objective of supporting the arts. At least a few have expressed intention to connect with ecology, such as the Sitka Center for Art and Ecology on the Oregon coast embedded within a U.S. Forest Service’s Cascade Head Experimental Forest, where quite a bit of ecological research takes place. Large research centers, such as the Cary Institute of Ecosystem Studies in Millbrook, NY, bring arts, ecology, and sense of the local landscape together in programs for public outreach. A different model is used at Mount St. Helens in southwest Washington where the US Forest Service has convened writers and scientists in campouts on 5-year increments of the eruption anniversary (2005, 2010, 2015), and writings from these shared experiences have been documented in a book (Goodrich et al. 2008) and an on-line journal (terrain.org 2013). ARTS AND HUMANITIES AT FOUR LTER SITES Examination of four LTER sites with particu- larly vibrant arts and humanities programs displays the level of effort, accomplishment, and diversity of approaches now being pursued. In many cases the arts and humanities activities align significantly with ecological science objec- tives of the LTER programs. Some funding for ecology-arts-humanities collaboration in these programs has come from NSF, but most has been from other sources, including the home universities, private arts/humanities institutions, and the US Forest Service. Harvard Forest LTER Site (Harvard University, Petersham, MA) The central theme of Harvard Forest LTER program has long been environmental history— and more recently the future of the New England landscape as shaped by both human and wild forces, such as sprawl and other development, hurricanes, pests and pathogens of tree species, and vegetation succession (Foster and Aber 2004). Harvard Forest investigators chart trajec- tories of land change by drawing on detailed archival, observational, archaeological, and pa- leoecological scientific sources; the technical and evocative literary depictions of the mid-19th century landscape by Henry David Thoreau; and artistic representations of land use legacies and ecological change (Figs. 1 and 2). Depictions of these trajectories are presented in simulation models, artistic works, narrative exploration, and formulation and promotion of the Wildlands and Woodlands regional forest conservation strategy (Foster et al. 2014). The arts and humanities have been part of the Harvard Forest program since its origins in 1907 under the direction of writer, artist, and forester Richard Fisher. The expression of artistry ex- panded in 1930s when intricately crafted scale models (dioramas) representing stages of land use and forest succession in the local landscape went on public display in the Fisher Museum at the Forest, and were highlighted in director Hugh Raup’s essay The View from John Sander- son’s Farm (Raup 1966). Several books published in the past two decades further represent the important roles of literature and visual arts in the Harvard Forest program. David Foster’s (1999) book Thoreau’s Country: Journey through a Trans- formed Landscape, containing a selection of Thor- eau’s journal entries and Foster’s own context- providing and at times autobiographical text, paints a literary portrait of the sights, sounds, fragrance, and human presence of the mid-19th century New England landscape (Fig. 3). The book is richly illustrated with artist Abby Rorer’s paintings of the nineteenth century landscape. The Thoreau connection combines authentic documentation of land and human conditions, keen insights to ecological processes, high liter- ary quality, a sense of land ethic, and the opportunity to readily reach the many Thoreau aficionados throughout the region and beyond. Foster and colleagues followed 15 years later with the book Hemlock: A Forest Giant on the Edge that masterfully blends a literary non-fiction Foreword essay by the writer Robert Sullivan, fine photography, quotations from luminary poets and other writers of the region, and the scientists’ descriptions of not only science and conservation implications, but also how they feel about the loss of the iconic hemlock from their forested landscape (Fig. 4) (Foster 2014). The intent is to convey past and future dynamism of the land through waxing and waning of this tree species—a key component of the ecological and v www.esajournals.org 5 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON social landscape. Overall, the Harvard Forest arts and human- ities messages are about understanding, ac- knowledging, and respecting both the human and natural processes influencing the dynamic New England landscape—past, present, and future. Half a dozen artist residencies at the Forest, both short-term (1 week) and long-term (1–3 years), have resulted in large bodies of artwork (photography, writing, painting, instal- lations, and film) displayed at public exhibits in regional art galleries, at the Harvard Forest Fisher Museum, and at national science confer- ences. Forthcoming books from these residencies include a collection of photographs and literary essays depicting Harvard Forest long-term eco- logical research themes and a book of literary journalism that explores environmental change from the perspective of a single, much-studied tree in the Harvard Forest. Increasingly, art, writing, and visual communication work- shops—taught by former or current artists-in- residence—have become a fundamental part of the Forest’s interdisciplinary course offerings for undergraduate students. Bonanza Creek Experimental Forest and LTER Site (University of Alaska and US Forest Service, Fairbanks, AK) For more than half a century interdisciplinary teams of scientists based in Fairbanks have been investigating how climate and wildfire influence forest succession and ecosystem processes in Interior Alaskan boreal landscapes (Chapin et Fig. 1. Land use legacies in the New England landscape of Harvard Forest appear in the soil, vegetation patterns, and stone structures dating from the 18th- and early 19th-century agricultural period. Artist Debby Kaspari depicts many forms of stone structures, including this Poor Farm barn foundation in Petersham, MA. Graphite and pastels on paper. v www.esajournals.org 6 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON al. 2006). Recent changes in climate and distur- bances regimes are affecting forest composition and function, and influencing the nature of ecosystem services provided to rural and subsis- tence, including Alaskan Native, communities (Chapin et al. 2010). Patterns of and consequenc- es for social-ecological interactions and change are integral to research in the Bonanza Creek LTER program, which prompted engagement of the arts and humanities. Fig. 2. Debby Kaspari created this image titled ‘‘Hemlock Grove with Chestnut Skeletons’’ with the fallen chestnut bole caught in an upright eastern hemlock. The chestnut succumbed to an introduced pathogen early in the 20th century and eastern hemlock is being lost to the introduced hemlock woolly adelgid. Graphite and pastels on paper. v www.esajournals.org 7 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON A 2007 gathering of artists and scientists at the site of an unprecedented 2004 forest fire initiated a collaboration involving many creative people and science and arts institutions within the Fairbanks community. This led to a series of programs under the overarching theme ‘‘In a Time of Change’’ with specific thematic foci for a sequence of programs: ‘‘A performance by Fig. 3. Cover image of Thoreau’s Country: Journey through a Transformed Landscape by David R. Foster (1999) appears courtesy of Harvard University Press, copyright 1999 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. The watercolor illustration by Abigail Rorer depicts the New England landscape during the agricultural era Thoreau vividly describes. Design by Annamarie Why. v www.esajournals.org 8 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON writers, artists and scientists’’ (2008), ‘‘Envision- ing the Future’’ (2010, Fig. 5), ‘‘The Art of Fire’’ (2012), and ‘‘Trophic Cascades’’ (2013). Planning for the ‘‘Envisioning the Future’’ program began with field trips including scientists and compet- itively selected artists to share perspectives across science-arts and native-western world- views. This preparation led to public perfor- mances and exhibits featuring original visual arts, creative writing, music, modern dance, Alaska Native traditional dance, and theatre, exploring consequences of environmental change imposed by climate warming, removal of key- stone species, and other forms of ecological change. In addition to professional artists, writ- ers, and dancers/choreographers, performers Fig. 4. Cover of Foster (2014) which reports on the science of hemlock decline to the introduced woolly adelgid as told through the lens of environmental arts and humanities. Cover photo: ‘‘Mist rising from the snow in a hemlock woods on the Harvard Forest.’’ David Foster. v www.esajournals.org 9 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON Fig. 5. The poster for the 2010 ‘‘In a Time of Change: Envisioning the Future’’ program advertises both the public performance and the exhibit of visual art at the Bear Gallery in Fairbanks. Fred Freer’s acrylic painting titled ‘‘Thin Ice,’’ representing effects of warming on high-latitude marine ecosystems, serves as the backdrop. v www.esajournals.org 10 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON were also drawn from the cadre of scientists and the larger community. The ‘‘Envisioning the Future’’ program included scientists playing varied roles: a senior scientist described how he feels about changes occurring on the land, a microbial ecologist and colleagues choreo- graphed and danced a piece based on post-fire forest succession data, and scientists joined non- scientist actors to perform scenes exploring the nature of artistic and scientific pursuit (Fig. 6). The success of the first two programs led to federal Joint Fire Sciences Program funding of the 2012 ‘‘The Art of Fire’’ program to explore the value of arts and humanities in communicating with the public and fire managers about issues relating to wildland fire. Preparation began with artists, fire managers, and ecologists sharing their worldviews and experiences in the field. Artists observed smokejumper training and prescribed fires, collected forest succession data with plant ecologists, visited Bonanza Creek LTER site, and then expressed their perceptions in new works, which were displayed and discussed through a lecture series featuring artists and scientists (Fig. 7). A concurrent community art exhibit about fire science featured visual art by fire scientists, land managers, and fire fighters. These public events stimulated Denali Nation- al Park and Preserve staff to enlist the Bonanza Creek group to create a ‘‘Trophic Cascades’’ event on ‘‘the premise . . . that art and science bring different, yet synergistic, perspectives and ap- proaches to the natural world. Collaborations of art and science can engage people at the Fig. 6. The Bonanza Creek LTER 2010 program ‘‘In a Time of Change: Envisioning the Future’’ featured: (A) a senior scientist publically testifying to his concern for the wellbeing of Interior Alaska ecosystems and the planet, (B) scientists and actors performing a skit about the intersection of their disciplines, and (C) the Deliquescent Designs troupe dancing post-fire vegetation succession. Photo credit: James Barker. v www.esajournals.org 11 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON intellectual, intuitive and emotional levels, and more effectively strengthen society’s sense of place in the environment’’ ( public communication, https://sites.google.com/a/alaska.edu/itoc- trophic-cascades/home). Scientists and artists joined for two field trips—one to Denali National Park and Preserve and one to Bonanza Creek LTER site—to exchange views of the changing Interior Alaskan landscape in the face of shifting animal populations, wildfire regime, and climate change. A gallery exhibit in Fairbanks shared the works with the community (Fig. 8). Over three thousand Fairbanks community members have attended the performances and gallery exhibits held in recent years. Extensive coverage in local media added to the reach of the programs into the community. Touring exhibits and components of the performance reached audiences in Anchorage, AK, Washington, DC, Portland, OR, and New York, NY. Arts and humanities continue to be an important part of the Bonanza Creek LTER program and are expressed in many forms designed to reach diverse audiences. A new project focuses on the many roles of microorganisms in environmental health with funding from an individual Principal Investigator’s NSF research grant, Bonanza Creek LTER, and other sources. The project will generate arts and humanities productions on the scale of past events, while adding new components like an artist-in-residence, a classic horror film series exploring the science of science fiction, hands-on microbial art activities for K-12 classrooms and public events, and integrative art Fig. 7. Spruce Smoke. Fiberart of an Interior Alaska forest in flames, the immediate aftermath, and the soil refuge belowground by the widely acclaimed Alaska artist Ree Nancarrow. She says that the temporal viewpoint of landscape change held by Bonanza Creek LTER ecologists has inspired her to introduce the dimension of time into her work. Photo credit: Eric Nancarrow. v www.esajournals.org 12 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON and environmental science activities that inte- grate native knowledge for rural Alaska Native schoolchildren. North Temperate Lakes LTER Site (University of Wisconsin, Trout Lake, WI) Since the 1920s the focus of the Trout Lake Station in the Northern Highlands of Wisconsin has been to understand the composition and function of lakes at broad time and space scales. This ecological work ramped up with designa- tion as an LTER site in 1981, and with the LTER program also came motivation and resources to investigate the deep connections between human communities and lakes, which center their lives (Magnuson et al. 2006). Invasive species, resi- dential development of lake shores, and climate change, manifest in part by declining duration of lake ice cover, are accelerating change. New and more effective forms of interaction with regional residents are needed. An exhibit titled ‘‘Paradise Lost? Climate Change in the North Woods’’ ( public communica- tion, https://lter.limnology.wisc.edu/ltearts/ paradise-lost) was the inaugural involvement of arts and humanities with the North Temperate Lakes LTER program. In 2006, 20 artists and 13 scientists and educators visited habitats and ecosystems in Wisconsin’s northwoods and shared knowledge about climate change and other impacts on lake and forest ecosystems of the upper Midwest. The artists’ media included visual arts, poetry, prose, and music. To encour- age a deeper collaboration, the artists learned about science while the scientists were chal- lenged to express concepts in art form and learn Fig. 8. ‘‘Red Fox with Prey’’ by Todd Sherman showing part of the complex trophic cascade within Interior Alaska ecosystems was part of the Bonanza Creek LTER Trophic Cascades program. Sherman comments ‘‘works reflect my ideas of animals and landscapes idealized and simplified from the complexities of the natural world.’’ Here he uses a cut-out technique to give a ‘‘just barely’’ three-dimensional sense. v www.esajournals.org 13 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON about the methods and philosophies of profes- sional artists. Following this exploration, the group developed a travelling exhibition of art works complemented with relevant science text displayed together in 15 venues in three upper Midwest states over three years. The exhibit included a paludarium containing a living bog microcosm, a film with music, and a variety of interpretive panels and props to make the show interactive. The work of the project was pub- lished as a catalog for the exhibit ( public communication, http://www.biology.wisc.edu/ documents/paradise_lost.pdf ). More than 100,000 people viewed the exhibit. Joint artist- scientist presentations at the openings of most exhibits and local media coverage spread the word about environmental change and the nature of environmental science even more broadly. During the course of the exhibit, over 2,500 school students participated through a series of climate change and art lessons, leading the students to produce art works for the exhibits and attracting a broader audience to the shows. The success of ‘‘Paradise Lost?’’ inspired the North Temperate Lakes LTER group to create a second art-science collaboration in 2011. Six scientists, five artists, and a poet worked together to develop the ‘‘Drawing Water: Artists and Scientists Explore Northern Lakes’’ traveling exhibit. That exploration focused on understand- ing how the ever-changing character of the landscape imposed by climate variability, human Fig. 9. This watercolor titled ‘‘Vanishing Act’’ by artist Melinda Schnell represents effects of an invasive species. Schnell explains, ‘‘The school of walleyes in this painting is fading away as the rainbow smelt increase in numbers. Over a period of time the rainbow smelt could seriously deplete the game fish we prize in our northwoods lakes.’’ The progression of species interactions over time is shown in two panels from left to right with the loss of walleyes. v www.esajournals.org 14 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON development activities, and changes in plant and animal distributions has affected lakes and the larger landscape. These works were displayed at the annual conference of the Wisconsin Associ- ation of Lakes and at four public venues in the northern Wisconsin lakes region. Some works delivered ecological messages, including effects of invasive species on native fish communities and whole lake ecosystems (Fig. 9), carbon dynamics of lake ecosystems (Fig. 10), and visual commentary on the diversity of bog lake ecosys- tems (Fig. 11). Each piece was accompanied by a concise explanation of the science relevant to the art, as well as stand-alone interpretive science panels with text and figures presenting informa- tion to community members. Large signs with distillations of these messages were also posted at selected, busy boat landings. An overarching objective in displaying these works to both the public and especially leaders of lake associations was to raise awareness of how lakes function as ecosystems so that local residents can devise and implement appropriate management approach- es. An artist-in-residence program piloted at North Temperate Lakes LTER in 2013 aims to engage an artist at the research station each year who collaborates with research staff, participates in an education open house for the public, and donates an art piece to the program. One of the early fruits of this program was the 2014 artist’s portrayal of some of the interesting tools of science (Fig. 12). H.J. Andrews Experimental Forest LTER Site (Oregon State University and US Forest Service, Blue River, OR) The focus of ecosystem research at the H.J. Andrews Experimental Forest since its establish- ment in 1948 has been to understand structure, function, and dynamics of native forests and rivers of the Pacific Northwest and the effects of land use and environmental change in the mountain landscape. For several decades the Andrews Forest LTER program has worked on a central question: how do land use, climate variability, and natural disturbances affect key ecosystem properties, including hydrology, bio- geochemistry, and biodiversity? Such basic sci- ence has frequently become socially relevant as contentious environmental issues have played out over years. Fundamental work on old- growth during the 1970s collided with evolving public sentiment in the 1980s to set the stage for a major shift in federal land forestry from timber production to biodiversity and old growth Fig. 10. Of her watercolor ‘‘C Note’’ Ann Singsaas comments, ‘‘We tend to think of water flowing through a landscape as only the pure substance, H2O, but a body of water carries with it many other constituents, most of which are carbon based. The structure of the hundred-dollar bill is used as a framework to illustrate all that is involved in determining the role of lakes in carbon flux and the value of this research as we strive to understand and communicate the role of carbon in climate change.’’ v www.esajournals.org 15 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON conservation in the 1990s (Spies and Duncan 2009). Adapting stories from science, photogra- phers and writers helped drive that transition and well-crafted non-fiction writing advanced public understanding of the science (Luoma 2006). While scientific understanding of old- growth forests and northern spotted owls, a species listed as threatened under the Endan- gered Species Act, played a big role in the policy shift, the battle over the future of federal public forest lands was fundamentally a matter of competing values—forest resource consumption vs. conservation of species and ecosystems. This experience of conflict at the science-public interface helped motivate the Andrews Forest group to team up with philosophers and creative writers to establish a Long-Term Ecological Reflections program patterned on LTEResearch in the early 2000s. The intent of the Reflections program is to gather a long-term record of creative reflection on the natural world and our relationship with it (Swanson et al. 2008). The Andrews Forest Reflections program has at its core two writer residency programs (one by invitation and one by application) and periodic gatherings of about 20 folks with diverse views on diverse topics, such as the meaning of watershed health and the exploration of new metaphors for restoration of forests and water- sheds. As with LTER science, the Reflections program intends to be place-based, including incorporating sense of place in the works; take the long view (200 years is the stated horizon); collect, archive, and actively share the works; Fig. 11. In her pastel ‘‘The Secret Life of Crystal Bog’’ artist and field biologist Terry Daulton depicts a few of the great variety of species occupying bog lakes of northern Wisconsin, where they are at the southern edge of their range and beginning to show signs of vulnerability to climate warming. Her attention to their beauty encourages viewers to consider the impacts of climate change to these iconic ecosystems. v www.esajournals.org 16 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON incorporate arts and humanities in education programs; and periodically step back and assess the works from the home site and at the scale of multiple sites/programs. While this work has yielded individual in- sights, its most important gift has been the great breadth of engagement with the land—an explo- ration and celebration of long-term ecological inquiry. Since the program began in 2002, more than 50 writers in residence have produced an extensive body of work inspired by the forest and streams, science findings, and approaches to long-term science. The writings have appeared in high-profile journals, such as Orion and The Atlantic, and they have been presented before live audiences totaling several thousand. The writers express their belief in the value of writer-scientist collaborations, as Alison Deming (2006) states, ‘‘The song of a thrush flutters through the quiet, the auditory equivalent to seeing an orchid in the forest. Beauty is what I came here for, a beauty enhanced not diminished by science. What a record we might have of the world’s hidden beauty, if field scientists and poets routinely spent time in one another’s company.’’ And botany professor-writer Robin Kimmerer (2004) echoes this sense of importance in bringing the intellect and spirit together in the forest, ‘‘It’s a hopeful thing when scientists look to the land for knowledge, when they try to translate into mathematics the stories that water can tell. But it is not only science that we need if we are to understand. The data may change our minds, but we need poetry to change our hearts.’’ Fig. 12. Northern Temperate Lakes LTER 2014 artist-in-residence Helen Klebesadel painted this watercolor, titled ‘‘Tools of the Trade,’’ of floats that support equipment used to ‘mix’ Crystal Lake as part of whole-lake experiments. v www.esajournals.org 17 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON Philosophy professor-writer Kathleen Dean Moore tells her scientist friends, ‘‘You feed our astonishment.’’ Writers see the research work itself, such as long-term field experiments, in emotive terms the scientists themselves seldom use, such as faith, empathy, and love. In the context of ecologist Mark Harmon’s 200-year log decomposition experiment, Robert Michael Pyle (2004) reflects, ‘‘To peer much further down the line requires not only empathy for those who follow, but also faith in the future, even if you won’t be there to see it for yourself. . . . Maybe looking to the future is a way of hoping there will still be something to see when we get there. Maybe it’s the only way to make sure of it.’’ And the writers sense our close relations with the place and its creatures, as Deming (2006) expresses after her hour-long stare-down with a northern spotted owl, ‘‘We exchange the long, slow interspecies stare—no fear, no threat—only the confusing mystery of the other.’’ A book of these, other writers’ works, and descriptions of the science context marks the first decade of the Andrews Forest Reflections pro- gram (Brodie et al. 2016). Over the past few years arts and humanities have permeated many parts of the Andrews Forest program. Artists are recent arrivals, including Bob Keefer, whose medium is hand- colored, black-and-white photographs (Fig. 13), Fig. 13. In this image titled ‘‘Stump 2014.19’’ Bob Keefer shows western hemlock saplings growing on the stump of an old-growth Douglas-fir cut 50 years earlier. Land use legacies in Pacific Northwest forests are etched in big, old stumps and cull logs with cut ends, in contrast with the land use legacies of New England etched in stone (Fig. 1). Hand-colored, black-and-white photograph. v www.esajournals.org 18 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON and painter Leah Wilson (Fig. 14), who has made a career-long commitment to creating artwork at the Andrews Forest. Art and humanities have been integral to field courses for middle school and university students. Perhaps the most telling embrace of humanities by the Andrews Forest program has been designation of an environ- mental philosopher as LTER Principal Investiga- tor and incorporation in environmental ethics in the research program. ACCOMPLISHMENTS AND CHALLENGES FOR ECOLOGY-ARTS-HUMANITIES PROGRAMS This quick survey of place-based programs with ecology-arts-humanities interaction sug- gests that on the order of 100 sites in the US have some form of arts/humanities programs with commitments to environmental research and education, counting about 20 of the 25 LTER sites, at least 40 biological field stations and marine labs, some of the approximately 50 NPS sites with artist/writer residencies, and a sam- pling of NSF’s Antarctic research stations. The roles of place are strong in all cases, but incredibly varied across the great range of sites from the South Pole to large urban centers in the cases of several LTER sites. The degree of connection between artists/writers and ecologists varies greatly among the institutional settings and other circumstances of individual sites. Fruitful one-on-one partnerships can be excep- tionally rewarding in a variety of situations, but major confluences are probably more common in large, place-based communities dedicated to ecological study, such as LTERs. Motivations for undertaking this work vary among programs within and among these diverse institutional Fig. 14. Abstract artist Leah Wilson drew inspiration from engravings by bark beetles on the freshly-fallen bole of a massive old-growth tree in this work titled ‘‘Beetle Drawing I.’’ Gouache on paper. v www.esajournals.org 19 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON settings, but a common denominator has been outreach to the public. The types of arts and humanities expression also vary widely among programs, as evident in the four LTER site examples, including books blending art and literature; public, multi-media performances; display of collections of visual art; creative writing of many genres; and connections with philosophers. Intensive ecology-arts-humanities interaction has accomplished a great deal. It has communi- cated science-inspired stories to diverse audienc- es. Artists and writers have enabled scientists to see ecosystems and their own work in new ways. The work reveals scientists’ passion and the emotional motivations—hope, faith, love—for doing science and for the ecosystems they study. It has enhanced the cultural and scientific value of places of sustained inquiry. Field experiments have transformed into installation art, triggering conversations far beyond the scope of the scientists’ intentions. Multi-talented people find opportunities to express themselves—the pho- tographer, dancer, novelist, and poet disguised as working scientists. Some work has contributed to near-term outcomes of science outreach, such as public understanding and action on issues like climate change and invasive species. Other work can be viewed as ‘‘basic’’ arts and humanities in the sense that its impacts won’t be known for a long time. The four case studies at LTER sites display outcomes ranging from the particular to the general. Art featuring stone structures at Har- vard Forest and massive stumps at Andrews Forest, both enshrouded in forest, prompt reflec- tion on land use legacies that are central features of these landscapes (Figs. 1 and 13). Public events in the forms of performances at Bonanza Creek and traveling art exhibits from the North Temperate Lakes program show how these media bring artists, writers, and scientists to- gether and how they can reach broad audiences, even in rural areas. But, in the long run the common, overarching impact of this work is likely to be its exploration and celebration of long-term ecological inquiry from many points of view. Intensive ecology-arts-humanities collabora- tions face several immediate challenges. Three important features of these programs lag well behind expectations for the science programs with which they are commonly associated. Long- term science funded by NSF, for example, places high priority on information management that includes secure archiving, high standards for quality control, clear cataloging and documenta- tion, and public access. No analogous system for archiving and access exists for arts and human- ities works, which can be considered forms of ‘‘cultural data’’ that form a growing record of artistic, contemplative, and scholarly reflections documenting society’s engagement with the natural world. Second, organized networking has become an important part of the US LTER, field station, and marine lab communities for the purposes of mutual support, and the LTER network has matured to the point of being able to conduct multi-site experiments and science synthesis (Robertson et al. 2012), but work in the arts and humanities has not yet achieved a comparable intensity of network communication and collaboration. Some progress in communi- cation among ecology-arts-humanities programs is underway through workshops at periodic FSML and LTER meetings, blog postings ( public communications, http://fsml-art.blogspot.com/), and a website with profiles for only a fraction of relevant sites ( public communications, http:// www.ecologicalreflections.com/); but much work remains. Multi-site art exhibits by the LTER network in the halls of NSF and at Ecological Society of America (ESA) and LTER All-Scientists meetings reveal the potential for study of works across many sites. Finally, little formal assess- ment has been done of these programs. Funding has been piece-meal and small scale, so formal assessment processes characteristic of large grants and granting institutions have not been required. A recent survey of LTER Principal Investigators (PIs) reveals that a majority (19 of 24) agree or strongly agree that arts and humanities potentially have important places in their programs (Goralnik et al. 2015). The PIs consider this work to be worthy of investment in its own right and to be integral to outreach and public involvement. Fundamentally, they per- ceive engagement of arts and humanities as inspiring creative thinking among both scientists and humanists and as a way to address environmental ethics issues prevalent in research and conservation topics at many sites. In v www.esajournals.org 20 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON practical terms, the number and diversity of programs undertaking the work and their lon- gevity attest to the perceived value of the work. LOOKING FORWARD What does the future hold for ecology-arts- humanities work at sites of long-term ecological inquiry? The persistence of NPS and NSF- Antarctica programs for many decades and of field station, marine lab, and LTER programs for years argues that this work will continue. The recent, rapid development of such programs at field stations, marine labs, and LTER sites indicates that these collaborations are poised to grow in the coming decades, fueled in part by the growing recognition of the work and its accom- plishments. These developments also suggest that there exists untapped potential for new programs to get underway. A further reason to expect advancement of ecology-arts-humanities collaboration is the eco- logical science community’s recent sense of urgency for understanding the coupled social- ecological system in terms of sustainability, ecosystem stewardship, ecosystem services, de- piction and assessment of alternative future scenarios, and formulation of bioregional conser- vation strategies. All of these perspectives reflect a drive to prompt, lead, and participate in reframing our relation with the natural world. Efforts to invigorate appreciation of traditional ecological knowledge and natural history are also part of reconnecting humans with nature. The arts and humanities can be, and in some cases have been, integral in these initiatives. Further steps in the ecology-arts-humanities intersection will include extension of past efforts, such as those described for the four LTER sites, and also taking on new challenges. As existing programs mature, they may cultivate the next generation of boundary-spanning luminaries, nurture new relationships of science with society, and expand the body of information about how science and society perceive ecosystems. New efforts at this inter-disciplinary interface may take several forms. In the parlance of NSF proposal evaluation criteria, much of the work to date has been ‘‘outreach’’ to students and the public, but the time is ripe to address the ‘‘intellectual merit’’ of tackling complex problems posed by dynamic ecosystems in new ways using more inter-disciplinary approaches than in the past. An additional, in some cases complemen- tary, area of work is inclusion of environmental ethics in future collaborations. Although, many topics of ecological research at these sites involve issues with an environmental ethical dimension, such as those related to resource extraction, conservation of species, and environmental jus- tice, very few offer that training and senior staff may be ill prepared to deal with the ethical aspects of issues. Advancing the effectiveness of ecology-arts-humanities collaborations will re- quire continued change in all the communities involved. The benefits from melding of ecology, the arts, and humanities in places of sustained inquiry will surprise us. Expeditions for natural history exploration were an important venue for collab- oration ripe with unexpected outcomes, especial- ly in the 19th century, as multi-disciplinary teams ventured across unexplored geography. Many 19th century naturalist explorations were well staffed with illustrators and artists, such as Thomas Moran with Hayden’s Yellowstone Ex- pedition of 1871 and the Powell expedition down the Colorado River, and the Harriman Alaska expedition of 1899. Much of geographic explora- tion of the earth is complete, but the need is now great for intensively observant, deeply thought- ful, highly interdisciplinary, place-based expedi- tions through time in a changing global environment. Sites of long-term, ecological in- quiry involving science, arts, humanities, and many other perspectives, including traditional ecological knowledge and cultural views, are essential to assess, portray, value, and achieve desirable futures. I hope this will be a central feature of the next century of ESA. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This is written as a personal essay with attendant personal interpretations and limits of scope. Place- based, arts-humanities-ecology collaborations are poorly documented and little studied, so I rely on my own experience working with several of these programs and learning from others. The Long-Term Ecological Reflections program at Andrews Forest has been supported by the privately-endowed Spring Creek Project for Ideas, Nature, and the Written Word, the U.S. Forest Service’s Pacific Northwest Research v www.esajournals.org 21 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON Station, and NSF. Coordination of LTER art exhibits has been a team effort with T. Daulton, C. Hart, M. B. Leigh, and many others. F. Felix, M. Lannoo, and A. McKee kindly shared knowledge of programs in the Organization of Biological Field Stations and National Association of Marine Laboratories. J. Jones, D. Foster, T. Gilens, C. Goodrich, T. Kratz, K. Moore, M. Nelson, R. Ruess, L. Rustad, and S. Twombly (especially for the challenge of moving from outreach to intellectual merit) generously helped with ideas, text, illustrations, and program descriptions. Participation in the arts- science workshop at the South American Institute for Resilience and Sustainability Studies in Maldonado, Uruguay, in December 2014 was a very enriching experience. Many individuals with extraordinary skills in spanning disciplinary boundaries are constant sources of ideas and inspiration. Thanks to all for bringing us into a closer, more respectful relationship with the natural world and one another. LITERATURE CITED Billick, I., I. Babb, B. Kloeppel, J. C. Leong, J. Hodder, J. Sanders, and H. Swain. 2013. Field stations and marine laboratories of the future: a strategic vision. National Association of Marine Laboratories and Organization of Biological Field Stations. http:// www.obfs.org/fsml-future Brodie, N., C. Goodrich, and F. J. Swanson, editors. 2016. Forest under story. University of Washington Press, Seattle, Washington, USA. in press. Callahan, J. T. 1984. Long-term ecological research. BioScience 34:363–367. Chapin, F. S., III, et al. 2010. Resilience of Alaska’s boreal forest to climatic change. Canadian Journal of Forest Research 40:1360–1370. Chapin, F. S., M. W. Oswood, K. van Cleve, L. A. Viereck, and D. L. Verbyla, editors. 2006. Alaska’s changing boreal forest. Oxford University Press, New York, New York, USA. Deming, A. H. 1994. Science and other poems. Louisiana State University Press, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, USA. Deming, A. H. 2006. The owl, spotted. OnEarth. Natural Resources Defense Council, New York, New York, USA. Driscoll, C. T., K. F. Lambert, F. S. Chapin III, D. J. Nowak, T. A. Spies, F. J. Swanson, D. B. Kittredge, and C. M. Hart. 2012. Science and society: the role of long-term studies in environmental stewardship. BioScience 62(4):354–366. Foster, D. R. 1999. Thoreau’s country: journey through a transformed landscape. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA. Foster, D. R., editor. 2014. Hemlock: a forest giant on the edge. Yale University Press, New Haven, Connecticut, USA. Foster, D. R., and J. D. Aber. 2004. Forests in time. Yale University Press, New Haven, Connecticut, USA. Foster, D., D. Kittredge, B. Donahue, K. Fallon, C. Hart Lambert, and J. Levitt. 2014. The Wildlands and Woodlands Initiative of the Harvard Forest, Har- vard University. Pages 3–30 in J. N. Levitt, editor. Conservation catalysts: academic institutes advanc- ing large landscape initiatives. Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA. Goodrich, C., K. D. Moore, and F. J. Swanson, editors. 2008. In the blast zone: catastrophe and renewal on Mount St. Helens. Oregon State University Press, Corvallis, Oregon, USA. Goralnik, L., M. P. Nelson, L. Ryan, and H. Gosnell. 2015. Arts and humanities efforts in the US Long- Term Ecological Research (LTER) Network: under- standing perceived values and challenges. Pages 249–268 in R. Rozzi, S. T. A. Pickett, J. B. Callicott, F. S. T. Chapin, M. E. Power, and J. J. Armesto, editors. Earth stewardship: linking ecology and ethics in theory and practice. Springer, Switzerland. Guthrie, R. D. 2005. The nature of Paleolithic art. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, Illinois, USA. Haskell, D. G. 2012. The forest unseen: a year’s watch in nature. Penguin Books, New York, New York, USA. Kimmerer, R. W. 2004. Interview with a watershed. http://andrewsforest.oregonstate.edu/lter/research/ related/writers/wir/kimmerer1.pdf Kimmerer, R. W. 2013. Braiding sweetgrass: indige- nous wisdom, scientific knowledge, and the teach- ings of plants. Milkweed Editions, Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA. Lannoo, M. J. 2012. The Iowa Lakeside Laboratory: a century of discovering the nature of nature. University of Iowa Press, Iowa City, Iowa, USA. Luoma, J. 2006. The hidden forest: biography of an ecosystem. Oregon State University Press, Corval- lis, Oregon, USA. Magnuson, J. J., T. K. Kratz, and B. J. Benson, editors. 2006. Long-term dynamics of lakes in the land- scape: long-term ecological research on north temperate lakes. Oxford University Press, New York, New York, USA. Miller, A. I. 2014. Colliding worlds: how cutting-edge science is redefining contemporary art. W. W. Norton, New York, New York, USA. Nadkarni, N. M. 2008. Between earth and sky: our intimate connections to trees. University of Cal- ifornia Press, Berkeley, California, USA. Pyle, R. M. 2000. Walking the high ridge: life as field trip. Milkweed Editions, Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA. Pyle, R. M. 2004. The long haul. Orion September/ October:70–71. Raup, H. M. 1966. The view from John Sanderson’s farm: a perspective for the use of the land. Forest v www.esajournals.org 22 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON History 10:2–11. Robertson, G. P., et al. 2012. Long-term ecological research in a human-dominated world. BioScience 62(4):342–353. Sanders, S. R. 2009. A conservationist manifesto. Indiana University Press, Bloomington, Indiana, USA. Spies, T. A., and S. L. Duncan, editors. 2009. Old growth in a new world: a Pacific Northwest icon reexamined. Island Press, Washington, D.C., USA. Swanson, F. J., C. Goodrich, and K. D. Moore. 2008. Bridging boundaries: scientists, creative writers, and the long view of the forest. Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment 6(9):449–504. terrain.org. 2013. RuinþRenewal, Part 2: Winter 2013. http://terrain.org/archives/archives-issue-31/ Winfree, R. A. 2011. The nature of art: communicating park science, nature and culture through art. Alaska Park Science 10(2):53–63. Zion Natural History Association. 2008. A century of sanctuary: the art of Zion National Park. Zion Natural History Association, Springdale, Utah, USA. v www.esajournals.org 23 August 2015 v Volume 6(8) v Article 132 ESA CENTENNIAL PAPER SWANSON 
work_cym2obx4ajg5hjweowyobmw7re	----	S0033291717002070jlp 876..877 Correspondence Psychological Medicine, 48 (2018). doi:10.1017/S0033291717002070 First published online 3 August 2017 Letter to the Editor Is poor sleep, and loneliness linked by increased use of technology? Using data from a UK nationally-representative cohort, Matthews and colleagues found that young adults who report feeling lonely were also likely to report poor sleep (Matthews et al. 2017). The researchers were able to attribute the findings to individual experiences of loneliness and account for shared environmental exposures and genetic factors between the twins by examining differences in loneli- ness and sleep between monozygotic twins. In a second key finding, it was reported that exposure to victimisation moderated the association between lone- liness and sleep quality. Whilst the effects found were modest, they appeared robust, even if no casual effect could be determined; however, they did find a dose– response relationship between reduced sleep and increased level of victimisation. It is already known that that the link between lone- liness and sleep is not accounted for by: depression; BMI; or other health-related behaviours (Cacioppo et al. 2002; Hawkley et al. 2010). Furthermore, not all children who were lonely suffered from poor sleep, so draws debate to the potential moderating factors. The researchers established that individuals exposed to victimisation experienced greater loneliness and poor sleep, and this was exacerbated by severe victim- isation. Whilst this study controlled for many confoun- ders and moderators one of the few individual widespread exposures not able to be controlled for in this study was the use of screen-based technology (herein defined as device use). There is already an argument that the effect of loneliness is associated with both increased device use, and poorer sleep, as bored children turn to their device for companionship (Carter et al. 2016; Lleras & Panova, 2016; Ndasauka et al. 2016). Health consequence may follow in the extreme cases, as highlighted by Henry David Thoreau who wrote that the problems that arise when people become ‘tools of their tools’ and today many children are addicted to their device (Thoreau, 1864). The consequence of heavy usage has already been linked to loneliness (Cacioppo et al. 2002) as well as a multitude of poorer health outcomes, including loss of sleep, and poorer physical and mental health (Gradisar et al. 2013; Owens & Committee a ASWG, 2014). It has been reported that greater loneli- ness traits have been reported in those children with the greatest intensity of device usage (Ndasauka et al. 2016). Recent evidence has pointed to device use (or merely access) being linked to poorer sleep quantity, and quality, even when the device are not being used, but were present in the bedroom. It has been argued that evening device use led to cognitive engagement, linked with poorer sleep (Carter et al. 2016), and a possible cause of the loneli- ness (Cacioppo et al. 2002; Carter et al. 2016). Examples of engagement may be wide ranging from: peer engagement in social media; anticipation; fear of missing out; or in extreme cases cyber bullying; or vic- timisation, as highlighted by Matthews et al. (2017). Whilst the overriding net effect of technology on our lives is positive, it is not without consequence (Lleras & Panova, 2016; Ndasauka et al. 2016). There is limited guidance on media device use by the American Academy of Pediatrics (Chassiakos et al. 2016; Hill et al. 2016), but it needs development and translation into practical implementation for parents and schools. Since harmful use of technology by children would be seen by teachers, as the first to notice the signs and symptoms of daytime sleepiness, or withdrawal due to loneliness or victimisation. I conclude, there is need to differentiate between our devices, and our relationships, that education on the short-term consequences of device is warranted. We need to recognise chronic sleep deprivation sooner, and explore the cause, if for no other reason to rule out screen-based addiction and victimisation. Acknowledgement We acknowledge the support of The National Institute for Health Research (NIHR) Biomedical Research Centre at South London and Maudsley NHS Foundation Trust and King’s College London. References Cacioppo JT, Hawkley LC, Berntson GG, Ernst JM, Gibbs AC, Stickgold R, Hobson J (2002). Do lonely days invade the nights? Potential social modulation of sleep efficiency. Psychological Science 13, 384–387. Carter B, Ree P, Hale L, Bhattacharjee D, Paradkar MS (2016). Association between portable screen-based media Psychological Medicine (2018), 48, 876–877. © Cambridge University Press 2017 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0033291717002070 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:57, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0033291717002070 https://www.cambridge.org/core device access or use and sleep outcomes: a systematic review and meta-analysis. JAMA Pediatrics 170, 1202–1208. Chassiakos Y, Radesky J, Christakis D, Moreno M, Cross C, COUNCIL ON COMMUNICATIONS AND MEDIA (2016). Children and adolescents and digital media. Pediatrics 5, 138. pii: e20162593. Gradisar M, Wolfson AR, Harvey AG, Hale L, Rosenberg R, Czeisler CA (2013). The sleep and technology use of Americans: findings from the National Sleep Foundation’s 2011 Sleep in America poll. Journal of Clinical Sleep Medicine: JCSM: Official Publication of the American Academy of Sleep Medicine 9, 1291–1299. Hawkley LC, Preacher KJ, Cacioppo JT (2010). Loneliness impairs daytime functioning but not sleep duration. Health Psychology 29, 124–129. Hill D, Ameenuddin N, Chassiakos YR, Cross C, Radesky J, Hutchinson J, Boyd R, Mendelson R, Moreno MA, Smith J, Swanson WS, Council on Communications and Media (2016). Media and young minds. Pediatrics 138, e20162591. doi: 10.1542/peds.2016-2591. Lleras A, Panova T (2016). Avoidance or boredom: negative mental health outcomes associated with the use of information and communication technologies depend on users motives. Computers in Human Behavior 58, 249–258. Matthews T, Danese A, Gregory AM, Caspi A, Moffitt TE, Arseneault L (2017). Sleeping with one eye open: loneliness and sleep quality in young adults. Psychological Medicine. doi: 10.1017/S0033291717000629. Ndasauka Y, Hou J, Wang Y, Yang L, Yang Z, Ye Z, Hao Y, Fallgatter A, Kong Y, Zhang Z (2016). Excessive use of Twitter among college students in the UK: validation of the microblog excessive Use Scale and relationship to social interaction and loneliness. Computers in Human Behavior 55, 963–971. Owens J, Committee a ASWG (2014). Insufficient sleep in adolescents and young adults: an update on causes and consequences. Pediatrics 134, e921–e931. Thoreau HD (1864). Walden. In Walden or Life in the Woods and ‘on the Duty of Civil Disobedience’, pp. 1–264. New American Library: New York, NY. Originally published 1854. p. 29. B. CA R T ER 1,2* 1Department of Biostatistics and Health Informatics, Institute of Psychiatry, Psychology & Neuroscience, King’s College London, De Crespigny Park, London, UK 2Cochrane Skin Group, School of Medicine, Nottingham University, Nottingham, Nottinghamshire, UK *Address for correspondence: Dr B. Carter, Ph.D., Department of Biostatistics and Health Informatics, Institute of Psychiatry, Psychology & Neuroscience, King’s College London, De Crespigny Park, London SE5 8AF, UK; Cochrane Skin Group, School of Medicine, Nottingham University, Nottingham, Nottinghamshire, UK. (Email: ben.carter@kcl.ac.uk) Correspondence 877 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0033291717002070 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:57, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at mailto:ben.carter@kcl.ac.uk https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0033291717002070 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_cz57g7gkmjed7f75b2dej6wfva	----	THE PHILOSOPHY OF DISSONANT CHILDREN: STANLEY CAVELL'S WITTGENSTEINIAN PHILOSOPHICAL THERAPIES AS AN EDUCATIONAL CONVERSATION http://www.diva-portal.org This is the published version of a paper published in Educational Theory. Citation for the original published paper (version of record): Johansson, V. (2010) The Philosophy of Dissonant Children: Stanley Cavell's Wittgensteinian Philosophical Therapies as an Educational Conversation. Educational Theory, 60(4): 469-486 https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1741-5446.2010.00371.x Access to the published version may require subscription. N.B. When citing this work, cite the original published paper. Permanent link to this version: http://urn.kb.se/resolve?urn=urn:nbn:se:du-19220 469 THE PHILOSOPHY OF DISSONANT CHILDREN: STANLEY CAVELL’S WITTGENSTEINIAN PHILOSOPHICAL THERAPIES AS AN EDUCATIONAL CONVERSATION Viktor Johansson Department of Education Stockholm University Abstract. Education is often understood as a process whereby children come to conform to the norms teachers believe should govern our practices. This picture problematically presumes that educators know in advance what it means for children to go on the way that is expected of them. In this essay Viktor Johansson suggests a revision of education, through the philosophy of Stanley Cavell, that can account for both the attunement in our practices and the possible dissonance that follows when the teacher and child do not go on together. There is an anxiety generated by the threat of disharmony in our educational undertakings that may drive teachers toward philosophy in educational contexts. Here Johansson offers a philosophical treatment of this intellectual anxiety that teachers may experience when they, upon meeting dissonant children, search for epistemic justifications of their practices — a treatment whereby dissonant children can support teachers in dissolving their intellectual frustrations. The community stagnates without the impulse of the individual. The impulse dies away without the sympathy of the community. — William James, Great Men and Their Environment1 In many educational contexts teachers are identified as communicators and transmitters of the values, skills, and knowledge of a certain community; and children or students are identified as recipients in a practice of being initiated into an acceptance of the givenness of that knowledge and those values and skills. The pedagogical methods and theories that follow from this view may vary. They may emphasize critical dialogue and democratic deliberation, as well as more reproductive views on learning and teaching. In this sense teaching, applying different methods, could be understood as what one might want to call ‘‘initiation into practices.’’ However, such a picture of teaching, that we are tempted to think of as following from this characterization of teachers and students, seems to be problematic. A natural way for us to understand this process of teaching and initiation is as a process where the child comes to conform to the rules, norms, or whatever else teachers and adults believe determines their practice as that practice. This picture of teaching presumes that we can know in advance what it means for children to go on the way their educators expect them to. Stanley Cavell has stressed that, for elders and children to be able to go on together in language, children ‘‘have to accept what ‘[their] elders’ say and do as consequential; and [the elders] have to accept, even applaud, what [children] 1. William James, ‘‘Great Men and Their Environment,’’ in The Will to Believe, Human Immortality (New York: Dover Publications, 2003), 232. EDUCATIONAL THEORY Volume 60 Number 4 2010 © 2010 Board of Trustees University of Illinois 470 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 60 Number 4 2010 say and do as what they say and do.’’2 This, if it is successful, generates a sort of mutuality that Cavell describes as an attunement between children and their teachers. Nevertheless, this picture contains a sense of anxiety. Nothing can ensure such mutual attunement, and nothing satisfies our (educators’) need to secure our knowledge about what it would mean to go on together with the child — that is what the content of such attunement consists in. Cavell recognizes this in his reading of Ludwig Wittgenstein: ‘‘Nothing I have said denies that the scene of instruction ends in crisis — there is anxiety over whether the teacher and child will go on together. It strikes me as a crisis of consent.’’3 We expect children to go on the way we do, but we face situations, real and imagined, that question this expectation. The threat of a crisis of consent intrinsic in our educational practices may cause various reactions: we may force the child to do what we expect, we may become angry and frustrated, we may feel resigned or dejected, we may feel a need to investigate the child’s motives or what causes his or her behavior, or we may want to diagnose the child and treat him or her medically. The reaction that I shall further discuss here, a reaction that may cause other reactions, is a kind of philosophical anxiety, a sense of having lost the (epistemic) ground for our practices and identities. This reaction shows that the identification of teachers and students, though useful in some contexts, has limitations when we encounter children that are ‘‘out of tune’’ with how we conceive our practices — children that are dissonant. I shall argue that this anxiety, or sense of crisis, generated by the threat of disharmony in our educational undertakings, can drive us toward philosophy in educational contexts — philosophy as a response to the anxiety that we experience when our identities and practices are questioned by the radically different. The following famous and often-discussed passage from Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations can serve as an example of the dissonant children I consider in this essay, of the crisis of consent Cavell suggests, and of the kind of worry or anxiety we are talking about here: [A] pupil has mastered the series of natural numbers. Next we teach him to write down other series of cardinal numbers and get him to the point of writing down series of the form 0, n, 2n, 3n, etc. 2. Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason: Wittgenstein, Skepticism, Morality, and Tragedy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), 28. This work will be cited as CR in the text for all subsequent references. 3. Stanley Cavell, Conditions, Handsome and Unhandsome: The Constitution of Emersonian Perfectionism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 76. VIKTOR JOHANSSON is Visiting Student Researcher at University of Illinois and a Doctoral Candidate of Education at Stockholm University, Department of Education, Stockholm University, SE-106 91 Stockholm, Sweden; e-mail: <Viktor.Johansson@ped.su.se>. His primary areas of scholarly interest are philosophy of education and methods in philosophy of education, philosophy and children’s literature, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and Stanley Cavell. Johansson Philosophy of Dissonant Children 471 at an order of the form ‘‘+n’’; so at the order ‘‘+1’’ he writes down the series of natural numbers. — Let us suppose we have done exercises and given him tests up to 1000. Now we get the pupil to continue a series (say +2) beyond 1000 — and he writes 1000, 1004, 1008, 1012. We say to him: ‘‘Look what you have done!’’ — He doesn’t understand. We say: ‘‘You meant to add two: look how you began the series!’’ — He answers: ‘‘Yes, isn’t it right? I thought that was how I was meant to do it.’’ — Or suppose he pointed to the series and said: ‘‘But I went on in the same way.’’ — It would now be no use to say: ‘‘But can’t you see. . .?’’ — and repeat the old examples and explanations. — In such a case we might say, perhaps: It comes natural to this person to understand our order with our explanations as we should understand the order: ‘‘Add 2 up to 1000, 4 up to 2000, 6 up to 3000 and so on.’’ Such a case would present similarities with one in which a person naturally reacted to the gesture of pointing with the hand by looking in the direction of the line from the finger-tip to wrist, not from wrist to finger-tip.4 Wittgenstein’s student ‘‘naturally reacts’’ in a way that we find problematic, even absurd, in a way that we do not count as a part of the practice we are engaged in. In addition, the student may insist that his or her reaction is, if not better than, at least equally valid, or equally well founded (or not founded), or even that his or her reaction is the same as his or her teacher’s. The possibility of deviant natural reactions that may be conceived as doing what we do when we do not see that ourselves, points toward a very real worry. Somehow, we feel tempted to say to these children that they must do as we conceive ourselves doing. We worry about what will happen when we cannot justify or further explain our practices of, in this case, mathematics and following instructions. We are confused not only because we do not know how to continue our instructions, but also because our ways of doing things are questioned. I therefore refer to dissonant children not only as children whose behavior and reactions to our instructions are deviant and whose behaviors we for some reason find difficult to understand. A dissonant child is a child whose reaction to our instructions causes anxiety and a sense of crisis by, as with the skeptic, questioning the justifiability and explainability of our practices.5 Consequently, we can characterize the kind of anxiety that these children may cause as dissatisfaction with our inability to justify our practices and, to use Cavell’s formulation, our dissatisfaction with our human condition. Dissonant children are not unfamiliar to those who have been engaged in educational practices. Most educators have at times been surprised, worried, and had their temper tested, when the children they teach react in unexpected, and 4. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, 3rd ed., trans. G.E.M. Anscombe (Oxford: Blackwell, 1953), § 185 (emphasis added). This work will be cited as PI, followed by paragraph number for part I or page number for part II, in the text for all subsequent references. 5. It is not the dissonance or what we find as an unnatural ‘‘natural’’ reaction of the child per se that causes our confusion. There are, of course, many different reactions we find deviant. Not all of them are problematic, and they do not all provoke the same philosophical questions. (For example, there are cases when we can just ask the child why he or she does things a particular way and get a clear answer and cases where the deviancies in children’s behaviors do not end in crisis. These children do not cause the same sense of crisis.) Our reaction in meeting Wittgenstein’s student and similar scenes of instruction is quite different. In these instances we are unable to accept the child’s way of doing things. 472 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 60 Number 4 2010 at times provocative, ways to their instructions, teaching, training, or examples. The teachers may, consciously or unconsciously, be inclined to ask certain types of philosophical questions, such as the following: How can we justify and explain our way of talking, thinking, reading, writing, acting, making moral judgments, and the like? In short, how can we justify and explain our form of life so that these children react the way we do? Can we justify our exclusion and inclusion of certain behaviors? Instead of giving a straight answer to these questions, educators can, analogous to Wittgenstein’s response to skepticism and metaphysics, ‘‘turn their investigation around’’ (see PI § 108 and 309). To look for a straight answer would be to give heed to the illusion that we have lost the foundation for our practices, when in fact nothing has been lost. Instead, we need to ‘‘therapeutically’’ treat our worry about the possibility of dissonance, be satisfied by the groundlessness of our practices, and rediscover our ordinary practices. These questions cannot be answered by theorizing, but rather responded to by becoming at ease with the conditions of our humanity. Philosophy in educational contexts can in this sense be a practical struggle. My methodological claim is that philosophy can be used as a particular approach by teachers, to treat their own intellectually frustrated reactions to dissonant children. The conversations with children, or ‘‘education for grown-ups’’ as Cavell puts it, I recommend is not a guide for how teachers should act, but rather an indication for the need of diagnosis — implying that our thinking might show symptoms of an existential illness — and therapeutic treatments of some educational issues philosophically — implying that, though there might be no definite cure, there are at least treatments. The practicality of the method lies in the treatment of the issues discussed as existential conflicts rather than didactic problems. I shall argue that these are insights that we can arrive at if we apply the philosophical works of Wittgenstein and Cavell to educational contexts involving dissonant children. Furthermore, this will show that Wittgenstein and Cavell’s writings are pedagogical in a practical sense. This pedagogical practicality of the Wittgensteinian philosophical approach may be applicable to our approach to dissonant children in many ways. Here I shall concentrate on the philosophical (skeptical) anxiety of the educator. This investigation will thus be limited to questions about what kind of approaches to take toward children that follow from this, and the motives or sources of the child’s behavior will have to be investigated in another text. In a sense, this may mean that children’s voices seem silenced in giving room to their elders’ (philosophical) reactions — for example, the reasons and causes for children’s dissonant behavior may not be asked for or stated. However, here my aim is rather to provide a method for the educator to actually hear and listen to the voices of dissonant children, see the value of dissonance, and perhaps even hear the beauty in the disharmony; this, being an education for grown-ups, means relearning how to listen (as we must to appreciate the great composers of the last century such as Schönberg, Stravinsky, Stockhausen, and others). This investigation is thus preliminary to further exploration of the reasons for and causes of children’s dissonant behavior. Johansson Philosophy of Dissonant Children 473 The aim of this sort of philosophizing is thus to give teachers, parents, educators, and educationalists philosophical tools to go on with their children. It is to enhance teachers’ (or adults’) imagination by helping them to reconsider their lives with dissonant individuals. The investigation thus aims to show how teachers, by letting themselves be inspired by dissonant children, by taking an interest in those children, can transform themselves and their cultures.6 First, I shall discuss Wittgenstein’s vision of language, and how Wittgenstein’s examples of dissonant children elucidate the fact that meaning cannot be determined by anything other than our use of expressions. Second, I shall argue for an understanding of the notion ‘‘form of life’’ in Cavell and Wittgenstein that is both social and biological. Third, I maintain that the actuality and possibility of dissonant children illuminates how skepticism is an existential condition of our human form of life and of our educational practices in particular, which elucidates how dissonance may seem threatening. Fourth, I shall argue that educators, following Wittgenstein and Cavell, need to use a kind of philosophical therapy to treat this anxiety. This involves a reconsideration of our reactions to radically different (dissonant) children:7 we can meet them as we read philosophical texts, and let them serve as teachers, that is to say, let their teachers become students. Wittgenstein’s Terrifying Vision of Language A fairly common view — it might even be called traditional8 — among philosophers and philosophers of education is that Wittgenstein claimed that language is an essentially normative practice and that linguistic meaning is determined by how words are used according to implicit norms or even explicit rules. An early example of this interpretation is David Pole’s The Later Philosophy of Wittgenstein, which was criticized by Cavell in one of his earliest writings on Wittgenstein. This critique is quite useful in conceptualizing an alternative Wittgensteinian vision of language that can better account for the threat of dissonance in educational contexts. We can, following Cavell, summarize Pole’s (or the traditional) view in two statements: 1. The correctness or incorrectness of a use of a word is determined by the rules of a language-game in two ways: First, the rules of language form a system, which makes it obvious where and when a rule does or does not apply. Second, when rules apply, it is obvious whether they are being followed or violated. 6. Stanley Cavell, Philosophy the Day After Tomorrow (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006), 121 – 122. 7. I will use the term ‘‘children’’ even though this does not only apply to young children. In fact many of the instances I had in mind while working on these issues involve adolescents as well as young children. 8. James Conant, ‘‘Wittgenstein on Meaning and Use,’’ Philosophical Investigations 21, no. 3 (1998): 223. 474 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 60 Number 4 2010 2. When new linguistic practices are created and no existing rules apply, we create new rules, and this changes the language-game.9 I maintain that this view of language fails, both as a reading of Wittgenstein and as a fruitful philosophical position. Rather, Wittgenstein’s investigations of the concept ‘‘rule’’ show that language is not everywhere circumscribed by rules (PI § 68). In fact one of the conclusions in Wittgenstein’s infamous paragraphs on rule-following is that if understanding a language consists in grasping and following its rules, we can always ask what a correct application, or interpretation, of those rules consists of when we apply the rules to further cases (PI § 201).10 If language, or any human practice, is in need of an explanatory justification (a foundation) by appeal to rules or anything else, we will end up with a paradoxical view of language where further explanations will always be required. Of course, this does not imply that rules or similar phenomena have no role in our linguistic practices. It simply means that they cannot play the role of satisfying our urge to construct a secure epistemic foundation for our language use, and that they do not (except in some special cases) determine meaning. Nevertheless, we are tempted to say that there has to be something that determines the meaning or ensures that we express ourselves meaningfully. This is because we are held captive, as Wittgenstein claimed, by a way of thinking and speaking (PI § 115). This captivating picture entails the idea that as long as we follow some general principle, we can make ourselves understood; that meaningfulness in expressions is outside the speaker’s control. Questioning this is to question any form of theory that aims to justify our use of linguistic expressions. This critique is essential to Wittgenstein’s antifoundationalism. It is not just a critique of traditional foundationalist arguments of justification of knowledge and our praxis, but a critique directed toward any attempt to justify our practices that thus includes antirealist arguments in its critique. Cavell suggests an acceptance of the fact that nothing ensures that a particular use of a word is correct or incorrect. But what does it mean to say that nothing determines linguistic meaning, and how can this be understood in the example of the dissonant child? It can be said that Wittgenstein, in his later philosophy, extended Frege’s principle that a word only has meaning in the context of a proposition, applying it not only to words, but to sentences, which accordingly will have meaning only in the context of a language-game (that is, the context of significant use).11 Sentences have meaning only in the context of how they are used within language-games (PI § 43). Hence, what constitutes our meaning something by uttering a sentence is 9. Stanley Cavell, ‘‘The Availability of Wittgenstein’s Later Philosophy,’’ in Must We Mean What We Say? 2nd rev. ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 47 – 48. 10. See also Ludwig Wittgenstein, The Blue Book and the Brown Book: Preliminary Studies to the Philosophical Investigations (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1958), 27 – 28. 11. Conant, ‘‘Wittgenstein on Meaning and Use,’’ 231 – 238. See also Gottlob Frege, The Foundations of Arithmetic: A Logico-Mathematical Enquiry into the Concept of Number (Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1980), x. Johansson Philosophy of Dissonant Children 475 not that the uttering is followed by some other process — for example, a mental representation, a rule or norm, or a universal — but that it is used in a context where it can do the grammatical work of meaning something.12 Instead of giving in to our temptation to treat a word as if there was ‘‘an atmosphere accompanying the word, which it carries with it in every application’’ (PI § 117), we need to remind ourselves that a sentence makes sense only in the context where it is actually used. An expression does not have meaning by itself. The responsibility for success in meaning something by our words lies solely with the communicators, with us. This poses further difficulties for the assumption that language is essentially normative. The difficulty is due to a misunderstanding of what it means to ‘‘project a word,’’ or sentence, into new contexts. When introducing words in new contexts or creating new language-games, the ‘‘normative’’ view implies that the words of such a justification (by referring to rules) cannot be given a clear meaning. The rules of this new language-game are nonsense because the rule-expressions are excluded from language (compare with PI § 500), not because of the rule-expression itself, but because the speaker fails to do anything meaningful with this rule-expression within an existing language-game (when rules are changed or created, they are always changed within an existing language-game.) Since an analogous difficulty will evolve if we replace rules with anything else determining meaning, we have to conclude that nothing determines meaning and in this sense acknowledge a form of meaning skepticism. Cavell illustratively writes, We learn and teach words in certain contexts, and then we are expected, and expect others, to be able to project them into further contexts. Nothing insures that this projection will take place (in particular, not the grasping of universals and not the grasping of books of rules), just as nothing insures that we will make, and understand, the same projections. That on the whole we do is a matter of sharing routes of interest and feeling, modes of response, senses of humor and of significance and of fulfillment, of what is outrageous, of what is similar to what else, what a rebuke, what forgiveness, of when an utterance is an assertion, when an appeal, when an explanation — all the whirl of organism that Wittgenstein calls ‘‘forms of life.’’ Human speech and activity, sanity and community, rest upon nothing more, but nothing less, than this. It is a vision as simple as it is difficult, and as difficult as it is (and because it is) terrifying.13 We still might want to ask, how is this possible? Can’t we explain to Wittgenstein’s student that he is wrong in claiming that he is following his teacher’s instruction? Is there no way we may be justified in saying that the student’s projection of the rule ‘‘add 2’’ in PI § 185 is wrong? Put differently, dissonant children such as Wittgenstein’s student tempt us to ask questions such as this: Isn’t there a way to justify and explain our linguistic and cultural practices? We may then be tempted to ask skeptical questions: But if nothing determines what I mean by my expressions (or how I use them), how then am I able to mean something determinate at all? Or, how can I know what anyone, myself included, means by saying ‘‘add 2’’? The temptation to ask these sorts of questions, and our incapacity to be satisfied with any answers to them, is what 12. Conant, ‘‘Wittgenstein on Meaning and Use,’’ 239 – 240. 13. Cavell, ‘‘The Availability of Wittgenstein’s Later Philosophy,’’ 52. 476 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 60 Number 4 2010 Wittgenstein and Cavell, through using dissonant children in their accounts, want us to recognize (CR, 175). This is supposed to lead to a criticism and investigation of our ‘‘language and conduct’’ and our philosophical presumptions that is not moralistic. We need methods, when we reach the justificatory bedrock, to convert ourselves to satisfaction; and to recognize that our inclination may be to say to our children, ‘‘This is simply what I do’’ (PI § 217), as if this is what the child must do. This does not mean that we should not correct the child in § 185, but rather it raises the question of on which grounds we can carry out such corrections and helps us realize what we are inclined to think in such situations.14 Our inclination to say ‘‘This is simply what I do’’ seems to mark the need for the teacher to be willing to present him- or herself as an example for the community into which the child is being invited. The inclination marks that this is not a matter of saying ‘‘Do as I do, or else!’’ but a realization that our best option seems to be to simply rely on our own examples.15 The student in § 185 clearly does not know, or refuses to play, the language- game of writing down a series as we do. Hence, if we want to say about him that he does what we do, we must teach him this language-game. ‘‘Teaching would here be something like ‘showing them what we say and do’, and ‘accepting what they say and do as what we say and do’, etc.; and this would be more than we know, or can say’’ (CR, 178). This teaching, call it initiation into our ‘‘form of life’’ (we will return to this notion later), involves both us showing the child what we do and how we react and act in certain circumstances (we are an example), and a response from the child that we are able to call ‘‘following an instruction.’’ Hence, the question about what determines meaning is a matter of how we teach and what we count as learning to do what we do just as much as it is a matter of children’s responses to our instructions. In a sense, it is a matter of self-knowledge — knowledge of what we count as belonging to our ‘‘we’’ — to our linguistic community. What we search for is a knowledge about what we count as ‘‘appropriate projections of words and concepts into further contexts’’ when any projection is possible. Still, it is a frightening fact that nothing ensures that we will be understood when we project a word into a new context. Nevertheless, this is a necessary condition for language to work the way we want it to. There are always new conditions to be met, new objects, new perceptions and relationships, and this means that the learning of language is never complete. We continuously develop language and our linguistic capacities. If language were closed by something final, determining meaning, this open-endedness in language acquisition would not be possible. It means that our concepts in ordinary language may have ‘‘blurred’’ edges (PI § 70), which is what Wittgenstein’s game analogy is supposed to elucidate. Wittgenstein maintained that we call many different activities ‘‘games,’’ including board games, card games, ball games, Olympic games, children playing with a ball, and so on. Instead of being captivated (and held captive) by our picture 14. Cavell, Philosophy the Day After Tomorrow, 204. 15. Cavell, Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome, 72 – 73. Johansson Philosophy of Dissonant Children 477 of games, presuming that there must be something in common for everything we call games, Wittgenstein exhorts us to look and see (PI § 66). When we ‘‘look’’ at the different contexts in which the word ‘‘game’’ is projected, we find that there is not one feature common to all of them. Rather the similarities can be characterized as ‘‘family resemblances’’ (PI § 67). The phenomena we call ‘‘games’’ are like members in a family where some share the same color of eyes, others the size of feet, others certain dispositions, and so on. Language is in this sense inclusive and tolerant to variation. On the other hand, language (that is, our ordinary language), in this view, is equally intolerant to variations. By projecting ‘‘game’’ into some contexts and not others, we exclude possible projections of a word from our practice.16 These two aspects are brought to our attention when we consider children’s dissonant reactions to their teachers’ instructions or questions. For example, the student in § 185 does not respond to his teacher in a way that we could accept as following the instruction. We would even say that he does not understand the instruction. However, we can, if we try, understand the student’s expressions. We can recognize a pattern in how the student continues his series, and we can interpret his response and with a little effort explicate what he is doing. This would not be possible if rigid limits, like rules or universals, determined ordinary language use. Because of the ‘‘tolerance principle,’’ we understand the student’s behavior, and because of the ‘‘intolerance principle,’’ we do not count his response as following the instruction he was given. We admit that we can say to the student: ‘‘I understand what you’re writing [we take the student’s words to be our words], but I can’t see your point (the point, say, of writing it now, or of saying it to me, or of saying it like that): that is to say I can’t understand you.’’17 That is to say, we would understand these words in another context, but we do not understand what 16. Wittgenstein gives an illustration of how tolerance is a condition for language to work for us in PI § 107. To show how philosophers tend to require language to be ‘‘crystal clear’’ and fit into our views of logic, he wrote, ‘‘We have got on to slippery ice where there is not friction and so in a certain sense the conditions are ideal, but also, just because of that, we are unable to walk. We want to walk; then we need friction’’ (my translation; following Cavell I prefer translating ‘‘dann’’ as ‘‘then’’ instead of, as in Anscombe’s translation, as ‘‘so’’). We need the friction of not being completely comprehendible to each other — which is a result of the tolerance principle — to be able to comprehend each other at all. This kind of analogy is fruitful since the principles of tolerance and intolerance are called for when we are uncertain of our abilities and willingness to go on together. To be able to walk together, we must realize our need to walk together and be willing to walk together in moments of opposition. If we want to go on together, we need ‘‘rough ground’’ and the threat of incomprehensibility, since the ice of ideal linguistic conditions makes it impossible to comprehend dissonant individuals who do not speak ideally. If we want to walk with them, then we need to accept the friction of such a walk. (The change of the connective [‘‘so’’ to ‘‘then’’] is an indication that what is at work here is a Wittgensteinian turning of the examination around our real need [PI § 108]). See Stanley Cavell, This New Yet Unapproachable America: Lectures after Emerson after Wittgenstein (Albuquerque, New Mexico: Living Batch Press, 1989), 55 – 56. This work will be cited as UA in the text for all subsequent references. This thought developed in conversation with Gabriel Sandberg and as a response to clarifications asked for by an anonymous reviewer. 17. Avner Baz, ‘‘On When Words Are Called For: Cavell, McDowell, and the Wording of the World,’’ Inquiry 46, no. 4 (2003): 483. 478 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 60 Number 4 2010 the student is doing now (CR, 215). In a very ordinary manner the student brings to light the grammar (criteria) of our language-game of writing a series of cardinal numbers. Having done this, we are in a position to, as Wittgenstein did with our traditional ‘‘philosophical language-games,’’ examine the point of such games. Do we really do what we want to do, and believe we do, with these games? For Wittgenstein the point of introducing dissonant children in this discussion is twofold. First, the intention is to elucidate how dissonant children draw our attention to the grammar of our language-games. Hence, the philosophical problem of justifying our linguistic practices and creating determinate theories of meaning transforms into a practical problem of recognizing the everyday uses of our words, or our everyday practices. The dissonant child provides a way for us (philosophers and adults) to turn our investigation toward the everyday uses of language. If we let them, dissonant or radically different children can elucidate important aspects of ourselves. Second, dissonant children elucidate the ‘‘terrifying’’ fact that there is always a possibility that we do not understand one another. This reminds us of, and forces us to acknowledge, the groundlessness of our language-games and the possibility of the ‘‘crisis of consent’’ that is intrinsic in educational practices. Nothing ensures that instructions will be followed in the way teachers expect and desire. Our Human Forum of Life What does it mean that we agree in our use of words, or, as Cavell puts it, that ‘‘we agree in all the whirl of organism that Wittgenstein calls ‘forms of life’’’? We have seen that Cavell refers to our agreement, or our ‘‘attunement,’’ as an element of our form of life, of us ‘‘sharing routes of interest and feeling, modes of response, senses of humor and of significance and of fulfillment,’’ and so on. Wittgenstein says that ‘‘what has to be accepted, the given, is . . . forms of life’’ (PI II, 192). What has to be accepted is, if I understand, our humanity. It has been suggested that this notion, form of life, is the pedagogical notion in Wittgenstein.18 One may wonder, then, what is this human form of life that we share? There are two primary directions taken by the interpretations of Wittgenstein’s text that reveal different tendencies in understanding the notion. I label these directions the social interpretation and the natural interpretation. Both of these fail to account for what Wittgenstein seems to have meant by ‘‘form of life.’’ This is clear when we consider how we understand recalcitrant children. The failure of these accounts reveals a tendency in our theorizing about radical difference. The social interpretation emphasizes the idea that form of life is something children are initiated into. Philosophers of education such as Paul Smeyers and James Marshall have argued that ‘‘this initiation is quite evidently socially 18. Paul Smeyers and James Marshall, ‘‘The Wittgensteinian Frame of Reference and Philosophy of Education at the End of the Twentieth Century,’’ in Philosophy and Education: Accepting Wittgenstein’s Challenge, ed. Paul Smeyers and James Marshall (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic, 1995), 17. Johansson Philosophy of Dissonant Children 479 sanctioned.’’ To be a part of the human form of life is, according to Smeyers and Marshall, to be ‘‘grasped in human order.’’19 This, however, would mean that there is a tension in Wittgenstein that is speaking through Smeyers and Marshall. Our form of life would be what is given and determined by our social sanctions of each other’s behavior. The idea of social sanctions that govern our social practices or our form of life seems to be incompatible with Wittgenstein’s idea that there is nothing that determines what counts as doing what we do. The natural interpretation emphasizes the biological aspect of humanity. What is given, and what has to be accepted as what determines our possible ways of speaking and acting, is our nature as biological creatures. It is reasonable to say that our biologically determined practices lie beyond justification and further explanation. This interlinks ‘‘form of life’’ with other important notions in Wittgenstein such as ‘‘natural reaction’’ and ‘‘natural history.’’ Our form of life in this sense consists of the capacities and reactions that humans have in common. The language-games we play and the social practices we are engaged in are a result of our natural history — the history of what we have done in the past — and our natural reactions — our reception of these past activities in the present (PI § 25, compare with § 415). Whether or not we can play a language-game, of the past or one created in the present, is a matter of social and individual contingencies rather than the necessities of what is given in our form of life. However, the recital of § 185 reveals a different aspect of the notion. Wittgenstein compares the student’s reaction to that of ‘‘a person [who] naturally reacted to the gesture of pointing with the hand by looking in the direction of the line from the finger-tip to wrist, not from wrist to finger-tip.’’ Would this mean that, just as in the social interpretation of ‘‘form of life,’’ a person that does not conform to the structures of a given social order cannot be grasped in human order, or as in the natural interpretation, a child who does not share our natural reaction is not fully human? So, even though forms of life as our natural history and natural reactions are given, we can deny them or fail to share them with others. What then are the common factors in our form of life? It is quite obvious that the differences between our different practices and language-games are important to Wittgenstein (see, for example, PI § 130, 290, and 304). Human (linguistic) activities do not always work the same way or have the same purpose. This is a condition given in the human form of life.20 Still, the natural reaction of the student in § 185 is a reaction that, if it is natural, he ought to share with us, but that he does not. The actual possibility of dissonance makes it difficult to understand this interpretation of Wittgenstein’s notion. 19. Ibid., 9 and 17. 20. Newton Garver, This Complicated Form of Life: Essays on Wittgenstein (Chicago: Open Court, 1994), 266. 480 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 60 Number 4 2010 The problem with these understandings of ‘‘form of life’’ is that dissonant children, or their reactions, do not always fit into our preconceptions of what a natural or social human reaction is. One could say that the problem arises because of our natural tendency to misunderstand radical difference. Further, one could question how any notion of something that is given, and must be accepted, is reconcilable with the principles of tolerance in our linguistic practices. In addition, how shall we understand the possibility of dissonance if we must accept our forms of life as something given? There appears to be a ‘‘must’’ in the idea that we only accept each other’s behavior as long as we share the same natural reactions or socially trained behavior. This is the essential problem for both the natural and the social interpretation of ‘‘form of life.’’ We try to resolve our uneasiness in facing the dissonant child by seeking such a ‘‘must,’’ but whatever is taken as such a ‘‘must’’ faces the possibility of dissonance as well and is subject to the same kind of uneasiness. Cavell has described this sense of being uneasy as being lost, as ‘‘a loss of self-knowledge’’ (UA, 36 – 37). And Wittgenstein claims, ‘‘A philosophical problem has the form I don’t know my way about’’ (PI § 123). The therapy we need in order to resolve our uneasiness ought to bring us back where we ‘‘find our way around’’; to a place where we are not worried; as Wittgenstein put it, to a homeland. Instead of persisting in using words to articulate the ‘‘musts’’ we use in philosophical reasoning, or as a response to dissonant children and radical difference, Wittgenstein exhorted us to ask ourselves, ‘‘Is the word ever actually used in this way in the language which is its original home?’’ And about his own philosophical methods, he said, ‘‘What we do is to bring our words back from their metaphysical use to their everyday use’’ (PI § 116).21 For Cavell, the philosophical confusion that we find ourselves lost in cannot only be remedied by bringing our words back, but also by bringing our lives back to the ordinary (UA, 35). I claim that, instead of leading us astray, the dissonance in children’s behavior can, if we let it, elucidate our ordinary practices, our homeland. This ‘‘therapy’’ offered by and for our meetings with dissonant children as a part of our form of life coincides with Cavell’s treatment of philosophical skepticism. The sense of being lost in the face of radical difference is analogous to the threat epistemologists find in skeptical narratives. The skeptical and dissonant threat lies in the questioning of our intellectual and social practices. Dissonant children 21. There is an apparent tension with what I said earlier regarding Cavell’s idea of projecting words into new contexts. One may ask, ‘‘Why is it necessary to ‘bring our words back’ when we make philosophical projections of words such as ‘knowledge,’ ‘being,’ ‘object,’ ‘I,’ or even ‘form of life’?’’ However, this tension is only apparent. The difference between the ‘‘philosophical’’ projections of these words and other new projections is that the philosophers (epistemologists) fail to do what they aim to do with their projections. The philosopher who searches for the essence of a concept will constantly fail to project the word into a meaningful context. Nonetheless, it is important to recognize that these kinds of philosophical projections are always possible, even with Wittgenstein’s own expressions, which means that there is no final solution of the problems of philosophy. The philosophical battle against language is a part of our human condition. The issue is rather about which attitude we should take toward this possibility. Johansson Philosophy of Dissonant Children 481 make us aware that the common understanding of our form of life, or idea of what is human, fails. Our problem is our inability to be satisfied with the fact that we cannot once and for all define concepts such as ‘‘form of life’’ and ‘‘human.’’ If these misconceptions of the notion of ‘‘form of life’’ are due to philosophical uses of the notion, what then is the ‘‘original home’’ of the notion? Given the tolerance and intolerance principles, there is no distinguishable unchangeable use of any term. Every concept can be projected into new contexts. This is true of many of the technical key concepts of the Investigations, such as ‘‘form of life.’’ Since it is our, or even and especially my, worries and sense of being lost that are being treated, I can only make use of Wittgenstein’s ‘‘therapies’’ as long as I make his concepts my own (which is one reason, I believe, why Wittgenstein was so cautious about not defining many of his key concepts). This is important because any definition and explanation of a concept can be dissatisfying for us, since that will exclude some applications of the concept. In the original home of ‘‘form of life,’’ as Wittgenstein used the term, ‘‘there are no criteria for what does exhibit a form of life’’ (UA, 43). Thus, it is important that the term can be interpreted both in the natural and the social direction. According to Cavell, there are both ‘‘ethnological and . . . biological directions or perspectives encoded in the phrase.’’22 Given that ‘‘grammar tells what kind of object anything is’’ (PI § 373), and that there is no clear grammar for what exhibits a ‘‘form of life,’’ the responsibility for how to use the notion in a way that avoids losing ourselves in philosophical confusion lies with us. We can shape the grammar or criteria of the concept ‘‘form of life.’’ Because it is our form of life, we also shape life itself, and we hold the responsibility for the effects of doing so. This should not be understood as a form of relativism. We are responsible for our form of life not because we have reasons for living this life rather than other possible forms of life, but because it is our form of life, it consists of our lives. Our form of life cannot serve as an epistemic foundation justifying our practices. Rather, form of life is our practices, what and who we are, our natural history and our present sociality; and this is supposed to treat our need for, and dissatisfaction with, epistemic justifications. Taking this responsibility, Cavell recognizes that ‘‘it is inconvenient to question a convention, that makes it unserviceable, it no longer allows me to proceed as a matter of course; the paths of action, the paths of words are blocked’’ (CR, 125). Dissonant children are asking such inconvenient questions, and our tendency to answer them by referring to things other than ourselves — our actual practices or use of words — is what drives us toward skepticism. Additionally, dissonant children threaten our very nature and understanding of ourselves as human. Of course we, as teachers, parents, and elders, feel lost in such situations. Regardless, even though the questions as such might drive us to speak nonsense, they are important, and dissonant reactions are elucidating. Commenting on 22. Stanley Cavell, ‘‘Notes and Afterthoughts on the Opening of Wittgenstein’s Investigations,’’ in Philosophical Passages: Wittgenstein, Emerson, Austin, Derrida (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 158; and Cavell, This New Yet Unapproachable America, 41 – 42. 482 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 60 Number 4 2010 § 19 of the Investigations — ‘‘to imagine a language means to imagine a form of life’’ — Cavell writes, In philosophizing, I have to bring my own language and life into imagination. What I require is a convening of my culture’s criteria, in order to confront them with my words and life as I pursue them and as I may imagine them; and at the same time confront my words and life as I pursue them with the life my culture’s words may imagine for me: to confront the culture with itself, along the lines in which it meets me. This seems to me a task that warrants the name of philosophy. It is also the description of something we might call education. In the face of the questions posed by Augustine, Luther, Rousseau, Thoreau. . . , we are children; we do not know how to go on with them, what ground we may occupy. In this light philosophy becomes the education of grown-ups. (CR, 125, emphasis added) This education for grown-ups is a matter of recognizing not only our everyday linguistic practices (use of words), but also of recognizing our humanity, our form of life. Our words, thoughts, and practices are a part of the human form of life and that is the context in which they are significant. It is not a matter of avoiding the philosophical questions that we are provoked to reflect upon by dissonant children; quite the opposite. These questions are a part of our human form of life but we do not need to answer them. Rather we ought to use them to rediscover our educational culture and our educational form of life. As Cavell puts it, ‘‘The anxiety in teaching, in serious communication, is that I myself require education. And for grown-ups this is not natural growth, but change’’ (CR, 125). In investigating the concept ‘‘form of life,’’ this is what we should do. We should bring our culture and our understanding of ourselves into imagination by bringing our form of life into imagination. Nonetheless, we treat dissonant children as skeptics who question our practice. In meeting them, we want our practices to take the responsibility of being meaningful and significant. This is a struggle with our human condition, a condition that we persistently try to transcend by arguing with skeptics or children (UA, 56 – 57). Dissonance and Skepticism That we agree in forms of life does not mean that everyone is performing identical actions (what would that mean anyway?), but rather that what is done is accepted as what we do. Wittgenstein claimed that ‘‘it is what human beings do say that is true and false; and they agree in the language they use. That is not agreement in opinions but in form of life’’ (PI § 241). Cavell’s interpretation of the German original is clearer. In the German text, Wittgenstein wrote ‘‘Übereinstimmung’’ in place of ‘‘agreement’’ and ‘‘in der Sprache stimmen die Menschen überein’’ instead of ‘‘agree in the language they use.’’ ‘‘Stimmen’’ can also be translated as ‘‘attune,’’ as in tuning a musical instrument (CR, 31 – 32). ‘‘Attunement,’’ however, does not suggest the same conformity as ‘‘agreement’’ does. Musical attunement is more a harmony between different voices — a chord or a melody requires more than one voice, pitch, or length of tone that can be recognized as part of the same tune, chord, or melody, as well as heard as distinctly different. In suggesting that skeptical worry is a human condition, Cavell directs our attention to the fragility of our attunement. As has already been pointed out, and as Johansson Philosophy of Dissonant Children 483 evident when considering dissonant children, nothing ensures that we will share the same reactions or that we call the reactions we share by the same name. It is equally important to recognize that we sometimes are out of tune, in dissonance (CR, 32). This means that even though we might not believe the skeptic, in a sense we live skepticism, since in our form of life skeptical reasoning will always be a threatening possibility — it is a picture that is repeated in our forms of language. According to Espen Hammer, this means that ‘‘scepticism should be viewed less as an intellectual problem than as an existential challenge or temptation, one which rationalizes a standing threat to our attunement; and as such it needs to be elucidated and explained, in short, acknowledged rather than refuted.’’23 In this sense, the child of § 185 illustrates the truth of skepticism by not sharing our reactions or by playing out of tune; and we may need to reform our conception of harmony in order to be able to hear the beauty of dissonance instead of trying to avoid it. Learning can be understood both as when a child accepts what the teacher does and when a teacher acknowledges what a child does. Given that we can acknowledge dissonant children’s reactions, we can conceive dissonant children as geniuses or disobedient sensibilities instead of merely as problems we have to deal with. Cavell exemplifies this through his discussion of Henry David Thoreau: ‘‘Thoreau calls himself disobedient, but what he means is not that he refuses to listen but that he insists on listening differently while still comprehensibly. He calls what he does revising (mythology)’’ (UA, 44). The child becomes a teacher of the new culture that we are transforming toward. Cavell suggests that, rather than refusing to take responsibility for how the practice that is taught is performed, the teacher presents him- or herself as an example and representative of the community that is engaged in the practice.24 This is in opposition to an understanding of elders as final judges for how our practices are to be performed. The only thing left for the good teacher to do is to draw the attention of the other, the dissonant child, ‘‘through accommodating herself to the singularity of her pupil.’’25 However, because there is nothing that teachers do or say that justifies their practice beyond doubt, no pre-given fact nor any sort of social norms, she must earn her authority to speak as a representative for the child.26 At the moment of instruction the teacher’s ‘‘power comes to 23. Espen Hammer, Stanley Cavell: Scepticism, Subjectivity and the Ordinary (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2002), 65. 24. Cavell has argued that the ordinary language philosopher introduces him- or herself as an example. The ordinary language philosopher produces an example (in Wittgenstein, an ‘‘object of comparison,’’ see PI § 131) of an ordinary way of using a philosophically burdened concept (such as ‘‘thought,’’ ‘‘perception,’’ ‘‘knowledge,’’ and the like). In doing so he or she lays out a way of doing or saying something that is to be followed. This example shows the way the ordinary language philosopher does and says things: his or her claim is that he or she does so as a representative of us. This is an invitation by the ordinary language philosopher for readers to acknowledge his or her ways as their ways. See Sanford Shieh, ‘‘The Truth of Skepticism,’’ in Reading Cavell, ed. Alice Crary and Sanford Shieh (Oxon: Routledge, 2006). 25. Hammer, Stanley Cavell, 27. 26. Cavell, Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome, 76 – 78. 484 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 60 Number 4 2010 an end’’ (CR, 122). Consequently, teachers must allow their students to make sense of themselves. Mere conformity is never enough for a mutual agreement (CR, 383). Children must find their own way out of the isolation of nonacceptance by their elders. Hence, just as teachers need to attract their students to their unjustified example, the dissonant students must attract their elders to see the harmony in their ways. Consequently, to come to agreement the child has the full responsibility both of making themselves and their interlocutors intelligible. The responsibility for reaching agreement with my students is mine. I should make myself intelligible and make my students intelligible to me. This acknowledgment means meeting, not half way (the metaphor of distance is of no use here), just meeting in agreement, in attunement, in harmony. Indeed, this vision is as simple as it is terrifying. We are naturally worried about what will happen if we change our mathematical practice to fit the reactions of Wittgenstein’s student, but we do not really need to change our practice, we just need to acknowledge that there are other ways to go about it and thus change ourselves. That we acknowledge the child does not mean that we do as the child does, and acknowledging seems to me difficult enough. How then, do we overcome our fears and anxieties and acknowledge the child? How are we to overcome our anxiety over whether our educational practices will end in crisis, dissonance, and disagreement? I believe that this is the question for philosophy of education. This is surely a task that deserves to be called education for grown-ups, a task and activity I call ‘‘philosophy of dissonant children.’’ ‘‘Reading’’ Children, Hearing Harmony in Dissonance, and Philosophy as an Educational Conversation I have suggested that philosophy ought to be considered as education for grown- ups. Dissonant children can become teachers of our culture’s criteria (UA, 75). To clarify the therapeutic aspect of how a culture is found(ed) when the children work as teachers, we can turn to the style of the philosophical method of Wittgenstein as Cavell inherits it. This turn to the method is explicitly concerned with how we are to come to terms with the worries and anxieties that are intrinsic in teaching. To Cavell, philosophy is not a set of problems to be solved, but a set of texts to be read (CR, 3 – 5).27 This is not a matter of reading to be able to master the text — for example, to be able to write a good commentary on the text — or reading to be able to criticize or defend the argument of a text. Cavell talks about reading a philosophical text as challenging our self-understanding (CR, 3 – 6).28 Reading a philosophical text should be a kind of conversation between the reader and the writer (and the text itself is a conversation with other texts). Hilary 27. See also Michael Payne, ‘‘Introduction,’’ in Cavell, Philosophical Passages, 2; and Michael Peters, ‘‘Wittgensteinian Pedagogics: Cavell on the Figure of the Child in the Investigations,’’ Studies in Philosophy and Education 20, no. 2 (2001): 128. 28. See also Hammer, Stanley Cavell, 30 – 31. Johansson Philosophy of Dissonant Children 485 Putnam expresses this by describing Cavell as ‘‘a writer who always speaks to individuals — and that means, one at a time.’’ Further, Putnam exclaims that ‘‘to read Cavell as he should be read is to enter into a conversation with him, one in which your entire sensibility and his are involved, and not only your mind and his mind.’’29 This means that, to read Cavell, we must not only recognize what he says, but also how he says it — philosophical content is inseparable from the presentational style. Another way to put this is to say that the purpose of the philosophical text is pedagogical; it is to teach us, its readers, to see new aspects of ourselves. This is true of Wittgenstein’s Investigations.30 Wittgenstein wrote about his own text that he would not like it ‘‘to spare other people the trouble of thinking. But, if possible, to stimulate someone to thoughts of his own’’ (PI, xe, emphasis added). Hence, to read the Investigations is to let oneself be provoked by the multiplicity of voices in the text. As readers of the text we recognize in ourselves the temptations, impulses, and insights of the voices in the text. I let the text speak representatively for me, letting the text express my temptations and impulses and thus prompt me to reflect on my own condition. Taking the text to speak for me means acknowledging the writer’s ways as my own ways. Recognizing this, we also identify the voices in the Investigations that belong to dissonant children (perhaps Wittgenstein’s own recalcitrant voice). The analogy between the dissonant child and the philosophical text as something that can provoke a change in our self-conceptions is evident. The practical consequences for education, in this view of the purpose of philosophy, are that if philosophy is a set of texts to be read, then, in educational reality, this means a set of persons to be met. Accordingly, meeting and conversing with dissonant and disobedient children can be a form of philosophy of education. Instead of being a problem that we as educators have to deal with, our dissonant children’s ‘‘disobedience’’ and our efforts to meet them in agreement may call for a revision of our cultural identities and practices. Rather than being the problem itself, the radically different assists in dissolving the problem. Because children bring our culture into imagination and help us recognize the criteria for our practices, these children stabilize the ordinary by making it visible for us. The method to treat our worry is thus, in a Cavellian spirit, to ‘‘read’’ our dissonant children (see CR, 356). As we identify ourselves as educators and as humans, in meeting children we are engaged in teaching both our students and ourselves. This view is difficult to accept; we are not inclined to hear the harmony in what we conceive as children’s dissonance. However, the therapeutic aim is to slow down the teachers’ reaction, to help teachers actually listen to a child’s reasons for his 29. Hilary Putnam, ‘‘Philosophy as the Education for Grownups: Stanley Cavell and Scepticism,’’ in Reading Cavell, ed. Crary and Shieh, 119. See also Cavell, The Claim of Reason, 3 – 5; and Cavell, Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome, 79. 30. The idea that Wittgenstein’s philosophical style is pedagogical has been argued in Michael Peters and James Marshall, Wittgenstein: Philosophy, Postmodernism, Pedagogy (London: Bergin and Garvey, 1999), see esp. chaps. 9 and 10. 486 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 60 Number 4 2010 or her behavior with the humility of a child or student, rather than to presume how the child must behave or what the child needs to know or discover.31 Since skepticism and the possibility of dissonance are part of our human condition, this therapeutic task is never final, but an ongoing education of educators. Since there is always a possibility that we will find children’s behavior dissonant, there will always be a need to clarify what troubles us, and a need to be reminded of the criteria in our practices and ways of thinking. The treatments I offer the troubled educator are to listen to the radically different children we meet, and to involve our entire sensibility in conversation with these children. Peace in education comes only by reading, conversing with, and responding to one child at a time.32 31. I owe this formulation to Stanley Cavell’s comment on an earlier draft of this essay (May 2008). 32. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Culture and Value (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 44. IN WORKING ON THIS ESSAY I benefited immensely from encouraging comments from Klas Roth. I have also benefited from, and been deeply inspired by, Naoko Saito’s work on Cavell in educational contexts, in particular her The Gleam Light: Moral Perfectionism and Education in Dewey and Emerson (New York: Fordham University Press, 2005). Reading the sixth chapter of that work gave me the initial idea for this essay. I thank Niclas Rönnström, Adrian Thomasson, Paul Smeyers, Naoko Saito, and Stanley Cavell for commenting on early drafts of this text. Additionally, I thank Margie Christensen and Mary Anne Kochenderfer for proofreading the manuscript. Any remaining faults are of course my own. 
work_czggij7udbhxvfs6kyxj65se34	----	JPH304714.qxd The Evolving Relationship Between Open Space Preservation and Local Planning Practice Stephan J. Schmidt Cornell University This work argues that open space has been utilized by local planning practice for numerous reasons that have reflected the shifting concerns of the planning profes- sion since the nineteenth century. An intellectual movement that romanticized nature as distinct from social processes and a changing political economy made it possible for open space to serve an interventionist role in addressing social con- cerns. Consequently, open space has been used to address urban concerns of health and sanitation, suburban concerns of exclusionary zoning, and more recently, to protect ecological functions and guide urban development. This has prevented a more thorough examination of the relationship between nature and society. Keywords: nature; planning practice; open space preservation; parks movement; suburban exclusion; environmental planning T he use of open space as either a tool or normative goal of plan mak- ing has a long and complicated history in local planning practice. As an object of plan making, contemporary planners cite a myriad of justifications for incorporating open space into local plans. Open space preservation is construed and justified as serving social ends (parks, recre- ational ball fields, picnic areas) sustaining ecological systems (forest pre- serves, riparian greenways) or local economies (farmland preservation), or to protect quality of life (amenity creation or property-value protection) as part of a larger “smart growth” agenda. The inclusion of open space preser- vation into the plan making process also provides a powerful rhetorical tool, as plans are often justified based on the degree to which they incorporate or protect open space. At the local level, land is preserved as open space through a variety of innovative tools including large lot zoning, incentives, preferential tax assessment, fee simple acquisition, or conservation ease- ment. Regardless of either the method or stated purpose of preservation, a JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY, Vol. 7, No. 2, May 2008 91-112 DOI: 10.1177/1538513207304714 © 2008 Sage Publications common theme that runs through any preservation agenda is the preven- tion of land from being developed. This work argues that these multiple (and sometimes contradictory) jus- tifications and roles reflect the changing concerns of the evolving planning profession since the nineteenth century. These concerns were influenced by intellectual elites who romanticized nature as possessing inherent moral value and as distinct from society, and as a response to a changing political economy. Conceptualizing natural processes as distinct and external from social processes has made it possible for open space to serve an interven- tionist role in planning practice. However, as David Schuyler points out in The New Urban Landscape (1986), this has allowed planners to appropri- ate open space as a means to address social concerns and as a response to changing socioeconomic and demographic patterns over time. For example, planners utilized open space during the progressive era to address urban concerns of health and sanitation through park provision. As suburban areas grew, often at the expense of cities, open space served exclusionary ends, particular through suburban zoning practices. More recently, open space has been preserved to protect ecological functions and guide urban development. The separation of social from natural processes has prevented a more thorough examination of the relationship between nature and society. This is problematic as it allows open space to serve specific inter- ests and has exacerbated tension over what constitutes open space. The Changing Nature of American Antiurbanism Preventing land from being developed is often a key argument for pre- serving open space. This has consequently been justified and defended by tapping into popular antiurban sentiment, which is generally attributed as originating in England. Robert Fishman attributes English rejection of cities (initially by the wealthy) and consequent suburbanization as primarily a “cultural creation” beginning in the eighteenth century, which reflected changing family structure and patterns of domestication.1 This movement coincided with the romantic movement in the arts and literature that eschewed rationality in favor of a more organic “naturalism.” Central to this movement was the preservation of natural features and a celebration of what was perceived to be the “natural” English countryside (itself not nat- ural), which the wealthy went to great lengths to emulate. American intellectuals and elites, from Thomas Jefferson to Frank Lloyd Wright, have famously been dismissive of cities. This antiurban intellectual tradition is the subject of Morton and Lucia White’s influential book, The Intellectual Versus the City (1977). Their basic argument is that the lack of a traditional romantic attachment to the city has pervaded all levels of intellectual, social, and political thought to the present day. Jefferson him- self has come to personify the yearning for an “agrarian ideal,” consisting 92 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 of independent, property owning yeoman farmers. This ideal was “predi- cated on the political belief that farmers possessed the independence that would guarantee the survival of the nation’s republican institutions.”2 The extension of this argument is that as the majority of urban dwellers were propertyless, they therefore lacked the independence of their rural counter- parts. Consequently, urban areas did not comport with the republican ideal. In a sense, Morton and Lucia White are correct in stating that these ideals continue to inspire and guide intellectual and political decision making— the inherent rural bias of the current U.S. electoral system is just an example of this. However, as Schuyler points out, the agrarian ideology was transformed and came under revision during the nineteenth century. He notes that the Jeffersonian ideal is little more than a form of social organi- zation. Nature serves as little more than the background for an agrarian eco- nomic system. As the nineteenth century progressed, industrial capitalism was rapidly altering the relationship between society and nature. City dwellers were becoming increasingly detached from contact with nature, as modes of production became mechanized and wage labor became prevalent. Furthermore, it became clear that the assumed agrarian stability and self- sustaining yeoman farmer was giving way to a market economy, agricultural commercialization, and an increasingly mobile rural population, as home- steaders moved west in search of new lands. In short, agriculture itself was becoming a speculative venture, much like other sectors of the economy. Consequently, traditional agriculture as a moral force was increasingly replaced in the intellectual, artistic, and popular imagination by romantic landscapes, and an appreciation for natural scenery and untouched wilder- ness as a source for contemplation, morality, and spiritual renewal. The appreciation of the wilderness made its way into American culture first through an intellectual elite that drew on English romanticism and the pic- turesque style.3 As the nineteenth century progressed, wilderness preser- vation became an influential movement, and wilderness was celebrated in paintings of Thomas Cole, Frederick Church, and the Hudson River School, as well as the writings of James Fenimore Cooper, Henry David Thoreau, and John Ruskin, whose writings were particularly influential in equating morality with nature.4 Thus, the traditional Jeffersonian urban critique was subtly altered. No longer was an agrarian economic system seen as the cause for morality and civic virtue but rather the lack of contact with nature in urban areas was the problem. Following this logic, “the absence of nature in cities was the source of poor health, poor morals, and insanity.”5 Antiurbanism Within Context These changing perceptions were not isolated incidents or merely expressions of an elite-driven intellectual climate. Rather they were the Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 93 manifestation of larger transitions in the political economy. In his work The Country and the City, Raymond Williams discusses the changing percep- tion of both country and city throughout centuries as reflected in English literature. Commenting on changing perceptions of the city, he notes the following: We have to notice the regular sixteenth- and seventeenth-century association of ideas of the city with money and law, the eighteenth-century association with wealth and luxury; the persistent association, reaching a climax in the late eighteenth and nineteenth century, with the mob and the masses; the nineteenth- and twentieth- century association with mobility and isolation.6 He notes also that over time, the country has also radically altered its asso- ciations, from savage and wild to settlement and cultivation (i.e., the Jeffersonian ideal) to the idea of a rural retreat (an association that assumes mobility) and unspoiled nature. James Machor points out that these associ- ations (and consequent tensions) are predicated on the conviction that city and country embody diametrically opposed values, something which has been “affirmed, explicitly or implicitly, by social, intellectual, and literary historians.”7 Williams makes several observations which impinge on this discussion. First, he argues that associations of nature are rooted within their histor- ical context and are largely a response to changes in the political econ- omy. For example, he notes that although certain themes endure (such as the association of capital with the city), others, such as isolation, are rel- atively new phenomena, emerging only as a major theme during the industrialized phase of urban development during the nineteenth century. This is also the period that coincides with the shift in the American agrar- ian ideal that I have been describing. Second, Williams concludes that perceptions have less to do with the actual country or city per se than with a response “to a whole way of life largely determined elsewhere.”8 Williams concludes that associations of city and country therefore depend more on “class variations” than on any objec- tive reality of city or country. I would extend this analysis by noting that those who were promulgating a romantic image of an untamed, morally righteous nature were largely urban-based intellectuals. As Roderick Nash states in his classic study, Wilderness and the American Mind, “appreciation of wilderness began in the cities.”9 Thus, in a sense, country and city were trying to be what the other already was. As Schuyler notes, Settlers on the frontier employed the rectangular street plan to convey at least the appearance of urban civilization, while residents of cities on the eastern seaboard attempted, through the creation of public parks and suburbs, to restore aspects of the countryside.10 94 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 Third, Williams finds that complaints of rural change have long followed similar lines. Residents of rural areas, no matter their particular class affil- iation or time period, tend to resist changes in their (largely constructed) way of life. In resisting what is often perceived of as “imposed” change, similar arguments have been invoked throughout history, in particular, bemoaning the destruction of local community or indifference on the part of the outside (urban) world to the settled or customary ways of rural areas. We can draw several conclusions about the popular conceptualization of nature and wilderness, which had emerged by the middle of the nineteenth century. A transformation in American antiurbanism, itself a product of a shifting political economy and borrowed ideas, promulgated a conception of nature filled with romantic images and nostalgic emphasis of a pristine, untouched wilderness. Nature was no longer conceived of in the image of a rural economy but rather romanticized as the absence of urbanity and possessing inherent moral values. This conception tended to externalize nature as ontologically different from society and independent of social processes. As such, it comported well with existing enlightenment think- ing, which tended to objectify nature and society as separate realities. Despite this imagery, however, nature was, for the most part, interpreted through an urban lens. It is only through urban eyes that the romanticized image of nature could be constructed. This set up a contradiction. While nature was touted as ontologically distinct—the opposite of society—it was not nature per se that was of interest but rather its relationship with society and cities. Therefore, nature was susceptible to various interpretations which reflected the values of those doing the conceptualizing or revealed changes in the political economy rather than any sort of objective reality of nature itself.11 Given this context, it is therefore not a stretch to envision nature, or that component of nature I am concerned with—land, being appropriated to serve an interventionist role in addressing a variety of social and economic issues, from nineteenth-century concerns of urban immigration and rapid industrialization to twentieth-century concerns over suburban sprawl and quality of life. An interventionist role for open space benefits greatly from a conceptualization of nature as distinct or external from social processes. Such a conceptualization tends to identify nature as objective and free from social or political processes, often without a critical examination of the role open space serves in the planning profession. The Planning Profession and Open Space The nascent field of planning, which arose in the late nineteenth cen- tury, coincided with a period of rapid industrialization, political corrup- tion, increased immigration, overcrowding, squalor, and perceived moral Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 95 decay that characterized industrialized cities. Influenced by technological advances, scientific intervention into social decision making, and the belief that a pleasant environment would foster healthy, responsible citizens, early planners and civic reformers incorporated open space and built envi- ronment in two different ways. The first was inherently social and inclu- sive (urban parks), and the second focused on exclusivity (suburban residential development).12 The urban park movement embodied the interventionist role of nature serving as a means to address society’s moral concerns: if lack of exposure to nature was the source of society’s ills, then increasing exposure was surely the cure. Landscape Architect, Charles Eliot, equated the urban environment with vice and the degradation of society, noting that society had a patriotic and moral responsibility to address these conditions. In an address in Providence, Rhode Island, he noted the following: Our cities are our hotbeds of vice and crime. The herding of the very poor in city slums breeds a degraded race. The lack of opportunity for innocent recreation dri- ves hundred to amuse themselves in ways that are not innocent. . . . Civilization is not safe so long as any part of the population is morally or physically degraded; and if such degradation is increasing in our great towns. . . it is plainly the duty and the interest of all who love their country to do what they can to check the drift. If the experience of other cities has scientifically proved that certain improvements are sources of physical and financial advantage to the cities which introduce them, you cannot longer afford to do without them.13 In reaction to the monotonous grid-iron development, squalor, over- crowding, and unsanitary conditions of the industrializing city, a broad coalition of social reformers, physicians, civic leaders, landscape design- ers, and wealthy philanthropists envisioned the creation of large, civilized, public parks as a means both of integrating social classes and new immi- grants as well as addressing the overcrowding and lack of sanitary condi- tions in the industrialized city. The chief design team of New York’s Central Park consisted of Frederick L. Olmsted and Calvert Vaux. Although remembered as the father of the landscape architecture profession, Olmsted saw himself largely as a social reformer, concerned more with achieving social change through an aes- thetic experience.14 Andrew Jackson Downing, a contemporary of Olmsted and a fellow landscape architect who had originally proposed the creation of a 500-acre “People’s Park” for New York, saw in a park the ability to raise up “the working men to the same level of enjoyment with the man of leisure and accomplishment.”15 Olmsted was influenced by the architectural crit- ics, such as John Ruskin, who identified beauty in art and nature with morality and religion. It is in Ruskin’s writing that he found support for the thesis that beauty, “and particularly the beauty of natural landscape scenery—must be the means to improve the quality of life.”16 96 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 The social objectives of the park were three-fold. First, it would serve as the “lungs of the city,”17 providing access to cleaner air and a break in the monotony of the gridiron streets pattern. A landmark 1845 study titled The Sanitary Condition of the Laboring Population of New York by John Griscom expressed concerns over health conditions of the urban poor and called for improved sanitary regulations, a public water supply, public con- trol of building design, and increased access to open space.18 Olmsted argued that “air is disinfected by sunlight and foliage” and parks would serve to “supply the lungs with air screened and purified by trees, and recently acted upon by sunlight.”19 Advocate for the City Beautiful move- ment, lecturer, and author John Nolen commented the following: “They (parks) contribute to the pleasure and health of the urban population more than any other recreational feature, and furnish the most necessary and available antidote to the artificiality, confusion and feverishness of life in cities.”20 Those who advocated for wilderness preservation and the estab- lishment of a National Park system appropriated similar arguments about the healing power of nature to advance their cause.21 A similar effort to integrate open space provision with public health reform was the playground movement, which originated in Boston in the mid-1880s. Playground advocates argued that recreation could improve the mental, moral, and physical well-being of children. Charles Hughes, gover- nor of New York, put it most succinctly in an address to the 2nd annual con- gress of the Playground Association of America: “We want playgrounds for our own children into order that we may conserve the health of our people.”22 In defending the health benefits of parks, Charles Eliot approv- ingly cited Dr. William Pepper of Philadelphia, who noted that a recent decline in the city death rate was in part because of “opportunities given even the poorest citizens for the enjoyment of pure air in Fairmount Park.”23 Initially dependent on philanthropists to donate land, progressive reformers argued that it was the state’s responsibility to provide for this necessity: In as much as public education is now recognized as a proper function for public support, and playgrounds are a necessity for the well being of children, we believe that they should be on land owned by the city, and also that they should be oper- ated at the expense of the city.”24 Second, urban parks would act as a civilizing influence on the urban immi- grant masses. Like other reformers of his day, Olmsted was an environmen- tal determinist who believed that design could affect social behavior, and he argued that English landscaped parks would elevate both the character and condition of the lower classes. He believed that his parks would exercise “an immediate and very striking education influence” that would “soon manifest itself in certain changes to taste and of habits, consequently in the require- ments of the people.”25 Charles Eliot noted that not only the physical health of the population would improve but also their moral well-being, as well: Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 97 The removal of the children from the crowded streets to the quiet playgrounds, and the gathering of the neighbors from their narrow homes into the neat public squares when the labor of day is over, has worked in many places something like a moral rev- olution. Whoever has visited even one of the numerous public squares of Paris, Berlin, or Vienna, and has then watched the bearing and behavior of the common people, will ever afterward be an earnest advocate of public gardens.26 Third, parks would have larger consequences for civil society in general. Olmsted dismissed fixed class-based cultural divisions and was convinced of the value of class intermixing, arguing that parks (among other public institutions) will “be so attractive as to force into contact the good and bad, the gentlemanly and the rowdy.”27 In particular, he noted with pride of both Central Park and Prospect Park in Brooklyn: “All classes largely represented, with a common purpose. . . [y]ou may thus often see vast numbers of persons brought closely together, poor and rich, young and old, Jew and Gentile.”28 Noting that parks had fostered “social freedom, and an easy and agreeable intercourse of all classes” in an otherwise monar- chical Europe, Downing professed that the provision of green space was “worth imitating in our more professedly democratic country.”29 John Nolen expanded on this topic by expanding on the link between democracy and recreational open space: We need to make recreation more democratic. . . we need to make improvements which are for the benefit and enjoyment of everybody for the common good. . . [I]n political rights we have democracy enough. . . [B]ut we should now work for a wider democracy of recreation, for more opportunity to enjoy those forms of beauty and pleasure which feed and refresh the soul as bread does the body!30 Incorporating nature into the urban environment would therefore have the effect of civilizing society. However, Olmsted felt that the public was not ready for such an endeavor and would therefore need to be educated: “A large part of the people of New York are ignorant of a park, properly so called. They need to be trained in the proper use of it.”31 He was wary of grass roots participation and enforced a strict code of conduct and behavior in Central Park, which put him at odds with labor groups and social organizations that wished to use the park to rally.32 John Nolen commented that the planning and provision of open spaces should be controlled by experts: But few even of the more progressive communities appear yet to understand. . . that these open spaces. . . should be selected and developed by experts. . . and that failure to appreciate this fact. . . amounts to great waste and inefficiency in our public grounds.33 Whether or not these early parks were successful in addressing each of these objectives is another question. Historians have increasingly scrutinized the lofty ambitions of early reformers. Roy Rosenzweig and Elizabeth Blackmar note that working classes were not represented in 98 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 Central Park “in anything approaching their percentage of the population. Moreover different classes tended to use the park on different days of the week, at different times of year, and in different ways.”34 In short, the park was contested space. Nature as Middle Landscape The creation of an urban park system is inherently social, as it seeks to use nature to solve the perceived social problems of the day. However, it is not a great leap from recreating the country in the city to creating a true “middle” landscape, neither city nor country, yet combining elements of both. Therefore, open space was also appropriated by early planning efforts less for the lofty goals of social integration and urban reform, and more as means by which to separate residents from the perceived moral and physi- cal decay of urban areas. This “middle” landscape (or perhaps we should address it for what it really is—suburban) was promulgated by its early defenders as a state of balance between man and nature, a celebration of scenic qualities and social values. This newly created environment carried with it moral force. Olmsted, an influential advocate of the suburbs claimed that they were “the most attractive, the most refined, the most soundly wholesome form of domestic life.”35 Ironically perhaps, suburbanization was guided in part by progressive reform movements of the time, such as the Garden City movement, which advocated new towns surrounded by open fields as a means of addressing urban growth. Dolores Hayden argues that early suburbanization was partially influenced by various communitarian settlements, which sought to create model communities to “display material evidence of the superiority of their religious beliefs or political views.”36 The use of open space in suburban environments is characterized in a number of ways. First, through deliberate design intervention, early land- scape architects and planners imposed an artificial and romanticized image of nature through application of English picturesque design principles, cre- ating a built form that rejected the imposed rigidity of the cities, and emu- lated wild or natural beauty with irregular and broken lines. This was accomplished by incorporating winding streets instead of a gridiron pattern, the construction of appropriately styled “country” homes set back from the street, and the ubiquitous lawn. These design elements were appropriated as emblematic of the American wilderness. However, as Virginia Jenkins notes, the “lawn” had no tradition in America (in fact, no perennial or pasture grasses existed which could have constituted a lawn) but rather “an elite eighteenth century English land- scape tradition of lawns studded with trees was introduced into America in the latter part of that century. Wealthy Americans learned of the English Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 99 aristocratic tradition through books, paintings, and travel.”37 Through their influence, this style was consciously and laboriously recreated and packaged as “natural” to prospective residents. For example, Downing rec- ommended that his clients landscape in the “natural style”: [T]hat is, with a view to the production of natural beauty. This is effected by plant- ing the trees in irregular groups, or singly, in a manner somewhat similar to that in which they occur in nature, avoiding straight lines and parallel rows, because such lines indicate a formal art, never found in natural landscape. Nevertheless, to raise landscaping to the level of an art form and maintain class distinction, Downing recommends distinguishing landscape design from appearing too natural: At the same time, the effect will be not the less indicative of elegant art, which will be evinced 1st, In the employment of many exotic trees, or those obviously not natives of this part of the country. . . 2nd, In the space allowed for the trees to develop themselves fully in the lawn. . . and in more park-like forms. . .; and 3rd, In the manner in which the trees are arranged. The latter consists in concealing all objects which would not add to the beauty of the scene.38 Downing also recommended a strict maintenance regime to keep up appearances: As the lawn will be a great source of beauty in all places of this kind, it is important that attention should be paid to this feature. . . [N]o lawn will retain its freshness and ver- dure throughout our hot summers, unless particular attention is paid. . . Frequent mow- ing is necessary to insure that velvet-like appearance so much admired in English lawns.39 The English picturesque style did not remain the purview of the wealthy. Artists, writers, and magazines of the day popularized it. New landscape designers, such as Humphrey Repton, brought the picturesque and pas- toral within reach of the middle class, by “miniaturizing” the great estate and “educating” the middle class to appreciate their skills.40 Second, it was an inherently exclusive landscape being created. Olmsted, who had prided himself on the ability of Central Park to bring together a dif- ferent ethic and socioeconomic groups, noted that suburbs generally con- sisted of the “more fortunate classes”41 and had to confess about Riverside, his planned suburb of Chicago; “the laws of supply and demand compel me to work chiefly for the rich and to study rich men’s wants, fashions, and prejudices.”42 Thus, the ideal of a middle landscape took on exclusionary tones from the very beginning of the planned suburb. As Robert Fishman summarizes “Olmsted’s picturesque aesthetic and his attempt to envision a truly civilized community cannot be disentangled from the equally pressing aim of creating a tightly knit, exclusive society that would enjoy forever the unique benefits of its affluence.”43 Riverside quickly attracted the affluent, 100 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 who chose to abandon the city for the promises of suburban life. Similarly, Dolores Hayden argues that nineteenth-century-communitarian model set- tlements quickly lost their intent as “the quest for spirituality and new forms of community were replaced by the routines of buying into a leafy place with big houses and affluent neighbors” with residents turning instead to “exclusivity without any community activities.”44 She concludes that as housing is tied to the larger political economy, attempts to address social problems through model communities have always fallen. Third, early suburbanization involved the abandoning of the city by the upper classes, and hence, the industrialized world they had created, and were, to a large extent, still dependent on. Peter Schmitt notes that the development of the rural aesthetic was dependent on urban, industrial cap- ital: “The. . . Romantic’s distaste for city life was tempered. . . by the need for money to finance the ease of a ‘country gentleman’.”45 David Pepper also notes that the popularization of nature was largely a product of “those who lived in cities or whose family money came from industrial capital. Such elitist romanticism. . . favored noble simplicity over an industrial complexity, feeling over rationality, and aesthetics over utilitarianism.”46 Open Space and Suburban Exclusion However, the privatization of open space provision in suburban environ- ments required more than romantic sentimentality. Land is not intrinsically exclusionary but rather required legal and bureaucratic formalization as part of the planning process. During the early decades of the twentieth cen- tury, open space became formally legalized and institutionalized through suburban zoning and land use regulation. Using standardized collective con- trols—building codes, master plans, and zoning ordinances (in particular the minimum lot size), municipalities were able to confer on nature exclu- sionary properties, namely an ability to separate. In short, nature became urbanized. At the time, it was not evident that such regulatory intervention was possible, much to the chagrin of urban progressive reformers who saw reg- ulation of the built environment as a means of improving the physical and mental conditions of the urban poor, much like urban parks. John Nolen, writing in 1915, noted that public opinion was not, and in fact is not yet favorable to the strict public regulation and control of the laying out of residential neighborhoods. It is indeed very difficult to make an advance, even in sanitary requirements, in measures for the reduction of fire hazard, in the reasonable protection of light and air.47 In the late nineteenth century, the development of exclusionary suburban landscapes was largely undertaken through either restrictive covenants or Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 101 deed restrictions, which determined house style, minimal construction cost, and the race or religion of subsequent property owners. Olmsted was one of the first to fear encroachment on his beloved picturesque suburban villas and advocated for “new concepts of city planning” that promoted the separation of discrete districts.48 He realized that distance alone could not prevent encroachment, and he argued that what was needed was “to offer some assurance to those who wish to build villas that these districts shall not be bye and bye invaded by the desolation which has thus far invariably advanced before the progress of the town.”49 The use of restrictions, initially contested, soon became widely popular and a standard practice. In an address at the 5th annual convention of the National Association of Real Estate Exchange, J. C. Nichols, developer of the Country Club district of Kansas City noted how a greater understand- ing of the relationship between open space and exclusion led to a change in attitude and perception; “In the beginning, I did not feel we could afford to set aside the low and broken lands for parks and boulevards; now we are paying enormous prices for the privilege of affording our customers these parks.” Moreover, this relationship was not limited to public open spaces, but private lots as well: We now restrict certainly tracts of our land in 200 foot lots, 200–300 feet deep to $10,000–$25,000 homes, and find the more restrictions we can put upon, the more that property is sought by those wishing to build permanent residences. When we first began to elaborate upon restrictions which would safeguard the beauty and per- manence of the home. . . in detail, we were accused of transgressing upon property rights, and attempting to dictate the family affairs of our purchasers.50 As this became common knowledge, Nichols noted the manner in which he advertised changed dramatically: It was a long step from my first advertisement, which read “25-foot lots, 90 feet deep, no city taxes,” to advertising which read “spacious ground for permanently protected homes, surrounded with ample space for air and sunshine—among flowers, grass and shrubbery, all expressive of the owners ideas of beauty, health, and comfort.51 Zoning became more prevalent during the 1920s. Changing demographics and rapid urban expansion in the later nineteenth century led to an increased demand for greater state intervention in the structuring of urban space.52 The architect George Ford addressed the National Conference of City Planning in 1924 noting that 250 towns and cities across the United States had adopted zoning and commented approvingly on its popularity: Not one community that has once passed a zoning ordinance has revoked it. Not one city that has yet reported a case where the passage of a zoning ordinance has decreased any property values. . . [t]hat property owner appreciate zoning is 102 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 evidenced by the fact that they are proving very jealous of its invasion and they often throng hearing to protect their rights as established through zoning.53 Despite its urban origins, it is in suburban communities that zoning began to take on the scope and role with which we now identify it. Zoning was used by municipalities to address common environmental concerns through the privatization of open space: Zoning. . . aims to enforce fair play in the development and use of property by requiring all owners to contribute to the yards and open space of the neighborhood and thus prevent any owner from unduly cutting off or monopolizing the commu- nity’s common stock of light and air.54 More importantly, however, the particular American method of subdivid- ing a parcel into individual lots allowed developers and municipalities to fine-tune the zoning process by determining the minimum lot size. As Peter Abeles (1989) states the following Zoning and suburban America grew together. . . . [F]rom the simple one- or two- family zone of the 1920’s ordinances, it was soon found that one could [create value difference] between a single family house on a 5,000-square foot lot and one that was on a 7,500-square foot lot.”55 Rutherford Platt argues that the minimum lot size equated open space amenity provision with the creation of exclusionary environments: “Through minimum lot size requirements, local zoning privatized and enshrined the amenity function of open space, degrading it into an icon of white, upper- middle-class exclusivity.”56 Through zoning, the municipality was able to con- trol not only the physical design but also the type of people moving into the town by in essence, forcing each new homeowner to purchase a minimum amount of nature, in the form of a culturally appropriate yard. The landmark 1926 Supreme Court case, Euclid, Ohio v. Ambler Realty Co., established zoning as legal tool for planners and municipalities. Proponents defended it as a valid exercise of a municipality’s police power. In the majority opinion, Chief Justice Sutherland invoked nature as inte- gral to zoning, when he designated one of the goals of zoning to “preserve a more favorable environment.”57 The ambiguity of his language intrigues because it leaves open interpretations over what exactly constitutes a “favorable environment.” Filing an amicus brief on behalf of the village of Euclid, land use lawyer Alfred Bettman argued that “[Z]oning has. . . this purpose of promoting public health, order, safety, convenience, and morals by the promotion of favorable environmental conditions in which people live and work.”58 The equation of “environment” with “quality of life” as well as the amorphous interpretation of “favorable environmental condi- tions” continues today. Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 103 The Rise of Environmentalism Nevertheless, although often misinterpreted as such, zoning and land regulation are not planning. Indeed, relatively early on, it was clear that zoning was being misused. Although a defender of zoning, Alfred Bettman lamented the imposition of zoning control without proper planning, argu- ing that any zoning regulation should be based on “scientific study.”59 At a 1931 American City Planning Institute Conference, Martin Knowles commented the following: Experience has proved what should have been self evident from the beginning—that subdivision control is merely one of the tools with which to work in city planning; that in may ways it is an imperfect tool; and in any event is one which requires skill to properly use.60 However, in the years after World War II, open space preservation once again took center stage as both an object and method of local planning practice. Whether preserved as a park or codified into suburban zoning, preservation became subsumed within the larger environmental move- ment, which reached maturity during the 1970s. Gottlieb interprets the rise of the environmental movement as part of a complex of social movements that arose in response to rapid industrializa- tion and urbanization following World War II; a reaction to changes both in the mode of production (the chemical revolution, development of atomic energy, and proliferation of synthetic material) and consumption (massive- scale housing construction).61 Concern for the environment introduced a new “ecosystem” rationale for the preservation of open space. It was now to be preserved and used because it served specific ecosystem functions which were considered vital and important to life on earth. As planner S.B. Zisman wrote in 1965, “The great issue in planning is not where to build, but where not to build.”62 One of the most enduring impacts of the environmental movement has been the backlash against the idea of nature as something to be dominated or controlled by mankind. In its place, the environmental movement offered a more “ecocentric” view of the relationship between society and nature.63 This interpretation rejected the dominance of society over nature and instead urged a fundamental respect for nature. Landscape Architect Ian McHarg rejected earlier interpretations of nature as providing primarily social functions and instead saw nature in terms of its ability to sustain all life: “Clearly the problem of man and nature is not one of providing a deco- rative background for the human play, or even ameliorating the grim city: it is the necessity of sustaining nature as a source of life.”64 Another Landscape Architect, Michael Hough, is in fact dismissively of what he refers to as “formal” or designed (as opposed to natural) open space: 104 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 These two contrasting landscapes, the formalistic and the natural, the pedigreed and the vernacular, symbolize an inherent conflict of environmental values. The first has little connection with the dynamics of natural processes. Yet it has traditionally been held in high public value as an expression of care, aesthetic value and civic spirit. The second represents the vitality of altered but nonetheless functioning natural and social processes at work in the city. Yet it is regarded as a derelict wasteland in need of urban renewal.65 Despite the shifting emphasis in society’s relation to nature, however, the use of open space either to address social concerns or to protect ecological processes required the externalization of nature as distinct from society and independent of social processes. In fact, the environmental movement greatly benefited from a conception of natural processes as distinct from social processes, particular in its prioritization of scientific knowledge in the preservation decision-making process. Postwar Environmentalism and Suburbanization The environmental movement was not simply the purview of grassroots activists but quickly achieved mainstream acceptability, which I attribute to a number of factors. The first and most obvious reason for the growth of mainstream environmentalism was the plainly visible environmental rav- ages of industrial capitalism, such as the Cuyahoga River in Ohio catching fire on multiple occasions between the 1930s and 1960s.66 Events such as these captured national attention and are attributed to a number of regula- tory activities such as the Clean Water Act. Second, there was an increase in the number of professions that exam- ined nature as a scientific pursuit. A number of diverse fields, including ecology, civil engineering, geology, hydrology, and landscape architecture began to scientifically study the role that natural processes and features such as wetlands and aquifer recharge zones played in sustaining life.67 Third, the popularization of ecological thinking brought ecological issues to national attention. Books such as Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac and Rachael Carson’s Silent Spring brought ecological ideas and aesthetics into the mainstream of American life. William Whyte’s The Last Landscape examined innovative planning tools available to preserve open space. This postwar trend culminated with the publication of Ian McHarg’s Design with Nature, which combined the fields of ecology and planning together as a comprehensive system of sustainable development. Fourth, a new policy environment made state and federal funding available for open space acquisition. A 1960 study by the Regional Plan Association of New York titled The Race for Open Space concluded that the metropolitan area was in a race with private economic forces for increas- ingly scarce open land, much of which should be preserved as soon as pos- sible. Action at both the state and federal level soon followed. Unlike earlier Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 105 Federal efforts at land acquisition during the Depression that focused pri- marily on preservation as an economic development tool, the Land and Water Conservation Fund, created by Congress in 1964, provided matching grants to States and local governments for the acquisition and development of public open space. Criteria for acquisition ranged from recreational qual- ities to wildlife habitat to protecting scenic vistas. State-level programs, such as New Jersey’s Green Acres program, were also initiated. Similar arguments were often extended to agricultural land also threatened by encroaching suburban growth. Local and statewide efforts to protect farm- land were often defended using similar rhetoric. Fifth, the preservation of nature increasingly became associated as an indicator of suburban quality of life. As the majority of postwar growth and development occurred in the suburbs, the focus of planning shifted from the largely urban concerns of sanitation, congestion, and overcrowding to more suburban concerns of property value protection and enhancement of qual- ity of life. Critics of development increasingly relied on environmental rea- sons, such as the loss of open space and farmland, the fragmentation of natural habitat, and broader concerns over air and water quality in their effort to implement growth management legislation. This shift placed the suburban homeowner as a defender of environmentalism, with some schol- ars attributing the rise of the environmental movement itself to the growth of postwar suburbia.68 Several landscape architects have made open space preservation the central theme of subdivision designs.69 Increasingly, “natural” open space was the object of local preservation efforts. This was a marked departure from the past, as preserving wilderness areas had traditionally been the domain of the Federal government and municipalities seen as providers of more social open space. Local preserva- tion advocates used a benign language that emphasized the environmental aspects of preserving land, or portrayed nature as a means to maintain a municipality’s rural character or sense of place. As such arguments purport to serve natural goals, they benefit greatly from the perception of nature as objective and beyond the realm of the social. Local Planning Practice and Ecosystem Protection Environmentally driven open space preservation is predicated on the notion that nature provides certain ecoservices that would normally be undervalued in the private land market, and unless protected, would be unable to compete with urban land uses. The private land market would undervalue ecoservices because of the inherent difficulty of pricing biodi- versity, ground water infiltration area, impervious surfaces, species habitat, and a whole range of amenities which society benefits from in the long run. By protecting landscape that provides public goods, open space preservation 106 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 is ensuring something which the private sector would otherwise not pro- vide. Ian McHarg was an early advocate of relating open space preservation and ecological functions, and basing preservation decisions not so much on land’s social value but rather on sound science: There is need for an objective and systematic method of identifying and evaluating land most suitable for metropolitan open space based on the natural roles that it per- forms. These roles can best be understood by examining the degree to which natural processes perform work for man without his intervention, and by studying the pro- tection which is afforded and values which are derived when certain of these lands are undisturbed.70 According to McHarg, planners versed in scientific arguments and ecolog- ical rationales for preservation would greatly enhance the justifications for open space protection: “The arguments for providing open space in the metropolitan region, usually dependent on amenity alone, can be sub- stantially reinforced if policymakers understand and appreciate the oper- ation of the major physical and biological processes at work.”71 Rapid growth in suburban and exurban fringe areas and the expanded need to protect wetlands and aquifer recharge areas demanded new, more intense approaches to protect nature. The focus of the planning profession shifted to controlling or managing growth. In the 1970s, growth management was primarily concerned with controlling growth. Since then, it has evolved into a more broadly focused planning and governmental approach aimed at coordinating the development process. This is noted by the change in dis- course from that of “growth controls” to the more positive “smart growth.” As it is understood today, growth management uses planning, policy, and regulatory techniques to influence the allocation and distribution of new development across a designated area.72 Arthur Nelson identifies a primary objective of smart growth as directing development “to where facilities could serve it, and away from open spaces that society desired to preserve.”73 Environmental justifications have greatly expanded the scope, role, and actors involved in local open space preservation, as well greatly expanded the definition of what is meant by open space, and the criteria used in select- ing land to preserve. Under the rubric of growth management or smart growth, a range of innovative planning tools have been developed and used to protect and incorporate open space. These range from more traditional regulatory approaches, such as cluster zoning or large lot zoning, to incentive- based approaches, such as right-to-farm laws or preferential tax assessment, to direct public acquisition, which includes the transfer of development rights, conservation easement (purchase of development rights), and fee simple acquisition.74 The actors involved in local preservation have also changed. Although municipalities are still active, as demonstrated by the recent growth in state and local referenda on open space preservation,75 increasingly private land trust have become involved in local preservation, whether it be through direct acquisition, or education.76 The result has been Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 107 overlapping ownership and multiple public–private partnerships involved in protecting open space. Conclusion The preservation of open space continues to be used as both a means and an end, often simultaneously, of planning practice. In a review of open space preservation, Platt notes that “definite chronological divides may not easily be drawn, and individual sites usually serve more than one purpose”77 The creation of public open space in urban areas continues, and in fact has increased in recent years because of changes in zoning ordi- nances and other incentives, albeit through the private sector.78 Suburban open space provision has become more exclusive through the introduction of common-interest developments and gated communities. Moreover, envi- ronmentally motivated acquisition is no longer a solely a suburban under- taking. Increasingly, degraded urban environments are restored and reclaimed, under the premise that nature can and often does flourish in such environments.79 Open space preservation and provision is increas- ingly dominated by the private sector, through either corporations or land trusts. This has greatly increased the amount of open space but has raised issues regarding ownership and public accessibility. In short, the typology of local open space preservation and the manner in which local planners are involved has become increasing complex and less easy to characterize. Nevertheless, despite the variety of tools and justifications used in pre- serving open space, the actors involved in preservation, or whether open space is to be used for social or environmental ends, the externalization of nature as distinct from society and independent of social processes has prevented planners, politicians, developers, citizens, and society in gen- eral from addressing the complex and intricate manner in which society and nature overlap. Referring to Locke’s famous invocation of natural rights in defense of private property, Williams (1980) notes that society and nature have always been intermingled: “Once we begin to speak of people mixing their labor with the earth, we are in a whole world of new relations between people and nature and to separate natural history from social history becomes extremely problematic.”80 Thus, the frequent habit of referring to nature as a domain which is nonso- cial is not only misleading but could add legitimacy to statements which serve specific interests and lead to the “perpetuation of power and inequal- ity.”81 Arguments about the environmental benefits of preserving nature can often be applied to serve exclusionary ends. For example, local municipali- ties often engage in downzoning, or increasing the minimum residential lot size, on the grounds of minimizing the environmental impacts of urbanization. 108 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 However, exclusionary consequences of such activities are rarely brought into consideration. Furthermore, observational statements made about what is considered “natural” open space tend to reinforce a number of dualisms: rural–urban, country–city, wilderness–civilization, depending on the perspective of the observer.82 For example, rural, suburban, and urban constituencies often disagree over what qualifies as open space, particularly when it comes to issues of preservation funding. Given the multiple and simultaneous roles often served by open space, there is often considerable debate and confu- sion over what exactly constitutes nature within the context of local plan- ning efforts. Environmental groups and municipal officials often clash over the correct definition of “open space.” Planning priority is often given to landscapes described and referred to as “natural,” which are in fact highly constructed and have been altered and manipulated so much as to render them utterly unrecognizable from their original conditions. Lastly, the denial of any social relation to the environment often simpli- fies the discourse concerning nature to a form of economic reductionism, which is largely born out in attempts to “prove” the economic benefit of nature. A wide ranging literature has evolved to ascertain the property enhancement or use values of nature through the application of cost–benefit analyses, fiscal impact studies, contingent valuation, and willingness-to-pay methodologies.83 Consequently, justifications for planning intervention on the part of preserving nature frequently rely on economic efficiency argu- ments. This is unfortunate, as the convergence of the environmental move- ment and the more recent turn in local planning toward smart growth and sustainable practice presents the promise of a more integrated conceptual- ization of planning and open space. NOTES 1. R. Fishman, Bourgeois Utopias: The Rise and Fall of Suburbia (New York: Basic Books, 1987), 8–10. 2. D. Schuyler, The New Urban Landscape: The Redefinition of City form in Nineteenth- Century America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 25–6. 3. P.J. Schmitt, Back to Nature: The Arcadian Myth in Urban America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990), 56–9. 4. I. Fisher, “Frederick Law Olmsted: The Artist as Social Agent” in The American Planner: Biographies and Recollections, ed. Don Krueckeberg, 2nd ed. (New Brunswick, NJ: CUPR Press, 1994), 41, 47. 5. D. Schuyler, The New Urban Landscape: The Redefinition of City form in Nineteenth- Century America, 28. 6. R. Williams, The Country and the City (New York: Oxford University Press, 1973), 290. 7. J. Machor, Pastoral Cities: Urban Ideals and the Symbolic Landscape of America (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1987), 5. 8. R. Williams, The Country and the City, 290. Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 109 9. R. Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 45. 10. D. Schuyler, The New Urban Landscape: The Redefinition of City form in Nineteenth- Century America, 45. 11. N. Castree, “Socializing Nature: Theory, Practice, Politics” in Social Nature: Theory, Practice, and Politics, ed. Noel Castree and Bruce Braun (New York: Blackwell, 2001), 5–8. 12. Naturally, there were exceptions. For example, Charles Eliot developed a 1893 regional open space plan for Boston based on riparian corridors. 13. C. Elliot, Charles Eliot Landscape Architect (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1903), 338–9. 14. I. Fisher, “Frederick Law Olmsted: The Artist as Social Agent,” 56. 15. As quoted in Burrows and Wallace, Gotham: A history of New York City to 1898 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 791. 16. I. Fisher, “Frederick Law Olmsted: The Artist as Social Agent,” 41. 17. However, it should be noted that local property owners, competition from other cities, and upper class need for promenade space were also contributing factors. 18. A. Lusk, “Promoting Health and Fitness Through Design” in The Humane Metropolis: People and Nature in the 21st-Century City, ed. Rutherford Platt (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2006), 88. 19. F. L. Olmsted, “Public Parks and the Enlargement of Towns” in Civilizing American Cities: A Selection of Frederick Law Olmsted’s Writings on City Landscapes, ed. S.B. Sutton (Cambridge and London: MIT Press, 1971), 70. 20. J. Nolen, “The Parks and Recreational Facilities in the US” reprinted from the Annals of the American Academy of Political and social science, March 1910 (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library, John Nolen Papers, 2903:56). 21. L. Buell, Writing for and Endangered World: Literature, Culture and Environment in the US and Beyond (Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 2001). 22. C. Hughes, Why We Want Playgrounds proceedings of the 2nd Annual Playground Congress, Playground Association of America (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library, John Nolen collection, 6733:8). 23. C. Elliot, Charles Eliot Landscape Architect, 340. 24. Editorial, Charities and the Commons, July 7, 1906, Vol. 16, no. 14 (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library, John Nolen collection, 6733:5). 25. As quoted in I. Fisher, “Frederick Law Olmsted: The Artist as Social Agent,” 56. 26. C. Elliot, C. Charles Eliot Landscape Architect, 340. 27. As quoted in E. Burrows,. and M. Wallace, Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898, 793. 28. F. L. Olmsted, “Public Parks and the Enlargement of Towns,” 75. 29. As quoted in D. Schuyler The New Urban Landscape: The Redefinition of City Form in Nineteenth-Century America, 65. 30. J. Nolen, What is Needed in American City Planning address at the 1st National Conference on City Planning, Washington DC, May 21–22, 1909 (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library John Nolen Papers, 2903:56). 31. As quoted in Burrows and Wallace Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898, 795. 32. R. Rosenzweig, and E. Blackmar, The Park and the People: A History of Central Park (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992). 33. J. Nolen, City Planning article for the National League Municipal Encyclopedia, not published (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library John Nolen Papers, 2903:1). 34. R. Rosenzweig, and E. Blackmar, The Park and the people: A History of Central Park, 233. 110 JOURNAL OF PLANNING HISTORY / May 2008 35. F. L. Olmsted, Riverside, Illinois: A Planned Community Near Chicago, in Civilizing American Cities: A Selection of Frederick Law Olmsted’s Writings on City Landscapes, ed. S. B. Sutton (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1971), 295. 36. D. Hayden, Building Suburbia: Green Fields and Urban Growth 1820–2000 (New York: Pantheon Books, 2003), 50. 37. V. S. Jenkins, The Lawn: A History of an American Obsession (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press,1994), 15. 38. A. J. Downing, Cottage Residences, Rural Architecture, and Landscape Gardening (American Life Foundation, 1967), 68. 39. Ibid, 100–101. 40. Schmitt Back to Nature: The Arcadian myth in Urban America. 41. F .L. Olmsted, “Riverside, Illinois: A Planned Community Near Chicago,” 293. 42. As quoted in Fishman Bourgeois Utopias: The Rise and Fall of Suburbia, 129. 43. Fishman, Bourgeois Utopias: The Rise and Fall of Suburbia, 132. 44. D. Hayden, Building Suburbia: Green Fields and Urban Growth 1820–2000, 69. 45. Schmitt, Back to Nature: The Arcadian myth in Urban America, 5. 46. D. Pepper, The Roots of Modern Environmentalism (New York: Routledge, 1984), 76–8. 47. J. Nolen, “Land Subdivision and its effect upon housing” vol. 12, no. 4, October 15, pp. 258–66 (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library John Nolen Papers, 2903:9). 48. D. Schuyler, The New Urban Landscape: The Redefinition of City Form in Nineteenth-Century America, 163. 49. As quoted in Fishman, Bourgeois Utopias: The Rise and Fall of Suburbia, 120. 50. J. C. Nichols, Real Estate Subdivisions: The Best Manner of Handling Them address at the 5th annual convention, National Association of Real Estate Exchanges at Louisville, Kentucky, June 20, 1912 (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library, 6733:2). 51. Ibid. 52. C. Haar, and J. Kayden, ed. Zoning and the American Dream: Promises Still to Keep (Chicago: APA Press, 1990). 53. G. Ford, What Planning Has Done for Cities, address at the National Conference of City Planning, 1924 (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library John Nolen Collection, 6733:2). 54. R. Whitten, AICP president, The Control of the Subdivision of Land into Building Lots (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library John Nolen Collection, 6733:3). 55. P. Abeles, “Planning and Zoning” in Zoning and the American Dream: Promises Still to Keep, eds. Charles Haar and Jerold Kayden (Chicago: American Planning Association Press, 1990), 131. 56. R. Platt, “From Commons to Commons: Evolving concepts of open space in North American cities” in The Ecological City: Preserving and Restoring Urban Biodiversity, eds. Rutherford Platt, Rowan Rowntree and Pamela Muick (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1994), 32. 57. E. F. Murphy, “Euclid and the Environment” in Zoning and the American Dream: Promises Still to Keep, eds. Charles Haar and Jerold Kayden (Chicago: American Planning Association Press, 1990). 58. Ibid, 170. 59. M. Scott, American City Planning Since 1890 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1969). Schmidt / OPEN SPACE AND LOCAL PLANNING PRACTICE 111 60. M. Knowles, “The controls of subdivisions by planning commissions,” address at the Spring meeting of the American City Planning Institute, March 14, 1935 (Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections, Cornell University Library John Nolen Papers, 6733:9). 61. R. Gottlieb, Forcing the Spring: The Transformation of the American Environmental Movement (Washington, DC: Island Press, 1993). 62. As quoted in A. Rome, The Bulldozer in the Countryside: Suburban Sprawl and the Rise of American Environmentalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 153. 63. D. Harvey, “The Environment of Justice” in The Urbanization of Injustice, ed. Andy Merrifield (New York: New York University Press, 1997). 64. I. McHarg, Design with Nature (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1992), 19. 65. M. Hough, Cities and Natural Processes (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), 8. 66. Water quality has improved and, in recognition of this improvement, the Cuyahoga River was designated as one of 14 American Heritage Rivers in 1998. 67. A. Rome, The Bulldozer in the Countryside: Suburban Sprawl and the Rise of American Environmentalism, 9–10. 68. A. Rome, The Bulldozer in the Countryside: Suburban Sprawl and the Rise of American Environmentalism. 69. R. G. Arendt, Growing Greener: Putting Conservation into Local plans and Ordinances. (Washington DC: Island Press, 1999). 70. I. McHarg, To Heal the Earth (Washington DC: Island Press, 1998), 108–9. 71. Ibid, 110. 72. O. Gillham, The Limitless City: A Primer on the Urban Sprawl Debate (Washington DC: Island Press, 2002). 73. A. Nelson, “How do we know smart growth when we see it?” in Smart Growth: Forms and Consequences, eds. Terry Szold, T. and Armando Carbonell (Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, 2002), 86. 74. D. Bengston, J. Fletcher, and K. Nelson, “Public Policies for managing urban growth and protecting open space: policy instruments and lessons learned in the United States,” Landscape and Urban Planning 69, 2004, 271–86. 75. P. Myers, and R. Puentes, Growth at the Ballot Box: Electing the Shape of Communities in November 2000 (Washington, DC: The Brookings Institute, Center on Urban and Metropolitan Policy, 2001) and Hollis, Linda E., William Fulton. Open Space Protection, Conservation Meets Growth Management (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Center on Urban and Metropolitan Policy, 2002). 76. See R. Brewer, Conservancy: The Land Trust Movement in America (Dartmouth College Press, 2004). 77. R. Platt, “From Commons to Commons: Evolving concepts of open space in North American cities”. 78. J. Kayden, Privately owned public space: The New York City experience (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 2000). 79. M. Hough, Cities and Natural Processes. 80. R. Williams, Problems in Materialism and Culture: Selected Essay (London: Verso, 1990), 76. 81. N. Castree, “Socializing Nature: Theory, Practice, Politics”, 5. 82. N. Castree, “Socializing Nature: Theory, Practice, Politics”, 6. 83. See C. Fausold, and R. Lilieholm, “The Economic Value of Open Space: A Review and Synthesis,” Environmental Management 23 (3), 1999, 307–20. SStteepphhaann JJ.. SScchhmmiiddtt is an Assistant Professor in the Department of City and Regional Planning at Cornell University. 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work_d36kilnpkjec7gahamdpexfrua	----	Place-Based Arts: Brighton Writes Canterbury Christ Church University’s repository of research outputs http://create.canterbury.ac.uk Please cite this publication as follows:  Overall, S. (2015) Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place. Journal of Writing in Creative Practice, 8 (1). pp. 11-28. ISSN 1753-5190. Link to official URL (if available): http://dx.doi.org/10.1386/jwcp.8.1.11_1 This version is made available in accordance with publishers’ policies. All material made available by CReaTE is protected by intellectual property law, including copyright law. Any use made of the contents should comply with the relevant law. Contact: create.library@canterbury.ac.uk Journal of Writing and Creative Practice 8.1 Walking against the current: Generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall, Canterbury Christ Church University Abstract This article is based on the paper I gave at Place-Based Arts: Brighton Writes on 29 May 2015. Walking allows for an immersive experience of place. As the tradition of the flâneur, the interventions of Situationists and the practice of contemporary Walking Artists demonstrate, walking and creativity share a manifest connection. In this article I present my use of alternative walking practices and discuss how these can be used to generate new creative work. Inspired by psychogeographical methods, I have developed a series of exercises, which I use to create text and which I employ as Learning and Teaching tools with writing students. These include: • Liberties – using the dérive to break convention and explore place afresh • Constraints – using randomly generated directions to steer experience and facilitate discoveries • Subverting mapping and signage – using superimposed mapping and reinterpreting signage in search of synchronicity • Gathering materials – using alternative walks to observe and record materials including found text, sound and image. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 1 This article draws on my own practice-based research and recent case studies using these methods. Keywords walking creativity writing ideation psychogeography labyrinth dérive Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 2 INSERT: Figure 1: Signage, Canterbury dérive, 24 May 2015. Introduction Walking allows for an immersive experience of place. Necessarily slow, it engenders thoughtfulness. Walkers ruminate. When walking, we notice details lost to the automobile. We take in atmosphere: we breathe in scents. If place is a subject, walkers study with the feet, following whatever avenues of interest present themselves, moving unencumbered across topic and terrain. In her influential study on the history of walking Wanderlust, Rebecca Solnit charts the connection between thought and walking from our bipedal origins, through the Peripatetic philosophers of ancient Greece, to twentieth-century protest marches (2014). There are numerous examples one can draw upon to demonstrate the connection between walking and creative thinking: the solitary reveries of Jean-Jacques Rousseau or the naturalistic idealism of Henry David Thoreau; the literary output of celebrated London Psychogeographers Iain Sinclair, Will Self and Peter Ackroyd; the interventions and records of contemporary Walking Artists such as Richard Long and Hamish Fulton. Walking and writing are close companions: William Wordsworth’s feats of walking, for example, are intrinsic to his method of poetic composition. ‘Wordsworth made walking central to his life and art [Ӧ]and walking was both how he encountered the world and how he composed his poetry’ (Solnit 2014: 104). Walker and ‘Deep Topographer’ Nick Papdimitriou’s intense relationship with the Middlesex and Hertfordshire escarpment is Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 3 itself the catalyst for his writing. Twenty years of walking the area around his home, of collecting historic accounts, personal impressions and discarded objects, culminated in Papadimitriou’s genre-defying book Scarp (2012), weaving together local history, flora and fauna, autobiographical flashes and the voices of living, dead and imagined inhabitants of the escarpment. As I began to learn the basic outline of these topographic details and hold them in my mind, my internal balance would oscillate between the ego’s surrender in the face of a larger entity – the land that contained me – and a desire to gain ownership and mastery of that same entity through cultural production. The idea grew that there was a new form of prose or poetry waiting to be invented, a form of writing sufficient for the purpose of capturing the essence of the broader frame-work to which I had surrendered, a form that would allow me to re-create the voices and experiences of those Scarp dwellers who came before me as a counterpoint to my own. (Papadimitriou 2012: 8) Scarp (2012) is a book that would not, indeed could not have been written without extensive walking: the kind of attentive walking that embraces possibility, accident and synchronicity. Walking without agenda The decline of walking is about the lack of space in which to walk, but it is also about the lack of time – the disappearance of that musing, unstructured space in Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 4 which so much thinking, courting, daydreaming, and seeing has transpired. Machines have sped up, and lives have kept pace with them. (Solnit 2014: 259) Walking for its own sake has been gradually squeezed out of our lives. The daily constitutional now seems a nostalgic ideal, a custom that belongs to a less crowded time. By walking for its own sake, I do not mean the idle wanderings of the flâneur, or Poe’s man in the crowd1: a filling of excess leisure time only available to a privileged class, or those forced to tramp the streets out of necessity. Nor do I mean the determined activities of hill-walking or rambling, where the walk serves a social or investigative purpose. I mean, very simply, solitary walking without agenda: to pass time, to meet people, to witness events. To allow things to happen. The protagonists of the Mr Men and Little Misses children’s books, created by Roger Hargreaves, demonstrate this tendency (1971–). While the karmic comeuppance of Messrs Greedy, Nosey or Uppity delivers a clear moral message, the hidden lesson of many Mr Men books is that nothing happens until the protagonist goes for a walk, or is met by another character who is out for a walk. Until there is walking, there is no narrative, no challenge to the habitual, no reconsideration of identity. The walk is a catalyst for change, the essential ingredient of the story. Writers too need to embrace their inner psychogeographer. Psychogeography and the dérive The term ‘psychogeography’ is rooted in the radical experiments of the Situationists, whose writings and interventions attempted to shatter the ‘spectacle’ that they perceived Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 5 obscuring mid-twentieth-century societal issues.2 Guy Debord’s definition of psychogeography – a practice ‘not inconsistent with the materialist perspective that sees life and thought as conditioned by objective nature’ (1955: 8) – establishes it as an essentially urban practice. Walking down a city high street now, one can easily experience something of the Situationists’ suspicion about a culture of dazzling, distracting consumerism that constantly calls our attention away from deeper, non-materialistic concerns. Along with the lure of shop windows and advertising hoardings, town planning and traffic routes contain and coerce the walker, controlling pedestrian movement, signalling set routes and closing off areas of exploration. According to Debord, geography ‘deals with the determinant action of natural forces… on the economic structures of a society, and thus on the corresponding conception that such a society can have of the world’ (1955: 8). By extension, psychogeography ‘sets for itself the study of the specific effects of the geographical environment (whether consciously organized or not) on the emotions and behaviour of individuals’ (Debord 1955: 8). The techniques proposed in Debord’s ‘Introduction to a critique of urban geography’ can be opened out to any ‘type of investigation… situation or conduct that seems to reflect the same spirit of discovery’ (1955: 8), an invitation to be taken up by those of us who see the potential of walking as a tool for inspiration, concentration or intervention. To walk without agenda is to drift, to be led by the psychology of landscape. Debord’s ‘Theory of the dérive’ describes the practice of the drift or dérive as ‘a technique of rapid passage through varied ambiences’ (1959: 62), suggesting the scope of possible experience presented by an extended, attentive walk. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 6 Walking allows writers access to extensive, ever-evolving material. With a little Situationist attitude, we can walk to see afresh, to defamiliarize the familiar, to challenge the autopilot of the everyday: to walk against the current. Walking and clarity Although walking offers the writer the opportunity to explore subject and setting, to observe and record, it also serves as a preparation for work: walking as head-clearing, as a means of attaining focus. Walking helps us to tune-out the banal and tune-in to the possible. This decluttering can be difficult to achieve seated at a desk, but taking a stroll outside – even along the busiest of high streets, bristling with attention-seeking signage and street furniture – brings a heightened sense of clarity. On his documented walk from London to New York (‘Walking to New York’), Will Self expresses the state of sensory receptiveness induced by long-distance walking. Normally, on my long-distance walks, anoesis descends within a few miles: the mental tape loop of infuriating resentments, or inane pop lyrics, or nonce phrases gives way to the greeny-beige noise of the outdoors. (2007: 39) Critical thinking is temporarily disengaged; immediate concerns are replaced by external impressions. There is a shedding of loads: as ‘Mythogeographer’ Phil Smith (also known as Crab Man) describes it: ‘for the first time he [the writer] is truly leaving things behind, dropping his burdens, facing something, as the sound of traffic is drowned by the rising wind’ (2010: 30). Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 7 Walking cleanses the brain of the superfluous, allowing new ideas and sensations to emerge. The physically repetitive action of walking aids this clarity: ‘the steady, two-mile-an- hour, metronomic rhythm’ of the walker’s legs ‘parting and marrying, parting and marrying’ (Self 2007: 13) induces a hypnosis of sorts, countered by the wakefulness of body induced by aerobic exercise. Recent scientific studies carried out by Marily Oppezzo and Daniel Schwartz of Stanford University explore the effect of walking on perception and creative thought, demonstrating that exercise increases our ability to think creatively: Four studies demonstrate that walking increases creative ideation. The effect is not simply due to the increased perceptual stimulation of moving through an environment, but rather it is due to walking. Whether one is outdoors or on a treadmill, walking improves the generation of novel yet appropriate ideas, and the effect even extends to when people sit down to do their creative work shortly after. (2014: 1142) While Oppezzo and Schwartz point out that walking on a treadmill improves our thinking, moving through place is fundamental to the walking writer or artist in search of new ideas. In Oppezzo and Schwartz’s fourth experiment, individuals were assessed under the varying conditions of sitting indoors, walking indoors, sitting outdoors and walking outdoors: when asked to generate analogies for three prompts, those subjects walking gave the greatest number of high-quality and novel analogies. Those walking outdoors scored highest of all. Here is advice that any writer or academic, stranded for long periods at a desk and struggling with lapses of concentration, should heed. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 8 Walking outside produced the most novel and highest quality analogies. The effects of outdoor stimulation and walking were separable. Walking opens up the free flow of ideas, and it is a simple and robust solution to the goals of increasing creativity and increasing physical activity. (Oppezzo and Schwartz 2014: 1142) The benefits can also be retained for a while after walking: Walking also exhibited a residual effect on creativity. After people had walked, their subsequent seated creativity was much higher than those who had not walked. (Oppezzo and Schwartz 2014: 1145) At this point, it is tempting to leave my desk and stretch my legs. I suggest you do the same. Not only does walking outdoors make us think more creatively and originally: the physical act of passing through place, of propelling our bodies independently across a landscape, also generates an exchange with that place. For Rebecca Solnit, ‘imagination has both shaped and been shaped by the spaces it passes through on two feet’ (2014: 4). To walk is to experience our surroundings fully, allowing us to record and reimagine place and to openly receive its impressions, and to add something of ourselves to it. Nick Papadimitriou describes the collective memory of place as something that can be tapped into by walking, a bank of other people’s experiences and memories accessed on Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 9 foot. In John Rogers’ documentary film The London Perambulator (2009), Papadimitriou explains: When I walk I seem to access all sorts of levels. Processes taking place under hedges, or the memories of people I’ve never know. They’re memories that aren’t mine, and yet they seem so tangible. (Rogers 2009) Papadimitriou explores this method of accessing memories and trying on the voices of others in Scarp (2012), blurring the distinction between fact and fiction to create a multi- layered textual response to place. Wandering and getting lost When embarking on a walk for creative purposes, there is something to be said for getting lost, physically and metaphorically. By losing our critical, rational selves in a walk, we can get closer to mapping that stream of consciousness which allows for the self-revelation and realization we would otherwise put off, or perhaps choose not to dwell on. Rousseau’s rambling, philosophical and autobiographical confessions are possible because he becomes lost in his own thoughts while walking. The meandering nature of walking provides a useful analogy for thought processes: the ‘writing up’ of a walk can, in turn, chart the mind at work. As Solnit points out: As a literary structure, the recounted walk encourages digression and association, in contrast to the stricter form of a discourse or the chronological progression of a biographical or historical narrative. [Ӧ] James Joyce and Virginia Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 10 Woolf would, in trying to describe the workings of the mind, develop the style called stream of consciousness. In their novels Ulysses and Mrs Dalloway, the jumble of thoughts and recollections of their protagonists unfolds best during walks. (2002: 21) In his New Yorker article ‘Why walking helps us think’ (2014), which cites Joyce and Woolf’s ‘mapping’ and the studies by Oppezzo and Schwartz, Ferris Jabr suggests that walking pace and unconscious internal monologue reflect each other. It is this synergy that frees the imagination, allowing us to project ideas and images onto place, while becoming increasingly receptive to new thoughts: Walking at our own pace creates an unadulterated feedback loop between the rhythm of our bodies and our mental state that we cannot experience as easily when we’re jogging at the gym, steering a car, biking, or during any other kind of locomotion. When we stroll, the pace of our feet naturally vacillates with our moods and the cadence of our inner speech; at the same time, we can actively change the pace of our thoughts by deliberately walking more briskly or by slowing down. Because we don’t have to devote much conscious effort to the act of walking, our attention is free to wander – to overlay the world before us with a parade of images from the mind’s theatre. (Jabr 2014: 2) Oppezzo and Schwartz’s findings lend some credence to this idea. Setting a comfortable pace when walking distinguishes it from intensive aerobic activity, something the researchers observed in their studies. ‘We asked people to walk at their natural gait. When Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 11 people walk outside their natural stride, it demands more cognitive control’ (2014: 1148); ‘While the long-term effects of aerobic activity may be general, the concurrent effects of mild physical activity were selective to divergent thinking’ (2014: 1144). In other words, a speedy ‘power walk’ requires more effort and concentration than a comfortable perambulation. Going too fast, which many of us do when focusing on getting from A to B, may impede the mind from making its own journey. Jabr may be right to suggest that brisk walking changes the pace of our thoughts, but if we rush, we may simply be too busy to listen to them. Losing ourselves (through moderate, attentive walking) can also enable us to tune-in to the lives of others: to observe, to absorb, to eavesdrop. The actions and interactions of the people we pass – a lovers’ argument in a park, a woman nursing a stuffed bear, a man carrying a mysterious object obscured by bubble-wrap – these are the raw stuff of fiction. Snatches of overheard conversation are fodder for dialogue. Snippets of mobile phone conversations or passing remarks have the potential to grow into the voices that inhabit poems or novels. If, as writers, we gather these materials while walking, we can carry them with us and turn them over in our minds as we go, adding to them, editing them or otherwise fashioning them into useful creative material. The familiar, the unfamiliar and the defamiliarized Familiarity with place opens up the richness of deep examination and ongoing appreciation. Getting close to a subject yields a level of detail that lends powerful authenticity to a piece of writing. There is also the potential for defamiliarization – something that can be explored Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 12 through specific psychogeographical techniques, which I will return to in more detail later. With the right approach, a familiar place need never become stale. To quote Papadimitriou again: We can never truly pin down where our place of dwelling lies; each newly discovered overview of what we call home effectively places it within a new topography, forcing us to redefine what it is we mean when we say ‘I live there’. (2012: 102) When ‘the mind’s theatre’ takes over, and our legs are working on autopilot, we can even get lost in a town whose streets we know intimately. However, to walk in new places is also to explore new ideas, opening up areas of thought as well as material to observe, record or interact with. While poet and psychogeographer Iain Sinclair uses a daily walk in familiar territory to limber up, likening this to ‘making the skin porous’ and ‘changing circuits to be able to write’ (Campbell 2013), he also recommends walking in unfamiliar places as a process towards generating new kinds of creative work. Sinclair sees a direct connection between the treading of new paths and the burning of neural pathways, claiming that ‘to go somewhere new is to feel the brain is being remapped, in an interesting way’, an activity that might in turn lead to ‘a new form of writing’ (Campbell 2013). Treading an unfamiliar path could enable a writer to see in a new way, and write in a wholly different style. Examples and exercises: Walking as creative practice and teaching tool Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 13 The more that I walk, think about walking and write about walking, the clearer it has become to me that walking is an essential part of my own creative practice. To me, as to the many writers, artists and walkers I have mentioned thus far, the connection between walking and creative practice makes perfect sense. Yet as my experience of teaching creative writing students has shown me, this connection is easily lost, overlooked, or does not even register as a possibility. To this end I seize every possible opportunity to get my writing students out of a seminar room and into street, alley or field-side footpath, notebook in hand. When it comes to sharing walking as a creative practice with students, the obvious thing to do is to get them outside, physically participating, making notes and testing out various techniques.3 For each group of students I set aside a block of teaching time to allow for an immersive session of walks. To facilitate these I have developed a series of alternative walking exercises which I employ as teaching tools. Although these started as a means of engaging undergraduate writing students with place, they transfer well: I have also used some of these exercises with adult learners, social scientists and interdisciplinary study groups. For some students, the first requirement is to break a habitual attitude to walking: to replace the blind walking of essential traversal with a heightened awareness of the self in place. Detailed observation requires an openness and level of awareness that sometimes necessitates a few preparations. Very successful (if unpopular) with undergraduates is my ‘headphone-free’ rule: in order to re-sensitize students to their surroundings, I ban the use of headphones in public places – on the street, in cafes, libraries, on public transport – for a Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 14 full week before using walking exercises. This, along with phone use during the sessions, is non-negotiable, and although it provokes initial groans of disbelief, there are always several converts at the end. Liberties – using the dérive to break convention and explore place afresh Dérives are a useful warm-up. When setting a dérive as part of a writing task I give students the choice of walking alone, or in pairs or threes, and challenge them to walk outside their customary routes. As some students may have concerns regarding their safety,4 I do not insist that students work alone. Although solitary walking encourages individual focus, and students walking in small groups may be inclined to distract each other or discuss irrelevancies, there are benefits to be had from the discussions and shared ideas of group walks (and I draw upon these in my group walk exercise, below). Even if participants find themselves arguing over preferred routes or the outcomes of tasks, they are still actively engaging in the experience. While the students may not feel that they are performing a radical Situationist act, the freedom of the dérive does allow them to break from conventional walking habits. On these dérives, I encourage students to spend time observing their surroundings rather than moving too rapidly. To achieve this, I ask that they walk at different speeds and ensure that they stand still and listen at regular intervals. Participants are encouraged to interact with spaces, for example, going into a cloistered area, stopping at a bench or walking the perimeter of a wall. They can also interact with other people if the opportunity presents itself: this may mean speaking to other participants, engaging with street artists or simply Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 15 answering questions from curious passersby (a frequent occurrence, as the dérive seems to attract interest). Participants write down what they see, hear and overhear, and can make sketches as well as notes. I ask them to consider the affect of different places on themselves and others, a level of engagement with place that reflects Debord’s definition of psychogeography as the study ‘of the specific effects of the geographical environment… on the emotions and behaviour of individuals’ (1955: 8). To maintain this engagement, I ask that participants make notes while in motion as well as pausing: different localities will make this variously challenging, for example, note-taking while walking in a busy shopping area is likely to result in short sentences and recorded sounds rather than detailed architectural descriptions. To challenge habitual patterns, I ask participants to walk ‘against the current’. If a crowd is surging in one direction, they should walk the opposite way. Similarly, they are asked to ignore directional signage and look instead for any alternative text or images to follow. For an unstructured dérive, participants are encouraged to be led by anything that interests them, treating all buildings and obstacles equally rather than steering by landmarks. To encourage defamiliarization, I ask them to look up above street level and down at their feet while walking, rather than the ‘middle distance’ sightlines by which we tend to negotiate as pedestrians. To the same end, I encourage them to look behind and under street furniture rather than accepting it at face value. Group dérive: Generating narratives Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 16 On a recent dérive (24 May 2015) I encouraged groups of three participants to set out together and while walking, to search for synchronicity and emergent themes in their journey, and discuss these findings as they walked. To facilitate this, I asked them to look for a thread running between the places they visited and the scenes, people or objects they observed. The participants were mature students from an interdisciplinary M.A. group studying Myth, Cosmology and the Sacred. I asked each group to create a narrative of their dérive to share with other participants. All nine participants were familiar with the location – Canterbury – but all reported discovering new routes, buildings or locales during the exercise. The search for meaning led a group of astrologers to find themes linking Saturn and Mars, a dead bat and bomb graffiti in a churchyard. The second group found that their dérive was concerned with law and institutional control, linking a skip full of rubbish labelled ‘quality containment’ with the high walls of a disused prison. The third group were struck by reversals and contradictions: the conflicting messages of welcoming tourism and prohibitive signage, an ugly ring-road lined with beauty salons and hairdressers. All participants felt that these messages were new to them, but obvious when they looked closely: that meaning was hidden in plain sight, obscured by a disregard of the familiar. Figure 2: Collage of notes taken by students during a dérive in Canterbury, 24 May 2015. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 17 Using constraints: Steering experience and facilitating discovery While liberties are effective, constraints can also be useful in steering less confident writers on their first psychogeographical adventures. By stepping up the levels of constraints, the experience shifts from drift, observation and interpretation to direct interaction – even confrontation – with place. In these cases, I use randomly generated directions to deter participants from wandering back into habitual routes. Flipping a coin to decide on directions at junctions adds an element of playfulness that echoes Dadaist practices5: it is interesting to note that this form of decision-making occurs naturally to some participants, as students have reported that they occasionally use coin-flipping to determine a walking route without being prompted to do so. To help students generate responses I provide writing prompts, in the form of statements that can be applied to specific locations, objects or buildings, to present the seed of an idea for further development. These can be simple statements, such as ‘I do not belong here’, or ‘there is something hidden here’, which the participant can use to produce potential plotlines, narrative voices or dialogue. Subverting and super-imposing maps has also proved a fruitful exercise with writing students. In ‘Introduction to a critique of urban geography’, Guy Debord refers to the practice of ‘transposing maps of two different regions’ giving the example of a friend ‘negotiating the Harz region of Germany while blindly following the directions of a map of London’ (1955: 11). In recent alternative walks in Canterbury (24 May 2015) and Margate (8 May 2015) I gave students a portion of the London tube map and, marking their current Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 18 location as Victoria, asked them to use this to negotiate the streets in search of Liverpool Street Station (see Exercise 1 below). While this instruction appears to close down the ‘drift’, it also introduces a level of problem- solving and game-play to the walk. Map use encourages participants to interpret potential pathways and junctions as intersecting lines of travel, and found text, signage and landmarks as alternative signposts or tube stations. Thus a Job Centre in Margate becomes Mansion, the high street ATM readily lends itself to Bank, and pamphleteers outside Canterbury cathedral’s gates replace the ancient booksellers of St Paul’s Churchyard. By applying constraints to a walking exercise, I aim to engage students with the idea of place and palimpsest: to look for the layers of history visible in a town’s shape, architecture, street and building names. When looking for evidence of the endless revisions and notations of human activity in place, we begin to take note of the details, the interesting and surprising juxtapositions, and the glimpses of potential narrative these contain. These are rich pickings for creative practitioners which we can rediscover with attentive walking. Labyrinths and contained walking Labyrinths ‘offer up stories we can walk into to inhabit bodily, stories we can trace with our feet as well as our eyes’ (Solnit 2002: 71). Walking a labyrinth is an excellent exercise for concentrating thought, but the emphasis on this kind of contained walk is on shutting out the external world to facilitate meditation, rather than gathering potential material. Unlike a maze (an intended puzzle), the path of a labyrinth is laid out for the walker: there are no decisions to make regarding which direction to take and therefore no distractions that Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 19 complicate the physical act of walking. The labyrinth walker can experience something akin to the effects of treadmill walking, with all its attendant benefits (Oppezzo and Schwartz 2014), with the additional sense of being in a ritualized or symbolic space. If the labyrinth is outside there will be external stimuli, but these tend to fade away when the walk ‘takes over’. Such a labyrinth also offers the creative boost of outdoor walking noted by Opezzo and Schwartz. I have used indoor and outdoor labyrinths extensively as creative tools, in my own practice and as a learning and teaching tool with students. They are ideal for problem-solving. Contained walks are useful for narrowing the mind rather than opening it, for selecting an idea or image and giving it one’s sole attention. A large outdoor labyrinth will fit several walkers at once, and with the single path there is no danger of participants bumping into each other and breaking concentration. This makes it ideal for group work. In such sessions, the defined shape of a labyrinth becomes an arena for thought. The path of a labyrinth takes the walker close to the central ‘destination point’ before diverging away and circuiting the space in arcs of varying length. Each turning point in a labyrinth roots the walker in the space: the path is continuous but meandering, river-like. Without the need to keep track of the path, a participant can easily walk a labyrinth and write at the same time. If breaks for note-taking or reflection are needed, the turns in the labyrinth path present ideal opportunities to pause without disrupting the flow of the walk. The distances between turns can also be used to structure a piece of writing, providing punctuation points, stanza breaks or setting line lengths (see Exercise 2 below).6 Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 20 Although elaborate designs exist and labyrinths are proliferating in public and private spaces, a basic Cretan labyrinth can be created by making a temporary path out of simple materials. Drawing with chalk on a hard surface or marking out lines on sand produce quick and effective labyrinths. A path can be created by painting onto or cutting into grass.7 For instructions on creating a temporary labyrinth see the website Labyrinthos (Saward and Saward 2015), home of the Labyrinth Resource Centre, Photo Library and Archive and Caerdroia Journal. For the purposes of creative walking, all that really matters is the existence and clarity of the path. Exercises These exercises are examples from my teaching practice. The first of these could be transposed to any urban location with the supplement of an appropriate map. 1. Mapping over Margate Exercise used on a field trip with Creative and Professional Writing undergraduate students, 8 May 2015. Students were given the following instructions, a contemporary street map of Margate and a snapshot of the London tube map, and given a time and place to reconvene at the end of the exercise: Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 21 Look up at your current view of Margate, fix your eye on a landmark and walk to it as directly as possible. • Make a note of your current position (building, street name) and mark it on the Margate map. • Now use the tube map. Taking your current position as Victoria, walk the streets as if you were taking the tube. Try to get to Liverpool Street Station. • Look for signage and found text (adverts, billboards, street or shop names, etc.) on the way that might act as alternative signposts. Write these down. • When you ‘arrive’, record your final position and mark your place on the Margate map. At the end, make some notes and consider the following questions: • What was in front of you in place of Liverpool Street Station when you ‘arrived’? • How easy was it to find your destination? Were you forced to turn back, or take circuitous routes? • How was the experience of following the map different from the experience of moving freely through the streets? • Did you encounter any unexpected obstacles, or notice anything interesting on the way? • Did you speak to anyone? Did anyone notice what you were doing, or offer to help? Look through your notes and any writing you have done; work these up if you have time. Wander further if you can. Let the environment lead you. Take any extra time to record further observations in your notebook. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 22 2. Labyrinth line lengths Exercise used with groups of undergraduate English and Creative Writing students and adult learners at the University of Kent outdoor labyrinth, Canterbury, 2012–2014. After a few warm-up activities and group walks of the labyrinth, students were given a choice of exercises, including the following instructions: As you walk you will construct a poem or piece of flash fiction using the shape of the labyrinth to suggest the length of your lines. Each turn in the labyrinth will act as a fixing point for you to write. • Before you start the walk, choose a single line or image that you wish to work on and write it down. • Write out a list of associated words suggested by this line or image. • Now start the walk, thinking through an opening line as you go. (This could be your original line, but it doesn’t have to be.) When you get to the first turn in the labyrinth, stop and write down your opening line. • Begin walking again and think of a following line. Stop when you get to the next turn and write down the line. • Repeat this with each turn in the labyrinth. You will notice that the distances between turns vary: check to see if your lines reflect this. If you have difficulty finding ‘following’ lines, refer to your list of associated words for ideas. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 23 Try to keep writing into the centre of the labyrinth, but if your piece ends naturally, stop sooner. When you have finished, work back out of the labyrinth again, checking how each line fits (reading back from the end). Conclusions Attentive walking as a creative practice enables writers to explore new places beyond the prescribed, or to see the unfamiliar in the familiar. It allows us to reach a greater understanding of, or develop a new relationship with, place. Walking outside increases our capacity for creative thinking (Oppezzo and Shwartz 2014); it allows us to refresh our minds and put aside everyday concerns (Self 2007; Smith 2010), which may otherwise crowd in and suppress creative capacity. In practical terms, the alternative walking exercises I outline in this paper engage participants in an intense experience of setting that can in turn enhance their creative responses to place. While walking, writers can harvest ideas and ruminate on them; gather found text and speech, glimpses of narrative, images that contain a poem. We can sharpen our skills – of description, evocation of atmosphere, detailing minutiae, making connections – to give greater authenticity to our writing. Writing students often tell me that they have nothing original to say, nothing new to offer. Most writers have felt like this at some point. To tread new ground, or to revisit a familiar place and see it afresh, is to remind ourselves that we contain, and are surrounded by, an endless mine of potential material. Sometimes we just forget to go out and look for it. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 24 References Campbell, James (2013), ‘Iain Sinclair: A life in…’, The Guardian, 1 November. http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/nov/01/iain-sinclair-interview. Accessed 10 September 2015. Coverley, Merlin (2010), Psychogeography, Harpenden: Pocket Essentials. Debord, Guy (1955), ‘Introduction to a critique of urban geography’, in Ken Knabb (ed.), Situationist International Anthology (trans. Ken Knabb), Berkeley: Bureau of Public Secrets, pp. 8–12. ____ (1959), ‘Theory of the dérive’, in Ken Knabb (ed.), Situationist International Anthology (trans. Ken Knabb), Berkeley: Bureau of Public Secrets, pp. 62–66. Hargreaves, Roger (1971–), Mr Men & Little Misses series, London: Egmont. Jabr, Ferris (2014), ‘Why walking helps us think’, The New Yorker, 3 September. http://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/walking-helps-us-think. Accessed 10 September 2015. James, Alison and Brookfield, Stephen D. (2014), Engaging Imagination: Helping Students Become Creative and Reflective Thinkers, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 25 http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/nov/01/iain-sinclair-interview http://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/walking-helps-us-think Motherwell, Robert ([1951] 1989), The Dada Painters and Poets: An Anthology, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Overall, Sonia (2015), ‘The labyrinth: Contained walking, creative thinking’, Re-enchanting the Academy, Canterbury Christ Church University (CCCU), Canterbury, Kent, 25–27 October. Oppezzo, Marily and Schwartz, Daniel L. (2014), ‘Give your ideas some legs: The positive effect of walking on creative thinking’, Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory and Cognition, 40:4, pp. 1142–52. Poe, Edgar Allan ([1840] 1974), ‘The Man of the Crowd’, in David Galloway (ed.), Edgar Allan Poe Selected Writings, London: Penguin, pp. 179–88. Papadimitriou, Nick (2012), Scarp, London: Sceptre. Rogers, John (2009), The London Perambulator, UK: Vanity Projects. Rousseau, Jean-Jacques ([1781] 1953), The Confessions (trans. J. M. Cohen), London: Penguin. ____ ([1782] 1979), Reveries of the Solitary Walker (trans. Peter France), London: Penguin. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 26 Saward, Jeff and Saward, Kimberly (2015), ‘Labyrinthos’, http://www.labyrinthos.net. Accessed 10 September 2015. Self, Will (2007), Psychogeography, London: Bloomsbury. Sellers, Jan and Moss, Bernard (eds) (Forthcoming), Learning with the Labyrinth: Creating Reflective Space in Higher Education, Palgrave Teaching and Learning Series, London: Macmillan. Smith, Phil (2010), Mythogeography: A Guide to Walking Sideways, Axeminster: Triarchy Press. Solnit, Rebecca ([2002] 2014), Wanderlust, London: Granta. Thoreau, Henry David (1854), Walden; or, Life in the Woods, Boston: Ticknor and Fields, http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/205. Accessed 10 September 2015. ____ (1862), ‘Walking; or, the wild’, Atlantic Monthly, June, https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1022. Accessed 10 September 2015. Contributor details Sonia Overall writes fiction and poetry. She has a strong interest in form, intertextuality, and the use of game-playing, randomness and constraints to generate text. Her current practice and research has developed from her interest in place and psychogeography, and her recent Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 27 http://www.labyrinthos.net/ http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/205 https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1022 chapbook The Art of Walking (Shearsman, 2015) includes responses to the relationship between walking and creativity, self and setting. Sonia has written and abridged work for street theatre and has published two novels, A Likeness and The Realm of Shells (HarperPerennial). She is a Lecturer of Creative and Professional Writing at Canterbury Christ Church University and an Associate Lecturer at the University of Kent. Contact: School of Humanities, Canterbury Christ Church University, North Holmes Road, Canterbury Kent CT1 1QT, UK. E-mail: sonia.overall@canterbury.ac.uk Web address: www.soniaoverall.net Notes 1 See the short story ‘The Man of the Crowd’ in Poe ([1840] 1974: 139–88). 2 The use of the term ‘psychogeography’, from the Letterist group and Situationist International to the early twenty-first century, is explored in Merlin Coverley’s study Psychogeography (2010). 3 I attempt to make accommodations for participants with limited mobility who are unable to walk long distances or for extended periods: while experiences differ, any level of engagement with the activities is welcome. ‘Dwelling’ in a place and participating in observational note-taking are, in themselves, useful exercises for writers. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 28 4 I am aware from my own experience that women walking alone can become targets for abuse, something that scholars of gender and mobility studies will be familiar with. For more on gendered responses to walking, see Wanderlust, Chapter 14, ‘Walking after midnight: Women, sex and public space’ (Solnit 2014: 232–46). 5 Dada’s embracing of ‘Chance methods’ to produce text and image is well documented. For André Breton’s account of Marcel Duchamp using a coin-flip to decide matters, see The Dada Painters and Poets: An Anthology (Robert Motherwell, [1951] 1989: 209). 6 More on my use of the labyrinth with creative writing students can be found in Alison James and Stephen D. Brookfield’s teaching resource book Engaging Imagination: Helping Students Become Creative and Reflective Thinkers (2014), and Learning with the Labyrinth: Creating Reflective Space in Higher Education (Sellers and Moss forthcoming). 7 A technique I used to create the turf labyrinth at Canterbury Christ Church University for a conference workshop, ‘The labyrinth: contained walking, creative thinking’ (Overall 2015). The labyrinth remains in use and is maintained by the grounds and gardens staff of CCCU. Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 29 Walking against the current: generating creative responses to place Sonia Overall 30 
work_d7wutwykgjby3k3i73mx2mqpym	----	117049 1041..1055 Historical, practical, and theoretical perspectives on green management An exploratory analysis Stephanie S. Pane Haden, Jennifer D. Oyler and John H. Humphreys Department of Marketing and Management, Texas A&M University-Commerce, Commerce, Texas, USA Abstract Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to provide a comprehensive definition of green management. In the quest to systematically develop an inclusive definition, it seeks to take an exploratory approach to investigate the existing literature on green management from three different perspectives: first, tracing the history of how this concept emerged over time; second, considering the practices in which green organizations actually engage, focusing specifically on one company that has been recognized and honored for its extraordinary efforts toward sustainability; and third, reviewing the current developments in critical theory related to environmental issues and business. Design/methodology/approach – This exploratory review of the literature uses a tripartite approach to forge a sound definition and conceptualization of the term green management. Exploration of green management from the three angles mentioned revealed some commonalities and consistencies in the terminology and concepts. Factors common to the three perspectives were included in the proposed definition of green management. Findings – The ultimate product of the review is a comprehensive definition of green management. The identification of several commonalities using a tripartite approach lends support to the proposed definition and indicates to both researchers and practitioners that certain factors should not be ignored when attempting to study or practice green management. Originality/value – To the authors’ knowledge, green management has never been collectively reviewed from these three perspectives and the systematic approach resulted in a comprehensive definition that can help coordinate future research efforts around a common conceptualization. Keywords Ecology, Environmental management, History Paper type General review Introduction The original premise of this paper was to systematically trace the history of green management. This proved to be a challenging endeavor, primarily due to the fact that a precise and consistent definition of the term “green management” eludes the literature. The complexity of the task was further compounded by the fact that individuals and organizations have adopted a myriad of conceptualizations regarding what it means to practice green management. Some view something as simple as the incorporation of a business-wide recycling program as green management. It is not our objective to trivialize such a program as inconsequential, but researchers in the field and some business leaders demand that much more rigorous objectives be achieved in order to be recognized as a green organization. Researchers’ and practitioners’ views of what green management truly entails can fall at any point along a continuum, ranging from simple The current issue and full text archive of this journal is available at www.emeraldinsight.com/0025-1747.htm Perspectives on green management 1041 Management Decision Vol. 47 No. 7, 2009 pp. 1041-1055 q Emerald Group Publishing Limited 0025-1747 DOI 10.1108/00251740910978287 and basic environmentally-friendly programs that prevent further harm, to complex and demanding strategic initiatives that help to restore the environmental damage that has been done in the past. Therefore, the origin of green management may be recognized at different points in time, depending upon how the concept is defined and what types of practices we perceive as indicative of green management. Therefore, we felt it was necessary to shift the main objective of this paper from a strictly historical review of green management toward a systematic attempt to develop a sound definition and conceptualization of the term; the latter being an essential precursor to a valid historical account. In order to develop an adequate definition, we believe it is necessary to consider green management from a variety of critical angles. While we note that a truly systematic historical account is restricted at this point in time, we contend that history should not simply be ignored and that considering green management from a general historical perspective is one of the aforementioned critical angles. We believe that providing a basic timeline that traces how the need for green management emerged will help lay the foundation for the development of a definition. Beyond understanding how we arrived at our present-day need to practice green management, additional steps must be taken in order to decipher an adequate definition of the term and to fully grasp what it means to engage in green management. We will identify the current practices of an exemplary green organization and the developments in theory related to green management, as we believe that exploring these critical angles are also instrumental in arriving at a satisfactory definition of the term. The inadequacy of previous and related definitions of green management will also be addressed. Through this exploratory and tripartite approach to investigating green management from three different critical angles, we hope to converge upon a single, comprehensive, and complete definition of the term. Defining and conceptualizing green management A historical overview of the emergence of green management The need for environmental awareness and green management evolves from a variety of wrongdoings that have transpired over time. The exact moment in history in which these environmental wrongdoings originated is a subject for debate. Some may argue that with every generation of mankind, the environment has been suffering the consequences of selfish and wasteful human behavior. For example, there is an ongoing debate as to whether the Native American Indians were environmental conservationists who lived in harmony with nature or wasteful individuals who left buffalo to rot and burned down forests to clear the land for farming (e.g. Anderson, 1997). Likewise, the pioneers have been accused of recklessly exploiting natural resources and destroying wildlife during the frontier days in the late nineteenth century (e.g. Udall, 1963; Buchholz, 1993). Further investigation into all populations that have inhabited the Earth could probably lead researchers to find fault with how humans have treated their natural surroundings throughout history. While wasteful and environmentally damaging human behavior can be identified in accounts that venture back centuries in history, the era known as the Industrial Revolution seems to stand out as a time period in which the most devastating environmental harm originated. Anderson (2004) supports this viewpoint, noting that present-day “restorative” organizations are now responsible for reinvesting in natural capital, restoring the biosphere, and ameliorating the nearly 300 years of damage that MD 47,7 1042 transpired during the industrial age. Thoreau was critical of the Industrial Revolution and dismayed by the fact that man was becoming blinded by wealth and losing his ties to the land (Udall, 1963). While the following discussion touches solely upon the industrialization of Great Britain and the USA and the development of environmental awareness in the US, we do recognize that countries such as China are presently in the midst of an industrial revolution and that a host of other countries place a high value on the welfare of the environment. The Industrial Revolution originated in England in the late 1700s, soon made its way to North America, and persisted throughout the nineteenth century. While there seems to be some debate as to exact start and end dates for this time period and whether it was actually a revolution, all historians tend to document similar trends and events that define the era (e.g. Ashton, 1948; Hobsbawm, 1969). This time period marked a shift toward a capitalistic economy (Hobsbawm, 1975), where wealth and profit were the valued goals of individuals and corporations alike. Factories were built, machinery was developed, and new inventions flourished, all of which contributed to an increase in production, efficiency, and profit. There was also a substantial growth in the population and a rapid increase in the amount of land that was being cultivated. With the production benefits and increased efficiency that accompanied the new factories, advanced machinery, and novel inventions also came increases in air and water pollution. With the increase in the population came the side-effect of increased resource consumption and waste. With the cultivation of land came the negative effects of extensive deforestation. While human behavior prior to the Industrial Revolution was most likely wasteful and environmentally detrimental to some degree, the paramount changes that occurred during this timeframe drastically magnified this environmentally-unfriendly behavior. This magnifying glass by which we refer to as the Industrial Revolution multiplied the number and severity of the consequences of human behavior. While humans would have continued to utilize and waste nonrenewable resources and pollute the environment at a constant rate over time, the Industrial Revolution was the catalyst that exponentially increased the rate of that consumption, waste, and pollution, creating an undeniable urgency to take steps to cease and rectify the environmental damage. During the latter years of the nineteenth century (e.g. Udall, 1963) and the early years of the twentieth century, the people of the USA began to enter the first stages of ecological consciousness with the development of environmentalism and the start of the conservation movement (Buchholz, 1993). This movement originated out of the need to reduce the careless exploitation of the environment indicative of the industrial time period and the need to utilize natural resources in a conscientious and efficient manner, by individuals and corporations alike (Buchholz, 1993). Writers, philosophers, historians, naturalists, and activists such as Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Francis Parkman, William Bartram, and John James Audubon are considered to be the forerunners of the conservation movement due to their transcendental views of nature and their deep reflections upon and awareness of the wilderness in the 1800s (Udall, 1963). The Conservation Movement, spanning the decades between 1850 and 1920, included not only the insightful works and efforts of the aforementioned environmental activists, but also governmental intervention in the form legislation, such as the Forest Reserve Act of 1891 and the Rivers and Harbors Act of 1899. Perspectives on green management 1043 While earlier efforts were made to conserve natural resources and protect the environment, it is suggested that the true environmental movement originated in the mid-1960s and developed rather rapidly over the following decades (Buchholz, 1993). In addition to the societal changes that had profound negative repercussions on the environment during this period, society itself became aware of these repercussions and started expecting businesses to bear much of the responsibility for the planet’s environmental problems (Buchholz, 1993). With being blamed for much of the environmental ills plaguing the world, as well as being held responsible for finding solutions to these problems, organizations had little choice but to attempt to incorporate green management initiatives into all of their business functions. Nattrass and Altomare (1999) discussed the development of industrial sustainability, or what may be considered green management, and maintained that organizations encountered a steep learning curve process when adopting green management practices. Specifically, they constructed a model of organizational adoption of green management practices by which organizations obtained knowledge, responded to environmental issues, and set goals for environmental protection and restoration. Following approximately a century of environmental neglect, the first official era of environmental awareness spanned the 1970s and marked the creation of Earth Day and the first United Nations Environmental Conference (Nattrass and Altomare, 1999). These historical events signified a growing concern for the welfare of the environment. During this era, there was also an increase in environmental legislation that went into effect, among some of the most paramount being the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) and the five legal mandates of the Conservation and Stewardship legislation. The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) was also established in 1970. Each of these legal measures embodied the overreaching goal of establishing and maintaining standards for preventing environmental pollution. The goal of the government legislation was reflected in the goal of all industry at that time – compliance with regulatory standards. However, the corporate response to environmental concerns needed to be more proactive in nature. The unimaginable events of Love Canal in 1978 and Three Mile Island in 1979 no doubt helped to usher in a new decade where it was understood that merely complying with the law no longer made you a good corporate citizen. The second era of environmental awareness identified by Nattrass and Altomare (1999) spanned the 1980s. The preceding decade had ended with drastic environmental harm and human suffering and this decade was likewise plagued with its own devastation, with the Union Carbide incident in 1984 and the Exxon Valdez oil spill in 1989. It was also during this decade that scientists, climatologists, and policymakers confirmed that the greenhouse effect was a real phenomenon and would eventually have a substantial and negative impact on the climate and environment (e.g. Buchholz, 1993). Such tragic environmental events, as well as the increasing deterioration of the environment due to climate change, were painful but clear warning signs that companies needed to go beyond legal compliance in order to be considered good corporate citizens. Not only did the travesties and phenomenon harm environmental and human welfare, but they also hurt the affiliated companies’ financial standings. In order for companies to avoid such enormous costs, the individuals running these companies started to adopt new strategies to help them anticipate and be better prepared to deal with such tragedies in the future. MD 47,7 1044 The decade of the 1990s constitutes the third era of environmental awareness (Nattrass and Altomare, 1999). This era was defined by a proactive corporate response to environmental issues and a revelation that companies could actually profit from being environmentally conscious and emphasizing continuous improvements regarding environmental issues. It was during this decade that the term “eco-efficiency” was coined and that companies developed strategies that went beyond pollution prevention and the reduction of environmental harm. Instead, organizations pressed their members to find innovative ways to improve the manner in which materials were used and products were produced (Nattrass and Altomare, 1999). During the 1990s, organizations began to realize that maintaining the status quo would not lead to a successful future. Some organizations even had the foresight to conceive the idea that making changes to be more environmentally conscious could not only improve their financial outcomes and help them sustain over time, but could also help them gain an advantage over their competitors (e.g. Porter and van der Linde, 1995). The final and current era of environmental awareness is the new millennium (Nattrass and Altomare, 1999). To date, the response of corporations operating in the year 2000 and beyond is that of high integration. Instead of separating the goals of the company and the environment into two entities, organizational leaders are realizing that company and environmental goals should be one in the same. All organizations need to make environmental issues a major concern in all of their business functions in order to actively join in the noble effort of rescuing this planet that is in peril. While adopting environmentally conscious strategies and practices helps companies remain competitive in their respective markets, the increased environmental concern during this era is also driven by the motive to be socially responsible and to do what is morally right. Nattrass and Altomare (1999) also note that organizations that are trying to become green need to integrate sustainability initiatives at both strategic and operational levels. Additionally, they have to become learning organizations with an organic organizational structure in order to adequately and effectively respond to an environment that is in constant flux (Nattrass and Altomare, 1999). Based on a careful examination of this review and the corresponding body of literature documenting the progression of environmental concern from the Industrial Revolution to the present day, several terms related to the concept of green management have prominently emerged. In response to industrialization, the concepts of ecological consciousness, conservation, and environmentalism emanated, along with a call to decrease resource consumption, waste, and pollution. While these ideas and practices are necessary and basic requirements of any green management initiative, they are not sufficient. The review proceeds to recount the progression of environmental awareness from basic legal compliance in the 1970s to being proactive, gaining a competitive advantage and profit from environmental initiatives, fostering innovation, and achieving sustainability in the 1990s. Present-day, green organizations have transformed into socially responsible, learning organizations and have taken the aforementioned environmental performance initiatives aimed at achieving competitive advantage, financial profit, increased innovation, and sustainability and have fully integrated these initiatives into the overall goals and strategies of their organizations. We feel these fully integrated goals of modern-day green organizations and the concepts of continuous learning and social responsibility should be inherent components of any comprehensive definition of green management. Perspectives on green management 1045 Practices of green organizations: the case of Interface, Inc. Green management might best be defined by the environmentally conscious practices of “green” organizations. While researchers and authors have failed to develop a clear definition of the specific term “green management”, several accounts of what “green” managers actually do to manage their organizations in an environmentally conscious way have been documented in the literature. Interface, Inc. is a stellar example of a “green” organization that engages in practices indicative of rigorous and true green management. Presiding as CEO over a carpet manufacturing company in the commonly-viewed environmentally negligent textile industry, it may seem unfathomable that you would ever be recognized for outstanding contributions to sustainable development. Ray Anderson, founder and CEO of Interface, Inc., accomplished this feat when he was awarded the George and Cynthia Mitchell International Prize for Sustainable Development in 2001 (IIE Solutions, 2001). Anderson credits his transformation into a “born again green industrialist” (Kinkead, 1999) to an epiphany he experienced in 1994 when reading Paul Hawken’s book, The Ecology of Commerce (Woestendiek, 1998). Anderson harkened to Hawken’s call for a restorative economy that would unite ecology and commerce (Hawken, 1993). He set a goal to become a sustainable and restorative organization (Woestendiek, 1998). His first efforts directed at sustainability focused on waste reduction and developed into a company-wide program entitled the QUEST (quality utilizing employee suggestions and teamwork) incentive plan (DuBose, 2000). Not only did the QUEST program help the environment, but it also resulted in improved productivity, teamwork, motivation, and commitment among employees (Romm, 1994), and the company saved over $50 million in waste elimination in just a three-year time period (Woestendiek, 1998; DuBose, 2000). Interface is also exploring new innovations in recyclable materials and utilizing alternative energy sources such as solar panels (Anderson, 2004). Additionally, the creation of their “Trees for Travel” program is helping Interface close in on their goal of climate neutral transportation. By planting a tree for every 1,500 miles an employee flies on a commercial jet, Anderson (2004) rationalizes that the environmental cost for that trip can be recouped in roughly 200 years. In his effort toward achieving sustainability as an organization, Anderson has also partnered with the Natural Step, a non-profit environmental education organization. The Natural Step encourages the companies it works with to engage in sustainable practices by finding ways to decrease their dependence on: (1) materials from the Earth’s crust; (2) unnatural substances; (3) activities that harm nature; and (4) unnecessarily large amounts of resources that do not yield an equivalent human value (e.g. Bradbury and Clair, 1999). Based on these principles and his knowledge and experience in the field and his industry, Anderson proposed an interrelated, seven-step process that he believes his company must engage in, in order to emerge as a restorative and sustainable organization (McClenahen, 1998; Anderson, 2004). The first step focuses on the lofty goal of zero waste. While this goal might be considered impossible to achieve, it is the MD 47,7 1046 only option that fully aligns with the principles indicative of sustainability. The next three steps focus upon the production process itself and require the organization to uncover ways to eliminate harmful emissions, create and utilize renewable energy, and redesign products and processes for recycling (McClenahen, 1998; Anderson, 2004). Rising to meet these three challenges will help the organization to operate in a clean and environmentally-friendly way and become sustainable, but requires the company to make some major changes regarding the organization’s strategy, processes, and structure. Anderson also realizes that transporting raw materials to and finished products from manufacturing plants and employee travel all have a negative impact on the environment (McClenahen, 1998; Anderson, 2004). The fifth step, resource-efficient transportation, is necessary in reducing the resulting pollution and strategic factory location, driving hybrid cars, and the “Trees for Travel” program can all help reduce the pollution caused by travel (Anderson, 2004). The sixth step implores the organization to be socially responsible by creating a community that comprehends how natural systems function and how they are impacted by humans (McClenahen, 1998; Anderson, 2004). The crusade for green management should not be the responsibility of a solitary organization. Its success depends on the society at large to be involved and concertedly join in the effort. Environmental education organizations such as the Natural Step and environmental management standards such as ISO 14001 can help with this agenda (Anderson, 2004). The final stage involves the redesign of commerce to emphasize the delivery of value, as opposed to the delivery of end products (McClenahen, 1998; Anderson, 2004). Consumers must be convinced that there is an enhanced value and quality of a product if it is manufactured and delivered in an environmentally conscious manner. These steps coincide with Hart’s (1995) natural-resource-based view of the firm, as well as other environmentally-based theories of management, which will be addressed in the next section. By conquering these challenges and helping others to become sustainable, Interface can return more to the world than it takes, thereby becoming a truly restorative organization (Birchfield, 2002) and a model of veritable green management. Critical theory underlying green management On review of the literature, and in accordance with active researchers in the field (e.g. Banerjee, 2002a,b), it appears as if the development of theories underlying sustainability and green management is in its infancy. A variety of researchers are taking different approaches toward the theoretical development and corresponding empirical investigation of green management concepts. Banerjee (2002a) suggests that the different theoretical positions by which researchers approach their study of corporate environmentalism, or what we refer to as green management in this paper, include framing it as a paradigmatic shift, stakeholder issue, or strategic issue. As researchers argue the flaws of traditional management paradigms (e.g. Gladwin et al., 1995; Shrivastava, 1995), the search for and development of new paradigms that recognize the importance of environmental issues is underway (Banerjee, 2002a). Gladwin et al. (1995) have proposed a shift toward a “sustaincentric” paradigm and promote it as a compromise between the traditional “technocentric” and more recent “ecocentric” paradigms. The conventional and dominant “technocentric” approach touts that humans are superior to nature and encourages limitless growth, suggesting that science and technology will solve any environmental problems that arise from this growth. On the other end of the spectrum, the “ecocentric” perspective suggests that Perspectives on green management 1047 humans are inferior to nature, they will not be able to miraculously fix all environmental problems, and therefore there should be limits to growth so that we do not exceed the earth’s capacity to sustain life. While the first perspective fails to establish guidance toward true sustainability, the latter is too radical to be openly accepted by most modern-day organizations. The sustainability paradigm proposed by Gladwin et al. (1995) is integrative, uniting approaches of uninhibited growth and no growth and recognizing humans as interconnected with nature, not superior or inferior to it. The strategies and practices of green organizations such as Interface appear to be rather consistent with this new management paradigm, as such organizations recognize the importance of the natural environment and make environmental concerns integral to their corporate goals, practices, and strategies. Banerjee (2002a) suggests that a second theoretical position of corporate environmentalism involves framing it as a stakeholder issue. Researchers suggest that the concept of being a “stakeholder” must extend beyond human entities to include the natural environment as a major stakeholder in organizations (Starik, 1995). The traditional views of social responsibility (e.g. Friedman, 1970) suggest that a company’s primary responsibility is to generate as much money as possible for its shareholders and seem to consider such shareholders as the only important stakeholders in the organization. Such traditional views are being questioned by those who argue that there are a variety of organizational stakeholders, and the natural environment is one of them (e.g. Starik, 1995; Driscoll and Starik, 2004). Shrivastava (1995) contends that nature is the stakeholder that suffers the most risk from industrial activities, and since all life is dependent upon nature, it should be the most imperative and central variable in all organizational concerns and management paradigms. Based on the stakeholder perspective of corporate environmentalism, environmental concerns should not only be recognized as important, but should also be translated into strategic actions that will help the firm improve its environmental performance (Banerjee, 2002a). Considering these more contemporary perspectives on the stakeholder view of the firm, it is evident that it is imperative organizations recognize the importance of environmental issues and find ways to incorporate these issues into their business strategies, just as companies such as Interface have done. The third way in which the theoretical underpinnings and research streams associated with corporate environmentalism can be framed is as a strategic issue (Banerjee, 2002a). Exploring green management as a strategic issue involves consideration of how it affects the competitiveness and profitability of a firm (Banerjee, 2002a) and how it can be integrated into the firm’s strategic planning processes (Judge and Douglas, 1998; Banerjee, 1999). One of the predominant theories addressing the role that the natural environment can play in an organization’s competiveness and success is the natural-resource-based view of the firm (Hart, 1995). Building upon the original resource-based view of the firm (e.g. Wernerfelt, 1984; Barney, 1991), which contends that a firm’s unique resources and capabilities are the main sources of sustainable competitive advantage, Hart (1995) proposes that a company’s competitive advantage is based upon its relationship with the natural environment. The conceptual framework for this theory is comprised of the interconnected strategies of pollution prevention, product stewardship, and sustainable development. As mentioned in the previous section, such strategies are being used by green organizations such as Interface. Empirical evidence also lends support to this theory, finding that unique MD 47,7 1048 organizational capabilities that lead to a competitive advantage can be obtained via proactive responsiveness to ecological issues (Sharma and Vredenburg, 1998). There are other theoretical concepts that address how business strategy can be linked to the natural environment. Extending the strategy of total quality management (TQM) to include environmental concerns, total quality environmental management (TQEM) strives toward improving the environmental performance of an organization through the consideration of environmental costs associated with all organizational processes (e.g. Banerjee, 2002a). TQEM also emphasizes the need to incorporate environmental issues into organizational strategies in order to remain competitive in today’s market (Borri and Boccaletti, 1995). In accordance with the manner in which researchers suggest that there is a need to go beyond TQM in order to continuously expand and improve a firm’s capabilities (e.g. Luthans et al., 1995), becoming a learning organization with respect to environmental issues also seems necessary. Building upon the theoretical framework of organizational learning, Banerjee (1998) proposes that organizations can gain a competitive advantage by learning how to integrate environmental issues with their business strategies and corporate goals. Many business leaders have transformed their companies into learning organizations in order to gain the flexibility needed to deal with turbulence and uncertainty, to solve problems, and to continuously improve (e.g. Daft, 2007), all of which are issues inherent in the practice of green management. Both TQEM and corporate environmental (organizational) learning introduce the importance of integrating environmental issues into organizational strategies in order to gain a competitive advantage (Banerjee, 1998, 2002a), and companies like Interface have transformed into learning organizations in order to deal with the complexity of conducting business in an environmentally-friendly manner. We would also like to point out the central role that innovation plays in the development of competitive organizational strategies aimed at environmental improvements (e.g. Porter and van der Linde, 1995). Others offer similar sentiments about the importance of innovation (e.g. Nattrass and Altomare, 1999; Banerjee, 2001) and many of the practices of green organizations (i.e. Interface) can be described as nothing short of truly innovative. Challenges in defining green management One of the primary reasons why it is difficult to decipher a consistent and comprehensive definition of green management is that it is a relatively new term. Database searches yield relatively few works addressing the exact term “green management” and the majority of such works focus on environmental management and environmental management systems (EMS) as ways to improve environmental and business performance (e.g. Florida and Davison, 2001; Darnall et al., 2008). While both improved environmental and business performance are basic goals of green management, we believe that a more specific and extensive conceptualization is warranted. When definitions of the exact term “green management” are found in the literature, they often appear either too vague or incomplete. One of the most recent studies on green management defined the term as practices that produce environmentally-friendly products and minimize the impact on the environment through green production, green research and development, and green marketing (Peng and Lin, 2008). With no mention of factors such as strategic integration or sustainability, we feel that this definition falls short of what it means to embrace true Perspectives on green management 1049 green management, but recognize that developing a definition of the term was not the purpose of these authors. While researchers have made valiant attempts to develop conceptualizations and typologies, arriving at a widely-accepted definition of green management does not appear to have been a priority. Since it is a new term and there is not a clear and consistent definition of it, researchers and practitioners interpret green management in a variety of ways and this compounds the problems associated with defining and conceptualizing it. Some may view compliance with regulatory standards or a simple initiative to reduce paper consumption (i.e. requiring that all photocopying be double-sided) as green management. Others may feel that green management entails new corporate strategies, organizational restructuring, or a complete overhaul of manufacturing processes. The range separating these two viewpoints is vast, suggesting that there is a broad continuum or spectrum along which a variety of “green” business practices can fall, from the simple and easy to the complex and challenging. Banerjee (2001) suggests that the range of an organization’s environmentally-based strategies progresses from reactive to proactive; that organizations can resist or merely comply with environmental standards, or they can view environmental concerns as an opportunity to be innovative and gain a competitive advantage. Other researchers have also identified similar continuums of environmental strategies, models, typologies, and classifications (e.g. Hass, 1996; Freeman et al., 2000). With most organizational strategies, behaviors, and attitudes, researchers measure variables of interest with scales that indicate high, moderate, and low levels of such variables along some sort of continuum. For example, organizational commitment can be defined as “the degree to which an employee identifies with a particular organization and its goals and wishes to maintain membership in that organization” (Robbins and Judge, 2009, p. 79), and it can be measured using a questionnaire (e.g. Meyer and Allen, 1991). Each employee’s level of organizational commitment will vary along a continuum from low to high commitment. In a similar fashion, green management can be viewed, defined, and measured as any other variable related to organizational behavior. We believe that organizations will vary along a continuum ranging from low to high levels of green management, based on a definition that fully encapsulates the concept of green management. As research efforts progress our understanding of green management, we may find that one basic definition is not sufficient to describe the concept in its entirety and that it may actually be composed of different types of green management. Returning to the previous example of organizational commitment, researchers have identified three subcomponents: (1) affective commitment; (2) continuance commitment; and (3) normative commitment (e.g. Meyer and Allen, 1991; Meyer et al., 1993). Perhaps over time, through empirical research and scale development, we will see subcomponents such as zero waste, renewable energy, and socially responsible green management, based upon proposals and processes offered by researchers and practitioners (e.g. Anderson, 2004), emerge in the literature. However, before we attempt to derive subcomponents and multi-dimensional scales to measure green management, we need a general and comprehensive definition to serve as a common starting point. MD 47,7 1050 In addition to green management being a rather new term, the lack of a comprehensive and specific definition, and the confusion surrounding the range of practices that actually constitute green management, another obstacle in determining a solid definition of the term is that green management is typically labeled with a different nomenclature such as corporate environmentalism, environmental management, or corporate sustainability. Not only are there different terms by which we label green management, but each of these terms are defined and interpreted in a variety of ways by a diverse group of researchers and practitioners. For example, some suggest that the concept of corporate environmentalism revolves around the objective of reducing waste, which in turn contributes to the organization’s ultimate goal of making money (Costello, 2008). However, others define corporate environmentalism as something much more broad and profound than financial returns derived from waste reduction. For instance, one working definition of the term identifies corporate environmentalism as “the organization-wide recognition of the legitimacy and importance of the biophysical environment in the formulation of organization strategy, and the integration of environmental issues into the strategic planning process” (Banerjee, 2002a, p. 181). While this definition stresses the importance of environmental issues and the need to integrate these issues into the strategy of the organization, some factors that we believe are critical to the practice of green management seem to be missing or need to be specified; factors such as continuous improvement, sustainability, and innovation. Environmental management and corporate sustainability are also terms that have been used in close conjunction with or as a substitute for green management. Both concepts seem to extend beyond simply reducing waste, and therefore more accurately embrace the ideal of green management than the description of corporate environmentalism offered by Costello (2008). Environmental management focuses on continuous improvement and environmental management systems have been looked upon with much favor by large organizations, policy makers, consultants, and researchers as an effective approach for proactively dealing with environmental issues (Kautto, 2006). However, we should note that some have defined environmental management simply in terms of economic profit (e.g. Denton, 1994). Corporate sustainability also stretches beyond waste reduction and requires continuous improvements to achieve its challenging objectives. In order for sustainability to be possible, according to Daly (1996), our economy must radically shift from a focus on growth to a steady-state economy, which requires that rates of consumption do not exceed rates of regeneration, rates of non-renewable resources do not exceed the rate at which sustainable renewable substitutes are developed, and the rates of pollution emissions do not exceed the assimilative capacity of the environment (Daly, 1991). Hawken (1993, p. 139) applies an economic golden rule to define what it means to be sustainable when he advises everyone to “leave the world better than you found it, take no more than you need, try not to harm life or the environment, [and] make amends if you do.” Borrowing from the basic premises of these terms, we feel the need to incorporate ideas such as continuous improvement and sustainable processes into the definition of green management. A comprehensive definition of green management Following careful examination of the preceding review and the additional historically-based, practitioner-based, and theoretically-based literatures concerning Perspectives on green management 1051 green management, several recurring concepts were identified. The recurrence of similar concepts across three different perspectives solidified the importance of their inclusion in the following definition of green management: Green management is the organization-wide process of applying innovation to achieve sustainability, waste reduction, social responsibility, and a competitive advantage via continuous learning and development and by embracing environmental goals and strategies that are fully integrated with the goals and strategies of the organization. Contributions, implications, and future research The main contribution of this article is the proposal of a new and comprehensive definition of the term green management. Through the exploratory analysis of the literature addressing historical, practical, and theoretical viewpoints, certain concepts emerged across all three perspectives, signaling the need for their inclusion in the definition. We believe that developing the definition via the examination of green management from multiple critical angles was a sound and thorough approach. However, we do not claim that the proposed definition is perfect, nor do we imply that it should automatically be accepted by all researchers in the field. We call upon such researchers to add their insights and engage in efforts to validate a definition that experts in the field will approve of and accept. If we aspire to do more meaningful and systematic research in the field, it is beneficial for everyone to study and measure green management within the same frameworks and using the same definitions and conceptualizations. Also, the information provided in this archival review and the progression toward a comprehensive definition may prove useful to the development of scales and questionnaires that measure green management. Currently, researchers define and measure green management in a wide variety of ways. While one study may measure green management in terms of the development and application of alternative energy sources, another study may measure green management in terms of recycling programs. It is difficult to meaningfully compare the results of these two studies because the green management variables are so different. Therefore, a comprehensive scale that includes the full spectrum of possible green management initiatives would be useful in helping researchers determine an organization’s level (or score) of green management and be able to meaningfully compare results and draw conclusions across studies. 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(1998), “Maverick manager changes minds about the environment”, Industrial Management, Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 12-20. Corresponding author Stephanie S. Pane Haden can be contacted at: Stephanie_Pane@tamu-commerce.edu Perspectives on green management 1055 To purchase reprints of this article please e-mail: reprints@emeraldinsight.com Or visit our web site for further details: www.emeraldinsight.com/reprints Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. 
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work_db7hrfeql5dnra4zbhu4r52l7i	----	REVIEW Open Access Adult zebrafish as a model organism for behavioural genetics William Norton*, Laure Bally-Cuif* Abstract Recent research has demonstrated the suitability of adult zebrafish to model some aspects of complex behaviour. Studies of reward behaviour, learning and memory, aggression, anxiety and sleep strongly suggest that conserved regulatory processes underlie behaviour in zebrafish and mammals. The isolation and molecular analysis of zebra- fish behavioural mutants is now starting, allowing the identification of novel behavioural control genes. As a result of this, studies of adult zebrafish are now helping to uncover the genetic pathways and neural circuits that control vertebrate behaviour. Review Henry David Thoreau wrote “Many men go fishing all of their lives, without knowing it is not fish they are after”. Thus, one of the intrinsic difficulties of studying behaviour is to understand the underlying motivation of complex behaviours. Most behavioural traits are multi- genic and display environmental interactions, further compounding the difficulty of analysing them. However, recent studies using rats, mice, zebrafish, nematodes and fruit flies have begun to identify the genetic toolbox that controls behaviour. The general suitability of zebrafish as a model organ- ism, as well as its use in the genetic and neuroanatomi- cal analysis of larval behaviour has been comprehensively described elsewhere [1,2]. Although more difficult to manipulate than larvae, adult zebrafish display a full repertoire of mature behaviours making their characterisation particularly enticing. Zebrafish (Danio rerio) are a typical cyprinid (carp family) school- ing fish. In contrast to other laboratory behavioural models, zebrafish are naturally social animals that show preference for the presence of conspecifics [3,4]. Zebra- fish are therefore an excellent model to probe the genet- ics of social behaviour. In addition, zebrafish are diurnal allowing behaviour to be measured during their natural day time. Finally, it is crucial to investigate whether complex behaviours such as reward, learning and social behaviour are conserved throughout the animal king- dom. Thus, comparative studies of many model organ- isms, including zebrafish, are necessary to determine general principles of behavioural control. Several groups have already developed protocols to measure aggression, alarm reaction, antipredatory behaviour, anxiety, loco- motion, learning and memory, sleep, reward and social behaviour (see Table 1 and references therein). In this review we consider the brain areas and neurotransmitter systems that have been linked to the control of beha- vioural in adult zebrafish. We also describe the proto- cols and tools that have been developed for zebrafish behavioural studies. Contributions of zebrafish to behavioural genetics: Reward and Learning Reward behaviour Perhaps the most prominent area in which the adult zebrafish has contributed to behavioural genetics is reward. Reward behaviour provides animals with an instinctive drive to search for resources and to repro- duce. However, the brain’s reward pathway can also be hijacked by drugs of abuse such as cocaine, ampheta- mine or opioids. Reward behaviour may thus constitute the first step towards addiction. Reward can been mea- sured in zebrafish by using the conditioned place prefer- ence (CPP) test, which pairs a primary cue (e.g. a drug) with a secondary stimulus such as a coloured aquarium compartment. Drug dependency can also be evaluated by measuring the persistence of CPP following a period of abstinence. * Correspondence: norton@inaf.cnrs-gif.fr; bally-cuif@inaf.cnrs-gif.fr Zebrafish Neurogenetics group, Laboratory of Neurobiology & Development (NED), CNRS, UPR 3294, Institute of Neurobiology Albert Fessard, Avenue de la Terrasse, 91198 cedex, Gif-sur-Yvette, France Norton and Bally-Cuif BMC Neuroscience 2010, 11:90 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2202/11/90 © 2010 Norton and Bally-Cuif; licensee BioMed Central Ltd. This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. mailto:norton@inaf.cnrs-gif.fr mailto:bally-cuif@inaf.cnrs-gif.fr http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0 In line with studies of other animals (e.g. [5]), stimuli that have been shown to be rewarding for adult fish include ethanol [6,7], cocaine [8], amphetamine [9], opi- ates [10], nicotine [7], food [10] and the presence of conspecifics [11]. The major neurotransmitter associated with reward behaviour is Dopamine (DA). Increases of DAergic signalling from the ventral tegmental area to the nucleus accumbens (nAC) motivates mammals to repeat stimulus application. In zebrafish, this key DAer- gic pathway is most likely comprised of projections from the diencephalic posterior tuberculum to the ven- tral telencephalon (subpallium, (Vv and Vd), see [12]). Several other neurotransmitters have also been impli- cated in reward behaviour. Heterozygous mutant zebra- fish lacking one copy of the acetylcholinesterase (ache) gene have enhanced acetylcholine levels in the brain due to decreased breakdown of the neurotransmitter. The increase of acetylcholine in the brain of ache mutants causes a decrease in amphetamine-induced CPP [13]. Mammalian reward pathways also include raphe 5-HTergic neurons [14] as well as a number of inhibi- tory influences including projections from the habenula. The zebrafish ventral habenula appears to be homolo- gous to the mammalian lateral habenula in both gene Table 1 Protocols to measure behaviour in adult zebrafish Stage Behaviour Paradigm Reference Adult Aggression Live observation of two fish [29,37,39,40,45] Adult Aggression Mirror image test [6] Adult Aggression Pigment response [6] Adult Aggression Startle reaction [85] Adult Alarm reaction Response to alarm substance [26,52,86] Adult Antipredation Predator stimulation [87] Adult Anxiety Exit latency test [51] Adult Anxiety Group preference [6] Adult Anxiety Light/Dark preference [48,88] Adult Anxiety Locomotory activity [6] Adult Anxiety Place preference / Thigmotaxis [13,34,49,51] Adult Anxiety Tank diving test [50,53,55] Adult Anxiety Time in enriched T-maze chamber [89] Adult Audition Response to startling noise [64] Adult Courtship Observation of courtship postures [82] Adult Lateralisation Interaction with object [41,77] Adult Locomotion Mean velocity [90] Adult Locomotion Number of lines crossed [36,81,87] Adult Locomotion Total distance moved / Videotracking [80,81,90] Adult Locomotion Turning angle [90] Adult Mate choice Video-stimulus technique [91] Adult Learning / memory Active avoidance conditioning [27,28,92,93] Adult Learning / memory Delayed spatial alternation [35] Adult Learning / memory Learned alarm reactions [86] Adult Learning / memory Spatial alternation, learning and memory [31,32,54,94] Adult Learning / memory T-maze [8,13,33,89] Adult Learning / memory Visual discrimination learning [29] Adult Olfaction Response to amino acids [75] Adult Reward Conditioned place preference [6-9,13] Adult Reward Presence of Conspecific [11] Adult Sleep Locomotor inhibition [61] Adult Sleep Monitoring sleep postures [57,58,63] Adult Sleep Pigment response [61] Adult Social preference Area occupied [85] Adult Social preference Group preference [6] Adult Social preference Nearest neighbour distance [85] Adult Social preference Shoaling [3,78,87] Adult Vision Optokinetic response [76] Norton and Bally-Cuif BMC Neuroscience 2010, 11:90 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2202/11/90 Page 2 of 11 expression and innervation of the raphe [15]. The recent identification of selective molecular markers for both structures [16,17] will make genetic manipulation of the reward pathway possible. Such a targeted approach will allow functional interrogation of the reward circuitry in zebrafish and may highlight both similarities and differ- ences in the mechanisms controlling monoaminergic behaviours in vertebrates. There have been several screens for zebrafish mutant families with altered reward behaviour. Darland and Dowling isolated three families of mutants which were not responsive to cocaine application, although the affected genes were not reported [8]. Other groups have used microarrays to identify addiction related genes. Brennan and colleagues demonstrated a robust change in place preference (PP) following nicotine or ethanol treatment [7]. This PP was also maintained fol- lowing a period of abstinence or when paired with an adverse stimulus (3 seconds removal from the tank water) suggesting that drug dependency had occurred. Microarray analysis comparing the brains of both trea- ted and untreated fish identified 1362 genes that were significantly changed following drug application, including 153 that were responsive to both nicotine and ethanol. Many of these genes are also involved in reward behaviour in other species, by either altering dopaminergic or glutamatergic signalling or modulat- ing synaptic plasticity [7]. In addition, this study also revealed a number of novel genes that were changed upon drug administration, including those coding for Calcineurin B and the Hypocretin receptor. Bally-Cuif and colleagues conducted a screen for mutants that were insensitive to amphetamine application [13]. One of these mutants, no addiction (nad), was used to iden- tify genes that were transcriptionally modified by amphetamine in wild-type fish and were differentially over- or under-regulated in nad. Importantly, gene expression was unmodified in nad mutants in the absence of the drug [9]. This strategy permitted the unbiased recovery of 139 genes linked to amphetamine triggered CPP. A large proportion these genes were developmentally active transcription factors. These include Dlx1a, Emx1a, Lhx8, Sox9 and Tbr1, proteins that are implicated in the control of neurogenesis in the vertebrate embryo and show persistent expression in the adult-neurogenic regions of the mammalian and fish brain [9]. A recent study of rats has also demon- strated altered cocaine (but not sucrose) mediated reward behaviour following a reduction of hippocam- pal neurogenesis [18]. This constitutes an exciting new development in the field of reward behaviour; neuro- genesis-induced plasticity may account for some of the learning aspects of reward and the long-lasting changes in the brain associated with addiction. A comparable approach has led to the identification of too few (tof) a mutant that fails to change place prefer- ence following morphine treatment but not food appli- cation [10]. tof encodes a forebrain specific zinc finger protein, Fezl [19], which establishes neurog1-expressing DA progenitor domains in the basal forebrain [20]. Loss of fezl leads to a reduction of dopaminergic and seroto- nergic neurons in specific nuclei of the forebrain (dien- cephalon and hypothalamus; [21]), defects that are maintained into adulthood. Dissociation between the preference for a natural reward (food) and a drug (mor- phine) has previously been observed in dopamine D2 receptor knock-out mice [22] but is not understood at the molecular or neurological level. Since both mor- phine and food rewards are dependent on opioid recep- tor activity in zebrafish [10], the separable reward behaviour seen in tof suggests that distinct neural sys- tems act downstream of opioid signalling to mediate the response to morphine and food. Alternatively, the rewarding aspects of food and drug treatment may be mediated by different subsets of dopaminergic nuclei in the forebrain. Thus, together with the study of hippo- campal irradiated rats [18], tof presents an excellent opportunity to dissect the neural basis of discrimination between rewarding substances in the brain. Learning and memory Studies of mammals have shown that learning and memory can be controlled by several brain circuits, each of which is neuroanatomically distinct. These include spatial learning (hippocampus), implicit learning (such as simple motor reflexes; cerebellum) and avoidance learning (amygdala). Although the neural basis of learn- ing is not well understood in zebrafish, studies of the closely related goldfish (Cassius auratus) hint at brain areas which could be involved. Focal ablations of the goldfish brain have identified the lateral pallium (Dl, equivalent to the hippocampus), medial pallium (Dm, equivalent to the amygdala) and cerebellum [23-25] as playing key roles in learning. Several paradigms have already been developed to measure learning and memory in zebrafish. Associative learning can be measured by pairing two previously unrelated stimuli such as colour, reward or aversion. For example, Suboski and colleagues paired a neutral stimu- lus (morpholine) with the aversive effects of alarm sub- stance [26]. Avoidance learning can be assessed by using a shuttle box; fish are quickly able to associate a condi- tioned stimulus (e.g light [27] or colour [28]) with an unconditioned stimulus (such as a mild electric shock). Spatial learning can be measured using either a T-maze [8,11,29,30] or a shuttle box [31,32]. Fish must learn to collect a reward by either navigating a maze correctly or alternating the side of the tank visited. These beha- vioural tests are high-throughput, making them suitable Norton and Bally-Cuif BMC Neuroscience 2010, 11:90 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2202/11/90 Page 3 of 11 for screens for novel genes controlling learning and memory. Pharmacological studies have validated adult zebrafish as a model for learning and memory, making it a very promising area for future research. Several evolutionarily conserved neurotransmitter systems have been impli- cated in learning and memory. ache mutants, with increased acetylcholine levels in the brain, learn to find a food reward faster in a T-maze [33] thereby linking cholinergic signalling to learning. Fish exposed to mod- erate levels of nicotine perform better in a delayed spa- tial alteration task, a type of avoidance learning test. Nicotine acts via nicotinic acetylcholine receptors (nACHRs), thus further underscoring the importance of cholinergic signalling [34,35]. Treatment of fish with a Histidine decarboxylase inhibitor, alphafluoromethylhis- tidine (a-FMH), reduces both levels of histamine and the number of histaminergic fibres in the brain. a-FMH treated animals display defects in long-term memory formation but not initial learning [30]. Finally, NMDA antagonists have also been shown to impair memory formation in zebrafish [27,28]. NMDA receptors are found abundantly in the telencephalon, which contains the teleostean (bony fish) equivalent of the hippocampus and amygdala [36]. The neurotransmitters discussed above have also been connected to learning in other species, suggesting that work in zebrafish may give insight into conserved learning mechanisms. Therefore, adult zebrafish constitute a particularly promising model for research into learning and memory. Emerging fields for genetic analysis: Aggression and Anxiety Aggression Aggression is a complex suite of behaviours serving a number of adaptive purposes. Fish use aggression to protect offspring, monopolise resources such as food, territory and mates and establish dominance hierarchies. Aggression can be measured in the laboratory by recording the interaction of two free-swimming fish or by using mirror induced stimulation (MIS)[6,37]. Fish are unable to recognise their own image and so attack as if an intruder is present [38]. Furthermore, MIS pro- vides immediate feedback to the fish’s activity and avoids damaging the subjects [37]. Zebrafish display characteristic agonistic postures including erection of the dorsal, caudal, pectoral and anal fins coupled to bit- ing, thrashing of the tail and short bouts of fast swim- ming directed against the mirror [6]. A positive correlation between aggression and boldness has also been reported [39]. Aggression is a very plastic beha- viour. Both habitat complexity and rearing conditions can influence the number of interactions [37,40]. Furthermore, different wild-type strains show varying aggression levels suggesting a genetic component to its control. Finally, aggressive behaviour also shows laterali- sation, with adult fish predominantly using the right eye to view predators [41]. Studies in other species have identified 5-HT as the major neurotransmitter controlling aggression. Animals with high levels of 5-HT tend to be timid, whereas those with lower levels are more impulsive and aggres- sive (e.g. [42]). Other neurotransmitters, including GABA, glutamate and nitric oxide as well as the hor- mones vasopressin and testosterone have also been implicated in agonistic behaviour [43]. However, the role of these neurotransmitters has not been explicitly tested in zebrafish. In zebrafish, agonistic behaviour can be modified by exposure to pharmacological com- pounds including ethanol [6] and 17alpha-ethinylestra- diol (a synthetic oestrogen; [44]). The brain areas mediating aggression in fish are not well characterised. Arginine vasotocin-expressing cells of the magnocellu- lar preoptic area change size depending on the domi- nance status of fish. This suggests involvement of the preoptic area in control of social hierarchy and the agonistic behaviour used to establish it [45]. Studies of other fish species have identified additional brain terri- tories that influence aggression. For example, the neural activity maker cfos is expressed in the dience- phalon, thalamus and hypothalamus and a few nuclei in the pons and medulla oblongata of the mudskipper (Periophthalmus cantonensis) following an aggressive episode [46]. Finally, electrical stimulation of the blue- gill (Lepomis macrochirus) implicates the inferior hypothalamus in aggression control [47]. The MIS protocol is simple to establish and perform. Coupled to computer-aided automation, it can be adapted for high-throughput screening studies, thus pro- viding a golden opportunity to uncover novel genes implicated in aggression control. Anxiety Anxiety is a state of constant fear or restlessness caused by anticipation of a real or imagined future event. Multi- ple anxiety tests have been established in fish, although it is not always clear whether fear or anxiety is being measured, or indeed whether the different states even exist [48]. Protocols to measure anxiety tend to assess one of two variables. The first set of protocols record the reaction of adult fish to novel environments, such as the amount of time spent at the edge of a tank [30,49], at the bottom of a novel tank [34,50] or on the dark side of a light/dark tank [28,51]. The second approach analyses locomotory patterns: freezing, long-lasting increases in basal locomotory activity [6,48,49] and tigh- tening of a fish’s shoal [52] have all been reported to be reliable measures of anxiety. The expression and level of anxiety are wild-type strain dependent [49,50]. Norton and Bally-Cuif BMC Neuroscience 2010, 11:90 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2202/11/90 Page 4 of 11 For example, AB wild-types manifest anxiety as a hyper- active swimming response [49]. Similar to other behaviours, anxiety protocols have been validated using pharmacological compounds devel- oped for human patients. Application of caffeine [50,53], pentylenetetrazole [53], alarm substance [50,52], the benzodiazepine partial inverse agonist FG-7142 [49] and withdrawal of cocaine [49] have all been shown to be anxiogenic. Conversely, many anxiolytic substances have been characterised including nicotine [54], diazepam [49,55], the Htr1a (5-HT receptor) partial agonist bus- pirone [55], fluoxetine hydrochloride and ethanol [50]. Finally, a link between anxiety levels and the major zeb- rafish stress hormone cortisol has also been demon- strated [50]. The ease of applying drugs and robust behavioural assays (see [49,50]) make zebrafish an ideal model to study anxiety and related behaviours. Sleep Although sleep is a widespread phenomenon, its beha- vioural and physiological function is not well under- stood. Sleep is characterised by periods of behavioural quietness, species-specific body postures, an increased arousal threshold and a quick return to wakefulness [56]. Furthermore, sleep-deprived animals also show homeostatic rebound, increasing the amount of time needed to sleep following deprivation. The timing of sleep also shows circadian rhythmicity. Several studies have identified sleep-like behaviour in zebrafish. During the night, adult fish have periods of two to four minutes of inactivity in which the fish floats horizontally and makes small pectoral fin movements. There is also a simultaneous reduction of mouth and operculum move- ments suggesting lower respiratory levels [57]. Sleep rebound has been demonstrated in zebrafish indicating homeostatic regulation; disrupting the normal night time routine (using light, vibration, electric shock or forced movement) deprives fish of rest and causes a subsequent increase in sleep duration [57,58]. Finally, zebrafish also show circadian rhythmicity, with higher activity levels in the day [57]. Studies in other species have identified several signifi- cant sleep-related neurotransmitters: Increases of dopa- mine levels in the brain reduces the amount of time asleep [59], whereas GABA signalling promotes sleep and GABAA receptor agonists are used to treat insom- nia [60]. Although these pathways have not been directly examined in zebrafish, treatment with diazepam, pento- barbital [57], alpha2 adrenoceptor agonists [61], and his- tamine H1 antagonists [62] have all been shown to increase sleep, thus implicating GABA, acetylcholine and histamine in its control. Several studies have also demonstrated a conserved role for hypocretin/orexin (HCRT) in sleep-wake regulation. Zebrafish contain a single HCRT receptor gene (hcrtr), which is expressed in a small number of glutamatergic neurons of the adult hypothalamus [58,63]. Loss of hcrtr function causes sleep fragmentation but not cataplexy or decreased wake bout length, suggesting that HCRT may function to consolidate sleep in fish [58]. HCRT acts by stimulating the endogenous melatonin sleep-promoting system found in the pineal gland [63]. Taken together, studies of zebrafish have confirmed that the control of sleep appears to be evolutionarily conserved. Although zebra- fish sleep research is still in its infancy, the high throughput nature of the set-ups used to measure sleep demonstrates that zebrafish are an ideal model in which to conduct screens for novel hypnotic mutants. Practical considerations: strain differences, screen design and duplicated genes Strain differences in wild-type fish The examples discussed in this review highlight the suit- ability of adult zebrafish for studies of complex verte- brate behaviours. However, there are several considerations that need to be taken into account before initiating behavioural work. For example, care must be taken to dissect the influence of neurotransmitter signal- ling pathways and the specificity of drugs used to modu- late them. Finally, another important consideration when designing behavioural studies is the background strain of the fish used. Strain differences in adult beha- viour have already been reported [13,49,50,64]. Thus, in order to avoid some of the known difficulties in repro- ducing behavioural work, all behavioural studies should be carried out on well defined laboratory strains. Although no inbred strains exist, the AB line, available from the ZIRC stock centre is an excellent choice for a reference strain. The line has been maintained in the laboratory for more than 70 generations and is freely available to the zebrafish community. Screen design Genes do not directly control behaviour. Rather, genes influence behavioural output by either modulating neural circuit formation (neural specification, differentiation and connectivity) or function (e.g. neurotransmitter release or reuptake). High throughput forward genetic screening has long been one of the goals of zebrafish research, and in this regard the nascent behavioural field is no different. However, behavioural phenotyping is subject to large variability between animals. This can make it difficult to phenotype mutants with certainty, and so complicates positional cloning of the mutations. Furthermore, careful consideration needs to be given to the choice of mutagen. The most commonly used mutagen N-ethyl-N-nitro- sourea (ENU; Fig. 1) efficiently induces intragenic point mutations in the germline [65], but the subsequent clon- ing steps needed to recover the mutagenised gene are Norton and Bally-Cuif BMC Neuroscience 2010, 11:90 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2202/11/90 Page 5 of 11 laborious. As an alternative to ENU treatment, insertional mutagenesis looks particularly promising (Fig 2). Although insertional mutations occur at a lower fre- quency, isolation of the genetic lesion is much simpler [66,67]. The mutagenic cassette may also be coupled to a fluorescent reporter line thus highlighting the expression profile of the mutated gene. This technique will allow fas- ter and more reliable identification of animals carrying the same insertion and so will facilitate mapping. This has recently been powerfully demonstrated in juvenile fish by using a reporter-tagged insertional mutagenesis strategy to clone two nicotine-response mutants [68]. Finally, the usefulness of zebrafish is not limited to screening paradigms. The advent of TILLING [69] and zinc-finger nuclease technology [70] has opened the door to targeted modification of the zebrafish genome, thus allowing the behavioural function of known genes to be probed. Gene duplication and redundancy in zebrafish In common with all ray-finned fishes (actinopterygii), zebrafish underwent a third whole genome duplication Figure 1 Three-generation breeding scheme for chemically-induced mutant fish. Male fish are mutagenised and then crossed to wild-type females to produce an F1 generation. An F2 generation is made by in-crossing F1 siblings. Dominant behavioural mutants can be identified in this F2 generation (black fish). For recessive mutant carriers, a second in-cross is performed and the progeny screened for behavioural alterations (red fish) - if the inheritance in Mendelian then one quarter of the progeny should show the behavioural defect. Norton and Bally-Cuif BMC Neuroscience 2010, 11:90 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2202/11/90 Page 6 of 11 around 350 million years ago and often have two copies of genes found in other vertebrates [71]. The most likely fate of a duplicate gene is loss of function. However, in some cases both copies can be retained and subfunctio- nalisation (splitting of the ancestral function between the two new genes) or neofunctionalisation (acquisition of a new function through mutation) can occur [72]. Redundancy can make analysis of a gene’s function more difficult by masking mutant phenotypes. However, redundancy can also be useful, exposing late functions of genes that cause embryonic defects in other animals. For example, zebrafish lacking activity of one copy of fibroblast growth factor 1 (fgfr1a) have a surprising lack of developmental phenotype compared to mice and medaka deficient in the gene [73,74]. Rather, adult fgfr1a mutant fish exhibit several behavioural alterations, including increases in aggression, boldness and explora- tion (W Norton, personal observation). Conclusion Although anecdotally fish are thought to have poor memories and display few complex behaviours, numer- ous studies have disproved such beliefs. In this review we have demonstrated ways in which studies of adult zebrafish have contributed to our understanding of the genetic basis of behaviour. We have described set-ups to measure behaviour (e.g. Table 1) and some of the phar- macological treatments that have already been employed Figure 2 Breeding scheme for the production of insertional mutants in zebrafish. Single-cell to blastula-stage embryos are injected with a mutagen and grown to adulthood. The mature fish are then inbred twice to produce first an F1 and then an F2 generation. Mutants with behavioural phenotypes (black and blue spotted fish) can be identified by in-crossing the F3 fish. The number- and position of insertions can be monitored by western blot and PCR analysis. Norton and Bally-Cuif BMC Neuroscience 2010, 11:90 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2202/11/90 Page 7 of 11 in zebrafish (Table 2). However, fish also manifest other behaviours, the discussion of which is unfortunately beyond the scope of this review. These behaviours include olfaction [75], vision [76], behavioural lateralisa- tion [77], shoaling [3,78,79], locomotion [80,81] and reproductive behaviour [82]. Finally, studies of adult fish are also beginning to give clues about the initiation of locomotion, an assay that might be modified to probe the motivation to move. In the adult spinal cord, appli- cation of 5-HT modifies the cyclical pattern of locomo- tory activity by increasing mid-cycle inhibition and reducing the onset of the next cycle, so reducing the initiation of locomotion [83]. Larval zebrafish are also useful for studying simple behaviours, and protocols have been established to measure locomotion and visuomotor behaviours such as prey capture [1]. Coupled to the transgenic lines avail- able and the emergence of optogenetic technology (e.g. [84]), larvae may allow the dissection of behavioural cir- cuits at the cellular level in intact living fish. Moreover, in an elegant recent study by Engert and colleagues, neural circuit activity has been analysed at the single- cell level by recording bioluminescence in free-swim- ming larvae [85]. In summary, zebrafish have many attributes that make them an ideal model organism for the study of beha- vioural genetics. Although to date there have been rela- tively few studies of adult zebrafish behaviour, the ease of carrying out pharmacological studies coupled to the ever increasing number of available genetic tools suggest Table 2 Pharmacological treatments with known behavioural effects on adult zebrafish Behaviour Modulating agent Function / Activity Effect Reference Aggression Ethanol GABA-A receptor modulator Increases aggression [85] Aggression 17a-ethinylestradiol Synthetic oestrogen Reduces aggression [44] Antipredation Ethanol GABA-A receptor modulator Impaired by high doses [6] Anxiety Diazepam Benzodiazepine Reduces anxiety [49,86] Anxiety FG-7142 Benzodiazepine inv. agonist Increases anxiety [49] Anxiety Pentylenetetrazole GABA antagonist Increases anxiety [53] Anxiety Ethanol GABA-A receptor modulator Reduces anxiety [50,53] Anxiety Buspirone Htr1A partial agonist Reduces anxiety [55] Anxiety Alarm substance Hypoxanthine-3N-oxide Increases anxiety [50,52] Anxiety Nicotine NachR agonist Reduces anxiety [34] Anxiety Methyllycaconitine Nicotinic antagonist Anxiolytic [55] Anxiety Dihydro-b-erythroidine Nicotinic antagonist Anxiolytic [55] Anxiety Mecamylamine Nicotinic antagonist Anxiolytic [34] Anxiety Morphine Opiate Reduces anxiety [53] Anxiety Cocaine (withdrawal) Psychostimulant Increases anxiety [49] Anxiety Fluoxetine 5-HT reuptake inhibitor Reduces anxiety [50,53] Anxiety Caffeine Xanthine alkaloid Increases anxiety [50,53] Group preference Ethanol GABA-A receptor modulator Reduced at high conc. [6] Learning a FMH HDAC inhibitor Impairs long term memory [30] Learning Nicotine NachR agonist Improves learning [34,35] Learning MK-801 NMDA antagonist Impairs memory [27,28] Learning L-NAME NO synthase inhibitor Impairs memory retention [27] Light/Dark pref Ethanol GABA-A receptor modulator Decreased at high conc. [6] Locomotion Ethanol GABA-A receptor modulator Reduced at high conc. [6] Reward Acetylcholine Cholinergic agonist Non-rewarding [13] Reward Ethanol GABA-A receptor modulator Rewarding [7] Reward Nicotine NachR agonist Rewarding [7] Reward Food Nourishment Rewarding [10] Reward Morphine Opiate Rewarding [10] Reward Morphine Opiate Rewarding [10] Reward Cocaine Psychostimulant Rewarding [8] Reward Amphetamine Psychostimulant Rewarding [9] Sleep Dexmedetomidine alpha2 adrenoceptor agonist Sedative [61] Sleep Pentobarbital Barbiturate Hypnotic [57] Sleep Diazepam Benzodiazepine Hypnotic [57] Norton and Bally-Cuif BMC Neuroscience 2010, 11:90 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2202/11/90 Page 8 of 11 that zebrafish are about to enter the limelight. Finally, their small size and cheap maintenance costs suggest that zebrafish are ideally suited for large-scale beha- vioural screens. We look forwards to the next steps in the establishment of this fascinating field. Acknowledgements We thank Christina Lillesaar, Ina Rothenaigner, Marion Coolen and Philippe Vernier for critically reading an early version of this manuscript, and all members of the Bally-Cuif laboratory for their enthusiastic discussions about zebrafish development and behaviour. Authors’ contributions WN conceived the review and wrote the manuscript. LB-C suggested subject areas to include in the review and worked on the manuscript. All authors read and approved the final manuscript. Received: 27 July 2010 Accepted: 2 August 2010 Published: 2 August 2010 References 1. Fero K, Yokogawa T, Burgess HA: The behavioural repertoire of larval zebrafish. Zebrafish Models in Neurobehavioral Research Cambridge University PressKalueff AV, Cachat JM 2010. 2. Westerfield M: The zebrafish book. A guide for the laboratory use of zebrafish (Danio rerio). Univ of Oregon Press, Eugene, 4 2000. 3. 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http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/15118860?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/15118860?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/8001823?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/8001823?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19497864?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19497864?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19900474?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19900474?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/9402625?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/9402625?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18978932?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18978932?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18199839?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18199839?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18822380?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18822380?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18375855?dopt=Abstract 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J Neurochem 2004, 88:443-453. 92. Turnell ER, Mann KD, Rosenthal GG, Gerlach G: Mate choice in zebrafish (Danio rerio) analyzed with video-stimulus techniques. Biol Bull 2003, 205:225-226. 93. Pradel G, Schachner M, Schmidt R: Inhibition of memory consolidation by antibodies against cell adhesion molecules after active avoidance conditioning in zebrafish. J Neurobiol 1999, 39:197-206. 94. Pradel G, Schmidt R, Schachner M: Involvement of L1.1 in memory consolidation after active avoidance conditioning in zebrafish. J Neurobiol 2000, 43:389-403. doi:10.1186/1471-2202-11-90 Cite this article as: Norton and Bally-Cuif: Adult zebrafish as a model organism for behavioural genetics. BMC Neuroscience 2010 11:90. Submit your next manuscript to BioMed Central and take full advantage of: • Convenient online submission • Thorough peer review • No space constraints or color figure charges • Immediate publication on acceptance • Inclusion in PubMed, CAS, Scopus and Google Scholar • Research which is freely available for redistribution Submit your manuscript at www.biomedcentral.com/submit Norton and Bally-Cuif BMC Neuroscience 2010, 11:90 http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-2202/11/90 Page 11 of 11 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/14690532?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/14690532?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/14583542?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/14583542?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10235674?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10235674?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10235674?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10861564?dopt=Abstract http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10861564?dopt=Abstract Abstract Review Contributions of zebrafish to behavioural genetics: Reward and Learning Reward behaviour Learning and memory Emerging fields for genetic analysis: Aggression and Anxiety Aggression Anxiety Sleep Practical considerations: strain differences, screen design and duplicated genes Strain differences in wild-type fish Screen design Gene duplication and redundancy in zebrafish Conclusion Acknowledgements Authors' contributions References 
work_dcgpr55fpjboxj2vkdqmatoowu	----	In Memoriam �� �This�listing�contains�names�received�by�the� membership�office�since�the�March�2008� issue.�A�cumulative�list�for�the�academic� year�2007–08�appears�at�the�MLA�Web�site� (www�.mla�.org/in_memoriam). Aimé�Césaire,�Paris,�France,�17�April�2008 Paul�Debreczeny,�University�of�North�Carolina,�Chapel�Hill,�18�March�2008 Robert�Fagles,�Princeton�University,�26�March�2008 Joseph�A.�Feehan,�Granada�Hills,�California,�22�March�2008 William�W.�Grant,�University�of�Edinburgh,�Scotland,�11�January�2008 Richard�Helgerson,�University�of�California,�Santa�Barbara,�26�April�2008 Paul�M.�Lloyd,�University�of�Pennsylvania,�6�December�2007 Helen�L.�Sehrt,�George�Mason�University,�16�May�2008 S.�Samuel�Trifilo,�Marquette�University,�30�March�2008 Ralph�Vitello,�East�Stroudsburg�University,�11�September�2007 [ P M L A 830 [ © 2 008 by t h e mode r n l a nguage a s s o ci at ion of a m e r ic a ] Paradoxes and pedestals The Johns hopkins University press 1-800-537-5487 • www.press.jhu.edu Women’s Writing in Italy, 1400–1650 Virginia Cox “the most sub- stantive study written to date on the relations between italian humanism and the emergence of the female intellectual. Authoritative, wide-ranging, and persuasive, this book sets a new benchmark for scholarship on early modern women’s writ- ings.” —Deanna shemek, University of California, santa Cruz $50.00 hardcover Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture volume 37 edited by Linda Zionkowski and Downing Thomas the essays in this volume share a common concern with investigating enlightenment categories of historical understanding and determining how these categories helped shape enlightenment culture. the contributors address the question of how eighteenth- century writers make sense of the past—how they interpret it, give it meaning and form, and deploy it for their own practical, aesthetic, and ideological purposes. $45.00 hardcover Strange Concepts and the Stories They Make Possible Cognition, Culture, narrative Lisa Zunshine From Short Circuit to I, Robot, from The Parent Trap to Big Business, fantastic tales of rebellious robots, ani- mated artifacts, and twins mistaken for each other are a permanent fixture in popular culture and have been since antiquity. Why do these strange concepts capti- vate the human imagination so thoroughly? Zunshine explores how cognitive science, specifically its ideas of essentialism and functionalism, combined with historical and cultural analysis, can help us understand why we find such literary phenomena so fascinating. $25.00 paperback Percy Bysshe Shelley A Biography James Bieri “Bieri’s biography, which will surely be the definitive study of shelley’s life and work for many years to come, advances and enriches the state of contempo- rary shelley studies in remarkable ways.” —Romantic Circles $45.00 paperback Essential Cinema on the necessity of Film Canons Jonathan Rosenbaum “A virtuoso collection by one of the finest film critics currently active . . . there’s nothing here that won’t enrich the reader in some way. if you have seen the film already, you will see it better. if you haven’t seen it, you will want to.” —The Times of London $25.00 paperback 831 < Previous ad Next ad > 831 http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/829.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/833.pdf 833 THE SCHOOL OF CRITICISM & THEORY at Cornell University An international program of study with leading figures in critical theory invites you to apply for its Thirty-first Summer Session June 15-July 24, 2008 IN NEW YORK STATE’S FINGER LAKES REGION The Program In an intense six-week course of study, participants from around the world, in the disciplines of literature, history, and related social sciences, explore recent developments in literary and humanistic studies. Tuition The fee for the session is $2500. Applicants are eligible to compete for partial tuition scholar- ships and are urged to seek funding from their home institutions. Acceptance Applications from faculty members and advanced graduate students at universities worldwide will be judged beginning March 1, 2008. Admissions are made on a rolling basis, and decisions are announced as soon as possible. For further information or to apply, write: The School of Criticism and Theory Cornell University, A. D. White House, 27 East Avenue, Ithaca, N.Y. 14853 telephone: 607-255-9274 email: humctr-mailbox@cornell.edu fax: 607-255-1422 2008 Faculty: 6-Week Seminars J.M. Bernstein University Distinguished Professor of Philosophy, Department of Philosophy, New School for Social Research “Torture and Dignity” Carolyn J. Dean Professor of History and Modern Culture and Media, Brown University “On Disbelief, Exaggeration, and the ‘Victim’ in Contemporary Cultural Discourses” Elizabeth A. Povinelli Professor of Anthropology and Gender Studies, Columbia University “Recognition, Camouflage, Espionage” Haun Saussy Bird White Housum Professor of Comparative Literature, Yale University “Bilingualism” Mini-Seminars Homi K. Bhabha Anne F. Rothenberg Professor of the Humanities, Department of English, Director of the Humanities Center at Harvard “On Culture and Security” Wendy Brown Professor of Political Science University of California, Berkeley “Political Theoretical Displacements: Sovereignty, Autonomy, Ethics” Judith Butler Maxine Elliot Professor in the Departments of Rhetoric and Comparative Literature, University of California, Berkeley Mini-Seminar Title TBA Gerald Early Merle Kling Professor of Modern Letters in the English Department, Director of the Center for the Humanities, and Director for the Center for Joint Projects at Washington University “Jazz: The Rise and Fall of Modern Popular Music” Hal Foster Townsend Martin Class of 1917 Professor and Chair of Art and Archaeology, Princeton University “Bathetic, Brutal, Banal” Dominick LaCapra, Director Bowmar Professor of Humanistic Studies, Cornell University “One of the select places in which the question ‘How to theorize now?’ is taken seriously.” Andrea Bachner Harvard University “Our classroom was a rich mosaic of heterogeneous disciplinary backgrounds and interests.” Alicia Garcia Johns Hopkins University “We were invited into an experiment, and our exposure, always dialogical, to the thinking within that space changed us.” Gabrielle McIntire Queen’s University “I have never been so grateful to any other institution as I am to SCT.” Pawel Moscicki University of Warsaw “A precious opportunity to study with major thinkers, and a wonderful way to reaf- firm one’s vocation to critical studies, whether you are a graduate student or junior faculty.” Brian O’Keeffe Barnard College, Columbia University “One of the most intellectually exciting, challenging and stimulating experiences in my academic life.” Anne M. François Eastern University < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/831.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/835.pdf 835 < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/833.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/837.pdf 837 “This is a wonderfully honest book. We really get to meet the inmates and see how Shakespeare has changed their lives. One cannot help being deeply moved by a prisoner who says, ‘Shakespeare still lives even though he’s dead. His spirit lives on. 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Prison, we discover, is one of the last bastions of unapologetic bardolatry.” Shakespeare Inside The Bard Behind Bars By Amy Scott-Douglass Patrick Marber’s Closer By Graham Saunders Saunders’ examination of Patrick Marber’s Closer includes an overview of the performance history from the 1997 National Theatre pre- miere to recent productions including the fi lm version; and an annotated guide to further reading, highlighting key critical approaches PB 9780826492487 $16.95 HC 9780826492050 $90 May 2008 John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger By Aleks Sierz Sierz’ examination of John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger includes an overview of the performance history from the 1956 Royal Court premiere to recent revivals. PB 9780826492012 $16.95 HC 9780826492029 $90 Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman by Peter L. Hays with Kent Nicholson This examination of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman includes an overview of the performance history of the play, as well as a detailed production analysis with practical exercises for actors and directors, that makes this a unique practical resource for anyone studying the play. PB 9780826495549 $16.95 HC 9780826495532 $90 May 2008 Caryl Churchill’s Top Girls By Alicia Tycer Tycer’s examination of Caryl Churchill’s Top Girls includes an overview of the performance history focus- ing on key productions, just in time for the Broadway revival opening in May at the Biltmore Theatre in New York City! PB 9780826495563 $16.95 HC 9780826495556 $90 These guides provide a comprehensive critical introduction to the plays, giving students an overview of the background and context; detailed analysis of the plays including structure, style and characters; overview of the performance history and fi lm adaptations; and annotated guides to further reading, highlighting key critical approaches. < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/835.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/839.pdf 839 T H E U N I V E R S I T Y O F C H I C A G O P R E S S JOURNALS DIVISION Critical Inquiry Editor W. J. T. Mitchell, University of Chicago Executive Editor Arnold I. Davidson, University of Chicago Save 20% on the Best Critical Thought in the Arts and Humanities Critical Inquiry has been publishing the best critical thought in the arts and humanities for more than 30 years. Combining a commitment to rigorous scholarship with a vital concern for dialogue and debate, the journal presents articles by eminent critics, scholars, and artists on a wide variety of issues central to contemporary criticism and culture. Articles from Recent Issues Intellectuals, Not Gadflies, Slavoj Zizek Why Emma Bovary Had to Be Killed, Jacques Rancière Third World of Theory: Enlightenment's Esau, Henry Louis Gates, Jr. Slow Death (Sovereignty, Obesity, Lateral Agency), Lauren Berlant The Return of C. 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Classic Books. www.loa.org Distributed by Penguin Group (USA) AmericanEarth Environmental Writing Since Thoreau Bill McKibben, editor • Foreword by Al Gore N a n ci e B a tt a g lia The Library of America presents the words that made a movement Writer and activist Bill McKibben presents an unprecedented provocative, and inspiring anthology gathering 175 years of the very best American environmental writing, from Henry David Thoreau to Rachel Carson and beyond. “Superb. . . . American Earth can be read as a survey of the literature of American environmentalism, but above all, it should be enjoyed for the sheer beauty of the writing.” — Publishers Weekly (starred review) “Unique, much-needed. . . . 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Bloom Fifteen eye-opening personal essays from a pioneering voice in creative nonfiction and composition studies 224 pp., 15 illus., cloth, $29.95 New Paths to Raymond Carver Critical Essays on His Life, Fiction, and Poetry Edited by Sandra Lee Kleppe and Robert Miltner A balanced assessment of the acclaimed writer’s poetry and fiction 256 pp., cloth, $39.95 Understanding Tony Kushner James Fisher A comprehensive guide to the writing career of the author of Angels in America 208 pp., cloth, $39.95 Understanding Contemporary American Literature New Boundaries in Political Science Fiction Edited by Donald M. Hassler and Clyde Wilcox An interpretatiive trek through recent examples of a growing science fiction genre on page and screen 376 pp., cloth, $44.95 The Four Lost Men The Previously Unpublished Long Version Thomas Wolfe Edited by Arlyn and Matthew J. Bruccoli The never-before-published extended version of Wolfe’s short story in memory of his father 128 pp., 17 illus., cloth, $21.95 The Magical Campus University of North Carolina Writings, 1917-1920 Thomas Wolfe Edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli and Aldo P. Magi Foreword by Pat Conroy A collection of Wolfe’s earliest publications from his college years 160 pp., 32 illus., cloth, $22.50 The Robert J. Wickenheiser Collection of John Milton at the University of South Carolina A Descriptive Account with Illustrations Edited by Robert J. Wickenheiser A descriptive catalog of one of the world’s largest collections of Milton and Miltoniana 928 pp., 294 illus., cloth, $90.00 800.768.2500 www.sc.edu/uscpress NEW for 2008 < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/845.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/847.pdf 847 < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/846.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/848.pdf 848� � AFRICAN AMERICANS AND THE CULTURE OF PAIN Debra Walker King “This book examines pain as one of the lasting legacies of our racialized society. This is an important topic, and Debra Walker King, a respected scholar of African American literary and cultural studies, adds immensely to our under- standing of pain in the African American experience. The book, elegantly written and critically sound, is a substantial contribution to African American literary and cultural studies.”—Angelyn Mitchell, Georgetown University, author of The Freedom to Remember: Narrative, Slavery, and Gender in Contemporary Black Women’s Fiction $55.00 cloth, $20.00 paper TREE OF LIBERTY Cultural Legacies of the Haitian Revolution in the Atlantic World Edited by Doris L. Garraway “Tree of Liberty unites in a single volume the most recent, cutting-edge scholarship. The book will no doubt become an important resource for anybody who teaches and studies issues relating to the Haitian Revolution, anticolonial struggles and postcolonialism, racial politics in the Americas, and francophone literatures.”—Sibylle Fischer, New York University, author of Modernity Disavowed: Haiti and the Cultures of Slavery in the Age of Revolution $65.00 cloth, $24.50 paper New SOON COME Jamaican Spirituality, Jamaican Poetics Hugh Hodges Soon Come celebrates Jamaican poetry as an expression and extension of the island’s rich spiritual traditions, offer- ing fresh insights into some of the late twentieth century’s most important and influential poetry. 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Hayes brings an unsurpassed knowledge and sensitivity to the story of Thomas Jefferson’s life of the mind. The Road to Monticello is intellectual biography in the grand manner.”—Leo Lemay, Henry Francis du Pont Winterthur Professor, University of Delaware 2008 752 pp.; 27 halftones $34.95 COLLECTED CRITICAL WRITINGS GEOFFREY HILL Edited By KENNETH HAYNES This collection of Geoffrey Hill’s criticism spans the length of his career as a pre-eminent poet-critic. The topics range widely across English literature since the Renaissance and include extended studies of major writers as well as essays which confront the problems of language and value. 2008 688 pp. $49.95 New in Paperback TALES FROM THE HANGING COURT TIM HITCHCOCK AND ROBERT SHOEMAKER Through these compelling true stories of theft, mur- der, rape and blackmail, Hitchcock and Shoemaker capture the early history of the judicial system and the vibrant and sometimes scandalous world of pre- industrial London. A Hodder Arnold Publication 2007 (paper 2008) 432 pp. paper $49.95 DOUBTING VISION Film and the Revelationist Tradition MALCOLM TURVEY “Anyone interested in the cognitive value of cinema, modernist aesthetics, and visual culture will find this study indispensable, and long overdue.” —Edward Dimendberg, author of Film Noir and the Spaces of Modernity 2008 160 pp.; 15 illus. cloth $99.00 paper $29.95 New in Paperback PHANTASMAGORIA Spirit Visions, Metaphors, and Media into the Twenty-first Century MARINA WARNER “Marina Warner is one of our most erudite and morally serious writers.... Phantasmagoria is her most ambitious book, an intellectually dazzling struggle with how the modern world (beginning roughly in the Renaissance) has imagined the stuff of souls, the nature of the psyche, the ‘mysterious, elusive, and ethereal’ thing that somehow distinguishes the truly dead from the living and makes us who we are.”—Thomas Laqueur, The Nation 2006 (paper 2008) 496 pp.; 8pp color plates, numerous halftones paper $23.95 cloth $35.00 New From 4 1 To place your order, contact customer service at 1-866-445-8685 or visit us online at www.oup.com. Prices are subject to change and apply only in the US. < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/850.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/852.pdf 852� � Literature and beyond < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/851.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/853.pdf 853 New York University in Paris M.A. Programs in French Literature (completed in one academic year) and in French Language and Civilization (completed in one academic year or three to four consecutive summers) New York University in Madrid A One-Year M.A. Program in Spanish and Latin American Languages and Literatures with a Concentration in either Spanish and Latin American Literatures and Cultures or Spanish Language and Translation Drawing on the resources of NYU, the city of Madrid, and professors from both Spanish universities and the NYU Department of Spanish and Portuguese in New York, we offer an M.A. program that is both intellectually stimulating and academically rigorous. M.A. candidates study at NYU in Madrid’s center in El Viso, a residential area of Madrid very close to the center of the city, as well as at the historic Instituto Internacional. Day and weekend study-visits, guest lecturers, and a Graduate Research Symposium in April complete the academic program. On approval, students may also take courses at the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. C O U R S E O F F E R I N G S The yearlong course, A Cultural History of Spain and Latin America, is taught by faculty from leading Spanish universities and from the NYU Department of Spanish and Portuguese in New York. Electives in the Literatures and Cultures Concentration range from Cervantes, Pictorial Traditions in Spain and Its Latin American Colonies, to courses on 20th-century Spanish and Latin American literatures. Offerings for the Language and Translation Concentration include The Theory and Practice of Translation, Problems in Spanish Syntax for Bilingual Communication, and The Teaching of Spanish as a Foreign Language. All courses are taught in Spanish. NYU in Madrid also offers an undergraduate program for the academic year, fall, spring, or summer. Courses are taught in Spanish and English. Drawing on the resources of NYU and the city of Paris, our M.A. programs are small, personalized, and of a very high degree of quality. M.A. candidates study at the NYU in Paris Center, located in a charming town house in a quiet garden setting in the 16th arrondissement. Courses at the University of Paris, weekly workshops, and guest lecturers, plus our own computer facilities and research library complement the programs. C O U R S E O F F E R I N G S I N C L U D E • History of French Colonialism • French Classical Tragedy • Autobiography and Autofiction • The Age of Enlightenment • Civilization of Contemporary France • Textual Analysis • Parole, Nation, Ecriture: The Novel in Francophone Caribbean and Africa • Women Writers in French Literature • Contemporary French Theatre • French Cultural History Since 1870 All graduate courses are conducted in French. NYU in Paris also offers an undergraduate program for the academic year, a semester, or summer. Courses are taught in French and English. NYU in Paris – Department of French Faculty of Arts and Science, New York University Telephone: 212-998-7625; Fax: 212-995-4667; E-mail: nyuparis@nyu.edu www.nyu.edu/fas/program/nyuinparis/ma New York University is an affirmative action/equal opportunity institution. NYU in Madrid– Department of Spanish and Portuguese Faculty of Arts and Science, New York University Telephone: 212-998-7576; Fax: 212-995-4149; E-mail: nyu-in-madrid@nyu.edu http://spanish.as.nyu.edu/page/nyumadrid Job: 0708_A080_A,A1, A2, A3, A4, A5_PMLA Publication: PMLA Size: 6" x 8.75" Color(s): B/W Material Type: PDF Line Screen: NA Delivery: aschneider@mla.org Issue Date: A 10.01.07, A1 11.01.07, A2 01.01.08, A3 03.01.08, A4 05.01.08, A5 09.01.08 Closing Date: A 7/26/07, A1 8/9/07, A2 8/9/07, A3 8/9/07, A4 8/9/07, A5 8/9/07 Proof: F Date: 7/26/07 Designer: bc < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/852.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/854.pdf 854� � 800.777.4726 press.princeton.edu Fateful Beauty Aesthetic Environments, Juvenile Development, and Literature, 1860–1960 Douglas Mao “Douglas Mao’s Fateful Beauty is a compelling work of intellectual, social, and literary history that reclaims aestheticism as a revolutionary social as well as artistic creed. This magisterial and groundbreaking work should emerge as a standard one on the period. Mao is a writer who commands attention and respect through his scrupulous research, careful arguments, and eloquence as cultural and literary critic.” —Maria DiBattista, Princeton University Cloth $35.00 978-0-691-13348-5 New in paperback Split Decisions How and Why to Take a Break from Feminism Janet Halley “A groundbreaking book examining the contradictions and limitations of feminism in the law. . . . 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Gass Paper $16.95 978-0-691-13676-9 June Cloth $35.00 978-0-691-13675-2 < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/853.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/855.pdf 855 < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/854.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/856.pdf 856� � New from Vanderbilt 800-627-7377 VanderbiltUniversityPress.com Love and Globalization Transformations of Intimacy in the Contemporary World Edited by Mark B. Padilla, Jennifer S. Hirsch, Miguel Muñoz-Laboy, Robert E. Sember, and Richard G. Parker How recent changes in the world influence intimate experiences. 978-0-8265-1585-8 paper $29.95 An Erotic Philology of Golden Age Spain Adrienne Laskier Martín Sexuality and eroticism come out of the historical closet. 978-0-8265-1579-7 paper $34.95 Playing the Past History and Nostalgia in Video Games Edited by Zach Whalen and Laurie N.Taylor Essays on the history of playing video games. 978-0-8265-1601-5 paper $27.95 Tilting Cervantes Baroque Reflections on Postmodern Culture Bruce R. 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Keith Newlin traces the rise of this prairie farm boy with a half- formed ambition to write who then skyrocketed into international prominence before he was forty. $40.00 cloth Sister Brother Gertrude and Leo Stein brenda wineapple With its wealth of new and rare material, its reconstruction of Leo’s famed art collection, and its array of characters—from Bernard Berenson to Pablo Picasso—this biography offers the first glimpse into the smoldering sibling relationship that helped form two of the twentieth century’s most unusual figures. $21.95 paper *For complete descriptions and to read excerpts, visit us online! Mordecai Richler Leaving St Urbain Reinhold Kramer 978-0-7735-3355-4 $39.95 cloth The first full literary biography of one of North America’s greatest Jewish writers. “Fascinating and informative.” Victor J. Ramraj, English, University of Calgary “A well-told narrative with care taken to detail the influences from Richler’s youth, his travels, and his relationships.” Norman Ravvin, chair in Canadian Jewish Studies, Concordia University Mr Charlotte Brontë The Life of Arthur Bell Nicholls Alan H. Adamson 978-0-7735-3365-3 $24.95 cloth A biography of Charlotte Brontë’s husband that highlights his protection of her literary reputation. N E W I N P A P E R The Art and Science of Stanislaw Lem Edited by Peter Swirski 978-0-7735-3047-8 $24.95 paper Leading scholars examine the social and cultural significance of technology and science in the work of Stanislaw Lem, the author of Solaris. M c G I L L - Q U E E N ’ S U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S w w w . m q u p . c a < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/856.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/858.pdf 858� � Distributor of Berg Publishers, I.B.Tauris, Manchester University Press, and Zed Books ( 8 8 8 ) 3 3 0 - 8 4 7 7 • F a x : ( 8 0 0 ) 6 7 2 - 2 0 5 4 • w w w . p a l g r a v e - u s a . c o m New from Palgrave Macmillan REMEMBERING THE EARLY MODERN VOYAGE English Narratives in the Age of European Expansion Mary C. Fuller Early Modern Cultural Studies 2008 / 256 pp. / $74.95 hc. 0-230-60325-4 / 978-0-230-60325-7 CHAUCER’S JOBS David R. Carlson The New Middle Ages June 2008 / 180 pp. / $26.95 pb. 0-230-60243-6 / 978-0-230-60243-4 MEDIEVALISM AND ORIENTALISM Three Essays on Literature, Architecture and Cultural Identity John M. 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Corneliussen and Jill Walker Rettberg “It’s a delight to read so many astute game studies scholars approach one game, in one volume. 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A Leonardo Book • 400 pp., 13 illus., $35 cloth NOW IN PAPER Deep Time of the Media Toward an Archaeology of Hearing and Seeing by Technical Means Siegfried Zielinski translated by Gloria Custance, foreword by Timothy Druckrey “Deep Time of Media is an extraordinary gift… [Zielinski’s] book will not only encourage the revision of received wis- dom in the history of ideas and of science, but also inspire the geniuses of the future.” — Zbig Rybczynski, fi lmmaker Electronic Culture: History, Theory, and Practice series 392 pp., 86 illus., $19.95 paper < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/857.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/859.pdf 859 Mimesis and Theory Essays on Literature and Criticism, 1953-2005 R E N É G I R A R D , E d i t e d a n d w i t h a n I n t r o d u c t i o n b y R O B E R T D O R A N Mimesis and Theory brings together twenty previously uncollected essays on literature and literary theory by one of the most important thinkers of the past thirty years. Cultural Memory in the Present $50.00 cloth Files Law and Media Technology C O R N E L I A V I S M A N N , Tr a n s l a t e d b y G E O F F R E Y W I N T H R O P - Y O U N G “Vismann’s Files is a highly original and theoretical proj- ect that combines the thinking of Derrida (on law and its enforcement) and Foucault (on juridical discourse and ‘gouvernmentalité’) with specific motifs of German media theory as developed by Friedrich Kittler.” —Rüdiger Campe, Yale University Meridian: Crossing Aesthetics $24.95 paper $65.00 cloth Silencing the Demon’s Advocate The Strategy of Descartes’ Meditations R O N A L D R U B I N In Silencing the Demon’s Advocate, Ronald Rubin presents an interpretation of Descartes’ Meditations that avoids many of the standard objections to Descartes’ reasoning. $50.00 cloth The Time of the Crime Phenomenology, Psychoanalysis, Italian Film D O M I E T TA T O R L A S C O “In her impeccably executed The Time of the Crime, Torlasco relates vision to temporality in ways that lead to a splendid conjunction of both phenomenological and psy- choanalytic perspectives. Her conclusions have far-reach- ing philosophical importance—a tour de force.” —Judith Butler, University of California, Berkeley $55.00 cloth U n i v e r s i t y P r e s s 8 0 0 . 6 2 1 . 2 7 3 6 w w w . s u p . o r g Stanford N e w f r o m S t a n f o r d U n i v e r s i t y P r e s s UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS a va i l a b l e i n b e t te r b o o k s t o re s o r v i s i t w w w. u t p p u b l i s h i n g. co m FAIRY-TALE SCIENCE Monstrous Generation in the Tales of Straparola and Basile by Suzanne Magnanini ‘Fairy-Tale Science is an excellent, careful study, that adds considerably to contemporary fairy-tale scholarship. Ruth B. Bottigheimer, SUNY Stony Brook Cl 9780802097545 / $45.00 KLAEBER’S BEOWULF Fourth Edition Edited by R.D. Fulk, et al ‘Klaeber’s Beowulf will immediately eclipse all the other fine editions of the poem that are in print and it will remain the critical edition of the poem for many years to come.’ Mark Amodio, Vassar College Pb 9780802095671 / $39.95 THE IMPERFECT FRIEND Emotion and Rhetoric in Sidney, Milton, and Their Contexts by Wendy Olmsted ‘A compelling work … offers persuasive, revelatory readings of major works by both Sidney and Milton...’ Lauren Shohet, Villanova University Cl 9780802091369 / $60.00 EXPERIENCES IN TRANSLATION by Umberto Eco ‘Eco’s Experiences in Translation is witty and engrossing, and it will inform and entertain readers who have ever wondered about the work that goes into transforming a text from a language they cannot read into one they can.’ Jules Verdone, The Boston Globe Pb 9780802096142 / $17.95 New in Paperbac k < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/858.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/860.pdf 860� � New in Literature & Criticism / Media Studies ElEctronic litEraturE New HorizoNs for tHe Literary n. KathErinE haylEs At bookstores • w w w.undpress.nd.edu • 800 / 621-2736 ISBN 978-0-268-03085-8 • $18.00 pa • 240 pages “No critic, save N. Katherine Hayles, has the wide grasp of literary criticism, new media history and technology, cyber- culture and its philosophical implications, and the interplay between electronic and print imaginative writing. Now, in the five straightforward, readable chapters of Electronic Literature, Hayles supplies the tools and builds the contexts necessary for everyone to grasp the importance of her topic and integrate it into her or his own knowledge base. Her book and CD package will be snapped up by scholars and students alike.” —Dee Morris, University of Iowa University of notre Dame Press Included with the book is a CD, The Electronic Literature Collection, Volume 1, containing sixty new and recent works of electronic literature with keyword index, authors’ notes, and editorial headnotes. Visit the related website at: http://newhorizons.eliterature.org Periodization Friday afternoon: Gerald Graff, University of Illinois, Chicago How Periods Erase History lisa Gitelman, Catholic University Ages, Epochs, Media Saturday morning: Caroline levine, University of Wisconsin, Madison Infrastructuralism, or the Tempo of Institutions BruCe HolsinGer, University of Virginia Liturgy and the Forms of Literary History: In Defense of Periodization Saturday afternoon: marsHall Brown, University of Washington The Din of Dawn Helena miCHie, Rice University Victorian Dates and Tenses Sunday morning: aamir mufti, University of California, Los Angeles The Periods of Orientalism Katie trumPener, Yale University On Living in Time: Historical Novel, Case Study, Life Line september 5-7, 2008 Harvard university Barker Center 12 Quincy street 67th annual meeting Our upcoming conference will be the 67th meeting of The English Institute. 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MLA STYLE MANUAL AND GUIDE TO SCHOLARLY PUBLISHING 3rd edition Now available xxiv & 336 pp. Cloth ISBN 978-0-87352-297-7 $32.50 (MLA members $26.00) Now available Large-print edition Paper ISBN 978-0-87352-298-4 $37.50 (MLA members $30.00) “A standard guide for scholarly style.” —Library Journal 26 Broadway, 3rd fl oor, New York, NY 10004-1789 646 576-5161 fax 646 576-5160 www.mla.org < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/861.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2008.123.issue-3/863.pdf 863 Now available xviii & 826 pp. Paper ISBN 978-0-87352-808-5 $37.50 A New Edition of the Leading Research Guide in Literary Studies James L. Harner’s Literary Research Guide, which Choice calls “the standard guide in the fi eld,” evaluates important reference materials in English studies. In the new edition Harner has revised nearly half the entries from the fourth edition. 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work_deyinv2xvra7jgqhpgyiyf7niy	----	NUMBER 5 WILLIAMS: THOREAUEA, NEW GENUS OF APOCYNACEAE 47 THOREAUEA (APOCYNACEAE: APOCYNOIDEAE), A NEW GENUS FROM OAXACA, MEXICO Justin K. Williams Department of Biological Sciences, Sam Houston State University, Huntsville, Texas 77341-2116 Abstract: Recent studies of Mexican Apocynaceae have uncovered a new species. The taxon is here viewed as generically distinct and accordingly the name Thoreauea paneroi J. K. Williams, gen. et sp. nov. is proposed. The species is from montane pine-oak cloud forests of the Santiago Juxtlahuaca area of northwestern Oaxaca, Mexico. Its relationship to Thenardia H.B.K. and other genera is discussed. Keywords: Echites, Forsteronia, Laubertia, Parsonsia, Prestonia, Thoreauea, Thenar- dia, Apocynaceae. Recently, a specimen of Apocynaceae from Oaxaca, Mexico was provided to me by one of the collectors, Jose L. Panero, for identification. After close examination, I determined that the specimen does not key out to any of the genera recognized in a key to the Mexican genera of Apocynaceae (J. K. Williams, 1996). This specimen keys out most favorably to Thenardia H.B.K., how- ever, it possesses novel characters not found in Thenardia (e.g., dissected corona at the corolla mouth). A cladistic analysis (Fig. 5) based on morphological evidence indicates that if the new taxon were included in Thenardia, the genus would become para- phyletic, no longer representing a mono- phyletic lineage delimited by a shared con- sensus of characters. Thus, the problematic specimen is best regarded as representing a new genus. Thoreauea paneroi J.K. Williams, gen. et sp. nov. (Figs. 1 and 2). TYPE: MEXICO. OAXACA: Mpio. San- tiago Juxtlahuaca, Dist. San Sebastian Te- comaxtlahuaca, 1.8 km N of the road Te- comaxtlahuaca-"Coicoyan, de Las Flores" along the road to Escopeta (17° 18' 27.1" N, 98° 07' 51.5" W), 4 Mar 1995, J. L. Pa- nero with I. Calzada and J. Kuijt 5583 (Ho- LOTYPE: IZTA!; ISOTYPE: TEX). Thenardia affinis sed corollis urceolatus (vice LUNDELLIA 5:47-58. 2002 rotatis) et corona corollae praesenti (vice carenti) et antheris inclusis (vice exsertis) differt. VINE, twining, latex milky. STEMS te- rete, 3-3.5 mm in diameter, light green, gla- brous, lenticellate with age; interpetiolar ridge moderately prominent. LEAVES op- posite to subopposite, petiolate, membra- nous; petioles 20-23 mm, with a solitary bract and 2-4 colleters at base; colleters 0.8-1.0 mm long, linear lanceolate, dark brown when dried; leaf blade elliptic, apex acuminate with extended tip, base obtuse, margin entire, glabrous on both surfaces, chartaceous when dry, 10.5-14.0 cm long, 4.3-5.0 cm wide, without colleters, dark green above, light green below, midrib prominent below, slightly obscure above, lateral secondary veins 5-18, conspicuous, impressed alternate. INFLORESCENCE an axillary pedunculate, trichotomously- branched subumbellate cyme, glabrous; pri- mary peduncle 23 mm long, 1.0-1.3 mm diameter; secondary and tertiary peduncles 5-18 mm long; bracts linear-lanceolate, 1.0-4.0 mm long, 0.2-0.4 mm wide, straight; pedicels 7.0-11.0 mm long. FLOWERS 20-25 per inflorescence, tightly clustered, pentamerous, actinomorphic, perfect. CALYX lobes equal, 0.9-1.0 mm long, separate nearly to the base, triangular, erect, glabrous; colleters ca. 0.5 mm long, opposite the sepals, solitary, thin, denti- form. COROLLA fused into a moderately 48 LUNDELLIA FIG . 1. Holotype of Thoreauea paneroi. DECEMBER, 2002 HUI OTYPE OF: Thoreauea paneroi J. K. Wi 11 iams FLORA DE OAXACA 1\.1ct o1steln111 S ANTIAGO JUXTLAllUACA San S C'buliin TC'comutlahu au l I! Ian o1I N ,1., 1 .. c.lrr<"lt'ra r,.._·onM~tl,1,huo -CoKn1 dCl d•· l.<i~ rlor..,, sobrl' !• bred1,1, d E•.,:01w1~. 17"1 11'27 ! ' ' '<. '11!" 07''> 1 '>"W. /· 11n•1.:l.ldPr.1d!' '.I· c> m,frl.iri;u. wrul,,_ rr..,n• B\""jl,..dt'p1no-.. ncmo/ mo>Sl'>l1!" Jc 1rwnt~1\.1 2625 111 J<•-.t·I r,.,,,.,,, ~">1n " "' 1,u1.wl('.1l;.t1i~ ,. J"b Kt1111 llttb.uio Nu1on.1l d<' Mi~ico (MEXUl Michi~an Stal<' Univ,,,ity ll C'rb.uium (MSC) NUMBER 5 WILLIAMS: THOREAUEA, NEW GENUS OF APOCYNACEAE 49 B. A. FIG. 2. Thoreauea paneroi. A. Flower. B. Longitudinal section of open flower. An = anthers. C = dissected corona around the mouth. F = filaments . Black bar represents 5 mm. erect tube, urceolate, aestivation dextrorse, creamy white; tube 5-6 mm long, 2.7-3.l mm wide, slightly constricted at the base and at the distal four-fifths of tube, gla- brous, mouth of tube surrounded by a deeply dissected corona annulus, linear-lan- ceolate, both opposite and alternate the co- rolla lobes; lobes 1.0-2.0 mm long, 0.6-0.8 mm at widest point, triangular, erect; limb 3.0-4.0 mm in diameter. STAMENS 5.5-6.0 mm long, included; anther tips slightly be- low the corolla mouth to occasionally ex- serted ca. 0.2 mm above the rim, filaments 3.0-3.3 mm long, bending inward, and closely encircling the style head, pubescent; anthers 2.5-3.0 mm long, yellow, base sag- ittate, fertile in the upper part, the lower part enlarged, sterile and equipped with sclerenchymatic guide rails on the ventral face firmly agglutinated to the style-head se- cretions by thick brushes of hairs, forming a pseudo-gynostegum, in addition thecae agglutinated to the upper slopes of the style-head, forming five separate pollen chambers. PISTIL 3.0-3.5 mm long; ovary of two fused carpels united into a common style, superior, ovoid, glabrous, 0.8-1.5 mm long; style head 1.5-2.0 mm, spool-shaped, slender in the middle and greater in diam- eter at the base, with developed membra- nous collar at base; stigmattic zone located on underside of style head beneath collar; nectaries five, free, pressed closely together, tightly surrounding the ovary, as long or slightly shorter than the ovary. FRUIT un- known. Thoreauea is a member of the subfam- ily Apocynoideae as evidenced by its an- thers agglutinated to the style head, dex- trorse aestivation of the corolla bud, and triporate pollen grains. Within the Apocy- noideae Thoreauea belongs to the tribe Echiteae, as delineated by Endress and Bruyns (2000). Members of the Echiteae are characterized by the thecae agglutinated to the style head at two levels and by the 50 LUNDELLIA spool-shaped style head that is slender in the middle and greater in diameter at the base. DISTRIBUTION AND ECOLOGY: Tho- reauea paneroi is a moderately sized liana known only from the type collection from the cloud forests of the district of Santiago Juxtlahuaca area of northwestern Oaxaca, Mexico. The species is found in a meso- phytic habitat of montane pine-oak forest at 2625 m elevation. Flowers were collected in March but its phenology is unknown. Thoreauea was included, together with 24 additional genera, in an unpublished morphological cladistic analysis of the Apo- cynoideae (Williams, 1999). A portion of this analysis (Fig. 5) is discussed below. Be- cause additional results of the analysis are outside the scope of this paper, the full tree is not included or discussed. METHODS COLLECTION OF DATA. With the ex- ception of selected species of Parsonsia (see below), a representative specimen is depos- ited at the Plant Resources Center for each of the species examined in the morpholog- ical cladistic analysis. Observations and data were collected from material borrowed from or observed at the following herbaria: BM, BRIT, CHAPA, F, FLAS, G, GH, K, MA, METPEC, MEXU, MO, NY, P, SHST, TAMU, TEX, US, WIS. The pollen of all genera was studied us- ing a light microscope as well as a scanning electron microscope (Philips 515). All gen- era were examined and measured under the SEM at the Cell Research Center of the University of Texas at Austin. A total of 37 taxa, representing 25 gen- era, were included in the original cladistic analysis (Williams, 1999). Character mea - surements and states for the data matrix were obtained from living material and her- barium specimens for all of the represen- tative species included in this study. Sub- sequently, three species of Parsonsia (P. la- tifolia (Benth.) S. T. Blake; P. praeruptis DECEMBER, 2002 Heads & de Lange; P. purpurascens J. B. Williams) have been added to the study in order to represent better the diversity of Parsonsia (a genus with many superficial similarities to Thenardia). Morphological data for the three species of Parsonsia were obtained from literature descriptions (J. B. Williams, 1996; Heads & de Lange, 1998) SELECTION OF CHARACTERS. Forty- five characters and 119 character states (Ta- ble 1) were utilized in this study. Informa- tive character states were selected from those utilized in previous studies (Endress et al. 1996; Sennblad et al. 1998; Struwe et al. 1994; Potgieter and Albert, 2001). New characters not included in the above works, but uncovered during the course of this study were also included. A discussion of the characters utilized in this study is pro- vided in Williams (1999). Table 2 lists the characters and character states for each of the taxa shown in this analysis. CLADISTIC ANALYSIS. The characters and character states (Table 2) used in the analysis were entered into a data matrix us- ing MacClade 3.0 (Maddison & Maddison, 1992). A phylogenetic analysis was then performed in PAUP 3.1 (Swofford, 1993). A heuristic search by stepwise addition of random trees was performed with 100 ran- dom addition sequences. The heuristic search was performed with the ACCTRAN, MULPARS and TBR options in effect. Taxa with multi-state characters were recognized as polymorphic for those characters. Char- acters were treated as unordered and of equal weight. At the end of the analysis the stored trees were rooted, with both the out- group and ingroup directed as monophy- letic. A majority rule consensus tree of the stored trees was then produced. Bootstrap values were calculated using 100 replica- tions. RESULTS The heuristic search yielded a total of 337 equally parsimonious trees with 185 steps. The large number of trees is attribut- NUMBER 5 WILLIAMS: THOREAUEA, NEW GENUS OF APOCYNACEAE 51 TABLE 1. Characters and character states TABLE 1. Continued. used in the cladistic analysis. I6. Corolla with epistaminal appendages 1. Latex 0-absent 0-milky I-reduced to a callused ridge I-watery 2-extended into a staminode 2. Predominate growth habit I7. Corona between petal sinuses 0-woody shrub 0-absent I-liana I-present 2-suffruticose herb I8. Corolla tube size 3-herb 0-minute (I-4 mm) 3. Leaf arrangement I-small (6-IO mm) 0-opposite 2-medium (I-20 mm) I-alternate 3-large (2I-50 mm) 4. Colleters around the stem 0-absent I9. Infrastaminal appendages I-present 0-absent 5. Colleters at base of upper leaf blade surface I-present 0-absent 20. Filaments I-present 0-minute (0-I mm) 6. Colleters along the upper leaf blade surface I-medium (3-6 mm) and running along 0-absent the style I-present 2-long (10 mm and greater) and separate 7. Colleters along the petiole from the style 0-absent 21. Anthers from ribs I-present 0-no 8. Leaves with domatia I-yes 0-absent 22. Stamen exopsure I-present 0-included 9. Secondary venation of leaves I-anther tips exserted 0-visible 2-stamens fully exserted I-obscure 23. Anthers with apical appendages IO. Tertiary venation of leaves 0-absent 0-visible I-present I-obscure 24. Anther dehiscence I l. Calyx size 0-introrse 0-minute (0-3 mm) I-latrorse I-foliaceous (5-I5 mm) 25. Anther type I2. Calycine colleters 0-Thevetia-type 0-absent I-Apocynoideae rounded bases I-numerous and alternate with the sepals 2-Apocynoideae forked bases 2-solitary and opposite the sepals 3-Mandevilla-type I3. Aestivation 0-sinistrorse 26. Anther-style head relationship I-dextrorse 0-anthers free from style head 2-valvate I-anthers fused to style head I4. Corolla shape 27. Style type 0-salverform 0-Thevetia-type I-urceolate I -Mandevilla-type 2-infundibuliform 2-Echites-type 3-rotate 28. Nectary I5. Corolla color 0-absent 0-white I -5 free nectaries I-yellow 2-nectaries fused into a cup, Echites-type 2-maroon 3-nectaries fused into a cup, Thevetia-type 52 LUNDELLIA TABLE 1. Continued. 29. Inflorescence position 0-axillary I-terminal 30. Inflorescence morphology 0-raceme I-corymbose 2-reduced cyme 31. Inflorescence branching 0-absent I-present 32. Fruit type 0-linear follicle (2-I5 mm in diameter) I-robust follicle (30-60 mm diameter) 2-drupe 33. Follicle orientation 0-spreading I-fused only at the apical tips 2-fused throughout entire length 3-fruit not a follicle 34. Follicles moliniform 0-no I-yes 35. Follicle color 0-tan I-red 2-black 36. Fruit dehiscent 0-no I-yes 37. Fruit texture 0-herbaceous I-woody 2-leathery 38. Seeds with coma 0-absent I-present and sessile 2-present and rostrate 39. Pollen poration 0-tricolporate 1-triporate 40. Exine pattern 0-smooth 1-microreticulate 41. Pollen shape 0-spherical I -triangular 42. Pollen diameter 0-20-35 µm 1-40-75 µm 2-75- 110 µm TABLE 1. Continued. 43. Chromosome numbers 0-x=ll 1-x=lO 2-x=9 3-x=6 44. Distribution 0-South Mesoamerica 1-North America 2-Caribbean 3-Australia-New Guinea 45. Filaments 0-straight 1-coiled DECEMBER, 2002 ed to the fact that the characters used in this analysis are informative mainly at the generic level. Examination of a majority of the parsimonious trees indicated that the most stable branches were the terminal ones, and that the unstable branches were the basal ones. This is acceptable consider- ing that the main focus of this study was to test the monophylly of problematic genera of Mexican Apocynoideae, in this case Tho- reauea. One clade in the majority rule con- sensus tree (Fig. 5) includes Thoreauea and its relatives, Forsteronia G. Mey., Laubertia A. DC., Parsonsia R. Br., Prestonia R. Br., Echites R. Br. and Thenardia and will be re- ferred to here as the "Prestonia" clade. To date no cladistic analysis has included all of the above genera. In their study, Sennblad et al. (1998) included only Parsonsia and Prestonia. Their tree (based on morphology and molecular evidence) supports the re- sults presented here of a relationship be- tween the two genera. Sennblad and Bremer (2002) presented a second phylogenetic analysis of the Apocynaceae based on mo- lecular evidence. This study again included only Parsonia and Prestonia and, as before, their results showed the two genera as sister to one another. Potgieter and Albert (2001) included Forsteronia, Parsonsia, Prestonia and Echites in their combined morpholog- ical and molecular analysis. Their results support the relationship between Parsonsia, Prestonia and Echites, however, Forsteronia NUMBER 5 WILLIAMS: THOREAUEA, NEW GENUS OF APOCYNACEAE 53 TABLE 2. Data matrix of the 45 informative characters used in the phylogenetic analysis•·b presented in this study. Character number and character states 0000000001 1111111112 2222222223 3333333334 44444 Species 1234567890 1234567890 1234567890 1234567890 12345 Echites agglutinata 1100000001 0210100010 0000212101 1011010200 00?00 Echites turbinata 1100000011 0210130011 0000212101 1011010200 00?00 Echites woodsoniana 1100000011 0210100010 0000212101 1011010200 00?00 Forsteronia sp. 0100010010 0113a00001 0200212101 10b0011100 Oa?dO Laubertia contorta 1100000000 0010231021 0100212101 0011010100 01?00 Parsonsia latifolia 0101000000 0323000001 0200212111 1020011100 00231 Parsonsia praeruptis 1001000011 0323000000 02002121al 1020011100 00230 Parsonsia purpurascens 1101000000 0323100000 0000212101 1020010100 00230 Parsonsia straminae 1101000000 0323100000 0100212101 1020011100 0?230 Prestonia acutifolia 0101000000 0210121011 0100212101 1010011100 01200 Prestonia mexicana 0101000000 1210131021 0100212101 1100011100 02?00 Prestonia tomentosa 0101000000 1210121021 0100212101 1100011100 01?00 Prestonia portobellensis 0101000000 1210221021 0100212101 1010011100 02?00 Rhabdadenia biflora 0100000000 1012000020 0000112102 0000011100 02?c0 Thenardia chiapensis 1100000001 0213000001 0200212101 1021010100 00?00 Thenardia floribunda 1100000001 0213000001 0200212101 1021010100 01?01 Thoreauea paneroii 0100000000 0211001001 0000212101 10??01?100 00?00 • Character numbers and character states correspond to those in Table 1. b Polymorphic character states are represented by letters as follows: a = 0, l; b = 1, 2; c = 0, 1, 2; d = 0, 2 (within the data matrix character states for polymorphic characters were entered as 0/ 1 etc. Letters are used here for the convenience of aligning the table). appeared in a separate clade paired with Cy- cladenia. An examination of the tree pre- sented here indicates that Thoreauea is the sister group to a clade comprised of Parson- sia, Thenardia and Forsteronia with all four genera monophyletic. DIAGNOSTIC FEATURES AND GENERIC PLACEMENT Table 3 presents a list of taxonomically useful characters for distinguishing Tho- reauea from other closely related genera. Based on these characters and the results of the cladisitic analysis (Fig. 5), Thoreauea appears most related to Thenardia, sharing a trichotomously branched, cymous inflo- rescence, relatively small flowers, and tri- angular corolla lobes. Thoreauea differs from Thenardia in its possession of an an- nular, coralline corona in the mouth of the corolla, urceolate corollas, and included sta- mens (vs. rotate and exserted)'. Laubertia and Prestonia are two New World genera that also possess an annular coralline co- rona in the mouth of the corolla. However, they differ from Thoreauea in that their co- rona is continuous (vs. dissected; Figs. 3 and 4, respectively). Laubertia and Prestonia also differ from Thoreauea by their race- miform cymous inflorescences and salver- form corollas. In addition, Laubertia and some species of Prestonia (P. mexicana A. DC.) possess an epistaminal corona abaxial to the anthers. In Laubertia the lobes of the second corona appear as five separate swol- len calluses each abaxial to the point of di- vergence of each filament (Figure 3). In Prestonia portobellensis (Beurling) Wood- son, the epistaminal corona is comprised of five separate linear protuberances each ab- axial to the anther (Figure 4) resembling a staminode. Table 3 indicates that the Paleotropical 54 LUNDELLIA DECEMBER, 2002 TABLE 3. Morphological comparisons of the genera Thoreauea, Thenardia, Prestonia, Laubertia, Forsteronia and Parsonsia, Echites. Thoreauea Thenardia Prestonia Latex White Clear White 2° venation Yes Yes Yes visible Leaves with No No No domatia Glands at apex No No No of petiole Glands around None None Yes stem at axils Sepals folia- No No Yes ceous Calycine colle- One One One ters Corolla aesti- Dextrorse Dextrorse Dextrorse vation Corolla shape Urceolate Rotate Salverform Corolla mouth Dissected None Con tin- corona uous Epistaminal None None Stami- corona node/ none Stamen expo- Included Fully ex- Anther sure serted tips ex- posed Corolla color Cream Cream Yellow & Maroon Filaments Yes Yes Yes fused along style Follicles Unknown Fused Spread- through- ing/ out Fused at apex Follicle shape Unknown Molini- Straight form Pollen diame- 30-45 µm 30-60 µm (45)74-95 ter µm genus Parsonsia also shares many similar characters with Thor.eauea. Both genera have similar stamen architecture (filaments along the style and inserted at the base of the corolla), corolla color, and pollen di- ameter. Thoreauea differs from Parsonsia mainly in the number of calycine colleters (1 vs. many), corolla aestivation ( dextrorse vs. valvate), and geography (Neotropics vs. Laubertia Echites Forsteronia Parsonsia Clear Clear White Clear Yes No Yes Yes No No Yes No No No Yes No None None None Yes No No No No None One Many Many Dextrorse Dextrorse Dextrorse Valvate Salverform Salverform Rotate Rotate Contin- None None None uous Callused Cal used None None ridge ridge/ none Anther Included Fully ex- Fully ex- tips ex- serted serted posed Maroon Yellow Cream & Cream Yellow Yes No Yes Yes Fused at Fused at Fused at Fused at apex apex apex & apex & through- through- out out Molini- Molini- Straight Straight form form 50-65 µm 23-35 µm 30-75 µm 20-35 µm Paleotropics). The cladistic analysis pre- sented in Fig. 5, indicates that Forsteronia is sister to Parsonsia. The relation between Parsonsia and Forsteronia is supported by their shared rotate corolla and numerous calycine colleters. Endress and Bruyns (2000), however, included Forsteronia in a different tribe (Apocyneae Rchb.) from Parsonsia (Echiteae Bartl.). In addition, mo- NUMBERS WILLIAMS: TIIOREAUEA, NEW GENUS OF APOCYNACEAE 55 I ( ( ,,,,,_-,,,,,...,,,.._ ! ...- ....... / - ... I p --- I I I I !"' ..- - p s -- " \ \ I \ \ I I - -- -.... ' ........... ' \ p /J FIG. 3. Longitudinal section of a flower of Laubertia contorta. Note how the epistaminal corona is reduced to a callus ridge. A = anthers. C = epistaminal corona. Co = corona around the corolla mouth. P = petals. S = style. Black bar represents 5 mm. lecular evidence presented by Potgieter and Albert (2001) clearly showed Forsteronia and Parsonsia distinct from one another, with Parsonsia more closely related to the "Prestonia" clade. Table 3 also shows many similarities between Thenardia and Parson- sia. This relationship was suggested by Bail- lon (1890), and is supported by the cladistic analysis (Fig. 5) that shows Thenardia sister to the clade containing Parsonsia and For- steronia. The surface morphology of pollen grains in the Apocynoideae is essentially uniform. The majority of genera have grains that are spherical, triporate ( occa- sionally 4-5; Telosiphonia) and with smooth perforate surfaces (Erdtman, 1952; Nilsson, 1990; Sampson and Anusarnsunthorn, 1990; Roubik and Moreno, 1991; Nilsson et al., 1993; Williams, 1999). Huang (1989) showed that the number, arrangement and shape of the pores are occasionally useful diagnostic characters for circumscribing genera. Williams (1998) and Roubik and Moreno (1991) also showed that species of a genus can occasionally be identified by 56 LUNDELLIA DECEMBER, 2002 s FIG. 4. Longitudinal section of a flower of Prestonia portobellensis. Note how the epistaminal corona appears as a linear protuberance. A = anthers. C = epistaminal corona. Co = corona along the corolla mouth. F = filaments. S = style. Black bar represents 5 mm. their pollen diameters. It is speculated that pollen diameter may also be a useful char- acter in resolving generic relationships. Measurements of the pollen grains of Tho- reauea paneroi (under light microscopy and SEM) show the diameter to be between 30- 45 µm. Interestingly, the pollen grain di- ameter of Thenardia chiapensis J. K. Wil- liams falls within this range. The second species of Thenardia, T. floribunda H.B.K., in this study has grains 45-60 µm wide (Williams, 1998). Fruiting specimens of Thoreauea will certainly aid in its taxonomic positioning within the Apocynoideae. Observations of fertilized ovaries suggest that the follicles, as in Thenardia, will be fused to one another. The combination of vegetative and flo- ral characters in this new species is so unique that including it in a currently rec- ognized genus is not justified. Consequent- ly, the new genus Thoreauea is proposed. I have not located any types or specimens of Neotropical Apocynaceae in the following herbaria that resemble this new species (Williams, 1999): BM, BRIT, CHAPA, F, FLAS, G, GH, K, MA, METPEC, MEXU, MO, NY, P, SHST, TAMU, TEX, US, WIS. It is an honor to name this new genus after Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), noted essayist and naturalist (Angelo, 1985; Egerton and Walls, 1997). His loving, and often unrecognized, commitment to botany inspired me to undertake the subject. NUMBERS WILLIAMS: THOREAUEA, NEW GENUS OF APOCYNACEAE 57 Echites agglutinata 3 Echites turbinata 98 Echites woodsoniana 2 Forsteronia sp. Parsonsia latifolia 35 1 Parsonsia purpurascens 4 1 90 65 Parsonsia straminae 1 2 50 61 3 Parsonsia praeruptis 2 2 Thenardia chiapensis 46 93 2 Thenardia jloribunda 1 Thoreauea paneroii 40 4 Laubertia contorta 1 Prestonia acutifolia 2 39 1 Prestonia mexicana 2 65 Prestonia tomentosa 1 69 1 Prestonia portobellensis FIG. 5. "Prestonia" clade of majority rule consensus tree calculated from 337 most parsimo- nious trees (length = 185, CI = 0.53, RI = 0.76, RC = 0.40). Numbers above the lines indicate branch length and the numbers below the branches are bootstrap values greater than 50%. The species epithet honors Jose L. Pa- nero, Professor of Integrative Biology at the University of Texas at Austin and collector of the type specimen. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I thank Jose L. Panero for discussions on the location and habitat of the type spec- imen. I also thank Mary Endress, William Lutterschmidt, Kurt Potgieter, Beryl Simp- son, B.L. Turner, Tom Wendt and an anon- ymous reviewer for comment on the man- uscript. LITERATURE CITED Angelo, R. 1985. Thoreau as botanist: An apprecia- tion and a critique. Arnoldia (Jamaica Plain) 45(3): 13-23. Baillon, H.E. 1890. Sur un nouveau Thenardia du Mexique. Bull. Mens. Soc. Linn. Paris 2: 819-820. Egerton E. and L. D. Walls. 1997. Rethinking Tho- reau and the history of American ecology. The Concord Saunterer. 5: 5-22. Enclress, M.E. and P. V. Bruyns. 2000. A revised classification of the Apocynaceae s.l. Bot. Rev. (Lancaster) 66: 1-56. ---. B. Sennblad, S. Nilsson, L. Civeyrel, M. Chase,S. Huysmans, E Grafstrom, B. Bremer 1996. A phylogenetic analysis of Apocynaceae s. str. and some relaed taxa in Gentianales: a mul- tidisciplinary approach. Opera Bot. Belg. 7: 59- 102. Erdtman, G. 1952. Pollen Morphology and Plant Tax- onomy. Waltham, Mass. Heads, M. J. and P. J. de Lange. 1998. Parsonsia praeruptis (Apocynaceae): a new threatened, ul- tramafic endemic from North Cape, New Zea- land. New Zealand J. Bot. 37: 1-6. Huang, T. C. 1989. Palynological study of the Apo- cynaceae of Taiwan. Grana 28: 85-95. Maddison, W. P. and D. R Maddison. 1992. MacClade: Analysis of Phylogeny and Character Evolution. Version 3.0. Sinauer Associates, Sun- derland, Massachusetts. Nilsson, S. 1990. Taxonomic and evolutionary sig- 58 LUNDELLIA nificance of pollen morphology in the Apocyna- ceae. Pl. Syst. Evol. (Suppl. 5): 91-102. ---, M. E. Endress and E. Grafstrom. 1993. On the relationship of the Apocynaceae and Periplo- caceae. Grana Suppl. 2: 3-20. Potgieter, K. and V. Albert. 2001. Phylogenetic re- lationships within Apocynaceae s.l. based on trmL intron and trnL-F spacer sequences and propagule characters. Ann. Missouri Bot. Gard. 88: 523-549. Roubik, D. W. and J. E. Moreno. 1991. Pollen and Spores of Barro Colorado Island. Monogr. Syst. Bot. Missouri Bot. Gard. vol. 36. Sampson, F.B. and V. Anusamsunthom. 1990. Pol- len of Australian species of Parsonsia (Apocyna- ceae). Grana 29: 97-107. Sennblad, B. and B. Bremer. 2002. Classification of Apocynaceae s.l. according to a new approach combining Linnaean and phylognentic taxonomy. Syst, Biol. 5: 389-409. Sennblad, B., M. E. Endress, and B. Bremer 1998. Morphology and molecular data in phylogenetic DECEMBER, 2002 fraternity: the tribe Wrightieae (Apocynaceae) re- visited. Amer. J. Bot. 85(8): 1143-1158. Struwe, L., V. A. Albert, B. Bremer 1994. Cladistics and family level classification of the Gentianales. Cladistics 10: 175-206. Swofford, D. L. 1993. PAUP: Phylogenetic Analysis Using Parsimony. Version 3.1.1. Computer pro- gram distributed by the Illinois Natural History Survey. Champaign, Illinois Williams, J. B. 1996. Parsonsia. In: Flora of Australia. Volume 28, Gentinales. Melbourne: CSIRO Aus- tralia. 154-189. Williams, J. K. 1996. The Mexican genera of the Apocynaceae (sensu A. DC.), with key and addi- tional taxonomic notes. SIDA 17: 197-214. ---. 1998. A revision of Thenardia H.B.K. (Apo- cynaceae, Apocynacoideae). Lundellia 1: 78-94. ---. 1999. A phylogenetic and taxonomic study of the Apocynaceae subfamily Apocynoideae of Mexico with a synopsis of subfamily Plumerioi- deae. Ph. D. dissertation. Austin: The University of Texas. l I Image_00004 Image_00005 Image_00006 Image_00007 Image_00008 Image_00009 Image_00010 Image_00011 Image_00012 Image_00013 Image_00014 Image_00015 
work_dhbm5xr54nefphlhif7ewwwzfi	----	[PDF] Wellness: Pharmacy Education's Role and Responsibility | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.5688/aj740469 Corpus ID: 28247181Wellness: Pharmacy Education's Role and Responsibility @article{Smith2010WellnessPE, title={Wellness: Pharmacy Education's Role and Responsibility}, author={R. E. Smith and B. R. Olin}, journal={American Journal of Pharmaceutical Education}, year={2010}, volume={74} } R. E. Smith, B. R. Olin Published 2010 Medicine American Journal of Pharmaceutical Education The root cause of most chronic diseases in America is self-inflicted through an unhealthy lifestyle including poor diet, insufficient exercise, inability to maintain a healthy weight, tobacco use, and excessive alcohol consumption. Americans' ability to adhere to healthy lifestyles appears to be declining.1,2 The pharmacy profession, while positioned to provide an answer to this problem, has done little. In addition, academic pharmacy's primary focus is on drugs and diseases with limited… Expand View on Publisher europepmc.org Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 15 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 1 Background Citations 5 View All Topics from this paper Chronic disease Ethanol Education, Pharmacy disease prevention Inappropriate ADH Syndrome Alcohol consumption college Healthy Lifestyle 15 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency The Impact of an Immersive Elective on Learners’ Understanding of Lifestyle Medicine and Its Role in Patients’ Lives Melissa J. Mattison, Eric C Nemec Medicine American Journal of Pharmaceutical Education 2014 2 Highly Influenced View 3 excerpts Save Alert Research Feed Knowledge, Attitude and Practice of Lebanese Community Pharmacists toward Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease S. Hallit, R. K. Zeidan, +7 authors P. Salameh Medicine Journal of epidemiology and global health 2020 2 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Pharmacy students’ personal health practices and perceptions on lifestyle medicine Wei C. Yuet, J. S. Lee, Esther A. Galadima Psychology 2020 Save Alert Research Feed Role of Nutrition Education in Pharmacy Curriculum—Students’ Perspectives and Attitudes M. M. Syed-Abdul, S. Kabir, Dhwani S. Soni, Tony J. Faber, J. Barnes, Maureen Timlin Medicine Pharmacy 2021 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Vital Directions for Pharmacy Education and Practice: Report of the 2017-18 Argus Commission J. Bootman, C. Boyle, Patricia A. Chase, J. Dipiro, P. Piascik, L. Maine Political Science, Medicine American Journal of Pharmaceutical Education 2018 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Preceptor perceptions of fourth year student pharmacists' abilities regarding patient counseling on therapeutic lifestyle changes. S. R. Taylor, Michelle Degeeter, J. Wilson, K. Leadon, P. Rodgers Medicine Currents in pharmacy teaching & learning 2016 4 Save Alert Research Feed Pharmacists' social authority to transform community pharmacy practice T. McPherson, P. Fontane Medicine 2011 6 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Investigating knowledge regarding antibiotics and antimicrobial resistance among pharmacy students in Sri Lankan universities M. H. F. Sakeena, A. Bennett, +4 authors A. McLachlan Medicine BMC Infectious Diseases 2018 15 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed [Perception of body weight by pharmacists and pharmaceutical laboratory assistants in Slovakia II]. J. Kolár, Stefánia Zabolyová Medicine Ceska a Slovenska farmacie : casopis Ceske farmaceuticke spolecnosti a Slovenske farmaceuticke spolecnosti 2013 Save Alert Research Feed Enhancing pharmacists’ role in developing countries to overcome the challenge of antimicrobial resistance: a narrative review M. H. F. Sakeena, A. Bennett, A. McLachlan Medicine Antimicrobial Resistance & Infection Control 2018 43 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 39 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Engaging students in wellness and disease prevention services. Audra S Anderson, J. Goode Medicine American journal of pharmaceutical education 2006 15 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Encouraging pharmacy students to become agents of change in health care. Patricia A. Chase Medicine American journal of pharmaceutical education 2006 3 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed An elective course on lifestyle modifications in pharmacotherapy. T. L. Lenz Medicine American journal of pharmaceutical education 2007 7 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Therapeutic Lifestyle Strategies Taught in U.S. Pharmacy Schools T. L. Lenz, M. S. Monaghan, Elizabeth A Hetterman Medicine Preventing chronic disease 2007 27 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Shape it up: a school-based education program to promote healthy eating and exercise developed by a health plan in collaboration with a college of pharmacy. S. Jan, Carina Bellman, J. Barone, L. Jessen, M. Arnold Medicine Journal of managed care pharmacy : JMCP 2009 22 PDF View 1 excerpt, references methods Save Alert Research Feed Experiential education at a university-based wellness center. C. O'Neil, Hildegarde J. Berdine Medicine American journal of pharmaceutical education 2007 14 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Lifestyle modification counseling of patients with dyslipidemias by pharmacists and other health professionals. T. L. Lenz, Julie A. Stading Medicine Journal of the American Pharmacists Association : JAPhA 2005 12 Save Alert Research Feed Diet and health: what should we eat? W. Willett Medicine Science 1994 885 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Effects of exercise and diet on chronic disease. C. Roberts, R. Barnard Medicine Journal of applied physiology 2005 504 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Obesity: why be concerned? W. Brown, K. Fujioka, P. Wilson, Kristina A Woodworth Medicine The American journal of medicine 2009 161 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 ... 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work_dlipt4xuifccvjvtknjluxv4yq	----	Ugyldig lenke til dokument i vitenarkiv | Unit Hopp til hovedinnhold Direktoratet for IKT og fellestjenester i høyere utdanning og forskning Tjenester Handlingsplan for digitalisering Digitalisering Om Unit Søk Meny Digitalisering Digitaliseringsstyret Handlingsplan for digitalisering Fagutvalgene Tjenesterådene Tjenester Utdanningstjenester Forskningstjenester Administrative tjenester Bibliotekstjenester Digitalt læringsmijø Generelle verktøy Vårt arbeid Prosjekter Prosjektrammeverk Styringsmodell for informasjonssikkerhet i høyere utdanning og forskning Open tilgang (open access) Klagenemnder Om Unit Organisering Ansatte Jobb i Unit Units vedtekter Offentlig journal Årsrapportar og tildelingsbrev Personvern og informasjonskapsler Generelle tjeneste- og leveransebetingelser Dette er de vi er til for Aktuelt Aktuelt Arrangement Nyhetsbrev Kontakt oss Om Unit Fakturainformasjon Presse English Norsk Ugyldig lenke til dokument i vitenarkiv Brage - åpent vitenarkiv Sist endret: 24.04.2020 Del: Share to LinkedIn Share to Facebook Share by mail Share to Twitter Du prøver å nå et dokument via en lenke som ikke er gyldig. Hvis du vet hvilken institusjon som har publisert dokumentet, kan du finne det i institusjonens vitenarkiv. Se liste over vitenarkiv her. You are trying to reach a document via a link that is not valid. If you know which institution has published the document, you can find it in the institution's Open Access Repository. See list of Open Access Repositories here. Del: Share to LinkedIn Share to Facebook Share by mail Share to Twitter Fant du det du lette etter? Ja Nei Hva lette du etter? Din tilbakemelding hjelper oss å forbedre nettstedet Til toppen Kontakt Hovedkontor: Abelsgate 5, Teknobyen, 7030 Trondheim Avdeling Oslo: Fridtjof Nansens vei 19, 0369 Oslo Telefon: +47 73 98 40 40 E-post: postmottak@unit.no Om Unit Om Unit Hiring (NO) Ansatte Presse Offentlig journal Vedtekter Personvern og informasjonskapsler Tildelingsbrev Våre tjenester Utdanningstjenester Forskningstjenester Administrative tjenester Digitalt læringsmijø Bibliotektjenester Generelle verktøy Hold deg oppdatert LinkedIn Facebook E-post Twitter RSS feed Meld deg på vårt nyhetsbrev og hold deg oppdatert Nyhetsbrev fra Unit 
work_dlnfqoqswzdmfacaxmi3dtua3i	----	AJN314628.indd Fax +41 61 306 12 34 E-Mail karger@karger.ch www.karger.com Hot Topics in Nephrology: A Debate Am J Nephrol 2010;31:552–556 DOI: 10.1159/000314628 Should Hemoglobin Targets for Anemic Patients with Chronic Kidney Disease Be Changed? Ajay K. Singh  Renal Division, Brigham and Women’s Hospital and Harvard Medical School, Boston, Mass. , USA a higher Hb in dialysis patients. Aiming for an Hb of 1 9 g/dl as a minimum threshold is commensurate with the placebo arm of the TREAT study as well as the lower Hb arm of the Normal Hematocrit study. Having an up- per limit for Hb (i.e. a target range) is not supported by evidence and encourages targeting with ESAs to just be- low 12 g/dl and within the target range, but beyond the prevailing evidence with respect to safety. The focus needs to be either avoiding ESAs entirely where possible, or re- ducing exposure to high ESA dosage where necessary. Intervention in these four trials (comprising over 7,000 patients) involved ‘targeting a higher Hb concentration’. This ‘targeting’ of higher Hb embodied treatment with ESAs. In fact, in all of the four trials, an algorithm con- trolled ESA dosage. In addition, in all of the trials, achiev- ing a higher Hb concentration was associated with better outcomes compared to achieving a lower Hb level. In oth- er words, targeting a higher Hb with ESA, not the actual achieving, is the problem. Thus, the singular focus on an Hb range misses the point. There is no evidence to indi- cate increased mortality or cardiovascular risk with oth- er interventions in targeting a higher Hb – blood transfu- sions or iron. Indeed, dialysis patients with higher Hb because of high altitude have better outcomes than pa- tients with lower Hb [9] . Regardless of the achieved Hb, treatment with high dosages of epoetin independently predicts death and cardiovascular complications. Four randomized controlled trials (RCTs) have dem- onstrated that erythropoiesis-stimulating agents (ESAs) targeted to normalize hemoglobin (Hb) in chronic kidney disease (CKD) patients result in a higher rate of death and/ or cardiovascular complications. In the Normal Hemato- crit study, the point estimate of risk in the direction of harm was 30% [1] ; in CREATE, it was 22% (95% CI: 0.53– 1.14) [2] ; in CHOIR, it was 34% (95% CI: 1.03–1.74) [3] , and in TREAT it was 5% (95% CI: 0.94–1.17) [4] . Several ob- servational analyses [5–9] implicate exposure to high dos- ages of ESAs in explaining these adverse outcomes. Stud- ies in nonrenal settings confirm the direct risk conferred by ESAs. The case for ESA toxicity in explaining the risk of targeting a higher Hb in CKD patients is strong. The case is weak for a continued obsession with the current target range for Hb of 10–12 g/dl (the FDA recommenda- tion) or 11–12 g/dl (K-DOQI). The status quo must change. The anemia RCTs demonstrate that the Hb is a f lawed surrogate end point, fundamentally undermining the current focus on an Hb target range. Fleming and DeMets [10] emphasize that a valid surrogate should both corre- late with the true clinical outcome and fully capture the net effect of treatment on the clinical outcome. Hb does not do this because targeting a higher Hb in the trials is not associated with a reduction in mortality or a lower rate of cardiovascular complications. On the contrary, the RCTs demonstrate there is increased risk in targeting Published online: May 21, 2010 Nephrology American Journal of Ajay K. Singh, MD Renal Division Brigham and Women’s Hospital Boston, MA 02115 (USA) Tel. +1 617 732 5951, Fax +1 617 732 6392, E-Mail asingh   @   partners.org © 2010 S. Karger AG, Basel 0250–8095/10/0316–0552$26.00/0 Accessible online at: www.karger.com/ajn Debate: PRO Position http://dx.doi.org/10.1159%2F000314628 Debate: PRO Position Am J Nephrol 2010;31:552–556 553 Evidence that Targeting a Higher Hemoglobin with ESA Therapy Is Harmful The design characteristics of the four large RCTs are shown in table 1 , and have been discussed in detail else- where [11] . The Normal Hematocrit study [1] enrolled symptom- atic high-risk dialysis patients, who were randomized to either an Hb of 13–15 g/dl or an Hb of 9–11 g/dl. The mean epoetin dosage was 460 U/kg/week and 160 U/kg/ week, in the high versus low Hb arms, respectively. The Data Safety Monitoring Board halted the study for safety reasons. At 29 months, there were 183 deaths and 19 first nonfatal myocardial infarctions in the higher Hb versus 150 deaths and 14 nonfatal myocardial infarctions in the lower Hb group (RR: 1.3; 95% CI: 0.9–1.9). There was also a higher rate of vascular thrombosis and strokes in pa- tients in the higher Hb arm compared to patients ran- domized to the lower Hb arm. Three RCTs have evaluated nondialysis CKD patients: CREATE, CHOIR and TREAT ( table 1 ). All three trials demonstrated increased risk in targeting higher Hb with higher doses of ESAs. The CREATE study evaluated the effect of complete versus partial correction of anemia in 603 patients with CKD (12). The achieved Hb was 13.49 g/dl in the high Hb group versus 11.6 g/dl in the low Hb group. A median dose of 5,000 versus 2,000 units of epoetin- � per week was used in the higher versus lower Hb group, respec- tively. At 4 years, complete anemia correction was not as- sociated with a higher rate of the first cardiovascular event (HR: 0.78; p = 0.20), although there was a trend to- wards harm. There was a significantly higher risk of de- veloping end-stage renal disease in patients randomized to the higher Hb concentration. The CHOIR study [3] enrolled 1,432 patients with CKD anemia and compared the effect of raising Hb to high (13.5 g/dl) as compared to low (11.3 g/dl) levels on outcomes. The median epoetin dose used in the trial was 10,952 U/week in the high Hb group and 5,506 U/week in the low Hb arm. There were 125 composite events (death, myocardial infarction, congestive heart failure hospital- ization and stroke) in patients in the higher Hb group versus 97 events in the low Hb group (HR 1.337; p = 0.03). The higher rate of composite events was explained large- ly by a higher rate of death (48% higher risk; p = 0.07) and congestive heart failure hospitalization (41%; p = 0.07). The TREAT study [4] was a double-blind trial com- prising 4,038 subjects. Patients were randomized to either darbepoetin or placebo, with a target Hb of 13 g/dl in the darbepoetin treatment arm and an Hb above 9 g/dl in the placebo arm. A median dose of 176 � g/month was used in the darbepoetin-treated arm compared to 0 � g/month in the placebo rescue arm. The trial was neutral for the Table 1. D esign characteristics for anemia RCTs Normal Hematocrit CREATE CHOIR TREAT D esign randomized, open-label randomized, open-label randomized, open-label randomized, double-blind Sponsor/agent Amgen/Epogent� (epoetin-�) Amgen/Aranesp� (darbepoetin-�) J&J/Procrit� (epoetin-�) Amgen/Aranesp� (darbepoetin-�) Dosing unclear 2,000 weekly initiate 10,000 weekly when stable go to bi-weekly 0.75 mcg/kg/Q2W double dose when stable and go to monthly Dosing frequency 3 times weekly on dialysis de novo to weekly de novo to weekly to bi-weekly de novo to bi-weekly to monthly Hb target(s), g/l arm 1 9–11 13.0–15.0 13.0 13.0 arm 2 13–15 10.5–11.5 placebo (rescue for Hb <9.0) placebo (rescue for Hb <9.0) Regions USA global USA global Inclusion criteria Hb, g/l 9–11.0 11.0–12.5 <11.0 ≤11.0 eGFR/CrCl ESRD 15–35 15–50 20–60 Diabetes ;44% ;25% 48.5% 100% Singh Am J Nephrol 2010;31:552–556554 primary composite of death or a cardiovascular event (HR for darbepoetin vs. placebo: 1.05; p = 0.41), but there was a significantly higher rate of strokes in the darbepo- etin-treated patients (HR: 1.92; p ! 0.001). Death or end- stage renal disease occurred in 652 patients in the darbe- poetin- � group (32.4%) and in 618 patients in the placebo group (30.5%; HR for darbepoetin- � versus placebo: 1.06; 95% CI: 0.95–1.19; p = 0.29). A higher rate of both throm- boembolism and cancer-related deaths among patients with a history of cancer in the darbepoetin-treated pa- tients was also observed. Taken collectively, the anemia RCTs prove the inade- quacy of Hb as a valid surrogate end point and point to the targeting of a higher Hb with ESA as being the key problem. The next question is whether exposure to epo- etin, especially at high dosage levels, independently pre- dicts adverse outcome. In a secondary analysis of the CHOIR study [12] , the question of whether exposure to epoetin- � explained the higher risk of adverse events observed with anemia treat- ment was evaluated. Landmark analyses at 4 and 9 months was used to avoid some of the biases and confounding in- herent in post-hoc studies. In unadjusted analyses, both the inability to achieve target hemoglobin and the re- quirement of high-dose epoetin were significantly associ- ated with an increased hazard of the primary end point (p = 0.05 and 0.003, respectively). In adjusted models, the increased hazard associated with randomization to the high hemoglobin arm from the primary trial was no lon- ger significant (p = 0.49), while high-dose epoetin was as- sociated with a 57% increased hazard to the primary end point (HR: 1.57; 95% CI: 1.04–2.36; p = 0.03). Thus, expo- sure to high doses of epoetin and not the targeted Hb in- dependently predicted adverse outcomes in CHOIR. Observational Studies Support ESA Toxicity Several observational analyses have examined the re- lationship between epoetin exposure and adverse risk in treating anemia in the CKD population. Zhang et al. [5] studied the relationship between epoetin and all-cause mortality in 94,569 prevalent hemodialysis patients using Cox proportional hazard regression analysis with adjust- ment for baseline variables. For every hematocrit strata studied, patients administered higher doses of epoetin had significantly lower hematocrit values and greater mortality rates. Using the cubic spline function, a signif- icant nonlinear relationship between increased epoetin dose and mortality was found regardless of hematocrit (p  ! 0.0001), with the steepest increase in relative risk for death found after the 72.5 dose percentile. Bradbury et al. [6] explored a Fresenius North Amer- ica cohort of 22,955 prevalent hemodialysis patients using Cox proportional hazard models and time-dependent models fitted with time-varying log EPO and Hb concen- tration. In the unadjusted model, after adjustment for baseline patient characteristics, an increased mortality risk with increasing epoetin dose was observed (HR: 1.31 per log unit increase; 95% CI: 1.26–1.36). However, ad- justment for baseline patient characteristics resulted in attenuation of the mortality risk estimate (HR: 1.21; 95% CI: 1.15–1.28) that became more attenuated in lagged time-dependent analyses. Streja et al. [7] explored the relationship between epo- etin exposure, iron deficiency and thrombocytosis in 40,787 DaVita maintenance hemodialysis patients. A higher Hb 1 13 g/dl was associated with greater mortality (case-mix-adjusted death relative risk of 1.21; 95% CI: 1.02–1.44; p = 0.03) in the presence of thrombocytosis (platelet count 1 300,000/ � l), but not in the absence of thrombocytosis. However, there was an association be- tween epoetin exposure at very high doses of 1 20,000 units/week, and mortality over 3 years (relative risk of death: 1.59, 95% CI: 1.54–1.65; p ! 0.001). Servilla et al. [8] evaluated 12,733 epoetin-exposed in- cident hemodialysis patients. A proportional hazards modeling with time-varying covariates was used. Epoe- tin doses ! 8,000 U/week were associated with decreased risk. Higher epoetin doses were associated with increased mortality at Hb concentrations of 10–12.9 g/dl and with increased hospitalization at all Hb concentrations of 10 g/dl or greater. Higher epoetin doses were also associated with increased mortality and hospitalization within each tertile of serum albumin concentration. Winkelmayer et al. [9] used instrumental variable modeling to examine the relationship between epoetin and outcome in 269,717 subjects in 4,500 dialysis units in the United States. Mortality was low among patients with a low Hb exposed to high doses of epoetin. However, mortality rates were increased in centers that used larger ESA doses in patients with hematocrit between 33 and 35.9% (highest vs. lowest quintile of predicted dose, HR: 1.07; 95% CI: 1.03–1.12) and in those with hematocrit of 36% or higher (highest vs. lowest quintile of predicted dose, HR: 1.11; 95% CI: 1.07–1.15). Synthesizing the observational studies, the evidence suggests that there is indeed a relationship between ESA exposure and adverse outcome, but since confounding cannot be excluded, causality cannot be established. Debate: PRO Position Am J Nephrol 2010;31:552–556 555 Evidence of ESA-Associated Adverse Outcomes in Nonrenal Populations Demonstrating that ESA therapy used in nonrenal set- tings can be harmful lends further support to the case for ESA toxicity. ESA therapy has been used in a variety of nonrenal settings, including the treatment of cancer-in- duced anemia, anemia of critical illness and in prevent- ing blood transfusions prior to spine surgery. Bohlius et al. [13] did a meta-analysis of 53 trials com- prising 13,933 patients with cancer-induced anemia who received epoetin or darbepoetin plus red blood cell trans- fusion for treatment of anemia compared to patients re- ceiving only transfusion. High doses of ESAs were used (21,000–63,000 IU of epoetin or 100–157 � g of darbepo- etin per week for 8–52 weeks). ESAs increased all-cause mortality by 17% in all patients compared to control groups, and by 10% in patients undergoing chemotherapy compared to control groups. In another meta-analysis, Bennett et al. [14] evaluated 51 phase 3 trials comprising 13,611 patients with cancer (venous thromboembolism risk was evaluated in 8,172 patients with cancer from 38 phase 3 trials). The risk of mortality was also greater in ESA-treated patients (HR: 1.10; 95% CI 1.01–1.20). A sig- nificantly increased risk of venous thromboembolism in patients treated with ESAs (334 events /4,610 patients) versus control patients (173 events/3,562 control patients; RR: 1.57; 95% CI: 1.31–1.87) was observed. Furthermore, there was increased mortality among those with chemo- therapy-induced anemia (HR: 1.29; 95% CI: 1.00–1.67, p  = 0.05) and chemotherapy-associated anemia (HR: 1.09; 95% CI: 0.99–1.19). The most convincing evidence of a direct adverse ef- fect of ESA is from a prospective, multicenter, open-label, randomized, parallel group trial by Stowell et al. [15] . Subjects received either epoetin- � 600 U/kg subcutane- ously once weekly starting 3 weeks before spinal surgery plus standard of care for blood conservation or standard of care alone, regardless of baseline Hb concentration. There were 340 in each treatment group (n = 680): 16 sub- jects (4.7%) in the epoetin- � group and 7 subjects (2.1%) in the standard of care group had a diagnosis of deep vein thrombosis and 1.5% and 0.9%, respectively, had other clinically relevant thrombovascular events. In summary, evidence from ESA treatment in nonre- nal populations taken together with the CKD data impli- cates exposure to high doses of ESAs as the likeliest rea- son for the increased risk of adverse outcomes. Conclusion Targeting a higher Hb concentration with high dosage of ESA in CKD patients is associated with increased risk. Aiming for an Hb of 1 9 g/dl is commensurate with the placebo arm of the TREAT study as well as the lower Hb arm of the Normal Hematocrit study. However, rather than focusing on the Hb, which at best is an unreliable surrogate, attention needs to be directed at minimizing exposure to high ESA dosage. The evidence for ESA expo- sure particularly at high dosage is strong, albeit more cir- cumstantial. However, as Henry David Thoreau is fa- mously quoted saying, ‘Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when you find a trout in the milk’. References 1 Besarab A, Bolton WK, Browne JK, Egrie JC, Nissenson AR, Okamoto DM, Schwab SJ, Goodkin DA: The effects of normal as com- pared with low hematocrit values in patients with cardiac disease who are receiving he- modialysis and epoetin. N Engl J Med 1998; 339: 584–590. 2 Drueke TB, Locatelli F, Clyne N, Eckardt KU, Macdougall IC, Tsakiris D, Burger HU, Scherhag A; CREATE Investigators: Nor- malization of hemoglobin level in patients with chronic kidney disease and anemia. N Engl J Med 2006; 355: 2071–2074. 3 Singh AK, Szczech L, Tang KL, Barnhart H, Sapp S, Wolfson M, Reddan D; CHOIR In- vestigators: Correction of anemia with epo- etin alfa in chronic kidney disease. N Engl J Med 2006; 355: 2085–2098. 4 Pfeffer MA, Burdmann EA, Chen CY, Coo- per ME, de Zeeuw D, Eckardt KU, Feyzi JM, Ivanovich P, Kewalramani R, Levey AS, Lew- is EF, McGill JB, McMurray JJ, Parfrey P, Parving HH, Remuzzi G, Singh AK, Solo- mon SD, Toto R; the TREAT Investigators: A trial of darbepoetin alfa in type 2 diabetes and chronic kidney disease. N Engl J Med 2009; 361: 2019–2032. 5 Zhang Y, Thamer M, Stefanik K, Kaufman J, Cotter DJ: Epoetin requirements predict mortality in hemodialysis patients. Am J Kidney Dis 2004; 44: 866–876. 6 Bradbury BD, Danese MD, Gleeson M, Critchlow CW: Effect of epoetin alfa dose changes on hemoglobin and mortality in he- modialysis patients with hemoglobin levels persistently below 11 g/dl. Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 2009; 4: 630–637. 7 Streja E, Kovesdy CP, Greenland S, Kopple JD, McAllister CJ, Nissenson AR, Kalantar- Zadeh K: Erythropoietin, iron depletion, and relative thrombocytosis: a possible ex- planation for hemoglobin-survival paradox in hemodialysis. Am J Kidney Dis 2008; 52: 727–736. 8 Servilla KS, Singh AK, Hunt WC, Harford AM, Miskulin D, Meyer KB, Bedrick EJ, Rohrscheib MR, Tzamaloukas AH, Johnson HK, Zager PG: Anemia management and as- sociation of race with mortality and hospi- talization in a large not-for-profit dialysis or- ganization. Am J Kidney Dis 2009; 54: 498–510. Singh Am J Nephrol 2010;31:552–556556 9 Winkelmayer WC, Liu J, Brookhart MA: Al- titude and all-cause mortality in incident di- alysis patients. JAMA 2009; 301: 508–512. 10 Fleming TR, DeMets DL: Surrogate end points in clinical trials: are we being misled? Ann Intern Med 1996; 125: 605–613. 11 Singh AK: Does TREAT give the boot to ESAs in the treatment of CKD anemia? J Am Soc Nephrol 2010; 21: 2–6. 12 Szczech LA, Barnhart HX, Inrig JK, Reddan DN, Sapp S, Califf RM, Patel UD, Singh AK: Secondary analysis of the CHOIR trial epo- etin-alpha dose and achieved hemoglobin outcomes. Kidney Int 2008; 74: 791–798. 13 Bohlius J, Schmidlin K, Brillant C, Schwar- zer G, Trelle S, Seidenfeld J, Zwahlen M, Clarke M, Weingart O, Kluge S, Piper M, Rades D, Steensma DP, Djulbegovic B, Fey MF, Ray-Coquard I, Machtay M, Moebus V, Thomas G, Untch M, Schumacher M, Egger M, Engert A: Recombinant human erythro- poiesis-stimulating agents and mortality in patients with cancer: a meta-analysis of ran- domised trials. Lancet 2009; 373: 1532–1542. 14 Bennett CL, Silver SM, Djulbegovic B, Sama- ras AT, Blau CA, Gleason KJ, Barnato SE, El- verman KM, Courtney DM, McKoy JM, Ed- wards BJ, Tigue CC, Raisch DW, Yarnold PR, Dorr DA, Kuzel TM, Tallman MS, Trifilio SM, West DP, Lai SY, Henke M: Venous thromboembolism and mortality associated with recombinant erythropoietin and dar- bepoetin administration for the treatment of cancer-associated anemia. JAMA 2008; 299: 914–924. 15 Stowell CP, Jones SC, Enny C, Langholff W, Leitz G: An open-label, randomized, paral- lel-group study of perioperative epoetin alfa versus standard of care for blood conserva- tion in major elective spinal surgery: safety analysis. Spine (Phila Pa 1976) 2009; 34: 2479–2485. 
work_dnvnn6r2azfwvnuga5lsnuengy	----	94 Acta Bioethica 2009; 15 (1): 94-99 OBJECIÓN DE CONCIENCIA, LA MUERTE Y EL MORIR EN ENFERMEDADES EN ETAPA TERMINAL Octaviano Humberto Domínguez Márquez* Resumen: Se realiza un análisis crítico de la figura de la objeción de conciencia como una expresión de la consecución de nuevos espacios de libertad en sociedades en continua evolución, las que sin embargo acusan rezagos, específicamente en el campo de la salud. Por otra parte, se enlaza la objeción de conciencia con los aspectos del final de la vida y el proceso tanatológico, en las encrucijadas éticas que la tecnología moderna plantea al cambiar drásticamente la forma de morir. Palabras clave: objeción de conciencia, tanatología CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTION, DEATH AND DYING IN TERMINAL ILLNESSES Abstract: This paper carries on a critical analysis of the figure of conscientious objection as an expression of the achievement of new spaces of liberty in societies in continuous evolution, that however, are still somewhat behind the times, specifically in the area of health. In addition, it links conscientious objection with aspects of the end of life and the tanatological process, in the ethical puzzles that modern technology presents by changing drastically the way we die. Key words: conscientious objection, tanatology OBJEÇÃO DE CONSCIÊNCIA, A MORTE E O MORRER COM DOENÇAS EM FASE TERMINAL Resumo: Faz-se uma análise crítica da figura da objeção de conciencia como uma expressão da conquista de novos espaços de liberdade em sociedades em contínua evolução, específicamente no campo da saúde. Por outro lado, aproxima-se a objeção de conciência com os aspectos de final de vida e processos tanatológico, nas encruzilhadas éticas que a tecnologia moderna levanta ao mudar drásticamente a forma de morrer. Palavras chave: objeção de conciência, tanatología * Médico Cirujano y Partero. Profesor de pre y posgrado en Bioética, Escuela Superior de Medicina del Instituto Politécnico Nacional, México Correspondencia: octavidm@yahoo.com.mx INTERFACES ACTA 1 2009.indd 94 19/5/09 15:24:35 Acta Bioethica 2009; 15 (1) 95 Introducción Una gran falla del desarrollo de la humanidad es estar al margen del aprendizaje del morir. Es incalculable todo lo que se ha escrito, hablado y realizado en torno al evento muerte y, sin embargo, puede afirmarse que aún estamos lejos de estar conscientes de la acepta- ción de ese fenómeno universal y absoluto. Expresó Eduardo Césarman: “es más probable estar muerto que vivo”(1). A esta no aceptación se agrega la negativa de diversas instancias médicas, particularmente en pacientes terminales, para aplicar un procedimiento eutanásico ante un mandato legal o una orden superior, porque ello afectaría sus convicciones, creencias religiosas o ideologías. Esa resistencia, llamada “objeción de conciencia”, tiene innumerables implicaciones en los campos clínico, epidemiológico, jurídico o social, e inclusive repercusión política en la comunidad. La objeción de conciencia implica un reconocimiento del valor de la individualidad más que de las minorías, ya que el Estado que la legitima y legaliza imprime con ello un sentido democratizante a su régimen. Los reclamos sociales en lo político han evolucionado desde hacerse oír en masa, avanzar luego en la conse- cución del reconocimiento legal en los derechos de las minorías o de grupos tradicionalmente marginados, hasta reconocer el alto significado de las determina- ciones individuales de la conciencia que influyen en la dinámica social y política. En el campo de la salud son múltiples y variados los casos en los cuales las complicaciones tecnológicas propician el encuentro de la objeción de conciencia. Algunos de ellos son el aborto, la eutanasia, los pro- cedimientos para desconectar a un enfermo declarado con muerte cerebral, entre otros. Así también en la oposición para atender un número exagerado de pa- cientes y en la resistencia a ser el brazo ejecutor de los pacientes terminales, a quienes les ha sido negada la mínima asistencia tanatológica y los cuidados paliativos humanizantes, como sucede además con la obstinación terapéutica en procedimientos fútiles. También en el área farmacéutica, en cuanto a la producción, distribu- ción y suministro de medicamentos con potencialidad abortiva. Además de los casos muy conocidos de los Testigos de Jehová. Desde luego, existen personas que racionalmente esperan la muerte, otras fuera de la racionalidad la buscan y las menos que entregadas a su fe construyen gustosamente el puente psicorracional-espiritual para aceptar el final de su vida. El morir ha cambiado(2). La tecnología y las institu- ciones de atención médica revolucionan la concepción de la muerte y el morir. La humanidad, a través de la ciencia médica, desarrolla procedimientos inverosími- les para mantener con vida a las personas, llegando al extremo de ejercer el ensañamiento terapéutico con tal de sostener lo más posible la ilusión de la familia de que su paciente aún vive. Sin embargo, habrá otro que objete y disienta por motivos de conciencia, para no prolongar una agonía con elementos fútiles. O, en su caso, para no aplicar procedimientos eutanásicos. La objeción de conciencia, su desarrollo y la tana- tología Es interesante anotar que la objeción de conciencia es reconocida desde hace muchos siglos, enfocada principalmente a la defensa de creencias religiosas, consideradas como un valor fundamental de grupo y de carácter individual. También como ejemplo de defensa heroica, anteponiendo el honor y la religiosidad para disentir ante imperativos abrumadores. Tal es el caso de Antígona, en su enfrentamiento desigual con el tirano. En defensa de sus creencias religiosas, Antígona desobe- dece sus órdenes para dejar insepulto a su hermano, en conocimiento de que en ello le iba la vida. En el siglo pasado, hay evidencia de objeción de con- ciencia con relación al desempeño militar, primero respecto de la participación directa en las guerras y, a mitades del siglo, en la incorporación de conscriptos, con una extensión a las actividades paramilitares o en relación con la acción militar. El traslado de la objeción de conciencia de las áreas religiosas a otro campo se da alrededor de 1847 con la invasión del ejército de Estados Unidos a México, en una protesta unipersonal(3) de Henry David Thoreau, negándose a pagar impuestos como recriminación de que iban a ser utilizados en esa guerra injusta. Es en Europa, principalmente en España e Italia, donde la resistencia a la conscripción de los jóvenes es muy fuerte, desafiando en el primer caso a la dictadura franquista, a tal grado que no importó a ésta una im- portante recomendación de la Asamblea Constitutiva ACTA 1 2009.indd 95 19/5/09 15:24:35 Objeción de conciencia, la muerte y el morir en enfermedades en etapa terminal - Octaviano Humberto Domínguez Márquez 96 del Consejo de Europa(4) para reconocer el derecho a la objeción de conciencia y dejar en libertad a los jóvenes apresados purgando condena. Después aparece en el campo de la salud con relación al aborto y progresivamente en un sinnúmero de procedimientos que fueron considerados lesivos para convicciones o creencias religiosas. Además, se extiende a la resistencia por motivos de lesión a valores profe- sionales o, simplemente, a la defensa de otros valores, como en el caso de la eutanasia, la desconexión de un respirador y el exceso de consulta, en los que se defiende la vida y el bienestar de los pacientes. Otra extensión de la objeción de conciencia se refiere a los farmacéuticos en España, que expresan su negativa a la producción, distribución y suministro de ciertos medicamentos, en particular, la píldora del día después y otros de carácter abortivo. Resulta pertinente señalar las diferencias entre la objeción de conciencia y la desobediencia civil. La primera es generalmente de manifestación individual, por parte del personal de salud, de algún paciente o de sus familiares; la segunda tiene una dimensión social más amplia y se caracteriza por ser una movilización de grupos, no violenta, como rechazo a una ley que se considera lesiva a intereses económicos o sociales, u ofensiva a ciertos hábitos y costumbres. Implica la negativa a obedecer los términos procedimentales, obstruyendo en lo posible su aplicación(3). No es frecuente que el proceso de morir en los casos terminales sea conducido con un método tanatológico humanista. La confusión de lo auténticamente huma- nista está en que en la mayoría de los casos predomina la compasión y la pronta atención a las necesidades del enfermo y eso no basta para imprimir el verdadero valor de una atención tanatológica merecida para un ser humano. Es necesario aprender a morir e ir más allá de los pasos del proceso que invoca Kubbler Ross(5). Llegar a la etapa final de aceptación en la que debe darse la construcción de un puente psicológico, racional y espiritual, no sólo de mansa resignación sino de un esclarecimiento consciente del significado de la muerte en uno mismo y en la humanidad toda. La educación en la niñez, en lugar de ocultar lo relativo a la muerte real, debiera informar de la racionalidad del fenómeno y cómo prepararse para enfrentarlo en caso necesario. A pesar de las turbulencias psicológicas desatadas ante el diagnóstico de enfermedad terminal, es posible conseguir un aprendizaje del morir. Como proceso complejo que oscila entre la razón y los temores espi- rituales, conseguir el equilibrio entre una razón sufi- ciente y una plenitud espiritual lleva a la tranquilidad y la paz interior del fondo de la psique, con el fin de aceptar mejor la intensidad del dolor y la enajenación del sufrimiento. Aprender a morir aleja con firmeza las tentaciones eutanásicas y de suicidio asistido, muy frecuentes en los enfermos terminales. Nadie merece ser muerto por otro semejante, nadie debe pedir a otro que lo mate y nadie debe atribuirse la facultad de hacerlo. Bien dice Diego Gracia(6): “La naturaleza, hoy como siempre, es la que acabará haciendo lo demás. La naturaleza, no el médico”. De acuerdo con los esquemas actuales, pese a la vigencia de la ley de la eutanasia, también el personal de salud tiene el derecho de evadir la ejecución por respeto a sus convicciones ideológicas, profesionales o religiosas. La objeción de conciencia se extiende a los familiares, quienes también tienen derecho a oponerse a los actos eutanásicos y a los tratamientos colmados de futilidad que su conciencia rechaza. La tanatología de hoy La asistencia tanatológica siempre estuvo sostenida por las creencias religiosas, que actuaron para bien de los creyentes y para complicar con importantes sentimien- tos de culpa a los no creyentes. En la mayor parte de los países de Iberoamérica, la religión dominante se ha mezclado con otras creencias de los diferentes grupos indígenas, es decir, ha habido dos concepciones distintas del proceso de morir y del culto a los muertos. Sin embargo, se reconoce que estos grupos aceptan de mejor manera la presencia de la muerte, con mayor entereza y resignación. La enfer- medad y la muerte son tomadas con fatalidad, sin entrar en procedimientos que prolongan la agonía o dolerse con exageración por la pérdida de sus familiares. La muerte de un miembro de la familia en nuestra cultura es tomada de manera diferente si se trata de un recién nacido, infante, adolescente, adulto joven o anciano. Al recién nacido y al infante los conside- ran como angelitos, inocentes de toda culpa, y a los ACTA 1 2009.indd 96 19/5/09 15:24:36 Acta Bioethica 2009; 15 (1) 97 ancianos como individuos que ya vivieron lo que les correspondía, en cuyo caso la resignación de los fami- liares es pronta. En cambio, un adulto en la plenitud de la vida es una pérdida muy sentida, por los muchos intereses que se pierden y los afectos truncados que se encuentran en su apogeo. La presencia de cáncer o SIDA en un niño es considera- da como injusta y con una fuerte repercusión afectiva, por lo tanto, la compasión abarca prácticamente todos los espacios de la atención tanatológica. Para estos casos, la psicoterapia no sólo se dirige a los niños afectados orgánicamente por el padecimiento terminal, sino al personal de salud que sabe de la muerte próxima de los enfermos y no sabe con precisión cuál debe ser su papel frente a ellos. La tanatología de hoy involucra las intervenciones psicoterapéuticas con el reconocimiento de indispensables. El rescate de la subjetividad de las personas para llevarlas a un equilibrio estable y armó- nico debe ser cuidadosamente planeado, integrando al enfermo, sus familiares y el personal de salud no importando la edad de la persona. Actualmente, la tanatología considera un cúmulo sistematizado de cuidados paliativos con el fin de sos- tener y proporcionar la mejor calidad de vida posible, atendiendo al binomio paciente-asistente o cuidador, ya sea en fases iniciales o en fase terminal. Estos proce- dimientos pretenden acercar al paciente y sus familiares los mayores beneficios de acuerdo con sus necesidades más significativas. La psicoterapia, la razón y la espiritualidad son aportes diferentes. Esta tríada es la columna vertebral de la tanatología moderna, excepto que la última puede estar manifiesta o no en algunos individuos o simplemente no ser aceptada. El manejo puede ser simultáneo y, de hecho, conseguir el dominio de la psique facilita la aceptación de los razonamientos y viceversa. La cons- trucción de un puente armónico hacia el deceso radica en comprender la finitud humana y darle un sentido a la muerte, idóneamente y desde un comportamiento cotidiano. El punto cardinal, de mayor significado en todo el proceso es la transformación de ese potencial de energía que se expresa en el temor y los miedos a dejar de ser, a pasar a un estadio desconocido, a expiar las culpas sin preparación, a ser el juez de su propia conciencia, a dejar de estar en un escenario en el que se considera necesario o indispensable. Esto genera un estado alar- mante de angustia, con alternancias depresivas y un deseo imperativo de encontrar la paz de la psique, de la conciencia y del espíritu. Erich Fromm(7) concibe la libertad como problema psicológico; a pesar de ese andar incesante del hombre en su conquista, cuando finalmente la encuentra se queda inmóvil, le atemoriza ejercerla, prefiere continuar en una cómoda sumisión. A través de su historia, el hombre ha sabido que puede luchar contra la naturaleza y dominarla; oponerse a la Iglesia y ganar su derecho a la libertad de creencias y enfrentarse al Estado abso- lutista y democratizarlo. Sin embargo, aunque aún no conquista todos los espacios de libertad a los que tiene derecho, tiene la seguridad de que nunca le ganará a la muerte. Podrá aumentar los plazos, pero no conseguirá ser inmortal o, por lo menos, como muchos desean, vivir una larga vida. No le consuela que sea igual para todos los seres vivos; es su caso y, por tanto, su miedo, su angustia y sus temores. La tanatología aprecia los conflictos modernos del hombre, sus avances en la ciencia y la tecnología y, desde luego, la concepción diversa sobre la muerte. Si la esperanza de vida es de 78 años para la mujer y 74 para el varón, quiere decir que se han librado de una gran cantidad de padecimientos por los que morían poblaciones por millones y, por lo tanto, el espectro de la muerte no es el mismo que en los inicios del siglo XX, con una mortalidad en promedio alrededor de los treinta años de edad. A pesar del crecimiento de los servicios de salud y de una atención en el final de la vida otorgada en los hospitales, la tanatología no ha sido incorporada como parte ineludible del tratamiento clínico. Lo que se hace actualmente es motu proprio del personal de salud, especialmente del médico y de la enfermera, de una manera empírica, con buena intención de apoyar al paciente y a sus familiares, pero sin ningún método. Por otra parte, no existe la especialidad como tal entre el personal de salud. Hay avances importantes en cuanto a la reconceptuali- zación de la tanatología. Está pasando de una fase em- pírica –de carácter compasivo– a la profesionalización y formalidad de su integración en los planes de estudio del médico, la enfermera, el psicólogo y el trabajador social, con un enfoque multidisciplinario, situación que modifica radicalmente la posición solitaria del médico y la fortalece. Además, integra los aspectos psicológicos ACTA 1 2009.indd 97 19/5/09 15:24:36 Objeción de conciencia, la muerte y el morir en enfermedades en etapa terminal - Octaviano Humberto Domínguez Márquez 98 a la racionalidad del fenómeno e incorpora el enrique- cimiento de la espiritualidad. La muerte y el morir. El trance tanatognomónico Los últimos momentos de vida suelen ser muy sig- nificativos. Las actitudes del paciente pueden ser de angustia y desesperación o de plenitud y paz. Se habla en los medios hospitalarios de un momento de lucidez anterior al deceso; la muerte se siente y con ella un final aceptado o, en otros casos, cuando la agonía es duradera, a algunos pacientes les cuesta morir. Se conoce al momento próximo a morir como el “trance tanatognomónico”, es decir, característico de la cerca- nía de la muerte. En las defunciones con sufrimiento y dolores intensos la persona es sometida a potentes analgésicos y sedantes, por lo que este momento se pierde. En caso de que el paciente esté consciente, sus sufrimientos se recrudecen y suman ante la clara percepción de ese momento final. Los enfermos solicitan la presencia de la familia, piden algunas cosas en especial, se despiden, distribuyen algunos bienes, ajustan asuntos pendientes, piden ayuda espiritual, ya como continuación o de inicio, y quedan en espera de la muerte que suele ocurrir en un corto lapso. Para algunos, esos momentos previos al desenlace exponen, en toda su verdad, la esencia de la persona: ya no hay nada que ocultar ni que perder, se actúa sin la última máscara. Los sentimientos que se desbordan en el momento de morir, son inocultables. Castilla del Pino(8) nos habla de su fundamento y de su dificultad para inhibirlos, tanto el odio y el amor como la simpatía y el rechazo. En el paciente terminal hay variadas manifestaciones. Los sentimientos íntimos, que algunos guardan de una manera acorazada, y lo que otros exponen abier- tamente. Las condiciones de estrés y de depresión son síntomas alternativos en estrecha vinculación con el impacto de los sentimientos fuera de control. En ese agitado mar de sentimientos, ¿es posible conseguir una regulación aceptable? El cultivo de la racionalidad en el paciente terminal no se contrapone con el desarrollo de la espiritualidad, de acuerdo con la religión que profese el enfermo. Para los creyentes, la espiritualidad significa un soporte que pueden elevar ante lo inexplicable. La racionalidad ante la muerte y el morir debe aplicarse con todo el cuidado necesario para no confrontarla con la espiritualidad. Lo que menos se espera es producir más agitaciones propiciadoras de confusión. La tanatología debe fa- cilitar la expansión espiritual del enfermo, quitando trabas que impidan la negación, fenómeno frecuente en el complejo proceso del aprendizaje para la muerte y el morir. La objeción de conciencia y el morir Ante la presencia de un paciente diagnosticado con muerte cerebral y un cuerpo vivo (tanto que algunos de sus órganos servirán para renovar la vida de un paciente grave), algunos miembros del personal de salud y el propio médico se niegan a desconectarlo aduciendo sus propias convicciones. La objeción de conciencia es un derecho plenamen- te establecido en muchos países desde hace algún tiempo, principalmente ligado a la relación laboral, como en el caso del aborto(9), situación estudiada por la Organización Internacional del Trabajo, desde hace ya varios años. Por otra parte, la “Encyclopedia of Bioethics”(10) menciona la dualidad que puede existir en esa resistencia objetora para participar, por ejemplo, en procedimientos de inseminación artificial, aborti- vos, eutanásicos o de encarnizamiento terapéutico en los pacientes, y luego negarse a procedimientos diag- nósticos o de tratamiento, invocando principalmente creencias religiosas. Esta objeción es reconocida como un derecho en cuanto su ejercicio no afecte o lesione a terceros. En el caso que nos ocupa, respecto de pacientes con muerte cerebral, la negativa a desconectarlos puede ser de parte del personal de salud como de los familiares y, en ese caso, la situación de perjuicio se registra en la prolongación de la estancia hospitalaria. Finalmente, en ese proceso de la muerte y el morir se conjugan valores y derechos que la bioética desglosa y atiende: desde la autonomía que respalda la capacidad objetora por motivos de conciencia, la dignidad ineludible para decidir ese momento único e irreversible del morir, hasta la plena objeción de conciencia en esa maraña de complicaciones dadas por la utilización anárquica de la tecnología en el rezago de las normas y leyes específicas. ACTA 1 2009.indd 98 19/5/09 15:24:36 Acta Bioethica 2009; 15 (1) 99 Referencias 1. Césarman E. Hombre y Entropía. México: Pax México; 1974. 2. Llano E. El morir humano ha cambiado. Boletín Oficina Sanitaria Panamericana 1990; 108(5-6): 465. 3. Barry P, Linzey A. Civil Desobedience. Diccionary of Ethics, Theology and Sociology. London/New York: Routledge; 1996: 152-153. 4. Asamblea Consultiva del Consejo de Europa. Convención Europea de los Derechos del Hombre. Madrid; 1967: 74. 5. Kübler Ross E. Sobre la muerte y los moribundos. Barcelona: Grijalbo/Mondadori; 2001. 6. Gracia D. Ética de los confines de la vida. Estudios de Bioética. Bogotá: El Búho; 1998: 312. 7. Fromm E. El miedo a la libertad. Buenos Aires: Paidós; 1971. 8. Castilla del Pino C. Teoría de los sentimientos. Barcelona: Tusquets; 2000: 63-64. 9. Organización Internacional del Trabajo. Problemas éticos. Problemas y situación de la legislación y de la práctica. En: Empleo y condiciones de trabajo en los Servicios Médicos y de Salud. Ginebra: OIT; 1985: 143-146. 10. May Th. Conscience. En: Post SG. Encyclopedia of Bioethics. 3ª ed. Vol. I. USA: Macmillan Reference; 2004: 513- 516. Recibido: 7 de julio de 2008 Aceptado: 15 de octubre de 2008 ACTA 1 2009.indd 99 19/5/09 15:24:36 
work_dqt5wndvobcj5gp5rmb6edppgy	----	10.11648.j.ijla.20130101.11 International Journal of Literature and Arts 2013; 1(1): 1-6 Published online June 10, 2013 (http://www.sciencepublishinggroup.com/j/ijla) doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20130101.11 Emerson’s passion for Indian thought Sardar M. Anwaruddin Department of English, North South University, Bangladesh Email address: sanwaruddin@luc.edu To cite this article: Sardar M. Anwaruddin. Emerson’s Passion for Indian Thought. International Journal of Literature and Arts. Vol. 1, No. 1, 2013, pp. 1-6. doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20130101.11 Abstract: The first group of American thinkers who seriously examined non-Western spiritual traditions such as Hinduism and Buddhism was the Transcendentalists. The prominent members of this group included Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, Bronson Alcott, and Elizabeth Peabody. In general, the Transcendentalists argued for a non-dogmatic and more universalistic perspective of life and the world. As the intellectual guru of this group, Emerson “represent[ed] the best in the spiritual explorer” (Moore 74). Unlike most of his predecessors and contemporaries, he was sensitive to and passionate about non-Western spiritual traditions and philosophies. Today, the sources of Emerson’s knowledge and inspiration are of particular interest to the critics and researchers of comparative literature. In this article, I explore Emerson’s passion for Indian thought with specific reference to Brahma, the Bhagavad Gita, and the laws of karma. Keywords: Emerson, Indian thought, Brahma, Gita, Karma 1. Introduction Ralph Waldo Emerson was America’s poet-prophet. He is remembered primarily for his endeavor to elevate the spiritual landscape of the American psyche. Emerson was born in 1803 in Boston, USA. He lost his father when he was only eight and was raised by his mother. Emerson lived his whole life in Massachusetts and became the leading member of a group known as Transcendentalists. His beliefs and ideas may be summarized by one of his own sentences: “Can anyone doubt that if the noblest saint among the Buddhists, and noblest Mahometan, the highest Stoic of Athens, the purest and wisest Christian, M[a]nu in India, Confucius in China, Spinoza in Holland, could somewhere meet and converse together, they would find themselves of one religion?” (Buell xx). Before proceeding to discuss how Indian thought influenced Emerson’s ideas and works, it is important that I briefly focus on the movement known as Transcendentalism. 2. What is Transcendentalism Transcendentalism, or American Transcendentalism, was a multi-faceted movement. It introduced freethinking in religion, intuitive idealism in philosophy, individualism in literature, new spirit in social reforms, and new optimism in peoples’ mind. This New England movement flourished in a period between 1830 and 1860. One of the beginning marks of this movement was the Transcendental Club meeting held at George Ripley’s home in Boston in the fall of 1836. As an intellectual movement, Transcendentalism was influenced by Romanticism and post-Kantian idealism, and its major exponents were Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, and Bronson Alcott. Initially, it started its journey as a religious movement, but shortly it addressed many other issues of the contemporary time. Transcendentalism’s influence is clearly visible in many American movements—be it religious, literary, political, or philosophical. With regard to religion, it introduced freethinking and reasoning in understanding and practicing religion. In fact, it was the first revolt against historical Christianity as it rejected religious forms, creeds, rituals, and the literal explanations of scriptures. Instead, it aspired to reach for an authentic religious experience. Establishing an original relationship with God and the universe was among the main objectives of the movement. Rejecting religious formalities, Emerson in his “Divinity School Address” declared that “Whenever the pulpit is usurped by a formalist, then is the worshipper defrauded and disconsolate. We shrink as soon as the prayers begin, which do not uplift, but smite and offend us….It seemed strange that the people should come to church” (138-39). Thus, Transcendentalism advocated religious experience based on intuition and an unmediated relationship with the universe 2 Sardar M. Anwaruddin: Emerson’s Passion for Indian Thought and its Creator. To the study of philosophy, Transcendentalism added the principles of idealism. In Emerson’s opinion, Transcendentalism is what is left in a person’s mind after he or she empties everything that comes from traditions. Along this line of understanding, Orestes Brownson defines Transcendentalism as “the recognition in man of the capacity of knowing truth intuitively,” and George A. Ripley defines it as “the supremacy of mind over matter” (Boller 34-35). Furthermore, Emerson, in “The Transcendentalist,” provides us with the most succinct definition of Transcendentalism as an idealistic philosophy: “What is popularly called Transcendentalism among us, is Idealism.” In addition to being an emblem of intuitive religious experience and an idealistic philosophy, Transcendentalism may be described as a doctrine of reform. In the April issue of The Dial in 1841, Emerson wrote, “In the history of the world the doctrine of Reform had never such scope as at the present hour.” Almost all members of the Transcendentalist group responded to various social reforms, e.g., women’s rights, temperance, abolitionism, children’s aid, prison reform, and educational reform. With regard to social reform, Emerson always believed in two parties in society: “the party of the Past and the party of the Future: the Establishment and the Movement” (Boller 100). In addition to ushering in various social reforms, Transcendentalism introduced a romantic and individualistic movement to the field of literary studies. Defying the traditional ways of looking at humans as social subjects, it re-conceptualized individuals as autonomous agents and redefined reality through what is called “an innocent eye.” In short, Transcendentalism as a literary movement influenced modern American literature, e.g., the works of the Beat Generation. From another perspective, Transcendentalism was a movement of cosmic optimism; all members of this group were profoundly optimistic. In The Dial, Thoreau wrote that “Surely joy is the condition of life.” He further illustrated his optimism through the following words: “I believe something, and there is nothing else but that. I know that I am….I know that the enterprise is worthy. I know that things work well. I have heard no bad news.” Thoreau’s friend Alcott seems to be even more “affirmative about life.” Thoreau said, “His [Alcott’s] attitude is one of greater faith and expectation than that of any man I know.” Like other members of the movement, Margaret Fuller shares the Transcendentalist group’s optimism. Echoing Alcott, she says, “Evil is abstraction; Good is accomplishment.” Although at times she is faced with disappointment and frustration, she never gives up her faith in “the divine soul of this visible creation, which cannot err or will not sleep, which cannot permit evil to be permanent or its aim of beauty to be eventually frustrated in the smallest particular” (Boller 143). Summing up the transcendentalists’ optimistic beliefs and attitudes, Parker writes that “there was more gladness than sadness in the world and that evil was a transient phenomenon in God’s creation.” In short, Transcendentalism was the first successful American movement that influenced America’s religion, philosophy, literature, and attitude toward life. 3. Emerson and Indian Thought Transcendentalism was the first American intellectual movement that showed true interests in Eastern philosophy. Emerson started to read about Indian philosophy and mythology in The Edinburgh Review between 1820 and 1825. His interest in Indian thought grew when he was a young Harvard graduate, and it continued until the end of his writing career. We see its evidence in many of his essays, poems, letters, and journal entries. For example, the concept of Brahma plays a central role in his works and ideas. He is also very much interested in the Bhagavad Gita. Some of his essays such as “Self-Reliance” deal with a theme that is very much similar to the concept of karma. Through a discussion of Brahma, the Bhagavad Gita, and the laws of karma, I explore how Emerson was deeply influenced by the Indian philosophical and religious thought. 3.1. The Concept of Brahma The Indian concept of Brahma had great influence on Emerson. Brahma is the god of creation, and one of the Hindu trinity—others being Visnu, the preserver and savior of the world, and Siva, the destroyer or dissolver of the world. Emerson was so influenced by the concept of Brahma that he named one of his short poems “Brahma:” If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. The strong gods pine for my abode, And pine in vain the sacred Seven; But thou, meek lover of the good! Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. (665) In this poem, Emerson describes the mystery of Brahma. It is almost impossible for humans to understand the “subtle ways” of Brahma because his character is beyond human comprehension. However, at the end of the poem, we see the light of hope because humans can find him although “strong gods” look for him “in vain.” This is the human supremacy, and as Brahma assures, anybody who is the “meek lover of the good” can find him. I shall now briefly discuss the concept of Brahma in International Journal of Literature and Arts 2013; 1(1): 1-6 3 order to shed light on its influence on Emerson. Three concepts crucial to understanding Brahman are: para and apara Brahma, Atman, and maya. There are two forms of Brahm: para and apara Brahman, one is the formed and the other formless. In the Upanisads, the formed is described as unreal and the formless as real. The Brhadaranyaka Upanisad states that “Truly, there are two aspects of Brahman, the formed and the formless, the mortal and the immortal, the unmoving and moving, the existent and that which is beyond existence” (qtd. in Herman 107). The immortal Brahma enters into the mortal Brahma. When this happens, a human—a mortal Brahma—becomes united with the immortal. In this way, humans can be united with the “formless” Brahma, which can be difficult even for the strong gods. This idea resonates with Emerson’s belief that man can achieve the majesty of God. In the “Divinity School Address” he says: The intuition of the moral sentiment is an insight of the perfection of the laws of the soul. These laws execute themselves. They are out of time, out of space, and not subject to circumstance. Thus, in the soul of man there is a justice whose retributions are instant and entire. He who does a good deed, is instantly ennobled himself….If a man is at heart just, then in so far is he God; the safety of God, the immortality of God, the majesty of God do enter into that man with justice. (131) Thus, Emerson believes that humans can achieve the immortality of God by good deed and justice. This is also a way of union between the formed and formless Brahma. Another metaphysical concept of Brahma is Atman, which is synonymous with the Supreme Self or Spirit. It is similar to the Christian notion of Light, Christ, or Spirit, as seen in St. Paul’s words, Galatians 2:20, “[I]t is not I who live but Christ that liveth in me” (qtd. in Herman 110). Atman is the impersonal God, godlikeness, or the power of creation in the universe, which is found in all beings. The Upanisads mentions that “It is by seeing, hearing, reflecting, and concentrating on one’s essential self (atman) that the whole world is known,” and that “The atman is below, above, to the west, east, south, and north; the atman is, indeed, the whole world” (qtd. in Hamilton 30). We see this conception of atman in Emerson’s “Divinity School Address,” in which he says that: Jesus Christ belonged to the true race of prophets. He saw with open eye the mystery of the soul….He saw that God incarnates himself in man, and evermore goes forth anew to take possession of his world. He said, in this jubilee of sublime emotion, “I am divine. Through me, God acts; through me, speaks. Would you see God, see me; or, see thee, when thou also thinkest as I now think.” (134) Defying the historical Christianity, Emerson maintains that like Jesus Christ any individual can attain this “sublime” divinity because all human beings share the same Supreme Self. In addition, Emerson constructs his own God and names Him the Over-Soul. He believes that the nature of the relationship between the Over-Soul and the individual is one-to-one. There is no place for any mediators, such as churches or priests, in this sacred and organic relationship. He describes the Over-Soul as the Eternal One. It is a common soul in which “every man’s particular being is contained.” It is synonymous with the reality, the divine, the universal heart, the Unity, the supreme critic, the universal presence, and the Holy Spirit. In “The Over-Soul,” Emerson contemplates that “the Maker of all things and all persons stands behind us and casts his dread omniscience through us over things” (217). In this essay, he emphasizes the notion of unity, and hopes that the union of the individual soul with the Over-Soul will benefit humans more than anything else. The idea of Maya is probably most important for understanding the concept of Brahma and its influence on Emerson. In its simplest form, Maya means a magical power in which the Creator reveals Himself and the mystery of His creation. A. L. Herman describes Maya as: The means by which nirguna, or higher, Brahman is enabled to manifest Itself as saguna, or lower, Brahman, is called maya […] The Upanisads answer this all-important cosmological question about origins by indicating simply that the power or maya of God made all this. While all creation comes forth from the Unmanifest and Imperishable, it is the Great Lord or Isvara who does the actual creating, and does it with this maya. (108) Maya has a double meaning because it is simultaneously a product of power of creativity and the power itself. The Svetasvatara Upanisad says, “Know that nature (prakrti) is maya and that the user of maya is great Isvara. And the whole world is filled with beings that are part of him” (qtd. in Herman 109). The concept of Maya is also related to that of atman, where all beings of the world are seen as parts of the Supreme Being. This concept of Maya always fascinated Emerson. He named one of his short poems “Maia:” Illusion works impenetrable, Weaving webs innumerable, Her gay pictures never fail, Crowds each on other, veil on veil, Charmer who will be believed By Man who thirsts to be deceived. (Emerson 432) In this poem, Emerson dwells on the power of Maya and how it deceives us. In addition to this poem, he talks about Maya several times in his journals. For example, he responds to the idea of Maya in the following entry: The illusion that strikes me [most] as the masterpiece of Maya, is, the timidity with which we assert our moral sentiment. We are made of it, the world is built by it, Things endure as they share it, all beauty, all health, all intelligence exist by it; yet ’tis the last thing we dare utter, we shrink to speak it, or to range ourselves on its side” (Journals XV 243). He fully agrees with the concept of Maya and believes that the whole world is made of it. He quotes from the Veda, a sacred text of the Aryans, that “the world is born of Maya” (Journals XVI 33). However, the concepts of Maya are not always clear-cut. Maya, as it literally means magic, has puzzled many 4 Sardar M. Anwaruddin: Emerson’s Passion for Indian Thought scholars. As seen in the poem “Brahma,” Brahma is “the doubter and the doubt.” For this, it may seem to be a fruitless endeavor to understand the divine Maya. Likewise, Emerson is sometimes perplexed by the power of Maya. Referring to Indian mythology, he writes, “Brahma said, No, it is not thy true form, that which man sees with his organs made to seize different objects, for thou who art the asylum of knowledge. Of substance, & of quality, thou art distinct from that product of Maya which has no real existence” (Journals XVI 31). It is a dream-like effort to comprehend and embody the mystery of Maya because it has no real existence. For example, we hear Dhruva saying, “Enveloped by the divine Maya, I see distinctions, like a man who dreams. &, in presence of another being, who has meantime no real existence, I suffer from in thinking that this being, who is my brother, is my enemy” (Emerson, Journals XVI 32). The way Maya works seems to be contradictory at times because we have to unite ourselves with Maya, and at the same time, we have to remain distinct from it. As Emerson mentions, “Adore, in order to escape from existence, him who can annihilate it, & whose feet are adorable; he who unites himself, whilst remains distinct from it, to Maya, which is his energy endowed with qualities” (Journals XVI 32). Hence, Emerson is simultaneously inspired and perplexed by the concept of Maya. In addition to Emerson’s journals, we see the presence of Maya in many of his essays. For example, in “Illusions,” he claims that we dwell in a kingdom of illusions. With an analogy of sick men in hospital, Emerson describes the condition of human life: “We change only from bed to bed, from one folly to another; it cannot signify much what becomes of such castaways, wailing, stupid, comatose creatures, lifted from bed to bed, from the nothing of life to the nothing of death” (384). In his essay “Experience,” Emerson writes that we cannot be sure about what we see and perceive of. We see things through filter glass—optical illusions—and we cannot know if what we see is real. If our life is a dream, there is no end to this dream. Another problem of our experience is our subjectiveness, as we are always trapped in it. The meaning and nature of everything depend on the eyes that see it. Realizing the endlessness of illusion, Emerson concludes that “Nature does not like to be observed, and likes that we should be her fools and playmates” (269). He understands how difficult it is to penetrate this illusion as Lord Krishna in the Upanisads says, “This divine maya of Mine, made of the gunas, is difficult to penetrate. But those who take refuge in Me alone, they penetrate this illusion” (qtd. in Herman 191). This perplexity pushes Emerson toward the following conclusion: Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion. Life is a train of moods like a string of beads, and as we pass through them they prove to be many- colored lenses which paint the world their own hue, and each shows only what lies in its focus. From the mountain you see the mountain. We animate what we can, and we see only what we animate. (269) Thus, Emerson’s writings illustrate that he was heavily influenced by the concept of Maya. 3.2. The Bhagavad Gita Emerson was particularly struck by the teachings of Bhagavad Gita, “the first of books,” as he once called it (Buell 178). He wrote about the Gita that “In England the Understanding rules & materialistic truth, the becoming, the fit, the discreet, the brave, the advantageous But they could not produce such a book as the Bhagavat Geeta” (Journals X, 503). The Gita is an ancient Sanskrit text comprising of verses embellished with many literary devices such as allegory, metaphor, and allusion. It is a record of conversations between Bhagavan or God, in the form of Krishna, and Arjuna, a human. Arjuna is a ksatriya warrior of the Pandava family and Krishna is his cousin and the driver of his chariot. In the battle field, Arjuna sees many of his relatives in the opposing force and, being overcome by pity, he refuges to fight. Krishna then tries to make him realize the importance of fighting. He also reminds him of his obligation to follow his dharma or duty and to ignore his personal feelings. Krishna sends this message to the mankind through Arjuna, as does Christ through his twelve disciples. Krishna says: “Though unborn, for the Atman [soul] is eternal, though Lord of all beings, yet using my own nature, I come into existence using my own maya.” Krishna sends himself through human beings to save people from adharma, ruin of morality and justice. He says, “For whenever there is a decaying of dharma, and a rising up of adharma, then I send Myself forth” (Herman 146). This idea resonates with Emerson’s emphasis on intuition and conscience. In the essay “Over-Soul,” he writes that we, as individual souls, are part the Greater or Over-Soul. We do not have to go to church to be united with the Over-Soul because our intuition can illuminate our spiritual world like the flashes of light. Here, Emerson seems to be influenced by the teachings of the Upanisad and the Gita that nirguna [higher] Brahman, or what Emerson calls the Over-Soul, is manifested through human beings. In a letter to William Emerson, written on May 24, 1831, Emerson wrote, “I have been reading 7 or 8 lectures of Cousin—in the first of three vols. of his philosophy. A master of history, an epic he makes of man & of the world—& excels all men in giving effect, yea, éclat to a metaphysical theory. Have you not read it? tis good reading—well worth the time—clients or no clients.” (Letters I, 322). Ralph L. Rusk, the editor of Letters, comments that “this reading of Victor Cousin’s first volume, Cours de philosophie, 1828, was particularly significant because it was this book which gave Emerson his first taste for the Bhagavadgita” (Letters I, 322). Thus, Emerson’s letters along with his essays and journals indicate that the Bhagavad Gita was a great source of knowledge and inspiration for him. International Journal of Literature and Arts 2013; 1(1): 1-6 5 3.3. The Laws of Karma Another Indian philosophical concept that had tremendous influence on Emerson is karma. In Sanskrit, karma means action or work. In the Upanisadic and Vedic traditions, karma signifies “the results or consequences of action” and, more distinctively, “the unwanted, to-be- avoided-at-all-costs results or fruits of action.” The results of disobedience bring future suffering and pain. The Vedas, the Upanisads, and the Bhagabad Gita all mention that disobeyers must face grave consequences. The law of karma, in the Brhadaranyaka Upanisad IV.4.6, mentions that “This is what happens to the man who desires. To whatever his mind is attached, the self becomes that in the next life. Achieving that end, it returns again to this world” (qtd. in Herman 131). Thus, the law of karma is a device to link up actions and their consequences of this life and of the next. The Svetasvatara Upanisad states two important doctrines about karma: (1) “According to its actions, the embodied self chooses repeatedly various forms in various conditions in the next life,” and (2) “according to its own qualities and acts, the embodied self chooses the kinds of forms, large and small, that it will take on” (qtd. in Herman 131). Therefore, it is the self that chooses the form it wants to be. What is remarkable here is to note that every self gets what it wants and what it deserves. Moreover, the law of karma works automatically because there is no god, according to the abovementioned laws, who can give each self rewards or punishments. Franklin Edgerton comments on this automatic karmic law: “It is man’s relation to propriety or morality, dharma, which alone determines. For more than two thousand years, it appears that almost all Hindus have regarded transmigration, determined by “karma,” as an axiomatic fact. ‘By good deed one becomes what is good; by evil deed, evil’” (qtd. in Herman 132). In this sense, it seems to be clear that the karmic laws work according to the deeds or actions of individuals, not by the choice of any gods. In line with this conception of the karmic laws, Emerson emphasizes the good deeds of people. In “Self-Reliance,” he urges his readers not to depend on good luck. He also believes that we should not take any piece of good fortune as a good omen. He concludes that: A political victory, a rise of rents, the recovery of your sick or the return of your absent friend, or some other favorable event raises your spirits, and you think good days are preparing for you. Do not believe it. Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles (164). Here, Emerson’s notion of self-reliance is very close to the karmic laws. We can choose whatever we want to be; everything is determined by our action or karma. We have freedom of choice and we can achieve the godly qualities that we already have within ourselves; or, we can choose to be devilish by our own karma. Nevertheless, Emerson is sometimes disturbed because he sees two sides of things—oftentimes two opposing sides. In “The Conduct of Life,” he presents a virtue of necessity, and believes that it is the art of living to suspend the oppositions and contradictions in mind. Although he recognizes the potent force of Fate, he wants his readers to believe in freewill. If both Fate and freewill are real, we have to conquer both. But, Emerson asks rhetorically: “How shall a man escape from his ancestors?” Nature is responsible in this notion of heredity because Nature, Emerson believes, brings us both disasters and delights. So, how can we accept the delights that Nature brings and avoid the disasters? There is no short answer to this question, as Emerson argues in “Compensation” that “To empty here, you must condense there.” However, one answer to this problem seems to be clear when Emerson, in “The Conduct of Life,” says that “If we must accept Fate we are not less compelled to affirm liberty.” Thus, Emerson’s concept of liberty or freewill goes hand in hand with the idea of karma because according to both concepts, we can re/construct our fate by our actions. If Emerson’s thinking ever contradicts with Indian thought, it is in his essay “Compensation.” He recognizes the moral values of “the Indian mythology [which] ends in the same ethics; and it would seem impossible for any fable to be invented and get any currency which was not moral” (174). However, he is sometimes troubled because he can see not only two sides of things, but also an inherent contradiction in the concepts of good and evil. In “Compensation,” he seems to accept the existence of evil when he assures his readers that God has created everything for the best. Nonetheless, Emerson continues to be perplexed by the riddle of two-sidedness of things. In one of his bleak statements, he writes that “There is a crack in every thing God has made” (174). He uses the term “polarity” to describe this unevenness in nature. He goes on to claim that “Polarity, or action and reaction, we meet in every part of nature; in darkness and light; in heat and cold….An inevitable dualism bisects nature, so that each thing is a half” (168). Earlier, we have noticed Emerson’s belief that a union of our individual soul and the Over-Soul is the way of mukti [freedom from this material world and sufferings]. This belief resonates perfectly with the concepts of Brahma and atman, but his observation of dualism in “Compensation” paralyzes his faith. He says that “the same dualism underlies the nature and condition of man….Every sweet hath its sour; every evil its good” (169). Because of this dualism and polarity in nature, the union between the individual soul and the Over-Soul becomes difficult. In short, although much of Emerson’s thought and writing corresponds with Indian philosophy and mythology, we see a difference when he thinks that nature is full of dualism, and that this dualism hinders the union between the individual soul and the Over-Soul. 6 Sardar M. Anwaruddin: Emerson’s Passion for Indian Thought 4. Conclusion Despite a little bit of contradiction, much of Emerson’s belief is aligned with the Indian philosophical and religious thought. Three basic concepts of Brahma, namely, formed and formless Brahma, Atman, and Maya, exerted much influence on Emerson’s writings. His essay “The Over-Soul” and poem “Brahma” illustrate the idea of formed and formless Brahma, whereas his “Divinity School Address” deals with the concept of atman—the impersonal god found in every human being. Maya, which denotes a magical power by which the Creator reveals Himself and the mystery of His creation, is probably the most influential Indian concept for Emerson. In his poem “Maia,” essays “Illusions” and “Experience,” and several journal entries, Emerson talks about Maya. In addition, the Bhagavad Gita, an account of conversations between Krishna and Arjuna, is another great source of knowledge and inspiration for Emerson. Throughout his journals, he praises this book and claims that Europe was not able to produce a book like Gita. Finally, the Indian philosophical concept of karma—work or actions by which peoples’ fate is determined—is also dominant in Emerson’s writings. The laws of karma emphasize the actions of individuals and freedom of choice. In “The Conduct of Life” and “Self-Reliance,” Emerson exploits the concept of karma, and urges his readers to be responsible for their own deeds. Thus, the Indian philosophical and religious concepts and teachings had a great influence on Emerson’s intellectual works. By exploring and utilizing Indian spiritual beliefs and philosophical traditions, Emerson paved the way for his successors who continued to dig into the richness of ancient texts such as the Upanisads and the Gita. Therefore, with regard to Emerson’s contribution to American scholars’ growing interest in Indian thought, Dale Riepe is convincingly right when he says that “there has been a continuous concern for Indian thought in the United States since Emerson's early years” (125). References [1] Bode, Carl., ed. The Portable Emerson. New York: Penguin, 1981. [2] Boller, Paul, F. American Transcendentalism, 1830-1860: An Intellectual Inquiry. New York: Perigee, 1975. [3] Buell, Lawrence., ed. The American Transcendentalists. New York: The Modern Library, 2006. [4] Gilman, William H., et al. eds. The Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1960. [5] Hamilton, Sue. Indian Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction. New York: Oxford UP, 2001. [6] Herman, A. L. An Introduction to Indian Thought. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1976. [7] Moore, Thomas. The Soul’s Religion: Cultivating a Profoundly Spiritual Way of Life. New York: Harper Collins, 2002. [8] Ralph Waldo Emerson: Collected Poems and Translations. New York: The Library of America, 1994. [9] Riepe, Dale. “Emerson and Indian Philosophy.” Journal of the History of Ideas 28:1 (1967): 115-122. [10] Riepe, Dale. “The Indian Influence in American Philosophy: Emerson to Moore.” Philosophy East and West 17:1/4 (1967): 125-137. [11] Rusk, Ralph L., ed. The Letters of Ralph Waldo Emerson. New York: Columbia UP, 1939. 
work_dtljm3g6prbfro73qp66fsmit4	----	CRAS-38.2.-001 201..226 ‘‘The Puritans of Today’’: The Anti-WhigArgument of The Scarlet Letter Michael Ryan Abstract: This essay explores the polemical context in which Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote The Scarlet Letter. It pays particular attention to the Whig movement for moral reform in antebellum America, which sought to merge church and state. Democrats like Hawthorne took exception to this attempt to establish ‘‘moral government’’ in America. His novel argues for an ideal of personal freedom in moral matters and criticizes the Whig attempt to impose restrictive moral norms on human, especially sexual, proclivities that Democrats such as Hawthorne felt were embodiments of spirituality in nature. The novel refers obliquely to contemporary religious debates that have been ignored by scholars, such as that concerning Horace Bushnell’s God in Christ, a book whose presence in Hawthorne’s novel is palpable. Bushnell was put on trial for heresy in 1849, as Hawthorne was composing his novel. In the novel, Hawthorne enters those debates and takes the side of natural religion against the Whig ideal of moral government. Keywords: religion, politics, Whig, Democrat, morality Résumé : Le présent essai explore le contexte polémique où se situait Nathaniel Hawthorne lorsqu’il a écrit The Scarlet Letter. Il porte une attention particulière au mouvement Whig pour la réforme morale dans une Amérique antebellum qui cherchait à fusionner l’Église et l’État. Des Démocrates comme Hawthorne se sont insurgés contre cette tentative d’établir un « gouvernement moral » en Amérique. Son roman présente des arguments en faveur d’un idéal de liberté personnelle en ce qui a trait aux questions morales, et critique la tentative des Whigs d’imposer des normes morales restrictives aux tendances sexuelles des humains que des Démocrates comme Hawthorne considéraient comme le symbole de la spiritualité dans la nature. Le roman réfère obliquement à des débats religieux contemporains qui ont été ignorés par les universitaires en ce qui a trait au livre God in Christ de Horace Bushnell, un livre dont la �CanadianReviewofAmericanStudies/Revuecanadienned’e¤ tudesame¤ ricaines38, no. 2, 2008 présence est perceptible dans le roman de Hawthorne. Bushnell a fait l’objet d’un procès pour hérésie en 1849, alors même que Hawthorne écrivait son roman. Dans son roman, Hawthorne s’immisce dans ces débats et se range du côté de la religion naturelle contre l’idéal Whig d’un gouvernement moral. Mots clés : religion, politiques, Whig, Démocrate, moralité To fetter the freedom of man is not only to act the part of tyranny, but to inflict a gross wrong . . . [against] the essential equality of men. . . . Endued, as they are, with the same appetites and desires, with conscience, reason, and free will . . . sharers of the same beautiful existence, handiwork of the same God, children of a common destiny, hastening on to an eternal world, who shall . . . affix the mark which shall debar either this one or that one from the full fruition of every blessing of existence—every gift of God? —‘‘Democracy’’ (attr. John L. O’Sullivan) We all know then, what moral government is, and that men cannot exist in society without it. In that form of it called civil government, the lowest culprit in his prison knows its general nature, its principles, its end, and its absolute necessity to this end, as well as the judge who condemns him. . . . Now the object of a perfect moral governor is not merely to secure right moral action, but to secure it . . . by a peculiar influence—the influence of his authority . . . It is to bring his subject to . . . an act of obedience . . . involving . . . recognition of [the governor’s] right to rule. —Nathaniel Taylor, Lectures on the Moral Government of God (1859) Scholars of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter (1850) have paid surprisingly little attention to the ambient religious debates from which the novel draws much of the substance for its internal polemic.1 A conflict between those who would use legislation to control personal morality and those who opposed such intrusive- ness in the name of the doctrine of natural revelation is central both to the novel and to the culture wars of the era in which Hawthorne wrote. Historian Daniel Walker Howe argues that ‘‘without an understanding of the religion of the middle period, there can be no understanding of its politics’’ (‘‘Religion’’ 121), and the same might be said of a work such as The Scarlet Letter that is concerned C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 202 with moral issues. To understand it fully, we must take into consid- eration the religious debates of the era.2 The leading public intellectuals of the early nineteenth century were theologians such as Lyman Beecher, Francis Wayland, Asa Burton, Nathaniel Taylor and Horace Bushnell. Those intellectuals who were not professional theologians—Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, George Bancroft and John L. O’Sullivan—were nevertheless steeped in religious ideas, and their writings resonate with a sense of the unquestioned truth of the doctrines of natural revelation. For the orthodox Protestant theologians such as Beecher and Taylor, God was a distant being who oversaw a sin-prone humanity that needed guidance from churchmen in order to attain salvation. In Their Brothers’ Keepers: Moral Stewardship in the United States, 1800–1865, Clifford Griffin writes, ‘‘These latter-day Calvinists still argued that only the Almighty could save souls—that men by their own acts alone could not merit redemption’’ (47–8). For intellectuals such as Bancroft and O’Sullivan, in contrast, as well as for more liberal theologians such as Burton and Bushnell, God was a pres- ence in nature which guaranteed that human passion was intrinsi- cally moral and that human striving could lead to salvation. In the chapter ‘‘The Rise of Religious Liberalism,’’ in his book Churchmen and Philosophers, Bruce Kuklick notes that, at this time, [t]he issues of sovereignty, responsibility, grace, and depravity all found their critical substantive locus in the question of the will’s freedom—the most important recurring theme in the literature. . . . [N]atural theology was increasingly stressed. Newtonianism implied that knowledge of God was contained in nature. . . . For the liberals, at bottom, religion rested on the revelations to which the biblical miracles testified. Other bases for Christianity—experience, tradition, the authority of the church—were set aside. (44, 82–3) These theological differences were not merely intellectual. The two major political parties of the era, the Whigs and the Democrats, appealed to religious ideas to justify their contending positions regarding everything from moral legislation to economic policy. A major difference between anticlerical Democrats and Whig evan- gelical conservatives was in their views of the proper relation of church and state.3 The Whigs, whom Daniel Howe characterizes as Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 203 ‘‘the evangelical united front in the polling place’’ (Howe, Political Culture 18), laid claim to the Puritan theocratic legacy that author- ized public supervision of private morality. Wishing to create a ‘‘Righteous Empire’’ in the United States, in which what they called ‘‘moral government’’ would merge law and religion, Whigs sought to use legislation to bring about ‘‘moral purity and reform’’ (Kelley, Cultural Pattern 163). Modernizers, they believed in using government to promote business-friendly economic development through monopolies, charters, tariffs and publicly funded canals and roads. Having witnessed the disestablishment of the Christian churches in all the states, Whig religious conservatives turned, in mid-century, to education, especially in the Sunday School and public school movements, to ensure that Christian values and norms prevailed in America.4 Historian Ronald Formisano writes, Henry Cabot Lodge once called the Federalists ‘‘the Puritan party,’’ and he might have said the same of the Whigs. The Federal and Whig parties both expressed the ancient Puritan concern for society as a corporate whole; both attempted to use the government to provide for society’s moral and material development. (Transformation 289) Whigs found justification for their program of moral government in the reformed Calvinist theology that emerged in the early nine- teenth century. While taking into account the emphasis on free will in post-Enlightenment America, theologians such as Beecher and Taylor nevertheless held that humans were innately prone to sinful- ness. Beecher argued ‘‘that man is desperately wicked, and cannot be qualified for good membership in society without the influence of moral restraint’’ (qtd. in Bodo 153). In his famous 1828 sermon, Concio ad Clerum: A Sermon On Human Nature, Sin, and Freedom, Nathaniel Taylor preached, What then are we to understand, when it is said that mankind are depraved by nature? I answer—that such is their nature, that they will sin and only sin in all the appropriate circumstances of their being. . . . By the moral depravity of mankind I intend generally, the entire sinfulness of their moral character. (qtd. in Ahlstrom 220–2) This vision of the world justified the Whig claim that an elite of morally superior people should exercise moral government over others through the political state. Lee Benson notes that ‘‘[Whig] Horace Greeley’s New York Tribune argued that the state was a C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 204 proper instrument for the regulation of every ‘evil’ in society’’ (207). Michael Holt, in The Rise and Fall of the American Whig Party, points out that ‘‘to a far greater degree than Democrats, Whigs backed state intervention to regulate social behavior: temperance legislation, Sunday blue laws, and the creation of state-run public schools’’ (68). Democrats opposed the Whig desire to merge church and state and to use law to regulate personal behaviour. ‘‘The Puritans of today,’’ a Democratic newspaper editor wrote in 1852, ‘‘like the Puritans of 1700, conceive themselves to be better and holier than others, and entitled—by divine right as it were—to govern and control the actions and dictate the opinions of others’’ (Kelley, ‘‘Portrait’’ 79). If Whigs thought of themselves as ‘‘the party of decency and respectability, the guardians of piety, sober living, proper manners, thrift, steady habits, and book learning’’ (Kelley, Cultural Pattern 166), Democrats portrayed them as religious zealots who consti- tuted a threat to civil liberties. William Cullen Bryant held that ‘‘our civil and religious liberty exists, not in consequence, but in spite of the spirit and genius of Puritanism’’ (qtd. in Howe, Political Culture 89) In one fictional debate between a Democrat and a Whig in a pamphlet from 1854, the Democrat contends that ‘‘all legislation having any other object but the protection of rights is not only injurious to morality, but is in itself immoral and wicked’’ (qtd. in Benson, 206–7). Robert Kelley notes, regarding these debates, Central to the ideology of Anglo-American, freethinking intellectuals was a conviction that clerics must be kept out of politics, that their moral preachments were arrogance and their attempts to control the lives of others a continuing danger to freedom of thought and belief. This led many Democratic intellectuals to reject abolitionism, for it emerged out of the camp of the enemy: zealous, moralistic, church-and-state Yankeeism. (Cultural Pattern 171) If Whig political theory drew on reformed neo-Calvinist theology to justify its ideal of moral government, Democratic political theory turned instead to the theological doctrine of natural revelation. Democratic intellectuals such as O’Sullivan and Bancroft believed that nature, because infused with divinity, should be allowed to follow its own course without theocratic interference. Morality arose spontaneously from natural processes, and no legislation Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 205 and no moral discipline were needed to control passions that, because natural and therefore divinely inspired, could not be sinful. Natural revelation located divinity in everyone, without distinction of ‘‘rank,’’ an appealing idea in an era when egalitarian ideals fuelled immigrant aspirations. Bancroft writes, ‘‘The barbar- ian who roams our Western prairies has like passions and like endowments with ourselves. He bears within him the instinct of Deity, the consciousness of a spiritual nature, the love of beauty, the rule of morality’’ (414). By placing the ‘‘rule of morality’’ in nature rather than institutions or laws, Democrats sought to undermine the Whig justification for moral government by a holy elite. Democrats used similar arguments to oppose Whig pro-business economic policy. They believed that a benevolent nature, if left on its own, would make all right with the economic world.5 Whig ‘‘improvements,’’ especially banks and chartered monopolies that favoured the economic elite, did more harm than good by making people dependent on government instead of on their own natural talents. Democrats argued for a model of economic self-government that would approximate the self-regulating laws of nature that are God’s creation: ‘‘[T]he voluntary principle, the principle of Freedom, suggested to us by the analogy of the divine government of the Creator; the natural laws which will establish themselves and find their own level are the best laws’’ (‘‘Introduction’’ 7). America should place trust in ‘‘the same fundamental principle of spontane- ous action and self-regulation which produces the beautiful order of [nature]’’ (‘‘Introduction’’ 7). At the core of the theory was an ideal of self-dependent manhood: ‘‘[By] throwing men upon their own energies for success, [free trade] would accustom them to the prac- tice of self-dependence and train them to habits of perseverance and economy’’ (‘‘History’’ 305). Sexual morality was a crucial site of conflict between the contend- ing parties. In 1843 in Michigan, when Democrats ‘‘amended and loosened the laws relating to adultery and fornication which had made those sins criminal offenses,’’ Whigs characterized the change as an outrage that struck ‘‘at the foundations of our social system’’ (Formisano, Birth 124). If Whigs devoted their energies to institu- tions such as the Magdalen Society that spread moral discipline amongst prostitutes and domestic workers, Democrats were more inclined to be critical of moral institutions that discriminated along gender lines in the allocation of moral punishment. In an 1846 C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 206 essay—‘‘The Legal Wrongs of Women’’—in The Democratic Review, the anonymous writer argues, ‘‘The injustice is sufficiently flagrant which permits a man, whether single or married, to lead a licen- tious life without losing caste, while a poor girl, betrayed through her affections into guilt, almost inevitably becomes castaway through public scorn’’ (482). That this argument is central to The Scarlet Letter should alert us to how steeped the novel is in these contemporary debates. As an inhabitant of a Whig stronghold—Salem, Massachusetts— Hawthorne would have been keenly aware of the Whigs’ use of Puritanism as a justification for a strong government role in pro- moting business-friendly economic development and the moral ‘‘improvement’’ of the population. In 1849, while Hawthorne was composing The Scarlet Letter, regular advertisements for a history of the Puritans in the town’s Whig newspaper, the Salem Gazette, made explicit links between Puritanism and Whig policies. According to the advertisements, the book, a republication of William Hubbard’s General History of New England, praised ‘‘the hardy Puritan pioneers who for God, for Conscience, and for Humanity braved the perils of the ocean . . . [and] planted on this rocky shore the principles that have made us what we are.’’ Those ‘‘principles’’ sustained ‘‘the best’’ of New England, ‘‘its Manufactures, its Commerce, its Public Buildings . . . its contributions to the public and private nature of the great stack of New England industrial and productive accumulations’’ (Salem Gazette).6 As the Whigs styled themselves neo-Puritans, the Puritans, according to the Advertiser, were proto- Whigs. The Sunday School Union, a typical Whig evangelical organization, which emphasized rote learning, Puritan-style, of religious doctrine, also held its annual meeting in Salem in the summer of 1849. And the Whig governor of Massachusetts, George Briggs, made clear, with calls for public days of fasting in November of the same year, that he felt religion and government served a common purpose: ‘‘The Holy Scriptures declare, that if men will ‘acknowledge God in all their ways, he will direct their paths’ ’’ (Salem Gazette). It must have been a trying place to live for a Democrat who was ‘‘beyond the church,’’ as his sister-in-law Louisa Hawthorne put it in a letter to Sophia Peabody (qtd. in Fick 155). What this polemical context suggests is that, in 1850, a depiction of Puritans as less moral than they claimed to be or as being as prone to the very passions they condemned in others would have been an especially appealing polemical gesture for a Democrat to make. Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 207 Kelley notes that ‘‘Most Whigs believed . . . [t]he nation was right- fully to be thought of as a single moral community to be welded together in holy living, to be fashioned in the image of New England’s ‘citty on a hill’ ’’ (Cultural Pattern 163). The Scarlet Letter—I will argue—by asking how Puritans can pretend to govern others’ morality if they themselves are subject to the same natural passions as everyone else, implies a similar question regard- ing the Whigs who sought to establish moral government in America in the mid-nineteenth century. The story of The Scarlet Letter is framed by a rejection of moral government, ‘‘whatever priests or legislators ha[ve] established’’ (199). The anachronistic ‘‘legislators’’ (there were none in America in the 1640s) should have alerted readers that, when Hester points Dimmesdale the way to freedom, away from ‘‘the clerical band . . . or the church’’ (199), her gesture has a contemporary resonance. The major themes and concerns of the novel acquire an added significance when considered in this polemical context. The Custom House sketch comes to seem a meditation on the negative effect of Whig economic policies on the people’s moral health. Dimmesdale’s election-day sermon becomes more pointedly Democratic in tenor and substance, and his death, rather than seem- ing a gesture of abdication, instead takes on the air of a martyrolo- gical indictment of Whig religious institutions that, in the eyes of Democrats, fostered hypocrisy and promoted an unhealthy sense of guilt and self-punishment regarding natural inclinations. Hester ’s fate, in the polemical context, seems less a model for a vague sense of compromise with slavery than a more affirmative and positive example of non-institutional religion and of a natural piety that owes nothing to the moral guidance of orthodox churchmen. In reconsidering the novel in light of the culture war between Whigs and Democrats, I will concentrate on the Custom House chapter, the conflict between Hester, Pearl and the Puritan autho- rities, and Dimmesdale’s fate. The Scarlet Letter opens with an odd meditation on the negative moral effects of people’s economic dependence on Uncle Sam. Whig economic policy called for the government to subsidize economic development that, according to Democrats, served the interests of the Whig economic elite. In Whig hands, gov- ernment had been used to create, as Hawthorne puts it in The Life of Franklin Pierce, ‘‘commerce where it did not exist’’ (29). C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 208 Government assistance for business was also seen by Democrats as an obstacle to the free development of the talents of the industrious classes—the labourers, artisans, farmers and small businessmen who were natural Jacksonian constituencies. Commentators on the Custom House have focused on Hawthorne’s account of his Puritan ancestors and on the description of the romance aesthetic. Yet these topics occupy only a few pages of the text. The rest of the sketch is concerned with the negative moral consequences of dependence on government for one’s economic well-being. According to Rush Welter, Democrats were especially concerned with the moral effects of politics on society, and in their eyes, Whigs, by asking for government subsidies for business, were undermining the ideal of self-dependence that was the foundation of moral citizenship. Democrat Gideon Welles, in 1847, articulated this position: ‘‘One man looks to government for assistance, his neighbor relying on his own energies asks only for protection. . . . [T]heir fundamental opinions . . . distinguish between the democrat and the anti-democrat’’ (qtd. in Brock 23). In his account of life in the Custom House, Hawthorne portrays those who accept government support as having lost contact with the spirit in nature. He compares them to quadrupeds, whose ‘‘torpid,’’ ‘‘sluggish,’’ and ‘‘dependent’’ behaviour contains ‘‘a very trifling admixture of moral and spiritual ingredients’’ (14). Hawthorne notes that ‘‘the greater part of my officers were Whigs’’ (13), and he is especially severe in his evaluation of the Inspector: ‘‘He had no soul, no heart, no mind.’’ His father ‘‘had created an office for him,’’ and like the others, he suffered ‘‘moral detriment from this peculiar mode of life’’ (18). The negative consequence of having a powerful government make jobs for people by fostering economic development is that it makes people lose contact with their own ‘‘native energy,’’ ‘‘original nature,’’ and capacity for ‘‘self-support.’’ To Democrats such as Bancroft and O’Sullivan, such loss was the same as losing contact with revealed divinity in nature. For this reason, perhaps, Hawthorne compares such a dependent state of being to ‘‘a quality of enchantment like that of the Devil’s wages’’ that deprives one of one’s ‘‘soul’’ (39). In a recognizably Democratic gesture, Hawthorne characterizes Whig policies that interfere with nature as immoral. Hawthorne offers himself as an example of why government sup- port of any kind in economic life is detrimental to the ‘‘moral and Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 209 intellectual health’’ of people. Having become dependent for sup- port on the government by taking the surveyor’s job at the Custom House, Hawthorne suffers the same moral harm as his Whig co-workers. Like the Whigs, he loses contact with divinity revealed in nature: ‘‘Nature,—except it were human nature,—the nature that is developed in earth and sky, was, in one sense, hidden from me; and all the imaginative delight, wherewith it had been spiritualized, passed away out of my mind’’ (26). In this light, the account of romance aesthetics acquires a political resonance. Hawthorne twice uses the word ‘‘spiritualize’’—the same word he uses to char- acterize the alienation from nature brought about by dependence on government—to describe how romance transforms reality. When ‘‘spiritualized,’’ life’s details ‘‘seem to lose their actual substance, and become things of intellect’’ (39).That Hawthorne regains his ability to ‘‘spiritualize’’ nature once he leaves the Custom House is proof that freedom from dependence on government is morally salutary. When he puts aside ‘‘the strong arm of Uncle Sam’’ that raises and supports him, he is able to regain his ‘‘original nature, the capability of self-support,’’ and this takes the form of his exer- cising his natural talent as a writer. He regains ‘‘his soul . . . its sturdy force, its courage and constancy, its truth, its self-reliance, and all that gives the emphasis to manly character’’ (39). What is striking about the Custom House sketch is the identification of theology, politics and aesthetics. Whig economic policies are cri- ticized on Democratic theological grounds. They distance the indi- vidual from nature and from natural revelation. The romance aesthetic, by abstracting imaginatively from the facts of sense per- ception—the basis, according to orthodox neo-Puritan epistemol- ogy, of moral truth—allows access to spirit in nature.7 Exercising one’s natural talents in an economic sense, similarly ‘‘spiritualizes’’ the world. Spontaneous natural action, for Democrats, mimes divin- ity in nature. The Democratic objection to Whig economic policy is that it denies the individual the ability to achieve the moral good through self-dependence by drawing on her or his own natural (and therefore divinely inspired) talents. The novel continues this argu- ment by portraying the Whig policy of merging church and state as having a similarly immoral effect on people whose natural moral powers are extinguished by moral supervision. The ‘‘consecration’’ that is their natural impulse is reviled rather than revered. The novel opens by evoking what, in Democratic eyes, was the Whig ideal of moral government, a world in which, as C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 210 Hawthorne puts it, ‘‘religion and law were almost identical’’ (50). From the outset, Hawthorne, by using terms such as ‘‘natural dig- nity’’ and ‘‘free will,’’ characterizes Hester in terms that suggest Democratic resistance to such government. Hester fulfils the Democratic ideal of a nature at odds with restrictive moral rules and given over to the free expression of self-regulating laws. She grudgingly accepts her punishment, but her extravagant creativity in stitching the scarlet letter is suggestive of imaginative resistance. That Hester exercises her imagination to transform a stigmatic emblem into an object that embodies ‘‘spirit’’ also aligns her char- acter with Hawthorne’s theological ideal of revealed divinity in nature accessible through the imagination—‘‘artistically done, and with so much fertility and gorgeous luxuriance of fancy [that it] seemed to express the attitude of her spirit’’ (53). Perhaps the most interesting word, for my argument, that Hawthorne associates with Hester is ‘‘christianize’’: ‘‘It was the exhilarating effect—upon a prisoner just escaped from the dungeon of his own heart—of breathing the wild, free atmosphere of an unredeemed, unchristianized, lawless region’’ (201). Ronald Formisano describes the ‘‘evangelical impulse to Christianize America, that ubiquitous energy radiated by New England Protestantism to create the moral, homogeneous, commonwealth. . . . Thus, the Whig party . . . became the evangelicals’ best hope to Christianize America’’ (Transformation 61, 104). Hester is often read as embodying a general antinomianism, but a word like ‘‘unchristia- nized’’ lends her resistance a more specific historical inflection as a fictional expression of the Democratic argument that the Whig ideal of moral government was an offence to civil liberties. Given how important the Puritan legacy was to Whigs, perhaps the most interesting moment in Pearl’s characterization is when she dances on the graves of the Puritans. She is described as embodied spirit, and that for Hawthorne meant that she is aligned with the idea of revealed divinity in nature. Like nature, her spontaneous actions are inherently spiritual. Toward Dimmesdale, for example, she gives ‘‘marks of childish preference, accorded spontaneously by a spiritual instinct’’ (124). Pearl embodies the idea that natural impulses, however at odds with moral laws, cannot be crimes if divinity resides in nature: ‘‘It was as if she had been made afresh, out of new elements, and must perforce be permitted to live her own life, and be a law unto herself, without her eccentricities being reckoned to her for a crime’’ (135). The antithesis of the Whig Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 211 theological concept of innate sinfulness, she represents the idea that passionate natural behaviour should not be subject to restrictive moral laws or branded with harmful moral judgements. In her repeated calls to Dimmesdale to ‘‘be true,’’ she articulates the Democratic conviction that, as long as one is true to nature, either in the form of revealed divinity or as one’s own ‘‘original nature,’’ one cannot but be moral. It would be a mistake to suggest that the novel is an allegory in which all terms match up with the contemporary debate between Democrats and Whigs. Nevertheless, the fact that the Whigs had a positive conception of Puritan moral government, while Democrats found it alien to their own ideals, suggests that a Democratic writer ’s portrait of Puritan governors, especially, might evoke Democratic arguments against the Whigs. The governors are, in fact, described in terms that are evocative of Whig ideas and culture. Democrats accused Whigs of aspiring to create an aristoc- racy in America and of being overly loyal to English cultural models. In the Province House tales that Hawthorne published in the early issues of the Democratic Review, he uses the term ‘‘rank’’ to characterize English governors who trample on the rights of Americans. The term reappears in the novel in association with the fictional governors. He describes them, in terms that echo Democratic characterizations of Whigs, as aristocratic ‘‘men of rank’’ who are charged with ‘‘the guardianship of the public morals’’ (162; see Ashworth 34–47). The governor ’s mansion is char- acterized in terms that recall English models, and a significantly placed Chronicles of England sits on a table in the hallway. Moreover, the governor behaves toward them in a way that embo- dies the high-church Yankeeism that historians ascribe to Whigs. He asks Pearl to prove that she has submitted to church discipline by reciting the Catechism, and he threatens to deprive an unwed mother of her child.8 Roger Chillingworth is, in some respects, the double of the gover- nors. He demonstrates that their apparent distance from passion in fact conceals passions far worse than those they condemn in others. Chillingworth takes pleasure in disciplining others for their pleasures. Hawthorne is quite clear in his evaluation of the differ- ence. Hester and Dimmesdale’s passion is counted a ‘‘consecration’’ in natural religious terms, while Chillingworth, in equally religious terms, is condemned for having abused the ‘‘sanctity’’ of the human heart. This way of characterizing Chillingworth has a C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 212 contemporary resonance with Democratic arguments against Whig moral government. Democrats characterized Whig intrusiveness in others’ moral lives as a species of abuse. One Democrat writing in the Boston Globe on 22 April 1841, described Whigs as ‘‘men who can fathom all the mysteries of the human heart; who have studied all the direct and indirect ways of approaching the citadel of integ- rity, and all the means of undermining or sapping its integrity’’ (qtd. in Kohl 32).9 In the character of Chillingworth, Whig moral government is repre- sented as an assault on the theological foundations of Democratic political theory. To pursue others’ sins, as Whigs would have government do, is to pervert nature and harm natural spirituality. Given the prominent role the world ‘‘spiritualize’’ plays in the articulation of Hawthorne’s argument, it is noteworthy that Chillingworth is characterized as having ‘‘lost the spiritual view of existence’’ (119). As elsewhere in the novel, such a loss of access to spirit in nature is associated with a departure from the naturalist principles of democracy. Hawthorne uses a vocabulary that draws on Chillingworth’s name to describe the negative effect of Puritanism on Hester and Dimmesdale’s aspirations for freedom from moral supervision. The word ‘‘chill’’ occurs in the forest scene as the antithesis of natural passion, natural freedom, and by impli- cation, natural divinity: ‘‘Arthur Dimmesdale put forth his hand, chill as death, and touched the chill hand of Hester Prynne’’ (190). The word ‘‘chill’’ suggests the denial of divinely inspired natural impulses of the kind that are evident especially in Pearl and the refusal to recognize their true ‘‘worth,’’ a phrasing that recalls Hawthorne’s earlier description of spirit in nature as ‘‘the true and indestructible value.’’ ‘‘Chill,’’ in the novel’s political typology, also stands opposed to terms such as ‘‘heart’’ that Hawthorne associates with the demo- cratic multitude. He uses it on the first pages of the book in regard to divinity: ‘‘the one heart and mind of perfect sympathy’’ (3). And throughout the novel, it is used to characterize democracy. In the election sermon, Dimmesdale’s voice, for example, is described as having ‘‘blended into one great voice by the universal impulse which makes likewise one vast heart of the many’’ (250). In The Life of Franklin Pierce, he uses the same metaphor to characterize Pierce’s democratic effect on his audiences: ‘‘It was the influence of a great heart pervading the general heart, and throbbing with it in the same pulsation’’ (50). ‘‘Chill,’’ in contrast, is used to Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 213 characterize harm to democracy: ‘‘This frankness, this democracy of good feeling, had not been chilled by the society of politicians’’ (Life 18). Chillingworth’s abuse of the sanctity of the human heart is thus an offence to the natural divinity that underwrites the Democratic ideal of an egalitarian community. To exercise moral supervision over private morality is to harm democratic equality by presuming moral superiority over others. Initially a servant and a captive of moral government, Dimmesdale comes eventually to be associated with Democratic values. He moves from an acceptance of restraints on his natural, passionate self to the freely chosen revelation of his spiritual nature. As with Hawthorne himself in the Custom House, this rediscovery of ‘‘orig- inal nature’’ occurs as a recovery of a lost natural talent, a theme that evokes the Democratic economic argument against Whig governmentalism—that it suppresses the natural talents of working men in favour of what Hawthorne calls ‘‘monopolized labor’’ (7). As Hawthorne was able, finally, to write his novel, Dimmesdale is able to write his election-day sermon ‘‘with such an impulsive flow of thought and emotion, that he fancied himself inspired’’ (225). That it is ‘‘inspired’’ suggests that it draws on the same well of natural revelation that sustains Democratic values. His walk to the church is characterized in similar terms: ‘‘[H]is strength seemed not of the body. It might be spiritual, and imparted to him by angelic ministrations’’ (238). The election-day sermon is a work of Democratic Party oratory, and the election day itself is, of course, a democratic event, ‘‘the day on which the new Governor was to receive his office at the hands of the people’’ (226). Hawthorne characterizes the market place as a site of contention between popular passions and moral government in a way that echoes the contemporary cultural battles between Democrats and Whigs that often came down to conflicts between immigrant holiday customs, such as public beer drinking, and Protestant Sabbatarianism. On election day, most entertainments are outlawed, and when an illegal entertainment breaks out, ‘‘much to the disappointment of the crowd,. . . the town beadle, who had no idea of permitting the majesty of the law to be violated by such an abuse of one of its consecrated places’’ interposes (232). Dimmesdale’s sermon both evokes Democratic ideals and produces democratic effects. He speaks democratically ‘‘to the great heart C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 214 of mankind,’’ and he speaks to everyone equally: ‘‘Like all other music, it breathed passion and pathos, and emotions high or tender, in a tongue native to the human heart, wherever educated’’ (243). This egalitarian ideal, while crucial to Democrats’ vision of America’s unique destiny among nations, contradicts Whig assumptions regarding the necessary segregation of the respectable from the reprobate. Hawthorne implicitly denies such distinctions when he notes how the sermon provokes a democratic reaction: This [shout] . . . was felt to be an irrepressible outburst of the enthusiasm kindled in the auditors by that high strain of eloquence which was yet reverberating in their ears. Each felt the impulse in himself, and, in the same breath, caught it from his neighbor. . . . [E]ven that mighty well of many voices, blended into one great voice by the universal impulse which makes likewise one vast heart out of the many. (250) The ideal of equality is the principle that both Bancroft and O’Sullivan foreground as the source of America’s uniqueness. In ‘‘The Great Nation of Futurity,’’ O’Sullivan uses the word ‘‘destiny’’ to describe the country’s identification with equality, and Hawthorne assigns to Dimmesdale O’Sullivan’s word, as well as the idea with which it is associated: ‘‘[A]s he drew towards the close, a spirit as of prophecy had come upon him . . . [I]t was his mission to foretell a high and glorious destiny for the newly gathered people of the Lord’’ (249). Dimmesdale’s sermon is characterized as being almost a direct expression of divinity (‘‘spirit of prophesy’’). And it gives rise to a pre-civil sound that is akin to unmediated nature speaking. For Democrats, such expres- sions of nature always have an element of divine sanction to them. According to Andrew Jackson, in his first Inaugural Address (1828), when ‘‘the people’’ spoke, God spoke (qtd. in McLoughlin 139). But if Dimmesdale is aligned with Democratic values and especially with the idea of revealed divinity in nature, how should we read his final act of confession? It has been interpreted as an act of abdica- tion and of compromise with the Puritan moral authorities. But given the ethos of the election sermon, it would be inconsistent for Dimmesdale, who has just inspired so strong a sense of demo- cratic egalitarianism in his audience, to embrace the inegalitarian ideology of Whig moral government. It would be more in keeping with Hawthorne’s argument up to this point for his confession to Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 215 represent a rejection of the distinction between the holy and the reprobate. I have suggested that the contest between theocratic Whigs and anti-clerical Democrats hinged on the question of whether an elite of moral guardians had the right to supervise the morality of others. Yankees, one Democrat argued, referring to New England Whigs, felt ‘‘they had a presumptive right to impose their politics, their habits, manners, and dogmas on the sister states’’ (Kelley, Portrait 79). They did so because they believed divinity was not present in nature and not accessible, as liberal theology claimed, to human striving. Mark Noll, in America’s God, notes that liberal theology ‘‘amounted to an open invitation for others to postulate an auton- omy of action for the faculty of the will. . . . Against this rising tide of rights talk, the Calvinists were trying to stand firm’’ (284). Because the neo-Calvinists held that divinity was distant from human life, they felt moral government by churchmen was necessary to assist people towards ‘‘regeneration.’’10 Regarding this neo-Puritan theo- logical position, historian Bruce Kuklick writes, ’’[T]he New England Theologians assumed a great divide between God and man, and between the realms of nature and grace. Both distinctions were reflected in the persistent exploration of human responsibility for sin and God’s sovereignty over grace’’ (44). Much of Hawthorne’s argumentative labour in the latter part of the novel is occupied with dispelling this notion. His most significant move in this argument is his depiction of Dimmesdale as being able to achieve atonement on his own, without assistance or direction from his church. God, rather than be a distant being, appears instead, in the forest scene, as a spirit in nature who is available to human striving. And Hester, after rejecting the Whig ideal of moral government and of restrictive moral laws that would seek to imprint morality on her from without, finds in her own nature and in her own natural labours a more substantial morality.11 The most striking move in this part of Hawthorne’s fictional argument is Dimmesdale’s revelation of his own ‘‘sinfulness.’’ It suggests that, if the holy are no higher than the reprobates, the justification for moral government both in the seventeenth and in the nineteenth centuries loses force. The holy cannot govern the reprobates, Hawthorne argues, because they are all equally natural, passionate and ‘‘sinful.’’ Hawthorne has prepared such a reading in the course of the novel by noting of Dimmesdale, for example, that he feels ‘‘sympathies so intimate with the sinful brotherhood of mankind; C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 216 so that his heart vibrated in unison with theirs’’ (142). The point is made more polemically in Hester ’s characterization: Sometimes, the red infamy upon her breast would give a sympathetic throb, as she passed near a venerable minister or magistrate, the model of piety and justice, to whom that age of antique reverence looked up, as to a moral man in fellowship with angels. ‘What evil thing is at hand?’ would Hester say to herself. (87) Dimmesdale’s gesture in the market place suggests the possibility of spontaneous, self-achieved, and unguided atonement outside the jurisdiction of moral government. Hawthorne’s reference to ‘‘Christian nurture’’ in the novel links his thinking to that of the revisionist theologian Horace Bushnell, whose book of that title (Views of Christian Nurture) appeared in 1847.12 Bushnell’s major work, God in Christ, appeared in the spring of 1849, and it seems clear that Hawthorne read it and was aware of the controversy it generated.13 The Scarlet Letter is the only one of his works in which he makes repeated references to typology (‘‘hieroglyph,’’ ‘‘figure,’’ ‘‘symbol’’), and Bushnell’s book is famous for its first chapter, a ‘‘Preliminary Dissertation on Language,’’ that contains a lengthy discussion of Christian typology.14 Moreover, while orthodox theo- logians believed that a sense of one’s own sinfulness was necessary for salvation, Bushnell contended that the sense of having sinned impedes rather than assists redemption. He was critical of the ‘‘self- accusing spirit of sin,’’ which he felt inspired unhealthy self-pun- ishment in the form of ‘‘vigils . . . tortures . . . to ease the guilt of the mind’’ (God in Christ 212–3). It is a conception that Hawthorne seems to evoke in his portrait of Dimmesdale as someone who is ‘‘conscious that the poison of one morbid spot was infecting his heart’s entire substance’’ (140). He characterizes the scarlet letter as having a similar effect on Hester: ‘‘This morbid meddling of conscience with an immaterial matter betokened . . . something doubtful, something that might be deeply wrong, beneath’’ (84) In typically Democratic fashion, Hawthorne assigns ‘‘wrong’’ to what moral government does to people (‘‘morbid meddling’’) rather than to the natural acts that moral government brands as sinful. Dimmesdale finally sheds his self-punitive sense of sinfulness and begins moving toward a public act of atonement when Hester pledges her love for him in the forest. When Bushnell describes atonement in God in Christ, he does so in terms that resonate with Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 217 the forest scene and with crucial words such as ‘‘joy’’ and ‘‘sacred love’’ in the novel’s conclusion. Bushnell argues that a ‘‘sinner’’ cannot attain atonement alone: [T]o remove this disability, God needs to be manifested as Love. The Divine Object rejected by sin and practically annihilated as a spiritual conception, needs to be imported into sense. Then when God appears in His beauty, loving and lovely, the good, the glory, the sunlight of soul, the affections, previously dead, wake into life and joyful play. (Bushnell 212) Hester ’s avowal of love for Dimmesdale allows him to imagine freeing himself from the power of moral government. And the ensuing burst of sunshine would seem, in Bushnell’s understanding of the divine character of sunlight, to add divine sanction to the event—‘‘All at once, as with a sudden smile of heaven, forth burst the sunshine . . .’’ (203). In the final scaffold scene, Dimmesdale brings the natural principle of the forest to the very place that is most associated with moral government’s disciplinary practice of shame. He embraces the natural family that his sense of sinfulness had obliged him to aban- don. That family has been made to suffer at the hands of a moral government that would put formal rules before natural principles. The distinction is registered in the difference between the natural, if doctrinally ‘‘sinful,’’ family of Dimmesdale, Hester and Pearl and the ‘‘unnatural,’’ if doctrinally correct, one of Hester and Chillingworth. In the scaffold scene, Dimmesdale affirms the pre-eminence of the natural to the doctrinal, of the spontaneous principles of natural spirituality to the theological doctrines of the church. Natural principles are also given primacy over formal doctrine in the revelation of Dimmesdale’s spontaneously gener- ated ‘‘A.’’ The gesture of revealing the letter constitutes a rejection of the emotional economy of sin that would stigmatize natural passion and make it an occasion for shame. By publicly assuming responsibility for his actions, Dimmesdale rejects the imposition by moral government of shame, falseness and self-concealment on people who are made to feel guilt regarding natural impulses. He is finally ‘‘true,’’ to use Pearl’s term. Having achieved atonement through his own striving and through contact with divinity in nature, he bears proof, appropriately generated spontaneously on his natural body, that the ideology of moral government is flawed. By depicting atonement as attainable through free will and human C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 218 striving, Hawthorne sides with the liberal position in the religious debates of the period. Hawthorne proposes, then rejects, a Whig interpretation of Dimmesdale’s death: ‘‘It was to teach [the people], that the holiest among us has but attained so far above his fellows as to discern more clearly the Mercy which looks down, and repudiate more utterly the phantom of human merit, which would look aspiringly upward’’ (259). In few other places in the novel does Hawthorne so clearly describe the hierarchical theological assumption of Whig moral government. God is a distant being, and people cannot atone and achieve salvation on their own. They should instead submit to their governors. Hawthorne immediately questions this interpretation and calls it ‘‘stubborn.’’ It is contradicted, he writes, by ‘‘proofs, clear as the mid-day sunshine on the scarlet letter, [that] establish [Dimmesdale] a false and sin-stained creature of the dust’’ (259). This characterization of Dimmesdale as being no holier than anyone else suggests an equality comparable to that inspired by his sermon and seems more consistent with Hawthorne’s argument so far than does the suggestion that Dimmesdale compromises in the end with the Puritan authorities and with Calvinist theological assumptions. Hawthorne’s point would seem to be, rather, that even moral governors are creatures of passion, and they, as a result, cannot claim a right to supervise the moral lives of others. Indeed, the point of the final chapter would seem to be that true moral worth exists apart entirely from the institution of the church, whose instrument of moral government—the scarlet letter— eventually becomes an ironic sign of moral virtue rather than of shame. A similar irony governs the novel’s entire argument. The truly virtuous are shamed and punished, while the emblems of Whig intrusiveness in others’ moral lives are honoured. The emblem of moral government is compared to the devil, while the innocent child, whose criminal and lawless nature he would dissect, is compared to divinity itself. The irony pointed to by Democratic arguments at the time was that moral government was itself immoral, while the sins such government sought to criminalize were natural passions that, because they were natural, were imbued with divinity. In the context of this Democratic framework, the moral wrong in the novel is thus not that someone committed adultery. Indeed, at the time, Democrats were active, as in Michigan in 1843, in efforts to decriminalize the practice. Rather, the moral Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 219 wrong is the stigmatizing of natural passion by both seventeenth and nineteenth century Puritanism that betrays natural divinity and obliges people to be false about feelings that, because they are nat- ural, are spiritual. In this light of this argument, it is noticeable that the narrator’s final injunction—‘‘Be true!’’—is not a call to avoid such ‘‘sins’’ as adultery. It is, rather, a call not to be false about one’s passionate nature. For Democrats of the time, like Hawthorne, the true immorality in the novel would not have been the ‘‘sin’’ of adultery but rather the imposition of moral laws that treat passion as a crime rather than a manifestation of ‘‘spiritual nature.’’ Notes 1 Several scholars have commented on religion in Hawthorne’s work, although always in regard to religious themes rather than to the contemporary debates; see, most recently, Denis Donohue; Agnes McNeill Donohue; also Fick; Warren; Simonson. Harvey Gable discusses overlaps between the work of Horace Bushnell and Hawthorne, but he is concerned primarily with language and typology, not politics or theology. 2 See Bodo; Cole; Griffin; Bushman; Marty; Handy; Welch; Hammond; Kuklick; Stavely; Hatch; Noll. 3 See Kelley, Transatlantic; McCormick; Benson; Formisano, Birth; Kelley, Cultural Pattern; Howe, Political Culture; Formisano, Transformation; Holt. 4 Historian Louise Stevenson characterizes the Whigs as economic and social modernizers: Whiggery stood for the triumph of the cosmopolitan and national over the provincial and local, of rational order over irrational spontaneity, of school-based learning over traditional folkways and customs, and of self-control over self- expression. Whigs believed that every person had the poten- tial to become moral or good if family, school, and community nurtured the seed of goodness in his moral nature. (6) 5 See also, Welter 92, 88. Welter notes that Democratic economic theory ‘‘owed more to ‘nature’ understood as morality’’ than to laissez-faire theory. ‘‘Unlike the Whigs, they were committed to an economy of principle rather than an economy of consumption. . . . [They were] convinced that moral laws governed the economy.’’ 6 Hawthorne would have had ample contact with Whig culture and with neo-Puritanism growing up in Salem, which, along with Newburyport, was a centre of Federalist and Whig power in the state of Massachusetts; see Hartford 1–64. C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 220 7 For an account of ‘‘common sense’’ realism, see Charvat 36–9; Martin 91, 151–65. Hawthorne mocks such ‘‘common sense’’ in ‘‘The Snow Angel.’’ 8 Kelley writes, Parishioners were drilled in the specifics of doctrine, not let to apply them to the ills of the world. ‘‘Instruction in the Catechism,’’ Charles A. Briggs of Union Theological Seminary in New York City later observed, ‘‘was almost universal. . . .‘‘ The reigning mode of Biblical interpretation was sternly fundamentalist. (Transatlantic Persuasion 313) 9 This was a dimension of Whig moral government that even some Whigs criticized: ‘‘In the solemn affairs of religion, moreover, instead of looking into our own sins, we are striving to look into the hearts of others.’’ (qtd. in Kohl 32). In contrast, democracy, O’Sullivan suggests, ‘‘respects the human soul’’ (‘‘Introduction’’ 11). 10 On regeneration, see Beecher. 11 Rather than be seen in the end as an emblem of compromise, Hester should be read as resisting moral government by withdrawing from its control, pursuing a life of ‘‘Christian-style simplicity,’’ and creating a more authentic religious community of her own. Marty describes contemporary left-wing Christianity in this way: ‘‘These idol-smashers found a target in the alliance between evangelicals and other defenders of the political or economic existing order . . . They criticized the ties between clergy and men of wealth or of middle-class aspirations, in the interest of primitive Christian-style simplicity or authentic human community’’ (113). 12 The following passage seems to prefigure Hawthorne’s description of how Pearl inherits Hester’s ‘‘unquiet elements’’: [I]f we examine the relation of parent and child, we shall not fail to discover something like a law of organic connection, as regards character, subsisting between them. Such a connection as makes it easy to believe, and natural to expect that the faith of the one will be propagated in the other. Perhaps I should rather say, such a connection as induces the conviction that the character of one is actually included in that of the other, as a seed is formed in the capsule . . . And the parental life will be flowing into him all that time. (Bushnell, Views 109) For an account of Bushnell’s work, see Barnes. 13 Published in April of 1849, by mid-May, God in Christ was already generating discussion in the Boston Daily Advertiser. Moreover, stories in the orthodox press suggest that Bushnell had become an object of much lively discussion in the spring and summer of 1849. In the 30 March issue of the Boston Recorder, an anonymous reviewer writes that Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 221 ‘‘Dr. Bushnell has gone mad with panic and is for killing all the harmless and useful dogmas which venture to show themselves in the street without their muzzles on.’’ A writer in the Puritan Recorder of 8 November 1849 writes that Bushnell ‘‘has become a kind of ‘chartered libertine’ ’’ who has acquired the right to do as he likes with impunity. . . . Still, it is a most solemn consideration that somebody must be responsible for all the disturbance of the peace of the churches, this distraction of the minds and Christians from the quiet work of saving men, and the agitation and unsettlement of the faith of many in the great concerns of redemption. 14 Bushnell advocates a figural conception of language and of the world: ‘‘There is a logos in the form of things, by which they are prepared to serve as types or images of what is inmost in our souls’’ (God in Christ 23). Bushnell’s influence on Hawthorne would explain the expression of spirit in physical characteristics, such as Chillingworth’s deformity or Dimmesdale’s letter. Those events seem to exemplify Bushnell’s ideas concerning the relation between physical form and spirit: ‘‘For the body is living logos, added to the soul, to be its form, and play it forth into social understanding. . . . 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Westminster: Newman Press, 1955. Formisano, Ronald. The Birth of Mass Political Parties, Michigan, 1827–1861. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1971. ———. The Transformation of Political Culture. New York: Oxford UP, 1983. Gable, Harvey. Liquid Fire: Transcendental Mysticism in the Romances of Nathaniel Hawthorne. New York: Lang, 1998. ‘‘The Great Nation of Futurity.’’ Attr. John L. O’Sullivan. United States and Democratic Review 23 (1839): 426–30. Griffin, Clifford. Their Brothers’ Keepers: Moral Stewardship in the United States, 1800–1865. New Brunswick: Rutgers UP, 1960. Gura, Philip F. The Wisdom of Words: Language, Theology, and Literature in the New England Renaissance. Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 1981. Hammond, John L. The Politics of Benevolence: Revival Religion and American Voting Behavior. Norwood: Ablex, 1979. Handy, Robert A. Christian America: Protestant Hopes and Historical Realities. New York: Oxford UP, 1971. Hartford, William F. 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United States and Democratic Review 1 (1837): 1–15. Kelley, Robert. The Cultural Pattern in American Politics. New York: Knopf, 1979. ———. ‘‘A Portrait of Democratic America in the Mid-Nineteenth Century.’’Democrats and the American Idea. Ed. Peter B. Kovler. Washington: Center for National Policy Press, 1991. ———. The Transatlantic Persuasion: The Liberal-Democratic Mind in the Age of Gladstone. New York: Knopf, 1969. Kohl, Lawrence. The Politics of Individualism: Parties and the American Character in the Jacksonian Era. New York: Oxford UP, 1989. Kuklick, Bruce. Churchmen and Philosophers from Jonathan Edwards to John Dewey. New Haven: Yale UP, 1985. ‘‘The Legal Wrongs of Women.’’ United States and Democratic Review 14 (May 1844): 477–84. Martin, Terence. The Instructed Vision: Scottish Common Sense Philosophy and the Origins of American Fiction. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1961. Marty, Martin E. Righteous Empire: The Protestant Experience in America. New York: Dial Press, 1970. McCormick, Richard. The Party Period and Public Policy. New York: Oxford UP, 1986. McLoughlin, William G. Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform: An Essay on Religion and Social Change in America, 1607–1977. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1978. C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 224 Noll, Mark. America’s God from Jonathan Edwards to Abraham Lincoln. New York: Oxford UP, 2002. Puritan Recorder 8 Nov. 1849. Roger, Patricia. ‘‘Taking a Perspective: Hawthorne’s Concept of Language and Nineteenth Century Language Theory.’’ Nineteenth Century Literature 4 (1997): 433–54. Salem Gazette. 19 Nov. 1849: 1. Simonson, Harold. Radical Discontinuities: American Romanticism and Christian Consciousness. Rutherford: Farleigh Dickinson UP, 1983. Stavely, Keith. Puritan Legacies: Paradise Lost and the New England Tradition, 1630–1890. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1987. Stevenson, Louise. Scholarly Means to Evangelical Ends: The New Haven Scholars and the Transformation of Higher Learning in America 1830–1890. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1986. Taylor, Nathaniel. Lectures on the Moral Government of God. New York, 1859. Warren, Austin. ‘‘The Scarlet Letter: A Literary Exercise in Moral Theology.’’ The Southern Review 1 (1965): 22–45. Welch, Claude. Protestant Thought in the Nineteenth Century. New Haven: Yale UP, 1972. Welter, Rush. The Mind of America 1820–1860. New York: Columbia UP, 1975. Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 225 
work_dwrcncvi6fcptawifx6qoofxji	----	No Beauty, No Peace: Rethinking the Role of Beauty and Immediacy in Ecocritical Criticism, ed. Peter Quigley and Scott Slovik (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2018), pp. 41-50. Arnold Berleant Thoreau’s Poetics of Nature 1 Abstract Thoreau’s descriptions of natural phenomena display the care and acuteness of scientific observation, and this may have overshadowed recognition of his aesthetic sensibility. The perceptual details of Thoreau’s observations are pervaded by a sensitive appreciation of natural beauty. Moreover, the aesthetic in his account consists not only in the visual appreciation of visual beauty but is multi-sensory and engaged. Thoreau’s writings document a rich yet uncustomary understanding of the appreciation of nature as aesthetic engagement. Moreover, we find in his work ideas and themes that carry us in the direction of Dewey’s aesthetics and existential phenomenology, and the tenor of his perceptions becomes explicit in the emerging interest in environmental and everyday aesthetics. Key Terms aesthetics, appreciation, art, beauty, engagement, everyday life, nature, perception I As an icon for a broad array of political and environmental protest movements, Thoreau’s presence and influence are ubiquitous. He has been taken up by passionate and sometimes mutually incompatible advocates, from anarchists, civil rights activists, and environmentalists to novelists, poets, and essayists. His work is well known both in the United States and abroad, and not only in the Western world but in the Far East, as well. So much has been written about Thoreau that it is improbable that much can be said that is new. Still, it may refresh our understanding of his deep well of ideas by dipping into it from time to time to find clarity and renewal in a fresh draught of his words. Often associated with environmental concerns, Thoreau’s ideas have been used to support values found in the natural world, such as respect for and appreciation of natural processes and of nature not oppressed by human purposes. His mode of life has long been seen as a standard for our unique personal experience of the natural world. But while Thoreau’s sojourn at Walden Pond may stand as the epitome of practical independence, it has also served as a model for the scientific organization of community in the interests of economy and efficiency. Its influence continues in the growing effort at sustainable living, both individually and in community. 2 Few other writers have been so bold or perhaps so foolhardy as to attempt so much. Yet as a result of his range of interests, Thoreau’s accomplishments were extraordinary in a milieu of extraordinary people, and his influence has become ubiquitous. He may be said to represent the irreverence and broad competence, as well as the inveterate moralism of the American character. But because Thoreau’s writings encompass such a wide assortment of topics and disciplines, one cannot deal briefly with his work as a whole in a way that avoids laudatory generalities or critical disapproval. Looking over this work, one may be struck by the detail and precision in his descriptions of natural phenomena and see him as a classical naturalist. Or one may take Thoreau as a writer and social critic, considering his writing as a literary enterprise or a nascent political program. 3 At the same time, it would not do justice to the full force of its scope to focus a microscopic eye on a single aspect alone. For there is much to be heard in the range and timbre of Thoreau’s voice, unique in American literature. Congenitally critical, his work combines philosophical ruminations, moral adjurations in the tradition of the Hebrew prophets, and social criticism, all informed by wide reading that included distant and past cultures, including Eastern ones. At the same time, he combined this intellectual scope with an irrepressible scientific curiosity that found expression in precise descriptions of nature and a perception of detail and nuance characteristic of the best nature writers. The breadth of Thoreau's interests and his moral passion could obscure the vehicle of his words were it not that their distinctive eloquence is irrepressible. One commentator has even gone so far as to claim that "Thoreau's chief importance to us [is] his writing," proclaiming that "At his best, Thoreau wrote the only first-rate prose ever written by an American, with the possible exception of Abraham Lincoln" (Hyman 324, 317). Reactions to Thoreau are characteristically extreme. Yet the strong moralism and epigrammatic force of Thoreau's literary efforts meld, perhaps improbably, with the care and acuteness of his scientific observations at Walden Pond and on his various excursions. But the literary, the scientific, and the moral are diminished when they are separated. Moreover, these aspects have been taken to represent Thoreau so commonly that they have tended to overshadow other, equally central characteristics. One of these is the author’s aesthetic sensibility. It is easy to overlook how thoroughly the perceptual details in Thoreau’s observations are imbued with a sensitive appreciation of natural beauties. Moreover, the aesthetic reflected in his accounts consists not only in the appreciation of visual beauty but, more broadly, in its multi-sensory and engaged character. His experience of nature is active, constructive, creative. Indeed, Thoreau’s practice can tell us much about the aesthetic appreciation of nature. It might respect his intent best by emulating his example of working on a small scale and seizing on this theme --Thoreau's poetics of nature. Let us see where it can lead us. II I call this a poetics of nature because Thoreau's aesthetic sensibility appears not only in the rich perceptual detail of his observations of nature, but in his active engagement in discerning and activating those sensory details. A striking passage early in Walden identifies the germinal impulse that pervades his writing. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts (“Where I Lived, and What I Lived For” ¶ 15). 4 One may be tempted to dismiss this as romantic excess, but that would be a trifling response. It would be pure condescension to mistake this remarkable passage as merely poetic hyperbole evoked by unrestrained enthusiasm. This is no ordinary encomium to nature's beauties but a testament to the creative act of nature appreciation: for Thoreau, appreciating nature is comparable to an artistic process. It would belittle Thoreau not to listen to what he says, for his language is not merely figurative. Indeed, it is revealing to read such comments just as literally as the scientific data he cataloged. They can tell us much about the quality and character of natural experience. This passage, like another when he describes the earth as "living poetry ("Spring," ¶9)," 5 is revealing enough in itself. Yet such comments anticipate by more than a century and a half the emergence of an important new interest in the aesthetics of environment. And this, along with the broad scope of Thoreau’s sensibility, may be seen as prefiguring the increasing attention to urban aesthetics and to the aesthetics of everyday life in contemporary scholarship. The influence of environmental experience on aesthetic theory is perhaps the strongest motive behind the present effort to expand aesthetic appreciation and understanding beyond their customary scope of the fine arts. Writers on aesthetics are now likely to include in their consideration first the practical arts and crafts, and then the various environments as part of which humans carry on their many activities. Thus the range of appreciation has grown from nature to include the urban environment, from the appreciation of natural beauty to the aesthetics of human artifacts, from the enjoyment of works of art to an aesthetic sensibility in engaging the objects and activities of domestic life. Thoreau was one of the first to take us beyond the ultimate and overwhelming in nature and art to the beauty in the prosaics of the world. 6 Sometimes, moreover, Thoreau wrote as if the beauty in nature exceeds that in art. “Art can never match the luxury and superfluity of Nature" (A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers, 1849). Indeed, “Nature is a greater and more perfect art….” (A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers, 1849). In their veracity and minute detail, Thoreau’s descriptions of nature prefigure phenomenological description. His account of the scenery of Walden Pond includes the color of the water, which he described for nearly eight hundred words as it changed from a yellowish tone to green and took on various shades of blue when seen from different distances and under a changing sky (“The Ponds” ¶ 5). Nor is the water taken in isolation, for Thoreau saw the pond in its larger setting, albeit without grandeur, as he described the shore, the trees that border it, and the hills beyond. This contextual, perceptual appreciation of nature is typical of his descriptions. His eye is not that of the clinician who evaluates things dispassionately or of the anatomist who dissects objects into ever-smaller parts. It is rather the vision of the rhapsodist who carries forward the sweep of his story, or the landscape painter who conveys the quality of an entire scene by what he chooses to place on his canvas. In reading his detailed descriptions as purely visual observations, it is easy to overlook what I think is a crucial feature of Thoreau, the naturalist. One might imagine him looking with scientific detachment at "the cranberries, small waxen gems, pendants of the meadow grass, pearly and red," (“House-Warming" ¶ 13) or examining the bubbles trapped in the ice of the pond. But Thoreau is not an ocular scientist. His engagement with the natural world is, on the contrary, full-bodied. It involves learning, to be sure, but reading alone is never enough. For speaking as if he were a phenomenologist, Thoreau makes the critical observation that “we are in danger of forgetting the language which all things and events speak without metaphor….” ("Sounds" ¶ 4). There were times of cleaning his house when he set even his books, pens, and ink out-of-doors “amid the pines and hickories,” as if to balance their abstractions and scholarly associations with nuts and cones. And of course there were the hours spent hoeing beans. These were not dull chores relegated to a mindless routine but, Buddha-like, activities worthy of mindful attention, part of his life and therefore valuable. “How much of beauty—of color, as well as form—on which our eyes daily rest goes unperceived by us.” (August 1, 1860). Thoreau’s world is also filled with sounds, and he devotes an entire chapter in Walden to them: the whistle of the locomotive passing within earshot and the varied sights and sounds of the train at different times of the day and season. It is as if this were another natural phenomenon that demanded a description of its cars and cargoes. His aural horizon included animal and bird sounds, rumbling carts and bells, the sound of raindrops, even the soft rustle of the forest growing around him. And if, sitting in his boat, the stillness became too great, he would rap against its side planks and raise up echoes from the surrounding hills and vales (The Ponds” ¶ 2). III Part of the perennial appeal of Thoreau’s sensible mentality, if I may identify his distinctive manner of ruminative activity, lies in the ethical insights he discerned in nature, both by simple observation and from scientific inquiry. One might be inclined to dismiss his criticism of the prudential behavior of the local farmers and townspeople as the inverse arrogance of a backwoods moralist were it not that his judgments were so penetrating and sound in their measure. Calculating the various depths of the pond is a characteristic instance. It led Thoreau to a similar rule for judging the dimensions of a man’s character (“The Pond in Winter”). Higher laws include building the temple of one’s body ("Higher Laws"). Thoreau lived, too, with the traces of the past on the land and the lore of its former inhabitants: its history was ever-present. All this was part of his world, a living present constantly adding a palimpsest of fresh perceptions, literary and historical associations, and personal memories. Is Thoreau being inconsistent here, turning nature into a metaphor for morality? This might seem so, except that the vividness and force of his perceptions of the natural world clearly stand on their own and not as mere crutches for a figurative moralism. Recognizing in nature a source both of beauty and of moral insight had implications for both. Thoreau’s nature is not a passive object of contemplation but a domain of activity: walking in the woods, hoeing his beans, playing his flute while floating on Walden Pond, engaging with full responsiveness in the tasks and pleasures of living in nature. This points to an essential characteristic of Thoreau’s poetics of nature. It is not an aesthetics of contemplation but of life lived actively, and constructed, like his house, to his own dimensions. He grasped the beauty in everything, from the tops of the evergreens and the mountain ash to the tree-cranberries in his stew and the wild ground he walked on. 7 His was an active aesthetic, an integral part of the processes of living, an aesthetics of engagement. I call it that advisedly because the prevalence of an aesthetic sensibility in Thoreau’s writing is markedly different from the ways in which the aesthetic is usually sequestered and etherialized by separating such appreciative experience from the course of daily life. The concept of aesthetic engagement centers on the unity of aesthetic experience in which active involvement in the aesthetic process involves a unity of perceiver and object in appreciative experience. This, then, is no disinterested observation of an isolated scene but active participation in the process of appreciation. 8 It reflects both the temper of the man and the temper of the country. For the beauty Thoreau discovered was in relation to an individual person actively engaged, so that we find “as much beauty visible to us in the landscape as we are prepared to appreciate,—not a grain more. The actual objects which one person will see from a particular hilltop are just as different from those which another will see as the persons are different.” 9 Thoreau’s writings bring the reader both objects: his actual and our possible ones. Moreover, his words are not of antiquarian interest only but carry us to the very present, for they stand at the leading edge of an emerging movement called “eco-aesthetics,” which "emphasizes the ecological continuity or interrelatedness between the human appreciator and objects.” 10 Thoreau’s life, often associated with his stay at Walden Pond, is mistakenly thought of as reclusive and sedentary, but this is misleading. His time there was filled with the many activities of daily life: going to the pond for water, fishing for pickerel, walking about, and occasionally visiting with friends and neighbors. Walking was his transportation of choice, before and beyond his two years at Walden Pond. Working and rambling about, Thoreau was an inveterate pedestrian. 11 He frequently walked around Concord, surveying the land about and studying intensively the natural history of the place, putting into practice his adulation of the ordinary and embracing the world from his doorstep. As the bard of the local, Thoreau is unmatched. Yet he was also fascinated by accounts of travels and wrote some of this own. 12 IV An idiosyncratic writer, Thoreau cannot be constrained by any school of thought: a Transcendentalist by category more than content, a naturalist who moralized, a loner who valued social relations and was fiercely political. Like Spinoza, another thinker whose originality was disconcerting, Thoreau left no direct descendents. But like that seventeenth century independent, he continues to be an influence, more as an icon of political individualism and an inspiration for the environmental movement than through any particular doctrine. Thoreau's persistent presence in American culture confirms the continuing allure of living close to nature. The ripples he stirred on Walden Pond have traveled far beyond its shoreline. Without exercising any direct force, their undulations carry us to Dewey’s aesthetics, to existential phenomenology, and especially to the growing interest in environmental and everyday aesthetics. 13 Although Thoreau's aesthetic sensibility is often overlooked, we have seen that it is not only pervasive in his writing but an inseparable part of his life and work. In his appreciation of a natural aesthetic, Thoreau could write with characteristic eloquence, especially in his Journal. This passage from his journal is not unique: “All nature is classic and akin to art. The sumach and pine and hickory which surround my home remind me of the most graceful sculpture. Sometimes their tops, or a single limb or leaf seems to have grown to a distinct expression as if it were a symbol for me to interpret. Poetry, painting, and sculpture claim at once and associate with themselves those perfect specimens of the art of nature,---leaves, vines, acorns, pine cones, etc. The critic must at last stand as mute though contented before a true poem as before an acorn or a vine leaf. The perfect work of art is received again into the bosom of nature whence its material proceeded, and that criticism which can only detect its unnaturalness has no longer any office to fulfill. The choicest maxims that have come down to us are more beautiful or integrally wise than they are wise to our understandings. This wisdom which we are inclined to pluck from their stalk is the point only of a single association. Every natural form --- palm leaves and acorns, oak leaves and sumach and dodder – are untranslatable aphorisms.” 14 Direct engagement with perceptual detail and immersion in intrinsic sensibility are, as I have claimed, 15 at the heart of aesthetic appreciation, and Thoreau was especially responsive to the aesthetic dimension of natural experience. As a poet of nature, he taught us how to "paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts." 16 Emerson recognized Thoreau's universal sensibility: "His eye was open to beauty, and his ear to music. He found these, not in rare conditions, but wheresoever he went. He thought the best of music was in single strains; and he found poetic suggestion in the humming of the telegraph-wire." 17 While this discussion of Thoreau's aesthetic has highlighted a feature of his writing that is generally overlooked, it is important not to think of it as a distinct and separate element of Thoreau's unique voice. Emerson observed, after Thoreau's death, that "He was a speaker and actor of the truth." 18 And while this unflinching commitment lay at the core of his moral standard, it was equally part of his aesthetic awareness. Thoreau's aesthetic was true to his experience of nature and it pervades his writing as an essential part of his message on how to live. That is a moral message and his moral call reverberates throughout. More than simply a combination of factors, the moral and the aesthetic are inseparable, and this is nowhere more explicit than in his assertion that “the perception of beauty is a moral test.” 19 There is special significance in the coincidence of the moral and the aesthetic. While it is often argued that moral and aesthetic values are separate and must not be confounded, Thoreau's moral message is embedded in his aesthetic one. He believed that just as living a moral life demands active attention and resolve, so does the poetics of beauty: "How much of beauty—of color, as well as form—on which our eyes daily rest goes unperceived by us,” 20 he observed trenchantly, for there is only “as much beauty visible to us in the landscape as we are prepared to appreciate,—not a grain more." 21 What shall we say of a natural philosopher who has beauty in his heart? But not only does the aesthetic infuse the moral life, and the moral the aesthetic. One of the most striking things about Thoreau’s writing is that its various features fuse into an inseparable stream: scientific naturalism, moral adjuration, personal iconoclasm, political independence, aesthetic sensibility, autobiographical incident. The common penchant for separating and isolating such factors misses their homogeneity, which his writing constantly celebrates. Thoreau wrote about his life as a seamless, active, responsive unity, as living engagement in his immediate world. This is the key feature of engagement: the aesthetic unity of experience. Experience is aesthetic when it is direct, perceptual, undivided, active, lived, 22 and the aesthetic is an inseparable presence in all experience. It is the ever-beating heart of Thoreau's message. Thoreau stands as a unique figure in the American pantheon. It is gratifying to think of him still beckoning us to move in unaccustomed directions. As with other philosophical beacons in world civilization, such as Lao Tzu, Aristotle, Spinoza, and Marx, Thoreau continues to radiate light. WORKS CITED (BIBLIOGRAPHY) Hyman, Stanley Edgar, "Henry Thoreau in Our Times," The Promised Land (Cleveland, Ohio, 1963) in Henry David Thoreau, Walden and Civil Disobedience, Authoritative Texts, Background Reviews, and Essays in Criticism, ed. Owen Thomas (New York: W.W. Norton, 1966), pp. 324, 317. Thoreau, Henry David, Walden, (http://thoreau.eserver.org) “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For,” ¶ 15. "Spring," ¶9. The Ponds,” 5. (“House-Warming" 13 Higher Laws.” (“The Pond in Winter”). Thoreau, Henry David, A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers, (1849), (Project Gutenburg, July, 2003). Thoreau, Henry David Journal, August 1, 1860. Notes 1 I want to express my appreciation to Donald Jeweler, from whose suggestion this essay originated. 2 B. F. Skinner, Walden Two (New York: Macmillan Co., 1948); Kathleen Kinkade, A Walden Two experiment; the first five years of Twin Oaks Community, foreword by B. F. Skinner (New York, Morrow, 1973). It is probably no exaggeration to regard Thoreau's undertaking as a principal inspiration for the broad array of intentional communities established worldwide beginning in the second half of the twentieth century and continuing into the present. 3 Stanley Cavell, The Senses of Walden, expanded edition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981); Theodore Baird, "Corn Grows in the Night," in Henry David Thoreau, Walden and Civil Disobedience, ed. Owen Thomas (New York: W.W. Norton, 1966), pp.400-409; George Hendrick, "The Influence of Thoreau's 'Civil Disobedience' on Gandhi's Satyagraha, op. cit., pp. 364-371; Richard Drinnon, "Thoreau's Politics of the Upright Man," op. cit., pp. 410-422. 4 Since Thoreau’s works appear in many different editions, depending on the degree of specificity, references will be to the title, chapter or part, and paragraph number. References to his journal will be to the date. 5 "The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by geologists and antiquaries chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit — not a fossil earth, but a living earth; compared with whose great central life all animal and vegetable life is merely parasitic." 6 See Katya Mandoki, Everyday Aesthetics: Prosaics, the Play of Culture and Social Identities (Aldershott: Ashgate, 2007). 7 The Maine Woods, Ktaadn, Part 1; Chesuncook, Parts 2 and 5. 8 See my discussion of aesthetic unity in “Aesthetics and the Unity of Experience,” Academia.edu, https://www.academia.edu/3783262/Aesthetics_and_the_Unity_of_Experience. I have developed the concept of aesthetic engagement in numerous places. A recent statement explains, Aesthetic engagement rejects the dualism inherent in traditional accounts of aesthetic appreciation and epitomized in Kantian aesthetics, which treats aesthetic experience as the subjective appreciation of a beautiful object. Instead, aesthetic engagement emphasizes the holistic, contextual character of aesthetic appreciation. Aesthetic engagement involves active participation in the appreciative process, sometimes by overt physical action but always by creative perceptual involvement. Aesthetic engagement also returns aesthetics to its etymological origins by stressing the primacy of sense perception, of sensible experience. It reconfigures perception itself to recognize the mutual activity of all the sense modalities, including kinesthetic and somatic sensibility more generally. The concept of aesthetic engagement, then, epitomizes a holistic, unified aesthetics in place of the dualism of the traditional account. It rejects the traditional separations between the appreciator and the art object, as well as between the artist and the performer and the audience. It recognizes that all these functions overlap and merge within the aesthetic field, the context of appreciation. The customary separations and oppositions between the functions of artist, object, appreciator, and performer disappear in the reciprocity and continuity of appreciative experience. “What Is Aesthetic Engagement?”, Contemporary Aesthetics 11 (2013) (www.contempaesthetics.org). Also see Arnold Berleant, Art and Engagement (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1991), Aesthetics and Environment, Variations on a Theme (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005) and Living in the Landscape: Toward an Aesthetics of Environment (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas,1997). 9 The Journal of Henry David Thoreau (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1906) Journal XI, Ch. IX, November 4,1858. 10 ‘Ecoaesthetics’ may be defined as “the theory of ecological aesthetic appreciation,” i.e. environmental aesthetic appreciation construed in the context of a system of interrelated and interdependent natural forces that “emphasizes the ecological continuity or interrelatedness between the human appreciator and objects.” See Xiangzhan Cheng, “Aesthetic Engagement, Ecosophy C and Ecological Appreciation,” in Contemporary Aesthetics 11 (2013), §1. (www.contempaesthetics.org/newvolume/pages/journal.php) 11 “I have told many that I walk every day about half the daylight, but I think they do not believe it." Op. cit., Journal IX, Ch. VI, January 7, 1857. Also see Thoreau’s essay, “Walking.” 12 These included not only his early expedition down local rivers (A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers, 1849), but a more extended trip to Quebec (A Yankee in Canada, 1866), four trips to Cape Cod (Cape Cod, 1865), and three excursions in Maine (The Maine Woods, 1864). At other times he visited cities from New York and Philadelphia to Chicago, Milwaukee, Detroit, and more. 13 An extensive literature in environmental aesthetics has grown over the past four decades. See the Introduction and Notes to The Aesthetics of Natural Environments, edited by Allen Carlson and Arnold Berleant. Broadview Press, 414-815 1st Street SW, Calgary Alberta Canada T2P 1N3, and to Arnold Berleant and Allen Carlson, eds., The Aesthetics of Human Environments (Peterborough, ON: Broadview, 2007). Everyday aesthetics is a more recent development. In addition to Mandoki’s Everyday Aesthetics cited in endnote 4, see Yuriko Saito, Everyday Aesthetics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Thomas Leddy, The Extraordinary in the Ordinary: The Aesthetics of Everyday Life (Peterborough,Ont: Broadview Press, 2012); “Artification,” Contemporary Aesthetics, Special Volume 4 (2012). 14 Journal, vol. I (undated). Quoted in Henry David Thoreau, Walden and Civil Disobedience, ed. Owen Thomas (New York: W.W. Norton, 1966), pp. 251-252. 15 See “Environmental Sensibility,” Ambiances in Action: Proceedings of the 2 nd International Congress on Ambiances. International Ambiances Network, 2012, pp.53-56. 16 Walden, II. “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For,” ¶ 15. 17 Emerson, op. cit., p. 276. 18 Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Thoreau," (Atlantic Monthly, August, 1862) in Henry David Thoreau, Walden and Civil Disobedience, Authoritative Texts, Background Reviews, and Essays in Criticism, ed. Owen Thomas (New York: W.W. Norton, 1966), p. 269. 19 Op. cit., Journal IV, Ch. II, 6/21/52. 20 Op. cit., Journal XIV, Ch. I, 8/1/60. 21 He continues, "The actual objects which one person will see from a particular hilltop are just as different from those which another will see as the persons are different.” Op. cit., Journal XI, Ch. V, 11/4/58. 22 See " Aesthetics and the Unity of Experience," op. cit. 
work_e2zklocagvc3voqfufk2p7inyy	----	20: SURVIVOR ACADEME 20 SURVIVOR ACADEME ASSESSING REFLECTIVE PRACTICE Laurel Johnson Black, Terry Ray, Judith Villa, Indiana University of Pennsylvania Reflective practice is a goal for many academic professional development programs. What do faculty participants gain from a reflective practice program, and how much reflection do they actually practice? Using interviews and grounded theory, we identified three crucial needs being met by such a program at our university. In addition, we compared participants' comments to the elements of reflection established by Dewey and Rodgers to determine the extent of their reflection. The results call for more assessment to better align the structures of reflective practice pro- grams with participant needs as well as further research on the effects of reflective practice on the participants, their teaching, and their students. The vast majority of men live lives of quiet desperation. -Henry David Thoreau (So, too, do many professors) Relatively few professors are well prepared for the many aspects of their job that don't focus on research. Isolated in their teaching and stretched thin by demands to publish research in major journals, earn top teaching evaluations, and share the work of university governance, professors often find little time for reflective, intentional teaching. They hover on the edge of burnout, hoping for inspiration. These are needs deeply felt, for they connect to our sense of self-as-teacher; they are not simply a desire for the most recent technology or a better schedule. Indeed, as Mezirow (1990) states, "No need is more fundamentally human than our need to understand the meaning of our experience. Free, full participation TO IMPROVE THE ACADEMY in critical and reflective discourse may be interpreted as a basic human right" (p. 11). In response to these needs, programs encouraging reflective practice have sprung up at colleges and universities nationwide. At their best, such programs typically offer long-term support and the opportunity to engage in thoughtful research into pedagogical problems. Fullan (1993) argues that practitioners must "engage in continuous corrective analysis and action" (p. 5) and believes that "if people do not venture into uncertainty, no significant change will occur" (p. 25). Thus, institutions that rely on "teaching tips" or that enforce professional development from the top down do not promote significant and meaningful change. Rather, through both small- and large-group focused study and practice over an extended period of time, using local and national expertise, reflective practice pro- grams support and encourage teachers to question their values and assumptions, test their practices, analyze the results, and continue to improve their teaching. With careful planning and the long-term, sus- tained support of participants, reflective practice programs can lead to widespread cultural change and involve teachers in discussion of theoreti- cal, political, cultural, and ethical issues, not just teaching techniques (Boud, Keogh, & Walker, 1985a, 1985b; Lieberman, 1996; McKinnon & Grunau, 1994; Rodgers, 2002; Szabo, 1996; Schon, 1987). On paper, reflective practice programs sound good, but do they deliver what they promise? What, in fact, do they promise? Reflective practice, according to Wagner (2006), "will help you celebrate your accomplish- ments, evaluate your skills, use your strengths more efficiently and continue to set and attain goals" (p. 30). But as Korrhagen (1993) points out, given our difficulty in "operationalizing and measuring reflection" (pp. 134-135), how we promote it can become problematic as well: "It is remarkable that no generally accepted definition of the concepts reflection and reflective teaching exists, but also that there is no strong evidence for the claim that the emphasis on reflection is effective. And if it is, one may well ask: effective toward what end? The answer to this question is a matter of belief and conviction rather than one of empirical evidence" (p. 137). Black, Cessna, and Woolcock (2005) argue that programs as complex as reflective practice usually demand multiple measures of assessment and evaluation. In this chapter, we explore the experiences and attitudes of faculty at one research institution who have participated in a reflective practice program. We support Korthagen's desire for empirical data, but the qualitative data generated by our interviews affords a firm jumping- off point for additional, more focused research, and a model for other similar programs. SURVIVOR ACADEME 343 Assessing Reflective Practice Programs Public descriptions of reflective practice programs focus on program structure and history; Indiana University of Pennsylvania's (lUP) program brochure, website, and literature are no exception. However, these texts don't describe what participants actually get from their experi- ence in the program or why they're there. At IUP, we wanted to go beyond the almost-always positive surface descriptions of reflective prac- tice programs. We understand why those descriptions exist-funding for sustained professional development is tough to get and keep, and any data that might suggest that a program isn't producing the results it "should" puts it at risk of being discontinued. It is not too hard for most reflective practice groups to connect tangible outcomes-grants received, articles published, new courses designed-to participation in small groups or workshops. We wanted to get at something else, however, something deeper and more visceral. As Fullan (1993) points out, "[Teachers] func- tion in a complex and dynamic environment where cause and effect are not always clear or close in time" (p. 20). Studying teachers' "intuition- in-action" (p. 361), Johansson and Kroksmark (2004) struggled to go beyond simply describing "the-things-that-show-themselves" and tried to understand how intuition blends experience, action, and emotion. When all is said and done and sixty colleagues have dragged their bodies into a Saturday workshop and stayed all day, why did they do it and what did they get out of it? When a group of five people from different depart- ments meets regularly for a year in a cross-disciplinary discussion of criti- cal thinking, how have they been changed? We decided that, as the first step in a more comprehensive exploration, interviews with current and former members of our reflective practice (RP) program could help us better understand what passions, fears, desires, and needs the RP pro- gram at IUP fulfills. Additionally and crucially, it could help us begin to assess its effectiveness in supporting reflection. It may be that other reflective practice programs are being assessed, but if so, the researchers are keeping quiet about what they find. This is unfortu- nate, because discussion of multiple, well-designed accountability and evalu- ation measures of such programs could further the scholarship of teaching and learning and facilitate a productive allocation of scarce resources. History and Structure of Reflective Practice at IUP Indiana University of Pennsylvania is a doctorate-granting research uni- versity with approximately twelve thousand students. It has strong roots, however, as a "normal school" with an emphasis on both teaching and 344 TO IMPROVE THE ACADEMY preparing teachers. IUP established its RP program in 1994 with approxi- mately twenty members in the founding group. Its purpose has always been to encourage faculty to become more aware of their teaching, be more reflective, and through this process become better teachers. The RP project is headed by five co-directors, each having a specific duty within the group. Participation is voluntary and is open to faculty and teaching assistants from the campus doctoral programs. Participants receive no release time or any other institutional reward. Currently, the program offers faculty small-group activities through Departmental and Cross- Disciplinary Teaching Circles (DTCs and CTCs), each exploring a topic chosen by its members, monthly large-group meetings addressing various teaching issues, and two or more daylong weekend workshops each year. RP members are asked to attend at least half of the group meetings (whether large group or small group) every year. They are also urged to attend one or more of the weekend workshops, which are open to all fac- ulty. RP has grown dramatically over the past decade, some years num- bering more than a hundred members; in 2007-08, approximately seventy faculty actively participated. This number represents roughly 11-15 percent of the faculty. Formal recognition for participation is given in an end-of-the-year dinner when active members receive certificates. What Reflection Is and How One" Does" Reflective Practice Although many readers are familiar with "reflection," it was important for our research to establish what elements we wished to study. The con- cept of reflective practice is complex and has been defined and interpreted in a variety of ways since Dewey first named it in 1910. According to Rogers (2001), who surveyed and synthesized a range of definitions for reflection and the theories behind them, there is no clear agreement about what it means to be a reflective practitioner or thinker or learner: "In summary, ... no fewer than 15 different terms were used to describe the reflective process" (p. 40). In addition, any reflective practice program must be studied as part of a "systems-thinking approach" that takes into account the "interconnectedness of structures" (Sparks & Hirsh, 1997, pp. 6-9). RP is supported, after all, by the very structures that make reflection so difficult to accomplish. Despite these levels of complexity and the range of terminology used among theorists, some agreement on the process does exist. In one explanation of the reflective process, Boud, Keogh, and Walker (1985b) posit three stages: "Preparation, engagement in an activity, and the processing of what has been experienced" (p. 9). SURVIVOR ACADEME 345 Another description is as simple as "What? So what? Now what?" (Barnett & O'Mahony, 2006, p. 502). All versions, however, draw heav- ily on Dewey's work. The reflective process starts when practitioners experience what Schon (1987) calls "surprise" when something doesn't work as planned. They analyze the situation and create a new plan of action, test that plan, and reassess their practice. Schon argues that experienced instructors often "correct" practice on the spot, using "reflection-in-action," and reassess their teaching after the fact, which he called "reflection-on-action." According to Rodgers (2002), who offers a close reading and analysis of Dewey's most relevant scholarship, reflection is a meaning-making, edu- cative process that involves the "intellectual, moral, and emotional growth of the individual, and, consequently, the evolution of a democratic soci- ety" (p. 845). Like most scholars of reflection, Rodgers outlines several criteria for determining if reflection is taking place, one of which is that true reflection does not take place in isolation. Dewey (1916) demanded what he called reflection-in-community: "One has to assimilate, imagina- tively, something of another's experience in order to tell him intelligently of one's own experience" (pp. 6-7). Those who stress reflection as part of a larger, transformative process see the element of discussion with a larger community as crucial. Zeichner (1996), for example, argues that unless reflective teacher education promotes social justice, it should not be sup- ported; it simply continues to isolate teachers in their own classrooms, where they become "technicians, not professionals" (p. 206). For Dewey, "educative experience" involved interaction between a per- son and her environment-between the self and another person, an idea, or whatever else makes up the particular environment. This, in turn, would lead to what Dewey named "intelligent action," another criterion for reflection (Rodgers, 2002). In addition, reflective practitioners would have to be willing to experiment with various actions, paying close atten- tion to the results of every new action they take. This process is supported by certain attitudes in practitioners that Dewey believed are essential to genuine reflection: wholeheartedness, directness, open-mindedness, responsibility, and readiness. By wholeheart- edness, Dewey meant a genuine enthusiasm about one's subject matter as well as curiosity about it. The second characteristic, directness, is freedom from self-absorption and the presence of a reasonable self-awareness. According to Rodgers, this is the difference between "What did I teach today?" and "Where was the learning in today's work?" (p. 860). Open- mindedness, for Dewey, was "hospitality" to new ways of seeing and understanding. This concept included "playfulness," or releasing the mind TO IMPROVE THE ACADEMY to play with our ideas rather than clinging to them. Schon (1987) sees testing a hypothesis in a practical situation such as teaching as part of this playfulness. Rodgers (2002) adds two other characteristics (pp. 962-963). The first, responsibility, means that we must examine the practical applications of our thinking and weigh them carefully. The second is readiness for the critical self-examination and possible changes that may result from deep reflection. To accomplish truly reflective practice as an instructor, then, is to commit to a time-consuming and challenging process of deep thinking and planned and assessed action. Study Scope and Methodology We formed a research group to undertake a qualitative study on IUP's RP program to determine its impact on (1) the teaching of past and present members of RP, (2) the students of past and present RP members, and (3) the overall professional life of present and past RP members, as well as to determine what RP activities had the greatest impact on past and pres- ent members and any other ways these members perceived RP to have had an impact. We sent a call to all past and present RP members soliciting voluntary participants in the study. Ultimately, twenty-two RP past and present members agreed to participate. Each volunteer completed a short demographic questionnaire and agreed to be interviewed by a member of the research team (see Appendix). All interviews were tape-recorded. This methodology has its limitations for gathering participants. For one, the interviewees were unavoidably self-selected. As most researchers on reflection point out, the process is jump-started by faculty recognizing that something is awry in their practice. Faculty self-initiate into RP, and the most motivated volunteered for this project. In the future, we hope to interview those who have not participated in RP to find out why. Interview Questions and Analysis We also decided that at this time we would not ask focused questions about the process of reflection or ask for evidence of reflection. We wanted to begin with general questions and apply criteria for reflection to those answers. Thus, participants had as much time as they needed to respond to these questions: • What impact, if any, has participation in RP had on your teaching? • What impact, if any, has participation in RP had on your students? SURVIVOR ACADEME 347 • What impact, if any, has RP had on your overall professional life? • Which activities in RP have had the most impact on you? In what ways? • Are there any other comments you would like to share about RP? The recorded interviews were transcribed, and we began the qualita- tive analysis of each transcript using grounded theory. An inductive approach, grounded theory requires researchers to break data into units of information that can then be categorized and subcategorized to define the boundaries of the larger categories. A narrative of sorts is created as categories are compared, contrasted, and sorted repeatedly, and finally central or master categories are selected and used to generate a theoretical model (Strauss & Corbin, 1998). In our study, our research team inde- pendently analyzed each transcript, looking for themes. Then we all met to compare perceptions and develop a working consensus. Finally, we looked for the varying prominence of the common themes among all of the interviews. We counted references in a theme according to the number of times an interviewee mentioned it. So if a person made a comment within a particular theme four times during an interview, each time was counted separately. We then tallied the frequency of the overarching themes, as shown in Table 20.1. The total number of comments per theme includes both positive and negative ones. Table 20.1. RP Themes Ranked by Frequency of References in Interviews Themes Collegial relationships Changed teaching methods RP effects on students Inspiration Personal growth Overcoming complacency Professional growth Faculty feedback Faculty collaboration Reflection about self as teacher/learner Frequency 58 50 23 21 21 20 18 17 16 15 TO IMPROVE THE ACADEMY Evidence of Reflection We also examined the transcripts for evidence of reflection using Rodgers's expanded criteria for reflective practice as touchstones (2002): wholeheartedness, growth, directness, open-mindedness, responsibility, analysis of experience, intelligent action, and inquiry-in-eommunity. We coded the transcripts simply: "yes-dear statement matching criterion"; "no-no statement matching criterion"; or "implied-statements taken together indicate that the criterion has been met, though a direct and sup- portive statement is not evident." We did not tally the number of yes, no, or implied statements. If, for example, a participant repeatedly expressed a need for developing new skills, we counted them together as evidence of a desire for growth (see Table 20.2). This portion of the coding was particularly frustrating. We are familiar with the teaching practices and philosophies of our colleagues and knew, for example, that they had taken "intelligent action" in past situations, but we decided that we could work only with what they actually said during the interview. Our interview questions in future research will close this empirical gap. Findings: The Faculty Needs That RP Met The themes we discerned in the interviews helped us identify three driving needs that RP was meeting. This information will help us both recruit new participants who have needs and goals consonant with what our Table 20.2. Frequency of Statements in Interviews Supplying Evidence for Reflection Criteria for Reflection Evidence of Reflection Yes No Implied Wholeheartedness 18 3 3 Growth 21 0 1 Directness 16 4 2 Open-mindedness 19 1 2 Responsibility 16 3 3 Analysis of experience 14 1 7 Intelligent action 16 1 5 Inquiry-in-community 22 0 0 Note: Total N of participants = 22. SURVIVOR ACADEME 349 program can offer and also use our resources more carefully to shape future program offerings. The Need to Connect Not surprisingly, the most important participant need met by our RP program was collegiality. In RP, members said they found safety, security, and friendship. Unlike in most educational contexts, they could admit that they were struggling with teaching without getting a "black mark" on their formal or informal record. Because the goal of RP was teaching improvement, talking about their struggles was not an admission of fail- ure but a first step toward becoming a better instructor. Faye (all names of interviewees have been changed) explained how the safety of her small group allowed her to work deeply on her teaching: "It made me real transparent in some real interesting ways. I could say, 'I did this thing, and God, did it backfire. Have you tried this? How did it work?'" Many participants also mentioned the support, the validation of knowledge and accomplishment, and the sense of being valued that the program afforded. RP participants also recounted the fun, excitement, passion, connection, and self-esteem they experienced in the program. Though Tony listed his many pedagogical changes and claimed the RP workshops "revolution- ized" his teaching, he maintained, "I really value the social stuff more." After a presentation to the large group, he reflected: "People are coming up saying 'That's fantastic,' or 'I really value that' and I think, to me, when I see someone else get up and give a speech, I think, 'Wow, that's another great person doing great stuff, and I try to convey that to them.''' The Need to Learn RP members valued continued growth and change in teaching, which is probably why they self-selected into the program. Not surprisingly, the category of "changed teaching methods" ranked almost at the top of the list, and many other categories supported the importance of "good teaching." Excitement and passion about learning drew us into our careers and kept us going to become professors, and most of us expect to stay in the field for a very long time. The fear of stagnation was a driving force in RP participation: overcoming complacency ranked sixth on the list, with twenty references. At IUP, where the teaching load is high and the range of student skills in each class is great, faculty must incorporate a variety of pedagogical techniques to engage, educate, and-some would say--entertain their students. Further, in the cultures of some disciplines, TO IMPROVE THE ACADEMY many lower-level courses lack time for exploration and tentativeness. Conflict between disciplinary and student expectations can create a peda- gogical tension that must be resolved, perhaps the initiating "surprise" in the process of reflection. In these interviews faculty make frequent references to "newness," to change, to learning. In lives that are usually defined by the pursuit of knowledge, people eagerly seek structures that support learning. Nancy, for instance, recalled that lecturing to a large class was always the norm. She had been lectured to as a student in the sciences and followed that pattern with her own students in her own large classes. When she at last experienced a small class, she was happily surprised by how her students asked questions and engaged in discussion. Shifting back to a large lec- ture section, she knew she had to change her teaching to generate student participation: "The students were much more reserved. It just didn't feel right. Reflective practice was the first formal opportunity to reflect on how I taught and what I could do differently." The Need to Leap Boundaries The cross-disciplinary nature of RP was also an important draw for many of the participants-a significant subcategory within both "collegiality" and "knowledge gained through RP." Regardless of their discipline, mem- bers wanted to know how other disciplines approached teaching prob- lems, even if what they learned was disconcerting. As Louise noted, "There's a tendency to stay where you are and communicate with the people who are in the same area you are in.... I've gotten to know people from other areas, to see ideas that are completely different, philosophies that are different." Another participant, Alice, acknowledged the challenge of moving between disciplines: "I gained an understanding of what it means to be in another discipline.... It's disturbing to go out of your zone." This reac- tion echoed Johansson and Kroksmark's observation: "Teaching actions that harmonize with our own attitude give us a sense of security, espe- cially if they coincide with the hidden attitude (towards the learner, school, knowledge, work methods, etc.) constituting the pedagogical nature of the schools. It is the other way around if the teacher is forced into teaching actions which are not his own" (2004, p. 367). The interdisciplinary contact that RP encouraged facilitated partici- pants' quest for a new perspective, another angle from which to approach a pedagogical problem. In such a safe environment, they experienced no threat. Rather, moving across disciplines led not only to new friendships SURVIVOR ACADEME among many RP members but also to new knowledge, which enhanced their sense of themselves as learners as well as teachers. The Degree of Reflection Of crucial importance to us was to determine whether RP was actually promoting reflection among members. Chism, Lees, and Evenbeck (2002) argue that, as we move from teacher-centered teaching to student-centered learning, we come to realize that we can't focus on technique but must be scholars of teaching and learning: "Instead of relying primarily on 'tips' and workshops that model effective techniques, those involved in the work of faculty development have come to operate on the principle that cultivating intentionality in teaching is at the heart of their work.... The concept of faculty development that emerges is based on community activity that depends on constant reflection to assess results and reconcep- tualize strategies" (pp. 34, 36). The combination of a high number of references to changes in peda- gogy (fifty) and a relatively low number of references to reflection about self (fifteen) might lead readers to believe that participants in RP were not particularly "reflective" by Dewey's and others' formal definitions. We might initially perceive them as merely "tinkering," as one participant put it. For some RP members, the demands of teaching, research, and service at any given time may mean all they feel they can accomplish is tinkering. These numbers, however, are part of a bigger picture. We saw in our coding that RP participants were attending workshops and meeting with colleagues because they had identified a problem con- nected to teaching, were making changes as part of a longer process of discussion and learning, and were developing teaching and reflection skills within a community of like-minded colleagues. They were not sim- ply looking for tips; they were seeking tips that supported a process of effective, long-term change. Many interviewees recounted how participation in a small group or a workshop changed their teaching fundamentally. Nancy referred to a teaching philosophy statement she had revised since her involvement in RP: "I think about what it is I really like about teaching, and I go back and read it all the time." Tony pointed out that although he changed many small things (tinkering and tips) because of RP, more importantly, "I started saying 'I have these core things I believe' and I'm trying to structure the unit so they are aimed toward these things. That has taken me quite a while ... to revamp the whole course takes a lot of thinking." 352 TO IMPROVE THE ACADEMY Making quick changes based on workshop ideas takes relatively little work; reflection and change are much more difficult. This may account for why collegiality, feedback from colleagues, and support also appeared high on the list. Assessment: A Missing Link in the Reflective Process Many RP participants pointed to specific changes, but few were able to say whether these changes were "working"-that is, improving their teaching and their students' learning. Jane declared: "If nothing else, 1 feel better about what I'm doing, and if 1 feel better about what I'm doing, then 1 have every reason to believe I'm doing it more efficiently and trying new things and doing it better. Even if my students don't believe that, 1 do." When asked how his participation in RP has had an impact on his stu- dents, Paul admitted, "I don't know how 1 tell that." He continued, "I think overall the impact has been a very positive one, because 1 think my teaching has improved." The RP program has sponsored many workshops on assessing student learning. How, then, can we make sense of these statements? Perhaps Paul and Jane were not thinking about student learning outcomes in any conventional use of the term. Attending workshops, thinking about our teaching, drafting teaching philosophy statements, tinkering with courses, and the like make us feel good about ourselves as instructors-more effective, more competent. Participation in RP is not always so much about student learning outcomes, at least not on a deep, personal level. The focus may be inward, and the participants' sense of professional self may change. This is a good place to start, but we cannot stop there. Reflective practitioners must also move outward. Feeling good inside does not necessarily equate to effective teaching. Participants did occasionally reference informal assessment. Ed indicated that after he instituted humor in the form of cartoons to begin each class, one student brought in a cartoon for him to use. Tony said he received some letters saying how much students liked a particular aspect of his teaching. Still, Ed admitted that he didn't "monitor student responses in the classroom all that much," and Tony has many other students who don't write him let- ters. Evidence of carefully structured assessment of new course elements and teaching techniques was distinctively lacking in these interviews. Culture and Community: An Area of Dispute Dewey strongly argued that changes must move beyond the insulated community of the classroom to the larger culture. Thus the low number of references to changes in the campus culture (ranked twelfth) as a SURVIVOR ACADEME 353 result of the RP program was of interest to the researchers. But our par- ticipants did not necessarily agree with Dewey about how widely the net should be cast to create a community of reflection. Anita, one of the long-time RP members in this study, pointed out that initially RP was about being dedicated to teaching and excelling at it, and the small number of faculty who joined the program formed a tightly knit group that was "hell-bent" on improving. In fact, these founders were largely senior faculty: "[We were] looking at those colleagues particularly who are called 'deadwood' and trying to put fire under them and keep fire under us so that we would not lose enthusiasm for our profession." She expressed concern over the larger number of faculty currently involved in RP and their motives-that the larger numbers make a close-knit community difficult to create, and that the newer members might just be going for promotion and could be only "paper participants." Although many program administrators would see increasing numbers as a positive sign of cultural change on campus, it is also possible that more negative aspects of the university teaching structure-the over- whelming need for tenure and the competition for promotion-might be infiltrating, warping, and undermining the structure and goals of reflective practice. Participants mentioned RP's effects on their students relatively often, but they did not necessarily understand, measure, or appreciate those effects. For example, Nancy bemoaned her students' complaining about her forcing them to take an active role in their learning. In addition, given the structure of most students' programs, these effects might have been highly localized. Faculty in midsized institutions such as IUP or larger ones may not get the opportunity to work closely with the same students over a period of years. Many students take an instructor only once, particularly in large departments; for nonmajors, that professor is likely teaching an introductory level course. So RP's impact on teach- ing and the student population at IUP is currently very difficult to assess. However, the knowledge that faculty gained by reflective practice did change a smaller community, especially in the case of the teaching circles. Jane reported that her departmental teaching circle "opened up more communication between my colleagues and myself." Hilda said that her involvement in a cross-disciplinary teaching circle made her question how her own department handles teaching "because there are other ways to think about how to teach and how students learn." The group's protec- tion from administrators' participation and the unwritten confidentiality rules fostered this open sharing. Unfortunately, they also prevented the knowledge gained from going beyond the limits of the group. 354 TO IMPROVE THE ACADEMY The Bottom Line: Is RP Creating Reflective Practitioners? The findings indicate that, even given the broad interview questions, all the participants clearly demonstrated some level of reflection on their teaching, and many clearly demonstrated it in all categories. In addition, it appears that the combination of safe structures in which faculty can explore their teaching and many opportunities to work across disciplines fosters reflection. However, in the categories of directness, responsibility, analysis of experience, and intelligent action, we saw mixed results. We recorded few mentions of assessing the impact on students of changes to teaching, so the category of "responsibility" had a fairly high number of "no" or "implied" responses. We have no reason to believe that our par- ticipants were weak on directness-that is, the ability to analyze the teaching experience from multiple perspectives-but our broad questions did not ask them to do so. In future interviews, we hope to get a clearer picture of where RP members struggle most as they become reflective practitioners and alter the program to address those struggles. Future Research and Actions The questions that drove us initially were why faculty participated and whether our RP program actually encouraged and supported their reflec- tive practice. If we further explore RP's impact on participants, we will likely select a smaller number to interview and revisit the most interesting and frustrating elements of the initial interviews. We believe that "made changes in pedagogy" entails some of the assessment that faculty did not articulate in the more general interviews we conducted. Asking targeted questions that break out various elements of teaching-for example, ask- ing about specific kinds of assessment techniques rather than a general question-would likely prompt more detailed answers regarding reflec- tion and practice. We also intend to survey some of the faculty who do not participate. What tips the balance for them, making them decide not to take up the invitation, not to go to the workshops, and not to join a small group inside their department? Many scholars observe that institu- tional structures overwhelmingly support and encourage isolation in the classroom. As Cochran-Smith and Lytle (1996) put it, "Isolation ... makes for privacy as well as loneliness, autonomy as well as separation" (p. 96). Perhaps some colleagues value their privacy and autonomy so much that the communal nature of reflective practice appears threatening to them. So they will endure loneliness and separation in order to main- tain the control they feel they exercise. Perhaps they are introverts who practice reflection on their own, skipping its communal aspects. SURVIVOR ACADEME 355 Duffy (2008) doubts this, however, arguing that "reflection should not be a lone activity if real learning is to take place" (p. 334). But Duffy's may be too dogmatic an approach to reflective practice. Only by interviewing non-RP colleagues will we begin to understand their reluctance to join the RP program. We also recognize that, if reflective practice programs want to meet participants' need to learn, workshops cannot simply be repeated. Advanced levels must be offered, or senior participants will find their needs are not being met. Structures to support cross-disciplinary peda- gogical exchange must be designed and promoted across campus. Qualitative research such as ours generates questions, narratives of "how things work" in a particular context that allow comparison and contrast. We hope that the coordinators of other reflective practice pro- grams will begin to look carefully at their members' motivations, con- cerns, and changes as we have done here. In a culture rapidly embracing a business model, we need a clear understanding of the benefits of spend- ing-and spending wisely-monies and time on reflective practice as part of a larger program of professional development. When we can create the structure that makes reflective practice the norm, hopefully faculty will not simply survive academe but will thrive. A pp en di x A . D em o g ra p h ic s of P ar ti ci p an ts in R ef le ct iv e P ra ct ic e S tu dy Y ea rs in R ef le ct iv e Y ea rs T a u g h t A ge of N a m e G en d er P ro fe ss io n al S ta tu s C o ll eg e P ra ct ic e Y ea rs a t IU P E ls ew h er e P ar ti ci p an t S he il a F F ul l p ro f. F in e A rt s 7- 10 20 + 4- 7 5 1 -5 7 C ar m el la F A ss oc . pr of . E d u ca ti o n 4 -6 6- 10 1- 3 4 4 -5 0 P au l M F ul l p ro f. H S S 7- 10 15 -2 0 7+ 5 8 -6 4 ju n e F F ul l p ro f. H H S 7- 10 20 + N o n e 5 1 -5 7 ja n e F A ss t. p ro f. N S M 7- 10 11 -1 5 N o n e 38 -4 3 S ar ah F A ss oc . p ro f. N S M 4 -6 6- 10 N o n e 38 -4 3 G lo ri a F A ss oc . p ro f. E d u ca ti o n 7- 10 6- 10 1- 3 5 1 -5 7 M ia F A ss oc . p ro f. H H S 1- 3 6- 10 4 -7 58 -6 4 P et er M A ss oc . pr of . F in e A rt s 2- 6 6- 10 N o n e 38 -4 3 R ac h ae l F F ul l p ro f. E d u ca ti o n 7- 10 6- 10 N o n e 44 -5 0 N an cy F A ss t. p ro f. N S M 1- 3 1- 5 N o n e 3 1 -3 7 E ve F A ss t. p ro f. H H S 4 -6 6- 10 7+ 44 -5 0 T on y M F ul l p ro f. H S S 7- 10 6- 10 N o n e 44 -5 0 F ay e F A ss oc . p ro f. H S S 7- 10 11 -1 5 7+ 44 -5 0 L ou is e F A ss oc . p ro f. N S M 7- 10 11 -1 5 7+ 65 + H il d a F F ul l p ro f. H H S 7- 10 11 -1 5 4- 7 51 -5 7 A li ce F A ss oc . pr of . H S S 4 -6 1- 5 4- 7 44 -5 0 H an s M A ss oc . pr of . H S S 4 -6 6- 10 N o n e 5 1 -5 7 T im M A ss oc . p ro f. H H S 7- 10 11 -1 5 7+ 5 1 -5 7 ja cq u el in e F F ul l p ro f. F in e A rt s 7- 10 11 -1 5 1- 3 58 -6 4 E d M F ul l p ro f. N S M 7- 10 15 -2 0 1- 3 44 -5 0 A ni ta F F ul l p ro f. H S S 7- 10 15 -2 0 7+ 5 1 -5 7 N o te : A ll pa rt ic ip an ts 'n am es ha ve be en ch an ge d. C ol le ge ti tl es ar e ab br ev ia te d to co ns er ve sp ac e. H um an it ie sa nd S oc ia l Sc ie nc es is H SS , H ea lt h an d H um an Se rv ic es is H H S ,a nd N ar ur al S ci en ce s an d M at he m at ic si s N S M . SURVIVOR ACADEME REFERENCES 357 Barnett, B. G., & O'Mahony, G. R. (2006). Developing a culture of reflection: Implications for school improvement. Reflective Practice, 7(4),499-525. Black, L. J., Cessna, M. A., & Woolcock, J. (2005). The reflective practice proj- ect: Faculty production beyond the numbers. In J. E. Groccia & J. E. Miller (Eds.), On becoming a productive university: Strategies for reducing costs and increasing quality (pp. 149-157). Bolton, MA: Anker. Boud, D., Keogh, R., & Walker, D. (1985a). Promoting reflection in learning: A model. In D. Boud, R. Keogh, & D. Walker (Eds.), Reflection: Turning experience into learning (pp. 18-40). New York: Nichols. Boud, D., Keogh, R., & Walker, D. (1985b). What is reflection in learning? In D. Boud, R. Keogh, & D. Walker (Eds.), Reflection: Turning experience into learning (pp. 7-17). New York: Nichols. Chism, N.V.N., Lees, N. D., & Evenbeck, S. (2002). Faculty development for teaching innovation. Liberal Education, 88(3), 34-41. Cochran-Smith, M., & Lytle, S. L. (1996). Communities for teacher research: Fringe or forefront? In M. W. McLaughlin & I. Oberman (Eds.), Teacher learning: New policies, new practices (pp. 92-112). New York: Teachers College Press. Dewey, J. (1916). Democracy and education. New York: Free Press. Duffy, A. (2008). Guided reflection: A discussion of the essential components. British Journal of Nursing, 17(5), 334-339. Fullan, M. (1993). Change forces: Probing the depths of educational reform. New York: Falmer. Johansson, T., & Kroksmark, T. (2004). Teachers' intuition-in-action: How teachers experience action. Reflective Practice, 5(3), 357-381. Korthagen, F. A. (1993). The role of reflection in teachers' professional develop- ment. In L. Kremer-Hayen, H. C. Vonk, & R. Fessler (Eds.), Teacher pro- fessional development: A multiple perspective approach (pp. 133-146). Berwyn, PA: Swets & Zeitlinger. Lieberman, A. (1996). Practices that support teacher development: Transforming conceptions of professional learning. In M. W. Mclaughlin & I. Oberman (Eds.}, Teacher learning: New policies, new practices (pp. 185-201). New York: Teachers College Press. McKinnon, A. M., & Grunau, H. (1994). Teacher development through reflec- tion, community, and discourse. In P. P. Grimmett & J. Neufeld (Eds.), Teacher development and the struggle for authenticity: Professional growth and restructuring in the context of change (pp. 165-192). New York: Teachers College Press. TO IMPROVE THE ACADEMY Mezirow, J. (1990). How critical reflection triggers transformative learning. In J. Mezirow (Ed.}, Fostering critical reflection in adulthood: A guide to transformatiue and emancipatory learning (pp. 1-20). San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Rodgers, C. (2002). Defining reflection: Another look at John Dewey and reflec- tive thinking. Teachers College Record, 104(4),842-866. Rogers, R. (2001). Reflection in higher education: A concept analysis. Innovative Higher Education, 26(1), 37-57. Schon, D. (1987). Educating the reflective practitioner. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Sparks, D., & Hirsh, S. (1997). A new vision for staff development. Oxford, OH: National Staff Development Council. Strauss, A., & Corbin, J. (1998). Basics of qualitative research: Grounded the- ory procedures and techniques. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Szabo, M. (1996). Rethinking restructuring: Building habits of effective inquiry. In M. W. McLaughlin & l. Oberman (Eds.), Teacher learning: New poli- cies, new practices (pp. 73-91). New York: Teachers College Press. Wagner, K. (2006). Benefits of reflective practice. Leadership, 36(2), 3D-32. Zeichner, K. (1996). Teachers as reflective practitioners and the democratization of school reform. In K. Zeichner, S. Melnick, & M. L. Gomez (Eds.), Currents of reform in pre-service teacher education (pp. 199-214). New York: Teachers College Press. 
work_e42bkr7ltzcu3pc4bmvzzjjuma	----	In Memoriam This listing contains names received by the membership office since the March 2009 issue. A cumulative list for the aca- demic year 2008–09 appears at the MLA Web site (www .mla .org/in_memoriam). Ola Adams, New York, New York, 11 September 2008 Hyman Lichtenstein, Hofstra University, 25 September 2008 Lawrence C. Mantini, Minneapolis, Minnesota, 3 April 2009 Donald S. Schier, Carleton College, 21 April 2009 Joseph Sherman, Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies, England, 20 March 2009 S. E. Sprott, Dalhousie University, 20 May 2009 Marion Kingston Stocking, Beloit College, 12 May 2009 Paul Osborne Williams, Hayward, California, 2 June 2009 [ P M L A 1002 [ © 2 009 by t h e moder n l a nguage a s so ci at ion of a m er ic a ] < Previous ad Next ad > 1003 THE SCHOOL OF CRITICISM & THEORY at Cornell University An international program of study with leading figures in critical theory invites you to apply for its Thirty-third Summer Session June 14-July 23, 2009 IN NEW YORK STATE’S FINGER LAKES REGION The Program In an intense six-week course of study, participants from around the world, in the disciplines of literature, history, and related social sciences, explore recent developments in literary and humanistic studies. Tuition The fee for the session is $2500. Applicants are eligible to compete for partial tuition scholar- ships and are urged to seek funding from their home institutions. Acceptance Applications from faculty members and advanced graduate students at universities worldwide will be judged beginning February 1, 2009. Admissions are made on a rolling basis, and decisions are announced as soon as possible. For further information or to apply, write: The School of Criticism and Theory Cornell University A. D. White House 27 East Avenue Ithaca, NY 14853 telephone: 607-255-9274 email: humctr-mailbox@cornell.edu fax: 607-255-1422 2009 Faculty: 6-Week Seminars Simon During Professor of English, Johns Hopkins University “Conservatism, Religion, History” Geoff Eley Karl Pohrt Distinguished University Professor of Con- temporary History, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor “Fascism, Modernity, Politics, Aesthetics” Leela Gandhi Professor of English, University of Chicago “On Anticolonial Metaphysics” Michael Steinberg Director, Cogut Center for the Humanities; Barnaby Conrad and Mary Critchfield Keeney Professor of History and Professor of Music, Brown University AND Suzanne Stewart-Steinberg Associate Professor of Italian Studies and Comparative Literature; Director of Gender and Sexuality Studies, Brown University “Voice, Representation, Ideology” Mini-Seminars Arjun Appadurai The John Dewey Distinguished Professor in the Social Sciences, The New School “The Future as a Cultural Fact” Wai Chee Dimock William Lampson Professor of English and American Studies, Yale University “Kin and Kind: Genres and Media as a World Wide Web” Brian Massumi Professor of Communication Studies, University of Montreal “The Critique of Pure Feeling” Susan Stewart Annan Professor of English, Princeton University “The Freedom of the Poet” Amanda Anderson, Director Caroline Donovan Professor of English Literature, Johns Hopkins University Lisa Patti, Assistant Director Cornell University “One of the select places in which the question ‘How to theorize now?’ is taken seriously.” Andrea Bachner Harvard University “Our classroom was a rich mosaic of heterogeneous disciplinary backgrounds and interests.” Alicia Garcia Johns Hopkins University “This summer Odyssey trans- formed not only many ideas I previously had about theory and criticism, but also the very experience of being an academic.” Katarzyna Bojarska, Graduate School for Social Research, Polish Academy of Sciences “At SCT the exposure to learning is absolutely open and continuous.” Stefanu Selenu, Brown University “A precious opportunity to study with major thinkers, and a wonderful way to reaf- firm one’s vocation to critical studies, whether you are a graduate student or junior faculty.” Brian O’Keeffe Barnard College, Columbia University “One of the most intellectually exciting, challenging and stimulating experiences in my academic life.” Anne M. François Eastern University http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1001.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1005.pdf 1005 Read book excerpts at www.cup.columbia.edu c o l u m b i a PMLA May 2009 issue due 3/24/09 The Late Age of Print Everyday Book Culture from Consumerism to Control Ted Striphas “A lucid, balanced view of how books are changing in response to a fast- evolving media environment.” —Janice Radway, author of A Feeling for Books cloth - $27.50 Our Savage Art Poetry and the Civil Tongue William Logan Though he might be called a cobra with manners, Logan is a fervent advocate for poetry, and Our Savage Art continues to raise the standard of what the critic can do. cloth - $29.50 African Film and Literature Adapting Violence to the Screen Lindiwe Dovey “Compelling, innovative, and substantiated.” —James Genova, Ohio State University paper - $32.50 / cloth - $89.50 Film and Culture Series The Fabulous Imagination On Montaigne’s Essays Lawrence D. Kritzman “One of the few books on Montaigne that fuses analytical skill with humane awareness of why Montaigne matters.” —Harold Bloom, Yale University cloth - $29.50 Epistolary Korea Letters in the Communicative Space of the Chosŏn, 1392-1910 Edited by JaHyun Kim Haboush “A revelation of the untapped riches of premodern Korean writing.” —Clark Sorenson, University of Washington paper - $27.50 / cloth - $79.50 The Islamic Context of The Thousand and One Nights Muhsin J. al-Musawi “This impressive volume argues for the central but missed importance of Islam in the understanding of The Thousand and One Nights.” —Miriam Cooke, author of Dissident Syria cloth - $45.00 Tracing the Sign of the Cross Sexuality, Mourning, and the Future of American Catholicism Marian Ronan “Deeply informed by literary and psychoanalytic theory. . . . An important book.” —Tracy Fessenden, author of Culture and Redemption cloth - $40.00 Gender, Theory, and Religion < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1003.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1007.pdf 1007 < Previous ad Next ad > 1009 A five-press book-publishing program creating new opportunities for publication in english-language literatures of central and north america and the caribbean ALI’s Five University Presses new york university press www.nyupress.org fordham university press www.fordhampress.com rutgers university press rutgerspress.rutgers.edu temple university press www.temple.edu/tempress university of virginia press www.upress.virginia.edu ALI is an innovative, entrepreneurial, cooperative effort to expand the number of books published in literary studies and to increase the audience for them by using common resources available to the five presses through a grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. The American Literatures Initiative creates new opportunities for publication in underserved areas of the humanities. Each press will continue to acquire and develop titles according to its own needs and editorial criteria, looking for high-quality first books by promising scholars. for more information please visit: www.americanliteratures.org or visit the individual press Web sites listed to the right 6 + ^ 6 + ^ 6 + ^ 6 + ^ 6 + ^ Cotton’s Queer Relations Same-Sex Intimacy and the Litera- ture of the Southern Plantation, 1936 -1968 m i c h a e l p. b i b l e r 312 pages 978-0-8139-2792-3 Paper, $22.50 978-0-8139-2791-6 Cloth, $55.00 university of virginia press The Power of Negative Thinking Cynicism and the History of Modern American Literature b e n j a m i n s c h r e i e r 240 pages 978-0-8139-2812-8 Cloth, $39.50 university of virginia press new from ALI An Ethics of Betrayal The Politics of Otherness in Emergent U. S. Literatures and Culture c r y s t a l p a r i k h 256 pages 978-0-8232-3043-3 Paper, $24.00 978-0-8232-3042-6 Cloth, $65.00 fordham university press Neither Fugitive nor Free Atlantic Slavery, Freedom Suits, and the Legal Culture of Travel e d l i e l. w o n g 368 pages, 15 illustrations 978-0-8147-9456-2 Paper, $24.00 978-0-8147-9455-5 Cloth, $75.00 new york university press < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1007.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1011.pdf 1011 A Russian English Dictionary of Colloquial Expressions Writing for Academic Purposes: Languages and Parliaments Stanislav Silinsky, Maria Rosa Alonso Alonso, Heiko F. Marten, St. Petersburg State University Universidad de Vigo FU Berlin/Reseknes Augstskola This book, the first of its kind, is a valuable source of various everyday phrases and collocations that denote realities of life in contemporary Russia, concepts, notions and phenomena with which people come across in their day-by-day situations. There are over six thousand entries in the Dictionary. Its objective is to provide the user with Russian everyday expressions, popular colloquialisms and their equivalents or near-equivalents in contemporary American English. In cases where cultural differences do not allow to find equivalents in two languages, the author suggests descriptive or explanatory variants. Translations and examples of their use in American English are obtained from present-day American media, the Internet, movie scripts, interviews, contemporary literature and other sources. The given examples help illustrate the context, correct use and its nuances of a given phrase. The target group of the dictionary includes translators, interpreters, journalists, students of Russian and English, and those who pursue intercultural studies. The dictionary includes recently coined expressions and popular collocations which are by no means “fossilized” and hard to be found elsewhere in orthodox dictionaries. Knowing them makes the speech idiomatic, natural and vivid. They expand the user's ability to communicate effectively in a variety of every day encounters. For professionals, the dictionary is indispensable in terms of accurate translation; for students of both Russian and English it is a source of up-to-date vocabulary. ISBN 978 3 929075 80 9 (Hardbound). . 300pp. USD 118.00. 2009. This book has been written to fill in a gap in the literature: an exercise book for academic purposes. Students of English as a Second Language, researchers and teachers often have problems to write in an academic context. For five years, the author has been collecting data from the written production of students, researchers and teachers who studied English as a Second Language in academic contexts.The most frequent errors, common to all of them, were analysed. The data collected have been the source to create this book. It contains theoretical explanations and practical exercises covering the following topics: spelling and punctuation, pronoun agreement, verbal agreement, sequence of tenses, dangling modifiers, infinitives and ing form, hedging and frequently misused words. All the activities are based on real examples produced by students in different fields when writing in English for academic purposes. The material has been tested in the classroom to check it applicability. The author offered the University of Vigo a training course in academic writing in the scientific-technological field for students, researchers and teachers. As the course was a success, five more courses were done. For two years, the author tested the material, added issues that the students demanded and included several appendices. ISBN 978 3 89586 439 1. . 110pp. USD 61.00. 2009. The central question of Marten's volume is how languages and parliaments interact, and what role a parliamentary institution can play within language policy. This question is addressed in particular in the context of minority languages and language revitalisation processes. Based on in-depth research of parliamentary documents and interviews with policy makers, scholars, and language activists from Scotland and Norway, the study investigates how the establishment of the decentralised Scottish Parliament�and�the�parliamentary�assembly�for�the�Sámi�population�in�Norway,�the�Sameting,�have�generated�increased�efforts�of language maintenance of the Gaelic and Sámi languages respectively. For this purpose, Marten on the one hand contrasts the situations before and after the establishment of these two parliaments in 1999 and 1989 respectively, and on the other hand compares the developments in the two countries in the light of the different political structures in Scotland and Norway. The study illustrates how negotiations take place between supportive and reluctant policy�makers�in�the�two�parliamentary�contexts�and�shows�how�they�have�eventually�resulted�in�a�higher�level�of�empowerment�of the two speech communities. As a result, the volume therefore shows that a decentralisation of parliaments can indeed lead to increased language maintenance efforts, albeit within certain limits. Parliamentary decentralisation is thus identified to be one piece within the large puzzle of minority language policy. As such, it is related to the theoretical literature on minority languages by suggesting an additional component in the evaluation of minority language situations. ISBN 978 3 89586 298 4. . 360pp. USD 101.00 2009. LINCOM Scientific Dictionaries 03 LINCOM Academic Reference Books 02 Languages of the World 37 A Handbook for Learners of English as a Second Language LINCOM EUROPA academic publications webshop: www.lincom-europa.com LINCOM GmbH Gmunder Str. 35, D-81379 Muenchen FAX +49 89 6226 9404 LINCOM.EUROPA@t-online.deLE < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1009.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1012.pdf 1012 www.cambridge.org/us NEW AND NOTEWORTHY The Cambridge Companion to American Travel Writing Edited by Alfred Bendixen and Judith Hamera Cambridge Companions to Literature $90.00: Hb: 978-0-521-86109-0: 314 pp. $29.99: Pb: 978-0-521-67831-5 The American 1930s A Literary History Peter Conn $90.00: Hb: 978-0-521-51640-2: 280 pp. $29.99: Pb: 978-0-521-73431-8 Ben Jonson and the Politics of Genre Edited by A. D. Cousins and Alison V. 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Webber $99.00: Hb: 978-0-521-89572-9: 336 pp. Prices subject to change. < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1012.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1014.pdf 1014 Ready for your next position in higher education? HigherEdJobs.com lists over 12,000 faculty, administrative, and executive positions. On average, over 265 jobs are added every weekday. Visit us today to see what's open in your area of higher ed. While you're there, sign up to receive job postings via email or save your CV/resume to our Resume Database, all for free. Find your next job today at www.HigherEdJobs.com. Employers, post a job for $155. Unlimited postings for $1,995. The Alexander von Humboldt Foundation enables highly-qualified scientists and scholars of all nationalities and fields to conduct extended periods of research in Germany in cooperation with academic hosts at German institutions. 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Humboldt Research Fellowship for Postdoctoral Researchers For scientists and scholars who have completed a doctoral degree within the past four years.  Allows for a stay of 6-24 months in Germany  Monthly stipend of 2,250 EUR Humboldt Research Fellowship for Experienced Researchers For scientists and scholars who have completed a doctoral degree within the past twelve years.  Allows for a stay of 6-18 months in Germany; applications may be submitted at any time  Fellowships may be divided into a maximum of three visits lasting three months or longer  Monthly stipend of 2,450 EUR In addition to the monthly stipend, additional allowances are available for accompanying family members, travel expenses, and German language instruction. Applications and information are available at: www.humboldt-foundation.de — Email: info@avh.de < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1013.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1015.pdf 1015 NEW from KNoPf Gabriel García Márquez A Life By Gerald Martin “Gabriel García Márquez’s life story is just as magical as anything in his fiction. . . . It is both a fine tribute to a remarkable artist and a fascinating cultural history of the region he helped to find its voice.” —Alice O’Keeffe, New Statesman “Masterful. . . . Martin’s book, the product of 17 years of research, is an astonishing feat: a subtle tribute to a very complex man and an indispens- able key to his life’s work.” —Ed King, Sunday Telegraph Knopf | Cloth | 672 pages | $37.50 c. P. cavafy: collected PoeMs translated By daniel Mendelsohn “With deep feeling, exacting care, and extraordinary intel- ligence, Daniel Mendelsohn has given us a stunning new version of the Collected Poems of Constantine Cavafy, a great poet whose work is lit by bright starry sparks of the eternal. We will be mining this thrilling book for years to come.” —Edward Hirsch Knopf | Cloth | 624 pages | $35.00 darwin A Life in Poems By ruth Padel “Ruth Padel’s control of cadence and poetic diction is daring and exciting; her rhythm brilliant and subtle. . . . Her handling of details and quotations from Darwin’s life, letters and books is a lesson to biographers and poets alike.” —Colm Tóibín, author of The Master “Ruth Padel’s remarkable memoir of her great- great-great-grandfather is a sequence of exquisite, precise and moving poems.” —Claire Tomalin, author of Thomas Hardy Knopf | Cloth | 160 pages | $26.00 c. P. cavafy: the unfinished PoeMs translated By daniel Mendelsohn “Daniel Mendelsohn’s superb new renderings are not only formally acute but aglow with a light that could only be Cavafy’s. . . . And with The Unfinished Poems artfully brought into English for the first time, we have more of this magisterial poet—one of the towering figures of his time, and of ours—than ever before.” —Mark Doty, National Book Award-winning author of Fire to Fire Knopf | Cloth | 144 pages | $30.00 For desk and examination copies: Knopf Academic Marketing, 1745 Broadway, 20th Floor, New York, NY 10019 www.randomhouse.com/academic • acmart@randomhouse.com Alfred A. Knopf • VintAge • Anchor BooKs • pAntheon • schocKen • douBledAy < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1014.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1016.pdf 1016 SOMETHING UNDERSTOOD Essays and Poetry for Helen Vendler Edited by Stephen Burt and Nick Halpern Helen Vendler may be America’s most revered poetry critic. With Something Understood, some of the most important poets, critics, and scholars in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Ireland pay tribute to five decades of Vendler’s work. Included here are new poems, writ- ten especially for this volume, from such luminaries as Nobel laureate Seamus Heaney, former U.S. poet laureate Rita Dove, and Pulitzer Prize winner Charles Wright. $59.50 cloth, $22.50 paper WRITTEN ON THE WATER British Romanticism and the Maritime Empire of Culture Samuel Baker “Water, water is everywhere in Romantic literature, but most treat- ments of the poetry of the period have not adequately registered this fact. By situating Romanticism within the historical context of an emergent British maritime empire, Baker provides a new way of thinking about literature. Written on the Water is a wonderful book, as expansive in its attempt to reinterpret Romantic poetry as the nautical horizons it examines.” —Alan Bewell, University of Toronto, author of Romanticism and Colonial Disease $49.50 cloth TRANSATLANTIC SOLIDARITIES Irish Nationalism and Caribbean Poetics Michael G. Malouf “A path-breaking comparative study. Malouf is an excellent reader of poetry and a fine literary critic. Transatlantic Solidarities is the sort of book that stimulates further research as well as mapping and exploring its own terrain, and I believe that it will be much dis- cussed in future years in both Irish and African American/Caribbean studies circles.”—David Lloyd, University of Southern California, author of Irish Times: Essays on the History and Temporality of Irish Modernity New World Studies $55.00 cloth, $22.50 paper Winner of the Walker Cowen Memorial Prize for an outstanding work of scholarship in eighteenth- century studies OUR COQUETTES Capacious Desire in the Eighteenth Century Theresa Braunschneider “Braunschneider makes an important contribution to our understanding of eighteenth-century English (and Anglo- American) thought and culture in her study of coquetry as a way of negotiat- ing the meanings of modernity, particu- larly as she ties coquetry to ideologies of consumerism and gender. Her historical treatment of the word and concept of coquetry is extremely valuable. Our Coquettes is well-written and engaging.”—Dickson Bruce, University of California, Irvine $39.50 cloth THE DYNAMICS OF GENRE Journalism and the Practice of Literature in Mid-Victorian Britain Dallas Liddle “Liddle’s clear, easy-to-read, and notably original study makes a major contribution to the study of Victorian period- icals. In chapters that deftly illustrate their point through close readings, Liddle demonstrates that attending to the genres of periodical writ- ing illuminates their protocols and achievements and enables scholars to overcome the limitations of sociological generalizations about the cultural effects of journalism. Liddle sets periodical scholarship on a new course and persua- sively forecasts the riches to be gained.” —Robert L. Patten, Rice University, author of George Cruikshank’s Life, Times, and Art Victorian Literature and Culture Series $39.50 cloth TEXT AS PROCESS Creative Composition in Wordsworth, Tennyson, and Dickinson Sally Bushell “This is a major practical and theoretical study of how poems are writ- ten. Its focus is the heart of the creative process, with detailed descrip- tions of real writers in real situations of writing with real pens, ink, and paper— and then real editors, printers, publishers, purchasers, readers, reviewers, and so on in the further processes of the production of literary works.” —Jack Stillinger, Center for Advanced Study Professor of English, Emeritus, at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign $55.00 cloth University of Virginia Press 800-831-3406 / www.upress.virginia.edu < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1015.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1017.pdf 1017 The Library of America www.loa.org Classic Writers. Classic Books. Distributed by Penguin Group (USA), Inc. New Library of America Paperback Classics Jack London The Call of the Wild Introduced by E. L. 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Du Bois The Souls of Black Folk Introduced by John Edgar Wideman 256 pp. / $10.95 978-1-59853-054-4 Available January 2010 Henry Adams: The Education of Henry Adams Introduced by Leon Wieseltier 524 pp. / $13.95 / 978-1-59853-060-5 Stephen Crane: The Red Badge of Courage Introduced by Robert Stone 168 pp. / $9.95 / 978-1-59853-061-2 William James: The Varieties of Religious Experience Introduced by Jaroslav Pelikan 535 pp. / $13.95 / 978-1-59853-062-9 Henry David Thoreau: Walden Introduced by Edward Hoagland 320 pp. / $11.95 / 978-1-59853-063-6 < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1016.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1018.pdf 1018 NYU Press | New Initiatives Neither FUgitive Nor Free Atlantic Slavery, Freedom Suits, and the Legal Culture of Travel Edlie L. Wong “Wong’s transatlantic focus on the travel of enslaved persons, as fugitives or nominally free, goes far beyond well known slave narratives and gets to the heart of the contradictions of slavery in a liberal republic.” —Amy KAplAN, author of The Anarchy of Empire in the Making of U.S. Culture $24.00 paper p America and the Long 19th Century Series Also part of the AmeriCAn LiterAtureS initiAtive satire tv Politics and Comedy in the Post-Network Era Edited by Jonathan Gray, Jeffrey P. Jones, and Ethan Thompson “In this field-shaping book, some of the brightest talents in TV studies show us how the marginal has become the model for a much-needed media make-over. See what happens when entertainment bares its teeth.” —JohN hArTley, author of Television Truths $22.00 paper the UglY laws Disability in Public Susan M. Schweik “Schweik delivers a compelling and insightful examina- tion of disability norms, municipal law, and American culture…. 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Taubenfeld “much more than a fascinating account of the little- known relationship between an American president and the immigrant authors whose work he promoted in the service of a new national narrative.” —lAurA BroWDer, author of Slippery Characters $22.00 paper p nation of newcomers Series Champion of Great Ideas since 1916NYU Press www.NYUPress.org the ClaY saNskrit librarY Sheldon Pollock, General Editor “This project will put in place a new canon of classical sanskrit works to be integrated into the honors lists of ‘great books’ and thus taught in university courses, stumbled upon in good bookshops, and devoured by bold and curi- ous readers in far-flung places with decent libraries.” —The NeW repuBlIc 45 volumes available p each volume: $22.00 cloth p 4.5” x 6.5” p Co-published with the JJC Foundation p For more information visit: www.claysanskritlibrary.org < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1017.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1019.pdf 1019 New York University in Paris M.A. Programs in French Literature, French Language and Civilization, and Teaching French as a Foreign Language New York University in Madrid A One-Year M.A. Program in Spanish and Latin American Languages and Literatures with a Concentration in either Spanish and Latin American Literatures and Cultures or Spanish Language and Translation Drawing on the resources of NYU, the city of Madrid, and professors from both Spanish universities and the NYU Department of Spanish and Portuguese in New York, we offer an M.A. program that is both intellectually stimulating and academically rigorous. M.A. candidates study at NYU in Madrid’s center in El Viso, a residential area of Madrid very close to the center of the city, as well as at the historic Instituto Internacional. Day and weekend study-visits, guest lecturers, and a Graduate Research Symposium in April complete the academic program. On approval, students may also take courses at the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. C O U R S E O F F E R I N G S The yearlong course, A Cultural History of Spain and Latin America, is taught by faculty from leading Spanish universities and from the NYU Department of Spanish and Portuguese in New York. Electives in the Literatures and Cultures Concentration range from Cervantes, Critical and Theoretical Approaches to Literature and Culture, to courses on 20th-century Spanish and Latin American literatures. Offerings for the Language and Translation Concentration include The Theory and Practice of Translation, Problems in Spanish Syntax for Bilingual Communication, and The Teaching of Spanish as a Foreign Language. All courses are taught in Spanish. NYU in Madrid also offers an undergraduate program for the academic year, fall, spring, or summer. Courses are taught in Spanish and English. Drawing on the resources of NYU and the city of Paris, our M.A. programs are small, personalized, and of a very high degree of quality. All graduate courses are conducted in French. M.A. candidates study at the NYU in Paris Center, located in two charming town houses in quiet garden settings in the 16th arrondissement, and in the Paris Universities. C O U R S E O F F E R I N G S I N C L U D E • History of French Colonialism • French Classical Tragedy • Autobiography and Autofiction • The Age of Enlightenment • Civilization of Contemporary France • Textual Analysis • Applied Methodology to Teaching French as a Foreign Language • Applied Phonetics and Spoken Contemporary French • Women Writers in French Literature • Contemporary French Theatre • French Cultural History Since 1870 NYU in Paris – Department of French Faculty of Arts and Science, New York University Telephone: 212-998-7625; Fax: 212-995-4667; E-mail: nyuparis@nyu.edu www.nyu.edu/fas/program/nyuinparis/ma NYU in Madrid– Department of Spanish and Portuguese Faculty of Arts and Science, New York University Telephone: 212-998-7576; Fax: 212-995-4149; E-mail: nyu-in-madrid@nyu.edu www.spanish.as.nyu.edu/page/nyumadrid Job: 0809_A063_GSAS_PMLA_A Publication: PMLA Size: 6" x 8.75" Color(s): B/W Material Type: PDF Line Screen: NA Delivery: aschneider@mla.org Issue Date: 10.1.08 Closing Date: 7.17.08 Proof: final Date: 7.18.08 Designer: gd New York University is an affirmative action/equal opportunity institution. < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1018.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1020.pdf 1020 Narrative of the Life of frederick dougLass An American Slave, Written by Himself Frederick dougl a ss • Introduction by Robert B. Stepto the commoN Law oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr . • Introduction by G. Edward White the red Badge of courage stepHen cr ane • Edited and with an Introduction by Paul Sorrentino uNcLe tom’s caBiN Or, Life Among the Lowly Harriet B eecHer stoWe • Introduction by David Bromwich the JoHn Harvard liBrarY the John Harvard library, founded in 1959, publishes essential american writings, including novels, poetry, memoirs, criticism, and works of social and political history, representing all periods, from the beginning of settlement in america to the twenty-first century. the purpose of the John Harvard library is to make these works available to scholars and general readers in affordable, authoritative editions. to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the series, new and reissued volumes are being published in a uniform paperback edition. harvard university press visit the John Harvard library microsite: www.hup.harvard.edu/John_harvard_Library < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1019.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1021.pdf 1021 Distributor of Berg Publishers, I.B.Tauris, Manchester University Press, Pluto Press, and Zed Books ( 8 8 8 ) 3 3 0 - 8 4 7 7 • F a x : ( 8 0 0 ) 6 7 2 - 2 0 5 4 • w w w . p a l g r a v e - u s a . c o m New from Palgrave Macmillan Beginning Theory An Introduction to Literary and Cultural Theory, Third Edition Peter Barry Beginnings 2009 / 352 pp. / $19.95 pb. / 0-7190-7927-6 Manchester University Press Black BriTish WriTing Edited by R. 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Sederholm 2009 / 208 pp. / $74.95 hc. / 0-230-61526-0 language and The reneWal oF socieTy in WalT WhiTman, laura (riding) Jackson, and charles olson The American Cratylus Carla Billitteri Modern and Contemporary Poetry and Poetics 2009 / 256 pp. / $74.95 hc. / 0-230-60836-1 enTremundos/ amongWorlds New Perspectives on Gloria Anzaldúa AnaLouise Keating 2008 / 298 pp. / $28.95 pb. / 0-230-60593-1 The Body and The arTs Edited by Corinne Saunders, Ulrika Maude and Jane Macnaughton 2009 / 304 pp. / $85.00 hc. 0-230-55204-8 charloTTe BronTË — Jane eyre Sara Lodge Readers’ Guides to Essential Criticism 2009 / 192 pp. / $75.00 hc. / 0-230-51815-X The The Victorian New World OrderThe Victorian New World Order Paul Young Palgrave Studies in 19th-Century Writing & Culture 2009 / 256 pp. / $75.00 hc. / 0-230-52075-8 Julius David Carnegie 2009 / 176 pp. / $16.95 pb. / 1-4039-4891-7 $60.00 hc. / 1-4039-4890-9 Continuum Reader’s Guides are clear, concise and accessible introductions to key texts in literature and philosophy. Each book explores the themes, context, criticism and infl uence of key works, providing a practical introduction to close reading, guiding students towards a thorough understanding of the text. They provide an essential, up-to-date resource, ideal for undergraduate students. Available from all good bookstores, or direct from Continuum 1.800.561.7704 • www.continuumbooks.com Aristotle’s ‘Nicomachean Ethics’ Christopher Warne PB 9780826485557 $19.95 176pp 2006 Plato’s Republic Luke Purshouse PB 9780826474674 $19.95 176pp 2006 Hume’s ‘Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion’ Andrew Pyle PB 9780826475688 $19.95 176pp 2006 Hume’s ‘Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding’ Alan Bailey PB 9780826485090 $19.95 176pp 2006 Wittgenstein’s ‘Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus’ Roger M. White PB 9780826486189 $19.95 176pp 2006 Heidegger’s ‘Being and Time’ William Blattner PB 9780826486097 $19.95 208pp 2007 Hobbes’s ‘Leviathan’ Laurie M. 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Swanson PB 9780826484994 $24.95 176pp July 2009 Badiou’s ‘Being and Event’ Christopher Norris PB 9780826498298 $24.95 352pp July 2009 Woolf’s To The Lighthouse Janet Winston PB 9780826495839 $19.95 128pp Aug. 2009 Currently available and coming soon… Continuum Reader’s Guides Series < Previous ad Next ad > 1022 The Scary Mason-Dixon Line African American Writers and the South TruDier HarriS Southern Literary Studies | Fred Hobson, Series Editor $37.50 Literary Modernism and Beyond The Extended Vision and the Realms of the Text ricHarD LeHan $39.95 c. M. Haile’s “Pardon Jones” Letters Old Southwest Humor from Antebellum Louisiana edited by eD PiacenTino Southern Literary Studies | Fred Hobson, Series Editor $37.50 Becoming cajun, Becoming american The Acadian in American Literature from Longfellow to James Lee Burke Maria HeBerT-LeiTer Southern Literary Studies | Fred Hobson, Series Editor $32.50 The Prose elegy An Exploration of Modern American and British Fiction JoHn B. Vickery $32.00 Available in bookstores and online at www.lsu.edu/lsupress L S u P r e S S The Acadian in American Literature from Longfellow to James Lee BurkeThe Acadian in American Literature from Longfellow to James Lee BurkeThe Acadian in American Literature from Longfellow to James Lee Burke Matthew Wendeln, the 2009 Walter J. Jensen Fellow, is a doctoral student in the interdisciplinary program in history and French studies at New York University. With a stipend this year of $13,900, the fellowship will help him to spend a research year in Paris. Established by a bequest to the Society from Walter J. Jensen (FBK, UCLA, 1941), the award is for an American educator and scholar in French language and literature who will study in France. The award seeks to improve education in standard French language, literature, and culture. Candidates must be U.S. citizens under the age of 40 whose careers will involve active use of the French language. Applications for the 2010 fellowship are due October 1, 2009. Apply online at www.pbk.org under “Fellowships.” For more information, write to awards@pbk.org. WWW.PBK.ORG The 2009 Walter J. Jensen Fellow in French Studies T h e P h i B e t a K a p p a S o c i e t y Matthew Wendeln � Jensen 2009 Ad (PMLA):Layout 1 3/5/2009 1:12 PM Page 1< Previous ad Next ad > 1023 Under Conrad’s Eyes The Novel as Criticism Michael John DiSanto 978-0-7735-3510-7 $85.00 cloth “DiSanto has a great enthusiasm for Conrad and for ideas. This is a compelling and original work that makes a significant contri- bution to Conrad studies and to intellectual and literary history of the nineteenth century.” Pericles Lewis, Yale University Elizabeth Bishop’s Poetics of Description Zachariah Pickard 978-0-7735-3505-3 $75.00 cloth “One of the strongest, clearest, most carefully argued, and most convincing books about any modern poet in quite a while. Anyone interested in Bishop should see Pickard’s book; anyone interested in what interested her – in how the natural sciences enter literary writing, for example – will find plenty to learn here.” Stephen Burt, Harvard University We Are What We Mourn The Contemporary English-Canadian Elegy Priscila Uppal 978-0-7735-3456-8 $80.00 cloth “Brings provocative critical shape to an important body of work.” Leslie Monkman, professor emeritus, English, Queen’s University M c G I L L - Q U E E N ’ S U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S w w w . m q u p . c a Giorgio Agamben A Critical Introduction LELAND DE LA DURANTAYE “Leland de la Durantaye has not only offered an illuminating and provocative account of Agamben's most important work, he has also made this philosophi- cal corpus appealing and accessible to a very broad audience.” —John Hamilton, New York University $24.95 paper $65.00 cloth Telling Images Chaucer and the Imagery of Narrative II V.A. KOLVE “V. A. Kolve has been one of those scholars whose work has shifted the center of gravity of medieval literary study. These wide-ranging essays in Telling Images expand further his excit- ing investigations of the subtle com- merce of word and image.” —John Fleming, Professor Emeritus, Princeton University $65.00 cloth Enthusiasm The Kantian Critique of History JEAN-FRANÇOIS LYOTARD Translated by GEORGES VAN DEN ABBEELE Enthusiasm is Lyotard's most elaborate and provocative statement on the politics of the sublime. Cultural Memory in the Present $18.95 paper $50.00 cloth The Affective Life of Law Legal Modernism and the Literary Imagination R AV I T R E I C H M A N “The Affective Life of Law is a brilliant contribution to our understanding of how the legal and literary imaginations respond to the breakdown of old values and help to articulate new ones.” —Anthony Kronman, Yale Law School The Cultural Lives of Law June 2009 $50.00 cloth “What Is an Apparatus?” and Other Essays GIORGIO AGAMBEN Translated by DAVID KISHIK and STEFAN PEDATELLA The three essays collected in this book offer a suc- cinct introduction to Agamben's recent work through an investigation of Foucault's notion of apparatus, a meditation on the intimate link of philosophy to friend- ship, and a reflection on the singular relation with one's own time that we call contemporariness. Meridian: Crossing Aesthetics $15.95 paper $50.00 cloth U n i v e r s i t y P r e s s 8 0 0 . 6 2 1 . 2 7 3 6 w w w . s u p . o r g Stanford N e w f r o m S t a n f o r d U n i v e r s i t y P r e s s < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1022.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1024.pdf 1024 � henry weinfield The Music of Thought in the Poetry of George Oppen and William Bronk “Poets George Oppen and William Bronk were both highly suspicious of dis- cursive thinking: ‘Ideas are always wrong,’ Bronk famously declared. In this original and finely argued study, Henry Weinfield explores their search for an alternative ‘music of thought’ and in doing so persuasively demonstrates the continuing necessity of poetry in a prosaic age.”—peter nicholls, author, George Oppen and the Fate of Modernism 252 pages . $37.50 hardcover david dowling Capital Letters Authorship in the Antebellum Literary Market “Capital Letters not only adds to our historical knowledge of antebellum publishing but also deepens our appre- ciation of the cultural dia- logues maintained by some of the nineteenth century’s most significant writers.” —david haven blake, author, Walt Whitman and the Culture of American Celebrity 230 pages . 4 photos . 3 charts . 1 table $39.95 hardcover I OWA where great writing begins University of Iowa Press . www.uiowapress.org . order toll-free 800.621.2736 Read more about these books online. 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Aldama, and Patrick Colm Hogan, Editors 90 b&w illustrations • $24.95 paperback • $60.00 cloth D i v i D i n g t h e i s t h m u s Cent ral A merican Transnational Histories, Literatures, and Cultures By Ana Patricia Rodríguez Ana Patricia Rodríguez offers a comprehensive, comparative, and meticulously researched book covering more than one hundred years, between 1899 and 2007, of modern cultural and literary production and modern empire-building in Central America. Monumental in scope and relentlessly impassioned, this work offers new critical readings of Central American narratives and contributes to the growing field of Central American studies. 4 b&w photos • $55.00 cloth UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS PRESS 800.252.3206 • www.utexaspress.com < Previous ad Next ad > 1025 In this uniquely provocative collection, award-winning Spanish poet Jesús Aguado adopts the voice of Vikram Babu, a seventeenth-century Indian mystic and basket-weaver who guides the reader on an irreverent and enjoyable truth-seeking mission. Each of these fifty fable-like poems ends with Vikram Babu posing a question for his audience, inviting us to take part in the work and let our own responses transform the meaning of the poem. Through the wry observations of his invented persona, Aguado gently unmasks human frailty and hypocrisy, revealing a world of twisted contradictions. 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It’s the power of the oral tradition, made into a breathtaking text. – Marie Ponsot From Plato to Lumière Narration and Monstration in Literature and Cinema By André Gaudreault; Translated by Timothy Barnard From Plato To Lumière enhances our understanding of how narrative develops visually without language – monstration – by detailing how the evolution of the medium influenced narratives in cinema. 9780802095862 / $27.95 Playing a Part in History The York Mysteries, 1951–2006 By Margaret Rogerson A fascinating comparison of medieval and modern English drama and the ways in which theatre allows people to interact with the past. 9780802099242 / $65.00 Bernard Shaw and His Publishers Edited by Michel W. Pharand This rich selection of Shaw’s correspondence with his publishers sheds new light on his working habits, as well as on the history of early-twentieth-century publishing. 9780802089618 / $65.00 Strange Truths in Undiscovered Lands Shelley’s Poetic Development and Romantic Geography By Nahoko Miyamoto Alvey Strange Truths in Undiscovered Lands offers a unique perspective on Shelley’s poetical works, Romantic Orientalism, and how the poet imagined the relationship between the Self and the Other. 9780802039569 / $55.00 Spheres of Action Speech and Performance in Romantic Culture Edited by Alexander Dick and Angela Esterhammer This unique collection examines intersections between language and performance as a way of understanding Romantic literature and culture. 9780802098030 / $65.00 University Of tOrOntO Press available in better bookstores or visit www.utppublishing.com < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1024.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1026.pdf 1026 Lucky Hans and Other Merz Fairy Tales Kurt Schwitters Translated and introduced by Jack Zipes. Illustrated by Irvine Peacock “In these absurdist parables, Schwitters’s savage clowning empties the fairy tale of its easy consolations. He revisits the traditions in the melancholic, mordant voice of irony and satire, and, as with other fabulists—Voltaire, Swift, Kafka, Čapek—his stories still speak to us now as freshly as when they were written, and entertain us richly.” —Marina Warner, author of Phantasmagoria Oddly Modern Fairy Tales Jack Zipes, Series Editor Cloth $22.95 978-0-691-13967-8 The Posthuman Dada Guide Tzara and Lenin Play Chess Andrei Codrescu “This highly original, beautifully written, and charming book is vintage Andrei Codrescu. No one else has written anything remotely like it. One is carried along by the author’s sheer energy and drive, his good humor, his ability to laugh at himself, and his own truly Dada personality. The Posthuman Dada Guide will introduce Dada thinking to a whole new readership.” —Marjorie Perloff, author of The Vienna Paradox The Public Square Ruth O’Brien, Series Editor Paper with French folds $16.95 978-0-691-13778-0 Love Lessons Selected Poems of Alda Merini Translated by Susan Stewart “Alda Merini is one of the most powerful contemporary female poets writing in Italian. In poems marked by a visionary clarity and lyricism, she sings of the anger and pain of both erotic love and insanity. Susan Stewart’s translation is breathtaking. She has accomplished the impossible: a faithful, almost line-by-line translation that is deeply and authentically poetic. The poems speak in their own tongue.” —Margaret Brose, University of California, Santa Cruz Facing Pages Nicholas Jenkins, Series Editor Cloth $19.95 978-0-691-12938-9 Shakespeare and Elizabeth The Meeting of Two Myths Helen Hackett “Helen Hackett’s thorough and highly readable survey demonstrates compellingly how Elizabeth and Shakespeare have for centuries led linked lives in the popular imagination. Drawing on a rich vein of materials, Hackett expertly tells the unlikely story of this double myth in a way that will intrigue readers both in the academy and far beyond.” —Alan Stewart, author of Shakespeare’s Letters Cloth $35.00 978-0-691-12806-1 800.777.4726 press.princeton.edu < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1025.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1027.pdf 1027 Remembering Scottsboro The Legacy of an Infamous Trial James A. Miller “With vigor, thoroughness, and creativity, Miller traces the treatment of Scottsboro in a variety of media—journalism, poetry, fiction, drama, and film. He demonstrates how each medium and moment constructed its own ‘Scottsboro’ and developed its own lexicon for a case that commanded the public’s attention for roughly half a century.” —Deborah McDowell, author of Leaving Pipe Shop: Memories of Kin Paper $27.95 978-0-691-14047-6 Cloth $55.00 978-0-691-09080-1 June The Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki An Epic of Ancient India, Volume VI: Yuddhakāṇda Translated and annotated by Robert P. Goldman, Sally J. Sutherland Goldman & Barend A. van Nooten With an introduction by Robert P. Goldman & Sally J. Sutherland Goldman The sixth book of the Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki, the Yuddhakāṇda, recounts the final dramatic war between the forces of good led by the exiled prince Rāma, and the forces of evil commanded by the arch demon Rāvaṇa. The Yuddhakāṇda contains some of the most extraordinary events and larger-than-life characters to be found anywhere in world literature. Princeton Library of Asian Translations Cloth $150.00 978-0-691-06663-9 June A Reader’s Guide to Wallace Stevens Eleanor Cook “In contrast to guides that provide long, involved commentaries, Cook’s incisiveness and brevity are impressive—she sheds light without forcing her interpretation.” —Nancy R. Ives, libraryjournal.com “This is a much-needed book. . . . [Cook’s] comments and glosses are by turns incisive, erudite, and witty, and often shed more light on the poems than much more drawn- out and elaborate commentaries.” —Roger Gilbert, Cornell University New in Paper $24.95 978-0-691-14108-4 Cultural Capitals Early Modern London and Paris Karen Newman “Newman’s handsomely produced volume is a true work of cultural history: wide- ranging and purposefully interdisciplinary. . . . In bringing early modern London and Paris together so productively, she has, as she intended, made those scholars familiar with one or the other, or even both, reconsider what they thought they knew.” —Tracey Hill, Renaissance Quarterly New in Paper $24.95 978-0-691-14110-7 800.777.4726 press.princeton.edu < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1026.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1028.pdf 1028 “Reading Scriptures, Reading America: Interruptions, Orientation, and Mimicry among U.S. Communities of Color” October 15-17, 2009 Institute for Signifying Scriptures Claremont Graduate University Claremont, CA For further information contact: Vincent L. Wimbush, Convener iss@cgu.edu Ph: (909) 607-9676 www.signifyingscriptures.org Keynote address by award-winning journalist, Richard Rodriguez ON THE ORIGIN OF STORIES Evolution, Cognition, and Fiction B RIAN BOYD “Fascinating…Elaborate hypotheses like this one are themselves a kind of story, and Boyd tells his on a grand scale…It is expert, though highly idiosyncratic, literary criticism.” —George Scialabba, Boston Globe Belknap Press / new in cloth LAW AND LITERATURE Third Edition RICHARD A . POSNER Hailed in its fi rst edition as an “outstanding work, as stimulating as it is intellectually distinguished” (New York Times), Law and Literature has handily lived up to the Washington Post’s prediction that the book would “remain essential reading for many years to come.” new in paperback RACE AND ERUDITION MAURICE OLENDER TR ANSLATED BY JANE MARIE TODD Olender elegantly teases out the cultural history of the word “race,” a history that explains its diverse political uses and its continuing relevance to our global contemporary society. new in cloth THE CULTURAL LOGIC OF COMPUTATION DAVID GOLUMBIA Driven by a programmer’s knowledge of computers as well as by a deep engagement with contemporary literary and cultural studies and poststructuralist theory, The Cultural Logic of Computation provides a needed corrective to the uncritical enthusiasm for computers common today in many parts of our culture. new in cloth THE PROGRAM ERA Postwar Fiction and the Rise of Creative Writing MARK MCGURL “What has the movement of postwar writing into the university done to our literature?…The obvious nature of this question only places the decades-long lack of a proper answer in higher relief. It is proportionately exhilarating to fi nd, in Mark McGurl’s The Program Era, a brilliant and comprehensive mind developing one at last.” —Mark Greif, Bookforum new in cloth Harvard University Press WWW.HUP.HARVARD.EDU FACEBOOK | TWITTER | YOUTUBE < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1027.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1029.pdf 1029 Approaches to Teaching the Works of Oscar Wilde Philip E. Smith II, ed. xii & 278 pp. Cloth 978-1-60329-009-8 $37.50 • Paper 978-1-60329-010-4 $19.75 “This is an exceptionally rich and comprehensive collection. Many will consult it for scholarly insights alone; those who read it for ideas on teaching Wilde will find a gold mine.” — Julia Prewitt Brown Boston University Approaches to Teaching Poe’s Prose and Poetry Jeffrey Andrew Weinstock and Tony Magistrale, eds. xix & 241 pp. Cloth 978-1-60329-011-1 $37.50 • Paper 978-1-60329-012-8 $19.75 “The essays provide practical activities that can be readily attempted by teachers who are open to a variety of pedagogical techniques—and who have been frustrated by students’ preconceptions concerning Poe.” — Joseph Andriano University of Louisiana, Lafayette 26 Broadway, New York, NY 10004-1789 n 646 576-5161 n Fax 646 576-5160 n www.mla.org Approaches to Teaching W O R L D L I T E R A T U R E New in the MLA series < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1028.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1030.pdf 1030 26 Broadway, New York, NY 10004-1789 n 646 576-5161 n Fax 646 576-5160 n www.mla.org NEW IN THE MLA SERIES WORLD LITERATURES REIMAGINED NEW IN THE MLA SERIES TEXTS & TRANSLATIONS Marceline Desbordes-Valmore Sarah An English Translation Deborah Jenson and Doris Y. KaDish, trans. xli & 96 pp. • Paper 978-1-60329-027-2 $9.95 Sarah The Original French Text Deborah Jenson and Doris Y. KaDish, eds. xxxvii & 93 pp. • Paper 978-1-60329-026-5 $9.95 “This edition of Sarah promises not only to expand the place of women’s writing in the colonial archive but also to help bridge the gap between nineteenth- and twentieth-century francophone studies of slavery while promoting the integration of French and francophone studies across the curriculum.” — Adrianna M. Paliyenko, editor of engendering race: romantic-era Women and French Colonial Memory Tales of Crossed Destinies The Modern Turkish Novel in a Comparative Context azaDe seYhan xii & 238 pp. • Cloth 978-1-60329-030-2 $40.00 • Paper 978-1-60329-031-9 $22.00 “A panoramic picture of the Turkish novel. This is the best book on Turkish novels that are available in English translation.” — Orhan Pamuk “A stunning achievement. This book should be a major contribu- tion to the teaching of world literature. Seyhan has, I believe, ‘reimagined’ the Turkish novel in a way that makes it accessible to classrooms.” — Walter G. Andrews University of Washington < Previous ad Next ad > http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/1029.pdf http://www.mlajournals.org/doi/misc/10.1632/pmla.2009.124.issue-3/coveriii.pdf Binder3.pdf 1003 1005 1007 1009 1011 1012 1013 1014 1015 1016 1017 1018 1019 1020 1021 1022 1023 1024 1025 1026 1027 1028 1029 1030 
work_e4y45fguvfgafo75iw5rxnonb4	----	H. Odera Oruka on Moral Reasoning This is a pdf copy of the author's accepted manuscript version of "Gandhi’s Many Influences and Collaborators," by Gail M. Presbey. The version of record appears in Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the Middle East 35, No. 2 (2015): 360-69, which may be found online at https://doi.org/10.1215/1089201x-3139144 Used with permission. CC-BY 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode Users of the material shall give appropriate credit, provide a link to the license, and indicate if changes were made. They may do so in any reasonable manner, but not in any way that suggests the licensor endorses the licensee or his/ her use. Gandhi’s Many Influences and Collaborators GAIL M. PRESBEY University of Detroit Mercy, Detroit, Michigan, USA Abstract. In Gandhi's Printing Press, Isabel Hofmeyr introduces readers to the nuances of the newspaper in a far-flung colony in the age when mail and news traveled by ship and when readers were encouraged by Gandhi to read slowly and deeply. This article explores the ways in which Thoreau's concept of slow reading influenced Gandhi and Hofmeyr herself. She discusses the community that surrounded Gandhi and the role it played in supporting the newspaper. Yet, I argue, the role of women of all races as well as Coloured and black South African men in leading, modeling, and shaping the movement of resistance to pass laws and other racist legislation might have been integrated more into the main narrative. Gandhi's newspaper, Indian Opinion, reported on the pass law protests of the African women of Bloemfontein, and Abdurahman's APO newspaper (popular in the Coloured community) reported on Gandhi's protests. Indian Opinion included speeches given by John Dube, and it often praised Dube and the work at Ohlange and reprinted stories from the black press. I offer these remarks to supplement Hofmeyr's fascinating account by providing additional information in portraying the newspaper in its historical and social context. It is understandable why many in this fast-paced world of ours would be fascinated by an earlier world when things were slow. The slow food movement, for instance, now challenges the fast food nation, as we want to savor the moment in taste, nutrition, and conversation. In Gandhi’s Printing Press, Isabel Hofmeyr paints a picture of this earlier world, where news traveled by post and arrived by ship. In South Africa in the early twentieth century, people would gather at the dock in anticipation of receiving the news, and Gandhi would string together these pieces of mail to create his newspaper, Indian Opinion. But already back then, Gandhi lived a hectic life in a hurried world, and he also harkened back to an earlier time, to those who came before him who wondered if there was more to life than grasping bits of daily news. As Henry David Thoreau said in his reflections on life in the United States (published 1854), the laying of the transatlantic cable (begun in 1854, completed in 1858) may not be the blessing it seems, because why must we know that “Princess Adelaide has the whooping cough”? Wouldn’t it be better, Thoreau maintained, to concentrate on reading the Bhagavad Gita?1 Thoreau devoted a whole chapter of his book to propounding a philosophy of reading much like what Hofmeyr calls Gandhi’s “slow reading.” Gandhi wanted to publish not only bits of relevant news, but also insights of profound writers like Thoreau, John Ruskin, Leo Tolstoy, and Socrates, and he wanted people to cherish these excerpts (and condensations) by saving them and reading them over and over again. And so, Hofmeyr points out, to think that https://doi.org/10.1215/1089201x-3139144 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 2 Gandhi published a “newspaper” might be to misunderstand, if we presume his format was the same as what we consider newspaper formats today. (And even today, newspapers are considered by some to be old-fashioned, as people turn to Twitter and the Internet for their instant news). But where did this train of ideas start? While he drew upon Thoreau’s philosophy of reading and quoted him in Indian Opinion in 1911 (89–91), Thoreau could not have been the original source of this philosophy of reading. First of all, Thoreau claims that Egyptian and Hindu philosophers had earlier found timeless wisdom, and he references by name a Persian and Urdu poet from Delhi, Mîr Camar Uddîn Mast, as the source of his philosophy of reading.2 Surely the idea of condensing great insight into short phrases which must then be taken to heart — or as Hofmeyr points out, quoting Gandhi’s use of metaphor, must be “‘imprinted’ and ‘engraved on the [reader’s] heart’” (131) — is part of a long tradition of spiritual reading in India. As a contemporary author describes the popular Tamil ethical treatise, the Thirukkural (Thiru meaning sacred and honorable, Kural meaning brief, concise, abridged), written by Thiruvalluvar (born 30 BCE in Mylapore, now part of Chennai, and part of India’s Dravidian heritage) composed 1,330 “pithy” rhyming couplets whose “brevity” reveals the poet’s “genius.”3 Certainly the form encouraged easy memorization. Thoreau said in 1849 regarding the Laws of Manu that its wisdom is so concise it “renders many words unnecessary.”4 Gandhi’s favorite, the Bhagavad Gita (translated as “Divine Song”) is also a brief, eighteen-chapter, seven-hundred-verse work, written mostly in couplets, which Gandhi eventually carried on his person at all times. He read the Bhagavad Gita in 1888 – 89 (in Sir Edward Arnold’s 1885 English translation) at the age of twenty while he was a second-year law student in England.5 While Gandhi was embarrassed to admit that he had not read it earlier in India, he surely read it before he read Thoreau and Ruskin, the two sources of his philosophy of reading on which Hofmeyr dwells. In South Africa in 1903 he joined the Seekers Club (consisting of Christians and Theosophists) and together they read the Bhagavad Gita. At this point Gandhi decided he wanted to memorize the text, and he did so while cleaning his teeth as part of his ritual morning bath.6 Gandhi started Indian Opinion a few months later.7 Perhaps Gandhi’s exposure to the concise and pithy sayings in Hindu scripture is the source of his emphasis on what Hofmeyr calls “slow reading.” At the very least we can say that Gandhi was attracted to Thoreau’s account of reading because it resonated with Hindu ideas and practices of spirituality with which he was already familiar. Hofmeyr does, however, allude to ways in which Hindu devotional practice may have influenced Gandhi’s style, citing Gandhi’s oft-mentioned phrase that he places the text before the reader, pointing out that offering the text has suggestions of a gift, of ceremony, and emphasizes the need for the gift’s reception (151). She also notes that Indian Opinion occasionally published large portraits of movement heroes and that Gandhi suggested that readers would hang these on their walls and reverence them, using the daily gazing as an opportunity to recommit themselves to the cause. There are similar practices in popular Hindu worship.8 Hofmeyr notes that Gandhi’s question-and-answer format, which he developed in the newspaper and used later in Hind Swaraj, uses Gujarat traditions of dialogue as a literary form (146). Yet what was the precedent for launching Indian Opinion, in June 1903, and closely thereafter establishing the Phoenix farm in 1904? Gandhi mentioned both Tolstoy and Ruskin in his article “Ourselves” as sources of his inspiration for starting the farm community GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 3 (although he did not begin his personal correspondence with Tolstoy until October 1909).9 But there are other important precursors. Hofmeyr mentions that in 1898 Gandhi visited Mariannhill, founded by the Trappists and dedicated to meditative prayer and manual labor (57 – 58). Anil Nauriya noted that Mariannhill was about fourteen miles from Durban, and that about 1,200 Africans lived at the mission there. Gandhi was impressed with the way that the school there stressed dignity of labor and taught practical trades like sandal making, a skill that Gandhi later introduced in his own settlements.10 Indian Opinion published an article on Mariannhill’s activities on October 8, 1904, just before Phoenix Farm was bought.11 To succeed, any book on Gandhi has to find a way to narrow its scope, since Gandhi wrote so much in his long life and has had so many books written about him. So it is of necessity that any one book on Gandhi’s particular activities must leave many other aspects outside its focus. Still, it seems to me that there were some missed opportunities to highlight some significant aspects of the historical narrative related to the early years of Indian Opinion. Especially in this day and age, when the major historical narratives, including those regarding South Africa, focus on men and their movements, why not include key non-white agents of history? Why not include women when they were indeed crucial actors in history?12 In this vein, I seek to complement and contextualize Hofmeyr’s account and delve into the complex race and gender relations of the time period, which had more cross-race cooperation and a larger role for women than one would imagine from reading Hofmeyr’s excellent but necessarily limited account. Hofmeyr says Gandhi’s and Phoenix farm’s neighbor John Dube, who would later become the first president of the South African Native National Congress (SANNC), which was renamed the African National Congress (ANC), “kept [his] distance and met rarely” (57). While she acknowledges community exchange between the two-hundred-acre Ohlange Native Industrial Institute and Phoenix Farm regarding experiences of healing and religion at Isaiah Shembe’s Nazarite Church (all three in Inanda, although it’s important to note that Shembe did not locate his church in Inanda until 191013), she notes that the African and Indian communities were more often competitors for the same scarce resources and jobs. Although she states that Gandhi wanted “little to do” with his neighbor John Dube and that they had an “arm’s-length relationship” (22, 10), how does she account for the important fact, mentioned in her own book without additional comment, that the early editions of Dube’s newspaper Ilanga lase Natal: Ipepa la Bantu (Sun of Natal: The Black People’s Paper), first published on April 10, 1903, several months before Indian Opinion, were printed by Gandhi’s press, that is, the International Printing Press (IPP)? (56).14 Could it have been a mere matter of convenience, of press for hire? In 1903 it was still controversial, and even dangerous, for Africans to express their desire for education and advancement, as Dube did in his first editorial in his first issue. He announced that the goal of his paper was to encourage comradeship, reduce suffering, reject lies, speak out when truth needs to be told, and encourage self-improvement.15 Hofmeyr says that in the years covered by her book, African and Indian presses worked “in isolation from each other” (40), unlike the later era of cooperation that began in the 1920s. I would think that Gandhi’s press helped Indian-African race relations when it extended its services to Dube’s publication, even if only temporarily. GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 4 Hofmeyr does explain that since the IPP’s establishment in November 1898, it published general job printing (invitations, for instance) as well as the monthly Theosophical Society magazine and a newspaper called the Volunteer (49). Publication of Indian Opinion began on June 4, 1903, two months after Dube began publishing with IPP.16 As a reader, I would have liked to learn more about what led Dube to the IPP for his printing needs. According to Hofmeyr, strongly united white printers defended their turf using “racial protectionism” and “white laborism” (54). But what about a survey of African-owned presses of the time? Hofmeyr says there were only a “minute number” of them (39). According to Uma Dhupelia-Mesthrie, Dube’s newspaper was just one of many publications by black South Africans who were looking for outlets to criticize the British colonial government. Dhupelia- Mesthrie mentions five other African-owned newspapers published around the same time as Dube’s, and then explains, “Gandhi belongs to this generation of rising black journalists and editors who were all committed to improving the position of black people especially at a time when whites were moving towards forming a Union of South Africa within which blacks had such limited rights.”17 Rajmohan Gandhi suggests that the title Indian Opinion was a derivation inspired by the newspaper founded in 1884 by John Tengo Jabavu, the title of which translated into English is Native (or Black) Opinion.18 Here’s another interesting parallel. Gandhi, with Mansukhlal Nazar, started his newspaper in June 1903. Hofmeyr goes on to mention that Dube received his own hand press in June 1903 so that his paper could be printed at Ohlange (56). Soon, Gandhi decided he wanted to move his press to a rural location, to be supported by a rural community. Albert West, who took over from Nazar, and Gandhi scouted for suitable land and found the Phoenix plot near Ohlange. They bought it, moved the press there, and published their first Indian Opinion issue from Phoenix on December 24, 1904.19 Hofmeyr emphasizes that Ohlange’s motto, “to teach the hand to work, the brain to understand, and the heart to serve,” could just as well have described Phoenix Farm’s spirit and intention (56). While the inspiration for moving the press to a rural community has usually been attributed to Gandhi’s reading Ruskin, the parallelism and timing would suggest that Gandhi may have been influenced by Dube’s example.20 In “Recovered Narratives of an Inter-Cultural Exchange,” Andreas Heuser contends that those who downplay Gandhi’s connections to African and “Coloured” (those of mixed race, considered a separate category under South African law) communities of his day and instead emphasize Gandhi’s reluctance for formal alliances across races (as does Hofmeyr) — and his strategic reasons for preserving his energies for the struggles facing Indian communities — can’t account very well for how satyagraha nonviolent methods became popular in Africa and were soon embraced and enacted by many African communities.21 Of course there are ways to account for such widespread influence that avoid Heuser’s characterization of Gandhi’s role. For example, Elleke Boehmer states that both Gandhi and Sol Plaatje, whom she argues showed little interest in each other, had a common source of inspiration for their nonviolent political actions: the suffragettes of Britain.22 But there are other cases where Gandhi clearly interacted with, influenced, and was influenced by his non-Indian contemporaries in the African context. Gandhi admitted that Africans were engaged in extensive non-cooperation with pass laws, taxes, and other facets of colonial rule long before he came along with his specific satyagraha methods. He only attempted to improve upon the methods.23 GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 5 While Hofmeyr notes that Gandhi wanted “little to do” with Dube (22), Heather Hughes, in her biography of Dube, suggests that the two men did not meet until August 1905 because of each one’s pressing schedule, which involved much travel away from Phoenix and Ohlange. But she says that the first meeting (organized by businessman Marshall Campbell) resulted in each having a favorable impression of the other. Campbell had taken conference attendees from Cape Town via mail boat to Natal, where they visited a sugar refinery Campbell owned and then were hosted for a meal at Mount Edgecomb, where the Inanda singers performed. Campbell asked Dube to give a speech, which Gandhi wrote about in Indian Opinion.24 Mesthrie catalogs the many places in Indian Opinion where Gandhi covers stories of racist injustices suffered by Africans or makes celebratory comments when a struggle is decided in their favor.25 The paper included Dube’s speeches, often praised Dube and the work at Ohlange,26 and also commended the election of Walter Rubusana to the Cape Provincial Council in 1910.27 Indian Opinion reprinted stories from the black press, including the newspapers Imvo Zabantzundu and Ilanga lase Natal.28 James D. Hunt, in his article “Gandhi and the Black People of Africa,” admits that Gandhi did not, like Dr. Abdullah Abdurahman, try to gather together a coalition of various racial groups in a united movement. Gandhi often claimed that Indians’ legal position in South Africa, and therefore their problems and their possible solutions, were different from those of Africans. He admits that Gandhi seems unconcerned or unmotivated to personally become involved in righting the wrongs against the Africans in South Africa, as he concentrates on Indian problems (and Mesthrie gives voice to a similar estimation). But Hunt still insists that it is wrong to suggest that Gandhi imagined passive resistance as a method for the Indian community only, or that Dube was unknown to Gandhi. Hunt mentions the collaboration in publishing Dube’s newspaper and notes that Gandhi wrote approvingly of Dube in Indian Opinion. Hunt adds that when Gandhi showed Gopal Krishna Gokhale around South Africa in 1912, he brought Gokhale to Ohlange on November 10, when he had a chance to talk to Dube at length. Hunt also mentions the many ways in which Gandhi cooperated with Abdurahman, an encounter that I will return to below. These kinds of robust connections between Gandhi and other leaders in KwaZulu Natal are also covered by Anil Nauriya, who points out that Gandhi suggested in a speech at Germiston, Transvaal, on June 7, 1909 (summarized in Indian Opinion on June 12, 1909) that Native Africans use the method of “soul force” to gain redress of their grievances. Nauriya also documents Gandhi’s avid interest in legal questions regarding African ownership of land.29 Indeed, Hofmeyr has noted that Gandhi was sometimes quite sensitive about the links between caste discrimination in the Indian context and racism (85, 106). She notes that Henry Polak wrote against racism in a pamphlet published by IPP (116 – 17). But Hofmeyr cautiously balances accounts of Gandhi and his followers’ antiracist commentary with accounts of their faux pas and derogatory remarks about Africans. She further notes that Dube and Gandhi were both wary of each other’s race and engaged in “race-making projects” (11). Indeed, many of Gandhi’s remarks and ideas deserve criticism.30 Clearly, some authors have erred by waxing too romantic about Gandhi’s practice of eschewing social barriers. For example, Girja Kumar says that at Phoenix, Mohandas and Kasturba Gandhi became “heads of a joint family of brown, white, and black and had persons of European, Indian, and African GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 6 extraction on its roll.”31 As J. N. Uppal explains, Gandhi’s “extended family” at Phoenix Farm included some Tamil-and Hindi-speaking Indians, two Englishmen, “one or two Zulus[,] and a few Gujaratis.” Hunt clarifies that the Zulus at Phoenix were hired laborers, and while there was a black family at Tolstoy farm, they were squatters and not participants of the Tolstoy community.32 Despite some exaggerated accounts of racial harmony, a more sober account of contact and camaraderie is more likely. Enuga S. Reddy has provided an overview of the criticisms of Gandhi’s seeming provincialism and counters with an attempt to understand the context and to set the record straight on Gandhi’s contribution to and encouragement of nonviolent resistance beyond the Indian community. Hofmeyr is not alone when she engages in this narrative of the insular Gandhi; the attempts to debunk this portrayal have gone on for decades, with Hunt’s article in 1989, Reddy’s response to this “provincial” theory of Gandhi published in 1995, and Nauriya’s book-length treatment in 2006 and recent article in 2012.33 Heather Hughes notes that despite Reddy’s optimistic assertions about friendliness between Dube’s and Gandhi’s communities, one can nevertheless find both Gandhi and Dube expressing in the pages of their respective newspapers some political views that show that the two communities are at odds with each other on many topics.34 But the Indian and African communities still supported each other in crucial ways. Hughes even says, “Dube’s Ilanga simply could not have survived without the regular and loyal support of the Hafferjees, Randerees, Glowhoosins, and Essops who advertised generously in every edition. The story of Indian and African interdependence in South Africa has yet to be properly told.”35 Now I want to turn to the question of women in Gandhi’s movement and their role in Indian Opinion. At his law firm, Gandhi was helped by his “secretary,” Sonja Schlesin. Schlesin not only “virtually ran the publicity and business side of satyagraha,” but also wrote moving speeches on the suffragettes (which Gandhi read aloud at a meeting) and refused to sit in train cars reserved for whites, thereby courting arrest. Gandhi called her the “watchman and warder” of his office and of the movement.36 Gandhi himself mentions that she managed all the accounts and finances and, especially relevant to Hofmeyr’s chosen topic, edited articles for Indian Opinion.37 Gandhi had already invoked the suffragettes of England as role models for his own movement in several news articles in Indian Opinion. Indeed, Hofmeyr does mention in one sentence Gandhi’s inclusion of the suffragettes as well as the African women of Bloemfontein as examples of passive resistance, and she references two articles, one of July 22, 1911, and the other of April 1, 1914 (120). The rest of that section devotes much more space to Ruskin and Socrates as Gandhi’s role models. But in fact Gandhi makes reference to the suffragettes much earlier,38 suggesting that indeed these women may be more direct role models for Gandhi’s satyagraha than Ruskin and Socrates. To tell the next part of this story, which involves the African and Coloured women of Bloemfontein and their resistance to the pass laws, I must first develop the account of Gandhi’s relationship to Dr. Abdurahman, and to his newspaper, APO. As Julia Wells explains, Dr. Abdullah Abdurahman, the Coloured leader of the African Political Organization (APO) in Cape Town, had followed closely the developments of Gandhian satyagraha since Gandhi’s first protests in 1906. Abdurahman began the APO newspaper in 1909 and used it to promote the idea that Indians, Coloureds, and Africans should join GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 7 together and use Gandhian nonviolent methods to effect change in South Africa. The APO was popular in Bloemfontein. The black community there was very diverse, made up of fourteen different African and Coloured groups.39 As Mohamed Adhikari explains, Abdurahman dominated APO from 1905 to 1940 and wrote most of the editorials for the newspaper.40 According to Uppal, Gandhi got to know Dr. Abdurahman as they sailed together for four weeks on the RMS Kenilworth Castle to England. Both of them went to England, landing there on July 10, 1909, to influence the outcome of the draft constitution of the newly proposed Union of South Africa.41 Neither won much support for their efforts in England. Hunt explains that Gandhi and Abdurahman were both in the House of Lords’ Strangers’ Gallery listening to the Parliament debate on whether the new South African Union Parliament should be restricted to whites. “After the failure to alter the Act, Gandhi recommended that Abdurrahman take up passive resistance and invited him to lunch to talk it over. He promised to get him a copy of Thoreau’s essay on Civil Disobedience. A few weeks later Abdurrahman suggested in his newspaper that the Coloured adopt the Indian strategy of passive resistance, and Gandhi wrote an article for The APO.”42 Abdurahman filled APO with stories covering Gandhi’s imprisonment in November 1909. In the issue of December 4, 1909, Abdurahman invited Gandhi to write an article for APO. Gandhi described his tactics as “the greatest and yet most harmless force anybody can wield with perfect safety and a clear conscience,” suggesting that it could be used by “illiterate natives.”43 Abdurahman even began and coordinated an “Indian Passive Resistance Fund.”44 On February 26, 1910, Abdurahman wrote about Gandhi’s “long and stubborn” resistance in his newspaper, and said, “If the Coloured people will but follow the same line of conduct without flinching, success will come to them.”45 In the June 1, 1912, issue, Abdurahman specifically encouraged women to use passive resistance as a means to getting the pass laws repealed. I want to point out that Gandhi only begins his plans to involve Indian women in a satyagraha protest after March 14, 1913, which is nine months after Abdurahman advocates involving women.46 The account of the Coloured and African women of Bloemfontein’s protest against the enforcement of pass laws in their town has been covered in detail by Julia Wells’s book and Frene Ginwala’s and Nomboniso Gasa’s articles.47 I want to draw attention to the timing to clarify that Gandhi did not use his newspaper to encourage women to engage in civil disobedience until May 1913, well after Abdurahman did so in his publication (in June 1912). The Indian women who participated in Gandhi’s 1913 satyagraha did so in September 1913, months after the women of Bloemfontein, of whom eighty had been arrested on May 29, 1913. Before Indian women’s imprisonment in the September 1913 satyagraha, at least thirty- four of the Bloemfontein women had spent several months in prison, receiving sympathetic attention in a variety of newspapers and thereby garnering much support for their movement. Even Gandhi’s newspaper chimed in with its support, with coverage of the developments in the July 5 issue and front page coverage in the August 2 Indian Opinion announcing the “Native Women’s Brave Stand” against the pass laws.48 In Dr. Abdurahman’s presidential address on September 29, 1913 (published in APO on October 11, 1913), during the annual meeting of the APO, he suggested to his members that the Indians’ conscientious passive resistance was worth emulating. He went on directly to GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 8 mention and commend the actions of the women of the Free State who resisted the unjust pass laws and went to prison. He then told his listeners that these methods should be adopted and tried on a large scale, asking his listeners to imagine their success if only “200,000 Natives on the mines” were to refuse to pick up their tools, and if the farm laborers refused to gather the harvest; in this circumstance, “the economic foundation of South Africa would suddenly shake and tremble with such violence that the beautiful white South Africa superstructure which has been built on it would come down with a crash.”49 Within the next two months, Gandhi and the women in his movement organized a massive labor strike. Hofmeyr notes that Gandhi mentioned the anti-pass campaigners, considering them part of a universal satyagraha movement (120). But the story of how these newspapers, and therefore these diverse communities of activists, supported each other by encouraging solidarity, mutual learning, and role modeling is not part of Hofmeyr’s focus, and so readers might not know about these significant developments. As if to prepare the ground for the new step of women’s direct involvement in Gandhi’s satyagraha actions, the April 19, 1913, issue of Indian Opinion carried an in-depth story on Emmeline Pankhurst, a famous suffragette.50 In “The Campaign,” Gandhi mentioned his strategy of courting arrest over two issues: the need to repeal the three-pound tax and the need to change the marriage law, an issue he considered to have a direct impact on women’s reputation,51 but there was no specific mention of women participating directly in the protest. On May 4, the Transvaal Indian Women’s Association, via Schlesin, sent a telegram to Jan Christian Smuts that stated that they considered the new law an indignity, and if the government didn’t amend the marriage law, the women would be ready to suffer imprisonment. Gandhi reported the telegram’s message on page one of Indian Opinion on May 10, 1913, in an article called “Indian Women and Passive Resisters,” adding, “We congratulate our plucky sisters who have dared to fight the government.” But it is important to note that by the end of May, just after these publications relayed the intention of Indian women to court arrest, it was the women of Bloemfontein who first took this step. The Indian women would only do so months later. The women in Gandhi’s movement rose to the occasion and led with bravery. Their story is more widely covered, as in Gandhi’s own account,52 Reddy’s 1995 account, and more recently, Rajmohan Gandhi’s 2006 account and Ela Gandhi’s 2013 account.53 Eleven Tamil women wanted to join the struggle, even though six of them had young babies and one was pregnant.54 A group of sixteen people from Phoenix Farm, including Kasturba and three other Gujarati-speaking women, were jailed for entering the Transvaal without permits and sentenced to three years of hard labor on September 23, 1913. The Tamil women who had courted arrest twice but had not been arrested went to Newcastle and began to tell the workers there about the protest against the £3 tax. The workers decided to go on strike. Gandhi said he was not prepared for such a development, but he considered it a good one. The Tamil women were arrested and sentenced (October 21, 1913) to three months’ imprisonment. They were kept in Martizburg jail, where the food was terrible, and their health suffered. A sixteen-year- old woman, Valliamma R. Munuswami Mudaliar, suffered a fever while in jail and died a few days after her release.55 Many people were particularly upset to hear that women were imprisoned. Gandhi recounts that Sir Pherozeshah Mehta spoke in Bombay Town Hall, saying that his “blood GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 9 boiled at the thought of these women lying in jails herded with ordinary criminals.”56 Gandhi noted that “the women’s imprisonment worked like a charm upon the laborers of the mines near Newcastle.”57 Soon, the number of strikers grew from 78 to 5,000.58 Gandhi then encouraged the striking mine workers to proceed from Newcastle, Natal, to the Transvaal border, where they would court arrest for trying to cross the border. Gandhi was arrested on November 11 and sentenced to nine months of hard labor. While he was in prison, Reddy explains, the strike “soon involved some sixty thousand Indians in the largest general strike that South Africa had seen.”59 Hofmeyr, who mentions that there were strikes and that striking workers courted arrest in the 1913 campaign, does not mention the involvement of women satyagrahis or that Schlesin helped keep the newspaper going during this time (29).60 In her unique contribution to scholarship, Hofmeyr introduces us to the nuances of the newspaper in a far-flung colony in the age when readers were encouraged by Gandhi to read slowly and deeply. She fills us in on the community that surrounded Gandhi and the role it played in supporting the newspaper. Yet the participation by women of all races as well as Coloured and black South African men in leading, modeling, and shaping the movement of resistance to pass laws and other racist legislation, including the role of their newspapers as well as street protest, might have been integrated more into the main narrative. I offer these remarks to supplement Hofmeyr’s fascinating account by providing additional information in portraying the newspaper in its historical and social context. Notes 1. Thoreau, Walden, 67, 393–94. 2. See Thoreau, Walden, 130, 131, and Stein, “The Yoga of Reading,” 482, 490–91. 3. George, “Compassion and Forgiveness in Ancient Tamil Literature,” 231, 233. 4. Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers, 127. 5. Fischer, The Life of Mahatma Gandhi, 29. 6. Ibid., 66. 7. Ibid., 67. 8. See Fuller, The Camphor Flame, 57–72. 9. M. K. Gandhi, Indian Opinion, December 24, 1904, 3. In subsequent references Indian Opinion is abbreviated IO. English translations of IO articles that appeared in Gujarati are noted as such and taken from The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, abbreviated as CWMG in subsequent references. Titles of translated articles are taken from CWMG. Articles that originally appeared in English are taken directly from Indian Opinion. 10. Nauriya, The African Element in Gandhi, 14–15. 11. See Mesthrie, “From Advocacy to Mobilization,” 110, and An English Protestant [pseud.], “Educating the Native: A Visit to Mariannhill Monastery,” IO, October 8, 1904, 2. 12. Rassool, “Rethinking Documentary History,” 28–30; Healy-Clancy, “Women and the Problem of Family,” 454–55; and Ginwala, “Women and the African National Congress,” 77. 13. Heuser, “Recovered Narratives of an Inter-Cultural Exchange,” 89. 14. See Hughes, First President, 103–4. 15. Davis, “Qude maniki!,” 83. 16. Hughes, First President, 105, 108. 17. Dhupelia-Mesthrie, “The Significance of Indian Opinion”; see also Hughes, First President, 105. 18. R. Gandhi, Gandhi: The Man, 107. 19. Ibid., 110. 20. See Swan, Gandhi: The South African Experience, 59–60. 21. Heuser, “Recovered Narratives,” 92. 22. Boehmer, Empire, the National, and the Postcolonial, 5, 163. 23. See M. K. Gandhi, “The Duty of Transvaal Indians,” IO, October 6, 1906, CWMG 5:383–84. 24. See Hughes, First President, 108–13; Reddy, Gandhiji’s Vision of a Free South Africa, 19; R. Gandhi, Gandhi: The Man, 110, 144; and “The Kaffirs of Natal,” IO, September 2, 1905, CWMG 4:398–99. GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 10 25. See Mesthrie, “From Advocacy,” 110. For coverage of the case of Magato, an African who had been ejected from the first class car of a train, see IO, March 23, 1912, 100. See also “Natives and Land in the Transvaal,” IO, April 15, 1905, 1, and “Native Land Tenure,” IO, July 29, 1905, 490–91, which discuss a legal decision allowing Africans to purchase land in the Transvaal. 26. IO, editorials of November 30, 1907, 496; March 6, 1909, 104; and February 10, 1912, 46–47. 27. “A Notable Event,” IO, September 24, 1910, 313. 28. IO reprinted material from Imvo Zabantzundu on April 29, 1905. On June 8, 1912, IO reprinted an editorial from Ilanga lase Natal. See Mesthrie, “From Advocacy,” 110. 29. See Hunt, “Gandhi and the Black People of South Africa,” and Mesthrie, “From Advocacy,” 111. For more on the connections between Gandhi and KwaZulu leaders, see “From Our Own Reporter,” IO, June 12, 1909, cited in Nauriya, “Gandhi and Some Contemporary Leaders from KwaZulu Natal,” 57, 67. 30. Hofmeyr cites critics like J. H. Stone; see, for example, 175n18. 31. Kumar, Bramacharya, 92. 32. Uppal, Gandhi: Ordained in South Africa, 202; Hunt, “Gandhi and the Black People of South Africa,” 10–11. 33. See Hunt, “Gandhi and the Black People of South Africa”; Reddy, Gandhiji’s Vision, 49, 129–41; Nauriya, African Element, 13; and “Gandhi and Some Contemporary African Leaders from KwaZulu Natal,” 67. 34. See Hughes, First President, 108–11. 35. Ibid., 111. 36. R. Gandhi, Gandhi: The Man, 155, and M. K. Gandhi, Satyagraha, 165–66. 37. M. K. Gandhi, Satyagraha, 165. See also Paxton, Sonja Schlesin, 10, 16, 24. 38. See IO, December 22, 1906, CWMG 6:158, and “The Brave Women of England,” IO, June 29, 1907, CWMG 7:27. For a related story see “S.A.B.I. Committee’s Advice,” IO, July 6, 1907. 39. Wells, We Now Demand!, 57. 40. Adhikari, “Voice of the Coloured Elite,” 131. 41. Uppal, Gandhi: Ordained in South Africa, 281; also see Hunt, “Gandhi and the Black People of South Africa,” 14. 42. Hunt, “Gandhi and the Black People,” 14. 43. M. K. Gandhi, “What Is the Transvaal Struggle?,” APO, December 4, 1909, 7. 44. Hunt, “Gandhi and the Black People,” 14. 45. Abdurahman, “Persecution in Pretoria: Passive Resistance,” APO, February 26, 1910, 5. 46. Ibid.; M. K. Gandhi, Satyagraha, 251–56; Abdurahman, “Curfew Bell at Johannesburg, Passes for Native Women,” APO, June 1, 1912, 10. 47. See Wells, We Now Demand!; Ginwala, “Women, and the African National Congress, 1912–1943”; and Gasa, “Let Them Build More Gaols.” 48. See Gasa, “Let them Build More Gaols,” 137; Mesthrie, “From Advocacy,” 117; and “Native Women’s Brave Stand,” IO, August 2, 1913, 1. See also “Native Women Passive Resisters,” IO, July 5, 1913, 163. 49. Abdurahman, “1913 Presidential Address,” 54. See also Abdurahman, “Variant Views,” APO, February 26, 1910, 6. 50. M. K. Gandhi, “Mrs. Pankhurst’s Sacrifice,” IO, April 19, 1913, CWMG 13:81. For details on women’s reputation, see Mongia, “Gender and the Historiography of Gandhian Satyagraha,” 141. 51. IO, May 3, 1913, CWMG 13:112. 52. M. K. Gandhi, Satyagraha, 255–64. 53. See Reddy, Gandhiji’s Vision; R. Gandhi, Gandhi: The Man, 171–82; and E. Gandhi, “The 1913 Women’s Marches.” 54. M. K. Gandhi, Satyagraha, 253. 55. Ibid., 258–59. 56. Ibid., 258. 57. Ibid., 260. 58. Ibid., 264. 59. Reddy, Gandhiji’s Vision, 85. 60. See also Kumar, Bramacharya, 112. References Abdurahman, Abdullah. “The 1913 Presidential Address.” In Say It Out Loud: The APO Presidential Addresses and Other Major Political Speeches of Dr. Abdullah Abdurahman, edited by R. E. van der Ross, 49–57. Bellville, South Africa: The Western Cape Institute for Historical Research, University of Western Cape, 1990. GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 11 Adhikari, Mohamad. “Voice of the Coloured Elite: APO, 1909–1923.” In South Africa’s Alternative Press: Voices of Protest and Resistance, 1880s–1960s, edited by Les Switzer, 127–48. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Boehmer, Elleke. Empire, the National, and the Postcolonial, 1890–1920: Resistance in Interaction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Davis, R. Hunt Jr. “Qude maniki! John L. Dube, Pioneer Editor of Ilanga lase Natal.” In South Africa’s Alternative Press: Voices of Protest and Resistance, 1880s–1960s, edited by Les Switzer, 83–98. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Dhupelia-Mesthrie, Uma. “The Significance of Indian Opinion.” Address to the Conference on the Alternate Media to Commemorate the Centenary of the Founding of Indian Opinion, Durban, June 4, 2003. South African History Online. Accessed July 15, 2014. www.sahistory.org.za/media-and-journalism /history-indian- opinion-newspaper. Fischer, Louis. The Life of Mahatma Gandhi. New York: Harper and Row, 1950. Fuller, C. J. The Camphor Flame: Popular Hinduism and Society in India. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004. Gandhi, Ela. “The 1913 Women’s Marches — Learning from the Past.” Journal of Natal and Zulu History 31, no. 2 (2013): 169–79. Gandhi, Mohandas K. The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi. 98 vols. New Delhi: Publications Division Government of India, 1999. GandhiServe Foundation Mahatma Gandhi Research and Media Service. Accessed March 20, 2014. www.gandhiserve.org/e /cwmg/cwmg.htm. ——— . Satyagraha in South Africa. Revised 2nd ed. Ahmedabad: Navajivan Publishing House, 1972. Gandhi, Rajmohan. Gandhi: The Man, His People, and the Empire. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006. Gasa, Nomboniso. “Let Them Build More Gaols.” In Women in South African History, edited by Nomboniso Gasa, 129–51. Cape Town: Human Sciences Research Council Press, 2007. George, Edward. “Compassion and Forgiveness in Ancient Tamil Literature: The Thirukkural.” In Compassion and Forgiveness: Philosophical and Religious Perspectives from around the World, edited by Edward J. Alam, 231–41. Louaize, Lebanon: Notre Dame University Press, 2013. Ginwala, Frene. “Women and the African National Congress, 1912–1943.” Agenda 8 (1990): 77–93. Healy-Clancy, Meghan. “Women and the Problem of Family in Early African Nationalist History and Historiography.” South African Historical Journal 64, no. 3 (2012): 450–71. Heuser, Andreas. “Recovered Narratives of an Inter-Cultural Exchange: Gandhi, Shembe, and the Legacy of Satyagraha.” Journal for the Study of Religion 16, no. 1 (2003): 87–102. Hughes, Heather. First President: A Life of John Dube, Founding President of the ANC. Auckland Park, South Africa: Jacana Media, 2011. Hunt, James. “Gandhi and the Black People of South Africa.” Gandhi Marg 11, no. 1 (1989): 7–24. Kumar, Girja. Bramacharya: Gandhi and His Women Associates. New Delhi: Vitasta, 2010. Mesthrie, Uma Shashikant. “From Advocacy to Mobilization: Indian Opinion, 1903–14.” In South Africa’s Alternative Press: Voices of Protest and Resistance, 1880s–1960s, edited by Les Switzer, 99–126. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Mongia, Radhika. “Gender and the Historiography of Gandhian Satyagraha in South Africa.” Gender and History 18, no. 1 (2006): 130–49. Nauriya, Anil. The African Element in Gandhi. New Delhi: National Gandhi Museum and Gyan Publishing House, 2006. ——— . “Gandhi and Some Contemporary African Leaders from KwaZulu Natal.” Natalia 42 (2012): 45–64. natalia.org.za/Files/42/Natalia%2042%20Article%20 Nauriya%20pp%2045-64,pdf.pdf. Paxton, George. Sonja Schlesin, Gandhi’s South African Secretary. Glasgow: Pax, 2006. Rassool, Ciraj. “Rethinking Documentary History and South African Political Biography.” South African Review of Sociology 41, no. 1 (2010): 28–55. Reddy, Enuga S. Gandhiji’s Vision of a Free South Africa. New Delhi: Sanchar, 1995. Stein, William Bysshe. “The Yoga of Reading in Walden.” Texas Studies in Literature and Language 13, no. 3 (1971): 481–95. GAIL M. PRESBEY GANDHI'S MANY INFLUENCES AND COLLABORATORS 12 Swan, Maureen. Gandhi: The South African Experience. Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1985. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1910. ——— . A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers. London: Walter Scott Limited, 1889. Uppal, J. N. Gandhi: Ordained in South Africa. New Delhi: Publications Division, Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Government of India, 1995. Wells, Julia. We Now Demand! The History of Women’s Resistance to Pass Laws in South Africa. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1993. 
work_e5xzyhvwlzapznpv2juynjsmda	----	[PDF] Temperate flowering phenology. | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1093/jxb/erq165 Corpus ID: 31118720Temperate flowering phenology. @article{Tooke2010TemperateFP, title={Temperate flowering phenology.}, author={F. Tooke and N. H. Battey}, journal={Journal of experimental botany}, year={2010}, volume={61 11}, pages={ 2853-62 } } F. Tooke, N. H. Battey Published 2010 Biology, Medicine Journal of experimental botany Individuals, families, networks, and botanic gardens have made records of flowering times of a wide range of plant species over many years. These data can highlight year to year changes in seasonal events (phenology) and those datasets covering long periods draw interest for their perspective on plant responses to climate change. Temperate flowering phenology is complex, using environmental cues such as temperature and photoperiod to attune flowering to appropriate seasonal conditions. Here we… Expand View on PubMed academic.oup.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 88 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 4 Background Citations 41 Results Citations 2 View All Figures and Tables from this paper table 1 figure 1 table 2 figure 2 figure 3 figure 4 View All 6 Figures & Tables 88 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Flowering phenology and pollination syndromes in species with different growth forms in a Neotropical temperate forest of Mexico J. Cortés-Flores, G. Cornejo-Tenorio, G. Ibarra-Manríquez Biology 2015 3 Highly Influenced View 7 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Phenological responses of prairie plants vary among species and year in a three-year experimental warming study Heather R. Whittington, D. Tilman, Peter D Wragg, J. Powers Biology 2015 18 Highly Influenced PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Spring wildflower phenology and pollinator activity respond similarly to climatic variation in an eastern hardwood forest Manuel Sevenello, R. Sargent, J. Forrest Biology, Medicine Oecologia 2020 2 View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Sensitivity of flowering phenology to changing temperature in China Haicheng Zhang, W. Yuan, Shu-guang Liu, W. Dong, Yang Fu Biology, Geology 2015 16 Save Alert Research Feed Spring- and fall-flowering species show diverging phenological responses to climate in the Southeast USA Katelin D Pearson Biology, Medicine International Journal of Biometeorology 2019 10 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Climate change and flowering phenology in Franklin County, Massachusetts1 R. Bertin, Karen B. Searcy, Matthew G. Hickler, Glenn Motzkin Biology The Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society 2017 1 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Modeling phenological responses of Inner Mongolia grassland species to regional climate change Qiuyue Li, L. Xu, +4 authors Jia-Guo Qi Biology 2016 19 Save Alert Research Feed Haplotype Variation of Flowering Time Genes of Sugar Beet and Its Wild Relatives and the Impact on Life Cycle Regimes Nadine Höft, Nadine Dally, M. Hasler, C. Jung Biology, Medicine Front. Plant Sci. 2018 6 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites results Save Alert Research Feed Warming delays the phenological sequences of an autumn‐flowering invader Y. Peng, Jian‐Xia Yang, Xiao‐hui Zhou, P. P'eng, J. Li, Wei-Ming He Biology, Medicine Ecology and evolution 2018 3 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Flowering phenological changes in relation to climate change in Hungary B. Szabó, E. Vincze, B. Czúcz Biology, Medicine International Journal of Biometeorology 2016 29 View 3 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 63 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Flowering and Climate Change Geoffrey Harper, L. Morris Biology 2007 1 Highly Influential View 4 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Time after time: flowering phenology and biotic interactions. Jelmer A. Elzinga, A. Atlan, A. Biere, L. Gigord, A. E. Weis, G. 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Post Geography, Medicine Science 2009 91 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Figures and Tables 88 Citations 63 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_eghyblthdbeidodpesz4tvrvbe	----	doi:10.1080/10455752.2011.593896 The Leaf Blower, Capitalism, and the Atomization of Everyday Life Jules Boykoff * The use of leaf blowers has become endemic to landscaping, groundskeeping, and yard care in the United States. The National Gardening Association (2008) found that each year between 2002 and 2007, approximately 6 million U.S. households purchased leaf blowers. 1 The 2010 National Gardening Survey discovered that an estimated 4.9 million households purchased power blowers the previous year (Butterfield 2011). This profusion of leaf blowers does not come without environmental and social costs. According to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (1997), as people across the United States re-fuel their leaf blowers and lawnmowers, they slop approximately 17 million gallons of gasoline onto the ground each summer, gas that seeps into the water we drink and evaporates into the air we breathe. To put that number in perspective, the Exxon Valdez oil spill in 1989 dumped 10.9 million gallons of Prudhoe Bay crude into Prince William Sound, Alaska (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration 1989). On top of that, leaf blowers discharge a cocktail of contaminants into the air, from hydrocarbons and carbon monoxide*which combine with other greenhouse gases to form ozone*to the carcinogens benzene, acetaldehyde, and formaldehyde. The California Environmental Protection Agency’s Air Resources Board (2000, 50, 3) estimates that the average commercial, gas-powered leaf blower manufactured in 1999 emits the same amount of hydrocarbons in one-half hour as a car traveling 7,700 miles at 30 miles per hour. Over that half hour, the same leaf blower pumps out as much carbon monoxide as a car driving 440 miles at 30 miles per hour. Leaf blower operators inhale this toxic concoction, while they’re simultaneously barraged with ear-popping noise, a problem that is exacerbated by the fact that few of them*less than 10 percent according to one study*wear protective ear gear.2 *The author thanks the following people for their constructive feedback: the anonymous referees, Karen Charman, Salvatore Engel-Di Mauro, Joel Kovel, and Kaia Sand. Thanks also to Sam Ryals for research assistance. 1 While leaf blowers are used widely across the United States, the Midwest and the South are the two regions with the highest leaf-blower ownership rates (Athavaley 2009). 2 Comparatively, the average homeowner’s leaf blower racks up hydrocarbon emissions equal to driving 2,200 miles and carbon monoxide emissions equal to 110 miles of driving (California Environmental Protection Agency Air Resources Board 2000, 54). The Occupational Safety Health Administration has deemed noise above 85 decibels dangerous. Yet some leaf blowers crank at 90 decibels and above. Leaf blower manufacturers have responded to noise complaints by reducing the decibel level to a more tolerable and safe 65 decibels, though many older-model leaf blowers are still in circulation (Athavaley 2009). ISSN 1045-5752 print/ISSN 1548-3290 online # 2011 The Center for Political Ecology www.cnsjournal.org DOI: 10.1080/10455752.2011.593896 CAPITALISM NATURE SOCIALISM VOLUME 22 NUMBER 3 (SEPTEMBER 2011) http://www.cnsjournal.org Leaf blowers*the shrill tool du jour for groundskeepers*have caused many a quibble between neighbors, which has resulted in numerous localities passing ordinances that restrict or ban the use of the tool. In Los Angeles’s upscale neighborhood of Brentwood, the noise generated by a neighbor’s leaf blower led actor Julie Newmar*the original Catwoman on television*to scratch back. Using black spray paint, she scrawled ‘‘ruido’’*the Spanish word for noise*on an alley wall adjacent to her neighbor’s house in an effort to quiet the neighbor’s Latino gardener who was using a high-decibel leaf blower. When she perceived police were slacking in their enforcement of a Los Angeles City Council ordinance banning the use of gas-powered leaf blowers within 500 feet of a residence, Newmar*along with equally irked neighbors like actor Meredith Baxter*organized a vigilante enforcement crew called ZAP (Zero Air Pollution) that set up a telephone hotline to anonymously report ordinance violators, created a database for the names and addresses of alleged leaf-blower law-breakers (which they shared with police), and issued warning letters informing neighbors they were committing a misdemeanor (Gumbel 1997). 3 Such fervent NIMBYism brings to mind Michel Foucault’s (1995, 296, 223) laterally enforced ‘‘supervision of normality’’ within disciplinary society, the ‘‘panopticisms of every day’’ that mark modern social relations. But leaf blowers not only rankle upper-class NIMBYists; they also make an imprint on how we think and relate to each other under neoliberal capitalism. In Lawn People: How Grasses, Weeds, and Chemicals Make Us Who We Are, geographer Paul Robbins (2007, 135) argues that we need to pay attention to ‘‘the active role of nonhumans in capitalized ecosystems.’’ Nonhumans, he asserts, act in different (and potentially contradictory) ways to produce the ‘‘subject’’ we recognize as ourselves. And to the degree that these ‘‘objects’’ obey their own rules. . .it is their rules that set the pace and character of subjected lives. They do so tied to the exigencies of capitalist power, to be sure, but with independent, prior, and often ultimate authority. This chimes with Marx’s (1976, 286) insight in Capital that ‘‘Instruments of labor not only supply a standard of the degree of development which human labor has attained, but they also indicate the social relations within which men work.’’ Such instruments ‘‘of a mechanical kind’’ help reveal an epoch’s social relations and their attendant dysfunctionalities. As such, the leaf blower is not simply a garden tool you can drop on your foot, but a metaphor that helps us better understand how technology can reorganize space and alter social relations. Henri Lefebvre (1976, 21) noted that 3 The battles in Southern California continue to this day, with the Newport Beach City Council banning gas- powered leaf blowers in March 2011 (Reicher 2011). 96 JULES BOYKOFF capitalism has found itself able to attenuate (if not resolve) its internal contradictions for a century, and consequently, in the hundred years since the writing of Capital, it has succeeded in achieving ‘‘growth.’’ We cannot calculate at what price, but we do know the means: by occupying space, by producing a space. The leaf blower helps us sharpen our focus on a complex reticulation of socio-spatial relations, including the amplification of ecological destruction. The leaf blower embodies within itself the essential anti-ecological gesture of capital as it annihilates the cyclical flow and exchange between ecosystems upon which nature has built its intrinsic integrity. The leaf blower also illuminates a range of relations, from the psychological propensity to disperse responsibility to the encouragement of hyper- individualized behavior to the intensification, racialization, and aggravation of labor relations. To illustrate the racial implications of this particular garden tool, Christopher David Ruiz Cameron (1999, 1089) argues that bans on leaf blowers are ‘‘a way to enforce Latina/o invisibility and to subvert attempts by Latinas/os to assimilate into Anglo society.’’ Here, the leaf blower throws light on the pathologies of capitalism and how these pathologies inform the formation of neoliberal subjectivities that corral us into certain kinds of neoliberal citizenship. ‘‘What is at issue,’’ geographer Doreen Massey (2005, 147) succinctly notes, ‘‘is the constant and conflictual process of the constitution of the social, both human and non-human.’’ In this ever-unfolding interplay between the material and the discursive, it is the non- human actors that all too often are left out. Temporally, the emergence and increased use of the leaf blower parallels the rise and fortification of neoliberal capitalism and the intensification of ecological devastation. The leaf blower, as a metaphor, reveals the ideological and psychological latticework for a political-economic system driven by despoliation and the diffusion of responsibility, or what economists call the imposition of negative externalities. This process creates perverse incentives to socialize capitalism’s unseemly underbelly, and without a democratic referendum. The out-of-sight-out-of-mind mentality inherent to both the leaf blower as technological apparatus and as metaphor is buoyed by rampant atomization, a social mechanism that thwarts collective action through multifarious quotidian vectors. Leaf Blowers: Born in the U.S.A. The earliest versions of what eventually became the leaf blower emerged in 1899 with Charles Beariks’ invention of a portable garden sprayer in Peshtigo, Wisconsin. Beariks (1899) asserted in his patent for the machine that the sprayer could be ‘‘adapted for other purposes’’ like ‘‘washing windows or as a fire extinguisher.’’ By the 1920s, this invention had been transformed by George Clements (1923) into ‘‘a hand blower for cleaning machinery which may be quickly and easily converted into a suction device.’’ In 1931, Walter M. Guedel (1931) of Los Angeles first patented a device that was explicitly designed for ‘‘cleaning leaves, papers, and other light debris ATOMIZATION OF EVERYDAY LIFE 97 from lawns, hard dirt or gravel yards, concrete walks, driveways and the like.’’ By the late 1940s, inventors had applied for patents for ‘‘portable motor-blower units’’ (Breuer and Lanter 1948) replete with shoulder straps for more convenient use. By the late 1950s, the technology had been commercialized as with Toro’s ‘‘Wind Tunnel innovation’’ and the lawn-blower-like, leaf-blowing ‘‘tornado-on-wheels’’ (Banister 1965). In 1973 Popular Science reviewed the Toro and Jacobsen leaf blowers, offering a praiseful appraisal that sounded a lot like ad copy: ‘‘they did a fast job of whisking leaves from large areas. They are also great for blasting wind-driven leaves, husks, papers, and debris from shrubs and hedge’’ (Dunnes 1973). To understand the rise of the leaf blower in the U.S., one must first scope back to at least 1910, when the City of Los Angeles constructed an aqueduct that mercilessly slurped freshwater from Owens Lake, which sat 250 miles north at the southern end of the Owens River Valley, a significant watershed for the eastern Sierras, ultimately draining the 112-square-mile water body (Davis 1998, 22) so that Los Angeles could eventually blip, blink, and bling with the most affluent of global cities. This decision put the metropolis on the whipsaw path of volatile nonlinearity*what Mike Davis (1998, 9) has dubbed ‘‘the dialectic of ordinary disaster’’*that would roil the region from abundance to drought and back again. Southern California has a long history of technology-induced spatial tradeoffs that have created a tenuous, human-made terrain in need of a long-term environmental plan. As Davis notes, ‘‘For generations, market-driven urbanization has transgressed environmental common sense.’’ Such transgressions have triggered an array of unintended consequences. While leaf blowers*or at least their component parts*were around in one form or another since the dawn of the 20 th century, they were not popularized until the mid-1970s when California experienced a severe drought that not only threatened the state’s massive agricultural industry, but also propelled suburban homeowners to figure out ways of removing plant debris form their driveways and sidewalks without using up precious water (New York Times 1976). According to academic geographer Orman Granger (1979), in 1976 and 1977 California suffered the most intense two-year dry spell in 125 years. In response, the State of California’s Department of Water Resources issued a number of reports that highlighted both the severity of the drought as well as the need to come up with water conservation measures (State of California, The Resources Agency 1976a, 1977). Such ‘‘drought strategies’’ for ‘‘reductions in noncritical water uses’’ included the suggestion that ‘‘Recommendations on watering of home landscaping for best plant growth with a minimum amount of water should be sent out with the water bill to all customers’’ and that ‘‘Information on ways to conserve water within the home should also be distributed’’ (State of California, The Resources Agency 1976a, 69). In a ‘‘Special Report on Dry Year Impacts in California,’’ the Department of Water Resources recommended that California residents ‘‘Cut down on outdoor washing of cars and eliminate washing of paved areas’’ (State of California, The Resources Agency 1976b, 98 JULES BOYKOFF 24). The leaf blower, by then commercially developed, was there to help. The City of Los Angeles went so far as to mandate their use for cleaning sidewalks and driveways in order to cut down on the waste of much-prized water (National Gardening Association Editors n.d.). Leaf blower sales spiked. Unlike Las Vegas, what happens in California doesn’t stay in California; by 1990 nationwide annual sales of the leaf blower had surpassed the 800,000 mark, and by 1998 almost 2 million were flying off the shelf each year. Ten years later, these sales numbers more than doubled (California Environmental Protection Agency 2000, 7; Butterfield 2011). Com- menting on the droughts L.A. experienced in the neoliberal era, David Rieff (1991, 250�251) notes, ‘‘it was almost as if the ghosts of the farmers of Owens Valley were finally exacting a gaunt revenge.’’ This parched payback gave rise to a technology they would not likely have envisioned: the leaf blower. An inconvenient truth about leaf blowers is that it is not uncommon for people who use them to relocate leaves, dirt, and weeds into their neighbor’s yard or out onto the street for the city or municipality to deal with rather than collecting, bagging, and disposing of the leaves themselves. This is not only an antisocial manifestation of out-of-sight-out-of-mind mental processes, but also an unequivocal passing of the social buck that relates to what social psychologists have called ‘‘diffusion of responsibility.’’ In 1968, John M. Darley and Bibb Latané published a seminal study called ‘‘Bystander Intervention in Emergencies: Diffusion of Responsibility.’’ They found that bystander inaction in the face of a victim’s plight was less the result of anomie, apathy, or alienation*the explanatory frontrunners of the time. Rather, a bystander’s response*or lack thereof*stemmed from the bystander’s perception of the observers on hand. In an experiment, subjects were led to believe they were overhearing someone having an epileptic seizure; the result was that the number of bystanders the subject believed were present was a major factor in the likelihood she would report the supposed emergency. The fewer observers in the vicinity, the more likely the subject was to intervene to assist the victim (Darley and Latané 1968, 100�106). This individualized conception of cognition in relation to the dynamic of non- intervention except in extreme circumstances is hardwired into the neoliberal order with the state’s relative abdication of social assistance responsibilities. When you add anti-social technology like leaf blowers to such social- psychological processes and stir, you get powerfully reverberative dynamics that click puzzle-piece-like with the machinations of capital under neoliberal conditions. Political theorist Timothy Mitchell (2002, 298�299) reminds us: An economy is assembled out of a variety of agencies and forces, some human and some nonhuman. The powers that combine to make an economy include those of ATOMIZATION OF EVERYDAY LIFE 99 machines, humans, corporations, money, electrical and other forms of energy, technology, and chemical and biological processes, among others. He goes on to note, The nonhuman agencies enter into human partnership not just as passive elements to be costed and arranged, but as dynamic and mobile forces with their own powers and logics. Economic practice always comes into being in combination with these noneconomic elements, which it cannot fully contain or account for. This follows Robbins’ claim that in order to better understand ourselves as subjects caught in a discursive and material maze of multinational capital, we must explore ‘‘the intimate influences of nonhuman ‘objects’ in our daily life’’ (2007, 135). He writes that the most persistent and powerful influences making us who we are seem to populate the world around us as a concrete universe of things. . .[T]he landscape is filled to the horizon with co-inhabitants of our ecological metropolis, all ‘‘working on us’’ in different ways. (2007, 137.) Leaf blower logic illuminates this ‘‘concrete universe of things’’*one of Mitchell’s ‘‘nonhuman’’ forces*and reveals who we are and what we accept as normality.4 Technology and Capitalism: ‘‘The ideas that are lying around’’ The upsurge in commercial use of the leaf blower happened to coincide with neoliberalism’s big boost. As is well known, neoliberalism emerged out of the global economic recessions of the 1970s, the New York fiscal crisis, and the perceived failures of Keynesian welfarism. Neoliberal architect Milton Friedman (2002, xiv) famously wrote, ‘‘Only a crisis*actual or perceived*produces real change. When that crisis occurs, the actions that are taken depend on the ideas that are lying around.’’ As the world economy gyrated in the mid-1970s, proponents of neoliberalism* such as Friedman and Friedrich August von Hayek*posited that the best ‘‘ideas that are lying around’’ included bolstering private property rights, prioritizing 4 The leaf blower shapes our thinking, but it does not determine it. I’m not peddling a technological determinist scheme here. For a short history of technological determinism in the United States, stretching back to the industrial revolution, see Merritt Rose Smith (1994, 1�35). 100 JULES BOYKOFF entrepreneurialism, promoting open markets, and removing barriers to trade. All this would be accomplished through deregulation, privatization, and the state’s removal from most modes of economic planning and ownership. Friedman and Hayek envisioned and worked to bring about the day when constraints on the mobility of capital were removed, financial flows and trade relations were liberalized, and state interventionism in economic matters ceased except in extreme instances. The ostensibly oafish, coercive, and inefficient state was replaced by competitive market relations rooted in competition and choice. In the 1960s this version of capitalism remained a utopian intellectual current. That changed in 1975 when investment bankers performed a coup d’ finance, essentially bankrupting New York City. This fiscal crisis led to austerity policies and economic reforms previously untested in such broad fashion in the global North, with the mayor of New York transmogrifying into a powerless puppet while the city’s Emergency Financial Control Board pulled the economic strings (Tabb 1982). On either side of the Atlantic, Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan grabbed the baton from Friedman and Hayek and aggressively pushed their policies and ideas, with Thatcher famously invoking the self-fulfilling dictum of TINA: there is no alternative. By the end of the 1980s this mentality had jumped scale to the transnational sphere where the ‘‘Washington Consensus’’*the International Monetary Fund, World Bank, and U.S. Treasury Department*helped ossify politicized policy into received wisdom. This ideologically drenched ‘‘received wisdom’’ is self-naturalizing and self-reinforcing neoliberalism has become the naturalized ideology humming at an inaudible octave, dished up in our quotidian victuals. Through privatization, deregulation, individualization, marketization, trade liberalization, and financialization, neoliberalism has become capitalism’s new normal, and this has been disastrous for the environment. Joel Kovel notes our contemporary era is marked by ‘‘structural forces that systematically degrade and finally exceed the buffering capacity of nature with respect to human production, thereby setting into motion an unpredictable yet interacting and expanding set of ecosystemic breakdowns’’ (2002, 21, italics in original). As Kovel points out, capitalism provokes ‘‘a twofold degradation’’: while nature is relentlessly commodified, negative externalities are devalued and socialized on the altar of capital accumulation (2002, 40). This places us on the path toward ‘‘twofold alteration,’’ whereby commodities are concurrently ‘‘ecodestructive and profitable’’(2002, 53). Those who both implement and long for these commodities are ‘‘changed in an ‘anti-ecological’ direction,’’ thereby becoming implicated in processes of ecological calamity (2002, 53). In that track, economist Robin Hahnel (2011, 83) summarizes what he calls the neoliberal ‘‘tragicomedy:’’ A social species, hard-driven to compete for status in a hierarchical society, is fast becoming like the proverbial lemmings, trapped in an economy where the pri- mary means of demonstrating social status is through competitive consumption ATOMIZATION OF EVERYDAY LIFE 101 that yields diminishing aggregate benefits even as it accelerates destruction of the environment we depend upon. Like a leaf blower gusting leaves onto the neighbor’s yard or into the street for someone else to deal with, ecological problems get externalized as other people’s problems. We are encouraged to reorganize our thinking psycho-spatially and to seek out technical, market-oriented solutions to our ecological tribulations. Thinking metaphorically, the leaf blower helps us downshift scale from the macro-policies of neoliberalism to the micro-physics of socio-political relations that underpin anti- ecological actions. The historical exploration of technology as an integral facet of capitalism inexorably leads one into a political-economic thicket. Marx was an early adopter of technology analysis and the idea that one could understand macro-economic processes by considering technological developments and their effects on labor. In the midst of writing Chapter 13 of Capital, Marx wrote in a letter to Engels that ‘‘The clock is the first automatic machine applied to practical purposes, and the whole theory of production of regular motion was developed on it.’’ He concluded that key technologies had ‘‘an extraordinary influence on the imagination’’ (Marx 1979, 68). This thread of thought surfaced in an important footnote in Capital where Marx (1976, 493) asserted, ‘‘Technology reveals the active relation of man to nature, the direct process of the production of his life, and thereby it also lays bare the process of the production of the social relations of his life, and of the mental conceptions that flow from those relations.’’ In other words technology helps interiorize*through the everyday interactions that join together to create social relations*particular conceptualizations of our relationship to nature. By thinking through technology and how it ‘‘reveals’’ and alters our daily interactions with nature and the ‘‘mental conceptions that flow from those relations,’’ we can come to better understand the dysfunctionalities that pock our collective relationship to ecology. If we want to understand our interrelations with nature, we must interrogate our social relations; if we want to understand social relations and the emergent ‘‘mental conceptions’’ at play, examining our relationship to nature is vital. Technology, both as literal instrument and as metaphor, can assist in this dialectical excavation. And this endeavor, in the spirit of Marx, should be steeped in co-evolutional analysis rather than lacquered with positivistic, linear causality. The leaf blower influences the intensity and pace of labor, inducing what David Harvey (1996, 242�244) calls ‘‘time-space compression.’’ This particular garden tool also alters our ‘‘mental conceptions’’ of the ideal yard. J.L. Mey (1996, 228) writes: [W]e start thinking differently about the operation itself of yard-cleaning, which the new tool allows us to carry out in a novel way. And it is here that technology has its true impact on the mind: it affects our mental attitude towards ourselves and our environment. 102 JULES BOYKOFF Thus, Mey continues: [W]e start to see the entire operation of garden upkeep in a different manner. Whereas we earlier might have tolerated a certain level of unorderliness (say, a certain number of leaves on the grass would be permitted, since it would be near- impossible to get them all out, using a hand-held rake or broom,) the leaf blower forces us to think of a garden lawn as a living room carpet on which even the tiniest white thread is a thorn in the eye and the possible igniting fuse of violent, domestic dispute. (1996, 228) Rather than the leaf blower becoming a technological appendage of the working gardener, the worker becomes an appendage of the leaf blower. This links laterally to the work of Martin Dodge and Rob Kitchin, which highlights the role of ‘‘technicity’’ in the perpetual transformation of everyday life as mediated by technology. To Dodge and Kitchin (2005, 169), technicity signifies ‘‘the extent to which technologies mediate, supplement, and augment collective life; the extent to which technologies are fundamental to the constitution and grounding of human endeavor; and the unfolding or evolutive power of technologies to make things happen in conjunction with people.’’ As such, ‘‘technicity is contingent, negotiated, and nuanced; it is realized through its practice by people in relation to historical and geographical context’’ (Dodge and Kitchin 2005, 170, emphasis added). The leaf blower as a spatial metaphor helps us understand the post-Keynesian, neoliberal moment with its naturalized ideological insistence on individualization processes that discourage cooperation. As with the individual groundskeeper working under intensified labor conditions, we are encouraged to view ourselves as autonomous units maximizing utility and speed. The leaf blower creates an ever more meticulous social construction of the acceptable (leaf-less) grounds, which encourages worker stress and strain. The skyrocketing leaf-blower sales numbers for individuals in the United States promotes possessive individualism at the same time it foments individualization. Space is crucial to the leaf blower as a metaphor. As Massey (1992, 70) asserts, ‘‘society is necessarily constructed spatially, and that fact*the spatial organization of society*makes a difference to how it works.’’ Space is not an empty container waiting to be filled but dynamic, ever-unfolding and socially negotiated. As such, ‘‘the spatial is integral to the production of history, and thus to the possibility of politics’’ (Massey 1992, 84). Actual leaf blowers perpetually enforce a certain kind of rigid order on the unordered, persistently tidying the inherent messiness of the yard. The leaf blower as a metaphor extends this to social relations as we are encouraged to slap agentic band-aids onto structural flesh wounds. Social relations and their concomitant ‘‘mental conceptions’’ play themselves out in numerous, quotidian ways. The tendency to otherize responsibility is subtly embedded into our social and political expectations, imbricated in everyday gestures, ATOMIZATION OF EVERYDAY LIFE 103 and entrenched into custom, familiarity, normality. As Lefebvre (1991, 13�14) notes, The most extraordinary things are also the most everyday; the strangest things are often the most trivial, and the current notion of the ‘‘mythical’’ is an illusory reflection of this fact. Once separated from its context, i.e. from how it is interpreted and from the things which reinforce it while at the same time making it bearable*once presented in all its triviality, i.e., in all that makes it trivial, suffocating, oppressive*the trivial becomes extraordinary, and the habitual becomes ‘‘mythical.’’ Leaf blower logic reveals refashioned social relations through the habitual, the seemingly innocuous everyday gestures we internalize and replicate into hyper- individualized mythical fixity. ‘‘There are a lot of things that don’t matter,’’ writes avant-garde poet Robert Fitterman (2001), ‘‘and they add up.’’ As such, leaf blowers provide a window into understanding neoliberalism’s requisite psychological interiority where Kovel’s ‘‘twofold degradation’’ and ‘‘twofold alteration’’ are inscribed. A century after Marx’s letter to Engels, Herbert Marcuse (1964, xv) captured the double-edged nature of technology when he wrote, ‘‘Technology serves to institute new, more effective, more pleasant forms of social control and social cohesion.’’ Technology can encourage constrained subjectivities while simultaneously spurring possibilities for enhanced communication and connection. The latter notion is perpetually trumpeted in popular culture, with the celebration of social media like Facebook and Twitter and their purported roles in political processes (e.g., the recent Egyptian revolution) and person-to-person meaning-making. Yet, the former element of Marcuse’s shibboleth*technology’s social control capacity*also deserves our attention. The material leaf blower and its evolving technicity points us toward the glitzy gerbil wheel of technological innovation or what Guy Debord (1990, 11� 12) derisively dubbed ‘‘incessant technological renewal.’’ Technological innovation often produces unintended consequences, what Bruno Latour (1999, 281) calls ‘‘the slight surprise of action.’’ He notes that, ‘‘whenever we make something we are not in command, we are slightly overtaken by the action.’’ Real-world examples of this phenomenon abound. Antibiotics may help us cure one infectious malady while advancing the spread of even more unstoppably virulent strains of bacteria. Pesticides may allow crop yields to skyrocket before dribbling into the groundwater where they stultify biodiversity. The internal combustion engine allowed for industrial expansion while it paved a carbon path for global warming. The rise of hard-shell ski boots may decrease ankle fractures while opening the door to both a false sense of security and an increase in serious knee injuries. All too often, convenience and foresight in one facet of life leads to nuisance and peril in another. Leaf blower logic lays bare the social diffusion of ecological responsibility as well as technology’s unintended socio-cultural effects. 104 JULES BOYKOFF Social Mechanisms and the Atomization of Everyday Life Aihwa Ong (2006, 3) notes that the ‘‘spread of neoliberal calculation as a governing technology’’ is ‘‘a historical process that unevenly articulates situated political constellations.’’ The uneven geographical development of neoliberalism need not be treated as singularly extant and spatially specific. This is where social mechanisms come in as a useful methodological tool that can help us understand the making and remaking of capitalism under neoliberal conditions. The development of social mechanisms owes a great deal to the sociologist Robert K. Merton (1968, 39�40) who insisted social scientists eschew both grand theory as well as singularistic historiographies in favor of ‘‘theories of the middle range’’ that ‘‘deal with delimited aspects of social phenomena.’’ A social mechanism is ‘‘a delimited class of events that alter relations among specified sets of elements in identical or closely similar ways over a variety of situations’’ (McAdam, Tarrow and Tilly 2001, 24). Political scientist John Gerring (2007, 166) parsimoniously pegs the essence of a social mechanism as ‘‘a causal pathway or process leading from X1 to Y.’’ Social mechanisms allow for explanation as they improve the suppleness of a theory, though they cannot be applied universally to all situations. They are analytical constructs that help us identify causal patterns across a variety of historical situations. Nestled in the theoretical stratum between laws and descriptions, between grand theory and historiography, mechanisms are the ‘‘workhorses of explanation’’ that are key to carrying out meso-level social science research interested in causation (McAdam, Tarrow and Tilly 2001, 30). Social mechanisms can help us understand the machinations of micro-physical power and how this contributes to neoliberalism’s persistent reconfiguration of macro-power in society. 5 In physics, atomization is the act of separating particles into discrete units. It entails breaking down*or atomizing*a bulk liquid into a multiplicity of smaller droplets or mist particles. Similarly, in the social sciences, atomization is a social mechanism whereby collective units (e.g. families, unions, classes) are reduced to individualized units consisting of one person rather than many. (Recall Margaret Thatcher’s catchy yet controversial statement that there was no such thing as ‘‘society’’ but rather, only individuals and their families). Masquerading as the end of the social, neoliberalism encourages individuals to ‘‘go it alone’’ and maximize their ‘‘utility.’’ Atomization allows the technologies and rationalities of neoliber- alism to interiorize within the skulls of individualized subjects, marking the marketization of everyday life. 5 Gerring (2007, 167) notes that for some, ‘‘the attraction of a mechanisms-base causal account is motivated by the prospect that micro-level relations might be easier to observe than macro-level relations. From this perspective, the finer pieces of the puzzle*the micro-foundations of causation*can be studied with greater clarity than the larger ambient structures.’’ This micro-foundational predilection should not be conflated with methodological individualism. ATOMIZATION OF EVERYDAY LIFE 105 This tendency toward atomization stretches far back in history. In Capital, Marx (1976, 187) wrote that people are related to each other in their social process of production in a purely atomistic way. Their own relations of production therefore assume a material shape which is independent of their control and their conscious individual action. Building from a Marxian foundation, Lefebvre (1991, 151) laconically asserted atomization is ‘‘a class weapon.’’ In the contemporary era, where neoliberal processes of production dialectically inflect subjectivization, Marx’s ‘‘purely atomistic’’ individual is no less hemmed into the individualized fate, despite neoliberalism’s glimmering promise of freedom. Atomization is related to what sociologists Ulrich Beck, Elisabeth Beck- Gernsheim (2001, xxii), and Zygmunt Bauman (2001) call ‘‘individualization.’’ As Beck and Beck-Gernsheim note, the hallmark of individualization is that ‘‘society tells us to seek biographical solutions to systemic contradictions.’’6 To be sure, individualization*like Marx’s ‘‘purely atomistic’’ individual*was around prior to the advent of neoliberalism. Yet atomization has exacerbated this trend under neoliberal capitalism. Atomization is the causal mechanism; hyper-individualism is its structural effect. Atomization undergirds processes of subjectification and hyper- individualization, promoting an anomic orientation as it de-tethers individuals from their social frameworks and networks, replacing lateral collectivities with political- economic individualism. The rational, atomized subject optimizes his or her independence from both other subjects as well as the state apparatus. This social mechanism helps sequester causality and social responsibility, whereby the hyper- atomized social structure encourages us to think that agency matters more than structure. Thus atomization converts citizens into consumers at the strip-mall of governance without government. Atomization is a regulatory social mechanism that reorganizes space in the service of capital formation and socio-spatial exclusion. Highlighting the role of atomization in this process, Harvey (2005, 64) notes that neoliberalism provides the institutional arrangements considered essential to guarantee individual freedoms. The legal framework is that of freely negotiated contractual obligations between juridical individuals in the marketplace. . .The sanctity of contracts and the individual right to freedom of action, expression, and choice must be 6 Beck (2001, 2) asserts there are two important aspects of individualization: (1) ‘‘the disintegration of previously existing social forms*for example, the increasing fragility of such categories as class and social status, gender roles, family, neighborhood, etc.’’ and (2) ‘‘new demands, controls and constraints are being imposed on individuals. Through the job market, the welfare state and institutions, people are tied into a network of regulations, conditions, provisos.’’ I prefer the term atomization so as to prevent conflation of the terms individuality, individualism, and individualization. 106 JULES BOYKOFF protected. The state must therefore use its monopoly of the means of violence to preserve these freedoms at all costs. The new subjects this process creates are encouraged to view themselves as customers (who aren’t always right!), consumers and clients who are encouraged to look after their own interests at the expense of the collective good. This is the microphysics of the leaf blower metaphor shedding light on the macro-picture, with atomization reverberating at multiple scales simultaneously. Atomization fragments social relations under the banner of the apolitical, or ‘‘post-political.’’ Describing the atomized neoliberal subject operating under the influence of flexibilized labor, Bourdieu (1998) writes that hyper-competitiveness: is extended to individuals themselves, through the individualisation of the wage relationship: establishment of individual performance objectives, individual performance evaluations, permanent evaluation, individual salary increases or granting of bonuses as a function of competence and of individual merit; individualised career paths; strategies of ‘‘delegating responsibility’’ tending to ensure the self-exploitation of staff who, simple wage labourers in relations of strong hierarchical dependence, are at the same time held responsible for their sales, their products, their branch, their store, etc. as though they were independent contractors. This pressure toward ‘‘self-control’’ extends workers’ ‘‘involvement’’ according to the techniques of ‘‘participative management’’ considerably beyond management level. All of these are techniques of rational domination that impose over-involvement in work (and not only among management) and work under emergency or high-stress conditions. As such, atomization and neoliberalism go hand-in-glove, with such technologies of rule found in an array of sites: from barracks to boardrooms, from schools to slums, from workplaces to welfare agencies, and from garages to gardens. We’re encouraged to view ourselves as active, atomized subjects ‘‘going it alone’’ and ‘‘maximizing our utility’’ to improve our lives. This dynamic plays itself out constantly in social relations and consistently in public opinion polls. In The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, Max Weber (1996, 222) wrote, ‘‘The expression of individualism includes the most heterogeneous things imaginable.’’ Nevertheless, public opinion researchers have operationalized indivi- dualism and routinely touted it as a key variable*a ‘‘core value’’*for explaining U.S. American political culture (Feldman 1988). Economic individualism has long shaped political opinion in the United States, with strong majorities in recent polls putting forth the belief that hard work will help individuals get ahead and that individuals determine their own success in life. Almost three-in-five U.S. Americans (58 percent) believe freedom to pursue their own goals is more important than making sure no one is in need. These results differ sharply from most of the rest of the world’s beliefs regarding individualism, personal empowerment, and the notion ATOMIZATION OF EVERYDAY LIFE 107 that success is determined by forces outside our control (Pew Research Center 2004; Pew Research Center 2005, 116�117). These trends are exacerbated by the fact that the number of unionized workers in the private sector has been reduced to a quarter of what it was at the dawn of the neoliberal era. With the market as one’s alibi, utter disregard for those hunched at the bottom of the economic ladder becomes socially acceptable behavior. There’s a flipside to the coin of intensified individualism under neoliberalism: social isolation has increased, with people identifying fewer people they can confide in regarding matters that actually matter to them. As a recent comprehensive study noted, the typical U.S. American’s ‘‘core confidants’’ have shrunken measurably with people more reliant on ties with a spouse/partner. Researchers concluded: ‘‘The types of bridging ties that connect us to community and neighborhood have withered as confidant networks have closed in on a smaller core group.’’ (McPherson, Smith- Lovin, and Brashears 2006, 372.) Perhaps more memorably, Beck (2001, 33) contends, ‘‘community is dissolved in the acid bath of competition,’’ which ‘‘causes the isolation of individuals within homogeneous social groups.’’ To be sure, individualism is only a pale proxy for the atomization process. And it should be remembered that individualism*since the days when Tocqueville hailed it as a defining feature of U.S. American society*is a massively elastic term with different meanings in different eras (Thomson 1989,1992). Spaces of Resistance? Lamenting humanity’s alienation from the natural world and communalism, Henry David Thoreau (1960, 30) wrote in Walden: ‘‘Men have become the tools of their tools.’’ This aphorism most assuredly applies to the leaf blower, a garden tool that illuminates what Marx viewed as ‘‘the process of the production of social relations. . .and the mental conceptions that flow from those relations.’’ Since their commercial introduction to the U.S. market, leaf blowers have been repurposed in numerous ways. One can attach a spray system to the end of a leaf blower to disperse a pesticide in a fine mist in order to create ‘‘an extraordinarily effective mosquito killing machine’’ (Drug Week 2008). After the attacks of September 11, 2001, the Environmental Protection Agency (2007) used leaf blowers in its Residential Dust Cleanup Program to direct exhaust air against walls, ceilings, floors, and other surfaces before carrying out air sampling. In Iraq, the U.S. military has strapped leaf blowers to the front of military vehicles to expose improvised explosive devices by blowing away the dirt and debris that often conceal them (Megerian 2007). When leaf blowers are placed under the socio-political microscope*and it’s rare that they are*the focus is most often on: (1) greenhouse gas emissions; (2) noise pollution; or (3) local ordinances and laws related to those two categories. But leaf blowers also serve as a useful, spatially-oriented metaphor for 108 JULES BOYKOFF the hyper-individualistic, out-of-sight-out-of-mind mentality that bolsters and exacerbates the destructive tendencies of contemporary capitalism. While we do well to focus on how neoliberal economic doctrine is flung through the funnel of institutionalized political processes to achieve the restoration and reformation of capitalist class power, it is also important to zero in on neoliberalism’s ideational apparatus, which affects our quotidian interactions, rationalizations, and judgments. Mitchell writes: The practices that attempt to frame the economy are not only those that regulate the act of market exchange. They include other forms of social network, powers of desire, technologies of control, and modes of government. Each of these, like the regulations of the market, constitutes both a limit and a horizon, opening the economic to other forces and logics. (2002, 295�296) Atomization is one such non-market social force that helps plug individuals into the marketized practices of neoliberal capitalism. As a key ideational technology of governance under neoliberalism, atomization slices at the sinews of resistance, defanging dissent as it devalorizes collective action and undercuts the potential for political contestation. Social-movement scholars have identified key preconditions for collective action, factors that structurally, organizationally, strategically, or tactically make dissent more possible. These preconditions include the ability to: (1) maintain solidarity; (2) attract new recruits; (3) create, nurture, and support movement leaders; (4) generate preferably favorable media coverage; (5) mobilize support from potentially sympathetic bystander publics; and (6) carve out the tactical freedom to pursue social-change goals (rather than put resources toward defensive maintenance needs) (Boykoff 2006, 290). Atomization undercuts achieving these vital preconditions, thus contributing to the stultification of collective contention. This is where space reenters the picture. As previously discussed, space is socially produced: ‘‘the dimension of dynamic simultaneous multiplicity’’ and ‘‘the sphere of continuous production and reconfiguration of heterogeneity in all its forms*diversity, subordination, conflicting interests’’ (Massey 2005, 59). Space is constituted through active material practices on the uneven terrain of power relations and structured via enclosure and flow. Clearly, within the whirling swirl of ‘‘conflicting interests,’’ technology can swerve the social production of space in particular directions, often with unintended consequences. Atomization and leaf blower logic help colonize social space. As Marx (1976, 563) wrote: ‘‘It would be possible to write a whole history of the inventions made since 1830 for the sole purpose of providing capital with the weapons against working-class revolt.’’ ATOMIZATION OF EVERYDAY LIFE 109 Yet, since the process of atomization is spatial, it is also fundamentally social in character, and thus resistance is not out of the question, especially since, as Massey (2005, 100) notes, space ‘‘is forever incomplete and in production.’’ She continues: ‘‘The open-ended interweaving of a multiplicity of trajectories (themselves thereby in transformation), the concomitant fractures, ruptures, and structural divides, are what makes it in the end so unamenable to a single totalizing project’’ such as neoliberalism. Since space and place are structured by material politics, we, like the leaf blower, can alter space as we move through it, if a little at a time. Should we wish to move toward a more equitable ‘‘relational ethics’’ whereby we eschew hyper-individualized conceptions of ethical agency as encouraged by leaf blower use and technology more generally, Sarah Whatmore (2002, 159) argues we need to collectively press toward ‘‘ethical praxis’’ that ‘‘emerges in the performance of multiple lived worlds, weaving threads of meaning and matter through the assemblage of mutually constituting subjects and patterns of association that comprise the distinction between the ‘human’ and the ‘non- human.’’’ In this endeavor, the production of relational space is vital. Harvey (1973, 13) defines relational space as ‘‘being contained in objects in the sense that an object can be said to exist only insofar as it contains and represents within itself relationships to other objects.’’ Space, he contends, is neither absolute, relative or relational in itself, but it can become one or all simultaneously depending on the circumstances. The problem of the proper conceptualization of space is resolved through human practice with respect to it. Rolled together, the ‘‘human practice’’ vis-à-vis the leaf blower and the leaf blower as a spatially oriented metaphor accentuate an array of micro-geographical relations: from the socio-cultural peer pressure for the manicured yard to labor dynamics that tee up nativist anti-immigration sentiment, from seemingly mindless environmental degradation to the technology-induced annihilation of time on steroids. There may well be a silver lining in the carbon-dioxide-drenched cloud of neoliberalism’s recent floundering on the global stage. Because of the collapse of the global economy, people in the U.S. have been forced to collectively hunker down while coming up with new forms of solidarity and collectivity to fight through the morass. Such creative collectivity under duress*the recent protests in Madison, Wisconsin being a shining example*brings to mind a military-speak phrase U.S. troops used in the first Gulf War: ‘‘embrace the suck,’’ meaning the situation may be bad, but we need to re-group and deal with it constructively. Contra the social tendencies revealed by the leaf blower, collectivism may now be becoming more of a survival strategy than a political decision for an ever-widening swathe of the population. 110 JULES BOYKOFF Milton Friedman (2002, xiii�xiv) made it his job to concertedly repudiate the ‘‘enormous inertia’’ inherent in the ‘‘tyranny of the status quo.’’ While Friedman was decidedly wrong on numerous fronts, he may have been right about one thing when he wrote that is was the basic function of intellectuals ‘‘to develop alternatives to existing policies, to keep them alive and available until the politically possible becomes the politically inevitable.’’ Shelving the leaf blower could be a constructive step in undermining neoliberalism’s ‘‘tyranny of the status quo’’ while simultaneously wedging open discursive and material space for progressive political principles and ecosocialist action. References Athavaley, A. 2009. 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work_ei5qcapcizf5fhlbvninf3urka	----	Science and Culture: Journal entries, maps, and photos help ecologists reconstruct ecosystems of the past SCIENCE AND CULTURE Journal entries, maps, and photos help ecologists reconstruct ecosystems of the past Carolyn Beans, Science Writer Ilka Feller has a penchant for mangrove hunting. Since the early 2000s, Feller, an ecologist at the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center, has periodically gone road-tripping in search of the northernmost mangrove tree in Florida. The red mangrove, Rhizophora man- gle, has draping roots that hold fast in the tide. But all three of Florida’s mangrove species anchor them- selves and whole ecosystems—protecting the shore- line from erosion, forming nurseries for fish, and sequestering carbon. Globally, mangroves are threatened by coastal development and shrimp farming. “More than half of the world’s mangroves have already been destroyed,” says Feller. Yet in Florida, Feller kept finding new man- groves farther and farther north, “solitary plants that are out there in this forever saltmarsh.” As part of a 2014 study, Feller’s then postdoc, Kyle Cavanaugh, analyzed satellite images taken from 1984 to 2011 and saw that mangroves were indeed advancing northward (1). The spread was associated with a reduced frequency of extreme cold events. Cli- mate change, it seemed, was replacing marshland, an important temperate ecosystem, with mangroves, an important subtropical and tropical one. But had they really revealed a trend pointing in one direction, or was the recent expansion of mangroves part of a Ecologist Ilka Feller used archival records to investigate whether mangroves in Florida, like these in Indian River Lagoon, are expanding into new territories or returning to a historical range. Image credit: Ilka Feller. Published under the PNAS license. 13138–13141 | PNAS | December 26, 2018 | vol. 115 | no. 52 www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1819526115 S C IE N C E A N D C U L T U R E D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1073/pnas.1819526115&domain=pdf https://www.pnas.org/site/aboutpnas/licenses.xhtml https://www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1819526115 continual cycle of mangrove and saltmarsh replacing one another? Feller needed more than just conven- tional scientific data to find out. So she dug into Florida’s past using tools more typical of historians. She found mangroves mentioned in the texts of famed naturalist John Muir, uncovered data in tourist photos, and parsed the writings of war surgeons and beekeepers. Feller and a growing group of ecologists are piecing together historical records to understand how ecosystems have changed over timescales that extend beyond the memories of the current genera- tion of researchers and residents. These portals to the past can help researchers better predict and plan for the future. But as historians already know well, ecol- ogists first have to figure out how to find these records and whether to trust them. Reading Between the Lines After reading Feller’s article on mangrove range ex- pansion (1), US Geological Survey researchers Chan- dra Giri and Jordan Long published a letter to the editor noting that, because Feller only went back to 1984 when the satellite imaging began, she couldn’t say definitively whether the northward spread was really just a return to a historical range (2). Feller responded that, either way, freezing determined the range (3). Still, she was curious. At first, Feller wasn’t sure how to approach histor- ical records. She consulted textbooks on historical ecology, a growing field defined in a recent review as “the study of nature over time” (4). Historical ecolo- gists use archival sources as well as biological ones, such as pollen records and tree rings, often with the ultimate goal of using a landscape’s history to illumi- nate its potential. “We can draw on our understanding of the past to creatively reimagine what is possible in the future,” says review author Erin Beller, an envi- ronmental researcher and historical ecologist at the San Francisco Estuary Institute and PhD candidate at the University of California, Berkeley. Researchers have drawn on historical records to explore past landscapes since as early as the 18th century (5). The field took off with North American ecologists in the 1990s (5), as researchers used archi- val records to explore historical changes in a range of ecosystems—from shifts in vegetation since the es- tablishment of Yellowstone National Park (6) to de- clines in green turtle abundance in Caribbean coastal ecosystems since Columbus (7). Feller began her historical ecology exploration by searching the used books section of Amazon and online holdings of historical documents. She soon stumbled on an 1823 book by Charles Vignoles, a surveyor for the city of St. Augustine, FL (8). In one passage, he says nearby Ponce Inlet “affords water for vessels drawing ten feet: the anchorage is good inside and on the south shore a vessel may lay alongside and make fast to the mangroves.” A book on historical ships revealed that a vessel “drawing ten feet” meant Photographs of Fort Matanzas National Monument, located south of St. Augustine, FL, offer visual evidence that the mangrove’s range has expanded and contracted multiple times. Mangroves appear to varying degrees in photos taken in the early 1900s (Top Left), 1934 (Top Right), 1981 (Bottom Left), and September 2018 (Bottom Right). Archival images credit: State Library and Archives of Florida. 2018 image credit: Matthew Hayes (Villanova University, Villanova, PA). Beans PNAS | December 26, 2018 | vol. 115 | no. 52 | 13139 D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 a boat 100–150 feet long. And that meant tying up to a pretty large, robust tree. In the journal of US Army surgeon Jacob Rhett Motte, Feller found evidence that freeze events could shrink the range. Motte described traveling by boat in 1836 during the Second Seminole War in the same region that Vignoles mentioned more than a decade earlier—except that in Motte’s account, the man- groves are dead (9). Feller notes that 1835 is still on record as including the most severe cold event in Florida’s history. Looking to photographic evidence, Feller and her team searched Wikimedia and the online archives of the Florida Division of Library and Information Services for images of Fort Matanzas National Monument, a fort built by the Spanish in the mid-18th century that sits on a barrier island south of St. Augustine. Tourists have taken photos of this monument since the early 1900s. In some photographs, mangroves dominate. In others, it’s saltmarsh. “This was months of struggling to find all of these little bits and pieces,” says Feller. “The connection is not made for you. It’s like reading between the lines.” Advance and Retreat Cavanaugh, now an ecologist and geographer at the University of California, Los Angeles, placed these findings on a map using GIS Software. Looking at the points, they now know that the current northward expansion of mangroves has not, in fact, reached its historical limit. Their proof comes from the writings of John Muir. In 1867, Muir caught his first glimpse of Florida by boat, “a flat, watery, reedy coast, with clumps of mangrove” (10). Just south of Georgia, Muir was about 20 kilometers north of Feller’s current northernmost record. The current hypothesis of Feller and Cavanaugh’s team is that hurricanes sweep the mangrove propa- gules and, hence, the trees’ range northward, whereas freeze events drive it back southward (11). Gleaning from all the records they’ve sifted through, the team now estimates that the mangrove range has con- tracted and then expanded three or four times since the early 1800s. The shifts occurred quickly, says Cavanaugh. “A single severe freeze can be enough to shift the system back to saltmarsh dominance.” Cavanaugh recently built a model that predicts past changes in mangrove abundance back to 1850 for an area near Fort Matanzas National Monument. The model employs temperature records, experi- mental data on cold tolerance, satellite images taken since the 1980s, and aerial images reaching back to the 1940s. When he compared the results with historical records Feller had collected, Cavanaugh found close agreement. With the historical records lending confidence in the model, Cavanaugh then modeled future mangrove abundance. “One out- standing question is: Is this more recent shift toward mangrove dominance going to be made more per- manent because of climate change?” says Cavanaugh. His results, which he plans to publish soon, suggest that it will. A Trove of Data Ecologists might delve into historical archives for myriad reasons. Beller says history offers a “trove” of data that she and others at the San Francisco Estuary Institute use to help nonprofits, private companies, and government agencies see restora- tion opportunities. In Silicon Valley, her team dis- covered that, before around 1900, willow groves covered more than 2,000 acres. The group found written records and maps of willows, including some from before the Gold Rush, and a drawing of pic- nickers in a willow grove in what is now downtown San Jose, CA. Google, inspired by these findings, recently removed more than 100 parking spaces to expand a rare existing willow grove on its campus in Mountain View, CA. To gauge changes in seasonal events, such as flowering and migration, plant ecologist Richard Pri- mack of Boston University put out a call for local his- torical datasets that might capture changes in phenology (12). He and his team learned that Henry David Thoreau had made handwritten tables of the date of first flowering for more than 500 species in Concord, MA from 1851 to 1858. By combining Thoreau’s and botanist Alfred Hosmer’s notes with their own observations, the team discovered that plants in Concord now flower 10 days earlier, on av- erage, than during Thoreau’s time (12). Looking to reveal long-term changes in marine eco- systems, marine historical ecologist Loren McClenachan of Colby College uses archival records to estimate species’ population sizes before they experienced any appreciable human influence. Identifying these “historical baselines” can help managers make re- covery targets closer to species’ actual potentials (13). In a 2017 study, her team used 18th-century British nautical charts to estimate changes in the coral reef area in the Florida Keys (14). Typically, coral decline is measured by the percentage of loss of coral in existing reefs. But McClenachan’s team discovered that about half of the coral observations marked on these charts are in pla- ces where coral reefs no longer exist today. Outside the Lens For ecologists, historical records are both a boon and a challenge. The first hurdle is simply finding the re- cords. Students of McClenachan’s recently asked his- torical societies in Maine for images of a seaweed called rockweed but came back empty-handed. When going to archivists, ecologists need be careful how they frame the question, explains McClenachan. His- torical societies don’t typically organize their photo “This was months of struggling to find all of these little bits and pieces. The connection is not made for you. It’s like reading between the lines.” —Ilka Feller 13140 | www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1819526115 Beans D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 https://www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1819526115 archives according to marine species. When the stu- dents instead asked for tourist pictures taken along the coast, the rockweed appeared alongside smiling vacationers. But in some cases, the data may not exist. In ad- dition to flowering time notes, Primack has also found Thoreau’s records on bird and tree phenology (12). Insect data, however, are proving more elusive. He’s uncovered records on butterfly flight times from a lo- cal butterfly club; other biologists have found bee records using museum specimens. “But for a lot of other insect groups, including flies and dragonflies,” he says, “there is surprisingly little information.” Then there’s the issue of veracity. “There is no document that gives us a transparent view into the past,” says Joseph Taylor III of Simon Fraser Univer- sity, a Western North America and environmental historian. “Even a photograph is literally framed by the lens, and what is outside the lens is outside the record.” Historians, he notes, are trained to place evidence in context, thinking critically about where a document was found, who produced it, and for what audience. Some researchers follow this same practice, says Taylor. But others, in an attempt to arrive at a definitive data point, may run “roughshod over the limitations of their resources,” pitfalls Taylor described in a 2013 commentary (15). Biases abound, notes McClenachan—in the case of fish-catch records, for example, a fisherman who’s taxed on his catch might be tempted to underreport. Feller, though, isn’t finished. After retiring at the end of this year, she’ll visit historical societies that haven’t yet digitized their records. New discoveries keep her motivated. Only recently, for example, she found that beekeepers once placed hives in black mangrove forests. When freezes hit, the beekeepers wrote about them, hence offering another window into how past freezes affected mangrove health. “There’s a lot to be learned,” says Feller, “in reading these obscure beekeeping journals.” 1 Cavanaugh KC, et al. (2014) Poleward expansion of mangroves is a threshold response to decreased frequency of extreme cold events. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 111:723–727. 2 Giri CP, Long J (2014) Mangrove reemergence in the northernmost range limit of eastern Florida. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 111:E1447–E1448. 3 Cavanaugh KC, et al. (2014) Reply to Giri and Long: Freeze-mediated expansion of mangroves does not depend on whether expansion is emergence or reemergence. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 111:E1449. 4 Beller E, et al. (2017) Toward principles of historical ecology. Am J Bot 104:645–648. 5 Szabó P (2015) Historical ecology: Past, present and future. Biol Rev Camb Philos Soc 90:997–1014. 6 Kay CE (1995) Ecosystems then and now: A historical-ecological approach to ecosystem management. Proceedings of the Fourth Prairie Conservation and Endangered Species Workshop, eds Willms WD, Dormaar JF (Provincial Museum of Alberta, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada), pp 79–87. 7 Jackson JBC (1997) Reefs since Columbus. Coral Reefs 16(Suppl 1):S23–S32. 8 Vignoles CB (2010) Observations Upon the Floridas (1823) (Kessinger Publishing, Whitefish, MO). 9 Motte JR (2017) Journey Into Wilderness: An Army Surgeon’s Account of Life in Camp and Field During the Creek and Seminole Wars, 1836-1838, ed Sunderman JF (University Press of Florida, Gainesville). 10 Muir J (1916) A Thousand-Mile Walk to the Gulf, ed Badè WF (Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston). 11 Rodriguez W, Feller IC, Cavanaugh KC (2016) Spatio-temporal changes of a mangrove-saltmarsh ecotone in the northeastern coast of Florida, USA. Glob Ecol Conserv 7:245–261. 12 Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ (2012) Uncovering, collecting, and analyzing records to investigate the ecological impacts of climate change: A template from Thoreau’s Concord. Bioscience 62:170–181. 13 McClenachan L, Ferretti F, Baum JK (2012) From archives to conservation: Why historical data are needed to set baselines for marine animals and ecosystems. Conserv Lett 5:349–359. 14 McClenachan L, O’Connor G, Neal BP, Pandolfi JM, Jackson JBC (2017) Ghost reefs: Nautical charts document large spatial scale of coral reef loss over 240 years. Sci Adv 3:e1603155. 15 Taylor JE, III (2013) Knowing the black box: Methodological challenges in marine environmental history. Environ Hist 18:60–75. Beans PNAS | December 26, 2018 | vol. 115 | no. 52 | 13141 D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 
work_eisbqaoy6bf7vhpizai23gznju	----	Hallowell, Gerald, ed. The Oxford Companion to Canadian History. Don Mills: Oxford University Press, 2004. Pp. 748. $79.95 All Rights Reserved © Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine, 2006 Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 21:00 Urban History Review Revue d'histoire urbaine Hallowell, Gerald, ed. The Oxford Companion to Canadian History. Don Mills: Oxford University Press, 2004. Pp. 748. $79.95 Jeffrey P. Plante Volume 34, numéro 2, spring 2006 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1016017ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1016017ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine ISSN 0703-0428 (imprimé) 1918-5138 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer ce compte rendu Plante, J. P. (2006). Compte rendu de [Hallowell, Gerald, ed. The Oxford Companion to Canadian History. Don Mills: Oxford University Press, 2004. Pp. 748. $79.95]. Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine, 34(2), 61–62. https://doi.org/10.7202/1016017ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/uhr/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1016017ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1016017ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/uhr/2006-v34-n2-uhr0608/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/uhr/ Book Reviews / Comptes rendus "foreigners" pay a differential fee for parking in another's neigh- bourhood also implies a level of control and definition for local areas that has not so far been a notable feature of our cities. Our city governments have mostly been broadly based regimes of control with weak local structures. The distribution of benefits from such a profitable resource as paid parking also raises interesting questions. The expected use of revenue to enhance the local public environment will produce pockets of substantial financial clout. Others might argue that the negative effects of local parking should be contextualized within the whole driving trip that also delivers negative effects to other areas, for which no income is available. The allocation of such revenue to local needs does, however, have the merit of actually working as a sys- tem. The question here is whether this is a good societal model. The book is full of useful material with which planners should familiarize themselves, in the event that our society does not completely abandon municipal control over parking. The capital cost estimation methods are clear and understandable, and should be a part of planning practice in any event. Those who would like to see a more balanced transportation system with a greater emphasis on non-motorized and public modes of transportation could use some of Professor Shoup's arguments. The book is a great parting shot in the timely debate on the role of city governments in supplying infrastructure for private transportation. John Zacharias Concordia University Hallowell, Gerald, ed. The Oxford Companion to Canadian History. Don Mills: Oxford University Press, 2004. Pp. 748. $79.95. The Oxford Companion to Canadian History represents the col- laborative work of more than five hundred scholars under the guidance of editor Gerald Hallowell, formerly of the University of Toronto Press. The Companion is in many respects an extensive, comprehensive read, and as a result it is destined to become a requisite text for scholars and students of Canadian history. Those of us interested in learning more about Canadian history will find The Companion to be an invaluable source for refer- ence information on a variety of subjects. Undergraduate students seeking background information or a general starting point for their work will find this text to be immeasurably useful. However, some necessary precau- tions must be given some consideration. As with any text that attempts to be comprehensive or encapsulate its subject in its entirety, The Companion invariably leaves some glaring omis- sions. This is not to suggest that it fails or is in anyway unsuc- cessful—on the contrary, its contributors and its editor should be applauded for their achievements in producing this fine work. However, some areas of Canadian history seem overem- phasized, while other topics and events are not given the treat- ment they deserve or in some cases fail to be mentioned at all. One of the more puzzling elements within the text is its quasi- interdisciplinary approach to history with regard to the arts and in particular music and dance. For example, there are entries on teacher and composer John Weizweig, contralto Portia White, and soprano Emma Albani, whereas there are no entries (or mention) of either Sir John Colbome or Sir Francis Bond Head, both of whom were lieutenant governors of Upper Canada during the tumultuous period of the Rebellions of 1837-38. In addition, the entry on the history of dance receives treatment of nearly one and a half pages. In comparison, Confederation merits just one half page. Leading Maritime politician Sir Samuel Leonard Tilley, a strong advocate for Confederation and the politician responsible for New Brunswick's decision to enter Confederation in 1867, receives just a brief mention. Other politicians instrumental in the deal for Confederation are also overlooked. This pattern continues throughout the text. The Companion also includes entries on a variety of topics such as academic freedom, lighthouses, art galleries, Timothy Findley's The Wars, and Franz Boas. While each of these entries is in some sense deserving, it is hard to argue for their inclusion when the Somalia Affair, Mitchell Sharpe and the Sharpe Principles, Fort George, Charles Dickens, the French and Indian Wars, and the Plains of Abraham are not represented as entries. The Companion provides us with extensive examples of explorers, scientists, and travellers, but is quite selective in this proc- ess. There is no mention of Thackeray, Henry David Thoreau, Isabella Bishop, Harriet Martineau, or John Goldie. Goldie's early nineteenth-century work on horticulture in Niagara cre- ated unprecedented levels of scientific interest in Canada and should have been included, given the text's emphasis on sci- ence and in particular scientific contributions and discoveries that were made in Canada and/or were made by Canadians. Besides science and the arts, other themes are also well represented in the text including education, urban history, and women's history. There are numerous entries pertaining to indi- vidual urban centres such as Montreal, Toronto, and St. John's. Perhaps the most interesting entries in this regard are those that highlight smaller urban centres such as Thunder Bay—which seems to have been included more so for its declining eco- nomic fortunes than as a leading urban centre. There are also useful entries on both the suburbs and urbanization. In this context, it could be pointed out that The Companion makes no mention of historiography or of urban history as a field or as subfield of social history. In fact there is no discussion or defini- tion of cultural history or social history in a Canadian context in the text either. This is not beyond the scope of the project, since Jan Noel's entry on femmes favorisées? does an excellent job of discussing and outlining the rise of scholarship on Canadian women in conjunction with the feminist movement. Perhaps the most disturbing element of this text is the inclu- sion of at least two references to the Montreal Massacre that 61 Urban History Review /Revue d'histoire urbaine Vol. XXXIV, No. 2 (Spring 2006printemps) Book Reviews / Comptes rendus imply that the events that culminated in the tragic loss of life of thirteen female students and a secretary were part of a grow- ing trend of anti-feminist sentiment and an extreme example of widespread misogyny in Canada rather than the deranged actions of a mentally ill individual. This characterization is itself extreme and should have been more carefully considered. Overall The Oxford Companion to Canadian History is an excel- lent choice for students who are seeking a primer on Canadian history and for scholars who are in need of such an anticipated reference work. Canadians will find this to be an insightful, edu- cational, and at times lively and entertaining look at our history. Jeffrey P. Plante York University Radforth, Ian. Royal Spectacle: The 1860 Visit of the Prince of Wales to Canada and the United States. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2004. Pp. xi, 469. Illustrations, $39.95 paper. Royal visits to Canada have been of considerable interest to Canadian scholars in recent years. They have come from a vari- ety of directions and have produced some fascinating scholar- ship. Following on Viv Nelles's enormous success with The Art of Nation Building, which explored the politics behind the 1908 commemorative events surrounding the 300th anniversary of the founding of Quebec, this volume takes on the well-known visit of the very youthful Edward Albert, Prince of Wales, to British North America and the United States in 1860. As with Nelles's approach, the objective here is to use the visit, along with all its resulting paraphernalia and reportage, as a prism through which to view colonial societies, seen by Radforth to be groping toward a transformation of identity on the eve of Confederation, though, as a way of examining colonial politics and society, it seldom gets far beyond a rather voyeuristic appreciation of the various communities that were visited, as reflected in the large amounts of reportage. At one level, Royal Spectacle is a straightforward recounting of the princely entourage's passage through the colonies, starting with the decision to travel and following along as he makes his way through the various communities. What the colonists chose to put on view for the prince (and how their various spectacles were received by the royal visitor and his handlers) provides most of the grist for Radforth's mill. And the mill grinds pretty slowly in some parts, as it moves through the languid and repetitious ceremonies marking the prince's passage from Saint John's through all the colonial towns and cities along his route, til his final exit from Canada via Windsor and Detroit after a tortuous two months of travelling and feting. The presumption in such extended examinations of specific moments or events such as these is that deep analysis of the material produced by the occasion will offer an opportunity for a comparably deeper understanding of the society from which the material emanates. This study is based largely on a close reading of newspaper accounts of the prince's every move, several contemporary accounts produced by the nineteenth- century equivalent of royal watchers, the private recollections of several members of the royal entourage, as well as the papers of various politicians and imperial officials associated with the trip. It is a rich brew of sometimes contradictory evidence. Urban historians might be directly interested in the book because most of the events described take place within the boundaries of British North America's exploding urban spaces. After all, the occasion for the visit was at least in part to inau- gurate the Victoria Bridge in Montreal, considered by many to be one of the marvels of the day and a wonderful example of the intersection of interests by colonial governments, railway magnates, and municipalities in linking cities together. But at every stop along the route of the visit processions of mayors and councillors anxiously boosted their particular communi- ties with displays of pomp and circumstance designed to bring some attention to their community's possibilities for investment and development. The focal point provided by the vast array of newspaper commentators and the need to shed the best possible light on their communities resulted in a fair amount of sprucing up and lots of involvement with precedence being set in the various public occasions. Radforth enhances this discus- sion with a wealth of illustrative material from the contemporary illustrated press, which offers something of the flavour of the communities discussed. There is much else in the discussion to tempt urbanists, includ- ing an interesting discussion of the role and place of native people, so often at the edge of the urban environment but foregrounded in many celebrations to demonstrate the exotic nature of North America. Tensions between the Orange Order and the Duke of Newcastle, who refused to allow Irish politics any play in the occasion, are prominently discussed. And an informed discussion of the tourist experience that characterized the prince's passage through the colonies offers some fresh insight into the emergence of the tourist craze that was about to swamp North America. All these subjects are dealt with in a spirit of enquiry that will command the attention of cultural histo- rians of the nineteenth-century North American city. The interplay of social and cultural groups that struggled for place and precedence in front of the royal entourage and its powerful press corps was perhaps the most revealing aspect of the whole trip. This is picked up in a very interesting pair of chapters dealing with the second half of the trip, through the eastern United States, which culminated in a spectacular reception in New York that was the quintessence of antebellum American society. It also put in the shadows all the attempts at such spectacle in the much smaller British North American cities. It was in America that the diplomatic purpose of the trip was most apparent, as the British used the fascination with roy- alty to shore up their shaky relationship with the United States on the eve of the Civil War. But it was there as well that the full flower of urban transformation was most apparent to the follow- ers of the royals. Toronto and Montreal were overshadowed by 62 Urban History Review /Revue d'histoire urbaine Vol XXXIV, No. 2 (Spring 2006printemps) 
work_eizdwb62wzdqjnvzb6cjvy4vme	----	[PDF] Nature and morality from George Perkins Marsh to the millennium | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1006/JHGE.1999.0188 Corpus ID: 28017914Nature and morality from George Perkins Marsh to the millennium @article{Lowenthal2000NatureAM, title={Nature and morality from George Perkins Marsh to the millennium}, author={D. Lowenthal}, journal={Journal of Historical Geography}, year={2000}, volume={26}, pages={3-23} } D. Lowenthal Published 2000 History Journal of Historical Geography Abstract This essay is a revised version of the first Journal of Historical Geography lecture, delivered by the author in 1998 at the Annual Conference of the Royal Geographical Society with the Institute of British Geographers at the University of Surrey. The lecture, which was followed by a response from Catherine Nash, also published below, considered the life and works of George Perkins Marsh, particularly his Man and Nature (1864), the first comprehensive study of human environmental… Expand View via Publisher geography.fullerton.edu Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 24 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 2 Background Citations 10 View All 24 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency The Legendary “Rediscovery” of George Perkins Marsh William A. Koelsch History 2012 7 Save Alert Research Feed History and philosophy of geography 1999–2000 J. R. Ryan Sociology 2002 2 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Hiding Places: Thoreau’s Geographies J. S. Pipkin Sociology 2001 9 View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Nothing New under the Sun? George Perkins Marsh and Roots of U.S. Physical Geography J. Bendix, M. A. Urban 2020 1 Highly Influenced View 4 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed The habitus, the rule and the moral landscape G. Setten Sociology 2004 124 Save Alert Research Feed The Power of Words and the Tides of History: Reflections on Man and Nature and Silent Spring G. Wynn History 2015 1 Save Alert Research Feed The View from Mount Tom: Perspectives from the Childhood Landscape of George Perkins Marsh C Marts History 2015 Highly Influenced PDF View 6 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Temporalising nature: Chronologies of colonial species transfer and ecological change across the Indian Ocean in the age of empire Ulrike Kirchberger Geography 2020 PDF Save Alert Research Feed There is No Mother Nature—There is No Balance of Nature: Culture, Ecology and Conservation D. Jelinski Biology 2005 34 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Addressing Weak Legal Protection of Wilderness: Deliberate Choices and Drawing Lines on the Map Kees Bastmeijer Political Science, Geography 2014 2 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 59 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency The American conservation movement : John Muir and his legacy J. Hickey, Stephen Fox History 1988 128 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Beginning Again: People and Nature in the New Millennium D. Ehrenfeld History 1993 50 Highly Influential View 3 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Wilderness and the American Mind Fred G. Evenden, R. Nash Biology, History 1965 1,467 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Restoring the Countryside: George Perkins Marsh and the Italian Land Ethic (1861-1882) M. Håll Biology 1998 2 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Pioneers, politicians and the conservation of forests in early New Zealand G. Wynn History 1979 18 Save Alert Research Feed Sauer and "Man's Role in Changing the Face of the Earth" M. Williams History 1987 30 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Man's Role in Changing the Face of the Earth. E. Nicholson, W. L. Thomas Biology, Geography 1956 497 Save Alert Research Feed Elementary forms of religious life É. Durkheim Sociology, Psychology 1912 6,430 Save Alert Research Feed Common Lands, Common People: The Origins of Conservation in Northern New England R. Judd Geography, Sociology 1998 49 Save Alert Research Feed Historical and Applied Perspectives on Prehistoric Land Use in Eastern North America E. Peacock Biology 1998 34 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract 24 Citations 59 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_ersikyvpfrdyncaph2hgxrr53e	----	Patient Experiences of Terminal Illness Toward the End of Life: A Reflective Narrative Report | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1177/2374373518759549 Corpus ID: 56530897Patient Experiences of Terminal Illness Toward the End of Life: A Reflective Narrative Report @article{Razai2018PatientEO, title={Patient Experiences of Terminal Illness Toward the End of Life: A Reflective Narrative Report}, author={M. Razai}, journal={Journal of Patient Experience}, year={2018}, volume={5}, pages={279 - 281} } M. Razai Published 2018 Psychology, Medicine Journal of Patient Experience As I unfolded the piece of paper to confirm the address, I stared at the door in a foreboding gaze—I could clearly see and read 16. I must have looked at it for a long time since I still remember the geometric shape of the brass number and the contours of the wooden door. I took a deep breath and asked my colleague: “shall we . . . ?” We knocked and waited for a long time. The doorbell was broken, so we knocked again. About 10 minutes later, a muffled shuffling sound was heard, slowly the sound… Expand View on SAGE journals.sagepub.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper Topics from this paper procollagen Type I N-terminal peptide References SHOWING 1-5 OF 5 REFERENCES Narrative-based medicine: potential, pitfalls, and practice. V. Kalitzkus, P. Matthiessen Medicine The Permanente journal 2009 98 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Walden: or Life in the Woods H. D. Thoreau History 2019 373 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed National Mortality Case Record Review ( NMCRR ) Programme resources . Royal College of Physicians The Words . B Frechtman , trans 1980 The Words. B Frechtman, trans 1964 A casual commentary R. Macaulay History 1925 3 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Related Papers Abstract Topics 5 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_esbkijawp5asjljhnrisx7qvqa	----	HCRJ961774 375..388 This article was downloaded by: [Paul Thagard] On: 20 November 2014, At: 11:14 Publisher: Routledge Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number: 1072954 Registered office: Mortimer House, 37-41 Mortimer Street, London W1T 3JH, UK Creativity Research Journal Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/hcrj20 Creative Cognition in Social Innovation Mingming Jiang a & Paul Thagard b a Rice University b University of Waterloo Published online: 20 Nov 2014. To cite this article: Mingming Jiang & Paul Thagard (2014) Creative Cognition in Social Innovation, Creativity Research Journal, 26:4, 375-388, DOI: 10.1080/10400419.2014.961774 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10400419.2014.961774 PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTICLE Taylor & Francis makes every effort to ensure the accuracy of all the information (the “Content”) contained in the publications on our platform. However, Taylor & Francis, our agents, and our licensors make no representations or warranties whatsoever as to the accuracy, completeness, or suitability for any purpose of the Content. Any opinions and views expressed in this publication are the opinions and views of the authors, and are not the views of or endorsed by Taylor & Francis. The accuracy of the Content should not be relied upon and should be independently verified with primary sources of information. Taylor and Francis shall not be liable for any losses, actions, claims, proceedings, demands, costs, expenses, damages, and other liabilities whatsoever or howsoever caused arising directly or indirectly in connection with, in relation to or arising out of the use of the Content. This article may be used for research, teaching, and private study purposes. Any substantial or systematic reproduction, redistribution, reselling, loan, sub-licensing, systematic supply, or distribution in any form to anyone is expressly forbidden. Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http:// www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/hcrj20 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/10400419.2014.961774 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10400419.2014.961774 http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions Creative Cognition in Social Innovation Mingming Jiang Rice University Paul Thagard University of Waterloo Social innovations are creative products and changes that are motivated by social needs and bring value to society by meeting those needs. This article uses case studies to investigate the cognitive and social processes that contribute to creativity in social innovation. The cases are: Wendy Kopp with Teach For America in education, Cicely Saunders with hospices in health care, Mark Zuckerberg with Facebook in technology, Elizabeth Fry with prison reform in social movements, Millard Fuller with Habitat for Humanity in organizations, and Muhammad Yunus with microfinance in finance. These cases illustrate the cognitive processes of combination of mental representations, prob- lem solving, emotion, association, analogy, and method generation. They also illustrate the social processes of emotional communication, support, and conflict. Creativity operates in many domains, including scientific discovery, technological invention, artistic imagination, and social innovation. There have been many studies on processes of creative cognition, but the studies usually concern scientists, inventors, and artists, rather than social innovators (e.g., Kaufman & Sternberg, 2010; Nersessian, 2008; Simonton, 1988, 2004; Thagard, 1999, 2012, 2014; Ward, Smith, & Vaid, 1997; Weisberg, 1993). In contrast, many studies on social innovation are sociological, rather than psychological (Caulier-Grice, Davies, Patrick, & Norman, 2012; Mulgan, Tucker, Ali, & Sanders, 2007). This article investigates how creativity in social innovation requires cognitive, as well as social, pro- cesses, in keeping with Mumford’s (2002) definition of social innovation as the generation and implementation of new ideas about people and their interactions within social systems (see also Marcy & Munford, 2007; Mumford, Medeiros, & Partlow, 2012; Mumford & Moertl, 2003). A product is creative if it is new, valuable, and surprising (e.g., Boden, 2004; Kaufman & Sternberg, 2010; Simonton, 2012). A product is a social innovation if it (a) is motivated by social needs and (b) brings value to society by meeting those social needs (Caulier-Grice et al., 2012; Mulgan et al., 2007; Phills, Deiglmeier, & Miller, 2008). If a creative product brings social value but is not motivated by social needs, it can overlap with other domains of creativity, such as technological inven- tion, for example, the invention of X-rays. If a product is motivated by social needs but does not bring social value, it is not creative because it is not valuable. In the appendix, 50 important social innovations are presented in the following seven categories: education, health care, law and regulation, technology, social movements, organizations and methods for organizing, and finance. Because of lack of information about cases in the law and regulation category, this article focuses on the other six categories. For each of these, the cogni- tive processes of one social innovator is considered: Wendy Kopp with Teach For America in education, Cicely Saunders with hospices in health care, Mark Zuckerberg with Facebook in technology, Elizabeth Fry with prison reform in social movements, Millard Paul Thagard’s research is supported by the Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada. Mingming Jiang’s work in Waterloo was supported by a Wagoner Foreign Study Scholarship. We are grateful to Tobias Schröder, Rob Gorbet, and an anonymous reviewer for comments on an earlier draft. Correspondence should be sent to Paul Thagard, Philosophy Department, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, ON N2L 3G1 Canada. E-mail: pthagard@uwaterloo.ca CREATIVITY RESEARCH JOURNAL, 26(4), 375–388, 2014 Copyright # Taylor & Francis Group, LLC ISSN: 1040-0419 print=1532-6934 online DOI: 10.1080/10400419.2014.961774 D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 Fuller with Habitat for Humanity in organizations, and Muhammad Yunus with microfinance in finance. These examples can be used to evaluate hypotheses about the role of creative cognition in social innovation. People who produce social innovations are sometimes called ‘‘social entrepreneurs’’ (Gunn & Durkin, 2010). For additional discussions of the motivations of social entrepreneurs, see Bargsted, Picon, Salazar, and Rojas (2013) and Germak and Robinson (2013). The source material employed for each example is autobiographical, meaning that it is either from a social innovator’s autobiography or from an interview, because autobiographical sources provide helpful data about human cognition. The methodology employed in this article is illustrated in the following steps. (a) Create hypotheses based on previous work. (b) Pick an example of social innovation from each of the six cate- gories. (c) Identify as many autobiographical sources in each example as possible. (d) Go through all the sources and extract cognitive processes that contribute to the generation of innovative ideas. (e) Analyze and categorize the cognitive processes. (f) Generalize the categories to evaluate hypotheses. HYPOTHESES Based on previous work on creativity, eight hypotheses are proposed about the processes that explain the gener- ation of social innovation (e.g., Boden, 2004; Dunbar and Fugelsang, 2005; Hofstadter, 1995; Holyoak and Thagard, 1995; Kaufman and Sternberg, 2010; Nersessian, 2008; Simonton, 1988, 2004; Thagard, 1988, 1992, 1999, 2012, 2014). These hypotheses are largely derived from Thagard (2014), and were not contrived to fit the six case studies in the following. S1. Every social innovation results from a combi- nation of mental representations that can be ver- bal, visual, or kinesthetic. The most commonly used mental representations include verbal representations gained from other people and visual representations of things similar to the product of innovation. S2. Social innovation is generated by a problem- solving process that can include serendipity, which occurs when social innovators find problem solutions that they were not explicitly seeking. Serendipity usually comes from the external world, driven by what innovators see and talk about with other people. Problem- solving usually comes from the internal mental world, driven by what innovators believe should change to make the world better. S3. Social innovation is goal-oriented, including both short-term and long-term goals. Driven by external stimuli, a short-term goal concerns tackling a small problem about what needs to be done immediately, whereas long-term goals are concerned with ongoing social problems. Although social innovation aims at achieving goals, the solutions it finds are sometimes serendipitous. S4. Social innovation involves both psychological and social mechanisms of emotions. The most common psychological emotions include fear, rage, frustration, hope, and faith, which produce motivation for social innovators to be creative. The most common social mechan- isms for communicating emotions include emotional contagion by mimicry, sympathy, social cuing, and power manipulations. The role of emotion in creativity has been discussed by many researchers, e.g., Kaufmann and Vosburg (2002). S5. Social innovation usually involves emotional reactions to risk when there is a conflict between emotional responses and deliberate assessments like cost-benefit calculations. S6. Social innovation is prompted by two primary cognitive processes: association and analogy. Association is the psychological process that occurs when the activation of some mental representations spreads to the activation of others, which can then be combined into some- thing original (Collins & Loftus, 1975; Schröder & Thagard, 2013). Before a social innovator can combine representations, they must exist in working memory at the same time after being brought to the working memory via association. Analogy is the cognitive process of transferring relational information from one problem to another new one that needs a solution. S7. Social innovation is often procedural creativity, where the new product is a method consisting of new rules for doing things. S8. Social innovation requires interactions among people that include support, rejection, and reaction to rejection. How well these hypotheses apply to six important cases of social innovation is examined below. 376 JIANG AND THAGARD D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 EDUCATION: TEACH FOR AMERICA BY WENDY KOPP When Wendy Kopp was a senior at Princeton University in 1989, she proposed the Teach For America program, aimed at eliminating educational inequality by enlisting high-achieving college graduates to teach in low-income communities for at least 2 years. The discussion of Kopp’s development of Teach For America is based on her autobiography (Kopp, 2003). The creation of Teach For America comes from a combination of complex representations: that education failure in low-income communities is due to the lack of good teachers, and that recent graduates would teach in low-income communities. First, Kopp became aware of the failures of the public education system by observing her smart and creative roommate from public school struggling with the academic demands of Princeton University, whereas those who had attended the East Coast preparatory schools thought it was a cakewalk. This representation of education disparity, combined with the verbal representation that low-income com- munities had difficulty in attracting high-quality teachers, producing the idea that education failure in low-income communities is due to the lack of good tea- chers. This representation was then combined with the verbal report from student leaders that most of them were willing to teach in low-income communities. The resulting idea is to bring top college graduates to teach in low-income communities, supporting the hypothesis (S1) that creative social innovation involves combina- tions of representations. Problem-solving is the main cognitive process that led to Kopp’s innovation when she was soul-searching for something meaningful to do after graduation. She was eager to know how to tackle the issue of education fail- ures in public schools, which made her organize a con- ference to seek solutions to the problem (S2). Kopp’s innovation was goal-oriented, with the short-term goal of figuring out her future and what could be done about the failures of public school, and the long-term goal of bringing excellent education to all children in the world (S3). Both psychological and social mechanisms of emotions contributed to the generation of Teach For America. Kopp experienced many episodes of frus- tration, including being unable to find anything mean- ingful to do after graduation, being rejected by all companies she applied to, and having to struggle out of bed at 6:30 AM for fundraising appointments when her fellow students were enjoying postgraduation free time (S4-frustration). Kopp also experienced several kinds of fear, including the worries that her staff mem- bers would not listen to her and that she would not get all the 2.5 million dollars she needed in the most important meeting with Ross Perot (S4-fear). Facing doubts of whether top recent college graduates would want to teach in low-income communities, Kopp main- tained hope, because she knew that seniors valued meaningfulness and did not have deep interests in busi- ness or finance (S4-hope). Kopp was also motivated by the excitement of independence and by curiosity concerning what would happen next. She said, ‘‘I love looking at a calendar and seeing that tomorrow is blank and just deciding what to do with it.’’ (Kopp, 2003, p. 17) Social mechanisms of emotions also contributed to Kopp’s creativity, such as the sympathy Kopp showed to her fellow students who came from public schools and had weak preparation for college. Emotion con- tagion by mimicry means that people naturally mimic the facial expressions of those with whom they interact, inclining them to acquire similar emotional reactions because emotions are, in part, responses to bodily changes (Hatfield, Cacioppo, & Rapson, 1994). In Kopp’s case, emotion contagion by mimicry happened during the spread of enthusiasm about her idea in the conference. Social cuing, described by Giner-Sorolla and Espinosa (2011), means that people’s facial expres- sions can cue negative emotions in their targets in social context of a group, which is exemplified by the sadness Kopp experienced when she got the stimulus of a super- intendent being upset and angry at her idea. Power manipulations occur when one person gains power over others by offering them something they desire or by offering to protect them from something that they fear (e.g., Mann, 1986). In Kopp’s case, she gained power over Teach For America representatives by offering them something they desire, which was to make a difference in the world (S4-social). Because she had already recruited school representa- tives all over the country, the biggest risk Kopp faced was the high probability of not being able to raise the 2.5 million dollars she needed for the first year of her program; this failure would make everything collapse. A professor told her that it was difficult to raise 2,500 dollars, let alone 2.5 million. Other people encouraged Kopp to start locally and then expand, instead of trying to raise so much money all at once. But Kopp used the emotion of hope, rather than cost-benefit calculations, to stay firm about her plan and to finally succeed (S5). The cognitive process of analogy contributed to the success of Teach For America, because of the inspi- ration provided by the Peace Corps established in 1961 (S6). The form of analogy in Kopp’s case is from some- thing previously successful to something similar that should also happen. Because President Kennedy insti- tuted the Peace Corps, Kopp hoped to create Teach For America under President George Bush. Because the Peace Corps was launched successfully at a large scale, Kopp was convinced that Teach For America CREATIVE COGNITION IN SOCIAL INNOVATION 377 D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 should start as a big movement. In another analogy, Kopp’s success in managing 60 staff members and hun- dreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of advertisements and sponsorships in college made her confident that she could pull Teach For America off by herself. Teach For America introduced a new method to bridge the gap between education in high- and low- income communities consisting of bringing top recent college graduates to teach in low-income communities for 2 years, an alternative to other methods such as raising teachers’ salaries and providing high-quality edu- cation to teachers (S7). This method can be summarized in the rule: If the goal is to improve education in low-income communities, then get top recent college graduates to teach there. Kopp has received much support to produce Teach For America: office space from Union Carbide, a seed grant from Mobil, phone and print service from Morgan Stanley, six rental cars from Hertz, and $2.5 million from Ross Perot, Carnegie Corporation, Kellogg Foun- dation, and Merck & Company. She also has received a lot of rejection from her professors, company executives, school superintendents, and from most people around her who advised her to start small. In response to rejec- tion, Kopp was determined that her idea was going to work out because she knew what her fellow seniors wanted, and that Teach For America could be a success- ful movement. Hence Kopp’s innovation required both social support and reactions against rejection (S8). HEALTH CARE: HOSPICE BY CICELY SAUNDERS Hospice care focuses on both the palliative care of dying people’s pain, and on their overall care and emotional needs. One important event in the history of the hospice movement is Cicely Saunders’ establishment of St. Christopher’s hospice in 1989, after which the hospice movement quickly expanded internationally with its principles such as compassionate care. The discussion of how Saunders came up with the idea of a hospice is primarily based on books (Saunders & Clark, 2005; Saunders, Summers, & Teller, 1981) and on interviews (Stolberg, 1999; Walker, 2012). The idea of a hospice comes from a combination of representations concerning the need for better pain control and the need for better overall care of the dying (S1). First, the visual representation of dying patients suffering from pain when Saunders worked closely with them, combined with their verbal reports, produced the idea that dying patients needed better pain control. The idea that dying patients needed better overall care came from Saunders’ conversation with David Tasma on death and the needs of the dying during his last 2 months. From Tasma’s messages, such as ‘‘I will be a window in your home’’ and ‘‘I want what is in your mind and in your heart,’’ Saunders felt that the dying desired openness, love, a sense of belonging, and a meaningful life (Saunders, Summers, & Teller, 1981, p. 4). The representation of the need for better pain control combined with the verbal reports of Tasma to produce the idea that better pain control and overall care are both needed in the dying. With a 500 pounds founding gift from Tasma, Saunders went on to study medicine order to serve the dying, before finally establishing her first hospice, St. Christopher. This innovation resulted from cognitive processes of problem-solving (S2). Once Saunders found out how much her patients experienced, she tried to understand their pain better by asking them to talk about their pain. Once she figured out what the dying people really needed, she went to study medicine to help them and, accordingly, designed her first hospice, St. Christopher. Saunders’ hospice innovation was oriented by her short-term goal of figuring out how the dying patients actually felt and what they really needed, and by her long-term goal of establishing her hospice and making the hospice movement global (S3). Saunders was affected by psychological and social mechanisms of emotions during the generation of the hospice innovation. She was frustrated by the pain suf- fered by her patients and their deaths; she suffered and was sad when she could not even stay for longer than 2 months with her two most important patients, David Tasma and Antoni Michniewicz (S4-frustration). But because she was also motivated by her Christian faith, along with the founding gift from Tasma and his messages, Saunders went on to study medicine and kept pursuing her mission of palliative care all her life (S4-faith). As for social mechanisms of emotions, Saunders experienced emotional contagion by mimicry of her patients’ pain resulting in empathy and sympathy for her patients (S4-social). However, although Saunders did not mention the risks she faced in choosing to quit university and start nursing training, it would have been hard to make such a decision based on cost-benefit calcu- lations rather than emotional reactions (S5). Analogy and association also contributed to the devel- opment of the hospice innovation. Saunders interpreted Tasma’s expression ‘‘window in your home’’ as openness to people, to the world, and to each other (Walker, 2012). Such complex metaphors are based on underlying analogies, in this case between homes and minds (Holyoak & Thagard, 1995). Saunders interpreted ‘‘I want what is in your mind and in your heart’’ as Tasma’s needing skill to gather what looked like an unfulfilled life into a meaning- ful whole with friendship and love (Saunders, Summers, & Teller, 1981, p. 4). In another analogy, just as philosophy combines love and wisdom, Saunders saw the two 378 JIANG AND THAGARD D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 components of a hospice as ‘‘the sophisticated science of our treatments and the art of our caring, bringing competence alongside compassion’’ (Saunders, 1981, p. 4). Association was required to bring ideas into working memory to allow combination. The representation of the need for better pain control was prompted from the visual representation of dying patients suffering and the verbal representation of their descriptions of pain. The represen- tation of the need for better overall care was prompted from the verbal representation of Tasma (Saunders & Clark, 2005; S6). Hospice introduced a new method of taking care of the dying, which combines ‘‘the science of treatments and art of caring with compassion’’ (Saunders, Summers, & Teller, 1981, p. 4). In a hospice, instead of suffering from pain and loneliness, dying people not only receive palliative care, but also feel love and a sense of belonging. The hospice method can be summarized in the rule: If the goal is to care for dying people, then establish a hospice (S7). Social interactions were also important for Saunders. Saunders gained support from Tasma’s founding gift to pursue her dream. She had much support later when she made the hospice movement global: When she tra- veled to the United States, the Dean of the nursing school in Yale, Florence Wald, was inspired by Saunders and established the first American hospice homecare team. The principles and ideas of her first hospice, St. Christopher, were sometimes challenged. People doubted the effectiveness and benefits of her hospice. In replying to the challenges, Saunders kept refining St. Christopher’s polities and gradually earned credibility and recognition worldwide (S8). TECHNOLOGY: FACEBOOK BY MARK ZUCKERBERG Facebook, created by Mark Zuckerberg in his Harvard dorm in 2004, is one of the most popular social network- ing sites, allowing users to connect with their friends and marketers to increase the effectiveness of advertising by accommodating differences among individuals. This discussion on the development of Facebook by Mark Zuckerberg is primarily based on interviews with Zuckerberg (2010a, 2010b) and articles by Campbell (2010), McGirt (2007), Tabak (2004), and a Harvard Crimson editorial (‘‘Put online a happy face,’’ 2003). The creation of Facebook comes from a combination of two key representations: paper face books (direc- tories) used at Harvard and elsewhere to introduce students to each other, and computer web sites (S1). Zuckerberg created Facemash, a popular web site that asked visitors to judge which Harvard students were ‘‘hot.’’ The visual representation of this web site com- bined with the verbal representation of an online face book, which derived from a Harvard Crimson statement that a campus-wide online face book is in order, to produce the specific idea of an online face book. This representation then combined with statements by Harvard administrators and the Crimson that online privacy was an issue to generate the idea that a campus- wide online face book should address the privacy issue. Hence, the creation of Facebook involved multiple combinations of representations (S1). Serendipity contributed to the generation of Face- book. Zuckerberg created Facemash angrily after being jilted by a girlfriend, and Facemash allowed him to see the popularity of social sites, suggesting the potential of Facebook. He also accidentally saw the article by a Harvard Crimson editor on the need for an online face book, which showed him that such a network had great potential and that privacy was an issue. These inspira- tions motivated him to use intentional problem-solving to build the online Facebook for Harvard community that addressed privacy issue (S2). Zuckerberg’s short- term goal was to implement the project that created an online version of a student directory. After his Face- book project had gained popularity in other schools, he focused on the long-term goal of bringing value to people by making the world more open and connected. As a result, the innovation of Facebook was goal- oriented (S3). Zuckerberg had both psychological and social mechanisms of emotions during the generation of Facebook. He was angry when he was jilted, leading him to create Facemash, which in turn catalyzed the cre- ation of Facebook (S4-rage). In the fear of losing his reputation from Facemash, Zuckerberg allowed users to take more control of their privacy on Facebook (S4-fear). Frustrated by the fact that it would take Harvard a couple of years to create a universal face book, which was what everyone needed at that time, Zuckerberg was confident that he could do it in a week (S4-frustration). The emotional social mechanism is contagion by mimicry, which includes the spread of excitement when Zuckerberg and his friends were talk- ing about biggest trends in the world, and the spread of frustration when Harvard kept postponing the creation of a universal face book (S4-social). Emotional reactions, rather than deliberate cost- benefit assessments, were involved in decision-making when Zuckerberg was facing risks. After Facebook showed great success at Harvard, deliberate cost-benefit assessment might have suggested launching it at schools with the highest potential benefits because of lack of competition. In contrast, Zuckerberg launched Facebook in schools where social networks already existed. He was not driven by the goal of building a company or cashing in, but rather by his emotional curiosity to see how great his project could be (S5). CREATIVE COGNITION IN SOCIAL INNOVATION 379 D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 The generation of Facebook also involved the cognitive process of analogy. The form of analogy in Zuckerberg’s case is from something previously success- ful to something similar that should also happen. Because the social site Facemash was very popular, Zuckerberg thought that Facebook would be as popu- lar. Also, Zuckerberg’s online web site was based, in part, on existing paper directories used in his high school and Harvard’s dorms (S6). Facebook introduced a new method of staying open and connected with friends and, at the same time, taking control of privacy. It means that when people want to connect with their friends, instead of calling or e-mailing them, they can also go online and visit their friends’ Facebook pages (S7). This method can be represented by the rule: If your goal is to make social connections, then use Facebook. Social interactions were also important to Zuckerberg. He gained support from his rich fellow student, Eduardo Saverin, for paying for the server; from his roommates, Dustin Moskovitz and Chris Hughes, for joining the Facebook founding team; from his high school friend Adam D’Angelo for helping to set up databases; and from Peter Thiel for being his first angel investor. Later resistance included the lawsuit of the Winklevoss twins and pressure to sell Facebook, which did not happen because Zuckerberg was interested in bringing value to people, instead of cashing in (S8). SOCIAL MOVEMENTS: PRISON REFORM BY ELIZABETH FRY Elizabeth Fry is one of the leading reformers who made the treatment of prisoners, especially female ones, more humane. Horrified by the bad living condition in the New- gate prison, Fry started working closely with the prisoners, bringing them clothes, schooling, industry, and a voting system for rules. This discussion of Fry’s work with prison- ers is primarily based on Fry (1847) and Lewis (1909). The creation of prison reform comes from combina- tions of representations of prisoners, school, clothing industry, rules, and democratic rights (S1). First, the visual representation of prisoners’ overcrowded and dirty living conditions and their insufficient clothing combined with representation of the clothing industry outside prison to produce the idea that a clothing indus- try could be run by prisoners: Prisoners could use sewing and knitting to create clothes for their use and also for sale. Second, the verbal representation of what the prisoners told Fry about their needs combined with representation of school systems outside prison to inspire Fry to establish a school in prison. Third, the vis- ual, verbal, and kinesthetic representation of prisoners’ ferocious manners and fights combined with the concept of democratic rights to produce the idea of using democratic rights to generate rules that control prison- ers’ behavior. The final idea is to improve living condition of prisoners by introducing industry, opening a school, and establishing voting for rules in prison. The innovation of prison reforms involved intentional problem-solving processes. It was accidental that Fry vis- ited the Newgate prison with her friend Stephen Grellet; but after Fry saw the horrible environment in prison, she used intentional problem-solving to come up with ways to improve prisoners’ living conditions (S2). She not only talked to prisoners about their needs, but also applied knowledge of what was working outside prison. Initially, Fry and her friends donated to prisons clothes they made to solve the problem of insufficient clothing. But regard- ing the long term, Fry aimed to create a sense of self- respect and independence among prisoners using the concepts of industry and democratic rights. Thus, the creation of prison reform was goal-oriented (S3). Both psychological and social mechanisms of emotions contributed to the creation of prison reform. Fearing that her life would slip away to little purpose due to the demands of motherhood, Fry was motivated to do something meaningful (S4-fear). The frustration Fry had when she visited the Newgate prison motivated her to help the prisoners. Fry was also frustrated when she had to agree with men in authority in order to obtain their support, when she visited women before their execution, and when Lord Sidmouth did not approve her plea to end capital punishment (S4- frustration). But she always had faith in God, which made her believe that she was doing the right thing (S4-faith). Socially, Fry showed sympathy to the prison- ers for their horrible living conditions. She was affected by emotional contagion from the prisoners’ distraught and tormented minds before their executions and by their tears of joy after she helped them. When Fry read Scriptures to the prisoners, some of them feared that their day of salvation had passed, a case of social cuing in which one person’s emotion leads to different emotions in others (S4-social). Fry faced the risk that all her efforts might be in vain if prisoners did not appreciate her kindness of trying to improve their living conditions. Using deliberate cost- benefit assessments, one might lose hope in prisoners due to their untrained and perturbed spirits, but because Fry got emotionally attached to most prisoners and had faith in God, she was determined to keep doing her work regardless of objections from others (S5). The cognitive processes of association and analogy contributed to prison reform (S6). Association helped to form the idea of a clothing industry run by prisoners as the result of Fry’s visual representation of the insufficient clothing of female prisoners and their chil- dren. Analogy also contributed to the success of the 380 JIANG AND THAGARD D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 prison reform when Fry projected the success of industry and democracy in society onto prisons. As a result, Fry taught the prisoners sewing and knitting, and gave them rights to vote for the rules that applied in their own communities. Fry introduced new methods of treating prisoners (S7). Prisoners gained self-respect by voting rules for themselves, and they became independent by learning to sew and knit so that they could provide themselves with sufficient clothing and generate income by selling those goods. The new methods made the treatment of prisoners more humane. Fry’s new methods can be illu- strated by the rule: If the goal is to improve the con- dition of prisoners, then establish a clothing industry and democratic procedures. The innovation of prison reform also involved social interactions with people who supported and opposed Fry. Her views on improving prison conditions were received with cordial approbation by Sheriffs of London and the Governor of Newgate. Those in power were finally willing to help her after being against it. However, some city magistrates told Fry that what she was doing was in vain; Lord Sidmouth disapproved of Fry’s plea to end capital punishment for theft, and offi- cers of the Newgate prison thought that introducing industry into prison would finally fail. Despite all the oppositions, Fry had strong religious faith that moti- vated her to continue her experiments (S8). ORGANIZATIONS: HABITAT FOR HUMANITY BY MILLARD AND LINDA FULLER Habitat for Humanity, founded by Millard and Linda Fuller in 1976, is a nongovernmental organization that brings volunteers together with poor people to build decent and simple houses for them in many countries. The following discussion on the creation of the Habitat for Humanity is based primarily on writings by Millard Fuller (1977, 2010; Fuller & Scott, 1986). The creation of Habitat for Humanity came from combining representations of homeless people and part- nership to form the idea of partnership housing for the homeless. First, the visual representations of the urban ghetto and frustrated poor people combined with the verbal representation of partnership arising from a conversation with Clarence Jordan, Fuller’s long time mentor. This combination led to the idea that the poor needed to regain their identity with God via ‘‘a spirit of partnership’’ (Fuller, 1977, p. 18). Second, the con- cept of ‘‘a spirit of partnership’’ combined with the vis- ual representation of the homeless to form partnership housing for the homeless (S1). Intentional problem-solving, rather than serendipity, contributed to the creation of Habitat for Humanity. Before Fuller went back to Koinonia, he became less enthusiastic about his work at Tougaloo College and pondered his next move. After he got back to Koinonia, he worked together with Jordan and a few other people to come up with ways to help the poor nurture a new spirit of partnership, which included the partnership housing project. Fuller also used intentional problem- solving when he was trying to come up with a solution for the deterioration of Koinonia (S2). Fuller’s short- term goal was to find ways to nurture a spirit of partnership to help the poor regain relationship with God, and his long-term goal was to improve housing conditions of the poor all over the world (S3). Both social and psychological mechanisms of emo- tion contributed to the creation and implementation of Habitat for Humanity. Fuller showed sympathy to the poor when he saw them living in shacks, and to others in Africa who were in poor health or died. The spread of the excitement of the partnership housing idea among the Koinonia group, and the excitement of housing building among the poor, shows that emotional con- tagion by mimicry was involved. The innovation of Habitat for Humanity also involved attachment-based learning as another social mechanism of emotion, which happens to people when the emotional expression by people they care about makes them more likely to have those emotions, as well (Minsky, 2006). In Fuller’s case, attachment-based learning happened when Fuller’s friend Jordan nurtured him back to emotional and spiri- tual health, because seeing Jordan talk about his faith made Fuller became more religious (S4-social). Psychological mechanisms of emotions were also important. When Fuller was expanding Habitat for Humanity to Africa, he became depressed when he realized the enormous challenges he was facing, includ- ing having no idea on where to start from huge failures of the Block and Sand Project (S4-frustration). Fuller got angry when thieves stole tools needed for construc- tion, and when city government interfered with his construction, asking for building permits (S4-rage). Although Fuller experienced frustration and rage, he focused on great opportunities and fascinating people around him, because he thought that God brought him this rich experience of serving Him (S4-faith). When Fuller was in Africa, he faced the risk of ‘‘tropical bugs and diseases, lengthy family separations, different culture adjustments, and struggles with unfamiliar languages,’’ plus the misunderstanding of his landlord and the resistance from city government, which he did not expect (Fuller, 1977, p. 44). By using deliber- ate cost-benefit assessments, people in his situation might not choose going, due to the tremendous amount of risk of traveling to Africa. But because Fuller had deep religious faith and was passionate about spreading his housing project to another place, he decided to go (S5). CREATIVE COGNITION IN SOCIAL INNOVATION 381 D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 Cognitive processes, such as association and analogy, also contributed to the implementation of the idea of partnership housing. First, the representation that Africa might also need partnership housing arose from the visual representation of the Block and Sand Project in Africa, leading to the Fuller family’s settlement in Africa. Second, the determination for Fuller to choose a piece of land arose from the verbal representation of Dr. Bokeleale that the land had not developed because it was a dividing section between the Blacks and Whites in colonial days. This verbal representation generated the inference that it would be a ‘‘significant and symbolic’’ act for choosing this land in the name of Christ to bring people together (Fuller, 1977, p. 70). Analogy was also used by Fuller. Having had a success- ful cookbook business when he was a businessman, Fuller addressed his concern about the deterioration of Koinonia by promoting the Koinonia Pecan Cookbook. Analogous to the success of the Habitat project in Georgia, Fuller thought that it should also work in Africa, and then also in San Antonio (S6). Habitat for Humanity created a new method of helping the homeless and the poor get housing by building their own houses through partnership. Instead of asking government to spend more money to build decent houses for the homeless, Habitat for Humanity got the homeless and volunteers to form teams to build new houses for poor people. This novel method can be represented by the rule: If the goal is to improve housing for the poor and homeless, organize them into partnerships for building their own homes (S7). Social support was important for Fuller, especially from his long-time mentor, Jordan. Other supporters included Bob Nelson, the African Secretary for the Chris- tian Church, who connected Fuller with existing housing project in Africa, and David Stowe, the Executive Vice President of the United Church Board for World Minis- tries, who provided Fuller grant for his housing project. Social resistance included city government, who asked for a ridiculous $50,000 building permit, and African builders who failed to show up for work because they felt no connection to what they were building. To overcome social resistance, Fuller started construction anyway and ignored the housing permit, which was never men- tioned by the city government again. Fuller also talked to African builders repeatedly with the goal of helping them take pride in their efforts (S8). FINANCE: MICROFINANCE BY MUHAMMAD YUNUS Muhammad Yunus won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2006 for his contribution to the development of microfinance. He founded Grameen Bank, a Bangledesh bank that gives small loans to the poor who cannot get loans from traditional banks. This discussion on the generation of the microfinance idea by Yunus is based primarily on Yunus’ (2003) autobiography and an interview (Yunus, 2009). The creation of the idea of microfinance comes from combinations of representations of the poor, money, loans, and banks (S1). Yunus’ visual representations of the poor and starving people in the street showed that his theories of economics did not work. A new solution for poverty was needed, which led him to visit Jabro village to figure out how to help the poor. The visual contrast there between the beautiful handicrafts that village women made and their old clothes and houses generated the conclusion that what the poor needed was just a small amount of money. The representation of a small amount of money that the poor needed combined with the idea of a loan, producing the idea to give loans to the poor. Finally, this representation of giving loans to the poor combined with the represen- tation of banks, creating the idea of microfinance: a bank that gives small loans to the poor to alleviate poverty. The generation of the idea of microfinance resulted from a problem-solving process in which Yunus visited Jobra village to talk to poor people and understand their needs (S2). Yunus’ initial goal was to figure out what drove famine, and his long-term goal was to revolutio- nize the banking industry to make banks aware that the poor are credit-worthy and needed help, so the creation of microfinance was also goal-oriented (S3). Yunus had both psychological and social mechanisms of emotions in the process of coming up with the micro- finance idea. He was in a rage when Sufia in Jobra village made beautiful bamboo stools but could only make two cents per day due to the greed of her trader. He later recalled, ‘‘I was angry at myself, angry at the world which was so uncaring’’ (Yunus & Jolis, 2003, p. 7). Yunus also felt terrible that his economics theories did not work in saving the dying people: ‘‘What good were all these elegant theories when people died of starvation on pave- ments and on doorsteps?’’ (Yunus & Jolis, 2003, p. 3; S4-rage). When banks rejected the idea of giving loans to the poor because they were not credit-worthy, Yunus had deep faith in the poor and decided to prove it by becoming a guarantor for them (S4-hope). Socially, at the very beginning, Yunus showed sympathy to the poor for not being able to sell their crafts in free market. Yunus was deeply affected by the women’s emotions via emotional contagion by mimicry, which motivated him to continue his work: After the creation of the Grameen Bank, many women cried after receiving money and hugged Yunus to thank him, which was unusual behavior between a woman and a nonrelated man in Bangladesh. Power manipulations were also used by Yunus: Yunus gained emotional power over the poor by offering them 382 JIANG AND THAGARD D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 the money they desired and protecting them from what their fear of becoming slaves of traders (S4-social). Yunus faced the risk that the poor would not return the money, as traditional banks told him would happen. If he had used deliberate cost-benefit assessments, he might have concluded that poor people were not credit-worthy, as banks told him. But Yunus’ emotional reactions to Jobra women who suffered from usury led him to take the risk and become their guarantor. Later, he even took more risks, such as not looking at people’s credit history when lending them money. He had deep faith that ‘‘it’s not people who aren’t credit-worthy; it’s banks that aren’t people-worthy’’ (Yunus & Jolis, 2003, p. 1), basing his actions more on emotions than on deliberate cost-benefit assessments (S5). Analogy contributed to the generation of the micro- finance idea when Yunus thought that loans could be given to the poor, much like loans given to the privi- leged. Metaphorically, he said that people should take a worm’s view of economic problems rather than a bird’s view. He thought that traditional theories of eco- nomics only give people a large-scale bird’s perspective, whereas with worm’s perspective, they can look at things at close range and sharply and make fewer mistakes. Association also led to the generation of microfinance: The concept of money activated the con- cept of loans, which further activated the concept of bank, when Yunus was looking for a solution to provide a small amount of money to the poor (S6). Yunus introduced a new method of relieving poverty, giving small loans to the poor rather than just providing charity (S7). Giving loans to the poor is more beneficial to society than donations because money is returned and the poor can gain the skills for making a good living. The new method of microfinance enhances the credi- bility of the poor by constructing five-person groups with communication sessions and asking them to stick to a set of specific rules. The new method can be expressed by the rule: If the goal is to improve the con- ditions of poor people, then give them small loans to set up businesses. Social interactions also played a vital role for Yunus (S8). Yunus gained support from his family and from people who accompanied him during his visit to Jobra village. Supporters included a professor who knew most of the families there, and Yunus’ female students who spoke for him when he could not talk to women face-to- face under Muslim tradition. Many other people objected to Yunus’ efforts. His colleagues thought that it was degrading for a professor to talk to the poor; banks were unwilling to give loans to the poor, and husbands of the women who got loans from Yunus felt insulted. Yunus ignored what his colleagues said, became a guarantor for the poor, started a bank himself after finding banks hard to work with, and tried to help men realize that women’s financial income could share their financial burden. DISCUSSION The six examples of social innovation all confirm hypotheses S1–S8: Combinations, problem-solving, goals, emotions, analogy or association, risk, and social interaction all contribute to the generation of social innovations. Further historical research is needed to determine whether these hypotheses also apply to 44 other examples of social innovation that are listed in the appendix. The six case studies herein are only illustrations of the plausibility of the eight hypotheses, not a demonstration of their truth. A more rigorous test of the hypotheses would: (a) consider a much larger set of cases, such as those listed in the appendix; (b) look for sources of information that corroborate sometimes unreliable autobiographical reports; (c) use a precise coding method to analyze cases; and (d) examine a comparison group of unsuccessful social innovations. Nevertheless, these six cases provide evidence that the hypotheses are worth considering as part of the cogni- tive explanation of creativity in social innovation. The inferences made about creators’ internal mental pro- cesses are obviously not directly derived from their behavior, but can be inferred if they are part of the best explanation of that behavior, in accord with standard practice in cognitive psychology. In addition to the psychological and social emotions, such as anger and sympathy, a sense of moral duty and a sense of moral satisfaction might also have contributed to the six social innovations. Although the social innovators did not mention them explicitly, these moral emotions should provide motivation to improve people’s lives instead of pursuing normal careers. Generally, the process of social innovation starts with goals that initiate intentional problem solving that leads to solutions by means of reasoning, association, ana- logy, and conceptual combination. The creation of Facebook was an exception because the solution pre- ceded goal-driven problem solving: Zuckerberg com- bined the ideas of a student directory and a web site to produce what turned out later to be a solution to problems concerning human interactions and privacy. In this respect, Facebook was like a small minority of technologies, such as anesthetics, antibiotic molds, and lasers, where the solution preceded the problem. This investigation naturally raises the question of whether the cognitive and social processes of social innovation are similar to, or different from, the pro- cesses that operate in other domains of creativity such as scientific discovery, technological invention, and artistic imagination. The eight hypotheses also apply CREATIVE COGNITION IN SOCIAL INNOVATION 383 D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 well in those domains, suggesting that social innovation is fundamentally like other kinds of creativity, but there are subtle differences. First, social innovations are often inspired by visual and verbal representations of people in need, in particular images of poor, dying, and unhappy people that motivate innovators to try to understand and lessen suffering. Although creativity of scientists, inventors, and artists can also be inspired by concerns about humans, these innovators have less communication with their targets than occurs in social innovation. Second, social innovations all involve social mechanisms of emotions, including emotional contagion by mimicry, sympathy, social cuing, and power manipu- lations, whereas other domains of creativity may rely more on the emotions of the individual creators. Not surprisingly, social innovation seems to be more social than other kinds of creativity, although all of these are far from being purely individual processes. Most of the creative cognitive processes in the six cases have been investigated with detailed computa- tional models, including combination of representations, goal-directed problem-solving, analogy, association, and emotion. But the cases identify a major gap in cog- nitive modeling of creativity, because none of the known algorithms for generating rules seem adequate for pro- ducing the methods that are described in each of the cases. The generation of methods is also an important part of creativity in science (e.g., controlled experi- ments), technology (e.g., computer programming), and art (e.g., impressionist painting). The generation of new methods can be called procedural creativity, because it requires the production of new procedures rather than the concepts, hypotheses, or things that are usually con- sidered as creative products. The generation of new methods often uses the following steps. (a) Start with goals that indicate a specific problem to be solved. (b) Try to solve the problem by processes such as reasoning, association, analogy, and combining representations. (c) Arrive at a specific solution to the specific problem. (d) Generalize the successful problem solution into a method of the form: If the goal is to solve a problem of this type, then use a solution of the type discovered. Future work is needed to develop detailed accounts of the cognitive mechanisms for this kind of procedural creativity. It is important to note that procedural creativity is much broader than process innovation in business, which involves the implementation of new kinds of production and delivery (Davenport, 1993). Concerned with meeting social needs, the goals of social innovations are typically very different from the profit-oriented concerns of businesses. Despite this gap, this article has contributed to the understanding of social innovation by identifying cogni- tive and social processes that operate in six important cases in education, health, technology, social movements, organizations, and finance. Kopp’s Teach For America, Saunders’ hospices, Zuckerberg’s Face- book, Fry’s prison reforms, Fuller’s Habitat for Humanity, and Yunus’s microfinance all displayed rich creative pathways. Hence, social innovation is a fertile domain for creativity research. REFERENCES Bargsted, M., Picon, M., Salazar, A., & Rojas, Y. (2013). Psychosocial characterization of social entrepreneurs: A comparative study. 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Education 1 Innovative educational approaches – Waldorf and Montessori Education Waldorf education was developed by an Austrian philosopher and emphasized the role of the imagination in learning and the value of integrating academic, practical, and artistic pursuits. Montessori education was developed by an Italian educator and emphasized freedom within limits and respect for a child’s natural psychological development. 2 Standardized Test=Meritocracy The earliest evidence of standardized testing was in China’s Imperial examinations. SAT (implemented by Henry Chauncey) is one of the standardized tests for entrance to college, reflecting American meritocracy. 3 Distance Learning The University of London was the first university to offer distance learning degrees in 1858. The Open University was founded on the belief that communications technology such as radio could bring high quality degree-level learning to people who had not had the opportunity to attend traditional universities. (Continued ) CREATIVE COGNITION IN SOCIAL INNOVATION 385 D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 APPENDIX (Continued) 4 Online Learning Platforms – Khan Academy Khan Academy is a non-profit educational website created in 2006 by American educator Salman Khan. The stated mission is ‘‘providing a high quality education for anyone, anywhere.’’ The website supplies a free online collection of more than 4,000 micro lectures via video tutorials in more than 15 subjects. 5 Encyclopedia=Wikipedia The first known encyclopedia was from the European Middle Ages, and the method was developed by Diderot and others. Wikipedia was launched by Jimmy Wales and Larry Sanger in 2001 as an online free encyclopedia, but the concept of an open source online encyclopedia was first proposed by Richard Stallman in 1999. 6 Teach for America (USA)=Teach First (UK)=Teach for All (global) Their mission is to eliminate educational inequity by enlisting high-achieving recent college graduates and professionals to teach in low-income communities in 2-year commitments. Teach For All is an international non-profit that aims to adapt the model to many countries contexts and affects 800,000 students all over the globe. 7 Charter school Charter schools are primary or secondary schools that receive public money, have more flexibility than traditional public schools, and are attended by choice. The idea was originated by Ray Budde, a professor in the US, hoping to reform the public schools by introducing autonomous public with accountability for student achievement. 8 Kindergarten The idea of kindergarten originated from Friedrich Froebel’s vision around 1850 of creating a special place in which small children were removed from parental influences and learnt to enjoy learning through playful activities. By 1870s the model spread throughout Western Europe and the US, and by 1910s, kindergartens were everywhere. Health Care 9 Bismarck Model of health care German Chancellor Otto von Bismarck invented a health care model that is widely used in Germany, France, Japan, etc. Health care is a regulated enterprise where the providers, payers, and insurance plans are private. 10 Nursing Florence Nightingale is the founder of modern nursing. Her most famous contribution came during the Crimean War, where she raised funds for supplies, and reduced death rate of soldiers from 43% to 2%. After war, she used statistical methods to improve health in British army, established medical school to improve sanitary condition, and revolutionized the theory of hospital construction. 11 Hospice Hospice care focuses on the palliative care of patients’ pain and attends their emotional needs. A dying Polish refugee helped solidify Cicerly Saunders’ ideas that terminally ill patients needed compassionate care. She became a physician who emphasized focusing on the patient rather than disease. She disseminated her theories and developed hospices internationally. 12 Universal health care Universal health care refers to a national health care system that provides health care and financial protection to all its citizens. The goal is to provide financial risk protection, improved access to health services, and improved health outcomes. Law and Regulation 13 Patent law The concept of a patent was first introduced in Greece and Italy. Patent law originated in 1474 when the Republic of Venice enacted a decree that invented devices had to be communicated to the Republic to secure rights. Then countries such as England, America, and France also established patent law. 14 Restorative justice Restorative justice focuses on the needs of victims and offenders as well as the community, and provides help for offenders in order to avoid future offences. This approach dates back to 2060 BC, and continues to be practiced, e.g., in South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. 15 Affirmative action Affirmative Action refers to policies that take factors such as race, color, religion, sex, or national origin into consideration in order to benefit an underrepresented group in areas of employment, education, and business. 16 Congestion charge To reduce traffic congestion, surcharges can be levied on users of public goods that are subject to congestion through excess demand, such as bus services and railways. William Vickrey first proposed congestion pricing for the New York City Subway system in 1952. 17 Emissions trading A market-based approach can be used to control pollution by providing economic incentives. Government sets emissions permits (CO2) and allows the trading the permits. It started from computer simulation studies in the US in 1970 and became law in 1990, dropping acid rain emissions by 3 million tons that year. 18 Disability rights in India After almost a half century of independence, India’s disabled population enjoyed no protections and received no consideration in government decision-making. Javed Abidi, himself disabled, established India’s first-ever civil rights legislation for people with disabilities. 19 Same-sex marriage Same-sex marriage is marriage between two people of the same gender. The first laws enabling same-sex marriage were enacted during the first decade of the 21st century, starting in the Netherlands in 2001. As of May 2013, 13 countries and several sub-national jurisdictions allow same-sex marriage. (Continued ) 386 JIANG AND THAGARD D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 APPENDIX (Continued) Technology 20 Facebook Facebook is an online social networking service founded in 2004 by Mark Zuckerberg. Users can create a personal profile, add other users as friends, post items, exchange messages, etc. 21 Internet The Internet began when a message was sent over the ARPANet from UCLA to SRI in 1969. Access to the ARPANet was expanded in late 80 s and finally commercialized in 1995. The Internet made possible many social innovations, including email, websites, online shopping, crowdsourcing, etc. 22 Email Email is a method of exchanging digital messages from an author to one or more recipients. The first email system was MIT’s Compatible Time-Sharing System in 1961. Today’s email systems are based on a store-and-forward model, in which neither the users nor their computers are required to be online simultaneously. 23 Printing Johannes Gutenberg’s invention of mechanical movable typeprinting started the Printing Revolution that played a key role in the development of the Renaissance, Reformation, Enlightenment, and the Scientific Revolution, and laid the material basis for the modern knowledge-based economy and the spread of learning to the masses. 24 Telephone First patented in 1876 by Alexander Graham Bell and further developed by many others, the telephone was the first device in history that enabled people to talk directly with each other across large distances. Telephones became rapidly indispensable to businesses, government, and households, and are today some of the most widely used small appliances. Social Movements 25 Fair trade Fair trade seeks to alleviate poverty by enabling poor producers to use the free market to their advantage. The main actors are producers located in impoverished countries, organizations that trade, and customers who recognize those products and buy them. Edna Ruth Byler was one of the pioneers with fair trade linen needlework for women in Puerto Rico in the 1940s. 26 Cooperative movement Robert Owen began the first co-operative store in the cotton mills of New Lanark to put workers in a good environment with access to education for themselves and their children, growing their own food and ultimately becoming self-governing. 27 Protestant Reformation The efforts of reformers such as Martin Luther who objected to the doctrines, rituals, and ecclesiastical structure of the Roman Catholic Church led to the creation of new national Protestant churches. 28 Abolitionist movement A movement to end the African slave trade and set slaves free, abolitionism started in Spain and England in the 16th century. Frederick Douglass was a leader of abolitionism in the US, after escaping from slavery. 29 Leninism= vanguard party Leninism added to Marxism the notion of a vanguard party to lead the proletarian revolution and to secure all political power after the revolution for the working class. 30 Civil rights movement Civil rights movements are activities in many countries for legal equality. In the US, the leading figures for racial equality included Martin Luther King Jr., Medgar Evers, and Jesse Jackson. 31 Environmentalism The first large-scale environmental laws were the British Alkali Acts to regulate air pollution. In the US the movement was influenced by Henry David Thoreau and Rachel Carson. 32 Feminism Feminism defends equal rights for women. The first wave was suffrage movements of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, promoting women’s right to vote. The second wave campaigned for legal and social equality for women in the 1960s. The third wave in the 1990s placed more emphasis on race and culture. 33 Non-violent civil disobedience Civil disobedience is the professed refusal to obey certain laws and commands of a government. Thoreau’s essay ‘‘Civil Disobedience’’ had a wide influence on many later practitioners of civil disobedience. Mahatma Gandhi employed new techniques of non-violent civil disobedience that he developed to lead India to independence. 34 Settlement movement The goal of the settlement movement was to get the rich and the poor to live more closely together in an interdependent community. Settlement houses were established in poor areas, and allowed middle-class settlement workers to alleviate poverty in low-income communities. 35 Reformation of female prisoners Elizabeth Fry visited Newgate prison and was horrified by the bad living condition of the women’s section. She stayed in the prisons with them and invited nobility to see the conditions prisoners lived in. She then found a prison school for children who were imprisoned with their parents and began a system of supervision by requiring women to sew and read the Bible. (Continued ) CREATIVE COGNITION IN SOCIAL INNOVATION 387 D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 APPENDIX (Continued) 36 Open-source movement Some computer programmers and users support the use of open source licenses for some or all software. Open source software has source code available for anybody to use or modify. The roots of the movement are the MIT AI lab on the east coast and the Computer Science Research Group of UC-Berkeley on the west coast. 37 Slow food movement Slow food is an international movement founded by Carlo Petrini in 1986, striving to preserve traditional and regional cuisine and encourage farming of plants and livestock characteristic of the local ecosystem as an alternative to fast food. The movement has since expanded globally to over 100,000 members in 150 countries Organizations and Methods of Organizing 38 Business incubators Incubators support the development of entrepreneurial companies through an array of business resources and services, developed and orchestrated by incubator management. They began in the USA in 1959 when Joseph Mancuso opened the Batavia Industrial Centerin Batavia, New York. 39 Think tank These organizations perform research and advocacy concerning topics such as social policy, political strategy, economics, military, technology, and culture. Such organizations date to the 19th century, but the term originated in the 1950s primarily in the US, and then spread to other parts of the world in the 1980s. 40 Habitat for Humanity (Millard and Linda Fuller) Habitat is an international, non-governmental, and non-profit organization founded in 1976 by Millard and Linda Fuller, aiming to build simple, decent, and affordable housing using volunteer labor and to address the issues of poverty housing all over the world. Habitat has helped build more than 600,000 houses and served more than 3 million people around the world. 41 Assembly line Anassembly line is a manufacturing process in which parts are added to a product in a sequential manner much faster than with handcrafted methods. The division of labor was discussed by Adam Smith in his book The Wealth of Nations. 42 Census A census is the procedure of systematically acquiring and recording information about the members of a given population. A census usually represents a national population, but there are also agriculture, business, and traffic censuses. Censuses can be dated back to Egypt’s early Pharaonic period in 3340 BCE. 43 Community organizing The goal of community organizing is to generate durable powerfor an organization representing the community, allowing it to influence key decision-makers on a range of issues over time. Saul Alinsky was the first person in America to codify key strategies and aims of community organizing. 44 Scientific management Scientific management, developed by Fredrick Winslow Taylor, reconceptualized work in terms of optimal, repeatable procedures that maximize economic efficiency and labor productivity. Finance 45 Microcredit=microfinance-Grameen Bank (Muhammad Yunus) Muhammad Yunus developed the concepts of microcredit and microfinance, and founded Grameen Bank, a Bangledesh bank that gives loans to entrepreneurs, mostly women, too poor to qualify for traditional bank loans. 46 Banking Banking in the modern sense can be traced to medieval and early Renaissance Italy, to a number of banking dynasties: Medici, Fugger, Welser, Berenberg, Baring and Rothschild. 47 Insurance Insurance is a modern business against risks regarding ships, cargo, buildings, death, automobile accidents, and medical treatment. First practiced by Chinese and Babylonian traders, Persian monarchs made it official in government, and the Greeks and Romans introduced health and life insurance. 48 Taxation Taxation systems date back to Ancient Egypt, and income tax was introduced in Britain in 1799 to pay for weapons and equipment in preparation for the Napoleonic wars. 49 Pensions A pension is a contract for a fixed sum to be paid regularly to a person, typically following retirement. Types of pensions include employment-based pensions, social and state pensions, and disability pensions. Widows’ funds were among the first pension type arrangement to appear in 1645. 50 Stock Market The concept of stock dates back to ancient Rome, and spread to other mercantile cities of Europe in 16 century. In 1602, the Dutch East India Company was formed as a joint-stock company based in six locations with shares that were readily tradable. 388 JIANG AND THAGARD D ow nl oa de d by [ P au l T ha ga rd ] at 1 1: 14 2 0 N ov em be r 20 14 
work_etdmbmpofnhedktvvv57iifwmu	----	. 87 Goodness-of-fit and concordance analysis Bondad de ajuste y análisis de concordancia Christian R. Fau1*, Solange Nabzo1 and Veronica Nasabun2 1Ophthalmological Foundation 2020, Iberoamerican Cochrane Network; 2School of Nursing, Andrés Bello University. Santiago, Chile LETTER TO THE EDITOR Correspondence: *Christian R. Fau Avda. Presidente Riesco 5157, Dep 212, Las Condes Santiago, 7560854, Chile E-mail: cfau@fundacion2020.org; chfauf@gmail.com Available online: 01-03-2020 Rev Mex Oftalmol (Eng). 2020;94(2):87-89 www.rmo.com.mx Date of reception: 04-11-2019 Date of acceptance: 07-11-2019 DOI: 10.24875/RMOE.M20000105 2604-1731/© 2019 Sociedad Mexicana de Oftalmología. Published by Permanyer. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/). Our life is wasted on details... We must simplify. Simplify. Henry David Thoreau Dear Dr.  Manuel Garza León, we have read in the May-June 2019 issue of the Revista Mexicana de Oftal- mología, an article published by Saucedo-Urdapilleta, et al., “Comparative analysis and repeatability assess- ment of IOL Master 500 versus IOL Master 700 biom- etry in cataract patients”1. This study compares the IOL Master 500 and the IOL Master 700 in a population of 55 eyes of 55 patients, where it was intended to estab- lish a concordance analysis between both equipment, what they call a “repeatability analysis”, according to the measurements of axial length, keratometry, anterior chamber depth (ACD) and white-to-white distance. Af- ter critically analyzing the article, we decided to ex- press some thoughts related to the statistics used. In the study, in the statistical analysis section, it is established that: “The database was reviewed using the Kolmogorov-Smirnov (KS) test”, which is not cited in the article. The test result is not included in the re- sults, like if it was never done. Regardless of this fact, it is important to reflect on what these goodness-of-fit tests are and which should be used in this case. Many investigations use parametric statistical tests in their analysis. In this case, Pearson’s correlation coef- ficient and Student’s t-test were used for paired data; both assume a normal distribution in the sample. Vio- lating this assumption makes the interpretation of results complex, even when there are studies that in- dicate that these tests are robust when both the as- sumption of normality and the homoscedasticity assumption are violated2. In general, in cases where the sample is not normally distributed, the use of non-parametric tests is recommended, and in this case it was proposed to use “the Wilcoxon signed-rank test”, and it is not clear if it was used or not. In practice, parametric tests are used in many investigations, as- suming normality and without any verification of as- sumption. This step that should be performed prior to data analysis, is usually not performed due to lack of awareness of the authors. There are currently several statistical tests that allow us to verify the assumption of normality. These are the K-S test, the K-S test with the Lilliefors correction (K-S-L), the Shapiro-Wilk test (S-W), the Jarque-Bera test (J-B) and the Anderson Darling test (A-D)3. The K-S test is one of the most classic for the study of nor- mality. It was developed by two Russian mathemati- cians, A. Kolmogorov and N.V. Smirnov, who presented two similar tests in the 1930s. This test compares a theoretical distribution function with an empirical one, and provides a p-value, the probability that the ana- lyzed sample differs from a random sample of size “n”, obtained from a normal distribution. Therefore, in this test and others, the null or H0 hypothesis is that there are no differences between the samples and, therefore, the null hypothesis is not rejected, that is, p > 0.05. This is an excessively conservative test, which accepts H0 N o p a rt o f th is p u b li ca ti o n m a y b e r e p ro d u ce d o r p h o to co p yi n g w it h o u t th e p ri o r w ri tt e n p e rm is si o n o f th e p u b li sh e r. © P e rm a n ye r 2 0 2 0 http://www.rmo.com.mx http://dx.doi.org/10.24875/RMOE.M20000105 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.24875/RMOE.M20000105&domain=pdf Rev Mex OftalMOl (eng). 2020;94(2) 88 in an excessively high number of occasions, so, despite its wide use and easy access, it is the least suitable test to verify data normality. Lilliefors, in 1967, with the intention of improving the K-S test, proposed a modifi- cation that is used when the mean and variance are unknown. Although at the time it was proposed as an improvement, it is still very conservative, and although it rejects H0 in some cases, it requires sample sizes of over 500 participants to have an adequate perfor- mance. The S-W test (1965) is one of the most consol- idated tests with the greatest statistical power among the current ones, especially when used with short-tailed distributions and with small sample sizes. Its best per- formance is with sample sizes greater than 50 partici- pants, and it even improves when sample size increases, and is the best classic method to use with sample sizes smaller than 50 participants, even when it loses perfor- mance. The J-B test (1987) has shown high consisten- cy, especially when working with large samples with symmetric distributions and long tails. For this there is an Urzúa correction (1996), which has not been shown to significantly improve the classical test. This test shows good performance with sample sizes of more than 200 participants, and in smaller sample sizes it has worse performance than the K-S-L test. Finally, the A-D test involves a modification of the Crammer-Von Mises test. It is based on the difference of squares between the distributions. This test is the best when analyzing small and symmetric distributions, smaller than 30 participants. It is one of the most powerful sta- tistical tests in most cases, except for excessively large samples, where it behaves more conservatively, such as classical tests. Therefore, the main tests used to establish normality in the studies should be A-D for small samples of less than 30 participants, S-W for samples of more than 50 participants, and both for the intermediate segment. In the study cited here, they should have used one of these two tests. Regarding the repeatability analysis mentioned in the study, in which the Pearson correlation coefficient and the Student’s t-test were used for paired data, it is important to clarify that repeatability is understood as performing more than one measurement in the same person with the same instrument, but under identical conditions. In the case of the study this is not true, since it is actually a concordance analysis be- tween two measurement methods to evaluate how equivalent they are. Concordance analyses between variables are widely used in the clinical practice, concordance between measurements is altered due to intraobserver and interobserver variability and by the measuring instru- ment itself, which is what was under evaluation in this case. In the case of continuous quantitative variables, it is common that inappropriate statistical analysis tech- niques are used, in this case the Pearson correlation coefficient. This is not an adequate method to assess the degree of agreement between two variables, since a r = 1 can be obtained, that is, a perfect correlation, although one of the measurement methods is propor- tionally biased, so therefore, in all the measurements it marks an X value + a constant (c), in spite of this per- fect correlation there is a null concordance between the measurements. That is to say an equipment shows X and the other X + c, they are totally different, therefore, Pearson’s correlation coefficient does not provide infor- mation on the agreement between two methods, but only measures the linear association between two vari- ables. Also, the Student’s t-test for paired data is not a suitable technique for this type of analysis. It involves only a comparison of means, without comparing distri- bution. In this type of analysis, analyzing the variance is preferred over the mean, so it is better to use an ANOVA, and based on this ANOVA, an intraclass cor- relation coefficient (ICC) is calculated, which is a para- metric test. This coefficient estimates the average of the correlations between all possible pairs of observa- tions available, like Pearson’s r, this ICC ranges be- tween 0 and 1, so that the maximum concordance between the two methods would be 1, and in that case, the variability observed would be explained by the sub- jects and not by the differences between the measure- ment methods or the observers. When the ICC value is 0, the concordance observed is only a product of chance. Regarding this, the ICC can be assessed as follows: > 0.90 very good; 0.90-0.71 good; 0.70-0.51 moderate; 0.50-1.31 mediocre; <0.30 very low or zero. There are other methods for assessing concordance, such as Lin’s coefficient of concordance, Deming’s or- thogonal regression method, the Passing-Bablock re- gression model, etc., but they are rarely used. Returning to the study, the author should not have used Pearson’s correlation coefficient and Student’s t-test for paired data, but rather an ANOVA analysis and an ICC. As a result of this bad choice, there was a problem that the author avoided explaining in the text, this was: an ACD and a significantly longer axial length was obtained with the IOL Master 700 than with the IOL Master 500 (p < 0.038 and p < 0.0003), but Pearson’s r was r = 0.959 and r = 0.997, respectively, a very high correlation. This is, are the equipment cor- related or not when measuring? Do they measure or N o p a rt o f th is p u b li ca ti o n m a y b e r e p ro d u ce d o r p h o to co p yi n g w it h o u t th e p ri o r w ri tt e n p e rm is si o n o f th e p u b li sh e r. © P e rm a n ye r 2 0 2 0 C.R. Fau, et al.: Goodness-of-fit and concordance analysis 89 not the same? In this case, as noted earlier, the author encountered a proportional bias where one equipment systematically measures more than the other and, therefore, Pearson’s r has no value. The ICC had to be calculated, which would have shown that the con- cordance was not high. The important effort that is made in the development of an investigation should not be destroyed by an error of analysis, when in fact the data should be used to obtain valid conclusions. It is important that authors who do not have advanced knowledge of statistical analysis and software management such as Stata, SAS or SPSS, seek the advice of biostatistics experts, since the risk is that when they send an article for evaluation, it can be rejected, or if accepted, when it is read it will be quickly discarded, endangering personal and journal prestige, and ultimately, not generating any impact as a publication. References 1. Saucedo-Urdapilleta R, González-Godínez S, Mayorquín-Ruiz M, Moragrega-Adame E, Velasco-Barona C, González-Salinas R. Estudio comparativo entre los biómetros ópticos IOL Master 500 versus IOL Master 700 en pacientes con catarata y análisis de repetibilidad. Rev Mex Oftalmol. 2019;93(3):130-6. 2. Finch H. Comparison of the performance of nonparametric and parame- tric MANOVA test statistics when assumptions are violated. Methodology. 2005;1(1):27-38. 3. Pedrosa IG, Juarros-Basterretxea J, Basteiro J. Pruebas de bondad de ajuste en distribuciones simétricas, ¿qué estadístico utilizar? Universitas Psychologica. 2015;14(1): 245-54. N o p a rt o f th is p u b li ca ti o n m a y b e r e p ro d u ce d o r p h o to co p yi n g w it h o u t th e p ri o r w ri tt e n p e rm is si o n o f th e p u b li sh e r. © P e rm a n ye r 2 0 2 0 
work_eurrngme4rastj3rgbundxma5u	----	From graveyard to graph RESEARCH ARTICLE From graveyard to graph Visualisation of textual collation in a digital paradigm Elli Bleeker1 & Bram Buitendijk1 & Ronald Haentjens Dekker1 Published online: 19 June 2019 # Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 Abstract The technological developments in the field of textual scholarship lead to a renewed focus on textual variation. Variants are liberated from their peripheral place in appen- dices or footnotes and are given a more prominent position in the (digital) edition of a work. But what constitutes an informative and meaningful visualisation of textual variation? The present article takes visualisation of the result of collation software as point of departure, examining several visualisations of collation output that contains a wealth of information about textual variance. The newly developed collation software HyperCollate is used as a touchstone to study the issue of representing textual information to advance literary research. The article concludes with a set of recom- mendations in order to evaluate different visualisations of collation output. Keywords Collation software . Textual scholarship . Visualisation . Markup . Hypergraph for variation . Tool evaluation 1 Introduction Scholarly editors are fond of the truism that the detailed comparison (‘collation’) of literary texts is a tiresome, error prone, and demanding activity for humans and a task suitable for computers. Accordingly, the past decades have born witness to the devel- opment of a number of software programs which are able to collate large numbers of text within seconds, thus advancing significantly the possibilities for textual research. These developments have led to a renewed focus on textual variation, liberating variants from their peripheral place in appendices or footnotes and giving them a more prominent position in the edition of a work. Still, automated collation continues to engross researchers and developers, as it touches upon universal topics including (but not limited to) the computational modelling of humanities objects, scholarly editing International Journal of Digital Humanities (2019) 1:141–163 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42803-019-00012-w * Elli Bleeker elli.bleeker@di.huc.knaw.nl 1 Research and Development – KNAW Humanities Cluster, Amsterdam, Netherlands http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s42803-019-00012-w&domain=pdf mailto:elli.bleeker@di.huc.knaw.nl theory, and data visualisation. The present article takes visualisation of collation result as its point of departure. We use the representation of the results of a newly developed collation tool, ‘HyperCollate’, as a use case to address the more general issue of using data visualisations as a means of advancing textual and literary research. The underly- ing data structure of HyperCollate is a hypergraph (hence the name), which means that it can store and process more information than string-based collation programs. Ac- cordingly, HyperCollate’s output contains a wealth of detailed information about the variation between texts, both on a linguistic/semantic level and a structural level. It is a veritable challenge to visualise the entire collation hypergraph in any meaningful way, but the question is, really, do we want to? In particular, therefore, we investigate which representation(s) of automated collation results best clear the way for advanced research into textual variance. The article is structured as follows. After a brief introduction of automated collation immediately below, we define a list of textual properties relevant for any study into the nature of text. We then consider the strengths and weaknesses of the prevailing representations of collation output, which allows us to define a number of requirements for a collation visualisation. Subsequently, the article explores the question of visual literacy in relation to using a collation tool. Since visualisations function simultaneous- ly as instruments of study and as means of communication, it is vital they are understood and used correctly. In line with the idea of visual literacy, we conclude with a number of recommendations to evaluate the visualisations of collation output. The implications of creating and using visualisations to study textual variance are discussed in the final parts of the article. Before we go on, it is important to note that we define 'textual variance' in the broadest sense: it comprises any differences between two or more text versions, but also the revisions and other interventions within one version. Indeed, we do not make the traditional distinction between 'accidentals' and 'substan- tives'. This critical distinction is the editor's to make, for instance by interpreting the output of a collation software program. 2 Automated collation Collation at its most basic level can be defined as the comparison of two or more texts to find (dis)similarities between or among them. Texts are collated for different reasons, but in general, collation is used to track the (historical) transmission of a text, to establish a critical text, or to examine an author’s creative writing process. Traditionally, collation has been considered an auxiliary task: it was an elementary part of preparing the textual material in order to arrive at a critically established text and not necessarily a part of the hermeneutics of textual criticism. The reader was presented with the end-result of this endeavour (a critical text), and the variant readings were stored in appendices or footnotes, the kind of repositories that would get so few visitors that they have been bleakly referred to as cemeteries (Vanhoutte 1999; De Bruijn 2002, 114). In the environment of a digital edition, however, users can manipulate transcriptions which are prepared and annotated by editors. Many digital editions have a functionality to compare text versions and, accordingly, collation has become a scholarly primitive, like searching and annotating text. The digital representation of the result of the comparison thus brings textual variants to the forefront instead of (respectfully) entombing them. 142 E. Bleeker et al 3 Properties of text It’s important to note that offering users the opportunity to explore textual variance in a digital environment is an argument an sich: it stresses that text is a fluid and intrinsi- cally unstable object. And, as anyone who has worked with historical documents knows, these fluid textual objects often have complex properties, such as discontinuity, simultaneity, non-linearity, and multiple levels of revision.1 The dynamic and temporal nature of textual objects means that they can be interpreted in more than one way but existing markup systems like TEI/XML can never fully express the range of textual and critical interpretations.2 Nevertheless, the benefits of 'making explicit what was so often implicit … outweighed the liabilities' of the tree structure (Drucker 2012), and as it happens, the textual scholarship community has embraced TEI/XML as a means of 1 See Haentjens Dekker and Birnbaum (2017) for an exhaustive overview of textual features and the extent to which these can be represented in a computational model. 2 The TEI Guidelines offer the element <cert> to indicate the degree of certainty associated with some aspect of the text markup, but as Wout Dillen points out, this requires an elaborate encoding practice that is not always worth the effort (2015, 90) and furthermore the ambiguity is not always translatable to the qualifiers Blow,̂ Bmedium,̂ and Bhigh.̂ From graveyard to graph 143 encoding literary texts. Expressing the multidimensional textual object within a tree data structure (the prevalent model for texts) requires a number of workarounds and results in an encoded XML transcription which contains neither fully ordered nor unordered information (Bleeker et al. 2018, 82). This kind of partially ordered data is challenging to process. As a result, XML files are often collated as strings of characters, inevitably leaving out aspects of the textual dynamics such as deletions, additions or substitutions. The conversion from XML to plain text implies that the multidimensional features of the text expressed by <del> and <add> tags are removed; the text is consequently flattened into a linear sequence of words. Only in the visualisation stage of the collation workflow do features like additions or deletions occur again (Fig. 1). Although these versions of Krapp’s Last Tape are compared on the level of plain text only, the alignment table in Fig. 1 also shows the in-text variation of witnesses 07 and 10, thus neatly illustrating the informational role of visualisations. The main objective for the development of the collation engine HyperCollate was to include textual properties like in-text variation in the alignment in order to perform a more inclusive collation and to facilitate a deeper exploration of textual variation. A look at the drafts of Virginia Woolf’s Time Passes3 offers a good illustration of some textual features we'd like to include in the automated collation. For reasons of clarity, we limit the collation input to two small fragments: the initial holograph Fig. 1 Example of an alignment table visualisation of a collation of four versions of Samuel Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape which visualises the deleted words as strike-through. The collation was performed by CollateX 3 Woolf, Virginia. Time Passes. The genetic edition of the manuscripts is edited by Peter Shillingsburg and available at www.woolfonline.com (last accessed on 2018, April 27). Excerpts from Woolf’s manuscripts are reused in this contribution with special acknowledgments to the Society of Authors as the Literary Representative of the Estate of Virginia Woolf. 144 E. Bleeker et al http://www.woolfonline.com draft ‘IHD-155’ (witness 1) and the typescript ‘TS-4’ (witness 2). Both fragments are manually transcribed in TEI/XML. The transcriptions below are simplified for reasons of legibility. A quick look at these fragments reveals that they contain linguistic variation between tokens with the same meaning as well as structural variation indicated by the markup. Here, the ampersand mark ‘&’ in witness 1 and the word token ‘and’ in witness 2 constitute linguistic variation: two different tokens with the same mean- ing. Furthermore witness 1 presents a case of in-text or intradocumentary variation: variation within a witness’ text (see also Schäuble and Gabler 2016; Bleeker 2017, 63). If we look at the revision site that is highlighted in the XML transcription of witness 1, we see several orders in which we can read the text: including or excluding the added text; including or excluding the deleted text. In other words, there are multiple ‘paths’ through the text,: the textualstream diverges at the point where revision occurs, indicated by the <del> element and the <add> element. When the text is parsed, the textual content of these different paths should be considered as being on the same level: they represent multiple, co-existing readings of the text. Intradocumentary variation can become highly complex, for instance in the case of a deletion inside a deletion inside a deletion, etc. The structural variation in this example becomes manifest if we compare the two witnesses: the excerpt in witness 1 is contained by one <s> element, while the phrase in witness 2 is contained by two <s> elements. However structural variation does not only occur across documents: when an author indicates the start of a new chapter or paragraph by inserting a metamark of some sorts, this is arguably a form of structural intradocumentary variation. To summarise, we can distinguish different forms of textual variance. Variation can occur on the level of the text characters (linguistic or semantic variation) and on the structure of the text (sentences, paragraphs, etc.). Furthermore, we distinguish between intradocumentary variation (within one witness) and interdocumentary variation (across witnesses). Arguably all forms are relevant for textual scholarship, but taking them into account when processing and comparing texts has both technical and conceptual consequences. These consequences have been discussed extensively elsewhere (Bleeker et al. 2018) and will be briefly repeated in section 5 below. The main goal of the present article is to focus on the question of visualisation. Assuming we have a software program that compares texts in great detail, including structural information and in-witness revisions, how can we best visualise its ouput? first and foremost, The additional information (structural and linguistic, intradocumentary and interdocumentary) needs to be visualised in an understandable way. The visualisations can be useful for a wide range of research objectives, such as (1) finding a change in markup indicating structural revision like sentence division, (2) presenting the different paths through one witness and the possible matches between tokens from any path, (3) complex revisions, like a deletion within a deletion within an addition, (4) studying patterns of revision, and so on. This begs the question: is it even possible or desirable to decide on one visualisation? Is there one ultimate visualisation that reflects the dynam- ic, temporal nature of the textual object(s) by demonstrating both structural and linguistic variation on an intradocumentary and interdocumentary level? the existing field of Information Visualisation can certainly offer inspiration, but simply adopting its methods and techniques will not suffice, since it deals primarily with objects which are From graveyard to graph 145 ‘self-identical, self-evident, ahistorical, and autonomous’ (Drucker 2012), adjectives which could hardly be applied to literary texts. 4 Existing Visualisations of collation results Let us consider the various existing visualisations of collation output and explore to what extent they address the conditions outlined above. We can distinguish roughly five types of visualisation: alignment tables, parallel segmentation, synoptic viewers, variant graphs, and phylogenetic trees or ‘stemmata’. A smaller example of a collation of two fragments from Woolf’s A Sketch of the Past (holograph MS-VW-SoP and typescript TS1-VW-SoP) serves as illustration of the effect of the visualisations: Witness 1 (MS-VW-SoP): with the boat train arriving, people talking loudly, chains being dropped, and the screws <del>the</del> beginning, and the steamer suddenly hooting Witness 2 (TS1-VW-SoP): with the boat train arriving; with people quarrelling outside the door; chains clanking; and the steamer giving those sudden stertorous snorts These two small fragments are transcribed in plain text format and subsequently collated with the software program CollateX. Unless indicated otherwise, the result from this collation forms the basis for the visualisation examples below. 4.1 Alignment table An alignment table presents the text of the witnesses in linear sequence (either horizontally or vertically), making it well-suited to a study of the relationships between witnesses on a detailed level, but less so to acquire an overview of patterns in revision. Note that ‘aligned tokens’ are not necessarily the same as ‘matching tokens’: two tokens may be placed above each other because they are at the same relative position between two matches, even though they do not constitute a match. For this reason, alignment tables often have additional markup (e.g. colours) to differentiate between matches and aligned tokens. The arrangement of the tokens is also one of the advan- tages of an alignment table: it shows at first glance the variation between tokens at the same relative position. In other words, this representation indicates tokens which match on a semantic level, such as synonyms or fragments with similar meanings, such as ‘talking loudly’ and ‘quarrelling outside the door’ (Fig. 2). Ongoing research into the potential of an alignment table visualisation to explore intradocumentary variation (see Bleeker et al. 2017, visualisations created by Vincent Neyt) focuses on increasing the amount of information in an alignment table by incorporating intradocumentary variation in the cells. The alignment table in Fig. 3 shows that witness 1 (Wit1) contains several paths; matching tokens are displayed in red. 146 E. Bleeker et al 4.2 Synoptic viewers A synoptic edition contains a visual representation of the collation results from the perspective of one witness, where the variants are indicated by means of a system of signs or diacritical marks. In contrast to an alignment table, a synoptic overview is more suitable as an overview examination of the patterns of variation. The following paragraphs discuss two ways of presenting textual variation synoptically: parallel segmentation and an inline apparatus. It may be clear that both are skeuomorphic in character, in the sense that they mimic the analogue examination and presentation of textual variants. This characteristic should not necessarily be considered negative, however, precisely because it is a tried and tested instrument for textual research. 4.2.1 Parallel segmentation The term ‘parallel segmentation’ may be confusing, as it is also the name of the (TEI) encoding for a critical apparatus. In this context, parallel segmentation is used to describe the visualisation of textual variation in a side-by-side manner, often with the corresponding segments linked to one another. The quantity of online, open source tools for a parallel segmentation visualisation suggests that it is a popular way of studying textual variation (e.g. the Versioning Machine,4 the Edition Visualisation Technology – EVT – project,5 and the visualisation of Juxta Commons).6 As Fig. 4 shows, parallel segmentation entails presentation of the witnesses as reading texts in separate panels which can be read vertically (per witness) or horizontally (interdocumentary variation across witnesses). Colours indicate the matching and non-matching segments. To be clear: this parallel segmentation visualisation concerns the presentation of variance; it is not a collation method in and of itself. The segments are encoded by the editor, for instance using the TEI <app>/<lemm>/<rdg> construction to link matching segments. In contrast to the inline apparatus presentation (see 2b below), which uses a base text, parallel segmentation presents the witnesses are presented as variations on one another. Most tools allow for an interactive visualisation in the sense that clicking on a segment in one witness highlights the corresponding segments in the other witness(es). As represented in Fig. 4, the parallel segmentation may also visualise 4 See http://v-machine.org/ (last accessed 2018, March 30). 5 Downloadable on https://sourceforge.net/projects/evt-project/files/latest/download (last accessed 2018, March 30) 6 See http://www.juxtasoftware.org/juxta-commons/ (last accessed 2018, March 30). Fig. 2 Example of alignment table visualisation of ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ (W1) collated against ‘TS1-VW-SoP’ (W2) which, again, shows how synonyms which do not match are aligned anyway because of the matching tokens which surround them. Table generated by CollateX From graveyard to graph 147 http://v-machine.org/ https://sourceforge.net/projects/evt-project/files/latest/download http://www.juxtasoftware.org/juxta-commons/ intradocumentary variation by rendering deletions and additions (embedded in the corresponding <rdg> by means of <del> and <add> elements). 4.2.2 Critical or inline apparatus Conventionally, an apparatus accompanies a critically established text which figures as a base text. The apparatus is made up of a set of notes containing variant readings, often recorded in some shorthand using diacritical signs, witness sigli, and some context. Variant readings encoded according to the TEI guidelines can be generated as said footnotes, or the reader can select certain readings to be displayed/ignored. Alternatively, an inline apparatus entails a synoptic visualisation of the variant readings in the form of diacritical marks inside a reading text. This kind of synoptic overview can draw the reader’s attention to the places in the text that underwent heavy revisions. A classic example of a synoptic visualisation is found in the Ulysses edition (Joyce 1984–1986), a presentation format which Hans Walter Fig. 4 Screen capture of the parallel segmentation visualisation of the Versioning Machine output of three versions of Walden (Henry David Thoreau): the base text of the Princeton edition, manuscript Version A, and manuscript Version B. The witnesses are displayed side-by-side, with cancelled text in witness Version A represented by strikethrough, added text by green, and matching text by highlight. In this example, the collation has been carried out manually and transcribed according to the TEI Parallel Segmentation method (Schacht 2016. ‘Introduction’) Fig. 3 Alignment table visualisation showing intradocumentary variation in witness 1. The colour red is used to draw attention to the matching tokens, which is especially useful in the case of more or longer witnesses 148 E. Bleeker et al Gabler and Joshua Schäuble recently repeated digitally with the Diachronic Slider (Schäuble and Gabler 2016; Fig. 5). The clear advantage of a digital synoptic edition is that the diacritical signs can be replaced with visual indications which have a lower readability threshold than diacritical marks, such as different colours or a darker shade behind the tokens that vary in other witnesses (cf. the Faust edition). 4.3 Variant graph Avariant graph is a collection of nodes and edges. It is to be read from left to right, top to bottom, following the arrows. This reading order makes it a directed acyclic graph (DAG): it can be read in one order only, without ‘looping’ back. In some visualisations, the text tokens are placed on the edges (e.g. Schmidt and Colomb 2009); in others, they are placed in the nodes (e.g. CollateX; Fig. 6). In contrast to the alignment table, there is no ‘visual alignment’ in the variant graph: matching tokens are merged. Only the variant text tokens are made explicit; witness sigla indicate which tokens belong to which witness. By following a path over nodes and edges, users can read the text of a specific witness and see where it corresponds with and diverges from other witnesses. One of the main advantages of a variant graph is that it doesn’t impose one single order: in the visualisation, no path through the text is preferred over the other. The variant graph thus facilitates recording and structuring non-linear structures in manuscript texts, making it easier to visualise layers of writing without preferring one over the other. Because the variant graph is capable of including more information than for instance an alignment table, it is a useful visualisation with which to analyse the collation outcome in detail. The vertical or horizontal direction of the variant graph depends on the tool or the preference of the user. Horizontally oriented variant graphs imitate to some extent the Western reading orientation (from left to right), while variant graphs that are vertically situated appear to anticipate the reading habits of ‘homo digitalis’ (from top to bottom). In both cases, longer witnesses result in endless scrolling and a loss of overview. This was reason for the TRAViz project to insert line breaks based on the assumption that Fig. 5 Visualisation of the inline apparatus of the Diachronic Slider of ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ collated against ‘TS1- VW-SoP’. The text from ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ are visualised in red; the green text is of ‘TS1-VW-SoP’. The coloured visualisation replaces the traditional diacritical signs From graveyard to graph 149 Fig. 6 Vertical variant graph visualisation of the comparison between ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ (W1) and ‘TS-VW- SoP’ (W2). Graph generated with CollateX 150 E. Bleeker et al online readers prefer vertical scrolling but also like to be reminded that the text in the variant graph derives from a codex format (Jänicke et al. 2014; Fig. 7). The variant graphs of CollateX in the figures directly above are non-interactive by design (since they are visual renderings of a collation output). However, the usefulness of interactive visualisations has been positively noted in several contributions (e.g., Andrews and Van Zundert) and projects. TRAViz, for instance, lets users interact with the graph and adjust it to match their needs and interests, and the variant graphs generated by the Stemmaweb tool set7 allow for their nodes to be connected, input to be adjusted, and edges to be annotated with additional information about the type of variance. Such features emphasise the visualisation’s double function as a means of communication and a scholarly instrument: on the one hand, it allows the user to clarify and communicate her argument about textual variation. On the other, the possibility of adjusting the visualisation and thus the representation of variation foregrounds the idea that the output of a tool is open to interpretation. 4.4 Phylogenetic trees or stemmata One final type of visualisation is the phylogenetic tree (also known as ‘stemma codicum’ or ‘stemmata’). Stemmata are not a collation method: they are created by the scholar or generated based on collation output like alignment tables or variant graphs. For that reason, stemmata do not directly concern the visualisation of collation output, primarily because the phylogenetic tree is used to store and explore the relationships between witnesses (and not between tokens). Nevertheless, this kind of tree provides a valuable perspective on visualising textual variation on a macro level: even at first glance, the tree conveys a good deal of information. The arrangement of the nodes within a stemma is meaningful; nodes close together in the stemma imply a high similarity between the witnesses. Each node in a tree represents a witness, and the edges which connect the nodes represent the process of copying one witness to another (a process sensitive to mistakes and thus variation). Stemmata are traditionally rooted, the witness represented as root being the ‘archetype’, which implies that all witnesses derive from one and the same manuscript (Fig. 8). More recently unrooted trees have 7 Stemmaweb brings together several tools for stemmatology: https://stemmaweb.net/ (last accessed on 2018, April 27). Fig. 7 Screen capture of the TRAViz variant graph visualization of a collation of Genesis 1:4. The size of the text indicates its presence in the witnesses From graveyard to graph 151 https://stemmaweb.net/ been introduced that do not assume one ‘ancestor’ or archetype witness and simply represent relationships between witnesses (Fig. 9).8 Avisualisation method similar to (and probably inspired by) stemmata or phylogenetic trees is the genetic graph in which the genetic relationships between documents related to a work are modelled (see Burnard et al. 2010, §4.2; Fig. 10). Nodes represent documents; the edges may be typed to indicate the exact relationship between documents (e.g. ‘influence’), and they are usually directed so as to convey the chronology of the text’s chronological development. A genetic graph is also not a direct visualisation of collation output, but a visual representation of the editor’s argument about the text’s development and her construction of the genetic dossier. With this overview representation, the editor may point to the existence of textual fragments like paralipomena, which were previously ignored or delegated to footnotes, critical apparatuses, or separate publications. The kind of macrolevel visualisations provided by stemmata or genetic graphs present the necessary overview and invite more rigorous exploration. Diagrams, graphs, or coloured squares add new perspectives to the various ways in which we look at text. 8 The Stemmaweb toolset allows users to root and reroot their stemmata to explore different outcomes, see https://stemmaweb.net/?p=27 (last accessed 2018, March 25). 152 E. Bleeker et al https://stemmaweb.net/?p=27 5 HyperCollate HyperCollate, a newly developed collation tool at the R&D department of the Human- ities Cluster of the Dutch Royal Academy of Science, examines textual variation in an inclusive way using a hypergraph model for textual variation. HyperCollate is an implementation of TAG, the data model also developed at the R&D department (Haentjens Dekker and Birnbaum 2017). A discussion of the collation tool’s technical specifications is not within the scope of the present article (see Bleeker et al. 2018); for now, it suffices to know that a hypergraph differs from traditional graphs, the edges of which can connect only two nodes with each other, because the edges in a hypergraph can connect more than two nodes with one another. These ‘hyperedges’ connect an arbitrary set of nodes, and the nodes in turn can have multiple hyperedges. Conceptu- ally, then, the hyperedges in the TAG model can be considered as multiple layers of markup/information on a text. The hypergraph for variation used by HyperCollate is an evolved model based on the variant graph. By treating texts as a network, HyperCollate is able to process intradocumentary variation and store multiple hierarchies in an idiomatic manner. In other words, because HyperCollate doesn't require TEI/XML Fig. 8 A complex stemma in the form of a rooted directed acyclic graph (DAG), with the α in the top right corner representing the archetype witness from which other witnesses may derive (source: Andrews and Mace 2012) From graveyard to graph 153 transcriptions to be transformed into plain text files, TEI tags indicating revision like <del> and <add> can be used to improve the collation result. HyperCollate accordingly uses valuable intelligence of the editor expressed by markup to improve the alignment of witnesses. Since the internal data model of HyperCollate is a hypergraph, the input text can be an XML file and doesn’t need to be transformed into plain text. The comparison of two data-centric XML files is relatively simple, and it is even a built-in of the oXygen XML Fig. 9 Example of an unrooted phylogenetic tree (source: Roos and Heikkilä 2009) Fig. 10 Possible genetic graph visualisation proposed by the TEI Workgroup on Genetic Editions (Burnard et al. 2010), with the nodes A to Z representing different documents in the genetic dossier of a hypothetical work 154 E. Bleeker et al editor, but as explained above, a typical TEI-XML transcription of a literary text with intradocumentary variation constitutes partially ordered information. In order to process this kind of information, HyperCollate first transforms the TEI-XML witnesses into separate hypergraphs and then collates the hypergraphs. Graph-to-graph collation en- sures that the input text can be processed taking into account both the textual content and the structure of the text. For each witness, HyperCollate looks at the witness’ text, the different paths through the witness’ text, and the structure of the witness, and subse- quently compares the witnesses on all these levels. Accordingly, the output of HyperCollate contains a plethora of information. Similar to CollateX,9 a widely used text collation tool, the output of HyperCollate could be visualised in different ways (e.g., an alignment table or a variant graph). By default, HyperCollate’s output is visualised as a variant graph, primarily because a variant graph does not have a single order so it is relatively straightforward to represent the different orders of the tokens as individual paths. The question is, how (and where) to include the additional information in the visualisations? A variant graph may be more flexible regarding the token order, but the nodes and edges can only contain so much extra information, as Fig. 12 below shows. A favourable consequence of HyperCollate is that, in case of intradocumentary variation, each path through a witness is considered equally important. This feature is in stark contrast with current approaches to intradocumentary variation, which usually entail a manual selection of one revision stage per witness (see Bleeker 2017, 110–113). By means of illustration, let us take a look at another collation of two small fragments from Woolf’s Time Passes containing intradocumentary structural variation. The fragments are manually transcribed in TEI/XML and simplified for reasons of clarity. The XML files form the input of HyperCollate. Witness 1 contains an interesting addition (highlighted): Woolf added a metamark and the number ‘2’ in the margin. The transcriber interpreted the added number as an indication that the running text should be split up and a new chapter should be started, so she tagged the number with the <head> element.10 This means that the tokens of this witness can be ordered in two ways: excluding the addition and including the addition. Furthermore, the <head> element in witness 1 is at the same relative position as the <head> element in witness 2, so that the two headers are a match (even though their content is not). Figure 11 shows the variant graph visualisation of the output. Note that the paths through the witnesses can be read by following the witness sigli on the edges (w1, w1:add, w2); the markup <head> is represented as a ‘hyperedge’11 on the text nodes: An alternative way of representing HyperCollate’s output in a variant graph is by enclosing both linguistic and structural information within the text nodes (Fig. 12). The visualisations of the collation hypergraph in Figs. 11 and 12 represent the collation output of two small and simplified witnesses. It may be clear that collating two larger TEI/ XML transcriptions of literary text, each containing several stages of revisions and multiple layers of markup, results in a collation hypergraph that, in its entirety, cannot 9 Haentjens Dekker, Ronald and Gregor Middell. CollateX. https://collatex.net/. 10 Arguably the transcriber could have added a <div>, but the TEI Guidelines do not allow for a <div> to be placed within an <add>. Nevertheless, contrasting the structure of witness 1 with the structure of witness 2 already alerts the reader to structural revisions and invites a closer inspection. 11 The edges in a hypergraph are called hyperedges. In contrast to edges in a DAG, hyperedges can connect a set of nodes. From graveyard to graph 155 https://collatex.net/ be visualised in any meaningful way. At the same time, the various types of information contained by the collation hypergraph are of instrumental value to a deeper study of the textual objects. For that reason, HyperCollate offers not one specific type but rather lets the user select from a wide variety of visualisations, ranging from alignment tables to variant graphs. In selecting the output visualisation, the user decides which information she prefers to see and which information can be ignored. She may consider an alignment table if she’s primarily interested in the relationships between witnesses on a microlevel, or a variant graph if an insightful overview of the various token orders is more relevant to her research. Furthermore, she may decide what markup layers she want to see: arguably knowing that every token is part of the root element ‘text’ is of less concern than detecting changes in the structure of sentences. Making such decisions does require the user to have a basic knowledge of the underlying dataset and a clear idea of what she’s looking for. 6 Requirements for visualising textual variance This overview allows us to draw a number of conclusions regarding the visualisation of textual variation and to what extent each visualisation considers the various dimensions of the textual object. We have seen that intradocumentary variation is as of yet not represented by default; the editor is required to make certain adjustments to the visualisation. Alignment tables and parallel segmentation can be extended to some extent, for instance by using colours and visualising deletions and additions. Regular variant graphs may include intradocumentary variation if the different paths through the texts are collated as separate witnesses12; only HyperCollate’s variant graph output includes both intra- and interdocumentary variation. Structural variation, is currently only taken into account by HyperCollate and consequently only visualised in HyperCollate’s variant graph. While the added value of studying this type of variation may be clear, it remains a challenge to visualise both linguistic/semantic and structural variation in an informative and clear manner. Fig. 11 may clearly convey the structural difference between witness 1 and witness 2 (i.e., the <head> element), but the raw collation output contains much more information which, if included, would probably overburden the user. A promising feature of visualisations intended to further explorations of textual variation is interactivity. One can imagine, for instance, the added value of discovering promising sites of revision through a graph representation, zooming in, and annotating the relationships between the witness nodes. Acknowledging the various strengths and shortcomings of existing visualisations, we propose that there is not one, all-encompassing visualisation that pays head to all properties 12 This practice leads to some problematic issues in case of complex revisions, see De Bruijn et al. 2007; Bleeker 2017, 111–114. Fig. 11 Alternative, black-and-white visualisation of HyperCollate output, with the <head> markup repre- sented as hyperedge on the nodes. Other markup is not visualised 156 E. Bleeker et al Fig. 12 Alternative visualisation of HyperCollate output, with each node containing the Xpath-like informa- tion about the place of the text in the XML tree (e.g. the path /TEI/text/div/p/s/ indicates that the ancestors of a text node are, bottom up, an <s> element, a <p> element, a <div> element, the <text> element and the <TEI> element) From graveyard to graph 157 of text. Instead, each visualisation highlights a different aspect of textual variance or provides another perspective on text. Each perspective puts another textual characteristic before the footlights, while (ideally) making users aware of the fact that there is much more happing behind the familiar scenes. As Tanya Clement argues, focusing on one aspect can be instrumental in our understanding of text, helping the user ‘get a better look at a small part of the text to learn something about the workings of the whole’ (Clement 2013, §3). Indeed it seems that multiple and interactive representations (cf. Andrews and Van Zundert 2013; Jänicke et al. 2014; Sinclair et al. 2013) are a promising direction. 7 Visual literacy and code criticism The process of visualising data is a scholarly activity in line with the process of modelling, hence the resulting visualisation influences the ways in which a text can be studied Collation output can be visualised in different ways, which raises essential questions regarding the assessment and evaluation of visualisations. The function of a digital visualisation is two-fold: on the one hand, it serves as a means of communication and on the other hand it provides an instrument of research. The communicative aspect implies that visualisation is first and foremost an affair of the scholar(s) who creating visualisations. The diversity of visualisations, each of which highlights different aspects of the text, reflects the hermeneutic aspect inherent to humanist textual research. Thus, by using visualisation to foreground textual variation, editors are able to better represent the multifocal nature of text. In order to choose an appropriate representation of collation output, then, scholars need to know what argument they want to make about their data set, and how the visualisation can support that argument by presenting and omitting certain information. Accordingly, they can estimate the value of a visualisation for a specific scholarly task and expose the inevitable bias embedded in technology. When a visualisation is used as an instrument of study and exploration, it is vital to be critical about its workings and its (implicit) bias. This includes an awareness of which elements the visualisation highlights and, just as important, which elements are ignored. As Martyn Jessop has pointed out, humanist education often overlooks training in ‘visual literacy’, which can be defined as the effective use of images to explore and communicate ideas (Jessop 2008, 282). Visual literacy, then, denotes an understanding of the fact that a visualisation represents a scholarly argument. Jessop identifies four principles that facilitate the understanding of a visualisation: aims and methods, sources, transparency requirements, and documentation (Jessop 2008 290). The documentation of a visualisation of collation output then, could describe what research objective(s) it aims to achieve, on what witnesses it is based, and how these witnesses have been transcribed, tokenized, and aligned.13 Another suitable rationale for critically evaluating the visualisation process is offered by the domains of ‘tool criticism’ or ‘code criticism’ (Traub and van Ossenbruggen 2015; Van Zundert and Dekker 2017, 125). Tool criticism assumes that the code base of scholarly tools reflects certain scholarly decisions and assumptions, and it raises critical questions in order to further awareness of the 13 Although the value of documenting a tool’s operations is uncontested, making use of documentation is not yet part of digital humanities’ best practice. In that respect, it is worthwhile to keep in mind the RTFM-mantra of software development (‘Read the F-ing Manual’). 158 E. Bleeker et al relationships between code and scholarly intentions. Questions include (but are not limited to) ‘is documentation on the precision, recall, biases and pitfalls of the tool available’, or ‘is provenance data available on the way the tool manipulates the data set?’ (Traub and van Ossenbruggen 2015). Indeed, when it comes to evaluating the visualisation of automated collation results, one may well ask to what extent these witnesses and the ways in which they have been processed by the collation tool are subject to bias and interpretation. Like transcription (and any operation on text for that matter), collation is not a neutral process: it is subject to the influence of the editor. This becomes clear if we look at the different steps in the collation workflow as identified by the Gothenburg model (GM; 2009). The GM consists of five steps: tokenisation, normalisation, alignment, analysis, and visualisa- tion. For each step, the editor is required to make decisions, e.g. ‘what constitutes a token’, ‘do I normalise the tokens and, if so, do I present the original and the normalised tokens’, or ‘what is my definition of a match and how do I want to align the tokens?’ As Joris Van Zundert and Ronald Haentjens Dekker emphasise, not all decisions made by collation software are easily accessible to the user, simply because they are the result of ‘incredibly complex heuristics and algorithms’ (Van Zundert and Dekker 2017, 123). To illustrate this, we can look at the decision tree used by HyperCollate to calculate the alignment of two simple sentences. The graph in Figs. 13 and 14 are complementary and show all possible decisions the alignment algorithm of Hypercollate can take in order to align the tokens of witness A and witness B and the likely outcomes of each decision. An evident downside of such trees is that they become very large very quickly. For that reason, we see them as primarily useful for editors keen to find out more about the alignment of their complex text. The GM pipeline is not strictly chronological or linear. Although automated collation does start with tokenization, not every user insists on normalising the tokens, and a step can be revisited if the outcome is considered unsatisfactory or not in line with the user’s expectations. Though visualisation comes last in the GM model, this article has argued that it is surely not an afterthought to collation. In fact, the visual representation of textual variance entails an additional form of information modelling: editors are compelled to give physical form to an abstract idea of textual variation which exists at that point only in the transcription and (partly) in the collation result. Using the markup to obtain a more optimal alignment, as HyperCollate does, only emphasises this point: marking up texts Fig. 13 The collation of witness B against witness A, with potential matches indicated in red From graveyard to graph 159 entails making explicit the knowledge and assumptions that would otherwise have been left implicit. Visualising the markup elements, then, implies that these assumptions and thus a particular scholarly orientation to text is foregrounded. 8 Conclusions The present article investigated several methods of representing textual variation: alignment tables, synoptic viewers, and graphs. Two small textual fragments containing in-text variation and structural variation formed the example input for the alignment table and the variant graph visualisation. The fragments were transcribed in TEI/XML and subsequently collated with CollateX and Fig. 14 The decision tree for collating witness B against witness A. Chosen matches indicated in bold, discarded matches rendered as strike-through; others are potential matches. Arrow numbers indicate the number of matches discarded since the root node (this number should be as low as possible). Red leaf nodes indicate a dead end, orange leaf nodes a ‘sub-optimal’ match, and green leaf nodes indicate an optimal set of matches 160 E. Bleeker et al HyperCollate respectively. In addition, we looked at existing visualisations of the Versioning Machine and the Diachronic Slider. These visualisations were judged on their potential to represent different types of variance in addition to the regular interdocumentary variation: intradocumentary, linguistic, and structural. Visualising these aspects of text paves the way for a deeper, more thorough, and more inclusive study of the text’s dimensions. We concluded that there is currently no ideal visualisation, and that the focus should not be on creating an ideal visualisation. Instead, we propose appreciating the multitude of possible visualisations which, individually, amplify a different textual property. This re- quires us to appreciate what a visualisation can do for our research goals and, furthermore, to evaluate its effectiveness. To this end, methods from code criticism and visual literacy can be of aid in furthering an understanding of the digital representations of collation output as rhetorical devices. We propose evaluating the usefulness of a visualisation on the basis of the following principles: 1) Interactivity. This may range from annotating the edges of a graph, adjusting the alignment by (re)moving nodes, to alternating between macro- and micro level explorations of variance. 2) Readability and scalability. Especially in a case of many and/or long witnesses, alignment tables and variant graphs become too intricate to read: their function becomes primarily to indicate complex revision sites. 3) Transparency of the textual model. The visualisation not only represents textual variance, but simultaneously makes clear what scholarly model is intrinsic to the collation. It needs to be clear which scholarly perspective serves as a model for transcription and representation. 4) Transparency of the code. Visualisations represent the outcome of an internal collation process which is usually not available to the general user audience. A clear, step-by-step documentation of the algorithmic process helps users under- stand what scholarly assumptions are present in the code, what decisions have been made, what parameters have been used, and how these assumptions, decisions, and parameters may have influenced the outcome. Decision trees may be of additional use. This applies particularly to interactive visualisations: if it’s possible to adjust parameters or filters, these adjustments need to be made explicit. Digital visualisation is sometimes regarded as an afterthought in humanities research, or even considered with a certain degree of suspicion. Some consider it a mere technical undertaking, an irksome habit of some digital humanists who recently learned to work with a flashy tool. Yet if used correctly, these flashy tools may also function as instruments of study and research, which means they should be evaluated accordingly. Within the framework of visualising collation output, visual literacy is key. Having a critical understanding of the research potential of visualisations facilitates our research into textual variance. After all, these representational systems produce an object which we use for research purposes; we need to take seriously the ways in which they do this. In addition to communicating a scholarly argument, digital visualisations of collation output foreground textual variation. The collation tool HyperCollate facilitates the examination of a text from multiple perspectives (some unfamiliar, some inspiring, some contrasting, but all of them highlighting a particular element of interest). This From graveyard to graph 161 freedom of choice invites scholars to reappraise prevalent notions and continue explor- ing the dynamic nature of text in dialogue with other disciplines. Digital visualisations, then, give us a means to take variants out of the graveyard and into an environment in which they can be fully appreciated. Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and repro- duction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. References Andrews, T., & Mace, C. (2012). Trees of Texts: Models and Methods for an Updated Theory of Medieval Text Stemmatology. Paper presented at the digital humanities conference, 2012, July 16–20, University of Hamburg. Abstract available at http://www.dh2012.uni-hamburg.de/conference/programme/abstracts/trees-of-texts- models-and-methods-for-an-updated-theory-of-medieval-text-stemmatology.1.html. Accessed 23 Dec 2018. Andrews, T., & Van Zundert, J. (2013). An Interactive Interface for Text Variant Graph Models. Paper presented at the Digital Humanities Conference, 2013, July 16–19, University of Lincoln, Nebraska. Abstract available at http://dh2013.unl.edu/abstracts/ab-379.html. Accessed 23 Dec 2018. Bleeker, E. (2017). Mapping invention in writing: Digital infrastructure and the role of the genetic editor. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Antwerp. Bleeker, E., Buitendijk, B., Dekker, R. H., Neyt, V., & van Hulle D. (2017). The challenges of automated collation of manuscripts. 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Digital scholarly editing for the genetic orientation: The making of a genetic edition of Samuel Beckett’s works. Ph.D. thesis, University of Antwerp. Drucker, J. (2012). Humanistic theory and digital scholarship. In M. Gold (Ed.), Debates in the digital humanities (pp. 85–96). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Haentjens Dekker, R., & Birnbaum, D. J. (2017). It’s more than just overlap: Text as graph. Presented at Balisage: The Markup Conference 2017, Washington, DC, August 1 - 4, 2017. In Proceedings of Balisage: The Markup Conference 2017. Balisage Series on Markup Technologies, vol. 19. https://doi. org/10.4242/BalisageVol19.Dekker01. Jänicke, Stefan, Gessner, Annette, Büchler, Marco, & Scheuermann Gerik (2014). Design rules for visualizing text variant graphs. In Proceedings of the digital humanities 2014, edited by Clare Mills, Michael Pidd and Jessica Williams. Joyce, J. (1984-1986). 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Sinclair, S., Ruecker, S., & Radzikowska, M. (2013). Information visualization for humanities scholars. In Literary studies in the digital age, an evolving anthology, edited by Kenneth Price and Ray Siemens. Available at https://dlsanthology.mla.hcommons.org/information-visualization-for-humanities-scholars. Accessed 23 Dec 2018 Traub, M., & van Ossenbruggen, J. (2015). Workshop on tool criticism in the digital humanities. CWI Techreport July 1, 2015. Available at https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9 cfc3fab6512dea.pdf. Accessed 27 May 2019. Vanhoutte, E. (1999). Where is the editor? Human IT, 3.1, 197–214. Van Zundert, J., & Dekker, R. H. (2017). Code, scholarship, and criticism: When is code scholarship and when is it not? Digital Scholarship in the Humanities, 32, 121–133. From graveyard to graph 163 https://dlsanthology.mla.hcommons.org/information-visualization-for-humanities-scholars https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9cfc3fab6512dea.pdf https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9cfc3fab6512dea.pdf From graveyard to graph Abstract Introduction Automated collation Properties of text Existing Visualisations of collation results Alignment table Synoptic viewers Parallel segmentation Critical or inline apparatus Variant graph Phylogenetic trees or stemmata HyperCollate Requirements for visualising textual variance Visual literacy and code criticism Conclusions References 
work_ewzvteemkzakjbv2r5xxvrkvna	----	C o n t a c t : A J o u r n a l f o r C o n t e m p o r a r y M u s i c ( 1 9 7 1 - 1 9 8 8 ) http://contactjournal.gold.ac.uk Citation � Montague, Stephen. 1982. ‘Cage Interview’. Contact, 25. pp. 30. ISSN 0308-5066. http://contactjournal.gold.ac.uk 30 Stephen Montague Cage Interview John Cage is one of the most influential and important creative artists to have emerged this century. On 5 September Cage was 70 years old. The following material is taken from interviews by Stephen Montague with the composer on 18 March 1982 at Cage's loft in Greenwich Village, New York, and during the Almeida Festival, London, 28-30 May 1982. STEPHEN MONTAGUE: You are 70 years old in September. What are the best and the worst things about being your age? What are some of your reflections? JOHN CAGE: Well, I have a friend named Doris Dennison who is 74 and whose 96-year-old mother lives alone in Oregon and is still taking care of herself. Doris called her one day and asked how she was. Mrs Dennison said: 'Oh, I'm fine, it's just that I don't have the energy I had when I was in my 70s.' My attitude toward old age is one of gratitude for each day. Poor Henry David Thoreau died at age 44. You know he had the habit of walking through the streets of Concord in the dead of winter without any clothes on, which must certainly have disturbed the local citizens no end. Later there was a lady who each year would put flowers on Emerson's grave, and mutter as she would pass Thoreau's: 'And none for you, you dirty little atheist!' Anyway, as I get older and begin to be almost twice as old as Thoreau, I am naturally grateful for all this time. It strikes me that since there's obviously a shorter length of time left than I've already had, I'd better hurry up and be interested in whatever I can. There's no fooling around possible. No silliness. So where I used to spend so much of my time hunting mushrooms, I've recently become interested in indoor gardening. I now tend to spread myself thinner and thinner. I'm always looking for new ways of using my energy, but meanwhile continuing the other activities. About five or six years ago I was invited to make etchings at the Crown Point Press in California. I accepted immediately, even though I didn't know how to make them, because about 20 years before I was invited to trek in the Himalayas and didn't. I later discovered that the walk was going to be on elephants with servants, and I've always regretted that missed opportunity. I thought I was too busy. I am now multiplying my interests because it is my last chance. I don't know what will turn up next. The doctor told me at my age anything can happen. He was right. I got rid of arthritis by following a macrobiotic diet. Work is now taking on the aspect of play, and the older I get, the more things I find myself interested in doing. In my talk during' the Almeida Festival I said: 'If you don't have enough time to accomplish something, consider the work finished once it's begun. It then resembles the Venus da Milo which manages quite well without an arm.' SM: Do you have any regrets, anything you might have done differently as you review your 70 years? JC: You mean how would I recreate the past? Well, I said long ago that if I were to live my life over again, I would be a botanist rather than an artist. At that time the botanist Alexander Smith asked me why. And I said: 'To avoid the jealousies that plague the arts. Because people think of art so often as self- expression.' (I don't, but so many people do.) 'And therefore, if their work is not receiving what they consider proper attention, they then feel unhappy about it and get offended.' One of my teachers, Adolf Weiss, got very angry at me simply because I became famous. He was sure I was, in some way, being dishonest, because he had been honest all his life and he'd never become famous; so he was sure I was doing something wrong and evil. But when I said to Alexander Smith that I would like to change my life by being a botanist, he said that showed how little I knew about botany. Then later in the conversation I mentioned some other botanist, and he said: 'Don't mention his name in my house!' So I think that all human activities are characterised in their unhappy forms by selfishness. SM: Earning a living as a composer in any era has traditionally been difficult. How old were you when you could really say you were earning a living just as a composer? JC: I began to make money not from actually writing music, but from lecturing, concerts, and all such things-what you might call the paraphernalia of music-not until I was 50. But then I did. Now I could get along without giving any concerts if I chose to live in a poor corner of the world. My income from my past work is sufficient to live on in a very modest situation. SM: What is your most important work? JC: Well the most important piece is my silent piece, 4'33 ". Why? Because you don't need it in order to hear it. You have it all the time. And it can change your mind, making it open to things outside it. It is continually changing. It's never the same twice. In fact, and Thoreau knew this and it's been known traditionally in India, it is the statement that music is continuous. In India they say: 'Music is continuous, it is we who turn away.' So whenever you feel in need of a little music, all you have to do is to pay close attention to the sounds around you. I always think of my silent piece before I write the next piece. SM: What do you do for leisure? JC: I don't have any leisure. It's not that I have my nose to the grindstone. I enjoy my work. Nothing entertains me more than to do it. That's why I do it. So I have no need for entertainment. And my work is not really fatiguing so that I don't need to relax. SM: This is your 70th year. The beginning of a new decade for you. Your life-style and the macrobiotic diet seem to agree with you. You're in good health and seem very fit. JC: I'm gradually learning how to take care of myself. It has taken a long time. It seems to me that when I die, I'll be in perfect condition. 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work_ew75vvt3zjexxfpxjx5e3iu2ti	----	Restraining the Hand of Law: A Conceptual Framework to Shrink the Size of Law The Chinese University of Hong Kong From the SelectedWorks of Bryan H. Druzin 2014 Restraining the Hand of Law: A Conceptual Framework to Shrink the Size of Law Bryan H. Druzin, The Chinese University of Hong Kong Available at: https://works.bepress.com/bryan_druzin/15/ https://works.bepress.com/bryan_druzin/ https://works.bepress.com/bryan_druzin/15/ 100 RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW: A CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK TO SHRINK THE SIZE OF LAW Bryan Druzin ABSTRACT ............................................................................................. 100  I.   INTRODUCTION ...................................................................................... 101  II.   THE CASE FOR MINIMALISM ................................................................. 105  A.  Assumptions and Starting Points ................................................... 105  B.  The Benefits of Minimalism ........................................................... 107  C.  The Minimalist Approach to Economic Regulation ....................... 111  D.  The Liability of Ideology—Both Left and Right ............................. 113  III.    ARTICULATING A FRAMEWORK FOR LEGISLATIVE MINIMALISM ......... 114  A.  Non-interference ............................................................................ 116  B.  Formalizing .................................................................................... 117  C.  Fine-tuning .................................................................................... 123  D.  Dismantling .................................................................................... 124  E.  Concocting ..................................................................................... 126  IV.    CLARIFYING THE FRAMEWORK ............................................................. 127  A.  A Tabulated Comparison of the Strategies .................................... 127  B.  Contract: A Paragon of Legislative Minimalism ........................... 129  1.  Non-interference in Contract ................................................... 130  2.  Formalizing in Contract ........................................................... 131  3.  Fine-tuning in Contract ............................................................ 131  4.  Dismantling and Concocting in Contract ................................. 132  C.  Beyond Law: A Wide Breadth of Potential Application ................ 134  V.    CONCLUSION ......................................................................................... 135  ABSTRACT There is a fierce ideological struggle between two warring camps: those who rally against expansive government and those who support it. Clearly, the correct balance must be struck between the extremes of legislative over-invasiveness and the frightening total absence of legal structure. This  Assistant Professor of Law, The Chinese University of Hong Kong. For their insightful comments, I am deeply indebted to Eric Posner at the University of Chicago; Richard Epstein at NYU; Andrew Simester at University of Cambridge; Julian Webb at Warwick; Stephen Hall, Xi Chao, and Julien Chaisse at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. As well, the drafting of this paper was helped greatly by Direct Grant CUHK funding. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 101 paper articulates a framework that allows for legislative parsimony—a way to scale back state law in a way that avoids lurching to unnecessary extremes. I assume the libertarian premise that law should strive to encroach as minimally as possible upon social order, yet I argue that we must do this in a highly selective fashion, employing a range of legislative techniques. I call this approach legislative minimalism. The strength of legislative minimalism is its pragmatic flexibility: different situations will allow for different degrees of minimalism. The paper creates a taxonomy of legislative strategies, outlining five distinct strategies. This taxonomy provides a conceptual foundation to help guide policymakers faced with the question of how best to legislate—or more accurately, how much to legislate. I. INTRODUCTION Sometimes the most effective form of action is no action at all—or at least as little of it as possible. Consider gardening. The experienced gardener knows that over-gardening can stifle growth. Different situations call for different degrees of tending: sometimes all that is needed is a bit of trimming, sometimes a little invasive weeding, and occasionally what is required is uprooting the entire plant . The trick is in knowing precisely how much “interference” is needed: too little and one’s garden will become a disordered mess; too much and one’s garden will wither away and die. What is true for the natural ordering of plants is true for the natural ordering of society. Most social order is a natural process.1 Imposed social order, that is order created and imposed through the legislative authority and coercive mechanisms of the State, is but the formal tip of a colossal iceberg.2 Beneath this surface lies a deep ocean of social norms and customary rules that structure society.3 I will refer to this broadly as customary social order (I use this term henceforth).4 It 1 Indeed, the highest levels of social order are, in fact, found in the insect world, such as with ant colonies and wasp nests. THEORIES OF SOCIAL ORDER: A READER 3 (Michael Hechter & Christine Horne eds., 2d ed. 2009). I use Jon Elster’s definition of social order here: stable, predictable behavioral patterns and general cooperative behavior. See JON ELSTER, THE CEMENT OF SOCIETY: A STUDY OF SOCIAL ORDER 1 (1989). 2 Throughout the discussion, the term “the State” is meant to include not only administrative and legislating bodies but also judge-made law. 3 Indeed, most social order is maintained not through state-enforced law but through social norms. Paul G. Mahoney & Chris W. Sanchirico, Competing Norms and Social Evolution: Is the Fittest Norm Efficient?, 149 U. PA. L. REV. 2027, 2027–28 (2001). See also, e.g., Robert C. Ellickson, The Evolution of Social Norms: A Perspective from the Legal Academy, in SOCIAL NORMS 35 (Michael Hechter & Karl-Dieter Opp eds., 2001) (discussing how social norms arise, persist, and change). 4 Customary social order, as it is used here, refers to fixed social patterning on various levels of complexity, from simple norms of conduct (e.g. queuing norms) to quite intricate systems of order (e.g. customary international rules of war). Throughout, I juxtapose this with “imposed social order,” i.e. social order created through formal law. The terms social patterning, 102 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 would be a mistake to underestimate the vitality and significance of customary social order: throughout most of our species’ history, custom, not formal law, has preserved social order.5 Customary social ordering is an unremitting process, surging upwards through the myriad cracks of social intercourse. It is undesigned order—the consequence of social interaction. While the footprint of imposed legal order is large, it dwarfs in comparison to the vast social complexity that remains completely untouched by the instruments of formal law.6 At the end of the day, the vast majority of social patterning is neither designed nor regulated. When one begins to think along these lines, the question that invariably presents itself is: to what extent should formal law interfere with the natural mechanics of social order at all? Clearly, in some areas it intrudes quite a lot, in others, very little. Just how much of society should be subject to the hand of law rather than left to the natural ordering force of custom? Do we want the state to regulate every facet of social existence: family life, sexual practices? What if, for example, the aggregate productivity of society could be substantially improved if each of us slept at least eight hours a night? Would the state then be justified in legislating a societal bedtime?7 On the other hand, there are social dynamics that clearly require massive doses of regulation: black markets, organized crime, racial discrimination, etc. The question of how far law should extend itself goes to the very heart of our relationship with government for it is through law that the state asserts the most direct and most powerful influence over our lives. Law is like the corrective hand of a gardener: sometimes it is needed to save the life of a plant, to nurture and sustain it, but equally, it needs to know when to pull back and defer to natural processes. For over-gardening, overwatering, and over-fertilizing the soil—all this will also kill a plant. As the skilled hand of the gardener must be measured, so should the hand of law. It should not overreach, yet at the same time, it should not fail to extend itself where necessary. The position that law overreaches has been widely argued. Indeed, the idea has great purchase in certain circles. Anarchists, libertarians, conservative social ordering, self-ordering systems, customary system, or even just system are used here interchangeably with customary social order. Friedrich Hayek uses the term spontaneous order. See F. A. HAYEK, THE CONSTITUTION OF LIBERTY 160 (1960) [hereinafter HAYEK, THE CONSTITUTION OF LIBERTY]. This could also be used here. 5 See David Ibbetson, Custom in Medieval Law, in THE NATURE OF CUSTOMARY LAW: LEGAL, HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL PERSPECTIVES 151, 158 (Amanda Perreau-Saussine & James B. Murphy eds., 2007). 6 I have discussed the self-ordering nature of customary law elsewhere, arguing that it may be strategically manipulated to serve public policy ends. See Bryan H. Druzin, Planting Seeds of Order: How the State Can Create, Shape, and Use Customary Law, 28 BYU J. PUB. L. 373 (2014). 7 It is undeniable that reproduction patterns have clear, large-scale societal implications. Could state regulation of such patterns be justified? China’s one-child policy is one answer. Many disagree. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 103 economists, and some legal scholars fervently contend that too much social regulation undermines the productivity, potential, and even the basic freedom of the very society it seeks to regulate.8 These voices call to restrain (or with respect to anarchists destroy) the hand of law. This paper takes these claims seriously. The discussion that follows is sympathetic to their position (albeit in its technical rather than ideological form).9 For the purposes of this paper, I take the general argument as already valid. My job, as I set it out for myself, is not really to make a case for why we should minimize regulation (I mostly assume this leg of the argument); the focus of this paper, rather, is how to go about doing it. If we take the minimalist position as legitimate, the question arises: what are we to do about it? This question lies at the center of a fierce ideological struggle between two warring camps: those who rally against expansive government and those who support it. Clearly, the correct balance must be struck between legislative over-invasiveness on the one hand and a frightening total absence of formal legal structure on the other. Put simply, this paper proposes to split the difference. It articulates a framework that allows for legislative parsimony—a way to scale back state law in a way that avoids lurching to unnecessary extremes. My thesis in a nutshell is this: wherever feasible, we should strive to encroach as minimally as possible upon customary social order, yet this may be done in a highly selective, strategic fashion, employing a range of legislative techniques. I call this approach legislative minimalism.10 The strength of legislative minimalism is in its pragmatic 8 As this literature is vast, I refer the reader to the more prominent theorists in this vein. While not a comprehensive list, see the work of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon and Lysander Spooner (early anarchism); Murray Rothbard and Robert Nozick (libertarianism); Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman (economics); and Richard Epstein and Robert Cooter (law). See also the literature on overcriminalization. For a good introduction to this literature, see Sanford H. Kadish, The Crisis of Overcriminalization; More on Overcriminalization; and The Use of Criminal Sanctions in Enforcing Economic Regulations, in BLAME AND PUNISHMENT: ESSAYS IN THE CRIMINAL LAW 21, 21–61 (Sanford H. Kadish ed., 1987). 9 I draw this distinction because anarchists and libertarians often make a normative argument against the State, contending that the state is a constraint on personal liberty and is either entirely or largely illegitimate. I do not wish to engage in such arguments here. In fact, I fear that such normative claims only cloud the issue. See infra Part II.D (discussing the hazards of ideology). 10 The term “legislative minimalism” has been employed before yet in a somewhat ad hoc manner connoting various meanings. As such, some clarification is needed. Legislative minimalism as understood here is wherever the State, to whatever degree, strategically incorporates customary social order. This may be contrasted with the concept of legislative maximalism where the state disregards the natural patterning of spontaneous order and instead simply imposes top-down legal order. For scholarship where the term has previously appeared conveying extremely divergent meanings, see, for example, Ian C. Bartrum, Same-Sex Marriage in the Heartland: The Case for Legislative Minimalism in Crafting Religious Exemptions, 108 MICH. L. REV. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 8 (2009), http://www.michiganlawreview.org/assets/fi/108/bartrum.pdf (suggesting that the Iowa legislature should allow the courts to craft religious exemptions regarding same-sex marriage); 104 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 flexibility. Different situations will allow for different degrees of minimalism. As such, there is not a single strategy of legislative minimalism; rather, there are several. The paper creates a taxonomy of strategies, outlining five ways in which legislative minimalism may be applied. Taken together, these five strategies provide a conceptual foundation to guide policymakers faced with the question of how best to legislate—or more to the point, how much to legislate. Which strategy is most appropriate should be decided on a case-by-case basis. The trick is in knowing how, like the gardener, the state can skillfully manage customary social ordering and just what dose of minimalism is appropriate. The hand of law will always extend somewhere along a continuum of intrusion. This is unavoidable. The question is merely in choosing the most appropriate degree of intervention. This being the case, it becomes that much more imperative that we articulate a clear, conceptually rigorous framework for dealing with customary patterning. The contribution of this paper is that it provides such a framework—it provides clarity. In actual fact, the law already deals heavily in customary order, employing different degrees of regulatory intrusion as it builds upon and modifies pre-existing patterns of social order. Yet this is not done in a consistent or coherent fashion. The taxonomy this paper constructs systematizes this entire process. Armed with this conceptual framework, lawmakers will be clear from the outset as to what legislative approach is most suitable to the task at hand, and this clarity will guide them in more skillfully formulating legislation (or not formulating legislation as the case may be). What is currently lacking is a lucid set of instructions to help lawmakers determine where exactly the line of legislative intrusion should be drawn. It is thus important to have at our disposal a clear and comprehensive framework for minimalism even if that means we find sometimes that minimalism is not at all what is needed. My argument proceeds in three parts. Part II begins by clarifying some foundational assumptions made in the paper and then briefly lays out the case for minimalism. Yet this is not the focus of the paper. Parts III and IV is where the paper offers a fresh contribution to the literature. Part III articulates a framework for legislative minimalism, creating a detailed taxonomy of strategies. Part IV then further clarifies this framework, discussing how these strategies are in fact already at work within the realm of contract. Indeed, in that the state has traditionally employed a “light touch” approach in contract, the law of contract is a terrific case study in how legislative minimalism may be applied across the full spectrum of law. Mila Sohoni, The Idea of “Too Much Law,” 80 FORDHAM L. REV. 1585 (2012) (claiming that federal laws and regulations are too numerous).This should also not be confused with “judicial minimalism,” a term popularized by Cass Sunstein that relates to a form of constitutional interpretation. See CASS R. SUNSTEIN, ONE CASE AT A TIME: JUDICIAL MINIMALISM ON THE SUPREME COURT (2001). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 105 II. THE CASE FOR MINIMALISM A. Assumptions and Starting Points This paper embraces certain assumptions and starting points that need to be made clear from the outset. First, as I said in the introduction, for the purposes of the discussion, I take the claims of those who call to shrink the size of law seriously. This assumption is open to attack on both normative and factual grounds. However, let me pre-emptively defend against such criticisms. I do this not because the argument for minimalism is closed to debate; rather, I do this because this is not really the paper’s focus. My focus, rather, is in crafting a framework to effectuate minimalism that is nuanced, strategic, and avoids lurching to unnecessary extremes. Thus, I take as my starting point that we do indeed want to shrink the size of law and then offer a way to get there. As such, I am laboring under two assumptions, the first descriptive and the second normative. The first is that imposed social order is generally more vulnerable to inefficiencies (for reasons I will explain). The second assumption, which flows from the first, is that we should, therefore, only impose order where it is absolutely necessary.11 Both these assumptions relate to a familiar controversy (the role of government), and the paper does not add anything startlingly new on this front—it is taken as a working premise that the technical argument for minimalism holds merit. Rather, the contribution of this paper resides mostly in Parts III and IV where a clear taxonomy for legislative minimalism is set out, scrutinized, and dissected. A general theme emerges from the discussion: wherever it is feasible, legislative minimalism should be preferred over its opposite, legislative maximalism. This is because each time we successfully minimize the State’s intrusion into natural social patterning, we arguably reduce the risk of messing things up. Hence, when faced with the choice whether or not to take legislative action, we should err on the side of caution and favor minimalism. Yet it is important to note that just because a system of customary social order arises bottom-up, this is no guarantee that it is optimal or even desirable.12 It would be profoundly naïve to assume that customary social ordering is always optimal. Such order may be grossly inefficient, unjust, or may simply stand to benefit from some minor tinkering.13 Just how much tinkering is needed will vary. I 11 Indeed, this is how I read Hayek. The basic premise of his work is thus embraced here. 12 Yet, arguably, its decentralized, organic genesis does give it a certain consistent advantage over its top-down competition in that such complexity is better suited to spontaneous processes. See infra Part II.B for a fuller discussion of this under the concept of design efficiency 13 While I better define “inefficiency” below, as for the term “unjust,” I do not proffer any definition. The term unjust as it is used here may mean any number of things depending upon a society’s particular goals and objectives. This may range from equitable resource distribution to maximization of productivity. For our purposes, what a society deems as just is of relevance only to the extent that such conceptions will influence what is seen to be the purpose of a system, 106 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 employ a very parsimonious definition of efficiency: “efficient” simply means that the system of order is able to effectively achieve whatever purpose the system is geared to achieve.14 As I use it here, there are thus degrees of efficiency: the more effectively a system can achieve its purpose, the more we can say it is efficient. For example, the more a system of traffic order can achieve an uncongested traffic flow, the more it may be said to be efficient. If a system achieves its purpose but this can be improved upon (i.e. traffic congestion could be further reduced), then it suffers from inefficiency. In using the term, I do not necessarily mean strict economic conceptions of efficiency such as allocative efficiency, Pareto efficiency, distributive efficiency, or productive efficiency (although it may certainly include any or all of these). Perhaps another way to think of this that may be useful is in terms of “effectiveness” or “efficacy.” The taxonomy the paper constructs offers a new, or at least clearer, approach to an old debate and in this respect may prove interesting. What legislative minimalism entails are degrees of minimalism that span a continuum reflecting the level of involvement versus disengagement; it relates to the degree to which top-down law “intrudes” upon customary social order. The approach is unique in that it proposes graduated degrees of minimalism and articulates specific strategies to effectuate this. As such, it assumes a less dogmatic attitude towards the role of government.15 Robert Nozick once remarked that “[t]he fundamental question of political philosophy, one that precedes questions about how the state should be organized, is whether there should be any state at all.”16 For our purposes we can tweak this slightly: the most fundamental question for us, one that precedes even how formal law should be organized, is whether there should be any formal law at all. My thesis is that this is not an all-or-nothing proposition. It is a question that may be answered with different intensities of formal law on a case-by-case basis depending on the social pattern we are dealing with. Before wading deeper into our discussion, I shall briefly outline the case for why legislative minimalism is something beneficial we should seek to implement on a policy level. However, as this position is assumed to already hold merit, I do this really more to contextualize the discussion than to advance specific arguments for minimalism. What follows is the standard technical argument for minimalism. shaping our determinations of efficiency. For example, in the case of traffic order, its purpose may be fluid traffic flow, yet it may just as well be safe traffic flow. Whether a system is judged efficient will depend upon the purpose we assign to it, and this is unavoidably bound up with normative views. Where normative concepts influence our understanding of efficiency, they will determine the policy decision whether to intervene and to what extent. 14 And without producing unanticipated negative externalities. 15 This can be thought of as a “thin” model of minimalism in that it permits degrees of top- down law from the lightest kinds of minimalism to the heaviest forms of legal maximalism, if indeed that is what is required. 16 ROBERT NOZICK, ANARCHY, STATE, AND UTOPIA 4 (1974). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 107 With this in mind, let us consider some of the benefits that may be gleaned from a minimalist approach. B. The Benefits of Minimalism It is important that we are clear that when we speak of customary social order we are in fact discussing something that can take a variety of forms. Customary social order can range from simple norms of conduct (e.g. students’ self-assigning seats in a classroom or queuing norms) to extremely complex and intricate systems of normative order (e.g. the driving norms of a third- world city or the customary rules of international armed conflict).17 Regardless of the form it takes, however, customary social order offers some practical advantages over imposed social order. Because customary social order arises from an active discourse between parties rather than from being imposed from above, the social rules that it produces are often more efficient,18 robust, internalized,19 and self-enforcing. Where the rules prove self-enforcing, the 17 The machinery of customary social ordering has been widely studied: various mechanisms help foster and sustain its emergence. I have explored this theme elsewhere. See generally Bryan H. Druzin, Opening the Machinery of Private Order: Public International Law as a Form of Private Ordering, 58 ST. LOUIS U. L.J. 423 (2014) (positing that positive duties help sustain commercial contracts and international treaties by establishing trust through repeated rounds of signaling). See also Druzin, supra note 6.(discussing the self-ordering nature of customary law and arguing that it may be strategically manipulated to serve public policy ends). The conclusions of game theorists, evolutionary biologists, legal anthropologists, and sociologist all fall along similar lines. Repeated interaction allows for the possibility of very sophisticated forms of coordination without third-party enforcement because the shadow of future encounters can support a cooperative equilibrium. Given sufficient repeated interaction, individuals can rely on the threat of retaliation and reputational costs as informal enforcement mechanisms to encourage rule compliance. On the carrot side of the ledger, the element of reciprocal benefit that often comes with repeated interaction reinforces such arrangements, cementing the social rules that emerge. Much of the game theory literature addresses the impact of repeated games as a solution to the prisoner’s dilemma. I refer the reader to the foundational work regarding this idea, see Robert Axelrod & William D. Hamilton, The Evolution of Cooperation, 211 SCI. 1390 (1981); Robert Axelrod, The Emergence of Cooperation Among Egoists, 75 AM. POL. SCI. REV. 306 (1981). The take-away point here is that customary social order is a naturally occurring phenomenon. So long as the correct ingredients are present, it may manifest. 18 But see H. Peyton Young, Social Norms 6 (Univ. of Oxford Dep’t of Econ. Discussion Paper Series, Paper No. 307, 2007), available at http://www.economics.ox.ac.uk/materials/working_papers/paper307.pdf (pointing out that many social norms are demonstrably inefficient). 19 That is, there arises an underlying sense of universal duty to follow the norm—the “ought to” in a Humean sense. See DAVID HUME, A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE 335 (1739). When a norm is internalized, it gives rise to the feeling that it is implicitly valid. As Eric Posner says, “. . . people bound by [norms] feel an emotional or psychological compulsion to obey the norms; norms have moral force.” Eric A. Posner, Law, Economics, and Inefficient Norms, 144 U. PA. L. REV. 1697, 1709 (1996). At a more advanced stage, the process can achieve the standing of Opiniojuris, the belief that a particular action carries a legal obligation. 108 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 enforcement burden on the state may be lightened.20 This alone is a significant advantage. Yet the central benefit of customary social order over that of top- down law is that it solves the problem of informational complexity. Informational complexity is the idea that when a high level of complexity is reached in any given system, it becomes exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, for one individual to know or process all the data relevant to a decision.21 This is a serious problem, one to which lawmaking is extremely vulnerable. The sheer complexity of law, a vast system of evolving rules and interrelated concepts, can be so difficult to grasp in its entirety that it often leads to design errors that produce unanticipated negative externalities. Put simply, it can cause us to make bad law. We can term this design error.22 It is a working premise of this paper that design error abounds in the law. It is, as Friedrich A. Hayek contends, an extraordinarily difficult task to design organized complexity because it is impossible for one mind to grasp all the relevant information.23 The problem of informational complexity was Hayek’s central critique of socialism and central planning (and legislation), a concept that assumed center stage throughout the whole of his work, featuring 20 The reader should note that the focus here is not upon self-enforcement. Self-enforcement is well-studied, particularly within the field of evolutionary game theory. Yet, with the exception of the strategy of Non-interference, this important aspect of customary social order is left out of the discussion. 21 This idea formed the better part of the life’s work of the economist Friedrich A. Hayek. For his early and perhaps best-known work on the subject, see F. A. HAYEK, THE ROAD TO SERFDOM: TEXT AND DOCUMENTS 95 (Bruce Caldwell ed., 2007) [hereinafter HAYEK, THE ROAD TO SERFDOM]; See also F. A. HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY: A NEW STATEMENT OF THE LIBERAL PRINCIPLES OF JUSTICE AND POLITICAL ECONOMY 15 (1973) (discussing the impossibility of knowing and using all relevant facts) [hereinafter HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY]. It is an extension of the economic calculation problem proposed by Ludwig von Mises, which decries the use of centralized planning in place of a market-based allocation of the factors of production. See LUDWIG VON MISES, ECONOMIC CALCULATION IN THE SOCIALIST COMMONWEALTH (1920) (discussing the increase in specialization and complexity of society).; See also JOHN C. W. TOUCHIE, HAYEK AND HUMAN RIGHTS: FOUNDATIONS FOR A MINIMALIST APPROACH TO LAW 94–95 (2005). 22 Design error is measured by the inability of a system of order, due to structural-design reasons, to effectively achieve its purpose without producing unanticipated negative externalities (system efficiency). The more it is unable to do this, the more we can say the system suffers from design error. Take an artificial heart as an example. If its purpose is to pump a sufficient flow of blood through the body to keep the recipient alive, vigorous, and in good health, then it can be said to suffer from design error if (1) the patient dies, if (2) the recipient lives but is not in a vigorous condition, or if (3) the patient lives but, say, develops serious blood clots (unanticipated negative externalities). In this respect, design error is a matter of degree. 23 See HAYEK, THE ROAD TO SERFDOM, supra note 21, at 95. Hayek calls the idea that all the relevant facts can be known to one mind a “synoptic delusion.” See HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY, supra note 21, at 14. He terms this form of thinking “constructivist rationalism.” Id. at 5; See also ERIC ANGNER, HAYEK AND NATURAL LAW 51 (2007) (explaining, in very clear terms, Hayek’s thinking in this respect). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 109 prominently in his writings on spontaneous order.24 Many argue that the failure of the socialist project with its reliance on central planning was an illustration of informational complexity on a catastrophic level.25 Systems theory, particularly Niklas Luhmann’s autopoietic theory of law, reaches similar conclusions regarding system complexity and the limitations of centralized design.26 There is an implicit danger in tinkering with systems that we do not fully understand. Lon L. Fuller’s famous concept of polycentricity delivers a similar verdict on the constraints of system complexity. Fuller famously describes the difficulty of tinkering with interlocking complex networks with the image of pulling on a spider’s web: picking at one strand will invariably produce unanticipated tensions throughout all the other strands of the web. 27 Indeed, this can be thought of as something akin to tinkering with the weather. Indeed, the problem of informational complexity has been noted with regards to a sweeping range of order, from centrally-planned economies to ecological as well as complex biological systems. Law is not exempt. Indeed, informational complexity is a big problem for legislation. The unending difficulty in applying statute to real-world situations is stark testament to this challenge. These difficulties, it is argued here, stem directly from the problem of informational complexity on a wide scale.28 When crafting law, it is simply impossible to anticipate all the consequences that will flow from its application. This is arguably the fundamental shortcoming to deliberate design writ large— at best, lawmakers can make only educated guesses based on the limited information they have available, but as the information is limited, their understanding is limited. Lawmakers lack the requisite knowledge of all relevant concrete circumstances. The process of legislation is thus extremely prone to producing design errors. It is a project bound to periodically fail. While our focus here is primarily upon statute, case law is also straightjacketed 24 Hayek borrows the phrase from Michael Polanyi, explaining that: “Such an order . . . cannot be established by central direction . . . . It is what M. Polanyi has called the spontaneous formation of a ‘polycentric order’: ‘When order is achieved among human beings by allowing them to interact with each other on their own initiative . . . we have a system of spontaneous order in society.’” HAYEK, THE CONSTITUTION OF LIBERTY, supra note 4, at 160. 25 See, e.g, Robert D. Cooter, Against Legal Centrism, 81 CALIF. L. REV. 417, 418 (1993) (reviewing ROBERT C. ELLICKSON, ORDER WITHOUT LAW: HOW NEIGHBORS SETTLE DISPUTES (1991)). 26 Guilherme Vasconcelos Vilaça, From Hayek’s Spontaneous Orders to Luhmann’s Autopoietic Systems, 3 STUD. IN EMERGENT ORD. 50, 52–53 (2010), docs.sieo.org/SIEO_3_2010_Vilaca.pdf. 27 See Lon L. Fuller, The Forms and Limits of Adjudication, 92 HARV. L. REV. 353, 394 (1978). See also RICHARD A. EPSTEIN, SIMPLE RULES FOR A COMPLEX WORLD (1995) (arguing insightfully that legal complexity generates excessive costs that may be mitigated through a process of rule-simplification). 28 Hayek stresses that this weakness is implicit in statute. See Aeon J. Skoble, Hayek the Philosopher of Law, in THE CAMBRIDGE COMPANION TO HAYEK 171, 176–77 (Edward Feser ed., 2006). 110 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 by similar constraints. Notwithstanding the largely organic nature of stare decisis, case law also suffers (albeit to a lesser degree) from the inherent limitations of imposed social order caused by informational complexity. This is clearly evidenced by the tangle of conceptual knots so often created by judge- made law. While the incremental nature of case law makes it arguably less susceptible to the problem of informational complexity, it cannot match the design efficiency of most customary social order, and as such, also often produces very bad law.29 It is because of this that the law, particularly the common law, is locked within a constant state of modification and rectification as design errors continually come to light. Judge-made law that results from precedent is just imposed social order on a more localized level as compared with statute and so, while superior to statute in this respect, to a great extent its negative effects, because they are less far-reaching, are just less obvious. It does not mean they are not present. We see the problem of informational complexity with systems of organization at all levels. Notwithstanding our good intentions, attempts at improving a system’s design by tinkering with the mechanics of natural ordering frequently end in us just making a mess of things. Indeed, it is as the sociologist Robert K. Merton famously put it, the irresolvable dilemma of unintended consequences.30 As such, it seems wise, to the extent that it is viable, to trust the natural process of social ordering and not rush to interfere unless it is the case that there are clear and compelling reasons to do so. The more the state seeks to regulate social order the wider the door is swung open to the potential of creating bad law. As such, the hand of law should only extend itself where the benefits of doing so are assured. This is particularly true when dealing with highly complex systems where the impact of one’s actions is difficult to anticipate. Economic hyper-lexis is perhaps the most familiar illustration of this. The problem of informational complexity, many right- leaning economists argue,31 fundamentally precludes the possibility of successful central market planning (this is discussed at greater length in the section that follows). Indeed, some scholars frame this problem precisely in the economic terms of legal centralism versus legal decentralism. Lawmaking is 29 Hayek places (I feel unwarranted) faith in the ability of the common law to overcome the problem of informational complexity. See BRIAN Z. TAMANAHA, ON THE RULE OF LAW: HISTORY, POLITICS, THEORY 69 (2004). As many commentators point out, Hayek seems to conflate customary law and case law in his analysis. See Skoble, supra note 28, at 175 (referencing John Hasnas’ critique of Hayek in this respect). In any case, as a solution to the complexity problem, customary social order far exceeds the incremental decision-making process of the common law. 30 Robert K. Merton, The Unanticipated Consequences of Purposive Social Action, 1 AM. SOC. REV. 894, 898 (1936). 31 I am referring here primarily to the scholars from the Austrian school of economics. For a good general overview of the Austrian school, see JESÚS HUERTA DE SOTO, THE AUSTRIAN SCHOOL: MARKET ORDER AND ENTREPRENEURIAL CREATIVITY (2008). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 111 conceptualized like commodity production: it can be either centralized or decentralized.32 Robert D. Cooter, for example, argues that the information and incentive constraints upon government officials demand that modern society strive to incorporate decentralized forms of lawmaking.33 Statute can be understood as the epitome of centralized lawmaking, case law less so; yet customary law is the purest form of decentralized legal order, as a central rule- making authority is entirely absent. Customary social order solves the problem of information complexity because it is not the product of any central design: it arises bottom-up in a purely organic fashion. As a result, customary social order is less susceptible to design error, much like other natural ordering systems that survive the winnowing effect of an evolutionary-like process (organisms, plants, cells, ecological systems). Its survival as a customary system is a strong indication that it does not suffer from significant design errors.34 C. The Minimalist Approach to Economic Regulation This is perhaps most visible in the context of economic regulation. Regulatory minimalism in the economic realm can be understood as a subset of the larger project of legislative minimalism. Many systems of customary social order do not imply a market dynamic. Yet, that said, a great deal of social order is subsumed by market forces. At its core, the market is a colossal system of customary social order.35 As such, it is not surprising that the question of where the line for regulatory intrusion should be drawn has engendered so much persistent debate. Modern calls for deregulation echo the “light-touch” minimalist approach to regulation rooted in the laissez-faire ideology of the nineteenth century. Cries to roll back state “interference” in the market grew particularly vociferous in the latter half of the twentieth century as the intellectual groundwork of the Austrian school of economics took root. Beginning in the 1970s, many economists in the West sounded the call to shrink the size of 32 See Cooter, supra note 25. 33 See, e.g., id.; See also Robert Cooter, Normative Failure Theory of Law, 82 CORNELL L. REV. 947, 948 (1997) (“[T]he urgency of bottom-up law increases with economic and social complexity. As society diversifies and businesses specialize, state officials struggle to keep informed about the changing practices of people, and people struggle to make lawmakers respond to changing practices. To loosen these constraints on information and motivation, law must decentralize.”). 34 Yet it should be noted that evolutionary processes do not guarantee design perfections. Such systems are not exempt from inefficiencies; they just stand a better chance of avoiding them. As such, some sobriety is needed in dealing with the concept of minimalism. As well, this process is completely silent as to the system’s normative character. Indeed, the customary social order may result in systems of order that are grossly “unjust” from a normative perspective. 35 Or a multiplicity of systems depending upon how one wishes to conceptualize the market. 112 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 economic regulation, arguing the virtues of keeping state intervention of economic and social activities to a skeletal minimum.36 This provided the intellectual momentum for reformist politicians in Europe and North America (most notably Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan) to dismantle economic regulations throughout the 1980s. Salient examples of this “light-touch” approach could be found in the regulation of international financial markets. Issuance of bonds, derivatives, syndicated loans, hedge funds, and so on, traditionally had no place for domestic or international regulation. The theme was private ordering and, at most, private enforcement of formal, non-state- backed norms.37 Referencing the ideas of Hayek, Lawrence H. Summers, former Secretary of the U.S. Treasury and former Chief Economist of the World Bank, captured this understanding, asserting that “the invisible hand is more powerful than the [un]hidden hand. Things will happen in well-organized efforts without direction, controls, plans. That’s the consensus among economists. That’s the Hayek legacy.”38 However, the financial crisis of 2007 exposed the limitations of this customs-based system, underscoring the inherent danger in taking minimalism to an inappropriate extreme. In the aftermath of the financial crisis, deregulation has been widely condemned as a failure. Yet it would be a colossal mistake—indeed, it would be intellectual negligence—to simply dismiss the point that these theorists make regarding the dangers of tinkering with complex systems of order. It is a powerful argument, and it finds strong support in many examples well beyond the economic realm. As with most things, the answer likely lies somewhere in the middle. While we can indeed scale back the legislative intrusiveness of the State, we must be careful to not allow this to devolve into an anarchic free-for-all. Different dynamics will allow for different degrees of minimalism. And so it is the case for legislative minimalism writ large. Within the biological realm, this is precisely what the practice of medicine does: it modulates the natural processes of the human body. Agriculture alters the natural patterning of ecological systems yet has changed the course of human history for the better. Indeed, most economists advocate for a mixed economy where a decentralized market is gently guided by an element of central planning.39 No doubt the same paradigm may be usefully applied to law. We should opt for a more nuanced approach that recognizes that various gradations of state intrusion are possible. 36 See Cooter, supra note 25. 37 For the concept of self-regulation, see Anthony Ogus, Self-Regulation, in 5 ENCYCLOPEDIA OF LAW AND ECONOMICS 587, 587–602 (Boudewijn Bouckaert & Gerrit De Geest eds., 2000), available at http://encyclo.findlaw.com/9400book.pdf; Anthony Ogus, Rethinking Self- Regulation, 15 OXFORD J. LEGAL STUD. 97, 97–108 (1995). 38 DANIEL YERGIN & JOSEPH STANISLAW, THE COMMANDING HEIGHTS: THE BATTLE BETWEEN GOVERNMENT AND THE MARKETPLACE THAT IS REMAKING THE MODERN WORLD 150–51 (1998). 39 See STEPHEN D. TANSEY, BUSINESS, INFORMATION TECHNOLOGY AND SOCIETY 79 (2003). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 113 D. The Liability of Ideology—Both Left and Right As such, when appraising the value of minimalism, it is best to put political ideology aside. Unfortunately, this has not usually been the case, and it has led to some very ugly results. On one side, the conversation at times seems hijacked by interest groups that stand to benefit financially from scaling back the scope of regulation within the private sector. For these “partisans” of smaller government, minimalism is a philosophy of mere convenience. Yet in the other camp we have the strident disciples of the State, offering only civility and blind subservience to the rent-seeking, fumbling, and often pernicious force of centralized power. In the academy, the argument against minimalism seems to be winning the day: those who advocate for a minimalist approach have not received the attention due them in academic discourse.40 Yet there remains legitimate intellectual footing here. It would be academically reckless to not recognize the legitimacy of the minimalist position. An honest tallying informs us, as is so often the case, that both sides to the dispute merit serious intellectual attention. Rather than interminably debating the advantages of decentralized versus centralized planning, we ought to be discussing the correct mix of the two.41 It is important to maintain an even-handed perspective: the implicit liabilities of over-regulation should not be denied, nor should we adopt a position that blindly discounts the important role of the state in sustaining and optimizing social order. The advantage of legislative minimalism is that its stratified character allows for a more realistic balance between the extremes of legislative maximalism on the one hand and the complete absence of formal law on the other. As a policy approach, it thus occupies the sober middle ground between these two poles. Yet it is very difficult to escape ideology. The general tenor of non- intrusiveness that legislative minimalism brings to the table has clear political resonance. It not only reduces the potential to mess things up through legislative over-intrusiveness (the technical argument), it arguably fosters a freer society that is more in tune with the basic tenets of a modern liberal, pluralistic state (the normative argument). Neo-classical liberal theorists sound this theme loudly, arguing that minimalism is more compatible with liberal principles.42 The contention is that in order to allow the exercise of individual freedom, the ambit of state power should be constrained as much as possible. In that customary order is merely a reflection of established norms, the argument 40 MATTHEW D. ADLER & ERIC A. POSNER, NEW FOUNDATIONS OF COST-BENEFIT ANALYSIS 2 (2006). 41 See Margaret Jane Radin & R. Polk Wagner, The Myth of Private Ordering: Rediscovering Legal Realism in Cyberspace, 73 CHI.-KENT L. REV. 1295, 1298 (1998) (making a similar point regarding private ordering in the context of online commerce). 42 Hayek in particular makes a strong case along these lines. See generally, HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY, supra note 21; See also F. A. HAYEK, THE FATAL CONCEIT: THE ERRORS OF SOCIALISM (W. W. Bartley III ed.,1991). 114 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 goes, such bottom-up order does not coerce in the same oppressive sense as legislated law.43 While this argument may be legitimate, unfortunately, ideological incantations of this nature too often inspire an all-or-nothing approach that precludes nuance and obliterates any hope of pragmatic flexibility. Too often, those who advocate slaughtering the state on the altar of individual liberty go too far. This is particularly true for anarchists (of whatever stripe) who call for the complete dismantling of the State. There is a great deal of intellectual polarization. We must be vigilant against the ideological extremes persistent in our culture, extremes that too often hew fanatically towards a kind of myopic absolutism. Let us avoid being swept away in the surging currents of ideology. Let us approach the question with the view that the problem is not so much paternalism, an encroachment upon personal liberty, or an invisible hand clenched in indifference, but rather that the problem is simply design error. As such, it is better if we divorce the conversation from ideology. Customary social order, if harnessed correctly— that is in a non-ideological and pragmatic fashion—could prove immensely beneficial.44 To do this, however, policymakers need to know clearly when it is necessary to extend the reach of regulation and to what degree. For this, a sturdy intellectual scaffolding is required. Constructing such a framework is the goal of the rest of this paper. III. ARTICULATING A FRAMEWORK FOR LEGISLATIVE MINIMALISM H.L.A. Hart once observed that “[c]ustoms arise, whereas laws are made.”45 From this he concluded it is therefore impossible for custom to ever serve the ends of policymakers.46 What Hart failed to appreciate, however, is that simply allowing customary social order to arise unimpeded is itself an important policy end. Legislative minimalism, in that it articulates a structured methodology, enables lawmakers to more effectively achieve this. To construct such a methodological framework, however, we must first undertake a reconceptualization of sorts. We should understand legislative minimalism and legislative maximalism not as opposite approaches but rather two extreme ends of a single continuum (see fig. 1 below). 43 See Skoble, supra note 28, at 176–78. 44 I have written elsewhere on the possibly of harnessing the energy of customary law in a strategic fashion. See Druzin, supra note 6. 45 Robert D. Cooter, Decentralized Law for a Complex Economy: The Structural Approach to Adjudicating the New Law Merchant, 144 U. PENN. L. REV. 1643, 1655 (1996) (citing H. L. A. HART, CONCEPT OF LAW 89–96 (1961)). 46 See H. L. A. HART, CONCEPT OF LAW 89–96 (1961). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 115 Figure 1. The figure below depicts various forms of legislative minimalism along a continuum of intervention between legislative minimalism and legislative maximalism. These different forms of legislative minimalism are outlined below. ________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________ While a policy of pure legislative minimalism is often simply not feasible, unrestrained legislative maximalism can, as we have said, generate very bad law due to the natural constraints imposed by informational complexity. Fortunately, it is not all or nothing: there are gradations of legislative intrusion that may be employed. The state can deal with customary social order in a number of ways, choosing from a variety of strategies. Below, I detail five strategies. Most of these strategies themselves allow for different degrees of intensity, i.e. thinner and thicker forms—they are in a sense themselves mini-continuums.47 The degree to which the state can pursue a legislative minimalist approach will depend simply upon the nature of the particular patterns that have emerged. What is required is to first identify if there is a discernible pre-existing pattern of customary social order. If there is, we then need to determine what kind of customary system we are dealing with and apply the legislative minimalist policy that keeps intrusion to a workable minimum while correcting, sustaining, or perhaps strengthening that system, whatever the case may be. Where customary social order has emerged, lawmakers can do one of five things depending upon the nature of that order: 1) do nothing if the system of rules is functional and adequately efficient; 2) simply formalize the system as is, giving it some enforcement teeth to further bolster its efficacy; 3) tweak it where necessary if there are inefficiencies; 4) override and dismantle it where it is grossly inefficient (as indeed it may very well be); or 5) fabricate a completely new system of order from scratch.48 From a legislative minimalist perspective, the first and second of these options are clearly the best, and the third remains preferable to the fourth, which should only be invoked as a measure of very last resort. The fifth option is clearly the least desirable, as it is 47 The strategy of Non-interference does not by its structural nature admit to thin and thick forms. Note that I use the terms light and heavy to describe the continuum of intervention as a whole and the strategies that fall along it. Light strategies are those in the direction of legislative minimalism and heavy strategies are those in the direction of legislative maximalism. 48 Hybrids of these strategies are also possible. This idea of hybrid strategies is examined later in the discussion. See infra Part IV.A. 116 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 highly prone to design error due to the natural constraints of informational complexity. These five approaches are the only ones available to the policymaker. Yet no one has yet articulated this taxonomy, naming, cataloging, and distinguishing clearly between these, the only possible options. This taxonomy recognizes a range of regulatory strategies that stand between the poles of imposed and spontaneous order. On one side we have legislative maximalism, blundering and highly fallible; on the other we have extreme legislative minimalism with its overly-optimistic faith in the efficiency of natural ordering. This paper carves out a vast middle space between these two extremes. Which strategy is most optimal will depend on the particular characteristics of the customary system. A. Non-interference The first of these five strategies may seem the most radical, but it is, in fact, just the opposite. If the existing rules are determined to already be optimal (or simply sufficiently functional), the state can simply let the system of order function completely free of state intrusion. For ease of reference, we can term this approach Non-interference. In fact, Non-interference is what the law does most of the time: the state does not seek to regulate the vast majority of social ordering. It actually stays well clear of most of it, electing to regulate only a small sliver of existing social order. There exists a vast sea of social rules completely untouched by formal law. These systems of customary social order function all without any need for codification or enforcement. Indeed, the need to formulate and enforce order can be understood as a sign of this natural process failing.49 Moreover, formal enforcement is often not even viable. Consider for a moment the impracticality of the state having to enforce something as simple as the rules of queuing or the rules of English grammar. Fortunately, the state does not enforce such regulatory standards nor, more importantly, does it need to. There is no need for the state to regulate queuing. It is a reasonably efficient system of social ordering that is mostly self- enforcing. Ticket queuing may be more advantageous (though not necessarily in all situations); however, lining up is sufficiently efficient. Even where slightly inefficient, interference still may not be worth the cost (cost need not be measured purely in monetary terms). For instance, while customary rules that allow for pushing instead of orderly queuing may be less efficient, this may still not justify interference. The demands involved in regulation may simply be too high. Indeed, the enforcement burden of 49 Lon Fuller makes this point nicely, stating that, in its ideal form legal order “works so smoothly that there is never any occasion to resort to force or the threat of force to effectuate its norms.” LON L. FULLER, Human Interaction and the Law, in THE PRINCIPLES OF SOCIAL ORDER: SELECTED ESSAYS OF LON L. FULLER 221 (Kenneth I. Winston ed., 1981); See also Cooter, supra note 33, at 955–57 (discussing how the law affects internalization of social obligations). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 117 legislating queuing regulations across society would simply be untenable.50 The administrative cost of interfering with low-level systems of customary rules (in this case pushing) must be weighed, employing a cost-effectiveness analysis.51 Many systems of customary social order, while imperfect, may not be worth the cost of regulating, making Non-interference for this reason alone a preferable approach. Of the five options, Non-interference is the most ideal. So long as it is feasible, law should strive to be less intrusive, wherever possible allowing order to function unhindered instead of trying to impose it from above. If the system is functional and does not suffer from gross inefficiencies then a policy of Non-interference is preferable. It is the “safest” approach. This “light” form of intervention is the path endorsed by anarchists and to a large extent by those in the libertarian camp. The state should not interfere: “the best form of government is a government that governs least” (in the case of anarchists, this would be a government that does not exist).52 Non-interference is the most extreme form of legislative minimalism. While it is at times feasible and indeed a skillful approach to governance it is quite often simply not a viable option. Formal law has its role to play. B. Formalizing Also a preferable approach for the same reason is our second option: the state can directly take up these spontaneously-formed rules and formalize them. Architects may have a lot to teach lawmakers here. Architects sometimes design large building complexes but wait to fill in the pathways until after observing the natural flow of pedestrian traffic. These informal pedestrian routes are then later paved over as formal walking paths where the pathways have become worn in.53 This is a good metaphor for how law can use 50 Although it is not inconceivable and is in fact often performed on the local level. The case of queuing norms in McDonald’s in Hong Kong provides a good example. When McDonald’s first opened in Hong Kong in 1975, patrons “clumped around the cash registers, shouting orders and waving money over the heads of people in front of them. The company responded by introducing queue monitors . . . .” A customary system of queuing quickly replaced a customary system based upon pushing in McDonald’s restaurants. James L. Watson, Globalization in Asia: Anthropological Perspectives, in GLOBALIZATION: CULTURE AND EDUCATION IN THE NEW MILLENNIUM 156 (Marcelo M. Suárez-Orozco & Desirée Baolian Qin-Hilliard eds., 2004). 51 Note that I call for a cost-effectiveness analysis rather than a cost-benefit analysis. This is because assigning monetary value to outcomes would limit our discussion to a specific normative format (economic) at the expense of a more expansive evaluative standard. 52 While this quote (I am paraphrasing) is often attributed to Thomas Jefferson or Thomas Paine, the true source seems to be Henry David Thoreau. See HENRY DAVID THOREAU, Civil Disobedience, in ON CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE: AMERICAN ESSAYS, OLD AND NEW 11 (1969).( 53 The concept of this kind of emergence has been linked to theories of urban complexity. See generally BENJAMIN DOCKTER, URBAN COMPLEXITY: A HOLISTIC APPROACH TO THE DESIGN OF CITIES (2010) (presenting research analyzing the modern design of cities). 118 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 customary social order. In the same way, where there is sufficient foot traffic (i.e. customary social order), the state may assume the strategy of an architect awaiting the actors to fill in the pathways of legal structure. We can call this form of legislative minimalism Formalizing because it simply grants a formal status to an informal pattern of order. While Non-interference is ideal, Formalizing is often necessary due to free-riding, among other reasons.54 The efficiency of customary patterning may be undermined by enforcement problems. This is especially true where an increase in group size sabotages the natural enforcement mechanisms of small-group social order.55 This is an old justification for state intervention in social ordering. Indeed, the notion that maintenance of social order through enforcement is a public good goes all the way back to Hobbes.56 While a stable, relatively efficient system of customary social order may emerge, persistent cheating along its edges makes Formalizing a relatively non-intrusive,57 yet very effective, option for the State. The strategy of Formalizing is, in fact, extremely common. So much so, in fact, that it mostly goes unnoticed. The law largely conforms to existing norms, and these customary rules are given enforcement teeth to pre-empt the possibility of skewed incentive structures and ensure compliance. This can be done through the threat of criminal sanctions, the threat of fines, or the granting of a right to civil action. Formalizing is simply taking an existing system of order and strengthening it through codification and formal enforcement. Yet, while bolstering enforcement is a common motivation for Formalizing, an equal motivation is the fact that existing customary social order already enjoys widespread compliance, rendering it far easier to codify. Overall, the approach is a very attractive form of legislative minimalism because it simply formalizes order rather than building order from scratch. As such, it sidesteps the problem of informational complexity and design error. Yet it remains highly minimalist. This has, for example, traditionally been the State’s approach regarding much of contract law and indeed continues to be an overarching principle. While there are clear exceptions to this, the State’s role in contract is radically minimal compared with other areas of law. This brand of legislative 54 Hayek indeed recognized this. Speaking on the need for enforcement, he remarks that people “may have to be made to obey, since, although it would be in the interest of each to disregard them, the overall order on which the success of their actions depends will arise only if these rules are generally followed.” HAYEK, 1 LAW, LEGISLATION AND LIBERTY, supra note 21, at 45. 55 For these mechanisms, see supra note 17. 56 See THOMAS HOBBES, LEVIATHAN (A.P. Martinich & Brian Battiste eds., Broadview Press 2010) (1651) (arguing for the necessity of a strong undivided government); See also MICHAE L TAYLOR, THE POSSIBILITY OF COOPERATION 1–2 (1987) (noting that Leviathan represented the first full expression of this justification for the State). 57 That is, relatively non-intrusive in terms of artificially creating order. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 119 minimalism forms the core of the 19th century laissez-faire view of contract law.58 I examine the role of minimalism in contract law in Part IV. It is important to recognize that Formalizing is extraordinarily common. Indeed, the codification of much of the civil law from the tradition of medieval “customaries”—collections of local customary law that were gradually codified by local jurists,59 of which, the Coutume de Paris is perhaps the most well-known example60—represents Formalizing on a truly massive scale. Perhaps the most obvious examples are found in colonial and post- colonial systems where pre-existing indigenous customary social order is incorporated into the legal system.61 More generally, the legal importance of customary social order comes to the fore probably most notably in the case of international law where a coherent legal order is gradually gliding into being. In the realm of international law, “custom stands next to treaties as a primary source of law.”62 The fact that custom is paid so much overt deference in the field of international law may be attributed to the absence of a central legislative authority—there are really few alternatives. In case the prevalence of Formalizing is not immediately obvious, let me provide some more examples. Indeed, history is replete with lessons in Formalizing. I will present examples drawn from disparate quarters of law to support my argument (something I do throughout the paper). A great illustration of Formalizing is the case of the medieval law merchant, the lex 58 The distinguished American legal scholar Roscoe Pound once described this approach stating that “the law was conceived negatively as a system of hands off while [people] do things rather than as a system of ordering to prevent friction and waste.” LINDA MULCAHY & JOHN TILLOTSON, CONTRACT LAW IN PERSPECTIVE 34 (4th ed. 2004). The laissez-faire belief as encapsulated in freedom of contract, however, has been dramatically curtailed since the 19th century. See P. S. ATIYAH, THE RISE AND FALL OF FREEDOM OF CONTRACT (1979) (illustrating how, grounded upon basic notions of fairness, the growth of consumer protection and employment legislation has limited freedom of contract). I revisit this later in the paper. See infra Part IV.B. This minimalist view is of course especially prevalent among those of a libertarian persuasion. See, e.g., NOZICK, supra note 16, at 26 (setting forth the classical libertarian view of the minimalist state). 59 For a good overview of the absorption of customary law into the civil law, see JOHN HENRY MERRYMAN & ROGELIO PÉREZ-PERDOMO, THE CIVIL LAW TRADITION: AN INTRODUCTION TO THE LEGAL SYSTEMS OF EUROPE AND LATIN AMERICA 20–26 (3d ed. 2007). 60 I refer the interested reader to JEAN TRONÇON, COUTUME DE LA VILLE ET PREVOTÉ (1618). Similarly, see the use of medieval English “custumals,” textual compilations of the local social customs of a manor or town. See BRITISH BOROUGH CHARTERS 1042–1216, at xvii (Adolphus Ballard ed., 2010). 61 For example, the South African Recognition of Customary Marriages Act 1998 recognized customary marriages, preserving its legality. Recognition of Customary Marriages Act 120 of 1998 (S. Afr.). 62 Francesco Parisi, Spontaneous Emergence of Law: Customary Law, in 5 ENCYCLOPEDIA OF LAW AND ECONOMICS 603, 603 (Boudewijn Bouckaert & Gerrit De Geest eds., 2000), available at http:// encyclo.findlaw.com/9500book.pdf. 120 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 mercatoria, which gave rise to a complex system of order, i.e. business customs, which national laws to a great extent later co-opted and codified. Indeed, the most basic principles of contract such as formation, content, misrepresentation, mistake, and duress, as well as the incorporation of notes and bills or exchanges, arose originally not through the complex mechanics of legislation, but from the customary rules of merchants, only to be later co-opted by nation states and codified.63 The historical rules governing international shipping, the lex maritima, is another good illustration of Formalizing. The lex maritima, developed transnationally over a number of centuries as an extension of the law merchant. The lex maritima was a body of oral rules, customs, and usages relating to navigation and maritime commerce arising in medieval Western Europe from the ninth to the twelfth centuries.64 The lex maritima was eventually absorbed into domestic laws through legislative processes.65 The effect of Formalization was a strengthening of this system of customary law.66 The lex maritima survives today as the core constituents of much contemporary maritime law, particularly the maritime law of the U.K., the United States, and Canada.67 Another great example of Formalizing is the law of war, jus in bello. The law of war is derived from a conglomerate of customary rules that percolated up through the long and bloody history of armed conflict, finding formal codification only relatively recently.68 The law of war is a fascinating dynamic when one stops to really consider it: even within the fevered grip of conflict, customary social order emerges to set codified parameters to organized barbarism. That customary rules emerge between combatants in a self-imposed fashion speaks to the unremitting power of customary social order: even antagonists bent on mutual destruction, operating in the complete absence of a central authority, nevertheless coalesce around a system of customary rules to regulate their hostilities. Clearly, these are not parties aiming to create a system of cooperative order. Nevertheless, robust customary 63 See Robert D. Cooter, Structural Adjudication and the New Law Merchant: A Model of Decentralized Law, 14 INT’L REV. L. & ECON. 215, 216 (1994), available at http://works.bepress.com/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1050&context=robert_cooter (speaking about the absorption of merchant practices into the English common law); See also LEON E. TRAKMAN, THE LAW MERCHANT: THE EVOLUTION OF COMMERCIAL LAW 23 (1983) (discussing the co-opting of merchant practices into both the civil and common law systems). 64 William Tetley, The General Maritime Law—The Lex Maritima, 20 SYRACUSE J. INT’L L. & COM. 105, 109 (1994). 65 For a good overview of this process of formalizing, see id. at 110–12. 66 See id. at 110. 67 See id. at 144. 68 For an excellent yet concise overview of the history of jus in bello, see David Cavaleri, Law of War: Can 20th-Century Standards Apply to the Global War on Terrorism? 31–53 (Combat Studies Inst., Occasional Paper No. 9, 2009), available at http://www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/army/csi_cavaleri_law.pdf. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 121 social order—the rules of war—arises (quite reliably in fact) upon the bloody and chaotic landscape of conflict.69 The international process of codification began in earnest in the mid-nineteenth century with the first Geneva Convention.70 The Geneva conventions and additional protocols are excellent examples of Formalizing in that they largely codified pre-existing, widely adhered to customary rules of war, i.e. international norms for humanitarian treatment in war.71 Likewise, the Hague Conventions codified many pre- existing norms of military conduct. Indeed, the Hague Conventions are quite explicit that Formalizing was one of its main goals: “to revise the laws and general customs of war, either with the view of defining them more precisely or of laying down certain limits for the purpose of modifying their severity as far as possible. . .”72 The Lieber Code during the American civil war (also known as Instructions for the Government of Armies of the United States in the Field, General Order No.100) is considered to be the first official codification of the laws and customs of war.73 Yet, ultimately, the Lieber Code simply reflected the customs of war prevailing at that time.74 It did not create new rules—it simply formalized existing ones. 69 An extraordinary example of the power of customary social order, even between adversaries, is that of soldiers on the Western Front in WWI. Truces were quite common between Allied and German units that had been facing one another for long periods of time and fought repeated internecine battles over the same territory. In these conditions, complex “systems of communication developed to agree terms, apologize for accidental infractions and ensure relative peace—all without the knowledge of the high commands on each side . . . . Raids and artillery barrages were used to punish the other side for defection . . . .” MATT RIDLEY, THE ORIGINS OF VIRTUE: HUMAN INSTINCTS AND THE EVOLUTION OF COOPERATION 65 (1997). 70 Though it should be noted that the Paris Declaration Respecting Maritime Law, abolishing privateering, came into force eight years earlier in 1856. Paris Declaration Respecting Maritime Law, Apr. 16, 1856, available at http://www.icrc.org/applic/ihl/ihl.nsf/385ec082b509e76c41256739003e636d/19ee2533111f9e2ec 125641a004b25ba?OpenDocument. 71 M. Cherif Bassiouni, The Normative Framework of International Humanitarian Law: Overlaps, Gaps, and Ambiguities, in 2 INTERNATIONAL CRIMINAL LAW 493, 507 (M. Cherif Bassiouni ed., 2008); Jean-Marie Henckaerts, The Development of International Humanitarian Law and the Continued Relevance of Custom, in THE LEGITIMATE USE OF MILITARY FORCE: THE JUST WAR TRADITION AND THE CUSTOMARY LAW OF ARMED CONFLICT 117, 118 (Howard M. Hensel ed., 2013). 72 Hague Convention (II) With Respect to the Laws and Customs of War on Land and Its Annex: Regulations Concerning the Laws and Customs of War on Land, Preamble, July 29, 1899, available at http://www.icrc.org/applic/ihl/ihl.nsf/Article.xsp?action=openDocument&documentId=9FE084C DAC63D10FC12563CD00515C4D. The first part to this excerpt (“defining them more precisely”) speaks to my point. The remainder of the quote implies a degree of Fine-tuning. I discuss Fine-tuning below. 73 MARK E. NEELY, JR., THE CIVIL WAR AND THE LIMITS OF DESTRUCTION 36 (2007). 74 Id. 122 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 History is littered with countless examples of customary social order being absorbed and transformed into formal law. And this trend may be observed today where it continues unabated in an international context. For example, Formalizing is quite evident in modern codification efforts, such as UNCITRAL, UNIDROIT, CISG, the Lando-Principles, and the UCC, which are but formal reflections of pre-existing commercial practices—the Formalizing of existing systems of order.75 Commerce is a form of social interaction so important that the state deems it necessary to bestow upon it formal enforcement mechanisms to shore up existent systems of order. Yet, this is not merely reserved for modern law of an international flavor. Indeed, at its heart, modern criminal codes are (for the most part) massive projects of Formalizing: the codification of highly normative social rules. Formalizing allows for more reliable enforcement. In fact, having arisen organically, customary systems are often already largely self-enforcing.76 Yet the actual enforcement component of Formalizing may, in fact, not be as important as the mere act of Formalizing. This is something that is easily missed. Codifying an existent system of rules is in itself socially useful in that it clarifies the rules for participants already willing to comply but unable to perfectly coordinate (a coordination game as it is called in game theory).77 This 75 See Klaus Peter Berger, The New Law Merchant and the Global Market Place, in THE PRACTICE OF TRANSNATIONAL LAW 1, 12–14 (Klaus Peter Berger ed., 2001); see also Bryan Druzin, Law Without the State: The Theory of High Engagement and the Emergence of Spontaneous Legal Order Within Commercial Systems, 41 GEO. J. INT’L L. 559, 561 (2010) (positing a theory, high engagement theory, explaining the ability of commerce to generate and sustain decentralized legal order) . 76 See, e.g., ROBERT C. ELLICKSON, ORDER WITHOUT LAW: HOW NEIGHBORS SETTLE DISPUTES (1994) (citing informal enforcement mechanisms amongst cattle ranchers in Shasta County, California). This theme is also an old one in sociology. See, e.g., JEROLD S. AUERBACH, JUSTICE WITHOUT LAW? (1983) (documenting the evolution of informal control mechanisms and attempts by lawyers to undermine or appropriate them); Douglas W. Allen & Dean Lueck, The “Back Forty” on a Handshake: Specific Assets, Reputation, and the Structure of Farmland Contracts, 8 J.L. ECON. & ORG. 366 (1992) (discussing the use of simple farmland contracts in place of complicated and expensive alternatives); Lisa Bernstein, Opting Out of the Legal System: Extralegal Contractual Relations in the Diamond Industry, 21 J. LEGAL STUD. 115 (1992) (exploring a system of private governance that has developed in the diamond trade); Janet T. Landa, A Theory of the Ethnically Homogenous Middleman Group: An Institutional Alternative to Contract Law, 10 J. LEGAL STUD. 349 (1981) (developing a theory of the ethnically homogenous middleman group “using a property rights--public choice approach and drawing on the economics of signaling.”); Sally Falk Moore, Law and Social Change: The Semi-Autonomous Social Field as an Appropriate Subject of Study, 7 LAW & SOC’Y REV. 719 (1973) (“argu[ing] that an inspection of semi-autonomous social fields strongly suggests that the various processes that make internally generated ruled effective are also often the immediate forces that dictate the mode of compliance or noncompliance to state-made legal rules.”) 77 For a fascinating treatment of this idea, see Richard H. McAdams, A Focal Point Theory of Expressive Law, 86 VA. L. REV.. 1649 (2000) (using game theoretic terms to explain how systems of order can emerge from law, merely creating focal points without the need for actual enforcement). McAdams’s approach borrows conceptually from the work of Thomas Schelling 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 123 is a largely unappreciated aspect to codification. Typically, the focus is upon the enforcement advantages codification brings; however, Formalizing serves a crucial function in simply providing clarity. The law of war may be a good illustration of my point: actors may wish to abide by certain rules (because it is in their mutual interests to do so), but so long as these norms are not clearly acknowledged, a contestant in battle may hesitate. This is true for all the actors and so compliance may falter. In these situations, concrete enforcement mechanisms take a backseat to the simple act of codification. Just making the rules clear can have a powerful impact in terms of compliance, much like how the Oxford English Dictionary clarifies the English language for speakers already eager to comply with whatever the lexiconic rules of the day are. The Oxford English Dictionary does not create; it merely codifies. (In fact, it often significantly lags behind the self-ordering process of the English language.) It boasts no enforcement mechanisms yet nevertheless serves an invaluable regulating function in codifying a pre-existing system of spontaneous linguistic order.78 An example of the above point is law formally recognizing left or right-hand drive (a coordination game). The simple act of codification (and thus clarification) of the rule is enough to generate compliance, as all drivers (for obvious reasons) are eager to comply with whatever the rule is.79 Indeed, driving on a particular side of the road rarely needs to actually be enforced; it simply needs to be declared. C. Fine-tuning The third option is less ideal, as it involves a degree of regulatory intrusion, yet it is often required. Here the state tweaks the emergent pattern on a structural level, targeting particular design errors while allowing the bulk of the system to function mostly unimpeded by regulation. We can refer to this form of legislative minimalism as Fine-tuning. This is necessary in some situations because there is no guarantee that grown order does not suffer from inefficiencies. Fine-tuning is appropriate where a small structural change can notably increase the system’s efficiency. Fine-tuning represents a significant step along the continuum of legislative minimalism, as it is a substantial jump in the level of intrusion. While Formalizing does not seek to alter the social on focal points. For the idea of focal points and salience, see THOMAS C. SCHELLING, THE STRATEGY OF CONFLICT 54–58 (1960). 78 Similarly, the treaties and conventions that enshrine the law of war do not boast genuine enforcement mechanisms. It is that such rules will be reciprocated that gives such codification efficacy. They are largely “self-enforcing agreement[s],” i.e. treaties where “[r]eciprocity and reputation are the key enforcement mechanisms.” Beth Simmons, Treaty Compliance and Violation, 13 ANN. REV. POL. SCI. 273, 275 (2010), available at http://www.annualreviews.org/doi/pdf/10.1146/annurev.polisci.12.040907.132713. 79 McAdams actually goes on to demonstrate how this may also hold true in games other than games of pure coordination. See McAdams, supra note 77. 124 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 patterning, seeking instead to merely reinforce and strengthen it,80 Fine-tuning, in contrast, attempts to remedy system inefficiencies stemming from design error. These inefficiencies may be the result of exogenous changes in the environment, rendering previously efficient systems inefficient, or it may simply be that despite its organic emergence, the system was never entirely efficient (yet was sufficiently efficient to sustain itself). As game theory suggests, bottom-up social patterning may give rise to multiple equilibria; however, these may be quite sub-optimal.81 A good example is the driving norms of many third-world cities. For the most part, these systems of order arise bottom-up. While ostensibly chaotic, this traffic order is functional. The traffic moves. Yet these roads suffer from severe yet preventable traffic congestion. Faced with these traffic patterns, governments often institute policies of Fine-tuning. Driving rules are fine-tuned in certain respects in order to increase the efficient flow of traffic, while the majority of these bottom-up “rules of the road” are de facto left in place through lax enforcement. The system of order is largely functional, yet it can benefit enormously in terms of efficiency with just a little strategic Fine-tuning: traffic lights at key intersections, etc. Even in the highly-regulated roads of developed cities, a tremendous amount of traffic patterning is left up to natural ordering. Indeed, the vast majority of it. This is not immediately obvious but becomes clear upon reflection. Take, for example, the case of speeding. In theory, regulators could prescribe a precise driving speed for every inch of the road predetermined as optimal to minimize accidents. However, this would be extraordinarily difficult to determine (and enforce) and indeed debilitatingly complex when one factors in the ceaselessly shifting of traffic conditions. However, what regulators do is set an upper and lower limit to speeding. Speed patterns are then left to naturally self-organize within this prescribed range. In the case of the strategy of Fine-tuning, the customary social order is not left to freely self-pattern nor is it targeted for elimination—it is simply redirected and tweaked along the margins. The total elimination of customary social ordering is the goal of the fourth strategy, to which we now turn. D. Dismantling The fourth option we can term Dismantling. I call it this because it is the complete dismantling of a pre-existing system of order. There may be 80 Yet this may not be so simple: because Formalizing will change the dispute resolutions available, it may therefore, in fact, change the ex ante patterning. This will likely be the case even if it is simply an expectation that the customary patterning will eventually be formalized. 81 I am referring here to what is known in game theory as the folk theorem. See Drew Fudenberg & Eric Maskin, The Folk Theorem in Repeated Games with Discounting or with Incomplete Information, 54 ECONOMETRICA 533 (1986), available at http://www.eecs.harvard.edu/~parkes/cs286r/spring06/papers/fudmaskin_folk86.pdf. 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 125 several reasons for the state to engage in Dismantling. There is no guarantee that bottom-up ordering will be efficient. Indeed, from a societal perspective, it may be profoundly sub-optimal. Situations such as these may be understood as a form of market failure in the marketplace for customary social order. Alternatively, the system of customary social order may be highly efficient yet be so fundamentally contrary to public policy that Dismantling is necessary. In either case, however, Dismantling should be used only as a measure of last resort and, as a general policy, avoided wherever possible. This is because it is not only highly vulnerable to design error, it may also often require considerable resources to implement, as it is, in essence, the state battling against a pre-existing system of social order. The 18th Amendment of the United States Constitution and the disastrous project of Prohibition in the early 20th century is a good example of how difficult Dismantling may be. Not only were the economic costs of Prohibition extraordinarily high, legislatively meddling with a highly complex system such as patterns of alcohol consumption had serious, unpredicted consequences: it unhealthily distorted drinking habits (consumption of hard-liquor actually increased in many places),82 increased deaths related to alcohol poisoning (due to the substandard quality of black-market alcohol),83 and birthed vast organized crime networks related to the illegal production and distribution of alcohol.84 These were all unanticipated negative externalities. In fact, prohibition is an excellent example of the problem of informational complexity and the dangers of imposed social order. Dismantling as a matter of policy, however, is often necessary. For example, a self-ordering normative system that institutionalized racial discrimination, having evolved due to an imbalanced power structure, would cry out to be remedied through top-down law.85 The outlawing of slavery under the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, a highly complex system that had existed for well over two hundred years, and later desegregation through the Civil Rights Act of 1964 are good examples of such systems of customary order. The ancient Hindu caste system of India was a robust customary system of social stratification that existed for millennia yet was systematically dismantled through legal and social initiatives. The Indian Constitution enacted in 1950 with its explicit prohibition on caste discrimination (Article 15) was aimed at the complete dismantling of the caste system.86 Customary social 82 Harry G. Levine & Craig Reinarman, Alcohol Prohibition and Drug Prohibition: Lessons from Alcohol Policy for Drug Policy, in DRUGS AND SOCIETY: U.S. PUBLIC POLICY 48 (Jefferson M. Fish ed., 2006). 83 SEAN DENNIS CASHMAN, PROHIBITION: THE LIE OF THE LAND 255–56 (1981). 84 MITCHEL P. ROTH, CRIME AND PUNISHMENT: A HISTORY OF THE CRIMINAL JUSTICE SYSTEM 230 (2010). 85 Such normative evaluations, however, vary from society and time-period. 86 BRIJ KISHORE SHARMA, INTRODUCTION TO THE CONSTITUTION OF INDIA 76 (4th ed. 2007). 126 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 order may be highly efficient, robust, and internalized but nevertheless grossly unjust. Thus, the state may need to dismantle such order. Vast, decentralized drug-trafficking networks are highly efficient self-ordering systems;87 however, this alone does not justify their continued existence. In some situations, efficiency should be sacrificed for issues of justice. However, by the same token, sometimes justice may itself be a matter of efficiency.88 When exactly to dismantle systems of customary social order is an extremely thorny question. When the law is taken as a whole, however, Dismantling is actually not as common as one would think. Indeed, law mostly engages in the first three options (Non-interference, Formalizing, and Fine-tuning), harnessing the energy of pre-existing customary social order rather than opposing it. E. Concocting Sometimes arising in the aftermath of Dismantling, but also emerging in isolation, is what we may call Concocting. This is where the state simply creates legal order from scratch where there was no pre-existing system of customary order. It artificially constructs order. Examples of this form of legislating include the creation of a tax code, the patent system, and other such synthetic artifices concocted by the State.89 These are quintessential expressions of legislative maximalism. Because it does not build on any pre- existing natural order, legal creation of this kind is highly prone to design error. It is a purely artificial creation. And herein lies the fundamental problem with top-down legal order: it does not, as this paper advocates, strategically utilize pre-existing customary social order. From the perspective of design-efficiency, Concocting is often really the very worst form of legal order. When it is fairly large in scope, it often just creates a bloated, complicated mess of inefficient rules—a tangle skein of disjointed regulation. Yet Concocting too is sometimes necessary. Fortunately, of the five strategies, it is actually the least employed.90 For the most part, imposed legal 87 See Jana S. Benson & Scott H. Decker, The Organizational Structure of International Drug Smuggling, 38 J. CRIM. JUST. 130 (2010) (showing that such networks often display a “general lack of formal structure” and are “composed of isolated work groups without formal connections”). 88 Certainly, scholars of a normative law and economics persuasion would agree, particularly in regards to allocative efficiency. 89 Yet even our modern tax codes are, at their core, extensions of archaic systems of rent- seeking that no doubt predate the emergence of the State or are decentralized systems of taxation that coincided with the existence of the State, such as tax farming systems. See HIRONORI ASAKURA, WORLD HISTORY OF THE CUSTOMS AND TARIFFS 199–207 (2003) (presenting a historical overview of the end of tax farming in England). Certainly, even complex taxation systems owe their origins to spontaneous ordering patterns of some kind. 90 Concocting is actually not very common. Indeed, the “rules of law rarely create new forms of human activity; instead, they tend to regulate and modify on-going customary human 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 127 order builds upon and incorporates patterns of customary social order. We see this rather clearly with the strategies of Formalizing and Fine-tuning. Together with Non-interference, they are the most common techniques of governance. Dismantling and Concocting are comparatively rare. Legal maximalism is atypical, and indeed, complete legal maximalism does not really exist. The vast bulk of social order remains unregulated: sleeping patterns, copulation patterns, etc. Indeed, complete legal maximalism would not only most likely be abhorrent in a normative sense; it is, in fact, a logistic impossibility. There is not, nor has there ever been, a society marked by total legal maximalism. IV. CLARIFYING THE FRAMEWORK A. A Tabulated Comparison of the Strategies While these five strategies represent different points along a single continuum of interventionism, they are ontologically distinct. However, this may not always be readily apparent. In some respects the strategies bleed into one another. For example, in some cases, Fine-tuning may appear to demonstrate elements of Dismantling. In other cases, Dismantling may be conceptualized as a form of Fine-tuning, and so on and so forth.91 There may even be hybrid strategies that combine strategies. Yet while there can be a degree of overlap, on a fundamental level the strategies are distinct from one another. To sharpen this point, I provide below a tabulated comparison of the five strategies. The first line of the table contrasts the strategies’ methodologies. The second line clarifies how commonly the strategies are employed. The third line uses the example of traffic regulation to give concrete form to the concepts. enterprises.” See James Bernard Murphy, Habit and Convention at the Foundation of Custom, in THE NATURE OF CUSTOMARY LAW: LEGAL, HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL PERSPECTIVES 53, 68–69 (Amanda Perreau-Saussine & James B. Murphy eds., 2007). 91 Part of this problem stems from the difficulty in defining a system. Systems often overlap, interconnect, and subsume one another in highly complex ways, making them difficult to clearly identify. For example, is pedestrianizing a downtown area of a city an example of Dismantling or Fine-tuning? If the system here is defined as traffic in the downtown area then it is Dismantling; if the system is defined as the traffic patterns of the entire city, or country, then it is an example of Fine-tuning. The problem is that what is a “system” largely depends on how we choose to define it. This question opens a conceptual can of worms regarding the definition of a system that spans across the disciplines. Articulating such a definition is the cornerstone of systems theory. 128 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 Table 1. A tabulated comparison of the five strategies of legislative minimalism. ________________________________________________________________ Non-interference Formalizing Fine-tuning Dismantling Concocting ________________________________________________________________ Methodology Frequency Traffic example Allow the system of order to function completely unhindered Most common Allow traffic conditions to emerge organically and function untouched by regulation Grant formal status to the system of order (usually with sanctions) Extremely common Codify and enforce the existing traffic patterns that have emerged Tweak the system of order on a structural level Very common Introduce regulation to modify the flow of traffic Totally annihilate a pre-existing system of order Not very common Eliminate all traffic from the road system (e.g. pedestrianize an entire city) Create legal order from scratch Rare Create an entirely new system of transportation (e.g. based on light-rail transit) _______________________________________________________________ As can be seen in the table, the methodology of each of the strategies is distinct. Non-interference simply allows the system of order to function unhindered. Formalizing grants formal status to the system of order, usually through the use of sanctions. Fine-tuning modestly tweaks the system on a structural level (where doing so can achieve a greater degree of efficiency). Dismantling completely eliminates an existing system of order, and Concocting creates legal order from scratch. Hybrid strategies mentioned above, which combine elements from two or more regulatory strategies, are also possible. For example, logging is often restricted in designated areas for a fixed number of years in order to avoid permanent deforestation but later allowed to resume. This regulatory approach may be conceptualized as a hybrid strategy, combining Dismantling and Fine-tuning: i.e. the system is totally eliminated (Dismantling) yet allowed to later resume (Fine-tuning). The strategies also differ with respect to how commonly they are invoked. What stands out is that as we move along the continuum in the direction of legislative maximalism, the strategies are employed less frequently. By far, Non-interference is the most common strategy. Formalizing is the next most common approach. Fine-tuning is also a very common legislative tack. Indeed, the law spends a great deal of its legislative energy here, tweaking pre-existing systems of order with a view to making them more efficient—arguably, the vast majority of formal law deals with natural ordering on this level of discourse. This is not at all the case for the 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 129 strategy of Dismantling, which is substantially less common. Yet the rarest of these strategies is Concocting. At the risk of straining our gardening metaphor to the point of snapping (no pun intended): Non-interference is simply letting the plants grow; Formalizing is comparable to reinforcing a growing plant by tethering it to a stick or rod; Fine-tuning is minor weeding or trimming; and Dismantling is completely uprooting a plant, tearing it out from its roots. Concocting does not fit very well into our gardening metaphor. It is, I suppose, comparable to artificially fabricating a plant, perhaps a plastic Christmas tree. In any case, although imperfect, the metaphor captures the strategies available to the legislative minimalist project. These five strategies represents a toolkit into which policymakers can reach and pull out the most optimal legislative strategy, with a view to minimizing unnecessary regulatory intrusion. A clear, conceptually rigorous framework as to how to deal with customary social order is not merely theoretically useful; it is arguably critical given the general trend in the common law towards a greater reliance on statute.92 While the law already deals in customary social order, it can benefit enormously from a heavy dose of theoretical clarity so lawmakers can more skillfully work within a minimalist framework. B. Contract: A Paragon of Legislative Minimalism Descending from the lofty heights of theory, this section examines our taxonomy of strategies in the context of a concrete example—that of contract. Contract is, in a sense, a paragon of legislative minimalism. Contract is perhaps the one area of law where the minimalist approach is most evident.93 As such, it provides a magnificent case study. Exploring how the state deals with contract may give us insight as to how legislative minimalism may be applied more broadly. While the State’s approach to contract is generally minimalist, this minimalism is still tempered. The state adopts policies of Non-interference, Formalizing, Fine-tuning, or even Dismantling depending upon the nature of the legal order that is created by the terms of the contract. Indeed, contract law is a perfect case study for us as it exhibits most of the strategies of legislative minimalism. Issues of substantive (as opposed to merely procedural) fairness, among other public policy considerations, affect which form of minimalism is 92 See, e.g., Gordon R. Woodman, Ghana: How Does State Law Accommodate Religious, Cultural, Linguistic and Ethnic Diversity, in CULTURAL DIVERSITY AND THE LAW: STATE RESPONSES FROM AROUND THE WORLD (Marie-Claire Foblets ed., 2010) (discussing the trend in Ghana toward supplementing common and customary law with legislation). 93 For an examination of minimalism in commercial contracts, see JONATHAN MORGAN, CONTRACT LAW MINIMALISM: A FORMALIST RESTATEMENT OF COMMERCIAL CONTRACT LAW (2013) (advocating a minimalist framework to the law of contract). 130 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 invoked.94 Indeed, we see most of the strategies of legislative minimalism on display when we examine how the state deals with contract. Contract is also an ideal case study because it is the closest the law gets to institutionalizing the creation of customary social order. Fuller described customary law as the inarticulate older brother of contract.95 I would be inclined to agree. As I envision it here, a contract is a mini-system of order forged by the participants themselves—each contract represents a tiny, self-contained system of bottom- up order. The state intrudes upon these systems of order to different degrees, yet the overarching spirit is unmistakably minimalist. 1. Non-interference in Contract In its general deference to freedom of contract, the state adopts an overarching policy of Non-interference.96 The contracting parties are free to create the legal order that they wish, relatively unimpeded by the State, the State’s role being merely facilitative.97 The classical model of contract assigns the law a non-interventionist role.98 The belief is that “parties should enter the market, choose their fellow-contractors, set their own terms, strike their bargains and stick to them.”99 The two linchpins of this approach are “the doctrines of ‘freedom of contract’ and ‘sanctity of contract.’”100 Vital to the doctrine of freedom of contract is “term freedom.”101 This is the principle that the parties are free to set their own terms and at liberty to decide the subject matter and substance of their contract.102 The role of law is simply to identify and enforce the parties’ agreement.103 Freedom of contract has, of course, been significantly curtailed over the last century, as reflected in the neo-classical model of contract. The growth of consumer protection, rent, and employment legislation has put in place limitations on freedom of contract. Notwithstanding this, however, Non-interference remains a basic feature of contract law, as enshrined in freedom of contract.104 94 MINDY CHEN-WISHART, CONTRACT LAW 13 (4th ed. 2012). 95 FULLER, supra note 49, at 176. 96 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94. 97 Id. at 10. 98 RICHARD STONE, THE MODERN LAW OF CONTRACT 6 (9th ed. 2011). 99 EWAN MCKENDRICK, CONTRACT LAW: TEXT, CASES, AND MATERIALS 13 (5th ed. 2012). 100 Id. 101 The other supporting principle here is “party freedom,” i.e. the right to select with whom one wishes to contract. 102 See MCKENDRICK, supra note 99. 103 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94. 104 See MCKENDRICK, supra note 99, at 294. For a classic analysis of the transformation of freedom of contract in this respect, see ATIYAH supra note 58. But see THE FALL AND RISE OF 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 131 2. Formalizing in Contract In that the state will generally enforce the terms of the contract (with certain limitations),105 the state engages in a policy of Formalizing. Indeed, the State’s role is to give effect to the parties’ agreement through enforcement of the contact’s terms.106 The deference to customary self-ordering is unmistakable. Where the parties’ intentions are unclear, this willingness extends to pre-existing custom. Extrinsic evidence of custom is admissible to interpret written contracts with respect to which they are silent.107 In such cases, the court has been more than willing to imply terms on the basis of established trade customs.108 As already touched upon, beyond the particular terms of the contract, the state has formalized numerous core principles that initially arose bottom-up as informal rules within commercial communities, such as the incorporation of notes and bills of exchanges.109 The parol evidence rule and the doctrine of completeness of writings are further examples of Formalizing.110 3. Fine-tuning in Contract Yet, the State’s approach to contract is not completely hands-off. Motivated by interests of fairness and social equity, the state also engages in Fine-tuning. Implied terms are an excellent example of Fine-tuning. Here, we have a deliberate intervention of the court or legislature to regulate the ordering system (i.e. the terms of the contract) created by the parties with the goal of improving the contract. Fine-tuning is captured more broadly in the neo- FREEDOM OF CONTRACT (F. H. Buckley ed., 1999) (essays analyzing the resurgent interest in freedom of contract). For the landmark case law regarding freedom of contract in the context of employment legislation, see Lochner v. New York, 198 U.S. 45 (1905) (holding that that setting a limit to the hours a baker could work was an “unreasonable, unnecessary and arbitrary interference with the right of the individual to his personal liberty, or to enter into those contracts in relation to labor which may seem to him appropriate or necessary for the support of himself and his family”). Lockner is, howeer, no longer good law. see West Coast Hotel Co. v. Parrish, 300 U.S. 379 (1937), where the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the constitutionality of minimum wage legislation. West Coast Hotel Co. is regarded as having ended the Lochner-era of contract law in America. West Coast Hotel Co. is an example of Fine-tuning (see below for a fuller discussion). Both landmark rulings are excellent examples as they involve self-ordering in the market, a forum where spontaneous order is often remarked upon. 105 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94. 106 Id. at 10, 14. 107 See, e.g., Hutton v. Warren, (1836) 1 M&W 460. 108 Id. 109 See TRAKMAN, supra note 63, at 23–27. 110 See RESTATEMENT (SECOND) OF CONTRACTS § 213 (1979), which sets out the common law parol evidence rule. See also U.C.C. § 2-202 (2001). 132 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 classical model of contract.111 Minimum wage requirements are good examples of Fine-tuning. While the self-ordering system regarding labor earnings in the market place is left relatively untouched (parties are free to set salaries commensurate with the skill level of workers), a floor is put in place in order to correct inherent shortcomings in the system. This is similar to the example given earlier regarding speeding: the system is left to self-order but within prescribed limits. The law tweaks the self-ordering system of market pay along the margins, enacting statutory minimum wage requirements that alter the wage structure in order to achieve a socially preferable distribution of income. Many theorists now question if such laws are, in fact, even effective in achieving these goals. Minimum wage laws have been and continue to be highly controversial and the subject of vigorous debate amongst economists, with many arguing that minimum wage laws are not a good policy tool.112 Minimum wage laws are perhaps a good example of the potential for design error of top- down law when tinkering with a spontaneous system of order—in this case, wage patterns in the market. The same story arguably applies to other forms of direct regulation on voluntary exchange, such as family leave laws, sick leave laws, other prescriptions of the fair labor standards act, anti-discrimination laws, union protections, and so on and so forth. It is interesting to note how shifting norms and social conceptions of value will determine what the law considers proper grounds for Fine-tuning. Indeed, this is reflected writ large in the shift from a classical to neo-classical model of contract law. Employment standards, a substantive part of employment law, are simply customary norms regarding minimum socially acceptable working conditions. Social norms invariably transform over time; new normative rules emerge, replacing older normative standards. In all areas of law, we can discern the transformative force of evolving custom impacting existing values. However, the specific goals that a society deems worthwhile to pursue are irrelevant to the present thesis in a technical sense: the objective may be to rectify the social injustice of slavery or to institute it more broadly. In any case, the methodology this paper advances remains the same. What is offered here is a descriptive rather than a normative analysis—what is of relevance is how lawmakers can implement the strategies of legislative minimalism on a technical level. The decisive role that value positions will play in this implementation is acknowledged yet remains immaterial to the present thesis. 111 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94, at 11. 112 For an interesting book-length, empirically-rich discussion along these lines, see DAVID NEUMARK & WILLIAM L. WASCHER, MINIMUM WAGES (2008) (arguing that minimum wage laws actually do not achieve the main objectives set out by their supporters). But see DAVID CARD & ALAN B. KRUEGER, MYTH AND MEASUREMENT: THE NEW ECONOMICS OF THE MINIMUM WAGE (1995) (arguing against the view that higher minimum wages reduce jobs for low-wage workers). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 133 4. Dismantling and Concocting in Contract The law also engages in Dismantling with regards to contract. For example, vitiating factors, such as duress and unconscionability, can completely invalidate a system of order established through contract. Contracts that conflict with public policy, such as contracts to conduct illegal activity, perceived gross immorality, or contracts of slavery, will be pointedly dismantled by the State.113 A great illustration of Dismantling is anti-trust law. Here, the self-ordering systems created by commercial cartels are systematically dismantled under the neo-classical banner of maximizing social welfare through competition. The state simply overrides such systems of self- ordering, voiding agreements that restrict market competition.114 Dismantling in this form is seen as a matter of public policy: the system of self-order (monopolistic collusion) is deemed to be detrimental. In some jurisdictions, this is true even where price-fixing and other horizontal restraints (such as group boycotts and market division) are a mostly spontaneous arrangement with absolutely no explicit arrangements to engage in price manipulation. In such jurisdictions, even tacit collusion (also termed conscious parallelism) is, in principle, sufficient to warrant antitrust enforcement.115 Tacit collusion, unlike cartels, is not criminalized yet is, “in principle, . . . subject to antitrust enforcement.”116 Indeed, in the case of tacit collusion, coordinated behavior emerges in an entirely spontaneous fashion without the need for explicit communication of any kind—a classic illustration of a system of spontaneous self-ordering.117 113 See CHEN-WISHART, supra note 94, at 12. 114 Under U.S. law, section 1 of the Sherman Act declares illegal “every contract, combination in the form of trust or otherwise, or conspiracy, in restraint of trade or commerce . . . .” 15 U.S.C. § 1 (2012). Under EU law, the Treaty of Lisbon prohibits anti-competitive agreements, rendering any such agreements automatically void. Consolidated Version of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union art. 101, May 9, 2008, 2008 O.J. (C 115) 88– 89 [hereinafter TFEU]. 115 For example, under EU law, tacit collusion could come under the Lisbon Treaty, Article 101 “concerted practices,” as well as the principle of “collective dominance” under Article 102. TFEU art. 101–02. 116 PETER DAVIS & ELIANA GARCÉS, QUANTITATIVE TECHNIQUES FOR COMPETITION AND ANTITRUST ANALYSIS 316 (2009). Under Section 1 of the Sherman Act, however, tacit collusion is not deemed sufficient to justify state intervention because Section 1 requires proof of agreement (conspiracy). 15 U.S.C. § 1 (2014). See also Richard A. Posner, Oligopoly and the Antitrust Laws: A Suggested Approach, 21 STAN. L. REV. 1562 (1969) (arguing that antitrust law should regulate consciously parallel oligopoly behavior); RICHARD A. POSNER, ANTITRUST LAW 53–55 (2d ed. 2001) (explaining why tacit collusion did not come to constitute monopolistic practice under U.S. law). 117 See DAVIS & GARCÉS, supra note 116, at 315 (discussing the idea that coordinated behavior may emerge even without the need for explicit communication); See also HERVÉ DUMEZ & ALAIN JEUNEMAÎTRE, UNDERSTANDING AND REGULATING THE MARKET AT A TIME OF 134 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 In regard to the strategy of Concocting, we find very little evidence of this in contract. Among the various areas of law, this brand of maximalism is not readily identifiable in contract. This is because state regulation of contract leans so much in the direction of minimalism that full-fledged Concocting as a strategy does not make an appearance. Arguably, some standard form contracts with government agencies where specific terms must be included as a matter of law might be considered as forms of Concocting. Yet this does not meet the criteria of Concocting in its purest sense, i.e. the wholesale construction of a system of order. Stepping back for a moment, it is important to note that the tactics of legislative minimalism are not restricted to contract. What we do in contract may be applied in all areas of law. Where the line of legislative intrusion should be drawn will unavoidably be affected by normative considerations; however, this long-standing debate need not concern us. We are merely providing a conceptual framework for policymakers who wish to boost system efficiency. Where formal law should step in will often remain open to debate and turn on normative considerations. However, regardless of where one stands in this ideological feud, the chance of design error increases the more we wander away from minimalism. This is not a normative appraisal; it is a factual contention, at least it is the working premise of this paper. From a practical perspective, however, it is not always easy for legislatures to know which strategy is most suitable—for example, when Formalizing is more appropriate than Fine-tuning, or Concocting more appropriate than Dismantling. Ultimately, this will turn on the specific system of order that is being confronted. However, general guidelines can be of enormous help here. Wherever feasible, minimalism should be our starting point—that minimalism is preferable should be a presumption for policymakers. However, where a system of order seems to be failing, or producing unacceptable externalities (this will invariably turn on normative considerations), regulation is necessary. Ever higher degrees of legislative intervention should then be implemented until the situation is sufficiently remedied. To use once more a metaphor: if the construction of a house is defective, the most sensible line of attack is to see if the problem is resolvable through minor tinkering; one should not immediately rip out the foundations of the building and start anew. Adjustments and minor replacements should be first attempted, increasing the level of intrusion only as necessary. Indeed, it may become clear that we, in fact, need to rip up the foundations of the house; however, this should be our last, not our first, course of action. Through incremental legislation, it is possible to hone in on the appropriate degree of intrusion. GLOBALIZATION: THE CASE OF THE CEMENT INDUSTRY 98–101 (2000) (discussing spontaneous coordination in the cement industry through the exchange of information). 2014] RESTRAINING THE HAND OF LAW 135 C. Beyond Law: A Wide Breadth of Potential Application Before concluding our discussion, one final point should be briefly made. It is important to appreciate that this taxonomy has a wide breadth of potential application. These strategies are not simply limited to the case of legal order; they arise wherever top-down planning attempts to deal with any system of spontaneous order (to use Hayek’s term). The same basic approaches arise in, for example, biology, economics, ecology, urban planning, linguistics, chemistry, material sciences, and transportation, to name but a few examples. In all cases, the planner can choose to not interfere with the pattern (Non- interference), reinforce the pattern (Formalizing), redirect or tweak the pattern (Fine-tuning), destroy the pattern (Dismantling), or fabricate a pattern (Concocting). Because systems of spontaneous order surround us, indeed, because life itself is such a system, as autonomous agents standing outside this ordering (to the extent that this is possible), our interactions with spontaneous order are limited to one or more of these five approaches. These are the only options before us.118 While our focus here was legal order, exploring how these strategies may be applied in other non-legal contexts may prove quite fascinating. We could see terms such as ecological minimalism, urban minimalism, medical minimalism, psychiatric minimalism, and so on and so forth.119 Indeed, it offers a stunningly broad scope of potential application. I leave such avenues of research to those more qualified than I to explore; however, the basic taxonomy for this examination is provided. V. CONCLUSION While the paper posited a framework for adopting legislative minimalism, the result is not so much a fully-developed theory of how to legislatively deal with customary social order; rather, it provides the framework for one. Indeed, a more intricate methodology could be crafted from this basic model. For the purposes of examination, I assumed the argument regarding informational complexity as valid. (I took what I felt to be the strongest technical argument against centralized design.) This is, of course, open to debate, but it would be intellectually reckless to simply dismiss it out of hand. I cannot help but think that the temptation to do so is often motivated more by political ideology than intellectual certainty. In any case, if upon examination we determine that minimalism is indeed what we want, the framework I constructed here is a strategic, balanced way to get us there. The core idea of legislative minimalism is that we could go further in the direction of regulatory non-intrusiveness, trusting instead the self-patterning nature of customary social order. To capture the concept in one simple phrase, 118 I am including here the various hybrid strategies that are possible. 119 Some of these terms are already in use; however, not in the sense meant here. 136 WEST VIRGINIA LAW REVIEW [Vol. 117 it is this: the least amount of law possible. This is the benefit of legislative minimalism: it allows for legislative parsimony. We can soften the hand of law. Yet this is always to be judged cautiously on a case-by-case basis. In some circumstances, we will not be able to break too far in the direction of minimalism; in others, we will be able to engage in extremely high degrees of it. Like any other form of natural ordering, while customary social ordering stands a far better chance of avoiding design inefficiency, it is not always perfect. The system can sometimes generate sub-optimal outcomes, and so we often need to modify it to some degree—we do this in medicine, in agriculture, etc. Cancer cells are the outcome of a natural system as are floods, but we do not hesitate to treat tumors and build flood walls. Social order is no different. Yet this must be done with the utmost humility, aware of our cognitive limitations and mindful that the majority of the time we are but fumbling in the darkness. The hope is that the conceptual framework offered here may serve as a foundation for theorists to build upon and better position policymakers to adopt such a tack so they may fashion leaner, more honed legislation, conceptually clear as to what exactly it is they are doing. The Chinese University of Hong Kong From the SelectedWorks of Bryan H. Druzin 2014 Restraining the Hand of Law: A Conceptual Framework to Shrink the Size of Law tmpb0cMd0.pdf 
work_exlgf3trw5dkflqn2ngowlba74	----	PLBI0305_733-763.indd PLoS Biology | www.plosbiology.org 0748 Book Review/Science in the Media Open access, freely available online May 2005 | Volume 3 | Issue 5 | e161 The famous Russian writer Vladimir Nabokov once described writing as “a torture and a pastime” and contrasted it to “a long and exciting career as an obscure curator of lepidoptera in a great museum” [1]. For six years before moving to Cornell University as a professor of Russian literature, Nabokov worked as a research fellow at Harvard’s Museum of Comparative Zoology, where he specialized in “blues” (Family Lycaenidae). The public face of this museum (as well as the Harvard University Herbaria and the Mineralogical and Geological Museum) is Harvard’s Museum of Natural History, whose collection consists of more than 21 million specimens acquired over two centuries. In a fascinating new book, The Rarest of the Rare: Stories behind the Treasures at the Harvard Museum of Natural History, Nancy Pick describes highlights of this vast collection in a rarely found combination of seamless prose, outstanding photographs, history, legendary fi gures, and, of course, science. Choosing among 21 million specimens appears a daunting task, and stripped of their historical signifi cance, some of Pick’s choices may seem, at fi rst glance, somewhat pedestrian. It is not until we read her description of the specimen of a common sand dollar, that we learn it was collected by Charles Darwin in 1834 during his journeys as a naturalist on the Beagle. Darwin sent the specimen to an echinoid specialist in Switzerland named Louis Agassiz, who later moved to Harvard and obtained funding for the Museum of Natural History, which opened in 1859. A contemporary of Agassiz at Harvard was the famous botanist Asa Gray, who, in contrast to Agassiz, was a strong believer in evolution. One of the items in the collection is an 1857 letter from Darwin to Gray (a photograph of the letter is shown in the book) describing his thoughts on natural selection, two years before The Origin of Species was published. Another specimen that’s uninteresting until we know its provenance is a turtle that Harvard College graduate Henry David Thoreau sent to Agassiz in 1847. The turtle was collected in the Walden Pond of Thoreau’s classic book. The birds of American history are well represented by a pair of pheasants that the Marquis de Lafayette sent to George Washington in 1786. The original home of these pheasants was in the fi rst scientifi c museum in the country, founded by the painter Charles Wilson Peale in Philadelphia. When the museum closed in 1849, the specimens eventually found their way to Harvard. A more exotic specimen in the collection, the now extinct bird known as the common mamo (Drepanis pacifi ca), was collected by Captain James Cook in 1778 in Hawaii. The yellow feathers from this species were used for King Kamehameha’s cloak, requiring over 80,000 mamos. In the book, we can also appreciate parts of a dodo skeleton, and an egg from the elephant bird (Aepyornis maximus), a now extinct fl ightless bird from Madagascar that grew to ten feet tall and laid the largest eggs known for a bird. In the realm of insects, Pick has chosen to show us some fabulous specimens, including a 35-million- year-old fossil butterfl y; the largest insect wing on record, belonging to a dragonfl y-like creature collected in Oklahoma and having a wing span of 2.5 feet; and an unbelievable gynandromorphic morpho butterfl y, with the wing colors and size of a male on one side, and those of a female on the other. Pick also presents cases of murder and fraud, including the famous case of John W. Webster, a Professor of Chemistry at Harvard Medical College, who murdered George Parkman. The tale involves Webster’s mineral collection and the purchase of a mastodon for the museum. Bearing witness to fraud in science is a painting by John James Audubon in the museum collection. In trying to prove he had depicted the common grouse (Bonasa umbellus) before his competitor, Alexander Wilson (known as the father of American ornithology), Audubon dated his chalk and watercolor illustration with the year 1805. The problem is that the watermark in the paper is dated 1810. Perhaps the best known specimens at Harvard’s Museum of Natural History are the Blaschka Glass Models of Plants, created by Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka in Germany. Originally commissioned for teaching botany by the fi rst director of Harvard’s Botanical Museum, an exclusive ten-year contract signed in 1890 extended into 50 years of work and resulted in 4,400 models so exquisite and realistic, it is hard to believe they are actually made of glass. Explorer Naturalists Fernando E. Vega Citation: Vega FE (2005) Explorer naturalists. PLoS Biol 3(5): e161. Copyright: © 2005 Fernando E. Vega. This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. Fernando E. Vega is coeditor (with Meredith Blackwell) of Insect-Fungal Associations: Ecology and Evolution, published by Oxford University Press (2005). He lives in Silver Spring, Maryland, United States of America. Email: fevega@hotmail.com DOI: 10.1371/journal.pbio.0030161 DOI: 10.1371/journal.pbio.0030161.g001 Pick N (2004) The rarest of the rare: Stories behind the treasures at the Harvard Museum of Natural History. Introduction by E. O. Wilson; photographs by M. Sloan. New York: HarperResource. 178 p. ISBN (hardcover) 0-06-053718-3. US$22.95. PLoS Biology | www.plosbiology.org 0749 Other specimens presented in the book include the all-too-familiar regal lily (Lilium regale) collected in China and brought to the United States by Ernest H. Wilson in 1911; a trilobite collected in 1824 by Charles D. Wolcott, discoverer of the famous Burgess Shale fossil deposit in the Canadian Rocky Mountains; a female anglerfi sh (Linophryne bicornis) showing the parasitic male still attached; a woodpecker (Melanerpes lewis) collected by Meriwether Lewis and believed to be the only complete specimen from the Lewis and Clark expedition (1804– 1806); and Richard Evan Schultes’s hallucinogenic mushrooms. The Rarest of the Rare brings forward a vivid image of the romance of an era when a large part of scientifi c research was conducted by “explorer naturalists,” a breed that has become nearly extinct, pushed aside by DNA sequencers, or should we say, “the barcoders of life.” It is hard to put this book away without thinking about all that remains to be discovered in the natural world—the organisms within organisms, the fossils, the remaining new species—because, fortunately, one thing is certain: there is no end to science. � Reference 1. Nabokov VV (1973) Strong opinions. New York: McGraw-Hill. 335 p. May 2005 | Volume 3 | Issue 5 | e161 
work_f2vnr4iplva3zihzjrrgavei4a	----	반건호·배재호·문수진·민정원 - 61 - 시 뇌염에서 살아남은 아이들 중 산만하고 행동이 과다해지 고 충동 조절 및 인지기능 장애가 발생한다는 보고가 1920 년대 초에 다수 발표되었다. 24) 그들은 우울증을 포함한 기분 증상, 틱 증상, 인지 기능 손상으로 인한 학습 장애 등의 다 양한 증상뿐 아니라 반 사회적, 파괴적 행동을 포함한 행동 문제, 주의력 결핍 문제 등의 ADHD에 해당하는 증상들을 보였다. 이는 처음으로 ADHD 유사 증상의 원인으로 신체 적 결함을 고려하게 된 사건이며, 단순한 도덕적 조절 능력 결핍이 아닌 ‘뇌염 후 행동장애(postencephalitic behav- ior disorder)’라는 진단을 내리게 되었다. 25) 그로 인해 출생 당시 선천적 결손이나 주산기 무산소증, 주산기 질병 등이 뇌 의 이른 기질적 손상을 가져오고, 그로 인해 행동상의 문제 나 학습 장애, 주의력 결핍 등을 유발할 수 있다는 인식이 확 산되었다. 26) 이러한 환자들을 단일 질환으로 분류하고 이에 대해 수많은 치료법이 개발되었으나 효과가 없었다. ADHD가 이러한 뇌염 등의 질병에 의해 유발되는 것은 아니지만, 단 순한 도덕적 결함으로 인한 개인적 문제 차원에서 뇌의 기 질적 변화로 인한 질병으로 인식되기 시작했다는 점에서 의 의를 찾을 수 있다. 9. Kramer-Pollnow 증후군 Franz Kramer(1878~1967)와 Hans Pollnow(1902~ 1943)는 1932년 “On a hyperkinetic disease of infan- cy”에서 행동문제가 있는 17명의 아이들(세 명의 소녀 포함) 에 대해 보고하였다. 27) “아이들한테 나타나는 가장 분명한 증상은 엄청난 운동 량이다. 그것도 무척 급하게 행동한다. 잠시도 차분하게 기다 리지 못하고 방 안을 이리저리 뛰어 다닌다. 특히 높은 가구 에 기어올라가는 것을 선호한다. 누군가 말리려 하면 성을 낸 다.” 17) 이러한 내용은 오늘날 ADHD의 주 증상 중 하나인 과잉행동 특성과 상당부분 일치한다. “특별한 목표 없이 하던 행동들은 다른 자극을 받으면 쉽 게 다른 행동으로 넘어가는 산만함을 보인다. 아이들은 과제 를 완수하기가 어렵고 간단한 질문에도 대답을 못한다. 어려 운 과제에 집중하는 것은 대단히 곤란하다. 그러다 보면 학 습에 문제가 생긴다. 지적 능력 평가도 곤란하다.” 17) 이 부분 은 역시 ADHD의 주 증상 중 하나인 주의력결핍에 해당한다. “지속력이 떨어지고 특정 과제에 집중하기도 어렵다. 기분 도 불안정하다. 쉽게 흥분하고 자주 분노를 터뜨리며 별 것 아닌 일에 눈물을 터뜨리거나 공격적으로 변한다.” 17) 이는 ADHD의 충동성향과 부합되는 내용이다. 하지만 “일초도 가만히 있지 못하는 아이의 행동 문제에도 불구하고 자신 들이 좋아하는 과제에는 오랜 시간 집중할 수 있다. 나이가 들면서 과활동성이 소실되거나 감소한다.”는 기술은 충동성 향에 대한 의심을 불러오기도 하는 대목이다. DSM-IV 6) 의 진단 기준 중 “사회적, 학업적, 또는 직업적 기능의 현저한 손상” 대목에 해당하는 내용도 기술한 바 있 다. “과잉행동 아이들은 종종 불복종하는 행동특성이 있으 며, 학습 문제도 심각하다. 학교에서는 학급 수업 진행을 방 해하고 혼란에 빠뜨리며 친구들과 어울려 노는 것이 어렵고 친구 사이에서 왕따 되기 일쑤다.” 17) DSM-IV 6) 의 연령 기준에 대한 부분도 이미 Kramer- Pollnow 증후군 기록에 언급하고 있다. 이들이 보고한 사례 들은 3내지 4세에 과잉행동이 시작되고 6세 경에 절정을 이 룬다고 하였다. 상당수 아이들은 열성 질병이나 간질성 경련 후에 행동 문제가 나타난다는 내용도 기술하였다. 17) Kramer와 Pollnow는 이러한 아이들의 장애를 “아동기 의 과활동성(hyperkinesis of childhood)”라고 지칭하였 다. 이처럼 공격적 행동, 충동성, 혼란스러울 정도의 안절부 절못함, 학습장애 등을 보였으나, 당시 유행하던 뇌염 후 행 동장애와는 차이가 있었다. 뇌염 후 행동장애에서 보이는 수 면장애, 야간에 나타나는 초조감, 이상한 몸동작 등이 없었 고 주간에만 증상을 보였다. 17) 원인적 접근에서 뇌의 장애를 더 고려했다는 점에서 역사 적 가치가 있으나 연구를 진행하던 중, 그들이 모두 유태인이 었기 때문에 나치의 강제 이주가 이루어지면서 후속 연구자 료를 찾기는 어렵다. 27) 하지만 이는 WHO의 질병분류에 영 향을 미쳤고, ‘hyperkinetic’이라는 용어는 ICD-8의 ‘hy- perkinetic disorder’로 이어졌다. 28) 10. ADHD의 치료에 대한 최초 기록, Charles Bradley ADHD 치료와 연구에 가장 획기적인 내용은 1937년 Char- les Bradley라는 정신과의사가 쓴 ‘The behavior of child- ren receiving benzedrine’이라는 논문에서 찾을 수 있 다. 29) 그는 미국 로드아일랜드 주에 위치한 Emma Pend- leton Bradley Home(현재는 Bradley Hospital)의 의료 부장으로 재직하면서 기뇌조영술(pneumoencephalogra- phy) 후에 두통이 있는 아이들을 치료하기 위해 벤제드린(ben- zedrine, 주 : benzedrine은 amphetamine 제제로 1928년 부터 기관지확장제로 시판되었고 흡입형 제제였으며, 현재는 propylhexedrine으로 대체되어 사용되고 있음 30) 을 투여하 였다. 그는 두통이 뇌척수액의 손실로 인해 발생하는 것이라 생각했으며, 따라서 두통을 치료하기 위해서는 맥락총에서 뇌척수액 생산을 촉진시키면 될 것이라고 생각했다. 뇌척수 액 생산을 촉진시키기 위해 당시 사용되고 있던 가장 강력 한 정신 자극제인 벤제드린을 투여하였다. 벤제드린 투여 후 주의력결핍 과잉행동장애의 역사적 고찰 - 62 - 에도 두통은 그다지 호전되지 않았으나, 일부 환아에서 학교 생활에 큰 변화가 있었고 학습효과도 눈에 띄게 좋아졌다. 아이들은 이 약을 “arithmetic pills”로 불렀다. 그러한 아 이들의 행동 변화를 감지한 Bradley는 그의 병원에서 행동 문제를 보이는 30명의 환자들을 대상으로 벤제드린을 투여 하였다. “벤제드린을 투여한 반수의 환자들에서 학교 생활 의 두드러진 호전이 나타났고, 일과 수행에 있어 훨씬 빠르고 정확하게 집중할 수 있게 되었다.”라고 기술하였다. 29) 하지만 당시에는 행동문제 치료에 심리요법이 주류를 이루고 있었 고, 안타깝게도 이러한 약물 효과에 대한 재검증이 이루어지 지 않았다. ADHD 치료약물의 본격적 사용은 그의 논문 발표 후 25 년여가 지나서야 시작되었다. 31) 11. ADHD의 기질적 원인 분석 시도, Minimal brain dysfunction(MBD) ADHD의 원인에 대한 인식이 Still경의 도덕적 결함으로 인한 행동 문제에서 Tredgold의 뇌의 기질적 문제로 인한 행동 문제 32) 로 변화된 이후, Kahn과 Cohen 33) 은 ‘organic drivenness’라는 표현을 사용하기도 하였다. Lewin 34) 은 지 적 기능이 떨어지는 아동과 성인 환자에서 뇌손상과 안절부 절못하는 증상과의 관련성을 제시하였으며, 전두엽을 제거 한 동물실험 결과와 결부시켜 설명하였다. 그 밖에도 뇌염과 감염, 납중독, 경련성 질환 등 뇌에 영향을 미칠 수 있는 다양 한 원인들과 그에 따른 환자들의 행동 문제에 대한 보고가 다 수 발표되었다. 24) 이러한 연구 결과들을 바탕으로 뇌손상과 행동문제의 관련성에 대한 인식이 정착되기 시작하였고, Str- auss와 Lehtinen 35) 은 뇌손상 아동에서 여러 가지 정신증상 이 나타날 수 있으며, 특히 과잉행동과 뇌손상과의 관련성을 지적하고 이러한 증상을 보이는 아동들을 하나의 증후군, minimal brain damage syndrome으로 분류하였다. 오 늘날 주의력결핍증상 중 많은 부분이 이미 그의 논문에서 기술한 증후군과 일치한다. 1950~1960대에 들어서는 ‘두뇌 손상아동 brain-damage children’ 36) , ’미세 뇌손상 mini- mal brain damage’ 37) , ‘미세두뇌기능장애 minimal cereb- ral dysfunction’ 38) , ‘미세뇌기능장애 minimal brain dy- sfunction(MBD)’ 39) 등으로 명명되었고, 그 중 MBD가 가장 흔히 통용되었다. 이렇듯 다양한 명칭과 보고에도 불구하고 여전히 통일된 질병개념은 등장하지 않았다. 24) 12. 주의력저하와 과활동성 치료제의 승인, 리탈린(Ritalin) Bradley가 과활동성, 주의 집중에 장애를 보이는 환자를 대상으로 벤제드린을 투여하여 효과가 있었다는 보고 29) 가 있었으나, 당시 그 결과는 주목 받지 못했다. 하지만 점차 정신 질환 치료에 있어 심리치료 이외에 생물학적 치료의 필요성이 강조되기 시작하였고, 과활동성을 보이는 아동들 의 치료에 있어서도 점차 중추신경자극제의 효과에 대한 관 심이 커지고 있었다. 40) Bradley가 ADHD환자들에 있어 벤제드린의 효과를 발표 한지 25년이 지난 1957년, ADHD 역사에서 가장 획기적 사 건 중 하나가 일어났다. 메틸페니데이트(methylphenidate) 성분의 리탈린이 처음으로 의약품으로 승인된 것이다. 41) 이 약 품은 1944년 Ciba사의 화학자인 Leandro Panizzon이 합 성하였고, 1954년부터 리탈린이라는 이름으로 판매되기 시작 하였다. 리탈린이라는 이름은 Panizzon의 아내의 애칭인 Rita 에서 온 것이라고 한다. 평소 저혈압을 앓고 있던 아내가 테니 스 시합 도중 저혈압으로 쓰러질 것을 우려하여 시합 전 자극 제로 이 약을 사용하였다. 그로 인해 리탈린은 시판 당시 만 성 피로, 기면증, 우울증, 그와 관련된 정신 증상 등에 효과 가 있는 것으로 알려졌다. 그러나 점차 과잉행동이나 주의 산만 증상에 효과가 있음이 알려지면서 이러한 증상을 보이 는 환자들에게 사용되기 시작하였고, 42) 훗날 ADHD치료에서 가장 중요한 역할을 담당하는 약물이 되었다. 하지만 치료가 진행되고 있었음에도 불구하고 질병으로서ADHD의 통일된 개념은 확립되지 않았다. 13. 질병으로서의 ADHD 이렇듯 이미 20세기 초부터 ADHD 개념이 언급되기 시작 하였고 치료 또한 시도되었으나, 현재 사용되는 ADHD 개념 에 접근하기 시작한 것은 1960년대 들어서였다. 과다한 행동 의 의학적 원인에 대한 논의가 지속되고 MBD 개념이 확산 되면서 뇌의 손상이 행동 장애로 이어진다는 가설은 탄력을 받게 되었다. 24) 하지만 행동 문제를 보이는 모든 아동들이 뇌 손상을 가지고 있어야 한다는 이 이론은 많은 비판을 받 게 되었고 뇌 손상의 평가 방법에 대한 논란도 커졌다. 43-45) 또한 뇌 손상이 없는 아동들에서도 행동 문제가 보고되었다. 40) 이러한 논란에도 불구하고 그간 축적된 자료를 바탕으로 미국 정신의학계의 진단체계인 DSM-II(The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental disorders-II) 46) 에서 ‘아동기 과잉행동 반응 hyperkinetic reaction of child- hood’이라는 명칭으로 공식 진단으로 인정하고 다음과 같 은 두 문장으로 정의하였다. “과활동성이고, 안절부절못하고, 산만하고 집중 시간이 짧은 소아들. 행동은 대개 청소년기에 감소함.” 하지만 진단명에서 알 수 있듯이 아직도 뇌의 기질 적 원인보다는 주변 자극에 대한 과도한 ‘반응’ 개념으로 이 해하고 있으며, 안타깝지만 그때까지도 ADHD는 청소년기 가 되면 사라지는 문제로 여겼다. DSM-III 47) 에서는 Douglas 48) 가 주장한 것처럼 과잉행동 반건호·배재호·문수진·민정원 - 63 - 보다는 충동조절, 주의력, 각성 영역의 결함에 좀 더 초점을 맞추게 되었고, 그간 MBD 아동에서 문제가 되었던 특수 학습 장애 영역을 ADHD에서 분리시켰다. 진단명도 DSM- II의 ‘반응 reaction’에서 ‘장애 disorder’로 바뀌었다. 하지 만 과잉행동증상에 대한 중요성이 인식되지 않았고, ADD with hyperactivity(ADDH)와 ADD without hyperac- tivity(ADD)로 명명하였다. 두 아형 사이의 임상적 차이가 미미하다는 논란이 지속되었고 과잉행동이 중요한 증상군임 이 받아들여져서, 26) 1987년 DSM-III-R 에서는 두 아형에 대한 개념을 삭제하고, 오늘날 사용되고 있는 주의력결핍 과 잉행동장애(ADHD)로 진단명이 변경되었다. 1) ADD with- out hyperactivity 진단은 미분류 ADD(undifferentiated ADD)로 남았다. 1994년, 개정된 DSM-IV에서도 ADHD라는 명칭은 그대 로 쓰이고 있지만 주의력-결핍 우세형(predominantly inat- tentive type), 과잉행동-충동 우세형(predominantly hy- peractive-impulsive type), 복합형(combined type)의 3 가지 아형으로 분류되었다. 6) 2000년 개정된 DSM-IV-TR 49) 에서도 진단체계는 크게 바뀌지 않았으나, DSM-V에서는 일부 진단 기준 변화와 함께 현재 아형을 없애고 하나의 진단 으로 가는 방안과 기존의 주의력 결핍형 대신 attention de- ficit disorder(ADD) 진단을 채택하는 것을 고려하고 있다. 50) 14. ICD-10과 DSM-IV의 차이 1969년에 ICD-8에서는 주의가 산만하고 과다행동을 보 이는 아동들을 hyperkinetic reaction of childhood로 분류 하였다. 28) 이후 ICD-9에서는 hyperkinetic syndrome으 로, 51) ICD-10에서는 hyperkinetic disorder(HKD)로 분 류하였다. 52) DSM-IV와 ICD-10은 다음과 같은 차이가 있다. 53) 첫째, ICD-10은 DSM-IV보다 진단 기준의 적용을 광범위하고 강력하게 요구한다는 점이다. 둘째, ICD-10은 부주의함, 충 동성, 과활동성의 세 가지 영역을 모두 포함해야 진단할 수 있는 단일질환 개념이지만, DSM-IV에서는 주의력-결핍 우 세형(predominantly inattentive type), 과잉행동-충동 우세형(predominantly hyperactive-impulsive type), 복합형(combined type)으로 그 아형을 분류하고 있어서 위의 세 가지 영역이 모두 충족하지 않는 경우에도 진단을 붙일 수 있다. 셋째, ICD-10은 한 가지 진단만을 붙이도록 되어 있으나, DSM-IV에서는 일부 공존질환을 동시에 진단 하는 것을 허용하고 있다. 두 진단 체계간 차이로 인해 나타나는 결과는 명백한 유 병률의 차이이다. 54-56) Lee 등 53) 은 같은 환자군에서 DSM- IV와 ICD-10 기준을 적용하여 진단할 경우 HDK가 11%, A- DHD 복합형은 47.7%로 더 많이 진단된다고 하였다. HKD 는 ADHD보다 신경발달학적 손상, 학업의 문제, 인지적 장 해가 더 심한 것으로 보고되었고, 55,57) 중추신경자극제 치료 에 더 잘 반응하는 것으로 알려졌다. 58) 15. 성인 ADHD 1960년대 이후 다음과 같은 세 가지 유형의 연구보고가 늘어나면서, 아동은 물론 성인 ADHD에 대한 관심도 늘기 시작하였다. 먼저, MBD 아이들의 장기 추적 관찰에서 이 들 문제가 성인기에도 계속 된다고 보고 하였다. 59) 둘째, 과잉 행동을 보이는 아이들의 부모에 대한 연구가 진행되면서 그 들의 부모 역시 비슷한 문제가 있음을 알게 되었다. 60) 세 번 째 유형은 충동성, 공격성, 정서불안정, 우울성향 등을 보이 는 성인들에 대한 보고이다. 61) 1972년 캐나다 McGill 대학의 Virginia Douglas 교수 는 이들 아동에서 과잉행동뿐 아니라 주의력저하 문제를 제 기하였으며, 그녀의 동료인 Gabrielle Weiss는 장기 추적 연구를 통해 과잉행동증상은 나이를 먹으면서 줄어들지만 주의력문제와 충동조절 문제는 지속되며 이 증상들이 중추 신경자극제에 특히 반응이 좋다고 주장하였다. 48) 앞서 말한 것처럼 이전에는 청소년기가 되면서 점차 증세가 사라지고 성 인기에는 확실히 사라진다고 믿었던 이론에 의심을 갖게 되었 고, 점차 성인 ADHD 연구가 시작되었다. 초창기 성인기 ADHD 추적 연구는 주로 몬트리올 팀 62) 와 뉴욕 연구진 63,64) 에 의해 이루어졌다. ADHD 증세의 지속 여부에 대한 결과, 몬트리올 연구에서는 과거 ADHD 아동의 반 정도가 25세 시점에서 아동기의 증세가 지속된다고 하였 다. 62) 뉴욕 연구진의 추적 연구에서도 아동기 ADHD 진단군 이 성인기에 ADHD로 진단되는 비율이 48%였다. 63) 즉, 아동 기의 ADHD 증상이 성인기가 되어도 반 정도에서는 남아 있 었으며, 뉴욕 연구진의 또 다른 장기 추적 연구에서는 아동기 에 ADHD로 진단된 경우 성인기에 약물남용, 반사회적 성격 장애로 진단되는 경우가 대조군에 비해 유의하게 많았다. 64) ADHD가 아동기에 발병한 후 거의 반수가 청소년기를 거 쳐 성인기까지 증세가 지속된다는 보고가 늘면서 성인 ADHD 의 진단기준과 치료에 대한 관심도 늘고 있다. 2002년 미국 FDA에서 아토목세틴(atomoxetine)을 소아청소년은 물론 성인 ADHD 치료제로 승인하면서 성인 ADHD에 대한 약 물치료 폭이 넓어졌고, 65) 2003년에는 성인 ADHD의 진단과 치료 기준 마련을 위해 18개 나라의 40여명의 전문가가 참 여한 European Network Adult ADHD가 만들어지기도 하였다. 66) 주의력결핍 과잉행동장애의 역사적 고찰 - 64 - 2013년경 발표될 것으로 예상되는 DSM-V에서는 이제까 지 성인 ADHD 연구와 진료과정에서 논란이 되어 온 ‘7세 이하 발병’이라는 진단 기준을 ’12세 이하 발병’으로 바꾸고, 성인의 경우 일부 아형 진단 시 ‘진단 기준 9개 항목 중 6개 이상 만족’을 ‘3개 이상’으로 낮추는 작업이 진행되고 있다. 50) 이와 같이 아동기에 발병하는 ADHD가 성인기로 이행되는 것을 반영하는 진단 기준의 변화가 예상된다. 16. 역사 속 유명인사 중에 ADHD가 있었을까? 역사 속의 유명인 들을 분석함으로써 과거 인물에게서 ADHD의 실존 가능성을 알아볼 수도 있다. 이는 ADHD 진단과 약물치료에 반대하는 집단은 물론 ADHD 치료를 옹 호하는 쪽에서도 내세운다. 67,68) 흔히 인용되는 대표 인물 중 건축가로는 시카고를 대표하는 Frank Lloyd Wright, 예술가 중에는 Salvador Dali, Pablo Picasso, Vincent Van Gogh, 문학작품을 남긴 작가로는 Charlotte Bronte 와 Emily Bronte, Samuel Clemens, Emily Dickenson, Scott Fitzgerald, Edgar Allan Poe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Robert Frost, George Bernard Shaw, Hen- ry David Thoreau, Leo Tolstoy, Tennessee Williams, Virginia Woolf, William Butler Yeats, 천재 작곡가인 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, 위대한 사업가로는 Andrew Carnegie, Malcolm Forbes, Henry Ford, Bill Gates, David Neeleman, Paul Orfalea, Ted Turner, 탐험가 중 에는 Christopher Columbus, 발명가 중에는 Wright Bro- thers, Alexander Graham Bell, Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin, 등이 있으며, 위대한 학자인 Albert Einstein이 있다. 저명한 정치가로는 James Carville이나 John F. Kennedy를 든다. 미국의 유명한 사진작가인 Ansel Adams도 포함된다. 과거 인물은 아니지만 최근 활 동했거나 활동 중인 운동선수 중에는 Terry Bradshaw, Michael Phelps, Pete Rose, Nolan Ryan, Michael Jordan, Jason Kidd, 연예인 중에는 Ann Bancroft, Jim Carrey, Steve McQueen, Jack Nicholson, Elvis Presley, Sylvester Stallone, Robin Williams 등이 있다. 이러한 분류는 자서전과 역사적 자료를 바탕으로 개연성 을 추정하는 것이며, 학문적 근거를 바탕으로 하는 것은 아 니므로 보다 많은 체계적 평가와 분석이 필요할 것이다. 하 지만 이러한 움직임이 정신의학적 입장에서 역사 속의 유명 인물을 평가하려는 시도로 이어지기도 한다. 예를 들어 자서 전을 토대로 본 체 게바라(Che Guevara)의 어린 시절은 전 형적인 ADHD 기준에 부합하며, 그의 어머니 역시 성인 ADHD 에 해당한다. 69) 그의 성인기 기록 역시 성인 ADHD로서의 기 준에 합당하다. Fidel Castro와 같은 동료 혁명가들의 충고 에도 불구하고 아프리카와 남아메리카에서 벌인 게릴라 활 동 역시 부적절한 충동성향 때문이라는 분석이다. 17. ADHD 연구의 최신 경향 최근 ADHD의 ‘회복’에 관한 개념도 새로이 제시되고 있다. 단순히 약에 의한 증상의 소실을 치료의 목표로 보는 것이 아니라 그에 따르는 사회적, 총체적 기능의 개선이 이루어져 야 이를 관해라고 볼 수 있다는 것이다. 70) 즉, 주의력 결핍이 나 과다행동과 같은 단순한 증상으로서의 개념이 아니라, 전반적 뇌기능 장해와 그로 인한 다양한 기능의 소실로 규 정되는 개념으로 나아가고 있는 것이다. ADHD에 관한 기질적, 생물학적 연구도 진행되고 있다. ADHD 환자군의 가족력 증거에 대한 연구도 계속 늘고 있 으며, 71) 도파민 D4, D5 수용체 변이와 관련이 있다는 보고 가 있으며, 72) DBH, HTR1B, SNAP-25 등의 유전자 관련 연구도 진행되고 있다. 73) 최근 국내 연구진에 의한 연구도 활 발히 진행되고 있다. 74,75) 유전적 원인 뿐 아니라 환경 원인에 대한 연구도 보고되었는데, 소아기 시절의 납이나 PCBs의 중독과 관련이 있다는 보고 73) 이후, 출생 전 알코올 노출과 DAT1 유전자와의 연관성 77) 과 같은 환경 원인과 유전자와의 연관성에 대한 연구도 진행되고 있다. 최근 뇌영상 기술의 발달로 fMRI가 등장하면서 ADHD 환자군의 뇌 부분 활성도와 관련된 많은 연구가 진행되었다. 전전두엽, 선조체에서의 활성도 저하가 보고되었고 78,79) 선조 체에서 도파민이 피질선조체 시냅스의 시냅스 후 신경세포를 활성화시킨다는 보고도 있었다. 80) 보상관련 기전과 관련해서 는 배쪽 선조체의 활성도가 저하된다는 연구 결과가 있었다. 81) Shaw 등 82) 은 ADHD 아동과 정상아동과의 뇌 피질 성숙 도 변화를 비교한 결과를 발표하면서 질병의 중추신경계 병 리를 규명하는데 크게 일조하였다. 이와 같이 ADHD의 발병 기전과 질병 특성을 설명할 수 있는 생물학적 근거가 제시되 고 있다. 결 론 이처럼 ADHD는 오래 전부터 존재하였으나 20세기에 들 면서 임상적으로 관심을 갖게 되었고, 최근 백 여 년 동안 ‘뇌염 후 행동장애’, ‘뇌 손상 아동’, ‘MBD’, ‘아동기 과잉행동 반응’, ‘ADD’, 등 여러 가지 이름으로 불려왔다. 앞으로도 새 로운 뇌 병변 발견이나 새로운 기전의 발견 등으로 인해 진 단명이 바뀔 수도 있겠으나, 질병 개념에 차이는 변하지 않을 것이다. 향후 ADHD의 더 정확한 원인 및 치료방법에 대한 반건호·배재호·문수진·민정원 - 65 - 연구가 필요하다. 중심 단어：주의력결핍 과잉행동장애 ·역사 ·고 찰 ·메틸페니 데이트. 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The syndrome of minimal brain dysfunction in young adult patients. Bull Menninger Clin 1968;32:102-114. 62) Weiss G, Hechtman L, Milroy T. Psychiatric status of hyperac- tives as adualts: A controlled prospective 15-year follow-up of 63 hyperactive children. J Am Acad Child Psychiatry 1985;23:211- 220. 63) Mannuzza S, Klein RG, Bonagura N, Malloy P, Giampino TL, Ad- dalli KA. Hyperactive boys almost grown up: V. Replication of psychiatric status. Arch Gen Psychiatry 1991;48:77-83. 64) Mannuzza S, Klein RG, Bessler A, Malloy P, LaPadula M. Adult psychiatric status of hyperactive boys grown up. Am J Psychiatry 1998;155:493-498. 65) Faraone SV, Biederman J, Spencer T, Michelson D, Adler L, Reim- herr F, et al. Atomoxetine and stroop task performance in adult attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. J Child Adolesc Psycho- pharmacol 2005;15:664-670. 66) Kooij SJ, Bejerot S, Blackwell A, Caci H, Casas-Brugué M, Car- pentier PJ, et al. 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Molecu- lar genetic studies of ADHD: 1991 to 2004. Am J Med Genet B Neu- ropsychiatr Genet 2005;132:109?125. 73) Faraone SV, Perlis RH, Doyle AE, Smoller JW, Goralnick JJ, Hol- mgren MA, et al. Molecular genetics of attention-deficit/hyperac- tivity disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2005;57:1313-1323. 74) Song DH, Jhung K, Song J, Cheon KA. The 1287 G/A polymor- phism of the Norepinephrine Transporter gene (NET) is involved in Commission Errors in Korean children with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Behav Brain Funct 2011;13:7-12. 75) Won H, Mah W, Kim E, Kim JW, Hahm EK, Kim MH, et al. GIT1 is associated with ADHD in humans and ADHD-like behaviors in mice. Nat Med 2011;17:566-572. 76) Williams JH, Ross L. Consequences of prenatal toxin exposure for mental health in children and adolescents: a systematic review. Eur Child Adolesc Psychiatry 2007;16:243-253. 77) Brookes KJ, Mill J, Guindalini C, Curran S, Xu X, Knight J, et al. A common haplotype of the dopamine transporter gene associat- ed with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder and interacting with maternal use of alcohol during pregnancy. Arch Gen Psychi- atry 2006;63:74-81. 78) Bush G, Valera EM, Seidman LJ. Functional neuroimaging of at- tentiondeficit/hyperactivity disorder: a review and suggested fu- ture directions. Biol Psychiatry 2005;57:1273-1284. 79) Casey BJ, Nigg JT, Durston S. New potential leads in the biology and treatment of attention deficit-hyperactivity disorder. Curr Opin Neurol 2007;20:119-124. 80) Knutson B, Gibbs SE. Linking nucleus accumbens dopamine and blood oxygenation. Psychopharmacology (Berl) 2007;191:813-822. 81) Scheres A, Milham MP, Knutson B, Castellanos FX. Ventral stria- tal hyporesponsiveness during reward anticipation in attention- deficit/hyperactivity disorder. Biol Psychiatry 2007;61:720-724. 82) Shaw P, Eckstrand K, Sharp W, Blumenthal J, Lerch JP, Green- stein D, et al. 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work_f5puwq5u2ncghpoi7g4t7acd3q	----	European journal of American studies, 10-1 | 2015 European journal of American studies 10-1 | 2015 Special Issue: Women in the USA “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne Antje Dallmann Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10668 DOI: 10.4000/ejas.10668 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference Antje Dallmann, « “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne », European journal of American studies [Online], 10-1 | 2015, document 2.2, Online since 31 March 2015, connection on 01 May 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ ejas/10668 ; DOI : 10.4000/ejas.10668 This text was automatically generated on 1 May 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10668 “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne Antje Dallmann 1 The so-called Sea Islands are located off the shore of Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina – a part of the South infamous for cotton farms worked by eleven thousand slaves (cf. Rose, Rehearsal 8). On 7 November 1861, the South Carolina Sea Islands were occupied by Army and Navy troops as part of a broader successful campaign to secure a Union sea access. While white planters fled inland to unoccupied mainland cities such as Charleston, the majority of former slaves remained on the islands, destitute and often starving, not technically free but declared “contraband of war.”1 2 In reaction, benevolent societies were founded by abolitionists in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia in early 1862 for a project that was to become known as the “Port Royal Experiment.”2 On 3 March 1862, a first all-white group of relief workers from Boston and New York got on board the steamship Atlantic, en route to Port Royal; another ship, the Oriental, set sail on 9 April 1862. The prospective “missionaries” envisioned their task in terms of educating former slaves and of organizing free labor to be “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 1 performed by African American contract workers (cf. Faulkner “Chap. 1”).They were informed by a widely publicized narrative of early emancipation on the Sea Islands, which aimed to prove the profitability of wage labor in the South by highlighting the role of freed African Americans as self-sufficient contract laborers and which reacted to Northern fears of the emancipation of slaves. While giving a positive interpretation of the Sea Island’s “rehearsal for reconstruction” (Rose), this narrative is also an expression of the racialized and status-conscious character of a discourse that increasingly offered the prospect of “free labor” as patent remedy for what was perceived as the lurking threat of African Americans’ dependency on the North. 3 Historian Margaret Geneva Long shows that abolitionist discourse draws a powerful link between wage labor and freedpeople’s health: Free labor was represented as killing disease – both in a symbolic and in a literal sense (cf. “Chap. 2”). While the concepts of “cleanliness” and “industry” emerge as cornerstones of these discourses of health, the poor character of healthcare available for freedpeople, reversely, is hardly ever acknowledged. When relief workers, however, eventually arrived in the South, Long continues, “they found that without public health measures, adequate food and clothing and basic medicines, no other forms of uplift were possible. Sickness and its causes – malnutrition and inadequate clothing and shelter – were a central concern of all the aid workers who went south” (“Chap. 2”). Northern women, in fact, contributed in crucial ways to offering this much-needed medical care and relief, even if they hardly ever discuss their contributions openly in autobiographic narratives. 4 In this article, I shall look closely at the diary and letters of abolitionist Laura M. Towne, a trained homeopath who came to the Sea Islands in early 1862, who subsequently co- founded one of the first schools for former slaves in the South on St. Helena Island, the Penn School, and who worked on this island for the rest of her life, the ensuing forty years. Her writings convey an idea of the scale of illness and suffering on the Sea Islands during and shortly after the Civil War. At the same time, they offer insights both in the restrictions and the discursive valences open to Towne as a white woman who provided medical relief for freed African Americans. Furthermore, Towne’s diary and “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 2 letters indicate what the discourse of early emancipation omits: a coherent discussion of how diseases raged in a wartime South where healthcare for freedpeople virtually did not exist. 5 After a historical contextualization, this article re-visits two discursive sites through which questions of health and healthcare were renegotiated and which are also central in Towne’s writing: the trope of teaching health within unhealthy spaces and the trope of “doctoring” family with its relation to homeopathy. Discussions concerning the health of freedpeople were put into the broader discursive context of an internal colonial encounter of domestication between Northern female “missionaries” and freedpeople who were portrayed as yet uncivilized other. Health and disease, thus, were represented as part of a “natural” field of female influence. Towne’s training as homeopath, in this context, is used as indication of her superior grasp of healing techniques vis-à-vis fellow-missionaries as well as freedpeople and as sign of a more suitable, more domestic medical practice as compared to allopathic medicine. References to wartime medical crises are rare in Towne’s accounts since their complicated causes and disastrous results defy easy metaphoric appropriation. In both what is narrated and what is omitted, healing and health are shaped as fields of female authority. In this sense, medicine and healing emerge as discursive sites of a class-specific, gendered, and racialized struggle over prestige, power, and authority within the public realm. 1 Civil War Healthcare and Female Commitment 6 Medical care during the Civil War depended on the service of female relief workers and nurses. Over the last twenty years, historians have revised the Civil War narrative by looking closely at the role women played, both in the Union and in the Confederacy; and providing healthcare for sick and wounded soldiers has been identified as an important field of female engagement. “Almost from the war’s inception,” Nina Silber writes in her influential Daughters of the Union, “Northern women began considering, and pursuing, the possibility of joining the Union struggle as nurses” (195). 7 The United States Sanitary Commission, with its aim to provide adequate nursing for Civil War soldiers, was “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 3 founded in 1861 following an initiative of the Women's Central Relief Association. While nursing was not institutionalized in the Confederacy, women still played an important and active part in it, as Drew Gilpin Faust has shown. According to Jane E. Schultz, “[m]ore than 20,000 women in the Union and Confederate states engaged in relief work during the Civil War” (2). 8 In Women at the Front, Schultz looks “at hospital work across regions, races, and classes, […] foregrounding differences between women and restoring agency in those whose voices did not rise above the pitch of traditional source narratives” (2). Schultz points out that Civil War nursing has mostly been considered as performed by white middle- to upper-class women on an unsalaried, voluntary basis. Schultz, in contrast, points out the diversity of backgrounds from which female relief workers emerged. 9 Diaries and letters as available sources, however, are mostly authored by middle- to upper-class women. These documents convey nursing in a sentimentalized fashion with emphasis on a set of hospital practices such as feeding the sick, washing the wounded, and comforting the dying. References to more independent medical work are unusual. The formulaic nature of such narratives deserves further consideration. In light of substantial cultural resistance toward female wartime nursing – in a world in which Army nurses were traditionally male convalescent soldiers – to represent military nursing as female-connoted should be considered part of a skillful (white, elite) female intervention into a discourse of power, laying out deep- going transformations of gendered realms of influence in the guise of a traditional rhetoric of separate spheres. In this sense, the rhetoric of the necessity of female nursing, arguably, did tie in with an antebellum feminist agenda of female participation in the public sphere, of equal citizenship, and with a plea to open arenas for women to enter professions such as medicine that found its expression in the small yet rising numbers of female medical students in antebellum North America.3 10 Wartime nursing is often discussed as categorically different from women’s salaried work as physicians, yet the example of women like Towne complicates this conception. It is true that the Civil War necessitated a broad, but only temporary access for women to the public sphere (cf. Reverby; Group and Roberts). While the voluntary and “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 4 temporary nature of female wartime engagement allowed framing this work as socially appropriate for middle- to upper-class women, these women did in reality often draw a salary. At the same time, a relevant portion of those few women who had received a medical education prior to the war did join the war efforts, if nominally as nurses or as teachers since finding official appointment as physicians was in most cases impossible. Trained female physicians, both with and without degrees, found ways to serve as medical relief workers, even if they had to understate their medical education (cf. Bellafaire and Graf 7-21).4 11 The function of nursing narratives in addressing the hospital experience of white middle- to upper-class nurses and the nursing of (white) wounded soldiers has productively been discussed in a variety of sources (see, for instance, Schultz). Cultural studies scholars, as Elizabeth Young, emphasize the symbolical and cultural work of the trope of nursing within nineteenth-century gendered social hierarchies. Yet while the nursing of wounded soldiers, as reality and as literary trope, looms large within the Civil War cultural imaginary and is central to any investigation of the commitment of women during the war, there is comparatively little research on women’s roles in providing general healthcare during the war, particularly healthcare for freedpeople in the South, that also considers questions of this healthcare’s discursive representation and its symbolic impact. This is also due to the fact that healthcare for freedpeople and, reversely, freedpeople’s health are questions only rarely discussed in pertinent contemporary sources. 12 The isolated Port Royal Experiment, broadly documented at the time as shaped by women, emerges in this context as an important, and yet too little examined, historical site. The abundance of sources that address the events on the Sea Islands allows not only for insights into a turbulent historical period: these different sources also illustrate the emergence of a discourse that, while suppressing references to a factual lack of organized healthcare, racialize freedpeople’s health as a function of wage labor and domestic discipline. 13 Only recently have questions concerning the character of healthcare provided for freedpeople during and directly after the Civil War started to attract focused scholarly attention. Next to Long’s Doctoring Freedom, two further “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 5 publications examine Civil War medicine with an emphasis on the role and situation of African Americans as patients and healers, a subject that so far had been largely ignored. In Intensely Human, Humphreys discusses the quality of medical care provided for African American soldiers during the war. In Sick from Freedom, Downs argues for a critical re-evaluation of the freedpeople’s medical situation and of the symbolic appropriation of their suffering, since this appropriation distorts the view on the inadequacy of care provided and, in some cases, perpetuates an inherently racist nineteenth-century agenda that focused on the “contraband” as commodified and objectified icon and instrument within a capitalist reconstruction of the South. 2 The Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne 14 Looking at healing and healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment, at racialized symbolizations of illness and health, and at the ambivalent role of white middle- and upper-class Northern women as medical caregivers, I propose to “read” the omission of the medical crisis Downs describes as indicative also of a crisis of representation in negotiations of contemporary white women’s roles, obligations, aspirations, and their assumed entitlement. I suggest complicating the discussion of white women as agents of relief and of medical care during the Civil War by reading autobiographic texts, as Towne’s, as representative of a wartime discourse that based – in a selective, romanticizing, and formulaic manner – a re-negotiation of female status and (white elite or middle-class) women’s role in contemporary North American society on an authority gained from a field of healthcare that is discursively shaped to mirror the domestic sphere. 15 In this context, the Port Royal Experiment is of particular interest for several reasons. First, it anticipates how questions of healthcare for freedpeople were approached in the reconstructed South. Second, women, who could only travel to the wartime Sea Islands in the capacity of teachers, were expected to provide basic medical care for the freedpeople once they arrived there.5 In their autobiographic accounts, female relief workers like Towne and Esther Hill Hawks as well as Elizabeth H. Botume, Austa M. French, Susan Walker, and African American “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 6 Charlotte Forten all reference healthcare as a subject of their concern, even if they only give very few details of their medical relief work. Third, of the few trained female physicians who are known to have served in different capacities during the Civil War, two found their way to the South Carolina Sea Islands: Hawks and Towne.6 Both women left behind diaries and letters, which further singles them out.7 Several studies have discussed Hawks’s contribution both to wartime healthcare and to its discursive transformation (cf. Humphreys Marrow; Long; Schultz; Twelbeck). Towne’s efforts as teacher, educator, and administrator, likewise, have found ample consideration (cf. Butchart; Faulkner), yet her medical work remains largely ignored. In the following, I shall attempt to shed light on Towne’s individual role and on her situatedness within a broader discourse of wartime healthcare, trying to draw a balanced picture both of her achievements and of the limitations set by her embededness in a dominant system of white social privilege. 16 The fourth child of seven of John Towne and Sarah Robinson Towne, Laura Matilda Towne was born in 1825 into a prominent and wealthy abolitionist family. Her father was a successful businessman, at one time the superintendent of the Boston city gas works (cf. Butchart). After having received what historian Ronald E. Butchart calls an “advanced education in the classics, philosophy, science, and music” (17), Laura Towne was educated at the Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, a progressive allopathic institution, which was opened in 1850 as the second female medical college in the United States. Additionally, she studied independently with German-born physician Constantine Hering, one of the pioneers of homeopathy in the US, probably also enrolling in his short-lived Penn Medical University. It is unclear, Jonathan Davidson notes, whether or not she graduated from either of these institutions (26). 17 In the 1850s, Towne taught various charity schools in the North (cf. Rose, “Laura Matilda Towne” 472). At the outbreak of the Civil War, already engaged in relief work, she was presented with what, according to Rupert Sargent Holland, who edited and published her diary and letters, she thought of as “her golden opportunity”: the chance to join the Port Royal Experiment. Commissioned by the Philadelphia-based Port Royal Relief Committee, she “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 7 accompanied this organization’s first shipment of goods to the Sea Islands (cf. Holland; Butchart 16).8 On her list “Port Royalists who sailed from New York of the ‘Oriental’ Wed. Apr. 9 1862,” Towne describes herself in very few words as “Laura M. Towne, Philadelphia, Abolitionist.” 18 Towne’s self-description conveys the significance she rightly saw in her abolitionist agenda, which was not shared by other Northern officials who, for instance as cotton agents, had been sent to the islands in late 1861. In some ways, however, her self-definition also indicates Towne’s uncertainty of her own “mission”: an uneasiness that was confirmed to be justified once she arrived on St. Helena Island. On Pope’s Plantation, which remained to be named after its former owner, she found accommodation together with several other “missionaries.” It soon became her duty to order the household for the men who worked as superintendents and supervisors on the island’s plantations, a task she was to share with fellow-relief worker Susan Walker, who – as Towne – was less than enthusiastic.9 For the first weeks on the island, the contact Towne made with freedpeople was mostly by handing out, and later selling, clothes that had been donated in the North. This was a time overshadowed by rivalries and controversies between the members of the different relief organizations over the character of relief to be offered to the freedpeople, but also over the gendered hierarchies among the Northern relief workers themselves. 19 In spring 1862, Towne’s friend and partner Ellen Murray, a trained teacher, came to St. Helena Island. Murray’s arrival allowed Towne to re-order the balance of power in relation to other “missionaries” and to redistribute tasks. While Murray took over teaching, Towne commenced “doctoring” the freedpeople, a duty that she describes as important and that she connotes with the attributes of scientific authority and knowledge, which were increasingly associated with modern medicine (including homeopathy) in mid-nineteenth-century America. At the same time, Towne inscribes herself into the discourse of domesticity as realm of female authority by emphasizing her own superior understanding of domestic principles such as cleanliness and industry, which she intricately intertwines with her claim of medical authority: a conjunction that becomes particular distinct in her self-projection as “family doctor.” “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 8 20 In her first months and years on the Sea Islands, Towne seized the power to change social realities that the professional roles of physician and teacher offer in order also to gain more authority in a male-dominated wartime and postwar society. Towne’s diaries and letters bespeak her belief in her superior competence vis-à-vis her African American co-workers, patients, and students. At the same time, they document that white male contemporaries were not always taking her efforts, and those of her female fellow-relief workers, seriously: an attitude to which her self-dramatization as female doctor also reacted. Increasingly, however, reality came in the way of pre- scripted roles, leading to both dissatisfaction with the duties of a female “family doctor” and to her strategy of omitting in her diaristic accounts, accounts she probably intended for publication or at least circulation in the North, what collided with contemporary social scripts available for white women, female doctors, and abolitionists. 3 “Putting th[e] lesson to use”: Teaching “Cleanliness” and “Order" 21 By initially framing her diary and letters within scripts of imperial domesticity (cf. Kaplan) – as missionary, teacher, and medical caregiver, and as motherly figure for the freedpeople – Towne, the trained homeopath, not only aims to escape the prevailing negative connotation of a “hen doctor.” By narrating her experiences through tropes of domesticity, discursively claiming freedpeople as “family” and depicting them as children in need of education (rather than medical care), she also secures for herself a position of supreme narrative authority, an authority warranted by both experience and education within a discourse of internal US American colonialism. 22 A host of narratives by Sea Islands relief workers, including Towne’s, demonstrates the ubiquity of a formula reminiscent of narratives of colonial encounter that represent “native spaces [as] potentially dangerous, disease ridden and disorderly” (Kothari 163). Northerners frame their accounts of the Port Royal Experiment by pathologizing the South as exotic space and simultaneously spatializing and racializing disease. Both diseases and colonial spaces, at the same time, are imagined to be conquered by order, industry, and cleanliness. In this way, “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 9 disciplining Southern spaces, and African Americans who are symbolically tied to them, Northern relief workers claim a superior position within a discourse of “teaching health.” 23 The conceptionalization of what became known as tropical diseases overlapped with contemporary racist pseudo-scientific polygenic theories, which claimed that newly categorized “races” were unequally prone to be affected by specific diseases. In the following section, the analysis will focus on the appropriation and dramatization of narratives of (internal) colonialism. Discussions of health and disease, in this context, are figuratively and literally linked to the United States South while the process of othering African Americans revolves around questions of spatialized and racialized health and disease. 24 In medical texts of the first half of the nineteenth century, the United States South is increasingly conceptualized as “tropical space” (cf. Murison 32). Particularly hypochondria and malingering, characterized by somatic symptoms such as dyspepsia as well as by laziness, were not only related to Southern climates, but were symbolically and literally linked to slavery. Justine S. Murison succinctly argues that, since “slavery connected the United States South with the West Indies, physicians and writers often superimposed the supposed nervous effects of tropical climates onto the more temperate environments of the southern states” (31). Northerners, in this discourse, are not affected by hypochondria, as slaves and slaveholders alike are, since they are saved by domestic industry and cleanliness. 25 The predominant explanation of “Southern” perils was that of “bad air” in relation to an excess of stagnant water or, conversely, a lack of water: the miasma that still served as main theory of disease in contemporary orthodox medicine.10 Even though not expressed explicitly in most autobiographic texts, the relation between the Sea Islands as precarious tropical space and the description of miasms is related to a racialization of the dangers these latter pose. “[E]ncod[ing] the landscape of health in racial terms,” Kathryn Shiveley Meier argues, “Civil War medicine believed miasms caused by water to be dangerous to ‘whites,’ yet harmless to African Americans” (20). In a related vein, in Slavery in South Carolina and the Ex-Slaves (1862), Austa M. French describes the Sea Islands in a way similar to the tropical spaces of travel writing, musing “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 10 about the differing susceptibilities of African Americans and “whites” to be affected by those spaces’ harmful properties: “The sun is life to him [“the Negro”] which is death to the White man. ‘The whole secret of health here,’ said a learned military officer long acclimated, South, ‘is to keep out of the sun. Do that on the healthy shores, and the evening air is innoxious” (308). Thus, French, a staunch abolitionist like her husband, famous reverend Mansfield French, takes contemporary racializing theories of disease for granted. 26 The general tone adopted in discussions of the South as tropical space, however, is one of eventual mastery over adversities. While places are “healthy” or “precarious,” they are presented as posing fewer dangers to the Northerners than to Southern “whites” and to former slaves. Shortly after her arrival on Pope’s Plantation on St. Helena Island, Towne in fact notes that she knows “from the accounts of the negroes that this plantation is a healthy one. Salt water nearly encircles it at high tide” (“Pope’s Plantation, St. Helena Island, April 21, 1862”). Here and in later diary entries and letters, she underscores that she is not in danger of infection.In the exploration of first impressions, which directly follows the “medical” examination of Towne’s place of arrival, it is striking how closely she follows the script of travel writing with its inherent colonizing agenda. “On the left are pines, in front a cotton-field just planted, to the right the negro quarters, a nice little street of huts which have recently been whitewashed, shaded by a row of the ‘Pride of China’ trees,” Towne continues. These trees are just in bloom and have very large clusters of purple flowers – a little like lilacs, only much more scattering. There is a vegetable garden also to the right and plenty of fig trees, one or two orange trees, but no other fruit. We have green peas, though, and I have had strawberries. (“Pope’s Plantation, St. Helena Island, April 21, 1862”; my emphasis) 27 In this passage, the text’s autobiographic persona adopts the narrative position of a supreme observer, thus investing in a visual economy of power not unlike Foucault’s panopticon (cf. Spurr 16), adopting a medical gaze that catalogues her surroundings into categories of health and potential danger. The narrator’s roaming, distanced, and superior gaze meets an inviting yet exotic place that is, at first, examined. It is visually appropriated and endorsed; its riches are claimed as the author’s property. Only then are the island’s inhabitants, the actual cause for Towne’s journey, introduced: “The number of the little darkies tumbling about at all hours is marvelous. They swarm on “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 11 the front porch and in the front hall” (“Pope’s Plantation, St. Helena Island, April 21, 1862”).11 28 The autobiographic narrative’s “we” of the earlier quote encompasses the Northern newcomers on the island whose arrival is thus narrated as a tale of first explorers who take in and appropriate the beauty and health of a foreign place, to eventually meet the yet uncivilized, slightly threatening natives. Instead of framing her story in the context of African American emancipation, Towne’s entry exoticizes and others the Southern place, St. Helena Island, and links it to the former who are presented as unruly, yet affectionate, and healthy children in need of an ordering parental hand. Even without using the term whose problematic ambivalence abolitionist relief workers were aware of, Towne references the character of the “contraband” who, according to Long, was fast becoming an “icon in [wartime] American culture” (“Chap. 2”). 29 “[C]ontraband,” Kate Masur argues, is “a ‘keyword’ in the history of emancipation, race, and citizenship in the United States” (1052). In wartime America, the term was used ambiguously, also referencing its more general meaning of an “illegal good.” The term thus continued to represent African Americans as objects rather than as individuals. “[T]here is every indication that the term ‘contraband’ caught on rapidly precisely because it provided a means for Northerners to continue thinking of escaped slaves as property, without disturbing antebellum racists preconceptions,” Fahs contends (152). 30 The cultural icon of the “contraband” is characterized by its simple and loyal goodwill as well as its robust and healthy constitution. “Contrabands” are depicted, in wartime culture, as happy and healthy when set to work, and the threat posed to their health is constituted by idleness and lack of order. This trope of idleness is repeatedly evoked in Towne’s writing, as in the description of a destitute African American family she encounters, and it is linked to health and disease: “In the quarters we [...] went to,” Towne reminisces, “we saw a dirty family and two horribly ugly old women. They had got a lesson from some one and said, ‘We got to keep clean or we’ll all be sick.’ They were not putting their lesson to use” (“Beaufort, S.C., April 17, 1862”). “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 12 31 This trope of idleness as related to health, in fact, structures Towne’s understanding of the freedpeople she encounters, putting a – both figurative and literal – medical reading into place. Another important discursive trope is that of cleanliness versus uncleanliness. As Towne’s exchange with destitute freedpeople in Beaufort indicates, she equally links uncleanliness to concepts of disease and illness. In this sense, Towne, upon her arrival, frames her duties on St. Helena Island as a work of imposing order and enforcing discipline by teaching cleanliness, purity, and health, thus racializing disease and constructing it as direct result of (what she perceives as) disorder. 32 The trope of cleanliness versus uncleanliness is spatialized and related to the medical concept of the miasma, as Towne’s autobiographic writing indicates. This, importantly, aligns the Southern spaces described by abolitionist relief workers with another site of contemporary concern: the urban slum. Peter Stallybrass and Allon White have argued that the nineteenth-century city is discursively constructed around the concepts of filth and cleanliness, purity and impurity, and the fear of the transgression of these binaries (cf. 136). The discursive link between the (Northern) city and the (pseudo-tropical) Southern space directs attention to the social underpinnings of the trope of cleanliness. Referencing Stallybrass and White, Steve Pile describes the discourse of uncleanliness as part of a “bourgeois Imaginary [that] saw the ‘lower’ classes as ignoring the moral codes necessary for respectability” (179) and as related to the bourgeois fear of the social other. 33 The recurrent reference to uncleanliness in the autobiographic writings by Northern relief workers in the South, thus, transfers to the South a social hierarchy in which freedpeople are approximated with the social low- Other, as in Towne’s diary. At the same time, these categorizations of social class distinctly intersect with preconceptions of race. The evocation of the concepts of cleanliness versus uncleanliness, furthermore, also functions as assertion of Towne’s own whiteness and her own social status, and thus as authorization of a superior position within a powerful symbolic economy that connotes whiteness with both health, diligence, and industry, and that privileges this whiteness as crucial sign of authority. In this sense, “[n]eatness and hygiene,” as Bridged T. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 13 Heneghan argues, “developed […] in part as a response to [the] demand for racial purity, requiring visible spotlessness for the conferring of legal privilege’s and social status” (133). Towne’s narrative construction of a causal relation between purity and cleanliness, moral values, health, and spaces of discipline, in fact, mirrors nineteenth-century health debates that imagined disease as characteristic of colonial spaces as well as the urban slum. In this context, health is supposed to result from discipline imposed on the racialized and social other. Accepting order, thus, is the recipe for health that Towne writes out for the former slaves she encounters upon her arrival on the Sea Islands and whom she exoticizes and represents following the emerging formula of the childlike, simple “contraband” who needs to be disciplined to work in order to remain healthy. Increasingly, however, Towne became aware of the necessity of actual “doctoring” on the islands, and she begins to dramatize herself as a “family doctor.” 4 Doctoring “our people”: Healing Family 34 Together with the overwhelming majority of its white population, physicians had fled from Beaufort and the Sea Islands in November 1861. While white Southern physicians resumed practicing medicine after the war, no healthcare structures survived in the Southern territories during Union occupation. While the island’s population was growing dramatically, slave communities, on whose intimate knowledge on the part of the healer African American conjure as a form of alternative medicine relied, were disrupted as a consequence of war. Interrogated by the American Freedmen’s Inquiry Commission in Beaufort in 1863, freedman Harry McMillan stated that there are hardly enough (Western white) physicians on the Sea Islands, also intimating a lack of interest in the health of freedpeople in the few physicians who were available: “I do not think there are doctors enough; the islands are very large. If you send for the doctor, he will come; probably if you send for him one day you will see him a day or two afterwards. They do not get out of bed to go when called” (Berlin 254). 35 In narratives of Northern work on the Sea Islands, the provision of medical relief is often identified as one of the female relief workers’ tasks once they arrived, even if those “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 14 women were officially sent to the South as teachers. Towne soon started to frame her work on the Sea Islands in this way, pointing out that she does “a lot of doctoring,” yet without detailing her tasks, her experiences, her successes, and her failures. “In the afternoons,” Towne states in 1862, “so many folks come for clothing, or on business, or to be doctored, that I rarely have an hour” (“St. Helena Island, July 17, 1862”). In a diary entry from 26 August 1862, Towne describes her daily routines as follows: I get up about six and hurry down so as to have breakfast by seven for Captain Hooper […]. After that I generally have three or four patients, feed my birds, and am ready by nine for driving out to see my patients on five plantations – only one plantation or two a day, though. The roads are horrible and the horses ditto, so I have a weary time getting along […]. We come hurrying home by two o’clock or a little before […]. We snatch a lunch and begin school. [...] At four, school is out for the children. Ellen then takes the adults while I go doctoring down to the “nigger houses,” or street of cabins. [...] I generally have several patients to attend to in the evening, and the rest of the time Ellen and I are kept busy folding papers for the medicines. (“St. Helena’s, August 26, 1862”) 36 “I have a large practice as doctor” (“St. Helena’s, May 5, 1862”), Towne states on 5 May 1862, and five days later: “The day I kept school for Miss Winsor I had the hardest time of all, and I concluded perhaps I was better for this work than teaching. In my doctoring I can do much good and give much advice that is wanted” (“St. Helena’s, May 11, 1862”). While Towne, upon her arrival on the Sea Islands, had adopted a discourse that had promoted health through teaching order and cleanliness, she soon started to fill the position of a doctor for the freedpeople. Towne, in fact, was one of the very few healers on St. Helena Island. 37 Only in two cases, however, does Towne discuss her medical duties in relative detail. On the one hand, “Aunt Bess,” an elderly African American woman with chronic leg ulcers, is mentioned repeatedly. Even though Towne is unable to cure Bess, as most practitioners of her time would have been, her illness – a widespread condition in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries – fits well into Towne’s self-dramatization as faithful female family doctor. “We have got to calling them our people and loving them really,” Towne accordingly states in 1862 (“St. Helena’s, May 13, 1862”), claiming the Sea Islands’ freedpeople as “family.” 38 The other type of cases Towne refers to are related to obstetrics and to pediatric medicine. “We had the prettiest baby born here the other day,” Towne writes in July 1862. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 15 And in 1878, when she has already been complaining of her duties as doctor for years, she notes: If you had seen the three little skeleton babies that were brought to me to-day, and if you had heard one poor mother, whose baby seemed dying, say, “Me een-a-pray day and night for you to come and save my baby,” [...]. I think that baby will die before the woman can get it home, but the other two I have some hope of, now that the mothers have advice and medicine. (“September 22, 1878”) 39 While Towne thus depicts her work as doctoring women and “family,” she otherwise does not elaborate on the cases she treats, and she does not discuss the general state of healthcare on the islands. She does not even acknowledge that she treats her fellow relief workers, a fact substantiated, however, by Charlotte Forten who writes on 19 January 1863: “Miss T[owne] came to see me and did me good, as usual with her good medicines and her sunshiny face” (Grimké 438). 40 Increasingly, however, Towne complains about the physical strain that the work as medical doctor creates, also admitting to not visiting her patients regularly. Towne’s enthusiasm for “doctoring,” in fact, distinctly declines over the years. In 1864, she writes: “I am not afraid of being sick myself, but of having to nurse and doctor those who are” (“Aunt Rachel’s Village, St. Helena, February 7, 1864”). In 1867, when Towne still has a “regular doctoring levee in [her] school-room,” she asks Hering, her former mentor, to send a medical graduate. “If I could only escape from this part of my work here I should be very glad, for I do it badly and very inefficiently. I never visit, so you may know how uncertainly I must generally prescribe for all who are not able to come to me” (“March 3, 1867”).12 41 Arguably, complex reasons let to Towne’s growing disaffection with practicing medicine, or perhaps simply with discussing her practice in her diary and letters. Dominant discourse prescribed avoiding mention of freedpeople’s health in the writing she intended to make public. But refugee freedpeople were those who were most affected by serious diseases, including smallpox, and who were in dire need of medical help and relief, which Towne could only inadequately provide for lack of supplies, because of contemporary medicine’s general incapacity of effectively treating epidemic diseases, but probably also because she herself was not trained for such emergencies. Her experiences, thus, pointed out the shortcomings of a discourse that equaled health with order, cleanliness, and “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 16 wage labor and blanked out the status quo of a lack of healthcare. 42 Thus, Towne refers to her medical duties if they comply with a more general understanding of the tasks of a woman healing family, quite in line with the role of “women doctors” that Sarah Josepha Hale, the famous editor of Godey’s Ladys’ Book, had envisioned in her 1852 “Appeal to the American Christians on Behalf of the Ladies’ Medical Missionary Society,” in which she claimed the necessity of female physicians particularly in missionary projects. In her work on the Sea Islands, Towne must increasingly have understood the impossibility of doing “lots of doctoring” and relating her work according to the scripts of the contemporary white (medical) culture. Her letters and diary, however, do give indications of how the subject of healthcare for freedpeople increasingly became racialized and effaced, even in the writings of abolitionists like Towne herself who, after all, argued that these freedpeople should be treated like family, but, as she continued, “not so much individually as the collective whole – the people and our people” (“St. Helena’s, May 13, 1862”). 5 “[A]ntidotes from my little doctor’s box”: Gender, Medical Prestige, and Homeopathy 43 It is no coincidence that Towne had received a training in homeopathic medicine. Mid-nineteenth-century Philadelphia, in fact, was a stronghold of homeopathic teaching in the US. In the 1840s, Towne’s mentor Hering devised the so-called Homoeopathic Domestic Kit, a box that contained a set of labelled drugs together with a copy of his popular book, The Domestic Physician. The domestic kit, to be sold particularly to women to treat their family members and avoid calling in expensive and little-trusted allopathic doctors, became an outstanding success (cf. Kirschmann 34). At a time when orthodox medicine still had few effective drugs and cures to offer and many orthodox physicians still relied on the use of aggressive and dangerous “heroic medicine,” the success of homeopathy, also by addressing women who did traditionally nurse family members, was simply logical. Feminist activist Elizabeth Cady Stanton embraced homeopathy because it allowed women to escape “the cruel bondage of mind and suffering of body […] by tak[ing] the liberty of being [their] “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 17 own physician of both body and soul” (qtd. in Kirschmann 29). An impressive number of prominent contemporaries, furthermore, from Harriet Beecher Stowe to Louisa May Alcott Mark Twain, William James, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, to Henry David Thoreau, likewise proclaimed their belief in homeopathic medicine (cf. Ullman 26). 44 Homeopathy, in fact, was linked to “various antebellum reform impulses,” as Anne Taylor Kirschman asserts (30), which translated into a greater willingness within homeopathy as a movement to allow women to enter medical schools and to practice homeopathic medicine, both as lay practitioners as Stanton and as graduate doctors. In the context of the relative openness of homeopathy toward lay practitioners, furthermore, Towne’s willingness to “doctor” freedpeople as extended family is consistent. 45 Actual references to homeopathy in Towne’s writing are scant, yet telling. Thus, Towne writes that, should she fall ill, she wishes to be treated by “Lieutenant Belcher […], a stanch homoeopathist,” and continues: “we have promised to doctor each other should occasion require” (“Sunday, May 4, 1862”). An episode from July 1862 demonstrates that her botanical knowledge was limited, contrary to her assumed air of wisdom, but that her “little doctor’s box,” presumably a domestic kit, was at hand: I gave Ellen and Mr. Wells each a berry which I supposed was a “ground berry.” Mr. W. ate his in silence, but Ellen exclaimed that it was intensely bitter. I was alarmed, for I knew that the berry belonged to a poisonous family. We asked some people whether they were good to eat, and they said “No – poison.” I then made the two victims hurry back to Mr. Jenkins’ house and drink some strong coffee, besides giving antidotes from my little doctor’s box. No bad effects. (“July 20, Sunday”) 46 In Gullah Culture in America, Willbur Cross contends that Towne “quickly acquainted herself […] with the Gullah folk medicine that had been brought to the Sea Islands from West Africa and the uses of plants, roots, and herbs to cure or alleviate maladies” (125). While these medical practices would, in fact, not have been genuinely akin to homeopathy, other alternative medical schools, most importantly Thomsonianism with its immensely popular self-help movement as well as eclectic medicine, propagated the use of medicinal herbs and botanical remedies. If Cross’s argument is correct, however, there is no further indication of Towne’s interest in the curative qualities of local herbs and in the methods of Gullah folk medicine in her writing. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 18 47 The above episode in fact indicates, or at least claims, that this knowledge was negligible and that Towne did not take African American folk medicine seriously. “Maum Katie,” whose respectful African American title indicates that she served as healer and midwife in her community, is referred to in Towne’s writing as “spiritual healer,” “fortune teller,” and “prophetess,” underscoring Towne’s own authority rather than acknowledging the African American woman’s expertise, which is presented as inferior. Praising “Maum Katie,” furthermore, is of a tactical nature: “I am going to cultivate her acquaintance. I have been sending her medicine for a year nearly, and she ‘hangs upon top me,’ refusing all medicine but mine” (“Sunday, May 4, 1862”). Thus, Towne establishes a hierarchy of female authority, in which she herself holds a position of superior status. “Dr. Jacob,” another African American healer, is treated far less respectfully in Towne’s writing. “He is a man who has poisoned enough people with his herbs and roots, and magic,” Towne argues, “for his chief remedy with drugs is spells and incantations” (“February 15, 1874”). This hostility particularly toward male healers is provoked in no small part by the influence conjure doctors enjoyed in African American communities. 48 Increasingly over the years of “doctoring,” Towne complains about what she perceives as lack of discipline on the part of African American patients. If Towne’s writing parallels teaching and healing, both techniques of imposing discipline, she interpreted freedpeople’s resistance to this discourse as proof of an irreformable understanding of hygiene and cleanliness. This resistance seemingly validated racialized theories of disease, and particularly blamed women – whose task was believed to internalize order and to enforce cleanliness. “I am nearly ill too,” Towne writes in 1864. Every evening I fold powders and every afternoon I take my way down street and stop at every house, giving medicine at the door, but lately not going in as I used to, for they keep their rooms so dark I cannot see the patients, and if I order a window opened, I find it nailed up the next time I come. The people are beginning to follow a practice which I dislike. They will wash the patients with strong pokeroot, and vinegar and salt. (“January 7”) 49 The “practice” Towne rejects, however, was part of a folk remedy against smallpox, freedpeople’s only resort in the absence of organized healthcare and the official refusal to address what increasingly became a medical crisis.13 Downs explains that “[w]ithout vaccination, many people relied on “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 19 homeopathic [and alternative] remedies to ward off the virus. From covering the body with tar to isolating afflicted family members to a remote location, freedpeople devised ways to prevent the virus from spreading within their community” (“The Other Side…” 91).14 Towne – an alternative practitioner herself – refuses to acknowledge the effectiveness of other alternative medical treatments and medicines, placing homeopathy symbolically in strategic positions alongside or against orthodox medicine as necessary in different discursive contexts. 50 Towne’s self-presentation as homeopath and “family doctor” and her refusal to acknowledge folk medicine and folk medical practices, thus, should be read within the symbolic register of an appropriation of cultural authority through the assumption of the role of a trained physician. It mirrors the difficulties white women experienced and the possibilities they had to gain ground within a gendered and raced struggle for more influence in the public realm. Denied access to most orthodox medical schools, homeopathy – with its developing affinity to family practice – made it easier for women to gain professional knowledge, which they rightly considered necessary to exercise a broader social influence. Homeopathy was welcomed in nineteenth-century intellectual circles, and homeopaths thus held prestigious positions to contribute to a reform- oriented discourse. At the same time, homeopathy was a school tailored to the sensibilities of the contemporary intellectual elite of particularly white middle- to upper- classes. Thus if, according to contemporary critics, Thomsonianism constituted the “radicalism of the barnyard,” homeopathy was the “quackery of the drawing- room” (cf. Whorton 68), even if – at the time – the scientific connotations of allopathic versus homeopathic medicine were still in no way firmly in place and the respective scientificity of the schools was still very much embattled. If the term “modern medicine” was already used, it was attributed to both fractions. In this sense, Towne’s references to doctoring with the homeopath’s “doctor’s box,” as well as her neglect of discussing local folk medicine, bespeak more than simply medical practices of the day: they encode a struggle for authority and prestige that Towne, as a white woman, articulated against the backdrop of a white male establishment, symbolized by orthodox medicine, and against African American traditions and culture, symbolized by folk medicine. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 20 6 “The health on the island is good”: Repressing Medical Crisis 51 While Towne reacted with indignation to the freedpeople’s refusal to embrace the regime of medical discipline she teaches, she is herself increasingly forced to make note of the shortcomings of a doctrine of teaching health in light of African American refugees’ extreme poverty and its direct medical consequences that teaching alone could in no way heal. On the Sea Islands, refugees from different Southern regions arrived from 1862 onward, and, among other epidemics, there were outbreaks of smallpox between 1862 and 1868 when the disease also repeatedly affected mainland South Carolina. On Hilton Head Island with the freedmen’s town Mitchelville, where many refugees were sent, “smallpox killed freedpeople by ‘tens and twenties,’” an infected refugee reports in 1864 (Downs, Sick from Freedom “Chap. 4”). Downs shows that by 1865, “[i]n the Sea Islands, [...] it killed roughly 800 freedpeople a week” (“Chap. 4”). Northern relief organizations, however, as for instance the New England Sanitary Commission, were unwilling to support healthcare for freedpeople (cf. Silber). 52 Long established medical protocols were not followed in the treatment of this outbreak of smallpox, a failure caused by the turmoil of war, but not by it alone. It was facilitated by a growing reluctance – on the part of the Union Army, Northern benevolent societies as well as, from 1865 on, federal institutions such as the Freedmen’s Bureau – to support financially the healthcare for freedpeople in the South, leading to a situation in which doctors were no longer financed and the few existing hospitals were eventually disbanded.15 It was, at the same time, also made possible by racist theories of the origin and spread of disease and of racial differences in individuals’ susceptibility to be infected. In 1866, the New York Times reports: “The small-pox rages among them … dirt, debauchery, idleness, are the causes of this inordinate mortality” (qtd. in Downs, Sick from Freedom “Chap. 4”) 53 The only effective measure to prevent a smallpox epidemic, and to counter the disease’s worst forms, is vaccination, which had been introduced at the beginning of the nineteenth century, then displacing inoculation. To this “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 21 day, there is no cure once smallpox has set in. According to Long, “[b]uilding and maintaining ‘pest houses,’ where smallpox victims would die or recover away from non- immune people, and burying the dead before corpses could become a public health problem were twin responsibilities” (“Chap. 4”). In the absence of effective methods of treatment, the practice of nailing up windows, described in a negative vein by Towne for leading to “bad air” and uncleanliness, might have been a strategy, on the one hand, to create what came close to “pest houses” and thus to contain the disease while not forcing families apart and, on the other hand, to minimize the disease’s visibility and its association with African Americans as a group. 54 While isolated smallpox cases had occurred regularly in mid-nineteenth-century America (Kotar and Gessler “Chap. 1”), the wartime circumstances led to a spread of the virus, and smallpox – together with other infectious diseases – claimed more casualties among the soldiers on both sides than injuries incurred in battle. During the war, thousands of soldiers as well as civilians were infected, and approximately one patient in three died. This situation constituted a threat particularly to freedpeople whose risk of infection – as soldiers, refugees, but also as residents of areas to which many refugees fled – was particularly high. 55 Smallpox had already then a long history of metaphorization. Dayle B. DeLancey demonstrates that both in antebellum proslavery and abolitionist discourses, smallpox was a sign to evoke the disaster of ongoing slavery, but also proslavery fears of emancipation (308-09). Particularly in the Civil War South, this feared viral disease was increasingly racialized. 56 While relief workers such as Towne discursively linked health to cleanliness and order, thus revealing the proximity of teaching and the practice of medicine in imposing discipline, the freedpeople’s alleged susceptibility to contract smallpox was linked to their failure to follow what white relief workers propagated as the discipline of cleanliness. Towne’s writing, in fact, bears witness to the racialization of smallpox, even if only few passages indicate that smallpox did claim victims during and after the war.16 In an entry from April 1869, at a time when the actual epidemic was over, Towne includes a long paragraph on smallpox in one of her letters home, claiming “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 22 that vaccination seemed to be of no account at all and that people had it (smallpox) over three times sometimes, and died of it at last; that I vaccinated children, it took well, and in a month or two after they died of smallpox. They say white folks cannot catch diseases from blacks. Lottie Fortin was vaccinated and took it, with not half the exposure I had to it. (“April 11, 1869”) 57 Towne had probably used an inert, old, weak, or otherwise ineffective vaccine (cf. Schroeder-Lein 321). But instead of considering this explanation, the above passage, one of the very few in which she mentions Forten with whom she shared a house, implicitly elaborates the notion – popular at the time, yet in stark contrast to century-long experience (cf. Willrich; Kotar and Gessler) – that smallpox was a disease of African Americans for whom not even vaccination provided efficient protection and that it was not communicable to whites. 58 For Towne, to reduce the visibility of smallpox in her writing might have followed a number of purposes. On the one hand, it was in line with a general policy of sugarcoating the medical situation in the South. On the other hand, she might have aimed at protecting her patients, “her people.” This strategy of repressing the representation of smallpox, however, not only further marginalized those who were already affected by the disease and distorted the view on disease control. It also consolidated the symbolic link between health, cleanliness, order, and free wage labor since it was particularly refugees, and among them especially women and children, who were affected by epidemic diseases such as smallpox. Not only racializing but also gendering smallpox, Towne marginalized and pathologized women and children, who succumbed to the virus in larger numbers than men (cf. Downs, Sick from Freedom). 59 Towne’s writing, thus, gives a valuable indication of how female medical engagement during the Civil War was narrated within the broader context of two in part conflicting discourses: the relief work of white elite women and the discussion of healthcare for freedpeople in the Civil War and early Reconstruction South. In her diary and letters, it is possible to trace discursive sites that indicate how medicine was appropriated as a trope of authority and prestige in a struggle for female influence by intricately linking medicine simultaneously to the domestic (through the figure of the family doctor and the reference to homeopathy) and to the public sphere (through the claim of the expert and scientific knowledge of modern medicine). “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 23 By following the chronology of her entries and letters, it becomes evident that Towne was aware of the discursive embededness of her own writing. Thus, she chooses specific tropes in order to achieve a skillful self-dramatization as physician, administrator, teacher, and abolitionist. While this self-representation in part blocks the view on contemporary healthcare practices, it allows insights into the empowering function of medical discourses. 60 12. In 1884, Dr. Peters had arrived on St. Helena Island. Towne notes that “[t]he people all seem pleased to have a doctor of their own, and all have paid Dr. Peters so far, but he charges very little,” “Frogmore, May 22, 1884”; in the original letter, the year is illegible. Peters might have taken over Towne’s medical practice around this time, and he remained on the island for at least the next nine years: his name turns up in several articles as that of the doctor in charge after the Sea Islands Hurricane swept over St. Helena on 27 September 1893. This “Dr. Peters” was, in all probability, Dr. William Clancy Peters from Frankford, PA, a graduate of the Hahnemann Medical College in Philadelphia, as Peters’s obituary from 20 September 1916, published in the Harrisburg Telegraph, states, cf. “Obituary.” The island’s first African American physician was Dr. York Bailey (1882-1971), a Penn School graduate who took up medical practice on St. Helena as the first African American physician to continue his work for fifty years, cf. Cross 121. BIBLIOGRAPHY “A Girl’s Soldier Life: The Romantic Military Career of a Well-Known Philadelphia Lady.” St. Lawrence Plain Dealer (1887-1890): 2. Web. 14 Mar. 2014. Bellafaire, Judith, and Mercedes Graf. Women Doctors in War. College Station: Texas A&M UP, 2009. Berlin, Ira. “The Wartime Genesis of Free Labor, 1861-1865.” Slaves no More: Three Essays on Emancipation and the Civil War. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1992. 77-186. 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Oxford: Oxford UP, 2006. 78-103. ---. Sick from Freedom: African-American Illness and Suffering during the Civil War and Reconstruction. New York: Oxford UP, 2012. E-book. Fahs, Alice. The Imagined Civil War: Popular Literature of the North & South, 1861-1865. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2001. Faulkner, Carol. Women’s Radical Reconstruction: The Freedmen’s Aid Movement. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 2006. E-book. Faust, Drew Gilpin. Mothers of Invention: Women of the Slaveholding South in the American Civil War. 1996. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2007. French, Austa M. Slavery in South Carolina and the Ex-Slaves; or the Port Royal Mission. New York: French, 1862. Grimké, Charlotte F. The Journals of Charlotte Forten Grimké. Ed. Brenda Stevenson. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1988. Group, Thetis M., and Joan I. Roberts. Nursing, Physician Control, and the Medical Monopoly: Historical Perspectives on Gendered Inequality in Roles, Rights, and Range of Practice. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 2001. Hale, Sarah Josepha Buell. “An Appeal to the American Christians on Behalf of the Ladies’ Medical Missionary Society.” Godey's Ladys’ Book 54 (1852): 185-88. Haller, John S. The History of Homeopathy: From Rational Medicine to Holistic Healthcare. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2009. Hawks, Esther Hill. A Woman Doctor's Civil War: Esther Hill Hawks’ Diary. Ed. Gerald Schwartz. Columbia: U of South Carolina P, 1984. Heneghan, Bridget T. Whitewashing America: Material Culture and Race in the Antebellum Imagination. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 2003. Holland, Mary A.G., ed. Our Army Nurses: Interesting Sketches, Addresses, and Photographs of Nearly One Hundred of the Noble Women Who Served in Hospitals and on Battlefields during Our Civil War. Boston, MA: P of Lounsbery, 1895. Holland, Rupert Sargent. Introduction. Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne, 1862-1884. Cambridge, MA: Riverside P, 1912. E-book. Humphreys, Margaret. Intensely Human: The Health of Black Soldiers in the American Civil War. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins UP, 2007. E-book. ---. Marrow of Tragedy: The Health Crisis of the American Civil War. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins UP, 2013. E-book. Kaplan, Amy. “Manifest Domesticity.” American Literature 70.3 (1998): 581-606. Kirschmann, Anne Taylor. A Vital Force: Women in American Homeopathy. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2004. Kotar, S.L., and J.E. Gessler. Smallpox: A History. New York: McFarland, 2013. E-book. Kothari, Uma. “Spatial Practices and Imaginaries: Experiences of Colonial Officers and Development Professionals.” Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Philippines. Ed. Warwick Anderson. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2006. 161-75. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 25 Long, Margaret Geneva. Doctoring Freedom: The Politics of African American Medical Care in Slavery and Emancipation. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2012. E-book. Masur, Kate. “‘A Rare Phenomenon of Philological Vegetation’: The Word ‘Contraband’ and the Meaning of Emancipation in the United States.” Journal of American History 93.4 (2007): 1050-85. Web. 20 Sep. 2014. Meier, Kathryn Shiveley. Nature's Civil War: Common Soldiers and the Environment in 1862 Virginia. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2013. Murison, Justine S. The Politics of Anxiety in Nineteenth-Century American Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2011. “Obituary.” Harrisburg Telegraph 20 Sep. 1916: 18. Penn School Papers, 1862-2004. Web. <http://www2.lib.unc.edu/mss/inv/p/ Penn_School.html#folder_335a#1>. 21. Mar. 2014. Pile, Steve. The Body and the City: Psychoanalysis, Space, and Subjectivity. London: Routledge, 1996. Reverby, Susan M. Ordered to Care: The Dilemma of American Nursing, 1850-1945. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1987. Rose, Willie L. Rehearsal for Reconstruction: The Port Royal Experiment. London: Oxford UP, 1964. ---. “Laura Matilda Towne.” Notable American Women: 1607-1950: A Biographical Dictionary. Ed. Edward James, Janet W. James, and Paul S. Boyer. Vol. 3. Cambridge: Belknap P, 1971. 472-74. Schroeder-Lein, Glenna R. The Encyclopedia of Civil War Medicine. Armonk, NY: Sharpe, 2008. Schultz, Jane E. Women at the Front: Hospital Workers in Civil War America. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2004. Silber, Nina. Daughters of the Union: Northern Women Fight the Civil War. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 2005. Spurr, David. The Rhetoric of Empire: Colonial Discourse in Journalism, Travel Writing, and Imperial Administration. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1993. Stallybrass, Peter, and Allon White. The Politics and Poetics of Transgression. London: Methuen, 1986. Sullivan, Regina D. “Orianna Moon Andrews (1834-1883).” Women in the American Civil War. Ed. Lisa Tendrich Frank. Notre Dame, IN: ABC-CLIO, 2008. 103-04. Towne, Laura M. Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne, 1862-1884. Ed. Rupert Sargent Holland. Cambridge, MA: Riverside P, 1912. E-book. ---. “Port Royalists who Sailed from New York of the ‘Oriental’ Wed. Apr. 9 1862.” Folder 335c. Penn School Papers 1862-2004 and undated. The Southern Historical Collection. University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Archival Material. Web. http://www2.lib.unc.edu/mss/inv/p/ Penn_School.html#folder_335a#1. 21 Mar. 2014. Twelbeck, Kirsten. “Reconstructing Race Relations: Esther Hill Hawks and Her Life among Freedmen.” American Lives. Ed. Alfred Hornung. Heidelberg: Winter, 2013. 173-88. Ullman, Dana. The Homeopathic Revolution: Why Famous People and Cultural Heroes Chose Homeopathy. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books, 2007. Whorton, James C. Nature Cures: The History of Alternative Medicine in America. New York: Oxford UP, 2004. “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 26 Willrich, Michael. Pox: An American History. New York: Penguin P, 2012. Young, Elizabeth. Disarming the Nation: Women’s Writing and the American Civil War. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1999. ABSTRACTS In 1862, Laura M. Towne – abolitionist, teacher, educator, and trained homeopath – joined the Port Royal Experiment, a project initiated by Northern benevolent societies to provide education and relief for former slaves on the South Carolina Sea Islands, which had been occupied by Union troops in late 1861. On the Sea Islands as well as in broader Northern culture, healthcare for freedpeople – and freedpeople’s health – soon became controversial topics. This article traces how Towne as homeopathic practitioner uses medical tropes in autobiographic documents intended for publication or circulation in the North to increase her own authority within a wartime discourse and how, at the same time, she avoids reflection about medical crises. INDEX Keywords: African American culture, African American emancipation, Civil War, cleanliness, discourse of authority, Discursive sites, family doctor, female doctor, freedpeople, Gullah culture, healthcare, homeopathy, internal colonialism, modern medicine, Port Royal Experiment, race, racialization and medicine, smallpox, the South, travel writing, whiteness, “contraband, ” Sea Islands Mots-clés: Austa M. French, Charlotte Forten (Grimké), Esther Hill Hawks, Laura Matilda Towne, Sarah Josepha Buell Hale AUTHOR ANTJE DALLMANN Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Institut fuer Anglistik und Amerikanistik, Unter den Linden 6, D-10099 Berlinantje.dallmann@staff.hu-berlin.de “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Exp... European journal of American studies, Vol 10, no 1 | 2015 27 mailto:antje.dallmann@staff.hu-berlin.de “Lots of doctoring, with great success”: Healthcare within the Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne 1 Civil War Healthcare and Female Commitment 2 The Port Royal Experiment and the Work of Laura M. Towne 3 “Putting th[e] lesson to use”: Teaching “Cleanliness” and “Order" 4 Doctoring “our people”: Healing Family 5 “[A]ntidotes from my little doctor’s box”: Gender, Medical Prestige, and Homeopathy 6 “The health on the island is good”: Repressing Medical Crisis 
work_f6ap5b23mzb4dpt3x7p76q4w6y	----	aggliko-exofillo-16 American Literature for a Post-American Era Antonis Balasopoulos Wai Chee Dimock and Lawrence Buell, eds. Shades of the Planet: American Literature as World Literature. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2007. 304 pp. $ 24.95 paper. ISBN: 0691128529. It is one of the mordant ironies of the post 9/11 era that the objective of the so-called “post-nationalist” turn in American Studies—dislodging the study of American literature and culture from the parochial framework of the nation-state—now seems at once precipitate and obsolete. It appears precipitate to the extent that what followed it in the first years of this century was a recrudescence of the most virulent forms of U.S. imperial nationalism—an eventuality which, like that of 9/11 itself, appears to have been as unforeseen by experts as it was profoundly consequential for both the U.S. and the world. But the call for a “post-nationalist” critical agenda also now strikes one as curiously beside the point, given the fact that the project of overcoming the self-indulgent insularism that dogged American Studies seems thoroughly ironized by what Immanuel Wallerstein’s eponymous study prophetically described as “the decline of American power.” The cumulative combination of waning consumer confidence, corporate insolvency, rapidly expanding national debt, rising inflation and currency depreciation has demonstrably burst the “bubble” of U.S. global economic hegemony, giving considerable weight to the forecasts of Robert Brenner’s The Boom and the Bubble (2003) a study perhaps not accidentally published in the same year that Wallerstein made his own, seemingly counterfactual, predictions. To put it otherwise, the kind of imperial nationalism the “new American Studies” sought to challenge has proven at once both far more recalcitrant to cultural dismantling than it had appeared to be, and more exposed toward the structural realities of the world system than merely https://doi.org/10.26262/gramma.v16i0.6441 https://doi.org/10.26262/gramma.v16i0.6441 cultural critique could ever hope to demonstrate. The title of Fareed Zakharia’s recent The Post-American World (2008) is in this sense an apt commentary on the historical fate of the preoccupations evidenced in John Carlos Rowe’s earlier Post-Nationalist American Studies (2000): the vision of a “post-nationalist” Americanism is now increasingly offset by a “post- American” reality, one shaped less by the voluntaristic imperative to open the disciplinary domains of U.S. history, culture and literature to the world, than by the brute weight of a particular nation state’s economic decline and the dissipation of its formerly hegemonic status. Wai Chee Dimock and Lawrence Buell’s Shades of the Planet (2007) —subtitled “American Literature as World Literature”—seems to me to reflect a consequent uncertainty as regards the present state and future prospects of the “post-nationalist” wager in literary scholarship. The primary symptom of such uncertainty here is the frequently evasive or unreflectively instrumentalized status of “literature” itself, and further, the lack of a stead-fast exposition of its cognitive and epistemological place vis-a-vis those geopolitical, spatial, and ecological markers the volume’s title incorporates: “American,” “world” and “planet.” For one, Dimock’s introduction to the volume assumes the crisis of the “fiction” of U.S. territorial sovereignty, imaging it in terms not of literary or socio- political history but in those of natural catastrophe, with hurricane Katrina functioning as a means of bringing to the surface the nation’s reduction to an “epiphenomenon,” a “set of erasable lines on the face of the earth” (1). Such a formulation eschews direct engagement not simply with the specificities of literary geography and literary history, but also with the current, socio-historical circumstances of their study: on the one hand, the affective and structural persistence of the nation notwithstanding the ritualized blanket diagnosis of its decline, and on the other, the multiple crises that have laid waste to much of its utopian, promise-based aura in the United States itself (indeed, the impact of hurricane Katrina was one among many recent reminders of the sorry state of infrastructure and welfare investments in the U.S.). Dimock’s striking unwillingness to frame the volume’s agenda in terms compatible with its nominal scope is further evidenced in her foregrounding of the essentially mathematical concepts of set and subset, whose conceptual implications—the provisionality of any strategically chosen “set” of evidentiary analysis, the reversibility of the hierarchy between “sets” and “subsets”—are anatomized both internally and in relation to their refraction in the preoccupations of the essays which comprise the volume. 316 Antonis Balasopoulos The first and last of these—Jonathan Arac’s “Global and Babel: Language and Planet in American Literature” and Dimock’s own “African, Caribbean, American”—are in turn less centered on comparative textual analysis or extensive theoretical excursions into emergent possibilities for literary study than one might have cause to expect. Arac’s essay takes stock of the pressures and challenges which the turn from Europe-centered comparative literature to “world literature” embodies for an American Studies largely shaped by traditional “area studies” models. The author views the practical consequences of such challenges as involving institutional investment in a “new language studies” (Arac’s program is rather unreflectively grounded on the curricular basis of U.S. graduate schools) that would focus on practical, quotidian foreign language skills instead of traditional models of formal language acquisition. Juxtaposing the homogenizing impact of the global to the diversification of “babel,” Arac then proposes a re-excavation of the classics of the American literary canon—Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman, Ralph Ellison—in search of a buried linguistic polyvocality, which in turn is taken to provide fragmentary evidence of the socio-historical interaction between continents, cultures, and peoples in the American contact zone. Intriguing as it appears, the hermeneutic gesture proposed here is simply that—a gesture, no sooner made than replaced with a renewed ethical plea for institutionally nourished multilingualism, including linguistic competence in “either non-Indo-European” or “global South” (34) languages. Things take a similar direction in Dimock’s concluding essay, which undertakes the task of complicating the hyphen in the category of African-American literature by way of an extensive foray into linguistics. Thus, existing linguistic contiguities between African languages and the African-American dialect, the definition of creole and of the process of creolization, the relationship between creole and culturally necessitated bilingualism and the democratic universality implied in Chomskian conceptions of syntactical deep structure are all mined for their implications for the kinship of world cultures. Such kinship, Dimock argues, is “anything but transparent,” taking as it does the form not of “linear descent” but of “arcs, loops, curves”—“complex paths of temporal and spatial displacement” (276). As with Arac’s own essay, literature occupies a quantitatively rather peripheral status, even if Dimock, unlike Arac, does invest the literary with a certain kind of seemingly counterfactual privilege: literary study takes over where linguistics stops, with the entry into the analytical field of affect (rather than cognition) and of “nonverbal” or American Literature for a Post-American Era 317 “preverbal” expressive media (290, 293)—music, dance, rhythm. Dimock is particularly suggestive in discussing some such instances in the zone that extends between U.S. and Caribbean literary engagements with the African diaspora—Paule Marshall’s, Gloria Naylor’s, Derek Walcott’s, Wilson Harris’—but the epistemological consequences of the paradoxical connection of literary study to the non-verbal are rather underdeveloped. At the antipodes of Arac and Dimock’s suggestive but elliptical forays into the significance of the literary in rethinking “America” in terms of “planet” and “world” are Eric J. Sundquist and Ross Posnock’s excursions into the East European entanglements of single U.S. authors, William Styron and Philip Roth respectively. Antithetical as regards their informing assumptions—Sundquist is meticulous in historically grounding and critiquing the assumptions of Styron’s engagement with Polish invasion and Judeocide, while Posnock privileges the freedom, unpredictability and creativity of authorial agency in forging transnational networks of literary affiliation—these two essays share a meticulous attentiveness to textual particularities that comes at the expense of generalizable—that is to say, theoretical—insight. This is the case more emphatically in Sundquist’s essay, which is so attentive to the particularity both of the fate of Polish Jews and of the overheated and slanted nature of Styron’s attempt to translate Polish national tragedy for an American audience that it deprives itself of virtually any potential for comparative usability. Theoretical underdevelopment is also a significant, if more implicit, limitation for Posnock, whose tracing of the “circles” of affective dispensation, aesthetic predilection and ontological worldview, linking Emerson to Vaclav Havel and Milan Kundera and subsequently to Roth, draws heavily upon an unreflectively deployed assumption: namely, that the link between Emersonian individualism, East European literary critiques of abstract rationality, and Roth’s espousal of attentiveness to the irreducible complexities of human (in)experience are somehow free of determinate historical and ideological ballast. Upon closer scrutiny, however, the threads that form Posnock’s transnational literary circuit—individualistic non-conformity, the distaste for organized and collectively orchestrated social reform, and the distrust of ideological abstractions—reveal themselves as anything but ideologically or historically neutral. It is, quite clearly, the “Robespierrian” and “utopian” (148) specter of Soviet communism that both overdetermines the Czech dissidents’ turn to an author like Emerson and guides Roth’s own predication of his own project on Czech dissident preoccupations with the hopelessly tangled, irreducible, and unsolvable qualities of the “human stain,” one that in 318 Antonis Balasopoulos Posnock’s own ideologically symptomatic phrasing, dictates acts of “aggressive disaffiliation from any collective ‘we’ ’’ (160). In contradistinction, the most convincing and successful essays of the volume manage a difficult balancing act, mediating between, on the one hand, a theoretical and historical attentiveness to the constitution of “national” and “global” and, on the other, an engagement with the specifically literary means through which both “nation” and “world” are fleshed out, elaborated upon, and concretized in American literature. The first of these essays, Paul Giles’ “The Deterritorialization of American Literature,” usefully periodizes the nationalization of the very concept of “American Literature” in the span between the end of the Civil War and the global economic crisis of the late seventies. Having shown how cartographical, political and literary discourses contributed to the fashioning of a national imaginary that privileged the diversity, inclusiveness, coherence, and sublime exceptionality of the U.S. territorial state, Giles traces the economic, cultural and political dimensions of the deterritorialization of this imaginary in the period from 1980 onward. To this end, he provides a particularly astute and revealing reading of the ways in which a number of contemporary U.S. authors (William Gibson, John Updike, Leslie Marmon Silko) have attempted to mediate the centrifugal pressures of (primarily economic) deterritorialization. The significance of literary form as a means of mediation—between self and other, between author and reader, between alternately diverging and converging cultures—is the theoretical core of David Palumbo-Liu’s “Atlantic to Pacific: James, Todorov, Blackmur and Intercontinental Form.” In Palumbo-Liu’s thoughtful and reflective argument, “transnational community” cannot be a “‘representation’ derived from the lexicon and assumptions of the nation-state” but can only emerge through the “mediated space of nonrepresentation” (197). The transnational thus becomes an affair not of substantive narrative content as such but rather of the desire to “find a form that allegorizes the near/far dynamics of in-forming planetary thinking” (197). The author turns to the exemplary function of Henry James’ “The Jolly Corner” in broaching the relationship between architectural/spatial and literary form and in hence producing an interface between literary aesthetics and the concern with the transformation of the built environment that resurfaces in a series of national contexts, all marked by a symptomatic attentiveness to James’ import. James’ own oblique meditation of the social and aesthetic impact of the transformation of the built environment of New York during his absence in Europe (a American Literature for a Post-American Era 319 transformation ironically drawing upon Parisian architectural models) resurfaces in Tzvetan Todorov’s own turn to James in the context of elaborating a formalist poetics in the midst of Parisian urban and suburban upheaval and protest in 1968; and then, across the Pacific, in the encounter between Japanese debates on the aesthetics and politics of urban architecture and the Japanese sojourn of New Critic R.P. Blackmur, significantly a scholar both of James himself and of the mediating, intersubjective dimensions of aesthetic form. The third of these essays is also one that remains attentive to the figural significance of space, though, in this case, the unbuilt environment gains an analytical prominence it does not possess in Palumbo-Liu’s study. Buell’s “Ecoglobalist Affects” wisely concedes that “there’s simply no possibility that the nation form … will go away any time soon” (228) and pays a welcome degree of attention to the ways in which ecocriticism has continued to invest “putatively national modes and myths of landscape imagination” with significance (228-29). Indeed, landscape ideology, from “nature’s nation” to suburban “middle landscapes” constitutes a useful way of rethinking U.S. history; by the same token, however, it unveils the “transnational repercussions and/or interdependencies” (230) that shape nominally “national” existence—from the system of price supports that have sustained national ideals of American plenty to “automotive-based transportation networks that make the United States increasingly energy- dependent on foreign suppliers” (230). What Buell terms “ecoglobalist affect” consequently becomes a means of aesthetically encoding existing economic, technological, social and political forms of mediation between the local and the planetary; the essay deftly threads together the partly converging, partly jarring eco-global sensibilities of Wendell Berry, Silko and Karen Tei Yamashita before examining the import of “figures of anticipation” (235) in nineteenth-century landscape painting and early twentieth-century literary depictions of farming [Willa Cather’s O Pioneers! (1913)], and of the admixture of local and global detail in mid- nineteenth century literature [Thoreau’s Walden (1854), Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick (1851)] and science [George Perkins Marsh’s Man and Nature (1864)]. Erudite, insightful and engaging, Buell’s essay, along with those of Palumbo-Liu and Giles, promises the sustainability of transnational American Studies beyond the end of the rhetorical, analytical and political viability of Clinton-era “post-nationalist” sentiment. What one would hope for in the years to come is that American cultural criticism may develop a 320 Antonis Balasopoulos fuller, more comprehensive vocabulary with which to gauge the lineaments of the present—one less schematically prescriptive or programmatic, more attuned to the political and economic complexities that haunt “worlded” knowledge-production, more thoughtful in explicating both the gains and the limitations of literary scholarship as a means of dealing with what is often removed from its increasingly residual domain, and more reflective about the material, spatially and historically mediated grounds on which “America,” “the world” and the “planet” take shape as figures of discourse and vehicles of thought. University of Cyprus Nicosia, Cyprus Works Cited Brenner, Robert. The Boom and the Bubble: The U.S. in the World Economy. New York and London: Verso, 2003. Rowe, John Carlos, ed. Post-Nationalist American Studies. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Wallerstein, Immanuel. The Decline of American Power: The U.S. in a Chaotic World. New York: W.W. Norton, 2003. Zakharia, Fareed. The Post-American World. New York: W.W. Norton, 2008. American Literature for a Post-American Era 321 21 
work_f6pvx32fcfdftmc6kozdrszmiu	----	UC Santa Barbara UC Santa Barbara Previously Published Works Title Digital nature: Are field trips a thing of the past? Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/0827s57q Journal Science (New York, N.Y.), 358(6361) ISSN 0036-8075 Author McCauley, Douglas J Publication Date 2017-10-01 DOI 10.1126/science.aao1919 Peer reviewed eScholarship.org Powered by the California Digital Library University of California https://escholarship.org/uc/item/0827s57q https://escholarship.org http://www.cdlib.org/ sciencemag.org S C I E N C E IL L U S T R A T IO N : V . A LT O U N IA N / S C IE N C E By Douglas J. McCauley I awoke in my cabin by the pond. Weigh- ing my options for the day, I decided to do some bird watching, winding between white pines and blackberries along the east shore of the pond. By their songs, I was able to identify a Mourning Dove, Blue Jays, an American Crow, and perhaps a Northern Cardinal. A mink, alarmed by my approach, dove into the pond and swam off. Unable to resist on such a sunny day, I waded into the pond and watched the sunlight play around me in the shallows. My mood that morning was appropriately reflected by my status indicators: moderately inspired, tired, and hungry. My hike took place in Walden, a Game, a video game recently launched on the 200th birthday of Henry David Thoreau (1). With a widening niche of such nature- themed video games and simulations and a rapidly growing audience of online/digital learners, the capacity to reach new audiences and carry environmental education beyond the confines of schools and universities may be a game changer, but one that perhaps comes with perils. Gamers no longer need to confine them- selves to stealing cars or building new worlds. Players can SCUBA dive on coral reefs (End- less Ocean for Nintendo Wii), indulge in a weekend of virtual bird watching in Spain (Birding Game by Swarovski Optik), or do ecological research with their PhD father in the Amazonian rainforest (EcoQuest 2: Lost Secret of the Rainforest by Sierra Gamers). Walden isn’t even cyberspace’s first digital pond. Harvard researchers created a virtual rendition of Black’s Nook Pond in Massa- chusetts, in which players can take photos of pond wildlife and catch bugs in the mud (2). From an ecologist’s perspective, this ex- panding class of opportunities for electronic engagement with nature represents an in- teresting and positive shift. Wildlife in video games have historically been typecast as agents hell-bent on consuming the gaming protagonist. Lara Croft, the archaeologist in the original Tomb Raider (1996), had to shoot and kill a diverse array of biodiversity (from bats to gorillas). The video game Afrika (for Sony Playstation 3), released a decade later, requires the gamer to maneuver in to take the perfect photo of a mother elephant lov- ingly nudging her calf. IDENTIFY, OBSERVE, EXPERIMENT But the ambitions of many of these new nature-centric games and simulations are grander than simply breaking down stereo- types about the hostility of wildlife; they’re increasingly about identifying species, ob- serving ecological processes, and even experi- menting in scientifically accurate ecosystems. Walden, a Game includes numerous species recorded by Thoreau at Walden. Interacting with them yields inspiration points needed to sustain play. Interactions with rare species, such as the mink I spotted, provide bonus INSIGHTS SCIENCE EDUCATION Digital nature: Are field trips a thing of the past? Expand the reach of science education, but choose tools Department of Ecology, Evolution, and Marine Biology and Marine Science Institute, University of California, Santa Barbara, CA 93106. USA. Email: dmccauley@ucsb.edu P O L I C Y F O R U M 2 20 OCTOBER 2017 • VOL 358 ISSUE 6361 Digital rendering of Rhino to come S C I E N C E sciencemag.org P H O T O : M IN D E N P IC T U R E S /G E T T Y I M A G E S points. Users of the Black’s Nook Pond simu- lation can go even further by measuring the virtual weather, collecting population data, and sampling water chemistry (2). Virtual reality and augmented reality platforms are rapidly adding richness to the genre. This includes offerings marketed as electronic field trips. “Field trips are a great way for teachers to engage students and give them a first-hand understanding of a sub- ject—but they’re not always practical,” says Google Expeditions, an operation that cu- rates its own brand of electronic field trips (3). This logic is hard to argue with. It is likely to be impractical to take a high school sci- ence class from Panama City snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef, or to see the Brazil- ian Amazon, leopard seals in Antarctica, or redwoods in Big Basin State Park, California, all of which are offerings in the Google Ex- pedition electronic field trip portfolio. Private vendors sell virtual reality hardware to access these experiences—at approximately $9500 USD to equip a class of 30 students (4). As a professor of ecology at a university that emphasizes the value of encouraging students to thoughtfully interact with bio- diversity and ecosystems, these new tech- nologies are intriguing. Their penetration makes them even more so. Video game markets serve more than a billion people worldwide, and electronic media are known to profoundly shape civic literacy about sci- ence and the environment (5). Children in the United States are estimated to spend approximately 7 hours a day in front of elec- tronic media—but only 4 to 7 minutes of un- structured play outdoors (6). Stark reports about disconnectedness between young people and nature redouble the imperative to vet new nature learning tools (7). A sur- vey, for example, conducted in the United Kingdom by the National Trust reported that one out of three children could identify a magpie, but 9 out of 10 could recognize a Dalek (cyborg aliens from the television program Dr. Who) (8). EVOLUTION OF INTERPRETATION Evaluating the role of these nature-centric technologies in education requires placing them in historical context. They are perhaps best viewed as the latest stage in the evolu- tion of the quite ancient human toolkit for sharing and teaching about the environment and ecology. Attempts at biodiversity inter- pretation can be traced back to the earliest human artists who incorporated images of ungulates, felids, ursids, and other species into their rock art. Nature continued to be se- quentially reinterpreted by using new media and technologies, from early Roman mosaics, to richly illustrated Middle Age bestiaries, to the dioramas of natural history museums that emerged in the 1800s. Nature interpre- tation then came further to life with wildlife filmmaking. The bards of nature cinema, such as David Attenborough, made lion kills and flamingo migrations regular occurrences in living rooms across the world. What, if anything, is different about these emerging forms of nature simulation in this historical sequence? One key difference is that designers of these new technologies are, arguably for the first time in history, moving away from simply interpreting nature toward actually replicating nature. And in some in- stances they are doing a good job. I involun- tarily ducked when a humpback whale swam over my head during a sample virtual reality SCUBA dive I trialed at Google headquarters. I have vivid memories of standing enraptured in front of wildlife dioramas in the Smithson- ian’s Museum of Natural History as a child— but none of them ever made me duck. PERILS OF SIMULATION Pedagogical research has made it clear that there is special value in field-based experien- tial learning in the sciences (9). A UK study of the widespread cancellation of field trips associated with an outbreak of foot-and- mouth disease found that the grades of stu- dents lacking field experiences were largely unaffected, but both students and instructors consistently reported that the loss of field ex- periences created a diminished learning ex- perience (10). In Slovakia, it was found that after a 1-day field trip, students positively shifted their attitudes toward biology, the en- vironment, and careers in science while also displaying a better understanding of ecologi- cal concepts (11). Can these benefits of field learning be replicated by electronic field trips and simulated laboratories? Research that has explored the general substitutability of na- ture with standard technological mimics suggests that electronic nature can gener- ate some but not all of the benefits of real nature (12). Results from the learning sci- ences suggest that virtual- and augmented- reality nature experiences may improve on these impacts but still reveal limitations. Immersive experiences have been shown, for instance, to foster interconnections and emotional linkages to nature that can be effective in promoting learning and en- gagement. In one such simulation, students undertook a “body transfer” with a coral and watched as one of their arms eroded in a virtual acidified ocean and fell to the floor with an audible and palpable thud (13). Tests of augmented-reality field trips (such as a Grand Canyon field trip designed to be run on campus quads or soccer fields) have illustrated that these tools increase student interest in science. However, virtual–field trip participants performed no better than students who received classroom-based lec- tures, and the experiences were generally less effective than field trips into nature (14, 15). Studies of the impact of the Black’s Nook Pond simulation suggested that the students improved their understanding of ecosystem concepts but did not show improvement in ability to recognize nonobvious causes for ecosystem change (2). One class of distinct educational affor- dances of virtual nature learning is that it can take students to time points in the his- tory and future of the environment that can- not otherwise be experienced. For instance, Accus nost accaes volenia quias voles que laborumende laborecto te aut vel maio. Solore doleni aute sinciis aut quo el eosae volo to voluptur suntorp oriatis mossed quae volorro is comnis doloremquodi 20 OCTOBER 2017 • VOL 358 ISSUE 6361 3 INSIGHTS | P E R S P E C T I V E S sciencemag.org S C I E N C E there is a virtual-reality experience designed to bring the Hell Creek fossil formation alive for students as it was during the Cretaceous (16). The retention of concepts learned and experiences derived in virtual field experi- ences remains an active research area. Per- ceptions of interconnection to nature derived via virtual reality experiences have been re- corded to persist for at least 1 week (13), al- though impacts from real field trips may last at least 1 year (17). Some of the differences measured between real and virtual nature field trips may derive from the fact that learning in live nature typi- cally happens with live humans. Research has very clearly shown that learning with role models and peers can substantially enhance the impact of environmental education (18). Such opportunities can be lacking in virtual nature experiences. Other possible side ef- fects of simulated nature learning are worth considering: Hyperinteractive and stimulus- rich digital nature experiences can make real nature experiences feel dull (for example, real-world whales do not allow themselves to be pet on every dive), player-centric na- ture gaming experiences may propagate the fallacious notion that humans are distinctly different from nature, and synthesized envi- ronments can provide dangerously simplistic views of the complex structure and function of nature. NONBINARY, NON-LUDDITE Is it far-fetched to assume that teaching ecol- ogy and biology in the field could ever be replaced with electronic field trips? Tempta- tions to make these kinds of shifts are real given the high costs, high staffing require- ments, and risk-management complexities associated with field learning. Large-scale replacement of field learning perhaps feels less outlandish when one recalls that other formerly irreplaceable elements of pedagogy, such as classrooms and even entire univer- sities, are being avidly replaced with online learning spaces. Similar parallels for digital replacement can be found in the increasingly widespread substitution of animal dissec- tions with virtual dissections. The future, however, may not be as bi- nary as taking students outside on field trips or running field trips from computer labs. Augmented-reality teaching tools that are more lightly enhanced than the Grand Canyon experience, and as such more simi- lar to the wildly popular Pokémon Go, cre- ate a hybrid species of technology-enhanced field trips. Technology-infused outdoor na- ture learning presents many advantages: It can allow students to see and interact with otherwise invisible features in nature, col- lect and analyze situationally relevant data, and safely undertake hazardous field sam- pling (such as field tests for pollutants) (19). For example, in an augmented-reality fol- low up to the Black’s Nook Pond simulation, students hike around the real pond while a digital park ranger on their smartphones chimes in at trigger stations to offer tips on water sampling and points out virtual car- bon atoms floating through photosynthesiz- ing plants (20). Ecologists and environmental scientists are not and cannot be Luddites. If, in our re- search, we are willing to replace costly and challenging field expeditions by using re- mote sensing technologies such as satellites to count penguins, drones to study the be- havior of Serengeti wildebeest, and acoustic sensors to go wirelessly whale-watching from our offices, we should not thoughtlessly turn our backs on next-generation environmental teaching tools. PRETTY TOYS, SERIOUS THINGS How should the environmental education community move forward? We are the first generation of educators for which digital sub- stitution of field learning is a real choice. This capacity for replacement will only increase as emerging immersive technologies become less expensive and more within reach. Rec- ognizing the exciting place in which we now stand in history empowers us to strategically, rather than haphazardly, select technologies that advance environmental learning. We need to ensure that the pace of tech- facing pedagogical research keeps up with the rapid development of these environ- mental technologies. It will become in- creasingly important that environmental educators have high-quality data from rig- orous research about which new tools and which functions of those tools promote learning and how those gains compare with those of conventional field education. Envi- ronmental researchers and educators must become more actively involved with tech- nology developers and education research- ers to constructively shape the evolution of these new technologies. Last, environmental educators must es- chew temptations to simply choose the sexi- est, newest, or easiest teaching tools. In an era when gains in environmental literacy are needed more than ever, we must commit to prioritizing the use of whatever methods yield the best learning outcomes. It is no se- cret that funds for environmental education are limited. We must continue to search for opportunities to make smart investments in new digital learning technologies. However, we must also be willing to re- sponsibly reject these tools and preserve or extend our investments in increasingly endangered traditional field learning op- portunities when they create superior learning opportunities. Google is mostly right: Field learning is not always practical. However, that cannot become the mantra that prevents us from asking hard questions about the structures of our educational in- stitutions that have contributed to making traditional field learning seem increas- ingly impractical. Possible interventions include reversing declines in the number of field-based natural history courses now required in degree programs, streamlin- ing bureaucratic pathways for permitting and executing field learning, and investing in the human and physical infrastructure required to make field learning tenable. Faculty job advertisements in the environ- mental sciences seem increasingly likely to seek applicants that can teach students to sequence, simulate, or model nature, but perhaps robustness can be added to peda- gogical communities by also actively re- cruiting educators that don’t mind taking students out to stand knee-deep in nature. Thoreau’s own relationship with technol- ogy, as revealed in Walden, was in its own way complex. His musings on the value of “modern improvements” communicate a cau- tionary observation with resonance: “[T]here is an illusion about them…. Our inventions are want to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things.” j R E F E R E N C E S A N D N OT E S 1. T. Fullerton, Walden, a Game; http://waldengame.com. 2. S. Metcalf, A. Kamarainen, M. S. Tutwiler, T. Grotzer, C. Dede, Int. J. Gaming Comput.-Mediat. Simul. 3, 86 (2011). 3. https://edu.google.com/events/iste2016. 4. http://bit.ly/2yIyr42. 5. J. D. Miller, in Science and the Media, D. Kennedy, G. Overholser, Eds. (American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 2010), pp. 44–63. 6. K. M. Kemple, J. Oh, E. Kenney, T. Smith-Bonahue, Child. Educ. 92, 446 (2016). 7. S. K. Jacobson, M. McDuff, M. C. Monroe, Conservation Education and Outreach Techniques (Oxford Univ. Press, 2015). 8. National Trust, Wildlife alien to indoor children (2008); www.nationaltrust.org.uk/what-we-do/news/archive/ view-page/item737221. 9. D. W. Mogk, C. Goodwin, Geol. Soc. Am. Spec. Pap. 486, 131 (2012). 10. I. Scott, I. Fuller, S. Gaskin, J. Geogr. High. Educ. 30, 161 (2006). 11. P. Prokop, G. Tuncer, R. Kvasničák, J. Sci. Educ. Technol. 16, 247 (2007). 12. P. H. Kahn, R. L. Severson, J. H. Ruckert, Curr. Dir. Psychol. Sci. 18, 37 (2009). 13. S. J. Ahn et al., J. Comput.-Mediat. Commun. 21, 399 (2016). 14. N. Bursztyn, A. Walker, B. Shelton, J. Pederson, Geosphere. 13, 260 (2017). 15. D. A. Friess, G. J. H. Oliver, M. S. Y. Quak, A. Y. A. Lau, J. Geogr. High. Educ. 40, 546 (2016) 16. http://store.steampowered.com/app/587450/Saurian. 17. J. Farmer, D. Knapp, G. M. Benton, J. Environ. Educ. 38, 33 (2007). 18. L. Chawla, D. F. Cushing, Environ. Educ. Res. 13, 437 (2007). 19. E. Klopfer, K. Squire, Educ. Technol. Res. Dev. 56, 203 (2008). 20. A. M. Kamarainen et al., Comput. Educ. 68, 545 (2013). 10.1126/science.aao1919 4 20 OCTOBER 2017 • VOL 358 ISSUE 6361 
work_f7ulobtu3vfsdj2wxzvs6pzlei	----	polis43_14.p65 41 La resistencia civil examinada: de Thoreau a Chenoweth Mario López-Martínez Universidad de Granada, Granada, España. Email: mariol@ugr.es Resumen: Este artículo realiza un repaso por la bibliografía más importan- te que abarca desde la obra de Henry David Thoreau hasta Erica Chenoweth. La literatura sobre la resistencia civil va desde el estudio de los fenómenos de movili- zación de las masas durante el siglo XIX atravesados por los movimientos obreros, abolicionistas, pacifistas y sufragistas, hasta la lucha liderada por Gandhi en Sudáfrica y la India. Gandhi es el inventor de la satyagraha, la fuerza del alma, es decir, resistencia civil como lucha política y espiritual. La satyagraha genera muchos estudios y trabajos para comprender su potencialidad. En los años 70s, la figura del investigador Gene Sharp inaugura la corriente funcionalista y aplicada, a la resisten- cia civil. Tras la Guerra fría se extienden los «resistance studies» con una clara visión estratégica y pragmática de la resistencia. Palabras clave: Resistencia civil, Satyagraha, Noviolencia, Estudios so- bre resistencia. The civil resistance examined: from Thoreau to Chenoweth Abstract: This article reviews the most important literature, ranging from the work of Henry David Thoreau to Erica Chenoweth. The literature on civil resistance ranges from the study of the phenomena of mass mobilization during the nineteenth century crossed by the labor movement, abolitionists, suffragists and pacifists, to the struggle led by Gandhi in South Africa and India. Gandhi is the inventor of satyagraha, the force f the soul, that is, civil resistance as a political and spiritual struggle. The satyagraha generates many studies and efforts to understand its potential. In the 70s, the figure of the researcher Gene Sharp opened the functionalist and applied approach to civil resistance. After the Cold War the “resistance studies” with a clear strategic and pragmatic vision of resistance are extended. Keywords: Civil Resistance, Satyagraha, Nonviolence, Resistance Studies. A resistência civil examinada: de Thoreau para Chenoweth Resumo: Este artigo revê a literatura mais importante desde a obra de Henry David Thoreau para Erica Chenoweth. A literatura sobre resistência civil varia a partir do estudo dos fenômenos da mobilização em massa durante o século XIX atravessada pelo movimento operário, abolicionistas, pacifistas e sufragistas, até aluta liderada por Gandhi na África do Sul e Índia. Gandhi é o inventor do satyagraha, a força da alma, ouseja, resistência civil como uma luta política e espiritual. O satyagraha gera muitos estudos e esforços para compreender o seu potencial. Nos anos 70, a figura do pesquisador Gene Sharp inaugura a vertente funcionalista e aplicada da civil. Após a Guerra Friaestendem-se os “resistance Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016, p. 41-65 Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 42 studies” comuma clara visão estratégica e pragmática da resistência. Palavras-chave: Resistência civil, Satyagraha, não-violência Estudos so- bre Resistência. * * * Introducción Desafío, rebeldía y resistencia han estado presentes, desde tiempos remotos, tanto en la creación de mitos de la humanidad, desde los relatos bíblicos del Génesis con Eva a la cabeza, pasando por la mitología greco- latina (Prometeo), las obras literarias (Antígona, Lisístratas); hasta en la historia desde los inicios del antiguo Egipto, en la Edad Media o la Moder- nidad. Por supuesto, esta historia no se queda en las lejanas épocas sino que atraviesa, con multitud de ejemplos, todas las latitudes y geografías por donde los seres humanos han ido creando civilización (Hsiao y Lim, 2010; Kurlansky, 2008). Desobedecer las verdades establecidas, desafiar a los poderosos, rebelarse frente a las injusticias, resistirse a la dominación, protestar las arbitrariedades, explorar más allá de los límites fijados, transgredir el orden social y muchas más acciones similares no sólo han sido parte importante de nuestra historia sino todo un arte, sin el cual resulta difícil imaginar el progreso humano (Krippendorf, 2003). ¿Qué ha motivado los cambios en la humanidad? ¿Cuál ha sido el motor de la historia? Desde la óptica de la noviolencia, la resistencia y la desobediencia serían lo más parecido a lo que Marx (1946: 639) denominaría «comadrona» de la Historia. La insurrección no armada es uno de los muchos términos que se usan para designar a la resistencia civil. También puede hablarse de «méto- dos de acción noviolenta», «resistencia pasiva», «resistencia civilizada», «desobediencia civil», «resistencia noviolenta», «rebeliones desarmadas», «conflicto noviolento», «people power», por supuesto «satyagraha», in- cluso «revoluciones no armadas», «revoluciones noviolentas» y hasta «guerra sin armas», entre algunas expresiones más.1 Cada uno de estos términos implicaría matices. Igual sucedería con conceptos como civil, no armado y noviolento, así como expresiones tales como conflicto, insurrección, resistencia, guerra y revolución, requerirían un tratamiento específico. Sin embargo, no es objeto, en este momento, el entrar en tantos detalles y, en general, durante este artículo vamos a usar, indistintamente, algunas de esas alocuciones como sinónimos, aun siendo conscientes de lo dicho anteriormente.2 Las insurrecciones no armadas, o campañas de resistencia civil, son desafíos populares abiertos y organizados frente a las autoridades guber- nativas, realizados con métodos noviolentos, es decir, que van más allá de los usos convencionales de la política institucional, y que se niegan a sí 43 mismos el uso de armas y de la violencia. La finalidad está en hacer emerger un conflicto, en términos incompatibles, entre resistentes y autoridades, usando aquéllos todos los medios a su alcance: políticos, sociales, econó- micos, culturales, éticos y psicológicos, de manera activa o pasiva, con la excepción de las amenazas y la violencia.3 Por eso hay que advertir, desde un primer momento, que en los con- flictos estratégicos noviolentos no es que no exista violencia, sino que no es usada por uno de los actores de la contienda. El Estado, el gobierno y las autoridades –a veces incluso otros grupos armados en los que éstos se apoyan o los toleran- sí podrían ejercer la fuerza más o menos legal y, de hecho, lo hacen; sin embargo, ésta acaba volviéndose ilegítima, por cuanto el contendiente al que represalian con medios contundentes, ni les amena- za, ni va a ejercer contra ellos la violencia. A pesar de lo dicho, no en todos los casos de conflicto estratégico noviolento se da la situación ideal de haber dos actores enfrentados en términos de incompatibilidad manifiesta, cada uno en una posición muy nítida con respecto al uso o no de la violencia. Las situaciones históricas reales apuntan a una mayor complejidad de actores, procesos y opciones o elecciones de éstos. Sudáfrica fue un ejemplo de ello, actores que usaban en su estrategia, tanto métodos armados, como no armados. De hecho, quienes optan por la lucha armada no descartan el uso de métodos sin uso de la violencia, especialmente, huelgas, boicots, desobediencia, marchas, etc., que contribuyan a debilitar la voluntad del adversario y ayuden a mantener amplios apoyos entre la población civil. En Estados Unidos, líde- res como Martin Luther King (1968 y 2010), hacían ímprobos esfuerzos para que su movimiento se distinguiera de otros grupos que usaban la lucha guerrillera urbana combinada con métodos de movilización de masas. En la India de Gandhi, también hubo grupos terroristas que no dudaron en apo- yar políticamente las opciones del movimiento noviolento gandhiano. Asi- mismo, entre los miembros del Estado nos podemos encontrar muchas com- plicidades con un movimiento de resistencia civil, produciéndose desercio- nes y desafecciones, a pesar de la rigidez con la que operan burocracias y administradores de la represión. Lo importante y lo que nos permite distinguir el conflicto estratégico noviolento es que al menos un actor, que es por lo general mayoritario o, al menos, busca serlo, tiene capacidad de movilización de masas, mantiene la disciplina noviolenta, tiene muy claro que no va a usar métodos armados y que está dispuesto a soportar la represión, manteniendo su capacidad de resiliencia (resistencia e insistencia a pesar de la previsible represión) y continuando sus acciones de desafío. Advirtiendo que quienes intervienen en estas campañas no han de ser personas plenamente convencidas de una «noviolencia de principios» de carácter ideológico, religioso o ético, sino que han calculado que estos métodos son los más adecuados y efectivos para transformar radicalmente la situación de partida. No hace falta, aunque ayuda mucho, la existencia de un líder carismático. No hace falta, tampoco, ser estrategas pero sí tener desarrolladas ciertas capacidades, entrenamien- Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 44 to y disciplinas para optimizar la dinámica de las luchas. Y requiere, asimis- mo, de perseverancia y entereza para encarar situaciones difíciles y duras (Pontara, 1996), aunque todo el mundo no cuenta con tales atributos. Por tanto, conviene enfatizar que este tipo de luchas noviolentas se desarrollan en un contexto altamente conflictivo, pues ya han sobrepasado el marco político-legal institucionalizado, para ir mucho más allá. Se realizan en un contexto de confrontación abierta, con ejercicios que van más allá de la persuasión, la presión y la protesta para pasar a la no cooperación y la desobediencia en masa, incluso hasta la coerción noviolenta y la desinte- gración del poder del oponente, para obligarle –en ese proceso de pulso y desgaste- a una negociación noviolenta. En consecuencia, no se trata de métodos y situaciones más o menos reguladas como el cabildeo, la mera presión política, la recogida de firmas para aplicar iniciativas legislativas o formas amplias de mediación, arbitraje y conciliación para la resolución concertada de conflictos, sino acciones disruptivas, abiertamente desafiantes, subversivas y sediciosas (López Martínez, 2013). El propio Mohandas Gandhi, experto en este ejercicio, nos deja un texto antológico para entender en qué términos se ha de hablar de resisten- cia civil: “Es una rebelión, pero sin ninguna violencia. El que se compromete hasta el fondo en la resistencia civil no se contenta simplemente con prescindir de la autoridad del estado; se convierte en un fuera de la ley, que se arroga el derecho de pasar por encima de toda ley del estado contraria a la moral. De esta forma, por ejemplo, puede llegar hasta a negarse a pagar los impuestos o a admitir la injerencia de las autoridades en sus asuntos cotidianos. A pesar de las prohibicio- nes, puede atreverse a entrar en los cuarteles si tiene algo que decir a los soldados. Puede igualmente desobedecer a las normas de los piquetes contra la huelga y decidir manifestarse donde no está per- mitido. En todos estos ejemplos, no recurre jamás a la fuerza ni se resiste contra ella, cuando la emplean contra él. La verdad es que se sitúa en una posición en la que tendrán que meterle en la cárcel o recurrir a otros medios coercitivos. Obra de esa manera cuando cree que la libertad física de que goza aparentemente se ha convertido en un peso intolerable. Saca sus argumentos del hecho de que un esta- do no concede la libertad personal más que en la medida en que el ciudadano se somete a la ley: esa sumisión a las decisiones del esta- do es el precio que tiene que pagar el ciudadano por su libertad personal. Por consiguiente, no deja de ser una estafa ese intercam- bio entre su libertad y la sumisión a un estado cuyas leyes son, totalmente o en su mayor parte, injustas. Si llega a descubrir que el estado obra mal, el ciudadano no puede vivir resignándose a esta situación tan lamentable. Y si, a pesar de no cometer ninguna falta moral, hace todo lo que puede para que lo detengan, los demás ciudadanos que no comparten sus opiniones verán en él necesaria- mente un peligro público. Así considerada, la resistencia civil es el 45 medio más eficaz para expresar la preocupación que siente y el más elocuente para protestar contra el mantenimiento en el poder de un estado que no se comporta debidamente. ¿No es ésta la historia de todas las reformas? ¿No llegaron los reformadores a rechazar incluso los símbolos más inocentes asociados a una práctica condenable, a pesar de toda la indignación de sus contemporáneos?” 4 Finalmente, la resistencia civil, aunque es muy antigua como arma de combate, ha tomado un gran protagonismo en el último siglo y ha formado parte de multitud de procesos y situaciones de muy diversa naturaleza. La resistencia civil se ha usado para luchar contra un amplísimo elenco de situaciones de injusticia, así como contra procesos de larga duración histó- rica. Algunos de estos conflictos estratégicos noviolentos han ido contra el colonialismo, las ocupaciones extranjeras, los golpes de estado, los regí- menes dictatoriales y despóticos, en dinámicas de fraude electoral masivo, contra la discriminación racial, religiosa y de género, contra la alteración del orden constitucional, a favor de procesos de independencia nacional, por la defensa de los derechos y libertades, a favor de la protección ambiental, por la defensa y protección de las comunidades indígenas y aborígenes, de la lucha por la tierra, en cruzadas contra el intervencionismo militar e, inclu- so, en campañas contra políticas neoliberales y procesos de exclusión so- cial (Powers y Vogele, 1999; López Martínez, 2001) tal y como más adelante clasificaremos. Escenarios y contextos de resistencia noviolenta estratégica En realidad y, especialmente, durante el siglo XX este tipo de expe- riencias de conflictos conducidos mediante un combate noviolento han sido mucho más numerosos, frecuentes y significativos de lo que la historiografía histórica y politológica nos ha mostrado (Schell, 2005); han tenido, además, el «poder positivo del efecto mariposa», han constituido «una transformación social tan importante como inesperada, desconcer- tando todos los pronósticos de la real politik» (Martínez Hincapié, 2012: 38). Hemos reelaborado5 una clasificación en tres ejes de reivindicación y conflictos (luchas de liberación colonial, derribo de dictaduras y sistemas tiránicos, y defensa de los derechos humanos y un mundo alternativo) y hemos aumentado el número de casos –a la luz de nuevos trabajos que se han venido publicando-. No son todos, ni muchísimo menos, son sólo una muestra que puede ofrecer una aproximación del vasto caudal de informa- ción y análisis que nos pueden ofrecer, teniendo en cuenta que muchas de estas experiencias históricas podrían haber sido clasificadas en dos o más de estos conceptos. A) La lucha contra la dominación colonial Son resistencias contra la presencia y el dominio de los imperios, preferentemente europeos, en donde se combinaron revueltas armadas y Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 46 no armadas. En general, estas resistencias se iniciaron en cuanto la relación entre visitantes y visitados se inclinó por un vínculo de dominio, opresión y superioridad, en donde los imperios usaron todo tipo de formas de violen- cia hacia los pueblos indígenas o autóctonos (Ferro, 2005). Los ejemplos que aquí recogemos son los de respuestas no armadas y noviolentas, si bien lo habitual fue la combinación de períodos de guerra abierta, con otros de calma tensa, con otros de campañas de resistencia noviolenta estratégi- ca y, en especial eran aún más frecuentes las etapas en donde se armoniza- ban algún tipo de guerra popular con resistencia popular noviolenta. Lo interesante de la bibliografía más actual es que está comenzando a recono- cer que no todo fueron guerras y lucha armada sino que hubo extensos períodos de desafío al colonialismo en claves de resistencia civil, en la que amplios sectores de la población (mujeres, niños, ancianos) alcanzaban capacidades de ejercer la resistencia en sus múltiples formas (cultural, so- cial, política, económica, psicológica), reforzando el sentimiento de rechazo y generando formas de poder social frente a la dominación (Bartkowski, 2013; Pearlman, 2011; Sutherland y Meyer, 2000)6. B) La lucha contra los regímenes autoritarios, dictatoriales y totalitarios El uso de los métodos de resistencia civil organizada en particular, y la lucha noviolenta en general, tiene aquí un protagonismo muy destacado aunque ha sido bastante silenciado por los marcos de referencia represi- vos, pues pertenecía al patrimonio de los disidentes, los silenciados y los “sin poder” (Havel, 1990). Algunas preguntas centrales fueron comunes en estos: ¿se debe obedecer a un gobierno que tiene políticas y leyes tiránicas? O ¿qué se puede hacer cuando un país es invadido y el ejército ocupante quiere imponer sus leyes y su voluntad? Si la respuesta es no, a la primera pregunta, entonces, se deben desobedecer esas leyes e imposiciones y, si la respuesta a la segunda es se puede hacer algo, entonces, lo inmediato es organizar la resistencia por todos los medios disponibles, siendo los méto- dos no armados los más habituales (Sémelin, 1989). ¿Por qué? La represión y las violaciones en general de derechos y libertades, en un régimen dicta- torial, es un arma muy usada por el aparato burocrático-político-militar que sostiene el régimen, la lucha armada acaba legitimando la represión, en cambio una lucha noviolenta hace poco sostenible, política y moralmente, la contención violenta del adversario, puede producir justamente un efecto de rechazo (Martin, 2012), generando deserciones entre sus filas y hacien- do engrosar altas dosis de legitimidad y de poder moral entre la oposición (Ackerman y Kruegler, 1994; Ackerman y Duvall, 2000; Chenoweth y Stephan, 2011; Schock, 2008; Shell, 2005; Roberts y GartonAsh, 2009, Sharp y Paulson, 2005; Sharp, 2003; Zunes, 1999)7. C) La reivindicación de derechos y libertades democráticas y ciudadanas (luchas antiglobalización, ecologistas, identitarias). En estos casos, que son muchos, el espectro se amplía considerable- mente y recorre desde los viejos movimientos sociales (abolicionismo, obrerismo, republicanismo, democracia radical, sufragismo), tan ampliamente 47 desarrollados durante el siglo XIX y la primera mitad del siglo XX, hasta los nuevos movimientos sociales (feminismo, pacifismo, ecologismo, etc.) que irrumpieron con fuerza tras Mayo de 1968. Múltiples formas de resistencia política, social y contracultural no sólo al imperialismo político-cultural, sino a las formas adoptadas por el capitalismo (del bienestar, de consumo, de la globalización), sus modos de violencia estructural, procesos de aculturación, dependencia y dominación. Los métodos noviolentos han sido muy usados por el mundo de las ONGs, asociaciones de la sociedad civil, grupos alternativos y contestatarios que han venido aportando ideas y prácticas a favor de los derechos humanos, una ética hacia los animales, la conservación de Gaia, y un largo etcétera (Martin, 2001; Moser- Puangsuwan y Weber, 2000; Powers y Vogele, 1997; Roberts y GartonAsh, 2009; Sharp, 1985; Martínez Hincapié, 2012)8. A pesar de que es una teoría política joven, todos estos ejemplos son bien significativos, no sólo como experiencias históricas, sino en la elección metodológica, atendiendo a múltiples factores: buscar la eficacia en la transformación del conflicto, reducir costes en vidas humanas, gene- rar confianza entre la sociedad civil, organizar poder social, obligar a entrar a negociar a la contraparte, etc. Si bien, en muchos de estos ejemplos no se da la «noviolencia específica» (Pontara, 2000), aquella que busca un pro- grama creativo y constructivo con el adversario, sino que se trata de una «noviolencia estratégica» (Sharp, 1973) o «genérica» (Pontara, 2000), -elec- ción de estos medios por conveniencia, necesidad, oportunidad, etc.- o como Gandhi denominó como la «noviolencia del débil» (Pontara, 1983). A pesar de ello, se puede afirmar –como han tratado de demostrar, estadísticamente, las profesoras Chenoweth y Stephan (2011)- que las cam- pañas estratégicas noviolentas han ofrecido mejores resultados que los procesos de lucha armada. Además, siguiendo a Karatnycky y Ackerman (2005), el uso de la resistencia civil de masas ha propiciado cambios de régimen hacia democracias electorales de manera más exitosa que por la vía armada, permitiendo superar mejor traumas y mejorar procesos de consenso. Históricamente estos métodos de acción política noviolenta se han venido identificando con todo tipo de marchas de protesta, demostracio- nes multitudinarias, sentadas, huelgas generales, boicots o desobediencia civil. Tomados aisladamente estos procedimientos (prácticas, formas, tácti- cas, métodos, etc.) pueden tener un efecto reducido o limitado, sin embar- go, combinados de una manera estratégica (con maestría, competencia, ofi- cio, autoridad, experticia, de manera sistémica, etc.) pueden dar lugar a un notable abanico de posibilidades: fuerte oposición política, considerable desafío social, colapso de un sistema jurídico, subversión del orden esta- blecido, etc. Satyagraha: estrategia y espiritualidad unidas Existe una considerable literatura, desde fines del XVIII al XIX, en la que se discuten las posibilidades del uso de acciones que hoy calificaría- Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 48 mos como noviolentas. Y aunque en esa época se denominan de diversas formas: “no-resistencia”, “resistencia pasiva”, “desobediencia”, “insumi- sión”…, todas se refieren a similares realidades. ¿Se ha producido un cam- bio sustantivo con respecto a épocas anteriores en las que se hablaba de guerra justa, derecho de resistencia, tiranicidio y monarcómanos? En gran medida sí, pero también en épocas anteriores la teoría sobre estas cuestio- nes va matizando el uso de la violencia, aconsejando que sea el último recurso, e inclinándose por usar otros medios antes de llegar al derrama- miento de sangre (Laudani, 2012). Hilando fino, podemos apreciar que esos “otros medios” ya estaban en la literatura de Juan de Mariana, Francisco Suárez, Hugo Grocio, Du Plessy-Mornay, John Locke, Thomas Paine, entre muchos otros. En William Lloyd Garrison (1971-81), Adin Ballou (1848), Theodor Parker (1850) y Elihu Burritt (1854), entre otros, aparecen los métodos de protesta, no-cooperación o desobediencia, contemplando como contrapro- ducentes el uso de métodos violentos. Una historia lineal desde aquí hasta Tolstoi o Gandhi nos permite ver las múltiples interrelaciones con otros movimientos sociales (sufragistas, nacionalismos), pensadores del papel de la revolución en los cambios sociales o de la relación entre individuos y estado en un sistema liberal (Randle, 1998). Siendo uno de sus rasgos co- munes la “persuasión” moral de los adversarios. Si bien, en algunos de los movimientos emancipatorios de las clases populares se dieron formas de lucha armada y de uso de vías institucionales, lo más habitual fueron múltiples formas de resistencia, en este umbral se movieron desde las micro-resistencias (Scott, 2003), hasta las grandes mani- festaciones y huelgas generales como arma revolucionaria (Luxemburg, 1906). No obstante, el punto de unión con la literatura gandhiana lo marca Henry David Thoreau y su obra Onthe civil resistance o Sobre la desobe- diencia civil (1848-49). En él plantea no sólo cómo hacer la revolución pacífica, sino cómo las minorías, en sistemas parlamentarios-liberales, pue- den producir sanciones, conflictos y presiones contra las políticas de las mayorías. Era una manera de interpretación del derecho de resistencia clási- co –el deber de enfrentarse al tirano, en este caso la tiranía de las mayorías- en un nuevo contexto histórico. Thoreau situaba la cuestión no sólo en el derecho a desobedecer sino en términos de poder. El individuo se situaba entre la obligación y la protesta, la primera en relación con el Estado, la segunda frente a su conciencia moral. Este dilema entre razón de Estado y razón ciudadana tuvo una enorme influencia en Tolstoi, Gandhi y después en Luther King, Mandela o Havel. León Tolstoi (2010) retoma este concepto de desobediencia a través de la crítica al proceso por el cual los estados disuelven o destruyen la conciencia individual imponiendo su única soberanía. Tolstoi –adelantán- dose a Foucault- nos recuerda que la Iglesia, la cárcel, el ejército, la burocra- cia, etc., no son simples instituciones de ejercicio del poder sino espacios de destrucción de la espiritualidad humana. La vía tolstosiana para romper 49 ese dominio es la insumisión que es una desobediencia civil ilimitada frente a toda jerarquía y potestad. Se sabe que Gandhi (1940, 1944 y 1950) fue muy influido por Thoreau, Tolstoi y el movimiento sufragista, sin embargo, en el primero hay unos rasgos de activismo, estrategia y conducción de las masas que no tienen los otros, pero que sí tuvo el movimiento de las mujeres que lucharon por el voto.9 En un contexto colonialista-imperialista Gandhi va a desplegar su concepto-matriz, Satyagraha, mucho más que resistencia civil de masas o campaña noviolenta estratégica. Para Gandhi, Satyagraha es resistencia civil con espiritualidad o “fuerza del alma”. Gandhi tiene un gran conoci- miento de la lucha en términos técnicos pero no quiere renunciar a la impli- cación espiritual que hay tras el compromiso y la preparación por la lucha de valores e ideales humanos. Tras Gandhi, no sólo hay estrategia, sino una concepción humana, una visión de la historia y de cómo abordar la emanci- pación o liberación socio-política. Como nos señala Pontara (1983, 2004 y 2006), no se puede entender la Satyagraha sin otros conceptos gandhianos como swaraj (autogobierno), swadeshi (autosuficiencia), sarvodaya (bien- estar de todos), tapasya (sacrificio) o ahimsa (noviolencia). En conjunto, estas piezas o conceptos, son como ladrillos y argamasa con los que se construye el edificio complejo de la Satyagraha, pues no sólo es lucha sin armas, sino proyecto alternativo a las formas sociales y de producción capitalistas, desarrollo personal-espiritual y formas de convivencia con otros seres vivos (López Martínez, 2012 b). En términos de dinámicas, en la concepción gandhiana, no era tan importante el resultado final sino el propio proceso. Resultado y método, no podían estar separados o desconectados, pues Gandhi deducía que los métodos noviolentos había que cuidarlos escrupulosamente para cuidar así los fines. Satyagraha era, sobre todo, una manera de perfeccionamiento sin causar daño y sufrimiento a los demás. Así, bajo la mentalidad gandhiana el sentimiento de certeza era una peligrosa ilusión, siendo el conflicto un lugar adecuado para separar la falsedad de la verdad, una oportunidad de purificación de las posiciones antagónicas, un espacio para construir con- fianza y, su palabra clave, “conversión” (Pontara, 2006: 169-203). Conseguir transformar al enemigo, sin derrotarlo (Satyagraha como una “ruptura po- sitiva” del odio) (Gandhi, 1950: 94). A esta manera de resistencia noviolenta, se la ha clasificado como noviolencia de principios, específica o ética, en la que medios y fines han de ser intercambiables y orientados hacia la conversión del adversario y la reconciliación entre contrarios; en cambio, cuando la resistencia civil es sólo una herramienta de lucha, es decir, es sólo pragmática, genérica o instrumental,10 no se trata de una «fuerza moral» sino del despliegue de una fuerza aplicada, “ni romantizada, ni subestimada” (Schock 2008: 32), que pretende poner ante las cuerdas a un régimen oprobioso. En todo caso lo que se inaugura en 1906, con Gandhi, es cómo irrumpe un siglo del “poder de los sin poder” (Havel, 1990), especialmente porque Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 50 muchas de esas luchas de resistencia civil fueron anti dominación (colonia- lista, patriarcal, belicista, racial, etc.). La experiencia gandhiana permitió la confección de una literatura más sólida sobre los métodos, las dinámicas y las lógicas de la resistencia civil de masas, además de alumbrar un significa- tivo empuje conceptual. No sólo fue Satyagraha, como «persistencia de la verdad», sino conceptos como «coerción noviolenta» de Clarence Case (1923), el «jiu-jitsu moral» de Richard Gregg (1935), la «huelga general» como arma dramática de Wilfred H. Crook (1931), la «revolución sin violen- cia» de Bartelemy De Ligt (1935), el «marco estratégico» para el desarrollo de las campañas de Krishnalal Shridharani (1939), la «dinámica» o las «eta- pas» de la lucha de Joan Bondurant (1958), la «omnicracia» de Aldo Capitini (1969), la «civilian defence» (defensa civil organizada) de Adam Roberts (1969), el «jiu-jitsu político» de Gene Sharp (1973), o el «backfire» de Brian Martin (2012), entre otros muchos elementos en el juego de poder desde la noviolencia (Castañar, 2010; Sharp 2012).11 Aunque no es este el lugar para desarrollarlo sí conviene señalar que tras los conceptos gandhianos y la experiencia india, se abrió más allá de la resistencia civil como forma organizada y sistemática de lucha, un debate y una literatura ad hoc sobre cómo hacer la revolución sin derramamiento de sangre y transcendiendo posiciones convencionales (liberales y marxis- tas). El propio Tolstoi (2010), Gandhi (1973), Aldo Capitini (1969), George Lakey (1973), Lanza del Vasto (1978), entre otros, plantean que en una situa- ción de crisis civilizatoria la revolución es mucho más que toma del poder o el cambio de régimen.12 De la escuela funcionalista de Sharp a la literatura estratégica El puente entre la satyagraha (más allá de un método) y la literatura estratégica actual es Gene Sharp y su escuela. El viejo politólogo nacido en Ohio en 1928, constituyó un auténtico revulsivo en el campo de la teoría política de la noviolencia, como una ciencia social aplicada. Sharp como científico social y académico pretendió sintetizar la complejidad de la ac- ción noviolenta, ofreciendo una mirada aplicada, útil y pragmática de una filosofía muy compleja. A pesar de que Sharp se sintió muy comprometido con los valores de la noviolencia (fue objetor de conciencia), su sentido pragmático y utilita- rista se evidenció desde sus primeros trabajos sobre este tema. Sharp (1970) comenzó explorando las alternativas noviolentas a la política convencional releyendo autores como Etienne de la Boetié (1576) y Henry David Thoreau (1848) a la luz de acontecimientos contemporáneos, especialmente asocia- dos a caídas de dictaduras militares y de movimientos de masas. Esto le condujo a desarrollar su campo de aplicación con varias obras posteriores (1994 y 2009), siendo la primera: De la dictadura a la democracia (publica- da en Bangkok en plena ebullición del movimiento por la democracia liderado 51 por Aung San Su-Kyi contra los militares), la que le daría fama internacional. Esta breve obra tuvo un gran éxito (traducida a más de 20 idiomas) y una gran repercusión en el campo de la movilización de masas. No obstante su obra más precursora fue The Politics of Nonviolent Action (1973), dividida en tres volúmenes, complementada posteriormente con los estudios: Gandhi as a Political Strategist (1979) y Social Power and Political Freedom (1980), en términos de repensar la estrategia en la política. Su idea principal es tratar la noviolencia como una ciencia (y no una filosofía o una manera de vivir). Como tal, tiene su metodología, puede ser enseñada, sistematizada y, asimismo, tiene su parte técnica. Es una ciencia de la política de masas, del juego de poder, de la que se pueden deducir algunos principios para su experimentación. A Sharp lo que le pre- ocupa es encontrar un método eficaz de ejercicio del poder, más allá del bien y del mal, más allá de la ética. Una forma de acción eficiente, de «demostra- ción de fuerza, de solución práctica de problemas concretos, de disciplina de la acción, pero no de mística, no un acto de ingenuidad moralista» (Soccio, 1985: 20). Sharp buscó, como William James o Gandhi, una alternativa a la guerra y la violencia, pero sin que tuviera que ser un sustitutivo moral o espiritual, sino una ciencia del conocimiento estratégico y táctico de la acción política más allá de las fronteras institucionales de una parte o, de la lucha armada, de otra. Para su escuela, la acción política noviolenta es un sistema complejo de principios, reglas y técnicas. Cuyo profundo conocimiento permite de- sarrollar su potencialidad y eficacia, al manejar factores diversos (tácticos, humanos, jurídico-políticos, accidentales…), variables específicas (miedo, liderazgo, poder, preparación, presión, etc.), junto a otros saberes y conoci- mientos que se ponen al servicio de la lucha (psicología, política, historia, geografía, economía…), así como la combinación de todo ello. Según Sharp, el poder del príncipe, como el poder de la gente orga- nizada («people power») tienen unas fuentes similares (autoridad, recur- sos humanos, factores psicológicos e ideológicos, recursos materiales, sis- temas de sanciones) aunque se construyen y se ejercen de manera muy diversa. El desarrollo de tales fuentes sirve, a los gobernados para obede- cer o negarse a hacerlo, porque existen una serie de factores que coadyuvan a ello (hábito, miedo, obligación moral, intereses personales, identificación política con quien lidera, falta de confianza en sí mismos, indiferencia). La teoría del poder de Sharp, tan simple como directa, se fundamentaba en una concepción voluntarista del consentimiento con binomios como obedecer/ desobedecer o permitir/oponerse. Hoy día sabemos, a través de otras teo- rías del poder, que existen complejos procesos de hegemonía cultural, de disciplinamiento o de consenso (Gramsci, 1978; Foucault, 1987; Arendt, 1973) que hacen menos plausible el binomio gobernar/someterse, sin tener en cuenta más variables. Partiendo de estas bases, Sharp estudia la historia y reconstruye un elenco de métodos de acción noviolenta, hasta un total de 198, que divide Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 52 en tres grandes grupos: los que expresan altos niveles simbólicos y comunicativos que tratan de influir en el adversario y que permiten desple- gar algunos dispositivos del poder popular, son métodos de “protesta, persuasión y concienciación” (declaraciones formales, espectáculos, ho- menajes, asambleas, discursos, etc.). Un segundo grupo, que consiste en la retirada activa de apoyo o de aquiescencia hacia quienes gobiernan; bien mediante la“no cooperación social” dificultando o entorpeciendo el normal desenvolvimiento de la vida y el orden social (ostracismo, suspensión de actividades culturales y eventos sociales, etc.); bien mediante la “no co- operación económica”, afectando a toda la actividad productiva, comercial, financiera, fiscal, distributiva y de consumo de una sociedad, para ahogar al sistema y obligar a las élites a que presionen al gobierno para que éste negocie. El ejemplo histórico más divulgado fue la huelga general de traba- jadores, pero estos métodos son muy diversos e implican múltiples elemen- tos (boicot, no pagar rentas, retirar masivamente fondos, embargos, recha- zar dinero, etc.). O bien la “no colaboración política”, que implica el rechazo de la autoridad, el retiro de la fidelidad y de la obligación jurídico-política hacia el gobierno y las fuerzas de seguridad, mostrar desacato hacia los órganos administrativos y jurídicos, boicots electorales, etc. Y, un tercer grupo que denomina de “intervención noviolenta”, en los que aumenta el grado de actuación, participación y estrategia combinada en el plano psico- lógico (huelga de hambre, contra juicios, hostigamiento, escraches), físico (ocupar lugares prohibidos, incursiones aéreas, invasiones), social (crear instituciones sociales alternativas, sistemas diversos de información y co- municación), económico (crear dinero, falsificar documentos, apropiarse de bienes y capitales, provocar pérdidas económicas) y político (doble sobe- ranía, gobierno y administración paralelas). De todos ellos la estrella es la desobediencia civil de masas como incumplimiento consciente, deliberado y público de las leyes para retar y generar colapso en el sistema. Un tercer elemento que ofrece sentido a las formas de poder y a los instrumentos de acción (los 198 métodos) es el estudio de las dinámicas: cómo funcionan, su intensidad, el sistema de fuerzas, esto es, las bases de la acción noviolenta (afrontar el poder del adversario, asumir riesgos, libe- rarse del miedo, el liderazgo de la lucha, la preparación, el ultimátum); el desafío que desencadena la represión (acabar con la pasividad, recompo- ner fuerzas, perseverar, enfrentar la brutalidad); cómo combatir este importantísimo factor con solidaridad y disciplina (neutralizar, diseñar un plan b, promocionar la disciplina interna); el concepto de «jiu-jitsu político» para que se genere un quiebre entre las filas represoras; la modificación de la voluntad del adversario mediante la conversión, la acomodación o la coerción noviolenta; y, finalmente, los objetivos últimos de la resistencia civil, es decir, propiciar una redistribución del poder entre los contendien- tes, poner fin a la sumisión, superar el miedo, generar poder social alterna- tivo, crear nuevas organizaciones sociales y políticas, cambiar en definitiva el sistema político. El seguimiento de las guías bibliográficas de McCarthy y Sharp (1997), de Power y Vogele (1997) o de Carter, Clark, y Randle (2006 y 2013), permiten 53 contemplar tras la obra de Sharp (1973) una explosión de la literatura sobre la acción política noviolenta genérica, al calor de estudios sobre el desarro- llo de nuevos movimientos sociales (pacifismo antinuclear, ecologismo, fe- minismo radical), ciclos de protesta (procesos de descolonización, antiapartheid, Vietnam, afrodescendientes, 1968, indigenismo, etc.) y acon- tecimientos no esperados (el descubrimiento del “people power”, el “poder de los sin poder” o la Caída del Muro de Berlín). Todo ello desplegó una cadena de estudios históricos, sociológicos y politológicos que otorgaban más atención a los movimientos de resistencia civil, reinterpretaban ciertos acontecimientos históricos relacionados con el monopolio del paradigma de la violencia y acometían análisis estratégicos sobre procesos invisibilizados (Carter, 2012). Esta interesante literatura ad hoco estratégica recorre los últimos 20 años, y va desde los trabajos de Ackerman y Kruegler (1994) sobre la rela- ción entre las dinámicas de movilización de las masas y su importancia en los conflictos noviolentos estratégicos, con múltiples ejemplos en situacio- nes, incluso de guerra; completado con otros casos de estudio realizados por Ackerman y Duvall (2000) para el siglo XX; pasando por el estudio de la geopolítica de los movimientos noviolentos de Zunes (1999); el Congreso de Oxford de 2007 liderado por Roberts y GartonAsh (2009) sobre estudios y sistematización de campañas masivas de resistencia sin armas, analizan- do factores en juego;13 los trabajos de Schock (2008) y Nesptad (2011) que analizan estudios de casos exitosos o fracasados14 en función de una serie de variables;15 los trabajos cuantitativos de Chenoweth y Stephan (2008 y 2011) que demuestra que las campañas de resistencia civil han sido, para todo el siglo XX, más exitosas que aquellas campañas de lucha armada.16 Esta literatura ha considerado que las elecciones estratégicas de los activistas son un factor clave sobre el éxito o el fracaso de una campaña masiva noviolenta. Por tanto, no se trata de acontecimientos improvisados o fundamentados en la voluntad firme y el coraje sino en un conjunto de variables de acción estratégica (minar el apoyo del oponente, dividir sus filas, conectar acciones y objetivos, considerar las fortalezas y debilidades, mantener una presión constante, etc.) que siguen ampliándose con nuevos trabajos. Estas visiones se completan con una historiografía que trata de am- pliar casos históricos y acontecimientos claves en países, con un enfoque estratégico y ecléctico, como el de Karatnycky y Ackerman (2005),17 Sharp y Paulson (2005) o Bartkowki (2013), y todo parece indicar que los trabajos, en este sentido, están creciendo de manera notable (Castañar, 2016). Aún quedaría una amplia literatura que, de manera indirecta, se inte- resa por los métodos y las dinámicas de la resistencia civil (limitada) en relación con los movimientos sociales, su capacidad de acción, no sólo instrumental, sino simbólica y relacional. Sin embargo no ha sido objeto de este artículo. Como tampoco otra literatura que partiendo de la resistencia civil realiza análisis de su canalización hacia la defensa popular y la defensa social.18 Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 54 Si bien no se puede ignorar que, aún los estudios y avances, existe toda una batalla epistemológica para infravalorar la importancia que tienen estos procesos de resistencia civil.19 Conclusiones La resistencia civil ha podido ser una constante histórica, con más o menos éxito, sin embargo su estudio sistemático es muy reciente y está muy ligado a las épocas contemporáneas donde el poder de las masas y de los sectores populares movilizados ha sido singularmente notorio con respec- to a etapas pretéritas. Las muchedumbres en la historia presente, como factor político, se han convertido en una ciudadanía activa, comprometida y decidida a ser la protagonista de sus propios cambios. La imagen es muy nítida: ciudadanos sin armas de fuego, sin someterse a una lucha de infini- tas crueldades, presionando y ejerciendo su descubierto empoderamiento frente al poder convencional, ofreciéndonos nuevos panoramas de análisis sobre el ejercicio de la política. La resistencia civil, como materia de estudio, ha venido generando una amplia literatura, por lo general ligada a varios campos del saber: en relación con los estudios para la paz, con respecto a las teorías de los movimientos sociales, en el campo de la ciencia política y las formas de ejercicio del poder y sus teorías, entre otras muchas. La evolución desde el derecho de resistencia frente a las tiranías y la intolerancia hasta las formas de desobediencia civil nos permiten vislumbrar, en paralelo, los cambios sociales y políticos que se han venido produciendo en nuestras socieda- des modernas. El estudio de ese derecho, su ejercicio, las nuevas formas de socialización y sociabilidad política muestran elementos de interés que se han venido ofreciendo a través del vasto campo de lo que se denomina la noviolencia. Desde Thoreau -pasando por los movimientos liberal-democráticos, abolicionistas, sufragistas, pacifistas, antimilitaristas, internacional- obreristas, etc.-, hasta las primaveras árabes existen algunas conexiones donde la resistencia resulta protagonista. La literatura del siglo XIX sobre las resistencias comenzó dejando testimonio de este fenómeno ligado a las masas como sujeto político. La tensión entre razón de Estado y razón ciuda- dana se resolvía en el campo no sólo institucional sino más allá, mediante formas complejas de presión, protesta y concienciación. Frente a la maqui- naria burocrático-militar de los estados, el pueblo tenía a su disposición la no-cooperación, pudiendo colapsar al sistema de una manera aparentemen- te tan sencilla como no obedecer y no colaborar. Thoreau, Tolstoi o Gandhi se dieron cuenta de ello. No fueron los únicos, todos ellos aprendieron muchísimo de las luchas obreras y sufragistas. Fue Gandhi el que supo interpretar una nueva forma de lucha, dejan- do atrás a la mal llamada «resistencia pasiva» convirtiendo la resistencia civil en «satyagraha» (fuerza de la verdad), es decir, una lucha de masas, 55 un poder social movilizado que no sólo se conducía por intereses políticos sino que incorporaba una fuerza espiritual y moral motivadora que soporta- ba el sacrificio, el riesgo y la constancia de toda lucha política. Gandhi escribió Satyagraha en Sudáfrica (1928, versión inglesa) sistematizando, sin pretenderlo, un primer estudio de algunos de los muchos factores que intervenían en la movilización popular. A él le siguieron muchos estudiosos y militantes de la resistencia noviolenta. Case, Gregg, Crook, De Ligt, Shridharani, Bondurant, entre otros, fueron desarrollando aspectos con- cretos de la satyagraha en términos de coerción noviolenta, jiu-jitsu moral, marco estratégico, dinámicas, etc. La influencia de Gandhi fue tan inespera- da como el éxito de la independencia de la India. Los trabajos sobre sus formas de lucha, sus conceptos de conversión, humanización del conflicto o graduación de los medios ensancharon los estudios e interpretaciones sobre la resistencia civil como instrumento de cambio social. En los años 70s, emergió la figura de Gene Sharp, cuyo trabajo de tesis doctoral dio lugar a ThePolitics of Nonviolent Action, un estudio muy sistemático sobre la naturaleza del poder, los métodos de lucha y las dinámi- cas que estas generaban en campañas sostenidas de protesta. Sharp propi- ció una mirada científica al fenómeno, sistematizando los muchos factores desencadenantes y nodulares en torno a la lucha noviolenta. El funcionalismo de Sharp y su extremado pragmatismo, enfriaron el compo- nente espiritual y moral que puso Gandhi, a cambio le dio un perfil estraté- gico. Sharp era consciente de que existía una vasta historia de resistencia civil que había que estudiar y clasificar como parte de una política aplicada. No existen dudas de que la resistencia civil, tal y como la conocemos hoy día, comienza a ser moderna con Gandhi, pero se convierte en categoría de análisis con Gene Sharp y en toda una corriente bibliográfica conocida como «Resistance Studies». La intervención de la sociología ha hecho que se diera un giro a la literatura sobre la acción política noviolenta, desde el estudio de las técnicas y los medios hacia las complejas elaboraciones estratégicas con factores externos, internos y juicios relacionados con las dinámicas instrumentales y simbólicas de la resistencia civil, con una clara afectación de la bibliografía sobre los movimientos sociales tal y como la analizan las teorías sobre la estructura de oportunidades políticas, los mar- cos de referencia y la movilización de recursos. Esta literatura del conflicto estratégico noviolento (Ackerman, Kruegler, Duvall, Chenoweth, Nepstad, etc.) está teniendo un gran éxito motivado por el tipo de estudio tan aplica- do y pragmático Finalmente, entre la literatura partidaria del gandhismo y la de los estudios funcional-estratégicos, al menos, existe un consenso y es que el uso de la resistencia civil y el uso de las armas resulta antitético y no deben ser confundidos. Puede darse el caso histórico de que ciertos grupos com- binen ambas formas de lucha pero en períodos de tiempo distintos, primero la resistencia civil y luego la lucha armada, o viceversa. La bibliografía estratégica analiza por qué se produce esta situación y qué implicaciones tiene en conflictos de larga duración; en cambio, la literatura gandhiana Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 56 aunque también lo estudia, sin embargo, remarca las muchas contradiccio- nes que ello puede implicar en la relación entre adversarios o en la importan- cia entre medios/fines. Lo que no admiten de buen grado ambas literaturas es que un mismo grupo combine ambas formas de lucha en el mismo perío- do histórico. No obstante, en la realidad histórica a veces se ha producido esta situación, sin embargo a esto no le llamarían campañas de resistencia civil estratégica sino diversas formas de guerra (de alta y baja intensidad) entre contendientes, en los que uno de ellos, incluso los dos, combinan ambas formas de lucha (armada y no armada). Sobre esta cuestión ni la literatura gandhiana, ni la estratégica han elaborado un corpus cerrado que nos permita elaborar conclusiones definitivas (los estudios sobre Palesti- na/Israel, Irlanda del Norte, entre otros, apuntan algunos elementos intere- santes para la discusión de las fronteras entre armada y no armada, la rela- ción entre medios/fines o la diferenciación entre multiplicidad de actores coincidentes en los objetivos pero no en las técnicas de lucha, etc.). Una y otra literatura, coinciden en que una cuestión de fondo es la tensión permanente en la relación entre medios/fines. Se supone que en un caso por motivaciones de principios o deontológicas; en el otro por un amplio abanico de variables a tener en cuenta en un proceso de lucha estra- tégica. En realidad, la literatura gandhiana no renuncia a los análisis estraté- gicos (eficacia, oportunidad, ganar legitimidad, etc.), sino que no son sufi- cientes para caracterizar un modelo de lucha noviolenta. En el caso de la literatura pragmática aunque se distancia de la noviolencia de principios no la desprecia, sin embargo como apuntan estos estudios lo normal es encon- trar a mucha gente en estas campañas que ni saben, ni aprecian, ni sienten los principios gandhianos, sino que están luchando por reivindicar sus derechos y ven en la resistencia civil una oportunidad de vehicular sus demandas. En la práctica, una consecuencia que debemos extraer es que practi- car la satyagraha, también como expresión espiritual, no te hace renunciar a estas variables, pero son de alguna manera acompañantes deseados que van en las alforjas pero que no son ni las piernas, ni el cerebro, ni el corazón que te orienta en la lucha. 57 Notas 1 Para este artículo no consideramos otras corrientes y autores que aunque hablan de resistencia(s) y múltiples formas de disidencia, protesta, etc., el núcleo fundamental de su teorización no contempla como exigencia que tales acontecimientos y actores se comportan y buscan fines noviolentos, no sólo de manera táctica sino estratégica (otros componentes como que la resistencia civil sea genuinamente interclasista, sea limitada, no exija un cambio revolucionario, que resulte de un proceso excepcional o que pretenda una agenda más o menos exigente, etc., son cuestiones que se podrían discutir). Aquí el componente “civil” de la resistencia, no sólo hace referencia a formada por ciudadanos y ciudadanas, gente del pueblo, el estado llano, campesinado, indígenas, etc., sino que considera –de manera muy importante- que se trata de una resistencia pacífica, no armada y, más allá, noviolenta. 2 Cfr., para algunos matices en López Martínez, M. (2004 y 2005). 3 Esta definición está a caballo entre la que nos ofrece Chenoweth y Stephan (2008: 3), Zunes (1999: 33) y Schock (2005: 32). 4 Gandhi, M., Young India, 1919-1932, (10 noviembre 1921), p. 362 5 En la propuesta original (López Martínez, 2000: 294-295) se organiza en cuatro clasificaciones: a) lucha contra la dominación colonial, b) la liberación de los regíme- nes dictatoriales y totalitarios, c) la reivindicación de derechos y libertades y d) el sostenimiento y apoyo de políticas alternativas y sustentables. 6 He aquí los ejemplos más significativos tomados de la literatura citada: Las Trece colonias (1765-1775), Cuba (1810-1902), Argelia (1830-1950), Egipto (1805-1922), Ghana (1890-1950), Mozambique (1920-1970), Sudáfrica (1899-1919), Zambia (1900- 1960), India (1900-1947), Irán (1890-1906), Hungría (1850-1860s), Polonia (1860- 1900), Finlandia (1899-1904), Irlanda (1919-1921), Kosovo (1990s), Burma (1910- 1940), West Papua (1910-2012), Palestina (1920-2012), entre otros. Como se puede comprobar son períodos muy amplios de tiempo, esto implica una interpretación no sólo abierta de la resistencia civil sino la constatación de que ésta convive –en muchí- simas ocasiones- con acciones armadas procedentes de grupos afines a los resistentes. 7 He aquí algunos ejemplos, la Huelga general en Rusia (1905), El contra golpe frente al golpismo de Kapp en Alemania (1920), La resistencia noviolenta en Holanda (1940s), La resistencia de los maestros en Noruega (1940s), La resistencia en Dinamarca (1940s), La oposición a Hitler de la organización la Rosa Blanca (1940s), La resistencia civil de las mujeres en Italia (1943-45), Las campañas contra la dictadura en El Salvador (1944), Luchas y campañas contra el apartheid en Sudáfrica (1945-80s), Hungría (1956), La Primavera de Praga, Checoslovaquia (1968), Caída del Sha de Persia (1979), Campañas de Solidaridad en la Polonia del general Yaruzelski (1980s), El poder del pueblo en la caída del dictador Ferdinand Marcos (1986), Las revoluciones cantadas (Lituania, Estonia y Letonia, 1987-1990), Contra la dictadura militar en Myanmar (1980s-2000s), Movimiento por la democracia en Tiananmen (1989), El colapso de los regímenes soviéticos y la caída del Muro de Berlín (1989), La revolución de terciopelo en Checoslovaquia (1989), El contra golpe en Rusia (1991), Derribo del presidente Suharto en Indonesia (1998), Resistencia ciudadana (Otpor) en Serbia con- tra Milosevich (2000), etc. Mario López-Martínez Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 58 8 Aquí algunos ejemplos: Movimiento obrero cartista (1830s), Resistencia de las nacio- nes indias, especialmente cherokees, a la concentración en reservas (siglo XIX), Mo- vimiento antiesclavista (1830s-1860s), Movimiento social feminista –sufragismo, igualdad, etc.- (ss. XIX-XX), Movimiento afroamericano de los derechos civiles (1955- 1968), Movimiento chicano de Cesar Chavez (1950s-1970s), Movimiento cristiano Plowshares contra las armas nucleares en Estados Unidos (1980s), Campañas del END (European Nuclear Disarmament) (1970s-1980s), Movimiento de objeción de con- ciencia a las guerras y al servicio militar, especialmente la Internacional de Resistentes contra la guerra (s. XX), Resistencias y despliegue del movimiento gay estadounidense y europeo (1960s-2010s), Contra la instalación de bases militares en Europa: Larzac (Francia), GreenhamCommon (Reino Unido), Cabañeros y Rota (España) (1970s- 1980s), Movimientos indígenas (Nasas en Colombia, zapatistas en México, etc.), Intervenciones internacionales noviolentas. Brigadas, cuerpos civiles, shantisena, etc., La revolución naranja en Ucrania (2004-2005), La revolución de los cedros en Líbano (2005), La primavera árabe en Tunez y Egipto (2011), El movimiento 15-M en España (2011), entre otras. 9 Si bien, Gandhi (1950) matizó esta influencia, por cuanto se había criticado al movi- miento sufragista como “resistencia pasiva”, catalogando con este mismo concepto al movimiento indio en Sudáfrica. Gandhi señaló que había diferencias entre su Satyagraha y la resistencia pasiva. Si bien ambos movimientos podían ser usados por minorías, débiles, desarmados o grupos sin derecho al voto, las diferencias mayores estaban en que mientras en la resistencia pasiva había lugar para el odio, siempre tenía intención de hostigar al adversario o podía ser una preparación para el uso futuro de la fuerza; en la satyagraha sólo había espacio para el amor, no existía la más remota intención de dañar al otro bando, postulaba la conquista del adversario mediante el sufrimiento propio o no admitía nunca el uso de la fuerza. Así lo escribió en el capítulo 13 titulado “Satyagraha vs Resistencia pasiva”, Lastra (2012: 282-286). 10 Ambas concepciones de la noviolencia están en Burrowes (1996: 100), sin embargo, esta doble concepción fue, muchos años antes, definida por Pontara (1983). 11 La ‘coerción noviolenta’ es una de las formas que adopta la acción directa en la que se constriñe y se le presiona al adversario de una manera aguda. El ‘jiu-jitsu moral’ está formulado para crear desconcierto, reflexión y vergüenza en el contrincante, el cual usa la violencia sin recibir la misma moneda a cambio. La ‘huelga general’, muy parecido al hartal indio, esto es, una paralización total de todas las actividades no sólo económico-comerciales sino de la actividad diaria. El concepto de revolución de DeLigt se puede formular con el aforismo: «a mayor revolución menos violencia, y a mayor violencia menos revolución», promoviendo el debate sobre qué es una verdadera ‘re- evolución’ sin derramamiento de sangre. El ‘marco estratégico’ es el precedente de lo que debe ser ‘el conflicto noviolento estratégico’, nada improvisado, creando condi- ciones propicias, principios de actuación, etc. La ‘omnicracia’ capitiniana es el ‘poder de todos’, contrario al poder de unos pocos propio de las democracias delegativas, el fascismo o el socialismo de estado. La ‘defensa civil organizada’ es la defensa de un país sin el uso de las armas, sólo con métodos, técnicas y dinámicas del poder noviolento. El ‘jiu-jitsu político’ consiste en usar la fuerza del contrario en beneficio propio, influyendo en los grupos cercanos y en terceras partes generando solidaridad. Final- mente el ‘backfire’ es la capacidad de provocar un jiu-jitsu político pero en fenómenos como la difamación, la censura o la tortura. 59 12 Sobre los múltiples planteamientos de esta cuestión de qué es la revolución noviolenta (Arias 1995, L’Abate, 2008 y Castañar 2013). 13 Algunos de esos factores están formulados en términos de preguntas: ¿Por qué la elección de la resistencia civil frente a la lucha armada?¿La eficacia de un movimiento depende de circunstancias favorables?¿Tiene eficacia la resistencia civil frente a las estructuras del adversario?¿Cuál es el papel de los actores externos al movimiento?¿Qué importancia tiene la provocación o desacreditación del movimiento?¿Cuánto ayudan las nuevas tecnologías al movimiento?¿Resultan importantes los apoyos externos? ¿de qué tipo?¿El uso de la resistencia civil determina la calidad democrática de un régimen? 14 Schock analiza: Sudáfrica (1983-90), Filipinas (1983-86), Burma (1988), China (1989), Nepal (1990) y Tailanda (1991-92) y Nepstad: Filipinas (1983-86), Chile (1985-88), Panamá (1987-89), China (1989), Alemania del Este (1989), Kenia (1989- 92), Egipto (2011), Siria (2011) y Bahréin (2011-12). 15 Rechazo a reconocer la autoridad del régimen, Rechazo a cooperar o cumplir con las leyes, Cambios en la mentalidad de la obediencia, Suspensión de competencias, Suspen- sión de recursos materiales y Pérdida de la potestad sancionadora del Estado. 16 Su estudio cuantifica, de 1900 a 2006, 323 campañas violentas y noviolentas. Y los datos, en algunos casos sorprenden y, en otros, rompen estereotipos. De todas las campañas: 217 fueron violentas y aproximadamente un tercio, 106, fueron de resis- tencia civil. el estudio señala que el 53 % de las campañas de resistencia civil han tenido éxito frente a sólo el 26 % de las campañas de resistencia basadas en el uso de la lucha armada: “nuestros resultados contradicen la opinión ortodoxa de que la resistencia violenta contra adversarios que son superiores en términos convencionales es la mane- ra más eficaz para los grupos en resistencia de alcanzar sus objetivos políticos” (Chenoweth y Stephan, 2008: 9). 17 Si muchos de estos factores se cumplen: resistencia civil de masas, movimientos de abajo-arriba, fuerte cohesión social de las coaliciones civiles en torno al uso de la noviolencia, capacidad de encontrar aliados, etc., entonces se incrementan las posibi- lidades de procesos exitosos y una fuerte reducción de brotes de violencia. 18 Cfr. 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Sutherland, Bill y Meyer, Matt (2000), Guns and Gandhi in Africa: Pan African Insights on Nonviolence, Armed Struggle and Liberation. Africa World Press, Trenton. Thoreau, Henry D. (1995), Sobre el deber de la desobediencia civil. Ed. Iralka, [1848], San Sebastián. Tolstoi, León (2010), El reino de Dios está en vosotros. Editorial Kairós, [1894], Madrid. Zunes, Stephen et al, eds. (1999), Nonviolent Social Movements: A Geographical Perspective. Blackwell Publishers, Malden, MA. * * * Recibido: 30.01.2016 Aceptado: 05.04.2016 Mario López-Martínez 
work_faqqgp46yzdvxljgeygzyxger4	----	Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 Elfe XX-XXI Études de la littérature française des XXe et XXIe siècles   8 | 2019 Extension du domaine de la littérature L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Sara Buekens Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/elfe/1299 DOI : 10.4000/elfe.1299 ISSN : 2262-3450 Éditeur Société d'étude de la littérature de langue française du XXe et du XXIe siècles Référence électronique Sara Buekens, « L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française », Elfe XX-XXI [En ligne], 8 | 2019, mis en ligne le 10 septembre 2019, consulté le 21 décembre 2020. URL : http:// journals.openedition.org/elfe/1299 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/elfe.1299 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 21 décembre 2020. La revue Elfe XX-XXI est mise à disposition selon les termes de la Licence Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/elfe/1299 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Sara Buekens 1 « Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi » (« Toi, Tityre, couché sous le vaste feuillage de ce hêtre ») est l’incipit célèbre de la première églogue des Bucoliques de Virgile, dans lesquelles des bergers chantent la beauté de la forêt. Accompagnés par leurs chèvres et leurs moutons, ils y mènent une vie paisible en harmonie avec une nature pastorale souvent associée à l’amour. Lorsqu’aujourd’hui, 2000 ans après les boutades de Mélibée, on aborde la question du monde naturel, c’est surtout pour montrer comment des catastrophes écologiques dégradent notre planète et pour souligner que la défense de la nature fait partie de nos responsabilités envers les générations à venir. Maintenant que le discours environnemental est omniprésent dans les médias, nous observons aussi la place toujours grandissante que les problématiques liées à la nature occupent dans la littérature   des   dernières   décennies.   Un   grand   nombre   de   romans   contemporains mettent en scène des personnages qui sont à la recherche d’une expérience de la nature en solitaire, comme Into the wild de Jon Krakauer (1996) et  Dans les forêts de Sibérie de Sylvain Tesson (2011), dont les adaptations cinématographiques ont connu un grand succès.   Pensons   aussi   à   Continuer  de   Laurent   Mauvignier   et   Le   Grand   Jeu  de   Céline Minard, deux romans parus en 2016 dans lesquels les protagonistes tournent le dos au capitalisme   et   à   la   société   de   consommation   et   choisissent   de   vivre,   fût-ce temporairement,   dans   une   nature   vierge.   D’autres   auteurs   abordent   de   façon   plus explicite les atteintes que le progrès et l’industrialisation portent à l’environnement : c’est le cas pour Alice Ferney, qui, dans Le règne du vivant (2014), se sert d’un discours activiste pour glorifier Paul Watson, un militant écologiste canadien qui lutte contre la chasse aux baleines dans les eaux internationales : J’ai vu la violence de l’homme industriel se jeter sur la richesse des mers, ses mains de fer mettre à mort les plus gros, les plus rapides, les plus formidables prédateurs. J’ai vu les grands chaluts ramasser en aveugle une faune inconnue. J’ai su de quoi les humains sont capables. J’ai redouté ce qu’ils font quand ils se savent invisibles, en haute mer, sur la banquise, dans le face-à-face sans mot avec les bêtes à leur merci.   J’ai   combattu   l’horreur :   les   tueries,   les   mutilations,   les   dépeçages, l’entassement des cadavres. J’ai vu mourir noyées dans leur sang des baleines qui L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 1 criaient comme des femmes. […] Nous leur devions une protection. […] Quel usage faisons-nous du monde ?1  2 Dans L’Homme des haies (2012), Jean-Loup Trassard met en scène un narrateur paysan qui, afin de ne pas perdre le contact physique et la complicité avec le monde naturel, continue à respecter les pratiques agricoles traditionnelles, tandis qu’autour de lui la mécanisation de l’agriculture perturbe profondément la relation entre l’homme et la nature. Le procédé du monologue permet au narrateur Vincent Loiseau de s’adresser directement aux lecteurs, auxquels il exprime souvent son indignation face au déclin du mode de vie paysan traditionnel et qu’il met en garde contre les menaces pour le monde naturel, comme la disparition d’un grand nombre d’espèces animales : Maintenant, de la graine, il n’en est plus fait, il n’y a guère de lièvre non plus ! C’est trop chassé. Les cultures ont changé, le maïs qui est semé de plus en plus n’est pas du tout bon pour le lièvre, il ne se coule point là-dedans !2 C’est là que je voyais des écrevisses, oui, des belles […]. Mais il n’y en a plus, à remonter le ruisseau si j’en trouve une ou deux petites c’est bien tout. […] d’après le journal, j’ai lu ça d’un coup, ce serait les produits qu’on sème, nous, les fermiers, qui s’en vont dans l’eau.3  Certains   modes   de   production   disparaissent   parce   qu’ils   ne   sont   pas   suffisamment rentables, le remembrement agraire des années soixante a fait disparaître les éléments typiques   du   paysage   rural.   Et,   comme   le   montre   le   narrateur,   avec   ces   pratiques agricoles traditionnelles a également disparu l’intimité que le paysan entretenait avec le monde naturel. 3 Dans Naissance d’un pont (2010), Maylis de Kerangal renverse les codes du genre épique pour montrer comment la construction du nouveau pont entraîne la destruction de la forêt   dans   laquelle   des   Indiens   mènent   encore   une   vie   respectueuse   de   la   nature. L’appât   du   gain   des   hommes   d’affaires   qui   dirigent   des   travaux   d’aménagement constitue   un   contraste   criard   avec   le   projet   qui   anime   habituellement   le   héros classique. Dans cette épopée moderne, pleine d’ironie du sort, le sacrifice de la forêt est nécessaire   pour   convertir   la   ville   à   l’éthanol   et   en   faire   « l’avant-garde   des   enjeux écologiques mondiaux.   Coca   ville   verte »4.   Pour   souligner   l’hypocrisie   d’une telle entreprise, qui dans ce cas cache la mégalomanie de l’homme occidental, Kerangal n’hésite pas à décrire en détail la pollution liée aux travaux :  les nuisances inhérentes à de tels travaux – éventrements de perspectives aimées, poussière,   bruit,   pollutions   hétérogènes   [..].   Les   percussions   des   bulldozers fusionnèrent avec les chocs et martèlements naturels de la cité, avec les fumées des moteurs de bagnoles et les rafales de poussière. Un nuage de pollution jaune citron plana bientôt sur la ville.5   Ecocriticism vs. écopoétique 4 On observe donc aujourd’hui, dans un monde où la nature est de plus en plus menacée, un   intérêt   renouvelé   pour   le   monde   concret.   Tous   les   romanciers   que   l’on   vient d’énumérer   affichent   leur   sympathie   pour   ceux   qui   vivent   des   expériences authentiques dans la nature – que les problèmes écologiques risquent de rendre bientôt impossibles.   Cette   génération   d’auteurs   est   revenue   des   jeux   intellectuels   du postmodernisme,   leurs   romans   et   récits   témoignent   d’un   intérêt   pour   la   nature concrète,   voire,   dans   le   cas   d’Alice   Ferney,   d’un   engagement   environnemental. Néanmoins, Le Règne du vivant a pendant longtemps été le seul roman français où le souci de la protection de l’environnement s’exprime de façon militante, contrairement L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 2 à la littérature anglo-saxonne, où le discours littéraire comporte plus fréquemment un engagement écologique explicite. La littérature française tient en général très fort à distance tout militantisme explicite. L’attitude de la France face à l’écologie a toujours été ambiguë, comme le montre Michael Bess, qui dans La France vert clair6 offre un panorama   des   initiatives   et   des   pensées   caractérisant   le   mouvement   écologique français dès les années 1960. 5 Suite à ce tournant récent, l’on voit apparaître dans le monde académique un intérêt toujours grandissant pour cette littérature contemporaine qui nous aide à repenser notre relation à la nature. Depuis 30 ans s’est développée dans le monde anglo-saxon une discipline qui étudie la littérature dans ses rapports avec l’environnement naturel : l’ecocriticism. Or, cette approche théorique permet difficilement d’étudier la spécificité de la littérature française pour plusieurs raisons7 : l’histoire du rapport à la nature est fondamentalement différente en Amérique, l’identité américaine étant indissociable de la wilderness et de ses grands parcs nationaux. Lorsque les théoriciens de l’ecocriticism renvoient à la nature, c’est dans la plupart des cas à une nature sauvage et vierge qu’ils se réfèrent – une réalité inexistante dans le pays essentiellement rural que la France a longtemps été. Si des chercheurs comme Timothy Morton8 questionnent la légitimité du terme « nature », de plus en plus inséparable de « culture », la question ne se pose pas pour les auteurs français. Ainsi, Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio a récemment avoué dans un entretien qu’il regrette le manque d’arbres et de jardins à Paris, contrairement à Aix-en-Provence, où cette « nature »9 est bien toujours présente au sein du milieu urbain. Pour Pierre Gascar, les arbres dans un jardin, même entourés de l’air pollué d’une grande ville, constituent en plein un élément de nature et permettent à l’homme industrialisé de « reconquérir le monde naturel en voie de disparition »10 :  Au progrès de la ville et de l’industrie, à l’effacement de la nature, à la détérioration du paysage, à la réduction des forêts, à la mort des sources, l’homme d’aujourd’hui apporte   un   démenti   […].   Le   jardin   [est]   […]   un   lieu   qui,   réellement,   […]   nie l’extérieur sous son aspect présent et recrée la réalité originelle. […] Il est une œuvre de foi, et le plus modeste des jardiniers fait, à lui seul, exister la nature aussi pleinement, aussi souverainement que le croyant le plus humble fait, à lui seul, exister Dieu.11 Et même si l’expérience de la nature se limite pour les personnages trassardiens au mode de vie paysan, à la campagne et donc à une nature fortement manipulée par l’homme, cet environnement que l’ecocriticism considère comme « artificiel » au lieu de naturel   (car   pas   « vierge »)   n’empêche   pas   l’homme   d’éprouver   une   véritable communion avec les animaux et végétaux et de développer une sensibilité écologique.  6 L’approche   de   l’écocritique   est   donc   fortement   liée   à   l’identité   et   à   l’idéologie américaines et se penche principalement sur la littérature du monde anglo-saxon. Les grands textes de référence, aussi bien des pères fondateurs de la tradition littéraire de la nature writing que des théoriciens de l’ecocriticism, ne sont guère connus en France ni traduits en français. Un des premiers théoriciens, Lawrence Buell, a établi les critères pour   définir   la   littérature   « environnementale »12 :   l’homme   a   une   responsabilité éthique envers l’environnement non humain, qui est conçu comme un processus et une présence   dont   l’histoire   influence   celle   de   l’homme.   On   peut   constater   que   dans l’ecocriticism conçu par Buell, l’écriture environnementale se définit essentiellement selon des critères éthiques et thématiques au détriment des critères esthétiques.  7 Jusqu’à récemment, il n’y avait pas d’équivalent dans les départements de lettres en France, où la littérature est essentiellement étudiée dans son rapport avec la dimension L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 3 sociale ou historique, et où l’on a consacré peu d’attention à la littérature d’inspiration écologique.   Pour   combler   cette   lacune   dans   l’étude   de   la   littérature   française   s’est développée dans le monde académique français et francophone une nouvelle discipline, l’écopoétique,   qui   étudie   la   littérature   française   dans   son   rapport   avec l’environnement. Loin d’adhérer au militantisme de l’écocriticism américaine, le projet de l’écopoétique reste avant tout littéraire et vise à interroger les formes poétiques par lesquelles   les   auteurs   font   parler   le   monde   végétal   et   animal.   Ainsi,   l’approche écopoéticienne permet de rendre visible l’actualité des questions d’écologie dans la littérature   française   en   mettant   moins   l’accent   sur   l’engagement   et   plus   sur   les questions de forme et d’écriture - on sait l’importance que l’université et la critique françaises accordent aux critères stylistiques pour l’évaluation et la canonisation de la littérature.  8 Néanmoins,   il   faut   noter   que   les   deux   disciplines,   aussi   bien   l’ecocriticism  que l’écopoétique, regroupent chacune un continuum d’approches très diverses, prenant en considération   aussi   bien   une   littérature   post-apocalyptique   que   des   réflexions philosophiques   sur   le   rapport   entre   l’oikos  et   les   règnes   animal   et   végétal.   Il   est d’ailleurs   impossible   d’établir   une   distinction   nette   entre   les   formes   françaises   et francophones de l’« écocritique » et l’écopoétique, ces deux approches s’intéressant au même   corpus   et   présentant   des   champs   de   recherche   qui   se   chevauchent   et s’influencent mutuellement13.  9 De plus, des acquis importants de la géocritique et de la géopoétique ont marqué la réflexion en France. La géocritique, avec Westphal comme un des chercheurs les plus importants,   étudie   à   partir   de   représentations   littéraires   et   d’une   approche intertextuelle le rapport entre les espaces réels, vécus et les espaces imaginaires ou imaginés,   ce   qui   permet   d’analyser   dans   quelle   mesure   la   littérature   propose   une nouvelle lecture du monde. Kenneth White, le fondateur de l’International Institute of Geopoetics en 1989, a développé la géopoétique, une approche qui met l’accent sur la façon   dont   l’homme   établit   une   relation   avec   l’espace   à   travers   ses   pensées,   ses émotions et ses expériences sensorielles. Essentiellement interdisciplinaire, son champ de recherches ne se limite pas à la littérature. Les acquis de la géocritique et de la géopoétique sont importants pour l’analyse du rapport, dans la fiction, entre l’homme et la planète. Or, si ces disciplines se penchent sur la carte et le paysage, elles ne prennent guère en considération les menaces qui pèsent sur l’environnement.   Les enjeux éthiques 10 L’écopoétique permet d’étudier la façon dont les auteurs présentent la nature et les problèmes   écologiques   et   comment   les   œuvres   font   apparaître   les   règnes   animal, végétal et minéral. Un vaste corpus de romans et récits font état de la relation souvent perturbée   entre   l’humain   et   le   non-humain   dans   des   environnements   très   variés : naturels, urbains, industriels, apocalyptiques, au niveau régional, national ou global. De nombreux   textes   littéraires   représentent   le   rapport   paradoxal   entre   le   bonheur qu’apporte   la   nature,   souvent   un   lieu   de   détente   pour   l’homme   moderne,   et   les menaces provoquées par le progrès et l’industrialisation. Une des questions qui se pose est de savoir quel type de valeur les auteurs accordent au monde naturel : prennent-ils en   considération   la   nature   pour   elle-même   ou   adhèrent-ils   plutôt   à   une   écologie L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 4 sentimentale ?   Pensons   par   exemple   dans   ce   dernier   cas   à   Julien   Gracq,   dont   la sensibilité environnementale est d’abord esthétique :  De   plus   en   plus   nettement,   avec   la   prolifération   des   résidences   isolées périphériques,   la   notion   de   cité   s’efface   au   profit   de   l’image   d’une   vague densification humaine cancéreuse, qui ensemence loin autour d’elle le tissu naturel de ses métastases et de ses ganglions. Des zones entières maintenant de l’ancienne campagne – et étendues – font songer à un chaos où on aurait brassé et secoué pêle- mêle les éléments urbains et ceux de la verdure circonvoisine, et où le tout serait resté à l’état d’émulsion mal liée, sans qu’aucune décantation, aucune stratification nette paraisse se faire. Mais laissons là ces ruminations écologiques.14 Voilà en quoi consistent pour Gracq les problèmes écologiques : il dénonce la laideur des paysages qui manquent d’uniformité par la coexistence d’éléments culturels, c’est- à-dire urbains ou industriels, et naturels ou campagnards. Les positions de l’auteur s’expliquent   par   sa   formation :   l’appréciation   des   paysages   dépend   du   plaisir   qu’ils offrent à l’œil du géographe. Gracq défend donc les espaces qui sont « beaux » à voir : bien   structurés,   harmonieux   dans   la   forme   et   les   couleurs,   d’un   matériau géologiquement intéressant. Cette position incite certains chercheurs comme Walter Wagner à ranger Gracq parmi les « écologistes romantiques »15. 11 Mais il y a aussi les auteurs qui, conformément à l’éthique de la terre d’Aldo Leopold, refusent une vision purement utilitaire ou esthétique et prennent en considération des éléments naturels « inesthétiques » selon les canons conventionnels de la beauté. Un de ces auteurs est Pierre Gascar, pour qui la disparition de végétaux comme les lichens, le nostoc et les mauvaises herbes, pour insignifiants et inutiles qu’ils soient, est encore plus inquiétante que la mort des fleurs, « car l’existence de ces dernières pouvait nous sembler hypothéquée par leur pouvoir florifère, par leur beauté, qui rendait déplacée, insolite, leur présence au milieu des cultures, alors que ces herbes grossières, solides, insensibles aux excès des saisons, faisaient partie de la natte permanente du sol »16.   Les enjeux esthétiques 12 Outre ces enjeux éthiques, il est intéressant de voir par quelles formes d’écriture les auteurs   décrivent   le   monde   naturel   et   d’examiner   les   fonctions   et   les   effets   des stratégies   rhétoriques   et   des   figures   de   style   dont   les   auteurs   se   servent   pour problématiser l’environnement. Cette approche permet de décrire les choix esthétiques qui accompagnent leurs prises de position écologiques et de voir comment les œuvres de fiction mettent en place une véritable argumentation. Proposant une perspective attentive aux techniques littéraires qui invitent le lecteur à l’adhésion, l’écopoétique met l’accent sur le travail de l’écriture : il s’agit d’analyser par exemple la signification des   métaphores   et   la   façon   dont   celles-ci   ajoutent   un   sens   supplémentaire   aux descriptions du monde naturel ; de voir comment les auteurs expriment le rapport entre l’homme et l’environnement par le biais des procédés d’anthropomorphisme, de personnification   et   de   zoomorphisme.   Très   souvent,   ces   procédés   permettent   de donner une voix au monde aussi bien animal que végétal et d’interroger la place de l’homme dans les écosystèmes : Dans le bâtiment F (Engraissement), le Boiteux regarde mourir son voisin de case. […] Le Boiteux s’est couché en face du mourant, qui a cessé de se tordre de douleur. Il ne crie plus, il pleure. Alors le Boiteux fait ce geste, de lui tenir la tête entre ses pattes avant. Ce n’est pas un geste réservé à l’humanité, il y a toujours un porc qui console les autres au fond d’une salle, il suffit d’attendre pour le surprendre, ce L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 5 geste que font les gens partout où la vie cogne, d’attirer contre soi celui qui a mal, ferme les yeux, pars tranquille, nous sommes tous dans le même couloir.17 Dans ce passage de 180 jours, Isabelle Sorente utilise le procédé de l’anthropomorphisme pour questionner l’abîme général qui sépare les hommes et les animaux, et amène ainsi le lecteur à se demander dans quelle mesure la douleur animale serait plus justifiée que la douleur humaine.  13 Parfois,   l’ironie   permet   à   l’écrivain   de   changer   la   signification   apparente   de   son discours pour dénoncer la situation politique ou économique actuelle ou pour souligner la gravité des problèmes environnementaux. Dans Naissance d’un pont, les noms des héros responsables de la construction du pont renvoient justement aux fondateurs de la   tradition   littéraire   de   la   nature   writing  américaine :   Katherine   Thoreau   et   Ralph Waldo réfèrent respectivement à Henri David Thoreau et Ralph Waldo Emerson. Par ce détour   ironique,   ces   penseurs   transcendantalistes   qui   ont   toujours   milité   pour   une préservation du monde naturel deviennent responsables de la destruction de la forêt indienne. Jouant ainsi avec les conventions de l’épopée, Maylis de Kerangal ridiculise le désir d’expansion des grandes villes et affiche sa sympathie pour ceux qui mènent encore une vie » en harmonie » avec la nature.   L’histoire de la littérature 14 Ci-dessus,   nous   avons   posé   que   la   littérature   contemporaine   présente   un   intérêt renouvelé pour la nature concrète. « Renouvelé », car on ne saurait oublier que les préoccupations écologiques ne datent pas d’hier, et qu’un grand nombre d’auteurs ont contribué à la création d’un discours environnemental littéraire au cours du XXe siècle. Ainsi, l’écopoétique permet de rendre visible l’actualité des questions d’écologie de certains auteurs français – comme Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, Julien Gracq, Pierre Gascar, … – qui ont écrit à un moment où les problèmes environnementaux ne faisaient point   encore   partie   des   préoccupations   quotidiennes.   Certaines   œuvres   sont aujourd’hui encore connues du grand public, comme Les Racines du ciel de Romain Gary, qu’on   présente   toujours   comme   « le   premier   roman   écologique »18  de   la littérature française. Mais on oublie trop souvent que d’autres auteurs, comme Jean-Loup Trassard ou même Nicolas Bouvier, ont également exprimé leur attachement au monde naturel et/ou ont rendu visibles dans leurs romans et récits les problèmes environnementaux de leurs   temps.   Ces   auteurs   n’ont   guère   été   étudiés   dans   cette   perspective,   et maintenant que l’écopoétique propose des outils pour se pencher sur la littérature française dans son rapport avec la nature, l’environnement et l’écologie, un retour sur leur œuvre s’impose.  15 En outre, il existe des auteurs dont l’œuvre est tout à fait tombée dans l’oubli. Gascar fait   partie   de   ces   auteurs   qui   dans   leurs   romans   se   sont   tournés   vers   l’expérience sensible du monde et se sont intéressés aux questions environnementales, à une époque où la critique affectionnait le Nouveau Roman et la Nouvelle Critique. Oublié par les théoriciens de la littérature, ce romancier, journaliste et nouvelliste, s’est pourtant vu décerner un grand nombre de prix littéraires, parmi lesquels le prix Goncourt, qu’il a reçu en 1953 pour Les Bêtes suivi de Le Temps des morts et le grand prix de l’Académie française en 1969. L’écopoétique permet donc de revenir sur des auteurs oubliés ou pas encore étudiés sous cet angle, qui marquent un intérêt particulier pour l’extérieur et s’efforcent de saisir le monde dans toute sa matérialité.  L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 6   L’évolution stylistique 16 L’écopoétique   repère   non   seulement   les   problématiques   spécifiques   auxquelles   la littérature française s’intéresse lorsqu’elle traite des questions de la nature, elle montre aussi les choix esthétiques que cette littérature juge le plus appropriés à un examen des mondes végétal, animal et minéral et à une prise de conscience de la valeur de la nature. Cette perspective aide aussi à expliquer l’évolution stylistique et littéraire de certains   auteurs   français   et   de   voir   dans   quelle   mesure   une   prise   de   conscience grandissante   pour   l’environnement   conduit   ponctuellement   à   des   choix   d’écriture différents.  17 C’est le cas pour Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, qui dans ses premiers romans exprime une critique du mode de vie occidental, mais développe, à partir de son expérience parmi les Indiens, des réflexions sur la place de l’homme dans le système naturel. Selon lui, c’est le contact avec les peuples amérindiens qui lui a fait découvrir, à un moment très précis et repérable dans ses productions littéraires, d’autres façons de vivre en harmonie avec la nature. 18 Ainsi, une lecture écopoéticienne de l’œuvre de Le Clézio est d’autant plus intéressante qu’elle permet de voir comment la prise de conscience écologique naît et évolue chez cet écrivain et comment celle-ci provoque un changement de style radical. Dans ses premiers ouvrages, l’auteur décrit la société de consommation comme un endroit de chaos,   où   la   présence   de   plus   en   plus   dominante   de   la   technologie   déshumanise l’homme occidental (Le Livre des fuites, La Guerre, Les Géants). Les villes sont des « chaos de ciment »19, des endroits apocalyptiques qui « consument […] des siècles d’énergie et de pensée »20. « Nouveau réaliste »21, il s’attache à montrer ce chaos en transcrivant ce qu’il rencontre dans la rue : affiches à demi effacées, bruits de klaxons, graffitis… Non seulement la mise en page, mais aussi l’écriture même, qui se limite souvent à des associations de sons, représente le désordre de la société de consommation et la lutte permanente entre l’homme et son environnement :    Ill. 1 Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, Les Géants, Paris, Gallimard, 1973, p. 93. L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 7 L’« effet de réel » qui en résulte pousse le lecteur à s’interroger sur le rôle des textes, des codes et des signes dans la société et, dans le cas des slogans idéologiques, des affiches et des magazines, à une réflexion sur la puissance et la vulnérabilité du texte écrit. 19 Or, à partir des années 1970, Le Clézio décrit comment, grâce à la rencontre des sociétés amérindiennes, il a découvert d’autres modes de vie, plus respectueux et proches de la nature et a vécu une véritable prise de conscience écologique.  À cette époque, je ne me souciais pas d’écologie, et je ne connaissais presque rien du passé amérindien de l’Amérique […]. C’est la rencontre avec les Emberas, sur le río Tuquesa, qui me donna cette libération. […] Petit à petit [….] je suis parvenu à l’orée d’un monde complètement opposé à tout ce que j’avais connu jusqu’alors. Séjour après séjour (de six à huit mois chaque année durant la saison des pluies, parce qu’à ce moment-là les gens se reposaient et que je pouvais voyager sur les fleuves en crue), j’appris une nouvelle façon de voir, de sentir, de parler.22 20 Loin de se penser maître de son environnement naturel, l’homme amérindien vit selon Le Clézio en contact direct avec la nature. L’énergie n’est plus une source de chaos dans un espace artificiel, mais un système dynamique à travers lequel l’homme amérindien se sent lié aux arbres, plantes, pierres et animaux. Cette position biocentrique, qui n’est pas sans rappeler la « fontaine d’énergie »23 d’Aldo Leopold, incite Le Clézio à adopter une écriture plus lyrique qui représente cette relation harmonieuse entre l’homme et la nature.  21 On peut également repérer dans l’œuvre de Pierre Gascar24 une évolution stylistique qui est liée à une prise de conscience grandissante de la problématique environnementale. Tandis que ses premières romans et récits abondent en métaphores, comparaisons, associations poétiques, références mythologiques et descriptions lyriques exploitant l’anthropomorphisme,   destinées   à   prêter   à   la   nature   un   caractère   fantastique   et   à évoquer l’expérience de guerre de l’auteur, ses dernières œuvres se caractérisent par un   dépouillement   stylistique   fondamental.   Ce   n’est   plus   la   guerre,   mais   le   monde naturel qui est au centre de l’intérêt, et en particulier les dangers auxquels est exposée la   nature :   la   pollution   des   eaux   et   de   l’air,   la   transformation   des   paysages,   la disparition   d’espèces   végétales   et   animales,   la   menace   nucléaire…   Afin   de   rendre compte de cette problématique, Gascar écarte au fur et à mesure tous les procédés esthétisants qui engendrent un effet de déréalisation et intègre de plus en plus de données provenant des sciences naturelles dans ses descriptions des règnes animal et végétal. L’auteur privilégie un style réaliste, entièrement tourné vers le concret, pour rendre   présent   le   monde   naturel   et   pour   problématiser   notre   rapport   à l’environnement.  22 Notons que Gascar pratique ici un procédé littéraire toujours actuel et de plus en plus répandu :   on   observe   dans   les   œuvres   « environnementales »   de   l’extrême contemporain de nombreuses références aux sciences naturelles, qui permettent de décrire   les   problèmes   écologiques   dans   un   discours   largement   accepté   comme incontestable et « objectif », même à l’intérieur d’une œuvre d’art. Ainsi, il est assez frappant qu’Alice Ferney, dans Le Règne du vivant25, aussi bien qu’Aurélien Bellanger, dans L’Aménagement du territoire26, utilisent le terme « anthropocène » pour montrer que les   activités   humaines   ont   actuellement   un   impact   signifiant   sur   l’équilibre   de l’écosystème terrestre. Encore dans L’Aménagement du territoire, un des personnages du roman, Dominique, souligne, comme les géologues, le caractère restreint de la part de la planète habitable pour l’homme et réfère ainsi à la « zone critique », une partie de la L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 8 planète qui s’étend verticalement du sommet de la basse atmosphère jusqu’aux roches stériles dans le sol27. Dans Autour du monde, Laurent Mauvignier cède la parole à un sismologue pour expliquer de façon simplifiée, comme il le ferait dans un manuel de vulgarisation, aux autres personnages, et dès lors au lecteur, comment s’est produite la catastrophe de Fukushima28. 23 Sans vouloir réécrire l’histoire de la littérature française, l’approche écopoéticienne permet donc de voir comment la problématique environnementale peut nous apporter des vues nouvelles sur les mutations caractérisant la littérature entre 1945 et 2015. Étant donné que les manuels et les histoires de la littérature du XXe et du XXIe siècle ont prêté peu d’attention à ce courant de littérature d’imagination ancrée dans le monde concret, l’on peut espérer que l’étude écopoéticienne permettra de donner une place aux enjeux environnementaux dans l’histoire littéraire. NOTES 1. Alice Ferney, Le Règne du vivant, Arles, Actes Sud, 2014, p. 12. 2. Jean-Loup Trassard, L’Homme des haies, Paris, Gallimard, 2012, p. 159.  3. Ibid., p. 220.  4. Maylis de Kerangal, Naissance d’un pont, Paris, Verticales, coll. « Folio », 2010, p. 63.  5. Ibid., p. 133.  6. Michael Bess, La France vert clair. Ecologie et modernité technologique 1960-2000, trad. Chr. Jaquet, Seyssel, Champ Vallon, 2011 [2003].  7.  Voir   à   ce   sujet :   Pierre   Schoentjes,   Ce   qui   a   lieu.   Essai   d’écopoétique,   Marseille,   Éditions Wildproject, 2015, p. 21-24. 8.  Timothy   Morton,   Ecology   without   Nature :   Rethinking   Environmental   Aesthetics,   Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 2007. 9. Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, propos recueillis par Lu Zhang, « Je pense que la littérature doit beaucoup à la terre », Les Cahiers J.M.G. Le Clézio, <Habiter la terre>, 2017, p. 164-165. 10. Pierre Gascar, Les Sources, Paris, Gallimard, 1975, p. 89-90.  11. Ibid., p. 83.  12.  Lawrence Buell, The Environmental Imagination : Thoreau, Nature Writing and the Formation of American Culture, Cambridge/London, Harvard University Press, 1995, p. 7-8, nous résumons.  13.  Pour   une   comparaison   détaillée   entre   l’écocritique   et   l’écopoétique   françaises   et francophones, voir : Rachel Bouvet, Stephanie Posthumus, « Eco- and Geo- Approaches in French and Francophone Literary Studies », in Hubert Zapf, Handbook of Ecocriticism and Cultural Ecology, Hubert Zapf éd., Berlin/Boston, Walter de Gruyter GmbH, 2016, p. 385-412. 14. Julien Gracq, La Forme d’une ville, Paris, José Corti, 1985, p. 126.  15.  Walter   Wagner,   « Ecological   Sensibility   and   the   Experience   of   Nature   in   the   Twentieth- Century French Literature of Jean Giono, Marguerite Yourcenar and Julien Gracq », Ecozon@, 5 (1), 2014, p. 180. 16. Pierre Gascar, Pour le dire avec des fleurs, Paris, Gallimard, 1988, p. 75. 17. Isabelle Sorente, 180 jours, Paris, Grasset, 2013, p. 268.  18. Romain Gary, Les Racines du ciel, Paris, Gallimard, 1980, préface, p. 11. 19. Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, La Guerre, Paris, Gallimard, 1970, p. 285. L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 9 20. Ibid., p. 240. 21.  Pour une analyse plus détaillée, voir Marina Salles, Le Clézio : notre contemporain, Rennes, Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2006. 22. Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, La Fête chantée, Paris, Gallimard, 1997, p. 10-11. 23. Aldo Leopold, Almanach d’un comté des sables, Paris, Aubier Montaigne, 1995, p. 173. 24.  Voir à ce sujet : Pierre Schoentjes, op. cit., p. 212-226 ; Sara Buekens, « Pour que l’écologie supplante   le   nationalisme :   l’esthétique   de   Pierre   Gascar »,   Revue   critique   de   fixxion   française contemporaine, 11, décembre 2015, p. 49-59.  25. Alice Ferney, Le Règne du vivant, op. cit., p. 71. 26. Aurélien Bellanger, L’Aménagement du territoire, Paris, Gallimard, 2014, p. 188-189. 27. « L’homme était un animal de surface. Ni l’exploration minière, ni l’essor du transport aérien, ni la conquête spatiale ou la construction de gratte-ciel ne parvenaient à projeter plus d’un faible pourcentage   de   la   population   humaine   sur   des   orbites   différentes   de   celle   de   son   habitat primitif : une bande de quelques dizaines de mètres autour du niveau moyen des océans — bande que les hommes occupaient comme des solides impénétrables. » Ibid., p. 143. 28. Laurent Mauvignier, Autour du monde, Paris, Minuit, 2014, p. 75-76. RÉSUMÉS La   problématique   environnementale   est   restée   discrète   dans   la   critique   littéraire   française. Pourtant,   au   XXe  siècle   un   grand   nombre   d’écrivains   de   fiction   se   sont   déjà   intéressés   aux problèmes écologiques, comme la pollution, la disparition des espèces et la menace nucléaire. Récemment s’est développée dans le monde francophone une discipline qui étudie la littérature dans ses rapports avec l’environnement naturel, l’écopoétique, qui s’intéresse à la littérature environnementale   écrite   en   français.   Etant   donné   qu’il   s’agit   d’une   approche   formelle, l’écopoétique permettra de voir dans quelle mesure une prise de conscience grandissante pour l’environnement dans la littérature conduit ponctuellement à des choix d’écriture différents et comment la problématique environnementale peut nous apporter des vues nouvelles sur les mutations caractérisant la littérature entre 1945 et 2017. French contemporary literary criticism has left the environmental theme largely unexplored. However,   throughout   the   20th   century,   a   large   number   of   novelists   had   already   espoused ecological   problems   such   as   pollution,   the   disappearance   of   species   and   the   nuclear   threat. Recently   a   discipline   arose   in   the   francophone   world   that   studies   the   relationship   between literature and the natural environment : l’écopoétique. Since this discipline concentrates on the formal analysis of texts, l’écopoétique will contribute in studying to what extent an ever growing environmental awareness can lead to a change in writing methods and how the environmental theme can provide new insights in the mutations that define literature between 1945 and 2017. INDEX Mots-clés : écopoétique, littérature environnementale, écologie, histoire littéraire Keywords : ecopoetics, environmental literature, ecology, literary history L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 10 AUTEUR SARA BUEKENS Détentrice d’un Master en littérature et linguistique français–latin à l’Université de Gand et d’un Master 2 en littérature française à Paris (avec des cours à l’Université Paris IV – Sorbonne, l’EHESS et l’École normale supérieure), Sara Buekens rédige actuellement une thèse de doctorat à l’Université de Gand, sous la direction de Pierre Schoentjes. Elle étudie, à travers les auteurs français majeurs (1945-2016 : Gracq, Gary, Gascar, Trassard, Le Clézio et un choix d’œuvres contemporaines), la problématique environnementale dans une perspective écopoéticienne. Parmi ses publications, on retrouve : « Proximité avec la nature et jeu des genres littéraires :  L’Homme des haies de Jean-Loup Trassard et Naissance d’un pont de Maylis de Kerangal », Études littéraires, 48.3, 2019, p. 21-36 ; « L’usage du monde : une sensibilité environnementale avant la lettre », Roman 20-50, hors série 8, 2018, p. 271-282 ; « Maylis de Kerangal répond aux questions de Sara Buekens », Revue critique de fixxion française contemporaine, 14, 2017, p. 164-169 ; « Pour que l’écologie supplante le nationalisme : l’esthétique de Pierre Gascar », Revue critique de fixxion française contemporaine, 11, 2015, p. 49-59. L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Elfe XX-XXI, 8 | 2019 11 L’écopoétique : une nouvelle approche de la littérature française Ecocriticism vs. écopoétique Les enjeux éthiques Les enjeux esthétiques L’histoire de la littérature L’évolution stylistique 
work_fbdc56auiraete7kzanyptlb6q	----	The Lorax Complex: Deep ecology, Ecocentrism and Exclusion | Scholarly Publications Skip to main content Leiden University Scholarly Publications Home Submit About Select Collection All collections This collection Academic speeches Dissertations Faculty of Archaeology Faculty of Governance and Global Affairs Faculty of Humanities Faculty of Science Faculty of Social and Behavioural Sciences Leiden Journals, Conference Proceedings and Books Leiden Law School Leiden University Press Medicine / Leiden University Medical Centre (LUMC) Research output UL Search box Persistent URL of this record https://hdl.handle.net/1887/43838 Documents Download The Lorax Complex: Deep ecology, Ecocentrism and Exclusion Not Applicable (or Unknown) open access Full text at publishers site In Collections This item can be found in the following collections: Institute of Cultural Anthropology and Development Sociology Kopnina, H.N. (2012) The Lorax Complex: Deep ecology, Ecocentrism and Exclusion Article / Letter to editor Biodiversity preservation is often viewed in utilitarian terms that render nonhuman species as ecosystem services or natural resources. The economic capture approach may be inadequate in addressing biodiversity loss because extinction of some species could conceivably come to pass without jeopardizing the survival of the humans. People might be materially sustained by a technological biora made to yield services and products required for human life. The failure to address biodiversity loss calls for an exploration of alternative paradigms. It is proposed that the failure to address biodiversity loss stems from the fact that ecocentric value holders are politically marginalized and underrepresented in the most powerful strata of society. While anthropocentric concerns with environment and private expressions of biophilia are acceptable in the wider society, the more pronounced publicly expressed deep ecology...Show more Biodiversity preservation is often viewed in utilitarian terms that render nonhuman species as ecosystem services or natural resources. The economic capture approach may be inadequate in addressing biodiversity loss because extinction of some species could conceivably come to pass without jeopardizing the survival of the humans. People might be materially sustained by a technological biora made to yield services and products required for human life. The failure to address biodiversity loss calls for an exploration of alternative paradigms. It is proposed that the failure to address biodiversity loss stems from the fact that ecocentric value holders are politically marginalized and underrepresented in the most powerful strata of society. While anthropocentric concerns with environment and private expressions of biophilia are acceptable in the wider society, the more pronounced publicly expressed deep ecology position is discouraged. ‘‘Radical environmentalists’’ are among the least understood of all contemporary opposition movements, not only in tactical terms, but also ethically. The article argues in favor of the inclusion of deep ecology perspective as an alternative to the current anthropocentric paradigm.Show less anthropocentrism biodiversity deep green ecology ecocentrism environmental ethics environmental values radical environmentalism representation All authors Kopnina, H.N. Date 2012 Journal Journal of Integrative Environmental Sciences Volume 9 Issue 4 Pages 235 - 254 DOI doi:10.1080/1943815X.2012.742914 ©2020-2021 Leiden University A service provided by Leiden University Libraries Contact About us Recently Added Digital Collections Student Repository 
work_fbltaomq7rbc3bcv6qtuwokhwe	----	10.11648.j.ijla.20170504.11 International Journal of Literature and Arts 2017; 5(4): 26-30 http://www.sciencepublishinggroup.com/j/ijla doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20170504.11 ISSN: 2331-0553 (Print); ISSN: 2331-057X (Online) Man and Nature in Walden Qin Liu School of Foreign Language, Yancheng Normal University, Yancheng, China Email address: hobbyc@163.com To cite this article: Qin Liu. Man and Nature in Walden. International Journal of Literature and Arts. Vol. 5, No. 4, 2017, pp. 26-30. doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20170504.11 Received: May 6, 2017; Accepted: May 15, 2017; Published: July 13, 2017 Abstract: Since Walden publication, it has been studied from a great variety of perspectives, but these studies mainly focus on Thoreau’s views on nature in general, or his ecological ideas. A detailed and comprehensive study of the animals in Walden is rarely seen. Examining the animals in Walden, this paper intends to probe into Thoreau’s positive philosophy of life. Through a detailed analysis of man-animal relationship in Walden, we are in a better position to understand Thoreau as a realist. His retreat to nature is not an escape, but an attempt to put his belief into practice, aiming to find a model for the harmonious co-existence between man and nature. The record of his simple life in Walden proves that man and nature can live in harmony with each other, and provides a good example for human beings to solve the spiritual and environmental crises. Keywords: Walden, Henry David Thoreau, Animal, Realist 1. Introduction Henry David Thoreau is a great American writer of transcendentalism and the pioneer of modern environmentalism. Being an ardent lover of nature, he devoted his entire life to studying the relationship between man and nature, and bequeathed a legacy of works in this field. However, he is often misunderstood as a pure romanticist and an escapist. This thesis attempts to prove that Thoreau is a realist who is deeply concerned with the social issues of his time and voluntarily experiments with his life, hoping that he can find the solutions. With the rise of spiritual crisis as well as global environmental problems, Walden that is his masterpiece appeals to more and more readers for Thoreau’s prophetic vision of a harmonious world. Walden was published in 1854, and it took Thoreau five years to complete. It is based on Thoreau’s two-year solitary living at Walden Pond from 1845 to 1847. However, it is far from being a realistic account of his life at Walden. In fact, this book is a personal declaration of independence. It is full of wisdom and thoughts, reflecting Thoreau’s meditation on the meaning and purposes of life as well as demonstrating his philosophy of life which is both romantic and realistic. Thoreau advocates a simple way of living, which manifests both an attitude towards life and the way to harmony. In Walden, Thoreau maintains that the ultimate purpose of life is to live a true life, and suggests that people should restrain their desires and live a simple life. Meanwhile, Thoreau takes the small pond as the symbol of the whole ecosystem where he can freely commune with the universal soul and strive to establish a harmonious relationship with nature. Walden is made up of 18 chapters, and every chapter has its own title and theme. It is a brief summary of Thoreau’s twenty-six months’ living experiences at Walden Pond. In the first Chapter “Economy”, Thoreau criticizes the American lifestyle and persuades people to live a simple but free life. The second Chapter “Where I lived, and What I lived for” describes Thoreau’s philosophy of life, to truly live a life rather than make a living. Chapter three “Reading” introduces the purpose and significance of reading. Chapter four “Sounds” and Chapter five “Solitude” Thoreau leads the audience to appreciate the beauty of nature, and claims that he never feels lonely in the woods. Chapter six “Visitors” describes various kinds of visitors and Thoreau’s meditations upon friendship and responsibility. Chapter seven “The Bean- Field”, Chapter eight “The Village” and Chapter nine “The Ponds” are the vivid descriptions of the magnificent landscape. The “Baker Farm” Chapter tells us the author’s encounter with John Field to whom Thoreau suggests a simple life. Chapter eleven “Higher Laws” and the following Chapter “Brute Neighbors” are the vivid accounts of animals’ life in nature, here Thoreau considers seriously the problem 27 Qin Liu: Man and Nature in Walden of harmonious coexistence of man and animals. Chapter fourteen “Former Inhabitants and Winter Visitors” tells about the visits of Thoreau’s friends, such as Emerson and Channing. Chapter “Winter Animals” and “The Pond in Winter” concern Thoreau’s investigation of the pond, the observation of the flora and fauna in winter. The seventeen Chapter “Spring” records the vitality of plants and animals at the coming of the spring. The last Chapter “Conclusion” is a summary of Thoreau’s life at the woods and an explanation of why he eventually chooses to leave the place. This paper is going to discuss Thoreau as a realist rather than as a hermit who retreats to nature as a way of escaping the corrupt reality of his time. On the contrary, as my analysis will show, Thoreau attempts to figure out solutions to the social problems. His living in solitude at Walden Pond nurtures his nature consciousness and provides a peaceful place where Thoreau can meditate upon the essence of human nature and the human-nature relationship. Through his experimentation, Thoreau proves that it is possible for people to live an outwardly simple and inwardly diversified life which would help people achieve self-realization, and that it is possible for people to live harmoniously with other creatures, which will eventually lead to an environmentally friendly society. 2. Animals in Walden In Walden, Thoreau does not observe and describe the animals as a zoologist. Instead, he gives them a spiritual and philosophical significance. He endows the animals with human characteristics. Thereupon, Thoreau often describes the similarities between animals and people he comes across. People can be just as greedy and shallow as the marmot of the prairie, or as naughty and clumsy as red squirrels, or as lazy and cunning as chickadees, or as loyal as gundogs in Thoreau’s writings. In Thoreau’s eyes, human is just a “plain citizen” in nature, not a master over the creatures. Animals are equal with human beings as well as other non-human organisms. Human should not make interruptions and destructions to animals, plants and other organisms. As an equal member of the ecosystem, human should have respect for other organisms, and live in harmony with them as their neighbor [4]. In this chapter, I will focus on the animals in Walden, the diversities of animals, the human characteristics of animals, and Thoreau’s depiction of the hawk. 2.1. The Diversity of Animals In Walden, Thoreau is accompanied by a diversity of animals. They live in harmony with each other, and the various activities of animals give Thoreau a new sense of the variety of nature and the meanings of life. It can be said that the diversities of animals make a diverse mode of life. What Thoreau seeks is not to encourage people to live only one mode of life, but “to brag as chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to wake my neighbors up” (Thoreau 147). Thoreau would not have people all give up their normal life to live in the woods. What Thoreau advocates is a diverse and harmonious life with nature, with humans and other living organisms included. The diversity of animals is one essential aspect of a diverse life. Thoreau himself would not live only one mode of life, which is the reason why he leaves the woods in the end. Naess also believes that “Life is a succession of different expeditions full of uncertainties and challenges. One stereotyped mode of life might incur spiritual stagnation and poverty.” [1] Hence, a diversity of life would promote the achievement of self- culture, and the modes of life should and could be as diverse as possible. 2.2. Human Characteristics of Animals In Walden, Thoreau views birds and animals as equivalents to human beings. Man is “a part and parcel of nature”. Fishes, frogs and water birds, like ducks and geese, are equal inhabitants of Walden just as he is. He regards these non- human lives as his neighbors, and endows them with human characteristics. In his writing, these animals are referred to with human pronouns, “he” or “she” rather than “it”. Thoreau pays great attention to the resemblance of animals to human wars. The animals’ world is not peaceful at all. Each has to fight for its survival, and the conflicts and tensions are everywhere. Only the strongest, smartest, fittest can win in the end. In the world of animals, each wants to dominate the others, once they get the dominant place, they will not let it go. Moreover, the animals cannot stop fighting all over their lives, and they are forced to live a struggling life all through their lives. Thoreau believes that the animals are fighting for a principle, a belief, just like our ancestors. They have to fight to have their essential needs satisfied. Similar to human community, animals have racial and national conflicts, and the world is also full of violence and conflicts. The attribution of human characteristics to animals helps Thoreau to enrich and deepen his understanding of nature and the mankind, for the reason that the natural laws embodied in the animals’ activities can apply to humans as well. The close observation and persistent contemplation on the animals enables people to reap the harvest of self-culture which will be analyzed in the following chapters. 3. Thoreau’s Realistic Ideas on Harmonious Coexistence of Man and Animals Thoreau has realized through his close observation of animals that man and animals, different as they are, exist in one ecosphere and are closely connected to each other. He firmly believes that man and animals can harmoniously coexist on the same earth. His realistic ideas of harmonious coexistence of mankind and animals are of great importance to the modern readers. In this part, Thoreau’s views are to be analyzed in three aspects, all of which are inseparable from each other, and the omission of any one of them would do International Journal of Literature and Arts 2017; 5(4): 26-30 28 harm to the harmonious coexistence of human and animals, and, in a broader sense, the omission of any one of the would ruin the whole ecosystem balance. 3.1. Recognition of Animals’ Values As an indispensable part of nature, animals have their intrinsic values which should not be judged from their economic interests to human beings. In Walden, Thoreau gives a vivid description of the beauty and liveliness of animals. The existence of animals adds color and vigor to the earth. Thoreau enjoys being with animals, and animals provide him with happiness and sweet remedy for a soul. The animals come and go give him “much entertainment by their manoeuvres.” [2]. He “was amused by watching the motions of the various animals which were baited by” the ears of sweet corn he threw out of his house. Animal’s value also exists for providing a model and pattern for the development of the individual. We can get deep inspiration when we see an ugly caterpillar transforms into a beautiful butterfly and a gluttonous maggot becomes a fly, animals need far less than human beings, they can “content themselves with a drop or two of the honey or some other sweet liquid.” Human beings should learn from animals, and it would be less troublesome to get one’s necessary food as simple a diet as animals’, animals need very little to survive. Uncooked foods can satisfy their hunger, and their own furs are the best clothes to keep warm. Compared with human beings, animals lead a free and simple life. Indeed, it is the mode of life Thoreau advocates. He calls for simplicity in life to realize self-value with the help of nature. He suggests that people should get rid of unnecessary material requirements to pursue the real spiritual improvements. Besides its intrinsic values, animals exist as divine entities as well. Animals are incarnations of beauty and perfection. Wandering in the wildness and talking with animals, people would be exhilarated by the beauty and liveliness of nature. Through Thoreau’s experiment at Walden Pond, we know that animals have their own intrinsic values, and they are divine entities of the earth which are not judged by their economic or scientific benefits to humans. To be in harmony with animals, we should treat them as individual entities not as subordinates to human beings. 3.2. Respect the Rights of Animals Thoreau advocates a perfect harmony between mankind and nature. He believes that man and animals are not enemies, they are friends and equal inhabitants of the earth. He criticizes the human-centered attitude towards nature. In his opinion, human beings are higher animals, who have a sophisticated brain and can influence other non-human life. But that does not mean that they can dominate the world. As one of the earliest animal conservationists, Thoreau suggests that it is a savage thing for humans to eat their own species. He equals man’s eating animals with man’s eating each other. In his opinion, people should stop eating animals to develop from brutes to civilized mankind. Animals have thoughts, souls and rights, and they are worth being respected. Animals are living organisms in the whole ecosystem, in which they have equal rights as humans. However, they are not made for mankind, and their values cannot be measured by their usefulness to human purposes. They should be respected as parts of the whole ecosystem. In no way can we achieve a perfect harmony without consideration and respect for animals. In Walden, Thoreau pleads for the rights of animals. He sees animals as equal part of nature, and frequently compares the similarities between man and animals. The only difference between animals and people lies in that people have thoughts. However, people cannot dominate nature by their pure thoughts, humans’ sophisticated intelligence does not make them the leader of nature; on the contrary, people should live in harmony with other inhabitants of nature, and show respect for their rights. Animals, as an equal part of earth, should enjoy equal living rights and space as human beings. The relationship between man and animals should be that of equal brotherhood and sisterhood. The human- centered attitudes toward nature would destroy the natural harmony and mankind would also suffer from it [5]. In other words, if humans do harm to nature and animals, humans are doing harm to themselves. Everything in the world is interrelated and interdependent, thus people should respect nonhuman individuals as parts of the whole ecosystem for the sustainable development of the world. 3.3. Being Neighbor of Animals At Walden, Thoreau regards himself as a neighbor to the animals rather than cage animals to be his neighbors. He holds the view that animals are not only wild creatures, but part of mountains, rivers, and part of nature. He realizes through his own experiences that animals have feelings, souls and minds. They are conscious, and able to suffer or even to feel pain. Thoreau once said that a rabbit would make a cry as woeful as a child. He wishes to establish a harmonious relationship with animals, and considers himself the neighbor of those animals. Thoreau shares his house and bean field with forest animals, like mice, squirrels, robins, etc. He enjoys observing their activities and living with them. As a matter of fact, the animal neighbors help Thoreau gain a deeper understanding of nature while enriching his life. Under the companion of animals, Thoreau fulfills self-exploration, self-realization, and self-development through nature. Animals are not his enemies but his true friends and intimate neighbors. The different characters of his animal neighbors add to the liveliness of nature. By living closely with animals, Thoreau comes to understand the human nature. To Thoreau, animals’ world is a mirror of human community, from which we could reflect on ourselves and get a deep understanding of life. Nature, in Thoreau’s eyes, is full of wisdom. Being neighbor with animals is conducive to man’s self-culture through nature, for the reason that animals are indispensible parts of nature. 29 Qin Liu: Man and Nature in Walden Being neighbor of animals is salutary for the harmonious coexistence of man and animals [6]. Thoreau advocates that human beings should treat animals as equals, never trying to dominate over them or taming them for social or economic purposes. Animals are not subordinate to human beings; instead, they are our neighbors who share the common residence. 4. Thoreau’s Exploration of Models for Harmony Between Man and Nature Thoreau was determined to stay away from the crowds, the noises, the society, the religion and the public opinions to ponder over the existing social and spiritual crisis, and to find a proper mode of life for the people. By living with animals and plants at Walden Pond, Thoreau intermingles with nature. He intends to find the model for the harmony between man and nature, and to solve the conflicts between man and nature. 4.1. Biocentric Equality---Foundation for Harmonious Relationship The term biocentric equality was first brought up by Arne Naess in his article “The Shallow and the Deep, Lone-Range Ecology Movement” in 1973. It means that all things in the ecosystem are equal in their intrinsic value. All organisms and entities are parts of the interrelated whole, so they should have equal rights to live in the ecosphere. It is a kind of complete equality which could extend to the whole ecosphere. According to Arne Naess and George Sessions, the deep ecology’s religious roots originate from many different religions, but its philosophical roots can be “found in ecocentrism and social criticism of Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Robinson Jeffers, and Aldous Huxley” [3] To Thoreau, the Walden Pond is a living web that includes all organisms, human or nonhuman. It is endowed with beauty and dynamics. The book is abundant with the beautiful descriptions of the nature. As he went to the woods, Thoreau found a completely different world. He became neighbors of different kinds of plants and animals. All things contribute to the beauty and liveliness of the nature. The sight of a vast range of trees and flowers, the sounds of different kinds of birds and animals, the beautiful landscape of ponds and farms constitute a marvelous picture of harmony. All things at Walden have inseparable rights to live, to blossom and to reach their own fullness. Each living organism is interdependent on each other, and everything is equal in the web of ecosphere. The biocentric equality also finds its expression in Thoreau’s objection to man’s interruption and destruction of nature. At Walden, Thoreau witnesses man’s ruthless damages on nature. People cut down trees for money, catch fish for food, kill different kinds of animal for their meat or fur. The luxuriant trees surrounding the Walden have gone, the woods are laid waste. Thoreau records the change of Walden Pond with pity. In Thoreau’s minds, the natural beauty of Walden Pond was ruined because of man’s greediness. The disruptive human action has done great harm to the lake, and would eventually damage the whole ecosphere. This conveys clearly his idea that all things in the world are interdependent, and human beings have no rights to exploit the earth for their own economical or social purposes, otherwise, people would be punished for their own wrongdoings. Human beings should respect all organisms and entities in nature, and they all have equal rights to live and grow. Biocentric or ecocentric equality is the foundation for the harmony between man and nature. 4.2. Voluntary Simplicity of Life---On the Way to Harmony Thoreau’s simplicity is a kind of voluntary simplicity which he chooses for himself. Voluntary simplicity requires both inner and outer relinquishment on material wealth and comfort. It means to be inwardly sincere and honest to live a simplified life, and to refrain outwardly from worldly enjoyment. To Thoreau, there are two kinds of simplicity, the philosopher’s and the savage’s. He favors an “outwardly simple, but inwardly complex” style of life, or the philosopher’s simple life of wisdom. It is a style of life that lives harmoniously with nature and has minimum impacts on other kinds of species. Thoreau’s life at Walden Pond is an experiment with simple life. With the development of society, the material life of people becomes much better. However, people could not fully enjoy their life; instead, they have to work even harder to make more money. In Walden, He encourages people to abandon the redundant material possessions and pursue the true spiritual life. To Thoreau, the simplicity has two meanings. On the one hand, it calls for people to get rid of greedy requirements for material things. On the other hand, it encourages people to pursue rich spiritual enjoyment by simple means. Hence, he builds his own cabin and furnishes his house on his own, eats the food he grows, and seldom has any material possessions. In this way, he has a clear observation towards the society. He realizes that it is materialism that causes people to exploit nature excessively. Meanwhile, he suggests that people should adopt a correct attitude towards mankind and nature. The biggest misfortune of humans is to become slaves to the material things and themselves. 4.3. Self-culture Through Nature---Ideal Result In Walden, Thoreau complains that human beings have lost their true identity. They are too preoccupied with endless work and useless worries, but they ignore the true cultivation of the self. In Walden, he writes, “the oldest Egyptian or Hindoo philosopher raised a corner of the veil from the statue of divinity and I gaze upon as fresh a glory as he did, since it was I in him that was then so bold, and it is he in me that now reviews the vision.” [2]. It is evident that we have to lift the veil from the statue of the divinity to realize self-culture, to find the true self. International Journal of Literature and Arts 2017; 5(4): 26-30 30 Thoreau believes that nature is friendly and receptive to human beings, and it would help people to cultivate themselves if man and nature can live in harmony. Thoreau selects nature as the best approach to realize his self-culture, hoping to achieve self-culture through the communion and union with nature. He intends to counterbalance the disappointments of bitter reality with the help of nature, for he firmly believes that the fallen self in the material world can be saved by returning to nature to recover its innocence. In fact, Thoreau’s life is a process of constant seeking after self-culture, and the authentic and innocent nature contributes to his achievement of self-culture. He believes that the innocent and pure nature would show mankind a way back to an authentic and true life which would help mankind to find the true nature of man. For the reason that nature is not only symbolic in reflecting the spiritual part of a man, but also offers a good way towards self-culture by liberating people from the material and spiritual burdens of society Thoreau advocates that people should get close to nature and be inspired by nature. Only in this way can human fulfill self- culture, and then to live an authentic and meaningful lives. It requires constant and conscious efforts of human beings to form the union between the individual self and the universal self, embodied in nature. In other words, to live a full life by forming a harmonious relationship with nature is the ultimate and ideal result. 5. Conclusion Thoreau is a naturalist and a realist, who has devoted all his life to finding a proper lifestyle for human existence. His retreat to the woods is an exploration of the essence of life. His solitary living at the woods is a great experiment on establishing a harmonious society. Thoreau’s masterpiece Walden is an eloquent account of Thoreau’s meditation on the coexistence of man and nature. Being a keen observer of plants and animals at Walden, Thoreau not only discovers the inner connection of animals and human race, but also the mode of living for the harmony between man and nature through his living experiences with animals. Based on the above analysis, we can conclude that Thoreau’s ideas and explorations in Walden point out the way to a harmonious society. Thus it is worthwhile to reread Thoreau’s Walden from the perspective of the relationship between animals and human beings, and to better grasp the essence of his philosophy. Acknowledgements This work is supported by Top-notch Academic Programs Project of Jiangsu Higher Education Institutions, the project of Science Research of Yancheng Normal University (No. 14YCKW031), the project of Development and Reform Research of Yancheng Normal University (No. 14YCFZ011). References [1] Naess, Arne. Ecology, Community and Lifestyle: Outline of an Ecosophy. Trans. David Rothenberg. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. [2] Thoreau, Henry D. Walden. Oregon State University Press, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972. [3] Sessions, G. Deep Ecology for the 21st Century. Boston: Shambhala Publications, Inc., 1995. [4] Armstrong, Susan J. Botzler, Richard G. Environmental Ethics: Divergence and Convergence. New York: Mcgraw- Hill, Inc., 1993. [5] Buell, Lawrence. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995. [6] Seton, Ernest T. Wild Animals I Have Known. Nanjing: Yilin Press, 2001. [7] Furui Y. Networked Solitude: Walden, or Life in Modern Communications [J]. Texas Studies in Literature & Language, 2016, 58. [8] Campbell A, Campbell J. Trails to Walden Pond: Pragmatic Aesthetics and Relational Aesthetics Approach the Examined Life [J]. Pluralist, 2016, 11. [9] Simon K. Affect and Cruelty in the Atlantic System: The Hauntological Argument of Henry David Thoreau's Cape Cod [J]. ESQ: A Journal of Nineteenth-Century American Literature and Culture, 2016, 62. [10] Bunge N. Prairie Gold: An Anthology of the American Heartland ed. by Lance M. Sacknoff, Xavier Cavazos, and Stephanie Brook Trout (review) [J]. Middle West Review, 2017, 3. 
work_fbna7w6h3ze65o6w3yllpfaiie	----	Jeffrey_Henderson_working_paper_01-2009 ISSN 1662-761X Jeffrey Henderson The Meta Cultural Constraints Facing Wal-Mart No. 01/2009 The Meta Cultural Constraints Facing Wal-Mart Culture is the life blood of an organization and it can be the determining factor in the successes and the failures that an organization will experience. As an entity culture can be elusive and ever changing. As employees we exist within a corporate cultural framework. Intuitively, people understand that each organization has a specific culture and that the organization goes to great lengths to build the exact culture that they believe will be best in helping to achieve the ultimate corporate goal of increased shareholder value. However, few understand that the organization itself exists and is determined by a larger environmental culture – the meta-culture. That is, it is the larger culture of the society that gives the mandate to the corporation to exist and through that process the corporation interacts and is allowed to prosper. In the lexicon of Social Issues in Management (SIM) this is refered to as a “company’s license to operate“. Further, the meta-culture provides the backdrop on which the company specific culture may rest. All corporations are affected by their meta-culture, yet few corporations understand exactly how that meta-culture affects their specific corporate culture or how their internal specific corporate culture may in turn affect the larger meta-culture. As Wal- Mart faces the challenges of size and scope, it is the interplay between these two cultures that will shape its future success as a world organization. Corporate Culture – Efficiency At All Levels As the world’s largest retailer continues to grow, Wal-Mart faces many important challenges: some functional, some organizational, some technical and some cultural. Necessarily, these challenges all exist within the four walls of the Wal-Mart extended corporate box: figuratively, literally and virtually. Many of these challenges Wal-Mart is very well equipped to deal with due to their hard won successes at creating a virtual ecosystem of non-related, yet integrated companies. Through technology Wal-Mart has reinvented itself into a modern North American version of the Japanese Zaibatsu or Keiretsu forming an extended, virtual corporation that reaches deep into the operations of its suppliers both from a logistical and data processing function. The ability to do so has brought greater efficiencies to its operations and has helped it to remain ahead of its competition on cost structure. This is no easy feat but necessary in an industry noted for its razor thin margins. When it comes to logistics, data mining of customer information and supply-chain integration through the use of technology few companies do it better than Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart’s Virtual Kieretsu In essence, Wal-Mart has been able to take on the core aspects of its business model that creates the greatest level of competitive advantage (key success factors) and at the same time transfers other aspects that are secondary on to its suppliers and customers. Again, efficiency is the name of the game. Suppliers are forced to manage inventory in a manner that is akin to JIT, just-in-time, in order to ring out even further efficiencies within the overall supply chain. Wal-Mart provides the data management and tools for understanding customer demand and the supplier is expected to manage its inventory to the underlying cycles of that demand. It is a give and take. If we take a moment to study this symbiotic arrangement we would notice that it is a very intelligent business model. Much criticism has befell Wal-Mart for pushing inventory management on to its suppliers, but that criticism ignores an important element. That is, the suppliers are receiving in turn extremely critical data and information on the buying behaviour of their very own customers that otherwise would either be too difficult or too expensive for them to collect on their own. This is especially true for smaller suppliers whose resources are far too limited to even consider such a project in the first place. In summary, Wal-Mart shares the benefit of their own scale with the many large, medium and small suppliers within its virtual organization. The entire virtual Wal-Mart extended family of businesses, or the Wal- Mart Keiretsu, benefits from that sharing. Unfortunately, this fact is often over looked by many observers. What the above illustrates through a concrete example is how Wal-Mart never ceases to study its supply chain and find new ways of extracting efficiency. Wal-Mart incessantly re-examines its workflow processes and re-engineers its business model before others do it for them. This is another element of their competitive advantage and underlying cultural imperative. Since the chain is integrated in a virtual manner, all the participants up and down that chain benefit. Cost control at Wal-Mart is not just about pushing directives in a selfish manner on outside businesses as it is often portrayed in the media, but is a directive that Wal-Mart places on its own internal business as well. It is a give and take that increases the efficiency of the entire system. This is where Wal-Mart stands out from its competitors. Human Resource Management The company is also well known for human resource management as it is the largest employer in the United States and also credited with being the largest employer in the world. With approximately 6,500 stores worldwide Wal-Mart is estimated to employee over 2 million people at any given time. Using a conservative estimate of turnover within the worker ranks of 25% per year Wal-Mart is replacing over 410, 000 new worker – each year! This in and of itself is a great technical and organization feat. Target one of Wal-Mart’s closest rivals only employees 338,000 people within in its entire organization1. That means that on average Wal-Mart replaces each one of its main competitor’s employees each and every year. Recently, criticism has emerged that Wal-Mart is purposefully culling and capping its workforce of long-term, full-time employees and replacing them with part-time employees in an effort to maintain lower human resource cost2. However, when the cost of maintaining such a large and diversified workforce is contrasted with the annual profit, a clearer picture of the true motivation of Wal-Mart appears. In its 2006 annual report Wal-Mart reported sales of $312.4 billion with a net profit of $11.2 billion for a return on sales of 3.5%, as mentioned earlier razor thin margins. With 2 million employees world-wide that represents a net profit of $5,600 per employee. If 1 Target Corporate Factcard, October 5, 2006. Target , www.taget.com 2 Wal-Mart to Add More Part-Timers and Wage Caps, The New York Times, October 2, 2006 an employee works an average of 20 hours per week, taking into account a part-time and full-time employee mix, that average employee works approximately 960 hours per year. So even a $1.00 increase from the reported $10.11 full-time wage would reduce the stated net profit of $5,600 per employee by $960 to $4,640 per employee and reduce the return of sales to 2.9%, a reduction of 0.6%. If we take a moment to absorb the above we see that Wal-Mart must do everything possible to maintain low labour cost in order to maintain its competitiveness in an industry typified by razor thin margins. Perhaps, the greatest comment on the labour practices of Wal-Mart is the fact that at a recent store opening in Evergreen Park, Illinois, 25,000 potential employees applied for 325 store positions, a ratio of approximately 77 applicants for each position available. One could ask, if Wal-Mart is such a low-paying environment compared to the market then why are so many people applying for jobs. As rhetorical as this question may be, it shows that everything is relative and that the present wage practices at Wal-Mart, given the company’s job popularity, is desired by many and therefore most likely not out of sync with the overall demand of the economy. No matter which way you look at it, Wal-Mart clearly understands their human resource position and is able to control their cost to maintain profitability - something that many companies are unable or unwilling to do. Corporate Culture – Conflict Within and Without With over 3,800 U.S. stores and 6,500 world-wide stores the impact that the opening of a new Wal-Mart store has on a community is now legendary. For the most part, the months preceding the announcement of a store opening are filled with points and counter points identifying the pros and cons from all the stakeholders involved. The issues are well known. Accusations that Wal-Mart exploits low-wage earners and its supplier base are countered by attestations of the number of jobs that Wal-Mart creates both within and without its stores is just one such argument. There are many more. And so goes the dance between the Wal-Mart enthusiast and the Wal-Mart detractors played across the global media in a frenzy of emotion. Will it ever end? Perhaps not, as it seems the various factions are caught in a type of co-dependent relationship, each playing off the other. As consumers we love the low prices, as citizens we are leery about the noise around the company’s business practices. So the love-hate relationship goes on. This continuous dance between the opposing sides has become a symbol of what Wal-Mart is today - conflict. The context of the arguments, either pro or con, is almost of no consequence as to the fact that the conflict exists. It hijacks the media and the attention of the Wal-Mart ecosphere. It is always out there, the sense that the shopping experience at Wal-Mart isn’t what it appears to be, or is no longer what it once was. As Wal-Mart has grown and changed so has its shopping experience. And so it seems that with increasing size conflict with its customers and suppliers is almost a pre-determined fact of its business. Size has created a monster. Wal-Mart has morphed into a 2,000 pound gorilla before the eyes of its customers and suppliers and now enjoys a relative size advantage heretofore never imagined. Stores continue to grow in size which makes the underlying shopping experience more and more frustrating for the average shopper while the corporation itself grows to new levels, ever more able to exert its will on its supplier base. Size can bring with it many difficulties and any business or personal relationship based on unequal size or power is fraught with difficulty by design. However, size is not the only determinant of conflict at Wal-Mart. Along with the morphing of size has come the morphing of Wal-Mart’s underlying culture. One that originated as “Always Low Prices” that were good for everyone has changed into “Always Low Prices” that seem to cause a whole host of economic and societal problems. “Always Low Prices” have become marred with a sense of injustice, the exact opposite of the original sentiment of the founder Sam Walton. Perhaps abuses are inevitable when you are running the largest employer in the world, which also happens to be the largest retailer in history and is also credited with single-handedly controlling inflation and creating its own economic sphere of influence and effect3. With size comes scope, with scope comes power. And power has the tendency to be abusive. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely4, as the saying goes. Not the typical idea of power, but a type of power that is all encompassing - the type of power that can change a person’s destiny with the node of the head or the stroke of a pen. It is a dictatorial type of power that was known to such leaders as the Caesars in ancient times. It was power that laid in the hands of only a very few. A thumbs up or a thumbs down was all that separated the charged from life or death. This was power, this was great power, a type of power that the world had not yet seen or experienced. The power that Wal-Mart enjoys today is similar in scope to the power of Caesar. The destiny of factories, companies and the collectivity of jobs can come in and out of existence with the node of the purchaser’s head, the stroke of their pen and inevitably the stocking of the product line. Corporate Culture – The Responsibility of Great Power Politicians would remind us that great power involves great responsibility5 and it is herein that lies the conundrum or quagmire of Wal-Mart that makes all other discussions of its future pale in comparison. In the above, we discussed the underlying internal culture of Wal-Mart as an organization and its unswerving focus on efficiency. But those examples ignored the external environmental culture in which Wal-Mart operates. However, it is this external environment that is all important to the future of the company. In ancient time Caesar knew his role, he knew his power and he knew his responsibility to his subjects, himself and the state. Moreover, his subjects knew their place. Cross Caesar and you die, period. The rules were simple. In Wal-Mart’s world that understanding of power and responsibility is in flux. The collective understanding as to the appropriateness of the power and the legitimacy of the power is in question. Wal-Mart represents something new. Never before has so much corporate purchasing power been held by so few within the same organization. The power is so great that a few executives in Bentonville can move the American economy with seemingly more facility than the incumbent government. This purchasing power has 3 The Wal-Mart Effect, Charles Fishman, Penguin Press, ISBN 1-59420-076-9 4 Lord Acton in his famous letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton, 1887 5 “Great power involves great responsibility”, President Roosevelt’s undelivered Jefferson Day Address, April 13, 1945. the ability to morph into political power and if we keep the thoughts of Lord Acton in mind than that power is the most serious threat to liberty. This is what the average American intuitively understands, even if they can not verbalize it, and it is why the size of Wal-Mart causes such consternation and concern. Power in all of its guises is still power and Caesar by any other name still rules, perhaps more subtle in its application using channels of business yet as devastating in its effect and consequences: the livelihood of those it touches and the movement of the whole economy. Corporate Culture – The Need For A Great Leader It would seem ridiculous that Caesar could come to power in today’s America. But that in effect is what has happened. By providing “Always Low Prices” Sam Walton understood one thing clearly. As Caesar knew how to obtain and maintain his power accordingly, Sam Walton knew that Americans deserved “Always Low Prices” – low prices were their inalienable right. Americans work hard for their money and by providing them a place where they could stretch that dollar even further Walton knew that a powerful recipe would be borne. In his eyes “Always Low Prices” was nothing less than his civic responsibility, a service to the community - Caesar looking out for the good of all his subjects. Through his tireless efforts of providing “Always Low Prices” Sam Walton was able to invigorate his company with an over-arching goal of cost control that would accomplish two critical points from where his modern day Empire could flourish. First, it would lay the foundation for one of America’s most frugal companies and create a discipline that would be second to none. Second, it would solidify an archetypical myth figure that would survive him as founder and further lay the bedrock on top of which the Wal-Mart culture could firmly grow. Without either of these cultural necessities of discipline and myth Wal-Mart would not and could not be the Wal-Mart we know of today. Every Empire needs its army to have discipline, without discipline in the ranks of the foot soldiers all is lost. Sam Walton intrinsically knew this and gave his employees a uniform message, something that they all could believe in, something that they could rally around –“Always Low Prices”. It was simple, elegant and it was powerful. Any commander will tell you that all armies need a rallying cry or central theme to be effective - something that every foot soldier can easily understand. Kill the enemy because the enemy is evil. Kill high prices because high prices are evil. Interestingly, the assumption that the enemy is evil never gets questioned or else the whole idea of war makes no sense. In the same manner within Wal-Mart, the assumption that high prices are evil is never questioned or else the whole idea of never faltering to provide low prices makes no sense. As a commander, you don’t want your foot soldiers questioning the mission, what you want is for them to carry out the orders – “Always Low Prices”. And who would want to cross Caesar anyway! And so it was with the formation of the Wal-Mart army. Don’t question low prices just find a way to win the war, in other words be a good foot soldier. In today’s Wal-Mart we see that same never questioning attitude and the “do what you must” imperative. It drives the company to push the boundaries of ethical behaviour and is a testament to the power of the underlying message and stature of Sam Walton that it has survive for so long in tact after his death. In fact, some would argue that the message of “Always Low Prices” has becoming even more entrenched since Sam Walton’s death as myths and their primary attributes tend to follow a natural order to aggrandize over time. “Always Low Prices” would solidify his persona and legend as the driving force of the company long after he was gone. Sam Walton would be the stuff of legends. This is critical to the present day success of Wal-Mart. It is one thing to follow a coldly crafted mission statement and it is quite another thing to follow a man, even if just in memory. For the staff and managers at Wal-Mart providing “Always Low Prices” is nothing less than following in the footsteps of Sam Walton - their Caesar. It is a powerful statement of commitment, it shows loyalty to the Wal-Mart Empire, it shows that you know your place as a subject of Caesar. Corporate Culture – The Power of Philosophy For Sam Walton providing “Always Low Prices” was seen not just as a business idea that had some merit but as his civic duty. He had a drive to provide low prices not simply for profit but because it was the right of each American to enjoy low prices. Like the Roman Empire Wal-Mart has grown from a small non consequential outpost to a world dominating force and so have the woes and challenges that it must contend with. As Charles Fishman states in his book “The Wall-Mart Effect” it is one thing to be relentless at providing “Always Low Prices” when you are 3 stores in Arkansas and quite another when you are 6,500 stores strong and the largest retailer ever known to man6. The decisions that you make have more scope, they have more impact, they touch more people - a lot more people. But it wasn’t always that way. Wal-Mart started off small. It wasn’t the creation of the merging of a group of large retailers into an even larger entity that just appeared on the scene. The growth at Wal-Mart came store by store. It grew organically out of the very cultural pillars that Sam Walton laid down on the founding of his first store. This is why the power of Wal-Mart and its underlying culture is so strong today. It has stood the test of time based on a simple premise that harks back to the founding fathers of the American experience itself. Emerson would be impressed with the underlying tone of self reliance that pervades the Wal-Mart experience, for what could be more self reliant than spending your money frugally. And Henry David Thoreau sitting at Waldon’s pond would no doubt acquiesce with Sam Walton borrowing his motto of “multum in parvo”: “much in little”- little prices yielding much. And so it is difficult to understand that a company so steeped in the traditions of some of America’s most revered authors and founding philosophers would be facing such conflict with its suppliers, customers and general media as Wal-Mart presently does. And as we look for a reason behind this cultural dilemma we see that a similar manifestation has been happening to America itself. 6 The Wal-Mart Effect, p. 47, “What looks like missionary zeal when you’re a quirky regional retailer comes across much differently when you’re the most powerful company, and the largest employer, in the world. Corporate Culture – The Company As Nation Perhaps the reason why Wal-Mart makes so many people uneasy is because with its size it has become a mirror of American society, a parallel of sorts. Like Wal-Mart, American society (economy) has grown so large that even the defensive moves of the combined European Community fall short of its economic power. The very bigness it enjoys makes us nervous. As mentioned, we as people innately understand the corruptibility of great power and bigness. Great power involves great responsibility: a responsibility to use that power in a just and equitable manner. In this sense both America and Wal-Mart remain unopposed in their relative size and use of their power. The way in which that power will be used is a question of choice. It is an ethical decision with which both entities wrestle. And like all ethical decisions, the use of power is determined by the underlying culture that supports that power platform. We know through experience that acting ethically means knowing the difference between what you have the right to do and the right thing to do7 and that acting unethically is usually the result of self serving motivations. And with bigness and power comes the necessity to see beyond your own self-serving needs and requirements or face the same fate that befell The Holy Roman Empire - collapse. Perhaps that leap is easier for governments to make no matter how myopic they may presently be. For it is their primary mandate to serve. But ironically with Wal-Mart it is also their mandate to serve which may prove to be their ultimate undoing. Since day one, Wal-Mart has mandated themselves to serve the American population with “Always Low Prices”. They see themselves as the democratizers of price, the same way as America sees itself as the democratizers of politics. Both are self appointed and both are facing a battle. It is a similar master that points back to the very same constituents. As America tries to unravel the cultural imperatives of democracy so to is Wal-Mart trying to unravel the cultural imperatives that its unwavering adherence to low prices has both within and without its own culture. For a corporation, size is good as it enables you to use your own bigness as a lever against the power of your suppliers and the power of your customers. This is expected and any company would be foolish not to use its size to its own advantage. This is one of the first lessons learnt in any MBA class as illustrated through the Porter framework. Nevertheless, extreme size can bring greater ills than benefit and attack the very Liberty that enabled it to flourish in the first place. All corporations need growth, and size by its nature limits growth. It is a paradox of limited market size. Growth creates size but size limits grow. And with increased size the ability to continue to grow is limited to the corporation’s ability to manage that growth by finding new markets and new customers. If you can’t get more of the pie 7 Justice Porter Stewart, Associate Justice of The United States, served from October 14, 1958 through July 3, 1981, “There is a difference between what you have a right to do and what is right to do.” then get a bigger pie. The home country/market becomes saturated and the company is forced to go further a field to seek out new customers. And it is here that we hit other cultural paradoxes or inflection points that will determine the future of Wal-Mart. The first is the fact that the underlying assumption of the founding philosophy of the corporation which is based on the larger cultural context of Wal-Mart’s home country may not be shared by the new market participants. The second is that with expansion and ever growing business size the corporation’s purchasing power across geographic boundaries enables it not just to affect in large measure its home economy but the economies of other host nations. Purchasing power has morphed into political power which in turn has morphed into geo-political power. Firstly, Wal-Mart’s ability to find new customers and markets is predicated on the assumption that the new customers outside its home market will share the same belief and value system, read: “culture”, under which Wal-Mart has flourished, i.e.: that the value of “Always Low Prices” is shared by everyone. And by extension it is also predicated on the belief in the very values that forged the American culture. Those being the same values shared by Thoreau and Emerson, et al: thrift, discipline and self-reliance. If the new customers don’t value those underlying values and assumptions then continued growth through the opening and conquering of new markets is not assured. If those markets don’t materialize then the company will falter, growth will stall and the organization may face collapse under its own weight. Secondly, as the power base of Wal-Mart continues to grow across country boundaries and its underlying power base continues to morph from economic to geo- political power the uneasiness that customers, the general community and ultimately politicians will feel will no doubt increase to a point where action will be demanded. Lord Acton’s comments on the corruptibility of power states that it is almost an inevitable result. Power and specifically political power is the greatest threat to Liberty. If this is true then Wal-Mart’s increasing geo-political power is now diametrically opposed to the most fiercely held and defended value in American history - Liberty. The corporation is now at odds with its own home country culture, its very meta-culture. Like the Rome of Caesar, the seeds of discontent are forming. Corporate Culture – Saving The Empire All Empires go through a life cycle, as do all corporations. The Romans grew to rule the known world until the excesses of their culture borne of their very success caused their downfall. America grew from a sense of independence, self-reliance and manifest destiny wrought from democracy to the most powerful nation on earth that today brings it squarely at odds with other regions in a play of nations whose ending still needs to be written. For Wal-Mart the greatest threat facing the corporation is culture. But it isn’t coming from the internal culture that has caused it to be the incredible success that we know today. The threat against Wal-Mart comes from its meta-culture, the environment in which it exists and the culture that permits it to exercise its far reaching power. Corporate Culture – The Need To Re-Invent Is it a natural progression for entities to maximize themselves before they inevitable experience an implosion of sorts and either get broken up or dissolve into history? For Wal-Mart, the answer to this will be dependent on whether Wal-Mart can understand that as it seeks further growth it must re-examine its underlying cultural philosophy and the ethical dilemmas it faces in using its newly found geo-political power equitably within the larger meta-culture. The status-quo is no longer an option. Equity in the future may not mean “Always Low Prices” and this will be nothing short of traumatic for both the individuals within the organization and the organization itself. It will require a seismic shift from the founding principles of the corporation and its founding philosophers to an unwavering respect for the dominant American value of Liberty. By protecting Liberty at all cost by wielding its power ethically and equitably Wal-Mart may be able to refocus its energies to the higher goal of societal justice and at the same time regain its reputation within the community at large as the quintessential American company. The transition will be fraught with danger as the very fabric of the organization is re- stitched. Nevertheless, it is a necessity. If management and the organization as a whole prove unable to re-invent or re-engineer their culture, as they have been able to do in other areas of the corporation, the external forces acting upon them surely will. As was proven in Rome many centuries ago. Swiss Management Center is a truly global University, providing executive education aimed at the working professional. Supported by our centers in Europe and Latin America, as well as our partner network in the Middle East and Asia, we assist you in creating locally professional solutions 
work_fheigb4rdzhe7bmnegsrgxexdu	----	European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 European journal of American studies Reviews 2015-2 Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. Despoina Feleki Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10830 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference Despoina Feleki, « Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. », European journal of American studies [Online], Reviews 2015-2, document 2, Online since 28 April 2015, connection on 22 April 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10830 This text was automatically generated on 22 April 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10830 Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. Despoina Feleki 1 Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction by Aliki Varvogli is the latest addition in the Routledge “Transnational Perspectives on American Literature” series. The writer’s ambitions to trace latest writing trends in American letters and update concerns about narratives of immigration in a post-Nelson Mandela era are expressed from the onset. Within the context of travel narratives and theories of dislocation, the book manages to show how the idea of the American in American letters has evolved according to latest political, economic, and technological determinants after World War II as this is traced in early twenty-first century fictions. More importantly, it investigates revisions of the American Dream that question America as both a destination and a point of departure in a globalized and technologically-informed world. 2 The essays in the study investigate different aspects of travel and dislocation expressed in early twenty-first-century novels in order to demonstrate the role travel, media, and politics play in the construction of culture, citizenship, and identity in the present fast-moving world. They also manage to bring into light questions about the importance of ethnicity as this is defined in present America and in the Western world. As Varvogli explores the relation between a personal and a national identity, she highlights the dynamic processes involved. For these reasons, she chooses novels that “go outward” (xv), and study what it means to be an American citizen in the twenty-first century – and often in the aftermath of 9/11 – when imaginary and real borders have been questioned. Most importantly, she raises questions about the Americanness of these American novels and the limitations of the American gaze of their writers. Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 1 3 In Part I, “Africa and the Limits of Fiction,” the first four political novels are written by white American writers who are concerned about the aftermath of slavery and how it affects transcontinental politics and human consciousness. The essays in Part I study the literariness of the novels, the combination of different genres, such as reportage and historical fiction, and the divide between fact with fiction in order to show how contemporary fiction writing is employed to give voice to human narratives of trauma. The first two novels use documentary style, when the next two use fiction writing, but still push it to certain limits. Philip Caputo, a fiction writer and journalist, in Acts of Faith is concerned about civil war in Sudan and sets his novel in this African country, where he explores the flawed nature of his American characters living there. Dealing with the contemporary political situation in Sudan within fictional contexts helps readers grasp the situation. Varvogli’s contribution lies in pointing out the efforts of the writer to distance his writing from the American gaze by displaying the not so innocent nature of his characters and by ending the novel with the point of view of a non-African. Yet, the realization that Caputo is still writing about Africa for the American market suggests the limitations of both views. 4 The investigation continues with Dave Eggers’s What is the What, which tells the real life story of Valentino Achak Deng, an American citizen and a refuge from Sudan, once a member of the Lost Boys group. The study touches upon issues of representation of safety and hostility that were raised in the previous section. Yet, hostility is now detected in the American home of Deng. The unstable authorial voices in the novel make a point about identity and fragmentation and suggest a link between spatial and internal displacement, an issue that is also explored in Part III. Although both novels begin with maps, the study questions their usefulness as “visual representations of the other and the ideology of the nation-state” (4). This brings to mind the shaky nature of international politics as well as the representational ambiguities at the time of satellite surveillance and Google maps. Furthermore, in tandem with the arbitrariness of maps as visual representations of different nation-states the arbitrariness of language in the creation of artificial distinctions and misrepresentations of otherness is discussed. Thus, Varvogli suggests that representations of Africa as a contested space and a dark continent of war continue to be common tropes of writing about space in American literature in the twenty-first century. 5 The second comparative essay focuses on Norman Rush’s Mortals and Russell Banks’s The Darling. These two novels that emphasize their literariness choose to “participate in but also subvert the literary tradition of white imaginative engagement with Africa” (7) through their use of allusion, intertextuality, and self-reflexiveness. Changing their perspective, both novels move from the political to the personal. They investigate what it is and feels to be an American citizen in Africa today. Rush sets his American characters in Botswana and deals with moral issues within disintegrated marriages and gender issues of masculinity and ethnic identity. Although the novel constitutes an example of western cultural intervention, Varvogli notes Rush’s subversive look in his choice to reject the U.S. as the ultimate destination for his characters. Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 2 6 In The Darling, Banks discusses the translatlantic dimensions of race issues by implicating a white American woman in Liberian politics. Thus, American imperialist policies are once again picked up, while Banks questions historical writing through the use of a highly discontinuous character and narrative voice. Hannah, his female protagonist leaves Africa and moves back to the U.S. only to prove that racial distinctions have not disappeared. Varvogli notes Banks’s effort to relate dominant narratives with little stories within the 9/11 context –brought up on the last page of the novel– as well as the relation of fact with fiction in the writer’s choice to write about real fears in fictional contexts. Spatial and temporal discontinuities in the novel emphasize the fragmentation of the self, issues that run through the essays in Part II and III. References to Conradian Heart of Darkness, the writers’ influences from Graham Green and the resort to Duboisian double-consciousness open up great opportunities for further studies that will explore how American representations of African space have evolved. Such issues that admittedly escape the scope of the present study could be investigated elsewhere. 7 Part II, entitled “Travel and Globalization,” continues the exploration of selves in contemporary American fiction writing and builds connections with Part I through the writers’ games with fact and fiction. The novels that are studied here change their perspective and destination; now travelling to and exoticizing Europe and other parts of the world are investigated. Varvogli proposes interesting connections with Henry David Thoreau’s concepts about travel and Washington Irving’s ideas about domestic travel, possibly creating fertile ground for further investigation. Amy Tan’s Saving Fish from Drowning and Garrison Keillor’s Pilgrims deal with how ethnicity and identity are redefined through travel and share a nostalgic look at former simpler times. Another issue that informs the study is how latest technologies affect our travel experiences and our perceptions of the “other,” by repositioning the American self in a “shrinking, homogenized world” (54). 8 Saving Fish from Drowning is a romantic adventure that offers another example of fictional writing that intentionally blurs fact with fiction. It is narrated by an omniscient narrator who is supposed to lead a group of American tourists from China to Myanmar but dies before the plot unravels. She lives only to tell the story of exploration and abduction of this group. Soon enough it becomes apparent that it is America’s view of the exotic country that readers experience. As Varvogli notes, “Amy Tan’s version of China is a China that exists primarily for American readers. It is not sanitized and re-packaged in the same way as the organic buckwheat pillows, but it is, above all, shaped by the culture that gives voice to the hyphenated American author” (59). Varvogli draws our attention to the belief that travelling to the East is also travelling into the past, which, unavoidably, implies the superiority of the West. Also, the commercialization of Eastern culture is discussed and updates the concerns of the study. Last but not least, the role of media in a globalized world is central in the novel and proves the victory of capitalism. Nationality and ethnicity become fluid notions as Google Earth has eliminated all distances. The use of comedy, romance, and satire enhance the sense of unconnectedness and fragmentation in the fictional world where media rule uncontrolled. Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 3 9 Varvogli sheds light on the artificiality of the writing in Pilgrims. As Keillor flirts with old literary tradition, intertextual references are lighthearted. The novel offers comic representations of Minnesotans in Rome, who travel there to honor the grave of a Lake Wobegon war hero. Varvogli selects this novel as it exhibits its connections with European modernist writing, which, however, contrasts with an anti-modernist trend in regional writing. In this novel, travelling to Europe is nodal in the construction and representation of its American characters. The novel raises the question of whether regionalism is a possibility within a globalized world. This is an interesting point that shifts the readers’ attention to the fact that regionalism is not authentic, but it is a constructed notion created when relating regional writing to western. This realization informs one of the central issues in the current study; the construction of a self and an identity is always in relation to the gaze of an important other, that is the western other and, more particularly, the American gaze in our case. Travel is a form of education, personal growth, and a return to authenticity where history comes to life (as contrasted to postmodern beliefs by Umberto Eco and Jean Baudrillard, who regard travelling from Europe to America as a trip from reality to hyperreality). Italy poses as a paradise for the repressed American and constitutes a subversion of the American narrative of the Promised Land. Stereotypical and clichéd material in the novel have a comic effect, while the clever reversals and the triumph of the local over the global reveal the watchful, perceptive gaze of the writer. 10 In the next essay, Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything is Illuminated and Eggers’s second contribution to this investigation with You Shall Know Our Velocity, catch up on the issue of globalization and the possibility – or rather impossibility – of connectedness of self. The idea of travel as a chance to be educated that was expressed in the previous novel alters in Eggers’s shrinking world, where “travel, then, becomes a means of escape from their feelings” (74). It is a novel that “borrows from the genres of the road novel and the Bildungsroman and creates a parodic twenty-first century version of the Grand Tour” (75). In it, Will, who comes into a great sum of money, and his friend Hand, set off on a journey around the world in order to give away this money and escape from themselves. What they, ultimately, accomplish, though, is a travel to an “Americanized homogenized world” (74) that depends solely on ticket availability. Therefore, the teleology of travelling is questioned and travelling is experienced as “displacement and dislocation” (75). Varvogli questions Fredrick Jameson’s take that globalization entails the export and import of culture due to the unsymmetrical rule of the U.S. over the rest of the world. Although Jameson sees language as a marker of identity and difference, this also poses as an impossibility in the novel because the English language is spoken everywhere and the use of technology helps American culture spread worldwide. 11 Heritage touring becomes a traumatic experience in Foer’s semi- autobiographical novel Everything is Illuminated, connecting with dark tourism in Part III. It tells the writer’s story, a Jewish American, who is in search of the woman who saved his grandfather from the Nazis. Travelling offers potentials of transatlantic dreaming and returns to the possibility of identity construction in post-traumatic situations through travelling. Among other things, all novels in Part II deal with travel as a return to the past and a desire for authenticity. Despite the gradual sameness and lack of difference that is Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 4 suggested by Eggers, the study tries to express the writers’ pressing concern about our gradually-diminishing linguistic, cognitive, and cultural ability to comprehend the fast- changing world around us. 12 As Varvogli states, American story has always been one of dislocation, and Part III, entitled “Dislocation and/ at Home,” investigates novels in which different types of dislocation and feelings of fragmentation are experienced by U.S. immigrants both in the land of origin and in the U.S. This section looks more closely at representations of domestic space within national space. In these novels, the characters are exploring routes and roots to discover new ways of being American as the result of an incessant tension between movement and stasis, home and place of origin. The novels that are examined in this part question the importance of home and belonging in the narration of the success story within the legacy of the American Dream. They investigate the relation of home as built space with feelings of dislocation and the impossibility of a stable American identity. Non-linear and rather fragmentary narration is preferred by the writers in order to highlight the fragmentation in the subjects as well. 13 Chang-rae Lee’s A Gesture Life and Ethan Canin’s Carry Me across the Water, deal with seemingly assimilated immigrants. Yet, as their characters fail to come to terms with both their past and their present, a fluid sense of home as a metaphor for nation, family, and self is established. Both novels celebrate their characters’ inability to live up to the expectations of the American society. Dislocation is a state of mind and home poses in A Gesture Life as a disguise to hide difference and a guilty past. Franklin Hata, the main character and narrator of the story, a born Korean who grew up in Japan and owns a store and a house in Bedley Run, New York, has difficulties in assimilating into the American society and achieving the American Dream since he has failed to establish a happy home and a family within the American nation. Once again, Varvogli stresses the Duboisian double-consciousness in the novel on the grounds that a seemingly perfect home can be highly discomforting for its residents. The story is narrated in flashbacks, which helps build on the idea of fragmentation. Particularly interesting is Vargioli’s idea of the house as a museum containing representations of others. Additionally, images of the mutilated body of the Korean woman and Hata’s daughter’s abortion suggest the inability of the human body to offer a stable and healthy home for a new life. As blood relations are weak in the novel, home and identity remain variables that are negotiated and never fixed. 14 The feeling of guilt of August Kleinman, a German Jewish by birth and American citizen, for his two criminal actions are central in Ethan Canin’s Carry Me across the Water. Travelling in this novel is a destabilizing factor. Varvogli sees Kleinman’s two crossings – one transatlantic from Germany to the U.S. and one transpacific from the U.S. to Japan– undermining his economic success. Narration depends on a rather unreliable narrator again, and the chronology of the telling of events is mixed up, implying that no simple narrative can be constructed of an immigrant. Although his successful assimilation into the American society is implied by the purchase of different homes, he fails to show any emotional attachment. Identities are made and re-made through the representations of houses in the novel. 15 As the readers read about the characters’ complex past and their efforts to be contained within American narratives, the final comparative essay of Dinaw Mengestu’s How to Read Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 5 the Air and Jhumpa Lahiris’s The Namesake shifts our attention to notions of national identity and how they have been informed in recent years. Mengestu, an Ethiopian- American writes about the experiences of Ethiopian-American Jonas Woldemariam in his effort to recollect snapshots of his past through his investigation of his parents’ flee from Ethiopia. As history is highly problematic and unreliable in the novel, storytelling plays an important part and fills the gaps in Jonas’s stories. At this point, this return to the African continent is particularly important and helps Varvogli round up her argument. Thus, she establishes an interesting connection with immigrant narratives in Part I, where Africa is portrayed as hell through the American gaze. Yet, in Part III, Africa is presented as hell by the African self of Jonas. The fact that he is an American citizen reveals the power of the American identity to suppress all other weaker ones. Confusing narration in non-chronological order and tropes of fragmentation in the telling of his personal and his parents’ stories are employed to tell the African immigrant experience. 16 In the Namesake, an example of Indian literature, both internal fragmentation and externally-imposed dislocation are experienced. Gogol’s identity is negotiated through two transatlantic journeys, while two train accidents represent the passage to different lives. The acquisition of a name is seen as a marker of successful assimilation into American society and Gogol’s inability to have a fixed name proposes his inability to have a fixed national identity. Being accepted by his girlfriends’ parents as her ‘ethnic’ boyfriend is a sign of their cosmopolitanism, while the cheap IKEA furniture suggest, according to Varvogli, “a metaphorical flattening of ethnicity” (134). Thus, Varvogli underlines Lahiri’s attempt to draw a new type of American home, one where origins do not really matter and ethnicity is commoditized. In the end, Lahiri rejects a conventional resolution to the immigrant novel. In having Gogol’s mother move between two homes in the U.S. and India –of which she has no ownership– she makes a point about a return to the family unit that can provide the comfort and security of a home. Concluding, it is the citizens of the world rather than their ethnic groups or nations that matter at a time when borders are shaky and ethnic or national identities are crushed. 17 The wide range and the great importance of the issues raised in this investigation constitute both its value and its weakness as the danger of jumping into hasty conclusions about new trends in American letters lurks. Yet, as stated earlier, some rather hasty attempts to share a common literary past with literary fathers, such as Ernest Hemingway, Joseph Conrad, and Henry David Thoreau can be seen as stepping stones for further and more extensive investigations. All comments about the fictional and meta-fictional games the writers of the novels play display Vargioli’s interest in the actual process of fiction writing. They demonstrate how writing is defined by political, economic, and socio-technological parameters that affect travel experiences and the way we talk about them. As it turns out, the American writers of the novels are not detached from the reality around them but are writing within and about it. The thematic, generic, and media concerns of the study reveal the novelists’ vigilant eye and their conscious efforts to keep their distance from the American gaze. As the study contributes to the widening of our understanding of contemporary American literature, Varvogli manages to foreground the lack of a general teleological approach to writing about transatlantic travelling. She concludes Part I with the realization that “transatlantic slave journeys to and from Africa continue to shape the world today” (45). By the end of the investigations in Parts II and III, the readers have acquired a taste for contemporary narratives of travel Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 6 and dislocation and realize that transatlantic journeys to and from America will continue to incite American imagination. AUTHOR DESPOINA FELEKI Aristotle University of Thessaloniki Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 7 Aliki Varvogli, Travel and Dislocation in Contemporary American Fiction. 
work_fi4rcev5tbcd7fmxijb4cagury	----	From NASCAR Condominiums To Private Mausoleums: Keeping The Vacation Home In The Family (With Sample Tenancy In Common Agreement) Wendy S. Goffe Wendy S. Goffe is a shareholder with the law firm of Graham & Dunn PC, Seattle, Washington. She is a Fellow of the American College of Trust and Estate Counsel. She has a comprehensive estate planning practice that involves all aspects of estate planning for high net worth individuals and families, advising both individuals and charitable organizations concerning planned giving, probate, and trust administration. © 2007 University of Miami School of Law. This article was initially prepared for the 41st Annual Heckerling Institute on Estate Planning, published by LexisNexis Matthew Bender. It is reprinted with the permission of the publisher, the Heckerling Institute and the University of Miami. A. Introduction 1. Some family homes serve as a magnet that pulls the family together. Others become the family bat- tleground, literally and figuratively. Stories of family arguments over ownership of a vacation home abound. Yet, families continue to desire and invest in these properties. 2. A number of things can motivate the initial purchase of a recreational cabin. These include: a. The desire to create a sense of family, cultural identity, or other affinity. Vacation communities are of- ten defined by race, religion, or other commonalities, including sexual orientation or even a passion for NASCAR racing. People gravitate toward these communities to vacation with others who share similar values or lifestyles. b. The opportunity to conspicuously display wealth. The grand homes of Newport, Rhode Island are early examples of this motivation. c. The opportunity to teach children to appreciate the benefits of nature. The Transcendentalist writers, including Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Walt Whitman, first documented their ex- periences in nature and their philosophy that a personal spiritual transformation could take place by getting away from the city to a restorative environment in the 19th century. In 1854, Henry David Tho- reau recorded the experience of his retreat to Walden Pond in “Walden.” Art Buchwald said about his own summer home on Martha’s Vineyard, “I think for most people summer houses have more mean- ing than homes in winter, because all the memories, usually, of a summer place are happy ones. When you’re in the city, you’re just in the city, but here I have been happy.” Joyce Wadler, At Home With Art Buchwald: A Defiant Jester, Laughing Best, The New York Times (July 27, 2006). d. The wish to get away from any reminders of routine daily living. The following quote from the New York Times encapsulates the desire to “get away from it all”: Forget the Tuscan villa, the chateau in Provence and the pied-a-terre in Paris. They’re so cliché, not to mention over- priced. Savvy second-home hunters are packing their passports, pouring through foreign classified ads and snapping up homes in far-flung countries from Argentina and Bulgaria to Nicaragua and Turkey. Even though these places may lack the glamour of Cannes and are sometimes harder to get to than Timbuktu, they are picturesque, not overrun by Americans and, in some cases, even fashionable. Best of all, there are still bargains to be found. Denny Lee, A Second Home in Bulgaria?, New York Times, Oct. 28, 2005. 3. The sociological component of second home ownership is fascinating and important to a thorough understanding of the related underlying issues that arise in families, but it is a subject beyond the scope of this outline. (For an analysis of the sociological component, see Ken Huggins, Essay— Passing It On: The Inheritance, Ownership and Use of Summer Houses, 5 Marquette Elder’s Advisor 85 (Fall 2003); Judith Huggins Balfe, Passing It On: The Inheritance and Use of Summer Houses (Pocomo Press 1999); and Judith Huggins Balfe, Passing it On: The Inheritance of Summer Houses and Cultural Identity, 26 The American Sociologist 29 (Winter 1995).) This outline will focus mainly on the equally important legal component of how families succeed in passing on ownership of a cabin from one generation to the next, with an emphasis on charitable planning, followed by a brief discus- sion of some unusual transfer issues—cabins on public land and cabins in British Columbia. The more daunting task of ongoing management is also discussed below. 4. Few families successfully transfer ownership of a cabin or vacation property by accident. Families that do accomplish this Herculean feat do so only with a great deal of advanced multi-generational planning, often with mechanisms to adjust the plan as circumstances and needs change. In this arti- cle, the term “cabin” is used collectively to refer to vacation properties of all shapes, sizes, styles, and fair market values. 5. Cabins are frequently located in desirable areas where property values have appreciated at a rate far beyond a family’s other assets. Often, a cabin may represent a large percentage of a family’s finan- cial holdings, posing complex estate tax and liquidity issues for the senior generation. For the junior generation, keeping a cabin in the family can create financial burdens. It can also bring the challenge of reaching a consensus among family members as to how to deal with this property, whether they want the property or not. 6. The legal mechanism for transferring the property is only the first of many challenges. Following the transfer, the next generation must determine how to maintain the property; how to pay taxes, insur- ance, and maintenance; and how to divide use of the property among the family members. The trans- fer itself is relatively easy compared to maintaining harmony among the owners following the transfer. B. Creating A Master Plan 1. Before a plan to transfer the family cabin can be implemented, it is helpful if the family can reach a consensus, in the form of a master plan, as to how that transfer will take place. (See James S. Sligar, Estate Planning for Major Family Real Estate Holdings, 133 Trusts & Estates 48 (Dec. 1994) (“Sligar, Major Family Real Estate Holdings”) for a comprehensive discussion of master plans; Stephen J. Small, Preserving Family Lands, Book I: Essential Tax Strategies for the Landowner (Landowner Planning Center 3d ed. 1998); Stephen J. Small, Preserving Family Lands, Book II: More Planning Strategies for the Future (Landowner Planning Center 1997); and Stephen J. Small, Preserving Fam- ily Lands, Book III: New Tax Rules and Strategies and a Checklist (Landowner Planning Center 2002).) The most successful transitions involve detailed and thoughtful advanced planning developed jointly by the senior and junior generations. The use of a mediator or other trained neutral third party can be invaluable in developing a master plan. (See Olivia Boyce-Abel, When to Use Facilitation or Mediation in Estate and Wealth Transfer Planning, Family Office Exchange, Vol. 9 No. 35 (1998), and Robert Solomon, Helping Clients Deal With Some of the Emotional and Psychological Issues of Es- tate Planning, 18 Probate & Property 56 (March/April 2004) (“Solomon, Helping Clients”) for discus- sions concerning the role of a facilitator.) a. A good facilitator can significantly increase the possibility of a successful outcome. Solomon, Helping Clients, supra, at 58. Family conflict is inevitable; a good facilitator can help families deal with conflict productively to mediate a mutually satisfactory resolution. Often, the presence of a mediator can pro- vide objectivity and bring family members closer to a consensus when emotions might otherwise take center stage and derail the process. b. Once the family members are informed of the various options (which may include setting aside por- tions for conservation purposes, selling portions to raise capital to support the remaining property, and transferring portions to succeeding generations), the first step in creating a master plan is to have the facilitator interview each family member. c. The interview process is an opportunity for each family member to freely express his or her wishes and apprehensions with respect to the property. Not all family members have to participate in the interview process, but all should be given the opportunity. A trained non-family member serving in an intermedi- ary capacity ideally allows the family members to focus on common interests rather than their differ- ences. To do this successfully, the participants need to feel confident that the mediator is not aligned with the interests of any of the family participants or the estate planning attorney. Id. d. Having met with as many family members as are willing to participate, the neutral third-party would prepare a report summarizing the findings, identifying areas of consensus, if any, and pointing out ar- eas where feelings and opinions diverge. The family members can share this report, and the members of the senior generation and their attorney can use it to begin to develop the master plan. e. In some cases, the facilitator’s report provides sufficient information so that family members can jointly make meaningful decisions about the property. If the family is yet unable to reach an agree- ment, one or more family meetings guided by the facilitator could follow to resolve areas of dispute, further define areas of agreement, and continue building a consensus. The development of a master plan with the assistance of a trained neutral third party is especially useful when the senior generation has already ceded control of the property to the next generation and questions and issues concerning actual management have arisen. 2. Often, the next step in developing a master plan is creating a mission statement to address the fam- ily’s goals and values with respect to the cabin. Issues to address in the mission statement could in- clude: a. What is most important to the family about the cabin? b. What does the family value most about how it uses the cabin? c. How would the family like to see the ownership of the cabin affect the ways the various members in- teract? 3. Of course, the use of a facilitator in estate planning is not going to be accepted by all clients. It is un- derstandably difficult to impress upon clients the value that could be added by employing a facilitator to guide this process. At a minimum, the lawyer could offer to distribute a survey to family members that they could respond to anonymously, to give the senior generation insight into the wishes and ap- prehensions of the next generation. As a result of the facilitator’s work or the lawyer’s survey, the sen- ior generation may discover that some or all of the members of the younger generation honestly have no interest in retaining the cabin. They also may be able to determine the apprehensions of those who do want to retain the cabin and resolve those issues before the cabin becomes a battleground. 4. It may be the case that, rather than being transferred as a whole to the next generation as part of the master plan, the property may need to be divided into separate portions, each to be dealt with differ- ently. The different uses may include development, conservation, and residential use. Next, with the help of the estate planning attorney, the family can identify techniques to accomplish these objec- tives, which are described below. C. Conservation And Preserving Open Space 1. Frequently, families determine that certain portions of their land should be preserved as open space. They may also choose to restrict development or other uses on the donated property, the retained property, or both. Outlined below are a number of methods for transferring an easement or the real property to charity. 2. Conservation Easements a. One common way to restrict development is with a conservation easement. (See Nancy A. McLaugh- lin, Questionable Conservation Easement Donations, 18 Probate & Property 40 (Sept./Oct. 2004) for an analysis of the IRS’s closer scrutiny of conservation easements and also an excellent list of further resources.) A conservation easement is a permanent restriction on the use of privately owned land to promote conservation. Granting a conservation easement typically reduces the value of the underly- ing real property for development purposes. For a family’s purposes this can also have the effect of preserving a property’s natural beauty and reducing gift and estate tax costs when the property is transferred between generations. b. The Internal Revenue Code (the “Code”) permits income, and gift or estate, tax deductions for a grant of a conservation easement over certain real property. §§170(h), 2055(f), 2522(d). (Unless otherwise indicated, all section references are to the Code.) (The Pension Protection Act of 2006, Pub. L. No. 109-280, 120 Stat. 780 (the “Pension Protection Act”) increased the deductibility of conservation easements for tax years 2006 and 2007. The Pension Protection Act at §1206, effective January 1, 2006. Section 1206 of the Pension Protection Act amends section 170 by permitting a deduction of up to 50 percent of a donor’s contribution base for certain conservation easements rather than the previ- ous deduction of up to 30 percent of a donor’s contribution base otherwise allowed under section 170(b)(1)(C). §170(b)(1)(E). Furthermore, it extends a taxpayer’s ability to carry forward unused de- ductions for 15 years, rather than five years as under prior law. §170(d)(1)(A). Other modifications in section 1206 apply for donations of non-publicly traded farming or ranching property. §170(b)(1)(E)(v).) The Treasury Regulations set forth detailed requirements for deductibility, which are summarized below. Treas. Reg. §1.170A-14. c. Qualified Conservation Contributions i. Section 170(f)(3)(B)(iii) of the Code provides an exception to the split-interest rules, which would normally disallow a deduction for the gift of a partial interest. ii. To be eligible for the deduction, the transfer must constitute a “qualified conservation contribution” as defined in section 170(h)(1), by satisfying the following requirements: (1) The property contributed must be a “qualified real property interest.” §170(h)(2). (2) The property must be donated to a “qualified organization.” §170(h)(3). (3) The gift must be “exclusively for conservation purposes.” §170(h)(4). This requirement can be sat- isfied by providing that the purposes are to continue in perpetuity. §170(h)(5)(a). iii. Each of these requirements is further defined by the statute and regulations. 
work_fnbd7b473ffvdadwyko5eydlle	----	AR-465 Skip to main content Go to main site Moodle FR EN DE You are currently using guest access (Log in) Habitat et développement urbain Home Courses Architecture (AR) Master AR-465 Enrolment options Enrolment options AR-465 Habitat et développement urbain OBJECTIFS A partir de situations concrètes, le cours vise à mettre en évidence les processus de production de l’habitat urbain, ainsi que les dynamiques propres du développement en milieu construit, dans toute leur complexité. L’analyse de ces processus sociaux et territoriaux, pratiques de transformations de l’espace de la ville, s’inscrit dans une perspective de développement urbain durable, ceci autant au Nord qu’au Sud. L’objectif du cours est d’identifier les enjeux actuels, le rôle des professionnels et des habitants dans la fabrication de la ville contemporaine, à partir de cours théoriques et d’expériences de terrains relatées par les enseignants et leurs invités. Nous focaliserons notre attention, dans les cours comme dans les travaux requis des étudiants, sur l’habitat des pauvres (habitat précaire, bidonvilles) de manière à mettre en évidence les causes de ce phénomène, ses caractéristiques urbanistiques et architecturales, ses conséquences en termes de détérioration des conditions de vie au plan environnemental, social et économique, mais également les tentatives de réponses qui sont apportées, par les habitants eux-mêmes, de manière indépendantes ou organisés au plan communautaire, ainsi que par les institutions publiques et les organismes de coopération internationale.   CONTENU - Problématique générale du développement en général, du développement durable et du développement urbain durable en particulier - Tendances majeures de l’urbanisation dans le monde - Les acteurs sociaux du développement urbain - L’urbanisation du monde et son impact en termes de gouvernance, de gestion sectorielle, d’espaces publics, d’habitat, et de lutte contre la pauvreté - Les modèles de ville et leur signification idéologique - Les cultures urbaines, leurs protagonistes, violences et sécurité. Ces problématiques seront abordées à la fois sur un plan conceptuel et appliqué, mettant en regard les apports théoriques des penseurs de l’urbain dans les pays du Sud et les actions menées sur le terrain par les différents acteurs sous formes de politiques, de projets de développements et d’initiatives alternatives. Professor: Yves Pedrazzini Teacher: Nadia Carlevaro Teacher: Fiona Ines Del Puppo Self enrolment (Student) Guests cannot access this course. Please log in. Continue AR-465 Home Calendar Contact EPFL CH-1015 Lausanne +41 21 693 11 11 Follow EPFL on social media Follow us on Facebook Follow us on Twitter Follow us on Instagram Follow us on Youtube Follow us on LinkedIn Accessibility Disclaimer © 2021 EPFL, all rights reserved 
work_fntc7llrdraqhgk2t6m3sbc4zq	----	Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. Araştırma Makalesi | Research Article Makale Geliş | Received: 10.07.2018 Makale Kabul | Accepted: 15.08.2018 Yayın Tarihi | Publication Date: 30.10.2018 DOI: 10.20981/kaygi.475133 Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU Dr. Öğr. Üyesi | Assist. Prof. Dr. Gümüşhane Üniversitesi, Edebiyat Fakültesi, Felsefe Bölümü, Gümüşhane, TR Gümüşhane University, Faculty of Letters, Department of Philosophy, Gümüşhane, TR ORCID: 0000-0002-2473-4258 sedazsy@yahoo.com.tr Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme * Öz Siyasal düzenin işleyişinde meydana gelen aksaklıklara karşı bireyler; muhalefet etme, memnuniyetsizliğini gösterme ve haklarını koruma yönünde barışçıl yollara başvurarak çözüm arayışına girerler. Bunlardan en dikkat çekeni, direnmenin pasif biçimi olarak karşımıza çıkan sivil itaatsizlik eylemleridir. Sivil itaatsizlik, yasalara karşı gelen ve genellikle yasalarda veya yönetimin politikalarında bir değişiklik yapılması amacına yönelik kamusal, şiddet içermeyen, vicdani bir siyasi davranış olarak tanımlanabilir. Birey, böyle davranarak toplumda çoğunluğun adalet duygusuna hitap eder ve özgür ve eşit insanlar arasındaki toplumsal işbirliği ilkelerine saygı gösterilmediğini gündeme getirir. Bu durum, sadece toplumsal yaşama ilişkin unsurlar açısından değil aynı zamanda kişinin iç dünyasını, sahip olduğu değer ve ilkeleri kapsayan kişisel bütünlükle de yakından bağlantılıdır. Bu çalışmada kişisel bütünlük ve direnmenin pasif biçimi olan sivil itaatsizlik arasındaki bağlantının boyutları ve bunun eğitim ile olan ilişkisi irdelenecektir. Anahtar Kelimeler: Pasif Direniş, Sivil İtaatsizlik, Kişisel Bütünlük ve Eğitim. A Brief Evaluation on the Relationship between Personal Integrity and Civil Disobedience Abstract Persons against the disruptions in the functioning of the political order; seek to find a solution by means of peaceful ways of opposing, showing dissatisfaction and protecting their rights. The most striking of these is the acts of civil disobedience which appear as a passive form of resistance. Civil disobedience is the public act of willfully disobeying the law and the commands of an authority figure, to make a political statement. The purpose of civil disobedience is to convey a political message, which is accomplished through increased media coverage of the issue. Also, if the law broken is the law being protested, it sends the message to authority figures that people consider the law so unjust, they are willing to openly disobey it. This is not just about social life, it is also closely linked to personal integrity, which encompasses the inner world of the person, the values and principles it has. In this study, the dimensions of the relationship between civil disobedience which passive form of resistance, the personal integrity and education will be examined. Keywords: Passive Resistance, Civil Disobedience, Personal Integrity and Education. * Bu metin, 04-06 Ekim 2013 tarihlerinde Çankırı’da gerçekleştirilen “III. Ilgaz Felsefe Günleri Sempozyumu”nda sunulan bildirinin gözden geçirilmiş ve geliştirilmiş hâlidir. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 190 İnsan, konuşmayı ve rüzgâr kadar hafif düşüncelerini geliştirdi, kentlerde yaşamanın arzusunu duydu. Kışların dondurucu ayazından, inatçı yağmurun oklarından korunmayı başardı. İnsan, kendine insan olmayı öğretti (Sophokles 2017: 14). Kendisini ve çevresinde gerçekleşen olayları anlamak ve açıklayabilmek için kendilik bilgisinden yola çıkan insan, ilk çağlardan günümüze onuruna yaraşır olanı aramaya/kurgulamaya yönelmiştir. Yerleşik hayata geçerek oluşturulan yeni yaşam biçimi, “insan için” olan pek çok farklı unsurun da devreye girmesini sağlamıştır. Bir arada yaşamayla birlikte tesis edilen toplumsal düzen; iktidar, yöneten-yönetilen, norm, meşruiyet, sistem, otorite ve itaat gibi bileşenleri gündeme getirmiştir. Mezkûr bileşenlerin kimi insan doğasından kaynaklanırken kimi de ona aykırı bir şekilde yapılanmıştır. Bu durumda insan; biyolojik, psikolojik ve sosyal yapısını -bunlar arasındaki denge ve uyumun önemi dikkate alındığında- korumak adına kendisine uygun olanları seçip yaşam koşullarını bunlara göre uyarlarken diğerlerini bertaraf etmenin yollarını aramıştır. Toplumsal ve siyasal düzen içinde iktidar, otorite ve itaat gibi unsurların kendi doğasına zarar verdiği durumlar karşısında insanın ilk olarak korumaya çalıştığı ise kişisel bütünlüğüdür. Kişinin algıladığı gerçeği, sahip olduğu sorumluluk duygusuna koşut olarak tutarlı bir şekilde düşünmesi, dile getirmesi ve davranışlarıyla ortaya koyması biçiminde tanımlanabilecek olan kişisel bütünlük; kişinin iç dünyasıyla inandığı değer ve ilkelerle ve kendisini adadığı gerçekle ilişkisi olmak üzere üç düzeye sahiptir. Bu doğrultuda kişisel bütünlüğün ilk koşulunun gerçeğe saygı duymak, ikinci koşulunun ise algılanan gerçeğin tüm sorumluluğunu almak olduğu söylenebilir (Cüceloğlu 1999: 404-405). Kişisel bütünlüğe sahip olan bir birey, tutumları ile davranışları çelişmeyen, olaylara karşı net bir duruş sergileyen ve kendini gerçekleştirme niteliği haiz bir bireydir. Bu birey; özgüven sahibidir, kendi kendisiyle ve içinde yaşadığı çevreyle uyumludur, sahip olduğu değerler ekseninde toplumda bir yeri ve görevi olduğuna inanır (Yörükoğlu 2004: 14-15). Sözü edilen özelliklere sahip olan bir insan, siyasal düzenin işleyişinde meydana gelen aksaklıklara karşı muhalefet etme, memnuniyetsizliğini gösterme ve haklarını koruma yönünde barışçıl yollara başvurarak çözüm arayışına girer. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 191 Bu bağlamda başvurduğu yollardan ilkinin sivil itaatsizlik olduğu söylenebilir. Sivil itaatsizlik, yasalara karşı gelen ve genellikle yasalarda veya yönetimin politikalarında bir değişiklik yapılması amacına yönelik kamusal, şiddet içermeyen, vicdani bir siyasi davranış olarak tanımlanabilir. Birey, böyle davranarak toplumda çoğunluğun adalet duygusuna hitap eder ve özgür ve eşit insanlar arasındaki toplumsal işbirliği ilkelerine saygı gösterilmediğini gündeme getirir (Rosen 2006: 122). Sivil itaatsizlik, hukuk devleti idesinin içerdiği üstün değerler uğruna, kamuya açık ve yasaya aykırı olarak gerçekleştirilen ancak bu sırada üçüncü kişilerin daha üstün olan herhangi bir hakkını çiğnemeyen barışçıl bir protesto edimidir (Ökçesiz 1994: 130). Hak arama mücadelesi içinde olan insanların genellikle tercih ettiği bu yöntem, pasif direnme biçimlerinden biridir. Pasif direniş, otoriteye karşı girişilen ve şiddete başvurmayan yolları kapsayan bir direniş taktiğidir. Burada genel olarak kamuya ait olan ya da girilmesi yasak olan yerleri işgal eden ve gözaltına alınsalar ya da yetkililerin başka müdahaleleriyle karşılaşsalar dahi şiddete hiçbir şekilde yönelmeyen protestocu grupların eylemleri ön olana çıkar (Marshall 1999: 581). Bu doğrultuda pasif direnme biçimlerinden biri olarak kabul edilen sivil itaatsizliğin özelliklerini ortaya koymakta fayda vardır:  Sivil itaatsizlik, şiddetten arınmışlık tutum ve düşüncesinden, başkalarının kişiliği karşısındaki saygıdan doğar ve gelişir.  Temel bir soruna, başka yollarla dikkat çekilemediğinde içsel bir zorunluluktan kaynaklanır.  Sivil itaatsizlik, bilinçli ve sınırlı bir norm ihlali olup; sivil itaatsiz, bunun sonucundaki yaptırımı, diğer bütün demokratik kuralların ve çiğnenen kuralın başka durumlarda geçerliliklerinin açıkça tanınması koşuluyla kabul eder.  Koşulludur; sivil itaatsizlik, şiddetsiz eylemlerin ilk iki basamağı olan dikkat çekici, gösterisel ve yasal biçimde girişilen eylemler, başarı sağlamadığı takdirde gündeme gelebilir.  İtaatsizlik durumunda itaatsizin, dünya görüşünün farklı olabilmesine rağmen temel bir haksızlığa karşı gelinmektedir.  Haksızlığa karşı çıkma araçlarının inandırıcı olabilmeleri için amaçla çelişmemeleri zorunludur.  Sivil itaatsizlik, sembolik kalmalıdır. Sembolik eylemler, yönetimi bir düşman gibi görmeyip kişi ile konuyu birbirinden ayırmaya, iletişim kurmaya ve olumlu anlamıyla birbiriyle tartışmaya çalışır. Şiddetten arınmışlık, bir düşmanlığı giderme yöntemidir. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 192  Sivil itaatsizlik, yeni ahlaki yargının, kamu tarafından benimsenmesi, en azından siyasi bir karara dönüştürülebilecek bir çoğunlukça desteklenmesi umudunu taşır (Anbarlı 2007: 71-99). Kamusal bir eylem olan sivil itaatsizliğin, sadece siyasi gücü elinde bulunduran çoğunluğa verilen bir mesaj olması bakımından değil aynı zamanda siyasi ilkelerce yani anayasayı ve toplumsal kurumları düzenleyen adalet ilkeleri tarafından yönlendirildiği ve savunulduğu için siyasi bir eylem olduğu göz önünde bulundurulmalıdır. Kişinin, sivil itaatsizliği savunurken kendi teziyle örtüşse ve onu desteklese bile kişisel ahlak ve din öğretisi ilkelerine değinmesi doğru olmaz. Ayrıca grup çıkarı veya kişisel çıkar uğruna sivil itaatsizlikte bulunulamayacağını söylemeye gerek bile yoktur. Tam tersine sivil itaatsizlikle siyasi düzenin temelinde bulunan ve herkes tarafından paylaşılan adalet kavramına atıf yapılır (Rosen 2006: 122). Tarihsel bir geri dönüşle ele alacak olursak adaleti ön planda tutan bu terim, 1849 yılında Aesthetic Papers adlı dergide yer alan bir makalede Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) tarafından kullanılmıştır. Ülke Yönetimine Direniş ya da bilinen adıyla Sivil İtaatsizlik makalesinde Thoreau’nun kaleme aldığı görüşlerini şu şekilde özetlemek mümkündür: 1. Bir kimsenin ülkesinin yasasından “daha yüce bir yasa” vardır. Bu, vicdanın yasasıdır, “içten gelen ses”in, “kozmosu kuşatan, birleştirici ruh”un yasası. 2. Kimi zaman bu “yüce yasa” ile ülkenin yasası, birbirleriyle çatışır duruma geldiğinde kişinin ödevi “yüce yasa”ya uymak, ülkenin yasasına karşı gelmektir. 3. Kişi ülkesinin yasasına bile bile karşı geliyorsa bu eylemin bütün sonuçlarını göze alıyor olmalıdır, hapishaneye kapatılmayı bile! 4. Hapishaneye girmek, sanıldığı kadar olumsuz bir edim değildir; bu durum, iyi niyetli kişilerin dikkatini, kötü yasaya çekmeye yarayacak ve bu yasanın kaldırılmasına katkıda bulunacaktır ya da yeterince kişi hapishaneye kapatılırsa bunların edimleri, devlet mekanizmasını işlemez kılmayı, dolayısıyla kötü yasayı uygulanamaz bir hale getirmeyi sağlayacaktır (Thoreau 2012: 36-37). Thoreau tarafından ortaya konan sivil itaatsizliğe ilişkin görüşler, başlangıçta pek ilgi görmese de 1900’lü yıllara gelindiğinde Oxford Üniversitesi’nde hukuk öğrenimi Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 193 görmekte olan Mohandas K. Gandhi tarafından yeniden gün ışığına çıkarılmıştır. 1 Thoreau’nun düşünceleri ekseninde kötü yasalara karşı sivil itaatsizliğin kullanılmasını savunan Gandhi, Hindistan’ın İngiliz egemenliğinden kurtulması için girişilen harekete destek olmak amacıyla ülkesine döndüğünde otuz yıl boyunca pasif direniş eylemlerinde bulunmuştur. Bunlardan birinde, kazançlı bir tekel oluşturmak isteyen İngiliz yönetimi tuz yapımını yasaklayınca Gandhi ve beraberindekiler, bir tas dolusu deniz suyundan buharlaştırma yoluyla tuz üreterek yasayı simgesel olarak çiğnemişlerdir. Tutuklanan Gandhi, hapishanede açlık grevine başlamış ve böylece daha büyük bir kitlenin dikkatini çekmeyi başarmıştır. Buna benzer sivil itaatsizlik yöntemlerinin kullanılmasıyla 1945 yılında Hindistan, bağımsızlığını elde etmiştir (Thoreau 2012: 38-39). Sonraki yıllarda, sivil itaatsizlik yöntemlerinin etkisi, geniş bir coğrafyaya yayılmıştır. İkinci Dünya Savaşı sırasında, Nazi istilasına yönelik olarak gündeme gelen direniş, bu durumun başlıca örneklerindendir. Thoreau’nun yazdığı kitap, Danimarka’da da eylemleri yönlendiren önemli bir konuma gelmiştir. Naziler, daha sonraki uygulamalar için Yahudileri teşhir edebilmek amacıyla tüm Yahudilerden giysilerinin sırtında altı uçlu sarı bir yıldız bulundurmalarını isteyen bir yasa çıkarmışlardır. Buna karşı Danimarka’da Yahudi olsun veya olmasın hatta aralarında Kral Christian’ın da bulunduğu birçok kişi, sırtlarında sarı yıldızlarla dolaşmaya başlayınca yasanın uygulanması olanaksız bir hale gelmiştir (Thoreau 2012: 41). Gandhi’nin ardından zencilerin haklarının savunulmasına yönelik olarak Martin Luther King tarafından sivil itaatsizlik yöntemlerinin belirgin bir şekilde kullanılmasıyla yaygınlık kazanan direniş biçimleri, günümüzde de farklı uygulamalarla sürdürülmektedir. Bunlardan bazıları; oturma eylemleri, genel greve çağrı, imza toplama, sınır geçme, yolları trafiğe kapama ve kamusal alandaki birtakım düzenlemelere uymama şeklindedir (Altunel 2011: 443- 458). 1 Gandhi tarafından kullanılan direniş taktikleri, 1955 ile 1964 yılları arasında Amerika’da, 1968 yıllında Çekoslovakya’da gerçekleştirilen hak arama mücadelelerinde öne çıkmıştır. Yüksek vergilere, nükleere, ırk ve cinsiyet ayrımına, savaşlara ve şiddete karşı yürütülen sivil itaatsizlik eylemleri sonucunda Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Rosa Parks, John Lennon, John Carlos ve Tommie Smith gibi isimler önemli birer sembol haline gelmiştir. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 194 Bu eylemler çerçevesinde yaşadığımız coğrafyadaki genel durum dikkate alındığında ise Türkiye’de demokratikleşmenin önündeki engellerden birinin, Türkiye’nin güçlü bir devlet yapısının var olmasına karşılık, zayıf bir sivil toplum yapısına sahip olmasıdır. Hukuk devleti uygulamalarının istendik ölçüde gerçekleştirilememesi, belirli konularda görüş açıklamalarının engellenmesi, kimi sivil itaatsizlik gösterilerinde ve toplumsal hareketlerde eylemcilerin olumsuz durumlara maruz kalmaları Türkiye gibi gelişmekte olan ülkelerde sivil toplumun ilerlemesini engelleyen nedenler arasındadır. Esasen yapılması gereken kamusal konuşma sürecini aynı zamanda kamusal eyleme dönüştürerek ülkenin gidişatına yön verebilmektir. Özellikle Türkiye gibi demokrasiye işlerlik kazandırma yönünde adımlar atılan ülkelerde sivil itaatsizlik, bir hukuk devleti veya demokratik bir politik gelenek yaratacak bir araç olarak kullanılabilir. Türkiye’de gerçekleşmiş bazı sivil itaatsizlik eylemleri ise şunlardır: Radyomu istiyorum, cumartesi anneleri, düşünceye özgürlük davası, memurların grev yasağını delen TÖS genel boykotu; türban yasağını bilerek çiğneyen ve cezalandırılmayı göze alan eylemler; mahkeme kararıyla müstehcen sayılıp toplatılan bir kitabın başka ve çok sayıda yayınevi tarafından müstehcen sayılan bölümler çıkartılarak fakat bunlara yer veren mahkeme kararı ile birlikte yeniden basılması; genel grev yasağına karşı “toplu vizite” eylemleri (Yılmaz 2011). Kişinin, anayasada düzenlenmiş bulunan direniş hakkına dayalı olarak gerçekleştirdiğini söyleyebileceğimiz sivil itaatsizlik eylemleri, daha önce de vurguladığımız gibi adaletle doğrudan bağlantılıdır. Anayasaya ve hukuka aykırı tutum ve davranışlarıyla yasallığını veya meşruluğunu yitirdiğine dair apaçık hukuki dayanakların olduğu bir güce karşı koyma ya da anayasa ve yasalara aykırı davranışlarıyla hukuku dışlayarak baskı rejimi kuran bir yapıya başkaldırma olarak tanımlanabilecek olan direniş hakkı, aktif veya pasif direnme biçimleriyle haksız işlemi hedef alır ve hükümeti, bu işlemini geri almaya zorlar (Taşkın 2004: 37-65). Hak arama mücadelelerinde girişilen sivil itaatsizlik eylemlerinde belki de bu yasal dayanaktan daha önemli olan unsur, kişinin ya da topluluğun adalet mekanizmasının işletilmesine yönelik olarak sahip olduğu sorumluluk duygusudur. Genelde düşünce tarihinden Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 195 özelde felsefe tarihinden herkesin bildiği bir örnek olması itibarıyla Sokrates’in baldıran zehrini içtiği döneme kadar geriye götürebileceğimiz sivil itaatsizlik eylemleri; sahip olduğu değer ve ilkeleri koruyabilen, kişi hak ve özgürlüklerine saygı duyan, sorumluluk alabilen bireylerin başka bir ifadeyle kişisel bütünlüğü haiz bireylerin, haksızlıklara karşı duruşundan kaynaklanır. Kişisel bütünlüğün oluşturulması -bahsi geçen olumlu özelliklere sahip ve sorumlu bireyler yetiştirilmesi açısından- ise sadece bireyin kendisiyle değil, tabi olunan eğitim ile de doğrudan ilgilidir. Böyle bir bireyin yetiştirilmesinde önemli olan unsurlardan biri eğitimdir. Eğitim, bireyin davranışlarında, kendi yaşantısı yoluyla ve kasıtlı olarak istendik değişme meydana getirme sürecidir (Ertürk 1982: 12). Burada yanıtlanması gereken önemli bir soru, eğitim aracılığıyla bireyde oluşturulması öngörülen istendik davranış örüntülerinin, kişisel bütünlüğe nasıl bir etkisinin olduğu ve kişisel bütünlüğe sahip bir bireyin, sorumluluk duygusuyla hareket ederek karşılaştığı toplumsal sorunlara yönelik giriştiği sivil itaatsizlik ediminin nasıl gerçekleştiğiyle ilgilidir. Diğer bir deyişle istendik davranış örüntüleri oluşturma çabasına rağmen karşılaşılan sivil itaatsizlik örnekleri nasıl açıklanabilir? Sorumluluk duygusu, toplum tarafından onaylanan davranışlar sergileme ve otoriteye karşı gelme gibi unsurlar arasında herhangi bir bağlantı var mıdır ya da bunlar, eğitim aracılığıyla istenilen biçimde dönüştürülebilir mi? İnsanın, bütün hayatını kapsadığını kabul edebileceğimiz eğitim sürecinin, eleştirel düşünme gücüne, sorumluluk duygusuna, gerçeğe ulaşma isteğine ve bilincine sahip bireylerin yetiştirilmesinde önemli işlevleri bulunmaktadır. Bu nedenle bireyi, sürekli anlatım yoluyla içi doldurulması gereken boş bir kap şeklindeki bir nesne gibi ele alan değil, bir özne olarak gören eğitim anlayışının benimsenmesi gerekmektedir. Bu bağlamda, eğitim ile ilgili olarak karşımıza çıkan -Freire’nin önerdiği isimle- bankacı eğitim modeli yerine, problem tanımlayıcı eğitim modeli yaygınlaştırılmalıdır. Karşıdaki kişiyi, mutlak bilgisiz sayarak sadece anlatılar aracılığıyla gerçeklikten uzaklaştırılmış bir şekilde bilginin aktarımı, öğrenci ile öğretmen ya da bilgiyi veren ile bilgiyi alan arasındaki ilişkiyi mekanik bir hale sokar. Böylece sorunlarla ilgili olarak analitik düşünebilen, eleştiren özgür zihinlerin tersine önüne çıkan her türlü bilgiyi Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 196 ezberlemekle malul, yaratıcılıktan yoksun zihinler oluşur. İnsanların ihtiyaçlarını en aza indirmeyi, sevinçlerini, tutkularını yok etmeyi ve onu durdurak tanımayan acımasız bir makine durumuna mahkûm etmeyi kendine ideal olarak seçmiş (Lafargue 2009: 13-14) sistemler karşısında kişisel bütünlüğün korunması ve nitelikli bireylerin yetiştirilmesi önemli ve önceliklidir. Şu halde buradaki temel sorun ise nasıl bir yöntemle gerçekleştirilecek eğitimin bahsi geçen bireylerin yetiştirilmesinde etkili olacağıdır. Bankacı kuram çerçevesinde “Dört kere dört, on altı eder.” örneğinde, anlatıcı tarafından aktarılan bilgi, öğrenci tarafından, dört kere dördün dair olduğu gerçeklik alanındaki mahiyeti algılanmadan ezberlenir ve tekrarlanır. Öğretmen, kapları ne kadar iyi doldurursa o kadar iyi bir öğretmendir ve kaplar, doldurulmalarına ne kadar izin veriyorsa o kadar iyi birer öğrencidir. Böylece eğitim, bir “tasarruf yatırımı” edimine dönüşür. Artık öğrenciler, “yatırım nesneleri”, öğretmen ise “yatırımcı”dır. Öğretmen, iletişim kurmak yerine tahviller çıkarır ve öğrencilerin sabırla aldığı, ezberlediği ve tekrarladığı yatırımlar yapar. Bu durum, öğrencilere tanınan hareket alanının, yatırılanı kabul eden ve tasnif edip yığmaktan ibaret olan “bankacı eğitim modeli”dir (Freire 2006: 48-49). Bu tür bir eğitim anlayışı ekseninde pratik olmaksızın sürekli teori ile yüz yüze gelen bireyler, eğitimin dönüştürücü gücü göz önünde bulundurulduğunda salt verili olana odaklanan, araştırma yeteneğinden yoksun ve yabancılaşmış bir şekle bürünür. Buna bağlı olarak kişisel bütünlüğün öncelikli koşullarından olan gerçeğe ulaşma ve bunun bütün sorumluluğunu üstlenme niteliklerine sahip olmak olanaksızlaşır. Bankacı eğitim modelinin insanları uyarlanan, etki altına alınan varlıklar olarak görmesi şaşırtıcı değildir. Öğrenciler kendilerine yüklenen malzemeyi istiflemekle ne kadar meşgul olurlarsa bu dünyanın dönüştürücüleri olarak mevcut düzene müdahale etmeleriyle şekillenecek eleştirel bilinçleri o kadar güdük kalacaktır. Kendilerine dayatılan edilgen rolü ne kadar kapsamlı bir şekilde kabul ederlerse dünyayı nasılsa öyle benimsemeye, kendilerinde yığma malzeme halinde biriktirilen kısmi bir gerçeklik görüşünü kabule o kadar yatkın olurlar (Freire 2006: 51). Oysa zihinlerin özgürleşmesi, pratiğe yönelik edimleri gerektirir. Yaşanılan çevreyi ve sistemin aksayan yanlarını Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 197 değiştirmek ve dönüştürmek, insan eyleminin bir ürünüdür. Ancak bu model, yaratıcılığı ortaya çıkarmak şöyle dursun bu yetiyi sekteye uğratır, kişinin eyleme geçme güdüsünü zayıflatır. Bankacı kuram ve uygulama, hareketsizleştirici ve sabitleyici bir güç olduğundan insanları tarihsel varlıklar olarak kabul etmez; diğer yandan problem tanımlayıcı kuram ve uygulama, insanın tarihselliğini başlangıç noktası olarak alır. Problem tanımlayıcı eğitim modeli, insanları olma sürecindeki varlıklar -tıpkı kendisi gibi bitmemiş bir gerçeklik içindeki ve bu gerçeklikle birlikte bitmemiş, yetkinleşmemiş varlıklar- olarak olumlar. Gerçekten de bitmemiş ama tarihsel olmayan öteki canlıların aksine insanlar, kendilerini bitmemiş olarak bilirler; yetkin olmayışlarının farkındadırlar, bu bitmemişlik ve farkındalık, yalnızca insana özgü bir ifade biçimi olarak eğitimin köklerinde bulunur. İnsanın bitmemiş karakteri ve gerçekliğin dönüşme özelliği, eğitimin sürekli bir faaliyet olmasını zorunlu kılar. Eğitim, böylece praksis içinde sürekli yeniden oluşturulur. Bankacı yöntem, insanların içinde bulundukları konumu kaderci algılamalarını doğrudan veya dolaylı olarak pekiştirirken problem tanımlayıcı yöntem bu durumu, insanlara bir problem olarak sunar (Freire 2006: 60-63). İnsan, eğitim aracılığıyla kendi iç dünyası ve çevresi hakkında farkındalık kazanır ve daha duyarlı hale gelir. Bilinçli ve özgür bireyler, haksızlık karşısında nasıl davranmaları gerektiği konusunda doğru kararlar alabilecek niteliktedir. Bu bağlamda eğitimli bireylerin kişisel bütünlüğü sağlama noktasında daha başarılı olabileceklerini ve belli değerlere bağlanan, bunlar çerçevesinde yaşamını kuranların da değerlerini muhafaza etmek için gerekli durumlarda direnme biçimlerini kullanabileceklerini söylemek mümkün gözükmektedir. İnsan, başkaldıran yaratıktır derler. İnsan, doğanın ya da geleneğin kurulu düzenine karşı ayaklandığı an insan olmuştur, insanlığını da hep yeni baştan başkaldırdıkça sürdürebilir (Erhat 2018: V). *** Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 198 Rousseau’nun da vurguladığı üzere (2007: 12-13) zayıf doğuyoruz ve kuvvete ihtiyacımız var. Her şeyden mahrum doğuyoruz ve yardıma ihtiyacımız var. Yaşamak için gereksinim duyduğumuz her şeyi bize eğitim veriyor. Peki eğitimi bize kim veriyor? Her şeyden önce doğuştan gelen yeteneklerimiz var, yaşadığımız süre boyunca insanlar tarafından eğitiliyoruz ve bizi etkileyen olaylardan edindiğimiz tecrübeyle olgunlaşıyoruz. Bize eğitim veren insanların bizim için çizdiği yol ile yaratılışımıza uygun olan yol zıt yönleri işaret ettiğinde ise ruhi karışıklıklar yaşıyoruz. Yürümemizi istedikleri yolun sonu bize mutluluk getirmeyecek ancak diğer yolda yürümemiz için de teşvik edilmiyoruz. Bütün hayatımız boyunca böyle çarpıştığımız ve dalgalandığımız için kendi kendimizle uyuşamadan, ne kendimiz için ne de başkaları için iyi işler yapamadan hayatımızı tamamlıyoruz. Tarif edilen yaşam biçimi karşısında tüm hak ve özgürlüklerden eşit olarak yararlanmayı amaç edinen, toplumun iyileşmesine katkı sağlayan, şiddete başvurmayan ve iyi bir eğitimle kendini geliştiren bireylere olan gereksinim artmaktadır. Baskıya ve haksızlığa karşı bir direnme biçimi olarak sivil itaatsizlik, şiddete başvurmadan, kamu vicdanına seslenerek dikkatleri sistemin aksayan yönlerine çekmek ve bunların düzeltilmesi için bir çıkış noktası oluşturmak adına kişisel bütünlük çerçevesinde sorumluluk alma duygusu gelişmiş bireylerin giriştiği bir edim şeklinde ortaya konulabilir. Verili olanı kabul etmeyen, araştıran, buluş sürecine dâhil olan, analitik düşünebilen, eleştiren ve sorgulayan bireylere, teori ile pratiği aynı potada eriten, özgürleştirici bir eğitim aracılığıyla ulaşılabilir. Seda ÖZSOY SOMUNCUOĞLU, “Kişisel Bütünlük ve Sivil İtaatsizlik Arasındaki İlişki Üzerine Kısa Bir Değerlendirme,” Kaygı, 31/2018: 189-199. 199 KAYNAKÇA ALTUNEL, M. (2011). “Sivil İtaatsizlik ve Mohandas K. Gandhi”, TBB Dergisi, 93: 443-458. ANBARLI, Ş. (2007). “Baskıya Karşı Direnme Biçimi Olarak Sivil İtaatsizlik ve Meşruluğu Sorunu”, Yönetim Bilimleri Dergisi, 5(2): 71-99. CÜCELOĞLU, Doğan (1999). Anlamlı ve Coşkulu Bir Yaşam İçin Savaşçı, İstanbul: Sistem Yayıncılık. ERHAT, A. (2018). “Önsöz”, Zincire Vurulmuş Prometheus - Aiskhylos, çev. Azra Erhat ve Sabahattin Eyüboğlu, İstanbul: Türkiye İş Bankası Kültür Yayınları. ERTÜRK, S. (1982). Eğitimde Program Geliştirme, Ankara: Yelkentepe Yayınları. FREIRE, P. (2006). Ezilenlerin Pedagojisi, çev. Dilek Hattatoğlu, İstanbul: Ayrıntı Yayınları. LAFARGUE, Paul (2009). The Right to be Lazy, trans. Harriet E. Lothrop, Standard Publishing CO.: USA. MARSHALL, Gordon (1999). Sosyoloji Sözlüğü, çev. Osman Akınhay & Derya Kömürcü, İstanbul: Bilim ve Sanat Yayınları. ÖKÇESİZ, H. (1994). Sivil İtaatsizlik, İstanbul: Afa Yayınları. ROSEN, M. & J. WOLFF (2006). Siyasal Düşünce, çev. Sevda Çalışkan & Hamit Çalışkan, Ankara: Dost Kitabevi Yayınları. ROUSSEAU, J. J. (2007). Emile, çev. Ülkü Akagündüz, İstanbul: Selis Kitaplar. SOPHOKLES (2017). Antigone, çev. Ari Çokona, İstanbul: Türkiye İş Bankası Kültür Yayınları. TAŞKIN, A. (2004). “Baskıya Karşı Direnme Hakkı”, TBB Dergisi, 52: 37-65. THOREAU, H. D. & Mohandas K. GANDHI (2012). Sivil İtaatsizlik ve Pasif Direniş, çev. Hakan Arslan & Fatma Ünsal, Ankara: Vadi Yayınları. YILMAZ, S. (2011). “Demokratik Hukuk Devletinde Sivil İtaatsizlik Olgusu”, Hukukun Gençleri Sempozyumları Dizisi-2, Ankara. YÖRÜKOĞLU, A. (2004). Çocuk Ruh Sağlığı, Çocuğun Kişilik Gelişimi, Eğitimi ve Ruhsal Sorunları, İstanbul: Özgür Yayınları. 
work_fufulkp45vguvdc27ooff27zqi	----	Microsoft Word - O'Connell Dyment Assess Eval in HEd Final with Revisions 2005.doc 1 Reflections on Using Journals in Higher Education: A Focus Group Discussion with Faculty Author Biographies: Tim O'Connell, Ph.D. is an Associate Professor in the School of Outdoor Recreation, Parks & Tourism at Lakehead University, Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada. Tim's research interests include psychosocial dimensions of outdoor recreation, motivations to sea kayak, psychological sense of community, and journal writing. Janet Dyment, Ph.D. is a Senior Lecturer in Outdoor Education in the Centre for Human Movement in the Faculty of Education at the University of Tasmania, Australia. Her research interests include critical environmental education, urban restoration, and school ground greening. Acknowledgements: We gratefully acknowledge the financial support from Lakehead University’s Regional Research Fund, the Outdoor Recreation Student Society Development Fund, as well as the Senate Research Committee. We would also like to thank the faculty who were involved in this research study. Contact Address: Dr. Timothy O’Connell School of Outdoor Recreation, Parks and Tourism Lakehead University 955 Oliver Road Thunder Bay, ON P7B 5E1 Canada Telephone: (807) 343-8876 Email: tim.oconnell@lakeheadu.ca 2 Abstract Reflective journals have become an increasingly popular tool used by numerous faculty across many disciplines in higher education. Previous research and narrative reports of journal writing have explored student perceptions of journal writing, but very little is understood about faculty perceptions. In this paper, we report on a study involving eight university faculty who teach courses with outdoor field components in the areas of outdoor recreation, experiential education, or outdoor education. We present the faculty member’s 1) current practices of journal writing (types of journals, types of entries, process of journal writing), 2) perceptions of journal writing (rationale, quality, evaluation), and 3) recommendations to maximize the potential of journal writing. A mixed methods approach was used that included a 32-item quantitative questionnaire and a focus group discussion. By and large, the faculty who participated in this study appreciated the pedagogical potential of journal writing. They were, however, cautious about certain aspects of the journaling process and offered numerous suggestions for improving the “journaling experience.” This paper concludes with several recommendations for consideration by higher education faculty who use journal writing as an instructional technique. 3 Introduction A modest body of research has examined the use of journals as a pedagogical tool in higher education. This research suggests that many university and college faculty require students to keep journals in a wide range of courses including, but not limited to, management (King Jr., 1998), psychology (Hettich, 1990), second language instruction (Kerka, 1996), business (Johnson & Barker, 1995), therapeutic recreation (Murray, 1997), outdoor recreation and leisure studies (Bocarro, 2003; Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b) research methods (Janesick, 1998), teacher education (Arredondo & Rucinski, 1994; Wallace & Oliver, 2003), literature (Cole, 1994), and engineering (Gardner & Fulwiler, 1999). These researchers describe how journals can be a useful instructional/learning strategy that allows students to reflect critically on material, to ground their learning in their lived experience, to develop their writing skills, and to demonstrate their knowledge/understanding in a non-traditional manner. The research also points to some disadvantages and concerns about journaling, such as the challenges of evaluation and student burnout. In exploring the use of journals in higher education, many researchers have explored student perceptions and experiences. For example, Arredondo and Rucinski (1994) investigated 69 education students’ perceptions of journaling in education courses over a two-year period. In another study in a literature class, Cole (1994) examined 14 students’ experiences of journal writing. More recently, Bocarro (2003) explored the experiences of 20 students who kept journals in a service learning course. Earlier phases of our research also explored student perceptions of journal writing in outdoor recreation courses (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b; in press). While this research allows for a rich understanding of how students perceive and experience journal writing in higher education, surprisingly little research has been conducted that explores the perceptions of the faculty who require journals in their classes. Most resources available to faculty are limited to “how-to” books describing the method and activities related to journal writing. Important questions about faculty experiences with, perceptions of, and recommendations for journal writing in higher education remain unanswered. In regards to journal use: How are journals being used? What kinds of journals are being used? What kinds of entries are being written? In regards to faculty perceptions of journals: Why do faculty choose to use journals as a pedagogical tool? How do faculty evaluate journals? Are faculty satisfied with the overall quality of the journals? In regards to recommendations: What recommendations would faculty have to enhance the potential of journal writing? This study explores these questions. More specifically, this paper describes the fifth phase of a study that examines the use of journals in higher education. Earlier phases explored aspects of journal writing ranging from student perceptions of journaling to a content analysis of 880 student journal entries. A brief summary of the findings and recommendations from these studies follows. Sixty two students from two universities in North America participated in the first phase of this study. These students responded to a 38 question survey designed to elicit feelings regarding previous, present, and future attitudes and behaviours about journal writing. Students generally agreed that journal writing was a helpful method of encouraging reflection. They also indicated a neutral position towards keeping journals in general. These students were also very interested in learning more about journal writing. Findings revealed that men and women differed significantly in their perception of journaling in many areas (i.e., women were more proud of their journals, and had better attitudes towards journal writing). Students from the two universities had significantly different perceptions of journaling. We postulated these differences were the result of varying levels of experience with journaling as well as differing approaches towards how these journals were evaluated (Dyment & O'Connell, in press). Phase 2 of this study examined the impact of a journaling workshop on students’ attitudes and behaviours related to journaling. We developed a 45 minute workshop intended to introduce 4 students to: Bloom’s Taxonomy of Cognitive Thinking (Bloom, 1956), creative writing techniques, and various types of entries that could be written. Participants completed a survey before and after the workshop and subsequent wilderness trip. This study included a control group who did not participate in the workshop. Key findings from this study include differences between men and women in attitudes and behaviours towards journal writing (much the same as those reported in the first phase) and differences between experienced writers and less experienced writers. The workshop had the greatest effect on women who were the least experienced with journal writing (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003a; O'Connell & Dyment, 2003). For the third phase of this project, we conducted a focus group with students who were “practised” journal writers. Key findings from this phase include: student recognition of the freedom journal writing provides as a means of reflection; student concern over the mechanics and intent of grading journal writing assignments; deep-rooted socializations and stereotypes (e.g., it is more acceptable for women to keep “diaries” than men) regarding journal writing may affect attitudes and behaviours related to journal writing; and, perhaps the most interesting finding, that these students perceived themselves to be much more advanced journal writers than they actually were. In essence, they thought they were writing at a much “higher” academic level than what they indicated they were writing in their journals (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b). The fourth phase of this study used a content analysis of over 880 distinct journal entries that were generated from Phase 2 to explore the impact of the journal writing workshop on student writing. The results related to the effects of participation in the workshop presented conflicting findings, and offered no conclusive evidence as to the effectiveness of the workshop. However, we did discover that the majority of students were writing at very basic levels (i.e., reporting facts, making general observations, etc.) (O'Connell & Dyment, 2004). Informed by findings from earlier phases of our research, in Phase 5 we were interested in understanding how faculty and instructors1 in higher education use and perceive journal writing. We were also interesting in learning about their recommendations to improve the journaling experience in higher education. We begin, however, by presenting a brief review of the literature related to journal writing. Literature Review Keeping a written record of daily events and life experiences has been evident throughout human history, and may be traced back to Greek and Roman times. In the 10th century, Japanese women of the royal courts kept journals on their impressions of daily life. During the Renaissance, enlightened individuals felt obliged to record their experiences. In the Victorian era, people kept track of their religious and political experiences in journals. Perhaps one of the greatest influences on modern journal keeping is westward expansion in North America. Lewis and Clark kept detailed accounts of their personal reactions to their experiences, as well as comprehensive field logs of flora, fauna and other natural history items. Other notable individuals who kept journals include Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Virginia Wolf, and Anne Frank (Janesick, 1998; Raffan & Barrett, 1989). In recent times, journals have been used for a variety of purposes, in a range of learning environments, and with a number of populations. Stemming from past uses in recording experiences for use in developing new knowledge, journal writing is commonly used in the academic world as a method of encouraging students to learn, and as a means of evaluation. Literature, psychology, teacher education, and sociology are academic fields that have traditionally used journals in these ways (Anderson, 1992; Cole, 1994). Students of all ages, demographic groups (e.g., women, non-traditional students, minorities), and education levels are 1 Given that study participants included both faculty (e.g., professors) and instructors (e.g., teaching assistants), for the purposes of this paper, we have used the term ‘faculty’ to include both. 5 asked to keep journals (King Jr., 1998; Steiner & Phillips, 1991; Walden, 1995). Faculty in academic subject areas such as therapeutic recreation, nursing, and psychology ask students to write journals as a way of reflecting on learning, personal development, and positive change (Burt, 1994; Hettich, 1990; Kerka, 1996; Murray, 1997). Journals have also been used in autobiographical accounts, in qualitative research, and in experiential education (Grumet, 1990; Janesick, 1998; Raffan & Barrett, 1989). While journals have been used in a number of fields, they are also used for a variety of reasons as well. Journals may be used to stimulate thinking and assist students in developing writing skills (Kerka, 1996). As journal writing often reflects natural speech patterns, writing can be unencumbered and free-flowing. As Hammond (2002) stated, “Journal keeping can improve students’ writing, enhance visual literacy, and provide them with an open opportunity to think and express themselves graphically, poetically, metaphorically, and informally” (p. 34). Depending on the type of course in which a student is enrolled, other reasons why journals have been used include: improved listening behaviour (Johnson & Barker, 1995); sharing experiences (Hettich, 1990); helping women develop as “knowers” (Walden, 1995); and, encouraging reflection (Cantrell, 1997; Hughes & Kooy, 1997). As diverse as the types of academic fields, so too are the intended reasons why instructors use journals. Although journal writing has a long tradition, the research that has been conducted presents an unclear picture of how faculty perceive student journal writing. Many of the studies have only examined journal content, student experiences with journaling, or are based on anecdotal evidence. As Cole (1994) stated, “Unfortunately, much of the limited research on the use of journals has failed to establish meaningful goals, to provide challenging tasks, or to control for individual differences” (p. 138-139). Journal writing has been found to be of positive value for students (Cole, 1994; Hettich, 1990). These benefits include: responsibility for learning belongs to the student, students are actively engaged in the reflective process, journal writing is a student-centered approach, journal writing may take on characteristics of natural speech, and students may shape knowledge as they see fit (see Hughes & Kooy, 1997; Kerka, 1996). However, several problems with journal writing have also been noted, including overuse of journal writing in academic programs, use of the journal as a means of attacking others, “writing for the teacher,” general dislike of journal writing, challenges related to evaluating journals, and lack of clear structure and purpose (Anderson, 1992; Chandler, 1997; Cole, 1994). Studies examining student perceptions of journaling have been conducted mainly in the areas of literature and writing. Cole (1994) reported that students indicated journal writing stimulated thinking, required them to be focused while reading (instead of just “skimming” or for pleasure), and taught them to focus thoughts. Hettich (1990) found students preferred writing in a journal instead of a term paper as it allowed them to address a wider range of topics, was more personal in nature, and was a continuous process. An article by Anderson (1992) begins to address faculty experiences with the journal writing process, but is based solely on the author’s classroom experience and on informal conversations with other faculty at professional conferences. Little additional writing has described the faculty experience of using journals as a pedagogical tool. One intent of this article is to begin to fill the void of research in this area. Methods Research Participants Using a purposeful sampling approach, we invited eight post-secondary faculty (five faculty, three instructors) to participate in this study that was conducted in November, 2003. Participants were selected based on the following criteria: 1) they were involved in teaching at least one course in outdoor recreation, experiential education, or outdoor education that had an 6 outdoor field component (ranging from 3 hours to 12 days); 2) they required students to keep journals as part of their curriculum; and, 3) they assigned grades to student journals. Descriptive statistics for demographic variables appear in Table 1. There were three men and five women who participated in this study. In terms of percentage of courses in which these faculty asked students to write journals, responses ranged from 13 to 100 percent. In those courses that included a field component, faculty asked students to write journals from 50 to 100 percent of the time. INSERT TABLE 1 ABOUT HERE Questionnaire The participants completed a 32-item questionnaire designed to evaluate their use and perceptions of journaling in post-secondary courses with a field component (See Appendix A). Twenty-seven of the items questioned faculty experiences with their own and student journal writing. The remaining five items elicited demographic information. This survey was modified from the one developed for earlier Phases of our research, and was intended to explore the themes that had emerged from the previous phases of this project. Generally, alphas were acceptable (.70 to .89). One variable was not included as its alpha value was unacceptable (.42). Focus Group Discussion To expand upon our findings from the questionnaires, we also conducted a focus group discussion. The interview questionnaires were designed to allow us to gain more insight, from a faculty perspective, into the themes emerging from earlier phases of the study, our review of the literature, as well as our analysis of the questionnaires. Powell and Single (1996) defined a focus group as “a group of individuals selected and assembled by researchers to discuss and comment on, from personal experience, the topic that is the subject of the research” (p. 499). The recommended number of people in a focus group is usually six to ten. This small size is a crucial feature of focus groups in that participants are able to interact, by asking each other questions and by expanding on each other’s ideas. A focus group was selected for this phase of the research in order to draw on the faculty’s attitudes, feelings, beliefs, experiences, and reactions towards journaling in a way which would not be possible using solely other research methods, such as questionnaires or one-to-one interviewing (Kreuger, 1988; Morgan, 1997). We facilitated a two-hour focus group with a goal of exploring main themes that had emerged from the literature as well as earlier phases of our research. A list of 13 questions (with many sub-questions) was used to guide the discussion (see Appendix B). Our role within the focus group was to facilitate the discussion, by encouraging the involvement of all participants and by limiting the domination of discussion by a few participants. We provided prompting questions to elicit expansion of interesting subtopics and challenged participants to share a diversity of perspectives on the topics under discussion. As facilitators, we were aware of the drawbacks of focus group research, such as the difficulty of separating individual viewpoints from the collective view point, and made every effort to fully explore the diversity of opinions within the group as well as the degree of consensus on given topics (Kreuger, 1988; Morgan, 1997). A note taker was present during the focus group session. The session was also recorded on audiotapes and later transcribed. We listened to the tapes and read the transcriptions on multiple occasions with a view of performing a content analysis on the data. The material collected was then reduced by selecting, focusing, simplifying, abstracting and transforming the raw data (Miles & Huberman, 1994). This is an on-going process throughout the duration of the research project. As Miles and Huberman note, 7 As we see it, data reduction occurs throughout the life of any qualitatively oriented project. Even before the data are actually collected, anticipatory data reduction is occurring as the researcher decides (often without full awareness) which conceptual framework, which cases, which research questions, and which data collection approaches to choose. As data collection proceeds, further episodes of data reduction occur (writing summaries, coding, teasing out themes, making clusters, making partitions, writing memos). The data reduction/transforming process continues after fieldwork, until a final report is completed. (p. 10) Strauss (1987) refers to this method of organization as the “conceptualization of data.” The names of all participants in this study have been changed to protect their anonymity. Findings and Discussion Current Practice of Journal Writing Although the perceptions of journal writing of faculty who participated in this study are influenced by the fact that their courses included a field component (i.e., time in the outdoors), many of their thoughts reflect those found in the existing literature and may be directly related to any faculty using journal writing as a pedagogical tool. Types of journals Study participants reported four main types of journals were being used in their courses. First, the faculty expected that journals be used to objectively record information for future use. Both Harris and Paul required objective “trip logs” that could be used to decrease legal liability. Paul provided his students with a template in which they could frame their experience in an objective way. This type of journal entry serves as documentation that the student actually participated in an activity, work experience, or event. Relatively little learning might occur from this type of journal entry. Although this is an easy way of recording this type of information, this may lead to “journaling burnout” as suggested by Anderson (1992). Second, the faculty used journals as a method of encouraging students to respond to readings. As Keith indicated, “It gives them practice writing” and “practice in observation” related to what they have read. Study participants reported periodically collecting these journals at unannounced times during the semester in hopes that their students would stay current with class readings. Although this type of journal closely resembles those reported by Anderson (1992) and Hettich (1990), the intent of the journal is both for learning and perhaps primarily as a means of prompting students to read. The latter fact was not considered by the aforementioned authors. Third, study participants encouraged students to use journals to make observations about nature. For example, Sarah wanted her students to slow down and “really notice things” like “where did you see that animal track?” Tina used journal writing as a means of assisting students in developing a connection to the land and a sense of place. This type of journal records observations about environment, context, or setting in which the student experience takes place, and is perhaps the type of journal most examined by other authors (Cole, 1994; Driver, 1997; Kerka, 1996; Raffan & Barrett, 1989). Finally, the faculty reported asking students to write journals as a subjective way of linking practical experience to course material. Journals were seen as a means of encouraging students to reflect on their field experiences and make connections with and extensions to what they had read and heard in class. When responding to a survey question asking, “I think that writing in journals is a helpful way to encourage reflection on field courses,” faculty overwhelming indicated they agreed with this notion (M = 6.5, SD = .71). Additionally, the faculty indicated that they expected student self-assessment and self-reflection in journals. Harris noted he expected students “to be able to evaluate their own leadership.” 8 It appears that the types of journals faculty ask their students to keep span many of the levels of knowledge suggested by Bloom (1956), Cantrell (1997), and Young and Wilson (2000). This feature of journal writing may be an important aspect of the learning experience, especially for faculty who wish their students to go beyond memorizing facts and processes, and begin to make critical judgements about and extensions of the subject under study. Although these types of journals identified by the faculty in this study may not include all varieties used in academia, it is important to note the range of learning that may occur through each type indicated by the participants. Types of entries Within each type of journal mentioned above, the faculty reported that their students were including a number of different types of entries, many related to the overall purpose of the journal, and many as additional entries by the students for personal reasons, as a means of “spicing- up” their journal, or as supplementing faculty requirements of the assignment. Faculty indicated their students were: recording day-to-day events and happenings; making entries about personal growth and development; noting key developments in group dynamics; writing about sense of place and the environment; drawing pictures; and writing poetry. They reported students were not: making connections between class material and their experiences in the field; drawing maps of where they were; asking others to do “guest entries” in their journals; and synthesizing, evaluating, or making connections between/among theories and concepts. Results are shown in Table 2. INSERT TABLE 2 ABOUT HERE Based on findings from previous phases of our research, there is a clear discrepancy between what faculty expect students to write in journals and what students are actually writing. Congruent with our expectation, Wallace and Oliver (2003) hypothesized that preservice teachers would include more entries about their interactions with students as the semester progressed, and that students would reflect on a “deeper” level over the course of the semester. Wallace and Oliver found that only half of the students included passages about their relationships with students. However, they did find that by the end of the semester, most students had moved away from the superficial level of writing to the deeper levels of analysis, synthesis, and evaluation. Similarly, faculty participating in this study overwhelmingly assigned journal writing as a means of encouraging students to confront issues in a critical, evaluative, connective manner (i.e., at the “higher” levels of Bloom’s Taxonomy (Bloom, 1956), or the “extensions” level of Young and Wilson’s (2000) ICE Approach), but reported that students were not progressing to the “deeper” levels of reflection. All the faculty in this study indicated they provided detail on what they expected from students in their course syllabi. August (2000) and Wallace and Oliver (2003) reported using their course syllabi as a means of providing information about journal writing. Wallace and Oliver included detailed rubrics that may have allowed their students to more fully understand what was expected from them. August used a short questionnaire to get feedback about the journal writing assignment. However, many faculty in our study indicated they only received feedback from students in an informal manner, and hoped that the students would appreciate journal writing assignments for reasons outlined in the syllabi. Other researchers have indicated this incongruence between faculty expectations and student performance as well as the lack of feedback mechanisms as two of the downfalls of journal writing (Anderson, 1992; Dyment & O'Connell, 2003a; O'Connell & Dyment, in press). 9 Process of journal writing An additional three items on the questionnaire asked the participants to report on the process they provided to their students or that they perceived their students adopted while writing journals. Participants reported being “Neutral” (M = 4.40, SD = 2.07) in regards to providing structured time during field courses for journal writing and “Somewhat Agreed” in providing instruction in creative journal writing techniques (M = 4.7, SD = 2.06). Participants “Agreed” that their students “wrote the majority of their entries at the end of the course shortly before they had to submit their journal for review” (M = 5.00, SD = 1.41). These findings reflect results from earlier phases of our research (Dyment & O’Connell, 2003; Dyment & O’Connell, in press), and serve as confirmation of the recommendations of others that faculty must: provide adequate training, must clearly outline the process of journal writing, provide sufficient and timely feedback, and should model appropriate journaling behaviour and style (Bennion & Olsen, 2002; Cole, 1994; Hettich, 1990). Perceptions of the Journal Writing Process Why use journals? We were interested in knowing why faculty use journals instead of other, more conventional pedagogical tools (e.g., essays, exams, presentations). The faculty reported a wide range of reasons for using journals, suggesting that journal writing provides opportunities for students to: 1) have more freedom in expressing themselves and their learning; 2) reflect upon their own personal growth and development; 3) connect their field experiences to their in-class experiences; 4) develop their natural observation skills (e.g., weather, animal behaviour, plant identification); 5) draw on a wide range of types of intelligences (see H. Gardner, 1993); 6) develop their writing skills; 7) disrupt the focus on humans in the education system; and, 8) develop and intimate and embodied connection with the more than human realm. Quality We were also interested in knowing how faculty in the focus group perceived the quality of student journals. The faculty reported a range in the quality of journal entries. All faculty indicated that a modest percentage of journals were of poor quality, meaning that they were “mechanical,” “totally descriptive,” “the bare minimum,” and even “insulting to mark.” Harris explains, “In poor quality writing, I see just objective writing with no depth or richness. The student will write that the sun came up, it went down, we paddled and had lunch at two o’clock.” The faculty also reported that the majority of journals met their expectations and a small percentage even exceeded their expectations. When we asked for an estimate of the percentage of journals that met their expectations, faculty reported that between 40 and 60% of the journals met their expectations. This is in contrast to the findings of August, (2000), Leighow Meo (2000), and Wallace and Oliver (2003), who reported that most of their students were generally meeting their expectations. We were particularly interested in gaining an understanding of faculty perceptions of the quality of student journals given the conflicting findings that had emerged in earlier phases of the research. In Phase 3 of the research, we performed a focus group discussion with nine students studying outdoor recreation (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b). These students were in the same program as the faculty are who participated in this phase of the study. Students in the focus group reported that they were advanced journal writers and that journals were a venue for critically evaluating their learning, experiences, instructors, and themselves. Yet in Phase 4 of this study, when we performed a content analysis on 880 journal entries of the students in this same program, we found that the majority of entries were fairly descriptive and that critical reflection, by and large, was absent. As previously noted, faculty in this study overwhelmingly thought journals were a helpful way to encourage reflection. However, counter to this belief, they 10 recognized that students were not making connections between what they had learned in class and what they experienced in the field. Other researchers, such as Anderson (1992), have also raised concerns about the quality of student journals. In reflecting upon the journal entries he read, Anderson notes that most entries have “no evidence of analysis, synthesis, deliberation, or reflection” (p. 307). Contrary to these findings, Wallace and Oliver (2003) found that their students were generally writing at “deeper” levels near the end of the semester. When we explained these conflicting findings between Phase 3 and Phase 4, the faculty had many explanations as to why the students might have inadequate and elevated perceptions of their journal writing abilities. Anna suggested that lack of preparation might explain why some of the journals are of poor quality. She explains “I think there is a real lack of adequate preparation for how to write journals…the students are so used to writing for us in an academic context that they can’t figure out how to write without instruction.” She continues, “The students have been asked to copy, summarize, and regurgitate for 14 years…and then we want them to critically reflect, think, and write in their journals…no wonder they look a little transfixed when I give them a journal assignment…like ‘what’s this?’” Keith wondered if they weren’t getting enough good feedback, suggesting that “They [the students] are either fooling you, fooling themselves, or perhaps, more likely, we haven’t done a good enough job of showing them or giving them feedback on what good quality means.” With these limitations in mind, we now turn the question of evaluating and assigning marks to student journals. Evaluation As many researchers have noted, evaluating journals can be a complicated, repetitive, daunting, time consuming, and ethically challenging task (Chandler, 1997; Ediger, 2001; Hettich, 1990). Anderson (1993) provides an excellent overview of problems with grading journals. He questions whether journals should be marked at all. Depending on the grading scheme, it might not “reward” student appropriately (e.g., consistently high quality journals get the same mark as low quality journals based on number of entries). In the reverse instance, many students may write many entries, but only summarize readings or experiences. These students feel “cheated” when receiving lower grades than their more reflective counterparts. In agreement with Anderson, Kerka (1996) recognizes the problem of marking something that may be expressly written for what the teacher wants to see. Kerka also raises issues of privacy and the teacher-learner relationship, and how perceptions of traditional power imbalances may potentially affect marking. With a view of understanding faculty perceptions of evaluating journals, we asked the faculty a variety of questions about grading journals, both in the focus group and in the questionnaire. Faculty “Agreed” with the question, “I think journals are a useful evaluation tool for assessing learning in university courses,” (M = 5.7, SD = 1.42). Faculty in the focus group reported that journals were worth between 10 and 25% of the final course grade. A number of evaluative systems were used, including rubrics, templates, pass/fail, and “subjective feelings.” Some faculty provided mid-term evaluations of journals. However, responses to the questionnaire item, “I provide a mid-course check in with my students to ensure that they are on the right track with their journals” elicited a “Somewhat Disagree” to “Neutral” reply (M = 3.60, SD = 2.22). Some faculty provided the grading criteria in the course outline, while others were “intentionally vague.” The percentage of the final mark that these faculty assigned to student journals ranged from 10 to 30 percent. This is consistent with the findings of previous studies (Hettich, 1990). The faculty in the focus group noted the challenges of evaluating journals in a fair and consistent manner. While objective entries (e.g., weather, sightings, dates, route) are fairly easy to grade via a list of predetermined criteria, the faculty reported that it becomes more difficult to evaluate the subjective (e.g., reflections) journals. Paul described (in a rather embarrassed manner) how he evaluated subjective journals: 11 Is there something written? Yes? They’re getting at least 6/10. Is there some connection to what is going on in the field or class? Yes? It would go up by almost a point. Is there some theme they’ve developed? Yes? Throw on another point. Many of the faculty agreed their approach was not too different from Paul’s: indeed it appears to be very difficult to evaluate, in an objective manner, a subjective journal entry. August (2000) agreed with the difficulties in grading journal entries, but noted “To be taken seriously, the journal entries must affect grades…” (p. 345). Study participants all agreed that providing written comments on journals is critical. Harris asserted that “the qualitative comments are the most powerful things students will take away from their evaluation…it is what they will remember and learn the most from.” Yet providing thorough and thoughtful evaluations with feedback can be difficult when you have got a large class size, and require students to hand in journals several times during a semester (August, 2000). Cecilia wondered about her ability to give feedback “when I have 60 journals sitting on my desk….I wonder if I’ll be honest enough, critical enough, write enough comments, give enough time…it can just feel so overwhelming.” We asked the faculty if they thought the students were “writing for the teacher,” a phenomenon observed by Anderson (1992, p. 307) and reported by the students in our previous focus group (Phase 3) (Dyment & O'Connell, 2003b). Some faculty agreed, reporting that when journals were evaluated, students were less focussed on being creative, critical, and reflexive, instead directing their energies towards trying to meet the evaluative criteria. “Grading journals,” Tina noted, “seems to get in the way of good pedagogy.” To that end, some faculty were in support of a pass/fail system for journals. Tina described her positive experience with a pass/fail system as a student in her graduate work, “it was incredibly freeing and I wrote much more creatively, much more critically, I was much more willing to take chances, to be contrary to the professor, go out on a limb…because I knew I was going to pass…” Overall, it appears this group of faculty believe in the potential of journals as a positive tool to encourage reflection and learning. However, it appears as though these faculty struggle with many of the same issues recognized in the existing literature on journaling (i.e., writing for the teacher, issues/concerns in marking, etc.). We asked these faculty for recommendations on how to overcome some of these hurdles to using journals effectively in a university setting. Reflections and Suggestions for Improvement By and large, the faculty who participated in this study appreciated the pedagogical potential of journal writing within the formal university system. When asked what faculty could do to facilitate more successful journal writing, they provided several suggestions, many of which they currently practiced. Many study participants suggested alternative marking schemes that could be used for journal assignments, a suggestion that has been offered by others (e.g., Anderson, 1992; Chandler, 1997; Hammond, 2002). Cecelia wondered if pass/fail marking would be adequate. Tina, when commenting on using this approach in the past, supported this scheme in a pedagogical and practical manner, “Pass/fail was incredibly freeing. I took chances to go out on a limb.” She also remarked, “It was wonderful for me as a teacher because I gave all sorts of qualitative feedback and helped them improve… – I hate grading!” Anna concurred, “It’s amazing!” Tina also suggested using a rubric, as suggested by other researchers (Hammond, 2002; Moutoux, 2002; Wallace & Oliver, 2003). She noted that using rubrics are generally easy. Rubrics also provide a framework in which students may write. Other faculty suggested that the journals not be included in the marking scheme. Paul commented that he had once only considered journals as part of an overall participation mark, and that “Over that year, there was a definite improvement [in the quality of journals].” 12 Study participants also encouraged alternative forms of journaling. Claire suggested that traditional, written journals may not serve the needs of all students. She proposed that students could keep a video journal of their experiences, and share that with the instructor and the rest of the class. Sarah encouraged her students to draw and include samples of natural objects in their journals. She arranged for a local artist to come to her class and provide elementary instruction for her students. Audio taped journals, art work, and other creative types of journals were also suggested. Study participants unanimously supported the need to provide ongoing training and support in journal writing technique. Consistent with our prior research (O'Connell & Dyment, 2003), and recommendations of others (Anderson, 1992), participants in the focus group suggested a wide variety of ways to ensure students understood the journal writing process. Claire recommended that exemplars of journals be placed on library reserve or supplied to students in some other manner. Sarah agreed, indicating that she puts the book, Nature Journaling: Learning to Observe and Connect with the World Around You (Leslie & Roth, 1998) on reserve in the library. Tina started including examples in her reading package for courses so students would have good indicators of what journal entries may look like. Training can also come through the form of regular feedback to students. Both written and verbal feedback from instructor, teaching assistants, or peers can help students improve their writing. Finally, faculty in the focus group agreed with Claire’s statement that, “Enthusiasm is contagious!” Study participants strongly agreed that instructors who wish to utilize journal writing in their courses must approach the process with a positive perspective. They must be prepared to counter the feeling that students have been “journaled to death” (Anderson, 1992). To maintain positive energy for journaling, faculty within the same department must collaborate to avoid the overuse of journals leading to “burnout.” Building on that concept, Sarah suggested that if journals were used throughout a program, a “journaling across the curriculum” approach could be taken. Burnout can also stem from the students’ prior negative experience with journals in which they have not been allowed to creatively or meaningfully reflect on matters they find relevant. As Tina said, “For some students, they don’t want to do it [journaling]. So they do the bare minimum, they look at my little rubric of what I’m expecting; they do the bare stuff because they don’t find any value in it.” As some study participants suggested, however, the challenges to journaling in higher education lie much deeper. Faculty and education systems are often limited by conventional assumptions about education: about the need for teachers to be “experts” in a subject area, about the under-reliance on student experiences, about the need to quantitatively evaluate all aspects of student learning. Such assumptions lie uneasily with the realities of journal writing, where the students are drivers of their own learning, where outcomes are less easy to control and more difficult to measure, and where learning experiences are more fully embodied. The recommendations of these faculty are influenced by the context of how they use journals (i.e., through courses including an outdoor field component). However, these recommendations, based on both a qualitative and quantitative systematic examination of how faculty employ journal writing, have confirmed the anecdotal and research-based evidence supplied by others (Anderson, 1992; Arredondo & Rucinski, 1994; Bennion & Olsen, 2002; Bocarro, 2003; Burt, 1994; Cantrell, 1997; Chandler, 1997; Cole, 1994; Dyment & O'Connell, 2003a; Ediger, 2001; Hammond, 2002; Hettich, 1990; Kerka, 1996; Murray, 1997; O'Connell & Dyment, in press; Raffan & Barrett, 1989; Walden, 1995; Wallace & Oliver, 2003). These findings may be easily adapted to most academic disciplines, and many styles of journal writing. Additionally, there is sufficient evidence to warrant a carefully planned and structured approach to journal writing. We implore faculty who wish to start using journal writing with students, as well as those experienced with this practice, to consider the intended outcomes, personal commitment, available resources, as well as the benefits and downfalls of journaling before, during and after assigning journal writing as part of coursework. 13 Conclusion In this study, we explored faculty perceptions of journaling with eight post-secondary recreation faculty members and instructors. While enthusiastic of the benefits, they also commented on the untapped potential of journals. They were cautious about some aspects of the journaling process and described numerous constraints embedded within the dominant culture of the educational system that limit the full potential of journal writing to be realized. Journal writing seems to be counter to many of the hegemonic foundations within a typical university. We have summarized many of their suggestions and encourage faculty to consider their recommendations. Given the small sample used in this study, we recognize the limits of generalizing the findings to larger populations, such as university classes using journals as a method of teaching and/or evaluation. The findings of this study do, however, provide a greater understanding of the issues that emerged in earlier Phases of our research. The findings also set the stage for more ambitious explorations of the role of journaling in higher education. We conclude by noting that study participants unanimously indicated that they learned a great deal about journaling through their participation in this research. By completing the questionnaire and participating in the focus group, the faculty were given a rare opportunity to reflect upon their own experiences with journal writing; they were able to share their journal ideas regarding what has and has not worked; and, they were able to learn innovative ideas for using journals in their own teaching. Too often, we suspect, as Anna did, that university professors are left to “know it all…and most of us haven’t been trained in teaching.” Anna admits that she started using journals “because everyone else was doing it here.” Perhaps this research also points to the need for faculty in higher education institutions to develop a culture of collaboration and sharing so that effective teaching ideas can be exchanged among faculty. 14 Table 1 Means and Standard Deviations for Demographic Variables Source Minimum Maximum M SD Years as a university professor 1 20 6.40 5.21 Age 28 44 36.00 5.25 Number of courses taught per year 3 8 5.00 1.33 Number of courses taught per year which include a field component 1 4 2.30 1.42 15 Table 2 Types of Entries Reported in Student Journals By Faculty Question M SD My students make entries about the day-to-day events and happenings (where they were, what they did, weather, etc.). 6.20 1.03 My students make drawings in their journals. 5.90 .88 My students make entries about the environment and about sense of place. 5.80 .92 My students write poetry in their journals. 4.90 1.66 My students make entries about personal growth and development. 4.70 1.57 In my students’ journals, they try to make connections between their experiences on the course and their ‘every-day life.’ 4.40 .97 My students make entries about the group dynamics that were happening. 4.00 2.54 My students draw maps of where they were. 3.90 1.29 My students only report factual information in their journal entries. 3.70 1.70 My students’ journal entries synthesize, evaluate, or make connections between/among theories and concepts. 3.50 1.96 In my students’ journals, they are able to make connections between material they have learned in other university classes and their experience in field courses. 3.40 1.84 My students have other students and instructors do “guest entries” in their journals. 1.70 1.34 Note. Based on a series of 7-point Likert scales, where 1 represents “strongly disagree”, 4 represents “neutral,” and 7 represents “strongly agree.” 16 References Anderson, J. (1992). Journal writing: The promise and the reality. Journal of Reading, 36(4), 304-309. Arredondo, D. E., & Rucinski, T. T. (1994). Using reflective journals and the workshop approach in university classes to develop students' self-regulated learning. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 404 892). August, A. (2000). The reader's journal in lower-division history courses: A strategy to improve reading, writing and discussion. The History Teacher, 33(3), 343-348. Bennion, J., & Olssen, B. (2002). Wilderness writing: Using personal narrative to enhance outdoor experience. Journal of Experiential Education, 25(1), 239-246. Bloom, B. S. (Ed.). (1956). Taxonomy of educational objectives. New York: Longmans-Green. Bocarro, J. (2003). Maintaining the balance between service and learning: The use of journals in promoting critical thinking. Schole: A Journal of Leisure Studies and Recreation Education, 18, 7-22. Burt, C. (1994). An analysis of self-initiated coping behaviour: Diary-keeping. Child Study Journal, 24(3), 171-190. Cantrell, J. (1997). K-W-L learning journals: A way to encourage reflection. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, 40(5), 392-394. Chandler, A. (1997). Is this for a grade? A personal look at journals. English Journal, 86(1), 45- 49. Cole, P. (1994). A cognitive model of journal writing. Proceedings of Selected Research Presentations at the 1994 National Convention of the Association for Educational Communications and Technology, Nashville, TN. Driver, J. (1997). The place of journal writing on an outdoor experience. Journeys, 2(4), 24. Dyment, J. E., & O'Connell, T. S. (2003a). Journal writing in experiential education: Possibilities, problems and recommendations. Eric Digest. Charleston, WV: ERIC Clearinghouse on Rural Education and Small Schools. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. EDO-RC-03-05). Dyment, J. E., & O'Connell, T. S. (2003b). "Journal writing is something we have to learn on our own" - The results of a focus group discussion with recreation students. Schole: A Journal of Leisure Studies and Recreation Education, 18, 23-38. Dyment, J. E., & O'Connell, T. S. (in press). Student perceptions of journaling as a reflective tool in experience-based learning. The Journal for the Art of Teaching. Ediger, M. (2001). The student, journal writing, and assessment. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 499 195). Gardner, H. (1993). Multiple intelligences: The theory in practice. New York, NY: Basic Books. Gardner, S., & Fulwiler, T. (Eds.). (1999). The journal book: For teachers in technical and professional programs. Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook Publishers. Grumet, M. R. (1990). Retrospectives: Autobiography and analysis of educational experience. Cambridge Journal of Education, 20(3), 32-37. Hammond, W. (2002). The creative journal: A power tool for learning. Green Teacher, 69, 34-38. Hettich, P. (1990). Journal writing: Old fare or nouvelle cuisine. Teaching of Psychology, 17(1), 36-39. Hughes, H. W., & Kooy, M. (1997). Dialogic reflection and journaling. Clearing House, 70(4), 187-191. Janesick, V. J. (1998). Journal writing as a qualitative research technique: History, research, and reflections. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 420 702). Johnson, I. W., & Barker, R. T. (1995). Using journals to improve listening behaviour. Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 9(4), 473-484. Kerka, S. (1996). Journal writing and adult learning. ERIC Document ED 339413. 17 King Jr., W. C. (1998). A semester-long experiential exercise to develop workplace understanding: The role assignment exercise. Journal of Management Education, 22(6), 720-736. Kreuger, R. A. (1988). Focus groups: A practical guide for applied research. London: Sage. Leighow Meo, S. (2000). "In their own eyes:" Using journals with primary sources with college students. The History Teacher, 33(3), 335-341. Leslie, C., & Roth, C. (1998). Nature journaling: Learning to observe and connect with the world around you. Pownal, VT: Storey Books. Miles, M. B., & Huberman, A. M. (1994). Qualitative data analysis (2nd ed.). Beverly Hills, CA: Sage Publications. Morgan, D. L. (1997). Focus groups as qualitative research (2nd ed.). London: Sage. Moutoux, M. (2002). Evaluating nature journals. Green Teacher, 69, 39-40. Murray, S. (1997). The benefits of journaling. Parks and Recreation, 32(5), 68-74. O'Connell, T. S., & Dyment, J. E. (2003). Effects of a journaling workshop on participants in university outdoor education field courses: An exploratory study. Journal of Experiential Education, 26(2), 75-87. O'Connell, T. S., & Dyment, J. E. (2004). Journals of post secondary outdoor recreation students: The results of a content analysis. Journal of Adventure Education and Outdoor Learning, 4(2), 159-172. Powell, R. A., & Single, H. M. (1996). Focus groups. International Journal of Quality in Health Care, 8(5), 499-504. Raffan, J., & Barrett, M. J. (1989). Sharing the path: Reflections on journals from an expedition. Journal of Experiential Education, 12(2), 29-36. Steiner, B., & Phillips, K. (1991). Journal keeping with young people. Englewood, CO: Libraries Unlimited. Strauss, A. (1987). Qualitative analysis. New York: Cambridge University Press. Walden, P. (1995). Journal writing: A tool for women developing as knowers. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 65, 13-20. Wallace, C. S., & Oliver, J. S. (2003). Journaling during a school-based secondary methods course: Exploring a route to teacher reflection. Journal of Science Teacher Education, 14(3), 161-176. Young, S.F., & Wilson, R.J. (2000). Assessment and learning: The ICE approach. Winnipeg, Manitoba: Peguis. 18 Appendix A Faculty Journaling Questionnaire Please respond to the following questions using this scale: 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Irrelevant Strongly disagree Disagree Somewhat disagree Neutral Somewhat agree Agree Strongly agree 1. At this moment, in my life outside of teaching, I keep a regular journal to record my daily thoughts and activities. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 2. While on field courses, I keep a regular journal to record my daily thoughts and activities. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 3. I plan on keeping a journal in the future. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 4. I provide structured time during field courses for journaling. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 5. I provide instruction in/examples of creative journal entries to my students. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 6. It seems like my students write the majority of their entries at the end of the course shortly before they had to submit the journal for review. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 7. I think that writing in journals is a helpful way to encourage reflection on field courses. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8. It is difficult for me to find time to write in my own journal during field courses. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 9. I do not make regular entries during field courses. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10. My students make entries about the day-to-day events and happenings (where they were, what they did, weather, etc.). 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 11. In my students’ journals, they try to make connections between their experiences on the course and their “every-day life.” 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 12. My students make entries about personal growth and development. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 13. My students do not make entries about the group dynamics that were happening. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 14. My students make entries about the environment and about sense of place. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 15. In my students’ journals, they are unable to make connections between material they have learned in other university classes and their experience in this field course. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 16. My students draw maps of where they were. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 17. My students have other students and instructors do “guest entries” in their journals. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 18. My students make drawings in their journals. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 19. My students do not write poetry in their journals. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 20. I give students supplies to use for journaling while on field courses (e.g., crayons, markers, tape, glue, etc.) 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 21. I think journals are a useful evaluative tool for assessing learning in university courses. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Irrelevant Strongly disagree Disagree Somewhat disagree Neutral Somewhat agree Agree Strongly agree 19 22. My students only report factual information in their journal entries. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 23. My students avoid writing about certain things because they know that the journal is going to be reviewed. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 24. My students’ journal entries synthesize, evaluate or make connections between/among theories and concepts. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 25. I think that journals are too personal to be reviewed. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 26. I provide a mid-course check-in with my students to ensure that they are on the right track with their journals. 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 27. It seems as though my students end up writing “what the instructor wanted.” 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 28. How many years have you been a university/college professor? _____ 29. What is your gender? _____ Male _____ Female 30. What is your age? _____ 31. How many courses of all types do you teach per year? _____ i. In what percentage of all your courses do you ask students to write journals? (e.g., 1 out of 5 courses = 20%) _____ 32. How many courses do you teach per year that include a field component? _____ i. In what percentage of your courses that include a field component do you ask students to write journals? 20 Appendix B Questions for Focus Group with Faculty 1. Tell us about when you’ve asked students to journal in university courses. a. What do you like about having students journal for university courses? b. What do you dislike about having students journal for university courses? 2. What do your students write about when you ask them to journal for courses? a. Do they make links between the course and their field experience? b. Do they make links between their field experience and professional development? c. Do they make links between their field experience and other courses? d. Do they connect practical experience with theory/stuff they’ve learned in books/lecture? e. Why or why not for each and explain. 3. How do you evaluate journals? Should they be evaluated at all? How much of your final mark is the journal worth? 4. What are the biggest barriers to journaling on field courses? a. Probes about time: i. Structured time in field? ii. Enough time? iii. When are students writing? b. Activities and physical environment (i.e., dogsledding, winter, rain). 5. How creative are your students when they journal? a. What factors inhibit their creativity? Why? b. What factors increase their creativity? Why? c. Do you feel students can be creative and still meet your requirements/expectations? d. Do your students use special materials/supplies when they journal? (e.g., glue, tape, colored markers, pencils, and crayons). i. Do your students add other items to their journals? (e.g., photos, stickers, cutouts, etc.). ii. Do your students decorate the cover/outside of their journals? 6. Are your students proud of their journals when they are done writing it? a. What about their journals makes them proud? b. What about their journals are they not proud of? c. Does your feedback affect how proud students are of their journals? 7. What types of feedback do you give as an evaluator? a. Written comments? b. Personal meeting time to go through it together? 8. Do you feel students write differently for different evaluators? Why? (Trust, previous experience with instructor, whether or not evaluator was in field with you). 9. What is your concept of “good journaling behavior?” a. Do you or your field staff model this behavior? b. Do other faculty members model this behavior? c. What would make it easier to encourage students to have good journaling behavior? 10. Gender differences: a. (How) do men and women differ in their perceptions and experience of journaling? Why? b. Does it make a difference if the student is the opposite gender than you? 21 11. What do you think students need to journal successfully? 12. Students have told use they’d like to learn more about journaling. What do you think are important things for students to learn about journaling for university courses? 
work_fp4xiihxmnblzjkxwsvtlo4eyu	----	“These French Canadian of the Woods are Half-Wild Folk”: Wilderness, Whiteness, and Work in North America, 1840–1955 Jason L. Newton In 1853 the Brown Company was a small water-powered sawmill in Berlin, New Hampshire, but by the turn of the century it had become a highly suc- cessful lumber and paper-processing company which made some of the largest timber cuts in the Northeast US.1 Its success depended largely on the French Canadian immigrant labourers employed to cut and drive logs. The company found that these workers could be hired cheaply, worked long hours, and, perhaps most importantly, it regarded them as innately suited for logging work. According to company officials, French Canadians were of a “hardy type, accustomed to the work in the bush, such as portaging, running rapids, etc., … [and were] as a rule, pretty high-grade men.” The French Canadian affinity for logging work was recognized all over North America. Adirondack scholar Alfred Donaldson wrote in the 1920s that these people “seemed naturally endowed with the agility, recklessness, and immunity to exposure that must combine to make them expert. They have always predominated as a race in the lumbering operations.” The French from “the settlements,” one Canadian sociologist wrote, “[have] the lure … of the woods tingling in their blood down through the generations.”2 1. William Robinson Brown, Our Forest Heritage: A History of Forestry and Recreation in New Hampshire (Concord: New Hampshire Historical Society, 1958), 187; James Elliott Defebaugh, History of the Lumber Industry of America (Chicago: American Lumberman, 1906), 70. 2. “First Annual Conference of the Woods Department,” Berlin Historical Society (1903), 47, 43; Brown, Our Forest Heritage, 241, 317; Edmund W. Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man: A Study of research note / note de recherche Jason L. Newton, “‘These French Canadian of the Woods are Half-Wild Folk’: Wilderness, Whiteness, and Work in North America, 1840–1955,” Labour/Le Travail 77 (Spring 2016): 121–150. 122 / l abour/le tr avail 77 From 1850 to 1930 one million Québécois migrated to the US, pushed by rapid population growth, a shortage of good agricultural land, and slow industrial development in their home country. By the 1870s, new rail lines, specifically the Grand Trunk, Québec Central, and the Canadian Pacific accelerated their immigration. By 1901 almost one quarter of the entire population of Québec moved to New England. Ninety-two per cent of these immigrants settled in urban areas in the “border states or in states immedi- ately south of them.”3 Even though most settled in urban areas, in the forests along the border and in inland lumber regions of New England and New York there were logging camps composed entirely of French Canadian workers.4 By 1890, a congressional report found that “American farmers’ sons no longer follow wood chopping for a business, and their places have been filled by the French Canadians.”5 In 1900, 33.6 per cent of New England “woodchoppers, Work and Pay in the Camps of Canada, 1903–1914 (1928; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1972), 95–96. 3. Stephen J. Hornsby, Richard William Judd, and Michael J. Hermann, Historical Atlas of Maine (Orono: University of Maine Press, 2015), plate 42; Yves Roby, “The Economic Evolution of Quebec and the Emigrant (1850–1929),” in Claire Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks: A Collection of Essays on the Franco-American Experience in New England (Worcester: Assumption College, Institut français, 1996), 7; Marcus Lee Hansen, and John Bartlet Brebner, The Mingling of the Canadian and American Peoples. Vol. 1, Historical (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1940), 180–181; Gerard J. Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage in New England (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1986), 52–53; Gary Gerstle, Working- Class Americanism: the Politics of Labor in a Textile City, 1914–1960 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 21; Bruno Ramirez and Yves Otis, Crossing the 49th Parallel: Migration from Canada to the United States, 1900–1930 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001), 1; Victor Bushey (b. 1900) interview by Sue Dauphinee, 1970, p. 719069, transcript, Lumberman’s Life Collection, Maine Folklife Center, University of Maine at Orono (hereafter llc, mfc). 4. Some evidence for the high percentage of French Canadians in lumber camps can be found in Raymond J. Smith and Samuel B. Locke, “A Study of the Lumber Industry of Northern Maine,” Master’s thesis, University of Maine Orono, 1908, 13; David Nathan Rogers, “Lumbering in Northern Maine,” Master’s thesis, University of Maine Orono, 1906, 25; William James Henry Miller, James Plummer Poole, and Harlan Hayes Sweetser, “A Lumbering Report of Work on Squaw Mountain Township, Winter of 1911–1912,” Master’s thesis, University of Maine Orono, 1912, 14–15; Frank Carey (b. 1886), interview by Rita Swidrowski, 1970, p. 6980117, transcript, llc, mfc; Andrew Chase (b. 1888) interview by Linda Edgerly, 1971, p. 6970094, transcript, llc, mfc; John F. Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” First Biennial Report of the Department of Labor and Industry (Waterville: Sentinel Publishing, 1912), 220; Maine Department of Labor and Industry and Maine Division of Research and Statistics, “Working Conditions in Lumber and Pulpwood Camps August 1955– March 1956” (1956), Labor Standards Documents, Paper 313; Ferris Meigs, The Santa Clara Lumber Company, Vol. 1, (unpublished manuscript, typeset 1941) Santa Clara Collection, Adirondack Museum, Blue Mountain Lake, New York (hereafter AdkM). 5. United States Senate, Report of the Select Committee on Immigration and Naturalization: and Testimony Taken by the Committee on Immigration of the Senate and the Select Committee on Immigration and Naturalization of the House of Representatives Under Concurrent Resolution of March 12, 1890 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1891), 324. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 123 lumbermen [or] raftsmen” were French Canadian immigrants and the per- centage was much higher in the northern portion of the region. Their affinity for the woods made them useful for specific tasks in other rural industries as well. On railroad grades, one sociologist found, the French “prefers to be in the vanguard. The space and freedom of the trail and water routes appeal to him … assisting with ready axe to erect the big log company camps.” When it came to technical work, however, the experts claimed they were useless. 6 These com- ments on French Canadian loggers are evidence of how the perceived racial hierarchies that were constructed in the US by academics, government, and business officials pushed immigrant workers into specific industries based on their perceived racial characteristics. These rural immigrant workers were especially vulnerable to exploita- tion. They were isolated on wilderness tracts, separated from urban French Canadian communities and Church support. They were also unfamiliar with the English language and American labour laws. In northern New York, the Emporium, Santa Clara, and A. Sherman lumber companies conspired to set wages lower for immigrant workers than native “white” workers. Referring to immigrant logging labour, one 1911 government report found that “there has probably existed in Maine the most complete system of peonage in the entire country.” The preference for French Canadian loggers in American camps evolved from an informal and exploitative cross-border contracting system in the 19th century into a federal government sponsored contract labour program in the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s. During the labour shortages of World War II, the Canadian and American governments allied to create a system which “bonded a specific number of Canadian woodsmen to their American employers for fixed terms.”7 Large paper and lumber companies utilized a mode of production known as “shacking,” in which entire “bonded” Canadian families were hired to go into an isolated forested area and produce logs on a piece rate in rough, dangerous conditions. A violation of child labour laws, shacking also often led to debt peonage.8 6. Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 96–97. 7. W.C. Sykes to C.H. Sisson, 1 May 1919; C.H. Sisson to W.C. Sykes, 2 May 1919; W.C. Sykes to C.H. Sisson, 3 May 1919, box 13; E.L. Stables to Mr. Sykes, Mr. Caflish and Mr. Turner, 7 November 1912, box 5, Emporium Forest Company Records, AdkM; William P. Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission: With Conclusions and Recommendations and Views of the Minority (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 447–448; Bill Parenteau, “Bonded Labor: Canadian Woods Workers in the Maine Pulpwood Industry, 1940–55,” Forest & Conservation History 37, 3 (1993): 113–115. 8. Stacy Warner Maddern “Bonded Labor and Migration, United States” in Immanuel Ness, ed., The Encyclopedia of Global Human Migration (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), 3; Fred Alliston Gilbert Papers, F.A. Glibert to G. Schenck, 20 December 1925, box 7, Correspondence, 1924–1925 Special Collections, Raymond H. Fogler Library, University of Maine; United States, Report of the Select Committee on Immigration and Naturalization, 322–325; United States, Importation of Canadian Bonded Labor: Hearings before the Subcommittee on Labor of the Committee on Labor and Public Welfare, United States Senate, Eighty-fourth Congress, First 124 / l abour/le tr avail 77 Italian immigrant workers were employed in the Canadian and American wilderness as well, but they rarely worked in logging camps. Logger Arnold Hall said that he only ever saw “one or … two Italians in the woods in my life. They don’t work in the woods much. Pick and shovels all right, but they don’t seem to go for the woods.” The Maine Department of Labor found that “Italians who work on our dams, railroads, and other construction opera- tions in the summer are not to be found in [logging] camps. It is too cold for them.” An Adirondack area newspaper from 1883 reported that “excepting the French-Canadians the Latins have an insurmountable aversion to the ax.”9 The supposed French Canadian affinity for logging work and odd exclusion of Italians exemplifies how North Americans in the late 19th and early 20th centuries connected their ideals about race with the realities of industrial work. By the early 20th century, eugenic and racial thinking had become “so pervasive … that it attained the state of common sense,” and experts asserted that even “economic virtues … [were] a function of race.”10 As “white” Northern Europeans pushed west to civilize supposedly free, wild land, industries in the East were “directed to attracting to their workshops people representing almost static civilization.”11 These immigrants from the “static civilizations” of Eastern and Southern Europe were considered a “mobile army of cheap labor,” and – in order to maximize industrial production – progressive thinkers con- structed racial taxonomies that dictated which races best fit different types of production.12 This extended beyond logging work. The American government Session, on S. Res. 98, A Resolution to Authorize a Study of the Policy and Practice of the United States with Respect to Permitting Bonded Laborers from Canada to Enter and Work in the United States (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1955), 56. 9. Arnold Hall (b. 1892) interview by William Bonsall, 1970, p. 580038, transcript, llc, mfc; Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” 220; “Among the Woodcutters,” Chateaugay Record (Chateaugay, NY), 11 May 1883. 10. Daylanne K. English, Unnatural Selections: Eugenics in American Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2004), 1, 33; Edward Alsworth Ross, Foundations of Sociology (New York: Macmillan Company, 1905), 377; Matthew Frye Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color: European Immigrants and the Alchemy of Race (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998), 88; Nell Irvin Painter, The History of White People (New York: W.W. Norton, 2010), 252; Thomas F. Gossett, Race: The History of an Idea in America (Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1963); Reginald Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny: The Origins of American Racial Anglo-Saxonism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1981), 156–157. 11. Theresa Schmid McMahon, Social and Economic Standards of Living (Boston: D.C. Heath, 1925), 134. 12. Gunther Peck shows that bosses and labour agents used race to help decide what groups would do different types of labour. There were particularly large racial divisions in skilled vs. unskilled positions. Gunther Peck, Reinventing Free Labor: Padrones and Immigrant Workers in the North American West, 1880–1930 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 166–169; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 137–138. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 125 found regular patterns in the type of work that different immigrant groups engaged in: The Austrians have gone principally into construction work and to the iron ore fields. The Finns have been furnished with about the same class of labor. The Greeks and Italians almost without exception have gone into section work for some railroad system. The Scandinavians and Americans have gone into almost every kind of work, but the largest percentage of them have gone into the logging camps.… The Poles and Bulgarians, almost without exception, have gone into construction work.… The Cuban and Spanish races are employed exclusively in the manufacture of cigars and tobacco … North and South Italians are most extensively employed in silk dyeing, railroad and other construction work, bitu- minous coal mining, and clothing manufacturing … the Slovaks seem to be industrial laborers rather than farmers.13 Similar sentiments were expressed by Canadian academics and officials.14 Though historians of immigration now realize that there were several reasons for the consistent occupational streaming patterns illustrated above, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries these patterns were attributed to racial char- acteristics. At their most extreme, immigration policies that followed racial dictates led to draconian exclusionary laws, such as the Chinese exclusion acts in Canada and the US. In America before the 1924 Johnson Reed Act, however, less than two per cent of immigrants were denied entry. When immigrants were rejected, it was most often because it was presumed they would become a drain on the nation’s economy – because they couldn’t work.15 Racial thinking 13. William P. Dillingham, Immigrants in Industries: Part 21; Diversified Industries, Vol. 2 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 342. 14. Canadian sociologist Edmund W. Bradwin wrote “[e]ach nationality on a frontier work seems to fit into some particular form of activity: the Slavs … become laborers’ helpers, the English-speaking delight in machinery, the Finn … in blasting … [Italians] work with cement.…” Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 110. 15. The US passed a Chinese exclusion act in 1882, and Canada passed one in 1885 and another in 1923. Even exclusion policies were tied to economics. The argument was that Chinese bare minimum subsistence would lower the living standards of all Americans. Lawrence B. Glickman, A Living Wage: American Workers and the Making of Consumer Society (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997), 86; McMahon, Social and Economic Standards of Living, 131–155; Lucy E. Salyer, Laws Harsh As Tigers: Chinese Immigrants and the Shaping of Modern Immigration Law (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995), 12, 18; Rosanne Currarino, “‘Meat vs. Rice’ The Ideal of Manly Labor and Anti-Chinese Hysteria in 19th- century America,” Men and Masculinities 9, 4 (2007): 476–490; Vincent J. Cannato, American Passage: The History of Ellis Island (New York: Harper, 2009), 6, 11; Margot Canaday, The Straight State: Sexuality and Citizenship in Twentieth-Century America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), 39, 95; Mae M. Ngai, Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004), 77; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 167. In his analysis of this rhetoric Jacobson found immigrants were judged by their “relative merits.” Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 8–9, 69, 78. Historians disagree on the extent to which “irrational” nativism influenced American exclusionary and restrictive immigration policy. Oscar Handlin and John Higham argued that, while economic exploitation was a factor in immigrant exploitation, racism was the primary 126 / l abour/le tr avail 77 was a major factor in deciding how the tens of millions of immigrants who were allowed into the country were treated and directed once they got here. Reflecting popular opinion, labour leaders like Samuel Gompers, Terence Powderly, and Frank P. Sargent (the latter two of whom also doubled as public immigration officials) were against allowing immigrants of questionable “whiteness” to compete with real white Americans for jobs. If questionably white people were allowed into the country, some justification was needed for why they should work the type of undesirable jobs that American labourers were leaving: monotonous factory jobs and grueling manual work like logging. The argument not only involved a debate over the low standard of living of immigrant workers, but also whether their labour was, in a fundamental way, worth less than real white peoples’ labour. One way to justify routing immi- grants into demeaning, low-paying jobs was by interpreting the valuable types of labour – clearing and civilizing supposedly wild land, for example – as work that only real white people could do.16 culprit. In Nation by Design, Aristide Zolberg argues that US immigration policy dipped in and out of periods of irrational nativism. Mae M. Ngai, “Oscar Handlin and Immigration Policy Reform in the 1950s and 1960s,” Journal of American Ethnic History, 32, 3 (Spring 2013): 64; Aristide R. Zolberg, A Nation by Design: Immigration Policy in the Fashioning of America (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009), 6–7; John Higham, Strangers in the Land: Patterns of American Nativism, 1860–1925 (New York: Atheneum, 1963). Award-winning historian Mae Ngai has added evidence to Handlin’s and Higham’s argument. Her recent Impossible Subjects shows how US policies discriminated against and exploited Asian and Mexican people in order to establish a “desired composition … of the nation” which was European and white. According to Ngai immigration laws like the Johnson Reed Act “put European and non-European immigrant groups on different trajectories of racial formation” The bracero program was an extension of that thinking. It was, Ngai argues, “imported colonialism” and based on “the subordination of racialized foreign bodies,” a legacy of “[w] estern expansion” and notions of “Anglo-Saxon superiority.” The bracero program and the bonded labour system relied on similar legal precedent and so the exploitation of seemingly white French Canadian immigrants in non-western states challenges Ngai’s understanding of immigration policy and labour. Mae M. Ngai, Impossible Subjects, 5, 13, 94. Robert F. Zeidel’s Immigrants, Progressives, and Exclusion Politics: The Dillingham Commission, 1900–1917 found that American immigration policies were less reliant on racial assumptions that Handlin, Higham, and Ngai assume. Instead, Zeidel argues that immigration policy was designed to allow for maximum economic productivity in American industry. The argument posed in this article is that the imperatives of industrial capitalism were difficult to disentangle from the racial thinking. Robert F. Zeidel, Immigrants, Progressives, and Exclusion Politics: The Dillingham Commission, 1900–1927 (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2004), 5. 16. David R. Roediger, The Wages of Whiteness: Race and the Making of the American Working Class (London: Verso, 1991); Philip S. Foner, History of the Labor Movement in the United States Vol. 3 (New York: International Publishers, 1964), 256–258; Luis L.M. Aguiar and Tina I.L. Marten, “Shimmering White Kelowna and The Examination of Painless White Privilege in the Hinterland Of British Columbia,” in Audrey Kobayashi, Laura Cameron, and Andrew Baldwin, eds., Rethinking the Great White North: Race, Nature, and the Historical Geographies of Whiteness in Canada (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2011), 136. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 127 In his book Barbarian Virtues, Matthew Jacobson focuses on how Americans created and reacted to what he calls the “image” of the immigrant, “[seem- ingly] unshakable demonstrations of this or that ethnological truth about this nation and the nature of the world’s diverse populations.” One of the many ways that these images were formed was through the observation of immi- grant workers as they attempted to transform wild land into arable or valuable land, an activity that proved a worker’s degree of whiteness and aptitude for citizenship.17 Wilderness has been defined by Americans in a number of ways. Areas designated wilderness received that designation by the fictions that were created about them. In the narrative of industrial capitalism of the late 19th and early 20th century, before preservationism became a mainstream cultural phenomenon, most North Americans of European ancestry thought of wilder- ness as an isolated tract of unproductive land that required improvement to become valuable or productive. Influential conservationist and forestry expert Gifford Pinchot was famous for saying “wilderness is waste.” In this utilitar- ian view, the pastoral landscape was the desirable landscape.18 Immigrants of questionable whiteness who proved capable at improving wilderness land might be more than just expendable industrial workers; they might have the ability to become independent agriculturalists, the bedrock of American democracy. Nativism was built into this tautology: any person descendant from a group with a long history of free citizenship in the country was pre- sumed to have descended from pioneering, wilderness conquering people and was therefore de facto white. The constructed history of the white conquest of the American wilderness explains how wilderness became a space exclu- sively for white middle-class men in the first two decades of the 20th century. Observing immigrants’ adeptness at creating civilization on wilderness land allowed state, federal, and business officials to judge their whiteness and 17. Matthew Frye Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues: The United States Encounters Foreign Peoples at Home and Abroad, 1876–1917 (New York: Hill and Wang, 2001), 97; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 18, 166, 169–170; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 31; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 253; Glickman, A Living Wage, 25; Joyce Appleby, “Commercial Farming and the ‘Agrarian Myth’ in the Early Republic,” Journal of American History 68, 4 (1982): 833–849; Rossell Dave, “Tended Images: Verbal and Visual Idolatry of Rural Life in America, 1800–1850,” New York History 69, 4 (1988): 425–440; David Danbom, Born in the Country: A History of Rural America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995). 18. Quoted in Richard White, “From Wilderness to Hybrid Landscapes: The Cultural Turn in Environmental History,” in Douglas Cazaux Sackman, ed., A Companion to American Environmental History (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2014), 185. The government equated wilderness land with idle land and worthless land. William P. Dillingham et al, Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 1 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 95, 359, 263; Louis S. Warren, “Paths Toward Home: Landmarks of the Field in Environmental History,” in Sackman, ed., A Companion to American Environmental History, 11; William Cronon, “The Trouble with Wilderness; Or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature,” in William Cronon, ed., Uncommon Ground: Toward Reinventing Nature (New York: W.W. Norton, 1995), 69–91. 128 / l abour/le tr avail 77 sort immigrants into different types of work based on their displayed racial characteristics.19 Because of the messiness of the “racial sciences” there were people who were “in between” white and non-white, groups whose whiteness remained in question even after being tested by wilderness work. This was where the French Canadians fit into the scheme and these racial discourses are the primary reason they were exploited in the woods for more than a century.20 This type of racial thinking was applied to all immigrant groups coming into America and was responsible for other ethnically based labour systems like the Italian padrone system, tenement sweating in New York City and, by the 1940s and 1950s, federally sanctioned guest worker arraignments like the bracero Mexican farm worker program.21 The discourses that formed about French Canadians in Northeastern logging camps were distinctly rural, however, and therefore have not been the target of historical investigation to the same extent as urban discourses on race and industry have been.22 This is unfortunate because until the 1920s most Canadians and Americans lived in the countryside where the transition to industrial capitalism often had its most dramatic effects.23 The images of immigrants in the rural Northeast had a profound effect on where foreign workers settled, how they were treated, and how they adapted to industrial capitalism. As Canadian social historian Béatrice Craig found, opinions on the French Canadians depended on “whether [writers] took their cue from Longfellow or Darwin.”24 Though this point was just an aside for Craig, it reveals an 19. Paul Outka, Race and Nature from Transcendentalism to the Harlem Renaissance (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 3, 31–33, 154; James Belich, Replenishing the Earth: The Settler Revolution and the Rise of the Anglo-World, 1783–1939 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). 20. The absence of black, Mexican, or other obviously “coloured” workers in the forests of the Northeast meant that the whiteness of new immigrant groups was scrutinized closely. Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 169; David R. Roediger, Working Toward Whiteness: How America’s Immigrants Became White: the Strange Journey from Ellis Island to the Suburbs (New York: Basic Books, 2005), 13. 21. Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 16–18; Deborah Cohen, Braceros: Migrant Citizens and Transnational Subjects in the United States and Mexico (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010); Noel Ignatiev, How the Irish Became White (New York: Routledge, 1995); Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color; 31. On ideas of immigrants’ low standard of living driving down wages see Lawrence B. Glickman, A Living Wage, 78–91. 22. Those historians who have discussed industrialization, immigration, and whiteness have usually done so using the American West or the Southwest as their setting. See Peck, Reinventing Free Labor; Elliott Robert Barkan, From All Points: America’s Immigrant West, 1870s–1952 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007); Ava F. Kahn, ed., Jewish Life in the American West: Perspectives on Migration, Settlement, and Community (Los Angeles: Autry Museum of Western Heritage in association with University of Washington Press, Seattle, 2002). 23. Sven Beckert, Empire of Cotton: A Global History (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2015), 441. 24. Beatrice Craig, Backwoods Consumers and Homespun Capitalists: The Rise of a Market “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 129 important change in the way that North Americans thought about whiteness, wilderness, and work. In the 1840s, as an influx of Irish, German, and Canadian immigrants began to complicate the US understanding of whiteness, a dis- tinctive rhetoric emerged that allowed Americans to group immigrants into different racial categories.25 The first section of this article discusses French Canadian images in literature from the 1840s to 1893. In these works, racial differences were noted by the authors and were often an important part of the text, but the causes of these differences remained obscure to the audi- ence. Ideas about whiteness began to change as Darwinian interpretations of human evolution merged with the American fixation on a vanishing frontier, and concern over the effects of industrialization – a time most clearly denoted by Frederick Jackson Turner’s presentation of “The Significance of the Frontier in American History” in 1893.26 From the 1890s into the 1930s, the images of French Canadians and other immigrants were elucidated by academics and government officials as a scientific racial consensus solidified in the minds of most Americans. This is the topic of part two. The lingering effects of the racialized French Canadian image were still apparent in the 1950s when the bonded labour and shacking system became well documented. More than a century before the bonded labour system, however, the French Canadian image was perpetuated by an influential American writer living in a shack in Massachusetts. Literature and the Early French Canadian Image One of the few people who visited Henry Thoreau at Walden Pond was the French Canadian woodchopper and post maker Alek Therien, a character who represented nearly all the attributes of the French Canadian image before 1893. In Walden (1854), as in the other works discussed in this section, the French Canadian image depicts a people who are unperturbed by modernity and almost indistinguishable from the trees they work among. Though his name is never given in the original text, Therien is introduced to the reader as a “true … Paphlagonian man,” a reference to an ancient region along the Culture in Eastern Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009), 148. 25. On increased Canadian migration into the US in the 1840s see James P. Allen, “Migration Fields of French Canadian Immigrants to Southern Maine,” Geographical Review 62, 3 (1972): 369; Ralph Dominic Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England, 1840–1900: A Geographic Analysis,” PhD Dissertation, University of Wisconsin – Madison, 1968, 132; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 7, 42–43; Roediger, The Wages of Whiteness, 118; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 166, 225. 26. The presentation of the Turner thesis also coincides with a period of extensive French Canadian migration to New England. Yves Roby, The Franco-Americans of New England: Dreams and Realities (Sillery: Septentrion, 2005), 12; Carl N. Degler, In Search of Human Nature: The Decline and Revival of Darwinism in American Social Thought (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991). 130 / l abour/le tr avail 77 Black Sea that was “rugged and mountainous with dense forests.” Dressed in homespun cloth, “a more simple and natural man it would be hard to find,” Thoreau wrote. Therien was a wage worker who owned no land and did not have the ambition to become a proprietor. He lived in a log house in the woods, and admitted to Thoreau that if he could live off of hunting alone, he would. He imbibed nature by drinking spruce, hemlock, or checkerberry tea, and by taking balls of bark from trees and chewing them. “In physical endurance and contentment,” Thoreau wrote, “he was cousin to the pine and the rock. I asked him once if he was not sometimes tired at night, after working all day; and he answered … ‘Gorrappit, I never was tired in my life.’” Thoreau wrote that “in him the animal man chiefly was developed.” He was a skillful woodsman capable of making more posts in a day than the average person. When chop- ping a tree his cuts were clean, level, and close to the ground, and his cordwood was piled right. Though attentive to his work, Therien didn’t have the “anxiety and haste” of Yankee workers. When working he was in a constant state of elation. To the French Canadian, pleasure and work were the same thing. “I can enjoy myself well enough here chopping,” he reportedly said. “I want no better sport.”27 Therien was almost the embodiment of Thoreau’s ideal austere life, a person who rejected modern civilization for the natural world. He was so “simple,” however, that he was unable to engage in the type of deep thought that was so important for Thoreau.28 For Americans in the middle of the 19th century, the French Canadian simplemindedness, connection to nature, and lighthearted passivity were partially caused by their devout Catholicism: [his] strength skill and endurance came at the expense of intelligence, a flaw bolstered by his education.… He had been instructed only in that innocent and ineffectual way in which the Catholic priests teach the aborigines, by which the pupil is never educated to the degree of consciousness, but only to the degree of trust and reverence, and a child is not made a man, but kept a child. 29 27. Henry David Thoreau and Jeffrey S. Cramer, Walden: A Fully Annotated Edition (1854; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), 139, 143, 141. 28. Robert W. Bradford, “Thoreau and Therien,” American Literature 34, 4 (1963): 501; Edward Watts, In This Remote Country: French Colonial Culture in the Anglo-American Imagination, 1780–1860 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 48; Thoreau and Cramer, Walden, 142, 143, 144–145; David E. Shi, The Simple Life: Plain Living and High Thinking in American Culture (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 147–149; Philip Cafaro, Thoreau’s Living Ethics: Walden and the Pursuit of Virtue (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2004), 36, 37, 87, 118, 119, 210, 211. 29. Thoreau and Cramer, Walden, 139–144. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 131 In his survey of French Canadians in early American literature, Edward Watts found that the French were depicted as a group “meant to be governed, not to govern themselves.”30 In Thoreau’s early life, the racial sciences were in a nascent state. The supe- riority of the Anglo-Saxon-Teutonic people was commonly understood, but hierarchies of racial characteristics that extended beyond a dichotomy of white and black were, according to historian Reginald Horsman, “confused” and “jumbled.” There was also no “sharp separation between a precise scientific racialism and literary racial nationalism,” Horsman found.31 Understanding Thoreau’s influences will explain the type of sources that perpetuated immi- grant images for American audiences before 1893. Thoreau read John Springer’s Forest Life and Forest Trees (1851), a popular account of logging labour in which French Canadians were represented as “demi-savages” with a propensity for woodwork.32 Like other Americans, Thoreau likely read Alexis de Tocqueville’s works, including “Two Weeks in the Wilderness,” in which the French settlers are “carefree,” “cheerful,” men of “instinct” who submit to “life in the wild.” “He clings to the land,” De Tocqueville wrote, “and rips from the life in the wild everything he can snatch from it.”33 One text that had a strong influ- ence on how Americans thought of French speaking Canadians was Henry W. Longfellow’s epic poem Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie (1847), a work that his- torian Naomi Griffiths found “was the most powerful cultural tool available to those constructing an Acadian identity.” Although French Canadians and Acadians were distinct people, many Americans conflated the two groups. In Evangeline, the idyllic “forest primeval” of Acadia was the birthplace and a safe haven for the French who were forcefully expelled by the British. The French people were viewed as part of the landscape, their lives gliding on “like rivers that water the woodlands.” Like the landscape, these people’s society yielded slowly to time. The pine trees sang the tale of Evangeline.34 The Therien character also reflected circulating ideas of the familial and communal connection between the French and First Nations people. This connection partially explained their “swarthy” complexion and affinity with 30. Watts, In this Remote Country, 118. 31. Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 159, 301. 32. John S. Springer, Forest Life and Forest Trees (1851; New York: Harper, 1856), 246–247. 33. Alexis de Tocqueville, quoted in Watts, In This Remote Country, 40–41. 34. The first printing of Evangeline in 1847 sold out and in the following century the poem went through 270 editions and was translated into 130 languages. Naomi Griffiths, “‘Longfellow’s Evangeline’: The Birth and Acceptance of a Legend,” Acadiensis 11, 2 (1982): 28, 37; Andrew J.B. Johnston, “The Call of the Archetype and the Challenge of Acadian History,” French Colonial History 5, 1 (2004): 78; Eric L. Haralson “Mars in Petticoats: Longfellow and Sentimental Masculinity,” 19th-Century Literature 51, 3 (1996): 343, 344; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie (1847; Boston: Leach, Shewell, & Sanborn, 1896), 15–16; Watts, In this Remote Country, 88. 132 / l abour/le tr avail 77 the forest. Thoreau read James Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales, in which the French and First Nations are not only allies, but also people who share a connection with the forest. Early and mid-century nonfiction works by Zadok Cramer, Francis Parkman, and George Bancroft furthered this idea. According to Parkman, “the French became savages” in early America.35 “Hundreds [of French settlers] betook themselves to the forest, never more to return,” Parkman wrote in his The Conspiracy of Pontiac (1851). After his stay at Walden, Thoreau visited Therien’s homeland and wrote A Yankee in Canada (1850). He found that, like the First Nations people, “the French … had become savage.”36 There was truth to the history of French and First Nations linkage. Historian Richard White found that “there is no need to romanticize this rela- tionship … [French and First Nations’] knowledge of each other’s customs and their ability to live together … had no equivalent among the British.” Even though most French Canadians were not of mixed heritage, by 1911 this belief was so widespread that the United States Immigration Commission felt the need to address it in a Dictionary of Races, stating “the French Canadian race is not widely intermingled with Indian blood, as some misinformed persons think.” At mid-century, American attention was fixated on the expansion of Anglo-Saxon peoples westward and on the domination and disappearance of Native peoples. Like the seemingly weak Mexicans that the US fought a war against in the late 1840s, the French Canadians were assumed to be spoiling their bloodline by intermingling with First Nation peoples. People who were associated with First Nation blood were on the wrong side of history. They would need to assimilate or be destroyed.37 35. Wayne Franklin, James Fenimore Cooper: The Early Years (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007), xxix; Allan M. Axelrad, “Historical Contexts of The Last of the Mohicans: The French and Indian War, and Mid-1820s America,” paper presented at the 17th Cooper Seminar, “James Fenimore Cooper: His Country and His Art at the State University of New York College at Oneonta,” July 2009, accessed, 20 August 2014, http://external.oneonta.edu/cooper/articles/ suny/2009suny-axelrad.html; James Fenimore Cooper, The Deerslayer (1841; New York: Dodd, Mead, 1952), 23, 41; James Fenimore Cooper, The Pathfinder (1840; New York, NY: Dodd, Mead, 1953), 164; Zadok Cramer, The Navigator (1801; Pittsburgh: Cramer & Spear, 1824), 44, 254, 388; Fulmer Mood and Frederick J. Turner, “An Unfamiliar Essay by Frederick J. Turner,” Minnesota History 18, 4 (1937): 393; Peter Cook, “Onontio Gives Birth: How the French in Canada Became Fathers to their Indigenous Allies, 1645–1673,” Canadian Historical Review 96, 2 (2015): 165–193. 36. Quoted in Watts, In this Remote Country, 72; Henry David Thoreau, A Yankee in Canada with Anti-Slavery Reform Papers (1866; Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1866), 60, 61; Charles Hallock, “Aroostook and the Madawaska,” The Harper’s Monthly 20 (October 1863): 695. 37. Richard White, The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Region, 1650–1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 60–75, 316; Carolyn Podruchny, Making the Voyageur World: Travelers and Traders in the North American Fur Trade (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2007), 1, 2, 71, 98; William P. Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 29; Jean Charlemagne Bracq, The Evolution of French Canada (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1924), 206; Madison Grant, The Conquest of a Continent; or, The Expansion of Races in America “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 133 The French Canadian connection to nature and First Nation peoples was reinforced by the popular image of the French voyageurs and coureurs de bois, frontier workers who defined the early Canadian experience in the wilderness. Importantly, 19th-century texts on the voyageurs depicted them as blending into, rather than civilizing, the frontier. The French entered the woods not to “clear and colonize,” but to range. The only enduring marks they left on the land were “names upon the map.” Thoreau wrote that they had “overrun the great extent of the country … without improving it.”38 One American author, reflecting on the settlement of the US wrote, “if these countries had contin- ued to belong to the French, the population would certainly have been more gay than the present American race … but it would have had less comforts and wealth, and ages would have passed away, before man had become master of those regions.…” Clearly American thinkers were quick to forget the real French contribution to the settling of North America when it supported their narrative of Anglo-Saxon superiority. French Canadians, like Native people, were a “vanishing” part of the landscape. Unlike Native peoples, however, French Canadians remained valuable to the growing American economy because, as Therien demonstrated, they fit into a specific industrial niche.39 The idea that French Canadians were a people who uniquely fit into wood- work was a common theme in late 19th- and early 20th-century popular fiction. A romanticized view of the arboreal and agrarian life of the French Canadians was part of la survivance, a repatriation and cultural preservation movement which gained momentum after the accelerated influx of French Canadians into the US in the late 19th century. A popular example of la sur- vivance literature was Louis Hémon’s 1916 book Maria Chapdelaine.40 In the book, clearing the forest was the passion of these people: “‘Make land!’ Rude phrase of the country, summing up in two words all the heart-breaking labor that transforms the incult woods, barren of sustenance, to smiling fields.…”41 (New York: C. Scribner’s Sons, 1933), 310–311; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 183, 216, 240, 241, 272. 38. Mood and Turner, “An Unfamiliar Essay,” 395; Watts, In This Remote Country, 37; Konrad Gross, “The Voyageurs: Images of Canada’s Archetypal Frontiersmen,” in Hena Maes-Jelinek, Gordon Collier, Geoffrey V. Davis, and Anna Rutherford, eds., A Talent(Ed) Digger: Creations, Cameos, and Essays in Honour of Anna Rutherford (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1996), 411–422; Thoreau, Yankee in Canada, 62; Béatrice Craig and Maxime Dagenais, The Land in Between: The Upper St. John Valley, Prehistory to World War I (Gardiner: Tilbury House, 2009), 48. 39. Quoted in Watts, In This Remote Country, 15, 8–9; Thoreau, Yankee in Canada, 62; See also Zadok Cramer, The Navigator; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 218; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 156, 198, 200, 230, 291. 40. The book was translated into English multiple times and adapted into several movies. Louis Hémon, Maria Chapdelaine, trans. W.H. Blake (1913; Toronto: MacMillan, 1921), 45; Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 34, 158. 41. Hémon, Maria Chapdelaine, 46; Paul Socken, “Maria Chapdelaine” in Eugene Benson and William Toye, eds., The Oxford Companion to Canadian Literature. (Oxford: Oxford 134 / l abour/le tr avail 77 Félix-Antoine Savard’s popular Menaud Maître-draveur, depicts the forests and rivers of Québec under the thrall of an Anglo-Canadian lumberman and the French take their place in the river crews, using their innate skill to bring the logs to market. There is a long list of other Canadian authors who employed similar depictions of French Canadian woodsmen.42 French Canadians are similarly depicted in American literature. In Jack London’s popular The Call of the Wild, the Québécois Francois and Perrault are idealized frontiersmen who are fundamentally important to the protagonist Buck’s reconnection with nature. Characters similar to Francois and Perrault appear in the pleth- ora of lumbermen novels and pulp fiction which were popular in the US from 1900 into the 1950s. In his famous The Blazed Trail (1902), Edward Stewart wrote that French supporting characters “typified the indomitable spirit of these conquers of a wilderness.” Similar characters are found in White’s other popular books and in Maine writer Holman Day’s forest fictions.43 Hard Race Science In the literary and fictional works written in the middle of the 19th century the French Canadian idiosyncrasies were thought to have been caused by their Catholicism, their intermingling with Native peoples, and their history University Press, 1997) accessed 27 August 2014, http://site.ebrary.com/lib/alltitles/docDetail. action?docID=10334814. 42. These include William Henry Drummond, Gilbert Parker, Cornelius Krieghoff, George Boucher, Rosarie Dion-Levesque, Reine Malouin, Camille Lessard, and Jacque Durcharme. Félix-Antoine Savard, Boss of the River (1937; Toronto: Ryerson Press, 1947); Jules Tessier “Menaud, Maître-draveur,” in Benson, and Toye, eds., The Oxford Companion to Canadian Literature; Armand Chartier, “Towards a History of Franco-American Literature: Some Considerations,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 295–306; Richard S. Sorrell, “‘History as a Novel, the Novel as History’: Ethnicity and the Franco American English Landguar Novel,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 361. 43. Jack London, The Call of the Wild (1903; New York: Macmillan, 1963), 17; Stewart Edward White, The Blazed Trail (New York: McClure, 1907), 13, 41, 46, 65. White’s other books with stereotypical French Canadian characters include The Westerners (New York: McClure, Phillips, 1901), Conjuror’s House: A Romance of the Free Forest (New York: McClure, Phillips, 1903) and The Forest (New York: Outlook Company, 1903). Day’s books include Joan of Arc of the North Woods (New York: Harper, 1922) and The Landloper: The Romance of a Man on Foot (New York: Harper, 1915). There are many other examples, including, Sara Ware Bassett, The Story of Lumber (Philadelphia: Penn Publishing Company, 1912); Levi Parker Wyman, The Golden Boys Among the Lumberjacks (New York: A.L. Burt, 1923); Stephen W. Meader, Lumberjack (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1934); Frank Gee Patchin, The Pony Rider Boys in New England: Or, An Exciting Quest in the Maine Wilderness (Philadelphia: H. Altemus, 1924); Capt. Charles A.J. Farrar, Through the Winds: A Record of Sport and Adventure in the Forests of New Hampshire and Maine (Boston: Estes & Lauriat, 1892); David C. Smith, “Virgin Timber: The Maine Woods as a Locale for Juvenile Fiction” in Richard S. Sprague, ed., A Handful of Spice: A Miscellany of Maine Literature and History (Orono: University of Maine Press, 1968), 194–195, 196. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 135 of work in the wilderness. There were few clues in these works as to why French Canadians were ostensibly predisposed to these activities. After the US census declared the official closing of the Western frontier in 1890 and Frederick Jackson Turner published his thesis on that topic in 1893, North American elites increasingly attempt to fit immigrants into a scientific “hierarchy of evo- lutionary economic stages,” which helped explain their behaviour. Just as the African American predisposition to slavery was supposedly a result of race, French Canadian Catholicism, affinity to the First Nations, and connection to the forest became, not the cause of racial difference, but the consequence.44 In this period the most useful tools to use in determining racial traits were not works of fiction (though these still helped perpetuate the images) but the social scientific disciplines of sociology, history, and anthropology.45 As the racial sciences developed, experts like anthropologist Franz Boas posited that peoples were shaped by their environment, and shaped their envi- ronment in turn as part of the progression of human evolution.46 Observing how different cultures were able to make civilization from wilderness land, historically and in the present, revealed their innate racial characteristics. Popular travel writer Richard Harding wrote in 1903 that “there is no more interesting question of the present day, than that of what is to be done with the world’s land which is laying unimproved, whether it shall go to the great power that is willing to turn it to account, or remain with its original owner, who fails to understand its value.” Supposedly “civilized” races used wild land to make a profit, and to bring forth culture and free government. Those who were controlled by nature, or lived in harmony with it, were more “savage.”47 Savage societies like the First Nations were wasteful because they did not create as much value from wilderness land as civilized people did. By not retaining the same amount of value from their labour as white people, lesser races were always working at a loss and could never be completely economi- cally independent. White races were more bodily efficient than inferior races, 44. Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues, 50–51, 145. Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), 31; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 48, 70; John S. Haller, Outcasts from Evolution; Scientific Attitudes of Racial Inferiority, 1859–1900 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1971). 45. In his Working Toward Whiteness Roediger argues that readers should be skeptical of any history that presents the racial thinking of the time as “elegant.” Peck calls the racial thinking of the time “unstable.” In retrospect it was clear that these were “messy” sciences but around the turn of the century there was a clear, collective attempt to make the racial sciences more precise. Roediger, Working Toward Whiteness, 7–8, 37; Painter, The History of White People, x; Ngai, Impossible Subjects, 33; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 169; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 6. 46. Roediger, Working Towards Whiteness, 68; Degler, In Search of Human Nature, 65. 47. Quoted in Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues, 112, 145, 171; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 7; Adam Kuper, The Reinvention of Primitive Society: Transformations of a Myth (London: Routledge, 2005); Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 113–114. 136 / l abour/le tr avail 77 a US government report found. The Germans, for example, were better able to “apply their industry and energy” than Southern Europeans.48 Racial char- acteristics, then, innately determined the type of professions to which racial groups were predisposed. In his popular Passing of the Great Race, Madison Grant discussed the “racial aptitudes” of different people: “The Alpine race is always and everywhere a race of peasants, an agricultural and never a maritime race.… The Nordics are, all over the world, a race of soldiers, sailors, adventur- ers and explorers, but above all, of rulers, organizers and aristocrats.”49 The history of North America as it was written by the “conservative evolu- tionist” and “progressive” historians of the late 19th and early 20th centuries supported these racial taxonomies. Proponents of the “germ theory” of histori- cal progression argued that, in the civilizing of the North American wilderness land, “the inherent superiority of the Anglo-Saxon … Germanic … Teutonic or the Aryan race was a common intellectual assumption of the day.” The “free land” of America was “an Anglo-Saxon theatre, an empire which only the ‘old stock’ Americans could have developed and in which the new immigrants played no part.” Theodore Roosevelt, Frederick Jackson Turner, Herbert Baxter Adams, Edward Perkins Channing, and George Bancroft all agreed that “when Germanic people were placed in a forest environment they tended instinc- tively to evolve … free political institutions” and economic success.50 It was the prerogative of true white people to bring about civilization wherever there was free wild land. Racial thinking of the time suggested that to civilize wilder- ness land a racial group needed three crucial characteristics: 1) to be bodily able, 2) to have familiarity (actually or hereditarily) with forest land, and 3) to be self-directing or have independent inclinations. These characteristics come up again and again in texts on race and wilderness. For example, Turner described these pioneering traits as “coarseness and strength combined with acuteness and inquisitiveness; that practical, inventive turn of mind, quick to find expedience; that masterful grasp of material things, lacking in the artistic but powerful to effect great ends; that restless, nervous energy; that dominant individualism.” The last attribute, individualism, was particularly important. 48. Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 1 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 424. 49. Grant, The Passing of the Great Race, 227–228. 50. Gilman M. Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” Agricultural History 32, 4 (1958): 259; Peter Novick, That Noble Dream: The “Objectivity Question” and the American Historical Profession (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 81; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 43; Gail Bederman, Manliness & Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880–1917 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 25; Bronwen J. Cohen, “Nativism and Western Myth: The Influence of Nativist Ideas on the American Self-image” Journal of American Studies 8, 1 (1974): 28–29; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 71, 206–207; Madison Grant, The Conquest of a Continent; Patricia Nelson Limerick, The Legacy of Conquest: The Unbroken Past of the American West (New York: W.W. Norton, 1987); Novick, That Noble Dream, 457. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 137 Even slaves could clear land under direction, but true white pioneers tamed the wilderness individually, civilized it, and eventually lorded over others who did the manual labour. Americans on Canadian frontier rail grades expressed their dominance by quickly rising up the ranks to become “pushers,” “drivers,” or “foremen-bullies.” “They take hold of a group of workers and get something done,” sociologist Edmund Bradwin wrote.51 The forest was a crucial part of creating civilization because it gave pio- neering races vast resources while also imposing a substantial barrier to weed out weaker peoples. According to Turner, “American democracy came from the forest.” When white people turned forest into farms, “culture” emerged. The axe was a metaphor for the advancement of civilization, but there was a presumed literal element to the metaphor. Only those capable of sustained manual labour and ingenuity were capable of creating civilization. Northern Europeans had a propensity for “unbroken forest land” and naturally avoided slavish, urban, industrial work.52 They were always owners and their own bosses. The Norwegian, for example had “never known the steamroller of feu- dalism.” The Scandinavian “insisted on getting his living in connection with soil, water and wood,” and looked for “good land rather than for land easy to subdue.” The German “chopped his homestead out of the densest woods” because, according to early sociologist Edward A. Ross, he knew “heavy forest growth proclaims rich soil.” Ross’ comments on the issue carried weight. A renowned academic, his popular audience widened in 1900 when he was fired from Stanford University for supporting Chinese exclusion, which, he argued, would prevent “race suicide” (a phrase he coined).53 51. Attribute number three was an economic and a political virtue. On the frontier, immigrants and citizens were making free markets and making free government at the same time. It is difficult to divide citizenship and economic viability into separate discursive categories like Jacobson seems to want in Whiteness of a Different Color, 72; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 166–169; Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 2, 175; Turner, The Frontier in American History, 37; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 98; Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 72. 52. Turner, The Frontier in American History (1920; Project Gutenberg, 2007), 154, accessed 7 May 2015, http://www.gutenberg.org/files/22994/22994-h/22994-h.htm#Page_157; Michael J. Pikus, “Chopping Away at the New World: The Metaphor of the Axe in The Prairie. The Axe as a Symbol of Destruction, in The Pioneers and The Prairie” (SUNY seminar: 2001) accessed 5 November 2015, http://external.oneonta.edu/cooper/articles/suny/2001suny-pikus. html; Cohen, “Nativism and Western Myth” 25; Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission, 547–549, 551; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 47. On the importance of the forest in the myths that propagated proper whiteness see Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 72, 75, 83, 108, 169, 281; Roderick Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976), 8–13; Della Hooke, Trees in Anglo-Saxon England: Literature, Lore and Landscape (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell Press, 2010). 53. Ross, The Old World in the New (1913; New York: Century, 1914), 82, 73–74, 52; Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 1 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 424; Cohen, “Nativism and Western Myth,” 37; Painter, The History of White People, 251–252; James C. Mohr, “Academic Turmoil and Public Opinion: 138 / l abour/le tr avail 77 The harshness of the American wilderness weeded out the weak, it was thought, forging a unique American race. In Roosevelt’s words “there was scant room for cowards and weaklings in the ranks of the adventurous fron- tiersmen … who first hewed their way into the primeval forest.”54 Historian George Bancroft wrote that the “the century-training in backwoods life” gave white Americans advantages over the immigrant germ. Boas, who typically argued against some of the most harmful racial science of his time, found to his own surprise that the “American soil” could change people bodily in only a few generations.55 Since Darwinian evolution occurred over time, the study of ancient and medieval history provided important evidence to support the racial sciences. In the early 20th century there was a growing alliance between the profes- sion of history and the newer social sciences. Historical evidence was used to help explain the habit of races in the present day. For example, Ross found that Scandinavian people were drawn to “Northern lumber camps, where they wield another pattern of ax than did their forebears, who, eight centuries ago, were known as ‘ax-bearers’ in the Eastern emperor’s body-guard.” Scandinavia was, according to Ross, “the mother hive of the swarms of barbarians that kept southern Europeans in dread a thousand years.”56 They brought to the frontier of America “the spirit of the Viking race,” Bradwin found. He continued: “let us think of these things as we watch their descendants … gather in groups on some isolated work, loitering, skulking … men of massive frames, slouch about some obscure Canadian camp.” Like the Scandinavians, the Germans were a race forged in the “Hercynian forest.” Modern Germans were “descendants from the tribes that met under the oak-trees of old Germany,” making them “strong like the oak.”57 The Ross Case at Stanford,” Pacific Historical Review 39, 1 (1970): 39–61. 54. Ross, The Old World in the New, 21; Theodore Roosevelt, The Strenuous Life: Essays and Addresses (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1906), 242. 55. Quoted in Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 258; William P. Dillingham, et al., Reports Of The Immigration Commission: Changes In Bodily Form Of Descendants Of Immigrants (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1911), 5, 72, 75; Degler, In Search of Human Nature, 63–64; Painter, A History of White People, 238. 56. Novick, That Noble Dream, 90; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 184; Ross, The Old World in the New, 72, 73–74; Barkan, From All Points, 257, 346. On the importance of ancient and medieval history in this discourse see, Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 9–24; Meyer Reinhold, Classica Americana: The Greek and Roman Heritage in the United States (Michigan: Wayne State University Press, 1984); Andrew F. West, F. F. Abbott, Edward Capps, Duane Reed Stuart, Donald Blyth Durham, and Theodore A Miller, eds., Value of the Classics (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1917); T.J. Jackson Lears, No Place of Grace: Antimodernism and the Transformation of American Culture, 1880–1920 (New York: Pantheon Books, 1981) 141–167. 57. Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 101; Quoted in Painter, The History of White People, 182; Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues, 157. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 139 Still influential at the end of the 19th century, the works of historian of the classics Edward Gibbons reinforced these ideas. The Gallic, Nordic, or Teutonic people surpassed Mediterranean people in vigour and manliness, partly because of their ability to thrive in frontier environments. These envi- ronments bred in them physical vitality and size. Living in the wilderness was directly linked to their bellicose nature. To various degrees, these warlike people resisted the decadence of the Roman metropolis and were better off for it: “the true mission of the Germanic peoples was to renovate and reorganize the western world. In the heart of the forest, amid the silences of unbroken plains … [they] re-infuse[d] life and vigor and the sanctions of a lofty morality into the effete and marrowless institutions of the Roman world.”58 Although he became famous for his ideas on the environment, George Perkin Marsh was inspired by ideas of race and nature. According to Marsh’s Man and Nature or, Physical Geography as Modified by Human Action, Roman decadence and weakness had caused the culture to become out of sync with the environment, leading to the fall of the Empire. In a similar vein, Ross wrote that some Slavic people were destroying American soil, leaving “Death’s-head in the landscape.” He argued that North Americans would have to pay for these mistakes just like “France paid for the reckless ax work that went on under the First Republic.”59 According to Marsh and Ross the ability to make land profitable in the long term was an inheritable racial trait. With a few exceptions, the logic of the time dictated that races whose ances- tral homeland was outside of Northwestern Europe had less ability to civilize wilderness, and thus less aptitude for citizenship. Immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe carried with them this presumed racial burden. As they inhabited the seat of metropolitan decay in ancient times, Italians attained effete racial characteristics. Russian and Romanian Jews, sometimes assumed to have Mongolian blood, sometimes Mediterranean, were always a bad racial type and thus bad pioneers. Lacking physical stamina and frugality, they were a city people by nature. Journalist Jacob Riis, author of the popular How the Other Half Lives, reported that “the great mass of them [Jews] are too gregari- ous to take kindly to farming, and their strong commercial instincts hamper” their ability to cultivate the land. According to Ross, “they came from cities and settled in cities…. No other physiques can so well withstand the toxins of urban congestion. Not one Hebrew family in a hundred is on the land.… They 58. Gilbert F. LaFreniere, The Decline of Nature: Environmental History and the Western Worldview (Bethesda: Academica Press, 2007), 55–56; Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 260; Painter, The History of White People, 17–18; 27; Quoted in Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 34, 66, 68, 69. 59. Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 181; George P. Marsh, Man and Nature or, Physical Geography as Modified by Human Action (1864; Project Gutenberg, 2011) accessed 20 May 2015, http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37957, 6, 7, 49, 279; LaFreniere, The Decline of Nature, 55–57; Ross, The Old World in the New, 203. 140 / l abour/le tr avail 77 contrive to avoid hard muscular labor.”60 Ross observed that the second gen- eration improved, but suggested that “it will be long before they produce the stoical type who blithely fares forth into the wilderness, portaging his canoe, poling it against the current, wading in the torrents living on bacon and beans, and sleeping on the ground.” The comedy films Der Yiddisher Cowboy (1910) and Der Yidisher Kauboy (1911), mocked Jewish ineptitude on the frontier and popularized these stereotypes.61 US government reports and racial scientists agreed that perceived French Canadian racial deficiencies were caused by the evolution of French society in ancient and medieval Europe, though there was mixed opinion on their exact racial genealogy. It was assumed by some that the French were Celtic or Gallic people who shared the bellicose nature of other ancient frontier peoples. Dillingham’s Dictionary of Race along with a few other sources defined the French as Teutonic, or purely white. The Gauls and Celts, however, had given into the Roman conquest easier than German, Teutonic, Nordic, or Anglo- Saxon people, demonstrating their weakness. One visitor to the Acadians of Madawaska found they were clearly “distinct in tastes, habits and aspirations from the Anglo-Saxon race.” Still other racial thinkers saw the French as a bifurcated people, the peasant class comprised largely of Roman slave blood, while the aristocracy maintained Teutonic traits. This unstable genealogical position meant that French Canadians could not immediately be considered proper white citizens.62 American investigations into the active settling of wilderness land rein- forced the idea that immigrants of questionable whiteness were unfit to create civilization from wilderness. Collected under the direction of Vermont senator William P. Dillingham (R), The Federal Reports of the Immigration Commission of 1911 constituted a series of studies on American immigration that focused on industry and agriculture. Two volumes on “Recent Immigrants in Agriculture” explored how new immigrants took to “pioneer farming” or 60. Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples, 74, 75; Ross, The Old World in the New, 145, 209, 289, 290; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 6, 174; Grant, The Conquest of a Continent, 227; Joseph Jacobs, Studies in Jewish Statistics, Social, Vital and Anthropometric (London: D. Nutt, 1891), 1v. 61. Ross, The Old World in the New, 209; Ava F. Kahn, “American West, New York Jewish,” and Ellen Eisenberg, “From Cooperative Farming to Urban Leadership,” in Kahn, ed., Jewish Life in the American West, 37, 117–118; Edward Paul Merwin, “In their Own Image: New York Jews in Jazz Age American Popular Culture,” PhD dissertation, City University of New York, 2002, 190–197. 62. Painter, The History of White People, 100–101; Watts, In This Remote Country, 9, 24; John Davidson, “The Growth of the French Canadian Race in America,” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 8 (1896): 20; Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples, 28–31; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 92–95; Painter, The History of White People, 232; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 45, 162; Edward H. Elwell, Aroostook: With Some Account of the Excursions Thither of the Editors of Maine, in the Years 1858 and 1878, and of the Colony of Swedes, Settled in the Town of New Sweden (Portland: Transcript Print, 1878), 26. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 141 the clearing and civilizing of wild land.63 The site of investigation was the wilderness of Northern Wisconsin, but according to the study, wild land was any land that was valueless until hard work rendered value from it. Wild land could be swamp, sand, brush, cutover land, second growth, grassland, and any type of forest. They even referred to “wild lands” in New Jersey.64 The land in Wisconsin, however, like much of the forests of the Northeast, Pacific Northwest, and the Canadian Boreal Shield was a type of landscape that was imagined to have improved the Northern European races in early America. It also mimicked some of the features of the landscape of ancient Northern Europe.65 In a growing industrial economy, this type of land had two primary uses: lumber and other natural resources could be extracted from it and the land could be put into cultivation. This type of work was the first step in creating civilization and was only suited for the most fit races. “It is just such land as this … that hundreds of Germans, Scandinavians, Poles and Swiss have been buying, clearing and making good living on since the early [eighteen] nineties” the report found.66 The Dillingham studies found that immigrants of Southern Italian lineage were naturally ill equipped for this pioneer agriculture. They were urban “industrial workers” by nature and “ordinarily the city-bred immigrant does not make a good pioneer farmer.”67 Italians proved to be better pioneer farmers than Jewish settlers, however. One local Wisconsin man commented after watching the Jewish workers that “No 63. The authors of the studies on agriculture exposed their racial bias in the abstract, writing that they selected for study only those “races … which we are accustomed to consider inclined to industrial rather than to agricultural pursuits.” They included only those “races which come from southern or eastern Europe, and the Japanese.” Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 258; Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission, 543; Zeidel, Immigrants, Progressives, and Exclusion Politics. 64. Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission, 595; Dillingham et al, Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 2, 555, 96, 212. 65. Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 259–260; Novick, That Noble Dream, 87; Herbert Baxter Adams, The Germanic Origin of New England Towns (Baltimore: N. Murray, publication agent, Johns Hopkins University, 1882), 33. 66. Poles inhabited a space in the racial hierarchy that was similar to the Canadian French. Their whiteness was questionable, but they exhibited many white racial characteristics. Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 2, 145,175,190, 213, 265, 346, 262; Roediger, Working Toward Whiteness, 44; Ross, The Old World in the New, 120; Painter, The History of White People, 289; Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples, 104. 67. Jacob Riis, How the Other Half Lives: Studies Among the Tenements of New York (1889; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1890), 48; Dillingham, et al., Abstracts of Reports of the Immigration Commission, 565, 574; Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 1, 41–42, 399, 431; Ross, The Old World in the New, 97, 102; There was, however, “[a] sharp cleavage” between Northern and Southern Italians, proving how specific the racial sciences had become. Dillingham, et al., Dictionary of Races or Peoples, 82; Peck, Reinventing Free Labor, 169; Cohen, “Nativism and Western Myth,” 31. 142 / l abour/le tr avail 77 one could handle or sharpen an ax or a saw, or milk a cow, care for stock or conduct any sort of farming operations.… ‘Ask one to dig a post hole and he would likely dig a well.’” Ross stated the prevailing attitude bluntly: “the Hebrews are the polar opposite of our pioneer breed.”68 French Canadians were not included in these Dillingham studies because their history in the New World proved that they excelled at many aspects of improving wilderness land, yet this did not mean their whiteness was unques- tioned. The French Canadians were perceived to have white people’s physical aptitude and ability in the woods, but were lacking in the third crucial element required to bring civilization to the land: an independent inclination. The col- lection of essays edited by James George Aylwin Creighton, French Canadian Life and Character: With Historical and Descriptive Sketches (1899), demon- strates the common conception of French Canadian workers at the time: “[the] Canadian experiences developed in the old French stock new qualities, good and bad, the good predominating … such men needed only a leader [emphasis added] who understood them to go anywhere into the untrodden depths of the New World, and to do anything that man could do.” The shortcomings of the French Canadians and Southern Italians in the realm of independence was attributed to their Catholicism, adherence to which was now a sign of racial inferiority. To Creighton, the French Canadian was “a genuine survival of the Old Regime … smoke-dried into perpetual preservation” and their devo- tion to religion was likewise outdated.69 Gerald Morgan argued in the pages of The North American Review in 1917 that the will of the French Canadian people was the same as the will of their priests who had it in their best inter- est to keep the laity ignorant, isolated, and bound to tradition. The result, according to Morgan, was the “stoppage of national progress.” Convinced by the French Canadian image, Americans and British Canadians alike depicted these people’s agriculture as backwards. Conveying both the French Canadian inability to properly render profit from the land and their racial inferiority, popular author on race Madison Grant wrote they were “a poor and ignorant 68. There were a few exceptions, the report noted, and these exceptional Jewish settlers were able to clear a “large quantity of timber.” Dillingham, et al., Immigrants in Industries: Part 24; Recent Immigrants in Agriculture, Vol. 2, 93, 143, 146–147; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 108–109; Ross, The Old World in the New, 145, 289. 69. George Monroe Grant, ed. French Canadian Life and Character; With Historical and Descriptive Sketches of the Scenery and Life in Québec, Montreal, Ottawa, and Surrounding Country (Chicago: A. Belford, 1899), 73. Catholic French Canadians supposedly brought to the new world a Norman predisposition to tyranny and absolutism. Northern Europeans were depicted as the “purest Protestants” and thus the most free-thinking, free-acting, and capable people. According to Turner, Scotch-Irish were also great frontiersmen because they were not Catholic Celts, but Saxon Protestants. Barkan, From All Points: America’s Immigrant West, 185; Watts, In This Remote Country, 9; Mood and Turner, “An Unfamiliar Essay,” 393, 397; Ross, The Old World in the New, 13, 71, 82; Ostrander, “Turner and the Germ Theory,” 28, 206; Watts, In This Remote Country, 3; Grant, ed., French Canadian Life and Character, 12; Craig and Dagenais, The Land in Between, 298, 327–337; Elwell, Aroostook, 25. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 143 community of little more importance to the world at large than are the Negroes in the South.”70 The French proved they could clear wilderness land, but, like “Negroes” they could never truly bring high civilization to it. In 1904 one northern New York newspaper published an article on logging in the region proclaiming “these French-Canadian inhabitants of the woods are half-wild folk.” This article encapsulated the prevailing attitudes on the French Canadian race at the time. The common belief was that First Nations made the wild their home and they had no desire to civilize it. This had made them wild and savage. French Canadians had an affinity for wild land like First Nations but they also had an affinity towards clearing it. If left on their own, however, their racial weaknesses meant they were forever stuck in the process of civilizing the wilderness. Given the fact that they were also seen to have mixed their blood with First Nations people, it is easy to understand how they were understood to be in between white/civilized (or civilizing), and savage (non-white)/wild. Therefore they were “half-wild folks.”71 By the 1950s the explicit racial thinking of the first two decades of the 20th century had been almost completely abandoned.72 Stereotypes of immi- grants remained, but they were explained using different analytical methods. Mid-20th century “Chicago School” anthropologists and sociologists created narratives of the French Canadian transition into modernity that reinforced all the characteristics of the French Canadian image. Even with their fixa- tion on data and ethnographic observation, these experts were not able to evade reifying commonly held beliefs. Anthropologists Robert Redfield and Horace Miner argued that French Canadian peasants, or habitants, were primitive people. They were not land owners like American farmers; instead they worked on behalf of another, and the full product of their labour was not their own. They had an affinity with nature that most modern people did not possess because they worked so closely with it daily. For habitants, the sea- sonal cycles of life and in agro-forestry repeat year after year, generation after generation, with little change unless change was brought from the outside. Sociologist Everett C. Hughes wrote in his French Canada in Transition (1943) 70. Gerald Morgan, “The French Canadian Problem: From an American Standpoint,” The North American Review 205, 734 (1917): 77–80; Grant, The Passing of the Great Race, 81; Outka, Race and Nature, 3. 71. According to Jacobson it was part of the imperative of imperial nations to see foreign people as “wilderness in human form.” Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues, 111; “Lumbering Operations in the Adirondacks,” The Watertown Re-Union (Watertown, NY) 9 March 1914; Jocelyn Thorpe, Temagami’s Tangled Wild: Race, Gender, and the Making of Canadian Nature (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2012), 15; Nast, Wilderness and the American Mind, 260; Colin Fisher, “Race and US Environmental History,” in Sackman, ed., A Companion to American Environmental History; Outka, Race and Nature, 33. 72. The Holocaust and a retrospective understanding of America’s eugenic policies towards African Americans had proven the dangers of these ideologies. English, Unnatural Selections, 177, 182; Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 95–96, 98–99. 144 / l abour/le tr avail 77 that the small French Canadian farmers were “bound by sentiment, tradition, and kinship to the … countryside.” According to Hughes, when the French did industrialize it was because of British Canadian or American catalysts not because of their own ability.73 As depicted in Savard’s Menaud Maître- draveur, the natural transition for these peasant lumberers in an increasingly industrial world was work in commercial logging interests. The French Canadian image made these workers specific targets for labour agents in the lumber hubs of the Northeast. Immigrant workers were often dependent on these middle men to find work in American camps. The Foran Act of 1885 banned immigration of contract labourers but the Immigration Act of 1917 allowed “skilled workers” to be imported if there was no native labour available to do the work. Under the 1917 act immigrant workers were subject to an eight to ten dollar head tax, a charge that was often factored into the labour agents’ fees.74 Workers who took the jobs from labour agents often accumulated debt of around $30–$35 from fees, transportation, and advances. If they spent liberally at the wangan, or camp store, they might accumulate $40 or $50 of debt to different parties. With wages between $25 and $30 a month some indebted workers needed to work nearly 2 months before they were even and the logging season was only between 4 and 6 months long.75 Once in camp, there is evidence that French Canadians were subject to very harsh treatment. Tough bosses in wilderness camps pushed foreigners hard and dis- ciplined them severely, hoping to weed out unfit workers. A boss in charge of a lumber operation in St. Lawrence County, New York shot and killed a French Canadian worker in 1908 after a disagreement about camp food.76 This type of 73. Robert Redfield, Peasant Society and Culture: An Anthropological Approach to Civilization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1956), 25–29. 116, 144; Horace Miner, St. Denis: A French-Canadian Parish (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), 20, 158–159; Brigitte Lane, “Three Major Witnesses of Franco-American Folklore in New England,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 416; Everett C. Hughes, French Canada in Transition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1943), 2; Marlene Shore, The Science of Social Redemption: McGill, the Chicago School, and the Origins of Social Research in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1987), 253–260. 74. Fred Alliston Gilbert Papers, “F.A. Glibert to G. Schenck, 20 December 1925,” box 7, Correspondence, 1924–1925 Special Collections, Raymond H. Fogler Library, University of Maine; Meigs, The Santa Clara Lumber Company, 113–114. 75. Farm Labor National Agricultural Statistics Service, United States Department of Agriculture, Agriculture Marketing Service, 12 January 1940, accessed, 31 March 2015, http:// usda.mannlib.cornell.edu/MannUsda/viewDocumentInfo.do?documentID=1063; William F. Fox, A History of the Lumber Industry in the State of New York (Washington, DC: US Dept. of Agriculture, Bureau of Forestry, 1902); Meigs, Santa Clara Lumber Company, 56; Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” 219, 223–226; Paul H. Douglas, Real Wages in the United States, 1890–1926 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1930) 41, 130, 177; James H. Blodgett, Wages of Farm Labor in the United States: Results of Twelve Statistical Investigations, 1866– 1902 (Washington, DC: US Dept. of Agriculture, Bureau of Statistics, 1903), 14. 76. Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 163; Robert E. Pike, Tall Trees, Tough Men (New York: “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 145 rough treatment may have even led to the famous French Canadian “jumping” disease, a type of post-traumatic stress disorder reported among immigrant workers in a few Northeastern camps. 77 Rough treatment was one of the many reasons why some workers jumped camp and returned to Québec without working off their debt, a practice that became known as taking the “French Leave” or “jumping the line.”78 In 1907 the Maine legislator followed the lead of Minnesota and Michigan and enacted a statue which allowed authorities to arrest loggers and river drivers who did not pay off advances. If found guilty of “intent to defraud” they faced up to 30 days of jail or a $10 fine even though most debts did not exceed $10 or $20. Many rural justices either did not understand, or willingly misinterpreted, the “intent to defraud” provision and punished any worker caught with outstand- ing debt who left camp, even those with legitimate reasons for leaving. The threat of punishment pressured many workers to continue to work and few cases ever made it into the courts. When workers were arrested “in nine cases out of ten the men are made to go back to work” according to one labour agent. A rural justice in Maine admitted that he would wait for debtors to get drunk in mill towns and when they were arrested for some related offense he would check to see if they had any unpaid debt with an operator. If so the justice forced the man to work off both the state fine and the debt in camp. Labour advocate John Clifton Elder studied debt peonage around 1907 and he testified that “the Labor Law of Maine … make virtual slaves of the labouring classes.”79 W.W. Norton, 1967) 57; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 163; White, The Blazed Trail, 218–219; Wyckoff, The Workers, 236; “Telephones After Murder” Chateaugay Record and Franklin County Democrat, 5 June 1908, Page 6, Image 6, Northern New York Library Network, accessed 31 March 2015, http://nyshistoricnewspapers.org/lccn/sn87070301/1908-06-05/ed-1/seq-6/. 77. Robert Howard and Rodney Ford, “From the Jumping Frenchmen of Maine to Posttraumatic Stress Disorder: the Startle Response in Neuropsychiatry,” Psychological Medicine 22 (1992): 700, 702; George Beard, “Remarks upon ‘Jumpers or Jumping Frenchmen,’” The Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases 5 (1878): 526; Marie‐Hélène Sainte-Hilaire, Jean‐ Marc Sainte-Hilaire, and Luc Granger, “Jumping Frenchmen of Maine,” Neurology 36 (1986): 1269–1271; George M. Beard, “Experiments with the ‘Jumpers’ or ‘Jumping Frenchmen’ of Maine,” Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease 7 (1880): 487–490. 78. John F. Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” First Biennial Report of the Department of Labor and Industry (Waterville: Sentinel Publishing: 1912), 209, 224; Victor Bushey (b. 1900) interview by Sue Dauphinee, 1970, p. 719069, transcript, llc, mfc. 79. John Clifton Elder, “Peonage in Maine (A Manuscript Report sent to the Attorney General of the United States),” 28 March 1910, RG 60, Department of Justice file 50-34-0, 13-21, pg. 5–7, 10, 15, 16–17, 20, 21, National Archives, Washington, D.C.; “Does peonage Exist in the Maine Lumber camps?” Paper Trade Journal, (November 1915): 16; Robert J. Steinfeld, Coercion, Contract, and Free Labor in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 279; Flanagan, “Industrial Conditions in the Maine Woods,” 225; “May Repel Law Protecting Lumbermen,” Paper: A Weekly Technical Journal for Paper and Pulp Mills 20 (New York: Paper, 1910); “Is it a Feats or a Famine?: Symposium by High and Low Authorities on the Epicurean Delights of Maine Logging Camps – Forestry Student Refutes Vile Slanders,” Bangor Daily News, 8 March 1910. 146 / l abour/le tr avail 77 The shacking system of lumber production that was documented in the 1950s likely evolved from the system of debt bondage described above.80 Between 1951 and 1955 an average of 5,920 French Canadian workers were “bonded” to logging companies throughout New York, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine, though some years there were more than 7,000.81 In Maine during these years the pulpwood cutting force was on average 78.4 per cent French Canadian and a portion of these were shackers. The shacking system mimicked the way that French Canadian habitants were thought to have lived in Québec. An employee of Maine’s Great Northern Paper Company described it thusly: A shacker is a man, usually with a family, and one or two relatives who will move onto company land, build himself a shack to live in, cut pulp through the cutting season and haul it to the designated hauling point … Usually the whole family, regardless of age, works with the father in the woods. The children rarely attend school … The shacker invariably is semi-literate.… If a contract can be drawn that will make these shackers independent con- tractors we will be able to relieve ourselves of a great deal of responsibility and will be able to produce wood much cheaper.…82 The French Canadian image from Thoreau to Miner inspired this labour exploitation, but the image did not reflect any innate characteristics of French Canadians. Instead the image was a reflection of the shallow understand- ing that many people in the US had of the political, economic, and religious history of Québec. Historian Bruno Ramirez found in his comparative study of immigration in Canada that “clearing forest land in Québec required work techniques and an endurance that not all prospective settlers were willing to endure.” Thus Italians, Jews, and even many French Canadian and Northern European settlers failed at civilizing wild land simply because of the “physical and mental difficulty it entailed.” In Québec, frontier colonization efforts led by clergy, lumber companies, and the Canadian government put many French Canadian families in a position that disallowed economic or educational advancement. It was just these types of small pioneer farmers who tended to migrate to the US, bringing with them pioneering skills. Approximately 62 per cent of French Canadian textile workers in New England had been farmers or farm labourers before coming to the US.83 Many French Canadians were not able to own land right away so their “supreme resource, as a release from … poverty … was to take to the ax …” It is also possible that the perpetuation of 80. On the various types of debt bondage see Félix Albert, Immigrant Odyssey: A French- Canadian Habitant in New England-a Bilingual Edition of Histoire D’un Enfant Pauvre, (Orono: University of Maine Press, 1991), 68–69, 95–97. 81. Parenteau, “Bonded Labor,” 113. 82. On the standard of living of peasants see Glickman, A Living Wage, 82–84; Quoted in Parenteau, “Bonded Labor,” 115. 83. Bruno Ramirez, On the Move: French-Canadian and Italian Migrants in the North Atlantic Economy, 1860–1914 (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1991), 77–79; Bradwin, The Bunkhouse Man, 95; Vicero, “Immigration Of French Canadians To New England,” 214. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 147 the French Canadian image within this immigrant community created what social psychologists call “stereotype lift,” whereby exposure to positive ste- reotypes causes “an elevation in their self-efficacy or sense of personal worth [and] performance.” Whatever caused the French Canadian affinity for logging work, the contradiction in depicting French Canadians as a primitive peasant class is glaring, since moving to American lumber camps proved their adapt- ability toward modernization and progress at a time of economic trouble in their home country.84 It is important to note, however, that the racial discourse on whiteness, wil- derness, and work was not as strong a factor in deciding where immigrants would work as was the iron law of supply and demand. Most immigrants coming to the US, regardless of their race, settled in factory towns and cities. By 1900 French Canadians made up 50 per cent or more of the entire popu- lation of Southbridge and Spenser Massachusetts; Biddeford, Lewiston and Old Town, Maine; Woonsocket, Rhode Island; Danielson, Connecticut and Suncook, New Hampshire.85 It was estimated that only 10 per cent of all the French Canadians in New England lived in rural areas and as few as one per cent of workers went into “forest work” (there are problems with this latter figure, however).86 A majority of French factory workers were immigrants. While the lumber industry had the second highest percentage of French Canadians as a portion of the workers employed in 1900, the brick and tile making industries had an even larger number – more than 50 per cent.87 84. Albert, Immigrant Odyssey, 34–37, 40, 56; Richard William Judd and Patricia A. Judd, Aroostook: A Century of Logging in Northern Maine (Orono: University of Maine Press, 1988), 194–195; Ramirez and Otis, Crossing the 49th Parallel, 5, 8, 63; 11–12, 16; Vicero, “Immigration Of French Canadians To New England,” 70, 197–198; J.I. Little, Nationalism, Capitalism and Colonization in Nineteenth-Century Quebec: The Upper St. Francis District (Kingston and Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1989), 7, 16, 31–35, 47, xii–xiii; J.I. Little, Crofters and Habitants: Settler Society, Economy, and Culture in a Quebec Township, 1848–1881 (Kingston and Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1991), 149, 154; Brault, The French- Canadian Heritage, 34, 158; Ramirez, On the Move, 47; Gregory M. Walton and Geoffrey L. Cohen, “Stereotype Lift,” Journal of Experimental Social Psychology 39, 5 (2003): 456–467; Margaret Shih, Todd L. Pittinsky, and Amy Trahan, “Domain-specific Effects of Stereotypes on Performance,” Self and Identity 5, 1 (2006): 1–14. 85. Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England,” 119, 121; Hornsby, Judd, and Hermann, Historical Atlas of Maine, plate 42; Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 54–55. 86. These figures are drawn from Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England.” The nature of logging in eastern North America make precise employment figures in the lumber camps difficult to surmise. Logging was inseparable from the agricultural sector, it was seasonal work, most workers took up other jobs when they were not logging, and loggers rarely self-identified as such. By combining figures from several categories of work in Vicero’s study which were closely allied with logging (agriculture, forest workers, pulp and paper, saw and planing mills, general labour, teamsters, railroad and street railway workers, and other occupations) we see the figures could have been as great as 31 per cent. Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England,” 298. 87. Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England,” 347. 148 / l abour/le tr avail 77 In urban areas another French Canadian image developed which reflected the type of work found there. It was assumed that the French habitants who moved to cities were a simple people who would work for below subsistence wages. Their strong nationalism, and adherence to traditional culture, lan- guage, and religion worried Protestant New Englanders. In cities like Lewiston, Maine and Woonsocket, Rhode Island immigrants were able to virtually reconstruct the social, religious, and political order of Québec in immigrant enclaves. The la survivance movement made many New Englanders worried that the Québécois had no desire to assimilate or nationalize and were only present for quick monetary gains.88 In 1891 the state of Maine passed a consti- tutional amendment targeting French Canadians by disallowing anyone who could not “read the constitution in the English language, or write his name” from voting or holding office.89 As in rural logging areas, the French Canadian adherence to Catholicism seemed to prove they had a greater devotion to the tenets of their religion then to the tenets of Republicanism. Finding Irish Catholic churches disagreeable, the first thing that many French Canadian settlers did when they came to New England was build their own churches. By 1900 there were at least 82 parishes in the region. Some French immigrants were comfortable settling political and workplace problems within the Church, giving the Québécois a reputation as an insular and clannish people. The rise of the second Ku Klux Klan in the US in the 1920s was a time of rampant anti-Catholicism and anti-Semitism. During this period French Canadian workers were publicly intimidated by members of the Klan in two different cities in Maine because of their adher- ence to Catholicism.90 As obedient female Catholics the Québécois factory workers were seen as a people who followed orders well and respected authority. “They are industrious in the extreme” one employer wrote and they “do not grumble about pay, are docile, and have nothing to do with the labour agitations.” Their large family size, and their need to send their children into the factories young worried 88. Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 67; Roby, The Franco-Americans of New England, 58–59, 66–67; Gerstle, Working-Class Americanism, 27; Michael J. Guignard, “The Franco- Americans of Biddeford Maine,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 128. 89. The law was on the books until 1982–83. Rebecca Dirnfeld, “Research Note: Maine ‘Jim Crow’? The Forgotten Maine Constitutional Amendment of 1891,” in Nelson Madore and Barry H. Rodrigue, eds., Voyages: A Maine Franco-American Reader (Gardiner: Tilbury House, 2007), 370. 90. Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 68–69; Gerstle, Working-Class Americanism, 35–37; Mark Paul Richard, “This Is Not a Catholic Nation’: The Ku Klux Klan Confronts Franco-Americans in Maine,” New England Quarterly 82, 2 (2009): 296–297; Philip T. Silvia, Jr., “Neighbors from the North: French-Canadian Immigrants vs. Trade Unionism in Fall River, Massachusetts” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 145; David H. Bennett, The Party of Fear: From Nativist Movements to the New Right in American History (New York: Vintage Books, 1995), 223–225. “these french canadian of the woods are half-wild folk” / 149 Progressive reformers but were a boon to factory owners.91 A representative of a Fall River company testified in a Massachusetts Bureau of Statistics of Labor (mbsl) report that he sought these workers out because “they are not so apt to rebel as others … They are quiet; they don’t raise much disturbance around the factory village.” Through the leadership of their priest, Rev. Pierre J.B. Bedard, French Canadians in Massachusetts became strikebreaker during the Fall River strike of 1879, perpetuating the idea that they were an anti-labour group.92 These distorted views of French Canadian immigrants in factory towns led the mbsl to famously condemn them as “the Chinese of the Eastern States” in an 1881 report. Comparing the Chinese with French Canadians conveyed the perceived chasm between native white Americans and Québécois immigrants and shows how pervasive the hierarchies of whiteness were at the time. Almost immediately after the report was issued coalitions of Franco Americans from Cohoes, Fall River, Lewiston, Manchester, Nashua, Woonsocket, and Worcester publicly refuted these claims in a meeting, the views of which were published as The Canadian French in New England. They hoped to distance themselves from undesirable immigrants.93 The “Chinese of the Eastern States” comments shows that the rhetoric on whiteness, wilderness, and work in the logging woods was not the only way that French Canadian immigrants were defined in America. Images of immigrants were adaptable and worked symbiotically with specific industries. The images also reflected the gender of the workers in different industries, as most factory workers were women and all loggers were men. The image of the French as “half- wild” was supported in rural industries and it was used to help fill isolated work camps with a racially desirable type of labour. This image ensured that all the industrial niches of this vast heterogeneous economy would be filled efficiently. Conclusion Ideas about wilderness, whiteness, and work evolved out of a long process of immigrant image formation which began in the 1840s as Americans strug- gled to comprehend different European immigrants. After 1893, Americans meshed their ideas about race with an industrializing economy, a disappeared frontier, and a large population of exotic immigrants. Bolstered by evidence from history, sociology, and anthropology, characters from literature like 91. Quoted in Vicero, “Immigration of French Canadians to New England,” 119; Guignard, “The Franco-Americans of Biddeford Maine,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 137; Gerstle, Working-Class Americanism, 23; Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 62–63; Roby, The Franco-Americans of New England, 65. 92. Massachusetts Bureau of Statistics of Labor, Thirteenth Annual Report (Boston: Wright & Potter Printing, State Printers, 1882), 64; Gerstle, Working-Class Americanism, 22–23, 37; Guignard, “The Franco-Americans of Biddeford Maine,” in Quintal, ed., Steeples and Smokestacks, 153. 93. Brault, The French-Canadian Heritage, 68. 150 / l abour/le tr avail 77 Alex Therien or London’s Francois and Perrault came to represent categories of workers in the minds of many American businessmen. The racial world- views that formed made the rapidly changing world of modern America more digestible for many “white” Americans. Under the dictates of this racial logic almost every group of immigrants had a unique place in this new industrial economy, and native white peoples’ standard of living was ensured. The objec- tives of government and business officials were not strictly nativist, however. In creating these immigrant images they were attempting to fit different types of workers into industries where they would be economically efficient and most likely to succeed. From this vantage point it is clear that the chronology of American immigration is not characterized by successive dips into “irra- tional” nativist thinking, as some historians have argued, but instead there was a consistent goal of advancing the American economy by whatever means necessary. Applying “common sense” racial science to immigration and indus- trial policies simply helped improve the economy. Nativism was not at odds with capitalism because the desire for a “white republic” was synonymous with a desire for an economically robust republic. By 1950s systematic racism had been a part of American political and economic thought for more than a century so its effects on immigrants remained even as the explicit discussion on racial whiteness began to disappear. The French Canadian image, with its “unshakable demonstrations … of … ethnological truth,” made the label of savage/wild hard to dislodge, and the exploitation of French Canadians in the woods remained a problem into the 1970s.94 I would like to thank the Maxwell School at Syracuse University and the Forest History Society for their generous support of my research on logging and French Canadian immigration. None of this research would have been possible without initial funding from the New England Regional Fellowship Consortium. I would also like to thank all the librarians and archivists who helped me locate and access material as well as my colleague Philip D. Erenrich at Syracuse University for his help and advice. 94. Zolberg, A Nation by Design, 3, 7; Cannato, American Passage, 9; Ngai, Impossible Subjects, 165. Jacobson’s assertion in Whiteness of a Different Color that “Economics alone … cannot explain why this government was made on the ‘white basis’” needs to be reexamined because it is clear that the economic imperatives shaped immigration policy and even ideas of race. Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color, 18–19; Michael Hillard and Jonathan Goldstein, “Cutting off the Canadians: Nativism and the Fate of the Maine Woodman’s Association, 1970–1981” Labor: Studies in the Working Class History of the Americas 5, 3 (2008): 67–89; William C. Osborn, The Paper Plantation: Ralph Nader’s Study Group Report on the Pulp and Paper Industry in Maine (New York: Grossman Publishers, 1974), 159–163. 
work_fuyis3jtf5cgpm2k6fw4x2bzra	----	1 Accepted author manuscript version reprinted, by permission, from Sociology of Sport Journal, 2018, 35 (4): 386-393, https://doi.org/10.1123/ssj.2017-0033. © 2018 Human Kinetics, Inc. Ricky and Stick Icky: Marijuana, Sport, and the Legibility/Illegibility of Black Masculinity Nikolas Dickerson University of Lincoln Dept. of Sport and Exercise Science, University of Lincoln, Lincoln, United Kingdom. Address author correspondence to Nikolas Dickerson at ndickerson@lincoln.ac.uk. In November of 2016, California, Maine, Massachusetts and Nevada legalized recreational marijuana, while Arkansas, Florida, Montana, and North Dakota passed legislation to allow for the medicinal use of marijuana. As of July 2017, 37 states and the District of Columbia having legislation that allows for the medicinal or recreational use of marijuana. Coinciding with the increasing legalization of marijuana, at both the recreational and medical level, 61% of Americans are now in favor of marijuana legalization (Ingraham, 2016). The changing attitudes towards the legalization of the plant and legalization of marijuana in certain states suggests that prohibition of marijuana may be coming to an end. At the same time, current attorney general, Jeff Sessions is currently advocating to repeal and outlaw legal marijuana. Thus, despite the growing challenges to marijuana prohibition there is still a large effort to keep the plant illegal. These tensions highlight the contradictory and complex narratives marijuana is engulfed in. 2 After all, in the United States, marijuana is legal for recreational use, legal for medicinal use, and a source of comedy in stoner films such as, Cheech and Chong: Up in Smoke, Half Baked, Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, but also illegal at the federal level in all 50 states. The hazy landscape of marijuana reform creates a context where marijuana use is legal for some but illegal for others, and this contradiction is clearly visible within racial disparities of arrest rates for marijuana. A 2013 American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) report documented, that while marijuana use among blacks and whites is relatively the same, blacks are almost four times as likely to be arrested for marijuana possession (http://www.aclu.org/files/assets/aclu- thewaronmarijuana-rel3.pdf). In Colorado, where marijuana is legal for recreational and medicinal use, the arrest rates for whites between the ages of 10-17 has fallen by almost 10 percent from 2012-2014, while the arrest rate for Latino and black teens has risen by 20 percent and 50 percent respectively (Markus, 2016). Thus, while the legalization of marijuana has opened space to conceptualize marijuana outside negative stereotypes, racial minorities are still suffering at a higher rate than white Americans when it comes to the enforcement of the prohibition of the plant. The inequities within the current enforcement of marijuana prohibition stem from drug policies that are designed to control groups that are situated as dangerous or a threat to general society (Betram et al., 1996). Regarding marijuana, the perceived need to safeguard society from marijuana users is embedded within discourses of race, gender, and nation. During the 1930s, the Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) used yellow journalism and propaganda films that drew on fears of the racialized body by depicting black and Mexican marijuana users as violent, criminal, and hyper-sexual to build support for marijuana prohibition (Provine, 2007). White middle-class women were also situated within these narratives to further highlight the danger of marijuana and http://www.aclu.org/files/assets/aclu-thewaronmarijuana-rel3.pdf http://www.aclu.org/files/assets/aclu-thewaronmarijuana-rel3.pdf 3 the racialized other. Anti-marijuana propaganda characterized white women as innocent individuals who were susceptible to marijuana pushers, and once under the influence of the plant, these women could easily violate norms of sexual respectability by having sex with men of color (Boyd, 2008). More specifically, these potential acts of sexual deviance were mapped onto nationalistic and racialized discourses about the superiority of the white race, and white women birthing mixed race babies threatened these narratives (Boyd, 2008). The construction of these early anti- marijuana narratives relied on dehumanizing representations of racial minorities and women. Black bodies were portrayed as either a threat to the social order or to the purity of the white race through sexual transgressions with white women. These narrow constructions of marijuana users would expand during the 1960s. White marijuana users were depicted as young individuals who were good people that engaged in a minor transgression by smoking marijuana in popular culture (Himmelstein, 1983). Such depictions, coincided with the changing of a marijuana possession charge from a felony to a misdemeanor (Gerber, 2004). The shift in meanings of the marijuana user-as well as the changes in criminal policy-symbolizes the humanity granted to white marijuana users, a fate that was not granted to racial minorities. In 2017, there is still a discrepancy regarding which bodies can use marijuana that is heavily influenced by relations of power. To explore the shifting and contradictory narratives of marijuana in the US, I draw on the experiences of former National Football League (NFL) player Ricky Williams. Birrell & McDonald (2000) argue that critical analysis of narratives surrounding athletes offers unique points of access to the construction of meaning and power relations within larger society (see also McDonald & Birrell, 1999). Thus, Williams is the entry point to larger discourses of race and masculinity within sport and general society. While, many professional 4 athletes have used or tested positive for marijuana (Michael Phelps, Tim Lincecum, Randy Moss, Joakim Noah, Ross Rebagliati, among many others) Williams has been referred to as “America’s most infamous stoner athlete” (Bishop, 2016, p. 50). In part, this description is connected to the popular belief that he retired in 2004, during the prime of his career, to travel the world and smoke pot (Stoda, 2006; Wilbon, 2005). Right before training camp, Williams was suspended for testing positive for marijuana. Williams then decided to retire and spend time traveling through Asia and Australia, which only perpetuated the belief he was more interested in pot than football. Williams returned to the NFL in 2005, and was subsequently suspended for marijuana use again in 2006 and 2007. Williams’s marijuana use, retirement, and return to the NFL in 2006 resulted in several complex and contradictory narratives within the sport media, and it is these diverse range of discourses that make him a pertinent point of exploration. For example, by retiring early, Williams was situated within narratives that framed him as selfish (Attner, 2004; Stoda, 2006), and a quitter (Bohls, 2008; Kaufman, 2004). The fact that his early retirement was preceded by a positive marijuana test also helped perpetuate these negative constructions of Williams, as he became the “Bob Marley of football” (Saraceno, 2005), someone that just wanted to travel and smoke (Wilbon, 2005), and a bad role-model because of his pot use (O’Neil, 2004). Some journalists downplayed the seriousness of Williams’s marijuana use, noting marijuana use was not as serious as the use of steroids (Wyld, 2007), marijuana use was banal in general (Radawanski, 2006), and Williams’s marijuana use paled in comparison to violent criminal activity (Myers, 2007). Additionally, Williams’s own discussion of his marijuana use and retirement offer another way to understand these acts: “I didn’t quit football because I failed a drug test. I failed a drug test because I was ready to quit football” (Myers, 2004, p. 102). 5 Ricky Williams is thus ensnared within several competing discourses about marijuana use and sport. More so, these narratives about Williams cannot be separated from larger understandings of race and gender, much like contemporary marijuana policies in the United States. As of July 2017, 29 states and the District of Columbia have legalized medical marijuana, while eight states and the District of Columbia have legalized recreational use of marijuana. Yet, marijuana is still illegal at the federal level, and it is racial minorities who suffer the most from this prohibition, as they are arrested almost four times more than whites-despite no greater use (Nadelman, 2010). Thus, Williams is situated as a repository of important narratives of black masculinity in relation to sport, marijuana, and the policing of black bodies. To make sense of the variety of meanings produced concerning William’s marijuana use, I draw on several forms of media. The analysis of Williams’s marijuana use and retirement includes the printed press coverage of these incidents, and the documentaries Run Ricky Run (2010, and A football life: Ricky Williams (2014). I read Williams’s marijuana use as a “text”, to gain insight into the racialized and gendered understandings of marijuana use in the NFL and larger society (Birrell & McDonald, 2000; McDonald & Birrell, 1999). I argue that narratives that countered the framing of Williams’s marijuana use as selfish failed to gain traction within the sport media due to the illegibility of these performances of black masculinity. In other words, the narrow representations of black masculinity within popular culture rendered the more complicated identity of Williams unrecognizable (Neal, 2013). Thus, such illegibility lead to the discursive construction of Williams as a stereotypical selfish black athlete overshadowing more radical discourses of black masculinity. Illegible and Legible Blackness 6 Mark Anthony Neal (2013) uses the term legible black masculinity to refer to easily recognizable performances of black men in popular culture such as, the criminal/thug or individuals that have fully assimilated to white middle-class cultural norms (The Bill Cosby Show). These conceptualizations of black masculinity become legible through their constant reproduction within popular culture. Within sport, the most legible forms of black masculinity are the good black (assimilated to white cultural norms) and the bad black (criminal, egotistical, individualistic) (Wilson, 1997). These representations provide relief to US citizens as they either reaffirm that black bodies should be policed and surveyed, or present a black body that is safe for consumption as it has been stripped of any dangerous signs of blackness (Neal, 2013). Maintenance of these limited versions of black masculinity work to sustain the racial hierarchy while also dehumanizing the black body. While there are several scholars that examine the larger issues of race and understandings of being human (see Spillers, 1997; Weheliye, 2014), I use the term dehumanizing to refer to representations of black masculinity that do not account for the complexities and emotional experiences of black men. The limiting and dehumanizing constructions of legible black masculinities are perpetuated through color-blind ideology. Color-blind ideology is a modern form of racism that uses non-racial dynamics to explain racial inequalities (Bonilla-Silva, 2010). Color-blind ideology divorces racial inequality from historical and contemporary racist practices, and instead uses racialized beliefs such as African Americans are criminal or lazy to explain racial inequity. Legible forms of black masculinity help sustain this power structure, as successful blacks can be used as an example that systematic racism no longer exists, and that issues of race no longer matter. At the same time, the criminal black is used to justify the surveillance of black bodies and racist practices such as, the prison industrial complex (Neal, 7 2013). In an era, where overt forms of racial discrimination are not as acceptable as in previous eras, legible forms of black masculinity are one way in which systematic forms of racial discrimination are kept intact. In relation to the use of illegal drugs, mediated representations of this behavior have primarily depicted racial minorities as dangerous drug users that pose a threat to the moral order of society (Boyd, 2002). These representations cannot be separated from the ways in which the prohibition of illegal drugs such as marijuana are enforced. Members of poor urban neighborhoods are surveyed at a higher rate than those who live in the suburbs because of differences in how drug deals are arranged in these two areas (Alexander, 2010). In the suburbs or on college campuses, drug deals often happen between friends in private homes or apartments, while in the inner city they often happen on the street (Provine, 2007). This exposure of course makes it easier to police the inner city, and makes this area and the people who inhabit it, the ones who suffer the most from the War on Drugs (Betram et al. 1996). These racialized and classed discrepancies are also reinforced through actual legislation. The legible black body is consistently used to justify the policing, surveillance, and the incarceration of black men (Neal, 2013). Contemporary policing practices and policies such as stop and frisk make it legal for police officers to stop and search anyone on the street in search of drugs and weapons (Alexander, 2010). Most people do not know they legally have the right to refuse these searches and the absence of this knowledge helps to perpetuate more drug arrests. Furthermore, as Michelle Alexander (2010) argues minority bodies, particularly the bodies of black men, have come to connote criminality, and hence are more often the subject of these random stops and frisks. The perceived innate link between the black body and criminality is also reproduced through representational practices within the sport media. 8 Philip Cunningham (2009) argues that overrepresentation of black male professional athletes that have committed high profile crimes such as the dog-fighting ring funded by Michael Vick, the nightclub gun fight of Adam “Pacman” Jones, and other such activity has led to the infusion of the black athlete and the criminal. More specifically, the overrepresentation of black athletes as criminals has rendered the two synonymous within the public imagination. The disproportionate attention given to black athletes who have committed crimes, in relation to white athletes who have committed similar acts, only exacerbates the connection between the black body and criminality (Ferber, 2007). This representation of the black male body has deep historical roots. Historical representations of black men as violent, criminal, and hypersexual have been used to justify dehumanizing and disciplining practices such as slavery, police brutality, and mass incarceration (Collins, 2004). However, representations of the marijuana using athlete tend to focus on attributes of morality, as opposed to physical violence. Jonothan Lewis & Jennifer Proffitt’s (2012) “Bong hits and water bottles: An analysis of news coverage of athletes and marijuana use” is a rare piece that examines media coverage of both white and black athlete’s marijuana usage. They found that the printed press tended to downplay the marijuana use of white athletes (Ex. Michael Phelps) and use these athletes’ transgressions as an opportunity to discuss the irrationality of marijuana laws. However, the press’s discussion of the marijuana use of black athletes (Ex. Michael Vick) was often used as an opportunity to vindicate a pattern of negative behavior, and the ineffectiveness of marijuana legislation was omitted. On a similar note, David Leonard (2017) argues, that black athletes such as Williams, are represented as selfish players who lack self-control or discipline in their inability to refrain from smoking pot, while the use of marijuana by white athletes in mostly white sports like snowboarding is often celebrated and normalized. Thus, press coverage of the 9 marijuana using black athlete has worked to constitute and preserve the criminal and selfish label as a legible form of black masculinity. Kyle Kusz (2007) argues the selflessness and morality of white athlete such as Pat Tillman is sustained through the constant juxtaposition with black athletes that are labeled as selfish and attention seeking (see also Andrews 1996b; Cunningham, 2009; Ferber, 2007). The framing of black athletes as selfish and attention seeking often emerges from these athletes challenging the status quo. Black athletes like Allen Iverson that are not subservient and seen as challenging the status quo within sport are often labeled as disrespectful and in need of civilizing (Ferber, 2007). In this manner, the body of the criminal black athlete and selfish black athlete are connected. Both are a threat to violate the social order and therefore need to be disciplined and controlled (Leonard & King, 2011). The overrepresentation of black athletes as selfish works to sustain beliefs that the black athlete is immoral compared to their white counter-parts, but this racialization process is obscured because it is explained through non-racial dynamics (Bonilla-Silva, 2010). For these myths to be sustained, there needs to be the concept of the good black to be juxtaposed against the criminalized black body. The commodification process is a central site for the representation of the good black. The commodification of black athletes such as Tiger Woods or Michael Jordan help to reinforce color-blind ideology, as these athletes become symbolic of a post-racial America where success is possible through hard work (Ferber, 2007). Hence, both forms of legible black masculinities, the criminal and the assimilated black, are needed to sustain current racial ideology. Representations of the black criminal athlete sustains beliefs that the black body should be feared and surveyed, while the assimilated and sub- servient black is used as proof that racial barriers no longer exist if individuals adopt proper 10 values (Neal, 2013). At the same time, even though the commodified black athlete is used as a sign of racial progress, this athlete is still often reduced to their body. Gamel Abdel-Shehid (2005) argues that as the black body becomes increasingly relied upon to sell products it becomes more difficult to understand the black body outside of the attributes it is asked to sell such as, power, strength, sex, and speed. Therefore, whether the black body is labeled as criminal or selfish or used to sell products, discourses of fear, envy, and desire surrounding what the black body can do become the familiar tropes of black masculinity. Ricky Williams presents a conundrum as he is situated within contradictory discourses of the good black, bad black, as well as a person who cannot be defined. Bryant Keith Alexander (2006) argues that without the proper cultural toolboxes we are unable to make sense of unfamiliar cultural groups (see also Andrews, 1996b). Therefore, the repeated discursive constructions of black masculinity within a narrow dichotomy does not give those that are unfamiliar with the African American experience the toolbox to understand someone like Williams whose attributes are situated across numerous discourses. By re-reading the narratives surrounding Williams’s retirement and marijuana use this project seeks to demonstrate how normalized discourses of race and masculinity are constructed (Abdel-Shehid, 2005; McDonald, 2002; Oates, 2014), while also opening a larger discursive space regarding what it means to perform black masculinity (Neal, 2013). Methods Susan Birrell and Mary McDonald (2000) argue that reading a sport celebrity or athletic event like a “text” offers a unique point of access into understanding relations of power within our larger social world. This approach to critically examining sport relies on an analysis of narrative. Texts such as film, newspapers, and television are ideologically coded and therefore 11 work to construct discourses about race, gender, the nation, and sexuality (McDonald & Birrell, 1999). In this analysis, I focus on the ways both issues of race and gender inform the various narratives of Ricky Williams. As Birrell & McDonald (2000) argue this is necessary because lines of power do not work independently of each other and therefore must be understood through the complex way race, gender, sexuality, etc. work together. Newspaper articles and documentaries were examined in this study to gather insight into how race and gender informed the narratives of Williams. The databases Google, Lexis Nexis, and Sport Discus were used to search for articles between 2004-2012. These three databases were chosen to gather a substantial and variety of printed press accounts of Williams’s marijuana use and retirement. Given the high-profile status of Williams, and his abrupt retirement, it was likely that these events would get a lot of press coverage. Thus, Lexis Nexis was used to gather newspaper sources, while Google and Sport Discuss were used to gather articles from other printed press sources such as, Sports Illustrated and The Sporting News. Each database was searched via key words such as, Ricky Williams & Marijuana use, Ricky Williams and pot, and Ricky Williams retirement. Only articles that discussed Williams’s marijuana use, suspensions, or retirement were included. Articles that simply reported that Williams had been suspend or retired were excluded from analysis, as they just reported this information and did not make attempts to make sense of the events. In total, 55 articles met the previously mentioned criteria. The timeline of this analysis is from 2004-2014. The year 2004 is the starting point for this project because it coincides with Williams first retirement and publicized marijuana use. Williams retired in 2012, but the extended timeline allows for the inclusion of ESPN’s 30 for 30 documentary, Run Ricky Run, and NFL films A football life: Ricky Williams. The inclusion of these documentaries allowed for an intertextual examination of Williams’s marijuana use. The 12 texts in question are all interrelated, and their meaning is produced through the ways they interact and reference each other. As a result, the inclusion of these end-of-career documentaries help gather an understanding of Williams’s public biography, as they help create meaning about Williams through their interactions with other texts about the former player (Birrell, 2007). Run Ricky Run, was released on April 27, 2010 and was directed by Sean Pamphilon and Royce Toni. The film was aired on ESPN and was a part of a series of documentaries made to celebrate the 30th anniversary of ESPN, while shedding light on important sport stories that had been forgotten (Vogan, 2012). This film was released during Ricky Williams second to last season in the NFL and three years after his one-year suspension from the NFL. A football life is an episodic documentary series where each episode focuses on the life of one player, coach, or owner. The episode featuring Ricky Williams was part of the fourth season. Both documentaries cover his multiple suspensions, marijuana use, and discuss his yoga practices and holistic healing training. In both the printed press articles and the documentaries my analysis focuses on what was emphasized, obscured, and left out of the larger narratives of Williams’s marijuana use and retirement. Williams’s marijuana use and retirement is analyzed to uncover the ideological consequences of the varying narratives of these events. Larger societal understandings of race and gender were used to analyze these competing narratives (Birrell & McDonald, 2000). Williams’s performance of black masculinity was illegible to most sport journalists, as Williams was repeatedly characterized as strange and abnormal for a football player. Williams’s illegible black masculinity, functioned as a catalyst for the re-articulation of more legible forms of black masculinity. Specifically, sports journalists often used Williams’s marijuana use and retirement 13 to label him as selfish and ungrateful, as opposed to exploring more complicated understandings of these events. The Strangeness of Ricky Williams Williams’s marijuana use and retirement oscillate between an array of complex and often competing discourses of race and masculinity (Andrews, 1996). On one hand, his marijuana use and retirement are thought to be the epitome of selfishness (Attner, 2004; Bohls, 2008; Wood, 2005), while other journalists dismiss his marijuana use as a minor transgression compared to steroids and criminal violence (Myers, 2007; Wyld, 2007), and Williams presents a narrative of a player struggling mentally and physically who then uses a positive marijuana test to help him step away from the game of football (Pamphilon & Toni, 2010). The dominant narrative about Williams tends to focus on the perceived selfishness of his actions. However, this legible form of black masculinity relies on other narratives that situate Williams as someone who cannot be defined. For instance, in 1999, before the start of his rookie season, Ricky Williams and his coach, Mike Ditka, posed for the cover of ESPN the Magazine. This cover depicted them as bride and groom with Williams in a wedding dress and Ditka in a tuxedo. This cover photograph is often used as a reference point signifying the illegibility of Williams. For example, Dan Daly (2004) of The Washington Times states, After the Williams-Ditka nuptials, it hardly seemed strange at all that Ricky would conduct postgame interviews with his helmet on. Nor was it the least bit surprising when he tested positive for marijuana. The guy had to be on something, right? (p. C01) 14 This short quote exemplifies the difficulties the mainstream press had in trying to make sense of Williams. In this case, it is Williams’ violation of masculine norms by wearing a wedding dress that is subsequently used to explain other “odd” behavior. Marijuana is also used as explanation of why a male football player would pose in a wedding dress and other behavior that falls outside of the norm. Yet, while the Williams and Ditka nuptials are marked as unusual, in many ways it is symbolic of traditional assumptions about black and white men in sport. The black male body has been continuously constructed as violent, animalistic, and hypersexual to justify control, regulation, and surveillance of the black body (Collins, 2004). Consequently, the untamed black body is constituted as in need of discipline. In the world of sport, it is often the white male coach that has symbolically served as the figure to rule over the undisciplined black male, and it is through the acceptance and embracement of this role that the black male athlete is accepted and seen as non-threatening (Ferber, 2007). Thus, when he poses as the bride, Williams is submitting to control of the white male authority figure by occupying the subservient role of the bride in traditional norms of gender and heterosexuality. Thereby the photo works to symbolically reinforce his subservient role in racial hierarchy of professional sport and society in general. Ricky Williams’s strangeness is marked by journalist through his performances of gender. “Ricky’s personality is the furthest thing you’d expect from a football player. He’s more like a writer, a poet” (Colbourn, 2006, p. C04). Williams is also more like a “bohemian” (Silver et al., 2004), or Henry David Thoreau (Wilstein, 2004). Additionally, the documentary A football life: Ricky Williams draws on this connection by opening the film with a shot of Williams in front of a statute of the artist, Rembrandt. These characterizations discursively construct 15 Williams outside of the boundaries of hegemonic masculinity, as they emphasize emotion and the cerebral instead of physicality. More so, these attributes situate Williams beyond the borders of legible black masculinity, as they do not reduce Williams to the physical outputs of his body. Rather, labels such as, bohemian, writer, artist, or poet connote understandings of intellect, whiteness, and emotional sensitivity. More so, descriptions such as, bohemian or Henry David Thoreau also signify anti-establishment political viewpoints, a stance that is often demonized within sport, particularly for black athletes (Collins, 2004). Hence, these narratives that place Williams outside legible understandings of black masculinity help perpetuate characterizations such as, Williams is “someone who cannot be defined” (Fitzgerald, 2006, p. B9), quirky (Weisman, 2004), and an enigma (Kernan, 2004). When Williams is labeled as an enigma or someone that cannot be defined, this discursive practice redraws the boundaries of legible black masculinities. There is no attempt to use descriptors such as bohemian or poet to expand notions of black masculinity. Instead, these labels are used as evidence that Williams falls outside the boundary of black masculinity and hence verifying the binary of legible black masculinity. Constructing the bad black Williams’s illegibility is perpetuated by markers of gender that emphasize sensitivity and intellect situating him outside the boundaries of dominant discourse of black masculinity. Williams’s illegible blackness, combined with his marijuana use and early retirement, create a context for the reproduction of narratives of legible black masculinity. Williams becomes the bad black through the positioning of his marijuana use and retirement as selfish acts. For example, Paul Attner (2004) states 16 he has always been one of the most selfish, unpredictable, purposely bizarre and more than slightly off-kilter athletes of recent times-a man who doesn’t think or act conventionally or care for one mini-second how his behavior and decision might affect anyone around him (p. 44) In the case of this critique, Attner (2004) is unable to see Williams as an individual who has certain needs and the right to make his own decisions. Instead, more importance is placed on how Williams’ decision to retire would impact his teammates and the larger Dolphins organization (see also Bell, 2004; Bohls, 2008; Woods, 2005). This thread is picked up when Williams attempted to return to the NFL. Randy Rorrer (2005) of the Dayton Beach News Journal argues, that Williams was a quitter and couldn’t be trusted. Greg Stoda (2006), of The Palm Beach Post, states Williams “doesn't care about anybody except Ricky Williams” and it is because of this selfish attitude that “Williams is exactly what the Dolphins don’t need” (p. 1C). These discourses fail to engage with any discussion of why retirement might be good for Williams, and instead focus on the perceived violation of team dynamics and thus selfish actions Williams participated in by walking away from the game. Williams discussed his early retirement in, A Football Life, mentioning that he began to see his own mortality due to the abuse his body was taking playing in the NFL (NFL Films, 2014). Furthermore, Williams later revealed his ambivalence toward his football career stating “If I was excited about playing, I wouldn’t have been smoking dope” (Crouse, 2004, p. 1B). Williams adds to this narrative in a later segment in A Football life. He admits to wanting to retire before the 2003 season, but says, “he chose against himself and decided to keep 17 playing”. He also admits to not being that invested in the NFL. Williams frames his decision of going onto the NFL not as a goal, dream, or something that he was heavily invested in, but rather as just something you do after winning the Heisman trophy (NFL Films, 2014). In this instance, Williams offers some insight into how legible and illegible forms of black masculinity may impact black men. The inability of Williams to envision anything else to do with his life besides play professional football hints at the limited framework black men may have of what is possible in their lives. In fact, bell hooks (2004) argues that the predominance of limited and negative stereotypes that circulate about black men over determines the identities that black men can create for themselves. Williams’s own narratives about becoming indifferent to football but not knowing what to do with himself are indicative of the illegibility of more complex representations of black masculinity. Yet, the dominant racial and gendered discourses of the NFL do not leave room for understandings of black men that may become indifferent to being successful at the sport of football. Instead, given the white working class culture within the NFL that asks players to suppress their individualism and sacrifice their bodies for the collective (Andrews, Mower, & Silk, 2011) combined with the disproportionate demonization of acts by black players that are perceived to be individualistic (Cunningham, 2009), Williams is easily situated as the bad black. Greg Cote (2007) of the Miami Herald, discussing Williams on National Public Radio (NPR), sums this up by stating He’s a man who has a lot going on in his life and sometimes manages to fit football in. And that’s what people in football sort of can’t fathom, is the idea that this guy is not as 18 passionate about their beloved sport as they want him to be (quoted in Chadwick, 2007, ¶ 3). The legible scripts of black masculinity objectify black men and strip them of their agency and humanity. Therefore, as this quote highlights, it is difficult for the public and the sport media to comprehend a black male athlete engaging in acts to heal the body and mind, as opposed to harming their body and mind through the violent sport of football. More so, black athletes that are believed to violate the norms of sport to do things in their own way are routinely vilified (Lorenz & Murray, 2011). Thus, to make sense of Williams, his decision to retire, is often transformed into to an act of selfishness. Without more complex scripts that account for the emotional complexity and humanity of black men, Williams’s more complex emotional needs and interests are rendered illegible. Williams decision to retire is further simplified through discussions of his marijuana use. For instance, in response to a former teammate of Williams contemplating Williams potential to go crazy, Greg Colbourn (2006) states “Williams did, mailing himself overseas and walking away from the NFL and millions of dollars. He preferred to regularly smoke marijuana like his hero, Bob Marley, and to search for the other side of himself” (p. C04). In this quote, Williams is marked as abnormal and his marijuana smoking is highlighted as a behavior that is synonymous with an irrational state of mind. In the previous quote, Bob Marley is also reduced to a marijuana smoker, as opposed to a musician, political figure, and Rastafarian. The connection between Bob Marley and Ricky Williams is also illustrated through the following: “Ricky Williams, whose pot history is positively Marleyesque” (Perkins, 2005, p. E01) or Jon Saraceno (2005) calls Ricky Williams the “Bob Marley of football” (p.6C). In these one-liners, Bob Marley becomes a signifier of 19 marijuana use and is reduced to one legible characteristic. These descriptions do not allow for any nuanced understandings of his marijuana usage, which when connected to Williams discounts the potential to understand Williams’s usage of the plant outside of self-indulgence. For instance, Williams had a prescription for medical marijuana for his social anxiety issues, which he reported as being more effective than prescription drugs (Bennett, 2013). However, the inability to link Williams’s marijuana use to anything other than self-indulgence then becomes another way to discursively construct him as the bad black. Making the illegible, legible While playing with the Toronto Argonauts, Williams was asked what he would do if he knew a teammate was using drugs, and his response offers a counter-narrative to his own treatment by the media: I’m a guy who truly believes in to each his own. I smoked for a couple of years, but I wouldn’t necessarily tell someone to smoke because it’s obviously illegal and it’s a drug. But if a teammate came up to me, I wouldn’t berate him, yell at him or tell him he’s a bad person. The problem is we always tell people what to do and not look at why they do it (Naylor, 2006, p.S.1) There are a small number of journalists that attempt to empathize with Williams’s decision making and praise his willingness to apologize to teammates and fans for the consequences of his early retirement (see Cote, 2008; Kernan, 2005; Maskke, 2004; Wilbon, 2005). Nonetheless, none of these articles engage with a narrative that presents marijuana use as something other than self-indulgence. The ability to look past the act of marijuana smoking to answer the larger question of why does a person choose to use pot is incredibly relevant to the contemporary NFL. Former 20 NFL players, such as Jamal Anderson, have estimated that during his playing days 40-50% of the league smoked, and Anderson believes about 60% of the league smokes marijuana currently (Freeman, 2015). Additionally, both current and former players are beginning to advocate for the use of marijuana to deal with chronic pain and concussions, because of its effectiveness over traditional painkillers (Bryant, 2013). For example, former NFL players such as Jim McMahon, Scott Fujita, and Brendan Ayanbadejo are advocating for the use of medical marijuana for players (O’Keeefe, 2016), while current player Eugene Monroe of the Baltimore Ravens recently donated $80,000 towards medical research investigating the impact of medical marijuana on football players (Wood, 2016). Yet, to move forward with this, the players of the NFL would have to be understood as more than people who want to get high. In other words, understandings of what it means to be marijuana user would have to be expanded for any sport league to accept the use of medical marijuana by their players. Waddington (2000) argues it is the illegality of recreational drugs such as marijuana, as well as fears about public sentiment that are the driving forces of sport organizations like the International Olympic Committee (IOC) banning the substance (see also Wenner, 1994). Issues regarding the representation of marijuana users becomes even more complicated with leagues like the NFL, given the racial make-up of the league. As, the problem of recreational drug use within sport is predominantly framed through the black body (King et al., 2014). However, more expansive narratives of black marijuana users are hindered by the dichotomy that exists between recreational drug use and sport. CL Cole (1996) discusses the ways the popular press represents sport and gangs as oppositional entities competing for the souls of African American youth. She argues that the problem of gangs is made to matter through the constant juxtaposition with sport whereby there 21 is a perceived inverse relationship. This relationship is framed through the perceived struggles for character and morality by black youth in the inner-city, and sport and gangs represent opposite ends of this battle for morality (Cole, 1996). Sport and recreational drug use, specifically marijuana can be thought of in a similar manner. Sport historically has been constructed as a site to build a sense of morality and counter the ills of society (Dyerson, 1998), while marijuana has often been constructed within prohibition circles as a substance that causes the user to slip into passive fantasy world (Himmelstein, 1983). Thus, while sport is meant to make the individual a healthy productive member of society, marijuana use makes the user passive and unproductive. The perceived inverse relationship between recreational drug use and sport hinders the ability to understand the marijuana using athlete in a nuanced manner. This is particularly true for black athletes that use marijuana, as they tend to be framed in a negative manner compared to their white-counter parts (Lewis & Proffit, 2012; Leonard, 2017). The limited framing of the black marijuana using athlete combined with narrow construction of the black male athlete in general, create a context where it is difficult to imagine alternative forms of black masculinity. The case of Ricky Williams helps to illustrate this larger point, as dominant discourses of Williams’s marijuana use as selfish reinforces the sport/pot dichotomy, and highlight how the use of marijuana by the black body create a space for the reinforcement for legible black masculinities. Yet, Williams’s illegible performances of black masculinity offer a way forward. When presented with narratives of Williams that associate him with art, yoga, and disinterest in performing on the football field he represents a complexity that cannot be explained through the dominant representations of black men. Thus, while the use of marijuana by black athletes 22 creates a context that is likely to perpetuate narratives of legible black masculinity, a critical analysis of these discourses creates a space for the articulation of more nuanced understandings of black men. Ben Carrington (2010) argues that when black athletes themselves begin to critique forms of hyper-masculinity, they begin the work of forming less damaging forms of black masculinity (see also hooks, 2004). More so, the rejection of the white construction of the black athlete allows for a recovery of humanity that is denied through white patriarchal standards for black men. Revisiting some of the more marginalized narratives of Williams opens space for this type of work. For example, during his first retirement Williams moved to California to study the holistic form of healing called Ayurveda. In Run Ricky Run, Williams mentions that after he moved to California, he lost interest in money and houses, and then says, “It hit me that I don’t need money” (Pamphilon & Toni, 2010). More so, in A football life: Ricky Williams, Williams discusses that his idea of success is based on gaining new knowledge and experiences, as opposed to racking up football stats (NFL Films, 2014). Williams’s critique of the solitary pursuit of economic and athletic fame opens a space for alternative conceptions of what it means to be a black athlete. Placing emphasis on narratives such as this provide an opportunity to widen understandings of black masculinity, while also breaking links in the public imagination between the black body and anti-blackness (Neal, 2013). Williams’s discussion of his yoga practice is another example of how alternative discourses of black masculinity can be used to displace negative understandings of blackness. Per Williams, yoga helped him grow as a person and find balance in his life (Lefko, 2006), and it helped him learn how to relax without the help of marijuana (NFL Film, 2014). Additionally, 23 through his experiences in becoming a yoga instructor Williams believes he concluded that his gift is to help people heal (Pamphilon & Toni, 2010). Injecting these marginalized narratives into larger understandings of Williams help refute many of the damaging constructions of the black male athlete. The narratives of self-improvement, emotional management, and the assisting others disrupt discourses of the black athlete as animalistic, bound to physiological impulses, and selfish (Carrington, 2010). Thus, these marginalized narratives offer potential to open new and wider possibilities of what it means to be a black athlete and a black athlete that uses marijuana. The most legible form of black masculinity, the black criminal, is produced and reproduced to sustain the racial hierarchies of the US (Neal, 2013). Therefore, the belief that the black body is criminal helps perpetuate the disproportionate policing of the black body in the enforcement of marijuana prohibition. Currently, black men are arrested at higher rates than whites despite no greater use (ACLU, 2013). 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(2010) Racism without racists: Color-blind racism & racial inequality in contemporary America. Third Edition. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers Inc. 27 Boyd, S. (2002) Media constructions of illegal drugs, users, and sellers: A closer look at Traffic. International Journal of Drug Policy, 13, 397-407 Boyd, S. (2008) Hooked: Drug war films in Britain, Canada, and the United States. Toronto: University of Toronto Press Bryant, H. (2013 December 10) Smoke Screen. ESPN. Retrieved from http://www.espn.com/nfl/story/_/id/10110004/is-nfl-embrace-marijuana-espn-magazine Carrington, B. (2001) Fear of a black athlete: Masculinity, politics and the body. New Formations: A Journal of Culture/Theory/Politics. 45, 91-110 Carrington, B. (2010) Race, sport and politics: The sporting black diaspora. London: SAGE Publications Ltd. Chadwick, A. (2007, November 15). NFL reinstates Dolphins’ free spirit running back. National Public Radio Colbourn, G. (2006, May 29) An athlete with a poet’s personality. Toronto Star. Cole, C. L. (1996). American Jordan: PLAY, consensus, and punishment. Sociology of Sport Journal, 13(4), 366-397. 28 Collins, P. (2004) Black sexual politics: African Americans, gender, and the new racism. New York, NY: Routledge Cote, G. (2008 August 1) Redemption; Ricky Williams has returned hoping to clear his name and restore his football legacy. The Miami Herald, B12 Crouse, K. (2004 November 10) Ricky accepts being players’ scapegoat. Palm Beach Post, 1B Cunningham, P. (2009) “Please don’t fine me again!!!!!”: Black athletic defiance in the NBA and NFL. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 33 (1), 39-58 Daly, D. (2004, July 27) ‘Truth’ about Ricky is pretty strange. The Washington Times. C01 Dyerson, M (1998) Making the American team: Sport, culture, and the Olympic experience. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press Ferber, A. (2007) The construction of black masculinity: White supremacy now and then. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 31, 11-24 Fitz-Gerald, S. (2006 May 30) See Ricky run: No matter where Williams’ rambling ways take he running back, controversy has never been far behind. National Post (Toronto Edition), B9 29 Fitz-Gerald, S. (2006 November 3) Fun and games: Outside of a smaller paycheque, the CFL was a perfect detour for Williams. National Post (Toronto Edition), S1 Frank, V. (2015 July 3) Recent suspensions show just out of touch NFL’s marijuana policy is. Forbes. Retrieved from http://www.forbes.com/sites/vincentfrank/2015/07/03/recent suspension-shows-just-how-out-of-touch-nfls-marijuana-policy-is/#30b4bb083260 Freeman, M. (2015 June 30) Banned, but bountiful: Marijuana coveted by NFL players as invaluable pain killer. Bleacher Report. Retrieved from http://bleacherreport.com/articles/2486218-banned-but-bountiful-marijuana-coveted-by nfl-players-as-invaluable-painkiller Gerber, R. (2004) Legalizing marijuana: Drug policy reform and prohibition politics. Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers Giambrone, A. (2014 December 1) Will congress let DC legalize pot? The Atlantic. Retrieved on January 28 from https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2014/12/will-congress-let washington-dc-legalize-weed/383276/ Himmelstein, J. (1983) The strange career of marijuana: Politics and ideology of drug control in America. Westport: CT, Greenwood Press. hooks, b. (2004) We real cool: Black men and masculinity. New York, NY: Routledge http://www.forbes.com/sites/vincentfrank/2015/07/03/recent http://www.forbes.com/sites/vincentfrank/2015/07/03/recent http://bleacherreport.com/articles/2486218-banned-but-bountiful-marijuana-coveted-by http://bleacherreport.com/articles/2486218-banned-but-bountiful-marijuana-coveted-by https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2014/12/will-congress-let https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2014/12/will-congress-let 30 Hyde, D. (2012 February 12) What’s next?: Ricky Williams’ world without football full of possibilities. Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, C2 Ingraham, C. (2016 March 25) Support for marijuana legalization has hit an all-time high. The Washington Post. Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2016/03/25/support-for-marijuana legalization-has-hit-an-all-time-high/ Johnson, G. (2006 September 23) The Ricky experience: Argos running back is one different kind of cat. The Calgary Herald, D1 Kaufman, I. (2004 November 28) Ricky Williams isn’t worth the risk. The Tampa Tribune, 11 Kernan, S. (2005 July 30) Give Williams the benefit of the doubt. Daytona Beach News-Journal, 2D King, S., Carey, R., Jinnah, N., Millington, R., Phillpson, A., Prouse, C., & Ventesca, M. (2014) When is a drug not a drug? Troubling silences and unsettling painkillers in the National Football League. Sociology of Sport Journal, 31, 24-266 King-White, R. (2010) Danny Almonte: Discursive Construction(s) of (Im)migrant Citizenship in Neoliberal America. Sociology of Sport Journal, 27, 178-199 Kusz, K. (2007) From NASCAR nation to Pat Tillman: Notes on sport and the politics of white cultural nationalism in post 9/11 America. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 31, 77-88 https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2016/03/25/support-for-marijuana https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2016/03/25/support-for-marijuana 31 Le Batard, D. (2004, July 30) Dolphins’ Williams chooses pot over NFL. The Miami Herald. Lefko, P. (2006 May 30) Sorry to be so abstract: The Williams interview part 2: Yoga, religion and marijuana. The Toronto Sun, S4 Leonard, D., & King, C. Richard (2011) Commodified and criminalized: New racism and African Americans in contemporary sport. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. Leonard, D. J. (2017). Playing While White: Privilege and Power on and off the Field. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press Lewis, J., & Proffitt, J. (2012) Bong hits and water bottles: An analysis of news coverage of athletes and marijuana use. Journal of Sports Media, 7, 1-21 Lorenz, S., & Murray, R. (2011) The Dennis Rodman of hockey: Ray Emery and the policing of blackness in the great white north. In D. Leonard & C.R. King (Eds) Commodified and Criminalized: New racism and African Americans in contemporary sports. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers Inc. Markus, B. (2016, June 29) As adults legally smoke pot in Colorado, more minority kids arrested for it. National Public Radio. Retrieved on August 20, 2016 from http://www.npr.org/2016/06/29/483954157/as-adults-legally-smoke-pot-in-colorado more-minority-kids-arrested-for-it http://www.npr.org/2016/06/29/483954157/as-adults-legally-smoke-pot-in-colorado http://www.npr.org/2016/06/29/483954157/as-adults-legally-smoke-pot-in-colorado 32 Mascaro, C. (2014, May 14) NFL to change drug policy regarding marijuana use. Sports Illustrated. Retrieved on June 1, 2016 from http://tracking.si.com/2014/05/13/nfl-drug-policy-change-regarding-marijuana/ Maske, M. (2004 July 27) Williams joins runners who walked away. Washington Post, D01 McDonald, M. G. (1996). Michael Jordan's Family Values: Marketing, Meaning, and Post Reagan America. Sociology of Sport Journal, 13(4). McDonald, M., & Birrell, S. (1999) Reading sport critically: A methodology for interrogating power. Sociology of Sport Journal, 16, 283-300 McDonald, M. (2002) Queering whiteness: The particular case of the Women’s National Basketball Association. Sociological Perspectives, 45, 379-396 McDonald, M. (2006) Beyond the pale: The whiteness of sport studies and queer scholarship. In J. Caudwell (Eds) Sport, sexualities, and queer/theory. New York, NY: Routledge Messner, M. (2007) Out of play: Critical essays on gender and sport. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press Myers, G. (2004, July 30) Ricky tells how career went to pot. New York Daily News. 33 Myers, D. (2007, April 10). NFL should reinstate Ricky Williams. La Crosse Tribune, Nadelman, E. (2010 December 27) Breaking the taboo. The Nation, 11-12 Naylor, D. (2006, May 30) Williams finds his karma: Running back lured to Toronto by chance to teach yoga for free. The Globe and Mail Neal, M. A. (2013) Looking for Leroy: illegible black masculinities. NYU Press NFL (2015) National Football League Policy and Program for Substance Abuse. Retrieved on April 15, 2016 from http://images.nflplayers.com/mediaResources/files/PDFs/PlayerDevelopment/201 0%20Drug%20Policy.pdf NFL Films (2014 October 31) A football life: Ricky Williams [Television Broadcast]. United States: NFL Films Oates, T. (2014) Failure is not an option: Sport documentary and the politics of redemption. Journal of Sport History, Summer 2014, 401-409 O’Keefe, M. (2004 October 10) The search for truth: Esquire scribe’s big adventure with Ricky Williams. New York Daily News, 88 http://images.nflplayers.com/mediaResources/files/PDFs/PlayerDevelopment/201 http://images.nflplayers.com/mediaResources/files/PDFs/PlayerDevelopment/201 34 O’Keefe, M. (2016 June 18) Jim McMahon, other NFL veterans push for marijuana as painkiller. New York Daily News, Retrieved on February 10, 2017 from http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/football/jim-mcmahon-nfl-veterans-push-marijuana- painkiller-article-1.2679087 O’Neil, D. (2004 August 8) A toke isn’t just a token thing. St Louis Dispatch, D02 Pamphilon, S., Toni. R. (Directors). (2010) Run Ricky Run [DVD]. United States: ESPN Perkins, D. (2005, April 23) NFL drug pitch a scam. The Toronto Star. Provine, D. (2007) Unequal under law: Race in the War on Drugs. Chicago: University of Chicago Press Radwanski, A. (2006, May 12) Playing the hypocrisy game. The National Post. Retrieved on May 16, 2016 from www.lexisnexis.com Rorrer, R. (2005 July 30) Underneath it all, has Ricky really changed? Once a quitter, always a quitter. Ricky Williams abruptly left the Miami Dolphins a year ago, sending the team into turmoil. A year later he’s back at camp, but how should he be received by his teammates? Daytona Beach News-Journal, 2D Saraceno, J. (2005, August 22) Catch the buzz on NFL pot scene. USA Today. ttp://www.nydailynews.com/sports/football/jim-m http://www.lexisnexis.com/ 35 Silver, M., Bechtel, M., Cannella, S. (2004 August 2) He’s going to Rickyland. Sports Illustrated, 101 (4), p. 23 Spillers, H. J. (1987). Mama's baby, papa's maybe: An American grammar book. diacritics, 17(2), 65-81. Stoda, G. (2006 April 26) Suspended; Dolphins must quit habit of forgiving and forget. Palm Beach Post, 1C The Province (2004 November 23) Retired RB studying to be a healer: From holes in the line to holistic medicine. The Vancouver Province, A52 Vogan, T. (2014) Keepers of the flame: NFL films and the rise of sport media. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press Waddington, I. (2000) Sport, health and drugs: A critical sociological perspective. London: Routledge Weheliye, A. G. (2014). Habeas viscus: Racializing assemblages, biopolitics, and Black feminist theories of the human. Duke University Press. Weisman, L. (2004 July 26) Finally free, Dolphins tailback retires. USA Today, 01C Wenner, L. (1994) Drugs, sport, and media influence: Can media inspire constructive attitudinal 36 change? Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 18, 282-292 Wenner, L. A. (1995). The good, the bad and the ugly: race, sport and the public eye. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 19(3), 227-231. Wilbon, M. (2005 July 7) Iconoclastic backs leading parallel lives. The Washington Post, E01 Wilson, B. (1997) Good Blacks and Bad Blacks: Media construction of African-American athletes in Canadian basketball. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 32, 177 189 Wilstein, S. (2004 July 27) What makes Ricky run?: Former Dolphin is searching for a truth that doesn’t include football. The Vancouver Sun, E3 Wood, S. (2005 July 26) Dolphins greet Williams’ return with caution. USA Today, 03C. Wood, S. (2016 May 14) NFL tackle donates $80K to Penn for marijuana research. Philadelphia Inquirer. Retrieved on February 5th, 2017 from http://www.philly.com/philly/health/20160514_NFL_tackle_donates__80k_to_Penn_for_ marijuana_research_on_players.html Wyld, A. (2007, October 1) Reefer madness in NFL’s drug rules. San Francisco Chronicle. Retrieved on May 15, 2016 from www.ebscohost.com http://www.philly.com/philly/health/20160514_NFL_tackle_donates__80k_to_Penn_for_ http://www.ebscohost.com/ 
work_fx5uxzymanccrk3hrv2gdb26pu	----	537 Craig Howley is the coauthor of 15 books and book chapters and more than 40 peer-reviewed research articles. Journal for the Education of the Gifted. Vol. 32, No. 4, 2009, pp. 537–564. Copyright ©2009 Prufrock Press Inc., http://www.prufrock.com the Meaning of Rural Difference for Bright Rednecks Craig B. Howley Ohio University, ACCLAIM Research Initiative this essay considers the intellectual engagement of rural people in the context of their schooling. it argues that rural schooling shares the miseducative purposes common to american schooling in general (i.e., purposes associated with sustaining american global economic dominion). it frames rurally appropriate education as an on-the- ground pursuit of rural alternatives in american life, alternatives explained as the engagement of rural ways of being, living, and knowing—alternatives that only a small minority of rural schools currently embraces. the essay applies the insights it develops about intellectual engagement in rural life to school provisions for academi- cally able rural students. Because gifted students demonstrate a high degree of aca- demic aptitude, the recommendations concern engagement with formal literatures about rural ways of being, living, and knowing. introduction This essay treats the meaning of rural difference for bright rednecks. My use of the epithet is ironic, but it forces readers to confront the fact that the related bigotry remains socially acceptable. The issue for gifted education is whether or not bright rednecks can develop intellect. By rednecks, of course, the essay does not refer to the children of rural and small-town elites, but to the children of the rural work- ing class. If diversity is difference and if the opposite of diversity is exclusion,1 then the rural working class harbors a realm of meaning- ful difference largely excluded from considerations of diversity, and from considerations of racism and hatred in America. Of course, a key issue for cosmopolitan and metropolitan Americans is whether Journal for the Education of the Gifted538 or not ordinary rural people (i.e., rednecks) are more racist than cosmopolitans and metropolitans. This judgment, however, is not a problem treated in this essay because racism operates everywhere in America, and whether the city or the country is more racist is not just debatable but pointless. This essay is instead concerned to treat the intellectual engage- ment of rural people in the context of an on-the-ground pursuit of a rural alternative in American life. This is the problem because schooling has largely withdrawn, or been withdrawn, from this proj- ect, and it is a withdrawal that runs from kindergarten through doc- toral instruction. The essay sets these rural issues of diversity in the context of racism, corporate authority over the purposes of schooling and curriculum, and the significance (the meaningfulness) of rural ways of being, living, and knowing. The narrative that follows, however, asks the reader to await the middle of the discussion to hear what rural is because the definition is best given after some examples and some unpacking of the important ideas.2 The entire article concludes, moreover, with a specific example of rural studies conducted with rural students in a unique doctoral program in mathematics education, and it suggests ways that lessons from that experience seem applicable in rural K–12 schooling con- cerned to engage the intellectual development of academically able rural students. Three propositions ground the considerations of this essay. First, some rural children exhibit prodigious facility with the academic part of their schooling. Second, this schooling strangely continues to miseducate these children along with the rest. Third, this miseduca- tion takes peculiar and largely unappreciated forms in rural places. Although doubting the mission of rural schooling, this framework informs a critique that still prizes education.3 On the matters to be considered here, this essay is less troubled about the fate of these rural children as individuals, and far more troubled about the fate of the rural communities to which these children belong. “Belonging” figures here because it often seems that, with schooling, the state or the nation asserts a primary claim to children; more distressing still is the more recent assertion that children belong to the global economy. This function of removing The Meaning of Rural Difference 539 rural children from rural places via rural schooling , though, has a very long history. Rural schools have long been understood as a talent-extraction industry (e.g., Corbett, 2007; DeYoung, 1995; Theobald, 1997), as part of the saga of American industrialization and urbanization. The saga means that rural communities have been places that the ambi- tious, modernist individuals have, for a hundred years, learned to leave. The belongingness of rural children to their families and com- munities is of little consequence to the institution of schooling, but it is of immeasurable consequence to their education—and to the futures of rural communities. the pity of “Diversity” Being “different” has practical implications for schooling and for educators not because of simple and honest difference, which is surely interesting and educative, but because of the imputations of inferiority associated with someone else’s perception of difference. The great advantage of cultural relativism, as a gift of anthropolog y, is that it has permitted some part of the populace to distance itself from 19th and 20th century certainties about the world-wide virtues of white-ish skin color and being English. As the appearance of the epithet redneck in this essay perhaps shows readers, this intellectual advantage seems not to benefit rural people and cultures. Why not? Most rural people (82%) are White (U.S. Department of Agriculture, 2005), and, according to one rural observer (Bageant, 2007), this fact is apparently confusing to the 80% of Americans who live in metropolitan areas, where social problems are so often associated with the politics of race.4 A worse confusion, however, is that the devotion of schooling to industrial culture, not to say “bour- geois” culture, remains strong nearly everywhere. Indeed, most of the maneuvering around the concept of diversity seeks to assimilate (include) people with darker skins in(to) the existing bourgeois cul- ture of schooling. For centuries, rural people and rural communities have served as the standard of backwardness for the entire industrial- izing world (DeYoung, 1995; Goad, 1997; Herzog & Pittman, 1995). To smug inhabitants of the cosmopolitan mainstream, this history Journal for the Education of the Gifted540 makes it seem wasteful to engage intellectual matters among ordi- nary rural people (aka rednecks). Once rural is understood in this way—that is, as yet another allegation of inadequate variation from an idealized Anglo standard that turns out, in the contemporary cir- cumstance, to be a suburban and professional norm—the need for the present consideration should also be understandable. In the case of Blacks, Hispanics, and American Indians, the misat- tribution of cultural and intellective incapacity has been persistently linked (ludicrously linked) to skin color and facial features. With rural people and communities, few such spurious and overtly hateful markers of (inappropriately attributed) inferiority exist, but this very lack apparently strengthens the existential claim: Rural inferiority is then more securely misunderstood to be the real condition of rural existence—an allegation that goes well beyond individual bigotry and even beyond institutional racism, engaging a deeper structure of invidious discrimination.5 Whereas people with darker skins feel the immediate outrage of being judged inferior on the basis of superficial- ities, the affront to rural people is based on the fundamentals of bour- geois economic and cultural power that are recognized as the way the world rightly is by the supposed necessities of contemporary society (e.g., the supposedly necessary replacement of the horse by the auto- mobile and tractor). These supposed necessities are open to doubt. In 1848, Marx and Engels famously referenced “the idiocy of rural life” in the Manifesto of the Communist Party, explicitly con- textualizing this view of rural people, however, to the bourgeois out- look and accomplishment.6 This is precisely what the societal status norms represent in setting up suburban residence and professional occupation as “the best.” This best, not surprisingly, is precisely what gifted education commends to academically talented rural young- sters, almost without exception.7 Such a construction appeals inher- ently to the rural elite but is less appealing to other rural people (Woodrum, 2004). Rural places are relatively powerless in political, economic, and cultural terms. Rural ways of living and being and knowing are deval- ued—literally marginalized. To keep breathing the rural air is, in part, to breathe in the acknowledgement of this state of affairs, and the allegations of one’s own inferiority. Rural people are, in this way, simply divided from their own meaningfulness and power because The Meaning of Rural Difference 541 the bourgeois victory identified so very long ago by Marx and Engels continues to dictate to them many of the detailed terms of day-to-day existence in rural places. Just uncovering the outrage (the cosmopolitan idiocy) requires facility with words and numbers sufficient to call critique and doubt into existence with actual effect on the terms of the deception. These evocations are rare accomplishments anywhere, but they are perhaps rarest where there is no need of them; that is, among the most com- placent professionals in the most affluent suburbs. The “21st century skills” (“Partnership for 21st Century Skills,” 2004) almost univer- sally promoted by big business will not come close to the require- ments to bring appropriate doubt, critique, and action into being. Who can do this work? That issue is partly addressed in the last sec- tion of the essay. In the meantime, however, we turn to the bourgeois version of societal needs, so-called 21st-century skills. Suffering 21st-century Skills in Rural america State education agencies (SEAs), the U.S. Department of Education, the National Science Foundation, and many other august bodies pre- sume to understand the requirements of the 21st century. From this presumption, they articulate the aims of schooling in distinctly cor- porate terms: global economic combat, high levels of qualification in math and science, corporate teamwork, and problem solving. The chief state school officers of the rural states of Maine, South Dakota, and West Virginia have, for instance, recently become enthusiastic founding members of a network of state superintendents devoted to this view (“Partnership for 21st Century Skills,” 2004). The corporate authorities behind this particular effort include Dell, Apple, Intel, Texas Instruments, Cisco, Microsoft, Adobe, Verizon, and AT&T. Public schooling now looks less and less covertly public and more and more overtly corporate. Scratching the surface is not necessary; a light buffing will suffice. In fact, lying to oneself may be the unstated 21st-century skill most important to the corporate outlook. John Gaventa’s (1980) study of “quiescence and rebellion in an Appalachian valley” interpreted the ideological enslavement as lies that corporations ensure that people Journal for the Education of the Gifted542 tell themselves, and these lies are communicated and reinforced partly through schooling. Duncan (1996), in an account more politi- cally liberal than radical, showed even more explicitly than Gaventa some of the ways in which Appalachian and Mississippi Delta rural schools are complicit.8 My colleagues and I (all family, actually, in this case) have also documented how seldom a libertory agenda is articulated in impov- erished rural schools. Among more than 100 educators interviewed for one of our studies of rural schools, just one spoke of educational purpose other than employment (C. B. Howley, A. Howley, C. Howley, & M. Howley, 2006). This rural teacher was, predictably, a vocational agriculture (vo-ag ) teacher. The predictability lies in the fact that the vo-ag curriculum has traditionally cultivated the con- nection between farming and rural community leadership (Elliott, 2002). The termination of vo-ag programs in rural schools means that even this lonely voice is being effectively silenced.9 What supplants such voices in rural schools? Standardization and anti-intellectualism replace them with chatter about preparation for global economic combat with 21st-century skills. The conspiracy is not one of individuals, of course, but of institutions, especially large firms, transnational firms, and the governments they shape and domi- nate. If common purpose (also known as “community”) and intellect (or informed thoughtfulness) were finally vacated from our national and local cultures and from the schooling intended to sustain and inform them,10 what would remain available to any schooling that is educative? Only the resistance of a few outraged individuals. alternative pathways in Rural lives Rural communities and people are different from the valued cosmo- politan mainstream. Indeed, many rural places are sufficiently differ- ent that one might hope for something even more different in the future. That stubborn possibility explains why, when things periodi- cally have gotten bad in cities, human beings have aspired to redis- cover their humanity in rural places (e.g., Borsodi, 1933; Orr, 1995; Williams, 1973; Yarwood, 2005). Practices and views exist here (in rural life) worthy of study and extension. The Meaning of Rural Difference 543 What practices? These might include self-provisioning, neigh- borly mutuality and cooperation, improvisation and reuse, invention and use of appropriate technolog y, small-scale enterprise (“cottage industry”), biodiverse farming,11 logging with horses, refusal of bad schooling, and so forth. Such practices receive almost no attention, even or especially in rural schools, because they so little resemble the skills that the corporate mindset hawks as up-to-the-moment. Honoring these things widely within the curriculum of even rural schools would be a surprising turn of events. Rural views can help. What views? These include philosophies, critiques, interpre- tations, literatures, and rural arts and sciences outlined by rurally attuned thinkers such as Wendell Berry, Wes Jackson, David Orr, and Paul Theobald, not to mention Helen and Scott Nearing, Liberty Hyde Bailey, Henry David Thoreau, and Thomas Jefferson. As an instantiation of “American” culture, the American novel articulates strong rural themes throughout its history. The novel is one institu- tion that assiduously honors the country’s vast regional variation and significance. Even in the contemporary era, celebrated writers like Barbara Kingsolver, Annie Proulx, and Jane Smiley represent alterna- tive rural lifeways with both grace and complexity—and also with ample critique. The wisdom of generative rural works is even such that Americans ought to be grateful to ordinary rural people for sustaining rural life- ways alternative to the massively consumptive corporate mainstream. It was in Walden, after all, that Thoreau (1854/2004) observed: Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away. (p. 216) Walden, one may as well remember, is the original American text about the difference between miseducation and education. Unfortunately, miseducation has generally prevailed in schooling, especially school- ing for ordinary people, as generations of school critics have persua- sively argued from Thoreau, Mark Twain, and Henry Adams (in the 19th century) to Ivan Illich, Neil Postman, and Jean Anyon (in the 20th century, and to name nonrural critics only). Journal for the Education of the Gifted544 Part of this miseducation is the promotion in contemporary schools of the one-best way to live—the middle-class professional way. Perhaps, however, the insistent marketing given this path is another dubious form of consumption (for the original argument describing credentials as a consumer product, see Collins, 1979). Most disturbingly, this marketing effort constructs schooling, not only in myth, but more importantly in reality, as the likeliest path to economic security. More schooling, more earnings—on average. The subtlety of this “on average” is glossed over, however, in the market- ing campaign. In the space available, this essay cannot conclusively demonstrate the validity of this outlook on miseducation, but it must at least examine the promotion of the middle-class path a bit more closely as the manifestation of schooling’s one-best way to live. The One-Best Way to Live As Isaacson (2003) argued in his biography of Benjamin Franklin and as Hanson (1995) argued in his book about the origins of democracy in farming, the American middling classes (farmers and shopkeepers and small-scale merchants) were a bedrock of American life through the middle of the 20th century. To give the historical context briefly, the country-life reformers of the early 20th century were concerned to preserve a rural middle class (traditional petty- bourgeoisie) to balance the influence of a growing urban proletariat (Theobald, 1991). Their intentions were subverted first as the Great Depression (1930–1940) impoverished rural people, driving them to abandon rural places. Then, after the Second World War, the full industrialization and monetization of the farm economy (driving self-provisioning underground) resulted in clearances through farm consolidation. These twin assaults, part of a larger national restruc- turing of production and markets, destroyed the old independent rural middle class. The shopkeepers have been replaced by consolidated, national “shopkeepers”—the magnates of the big-box stores.12 The farmers have been replaced by bad times (continuing low commodity prices and cyclical farm crises) and big machines (large capital investment is typical in commercial farming operations). Many small rural The Meaning of Rural Difference 545 schools closed and many rural districts consolidated as farmers left the countryside. What has replaced the farmers and shopkeepers in the middle- class role in rural America? The new middle class is the middle class of managers and professionals (Griffith & Smith, 2005). According to Flora, Flora, Spears, and Swanson (1992), this new class exhibits entirely different commitments from the localized petty-bourgeoisie of Franklin’s small cities (Isaacson, 2003) and the independent yeo- man farmers that concerned Hanson (1995). The new class is con- cerned with national and global allegiances, not with local ones, according to Flora and colleagues. In addition, the new class puts devotion to schooling and financial success above attachment to family and community. The middle class to which children of the contemporary rural poor might be recruited is more interested in personal advancement than in sustaining local community. Parents in this new and more corporate middle class fear losing, not their independence, but the privileges their children have enjoyed contin- gent on their own dependence on corporate allegiance and employ- ment. Schooling is the path to such privileges for their children, and schools are run to ensure that end (Griffith & Smith, 2005). Many rural families are situated very differently from their sub- urban counterparts. In the first instance, they do not enjoy privileges like those accessed by the corporate middle class. They depend, in the second instance, on a series of jobs of limited duration, rather than on a durable career allied with corporate interests. They therefore see the educational issue quite differently. Rural parents often realize that pursuit of a great deal of schooling by their children means that the young will leave their rural communities and families, never to return (Corbett, 2007; DeYoung, 1995; Sher, 1977). Because they want to live near their children, then, they regard schooling much more suspiciously than members of the new, more footloose rural middle class—who anticipate separation from their adult children as inevitable and necessary, perhaps even welcome. Rural education researchers often hear from local educators in impoverished rural communities that “of course, these parents around here don’t value education.” The claim never ceases to take one aback: If learning is professionally understood to be a natural human activity, then a formative series of learning events (education) Journal for the Education of the Gifted546 must also be natural to humans (if of varying quality, in school and out). Perhaps educators lodging such a complaint do not understand the claim they are advancing : Their neighbors are less than human. A far more honest and accurate claim, therefore, is that rural parents (some or many, as the case may be) do not value schooling. An acknowledgement of this sort makes impoverished parents the comrades of Henry David Thoreau, Mark Twain, Henry Adams, Neil Postman, and all the legion of more recent critics of schooling. It acknowledges that such parents have (at the very least) a time-hon- ored point. If one, then, does make this different claim, and if one acknowl- edges that rural people have valid reasons for skepticism about schooling, one might begin to make appropriate alterations in how schools work. Where might one get the helpful clues? Voting With Their Feet: Refusing the One-Best Way The life paths elaborated by thoughtful young people who are already exercising rural alternatives might harbor some useful insights about how schooling might be appropriately altered in rural communities. This is a novel idea. Does any such record exist? Indeed it does. Beverly Burnell (2003) provided a detailed account of college refusal among “college- capable” rural young people. Burnell’s interviewees were bright rural youth who refused to go to college directly after high school gradua- tion, despite encouragement from school professionals. Some did not intend to pursue baccalaureate degrees, some opted for a plan to pur- sue postsecondary options later (e.g., after starting a family or starting a line of work), and some put aside planning future schooling in order to resolve more seemingly urgent personal or family situations. This study is full of surprises (from the vantage of the conven- tional wisdom of the middle-class path), but perhaps the most poi- gnant passage is this: The students were likely not fully aware of all the factors influencing their decision, and as several of them said, were surprised by many of the topics raised for discussion [i.e., by Burnell during the interviews], and in some cases, surprised The Meaning of Rural Difference 547 that someone valued hearing about facets of their lives and decisions that they themselves valued. Why should this kind of conversation be unfamiliar and even a surprise to them? Is no one talking with them? (Burnell, 2003, p. 111) Not only could these young people explain and defend their thinking about the future, they received no assistance in imagining such “alter- native” futures from their rural schools. No one is talking to them, one might imagine, because counselors receive no incentive to do so and would confront disbelief if they did. The conventional wisdom (the one-best way of living ) is backed by a great deal of corporate and state ideolog y and power (see the discussion of 21st-century skills) in enforcing the silence that struck Burnell so forcefully. The choices articulated by Burnell’s (2003) students, moreover, are exactly the sorts of life paths my colleagues and I have observed throughout our careers in rural communities, not only among aca- demically capable young people in rural schools, but also among many seasoned adults working in rural schools.13 A common theme among nearly all such people, young and old, is the desire to keep liv- ing in a rural place, especially the one they grew up in, remaining close with their families—which, in rural places, often constitute a durable extended network of relatives and not just the typical middle-class professional’s kinship-free Standard North American nuclear fam- ily (see Griffith & Smith, 2005, pp. 38–41 on the “Standard North American family”). Burnell (2003) concluded that schools could do a lot more to enhance the odds of success and fulfillment for rural young people who want to remain near family and community. Improvising a decent and frugal life in rural places is a deft accomplishment, as a few of the personal stories in Duncan’s Worlds apart (1999) suggest. Rural schools could surely support this option much better than they now do in many communities. Except for the ideolog y, it would not seemingly be so difficult. Rural communities also need not only farmers and mechanics (the old middle class) and therapists and physicians (nominal mem- bers of the new middle class) but freethinkers and critics disposed to help sustain rural places and positioned in social classes other than the elite. Schools, with their supposed interest in academics and the Journal for the Education of the Gifted548 intellect, could do something important here as well, and advocates of place-based education already recognize this possibility (Corbett, 2007; Gruenewald, 2003; Smith, 2002; Sobel, 2004; Theobald, 1997). Oddly, the purveyors of 21st-century skills express no interest in the role of social critic or public intellectual. They want, instead, willing players of their own game: workers eager to go wherever they are sent to do whatever the corporate interest requires there. Being footloose, it seems, is a matter of teamwork. The Best Practice of Living: A Misconstruction of Schooling As nearly all of us realize from everyday life, a great many paths to a decent life exist, not just one. And for most humans these diverse paths lead through a variety of trials that are in themselves educative. Indeed, the quality of one’s engagement with these trials determines the character of one’s life more certainly than a few years’ difference in amount of schooling. Schooling is not unimportant, but it becomes important only in light of such trials. This is a perhaps subtle reality, and one that escapes the consideration of many educators. The young- sters in Burnell’s (2003) study, however, seem to have understood. In this light, when educators anywhere, but particularly in rural schools, insist so strongly that a baccalaureate degree and a middle- class professional destiny is “best” for everyone, they make two seri- ous errors. First, they err about the superiority of “professional” work over other forms of work: Considerable integrity and intelli- gence necessarily characterizes excellent work of all sorts, including manual work of all sorts, whereas considerable evasion and slavish- ness remains an option in professional life (see Wendell Berry’s many works that elaborate this point; e.g., 1977). Second, and perhaps more significantly, they act out of hubris in counseling a life course based on such an error. The hubris not only amounts to educational malpractice, it threatens American democracy itself, at least accord- ing to the sociologist Christopher Lasch (1995), among many others. Lasch (1995) warned Americans of the danger to democracy from what he termed “the revolt of the elites.” Those elites are being cre- ated, in part, through the errors of schooling just described. The alternate pathways to a decent rural life that were being explored by the young people in Burnell’s (2003) study, therefore, The Meaning of Rural Difference 549 represent a critical line of work that rural schools might embrace. Indeed, they must embrace this sort of work if rural communities are to retain local talent locally, rather than exporting it to the national or the “globalized” economy (where it will be used to further under- mine rural communities). This work is an uphill struggle, a monu- mental struggle, for reasons that should be apparent: the norms of the profession, the authority and power of state departments of edu- cation in the thrall of corporatist ideolog y, and the general failure of common purpose (i.e., of “community”) throughout contemporary America—and all of this for many decades (e.g., Bellah, Madsen, Sullivan, Swidler, & Tipton, 1985; Tam, 1998; Theobald, 1997). intellectual life and Rural cultures The foregoing discussion, and from several approaches,14 raises the issue of the circumstances of intellectual life in the rural U.S. Notably, the U.S. is a nation in which intellect itself is widely disparaged (Hofstadter, 1963; C. Howley, A. Howley, & Pendarvis, 1995). The problem of engaging intellect in rural places, however, is not very dif- ficult to conceive, because of what rural is. Addressing the problem successfully may be difficult—but conceiving it is easy. Readers unfamiliar with rural studies may have been very impa- tient, throughout this essay, to know what rural is. Of course, many useful schemes exist for separating rural from nonrural real estate,15 but neither rural education nor rural sociolog y is much concerned with real estate. These useful line-in-the-sand definitions of rural rep- resent not what rural is, but where what-rural-is would be most likely on view in everyday life corralled by lines drawn on a map. What Is Rural? Recently, concerned to be succinct and direct, I offered the following remarks to a group of urban educators: Colleagues always want to know what rural is, often because they are mystified, and so I’ll tell you. Rural people have con- nections to working the land, and to a set of concepts about Journal for the Education of the Gifted550 place, kinship, and community. The associated meanings and purposes are what distinguishes rural education as a field of work and study. (C. Howley, 2007, ¶6) Rural education, then, is about realms of meaning already in play in everyday life in rural communities and families. The definition dis- closes the standpoint of those who adopt it: Rural education should confront the divide between rural life (and rural education) and what has become of rural schooling (in general, but not everywhere). This standpoint could frighten some professional educators, who do not as a rule put community life at the center of interest (courageous exceptions to the rule exist, of course, and they are perhaps becom- ing more common). The upshot of this possibly unsettling definition, however, is that the actual connection between intellect and rural life becomes rather more obvious, as the discussion explains next. Intellect and Rural Life The related meanings of intellect and rural life are so momentous that they have helped constitute philosophy and literature since time immemorial (when the world was almost entirely rural), and they are of ongoing practical significance in the struggle for land, place, community, and family. One may perhaps object that these meanings are not rural qualities per se, but human qualities. If this be the case, it may well be that rural lifeways are more human than urban ones. David Orr (1995) would seem to agree, and that is perhaps why he has counseled reruralizing education. Cosmopolitans do not, in my experience, entertain this argument willingly, but the argument has, in fact, been articulated by several generations of critics of American-style industrial culture (e.g., Bailey, 1911; Berry, 1977; Borsodi, 1933; Hanson, 1995). The basic outlook of all these writers proceeds from a land ethic, that is, from the notion that care of the land is a defining human activity, and that the worth of humans can be judged from the quality of their stewardship of the land. This argument, moreover, ought to be more convincing to the present generation than to previous ones, especially if the word earth replaces the word land. The Meaning of Rural Difference 551 Have we cared well for the earth (and its lands)? The doubts are serious. Perhaps when more of the nation’s people were farmers, this obligation was sensed and addressed more strongly. Perhaps not, but one can at least claim that a much larger percentage of the population was aware of the obligation, especially if one recalls the Judeo-Christian obligation to care for the Creation (and the similar obligations in nearly all religious traditions). Perhaps only a civiliza- tion that has become inattentive, lazy, blind, and cravenly profane could take the earth to its current precarious state (i.e., mass extinc- tion of species, global climate instability, accelerated deforestation, depletion of fossilized energ y sources, depletion and contamination of water resources—not to mention the continuing threat of nuclear destruction and contamination). Where did human society go so palpably wrong ? One well-worn argument is that in the corporate rush to realize profits, the accumu- lation of wealth has accelerated to the point that progress elsewhere in life’s projects (safety, justice, aesthetics, and the quality of human relationships) occurs at such a slow pace as to seem unpromising or even irrelevant (Bowers, 2004). This regime of accumulation is, of course, known as capitalism (the usage here is descriptive rather than pejorative), and its founding principle is that accumulation of wealth must proceed without limit and must also feed endlessly back into the process of accumulation—thus dramatically acceler- ating it (Hobsbawm, 1962). The pace of accumulation thus reaches planetary limits with alarming swiftness, with industrialization the arguably accelerating condition. In decades to come, planetary limits will prove a trenchant worry for this regime of accumulation (e.g., Kunstler, 2005). This circumstance—the evident existence of natural limits and the economic imperative to ignore limits—explains why discussion of limits to growth are repudiated as pessimistic and negative by cor- porate leaders (Lasch, 1991). Mere recognition of limits (no matter how obvious their existence) would require humans to engineer a radically different economic regime. Reference to this dilemma may be anathema in the heartland of capitalism, but the reality is none- theless going to require a great deal of thought and action, whether capitalism survives as a system of economic life or not. Journal for the Education of the Gifted552 However the reader may judge the foregoing accounts, the discus- sion ought to demonstrate the relevance of the life of the mind— of a critical disposition toward ideas and plans—to rural places. Momentous issues are involved in rural living, now and for the fore- seeable future. the Relevance of Extreme talent in Rural places Because rural places and cultures exist and because rural people are as subject to “compulsory miseducation” (Goodman, 1962) as anyone, the construct of giftedness is relevant. What ought a rurally located school do with such creatures as “bright rednecks”? The cosmopoli- tans have one idea (e.g., export them to Singapore and have them concentrate on surpassing the limits to planetary growth); the author and his colleagues in rural education have a different one—arguably a more diverse one. Our stance on such matters is easily given: Rural schools should serve rural families and communities, not a national and global eco- nomic machine. Rurally located schools can render this service only by supporting and helping families and communities to further develop rural lifeways (DeYoung, C. Howley, & Theobald, 1995; A. Howley, C. Howley, & Pendarvis, 2003; C. Howley & Harmon, 2001; Theobald, 1997). Unfortunately, this stance begs the question of what “proper” rural lifeways might entail and where a demonstrable and unusual capacity for academic work fits in. These two projects seem almost incompatible—but they are not. This essay ends, then, with some reflections about the sorts of meaningfulness to be conserved, and not only conserved but developed and extended practically. One Example: An Existence Proof For the past 6 years, I have been involved in directing the research ini- tiative of and unusual doctoral program in mathematics education, The Appalachian Collaborative Center for Learning, Assessment, and Instruction in Mathematics (ACCLAIM).16 The program is unusual in several ways, one of which is engagement with rural issues. We did not want our program to operate as a rural extraction indus- The Meaning of Rural Difference 553 try, and so we recruited students with a commitment to their rural communities and regions. We also wanted our students to know more about rural places and so included three courses addressing the his- tory, sociolog y, and education of rural places. None of our students (45 total across three cohorts) had ever encountered rural issues in their previous professional training, and much less had they been asked to examine their work as being somehow connected to rural ways of being in the world—all of this despite the fact that nearly all had grown up rural and were at the time of the initial enrollment in our program working in institutions (K–12 schools or colleges) enrolling rural people. External evaluators have reported that our students tell them that thinking about rural issues and dilemmas is one of the most memo- rable features of their experience in the program (Helms, St. John, Smith, & Huntwork, 2005). Although we did not require it, most students have chosen to conduct dissertations (in mathematics edu- cation) on topics that address issues relevant to rural communities and ways of living. These developments are the more remarkable in that mathematics is commonly regarded as that part of the cur- riculum most free from the influence of context. To foil this sort of thinking about school mathematics, one of the Center’s leaders likes to respond: “Mathematics is a natural science, but mathematics education is a social science” (personal communication, Bill Bush, October 24, 2002). One mathematician on our team observes that “because mathematics is not tied to any locale it is relevant to all locales” (personal communication, Carl Lee, July 29, 2005). The work of our rural mathematics education center is perhaps what mathematicians call an “existence proof ”: Its existence shows that rural ideas and dilemmas can be treated in schools, in actual coursework, with a durable impression on students and toward a rurally appropriate end—that of cultivating locally responsive math- ematics education leadership in rural places. Our rural students (ages range from late 20s to early 60s) exhibit exceptional academic capac- ity. They never heard the story of their lives in an academic setting. What’s the relevance to gifted education? Journal for the Education of the Gifted554 Promoting the Necessary Rural Work Extending this work to other levels is conceptually easy and practi- cally difficult. One should not underestimate the challenges, which are legion. These challenges have been intimated already: an inherent cultural bigotry that misconstructs rural as definitively inferior; an anti-intellectual culture that disables the critique needed to conceive and sustain this work; a regime of schooling with an instrumental conception of educational purpose; and an authority system that valorizes individual greed far above the common purpose of commu- nity. These are formidable foes, but courage, integrity, and alliances can confront them successfully, at least on local terms, and at least sometimes; sources to guide this work populate the reference list. This essay has discussed gifted programs not at all, but its dis- cussion of intellect and rural ideas and reference to classic rural texts is relevant to gifted education professionals already at work in rural places. Within gifted education, of course, a long tradition of addressing real audiences exists, as does concern for critical thinking. Additionally, in recent years the field has critically examined its own elitism and ethnic biases. These recent learnings of the field are avail- able for local application relevant to place—to a land ethic. So often in American education, well-intentioned leaders speak of adaptations to context in the process of addressing the familiar “problems” of education: low achievement, achievement gaps, thin parental engagement with local schools, technolog y refusal, rare use of projects and field work, top-down management, inhuman scale— and on and on. The problems exist, in this way, at the center of atten- tion, while “context” surrounds the center of attention. Strangely, the problems persist, unsolved despite the desperate attempts to find, impose, or declare solutions. Rather than blame our own weak think- ing, we educators tend to blame the context: bad parenting, bad cul- tures, bad luck, bad genes. Working from “rural context,” this essay has argued for a very different outlook from the one described in the preceding para- graph—one in which place figures as the central meaning , a mean- ing that already exists and is available for use by educators, students, families, and communities. Instead of constituting a set of draw- backs, the central meanings of rural place are a generative set of The Meaning of Rural Difference 555 educational ideas already on site and in operation. “So what’s the snag ?” one might ask. The difficulty (for the rural application) concerns the illusions of our profession. Even many rural educators find it difficult to circum- vent these illusions. All of us, indeed, have been inducted into the profession via these same illusions. The illusions construct a reality of practice that is difficult to subvert: (a) best practice (belief that there is a one-best way to do everything ); (b) belief that schooling is the same as education; (c) representation of knowledge as defini- tive rather than contingent; and (d) dependence on political and economic power rather than intellect for authority. My colleagues and I have written elsewhere of these matters at considerable length (e.g., A. Howley et al., 2003; A. Howley, Spatig, & C. Howley, 1999; C. Howley, 2006; C. Howley & A. Howley, in press; C. Howley, A. Howley, & Burgess, 2006; C. Howley et al., 1995); I mention these illusions here only to characterize the way our own professional norms deflect us from a pedagog y of place that engages the intellect. For rural students explicitly identified as possessing exceptional academic capacity, it would be an easy matter to include the read- ing and discussion of rurally relevant texts in their schooling. Classic texts exist and are in fact too numerous to be covered completely, even in a sequence of courses like those in our Center’s doctoral pro- gram. Not only texts, but students’ families’ own (culturally mar- ginalized) experiences are relevant, and engaging the texts and the experiences jointly is arguably liberating (to judge from the Center’s external evaluation). A place-based flavor, then, can be readily added to any rural gifted program. The challenge for gifted programs, I think, would be to include other willing students and the community in whatever might be done. Here too, a great many examples exist in the literature on place-based education, and new books are appearing regularly on the topic. For a practical grip on the whole sweep of education (not just schooling ) that honors place, I still recommend Toni Haas and Paul Nachtigal’s Place Value (1998). It’s available as a PDF file online and free thanks to ERIC. Many additional resources are available, as well, on the Rural School and Community Trust Web site. What one won’t yet find, however, is a professional develop- ment network that can assist interested rural teachers and admin- Journal for the Education of the Gifted556 istrators in taking up this sort of work. As this essay indicates, SEAs and national business organizations work (in nearly all states) from a devotion to corporate commitments and the agenda of global eco- nomic dominance. These commitments function to confine concern for rural place and community to the periphery of the institution of schooling, no less so in rural than in other schools. Indeed, many local school leaders (with some exceptions) insist that concern for the wel- fare of their local communities is not their business (see DeYoung, 1995, for one example). Maximizing individual student achievement is (they say) their concern. Hobart Harmon and I (C. Howley & Harmon, 2001) discovered, however, that a large plurality of rural superintendents among those we interviewed understood that the continuing existence of their schools depended on the strength of community engagement. Doubtless, some rural gifted programs exist in such circumstances, which are far more auspicious for undertaking efforts that honor place. And in such places, the success of the effort would be more likely, on average, than elsewhere. Because gifted students are those with propensities for engaging texts and thinking mathematically, they are able to engage texts and projects that would usually be considered inappropriate for students with other propensities. Most of the readings we demand of our doc- toral students would be suitable for gifted high school students. Although the circumstance of American schooling may be bleak overall in the eyes of those of us who value intellect and thoughtful- ness (and reading and writing as the means to think and to invoke intellect), and although the odds that many SEAs will seriously honor place in their curriculum and standards efforts seem slim at present, opportunities do exist in many rural communities (and in a few states). The reason for the survival of these opportunities is that rural communities do not go willingly out of existence. The furor that rural school consolidation evokes from communities is ample evidence for this claim (DeYoung, 1995; DeYoung et al., 1995; C. Howley & Harmon, 1997; Peshkin, 1982). The proposed work furnishes rural students with an alternative account of rural places—one that represents rural meanings and commitments robustly and even combatively. My colleagues and I found in one of our studies that rural gifted students were both more critical of and more attached to their local communities than other The Meaning of Rural Difference 557 rural students (C. Howley, Harmon, & Leopold, 1996). Helping aca- demically talented rural students to engage the existing literatures on rural place will strengthen their attachment and focus their critique. In the end, academically talented students might understand that they can invent decent lives for themselves in the places they love. References Adams, H. (1918). the education of Henr y adams. Boston : Houghton Mifflin. 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University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. Howley, C., Howley, A., & Burgess, L. (2006, March 1). Just say no to fads: Traditional rural pathways to success often bypass what some view as “best practice.” the School administrator, 26–27, 29, 31–32, 33. Howley, C., Howley, A., & Pendarvis, E. (1995). out of our minds: anti-intellectualism in american schooling. New York: Teachers College Press. Howley, C. B., Howley, A., Howley, C., & Howley, M. (2006, April). Saving the children of the poor in rural schools. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association, San Francisco, CA. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED495031) Isaacson, W. (2003). Benjamin franklin: an american life. New York: Simon and Schuster. Kohl, H. (1967). thirty-six children. New York: Signet Books. Kunstler, J. H. (2005). the long emergency: Surviving the end of oil, climate change, and other converging catastrophes of the twenty- first century. 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Education in rural america: a reassessment of the conventional wisdom. Boulder, CO: Westview. Smith, G. A. (2002). Placed-based education: Learning to be where we are. Phi delta Kappan, 83, 584–594. Sobel, D. (2004). Place-based education: Connecting classrooms and communities. Great Barrington, MA: The Orion Society. Tam, H. (1998). Communitarianism: a new agenda for politics and citizenship. New York: New York University Press. Theobald, P. (1991). Countr y lifers reconsidered : Educational reform for rural America. Journal of research in rural Education, 7(2), 21–28. Theobald, P. (1997). teaching the commons: Place, pride, and the renewal of community. Boulder, CO: Westview. Thoreau, H. D. (2004). Walden. New York: Signet. (Original work published 1854) Tyack, D., & Cuban, L. (1995). tinkering toward utopia: a century of public school reform. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tye, B. (2000). Hard truths: Uncovering the deep structure of school- ing. New York: Teachers College Press.   U.S. Department of Agriculture. (2005). rural population and migration: trend five—diversity increases in non-metro america. Retrieved February 24, 2009, from http://www.ers.usda.gov/ Briefing/Population/Diversity.htm Williams, R . (1973). the country and the city. New York: Oxford University Press. Woodrum, A. (2004). State-mandated testing and cultural resistance in Appalachian schools: Competing values and expectations. Journal of research in rural Education, 19(1). Retrieved September 16, 2007, from http://www.umaine.edu/jrre/19-1.htm Yarwood, R . (2005). Beyond the rural idyll: Images, countryside change and geography. Geography, 90, 19–31. End Notes 1. Diversity is variation and the opposite of variation is better understood as standardization than as exclusion. In most discussions of “diversity,” however, exclusion is regarded as the opposite. It seems, Journal for the Education of the Gifted562 though, that the real issue is who is including whom in what. That, in a sense, is the subject of this essay. 2. The definition of rural is given in the section titled Intellectual Life and Rural Culture, under the subheading What Is Rural? 3. Schooling is to education as the legal system is to justice— both institutions disclose truly appalling slips ’twixt cup and lip, and these slip-ups perhaps come down to an inequitable distribution of resources. The slip-ups, however, cannot be understood without theory and empirical inquiry. Both research and improvement are enterprises requiring doubt and skepticism: they are, in this sense, necessarily dubious. 4. Ethnicities are also sorted in the countryside, although it would perhaps be better to observe, as does the U.S. Department of Agriculture, that culture and poverty are regionalized in rural America: the Mexican border region sees many concentrations of impoverished brown-skinned people, the Appalachian highlands many concentrations of impoverished white-skinned people, the southern “Black belt” many concentrations of impoverished “black”- skinned people, and sections of the west many concentrations of impoverished red-skinned people. Whose racism is responsible for these concentrations, urban and rural? 5. The deeper structure concerns who is number one—one of the most fatuous of American, or perhaps human, preoccupations. This deeper structure of fear and loathing also applies to people with dark(er) skins. Bigots, of course, see this matter rather differently, which is why we call them “bigots.” 6. The urbanized and literate proletariat was the intended audi- ence—the supposed destined class of history. Scholars who quote this passage to suggest Marx’s hostility to rural life ignore the fact that this passages was part of a critique of bourgeois society: The bourgeoisie has subjected the country to the rule of the towns. It has created enormous cities and has greatly increased the urban population as compared with the rural, and has thus rescued a considerable part of the population from the idiocy of rural life. Just as it has made the coun- try dependent on the towns, so it has made barbarian and semibarbarian countries dependent on the civilised ones, The Meaning of Rural Difference 563 nations of peasants on nations of bourgeois, the East on the West. (Marx & Engels, 1848, electronic version from the Gutenberg Project, ¶ 22) One can read Marx and Engels too literally: “rural idiocy,” “barbar- ian,” and “civilized” are all used with considerable irony. 7. Not so long ago, WASP (White, Anglo-Saxon Protestant) ancestry would have topped the list of the best people, and the lack of children with darker skin pigmentation in gifted programs—and the profession, and the suburbs—was regarded as expected and therefore acceptable. There are those, of course, who continue to argue in favor of the expectation, asserting the genetic heritability of IQ. 8. Public schooling has been described largely, and for a long time, as a compliance routine by a great number of authors of var- ied commitments (e.g., Adams, 1918; Cohen, 1988; Depaere, 2000; Foucault, 1979; Goodman, 1962; Kohl, 1967; Tyack & Cuban, 1995; Tye, 2000). Gaventa and Duncan provide specific rural examples. 9. The vo-ag teacher’s lone voice also suggests what the loss of farming as a common rural occupation has seemingly meant not only for rural communities but for the nation as a whole—a point made at interesting historical length by Hanson (1995). A corporate alle- giance subverts the teacher’s voice and its consistent devotion to a locally realized common good. 10. The conclusion that both intellect or community are endan- gered institutions in America has been reached by a number of writ- ers (e.g., Bellah et al., 1985; Putnam, 2000; Theobald, 1997). 11. A recent retrospective of 20th century agriculture published by the U.S. Department of Agriculture (Dimitri, Effland, & Conklin, 2005) notes that farms raised an average of 5 crops in 1900, but now raise an average of one. Monocropping is identified as a disastrous way to farm by many observers of American farming (e.g., Berry, 1977; Hanson, 1995) 12. Most recently in our region, The Tractor Supply Company has arrived, and many independent local feed and farm-supply stores (notably including the regional cooperative) have foundered. 13. Rural school professionals, far more than is the case in cit- ies or suburbs, come from the local community. Teaching jobs are prized positions in most rural communities precisely because they Journal for the Education of the Gifted564 enable a middle-class option that permits winners of such positions to remain close to family. At the same time, rural teachers have been subjected during their professional preparation to the ideolog y (perhaps “ideological distortions” would be a more apt term) of the middle-class path. 14. For instance, educational purpose, the significance of rural place, class interest or struggle, and the relationship of life and work. 15. The curious are invited to consult the definitions of the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Economic Research Service (http:// www.ers.usda.gov/Briefing/Rurality/WhatisRural/), the U.S. Bureau of the Census (http://www.census.gov/geo/www/ua/ua_2k.html), and the U.S. Department of Education (http://nces.ed.gov/surveys/ ruraled/page2.asp) for quantitative definitions that, in essence, draw lines on maps to separate rural regions from the rest of the nation. 16. The work of the Center’s researchers, which represents work conducted consistent with the stance taken in this article, can be accessed at http://www.acclaim-math.org/researchPublications.aspx. 
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work_g3pplmuhrfbq5fyn3gz7stilmi	----	02 clanak.qxp Dr. sc. Saša Šegvić, docent Pravnog fakulteta Sveučilišta u Splitu LEGITIMNOST GRAĐANSKOG OTPORA – NEKI TEORIJSKI ASPEKTI UDK: 342.721.73 Primljeno: 15. 02. 2007. Pregledni rad U suvremenim ustavnim režimima koji se smatraju “približno pravednima” i “približno demokratičnima” ne postoji nijedno proceduralno pravilo koje može jamčiti da će sva prava biti zaštićena ili da se neće kršiti. Isto tako, ni praktična provedba svih pravila ne može jamčiti u svim slučajevima da će oni biti prihvatljivi za sve društvene skupine i individue. Čak i u najdemokratičnijim sustavima pojedine skupine ili pojedinci mogu se osjećati ugroženi ili nepravedno deprivirani glede ljudskih i demokratskih prava. U takvim uvjetima za pojedince i skupine otvara se temeljna dilema: lojalnost ili neposlušnost. Autor u radu pokušava analizom različitih načina ispoljavanja građanskog neposluha i prigovora savjesti, kao oblika građanskog otpora, utvrditi gdje su legitimne granice takvim pravima pojedinaca i skupina, ne samo u odnosu na prava drugih građana već i u odnosu na temeljno demokratsko pravo - pravo većine, odnosno da li spomenuti oblici građanskog otpora mogu i smiju dovesti u pitanje temeljne vrijednosti većine, a time i cjelokupni ustavni aranžman. Ključne riječi: građanski otpor, moralna autonomija, lojalnost, građanski neposluh, prigovor savjesti ”Čovjek (je) osuđen na svoju vlastitu savjest, ali u isto vrijeme to je najveći dar koji je čovjek primio. Dar velik, ali zato ozbiljan, čak i opasan“ J.P. Sartre, 1947. UVOD Mreža neovisnih stručnjaka vezanih uz temeljna ljudska prava1 početkom prošle godine izdala je 40 stranica opširnog mišljenja koje optužuje koncept sporazuma između Vatikana i Republike Slovačke, a koji dozvoljava medicinskim stručnjacima da odbijaju vršiti pobačaje i slične postupke koji su 177 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 1 Europsku mrežu neovisnih stručnjaka za ljudska prava osnovala je Europska komisija 2002. godine na preporuku Europskog parlamenta. Svaka zemlja članica ima svog predstavnika koji dolazi iz redova akademika ili starijih odvjetnika. Tijelo izvješćuje europske institucije o stanju temeljnih prava na području Unije. 2 Ovaj slovačko-vatikanski konkordat omogućava zdravstvenim djelatnicima u bolnicama koje financira Katolička crkva da zbog prigovora savjesti odbiju izvoditi pobačaje ili medicinski potpomognutu oplodnju. U tekstu sporazuma stoji da se isti temelji na: “prepoznavanju slobode savjesti u zaštiti i promociji vrijednosti svojstvenih značenju ljudskog života”. Iako je cilj sporazuma da se svakom pojedincu omogući prigovor savjesti on stimulira široko pravo na prigovor savjesti i ne osugurava zaštitu od zlouporabe ovog prava. 3 Vidi izvješće na: www.poslovni.hr./Content 4 Komisija o ljudskim pravima OUN u svojoj Rezoluciji 46/87. preporučila je svim državama članicama, što je ostao stav neizmijenjen do danas, da se države trebaju suzdržavati od zatvaranja onih koji se pozivaju na prigovor savjesti na vojnu obvezu, te alternativnu službu i nepristrano odlučivanje u proceduri potaknutoj postavljanjem prigovora savjesti. 5 Republika Hrvatska spada u red onih europskih država koje su u svojim ustavnim tekstovima legalizirali pravo prigovora savjesti na vojnu obvezu. Jedna od rijetkih država članica EU koja do danas nije regulirala ovo pravo na prigovor savjesti je Grčka. Vidi čl. 47. Ustava RH (pravo na prigovor savjesti vojne obveze) i Zakon o obrani (NN33/02., čl. 38.) 178 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. protivni njihovim religijskim uvjerenjima, pozivajući se na pravo prigovora savjesti.2 Prema stručnjacima EU, zakonsko pravo osobe na pobačaj odbija pravo ostalih da ga ne provedu, ukoliko to ima kao posljedicu ne obavljanje pobačaja. “Pravo na prigovor savjesti zbog vjerskih uvjerenja može i mora biti poštovan, ali se mora osigurati mogućnost pobačaja ženama koje to žele” rečeno je u izvješću.3 Prakticiranje tih prava ne smije doći u konflikt s pravima drugih, uključujući i pravo svih žena da prime određene medicinske usluge i savjetovanje bez diskriminacije. Uz to, mišljenje spomenutih stručnjaka se ne odnosi samo na pobačaj. Između ostalih tema o temeljnim ljudskim pravima koja se jamče građanima EU spominju se i eutanazija, potpomognuto samoubojstvo, istospolni brakovi i dostupnost kontracepcije. Pri tome treba naglasiti da je Vatikan do sada već potpisao sličan sporazum i s Italijom, Portugalom i Latvijom, ali da ti ugovori imaju više ograničenja, te da se klauzule o prigovoru savjesti odnose samo na izuzeće od služenja vojne obveze. Iako pravo prigovora savjesti na vojnu obvezu nije u tom dokumentu bio tematiziran, niz prethodnih dokumenata i stavova OUN, EU, kao i mnogih drugih međunarodnih institucija, aktualiziraju i to područje temeljnih ljudskih prava, što sve zajedno govori da iako se pravo prigovora savjesti dugo držalo za jedan od oblika građanske neposlušnosti i kao takvo se smatralo manje značajnim pravnim pitanjem, ono ipak ima svoj pravni i politički značaj jer predstavlja značajan kriterij za ocjenu kvalitete određenog pravnog poretka.4 Činjenica je da je u suvremenim europskim državama pravo prigovora savjesti regulirano ustavnim ili zakonskim odredbama, pri čemu postoji ipak razlika u načinu na koji je to pitanje regulirano i koja je područja zahvatio, ali je u većini zajedničko da je zajamčeno pravo prigovora savjesti na vojnu obvezu.5 Na taj način utvrđen je pravni okvir, ali je niz pitanja u teorijskom i praktičnom dijelu ostalo upitno ili u najmanju ruku otvoreno. Suvremeni demokratski sustavi ustanovljeni su na opće prihvaćenim načelima vladavine većine, vladavine prava i socijalne pravde. To osigurava legitimnost u rješavanju sukoba interesa putem legalnih institucija i mehanizama. Ipak, nijedan politički aranžman nije savršen, a k tomu društvo je živi organizam, koji u svom 179 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. razvitku uvijek iznova otvara neka pitanja svoje konstitucije i demokratskog funkcioniranja.6 Zbog tog razloga bolje je govoriti o “približno pravednim” i “približno demokratičnim” ustavnim režimima.7 Naime, nijedno proceduralno pravilo ne može jamčiti pravedan ishod u smislu da će sva prava biti zaštićena ili da se neće kršiti, pa, dakle, ni njegova praktična provedba u svim slučajevima ne može biti prihvatljiva za sve društvene skupine i individue. U stvarnosti, čak i u najdemokratičnijem sustavu pojedine skupine i pojedinci mogu se osjećati nepravedno depriviranim za svoja ljudska i demokratska prava. Treba li se takvim skupinama ili pojedincima dopustiti pravo na otpor8 ili djelovanje na svoju ruku? Ima li ikakvog opravdanja za kršenje zakona ili odbijanje izvršenja zakona koji su propisno proceduralno usvojeni na demokratskim zakonodavnim tijelima? Je li pozivanje na moral ili savjest i odbijanje izvršavanja propisa ne krši pravo većine u donošenju obvezujućih zakona i time dovodi u pitanje kako liberalna tako i demokratska načela?9 Može li se masovnijim pozivanjem na moral, vjeroispovijed ili savjest u odnosu na izvršavanje neke pravne norme, dovesti u pitanje temeljne vrijednosti većine, i gdje su granice takvim pravima pojedinaca, a da se ne ugroze prava drugih, odnosno gdje su granice između prava i dužnosti, prava i morala? Na koncu, kad je riječ o građanskoj neposlušnosti i pravu na prigovor savjesti, kao oblicima prava na otpor i zajamčenim ljudskim pravima, uvijek se kao bitna tema nameće i pitanje same lojalnosti državljanina koju on duguje svojim konstitucionalno uspostavljenim institucijama, a i drugim članovima zajednice. 6 Tome u prilog ide i činjenica da iako je nužan uvjet za dobro funkcioniranje demokratskog sustava princip većine, on ne funkcionira uvijek, niti uvijek dovodi do najboljih rezultata. Mogućnost neučinkovitosti principa većine jest bitan nedostatak, no nije dovoljan da izazove krizu u demokratskom uređenju. Vidi šire u: Bobbio, N, Pravilo većine: ograničenja i aporije, u: Kasapović, M., Zakošek, N., Legitimnost demokratske vlasti, Zagreb, 1996., str. 297. 7 Cohen, Jean and Andrew, Arato, Civil Society and Political Theory, Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1992., pp. 566. 8 Kako postoje različite vrste otpora (usmjereni protiv vanjskog ili unutarnjeg ugrožavanja političke zajednice, protiv unutarnjih tlačitelja ili protiv uredbi neke strane pobjedničke sile, nasilan ili nenasilan, aktivan ili pasivan) i različiti oblici otpora (od atentata do sabotaža, od građanskog neposluha do odstupanja ministara), došlo je do inflacije uporabe pojma, pri čemu se gotovo svaka politička aktivnost danas etiketira kao otpor. U strožem smislu se pod otrporom podrazumijevaju samo slučajevi kada osoba koja pruža otrpor svjesno uzima u obzir opasnost zapostavljanja ili kažnjavanja i kada se u svom odbijanju da slijedi zapovijedi, upute ili zakone može pozivati na svoju savjest ili na neko više pravo. Pri tome je veoma važno razlikovati otrpor od puke povrede dužnosti, zanemarivanja naredbi ili prekoračenje zakona. Otpor ima konzervativni cilj: obrana odnosno ponovno uspostavljanje - status quo ante. Vidi šire: Herfried Münkler, Otpor, u D. Nohlen, Politološki rječnik, Panliber, Zagreb, Osijek, Split, 2001., str. 262.-263. 9 Ideja liberalne demokracije podrazumijeva da ispod zakona postoje moralni principi koji legitimiziraju sam pravni poredak. Vidi: Cohen, Arato, op. cit. pp. 582.-583. 10 Radi se o izuzetno dugoj epohi u kojoj je čovjek u skladu sa svojom naravi, posredstvom svijesti i slobode, putem svoga uma poimao svrhoviti poredak prirode kao izvor načela što ih treba ostvariti u vlastitoj egzistenciji. 11 U takvom sustavu obični građani pokušavaju ili očekuju od svojih vođa da jasno izražavaju njegovo zamagljeno, ali čvrsto uvjerenje da oni nisu samo pioni u bilo kojoj političkoj igri, niti vlasništvo ma koje vlade ili vladara, već je pojedinac koji živi i protestira zbog kojega se igraju sve političke igre i zbog kojega su ustanovljene sve vlade. Radi se zapravo o sustavu u kojem “najsiromašniji čovjek treba imati život za življenje kao i onaj najveći”. Vidi: MacDonald, Margaret, Prirodna prava, cit. u: Matulović, Momir, Ljudska prava, Zbornik tekstova iz suvremenih teorija ljudskih prava, II. izmijenjeno i dopunjeno izdanje, Rijeka, 1992., str. 41. 12 To je u suprotnosti sa idejom stvaranja građanskog društva koje je zapravo i nastalo kao rezultat sporazuma da bi prirodna prava bila bolje čuvana (vladavina na temelju suglasnosti!). “Čovjek nije ušao u društvo, kaže Paine, ustupanjem svojih prirodnih prava da bi mu bilo gore nego što mu je bilo ranije već samo da bi ih bolje osigurao”. Vidi: MacDonald Margaret, op. cit., str. 45. 13 Doktrine o prirodnom pravu i prirodnim pravima imaju dugu i upečatljivu povijest od stoika i rimskih pravnika do Atlantske povelje i Rooseveltove Četiri slobode (sloboda govora i vjere, sloboda od oskudice i straha svih osoba i na svakom mjestu!). 1. GRAĐANSKA NEPOSLUŠNOST – IZRAZ MORALNE AUTONOMIJE ČOVJEKA Poslušnost i otpor dugo su vrijedili kao komplementarni pojmovi europskog političkog poretka: pružanje otpora zločinačkom naredbama i nepravednim zakonima predstavljalo je poslušnost uzvišenom pravu i prihvaćanje uzvišenih vrednota. Pitanje granice poslušnosti uvijek je bilo povezano s pitanjem granica prava države na upletanje. Od vremena od kada su ljudi postali svjesni svojeg postojanja, njihova misao je bila usmjerena na razmišljanje i priželjkivanje političkog sustava u kojem bi svi pojedinci bili slobodni i dostojanstveni, odnosno u kojem bi svi članovi bili međusobno politički jednaki, kao kolektivitet suvereni i u kojem bi oni posjedovali sve kapacitete, izvore i institucije koji im trebaju vladati nad sobom samima.10 Moderna demokratska država koja od XIX. stoljeća crpi svoje motive iz koncepta liberalne demokracije danas se uzima, uz određene modifikacije i nadogradnje, otvorenim i poželjnim okvirom uređenja suvremene države. U takvom konceptu demokracije, gdje je država zajednička institucija svih svojih članova, ne bi se smjelo ekonomski tiranizirati ekonomski slabije od strane ekonomski moćnijih, odnosno tiranizirati politički slabije od onih koji su politički jači.11 Stalna i uporna nastojanja ljudi da kao slobodna bića, izgrađuju zajednicu u kojoj će uskladiti svoje interese s interesima zajednice, s ciljem zaštite svojih individualnih (prirodnih) prava, doveli su do postupnog mijenjanja njihovog odnosa prema politički organiziranoj zajednici, na način da se država počinje promatrati kao prisilna organizacija koja nastoji na niz načina ograničavati čovjekovu slobodu, iako se on rađa kao slobodno biće (“a svugdje je u lancima”! – J.J.Rousseau), jednako i ravnopravno sa svim drugim članovima društvene zajednice.12 Tome je doprinijela i moderna prirodno pravna teorija13 svojim 180 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. stavom da ljudska prava nisu samo moralno već, posebno izrazito, pravno pitanje, jer vlast svojim pravnim normama mora priznati ta prava i zajamčiti im pravnu zaštitu.14 Iako se danas smatra da ljudska prava nalaze svoje najpotpunije ostvarenje u uvjetima demokracije, jer se pretpostavlja da je demokracija takav oblik političkog poretka ili vladavine za koji se može reći da bi trebao biti poredak poštivanja ljudskih prava, može se konstatirati da suvremena ustavna demokracija do sada ipak nije uspjela u cjelini pomiriti vladavinu većine s individualnom neovisnošću, kao i osigurati sve učinkovite mehanizme obrane od trajne potrebe većine da drugima nameće svoj sustav ideja, vrijednosti i način razmišljanja. Danas se, za razliku od prethodnih perioda kada se primjenjivala gruba fizička represija nad pojedincima radi sprječavanja slobodnog razvoja individualnosti, vladajuća većina koristi suptilnijim i sofisticiranijim metodama nametanja većinskog mišljenja i diktiranja načina ponašanja, prvenstveno koristeći monopol ili stečenu političku poziciju u sredstvima informiranja. U takvim uvjetima u kojima vlada tiranija mišljenja većine teško se javljaju pojedinci koji imaju drugačije ili oprečne stavove, jer se takvi pojedinci koji se bore za istinu, ljubav i integritet često moraju osim javne osude nositi i sa mogućim ugrožavanjem vlastitog fizičkog opstanka.15 Na taj način suvremena demokracija često sprječava ljudsko duhovno oslobađanje i čovjekovu realizaciju u njegovoj punini. Društvo u kojem se pojedinac nalazi u situaciji da zbog konformizma zadržava svoju ideju u sebi ili na jednom mjestu, odnosno ako ta ideja nema mogućnosti izraziti se, predstaviti zajednicu u kojoj je sloboda misli, savjesti i govora zapravo bezvrijedna i predstavlja samo puku formu.16 Takvo društvo govori zapravo o uspostavljenim odnosima između građana i vlasti, ali i između samih građana, kao i o odnosima između samih državnih vlasti. 181 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 14 Pri tome se mora polaziti od činjenice da ljudska prava, kao kvintisencijalni element pravne države, nisu nešto što država “daje” svojim članovima, već ona predstavljaju granicu preko koje država i njen pravni poredak ne smiju preći! Vidi: J. St. Mill, O slobodi (prijevod), Beograd, 1990., str. 8. 15 Zaštita slobode misli i izražavanja i njihova praktična realizacija uveliko ovisi o tome ima li određena država tradiciju neovisnog i aktivnog sudstva, jesu li ustavna prava od jučer ili su ta prava tek skovana u određenom društvu, te kako su se pojedina prava i slobode tretirala ranije. Također su od velike važnosti i šira kulturna obilježja određene sredine, odnosno radi li se o zemlji u kojoj se kultura uvijek uživala, je li je praktična filozofija zemlje individualistička ili stavlja naglasak na položaj pojedinca unutar zajednice. Vidi: A. Bačić, Leksikon Ustava RH, Split, 2000., str. 326. 16 Sloboda govora predstavlja ključni način kojim ljudi komuniciraju jedan s drugim, i kao takva je nezamjenjivi odušak za emocionalna stanja i vitalni aspekt razvoja nečijeg karaktera i ideja. Realizacija slobode misli i govora doprinosi otkrivanju istine. Budući da su ljudi tijekom vremena izloženi različitim tvrdnjama, razumljiva je želja da se otkriju one tvrdnje koje su najbliže istini. Sloboda govora doprinosi i akomodaciji interesa, odnosno prilagodbu međusobno suprotstavljenih interesa i želja. Ona omogućava ljudima da ukažu i na svoje želje, čime se olakšava donošenje odgovarajućih odluka i propisa. Sloboda misli i govora doprinosi i razvijanju tolerancije različitosti, a time se pomaže u ostvarivanju stabilizacije ustavnodemokratskog ustrojstva države i društva. Na koncu sloboda misli i govora podstiče autonomiju pojedinca i njegovu slobodu izbora. Vidi šire u: A. Bačić, Komentar Ustava RH, Split, 2004., str. 109.-119. 17 O političkom individualizmu i moralnoj autonomiji vidi: Joseph Raz, Moralnosti utemeljene na pravu, u: M. Matulović, op. cit. str. 160.-167. 18 Prema nizu teoretičara, u demokratskom društvu se većine najčešće nažalost ne formiraju od najslobodnijih osoba, nego od najvećih konformista, te stoga suvremenu demokraciju poistovjećuju s društvom komformizma. Vidi: N. Bobbio, op. cit. str. 299. 19 O tome vidi šire u: H. Arendt, Građanska neposlušnost, u: Eseji o politici, Antibarbarus, Zagreb, 1996., str. 261. Ustavno demokratska država liberalnog tipa mora jamčiti granicu preko koje vladajuće mišljenje većine ne može zadirati u individualni moralni i intelektualni integritet jer je obrana te granice važan uvjet slobode na isti način kao i zaštita pojedinca od samovolje i nasilja vlasti. Bez obzira da li se radi o društvu “tiranije mišljenja većine”, ili pak o društvu u kojem su prihvaćeni i afirmirani svi demokratski principi, te usvojena koncepcija pravednosti kao temeljno načelo političkog uređenja u kojem građani uređuju svoje odnose, pojedinci, članovi društva se mogu naći u situaciji, bez obzira je li se sustavno i trajno krše njihova ljudska prava ili ne, da se norme većine sukobljavaju sa njihovim sustavom vrijednosti (moralnim, vjerskim i sl.) i tada se otvara jedno od ključnih pitanja u odnosima između građanina i države: bezpogovorna lojalnost ili pravo na politički individualizam i moralnu autonomiju (gdje pojedinac zauzima kritički stav prema pravnim i političkim aktima),17 odnosno pojednostavljeno: pokoravanje (komformizam) ili otpor - protivljenje (građanski neposluh).18 1.1. Građanska lojalnost ili o savjesnom građaninu koji nastoji ostati čovjek! Od državljanina svake demokratske države se traži ne samo participacija u oblikovanju političkih odluka, već i lojalnost, odnosno da poštuje zakone države u kojoj živi te da predano ispunjava i određena prava i obveze. Građani mogu na različite načine biti motivirani na lojalnost državi i njenoj vlasti: interesno, ideološki ili emocionalno. Da bi građani voljeli svoju državu i osjećali je kao svoju, država ne smije tolerirati postojanje privilegija i diskriminacija, te mora ohrabrivati participaciju u političkom životu. Politička participacija nije samo sredstvo da bi se imali dobri zakoni i sprječile zlouporabe, već je i najbolja škola za odgoj dobrih građana. Poštovanje prema državi građani iskazuju kroz moralnu snagu koja ih podstiče da djeluju za zajedničko dobro i da se odupru neprijateljima zajedničke slobode. Pri tome, teško je odrediti granicu gdje prestaje građanska lojalnost prema idealu države, a gdje počinje građanska lojalnost prema strukturama vlasti, koja građane često svodi na status objekta kojima se može manipulirati.19 Dokle može otići takva logika zorno su pokazali totalitarni režimi prošlog stoljeća koji su u praksi funkcionirali kao masovne organizacije izoliranih pojedinaca. Potpuna lojalnost moguća je jedino kada se vjernost liši bilo kakvog konkretnog sadržaja koji po 182 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. prirodi stvari može dovesti do kolebanja u mišljenju. Kako pojedinac ne bi došao u situaciju da njegova lojalnost bude zloupotrebljena od strane vlasti i okrenuta protiv njega samog, potrebno je da građani steknu političko obrazovanje o državi u kojoj žive. Obrazovanje građana pretpostavlja informiranost o društvenim i političkim tokovima i minimalno poznavanje pravnog sustava i institucija. Obrazovanje građana je posebno važno iz razloga što država nije neutralna i anonimna vlast, nego institucija kojom upravljaju ljudi koji imaju svoje interese. Ukoliko je država u funkciji takvih interesa tada je lojalnost građana takvoj državi obična prevara koja dovodi do pristajanja većine pojedinaca na privilegije manjine. S druge strane, priznavanje građanskih i političkih prava ne podrazumijeva neutralnost vlasti i odsutnost njenog interveniranja u društveni život. Iz navedenih razloga u svim suvremenim društvima otvara se kao jedno od bitnih pitanja u okviru građanske lojalnosti: kako biti savjestan građanin i pritom ostati čovjek?20 Savjestan građanin bi trebao biti pojedinac koji je lojalan državi i vlasti sve dok su oni u funkciji općeprihvaćenih načela jednakosti i pravednosti. Međutim, ukoliko vlast prekrši ta načela, savjesni građani bi se trebali mobilizirati i priskočiti u pomoć žrtvama nepravde. Snažan stimulans za pokretanje građanske vrline mogao bi biti osjećaj nužnosti. Građani u takvom zajedničkom angažmanu moraju otkriti vrijednosti koje zaslužuju biti branjene po načelu da se štiteći prava i slobode jednog čovjeka brani sloboda i čast čitavog društva. No, bez obzira na sve izneseno vjerojatno će uvijek postojati razlika između savjesno-lojalnih i interesno-lojalnih građana. Prvi, lojalnost državi doživljavaju kao lojalnost demokratsko-humanističkim idealima i takvi su uvijek spremni da se kroz oblike građanske neposlušnosti suprotstave svim anomalijama vlasti, dok drugi slijepo vjerujući vlasti koja je za njih “od Boga” ostaju uvijek vjerni i bezpogovorno lojalni, ali i spremni da svoju lojalnost naplate privilegijama i napredovanjem u društvenoj hijerarhiji. Na suprotnom polu od građanske lojalnosti nalazi se pojam građanske neposlušnosti koji označava javan, nenasilan, ilegalan, svjestan politički čin suprotan pravu, ali i prigovor savjesti (ili odbijanje zbog savjesti) koji je za razliku od građanske neposlušnosti individualni čin odbijanja izvršavanja neke dužnosti zbog vjerskih ili moralnih uvjerenja, u nizu zemalja danas priznat kao legalan čin, ali pod određenim uvjetima. Upravo u uvjetima odanosti političkom individualizmu i moralnoj autonomiji, gdje pojedinac zauzima sve kritičnije stavove spram političkim i pravnim aktima države, prigovor savjesti predstavlja posebno pravno i etičko pitanje. 183 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 20 Iako je osobna savjest ono što teoretičari ističu kao motor građanskog aktivizma i dovoljan razlog legitimnosti građanskog otpora, neki teoretičari, kao npr. H. Arendt, termin savjesti su odvojili od termina građanske neposlušnosti, jer je pravno opravdanje otpora koji se vrši isključivo na osnovu savjesti teško izvedivo iz dva razloga. Prvo, savjest je subjektivna (jedna savjest stoji nasuprot druge). Drugo, opravdan je otpor samo onog čovjeka koji je sposoban razlučiti dobro od lošega, te je zainteresiran za svoj boljitak, a zajednica nije sposobna procijenjivati da li neposlušnik ima takve osobine. Osobna savjest, po njoj, postaje politički značajnom tek kad se određeni broj pojedinačnih savjesti podudara i kada zajedno nastupe u javnosti. Time se pojedinci mogu pozivati na cijelu zajednicu neposlušnih građana. Vidi: H. Arendt, op. cit. 221. 21 Pojam građanske neposlušnosti se prvi put javlja 1866. godine u knjizi “Yenkee in Canada” u kojoj su urednici knjige naslov Thoreauovog eseja “Otpor građanskoj vladi” promijenili u “Građanska neposlušnost”. Sam Thoreau nikad nije koristio navedenu sintagmu. Henry David Thoreau predstavlja historijsku paradigmu, kako građanske neposlušnosti tako i prigovora savjesti. 1846. godine bio je osuđen u SAD na zatvorsku kaznu nakon četvorogodišnjeg upornog odbijanja da plati porez državi, jer je smatrao da bi plaćanjem poreza sudjelovao u podupiranju države u provođenju nasilja izraženom u ratu protiv Meksika, u podržavanju robovlasničkog sustava na Jugu SAD i nehumanog odnosa prema američkim starosjediocima. Taj svoj stav kasnije je izrazio u svojim poznatim esejima o neposlušnosti prema državi, predstavljenim javnosti 1848. pod nazivom “On the Relation of the Individual to the State” i svojim riječima: “Jedina obveza koju imam jest pravo da si dopustim da činim uvijek što mislim da je pravo”. Cijela politička filozofija Thoreaua bila je utemeljena na premisi individualne savjesti kao jedinog istinskog kriterija kod ocjene toga što je politički ispravno i pravedno, kao i na mišljenju da kada čovjekova savjest dođe u koliziju s pravom tada ta osoba mora slijediti svoju savjest. Vidi o tome u: D. Vukadin, Pravo prigovora savjesti, Filozofska istraživanja, Zagreb, 2003., sv. 2., str. 423.-424. 22 Građanska neposlušnost po definiciji predstavlja nelegalan čin. Budući da se građanska neposlušnost suprotstavlja nepravdi u granicama poštivanja zakona ona sprječava kršenje prava i ispravlja ga kada se dogodi, te se u stvarnosti zato može govoriti o opravdanosti građanskog neposluha. Pojam legitimna akcija se uzima upravo iz kriterija pravednosti i pravičnosti, a ne zakonitosti. Za razliku od liberalnih teoretičara J. Habermas predlaže ozakonjivanje građanske neposlušnosti, na način da sudovi ne bi trebali suditi neposlušnim građanima na isti način kao i kriminalcima iz razloga što “svaka državno- pravna demokracija koja je sigurna u sebe samo promatra građansku neposlušnost kao normalizirajuću i neophodni sastavni dio svoje političke kulture”. Legitimnost građanske neposlušnosti kao oblik neinstitucionaliziranog nepovjerenja prema državi jest onaj element koji izdiže državu iz cjeline njenog pozitivno ustanovljenog poretka. “Pravna država potiče i održava u budnom stanju nepovjerenje prema nepravdi koja nastupa u legalnim oblicima.” Vidi: J. Habermas, Građanska neposlušnost – test za demokratsku pravnu državu, Gledišta, Beograd, sv. 10.-12., str. 54.-58. 1.2. Pravo na građansku neposlušnost - (prirodna dužnost spram pravednosti)? U ustavno demokratskim državama liberalnog tipa polazi se od pretpostavke da državljani duguju svoju lojalnost svojim konstitucionalno uspostavljenim institucijama. Ako se legislator drži procedure i načela pravde koja su zajamčena ustavnim aranžmanom, te ako se ne krše politička ili građanska prava državljana, tada neposluh nije legitiman način političkog djelovanja. Prema liberalnoj doktrini dužnost poslušnosti ovisi o vladinu poštivanju prava, i nema ništa sa stupnjem participacije građana u političkom životu. Iz ove perspektive je moralno utemeljenje ustavne demokracije locirano u principu prava pojedinca. Cijeli raspon od temeljnih, osobnih do političkih prava koja pripadaju članovima zajednice, a kojima se osiguravaju sloboda izražavanja, okupljanja, udruživanja i sl., smatraju se upravo pravima koja omogućavaju participaciju u političkom sustavu putem institucija kao što su stranke, tisak, izbori, parlamenti i interesne grupe. Ta prava i njihovi institucionalni okviri predstavljaju zaštitu od zloupotreba vlasti. Kada reprezentativna tijela rade dobro, ne bi trebalo biti nikakve potrebe za određenom nelegalnom vaninstitucionalnom političkom akcijom, osim ako se ne radi o akciji koja ima za cilj obranu nekih individualnih prava. Građanski neposluh21 može predstavljati legitimnu akciju ili čin samo u slučaju uskrate pravde, shvaćene kao povrede individualnih ili manjinskih prava koja je počinila odgovarajuća konstituirana demokratska većina.22 Na taj način, 184 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. građanski neposluh je usmjeren na zaštitu individualnih prava prema demokratskoj političkoj zajednici. Jedan od najistaknutijih liberalnih teoretičara današnjice John Rawls definira građansku neposlušnost kao “javni, nenasilni, a ipak politički akt savjesti, suprotan zakonu, koji se obično čini sa ciljem provođenja promjene u zakonu ili politici vlade”.23 S ovom definicijom je u skladu i Habermasovo određenje, iako bi on spadao u skupinu radikalno demokratskih teoretičara građanske neposlušnosti, prema kojem u građansku neposlušnost ubrajamo “one postupke koji su po svom obliku ilegalni, mada se razvijaju u okviru pozivanja na zajednički priznate osnove legitimiteta demokratsko-državno-pravnog poretka” (teorija demokratske legitimacije).24 Za Gandhija, građanski je neposluh podvrsta Satyagraha djelovanja (nenasilni otpor prakticiran u Južnoafričkoj Republici i Indiji u prvoj polovici XX. stoljeća) koji označava “kršenje zakona od onoga koji pruža otpor, na civilni, odnosno nenasilni način. Kršitelj priziva zakonsku kaznu te radosno podnosi boravak u zatvoru”.25 Sličnog je stava, glede kazne za neposluh, i J. Rawls koji smatra da ukoliko je pojedincu iskreno stalo do pravednog poretka, on će prihvatiti kaznu koju je zaslužio prema postojećem (nepravednom) zakonu te će prihvatiti čak i neke nepravedne zakone, ukoliko oni ne prelaze određenu granicu nepravednosti. Pojedinac se mora žrtvovati kako bi uvjerio ostale članove društva da njegovi postupci imaju dostatnu moralnu bazu u političkim uvjerenjima zajednice. “Ova vjernost zakonu pomaže da većina shvati da je čin zaista politički svjestan i iskren, i da je usmjeren ka javnoj svijesti o pravednosti”.26 Za razliku od spomenutih H. Arendt smatra da je sintagma građanska neposlušnost raširena u svijetu, ali je po podrijetlu i svojoj biti primarno američka, te u skladu s duhom američkih zakona – čak ističe da ni u jednom drugom jeziku ne postoji izvorni termin koji bi odgovarao značenju američkog termina “civil disobedience”.27 H. Arendt smješta građanski neposluh između kriminaliteta i direktne revolucije, ali za razliku od liberala, za nju nenasilje nije njegova temeljna karakteristika, nego njegov duh. Međutim, ona ne želi afirmirati nasilje kao oblik legitimnog otpora već ga promatra u proturječju s političkim djelovanjem, a građanski neposluh je, za nju, politička akcija par exellence.28 185 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 23 Rawls John, Teorija građanske neposlušnosti, u: M. Matulović, op. cit. str. 127. 24 Habermas Jürgen, op. cit. 55. 25 Gandhi Mahatma, Satyagraha (Non-Violent Resistance), Navajivan Publishing House, Amedabad, 1958., str.4. 26 J. Rawls, op. cit. 139. 27 H. Arendt spada s Habermasom u najistaknutije teoretičare demokratske legitimacije, koja polazi od načela demokratske reprezentacije prije nego od ideje individualnih prava prema državi. Ova teorija reafirmira utopijske demokratske norme neposredne participacije građana u javnom životu. Unutar ovoga kruga postoji snažna tradicija koja teži odbacivanju građanske neposlušnosti u demokratskom političkom društvu. Prema Arendt liberalni pristup ne može primjereno razdvojiti građansku neposlušnost od prigovora savjesti (conscientious objection) jer civilni neposluh ne podrazumijeva izoliranog pojedinca, u liberalnom smislu, već djelovanje kolektiva, grupe. Prema njoj “građanski neposlušnici nisu ništa drugo nego najkasniji oblik dobrovoljnih asocijacija, pa su oni u suglasju s najstarijim tradicijama zemlje”. Vidi o tome H. Arendt, Crisis in the Republic, New York, 1969., pp. 74.-98. 28 Ibid., str. 96. Poseban doprinos teorijskoj razradi fenomena građanske neposlušnosti dao je Ronald Dworkin, koji je za razliku od većine liberalnih teoretičara građanske neposlušnosti koji su nastojali utvrditi legalne granice aktivnosti (nasilnost), odnosno kad se neposluh pretvara u protupravno osporavanje načela ustavnog poretka, ponudio posve drugačiji pristup. Po Dworkinu akcije civilnog neposluha su jako složene pa je tako teško utvrditi kad je na djelu “upotreba sile”, osobito ako su sudionici u akcijama neposluha bili izazvani primjenom sile od strane organa reda. U tom smisli on vrši razliku građanske neposlušnosti na način da je jedna “utemeljena na pravdi” (justice-based), a druga “politički utemeljena”. Prva se tiče slučaja gdje netko krši zakon u ime obrane prava manjine naspram interesa ili ciljeva većine. Druga je na djelu kada netko ne poštuje zakon, ne zbog uvjerenja u nepravednost ili nemoralnost politike, već iz uvjerenja da se radi o neprimjerenom, glupom ili po društvo štetnom zakonu. Po njemu oba tipa su “ofenzivna” jer im je cilj promjena politike ili zakona. Uz ovo, Dworkin je vršio podjelu građanske neposlušnosti prema obliku i intenciji na način da ih je podijelio na: uvjeravajuće - diskuzivne (pervasive) i neuvjeravajuće – nediskurzivne. Uvjeravajuće imaju za cilj prisiliti većinu na slušanje protuargumenata s nadom da će nakon toga promijeniti mišljenje (ne dovodi u pitanje većinski poredak) dok neuvjeravajuće ciljaju povećavanju troškova u provođenju neželjenih zakona ili politike kako bi na koncu većina shvatila da je to neisplatljivo zbog previsoke cijene. Dworkin prihvaća sve aktivnosti građanskog neposluha sve dok su motivirane uvjerenjem u zbiljsku nepravednost zakona koji osporavaju, ali ukoliko se radi o akcijama koje su rezultat sukobljenih interesa, a ne pokušaja obrane manjinskih prava, takve su aktivnosti nelegalne i ne mogu se ničim opravdati jer udaraju u samu srž principa većine.29 Iz svega iznesenog može se doći do zaključka da građanska neposlušnost, uopćeno promatrano, nije usmjerena ka neposrednom svladavanju konkretnih problema, već je njen cilj prije svega potaknuti javnost na razmišljanje, pobuditi etička razmatranja, preispitivanje legitimnosti vlasti te stvoriti društvenu klimu koja će tako prisiliti vlast na promjene. Što se tiče legitimnosti odnosno, opravdanosti građanskog neposluha neke teorije daju potpuno apstraktne kriterije (kao npr. radikalna teorija građanske neposlušnosti – nepravednost zakona opravdava neposlušnost takvim zakonima), dok druge pokušavaju dati ipak preciznije kriterije opravdanosti. Među teoretičarima građanske neposlušnosti Rawls je utvrdio najkonkretnije kriterije opravdanosti građanske neposlušnosti. Prema Rawlsu, “opravdanost neslaganja sa zakonom i institucijama ovisi o mjeri u kojoj su ti zakoni i institucije nepravedne”, a slučajevi očitih i bitnih nepravdi bi bili: negiranje načela jednakog prava na slobodu; uskračivanje prava glasa i prava na rad; uskračivanje slobode kretanja ili ako se vrši represija nad nacionalnim manjinama i nekim religioznim 186 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 29 Dworkin Ronald, A Matter of Principle, Cambridge, 1985., pp.107.-111. sektama. Uz to Rawls postavlja još dvije pretpostavke: iscrpljenost svih legalnih oblika za uklanjanje nepravde i jasno određivanje granica građanske neposlušnosti da ne dođe do masovnog nepoštivanja ustava i zakona.”30 Uz Rawls teoretičar koji je najkonkretnije razradio kriterije legitimnosti građanskog neposluha je Franz Neumann prema kojem postoje četiri situacije u kojima pojedinac ima pravo na pružanje legitimnog otpora: kada se ne poštuje doktrina o pravnoj jednakosti svih ljudi; kada zakoni koji pogađaju život i slobodu nisu opći zakoni; kada postoje retroaktivni zakoni koji narušavaju princip univerzalnosti zakona i kada izvršavanje zakona koji pogađaju život i slobodu nije prepušteno organu odvojenom od državnih institucija koje donose odluke.31 1.3. Oblici i elementi građanske neposlušnosti Ukoliko pogledamo tradicionalnu klasifikaciju moralno i politički motiviranih oblika neposlušnosti (prema kriteriju intenziteta u objektivnom društvenom kontekstu) moguće ih je uopćeno razvrstati u tri kategorije: - revolucionarna neposlušnost (politički motivirano kršenje zakona s krajnjim ciljem promjene vlasti); - građanska (civilna) neposlušnost (politički motivirano kršenje zakona s ciljem promjene pozitivnopravnog propisa ili vlasti; javni protest kojim se iskazuje neslaganje s pravom ili državnom politikom); - prigovor savjesti (kršenje zakona od strane pojedinca koji smatra da bi postupanje po normi bilo moralno zabranjeno; radi opće prirode određene norme; ili se norma odnosi na određena pitanja na koja se po pojedincu ne bi trebala odnositi).32 Na temelju istih kriterija, ali nešto diferenciranije mogle bi se građanske (civilne) neposlušnosti razvrstati u četiri oblika i to: - pravni oblik neslaganja – najuža razina gdje se pojedinac protivi normi, ali u dopuštenim pravnim okvirima; - nelegalna neposlušnost pri kojoj pojedinac ne pristaje na sankciju za svoje ponašanje jer institucije kojima se protivi smatra nelegitimnim ili nepravednim; - oblici neslaganja koji su usmjereni ne na neko specijalno područje već teže općoj reformi državnih institucija. Ovakve se radnje teže mogu opravdavati od strane pojedinaca koji su u njima zatečeni; - revolucionarna neposlušnost usmjerena, ne na reformu državnih vlasti, već na reorganizaciji društva na drugačijim načelima i vrednotama.33 187 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 30 J. Rawls, op. cit. 132.-135. 31 Franz Neumann, O granicama opravdane neposlušnosti, u: Demokratska i autoritarna država, Zagreb, 1992., str. 181. 32 Vidi o tome u: M. Cerar, Nekateri pravni in moralni vidiki ugovora vesti, Zbornik znanstvenih rasprav, Ljubljana, 1993., br. LIII., str. 32. Prema većini autora koji se bave problemom građanske neposlušnosti može se zaključiti da bi nužni elementi koji određuju ovu građansku aktivnost morali biti: - protupravno (protuustavno, nezakonito) djelovanje; - svjesno djelovanje; - javno djelovanje (javni čin); - argumentirano djelovanje; - u pravilu političko djelovanje; - vrijednosno usmjereno djelovanje; - djelovanje u krajnem slučaju (iscrpljena sva druga sredstva); - nenasilno djelovanje (pasivni otpor); - djelovanje kojega je cilj ostvariti određenu promjenu u pravnom sustavu ili politici države;34 1.4. Subjekti građanske neposlušnosti 1.4.1. Pojedinac Individualizam, razum, iskustvo, istina, sloboda, obrazovanje i pravednost predstavljaju one vrijednosti koje određuju građanina kao aktivnog sudionika u procesu donošenja političkih odluka, ali koje ga i potiču na svjesno kršenje zakona i suprotsavljanje vlasti. Bitno teorijsko polazište je da je građanin sposoban formulirati zahtjeve koji će mu omogućiti slobodu, služeći se razumom i stečenim iskustvom, odnosno da je sposoban prepoznati kada je vlast pravedna te se protiv takve vlasti ima pravo buniti.35 U političkom smislu, na žalost, nikada velike skupine ljudi ne reagiraju na nepravdu istovremeno, već sve ovisi o iznimno hrabrim i mudrim pojedincima. Takvi pojedinci, vođeni spomenutim idealima i ohrabreni slobodnim mislima i slobodnom imaginacijom osjećaju dužnost ka kršenju zakona i poduzimanju onih radnji koje smatraju ispravnim, ne želeći da prepuste svoje živote sudbini konformističke većine36 Pri tome je jedno od temeljnih pitanja može li osobna savjest jednog pojedinca biti dovoljan razlog za građanski otpor i mogu li se njegovi postupci smatrati građanskom neposlušnošću. Stav većine teoretičara je da se treba odvojiti termin otpor zbog savjesti od građanske neposlušnosti. Tako H. Arendt smatra da se teško može pravno opravdati otpor pojedinca koji se vrši isključivo na temelju savjesti iz dva razloga. 188 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 33 Ibid., str.34. 34 Vidi npr.: J. Rawls, op. cit., str. 128.-130., C. Bay, Civil Disobedience: Prerequisite for Democraty in Mass Society, Boston, 1971., pp. 225., H. Bedau, On Civil Desobedience, Obligation and Dissent, New York, 1969., pp.205., J. Raz, The Authority of Law, Essays on Law and Morality, Oxford, 1986., pp. 269. 35 U svezi s ovim stavom Marcuse tvrdi da je : “istina cilj slobode, dok se sloboda mora definirati i odrediti uz pomoć istine”. Vidi: Herbert Marcuse, Represivna tolerancija, u: Kritika čiste tolerancije, Globus, Zagreb, 1984., str. 82. 36 O ulozi pojedinaca u građanskom neposluhu pisali su osim Thoreaua i Gandhi, pripadnici frankfurtskog kruga kao i mnogi drugi. Prvo, zato što je savjest subjektivna (savjest stoji nasuprot druge savjesti!) i drugo, zato što je otpor opravdan samo od strane onog građanina koji je sposoban razlučiti dobro od zla, a zajednica nije sposobna to procjenjivati. Prema njoj privatni otpor utemeljen na osobnom stavu, moralnim imperativima ili pozivanju na viši zakon ne može se smatrati građanskom neposlušnošću.37 Sličnog je stava i J. Rawls koji smatra da je individualni čin koji nije podvrgnut zakonskim odredbama i koji nije u javnom forumu i ne priziva uvjerenja zajednice zapravo prigovor savjesti – odbijanje iz razloga savjesti, a ne građanska neposlušnost.38 Za razliku od navedenih teoretičara, neki kao npr. Thoreau i Gandhi, smatraju da u borbi za pravedan cilj nije nužan veliki broj ljudi jer je uspjeh moguć čak i kad postoji samo jedan odlučan neposlušni građanin, a tom se stavu priklonio i J. Habermas, koji smatra da se građanskom neposlušnošću može smatrati i čin pojedinca ukoliko je javan, ako se može obavezati ustavnom konsenzusu, te ako se ne vrši samo zbog ostvarivanja privatnih uvjerenja.39 1.4.2. Manjina Građanin osim što je indivudualno određen, kao pojedinac, iz niza interesa ili uvjerenja, od onih političkih i ekonomskih do kulturnih i sl., uključuje se formalno ili neformalno, trajno ili povremeno u pojedine društvene institucije, grupe ili skupine koje se mogu naći i u situaciji da pružaju otpor vlasti, čak i kad tu vlast podržava većina. Nepolušni građani tada djeluju u ime i zbog grupe, a ne zbog toga što žele postići neki ustupak za sebe. Oni se odupiru vlasti, ustanovljenim autoritetima ili zakonima iz osnova temeljnog razilaženja njihovih stavova i uvjerenja sa onima većine. Te manjine nisu političke stranke već organizacije, koje su u nekim situacijama i nastale isključivo sa tim razlogom i koje nestaju kad dostignu zadati cilj. Pojedinci djelujući u grupi imaju legitimitet pri građanskoj neposlušnosti isključivo ukoliko su utemeljeni na moralnim principima koji su svima razumljivi, a na kojima se temelji očekivanje svake moderne ustavne države da će biti priznata na temelju osobnog motiva svakog građanina. 2. PRAVO PRIGOVORA SAVJESTI KAO PRIRODNO MORALNO PRAVO GRAĐANINA U okviru teorijskih rasprava o građanskoj neposlušnosti prigovor savjesti je najčešće bio tretiran kao jedan od oblika građanske neposlušnosti. Međutim, 189 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 37 “Neposlušni građanin nikada ne postoji kao usamljeni pojedinac; on može funkcionirati i preživjeti jedino kao član grupe”. Arendt, op. cit., str. 228. 38 Rawls, op. cit., 130-131. 39 J. Habermas, op. cit., str. 63. učestalost pozivanja pojedinaca na odbijanje izvršavanja određenih dužnosti u društvu zbog sukoba određenih pravnih normi sa savješću pojedinaca, ovo pitanje je postupno dobijalo sve više prostora u javnosti, da bi danas kao corpus separatus u velikom broju konstitucija suvremenih demokratskih ustavnih država našlo svoje mjesto i postalo čak legalno pravo građana. 2.1. Savjest i društvena prisila Uspostava ustavne demokracije ne znači ujedno da su temeljna prava građana u potpunosti zajamčena, odnosno da se pojedinac ne može u izvršavanju prava i obveza naći ponekad i u sukobu sa svojim svjetonazorom, moralom i savješću. Kao svjesno biće čovjek ima sposobnost samoopažanja. To znači da može kontrolirati i izražavati svoje vlastite postupke. Preispitivanje svojih postupaka često se naziva “glas savjesti” (to Kant naziva “praktični um”), a to znači da pojedinac svojim umom objašnjava i analizira svoje praktično djelovanje. Savjest je spoznajni proces kojim provjeravamo da li smo točno odredili nešto prema onome u stvarnosti, odnosno da li nam je procjena ispravna i da li je primjena našeg postupka odgovarajuća situaciji. Ona je slična pravnom postupku pa se često naziva unutarnjim sudijom. Savjest i sudi i izriče kaznu. Isto tako, savjest zahtijeva promjenu u ponašanju. Budući da je to subjektivna kategorija, često se događa da je pojedinac postiskuje i ne iskazuje kajanje za svoje postupke. Kako je čovjek društveno biće on je odgovoran prema drugim ljudima, članovima zajednice, i njihovim savjestima, te je zbog toga dužan svoje postupke opravdavati argumentima. Čovjek mora imati savjest o dužnostima, a dužnost se shvaća kao dobro djelovanje. Tko nema savjest o dužnosti taj nema ni prava. Prema Tomi Akvinskom osnovno načelo praktičnog uma je: “Dobro valja činiti, za njim težiti, a zlo valja izbjegavati”. Savjest predstavlja subjektivnu i relativnu kategoriju, te će pojedinci zbog toga i različito djelovati u određenim prilikama vođeni svojom savješću (npr. odbiti ili prihvatiti vojnu službu ili otići u rat). Ona je vezana za sam identitet čovjeka pa gubitkom savjesti nestaje i identiteta pojedinca. Savjest je osobiti izričaj samosvjesnosti odnosa pojedinca i društva. Prihvaćanje društvenih normi “iznutra” predstavlja najbolji odnos prisile i stabilizacije društvenih odnosa.40 Za svakog pojedinca savjest je izbor kojim se ugrađuje u društvene odnose. Ljudi se u svom ponašanju ufaju u svoju savjest, stvarajući vrijednosne sudove o svemu što se dešava oko njih, pa tako i o pravnim normama i političkim aktima državne vlasti. Kada pojedinac osjeti unutarnji otpor prema pravnoj normi, on nema mogućnost izbora i mora reagirati u skladu sa svojom savješću, bez obzira na negativne posljedice po njega. Individualna 190 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 40 Tako na primjer E. Fromm iznosi interesantan stav da čovjek usvaja zakone i sankcije koje tim činom postaju dio njegovog “ja”, jer ih taj isti pojedinac čini unutarnjim. Na taj način taj pojedinac umjesto da se osjeća odgovornim prema nečemu izvan sebe, on se osjeća odgovornim prema nečemu u sebi, svojoj savjesti, koja je učinkovitiji regulator ponašanja nego strah od vanjskih autoriteta, jer dok ljudi od tih istih autoriteta mogu pobjeći, ne mogu pobjeći od sebe samih. Vidi: E. Fromm, Čovjek za sebe – istraživanje psihologije etike (prijevod), Zagreb, 1986., str.133. savjest predstavlja jedini kriterij kod ocjene toga što je politčki ispravno i pravedno, te kada čovjekova savjest dođe u koliziju s pravom tada ta osoba u pravilu slijedi svoju savjest. Pri tome treba naglasiti da je od posebne važnosti i podsvjesni element koji formira savjest - strah od kazne. Za svakog pojedinca koji se ogriješio o normu, glede odnosa zločina i sankcije, savjest je kritični čimbenik društvene preobrazbe kažnjenog. Na koncu, iako se do danas nije uspjelo proniknuti u determinante supstancije savjesti, može se reći da savjest, kao unutarnji glas čovjeka i ljudsko moralno čulo, predstavlja čovjekovu težnju da donosi moralne sudove o tome što je dobro, a što loše, odnosno njegovu sposobnost da razlikuje i da stvara vrijednosna opredjeljenja koja su, isto tako, vrijedna koliko i ostali sudovi koji dolaze od razuma. Savjest prosuđuje ljudsko funkcioniranje, a po nekim mišljenjima ljudi, zapravo ne trebaju biti niti svjesni onoga što im nalaže savjest da bi trpjeli njezin utjecaj.41 2.2. Pravni i etički aspekti Prigovor savjesti u pravu ne predstavlja značajno pravno pitanje, ali se sve više u suvremenim demokracijama smatra bitnim kriterijem za ocjenu kvalitete određenog pravnog sustava, kako s aspekta pravne teorije i njene evaluacije u pozitivno pravo, tako i s etičkog aspekta. Prigovor savjesti predstavlja otpor pravnoj normi i/ili političkom djelovanju vlasti iz razloga što je ista norma i/ili politika nametnuta, te pojedinac kao zatočenik savjesti, zbog osjećaja dužnosti i vođen Kantovim kategoričkim imperativom, odbija izvršiti, ili se ne želi podvrgnuti, zapovijedi izraženoj u nekoj pravnoj normi ili političkom aktu.42 Ukoliko se pođe od stava da je svakom pojedincu njegova savjest glavni kriterij koji usmjerava njegovo ponašanje ili prosuđivanje, dolazi se do zaključka da je prigovor savjesti po svojoj prirodi moralno pravo, čak više moralna dužnost, nego pravno pravo.43 Iz konstatacije da je prigovor savjesti moralna dužnost pojedinca proizlazi da isti mora prigovoriti zbog neizdržive unutarnje potrebe koja je izazvana kolizijom pravne norme (koju ne može prihvatiti) i njegovog moralnog suda (religiskog, filozofskog i sl.), koja ga dovodi u situaciju da taj konflikt riješi u korist svog morala. Budući da je ljudska savjest neograničena, i ujedno subjektivna, pravna norma, objektiviziranjem kriterija u društvenoj zajednici, nastoji ograničiti tu savjest (u slučaju prigovora savjesti). Tako se pojedinac, vezano za prigovor savjesti, nalazi u pravnoj sferi – on prihvaća ili pristaje na pravnu sankciju. Kako se s moralne strane prigovarač savjesti ne smatra odgovornim jer je vođen moralnom dužnošću, dolazi do sutuacije da pojedinac može biti pravno kažnjen, ali ne i kažnjen na autentični moralni način. 191 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 41 Ibid., str. 131.-133. 42 D. Vukadin, op. cit., str. 421. 43 Takva tvrdnja se zasniva na stavu da u području morala pravo egzistira kao zamišljena korelacija moralne dužnosti. Šire u: M. Cerar, op. cit., str. 35. Na taj način stvara se razlika između moralne i pravne sankcije, jer moralna sankcija djeluje iznutra, a pravna sankcija izvana. Moralna sankcija djelujući iznutra, u slučaju prigovora savjesti, predstavlja autentičnu sankciju – pojedinci je sebi nameću u slučaju da su u određenoj situaciji postupili protivno svojoj moralnoj dužnosti. To sve govori u prilog tezi da je prigovor savjesti, osim što je pravno pitanje, i izuzetno značajno etičko pitanje. Kako savjest predstavlja čovjekovu težnju da donosi moralne sudove, prigovor savjesti predstavlja prirodno moralno pravo, jer je njegova osnovna značajka u protivljenju morala pojedinca pravnoj normi, u čemu se ogleda i njegova protupravnost. S druge strane, prigovor savjesti je i ljudsko prirodno pravo koje proizlazi iz ljudske prirodne težnje da suprotstavlja svoje moralne stavove pozitivno-pravnim normama, što u određenoj mjeri mora priznati i pozitivno pravo. Pri tome, treba naglasiti da se prigovor savjesti ne može shvaćati kao opće, temeljno i neotuđivo čovjekovo pravno pravo.44 Prigovor savjesti je specifično pravilo koje se primjenjuje u relativno kraćem vremenskom periodu. Ono predstavlja odbijanje povinovanja normi iz razloga što je norma nametnuta, a ovisno o situaciji, vlastima je poznato da li pojedinac pristaje na nju. Tipični primjeri jesu odbijanje prvih kršćana da sudjeluju u nekim obredima pobožnosti koje je propisala poganska država, ili odbijanje Jehovinih svjedoka da iskažu počast zastavi. Poznati su i primjeri protivljenja pacifista da služe u oružanim snagama ili protivljenje vojnika da se pokore zapovijesti za koju su smatrali da je očito oprečna moralnom zakonu rata. Javno iskazivanje vlastitog vjerskog stava ili pacifizma u suprotnosti je s društvenom normom, ali istovremeno se tolerira jer je u skladu sa širom normom. Dualizam u kojem se priznaje da pojedinac ima pravo na striktnija pridržavanja društvenih pravila uže grupe koje nisu suprotstavljene interesu šire grupe, već su samo čin nepriznavanja unutarnjih regula šire grupe, moguć je samo kao oblik pasivnog otpora. Naime, šira grupa nikada ne prihvaća čin aktivnog otpora, budući da to predstavlja aktivni sukob. Ukoliko bi prigovor savjesti prešao u mučeništvo, to može destabilizirati normu šireg društva budući je mučeništvo dokaz da je moralna norma zbog koje se prigovor savjesti provodi važna. Značenje ljudske savjesti posebno je valorizirano, u recentnom dobu, njezinom verifikacijom kao kategorije međunarodno-pravno zaštićenog ljudskog prava. Time doktrina ljudskih prava ne pridaje pravu na slobodu savjesti samo značaj univerzalnosti već i atribut neutralnosti, jer polazi od pretpostavke da ljudska prava ne smiju biti ovisna o subjektivnoj ocjeni kreatora pravnih normi, donositelja političkih odluka ili o konkretnom političkom sutavu. Uz to, u suvremenoj međunarodnoj zajednici, kao rezultat međunarodnog konsenzusa, afirmiran je stav o postojanju univerzalnih moralnih ljudskih prava (među koje spada i pravo na slobodu savjesti). Pri tome, mora se naglasiti, da ne postoji apsolutna univerzalnost ljudskih prava, već egzistiraju isključivo ona moralna ljudska prava koja su rezultat međunarodne normativne suglasnosti.45 192 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 44 Ibid., str. 35. 2.3. Karakteristike i elementi prigovora savjesti Za razliku od građanske neposlušnosti koju promatramo kao pojedinačno ili grupno svjesno, argumentirano i nenasilno protivljenje pravnim propisima ili političkim odlukama vlasti, s ciljem uvažavanja nelegalnih, ali legitimnih društvenih vrednota, pristajući na sve pravne posljedice takvog čina, prigovor savjesti predstavlja kršenje prava od strane pojedinca zbog opće prirode pravne norme ili zato što smatra da bi postupanje po pravnoj normi bilo protivno njegovom moralu, uz pristajanje na sve legalne sankcije. Iako se prigovor savjesti u nekim elementima podudara s građanskom neposlušnošću oni se u nekim elementima i drastično razlikuju. Kad govorimo o razlikama onda su one sljedeće: a.) prigovor savjesti ne predstavlja oblik apeliranja na većinski društveni osjećaj pravednosti ili na neku drugu društvenu vrednotu, jer pojedinac postupa primarno na temelju svog morala i savjesti, a ne šireg ili općedruštvenog; b.) prigovor savjesti, kao individualni čin pojedinca, u pravilu nije javnog karaktera, što ne znači da takva aktivnost mora ostati prikrivena tijelima državne vlasti, već da pojedinac – prigovarač nema namjeru upozoravati javnost na svoj moralni stav. Pojedinac iz osjećaja dužnosti jednostavno odbija izvršenje zapovijedi ili podvrgavanje pravnom nalogu. On se ne poziva na uvjerenje zajednice i u tom smislu prigovor savjesti nije javan čin. c.) Prigovor savjesti se ne mora nužno temeljiti na političkim načelima, već se može zasnivati i na religioznim, filozofskim, humanističkim ili drugim načelima oprečnim ustavnom uređenju.46 Načelo pravednosti i načelo jednakog prava na slobodu neka su od pitanja koja se najčešće nalaze u prigovorima savjesti, a njihova upozorenja i protesti u pravilu služe jačanju demokracije u društvu. U slobodnom društvu nitko ne može biti primoran da religioznim činovima krši jednako pravo na slobodu, ili da se u statusu vojnika pokori nepravednoj zapovijedi dok čeka priziv na viši autoritet.47 193 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 45 Tome u prilog govore brojni međunarodni dokumenti koji su, između ostalog, afirmirali i pravo slobode savjesti (prigovor savjesti se tretira kao “legitimno vršenje slobode misli, savjesti i vjeroispovijesti), kao što su npr.: Opća deklaracija o ljudskim pravima, Međunarodni pakt o građanskim i političkim pravima, Europska konvencija o ljudskim pravima i fundamentalnim slobodama, Američka deklaracija o pravima i dužnostima i Afrička povelja o pravima ljudi i naroda. Prve tri konvencije ne dopuštaju, ni pod kojim uvjetima, poništenje/ ukidanje prava slobode savjesti. Afrička povelja ne predviđa suspenziju nijedne svoje odredbe. 46 Kad se radi o prigovoru savjesti na vojnu obvezu religijski motivi bi bili: zagovaranje nenasilja, i ljubav prema bljižnjima ili odbijanje prihvaćanja drugih zastava, obilježja ili unuformi; humanistički bi se motivi temeljili na načelima: “dobro čovjeku” “dobro svim ljudima” koji rat i pripremu za njega smatraju apsurdom i pripremom za zločin; filozofski i politički motivi se iskazuju u suprotstavljanju izdvajanju novca za vojne svrhe, vojnoj industriji i svim drugim djelatnostima koje crpe resurse društva za tu namjenu; pacifistički i mirovnjački motivi se često isprepliču sa filozofskim jer su dosta slični, a iskazuju se zalaganjem za politička sredstva, a ne nasilna u razriješavanju konflikata u društvu i međunarodnoj zajednici, te se nadovezuju na čovjekov osobni otpor prema oružju i njegovoj primjeni. Kao širi pojam, koji se rjeđe navodi postoji i prigovor savjesti protiv nasilja gdje pojedinci prigovaraju: protiv uporabe nasilja kao načina rješavanja problema; protiv sudjelovanja u planiranju i 2.4. Legitimnost prigovora savjesti Svaka rasprava o prigovoru savjesti ima kao neminovnu posljedicu i raspravu o njegovoj legitimnosti. Pri tome, prije svake rasprave o legitimnosti, treba poći od nekoliko općih stavova. Kao prvo, treba poći od opće konstatacije da u globalnom ljudskom društvu prioritet uvijek moraju imati težnje da se nastoje zadovoljavati i razvijati temeljne ljudske duhovne potrebe (afirmacija ljudskog dostojanstva). Kao značajno polazište kod rasprave o legitimnosti može poslužiti i stav da suvremeno društvo treba afirmirati individualističku moralnost koja zapravo predstavlja humanističku moralnost,48 pri čemu se problem umnožava zbog apsurdne činjenice da u društvima s većim stupnjem pravednosti, gdje ne postoje razlozi za ograničavanje bilo kojeg ljudskog prava, istovremeno postoje tendencije učvršćivanja i očuvanja institucija pravednosti, s jedne strane, te sankcioniranje prigovarača savjesti, s druge strane. Normalno, to se ne odnosi na one situacije u kojima bi došlo do kršenja prava drugih zbog toleriranja individualnog prava na otpor. Da bi suprotstavljeni moralni koncepti bili dopušteni i tolerirani, odnosno da bi dobili jednako mjesto u pravednom pravnom sustavu ljudskih prava, neophodno je da korištenje jednog prava ne isključuje ili ugrožava prava drugoga, jer bi to vodilo ka uspostavi neravnopravnih odnosa među članovima zajednice.49 Legitimnost prigovora savjesti, kao individualnog otpora pravnim normama ili političkim aktima vlasti, primarno je potrebno promatrati kroz odnos pojedinac – državna vlast (zakonodavna većina vlasti). Bitna karakteristika tog uzajamnog odnosa je da kad god se pojedinčeva savjest sukobi sa pravnom normom pojedinac mora postupati po svojoj savjesti. Prigovor savjesti, kao legitiman i prihvatljiv čin pojedinca, posebno dolazi do izražaja i dobija na značaju zbog činjenice da nedopuštanjem apeliranja za društvenom pravednošću vladajuća većina može biti motivirana da poduzima pojačano represivno djelovanje u političko-pravnom području. Pravedno društvo se očituje po tome da ne želi sankcionirati pojedince koji prigovaraju zbog savjesti. Komplementarnost deklariranih koncepcija pravednosti bit će realizirana ako upravljači prigovor savjesti učine prihvatljivim vidom neslaganja s pravnim normama ili političkim aktima vlasti. Pri tome se pojedincu prepušta da sam odluči da li je njegov čin pravedan i adekvatan datim okolnostima.50 Da bi prigovor savjesti bio legitiman i prihvatljiv mora se zasnivati na moralnim principima pojedinca, koji upravlja tumačenjem i shvaćanjem pravnih 194 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. proizvodnji sredstava za izvođenje nasilja; protiv osposobljavanja za izvođenje nasilja; protiv sudjelovanja u organizacijama koje su namijenjene izvođenju nasilja. Vidi o tome u: C. Moscos at al., The New Consientious Objection – From Sacred to Secular Resistance; Oxford UniversityPress, New York, Oxford, 1993. 47 Vidi o tome u: J. Rawls, op. cit., str. 130.-132. 48 J. Raz, op. cit., str.160. 49 O tome šire vidi u: D. Vukadin, op. cit. 426. 50 Prema J. Rawlsu da bi prigovor savjesti bio opravdan potrebno je da se ispune sljedeći uvjeti: moraju normi ili političkih akata vlasti, a ne na osobnim interesima ili drugim iskonstruiranim oblicima političke lojalnosti. Kad se pojedinac na temelju svojih moralnih principa odluči na otpor, on tada postupa svjesno i savjesno, pa čak i ako nije u pravu.51 Ukoliko je zbog prigovora savjesti došlo do ugrožavanja nacionalne sigurnosti ili jedinstva pravnog sustava zemlje odgovornost ne snose pojedinci koji pružaju otpor već upravljači koji su svojim nasiljem ili zlouporabom vlasti doveli do ovog oblika građanskog otpora.52 Uporaba represivnih sredstava radi održavanja nepravednog sustava smatra se činom nelegitimnog nasilja protiv kojega članovi zajednice imaju opravdan razlog poduzimati aktivnosti građanskog otpora. Legalnost prigovora savjesti mora se promatrati i u kontekstu stava, koji je duboko ukorijenjen u čovjekovo shvaćanje prava, po kojem obveze koje nameće pravna norma ili politički akti vlasti same po sebi nisu dovoljan razlog da se nešto čini ili nečini, jer pravne ili političke dužnosti ne vode računa o moralnom značaju razloga za činjenje.53 Glede legitimnosti prigovora savjesti može se na koncu reći da za ocjenu i tumačenje danas služe i univerzalno priznati i afirmirani međunarodnopravni principi, koji se mogu primijeniti u odnosima između država, ali i pojedinaca u nacionalnoj državi, kao što su: pricip jednakosti (jednaka prava država, ali i građana u ustavnom sustavu); načelo samoodređenja (pravo naroda da odlučuje o vlastitim stvarima bez miješanja drugih država i čovjeka u odnosu na druge pojedince); pravo na samoobranu (opravdanost rata, ali i akata pojedinaca ukoliko su podvrgnuti nasilnim radnjama); princip pravednosti (pravedni uvjeti, pravedne institucije međunarodne zajednice i pravedni ratovi, odnosno pravedni uvjeti života građana, pravednost državnih institucija i pravednost pravnih propisa i akata vlasti). 195 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. biti pokušani standardni načini postizanja satisfakcije; predmet protesta mora biti realno kršenje pravde; pojedinac koji protestira mora dragovoljno izjaviti ili izraziti svoj stav, da svatko drugi, koji je na sličan način podvrgnut nepravdi, ima pravo protestirati na sličan način; da akt neposlušnosti treba biti racionalno i promišljeno planiran u postizanju ciljeva onoga koji protestira. Vidi: J Rawls, op. cit., str. 136.-137. F. Neumann iznosi tri teorije koje bi trebale biti kriterij kod odlučivanja o opravdanosti izražavanja neposlušnosti: funkcionalna teorija, po kojoj je pružanje otpora opravdano ako “vođa” više ne izvršava svoje funkcije; teorija prirodnog prava, po kojoj je otpor opravdan kada “vođa” zaboravi na ograničenja koja mu nameće prirodno pravo, ili kada ne postupa u skladu s tim propisima; moderna demokratska teorija, po kojoj je narod taj koji odlučuje da li je neki otpor pravedan ili ne. Vidi: F. Neumann, op. cit., str. 174. 51 “Čovjek se može oduprijeti svakoj zapovijedi svoje vlade ako mu to nalaže savjest”. F. Neumann, op. cit., str. 179. “U demokratskom društvu, dakle, svaki je pojedinac odgovoran za svoje tumačenje načela pravednosti i za svoje ponašanje prema tim načelima”. J. Rawls, op. cit., str. 143. 52 Prema Rawlsu, svaka uporaba represivnog državnog aparata u namjeri očuvanja institucija nepravednosti, sama po sebi predstavlja oblik nelegitimnog nasilja kojemu se ljudi imaju pravo suprotstaviti. Vidi: J. Rawls, op. cit., 135. 53 Radi se zapravo o dihotomiji jer moralnosti utemeljene na pravu često ne uvažavaju moralne vrednote ljudskih vrlina i njihovih težnji ka pravednosti. U tom smislu se i traži da svaka teorija morala mora uzimati u obzir postojanje dužnosti, ali i postojanje razloga koji ne predstavljaju dužnosti. Vidi: Raz, op. cit., ste.159. 54 Države s protestantskom tradicijom su relativno lakše i prije priznale pravo na prigovor savjesti i ti 2.4.1. Kako pravno tretirati prigovor savjesti – neke ideje i stavovi U modernim pravnim sustavima, koji počivaju na izmijenjenim stavovima o ljudskim pravima, sve se više nalazi razloga za zauzimanje pozitivnog stava spram prava na prigovor savjesti, jer ono u većoj mjeri ne ugrožava društvenu zajednicu.54 Pri tome se, na temelju sudske prakse, u nekim zemljama, i većeg broja teorijskih radova, dade zaključiti da bi se legalni organi, oni koji su kao legislatori ovlašteni da reguliraju materiju prigovora savjesti, te oni koji su nadležni da po prigovoru savjesti postupaju, trebali pridržavati određenih pravno relevantnih smjernica i kriterija:55 • Glede prigovora savjesti, kao pravno dopuštene radnje ograničenog opsega, država može polučiti jednak učinak ako ukine neki propis ili obvezu (opća vojna obveza) ili ako odobri pravo na prigovor savjesti na vojnu obvezu, pri čemu je u ovom drugom slučaju prigovor savjesti iznimka od pravila i restriktivno ograničen, te uvjetovan činjenicom da ne vrijeđa prava drugih pravnih subjekata;56 • Pri tumačenju prava na prigovor savjesti treba vršiti razliku između moralnog i pravnog shvaćanja prigovora savjesti.57 Pri tome, treba imati na umu da postoje izvanpravne pojave, stanja ili činjenice koje zbog svog društvenog značaja (kao što je danas i prigovor savjesti) moraju u određenim situacijama biti i pravno potvrđene. To se ostvaruje na način da pravo konstituira svoje institute i pojmove, sa svojim specifičnim shvaćanjem i tumačenjem. Time se omogućava da sud kao pravna instanca, u našem slučaju glede prigovora savjesti, utvrđuje ili tumači sadržaj moralnih, religioznih, filozofskih ili humanitarnih razloga za prigovor savjesti.58 • Pri ocjeni pravne dopustivosti konkretnoga slučaja prigovora savjesti prednost treba dati subjektivnom stavu pojedinca-prigovarača u odnosu na autoritativno tumačenje objektivnih pravnih mjerila.59 Iako se subjektivni stav pojedinca ne može nikada stvarno utvrditi, ili se u njega potpuno uvjeriti, onaj koji presuđuje mora uzeti u obzir prigovaračeve razloge za prigovor.60 Subjektivni stav pojedinca treba uporediti s objektivnim kriterijima (zakonskim 196 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. regulirale i u pravnim propisima. Norveška je to regulirala već 1990. Države s katoličkom vjeroispovijedi su znatno zaotajale u tretiranju ovog problema, pa je tako Francuska tek 1963. godine priznale pravo na prigovor savjesti, Njemačka je priznala kao ustavno pravo 1968. (čl.12. a.), a Italija je ovo pravo regulirala samo zakonom 1972. godine. Hrvatska je to regulirala Ustavom 1990. u čl. 42. Za razliku od njih pravoslavne države još uvijek odbijaju legalizirati ovo pravo (npr. Grčka iako je članica EU). 55 O nekim otvorenim pitanjima i smjernicama glede tretiranja prigovora savjesti vidi šire u: M. Cerar, op. cit., str. 42.-45. 56 Može se raditi isključivo o pravnoj dopustivosti prigovora savjesti u ograničenoj mjeri (moralni stav pojedinca ne smije zadirati u prava drugih pravnih subjekata), jer bi opća pravna dopustivost prigovora savjesti bila s pravnog motrišta proturječna, budući je sam prigovor savjesti contra legem. 57 Autentično moralno tumačenje - razumijevanje prigovora savjesti je uvijek subjektivno, dok je pravno tumačenje objektivizirano. Kako u pravu pri presudi glede utemeljenosti prigovora savjesti prednost ima subjektivni stav pojedinca može se zaključiti da se radi o prednosti pravno objektiviziranog subjektivnog stava nad pravno objektiviziranim stavom. 58 O vrstama i načinima tumačenja vidi npr.: Moskos Ch. at all, The New Concientious Objection, From odredbama i sudskom ili upravnopravnom praksom), te u duhu suvremenog prava prihvatiti one prigovore koji ne proturječe objektivnim kriterijima. U skladu s načelom in dubio pro reo, ukoliko je ovlaštena osoba u postupku prigovora savjesti neodlučna, prednost treba dati razlozima pojedinca- prigovarača. Objektivizirano motrište utemeljenosti prigovora savjesti može biti značajnije od subjektivnog stava pojedinca, jedino u situaciji ako prigovor predstavlja ujedno i zahtjev za dopustivost takve radnje odbijanja i od strane drugih, jer se tada ne radi o prigovoru savjesti već o mogućoj ugrozi dijela pravnog sustava i građanskoj neposlušnosti; • Prigovor savjesti se može izraziti aktivno i pasivno, odnosno određenom konkludentnom radnjom aktivno se suprotstaviti normi ili propustiti činjenje radnje (napuštanje obveznog liječenja pacijenta). Ovo je pitanje bitno u slučaju da prigovarač ne želi objašnjavati svoje razloge i da pri tome može svoju pasivnost lažno obrazlagati (npr. zbog straha ili srama). Od ovlaštenog tijela, koje postupa po prigovoru savjesti, se zbog toga očekuje da poduzme sve moguće radnje kako bi utvrdio prave razloge prigovarača, pod uvjetom da iz svih činjenica predmeta može utvrditi da je određena osoba i stvarno prigovarač. U slučaju da prigovarač odbija obrazložiti razloge za prigovor savjesti može biti relevantna i činjenica da li pravna norma propisuje dopuštene razloge za prigovor savjesti. Ako propisi šute kriterij može biti da će se odobriti onaj prigovor savjesti koji nije obrazložen, ali se pretpostavlja da se temelji na savjesti prigovarača;61 • U postupku utvrđivanja dopustivosti prigovora savjesti, pored ograničenja koja izričito utvrđuju pravni propisi, treba uzeti u obzir i neka načelna ograničenja: - pravo na prigovor savjesti se ne odnosi na razne oblike građanske neposlušnosti; - pravo prigovora savjesti nije opće pravo; - pravo prigovora savjesti ne smije zadirati u prava drugih ljudi; - pravni položaj i postupanje pojedinca koji ga prisiljavaju na prigovor savjesti mora biti prisilno nametnut (vojna obveza), a ne kao rezultat dobrovoljnog i svjesnog ulaska u određenu pravnu situaciju (liječnici, suci i moralno vjerski stavovi); 197 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. Sacred to Secular Resistance, Oxford Univerity Press, New York, 1993., pp. 3-6., Košir M, Ugovor vesti vojaški dolžnosti, Ljubljana, 1998., Chalk R., Drawing the Line: An Examination of Conscientious Objection in Science, Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, Vol. 577., New York, 1989. 59 O tome vidi: Murray J. C., War and Conscience: Obligation and Dissent, Boston, 1971., pp. 334. 60 Premda bi prigovor savjesti trebao biti dovoljan razlog da se, recimo, izbjegne vojna služba, ponekad se kao dokaz iskrenosti, ali i kao korak koji bi trebao obeshrabriti stvaranje običaja, u nekim državama traži dokaz ozbiljne posvećenosti religiji. 61 Iako se na savjest koja počiva samo na moralnim uvjerenjima i vrijednostima, i koju ne podupire religijska vjerska pripadnost, često gleda sa sumnjom, u SAD je tako npr. u praksi Vrhovnog suda kao formalni razlog prigovora savjesti prihvaćeno i moralno uvjerenje i motivacija. 62 M. Cerar, op. cit. str. 45. - prigovor savjesti mora biti rezultat uvjerenja pojedinca da time štiti temeljne i najviše vrednote (život, zdravlje, sloboda pojedinca);62 • Ukoliko je prigovor savjesti pravno nedopustiv, prigovarač se mora sankcionirati, pri čemu je moguće, u ovisnosti o pojedinom primjeru, voditi računa o olakšavajućim okolnostima. Ukoliko bi pak takva osoba bila oslobođena bilo kakve odgovornosti, sud bi poslao poruku da prigovarač nije niti bio u sukobu sa pravom i u nadležnosti i domenu prava, odnosno radilo bi se o osobi kojoj je, kako kaže Hegel “uskraćena (ukradena) kazna kao njegovo pravo”.63 ZAKLJUČAK Problematika teorije građanskog otpora mnogo je složenija nego što se to obično smatra. Pri tome, mora se naglasiti, na različiti način se tretira pitanje prava na građansku neposlušnost od prava na prigovor savjesti. Ukoliko pod građanskom neposlušnošću podrazumijevamo striktno određeni nenasilni i javni čin pojedinca koji ima za cilj da utječe na stvaranje pravednih zakona, onda se može konstatirati da takva akcija ne dovodi do bezvlašća, već da teži ka društvenom napretku i jačanju civilnog društva. Iako se radi o činu koji je protuzakonit, on je duboko moralan jer stremi postizanju ili održavanju pravednog režima. Građanska neposlušnost, kao način političke participacije, može postati poželjan način protestiranja pa čak i građanska dužnost, isključivo ukoliko bude legalizirana. U takvim uvjetima bi građanska neposlušnost mogla postati „normalizirajući i neophodni sastavni dio političke kulture“ svake suvremene demokratske države. Ukoliko do toga ne dođe građanska neposlušnost će ipak ostati duboko moralan čin koji predstavlja oblik neinstitucionaliziranog nepovjerenja prema državi i ujedno element koji izdiže državu iz cjeline njenog pozitivno ustanovljenog poretka. Za razliku od građanske neposlušnosti, prigovor savjesti je ograničeno pravno dopustiv. Pravo na prigovor savjesti, dakle nije contra legem već exceptio legis, jer su zakonodavci u okviru pravnog sustava iskazali tendenciju da to pravo relativiziraju s namjerom da moralni stav pojedinca ne zadire u prava drugih pravnih subjekata. Glede pravne dopustivosti prigovora savjesti, da bi se izbjegla različita tumačenja ili zlouporabe, utvrđeni su određeni opći pravni kriteriji i ograničenja, dok se u svakom konkretnom slučaju uzimaju u razmatranje i određena načela koja prelaze okvire pozitivnog prava jer je prigovor savjesti primarno moralna kategorija. Legalizacija prigovora savjesti, odnosno njegova ograničena pravna dopustivost, predstavlja značajan korak u razvoju modernog prava, posebno 198 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. 63 M. Cerar, op. cit., str. 45. onoga dijela koji se odnosi na zaštitu najviših ljudskih vrijednosti, od prava na fizički integritet do slobode govora, misli, savjesti i vjeroispovijedi. LEGITIMACY OF CIVIL RESISTANCE – SOME THEORETICAL ASPECTS In modern constitutional regimes which are considered to be “approximately just” and “approximately democratic” no procedural rule exists which can guarantee that all rights will be protected or will not be breached. Similarly, not even the practical implementation of all rules can guarantee in all cases that they will be acceptable for all social groups and individuals. Even in the most democratic of systems, certain groups or individuals can feel threatened or unjustly deprived in regard to human and democratic rights. Under such conditions, for groups and individuals a fundamental dillema presents itself: loyality or disobedience. In this paper, the author attemps, by analysing the various ways civil disobedience and conscientious objection are manifested as forms of civil resistance, to establish where the legitimate boundaries of such rights of individuals and groups are, and not only in relation to the rights of other citizens but in relation to the basic democratic principle – majority rights. That is, whether the mentioned forms of civil resistance can and may question the basic values of the majority and thereby also the entire constitutional arrangement. Key words: civil resistance, moral autonomy, loyality, civil disobedience, conscientious objection. 199 Doc. dr. sc. Saša Šegvić.: Legitimnost građanskog otpora - neki teorijski aspekti Zbornik radova Pravnog fakulteta u Splitu, god. 44, 2/2007., str. 177.-199. << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /All /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Dot Gain 20%) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (U.S. Web Coated \050SWOP\051 v2) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Warning /CompatibilityLevel 1.4 /CompressObjects /Tags /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJDFFile false /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Default /DetectBlends true /DetectCurves 0.0000 /ColorConversionStrategy /LeaveColorUnchanged /DoThumbnails false /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedOpenType false /ParseICCProfilesInComments true /EmbedJobOptions true /DSCReportingLevel 0 /EmitDSCWarnings false /EndPage -1 /ImageMemory 1048576 /LockDistillerParams false /MaxSubsetPct 100 /Optimize true /OPM 1 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work_g6nytfr7znhpvadelrn5igjvda	----	A passion for walking 353Launer J. Postgrad Med J June 2019 Vol 95 No 1124 On reflection A passion for walking John Launer I have just finished walking a route across the UK from east to west— specifically from Margate in Kent to the north-west tip of Wales. At around 620 miles (1000 km) it is half the length of the more famous walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats and I completed it in a somewhat random fashion: my original plan had been to walk the Offa’s Dyke Path along the border between England and Wales (see figure 1), but once I finished this I could not resist adding other walks including the Thames Path until I completed the whole route. Anyone with a passion for walking will understand. It has still given me a special sense of pride to be able to point to a map of my country and to say I have travelled every step across it on foot. Long-distance walks fundamentally alter your relationship with your native geography. Every kilometre brings an unexpected discovery: who would ever guess that the river Thames, for instance, flows underneath somebody’s house in Wiltshire? (see figure 2). The grada- tions of landscape, vegetation, history and architecture—all of which whizz by indistinguishably when passing in a car or train—become intimately familiar. Walking also tests your ingenuity, espe- cially with regard to circumnavigating fields full of frisky bullocks, or farms guarded by overzealous dogs, not to mention finding transport back to a railway station when rural bus services in some places have become close to extinct. But none of these rewards or challenges can fully explain why one walks, or goes on walking, or seeks yet another walk to complete. For such explanations, one must look elsewhere, and especially to writing by walkers. By a rather wonderful coincidence, one outstanding book about walking was published on almost on the same day I completed my own walk. It is called ‘Walking: one step at a time’,1 by the Norwegian explorer and writer Erling Kagge. The author’s accomplishments make my own seem somewhat feeble: he has walked to the South Pole, and also to the North Pole by himself, and has climbed Everest. He is rather better placed than most people to provide some good answers to the question: ‘why walk?’ Effort And joy Kagge offers a gentle, purposefully mean- dering but erudite meditation on walking. Indeed, he tries to recreate the experience of walking itself. His book draws you in slowly as if to overcome the stiffness of early morning, but then gradually opens up wider and wider landscapes of thought as your mind becomes accustomed to the exercise. He also hints, brilliantly, at the aspects of walking that are almost beyond words. Among these are its sheer useless- ness, by comparison with so much else that we have to do or, more accurately, feel we ought to do. Kagge writes: No-one has to climb Everest, and there’s hardly anything else we have to do either. There are so many things we should do or could do but rarely something we have to. If you go for a long walk, you’ll be fine; if you stay at home you’ll be fine as well. But when something is too easily obtained, it rapidly loses its pleasure. Although walking may sometimes arise from more mundane motivations like a desire to become fitter or to see remote places, its true essence, according to Kagge, resides in the effort for its own joyous sake. In the course of his contemplation on walking, Kagge cites many great writers and thinkers who have themselves been devoted walkers. These include Word- sworth, Kierkegaard and Darwin. The absence of female writers about walking is curious. Possibly for most of history and in most places it was too risky for women to take long walks unaccompa- nied by men—although Kagge might have mentioned that Wordsworth’s constant companion on his excursions was his sister Dorothy, and that some female explorers like Gertrude Bell, although accompanied by servants and pack animals, did go off on solitary walks during their expeditions. Two writers figure significantly in Kagge’s thinking. One is the Swiss author Robert Walser, whose novella ‘The Walk’2 eerily captures the shifting inner cloud- scape of thoughts, imaginary conversa- tions, memories, fantasies and real-life encounters that accompany every walker. Another is the American philosopher and naturalist Henry David Thoreau, whose book ‘Walking’3 has become a classic manifesto for the habit, and who wrote: I think I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours at least— and it is commonly more than that—saun- tering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements. WAlking And crEAtivity All these writers, along with many others, share an intuition that walking and writing are in some ways complementary. Walking generates ideas that can then be written about, while writing itself re-enacts the experience of exploration and discovery. (For my own part, I can disclose that I have scarcely ever written an article or chapter that was not at least partly crafted correspondence to Dr John Launer, Postgraduate Medical Journal, London WC1B 5DN, UK; johnlauner@ aol. com figure 1 Offa's Dyke Path near Monmouth figure 2 River Thames in Wiltshire o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p o stg ra d m e d j-2 0 1 9 -1 3 6 7 9 8 o n 2 2 Ju n e 2 0 1 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://pmj.bmj.com/ http://pmj.bmj.com/ 354 Launer J. Postgrad Med J June 2019 Vol 95 No 1124 on reflection in my own mind while walking, and I have probably never gone for an extended walk without an idea entering into my head that I wanted to commit to paper.) The link between walking and health is well known. Apart from the obvious benefits to musculoskeletal fitness, regular walking and other forms of moderate phys- ical activity are associated with primary prevention of coronary heart disease and stroke, as well as type 2 diabetes.4–6 Research also confirms a clear link with creativity. The most commonly quoted paper in this respect is by Marrily Oppezzo and Daniel L Schwartz from Stanford University, entitled ‘Give your ideas some legs: the positive effect of walking on creative thinking.’7 Their article reports on four separate experiments involving exercise followed by standard psycholog- ical tests of both creative and convergent thinking. The exercise was of two kinds: indoor on a treadmill, and walking outside (with comparisons also being made with indoor sitting and being wheeled outdoors in a wheelchair). All four experiments showed consistent results, namely that walking substantially increases creativity, especially if it takes place outdoors. In three of the experiments, participants were more creative after walking than sitting in 81%, 88% and 100%, respectively. In the fourth study, 100% of those who walked generated more novel ideas compared with 50% who were seated outside. The authors conclude with the following argument: Walking is an easy-to-implement strategy to increase appropriate novel idea genera- tion. When there is a premium on gener- ating new ideas in the workday, it should be beneficial to incorporate walks. In ad- dition to providing performance benefits, it would address concerns regarding the physiological effects of inactivity. While schools are cutting back on physical edu- cation in favour of seated academics, the neglect of the body in favour of the mind ignores their tight interdependence. This will chime with the experience of every walker, and of any doctors who have seen their patients’ mental well-being, and their whole lives, improved by regular walks. funding The authors have not declared a specific grant for this research from any funding agency in the public, commercial or not-for-profit sectors. competing interests None declared. Patient consent for publication Not required. Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed. © Author(s) (or their employer(s)) 2019. No commercial re-use. See rights and permissions. Published by BMJ. to cite Launer J. Postgrad Med J 2019;95:353–354. Accepted 22 May 2019 Published Online First 22 June 2019 Postgrad Med J 2019;95:353–354. doi:10.1136/postgradmedj-2019-136798 RefeRences 1 Kagge E. Walking: one step at a time. London: Penguin Viking, 2019. 2 Walser R. The walk, and other stories (translated by Middleton C and others). 1992. London: Serpent’s Tail, 1917. 3 Thoreau HD. Walking. 2017. Thomaston, ME: Tilbury House, 1862. 4 Lee I-M, Buchner DM. The importance of walking to public health. Med Sci Sports Exerc 2008;40(7 Suppl):S512–S518. 5 Vogel T, Brechat P-H, Leprêtre P-M, et al. Health benefits of physical activity in older patients: a review. Int J Clin Pract 2009;63:303–20. 6 Hanson S, Jones A. Is there evidence that walking groups have health benefits? A systematic review and meta-analysis. Br J Sports Med 2015;49:710–5. 7 Oppezzo M, Schwartz DL. Give your ideas some legs: The positive effect of walking on creative thinking. J Exp Psychol Learn Mem Cogn 2014;40:1142–52. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://p m j.b m j.co m / P o stg ra d M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /p o stg ra d m e d j-2 0 1 9 -1 3 6 7 9 8 o n 2 2 Ju n e 2 0 1 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1136/postgradmedj-2019-136798&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-06-26 http://dx.doi.org/10.1249/MSS.0b013e31817c65d0 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1742-1241.2008.01957.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1742-1241.2008.01957.x http://dx.doi.org/10.1136/bjsports-2014-094157 http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/a0036577 http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/a0036577 http://pmj.bmj.com/ A passion for walking Effort and joy Walking and creativity References 
work_gck6sxuowndb5lec6hn3d4em64	----	1144 Received October 18, 2018 Accepted for publication October 20, 2018 “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” Cool Hand Luke Communication between the brain and muscle plays a key role in maintaining the function of an individual. A classical example of this failure to communicate is after a stroke which leads to a failure of the brain to communicate with the periphery resulting in the muscle becoming flaccid. With aging there is a gradual decline in the communication between the central nervous system and skeletal muscle. This leads to a decrease in speed of movement, weakness, an increased tendency to fall and eventually a decline in function. A number of studies have shown that deterioration in brain function leads to a decline in grip strength and walking speed. For example, older persons with the lowest MiniMental Status Examination score and poor verbal ability had lower grip strength (1). Ten percent variance in gait speed is due to the amyloid-beta burden in the brain together with the presence of the apolipoprotein E4 gene (2). A classical example of the brain-muscle communication decrease with aging is the decline in the ability of old persons with dementia or Parkinson’s disease to “dual task” (3). “Dual tasking” deficit is the inability to maintain walking speed while being asked to carry out a mental task. Both children up to 12 and older persons have a decrease in walking speed when asked to do an arithmetic problem. With aging there is a decrease in axonal communication leading to a decline in the connection between the cortex and the spinal cord (4). The decline in dopamine receptors with aging results in slowed reaction times (5). With aging there is a decrease in motor unit numbers leading to fiber size heterogeneity and fiber grouping similar to the changes seen in amyotrophic lateral sclerosis and a loss of type 2 muscle fibers (6). When this is pronounced, it results in sarcopenia. In addition, the increase in adenosine (A1) inhibitory receptors over the adenosine 2A receptors results in decreased muscle force (7). From Muscle to Brain “Methinks that the moment my legs begin to move, My thoughts begin to flow” ~Henry David Thoreau, 1851 Physical exercise increases hippocampal volume in older persons (8). In persons with mild cognitive impairment there is an increase in brain activation after 12 weeks of training (9). Exercise increases mental performance and function in older persons (10-13). Overall, exercise increases neurogenesis, neuronal maturation, angiogenesis, hippocampal volume and learning and memory in mice (14). Exercise directly increases BDNF, APP and BACE-1 in Alzheimer’s disease rat brain (15). For muscle to produce these effects it produces a variety of myokines that have a direct effect on the brain (16). Among these myokines the ones that have been shown to have effects on the central nervous system include insulin-growth factor-1, brain derived nerve growth factor, cathepsin-B, fibroblast growth factor-1 and irisin (17). Irisin has been considered a major peptide communicator (18), but recently studies have suggested that the assays that have been used are very nonspecific (19, 20). Another effect of muscle on the brain is to increase fatigue (21). Exercising muscle increases tryptophan and branched chain amino acids release in the blood leading to an increase in tryptophan in the brain (22, 23). In the brain tryptophan is converted into serotonin that inhibits neuronal activity leading to a sense of fatigue (24). Exercise also reverses depressive behaviors (25). Cognitive Frailty Cognitive frailty is defined as a person with reduced cognitive reserve associated with physical frailty (26, 27) (Figure 1). Persons with cognitive frailty have worse physical outcomes than persons who only have frailty (28-30). Persons who have an increase in regional white matter burden (vascular disease) have increased balance and gait disorders, falls, urge incontinence, functional decline, and disability and worse executive function (31-33). Besides the EDITORIAL BIDIRECTIONAL COMMUNICATION BETWEEN BRAIN AND MUSCLE J.E. MORLEY Division of Geriatric Medicine, Saint Louis University School of Medicine, St. Louis, Missouri, USA. Corresponding author: John E. Morley, MB,BCh, Division of Geriatric Medicine, Saint Louis University School of Medicine, 1402 S. Grand Blvd., M238, St. Louis, MO 63104, Email: john.morley@health.slu.edu Key words: Brain communication, muscle, function. © Serdi and Springer-Verlag International SAS, part of Springer Nature J Nutr Health Aging. 2018;22(10):1144-1145 Published online November 26, 2018, http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s12603-018-1141-2 THE JOURNAL OF NUTRITION, HEALTH & AGING© J Nutr Health Aging Volume 22, Number 10, 2018 1145 role of vascular disease producing cognitive frailty, another causative factor is inflammatory cytokines. Inflammatory cytokines are elevated in physical frailty (34). The cytokines can cross the blood brain barrier leading to impaired cognition (35). Figure 1 Pathophysiology of Cognitive Frailty and Its Outcomes Motoric Cognitive Risk Syndrome is similar to cognitive frailty (36). It is defined as an older person with slow gait and memory complaints, without dementia. Its pathophysiology is considered to be due to decreased gray matter volume and hippocampal volume together with an increase in white matter hyperintensities. Conclusion A failure to communicate between brain-muscle-brain plays a significant role in the aging process. This failure leads to frailty, sarcopenia, fatigue, depression and cognitive frailty (Figure 2). . Disclosures: The authors declare there are no conflicts References 1. Carson RG. Get a grip: Individual variations in grip strength are a marker of brain health. Neurobiol Aging 2018;71:189-222. 2. Del Campo N, Payoux P, Djilali A, et al; MPT/DSA Study Group. Relationship of regional brain β-amyloid to gait speed. Neurology 2016;86:36-43. 3. Chu YH, Tang PF, Peng YC, Chen HY. Meta-analysis of type and complexity of a secondary task during walking on the prediction of elderly falls. Geriatr Gerontol Int 2013;13:289-297. 4. Manini TM, Hong SL, Clark BC. Aging and muscle: A neuron’s perspective. C u r r O p i n C l i n N u t r M e t a b C a r e 2 0 1 3 J a n u a r y ; 1 6 ( 1 ) . D o i : 1 0 . 1 0 9 7 / MCO.0b013e32835b5880. 5. MacDonald SW, Karlsson S, Rieckmann A, et al. Aging-related increases in behavioral variability: Relations to losses of dopamine D1 receptors. J Neurosci 2012;32:8186-8191. 6. Drey M, Grosch C, Neuwirth C, et al. The motor unit number index (MUNIX) in sarcopenic patients. Exp Gerontol 2013;48:381-384. 7. Kandel ER, Schwartz JH, Fessell TM, et al. Principles of Neural Science. 5. McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc; 2012. 8. Firth J, Stubbs B, Vancampfort D, et al. Effect of aerobic exercise on hippocampal volume in humans: A systematic review and meta-analysis. Neuroimage 2018;166:230-238. 9. Smith JC, Nielson KA, Antuono P, et al. Semantic memory functional MRI and cognitive function after exercise intervention in mild cognitive impairment. J Alzheimers Dis 2013;37:197-215. 10. Loprinzi PD, Blough J, Ryu S, Kang M. Experimental effects of exercise on memory function among mild cognitive impairment: Systematic review and meta-analysis. Phys Sportsmed 2018;Sep 22. Doi:10.1080/00913847.2018.1527647 [Epub ahead of print]. 11. Du Z, Li Y, Li J, et al. Physical activity can improve cognition in patients with Alzheimer’s disease: a systematic review and meta-analysis of randomized controlled trials. Clin Interv Aging 2018;13:1593-1603. 12. Auyeung TW, Lee JS, Kwok T, Woo J. Physical frailty predicts future cognitive decline – a four-year prospective study in 2737 cognitively normal older adults. J Nutr Health Aging 2011;15:690-694. 13. Miyawaki CE, Bouldin ED, Kumar GS, McGuire LC. Associations between physical activity and cognitive functioning among middle-aged and older adults. J Nutr Health Aging 2017;21:637-647. 14. Guerrieri D, oon HY, van Praag H. Exercise in a pill: The latest on exercise-mimetics. Brain Plasticity 2 (2016/2017) 153-169. 15. Alkadhi KA. Exercise as a positive modulator of brain function. Mol Neurobiol 2018;55:3112-3130. 16. Delezie J, Handschin C. Endocrine crosstalk between skeletal muscle and the brain. Front Neurol 2018 Aug 24 doi.org/10.3389/fneur.2018.00798. 17. Son JS, Chae SA, Testroet ED, et al. Exercise-induced myokines: A brief review of controversial issues of this decade. Expert Rev Endocrinol Metab 2018;13:51-58. 18. Grygiel-Gorniak B, Puszczewicz M. A review on irisin, a new protagonist that mediates muscle-adipose-bone-neuron connectivity. Eur Rev Med Pharmacol Sci 2017;21:4687-4693. 19. Kaluzna M, Hoppe K, Schwermer K, et al. Preanalytical, analytical, and postanalytical errors in the measurement of irisin levels. Authors’ reply. Pol Arch Intern Med 2017;127(9):643-644. 20. Hecksteden A, Wegmann M, Steffen A, et al. Irisin and exercise training in humans – results from a randomized controlled training trial. BMC Med 2013 Nov 5;11:235. Doi:10.1186/1741-715-11-235. 21. Taylor JL, Amann M, Duchateau J, et al. Neural contributions to muscle fatigue: From the brain to the muscle and back again. Med Sci Sports Exerc 2016 Nov;48(11):2294-2306. 22. Cervenka I, Agudelo LZ, Ruas JL. Kynurenines: Tryptophan’s metabolites in exercise, inflammation, and mental health. Science 2017 Jul 28;357(6349). Doi:10.1126/science.aaf9794. 23. Shortz AE, Pickens A, Zheng Q, Mehta RK. The effect of cognitive fatigue on prefrontal cortex correlates of neuromuscular fatigue in older women. J NeuroEngineering and Rehab 2015;12:115. Doi:10.1186/s12984-015-0108-3 24. Cordeiro LMS, Rabelo PCR, Moraes MM, et al. Physical exercise-induced fatigue: The role of serotonergic and dopaminergic systems. Braz J Med Biol Res 2017;50:e6432. Doi: 10.1590/1414-431X2017643. 25. Schuch FB, Vancampfort D, Firth J, et al. Physical activity and incident depression: A meta-analysis of prospective cohort studies. A, J Psychiatry 2018;175:631-648. 26. Malmstrom TK, Morley JE. Frailty and cognition: Linking two common syndromes in older persons. J Nutr Health Aging 2013;17:723-725. 27. Kelaiditi E, Cesari M, Canevelli M, et al. Cognitive frailty: Rational and definition from an I.A.N.A./I.A.G.G.) international consensus group. J Nutr Health Aging 2013;17:726-734. 28. Yu R, Morley JE, Kwok T, et al. The effects of combinations of cognitive impairment and pre-frailty on adverse outcomes from a prospective community-based cohort study of older Chinese people. Front Med (Lausanne) 2018 Mar 6;5:50. DOI: 10.3389/fmed.2018.00050. eCollection 29. Morley JE, Morris JC, Berg-Weger M, et al. Brain health: The importance of recognizing cognitive impairment: An IAGG consensus conference. J Am Med Dir Assoc 2015;16:731-739. 30. Canevelli M, Cesari M. Cognitive frailty: What is still missing? J Nutr Health Aging 2015;19:273-275. 31. Morley JE. White matter lesions (leukoaraiosis): A major cause of falls. J Am Med Dir Assoc 2015;16:441-443. 32. 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work_gd2xzxttavgwhfuvprmw357mea	----	Microsoft Word - 4. Da Silva & Moreira Cruz.docx BIOPOLITICS AND THE ANTHROPOCENE ERA: IDEAS OF NATURE IN HENRY DAVID THOREAU’S WALDEN Claiton Marcio da Silva Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul (UFFS) Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul (UFFS) ABSTRACT This article discusses Thoreau’s Walden; or, Life in the Wood (1854) as an interpretative key to rethink contemporary relations between humans and nonhumans in ecological systems. While Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience came to be seen as his main political work sensu stricto, Walden’s socio-environmental criticisms has commonly been regarded as outside the scope of his political commitment. As this essay demonstrates, Thoreau’s social critique focused not solely on human life, but it widely encompassed the relevance of nonhuman beings, such as plants and animals or the pond’s ecosystem as a whole. Yet, how can such a critical discussion be adopted in order to reflect on the relations between humans and nonhumans in the current Anthropocene era? Informed by the critical tools of the environmental humanities and ecocriticism, we seek to expand Foucault’s concept of biopower to nonhuman beings through a critical reading of Thoreau’s Walden, what we consider as a cutting-edge attempt to present a less anthropocentric idea of ecological systems. Keywords: Thoreau; Walden; Biopolitics; Biopower; Anthropocene. INTRODUCTION n this article we analyze how the concepts of biopower and biopolitics can be applied to the theoretical infrastructure of the environmental humanities in order to construct a less anthropocentric idea of social relations.1 Using Henry David Thoreau’s book Walden; or, Life in the Woods as litmus test, we suggest a notion of biopower/politics more consistent with the current Anthropocene era.2 Walden was 1 For a more complete debate about recent uses of categories as biopower and biopolitics, see Srinivasan 2017, and Nimmo 2019. 2 According to Arias-Maldonado, Anthropocene “designates the massive anthropogenic disruption of natural systems at a planetary level—a disruption so pervasive that some geologists advocate the end of the Holocene and the official recognition of a new geological epoch” (2020, 2-3). Assuming this position, the Anthropocene Era refers I | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 51 written during and after Thoreau’s life experience at the eponymous pond between 1845 and 1847, in the city of Concord, Massachusetts. In his text, originally published in 1854, the author provides a deep consideration of human and nonhuman relations. Reflecting on the dichotomous relationship between human society and nature, Thoreau raises several critical points about American society at the time, touching upon themes such as slavery, the Mexican-American war and the national rhetoric of alleged “progress.” Although the text was produced in the mid-19th century, the author already presents a less dichotomous worldview concerning the Cartesian division between humans and nature present in Western social thought. Thoreau compared the ways of life of native Americans and European/American settlers, focusing on the relationship between human groups and nature. In his observations, he denounced the anthropogenic impact on the local landscape, analyzing indigenous culture and traditions as a counterpoint. This article proposes a reading of Thoreau’s social criticism as an interpretative key to rethinking contemporary relations between humans and nonhumans in ecological systems. While Thoreau’s book Resistance to civil government—today known as Civil Disobedience3—came to be seen as Thoreau’s political work sensu stricto, Walden’s socio-environmental criticisms commonly have been regarded as outside the scope of his political commitment. However, Thoreau’s social critique focused not solely on human life, but it widely considered the relevance of nonhuman beings, such as plants, to the current relationship between humankind and the natural systems, the increase predatory anthropic to alarming levels, climate change, and large other global environmental problems. For a more complete debate see Ellis 2018, Lynch and Veland 2018; Nicholson and Jinnah 2019. 3 Thoreau was arrested in July of 1846 for nonpayment of poll tax. He believed that tax payment supported the Mexican-American War and the slave trade. So, he had stopped paying the tax since 1842. In 1849, after his brief arrest, Thoreau wrote the essay “Resistance to Civil Government,” approaching the complex issues between the sovereignty of the State and the sovereignty of the individual. Concord’s philosopher defended the right to disobedience, especially in cases of injustice committed by the government—in this case, his strongest opposition was in relation to the slave regime and the Mexican-American war. He stated: “I heartily accept the motto,—That government is best which governs least; and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which also I believe,—That government is best which governs not at all.” His reflections are on the genealogy of many political terms still in use currently as “non-violent resistance,” “civil disobedience,” and “non-violent revolution,” among others. The book “Resistance to Civil Government” was, since its publication, important reading for social revolutionaries such as Liev Tolstoi (1828-1910), Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948), and Martin Luther King (1929-1968). For a more complete picture of the influence of “Civil Disobedience,” see López-Martínez 2016; Miller 2017; Jahanbegloo 2018; Arendt 1972; Losurdo 2015. Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 52 animals, or the pond itself. In Walden, the relationship between human and nonhuman forms of life appears as a recurring theme. What were the specific patterns of power relations described by Thoreau? How can these be useful to reflect on the relations between humans and nonhumans in the current Anthropocene era? In Walden, Thoreau described the distinctive relations between dissimilar humans groups and nonhuman beings with a longue durée approach. Although he produced the text in the middle of the nineteenth century, in his narrative the author references the history of New England until his current time, with particular emphasis on the experience of the first British who settled in the region—which would become the city of Concord. In addition, Thoreau repeatedly developed comparisons between his “civilized” contemporaries and the remaining indigenous population who still inhabited the constantly changing environment. In a sense, Walden not only narrates the successive and concomitant experiences of colonial populations but also observes how these settlers interacted with the those previously occupying the same space—and the impact of the industrial revolution with the violent expansion to the American West. Thoreau’s book tells a story of dramatic transformations in the relationship between human and nonhuman, comparing the way of life of Native American indigenous societies with that of European colonizers. As argued by Mary Louise Pratt (2007), the eyes of the conqueror—or the settlers in this case—can display a certain empathy during his task of conquering. In a similar fashion, Thoreau draws a significant picture of power-relations in the United States during the nineteenth century, as a white, Anglo-Saxon, and protestant man, belonging to the country’s intellectual elite. On the other hand, by temporarily abandoning the nascent industrial civilization in favor of primitivism, Thoreau indirectly fosters the emergence of several movements alternative to industrial and capitalist society.4 4 A large number of activists and social theorists were influenced by Thoreau’s work. However, his experiences and texts were read more often under the anarchist and environmentalist lens. For anarchists, especially adherents of non-violence, the notion of “civil disobedience” has been widely used. Environmental movements, on the other hand, consider Thoreau, sometimes along with Emerson and Muir, the founder of ecological thinking. Also, during the 1960s in the United States, the hippie movement was inspired by Thoreau’s life and work. In addition, several | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 53 Although Thoreau was descendent of European settlers, his text moves beyond the idea of Europeans/Americans as colonizers, attempting to understand nonhuman agency and human/nonhuman interactions in that specific habitat. Adopting a neomaterialist perspective, one could agree with Serenella Iovino and Serpil Oppermann (2012b, 79; 2012a, 454) that the nonhuman narrative “focuses on the way matter’s (or nature’s) nonhuman agentic capacities are described and represented in narrative texts (literary, cultural, visual),” as well as on the “power of creating configurations of meanings and substances, which enter with human into a field of co- emerging interactions.” Drawing from a neomaterialist perspective, this article proposes a expansion of Foucault’s notion of biopower (1998; 2003; 2007; 2008), adopting Thoreau’s Walden as a narrative landmark. We maintain that his autobiographical experience can be considered as an example of what philosopher Jane Bennett (2010, xiv) defines as the concept of “affect” as the central point of political and ethical debates, looking at the “the agency of the things that produce (helpful, harmful) effects in human and other bodies.” In the current Anthropocene era, characterized by severe anthropogenic environmental catastrophes, a neomaterialist notion of biopower can inspire ecological narratives of care, hope, and resilience. BIOPOWER AND BIOPOLITICS: A DEBATE Foucault’s idea of biopolitics stems from an anthropocentric tradition that hardly considers the possibility of nonhuman power. As argued by American historian Robert Darnton (1986, 250), while early modern philosophers “dared” to modify the ancient order of knowledge in early modern era, this new order of knowledge was extremely influential for modernity, outlining new hierarchies and placing philosophy as the main trunk the “tree of knowledge.” Towards the end of the twentieth century, post- structuralist and postmodernist thinkers radically pruned the Enlightenment’s tree of anti-colonialist and anti-racist movements were also influenced by the writings of the Concord philosopher. (Altran 2017; Rocha 2018). Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 54 knowledge.5 While this group of social thinkers challenged both the ideas of reason and science, they continued to be intrinsically anthropocentric, regarding nature as a projection of human subjectivity, as did Foucault (1970). In other words, philosophical notions strongly grounded on human-centered approaches are still predominant over less anthropocentric paradigms. Regarding the notions of biopower and biopolitics Foucault (1998, 139; 1999, 138; 2003, 241-247; 2007, 16) maintained that the emergence of biopower technology was a phenomenon related to “the set of mechanisms through which the basic biological features of the human species became the object of a political strategy, of a general strategy of power.” In other words, biological aspects were absorbed by the political field and supported the rationality of government practices, considering only humans as the subjects of socio-political life. If the concepts of biopower and biopolitics proposed by Foucault are based on anthropocentric premises—where power emanates from the institution for the individual—his concept has inspired several disciplines. As argued by Srinivasan (2017), several studies have followed Foucault’s concept of biopower, seeking theoretical- methodological conjunctions, in which concepts such as discipline, subjectivity, and mechanisms of power are adopted in order to explain socio-environmental problems. However, all this research is still fundamentally anthropocentric.6 5 The first use of the concept of postmodernity was in François Lyotard’s “La Condition postmoderne” in 1979. According to the author, the postmodern condition was linked to “the state of our culture following the transformations which, since the end of the nineteenth century, have altered the game rules for science, literature and the arts.” (Lyotard 1984, XXIII) In this sense, the changes perceived by Lyotard denoted the weakening of the great discourses that legitimized progress. 6 In his article, Nimmo is aware regarding the anthropocentric approach provided by the original biopolitics: “For all its acuity in other respects, Michel Foucault’s vision rarely if ever extended beyond human beings, the relations between human beings, and the things created by humans.” In order to find a solution for this gap, Nimmo offers an explanation about the emergence of the earliest mechanical devices for the milking of cows through combining Foucauldian biopolitics and actor-network theory (ANT): “These are not inevitable features of this sort of approach, but risks that can be avoided, particularly—I want to argue—by drawing upon theoretical sensibilities from actor- network theory (ANT) and bringing these into productive dialogue with Foucauldian biopolitics. Theoretical syntheses can often be deceptive in their appeal, tending to gloss over subtle yet vital differences between traditions. But synthesis is not what I propose here, but rather a reading of biopolitics through certain currents from ANT” (Nimmo, 2019, 121). Bringing these two approaches together for a dialogue, we consider as very conjectural in epistemological terms, since those theories are not complementary. For this reason, we argue that the “original” biopolitics has problems in explaining nonhuman—or even human—phenomena, as we will argue in the following pages. | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 55 In contrast, recently the sociologist Nimmo (2019, 119) has demonstrated how human-animal studies have recognized the role of nonhuman animals in historical constructions. Following Foucault’s idea of subjectivity as the product of the ongoing political processes of subjectivation, Nimmo argues that in the same way other “subjects and subjectivity are perpetually shaped by techniques and devices of historical change in power, knowledge, and discipline.” In this light, the relationship between nonhumans, humans, and technology can be interpreted as a potential modifier of subjectivity. As argued by Holloway and Bear, “bovine and human agency and subjectivity are entrained and reconfigured in relation to emerging milking technologies so that what it is to be a cow or human becomes different as technologies change” (2017, 234). Through technological development, the relations between humans and the material world are modified. This transformation is the result of a “mediation” realized by technology, modifying human agency and discourse, as well as the relations with nonhuman beings. Thus, if objective reality has an agency over subjective human constructions, it is possible to affirm that technological changes produce a modification in the material world and in the construction of subjectivity. Such a non- anthropocentric perspective would pose a solution to an anthropocentric philosophical approach, proposing a more-than-human critical paradigm.7 Naturally, applying a less anthropocentric perspective to Foucault’s notion of biopower presents several theoretical-methodological challenges. However, recent studies from the environmental humanities can be related to concepts of biopower and biopolitics thanks to current reinterpretations. As an example, a short article published by Etienne Benson (2014, 88) demonstrates how the rise of national states, and the 7 This short quotation about the relationship between technology, humans, and cattle leads us to two premises that criticise post-anthropocentric assumptions, at least the post-structuralist line: first, in this narrative, if we observe well, is there no objectification of subjectivity? It seems to us that subjectivity and its changes are mediated objectively by technological changes and, also objectively, measured in their modifications. Second, the example discussed is intended to be a response to what he considers, in Marxism and Feminist approaches, to be an “essentialist” notion of the nonhuman. However, situating the relationship between technology-human-bovine in time and space does not guarantee a satisfactory answer. More than that, it insists on an essentialization; or rather, on the theoretical construction of an “ideal type,” of a supposed interposition of this type of relationship in an industrial society—also essentialized. There are extremely powerful variables in time, in space, in other actors and, above all, in economic relations that can lead to countless results. Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 56 growing control of land within national borders, would have influenced the interpretation of ornithologists on the role of territoriality over the life of birds. In other words, the emergence and consolidation of national states between the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century would also leave its mark on the sciences, as ornithologists began to interpret fauna from exacerbated human notions. Birds like warblers, as well as humans, were therefore regarded as organized life forms, acting within a strong territorial perspective, because scientific studies on these animals happened in a much-territorialized landscape. The idea of an increasingly anthropogenic formation of landscapes in recent centuries, imposing novel territorial or epistemological boundaries, adds a more complex notion to the top-down approach to biopower and biopolitics. In his text, Benson demonstrates that humans, especially scientists, continually reinterpreted elements of fauna because of changing historical and ecological contexts. According to this theoretical framework, one could maintain that biopower and biopolitics do not only address human governance over other humans and nonhumans, but that different forms of life also exercise power over humans and other nonhumans in constant contact, conflict, and interaction. In this light, can birds, trees, swamps, mountains or rivers just be “objects” of observation and research? Are historical and social factors solely shaping the interpretation of animal behavior, or do nonhumans exercise some form of power—or may we say biopower?—over humans? In the next lines, we regard the vibrant environmental circumstances captured by Thoreau's view as a transforming agent, actively influencing the philosopher’s notions of society, environment, and subjectivity. Analyzing the symbiotic socio-environmental relations present in Walden, we maintain that this text should be regarded as Thoreau’s real political manifesto in the age of the Anthropocene. WALDEN: FROM INDIGENOUS TO COLONIAL The landscape that Thoreau experienced in the nineteenth century was neither pristine nor wild: it was the result of human occupation long before the emergence of the American nation and European colonization. In the mid-nineteenth century, Thoreau | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 57 gave a description of Walden Pond that evaded the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains or the Appalachians.8 In fact, he considered Walden an important place for the purity of the water and its depth, while his landscape, in general, was not characterized by any exotic beauty: “the scenery of Walden is on a humble scale, and, though very beautiful, does not approach to grandeur, nor can it much concern one who has not long frequented it or lived by its shore; yet this pond is so remarkable for its depth and purity as to merit a particular description” (Thoreau 1995, 89). Thoreau’s portrait of Walden and of the woods that surrounded it reveals a certain ambiguity in his thinking. If in certain moments Thoreau romantically magnifies the plurality of pristine life in the vicinity of Walden, on the other hand, he does not attribute anything extraordinary to the place, neither in economic nor in ecological terms. The triviality of the landscape denotes that its value does not lie in human appreciation, but in its “intrinsic” existence. Thoreau was aware of the transformations that had taken place after two centuries of European occupation. He estimated that, approximately ten centuries before, the native people of North America—especially in the region that would be called New England after colonization—had developed agriculture and settled in the regions where they would later meet the British and other European colonizers. Before that, they already had seasonal camps in different locations in the region (Blancke and Robinson 1985). Therefore, he did not consider the territory as a demographic vacuum, or as “free lands” in the period before colonization, as suggested by Frederick Jackson Turner (1893) in relation to the American West. In this sense, he questioned the pristine status of the territory after millennia of cohabitation between humans and nonhumans. The relationship between human settlers and nonhumans suffered great 8 During the 19th century, the US government promoted a mass migration to the Western “free lands” beyond the Rocky Mountains and the Appalachians. The process that became known as “Marching to the West” led to a great territorial expansion, through treaties, wars, and purchases of territories and subsequent re-population of these regions, eventually uprooting local indigenous populations. In 1830, the “Indian Removal Act” was approved, a legislative instrument for the removal of indigenous populations; and in 1862, the “Homestead Act,” a law that facilitated the migration of American citizens to the West. One of the factors that legitimized this migration was the doctrine of Manifest Destiny, a belief that Americans were chosen by God to civilize “American territory.” This migratory process can be considered as a remarkable event in American history; as maintained by historian Frederick Jackson Turner during the late nineteenth century, the history of the U.S.A is the history of the colonization of the West (Turner 2008; Avila 2005). Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 58 modifications with the American occupation. As William Cronon (1983, 03-05) reminds us, in his diary Thoreau observed these changes, especially after reading New England’s Prospect by William Wood, a traveler who visited the region in the middle of the seventeenth century. In addition to the written records produced by travelers and colonists who arrived during the first migratory waves, Thoreau drew from oral traditions from Native Americans who still inhabited the region during the nineteenth century. Perhaps the most prolific message regarded the origin of Walden Pond. As reminded by Thoreau, My townsmen have all heard the tradition—the oldest people tell me that they heard it in their youth—that anciently the Indians were holding a pow-wow upon a hill here, which rose as high into the heavens as the pond now sinks deep into the earth, and they used much profanity, as the story goes, though this vice is one of which the Indians were never guilty, and while they were thus engaged the hill shook and suddenly sank, and only one old squaw, named Walden, escaped, and from her the pond was named. It has been conjectured that when the hill shook these stones rolled down its side and became the present shore. (Thoreau 1995, 92) This narrative reports an indigenous worldview of the origin of the place. Although his narrative is linked to colonizers’ tales, Thoreau attributes the birth of Walden to an indigenous elder woman. As demonstrated by archeological sources, during the centuries before European colonization, Native Americans lived in demographically dense societies, moderately transforming the environment through the use of fire. This led them to develop enhanced ecological notions addressing the interdependence of human and nonhuman (Blancke and Robinson 1985). This “environmental awareness” was attributed to nonhumans’ important roles in society: just like water, trees, and soil, all forms of plant and animal life acquired a metaphorical “human” agent status in society—biopolitics in our approach. It is also worth noting that large groups of Native Americans organized themselves socially and politically in a relatively more egalitarian way than European colonizers, demonstrating a less hierarchical worldview, also in relation to nonhuman actors (Blancke and Robinson 1985; Bruchac, 2004). Following indigenous traditions, Thoreau’s narrative approaches Walden Pond as a native entity, not subjected to the Cartesian notions of hierarchy, value, and utility characterizing | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 59 Western thought. Looking at the simplicity of the native way of life, Thoreau proposes a reconsideration of the behavior of society in regard to nature, technology, and human society itself. This worldview also calls into question the power of nature—or nonhumans—and how these other beings can affect human life beyond the powerful grip of human biopolitics. In attempting to answer questions about nature and the changing world in which he was living, Thoreau used empirical observation while living in the woods. As he admits in his texts, he . . . wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. (Thoreau 1995, 48) As noticed in these lines, for Thoreau the value of empirical observation lies in exploring the possibility of a more harmonic life between humans and nonhumans. After all, Thoreau’s major “disobedience” was his denial to uncritically embrace the values of industrial civilization. In this sense, Walden constitutes a reaffirmation of his social, political, and ecological disobedience. As he affirms in the text, he was mainly interested in obeying other laws: A saner man would have found himself often enough “in formal opposition” to what are deemed “the most sacred laws of society,” through obedience to yet more sacred laws, and so have tested his resolution without going out of his way. It is not for a man to put himself in such an attitude to society, but to maintain himself in whatever attitude he finds himself through obedience to the laws of his being, which will never be one of opposition to a just government, if he should chance to meet with such. (Thoreau 1995, 158) Although one cannot know for sure what Thoreau meant by “more sacred laws,” considering his deep meditations on the relationship between society, nature, and technology, he was clearly referring to the different epistemologies of nature among indigenous people, especially in relation to nineteenth-century American settlers. As maintained by Thoreau, the Americans could learn something from “the customs of some savage nation” while remembering the “feast of first fruits” (1995, 37), a custom of Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 60 the Mucclasse Indians who when receiving new clothes, pots and household utensils burn out all their despicable things. Thoreau’s admiration for Mucclasse tradition can be comprehended in another sentence: “a man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone” (Thoreau 1995, 44). In opposition to the rising industrial revolution in the United States during the nineteenth century, Thoreau sought in Native experiences an alternative to reflect on the society that was being constructed in America. While the philosopher watched the acceleration of environmental transformations and the hegemonization of nature as a “resource,” he considered alternative paths of “progress” that would allow repositioning humans into nature and understanding the intrinsic value of nonhumans. This understanding became progressively more incompatible with a society that increasingly accelerated the transformation of the environment in which it lived, based on social hierarchy, private property, and exploitation, both human and nonhuman. This historical fact allows one to observe the biopower of the environment present in Walden. Unlike Native people, European colonizers relied on a different worldview—quoting Bruchac, “most European traditions consider nature to be inanimate” (2004). Not only did they bring with them other systems of values and beliefs, but also new plants and animals that intensified the complexity of the local environments. The impact of migrations with regard to power-relations between humans and nonhumans was notable in distinct aspects. It caused a great transformation, what Carolyn Merchant has divided in two main transformations: a “colonial ecological revolution” from 1600 and 1800, and a “capitalist ecological revolution” (2010) from the American Revolution to the middle of the nineteenth century. Both these revolutions revealed by Merchant were deeply marked by human and nonhuman migrants. The colonial revolution brought a “European ecological complex of animals, plants, pathogens, and people,” and it collapsed the native societies, impacting power relations between humans and nonhumans. Thoreau wrote concurrent with the emergence of the “capitalist ecological revolution,” although he knew that the relationship between humans and nonhumans had been significantly altered since the European migration. Thoreau recognized the changes brought by | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 61 colonization, and while he described the nature of Walden, he also noticed the sound of trains, and those of the axes cutting trees. Although Thoreau has been recognized as one of the greatest American philosophers, his unorthodox view of society was successful among his peers. However, his ideas of human-nature relations can still be relevant in order to understand the “ecological revolution” in our times, as well as the direction of contemporaneous societies with regard to the relation between humans and nonhumans. WALDEN: A (BIO)POLITICAL MANIFESTO “BY NATURE” Reading through the pages of Walden, one would notice no conventional separation between nature and culture, or human and nonhuman, but an interconnected world, where every form of life is equally valuable. As Thoreau maintained, “I go and come with a strange liberty in Nature, a part of herself” (1995, 67). By empirically observing the interaction between nonhumans and humans, Thoreau provided an integrated idea of the world, in which human and nonhuman forms lived in an interactive way. This led him to conclude that “nature is as well adapted to our weakness as to our strength” (Thoreau 1995, 9). Here, Thoreau’s idea of “nature” seems to encounter what Isabelle Stengers (2015, 40) and Bruno Latour (2017) call “Gaia”—a living being possessing the power of agency and able to resist the attacks of human forces. Assuming this position, Walden’s narrative reflects on the biopower of “nature.” In his diary, Thoreau maintained that “nature has left nothing to the mercy of man,”9 interpreting it as a being endowed with genius, an active force that exercises power in relation to the “material world.”10 By maintaining that “there is nothing inorganic,” Thoreau maintains that nature is constituted by a multiplicity of human and nonhuman agents engaged in 9 This citation is omitted in some of the consulted publications. However, the sentence appears in the manuscript transcripts made available online by the project “The Writing of Henry D. Thoreau” in the Thoreau Library. The originals can be consulted in “manuscript 33” of Thoreau’s diaries, the 22nd and March of 1861. Available for consultation at: http://thoreau.library.ucsb.edu/writings_journals33.html. 10 “Nature is full of genius, full of the divinity” (Thoreau 2009, 384). Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 62 constant relation and motion, whether cooperating or disputing (Thoreau 1995, 67). As maintained by the author, when an acorn and a chestnut fall side by side, the one does not remain inert to make way for the other, but both obey their own laws, and spring and grow and flourish as best they can, till one, perchance, overshadows and destroys the other. If a plant cannot live according to its nature, it dies; and so a man. (Thoreau 2001, 21) Through these observations, Thoreau corroborates the same ideas that he reported in his diary years before his stay at Walden: “every part of nature teaches that the passing away of one life is the making room for another” (Thoreau 1906a, 03). Thoreau noticed that when untouched by humans, plant life maintained its own pace, expanding and occupying the spaces that it required to survive. By living “in nature without fences,” he could observe from his simple residence “a young forest growing up under your meadows, and wild sumachs and blackberry vines breaking through into your cellar; sturdy pitch pines rubbing and creaking against the shingles for want of room, their roots reaching quiet under the house” (Thoreau 1995, 66). Sharing spaces with nonhuman beings does not seem to have been a problem for Thoreau. On the contrary, his stay at the pond allowed him to consider that it could be “some advantage to live a primitive and frontier life, though in the midst of an outward civilization if only to learn what are the gross necessaries of life and what methods have been taken to obtain them” (Thoreau 1995, 10). Certainly, one of Thoreau’s main goals in moving to Walden’s woods was to learn from nonhuman forms of life, “communicating with the villas and hills and forests on either hand, by the glances we feel them, or the echoes we awakened” (Thoreau 1906a, 442). The “communication” desired by Thoreau can be interpreted as an attempt to understand his changing world. However, this concern was not easily found among his contemporaries. “Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her… She flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they reside. Talk of heaven! Ye disgrace earth” (Thoreau 1995, 101). Perhaps part of the discomfort that Thoreau felt about the direction of “progress” in America was due to his perception that humanity was neglecting its connection with other forms of life. Just as Leo Marx evoked with the | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 63 image of Sleepy Hollow—the machine in the garden—trains and railroads also symbolized the widening gap between humans and nonhumans. However, while highlighting the contradictions of industrial society, Thoreau sought in multiple ways to learn what nonhumans could teach him, nurturing an admiration for natural phenomena, while also attempting to understand them in relation to human agency. In one passage of his text, Thoreau declared that in the late afternoon he sometimes confused the “natural music” of the cows with the singing of young people from the village. In explaining this statement, Thoreau admitted: “I do not mean to be satirical, but to express my appreciation of those youths’ singing, when I state that I perceived clearly that it was akin to the music of the cow, and they were at length one articulation of Nature” (1995, 64; italics added). Such a melodic articulation was what the Concord naturalist longed for in observing the relations between humans and the natural world. As he admitted, it is important to consider Nature from the point of view of science remembering nomenclature and system of men, and so, if possible, go a step further in that direction . . . so it is equally important often to ignore or forget all that men presume they know and take an original and unprejudiced view of Nature. (Thoreau 1906b, 168-169) In fact, in Thoreau’s view, an adequate social project should preserve a certain symbiosis between human and nonhuman beings. A human society willing to explore a similar scenario would need to learn from its environment and the nonhuman beings that cohabit that territory, establishing a symmetrical relationship with these subjects. In this sense, reading Walden as a manifesto addressing the relationship between humans and nonhumans could potentially allow one to reconsider the notion of biopolitics as a relevant critical tool for the environmental humanities, looking at the active power of nonhuman subjects, an increasingly essential epistemological and political tool in the age of the Anthropocene. As argued by Thoreau, humans should consider themselves “as an inhabitant, or a part and parcel of Nature, rather than a member of society” (1862). This article has attempted to provide an “ecologically oriented” notion of biopower, beyond a dichotomous idea of humans and nonhumans. Such an idea of Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 64 biopower implies “a dialogic interaction of texts and contexts” and a dialogic construction of human/nature interactions conjoining literary and scientific discourses (Oppermann 2006, 118). It is precisely this dialogical interaction between Walden as a text and as a pond that becomes visible in Thoreau’s idea of nature: an ecological agent that is not only at the mercy of human power, but a dynamic actor. In fact, looking at nonhuman subjects carries an ideological rupture, as “this means widening the scope of the objects of moral responsibility from a singular ‘center’ (humankind) to a multiplicity of ‘peripheral,’ ethically as well as ontologically marginalized subjects [nonhuman beings]” (Iovino 2010, 35). It is the widening of this scope that fundamentally modifies ecological ethics whether in science or politics. As Thoreau noticed by observing the plurality of existence in Walden, “nature and human life are as various as our several constitutions” (Thoreau 1995, 09). Thoreau’s political, social, and ecological criticism finds its foundation precisely in the opposition between the forms of life that he observed in his text and the modern lifestyle that was gaining momentum in the city of Concord. Life in the midst of nascent industrial society distanced humans from the notion of “inhabitants,” maintaining a symmetrical relationship with other nonhuman forms of life, as a “part of nature,” and leading them to the notion of “members of society.” Realizing this problematic issue, Thoreau concluded that the “members of society” were disconnected from nature and could not learn from it. In contrast to human society, in nature a “different kind of right prevails” (Thoreau 1906c, 445). Thus, a “natural [hu]man” should build his ‘institutions’ and his ‘right’ by aligning them according to natural life but always compromising with the plurality of humans and nonhuman beings. In this sense, Thoreau’s experience at Walden, with its texts and lessons from natural life, can provide us with interpretative tools in order to reflect on our current relationship with nonhuman forms of life, enhancing our understanding of the importance of being an “inhabitant” of the earth’s ecological system, just as much as we consider relevant being members of civil society. As argued by Serenella Iovino (2010), literature, like any art form, can provide us with subsidies for the creation of values based on local reflections that can help reflection on universally shared principles. | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 65 Following this argument, Thoreau’s Walden can provide useful critical insights for the formulation of less anthropocentric values, and for the moralization of nonhuman beings which have often been neglected in many analyses. As current environmental issues are forcing human societies to construct interpretative concepts useful for enhancing our environmental awareness, Thoreau’s non-anthropocentric perspective expressed in Walden can contribute to shaping notions of biopower that take into account the ecological significance of nonhuman agents for the construction of extended social values. BIBLIOGRAPHY Arendt, Hannah. 1972. Crises of the Republic: Lying in Politics, Civil Disobedience on Violence, Thoughts on Politics, and Revolution. Cambridge: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Arias-Maldonado, Manuel. 2020. “Sustainability in the Anthropocene: Between Extinction and Populism.” Sustainability 12, 10.3390/su12062538. Avila, Arthur Lima. 2005. “História e Destino: A frontier Thesis de Frederick Jackson Turner.” Rev. Cena Int 7, no. 1:151-169. Barad, Karen. 2003. “Posthumanist Performativity: Toward an Understanding of How Matter Comes to Matter.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 28, no. 3:801- 831. Bennett, Jane. 2010. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press. Blancke, Shirley and Barbara Robinson. 1985. From Musketaquid to Concord: The Native and European Experience. Concord Antiquarian Museum, Concord, Massachusetts. Bruchac, Marge. 2004. “Native Land Use and Settlements in the Northeastern Woodlands.” In Raid on Deerfield: The Many Stories of 1704, Retrieved from https://repository.upenn.edu/anthro_papers/107 Buell, Lawrence. 1995. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Cronon, William. 1983. Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England. New York: Hill and Wang. Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 66 Darnton, Robert. 1986. O Grande Massacre de Gatos e Outros Episódios da História Cultural Francesa. Rio de Janeiro: Graal. Ellis, Erle C. 2018. Anthropocene: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Foucault, Michel. 1996. A Ordem do discurso. Vol. 1. São Paulo: Edições Loyola. Foucault, Michel. 1998. The History of Sexuality: 1: The Will to Knowledge. New York: Penguin. Foucault, Michel. 2003. Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1975-1976. New York: Picador. Foucault, Michel. 2007. Security, Territory, Population: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1977-78. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Foucault, M., and A. Davidson, I., Burchell, G. 2008. The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1978-1979. Berlin: Springer. Holloway, Lewis and Chris Bear. 2017. “Bovine and Human Becomings in Histories of Dairy Technologies: Robotic Milking Systems and Remaking Animal and Human Subjectivity,” BJHS Themes 2:215-234. Iovino, Serenella and Serpil Oppermann. 2012. “Theorizing Material Ecocriticism: A Diptych.” ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 19, no. 3:448– 475. https://doi.org/10.1093/isle/iss087 Iovino, Serenella and Serpil Oppermann. 2012b. “Material ecocriticism: Materiality, agency, and models of narrativity.” Writing Catastrophes: Cross-Disciplinary Perspectives on the Semantics of Natural and Anthropogenic Disasters 3, no 1. http://hdl.handle.net/10017/20856 Iovino, Serenella. 2010. “Ecocriticism and a Non-Anthropocentric Humanism: Reflections on Local Natures and Global Responsibilities.” In Local Natures, Global Responsibilities, edited by Volkmann, Lauren, Nancy Grimm, Ines Detmers and Katrin Thomson Leiden, 29-53. Leiden: Brill Rodopi. Jahanbegloo, Ramin. 2018. The Global Gandhi: Essays in Comparative Political Philosophy. London: Routledge India. Latour, Bruno. 2017. Facing Gaia: Eight Lectures on the New Climatic Regime. New York: John Wiley & Sons. López-Martínez, Mario. 2016. La resistencia civil examinada: de Thoreau a Chenoweth. Polis 15, no. 43:41-65. | Biopolitics and the Anthropocene Era 67 Losurdo, Domenico. 2015. Non-violence: A History beyond the Myth. New York: Lexington Books. Lynch, A. and Veland, S. 2018. Urgency in the Anthropocene. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Lyotard, Jean-François. 1984. The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. Vol. 10. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Marx, Leo. 2000. The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Merchant, Carolyn. 2010. Ecological Revolutions: Nature, Gender, and Science in New England. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Mielke, Laura L. 2008. “The Book, the Poet, the Indian: Transcendental Intermediaries in Margaret Fuller’s Summer on the Lakes and Henry David Thoreau’s The Maine Woods.” In Moving Encounters: Sympathy and the Indian Question in Antebellum Literature. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press. Miller, Derek. 2017. Henry David Thoreau: Civil Disobedience. New York: Cavendish Square Publishing, LLC. Nicholson, S. and Jinnah, S. (eds). 2019. New Earth Politics: Essays from the Anthropocene. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Nimmo, Richie. 2019. “Biopolitics and becoming animal-technology assemblages.” HoST - Journal of History of Science and Technology 13, no. 2:118-136. Oppermann, Serpil. 2006. “Theorizing Ecocriticism: Toward a Postmodern Ecocritical Practice.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 13:103-128. DOI: 10.1093/isle/13.2.103 Pratt, Mary Louise. 2007 (2003). Imperial Eyes. Travel Writing and Transculturation. London: Routledge. Srinivasan. Krithika. 2017. “Biopower.” In The International Encyclopedia of Geography: People, the Earth, Environment, and Technology, ed. Douglas Richardson, Noel Castree, Michael F. Goodchild, Audrey Kobayashi, Weidong Liu, Richard A. Marston. Malden: Wiley. Stengers, Isabelle. 2015. No tempo das catástrofes. São Paulo: Cosac Naify. Turner, Frederick J. 2008. The Significance of the Frontier in American History. London: Penguin. Thoreau, Henry David. 1906a. The Writings of Henry David Thoreau. Ed. Bradford Torrey. Vol. I, 1837-1846. Cambridge: Houghton Mifflin & The Riverside Press. Claiton Marcio da Silva & Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz | JAm It! No. 3 May 2020 | Environmental Hazards and Migrations 68 Thoreau, Henry David. 1906b. The Writings of Henry David Thoreau. Ed. Bradford Torrey. Vol. XIII, December 1, 1859 - July, 31 1860. Cambridge: Houghton Mifflin & The Riverside Press. Thoreau, Henry David. 1906c. The Writings of Henry David Thoreau. Ed. Bradford Torrey. Vol. XIII, May 1, 1852 - February, 37, 1853. Cambridge: Houghton Mifflin & The Riverside Press. Thoreau, Henry David. 1862. Walking. The Atlantic Monthly. A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics. Vol. IX, no. LVI. Thoreau, Henry David. 1995. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. The Project Gutenberg. http://www.dominiopublico.gov.br/download/texto/gu000205.pdf Thoreau, Henry David. 2009. The Journal, 1837-1861. New York Review of Books. Thoreau, Henry David. 2001 (1849) . Civil Disobedience. Mozambook. Thoreau, Henry David. 2016 (1849). “Resistance to Civil Government.” Revista Filosofía UIS 15, no. 1:317-333. Claiton Marcio da Silva currently teaches at the Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul (UFFS) in Santa Catarina, Brazil. His studies on the environment, society, and modernization of Brazilian agriculture began in 2002. He completed his MA in history at the Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina (UFSC) with a thesis on rural youth in Southern Brazil. At Casa de Oswaldo Cruz (COC/Fiocruz), his doctoral dissertation explored the work of Nelson Rockefeller’s American International Association for Economic and Social Development (AIA). Since then, his main topic of research has focused the US influence in Latin America in terms of agricultural experiments. At UFFS, he teaches undergraduate courses in interdisciplinary topics such as history, agronomy, geography, and environmental engineering, among others. He also teaches in the master’s program at UFFS, where he supervises projects related to environment and society. His book about the AIA was published in 2015. E-mail: claiton@uffs.edu.br. Leandro Gomes Moreira Cruz is an undergraduate student of History at the Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul (UFFS) in Santa Catarina, Brazil. He is a member of Fronteiras - Laboratory of the environmental history of UFFS. His research interest is on the relationship between environment, society and politics in literature. Currently, his work focuses on the writings of Henry David Thoreau. E-mail: l.g.m.cruz@live.com. 
work_gg5qctomabacpnhunh7bplsvim	----	From graveyard to graph RESEARCH ARTICLE From graveyard to graph Visualisation of textual collation in a digital paradigm Elli Bleeker1 & Bram Buitendijk1 & Ronald Haentjens Dekker1 Published online: 19 June 2019 # Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 Abstract The technological developments in the field of textual scholarship lead to a renewed focus on textual variation. Variants are liberated from their peripheral place in appen- dices or footnotes and are given a more prominent position in the (digital) edition of a work. But what constitutes an informative and meaningful visualisation of textual variation? The present article takes visualisation of the result of collation software as point of departure, examining several visualisations of collation output that contains a wealth of information about textual variance. The newly developed collation software HyperCollate is used as a touchstone to study the issue of representing textual information to advance literary research. The article concludes with a set of recom- mendations in order to evaluate different visualisations of collation output. Keywords Collation software . Textual scholarship . Visualisation . Markup . Hypergraph for variation . Tool evaluation 1 Introduction Scholarly editors are fond of the truism that the detailed comparison (‘collation’) of literary texts is a tiresome, error prone, and demanding activity for humans and a task suitable for computers. Accordingly, the past decades have born witness to the devel- opment of a number of software programs which are able to collate large numbers of text within seconds, thus advancing significantly the possibilities for textual research. These developments have led to a renewed focus on textual variation, liberating variants from their peripheral place in appendices or footnotes and giving them a more prominent position in the edition of a work. Still, automated collation continues to engross researchers and developers, as it touches upon universal topics including (but not limited to) the computational modelling of humanities objects, scholarly editing International Journal of Digital Humanities (2019) 1:141–163 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42803-019-00012-w * Elli Bleeker elli.bleeker@di.huc.knaw.nl 1 Research and Development – KNAW Humanities Cluster, Amsterdam, Netherlands http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s42803-019-00012-w&domain=pdf mailto:elli.bleeker@di.huc.knaw.nl theory, and data visualisation. The present article takes visualisation of collation result as its point of departure. We use the representation of the results of a newly developed collation tool, ‘HyperCollate’, as a use case to address the more general issue of using data visualisations as a means of advancing textual and literary research. The underly- ing data structure of HyperCollate is a hypergraph (hence the name), which means that it can store and process more information than string-based collation programs. Ac- cordingly, HyperCollate’s output contains a wealth of detailed information about the variation between texts, both on a linguistic/semantic level and a structural level. It is a veritable challenge to visualise the entire collation hypergraph in any meaningful way, but the question is, really, do we want to? In particular, therefore, we investigate which representation(s) of automated collation results best clear the way for advanced research into textual variance. The article is structured as follows. After a brief introduction of automated collation immediately below, we define a list of textual properties relevant for any study into the nature of text. We then consider the strengths and weaknesses of the prevailing representations of collation output, which allows us to define a number of requirements for a collation visualisation. Subsequently, the article explores the question of visual literacy in relation to using a collation tool. Since visualisations function simultaneous- ly as instruments of study and as means of communication, it is vital they are understood and used correctly. In line with the idea of visual literacy, we conclude with a number of recommendations to evaluate the visualisations of collation output. The implications of creating and using visualisations to study textual variance are discussed in the final parts of the article. Before we go on, it is important to note that we define 'textual variance' in the broadest sense: it comprises any differences between two or more text versions, but also the revisions and other interventions within one version. Indeed, we do not make the traditional distinction between 'accidentals' and 'substan- tives'. This critical distinction is the editor's to make, for instance by interpreting the output of a collation software program. 2 Automated collation Collation at its most basic level can be defined as the comparison of two or more texts to find (dis)similarities between or among them. Texts are collated for different reasons, but in general, collation is used to track the (historical) transmission of a text, to establish a critical text, or to examine an author’s creative writing process. Traditionally, collation has been considered an auxiliary task: it was an elementary part of preparing the textual material in order to arrive at a critically established text and not necessarily a part of the hermeneutics of textual criticism. The reader was presented with the end-result of this endeavour (a critical text), and the variant readings were stored in appendices or footnotes, the kind of repositories that would get so few visitors that they have been bleakly referred to as cemeteries (Vanhoutte 1999; De Bruijn 2002, 114). In the environment of a digital edition, however, users can manipulate transcriptions which are prepared and annotated by editors. Many digital editions have a functionality to compare text versions and, accordingly, collation has become a scholarly primitive, like searching and annotating text. The digital representation of the result of the comparison thus brings textual variants to the forefront instead of (respectfully) entombing them. 142 E. Bleeker et al 3 Properties of text It’s important to note that offering users the opportunity to explore textual variance in a digital environment is an argument an sich: it stresses that text is a fluid and intrinsi- cally unstable object. And, as anyone who has worked with historical documents knows, these fluid textual objects often have complex properties, such as discontinuity, simultaneity, non-linearity, and multiple levels of revision.1 The dynamic and temporal nature of textual objects means that they can be interpreted in more than one way but existing markup systems like TEI/XML can never fully express the range of textual and critical interpretations.2 Nevertheless, the benefits of 'making explicit what was so often implicit … outweighed the liabilities' of the tree structure (Drucker 2012), and as it happens, the textual scholarship community has embraced TEI/XML as a means of 1 See Haentjens Dekker and Birnbaum (2017) for an exhaustive overview of textual features and the extent to which these can be represented in a computational model. 2 The TEI Guidelines offer the element <cert> to indicate the degree of certainty associated with some aspect of the text markup, but as Wout Dillen points out, this requires an elaborate encoding practice that is not always worth the effort (2015, 90) and furthermore the ambiguity is not always translatable to the qualifiers Blow,̂ Bmedium,̂ and Bhigh.̂ From graveyard to graph 143 encoding literary texts. Expressing the multidimensional textual object within a tree data structure (the prevalent model for texts) requires a number of workarounds and results in an encoded XML transcription which contains neither fully ordered nor unordered information (Bleeker et al. 2018, 82). This kind of partially ordered data is challenging to process. As a result, XML files are often collated as strings of characters, inevitably leaving out aspects of the textual dynamics such as deletions, additions or substitutions. The conversion from XML to plain text implies that the multidimensional features of the text expressed by <del> and <add> tags are removed; the text is consequently flattened into a linear sequence of words. Only in the visualisation stage of the collation workflow do features like additions or deletions occur again (Fig. 1). Although these versions of Krapp’s Last Tape are compared on the level of plain text only, the alignment table in Fig. 1 also shows the in-text variation of witnesses 07 and 10, thus neatly illustrating the informational role of visualisations. The main objective for the development of the collation engine HyperCollate was to include textual properties like in-text variation in the alignment in order to perform a more inclusive collation and to facilitate a deeper exploration of textual variation. A look at the drafts of Virginia Woolf’s Time Passes3 offers a good illustration of some textual features we'd like to include in the automated collation. For reasons of clarity, we limit the collation input to two small fragments: the initial holograph Fig. 1 Example of an alignment table visualisation of a collation of four versions of Samuel Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape which visualises the deleted words as strike-through. The collation was performed by CollateX 3 Woolf, Virginia. Time Passes. The genetic edition of the manuscripts is edited by Peter Shillingsburg and available at www.woolfonline.com (last accessed on 2018, April 27). Excerpts from Woolf’s manuscripts are reused in this contribution with special acknowledgments to the Society of Authors as the Literary Representative of the Estate of Virginia Woolf. 144 E. Bleeker et al http://www.woolfonline.com draft ‘IHD-155’ (witness 1) and the typescript ‘TS-4’ (witness 2). Both fragments are manually transcribed in TEI/XML. The transcriptions below are simplified for reasons of legibility. A quick look at these fragments reveals that they contain linguistic variation between tokens with the same meaning as well as structural variation indicated by the markup. Here, the ampersand mark ‘&’ in witness 1 and the word token ‘and’ in witness 2 constitute linguistic variation: two different tokens with the same mean- ing. Furthermore witness 1 presents a case of in-text or intradocumentary variation: variation within a witness’ text (see also Schäuble and Gabler 2016; Bleeker 2017, 63). If we look at the revision site that is highlighted in the XML transcription of witness 1, we see several orders in which we can read the text: including or excluding the added text; including or excluding the deleted text. In other words, there are multiple ‘paths’ through the text,: the textualstream diverges at the point where revision occurs, indicated by the <del> element and the <add> element. When the text is parsed, the textual content of these different paths should be considered as being on the same level: they represent multiple, co-existing readings of the text. Intradocumentary variation can become highly complex, for instance in the case of a deletion inside a deletion inside a deletion, etc. The structural variation in this example becomes manifest if we compare the two witnesses: the excerpt in witness 1 is contained by one <s> element, while the phrase in witness 2 is contained by two <s> elements. However structural variation does not only occur across documents: when an author indicates the start of a new chapter or paragraph by inserting a metamark of some sorts, this is arguably a form of structural intradocumentary variation. To summarise, we can distinguish different forms of textual variance. Variation can occur on the level of the text characters (linguistic or semantic variation) and on the structure of the text (sentences, paragraphs, etc.). Furthermore, we distinguish between intradocumentary variation (within one witness) and interdocumentary variation (across witnesses). Arguably all forms are relevant for textual scholarship, but taking them into account when processing and comparing texts has both technical and conceptual consequences. These consequences have been discussed extensively elsewhere (Bleeker et al. 2018) and will be briefly repeated in section 5 below. The main goal of the present article is to focus on the question of visualisation. Assuming we have a software program that compares texts in great detail, including structural information and in-witness revisions, how can we best visualise its ouput? first and foremost, The additional information (structural and linguistic, intradocumentary and interdocumentary) needs to be visualised in an understandable way. The visualisations can be useful for a wide range of research objectives, such as (1) finding a change in markup indicating structural revision like sentence division, (2) presenting the different paths through one witness and the possible matches between tokens from any path, (3) complex revisions, like a deletion within a deletion within an addition, (4) studying patterns of revision, and so on. This begs the question: is it even possible or desirable to decide on one visualisation? Is there one ultimate visualisation that reflects the dynam- ic, temporal nature of the textual object(s) by demonstrating both structural and linguistic variation on an intradocumentary and interdocumentary level? the existing field of Information Visualisation can certainly offer inspiration, but simply adopting its methods and techniques will not suffice, since it deals primarily with objects which are From graveyard to graph 145 ‘self-identical, self-evident, ahistorical, and autonomous’ (Drucker 2012), adjectives which could hardly be applied to literary texts. 4 Existing Visualisations of collation results Let us consider the various existing visualisations of collation output and explore to what extent they address the conditions outlined above. We can distinguish roughly five types of visualisation: alignment tables, parallel segmentation, synoptic viewers, variant graphs, and phylogenetic trees or ‘stemmata’. A smaller example of a collation of two fragments from Woolf’s A Sketch of the Past (holograph MS-VW-SoP and typescript TS1-VW-SoP) serves as illustration of the effect of the visualisations: Witness 1 (MS-VW-SoP): with the boat train arriving, people talking loudly, chains being dropped, and the screws <del>the</del> beginning, and the steamer suddenly hooting Witness 2 (TS1-VW-SoP): with the boat train arriving; with people quarrelling outside the door; chains clanking; and the steamer giving those sudden stertorous snorts These two small fragments are transcribed in plain text format and subsequently collated with the software program CollateX. Unless indicated otherwise, the result from this collation forms the basis for the visualisation examples below. 4.1 Alignment table An alignment table presents the text of the witnesses in linear sequence (either horizontally or vertically), making it well-suited to a study of the relationships between witnesses on a detailed level, but less so to acquire an overview of patterns in revision. Note that ‘aligned tokens’ are not necessarily the same as ‘matching tokens’: two tokens may be placed above each other because they are at the same relative position between two matches, even though they do not constitute a match. For this reason, alignment tables often have additional markup (e.g. colours) to differentiate between matches and aligned tokens. The arrangement of the tokens is also one of the advan- tages of an alignment table: it shows at first glance the variation between tokens at the same relative position. In other words, this representation indicates tokens which match on a semantic level, such as synonyms or fragments with similar meanings, such as ‘talking loudly’ and ‘quarrelling outside the door’ (Fig. 2). Ongoing research into the potential of an alignment table visualisation to explore intradocumentary variation (see Bleeker et al. 2017, visualisations created by Vincent Neyt) focuses on increasing the amount of information in an alignment table by incorporating intradocumentary variation in the cells. The alignment table in Fig. 3 shows that witness 1 (Wit1) contains several paths; matching tokens are displayed in red. 146 E. Bleeker et al 4.2 Synoptic viewers A synoptic edition contains a visual representation of the collation results from the perspective of one witness, where the variants are indicated by means of a system of signs or diacritical marks. In contrast to an alignment table, a synoptic overview is more suitable as an overview examination of the patterns of variation. The following paragraphs discuss two ways of presenting textual variation synoptically: parallel segmentation and an inline apparatus. It may be clear that both are skeuomorphic in character, in the sense that they mimic the analogue examination and presentation of textual variants. This characteristic should not necessarily be considered negative, however, precisely because it is a tried and tested instrument for textual research. 4.2.1 Parallel segmentation The term ‘parallel segmentation’ may be confusing, as it is also the name of the (TEI) encoding for a critical apparatus. In this context, parallel segmentation is used to describe the visualisation of textual variation in a side-by-side manner, often with the corresponding segments linked to one another. The quantity of online, open source tools for a parallel segmentation visualisation suggests that it is a popular way of studying textual variation (e.g. the Versioning Machine,4 the Edition Visualisation Technology – EVT – project,5 and the visualisation of Juxta Commons).6 As Fig. 4 shows, parallel segmentation entails presentation of the witnesses as reading texts in separate panels which can be read vertically (per witness) or horizontally (interdocumentary variation across witnesses). Colours indicate the matching and non-matching segments. To be clear: this parallel segmentation visualisation concerns the presentation of variance; it is not a collation method in and of itself. The segments are encoded by the editor, for instance using the TEI <app>/<lemm>/<rdg> construction to link matching segments. In contrast to the inline apparatus presentation (see 2b below), which uses a base text, parallel segmentation presents the witnesses are presented as variations on one another. Most tools allow for an interactive visualisation in the sense that clicking on a segment in one witness highlights the corresponding segments in the other witness(es). As represented in Fig. 4, the parallel segmentation may also visualise 4 See http://v-machine.org/ (last accessed 2018, March 30). 5 Downloadable on https://sourceforge.net/projects/evt-project/files/latest/download (last accessed 2018, March 30) 6 See http://www.juxtasoftware.org/juxta-commons/ (last accessed 2018, March 30). Fig. 2 Example of alignment table visualisation of ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ (W1) collated against ‘TS1-VW-SoP’ (W2) which, again, shows how synonyms which do not match are aligned anyway because of the matching tokens which surround them. Table generated by CollateX From graveyard to graph 147 http://v-machine.org/ https://sourceforge.net/projects/evt-project/files/latest/download http://www.juxtasoftware.org/juxta-commons/ intradocumentary variation by rendering deletions and additions (embedded in the corresponding <rdg> by means of <del> and <add> elements). 4.2.2 Critical or inline apparatus Conventionally, an apparatus accompanies a critically established text which figures as a base text. The apparatus is made up of a set of notes containing variant readings, often recorded in some shorthand using diacritical signs, witness sigli, and some context. Variant readings encoded according to the TEI guidelines can be generated as said footnotes, or the reader can select certain readings to be displayed/ignored. Alternatively, an inline apparatus entails a synoptic visualisation of the variant readings in the form of diacritical marks inside a reading text. This kind of synoptic overview can draw the reader’s attention to the places in the text that underwent heavy revisions. A classic example of a synoptic visualisation is found in the Ulysses edition (Joyce 1984–1986), a presentation format which Hans Walter Fig. 4 Screen capture of the parallel segmentation visualisation of the Versioning Machine output of three versions of Walden (Henry David Thoreau): the base text of the Princeton edition, manuscript Version A, and manuscript Version B. The witnesses are displayed side-by-side, with cancelled text in witness Version A represented by strikethrough, added text by green, and matching text by highlight. In this example, the collation has been carried out manually and transcribed according to the TEI Parallel Segmentation method (Schacht 2016. ‘Introduction’) Fig. 3 Alignment table visualisation showing intradocumentary variation in witness 1. The colour red is used to draw attention to the matching tokens, which is especially useful in the case of more or longer witnesses 148 E. Bleeker et al Gabler and Joshua Schäuble recently repeated digitally with the Diachronic Slider (Schäuble and Gabler 2016; Fig. 5). The clear advantage of a digital synoptic edition is that the diacritical signs can be replaced with visual indications which have a lower readability threshold than diacritical marks, such as different colours or a darker shade behind the tokens that vary in other witnesses (cf. the Faust edition). 4.3 Variant graph Avariant graph is a collection of nodes and edges. It is to be read from left to right, top to bottom, following the arrows. This reading order makes it a directed acyclic graph (DAG): it can be read in one order only, without ‘looping’ back. In some visualisations, the text tokens are placed on the edges (e.g. Schmidt and Colomb 2009); in others, they are placed in the nodes (e.g. CollateX; Fig. 6). In contrast to the alignment table, there is no ‘visual alignment’ in the variant graph: matching tokens are merged. Only the variant text tokens are made explicit; witness sigla indicate which tokens belong to which witness. By following a path over nodes and edges, users can read the text of a specific witness and see where it corresponds with and diverges from other witnesses. One of the main advantages of a variant graph is that it doesn’t impose one single order: in the visualisation, no path through the text is preferred over the other. The variant graph thus facilitates recording and structuring non-linear structures in manuscript texts, making it easier to visualise layers of writing without preferring one over the other. Because the variant graph is capable of including more information than for instance an alignment table, it is a useful visualisation with which to analyse the collation outcome in detail. The vertical or horizontal direction of the variant graph depends on the tool or the preference of the user. Horizontally oriented variant graphs imitate to some extent the Western reading orientation (from left to right), while variant graphs that are vertically situated appear to anticipate the reading habits of ‘homo digitalis’ (from top to bottom). In both cases, longer witnesses result in endless scrolling and a loss of overview. This was reason for the TRAViz project to insert line breaks based on the assumption that Fig. 5 Visualisation of the inline apparatus of the Diachronic Slider of ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ collated against ‘TS1- VW-SoP’. The text from ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ are visualised in red; the green text is of ‘TS1-VW-SoP’. The coloured visualisation replaces the traditional diacritical signs From graveyard to graph 149 Fig. 6 Vertical variant graph visualisation of the comparison between ‘MS1-VW-SoP’ (W1) and ‘TS-VW- SoP’ (W2). Graph generated with CollateX 150 E. Bleeker et al online readers prefer vertical scrolling but also like to be reminded that the text in the variant graph derives from a codex format (Jänicke et al. 2014; Fig. 7). The variant graphs of CollateX in the figures directly above are non-interactive by design (since they are visual renderings of a collation output). However, the usefulness of interactive visualisations has been positively noted in several contributions (e.g., Andrews and Van Zundert) and projects. TRAViz, for instance, lets users interact with the graph and adjust it to match their needs and interests, and the variant graphs generated by the Stemmaweb tool set7 allow for their nodes to be connected, input to be adjusted, and edges to be annotated with additional information about the type of variance. Such features emphasise the visualisation’s double function as a means of communication and a scholarly instrument: on the one hand, it allows the user to clarify and communicate her argument about textual variation. On the other, the possibility of adjusting the visualisation and thus the representation of variation foregrounds the idea that the output of a tool is open to interpretation. 4.4 Phylogenetic trees or stemmata One final type of visualisation is the phylogenetic tree (also known as ‘stemma codicum’ or ‘stemmata’). Stemmata are not a collation method: they are created by the scholar or generated based on collation output like alignment tables or variant graphs. For that reason, stemmata do not directly concern the visualisation of collation output, primarily because the phylogenetic tree is used to store and explore the relationships between witnesses (and not between tokens). Nevertheless, this kind of tree provides a valuable perspective on visualising textual variation on a macro level: even at first glance, the tree conveys a good deal of information. The arrangement of the nodes within a stemma is meaningful; nodes close together in the stemma imply a high similarity between the witnesses. Each node in a tree represents a witness, and the edges which connect the nodes represent the process of copying one witness to another (a process sensitive to mistakes and thus variation). Stemmata are traditionally rooted, the witness represented as root being the ‘archetype’, which implies that all witnesses derive from one and the same manuscript (Fig. 8). More recently unrooted trees have 7 Stemmaweb brings together several tools for stemmatology: https://stemmaweb.net/ (last accessed on 2018, April 27). Fig. 7 Screen capture of the TRAViz variant graph visualization of a collation of Genesis 1:4. The size of the text indicates its presence in the witnesses From graveyard to graph 151 https://stemmaweb.net/ been introduced that do not assume one ‘ancestor’ or archetype witness and simply represent relationships between witnesses (Fig. 9).8 Avisualisation method similar to (and probably inspired by) stemmata or phylogenetic trees is the genetic graph in which the genetic relationships between documents related to a work are modelled (see Burnard et al. 2010, §4.2; Fig. 10). Nodes represent documents; the edges may be typed to indicate the exact relationship between documents (e.g. ‘influence’), and they are usually directed so as to convey the chronology of the text’s chronological development. A genetic graph is also not a direct visualisation of collation output, but a visual representation of the editor’s argument about the text’s development and her construction of the genetic dossier. With this overview representation, the editor may point to the existence of textual fragments like paralipomena, which were previously ignored or delegated to footnotes, critical apparatuses, or separate publications. The kind of macrolevel visualisations provided by stemmata or genetic graphs present the necessary overview and invite more rigorous exploration. Diagrams, graphs, or coloured squares add new perspectives to the various ways in which we look at text. 8 The Stemmaweb toolset allows users to root and reroot their stemmata to explore different outcomes, see https://stemmaweb.net/?p=27 (last accessed 2018, March 25). 152 E. Bleeker et al https://stemmaweb.net/?p=27 5 HyperCollate HyperCollate, a newly developed collation tool at the R&D department of the Human- ities Cluster of the Dutch Royal Academy of Science, examines textual variation in an inclusive way using a hypergraph model for textual variation. HyperCollate is an implementation of TAG, the data model also developed at the R&D department (Haentjens Dekker and Birnbaum 2017). A discussion of the collation tool’s technical specifications is not within the scope of the present article (see Bleeker et al. 2018); for now, it suffices to know that a hypergraph differs from traditional graphs, the edges of which can connect only two nodes with each other, because the edges in a hypergraph can connect more than two nodes with one another. These ‘hyperedges’ connect an arbitrary set of nodes, and the nodes in turn can have multiple hyperedges. Conceptu- ally, then, the hyperedges in the TAG model can be considered as multiple layers of markup/information on a text. The hypergraph for variation used by HyperCollate is an evolved model based on the variant graph. By treating texts as a network, HyperCollate is able to process intradocumentary variation and store multiple hierarchies in an idiomatic manner. In other words, because HyperCollate doesn't require TEI/XML Fig. 8 A complex stemma in the form of a rooted directed acyclic graph (DAG), with the α in the top right corner representing the archetype witness from which other witnesses may derive (source: Andrews and Mace 2012) From graveyard to graph 153 transcriptions to be transformed into plain text files, TEI tags indicating revision like <del> and <add> can be used to improve the collation result. HyperCollate accordingly uses valuable intelligence of the editor expressed by markup to improve the alignment of witnesses. Since the internal data model of HyperCollate is a hypergraph, the input text can be an XML file and doesn’t need to be transformed into plain text. The comparison of two data-centric XML files is relatively simple, and it is even a built-in of the oXygen XML Fig. 9 Example of an unrooted phylogenetic tree (source: Roos and Heikkilä 2009) Fig. 10 Possible genetic graph visualisation proposed by the TEI Workgroup on Genetic Editions (Burnard et al. 2010), with the nodes A to Z representing different documents in the genetic dossier of a hypothetical work 154 E. Bleeker et al editor, but as explained above, a typical TEI-XML transcription of a literary text with intradocumentary variation constitutes partially ordered information. In order to process this kind of information, HyperCollate first transforms the TEI-XML witnesses into separate hypergraphs and then collates the hypergraphs. Graph-to-graph collation en- sures that the input text can be processed taking into account both the textual content and the structure of the text. For each witness, HyperCollate looks at the witness’ text, the different paths through the witness’ text, and the structure of the witness, and subse- quently compares the witnesses on all these levels. Accordingly, the output of HyperCollate contains a plethora of information. Similar to CollateX,9 a widely used text collation tool, the output of HyperCollate could be visualised in different ways (e.g., an alignment table or a variant graph). By default, HyperCollate’s output is visualised as a variant graph, primarily because a variant graph does not have a single order so it is relatively straightforward to represent the different orders of the tokens as individual paths. The question is, how (and where) to include the additional information in the visualisations? A variant graph may be more flexible regarding the token order, but the nodes and edges can only contain so much extra information, as Fig. 12 below shows. A favourable consequence of HyperCollate is that, in case of intradocumentary variation, each path through a witness is considered equally important. This feature is in stark contrast with current approaches to intradocumentary variation, which usually entail a manual selection of one revision stage per witness (see Bleeker 2017, 110–113). By means of illustration, let us take a look at another collation of two small fragments from Woolf’s Time Passes containing intradocumentary structural variation. The fragments are manually transcribed in TEI/XML and simplified for reasons of clarity. The XML files form the input of HyperCollate. Witness 1 contains an interesting addition (highlighted): Woolf added a metamark and the number ‘2’ in the margin. The transcriber interpreted the added number as an indication that the running text should be split up and a new chapter should be started, so she tagged the number with the <head> element.10 This means that the tokens of this witness can be ordered in two ways: excluding the addition and including the addition. Furthermore, the <head> element in witness 1 is at the same relative position as the <head> element in witness 2, so that the two headers are a match (even though their content is not). Figure 11 shows the variant graph visualisation of the output. Note that the paths through the witnesses can be read by following the witness sigli on the edges (w1, w1:add, w2); the markup <head> is represented as a ‘hyperedge’11 on the text nodes: An alternative way of representing HyperCollate’s output in a variant graph is by enclosing both linguistic and structural information within the text nodes (Fig. 12). The visualisations of the collation hypergraph in Figs. 11 and 12 represent the collation output of two small and simplified witnesses. It may be clear that collating two larger TEI/ XML transcriptions of literary text, each containing several stages of revisions and multiple layers of markup, results in a collation hypergraph that, in its entirety, cannot 9 Haentjens Dekker, Ronald and Gregor Middell. CollateX. https://collatex.net/. 10 Arguably the transcriber could have added a <div>, but the TEI Guidelines do not allow for a <div> to be placed within an <add>. Nevertheless, contrasting the structure of witness 1 with the structure of witness 2 already alerts the reader to structural revisions and invites a closer inspection. 11 The edges in a hypergraph are called hyperedges. In contrast to edges in a DAG, hyperedges can connect a set of nodes. From graveyard to graph 155 https://collatex.net/ be visualised in any meaningful way. At the same time, the various types of information contained by the collation hypergraph are of instrumental value to a deeper study of the textual objects. For that reason, HyperCollate offers not one specific type but rather lets the user select from a wide variety of visualisations, ranging from alignment tables to variant graphs. In selecting the output visualisation, the user decides which information she prefers to see and which information can be ignored. She may consider an alignment table if she’s primarily interested in the relationships between witnesses on a microlevel, or a variant graph if an insightful overview of the various token orders is more relevant to her research. Furthermore, she may decide what markup layers she want to see: arguably knowing that every token is part of the root element ‘text’ is of less concern than detecting changes in the structure of sentences. Making such decisions does require the user to have a basic knowledge of the underlying dataset and a clear idea of what she’s looking for. 6 Requirements for visualising textual variance This overview allows us to draw a number of conclusions regarding the visualisation of textual variation and to what extent each visualisation considers the various dimensions of the textual object. We have seen that intradocumentary variation is as of yet not represented by default; the editor is required to make certain adjustments to the visualisation. Alignment tables and parallel segmentation can be extended to some extent, for instance by using colours and visualising deletions and additions. Regular variant graphs may include intradocumentary variation if the different paths through the texts are collated as separate witnesses12; only HyperCollate’s variant graph output includes both intra- and interdocumentary variation. Structural variation, is currently only taken into account by HyperCollate and consequently only visualised in HyperCollate’s variant graph. While the added value of studying this type of variation may be clear, it remains a challenge to visualise both linguistic/semantic and structural variation in an informative and clear manner. Fig. 11 may clearly convey the structural difference between witness 1 and witness 2 (i.e., the <head> element), but the raw collation output contains much more information which, if included, would probably overburden the user. A promising feature of visualisations intended to further explorations of textual variation is interactivity. One can imagine, for instance, the added value of discovering promising sites of revision through a graph representation, zooming in, and annotating the relationships between the witness nodes. Acknowledging the various strengths and shortcomings of existing visualisations, we propose that there is not one, all-encompassing visualisation that pays head to all properties 12 This practice leads to some problematic issues in case of complex revisions, see De Bruijn et al. 2007; Bleeker 2017, 111–114. Fig. 11 Alternative, black-and-white visualisation of HyperCollate output, with the <head> markup repre- sented as hyperedge on the nodes. Other markup is not visualised 156 E. Bleeker et al Fig. 12 Alternative visualisation of HyperCollate output, with each node containing the Xpath-like informa- tion about the place of the text in the XML tree (e.g. the path /TEI/text/div/p/s/ indicates that the ancestors of a text node are, bottom up, an <s> element, a <p> element, a <div> element, the <text> element and the <TEI> element) From graveyard to graph 157 of text. Instead, each visualisation highlights a different aspect of textual variance or provides another perspective on text. Each perspective puts another textual characteristic before the footlights, while (ideally) making users aware of the fact that there is much more happing behind the familiar scenes. As Tanya Clement argues, focusing on one aspect can be instrumental in our understanding of text, helping the user ‘get a better look at a small part of the text to learn something about the workings of the whole’ (Clement 2013, §3). Indeed it seems that multiple and interactive representations (cf. Andrews and Van Zundert 2013; Jänicke et al. 2014; Sinclair et al. 2013) are a promising direction. 7 Visual literacy and code criticism The process of visualising data is a scholarly activity in line with the process of modelling, hence the resulting visualisation influences the ways in which a text can be studied Collation output can be visualised in different ways, which raises essential questions regarding the assessment and evaluation of visualisations. The function of a digital visualisation is two-fold: on the one hand, it serves as a means of communication and on the other hand it provides an instrument of research. The communicative aspect implies that visualisation is first and foremost an affair of the scholar(s) who creating visualisations. The diversity of visualisations, each of which highlights different aspects of the text, reflects the hermeneutic aspect inherent to humanist textual research. Thus, by using visualisation to foreground textual variation, editors are able to better represent the multifocal nature of text. In order to choose an appropriate representation of collation output, then, scholars need to know what argument they want to make about their data set, and how the visualisation can support that argument by presenting and omitting certain information. Accordingly, they can estimate the value of a visualisation for a specific scholarly task and expose the inevitable bias embedded in technology. When a visualisation is used as an instrument of study and exploration, it is vital to be critical about its workings and its (implicit) bias. This includes an awareness of which elements the visualisation highlights and, just as important, which elements are ignored. As Martyn Jessop has pointed out, humanist education often overlooks training in ‘visual literacy’, which can be defined as the effective use of images to explore and communicate ideas (Jessop 2008, 282). Visual literacy, then, denotes an understanding of the fact that a visualisation represents a scholarly argument. Jessop identifies four principles that facilitate the understanding of a visualisation: aims and methods, sources, transparency requirements, and documentation (Jessop 2008 290). The documentation of a visualisation of collation output then, could describe what research objective(s) it aims to achieve, on what witnesses it is based, and how these witnesses have been transcribed, tokenized, and aligned.13 Another suitable rationale for critically evaluating the visualisation process is offered by the domains of ‘tool criticism’ or ‘code criticism’ (Traub and van Ossenbruggen 2015; Van Zundert and Dekker 2017, 125). Tool criticism assumes that the code base of scholarly tools reflects certain scholarly decisions and assumptions, and it raises critical questions in order to further awareness of the 13 Although the value of documenting a tool’s operations is uncontested, making use of documentation is not yet part of digital humanities’ best practice. In that respect, it is worthwhile to keep in mind the RTFM-mantra of software development (‘Read the F-ing Manual’). 158 E. Bleeker et al relationships between code and scholarly intentions. Questions include (but are not limited to) ‘is documentation on the precision, recall, biases and pitfalls of the tool available’, or ‘is provenance data available on the way the tool manipulates the data set?’ (Traub and van Ossenbruggen 2015). Indeed, when it comes to evaluating the visualisation of automated collation results, one may well ask to what extent these witnesses and the ways in which they have been processed by the collation tool are subject to bias and interpretation. Like transcription (and any operation on text for that matter), collation is not a neutral process: it is subject to the influence of the editor. This becomes clear if we look at the different steps in the collation workflow as identified by the Gothenburg model (GM; 2009). The GM consists of five steps: tokenisation, normalisation, alignment, analysis, and visualisa- tion. For each step, the editor is required to make decisions, e.g. ‘what constitutes a token’, ‘do I normalise the tokens and, if so, do I present the original and the normalised tokens’, or ‘what is my definition of a match and how do I want to align the tokens?’ As Joris Van Zundert and Ronald Haentjens Dekker emphasise, not all decisions made by collation software are easily accessible to the user, simply because they are the result of ‘incredibly complex heuristics and algorithms’ (Van Zundert and Dekker 2017, 123). To illustrate this, we can look at the decision tree used by HyperCollate to calculate the alignment of two simple sentences. The graph in Figs. 13 and 14 are complementary and show all possible decisions the alignment algorithm of Hypercollate can take in order to align the tokens of witness A and witness B and the likely outcomes of each decision. An evident downside of such trees is that they become very large very quickly. For that reason, we see them as primarily useful for editors keen to find out more about the alignment of their complex text. The GM pipeline is not strictly chronological or linear. Although automated collation does start with tokenization, not every user insists on normalising the tokens, and a step can be revisited if the outcome is considered unsatisfactory or not in line with the user’s expectations. Though visualisation comes last in the GM model, this article has argued that it is surely not an afterthought to collation. In fact, the visual representation of textual variance entails an additional form of information modelling: editors are compelled to give physical form to an abstract idea of textual variation which exists at that point only in the transcription and (partly) in the collation result. Using the markup to obtain a more optimal alignment, as HyperCollate does, only emphasises this point: marking up texts Fig. 13 The collation of witness B against witness A, with potential matches indicated in red From graveyard to graph 159 entails making explicit the knowledge and assumptions that would otherwise have been left implicit. Visualising the markup elements, then, implies that these assumptions and thus a particular scholarly orientation to text is foregrounded. 8 Conclusions The present article investigated several methods of representing textual variation: alignment tables, synoptic viewers, and graphs. Two small textual fragments containing in-text variation and structural variation formed the example input for the alignment table and the variant graph visualisation. The fragments were transcribed in TEI/XML and subsequently collated with CollateX and Fig. 14 The decision tree for collating witness B against witness A. Chosen matches indicated in bold, discarded matches rendered as strike-through; others are potential matches. Arrow numbers indicate the number of matches discarded since the root node (this number should be as low as possible). Red leaf nodes indicate a dead end, orange leaf nodes a ‘sub-optimal’ match, and green leaf nodes indicate an optimal set of matches 160 E. Bleeker et al HyperCollate respectively. In addition, we looked at existing visualisations of the Versioning Machine and the Diachronic Slider. These visualisations were judged on their potential to represent different types of variance in addition to the regular interdocumentary variation: intradocumentary, linguistic, and structural. Visualising these aspects of text paves the way for a deeper, more thorough, and more inclusive study of the text’s dimensions. We concluded that there is currently no ideal visualisation, and that the focus should not be on creating an ideal visualisation. Instead, we propose appreciating the multitude of possible visualisations which, individually, amplify a different textual property. This re- quires us to appreciate what a visualisation can do for our research goals and, furthermore, to evaluate its effectiveness. To this end, methods from code criticism and visual literacy can be of aid in furthering an understanding of the digital representations of collation output as rhetorical devices. We propose evaluating the usefulness of a visualisation on the basis of the following principles: 1) Interactivity. This may range from annotating the edges of a graph, adjusting the alignment by (re)moving nodes, to alternating between macro- and micro level explorations of variance. 2) Readability and scalability. Especially in a case of many and/or long witnesses, alignment tables and variant graphs become too intricate to read: their function becomes primarily to indicate complex revision sites. 3) Transparency of the textual model. The visualisation not only represents textual variance, but simultaneously makes clear what scholarly model is intrinsic to the collation. It needs to be clear which scholarly perspective serves as a model for transcription and representation. 4) Transparency of the code. Visualisations represent the outcome of an internal collation process which is usually not available to the general user audience. A clear, step-by-step documentation of the algorithmic process helps users under- stand what scholarly assumptions are present in the code, what decisions have been made, what parameters have been used, and how these assumptions, decisions, and parameters may have influenced the outcome. Decision trees may be of additional use. This applies particularly to interactive visualisations: if it’s possible to adjust parameters or filters, these adjustments need to be made explicit. Digital visualisation is sometimes regarded as an afterthought in humanities research, or even considered with a certain degree of suspicion. Some consider it a mere technical undertaking, an irksome habit of some digital humanists who recently learned to work with a flashy tool. Yet if used correctly, these flashy tools may also function as instruments of study and research, which means they should be evaluated accordingly. Within the framework of visualising collation output, visual literacy is key. Having a critical understanding of the research potential of visualisations facilitates our research into textual variance. After all, these representational systems produce an object which we use for research purposes; we need to take seriously the ways in which they do this. In addition to communicating a scholarly argument, digital visualisations of collation output foreground textual variation. The collation tool HyperCollate facilitates the examination of a text from multiple perspectives (some unfamiliar, some inspiring, some contrasting, but all of them highlighting a particular element of interest). This From graveyard to graph 161 freedom of choice invites scholars to reappraise prevalent notions and continue explor- ing the dynamic nature of text in dialogue with other disciplines. Digital visualisations, then, give us a means to take variants out of the graveyard and into an environment in which they can be fully appreciated. Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and repro- duction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. References Andrews, T., & Mace, C. (2012). 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Bleeker et al http://www.dh2012.uni-hamburg.de/conference/programme/abstracts/trees-of-texts-models-and-methods-for-an-updated-theory-of-medieval-text-stemmatology.1.html http://www.dh2012.uni-hamburg.de/conference/programme/abstracts/trees-of-texts-models-and-methods-for-an-updated-theory-of-medieval-text-stemmatology.1.html http://dh2013.unl.edu/abstracts/ab-379.html http://www.tei-c.org/Activities/Council/Working/tcw19.html https://doi.org/10.1632/lsda.2013.0 https://doi.org/10.4242/BalisageVol19.Dekker01 https://doi.org/10.4242/BalisageVol19.Dekker01 http://digitalthoreau.org/fluid-text-toc Schäuble, J., & Gabler, H. W. (2016). Visualising processes of text composition and revision across document Borders. Paper presented at the symposium Digital Scholarly Editions as Interfaces, Graz, Austria, September 22–23. Schmidt, D., & Colomb, R. (2009). A data structure for representing multi-version texts online. International Journal of Human-Computer Studies, 67(6), 497–514. Sinclair, S., Ruecker, S., & Radzikowska, M. (2013). Information visualization for humanities scholars. In Literary studies in the digital age, an evolving anthology, edited by Kenneth Price and Ray Siemens. Available at https://dlsanthology.mla.hcommons.org/information-visualization-for-humanities-scholars. Accessed 23 Dec 2018 Traub, M., & van Ossenbruggen, J. (2015). Workshop on tool criticism in the digital humanities. CWI Techreport July 1, 2015. Available at https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9 cfc3fab6512dea.pdf. Accessed 27 May 2019. Vanhoutte, E. (1999). Where is the editor? Human IT, 3.1, 197–214. Van Zundert, J., & Dekker, R. H. (2017). Code, scholarship, and criticism: When is code scholarship and when is it not? Digital Scholarship in the Humanities, 32, 121–133. From graveyard to graph 163 https://dlsanthology.mla.hcommons.org/information-visualization-for-humanities-scholars https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9cfc3fab6512dea.pdf https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/d337/ce558c2fd1d8be793786c9cfc3fab6512dea.pdf From graveyard to graph Abstract Introduction Automated collation Properties of text Existing Visualisations of collation results Alignment table Synoptic viewers Parallel segmentation Critical or inline apparatus Variant graph Phylogenetic trees or stemmata HyperCollate Requirements for visualising textual variance Visual literacy and code criticism Conclusions References 
work_gj76hn7wufe7fe2sldci66y45e	----	their first choice, a “2” to their second choice, and a “3” to their third choice. When the votes are tallied, the can­ didate who receives the lowest number of first-place votes is eliminated and his or her second-place votes are reas­ signed to the remaining two candidates. As a result, one of the remaining two candidates must receive a majority of the votes cast. The Nominating Committee voted unanimously to recommend to the council that it adopt the Hare voting method in the election of the second vice president. The council authorized this change in voting method and instructed the staff to implement it. 14. Outreach Activities. Catharine Stimpson put for­ ward for council discussion two ideas for outreach activi­ ties that the association might organize. First, she noted the profession’s need to improve and expand channels of communication with the press and suggested that the as­ sociation explore ways to achieve that goal, perhaps draw­ ing on comments made by Barbara Herrnstein Smith in her 1988 presidential address. Second, Stimpson pro­ posed that the association organize short seminars designed to inform faculty members of new developments in the field of literary studies. Council members debated this proposal, with some noting that such seminars could also serve to inform journalists about the work of liter­ ary scholars. Several council members supported the idea and proposed various models for the seminars; others ex­ pressed reservations about such an undertaking. At the conclusion of the discussion, the council asked the staff to develop further both ideas for outreach activities and to present a report to the council in May. 15. Rushdie Statement. The council drafted the follow­ ing statement concerning Salman Rushdie: The Executive Council of the Modern Language Association of America deplores the call for the assassination of Salman Rushdie and of all those involved in the publication of The Sa­ tanic Verses. We affirm the right of authors to free expression and the right of all to read and interpret for themselves. We recognize that some people may be offended by certain books, but dissent must never extend to persecution and violence. We urge publishers, book dealers, and readers not to succumb to terrorist threats. The statement was sent to reporters and editors of var­ ious newspapers and news organizations with a letter urg­ ing its dissemination. In Memoriam Robert R. Catura, California State University, Sacra­ mento, 28 August 1988 Calvin Andre Claudel, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 1 May 1988 Denton Fox, Victoria College, University of Toronto, 24 November 1988 John L. Grigsby, Washington University, February 1988 Thelma Gray James, Wayne State University, 23 January 1988 Richard W. Leland, Orinda, California, 5 October 1987 Robert Liddell Lowe, Purdue University, 23 May 1988 Ward Searing Miller, University of Redlands, 31 Decem­ ber 1988 Gwendolyn B. Needham, University of California, Davis, 20 October 1988 Donald A. Parker, New York University, April 1988 L. Janette Richardson, University of California, Berke­ ley, 28 January 1989 S. Etta Schreiber, Hunter College, City University of New York, 10 May 1988 Richard G. Walser, North Carolina State University, 25 November 1988 Harvey Curtis Webster, University of Louisville, 18 March 1988 Mary Katharine Woodworth, Bryn Mawr College, 16 December 1988 Come to Penguin’s America fflT \ Quality. Authority. | Value. These are the n n I hallmarks of Penguin LJ / American Classics. Each < J Classic is produced to exacting standards and designed to last in classroom use and on the scholar’s shelf. Up-to- date texts and outstanding apparatus are enhanced by lively, informed introductions from respected experts. And excellence in scholarship and production is matched by careful attention to cost. Well-made, trustworthy, and affordable, Penguin American Classics are the texts of choice in schools across the nation. Great American literature in the classic Penguin tradition PENGUIN USA SORGEWASHINGTON CABLE TheGrandissimss SeuctcdK)ems louisaMavAl™1^ Tales A-Nf> SKETCHES Nathaniel Ha«4hori Film Studies From Princeton riiHiiiHiifniiniihiiuniiniiimiminnpiiiiiinrirnnTrmiinmiiiiiiinnnmiiniuimnrmi Chaplin and American Culture a. The Evolution of a Star Image Charles J. Maland This is the first book focusing on the relationship between Chaplin and American society—a discussion of the cul­ tural sources of the on-and-off, love-and-hate affair between Chaplin and the American public that was perhaps the stormi­ est in the history of American stardom. Charles Maland traces the ups and downs of Chaplin's "star image" from 1913, when he began his movie career at Mack Sennett's Keystone Stu­ dio, to the 1980s, when his "Charlie" figure emerged in an advertising campaign for personal computers. Examining the interplay between Chaplin's reputation and the vicissitudes of the American political and social climate, the book ana­ lyzes the cultural forces that led to the spectacular growth of his popularity, to the even more dramatic collapse of his reputa­ tion and his twenty-year exile in Switzerland, and finally to his restored prestige. halftones. Cloth: $29.95 ISBN 0-691-09440-3 American Film Melodrama Griffith, Vidor, Minnelli Robert Lang "The difficulty for men or ‘the impossibility for women of living up to patriarchal society's ideal order is the very stuff of melodrama," writes Robert Lang in this daring work on what the author sees as, the central genre of American film. Lang traces the development of melodrama in the first fifty years of the American cinema by offering detailed inter­ pretations of Griffith's Way Down East, The Mo­ ther and the Law, and Broken Blossoms: Vidor's The Crowd, Stella Dallas, and Ruby Gentry: and Minnelli's Madame Bovary, Some Came Running, and Home from the Hill. 21 stills. Paper: $12.95 ISBN 0-691-00606-7 Cloth: $39.95 ISBN 0-691-04759-6 Joyless Streets Women and Melodramatic Representation in Weimar Germany Patrice Petro Patrice Petro challenges the conventional assessment of German film history, which sees classical films as re­ sponding solely to male anxieties and fears. Exploring the address made to women in melodramatic films and in popular illustrated magazines, she shows how Weimar Germany had a commercially viable female audience, fascinated with looking at images that called traditional representations of gender into question. 63 halftones. Paper: $12.95 ISBN 0-691-00830-2 Cloth: $39.95 ISBN 0-691-05552-1 Allegories of Cinema American Film in the Sixties David E. James From Stan Brakhage and Andy Warhol to the underground cinema and political films, David James gives a thorough account of the growth, development, and decay of nonstudio film practices in the United States between the late fifties and the mid-seventies. Unlike other scholars who discuss these practices as totally sepa­ rate from Hollywood, James argues that they were developed in various kinds of dialogue or negotiation with the commercial film industry. 300 stills. Paper: $14.95 ISBN 0-691-00604-0 Cloth: $65.00 ISBN 0-691-04755-3 Due July 1989. Shot/Countershot Film Tradition and Women's Cinema Lucy Fischer Do films made by women comprise a "counter-cinema" radically different from the dominant tradition? Feminist film critics contend that women filmmakers do present from a distinctive vision, or "countershot," and Lucy Fischer argues persua­ sively for this view. In rich detail this book relates the idea of a counter-cinema to theories of intertextuality and locates it in the broad context of recent feminist film, literary, and art criticism. What emerges is a fascinating picture of a women's film tradition that not only addresses but reworks and remakes the mainstream cinema. 25 stills. Paper: $12.95 ISBN 0-691-00605-9 Cloth: $39.50 ISBN 0-691-04756-1 Not available In the British Commonwealth and Europe. © AT YOUR BOOKSTORE ORPrinceton University Press41 WILLIAM ST. . PRINCETON, NJ 08540 • (609) 452-4900 • ORDERS 800-PRS-ISBN (777-4726) Shakespeare— The Theater and the Book Princeton University Press Shakespeare— The Theater and the Book Robert S. Knapp This book explores the reasons for the lasting freshness and modernity of Shakespeare's plays, while revising the standard history of English medieval and Renaissance drama. Robert Knapp argues that changes In the authority of English monarchs. In the differentiation and Integration of English society. In the realization of human figures on stage, and In the understanding of signs helped produce scripts that still compel us to the act of Interpretation. Cloth: $29.50 ISBN 0-691-06766-X Shakespeare and the Dramaturgy of Power John D. Cox Through a revised study of Shakespeare's dramatic heritage In Its social context, John Cox questions the Idealizing view that Shakespearean drama enacts an "Elizabethan world picture" as well as the materialist view that the plays laid the foundation for modern radical Ideology. Instead the author locates Shakespeare's skepticism about power in his heritage from medieval religious drama. Cox cites Augustine's City of God as the ultimate source of political realism during the Middle Ages. Cloth: $29.50 ISBN 0-691-06765-1 The Fate of Meaning Charles Peirce, Structuralism, and Literature John K. Sheriff This succinct and lucid study examines the thought of the philosopher Charles Peirce as It applies to literary theory and shows that his concept of the sign can give us a fresh understanding of literary art and criticism. John Sheriff analyzes the treatment of determi­ nate meaning and contends that as long as we cling to a notion of language that begins with Saussure's dyadic definition of signs, meaning cannot be treated as such any more than can essence or presence. Paper: $9.95 ISBN 0-691-01450-7 Cloth: $26.50 ISBN 0-691-06762-7 The Contemplative Poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins Maria R. Lichtmann In 1989, the centenary of his death, Gerard Manley Hopkins continues to provoke funda­ mental questions among scholars: what major poetic strategy informs his work and how did his reflections on the nature of poetry affect his writing? While form meant a great deal to Hopkins, It was never mere form. Maria Lichtmann demonstrates that the poet, a stu­ dent of Scripture all his life, adopted Scripture's predominant form—parallelism—as his own major poetic strategy. Parallelism was to him the perfect statement of the Integrity of outward form and Inner meaning. Cloth: $29.50 ISBN 0-691-07345-7 Cervantes and Ariosto Renewing Fiction Thomas R. Hart Thomas Hart examines Erich Auerbach's contention that Don Quixote Is not a tragedy but a comedy and suggests that Auerbach's view was shaped by his reading of Ariosto's chlvalrlc romance Orlando furloso. He demonstrates that Cer­ vantes shared not only Ariosto's attachment to the moral code of chivalry but also his doubts that It could be practiced effectively In the contemporary world. Cer­ vantes and Ariosto contends that both authors shared an awareness of the gap between life as it is lived and life as it is depicted in works of imaginative literature. Princeton Essays In Literature Cloth: $19.95 ISBN 0-691-06769-4 The Novel Histories of Galdos Diane Faye Urey Benito P6rez Galdds (1843-1920) occupies a position In Spanish literature sur­ passed only by Cervantes, and, like him, made a major contribution to the Euro­ pean novel that Is now becoming widely recognized. Diane Urey's findings of ambiguity. Irony, and allegory In these twenty-six historical novels will revise our views of Galdds's place in European letters while offering new Insights Into a general theory of historical fiction. Cloth: $29.95 ISBN 0-691-06777-5 Esthetics as Nightmare Russian Literary Theory, 1855-1870 Charles A. Moser As an epoch of "censorship terror" drew to a close with the end of the Crimean War, Russian Intellectuals had begun expressing their desires for political, philo­ sophical, and religious reform. Charles Moser re-creates the leading controversies over literature and art during a crucial period that saw the publication of such authors as Turgenev, Dostoevsky, and Tolstoy. He presents the doctrines of lesser known and major figures, both liberal and conservative, which influenced the development of Socialist Realism and Russian Formalism. Cloth: $34.00 ISBN 0-691-06763-5 Meaning and Context Quentin Skinner and His Critics Edited by James Tully Meaning and Context Includes five of the most widely discussed articles by Quentin Skinner, which present his approach to the study of political thought and the Interpretation of texts. The book also Includes a fifty-seven page reply by Skinner—a major new statement In which he defends and reformulates his method and lays out new lines of research. Paper: $17.95 ISBN 0-691-02301-8 Cloth: $49.50 ISBN 0-691-07796-7 AT YOUR BOOKSTORE OR Princeton University Press 41 WILLIAM ST. • PRINCETON. NJ 08540 t (609) 452-4900 • ORDERS 800-PRS-i-ISBN (777-4726) THE WOODEN 0 RETURNS, REBUILDING SHAKESPEARE’S GLOBE Andrew Gurr with John Orrell Foreword by Sam Wanamaker On April 23, 1988, work began on a momentous undertaking. The dream of generations of theatre lovers is being realized: The Globe Theatre, where Shakespeare himself acted, is being rebuilt on the south bank of the Thames. Beautifully illustrated with four specially commissioned full-color drawings by Paul Cox, Rebuilding Shakespeare’s Globe tells the fascinating history of the world's most famous theatre and of the reconstruction project now underway. A Theatre Arts Book June Profusely illustrated $25.00/cloth NO RESPECT Intellectuals and Popular Culture Andrew Ross Lenny Bruce and Susan Sontag, the Rosenberg trial and the Cosby show: the history of intellectuals and of popular culture in the United States are deeply connected. Andrew Ross shows how and why the cultural authority of modern intellectuals is bound up with the changing face of popular taste in America over the past half century. 288 pp May $32.50/cloth $13.95/paper Routledge 0 BRAVE NEW WORLD! Gender, Race and Nature in the World of Modern Science Donna Haraway "It is hard to exaggerate the brilliance and originality of this book ... In Primate Visions (Haraway) deepens and sharpens our critical understanding of the workings of race, gender, colonial domination, science, and the human sciences." — Joan W. Scott, Institute for Advanced Study 544 pp Illustrated June $35.00/cloth COMING TO TERMS Feminism/Theory/Politics Edited by Elizabeth Weed A Project of the Pembroke Center for Teaching and Research on Women, Brown University Readers and students of politics, history, literature, philosophy, sociology, and the sciences — anyone with a stake in theory and politics — will benefit from this powerful volume. Among the contributors: Barbara Harlow, Nancy K. Miller, Naomi Schor and Gayatri Spivak. 320 pp May $39.50/cloth $13.95/paper ----------------------------------------------------------L DOUBLE TALK The Erotics of Male Literary Collaboration Wayne Koestenbaum Why do men write books together? This entertaining book transforms our understanding of the creative process, providing a new sense of what both collaborative and solitary artistry mean. 256 pp Illustrated May $39.50/cloth $13.95/paper JOCASTA’S CHILDREN Christiane Olivier Subject to great popular acclaim and fierce intellectual debate when it was first published in France in 1980, Jocasta’s Children reinterprets the Oedipal myth, raising issues that many scholars, feminist and otherwise, would rather let lie. 192 pp March $39.95/cloth $13.95/paper HILDEGARD OF BINGEN 1098-1179 A Visionary Life Sabina Flanagan The first comprehensive study of the life and works of one of the most remarkable women in the Middle Ages, Hildegard paints in rich detail a uniquely accomplished life of creative work in theology, medicine, poetry and music. 256 pp Illustrated May $29.95/cloth DELEUZE AND GUATTARI Ronald Bogue From Deleuze's “philosophy of difference" to Deleuze and Guattari's “philosophy of schizoanalytic desire" Bogue traces the ideas of the two writers and their bearing on the development of contemporary literary criticism and theory. 192 pp May $42.50/cloth $13.95/paper The Humanities and Social Sciences Imprint of Routledge, Chapman & Hall 29 West 35th Street New York, NY 10001 -2291 Literature, Language, and Politics Edited by Betty jean Craige In Literature, Language, and Politics, six eminent scholars—Henry Louis Gates, Jr., Gerald Graff, Annette Kolodny, Paul Lauter, Ellen Messer-Davidow, Catharine R. Stimpson, and Ana Celia Zentella— assess the dangers posed to American learning by educational fundamentalists and disciples of the New Right. $17.50 cloth; $8.95 paper An Introductory Guide to Post-Structuralism and Postmodernism Madan Sarup In a clear and lively fashion, Madan Sarup presents an introduction to the three most influential figures in post-structuralist criticism—Jacques Lacan, Jacques Derrida, and Michel Foucault- examining their individual and collective impact on the way we think about literature, culture, philosophy, and politics. $20.00 cloth; $10.00 paper Fiction's Inexhaustible Voice Speech and Writing in Faulkner Stephen Ross In Fiction's Inexhaustible Voice, Ross defines the types of voices that Faulkner's texts employ- phenomenal, mimetic, psychic, and oratorical- concluding that the novels and stories are funda­ mentally vocal, deriving their energy from the play of voices on the imaginative field of written language. $35.00 After Kafka The Influence of Kafka's Fiction Shimon Sandbank After Kafka examines the echoes of Kafka's radical skepticism in the work of twentieth- century writers—from Sartre and Robbe-Grillet to Vonnegut and Pynchon—showing their affinities with Kafka's pessimistic attitude toward existence, as well as how they stop short of his most radical ideas and formulations. $22.50 The Guernica Bull Studies in the Classical Tradition in the Twentieth Century Harry C. Rutledge Using Picasso's Guernica as a point of departure, The Guernica Bull explores several twentieth- century masterpieces of art, literature, and drama, revealing a multi-faceted meshing of classical images and modern sensibility. $22.50 Anglish-Yinglish Yiddish in American Life and Literature Gene Bluestein From BOYtschick to shliMEEL, from "a Heifetz he isn't" to "money-shmoney," Anglish-Yinglish pre­ sents a witty lexicon of nearly every Yiddish word or expression that has found its way into America's linguistic melting pot. Examples from writers including Philip Roth, Joseph Heller, Saul Bellow, and William Styron. $22.50 cloth; $9.95 paper An Ear to the Ground An Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry Edited by Marie Harris and Kathleen Aguero Reflecting a language and culture alive with the influences of many immigrant and native popula­ tions, An Ear to the Ground brings together a diversity of American voices and identities in order to create a literature of inclusion. $30.00 cloth; $14.95 paper Also Available: A Gift of Tongues Critical Challenges in Contemporary American Poetry Edited by Marie Harris and Kathleen Aguero $30.00 cloth; $15.00 paper The University of GEORGIA Press In Mind of Johnson A Study of Johnson the Rambler Philip Davis In an effort to avoid a too academic, too idolatrous, or too alien view of Johnson's life and work, Philip Davis returns to The Rambler, a much-neglected collection of autobiographical essays, to find a common thread of thought that will put the modern reader in mind of Johnson. $35.00 When They Weren't Doing Shakespeare Essays on Nineteenth-Century British and American Theatre Edited by Judith L. Fisher and Stephen Watt Examining non-Shakespearean stagecraft in the nineteenth century, this vigorous collection of essays presents a composite portrait of a diverse, vibrant theatrical world—the players and productions, problems of costuming and staging, the impact of political events and social issues, and the demands of the audience. $40.00 Constance Fenimore Woolson The Grief of Artistry Cheryl B. Torsney An accomplished, popular writer in the years following the Civil War, Constance Fenimore Woolson struggled to forge an identity in her life and her fiction. Cheryl Torsney demonstrates that the artist-heroine—a figure that reappears through­ out Woolson's fiction—represents for Woolson the best sort of woman, one who attempts to assert her individuality through art, despite the grief her artistry will bring her. $25.00 Thomas Merton's Art of Denial The Evolution of a Radical Humanist David D. Cooper In Thomas Merton's Art of Denial, David Cooper traces Merton's attempts to reconcile two seemingly incompatible roles in his life, to find a way in which ''the silence of the monk could live compatibly with the racket of the writer." $35.00 The Manuscripts of Flannery O'Connor at Georgia College Stephen C. Driggers and Robert J. Dunn With Sarah Gordon This book catalogs the manuscripts left behind by Flannery O'Connor—from exercises for high school and college writing classes to the typescripts for two chapters of her unfinished novel Why Do the Heathen Rage?—following the development of her ideas and craft as she produced some of the best fiction of this century. $35.00 Storytellers Folktales and Legends from the South Edited by John A. Burrison A rich collection of more than 250 stories told by native Southerners of African-American, Anglo- Saxon, and Native American descent, Storytellers evokes a region whose diversity and shared rural past is preserved and celebrated in the telling of tales. $29.95 NEW IN PAPERBACK When Roots Die Endangered Traditions on the Sea Islands Patricia Jones-Jackson Foreword by Charles Joyner $12.95 Lay My Burden Down A Folk History of Slavery Edited by B. A. Botkin Foreword by Jerrold Hirsch $14.95 Athens, Georgia 30602 New from Minnesota ■■«■■■■ Theory and History of Literature series KIERKEGAARD Construction of the Aesthetic Theodor W. Adorno Tt’anslated, edited, and with a foreword by Robert Hullot-Kentor Originally published in 1933, this first major work of Adorno developed the fundamental ideas that formed the basis for all his subsequent writings. Kierkegaard challenged the founder and the whole tradition of existentialism and played an important part in the formation of the Frankfurt School’s Critical Theory. First time in English. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper THL series THINKER ON STAGE Nietzsche's Materialism Peter Sloterdijk Translation by Jamie Owen Daniel Foreword by Jochen Schulte-Sasse Originated as postscript to a new edition of Nietzsche's Birth of 'tragedy out of the Spirit of Music, Peter Sloterdijk’s surprisingly empathetic reading grew into an important book-length study of this multifaceted psyche. Musician, philosopher, poet—Nietzsche, to Sloterdijk, is not an exacting philologist behind a lecturn but rather a thinker on stage, acting out a defiant psychodrama on universal human suffering. $29.50 cloth, $12.95 paper THL series ON AUTOBIOGRAPHY Philippe Lejeune Edited and introduced by Paul John Eakin Translated by Katherine Leary “The most original, powerful, effective approach to a difficult subject....His style is very personal, lively. It grabs the reader as scholarship rarely does."—Michael Riffaterre, Columbia University. Lejeune makes a bold case for autobiography as a privileged source for understanding social and cultural history. His wide-ranging examples embrace classical masterworks, popular literature, how-to manuals, the painted self-portrait, and oral narratives. $45.00 cloth, $16.95 paper THL series RHETORIC Renato Barilli Translated by Giuliana Menozzi In a book that serves as both concise introduction and comprehensive reference, Barilli traces rhetoric from its Greek origins to today’s media technologies, then focuses on its changing status as it impinges on ethics, politics, art, and philosophy within the larger history of Western culture. $29.95 cloth, $13.95 paper THL series NARRATIVE AS COMMUNICATION Didier Coste Foreword by Wlad Godzich Analyzing examples as diverse as The Epic of Gilgamesh, a John Ford film classic, The Communist Manifesto, and a painting by Gustave Moreau, Coste presents a major treatise on narrative theory that uses, for the first time, all the analytic tools developed in the last twenty years. Illustrated. $39.50 cloth, $15.95 paper THL series TEXT AND CULTURE The Politics of Interpretation Daniel Cottom Cottom examines the political aspects of contemporary disciplines of interpretation. He is particularly concerned with the ways "culture" and related terms such as “context” and "norm” are part of a larger discourse in the contemporary humanities and social sciences—a discourse in which their effect is to repress recognition of important historical differences, conflicts, and possibilities. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper THL series THE FUTURE OF AN ILLUSION Film, Feminism, and Psychoanalysis Constance Penley A pivotal figure in the development of feminist film theory, Penley analyzes the primary movements that have shaped the field. This collection encompasses avant-garde films, video, popular cinema, television, literature, and critical and cultural theory in a work essential to anyone interested in the sexual politics of representation. Illustrated. $29.50 cloth, $13.95 paper Media & Society series CALIBAN AND OTHER ESSAYS Roberto Fernandez Retamar Translated by Edward Baker Foreword by Fredric Jameson Revolutionary Cuba’s preeminent literary and cultural voice, Retamar is known for his meticulous efforts to dismantle Eurocentric and neocolonial thought. “Caliban,’’ the first and longest of the five essays in this collection, has become a manifesto for Latin American and Caribbean writers. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper HART CRANE A Re-Introduction Warner Berthoff In this reappraisal of the essential character and force of Crane’s still problematic achievement, Berthoff takes into account the substantial body of commentary on Crane’s work. His primary interest, however, is to look afresh at the poems and the poet’s letters. Throughout, he emphasizes the beauty and power of individual poems and the sanity, shrewdness, and sense of purpose that informed Crane’s working intelligence. $30.00 cloth, $14.95 paper University of Minnesota Press Minneapolis MN 55414 REDRAWING THE LINES Analytic Philosophy, Deconstruction, and Literary Theory Reed Way Dasenbrock, editor Since 1970 literary theory has interacted with the Anglo-American and Continental schools of philosophy, often engendering a spirited debate between these (presumed) rival modes of study. In this volume, ten noted scholars discuss the relationship between the two and demonstrate that their approaches are not diametrically opposed. Especially helpful is an annotated bibliography that directs the reader to virtually everything written on the subject. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper PRISMAS MODERN SWEDISH-ENGLISH AND ENGLISH-SWEDISH DICTIONARIES Second American Edition In this new edition of an acclaimed work, the Swedish-English volume is expanded from 52,000 to 55,000 entries; and the English-Swedish volume is completely rewritten and expanded from 33,000 to 50,000 entries, including many more American terms. English-Swedish volume $19.95 paper Swedish-English volume $19.95 paper Combined volume $65.00 cloth THE STREAM OF LIFE Clarice Lispector Translated by Elizabeth Lowe and Earl Fitz Foreword by Helene Cixous “Clarice Lispector...is the premier Latin American woman prose writer of this century...” Alfred J. McAdam, New York Times Book Review. Generally regarded as Lispector’s greatest work of fiction, this intense and lyrical novel chronicles its female protagonist's journey of self-discovery and self-affirmation. $19.95 cloth, $9.95 paper Emergent Literatures LITTLE MOUNTAIN Elias Khoury Translated by Maia Tabet Foreword by Edward Said Set against the backdrop of the 1975-76 Lebanese Civil War, Little Mountain documents the socio-political destitution of Beirut and explores, through a rich tapestry of reminiscences, vignettes, and conversations, the myriad aspects of sectarian strife that continue to torture her diverse population. $19.95 cloth, $9.95 paper Emergent Literatures Duke Doing What Comes Naturally Change, Rhetoric, and the Practice of Theory in Literary and Legal Studies Stanley Fish 608 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0859-2 $37.50 The Rhetoric of Interpretation and the Interpretation of Rhetoric Paul Hernadi, editor 210 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0934-3, paper $12.95 The Text of Sidney’s Arcadian World Michael McCanles 232 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0797-9 $36.50 Gogol V. V. Gippius edited and translated by Robert A. Maguire 216 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0907-6, paper $12.95 Now published by Duke University Press The Tel Aviv Review Gabriel Moked, editor subscription rates (annual): $12/individuals, $24/institutions The Dream of Chaucer Representation and Reflection in the Early Narratives Robert R. Edwards 224 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0871-1 $32.50 Poetics Today Benjamin Harshav and Itamar Even-Zohar, editors subscription rates (quarterly): $24/individuals, $44/institutions Duke University Press 6697 College Station Durham, NC 27708 Henry James at his very best. The acclaimed Library of America is in the process of publishing the complete Henry James, in superior, affordable, authorita­ tive editions. Only The Library of America offers scrupulously accurate texts, prepared by leading scholars and presented without intrusive interpretation, in an inviting, easy-to-read design. These top-quality editions provide often hard-to-nnd works by James. And their compact, cloth-bound format is both handsome and durable, yet priced well below comparable collections. For study, for teaching, or for plea­ sure—look for all of the volumes in the Henry James series: NOVELS 1871-1880: Watch and Ward, Roderick Hudson, The American, The Europeans, Confidence. NOVELS 1881-1886: Washington Square, The Portrait of a Lady, The Bostonians. NOVELS 1886-1890: The Princess Cas- amassima, The Reverberator, The Tragic Muse LITERARY CRITICISM (2 volumes) THE LIBRARY OF AMERICA The only definitive collection of America’s greatest writers. Volumes are $27.50 each, except for Novels 1886-1890, which is $35.00. More than 40 volumes in The Library of America are now available. For a complete listing, additional information, or to place an order: The Library of America, 14 E. 60th St., NY NY 10022, (212)308-3360. .* *. COLLINS “All teachers and serious students of Spanish ...will warmly welcome this marvelous refer­ ence work.” —Hispania “...is about as up-to-date as it is possible to get, and is already superior to most other one-volume dictionaries.” —The News (Mexico City) SPANISH ENGLISH ENGLISH SPANISH This new edition of The Collins Spanish- English Dictionary features all the things that have made the previous edition the best book of its kind—and lots more. Such as: 25,000 new references, an impressive increase in the coverage of Mexican and Latin-American Spanish, and a 72-page guide to self-ex­ pression called “Language in Use.” Available at your bookstore or call 201-767-5937 to order now. (0-671-67840-X) $23.95, cloth, thumb-indexed edition (0-671-67839-6) $21.95, cloth, plain-edged edition We speak your language better than anyone else. COLLINS FOREIGN LANGUAGE DICTIONARIES Distributed by Prentice Hall Trade SalesSimon & Schuster, Inc. A Gulf + Western Company PETER LANG Alfred Hoelzel The Paradoxical Quest A Study of Faustian Vicissitudes New Yorker Beitrage zur Vergleichenden Literaturwis- senschaft. Vol. 1 1988. XIV, 171 pp. ISBN 0-8204-0844-1 hardback $ 26.15 Close comparative examination of the Faust legend and the Biblical tale of the Fall reveals an analogous paradox in the nexus of good and evil in both stories. Identifying this paradox as a quintes­ sential sine qua non of the Faust quest, this study traces its development through the Faust tradition’s four most important literary instances: the six­ teenth-century German Chapbook, and the Faust works of Christopher Marlowe, Johann IV Goethe, and Thomas Mann. John Hargrove Tatum The Reception of Ger­ man Literature in U.S. German Texts, 1864-1918 Studies in Modern German Literature. Vol. 2 1988. 397 pp. ISBN 0-8204-0420-9 hardback $ 49.95 «... a valuable exploration ...an indispen­ sable tool for the study of the contribution of German language and literature to the intel­ lectual climate during the period under dis­ cussion. »(Siegfried Mews, The Univ. of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) «... a thorough study that lists all available tit­ les in a most conscientious manner ...Ta­ tum’s work should provide a valuable basis for further research.« (Christoph E. Schweit­ zer, The Univ. of North Carolina at Chapel Hill). «Tatum’s comprehensive reception study of German literature... stands as the definitive work on the subject.” (Richard H. Lawson, The Univ. of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) Jeffrey L. Sammons Imagination and History Selected Papers on Nine­ teenth-Century German Literature North American Studies in Nineteenth-Century German Literature. Vol. 3 1988. 322 pp. ISBN 0-8204-0768-2 hardback $ 46.90 Topics include: the Bildungsroman, Eduard Morike, Heinrich Heine, Ludolf Wienbarg, Berthold Auerbach, Gustav Freytag, German novels on America, Wilhelm Raabe, and the evaluation of literature. Several of the essays have been revised or expanded and in some cases they have been supplied with re­ trospective postscripts to bring them up to date. PETER LANG PUBLISHING, INC. - 62 West 45th Street - New York, NY 10036 Phone (212) 302-6740 Fax (212) 302-7574 Jill : " II II « « L 1 A I AND ACKIlVIMtNTS Of AMERICA'S undssre»:o ^Finally someone has looked at the ‘remediation problem’ through the right end of the telescope. Mike Rose’s wonderfully humane-and wonderfully written-account of university education as disadvantaged students encounter it should be read by everyone thinking about literacy and higher education in America. 5 9 -Richard Lanham, UCLA, author of Literacy and the Survival of Humanism LIVES ON THE BOUNDARY The Struggles and Achievements of America’s Underprepared Mike Rose 6 6 Sensitive to the hidden injuries of class and cultural difference, this book is a hopeful, sophisticated call for an education that matches a pluralistic democracy. 9 9 -David Tyack, Stanford University, author of The One Best System: A History of American Urban Education 1989 ISBN: 0-02-926821-4 $22.95 I! M I h E R 0 S E I Clip coupon and mail to: I The Free Press, Attn: Dino Battista, 866 Third Ave, NY, NY 10022 Please send me. . copy(ies) of LIVES ON THE BOUNDARY (ISBN: 0-02-926821-4). Enclosed is my check or money order for $22.95 per book. NAME. For VISA, MasterCard or American Express orders, call toll-free 1-800-323-7445 between 9am-5:30pm Eastern Time. ADDRESS_______ CITY, STATE, ZIP. I I I I I I 1 THE FREE PRESS psr 932/psi 932 pcny cancel 0 A Division of Macmillan, Inc. 866 Third Avenue, New York, New York 10022 I "Splendid." - Washington Post "An outstanding folklore series." - Booklist THE PANTHEON FAIRY TALE AND FOLKLORE LIBRARY "Should be the cornerstone to the library of any booklover interested in folklore and the history of children’s literature." A. B. Bookman’s Weekly JUST PUBLISHED! YIDDISH FOLKTALES Edited by Beatrice Weinreich Translated by Leonard Wolf "Rich annotations...vibrant translations." N.Y. Times Book Review $21.95 THE VICTORIAN FAIRY TALE BOOK Edited by Michael Patrick Hearn "Superb." 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JAPANESE FOLKTAI .ES Edited by Royall Tyler cloth $19.95/paper $12.95 PANTHEON BOOKS/A Division of Random House 201 E. 50th St., New York, NY 10022 At bookstores or call toll-free: 800-733-3000 NATIONAL CONFERENCE sponsored by THE STATE UNIVERSITY OF NEW JERSEY RUTGERS Campus at Camden T he American educational system has long espoused the idea that students should emerge from their undergraduate careers as well- rounded individuals. Perhaps the time is ripe to re-examine what constitutes a well-rounded education, which values are being inculcated, and what and who are being excluded—for what reasons and to what ends. Much has been writ­ ten recently on the theory of race, ethnicity and gender, but putting it into practice is the diffi­ culty. What is needed is a “hands-on” approach to the possibilities and difficulties of applica­ tion of such theories to teaching and the cur­ riculum in the discipline, in order to make education meaningful, relevant and accessible to all. This conference sees diversity among the students of our colleges and universities as the bedrock of American culture. The development of a critical consciousness which sustains and guides students through the socio-political con­ texts in which they live is the true mission of a college curriculum. The disciplines are the ve­ hicles through which the theoretical underpin­ nings of a democratic society can be put into Opening of the American Mind RACE, ETHNICITY AND GENDER IN HIGHER EDUCATION September 20-22, 1989 Sheraton Society Hill • Philadelphia, Pa. practice. Freedom from oppressive thought and ideology, and a mind open to the unique his­ tories, contributions and circumstances of those who differ in ethnicity, gender and class are the results of an effective higher education. “Opening the American Mind” offers scholars and teachers an opportunity to present historical and theoretical views, as well as innova­ tive approaches to instruction. Above all, the conference, as a forum for convergent and diver­ gent points of view, offers an opportunity to work out practical methods and applications for the future. CONFIRMED SPEAKERS Barbara Herrnstein Smith Past President, MLA Leon Botstein President, Bard College Joshua Fishman Stanford University Houston Baker, Jr. University of Pennsylvania CALL FOR PAPERS This is a call for proposals which support and run counter to the position of the confer­ ence conveners. The general sessions which will serve as the foundation for the conference are: CULTURAL LITERACY: TOWARD DEFINING AN EDUCATED PERSON FOR THE 21st CENTURY STRATEGIES FOR CURRICULUM REVISION CAMPUS AND ENVIRONMENT: SETTING A TONE OF INCLUSIVENESS REVISING THE CANON: TOWARD A MORE INCLUSIVE CURRICULUM LINGUISTICS THE NEW ETHNICITY: IS IT ON THE DECLINE? ETHNIC AND GENDER STUDIES BILINGUALISM Individuals interested in presenting papers should submit a two-page abstract by June 1, 1989 to: DR. DAVID WILSON ASSISTANT PROVOST RUTGERS UNIVERSITY CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY 08102 For further conference information or registra­ tion details, call (609) 757-6357. Your personal advisor for choosing the best fantasy literature. FANTASY LITERATURE for CHILDREN and YOUNG ADULTS NEWLY EXPANDED 3RD EDITION! R.R. BOWKER THE INFORMATION REFERENCE COMPANY Prices are applicable in the U.S., its territories, and in Canada. Applica­ ble sales tax must be included. Add 5% of net invoice amount for shipping and handling. Third Edition An Annotated Bibliography Ruth Nadelman Lynn This completely updated and expanded guide draws on 24 distinguished review sources to recommend 3,300 fantasy works—including (,6OO new to this edition— for children and young adults in grades 3 through 12. Each title has been favorably reviewed and recommended by at least two stan­ dard review sources and each is labeled as outstanding or recommended. Thor­ ough annotations also note major awards won, reading level, full bibliographic information, and more! Booklist called the 2nd edition "a valu­ able reference tool for librarians, teach­ ers, and students of children's literature... a guide to build collections, to locate specific titles or kinds of fantasy, and to stimulating research." With its newly added Subject Index and Research Guide which includes crit­ ical and biographical information on some 600 children's and young adult fantasy authors, the new, comprehensive 3rd edi­ tion will be invaluable for maintaining a strong fantasy section and for working with this popular genre. ORDER YOURS TODAY BY CALLING TOLL-FREE 1-800-521-8110. In NY, AK, and HI call collect (212) 337-6934. In Canada 1-800-537-8416. Or mail your purchase order to R.R. 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PenguiN NATURE I 1BRARY The Americas, Naturally Meriwether Lewis and William Clark THE JOURNALS OF LEWIS AND CLARK Edited and introduced by Frank Bergon The first American expedition across the continent captured in immediacy and detail. “The equivalent of a national poem, a magnificent epic for an unfinished nation” —Frank Bergon. 0-14-017006-5 S8.95 Mary Austin THE LAND OF LITTLE RAIN Introduction by Edward Abbey Between Death Valley and the High Sierras lie desert and foothills drawn in lyrical clarity as they were in 1903, “as remote from our regular and regulated anthill lives as the flight of an eagle”—Edward Abbey. 0-14-017009-X S6.95 Henry Walter Bates THE NATURALIST ON THE RIVER AMAZONS Introduction by Alex Shoumatoff Mid-nineteenth-century Amazonia appears through the eyes of one of the first explorers in “one of the monuments of scientific travel writing... a celebration of the world’s ultimate wilderness”—Alex Shoumatoff. 0-14-017011-1 S8.95 . 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This detailed analysis by noted psychoanalyst Alma Bond provides new insight into Virginia Woolf's life. You know what happened to Virginia Woolf. Read this book and find out why. To order, send $19.95 to: Plenum Publishing Corp/Human Sciences 233 Spring Street, New York, NY 10013 ____________________________________________________ | | Check Attached [ | MC | | Visa | | AmEx address account no. exp. date city state zip signature Literary Criticism from Howard University Press Speaking For You The Vision of Ralph Ellison edited by Kimberly W Benston A collection of essays, poetry, and interviews, with an extensive bibliography, Speaking For You gives readers an opportunity to know Ralph Ellison the man, his art, and his philosophy more fully. “... The single most important volume on Ellison yet to have appeared....” Choice 0-88258-169-4 $21.95 cloth James Baldwin A Critical Evaluation edited by Therman B. O’Daniel This volume of essays examines Baldwin as novelist, essayist, short story writer, playwright, scenarist, and interlocuter. “All the essays are well written and represent worth­ while additions to critical studies of this important black writer...” Library Journal 0-88258-047-7 $12.00 cloth 0-88258-091-4 $ 7.95 paper Jean Toomer A Critical Evaluation edited by Therman B. O’Daniel Defying conventional techniques, Jean Toomer’s Cane took the literary world by storm in 1932. The essays in this study provide a penetrating and critical assessment of this enigmatic writer and his works. 0-88258-111-2 $21.95 cloth The Wayward and the Seeking A Collection of Writings by Jean Toomer edited and with an introduction by Darwin T. Turner This collection reveals Toomer’s intellectual and psy­ chological development prior to the publication of Cane. 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Mail orders to: Marketing Department Howard University Press 2900 Van Ness Street, Nffi Washington, D.C. 20008 New from North Point Press: Essays, Astute and Original \XZZ7/ 7/ §ZZZ7/tyA\ \w/ /aVa\ \vav/ /aVa\ \W/a\W/ /aVa\\w//aVa\ W7/ 7\\ MAZES Hugh Kenner Cloth, $22.95 Available in June Never before has the encyclopedic breadth of Hugh Kenner’s interests been as clearly exhibited as in Mazes, an entertaining, substantial new collection by “one of the most distinguished critics now at work in the field.” —New York Times Book Review “Brilliant in its grasping at inter­ connections.”—Publishers Weekly “A dazzling presentation that is sheer pleasure to read.”—Walter Abish HORSE-TRADING & ECSTASY Barbara Probst Solomon These investigations, interviews, and essays trace the high and low points of moral and intellectual life in the latter part of this century. “From a 1959 put-down of Jack Kerouac to a 1988 meditation on Klaus Barbie, Gestapo chief of Lyons, France, these bracing essays never falter in readability or intellectual rigor. ”—Publishers Weekly “As, savvy as it is funny and shrewd.”—Ronald Christ Cloth, $18.95 Q North Point Press, 850 Talbot Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94706 h NTUCKY1 FEMINIST LITERARY CRITICISM Explorations in Theory JOSEPHINE DONOVAN, Editor. An expand­ ed second edition of the first major book of feminist critical theory published in the United States. Indispensable for an understanding of the development of feminist theory. "An ex­ cellent introduction to the field"—American Literary Scholarship. 112 pages $6.00 paper WOMEN'S POETRY OF THE FIRST WORLD WAR NOSHEEN KHAN. By analyzing the work of women poets, both familiar and unknown, Khan shows the full impact of the war upon women writing during that painful time. 240 pages $25.00 DEMON-LOVERS AND THEIR VICTIMS IN BRITISH FICTION TONI REED. The first historical and structural exploration of the demon-lover motif, with emphasis on major works from the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries. 176 pages $18.00 KING LEAR AND THE GODS WILLIAM R. ELTON. "Extremely interest­ ing. . . . will be found of great value not on­ ly by readers interested in the interpretation of King Lear, but also by those concerned with other works of the period or with the Ren­ aissance as a whole"—Renaissance Quarter­ ly. 384 pages $30.00 cloth; $15.00 SHAKESPEARE AND THE POET'S LIFE GARY SCHMIDGALL. Why did this great writer cease in his efforts to combine poetry and drama and exclusively devote himself to the Globe and the Blackfriars? Schmidgall's conclusions are illuminating. 248 pages $25.00 December AMERICAN WOMEN WRITING FICTION Memory, Identity, Family, Space MICKEY PEARLMAN, Editor. "A sure-footed guide to contemporary American literature"—Booklist. Jargon-free essays on the work of ten important contemporary women novelists, including Joan Didion, Gail Godwin, Jayne Anne Phillips, and Joyce Carol Oates. Their work has broadened American literature to reflect more clearly the people we are. 232 pages $20.00 cloth; $10.00 paper LITERATURE AND SPIRIT Essays on Bakhtin and His Contemporaries DAVID PATTERSON. Exploring Bakhtin's no­ tions of spirit, responsibility, and dialogue, Patterson takes his reader from the narrow arena of literary criticism to the larger realm of human living and loving. 192 pages $18.00 INNOCENT ABROAD Charles Dickens's American Engagements JEROME MECKIER. Travelling to America in 1842, Dickens expected to find an ideal republic that demonstrated human progress as natural law. Using new material, Meckier explains the reasons for the failure of the writer's visits. This critical/biographical study reshapes our view of this Victorian literary giant. 256 pages $25.00 December MARK OF THE BEAST Death and Degradation in the Literature of the Great War ALFREDO BONADEO. From the literature of World War I Bonadeo describes the un­ paralleled degradation of the common man and the callous encouragement by the in­ telligentsia. The grim focus of this book reveals new social meanings of "the war to end all wars." 192 pages $19.00 Inquiries and major credit card orders, phone toll-free 1-800-666-2211. Send mail orders to: The University Press of Kentucky, P.O. Box 6525, Ithaca, NT 14851. THE UNIVERSITY PRESS OF KENTUCKY Women—many voices, many views —— A collection of distinction 111 — PLUME AMERICAN WOMEN WRITERS © Plume is proud to publish this innovative series of works from the nation’s most gifted women writers. Series Editor: Michele Slung POINT OF NO RETURN By Martha Gellhorn. With a new Afterword by the author. Originally published in 1948 as The Wine of Astonishment, this brilliant story of men and women and their war-torn emotions is recognized as the first American war novel written by a woman. ©PLUME 0-452-26223-2 $8.95 EX-WIFE By Ursula Parrott. Introduction by Francine Prose. When it was first published in 1929, EX- WIFE was deemed so scandalous that Parrott kept her identity secret. This entertaining and funny novel shows contemporary readers the sex­ ual mores and double standards for women in the 1920’s. ©PLUME 0-452-26224-0 $7.95 ANGEL ISLAND By Inez Haynes Gillmore. Introduction by Ursula K. LeGuin. In this undiscovered 1914 classic, five shipwrecked men try to tame five flying women and clip their wings. But before long these magi­ cal bird-creatures create a new life and a greater wonder comes when a male child is born with wings of his own. ©PLUME 0-452-26200-3 $8.95 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY A Society Novel By Harriet Beecher Stowe. Introduction by Judith Martin. Written in 1871, this astute novel of man­ ners is a penetrating look at the institution of mar­ riage. Stowe transcends the obvious to reveal how Lillie Ellis, a professional belle and undenia­ ble manipulator, is a victim of her own femininity. ©PLUME 0-452-26177-5 $7.95 THE PRODIGAL WOMEN By Nancy Hale. Introduction by Mary Lee Settle. The New Yorker hailed this novel as one “full of stature, skillfully projected...beautifully written.” Four decades later Hale’s story of Leda March, a Boston Brahmin who had everything, and Betsy and Maizie Jekyll, two beautiful and cunning Southern belles, remains fresh and vibrant for readers today. ©PLUME 0-452-26140-6 $8.95 Also available AFRO-AMERICAN WOMEN WRITERS 1746-1933 An Anthology and Critical Guide Compiled by Ann Allen Shockley. This ground­ breaking anthology provides excerpts from a vari­ ety of writings—fiction, autobiography, journals, and diaries—by more than 35 black women, rang­ ing from slaves, ministers, and educators whose works had been forgotten or lost to recognized poets and novelists such as Phillis Wheatly and Nella Larson. ©MERIDIAN 0-452-00981-2 $14.95 AFTER DELORES By Sarah Schulman. “A rare, insightful look into the lesbian mind...The book is as raw as fresh- shucked oysters and redolent with rugged charm.”—The New York Times Book Review. “Makes Bright Lights, Big City and Less Than Zero seem thin and dated.”—Publishers Weekly ©PLUME 0-452-26228-3 $7.95 SHE CAME IN A FLASH By Mary Wings. Emma Victor, the intrepid lesbian detective from She Came Too Late, returns for an encore. She’s now settled in San Francisco look­ ing for a new life. But mystery seems to follow her wherever she goes, and Emma finds herself sud­ denly involved with the members of a very strange commune. ®NAL BOOKS 0-453-00648-5 $17.95 Prices subject to change. Write to the NAL Education Department at the address below for a free Women’s Studies catalog. NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY ; 1633 Broadway, New York, NY 10019 NAL Gracious Laughter The Meditative Wit of Edward Taylor John Gatta. This illuminating study shows how Ed­ ward Taylor's exploitation of wit, play, and the comic spirit flowed from his peculiar grasp of Puritan and Christian poetics. By exploring the significance of this wit in its diverse forms, Gatta offers a fresh perspective on those traits of mind and composition that have estab­ lished Edward Taylor as the foremost poet of early America. 0704-9 240 pages $26.00 Ghosts, Demons, and Henry James The Turn of the Screw at the Turn of the Century Peter G. Beidler. Placing Henry James's most famous story within the tradition of the "factual" ghost narra­ tive, Beidler argues convincingly that James intended to write a story of supernatural, rather than merely psy­ chological, terror. 0684-0 160 pages $25.00 Architects of the Abyss The Indeterminate Fictions of Poe, Hawthorne, and Melville Dennis Pahl. "Working within a post-structuralist theoretical frame, Mr. Pahl, in an exemplary way, puts theory into practice. His work, because of its cogency and clarity, will make available to many practitioners a body of philosophical understanding that otherwise might be difficult to apply to the reading of specific books."—Kenneth Dauber, State University of New York at Buffalo. 0707-3 160 pages $26.00 Shakespeare, Fletcher, and The Two Noble Kinsmen Essays Edited by Charles H. Frey. Finally recog­ nized as part of Shakespeare's canon, The Two Noble Kinsmen is the often-neglected collaboration of the Bard and John Fletcher. This collection of essays, exploring problems of coauthorship, interpretation, and history of performance, opens the way for in-depth study of this little-known masterpiece. 0705-7 232 pages $24.00 Charles Perrault Memoirs of My Life Edited and translated by Jeanne Morgan Zarucchi. Perrault, the author of "Little Red Riding Hood" and "Cinderella," was also a political observer whose first­ hand glimpses of famous personalities and events illu­ minate the unique relationship of art, patronage, and power under the reign of Louis XIV. 0667-0 152 pages $22.00 Jewish Issues in Argentine Literature From Gerchunoff to Szichman Naomi Lindstrom. Treating one of the least explored but most intellectually challenging aspects of Argentine literature, Naomi Lindstrom examines the works of Jewish authors in Argentina from 1910 to the present. In doing so, she offers both a historical account of Jewish contributions to Argentine literature and detailed analy­ ses of selected works by eight Jewish-Argentine writers. 0708-1 208 pages $24.00 The Complete Sermons of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Volume 1 Edited by Albert J. von Frank, with an Introduc­ tion by David M. Robinson. This inaugural volume of a four-volume set marks the beginning of the publica­ tion of all 180 of the extant sermons composed and delivered by Emerson between the start of his ministe­ rial career in 1826 and his final retirement from the pulpit in 1838. 0681-6 344 pages $45.00 UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI PRESS 200 Lewis Hall • Columbia, MO 65211 —Pittsburgh Series__ MATTHEW J. BRUCCOLI, GENERAL EDITOR “If any series of bibliographies published in this country can be said to reach the highest standards of excellence in compilation, editing, thoroughness, accuracy, format, description, typography, and book production in general, it is the Pittsburgh Series in Bibliography.”—Book Collector’s Market Forthcoming in the Series THOMAS CARLYLE A Descriptive Bibliography Roger L. Tarr/Fa// 1989/$110.00/3607-0 NELSON ALGREN A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Brucco\i/1985/$60.00/3517-1 JOHN BERRYMAN A Descriptive Bibliography Ernest C. Stefanik, 3r./1974/$70.00/3281-4 RAYMOND CHANDLER A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/7979/$60.00/3382-9 JAMES GOULD COZZENS A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/1981 / $65.0073435-3 EMILY DICKINSON A Descriptive Bibliography Joel Myerson/1984/$60.00/3491-4 RALPH WALDO EMERSON A Descriptive Bibliography Joel Myerson/7982/8710.00/3452-3 EMERSON An Annotated Secondary Bibliography Robert E. Burkholder & Joel Myerson /1985/$130.00/3502-3 F. SCOTT FITZGERALD A Descriptive Bibliography, Revised Edition Matthew J. Bruccoli/7988/$700.00/3560-0 MARGARET FULLER A Descriptive Bibliography Joel Myerson/7978/860.00/3387-0 DASHIELL HAMMETT A Descriptive Bibliography Richard Layman/7979/$60.00/3394-2 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE A Descriptive Bibliography C.E. Frazer Clark, 3r./1978/$95.00/3343-8 RING W. LARDNER A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli & Richard Layman 1976/$90.00/3306-3 ROSS MACDONALD/KENNETH MILLAR A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/7983/$70.00/3482-5 MARIANNE MOORE A Descriptive Bibliography Craig S. Abbott/7 977/$65.00/3319-5 JOHN O’HARA A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/1978/$75.00/3349-7 EUGENE O’NEILL A Descriptive Bibliography Jennifer McCabe Atkinson 1974/$90.00/3279-2 WALLACE STEVENS A Descriptive Bibliography J. M. Edelstein/7 973/$90.00/3268- 7 HENRY DAVID THOREAU A Descriptive Bibliography Raymond W. Borst/7981/$65.00/3445-0 THOMAS WOLFE A Descriptive Bibliography Carol Johnston/7987/$75.00/3546-5 University of Pittsburgh Press c/o CUP Services Box 6525 Ithaca, NY 14850 800-666-2211 ____________ in Bibliography THE WALK Notes on a Romantic Image By Jeffrey C. Robinson “Jeffrey C. Robinson’s The Walk is a lively and intelligent omnibus for thinkers as well as for walkers. His evident love of literature is genuine enthusiasm for all that is best in life.”—Annie Dillard. This unique book will appeal to students and scholars of literature, particularly of the Romantic movement. It will also capture the imaginations of poets and novelists, general readers interested in literature and culture, and nature and walking enthusiasts. $18.95 PERSONAL WRITINGS BY WOMEN TO 1900 A Bibliography of American and British Writers Compiled by Gwenn Davis and Beverly A. Joyce This pioneering reference work on the private writings of women provides a comprehensive list of autobiographical and travel literature, letters, and diaries by women published between 1475 and 1900. For each author the compilers have supplied her full name, alternative names, titles, pseudonyms used in personal writings, her nationality, and her date of birth and death where known. Full titles and publication information are given for the first edition of each book. $65.00 Write for FREE catalog. From your bookseller, or order direct ($1.50 post/hand). Dept. MA85—1005 Asp Ave.—Norman, OK 73019 of Oklahoma Press /Si w- New EDITION An Introduction to Bibliographical and Textual Studies SECOND EDITION by William Proctor Williams and Craig S. Abbott This work describes the practice and application of bibliographical and textual scholarship during the twentieth century; it also includes information on analytical, descriptive, historical, and reference bibliographical works, as well as a discussion of texts and textual criticism. Includes an index. 1989. vi & 114 pp. Cloth, $32.00 (members $25.60) [S641C1 Paper, $16.50 (members $13.20) [S641P] OHIO UNIVERSITY PRESS Nev) for 1989 Edmund Wilson A Critic for Our Time JANET GROTH “[This book] makes a contribution—a strong contribution—to our understanding of both Edmund Wilson and American literary criticism.”—George Monteiro. “It is one of the best studies of Wilson I have seen and deserves every success.’’—Leon Edel Winner of the 1988 NEMLA/Ohio University Press Book Award 350 pp. cloth $29.95 Willa Cather Living A Personal Record EDITH LEWIS FOREWORD BY MARILYN ARNOLD As critical interest in the work of Willa Cather increases, it becomes more obvious that attention must be accorded Edith Lewis, Willa Cather’s friend and literary executrix, and Lewis’ work. Not only a classic biography of a great American writer, this memoir by Lewis demands close critical consideration in its own right. 240 pp. cloth $22.95 paper $12.95 English Language Criticism on the Foreign Novel, 1965-1975 COMPILED BY HARRIET ALEXANDER This reference bibliography provides easier access to the criticism on novels published in Africa, Latin America, Europe, Asia, Canada, Australia, and the Middle East. This is a reference tool which is surely essential for every library. 450 pp. cloth $49.95 Now available James Wright The Poetry of a Grown Man KEVIN STEIN In this first comprehensive scholarly introduction to the work of James Wright, the author traces the unified growth of Wright’s poetry throughout his career. 264 pp. cloth $28.95 For a free catalog, write: Ohio University Press DEPARTMENT P2 . SCOTT QUADRANGLE • ATHENS, OH 45701 New Titles “ MLA Portuguese Language and Luso-Brazilian Literature AN ANNOTATED GUIDE TO SELECTED REFERENCE WORKS compiled by Bobby J. Chamberlain A comprehensive, annotated guide to reference works covering the litera­ ture and language of all Portuguese-speaking lands. Besides listing perti­ nent bibliographies and studies of literature, this guide offers a bibliography of Luso-Brazilian linguistics, philology, and lexicology and includes the most recent dictionaries of argots and dialects. It embraces dictionaries and encyclopedias dealing specifically with the Portuguese world, as well as more general works. 1989. xii & 95 pp. Cloth, $20.00 (members $16.00) ISB06C] Paper, $14.50 (members $11.60) ISB06P] The English Coalition Conference DEMOCRACY THROUGH LANGUAGE edited by Richard Lloyd-]ones and Andrea A. Lunsford This volume represents the official reports of elementary, secondary, and college teachers of English who gathered in 1987 to examine common challenges and issues of concern and to chart directions for the study of English into the twenty-first cen­ tury. It presents the major conclusions reached by conference participants, as well as background information, position papers, some sketches designed to illus­ trate the problems and opportunities fac­ ing English studies, and a number of appendixes. The volume could be profita­ bly read not only by professionals in the field of English but by educational ad­ ministrators and parents as well. Urbana: NCTE and MLA 1989. xxiv & 87 pp. Paper, $6.95 [W410PJ (members $5.50 [W410Q]) APPROACHES TO TEACHING Ellison's Invisible Man edited by Susan Resneck Parr and Pancho Savery 1989. xi & 154 pp. Cloth [AP24C] Paper [AP24P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Cather's My Antonia edited by Susan J. Rosowski 1989. xii & 194 pp. Cloth /AP22C] Paper [AP22P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Sterne's Tristram Shandy edited by Melvyn New 1989. x & 174 pp. Cloth [AP20C] Paper [AP20P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Eliot's Poetry and Plays edited by Jewel Spears Brooker 1989. xii & 203 pp. Cloth [AP19CJ Paper [AP19PJ APPROACHES TO TEACHING Volumes in this series survey critical materials and discuss techniques that have proved effective in teaching the works at the undergraduate level. Each volume is available in a clothbound edition ($32.00; members $25.60) and in a paper- bound edition ($17.50; members $14.00). APPROACHES TO TEACHING Lessing's The Golden Notebook edited by Carey Kaplan and Ellen Cronan Rose 1989. x & 147 pp. Cloth [AP23C] Paper [AP23PJ APPROACHES TO TEACHING Swift's Gulliver's Travels edited by Edward J. Rielly 1988. ix & 148 pp. Cloth [AP18C] Paper [AP18P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Blake's Songs of Innocence and of Experience edited by Robert F. Gleckner and Mark L. Greenberg 1989. xvi & 162 pp. Cloth [AP21CJ Paper [AP21PJ APPROACHES TO TEACHING Momaday's The Way to Rainy Mountain edited by Kenneth M. Roemer 1988. xiv & 172 pp. Cloth JAP17C] Paper [AP17P] LSU | Press The Edge of the Swamp A Study in the Literature and Society of the Old South LOUIS D. RUBIN, JR. "There is no better guide to Southern literature in the full context of Southern experience than Louis D. Rubin, Jr. He is a partisan not of causes but of the Southern imagination, resourceful and subtle, with a full regard for differing points of view."—Alfred Kazin $25.00 Theodore Roethke's Far Fields The Evolution of His Poetry PETER BALAKIAN In this critical study of Theodore Roethke's poetry, Peter Balakian treats the evolution of the poet's work from his first book to his last. Balakian argues that Roethke was among the most innovative poets of his time and helped bring America to a new frontier in the con­ temporary era. $25.00 John Crowe Ransom's Secular Faith KIERAN QUINLAN Kieran Quinlan examines John Crowe Ransom's theological and philosophical inter­ ests in an effort to understand the many ap­ parent contradictions in the career of this important man of letters. $20.00 Afro-American Writing Today An Anniversary Issue of the Southern Review Edited by JAMES OLNEY This special issue of the Southern Review has been reissued in book form with the express purpose of granting greater access and more prominent status to an important collection of Afro-American writings. The range and variety of contributions attest to the remarkable energy and vitality that characterize contem­ porary Afro-American writing. $29.95 Bardic Ethos and the American Epic Poem Whitman, Pound, Crane, Williams, Olson JEFFREY WALKER In this first book-length rhetorical study of American epic verse, Jeffrey Walker develops an important and controversial account of what may be the most persistent and signifi­ cant tradition in American poetry. $35.00 The Green American Tradition Essays and Poems for Sherman Paul Edited by H. DANIEL PECK "This is the most integrated and organically coherent festschrift I have seen. It is cohesive in its own subject matter and, even more miraculous, the essays are beautifully and organically one with the object of the festschrift, Sherman Paul and his work." —Milton R. Stern, University of Connecticut $35.00 The Lives of Jean Toomer A Hunger for Wholeness CYNTHIA EARL KERMAN and RICHARD ELDRIDGE "It belongs on the shelf with a growing num­ ber of first-rate scholarly biographies of Afro-American men and women of letters." —Horace Porter, Washington Post Book World "It is hard to imagine a study of greater integrity and insight into this complex American."—Arnold Rampersad, New York Times Book Review $12.95, paper Collected Poems, 1919-1976 ALLEN TATE Allen Tate's Collected Poems, first published in 1977, shows the develpment of the poet from his earliest effort, "Red Stains" (1919), to his last poem, "Farewell Rehearsed" (1976). "This is by far the most handsome and complete [collection of Tate's poetry]."—The Nation $9.95, paper Louisiana State University Press Baton Rouge 70893 New FROM THE MLA Language, Gender, and Professional Writing THEORETICAL APPROACHES AND GUIDELINES FOR NONSEXIST USAGE Francine Wattman Frank and Paula A. Treichler with contributions by H. Lee Gershuny, Sally McConnell-Ginet, and Susan J. Wolfe 1989. viii & 341 pages. Cloth, $32.00 (members $25.60) [B819C] Paper, $14.50 (members $11.60) [B819P] A provocative analysis of sexism in language, with guidelines for unbiased usage. Language, Gender, and Professional Writing will change the way you choose your words. Delving into the roots and consequences of linguistic sexism, the book persuasively argues the case for eliminating biased usage and shows authors how to express their thoughts fairly and accurately without sacrificing clarity and grace. Designed for scholars, teachers, students, professionals, and general readers, Language, Gender, and Professional Writing unites research, theoretical approaches, and actual examples to provide the best' grounded and most comprehensive guidelines available for nonsexist writing. A thorough subject index provides problem'solving help, and four substantial bibliographies reflect the controversies surrounding sexist language and point to suggestions for dealing with it. MAKE YOUR CHOICE... AND BE CRITICAL! I ale invites you to compare our new Short Story Criticism I series with other similar reference tools—and be tough. SSC can stand the scrutiny because it's the only source that provides in-depth critical analysis of major works of short fiction — particularly those most often studied in high school and college literature classes. Authors to be discussed in forthcoming semi­ annual volumes include Isaac Bashevis Singer, Alice Munro, Arthur C. Clarke, and James Joyce. Unlike its competitors, SSC strives to include all short stories by each of the selected authors. Other reference sources typically discuss one to three stories and briefly mention one to five additional titles. And while other critical sources dealing with short fiction typically contract an editor to write a single critical essay per author, SSC presents a full range of viewpoints by the most distinguished critics from the author's time to the present. Portraits of each author, descriptive annotations, and com­ plete bibliographical information are also included. About 470 pp. per volume. $75.00. (Volumes 1 and 2 in print; Volume 3 ready October, 1989) Order Short Story Criticism on 30-day approval and make your own decision! Call 1-800-223-GALE today. Please refer to Gale order number 99989. Make Your Choice..And Be Critical! (Compare entries on Ernest Hemingway) SSC Magill's Critical Survey of Short Fiction Critical Depth Excerpts from 31 One critical essay by a essays by Virginia contracted editor. Woolf, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Malcolm Cowley, etc. Entry Length 38,000 Words 3,400 Words Number of Stories 56 8 Analyzed Gale Research Inc. Book Tower • Dept. 77748 Detroit, MI 48277-0748 Number of Biblio Sources Photo of Author Is Your Library One of the 3,500 That Subscribe to PMLA! the Modem Language Association since 1884, it is the scholarly journal with the largest circulation in the humanities—and the circulation has increased over ten percent during the last two years. The Best Essays on Language and Literature PMLA features notable articles in language and liter­ ature study. Recent and forthcoming issues include es­ says on “male malady” in the French Romantic novel, Yeats’s tragic sublime, reading recipes as gendered dis­ course, the politics of Johnson’s dictionary, Foucault’s Oriental subtext, art and power in Pedro Calderon de la Barca’s plays, Ibsen’s feminism, the Elephant Man, and Matthew Arnold and modem conceptions of apoc­ alypse. Two years ago, PMLA began publishing pieces by the association’s honorary members and fellows, distin­ guished men and women of letters and distinguished foreign scholars. The series has included a previously unpublished short story by Carlos Fuentes, an essay on Marguerite Duras by French critic Julia Kristeva, an article by Umberto Eco, the Nobel Prize acceptance speech by Wole Soyinka, and an interview with Gabriel Garcia Marquez. New Feature Criticism in Translation This year, PMLA began to publish translations of semi­ nal scholarship until now unavailable in English. The first in the series was an essay by Gerard Genette that appeared in the March 1989 issue. A Complete Annual Directory for Language and Literature Scholars The September issue of PMLA provides up-to-date directories of members of the Modem Language As­ sociation, departmental administrators at colleges and universities in the United States and Canada, ethnic studies programs, language programs, women’s stud­ ies programs, organizations of independent scholars, and humanities research centers. A Directory of Use­ ful Addresses includes over six hundred publishers and academic organizations. New Feature Special Topics The January 1990 PMLA will inaugurate a new fea­ ture: articles grouped around a subject or theme. The premier issue will cover Afro-American literature and will feature essays on Martin Luther King, Jr., the novelization of voice in Afro-American narrative, Harlem Renaissance writers, Afro-American literary his­ tory, and Tolson’s Harlem Gallery. Future special topics include canons, the politics of critical language, the cinema, theory of literary history, and performance. PMLA, which contains mote than 1,200 pages each year, is available from all major subscription services at an annual institutional rate of $88. If you’d like more information or a subscription, write Customer Services, Modem Language Association, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003-6981. LITERARY CLASSICS FOR MODERN TIMES Since 1913, Houghton Mifflin has brought to life the characters, the stories, and the images of a truly classic American writer— Willa Cather. Now, on the seventy-fifth anniversary of the original publication date, we are proud to introduce stunning new paper­ back editions of three of Cather’s best known and widely respected novels. Both long-time Cather devo­ tees and first-time students of American Literature will appreciate these contemporary editions of the author’s timeless depictions of life on the western prairie. My Antonia, widely recognized as Willa Cather’s finest book, portrays the strength and fortitude of a pioneer woman in the frontier farmlands of Nebraska, in the words of H.L. Mencken, “No romantic novel ever written in America, by man or woman, is one half so beautiful as Ml/ Antonio." $5.95 Paper in O Pioneers! Cather introduces the memorable Alexandra Bergson, the daughter of Swedish immigrant farmers. Through her struggles with the hardships and suffering of prairie life, Alexandra becomes the model of a remarkable, spirited heroine. $5.95 Paper Willa Cather called The Song of the Lark her favorite novel. This story of a young woman’s awakening as an artist and her struggle to escape the constraints of a small town in Colorado rounds out the author’s response to the ever-present question of home and her own identity as a writer. $8.95 Paper Willa Cather and Houghton Mifflin—successful partners in the past and for the future. For more information or to order, contact your local Houghton Mifflin sales representative or write: Houghton Mifflin Paperbacks Two Park Street Boston, MA 02108 I’ublishers of the American I ieritage Dictionary 250,000 listings. 17,500 pages. 14 books. 1 disc. Since 1981, the MLA International Bibliography has indexed approximate­ ly 250,000 articles and books on literature and language. Now the H. W. Wilson Company is offering all seven years’ worth of data on a single compact disc. The CD-ROM version of the Bibliography provides the same extensive cross-referencing available in the printed subject index but eliminates the hours necessary to thumb through the fourteen books published since 1981. The disc version offers many additional timesaving devices; for example, a user who wishes to find materials on the theme of racism in Eudora Welty’s fiction would simply enter “Welty, Eudora” and “racism.” For a nominal telecommunica­ tions charge, WILSONDISC™ users also enjoy unlimited searching of the Bibliog­ raphy on WILSONLINE®, which is updated monthly from November to June, so that information added to the file between quarterly updates of WILSON­ DISC is easily and inexpensively available. With one keystroke, users switch from searching the CD to searching online. For a free brochure about the MLA international Bibliography on WILSONDISC, write to Online and Special Services, Modern Language Association, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003-6981. Understanding Contemporary American Literature edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli "I am grateful to Ronald Baughman for his judicious and intelligent treatment of my work. The series in which his study appears is remarkable. "—James Dickey "These volumes are a wonderful beginning, an invitation to understanding and, beyond that, to a deeper enjoyment of the literature of our age. "—George Garrett "To be published in this series is an honor—to be understood, a miracle."—Mary Lee Settle Understanding Contemporary American Literature is a series of companions or guides that in­ troduces important contemporary writers—identifying and explicating their material, themes, use of language, points of view, structures, symbolism, and responses to experience. Through criticism and analysis, the books provide readers with an understanding of how contemporary literature works—that is, what the author is attempting to express and the means by which it is conveyed. Written for students and good nonacademic readers alike, these books are excellent supplemental reading that will prepare readers for more rewarding literary experiences. Volumes currently available on Edward Albee—Robert Bly—Raymond Carver—Chicano Literature—American Drama—James Dickey George Garrett—John Hawkes—Randall Jarrell—Denise Levertov—Bernard Malamud—Vladimir Nabokov Joyce Carol Oates—Walker Percy—Katherine Anne Porter—Thomas Pynchon—Theodore Roethke Mary Lee Settle—Isaac Bashevis Singer—William Stafford Available in both cloth ($21,95s) and paperback ($10.95). Special PMLA Offer—Complete set of 20 paperbacks $150.00. Paperbacks available for course adoption. University of South Carolina Press Columbia, South Carolina 29208, (803) 777-5243 MLA MEMBERSHIP Founded in 1883, the Modern Language Association now numbers over 27,000 teachers and scholars of language and lit­ erature. The association hosts an annual convention that attracts over 10,000 par­ ticipants; publishes the MLA International Bibliography, PMLA, and over 125 books; and works to advance research and teach­ ing in the field. MLA Member Benefits • six issues or rMLA: four containing essays on literature; a directory issue listing all members, the names and addresses of department and program administrators, infor­ mation on fellowships and-grants, and useful addresses; and the November issue, which prints the program of the annual convention » four issues of the MLA Newsletter, supplying useful news of the association and the profession • a copy of Profession, an annual collection of articles on professional and pedagogical topics • reduced registration fees at the annual convention in December • membership in divisions concerned with scholarly and professional interests •' A : L L - 5 : L ' C- ; • eligibility to vote for officers, members of the Executive Council, and members of the Delegate Assembly - ' • significant discounts on the MLA International Bibliography and more than one hundred books and pam­ phlets published by the MLA Membership Category and Dues Schedule (1989) □ New member $25 □ Student $10 □ Reinstating member □ Income under $12,000 $10 □ Income $12,000-$15,000 $35 □ Income $15,000-$20,000 $45 □ Income $20,000-$25,000 $50 □ Income $25,000-$30,000 $55 □ Income $30,000-$35,000 $60 □ Income $35,000-$40,000 $65 □ Income $40,000-$45,000 $70 □ Income $45,000-$50,000 $75 □ Income $50,000-$55,000 $80 □ Income $55,000-$60,000 $85 □ Income $60,000-$65,000 $90 □ Income $65,000-$70,000 $95 □ Income $7O,OOO-$75,OOO $100 □ Income $75,000 and above $105 $ ___________ □ Joint membership (add $20) 1988 MLA Bibliography Prices listed are available to members only. □ 1. British and American Literature (including Australian, Canadian, New Zealand, and Caribbean in English) $30_______________ □ 2. Foreign Literature (including European, Asian, Soviet, African, Latin American, and Caribbean in French) $35_______________ □ 3. Linguistics $35 ------------------------ □ 4. General Literature and Related Topics (including criticism and theory) $15 ------------------------ □ 5. Folklore $15 _______________ Total Check (payable to MLA) enclosed in the amount of $ ___________________ Canadian applicants: please add sufficient funds to cover difference in exchange rate. Foreign applicants: please remit only by International Money Order or check payable on US bank in US dollars. Name Address City State Zip Please mail this form with your check to: MEMBERSHIP OFFICE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION 113 ASTOR PT AOF NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10003-6981 CP Applications for 1989 calendar-year membership accepted through 30 June 1989. New from Michigan Richard J. Finneran, Editor yeats An Annual of Critical and Textual Studies Volume VI, 1988 The Yeats Annual has proven invaluable as a locus for the best of recent Yeats scholarship. Editor Richard Finneran has made high-quality articles, reviews, and bibliographic contributions a consistent trademark of the Annual. The 1988 edition continues this tradition of excellence. “... as fine a collection of papers as I conceive possible. The essays confirm of course that Yeats scholarship is thriving ... .” —Grover Smith, Duke University cloth $37.50 Ronald P. Draper and Martin Ray An Annotated Critical (Bibliography of Ahomas flardy This invaluable new book is a selectively annotated guide to the best in recent Hardy criticism. It provides the reader— student and scholar alike—ready access to the most important secondary material on this major author, cloth $34.50 R. H. Super Ahe Chronicler of (Barsetshire A Life of Anthony Trollope R. H. Super has given us at last an authoritative biography of Anthony Trollope, an exhaustive analysis of the events of Trollope’s long and productive lie. An extraordinary contribution to Trollope scholarship. “R. H. Super ... is a master at iconoclastic scholarship, exposing as probably spurious stories that all previous biographers have taken for gospel. . . .” —Washington Post cloth $35.00 Matthew Arnold (The yale Manuscript Edited and with Commentary by S. O. A, Ullmann The Yale Manuscript, a collection of literary notes and poems written by Matthew Arnold between 1843 and 1857, provides a unique glimpse into the mind and literary workshop of this eminent Victorian man of letters. Ullmann has arranged the documents chronologically, making it possible for the first time to follow with ease Arnold’s literary development. An invaluable primary source for Arnold scholars and students of Victorian literature and intellectual history. cloth $45.00 Lynda Hart, Editor Making a Spectacle Feminist Essays on Contemporary Women’s Theatre The first wide-ranging collection of scholarly articles to apply feminist perspectives to the work of women writers for the stage. The book breaks new ground in the field of feminist criticism by confronting the absence or minimalization of women theatre artists, discussing the strategies of women writers who are appropriating the stage to assert their own images, analyzing the politics of theatrical reception and production, and deconstructing the ideology of dramatic representations, cloth $29.95 / paper $10.95 Michigan residents, include 4% sales tax. gggg The University of mjchjgan Michigan Press Dept. AE P.O.Box 1104 Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106 SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY PRESS A Treatise on Lovesickness JACQUES FERRAND New in paper! Man’s Courage JOSEPH VOGEL Translated and edited by DONALD A. BEECHER and MASSIMO CIAVOLELLA “A valuable reference work not only for Renaissance scholars, but also for medi­ evalists interested in a variety of topics— love and lovesickness, medicine, popular lore, gender relations, and the inter­ changes of literary and medical dis­ courses.”—Mary Wack, Stanford University 742 pages, index Cloth $49.95 This depression-era novel about a Polish family in upstate New York was hailed as “this year’s ‘must book’ ” by The New Republic in 1938. Includes a new preface by the author. 336 pages Paper $14.95 Grandfather Stories SAMUEL HOPKINS ADAMS A classic of New York State literature, back in print. 336 pages Paper $14.95 Irish Studies . . . Selected Poems of Padraic Colum Edited by SANFORD STERNLICHT 120 Pages Cloth $18.95 Crimes Against Fecundity Joyce and Population Control MARY LOWE-EVANS 160 pages Cloth $22.95 Modem Irish-American Fiction A Reader Cinema and Ireland KEVIN ROCKETT, LUKE GIBBONS, and JOHN HILL 288 pages, photographs, index Paper $15.95 John Held, Jr. Illustrator of the Jazz Age SHELLEY ARMITAGE “At long last, here is a probing account of Held. . . . A long overdue tribute.”— Al Hirschfeld, The New York Times Book Review 256 pages, 74 black & white illustrations 12 pages of color, index Paper $24.95 Geography and Literature A Meeting of the Disciplines Edited by DANIEL J. CASEY and ROBERT E. RHODES Twenty-one short stories and excerpts from novels by writers from Finley Peter Dunne and James T. Farrell to J. F. Powers, William Kennedy, and Mary Gordon. 336 pages Cloth $34.95 Paper $14.95 Edited by WILLIAM MALLORY and PAUL SIMPSON-HOUSLEY 228 pages, 14 maps and illustrations, index Paper $10.95 Syracuse University Press 1600 Jamesville Avenue Syracuse, New York 13244-5160 New and recently published books from Texas Masters of Contemporary Brazilian Song MPB, 1965-1985 By Charles A. Perrone A critical examination of Brazilian music that focuses on the repertories of six leading poet- composers, including Milton Nascimento, Chico Buarque, and Gilberto Gil. $24.95 cloth isbn 0-292-75102-8 By the Pen By Jalal Al-e Ahmad Translated from the Persian by M. R. Ghanoonparvar Distributed for the Center for Middle Eastern Studies, University of Texas at Austin The first in a new series of Middle Eastern litera­ ture in translation, By the Pen is the politically poignant novel of two Iranian intellectuals who grapple with the issues of revolution, power, and the people who govern. $8.95 paperback isbn 0-292-70770-5 Sanitary Centennial and Selected Short Stories By Fernando Sorrentino Translated by Thomas C. Meehan This collection of Sorrentino’s work reveals his skillful use of humor and facility with language, while offering a hilarious perspective on materi­ alistic society. $19.95 cloth isbn 0-292-77608-x A Rosario Castellanos Reader Edited by Maureen Ahern Translated by Maureen Ahern and others A sampling of the works of Latin America’s fore­ most contemporary woman writer and voice of its feminist movement. $14.95 paper isbn 0-292-77056-7 $29.95 cloth isbn 0-292-77039-1 Gabriel Garcia Marquez and the Powers of Fiction Edited by Julio Ortega with the assistance of Claudia Elliott Five essays by eminent scholars on the work of Nobel Laureate Garcia Marquez, including an English translation of his 1982 Nobel Prize accep­ tance speech. $14.95 cloth isbn 0-292-72740-2 Sculpting in Time Reflections on the Cinema By Andrey Tarkovsky Translated from the Russian by Kitty Hunter-Blair In Sculpting in Time, Andrey Tarkovsky, the man hailed by Ingmar Bergman as “the most important director of our time,” leaves his artistic testament, setting down his thoughts and his memories of his extraordinary life as a filmmaker. $17-95 paper ISBN 0-292-77624-1 William Faulkner, Letters and Fictions By James G. Watson “While Watson writes informatively about the personal letters, it is his penetrating study of the use of letters in the fiction that makes this book mandatory reading for Faulkner scholars and stu­ dents of American literature.” —Choice $9.95 paper ISBN 0-292-79044-9 Art of Birds By Pablo Neruda Translated by Jack Schmitt Illustrations by Jack Unruh “Schmitt’s Neruda is true and powerful. He has captured Neruda’s Whitmanian verve, as well as the often whimsical, humorous tone of this book.” —Roberto Gonzalez Echevarria $9-95 paper isbn 0-292-70410-0 University of Texas Press BOX 7819 AUSTIN, TEXAS 7^713 1(800)252-3206 CHICAGO: The Place for Poetry THE ACT AND THE PLACE OF POETRY Selected Essays Yves Bonnefoy Edited by John T. Naughton Foreword by Joseph Frank This first collection in English of Bonnefoy’s criticism offers a coherent statement of poetic philosophy and intent—a clear expression of the values and convictions of the French poet whom many critics regard as the most important and influential of our time. Cloth $26.95 200 pages MORE THAN COOL REASON A Field Guide to Poetic Metaphor George Lakoff and Mark Turner “The authors restore metaphor to our lives by showing us that it’s never gone away. We’ve mere­ ly been taught to talk as if it had: as though weather maps were more ‘real’ than the breath of autumn; as though, for that matter, Reason was really ‘cool.’ What we’re saying whenever we say is a theme this book illumines for anyone atten­ tive.”—Hugh Kenner, The Johns Hopkins University Paper $11.95 240 pages Library cloth edition $29.95 THE POET’S WORK 29 Poets on the Origins and Practice of Their Art Edited by Reginald Gibbons Essays, letters, and journal entries by some of the twentieth century’s best poets meditate on poetry and its practice. “The reader will find here a lively debate over the individualistic and communal ends served by poetry, and over other issues that divide poets.”— Alan Williamson, New York Times Book Review Paper $11.95 320 pages WAR STORIES Poems about Long Ago and Now Howard Nemerov “The poems of a master at his best. . . . They speak out in a beautiful unclouded voice of the experience of a flyer of the Second War. . . . They resonate far beyond their history with an arrest­ ing immediacy.”—Karl Shapiro Paper $6.95 70 pages Phoenix Poets TO SCORCH OR FREEZE Poems about the Sacred Donald Davie “Few modern poets have managed to achieve Donald Davie’s sense of human worth.”—Times Higher Educational Supplement Davie, attuned to both the modern world and the literary tradition, revives the poetic practice of translating and imitating the Psalms of David. Paper $7.95 64 pages Library cloth edition $24.00 IT WAS FEVER THAT MADE THE WORLD Jim Powell “Powell is ... as utterly conversant with the litera­ ture and art of Greek and Latin antiquity as he is with the Bay area culture and environment of which he writes so fondly and movingly. . . . One of the best books of poetry I have read in many years.”—Alan Shapiro Paper $8.95 88 pages Library cloth edition $20.00 SARAH’S CHOICE Eleanor Wilner “Writing between the poles of despair and hope, Eleanor Wilner is a re-maker of sacred mythology. Against a background of burning cities, where his­ tory has chosen death, the poet chooses life.”—Alicia Ostriker Paper $9.95 112 pages Library cloth edition $22.00 THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS 5801 South Ellis Avenue Chicago, IL 60637 
work_gku75b5tsjgjdltvzlc5gnrzjm	----	Preface Recent Advances in Thrombosis and Hemostasis—Part IV Sam Schulman, MD, PhD1,2 1Department of Medicine, Thrombosis and Atherosclerosis Research Institute, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada 2Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, I.M. Sechenov First Moscow State Medical University, Moscow, Russia Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45:130–131. If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. Henry David Thoreau, 1817–1862 This is the fourth theme issue in the series of Recent Advances inThrombosis and Hemostasis, for which I have had the honor to be the guest editor. When we think of advances in throm- bosis, it is easy to associate with the recent developments of new oral anticoagulants that increasingly are replacing vita- min K antagonists. It is therefore appropriate that half of the contributionstothisissuereportonvariousaspectsofthenon- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants (NOACs). In accor- dance with the previous issues in this series, the articles have been harmonized to use the term NOAC rather than any other term. This is, of course, a matter of style, but it is also the abbreviation consistently used by the European Society of Cardiology. It is also important to point out that NOAC does not stand for new/novel oral anticoagulant.1 Nevertheless, even if these agents are not so new anymore, there are many new aspects to them that require studies. Let us, however, start with a few more basic topics. South Africa has been hit hard by the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) epidemic, and it is therefore pertinent to present a review by Jackson and Pretorius from South Africa on the effects of HIV on platelets, red blood cells, and fibrinogen.2 They discuss how the inflammatory changes may increase the risk of deep vein thrombosis in patients infected by HIV and how some hematological markers could be of interest in the assessment of these patients. They also present the classes of antiretroviral therapy available in South Africa. Autoimmune diseases also generate inflammatory responses and are associated with increased risk of venous thromboembolism (VTE). For patients with autoimmune dis- ease and a VTE event, a common question is how long the anticoagulant treatment should continue. Is it more important to focus on immunosuppression or on anticoagulation in the long run? Borjas-Howard et al have here performed a sys- tematic literature review to help us find some answers.3 Spinal cord injury activates multiple prothrombotic mechanisms, representing all three components of Virch- ow’s triad and generates therefore probably the highest risk of VTE in patients admitted to hospital. The risk remains elevated for several months and requires extended thromboprophylaxis. Due to concomitant risk of bleeding, several questions regarding optimal prophylactic regimen and timing remain to be answered. Piran and Schulman present a narrative review of the topic together with suggestions for future research.4 Prevention on the arterial side is important after myocardial infarction or stroke, but what is the risk/benefit ratio of primary prevention? This question has been further highlighted by the recently published ASPirin in Reducing Events in the Elderly (ASPREE) trial demonstrating not only lack of benefit but also harm with aspirin in healthy elderly people.5 Lippi et al have reviewed the meta-analyses and the recent ASPREE data to try and tease out the benefits and harms of primary prophylaxis.6 The balance between high risk of thrombosis and bleeding is revisited in patients with hip fractures. They are usually elderly and frail and a substantial proportion of them are on an anticoagulant, mainly for stroke prophylaxis in atrial fibrillation. Grandone et al have performed a literature review to find answers to questions regarding reversal of anticoagulants and perioperative bridging of anticoagu- lants.7 They summarize the available data in a narrative review, which includes both vitamin K antagonist and NOAC management. Conversely, for minor surgical proce- dures, there is growing evidence that oral anticoagulation does not have to be stopped. Brennan et al have reviewed the studies and also the recommendations from various societies and presented the results in another narrative review.8 NOACs have a favorable bleeding risk profile, especially regarding intracranial bleeding. In major surgery, there is always some blood loss, also unavoidable with the NOACs. Address for correspondence Sam Schulman, MD, PhD, Thrombosis Service, HHS-General Hospital, 237 Barton Street East, Hamilton, ON L8L 2X2, Canada (e-mail: schulms@mcmaster.ca). Issue Theme Recent Advances in Thrombosis and Hemostasis— Part IV; Guest Editor: Sam Schulman, MD, PhD. Copyright © 2019 by Thieme Medical Publishers, Inc., 333 Seventh Avenue, New York, NY 10001, USA. Tel: +1(212) 584-4662. DOI https://doi.org/ 10.1055/s-0039-1678721. ISSN 0094-6176. Preface130 D o w n lo a d e d b y: C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity . C o p yr ig h te d m a te ri a l. mailto: https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-1678721 https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-1678721 Rivaroxaban was in a pooled analysis more effective than low-molecular-weight heparin in reducing symptomatic VTE after total hip or total knee replacement,9 and has become the standard at many hospitals. Krauss et al performed a retrospective chart review of 1,241 arthroplasties at their center to investigate the risk of bleeding complications on rivaroxaban among obese and morbidly obese patients.10 They found a significant increase in the risk of major bleeding with an interaction by sex. Likewise, there is an increased risk of bleeding and other complications shortly after dis- charge from hospital among patients started on anticoagula- tion. Identification of risk factors for bleeding, education, and intensive short-term follow-up may help reducing this risk. Lim et al describe a nurse-led pathway implemented at Monash Medical Centre in Australia to minimize adverse events after newly started rivaroxaban in the hospital.11 They report low rates of bleeding and recurrence, and their model should be easy to replicate at other centers. Although bleeding is a well-recognized adverse event from anticoagu- lation therapy, other side effects have occasionally been reported or suspected, such as osteoporosis from vitamin K antagonists. Lobato et al investigated whether there is a difference in the signals of different adverse events between the vitamin K antagonists and the NOACs, using reports from a network of pharmacies in a Spanish region.12 They were particularly interested in finding new signals of adverse drug reactions in clinical practice. In the last contribution, Russo et al are seeking an answer to the question how NOACs perform in patients with atrial fibrillation and concomitant malignant disease.13 We know now from two recently published trials that edoxaban and rivaroxaban appear at least as effective as low-molecular- weight heparin in patients with VTE and malignancy, albeit with increased risk of bleeding on the NOAC, driven by gastrointestinal hemorrhage in patients with cancer in this organ.14,15 The presented systematic review did not identify any ad hoc designed trials and is based on cohort studies and subgroups from randomized trials. The authors could, how- ever, not find any alarming data that would lead us to avoid NOACs in this context. The reader can thus enjoy a compilation of articles on pathogenesis, prophylaxis, perioperative management, and adverse drug reactions. I hope that several, if not all, con- tributions will be of interest. Hopefully, the articles can also be useful as references. Conflict of Interest None. References 1 Husted S, de Caterina R, Andreotti F, et al; ESC Working Group on Thrombosis Task Force on Anticoagulants in Heart Disease. Non- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants (NOACs): no longer new or novel. Thromb Haemost 2014;111(05):781–782 2 Jackson SB, Pretorius E. Pathological clotting and deep vein thrombosis in patients with HIV. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019; 45(02):132–140 3 Borjas-Howard JF, de Leeuw K, Rutgers A, Meijer K, Tichelaar YIGV. Risk of recurrent venous thromboembolism in autoimmune dis- eases: a systematic review of the literature. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):141–149 4 Piran S, Schulman S. Thromboprophylaxis in patients with acute spinal cord Injury: a narrative review. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):150–156 5 Ridker PM. Should aspirin be used for primary prevention in the post-statin era? N Engl J Med 2018;379(16):1572–1574 6 Lippi G, Danese E, Favaloro EJ. Harms and benefits of using aspirin for primary prevention of cardiovascular disease: a narrative overview. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):157–163 7 Grandone E, Ostuni A, Tiscia GL, Barcellona D, Marongiu F. Management of patients taking oral anticoagulants who need urgent surgery for hip fracture. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45 (02):164–170 8 Brennan J, Favaloro EJ, Curnow J. To maintain or cease non- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants prior to minimal bleed- ing risk procedures: a review of evidence and recommendations. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):171–179 9 Turpie AG, Lassen MR, Eriksson BI, et al. Rivaroxaban for the prevention of venous thromboembolism after hip or knee arthro- plasty. Pooled analysis of four studies. Thromb Haemost 2011;105 (03):444–453 10 Krauss ES, Cronin M, Dengler N, et al. The effect of BMI and gender on bleeding events when rivaroxaban is administered for throm- boprophylaxis following total hip and total knee arthroplasty. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):180–186 11 Lim MS, Indran T, Cummins A, et al. Utility of a nurse-led pathway for patients with acute venous thromboembolism discharged on rivaroxaban: a prospective cohort study. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):187–195 12 Lobato CT, Jiménez-Serranía M-I, García RM, Delibes FC, Arias LHM. New anticoagulant agents: incidence of adverse drug reac- tions and new signals thereof. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45 (02):196–204 13 Russo V, Bottino R, Rago A, et al. Atrial fibrillation and malig- nancy: the clinical performance of non-vitamin k oral antic- oagulants - a systematic review. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019; 45(02):205–214 14 Raskob GE, van Es N, Verhamme P, et al; Hokusai VTE Cancer Investigators. Edoxaban for the treatment of cancer-associated venous thromboembolism. N Engl J Med 2018;378(07): 615–624 15 Young AM, Marshall A, Thirlwall J, et al. Comparison of an oral factor Xa inhibitor with low molecular weight heparin in patients with cancer with venous thromboembolism: results of a randomized trial (SELECT-D). J Clin Oncol 2018;36(20): 2017–2023 Seminars in Thrombosis & Hemostasis Vol. 45 No. 2/2019 Preface 131 D o w n lo a d e d b y: C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity . C o p yr ig h te d m a te ri a l. 
work_gr4efr7kfffl3hnvapubxk6wpi	----	Am J Clin Nutr 2003;78(suppl):657S–9S. Printed in USA. © 2003 American Society for Clinical Nutrition 657S Nutrition ecology: the contribution of vegetarian diets1–3 Claus Leitzmann ABSTRACT Nutrition ecology is an interdisciplinary sci- entific discipline that encompasses the entire nutrition system, with special consideration of the effects of nutrition on health, the environment, society, and the economy. Nutrition ecology involves all components of the food chain, including production, harvesting, preservation, storage, transport, processing, packag- ing, trade, distribution, preparation, composition, and consump- tion of food, as well as disposal of waste materials. Nutrition ecology has numerous origins, some of which go back to antiq- uity. The introduction of industrialized agriculture and mass ani- mal production gave rise to various negative influences on the environment and health. Food quality is determined in part by the quality of the environment. The environment, in turn, is influ- enced by food consumption habits. Research shows that vegetar- ian diets are well suited to protect the environment, to reduce pol- lution, and to minimize global climate changes. To maximize the ecologic and health benefits of vegetarian diets, food should be regionally produced, seasonally consumed, and organically grown. Vegetarian diets built on these conditions are scientifically based, socially acceptable, economically feasible, culturally desired, sufficiently practicable, and quite sustainable. Am J Clin Nutr 2003;78(suppl):657S–9S. KEY WORDS Nutrition ecology, vegetarian diets, nutrition system, health, environment, sustainability INTRODUCTION Nutrition ecology is an interdisciplinary scientific discipline that incorporates the entire food chain as well as its interactions with health, the environment, society, and the economy. The food chain includes production, harvesting, preservation, storage, trans- port, processing, packaging, trade, distribution, preparation, com- position, and consumption of food, as well as disposal of all waste materials along the food path. Nutrition ecology has many roots, some of which go back to antiquity. The introduction of systematic agriculture (slash and burn cultivation) and domestication of animals (food rivals) has markedly affected our environment. One early example of the con- sequences of systematic agriculture is the Greek invasions of other countries as a consequence of their increasing meat consumption, which required them to acquire more farmland for fodder pro- duction. Another example is the deforestation for farmland and for building purposes, which began thousands of years ago and has continued to this day. Both the Torah and the Bible mention environmental issues numerous times. The impact of systematic agriculture on the environment was discussed by Thomas Aquinas 1 From the Institute of Nutrition, University of Giessen, Giessen, Germany. 2 Presented at the Fourth International Congress on Vegetarian Nutrition, held in Loma Linda, CA, April 8–11, 2002. Published proceedings edited by Joan Sabaté and Sujatha Rajaram, Loma Linda University, Loma Linda, CA. 3 Address reprint requests to C Leitzmann, Institute of Nutrition, University of Giessen, Wilhelmstrasse 20, 35392 Giessen, Germany. E-mail: claus.leitz- mann@ernaehrung.uni-giessen.de. (1224–1274), Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778), and Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862). At the end of the 19th century, Jacob von Uexkuell (1864–1944) founded the science of ecology. Industrialized agriculture was introduced in the 19th century and rapidly took command of all aspects of life, with striking social, economic, and environmental consequences. Reactions to these developments led to the formation of the Sierra Club in North America and to the Reform Movement in Central Europe in the second half of the 19th century. People migrated from urban to rural areas to dwell in unpolluted regions and to grow their own food. Economic and social reforms were proposed and practiced. Some of these included a vegetarian lifestyle. Another reaction to industrialized agriculture was organic farming, which was initi- ated by the anthroposophists in 1924 and started to flourish in the 1970s. At that time, a number of organizations were established that raised concerns about the environment and food quality [eg, the Club of Rome (1968), Greenpeace (1971), World Watch Insti- tute (1975), the Green Party (1980)]. At the same time, literature on the negative influence of industrialized agriculture appeared by Rachel Carson (1), Frances Moore-Lappé (2), Dennis Mead- ows (3), Joan Gussow (4), and Ralph Nader (5). These authors dis- cussed the dramatic effects of industrialization and industrialized agriculture on the environment, health, society, and the economy. NUTRITION ECOLOGY The term nutrition ecology was coined in 1986 by a group of nutritionists at the University of Giessen, Germany (6). Nutrition ecology as an interdisciplinary scientific discipline is a holistic concept that considers all links in the nutrition system, with the aim of sustainability. Thus, nutrition ecology describes a new field of nutrition sciences that deals with the local and global conse- quences of food production, processing, trade, and consumption. Nutrition ecology goes beyond econutrition, which is limited to the interactions of nutrition and environment. Nutrition ecology goes further than the older concept of ecology of food and nutri- tion, which is limited to the eating patterns of indigenous and abo- riginal populations. a t F u n d a çã o C o o rd e n a çã o d e A p e rfe iço a m e n to d e P e sso a l d e N íve l S u p e rio r o n Ja n u a ry 1 8 , 2 0 1 3 a jcn .n u tritio n .o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://ajcn.nutrition.org/ 658S LEITZMANN At present, nutrition sciences are dominated by health aspects of food and, in part, by food quality. Recommendations are based primarily on physiologic and toxicologic considerations (7). The implications of our current nutrition system are more complex and go beyond nutrient content and contamination with pathogens and contaminants. To avoid ecologic damage caused by the nutrition system and to attain nutrition security for the world population, additional aspects need to be incorporated (8–10). The necessity of taking a more holistic view for a sustainable development is underlined by the current crises in the nutrition system, as dis- cussed at the World Food Summit in June 2002 (11). Dimensions of nutrition ecology As is typical for an interdisciplinary discipline, nutrition ecol- ogy deals with a wide range of issues, including research, teach- ing, and public actions. A broad view of the entire nutrition sys- tem covers subject matters such as total food quality, ecologic balances, and life cycle assessments; the influences of nutrition systems on climate, world nutrition, and food prices; and a com- parison of different diets and agricultural, environmental, and con- sumer policies. Basically, there are 4 dimensions of nutrition ecol- ogy: health, the environment, society, and the economy. To maintain or retain good health, the consumption of an indi- vidually optimal diet is recommended. The term preventative diet has been used recently to underline the possibility of avoiding nutrition-based diseases (12, 13). The aggregate of most studies suggests that the consumption of plant-derived foods (grains, veg- etables, fruits, legumes, nuts) should be increased and that the intake of animal-derived foods (meat products, dairy products, and eggs) should be reduced. This principle applies particularly to sedentary individuals. Plant foods should be consumed when they are as fresh as possible, should be minimally processed, and should be eaten partly as raw food (14–16). The nutrition system influences the environment (17), which in turn determines the quality of food. The environmental impact of food production is determined by the agricultural method used. Conventional farming methods rely on extensive use of natural resources and result in higher levels of food contamination. In contrast, the environmental impact of organic farming is lower. Organic farming practices include controlling pests naturally, rotating crops, and applying legume plants as manure, in contrast to the use of synthetic pesticides and fertilizers in conventional farming. In integrated farming, organic and conventional methods are combined, resulting in an intermediate environmental impact (18, 19). To reduce the environmental impact of the nutrition sys- tem, organic farming needs to be supported globally. In addition, foods should be minimally processed, packaged, and transported. The nutrition system is closely related to society, including the responsibility for food purchasing and meal preparation, as well as the social implications of the family meal. Furthermore, the interactions between food consumption habits and lifestyle, as well as the social conditions and the wages of people working in the nutrition system, need to be considered. Additional social aspects include the import and export of agricultural and other products and the influence of this trade on people in developing countries (20). On a worldwide basis, the major factor driving food con- sumption patterns is the financial situation of countries, differ- ent population groups, and influential individuals. Transporta- tion and processing of food are carried out under the premise that money can be earned. In private households, the food budget is a determining factor in the choice of foods. From a holistic point of view, the food price should include all costs caused by the nutrition system, especially environmental damage (internal- ization of external costs) (9). These 4 dimensions of nutrition ecology are of equal impor- tance for achieving a sustainable nutrition system. On this basis, the various aspects of food and nutrition are taken into account. What eating pattern best serves the holistic and sustainable aspects of nutrition ecology? From all we know, a vegetarian diet comes closest to fulfilling the demands and to minimizing damage to the 4 dimensions. Contribution of vegetarian diets Vegetarians have many reasons not to eat the flesh of animals. In addition to religious beliefs, there are health-based, ecologic, ethical, and philosophical reasons (14, 21–23). When the ecologic damage caused by industrial animal production is examined (24), certain aspects need to be considered. On average, land require- ments for meat-protein production are 10 times greater than for plant-protein production. About 40% of the world’s grain harvest is fed to animals. Half of this grain would be more than enough to feed all hungry people of our planet. Animal manure, which is produced in huge amounts by industrial agriculture, causes high levels of potentially carcinogenic nitrates in drinking water and vegetables. Animal production requires considerable energy and water resources and leads to deforestation, overgrazing, and over- fishing (8, 25–27). One solution to the problems caused by industrial animal pro- duction is a vegetarian lifestyle (23, 28–32). The positive ecologic effects achieved by vegetarianism can be enhanced by avoiding processed and packaged foods and by choosing seasonally avail- able and locally produced organic foods. In this way, support is given to subsistence and family farming, the securing of employ- ment, and global food security. In addition to these socioeconomic benefits, the caging of animals as well as their transportation over long distances and finally slaughtering them can be avoided, thus fulfilling ethical concerns. Sustainability The 4 dimensions of nutrition ecology are the basis for sus- tainable nutrition behavior (6). The term sustainability was intro- duced in the 17th century by forestry experts in Germany to call attention to the fact that only the amount of trees that would grow back in a given time should be harvested. Presently, sustainabil- ity describes development that fulfills current global needs with- out diminishing the possibility of future generations to meet their own needs (33). From a nutritional point of view, sustainability also deals with the fair distribution of food through ecologic and preventive eat- ing behavior. To achieve sustainability, a comprehensive rethink- ing of common values is needed to attain a new understanding of the quality of life. The question as to the adequate amount of food needs to be addressed at all social levels with the goal of achiev- ing nutrition security for all. To fulfill the demands concerning ecologic, economic, social, and health compatibility, the follow- ing 7 principles have been formulated: 1) food should be pre- dominantly plant derived, 2) food should originate from organic farming, 3) food should be produced regionally and seasonally, 4) food should be minimally processed, 5) food should be ecologi- cally packaged, 6) food trade should be fair, and 7) food should be tastefully prepared. These principles have been derived from a t F u n d a çã o C o o rd e n a çã o d e A p e rfe iço a m e n to d e P e sso a l d e N íve l S u p e rio r o n Ja n u a ry 1 8 , 2 0 1 3 a jcn .n u tritio n .o rg D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://ajcn.nutrition.org/ NUTRITION ECOLOGY AND VEGETARIANISM 659S guidelines of wholesome nutrition described elsewhere (34). A diet based on these principles has a scientific basis, is socially acceptable, is economically feasible, is culturally desired, is prac- ticable, and has a high degree of sustainability. There are only a limited number of long-term trials on sustain- ability. In one project, 3 apple production systems—organic farm- ing, integrated farming, and conventional farming—were com- pared (19). The yields were nearly equal, but the organic production system showed not only the best apple quality but also the best soil quality and the least detrimental environmental impact. Therefore, the organic production system had the best environmental sustainability. The economic sustainability is given, since the market price was highest for the organic apples. The authors of this report question the sustainability of conventional farming systems because of escalating production costs, heavy reliance on nonrenewable resources, reduced biodiversity, water contamination, soil erosion, and health risks to farmworkers caused by pesticide use. Another study carried out over 21 y showed that although the crop yield was 20% lower in the organic systems, the input of fertilizer and energy was reduced by 34–53% and the pesticide input by 97%. Enhanced soil fertility and higher biodiversity found in organic plots were due to compost- and legume-based crop rotations (35). Biodiversity is also the basis of food variety. Apart from the pro- motion of breast-feeding, the recommendation to eat a variety of foods is the most internationally agreed-upon dietary guideline. Biodiver- sity also protects against climate and pestilence disasters. In addition, biodiversity serves increasingly as the basis for new pharmaceuticals. CONCLUSIONS Nutrition ecology has the goal of attaining sustainability of food and nutrition security worldwide. To achieve this goal, pro- fessionals involved in the nutrition system must inform the pub- lic about the principles of nutrition ecology. In this manner, peo- ple can be motivated to practice sustainable eating behavior (36). Nutrition ecology is also a question of personal priorities. Inter- ested and well-informed consumers will be able to weigh the argu- ments and make the necessary decisions. The vision of a sustainable future depends upon individuals who feel responsible for the envi- ronment and health. One of the most effective ways to achieve the goals of nutrition ecology, including healthy and sustainable food choices, is a vegetarian lifestyle (37). The author had no conflicts of interest. REFERENCES 1. Carson R. Silent spring. Greenwich, CT: Fawsett, 1959. 2. Moore-Lappé F. Diet for a small planet. New York: Ballantine Books, 1971. 3. Meadows D. The limits of growth. New York: Universe Books, 1972. 4. Gussow J. The feeding web. Palo Alto, CA: Bull Publishing, 1978. 5. Nader R. Eating clean: food safety and the chemical harvest. Wash- ington, DC: Center for Study of Responsive Law, 1982. 6. 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work_grqxjyd7yndxnivlpj5ln3ignq	----	Microsoft Word - 9 EH 2 IN201203 - Callicott.doc Full citation: Callicott, J. Baird. “A NeoPresocratic Manifesto”. Environmental Humanities, vol. 2 (May 2013): 169-186. http://www.environmentandsociety.org/node/6312 First published: http://environmentalhumanities.org Rights: Environmental Humanities is available online only and is published under a Creative Commons license (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). In simple terms, copyright in articles remains with the author, but anyone else is free to use or distribute the work for educational or non-commercial purposes as long as the author is acknowledged and the work is not altered or transformed. http://www.environmentandsociety.org/node/6312 http://environmentalhumanities.org/ Environmental Humanities, 2, 2013, 169-186 www.environmentalhumanities.org ISSN: 2201-1919 PROVOCATIONS   Copyright: © Callicott 2013 This is an open access article distributed under the terms of a Creative Commons License (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). This license permits use and distribution of the article for non-commercial purposes, provided the original work is cited and is not altered or transformed. A NeoPresocratic Manifesto J. Baird Callicott Department of Philosophy and Religion Studies, University of North Texas, USA ABSTRACT Ancient Greek philosophy begins with natural philosophy (the Milesians, Heraclitus, Empedocles, Anaxagoras), followed after about a century by a focus on moral philosophy (Socrates and the sophists). The pattern is repeated in the Modern period: first natural philosophy re-emerged after the Dark and Middle Ages (Copernicus, Galileo, Descartes, Newton) followed by a correlative revolution in moral philosophy (Hobbes, Hume, Kant). In particular, moral ontology (externally related individuals) reflected the ontology of physics (externally related atoms). Individuals are, in effect, social atoms. Curiously, 20th-century philosophy has largely turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the vast philosophical implications of the second scientific revolution in 20th-century science, among them a correlative moral ontology of internal relations and social wholes. The environmental turn in the humanities, grounded in ecology and evolutionary biology, is a harbinger of the re-orientation of philosophy to the revolutionary ideas in the sciences and foreshadows an emerging NeoPresocratic revival in 21st-century philosophy. According to Aristotle in Book IV (Γ) of the Metaphysics, the philosophy of being as such— being qua being—is “first philosophy.” By “first,” Aristotle did not mean that the philosophy of being as such was first in the order of time—although Heidegger seems to ignore the distinction—but rather first in the hierarchical order of thought. In the temporal sequence that Aristotle himself outlines in Book I (Α) of the Metaphysics, the first philosophy that the Greeks pursued—beginning with Thales, according to Aristotle—was natural philosophy. Aristotle maps the progress of the natural philosophy of his predecessors onto his own scheme of causes. Thales and his fellow Milesians in the sixth century BCE were concerned with the material cause (positing water, air, and the like as the material “substrate”). After Parmenides had problematized motion and change, fifth century philosophers, such as Anaxagoras and Empedocles also concerned themselves with the moving or “efficient” cause (Mind and Love and Hate, respectively)—the force or forces that move material things. Following the fifth century Pythagoreans, Plato, in the fourth century, focused attention on the formal cause—the Numbers, according to Aristotle, who was certainly in a better position to know than we. (To understand this equation of Number and Form, we must remember that the ancient Greeks thought of number exclusively in geometrical terms—such “numbers” as the several species of triangle, the circle, the several species of polyhedron, and the sphere.) We call the ancient Greek natural philosophers the “pre-Socratics”—but not just because they lived and worked before Socrates. Indeed many were contemporaries of Socrates. 170 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013)     Rather, Socrates and his fellow moral philosophers—whom Plato, unfortunately as well as unfairly, denigrates as “sophists”—expanded the scope of philosophy to include epistemology, ethics, and political theory as well as nature. The philosophers coming after Socrates, most notably Plato and Aristotle, were polymaths, taking up and synthesizing—each in his own way—both natural and moral philosophy, the philosophy of nature and the philosophy of things human. The seamless union of natural and moral philosophy was not a peculiarity of ancient Greek philosophy. The early modern philosophers also united the two. Descartes—“the father of modern philosophy”—was a natural philosopher of the first water. He was better known among his contemporaries for his Principles than for his Meditations; and even today, outside philosophical circles, he is more celebrated for his analytic geometry, an enduring contribution to mathematics, than for his now-much-maligned contribution to moral philosophy—his rationalistic epistemology. In the 18th century, Kant, who is most celebrated today for his contributions to moral philosophy—especially for his epistemology and also for his ethics— was a celebrated cosmologist in his own time. In the 19th century, certainly Hegel attempted a synthesis (no pun intended) of natural and moral philosophy. But during the 20th century, almost all the self-styled philosophers who claim to have inherited the grand tradition of philosophy going all the way back to Thales (if we can trust Aristotle’s historical sketch in the Metaphysics), have almost totally neglected natural philosophy. To be sure, there is Whitehead, Bergson, and perhaps a few other 20th century natural philosophers, but they are the exceptions. In regard to the neglect of natural philosophy—as in regard to so many other of its peculiarities—20th century philosophy, in my opinion, is an anomaly, indeed an aberration. The 20th century is now over—way over. The signs of the times seem clear: One distinguishing characteristic of 21st century philosophy will be a return to natural philosophy. Or, more precisely put, 21st century philosophers will be more cognizant of the revolutionary natural philosophy latent in 20th century science and will use it to inform and reform moral philosophy. The philosophy of the future, I suggest, is NeoPresocratic. (My rhetorical inspiration here is the Pre-Raphaelite movement of the mid-19th century. If they could create a new and progressive anti-mechanismic and anti-academic style in the arts by reviving a pre- modern sensibility, so might we philosophers create a new and progressive movement in philosophy by reconstituting the original impetus for philosophy itself.) So profound had become the disengagement from science—not only of philosophy, but of the humanities generally—that, in the dry intellectual depths of the 20th century, the knighted Cambridge physicist and successful novelist C. P. Snow1 identified two coexisting but mutually estranged cultures: that of cutting-edge science and that of the humanities. As the 20th century recedes into the past and 20th century philosophy becomes a period in the history of philosophy, just how can we 21st-century philosophers reunite those two cultures and fuse them into one? The need to do so is political no less than intellectual. In American politics, at least, the epistemology of science is losing ground to the epistemology of religion. Political parties, especially those on the right—the Republican Party, the Tea Party—have “beliefs” (ideologies) that are immune to logical criticism, intractable to contrary evidence, and remain firmly held in defiance of disastrous experience forthcoming from pursuing public policies                                                                                                                           1 C. P. Snow, The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution (London: Spectator Lmt., 1962). Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 171   based on those beliefs. I suggest that we philosophers and humanists generally can do our part to reintegrate science and its epistemology into the wider culture by expressing the new nature of Nature, as revealed by the sciences, in the grammar of the humanities. The putatively “value-free” discourse of science—a mixture of mathematics, statistics, and technical terminology—is not readily or easily accessible. The discourse of the humanities—rich with imagery, metaphor, emotion, and honest moral judgment—resonates with a much wider audience. I suspect, however, that many if not most humanists believe that they will find little in science to fire the imagination, to stir the emotions, to stimulate our aesthetic sensibilities, and to touch our deepest moral sentiments. The world revealed by science is as dull as the language scientists use to characterize it—if the attitudes of my incoming philosophy graduate students are any indication of a prevailing humanistic alienation from a scientific worldview. They thrill to the scorn for “naturalism” evinced by Husserl and to the contra-scientific romanticism of Heidegger, innocent (or dismissive) of its resonance with the ideology of National Socialism. Many appear to be seeking in philosophy a counter-scientific worldview— even an anti-scientific worldview—and seem disappointed when my enticingly titled course, “Philosophy of Ecology,” turns out actually to be about ecology, the science. Science did, indeed, once represent a natural world that was imaginatively, emotionally, aesthetically, and morally unappealing, even repugnant to most non-scientists and especially to most humanists. Well, it was not altogether aesthetically unattractive, but its beauty was of a sterile mathematical kind, that only a logician could love. What did the late Harvard logician W. V. O. Quine once proclaim?—“a taste for desert landscapes”—something like that.2 The erstwhile Newtonian world was populated by inert, externally related bodies, moving along straight lines, subject to various forces that are communicated by impact—a fragmented, material, mechanical world, devoid of life, spirit, mind, and meaning. And what of the organic world emergent from the mechanical and ultimately reducible to it? It popped up as a happy accident of chemistry and evolved by the blind (ateleological) forces that the ancient Greek philosophers called τυχη and αναγκη “chance and necessity.” The ever- increasing complexity of the organic world is driven by the competitive interactions among its excessively fecund organisms. It is all a matter of “survival of the fittest” and “devil take the hindmost” in a living nature that is “red in tooth and claw.” The whole organic world presents a disgusting spectacle—a violent, meaningless, pointless drama, like “a tale told by an idiot; full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.” Thus alienated by classical Newtonian and Darwinian science, most 20th-century philosophers—of both the analytic and continental persuasions—narcissistically occupied their minds with narrowly circumscribed, arcane, and abstract conceptual “puzzles” or equally arcane explorations of their own states of consciousness. Thus they took little if any notice when a second scientific revolution occurred in the early 20th century; and, even now, few take much if any interest in exploring and helping to articulate the post-Newtonian worldview. Equally indifferent to the second scientific revolution, some other humanists repaired to their hermeneutical studies of the sacred texts, the great secular books, classical music, the old- master painters. Alternatively, yet others provided a playful analysis and celebration of a contemporary literature, art, and music that ignores— or even rebels against—the supposedly                                                                                                                           2 W. V. O. Quine, From a Logical Point of View (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1953). 172 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013)     sterile world depicted by scientists. That I mean no disrespect for hermeneutic studies is testified to by my personal love of Plato, especially, and the other ancient Greek philosophers, generally—a love that I continue to try to inspire in every new cohort of students that I teach at both the undergraduate and graduate levels. And while I am not personally engaged in the sophisticated study of contemporary high, low, and hybrid culture, I have the greatest respect for my colleagues who are—and I am delighted when I receive an invitation to their hip soirées and salons. While the two cultures passed one another by in the 20th century, like the proverbial ships in the night, the scientific worldview was indeed undergoing revolutionary change. At the turn of the 20th century, space, time, and matter became anything but dull and unexciting. Our universe had become non-Euclidean, with space and time constituting one curved, warped four-dimensional continuum. The solid Democritean/Newtonian corpuscles, which had been located in Euclidean/Cartesian space, had become nano-scaled solar systems, spun out of the very fabric of non-Euclidean space, with only vaguely located, leaping electrons orbiting tightly bound nuclei that might lose mass and emit energy. Not only were energy and matter convertible, mind and energy-matter were conversable—as scientific observation of quantum systems actualizes one potential reality rather than another. Being is as being is interrogated and observed. At the opposite end of the spatio-temporal spectrum of scale, the unimaginably immense universe of stars and galaxies came to be understood as evolving and expanding, instead of, as formerly, in a static steady state. The universe is now understood to have originated in a dramatic Big Bang and to be riddled with mysterious and awesome Black Holes. A whole new holistic biology—ecology—took shape in the 20th century. Despite the many popular science magazines, websites, television shows, zoos, aquariums, and other forms of publicity, what is going on in quantum physics, astrophysics, and ecology seems to be neither popularly appreciated fully nor, certainly, does it seem to have rent the fabric of the prevailing metaphysic. Perhaps because the revolutionary worldview latent in contemporary science has gone unexplored and unexplained by humanists, it is not registering in the public zeitgeist. Now and again a scientist with a gift for accessible prose—a Carl Sagan, a Stephen Hawking, a Stephen J. Gould, a Brian Greene, a Jacques Cousteau, a Carl Safina—will popularize one or another domain of new scientific discovery. But articulating the newly enchanted worldview latent in science requires the synthesizing genius of philosophers and the capacity of poets to move the human heart. Yet philosophers have pretty much remained indifferent to the opportunity and poets unresponsive to the challenge. This is puzzling because the first scientific revolution—which we may regard as a revolution in natural philosophy—did produce a corresponding revolution in moral philosophy and in the fine arts. Why, in the 17th century, did Descartes entertain such extravagant doubts about the reliability of his senses, even about the very existence of his own body? Because up until Copernicus, a century before, all humankind had labored under a colossal and nearly universal deception, fairly attributable to too trusting a reliance on our senses. We believed that the earth upon which we stand lay immobile at the center of the universe and that the sun and moon, planets and stars revolved around us. After all, that’s how it looks and feels! If we could be so wrong about that, who knows what else we might be wrong about? The old empirical/inductive epistemology inherited ultimately from Aristotle had to be swept away at a Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 173   stroke and replaced by a new rational/deductive one erected upon fresh and hypercritical foundations—or so Descartes believed. In the visual arts, linear perspective, which is but an application of projective geometry, created the life-like illusion of three-dimensional space, the space of Euclid, Galileo, Descartes, and Newton. New forms of literature, such as the novel, not accidentally or coincidentally emerged. The studied mathematical precision of the music that we now call classical constitutes, in effect, a new modern science of music. Even theology became rational and deistic. The original scientific revolution, that of the 16th and 17th centuries, even more insidiously transformed ethics and politics. The free-standing, free-thinking human individual is, in effect, the social analogue of an atom. Formed from the alpha-privative, ατοµος in Greek means “indivisible.” We social atoms were conceived by Thomas Hobbes originally to live a life that was “solitary [as well as] poor, nasty, brutish, and short” as we moved in a pre-social vacuum driven on our inertial courses impelled by two simple forces: desire and aversion. In the absence of a social contract to give law and order to their movements these social atoms were bound to collide in a mutually destructive war of each against all. After the original atomism of Democritus and the correlative ancient social contract theory of the sophists had been forgotten, and prior to the revival of atomism in the 17th century, to conceive of human existence in a pre-social condition would have been nearly impossible. That’s right, for better or worse, our vaunted social and political individualism—which seems so natural, a matter of fact not of thought—originated as a conceptual adaptation in the sphere of ethics and political philosophy of atomism in classical physics. That the same sequence of intellectual events occurred two millennia earlier proves my point. Can it be a mere coincidence that—during both the fifth century BCE and the 17th century CE—atomism in natural philosophy was soon followed, in moral philosophy, by social and political individualism and the social contract theory of the origin of law, society, and ethics? Just as the ontology of the physical world was reductively conceived to be an aggregation of externally related indivisibles, so the ontology of the social world was also reductively conceived to be but an aggregate of externally related individuals. But whatever the cause, individualistic social ontology took hold of the Western zeitgeist after the 17th century and has become the foundation for our human rights, especially our rights to life, limited liberty, and property. The price we pay, however, is a tragic unawareness of the robust ontology of social wholes. This unawareness of the robust ontology of social wholes is, incidentally, particularly costly today as we face problems, such as global climate change, that are of such unprecedented spatial and temporal scales that they cannot be effectively addressed by individual responses. When I speak to the public about the ethical challenge of climate change, I am invariably asked, “What can I do to address the problem?” The expectation is that I will recite a list of things that each of us, individually and voluntarily, can do to reduce our carbon emissions. I myself do most of those things: replace halogen light bulbs with compact fluorescents; make my home-to-office-and-back commute by bicycle; etc. But I live in Denton, Texas—not Berkeley, California, Ashland, Oregon, or Boulder, Colorado—in the United States. And Denton, Texas is a more representative microcosm of the United States than those precious centers of progressive sophistication. So I am painfully aware that my individual efforts to lessen the size and weight of my own personal carbon footprint are swamped by the recalcitrance of the overwhelming majority of my fellow citizens. Many of them have never 174 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013)     heard of global climate change. Many of those who have prefer to believe that it is the function of a “natural cycle” or an “act of God,” not that it is anthropogenic. Many others are convinced that global climate change is a hoax cooked up by self-righteous pinko environmentalists who can’t stand to see common people enjoy their mechanized fun. And many of those who think that it’s for real welcome it as a sign that the End Times are upon us, the horrors of which they will be spared by the Rapture. It will not suffice, therefore, to simply encourage people individually and voluntarily to build green and drive hybrid. But what’s worse is the implication that that’s all we can do about it; that the ultimate responsibility for dampening the adverse effects of global climate change devolves to each of us as individuals. On the contrary, the only hope we have to temper global climate change is a collective social response in the form of policy, regulation, treaty, and law. What is required, in the words of Garrett Hardin’s classic treatise, “Tragedy of the Commons,” is “mutual coercion mutually agreed upon.”3 Please forgive this peevish digression. I’ve just been frustrated by the way discussion of the ethical aspect of anthropogenic global climate change has been limited to individual responsibility. I return now to the two-cultures theme of this essay. So ... after the excitement of the Enlightenment, the fine arts and the humanities rebelled against the Newtonian worldview—for better or worse. The romantic counterculture in the humanities was openly antagonistic to the modern scientific worldview in both philosophy and the fine arts—albeit still colonized by the insidious atomic sense of self and aggregative sense of society. And while romanticism per se may have come and gone, indifference—if not antagonism—to the other culture, that of science, became entrenched in philosophy and the humanities generally and in the fine arts. Perhaps for this reason, the response of the fine arts and humanities to the second scientific revolution, that of the 20th century, has been anemic. In the visual arts, Cubism is, arguably, an expression of non-Euclidean geometry, but it hardly conveys the geometry of Einsteinian space-time as perfectly and faithfully as linear perspective conveys the geometry of Euclidean-Galilean-Cartesian-Newtonian space. In music we have the aleatoric music of such composers and performers as John Cage, which beautifully reflects the indeterminacy and stochastic nature of the quantum world—but Cage and his few exponents remain marginalized and unpopular. Twelve-tone compositions, jazz, blues, folk, rock, pop, rap, and hip-hop all may be revolutionary—but in ways disconnected, so far as I can tell, from the second scientific revolution. In literature there have been some interesting experiments with what might be called the relativity genre, in which time is as fractured as Cubist space and characters have incommensurable perceptions of a common reality—James Joyce’s Ulysses, Virginia Wolfe’s Mrs. Dalloway, and Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire come to mind—but it remains a genre for the rare genius and has not taken the literary arts by storm. The theory of relativity is best reflected in culture studies, a central dogma of which is that all cultural reference systems are equal and none is privileged. But the scientific worldview, even as it evolves and changes, is regarded in culture studies as illegitimately hegemonic and a prime target for deflation and deconstruction. What about science fiction? With a few exceptions, such as the novels of Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Heinlein, and Kim Stanley Robinson, science fiction is no better informed by state-of-the art science than other genres of pulp fiction.                                                                                                                           3 Garrett Hardin, “Tragedy of the Commons,” Science 162 (1968): 1243-1248. Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 175   The reaction of 20th-century philosophy to 20th-century science was particularly unfortunate. Phenomenology, the dominant movement in continental philosophy, hubristically aspired to replace science as we know it—disparaged as “naturalism” by Husserl and most subsequent phenomenologists—with something truer to the phenomena immediately given to our intentional consciousnesses. Science had become, in their view, a skein of abstractions, of theoretical entities, such as atoms, which we do not—indeed cannot—directly experience. And the social sciences, especially psychology, are alleged to falsely objectify the pure subjectivity of the transcendental ego, first discovered by Kant and subsequently explored by Husserl. The alternative “science” that phenomenologists offer up is based on the assumption that we could “bracket” the abstract concepts that obscure the pure phenomena and accurately and exhaustively describe the phenomena as they present themselves to consciousness in raw form. By the same token, we could reveal to ourselves the very essence of intentional consciousness itself. Such bracketing, of course, is impossible to do; and even if it could be done, the value of doing it is by no means obvious. All along, however, science as we know it—increasingly abstract and theoretical—continued to thrive and attract funding and prestige, while phenomenology remains an arcane and marginalized specialty in academic philosophy, exerting little influence in the larger intellectual community of academe, with the exception of the faddish influence of “French Theory” in Literary Criticism, much of which has historical links to phenomenology. By contrast, Anglo-American “analytic” philosophy held up scientific knowledge as the epitome of positive truth. Anglo-American philosophy of science is largely dedicated to setting forth the methods and means by which such magisterial knowledge is obtained. Surely then the traditional concerns of philosophy—ontology, metaphysics, ethics—could themselves become domains of positive knowledge by imitating the rigorous epistemological methods and means of science. Accordingly, such fields of study were isolated and divided into their microscopic elemental parts and painstakingly argued to putatively certain conclusions—about which, however, little agreement is ever reached. This virtual worship of scientific epistemology—obeisance to the ways and means of positive knowledge—combined with an application of it to the special turf marked out as their own by analytic philosophers, rendered 20th-century Anglo-American philosophy as isolated from the dynamic substance of 20th century science as was 20th-century continental philosophy. Bertrand Russell, for example, a founding figure of 20th-century analytic philosophy, retrogressively espoused “logical atomism” and eschewed the notion of internal relations, which characterizes the ontology of quantum field theory. Russell typifies, in a particularly spectacular fashion, the way in which 20th- century Anglo-American analytic philosophy was completely blind and deaf to the holism implicit in the revolutionary theories of relativity and of quantum physics. Simply but boldly stated, what I am suggesting is that philosophy reoccupy the place in the panoply of disciplines reserved for theology in the High Middle Ages as “Queen of the Sciences.” Unfortunately, 20th-century Anglo-American analytic philosophy exchanged that exalted office for something more like Handmaiden to the Sciences, while Continental philosophy—to continue the royal metaphor here running wild—abdicated the throne of Queen of the Sciences for some little Duchy in the intellectual Balkans. As scientific knowledge grows in volume, scientists themselves must ever more narrowly focus their research, exchanging breadth of knowledge for depth. Unless someone steps forward to 176 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013)     synthesize, integrate, interpret, and extract meaning and morality out of all that specialized knowledge, we—scientists and humanists alike—shall remain bewildered and adrift in a world bursting at the seams with information and devoid of sense and direction. That’s a heavy burden for us philosophers to shoulder. To ever more narrowly specialize ourselves in the ever more careful and detailed dissection of the relationship of “sense data” to the “external world,” sentences to propositions, words to objects, supervenient properties to their base properties, Frege to Carnap, the early Wittgenstein to the late is much more comfortable and manageable. Or is it? Poet and essayist Gary Snyder—who ought to know—thinks it is easier than one might imagine to synthesize, integrate, interpret, and extract meaning and morality from the raw material of the sciences. In a delightful essay titled, “The Forest in the Library,” he compares the academic information community to the biotic community of a forest. In the basements and windowless laboratories scattered across the campus, the data gatherers—the science graduate students and bench scientists—tediously work away at small scales, just like the detritus reducers on the forest floor and photosynthesizers in the understory. At the next trophic level “the dissertations, technical reports, and papers of the primary workers are ... gobbled up by senior researchers and condensed into conclusion and theory.”4 When asked, “What is finally over the top of all the information chains?” one might reply that it must be the artists and writers, because they are among the most ruthless and efficient information predators. They are light and mobile, and can swoop across the tops of all the disciplines to make off with what they take to be the best parts, and convert them into novels, mythologies, dense and esoteric essays, visual or other arts, or poems.5 Settling into a comfortable academic sinecure, in any case, is not what attracted me to philosophy as a young humanist. I was inspired by the audacity of the pre-Socratics, such as Heraclitus, who tried to paint a picture of the whole universe in a series of enigmatic epigrams, or such as Empedocles, who tried to best Heraclitus in two grand didactic poems, one titled “On Nature,” the other “The Purifications.” For me, the opportunity to do natural and moral philosophy like the pre-Socratics—to paint in bold strokes with a broad brush—came with the advent of the environmental crisis. Nature was talking back. It was saying that the prevailing, still essentially Newtonian assumptions—about the nature of Nature, human nature, and the proper relationship between people and Nature—that were still informing industrial development, were flawed. The message came across loud and clear in the form of unbreathable air over our big cities, fouled and stinking rivers and seashores, coastal dead zones, disappearing flora and fauna, statistically anomalous outbreaks of cancer, the threat of silent springs. Just as Descartes did half a millennium before me, I felt we needed to rebuild again from the foundations and ask anew the oldest and most fundamental questions of philosophy: What is the nature of Nature? What is human nature? What is the proper relationship between people and Nature? Other humanists also seized the opportunity afforded by the environmental crisis to try to transform their respective disciplines. The first to respond were a couple of historians. The                                                                                                                           4 Gary Snyder, “The Forest in the Library,” in Gary Snyder, A Place in Space: Ethics, Aesthetics, and Watersheds (New York: Counterpoint, 1995), 119-204. 5 Ibid. Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 177   signal year was 1967. Roderick Nash’s Wilderness and the American Mind was published that year and so was Lynn White Jr.’s (in)famous essay, “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.”6 Donald Worster, the former dean of environmental history, once remarked that what historians do is to spin good stories based on otherwise mute facts. Nash’s classic represents much more than a history of wilderness. The story he tells became the canonical story of the American environmental movement. Nash identifies and delineates its founding figures: George Perkins Marsh, Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, and Aldo Leopold. In addition to these vernacular philosophers, he ranges comfortably over the natural sciences, literature, and the visual arts, discussing the contributions to an evolving environmental awareness of Alexander von Humboldt, Alexis de Tocqueville, James Fennimore Cooper, Thomas Cole, and George Catlin, to mention but a few. In retrospect, Lynn White Jr.’s essay provided the mandate and set the agenda for a future environmental philosophy, which got underway in the 1970s. White was an historian of technology and made the obvious point that the then newly discovered environmental crisis was a serious side effect of “modern” technology. What made modern technology modern was its unprecedented union with modern classical science. Ever since the Greeks and up until the 18th century, natural philosophy and eventually science was pursued only by leisured aristocrats who prided themselves on seeking knowledge of Nature for knowledge’s sake and disdained any practical application of their theories as beneath their social station. And technology was the concern of only the working classes to whom fell the burden of supporting the privileged intellectuals as well as themselves. Both science and an aggressive technological esprit are Western in provenance, argued White, and could be traced to the late Middle Ages when Europe was steeped in the Judeo- Christian worldview. Created in the image of God, man’s mind might recapitulate that of the Creator as He created the world. That was the inspiration for scientific inquiry. And God commanded man to be fruitful, to multiply, to have dominion over the creation and to subdue it. That was the motivation for developing an aggressive technology. In short, White placed ultimate blame for the environmental crisis on Genesis 1:26-28. Of course, White’s thesis is both jejune and cavalier. But obscured by his lurid and brassy text was a more general and plausible subtext: that what we do in relationship to Nature depends on what we think about Nature, about ourselves as human beings, and about our proper relationship to Nature; and, corollary to that, effectively to change what we do in relationship to Nature, we first have to change what we think about Nature, about ourselves as human beings, and about our relationship to Nature. Exposing what we think about things and changing what we think about them is the work of philosophers—or at least it used to be and, hopefully, soon will be again. There are two moments to this process. The first is critical, the second creative. White himself had taken the first, critical initiative. He criticized the ideas about the man-Nature relationship that we had inherited from our Judeo-Christian cultural roots. But those are not our only cultural roots. The Greco-Roman cultural roots run at least as deep and bequeathed to modern Western                                                                                                                           6 Nash, Roderick. Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1967); Lynn White Jr. “The Historical Roots of our Ecologic Crisis,” Science 155 (1967): 1203-1207. 178 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013)     civilization just as many environmentally noisome notions. Thus a few philosophers and intellectual historians, such as J. Donald Hughes7 and Carolyn Merchant8, began to reread Plato’s otherworldly theory of forms and Aristotle’s anthropocentric teleology, Bacon’s coercive epistemology and Descartes’ divisive dualism through the new lens of environmental crisis. They afford good examples of the way humanists can use their hermeneutical expertise in new, socially relevant, and exciting ways. I, for example, was able to use my knowledge of ancient Greek natural philosophy to call attention to the way physical atomism in natural philosophy was followed by social atomism and social contract theory in ancient Greek moral philosophy. As noted here already, after atomism was revived in the modern scientific worldview, it was followed once more by social atomism and social contract theory in modern moral philosophy. In doing so, my purpose is to provide much more than a nifty historical insight. I aim to reveal the contingency of our prevailing individualistic social ontology and sense of self, opening us up, hopefully, to possibilities for alternative social ontologies and senses of self latent in the ontologies of contemporary science: the ontology of the space-time continuum; the unified quantum fields; the integrated ecosystems; and the self-regulating, superorganismic biosphere—which are more commensurate with the political and environmental problems we face as the 21st century unfolds. The second, creative moment in the agenda for an environmental philosophy set by White is more difficult to pull off. How do we generate new ideas about the nature of Nature, human nature, and the proper relationship of people to Nature? We cannot just gin them up from scratch; just make them up out of the blue. Not even Thales, the very first philosopher in the Western tradition, operated in an intellectual vacuum. Two early approaches were (1) to look for an alternative worldview in non-Western intellectual traditions and (2) to scour the theological and philosophical canon of the West for alternative worldviews that had not found their way into the mainstream but had been washed into intellectual side channels. Here again, White showed the way. (1) He suggested, but ultimately rejected, adopting the Zen Buddhist worldview. That got what we now call comparative environmental philosophy started; and essays soon appeared that proposed that we adopt other strains of Buddhism (such as Hwa- yen), or Daoism, Hinduism, and other non-Western worldviews. Huston Smith, for example, wrote a piece titled “Tao Now: An Ecological Testament.”9 White himself thought that the West was unlikely to convert wholesale to a foreign worldview. (2) So he concluded his essay by recommending that we in the West resurrect and mainstream the heretical and radical ideas of St. Francis of Assisi, according to which animals too had immortal souls and man was brother to the Earth and its many creatures. Following White in method, but looking to the secular Western canon, Arne Naess recommended reviving and mainstreaming the monistic philosophy of Spinoza; Michael Zimmerman suggested we take Heidegger’s advice to “let beings be”; and so on.                                                                                                                           7 J. Donald Hughes, Ecology in Ancient Civilizations (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1975). 8 Carolyn Merchant, The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology, and the Scientific Revolution (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1980). 9 Huston Smith, ‘Tao Now: An Ecological Testament,” in Earth Might be Fair: Reflections of Ethics, Religion, and Ecology, ed. Ian Barbour (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1972), 62-81. Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 179   The approach that I took (3)—and am here recommending to those of my fellow philosophers looking for a way to escape the 20th century analytic and continental culs de sac—is to espress the natural philosophical essence out of contemporary scientific theories. We in the West are as unlikely to dust off and collectively adopt an idiosyncratic historical worldview, especially one that never made it into the Western mainstream in the first place, as we are to adopt a foreign worldview. Science is what is happening now in the West. Moreover, while it may have been Western in provenance, it is no longer Western in practice and pursuit. Science has international cachet and currency. And it is one of the few intellectual endeavors, if not the only one, that is culturally unaccented. While, for example, we can instantly tell the difference between Bollywood and Hollywood cinema, the string theory cogitated in Beijing is no more distinctly Chinese than that cogitated in Berkeley. Further, as already noted, science serves up some ideas with extremely exciting and congenial philosophical potential. And abstracting a contemporary philosophical worldview from the sciences is not the exclusive province of philosophers. Theologians, most notably Thomas Berry, have found ideas in contemporary cosmology that bespeak a human harmony with Nature.10 Scientists themselves who have a philosophical bent have also contributed to the work of worldview reconfiguration. Indeed many of the great architects of the second scientific revolution were well aware that they were the latest contributors to the Western tradition of natural philosophy. Albert Einstein, Werner Heisenberg, Niels Bohr, Erwin Schrödinger all reflected publicly on the new worldview emerging from the new physics. More recently, physicist Fritjof Capra has explored the general implications of quantum theory for a new more integrative and holistic ontology and physicist Brian Swimme has teamed with Thomas Berry to tell “the universe story.”11 My own past work dabbled a bit in the philosophical implications of relativity and quantum theory, but has concentrated more on evolutionary biology and ecology than on any of the other sciences. Following the lead of Aldo Leopold, in the former I find three very useful things.12 First, from an evolutionary point of view, with all other species on our small planet, we are descended from a common ancestor—which would instill in us, if we took the trouble to think about it, Leopold believes, “a sense of kinship with fellow-creatures; a wish to live and let live.” Second, we may derive a kind of neo-pagan spirituality from the theory of evolution, “a sense,” as Leopold put it, “of wonder over the magnitude and duration of the biotic enterprise.”13 Third, Darwin provided a detailed account of the origin and evolution of ethics in The Descent of Man, which represents the best foundation, in my opinion, for contemporary environmental ethics. Darwin himself was no Social Darwinist. If not in The Origin of Species then certainly in The Descent of Man, Darwin’s views are closer to those of Peter Kropotkin in Mutual Aid than to those of Herbert Spencer in “Progress: Its Law and Cause”.14 Darwin argued that ethics evolved to facilitate social organization and community. One of the most fundamental concepts in ecology is that of a biotic community. When this ecological concept                                                                                                                           10 Thomas Berry and Brian Swimme, The Universe Story from the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era: A Celebration of the Unfolding of the Cosmos (San Francisco: Harper SanFrancisco, 1992). 11 Fritjof Capra, The Tao of Physics: An Exploration of the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism (Berkeley, Cal: Shambala, 1975); Brian Swimme and Thomas Berry, The Universe Story. 12 Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There (New York: Oxford University Press, 1949). 13 Ibid. 14 Peter Kropotkin, Mutual Aid (London: Heinemann, 1902); Herbert Spencer, “Progress: Its Law and Cause,” Westminster Review 67 (1857): 445-447, 451, 454-456, 464-465. 180 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013)     of a biotic community is overlain on Darwin’s analysis of the origin and evolution of ethics, an environmental ethic clearly takes shape. Just as all our memberships in various human communities—in families, municipalities, nation states, the global village—generate peculiar duties and obligations, so our memberships in various biotic communities also generate peculiar duties and obligations. Lynn White Jr.’s (in)famous essay also induced a dialectical response among Christian apologists. They responded less with a revival of Franciscan theology, as White himself had suggested, than with an alternative, theocentric/stewardship reading of the early chapters of Genesis to counter White’s anthropocentric/despotism reading of the same texts. The Judeo- Christian stewardship environmental ethic is very potent: His creation belongs to God, not us humans; in declaring it to be “good,” God invested the creation with what environmental philosophers call “intrinsic value”; and He turned it over to us humans, not to exploit and destroy, but to dress and keep. If Christianity could be greened in this fashion, what about the possibility of greening other religious traditions? While Westerners are unlikely to convert en masse to a foreign worldview such as Japanese Zen Buddhism, perhaps those for whom such worldviews are not foreign, but are their own living traditions of faith, could also find in them an environmental ethic. We must remember that the environmental crisis, popularly recognized as such in the 1960s, was then understood to be global in scope, and so it remains, now more than ever. If adherents of Buddhism, Islam, Hinduism, etc., could also find a potent ecological ethic in their worldviews, a network of religiously grounded ecological ethics could be formed around the globe. I barely scratched the surface of this possibility in my book, Earth’s Insights: A Multicultural Survey of Ecological Ethics from the Mediterranean Basin to the Australian Outback.15 But it was fully cultivated and brought to full flower by the great vision and the great work of Mary Evelyn Tucker and John Grim. They gathered leading representatives of the religions of the world in a series of conferences convened at the Harvard Center for the Study of World Religions in the last decade of the 20th century and then published the fruits of those gatherings in a series of Harvard University Press books. History, philosophy, theology, religious studies—all humanities disciplines—have taken an environmental turn and in so doing have bridged, to one degree or another, the gulf isolating them from the sciences. It is not accidental that we almost unconsciously link environmental history, environmental philosophy, and so on, with ecology, and thus with the sciences generally, by means of such labels as “Deep Ecology,” “religion and ecology,” “eco- theology,” “ecological ethics,” “eco-health,” ecofeminism, and so on. We now even have “ecological economics” (as distinct from “environmental economics”) which indeed most academic economists would prefer to think of as one among the humanities rather than as one among the social sciences. Arrested by the narcissism and cynicism of French Theory, the critical study of literature has most recently taken an environmental turn, and is now commonly referred to as “ecocriticism” by those engaged in the specialty. As ecocriticism emerged institutionally it focused largely on the study of what I call “cabin narratives.” Such works typically feature a                                                                                                                           15 J. Baird Callicott, Earth’s Insights: A Multicultural Survey of Ecological Ethics from the Mediterranean Basin to the Australian Outback (California: University of California Press, 1994). Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 181   solitary, ruggedly individual individualist—usually a male protagonist—seeking himself, in communion with Nature, and measuring the culture from which he retreats by the norms of Nature. Leopold, for example, concludes the “Foreword” to his cabin narrative by envisioning “a shift of values ... achieved by reappraising things unnatural, tame, and confined in terms of things natural, wild, and free.”16 Very often the first-person protagonist of such narratives is deeply engaged in the scientific study of Nature, most often in scientific natural history. Thoreau’s Walden is the prototype—the genre exemplar—of the cabin narrative. And Lawrence Buell’s study of Thoreau is the prototype and genre exemplar of ecocriticism.17 Other cabin- narrative classics are, Henry Beston’s Outermost House, Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac, Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire, Edward Lueders’ Clam Lake Papers, Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, and Rick Bass’s Winter: Notes from Montana.18 Environmental history and environmental philosophy have been around long enough to greatly diversify; the latter into a number of antagonistic camps: anthropocentrists (strong and weak), biocentrists, and ecocentrists; deep ecologists; ecophenomenologists; environmental pragmatists. More deeply and more significantly, it also diversified by including the voices of those historically marginalized. Ecofeminism, as the name suggests, is a species of environmental philosophy representing a female point of view; and analyses of race and class are central to environmental justice. Ecofeminism, environmental justice, more recently environmental queer theory provide unique epistemological points of view, in addition to wider demographic representation. There are stirrings of such diversification now detectable in ecocriticism as the nature of nature writing is being contested. And just as in environmental philosophy, so in ecocriticism, we find that epistemic diversity accompanies representative diversity. For example, Priscilla Solis Ybarra, a young ecocritic, contends that the works of Chicana/o (Mexican American) writers—which often lament the dispossession of and longing for their ancestral homelands in what is now the American Southwest—should be counted as nature writing equally with the cabin-narrative canon.19 The cabin narrator, from a liminal epistemological point of view, is a man, or less commonly a woman, who is repairing to Nature from a position of social privilege. Thus, Ybarra argues, we can begin to see social privilege, through the lens of ecocriticism, as insulation from Nature by strata of mediators— the people whom the cabin narrator conveniently erases who work the fields and forests, producing the staple foodstuffs, nature-writing paper, and cabin-building materials for the cabin narrator who is connecting with Nature, from which he or she was alienated precisely by his or her privileged social station. Thus nature writing is also expanded to include the cultural productions of those whose social and economic status puts them in daily, unmediated, often uncomfortable, and certainly unromantic contact with Nature.                                                                                                                           16 Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac. 17 Lawrence Buell, The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture (Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1995). 18 Henry Beston, Outermost House (New York: Henry Holt & CO., 1928); Leopold, A Sand County Almanac, Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968); Edward Lueders, Clam Lake Papers (New York: Harper and Row, 1977); Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (New York: HarperCollins, 1999[1974]) and Rick Bass, Winter: Notes from Montana (New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1991). 19 Ybarra, Priscilla Solis. “‘Lo que quiero es tierra’: Longing and Belonging in Cherríe Moraga’s Ecological Vision,” in New Perspectives on Environmental Justice: Gender, Sexuality, and Activism, ed. Rachel Stein (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004), 240-248. 182 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013)     Let me now bring this essay full circle and return it to the point at which it begins. According to Aristotle, as noted, metaphysics is first philosophy, but by that he meant it was first in the hierarchical order of knowledge, not the first to be pursued. Aristotle himself is the first systematic historian of philosophy and informs us that the first philosophy, in order of occurrence, is physics, in the Greek sense of the word, περι φυσις, concerning Nature—that is, natural philosophy. After ancient Greek natural philosophy was recovered during the Late Middle Ages and Renaissance it evolved thereafter into science proper. Natural philosophy got underway in the sixth century BCE and culminated with atomism in the mid-fifth century. While many of the natural philosophers had something to say about ethics and politics—some more than others—moral philosophy did not become a central preoccupation of philosophers until the time of Socrates and his contemporaries (the much maligned “sophists”) in the second half of the fifth century. Plato and Aristotle systematically integrated natural and moral philosophy, each in his own way, during the fourth century. Both were, however, adamantly opposed to ateleological atomic materialism (physical and social) and countered it with their own teleological natural and moral philosophies. This pattern of development—a change in natural philosophy followed by a change in moral philosophy—is repeated after the Renaissance. First comes a revolution in natural philosophy, which was started by Copernicus in the 16th century and completed by Newton in the 17th, followed by a revolution in moral philosophy, which was started by Descartes and Hobbes in the 17th century and completed by Kant and Bentham in the 18th. In both instances we find some overlap, but also a lag-time of about a century between the thoroughgoing changes in natural philosophy and those in moral philosophy. Why this sequence? In the first instance, the Greek gods were closely associated with the forms and forces of Nature. Zeus, for example, is a weather god. Alternative, naturalistic explanations of weather and other natural phenomena led to skepticism among sophisticated (pun intended) Greeks about the existence of the gods. But Zeus was also the institutor and enforcer of justice. So if there is no Zeus, why should we be just?—the overarching question of Plato’s Republic. The first philosophical explanation of the origin and nature of justice (and ethics more generally) was, as already noted, the social contract theory, a variation on which theme was played by practically all the so-called sophists—including Thrasymachus in the first book of the Republic. And as I have also here repeatedly noted, the moral ontology of the social contract theory—egoistic, externally related individuals colliding in a perpetual state of war, each with all, in a social vacuum—mirrors the physical ontology of the atomists: externally related bits of indivisible matter violently colliding in a physical vacuum. The sequence is only slightly more complicated in the second instance. The Christian worldview had become entangled with Aristotelian geocentric cosmology and dynamics, due in large part to the efforts of Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century. When the Earth was displaced from the center of the universe by Copernicus; and then, as the sun became a star and the putatively infinite universe lost its center altogether, not only had Aristotelian dynamics lost its reference point—a center toward which earth moves and away from which fire moves and around which the ethereal heavenly bodies move—Christianity also lost its locations for heaven and hell. So again, religious skepticism ensued, which in turn led to moral skepticism—because God is the author and enforcer of the Ten Commandments and the lesser Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 183   moral rules—and the need for a naturalistic theory of the origin and nature of ethics was again felt. And once more the same social contract theory, only slightly modified by Hobbes, filled the void, as it were. (Greek social contract theorists —such as Thrasymachus, if we are to believe Plato—thought that some were naturally stronger than others. And thus the strong, Plato notes with alarm, would be reluctant signatories of the social contract, because it would deprive them of their natural prey. Therefore, Hobbes insisted that—despite clear differences in strength, intelligence, and other natural endowments—all human social atoms were sufficiently equal that no one could win the war of each against all; and therefore all should be willing signatories of the social contract.) Given this clear historical pattern, the scientific revolution of the 20th century should be followed with some overlap, but also after a lag time of about a century, by a revolution in moral philosophy. Evidence that this is occurring has been detectable for somewhere between a quarter and a half century in the environmental turn in various disciplines of the humanities reviewed here—environmental history, environmental philosophy, religion and ecology, ecotheology, ecocriticism, ecological economics. Further, in the two historical precedents, moral ontology mirrors natural ontology. And the ontology of the contemporary sciences appears to me to be more systemic, holistic, and internally related than that in the Newtonian sciences. This of course is highly debatable. While, for example, ecology in biology is all these things, molecular biology appears to be more and more reductive and materialistic. However, with the advent of a second moment of environmental-crisis awareness—increasing awareness of the crisis of global climate change—the science thrust to the forefront of attention is biogeochemistry, which reveals a Gaian Earth that is certainly systemic, holistic, internally related, and indeed self-organizing and self-regulating. Finally, there is an even larger, more profound revolution afoot, the likes of which has occurred only once before in history, so we have a less reliable basis of anticipating its philosophical ramifications. This is a revolution in communications and information technology. The first such revolution was the shift from orality to literacy. A few humanists— Walter Ong, Eric Havelock, Marshall McLuhan, David Abram—have given it serious study.20 They generally conclude that the invention of letters was accompanied by a profound shift in human consciousness—from a sense of community identity to personal identity and from mythic thought to abstract philosophical and scientific thought being the most salient. Why after all, did a Thales emerge in Greece, just when he did—neither earlier nor later—to be followed by a steady stream of natural philosophers and then moral philosophers? Because, answers Havelock, the Greeks became literate; and, adds Abram, the Greeks were the first to have a fully phonetic alphabet, enabling them perfectly and completely to supplant the oral word with the written word, in contrast to other emerging alphabetical writing techniques. We are presently in the midst of another revolution in communications and information technology, from literacy to Googality—I’m sorry, but I cannot think of a better name. If these scholars are right about the transformation of human consciousness effected by the transition from orality to                                                                                                                           20 Walter Ong, Literacy and Orality: The Technologizing of the Word, 2nd ed. (New York, Routledge, 2002); Eric Havelock, The Muse Learns to Write: Reflections on Orality and Literacy from Antiquity to the Present (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1986); Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographical Man (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1962); David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More than Human World (New York: Pantheon Books, 1996). 184 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013)     literacy, then another transformation of human consciousness may be forthcoming as we leave the linear world of letters and the privacy and intimacy of the one-way conversations we have with books, for the simultaneity, interconnectedness, and interactivity of protean social media—Facebook, texting (and sexting), twitter—and the cyber “cloud.” Comprehending, understanding, and making sense of all these things is what 21st- century philosophy should be all about—as I see it, as a philosopher; and indeed as I have been doing it, as a philosopher. But not only should philosophers and other humanists witness and testify to these changes, driven by science and communications and information technology, I believe that philosophers and humanists more generally are one of the main channels through which a new worldview and perhaps even a new modality of human consciousness might flow. Not only can we articulate and interpret the wonderful new natural world that the sciences are revealing, we can even steer consciousness change in positive and hopeful ways. In our collective cultural life, as in our individual personal lives, I believe in the power of optimism. A new collective worldview and perhaps even a new modality of human consciousness will come about—if it does come about—partly through an inexorable historical dialectic, which has a life of its own, and partly because we humanists have tried with our historiographies, philosophies, theologies, and other scholarly endeavors to put sails and rudders on the boats riding the prevailing winds and currents of thought and steer them in the best directions that we can make out for them to go. And, as I am sure you can now tell, this essay is also an exercise in such humanistic optimism. Following reflections on “first philosophy,” in beginning this essay I suggest that the humanities forge a partnership with the sciences to create a new worldview. From all I have written here, one might suppose that the sciences need only go on, pretty much as they have, ignoring the humanities, and that the humanities should take the initiative to open themselves up to the wonders of the sciences. I seem to be suggesting that the humanities are a χωρα, receiving the ειδη of the sciences. But it’s not much of a contemporary marriage if the memetic flow is all in one direction. Here I am primarily addressing my fellow humanists. Were I addressing scientists I would remind them of the origins of science in natural philosophy and that the high-end scientists—“the noble monarchs of the academy forest,” in Gary Snyder’s idyll, “who come out with some unified theory or perhaps a new paradigm”21—are still essentially natural philosophers, (as the architects of the second scientific revolution were keenly aware), only now they wear lab coats and comfortably inhabit cloistered institutes of advanced study. I would point out the dynamic nature of science, rendering current “truths” at best provisional. I would argue that facts are theory-laden and theories are value-laden. I would note the insidious ways in which science is embedded in society and not immune from influence by social biases, politics, economics, and funding sources.22 Above all I would insist that claims to objectivity and value-free discourse are a pernicious and dangerous pretense. And finally, I would conclude that—for all these reasons and more—the sciences need to open themselves to the wonders of the humanities. But that is a topic for a whole ’nother essay.                                                                                                                           21 Gary Snyder, “The Forest in the Library.” 22 Bruno Latour, Laboratory Life: The Social Construction of Scientific Facts (Los Angeles: Sage Publications, 1979); How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987). Callicott, The NeoPresocratic Manifesto / 185   J. Baird Callicott is University Distinguished Research Professor of Philosophy and formerly Regents Professor of Philosophy at the University of North Texas. He is co-Editor-in-Chief of the Encyclopedia of Environmental Ethics and Philosophy and author or editor of a score of books and author of dozens of journal articles, encyclopedia articles, and book chapters in environmental philosophy and ethics. Email: callicott@unt.edu Bibliography Abbey, Edward. Desert Solitaire. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968. Abram, David. The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More than Human World. New York: Pantheon Books, 1996. Bass, Rick. Winter: Notes from Montana. New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1991. Berry, Thomas and Brian Swimme. The Universe Story from the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era: A Celebration of the Unfolding of the Cosmos. San Francisco: Harper SanFrancisco, 1992. Beston, Henry. Outermost House: A Year of Life on the Great Beach of Cape Cod. New York: Henry Holt & CO., 1992. Buell, Lawrence. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1995. Callicott, J. Baird. Earth’s Insights: A Multicultural Survey of Ecological Ethics from the Mediterranean Basin to the Australian Outback. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Capra, Fritjof. The Tao of Physics: An Exploration of the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism. Berkeley, Cal: Shambala, 1975. Dillard, Annie. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. New York: HarperCollins, 1999 [1974]. Hardin, Garrett. “The Tragedy of the Commons.” Science 162 (1968): 1243-1248. Havelock, Eric. The Muse Learns to Write: Reflections on Orality and Literacy from Antiquity to the Present. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1986. Hughes, J. Donald. Ecology in Ancient Civilizations. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1975. Kropotkin, Peter. Mutual Aid. London: Heinemann, 1902. Latour, Bruno. Laboratory Life: The Social Construction of Scientific Facts. Los Angeles: Sage Publications, 1979. Latour, Bruno. How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987. Leopold, Aldo. A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There. New York: Oxford University Press, 1949. Lueders, Edward. Clam Lake Papers: A Winter in the North Woods. New York: Harper and Row, 1977. McLuhan, Marshall. The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographical Man. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1962. Merchant, Carolyn. The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology, and the Scientific Revolution. San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1980. Nash, Roderick. Wilderness and the American Mind. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1967. Ong, Walter. Literacy and Orality: The Technologizing of the Word. 2nd ed. New York, Routledge, 2002. Quine, W. V. O. From a Logical Point of View. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1953. Smith, Huston. “Tao Now: An Ecological Testament.” In Earth Might be Fair: Reflections of Ethics, Religion, and Ecology., edited by Ian Barbour, 62-81. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1972. Snyder, Gary. “The Forest in the Library.” In Gary Snyder, A Place in Space: Ethics, Aesthetics, and Watersheds, 119-204. New York: Counterpoint, 1995. Snow, C. P. The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution. London: Spectator Lmt., 1962. 186 / Environmental Humanities 2 (2013)     Spencer, Herbert. “Progress: Its Law and Cause.” Westminster Review (1857): 445-447, 451, 454-456, 464-465. White Jr., Lynn. “The Historical Roots of our Ecologic Crisis.” Science 155 (1967): 1203-1207. Ybarra, Priscilla Solis. “‘Lo que quiero es tierra’: Longing and Belonging in Cherríe Moraga’s Ecological Vision.” In New Perspectives on Environmental Justice: Gender, Sexuality, and Activism, edited by Rachel Stein, 240-248. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004. 
work_gt5ito257bgrnkgeo7chnmf6zu	----	UHI Research Database pdf download summary Nordic slow adventure Varley, Peter Published in: Scandinavian Journal of Hospitality and Tourism Publication date: 2013 The Document Version you have downloaded here is: Peer reviewed version Link to author version on UHI Research Database Citation for published version (APA): Varley, P. (2013). Nordic slow adventure: Explorations in time and nature. Scandinavian Journal of Hospitality and Tourism. 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Apr. 2021 https://pure.uhi.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/nordic-slow-adventure(4c4ed730-14d6-4e9c-98d0-c512268a1028).html 1 Nordic Slow Adventure: Explorations in Time and Nature KEYWORDS: friluftsliv, hypermodernity; nature; comfort; passage; adventure tourism; ABSTRACT The potentially paradoxical concept of 'slow adventure' is offered here as having a particularly North European potential and a peculiarly Nordic orientation towards outdoor tourism activity. An overview of the relationship between the slow movements and the frenetically paced, technologically wired lived experience of hypermodernity is considered in the light of the rise of the adventure tourism ‘industry’. We contrast the slow movement principles with mainstream, risk managed and rationalised 'fast' adventure tourism products, which focus predominantly on thrill and rush. The concept of slow adventure, as distinct from slow tourism or slow travel per se is then further developed to include time, passage, comfort and nature, aligned with Scandinavian concepts of friluftsliv, as determining elements in what have become highly regarded tourist experiences. We conclude that there cannot be an essentialist separation of 'slow' and 'fast' adventure (or travel, or tourism, or food…) per se. Rather, that these qualitative aspects of self-supported adventurous journeys illustrate significant, and hitherto largely ignored aspects in the analysis of adventure tourism, and point toward opportunities for well trained outdoor professionals who can make the most of the Nordic great outdoors for small numbers of clients, enabling inclusive, environmentally responsible, high-value, place-specific experiences, all year round. 2 Introduction This paper makes a unique contribution to the body of literature around adventure tourism. Firstly, the paper puts current forms of adventure tourism into context against the backdrop of accelerating, technology-driven ‘hypermodern’ life and the some of the cash-rich, time poor market segments who pay for these convenient experiences. Secondly it focuses on the importance of the temporal, natural, corporeal and philosophical dimensions of being, journeying and living outdoors as less-recognised aspects of such experiences, and part of the spectrum of what passes as ‘adventure tourism’. In doing so it introduces the Scandinavian concept of friluftsliv; the philosophy and practice of living and being outdoors, gently co-existing with nature, alongside that of the central ideas deriving from slow food movements to underline the textual, traditional significance of these elements in extended outdoor adventure experiences. Such conceptual positioning recalls and reconsiders Walle’s (1997) important article confronting obsessions with risk, rather than insight, but goes much further, suggesting the potential for new experiential product development, distinct from the conveniently packaged, ‘de-natured’ intense adventure experiences of thrill and rush at the other end of the nature-adventure spectrum. Wilderness Scotland is the only adventure activity provider in Scotland to receive five stars in Visit Scotland’s national quality assurance scheme. The National Geographic ranked them in 2009 as the number one adventure travel company in Europe. The ethos of the company is summarised on their website as: At the core of our business is a spirit and enthusiasm to explore and journey through the wild places of Scotland; a willingness to share such experiences with others; and to realise the positive socio-economic and environmental benefits of sustainable tourism. Our mission is to provide inspiring, memorable and high quality adventure travel experiences, 3 which benefit the local environments and communities in which we work. Wilderness Scotland (2012). It is apparent from the company’s marketing that the commodification of thrill is not central to their business model, and yet their ranking and status in the adventure tourism industry is of the highest order. It would appear then that Wilderness Scotland have, through a broader interpretation of the notion of adventure, been notably successful in marketing to a particular audience which Weber refers to as ‘marginal adventure tourists’ (2001: 374) (i.e. not adrenaline junkies) and what Walle (1997) has termed ‘insight seekers’. In this paper, we develop the concept of ‘slow adventure’ as a suitable label and organizing framework for these types tourist experiences. It is a concept particularly suited to the wide, wild expanses of many parts of the world, and specifically to the outdoor living and journeying experience potential in Nordic countries. These places often have little in the way of industry or employment prospects, and endure a concomitant ‘drain’ of young people to the cities in search of meaningful, sustainable work. Tourism and hospitality work in these places can often be regarded as a relegation option; unskilled jobs in a low-status industry. Yet the skills required to deliver high quality slow adventure experiences are considerable, valued by many sectors of late-modern society and potentially lucrative. As packaged mass tourism in the 20 th Century has promoted the possibility for guaranteed sun, sea and sand, so the tourists of the 21 st Century seek unusual new luxuries in the form of time in nature, birch wood fires, cooking their own wild food, carrying their own luggage over rough lands or along remote coastlines in kayaks. Such experiences are prized and carry a high price tag in the marketplace as they are currently a scarce resource of rich, meaningful, potentially transcendent and intense experiences (Caru and Cova, 2003; Gelter, 2009; 4 Schouton, McAlexander and Koenig, 2007; Tumbat and Belk, 2011) for clients from outside of Scandinavia. Thus whilst the wide open, nature-rich spaces of these countries are a constant backdrop, possibly taken for granted and free-to-access for most Nordic people, it is important to recognize that such things are regarded quite differently in more densely populated and urbanized countries. In Easto and Warburton’s (2010) market report on adventure tourism in Scotland, they clarify the need for a definition of adventure tourism which moves beyond a focus on adventure sports (2010, p. 5) and they offer a redress to the overly narrow focus of some researchers and marketers who have fixated on risk and thrill; a view echoed by others (Varley, 2006; Walle, 1997; Weber, 2001). The obsession with intense, exciting moments can be seen to be a myopic focus on what might for some seem to be the most vital organ in the body of adventure, but this nevertheless fails to capture the simple, rich experience of extended time in the wild. Easto and Warburton (2010) go on to highlight research by the Adventure Travel Trade Association, who identified seven elements that represented the essence of adventure tourism: Transformation: discovery of the ‘real me’. Discovery: the end result of exploration, and a prize for stepping out of the comfort zone. Deep Appreciation: appreciating something bigger, something timeless and more than our everyday encounters. Engagement: moving beyond a passive encounter to something that is active, engaging with people from different backgrounds, cultures and world views. Web of Life: seeing ourselves as part of an interconnected network of nature. 5 The Real Thing: something which can only truly be experienced by being there. Legacy: passing on the stories, ideas and beliefs. (Easto and Warburton, 2010, p. 16) Clearly, each of these components requires a considerable commitment in terms of participant time, and a willingness to let go; to allow the immersive process of being in a natural environment to unfold. Thus while extended duration and a gradual pace are core ingredients of slow adventure, so too is the subjectivity of temporality; the feeling of time. The concept of slow adventure will initially be contrasted with its imagined opposite: ‘fast-adventure’, below. Theoretical Background Liberation from the confines of the traditional, and the grounded and rooted practices of being and doing, has forced members of industrialised societies into an increasingly agitated and anxious state (Auge, 2008). ‘Hypermodernity’, a term used by Paul Virilio (2000, 2004) and others to describe the accelerating pace of modern lives, increasingly celebrates and embraces flux and change and as such, both society and the individual can be viewed as enacting a continual metamorphosis where the space of our shared and personal values and meanings becomes fragmented, constrained and atomised. This neurasthenic condition, generated by the increasing sense of motion and pace in modernity was anticipated by Simmel’s essay Metropolis and Mental Life (Simmel 1971a). Written over 100 years ago, the phenomenon Simmel describes continues to intensify, now augmented by technological innovation and cyborg-like devices allowing a distancing from immediate physical experience whilst ensuring a constant connection with a multiplicity of virtual worlds and networks. Members of urban-industrialised societies are becoming more sedentary as the concomitant trend toward convenience, packaged experiences and 6 homes created as private technological leisure spaces continues. For many, movement, connection and exploration are being subsumed into the realm of the virtual where travel is instantaneous and no longer confined by the old frontiers (see Auge, 2008, 61-93). In hypermodern society, there is an apparent sense of temporal and spatial transcendence that is manifested through time-saving paraphernalia, communications technology and fast fashions, the processes of globalization and the growth of entertainment and social media. At the same time this may be conceived of as an enslavement: Doomed to inertia, the inactive being transfers his natural capacities for movement and displacement to probes and scanners which instantaneously inform him about a remote reality, to the detriment of his own faculties of apprehension of the real… Having been first mobile, then motorised, man will thus become motile, deliberately limiting his body’s area of influence to a few gestures, a few impulses like channel surfing. (Virilio, 1997, p. 11). This temporo-spatial pressure is further complicated by the sense that the very pace of our lives is outrunning us, leaving us constantly short of time as time itself seems to accelerate (Auge, 2008). Little time is available for individuals to anchor themselves ontologically with places, narratives and histories which confer meaning (Lipovetsky and Charles, 2005; Virilio 1989). Castells (1996) suggests that the ‘ground’ of hypermodernity is ever-shifting, and that simultaneously the subject is lost in a world of discontinuity; connected with but confined by complex social networks of human consumption and communication which are extending and accelerating into more and more social spheres (Lipovetsky and Charles, 2005). During the same period, the modern era has allowed and promoted the expansion of tourism, via processes of rationalisation, which compress and control time for economic gain, but also allow managed free time for the refreshment of labour and for consumption. ‘Free time’, therefore, often becomes an imagined opportunity for a reconnection with romanticised notions of rich, meaningful 7 experiences. Inevitably, adventurous tourism and leisure have also been thoroughly colonised by capitalism, commodified, and as such might often fail to deliver their promised or imagined rewards. The experiences are invariably tightly controlled, and, for the adventure tourism consumer, could even be alienating, as tourists recognise their need for expert help in order to recreate safely outdoors is emphasised. Fast Adventure The roots of the commodified form ‘fast adventure’ are deeply woven into the history and psyche of modernity (and eventually hypermodernity) through the ideology, narratives and glorification of an ‘adventure mentality’ (Nerlich, 1987) via fairy tales and accounts of heroic deeds. Later the adventure forms, already recognised as a useful aspect of capitalist exploitation, became training and education ‘products’ and, later, marketed tourist experiences. The ensuing rationalisation and commodification of adventure into adventure tourism (Varley, 2006), marked the beginning of a new epoch as such, where the romantic promise of adventure was brought a step closer to the masses through an increasingly focused range of exciting holiday activities. The rationalising logic of ‘McDonaldization’ (Ritzer, 1993) has subsumed the notion of adventure into the market place, where increasing levels of convenience, predictability and comfort are paramount. The marketplace has in short distilled the story of adventure down to its climactic moment and at the same time filtered out its slow, uncomfortable and less attractive aspects. Many theories of adventure (Ewert, 1989; Keiwa, 2002; Lewis, 2000, 2004; Martin & Priest, 1986; Morgan, 2000; Mortlock, 1984; Priest & Bunting, 1993) encapsulate the adventure motive as a desire for borderline experiences occupying the threshold between catastrophe and adventure. Such representations, 8 with their almost fatalistic proximity to disaster seem essentialist and elitist, and intuitively are at odds with the motives of many contemporary adventure travellers and tourists. Whilst the bungee jump, zip wires, white water rafting trips and abseiling sessions all squeeze the highest thrill quota into the tightest package (Cater, 2006; Cloke and Perkins, 2002), they ignore the wider experiential context. As such, these capsule adventures can become decontextualised from the broader narratives of journey, dwelling and exploration and dislocated both from the environmental context and the holistic social nature of the experience. The resulting “adventure in a bun… disassociate[s] people from their experience of community and place” (Loynes, 1998, p.35) similar to the ways in which fast food is conveniently removed from its origins as a rationalised mélange of anonymised ingredients in contrast to slow food, which is a celebration of provenance, tradition and time. The carefully marketed images of physically attractive bodies and textually mediated discourses on television and in adventure marketing communications also endow the performances of the fast adventurers with social significance and value. Adventure is ‘sexy’; being adventurous thus bestows an identity label, provides signifiers of cultural capital and emblems of social status for sale (Beedie and Hudson, 2003; Buckley, 2003; Cloke & Perkins, 2002). Such occurrences are, according to Moores (2000, p. 40) ‘a distinctive feature of contemporary society, existing as socially organised communicative and interpretive practices intersecting with and structuring people’s everyday worlds’. It is therefore easy to regard forms of ‘fast adventure’ as belonging to the world of everyday consumer culture (Chaney, 2002) and consumer identity projects. 9 Best’s (1989) work on the society of the spectacle can be applied to further articulate the notion of fast adventure, where showmanship, voyeurism, extreme sports channels, sponsored ‘heroes’ and the staging and marketing of the ‘wow moment’ (see Cloke & Perkins, 2002) all play their part. This spectacle is given credence through the processes of 'post-mass tourism' (Urry, 1990) whereby fast adventure, as a commodity, is viewed as a badge of honour to be acquired, promising novelty, status, identity and excitement: Participants engaging in commercial adventurous activity primarily seek fear and thrills. The most successful adventure tourism operators are those that have reduced their actual risk levels whilst effectively commodifying the thrills within. (Cater, 2006, p. 317) Thus the fast adventure archetype, as a product of cash-rich, time-poor consumer society, when linked to the march of the hypermodern condition can be viewed as a part of the fabric of the everyday world of consumerism and, for many, ingredients in off-the-shelf identity construction projects. Yet, even in many ‘fast adventure’ experiences, there can be slow moments; of contemplation sat on the belay ledge, inner thoughts undisturbed by work calls, texts and emails, and the experience of raw nature at its wildest in rough rivers or on snowy mountain slopes. Slow Adventure Against the dystopic portrayals of hypermodernity, Honore (2004) has documented an emerging global phenomenon; ‘slowness movements’ which appear to be growing in response to, if not directly in confrontation with, the speeding up of society. The counter-cultural wave, manifesting itself in forms of 10 slow food, slow cities, slow travel, slow tourism, slow learning is evidence of a widespread perception that a fundamental slowing down is required if we are to focus on quality and meaning in our lives as opposed to convenience and efficiency (Honore, 2004). The movements are characterised by a valorisation of heritage, time, tradition and authenticity, and our conceptualisation of slow adventure is no different. In the Slow Food movement, local delicacies are renowned for their central role in local life, traditional practice and culture. Slow, rather than fast, processes of production (and consumption) are important. Effort and extended time taken in both production and consumption confers quality and value via objectified authenticity and is set in opposition to the rationalised, effort-saving and time-saving processes of fast / convenient food systems. Slow food is of the land, of the people and seasonal (of time) and its production and consumption reflects this: it is in essence participatory, and of the ‘ground’ Lash (1997). The idea of slow adventure, in partial contrast to fast adventure, above, is a celebration of the (ir)rationality of uncertainty, unpredictability, transience, experiment, and the emotional content of human experience, particularly in the context of the great outdoors and engagements with what Gelter, referring to the Nordic concept of friluftsliv, has called the ‘more-than-human world’ (2000). These aspects of an ‘other’ modernity celebrate aspects of life that are central to the slow movements. As the pace of life accelerates, and de-differentiation is accentuated, there is a nostalgia for what is often lost in advanced capitalism is the dimension of what Lash (1999) has referred to as the ground; the ‘forgotten ground’. Slow adventures are in effect explorations of and reconnections with this ground: feeling, sensing and investing in place, community, belonging, sociality, and tradition over time and in nature. In developing these ideas, we borrow heavily from the philosophies of friluftsliv, but, following Gelter and others, are cautious about the challenges of a commercialised ‘friluftsliv’ which is shallow, packaged and focuses on the glamour of achievement and the fetishisation of modern technologies and equipment (Buckley, 2003). 11 Slow movements, in general, are a counter-cultural response to mass industrialisation, attempting to recover and protect modernity's forgotten ground against the backdrop of rational marketization and hypermodernity. Here we present the concept of slow adventure, initially by contrasting the slow movement ideas with the more mainstream, ‘fast’ packaged adventure experiences (above) available in the marketplace and then by considering its key dimensions, described here as nature, time, passage, and comfort. It is important to recognize that what is discussed here is the participants’ experience of the extraordinary, such as deep spiritual feelings or transcendental moments, but that these are often wrapped up in quotidian activities such as walking, cooking, making shelter and so forth, which could only be framed as extraordinary due to the setting and context. Whilst the prefix ‘slow’ seems currently to be almost ubiquitous in a variety of contemporary cultural realms, the term is used here as stimulus for the recognition of a peculiar paradox. Most adventures, particularly in the commercial arena, would be regarded as ‘fast’, encompassing as they do the intense, focused moments of conveniently packaged excitement which fit neatly into busy urban lives. To speak of ‘slow adventure’ at first seems at odds with the known in common concept of adventure, involving uncertainty, risk, play, notions of heroism, thrill and excitement (Buckley, 2011; Gyimothy and Mykletun, 2004; Lindberg, Hansen and Eide, 2013). However, there exist adventure forms which share many of the core values attributed to other aspects of the slow movements, including; respect for quality over convenience, tradition, ‘authentic’ experience, the connection between people and place, exploration, and extended time for rejuvenation, re-enchantment and reflection (Honore, 2004). These forms are particularly important in some spheres of Nordic tourism, where landscapes are lightly populated, may be perceived as wild and are imbued with the culture, stories and practices of indigenous peoples. 12 There is also an ambiguity; slow food characteristics can vary due to the people, soils, weather and time of consumption. This is an aspect encompassed by the French term, terroir, and suggests the variability of food, or in our case, experience, due to natural variations in conditions; landscape, weather, season, time (Barham, 2003). Slow adventures will also vary with weather, landscape, time and so forth. Time, inevitably, is the core strand which underpins the slow movements. As Fullagar, Wilson and Markwell (2012) suggest, time lost through over-committed lives translates as time invested (found) in production, in connecting with place, in being with others, in shared enjoyment and communitas during slow tourism; it is time which allows meaning to be generated and experiences and memories to coalesce either in a commercial context or as personal aspects of outdoor leisure and tourism. Put simply, the concept of slow adventure is based on an appreciation of the journey as an experiential dimension rather than the chore of getting to a destination. In this sense, the journey; being there, in the land or on the sea is the holiday. Gardner argues that ‘speed destroys the connection with the landscape’ and space-time compression accelerating in hypermodernity means that journeys often lose their significance as part of the tourist experience in many contexts (2009, p.13). If the journey is slow, takes time, and requires effort, the tension of separation, the distance between the familiar and the exotic is more directly experienced through the process of travel from one place to another and through the linear transit of routes (Tuan 2003). Thus ‘the trip constitutes... a place where time stands still or is reversed into a utopian space of freedom, abundance and transparency’ (Curtis and Pajaczkowska, 1994, p.199). As Howard (2012) points out, however, echoing Tuan’s (1998) arguments in Escapism, late-modern consumers will access their experiences by exploring the internet and invariably booking online – even slow ‘escape’ is thus contingent upon the (fast) technologies required to achieve it. 13 The apparently paradoxical notion of slow adventure also draws upon the recent work on slow travel and tourism (Dickinson & Lumsden 2010; Gardner 2009; Howard 2012), which itself builds in part upon the notion of mobility (Urry, 2000; 2002; 2007), and the ideologies of the slow movements to present a new analytical framework for adventure tourism research. For the slow adventurer, the geography delineating the realms of home and holiday expands, no longer as a problem requiring the speediest execution, but rather as a field of opportunity for a particular leisure and tourism experience to unfold. An example of an existing Nordic slow adventure-as-tourism enterprise, Hotel Spruce, is offered below: Advertisement: Wilderness living at Hotel Spruce, Norway Hotel Spruce is the most unique wilderness living adventure in Norway. At the worlds only 5- (thousand) stars hotel – you`ll enjoy sleeping in open air, love wild food and wilderness cooking. Days are spent hiking, canoeing and wildlife watching… Even though a stay at Hotel Spruce will develop your skills and prepare you for a solo trip out in the wilderness, this is not a survival course” says former Norwegian Navy Seal, Petter Thorsen. “It’s all about enjoying the simple life in nature, with good food and new friendships as a result. It also involves learning, sharing and appreciating the extreme luxury the simple outdoor life can give. Great food, hot fires and fresh air under the hotel’s custom-made canopies, from which you can lie in your sleeping bag and see thousands of stars twinkling in the heavens. You know you have come to the right place when the bearded man in the checked shirt, Geir Vie, puts his hand out and gives you the kind of handshake you’d expect from his appearance. But this is not a mere front for the tourists. Geir is a dyed-in-the-wool 14 local, an outdoorsman through and through, with a lifetime of experience as a field biologist, outdoors chef, organic smallholder and carpenter. He’s highly practical and an incurable optimist, with a passion for culture and tradition Source: Wild Norway Archives (2013) Friluftsliv Following on from Hotel Spruce, it is appropriate to further consider the idea of friluftsliv at this stage, as a cultural practice, a form of outdoor experiencing and variously as a lived philosophy of Nordic peoples. Crystal clear water sparkles around us with the marbled river bottom several meters below, giving the sensation of our canoe gliding in open air. The strong current and our synchronized paddle strokes carry the canoe down this Arctic river with a force that creates a deep shiver of pleasure. The breathtaking big sky above us, the river valley bordered by magnificent mountains, and the sensation of undisturbed wildlife surrounding us causes a deep emotional storm of happiness within, filling my eyes with tears – a spiritual, almost religious feeling I often experience in nature. This landscape absorbs me so completely, entering through all of my senses and directly touching my limbic system. This gives me a sensation of a total integration with this land: a strong feeling of being at home in a place I have never visited before. Sensing myself as part of the landscape… ‘I get a strong feeling of knowing the ways of things around me. Gelter (2000, p.77-78). The above was Gelter’s (2000) introduction to his study of friluftsliv. He identifies the movements as a back-to-nature zeitgeist in response to industrialization and urbanization in the 18 th Century and therefore 15 being the preserve of the educated and leisured classes. Pederson Gurholt (2008) adds that friluftsliv was precisely the preserve of those wistfully seeking to recover the connections with the outdoors enjoyed by their grandparents, who lived on, in and from the land. Successful Scandinavian explorers strengthened the image. Both Pederson Gurholt (2008) and Gelter (2000) point to the tremendous influences of Arne Næss and Fridtjof Nansen in shaping the ideas of ‘outdoor life’ philosophies in Norway and beyond. Gelter even argues that friluftsliv was organized and developed by one of the world’s first tourism organisations, Den Norske Turistforening, or DNT, promoting skiing and other healthy outdoor activities as a counter to the new urban ills. But, as he (2000) later opines, there is a forceful commercialization current in outdoor activities, such that new equipment and activity sub-cultures are reified, fetishised and promoted. This may suggest the practice of friluftsliv as exclusive, expensive and hard to access, yet the basic philosophy is about simple, basic outdoor life, living comfortably in and with nature; staring at the flames in a fire, or listening to the waves crashing on a beach. Just being, outdoors. Dickenson & Lumsdon (2010, p.88) state that the “embodied sense of being there, physically coping with the locality” is a central experiential aspect of slow travel that leads to the formation of significant memories and narratives which often relate to the adventurous moments of such journeys. Yet they pay little attention to the leisure and tourism form ‘adventure’. This may in part rest upon the aforementioned paradox: that combining the term ‘slow’ with the term ‘adventure,’ may seem odd when popular representations and dominant discourses tend to focus on speed, rush and thrill (Cater, 2006; Buckley 2011). Slow adventures are imbued with a sense of the explorer-ethic and with a hitherto conflicting ecosophical sense of comfortably dwelling in wild places in recognition that such places are (or were once) in fact our home (Faarlund 1993, Næss, 1993; Varley and Medway, 2010). The ‘conflict’ arises from ideologies and narratives drawn from the era of exploitative exploration under colonial capitalism, 16 set against more contemporary notions of belonging to the wild (Næss, 1993). Trends, which might evidence the increasing interest in such adventure tourism forms, include the massive rise in prime time television programmes celebrating apparently pristine environments, indigenous cultures, bush craft and survival skills (Fullagar et al. 2012). Gelter’s crucial work in this regard is represented in his 2009 paper in which he considers various filuftsliv experiences as, in part expressive of, and also as an adjunct to what he calls ‘transmodernity’. In particular, he points toward the ‘adventuretainment’ and ‘eco- edutainment’ trends for friluftsliv and how, rather than travelling to exotic places with guaranteed sun, sea and sand, we can return, via extraordinary tourist experiences, to our original home, our nature (Gelter 2009). In this sense, he makes the case for a friluftsliv which is not old-fashioned, but is absolutely right for the new generations of hypermodernity and even ‘homo zappiens’ – inhabitants of the online social media world (2009, p.32). Supporting such assertions, the global industry membership body, the Adventure Travel Trade Association, states that: Today’s adventure traveller seeks experiences beyond high-adrenaline sports. Adventure provides a mix of activities that enable authentic, un-manufactured experiences Wild Scotland (2010) Walle’s (1997) ‘insight model’ confronted the dominant focus on risk taking behaviour with the proposition that risk is merely the by-product of a more important and overarching motivation for insight and knowledge in wild places and that the tourism industry can benefit by developing products for this market. Walle’s article draws upon the rich legacy of American writers and thinkers such as John Muir, 17 Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry David Thoreau who have drawn philosophical and ethical inspiration from their experiences of nature (ibid 1997). The key example provided by Walle, that of fly fishing, fails to satisfy many of the accepted terms of reference for theorists of ‘risk and rush’ adventure . If, however, Walle’s ideas are expanded around fly fishing to include self supported travel, navigation, wild camping, particularly but not necessarily in remote, unpopulated and ‘wild’ locations, then the journey to the location, as well as the actual fishing, start to take on the mantle of what we here term ‘slow adventure’ and to some extent ‘friluftsliv’. To be sure, following these ideas, there are opportunities to experience slow adventure in locations less wild and closer to our urban homes, as long as the immersive nature of journeying and living outdoors can be present. Elements Of Slow Adventure Whilst the rationalisation of excitement is no doubt a desirable selling point for the commercial operator, it is not the only source of competitive advantage in the adventure tourism industry. We propose that the qualities of slow adventure include elements of the journey; the joys and hardships of outdoor living, self propelled travel and associated physical engagement with the natural environment over time. These ‘qualities’ may be summarised as: time, nature, passage and comfort. They are totally interdependent and deliberately malleable and all impact upon mind and body. As Lindberg et al (2013) propose, this notion of slow adventure is in effect a multi-relational perspective; time, context (nature), the body in movement (passage), and a ‘comfortable’ interaction with the environment serve as ontological conceptions for understanding these dynamic experiences and meanings. ‘Time’ is inevitably an important experiential component, and the awareness of time passing during outdoor journeys is felt during the ‘passage’ (see below) of the journey itself, and via natural change such 18 as light and dark, tides and weather. In slow adventure, time does not merely pass, but is felt, in bodily rhythms of tiredness, sleep, wakefulness, and effort. For example, the perception of time via the dropping of the sun is corporeally evident as winds rise, the air becomes cold and shadows lengthen. Moreover, the significance of time is woven into the landscape as history, heritage, tradition, and origin (Ingold 1993). The effects of ‘Nature’ are acute in slow adventures, due to the extended time of exposure to them. Basking in the sun on rocks worn smooth by glacial erosion; the unfolding of natural expanses and wide skies; feet sinking into peat bogs; cooking in wild mountain corries; encounters with wildlife; struggling with tents in rain, snow and wind; storm or star watching; sleeping in and with the great outdoors. It is this direct engagement with natural forces which insists that participants envelop themselves in their environment; surrender to it, even. Further, natural encounters with plants, animals and geological features can provide a story set in time and in a particular environment. Recent work by Fredman, Wall- Reinius and Grunden (2012) is useful here in considering the qualities, management and characteristics of nature for nature-based activities – in this case, remoteness, biodiversity and other considerations are also of interest, and subsequent research might enquire as to the key properties of environments suited to the slow adventure concept. Furthermore, the fact that most Scandinavian countries, via the principle of ‘allemansretten’ or every man’s right enjoy free access to open, non-garden land, and that Scotland and Iceland enjoy similar privileges, helps to demonstrate the potential for this form of tourism development for Northern European countries. The term ‘passage’ refers not only to the physical journeying through a physical landscape, (as opposed to the passage over the landscape of the passenger) but is also a journey of change and transformation, which takes time (Schouten et al. 2007). ‘Passage’ encompasses the navigation of self through time and space; 19 the crossing of borders and natural obstacles; moving toward horizons and the retrospective gaze to where the traveller has come from. Tuan (2003, p. 54) suggests that ‘human lives are a dialectical movement between shelter and venture, attachment and freedom’. Between the identifiable events or touristic highlights, which the literature focuses upon, the slow adventurer’s day unfolds in quiet periods of human- or nature- powered travel which may lead to boredom, day dreaming and trance-like lapses of self awareness. This is the embodied journey to / from elsewhere, where the slow adventure tourist carries only the basic material requisites for survival (food, shelter, navigational aids etc.) and usually by their own physical effort. It is the very linearity and gradual passage and progression which contrasts with the spasmodic, frenetic virtual meta-city described by Virilio and Auge. The mobilities of slow adventure unravel the ‘discontinuity and interdict’ of the worldwide metropolis (Auge, 2008, p. xiii) and may be considered to enhance the apparent effects of ‘time stretching’. The relationship between the body, the journey and immersion in natural time offers both corporeal and geographical evidence of passage, suggesting the decompression of hypermodern time. This effect may eventually then allow a synchronisation of natural and personal rhythms (Gelter, 2000). As such, time itself is, from a qualitative perspective, regained, refelt and recognized, perhaps as a recovery of the forgotten aspect of child-experienced-time. In part that is a playful notion of day-dream-time where the mind can wander freely. Passage, then, is a function of time, embedded in nature, and a growing comfort in the process of the journey. ‘Comfort’ equally has a number of meanings in the context of slow adventure. Firstly, there is the process of becoming comfortable with the challenges presented by the journey (sustained effort for example). Indeed, blisters, sores, sunburn, aches and pains would initially be framed as dis-comfort, and at odds with 20 the usual tourist product. Yet the journey becomes inscribed upon the adventurer’s body, in salt, sores and sunburn, mud, sweat and moss (Varley, 2011). Dimmock writes of the ‘comfort’ found metres down beneath the waves, cocooned in an alien environment, and in slow adventure too, ‘comfort reflects one’s ability to function easily within an environment where engagement is free from stress and difficulty’ (2009, p. 279, see also Cater, 2008). In addition, comfort may be derived from a re-connection with place, tradition and history (linked to time). The traditional, rural life, imagined as slow, rich and meaningful can become a ‘refuge’ landscape; a place to escape to. The spiritual or transcendental dimension of rural tourism (Sharpley & Jepson, 2011) can be applied to the landscapes of adventure through the extension of a notion of slow interaction. Within this extension, the departure from the speed of the metropolis (Virilio, 1997) to the comfortable parameters of a vernacular language (Alexander, 1979) and indigenous practices (McIntosh, 2001) are taken a step further into an almost primitive condition of survival. Whilst inescapably framed by our cultural perspectives, such experiences are none-the-less pre-modern in essence and to an extent pre-socialised in their rawness. The world’s wild places, particularly those that require extended journeys to encounter them, offer a different reality for many and may be actively or sub-consciously pursued by some adventurers as a refuge, or therapeutic space that is in contrast to the fragmented, accelerating, mediated experience of the hypermodern subject. Effectively, time, nature, passage and comfort promote the sense of resistance to hypermodern conditions of lightness and speed, and offer the opportunity to dwell and connect with places lived in and passed through (Obrador-pons, 2003). 21 A circumnavigation of a tidal island by sea kayak exposes the paddler to a diurnal rhythm measured by the arc of the sun and the pull of the moon in a natural world in which the kayaker is suspended. As such, the lunar cycle is experienced through the flows and ebbs of the tide. The kayaker’s journey is dependent upon both a rational and experiential understanding of tidal flows as well as localised knowledge of how the particular manifestations of those forces may make stretches of coast impassable at certain times of the tide. These temporal flows are experienced sensually, as is the dream-like trudge across a moonlight expanse of frozen sastrugi, the changing texture and sound of the neve crunching underfoot or the freezing katabatic winds surging before the peaks appear in a glow of refracted light. The associated fusion of mind, body and environment through these forms of active, extended immersion may be felt as a deep sense of enjoyment, satisfaction and creative accomplishment (Boniface, 2000; Csikszentmihalyi, 1975; Gelter, 2000; Hardy, 2003). Whilst fast adventure can be experienced by the tourist almost on a whim; for example as a half-day activity, a ‘multi-activity taster week’ or as part of a wider holiday experience, slow adventure requires more serious commitment from participants of both time and energy. Commitment, uncertainty, natural hazards, navigation, transit, remoteness and increasing self sufficiency are all necessary ingredients of slow adventure which in combination impact the tourist’s spatial and temporal perceptions even to varying degrees in the commercial service-scape. In addition, when boredom, hunger, anxiety and physical discomfort take hold, the experience is often not easily exchangeable for a more pleasing, accessible commodity. Thus while the notion of escapism and freedom (Tuan 1998) may well be themes of slow adventure (and of tourism in general), so too in slow adventure is the paradoxical notion of inescapability and commitment. In this sense the journeying element of slow adventure assumes a work- 22 like aspect quite distinct from many other forms of tourism. Here, as in friluftsliv, life is a lived and embodied journey where dualisms of work and leisure, travel and residency, attachment and freedom become blurred, ‘body and mind harmonise’ (Gelter, 2000). It is in this light that the slow adventurer is perhaps, through their extended inhabitation of a ‘natural’ environment, establishing a newly territorialised everyday. Routines such as the erecting of tents, the packing of gear, collecting water, cutting wood, cooking, all take on a deeper significance as part of the whole unfolding process of daily life on the journey. As Gelter (2000) would have it, these characteristics separate the consumer/spectator tourist from the slow adventurer who must connect, and commit. Conclusions In this paper we have added the concept of slow adventure to the adventure tourism debate, and have also considered the distinctive philosophical and cultural form, friluftsliv, as a characteristic of some kinds of outdoor recreation conducted in Scandinavian countries. If the two concepts are combined, a very particular approach to what might be called slow adventure tourism is arrived at. In these countries, for many of the population, the outdoors is ‘home’, and can be a source of tranquility, transcendence, food, exercise and refreshment. This is not the case for many of the populations who might wish to experience such things, however, and members of densely populated BRIC countries and others could form a viable and lucrative market, keen to experience these remarkable ways of living which contrast with their own lived experiences. The notions of departure and return are embedded within tourism as a transition from the everyday to the extraordinary and back again in a search for pleasure (Rojek and Urry 1997). Within the sphere of adventure this notion is often framed as escapism; a quest for freedom or solitude or an 23 escape attempt of sorts (Cohen and Taylor, 1992; Pigram & Jenkins, 2006; Schmidt & Little, 2007; Tuan, 1998). It must be recognised however that slow adventure, like any other aspect of tourism, is absolutely part of hypermodernity, generated as a dialectical response to the frenetic, neurasthenic conditions of contemporary urban life, and curiously may be regarded as a way of coming home, rather than escaping. There cannot be a reified, essentialist separation of ‘slow’ and ‘fast’ adventure (or travel, or food…) per se. Rather, these experiences are arraigned along a continuum and determined by qualitative, subjective, and temporal aspects. Indeed, the slow adventure concept itself is in effect a spectrum of experiences, where long arduous expeditions in remote, lightly explored, far-from-help regions may be deemed more committing than a half-day spent in contemplation, fishing and foraging for wild food on the sea shore. All, however, are aspects which might allow degrees of transcendence, remove and respite from the frenetic pace of the urban everyday in hypermodernity – most will have elements of ‘fast’ and ‘slow’ adventure in them. Slow adventures, and the practices of friluftsliv are clearly, in the eyes of the protagonists, worth the effort. There is a dislocation between the surroundings of opulence, comfort and luxury of a holiday in a resort with the simplicity of a wilderness expedition, yet both are ‘luxuries, of a kind. In the latter endeavor there is an evident investment of time, bodily effort, a sacrifice of modern comfort and a commitment to the outdoor life that suggests that rewards of particular personal significance may be a central motivation rather than the quest for conveniently packaged comfort and pleasure. The proposition then is not that slow adventure is any more or less authentic or adventurous (or intense) than other tourist activities, but that its protagonists may be particularly concerned and driven by the idea of pursuing their own existential projects, and more on their own terms. Whilst slow adventures might at times be 24 structured by the marketplace and dependent upon the technologies of the modern world, there is within them a noticeable stepping away from the project of efficiency and speed. The closely managed experience is replaced by a focus on the particular, variable and localised aspects of place and the method of exploration is the inverse of efficient; it is necessarily ‘slow’, self-guided or enabled. Counter-culture movements, such as slow food, are seen by authors such as Nilsson, Svärd, Widarsson and Wirell (2007) to be expressions of a stance that values place-based relationships, local distinctiveness and process over homogenisation and efficiency. But all of this is relative; most ‘slow’ adventure tourism products will have elements of rationalisation, predictability and control, and many ‘fast’ adventures will include contemplation and ‘slow’ moments. The fast-slow comparison is not a divide, but a spectrum of tourist possibilities and products. We cannot claim that slow adventure is in any sense an absolute standard with which to segment the tourism industry. Rather, slow adventure is a concept, which, like other elements of the slow movement, may ultimately attract some quality standards, professional awards, brands and assurances (and therefore to some extent become more rationalized in the future). What it does depend upon, and what is celebrated, are the wild, open, natural places of the world, and the preservation of traditional methods of access and egress, along with free access rights for people to be there. Countries must therefore confront and carefully consider ideas such as increasing or allowing snow mobile access, mountain bike track building and other developments in the knowledge that these places are fragile, and that they can support sustainable forms of tourism only if preserved and enhanced (Fredman, Wall-Reinus and Grunden, 2012; Sandell, 2005). We have used the cross-cutting planes of time, nature, passage and comfort which form a web of ideas connecting and dividing the dialectic between ‘fast’ and ‘slow’ adventure and distinguishing slow adventure from slow travel / tourism. Time in this sense also encompasses the ‘decompression’ potential 25 of slow adventure, infused with the ideas of deep friluftsliv, particularly as Wild Norway and Wilderness Scotland would have it – journeys unfold at human pace, meals take time to prepare; time is spent directly in the effort of journeying and living. Memories may be created during the journey, but they may also be re-connected with. Nature, of course, has its own time frame, and the slow adventurer attunes themselves to this phenomenon. In fast adventures, the vagaries of nature are often managed-out; the time-pressured consumer cannot wait for rivers to rise for their rafting trip, so instead, dam-release timings are adhered to; climbing walls are built indoors in order that climbing can take place regardless of the weather and so forth. In slow adventures, nature offers an inescapable contrast to the manageable urban setting. Clothes get wet with sweat, rain, river or seawater, whilst winds or snow can make crossings impossible and tents collapse. The natural aspect of slow adventures intersects with the other themes here and simultaneously confronts the rationalising tendencies of modernity. The concept of passage is also an important, deliberately soft construct. Passage, clearly, encompasses the effort made in journeying, but also includes some contrasts. In slow adventure the tourist is an active traveller, not a passive passenger; people, nature, time and discomfort are to be coped-with, endured, enjoyed; effort is required, as is commitment. But the term passage also suggests the possibility for metamorphosis; a transcendent potential not unlike that suggested by Walle (1997). This metamorphosis may lead to additional qualities of the ‘passage’ which are closely interwoven with the fourth concept, comfort; it may lead to the participant feeling a sense of heftedness to the land, river or sea, to momentary dwelling and what Simmel (1971b) has suggested is the ‘unconditional presentness’ of the adventure; being there. It is here that we propose the journeys of slow adventure differentiate themselves in that they liberate tourists from the confines of rational time and return the traveller to the ground. Auge’s (2008) most pessimistic portrayals of modernity present the dark 26 downside of our mobility where the global-city with a standardised, anonymous centre, grinds down local distinctiveness, creates insecurity, and decentres the individual in a world of discontinuity. It is against this backdrop that recreation and tourism assumes an important role in bringing people together in activities where a sense of environmental consciousness, belonging, emotional commonality and communitas are experienced (Robinson, 2008; Wheaton, 2004). In this sense, slow adventure fits well with the people, landscapes, cultures and skills of the Nordic countries, and emerges as an opportunity to facilitate high value, unique and memorable experiences. It may also be a concept that makes Nordic tourism distinctive and highly valued for those on the outside – a sustainable, eco-sensible tourism rich in the skills and cultures of the region and its peoples. As studies by Pouta, Neuvonen and Sievänen (2013) suggest, nature-based tourism can attract high-spending tourists, particularly valuable in the remote rural settings suited to slow adventure. Similarly, Tangleland (2011) argues that there is tremendous potential for growth in the sector, and that participants are indeed seeking transformative, learning experiences and insights. These experiences can only adequately be delivered by well trained, professional guides who, in addition to the hard skills of navigation, first aid, mountaineering or kayaking, must be well versed in the soft skills of outdoor hospitality, emotional intelligence and facilitation (Valkonen, Huilaja and Koikkalainen, 2013). Clearly, there are opportunities for further qualitative research into the nature of these experiences, accounts of them and the key points of value to visiting tourists. 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work_gtv4qywxljczfeocvhyb37mf7y	----	Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: Immigration, Ecocriticism, and Otherness Silva, Reinaldo Francisco. “Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: Immigration, Ecocriticism, and Otherness”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 13, 2020, pp. 1–12. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.7 RESEARCH Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: Immigration, Ecocriticism, and Otherness Reinaldo Francisco Silva Universidade de Aveiro, Centro de Línguas, Literaturas e Culturas, Departamento de Línguas e Culturas, Universidade de Aveiro e Centro de Estudos Anglísticos, Faculdade de Letras, Universidade de Lisboa, PT reinaldosilva@ua.pt This essay aims at revisiting Henry David Thoreau’s Walden (1854), especially the episode in chapter X, “Baker Farm,” where Thoreau introduces the reader to an Irish immigrant, John Field. A hard-working farmer, Field thinks he is moving his way up the American social ladder and, presumably, dream, when, in fact, Thoreau tells us he is toiling just to feed unnecessary body needs. Whereas Field views his coming to America as a blessing for he could purchase these commodities, Thoreau notes that “the only true America is that country where you are at lib- erty to pursue such a mode of life as may enable you to do without these.” This episode will assist me in my discussion of Thoreau’s environmental concerns by way of focusing on Otherness – in this case, an Irishman, a victim of the Hungry Forties. I will attempt to show Thoreau as a man complicit with racial stereotyping considering that in this passage he viewed the Irish as slovenly, dirty, imbecile, and good-for-nothing. Throughout the nineteenth- century, such racial stereotyping would be extended to other ethnic minorities arriving at the turn-of-the-century and a subject of inquiry by ethnologists and sociologists. The Irish, who had to fight for their whiteness, were not alone in this battle considering that Southern Euro- peans – with the Portuguese, in particular – were said to possess “some negro blood,” as Donald Taft has argued in Two Portuguese Communities in New England (1923). This rhetoric would be later on fine-tuned during the Eugenics movement in the 1920s and culminating in the Holocaust during World War II. My contention in this essay is that Thoreau was complicit with America’s paranoia about the boundaries of whiteness. Keywords: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden; Henry David Thoreau and Immigration; Henry David Thoreau and Ecocriticism; Henry David Thoreau and Otherness O presente ensaio propõe-se revisitar a obra de Henry David Thoreau, Walden, publicada em 1854, sobretudo o episódio no capítulo X, “Baker Farm,” onde Thoreau nos apresenta um emi- grante irlandês, John Field. Um trabalhador incansável, Field julga estar a subir a pulso na vida na sociedade norte-americana e, presumivelmente, a concretizar o sonho americano, quando, de facto, Thoreau diz-nos que ele está simplesmente a labutar para satisfazer necessidades corpo- rais desnecessárias. Enquanto Field entende que a sua vinda para a América foi uma bênção, na medida em que agora podia adquirir estes géneros, Thoreau comenta que “a verdadeira América é unicamente aquele país onde se tem liberdade para que se possa seguir o estilo de vida que nos permita passar sem eles.” Este episódio proporciona uma análise das preocupações ambientalistas de Thoreau, por via das suas perceções do Outro, nomeadamente a de um irlandês, vitima da fome no seu país (década de 1840). Tentaremos demonstrar como Thoreau foi conivente com a utilização dos estereótipos racistas na medida em que neste trecho descreve os irlandeses como sendo pouco asseados, sujos, imbecis e sem grande iniciativa. Ao longo do século XIX, estes estereótipos raciais também seriam aplicados a outras minorias étnicas, que chegavam á América em finais do século, assim como um tema de pesquisa para etnólogos e sociólogos. Esta luta em serem trata- dos como brancos não se aplicou somente aos irlandeses na medida em que se dizia que os povos https://doi.org/10.5334/as.7 mailto:reinaldosilva@ua.pt Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 2 of 12 da Europa do Sul – nomeadamente os portugueses – possuíam “algum sangue negro,” tal como afirmara Donald Taft na sua obra, Two Portuguese Communities in New England (1923). Mais tarde, esta retórica tornar-se-ia mais acutilante durante a vigência do movimento da Eugenia durante a década de 1920 e culminando, deste modo, no Holocausto durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial. O argumento principal neste ensaio é que Thoreau se revelou como cúmplice da paranoia norte-americana relativamente as fronteiras do que se convencionou ser-se de raça branca. Palavras-Chave: Henry David Thoreau e Walden; Henry David Thoreau e a emigração; Henry David Thoreau e a ecocrítica; Henry David Thoreau e o Outro This essay aims at revisiting Henry David Thoreau’s Walden (1854), especially the episode in chapter X, “Baker Farm,” where Thoreau introduces the reader to an Irish immigrant, John Field. This episode will assist me in my discussion of Thoreau’s environmental concerns by way of focusing on Otherness and to show Thoreau as a man complicit with racial stereotyping. Thoreau’s concern for nature and environmental issues, too, will assist me in ascertaining how these mat- ters evolved, were modified by, adjusted to and updated by immigrants in North America when growing a garden or farming. Issues ranging from how did older canonical texts written by mainstream American writers adequately represent the Portuguese immigrants in their interaction with nature and American soil while farming to how such matters are dealt with in contemporary Portuguese-American fiction and poetry will be explored in this piece. From Thoreau’s husbandry in an unpolluted American landscape, how did the Portuguese deal with nature, farming, and gardening and how are they represented in the available writings? By observing Otherness and how certain ethnic groups, especially the Portuguese, interacted with nature, often replicating the farming landscapes they had grown up with in the Old World, such practices allowed for bodily and spiritual sustenance while maintaining their Portuguese identity. As with Thoreau, who viewed nature as a retreat into the primitive, for these immigrants nature – via gardening and farming – was a means to retreat from the alienating conditions imposed by the factory, commercial fishing, the whaling or dairy industries or intensive farming Portuguese immigrants engaged in in their areas of settlement in the United States. For these Portuguese immigrants caught in this industrial, back-breaking, and alienating web, retrieving their dignity and ancestral culture via the ethnic garden or farming was their way of becom- ing human once again. From Patronizing Otherness to a Rhetoric of Eugenics In chapter ten, Thoreau introduces the reader to an Irish immigrant, John Field. A hard-working farmer, Field thinks he is moving his way up the American social ladder and, presumably, dream, when, in fact, Tho- reau tells us he is toiling just to feed unnecessary body needs. Field tells Thoreau that his coming to America had been “a gain…that here you could get tea, and coffee, and meat every day” (Thoreau 1960, 141). For Field, immigrating to America was a blessing for it enabled him to purchase these commodities. Thoreau wraps this episode up noting that “the only true America is that country where you are at liberty to pursue such a mode of life as may enable you to do without these, and where the state does not endeavor to compel you to sustain the slavery and war and other superfluous expenses which directly or indirectly result from the use of such things” (Thoreau 1960, 141). In Thoreau’s view, this man toiled like a slave to satisfy his corporeal needs and, in the process, was paying taxes on these products to support slavery and America’s war machine – institutions Thoreau disagreed with. Moreover, this episode stresses Thoreau’s impressions of this Irish man and his family as shiftless, without a purpose in life, and imbecile. His youngest son is referred to as a “poor starveling brat” (Thoreau 1960, 140) and the house where Field lived with his family was unkempt and needing repair: There we sat together under that part of the roof which leaked the least, while it showered and thundered without. I had sat there many times of old before the ship was built that floated this family to America. An honest, hard-working, but shiftless man plainly was John Field; and his wife, she too was brave to cook so many successive dinners in the recesses of that lofty stove; with round greasy face and bare breast, still thinking to improve her condition one day; with the never absent mop in one hand, and yet no effects of it visible anywhere. The chickens, which had also taken shelter here from the rain, stalked about the room like members of the family, too humanized methought to roast well. (italics added; Thoreau 1960, 140) Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 3 of 12 Field tells Thoreau about “how hard he worked ‘bogging’ for a neighboring farmer, turning up a meadow with a spade or bog hoe at the rate of ten dollars an acre and the use of the land with manure for one year, and his little broad-faced son worked cheerfully at his father’s side the while, not knowing how poor a bar- gain the latter had made” (Thoreau 1960, 141). Thoreau, in turn, teaches him how he can also live in a “light, clean house, which hardly cost more than the annual rent of such a ruin as his commonly amounts to; and how, if he chose, he might in a month or two build himself a palace of his own; that I did not use tea, nor cof- fee, nor butter, nor milk, nor fresh meat, and so did not have to work to get them” (Thoreau 1960, 141). The italicized passages reflect Thoreau’s impressions of this man and his family as imbecile, untidy, and shiftless, stereotypes which, as we will see ahead, were applied to the Irish as a group. As we all know, Walden reflects Thoreau’s attempt to teach us how to liberate ourselves from falling prey to capitalism by simplifying our lives, but his views of the Field family as simpletons, however, undermines this goal while highlighting his bias towards this Irish family and, presumably, the Irish as a whole. This stereotype would later be applied to individuals composing another pattern of immigration to the United States, mostly Southern Europeans and Turks, especially during the Progressive era of the 1920s and in the heyday of the Eugenics movement. This boiled down to the enactment of immigration quotas in the Immigration Acts of 1917–1924, which barred access to the US for these peoples. For the purpose of this essay, the Portuguese, after the Irish, as we shall see, were a case in point. Like hundreds of thousands – or even millions – of other destitute Irish farmers, Field may have been one of those who was affected by the “consequences of the emergence of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland on January 1, 1801,” which widened “the breach between Catholics and Protestants.” The negative economic consequences of this union “were exacerbated by the disastrous famine of 1846–51, and over 2,000,000 people emigrated” (Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. 6, 380). This occurred when “the potato, the staple food of rural Ireland, rotted in the ground through the onset of blight in the mid-1840s” and “thousands died of starvation and fever in the Great Famine that ensued, and thousands more fled abroad” (Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. 21, 965). On American soil, they were once again victimized and stigmatized by a ruling WASP mainstream as they had previously experienced by the Anglo colonizer back home: Irish immigrants, however, fared poorly; too poor to buy land, lacking in skills, disorganized mem- bers of a faith considered alien and even dangerous by many native Americans, the Irish suffered various forms of ostracism and discrimination in the cities, where they tended to congregate. They provided the menial and unskilled labour needed by the expanding economy. Their low wages forced them to live in tightly packed slums, whose chief features were filth, disease, rowdyism, prostitution, drunkenness, crime, a high mortality rate, and the absence of even rudimentary toilet facilities. Adding to the woes of the first generation of Irish immigrants was the tendency of many disgruntled natives to treat the newcomers as scapegoats who allegedly threatened the future of American life and religion. In the North, only free blacks were treated worse. Most Northern blacks possessed theoretical freedom and little else. Confined to menial occupations for the most part, they fought a losing battle against the inroads of Irish competition in northeastern cities. The strug- gle between the two groups erupted spasmodically into ugly street riots.” (Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. 29, 223) This grouping together of both ethnic groups, suggests Howard Zinn, had already started when these immi- grants were fleeing from Ireland and were packed into old sailing ships. “The stories of these ships differ only in detail from the accounts of the ships that earlier brought black slaves” and later on Germans, Italian, Russian immigrants (221). Or even the Portuguese, as José Rodrigues Miguéis narrates in his short story, “Gente da terceira classe.” Thoreau, however, had not been the only American intellectual to apply this alleged intellectual and racial inferiority to the Irish. Anna Engle has shown that, as a whole, several Nineteenth-century American literary writers also did their part to perpetuate the idea that Irish- Americans were ethnically inferior. Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Susan Warner, Maria Cummins, Reuben Weiser, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, and Horatio Alger number among American mid-century authors who derided Irish immigrant workers as slovenly, dirty, and good-for-nothing. Unflattering images of Irish-Americans appear not only in various gen- res, from Weiser’s captivity narrative, Regina, the German Captive…to Thoreau’s treatise Walden” (152–153). Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 4 of 12 Recent scholarship on ethnicity, class, and labor conditions has shown how, from the start, the Irish had to work their way up the American economic ladder and fight for their “whiteness” considering that they were equated with enslaved blacks. Noel Ignatiev is clearly a case in point. In his book, How the Irish Became White, Ignatiev attempts to explain why the Irish were treated as blacks in the United States, why they often interacted with each other, but needed to be treated as or become whites: To Irish laborers, to become white meant at first that they could sell themselves piecemeal instead of being sold for life, and later that they could compete for jobs in all spheres instead of being confined to certain work; to Irish entrepreneurs, it meant that they could function outside of a segregated market. To both of these groups it meant that they were citizens of a democratic repub- lic, with the right to elect and be elected, to be tried by a jury of their peers, to live wherever they could afford, and to spend, without racially imposed restrictions, whatever money they managed to acquire. In becoming white the Irish ceased to be Green” (Ignatiev 2–3). The Irish, notes Justin D. Edwards, were stereotyped as racially inferior due to prevailing nineteenth-century racial theories such as those put forth by the racial scientist Nathaniel S. Schaler, who argued that “American immigration policies should privilege the ‘Teutonic branch of the Aryan race’ because its genetic constitu- tion was better acclimatized to the North American environment.” Irishmen, he stated, “lay outside of this ‘Teutonic branch’ and therefore the Celt’s physical constitution was not given to ‘industrious’ or hard work; because of this, he argued, Irishmen were too ‘lazy’, ‘immoral’, and ‘shiftless’ to warrant access to American citizenship” (66). To finalize this discussion of the Field family and, by extension, other Irish farmers in the United States, Matt Wray argues that these negative stereotypes regarding the so-called white trash, namely the Irish, was prompted by their livelihood and the fact they were composed of “large families” and that they often lived in “unsanitary and crowded conditions of living, small and incommodious dwellings” but “beneath the surface we find on one hand, loose disjointed living, with attendant lack of intelligence, absence of ambition, dearth of ideals of every sort” (81). This was what Donald Taft was also saying in 1923 about the Portuguese from the Azores, especially the immigrants from the island of São Miguel. This mindset, which Thoreau applied to the Field family, was gaining wider popularity throughout the nineteenth-century and culminating, in a full-blown manner, during the Progressive era. The Portuguese communities in New England, for example, were repulsed by the study, Two Portuguese Communities in New England (1923), written by the criminologist and sociologist of the University of Illinois, Donald R. Taft. The strong reaction by the Portuguese to this study is intriguing for a number of reasons. First, it suggests that the Portuguese in New England were mindful of what the dominant culture was saying or writing about them. And, second, because they had the courage to get together as a group to demonstrate and use the press to express their grievances. Taft’s study supports the exclusionary rhetoric of Progressive politics of the 1920s, which culminated in the immigration acts of 1917–1924 that all but closed America’s doors to Southern Europeans. Moreover, it voices America’s paranoia about the boundaries of whiteness. More spe- cifically, Taft taps from the rhetoric of eugenics, which was deeply ingrained in Anglo-American thought. In addition, Taft’s application of eugenics discourses to the Portuguese supported Progressive politics by formulating an intellectual, scientific basis for this rhetoric of exclusion. Briefly, the first chapter in Taft’s study proposes to analyze the high infant mortality rate of the Portuguese children in the urban community of Fall River, Massachusetts, and in the rural community of Portsmouth, Rhode Island – places where thousands of Portuguese immigrants settled in the nineteenth-century. While the former ethnic enclave included immigrants mostly from the island of São Miguel, the latter was com- posed of immigrants from Faial, who were mostly of Flemish extraction. While offering explanations for the high infant mortality rates in both communities in chapters three and five, Taft evinces a particular bias towards the Fall River community. In his view, the high infant mortality rate there was due to the inability of the Portuguese mothers to communicate in English; their illiteracy and ignorance (chapters three and five); and their darker complexion and alleged African blood (chapters two and seven). In a country such as the United States where the one-drop rule disqualified immediate access to white privileges, allegations of these immigrants as blacks are worth considering in the light of racial discourse in America. Possibly one of the most powerful rhetorical strategies employed by eugenicists in the early twentieth- century was to portray prospective immigrants hailing from Southern European countries as parasitic carriers of tainted germ plasm that threatened the purity of native Americans. It was believed that this contamination would weaken the fitness of Americans of Anglo stock. Like the Irish before them, these Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 5 of 12 Southern Europeans had to earn their whiteness and the Portuguese were no exception since the image of the “black Portygee” was widely present in a few narratives featuring the Portuguese, an issue I have focused on in Representations of the Portuguese in American Literature. This new wave of immigrants, notes Marouf A. Hasian, Jr., were said to be “permanent parasites on the American body politic, forever tainted by their blood and incapable of having their condition ameliorated” (Hasian 93). Much in the same way Thoreau had underscored the Field family’s imbecility, Taft, a few decades later, views the Fall River Portuguese as superstitious and ignorant. “We may say,” he argues, “that Portuguese children die because of ignorance; Portuguese adults are exploited because of ignorance; their women continue their lives of toil and endless child-bearing because of their ignorance; their children are backward in school through ignorance; and very many of the other tragedies of their lives are the product of ignorance” (339). Although this discussion on Thoreau’s attitudes towards ethnicity and Otherness in Walden is insufficient to build a solid case regarding his patronizing ways towards the Irish, we often wish he had a different view on this issue considering his engagement in the Abolitionist cause, his criticism of capitalism, his positive depiction of Native-Americans in some of his writings, and the liberating effect that emanates from Walden. His views, nonetheless, were those of a man who was racially accommodated to the WASP mainstream, its prejudices, and values – even if he felt the need to criticize it and step aside from it during his Walden Pond phase. As with the Portuguese immigrants later on, most of whom were illiterate, their Catholicism was an additional problem as had also been the case with the Irish in the 1840s and afterwards. True, Thoreau does not refer directly to the religious beliefs of the Irish or even their illiteracy, but these drawbacks are there, nonetheless, which, if not a problem to him, to most nativists these clearly were. His Anglo prejudice towards the Irish was just a cog in the overall machinery of American racism, a discourse that was honed even further during the Eugenics movement at the dawn of the twentieth-century and later on culminating, on a global scale, with the Holocaust during World War II. Thoreau’s Environmental Concerns: Textual and Scholarly Approaches Still practically at the dawn of the twenty-first century, we are baffled by how Thoreau’s environmental concerns remain such an up-to-date issue – especially when most countries around the world have ratified the Paris Treaty on climate change and global warming. In the particular case of Thoreau, contemporary ecocriticism scholars have revisited most of Thoreau’s writings in the past two or three decades to note the contemporaneity of his views regarding environmental issues. His concern with nature became a lifelong obsession which, in the course of time, he explored at length in his writings. Field is a representative of a farmer in rural America who was tilling the land and fertilizing it with manure, an environment that was still essentially clean and unpolluted. The same could be said for Thoreau when “he describes himself at work among his beans,” notes Leo Marx, where “Thoreau is the American husbandman. Like the central figure of the Jeffersonian idyll, his vocation has a moral and spiritual as well as economic significance” (Marx 255–256). In the aftermath of the industrial revolution, the subsequent generations of farmers and writers had to deal with a different reality, issues which Leo Marx has discussed in his classic study, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America. These changes are reflected in the mainstream, canonical literature produced thereafter as well as in some writings crafted by the minorities through con- temporary ethnic writers. Although Thoreau “is today considered the first major interpreter of nature in American literary history, the first American environmentalist saint,” notes Lawrence Buell,” this “position did not come easily to him” (“Thoreau…” 171). In this respect, Thoreau was rather self-taught considering that he, Buell further adds, started adult life from a less advantageous position than we sometimes realize, as a village busi- nessman’s son of classical education rather than a someone versed in nature through systematic botanical study, agriculture, or more than a very ordinary sort of experiential contact with it. Unlike William Bartram, Thoreau had no man of science for a father; unlike Thomas Jefferson, he had no agrarian roots. His first intellectual promptings to study and write about nature were from books, and literary mentors like Ralph Waldo Emerson” (Buell 171). In The Maine Woods (1864), Thoreau’s concern was with forest ecology, namely logging and its dangers for the ecological system. In this piece, Thoreau views nature as a sacred place which is being tampered with and turned into a commodity. After several trips to these woods, Thoreau came to the realization that they were not an inexhaustible resource. The woodcutters or timber-hunters, notes Joseph J. Moldenhauer, “foreshad- ows the logger, a hireling, braggart, and vandal who desecrates the temple of the wilderness and tramples Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 6 of 12 its most delicate growth even as he fells its grandest pines” (132). In The Maine Woods, Thoreau narrates the episode in which his cousin killed a moose just for fun. For him, killing a moose and chopping down trees is like a murder. He deplored the fact that both the wood derived from the fallen trees and the leather from the deer’s hide would be turned into commodities. As a prophet, Thoreau was well ahead of his time for he could anticipate the ecological disasters we have witnessed of late. With some of these Thoreauvian concerns as a backdrop, let us now ascertain how specific groups of immi- grants hailing from agrarian Old World societies dealt with nature, farming, and gardening – the Portuguese in particular. Portuguese American Attitudes towards Environmental Concerns Before delving into contemporary American writings produced by American writers of Portuguese ancestry, a brief historical overview of farming and gardening in the areas of settlement by some immigrants from the Azores or continental Portugal is called for. It may help us understand the world they came from and how they tried to replicate it in the United States. Around 1880, with the arrival of Azoreans from Fayal, in Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, a small Azorean farming community emerged there with “cottages closely surrounded by well-kept vegetable gar- dens, clustering loosely about a small Catholic church” (Pap 141), hence replicating a familiar rural scene from Portugal. With the rapid industrialization of the Northeast, most Portuguese immigrants crowded in cities and looked for jobs in the cotton mills and other local industries rather than farming even if they often grew a small vegetable garden to supplement their income. But it was in California where the Portuguese really thrived in agriculture and in the dairy industry. Small groups of Azoreans made their way there during the Gold Rush days. With little capital to invest in mining, most of these immigrants applied their ancestral farming skills into intensive farming and fruit orchards around the San Francisco area. They usually started out renting land and gradually buying it. In Sacramento, they excelled at growing vegetables, while in Fresno County they worked at the vineyards, and in the San Joaquin Valley they grew field, feed, and grain crops. In the San Leandro area, these immigrants, while improving their land, they obtained “two or more crops from the same field in the course of the year, e.g. by planting vegetables between rows of bearing trees” (Pap 144). This agricultural mentality reflects their attempt at replicating, in California, agricultural practices from their volcanic islands in the Azores. This mentality is quite well rendered in a passage in The Valley of the Moon (1913), written by Jack London. Antonio Silva, we learn, is a savvy farmer who owns a “town house in San Leandro now. An’ he rides around in a four-thousan’-dollar tourin’-car. An’ just the same his front dooryard grows onions to the sidewalk. He clears three hundred a year on that patch alone” (110). One may argue that Silva is a greedy businessman maximizing whatever piece of land he owns, but one must not overlook the culture and geography that shaped this Azorean immigrant. He simply exemplifies the hard-working farmer who has brought his old mentality to America, as indicated when the lineman shows Silva’s farm to Billy and Saxon: Look at that, though you ought to see it in summer. Not an inch wasted. Where we get one thin crop, they get four fat crops. An’ look at the way they crowd it – currants between the tree rows, beans between the currant rows, a row of beans close on each side the trees, an’ rows of beans along the ends of the tree rows. Why, Silva wouldn’t sell these five acres for five hundred an acre, cash down. (111) This farming technique, however, leaves the land totally exhausted after a few years. These Portuguese farm- ers act much as does, for example, Ishmael Bush in James Fenimore Cooper’s The Prairie, who went West deliberately to skim “the cream from the face of the earth and get the very honey of nature” (311). These farmers are denuding the land for quick returns, a practice Thoreau would certainly have deplored. This typical Azorean way of farming is also referred to in an autobiography written by Josephine B. Korth, Wind Chimes in My Apple Tree (1978). Her parents were Azorean immigrants in California who made a living in agriculture. She worked most of her life as a single or married woman in the fields growing asparagus and other vegetables. Much of what she learned about farming when she was a young girl helping her father in the fields would be useful when she became a married woman. Early into the story, she tells us that “On our ranch the asparagus ferns were growing beautifully. My father had also planted beans between the rows of the asparagus which were planted about five or six feet apart” (53–54). Maximizing the farmland for a profit and securing the family’s sustenance were two priorities for Portuguese immigrants, especially in California. Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 7 of 12 Doing away with this ancestral farming mentality was not discarded even if it was ridiculed by native-born Americans considering the spaciousness of these Californian farms. Transplanted on American soil, these immigrants brought with them a culture and ways which they could not easily toss away. Doing so meant becoming de-personalized for the produce from their farms repre- sented not just bodily and economic sustenance but an attempt to replicate the landscapes they had grown up with in the old country and this, in turn, allowed for spiritual sustenance and maintaining one’s identity. It was actually the California dairy industry than farming, New England cottage gardening or orchard- growing that brought about the relative wealth of the Portuguese in the United States. They had brought with them to the New World a centuries-old tradition in dairying. By 1915, these Azorean immigrants owned about half of the dairy land in the San Joaquin Valley. The agricultural practices in Hawaii, however, were quite different from those in New England and California due to its climate. The Madeiran and Azorean settlers who had been transported there on ships for over a span of three or four decades (from 1878 to 1913), were engaged in the local sugar cane and pineapple indus- tries. The owners of these plantations gave up traditional agricultural and economic ventures in pastures, cattle-raising, and woodland to clear up more and more acres of land for the mass production of pineapples and sugar for the market. This reality is well-rendered in Armine Von Tempski’s novel, Hawaiian Harvest (1933/1990), where these Portuguese farmers, like others hailing from Asian countries, were conditioned by the mainstream’s “colonial gaze” (86), as epitomized by Homi Bhabha in his study, The Location of Culture. In contemporary Portuguese-American fiction, the garden is a place where one can grow vegetables and flowers; a place for preserving one’s ethnic identity and ancestral rural way of life; or a retreat from the alienating conditions imposed by the factory, commercial fishing, the whaling or dairy industries, and intensive farming – activities in which the first generations of Portuguese (mostly Azorean and Madeiran) immigrants, dating back to the nineteenth-century, excelled in the three traditional areas of settlement in the United States: New England, California, and Hawaii. Mainlanders would follow them throughout the twentieth-century. Since the nation’s inception – that is, with Jeffersonian and Jacksonian agrarianism – the garden and the machine have been at the heart of the American experience, and these realities have galvanized American scholars and writers. Contemporary “ecocriticism” scholars such as Lawrence Buell have called our atten- tion to the dangers of pollution on the American landscape and its physical environment. However, in his attempt to distinguish between “green” and “brown” landscapes – that is, the landscapes of “exurbia and industrialization” (Writing for an Endangered World 7) – this framework is not applicable to Portuguese- American writings. In the Californian landscapes and gardens of Katherine Vaz’s (1955-) fiction, and those from Massachusetts in the fiction and poetry of Frank Gaspar (1946-), Buell’s “toxic discourse” does not find a congenial home. References to the ethnic garden abound in the fiction of Katherine Vaz, especially in Saudade (1994), and in Frank Gaspar’s novel Leaving Pico (1999), as well as his first three volumes of poems, The Holyoke (1988), Mass for the Grace of a Happy Death (1995), and A Field Guide to the Heavens (1999). The gardens in these writings are not polluted with toxic waste or invaded by the ominous sound of civilization as represented by the emblematic whistle of the train in Thoreau’s Walden. My contention is that in Portuguese-American writing, these matters are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the gardens bring to the fore aspects that are quintessentially marked by immigrant experience. Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of public, mainstream life, the gardens often reflect aspects inherent in the pri- vate, intimate side of the Portuguese ethnic experience in the United States. In addition, these gardens are depicted as oases of tranquility, providing cultural and spiritual sustenance. Moreover, they allow for what Leo Marx views as a “retreat into the primitive or rural felicity”, and a “yearning for a simpler, more harmoni- ous style of life, an existence ‘closer to nature”’ (6). In the context of Portuguese-American life in the United States, for those keen on growing a garden, such an activity allowed for a brief respite from a demanding work schedule – in the New England textile mills, in California’s competitive dairy industry, or in the peril- ous whaling industry in Massachusetts – and a momentary return to a simpler way of life, given that most of these immigrants had been farmers or fishermen back in the old country. These are some of the issues that we encounter in the works of mainstream American writers of Portuguese descent. In essence, the garden functions as the liaison with the old country and as an incentive for recollection of a past that can no longer be retrieved: the stories and conversations exchanged with relatives and friends while tilling the fields, or the competition among women as to whose garden has the most variety. While planting kale, turnips, tomatoes, peppers, onions, corn, and flowers, for example, the characters in the fictional gardens of Portuguese-American writings experience what William Conlogue defines as the Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 8 of 12 georgic mode – that is, the “earth worker, farmer” and the pleasure involved in husbandry (as opposed to the pastoral mode), meaning a “retreat into a ‘green world’ to escape the pressures of complex urban life. In a rural or wilderness landscape, the character’s interaction with the natural world restores him, and, ideally, he returns to the city better able to cope with the stresses of civilization” (6–8). Without a doubt, this is an idea borrowed from Emerson, for he, too, had been concerned with the consequences of human toil and the industrial revolution on the “body and mind,” which, in his view, have been “cramped by noxious work or company”, but “nature is medicinal and restores their tone”. He goes on to note that the “tradesman, the attorney comes out of the din and craft of the street and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again” (9–10). For these Portuguese immigrants caught in this industrial, back-breaking and alienating web, retriev- ing their dignity and ancestral culture via the ethnic garden was their way of becoming, in Emerson’s words, a “man again” (10). Writing about the garden, of course, has a long literary tradition in the Western world. While Virgil’s Georgics and Hesiod’s Works and Days are the anchors of gardening literature, Andrew Marvell’s poetic con- tributions, too, cannot be ignored. As we will see in the writings of Katherine Vaz and Frank Gaspar, there is really no need to escape into a rural area or even the wilderness, since the setting in Saudade, for example, is a rural community in California, while Leaving Pico captures Portuguese American life in a fishing com- munity on the tip of Cape Cod. Whatever retreat there actually is, it is instead into the ancestral culture and the old habits and ways of life, and how these can be safeguarded in a new environment. Challenged and often pressured to assimilate a whole new set of values and ways, the very act of gardening has been a means through which Portuguese Americans have asserted their identity and national origin. With these theoretical considerations on the garden, to what extent does the ethnic garden touch upon quintessential aspects of immigrant life in Portuguese American communities in the United States? And how does its representation in the fiction and poetry of Gaspar and Vaz contrast with the gardens in canoni- cal mainstream fiction offered by Wharton, Cable, and London? The most representative poem on the ethnic garden in Gaspar’s The Holyoke (1988), winner of the 1988 Morse Poetry Prize, is “Potatoes.” Unlike his more recent volumes of poetry, The Holyoke focuses on certain aspects of the lives of Portuguese Americans in Provincetown, Massachusetts, a predominantly fishing community. It is an unusual poem because it high- lights the fondness that the Portuguese evince in growing a vegetable or fruit garden in their backyards. This is an aspect that characterizes Portuguese immigrant life in the United States and shows that even in an industrial setting—as is, for example, the Ironbound section of Newark, New Jersey—the Portuguese still plant vegetable and flower gardens today. In their attempt to hold onto an ancestral way of life, they find in these gardens a spiritual connection with the old country. Leaving Pico is a novel about Azorean immigrant life in Provincetown, and how this community reacts to, or resists, American ways. In this novel about Josie’s coming of age, there are numerous references to the Azorean presence on the very tip of Cape Cod: the kale and potato gardens, the social clubs and club bands, the fish served during the two clambakes that take place during the course of the novel, the names on the fishing boats (most of which highlight this community’s strong Catholic beliefs—the Coração de Jesus, the Amor de Deus, and so on), the fado music played at parties and social gatherings, and the rituals associated with their Catholic calendar throughout the year, namely the sodalities, the festivals with their street proces- sions, the Blessing of the Fleet, and so on. As Clemente has noted, “Gaspar structures his narrative around two clambakes”, and most of the food con- sumed during both events comes either from the sea or the ethnic garden (Clemente 41). But what is actu- ally grown in these gardens? In the episode in which the firemen and neighbors are trying to extinguish the fire in Madeleine Sylvia’s house, the narrator tells us that “Maybe everything was over in minutes. I couldn’t tell. But both yards were a mess. Our little garden had been trampled, and kale and turnips lay crushed on the wet ground” (176). With the intent of saving money on food, such a habit also highlights their rural back- ground and way of life in the old country, and how these cannot be easily erased in their country of adop- tion. In addition to these vegetables, for the last clambake, which is organized to mourn Josie’s grandfather, the narrator notes that “Ernestina had already left us with a bushel of sweet corn from her garden” (206). Writing about the ethnic garden is a theme we find in Saudade (1994), a novel in which Katherine Vaz captures the clash between the old and new worlds in a number of ways. Saudade is centered on Clara, a deaf-mute girl from the Azorean island Terceira, who inherits the property of her immigrant uncle Victor who lived in California. Through scheming, Father Teo Eiras convinces Clara’s mother, on her deathbed, to sign the deed of the land over to the church. Eventually, he becomes Clara’s legal guardian, and both sail away to Lodi, California. Through time, Clara unsuccessfully uses her sex appeal to retrieve her land. As Father Teo Eiras gradually fades out of her life, Clara befriends Doctor Helio Soares. It is during this episode Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 9 of 12 that they both build what, by American standards, looks like an unusual garden. To repay his love, attention, and companionship, Clara, we learn, begins to carry cuttings of rosemary and seeds for blackeyed Susans to his house to start a roof garden – a legacy from being born in a small country where people planted their roofs to own more land and as a sign of the melancholy trust that one day a siege must come. Helio bought flats of basil, thyme, and petunias for her projects, and they hauled sacks of dirt up the ladder to strew on his house. Greens, yellows, and pastels soon became visible on the red roof, and from a distance Clara could see her mark like a quilt she had tossed outward from her bed. Most afternoons, when Helio returned from his patients, she was already at work, waving to invite him to ascend into the garden. A sunflower leaned against the chimney and herbs were drying on old honeycomb frames. The sun baked the hose when Clara stretched it up to the roof, and the water came out warm enough for tea. She filled a jar with water and crumbled in dried mint. Once while drinking her tea, the heat made them unwind backward, side by side, to take in the light. (206–07) As I have noted earlier, the Azoreans’ farming techniques referred to in this quote are the object of ridicule in Jack London’s The Valley of the Moon. Before London, however, Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad (which contains an account of Otherness as the Quaker City sails toward the Azores, Europe, and the Holy Land) focused on the agricultural techniques of the Azoreans on the island of Fayal (Faial), especially in chapters five and six. This mentality is also present in Vaz’s Saudade in the sense that the novel, apart from evincing other interests, aims at capturing the ways and mentality of Portuguese characters transplanted to American soil. Apart from the strangeness in this rooftop garden, the agricultural mentality under consideration substantiates the ancestral habit of maximizing whatever land was available, regardless of whether these fictional immigrants were now living in spacious California. As islanders, this behavior explains in part why coming from a place where land was a precious commodity and its availability for cultivation limited meant that for them no piece of land, however small, should be left bare. Back in the volcanic islands of the Azores, notes Onésimo Almeida, the plots of land were usually very small and not one single inch was left uncultivated. Land was vital for their survival and there was simply little or no room for aesthetic pur- poses such as having a flower garden. Whatever flowers grew, these were often planted on the corners of their properties, unsuitable locales for vegetables to grow (89). In addition, Vaz’s rooftop garden stresses the vulnerability of the Azoreans who, from an historical point of view, experienced various sieges during times of political turmoil. In the case of ethnic fiction – and in particular, that of Clara, as in most real Portuguese immigrants – growing a garden in one’s backyard is emblematic of the ethnic experience in America. It allows for spiritual fulfillment – the work that their souls must have – and is a means of connecting with the old country. Momentarily, at least, these gardeners may daydream about the simpler way of life they left behind, since alienation and drudgery in their workplaces are a daily reality. Whereas for Vaz’s father and grandfather, gardening was a pastime and supposedly a marker of identity brought from the Azores, in other Portuguese-American communities, gardening provided food in times of need. Such was the case in Gloucester, Massachusetts, a small fishing town where the Portuguese had settled—“Portagee Hill,” as the streets located on the upper part of this fishing town are often known. In an eyewitness account of life in this fishing community, Arthur K. Rose notes that despite the families’ eco- nomic difficulties, they would often “get together and go on picnics over to Braces Cove, a barren strip of beach on the Back Shore” (2). Instead of buying their provisions at the local grocery stores, they “would pack baskets and even washtubs full of food, mostly from their gardens, and beer and homemade wine” (2). While the sea provided them with fish and their gardens with vegetables, these fishermen and their wives were extremely self-reliant. Without a doubt, these traits had been acquired in the Azores where people, before emigrating, had fared no better. Although during the Depression, they (like everyone else across the nation) had faced hard times, they had arrived in America, so to speak, well-equipped to face such hardships. “Most of the people,” Rose notes, grew their own food in the backyard. What one didn’t have, the other did. Corn, potatoes, kale, car- rots; you name it, they grew it. They raised chickens for the eggs as well as for food, and sometimes families would get together and buy a pig. That was an all day event in itself; when it came time to get the pig, the families would go to the farm and have the pig slaughtered. (4) Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 10 of 12 Evidence of immigrant communities attempting to preserve some of their rurality within a cityscape can also be found in the novel by Canadian writer, Hugh Garner, Cabbagetown (1968), set in the Toronto neigh- borhood known as Cabbage Town. It is a story of the impoverished lives intertwining in Depression-era Toronto, a place of great sadness and resignation. Both in Gloucester and Toronto, the ethnic garden was a response to the availability of green spaces in immigrant neighborhoods in America or Canada. In New Eng- land and the Middle Atlantic states most houses have a backyard. Rose also points out that harvest time and the “fall months” were an “especially fond time” for him. “That’s when [his] family would put up their fruits and vegetables in preserving jars for the coming winter” (4). Moreover, it “was a lot of work to put the food up in jars, but when it was all over they felt a sense of pride and they knew they had enough to eat for the long New England winter that was facing them” (5). Possessing these survival skills was a plus in such harsh New England conditions. But such expertise, so to speak, had already been acquired in similar, if not worse, economic conditions in the old country during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The ethnic garden in Portuguese-American writing instead mirrors the idiosyncrasies of this particular ethnic background. Ranging from the Catholic fervor to the ancestral rural origins of most Portuguese Americans, in the fiction and poetry of Vaz and Gaspar, the theme of the garden in a way allows for an ethnic rewriting of the fables in which the busy ant or bee is constantly providing for the long and harsh winters. In Portuguese-American literature, the so-called pioneer generations in these writings—that is, the first- and second-generation fictional immigrants—are portrayed as obsessed with creating the conditions for a better life in a new country even if they, like the ants and bees, have to toil night and day. And, clearly, during the phase of rapid industrialization and intensive farming in the nineteenth- and twentieth- centuries, Thoreau’s and Emerson’s views on nature and spirituality were overlooked as most of America’s landscape became a toxic wasteland. Thoreau, as we have seen, has called for a profound appreciation and respect towards nature. Worth mentioning, nonetheless, is the movement to protect America’s forests from the onslaught of industrialization in the latter part of the nineteenth-century. At the time, national reserves and parks were created so as to counteract the toxic wasteland. A case in point was Frederick Law Olmsted’s militancy on behalf of the idea that all American cities should have green areas. His essay “Public Parks and the Enlargement of Towns” (1870) is an important contribution to that. Apart from our current interest in environmentalism, ecocriticism, and a greater respect for nature, nature is no longer perceived as a locale for Emersonian pantheists. Whatever spirituality Emerson had noted in nature, it is quite evident that these Portuguese immigrants (and others from rural societies as was the case with the Italians) had grasped and updated it when working in their vegetable gardens. Once here, they became human – an Emersonian man – once again, temporarily free from the alienation imposed by the factory or the fisheries while recon- necting with their ancestral culture, living momentarily as spiritually fulfilled beings. A contemporary of Emerson, Thoreau’s writings on nature are like the sounds of a friendly, cautionary foghorn resounding into the future, warning future generations about the toxicity of the industrial revolution and its consequences on nature and human beings. Competing Interests The author has no competing interests to declare. Author Information Reinaldo Silva was educated in both the United States (Ph.D., New York University, in 1998; M.A., Rutgers University, in 1989) and Portugal (Licenciatura, University of Coimbra, in 1985) and holds dual citizenship. He has lectured at several American universities and is currently a Professor of English at the University of Aveiro. His teaching and research interests include nineteenth- and twentieth- century American literature and contemporary emergent literatures, with a special focus on Portuguese American writers. At this point, he has published about seventy essays, sixty of which in international peer-reviewed journals, encyclopaedia entries, chapters in books, and has also authored two books: Representations of the Portuguese in American Literature, published by the University of Massachusetts in 2008, and Portuguese American Literature, in the United Kingdom, by Humanities-Ebooks, in 2009. He co-authored Neither Here Nor There, Yet Both: Portugal and North America In-Between Writings, in 2016, and has also collaborated in the translation of Adelaide Freitas’ novel, Sorriso por dentro da noite (Smiling in the Darkness) into English, which is scheduled for pub- lication in October of 2019, in the USA, by Tagus Press. His forthcoming book is tentatively titled, Hybridity in Portuguese American Literature. Reinaldo Silva completou a sua formação académica nos Estados Unidos da América (Ph.D., New York University, em 1998; M.A., Rutgers University, em 1989) e em Portugal (Licenciatura, Universidade de Coimbra, Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Art. 13, page 11 of 12 em 1985) e tem dupla nacionalidade. Lecionou em várias universidades norte-americanas e presentemente exerce as funções de Professor em Estudos Ingleses na Universidade de Aveiro. É docente e investigador no âmbito dos estudos literários e culturais afetos aos séculos XIX, XX, e XXI, nomeadamente a literatura e cultura norte-americanas assim como a literatura luso-americana contemporânea em língua inglesa. Até ao momento, já publicou cerca de setenta ensaios de crítica literária, sessenta dos quais em revistas académi- cas internacionais com peer review, verbetes em enciclopédias de literatura, capítulos em vários livros e é autor de dois livros: Representations of the Portuguese in American Literature, publicado pela University of Massachusetts em 2008 e Portuguese American Literature, no Reino Unido, pela editora Humanities-Ebooks, em 2009. É co-autor do livro, Nem Cá Nem Lá: Portugal e América do Norte Entre Escritas, publicado em 2016, e também colaborou na tradução e revisão da tradução do romance de Adelaide Freitas, Sorriso por dentro da noite (Smiling in the Darkness) para língua inglesa, presentemente a aguardar publicação em Outubro de 2019 nos EUA pela Tagus Press. O título do seu novo livro, Hybridity in Portuguese American Literature, no momento aguarda publicação. References Almeida, Onésimo Teotónio. “O jardim como extensão da casa-do-estar: Uma amostra luso-americana.” O Peso do Hífen: Ensaios sobre a experiência luso-americana. Imprensa de Ciências Sociais, 2010, pp. 89–96. Bhabha, Homi K. The Location of Culture. Routledge, 1994. Buell, Lawrence. “Thoreau and the Natural Environment.” The Cambridge Companion To Henry David Thoreau. Editor Joel Myerson. Cambridge UP, 1995, pp. 171–193. Buell, Lawrence. Writing for an Endangered World: Literature, Culture, and Environment in the U.S. and Beyond. Harvard UP, 2001. Clemente, Alice R. “Of Love and Remembrance: The Poetry and Prose of Frank X. Gaspar.” Gávea-Brown: A Bilingual Journal of Portuguese-American Letters and Studies No. 21, 2000, pp. 25–43. DOI: https://doi. org/10.1145/330534.330552 Conlogue, William. Working the Garden: American Writers and the Industrialization of Agriculture. U of North Carolina P, 2001. Cooper, James Fenimore. The Prairie. Editor Henry Nash Smith. Rinehart, 1949. Edwards, Justin D. “‘It is the race instinct!’: Evolution, Eugenics, and Racial Ambiguity in William Dean Howells’s Fiction.” Evolution and Eugenics in America Literature and Culture, 1880–1940. Ed. Lois A. Cuddy and Claire M. Roche. Bucknell UP, 2003, pp. 59–72. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. Nature in Selected Writings of Emerson. Ed. Donald McQuade. The Modern Library, 1981, pp. 1–42. Engle, Anna. “Depictions of the Irish in Frank Webb’s The Garies and Their Friends and Frances E. W. Harper’s Trial and Triumph.” MELUS No. 26, issue 1 (Spring 2001), pp. 151–171. DOI: https://doi. org/10.2307/3185501 Garner, Hugh. Cabbagetown. McGraw-Hill Ryerson, 2002. Gaspar, Frank X. Leaving Pico. UP of New England, 1999. Gaspar, Frank X. The Holyoke. Northeastern UP, 1988. Hasian, Jr. Marouf A. The Rhetoric of Eugenics in Anglo-American Thought. The U of Georgia P, 1996. Ignatiev, Noel. How the Irish Became White. Routledge, 1995. “Ireland.” The New Encyclopaedia Britannica—Micropaedia. Vol. 6. 15th Ed. Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc., 1988, pp. 378–380. “Ireland.” The New Encyclopaedia Britannica—Macropaedia. Vol. 21. 15th Ed. Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc., 1988, pp. 951–968. Korth, Josephine B. Wind Chimes in My Apple Tree. Island Winds, 1978. London, Jack. The Valley of the Moon. Editor David Rejl. Reprint of the Cosmopolitan Magazine, 1988. Marx, Leo. The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America. Oxford UP, 1964. Miguéis, José Rodrigues. Gente da terceira classe. Estampa, 1983. Moldenhauer, Joseph J. “The Maine Woods.” The Cambridge Companion to Henry David Thoreau. Editor Joel Myerson. Cambridge UP, 1995, pp. 124–141. Olmsted, Frederick Law. Public Parks and the Enlargement of Towns. Ayer, 1970. Pap, Leo. The Portuguese-Americans. Twayne, 1981. Rose, Arthur K. Portagee Hill and a People: A Tribute to the Portuguese People. Sea Shore Literary, 1991. Silva, Reinaldo. Representations of the Portuguese in American Literature. Center for Portuguese Studies and Culture/University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, 2008. https://doi.org/10.1145/330534.330552 https://doi.org/10.1145/330534.330552 https://doi.org/10.2307/3185501 https://doi.org/10.2307/3185501 Silva: Henry David Thoreau’s WaldenArt. 13, page 12 of 12 Taft, Donald R. Two Portuguese Communities in New England. Arno Press and The New York Times, 1969. Tempski, Armine Von. Hawaiian Harvest. Ox Bow Press, 1990. Thoreau, Henry David. The Maine Woods in The Writings of Henry D. Thoreau. Ed. Joseph J. Moldenhauer. Princeton UP, 1972. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden and Civil Disobedience. Ed. Sherman Paul. Houghton Mifflin, 1960. Twain, Mark. The Innocents Abroad and Roughing It. Library of America, 1984. “United States of America.” The New Encyclopaedia Britannica—Macropaedia. Vol. 29. 15th Ed. Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc., 1988, pp. 153–476. Vaz, Katherine. Saudade. St. Martin’s, 1994. Wray, Matt. Not Quite White: White Trash and the Boundaries of Whiteness. Duke UP, 2006. DOI: https://doi. org/10.1215/9780822388593 Zinn, Howard. A People’s History of the United States. Harper & Row, 1980. How to cite this article: Silva, Reinaldo Francisco. “Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: Immigration, Ecocriticism, and Otherness”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 13, 2020, pp. 1–12. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.7 Submitted: 26 September 2019 Accepted: 26 September 2019 Published: 29 January 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822388593 https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822388593 https://doi.org/10.5334/as.7 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ From Patronizing Otherness to a Rhetoric of Eugenics Thoreau’s Environmental Concerns: Textual and Scholarly Approaches Portuguese American Attitudes towards Environmental Concerns Competing Interests Author Information References 
work_gu5vkbhufbdr7ewk4fzpzjlzji	----	J. CURRICULUM STUDIES, 2009, VOL. 41, NO. 6, 789–811 Journal of Curriculum Studies ISSN 0022–0272 print/ISSN 1366–5839 online ©2009 Taylor & Francis http://www.informaworld.com DOI: 10.1080/00220270802627573 Complementary curriculum: the work of ecologically minded teachers CHRISTY M. MOROYE Taylor and FrancisTCUS_A_362925.sgm10.1080/00220270802627573Journal of Curriculum Studies0022-0272 (print)/1366-5839 (online)Original Article2008Taylor & Francis0000000002008ChristineMoroyechristine-moroye@uiowa.eduMyriad international efforts exist to infuse and reform schools with ecological perspectives, but in the US those efforts remain largely on the fringes of schooling. The purpose of this study is to offer a perspective on this issue from inside schools. If one looks to the future success of environmental education, one must consider the work of teachers. To that end, this qualitative study explores the intentions and practices of three ecologically-minded teachers in traditional public high schools in the US. The research methodology used was eco-educational criticism, an arts-based inquiry method with an ecological lens. The teach- ers were interviewed about their intentions for their students, and then observed to see how those intentions were manifested in the classroom. A follow-up interview then synthesized the connection between their ecological beliefs and their general intentions for students. Keywords: curriculum research; environmental education; teacher beliefs; teacher education Introduction Public interest in global environmental issues has surged. From newspaper cover stories to political causes to sitcom story-lines, ‘green’ perspectives and conversations are becoming more commonplace. Both formal and non- formal education has, since the 1970s, been asked to respond to this growing concern (International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources/UNESCO 1970, United Nations Conference on Environment and Development 1992), and, to that end, researchers, practitioners, govern- ment agencies, and communities have worked to implement environmental and ecological education models. However, these initiatives remain largely on the fringes of schooling, particularly in the US. The purpose of this study is not to elaborate on why environmental education remains on the ‘outside’, but rather to offer another perspective—from inside the schools themselves. That perspective comes from ecologically-minded teachers who work in traditional US public schools and who teach ‘non-environmental’ curricula,1 that is, teachers who are not explicitly engaged in teaching about the envi- ronment or in environmental education programmes. Christy M. Moroye is an assistant professor in curriculum and supervision in the Department of Teaching and Learning, University of Iowa, N280 Lindquist Center, Iowa City, IA 52241, USA; e-mail: christine-moroye@uiowa.edu. Her dissertation ‘Greening our future: The prac- tices of ecologically minded teachers’, completed at the University of Denver, received the 2008 Outstanding Dissertation of the Year Award from Division B, American Educational Research Association. Her research interests include ecological and aesthetic approaches to education. 790 C. M. MOROYE Environmental education is a collective, broad term encompassing many facets of earth-inclusive education. ‘Traditional’ environmental education has roots in nature study, conservation education, and outdoor education, and is often found in supplementary programmes and activities that occur in addition to the ‘regular’ curriculum (Heimlich 2002). A more recent move- ment has emerged toward ‘ecological education’ (see Orr 1992, Jardine 2000), which Smith and Williams (1999: 3) define as ‘an emphasis on the inescapable embeddedness of human beings in natural systems’. Other models include place-based education (Sobel 2004, Noddings 2005, Smith 2007), eco-justice education (Bowers 2001, Martusewicz 2005), education for sustainability (Sterling 2001), and education for sustainable develop- ment (Jickling and Wals 2007), to name a few. Jickling and Wals (2007) point out that this last model, education for sustainable development, while somewhat contested, ‘has become widely seen as a new and improved version of environmental education, most visibly at the national policy level of many countries’ (p. 4), although such policies remain absent in the US. While myriad models exist, Gruenewald and Manteaw (2007: 173) note that environmental education continues to be ‘marginalized, misunderstood as mainly about science, and in many places totally neglected’. There may be many reasons for environmental education’s neglect or ‘failure’ (Blumstein and Saylan 2007), but certainly, if we look to the future success of environmental education in any of the above models, we must consider the work of teachers. To that end, many researchers have investi- gated a variety of aspects of the roles of teachers in environmental education. Cutter-Mackenzie and Smith (2001) looked at teachers’ environmental knowledge or ‘eco-literacy’, and their related beliefs about the importance of attitudes toward, rather than knowledge about, the environment. Robertson and Krugly-Smolska (1997) report on three sources of the ‘gap’ between environmental education theory and practice: (1) ‘the practical’, in terms of variables such as time, materials, and schedules, (2) ‘the conceptual’, refer- ring to ‘conflicting ideas and resources that (make it difficult) for teachers to understand what the task of environmental education really is’; and (3) ‘teacher responsibility’, referring to the idea that ‘teachers are not completely certain that they are permitted to do many of the things that are necessary to accomplish the lofty social and political goals of environmental education’ (p. 316). Other studies (Dillon and Gayford 1997, Cotton 2006a, b) discuss teachers’ beliefs and actions related to controversial environmental issues in the curricula. These and other studies illustrate that environmental educa- tion is no easy task for teachers. While other studies, such as the ones described above, have focused on teachers in sanctioned environmental education settings, I focus on teachers in traditional US public schools who happen to be ecologically-minded, but whose curricular responsibilities do not necessarily include environmental topics. I selected teachers in social studies and English/language arts for two reasons. First, social studies and language arts are largely unexplored environmental education territory (Heimlich 2002). Secondly, while envi- ronmental science and technology may play an important role in mediating the environmental crises we face, many suggest that cultural values play at least an equal part (see, e.g. Bowers 1993, Blumstein and Saylan 2007, COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 791 Gruenewald and Manteaw 2007). Subject areas like English/language arts and social studies, which contribute to transmitting and transforming cultural values, may have an important role in environmental and ecological education reform.2 By studying the intentions and actions of ecologically-minded teachers in public schools, I was able to discern themes that emerged naturally as a result of teachers’ strongly held beliefs. One such theme is a new term I argue for as an addition to the curricular lexicon, the complementary curricu- lum. This is not an attempt to redefine curriculum—it already has many defi- nitions (see Connelly et al. 2008); instead, it is an attempt to call attention to a particular type of curriculum and, by so doing, offer the potential for expanding ecological perspectives in schools. I start, therefore, with the broad definition of curriculum offered by He et al. (2008: 223): Curriculum for us is a dynamic interplay between experiences of students, teachers, parents, administrators, policy-makers, and other stakeholders; content knowledge and pedagogical premises and practices; and cultural, linguistic, sociopolitical, and geographical contexts. Within this definition the complementary curriculum is situated in the kinds of experiences teachers provide for students, as well as in the ‘pedagogical premises and practices’ that result from the teachers’ beliefs. In his discussion of the ‘curriculum shadow’, Uhrmacher (1997) argues for the use of a variety of terms to specify different curricula. He distinguishes, for example, the shadow curriculum and the null and hidden curricula. The shadow curriculum identifies a ‘disdained’ or neglected curriculum that could in fact improve the pedagogy at hand (Uhrmacher 1997). As an example Uhrmacher points to a social studies teacher who, in the name of order and efficiency, lectured on the US Constitution rather than encouraging discus- sion, which could be considered a more democratic means of learning. The null curriculum (Flinders et al. 1986, Eisner 2002) describes what is missing. It includes intellectual processes and subject matter (Eisner 2002), as well as affect (Flinders et al. 1986). The null curriculum might include singular topics or perspectives as well as entire fields of study.3 The hidden curriculum identifies the norms of schooling. Thus, Jackson (1968) distin- guishes the official curriculum from the associated skills required to master it, skills such as putting forth effort, completing homework, and under- standing and operating within institutional norms. Together these and other ‘unofficial’ aspects of what is taught in schools constitute the hidden curriculum. Of the three terms discussed here, the complementary curriculum is most closely associated with the hidden curriculum. However, there are at least two key differences between the two. First, the hidden curriculum has its origins in something more ominous, or at the very least more negative; that is, in Jackson’s original definition, it referred to the processes of schooling that were not explicitly taught but were required for success. In contrast, the complementary curriculum is an addition that may enhance or hinder the school experience, and students are not required to master any related skills. The second difference between the hidden and the complementary curricu- lum is the source. The hidden curriculum emerges from a variety of places, 792 C. M. MOROYE such as the school structure, the bell schedule, furniture, administrative decisions, textbooks, paint colours, etc. The complementary curriculum has one source: the teacher. These (and other) terms, Uhrmacher (1997) argues, help curricularists make distinctions that may otherwise go unnoticed. This is, I believe, the case with complementary curriculum, which I describe as the embedded and often unconscious expression of a teacher’s beliefs. In the study described here, focused upon ecological beliefs, it may include the teacher’s use of examples, personal stories, vocabulary, and pedagogical practices that relate to or emerge from ecological ideas, even though the curriculum does not necessarily include information about an earth-based idea like watershed or ecosystem health. Adding this term to our curricular lexicon, I argue, brings to light pathways to understanding and improving curriculum and instruc- tion, particularly from an ecological standpoint. Method of inquiry The study was designed to respond to two questions: ● What are the intentions of ecologically minded teachers? and ● How are those intentions realized (or not realized) in a teacher’s practice? In order to describe and interpret the potentially subtle manifestations of the participants’ beliefs and intentions, I used the methods of educational connoisseurship and criticism (Flinders 1996, Eisner 1998, 2002, see also Barone 2000, Uhrmacher and Matthews 2005).4 This study has a particular focus on ecological themes, and, while educational criticism is a broad term defining the research methodology, eco-educational criticism is the term I use to specify the particular ecological lens through which I filtered my observations and interpretations. By ‘ecological’ I mean situations, ideas, and issues that address the inescap- able embeddedness between and among humans and the natural environ- ment including but not limited to issues of relationship (Smith and Williams 1999), care (Noddings 2005), decision-making (Heimlich 2002), and sustainability and global equity (Smith and Williams 1999). I was specifically seeking to understand how ecological concepts and themes emerged in non-ecological5 contexts. In this paper I provide educational criticisms in the form of vignettes with the intention to bring to light the manifestations of teachers’ ecological beliefs in the classroom. In a previous study (Moroye 2005) I also used eco- educational criticism to describe teachers who did not necessarily hold to ecological beliefs, but whose practices could be described by ecological themes. In future studies this method could be used to draw forth additional ecological themes, as well as to analyse a variety of educational contexts and models for their ecological implications. Two large US public high schools, Seneca Lake High School6 (SLHS) and Highline High School (HHS),7 served as the sites for my research. The three participants discussed here are US public high school teachers; two of COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 793 the three teach English, and one teaches social studies. I first conducted an individual formal interview using a protocol in which the questions referred to the teachers’ intentions, their ecological beliefs, and their educational practice in general. Next, I observed each teacher for 3–6 weeks. I concluded with a follow-up interview, which often synthesized the connec- tion between the teachers’ ecological beliefs and their practices. Working with one teacher at a time afforded me the opportunity to immerse myself in their work and to better understand the architecture of their practice. I then wrote accounts of each teacher that included the four aspects of an educational criticism: description, interpretation, evaluation, and thematics (Eisner 2002). Portions of those criticisms are included here in the form of vignettes. Findings As stated above, two questions guided this study: What are the intentions of ecologically minded teachers? How are those intentions realized in a teachers practice? As Eisner (1988) points out, the intentional dimension of school- ing is important because intentions ‘influence the kind of opportunities students will have to develop their minds… and intentions tell the young what adults think is important for them to learn; they convey our values’ (p. 25). While Eisner was speaking about the school’s intentions, the idea works for teachers as well. Intentions guide, among other things, curricular choices, emphases, and omissions. Here I look at the intentions of individu- als with common values that were not directly related to schooling and I explore how, if at all, their practice was affected by these values. It is impor- tant to note that I asked teachers about their ecological beliefs, as well as their intentions for their students. I was seeking to understand the teachers’ ways of connecting the two. To that end, I interviewed each participant both prior to and after conducting classroom observations. One purpose of the interview was to understand the teachers’ intentions for their students and whether or not they thought their ecological beliefs were linked to those intentions. Mr Rye, the first participant, explained the connection in this way: I can’t walk in and give daily lessons on drilling in the [Arctic National Wild- life] Refuge, and I can’t walk in and talk on a daily basis about treatment of animals or of the natural world. But I can talk about [students’] treatment of other human beings, their view of their own lives, and the values and principles upon which they base their own lives. As Mr Rye points out, his ecological beliefs are somewhat at odds with his teaching. As an English teacher he is not charged with the role of teaching environmental education. However, including ecological ideas in the class- room is important to him, so he chooses to infuse his practice with a broader principle that, for him, is connected to an ecological ethic. That principle is integrity: I think that, at the core of environmental issues is personal integrity, [which guides whether] we exploit something or choose not to exploit something. And 794 C. M. MOROYE what I want to do with my students on a daily basis is to have them examine and, hopefully, develop their integrity. Mr Rye also alludes to his own sense of integrity and that he tries to live his personal and professional lives in such a way that they are in alignment with his beliefs. He does so, however, with awareness that he does not want to alienate his students. ‘I try not to project myself as an environmentalist as much as just a human being who loves nature and who considers [the environment in making decisions].’ Furthermore, he wants his students to live ‘authentic’ lives: ‘My deep concern is about the type of lives these guys are going to live, and are they going to live lives that are individual and inter- esting and somehow sacred, or… lives that are frighteningly generic?’ Mr Rye appears sensitive to either the real or perceived limits imposed upon him by the formal curriculum, as well as by the potential negative reac- tions of his students. Therefore, he discusses his intentions for his students in broad terms with ‘integrity’ and ‘authenticity’ at the heart of his goals for them. So how do these ideals play out in practice? Consider the following vignette and notice how his beliefs are woven into the lesson: ‘I want this project to rock!’ Mr Rye shouts in a pep talk to his senior [i.e. Year 12] English class. He is preparing them to write their autobiographies as their final senior paper. This class is considered ‘remedial’ for students performing below grade level, and many in the class are staffed in special education. ‘You need AT LEAST four sheets of paper. Not very environmental, I know.’ Mr Rye roars at his students, ‘HOORAY! You don’t have to write essays!’ A student asks if they will have assignments that tell them what to write about. ‘You are prophetic! We’re gonna break it down—b-b-b break it down!’ Mr Rye and the class erupt in laughter at his failed attempt at rap music. Mr Rye then begins to explain the first writing assignment. ‘FOOD in 2005 is fascinating! Why am I asking you to write about food? This isn’t health class. But studies show that food is the single most determining factor about how long you will live and the quality of your life.’ Mr Rye explains that writing about food is really writing about their lives. He talks about the history of humankind and how it is easy to predict what people would eat based upon where they lived. ‘What would people in Colorado eat? Buffalo, corn, wheat, potatoes, carrots. They didn’t go to Whole Foods to pick up sushi. If you weren’t able to import everything you wanted, you lived with what the land gave you. ‘In our era it is unparallelled! You can choose to be a vegan and still have vari- ety. You can choose to be a vegetarian. In this day and age it is fascinating to explore individuality because you have so much choice! You can go to a 7–11 [i.e. a convenience store] and get lunch. Now you can even get stuffed sausages—kinda scary! It’s a crazy world. In 10 minutes from SLHS you can get Thai and Chinese.’ He continues noting that within minutes of their school students can taste the world. Mr Rye gives students 8 minutes to write about food as he buzzes about from student to student helping them brainstorm and encouraging their writing. ‘Have some fun. Be spontaneous! Believe it or not, the power of life is in the details. If you want to stay on the surface with this project, I can’t stop you. But this is your life and it’s so much more interesting than that!’ Mr Rye cheers as he hands out skinny slips of blue paper that say the following: COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 795 Life Signifiers: Uncovering the Reality of You You and… 1. Food—what you eat and why where you eat; what you cook yourself; what your parents cook for you; guilty pleasures—stuff you eat but know you should not eat; what you will not eat and why; your typical day:… your food philosophy: what food means to you. A student asks, ‘Can I just list my allergies?’ ‘Yes! What a great feature!’ he says again. Mr Rye puts a few strong student examples up on the overhead and discusses how interesting they are. One example deals with a student’s Jewish religion and culture and their implica- tions on the food she eats. As each student shares his or her responses, Mr Rye calls each by name, affirms his or her answer, and finds humour in almost every statement. Remember that Mr Rye has two overarching intentions for his students: integrity and authenticity. These intentions come to life in several ways. The writing prompt itself values self-awareness, which for Mr Rye is connected to integrity and authenticity. So in that regard, his intentions are manifested in the explicit or stated curriculum. However, we may also see a more complex force, Mr Rye’s beliefs, permeating the lesson. First, the written handout details the first of several writing prompts for the students’ autobiographies. The handout is a thin slip of paper that signifies reduced paper consumption. Secondly, Mr Rye remarks on the number of sheets of paper (four) students will need saying, ‘Not very environmental, I know’. Thirdly, Mr Rye’s elaboration on the history of food indicates his own understanding of the relationship between food and human existence, which did not always include a quick stop at a convenience store for a hot dog. Separately, these three examples may not mean much. However, taken together they form a subtle curriculum. That subtle curriculum is the mani- festation of Mr Rye’s ecological beliefs. Throughout my observations of all participants, I noticed that their beliefs often emerged in understated ways, such as in the examples they used, personal stories about their lives, certain emphases, and even in their common vocabulary. While they were often not explicitly ‘teaching’ an ecological concept or idea, they were simply showing that their ecological beliefs are just below the surface, that they are part of who they are and how they teach. Because their beliefs are not separate from their practice, are not compartmentalized into a different section of their lives, are integral to who they are in the classroom, I refer to this type of subtle curriculum as the complementary curriculum. A second and related vignette further illustrates the complementary curriculum in Mr Rye’s practice. His ecological beliefs again emerge in his explanation of the written curriculum. In particular, Mr Rye asks students to consider the history of humans’ need for drinking liquids, and he takes them through a brief story contrasting the use of local resources to the present-day beverage industry. Another teacher could simply ask students to think about their favourite beverages; Mr Rye offers a more ecological perspective in which he urges students to think about what humans really need, not just what they desire. 796 C. M. MOROYE After the students list their favourite foods and other food quirks, Mr Rye launches into the next topic—beverages. The next writing prompt he distrib- utes, which is again on a small slip of blue paper, prompts students to explore the drinks they consume. ‘What was “drink” for the history of humankind? WATER! Wine if you were lucky enough to live near grapes. Milk if you were lucky enough to have a will- ing cow. But check out a 7–11 [convenience store]! What drink options do you have? Five varieties of Slurpees, Gatorade—like 20 varieties, Powerade, Energy drinks—at least 10 of those, bottled water, sparkling water—what is that? How do they make it sparkle? Iced tea, soda—which doesn’t quench your thirst—juice, and so on! And how do they get things to taste like that? This is the only culture in which we drink more liquids other than water, and we pay more money for bottled water even though [tap water in the US] is cleaner than water in almost any other country—even in toilets it’s cleaner! Now we have flavoured water—no—it’s INFUSED, not just flavoured! ‘I want you to see how completely foreign this is to humankind—drink has never been a factor of individuality before. Maybe you choose different drink for different reasons—your concern for your health, your concern for the envi- ronment. That is what makes you interesting!’ As class time draws to a close, Mr Rye prepares them for the next day by discussing 12 signifiers of individuality. ‘This is how we measure and show and understand individuality. The next signifier is clothing—you’ll find this inter- esting at SLHS. We see clothes and they say something. For example, look at girls with tie dyes. Does she love the earth? Does she love animals? Did she have a paint explosion? Your clothing is a great measure of who you are, at least in this country. Did you know that the average world citizen owns FIVE items of clothing—TODAY! So tomorrow we will talk about your clothing and you. In the previous two vignettes, we might apply several different curricular terms, each revealing something different about this teacher’s practice. We could analyse the formal or written curriculum, which is exhibited in Mr Rye’s writing activity, and determine if such an activity were useful to his students and perhaps to others. We could also comment on the null curric- ula, what is missing, and note that perhaps Mr Rye did not place enough emphasis on editing or grammar. Selecting from a variety of terms provides us with a starting point for analysis and potential improvement. Additional terms such as complementary curriculum may provide additional and useful points of analysis. In the second scenario, the complementary curriculum is expressed in Mr Rye’s explanation of the assignment. He emphasizes to students that beverages have not always come from refrigerated coolers at convenience stores. He draws the connection between what the land could provide and what humans could consume. He notes for students that not only are they able to get drinks from around the world regardless of local agricultural limits, but also that the beverages now available have an air of absurdity about them. In a sense, he points out how far away from ‘natural’ the bever- age industry has strayed. However, Mr Rye doesn’t simply point out the state of this industry; he connects it to student choice. He is helping them to see that they do have choices that express their individuality, and that those COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 797 choices say something about how they live in the world. He does not condemn them for drinking ‘infused’ water, but points to a perspective they may want to consider, and that perspective requires that they consider the origins of the products they consume. This consideration is a new paradigm for many students (and adults) comfortable with their present consumption patterns. Then at the close of class, Mr Rye tells them that the average world citizen owns only five pieces of clothing. He again includes a broad global perspective, albeit brief, that students may consider as they write their own autobiographies. Is the complementary ecological curriculum here valuable? From an ecological perspective, we might wonder if Mr Rye’s comments in the first vignette about the use of paper will have any meaning to students. Does merely mentioning the environmental insensitivity of using too much paper result in environmental stewardship in his students? Probably not. Perhaps Mr Rye’s comments merely show his students that environmental ideas are on his mind, and that may lead them to ask him questions about the envi- ronment later. Mr Rye notes that while his students don’t often bring this up, he is ‘deeply gratified by the fact that it does occur’. However, perhaps his discussion of food and drink provides his students with a different perspective, one which allows them a window into a kind of ecological think- ing, one that considers the origins of the products we consume. Considering consumption patterns is a key cultural component to addressing the ecolog- ical crisis, so in this regard, the complementary curriculum supplements the formal curriculum with a much needed focus on connections between consumption and production. However, some environmental education scholars might question whether Mr Rye’s attention to individuality is actually counterproductive to certain ecological ideas (see Bowers 1993). A more ecological perspective might focus more on the balance of individual and community needs (see Bowers 2003). This critique points to a difficult issue when discussing complementary curriculum; it may lead to an evaluation of teachers’ person- ally held beliefs. This difficulty is compounded by Mr Rye’s sensitivity to his students. He says, ‘I’m aware… as a teacher not to alienate some of my kids because if they see me “an environmentalist” will they tune out [other lessons]?’ Mr Rye therefore chooses to focus on self-awareness and personal integrity instead of other potential ecological ideas. These two areas of focus also serve as a proxy for explicit ecological perspectives in Ms Snow’s practice. While Mr Rye’s ecological beliefs as expressed through the complemen- tary curriculum are apparent in the way he explains and elaborates upon the explicit curriculum, it is much more behind the scenes for Ms Snow, an English teacher at Highline High School. Outside of school Ms Snow is a Native American minister,8 and therefore she talks about spiritual beliefs in connection with ecological principles. She explains her ecological beliefs and related intentions for her students in this way: The core of my ecological beliefs has to do with relationship… relationship with self, relationship with others, [and] respect for self and respect for others… It also has to do with taking responsibility. We take responsibility for how we conduct ourselves in relationship to how we use resources on the earth, for instance. And because I believe that we must act with the spirit of integrity 798 C. M. MOROYE to preserve those resources for seven generations on down, then I think that learning things about the self and individuation and alchemy and the arche- types and all of those things really is in deep alignment [with my ecological beliefs]. Ms Snow feels constrained by the requirements of the courses she teaches; the English curriculum does not allow for reading environmental writing and in-depth discussion of issues. As Robertson and Krugly-Smolska (1997) point out, teachers—even in sanctioned environmental education settings—share similar concerns about what they are ‘allowed’ to do because they feel limited by what is expected in the formal curriculum. Instead, through studying texts like Demian, Ms Snow is addressing ecological ideas as she defines them. ‘Demian, Jungian psychology, [the] search for self and individualization, and being true to an inner voice… [all] have to do with relationships. Relationship with self, relationship with others.’ Ms Snow’s discussion of her beliefs and intentions for students has a similar ring to that of Mr Rye. Each seeks to develop self-awareness and integrity in students. Ms Snow’s intentions are apparent in the following vignette as she guides her students to think about what makes them unique and how they will share that uniqueness with the world. We also see how she addresses each student with care and respect, which facilitates thoughtful discussion in the class. The humming overhead reads, ‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them’. Respond to this famous quote by Henry David Thoreau. Do you think that this is a true assessment?’ Ms Snow looks out over her senior [i.e. year 12] Humanities seminar class… They lean over notebooks occasionally glancing up at the overhead to reread Thoreau’s words. ‘Looks like you all had a lot to say about this one’, Ms Snow smiles. ‘Let’s pick up with Zelig9 and connect the ideas’, she suggests, referring to a Woody Allen film they had recently viewed. They discuss the fear of being seen for whom we truly are and the risk we take when we allow ourselves to be real with others. ‘Let’s keep building on this. I know you’re more awake than I am.’ ‘I think a lot of people might do that because they are afraid of what society might brand them. Like Martin Luther King, Jr. He took a risk,’ one female student offers. ‘Do you think he died with a song still in him?’ Ms Snow asks. ‘No. He lived it’, she responds. ‘A lot of it has to do with fear. Like if you let your true self out’, another student says. ‘Yeah. Isn’t it about taking risks?’ Ms Snow asks as she sits down in a chair in the front of the room. ‘What if you do sing your song and people don’t accept it?’ ‘No one expects anything more than mediocrity’, a third student says. ‘I don’t agree with that’, replies another. ‘Okay. Good. Let’s come back to that. I want to hear what Tracy has to say.’ Tracy says, ‘I think society wants you to strive. They want you to be the best. WE have to run this world.’ COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 799 ‘Okay!’ Ms Snow praises. ‘We are getting some great responses here. Let’s hear from Stacy, then Sarah.’ ‘The simplest things can be made so hard. It’s like they expect you to work at a fast-food restaurant. Especially minorities. It’s like minorities are still looked down upon—since you’re Native American, you’re just going to be a drunk. So just go back to the reservation’, Stacy, an African American girl says. ‘Stacy’s goin’!’ Ms Snow cheers. ‘Let’s hear from Sarah.’ ‘I think fear of society is only half of it. People are lazy. They have that quiet desperation in themselves, but they don’t do anything about it. They just watch TV.’ Ms Snow wraps up the conversation and then addresses the whole class: I want to ask you a question, but I don’t want you to answer it. We are reading Socrates and watching Pleasantville to find out who you are in the world. The question I want to ask you is—what is your song and how will you sing it? You are about to walk across a bridge—many of you into higher education. I am going to show you something; it’s called ‘An Invi- tation’ written by a white woman. You don’t have to be trapped in that moment of quiet desperation. Those moments can make us fight to sing that song. You are going to write a senior credo. You will like it! Students read ‘The Invitation’ and consider it silently. The first stanza reads, ‘It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.’ Then, in silence, Ms Snow puts on the video of Pleasantville, a story of a teenager who wants to break out of his black-and-white sit-com world. While the natural world and consumption patterns do not filter into this discussion as they did in Mr Rye’s classroom, Ms Snow’s stated intentions, which emanate from her ecological beliefs, include helping students examine their lives in order to take responsibility for their relationships. While it is apparent that the above vignette is in alignment with Ms Snow’s intentions for students, it also shows that to Ms Snow, as well as to Mr Rye, self-aware- ness is a building block of integrity, and one who has consciously developed integrity, they believe, will be more likely to consider ecological perspectives. They do not include explicit ecological curriculum, but instead focus on what they consider to be a related ecological principle. In contrast, the third participant, Mrs Avila, does tend to include more explicit ecological ideas, and she, like Mr Rye, does so through her elabora- tion of the written or stated curriculum. Mrs Avila’s beliefs lead her to cover some subjects in more depth and with a particular perspective; for her it is a matter of emphasis. However, unlike Mr Rye, Mrs Avila feels very comfort- able infusing her ecological beliefs: In geography, we talk about population, which is a pretty common topic, … [but] I feel totally comfortable deciding … to talk about not just where does population grow, where does it shrink and why, but also the impact of popu- lation growth, depending on whether it is a society that is resource-intense … I feel totally comfortable choosing to introduce the kids to that. The following vignette illustrates this ecological emphasis as well as an extended, spontaneous discussion with her students about recycling. Notice 800 C. M. MOROYE the stated agenda and what actually occurs. Although lengthy, the vignette does illustrate a real situation in which the teacher uses questioning to guide the students’ understanding away from a common line of thinking that ecological responsibility is inconvenient toward a more connected way of thinking about personal choice and action. Mrs Avila’s 9th grade World Geography students are greeted by her friendly demeanour and an overhead that has the Geography Agenda with the Colorado state geography standards for the day: 6.1. Students know how to apply geography to understand the past. 6.2. Students know how to apply geography to understand the present and plan for the future. Today’s activities 1. Complete presentations. 2. Discuss population’s impact. 3. What causes population to grow or shrink? 4. Population pyramids in Lab A. The starter has a picture of a population pyramid, which looks like an isosceles triangle with horizontal stripes. The starter tells them that this is a population pyramid and asks students to explain what it might mean. ‘Guessing is okay!’ Mrs Avila tells them. Mrs Avila takes responses, and one student surmises that those at the bottom of the pyramid don’t have a lot of money. ‘Good thinking!’ Mrs Avila responds. ‘Ian, what did you put?’ ‘Nothing’, Ian replies. ‘What will you be writing down?’ Mrs Avila asks again. ‘I think maybe the bars show age.’ ‘Terrific thinking!’ Mrs Avila praises. They then move on to student presenta- tions. ‘Who’s the environment group?’ The group of four students makes their way to the front, and they discuss how we need clean air and water to live. They say that we as humans take more for ourselves, leaving little for other species, and they give specific examples about deforestation. ‘Pause there,’ Mrs Avila interjects. ‘What was Brad talking about with BIODI- VERSITY? What are we using up? Where are we getting 50% of our prescrip- tion drugs?’ ‘The Rainforest’, a student in the audience answers. ‘So biodiversity refers to plants and animals that exist. So do we benefit from biodiversity?’ ‘Yes, like with prescription drugs’, another student responds. ‘But what was Alice talking about? It’s not only about us, is it?’ ‘No.’ ‘It is about the plants and animals—they become extinct! For example, let’s think about eggshells. In order for them to be made of what they need— COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 801 calcium—birds eat snails; snails eat plants; and plants get calcium from soil. But why is calcium not in soil anymore?’ ‘ACID RAIN!’ a student shouts. ‘Acid rain caused by?’ ‘Burning of fossil fuels’, the student responds. Mrs Avila moves to stand near two talkative boys, but does not scold them. ‘So when we get in our cars, do we say, “We’re going to kill some birds today!”? No! But the unintended consequences are just as serious as the intended consequences.’ As the discussion unfolds, Mrs Avila questions individual students about resource-use and -consumption patterns, and eventually turns to a discussion of waste. ‘Where is this place called trash? Has anyone ever visited this place called trash?’ Mrs Avila asks. ‘You mean like a landfill?’ ‘Yeah. How long does the toothpaste tube stay there?’ ‘Forever?’ one student guesses. Mrs Avila prompts, ‘How long are you planning to live? 100 years? I’m plan- ning on 105, so you’ll be taking care of me when I’m old. Will the tube be there when Armando is 100 years old?’ Students shrug, and some say no, some yes. ‘The tube I use is metal—it’s recyclable.’ ‘What kind do you use?’ ‘Tom’s of Maine.’ [i.e. brand name] ‘Oh. That organic stuff.’ ‘Yeah. So how long does it take for the toothpaste tube to dissolve? Thousands of years! Students gasp. ‘The vast majority of my furniture is used—from the 1930s and 1950s. I make a conscious effort to recycle and to buy things that can be recycled.’ ‘Why?’ a student asks. ‘Because it’s not just about me. I think about you guys when you are 105. I want you to have a planet worth living on. What we’re talking about with global warming—300 scientists, the top in their field—say the earth’s temper- ature is rising a couple degrees. Glaciers that have been in Greenland for thou- sands of years are melting. Penguins and polar bears are dying because they can’t get their food. So guys, are these [population pyramids] just about the number of people growing?’ ‘No’, several students respond. ‘NO. It’s about what?’ ‘How we use our resources and create junk and stuff,’ one student says. Mrs Avila then addresses a student with a plastic Coke bottle. ‘Evan, what will you do with that Coke bottle?’ ‘Throw it away,’ Evan says. ‘Why? Why won’t you recycle it?’ Mrs. Avila asks. 802 C. M. MOROYE ‘No recycle bins.’ ‘Okay! Why at HHS do we not have many recycle bins? There is an area of the school with recycle bins, but students can’t go there. Is that a problem? Shana is drinking juice—and we’re glad because juice is far better than Coke, no offence, Evan. But when you’re done, will you ask me to recycle it for you?’ ‘No. You should have a recycle bin in here’, Shana says. ‘So it’s up to me?’ Mrs Avila asks. ‘We should have a recycle day. All the students who get in trouble should pick up trash and recycling,’ another student offers. ‘They should have recycle bins,’ another student says. ‘Who is this “they”? Do you care?’ ‘It’s more of a habit,’ Shana says. ‘How could we get you to change that habit? Do you all agree that if more recy- cle bins were available, you would recycle?’ About eight students raise their hands to say yes. ‘But we have to overcome laziness!’ Shana says. ‘Who needs to organize this movement?’ Mrs Avila asks Shana. ‘Everybody. Students.’ ‘Why students? Would some people listen to you? You personally? Armando, would you be willing to work with other students to increase the number of recycling bins?’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘What would make you more likely?’ ‘To know that students will use them,’ Armando says. ‘Did you know we used to have a recycling club?’ Mrs Avila asks. ‘No!’ many students respond, shocked. ‘It faded away because students stopped coming. Mr Hepner might be willing to do this again, but could this be student-driven?’ ‘Yes,’ many respond. ‘What would need to happen?’ ‘Talk to Ms Wright,’ Shana says referring to the activities director. ‘Is anyone willing?’ ‘Yes! I will!’ Shana volunteers. ‘Is this a big change in the scheme of things?’ ‘No. We are only one school’, a student says. ‘But maybe it will encourage other schools!’ Shana offers. Class is ending, and Mrs Avila encourages students to think about their conversation today. ‘Who will follow through?’ she asks as they leave. Several students stay after the bell to talk further with her about the recycling club and various other ideas. COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 803 The written curriculum as evidenced by the agenda does not accurately reflect what actually occurred in the classroom.10 While Mrs Avila certainly did ‘discuss population’s impact’, she did so in a way that elicited thinking in her students that, for some, led to action and for others to increased over- all engagement in the class. I asked Mrs Avila in our second interview if anyone had followed up on offering more recycling in the building.11 They haven’t had action yet, but they are still talking about it. And, actually Shana, one of the girls who volunteered, is talking to me more in class now and even turned in some late work… She was certainly not doing well [before this lesson], but I am hoping that she is feeling a little more tied in. I asked Mrs Avila why she thinks that the lesson resonated in particular with Shana: I have some ideas that maybe it was because I totally trusted that she would do it and that I was very enthusiastic when she volunteered. I am hoping that she at least sees that I do believe in her. I am not sure that she believes in herself a whole bunch. The complementary curriculum in Mrs Avila’s case is not only expressed in the stories and examples of her own life, but also in the types of thinking she elicited in students through a series of questions and statements in the impromptu discussion about recycling. To elicit that thinking, she employed a pedagogical technique of questioning which is similar to strategies discussed by Cotton (2006b) in her study of three geography teachers in the UK. Cotton identified three strategies teachers use to discuss controversial environmental education topics: ‘Strategy 1: Eliciting students’ personal views…; Strategy 2: Enabling students to discuss their own views…; and Strategy 3: Challenging students’ views’ (p. 227). Cotton’s study and this study are similar in that both identify ‘real’, not ‘ideal’ practices. However, the contexts are different in that all three of Cotton’s participants were actively engaged in teaching environmental issues as part of the formal curriculum. Still, the strategies discussed (and in particular Strategies 1 and 3) are evident in Mrs Avila’s practice and offer another example of this pedagogy at work. Furthermore, Mrs Avila appears more focused on uncovering the origins of students’ individual behaviours. She spends a lot of time eliciting students’ rationales for their own behaviour. (’Evan, what will you do with that bottle when you are done with it?’). This fourth strategy of considering the rationale for one’s own behaviour could be considered useful in contexts in which teachers are focused on action, or in which the focus is on habits of mind that affect behaviour (’Why won’t you recycle it?’). While the teachers in Cotton’s study were more engaged in debating complex and abstract issues (such as the governance of Antarctica), Mrs Avila and her students were dealing with seemingly simple and concrete behavior—recycling. Discussing this imme- diate and daily behaviour highlighted the locality and immediacy of personal choice for students. This strategy, or pedagogical practice, emerged from deeply-held beliefs and the lifestyle of Mrs Avila, and it took place in the context of the caring classroom community she consciously orchestrated. It may be difficult for other teachers to emulate, but in this case, the pedagog- ical practice that characterizes the complementary curriculum in Mrs Avila’s 804 C. M. MOROYE work led some students to reflect upon their own behaviour and to ultimately reorganize the Environment Club at Highline. Implications for teaching: toward an ‘environmentally- sustainable pedagogy’ Mrs Avila’s pedagogical choices help her to guide students to a more ecolog- ical frame of mind; she does so by expanding upon the formal social-studies curriculum. However, many ecological curriculum theorists suggest that environmentally-sustainable education should be characterized by a trans- disciplinary curriculum (Van Kannel-Ray 2006). This kind of curriculum requires a communal effort and, I would argue, a whole-school reform effort.12 The participants in the present study, however, did not have the benefit of working within whole-school curriculum framework, or even with like-minded others. Indeed, each teacher worked alone and in a single disci- pline. Therefore, to ask whether or not they are realizing a new model of ecological education is neither fair nor appropriate, but we may perhaps glean some aspects of what environmentally-sustainable pedagogy could look like: environmentally sustainable pedagogy as a theory of teaching can inform how to hold the individual and the community in relationship… It can offer a new identity to teachers as teaching with a moral imperative, as helping students to become more responsibly embedded in the natural world. (Van Kannel-Ray 2006: 122) She suggests that pedagogical practices should emerge from the overarching ecological principles of ‘intergenerational responsibility’, ‘organic percep- tion’, and ‘sustainable outcomes’ (p. 117). Each teacher from the present study contributes to a vision of these pedagogical practices through either intergenerational responsibility or organic perception (the present study is limited in understanding the effects on sustainable outcomes). Intergenerational responsibility deals with balancing the individual’s needs with the needs of the past and the future. Mr Rye begins to help weave this tale of balance in his writing exercises with students. He urges them to write in detail about their own individuality, but couches that uniqueness and related consumption in a broader perspective so as to avoid seeing ‘the indi- vidual as the epicentre of the universe’ (Bowers 1995: 7). Furthermore, this type of focus seems to be in line with Bonnett’s (2002) discussion of educa- tion for sustainability as a frame of mind which seeks to ‘reconnect people with their origins and what sustains them and to develop their love of them- selves’ (p. 271). Reminding them that until recently water was the predom- inant drink for humankind, and that also until recently humankind relied upon local food sources, Mr Rye brings a deeper awareness of the connec- tions between humans and their environments to his students and highlights students’ understandings of their own choices. Mr Rye does not, however, ask students to change their behaviours or to even consider the environmen- tal or social ramifications of their choices. On the other hand, Mrs Avila does urge students to consider the effects of their choices, particularly the ways COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 805 they handle trash and recycling. Her efforts seem particularly fruitful in that the Recycling Club gained renewed membership and activity. Organic perception is an indication of an individual’s perceived connec- tion with the natural world (Van Kannel-Ray 2006). Seeing oneself as connected, or as Ms Snow puts it ‘in relationship’, limits our tendencies to exploit others, both human and other-than-human. Therefore, Ms Snow’s work may also make a contribution to environmentally-sustainable peda- gogy in her cultivation of a caring community. Not only does Ms Snow have a deep commitment to fostering relationships with her students, she facili- tates students’ relationships with each other through encouragement, creat- ing space for students to have their voices heard, and by making it safe for them to discuss different ideas with each other, even in a very diverse setting. This is done in the context of individual purpose and a discussion of each student’s ‘song’. The learning community becomes a place that fosters organic perception. Complementary curriculum, the embedded and often unconscious expression of one’s beliefs, is the manifestation of a teacher’s wholeness or completeness, of his or her integrity.13 In his essay ‘The heart of a teacher: identity and integrity in teaching’, Palmer (1997) discusses the importance of teachers’ awareness and development of identity and integrity in teaching. By identity Palmer means ‘an evolving nexus where all the forces that consti- tute my life converge in the mystery of self… Identity is a moving intersection of the inner and outer forces that make me who I am’ (p. 17). By integrity Palmer means ‘whatever wholeness I am able to find within that nexus as its vectors form and re-form the pattern of my life. Integrity requires that I discern what is integral to my selfhood, what fits and what does not’ (p. 17). For Palmer, a teacher’s identity and integrity—not technique and method— are what make them great teachers: My ability to connect with my students, and to connect them with the subject, depends less on the methods I use than on the degree to which I know and trust my selfhood—and am willing to make it available and vulnerable in the service of learning. (p. 16) Complementary curriculum is the expression of this identity and integ- rity, of what Palmer (1997: 16) calls the ‘integral and undivided self’. As illustrated in the vignettes presented above, this expression might emerge in a variety of planned or spontaneous ways, often dependent upon the partic- ular moment and context as orchestrated by the teacher. This is what makes complementary curriculum different from the myriad of other terms in our curricular lexicon: the source of complementary curriculum comes uniquely from the teacher and her personal passions and beliefs. While the focus of this study is on the expression of ecological beliefs and therefore complementary ecological curriculum, this idea might be applied to other beliefs or passions, such as an artistic sensibility or commitment to social justice. In order to explore and understand the complementary curric- ulum of such beliefs, the researcher would need to first interview the teacher so that she may articulate her beliefs and passions. Next, the researcher would observe the teacher’s work to see how if at all the beliefs are infused in practice. For example, these passions might be expressed through the use 806 C. M. MOROYE of music or stories of artistic encounters, or through a biographical study of social activists, or first-hand accounts of participating in social change. It is important to note that the teachers’ beliefs may emerge intentionally or unintentionally, consciously or not. Therefore, a follow-up interview with the teacher can foster a discussion of the teacher’s intentions and beliefs with the researcher’s observations. The researcher is then better able to evaluate how the expression of that teacher’s beliefs—the complementary curricu- lum—influences pedagogy, curriculum, assessment, class structure, or other dimensions of schooling. In addition to conducting a follow-up interview, sharing the educational criticisms (or observations) with the teachers may illuminate for them previ- ously unseen connections between their beliefs and practice. Such was the case in the present study, and after I shared the educational criticisms with each teacher, I was struck by their responses. Ms Snow writes: I learned about how our internal belief systems shape the teaching process. Before I understood the nature of [your] study, I could not accurately articu- late why I had sometimes been very happy and other times very unhappy with teaching. Now I understand the very necessary and intrinsic core of how our ecological belief systems and (for me, at least) a corresponding spiritual belief system shapes the art of our relationships with our wonderful students. (Personal communication, 8 September 2006) While this study looks particularly at ecological beliefs, having a similar dialogue with teachers about their particular beliefs and then illustrating for them how those beliefs come to light in their practice may lead to a more developed sense of their teaching integrity, and further research could also explore how the complementary curriculum affects students directly. Implications for ecological teacher education Because of the skills, beliefs, and knowledge required to implement environ- mental education curricula, many point to the importance of ecological perspectives in teacher education programmes (Tilbury 1996, Oulton and Scott 1997, Corcoran 1999b). Some teacher educators have investigated the lives of ecologically-minded teachers and what factors caused them to become ecologically aware. Corcoran (1999b) details the process of writing an environmental autobiography, through which he guides his undergradu- ate pre-service teachers. Corcoran affirms the belief that environmental education in teacher education is the ‘priority of priorities’ (Tilbury 1996, cited in Corcoran 1999b: 179). Corcoran says that environmental autobiographies can help us identify what makes humans want to live sustainably, an issue at the heart of envi- ronmental education. Corcoran says, ‘A desire to protect the natural world arises from a deep sense of affinity with the land and nonhuman beings’ (p.179). He terms this ‘biophilia’, or a love for other living beings, which Corcoran believes is ‘central to our nature as humans’ (p. 180). This is where he begins with environmental educators—with this innate sense of connection explored through environmental autobiography. COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 807 Corcoran (1999a) also completed a study of environmental educators in which he sought to understand the significant childhood life-experiences that led environmental educators to feel a strong connection with the natural world. Mirroring a previous study in the UK by Palmer (1993), he surveyed 510 US teachers about their experiences in nature as children. The narra- tives have recurring themes such as parents and grandparents as environ- mental educators and role models; fear of the effects of environmental problems; world-view, faith, and spirituality; childhood time outside; and hope (Corcoran 1999a: 211–217). Corcoran believes that teachers who have had these significant life experiences will provide similar opportunities for their students to develop their own affinity for the natural world. The present study, in combination with those discussed and cited above, builds evidence that attention to the ecological beliefs of pre-service and in-service teachers may play an important role in the expansion of environmental and ecological education, whatever form they may take. Complementary ecological curriculum also may have import for students. In the case of ecological education, Corcoran (1999a) notes that many who hold ecological beliefs trace the origins of those beliefs to a role model they had in childhood. Perhaps ecologically-minded teachers may become one of those role models as they demonstrate to students through the complementary curriculum that their ecological beliefs are just below the surface and guide their decisions and ways of being. It illustrates to students that ecological issues and ideas are connected to a variety of aspects of our lives, and that they are integral in the minds of the ecologically-minded teachers. These issues and ideas comprise parts of the teachers’ identities, and they inform aspects of personal and global decisions. Complementary ecological curriculum reinforces the notion that the environment and ecological issues are not separate or supplemental; they are part and parcel of our everyday lives. Smith (2004) notes a similar phenomenon in his study of the Environmental Middle School. Teachers did not ‘check their ideals at the door. They instead brought those ideals into every dimension of their work’ (p. 77). Both studies indicate that teachers’ ecological beliefs inform their practice, and therefore what students may experience. Conclusion In his discussion of educational criticism, Eisner (2002) considers whether or not we can generalize from such research. While criticism cannot predict outcomes, it can, Eisner argues, create ‘forms of anticipation by functioning as a kind of road map for the future’ (p. 243): Once having found that such and such exists in a classroom, we learn to antic- ipate it in other classrooms that we visit. Through our experience we build up a repertoire of anticipatory images that makes our search patterns more efficient. (p. 243) This is the case, I believe, with complementary curriculum, ecological or otherwise. As critics, teacher educators, curricularists, and researchers, we can enter a classroom anticipating various expressions of teachers’ personal 808 C. M. MOROYE beliefs. This recognition adds a layer to our understanding and evaluation of what is happening in a classroom, or to what could or should be happening. In this way, identifying, understanding, and evaluating the complementary curriculum is not only useful to teachers themselves, but also to those who aim to support teachers and schools in their efforts, particularly those impor- tant and difficult efforts to ‘green’ our schools. Acknowledgement I am grateful to Bruce Uhrmacher of the University of Denver and Peter Hlebowitsh of the University of Iowa for their thoughtful and constructive feedback on drafts of this paper. Notes 1. By ‘non-environmental’ I simply mean educational contexts and models that are not explicitly focused on teaching environmental themes and ideas, such as a traditional school or an English classroom focused on the Western canon. Certainly all contexts can be considered ecological, although Orr (1992: 90) has said that ‘all education is environ- mental education,’. In other words, it is impossible to separate humans and our constructed worlds from the planet on which we live. 2. It is important to note that many environmental education reforms call for integration of disciplines (see Orr 1992, Smith and Williams 1999, Jardine 2000). While this may indeed be an appropriate and necessary recommendation, the current reality of public schooling is that most US secondary schools are structured with disciplinary separation. 3. The current war in Iraq (Flinders 2006), some religious concepts, and in some cases evolution are all examples of what is not taught in US schools. 4. Eisner (1998) developed educational connoisseurship and criticism (henceforth called educational criticism) as method of qualitative inquiry intended to improve education. Connoisseurship is the art of appreciation and criticism the art of disclosure (Eisner 2002). Therefore, connoisseurship requires that the researcher have enough educational knowledge to be able to observe the subtleties and intricacies of the educational setting. The criticism, then, illuminates the connoisseur’s perspective with the aim of educational improvement in mind. 5. See note 1. 6. The campus of SLHS boasts a collegiate setting with four separate buildings, three cafe- terias, a variety of outdoor spaces to congregate, and extensive sports facilities. The school is situated on 80 acres adjacent to a large state park, and several of its classrooms overlook the reservoir. Students have a generous amount of autonomy. Of the 3700 students, approximately 86% are White, 2% are African American, 7% are Asian, and 5% are Hispanic. 7. HHS lies on 32 acres near a large public park and wetlands refuge. The single, more traditional high-school building has been recently remodelled to include an Academic Success Centre, a new athletic area, and refurbished entrances. Of the approximately 2000 students at Highline, 1% is Native American, 32% are African American, 6% are Asian, 16% are Hispanic, and 45% are White. Furthermore, students speak 52 home languages and come from 110 countries. Both schools have an average class size of about 25 students. SLHS and HHS participate in their district’s large-scale curriculum imple- mentation project in which all classes provide an opportunity to learn certain essential components in the core areas (English, mathematics, social studies, and science). Teach- ers are provided with extensive curriculum binders, but in most cases are not directed how to teach the essential core content. The formal curriculum is a compilation of the state of Colorado’s standards as well as university-preparatory skills, and a major focus of the district is to improve performance on standardized state tests. COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 809 8. Ms Snow was trained by Native American teachers in various ceremonies for a number of years. For purposes of confidentiality, I have eliminated all other identifying details. 9. Zelig is the story of a man who transforms himself to be like those who surround him in order to gain approval. 10. Eisner (2002: 32–34) described that which actually happens in a classroom as the ‘oper- ationalized curriculum’. 11. After the conclusion of this study, HHS did resurrect the Environment Club. Many members came from Mrs Avila’s class. 12. See, for example, the Portland Environmental Middle School (Smith 2004). 13. ‘Complementary’ literally means ‘forming a complement, completing, perfecting’ or ‘of two (or more) things: mutually complementing or completing each other’s deficiencies’ (Oxford English Dictionary 1989). We might think of complementary angles, which when paired together make a right angle. We might also think of complementary colours, ‘which, in combination, produce white or colourless light’ (Oxford English Dictionary 1989). References Barone, T. (2000) Aesthetics, Politics, and Educational Inquiry: Essays and Examples (New York: Peter Lang). Blumstein, D. T. and Saylan, C. (2007) The failure of environmental education (and how we can fix it). PLoS Biology, 5(5), e120. Available online at: http://www.pubmedcen- tral.nih.gov/articlerender.fcgi?artid=1847843, accessed 12 November 2008. Bonnett, M. (2002) Education for sustainability as a frame of mind. Environmental Education Research, 8(1), 265–276. Bowers, C. A. (1993) Education, Cultural Myths, and the Ecological Crisis: Toward Deep Changes (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press). Bowers, C. A. (1995) Educating for an Ecologically Sustainable Culture: Rethinking Moral Education, Creativity, Intelligence, and Other Modern Orthodoxies (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press). Bowers, C. A. (2001) Educating for Eco-justice and Community (Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press). Bowers, C. A. (2003) Mindful Conservatism: Rethinking the Ideological and Educational Basis of an Ecologically Sustainable Future (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield). Connelly, F. M., He, M. F. and Phillion, J. (2008) The SAGE Handbook of Curriculum and Instruction (Los Angeles, CA: Sage). Corcoran, P. B. (1999a) Formative influences in the lives of environmental educators in the United States. Environmental Education Research, 5(2), 207–220. Corcoran, P. B. (1999b) Environmental autobiography in undergraduate educational studies. In G. A. Smith and D. R. Williams (eds), Ecological Education in Action: On Weaving Education, Culture, and the Environment (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press), 179–188. Cotton, D. R. E. (2006a) Implementing curriculum guidance on environmental education: the importance of teacher’s beliefs. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 38(1), 67–83. Cotton, D. R. E. (2006b) Teaching controversial environmental issues: neutrality and balance in the reality of the classroom. Educational Research, 48(2), 223–241. Cutter-MacKenzie, A. and Smith, R. (2003) Ecological literacy: the ‘missing paradigm’ in environmental education (Part one). Environmental Education Research, 9(4), 497–524. Dillon, P. J. and Gayford, C. G. (1997) A psychometric approach to investigating the envi- ronmental beliefs, intentions, and behaviours of pre-service teachers. Environmental Education Research, 3(3), 283–297. Eisner, E. W. (1988) The ecology of school improvement. Educational Leadership, 45(5), 24–29. Eisner, E. W. (1998) The Enlightened Eye: Qualitative Inquiry and the Enhancement of Educational Practice (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Merrill). Eisner, E. W. (2002) The Educational Imagination: On the Design and Evaluation of School Programs, 3rd ed. (New York: Macmillan). 810 C. M. MOROYE Flinders, D. J. (1996) Teaching for cultural literacy: a curriculum study. Journal of Curricu- lum and Supervision, 2(4), 351–366. Flinders, D. J. (2006) We can and should teach the war in Iraq. Education Digest, 71(5), 8–12. Flinders, D. J., Noddings, N. and Thornton, S. J. (1986) The null curriculum: its theoretical basis and practical implications. Curriculum Inquiry, 16(1), 33–42. Gruenewald, D. A. and Manteaw, B. O. (2007) Oil and water still: how No Child Left Behind limits and distorts environmental education in US schools. Environmental Education Research, 13(2), 171–188. He, M. F., Phillion, J., Chan, E. and Xu, S. (2008) Immigrant students’ experience of curriculum. In F. M. Connelly, M. F. He and J. Phillion (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Curriculum and Instruction (Los Angeles, CA: Sage), 219–239. Heimlich, J. E. (ed.) (2002) Environmental Education: A Resource Handbook (Bloomington, IN: Phi Delta Kappa Educational Foundation). International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources (IUCN)/ UNESCO (1970) Final Report on an International Working Meeting on Environmental Education in the School Curriculum—International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources in Cooperation with UNESCO as Part of UNESCO’s International Education Year (Gland, Switzerland: IUCN). Jackson, P. W. (1968) Life in Classrooms (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston). Jardine, D. W. (2000) ‘Under the Tough Old Star’: Ecopedagogical Essays (Brandon, VT: Foundation for Educational Renewal). Jickling, B. and Wals, A. (2007) Globalization and environmental education: looking beyond sustainable development. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 40(1), 1–21. Martusewicz, R. (2005) Eros in the commons: educating for eco-ethical consciousness in a poetics of place. Ethics, Place and Environment, 8(3), 331–348. Moroye, C. M. (2005) Common ground: an ecological perspective on teaching and learn- ing. Curriculum and Teaching Dialogue, 7(1.2), 123–137. Noddings, N. (ed.) (2005) Educating Citizens for Global Awareness (New York: Teachers College Press). Orr, D. W. (1992) Ecological Literacy: Education and the Transition to a Postmodern World (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press). Oulton, C. R. and Scott, W. A. H. (1997) Linking teacher education and environmental education: a European perspective. In P. J. Thompson (ed.), Environmental Education for the 21st Century: International and Interdisciplinary Perspectives (New York: Peter Lang), 45–57. Oxford English Dictionary (1989)(Oxford: Oxford University Press). Palmer, J. (1993) Development of concern for the environment and formative experiences of educators. Journal of Environmental Education, 24(3), 26–30. Palmer, P. J. (1997) The heart of a teacher: identity and integrity in teaching. Change, 29(6), 15–21. Robertson, C. L. and Krugly-Smolska, E. (1997) Gaps between advocated practices and teaching realities in environmental education. Environmental Education Research, 3(3), 311–326. Smith, G. A. (2004) Cultivating care and connection: preparing the soil for a just and sustainable society. Educational Studies, 36(1), 73–92. Smith, G. A. (2007) Place-based education: breaking through the constraining regularities of public school. Environmental Education Research, 13(2), 189–207. Smith, G. A. and Williams, D. R. (1999) Ecological Education in Action: On Weaving, Education, Culture, and the Environment (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press). Sobel, D. (2004) Place-based Education: Connecting Classrooms & Communities (Great Barrington, MA: The Orion Society). Sterling, S. (2001) Sustainable Education: Re-visioning Learning and Change Schumacher Briefing, No 6 (Foxhole, UK: Green Books). Tilbury, D. (1996) Environmentally educating teachers: the priority of priorities. Connect, 15(1), 1. Uhrmacher, P. B. (1997) The curriculum shadow. Curriculum Inquiry, 27(3), 317–329. Uhrmacher, P. B. and Matthews, J. (eds) (2005) Intricate Pallette: Working the Ideas of Elliot Eisner (Upper Sadle River, NJ: Pearson). COMPLEMENTARY CURRICULUM 811 United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (earth Summit) (1992) Agenda 21: Chapter 36: Promoting Education, Public Awareness and Training. Available online at: http://www.un.org/esa/sustdev/documents/agenda21/english/agenda21chapter36.htm, accessed 3 November 2008. Van Kannel-Ray, N. (2006) Guiding principles and emerging practices for environmentally sustainable education. Curriculum and Teaching Dialogue, 8(1/2), 113–123. Copyright of Journal of Curriculum Studies is the property of Routledge and its content may not be copied or emailed to multiple sites or posted to a listserv without the copyright holder's express written permission. However, users may print, download, or email articles for individual use. 
work_gvzskjcdd5bfllfbdnhvehwzru	----	Preface Recent Advances in Thrombosis and Hemostasis—Part IV Sam Schulman, MD, PhD1,2 1Department of Medicine, Thrombosis and Atherosclerosis Research Institute, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada 2Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, I.M. Sechenov First Moscow State Medical University, Moscow, Russia Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45:130–131. If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. Henry David Thoreau, 1817–1862 This is the fourth theme issue in the series of Recent Advances inThrombosis and Hemostasis, for which I have had the honor to be the guest editor. When we think of advances in throm- bosis, it is easy to associate with the recent developments of new oral anticoagulants that increasingly are replacing vita- min K antagonists. It is therefore appropriate that half of the contributionstothisissuereportonvariousaspectsofthenon- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants (NOACs). In accor- dance with the previous issues in this series, the articles have been harmonized to use the term NOAC rather than any other term. This is, of course, a matter of style, but it is also the abbreviation consistently used by the European Society of Cardiology. It is also important to point out that NOAC does not stand for new/novel oral anticoagulant.1 Nevertheless, even if these agents are not so new anymore, there are many new aspects to them that require studies. Let us, however, start with a few more basic topics. South Africa has been hit hard by the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) epidemic, and it is therefore pertinent to present a review by Jackson and Pretorius from South Africa on the effects of HIV on platelets, red blood cells, and fibrinogen.2 They discuss how the inflammatory changes may increase the risk of deep vein thrombosis in patients infected by HIV and how some hematological markers could be of interest in the assessment of these patients. They also present the classes of antiretroviral therapy available in South Africa. Autoimmune diseases also generate inflammatory responses and are associated with increased risk of venous thromboembolism (VTE). For patients with autoimmune dis- ease and a VTE event, a common question is how long the anticoagulant treatment should continue. Is it more important to focus on immunosuppression or on anticoagulation in the long run? Borjas-Howard et al have here performed a sys- tematic literature review to help us find some answers.3 Spinal cord injury activates multiple prothrombotic mechanisms, representing all three components of Virch- ow’s triad and generates therefore probably the highest risk of VTE in patients admitted to hospital. The risk remains elevated for several months and requires extended thromboprophylaxis. Due to concomitant risk of bleeding, several questions regarding optimal prophylactic regimen and timing remain to be answered. Piran and Schulman present a narrative review of the topic together with suggestions for future research.4 Prevention on the arterial side is important after myocardial infarction or stroke, but what is the risk/benefit ratio of primary prevention? This question has been further highlighted by the recently published ASPirin in Reducing Events in the Elderly (ASPREE) trial demonstrating not only lack of benefit but also harm with aspirin in healthy elderly people.5 Lippi et al have reviewed the meta-analyses and the recent ASPREE data to try and tease out the benefits and harms of primary prophylaxis.6 The balance between high risk of thrombosis and bleeding is revisited in patients with hip fractures. They are usually elderly and frail and a substantial proportion of them are on an anticoagulant, mainly for stroke prophylaxis in atrial fibrillation. Grandone et al have performed a literature review to find answers to questions regarding reversal of anticoagulants and perioperative bridging of anticoagu- lants.7 They summarize the available data in a narrative review, which includes both vitamin K antagonist and NOAC management. Conversely, for minor surgical proce- dures, there is growing evidence that oral anticoagulation does not have to be stopped. Brennan et al have reviewed the studies and also the recommendations from various societies and presented the results in another narrative review.8 NOACs have a favorable bleeding risk profile, especially regarding intracranial bleeding. In major surgery, there is always some blood loss, also unavoidable with the NOACs. Address for correspondence Sam Schulman, MD, PhD, Thrombosis Service, HHS-General Hospital, 237 Barton Street East, Hamilton, ON L8L 2X2, Canada (e-mail: schulms@mcmaster.ca). Issue Theme Recent Advances in Thrombosis and Hemostasis— Part IV; Guest Editor: Sam Schulman, MD, PhD. Copyright © 2019 by Thieme Medical Publishers, Inc., 333 Seventh Avenue, New York, NY 10001, USA. Tel: +1(212) 584-4662. DOI https://doi.org/ 10.1055/s-0039-1678721. ISSN 0094-6176. Preface130 D o w n lo a d e d b y: C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity . C o p yr ig h te d m a te ri a l. mailto: https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-1678721 https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0039-1678721 Rivaroxaban was in a pooled analysis more effective than low-molecular-weight heparin in reducing symptomatic VTE after total hip or total knee replacement,9 and has become the standard at many hospitals. Krauss et al performed a retrospective chart review of 1,241 arthroplasties at their center to investigate the risk of bleeding complications on rivaroxaban among obese and morbidly obese patients.10 They found a significant increase in the risk of major bleeding with an interaction by sex. Likewise, there is an increased risk of bleeding and other complications shortly after dis- charge from hospital among patients started on anticoagula- tion. Identification of risk factors for bleeding, education, and intensive short-term follow-up may help reducing this risk. Lim et al describe a nurse-led pathway implemented at Monash Medical Centre in Australia to minimize adverse events after newly started rivaroxaban in the hospital.11 They report low rates of bleeding and recurrence, and their model should be easy to replicate at other centers. Although bleeding is a well-recognized adverse event from anticoagu- lation therapy, other side effects have occasionally been reported or suspected, such as osteoporosis from vitamin K antagonists. Lobato et al investigated whether there is a difference in the signals of different adverse events between the vitamin K antagonists and the NOACs, using reports from a network of pharmacies in a Spanish region.12 They were particularly interested in finding new signals of adverse drug reactions in clinical practice. In the last contribution, Russo et al are seeking an answer to the question how NOACs perform in patients with atrial fibrillation and concomitant malignant disease.13 We know now from two recently published trials that edoxaban and rivaroxaban appear at least as effective as low-molecular- weight heparin in patients with VTE and malignancy, albeit with increased risk of bleeding on the NOAC, driven by gastrointestinal hemorrhage in patients with cancer in this organ.14,15 The presented systematic review did not identify any ad hoc designed trials and is based on cohort studies and subgroups from randomized trials. The authors could, how- ever, not find any alarming data that would lead us to avoid NOACs in this context. The reader can thus enjoy a compilation of articles on pathogenesis, prophylaxis, perioperative management, and adverse drug reactions. I hope that several, if not all, con- tributions will be of interest. Hopefully, the articles can also be useful as references. Conflict of Interest None. References 1 Husted S, de Caterina R, Andreotti F, et al; ESC Working Group on Thrombosis Task Force on Anticoagulants in Heart Disease. Non- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants (NOACs): no longer new or novel. Thromb Haemost 2014;111(05):781–782 2 Jackson SB, Pretorius E. Pathological clotting and deep vein thrombosis in patients with HIV. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019; 45(02):132–140 3 Borjas-Howard JF, de Leeuw K, Rutgers A, Meijer K, Tichelaar YIGV. Risk of recurrent venous thromboembolism in autoimmune dis- eases: a systematic review of the literature. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):141–149 4 Piran S, Schulman S. Thromboprophylaxis in patients with acute spinal cord Injury: a narrative review. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):150–156 5 Ridker PM. Should aspirin be used for primary prevention in the post-statin era? N Engl J Med 2018;379(16):1572–1574 6 Lippi G, Danese E, Favaloro EJ. Harms and benefits of using aspirin for primary prevention of cardiovascular disease: a narrative overview. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):157–163 7 Grandone E, Ostuni A, Tiscia GL, Barcellona D, Marongiu F. Management of patients taking oral anticoagulants who need urgent surgery for hip fracture. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45 (02):164–170 8 Brennan J, Favaloro EJ, Curnow J. To maintain or cease non- vitamin K antagonist oral anticoagulants prior to minimal bleed- ing risk procedures: a review of evidence and recommendations. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):171–179 9 Turpie AG, Lassen MR, Eriksson BI, et al. Rivaroxaban for the prevention of venous thromboembolism after hip or knee arthro- plasty. Pooled analysis of four studies. Thromb Haemost 2011;105 (03):444–453 10 Krauss ES, Cronin M, Dengler N, et al. The effect of BMI and gender on bleeding events when rivaroxaban is administered for throm- boprophylaxis following total hip and total knee arthroplasty. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):180–186 11 Lim MS, Indran T, Cummins A, et al. Utility of a nurse-led pathway for patients with acute venous thromboembolism discharged on rivaroxaban: a prospective cohort study. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45(02):187–195 12 Lobato CT, Jiménez-Serranía M-I, García RM, Delibes FC, Arias LHM. New anticoagulant agents: incidence of adverse drug reac- tions and new signals thereof. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019;45 (02):196–204 13 Russo V, Bottino R, Rago A, et al. Atrial fibrillation and malig- nancy: the clinical performance of non-vitamin k oral antic- oagulants - a systematic review. Semin Thromb Hemost 2019; 45(02):205–214 14 Raskob GE, van Es N, Verhamme P, et al; Hokusai VTE Cancer Investigators. Edoxaban for the treatment of cancer-associated venous thromboembolism. N Engl J Med 2018;378(07): 615–624 15 Young AM, Marshall A, Thirlwall J, et al. Comparison of an oral factor Xa inhibitor with low molecular weight heparin in patients with cancer with venous thromboembolism: results of a randomized trial (SELECT-D). J Clin Oncol 2018;36(20): 2017–2023 Seminars in Thrombosis & Hemostasis Vol. 45 No. 2/2019 Preface 131 D o w n lo a d e d b y: C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity . C o p yr ig h te d m a te ri a l. 
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work_gx63h3wkv5dmxdgvrt6xin7r4m	----	The hazards of hazard identification in environmental epidemiology | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1186/s12940-017-0296-3 Corpus ID: 20178714The hazards of hazard identification in environmental epidemiology @article{Saracci2017TheHO, title={The hazards of hazard identification in environmental epidemiology}, author={R. Saracci}, journal={Environmental Health}, year={2017}, volume={16} } R. Saracci Published 2017 Medicine Environmental Health Hazard identification is a major scientific challenge, notably for environmental epidemiology, and is often surrounded, as the recent case of glyphosate shows, by debate arising in the first place by the inherently problematic nature of many components of the identification process. Particularly relevant in this respect are components less amenable to logical or mathematical formalization and essentially dependent on scientists’ judgment. Four such potentially hazardous components that are… Expand View on Springer ehjournal.biomedcentral.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 4 CitationsBackground Citations 2 View All Figures, Tables, and Topics from this paper table 1 figure 1 glyphosate Mathematics Conflict (Psychology) Environmental Illness 4 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Epidemiology’s dual social commitment: to science and health R. Saracci Political Science, Medicine American journal of epidemiology 2020 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Threshold in the toxicology of metals: Challenges and pitfalls of the concept Jean-Marc Moulis, Z. Bulat, A. Djordjević Environmental Science 2020 1 Save Alert Research Feed Modeling regional-scale groundwater arsenic hazard in the transboundary Ganges River Delta, India and Bangladesh: Infusing physically-based model with machine learning. Madhumita Chakraborty, Soumyajit Sarkar, +4 authors A. Mitra Environmental Science, Medicine The Science of the total environment 2020 2 Save Alert Research Feed Nosology expansion: not always for health’s sake R. Saracci Medicine European Journal of Epidemiology 2019 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 43 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency State-of-the-Science Workshop Report: Issues and Approaches in Low-Dose–Response Extrapolation for Environmental Health Risk Assessment R. White, Ila Cote, +6 authors J. Samet Psychology, Medicine Environmental health perspectives 2009 64 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The Prevention of Cancer: Pointers from Epidemiology R. Doll Medicine 2008 7 Save Alert Research Feed GRADE: Assessing the quality of evidence in environmental and occupational health. R. Morgan, K. Thayer, +19 authors H. Schünemann Medicine Environment international 2016 108 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Linear low-dose extrapolation for noncancer health effects is the exception, not the rule L. Rhomberg, J. Goodman, +7 authors S. Cohen Medicine Critical reviews in toxicology 2011 92 Save Alert Research Feed Fundamental carcinogenic processes and their implications for low dose risk assessment. K. Crump, D. Hoel, C. Langley, R. Peto Chemistry, Medicine Cancer research 1976 252 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Triangulation in aetiological epidemiology D. Lawlor, K. Tilling, G. Davey Smith Computer Science, Medicine International journal of epidemiology 2016 394 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Carcinogenic effects of chronic exposure to very low levels of toxic substances. R. Peto Biology, Medicine Environmental health perspectives 1978 63 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Paracelsus Revisited: The Dose Concept in a Complex World. P. Grandjean Medicine Basic & clinical pharmacology & toxicology 2016 24 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed The Emergence of the Dose–Response Concept in Biology and Medicine E. Calabrese Biology, Medicine International journal of molecular sciences 2016 24 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed The Environment and Disease: Association or Causation? A. Hill Medicine Proceedings of the Royal Society of Medicine 1965 5,283 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Figures, Tables, and Topics 4 Citations 43 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. 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work_hcrzd4ytffbyzh263e32hs2wi4	----	The New Conservation Editorial The “New Conservation” A powerful but chimeric movement is rapidly gaining recognition and supporters. Christened the “new con- servation,” it promotes economic development, poverty alleviation, and corporate partnerships as surrogates or substitutes for endangered species listings, protected ar- eas, and other mainstream conservation tools. Its pro- ponents claim that helping economically disadvantaged people to achieve a higher standard of living will kin- dle their sympathy and affection for nature. Because its goal is to supplant the biological diversity–based model of traditional conservation with something entirely dif- ferent, namely an economic growth–based or human- itarian movement, it does not deserve to be labeled conservation. Institutional allies and supporters of the new conser- vation include the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation, the Long Now Foundation, the Nature Conservancy, and the social-justice organization The Breakthrough Institute (Nordaus & Shellenberger 2011). The latter write—in the style of the Enlightenment—that, “We must open our eyes to the joy and excitement experienced by the newly prosperous and increasingly free [persons]. We must create a world where every human can not only realize her material needs, but also her higher needs.” The manifesto of the new conservation movement is “Conservation in the Anthropocene: Beyond Solitude and Fragility” (Lalasz et al. 2011; see also Kareiva 2012). In the latter document, the authors assert that the mission of conservation ought to be primarily humanitarian, not nature (or biological diversity) protection: “Instead of pursuing the protection of biodiversity for biodiversity’s sake, a new conservation should seek to enhance those natural systems that benefit the widest number of peo- ple, especially the poor” (emphasis added). In light of its humanitarian agenda and in conformity with Foreman’s (2012) distinction between environmentalism (a move- ment that historically aims to improve human well-being, mostly by reducing air and water pollution and ensuring food safety) and conservation, both the terms new and conservation are inappropriate. Proponents declare that their new conservation will measure its achievement in large part by its relevance to people, including city dwellers. Underlying this radically humanitarian vision is the belief that nature protection for its own sake is a dysfunctional, antihuman anachronism. To emphasize its radical departure from conservation, the characters of older conservation icons, such as Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, and Edward Abbey, are de- famed as hypocrites and misanthropes and contempo- rary conservation leaders and writers are ignored entirely (Lalasz et al. 2011). The new conservationists assume biological diversity conservation is out of touch with the economic realities of ordinary people, even though this is manifestly false. Since its inception, the Society for Conservation Biology has included scores of progressive social scientists among its editors and authors (see also letters in BioScience, April 2012, volume 63, number 4: 242–243). The new conservationists also assert that national parks and pro- tected areas serve only the elite, but a poll conducted by the nonpartisan National Parks Conservation Association and the National Park Hospitality Association estimates that 95% of voters in America want continued govern- ment support for parks (National Parks Conservation Association 2012). Furthermore, Lalasz et al. (2011) argue that it should be a goal of conservation to spur economic growth in habitat-eradicating sectors, such as forestry, fossil-fuel exploration and extraction, and agriculture. The key assertion of the new conservation is that af- fection for nature will grow in step with income growth. The problem is that evidence for this theory is lacking. In fact, the evidence points in the opposite direction, in part because increasing incomes affect growth in per capita ecological footprint (Soulé 1995; Oates 1999). Other nettlesome issues are ignored, including which kinds of species will persist and which will not if the new economic-growth agenda replaces long-term pro- tection in secure protected areas? Related questions include: Would the creation of designated wilderness areas be terminated? Would the funds to support the new con- servation projects be skimmed from the dwindling con- servation budgets of nongovernmental and government agencies? Is conservation destined to become a zero-sum game, pitting the lifestyles and prosperity of human be- ings against the millions of other life forms? Is it ethical to convert the shrinking remnants of wild nature into farms and gardens beautified with non-native species, following the prescription of writer Marris (2011)? Will these garden-like reserves designed to benefit human communities admit inconvenient, bellicose beasts such as lions, elephants, bears, jaguars, wolves, crocodiles, and 895 Conservation Biology, Volume 27, No. 5, 895–897 C© 2013 Society for Conservation Biology DOI: 10.1111/cobi.12147 896 Editorial sharks—the keystone species that maintain much of the wild’s biological diversity (Terborgh & Estes 2010; Estes et al. 2011)? The new conservationists assume the benefits of eco- nomic development will trickle down and protect bio- logical diversity. Even if that assumption were borne out, I doubt that children growing up in such a garden world will be attuned to nature or that the hoped-for leap in humanity’s love for the wild will occur once per capita consumption reaches a particular threshold. Most shocking is the dismissal by the new conser- vationists of current ecological knowledge. The best current research is solidly supportive of the connection between species diversity and the stability of ecosystems. It has firmly established that species richness and ge- netic diversity enhance many ecological qualities, includ- ing productivity and stability of terrestrial and marine ecosystems, resistance to invasion by weedy species, and agricultural productivity; furthermore, research shows that greater species and genetic diversity reduces transmission rates of disease among species (Tilman 2012). In contrast, implementation of the new conservation would inevitably exclude the keystone species whose behaviors stabilize and regulate ecological processes and enhance ecological resistance to disturbance, includ- ing climate change (Terborgh & Estes 2010). For these reasons and others, conservationists and citizens alike ought to be alarmed by a scheme that replaces wild places and national parks with domesticated landscapes containing only nonthreatening, convenient plants and animals. The globalization of intensive economic activity has ac- celerated the frenzied rush for energy and raw materials and is devouring the last remnants of the wild, largely to serve the expanding, affluent, consumer classes in industrialized and developing nations. At current rates of deforestation, dam construction, extraction of fos- sil fuels, land clearing, water withdrawal, and anthro- pogenic climate change, it is expected that the 2 ma- jor refugia for biological diversity on the globe—the wet, tropical forests of the Amazon, and Congo Basin— will be gone by the end of this century (Mackey et al. 2013). Is the sacrifice of so much natural productivity, beauty, and diversity prudent, even if some human communities and companies might be enriched? No. The worth of nature is beyond question and our obligation to minimize its gratuitous degradation is no less. There is no evidence for the proposition that people are kinder to nature when they are more affluent, if only because their ecological footprints increase roughly in proportion to their consumption. We also know that the richer nations may protect local forests and other natural systems, but they do so at the expense of those ecosystems elsewhere in less affluent places. A third thing we know is that anthropogenic climate change is probably the greatest threat to civilization (Gleick et al. 2010). I must conclude that the new conservation, if im- plemented, would hasten ecological collapse globally, eradicating thousands of kinds of plants and animals and causing inestimable harm to humankind in the long run. Finally, I believe that those who donate to conservation organizations do so in full confidence that their gifts will benefit wild creatures and their habitats. The central issue is whether monies donated to the Nature Conservancy and other conservation nonprofit organizations should be spent for nature protection or should be diverted to humanitarian, economic-development projects such as those proffered by the new conservation on the dubi- ous theory that such expenditures may indirectly benefit biological diversity in the long run. Traditional conservationists do not demand that hu- manitarians stop helping the poor and underprivileged, but the humanitarian-driven new conservationists de- mand that nature not be protected for its own sake but that it be protected only if it materially benefits human beings. Michael Soulé∗ 212 Colorado Avenue, Paonia, CO 81428, U.S.A., email msoule36@gmail.com ∗A more literary version of this essay that highlights the intrinsic value of biological diversity can be accessed at www.michaelsoule.com. Literature Cited Estes, J. A., et al. 2011. Trophic downgrading of plant earth. Science 333:301–306. Foreman, D. 2012. Take back conservation. Raven’s Eye Press, Durango, Colorado. Gleick, P. H., et al. 2010. Climate change and the integrity of science. Science 328:689–690. Kareiva, P. 2012. Failed metaphors and a new environmental- ism for the 21st century. Available from http://www.youtube. com/watch?v=4BOEQkvCook (accessed April 2013). Lalasz, R., P. Kareiva, and M. Marvier. 2011. Conservation in the an- thropocene: beyond solitude and fragility. Breakthrough Journal 2: http://thebreakthrough.org/index.php/journal/past-issues/issue-2/ conservation-in-the-anthropocene/. Mackey, B., I. C. Prentice, W. Steffen, J. I. House, D. Lindenmayer, H. Keith, and S. Berry. 2013. Untangling the confusion around land carbon science and climate change mitigation policy. Nature Climate Change 3:552–557. Marris, E. 2011. Rambunctious garden. Bloomsbury, New York. National Parks Conservation Association. 2012. New poll of likely voters finds unity in public support for national parks. National Parks Conservation Association, Washington, D.C. Available from http:// www.npca.org/news/media-center/press-releases/2012/poll_ parks_support_080712.html (accessed June 2013). Conservation Biology Volume 27, No. 5, 2013 Editorial 897 Nordaus, T., and M. Shellenberger. 2011. From the editors. Break- through Journal 2:7–9. Oates, J. F. 1999. Myth and reality in the rainforest: how conservation strategies are failing in West Africa. University of California Press, Berkeley, California. Soulé, M. E. 1995. The social siege of nature. Pages 137–170 in M. E. Soulé and G. Lease, editors. Reinventing nature? Responses to postmodern deconstruction. Island Press, Washington, D.C. Terborgh, J., and J. A. Estes. 2010. Trophic cascades: predators, prey and the changing dynamics of nature. Island Press, Washington, D.C. Tilman, D. 2012. Biodiversity & environmental sustainability amid hu- man domination of global ecosystems. Daedalus 141:108–120. Conservation Biology Volume 27, No. 5, 2013 
work_hh5hpeipfbb3zb5dxb6l3knmme	----	Remembering Roger Corless Remembering Roger Corless Mark Gonnerman Buddhist-Christian Studies, Volume 27, 2007, pp. 155-157 (Article) Published by University of Hawai'i Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:00 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/bcs.2007.0012 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/220083 https://doi.org/10.1353/bcs.2007.0012 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/220083 When I think of Roger Corless, I think of the bristlecone pine trees in the White Mountains of east-central California, about an hour’s drive from Bishop up White Mountain Road. These trees (Pinus longaeva) are the world’s oldest liv- ing beings. The senior member of the stand in Patriarch Grove, named Methu- selah, is more than 4,700 years old. It is not because Roger lived an especially long life—he was granted only sixty-nine-and-a-half years of calendar time—that he and these trees fuse in my mind. While Roger was an old soul from an older world, this association arises from Roger’s adherence to the kind of ‘‘become who you are’’ eccentricity cele- brated by Henry David Thoreau and other sages who remind each of us to ‘‘step to the music’’ of ‘‘a different drummer.’’ When visiting the bristlecones, one is impressed by the various odd poses struck by each tree. Of course no two are alike; each holds a unique gnarly stance that says, ‘‘You are among a community of nonconformists.’’ These trees remind us that each being is a unique expression of Nature and ought to be honored as such. Thoreau does not use the word ‘‘eccentric’’ in Walden, but writes of extrava- gance instead: I fear chiefly lest my expression not be extra- vagant enough, may not wander far enough beyond the narrow limits of my daily experience, so as to be adequate to the truth of which I have been convinced. Extra vagance! NEWS AND VIEWS 155 it depends on how you are yarded. . . . I desire to speak somewhat without bounds; like a man in a waking moment, to men in their waking mo- ments. A lover of words, as was Roger, Thoreau splits extravagance in two to highlight its root meaning: ‘‘to wander’’ (vagari) ‘‘outside’’ (extra). To learn the truth of matters requires the courage to follow one’s own path, even when—especially when—it takes one beyond the pale. Only then might wanderers become con- vinced of those truths they know, for they have been encountered firsthand and tested, experimentally, in the realm of personal experience. When one sets about the challenging work of claiming a natural right to ec- centricity, one discovers self-authenticating feedback loops that encourage fur- ther steps along an always unfolding, yet untrammeled path. It takes courage to stay in motion, for the way is often rough. People get lost—and found. One’s own authentic way leads to wakefulness. This in turn enables recognition and enjoyment of other liberated beings and compassion for those who have yet to hear chanticleer crow (to stay with Thoreau) or the lion’s roar (as Buddhists might say). As Mas Kodani, a Jodoshinshu minister in South-Central Los Angeles has ob- served, ‘‘One does not stand still looking for a path. One walks; and as one walks a path comes into being.’’ This walk requires a balance of both confident per- severance and an ability to respond to ever-changing conditions. Lives of both the bristlecones and Roger demonstrate perseverance in spite of hostile habitats: the pines, rooted in sandstone and dolomite, hang on in a cold and dry climate at 11,200 feet; Roger made his way with difficulty in spite of challenges he faced as a gay, Buddhist-and-Christian intellectual in Durham County, North Caro- lina. When, after thirty years, Roger became an emeritus professor at Duke and relocated to the San Francisco Bay Area, he found himself in a much more hos- pitable setting. It may seem strange to draw out this comparison of Roger and those ancient White Mountain pines, but when I first met those trees in the summer of 1998, they set a standard for authenticity that came to mind whenever Roger and I interacted. His extravagant accomplishments as a teacher, scholar, and person who lived a life of genuine service to others were attained through the real work of daily spiritual practice, critical reflection, and adherence to the truths—always plural for Roger—of which he had been convinced. I’ll always be grateful for his inspiring example of a human life well lived. It is so helpful to know that the honest witness and rare heart-mind integrity Roger demon- strated are possible here and now. I conclude with one more comparison: the bristlecone’s dead wood remains in the ecosystem for thousands of years because of its dense cell structure, and part of Pinus longaeva will continue living even after most of the tree has died. Through his commitment to scholarship and publishing, Roger’s work as a ‘‘di- 156 NEWS AND VIEWS alogian’’ (one who is serious about interfaith exploration and understanding) has entered the ecosystem of ideas indispensable for a sustainable human future, and it will keep on living. It is up to us to remember what remains of Roger’s labor and carry on. Mark Gonnerman * * * I first met Roger when we both attended a colloquium on ‘‘Buddhist Thought and Culture’’ at the University of Montevello, Alabama, in April 1988. Roger read a paper that was thoroughly engaging, called ‘‘Becoming a Dialogian: How to do Buddhist-Christian Dialogue without Really Trying.’’ At that point, I was hooked on getting to know this funny little man with a British accent who could deliver an excellent reflection without being bothered by his occasional stammering. What struck me about Roger’s paper was that it was meant to engage the one who heard it. It was written with a sense of interpretive transparency—a reflec- tion on experience that was his own but also bigger than his own. It was one of those times where in hearing the account of his experience, one found one’s own experience mirrored and affirmed. The paper was an autobiographical reflection on his journey into the interior ambiguity of interreligious dialogue, which at times can be very challenging when one tries truly to listen deeply to the visions of two distinct religious traditions. But his life was testament to the integrity of the journey and to an emergent overarching trust, or faith, that something very real and true was being birthed in the midst of it all. In the paper, which I use as an introductory essay for my Interreligious Dia- logue course, he delightfully describes his boyhood ‘‘conversions’’ from one reli- gious tradition to another in his own imagination as his pocket money purchases from Penguin Press ‘‘brought the world to my front door.’’ One evening he emerges from his bedroom to inform his parents that he had become a Buddhist. ‘‘I had been reading all about it, I explained, and it was clear that I was already a Buddhist. It was as if I were remembering something from a past life. ‘That’s nice dear’ commented my mother, ‘have you finished your homework yet?’ ’’ He goes on to describe his theological studies, and his ever increasing grasp of, and being grasped by, the Eucharistic celebration. But he recounts: I was now in a quandary. Buddhism made sense to me, Meditation worked, and the Four Noble Truths seemed indeed to be true. But, now Christianity also made sense. In the Bible and the Mass some Power greater, more serene, and more loving than any other power I had known, was trying to contact me. Apparently, it was God, the same God, I pre- sumed, that Buddhism denied. I did not know what to do, other than to be loyal somehow or another to what I had discovered, even though what I had discovered was self- contradictory. NEWS AND VIEWS 157 
work_hhc757mthndl7irmtdoje2afdu	----	untitled HAL Id: hal-00560666 https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr/hal-00560666 Submitted on 29 Jan 2011 HAL is a multi-disciplinary open access archive for the deposit and dissemination of sci- entific research documents, whether they are pub- lished or not. The documents may come from teaching and research institutions in France or abroad, or from public or private research centers. L’archive ouverte pluridisciplinaire HAL, est destinée au dépôt et à la diffusion de documents scientifiques de niveau recherche, publiés ou non, émanant des établissements d’enseignement et de recherche français ou étrangers, des laboratoires publics ou privés. Dimensions of Environmental Engineering Birgitta Dresp To cite this version: Birgitta Dresp. Dimensions of Environmental Engineering. Open Environmental Engineering Journal, Bentham Open, 2008, 1, pp.1-8. �10.2174/1874829500801010001�. �hal-00560666� https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr/hal-00560666 https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, 1, 1-8 1 1874-8295/08 2008 Bentham Open Open Access Dimensions of Environmental Engineering Birgitta Dresp-Langley* Department of Mechanical and Civil Engineering, LMGC, UMR 5508 CNRS, Montpellier, France Abstract: The impact of human activity on the biosphere has produced a global society context in which scarcity of natu- ral resources and risks to ecological health such as air pollution and water contamination call for new solutions that help sustain the development of human society and all life on earth. This review article begins by recalling the historical and philosophical context from which contemporary environmental engineering has arisen as a science and domain of techno- logical development. Examples that deal with some of the core issues and challenges currently faced by the field, such as problems of scale and complexity, are then discussed. It is emphasized that the sustainability of the built environment de- pends on innovative architecture and building designs for optimal use and recycling of resources. To evaluate problems related to global climate change, storms, floods, earthquakes, landslides and other environmental risks, the behaviour of the natural environment needs to be taken into account. Understanding the complex interactions between the built envi- ronment and the natural environment is essential in promoting the economic use of energy and waste reduction. Finally, the key role of environmental engineering within models of sustainable economic development is brought forward. INTRODUCTION Global society and the dominance of the human species over the biosphere have provoked a situation where ecologi- cal and environmental engineering are the inevitable profes- sional response to the most pressing problems of humankind. The goal of both theoretical and practical environmental en- gineering is to help society function. Combining theory, re- search, practice, and education defines the basis for ex- change of knowledge relative to engineering solutions that are socio-economically justifiable, responsible, and consis- tent with a sustainable development of communities, popula- tions, and nations. Such solutions aim at planning, designing, and improving structures, facilities, and infrastructures for a responsible, economic, and efficient use of energy resources. For the protection of the health of man and the environment, environmental engineering involves identifying and prevent- ing contaminant behaviours in man-made and natural sys- tems, and, above all, to minimize the negative impact, or ecological footprint, of humankind on all systems and cycles upon which life depends. This article proposes a brief review of the historic background facts, philosophical considera- tions, theoretical concepts, and pragmatic issues from which contemporary environmental engineering has arisen, as both a scientific discipline and a domain of applied research and development. HIS TO RICA L AND PH ILOS OPHICA L BAC K - GROUN D The Industrial Revolution marked a turning point in the history of humankind. Towards the end of the 1700s, manual labour-based economy was progressively replaced by indus- try and the manufacture of machinery. Large scale produc- tion of chemicals significantly contributed to the economic *Address correspondence to this author at the Department of Mechanical and Civil Engineering, LMGC, UMR 5508 CNRS, Montpellier, France; Tel: +33 (0)4 67 14 46 81; Fax: +33 (0)4 67 14 39 23; E-mail: dresp@lmgc.univ-montp2.fr development and concomitant pollution of the natural envi- ronment brought about by the Industrial Revolution, with the production of sulphuric acid, hydrochloric acid, and alkalis. Trade expansion was facilitated by the introduction of rail- way systems. Steam powered machinery engendered dra- matic increases in production capacity and the technological developments and engineering breakthroughs of the Indus- trial Revolution promoted urbanisation. The rapid growth in urban populations increased the demands for produce from outside the cities, and the ecological footprint of whole coun- tries soon reached beyond their borders, leading the way towards modern global economy [1]. Some philosophers reacted to the Industrial Revolution through writings that re- introduced and emphasized the profound relationship be- tween man and nature. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s book Nature is one such example [2]. The book is, in fact, a compelling essay in which Emerson defines nature as an all-encom- passing entity which is inherently known to us rather than being merely a component of the outside world. Emerson’s philosophy established, especially in the US, a way of look- ing at man and his natural environment which placed nature at the centre of humanity. Others, such as Henry David Tho- reau were influenced by Emerson’s writings. Emerson took a philosophical standpoint which marked a significant point in the history of science and, in particular, of the biological and contemporary neurosciences by advocating the idea that the natural world and the mental world, or workings of the hu- man brain, are bound to have common biological origins. Both Emerson’s and Thoreau’s writings contributed signifi- cantly to environmentalism as a philosophy and a political and social movement concerned with the conservation and improvement of the natural environment, both for its own sake and in regard to its importance to civilization and life in general. Later, Aldo Leopold’s book A Sand County Alma- nac [3] became a key reference which reinforced the ethical standpoint of environmentalist philosophy, arguing that it is unethical to harm the natural environment, and that human- kind has a moral duty to respect and protect it. The ethical 2 The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 Birgitta Dresp-Langley standpoint has significantly influenced the science of modern environmental engineering and economics [4, 5, 6]. While the engineering community showed little interest in envi- ronmental issues for a long time after the Industrial Revolu- tion, this situation changed with Richard Buckminster Fuller, a pioneering scholar and engineer who was one of the first of his kind to promote environmental issues as a core topic of both fundamental and applied science. His ideas and writings have contributed substantially to the development of the the- ory and practice of contemporary environmental engineering. ENGINEERING FOR ‘LIVINGRY’: RICHARD BUCKMINSTER FULLER’S PIONEERING VISION Richard Buckminster Fuller was born in 1895 in Massa- chusetts and, expelled from Harvard University as a student, subsequently became a prominent early environmental activ- ist and scholar, initiating and collaborating in innovative design projects with professionals, artists, and scientists worldwide. An engineer, architect, designer, developer, sci- entist and scholar, he registered a large number of US Pat- ents for his innovations. Buckminster Fuller lectured at lead- ing Universities all over the world and devoted his profes- sional practice and teachings to applying engineering and the principles of science to solve problems of society, aware that humankind would soon have to rely on renewable sources of energy. His anticipatory vision of a planet running dry of natural resources was confirmed by the Millennium Ecosys- tems Assessment (MEA) no later than two decades after his death in 1983, with the conclusion that human activity has over the last few decades altered ecosystems more rapidly and extensively and accelerated global climate change more noticeably than in any comparable time span in the history of man. Way ahead of his time, Richard Buckminster Fuller promoted a systemic approach to environmental issues. His work explored solutions for energy and material-efficient engineering and design such as • foldable emergency shelters • lightweight building structures • renewable resources and recycling • aerodynamic vehicles • wind energy solutions for large buildings and individual households • tap and shower systems that help reduce water consumption Fuller’s prototype of a curve-shaped, energy-efficient, low-cost, modular and transportable living structure de- signed in the 1940s, the ‘Dymaxion House’ (see Fig. 1 be- low), was equipped with innovative technology exploiting natural winds for cooling and ventilation and featuring indi- vidual taps and showers with economic spray systems to help reduce water consumption. In his book Critical Path [7], Buckminster Fuller reso- lutely and passionately advocates the idea of doing more with less. He argues for an efficient and economic use of natural resources, and promotes the search for solutions that sustain the development of all forms of life on Earth. He can be regarded as the father of engineering for sustainability, and his philosophy was definitely a forerunner of the modern anthropocentric approach [8] to the environmental sciences. His teachings and whole conception of education were fo- cussed on fostering the development of life-long skills cover- ing a broad range of knowledge and competence to achieve what he called an “omni-successful education”; his view of science was in essence an inter-disciplinary one. The concept of ‘livingry’, which Fuller invented as opposed to ‘weap- onry’, laid the theoretical foundations on which the modern concept of sustainable development is grounded. His integra- tive view of engineering science can be summarized by the schematic model shown in Fig. 2 below. Fig (2). Fuller’s world-view can be regarded as the first anthropo- centric vision of the natural and built environment, where man- made facilities and transport exploit and exhaust raw materials and natural energy resources such as air and water, which are essential per se (red arrow) for sustaining human and other life on Earth (“livingry”). Fuller predicted that natural resources would soon be jeopardized by over-exploitation and pollution. He is considered to be one of the first engineering scientists to have consistently and actively promoted renewable energy solutions and waste recycling. The impact of human engineered systems on the natural environment has become a global issue of the highest impor- tance since Fuller’s death in 1983. The grander goals of modern engineering have since been concerned with the remediation and prevention of environmental pollution and the exhaustion of raw materials and other natural resources. FROM ECOSYSTEM STUDIES TO ENVIRON- MENTAL ENGINEERING From the 1960s systems ecology blossomed as a disci- pline within the biological sciences. Ecosystem approaches contributed to increase knowledge on how the atmosphere Fig (1). Richard Buckminster Fuller’s prototype of energy efficient individual housing, the Dymaxion House, is displayed at the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, Michigan, US. Livingry Buildings Natural Resources Transportation Dimensions of Environmental Engineering The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 3 responds to the combined effects of global metabolism and geochemical recycling, and how these biogeochemical proc- esses are in turn influenced by changes in the atmosphere. The seminal books by Eugene Odum and Howard Odum [9, 10] provide a complete review of the history and fundamen- tals of systems ecology. Systemic approaches in ecology draw from a wide range of scientific disciplines including geology, biochemistry, conservation biology and evolution- ary ecology. Some authors [11] have attempted to subdivide the field of ecology into approaches concerned with biodi- versity and the conservation of ecological entities (“compo- sitionalism”) on the one hand, and more systemic ap- proaches aiming at understanding processes of ecosystem functioning (“functionalism”) on the other. The reality of current research in the field, however, shows that integrative forms of ecological research are emerging, blurring the lines between specialized domains within and beyond ecology. Theoretical models tend towards increasingly global bio- sphere approaches, aiming at an understanding of the Earth as a whole. In the model of a balanced global biosphere, photosynthesis fixes carbon dioxide and regenerates oxygen while humans, animals, plants and microbes draft from the atmosphere by using oxygen and by generating carbon diox- ide at an equivalent rate. In the real world, such balanced behaviour no longer exists. The major challenge for ecology now is to gain an understanding of large-scale effects caus- ing imbalanced behaviour in the global biosphere, and to further our knowledge about underlying biogeochemical processes and how they interact. Engineering science has acquired a critically important role within this endeavour. Solutions to the most pressing problems of an imbalanced Earth are expected to result from adequate engineering de- velopment and technology, based on the interpretation of research models and observational data. Theoreticians have previously insisted on differences between ecological engi- neering and environmental engineering [12], the former be- ing seen as essentially concerned with constraints on ecosys- tems and living organisms, while the latter would mainly address constraints on non-living environments and would therefore be more closely identified with “conventional” engineering [12, 13]. Such views fly in the face of the fact that engineering has evolved dramatically over recent years towards increasingly global and integrative approaches to society problems, in parallel with major advances in the fields of the fundamental life sciences, computer sciences, and design technologies. The idea of a theoretical separation between issues and topics of ecological engineering on the one hand and environmental engineering on the other is now difficult to reconcile with contemporary engineering, both in terms of research and practice. The necessity of replacing the entire domain of science within a context of urgency has produced a situation where “conventional engineering” is a thing of the past. With the introduction of the concept of sustainability in terms of a global challenge [14] hitting al- most any field of modern science and technology and there- fore reaching well beyond classic ecology, a significant shift in thinking has occurred. Global anthropocentric theories have begun to tighten existing links between scientific do- mains. These include links between mathematics, computer modelling, and economics [15], and links between the hu- manities and the social sciences to the benefit of environ- mental science [16]. SUSTAINABILITY: FROM LOCAL COMMUNITY TO GLOBAL SOCIETY While the practice of environmental engineering has evolved considerably during the past two decades, its under- lying contract with society has always been the same. Envi- ronmental engineering is about providing quality of life for all, with the protection, nurture and renewal of a fragile envi- ronment in mind. Environmental scientists predict that local communities and individual houses will generally become smaller, and will be based on principles of ecological design [17, 18], where the restoration of natural environments within urban landscapes is to play an important role. The ecological approach to the built environment involves a ho- listic design approach where energy use and resource deple- tion is reduced, and external and internal pollution causing potential damage to users and the environment is minimized. An example of such design at the level of individual housing is the Hockerton project, which was completed in Great Brit- ain in 1996 and listed in the catalogue of “best practice” ex- amples by the European Green Building Forum in 2001 [19]. In this project, rainwater from the roofs is filtered and col- lected as drinking water. Since plastic is likely to give off toxics, copper gutters are used. In order to save energy, water is heated with a pump. Water falling elsewhere on the estate is pumped to a reservoir large enough to hold several months' supply for washing laundry and growing crops. The reservoir’s capacity is 150 m , and the water runs trough a natural filter system. All sewage treatment systems are bio- logical and rely entirely on natural organisms [18]. A me- chanical aeration system recycles air and preserves heat within the building. Heating costs are minimized. Figure 3 shows how the houses in the Hockerton project were covered with earth to trap heat. Sustainable building design is the thoughtful integration of ecologically aware architecture and electrical, mechanical, and structural engineering. In addition to concerns for aesthetics, proportion, scale, texture and light, ecological long term costs are taken into account. Con- necting building design with nature brings new forms of life to urban dwellings, and reminds us of our place within na- ture. Sustainable building design is to take into consideration a wide range of cultures, races, religions and habits to meet the needs of individuals and communities, at local and global scales. Fig (3). In the Hockerton Project (UK, 1996) roofs were covered with soil rather than tiles to increase energy efficiency by trapping heat. The soil acts as a giant radiator. The field of environmental engineering is to face the challenge of an unprecedented global urbanization and in- 4 The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 Birgitta Dresp-Langley dustrialization in developing countries such as Africa, which seek to increase their wealth and living standards. Engineers nowadays have to be able to adapt their vision and respond to the needs of societies at a much larger and more complex scale, where cooperation with and within other cultures is required. Among the most urgent demands currently put to the profession, we may list the following: • educate the public to increase awareness of envi- ronmental issues • mitigate the threats of global climate change • provide adequate supplies of fresh water • deal with the pressures of increasing population • anticipate energy shortages, searching for renew- able energy sources • develop tools to assess the performance and sustainability of existing structures • design ecologically friendly transportation systems • estimate impacts and anticipate risks (earthquakes, floods, storms, contamination) • restore and reclaim mined and disturbed landscapes • develop and strengthen links with other fields of science such as mechanics, biochemical engineer- ing, the geological, biological, computer, social and management sciences These complex issues cut across all the engineering do- mains and require a scientific analysis at different levels of scale and complexity. Management training and expertise to put new solutions into practice is an essential aspect of mod- ern environmental engineering. (Fig. 4) proposes a schematic view of problems to be addressed, at small and large scales. ADAPTIVE PROJECT MANAGEMENT TO COPE WITH PROBLEMS OF SCALE AND COMPLEXITY A factor which is often difficult to assess in the search for sustainable solutions is that of the scale and complexity of a given problem. Engineers may be perfectly capable of work- ing out a basic physical design or the hydro-geomorphology for what may seem an appropriate solution to a problem of the environment, but may ultimately not provide a successful solution because the scale or complexity of the problem was not adequately predicted and analyzed. The complexity and scale of biological systems [20] make it difficult, sometimes impossible, to understand how these systems behave at dif- ferent levels of organization from elemental cycles to com- munity metabolisms, and how these levels interact. Moreo- ver, biological systems and components [21] take different and variable times to respond to engineering solutions or to changes in general. The timescale of their responses may exceed that of reasonable monitoring expectations and may render reliable predictions impossible. This timescale prob- lem can be illustrated by the example of damaged coastal reefs, where times for a full functional restoration at a site may be estimated in terms of centuries. Also, biological sys- tems respond to changes as they develop, and this natural adaptation may make it difficult or impossible to work out ready regulatory recipes. A different but related problem of scale in environmental engineering is that related to the number of people concerned or affected by a project. Adap- tive project management was proposed as an approach that helps cope with problems of scale [22, 23]. Adaptive man- agement allows for changing goals as an engineering project evolves with time. Intelligent monitoring combined with general project goals allow realistic re-evaluations of what can be accomplished. Adaptive management works best with a conceptual model that leads to clearly defined, explicit general goals [23]. The success criteria in adaptive project management vary from case to case, and the more success criteria depend on process and function per se, the more it is likely that general goals will be reached. For processes that are well understood, a list of detailed success criteria can be established from the outset. Most importantly, adaptive man- agement permits the learning process inherent to modern engineering research and practice to be progressively inte- grated into a given project. As far as planning is concerned, any well-developed project plan should include a flow chart with branches at points in the process where uncertainty ex- ists, and where deviation from an expected outcome pathway leads to an anticipated alternative endpoint. Well-designed engineering projects incorporate uncertainty into the process, and at the outset inform the public or responsible party of potential problems, alternative solutions, and their cost. Fig (4). The built environment reflects the material wealth of cities and nations. Its sustainability largely depends on the care and rigor with which resource use and re-use, emissions, structural resistance to earthquake threats, land-fill volumes and other environmental factors are taken into account, from the planning, design, construc- tion and anticipated life cycles to the demolition and re-use of buildings. Understanding interactions between the built environ- ment and its natural context is essential for promoting an economic use of resources. Finding sustainable solutions involves research for renewable resources and the analysis and management of risks such as global climate change, earthquakes, floods or storms. The avail- ability and consumption of energy influences both the nature and extent of pollution and the extent to which polluted atmosphere or polluted sites can be regenerated or restored (intersection between orange and grey circles). Countries with poorly developed infra- structures in which energy supply is scarce will have to cope with environmental problems at a different scale compared with coun- tries which have highly developed infrastructures and extensive energy production and consumption. risk analysis and management renewable resources sustainable construction restoration water use & re-use ECO-PARKS BUILT ENVIRONMENT & LANDSCAPE Structures Performance Life-Cycles ATMOSPHERE & ENERGY Air Quality Climate Change WATER Water Resources Water Quality Dimensions of Environmental Engineering The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 5 These are represented by alternative pathways and endpoints in the project flow chart. Adaptive management allows all parties involved to consider a variety of potential end- products and determine if they are acceptable. Marcus [24] discussed the example of a project for tidal marsh restoration in San Francisco Bay, which affected a large number of user groups in the area and required continual reworking of the engineering plans to satisfy the political and economic con- cerns expressed by these groups and the general public. Evaluating the impact of man-made damage or natural disas- ters on the environment and public concerned is another im- portant, scale-dependent issue within the science and prac- tice of environmental engineering. IMPACT STUDIES: ASSESSING DAMAGE AND LOSS OF RESOURCES Landscape planning and policy making are affected by the impact of both man-made and naturally caused damage to the environment. As an example, we may consider the case of earthquakes, such as that which occurred in Septem- ber 1999 in Central Taiwan, inducing several large-scale landslides and causing environmental and resource problems which required a functional analytical ecosystem approach to the problem beyond the standard technological solutions. The impact study by Lin, Lin, & Chou [25] gives an example of a long-term investigation into the consequences of earth- quakes on the environment. In this study, changes of the post-quake landslides, vegetation recovery conditions, and soil loss were assessed using imaging technology such as multi-temporal SPOT satellite images, and analytical image transformation. Mathematical models for vegetation recov- ery analysis based on calculations of normalized difference vegetation index (NDVI) and Universal Soil Loss Equations [26] guided the research and evaluation. Landslides were identified on the basis of pre- and post-quake air images us- ing image differencing algorithms and change detection thresholds. Vegetation recovery rates (VRR) were computed to quantify successive conditions of vegetation recovery at landslides. To estimate the environmental impact of the de- nudation sites, soil loss before and after the earthquake was calculated on the basis of geomorphology analysis. The re- search revealed large-scale impacts of the earthquake and the concomitant landslides, and enabled further decision making policies and planning in the affected areas. After six years of monitoring, vegetation recovery was found to have reached 89.69%, which gives an overall assessment of nature’s abil- ity to regenerate vegetation after large-scale landslides. However, other risk factors such as typhoons could abolish such renewal in a short time. To mitigate such risks, engi- neering solutions for geo-morphologically unstable sites need to be developed. Other medium and large-scale risks that challenge the expertise of researchers and practitioners in the field of environmental engineering are those repre- sented by the contamination of water supplies through toxic trace elements. RISK EVALUATION AT MULTIPLE LEVELS OF ORGANIZATION Inadequate water supply and related health hazards are a daily problem faced by millions of people worldwide. The management of the water environment for sustainable human benefit requires environmental policies that promote eco- logical health, meaning both ecosystem health and human safety. The concerns of environmental engineers for water supplies, the mitigation of contamination, and the promotion of ecological health nowadays extend beyond the perform- ance and safety of individual components. Entire water sup- ply systems and their interactions with other systems are taken into account, which involves evaluating the risks and analyzing the consequences of water contamination by pathogens or toxic trace elements. These may originate from various sources. Metal traces in soils, for example, were found to cause potentially contaminant effects at all levels of biological organization, from cellular to ecosystem levels, even in sites where the corresponding surface water met wa- ter quality criteria [27]. The presence of COPECs, or con- taminants of potential environmental concern [28] in soil and water represents an ecological risk at the ecosystem, com- munity, population, individual, cellular, and molecular lev- els. While the detection and identification of COPECs as such is, in principle, not difficult, the current problem with toxicity risk evaluation is that the specificity of contaminant effects, and the insight gained into the mechanisms of toxic- ity as such, is lesser the higher the level of organization [29]. Indicators of toxicity such as morphological changes at the tissue level, ultra-structural changes at the cellular level re- vealed through electron microscopy, and biochemical changes at the molecular level permit establishing and to quantifying cause-effect relationships. Evaluation of con- tamination risks at the level of ecologically relevant proc- esses is far more difficult and susceptible to biases due to the lack of individual data on exposure, outcomes, or confound- ing variables that may contribute to a measured effect [30]. At lower levels of organization, critical changes occur more rapidly and may provide early warnings of toxicological ef- fects on populations [29, 30]. However, despite the greater mechanistic understanding and specificity of effects at lower levels of organization, the insight provided may be limited because the significance of these effects at the ecological level or the amplitude of their bio-magnification is unknown. The usefulness of indicators thus depends on the cross ex- amination of multiple levels of organization. Effects of trace- elements on plant communities, for example, may be rele- vant because the production of plant matter is a primary source of organic carbon for aquatic ecosystems. A possible food-chain transfer from contaminated soils should also be considered. Changes at the ecosystem level may be inferred when contaminants exceed benchmark levels that are toxic to soil bacteria, suggesting that their functional properties re- lated to nutrient cycling and energy flow have been affected [27]. The pathways for the migration of contaminants away from a given source may involve transport in surface water and shallow groundwater. Although dissolved metal trace elements in water may seem harmless with respect to toxic- ity, this does not alleviate concerns over oral uptake of trace elements through contaminated food. It is generally believed that the uptake of adsorbed trace elements is significantly less dangerous than the absorption of dissolved forms [31]. However, the relative importance of the different routes of exposure remains unclear and at high concentrations the bioavailability of even a small fraction of adsorbed trace elements from diet could be important, which would support the hypothesis that diet is a significant route of exposure [32, 33]. At the level of human populations, the risk of mortality 6 The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 Birgitta Dresp-Langley from cancer is estimated to be increased in people exposed to certain trace elements through diet, even at seemingly low concentrations [34]. Eco-toxicology has, for the last 30 years, been concerned with studying the effects of contami- nants on the biological integrity and ecological health of communities and ecosystems. Newman and Unger [35] give a complete and comprehensive overview, from the general principles of eco-toxicology to examples of scientific in- depth studies. Some of these are concerned with the effects of environmental pollutants at different levels of biological organization, from the molecule to the biosphere as a whole. How biotic integrity can be assessed at different levels, and used as a monitoring tool to guide further investigation, is discussed. To restore the ecological health of water, soils, and sediments, ecological and environmental engineering design solutions are applied to an increasingly diverse range of innovative projects for the effective management of natu- ral resources. Adequate technologies have been created and are currently used within the fields of environmental protec- tion and restoration, the food sector, industrial waste and sewage treatment, and architecture and landscape design. These technological solutions are the core of turn-key strate- gies aimed at reducing the negative impact of humankind on natural resources. TURN-KEY STRATEGIES TO RESTORE ECOLOGI- CAL HEALTH Environmental engineering practice is all about what Ar- onson et al [8] called “the search for effective turnkey strate- gies to mitigate or overturn the negative environmental ef- fects of the 20 th century’s growth path”. A turnkey strategy, in business language, is a strategy or solution where the pro- vider or designer (research and development) undertakes the entire responsibility from design to completion and commis- sioning. The client (society) only has to turn the proverbial key to make the solution function as it should. Several con- crete examples of environmental turn-key solutions at the medium scale are given in the case examples presented by Todd, Brown, & Wells [18]. Their applied functionalist ap- proach shows how engineered ecosystem designs and con- cepts can be readily applied to solve concrete environmental problems such as • sewage treatment through biologically diverse, vas- cular and woody plants, which are particularly suit- able for waste treatment • restoration of contaminated water by floating de- vices using wind and solar energy • organic industrial waste treatment • ecologically designed systems for air purification, humidity control, water re-use, waste treatment and food production within architectural structures • the integration of industrial and agricultural activity sectors in urban design and landscape planning through the creation of eco-parks The economic viability of integrative ecosystems and en- vironmental engineering design within urban settings is a topic that concerns both the general public [36] and local authorities involved in planning and decision making. Urban environments provide the basis for most of the world’s eco- nomic activities, including tourism and the leisure industry. Urban planning and development has a major impact on the economic performance of companies, corporations and na- tions, affecting human activities at all levels. Demographic estimates of a large number of additional inhabitants of the planet for the next decade require planning and development of basic housing and infrastructures, which is to incur a gi- gantic cost to support the predicted population growth. At the same time, infrastructures are rapidly decaying in many countries and are urgently in need of repair and maintenance, which represents projects associated with another enormous outlay. The increasing trans-national embedding of global sustainability issues will lead to private-public partnerships and projects that will be delicate to manage, especially in developing countries that do not have a tradition of private ownership and public infrastructure. Thus, both scientists and professionals in the field of environmental engineering will be confronted with unprecedented social and economical challenges. ENVIRONMENTAL ENGINEERING AND SUSTAIN- ABLE ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT Whether an innovative design solution that benefits the environment and the people who live in it will ultimately meet success depends on economical and social factors. Questions of cost-effectiveness or whether people are likely to accept and live with a solution proposed to them need to be addressed. Idealistic visions have to lead to realistic out- comes and ethical concerns are to be taken into account in the light of economical and political pressure. This involves cost-benefit analyses, feasibility studies and awareness of the political climate and decision making context as potential limiting factors to a project. The emerging discipline of eco- logical economics addresses such complex problems at the interface of the economic system and the global ecosystem that sustains and contains it. Like environmental engineer- ing, ecological economics espouses a systems approach that aims to offer solutions to the problems of society in the 21st century. Economics is generally defined as the science of allocation of scarce resources among alternative desirable ends. This implies a specific sequence of steps in economic analysis and, finally, the economist must decide what ends are to be pursued. Many argue that decisions on ends should be left to democratic processes, suggesting that an essential precursor to economic analysis is the democratic process that successfully articulates the desired goals. Once these latter have been identified, the economist can analyze what re- sources are necessary to achieve them, and which of these resources are the scarcest. The final step is allocation, via whatever institution or mechanism is most appropriate for the resources and ends considered [17]. In classical econom- ics, there is no absolute resource scarcity. As a resource be- comes scarce, its price increases, which provides market incentives to develop substitutes. The problem with such reasoning is that the human and all other species rely for their survival and welfare on hitherto non-marketed ecosys- tem services such as climate, air, water, and a clean atmos- phere. Though increasingly scarce, most of these services have no price and therefore do not generate any feedback from markets to indicate their scarcity. Theoretical econom- ics concentrates on growth and on markets, but markets fail to efficiently allocate most natural resources [37], possibly Dimensions of Environmental Engineering The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 7 with the exception of water, given that there is now water pricing in many areas, at least for urban and industrial use. The critical problem is that, as an economy grows, it does not expand into a void, but into a finite sustaining and con- taining biosphere. Throughout the process of economic growth, society exhausts natural capital, and thereby its vital support functions. The potential irreversibility of this process has sometimes been discussed on the example of energy consumption and the second law of thermodynamics [38]. This universal law of increasing entropy or increasing un- availability of energy in a physical system predicts that in any isolated system entropy increases. Applied to the eco- nomic process, as discussed by Georgescu-Roegen [38], the second law of thermodynamics leads to predict that, ulti- mately, the scarcest energy resource will be low-entropy matter-energy. The ability of societies to rely on such energy would thus, ultimately, be limited. On the other hand, there is an anticipated abundance of a variety of renewable, non- polluting forms of energy [17], and the development of in- novative engineering solutions that are radically different from current designs will play an important role in environ- mental engineering as the 21 st century progresses. The search for society forms capable of allocating resources in a sus- tainable and effective way has become a topic of major con- cern world-wide. Economists [15, 39, 40] now question the classic economic growth models, which postulate a quantita- tive increase in the rate at which an economy transforms natural resources into economic output and waste. New theo- ries of economic development, which incorporate concepts of a development ethic [6] and “dematerialization”, have been proposed, such as Robert Ayres' theory [40], which insists on the difference between “more” and “better”, and which challenges the classic growth paradigm by pointing out that the relevant measure of economic output is not the quantity of goods produced, but the quality and the, not nec- essarily material, value of final services provided to the con- sumer. Such worldviews tend to separate the economic proc- ess from energy and material issues, and place priorities on increasing the quality of human life and well-being while limiting resource use and waste production. The re- investment of capital produced by global economy into envi- ronmental engineering research and the development of in- novative technology and solutions will become an important strategy to such an end. Figure 5 here below illustrates these implications. CONCLUSIONS Contemporary environmental engineering is about devel- oping systems, structures, methods, tools and infrastructures that help protect human health and the environment, includ- ing sustainable transportation and energy systems, and solu- tions for safe and adequate water supply worldwide. Prob- lems have to be analyzed on a large scale, taking into ac- count the growing trans-national embedding of environ- mental research and technology. The examples discussed here illustrate how the theory, research and practice of envi- ronmental engineering, in contact with other disciplines such as ecology, geology, biology and economics, address the most urgent problems currently faced by global society. Un- derstanding complex systems requires more than one model, and there is a growing agreement on the need for exchange across the natural, engineering and social sciences to address questions of sustainability and economic development, the increasing scarcity of natural resources, and the future of the biosphere as a whole. The need for new engineering solu- tions is urgent, the stakes are high. By taking into account the social and psychological implications of these priorities, and by promoting exchanges between scientists across disci- plines in close contact with the public, we may hope to be able to rise to the challenge. REFERENCES [1] D. S. Landes, The Unbound Prometheus: Technical and Industrial Development in Western Europe from 1750 to the Present. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. [2] R. W. Emerson, Nature. James Munroe & Co: Boston, 1836. [3] A. Leopold, A Sand County Almanac. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1949. [4] H. E. Daly, and J. Cobb, For the common good: redirecting the economy towards community, the environment, and a sustainable future. Boston: Beacon Press, 1989. [5] P. Dasgupta, Human well being and the natural environment. Ox- ford: Oxford University Press, 2002. [6] J. N. Blignaut, “Towards an economic development ethic”, in Sus- tainable options, J. N. Blignaut, M. P. de Wit, (Ed). Capetown: UCT Press, 2004, pp. 515-522. [7] B. Fuller, Critical Path. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1981. [8] J. Aronson, J. N. Blignaut, S. J. Milton, and A. F. “Clewell, Natural capital: The limiting factor”. Ecol. Eng., vol. 28, pp. 1-5, 2006. Fig (5). Growing economy does not expand into a void, but into a finite sustaining and containing biosphere. Through the process of economic growth, society exhausts natural capital and thereby its vital support functions. Modern economic science searches for models of economic development capable of allocating resources in a sustainable and effective way, where human welfare is sustained, natural resources are protected and restored, and waste production is reduced. This must involve the sound but eager re-investment of capital stocks produced through economic development into re- search and innovative technology promoting new, sustainable solu- tions. GLOBAL BIOSPHERE Solar Energy Capital Stocks Waste Natural Resources ECONOMY Environmental Engineering Research & Development Innovative Technology Sustainable Solutions GLOBAL Recycling Heat 8 The Open Environmental Engineering Journal, 2008, Volume 1 Birgitta Dresp-Langley [9] E. P. Odum, Fundamentals of Ecology. Philadelphia: Saunders, 1959. [10] H. T. Odum, Environment, Power and Society. New York: Wiley, 1971. [11] J. B. Callicott, L. B. Crowder, and K. Mumford, “Current norma- tive concepts in conservation”, Conserv. Biol., vol.13, pp. 22-35, 1999. [12] T. F. H Allen, M. Giampietro, and A. M. Little, “Distinguishing ecological from environmental engineering”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 20, pp. 68-81, 2003. [13] D. K. Gatti, M. C. Smith, E. W. Tollner, and S. C. Mc Cutcheon, “The emergence of ecological engineering as a discipline”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 20, pp. 83-94, 2003. [14] D. J. Painter, “Forty-nine shades of green: ecology and sustainabil- ity in the academic formation of engineers”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 20, pp. 267-273, 2003. [15] H. E. Daly, and J. Farley, Ecological economics - principles and applications. Washington: Island Press, 2004. [16] A. Bandura, “Social cognitive theory: an agentic perspective”, Ann. Rev. Psychol., vol. 52, pp. 1-26, 2001. [17] J. Farley, and R. Costanza, “Envisioning shared goals for human- ity: a detailed vision of a sustainable and desirable USA in 2100”, Ecol. Econ., vol. 43, pp. 245-259, 2002. [18] J. Todd, E. J. G. Brown, and E. Wells, Ecological design applied, Ecol. Eng., vol. 20, pp. 421-440, 2003. [19] European Green Building Forum catalogue of best practice exam- ples, The Hockerton Housing Project, Southwell, UK. The Nether- lands: W/E Consultants Sustainable Building, 2001. [20] V. C. Engel, and H. T. Odum, “Simulation of community metabo- lism and atmospheric carbon dioxide and oxygen concentrations in Biosphere 2”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 13, pp. 107-134, 1999. [21] K. Jax, “Ecological units: definitions and application”, Quart. Rev. Biol., vol. 81, pp. 237-258, 2006. [22] C. T. Hackney, Restoration of coastal habitats: expectation and reality. Ecol Eng., vol. 15, pp. 165-170, 2000. [23] R. M. Thom, “Adaptive management of coastal ecosystem restora- tion projects”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 15, pp. 365-372, 2000. [24] L. Marcus, “Restoring tidal wetlands at Sonoma Bay-lands San Francisco Bay, California”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 15, pp. 373-383, 2000. [25] W. Lin, C. Lin, and W. Chou, “Assessment of vegetation recovery and soil erosion at landslides caused by a catastrophic earthquake: A case study in Central Taiwan”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 28, pp. 79-89, 2006. [26] J. P. Wilson, “Soil erosion from agricultural land in the Lake Sim- coe Couchiching Basin -1800-1991”, Can. J. Soil Sci., vol. 69, pp. 206-222, 1989. [27] D. Peplow, and R. Edmonds, “The effects of mine waste contami- nation at multiple levels of biological organization”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 24, pp. 101-119, 2005. [28] P. Calow P, Handbook of Environmental Risk Assessment and Management. Oxford: Blackwell Science, 1998. [29] P. V. Hodson, “Indicators of ecosystem health at the species level and the example of selenium effects on fish”, Environ. Monit. As- sess., vol. 15, pp. 241-254, 1990. [30] W. H. “Clements, Integrating effects of contaminants across lev- els of biological organization: an overview”. J. Aquatic Ecosystems Stress Recovery, vol. 7, pp. 113-116, 2000. [31] S. Tamaki, W.T. Frankenberger, “Environmental bio-chemistry of arsenic”, Rev. Environ. Contam. Toxicol., vol. 124, pp. 79-109, 1992. [32] R. Dallinger, and H. Krautzky, “The importance of contaminated food for the uptake of heavy metals by rainbow trout: a field study”, Oecologia, vol. 67, pp. 82-89, 1985. [33] L. Hare, “Aquatic insects and trace metals: bioavailability, bioac- cumulation, and toxicity”, Crit. Rev. Toxicol., vol. 22, pp. 327-369, 1992. [34] Arsenic in Drinking Water 2001 Update. NAS-NRC Subcommittee on Toxicology, Board of Environmental Studies and Toxicology, Earth and Life Sciences Division. Washington: National Academy Press, 2001. [35] M. C. Newman, and M. A. Unger, Fundamentals of Ecotoxi- cology, Second Edition. Chelsea: Lewis Publishers, 2002. [36] J. Aronson, S. J. Milton, J. N. Blignaut, and A. F. Clewell, “Nature conservation as if people mattered”, J. Nat. Cons., vol. 14, pp. 260- 263, 2006. [37] G. Heal, Nature and the marketplace. Washington: Island Press, 2000. [38] N. Georgescu-Roegen, The entropy law and the economic process. Cambridge: Har. University Press, 1971. [39] J. Farley, and H. E. Daly, “Natural capital: the limiting factor-A reply to Aronson, Blignaut, Milton & Clewell”, Ecol. Eng., vol. 28, pp. 1-5, 2006. [40] R. Ayres, Turning point: the end of the growth paradigm. London: Earthscan, 1998. Received: March 26, 2008 Revised: April 25, 2008 Accepted: April 25, 2008 © Birgitta Dresp-Langley; Licensee Bentham Open. This is an open access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5/), which permits unrestrictive use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. 
work_hi6c7sbt7rfohew6dxkgqpb2bi	----	AMS volume 18 issue 1 Cover and Back matter THE BOOK OF CONCORD Thoreau's Life as a Writer William Howarth In this remarkable portrait William Howarth focuses on Thoreau's Journal, tracing the history of Thoreau's imagination and placing the popular images of Thoreau as mystic, radical and naturalist in the context of his life as a writer. 00.6539 3 £3.95 272pp January 1984 THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE Nathaniel Hawthorne Introduction by Annette Kolodny The Blithedale Romance is based in part on Hawthorne's own experiences at Brook Farm, an experimental socialist community. It is a superb depiction of a Utopian community that cannot survive the individual passions of its members. 039.028 6 E1.95 296pp January 1984 LOVE AND DEATH IN THE AMERICAN NOVEL Leslie Fiedler 'One of the great, essential books on the American imagination...an accepted major work' — New York Times 'Anyone concerned with the understanding of American literature and American morals will have to take it into account' — George Steiner 055.1123 E4.95 512pp April 1984 A MODERN INSTANCE William Dean Howells Introduction by Edwin H. Cady The publication in 1882 of A Modern Instance marked the author's transition to leading American novelist and champion of realism in American literature. With its roots in Howells's concern with the question of what makes an American, it introduced in American literature two innovative and powerful themes - divorce and the new journalism. 039.027 8 £3.95 496pp April 1984 A PHILIP ROTH READER Philip Roth Introduction by Martin Green Some of the best episodes from the novels and prose, including the newly revised version of The Breast, by 'one of America's most eagerly-read novelists, and one of the most excitingly unpredictable' — Sunday Times 00.55185 £4.95 512pp March 1984 WALDEN and CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE Henry David Thoreau Introduction by Michael Meyer In Walden Thoreau creates a 'shining example' of Transcendental individualism. Civil Disobedience is less a call to political activism than a statement of Thoreau's insistence on living a life of principle. 039.044 8 £2.50 432pp January 1984 For further information please write to The Academic Marketing Department, Penguin Books Ltd., 536 King's Road, London SW10 0UH Jnl. of American Studies, 18,1 (i) terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core The Divided Mind Ideology and Imagination in America, 1898-1917 PETER CONN Developing a series of vivid portraits of representative Americans from a broad range of fields, this lively interpretation of a fascinating period in American culture shows how central to the American consciousness was a sense of tension between tradition and innovation, order and liberation. £22.50 net Cambridge Studies in American Literature and Culture The Puritan conversion Narrative The Beginnings of American Expression PATRICIA CALDWELL An exploration of the testimonies of spiritual experience delivered by puritans in the michseventeenth century in order to qualify for membership of their local churches. Professor Caldwell shows that there were huge differences in the way ordinary people used religious language on opposite sides of the Atlantic and how those from New England represent 'the first faint murmurings of a truly American voice'. £17.50 net Cambridge Studies in American Literature and Culture Poets Prose The Crisis in American Verse STEPHEN FREDMAN This pioneering study examines why so many modern American poets have resorted to writing in experimental prose, and in so doing it identifies a crisis in the forms of American verse. Demonstrating the divergence of the American from the French prose poem, Professor Fredman concludes that this form of writing holds the key to the future of American poetry. £17.50 net Cambridge Studies in American Literature and Culture The Cliffs of Solitude A Reading of Robinson Jeffers ROBERT ZALLER The most comprehensive reading of Jeffers1 work yet attempted, this study offers an overall interpretation of his intellectual and artistic development concentrating in particular on the characteristic tension and violence in his work £19.50 net Cambridge Studies in American Literature and Culture CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS (ii) terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core The Rock Art of the North American Indians CAMPBELL GRANT The first highly illustrated general introduction to the rock art of the North American Indiana This art expresses accurately the harmonious relationship that existed between the Indians and nature, and reflects their awed sense of an all-pervading spirit world. The supporting text provides a detailed but concise analysis of the arts characteristic features in each major geographical area The Imprint of Man £ 1 2 - 9 5 n e t The Pursuit of Happiness Family and Values in Jefferson's Virginia JAN LEWIS An unusual and challenging study of the 'inner world1 of Virginia gentry during Thomas Jefferson's lifetime, which argues that, in the years following the Revolution, the gentry turned away from public life into the pnvacy of their families and homes A conclusion suggests the ways in which their story can be seen as the history of the American people in the first decades of the modern age. £20.00 net Eight Hours for What We Will Workers and Leisure in an Industrial City, 1870-1920 ROY ROSENZWEIG The first comprehensive case study of American working-class recreation, this book describes the profound changes that popular leisure underwent as the 'Rialto' gradually replaced the 'Rum Shop' as a centre of social life Professor Rosenzweig argues that this change had a considerable effect on what happened inside the factories, the union halls, and the voting booths of America's industrial communities. £25.00 net Making the Second Ghetto Race and Housing in Chicago, 1940-1960 ARNOLD HIRSCH This book analyses the expansion of Chicago's Black Belt after the Second World War. Even as the civil rights movement swept America, Chicago dealt with its rapidly growing black population not by abolishing the ghetto, but expanding and reinforcing it The result saw the emergence of a ghetto now distinguished by government support and sanctioa £20.00 net CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS (iii) terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core The Art of the City Views and Versions of New York Peter Conrad Peter Conrad's imaginative study of the magic and modernism of New York, from the early nineteenth century to the present day, as seen through the eyes of novelists, dramatists, poets, photographers, painters and other artists. Many striking photographs are included. Illustrated £15 Forthcoming June The Modern American Novel Malcolm Bradbury 'Absolutely first-rate, written without a trace of academic paralysis, and full of valuable information.' Irish Times An up-to-date, comprehensive study of major authors, tendencies, and movements in American fiction from the 1890s to the present day. Paperback £3.95 OPUS Forthcoming May The Winged Gospel America's Romance with Aviation, 1900-1950 Joseph J. Corn A vivid account of America's first era of manned flight, particularly concerned with the exuberant response throughout the American public to the new technology. To them the flying machine became a virtual God, and would transform society into a Utopia. Illustrated £16.50 Forthcoming April City People The Rise of Modern City Culture in Nineteenth-Century America Gunther Barth Gunther Barth explores the socializing/transforming influence of phenomena - apartment blocks, department stores, the metropolitan press, baseball parks, vaudeville, etc. - in big-city life. Illustrated Paperback £6.50 Galaxy Books Strategies of Containment John Lewis Gaddis The author applies the principles of strategy to his study of American diplomacy since World War II. Much of the book is concerned with the policy of containment developed in the 1940s by George Kennan, and its subsequent modifications. Paperback £8.95 Galaxy Books Galaxy Books are a paperback series produced by the New York branch of OUP. Many titles are therefore particularly concerned with American studies and culture. Most are available in the UK. Oxford University Press (iv) terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core N O T E S F O R C O N T R I B U T O R S 1 A l l c o n t r i b u t i o n s a n d e d i t o r i a l c o r r e s p o n d e n c e s h o u l d b e s e n t t o : T h e E d i t o r , Journal of American Studies, S c h o o l o f E n g l i s h a n d A m e r i c a n S t u d i e s , U n i v e r s i t y o f E a s t A n g l i a , N o r w i c h N R 4 7 T J , E n g l a n d . 2 A r t i c l e s s h o u l d g e n e r a l l y c o n t a i n a b o u t 5,000 w o r d s . L o n g e r o r s h o r t e r articles, o r articles i n t w o o r m o r e p a r t s , m a y b e a c c e p t e d b y a r r a n g e m e n t w i t h the E d i t o r s . } S u b m i s s i o n o f a n a r t i c l e is t a k e n t o i m p l y that it has n o t p r e v i o u s l y b e e n p u b l i s h e d , a n d is n o t b e i n g c o n s i d e r e d f o r p u b l i c a t i o n e l s e w h e r e . 4 C o n t r i b u t i o n s s h o u l d b e c l e a r l y t y p e d i n d o u b l e s p a c i n g ( i n c l u d i n g f o o t n o t e s ) , p r e f e r a b l y o n A 4 p a p e r , w i t h a w i d e left-hand m a r g i n . D i a g r a m s , m a p s a n d i l l u s t r a t i o n s m a y b e i n c l u d e d . 5 S p e l l i n g m a y c o n f o r m e i t h e r t o B r i t i s h o r A m e r i c a n u s a g e , p r o v i d i n g it is c o n s i s t e n t t h r o u g h o u t . 6 F o o t n o t e s s h o u l d b e u s e d s p a r i n g l y : in g e n e r a l , t o g i v e s o u r c e s o f direct q u o t a t i o n s , r e f e r e n c e s t o m a i n a u t h o r i t i e s o n d i s p u t a b l e q u e s t i o n s , a n d e v i d e n c e r e l i e d o n f o r a n e w o r u n u s u a l c o n c l u s i o n . T h e y s h o u l d b e n u m b e r e d c o n s e c u t i v e l y , a n d m a y m o s t c o n v e n i e n t l y b e p l a c e d , i n d o u b l e s p a c i n g , at the e n d o f the a r t i c l e . 7 F o r g u i d a n c e o n matters o f s t y l e , c o n t r i b u t o r s s h o u l d refer e i t h e r t o t h e ML,A Handbook ( 1 9 7 7 ) , o r t o the Journal of American Studies Style Notes, c o p i e s o f w h i c h m a y b e o b t a i n e d f r o m t h e E d i t o r s . 8 C o n t r i b u t o r s s h o u l d k e e p o n e c o p y o f t h e t y p e s c r i p t f o r c o r r e c t i n g p r o o f s . 9 N o t e s i n t e n d e d f o r the E d i t o r s o r P r i n t e r s h o u l d b e o n a separate sheet. 10 F i r s t p r o o f s m a y b e r e a d a n d c o r r e c t e d b y c o n t r i b u t o r s p r o v i d e d that they can g i v e the E d i t o r a n a d d r e s s t h r o u g h w h i c h t h e y c a n b e r e a c h e d w i t h o u t d e l a y a n d c a n g u a r a n t e e t o r e t u r n t h e c o r r e c t e d p r o o f s t o t h e E d i t o r , b y airmail w h e r e n e c e s s a r y , w i t h i n t h r e e d a y s o f r e c e i v i n g t h e m . 1 1 C o r r e c t i o n s s h o u l d b e k e p t t o a n a b s o l u t e m i n i m u m . T h e y s h o u l d b e c o n f i n e d t o e r r o r s o f t h e t y p i s t o r p r i n t e r u n l e s s t h e E d i t o r a u t h o r i z e s o t h e r w i s e . 1 2 C o n t r i b u t o r s o f articles a n d r e v i e w essays r e c e i v e 25 free offprints. E x t r a c o p i e s m a y b e o r d e r e d a c c o r d i n g t o a scale o f c h a r g e s . 13 C o n t r i b u t o r s n e e d n o t b e m e m b e r s o f t h e B r i t i s h A s s o c i a t i o n f o r A m e r i c a n S t u d i e s . U n s o l i c i t e d t y p e s c r i p t s c a n o n l y b e r e t u r n e d t o o v e r s e a s c o n t r i b u t o r s w h o s e n d I n t e r n a t i o n a l R e p l y C o u p o n s ( n o t p o s t a g e s t a m p s ) . 1 4 C o n t r i b u t o r s o f a c c e p t e d articles w i l l b e a s k e d t o a s s i g n t h e i r c o p y ­ right, o n certain c o n d i t i o n s , t o C a m b r i d g e U n i v e r s i t y P r e s s , t o h e l p p r o t e c t their material, p a r t i c u l a r l y i n the U S A . terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:56, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X https://www.cambridge.org/core Volume 18 Number i April 1984 Journal of American Studies The Popular Concept of ' H o m e ' in Nineteenth-Century America M A X I N E V A N D E W E T E R I N G The Soldier at the Heart of the War: The Myth o f the Green Beret in the Popular Culture of the Vietnam Era A L A S D A I R S P A R K Film Noir: The Politics of the Maladjusted Text R I C H A R D M A L T B Y Out of the L i g h t : A n Analysis of Narrative in Out of the Past J O H N H A R V E Y The Comedian as the Letter ' N ' : Sight and Sound in the Poetry of William Carlos Williams T O N Y B A K E R Review Essay Segregation and the Southern Business Elite T O N Y B A D G E R Reviews © Cambridge University Press 1984 Cambridge University Press The Pitt Building, Trumpington Street, Cambridge CB2 i R P 32 East 57th Street, N e w Y o r k , N Y 10022 Printed in Great Britain at the University Press, Cambridge terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002187580001820X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 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work_hijep5rt2ngfrpwn3jukaxleii	----	PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 B BURKE, Peter, What is the history of knowledge?, Cambridge-Malden, Polity Press, 2015, 160 pp. a cura di Swen STEINBERG traduzione di Alessandro SALVADOR Peter Burke, che con la sua opera Social History of Knowledge1, ha, in passato, offerto contributi essenziali per riorientare in termini storiografici le scienze umane e sociali, offre, con questo lavoro introduttivo, molto più che semplici approcci e metodi per la ancora giovane storia della conoscenza. Egli ne indica anche le fondamenta e i suoi sviluppi storici, che sono connessi a sociologi come Max Weber o Karl Mannheim e con gli approcci alla sociologia della conoscenza. La focalizzazione della storia della conoscenza, che prende in considerazione specifici patrimoni, i loro sviluppi, le distribuzioni e le modifiche, ricevette impulsi fondamentali dai dibattiti, occorsi negli anni Novanta, sulle moderne società del sapere e prende le distanze da una storia della conoscenza classica, orientata alle istituzioni, e dalla storia intellettuale, concentrata sulle persone. Dopo una breve introduzione sulla concettualizzazione storiografica della conoscenza, Burke presenta nel secondo capitolo i concetti principali: l’autorità e il monopolio della conoscenza, l’innovazione e l’interdisciplinarietà, gli ordini e le pratiche della conoscenza, il sapere situazionale ed estorto e, infine, il regime dell’ignoranza negli sviluppi consecutivi della conoscenza. Nel capitolo tre, Burke presenta le forme del sapere, differenziando le conoscenze collettanee (gathering knowledges), le conoscenze analitiche (analysing knowledges), le conoscenze diffuse 1 BURKE, Peter, A social history of knowledge: from Gutenberg to Diderot, Cambridge-Malden, Polity Press – Blackwell Publishers, 2000. Diacronie Studi di Storia Contemporanea  www.diacronie.it N. 28 | 4|2016 La voce del silenzio: intelligence, spionaggio e conflitto nel XX secolo 24/ PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 Swen STEINBERG, Elisa GRANDI * PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 2 (disseminating knowledges) e le conoscenze applicative (employing knowledges). Queste forme del sapere vengono quindi collocate in una prospettiva storica ossia fatte risalire ad essa. Nell’ultimo capitolo vengono trattati, quindi, i problemi e le prospettive della storia della conoscenza. Una cronologia e una bibliografia essenziale completano un volume molto leggibile e semplice da consultare grazie all’indice analitico. Burke argomenta infine in modo convincente che, in una prospettiva a lungo termine, una storia della conoscenza può offrire nuove strade in ottica globale o transnazionale fintanto che vengano prese in considerazione le conoscenze in movimento (knowledge on the move2) o che ci si focalizzi sui produttori della conoscenza al di là della scienza e con l’aiuto di categorie moderne (ad esempio gli aspetti di genere). BOYER, Christopher R., Political Landscapes: Forests, Conservation, and Community in Mexico, Durham, Duke University Press, 2015, 360 pp. a cura di Swen STEINBERG traduzione di Alessandro SALVADOR L’analisi di Christopher R. Boyer offre un contributo cruciale sulla storia ambientale dell’America Latina e su tematiche che vanno oltre ai centri e verso le periferie, come era già accaduto con la prospettiva post-coloniale in riferimento all’India o all’Africa. In modo non dissimile da questi lavori, Boyer non si limita a prendere in considerazione interrogativi di tipo economico o scientifico collegati alle scienze forestali e ai dibattiti sulla conservazione. Egli va oltre e riscontra ioni sociali. Racconta così la sua storia ambientale come storia sociale, prendendo ad esempio le regioni del Michoacàn e del Chihuahua. La storia della moderna scienza forestale in queste regioni viene rappresentata come un costante conflitto tra il governo, gli studiosi delle foreste, le aziende di legname (in parte straniere) e la popolazione locale. Le foreste del Messico, la cui estensione si è ridotta di quasi il 50% nel corso del ventesimo secolo, diventano quindi “panorami politici” poiché in esse si risolvono le dispute sull’utilizzo della natura o vengono fomentati conflitti tramite interventi esterni. Questo sguardo sull’agire e sul sapere di attori regionali viene contestualizzato nello sviluppo delle politiche forestali che, in Messico, hanno avuto una tendenza soprattutto liberale fino alla Seconda guerra mondiale per essere poi fortemente regolate dallo stato e approdare poi, negli anni Ottanta, ad una fase neoliberale. 2 BURKE, Peter, What is the history of knowledge?, Cambridge-Malden, Polity Press – Blackwell Publishers, 2015, p. 123. SWEN STEINBERG, ELISA GRANDI Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 3 BERRY, Evan, Devoted to Nature: The Religious Roots of American Environmentalism, Oakland, University of California Press, 2015, 272 pp. a cura di Swen STEINBERG traduzione di Alessandro SALVADOR Lo studio di Evan Barry congiunge la ricerca sulla storia ambientale con degli interrogativi sul mondo della religione e analizza i collegamenti tra l’ambientalismo americano e la religione tra Gilded Age e l’era progressista (ca. 1877-1920) andando però, alle sue origini e, in prospettiva, ben oltre questi confini. Berry si occupa di una tematica centrale nell’autocoscienza e nell’identità degli Stati Uniti quando erano ancora un giovane stato nazionale, in cui i legami con la natura e il concetto di luogo selvaggio giocavano inizialmente – e giocano in parte anche tuttora – un ruolo fondamentale. Anche se l’influenza che personalità legate al trascendentalismo come Ralph Waldo Emerson, Margaret Fuller o Henry David Thoreau hanno esercitato su questi concetti è stata sufficientemente studiata, le fondamenta teologiche e gli sviluppi successivi di stampo religioso non sono state finora sufficientemente analizzate. Evan Berry può quindi concludere che l’ambientalismo americano, anche nel Ventesimo secolo, è stato fortemente influenzato da elementi religiosi e che la sua comprensione della natura si è identificata soprattutto tramite il concetto cristiano della redenzione. Questo ha portato non solo ad un forte legame identitario con la natura, ma ha anche delineato gli approcci per definire cosa sia possibile fare all’interno della natura e come essa si possa utilizzare in senso turistico o ricreativo. I collegamenti illustrati da Berry mostrano quindi il potenziale dell’analisi storico-culturale superando le cornici interpretative usuali per il XIX e XX secolo, come lo stato nazionale, e indicano applicazioni che vanno al di là del contesto degli Stati Uniti. BROCK, Emily K., Money Trees. The Douglas Fir and American Forestry, 1900-1944, Corvallis (Oregon), Oregon State University Press, 2015, 272 pp. a cura di Swen STEINBERG traduzione di Alessandro SALVADOR Il lavoro di Emily K. Brock analizza lo sviluppo delle moderne scienze forestali prendendo ad esempio il patrimonio forestale degli stati dell’Oregon e di Washington, negli USA: Brock illustra i dibattiti scientifici ed ecologici come anche le prese di posizione delle industrie del legname e le strategie delle amministrazioni statali, con le PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 4 relative implicazioni politiche. Il nodo centrale è che attorno al 1900, contemporaneamente alla crescita del movimento conservazionista, non solo si ebbe la professionalizzazione delle scienze forestali negli USA ma, a nord-ovest, si crearono delle vere e proprie Tree Farms nei vasti possedimenti del “barone del legno” Frederick Weyerahaeuser, in cui venivano piantati e fatti crescere rapidamente e in modo industriale gli abeti di Douglas. Questa economizzazione dell’ecologia, trattata spesso in modo sbrigativo nei trattati sul movimento conservazionista americano, si occupava anche della questione centrale di definire concetti come sostenibilità e senso civico. In seguito, la definizione della funzione che le foreste rivestivano per l’economia e la società cambiò, ma si sviluppò anche attraverso i metodi delle Tree Farms in un’ottica che privilegiava l’economia. Brock non riesce sempre a descrivere i diversi gruppi di attori nelle loro relazioni reciproche e anche il concetto di forestry rimane parzialmente indefinito nel suo utilizzo (scienza forestale, economia forestale o gestione delle foreste). Il lavoro di Emily K. Brock mostra però in modo convincente il potenziale di una ricerca focalizzata e centrata sugli attori che, combinata con i dibattiti scientifici, economici e pubblici, offre un contributo essenziale alla storia ambientale che, in una prospettiva comparativa, può trovare applicazione per altre regioni del mondo. PARSONS, Elaine Frantz, Ku-Klux The Birth of the Klan during Reconstruction, Chapel Hill (North Carolina), The University Of North Carolina Press, 2015, 272 pp. a cura di Elisa GRANDI Il libro di Elaine Frantz Parsons, professoressa associata della Duquesne University (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania) fornisce il primo resoconto dettagliato delle origini e dell’affermazione del Ku Klux Klan all’indomani della Guerra Civile. A differenza di altri episodi di violenza razziale che caratterizzarono gli anni immediatamente successivi alla sconfitta degli Stati del Sud, il Klan si affermò come un fenomeno radicalmente diverso, poggiando allo stesso tempo su di un forte radicamento locale e su di una visibilità nazionale. Dosando sapientemente un livello di dettaglio nella ricostruzione degli avvenimenti mai raggiunto nella storiografia sul tema e un’analisi dell’affermazione del discorso e dell’ideologia che accompagnò l’ascesa del Klan, l’autrice si muove su due livelli di analisi: da un lato lo studio degli “uomini che agivano sul campo”, attraverso un insieme di relazioni politiche e comunitarie radicate nel territorio in cui operavano, dall’altro “l’idea del Klan” nel discorso pubblico, che viene ricostruita principalmente attraverso la stampa, locale e nazionale. Questa doppia SWEN STEINBERG, ELISA GRANDI Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 5 prospettiva permette di dimostrare uno degli aspetti fondanti dell’analisi: la congiuntura di interessi tra bianchi del Sud e del Nord, tanto Repubblicani quanto Democratici, che permisero l’affermazione del Klan. Gli interessi rappresentati dai bianchi degli Stati del Nord amplificarono in maniera determinante il fenomeno del Ku Klux Klan, gli diedero una forma specifica permettendo che acquisisse una coerenza nazionale. PANORAMICA: Usa 2015 Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea 6 * Gli autori Swen Steinberg, storico, è professore associato in storia regionale alla Technische Universität di Dresda. Da ottobre 2014 fino a ottobre 2016 è ricercatore ospite presso la University of California Los Angeles con un finanziamento post-dottorale della Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft sul tema: Una storia transnazionale della conoscenza. Montagne, foreste e miniere tra Europa e America, 1760-1960. I suoi interessi di ricerca sono le concezioni dell’Economia del cultura, le trasformazioni economiche, la storia della conoscenza e gli studi sugli esuli. Ha pubblicato diversi libri e articoli su questi temi. Attualmente sta lavorando ad una analisi delle reti di giornalisti tedeschi esiliati in Cecoslovacchia (per «Metropol», «Berlin») e all’edizione dei carteggi di Kurt Eisner. URL: < http://www.studistorici.com/progett/autori/#Steinberg > Elisa Grandi si è laureata in Storia all’Università di Bologna nel 2005, ha ottenuto la specializzazione in Storia del Mondo contemporaneo nello stesso ateneo, nel 2007. È alumna del Collegio Superiore dell’Università di Bologna. È stata Visiting Student alla Duke University (2009), Visiting Scholar alla New School of Social Research (2010), borsista Eiffel-Excellence presso il laboratorio SEDET di Parigi (2011) e Attaché de Recherche all’Université Paris Diderot (2011-2012). Sta completando un dottorato di storia economica all’Universita Paris Diderot, in cotutela con l’Università di Bologna, sui piani di sviluppo finanziati dalla Banca Mondiale in Europa e America Latina negli anni Cinquanta e Sessanta. Dal 2012 lavora come Senior Researcher nell’Equipex DFIH (Données Financières Historiques) della Paris School of Economics e dal 2014 insegna Storia della globalizzazione all’Université Paris 7 – Denis Diderot. URL: < http://www.studistorici.com/2010/12/07/elisa_grandi/ > Per citare questo articolo: STEINBERG, Swen, GRANDI, Elisa, «Panoramica: Usa 2015», Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea : La voce del silenzio: intelligence, spionaggio e conflitto nel XX secolo, 29/12/2016, URL:< http://www.studistorici.com/2016/12/29/usa_numero_28/ > Diacronie Studi di Storia Contemporanea  www.diacronie.it Risorsa digitale indipendente a carattere storiografico. Uscita trimestrale. redazione.diacronie@hotmail.it Comitato di redazione: Jacopo Bassi – Luca Bufarale – Antonio César Moreno Cantano – Deborah Paci – Fausto Pietrancosta – Alessandro Salvador – Matteo Tomasoni – Luca Zuccolo Diritti: gli articoli di Diacronie. Studi di Storia Contemporanea sono pubblicati sotto licenza Creative Commons 3.0. Possono essere riprodotti e modificati a patto di indicare eventuali modifiche dei contenuti, di riconoscere la paternità dell’opera e di condividerla allo stesso modo. La citazione di estratti è comunque sempre autorizzata, nei limiti previsti dalla legge. 
work_hjauwvqqrfdn7irpdxznto6kae	----	02.indd - 3 2 - C P A 4 [F1] Propuesta de escenografía para “Der Golem”. Hans Poelzig 1920 - 3 3 - M a te ri a y p o b re z a Materia y pobreza Materia, pobreza, material, acumulación, modernidad, sociedad La acumulación material es uno de los signos más identifi cables de la pobreza. El pobre vive apegado a la tierra, esa es su única posesión y a partir de ella construirá sus refugios, sus habitaciones, sus utensilios. Las construcciones de arcilla, de barro, moldeadas con gran abundancia de materia se encuentran en los poblados primitivos, pero cualquier situación marcada por la extrema pobreza lo estará también por las acumulaciones de material. Resulta inimaginable una situación de pobreza que no implique la acumulación de materia y esto es particularmente evidente en las sociedades desarrolladas, donde un mendigo es reconocible por su montaña de ropas, calzado o enseres de todo tipo. Resulta, sin embargo, signifi cativo que en los discursos de los ideólogos de la modernidad, la identifi cación de ésta con el advenimiento de una sociedad sin clases venga acompañada de una apelación a la pobreza, una nueva pobreza fría y sobria, propia de una habitación humana abierta y transparente, casi desnuda, e igualitaria para todos los hombres sin distinción de clases sociales. Así, la pobreza moderna estaría ligada al material, a los nuevos materiales, pero no es una condición impuesta, sino elegida, o al menos aceptada como inevitable por el nuevo hombre. La convivencia entre una pobreza de la acumulación material y una pobreza de ascetismo y renuncia es un hecho tanto en los discursos como en las obras de las vanguardias del siglo XX. La acumulación de materia informe y trabajada manualmente tiene lugar al mismo tiempo que la exhibición de la desnudez y la frialdad de los materiales producidos por la industria. Y en ambos casos, se apela a la pobreza como última referencia para las obras que tratan de ser una expresión fi el de las aspiraciones de su época. Matter, poverty, material, accumulation, modernity, society Accumulation of matter is one of the most recognizable signs of poverty. The poor lives close to the earth, this is his only property and he will use it to build his shelters, his rooms, or his utensils. The clay or mud constructions, moulded with a great amount of material, are found in primitive villages, but any situation of extreme poverty tends to be associated with an accumulation of matter whatever its origin. A situation of poverty not related with the accumulation of matter seems inconceivable and this is particularly evident in our developed societies, where a beggar is recognized in any street by his pile of clothes, shoes, and any sort of personal property. It is a signifi cant fact that many intellectual discourses on modernity identify the concept of modernity with that of a classless society and that, at the same time, they invoke poverty as a distinct mark of the new man. This new poverty is sober and cold as human habitation is open and transparent, almost naked, and it is equal for any man whatever his social strata. In this way, modern poverty is tied to material, to the new materials, but it is a chosen condition, nor an imposed one, or at least it is accepted as inevitable by the new man. Both accumulative poverty and ascetic poverty coexist in the discourses and works of 20th century avant- gardes. And in some contemporary works, we fi nd either an accumulation of shapeless and hand-worked matter or an exhibition of bare and cold materials industrially produced. In both cases, poverty is invoked as the ultimate reference for those works, intended to be a true expression of their epoch. María Teresa Muñoz Profesora titular Departamento Proyectos Arquitectónicos Escuela Técnica Superior de Arquitectura de la U.P de Madrid - 3 4 - C P A 4 La acumulación material es uno de los signos más identi icables de la pobreza. El pobre vive apegado a la tierra, esa es su única posesión y a partir de ella construirá sus refugios, sus habitaciones, sus utensilios. Las construcciones de arcilla, de barro, moldeadas con gran abundancia de materia se encuentran en los poblados primitivos, pero cualquier situación marcada por la extrema pobreza lo estará también por las acumulaciones de material, sea cual sea su cualidad y su procedencia. Por otra parte, los pobres ofrecen muchas veces una destreza en el trabajo material cuya consecuencia es la producción de una técnica constructiva y una artesanía propias, la materia se ve entonces transformada hasta límites que sobrepasan esta estricta condición material para convertirse en algo de un nivel superior, algo distinto, un producto industrial o una obra de arte. Pero igualmente en la pobreza se da el camino inverso, la actividad que opera desde la materia transformada hacia el puro material. Los pobres tratan de conseguir por distintos medios objetos manufacturados o incluso obras de arte para devolverlos a su condición anterior, a la de puro material, como el oro o la plata por ejemplo, para obtener de ellos un bene icio económico. Resulta inimaginable una situación de pobreza que no implique la acumulación de materia y esto es particularmente evidente en las sociedades desarrolladas, donde un mendigo es reconocible en la calle por su montaña de ropas, calzado o enseres de todo tipo que transporta con él a cualquier lugar. La identi icación entre materia y opresión, cuando la opresión no es sino una consecuencia de la pobreza, ha aparecido representada en diferentes formas, algunas tan literales como la del protagonista de la película Der Golem realizada en 1920 por Paul Wegener y cuya escenogra ía fue encargada al arquitecto Hans Poelzig, ayudado por la escultora Marianne Moeschke y el escenógrafo Karl Richter. En Der Golem existe una identi icación entre el personaje principal, un gigante de arcilla, y la pequeña ciudad en la que suceden los hechos que se relatan, una angosta calle central lanqueada por edi icios masivos con huecos apuntados y formas libres que sugieren posibles metamorfosis de sus fachadas inclinadas, sus cubiertas torcidas o sus torres inestables. La solidez es la condición necesaria para la expresión de una película muda en la que el ambiente construido debe ser capaz de hablar tanto como los personajes. Pero será Golem, el gigante de arcilla el que represente con más intensidad la capacidad de la pura materia para erigirse en agente de liberación, y posteriormente de opresión, desde el momento en que la materia es capaz de ser activada hasta cobrar vida, como también puede ser privada de esta vida y ser devuelta a su condición inerte originaria. Entre estos dos polos opuestos, la liberación y la opresión, transcurre la vida de los habitantes de la ciudad, en un circuito inexorable que no hace sino reproducir una y otra vez sus condiciones de pobreza y de sumisión. El gigante, que no es al principio más que un montón de tierra, será activado por la palabra de un mago hasta transformarse en una criatura viviente pero, tras llevar a cabo la labor que se le ha encomendado, se intenta devolverle de nuevo, a pesar de su resistencia, a la condición de puro material. La construcción de los pobres está siempre amenazada por su propia destrucción, en un ciclo que se repite una y otra vez en torno a la condición misma de la pobreza. La constante amenaza de los desastres naturales o los provocados por el hombre acabarán, en uno u otro momento, con el trabajo realizado sobre la materia para transformarla, para convertirla en algo vivo, y la aniquilación de la vida acabará con toda esperanza de una de initiva liberación de la pobreza. Sólo será posible volver a empezar. En Der Golem, Hans Poelzig construye una escenogra ía sin una precisa ubicación geográ ica ni histórica, aunque sus referencias sean inequívocamente medievales y góticas. La arquitectura dependerá sobre todo de su condición material, lo que permite someterla a profundas distorsiones y establecer grandes diferencias entre el interior y el exterior de los edi icios, separados por gruesas envolventes de barro que dan forma a las viviendas como cavernas, pero también al único espacio público en el que se reúnen unos hombres marginados y sometidos al poder de la autoridad y de la magia. El gran arco que cierra la calle principal expresa el límite ísico de la ciudad, que será un ámbito cerrado también hacia el cielo por medio de las chimeneas y las irregulares cubiertas inclinadas de los edi icios. La arquitectura busca ser la expresión de una sociedad encerrada y en la que, sólo momentáneamente, la materia cobrará vida en el gigante Golem, para después ser esta misma sociedad la que reclame y inalmente consiga anular este impulso vital para regresar a su materialidad original. El hombre de arcilla, que en principio obedece las órdenes de su creador, deja de hacerlo y actúa de acuerdo a sus propios impulsos caminando enloquecido por la ciudad y amenazando a sus habitantes. Una niña será quien inalmente logre extraer la cápsula de la vida del gigante y hacerlo yacer inerte sobre la tierra. El hecho de que Golem, el hombre de arcilla, sea un gigante indica hasta qué punto es peligrosa la materia fuera de sus propios límites dimensionales, y sobre todo cuando a esto se añade una falta de sumisión de la materia a los dictados de los humanos. Golem, una creación del hombre, se comporta como una fuerza incontrolada de la naturaleza, como lo es [F2] Construcción de una bóveda de adobe en Egipto. [F3] La calle de “Der Golem” - 3 5 - M a te ri a y p o b re z aun volcán, una riada o una tormenta, que son dinámicos pero no orgánicos, animados pero no vivientes, según la terminología de Thornstein Veblen. En este sentido, el gigante es tan amenazador y tan destructivo como estos desastres naturales, que se ciernen con frecuencia sobre las poblaciones más pobres e indefensas. Y como ellos, será la acumulación de materia el agente más destructivo e incontrolable, que acabará con la vida de las gentes, con sus viviendas, con sus cosechas o sus medios de subsistencia. La materia no hará sino añadir más pobreza a la pobreza. Resulta signi icativo que en los discursos de los ideólogos de la modernidad, la identi icación de ésta con el advenimiento de una sociedad sin clases venga acompañada de una apelación a la pobreza como distintivo de ese nuevo hombre, liberado de las servidumbres, las formas y los usos del pasado. Walter Benjamin, por ejemplo, se declara convencido de que la nueva arquitectura de acero y cristal satisface las promesas inherentes a la condición moderna porque, en sus propias palabras, esta arquitectura es la auténtica expresión de la pobreza que es típica de la nueva civilización y anticipa la realización de una sociedad transparente y sin clases. Es decir, Benjamin también apela a la condición material de la arquitectura, a los nuevos materiales, como distintivo de la pobreza, esta vez una pobreza extendida a toda la sociedad y no únicamente al sector más bajo y oprimido de ella. La pobreza material es también liberación, pero no porque el hombre se haya liberado de su dependencia de la materia, sino porque unos materiales han sido sustituidos por otros, la opacidad y pesantez de la arcilla, del barro, han sido sustituidas por la ligereza del acero y la transparencia del cristal. Abandonados los deseos de confort del pasado, la nueva pobreza es fría y sobria y la habitación humana es abierta y transparente, casi desnuda, e igualitaria para todos los hombres sin distinción de clases sociales. Así, la pobreza moderna está ligada al material, a los nuevos materiales, pero no es una condición impuesta, sino elegida, o al menos aceptada como inevitable por el nuevo hombre. Es importante señalar que la pobreza, por tanto, está presente tanto en los discursos sobre la sociedad y el arte primitivos como en los distintos modos de entender los rasgos distintivos de la modernidad y, además, que la pobreza siempre está sustentada por su dependencia del material. La pobreza puede ser acumulación o privación, pero en todo caso es una condición estéticamente positiva en contra de las connotaciones negativas implícitas en cualquier noción de riqueza; la pobreza es sincera y real, mientras que la riqueza es falsa, arti iciosa e inútil. Sin embargo, los pobres siempre están dispuestos a emular y reproducir tanto los usos como las construcciones de los ricos. Y esto es particularmente evidente en el caso de los materiales que emplean, la sustitución de los muros de adobe por otros de hormigón o de las cubiertas de tierra por otras de madera es un primer signo de escalada social, que se hará más acusado cuando se da paso a materiales de revestimiento más re inados o cualquier forma de decoración imitada de otros modelos. El salto cualitativo que supone la llamada pobreza moderna no supone, por tanto, simplemente el paso de unos materiales a otros, sino la renuncia total a cualquier tipo de trabajo artesano sobre materiales tradicionales, supone la alienación absoluta del hombre y su habitación, sobre la que ya el propio hombre no ejercerá ningún control material, renunciando a la artesanía a favor de la industria. El nuevo pobre dependerá, igual que el primitivo, de la materia pero deberá renunciar a su contacto con ella, a su trabajo sobre ella y, sobre todo, a su posesión. Una de las imágenes más expresivas de lo que signi ica esta nueva pobreza promovida por la modernidad la encontramos en un interior de Hannes Meyer realizado en el año 1926. Se trata de una habitación amueblada con una silla plegable, un colchón levantado sobre cuatro patas, un gramófono y dos pequeñas estanterías colgadas en la pared. Tanto el suelo como las paredes están construidos con simples lonas, mientras que los muebles son de madera, de metal o de materiales sintéticos. El propio Hannes Meyer en un texto de ese mismo año “Die Neue Welt” habla de los nuevos materiales que deben usarse en las nuevas viviendas, materiales desnudos como el aluminio, el hormigón armado, el cristal, el linóleo o los plásticos, sin ningún tipo de referencia local ni artesana, materiales producidos por la industria internacional. Y, como demuestra la exhibición de su interior, de iende que la vivienda no es otra cosa que sus componentes; lámparas eléctricas, sillas plegables, mesas rodantes, bañeras y gramófonos. Ni la personalidad, ni la comodidad, ni el alma, son un objetivo de la construcción de la vivienda, estos residen en el modo de comportarse, en la conducta de los hombres, y no en las alfombras persas o en los cuadros de las paredes. Esta es la respuesta radical de Meyer desde la arquitectura a las demandas de la nueva sociedad y el nuevo hombre, la desnudez y la tecni icación de los lugares de habitación en los que se exhibe una ética y una estética de la pobreza. Sin embargo, al mismo tiempo que se proponen estos interiores ascéticos e impersonales, sin apenas huellas de su condición material, no sólo por parte de Hannes Meyer sino en todo el entorno de Walter Gropius y la Bauhaus, se produce el fenómeno contrario, el de - 3 6 - C P A 4 una también nueva propuesta de acumulación de material como procedimiento artístico. Es el caso de Kurt Schwitters y su Merzbild o Merzbau, donde se van depositando una serie de objetos o fragmentos de objetos hasta construir un conjunto sin forma pero fuertemente ligado a la personalidad de su constructor. Materiales sin un valor propio, pero cargados de ecos o vivencias personales, se colocan unos sobre otros hasta formar una pirámide o una gruta en las que también se reproducen las condiciones propias de la pobreza, la acumulación de todo tipo de residuos. O el de su antecedente, el llamado Plasto-Dio-Dada- Drama de Johannes Baader, expuesto en la Feria Dada del 1920, un collage tridimensional formado por materiales de desecho realizado con la intención de convertirlo en una alegoría de su país, Alemania, y en una parodia de la arquitectura monumental del constructivismo ruso, en especial del Monumento a la Tercera Internacional de Vladimir Tatlin. Aunque la apelación a una nueva pobreza por parte de los promotores intelectuales de la modernidad arquitectónica se hace como oposición a las construcciones y los interiores burgueses característicos del siglo XIX, plagados de materiales costosos, de ricos tejidos y de valiosas obras de arte, lo cierto es que esta pobreza moderna tiene poco que ver con la auténtica pobreza de quienes están condenados a una exclusión social ya sea por su localización geográ ica, en los entornos rurales, o por su absoluta carencia de recursos. La sociedad sin clases vendría más de una renuncia voluntaria a las comodidades burguesas por parte de los ricos que de un avance social por parte de los pobres, siempre que una revolución completa no borrara por completo estas diferencias económicas. O más bien, vendría de una transformación de las clases medias de la sociedad, las únicas capaces de promover y asimilar los cambios éticos y estéticos propuestos por la modernidad arquitectónica y artística, nunca de los demasiado ricos, reacios a renunciar a sus privilegios y sus costumbres, ni de los demasiado pobres, incapaces de hacerlo por estar demasiado ocupados en los puros problemas de supervivencia. La cuestión entonces es por qué esa insistencia en la pobreza como signo de los nuevos tiempos, de una sociedad sin clases, y si este concepto de pobreza, convertido en emblema de la modernidad, pasa de ser una condición económica a un estado mental, aunque conservando en todo caso la relación originaria entre pobreza y materia. La convivencia entre una pobreza de la acumulación material y una pobreza de ascetismo y renuncia es un hecho tanto en los discursos como en las obras de las vanguardias del siglo XX. La película Der Golem se realiza el mismo año 1920 que Baader construye su Plasto- Dada-Dio-Drama y ambos coinciden geográ ica e históricamente con las los interiores de Hannes Meyer o Walter Gropius. La acumulación de materia informe y trabajada manualmente tiene lugar al mismo tiempo que la exhibición de la desnudez y la frialdad de los materiales producidos por la industria. Y en ambos casos, se apela a la pobreza como última referencia para las obras que tratan de ser una expresión iel de las aspiraciones de su época. Y en otro ámbito de la cultura, los ilósofos marxistas toman posiciones antagónicas sobre las dos tendencias que luchan por la hegemonía de la modernidad, el funcionalismo y el expresionismo. Si Benjamin se manifestaba a favor de la sobriedad, la transparencia y la desnudez, la frialdad de la arquitectura de los nuevos materiales industriales, y si en la misma línea Lukács combate al movimiento expresionista como decadente, Ernst Bloch defenderá las cualidades de calidez y reclusión propias de la arquitectura expresionista, la única que para él apela a un sentimiento utópico y que anticipa las posibilidades de un mundo distinto, de un mundo mejor. Más allá de los límites temporales en que se produjeron los mani iestos modernos y de la hegemonía en la arquitectura de la vertiente funcionalista a lo largo de varias décadas, los discursos sobre la pobreza como condición propia del nuevo hombre o las llamadas a la consecución de una sociedad sin clases a través de la arquitectura y los nuevos materiales parecen cesar. Sin embargo, aunque desaparezca del vocabulario de los arquitectos el término pobreza, que quedará reservado para actuaciones puntuales en lugares periféricos, la in luencia del debate anterior se introducirá inconscientemente en las propuestas arquitectónicas de la segunda mitad del siglo XX, tanto en las que se reconocen como más continuistas con los discursos modernos como con las más rupturistas y críticas. Sin este pensamiento subyacente sobre la pobreza sería di ícil entender las propuestas, por ejemplo, de Buckminster Fuller, pero también las de Robert Venturi o incluso las de Philip Johnson. Y, más allá de la arquitectura, el discurso de la pobreza es fundamental para algunos artistas que, como Donald Judd, trabajan en los límites de la disciplina. La herencia de la modernidad ha impuesto la necesidad de trabajar desde la óptica de la pobreza, de reconocer que hoy todos somos pobres otra vez como señala Ernst Bloch, porque la pobreza es una actitud de la que el nuevo hombre no puede abdicar, cualquiera que sea el modo en que se conciba este término. Desde la exhibición de los materiales en las obras del brutalismo inglés al interés por las construcciones de los pueblos primitivos como [F4] Das Grosse Plasto-Dio-Dada-Drama. Johannes Baader 1920 [F5] Interior. Hannes Meyer 1926 - 3 7 - M a te ri a y p o b re z alos Dogon, desde las utopías tecnológicas a las propuestas de nuevas formas de habitar en las utopías de los años sesenta, todas ellas exigen por parte de quien las crea y quien las percibe una acuerdo tácito sobre la aceptación de la pobreza como situación inevitable, y también deseable, del mundo en que vivimos o el que se trata de construir. John Cage, tomando como referencias al músico Erik Satie y al escritor Henry David Thoreau, ha formulado de manera expresa esta necesidad de trabajar desde y para la pobreza, de la pobreza como objetivo último de la actividad artística e incluso de la pobreza como estado mental. Asumir que todo trabajo arquitectónico está o debe estar condicionado por una nueva pobreza signi icaría entonces haber desterrado del pensamiento de los arquitectos todo lo que tenga que ver con la riqueza, el lujo, lo super luo o la ostentación. Pero lo cierto es que esto no es así. En primer lugar, porque cada uno de los dos conceptos de pobreza acusa al contrario de ser uno mero disfraz de los gustos de las clases socialmente privilegiadas y, en segundo lugar, porque estos dos modos de entender y construir la pobreza están llamados a convivir. La arquitectura, de nuevo, ha encontrado en la acumulación de material y en la exhibición de sus cualidades ísicas unas inmensas posibilidades expresivas, tanto haciendo uso de materiales naturales y modos de construir tradicionales como explotando al máximo las posibilidades de los materiales industriales. Pero, en todo caso, la pobreza que se trata de expresar con los edi icios ya no tiene que ver con la vivienda del hombre, sino que pasa a ser una cualidad cuyo signi icado es colectivo, social. Este es el caso de muchas arquitecturas públicas contemporáneas que hacen uso de materiales naturales en sus fachadas o sus espacios interiores, pero sobre todo es el caso de ciertos fenómenos cada vez más frecuentes, cuando se producen aglomeraciones de individuos que construyen ellos mismos algo parecido a barrios espontáneos que parecen directamente salidos de los arrabales o las periferias más deprimidas y que son erigidos en los lugares más importantes y visibles de la ciudad. Estos lugares son creados a imagen de los desordenados y multiformes barrios marginales, con aglomeraciones de los más diversos materiales capaces de alojar e identi icar a la gente que se instala en ellos. Montañas de tablas viejas, de lonas o utensilios de plástico construyen estructuras complejas en las que se descubren complicadas instalaciones de cables eléctricos para conectar los aparatos electrónicos o los electrodomésticos capaces de proporcionar calor y un cierto confort a la población que acude a ellos. La ropa está dispersa por todas partes o se cuelga para conseguir una cierta protección contra el viento y, en medio de este conglomerado continuo, los únicos vacíos son los destinados a las asambleas en forma de círculo. Es di ícil tener una explicación para este tipo de asentamientos espontáneos desde un punto de vista social, pero igualmente di ícil es entenderlos como arquitectura, como forma, más allá de su apelación a los signos más reconocibles de la pobreza y de la exhibición de esta pobreza en los lugares más emblemáticos de las ciudades. Cualquier manifestación ciudadana de protesta o reivindicación está dispuesta a adoptar como forma ísica y aglutinante social estos campamentos o asentamientos espontáneos que colocan a la vista de cualquiera las condiciones más reconocidas de la pobreza, condiciones que signi icativamente se mani iestan a través de enormes acumulaciones de materia. Lo que nos muestra esta proliferación de acampadas urbanas, algunas temporales pero la mayoría con voluntad de permanencia, es que la exclusión social no es ya una cuestión individual, que la pobreza asumida como ética del hombre moderno no puede ser simplemente el ideal revolucionario de unos pocos, o el mani iesto antimaterialista de un grupo de intelectuales, sino que es algo que aparece con toda su crudeza en las condiciones de pobreza material a las que cada día más seres humanos se ven condenados en tantos lugares de nuestro mundo civilizado. MATERIA POBREZA MATERIAL ACUMULACIÓN MODERNIDAD SOCIEDAD [F7] Vivienda en la Bauhaus. Walter Gropius 1928 [F6] Merzbau. Kart Schwitters 1930 
work_hjpnpo7xfvcg5g7swwy7ilqmhi	----	Microsoft Word - 63-05.doc econstor Make Your Publications Visible. A Service of zbw Leibniz-Informationszentrum Wirtschaft Leibniz Information Centre for Economics Bosetti, Valentina; Locatelli, Gianni Working Paper A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks� Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Nota di Lavoro, No. 63.2005 Provided in Cooperation with: Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei (FEEM) Suggested Citation: Bosetti, Valentina; Locatelli, Gianni (2005) : A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks� Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks, Nota di Lavoro, No. 63.2005, Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei (FEEM), Milano This Version is available at: http://hdl.handle.net/10419/74248 Standard-Nutzungsbedingungen: Die Dokumente auf EconStor dürfen zu eigenen wissenschaftlichen Zwecken und zum Privatgebrauch gespeichert und kopiert werden. Sie dürfen die Dokumente nicht für öffentliche oder kommerzielle Zwecke vervielfältigen, öffentlich ausstellen, öffentlich zugänglich machen, vertreiben oder anderweitig nutzen. Sofern die Verfasser die Dokumente unter Open-Content-Lizenzen (insbesondere CC-Lizenzen) zur Verfügung gestellt haben sollten, gelten abweichend von diesen Nutzungsbedingungen die in der dort genannten Lizenz gewährten Nutzungsrechte. Terms of use: Documents in EconStor may be saved and copied for your personal and scholarly purposes. You are not to copy documents for public or commercial purposes, to exhibit the documents publicly, to make them publicly available on the internet, or to distribute or otherwise use the documents in public. If the documents have been made available under an Open Content Licence (especially Creative Commons Licences), you may exercise further usage rights as specified in the indicated licence. www.econstor.eu This paper can be downloaded without charge at: The Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Note di Lavoro Series Index: http://www.feem.it/Feem/Pub/Publications/WPapers/default.htm Social Science Research Network Electronic Paper Collection: http://ssrn.com/abstract=718621 The opinions expressed in this paper do not necessarily reflect the position of Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Corso Magenta, 63, 20123 Milano (I), web site: www.feem.it, e-mail: working.papers@feem.it A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks’ Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Valentina Bosetti and Gianni Locatelli NOTA DI LAVORO 63.2005 MAY 2005 NRM – Natural Resources Management Valentina Bosetti, Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Gianni Locatelli, DISCo, Università di Milano Bicocca A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks’ Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Summary Wilderness protection is a growing necessity for modern societies, and this is particularly true for areas where population density is extremely high, as for example Europe. Conservation, however, implies very high opportunity costs. It is thus crucial to create incentives to efficient management practices, to promote benchmarking and to improve conservation management. In the present paper we propose a methodology based on Data Envelopment Analysis, DEA, a non parametric benchmarking technique specifically developed to assess the relative efficiency of decision-making units. In particular, the objective of the discussed methodology is to assess the relative efficiency of the management units of the protected area and to indicate how it could be improved, by providing a set of guidelines. The main advantage of this methodology is that it allows to assess the efficiency of natural parks’ management not only internally (comparing the performance of the park to itself in time) but also by external benchmarking, thus providing new and different perspectives on potential improvements. Although the proposed methodology is fairly general, we have applied it to the context of Italian National Parks in order to produce a representative case study. Specifically, the choice of adequate cost and benefit indicators is a very important and delicate phase of any benchmark analysis. For this purpose, a questionnaire was used to investigate the opinions of Italian National Parks managers and stakeholders and to define the relevant indicators for the analysis. Finally, relevant policy implications for the case study are given. Keywords: Data envelopment analysis, Natural park management JEL Classification: Q01, Q26, Q56 Address for correspondence: Valentina Bosetti Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Corso Magenta 63 20123 Milano Italy Phone: +390252036938 Fax: +390252036946 E-mail: valentina.bosetti@feem.it 2 Introduction Since ancient eras, the idea of protecting portions of the land has appeared as a necessity. The reasons for this have intrinsically changed over time, going from the mere necessity of preserving hunting areas to the idea of biological conservation, which remains one of today’s driving causes. Although in different times and places, and motivated by different concerns, this idea has led to the same result: the conservation of ecosystems that would otherwise have disappeared. Indeed, if on the one hand the first example of a modern National Park is quite recent (Yellowstone, Wyoming, instituted in 1872), on the other hand, examples of protected areas can be traced back to game reserves. The first example, which can be dated back to 7.500-7000 B.C., shows the existence of hunting areas in archaeological sites in South-west Iran. During the history of Indo-European civilizations, the aristocracy used to create game preserves in forests with the effect of conserving wide pristine areas which solely a very restricted number of individuals could make use of. This was also the case for Italy where many areas which are still protected today, were originally game preserves. The preservation of wilderness is also linked to religious activities, for example the holy woods of Mediterranean cultures. During the Middle Ages, almost all of the forests surrounding monasteries were turned into preserves and the population was forbidden to harvest these areas. In Italy, the Apennine forest of Abetone and the “Foreste Casentinesi” National Park have been preserved to the present day thanks to the presence of eremitical places (Massa, 1999). However, the origins of the concept of ‘holy forests’ can be traced back to the Etruscan and Greek civilizations, when natural areas 3 surrounding towns were consecrated to divinities and any human activity was forbidden. The modern idea of protected areas, which underpinned the Yellowstone Park institution, was based on the recognition of the value of wilderness amenity and of the recreational services it produces. The American “Protection Ethics” sprung from the ideas of three naturalists: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and John Muir. In their interpretation, for the first time wilderness was as important as religion. Nature could not be exploited for purely economic reasons. Moreover, the beauty of Nature had to be safeguarded in that its contemplation was recognized as a basic need for human beings; this ‘use value’, mainly centered on human needs, was at the foundation of this early protection ethic. At the beginning of the twentieth century, a new idea took shape: that of Gifford Pinchot. He based his thought on the philosophical outlook of John Stuart Mill and believed that preserving nature has first of all an economic rationale behind it. It was only around the 1950s that along with these different interpretations of nature’s conservation, essentially based on an anthropocentric perspective, a new thought emerged: that of Aldo Leopold. It was based on the recognition of the intrinsic value of the existence of nature and it constituted, in subsequent years, the foundation of modern evolutionary ecology. During the twentieth century, particularly in Europe, the erosion of territory, hence of ecosystems, due to human activities was dramatically increasing. This led to a growing concern for wilderness conservation issues, tracing back from the first meetings in Paris (1902) and London (1937), up to the 1987 report “Our Common Future”, prepared as a discussion basis for the Earth Summit held in Rio de Janeiro in 4 1992. During these subsequent meetings, the concept of a preserved natural area, the ‘natural park’, has undergone several successive transformations, until a new interpretation emerged. Natural parks should be government- managed territories, where development and preservation forces are kept in balance. Management should not only be concerned with environmental issues, but more broadly with the socio-economic features of the territory. Indeed, in a dynamic perspective, it might turn out more appropriate for conservation purposes, to open a protected area to some human activities, rather than to close it completely, preventing any development, even under a pure non-anthropocentric ethic of conservation. Indeed, it is now widely recognized that untouchable territories are bound to slowly disappear, because of land scarcity, and this is particularly true for highly populated areas as Europe. Therefore, in a long-term perspective, the involvement and sustainable development of human activities within protected areas may prove to be a win-win strategy. Within this enlarged vision, natural areas’ management entails the dynamic assessment of environmental quality indicators as well as the sustainability level of management activities, thus increasing the need for comprehensive indicators. Qualitative and quantitative indicators may support the decision- maker in comparing different realities, in evaluating the environmental and economic performance of its management’s policies, and in trying to forecast the effectiveness of potential changes in management strategies. There is a long tradition of benchmarking methodologies, however most of them are commonly restrained to cover an internal perspective and do not investigate how the analysed protected area is performing when compared to others. 5 The main objective of the present paper is the external benchmarking of protected areas. To this aim, it is necessary to introduce a common benchmarking methodology, capable of taking into account specific features of different realities. Data Envelopment Analysis (DEA) is an extremely flexible and useful methodology, which provides an indicator of the relative efficiency for each different analysed decision- making unit (in our case National Park Management offices), where efficiency is a measure of different features related to the environmental as well as to the economic or social impacts of the protected area. In this paper we present and discuss the application of DEA to the case of Italian National Parks. In order to create a common set of indicators, a preliminary questionnaire was administered to investigate the opinion of parks’ managers and other stakeholders at a qualitative level. A follow-up questionnaire was subsequently carried out in order to collect intertemporal quantitative data for all the indicators that were considered more relevant by managers and stakeholders. DEA analysis was carried out on the data set. The paper is organized as follows. Section 1 provides a brief literature review. In Section 2 a brief description of the DEA methodology is given, while in Section 3 the data set and the data collection methodology are discussed, together with the types of DEA analysis performed. Section 4 is a description of the main results and Section 5 concludes with a summary of the main findings along with the final remarks and future extensions. 6 1 DEA and the environment DEA is a multivariate technique for monitoring productivity and providing insights on the possible directions of improvement of the status quo, when inefficient. It is a non- parametric technique, i.e. it can compare input/output data, making no prior assumptions about the probability distribution under study. The origin of non- parametric programming methodology, with respect to the relative efficiency measurement, lies in the work of Charnes et al. (1978, 1979, 1981). DEA has been applied to several benchmarking studies and to the performance analysis of public institutions, such as schools (Charnes et al., 1981), hospitals (Nyman and Bricker, 1989), but also of private ones, such as banks (Charnes et al., 1990). An exhaustive analysis of its underlying theory and main applications can be found in Charnes et al. (1993), while a comprehensive literature review in Tavaresa (2002). Applications to environmental and resource management problems are less frequent. An interesting overview of the role of DEA in environmental valuation can be found in Kortelainen and Kuosmanen (2004), while a survey of indicators of firm’s environmental behavior can be found in Tyteca (1996). We briefly report some application studies in the following. Application Author Measure ecological efficiency Dyckhoff and Allen, (2001) Measure environmental impacts of different production technology De Koeijer, et al. (2002) Measure different systems of waste management Sarkis and Weinrach (2001) Measure efficiency of environmental regulation schemes Hernandez-Sancho et al. (2000) 7 2 Methodology Although DEA is based on the concept of efficiency that approaches the idea of a classical production function, the latter is typically determined by a specific equation, while DEA is generated from the data set of observed operative units (Decision Making Units or DMUs). The DEA efficiency score of any DMU is derived from the comparison with the other DMUs that are included in the analysis, considering the maximum score of unity (or 100%) as a benchmark. The score is independent of the units in which outputs and inputs are measured, and this allows for a greater flexibility in the choice of inputs and outputs to be included in the study. An important assumption of the DEA is that all DMUs face the same unspecified technology and operational characteristics, which defines the set of their production possibilities. The idea of measuring the efficiency of DMUs with multiple inputs and outputs is specified as a linear fractional programming model. A commonly accepted measure of efficiency is given by the ratio of the weighted sum of outputs over the weighted sum of inputs. It is however necessary to assess a common set of weights and this may give rise to some problems. With DEA methodology each DMU can freely assess its own set of weights, that can be inferred through the process of maximizing the efficiency. Given a set of N DMUs, each producing J outputs from a set of I inputs, let us denote by yjn and xin the vectors representing the quantities of outputs and inputs relative to the m-th DMU, respectively. The efficiency of the m-th DMU can thus be calculated as: 8 ⎥ ⎦ ⎤ ⎢ ⎣ ⎡ = = = ∑ ∑ = = Ii Jj xv yu e I i imi J j jmj m ,..,1 ,..,1 , 1 1 (1) where uj and vi are two vectors of weight that DMU m uses in order to measure the relative importance of the consumed and the produced factors. As mentioned, the set of weights, in DEA, is not given, but is calculated through the DMU’s maximization problem, that is stated below for the m-th DMU. 10 10 ,.,,.,1 1 .. max 1 1 ≤≤ ≤≤ =∀≤ ∑ ∑ = = i j I i ini J j jnj m v u Nmn xv yu ts e (2) To simplify computations it is possible to scale the input prices so that the cost of the DMU m’s inputs equals 1, thus transforming problem set in (2) in the ordinary linear programming problem stated below: + == = = ℜ∈≤≤≤≤ =∀≤− = = ∑∑ ∑ ∑ εεε ,1 ,1 ,.,,.,1 0 1 .. max 11 1 1 ij I i ini J j jnj I i imi J j jmjm vu Nmnxvyu xv ts yuh (3) 9 In addition to the linearization constraint, weights have to be strictly positive in order to avoid the possibility that some inputs or outputs may be ignored in the process of determination of the efficiency of each DMU. If the solution to the maximization problem gives a value of efficiency equal to 1, the corresponding DMU is considered to be efficient or non-dominated, if the efficiency value is inferior to 1 then the corresponding DMU is dominated, therefore does not lie on the efficiency frontier, which is defined by the efficient DMUs. As for every linear programming problem, there is a dual formulation of the primal formulation of the maximization problem outlined in (3), which has an identical solution. While the primal problem can be interpreted as an output- oriented formulation (for a given level of input, DMUs maximizing output are preferred), the dual problem can be interpreted as an input- oriented formulation (for a given level of output, DMUs minimizing inputs are preferred). Scale effects can be accounted for modifying the model as presented in (3), in order to account for variable returns to scale (we adopt the solution suggested in Banker et al., 1984). Finally, the dynamic analysis was performed using the window approach, first put forward by Charnes and others (Charnes et al., 1978), in order to produce not only a static picture of efficiency, but also the evolution of efficiency of each municipality. The DEA is performed over time using a similar moving average procedure, where parks’ performances in one year are compared with their performances in another year. 10 3 Data Collection and Analysis To define environmental efficiency is a very challenging task; several different definitions of ecological efficiency exist in the literature. In the case of protected areas, the problem becomes even more complicated, because management and financial features have to be considered as well. As mentioned above, in a DEA study, the most crucial phase is indeed the choice of the representative benefit and cost indicators, which will be extremely influential in defining each DMU level of efficiency. For this reason, the direct involvement of stakeholders is appropriate, if not fundamental. The managers of all the National Parks1 in Italy were therefore interviewed through mail questionnaires in order to understand what they perceived as the most relevant indicators. In particular, for each proposed indicator, the respondent could choose among different qualitative definitions (very relevant, VR, relevant, R, not very relevant, NVR, and not relevant, NR). On the basis of the survey’s results, which are summarized in Table 1, a second survey was designed in order to obtain quantitative definitions of each of the indicators (the final set of indicators used in the DEA analysis is reported in Table 2 divided in three models, see section 4). On the output side, first the number of visitors to the park was considered as an indicator of its attractiveness, providing potential indirect benefit to the local economy. Second, the number of the parks’ employees, as an indicator of the social and economic indirect and direct benefits. Third, the number of economic businesses which are directly linked empowered or created thanks to the presence of the park (e.g. parks 1 There are 21 National Parks in Italy. The analysis was performed on the 17 parks which were able to produce the required data, which are: Abruzzo, Lazio and Molise; Arcipelago la Maddalena; Arcipelago Toscano; Asinara; Aspromonte; Cilento and Vallo di Diano; Circeo; Monti Sibillini; Gargano; Dolomiti Bellunesi; Foreste Casentinesi; Gran Paradiso; Gran Sasso and Monti della Laga; Majella; Val Grande; Vesuvio. 11 certifying farmers producing within the protected area). Fourth, the number of protected species, which is a good proxy of the environmental quality and biodiversity of the park (in some models the inverse of this biodiversity indicator was included as an input). Finally, the number of students who visit the park for environmental education trips, as a proxy of the social and educational benefits deriving from the park. On the input side, economic costs, computed aggregating management costs and variable costs and extraordinary expenses were considered. Moreover, the area extension was also considered as a proxy of fixed costs, which are assumed to be proportional to the area covered by the park. 4 Results Three different models have been used to perform DEA analysis. The choice of using more than one model specification derives from the consideration that the DEA technique is extremely sensitive to the choice of indicators. Hence, coherent responses obtained by different models prove to be more reliable and robust, diminishing the degree of subjectivity of the efficiency scores produced. Moreover, each different model mimics the three main existing management strategies, namely a ‘pure socio-economic development oriented’ (Model 1), a ‘pure conservation oriented’ (Model 2) and an ‘in between’ strategy (Model 3). In Table 3, results for Model 1, 2 and 3 (for the maximization of outputs approach, MAXOUTPUT) are shown, respectively. Parks scoring a 100% efficiency in Model 1 (as for example the National Park Foreste Casentinesi) are successfully promoting the development of the area. DMUs efficient according to Model 2 prove to have a high 12 natural performance, in terms of biodiversity conservation, attractiveness and capacity of diffusing awareness among new generations (as for example the National Park Gran Sasso and Monti della Laga). When a DMU is scoring maximum efficiency according to all three models, then one can argue the management has attained the sustainable development goal in a very broad sense. In the case of DMUs which are partially inefficient (as for example the National Park Gran Paradiso) it is possible to use the DEA analysis to obtain information concerning potential improvements of the management2 (see Figure 1). Finally, the total potential improvements, described in Figure 2, are defined by aggregating over all inefficient DMUs, in order to provide guidelines to properly allocate government incentives. Conclusions In recent years, a substantial re-interpretation of wilderness management objectives has occurred. According to this conceptual ‘revolution’, management strategies should aim at harmonizing human and nature’s interests, in the attempt of finding a balance between development and preservation, rather than a “put under a glass bell” approach. Nowadays a protected area has a new function: it is also a place where the concept of sustainable development can be put into practice and where traditional economic activities can be consistent with preservation needs. This is the interpretation of nature protection, and specifically of Natural Parks, underpinning the design of environmental protection strategies. 2 Parco Nazionale del Gargano, Parco del Vesuvio, Parco delle Foreste Casentinesi and Parco del Gran Sasso e dei Monti della Laga compose the peer group for the Parco Nazionale delle Dolomiti, used to define the virtual efficient DMU, thus providing information on potential improvements, P. 13 Accordingly, it becomes increasingly important to monitor multi-objectives efficiency, a task which can be successfully accomplished by adopting benchmarking techniques (as for example DEA). These techniques provide information about efficiency, interpreted as a multi dimensional object, but also enable a detailed analysis of potential improvements. The present study represents the first attempt to apply this methodology to this complex and experimental area. In particular, the methodology has been applied to the case of Italian National Parks; the resulting rankings and information to improve the management status have been provided as a feedback to their questionnaires to Parks’ managers and to the Italian authority. The next step on the research agenda is the enlargement of the data set to include a broader variety of parks (for example national parks of other countries in Europe) in order to produce a more reliable and useful efficiency classification. 14 References Banker, R.D., Charnes, A., Cooper, W. W. 1984. Some models for estimating technical and scale inefficiencies in data envelopment analysis. Management Science. 30 (9), 1078-1092. 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Rutcor Researc Report, 01-02, JANUARY, 2002 16 Tables and Figures OUTPUT VR-R NVR-NR a Number of annual visitors 100% 0% b Number of historical buildings 100% 0% c Number of protected species 89% 11% d Number of students which visit the park for environmental education trips 88% 12% e Number of equipped areas 56% 44% f Area extension 56% 44% g Number of parks employees 56% 44% h Number of environmental illegal acts 55% 45% i Restored environmental area extension 45% 55% l Presence of a certification system with park labels 44% 56% m Gadget sale 22% 78% n Number of economic business directly linked, empowered or created thanks to the presence of the park 22% 78% INPUT VR-R NVR-NR a Management costs 100% 0% b Variable costs 89% 11% c Area extension 56% 44% Table 1 - Results to questionnaire. The column VR-R presents the sum of the answers VR and R. The column NVR-NR presents the sum of the answers NVR and NR. (author) 17 Output Input Model 1 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Model 2 Visitors protected species environmental education trips Total costs Area extension Model 3 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Table 2 - Definition of input-output for the three models. Grey indicates input assumed as uncontrollable. (author) 18 MODEL 1 MODEL 2 MODEL 3 DMU Efficiency Efficiency Efficiency Abruzzo, Lazio e Molise 100 100 100 Arcipelago la Maddalena 6,54 45,2 22,94 Arcipelago Toscano 54,82 100 100 Asinara 100 100 100 Aspromonte 7,3 51,77 21,81 Cilento Vallo di Diano 16,56 30,14 35,33 Circeo 93,27 100 100 Dolomiti Bellunesi 23,56 62,28 33,07 Foreste Casentinesi 100 68,07 100 Gargano 68,23 100 100 Gran Paradiso 58,62 48,16 65,62 Gran Sasso e Monti della Laga 34,02 42,94 100 Majella 100 100 100 Monti Sibillini 100 92,45 100 Val Grande 9,43 100 53,32 Vesuvio 100 100 100 Table 3 - Efficiency results for the three models. (author) 19 52 52 67 -31 -86 0 -42 -100 -80 -60 -40 -20 0 20 40 60 80 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Figure 1 - Suggested potential improvements to obtain full efficiency. 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CCMP 6.2005 Valentina BOSETTI, Carlo CARRARO and Marzio GALEOTTI: The Dynamics of Carbon and Energy Intensity in a Model of Endogenous Technical Change IEM 7.2005 David CALEF and Robert GOBLE: The Allure of Technology: How France and California Promoted Electric Vehicles to Reduce Urban Air Pollution ETA 8.2005 Lorenzo PELLEGRINI and Reyer GERLAGH: An Empirical Contribution to the Debate on Corruption Democracy and Environmental Policy CCMP 9.2005 Angelo ANTOCI: Environmental Resources Depletion and Interplay Between Negative and Positive Externalities in a Growth Model CTN 10.2005 Frédéric DEROIAN: Cost-Reducing Alliances and Local Spillovers NRM 11.2005 Francesco SINDICO: The GMO Dispute before the WTO: Legal Implications for the Trade and Environment Debate KTHC 12.2005 Carla MASSIDDA: Estimating the New Keynesian Phillips Curve for Italian Manufacturing Sectors KTHC 13.2005 Michele MORETTO and Gianpaolo ROSSINI: Start-up Entry Strategies: Employer vs. Nonemployer firms PRCG 14.2005 Clara GRAZIANO and Annalisa LUPORINI: Ownership Concentration, Monitoring and Optimal Board Structure CSRM 15.2005 Parashar KULKARNI: Use of Ecolabels in Promoting Exports from Developing Countries to Developed Countries: Lessons from the Indian LeatherFootwear Industry KTHC 16.2005 Adriana DI LIBERTO, Roberto MURA and Francesco PIGLIARU: How to Measure the Unobservable: A Panel Technique for the Analysis of TFP Convergence KTHC 17.2005 Alireza NAGHAVI: Asymmetric Labor Markets, Southern Wages, and the Location of Firms KTHC 18.2005 Alireza NAGHAVI: Strategic Intellectual Property Rights Policy and North-South Technology Transfer KTHC 19.2005 Mombert HOPPE: Technology Transfer Through Trade PRCG 20.2005 Roberto ROSON: Platform Competition with Endogenous Multihoming CCMP 21.2005 Barbara BUCHNER and Carlo CARRARO: Regional and Sub-Global Climate Blocs. A Game Theoretic Perspective on Bottom-up Climate Regimes IEM 22.2005 Fausto CAVALLARO: An Integrated Multi-Criteria System to Assess Sustainable Energy Options: An Application of the Promethee Method CTN 23.2005 Michael FINUS, Pierre v. MOUCHE and Bianca RUNDSHAGEN: Uniqueness of Coalitional Equilibria IEM 24.2005 Wietze LISE: Decomposition of CO2 Emissions over 1980–2003 in Turkey CTN 25.2005 Somdeb LAHIRI: The Core of Directed Network Problems with Quotas SIEV 26.2005 Susanne MENZEL and Riccardo SCARPA: Protection Motivation Theory and Contingent Valuation: Perceived Realism, Threat and WTP Estimates for Biodiversity Protection NRM 27.2005 Massimiliano MAZZANTI  and Anna MONTINI: The Determinants of Residential Water Demand Empirical Evidence for a Panel of Italian Municipalities CCMP 28.2005 Laurent GILOTTE and Michel de LARA: Precautionary Effect and Variations of the Value of Information NRM 29.2005 Paul SARFO-MENSAH: Exportation of Timber in Ghana: The Menace of Illegal Logging Operations CCMP 30.2005 Andrea BIGANO, Alessandra GORIA, Jacqueline HAMILTON and Richard S.J. TOL: The Effect of Climate Change and Extreme Weather Events on Tourism NRM 31.2005 Maria Angeles GARCIA-VALIÑAS: Decentralization and Environment: An Application to Water Policies NRM 32.2005 Chiara D’ALPAOS, Cesare DOSI and Michele MORETTO: Concession Length and Investment Timing Flexibility CCMP 33.2005 Joseph HUBER: Key Environmental Innovations CTN 34.2005 Antoni CALVÓ-ARMENGOL and Rahmi İLKILIÇ (lxxii): Pairwise-Stability and Nash Equilibria in Network Formation CTN 35.2005 Francesco FERI (lxxii): Network Formation with Endogenous Decay CTN 36.2005 Frank H. PAGE, Jr. and Myrna H. WOODERS (lxxii): Strategic Basins of Attraction, the Farsighted Core, and Network Formation Games CTN 37.2005 Alessandra CASELLA and Nobuyuki HANAKI (lxxii): Information Channels in Labor Markets. On the Resilience of Referral Hiring CTN 38.2005 Matthew O. JACKSON and Alison WATTS (lxxii): Social Games: Matching and the Play of Finitely Repeated Games CTN 39.2005 Anna BOGOMOLNAIA, Michel LE BRETON, Alexei SAVVATEEV and Shlomo WEBER (lxxii): The Egalitarian Sharing Rule in Provision of Public Projects CTN 40.2005 Francesco FERI: Stochastic Stability in Network with Decay CTN 41.2005 Aart de ZEEUW (lxxii): Dynamic Effects on the Stability of International Environmental Agreements NRM 42.2005 C. Martijn van der HEIDE, Jeroen C.J.M. van den BERGH, Ekko C. van IERLAND and Paulo A.L.D. NUNES: Measuring the Economic Value of Two Habitat Defragmentation Policy Scenarios for the Veluwe, The Netherlands PRCG 43.2005 Carla VIEIRA and Ana Paula SERRA: Abnormal Returns in Privatization Public Offerings: The Case of Portuguese Firms SIEV 44.2005 Anna ALBERINI, Valentina ZANATTA and Paolo ROSATO: Combining Actual and Contingent Behavior to Estimate the Value of Sports Fishing in the Lagoon of Venice CTN 45.2005 Michael FINUS and Bianca RUNDSHAGEN: Participation in International Environmental Agreements: The Role of Timing and Regulation CCMP 46.2005 Lorenzo PELLEGRINI and Reyer GERLAGH: Are EU Environmental Policies Too Demanding for New Members States? IEM 47.2005 Matteo MANERA: Modeling Factor Demands with SEM and VAR: An Empirical Comparison CTN 48.2005 Olivier TERCIEUX and Vincent VANNETELBOSCH (lxx): A Characterization of Stochastically Stable Networks CTN 49.2005 Ana MAULEON, José SEMPERE-MONERRIS and Vincent J. VANNETELBOSCH (lxxii): R&D Networks Among Unionized Firms CTN 50.2005 Carlo CARRARO, Johan EYCKMANS and Michael FINUS: Optimal Transfers and Participation Decisions in International Environmental Agreements KTHC 51.2005 Valeria GATTAI: From the Theory of the Firm to FDI and Internalisation:A Survey CCMP 52.2005 Alireza NAGHAVI: Multilateral Environmental Agreements and Trade Obligations: A Theoretical Analysis of the Doha Proposal SIEV 53.2005 Margaretha BREIL, Gretel GAMBARELLI and Paulo A.L.D. NUNES: Economic Valuation of On Site Material Damages of High Water on Economic Activities based in the City of Venice: Results from a Dose-Response- Expert-Based Valuation Approach ETA 54.2005 Alessandra del BOCA, Marzio GALEOTTI, Charles P. HIMMELBERG and Paola ROTA: Investment and Time to Plan: A Comparison of Structures vs. Equipment in a Panel of Italian Firms CCMP 55.2005 Gernot KLEPPER and Sonja PETERSON: Emissions Trading, CDM, JI, and More – The Climate Strategy of the EU ETA 56.2005 Maia DAVID and Bernard SINCLAIR-DESGAGNÉ: Environmental Regulation and the Eco-Industry ETA 57.2005 Alain-Désiré NIMUBONA and Bernard SINCLAIR-DESGAGNÉ: The Pigouvian Tax Rule in the Presence of an Eco-Industry NRM 58.2005 Helmut KARL, Antje MÖLLER, Ximena MATUS, Edgar GRANDE and Robert KAISER: Environmental Innovations: Institutional Impacts on Co-operations for Sustainable Development SIEV 59.2005 Dimitra VOUVAKI and Anastasios XEPAPADEAS (lxxiii): Criteria for Assessing Sustainable Development: Theoretical Issues and Empirical Evidence for the Case of Greece CCMP 60.2005 Andreas LÖSCHEL and Dirk T.G. RÜBBELKE: Impure Public Goods and Technological Interdependencies PRCG 61.2005 Christoph A. SCHALTEGGER and Benno TORGLER: Trust and Fiscal Performance: A Panel Analysis with Swiss Data ETA 62.2005 Irene VALSECCHI: A Role for Instructions NRM 63.2005 Valentina BOSETTI and Gianni LOCATELLI: A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks’ Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks (lxv) This paper was presented at the EuroConference on “Auctions and Market Design: Theory, Evidence and Applications” organised by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei and sponsored by the EU, Milan, September 25-27, 2003 (lxvi) This paper has been presented at the 4th BioEcon Workshop on “Economic Analysis of Policies for Biodiversity Conservation” organised on behalf of the BIOECON Network by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, Venice International University (VIU) and University College London (UCL) , Venice, August 28-29, 2003 (lxvii) This paper has been presented at the international conference on “Tourism and Sustainable Economic Development – Macro and Micro Economic Issues” jointly organised by CRENoS (Università di Cagliari e Sassari, Italy) and Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, and supported by the World Bank, Sardinia, September 19-20, 2003 (lxviii) This paper was presented at the ENGIME Workshop on “Governance and Policies in Multicultural Cities”, Rome, June 5-6, 2003 (lxix) This paper was presented at the Fourth EEP Plenary Workshop and EEP Conference “The Future of Climate Policy”, Cagliari, Italy, 27-28 March 2003 (lxx) This paper was presented at the 9th Coalition Theory Workshop on "Collective Decisions and Institutional Design" organised by the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona and held in Barcelona, Spain, January 30-31, 2004 (lxxi) This paper was presented at the EuroConference on “Auctions and Market Design: Theory, Evidence and Applications”, organised by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei and Consip and sponsored by the EU, Rome, September 23-25, 2004 (lxxii) This paper was presented at the 10th Coalition Theory Network Workshop held in Paris, France on 28-29 January 2005 and organised by EUREQua. (lxxiii) This paper was presented at the 2nd Workshop on "Inclusive Wealth and Accounting Prices" held in Trieste, Italy on 13-15 April 2005 and organised by the Ecological and Environmental Economics - EEE Programme, a joint three-year programme of ICTP - The Abdus Salam International Centre for Theoretical Physics, FEEM - Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, and The Beijer International Institute of Ecological Economics. 2004 SERIES CCMP Climate Change Modelling and Policy (Editor: Marzio Galeotti ) GG Global Governance (Editor: Carlo Carraro) SIEV Sustainability Indicators and Environmental Valuation (Editor: Anna Alberini) NRM Natural Resources Management (Editor: Carlo Giupponi) KTHC Knowledge, Technology, Human Capital (Editor: Gianmarco Ottaviano) IEM International Energy Markets (Editor: Anil Markandya) CSRM Corporate Social Responsibility and Sustainable Management (Editor: Sabina Ratti) PRA Privatisation, Regulation, Antitrust (Editor: Bernardo Bortolotti) ETA Economic Theory and Applications (Editor: Carlo Carraro) CTN Coalition Theory Network 2005 SERIES CCMP Climate Change Modelling and Policy (Editor: Marzio Galeotti ) SIEV Sustainability Indicators and Environmental Valuation (Editor: Anna Alberini) NRM Natural Resources Management (Editor: Carlo Giupponi) KTHC Knowledge, Technology, Human Capital (Editor: Gianmarco Ottaviano) IEM International Energy Markets (Editor: Anil Markandya) CSRM Corporate Social Responsibility and Sustainable Management (Editor: Sabina Ratti) PRCG Privatisation Regulation Corporate Governance (Editor: Bernardo Bortolotti) ETA Economic Theory and Applications (Editor: Carlo Carraro) CTN Coalition Theory Network 
work_hn2wvk3rineznpu7db4mmglaoa	----	Book reviewsThe Dingo Debate: Origins, Behaviour and Conservation Book reviews THE DINGO DEBATE: ORIGINS, BEHAVIOUR AND CONSERVATION By Bradley Smith (Ed) 2015. Published by CSIRO Publishing, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. 321 pp. Paperback, AU$39.95, ISBN 9781486300297 The ecological role of dingoes, wild (feral) dogs and their hybrids in the Australian landscape is a subject of intense debate and interest in the scientific literature of late (Wallach et al. 2009; Fleming et al. 2012; Allen et al. 2013, 2015; Hayward and Marlow 2014; Nimmo et al. 2015, to list just a few recent papers). This debate has invariably lead to the precipitation of two disparate views; (i) that of the dingo as an apex predator with beneficial wildlife management and conservancy effects through mesopredator and large herbivore suppression, or (ii) that of the wild/feral dog as responsible for significant livestock impacts necessitating its ongoing management and control. To that extent the nomenclature chosen by a person (either dingo or wild dog/hybrid) when referring to this large eutherian predator can typically polarise the discussion. Invari- ably, this apparent dichotomy has seen the position of the dingo/ wild dog/hybrid in Australian history, folklore and mainstream culture see-saw between that of unwanted rogue predator to unlikely hero, but seldom anywhere in between. Given that the fervour of discussions within the scientific literature over the role of dingoes/wild dogs in the Australian landscape show no sign of abating, the release of a book titled The Dingo Debate, would appear very timely indeed. However, this book does not delve deeply into this ‘hot bed’ of discussion as one might expect from the running title (certainly a mistaken assumption that I made), instead focusing on the attributes that define a ‘true’ dingo. This book, edited (and authored) by Bradley Smith with contributions by Rob Appleby, Chris Johnson, Damian Morrant, Peter Savolainen and Lyn Watson, focuses on the dingo in microscopic detail, and right from the word go, Bradley Smith states his unequivocal support and admiration for the dingo, proclaiming them to be ‘ythe king of the Australian bush’. The first two chapters of this book provide a highly detailed examination of the fundamental aspects of how ‘[d]ingoes are not dogs’, based on their physical, behavioural, genetic and cognitive attributes. This is followed up by chapter 3 which provides an in depth exploration of the origins of dingoes in Australia based on literature pertaining to historical and con- temporary investigations,including morerecentgenetic analyses. The next three chapters focus on human–dingo interactions, with chapter 4 The role of dingoes in Indigenous Australian lifestyle, culture and spirituality, providing an excellent in depth descrip- tion and discussion of an aspect of dingo/wild dog history which is not often explored or described in such detail. In the next two chapters Rob Appleby explores the inevitable negative interac- tions between dingoes and livestock, and dingoes and humans respectively. However, chapter 5 Dingo–human conflict: attacks on livestock, seemingly glosses over some of the more pertinent points of this highly contentious topic, particularly when compared to chapter 6 Dingo–human conflict: attacks on humans which is a comprehensive investigation of a range factors and drivers behind dingo attacks on humans, using Fraser Island as a case study. Chapter 7 reads much like a manual on methods with which to study dingoes, whilst in chapter 8 An ecological view of the dingo, Chris Johnson outlines the dynamic interplay of dingoes/wild dogs and suppression of mesopredators in the context of trophic cascades. The following two chapters (9 and 10) provide a detailed investigation by Bradley Smith into the cognitive capabilities of dingoes, via the use of several scientific experiments designedtotestthe problem solving ability ofhis test subjects. The final two chapters, co-authored by Bradley Smith, discuss the current and future role(s) of dingo sanctuaries in conservingdingoes and a synopsisofwhat the futuremay holdfor the dingo respectively. Of the 12 chapters presented in this book, Bradley Smith is sole or co-author of eight of them, and as such his strong support of dingoes is pervasive throughout much of the book. Indeed, by the time I got to chapters 9 Dingo intelligence: a dingo’s brain is sharper than its teeth and 10 The personality, behaviour and suitability of dingoes as companion animals, I was sensing a definite degree of peroration regarding the ‘superiority’ of dingoes to that of other members of the Canis genera. Whilst this may well be the case, I found that the repetitive nature and presentation of this theme ultimately detracted from many of the informative and favourable aspects of the book. However, I highly commend the final chapter Forging a new future for the Australian dingo. By this stage I was unsure as to what to expect, though I am pleased to say that I found it to be resoundingly successful in its balanced perspective and realistic expectations of what can be achieved with regard to the conservation and status of the dingo in contemporary Australia. While there are preceding definitive works describing the natural history of the dingo in Australia (e.g. Breckwoldt 1988; Corbett 2001), this book is a timely addition to the dingo specific literature, providing a detailed and intimate glimpse into the inner workings of the dingo. Given the current debate over their ecological role and/or function in the Australian landscape, perhaps it has never been such an imperative to have a thorough understanding of the dingo ‘psyche’. As a comprehensive and well referenced source of information regarding dingoes, dingo behaviour, their biology, and cognitive prowess, you can’t go wrong with this book. However, The Dingo Debate is much less of a debate and more a detailed statement on the unique attributes and iconic values that dingoes possess. As such, Bradley Smith presents us with a fastidiously well researched and referenced text which leads the reader through a compre- hensive reconstruction of what is known regarding dingoes and what sets them apart from other canids. Peter J. Adams School of Veterinary and Life Sciences Murdoch University, Murdoch WA, Australia References Allen, B. L., Allen, L. R., and Leung, L. K.-P. (2015). Interactions between two naturalised invasive predators in Australia: are feral cats suppressed CSIRO PUBLISHING Pacific Conservation Biology, 2017, 23, 107–111 http://dx.doi.org/10.1071/PCv23n1_BR Journal compilation � CSIRO 2017 www.publish.csiro.au/journals/pcb by dingoes? Biological Invasions 17, 761–776. doi:10.1007/S10530- 014-0767-1 Allen, B. L., Fleming, P. J. S., Allen, L. R., Engeman, R. M., Ballard, G., and Leung, L. K. P. (2013). As clear as mud: A critical review of evidence for the ecological roles of Australian dingoes. Biological Conservation 159, 158–174. doi:10.1016/J.BIOCON.2012.12.004 Breckwoldt, R. (1988). ‘A Very Elegant Animal: The Dingo.’ (Angus & Robertson: Sydney.) Corbett, L. K. (2001). ‘The Dingo in Australia and Asia.’ (JB Books: Adelaide.) Fleming, P. J. S., Allen, B. L., and Ballard, G.-A. (2012). Seven considera- tions about dingoes as biodiversity engineers: the socioecological niches of dogs in Australia. Australian Mammalogy 34, 119–131. doi:10.1071/ AM11012 Hayward, M. W., and Marlow, N. (2014). Will dingoes really conserve wildlife and can our methods tell? Journal of Applied Ecology 51, 835–838. doi:10.1111/1365-2664.12250 Nimmo, D. G., Watson, S. J., Forsyth, D. M., and Bradshaw, C. J. A. (2015). FORUM: Dingoes can help conserve wildlife and our methods can tell. Journal of Applied Ecology 52, 281–285. doi:10.1111/1365-2664.12369 Wallach, A. D., Murray, B. R., and O’Neill, A. J. (2009). Can threatened species survive where the top predator is absent? Biological Conserva- tion 142, 43–52. doi:10.1016/J.BIOCON.2008.09.021 CLIMATE CHANGE ADAPTATION PLAN FOR AUSTRALIAN BIRDS By S. T. Garnett and D. C. Franklin (Eds) 2014. Published by CSIRO Publishing, Melbourne, Australia. 262 pp. Paperback, AU$69.95, ISBN 9780643108028 This book provides the first climate change adaptation plan for any faunal group anywhere in the world. It is refreshing to see a country, Australia, leading the world when its conservative government is in denial and was quoted in the media as likening climate change to a science fiction fantasy (Bourke 2014). I am reading this book and writing the review while sitting at a historic hotel where the writers Somerset Maugham and James A Michener wrote, Sir Charles Kingsford Smith ‘dropped’ in for a drink in 1928, and Queen Elizabeth II waved from the balcony in 1953. I, as they did, am looking at mist enshrouded volcanic rises on the island of Viti Levu, in Fiji. I am listening to the subtle lapping of the Pacific Ocean not more than six metres away and considerably less than a metre below me, though not quite up to the high water mark yet. I cannot help but wonder at the irony of reviewing this first-of-its-kind book on climate change in this place and wonder how much longer before the spot where I am sitting is drowned. Sea-level rise seems suddenly more tactile sitting here and watching the rising tide on the shore of Suva Harbour. There are thousands of Pacific Islands where others sit watching this rising tide uncertain about exactly how far it will climb, but knowing it will climb higher. This book tells us something of the uncertainties about climate change in Australia in relation to its birds. It untangles some of the uncertainties of an uncertain future in a climate-changed world. The lead editor and author of this book, Stephen Garnett, a research professor at Charles Darwin University, has co-written three action plans for Australia’s threatened birds. These texts have been accepted as the defining sources in their time, only being replaced by the later versions. The co-editor and author Don Franklin is an ornithologist, plant ecologist and biogeogra- pher. He has studied relationships between climate change and plants and worked with threatened birds in northern and southern Australia. Both are appropriately qualified to stand as editors and authors of this work. The authors of the individual sections are given as Stephen Garnett, Chris Pavey, Glenn Ehmke, Jeremy VanDerWal, Lauren Hodgson and Donald Franklin; others names can be found in the acknowledgements of those who helped bring the book to fruition. Names such as Hugh Ford and Lynda Chambers Andrew Burbidge, Leo Joseph, Penny Olsen, Mike Weston, Nicholas Carlile and David Priddel high- light the wealth of ornithological knowledge that was drawn upon and contributed to the production of this book. This publication outlines the nature of the threats posed by climate change for the birds most likely affected and provides suggestions on what might be done in response along with approximate costs. The aims of this book were to identify bird taxa most threatened by climate change, an action that comple- ments the Action Plan for Australian Birds 2010 (by Garnett et al., 2011). More specifically the intent is to: (i) highlight some taxa requiring a more detailed consideration; (ii) more generally highlight the nature of risks to birds and other biodiversity and (iii) provide recommendations for management of the most threatened individual taxa. Note: the authors stress that they do not aim to provide a definitive list of all taxa at risk. The book opens with a relevant introduction, An Uncertain Future and this point needed to be addressed at the start. Not that human induced climate change is uncertain, but that many uncertainties about the distribution and effects of climate change exist, which are then confounded by existing threats to taxa. After the introduction this book is structured with four self- contained sections, which have different authors and their own references. These sections explore the background on the expo- sure, sensitivity and vulnerability of Australian birds to climate change and on Conserving Australian bird populations in the face of climate change. These four sections are followed by the individual accounts with a preamble the Adaptation profiles for Australian birds that are highly sensitive and highly exposed. This layout with self-contained units gives a clear indication of the authors of each section yet does not cause unnecessary repetition. Stephen Garnett and Don Franklin are co-authors on each section. The 59 species accounts begin on page 81 and fill most of the remaining 180 pages. This structure allows the reader to choose to read the background information about Australian birds and climate change or jump straight to the species accounts and to the taxa of interest. However, fully understanding the recommendations for indi- vidual taxa is dependent on understanding what is in the opening sections. My version of the book was in paperback, but there are epdf and epub versions available. Other than the sections discussed above there are a contents and an index, which are tidy and easy 108 Pacific Conservation Biology Book reviews http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/S10530-014-0767-1 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/S10530-014-0767-1 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/J.BIOCON.2012.12.004 http://dx.doi.org/10.1071/AM11012 http://dx.doi.org/10.1071/AM11012 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1365-2664.12250 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/1365-2664.12369 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/J.BIOCON.2008.09.021 to scan through quickly. The index carries some useful annotations with some taxa divided into their geographical components. There is a foreword written by Paul Sullivan the CEO of Birdlife Australia; an Acknowledgements page, which provides information on the many others that helped produce the text; and a tabulated appendix giving a relative rank (very high/ high/medium/low) for 555 taxa, which are considered highly exposed to and/or sensitive to climate change. The primary audience for this book must surely be conservation professionals (conservation biologists, managers, planners and administra- tors); it is a must for biological libraries while some students and teachers both secondary and tertiary could benefit from reading it. My first thought when this book arrived on my desk was: it’s too soon! The predictions around climate change are too unset- tled and too varied. There are not enough data or there are no data at all on how climate change will affect each of the subspecies and too many species have ranges that encompass vast tracts of Australia and thus a large variation of predicted effects. However, the introduction immediately settled my angst stating, ‘A climate change world contains much uncertaintyy’ The authors then go on at length and in detail to link what is known about climate change to what is known about the birds; they do this over the next 80 pages with citations and references at the end of each section. But, this is not to say that all uncertainty is unravelled it is merely somewhat smoothed. This book also adds to what is understood about threatened birds in the Action Plan for Australian Birds 2010 (Garnett et al. 2011) by, as the editors put it, ‘‘our analysis complementsy by incorporating climate change as an additional stressor’’. Without doubt one of the most valuable facets of the book is that it collates so much pertinent data regarding the birds and climate change into one place. An immediate flow-on effect will be attempts to more clearly understand the fates of the taxa, a significant benefit to the fields of ornithology and ecology. Another bonus is the addition of costings—how much will it cost to undertake the suggested actions for each taxon. No doubt the cost is relevant to someone. One stated objective of the book was to point out the nature of the threats to the avifauna and this has been achieved in the four explanatory sections and the preamble that lead into the recommendations for the individual taxa. The audience that will most likely gain immediate benefit from this text will be those associated with any planning involving any bird taxa listed in its pages. Students and supervisors will gain background on understanding how climate changes might or does influence biota. However, the dense text, at 262 pages is 261 pages too long for conservative politicians in denial of climate change. The organisation of the book into explanatory sections before the recommendations for individual taxa lends itself to its end use as a searchable tool, but it also allows it to be read as a text that will explain some the uncertainties of climate change. Alas, I wonder how long it will stay up-to-date given the ever- improving predictions coming from climate scientists and the emerging data on the response by birds to climate change. To this end I would like to have seen this presented in an online and updatable format rather than a book. The level of research in this book is high. The editors and authors and those others listed in the acknowledgements are a litany of the right authors and reviewers. The reference lists at the end of each section are appropriate for primary research and the review of pertinent primary research. I had no complaints with the writing style and layout of the information, although I am frustrated by having page numbers left off the first page of each section for stylistic reasons. The level of writing is appropriate for conservation professionals, planners and tertiary students. I note that Hugh Ford is credited with reading and commenting on the whole publication. The quality of supplementary material, for example, the maps is very high. The editors accord thanks to Glenn Ehmke who collated exhaustive data to subspecies (apparently not done before) and produced all the high-quality maps. Many figures presented are in colour improving their presentation and read- ability, although red and green bar graphs will provide difficul- ties for the large number of red-green colour blind readers. The front cover has a picture of a Hooded Plover Thinornis rubri- collis, which purportedly may have to move its nests higher up the beach to avoid sea-level rises. On the whole this publication is of a very high academic standard. It deals with the uncertainty around the ever- improving predictions well and explains how and why this is done. It is the first book of its kind and is therefore difficult to compare with other texts. To my mind it maintains the high standard that the senior author has set with the various Action Plans for Australian birds. The team putting it together is extensive and must include many more than could be acknowl- edged. The very great necessity of using subspecies has added credibility to the results. Given the greatly varied impacts that climate change brings to the large and geographically-varied Australian continent and the burgeoning data on responses of the bird taxa, I suspect that this book’s dominance will be short-lived. It is nevertheless an important document and must be used now for decisions that must be made now. I recom- mend this book to conservation researchers, planners, and administrators. I would also suggest that it would be useful to lobbyers and advocacy groups. Finally it must be said that politicians must scan it to find out what will happen to the birds and the climate in their constituencies, they may also note the recommendations for the actions that must be taken to either ameliorate or avoid adverse impacts. I hope they do read it, but I doubt they will. Graham R. Fulton School of Veterinary and Life Sciences, Murdoch University, South Street Murdoch, Western Australia, 6150 References Bourke, L. 2014. LNP backbencher George Christensen likens climate change to science fiction film plot. ABC News Online http://www.abc. net.au/news/2014-07-09/backbencher-likens-climate-change-to-science- fiction-film-plot/5583734 (viewed July 9, 2014.) Garnett, S., Szabo, J., and Dutson, G. 2011. The Action Plan for Australian Birds 2010. CSIRO Publishing, Melbourne. Book reviews Pacific Conservation Biology 109 http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-07-09/backbencher-likens-climate-change-to-science-fiction-film-plot/5583734 http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-07-09/backbencher-likens-climate-change-to-science-fiction-film-plot/5583734 http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-07-09/backbencher-likens-climate-change-to-science-fiction-film-plot/5583734 THE VIEW FROM LAZY POINT: AN UNNATURAL YEAR IN A NATURAL WORLD By C. Safina 2011. Picador, New York. 401 pp. Price US$18.00, ISBN 9781250002716 I was initially encouraged to read this book by Professor J. E. N. ‘Charlie’ Veron, who, I had just blasted with some notes from my data and quotes from senior ornithologists on the demise of eastern-Australian honeyeaters that had once migrated in uncountable numbers. In return he asked if I had read ‘The View from Lazy Point’ and stated, ‘If not you must.’ Now I have and my review follows. The author of this book, Carl Safina, has PhD in Ecology from Rutgers University. He is the founding president of The Safina Centre (formerly Blue Ocean Institute) at Stony Brook University, where he also co-chairs the University’s Centre for Communicating Science. He has authored five other books about how the ocean is changing and ,200 scientific and popular publications. He has won awards for his writing: this publication, The View from Lazy Point, won the 2012 Orion Award (an award presented annually, by Orion Magazine, for books that deepen the reader’s connection to the natural world). This book presents a year in the life of Carl Safina as he moves about the area around his home at Lazy Point, Long Island. He paints a quite detailed picture. His imagery is expanded with explanations of the ecology and other sciences involved in what he sees. These thoughts are then juxtaposed with the changes brought about by human impact and climate change, which have occurred around his Lazy Point locality in Long Island Sound and globally. These are in turn juxtaposed with quotes and thoughts from an impressively broad range of academics and classic literature: quotes and thoughts as varied as general thoughts from Albert Einstein, warnings from the economist John Stuart Mill and Thomas Malthus’s deep con- cerns about geometric population growth. The chapters of the book are given as months of the year (plus some travel adventures) taking us through the seasons, but the depth of additional material almost overwhelms this structure. The months give the author a narrative direction and a stopping point after one year. The detail in the story is that of the biology Carl Safina sees in his local environs around Lazy Point and in his wanderings, which are described in a context of a changing world. This is largely, but not entirely, a marine perspective. He also describes the birds in their life-and-death struggles and the smaller invertebrates that the fish feed on and their relationship to the climate and changing seasons. It is a lot of material, which at times seems overwhelming; and I wondered as I read was it too much detail? In fairness to the author, the world is full of detail and the story of human impact on that detail is exceedingly full. I gradually came around to enjoying this over-abundant infor- mation as I saw leads and ideas for my own writing. Overall the book is 401 pages, which includes an index and a useful reference section. The text also attempts frequent stylistic forays into artistic expressions through creative metaphors, similes and poignant phrases. No doubt these are the parts of the book that have led some reviewers to call Safina a modern day Thoreau: I cannot agree—Henry David Thoreau stands alone, particularly with Walden; or, Life in the Woods (Thoreau 1854). Such a comparison is analogous to comparing Richard Dawkins to William Shakespeare—completely overdrawn! Nonetheless, the art mixed with science helps the book to convey its messages with greater emphasis. Structurally the book opens with a short biography on the author, a list of contents and a useful prelude that casually points to what can be expected in both writing style and content. The references, acknowledgements and an index close out the book. The index seems computer generated as is the trend: for example the word government with a lower case g has four entries and a note to ‘see democracy’, while the unspecified word ‘forests’ scores 17 entries; on the plus side other more specific words can be found. This book is pitched at a wide audience; from the general readership, to those who watch Carl on television and may be familiar with his personality, to an academic audience that will nod and sigh in agreement. However, there is enough detail in the book to interest professional biologists/ecologists both marine and terrestrial. Since there are pertinent discussions on how changing the world affects food-chains and food that humans consume. It will be useful for economists to read it and get an idea of how badly they are managing the planet. One of the strengths of this book is the positivity that exudes from the author. ‘‘The future is by no means doomed. I’m continually struck by how much beauty and vitality the world still holds.’’ This is from the first page of reading in the prelude. I am encouraged and must agree there is beauty in my world too as I count birds and watch them interact with their prey and each other. What at first I thought was a weakness became a strength as I kept reading. This is the abundant detail. Biology is full of detail naturally, thus to paint anything like the full picture—a lot of detail is required. Two more obvious strengths of the book are the author’s voice and knowledge. His voice is casual yet professionally informed; his style of writing brings the reader intimately into his journey and his knowledge. This knowledge is something that can only be drawn from a life-time as an academic who connects with other academics. There is a lot in this book and if it was not friendly to read I might have put it down—I kept reading. In terms of aiding the discipline, if I imagine this book read by a young postgraduate student embarking on a career in marine or terrestrial biology, I am confident it will paint them an encouraging picture of how they might one day look back into their own career. It will no doubt encourage some while warning others of the damage we do to the planet. It is not a text book and does not unequivocally fill any educational, research or profes- sional functions. This is not to say it does not have academic value. It is enjoyable to read and may enthuse academics. In particular, I enjoyed passages that looked back into the author’s past and compared the state of frogs or food-chains to the present. It made me think of my own examples of processes and organisms that I have watched over time. It has a scholarly base acquired from a great deal of learning and personal research with the bulk of the text seemingly taken from memory. However, there are clearly sections that have been fact-checked and referenced carefully. The level of 110 Pacific Conservation Biology Book reviews research that has gone into the book is needed in the sense that the book is a summary on the effects of overpopulation and over- exploitation, by humans, on the environment. It is merely centred at a ‘field-site’, but not confined to it. There is a small amount of supplementary material with occasional sketches through the book, these are without legends, but are discussed in the adjacent text. There are maps of the sites the author visits and discusses such as: Lazy Point, Long Island; the Belize Reef in the Caribbean Sea; and King George Island at the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula. The sketches and the maps are useful and informative, and add enough detail for those that want it. There must be many books similar to this one, but I cannot recall any of them going into as much detail and doing it on such a personal level. I would recommend this book to general readers who want to get a clearer grasp on the ecology of our planet and the costs of over-exploitation. Oddly enough I would recommend it for the same reasons to professional ecologists and to see how they might put their own books together. Graham R. Fulton School of Veterinary and Life Sciences, Murdoch University, South Street Murdoch WA 6150, Australia Reference Thoreau, H. D. 1854. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Ticknor and Fields, Boston. www.publish.csiro.au/journals/pcb Book reviews Pacific Conservation Biology 111 
work_hvzq6c6hdzbl7eeasgkrh5zxny	----	Complex, compound and critical: recognising and responding to the factors influencing diverse preservice teacher experiences of practicum Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=capj20 Asia-Pacific Journal of Teacher Education ISSN: 1359-866X (Print) 1469-2945 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/capj20 Complex, compound and critical: recognising and responding to the factors influencing diverse preservice teacher experiences of practicum Jenna Gillett-Swan & Deanna Grant-Smith To cite this article: Jenna Gillett-Swan & Deanna Grant-Smith (2017) Complex, compound and critical: recognising and responding to the factors influencing diverse preservice teacher experiences of practicum, Asia-Pacific Journal of Teacher Education, 45:4, 323-326, DOI: 10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 Published online: 14 Jul 2017. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 882 View related articles View Crossmark data https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=capj20 https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/capj20 https://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 https://doi.org/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 https://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=capj20&show=instructions https://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=capj20&show=instructions https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2017-07-14 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2017-07-14 EDITORIAL Complex, compound and critical: recognising and responding to the factors influencing diverse preservice teacher experiences of practicum The practicum (or professional experience) is an entrenched feature of initial teacher education programs. In recent years, there has been an emphasis on improving the quality of practicum experiences in both academic research (e.g. Grudnoff & Williams, 2010; Lawson, Çakmak, Gunduz, & Busher, 2015) and in teacher education policy (e.g. TEMAG, 2014). However, while the practicum is generally considered by participants to be one of the most influential experiences in their preservice teacher education (Busher, Gündüz, Cakmak, & Lawson, 2015) it is also recognised as being one of the most stressful (Gardner, 2010). As a result, there is an increasing tendency in recent work to explore the practicum through the eyes and experiences of participants (Buckworth, 2017; Grant- Smith & Gillett-Swan, 2017). Yet, despite increasing recognition of the personal factors that can influence experiences of practicum, and the impact that of practicum participa- tion can exert on other life domains and commitments, these ideas are rarely centred in discussions of practicum (Grant-Smith, Gillett-Swan, & Chapman, 2016). Indeed, it could be argued that in the pressurised environment of the practicum, these considerations are especially influential and are of growing importance as a result of the increased participation of non-traditional students in teacher education programs. The papers in this issue coalesce around the theme of complexity, particularly as it relates to the practice and promotion of practicum as the preeminent activity in initial teacher education for developing and practicing teaching skills in an authentic yet supervised teaching environment. The importance of understanding the complexity involved in providing positive practicum experiences and the influence of personal factors on success is foregrounded in the contribution by Fiona Ell, Mavis Haigh, Marilyn Cochran-Smith, Lexie Grudnoff, Larry Ludlow and Mary Hill. They highlight the need to account for and respond to the individual differences of preservice teachers – such as their personal circumstances, learning history, and prior experiences – as well as the complex and multi-layered contexts, schools, and policy/political environments in which new teachers learn to teach and the larger structures of privilege and inequality that intersect with these. Providing appropriate support systems is often posited as a way of helping preservice teachers to navigate this complexity. Wendy Nielsen, Juanjo Mena, Anthony Clarke, Sarah O’Shea, Garry Hoban and John Collins describe the importance of in-school mentoring by supervising teachers in supporting preservice teacher success during placement, and outline the challenges mentors face in undertaking this role. In parti- cular, they highlight the implications of providing limited capacity building for super- vising teachers on the practicum experiences of preservice teachers. Emphasising the ASIA-PACIFIC JOURNAL OF TEACHER EDUCATION, 2017 VOL. 45, NO. 4, 323–326 https://doi.org/10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590 © 2017 Australian Teacher Education Association http://www.tandfonline.com http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/1359866X.2017.1343590&domain=pdf differences between teaching preservice teachers and children, they argue that in order to ensure a quality learning experience for preservice teachers, it is incumbent upon universities to invest in the development of in-school mentors to increase their capacity to provide personalised and focused support. This support should respond to the unique needs and circumstances of individual preservice teachers when undertaking their professional placements. The authors further argue that this investment will likely have positive flow on effects for the profession more generally as a result of greater alignment with the key desired outcomes and attributes that each university hopes to instil in their graduates. The remaining papers in this issue take an intersectional view to consider the impacts of the practicum experience on, and challenges experienced by, preservice teachers with parental responsibilities, second-career preservice teachers, failing preservice teachers, and preservice teachers with English as an additional language. These challenges have the potential to have significant impacts on the development of preservice teachers’ professional identity and successful degree and practicum completion as they navigate a complex, and often conflicting, web of professional, academic, and personal expecta- tions and commitments. Recognition of the challenges individual practicum participants face, validates their experiences and provides opportunities for self-reflection and devel- opment. However, they may also provide context for those tasked with educating and safeguarding the wellbeing of the next generation of teachers as they enter the profes- sion and embark on their own professional journeys. Highlighting the influence of a range of personal and external pressures on the ability of failing final year preservice teachers to complete their studies, or enter the teaching profession, Jenny Buckworth’s contribution presents an under-represented voice and perspective in the practicum experience by focussing on the experiences of those being left behind – failing students. She argues that preservice teacher experiences of rela- tional disparity and alienation contributes significantly to their experiences and that a mismatch between expectations and the realities they were faced in the classroom was a source of additional pressure and tension which contributed to their unsuccessful completion of the practicum experience. Consistent with this critique of the one-size-fits-most approach to preservice teacher education, Lisa Murtagh argues in the next paper that this reductionist approach serves to exclude, rather than include, those that do not fit the normative model of pre-service teachers rather than accommodating the complexity and diversity of preservice tea- chers. In particular she highlights the complexities faced by teacher educators in meet- ing the needs of the growing number of “non-traditional” students participating in initial teacher education. These non-traditional students are faced with additional personal and family responsibilities and challenges relative to the more “traditional” school-leaver undergraduate student. This includes the compound impact of the need of “mature- aged” students to concurrently manage complex personal lives (such as caring respon- sibilities) and their nascent professional identity and academic responsibilities in which they are caught up in a balancing act between study, work and domestic responsibil- ities. Reflecting on tutors’ perspectives of working with preservice teacher students with parental responsibilities, Murtagh suggests that while they are aware of some of the issues that these students face, there is little consensus on what they as initial teacher educators can do to help. 324 EDITORIAL Although there are also growing numbers of international students electing to undertake initial teacher education programs in countries like Australia, for whom English is not their first language, little research has been undertaken which focusses on their unique experiences and needs. Minh Nguyen’s contribution provides a case study of the practicum experiences of a non-native English speaker preservice teacher and the additional challenges faced in engaging in professional experience. She argues that being an international student presents additional academic, personal, and institu- tional complexities, which may impact their practicum experiences. Additionally, Nguyen asserts that there are difficulties and tensions inherent in resolving and negotiating different identities through, and as a result of, the practicum experience. In the final paper, Denise Beutel and Leanne Crosswell draw on the perspectives of second-career teachers (“career-changers”) to explore the implications of identity development and resilience alongside the challenges associated with their precon- ceptions and initial classroom experiences. They argue that it is during practicum that teacher identity is at its most unstable and that this is particularly so for career- changers, as they need to navigate the transition from their previous career identity to reforging a new professional identity as a teacher. This shift requires them to revert to a sometimes uncomfortable novice professional identity while at the same time benchmarking teaching against their previous career identities, practices and performance. The competing demands on, and inconsistency in experiences of, the preservice teachers discussed in these papers highlights the increasing complexity and diversity of the preservice teacher cohort and the ways that their individual and unique needs compound the challenges of entering a stressful, high-accountability and expectation laden profession. Together these papers make a compelling case for initial teacher education programs to focus not only on the pedagogical quality of the preservice teacher experience but also on the need to ensure that the expectations and needs of the diversity of the cohort are met. As Murtagh in this issue describes, “while the university is opening its doors to a diverse group of trainees, they remain, in many ways invisible”. This has significant implications for preservice teachers, their wellbeing, professional experiences and preparation for the profession. These papers demonstrate an increasing awareness of these issues but also a concerning lack of action in respond- ing to them. It is clear that there are significant challenges facing the profession and those involved in preservice teacher education, that are compounded by a range of internal and external pressures. In Walden, Henry David Thoreau invites readers to reflect that “the cost of a thing is the amount of…life which is required to be exchanged for it” (2010, p. 17). These words, first penned in 1854, highlight the need to consider not just what is gained through certain experiences but also what these experiences might cost us. This is particularly the case when these experiences are mandated. In the case of preservice teachers it is imperative that the benefits of participation in practicum don’t just outweigh any financial, emotional, psychological and physical costs, but that we actively work toward minimising these costs. Individually and collectively the papers included in this Special Issue foreground the practicum experiences of different cohorts to remind us of the imperative of providing voice to the diverse student cohort and ensuring that the benefits of practicum do not outweigh the costs of participation. ASIA-PACIFIC JOURNAL OF TEACHER EDUCATION 325 Acknowledgements We would like to thank Kathryn Bown for her support, professionalism and encouragement in the preparation of this special issue. We would also like to thank the contributing authors for their contributions and willingness to meet sometimes tight timeframes. Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the authors. References Buckworth, J. (2017). Issues in the teaching practicum. In G. Geng, P. Smith, & P. Black (Eds.), The challenge of teaching: Through the eyes of pre-service teachers (pp. 9–17). Singapore: Springer. Busher, H., Gündüz, M., Cakmak, M., & Lawson, T. (2015). Student teachers’ views of practicums (teacher training placements) in Turkish and English contexts: A comparative study. Compare: A Journal of Comparative and International Education, 45(3), 445–466. doi:10.1080/ 03057925.2014.930659 Gardner, S. (2010). Stress among prospective teachers: A review of the literature. Australian Journal of Teacher Education, 35(8), 18–28. doi:10.14221/ajte.2010v35n8.2 Grant-Smith, D., & Gillett-Swan, J. (2017). Managing the personal impacts of practicum: Examining the experiences of graduate diploma in education students. In J. Nuttall, A. Kostogriz, M. Jones, & J. Martin (Eds.), Teacher education policy and practice: Evidence of impact, impact of evidence (pp. 97–112). Singapore: Springer. Grant-Smith, D., Gillett-Swan, J., & Chapman, R. (2016). WiL wellbeing: Exploring the impacts of unpaid practicum on student wellbeing. Perth: National Centre for Student Equity in Higher Education, Curtin University. Grudnoff, L., & Williams, R. (2010). Pushing boundaries: Reworking university–school practicum relationships. New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies, 45(2), 33–45. Lawson, T., Çakmak, M., Gunduz, M., & Busher, H. (2015). Research on teaching practicum: A systematic review. European Journal of Teacher Education, 38(3), 392–407. doi:10.1080/ 02619768.2014.994060 Teacher Education Ministerial Advisory Group (TEMAG). (2014). Action now: Classroom ready teachers. Department of education and training, Australian Government. Retrieved from http://www.studentsfirst.gov.au/teacher-education-ministerial-advisory-group Thoreau, H. D. (2010). Walden, or life in the woods. Boston, MA: Shambhala. Jenna Gillett-Swan and Deanna Grant-Smith Queensland University of Technology jenna.gillettswan@qut.edu.au 326 EDITORIAL https://doi.org/10.1080/03057925.2014.930659 https://doi.org/10.1080/03057925.2014.930659 https://doi.org/10.14221/ajte.2010v35n8.2 https://doi.org/10.1080/02619768.2014.994060 https://doi.org/10.1080/02619768.2014.994060 http://www.studentsfirst.gov.au/teacher-education-ministerial-advisory-group Acknowledgements Disclosure statement References 
work_hxktjt6jyrbxnn45gipdtu7aji	----	The Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V and Its Unique Regulation by RecA and ATP The Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V and Its Unique Regulation by RecA and ATP Published, JBC Papers in Press, August 26, 2014, DOI 10.1074/jbc.X114.607374 Myron F. Goodman From the Molecular and Computational Section, Departments of Biological Sciences and Chemistry, University of Southern California, Los Angeles, California 90089 My career pathway has taken a circuitous route, beginning with a Ph.D. degree in electrical engineering from The Johns Hopkins University, followed by five postdoc- toral years in biology at Hopkins and culminating in a faculty position in biological sciences at the University of Southern California. My startup package in 1973 con- sisted of $2,500, not to be spent all at once, plus an ancient Packard scintillation counter that had a series of rapidly flashing light bulbs to indicate a radioactive read- out in counts/minute. My research pathway has been similarly circuitous. The discov- ery of Escherichia coli DNA polymerase V (pol V) began with an attempt to identify the mutagenic DNA polymerase responsible for copying damaged DNA as part of the well known SOS regulon. Although we succeeded in identifying a DNA polymerase, one that was induced as part of the SOS response, we actually rediscovered DNA poly- merase II, albeit in a new role. A decade later, we discovered a new polymerase, pol V, whose activity turned out to be regulated by bound molecules of RecA protein and ATP. This Reflections article describes our research trajectory, includes a review of key features of DNA damage-induced SOS mutagenesis leading us to pol V, and reflects on some of the principal researchers who have made indispensable contribu- tions to our efforts. N ever having taken a college-level course in biology, I was nonetheless appointed as an assistant professor in biological sciences at the University of Southern California in 1973. My undergraduate training at Queens College and Columbia University was primarily in physics and electrical engineering. My Ph.D. thesis in electrical engineer- ing from The Johns Hopkins University was entitled Selective Hydrolysis of Adenosine Triphos- phate Resulting from the Absorption of Laser Light in a Stretching Mode of the Terminal Phosphate Group, which meant that, at the very least, I needed to learn how to measure the hydrolysis of ATP 3 ADP � Pi. Maurice (Moishe) J. Bessman (Fig. 1), a professor of biology at Hopkins, provided a lab bench and personalized instruction for measuring inorganic phosphate release using the Lowry-Lopez colorimetric assay. The intellectual interest in Moishe’s lab focused on understand- ing the biochemical basis of mutagenesis. Their exciting studies on DNA synthesis fidelity using bacteriophage T4 mutator and antimutator DNA polymerases proved infectious, so much so that when I received a Ph.D. degree in electrical engineering in 1968 from Hopkins, in lieu of a $30,000 salary offer from Bell Labs (Murray Hill, New Jersey), I chose instead to pursue the opportunity to learn and, more importantly, appreciate biochemical enzymology as a postdoctoral fellow with Moishe at a National Institutes of Health fellowship stipend of $6,500. From 1968 onward, the study of DNA polymerase fidelity became an enduring interest. THE JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOL. 289, NO. 39, pp. 26772–26782, September 26, 2014 © 2014 by The American Society for Biochemistry and Molecular Biology, Inc. Published in the U.S.A. 26772 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 REFLECTIONS This is an open access article under the CC BY license. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Mutations for Worse or Better Mutations are almost always bad, typically with nega- tive consequences, in all forms of life. However, mutations can also be good, in fact essential, by serving as the engine that drives evolution. A specialized DNA polymerase fam- ily, the Y-family, has been studied for over a decade. With examples spanning bacteria to humans, the central role of Y-family polymerases appears to be copying past damaged DNA template bases that block replication. There is no free lunch, however, because the costs of fully replicating the genome are often mutations frequently targeted at lesion sites, but occasionally occurring within undamaged template regions. These Y-family enzymes are referred to as translesion synthesis (TLS)1 polymerases. This Reflec- tions article describes the path leading to our discovery of the Y-family Escherichia coli DNA polymerase V (pol V) and to the further discovery of pol V properties that set it apart even from other Y-family polymerases. The path to the discovery of pol V is closely linked to more than sixty years of experiments and concepts in the area referred to as “SOS error-prone DNA repair.” The logical place to begin is by reflecting on the insights that revealed the transcriptionally regulated error-prone DNA repair pathway in E. coli, the SOS regulon, which led us to pol V. The Origin of SOS Error-prone DNA Repair The year of the discovery of the structure of DNA, 1953, is coincidentally the year that Jean Weigle made a seminal observation showing that bacteriophage � can be revital- ized after killing it with UV light (1). Although the word “seminal” tends to be overused, especially when viewed alongside Watson and Crick, Weigle’s experiment was nevertheless remarkable. It showed that UV light-irradi- ated bacteriophage �, which were unable to generate prog- eny phage (i.e. form plaques when infecting E. coli), did in fact form plaques when the infected E. coli had also been exposed to UV light. Weigle further found that reactiva- tion of bacteriophage � was accompanied by a large increase in phage mutagenesis (1). During the late 1960s to early 1970s, genetic studies by Evelyn Witkin (Fig. 2) were instrumental in showing that phage reactivation could be attributed to the presence of a DNA damage-inducible bacterial pathway that regulated the transcription of genes designed to repair the E. coli chromosome (2, 3). While eliminating DNA damage in the bacterial chromosome, newly induced bacterial repair and recombination proteins also repaired the phage DNA, enabling bacteriophage � to generate progeny and subse- quently lyse the cell. Miroslav Radman (Fig. 2) proposed in 1974 that this was a repair pathway of last resort, an “SOS” mutagenic pathway that could repair DNA in an error-free manner but could also allow unrepaired DNA to be copied by an error-prone process (4). DNA template lesions that would normally block repli- cation fork progression could be copied via TLS, but at the cost of causing mutations targeted at DNA template lesions and elsewhere as well. A genetic locus was identi- fied in the late 1970s that fit the error-prone role envi- sioned by Radman, the UV mutagenesis (umu) locus (5, 6). The locus was so named because when the umu genes were mutated, UV radiation did not produce chromo- somal mutations in excess of spontaneous background levels. This locus was subsequently shown to encode two 1 The abbreviations used are: TLS, translesion synthesis; pol V; DNA polymerase V; ssDNA, single-stranded DNA; pol III HE, pol III holoen- zyme complex; ATP�S, adenosine 5�-O-(thiotriphosphate); MALS, multiangle light scattering. FIGURE 1. Maurice J. Bessman (1973) shown brewing a cup of joe bearing his initials, “MJB” (see coffee label at rear). FIGURE 2. Miroslav Radman (left) with Evelyn Witkin (right), Paris (2012). REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26773 SOS-regulated genes, umuC and umuD (7, 8), which are used to form pol V (9). Two proteins regulate the SOS response, LexA and RecA. LexA is a repressor that binds to more than 40 oper- ators in the DNA damage-inducible regulon. Each opera- tor has a consensus LexA-binding sequence, but with different neighboring sequences that determine repres- sor-operator binding affinities. Early protein induction, e.g. RecA (�1 min post-UV), accompanies weak LexA binding, whereas late protein induction, e.g. pol V (�45 min), results from strong LexA binding to the umuDC operon. The late appearance of pol V provides the cell an early temporal window to feature error-free ways to excise DNA damage involving base excision, nucleotide excision, and homologous recombination. At later times, chromo- somal damage that remains unrepaired is then subjected to pol V-catalyzed TLS in a last-ditch effort to restart replication. RecA protein is induced rapidly following the exposure of E. coli to UV radiation or to chemicals that damage DNA. RecA assembles cooperatively on regions of single- stranded DNA (ssDNA) in the presence of ATP to form a nucleoprotein filament, often referred to as RecA*. RecA* plays so many different roles and is so important to the cell that I sometimes present a tongue-in-cheek seminar slide listing the three most salient aspects of life: death, taxes, and RecA nucleoprotein filaments. Roles for RecA* include initiating DNA strand invasion as a first step in homologous recombination (10) and serving as a copro- tease facilitating the autocatalytic cleavage of the LexA repressor to induce the SOS response and, similarly, facil- itating cleavage of the UmuD2 protein to its shorter muta- genically active form, UmuD�2 (11–13). UmuD�2 interacts with UmuC to form pol V (UmuD�2C) (9). pol V copies undamaged DNA and performs TLS in the absence of any other E. coli DNA polymerase (9) but only when RecA* is present in the reaction. pol V (9) or UmuC (14) has minimal activity in the absence of RecA*. In 2009, we determined that the role of RecA* was to transfer a RecA monomer from the 3�-end of the nucleoprotein fil- ament, which, along with a molecule of ATP, “activates” pol V to a mutasome complex, designated as pol V Mut (UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP) (15). A Separate Role for RecA in SOS Mutagenesis In 1989, Raymond Devoret (Fig. 3) and colleagues iden- tified a recA mutant (originally named recA1730, which we now know to be recA(S117F)) that abolished SOS mutagenesis entirely (16). UV light-induced mutations, which typically increased by �100-fold in wild-type recA cells, remained at spontaneous background levels in recA1730 cells. The other RecA functions, including homologous recombination, conversion of UmuD to UmuD�, cleavage of the LexA protein, and induction of SOS, all occurred in cells that overexpressed RecA(S117F) (16), but SOS mutagenesis did not. Therefore, the absence of UV light-induced mutagenesis in this recA mutant background could not be attributed to the seemingly obvi- ous reason that SOS could not be turned on. Instead, RecA must possess a separate mutagenic function. The identifi- cation of this new RecA function, especially in its connec- tion to pol V, became the overriding research goal for my laboratory. Damaged Goods We entered the SOS mutagenesis field serendipitously as a result of an “out of the blue” phone call in 1986 from Bruce Kaplan and Ramon Eritja at City of Hope in nearby Duarte, California. They asked if I could think of a biolog- ical use for a new reduced deoxyribose compound that they had recently synthesized in the form of a phosphora- midite incorporated in a DNA strand using their home- made DNA synthesizer. This was the first type of abasic site to be synthesized. Reduction at the C-1 position of the sugar rendered the potentially labile sugar stable as a rock, so the abasic lesion could be incorporated on a DNA tem- plate strand site-specifically and with high yield. The lesion-containing template annealed to an oligonucleotide 5�-32P-labeled primer strand could then be copied by any DNA polymerase. We could determine the fraction of extended primers that were blocked one base before the lesion, stopped opposite the lesion, and, most importantly, extended beyond the lesion, indicating successful TLS (17). FIGURE 3. Raymond Devoret a pris dîner à Sage American Grill and Oyster Bar, New Haven, Connecticut (2013). REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26774 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 Parenthetically, we analyzed the polymerase-catalyzed 32P-labeled primer extension data using a brand-new tech- nological marvel. Our lab had recently purchased a first edition PhosphorImager, which was developed by a startup company called Molecular Dynamics. This new technology allowed us to simultaneously visualize about twenty lanes of a polyacrylamide gel on which primers were separated electrophoretically according to length, so primers differing by just single-nucleotide additions were easily observed. The imaging provided high resolution and unheard-of sensitivity. A barely visible gel band, corre- sponding to polymerase extension directly opposite a lesion, and faint TLS extension bands continuing beyond the lesion could be resolved from the much darker gel band, which corresponded to a polymerase blocked at the lesion. The faint-to-dark band detection sensitivity was about �1000-fold, far exceeding the 30-fold range previ- ously available using x-ray film scanning densitometry. A gel fidelity assay developed concurrently in our lab by my graduate students Michael Boosalis and Sandra Randall and my next-door faculty colleague John Petruska required the ratio of adjacent integrated gel band intensi- ties as input to quantify nucleotide incorporation veloci- ties. We showed that by determining the ratio of right and wrong incorporations, we could obtain the fidelity for any polymerase, including those with 3� 3 5�-exonuclease proofreading (18). A Digression into DNA Polymerase II RecA had yet to appear on our radar screen when we began looking for a biochemical basis for SOS mutagenesis in 1986. Devoret’s paper demonstrating a separate role for RecA in SOS mutagenesis would be published three years later (16). Our initial foray into SOS was to take a bot- tom-up approach by incubating crude lysates prepared from untreated and nalidixic acid-treated E. coli with primer-template DNA containing an abasic template lesion. We observed a 7-fold increase in an unknown polymerase activity in DNA-damaged cell lysates exposed to nalidixic acid compared with undamaged cell lysates (19). DNA polymerase II (pol II) emerged as the enzyme activity responsible for the DNA damage-induced TLS activity based on its similar molecular mass and enzymatic properties to those of pol II reported by Jerry Hurwitz in 1972 (20). However, the 7-fold activity induction number turned out to be especially important. By inserting a lacZ reporter gene at various locations on the E. coli chromosome, Gra- ham Walker (Fig. 4) had previously identified a series of individual loci distributed along the chromosome that were induced in response to DNA damage, which he called damage-inducible (din) genes (21). This important study provided a salient piece of information: one of the induced genes, dinA, showed a 7-fold increase in transcription. The close correspondence of transcriptional induction to the polymerase activity induction suggested to us that dinA could be the structural gene for pol II, which was con- firmed by showing that the nucleotide sequences for dinA and our structural gene for pol II were the same (22). A concurrent paper identifying dinA as the gene for pol II was published by Shinagawa and colleagues (23). Trials and Tribulations of UmuC and the Identification of a UmuD�2C Complex The power of E. coli genetics to investigate complex bio- chemical processes was clearly evident in the reconstitu- tion of a minimal system that was able to catalyze TLS in vitro. The complement of genetic requirements included the UV mutagenesis proteins UmuC and UmuD� and the RecA protein. A primer-template DNA, including a dam- aged base on the template strand, could be used as a sub- strate. Based on genetic evidence available in the mid- 1980s, the first TLS model was formulated by Bryn Bridges and his graduate student Roger Woodgate (Fig. 5). The Bridges-Woodgate two-step model (Fig. 6A) proposed that the role of the UmuDC proteins was to shepherd DNA polymerase III (pol III) past replication-blocking lesions by reducing polymerase fidelity, e.g. possibly by inhibiting exonucleolytic proofreading (24). It was sug- gested that in the first step, pol III could insert a nucleotide FIGURE 4. Graham Walker, Cambridge, Massachusetts (2013). REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26775 opposite a template lesion but could go no further. It required the Umu proteins and RecA* to copy past the lesion, after which there would be clear sailing on undam- aged template DNA until further damage was encoun- tered. Whatever the mechanism for TLS might turn out to be, it seemed clear that the Umu proteins working along with RecA* were required for pol III-catalyzed TLS. Following the discovery in 1988 that SOS mutagenesis required cleavage of UmuD to UmuD� (11–13), an updated TLS model was proposed by Harrison (Hatch) Echols (Fig. 7) and me (Fig. 5). This next generation model included UmuD� in place of UmuD and the pol III holoen- zyme complex (pol III HE) in place of pol III (Fig. 6B) (25). The stage was almost, but not quite, set to reconstitute TLS in vitro. pol III HE, RecA*, and UmuD� were available as purified proteins. However, UmuC was lacking. In 1989, Hatch and his postdoctoral student Roger Woodgate, who was to become a longtime and current collaborator of ours, reported the purification of UmuC and its interaction with UmuD and UmuD� (26). UmuD and UmuD� were soluble in aqueous solution. In contrast, UmuC was insoluble and con- fined to inclusion bodies, prompting Roger to denature the protein in urea and renature it by slowly dialyzing out the urea. The result was a refolded form of UmuC that was solu- ble in aqueous solution. A similar denaturation-renaturation strategy had proved successful for purifying the insoluble �-proofreading subunit of E. coli pol III, resulting in a water- soluble active 3�-exonuclease (27). However, extension of a primer past a template lesion (i.e. TLS) was marginal when renatured UmuC was used along with pol III HE, UmuD�, and RecA* (28). FIGURE 5. Roger Woodgate, Bryn Bridges, Myron F. Goodman, and Mengjia Tang (left to right): four SOS error-prone generations, Hilton Head, South Carolina (1999). FIGURE 6. Evolving models for SOS error-prone TLS involving UmuD�2C (pol V) and RecA*. A, pol III core (composed of �-polymerase, �-proofreading exonuclease, and �-subunits) copies past a damaged template site X, requiring the presence of UmuDC and RecA* situated in cis on the damaged template strand being copied. B, pol III HE (com- posed of pol III core � �-sliding clamp � �-clamp-loading complex) catalyzes TLS, requiring the presence of UmuD�C and cis-RecA*. C, pol V (composed of UmuD�2C) catalyzes TLS, requiring the presence of cis- RecA*. D, pol V activated by a RecA* located in trans to the primer- template DNA catalyzes TLS. E, pol V Mut (composed of pol V � RecA (red circle) � ATP (inverted blue triangle)) catalyzes TLS in the absence of RecA*. REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26776 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 Sadly, my close friend Hatch passed away on April 11, 1993. Several days earlier, I was invited by his wife, Carol Gross, to visit Hatch in their Berkeley home. During this very touching and brief visit, Hatch asked that I continue trying to reconstitute a biochemical system for TLS. One could study the renatured form of � with confi- dence because it was known that the native � had a clearly defined 3�-exonuclease activity when present as a compo- nent of the soluble pol III core. However, in the case of UmuC, an alternative approach might be better suited to investigate a protein with no known biochemical function. Irina Bruck (a graduate student at the University of South- ern California), Roger and I rebooted the study on UmuC, taking an alternative approach that opened the way to identify UmuC, not by itself but rather as part of soluble heterotrimeric complex, UmuD�2C (29). By coexpressing the UmuD�C proteins, overproduced from a high-expression promoter, and purifying the UmuC protein from a strain carrying a deletion of the entire umuDC operon, we obtained a sizable amount of a soluble 46-kDa protein that we identified as UmuC by Western blotting and microsequencing. At the end of a multistep purification process, UmuC remained soluble but, as we soon discovered, only because it was accompa- nied throughout each step in the purification by UmuD�. During the purification, UmuC remained bound to UmuD� as a stable 70-kDa heterotrimeric complex, UmuD�2C (29). Having UmuD�2C in hand, we then embarked on reconstituting an SOS TLS system in vitro that included the minimal requirements determined genetically, the UmuC and UmuD� proteins, RecA*, prim- er-template DNA, and, of course, a DNA polymerase that was almost surely pol III HE (25). However, that turned out not to be the case as described next. TLS Requires the Umu Proteins and RecA, But Not pol III The approach to reconstitute TLS with purified pro- teins dictated by the genetics was straightforward. Simply take a primer-template DNA having a 5�-32P-labeled primer and a template containing an abasic lesion and incubate it with purified RecA, UmuD�2C, and pol III HE. The expectation was that pol III HE would extend the 32P-labeled primer up to the template lesion, but not beyond, in the absence of either RecA or UmuD�2C. The hope was that the addition of both RecA and UmuD�2C would allow pol III to insert a deoxynucleotide opposite the noncoding lesion and then continue primer extension to reach the end of the template strand. The hoped-for result was attained except for one unforeseen observation. Exten- sion of the primer, copying undamaged template DNA to reach the lesion and then copying past the lesion (TLS), occurred in the absence of pol III core (30)! The wholly sur- prising result was that something other than pol III was able to avidly synthesize DNA. TLS was not the only unusual activity observed. Experiments leaving out one of the dNTP substrates made it pretty obvious that deoxynucleotide mis- incorporations were also occurring to an unprecedented extent opposite normal template bases. It had occurred to us that UmuD�2C might be a new type of low-fidelity DNA polymerase. I had mentioned at a 1998 Taos conference that “DNA processing takes place in accordance with the ‘four Rs’: Replication, Recombina- tion, Repair, REDUNDANCY,” and added that “if UmuD�2C walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then perhaps it is a duck, disguised as a new type of DNA polymerase.” We titled the 1998 PNAS paper describing TLS “Reconstitution of in vitro lesion bypass dependent on the UmuD�2C mutagenic complex and RecA protein” (30). Bob Lehman, who communicated the paper to PNAS, suggested that we were being overly conservative by not stating flat out in the title that UmuD�2C was a new SOS-induced error-prone DNA polymerase. In hindsight, I obviously should have taken Bob’s advice, but as Dick Vermeil, the superb head football coach for our “hated” rival school UCLA, had aptly said in a quote paraphrased from the poet Henry David Thoreau, “Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.” There was, however, a mitigating factor in my chicken- ing out. The specific activity of the low-fidelity TLS activ- ity was miniscule, nowhere near that of pol I, II, or III, and perhaps a small contaminant from one or more of the pols FIGURE 7. Hatch Echols, Berkeley, California (circa 1980). REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26777 could be present. Thanks to an exquisitely sensitive neu- tralizing antibody against pol I provided to us by Larry Loeb at the University of Washington, we could confi- dently rule out pol I as a contaminant. The deliberate addi- tion of pol III inhibited TLS, suggesting that it was unlikely to be present in the preparation, but we could not entirely eliminate an adventitious presence of pol II. We had no antibody against pol II and no pol II deletion strain to exploit. Notably, as recounted above under “A Digression into DNA Polymerase II,” pol II was itself pretty adept at TLS. pol II was also induced by the SOS regulon in vivo in response to DNA damage (19, 22). Here, I reflect on that, back in the day, circa 1998 –2004, we were fortunate to recover �2– 4 mg of purified UmuD�2C from 30 liters of cells, even when overproduced. To obtain more workable amounts of UmuD�2C, Roger Woodgate fired up the 200- liter fermenter at the National Institutes of Health, ship- ping many grams of spun-down cell pellets to us on dry ice. This ensured a quarterly profit for FedEx lasting for several years. It also gave rise to heavy-duty KP (kold room patrol) by graduate students Irina Bruck, Mengjia Tang (Fig. 5), and Xuan Shen. Under such trying circumstances, a minor polymerase contaminant would not be too surprising. A concurrent paper by Zvi Livneh and colleagues showed that when UmuC had a maltose-binding protein attached to its N terminus, it was soluble in aqueous solu- tion; maltose-binding protein-UmuC along with UmuD�, RecA*, and pol III HE performed TLS. However, in con- trast with our data, pol III HE was a necessary component in their reconstituted system (31). Absent pol III, there was no detectable TLS in Livneh’s system. A PNAS Commen- tary discussing the two papers was written by Graham Walker and entitled “Skiing the black diamond slope: pro- gress on the biochemistry of translesion DNA synthesis” (32). Graham’s title referred specifically to a statement made by Hatch to a packed audience during a replication and repair “skiing” meeting held in Taos, New Mexico, in 1992, where he referred to UmuC as the “black diamond slope of DNA biochemistry.” Black double diamond slope is what I remember Hatch having said. Either way, one or two diamonds, by mid- 1998, the difficulties with UmuC and, more generally, with the biochemical reconstitution of TLS were at long last being bypassed (pun intended). In 1999, the heterotri- meric UmuD�2C complex was unequivocally shown to be a bona fide DNA polymerase (9), with the polymerase activity residing in the UmuC subunit (9, 14). The year 2001 witnessed the identification of a new polymerase family, the Y-family polymerases (33), that grew rapidly. A recent count identified 13 family members spanning from microorganisms to humans (34, 35). A Fly in the cis-RecA* Filament Ointment The model for TLS that Hatch and I proposed in 1990 (Fig. 6B) had not strayed far from the 1985 Bridges- Woodgate model (Fig. 6A), although the proteins involved were modified according to new biochemical data, includ- ing dispensing with pol III HE and replacing it with pol V (UmuD�2C) (Fig. 6C) (9). However, the core feature of the model remained: TLS was assumed to require the pres- ence of a RecA* nucleoprotein filament assembled on the region of ssDNA located in cis at the 5�-side of the dam- aged template base (Fig. 6, A–C). Positioning of RecA* on the template strand proximal to the lesion surely made sense. When asked why he robbed banks, Willie Sutton famously replied, “Because that’s where the money is.” The same localization principle logically accounted for posi- tioning of RecA*. Although assembly of RecA* in cis on the template strand being copied was a reasonable supposi- tion, there was no direct evidence to support it. We were soon led to rethinking where and how RecA* functioned during TLS because of a talk that I gave in November 2000 at the National Academy of Sciences Col- loquium on “Links Between Recombination and Replica- tion: Vital Roles of Recombination” at University of Cali- fornia, Irvine. Projected on the screen were PAGE data depicting 32P-labeled primer elongation bands visualized at single-nucleotide resolution with remarkable clarity using the aforementioned PhosphorImager. Although the data showed that TLS was greatest with a RecA/ssDNA ratio of �1 RecA monomer/3–5 nucleotides, which is consistent with the optimal ratio for RecA* filament for- mation, TLS was also clearly observed at �1 RecA mono- mer/50 nucleotides. Following my talk, Mike Cox (Fig. 8) mentioned to me privately that RecA* would be unlikely to assemble on the region of ssDNA downstream of the tem- plate lesion at 1 RecA monomer/50 nucleotides. I was grateful that Mike spared me a public “gotcha,” all the more so because his point proved to be spot-on. When one makes primer-template DNA by annealing a relatively short primer to a longer template strand, thermodynamics dictates that a portion of the DNA remains single- stranded. Furthermore, because we typically used an excess of primers over template to optimize the yield of the primer-template DNA duplex, there was always an excess of primer strands in solution to bind with RecA. Although the ratio of �1 RecA monomer/50 nucleotides was not sufficiently high for RecA nucleoprotein filament assem- bly on the primer-template DNA duplex, the ability to REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26778 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 observe pol V-catalyzed TLS (36) suggested that perhaps RecA* forming on the shorter free primer strands was somehow able to facilitate lesion bypass by pol V by acting in trans (Fig. 6D) (37). We viewed these data as a potential “fly in the cis-RecA* filament ointment.” Perhaps RecA* assembled in trans on a ssDNA strand that was not being copied by pol V. Transactivation of pol V by RecA* Compelling evidence for transactivation of pol V-cata- lyzed DNA synthesis, including TLS, was obtained by Katharina (Kathi) Schlacher, a graduate student who came to our lab initially with the limited objective of performing a Master’s thesis project for a year and defending in Aus- tria, which she did. To our good fortune, Kathi then decided to return to the lab to initiate the transactivation studies, which I am pleased to say won her the “Best Ph.D. Dissertation of 2006” award from the University of South- ern California. The key to proving that pol V can be acti- vated via the assembly of RecA* on ssDNA that is not being copied was to design a primer-template DNA that could not support template filament formation. The prim- er-template was formed as a stable DNA hairpin with just a 3-nucleotide overhang region at its 5�-end to serve the template strand (see e.g. Fig. 9B, left) (37). A RecA mono- mer has a 3-nucleotide footprint on ssDNA, leaving no space on the template strand to form a cis-RecA* filament downstream of UmuD�2C. Instead, RecA* filaments were assembled on separate ssDNA molecules, which acted in trans on the primer-template DNA duplex hairpins. The 3-nucleotide template overhangs were copied but only with trans-RecA* present (37). The reaction of pol V with the primer-template DNA hairpins was second-order, i.e. linearly proportional to the concentration of trans-RecA*, leaving little (if any) room for doubt that RecA* assembled on a DNA different from the one being copied was respon- sible for pol V activity (Fig. 6D). The historical positioning of RecA* downstream of pol V on the template strand being copied has always been based on an Occam’s razor-like rationale that because RecA* was required for TLS, it had to act at a blocked replication fork (38). What had not been contemplated is that the role of RecA* might actually be indirect: that it is not interacting with a RecA* filament, be it located either in cis or in trans, that activates pol V, but instead, RecA* is FIGURE 8. Mike Cox, Madison, Wisconsin (circa 2009). This is how he looks today. FIGURE 9. pol V Mut (UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP) is a stand-alone DNA polymerase able to synthesize DNA in the absence of RecA*. A, pol V Mut is formed by incubating pol V with RecA* bound to resin and removing the resin-bound RecA*, leaving pol V Mut in solution. B, pol V Mut formed with wild-type RecA copies DNA, whereas pol V Mut formed with Devoret’s SOS nonmutagenic RecA1730(S117F) cannot copy DNA. Red circle, RecA; inverted blue triangle, ATP or ATP�S. nt, nucleotides. REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26779 needed to transfer a RecA monomer from its 3�-proximal tip to pol V and thereby activate it for DNA synthesis (15). Captured Alive, the Active Form of pol V Is UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP Deciphering the role of RecA* remained the key bio- chemical challenge, a mystery that had persisted since the mid-1980s with the Bridges-Woodgate model (Fig. 6A) (24) and crystallized by Devoret’s discovery of an essential role for RecA* in damage-induced mutagenesis, distinct from its roles in recombination and the coproteolytic cleavage of the LexA repressor and UmuD (16). Mixing pol V with trans-RecA* resulted in an active enzyme capa- ble of copying undamaged and damaged templates (37), but mixing pol V with RecA did not (39). An experiment was needed to nail down unambiguously how and why RecA* acts during pol V-catalyzed TLS. We addressed the “how and why” by incubating pol V with RecA* in the absence of primer-template DNA and then isolating a possibly modified form of the polymerase with RecA* no longer present (Fig. 9A). The strategy entailed assembling RecA* filaments on ssDNA oligonu- cleotides that were stably attached to resins or beads (15). Following pol V incubation with immobilized RecA* and removal of the RecA* by centrifugation, we found that pol V had undergone a major modification. A single RecA molecule had been transferred from the 3�-proximal tip of RecA* to UmuD�2C, which, along with the binding of a molecule of ATP (or ATP�S), converted the virtually inac- tive pol V to the stand-alone activated pol V Mut (UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP) (Fig. 9A). This was the first time that pol V was observed to synthesize DNA without RecA* (Fig. 9B) (15). A new model for TLS involved pol V Mut with RecA* no longer directly in the picture (Fig. 6E). pol V Mut was active with a bound wild-type RecA monomer, whereas pol V Mut was dead when formed with Devoret’s UV light-nonmutable RecA(S117F) mutant (Fig. 9B) (15). pol V Mut(S117F) had no measurable DNA synthe- sis activity in vitro even though it was also transferred to UmuD�2C from the 3�-RecA* filament tip to form a stable, yet inactive, pol V Mut complex (15). It was gratifying to give a biochemical face to Devoret’s critically important genetic identification of an independent mutagenic function for RecA*, which had provided the impetus for our work. After submitting a manuscript to Nature, a multiangle light scattering (MALS) instrument arrived at the Univer- sity of Southern California in the two weeks intervening between receipt of two referees’ reports and the third report, which requested (i.e. demanded) more convincing evidence for the existence of a stable complex composed of a RecA monomer bound to UmuD�2C. MALS measures the absolute molecular mass of a pure protein in aqueous solution, subject only to a few nonrestrictive assumptions regarding protein globular shape (40). A mass standard for either calibration or comparison is not even required. Using MALS, we identified a light scattering peak centered at 113 kDa corresponding to a complex of UmuD�2C- RecA. Using SDS-PAGE, we showed that the protein com- position in the 113-kDa peak contained UmuC, UmuD�, and RecA. The Unexpected Identification of pol V Mut as DNA-dependent ATPase Thanks to MALS and the third reviewer, pol V Mut was captured alive as UmuD�2C-RecA (15). However, a ques- tion remained: what about ATP? Was ATP required for pol V Mut activity? The short answer is that when present as UmuD�2C-RecA, pol V Mut lacking ATP cannot syn- thesize DNA. To be active, it must have a molecule of ATP (or ATP�S) bound to form UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP (15). FIGURE 10. Model for pol V Mut regulation by RecA and ATP. Transfer of a RecA molecule (red circle) from RecA* and the subsequent binding of an ATP molecule (inverted blue triangle) to UmuD�2C form activated pol V Mut (UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP). A bound ATP molecule is required for polymerase binding to primer-template DNA. pol V copies an undam- aged region of DNA, inserts a deoxynucleotide opposite a lesion (X), and continues DNA synthesis beyond the lesion (TLS). pol V Mut is deacti- vated after dissociating from the primer-template DNA. Dissociation is dependent on pol V Mut-dependent ATP hydrolysis. REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26780 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 The unresolved question was why. The answer that we arrived at while I was writing these Reflections is that pol V Mut function is regulated by an intrinsic DNA-dependent ATPase activity (41). The binding of a single ATP mole- cule to pol V Mut is required to bind the polymerase to primer-template DNA. DNA synthesis, including TLS, then takes place. ATP hydrolysis triggers the dissociation of pol V Mut from the DNA. pol V Mut appears to func- tion as an on-off toggle switch. Once activated, it performs a single round of DNA synthesis. Following ATP hydroly- sis, the enzyme dissociates from primer-template DNA in a deactivated form (Fig. 10). No such ATPase activity or autoregulatory mechanism has previously been found for a DNA polymerase. What is the biological basis for the complex regulation of pol V by ATP? Mutagenic DNA synthesis during the SOS response is seemingly an act of cellular desperation that would best be limited as to when and where it is used. The regulation of pol V Mut is needed to limit mutations, especially in rapidly dividing cells (42). Mutational lethal- ity can be avoided by restricting low-fidelity DNA synthe- sis to short DNA segments confined to replication forks blocked by DNA damage and to replication restart at stalled replication forks on undamaged DNA. Keeping pol V Mut processivity in check appears to be role of the inter- nal ATPase that triggers polymerase dissociation from primer-template DNA (41). In essence, the enzyme has evolved to do the absolute minimum to get cellular DNA synthesis restarted. Acknowledgments—I thank Matty Scharff and Phuong Pham for provid- ing valuable and constructive criticisms on the manuscript and Jeff Ber- tram and Phuong for aid with the illustrations. I thank Evelyn Witkin, Michael Devoret, Mike Cox, Maurice Bessman, Graham Walker, and Stuart Linn for generously sending photographs. I am indebted to past and present students and postdoctoral fellows who provided invaluable intellectual support for the SOS-pol V studies while having interests that differed from pol V. These other projects investigated the fidelity of DNA polymerases and, more recently, the mutator mechanisms of APOBEC dC deaminases. The NIGMS, NIEHS, and NCI have provided generous sustenance. I especially thank Dan Shaughnessy (NIEHS), Dick Pelroy (NCI), and the late Paul B. Wolfe (NIGMS) for their gracious support and advice throughout my forty years and counting in the business. Address correspondence to: mgoodman@usc.edu. REFERENCES 1. Weigle, J. J. (1953) Induction of mutation in a bacterial virus. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 39, 628 – 636 2. Witkin, E. M. (1967) The radiation sensitivity of Escherichia coli B: a hypothesis relating filament formation and prophage induction. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 57, 1275–1279 3. Witkin, E. M. (1969) Ultraviolet-induced mutation and DNA repair. Annu. Rev. Microbiol. 23, 487–514 4. Radman, M. (1974) Phenomenology of an inducible mutagenic DNA repair pathway in Escherichia coli: SOS repair hypothesis. in Molecular and environ- mental aspects of mutagenesis (Prakash, L., Sherman, F., Miller, M., Lawrence, C., and Tabor, H. W., eds) pp. 128 –142, Charles C. Thomas, Springfield, IL 5. Kato, T., and Shinoura, Y. (1977) Isolation and characterization of mutants of Escherichia coli deficient in induction of mutations by ultraviolet light. Mol. Gen. Genet. 156, 121–131 6. Steinborn, G. (1978) Uvm mutants of Escherichia coli K12 deficient in UV mutagenesis. I. Isolation of uvm mutants and their phenotypical characteriza- tion in DNA repair and mutagenesis. Mol. Gen. Genet. 165, 87–93 7. Kitagawa, Y., Akaboshi, E., Shinagawa, H., Horii, T., Ogawa, H., and Kato, T. (1985) Structural analysis of the umu operon required for inducible mutagen- esis in Escherichia coli. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 82, 4336 – 4340 8. Perry, K. L., Elledge, S. J., Mitchell, B. B., Marsh, L., and Walker, G. C. (1985) umuDC and mucAB operons whose products are required for UV light- and chemical-induced mutagenesis: UmuD, MucA, and LexA proteins share ho- mology. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 82, 4331– 4335 9. Tang, M., Shen, X., Frank, E. G., O’Donnell, M., Woodgate, R., and Goodman, M. F. (1999) UmuD�2C is an error-prone DNA polymerase, Escherichia coli pol V. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 96, 8919 – 8924 10. Cox, M. M. (2003) The bacterial RecA protein as a motor protein. Annu. Rev. Microbiol. 57, 551–577 11. Nohmi, T., Battista, J. R., Dodson, L. A., and Walker, G. C. (1988) RecA-medi- ated cleavage activates UmuD for mutagenesis: mechanistic relationship be- tween transcriptional derepression and posttranslational activation. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 85, 1816 –1820 12. Burckhardt, S. E., Woodgate, R., Scheuermann, R. H., and Echols, H. (1988) UmuD mutagenesis protein of Escherichia coli: overproduction, purification, and cleavage by RecA. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 85, 1811–1815 13. Shinagawa, H., Iwasaki, H., Kato, T., and Nakata, A. (1988) RecA protein-de- pendent cleavage of UmuD protein and SOS mutagenesis. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 85, 1806 –1810 14. Reuven, N. B., Arad, G., Maor-Shoshani, A., and Livneh, Z. (1999) The mu- tagenesis protein UmuC is a DNA polymerase activated by UmuD�, RecA, and SSB and is specialized for translesion replication. J. Biol. Chem. 274, 31763–31766 15. Jiang, Q., Karata, K., Woodgate, R., Cox, M. M., and Goodman, M. F. (2009) The active form of DNA polymerase V is UmuD�2C-RecA-ATP. Nature 460, 359 –363 16. Dutreix, M., Moreau, P. L., Bailone, A., Galibert, F., Battista, J. R., Walker, G. C., and Devoret, R. (1989) New recA mutations that dissociate the various RecA protein activities in Escherichia coli provide evidence for an additional role for RecA protein in UV mutagenesis. J. Bacteriol. 171, 2415–2423 17. Randall, S. K., Eritja, R., Kaplan, B. E., Petruska, J., and Goodman, M. F. (1987) Nucleotide insertion kinetics opposite abasic lesions in DNA. J. Biol. Chem. 262, 6864 – 6870 18. Creighton, S., Bloom, L. B., and Goodman, M. F. (1995) Gel fidelity assay measuring nucleotide misinsertion, exonucleolytic proofreading, and lesion bypass efficiencies. Methods Enzymol. 262, 232–256 19. Bonner, C. A., Randall, S. K., Rayssiguier, C., Radman, M., Eritja, R., Kaplan, B. E., McEntee, K., and Goodman, M. F. (1988) Purification and characteriza- tion of an inducible Escherichia coli DNA polymerase capable of insertion and bypass at abasic lesions in DNA. J. Biol. Chem. 263, 18946 –18952 20. Wickner, R. B., Ginsberg, B., Berkower, I., and Hurwitz, J. (1972) Deoxyribo- nucleic acid polymerase II of Escherichia coli. I. The purification and charac- terization of the enzyme. J. Biol. Chem. 247, 489 – 497 21. Kenyon, C. J., and Walker, G. C. (1980) DNA-damaging agents stimulate gene expression at specific loci in Escherichia coli. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 77, 2819 –2823 22. Bonner, C. A., Hays, S., McEntee, K., and Goodman, M. F. (1990) DNA polym- erase II is encoded by the DNA damage-inducible dinA gene of Escherichia coli. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 87, 7663–7667 23. Iwasaki, H., Nakata, A., Walker, G. C., and Shinagawa, H. (1990) The Esche- richia coli polB gene, which encodes DNA polymerase II, is regulated by the SOS system. J. Bacteriol. 172, 6268 – 6273 24. Bridges, B. A., and Woodgate, R. (1985) The two-step model of bacterial UV mutagenesis. Mut. Res. 150, 133–139 25. Echols, H., and Goodman, M. F. (1990) Mutation induced by DNA damage: a many protein affair. Mutat. Res. 236, 301–311 26. Woodgate, R., Rajagopalan, M., Lu, C., and Echols, H. (1989) UmuC mutagen- esis protein of Escherichia coli: purification and interaction with UmuD and UmuD�. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 86, 7301–7305 27. Scheuermann, R. H., and Echols, H. (1984) A separate editing exonuclease for DNA replication: the � subunit of Escherichia coli DNA polymerase III holoen- zyme. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 81, 7747–7751 REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 • VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY 26781 28. Rajagopalan, M., Lu, C., Woodgate, R., O’Donnell, M., Goodman, M. F., and Echols, H. (1992) Activity of the purified mutagenesis proteins UmuC, UmuD�, and RecA in replicative bypass of an abasic DNA lesion by DNA polymerase III. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 89, 10777–10781 29. Bruck, I., Woodgate, R., McEntee, K., and Goodman, M. F. (1996) Purification of a soluble UmuD�C complex from Escherichia coli. Cooperative binding of UmuD�C to single-stranded DNA. J. Biol. Chem. 271, 10767–10774 30. Tang, M., Bruck, I., Eritja, R., Turner, J., Frank, E. G., Woodgate, R., O’Donnell, M., and Goodman, M. F. (1998) Biochemical basis of SOS-induced mutagenesis in Escherichia coli: reconstitution of in vitro lesion bypass dependent on the UmuD�2C mutagenic complex and RecA protein. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 95, 9755–9760 31. Reuven, N. B., Tomer, G., and Livneh, Z. (1998) The mutagenesis proteins UmuD� and UmuC prevent lethal frameshifts while increasing base substitu- tion mutations. Mol. Cell 2, 191–199 32. Walker, G. C. (1998) Skiing the black diamond slope: progress on the biochem- istry of translesion DNA synthesis. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 95, 10348 –10350 33. Ohmori, H., Friedberg, E. C., Fuchs, R. P., Goodman, M. F., Hanaoka, F., Hinkle, D., Kunkel, T. A., Lawrence, C. W., Livneh, Z., Nohmi, T., Prakash, L., Prakash, S., Todo, T., Walker, G. C., Wang, Z., and Woodgate, R. (2001) The Y-family of DNA polymerases. Mol. Cell 8, 7– 8 34. Sale, J. E., Lehmann, A. R., and Woodgate, R. (2012) Y-family DNA polymerases and their role in tolerance of cellular DNA damage. Nat. Rev. Mol. Cell Biol. 13, 141–152 35. Goodman, M. F., and Woodgate, R. (2013) Translesion DNA polymerases. Cold Spring Harb. Perspect. Biol. 5, a010363 36. Pham, P., Seitz, E. M., Saveliev, S., Shen, X., Woodgate, R., Cox, M. M., and Goodman, M. F. (2002) Two distinct modes of RecA action are required for DNA polymerase V-catalyzed translesion synthesis. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. U.S.A. 99, 11061–11066 37. Schlacher, K., Cox, M. M., Woodgate, R., and Goodman, M. F. (2006) RecA acts in trans to allow replication of damaged DNA by DNA polymerase V. Nature 442, 883– 887 38. Patel, M., Jiang, Q., Woodgate, R., Cox, M. M., and Goodman, M. F. (2010) A new model for SOS-induced mutagenesis: how RecA protein activates DNA polymerase V. Crit. Rev. Biochem. Mol. Biol. 45, 171–184 39. Schlacher, K., Leslie, K., Wyman, C., Woodgate, R., Cox, M. M., and Goodman, M. F. (2005) DNA polymerase V and RecA protein, a minimal mutasome. Mol. Cell 17, 561–572 40. Wyatt, P. J. (1993) Light scattering and the absolute characterization of mac- romolecules. Anal. Chim. Acta 272, 1– 40 41. Erdem, A. L., Jaszczur, M., Bertram, J. G., Woodgate, R., Cox, M. M., and Goodman, M. F. (2014) DNA polymerase V activity is autoregulated by a novel intrinsic DNA-dependent ATPase. eLIFE 3, e02384 42. Corzett, C. H., Goodman, M. F., and Finkel, S. E. (2013) Competitive fitness during feast and famine: how SOS DNA polymerases influence physiology and evolution in Escherichia coli. Genetics 194, 409 – 420 REFLECTIONS: Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V 26782 JOURNAL OF BIOLOGICAL CHEMISTRY VOLUME 289 • NUMBER 39 • SEPTEMBER 26, 2014 The Discovery of Error-prone DNA Polymerase V and Its Unique Regulation by RecA and ATP The Origin of SOS Error-prone DNA Repair A Separate Role for RecA in SOS Mutagenesis Damaged Goods A Digression into DNA Polymerase II Trials and Tribulations of UmuC and the Identification of a UmuD<sup>'</sup><sub>2</sub>C Complex TLS Requires the Umu Proteins and RecA, But Not pol III A Fly in the cis-RecA* Filament Ointment Transactivation of pol V by RecA* Captured Alive, the Active Form of pol V Is UmuD<sup>'</sup><sub>2</sub>C-RecA-ATP The Unexpected Identification of pol V Mut as DNA-dependent ATPase Acknowledgments REFERENCES 
work_hynomysyxrggtnnffkm32s62ya	----	Hindawi Publishing Corporation Diagnostic and Therapeutic Endoscopy Volume 2013, Article ID 206839, 2 pages http://dx.doi.org/10.1155/2013/206839 Editorial Advanced Endoscopic Imaging Helmut Neumann,1 Klaus Mönkemüller,2 Markus F. Neurath,1 Arthur Hoffman,3 and Charles Melbern Wilcox2 1 Department of Medicine I, University of Erlangen-Nuremberg, Ulmenweg 18, 91054 Erlangen, Germany 2 Basil Hirschowitz Endoscopic Center of Excellence, University of Alabama, Birmingham, AL, USA 3 St. Marienkrankenhaus Katharina-Kasper, Richard-Wagner Straße 14, 60318 Frankfurt am Main, Germany Correspondence should be addressed to Helmut Neumann; helmut.neumann@uk-erlangen.de Received 27 February 2013; Accepted 27 February 2013 Copyright © 2013 Helmut Neumann et al. This is an open access article distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. It was in the late 18th century when the American essayist, poet, and philosopher Henry David Thoreau quoted “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” Indeed, more than 200 years later, this phrase is still valid and relevant, especially in the field of gastrointestinal (GI) endoscopy. Endoscopists in the whole world are working hard to improve diagnosis and therapy of our patients. Despite these efforts, we are still confronted with some limitations of GI endoscopy including the lack of detection of colon polyps (i.e., significant adenoma miss rates), delayed diagnosis, and difficult areas to access, like the pancreatobiliary tract or the small bowel. In the attempt to overcome these limitations, new endo- scopic techniques are constantly being introduced. New endoscopic imaging techniques now allow for a more detailed analysis of mucosal and submucosal structures and include virtual chromoendoscopy, magnification endoscopy, and endocytoscopy. Various studies have shown the usefulness of these imaging techniques for conditions such as Barrett’s esophagus, colon polyps, and early neoplasias of the luminal GI tract. Moreover, the recently introduced confocal laser endomicroscopy (CLE) system allows us to analyze structures at the cellular and subcellular layer thereby obtaining an optical biopsy during ongoing endoscopy. Besides, CLE has the potential to visualize fluorescence labeled structures against specific epitopes, that is, in gastrointestinal cancer or inflammatory bowel disease, thus adding molecular imag- ing to the field of endoscopic research. Furthermore, with the development of balloon-assisted endoscopy and capsule endoscopy, the endoscopist is now able to visualize the entire small bowel. Lastly, visualization beyond the mucosa is also important. This is accomplished with endoscopic ultrasonography (EUS). EUS plays now a pivotal role for the management and therapy of various diseases. Through EUS, the “eye” of the endoscopist is extended beyond the lumen allowing for a detailed examination of most adjacent structures to the luminal GI tract. This special issue focuses on the exiting new develop- ments of GI endoscopy. We are proud to present original arti- cles and state-of-the-art reviews on the latest developments in the field of advanced endoscopic imaging. We are aware that it is impossible to cover the entire spectrum of advanced endoscopy in only one issue. The presented topics, however, highlight some of the most current aspects, controversies, and recommendations in selected areas of advanced GI imaging. B. E. Bluen and coworkers analyzed the impact of EUS- FNA on patient management. Files from 268 patients were evaluated. In the conclusion, the authors suggest that the diagnostic accuracy of EUS-FNA might be improved fur- ther by taking more FNA passes from suspected lesions, optimizing needle selection, having an experienced echo- endoscopist available during the learning curve, and lastly having a cytologist present during the procedure. C. Xu et al. reviewed the technique and applications of contrast- enhanced harmonic EUS (CH-EUS) in pancreatic diseases and compared the technique to computed tomography, mag- netic resonance imaging, and conventional EUS. The authors concluded that CH-EUS could be used for adequate sampling 2 Diagnostic and Therapeutic Endoscopy of pancreatic tumors but could not replace EUS-FNA now. Mohammad-Alizadeh and coworkers evaluated the efficacy of limited sphincterotomy plus large balloon dilation for removal of biliary stones in a prospective nonrandomized study including 50 patients. The authors described that the combined approach is an effective and safe treatment in patients with challenging bile duct stones. M. Iwatate et al. evaluated NBI (Olympus, Tokyo, Japan) and NBI combined with magnification for the evaluation of colorectal lesions and additionally gave an outlook on future prospects. Digital chromoendoscopy techniques were evalu- ated in two different trials of this special issue. C. E. O. dos Santos and coworkers presented the results of a prospective randomized study comparing the accuracy of Fujinon Intelli- gent Color Enhancement (FICE; Fujifilm, Tokyo, Japan) and real-time chromoendoscopy for the differential diagnosis of diminutive (<5 mm) neoplastic and nonneoplastic colorec- tal lesions and found that both approaches showed high accuracy for the histopathological diagnosis of diminutive colorectal lesions. S. Hancock et al. described the potential of i-scan (Pentax, Tokyo, Japan) in clinical endoscopic practice in upper and lower endoscopic procedures and described the potential usefulness of this technique for real-time diag- nosis and characterization of GI lesions. The small bowel was discussed in two manuscripts of this special issue. H. Suzuki et al. described the successful treatment of early stage jejunal adenocarcinoma by endoscopic mucosal resection using double-balloon enteroscopy. Whereas there are several reports on polypectomy of the small bowel, this is the first report of EMR of this part of the GI tract. J. Chen and J. Lee reviewed the current development of machine-vision-based analysis of wireless capsule endoscopy, thereby focusing on the research that identifies specific gastrointestinal pathology and methods of shot boundary detection. CLE is an advanced endoscopic imaging technique. R. Pittayanon et al. described for the first time the learning curve of CLE for assessment of gastric intestinal metaplasia. The authors found that after a short session of training, even beginners could achieve a high level of accuracy with a substantial level of interobserver agreement. Foersch et al. described the potential of molecular imaging using CLE for imaging of COX-2 activity in murine sporadic and colitis-associated colorectal cancer. The authors pose a proof of concept and suggested the use of CLE for the detection of COX-2 expression during colorectal cancer surveillance. Finally, S. Peter et al. presented a state-of-the-art review on the potential of CLE for real-time histopathological evaluation of the pancreaticobiliary system. They concluded that the novel use of this technique is particularly of signif- icance in differentiating indeterminate biliary strictures as treatment depends on an accurate and prompt diagnosis. We highly appreciate the excellent contributions of all authors of this special issue and want to encourage all readers to be receptive on the rapidly growing field of advanced endoscopic imaging. Nonetheless, just utilizing a new method is not enough; a clear understanding of how the method is used and how the findings are interpreted is the key for a successful endoscopy: “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” Helmut Neumann Klaus Mönkemüller Markus F. Neurath Arthur Hoffman Charles Melbern Wilcox Submit your manuscripts at http://www.hindawi.com Stem Cells International Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 MEDIATORS INFLAMMATION of Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Behavioural Neurology Endocrinology International Journal of Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Disease Markers Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 BioMed Research International Oncology Journal of Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Oxidative Medicine and Cellular Longevity Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 PPAR Research The Scientific World Journal Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Immunology Research Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Journal of Obesity Journal of Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Computational and Mathematical Methods in Medicine Ophthalmology Journal of Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Diabetes Research Journal of Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Research and Treatment AIDS Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Gastroenterology Research and Practice Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com Volume 2014 Parkinson’s Disease Evidence-Based Complementary and Alternative Medicine Volume 2014 Hindawi Publishing Corporation http://www.hindawi.com 
work_hyvcsab6k5aofdl4svlblk7l54	----	PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTICLE This article was downloaded by: [Wright, Tom] On: 8 June 2010 Access details: Access Details: [subscription number 922889062] Publisher Routledge Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number: 1072954 Registered office: Mortimer House, 37- 41 Mortimer Street, London W1T 3JH, UK Studies in Travel Writing Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information: http://www.informaworld.com/smpp/title~content=t902189980 The results of locomotion: Bayard Taylor and the travel lecture in the mid- nineteenth-century United States Tom F. Wright Online publication date: 08 June 2010 To cite this Article Wright, Tom F.(2010) 'The results of locomotion: Bayard Taylor and the travel lecture in the mid- nineteenth-century United States', Studies in Travel Writing, 14: 2, 111 — 134 To link to this Article: DOI: 10.1080/13645141003747207 URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13645141003747207 Full terms and conditions of use: http://www.informaworld.com/terms-and-conditions-of-access.pdf This article may be used for research, teaching and private study purposes. Any substantial or systematic reproduction, re-distribution, re-selling, loan or sub-licensing, systematic supply or distribution in any form to anyone is expressly forbidden. The publisher does not give any warranty express or implied or make any representation that the contents will be complete or accurate or up to date. The accuracy of any instructions, formulae and drug doses should be independently verified with primary sources. The publisher shall not be liable for any loss, actions, claims, proceedings, demand or costs or damages whatsoever or howsoever caused arising directly or indirectly in connection with or arising out of the use of this material. http://www.informaworld.com/smpp/title~content=t902189980 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13645141003747207 http://www.informaworld.com/terms-and-conditions-of-access.pdf Studies in Travel Writing Vol. 14, No. 2, June 2010, 111–134 The results of locomotion: Bayard Taylor and the travel lecture in the mid-nineteenth-century United States Tom F. Wright* During the mid-nineteenth century, appearances by returning travellers were a ubiquitous feature of the American popular lecture circuit. Attending such talks was one of the few means by which the majority of citizens acquired an insight into distant cultures. These ‘travel lectures’ became an idiom of an emerging mass entertainment culture, one of the period’s more under-appreciated and idiosyn- cratic cultural practices. Drawing upon a range of archival materials, this essay explores the scope of the phenomenon during the period 1840–70, and argues that these oratorical events represented interpretive performances or ‘dramas of appraisal’ through which performers brought reformist themes to the platform. Focusing on the career of the poet, writer and diplomat Bayard Taylor – the archetypal ‘travel lecturer’ of the period – it reveals the ways in which he used the form to advance a moral vision of mid-century American cosmopolitanism. Keywords: travel; lecture; oratory; oratorical culture; performance; cosmopoli- tanism; nineteenth century; United States; Bayard Taylor In a chapter of Little Women (1868) entitled ‘Literary Lessons’, Louisa May Alcott’s heroine Jo is disturbed from her writing and ‘prevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture’ at the Concord Lyceum: It was a people’s course – the lecture on the Pyramids, – and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil would be remedied, or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of the Pharaohs, to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder riddles than that of the Sphinx. Unmoved at the speaker ‘prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabeti and hieroglyphics’, Jo proceeds instead contentedly to compose stories in her head before ‘the lecture ended, and the audience awoke’. 1 The incident gently satirised an American scene immediately familiar to much of Alcott’s domestic audience. On winter evenings during the mid-nineteenth century, hundreds of communities throughout the nation gathered in meeting halls and lyceums to consume edifying addresses by visiting orators. The period represented the peak of the American popular lecture system, offering eclectic ‘people’s courses’ of talks in towns such as Alcott’s Concord, Massachusetts. Alongside lectures on temperance and ethical conduct, the appearances of returning travellers delivering eyewitness accounts of exotic locations were a ubiquitous feature of the circuit. Speaking at the Brooklyn Athenaeum in February 1860, New England abolitionist and orator Wendell Phillips delivered just such an address, a lecture entitled ‘Street Life *Email: tomwright@post.harvard.edu ISSN 1364–5145 print/ISSN 1755–7550 online � 2010 Taylor & Francis DOI: 10.1080/13645141003747207 http://www.informaworld.com D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 in Europe’. The Brooklyn Eagle reported that, introducing the topic to his audience he remarked that: the system of public lecturing might be considered from one point of view as a great labor-saving machine. One man travels through books and brings back to you the result of his journeying; another travels over the globe and brings back the result of his locomotion. 2 Such presentations of the ‘results of locomotion’ became an established idiom of an emerging mass entertainment culture, one of the more under-appreciated and idiosyncratic cultural practices of the period. Attending such talks was one of the scarce means by which many Americans acquired an insight into distant geographies and cultures. These presentations – which I term ‘travel lectures’ – covered a diverse array of oratorical performances, but often involved a single figure recounting and interpreting esoteric personal experiences. It was a form attempted by figures as various as Anna Dickinson, Herman Melville and Mark Twain, and the specialism of a handful of principal performers such as Bayard Taylor, the archetypal ‘travel lecturer’ of the period. Beginning to think about the travel lecture through its appearance in Little Women allows us to glimpse its uncertain contemporary status. Alcott’s ironic portrayal suggests that audiences routinely assumed the utility of lyceum discourses, uncritically presuming that they would meet ‘some’ broad national appetites and address ‘some’ imprecise reform agendas. Moreover, she posits that this reflex assumption blinded lecture-goers to the tangential irrelevance of addresses such as travel accounts. They were thus axiomatically middlebrow cultural productions, of putative cultural capital but lacking in import, occupying an ambiguous cultural status. Partly as a result, like Alcott’s heroine Jo, modern scholarship seems to have taken the popular travel lecture, ‘for granted’, as an innocuous sideshow to more contentious, pungent oratory. Surprisingly for an aspect of culture so important to so many, there has been a relative lack of recent engagement with nineteenth-century public lecturing in the United States, aside from the work of Donald Scott, Angela Ray and David Chapin. 3 This is in part an inevitable consequence of the ephemeral nature of lecture culture. Nonetheless, the materials for its study – broadsides, newspaper reports, advertisements and manuscripts – are far from scant, and combine to provide glimpses of the transnational appetites and curiosities of the mid-century republic. In what follows, I draw upon a range of such materials to offer an outline sketch of the broad phenomenon of the travel lecture during the years 1840–70, the period of its greatest popularity and a fleeting moment before visual technologies diluted its essentially literary character. 4 Reconsidering the diverse cultural work performed by these lectures, I adopt Alcott’s phraseology to recover the ways in which they both supplied various ‘great wants’ of mid- century culture and assailed some of the republic’s ‘great social evils’. I trace this interplay through the richly suggestive figure of Taylor, whose attempts to advance a moral vision of exemplary cosmopolitanism reveals the ambivalence and limits of the travel lecture form. The lyceum and popular lecture system What became known as the ‘lyceum movement’ originated from a pioneering institution for community education established in Millbury, Massachusetts in 1826, aiming to provide workers with a secular, non-partisan centre for civic life. 5 Catalysed by the self- improvement ethos of the Jacksonian era, a loosely connected network of between 4000 and 5000 similar lyceums had developed nationally by 1840. 6 Their initial participatory 112 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 character gradually evolved into a commercial circuit based upon the hosting of lectures in seasons that ran from October to April, and by 1855 the Boston Evening Transcript observed that ‘every town or village of any sort of enterprise or pretentions has its annual course of popular lectures, while the cities support several courses’. 7 In smaller communities, performances took place in town halls; in the major cities, venues and lecture-sponsoring organisations proliferated, and stages such as Boston’s Tremont Temple and Philadelphia’s Musical Fund Hall became hallowed platforms. Though Northern authors maintained that the system ‘never existed in the South and could not be tolerated there’, a Southern circuit had been in existence since the 1830s and venues such as the Richmond and Charleston Lyceums became important lecturing centres. 8 According to Scott, ‘by fairly conservative estimate, attendance at public lectures probably reached close to half a million people each week during the lecture season’. 9 An average lecture price of 50c prescribed a certain income, and lecture-going was traditionally associated with female and young male members of the emerging middle classes, a self-consciously refined arena for communal edification. Furthermore, as one observer saw it, the lyceum had a markedly nativist emphasis, with ‘foreign immigrants’ tending ‘to avoid it – or to taste of it, as they do of any other national dish, with courtesy but not with relish’. 10 In practice, the movement represented an institutional attempt to foster the ethos and values of Northeastern civic nationalism. 11 In addition to being trailed in advance, noteworthy lectures were recorded in prominently placed newspaper reports, which ranged from brief précis to verbatim transcriptions. These evocative reports were often interpretative, providing a commentary on attendance and audience reaction, and were an essential part of the ‘text’ of any lecture, generating a potentially revealing discursive interplay between journalist and performer. Such reports raise inevitable authorial problems, with some rendered in direct reported speech, others in a shifting hybrid of transcription and editorial exegesis. Crucially, this reporting practice meant that the audience for any given lecture was threefold: a primary audience in the venue, perhaps a few thousand at most; a second audience of thousands more readers who consumed lectures in papers such as the New York Tribune with national readership; and a potential third group who read subsequent appropriated reprints of these lecture reports in local papers across the nation. 12 These institutional arrangements gave birth to the short-lived profession of the ‘public lecturer’ and the dominance of the national marketplace by a small number of eminent names largely drawn from the metropolitan elites of Boston and New York who toured the country lucratively each winter. 13 Hailed by Putnam’s Magazine in 1857 as ‘the intellectual leaders of intelligent progress in the country’, these celebrity lecturers included such renowned cultural figures as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Brooklyn preacher Henry Ward Beecher, and temperance speaker John B. Gough. 14 Travel lectures One condition of the circuit was that speakers brought to the platform some form of practical first-hand knowledge, and in this way, physicians, military veterans and cultural arbiters of all kinds found enthusiastic audiences. So too did the broader group of individuals returning from distant excursions. In the mid-century republic, travellers were by definition people of consequence, and accounts of their experience were seen to promise both entertainment and information. For the purposes of this discussion, the ‘travel lecture’ is defined as an oral rendition of first-hand experience, imparting esoteric Studies in Travel Writing 113 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 knowledge about distant places or peoples, most often delivered by Americans returning from international excursions. It represented a discursive space where several other modes of expression and inquiry – natural history, popular anthropology, comparative politics, autobiography, landscape description – overlapped in the lecture hall. Approaches and registers ranged from the urbane to the demotic, from scientific analysis to touristic reminiscence. As Scott maintains, ‘the travel lecture was less a travelogue than a kind of comparative ethnography’ an oratorical performance that fused description and comparison to communicate the realities of unfamiliar geographic and social conditions, with the cardinal aim of allowing audiences to ‘travel’ vicariously. 15 No season would have been complete without at least one lecture topic occasioned by a period of travel, and these performances became a hallmark of courses from the humblest lyceum to prestigious courses such as Boston’s Lowell Institute series. 16 A high- water mark of the vogue for these lectures can be seen in the records of the Salem, Massachusetts Lyceum course of 1853–4 (Figure 1). 17 In this season, which featured some of the circuit’s leading names, five out of 18 lectures were on subjects that newspaper accounts confirm as reports of international or domestic travel: ‘France’, ‘Cuba and the Cubans’, ‘Europe’, ‘The Arabs’ and ‘The Valley of the Mississippi’. 18 As this course suggests, the repertoire of locations covered in these lectures was eclectic, a range that provides an index to the fashions of the period and antebellum society’s thirst for knowledge about the world beyond the republic. Perennially popular subjects were locations such as the Holy Land, Western Europe, and the developing American West; most attractive of all were the even more exotic locations of Africa, the Far East and the Arctic. The range of travel orators was also diverse, the personalities of individual performers frequently being as important an attraction as their chosen theme. The Atlantic Monthly observed in 1865 that ‘narratives of personal travel . . . have been quite popular, and indeed, have been the specialties of more than one of the most popular of American lecturers, whose names will be suggested at once by this statement’. 19 First, there were those such as Taylor or the Arctic explorers Elisha Kent Kane and Isaac Hayes, whose fame largely rested on voyages; second, there were more substantial public figures such as Mendelssohn Quintette Club – Concert George Sumner – France Ralph Waldo Emerson – American Character George B. Cheever – Reading and Mental Cultivation W.H. Hurlbut – Cuba and the Cubans William R. Alger – Peter the Great John P. Hale – Last Gladiatorial Exhibition at Rome Octavius B. Frothingham, Salem – Europe Thomas Starr King – Property George W. Curtis – Young America Henry Ward Beecher – Ministrations of the Beautiful Theodore Parker – The Function of the Beautiful Bayard Taylor – The Arabs Henry W. Bellows – New England Festivals Anson Burlingame – The Valley of the Mississippi D.A. Wasson – Independence of Character Prof. Guyot – Distribution of the Races Wendell Phillips – The Lost Arts In The Massachusetts Lyceum During the American Renaissance, ed. Kenneth W. Cameron Figure 1. Salem Lyceum Course 1853–4. 114 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Phillips or Emerson, who sporadically reflected upon their travels on the platform. 20 Reports also testify to travel accounts delivered by some curious or unexpected figures. During the early 1860s, audiences throughout the country were treated to Rev. W.H. Milburn, former chaplain to the US Congress, speaking on ‘What a Blind Man Saw in Paris’ and ‘What a Blind Man Saw in London’. 21 In 1872, Civil War General William T. Sherman regaled Cincinnati with an unlikely account of ‘his travels among the Greek islands’. 22 Perhaps most peculiar, in 1859 The Lowell Daily Citizen tells us of ‘a fellow named McKinney’: who escaped jail at Dayton, Ohio, went to New Madison, Indiana, and gave a course of lectures on his travels in the Holy Land. He did the thing so well that he was invited to repeat his lectures in the college there, but before he had finished an officer came along in pursuit, and he was obliged to make a precipitate retreat. 23 As Carl Bode observed, ‘the traveler who brought back his tales could generally count on prompt engagements’, in part due to lecture committees’ approval of travel reports as reliably uncontroversial. 24 Public lecturing operated within a carefully regulated discursive space, and as Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr was later to remark, there was ‘an implied contract to keep clear of doubtful matters’. 25 Alongside biography or conduct, ‘travel’ presentations were viewed as an ideal way of achieving this whilst simultaneously meeting the lyceum’s original function of ‘diffusing’ useful information. 26 These lectures could aid an appreciation of novel agricultural processes; could foster an understanding of other nations and peoples; and could underwrite democratic decisions with an awareness of competing traditions and social formulations. As Henry David Thoreau remarked of the self-censorship of the lyceum, ‘the little medicine [audiences] get is disguised with sugar’: these lectures offered the ‘sugar’ of pleasurable evocation, alongside ‘medicinal’ acts of cultural translation. 27 To be sure, the ostensible emphasis of these events was frequently on entertainment, most clearly in such presentations as the ‘thrilling’ Arctic narratives of Kane and Hayes. 28 Lectures could consist of mere international small talk, as in a series of lectures on ‘England and the English’ delivered by Rev. C. Pinkney in Baltimore in 1844, which dealt mostly in physical descriptions of Queen Victoria and Albert. 29 They could also offer vehicles for light satirical commentary, as in playwright Dion Boucicault’s 1854 ‘Sketches of European Society’, which humorously lampooned the foibles of the French and British nobility. 30 They could even occasionally resemble theatrical performance, as with Gough’s series of flamboyant lectures on London during the 1860s, the highlight of which was a series of well-received impersonations of cockney street characters and Parliamentary figures. 31 Other categories of lecturer offered more substantively educational experiences to audiences. Some such as French-American naturalist Paul du Chaillu used reports as the basis for popular scientific instruction, and the popularity of his accounts of Africa was the subject of a Harper’s Weekly article in 1869 (Figure 2). 32 As depicted in Little Women, others offered historical and archaeological descriptions, frequently accompanied with visual aids, as in an 1840 New York lecture on ‘Modern Jerusalem’ ‘illustrated with 40 splendid Illuminated Paintings, from drawings taken on the spot’ (Figure 3). 33 Subjects and locations were often topical, supplying news and fresh information, with a number of lecturers providing first-hand accounts of the European revolutions of 1848, the Great Exhibition of 1851 and the Paris Exposition of 1869. 34 Particularly urgent were those addresses by Civil War participants which provided Northern audiences with eyewitness accounts of the progress of the Union forces in the South. 35 Studies in Travel Writing 115 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 A popular sub-genre of presentation supplied another ‘great want’ of Eastern audiences in the form of explanations and interpretations of westward expansion. Frequently performed by missionaries, clerics or settlers, these lectures often had the more or less explicit aim of spurring internal emigration, offering inspiration and guidance for Easterners hoping to emulate pioneer success. They could be anthropological, as Figure 2. ‘Mr. Paul Du Chaillu Lecturing to the Young People of Boston’, Harper’s Weekly, 6 March 1869. Figure 3. Mr. Dickinson, ‘Lecture Descriptive of Modern Jerusalem’, New York, 1840. Reproduced with permission of American Antiquarian Society. 116 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 in Rev. Parsons’s 1841 report on ‘The Physical, Social and Moral Condition of Wisconsin Territory’ in Worcester, Massachusetts (Figure 4). 36 Other examples were straightfor- wardly autobiographical, such as Rev. Peter Cartwright’s lectures on ‘Pioneer Life in the West’ at the Episcopal Church in Manhattan in 1860. 37 This brand of lecture represented part of the dominant imperialist discourse surrounding Manifest Destiny, but Eastern audiences were also occasionally treated to oppositional visions of Western developments, as in the talks of Native American Chief Kah-ge-ga-gah-bowh (aka ‘George Copway’), who lectured widely during the 1840s and 1850s describing the landscapes of Wisconsin and the threatened practices of the Ojibway tribe. 38 As this survey demonstrates, the performances of travellers supplied a range of the ‘great wants’ of nineteenth-century culture: providing excitement, escapism, adventure, instances of heroism, patriotic reassurance and guidance. Travel lectures also sometimes aimed to remedy ‘great evils’ of antebellum society, and a number of performers used the form as an oblique but effective medium for bringing reformist themes to the platform. Many used accounts of experience abroad to rebuke American society, as was the case with New York Tribune editor Horace Greeley’s admonitory account of the Great Exhibition entitled ‘The Crystal Palace and Its Lessons’, which lamented the state of American industry and advocated reform of free trade. 39 Similarly, Phillips’s ‘Street Life in Europe’ drew on experience of Old World racial attitudes to condemn the relative intolerance exhibited in the cities of the US. 40 Others used a comparative frame as a warning, as with educationalist Horace Mann’s lecture on ‘Great Britain’ which drew on descriptions of the English labouring classes to argue for the necessity of republican educational institutions. 41 During the late 1860s, women’s rights reformer Anna E. Dickinson toured an eyewitness report of Utah entitled ‘Whited Sepulchres’, a piece that began as a descriptive travel narrative, before evolving into an outspoken critique of gender relations under Mormonism. 42 Figure 4. Rev. Parsons, ‘The Physical, Social and Moral Condition of Wisconsin Territory’, Worcester, MA, 1841. Reproduced with permission of American Antiquarian Society. Studies in Travel Writing 117 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 The most incendiary of such lectures were those by orators who used reports of both international and domestic travel as vehicles for abolitionist sentiment. This was true of both international and domestic topics. Speaking before the Boston Mercantile Library Association in 1847, the well-travelled Senator Charles Sumner offered an account of ‘White Slavery in the Barbary States’, marvelling at how ‘the evil I am about to describe . . . banished at last from Europe, should have entrenched itself in both hemispheres between the same parallels of latitude’. 43 In a lecture featured in the Salem course of 1853–4, Free Soil Party spokesman Anson Burlingame spoke on the seemingly innocuous topic of ‘The Valley of the Mississippi’, but the Cambridge Chronicle reported that he ‘elected this subject . . . for the purpose of fixing a few transient memorials of that wonderful valley’, before documenting the lecture’s escalation to a crescendo of anti- slavery rhetoric: ‘In the name of humanity, I protest: let the declaration go forth from Old Fanueil Hall, let it rise from every section of the republic . . . by every shining mountain, Nebraska Shall Be Free!’ 44 In providing this broad platform for cross-cultural reflection, the eyewitness travel report offered a significant degree of freedom to orators, a potential discursive range far beyond any notional remit. Performers could exploit an innocuous set of broad conventions of the travel report – evocative first-hand description, curious information, comparative cultural interpretation – to pronounce on almost any subject. Rhetorically, they were acts of inductive reasoning, treating empirical experience of distant practices to argue for local reform. As with the wider genre of nineteenth-century travel writing, these lectures centred on potent messages about ‘nationhood’ and ‘otherness’, articulated with varying degrees of conscious obliqueness. However, the oral form transformed the purchase of this wider literary mode; in this still largely pre-visual mode, language was called upon to usher expectant audiences into distant lands. Moreover, oral renditions of travel material allowed for the evolving emotional or dramatic movement of the travel account to be experienced communally. Travel talks were therefore above all performances of interpretation, or dramas of appraisal. Though often fragmentary in their record of audience response, newspaper reports occasionally provide a sense of this galvanising public atmosphere. As Lawrence Levine has remarked of the performance culture of the period, ‘the very ethos of the times encouraged active audience participation’, a reality amply illustrated in reports of two lectures on British themes in 1850s’ New York. 45 An account of Emerson’s lecture on ‘England’ in 1850 recorded that ‘the loudest and most animated cheering occurred at the mention of the name of Oliver Cromwell – proof positive that he was before an audience who sprung from the people of whom Oliver was one’. 46 Three years later, a report on Mann’s ‘Great Britain’ detailed the dramatic silencing of a heckler: a gentleman from the gallery said he would like to say a word on the other side of the question. He was from the manufacturing districts, and could say that the statements were exaggerated; that – The gentleman’s voice was overpowered by a storm of sibillation. 47 Both cases testify to the readiness with which certain audiences endorsed or appropriated the symbolism of orators’ cross-cultural representations. Moreover, the experience of reading these reports reminds us that the importance of these events only partly lay in their initial oral expression. The implications of these dramas of appraisal were transformed through their reproduction in the print media, and reporters and editors participated in the encoding and dissemination of performances. Promotional materials were also central to this process, and advertising for these events reveals a range of motivations for attendance. Some lectures were marketed as purely 118 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 informational, others as more aspirational, as with Gough’s talks on London, which were specifically recommended to Philadelphia audience members ‘who design visiting the English metropolis’. 48 Most others were advertised simply in terms of narrative value or descriptive appeal. Performers deficient in these prized qualities were not highly regarded, the most prominent example being Melville, whose short-lived platform career speaking on ‘The South Seas’, and ‘Statues in Rome’ during the mid-1850s suffered from his apparent failure to provide such stimulation. 49 These performances existed as part of what David Chapin has termed ‘a culture of curiosity, built on knowledge of the world presented as both amusement and useful education’. 50 The purveyors of such knowledge occupied a unique place in mid-century culture, their lecturing activities providing ‘the possibility of forging careers’ in Lewis Perry’s terms ‘as intellectual middlemen’. 51 The act of travel rendered performers crucially distinct from most of their audience, and the ‘result’ of locomotion could be gauged by how separate and distinct these performers had become. Due to their accomplishments, travel lecturers represented exemplars, but were also obliged by lyceum conventions to interpret privileged experiences in a demotic way, to be simultaneously exceptional and representative. Bayard Taylor: performing cosmopolitanism Of no performer of the period was this more true than Bayard Taylor, the travel writer, poet and diplomat whose lectures dominated the platform of the 1850s. An 1873 Harper’s Weekly illustration entitled ‘The Lyceum Committeeman’s Dream’ (Figure 5) depicted him striding purposefully in Russian attire amidst a cohort of fellow celebrity orators, Figure 5. ‘The Lyceum Committeeman’s Dream – Popular Lecturers in Character’, Harper’s Weekly, 15 November 1873. Bayard Taylor top centre. Studies in Travel Writing 119 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 including Susan B. Anthony, Wilkie Collins and Mark Twain. One historian of the lyceum has termed him among ‘the most admired and talked-about men in antebellum America’, and his 1879 Harper’s Weekly obituary recalled that: for a long time in his earlier life, his lectures of travel were more charming and attractive to the public than any other lyceum oratory; special trains were run, and no hall was large enough for the crowds that wished to hear him. 52 Born into moderate means in Pennsylvania in 1825, Taylor rose to prominence as a result of serialised newspaper dispatches of his youthful adventures as an impoverished but resourceful traveller in Europe during the early 1840s. When these experiences were subsequently published as Views Afoot: Europe Seen with a Knapsack and Staff (1846), a generation of middle-class Americans were offered an innovatory guide to enjoying the Old World ‘on the cheap’. Possessed of acquisitive linguistic gifts and considerable personal charm, he found himself a natural traveller, and his combined voyages were on a vaster scale than any author or lyceum performer, covering more ground than perhaps any other American of his age. At the height of Gold Fever in 1849 Taylor travelled West to California and Mexico, excursions which resulted in El Dorado: Adventures in the Path of Empire (1850). In 1851 he travelled to the Levant and sailed down the Nile; in 1852 he pressed on to India and China before achieving his greatest coup the following year, accompanying US Commodore Perry on the successful 1853 commercial ‘opening’ of Japan. 53 The output from these and other voyages was prolific – including A Journey to Central Africa (1854); The Lands of the Saracen (1854); A Visit to India, China and Japan (1855); and Northern Travel (1857) – and Taylor became a literary sensation, widely hailed as a patriotic hero. Upon his return from Japan in 1854, he observed to his publisher that ‘curiosity is alive to see ‘‘The Great American Traveller’’. It provokes me and humiliates me, but I suppose it is natural, and I must submit to it.’ 54 Taylor duly embarked upon the lecture circuit, satisfying the curiosity of audiences across the nation who ‘longed to look upon this friend who had been with them such a pleasant companion in so many strange lands’. 55 He proved an immediate success, and though he soon grew to resent the time-consuming pressures of lecturing, he could not resist its rewards and repeatedly undertook full winter tours. 56 Taylor’s account books state that between 1850 and 1865 he delivered almost 800 lectures, netting him an average salary of $3363 versus the $2058 he received from publishing. 57 His repertoire consisted of a nucleus of five main lectures on exotic locations – ‘The Arabs’ (toured from 1853), ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ (1853); ‘India’ (1854), ‘Life in the North’ (1858) and ‘Moscow’ (1858) – alongside which Taylor frequently delivered a more abstract piece entitled ‘The Philosophy of Travel’ (1856). 58 In later years his attention turned to presentations on German literature and, to mixed success, ambitious socio- political addresses on such grand themes as ‘The American People’ (1861) and ‘American Life’ (1866). This latter group have been the only pieces to have received critical attention, but it is on the first group of popular eyewitness reports that his considerable contemporary fame rested. 59 Taylor periodically appeared in the costume of the region about which he was speaking, adopting Oriental robes while performing ‘The Arabs’ or an oversized Cossack cap for touring ‘Moscow’ (see Figures 6 and 7). 60 This theatrical element of his ‘act’ was central to his appeal. However, unlike fellow performers who became increasingly reliant upon visual aids, ‘magic lanterns’ and illustrations, reports suggest that Taylor’s art was a primarily oral, literary phenomenon. For the modern reader, some of this literary appeal 120 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 is elusive. In his published works, he is often a repetitive and wearisome guide, his admirably complete immersions in local culture frequently marred by a stylistic tendency for superlatives and extraneous statistics. The lecture scripts are necessarily comparatively condensed, and the more effective for it. Mature pieces such as ‘Moscow’ are relatively tightly focused, finely wrought collage-like compositions that weave exotic cultural allusion to figures from Western and Eastern traditions, anecdotes, precise geographic detail and rhapsodic imagery. In Alcott’s terms, Taylor’s performances met several great wants of antebellum culture: his accounts afforded vicariously pleasurable escapist experiences, and his appraisals met the ‘great want’ of international classification. An account of an 1854 performance of ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ in Cambridge, Massachusetts, centred on just such an act of classification, beginning with a comparison between the Chinese and the inhabitants of Japan, with the lecturer concluding the latter to be ‘immensely superior in capability and in promise . . . The Chinese however, are a stupid, almost witless race, fitted to their stagnant condition’. Such troubling moments represented influential codifications of races in hierarchical relation to putative American progress. During his platform career Taylor’s style developed from this early reductive emphasis on racial hierarchy towards meeting the ‘great want’ of aesthetic stimulation through vivid geographic sketches that served as dramatic highlights. It was this latter quality that was Figure 6. ‘Bayard Taylor’, Putnam’s Monthly, Vol. 4.4, August 1854. Studies in Travel Writing 121 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 clearly most admired by audiences. ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ was praised in New York in 1854 for its ‘extremely graphic . . . descriptions of the island scenes’ that generated ‘the strongest expressions of pleasure from the audience’; an 1855 Ohio report recorded that ‘his listeners can see clearly in their minds eye the things of which speaks’. 61 Having attended ‘Moscow’ in 1858, The Philadelphia Press deemed him ‘a true, faithful word- painter of scenes that come within the range of his perceptive intellect – Taylor’s powers are certainly extraordinary’. 62 One such dioramic set-piece occurs towards the beginning of ‘Moscow’, a recollection of Taylor’s first sight of the capital, worth quoting at length for its cumulative effects: Your eyes, accustomed to the cool green of the woods and swamps, are at first dazzled with the light. The sun is reflected from hundreds of gilded domes, whose long array fills up one third of the horizon, the nearest ones flashing in your face, and the farthest sparkling like stars in the distance. I have heard people attempt to compliment Nature by saying of a celebrated view: ‘How like a scene in a theatre!’ Yet one’s first impressions of Moscow might be expressed in almost these words. Its sudden burst of splendour – its confusion of gold and prismatic Figure 7. Bayard Taylor Carte de Visite, c. 1860 (Berg Collection, New York Public Library). 122 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 colors – does not belong to the sober landscape which surrounds it or the pale Northern sky which looks down upon it. It is an immense dramatic show, gotten up for a temporary effect, and you can scarcely believe that it may not be taken to pieces and removed as soon as its purpose has been achieved. Whence comes this wilderness of grass-green roofs, of pink, blue and yellow houses, out of which rise by hundreds spire and towers, stranger and more fantastic than ever were builded [sic] in the dream of an insane architect? Whence these gilded and silvered domes, which blind your eyes with reflected suns, and seem to dance and totter in their own splendour, as you move? It can be no city of trade and government, of pleasure and scandal, of crime and religion, which you look upon. It was built while the lamp was yet in Aladdin’s hands. 63 Rather than capturing a static image, the varied rhythms and constructions of the passage strive to dramatise a process of observation and appraisal. Taylor emulates the assault of Moscow on the senses, a spectacle represented as celestial, feral, enchanted, yet delicately insubstantial. Russian otherness is figured against the propriety of the ‘sober’ landscape, offsetting the city’s ‘confusion’ and the strange daring of its architecture. To experience Taylor reciting such a passage and rehearsing its rhetorical questions was to participate in his succession of metaphysical uncertainties, to share in the essentially passive theatricality of travel. The passage’s invocation of such theatrical aspects alludes to an interplay of visual and literary arts in the contemporary performance culture of spatial representation, and offers a commentary on the pictorial character of his own prose, a ‘dramatic show gotten up for temporary effect’. In the absence of magic lanterns or illuminated paintings, mimetic literary executions such as Taylor’s provided audiences with their most vivid encounters with distant scenes. Even in such passages as this, Taylor’s account retains a curiously informational character in its specification of ‘one third of the horizon’, and a diffidence of tone in the tentative gesture of ‘it might be expressed’. Just as central to the effect of such scenes was Taylor’s pronominal flexibility. His scripts often let the third-person ‘traveller’ drive his narrative (‘this tale will naturally recur to the mind of the traveller, who approaches Moscow’), achieving a sense of objective distance from his own travels. 64 As with other performers, he also frames his experience with reference to plural ‘we’ and ‘us’ of American identity (‘If any of us had asked his neighbour, three years ago . . .’; ‘In Finland, we find a different class . . .’). 65 Significantly, however, Taylor largely avoids the first- person singular, characteristically employing the second-person to establish a voice simultaneously intimate and authoritative. In the above passage, the action of viewing Moscow thus takes place specifically for its listeners (‘your eyes’, ‘your face’, ‘you can scarcely believe’). By modulating the addressee of his lectures in this way, Taylor presented his exploits as merely one in a succession of potential voyages, intimating the essentially representative typicality of his exploits, and the plausibility of audience repetition of such feats. This stylistic self-effacement contributed to Taylor’s self-conscious attainment of fellowship with his audiences. His lectures resisted mystifying himself or his achievements, aiding the process of what Ray has termed ‘the symbolic creation of Taylor as the public’s own observer, simultaneously a celebrity and a compatriot’. 66 In 1855 the Wisconsin Patriot thought ‘his manner [is] not that of the orator, but that of the companion – conversational’; in 1860 the Springfield News maintained that ‘everybody likes Bayard Taylor because he is a man of the people and puts on no airs’. 67 The early image of Taylor as the resourceful, indigent everyman of Views Afoot appears to have remained with popular audiences, and central to this appeal was his position as part of but crucially apart from the antebellum literary establishment. Studies in Travel Writing 123 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Among these elite contemporaries, he enjoyed a markedly less positive reputation. Fellow poet and editor Park Benjamin coined the notorious, widely circulated witticism that Taylor had ‘travelled more and seen less than any man living’. 68 Melville, perhaps harbouring a degree of resentment at his rival’s lyceum success, is believed by some to have used Taylor as the basis for ‘The Cosmopolitan’, the worldly but naive dilettante in The Confidence Man (1856). 69 A contemporary coolly remarked of his lecturing that ‘reports of his latest trip are always well-received by the large class who (as Goethe says in his analysis of playgoers) do not care to think, but only to see that something is going on’. 70 Modern critical opinion of his lecturing has generally concurred, considering him at best as a minor heir to the Genteel Tradition of such derided figures as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, at worst as a mere shill of colonialism, a disseminator of the racial prejudices of his day. 71 David Mead concluded of his platform career that ‘his appeal was conscious and calculated; he had no share in the ideal of spreading culture’. 72 Taylor’s colonial vision clearly represents the most challenging aspect of his work for modern readers. His books were filled with repeated claims of the nature that ‘every important triumph which man has achieved since his creation belongs to the Caucasian race. Our mental and moral superiority is self-evident.’ 73 In his lectures, a prominent aspect of this vision lay in the repeated theme of the celebration of the ‘mobility’ of nations. In ‘the course of History’ he observed in ‘The Philosophy of Travel’, ‘we shall find that a country is progressive, in proportion as its people travel. None of the great nations of the ancient world ever grew up to power on its original soil’. 74 This process of international mobility was characteristically expressed in a troublingly violent register, typified by the frequent rhetorical suggestion that the traveller ‘should rather seek to penetrate the national character of each country he visits’. 75 Taylor was evasive about the processes and implications of imperialism, remarking of his role in the ‘opening up’ of Japan to US trade that: I leave it to others to discuss the question whether Japan has not a perfect right to exclude herself from intercourse with the world . . . destiny does not pause to consider these questions. There are certain things which happen, whether they seem to be right or not. 76 This celebration of destiny is twinned in the dramatic closing tableaux of ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ with a vivid expression of militarist patriotism: We carried with us, as a token of our nationality, a small boat’s ensign, and on arriving at the gate of the capital, one of the sailors fastened it to a light staff which he stuck into the barrel of his musket, and thus we carried the flag in triumph through the centre of the town. 77 However troubling they may seem, emphasis on these seemingly oblivious imperial aspects alone risks missing the broader personal and party-political agenda at work in Taylor’s lecturing. Correspondence from his earliest days of touring registers his realisation of the potential of his new role, expressing pleasure in the ‘great satisfaction’ of ‘magnetizing so many persons at once’. 78 It also indicates that at least for a time, he consciously sought to articulate serious lessons through what he described as his ‘lecturing crusade’ across the nation. 79 Reports repeatedly record this resolute aspect to his performances, noting Taylor’s characteristic transition from graphic description to abstract cross-cultural analysis. In 1855, the Wisconsin Patriot reported having ‘listened with great pleasure to this most philosophical of travellers, and most travelled of philosophers’. 80 In 1858, the Philadelphia Press praised ‘the lecturer’s happy manner of tinging his vivid and life-like descriptions with the sober colors of sound philosophical content’. 81 The consistent message of Taylor’s later lectures ultimately appears less one of imperial destiny than a Whiggish enactment of exemplary stances of appraisal. In ‘The Philosophy 124 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 of Travel’, he announced the broad aim of ‘presenting some of the nobler aims of travel . . . rescuing the practice from the imputation of being merely the result of an unsettled state of mind, or an unstable character’. 82 These nobler aims were most clearly expressed in a passage of direct guidance: I know of no better advice to give to one who wishes to obtain that broad and living experience of the world which travel only can supply, than follow the example of St. Paul and become all things unto all men. You can establish no magnetic communication with another race, without conforming in some degree to their manners and habits of life. Unless you do this, you carry your own country with you wherever you go, and you behold new forms of life merely from the outside, without feeling the vital pulse which throbs beneath. The only true way of judging of a man’s actions is to place ourselves in his situation, and take our bearings from that point; and the only way to understand a people thoroughly is to become one of them, for a time. 83 All of his lectures were at least in part hymns to these benefits of breadth of experience, which for Taylor amounted to the cultivation of an attitude of cultural openness and cosmopolitanism. Taylor believed that he was witnessing the close of an age of authentic cultural cosmopolitanism, an ethos and way of life whose passing he mourned. Throughout his multiple careers as traveller, diplomat and man of letters, he worked up a distinct vision of this lost cosmopolitan ideal, one reliant on versatility, adaptation and resistance to the wilder claims of nationalism. It was an ethos central to his cultural agenda, at the heart of such projects such as his Cyclopaedia of Modern Travel (1856), but was one he sought to convey most energetically on the lecture platform. 84 Taylor was one among several Whig voices who used the lyceum to urge for a reining in of boosterist passions, and the tendency of the United States to overvalue itself. One of the most popular performances of the period, Wendell Phillips’s ‘The Lost Arts’ (included on the 1853–4 Salem course discussed earlier) was a comparable attack on self-indulgent nationalist boosterism, advocating a greater respect for the achievements of past global civilisations. 85 Such sentiments became a major theme of Taylor’s lectures, disseminated by plentiful lecture reports. In 1854 ‘The Arabs’ reminded audiences in Georgia that ‘those who have only associated with their own race have but a little knowledge of human character’; ‘Man and Climate’ opened in Brooklyn in 1860 ‘with some general remarks setting forth the desirableness of acquiring a knowledge of the different branches of the human family’. 86 While unfailingly affirmative about American life, these lectures drew upon Taylor’s foreign experience to advocate a more sophisticated, cosmopolitan form of patriotism. This cosmopolitanism was reiterated through the aesthetic values of Taylor’s lectures. Their stylistic layering and multicultural allusiveness supplied for audiences a stance of elegant discrimination, and the frequently unassuming nature of his observations communicated a position of confident discernment. It was also part of the casualness of his tone, a disavowal of the high seriousness of his peers on the platform, favouring meandering over linear narrative. In ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, for example, he said: I propose, therefore, to give you my impressions of the Japanese, with such illustrations as may suggest themselves, rather than a connected narrative of my experience, much of which has already been made public. 87 If a cosmopolitan stance can be defined as partly that of boredom, then Taylor’s lecturing frequently exemplified this blasé attitude. 88 ‘In walking through palaces you lose your sense of the value of jewels’, he remarked in ‘Moscow’, ‘you look upon them at last with as much indifference as upon pine wood and pottery’. 89 These values were imparted through his urbane platform persona. In 1854, the Newark Advocate thought his style ‘dignified, Studies in Travel Writing 125 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 simple and unaffected’; in 1858, the Cambridge Chronicle considered his ‘easy conver- sational style’ to have ‘afforded a pleasant contrast to the spread eagle and pompous lectures so much in vogue’. 90 Taylor’s cosmopolitanism was almost a matter of physical bearing, his insouciance and costumes offering audiences the spectacle of the cosmopolite. Taylor has long been associated with Genteel literary culture, a milieu whose association has dogged his reputation, but whose own members are currently attracting revived interest for their comparably cosmopolitan emphases. 91 While he certainly enjoys many affinities with this tradition and with the Whig culture of Greeley’s Tribune, the intimate accessibility of his everyman persona also embodied a type of non-elite cosmopolitanism. As a lyceum celebrity, he personified the obtainable goal of travel, its potential for social mobility and personal growth, offering audiences a form of ‘performed cosmopolitanism’. It was in one sense cosmopolitanism as commodity whereby, for the price of admission, lyceum-goers could vicariously obtain ‘that broad and living experience of the world’. 92 Attending his performances, Taylor’s admirers gained exposure to an aspirational way of life: literary, itinerant, and amicable, an apparent representative of broadminded republican manhood. As the 1860s began, Taylor’s lyceum career faced a growing problem. Correspondence reveals his recognition of the absurdities of the occupation, not least the fact that conditions for the traveller on the provincial platform circuit were often as oppressive and treacherous as those in the regions about which he spoke. Eager to focus on more literary endeavours, he was increasingly unwilling to accumulate the experiences necessary for fresh travel lectures, turning to socio-political themed talks that were perhaps not best suited to his talents. Partly due to this shift in subject matter and his continued association with the abolitionist New York Tribune, Taylor became embroiled in the unavoidable clamour towards sectional conflict, and suffered a high-profile cancellation of his speaking engagements before the Young Men’s Christian Association in Richmond in 1860. 93 As Civil War broke out, Taylor continued to lecture to Northern audiences, perhaps now more than ever meeting the ‘great wants’ of escapism through his exotic accounts. Nonetheless, an 1863 Washington, DC, performance of ‘Moscow’ led to a memorable exchange with one such audience member who retained a belief in Taylor’s potential to remedy the most urgent of ‘great social evils’. Having attended the lecture at Willard’s Hall on 23 December, Abraham Lincoln wrote to Taylor, with whom he had a passing personal acquaintance, requesting the commission of a lecture on the realities of Russian serfdom, as an instructive parallel to Confederate slavery: My Dear Sir. I think a good lecture or two on ‘Serfs, Serfdom, and Emancipation in Russia’ would be both interesting and valuable. Could not you get up such a thing? Yours truly A. LINCOLN. 94 Though evidently deeply flattered, Taylor, due to time constraints, was forced to reply to his President in the negative: I am very much gratified by the manifestation of your personal interest in the subject, and hope that I may be able to contribute, though so indirectly, to the growth of truer and more enlightened views among the people. 95 This exchange testifies to a mutual belief in the reformist potential of the lecture circuit, and to Lincoln’s keen sense of the ‘value’ of popular amusements in shaping national opinion. Perhaps disclosing lingering doubts regarding his own abilities, it reveals Taylor’s awareness of the significant, ‘indirect’ cultural agency of his lecturing activities. It articulates his determination to exploit his ambiguous position as the ‘Great American 126 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Traveller’ as a platform from which to stage resistance to what he regarded as misguided national sentiments, aspiring not only to captivate audiences, but to convert them. As Larzer Ziff has observed, ‘he believed he had acquired a comparative base from which to point out to his countrymen America’s shortcomings’. 96 The waning of Taylor’s lecturing career during the late 1860s, however, suggests the limits to this form of cultural authority. Upon his turn towards political commentary, audience responses grew increasingly lukewarm, and reports speak to a popular reluctance towards his more explicit comparative analyses. A report of ‘Ourselves and Our Relations’ from Quincy, New York, in December 1865 concluded that whilst ‘Mr. Taylor is a scholar, and has the appearance and bearing of a gentleman, as one might expect from so extensive a traveller . . . he is not a great thinker’, observing that he merely took ‘skilful advantage of his pursuit and position to propagate . . . purely partisan ideas’. 97 Sections of the public were seemingly unwilling to entirely accept the premise of the insightful traveller as oppositional voice. As George Landow has observed regarding the rhetorical authority of nineteenth-century non-fiction, ‘the audience is willing to pay attention to someone extraordinary and set apart from the majority of men, but any claim that one possesses special insight threatens to drive them away’. 98 By 1870, one New York reporter recommended that ‘Bayard Taylor can stand down. His audiences on his last lecture tour have been slim. He is ausgespielt [ finished].’ 99 Despite this retreat, not long before his death in 1878 Taylor pointed to an apparently enduring legacy of his lecturing tours, noting that ‘hardly a week passes, but I receive letters from young men’ influenced by his example: to achieve the education of travel; and believing as I do that the more broad and cosmopolitan in his views a man becomes through his knowledge of other lands, the purer and more intelligent shall be his patriotic sentiment – the more easily he shall lift himself out of the narrow sphere of local interests and prejudices – I rejoice that I have been able to assist in giving this direction to the mind of the American youth. 100 This direction came in the form of a continual entreaty for an appreciation of global culture and a challenge to parochialism and the wilder excesses of nationalism. These sentiments of curiosity and nuance were offered as the ‘results’ of his locomotion: results whose moral and civic benefits his writings insistently dignified, and which the dramas of appraisal of his underappreciated lyceum performances helped bring to the remotest communities in the nation. Epilogue In the years following the Civil War, the lecture circuit increasingly professionalised, culminating in the dominance of lecture agencies such as the Redpath Lyceum Bureau. 101 The catalogues of these agencies attest to the continued popularity of travel themes, which persisted in the successful career of explorer George Kennan into the late 1890s, by which time the lecture system evolved into the Chautauqua movement. 102 By this time, advances in visual technology had decisively ended the era of the free-standing, oral travel narrative. In effect, these lectures had always been embedded in a wider performance culture of spatial geographic representation alongside magic lanterns, raised maps and panora- mas. 103 Since the 1840s, lectures had occasionally been accompanied by illustrations and paintings (as in Figure 3), but by the post-war period even those lecturers who had earlier dealt in unadorned accounts now often presented stereopticon views, with oral testimony as a prominent but secondary attraction. 104 As the century drew to a close, heirs to Taylor Studies in Travel Writing 127 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 such as John L. Stoddard and Burton Homes achieved national fame as purveyors of the kinds of cinematic travelogues which film historian Jeffrey Ruoff has recently termed ‘virtual voyages’. 105 Meanwhile, a more conceptual challenge had been launched against the authority of these eyewitness reports. From the late 1850s humorists such as Stephen Massett and Artemus Ward began to tour the lecture circuit offering comic talks billed as straightforward eyewitness travel accounts. In 1863, Ward spoke in Ohio on ‘Sixty Minutes in Africa’, which the Cincinnati Inquirer recorded as a series of disjointed witticisms that closed with the declaration ‘I have not told you much about Africa. You did not suppose I would, and so, as the prestidigitators say, there is no deception about that.’ 106 Its Cincinnati audience recognised the satire: ‘The speaker administered some telling blows at the prevailing folly of putting on airs and funnily took off the ignorance concerning the West which prevails in New England.’ 107 Upon the transfer of the lecture to the East Coast, there was more irritation at Ward’s ‘deception’, and the Brooklyn Eagle concluded that the lecture had been a mere ‘joke on the audience . . . he spoke of almost everything but Africa, which was merely alluded to incidentally’. 108 The most prominent parody of this type was a lecture billed as ‘A Lecture on the Sandwich Islands’, the performance that helped introduce obscure journalist Mark Twain to national consciousness. First performed in San Francisco in 1868, it consisted of an obtuse account of his impressions of Hawaii gained as a correspondent for Californian newspapers, burlesquing the typically lofty informational tone of travel accounts: These islands are situated 2,100 miles southwest from San Francisco, California, out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Why they were put away out there, so far away from any place and in such an out-of-the-way locality, is a thing which no one can explain. 109 In a similar vein, advertisements for the lecture’s San Francisco performances (Figure 8) took aim at the mock-grandeur of certain lyceum presentations, announcing ‘A SPLENDID ORCHESTRA/is in town, but has not been invited/A DEN OF FEROCIOUS WILD BEASTS/Will be on exhibition in the next block/ MAGNIFICENT FIREWORKS/Were in contemplation for his occasion, but the idea has been abandoned.’ 110 By the time Twain reached the East, the act was being billed as a ‘humorous lecture’. 111 Despite this, in Jamestown, New York an audience member wrote to express outrage at ‘the irrelevancy and senselessness of nearly all his lecture . . . I went there expecting to hear something thrilling and original about those interesting islands, and this trash was all he had to offer.’ 112 The town’s newspaper felt it necessary to clarify that the lecturer had used his ‘ostensible theme for the sole purpose of hanging jokes to it’. 113 ‘The Sandwich Islands’ was in part a repudiation of Pacific missionaries and the genre of the ‘missionary lecture’. It also represented a broader challenge to the conventions and assumptions of the ‘travel lecture’, invoking a set of regional and class antagonisms. As portrayed in this essay, typical performers were overwhelmingly elite Northeastern males, often doubtless pompous in their appraisals of international experience for the ‘benefit’ of mid-Western audiences. In a sense Twain and Ward merely offered a more extreme version of the oblique way in which purveyors of travel lectures talked ‘around’ and ‘against’ the advertised themes of their talks. Their burlesques mocked the high- minded sobriety of the lyceum, debunking the prestige surrounding the activities of orators such as Taylor and exposing travel lecturing as merely another confidence trick. They concurred with the spirit of Alcott’s contemporaneous depiction in Little Women of such 128 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 lectures as lofty and ephemeral, an idiom of condescending cultural appraisals directed at social inferiors. Conclusions The dramas of appraisals offered by these travel lectures remains a largely unexplored area. Anglophone culture offers plentiful contemporary analogues to this American Figure 8. ‘The Sandwich Islands’, San Francisco Bulletin, 1 October 1866. Reproduced with permission of American Antiquarian Society. Studies in Travel Writing 129 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 phenomenon, from Anglican missionary talks and Royal Geographical Society presenta- tions to the lectures of Victorian comic orators such as Albert Smith. 114 Nonetheless, British parallels apparently offer little of comparable scope to the example of the United States. Entertainments involving global comparison were particularly attuned to the curiosities and anxieties of a nation with a rapidly expanding land empire, its history so characterised by mobility. Moreover, it was a culture in which oratory enjoyed a prominent national role, and in which the civic virtue of knowledge diffusion had acquired republican distinction. 115 Given this civic impetus, the enthusiasm of travel lecturers might be seen as an heir to the reportorial duties of returning travellers’ re-aggregation rituals in classical republicanism. 116 Moreover, as Judith Adler and others have argued, all processes of travel represent modes of ‘performance’; the phenomenon discussed in this essay proposes a suggestive way in which cultural aspects of this performance might be said to occur upon travellers’ return. 117 Despite the legitimate critiques of Twain and Alcott, it is clear that these performances represent a dynamic and still largely underexplored field of cultural activity. More than simply part of nineteenth-century spectacle culture, popular renditions of travel experiences should be recognised as influential ‘rational amusements’, operating at the intersection of mass culture and moral discourse. It was an oratorical phenomenon that offered a fleeting literary mode through which performances could foster inventive and powerful comparative views of American identity. As I have demonstrated, these dramas of appraisal provided a space for communal thinking about place, national selfhood, and the ethics of interpretation; they met both the ‘great wants’ of a mass society, and attempted to engage with its ‘great social evils’. It was a space whose creative and reformist potential was exploited by public figures such as Taylor as a unique vehicle for popular moral critique. Acknowledgements Research for this article was made possible by the award of a Mary C. Mooney Fellowship at the Boston Athenaeum. It owes much to the advice of Angela Ray, the generosity of Murray Wheeler Jr, Barbara and Eugene McCarthy, and the comments of Sarah Meer, Tim Youngs, Rav Casley Gera and James Emmott on early versions of this material. Notes 1. Louisa May Alcott, Little Women, Good Wives [1868] (London: Everyman, 1994), 293. 2. ‘Street Life in Europe’, Brooklyn Eagle, 22 February 1860. 3. Donald Scott, ‘The Popular Lecture and the Creation of a Public in the mid-Nineteenth- Century United States’, The Journal of American History 66, no. 4 (1980): 791–809; Scott, ‘Print and the Public Lecture System 1840–1860’, in Printing and Society in Early America, ed. William Joyce et al. (Worcester, MA: American Antiquarian Society, 1983); and Scott, ‘The Profession that Vanished: Public Lecturing in Mid-Nineteenth-Century America’, in Professions and Professional Ideologies in America, ed. Gerald Grierson (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1983). Angela Ray, The Lyceum and Public Culture in the Nineteenth-Century United States (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2005); and Ray, ‘What Hath She Wrought? Woman’s Rights and the Nineteenth-Century Lyceum’, Rhetoric & Public Affairs 9, no. 2 (2006): 183–213. David Chapin, Exploring Other Worlds: Margaret Fox, Elisha Kent Kane, and the Antebellum Culture of Curiosity (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2004). Earlier valuable studies include Carl Bode, The American Lyceum: Town Meeting of the Mind (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956) and David Mead, 130 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Yankee Eloquence in the Middle-West: The Ohio Lyceum 1850–1870 (East Lansing: Michigan State College Press, 1951). 4. This essay draws upon (a) the newspaper holdings of the American Antiquarian Society; The Boston Athenaeum; Cambridge University Library; Harvard Widener Library, and Readex Historical Newspapers Online (Series 1–7); (b) the broadside holdings of the above and Boston Public Library, Massachusetts Historical Society and New York Historical Society; (c) the manuscript holdings of the above and Boston Public Library; Chester County Historical Society, PA; Cooper Union Library; and Harvard Houghton Library. 5. Josiah Holbrook, American Lyceum, or Society for the Improvement of Useful Knowledge (Boston, MA: Perkins & Marvin, 1829). 6. Bode, American Lyceum, 15. 7. ‘Popular Lectures’, Boston Evening Transcript, 29 October 1855. 8. Josiah Holland, ‘The Popular Lecture’, Atlantic Monthly 15, no. 89 (March 1865): 370. For accounts of the Southern lyceum, Jonathan Daniel Wells, The Origins of the Southern Middle Class 1800–1861 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina), 97; and Michael O’Brien, All Clever Men Who Make Their Way: Critical Discourse in the Old South (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1992); Bode, The American Lyceum, 87. 9. Scott, ‘The Profession That Vanished’, 12. Scott explains that ‘the figure is based on an estimate that 2000 lectures, with an average attendance of 250 people, took place each week during the season. See Robert J. Greef, ‘Public Lectures in New York: A Cultural Index of the Times’ (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 1941), 4–7. 10. Thomas Wentworth Higginson, ‘The American Lecture-System’, Living Age 97, no. 1244 (April 1868): 630. 11. Ray, The Lyceum and Public Culture, 2. For the distinction of civic and ethnic nationalisms, I draw on the discussion in James McPherson, ‘Was Blood Thicker Than Water? Ethnic and Civic Nationalism in the American Civil War’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 145 (1999): 102–08. 12. See Meredith McGill, American Literature and the Culture of Reprinting 1834–1853 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002). 13. Holland, ‘The Popular Lecture’, 363; Scott, ‘The Profession That Vanished’, 10–12; and Lewis Perry, Boats Against the Current: American Culture Between Revolution and Modernity 1820–1860 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 173–85. 14. Anon., ‘Lectures and Lecturers’, Putnam’s IX (March 1857): 318. 15. Scott, ‘The Popular Lecture and the Creation of a Public’, 803. For this understanding, I draw on the discussion in James McPherson, ‘Was Blood Thicker Than Water? Ethnic and Civic Nationalism in the American Civil War’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 145 (1999): 102–08. 16. For example, ‘Prof. H. D. Rogers, The Arctic Regions’ and ‘E.H. Davis, Mounds and Earthworks of the Mississippi Valley’, on the 1853–4 course. A full course list is provided in Harriet Knight Smith, History of the Lowell Institute (Boston, MA: Lamson, Wolffe & Co., 1898). 17. Kenneth Walter Cameron, ed., The Massachusetts Lyceum During the American Renaissance (Hartford, CT: Transcendental Books, 1969), 19. 18. For example, ‘Athenaeum Lecture: Valley of the Mississippi’, Cambridge Chronicle, 11 February 1854; ‘Bayard Taylor on The Arabs’, Macon Georgia Telegraph, 14 February 1854. 19. Josiah G. Holland, ‘The Popular Lecture’, The Atlantic Monthly 15, Issue 89 (March 1865). 20. For an in-depth treatment of Kane’s career see Chapin, Exploring Other Worlds, 11–112. 21. ‘The Lecture’, Rochester Union and Advertiser, 9 December 1870. 22. ‘Gen. Sherman Gives a Lecture’, Cincinnati Daily Gazette, 6 December 1872. 23. ‘Misc. Items’, Lowell Daily Citizen and News, 14 April 1859. 24. Bode, The American Lyceum, 230. 25. Oliver Wendell Holmes, The Professor at the Breakfast Table [1858] (London: Everyman’s Library, 1906), 109. 26. Josiah Holbrook, American Lyceum, or Society for the Improvement of Useful Knowledge (Boston, MA: Perkins & Marvin, 1829), 20. 27. Henry David Thoreau, 16 November 1858, The Heart of Thoreau’s Journals (New York: Courier Dover, 1961), 203. Studies in Travel Writing 131 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 28. For example, ‘Dr. Hayes Lecture at Musical Fund Hall Last Evening’, Philadelphia Press, 10 January 1862. 29. ‘England and the English’, Baltimore Sun, 26 April 1844. 30. ‘Sketches of European Society’, Cambridge Chronicle, 18 February 1854. 31. For example, ‘John B. Gough at the Academy of Music Last Evening’, Philadelphia Press, 19 February 1861; ‘General City News – Lecture by John B. Gough’, New York Times, 25 January 1867; ‘John B. Gough at the Academy of Music – The Great Metropolis’, Brooklyn Eagle, 4 April 1865. 32. ‘Mr. Paul Du Chaillu Lecturing the Young People of Boston’, Harper’s Weekly, 6 March 1869. 33. ‘The Great Lecture of the Season’, New York Tribune, 9 February 1860. 34. For example, ‘Benjamin Silliman on Paris’, 1870, Free Saturday Night Lectures Index, Cooper Union Library; ‘The Crystal Palace and Its Lessons – A Lecture by Horace Greeley’, New York Times, 1 January 1852; ‘Mr. Stansbury’s Lecture on the World’s Fair before the Maryland Institute’, Baltimore Sun, 24 January 1852. 35. ‘Campaign of the Army of the United States in Louisiana’ invitation card, Boston Tremont Temple 1863, American Antiquarian Society. 36. ‘Mr Dickinson – Modern Jerusalem’ broadside, Dutch Reformed Church, New York, 1840, American Antiquarian Society. 37. ‘Lecture: Wisconsin Territory’ broadside, 1841, American Antiquarian Society. 38. See George Copway, Life, Letters and Speeches (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997). 39. Horace Greeley, The Crystal Palace and Its Lessons: A Lecture (New York: Dewitt and Davenport, 1851). 40. Wendell Phillips, ‘Europe’ undated scrapbook, Harvard Houghton Library. 41. ‘Great Britain’ undated scrapbook, Massachusetts Historical Society. 42. See Ray, The Lyceum and Public Culture, 157–61. 43. Charles Sumner, White Slavery in the Barbary States: A Lecture (Boston, MA: Ticknor & Fields, 1847). 44. ‘Athenaeum Lecture: Valley of the Mississippi’, Cambridge Chronicle, 11 February 1854. 45. Lawrence Levine, High Brow/Low Brow: The Emergence of Cultural Hierarchy in America (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988), 179. 46. ‘Lecture on England at the Mercantile Library by Ralph Waldo Emerson’, New York Herald, 23 January 1850. 47. ‘People’s Lectures – Great Britain. A Lecture by Horace Mann’, New York Times, 10 March 1853. 48. ‘Mr John B. Gough’s Lectures’, Philadelphia Inquirer, 18 February 1861. 49. See Merton Sealts Jr, Melville as Lecturer (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957). 50. Chapin, Exploring Other Worlds, 8. 51. Lewis Perry, Intellectual Life in America: A History (New York: Franklin Watts, 1984), 261. 52. Mead, Yankee Eloquence, 113; ‘Bayard Taylor Remembered’, Harper’s Weekly, 11 January 1879. 53. Larzer Ziff, Return Passages: Great American Travel Writing, 1780–1914 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), 141–54. 54. ‘Bayard Taylor to James. T. Fields’, 17 February 1854, in Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor, ed. Marie Hansen-Taylor (Boston, MA, 1884), 269. 55. Isaac Edwards Clarke, A Tribute to Bayard Taylor: Read before the Literary Society of Washington, March 8, 1879 (Washington, DC: Mohun Bros., 1879). 56. See Ziff, Return Passages, 156–8. 57. Private Account Book, Bayard Taylor Collection, Houghton Library, Harvard University. See also Theresa Ellen Moran, ‘Bayard Taylor and American Orientalism: 19th Century Representations of National Character and the Other’ (PhD diss., Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy, 2005), 45. 58. For this essay, the following lecture manuscripts have been examined: ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, ‘The American People’, ‘Moscow’, ‘The Philosophy of Travel’, ‘American Life’, ‘The Animal Man’. All manuscripts held at Chester County Historical Society, Pennsylvania. 59. Robert Warnock, ‘Unpublished Lectures of Bayard Taylor’, American Literature (1933): 122–32. 60. ‘Bayard Taylor’, Putnam’s Monthly 4, no. 4 (August 1854). See also Peter G. Buckley, ‘Paratheatricals and Popular Stage Entertainment’, in The Cambridge History of American 132 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 Theatre, Vol. 1: Beginnings to 1870, ed. Don Wilmeth and Christopher Bigsby (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 475. 61. ‘Bayard Taylor’s Lecture’, New York Evening Post, 21 January 1854; ‘Bayard Taylor Lecture’, Daily Toledo Blade, 15 January 1855. 62. ‘Bayard Taylor’, Philadelphia Press, 6 November 1858. 63. Taylor, ‘Moscow’ manuscript, 5–6. 64. Taylor, ‘Moscow’, 2. 65. Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’ manuscript, 1; ‘Moscow’, 15. 66. Ray, ‘Popularizing Imperialism: Bayard Taylor and the U.S. Expedition to Japan, 1853’, in Proceedings of the 2nd Tokyo Conference on Argumentation, ed. Takeshi Suzuki et al. (Tokyo: Japan Debate Association, 2004), 208. 67. ‘Bayard Taylor’s Lecture’, Wisconsin Patriot, 6 April 1855; Springfield News, 27 November 1860 quoted in Mead, Yankee Eloquence, 123. 68. Hansen-Taylor, Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor, 523. 69. See Hans-Joachim Lang and Benjamin Lease, ‘Melville’s Cosmopolitan: Bayard Taylor in The Confidence-Man’, Amerikastudien 22 (1977): 286–9 (289). 70. Higginson, ‘The American Lecture System’, 363. 71. Richard Cary, The Genteel Circle: Bayard Taylor and His New York Friends (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1952); for recent postcolonial readings, see Ziff, Return Passages, 118–69. 72. Mead, Yankee Eloquence in the Middle-West, 118. 73. Quoted in Richmond Croom Beatty, Bayard Taylor: Laureate of the Gilded Age (Oklahoma City: University of Oklahoma Press, 1936), 153. 74. Taylor, ‘The Philosophy of Travel’ manuscript, 5. 75. Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, 21. 76. Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, 21. 77. Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, 24. 78. Taylor to George H. Boker, 5 February 1854, in Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor, ed. Hansen-Taylor, 268. 79. Taylor to James T. Fields, in Life and Letters of Bayard Taylor, ed. Hansen-Taylor, 272. 80. ‘Bayard Taylor’s Lecture’, Wisconsin Patriot, 6 April 1855. 81. ‘Bayard Taylor Lecture’, Philadelphia Press, 6 November 1858. 82. ‘Philosophy of Travel’, 15. 83. ‘Philosophy of Travel’, 32. 84. See Daniel Walker Howe, The Political Culture of the American Whigs (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 1979). 85. Wendell Phillips, ‘The Lost Arts’ manuscript, Boston Public Library, p. 2. 86. ‘Bayard Taylor on The Arabs’, Macon Georgia Telegraph, 14 February 1854; ‘Man and Climate’, Brooklyn Eagle, 19 December 1860. 87. Bayard Taylor, ‘Japan and Loo Choo’, 3. 88. See David Simpson, ‘The Limits of Cosmopolitanism and the Case for Translation’, European Romantic Review, 16, no. 2 (April 2005): 141–52 (143). 89. Taylor, ‘Moscow’, 14. 90. ‘Irving Lectures’, Cambridge Chronicle, 18 December 1858; Newark Advocate, 29 March 1854, quoted in Mead, Yankee Eloquence in the Middle West, 116. 91. See for example, Christopher Irmscher, Longfellow Redux (Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2007). 92. Taylor, ‘Philosophy of Travel’, 32. 93. ‘Mr Bayard Taylor and the Young Christians of Virginia’, New York Tribune, 9 February 1860. The cancellation and its attendant controversy attracted significant national media attention, and was treated in reprinted articles in regional papers, for example, ‘An Invitation Withdrawn’, Weekly Georgia Telegraph, 18 February 1860; ‘Bayard Taylor and Virginia’, San Francisco Bulletin, 23 March 1860. 94. Lincoln to Taylor, 25 December 1863, in Abraham Lincoln: Speeches and Writings 1859–1865, ed. Don E. Ferhenbacher (New York: Library of America, 1989), 93. 95. Taylor to Lincoln, 28 December 1863, in Abraham Lincoln: Speeches and Writings 1859– 1865, 93. 96. Ziff, Return Passages, 156. Studies in Travel Writing 133 D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 97. ‘Bayard Taylor’s Lecture’, Quincy Daily Whig, 22 December 1865. 98. George Landow, Elegant Jeremiahs: The Sage from Carlyle to Mailer (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986), 54. 99. ‘Miscellaneous Items’, Jamestown Journal, 18 February 1870. 100. Taylor, By-Ways of Europe [1858] (New York: G. Putnam’s Sons, 1883), 12. 101. See Crawford A. Peffer, Outline History of the Redpath Lyceum Bureau (MA diss., Harvard University, 1953); John R. McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand: James Redpath and the Making of Nineteenth-Century America (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008). Annual lists of lecturers and topics are contained in editions of Lyceum Magazine (1871–5), the American Antiquarian Society. 102. See discussion of Kennan’s lecture career in ‘The Forgotten George Kennan: From Cheerleader to Critic of Tsarist Russia’, World Policy Journal 19, no. 4 (Winter 2002/03): 79–84. 103. See Edward Ziter, The Orient on the Victorian Stage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 104. Consider the example of Isaac Hayes: 1850s and 1860s records of his performances (e.g. ‘Dr. Hayes Lecture at Musical Fund Hall Last Evening’, Philadelphia Press, 10 January 1862) contain no reference to illustrations, but by 1871 broadsides billed his appearances as ‘Dr. Isaac Hayes – the celebrated Arctic Explorer . . . magnificently illustrated by a GRAND STEREOPTICON’, 1873 Broadside, Exeter Lyceum, Massachusetts, American Antiquarian Society. 105. Jeffrey Ruoff, ed., Virtual Voyages: Cinema and Travel (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006); see also Robert Dixon, ‘What was Travel Writing? Frank Hurley and the Media Contexts of Early Twentieth-Century Australian Travel Writing’, Studies in Travel Writing 11, no. 1 (2007): 59–81. 106. ‘Sixty Minutes in Africa’, Cincinnati Inquirer, 5 March 1863. 107. ‘Sixty Minutes in Africa’, Cincinnati Inquirer, 5 March 1863. 108. ‘Artemus Ward in Brooklyn’, Brooklyn Eagle, 9 March 1867. 109. ‘The Sandwich Islands’, stenographed lecture report, Cooper Union Library. 110. ‘The Sandwich Islands’, San Francisco Bulletin, 1 October 1866. 111. ‘Our Fellow Savages’, Lecture Advertisement, Brooklyn Eagle, 10 February 1870. 112. ‘Mark Twain criticised – An Indignant Spectator’, Jamestown Journal, 28 January 1870. 113. ‘Criticism on Mark Twain’s Lecture for Adult Readers – Not to be read by People with weak stomachs’, Jamestown Journal, 28 January 1870. 114. See Giliana Bruno, Atlas of Emotion: Journeys in Art, Architecture, and Film (London: Verso, 2002), 117–20; and Edward Ziter, The Orient on the Victorian Stage. 115. Susan Gufstafson, Eloquence Is Power: Oratory and Performance in Early America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998), 7–11. 116. See Richard D. Brown, The Strength of a People: The Idea of an Informed Citizenry in America, 1650–1870 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996), 119–29. For rituals of re-aggregation in classical republicanism, see for example, Plato’s formulation of these rituals in ‘Laws’ XII in Plato: Complete Works, trans. Trevor J. Saunders, ed. John M. Cooper (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 1997), 1320. 117. Judith Adler, ‘Travel as Performed Art’, American Journal of Sociology 94, no. 6 (1989): 1366–91. See also In Transit: Travel, Text, Empire, ed. Helen Gilbert and Anna Johnston (New York: Peter Lang, 2002). 134 T.F. Wright D o w n l o a d e d B y : [ W r i g h t , T o m ] A t : 1 8 : 1 9 8 J u n e 2 0 1 0 
work_i5dtzd2rzzbnxmkgtpadcaqbma	----	ESA's Ecological Archives Quick links Archives Home Search for archives DRYAD Log of Corrections Copyright What is Ecological Archives? For the years 1981 through 2015, Ecological Archives published materials supplemental to articles that appeared in the ESA journals (Ecology, Ecological Applications, Ecological Monographs, Ecosphere, Ecosystem Health and Sustainability and Bulletin of the Ecological Society of America), as well as peer-reviewed Data Papers with abstracts published in the printed journals. Ecological Archives is published in digital, Internet-accessible form. Ecological Archives are also hosted on FigShare. As of 2016, supplemental material and Data Papers are hosted at https://esajournals.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/ along with the journals. Contacts for Ecological Archives Data Editor: William K. Michener <[email protected]> Associate Data Editor: Jane L. Bain <[email protected]> Ecology Editor-in-Chief: Donald R. Strong Ecological Monographs Editor-in-Chief: Aaron M. Ellison (through 2015); Aimee Classen (2016 to present) Ecological Applications Editor-in-Chief: David S. Schimel Bulletin Editor-in-Chief: Edward A. Johnson Ecosphere Editor-in-Chief: Debra Peters Ecosphere Associate Managing Editor: Ellen Cotter <[email protected]> 
work_id2l55kobrdx7ogb6yjmb2ecfu	----	Making Nature Valuable, Not Profitable: Are Payments for Ecosystem Services Suitable for Degrowth? Sustainability 2015, 7, 10895-10921; doi:10.3390/su70810895 sustainability ISSN 2071-1050 www.mdpi.com/journal/sustainability Review Making Nature Valuable, Not Profitable: Are Payments for Ecosystem Services Suitable for Degrowth? Rodrigo Muniz * and Maria João Cruz Climate Change Impacts, Adaptation and Modelling (CCIAM), Centre for Ecology, Evolution and Environmental Changes (cE3c), Faculdade de Ciências, Universidade de Lisboa, Lisbon 1749-016, Portugal; E-Mail: mjcruz@fc.ul.pt * Author to whom correspondence should be addressed; E-Mail: rmusilva@fc.ul.pt; Tel.: +351-217-500-387; Fax: +351-217-500-386. Academic Editor: Marc A. Rosen Received: 20 June 2015 / Accepted: 4 August 2015 / Published: 11 August 2015 Abstract: The growth economy imposes multiple crises on humanity and the natural world. To challenge this economic growth imperative, the degrowth movement emerges as a dissident response. Although within an economic growth perspective, payments for ecosystem services (PES) have also been proposed to attenuate the negative impacts of capitalism, as a redistributive mechanism that is claimed to deliver equitable conservation and sustainability. Degrowth has notably similar concerns, although it is inclined to argue against PES traditional ideologies and practices, which lead conservation to perceive nature within economic growth and market ideologies, diminishing the relationship between humans and nature. In spite of that, PES are becoming a strong trend in environmental governance. This paper attempts to examine whether PES are, and how they could be suitable for degrowth, through the lens of its main sources. In order to integrate PES and degrowth, it could require a PES reconceptualization. Although we assert that PES are not the most appropriate instrument for conservation, we argue that maybe PES could contribute to degrowth as a transition instrument toward fostering better practices. However, it is important to elucidate how they can be used and under which circumstances they could be appropriate. Keywords: payments for ecosystem services; degrowth; biodiversity conservation; nature; valuable; commodification; neoliberal conservation; transition practices incentive OPEN ACCESS Sustainability 2015, 7 10896 1. Introduction Since the concern with global environmental changes arose within economic growth, new conservation approaches have been developed [1]. The ecosystem services (ES) approach, which is characterized as the benefits that are provided by ecosystems to humans [2–6], has become most likely the foremost trend in conservation and sustainability science, which is demonstrated by Millennium Ecosystem Assessment (MEA), The Economics of Ecosystems and Biodiversity (TEEB) and the recently established Intergovernmental science-policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES) [7]. This concept has received, over the past few years, increasing attention as a way to communicate human dependence on ecological processes, which is clearly a utilitarian reason to protect nature [8,9]. The idea of ES has opened the possibility of understanding nature within market ideologies and recognizing environmental destruction and its effects on human well-being. Following this logic, among other projects, payments for ecosystem services (PES) have emerged and have been fostered with much enthusiasm [10,11]. PES initiatives, which are characterized by rewarding environmental “resource” managers through economic benefits for their efforts in providing or maintaining ES, increasingly encourage the ecological science to measure, quantify and provide these services. Nature thus becomes transcribed into tradable goods (natural capital) and services (ecosystem services). This represents a discursive, institutional, technical and material change in conservation values [12] which has led to new ways of perceiving and relating to the natural world in a strictly economic way, restricting conservation to “[...] a nature that capital can ‘see’ [...]” [13] (p. 367) and to the “services” that nature “provides”. The reproduction of the idea of natural capital for what was once perceived as nature is part of an integrated effect of neoliberalism which has the intent of “selling nature to save it” [14], putting nature on sale through ecosystems functioning. In this sense, PES are frequently perceived as a mechanism for the neoliberalization of nature [15–17]. PES make nature economically and monetarily negotiable, which brings considerable ethical implications as well as technical difficulties [8,18–20], undermining human relationships with nature. Nevertheless, PES are becoming a sturdy trend in environmental governance and are not only shaped to work within the current economic model, but conceptually based within this model. As a counterpoint to economic growth, the degrowth perspective emerges [21]. Degrowth can be defined as an equitable and democratic transition to a moderate economy that has more contained production processes and consumption [22] and increases human wellbeing while enhancing ecological conditions in the short and long term and at both a global and local level [23]. Degrowth also addresses the concept of green economic growth, which PES integrate, challenging the notion that growth (even green growth) is a desirable path and the only path to follow [24]. Green economic growth could include efficient energy and resource uses and insinuates a socially inclusive and low-carbon society, but its main objective remains associated with growth, profit and developmentalism logic. Additionally, it has not lived up to social-ecological needs and to generating a different type of socioeconomic progress [25]. Marangon and Troiano [26] trace a parallel between degrowth and PES, arguing that they share some similarities. These authors conclude that PES can stimulate society to rethink human relations with the natural environment and could be a tool to change human patterns, aligning with degrowth Sustainability 2015, 7 10897 possibilities. Although degrowth and PES have convergence points [26], they are conceptually and ideologically far apart because degrowth is an alternative response to the economic growth model that the PES rely on. If one considers applying PES under degrowth assumptions, a substantial reconceptualization of PES would make it more suitable for degrowth. However, these adjustments could make PES hardly recognizable. Thus, we ask three main question in this paper: in spite of the differences, (1) could PES be applied under degrowth perspective? (2) would there be a need for a reconceptualization of PES? (3) if so, what type of reconceptualization would be needed? This paper analyses PES origins, definitions, objectives and main characteristics; and through the lens of the main sources of degrowth [24], examines if PES are, or how they could be, suitable for degrowth and its fundamental assumptions. It explores how PES could be reconceptualized to go beyond the traditional definitions and could contribute to degrowth as a transition instrument to foster better practices. This paper is structured as follows: Section 2 presents some fundamental ideas of degrowth as a response to the misleading way that humans perceive nature under economic growth. Section 3 notes how the idea of ES changes perceptions about the natural world. Sections 4 and 5 address the concept and origins of PES, highlighting their difficulties and contradictions. Section 6 relates PES assumptions to degrowth sources and inspirations, revealing the tensions between them. Section 7 introduces some ideas on how PES could be soluble to degrowth. The last section presents the conclusions. 2. Fundamental Assumptions of Degrowth The current political context is strongly influenced by the growth economic paradigm model. The search for profits, the high levels of consumption and production, allied with the current technologies and population growth are pushing the natural environment to its limits. The “natural resource” extraction, waste disposal, and power asymmetries are reaching the farthest places on earth. The social metabolism of advanced economics, namely the increasing flow of energy and material, have environmental and social costs, with considerable iniquities [27]. It is true that concerns about the natural environment are becoming more salient and urgent; however, these concerns have been embedded within this growth model and have been increasingly trapped in the promise of having a continuous increase and improvement in efficiency and technology [23]. The sustainable development discourse represents this contradiction very well [28–30]. Over a period of twenty years or more [31], it has failed to demonstrate the required ability to change the political environment or to change individual and collective behaviors toward mitigating social-environmental problems [22]. Societies still have a consumerist logic that exceeds their material and energy capacities, with a rooted dependency on fossil fuels [22,32]. On the other hand, the economic crisis creates opportunities to re-evaluate the way that modern human lives are shaped, the restructuring of social institutions [23,33], the reshaping of human lifestyles, repairing the loss of biodiversity, precluding social collapse and adapting to climate change [23]. To challenge this economic growth imperative, the degrowth movement emerges as a dissident response to the multiple crises [34]. Degrowth, which is a literal representation of the French word décroissance, is a voluntary process toward a transition, or even a transformation, to a social and environmental state that can be sustained [23]. Beyond the concept, degrowth is a political slogan that has significant theoretical implications [30,35], an activism that soon became a movement [24] that Sustainability 2015, 7 10898 represents an effort to re-politicize the debate around having an urgent socio-ecological transformation, and presenting an alternative proposal [24]. It is crucial to realize that the idea of degrowth is not a degrowth for degrowth’s sake, or a negative growth, and for that reason, it cannot be thought of in a symmetrical relationship with growth [30]; otherwise, the repercussions would be devastating, with significant social and environmental decadence, including economic insecurity, unemployment, tight credit, jeopardizing the health, social, educational, cultural and environment project, and even leading to a social peace collapse [21,23,30,32,34,36]. Degrowth can represent a response to the way that humans perceive nature under economic growth assumptions, avoiding the valuation of what should not have economic monetary value, such as nature, care and relations. The way that we conceive the natural world and its ecological functions can seriously reverberate in conservation policy trends. As long as we continue to understand nature as a service provider, the logic of growth will not be easily abandoned. Once degrowth emerges as a dissident process, it can require a reconsideration of pre-established concepts and values about the idea of ES and its related tools. As Cattaneo et al. [37] (p. 515) affirm, this would require “[...] avoiding the trap of getting tangled in economic proposals and an economic idiom when envisioning the transition to a degrowth society, i.e., avoiding the ‘economicism’ that characterizes industrial society and which is at the heart of the ideology of development”. 3. From Functions to Services and from Metaphor to Commoditization The idea of ES was thought to be a metaphor [38] to represent the notion that nature serves humans [19] through ecological functions. The intention of the concept was largely pedagogical, intended to draw attention to social dependence on ecological processes and justify biodiversity preservation [1,19,39]. However, what was once a metaphor became a leading conservation framework and the dominant environmental policy approach, from a local to international agenda. Still, there is an ongoing debate on how it could possibly help decision making in different policy venues [40]. Despite the popularity and apparent robustness of the concept, it is still filled with uncertainties and controversies [41]. Although the intention of ES appeared to enhance the information that is available to decision makers [3], it further provoked the utilitarian standpoint on ecosystem functions, allowing the attachment of monetary values to these services as well as their transactions through the creation of markets for them [19,42]. The “Ecosystem Marketplace”, for example, is a network made viable by ES and natural capital concepts, that clearly “seeks to become the world’s leading source of information on markets and payments schemes for ES” [43]. Thus, the market has penetrated the idea of ES. The criticism to the eruption of generalized markets [44,45] is often present in the degrowth movement [23], to the extent that markets have become the main form of human relations. This circumstance can also be extrapolated to the relationship between humans and nature, whereas human relationships with the natural world becomes mediated by economic relations of markets and commodities. Therefore, the history of ES constitutes a parallel history of commodification of ecosystem functions [1]. The idea of commodities (and its fetishism) in Marx’s theory [46] helps to explain the limitations of the ES paradigm for ecosystem functions and its associated biodiversity protection [18,47,48]. By turning ecosystem functions into services and, thus, into commodities, the biotic elements and their intrinsic relations in the ecosystems and their processes are completely ignored, leaving only what Sustainability 2015, 7 10899 interests humans: the services. ES became the commodities and not only material components, which expresses the trails of the neoliberalization over conservation [49,50]. This construction of the natural world conceptually turns the earth into a corporation that provides goods and services to be quantified, priced and traded as commodities [43,51], combining the technocratic and economic ideals in its discourse [52,53] and making a world of ES [54]. The ES approach integrates the idea of “grabbing green”, in which nature is instrumentalized and appropriated with a capital accumulation purpose [55,56], and changes the way that we perceive nature and biodiversity [53,54], also changing the entire logic of conservation. 4. Origins and Definitions of PES: from Promises to Difficulties PES have been increasingly noticeable in academia, with a substantial number of publications, as well as in political spheres worldwide, among developed and, especially, developing countries [10,11,57–60]. During its 10 years of implementation, PES have already evolved and led to the emergence of distinctive perspectives and conceptualizations [11,61–67]. The most widely used definition was proposed by Wunder [61] (p. 3), which states that PES must correspond to a “[...] (a) voluntary transaction where (b) a well-defined environmental service (or a land use likely to secure that service) (c) is being ‘bought’ by a (minimum one) service buyer (d) from a (minimum one) service provider (e) if and only if the service provider secures service provision (conditionality)”. This approach is in line with the Ronald Coase theorem. Accordingly it is an approach that favors political options that are based on markets that are characterized by the allocation of property rights to achieve optimal social levels of environmental externalities [10,11]. This perspective can be framed as an environmental economic perspective of PES, which emphasizes and prioritizes economic efficiency, and the attempt to insert and fit ES into market schemes [58,63]. The dominating bias of PES considers environmental problems to be externalities that resulted from market failures and considers that payments would be able to solve the problem of an undersupply of natural elements [10]. Because conditionality (provision of the service), additionality (to add a value in relation to the lack of action) and voluntarity (when all the parts are voluntarily involved) are not always fulfilled, in practice, a few PES schemes actually establish real markets [11,20,68]. A wide variety of PES schemes depend on other factors, such as having a strong involvement of the state and community [11,20,69]. In Latin America, Asia and Africa, most of the PES schemes are supported by a combination of funding agencies, government subsidies or donations from conservation NGOs [70], despite the strong debate on whether this support is appropriate or not. However, the more similar they are to markets, the more PES can exacerbate inequities and injustice [71], which is a clear reason to contest the PES market-based nature [69]. PES bring enthusiasm, promises, opportunities, dangers and challenges, by drawing attention to the “fatal attraction of win-win solution” [68]. One of the reasons why PES have become so popular is that they promise efficiency in natural environmental management while also contributing to poverty alleviation [10,57]. However, the main function of PES under this perspective is to improve natural resource management and economic efficiency as opposed to accomplishing poverty reduction, although the latter could be a positive effect (but a side effect) as long as it does not impair the efficiency of the scheme [11,61]. However, equity and efficiency issues are usually intertwined in PES schemes [72–74], and although (social and environmental) sustainability can be the ultimate goal, there Sustainability 2015, 7 10900 are tensions and trade-offs to be considered between these aspects (Figure 1). For example, by reaching for efficiency a large landowner could be paid to not degrade his/her land. But payments would not favor equity or poverty alleviation because payments are not targeted for small landowners who are usually in greater needs. Payments would not favor sustainability neither, since payments are usually temporary. Once payments are gone, there will be no apparent reason for the landowners to keep their land preserved. When the scheme favors equity, consequently the efficiency could also be minimized, whereas the poor that usually does not pose a threat to the natural environment receives payments to conserve. Figure 1. Typical definitions of the PES framework. PES frame their objectives within three spheres, which can have positive or1 negative interactions or trade-offs. Sustainability in this framework is generally reduced to the service level and is subjected to market-based rules. To articulate PES conceptualization with a consistent practice, Muradian et al. [11] (p. 1205) elaborated a more sensible, but broader, framework for the complexities and diversity of PES, which is defined “[...] as a transfer of resources between social actors, which aims to create incentives to align individual and/or collective land use decisions with the social interest in the management of natural resources”. This definition is more in line with ecological economics assumptions [63], in which ecological sustainability and fair distribution take precedence over market efficiency in achieving social interests. Thus, efficiency is to be considered but with no primacy given the complexities of the PES in practice [73,75]. PES are significantly dependent on political, socio-cultural and institutional contexts, reinforcing the need for a more inclusive and reflective dialogue, in order to reconcile theory and practice [11], and to increase the perception of equity in PES schemes [72,73]. This approach opens up more space for the involvement of actors that could be highly important. Nevertheless, many key actors are not considered in decisions and perceptions of natural environment management [76], and some groups can influence the PES design more than others, revealing that PES could weaken further the Sustainability 2015, 7 10901 environmental governance process [38,68], increasing inequalities and disparities in power relations, capital accumulation and the excessive power conferred to markets [68]. 5. The Case against PES 5.1. PES as Commodity Fetishism Commodities are objects and things that by their properties satisfy humans wants and desires, whatever those may be, while expressing a utility and use value. However, at the same time, commodities also have an exchange value [46]. When a commodity is produced for the markets, i.e., with the exchange-value intention, it tends to lose its relations with labor and with the previous nature of the matter of the commodity, obfuscating the social relations surrounding its production [46]. This is the commodity fetishism. Kosoy and Corbera [18] argue that PES can be characterized as commodity fetishism, while it demands to: (i) reduce ecological functions to a service level, separating these services from ecosystems as a whole; (ii) demarcate a single exchange unit for those services; and (iii) relate “providers” and “consumers” of these services in a market-based exchange. This process hides ecological complexities [8,47], an entire multiplicity of values and even some institutional asymmetries [18,20], which favor an unbalanced power relation between the people and communities that are involved as well as their relationship with nature. While few PES operate as genuine markets, the “services” are not always monetarily valued, as evidenced in some PES practices. Wunder [77] argues, as do Farley and Costanza [58], that there is not much left to characterize PES as commodity fetishism. Nevertheless, simply the idea of treating nature as an ecosystem “services” provider could lead nature to be considered as a commodity. 5.2. PES as a Neoliberalization of Nature Neoliberal capitalism is a powerful ideological and political project of global governance [78], which has been driving global political, economic and cultural pathways, providing context and addressing the way in which humans interact with one another and with nature [78,79]. The neoliberalization of nature, environments, ecologies and conservation has been approached and revisited already with some attention [50,78–87]. The ES approach reflects the capitalist paradoxical idea: to be the “[...] answer to their own ecological contradictions” [16] (p. 30). PES is a tool that is aligned to the global political economics of neoliberalism [15–17,88,89], which is built on developmentalism growth logic. Therefore, it is possible to envisage that an instrument as such can even increase the problems’ dynamics rather than mitigate them [16], further accentuating the difficulty in building more constructive and meaningful solutions to address our relationship with nature. 5.3. Natural Capital vs. Nature Nature has been, over recent decades, perceived as “natural capital” [3,90–92]. This approach is an attempt to compute nature in economic terms as well as the impacts that fall upon it. The abstraction of nature as a capital entity creates opportunities for new private rights with respect to nature, to create commodities and to establish new markets for exchange [12,51,93]. Sustainability 2015, 7 10902 It is alarming to realize that (local and global) institutional arrangements are structured to legitimize and create foundations to make real the notion of nature as capital, leading conservationist trends [93]. To this extent, humans are perceived to be an agglomerate of preferences to be satisfied and maximized from nature, which in turn is perceived as an agglomerate of resources for human satisfaction. Thereby, humans and nature are homogenized and grossly simplified [94]. The ecological crisis is not solely about a decline in natural capital but instead is mainly about the disappearance of the natural world. The current economic paradigm tends to preserve the integrity of its own entity, the capital, and when nature is conceived to be capital, it is no longer nature [94]. 5.4. Markets or Not, Is that the Question? Few PES are considered to be pure markets in practice [11,15,68,77]. The implications of PES for communities and conservation cannot be fully understood by only accounting for environmental markets and their effects and, in fact, the excessive preoccupation with PES based on markets could even prove to be not very useful in understanding the processes of PES [95]. Regardless of its direct relationship with markets, PES “masquerade as a market”, using its discourse and practices to shape human behavior and “[...] outsourcing decisions about how conservation is achieved and who benefits in the process” [95] (p. 154). Therefore, PES simulate the market metaphor, fostering the community choice to be based on market rationality, absolving conservationists from important political decisions and avoiding the complex questions that concern conservation. Instruments such as PES, even when they are not perfectly suited to market logic, tend to be seen as a new trend for conservation, intended to replace complex socio-ecological dynamics and disguise fundamental elements in environmental governance. The current economy continues to uphold its reasons by quantifying the consequences, but the changes in climate, in ecosystems and their relations with the social system dynamics augment uncertainties that are not susceptible to quantification, and humanity must be increasingly empowered to prioritize ethical issues as well as transition to an individual ethical virtue [38]. Environmental governance should consider the importance of protecting nature from human interests as well. It is important to recognize that there is a value in the natural world that exists independently of the human eye and its ability to value. 6. Relating PES to Sources of Degrowth: Highlighting the Tensions The degrowth concept has a solid basis that is rooted in philosophical, cultural, anthropological and institutional critiques of growth and development concepts [34]. Hence, degrowth is not solely related to an exclusive source and inspiration; instead, it is characterized by a variety of thoughts from social to ecological thinking [24]. These inspirational sources of degrowth were identified, systematized and developed primarily by Flipo [96,97] and should be accounted for when relating PES with degrowth. Six sources have been identified [24], and all of them are fundamental to developing a degrowth-compatible mechanism (Figure 2). Sustainability 2015, 7 10903 Figure 2. Conceptual framework of the objectives of a degrowth-compatible mechanism. The arrows represent synergies (positive feedback) instead of trade-offs between the objectives, which are essential in such a framework. The first is the Ecology source, which represents the recognition that ecosystems are worthwhile by themselves, not only by their instrumental value or their utility for humans as ES [24] but also by revealing a respect for living beings in their various dimensions [23]. This environmentalism tradition radically diverges from the domination of humans over nature and reflects some inspiration from Deep Ecology, Land Ethics and other environmental ethics movements [97,98]. PES are anchored on the concept of ES, treating nature as capital and commodity and ignoring other valuation languages, including the intrinsic value. Consequently, PES do not seem to be compatible with this source of degrowth to the extent that this source recognizes the intrinsic value in the midst of a plurality of values. The second source, Critiques of development and praise for anti-utilitarianism, comes from anthropological origins that seek to dismantle the hegemonic imaginary of development and argue for anti-utilitarianism logic [24,96]. This culturalistic critique of development pulsates in the theories of François Partant, Gilbert Rist, and Serge Latouche and also in the works of André Gorz and Jacques Grinevald, especially in relationship to environmental problems that are generated by productivism [22]. PES is an instrument that is aligned with the neoliberalization of nature, which attests to productivism and its facets. Traditionally, PES aim to make natural environment management (economically) efficient, with their main objective being the maximization of ES in a utilitarian logic, regardless of, ultimately, who pays and who gets paid. Therefore, this approach causes (or strengthens) a chain of inequities and inequalities in which nature is mislaid by being reduced to the level of services and the developmentalism utility. This second inspiration, as is well known by the culturalistic critique, unveils the economic imaginary that economic growth and development are by themselves the solution to social and environmental problems and constitute a reason of their own [30]. The concept of sustainable development strongly represents this idea, which is considered to be an oxymoron by the degrowth movement [21,24,30]. PES is one more caricature of green claims of growth that are imbued with the concept of sustainable development. Sustainability 2015, 7 10904 According to anti-utilitarian sources of degrowth, the utilitarian maximization and self-interest as driving forces of human behavior are criticized [24]. Degrowth intends to overcome the human identification as a strictly economic agent, the homo economicus, encouraging a new imagery in which human culture and identity are fostered by sharing, gifting and reciprocity, a culture where conviviality and social relations are not mediated by economic thinking [24,99]. PES are an expression of the expansion of economic mediations of human relations to environmental governance. The payment for the conservation of ecosystem functions “crowds out” the intrinsic motivation for conservation [18,20,68,100]. PES can also favor a “crowds in” scenario [77] but at the cost of corruption of the relation between humans and nature [94] because the payment breaks with a commitment (to preserve, whether by nature or human well-being) and fosters a behavior through incentives that are often monetary. This source of degrowth represents discontentment toward the role that monetary-economic transactions or market-based transactions increasingly play in human relationships and society [99,101]. Degrowth authors, in general, believe that PES could represent a threat in terms of the generalized advance of markets (even when PES do not represent pure markets), whilst the values that govern human relations eventually follow the profit and market logic [21] that could jeopardize a more robust governance. Thus, PES do not appear to be adequate for this source of degrowth. The third source arises from a search that is ever more present in modern societies for a meaningful life and well-being [24]. This inspiration is a counterpoint to the modern lifestyle, which is fundamentally based on “[...] working more, earning more, selling more and buying more” [24] (p. 197). The actors in the PES schemes (buyers, providers and “brokers”) play the role of homo economicus. The so-called ecosystem service provider intends to preserve nature only if the payments cover its opportunity costs. The PES, thereby, favor the self-interest behaviors that are fostered by economic incentives; they reinforce land tenure importance and the notion of the appropriation of nature. The importance of land tenure also creates tension between efficiency and fairness. More informed landowners and those with their land boundaries secured would be more eligible to participate in a PES scheme, while traditional and other disadvantaged people would have their chances diminished or completely ignored. Degrowth comes with some inspirations from Henry David Thoreau (Walden, Life in the Woods), Pierre Rabhi (Happy Sobriety), Serge Mongeau (Voluntary Simplicity), E.F. Schumacher (Small is Beautiful) and J.C. Kumarappa (Economy of Permanence) [24], and more recently seeking inspirations in the Buen Vivir movement in South America [102]. It does not appear that such inspirations match situations in which PES are expected to be applied. Wunder [61] (p. 12) admits that “[...] what seems certain is that neither the ‘ecologically noble savage’ who fully safeguards his or her environment, nor the impoverished farmer too poor to do significant ecological damage, will emerge on the scene as major [ES] sellers”, leaving PES to those who actually pose a threat, i.e., “[...] the ideal [ES] seller is, if not outright environmentally nasty, then at least potentially about to become so”. Thus, the implementation of PES, in many cases, accentuates inequalities. Even when PES tend to emphasise rural development by including not only efficiency but also the reduction of inequities and poverty alleviation, they rely on the same development that endangers equity and poverty reduction. The term bioeconomy, which was introduced by Nicholas Georgescu-Roegen, is the fourth source of degrowth; this concept is mainly related to ecological economics and their foundations [24,27] and to “Limits to Growth” [103,104] in current human economy, i.e., the ecosystem limits to satisfy human Sustainability 2015, 7 10905 subjectivities. The steady state economy represents a response to the current economy [105], as well as the degrowth movement. However, Jackson [32] demonstrates that even when slowing down the consumption of energy and materials, a stationary state would not be sufficient when accounting for the current state of an ecosystem, especially in rich countries, which implies that decreasing the consumption would be crucial. According to Kershner [106], degrowth could be considered to be a path for reaching the ideal stationary state. This source is, perhaps, the source of degrowth that becomes closest to PES. PES have been developed within both environmental and ecological economics [58,63], albeit there have sometimes been different discourses, concepts and applications. If degrowth claims a reduction in material and energy consumption, then PES can be a tool that makes this process more economically efficient with regard to the natural elements that are covered by human interests, i.e., the ES. Although degrowth does not intend to overlook technological improvements [21], it criticizes having blind faith in technology and the notion that modernization, efficiency and innovation will solve the problems of the ecological crisis [24,30] and it brings a word of warning to the unlimited growth that technological ability promotes or even the biophysical limits that technology tends to overcome. This consideration is thoroughly discussed by the “Jevons paradox”, or the so-called “rebound effect”, which argues that the impacts that are avoided or reduced by technology and efficiency are outsourced and reallocated elsewhere [23,107]. The more similar they are to markets, the more PES favor the rebound effect. Thus, the more the provision of services is optimized, the more the services are consumed and the more their consumption is justified. Carbon and biodiversity credits and the optimization of the so-called ES in the developing and poor countries largely favor the developed and rich countries to sustain their consumption and lifestyle. The fundamental role of democracy on degrowth assumptions makes it the fifth source of degrowth [24]. The need for a revitalization or a complete transformation of the democratic process has been discussed with respect to degrowth [37,108]. In its traditional definition, PES demand a voluntary participatory process [10], although in practice, this condition is not always fulfilled [11,58,63]. PES work very often through non-voluntary and mandatory fees or charges (especially in watershed PES cases, in which buyers pay with their water bills, sometimes without even knowing that they are involved in a PES scheme [11]). Thus, at least from the buyer’s side, it is not required, in practice, to have voluntary participation. Situations such as these, which are institutionally legitimized, undermine some of the democratic assumptions, weakening trust in democracy or simply misleading democracy perceptions. Voluntariness, however, is critical in the involvement of the providers. Many providers are “forced” to attend because of their vulnerable condition [11], which reveals ethical, justice and democratic fragilities. Economic monetary rules can affect social norms [109] and can also undermine the democratic process. The main purpose of PES is to achieve economic efficiency of environmental management, which is often skewed by market logic, surpassing the plurality of values on perceiving the natural environment as well as disregarding other conservation options. When the instrument overcomes the socio-ecological context, the technique overcomes, to some extent, human control of it [22,24,110,111]. PES relations with the democracy source of degrowth are also conditioned to the institutional design. The choice for PES is critical and it is essential that executors do not attempt to adjust the institutions Sustainability 2015, 7 10906 when applying PES but instead recognize that they should not be applied arbitrarily while denying the history of the social-ecological relationships that are at stake. Justice emerges as the sixth source of inspiration [24]. Degrowth seeks to explore ways in which sustainability and justice are compatible, assuming inequities reduction to be critical, also opting for large scale redistribution, sharing of excessive incomes and wealth and less competition [24], accordingly to the second and third source. Aristotle distinguished two main types of justice: distributive justice concern how the benefits and burdens should be distributed; and corrective justice related to punishment and compensation [112], or retributive justice. However, many contemporary theories of justice stand for a broader perspective than how things are distributed [113], or how they are compensated. Thus, beyond distributional justice, we could present procedural justice, justice as recognition [114,115], justice as capabilities [116,117], also with components of participatory justice. Justice that includes not only theories about recognition, participation and social structure, but the intuition about them [113]. Nevertheless, debates about justice (in terms of fairness and equity) and efficiency are perhaps the most pronounced issue in PES, revealing that justice is frequently undermined in general sense, especially in terms of distribution. Evidence shows that the elite (large landowners) largely profit from PES resources, while the poorest and most vulnerable are not benefited as much [118] or are even harmed. In Brazilian Amazon, for example, even when payment is universal, the largest landowners (usually those most responsible for deforestation) end up capturing most of the PES resources [67]. In addition to this relationship between efficiency and equity, there are also ethical issues, especially when a PES beneficiary choice is based on competitive criteria that are purely grounded in market logic, which in turn favors those who have better resources to ensure additionality or land tenure [11]. The opportunity cost of this type of landowner is very high and is difficult to cover. Because the poorest have a lower opportunity cost, they can be persuaded to accept a PES scheme at very low cost. The question is whether this acceptance, under such conditions, is voluntary or forced because their condition of vulnerability and poverty can hinder their capacity to refuse to participate in any scheme of PES [11]. These inequities are also extrapolated to the global level. “The Reducing Emission from Deforestation and Degradation” (REDD+) has been endorsed by the market-based model, using PES principles as models [70,71], and thus, the REDD+ can be conceptualized as the largest PES experiment on a global scale [100]. The logic of the neoliberalization of nature when applied to REDD+ and PES reinforces inequities between urban and rural, rich and poor, among generations, and between North and South countries [71]. The lower the opportunity cost is, the lower the offset costs, and in the world market, labor, land and life are cheaper in developing countries; therefore, people are willing to accept less for conservation [71], which reflects and strengthens the idea that the “poor sell cheap” [119]. In this respect, therefore, PES have not been shown to be compatible with degrowth and its relationship with justice. REDD+ and PES (and especially the integration of both) contribute to conservation in utilitarian terms, denying ethical terms and endangering socio-ecological complexities [100]. The more preserved the poorest countries are, the more reasons the wealthiest countries have to justify their lifestyles because their consumptions are compensated. PES and REDD+ could favor this indolence of the wealthiest countries, revealing an obfuscation of a serious environmental governance and political will. Although from a more deontological justice perspective, it is necessary to have degrowth in the Sustainability 2015, 7 10907 lifestyles of more affluent groups, in the countries of both the North and South. This circumstance implies cultural changes in which production and consumption are much less enticing [24]. Although the distributional issue seems to sum up in relation to PES, it is not just a matter of distributional justice, but justice as recognition and capabilities. Those that are less well-off in this schemes of distribution are surpassed in terms of recognition [113]. Young [114] (p. 34) argues that “[...] for a norm to be just, everyone who follow it must in principle have an effective voice in its consideration and be able to agree to it without coercion”. If communities are not recognized, there is a barrier to their participation. She continuous “[...] for a social condition to be just it must enable all to meet their needs and exercise their freedom; thus justice requires that all be able to express their needs”. Then, the non-recognition and also misrecognition leads to an institutionalization of social subordination [115]. PES if not thoroughly thought through can institutionalize patterns of non-recognition and misrecognition by ignoring socioecological context and local voices within their implementation [120]. The lack of recognition is a harm such as maldistribution. The argument of recognition leads us to the justice as capabilities. According to this theory the focus on distribution of goods is not sufficient, requiring to expand to how these goods can be transformed to propitiate individuals and communities to flourish [113,116,117]. Again, according to the second and third sources, the opportunity to flourish is aligned with degrowth. However, are PES able to provide the necessary capacities for individuals and communities to fully choose for what they value? In fact, there are situations where communities could manifest against the traditional PES, revaluing the rural environment [69,121]. Nevertheless, there is a variety of reasons to be caution about social justice that could stimulate an exclusionary governance. The benefits for communities and ecosystems are frequently surpassed by the profit logic of markets which seek to control who will benefit and what ecosystems receive priority [122], for example, the displacement of indigenous and traditional knowledge and values by the logic of ES and its quantification. Also, the unequal access to participate, the uneven distribution of benefits, the accumulation by dispossession are usually part of the process of PES [122], likely suffocating participation and outsourcing local decisions. Participation is crucial to define justice as capabilities, [113] and to ensure opportunities for people to develop the qualities to choose what they consider valuable [116,117], to be empowered in their decisions. This could also be considered a procedural gap, whereas procedural justice can be framed as the fairness of participation [123]. It should be noted that the Southern countries should also be dedicated to degrowth as a commitment to the planet and to the “good life”, which must be disentangled from unbridled economic growth. To some extent, reducing poverty for the poorest can only be solved by some economic growth because people who are in these conditions are not voluntarily committed to low consumption but are forced by their social realities and contexts. However, perhaps it is true that Southern developing countries must avoid falling into the same stalemate of the Northern developed countries: that economic growth will solve all of their problems [30]. The Buen Vivir movement, in Equador, is a great example. The core of the movement dismantle the material mechanistic and endless accumulation present in the ideology of progress and economic growth, reinforcing that humans realize themselves with each other but in harmony with nature [102,124,125]. Another way to understand justice in degrowth is the demand for repairing injustices of the past [24], given colonial explorations of the Northern over Southern countries, for example, which is a process Sustainability 2015, 7 10908 that hides histories and cultures. The socio-environmental justice movements demonstrate the compatibility between justice and degrowth by noting the need for rich countries to contain their ecological debts through having economic degrowth, which implies a lower social metabolism [27,119]. PES and REDD+, as designed, can be harmful instruments that can cause negative impacts to developing countries over the years [100] and still reinforce colonialism logic, i.e., when the Southern countries have their territories administered and dominated by the Northern powers, by a variation of traditional means [126,127]. PES can work in certain situations and can benefit some people and sometimes even the natural environment (especially what is conventionally called ES). Otherwise, it would not have attracted as much attention. However, PES work within the same economic growth logic that is largely denied by degrowth. The relation developed here is essentially conceptual and ideological. Nonetheless, it is a warning that although both degrowth and PES have convergence points [26], they are far apart, being almost opposite both conceptually and ideologically. The following section presents some suggestions to make PES more favorable, which implies a reconceptualization of some of their fundamental ideas. 7. Calling for a Reconceptualization? Brockington [60] (p. 368) “predicts” that “PES schemes will likely occur ever more frequently, and the vigor of its advocates is unlikely to cease. This is a force with which environmentalists and conservationists will have to contend and engage”. If Brockinton’s “prophecy” is to become true, would there be a need for an actual reconceptualization of PES? If so, what type of reconceptualization would be needed? Conservation is not only about the natural world; it is also about people, about bringing people back to nature or at least leading them to care about it. Thus, we must think of PES as not an instrument for conserving biodiversity but as a mechanism for encouraging a transition from conventional practices to better practices and “better ways” of living. That arrangement should be, perhaps, the role of PES under degrowth assumptions, to incentivize that transition and make possible a context of resilience, autonomy and self-sufficiency. However, for that goal to occur, it is important to leave behind some of PES’s ideas. First, conservation should not be thought to be mainly within the ES approach. PES must be prepared to provide biodiversity protection instead of service provision. Nature is not a service provider; a tree is not only wood nor the carbon and equivalences stored. Of course, ecosystem functioning is fundamental to us humans, but it is not for humans. The idea of ES understates the ecological complexity and human relationship with nature. Nevertheless, the message is not to “throw away” the entire concept; the metaphor can be pedagogical and useful, but we should be very careful when the metaphor becomes a framework. It is important to recognize that nature is morally considerable, by its intrinsic and inherent value. It does not mean that human interests would be denied or neglected but that they could be adjusted to nature’s interests as well. It is a call for an ethical consideration, as McCauley [128] (p. 27) argues: “[...] to make significant and long-lasting gains in conservation, we must strongly assert the primacy of ethics and aesthetics in conservation. We must act quickly to redirect much of the effort now being devoted to the commodification of nature back towards instilling a love for nature in more people”. We should complement with instilling a sense of duty, virtue, responsibility and precaution. Alternatively Sustainability 2015, 7 10909 to a utilitarian perspective, Kosoy and Corbera [18] (p. 1234) find that “[...] PES would concentrate instead on environmental ethics, [...] and discarding any attempt to price and market them [ecosystem functioning] as a way to foster conservation”. Moral and economic consideration can lead to different directions. What should be the pathway to follow? There is a plurality of values to be considered in regard to conserving nature and biodiversity, and the intrinsic value is one of them. To foster a transition and to be in line with both degrowth and conservation, PES should also be capable of recognizing the diversity of values around nature, renouncing the unifying monetary perspective that represents the single exchange-value, which is embedded in the ES approach. That would be the second step. Evidently, nature has, besides an intrinsic value, a eudaemonistic, fundamental and instrumental value [129,130]. The plurality of values around nature is essential to reaching a balance, and PES, in their actual configurations, predominantly ignore other languages of valuation. Kosoy et al. [76] (p. 2082) argue that “PES should be viewed as a window of opportunity, allowing for a coexistence of value systems rather that imposing a language of valuation”. However, it is very important to state that this should not be an opportunity for the accumulation of capital and profit, as intended by the capitalist mainstream [87,88]; instead, it should be intended for stimulating others to adopt a virtuous relationship within nature. As stated by O’Neill [131] (p. 24) “[...] care for the natural world is constitutive of a flourishing human life. The best human life is one that includes an awareness of and practical concern with the goods and entities in the non-human world”. That consideration leads us to the third aspect: PES market character must be abandoned. Although most of the PES schemes do not represent a market per se, they are purely based on market ideals. Therefore, even when PES are not actual markets, in practice, they work as masquerade markets, influencing the way that we contend with conservation: avoiding important decisions in regard to conservation, outsourcing them from where and how it should be taken, and deviating from the recognition that humans are responsible for their decisions and actions. The growth economy demands a continuous valuation of what has no monetary value and should not have (such as nature, care and relations) to integrate it in the logic of markets and profit at the cost of the degradation of its essence and their alternative value systems [21]. The answer cannot simply rely on the question “to value or not to value” nature monetarily [132], but as long as the market ideals are increasingly supported, the growth paradigm will continue to be encouraged. PES, then, should abandon the logic of “buyers, providers, intermediaries and regulators”, to reach a more holistic livelihood perspective [66] in which social equity, environmental justice, local livelihood context and local socio-ecological context must be embedded. With a holistic perspective, PES could be disentangled from their market ideology (even when they are not actual markets) and could be able to attend the plurality of values and allow other languages to be considered. To be in line with the degrowth perspective, for example, it would be desirable that PES should not be applied to those who pose a threat to the environment and instead should follow social equity matters [73]. In practice, PES favour large landowners [67,118,133], and PES can be very inclined to create a lucrative and tendentious market in which the objectives (conservation or equity distribution) could get lost. One of the presuppositions of degrowth would be to reduce these inequalities and support local communities, small landowners and collective properties. Sustainability 2015, 7 10910 We must think about the resilience of the system, integrating the ecological vulnerability and human vulnerability and attempting to answer what people need to reduce ecological vulnerabilities and at the same time improve their overall socio-ecological resilience. PES, to be suitable for degrowth, should create conditions for a retro-feeding mechanism (described in Figure 3) to reach another level; i.e., the incentives would be only an initial opportunity (as a transition instrument) to create socio-ecological resilience and autonomy. Figure 3. Conceptual trajectory from an ecosystem services approach to a Transition Framework. This spiraling trajectory represents an ever increasing awareness and improved socio-environmental quality and can be supported by incentives such as PES. It states that to obtain the best and most long-lasting social-ecological outcomes, such incentives must be integrated in a holistic perspective. To be a conservation mechanism that is compatible with degrowth, PES should create conditions to transition practices, acting as a transitory incentive to make possible the transition from a vicious to a virtuous practice. For example, PES schemes could be directed to convert conventional agriculture into agroecological systems, which avoid the use of agrochemicals, prevent soil degradation and water contamination as well as improve soil and water quality, improve productivity, and create corridors to biodiversity flux [134]. They also have beneficial social implications, in terms of improvements in livelihood, food security and sovereignty as well as technological and energetic sovereignty [134,135]. PES should favor other ideal practices and “better ways” of life (such as agroecology itself, permaculture ideologies, traditional and indigenous knowledge and communities and other neo-rural movements). That arrangement would be a way to enforce PES in which ideals, practices and movements would be incentivized to reach resilient socio-ecological outcomes. Figure 4 shows some practices that are mostly associated with agroecology and that could be fostered and result in socio-ecological outcomes that are suited to degrowth. These are practices and perceptions that can also be found in other Sustainability 2015, 7 10911 systems, such as permaculture [136], traditional indigenous knowledge and communities [134,137] and neo-rural movements [138] and can sometimes be inspired by them. Figure 4. Agroecological-related practices and their general socio-ecological outcomes. In the central ellipse, there are some general examples of agroecological practices (and related practices, which are also in line with some other systems and movements such as permaculture, traditional and indigenous knowledge, neo-rural movements and transitions networks, for example). The grey circles represent some general socio-ecological outcomes that derive from the practices in the central ellipse and, thus, make these practices suitable for degrowth sources and inspirations (Based on [134,136]). The fourth aspect is that PES should avoid monetary payment or the logic of such payments. Payments could break a commitment, and incentives could foster a commitment. For example, payments in PES are often arranged to cover opportunity costs, and if they do not fulfil that purpose, the conservation, or even the so-called “services”, could be undermined. The logic of payment crowds out the intrinsic motivation [20,100] to change; then, the willingness to accept will be more enticing than the willingness to change. An incentive, such as technical assistance, for example, does not require covering an opportunity cost but could offer an opportunity to change. If we want to change some of the practices, then incentives can be crucial. The incentive is not a payment to conserve, or even less to provide a service, but to change practices and even empower people. People are responsible for their practices. PES are conventionally built to outsource the decisions from the hands of those who work with the land, but they must, instead, be giving power to the people, placing the decision in their hands, according to their contexts, i.e., localizing decisions. Instead of taking people out of the land [43,44], under degrowth assumptions, PES should be “taking people back to nature”. Diversify (landscapes, biota and economics) Maintain undisturbed areas as buffer zones Minimize toxics Use biological, renewable, naturally-ocurring and local elements Local Currency Promote multi-directional transfer of knowledge Enhance recycling of biomass Integrated water management Ensure that local people control their development process Organic Production Perennial polycultures Bioconstruction Development of tailored technologies Adaptability to environmental heterogeneity and constraints Preservation of culture and ethnoscience Survival under conditions of economic uncertainty Improvement of local agroecosystems Localizing Decisions and economy Allows another language between humans and natureMaintenance of local and natural elements (soil, water, biodiversity) Lower dependence on external inputs Enhanced food self-sufficiency General Socio-Ecological Outcomes Agroecology and related practices Empowerment Sustainability 2015, 7 10912 In summary (Figure 3), PES must expand their horizons and be thought of beyond the ES approach and, consequently, beyond services provision. They must recognize a plurality of values around nature and biodiversity in regard to conservation. Then, PES must abandon the logic of market and buyer/provider schemes to be able to promote a holistic perspective (in which social equity, environmental justice, livelihood context and socio-ecological context must be embedded). Next, PES should avoid monetary payments and focus on (non-monetary) incentives. Thus, PES should work as a mechanism that creates opportunities to foster a practice transition, leading to self-sufficient and resilient socio-ecological outcomes. The main idea is that PES would favor a tipping point, or a transition point, thus creating a new state or improved socio-ecological condition that becomes self-sustainable instead of being only a mechanism for artificially maintaining a higher “ecosystem services” state while the incentive is present that will fall back to the previous state once the incentives are gone, as often happens. At this point, perhaps, we should leave the acronym PES and possibly call it by another name: Transition Practices Incentive (TPI), which ideally do not focus on the monetary perspective, but on a platform and a network of practices and knowledge that can support the general socio-ecological outcomes and provide conditions and opportunities for cosmovisions beyond the current economic paradigm. To be considered a suitable conservation instrument, PES should be capable of protecting biodiversity and, thus, making nature valuable, not profitable: valuable as a precious entity that deserves care-taking and as an entity for whom we ought to have moral consideration. 8. Conclusions We argued in this paper that PES are aligned with the neoliberalization of nature, which is built on the logic of economic development growth. Leaning on the ES approach, PES diminish the relationship between humans and nature, reducing it to a single exchange unity, and thus ignores the plurality of languages around this relation. PES are conceptualized as commodity fetishism and also reproduce the idea of natural capital to represent what once was perceived as nature. Whether PES are characterized as market or not, they discourage a more serious governance that is concerned with ethical and justice assumptions, for humans and the non-human world. Nature should not be perceived as capital nor ecosystem functioning as services; therefore, there should not even exist payments for ecosystem services. Based on these assumptions, PES should not be considered to be soluble to degrowth ideals. Some similarities have been raised between the two perspectives [26], but this is not sufficient to justify the application of PES, in their current configuration, under degrowth assumptions. Conceptually and ideologically, degrowth and PES are very distant, almost opposites, at least when accounting for traditional definitions of PES and the main sources and inspirations of degrowth. Nevertheless, PES have been proposed as a redistributive mechanism between social groups [139] and have been described as one of the “[...] best suited instruments to deliver equitable conservation outcomes at the heart of ecological economist’s concerns for nature, justice, and sustainability” [77] (p. 230). Additionally, PES proponents claim that implementation will stimulate society to rethink human relations with the natural environment and to be a tool for changing human patterns of consumption and production, and counteract the negative impacts of capitalism [26]. Degrowth is an emergent Sustainability 2015, 7 10913 movement that has very similar concerns; although it tends to argue against PES traditional ideologies and practices. It is important, however, to perceive that PES in practice, in their current configuration, in spite of some beneficial results, might not be the appropriate instrument to be applied to degrowth, nor to protect and conserve nature and biodiversity. On the other hand, PES might incentivize some practices, which in turn have socio-ecological outcomes that could be suited to degrowth. However, PES would have to leave behind some of their fundamental assumptions and go further. Thus, PES (i) must abandon the logic of service provision and move beyond the ES approach to (ii) recognize a plurality of values and languages around nature and biodiversity when addressing conservation while renouncing the unified monetary perspective that represents a single exchange-value. Then, PES (iii) should abandon their market ideals (the logic of payments and buyers/providers), (iv) to be able to promote a holistic perspective, recognizing that there is more to be considered (social equity; environmental justice; livelihood context; socio- ecological context and so on). Henceforth, PES (v) should avoid monetary payments. Once the logic of payments is abandoned, PES could be a mechanism of (non-monetary) incentives for creating opportunities to enable a practice transition that would finally achieve resilient socio-ecological outcomes that could be suitable to degrowth assumptions. However, there is not much in such a reconceptualization that resembles PES, which we could call Transition Practices Incentive. We are aware that such alternative requires a more careful design and in depth elaboration. How to implement such alternative perspective also needs to be advanced. Our analyses developed here are essentially conceptual and ideological. In fact, there are no well-known attempts that aimed to align both perspectives in practice; and thus there are no substantive research that shows that they could not be compatible in a practice manner. Nonetheless, there are many practices and knowledge that are built on the land and inspired by cosmovisions that foster a harmonious relationship with others and with nature. Future research could (re)explore conservation based on non-commodified values, and to “bring people back to nature”. The intention is not to completely deny the ES approach. There is no unconditional statement that ES cannot be acknowledged in a degrowth scenario. However, the concept of ES and the tools that are associated with it (as PES and markets for ES) should not be “taken for granted” and should be used with caution and awareness of its uncertainties and controversies [41] (p. 120). By employing this approach, it must be clear that the overall mission is to “[...] protect nature, not make it turn a profit” [128] (p. 28). It is important to better understand how this approach can be used, where it is or is not appropriate (or even unhelpful) [130], notwithstanding comprehending that an approach such as PES is not an inexorable pathway. Acknowledgments Rodrigo Muniz wishes to thank the “Brazilian National Counsel of Technological and Scientific Development” (CNPq—Conselho Nacional de Desenvolvimento Científico e Tecnológico) and the “Science Without Borders Programme” (Ciência sem Fronteiras,) for the financial support (PhD scholarship). The authors would also like to thank two anonymous reviewers for their comments and suggestions. Sustainability 2015, 7 10914 Author Contributions Rodrigo Muniz is responsible for designing, developing and writing the article. 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work_ifayt2ptazd75ov2hf4ogteshu	----	The Evolving Ethics of Dialysis in the United States: A Principlist Bioethics Approach Ethics Series The Evolving Ethics of Dialysis in the United States: A Principlist Bioethics Approach Catherine R. Butler,* Rajnish Mehrotra,† Mark R. Tonelli,‡ and Daniel Y. Lam§ Abstract Throughout the history of dialysis, four bioethical principles — beneficence, nonmaleficence, autonomy and justice — have been weighted differently based upon changing forces of technologic innovation, resource limitation, and societalvalues.Inthe 1960s,a committee of lay peopleinSeattle attempted tofairly distribute a limited number of maintenance hemodialysis stations guided by considerations of justice. As technology advanced and dialysis was funded under an amendment to the Social Security Act in 1972, focus shifted to providing dialysis for all in need while balancing the burdens of treatment and quality of life, supported by the concepts of beneficence and nonmaleficence. At the end of the last century, the importance of patient preferences and personal values became paramount in medical decisions, reflecting a focus on the principle of autonomy. More recently, greater recognition that health care financial resources are limited makes fair allocation more pressing, again highlighting the importance of distributive justice. The varying application and prioritization of these four principles to both policy and clinical decisions in the United States over the last 50 years makes the history of hemodialysis an instructive platform for understanding principlist bioethics. As medical technology evolves in a landscape of changing personal and societal values, a comprehensive understanding of an ethical framework for evaluating appropriate use of medical interventions enables the clinician to systematically negotiate and optimize difficult ethical situations. Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 11: 704–709, 2016. doi: 10.2215/CJN.04780515 Introduction Though hemodialysis was conceived in the 1940s, maintenance dialysis only became feasible in 1960 when the Quinton–Scribner shunt allowed repeated vascular access (1). However, the technology itself does not determine which patients are most appropri- ately treated, and the indications for dialysis initiation would be vigorously debated for decades to come. The early days of dialysis will long be tied to the controver- sial life and death decisions of the Admissions and Pol- icy Committee of the Seattle Artificial Kidney Center (2). Traditionally the protected realm of autonomous individual physicians, allocation of medical resources was for the first time in the hands of people without medical training, including philosophers, lawyers, and citizens, a transition that historian David Rothman and bioethics scholar Albert Jonsen said signaled the entrance of bioethics into medicine (3,4). The sociologist Judith Swazey noted, “Patient selection was certainly the most visible and therefore most discussed issue posed by the limited availability of chronic dialysis in the early 1960s, but it was by no means the only trou- bling matter that this procedure raised for medical tech- nologies. The Seattle group was struggling . . . with a number of issues that at once were medical, moral, social, and would become major foci of those who wan- dered in and became known as bioethicists.” (5) As Swazey alludes, appropriate use of dialysis was a har- binger for many bioethical challenges now regularly encountered during the development of new technolo- gies such as transplantation, extracorporeal membrane oxygenation, and artificial organs. Dilemmas related to ESRD feature prominently in Beauchamp and Chil- dress’ 1979 text describing principlism, one of the first and still a dominant model of biomedical ethical anal- ysis (6). Several alternative frameworks of ethical rea- soning have been developed since, including casuistry, narrative-based ethics and virtue-based ethics (7). As a seminal model of ethical analysis, principlism lays the foundation for other strategies. We will examine the history of dialysis through the lens of principlism, elu- cidating the four principles — beneficence, nonmalefi- cence, autonomy and justice — as each come into focus over this chronology (Figure 1). Justice and Scarce Resources: The “Life or Death Committee” The Seattle Admissions and Policy Committee When the Seattle Artificial Kidney Center (later renamed Northwest Kidney Centers) opened in 1961, there were an estimated 5–20 candidates for mainte- nance dialysis per million people annually (8). With an estimated cost of at least $12,000 per patient each year and only three available machines, treating even that number would overwhelm the center’s capacity (8). The physician Medical Advisory Committee re- duced the number of potential patients using medical suitability criteria including comorbidities (excluding those with long-standing hypertension, coronary artery disease, and vascular disease), ability to participate in care coordination, and age, as well as several nonmedical *Division of General Internal Medicine and §Division of Nephrology, Department of Medicine, Harborview Medical Center, University of Washington, Seattle, Washington; †Kidney Research Institute and Harborview Medical Center, Division of Nephrology, Department of Medicine, University of Washington, Seattle, Washington; and ‡Division of Pulmonary and Critical Care, Department of Medicine, University of Washington, Seattle, Washington Correspondence: Dr. Catherine R. Butler, Division of General Internal Medicine, Harborview Medical Center, 325 Ninth Avenue, Campus Box 359780, Seattle, WA, 98104. Email: cathb@ u.washington.edu www.cjasn.org Vol 11 April, 2016704 Copyright © 2016 by the American Society of Nephrology mailto:cathb@u.washington.edu mailto:cathb@u.washington.edu criteria (requiring residence in the Pacific Northwest and personal financial viability) (5). To choose among remaining medically appropriate candidates, the Admissions and Policy Committee was appointed, composed of seven citizens: a law- yer, clergyman, housewife, banker, labor leader, state official, and surgeon; chosen to represent broader societal values (8). The panel considered several methods of allocation, including random selection and “first-come, first-served,” before ultimately settling on social worth as the main criterion for selection. Social worth, in the committee’s assessment, derived from a combination of characteristics including age, sex, mar- ital status, number of dependents, income, net worth, emo- tional stability, education, occupation, and potential for future societal contributions. During meetings, the committee debated the relative merits of individuals in terms of these qualities, but without a systematic form of evaluation. An ar- ticle in Life Magazine by Shana Alexander brought this “Life or Death Committee” into the public awareness (2), where it re- ceived criticism for representing narrow, white middle class values (8). A scathing critique published in the UCLA Law Review noted, “the Pacific Northwest is no place for a Henry David Thoreau with bad kidneys.” (9) Justice and an Absolutely Limited Resource Faced with demand outstripping available dialysis ma- chines and funding, the Seattle Artificial Kidney Center was placed in the unenviable position of being unable to provide for every patient in need. In this context, the principle of justice took a primary role in defining appropriate use of dialysis. Justice relates to the fair treatment of persons or groups. More specifically, distributive justice describes how resources, such as physician time, technology, and medica- tions, are allocated to individuals and populations. The early experience of dialysis allocation raised several fundamental concerns regarding rationing of medical resources, or the withholding of a beneficial intervention from one individual or group while offering it to another. While it is tempting to simply claim that rationing dialysis or other medical resources is itself unethical, it becomes unavoidable when resources, such as a certain number of dialysis machines, cannot be subdivided and are consequently absolutely limited. If ra- tioning must occur, the salient questions focus on the criteria of distribution, including who should decide on these criteria. Although physicians traditionally serve as gatekeepers of medical resources, some are concerned that the act of rationing makes a doctor a “double agent” who compromises his duty as patient advocate when tasked with allocation of a limited resource (10). The Admissions and Policy Committee addressed this concern by taking some responsibility from the hands of physicians. Still, members of the Medical Advi- sory Committee played a large part in the initial selection process. It is not clear that physicians, who often have a unique perspective in understanding nuances of individual medical contexts, would or should totally abdicate this role (11). Criteria of distribution generally fall into two broad categories. Egalitarian criteria prioritize equal treatment (i.e., free-market, random distribution by lottery, first-come first-served) while utilitarian criteria attempt to maximize benefit (i.e., likelihood or duration of medical benefit, poten- tial or past contribution to society, merit) across a popula- tion. A precedent for using utilitarian criteria for medical decisions has been established in battlefield triage, during which prioritization is given to those most useful, for exam- ple, soldiers who would be able to return to battle (12). In the civilian context, the proper distribution criteria are less clear. In the early days of dialysis, both the physician and layperson dialysis selection panels based their allocation decisions on various utilitarian criteria, including medical suitability and social worth. Social worth criteria have been extensively criticized for what, in retrospect, are subjective and potentially unfair discriminatory distinctions. Unlike in war, when a common goal of survival or victory unites different people, civilian life is composed of individuals with different value systems working towards varying goals. This made the Seattle Artificial Kidney Center’s task of defining Figure 1. | Timeline of important events and publications related to the development of dialysis. Though there is significant overlap, the relative importance of each of the four principles varies over this course. ASN, American Society of Nephrology; IOM, Institute of Medicine; RPA, Renal Physicians Association. Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 11: 704–709, April, 2016 Dialysis and Principlism, Butler et al. 705 fair social worth criteria a difficult, if not an impossible one. Another limitation of the panel’s strategy was the lack of an explicitly stated and consistent declaration of criteria (8). The “closed door” meetings concealed the process of allocating dialysis, which might easily mask discrimination. This was especially problematic as the panel, ostensibly chosen to represent a wide scope of society, was criticized for embodying a dominant subset of it. Considerations of Beneficence and Nonmaleficence with Expansion of Dialysis The Social Security Act Amendment of 1972 As dialysis technology improved, the treatment shifted from an experimental therapy to standard of care. For those with ESRD, dialysis and transplantation are potentially life- saving and can alleviate the symptoms of advanced kidney disease. In 1972, after lobbying by health professionals, pa- tients, and families, the U.S. Congress passed Public Law 92–603, with section 299I entitling ESRD patients to receive Medicare benefits (13,14). This immediately reduced financial limitations on dialysis centers, and over the next few years, enrollment accelerated beyond anything anticipated by leg- islators. Not only did the number of patients starting dialysis exceed initial expectations, but patient demographics also changed dramatically. Earlier candidates were younger than 45 years old and screened for comorbidities. With fund- ing available through Medicare, a growing number of older patients with comorbidities began dialysis. This trend was concurrent with the rise of the antiageism movement and establishment of the National Institute on Aging, as well as the disabilities rights movement, culminating in the Ameri- cans with Disabilities Act (15,16). Within 5 years, utilization had grown to the point that Dr. Belding Scribner suggested the need for a “deselection committee” because the criteria for starting dialysis had become so liberal (8). During the 1990s and early 2000s, several studies suggested that there were limits to the utility of dialysis in the elderly and those with comorbidities, for whom potential harm might outweigh benefit (17–20). The Institute of Medicine (IOM) responded with a call for clinical practice guidelines to sug- gest treatment strategies for dialysis patients “with limited survival possibilities and relatively poor quality of life.” (21) In 1997 and 2003, the IOM published accounts of the Amer- ican experience of death, stressing the harms of focus on aggressive intervention in the last years of life, as well as encouraging further investigation into end-of-life issues (22,23). Other burdens on patients and their families were increasingly recognized, including time spent at dialysis fa- cilities, polypharmacy, cost, and risks of infection. Given the complexity of this balance as well as a subjective component of quality of life, metrics such as quality-adjusted life years (QALYs) were developed in an attempt to quantify value of treatment (24). Beneficence and Nonmaleficence: Balancing Benefit and Harm After the Social Security Act of 1972, with technical lim- itations diminished and financial pressures lightened, the need for explicit consideration of justice in appropriate dial- ysis initiation became less prominent. Medical teams moved quickly to provide treatment for thousands of patients expected to die without maintenance dialysis, only later recognizing the importance of associated risks and burdens. The principle of beneficence describes a health care prac- titioner’s obligation to actively improve the wellbeing of a patient. The concept of nonmaleficence describes the recip- rocal imperative to avoid harm. The undeniable benefit of survival offered by dialysis pro- vided a strong argument for beneficence in initiating treat- ment outweighing all other considerations, so allegiance to this principle initially dominated. In part because of a growing sense of a technologic imperative to provide all care techni- cally possible (25), dialysis became the medical default. It was thought to be “morally unjustifiable to deny dialysis to a pa- tient with ESRD.” (8) The mindset shifted as the medical community recognized that not all patients were as likely to experience a survival benefit. Though it has been decreas- ing, the annual unadjusted mortality of patients with ESRD continues to be 18% (26). An IOM report in 1991 questioned the value of dialysis in patients with limited functional status or life expectancy (27). Even among those who gain long- evity, the toll of treatment on quality of life sometimes out- weighed the benefit, highlighting a role for the concept of nonmaleficence. It is difficult to compare the relative value of outcomes such as longevity, cardiac events, and hospitalizations. Out- comes that are more subjective, although also potentially more important to patients, such as clarity of mind and energy, are even more difficult to quantify (28). QALYs and other related metrics attempt to put qualitatively different outcomes on a common scale. Although not without controversy, this anal- ysis offers a systematic comparison of benefit and burden rather than relying on an intuitive gestalt. A further challenge in applying these principles is the difficulty in defining the focus of benefit and harm. Medical knowledge and practice is increasingly based on randomized controlled trials utilizing disease-based outcomes such as cardiovascular events and decline in kidney function. The prized outcome, and one of the easiest to measure, is change in mortality. However, these targets may lead to a narrow perspective of beneficence, prioritizing longevity over other values such as comfort and independence which may be more important to individual patients (29). These complexities highlight the growing limitation of traditional concepts of beneficence and nonmaleficence as a basis for the decision to initiate dialysis. A more patient-centered approach focuses instead on the effect of treatment on an individual’s goals, values, and preferences in the context of their experience and symptoms (28,30). Technology in Service of Individual Values Shared Decision-Making for Complex Medical Choices Years after the Social Security Act amendment made dialysis universally available, there remains a cultural sense that it should also be universally applied. Well meaning physicians present dialysis as a necessary step in advanced renal failure, neglecting discussion of alternatives (30,31). However, individual patients value longevity and quality of life differently. One study of patients with advanced CKD found that the majority would not choose prolonged life if it entailed significant pain and discomfort (32). Despite these observations, most patients are not offered alternative 706 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology treatment options (33). If there is discussion of alternative options, it is late in the disease course, with approximately 50% of patients presented treatment options less than a month before, or even after, initiation of dialysis (33). Despite known high mortality rates, most patients and physicians do not dis- cuss end-of-life care prior to initiation of dialysis, and the ma- jority of patients regret their decision to start (32). For those who choose to initiate dialysis, patient experience varies greatly by modality. Options beyond treatment at a center three times weekly, such as home peritoneal dialysis or short daily or long nocturnal hemodialysis, can now be offered to appropriate pa- tients (26). The future promises even more dramatic innovation (34). As these options differ greatly in their effect on daily life, the choice should be based largely on patient-specific values, which may include preservation of independence, amount of time spent on dialysis, need to travel, impact on family, and ability to continue important activities (35). In response to these concerns, a patient-centered approach to the treatment of ESRD is gaining traction (36). The process of shared decision-making guides clarification of what mat- ters most to patients and alignment of treatment to individ- ual preferences (37). In 1982, the President’s Commission for the Study of Ethical Problems in Medicine and Biomedical and Behavioral Research described shared decision-making as the ideal model for complex medical decisions (38,39). In 2000, and in a revision in 2010, the Renal Physicians Asso- ciation (RPA) established a clinical practice guideline for de- ciding to start or withdraw dialysis using this model (40). More recently, the American Society of Nephrology identi- fied shared decision-making for initiation of maintenance dialysis as a key recommendation for the American Board of Internal Medicine’s Choosing Wisely campaign to improve patient care and resource utilization (41). Important steps in shared decision-making include fully informing patients about diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment options and then forming decisions in the context of the patient’s prefer- ences and values. Respect for Autonomy Respect for autonomy reflects the idea that a well informed and autonomous person is in the best position to make de- cisions that support their own values and preferences. The typical burdens and benefits relevant to the majority of patients may or may not apply to a particular individual, whose decisions are dependent on their own life goals and self-image. Especially in the advanced kidney disease pop- ulation, coexisting disease and disability make medical de- cisions complex. Benefit of dialysis and particular modality depends heavily on patient values in addition to the clinical scenario. Shared decision-making is a model for individual- izing treatments by respecting autonomy. The role autonomy plays in a clinical scenario relates to how a health care team acts to uphold it, but also to whether a certain patient is capable of being autonomous. Beauchamp and Childress describe three requirements necessary for a person to have autonomy: intentionality, understanding of the situation and freedom from controlling influences (6). These criteria can be true to varying degrees, meaning a pa- tient’s autonomy is situation-dependent. The initiation of di- alysis brings a dramatic life change that is difficult to conceptualize in advance, limiting a patient’s ability to fully understand the decision. To the extent that they increase this understanding, discussion with physicians and interdisciplin- ary educational programs incorporating experienced patients, dialysis nurses, and other team members improves the ability to make informed decisions (42). A patient cannot exercise autonomy if they are not presented with the range of viable options, including medical management without dialysis and the variety of dialysis modalities. Intentionality, or the ability to recognize and act according to one’s own values, is also a key component of autonomy. Cognitive decline that may co- exist with ESRD causes capacity for autonomous choice to diminish. Autonomy can be preserved by discussion of op- tions earlier in the disease course. Advance care planning and discussion about preferences, as well as the designation of surrogate decision-makers can help promote autonomy. Given that surrogates bring their own values to a discussion, it is important to continue studying how they make decisions and strategies for encouraging substituted judgment (43). Pal- liative care is increasingly recognized as crucial in defining patient preference and identifying barriers to autonomous decision-making. Because this need is ubiquitous, all pro- viders should be proficient in primary palliative care; the basic skills all clinicians need to elicit patient values, prefer- ences, and goals and use shared decision-making to establish the appropriate treatment plan (44). Even as autonomy is emphasized, other principles are recognized. Both the President’s Commission and the RPA note that focus on patient preference does not require phy- sicians to offer dialysis if they feel that the risk outweighs the benefit, especially in cases of profound neurologic im- pairment (39,40,45). Renewed Concerns of Justice in the Context of Limited Fiscal Resources Economic Changes and ESRD Spending In the late 1960s, approximately 9000 ESRD patients were being treated with maintenance dialysis at any particular time. When the United States legislature passed the amendment to the Social Security Act in 1972 authorizing Medicare payments for ESRD treatment, annual cost per patient was estimated at $15,000–$20,000 (46). Underlying passage of the amendment was a belief that dialysis would provide rehabilitation for a small number of citizens at a relatively low cost (47). This utilitarian argument was upended by costs quickly exceeding expectations. In the first year of the program, 16,000 patients were enrolled at a cost of $229 million, rising to 90,000 patients and $1.9 billion only 10 years later (48). In 2010, 7.9% of all Medicare outlays went to ESRD patients, who composed only 1.3% of beneficiaries (26). The unanticipated cost is largely due to the expanded population of patients, including the elderly and those with comorbidities, who were previously excluded from treatment (46). These expenditures are taken in the context of Medicare’s current cost of $583 billion, represent- ing 3.5% of the gross domestic product, with a predicted in- crease to 6.9% by 2088 (49). The Affordable Care Act and new government-based insurance redirecting funds to cover millions of Americans will put new stresses on currently subsidized benefits like dialysis. Justice and a Relatively Limited Resource Change in the economic climate has led to scrutiny of health care spending, with an eye toward maximizing Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 11: 704–709, April, 2016 Dialysis and Principlism, Butler et al. 707 population health while still optimizing equitable distribu- tion. When considering the just allocation of limited Medi- care funds, the utility of dialysis for an individual is not merely compared with the utility to another patient with advanced kidney disease, but to payment for coronary stent placement, supporting cancer research, or instituting pre- ventive health programs. Some calculations using QALYs suggest that dialysis provides relatively little value as compared with other health care measures (24,50). From an egalitarian perspective, it is unclear why ESRD should be uniquely supported when we are unable or unwilling to do the same for other chronic diseases such as heart failure, lung disease, and cancer (50–52). Questions such as “On what basis should financial resources be allocated?” and “Who should decide on this foundation?” are ethically complex. The strategy of rationing medical resources has developed a negative connotation, and the Affordable Care Act explicitly rejects it (53). However, others suggest that we are already implicitly rationing by “cherry picking” patients who show up to clinic appointments or are adherent to med- ical regimens, neglecting those who may fail to do so for reasons such as limited finances, cognitive disability, or co- morbidity (54,55). As the early experience of the Seattle Ar- tificial Kidney Center demonstrates, if rationing must play a role in allocation of limited resources, criteria need to be transparent and explicit to avoid unintentional discrimina- tion. However, by denying that rationing must occur, we lose the impetus and opportunity to debate such criteria. Conclusion The history of development and dissemination of mainte- nance dialysis provides an example of how the four principles forming the basis of clinical ethics are variably emphasized as technology, resources, and societal values related to health care shift. No static hierarchy exists. Given this variability, one strategy to create more sustainable ethical solutions is to consider and address all four ethical principles as fully as possible. As an example, Medicare’s National Quality Strat- egy’s three aims of better care for the individual, better health for populations, and reduced healthcare costs (56), is a multi- pronged goal that can only be reached by addressing multi- ple, and sometimes conflicting, values. As medical technology evolves in a landscape of changing personal and societal ideals, clinicians and policymakers should be familiar with an ethical framework for evaluating appropriate initiation and allocation of medical interventions. Disclosures D.Y.L. receives some salary support from the Northwest Kidney Centers as their Palliative Care Medical Advisor. References 1. Blagg C: Belding Scribner interviewed. Nephrology 4: 295–297, 1998 2. Alexander S: They decide who lives, who dies: Medical miracle puts a moral burden on a small committee. Life. 1962, pp 102–104, 106, 108, 110, 115, 117, 118, 123, 124, 127 3. 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work_ig37qdpt25bifejd3kua3byh4u	----	religions Article John Muir and the Botanical Oversoul Russell C. Powell Princeton Theological Seminary, P.O. Box 821, 64 Mercer Street, Princeton, NJ 08542-0803, USA; russell.powell@ptsem.edu Received: 10 December 2018; Accepted: 28 January 2019; Published: 1 February 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: The relation of influence between Ralph Waldo Emerson and John Muir helps to illuminate Muir’s characteristic brand of nature religion, namely his mysticism. This relation is especially clear, I argue, in both Emerson and Muir’s writing on their mystical affinities for plant life. Applying Harold Bloom’s renowned theory of literary influence, I draw lessons from Emerson and Muir’s mystical writings to highlight the ways in which Muir acquired from Emerson the plant-related vocabularies and practices that came to mediate his nature-inspired mysticism and also how Muir can be said to have surpassed Emerson’s own mystical example, thus opening new vistas of consciousness in human–plant relations in the nineteenth-century American religious experience. Keywords: John Muir; Ralph Waldo Emerson; plants; mysticism; Harold Bloom; literary influence; nature writing Human–plant relations have played a crucial role in the historical development of Americans’ religious consciousness. I propose to examine this role for the light it sheds on an exemplar in this history, John Muir, and specifically for the ways in which Muir’s innovative perspective on human-plant relations helped chart the course for a new evolution in American nature religion. Muir, I will argue, improved upon the mystical precedent first established in the mid–nineteenth century by Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose Nature first illuminated the mystical potential inhering in humans’ awareness of and connection to the plant world. However, whereas Emerson’s mystical vision waned as he aged, Muir’s only strengthened due to the unparalleled affinity he possessed for the plant kingdom. To read Muir ’s mystical writings on plants is thus to see Emerson both reflected and outpaced in Muir ’s sensate metaphysical insights into the thoroughgoing psychosomatic interconnectedness humans and plants all share. Much scholarly attention has been given to John Muir’s intellectual connection to Ralph Waldo Emerson. Most interpreters take two particular approaches to comparing their lives and work. On the one hand, scholars examine Muir and Emerson’s connection within the frame of intellectual history, linking them as key figures in the development of Anglo-American environmental literature.1 On the other, scholars elucidate Muir ’s merits apart from Emerson’s influence.2 The former interpretations are typically attempts at excavating the origins and historical permutations of the American nature writing canon. Emerson and Muir are exemplars in a lineage that runs roughly from Jonathan Edwards to Bill McKibben. The latter conversely seek to show how Muir came to stand upon his own two feet, casting off his debt to Emerson to devise his own sui generis intellectual contributions. Hence if Muir is not an 1 A representative list of studies aligned with this first approach to the Muir-Emerson connection includes (Fleming 1972, pp. 7–91; Simonson 1978, pp. 227–41; Nash 1982; Albanese 1990; Callicott 1990, pp. 15–20; McKusick 2000; Gatta 2004; Eber 2005 and Purdy 2015). 2 For studies aligned with this second approach, see, e.g., (Fox 1981; Devall 1982, pp. 63–86; Cohen 1984; Branch 1997, pp. 127–49; Holmes 1998, pp. 1–25 and Holmes 1999). Religions 2019, 10, 92; doi:10.3390/rel10020092 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel10020092 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/2077-1444/10/2/92?type=check_update&version=2 Religions 2019, 10, 92 2 of 13 inheritor of Emersonian debts, he is a detractor. Rare are careful considerations of Emerson’s specific influence upon Muir’s thinking, so invested are interpreters in the aforementioned either-or biases. Here, I argue we need not be forced to choose between these two options—which is to say, we need not follow Muir’s past interpreters too closely in the concept of literary influence they employ. By treating the tension between artistic originality and an awareness of preceding traditions—a tension inherent to modern literature—as a zero-sum game, scholars inevitably limit their potential interpretive strategies. This will not do for interpreting Muir, and it especially will not do for interpreting Muir in light of what I take to be his robust Emersonianism. Even though Muir succeeded in distinguishing himself from Emerson, that distinction, in true Emersonian fashion, paradoxically serves to reflect Emerson’s influence all the more. Nowhere is this more evident than in Muir’s overtly mystical writings, which are coincidentally the least understood parts of his literary corpus. Muir has long been hailed a spiritual luminary, a fact supported by his recent inclusion in the Orbis Modern Spiritual Masters Series (Muir 2013), which places him in the company of Simone Weil, Mahatma Gandhi, and Thich Nhat Hanh, among many others. For all the acclaim Muir’s mysticism has received, though, questions still abound regarding his characteristic brand of nature religion. Was Muir’s mysticism a product of his influences (especially that of Emerson)? Or were his mystical experiences unique, completely lacking in spiritual antecedents? To these questions, no clear scholarly consensus has emerged. Scholars are divided, in fact, in their affirmation of one inquiry over the other. Catherine Albanese and Stephen Fox are prime examples of the split. Albanese, for her part, claims the religious continuities between Muir and Emerson are unmistakable. Emerson “provided a powerful language,” she says, by which Muir articulated his own mystical experiences (Albanese 1990, p. 103). Fox strongly disagrees, arguing, “No written authority ever influenced [Muir] as much as his own private speculations in the wilderness.” Muir was no mere disciple of Emersonian religious experience, Fox concludes: “Emerson . . . only corroborated ideas that Muir had already worked out independently” (Fox 1981, p. 82). Scholars’ outmoded ideas of literary influence are at least partly to blame for this impasse. The categories operative in their analyses—originality versus an outgrowth of tradition; uniqueness versus a reproduction, however novel, of pre-established forms, styles, and concepts—have long been antiquated. This side of Harold Bloom’s The Anxiety of Influence, few give credence to such categorical binaries.3 Bloom argues that all literary innovation emerges from the complex dynamics of psychological agon. To escape a precursor’s shadow, talented writers carve out a space for their autonomous creativity by swerving from the precursor toward their own strength of originality. Yet all the while the writer simultaneously remains intimately acquainted with the precursor’s genius—it is difficult to cut new paths, after all, without a careful knowledge of the paths one’s precursors have already blazed. Thus literary innovation comes about as much from prevailing literary tradition as from the singular writer’s very desire to be original, Bloom says. Emerson’s efforts to dissuade writers from merely imitating their precursors to finally, as he puts it, “abide by [their own] spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility” (Bloom 1983, p. 259)—to realize their own literary genius, in other words—makes him an exemplar of the interpretive method Bloom commends. My argument is that the closer we look at the relation of influence between Muir and Emerson, the sharper Muir’s mysticism comes into focus. Muir can be shown to have taken up the aims and objectives of Emerson’s mysticism put forth most clearly in Emerson’s earliest publication, Nature (1836). Chief among those aims was the task of reconciling the gulf between material and spiritual reality. Interestingly, both Emerson and Muir examine this gulf (as well as the potential for its reconciliation) specifically in terms of humans’ relationship to plant life. A better understanding of 3 While Bloom focuses his analysis upon modern poetry, especially the British Romantics and their American progeny, his approach is applicable to an analysis of modern prose writing, too. Emerson figures prominently in Bloom’s other writings on modern literary influence, including A Map of Misreading (Bloom 1975) and Agon: Towards a Theory of Revisionism (Bloom 1983), both of which expand upon the approach first developed in The Anxiety of Influence. Religions 2019, 10, 92 3 of 13 Muir’s mystically-inflected concept of human-plant relations, then, not only helps define the nature of Emerson’s influence on him, but also goes some distance in demonstrating how Muir can be said to have excelled Emerson’s own mystical example. * A close look at Emerson’s Nature helps to delineate the concepts, vocabularies, and practices which eventually came to mediate Muir’s mystical experience. At bottom, Nature is a full-throated response to the problem of skepticism, or the question of whether any “congruity” (Emerson 1983, p. 43), to use Emerson’s word, subsists between mind and world. The skeptic claims that, try as we might, any mental contact we share with the external, physical world is bound to be incomplete. No thought can bridge the mind-world gap—unity will always evade us. With Nature, Emerson hazards a strategy for dealing with the skeptic’s dilemma, effectively reimagining the terms of the debate. The success of Nature hinges on the philosophical merits of esoteric vision, a theme Emerson foregrounds in the book’s first chapter. There, he introduces a metaphor for perception as peculiar as it is profound: Standing on the bare ground, —my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, —all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God. The name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign and accidental: to be brothers, to be acquaintances, —master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance. I am the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty. (ibid., p. 10) This reads more like a mystic’s recounting than a philosophical treatise. What makes the “transparent eye-ball” passage so philosophically crucial is the way it signals Emerson’s renunciation of the traditional quest for epistemic certainty that skepticism encourages. Instead, he calls his readers to a renewed awareness, one in which we are “sensible of a certain recognition and sympathy” we share with the world (ibid., p. 43).4 Vision is central to this enterprise; through it, nature is rendered into a universal whole. We no more need to mentally grasp than become, through our eyes, the world that eludes us. Doing this, Emerson says, “all thought of multitude is lost in a tranquil sense of unity”—we realize the wholeness inherent to our simple being in the world. This all becomes clear in the attention Emerson gives to the affinity he attests to having felt for various flora during the mystical episode he catalogs in Nature. Emerson describes a robust sense of connectedness to plant life so as to express the strength of his experience of mind-world unity: The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to 4 When it comes to the role that observation-based intuitions played in Muir ’s thinking, a direct line of influence can be drawn back to Emerson and the Romantic tradition that first inspired him. Emerson distinguishes between direct, experiential knowledge and rational or speculative knowledge as the difference between intuition and tuition. Emerson did not deny that there was value in knowledge gained secondhand, but he believed a higher, more perfect knowledge was available to those who would seek it out for themselves. “[T]he doors of the temple,” Emerson writes, “stand open, night and day, before every man” (Emerson 1983, p. 79). The distinction between intuition and tuition has its roots in the Romantic tradition, and specifically in Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s misinterpretation of Kant. By “pure reason” (Vernunft), Kant meant one’s a priori understanding of certain fundamental aspects of reality. Included in these are concepts like time, space, and causality. Our understanding (Verstand) of the world, which is gained through experience, is what we build on these a priori concepts; without them our comprehension of reality would simply not cohere. Coleridge’s error was to translate “pure reason” into a synonym for intuition, by which Coleridge took Kant to mean a sense of cognitive immediacy which furnishes the knower with insights into things-in-themselves, or the very nature of ultimate reality. See, e.g., (Coleridge 1872, pp. 161–83 and Coleridge 1975, pp. 91–126). Emerson did little to camouflage his dependence on Romantic epistemology, especially early in his career. In places like Nature, he wrote, “The understanding adds, divides, combines, measures, and finds nutriment and room for its activity. . . . Meanwhile, Reason transfers all these lessons into its own world of thought, by perceiving the analogy that marry Matter and Mind” (Emerson 1983, p. 26). Like both Coleridge and Wordsworth, who discerned in their intuitions a divine power which endows individuals with the means to, as Wordsworth put it, “converse with the spiritual world,” Emerson identified in his own intuitive sense the ability to perceive God’s very being in worldly phenomena. Religions 2019, 10, 92 4 of 13 me, and I to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly or doing right. (Emerson 1983, p. 11) Beyond mere psycho-physiological correspondence, what Emerson indicates in Nature is that he and the plants that become the object of his gaze are of one accord. Emerson delights in his experience of oneness with the beings subsisting beyond the province of his own mind. Acknowledging plants’ interests and agency, Emerson’s sympathy for plant life is reciprocated in a mutual, rapturous exchange. If Emerson’s goal in the first chapter of Nature is to give insight into his personal vision, his goal for the remainder of the book is to impart a semblance of that vision to his readers. The intellect may regularly “put an interval between subject and object” (Emerson 1969, p. 466), but the aim of every individual should be to overcome the myriad cognitive obstacles to mind-world unity. We do so not just by learning to see nature, but by reading it. The world is “emblematic,” says Emerson, comprised of manifold signs and symbols (Emerson 1983, p. 24).5 The deeper we begin to see and read nature, including each of its constituent parts, the closer we come to accessing its truths. The logical structure of Emerson’s argument follows a similar pattern as this, beginning with an examination of the physical world’s common uses before moving on to explore its more explicitly philosophical potential. Initial chapters like “Commodity,” wherein Emerson considers the uses of nature as raw material, give way to chapters focusing upon “Beauty,” “Idealism,” and finally, “Spirit.” As we learn to see as Emerson would have us, a symmetry between mind and world emerges. No longer a collection of objects, the world, to mind’s all-seeing eye, becomes a communion of subjects, entwined together in the same patterns of life and subsistence.6 This accounts for the reciprocity entailed in Emerson’s mystic interactions with local botanical life in Nature—a sense of fellow feeling develops from the recognition of one’s interconnectedness with other beings. Herein lies “the most basic theme of Nature as a whole,” writes Lawrence Buell: “physical nature’s potential to energize the powers of the human mind once we awaken fully to their inherent interdependence” (Buell 2003, p. 112). When we wake to mind’s intrinsic intimacy with world, the charms of an “occult relation” between human and non-human, “man and the vegetable,” become clear and tangible. It follows from this that, the more we learn to really see nature, the less alien it becomes. We begin to see our own selves reflected in the object of our gaze: “In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature” (Emerson 1983, p. 10). This is not philosophical narcissism, wherein human being is mirrored back in all the forms of life it beholds, but rather a philosophy of reciprocal reflection. Humans, in a sense, are their vegetable neighbors by virtue of the interdependent relationality all being shares. Isolated from their philosophical context, many of the ideas contained in Nature might seem nonsensical, even fatuous. Numerous critics have reasonably conceived of a lunatic Emerson traipsing through a Massachusetts common imagining himself a life-sized eyeball, nodding inanely at moss and dirt.7 The substance of Nature’s admittedly peculiar images, however, are the very basis of its philosophical aims. Moments of visionary transformation establish the connection between outward phenomena and the inner, mental realm of self-consciousness. As such, they seek to resolve the intractable dualism bequeathed upon Western philosophy by Descartes and carried through in Kantian idealism. No longer discrete and unrelated domains, mind and world are married in Emerson’s 5 Emerson draws upon the tradition of theological typology all throughout Nature, going so far as to say, “Every natural fact is a symbol of some spiritual fact. Every appearance in nature corresponds to some state of the mind” (Emerson 1983, p. 20). For an in-depth study of Emerson’s use of typology in Nature, see (Labriola 2002, pp. 124–33). 6 The language of moving from a “collection of objects” toward a “communion of subjects” is Thomas Berry’s. See (Berry 2006, pp. 17–18). 7 This was the basis of much of the critique leveled at Emerson in the years immediately after Nature’s publication, during which the now-famous cartoon drawn by Christopher Cranch of Emerson as a spindly eyeball ambling across the New England countryside was published. Religions 2019, 10, 92 5 of 13 totalizing vision. Nature not only sacralizes the physical, vegetable world, but also insists upon a philosophically substantial concept of the cosmos and humans’ relationship with it, an idea later supported by the rise of modern evolutionary biology. Still, Emerson ultimately saw Nature as a failure—not necessarily on its philosophical merits, but because, much to Emerson’s chagrin, he himself could not maintain the very vision he endorsed. This is evident from Emerson’s journal, where he logged his frustrations mere weeks after Nature’s publication. In ways that recall the “transparent eye-ball” passage, Emerson attests there to the clarity of his connection to the physical world, especially the plant world. But Emerson’s journal also reveals a level of uncertainty that is lacking in Nature’s pages: I behold with awe & delight many illustrations of the One Universal Mind. I see my being imbedded in it. As a plant in the earth so I grow in God. I am only a form of him. He is the soul of Me. I can even with a mountainous aspiring say, I am God, by transferring my Me out of the flimsy & unclean precincts of my body, my fortunes, my private will, & meekly retiring upon the holy austerities of the Just & the Loving—upon the secret fountains of Nature. That thin & difficult ether, I also can breathe. . . . Yet why not always so? How came the Individual thus armed & impassioned to parricide, thus murderously inclined ever to traverse & kill the divine life? Ah wicked Manichee! Into that dim problem I cannot enter. A believer in Unity, a seer of Unity, I yet behold two. (Emerson 1965, pp. 336–37) In July of 1836, weeks before Nature went to print, Emerson wrote to his brother William with a similar complaint: “the book of Nature still lies on the table,” he says, “there is, as always, one crack in it, not easy to be soldered or welded” (Emerson 1939, p. 32). In spite of his flights of perceptual fancy, mind and world remained unreconciled to Emerson’s eye. No conventional belief, idea, or vision could sustain for him what he knew to be true during moments of mystical ecstasy (cf. Harvey 2013, Chp. 7). The crack between self and world, mind and matter, did more than convince Emerson of Nature’s ontological shortcomings. It rendered him distinct from the landscape, alienated from materiality and thus from the reality of his own physical existence. “I cannot tell why I should feel myself such a stranger in nature” (Emerson 1965, p. 74), Emerson confessed in his journal in 1838, more grieving the impermanence of his bond with the world than acknowledging a state of confusion. Emerson’s later writing on plant life proclaims his sense of alienation from the world. In “Nature,” published in Essays: Second Series (1844), Emerson betrays a sense of his estranged relations with the nonhuman biome that was noticeably absent in 1837’s Nature. “Plants are the young of the world, vessels of health and vigor,” Emerson writes, “but they grope ever upward towards consciousness; the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment, rooted in the ground” (Emerson 1983, p. 547). In “Nature,” gone is the seamless correspondence between mind and world that Emerson posited earlier in his career. No longer do the grass and trees bow to Emerson, nor he to them. In place of an “occult relation” abiding between Emerson and the plant world, Emerson rather acknowledges a hierarchy—humans reign supreme while plants “grope ever upward,” conceding both their diminutive status on the register of value as well as humanity’s planetary ascendance. Despite all this, Emerson’s career-long engagement with the question of humanity’s relationship to nature was enormously influential. No American before him had taken up this question with such philosophical intensity, the effect of which was to authorize and energize the natural world as a live topic in nineteenth-century American literature and beyond. Emerson inspired his readers to see nature anew. One such reader was John Muir. * It is difficult to say precisely when Muir came under Emerson’s influence. During his days as a student at the fledgling University of Wisconsin, Muir was surrounded by such New Englanders as James Davie Butler and Ezra Carr, two of his professors, as well as the latter’s wife, Jeanne. All were Emerson devotees. Judging from this, Linnie Marsh Wolfe asserts Muir “was led” to read Emerson’s Religions 2019, 10, 92 6 of 13 essays as early as 1862 (Wolfe 1945, pp. 79–80). Yet there is no way to tell exactly what of Emerson’s Muir encountered at Madison, no less how much. As Stephen Holmes writes, “Although it is often presumed that Butler and the Carrs introduced Muir to the writings of Emerson, there is no evidence that they did so, and in fact he seems not to have read [Emerson] until the early 1870s” (Holmes 1998, p. 7). It was April of 1871, when Emerson mailed Muir two leather-bound volumes of his essays, that Muir began to read Emerson in earnest. We know this from the heavy pencil markings and indexing both volumes received.8 So, too, does evidence from Muir’s journal bear this out, where his writing from around the same time is clearly reliant upon patented Emersonian ideas. In September of 1871, for instance, Muir wrote, The life of a mountaineer seems to be particularly favorable to the development of soul-life, as well as limb-life, each receiving abundance of exercise and abundance of food. . . . My legs sometimes transport me to camp, in the darkness, over cliffs and through bogs and forests that seem inaccessible to civilized legs in the daylight. In like manner the soul sets forth at times upon rambles of its own. Our bodies, though meanwhile out of sight and forgotten, blend into the rest of nature, blind to the boundaries of individuals. (Muir 1979, p. 78) The blending Muir describes here mirrors the sensate metaphysics Emerson styled in such places as Nature. Just as “all mean egotism” vanished for Emerson as he crossed a bare New England common, Muir likewise becomes “blind to the boundaries of individuals,” losing all particularity in his own moment of mystic kenosis. “In Nature,” John Gatta writes, “[Emerson] discovers the world’s transparency as well as his own, and thereby dissolves the cognitive distance between personal subjectivity and material objectivity” (Gatta 2004, p. 89). For Muir the result was the same. Muir’s mystic episodes bear marks of his inclination to seek communion with the world’s cosmic life force, or what Emerson called the “Over-soul,” that which “every man’s particular being is contained and made one with all other” (Emerson 1983, p. 386). Muir’s addition to this feature of Transcendentalist philosophy was to explicate its distinctive ecological proportions while describing the American West. Writing about an experience hiking through Yellowstone, for instance, Muir remarks on the ecology of the place, how the rhythms pulsing through the mountains and geysers, springs and tree groves dissolve the seeming chaos of difference into a grand and symphonic harmony. This, Muir says, is the “ordinary work of the world” (Muir 1997, p. 749), the oversoul writ large. Muir’s idea that all beings play constitutive roles in the various ecosystems in which they participate is also demonstrated by the “people” language he used to describe various flora and fauna. It was not unusual for Muir to refer to flowers as “plant people” (see, e.g., Muir 1997, p. 231; Muir 1979, p. 354) so as to indicate the basic integrity of even those life forms too many contemporary observers might be tempted to consider nonessential to the biome. Despite the similarities in Muir and Emerson’s writings on mystical experience and plants’ role in impelling it, Muir also could be said to have disputed Emerson as much as he drew water from his well. More often than not, Muir’s scribbles in his personal copies of Emerson’s works register a spirit of dissent. Consider a sample of his marginalia, some of which deal directly with passages that evince Emerson’s later estrangement from the plant world, as follows: Emerson: Not in nature but in man is all the beauty and worth he sees. The world is very empty, and is indebted to this gilding, exalting soul for all its pride. . . . There are as good earth and water in a thousand places, yet how unaffecting! Muir: They are not unaffecting 8 Muir’s personal copy of The Prose Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, vol. 1 (1870) is housed at Yale University’s Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library. I consulted this volume at the Beinecke Library on April 18, 2016. Religions 2019, 10, 92 7 of 13 Emerson: But the soul that ascends to worship the great God is plain and true; has no rose-color, no fine friends, no chivalry, no adventures; does not want admiration; dwells in the hour that now is, in the earnest experience of the common day . . . Muir: Why not? God’s sky has rose color and so has his flower Emerson: Flowers so strictly belong to youth, that we adult men soon come to feel, that their beautiful generations concern not us . . . Muir: No! Emerson: There is in woods and waters a certain enticement and flattery, together with a failure to yield a present satisfaction. This disappointment is felt in every landscape. Muir: No—always we find more than we expect As noted above, scholars typically count Muir as either a dyed-in-the-wool Emersonian or otherwise an original to the core—a “belated Transcendentalist,” as James McKusick calls him (McKusick 2000, p. 173), or a fiercely independent thinker who believed Emerson’s philosophy to be, in Bill Devall’s words, a “dead end street” (Devall 1982, p. 68). Neither of these sides is correct in its assessments, but neither are they entirely wrong. This is the assumption of Harold Bloom, whose concept of literary influence lights a way past the scholarly standstill in Muir scholarship. Bloom’s focus is Western poetry since Milton, though Emerson, known more for his prose, plays a prominent role in Bloom’s analysis all the same. The substance of Bloom’s argument is that all great poetry (and by extension, literature) emerges from the struggle between writers and their precursors. Precursors, Bloom says, are an obstacle to their inheritors’ own creative expression. Having legislated the world as they have, precursor poets effectively clap their successors into a prison of self-consciousness, forcing those who inherit their work to forever wonder, Are my thoughts and voice my own? Does the fruit of my labor grow from another’s tree? This, Bloom says, is the anxiety of influence, a “mode of melancholy” every poet necessarily feels (Bloom 1997, p. 25). Literary influence concerns literary freedom. Enslaved by the impulse toward constant comparison, the belated poet feels his autonomy compromised. The precursor threatens to drown his voice and vision. And while “every good reader desires to drown” in the strength of visionary literature, Bloom says, “if the poet drowns, he will become only a reader” (ibid., p. 57; original emphasis). Thus rather than imitate the precursor and remain enslaved, poets of renown—“strong” poets, Bloom calls them—instead “swerve” toward their own strength of originality (ibid., p. 14), opting for freedom by achieving an expression of their unique will to power.9 Put differently, poets do not read their influences, but misread them. They open creative spaces for the revision of, and differentiation from, poetic precursors; so much so, in fact, that “the true history of modern poetry would be the accurate recording of . . . revisionary swerves,” according to Bloom. This misreading is the most basic indication of agon between writers. “Without Tennyson’s reading of Keats,” Bloom’s logic goes, “we would have almost no Tennyson” (ibid., p. 44). A similar dynamic can be interpreted of Emerson and Muir. I am far from the first to note the apparent agonism in Muir and Emerson’s relationship. Most point it up not in Muir’s writing but in the actual friendship the two men shared. Emerson’s choice to decline Muir’s invitation to camp outdoors during the elder’s sole trip to Yosemite dimmed Muir’s thoughts of him considerably, or so some have argued. According to Michael Branch, Muir’s disappointment at Emerson’s decision to sleep indoors and not under Yosemite’s sequoias may have spurred Muir to “protect his own developing identity as a wilderness philosopher by maintaining and perhaps exaggerating a distinction between himself and the man who, by the 1870s, had become 9 Bloom takes the word for “swerve,” or clinamen, from Lucretius, who used it in reference to changes that occur on a molecular level, specifically atoms that move and swerve to make change possible in the universe. “A poet swerves away from his precursor,” Bloom writes, “by so reading his precursor’s poem as to execute a clinamen in relation to it” (ibid.; original emphasis). Religions 2019, 10, 92 8 of 13 American culture’s literary voice of nature” (Branch 1997, pp. 132–33). Michael Cohen goes further than Branch, claiming that, after their fateful Yosemite meeting, Muir realized he needed a clean break altogether from Emerson’s influence. So while Emerson could be said to have “provided a ladder” to Muir’s mature voice, after Emerson’s trip out West Muir essentially “kicked the ladder away” (Cohen 1984, p. 52). There is something of Bloom’s thinking in accounts like these. If we are to believe that every literary talent unfolds through rivalry and creative rebellion, as Bloom argues, then Branch and Cohen ostensibly demonstrate the integrity of Muir’s thought. But Branch and Cohen err in claiming Muir casted off Emerson’s influence once and for all. For one, these accounts make the mistake of assuming literary influence is a skin to be shed. While belated writers may swerve from their precursors, it does not follow that, in so doing, the belated does not remain proximal to the original source of his inspiration. It is in this way that neither of the two opposing factions of Muir scholars can be said to be entirely right or wrong in their judgment of Emerson’s influence. Muir no more dispensed with Emerson than any other writer dispenses with their influential predecessors. And yet, like all talented writers, Muir swerved. * Additional evidence of Muir’s swerving is strewn throughout other of his writings. In a July 1890 journal entry, Muir wrote, It has been said that trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment rooted in the ground. But they never seem so to me. I never saw a discontented tree. They grip the ground as though they liked it, and though fast rooted they travel about as far as we do. (Muir 1979, p. 313) This passage is not so different from others in Muir’s journal. He was inclined toward rhapsodizing about nature, especially trees, and did so often. What makes this passage noteworthy is its tacit reference to Emerson’s “Nature,” the above-mentioned piece from Essays: Second Series. Recall Emerson’s original remarks from that essay: “the trees are imperfect men, and seem to bemoan their imprisonment, rooted in the ground” (Emerson 1983, p. 547).10 Citing Emerson some twenty years after he first read “Nature,” Muir clearly took umbrage at his precursor ’s claim. Most noteworthy about the above passage, however, is the way swerves like this and others in Muir’s writing confirm his participation in the larger Emersonian literary tradition. It was indeed Emerson’s intention not for others to duplicate his individual efforts. Rather, he hoped his voice would inspire his readers to find their own. So while Muir’s swerve away from Emerson distinguished Muir from his greatest influence, it nevertheless also corroborated what I take to be the substance of his Emersonianism. Provocation and awakening are crucial themes for what I am calling Emersonianism. Emerson sought to provoke with his essays and lectures the desire to think one’s own thoughts, to believe one’s convictions to be true. Some of Emerson’s most memorable lines concern the task to throw off one’s conformist slumber to become whomever one truly is, a task he saw as being akin to waking up to greet the day. In his address to Harvard Divinity School’s 1838 graduating class, for example, Emerson famously admonished his listeners, saying, “The imitator dooms himself to hopeless mediocrity . . . he bereaves himself of his own beauty, to come short of another man’s” (Emerson 1983, p. 89). Less than two years before, in Nature, Emerson reproached his age for being too “retrospective,” beholding the world through the eyes of “foregoing generations” (ibid., p. 7). And in “Self-Reliance,” Emerson’s most famous essay, he asserts, “Imitation is suicide . . . Trust thyself” (ibid., pp. 259–60). Such proclamations are warnings against intellectual idleness, a dormancy of the mind. We are too often given to depending upon others’ thinking than we are inclined to trust in our own. Emerson included himself in this, 10 Muir scrawled “No!” in the margin adjacent to this line in his personal copy of Emerson’s book. Religions 2019, 10, 92 9 of 13 too. His readers, he thought, should no more ground their thoughts in his ideas than anyone else’s. Hence one becomes Emersonian by virtue of abandoning Emerson—no longer relying upon he who first made you aware of your many reliances. It was for this reason that Walt Whitman judged the chief value of Emerson’s intellectual contributions to be the desire he instilled to distinguish oneself from one’s precursors, not merely to imitate them.11 The same judgment compelled Bloom to consider Emerson a model of modern literature (Bloom 1997, p. 50). The tradition of striving to improve upon inherited forms, so linked with Emerson in modern American literature—a tradition in which Muir participated, as I am claiming—goes further back than Emerson in historical precedent, further than even Milton (as Bloom asserts). The fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Dutch Renaissance humanist Erasmus of Rotterdam distinguished between following a literary exemplar, imitating it, and emulating it.12 Emerson, in his own writing on literary influence, has something similar to Erasmus’s thinking in mind. According to Erasmus, we should strive to emulate rather than follow, to “desire more truly to rival than to be alike” (Erasmus of Rotterdam 1908, p. 87). Erasmus makes these claims in a work on rhetoric, Ciceronianus, which focuses on the rhetorical excellence of Cicero. Orators should imitate Cicero, Erasmus argues, for there is no better rhetorical example. Yet none should imitate Cicero indifferently, he says. Doing so, one runs the risk of mindlessly repeating Cicero’s own vices. It is instead better to emulate Cicero, by which Erasmus means not merely copying, but excelling Cicero’s example. Emerson strikes the same tone in his calls for individual exemplarity in works like “Self-Reliance.” Imitation, he contends, is a kind of double bind: it considers conformity to one’s models a virtue (and, as Erasmus adds, affirms the model’s vices) while also silencing the unique thought and voice the model’s work originally roused. This is why both Whitman and Bloom believe the most Emersonian individuals are in fact the least like Emerson; or as Erasmus says, “he is most a Ciceronian who is most unlike Cicero” (ibid., p. 78). Slavish imitation “scatters your force,” says Emerson. “Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world” (Emerson 1983, pp. 261, 263). If I am right that Muir inherited and assumed the rhetorical tradition in which Emerson and Erasmus were exemplars, then we need not locate the specific points where Muir may have swerved from Emerson to determine the quality of Muir’s own voice. We rather need examine more closely Muir’s particular emulations of Emerson so to apprehend the ways Muir sought to improve upon and exceed the very forms he originally found in his most crucial precursor. As Erasmus says, “If you put before you Cicero, entire and alone, with the view not only of copying him but of excelling him, you must not merely overtake him but you must outstrip him” (Erasmus of Rotterdam 1908, p. 58). How might Muir, in his emulation, have overtaken and outstripped Emerson? Time and again Muir hems close to Emerson in his accounts of mystical experience. Of an adventure climbing an ice crevasse in the Alaskan wilderness during a thunderstorm, Muir writes, the most trying part of the adventure, after working my way across inch by inch and chipping another small platform, was to rise from the safe position astride and cut a step-ladder in the nearly vertical face of the wall, —chipping, climbing, holding on with feet and fingers in mere notches. At such times, one’s whole body is eye, and common skill and fortitude are replaced by power beyond our call or knowledge. (Muir 1997, p. 566) Not all of Muir’s mystical accounts are so dramatic. Other moments of mystic oneness are wrought by experiences of nature’s lavishness, like an occasion Muir relaxed in the glacier meadows of Tuolumne Soda Springs: 11 Whitman writes, “The best part of Emersonianism is, it breeds the giant that destroys itself. Who wants to be any man’s mere follower? lurks behind every page. No teacher ever taught, that has so provided for his pupil’s setting up independently—no truer evolutionist” (Whitman 1964, pp. 517–18). 12 I am grateful to Jeffrey Stout for pointing out the example of Erasmus to me, including Erasmus’s considerations of the dynamics of rhetorical imitation. Religions 2019, 10, 92 10 of 13 With inexpressible delight you wade out into the grassy sun-lake, feeling yourself contained in one of Nature’s most sacred chambers, withdrawn from the sterner influences of the mountains, secure from all intrusion, secure from yourself, free in the universal beauty. And notwithstanding the scene is so impressively spiritual, and you seem dissolved in it, yet everything about you is beating with warm, terrestrial, human love and life delightfully substantial and familiar. [ . . . ] You are all eye, sifted through and through with light and beauty. (ibid., p. 395; my emphasis) These depictions are expressly Emersonian—ecstasy is realized through ocular absorption; vision is the avenue to discerning spiritual union. Like Emerson, Muir also witnesses to a special kind of worldly intimacy. “The whole landscape glows like a human face in a glory of enthusiasm” (ibid., p. 224), he writes, echoing Emerson’s claim that nature “is so pervaded with human life, that there is something of humanity in all” (Emerson 1983, p. 41). Also like Emerson, Muir depicts the fellow feeling he has for nature—wrought, as we have seen, by his mystical experience—through his writing on plants. Indeed, a place like Yosemite’s “plant-wealth” could easily send Muir into the heights of ecstatic rapture, so evident in his descriptions of the “flowery plains,” “loose dipping willows,” and “broad green oaks” of the Merced meadows (Muir 1997, p. 587). The Sierra’s many forests were the places Muir especially felt at one with the ecological oversoul. Drawing on the Romantic trope of the Aeolian harp, Muir gloried in nature’s symphonic harmony.13 Of an experience seeing the Sierra’s trees made to dance by an afternoon storm, Muir wrote, “A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship” (Muir 1997, p. 237). To the uninitiated, such trees are inanimate and inert—“imperfect men” in Emerson’s post-Nature words. Yet to ears able to hear their rhapsodic tune, “Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life,” Muir writes, “every fibre [sic] trilling like harp strings.” “No wonder,” then, Muir reasons, “the hills and groves were God’s first temples, and the more they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and churches, the farther off and dimmer seems the Lord himself” (ibid.). Much more than in the built environment, God, through the lives of plants and their many relations, is revealed. All it takes is our possessing what Emerson, in “The Over-Soul,” calls “the power to see” (Emerson 1983, p. 392). Muir did not stop with the ocular, however, the power to see. His principal innovation of Emerson’s mystical method was to convey his own mystical experience through a much wider sensory range.14 For Emerson, the eye was all. “[N]othing can befall me in life, —no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair” (ibid., p. 10). Muir, we have seen, appreciated the importance of sight for mystic euphoria (this appreciation was especially urgent due to an experience Muir had of nearly losing his sight after being injured while working in a carriage parts manufacturing shop in 1867), but his mysticism also went beyond an exclusive focus on his eyes. In what have become his most famous pieces of nature writing, Muir gives more attention to sound, scent, and bodily touch than he does his vision. He also attends to the emotional resonance emanating from his experience of plant life, namely trees. Recounting a time he spent being tossed by a windstorm in the boughs of a 100-foot-tall Douglas Spruce, he describes “taking the wind into [his] pulses” (Muir 1997, p. 470), as if he and the tree delighted as one organism enjoying a windswept dance. Exaltation, fear, pleasure—all this was mediated through the multidimensionality of Muir’s senses. He was keen on the interconnectedness all being shares: “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe,” Muir wrote in My First Summer in the Sierra (ibid., p. 245). Something similar could be said of Muir’s mysticism, for when he tried to locate the source of his tree-induced ecstasy, he found each of his senses hitched to all the rest, no one more productive of the bliss he felt in nature than the others. 13 On the Aeolian harp’s place and significance in romantic literature, see (McKusick 2000), Chps. 5 and 7. 14 I am thankful to the guest editors for their encouragement to further highlight this dimension of Muir’s mysticism. Religions 2019, 10, 92 11 of 13 It is not an overstatement to say Muir fawned over Emerson at their brief 1871 meeting. Muir himself attests to being “excited as [he] had never been excited before” in the moments leading up to when he finally made Emerson’s acquaintance—“my heart throbbed as if an angel direct from heaven had alighted on the Sierran rocks,” he gushes (Muir 1996, p. 132). Yet Emerson, over his five-day Yosemite jaunt, became just as taken with Muir. A year after returning to Concord, he wrote Muir, saying, “I have everywhere testified to my friends who should also be yours, my happiness in finding you.” Emerson also made plain his hopes that Muir would soon come east to Massachusetts: “you must find your way to this village, and my house” (Muir 1986, 2:675).15 Muir never did make it to Concord while Emerson was still alive, but that did not stop Emerson from counting Muir among his “men,” a list of twenty favored epochal figures from Emerson’s life, noted in the final volume of his personal journal (Devall 1982, p. 188). By the time of Muir’s addition, the list already included the likes of Thomas Carlyle, Henry David Thoreau, and Bronson Alcott. Emerson was preternaturally drawn to individuals whose mysticism knew fewer limits than his own. This helps explain his fondness for Muir. It certainly explains Emerson’s fondness for figures like Jones Very, who, from the young age of twenty-five, proclaimed himself the “newborn bard of the Holy Ghost” that Emerson had called for in his graduation address to the Harvard Divinity School (Emerson 1983, p. 89). While others questioned Very’s wits, Emerson considered him both “profoundly sane” and a “treasure of a companion” (Emerson 1939, p. 173). Very’s charisma was unflagging—he was known for publicly baptizing unwitting participants with the Holy Spirit. Instead of being unnerved by this behavior, Emerson was profoundly moved by the force of Very’s presence and drawn to his genius. There was none of the mystic ephemerality or alienation in Very that Emerson had so struggled with himself. Muir ’s strength of connection to nature rivaled Very’s spiritualist ardor. Emerson’s desire to learn more of that connection was the prime reason he wished for Muir to join him on the “Atlantic Coast,” where Emerson hoped Muir would “bring his ripe fruits so rare and precious into waiting society” (Muir 1986, 2:675). Emerson, as we have seen, was frustrated by the fleeting nature of his mysticism. Despite his best efforts, a thoroughgoing crack persisted in his mystic alliance with the world. In Muir, though, Emerson found unbroken mystical absorption; someone whose being was disposed toward experiencing in mind and body the essential unity constitutive of all the world’s relations. The irony, of course, is that it was Emerson who furnished Muir with the language and metaphors for articulating the details of the most remarkable of his experiences. So while Emerson, by his own account, had the weaker mystical genius between them, Muir, who availed himself throughout his writing life of ocular metaphors, was nevertheless deeply indebted to the language Emerson used to relay his mystical experience. From 1836 onward (i.e., after Nature), the failure to achieve an enduring ocular union with the world became a guiding theme in Emerson’s work. In essays like “The Poet” (1844), Emerson calls upon individuals of genius who can achieve intellectual feats not unlike that which he endeavored to maintain in his mystic experiences: to marry the sensual with the ethereal, the material with the spiritual. He who can solder the crack between nature and mind, Emerson believes, is worthy of highest repute; worthy, that is, of being called a “poet,” Emerson’s name for great seers of cosmic unity. “I look in vain for the poet whom I describe,” he writes (Emerson 1983, p. 465), no doubt including himself in the assessment. Shakespeare is an example of a figure that does not fit the bill. Despite Shakespeare’s excellence, Emerson thinks his writing is far too imbued with material worldliness. As Robert Falk says, “Emerson is never wholly convinced that Shakespeare, with all his poetic beauty, overcomes the natural taint of the playhouse” (Falk 1941, p. 540). Yet figures of apparent spiritual genius Emerson also found wanting. Emmanuel Swedenborg, the eighteenth-century Swedish mystic, 15 I cite here the John Muir Papers, a 51-reel, 53-fiche microfilm edition containing all the collected papers of John Muir, housed at the library of University of the Pacific. I refer to this collection by making reference to reel and frame number (e.g., “2:675” refers to reel 2, frame 675). Religions 2019, 10, 92 12 of 13 employed a faulty concept of nature in his correspondential mysticism, so never truly reconciled materiality with spiritual truth. The degree to which Muir’s mysticism realizes Emerson’s call for poetic genius, articulated in places like “The Poet,” is striking. Emerson’s clearest description of the poet’s vocation could well suffice as an account of Muir’s mysticism: [T]he great majority of men seem to be minors, who have not yet come into possession of their own, or mutes, who cannot report the conversation they have had with nature. There is no man who does not anticipate a supersensual unity in the sun, and stars, earth, and water. These stand and wait to render him a peculiar service. But there is some obstruction, or some excess of phlegm in our constitution, which does not suffer them to yield the due effect. Too feeble fall the impressions of nature on us to make us artists. Every touch should thrill. Every man should be so much an artist, that he could report in conversation what had befallen him . . . The poet is the person in whom these powers are in balance. (Emerson 1983, p. 448) Muir’s awareness of nature’s “supersensual unity” was absolute; he had no “obstruction” or “phlegm” to speak of. World and self, matter and spirit, real and ideal were, for Muir, integrated in a stable, uninterrupted whole. Every touch he had of nature thrilled. As a result of this, he could not help but report what mystic reveries had befallen him in the woods. He wanted all the world not just to hear, but to come, to see, to experience untainted nature for themselves. Muir, by this account, was the artist of Emerson’s reckoning, the poet personified. Despite Muir’s mysticism being a semblance of Emerson’s, Muir can be said to have realized Emerson’s original mystical vision in a way that exceeded his precursor. He added elements of depth and consistency Emerson himself could not attain, an idea made especially clear by both Emerson and Muir’s writing on their mystical connection to plants. Muir’s mysticism was not the result of his somehow stepping out from under Emerson’s influence (as if this were even possible, as Bloom demonstrates), but the result of his response to Emerson’s influence. Emerson, issuing a call for self-reliant individuals, hoped more individuals would stand at the enigmatic junction of self and world, mind and nature, to report upon their experience of ecstatic unity not as their models might, but as only they themselves could. Such was the basis of Emerson’s provocation, his summons for mystical awakening. Muir’s response to that provocation can thus be said to be the product of his Emersonianism, or the way in which his being influenced by Emerson was not reducible to imitation. “Be not content to follow,” Erasmus writes, but “improve upon others . . . in such a way as to surpass if possible” (Erasmus of Rotterdam 1908, p. 79). So it is how Muir, by emulating his precursor, came to surpass him. Funding: This research received no external funding. 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work_ihjwogpjcbcl7bdvj73jre4ema	----	From Floral Aesthetics to Flor-aesthesis in the Southwest of Western Australia This is the post-peer reviewed version of the following article: Ryan, J. (2013). Botanical memory: Exploring emotional recollections of native flora in the Southwest of Western Australia. Emotion, Space And Society, 8, 27-38. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.emospa.2012.09.001 © 2013. This manuscript version is made available under the CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0 license http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Downloaded from e-publications@UNE the institutional research repository of the University of New England at Armidale, NSW Australia. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.emospa.2012.09.001 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ https://e-publications.une.edu.au/ Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 1 Red gum everywhere! Fringed leaves dappling, the glowing new sun coming through, the large, feathery, honey-sweet blossoms flowering in clumps, the hard, rough-marked, red-bronze trunks rising like pillars of burnt copper, or lying sadly felled, giving up the ghost. Everywhere scattered the red gum, making leaves and herbage underneath seem bestrewed with blood. -The Boy in the Bush, D.H. Lawrence and Mollie Skinner (1924/2002, 92-93) 1. Remembering Plants In the biogeographically diverse terrain of Southwestern Australia, this article theorizes botanical memory through the exploration of environmental memory, multisensoriality, and human emotion. Infused with emotional responses to the conservation and extinction of plant species, botanical memory traces broader memories of nature and environmental change. Encompassing an area from Shark Bay in the upper northwest corner to Israelite Bay east of Esperance in the southeast corner, “the Southwest,” as the region will be referred to hereafter, is the only internationally recognized Australian biodiversity hotspot. The Southwest is a “botanical province” and one of the most floristically varied places on the globe with close to forty percent of its species occurring naturally nowhere else (Hopper 1998, 2004; Paczkowska and Chapman 2000; Corrick and Fuhrer 2002; Conservation International 2007; Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 2 Breeden and Breeden 2010) (Fig. 1). Since the establishment of the Swan River Colony in the 1800s, the Southwest has been a popular wildflower tourism destination during the spring months of September and October in particular when iconic species, such as kangaroo paws, wreath flowers, and everlastings, blossom (Ryan 2011; Summers 2011). Despite relatively recent recognition of the global importance of its biodiversity, the Southwest has been dramatically altered through modern agricultural expansion, urban development, and anthropogenic plant diseases (Beresford et al. 2001). Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 3 Fig. 1. Places of Botanical Diversity in the Southwest of Western Australia. The Southwest comprises a diversity of places of botanical significance including Lesueur, Fitzgerald River and Stirling Range national parks as well as metropolitan Perth locales such as Anstey-Keane Damplands. (Image adapted from Figure 1, Western Australian Biogeographic Regions and Botanical Provinces, after Thackway and Cresswell, 1995 in Paczkowska & Chapman, 2000, inside cover; Inset image from Conservation International 2007) Connecting individual remembrance to collective remembering about thriving or declining plant environments, botanical memory entails bodily and cultural memory. The fragrances, sounds, tastes, and tactile sensations of plants summon this form of environmental memory that may be both shared amongst individuals and invoked through physical interaction with flora. Characterized by these collective and bodily traces, botanical memory broadens the study of individual sense-based recollection of flora to the human communities living in proximity to native plants. Memories may be of individual plants or wildflowers (e.g. wreath flowers shown in Fig. 3); communities of plants (e.g. an everlasting field shown in Fig. 2); or a landscape, region, or broader botanical scale (e.g. the Wheatbelt or the Southwest region itself). This paper will refer to all three scales. Recollections of flora are infused with sensory overtones, and are created by bodies and emotions. Such memories are derived not solely from inner imagery but from the sensuousness of plants and places. For example, in a study of the nexus between olfaction and memory, Waskul, Vannini and Wilson (2009) observe the capacity of odors to catalyze memories through Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 4 nostalgic feelings. One respondent notes that wild roses remind her of childhood visits to her grandmother’s house in Alberta, Canada, while another interviewee relates the smell of lavender to the comfort of “family, home, and safety” experienced as a child (Waskul, Vannini, and Wilson 2009, 11). These statements suggest that botanical memory may be defined as remembrance of plants though which a web of sensory, cultural, environmental, and familial memories is enlivened. As propounded here, botanical memory derives a theoretical framework from related precedents in environmental memory (Chawla 1994); sensory memory (Seremetakis 1994); sensory ethnography (Stoller 1989, 1997; Howes 2003; Pink 2009); bodily memory (Connerton 1989; Casey 2000); community and collective memory (Boyer and Wertsch 2009; Hua 2009); and emotional geography (Bondi, Davidson, and Smith 2005; Jones 2005). This genre of environmental memory involves sensory and emotional interactions with plants. Yet, whereas allusions to memories of plants appear in ethnobotanical literature, they are nearly unheard of in emotional geography, community memory research, or ecocultural studies where, for example, research into the plants-people nexus is governed by the present tense of the ethnographic encounter (for example, Hitchings 2003; Martin 2004; Hitchings and Jones 2004; Hoffman and Gallaher 2007). Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 5 Despite the underemphasis, memories of plants strongly inform human emotional and collective cultural bonds with environments. For early travellers in Western Australia like May Vivienne (1901) or contemporary wildflower tourists to the Southwest, the memory of a place may be indistinguishable from the memory of its plants. Amateur botanist Ayleen Sands (2009) expresses the intertwining of memory and flora as she recalls her first encounter with native orchids early in her proprietorship of Stirling Range Retreat, near the Stirling Range National Park: So we came in February, and in April one of our first orchids comes out. It’s a little orchid which doesn’t have a basal leaf. Someone came to the office and said to me, ‘Oh, your orchids are out, did you know?’ and they took me down to show me and I was absolutely rapt. Sketched as emotion-rich memories, Ayleen’s rapture exemplifies the felt engagements between people and flora. Initially, her arrival in the mountainous and biodiverse Stirling Range area from urban and suburban Perth, four hundred kilometres away, entailed anxiety about displacement: “I have to confess that I was really unhappy about coming this far away from Perth initially.” Ayleen’s statements recall the colonial botanist Georgiana Molloy’s experience of living in the isolated settlement of Augusta, Western Australia, in the nineteenth century. For both women, wildflowers attain emblematic Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 6 significance as consolations for displacement, distance, and loss (Lines 1994). Like Molloy, through the flowering of the orchids timed to her arrival, Ayleen has developed an emotional bond and a sense of place, gestated in part by the local flora of her immediate surrounds. With relief, she describes herself now as “very comfortable with the bush. I just absolutely love it. I love the way everything is interrelated.” 2. A Method of Researching Memories of Plants This conversation with Ayleen in the field emerges from an ethnographic approach to the study of memories of Southwest Australian plants (see Ryan 2010a). Ethnography is a qualitative method used in cultural studies and the social sciences to research lived experiences and elucidate the meanings of cultural practices (for example, see Brewer 2000; Hammersley and Atkinson 2007). In particular, I employed the technique of semi-structured interviewing to bring forth and understand memories of flora in combination with my participation in wildflower tourism and botanical conservation activities to meet and establish trust with potential interviewees. My conceptualization of botanical memory—as sensory, bodily, and emotional—will be developed in this article through the analysis of seven interviews conducted during the spring wildflower seasons of 2009 and 2010 in the Southwest Australian region. Memories of plants surface extensively in these seven interviews, and are representative of the varieties of botanical mnemonics encountered during my Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 7 research: from embodied and sensory to scientific and visual. As part of a broader project on wildflower tourism and aesthetic appreciation of Southwest flora, I interviewed twelve individuals, nine of whom I met on bus tours, wildflower walks on foot—leading to interviews based on walking in the field— or by car, and wildflower shows or celebrations at community centres. I contacted three other interviewees—whom I did not meet on tours—by phone or email to set up interviews with them because of their known expertises in Southwest flora (for example, Hopper 2009). The five interviewees not referenced in this paper are excluded because they did not discuss their botanical memories in detail but focused more on local conservation efforts or regional ecotourism realities (see Ryan 2011). Semi-structured interviewing of all individuals was based on the following questions:  How familiar are you with these wildflowers? Are they completely new to you?  Do you know the names for these plants? Do you use their scientific, common, colloquial or Aboriginal names?  Have you had opportunities to smell, taste, touch and listen to the plants today? What do you remember most about these sensory experiences?  Would you describe any of the plants or places as weird, grotesque, bizarre, strange, beautiful or picturesque? Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 8  To what extent do the plants figure into your memories of Southwest Australia? Are there any old or new memories of flora you’d be willing to share? Interviews occurred, when possible, as “mobile interviews” conducted while walking with people amongst the wildflowers of interest or significance to them (Hitchings and Jones 2004, 8). Other interviews took place under less mobile conditions: in offices and cafes or over the phone. The semi-structured format deviated from the suite of questions above, and was normally tailored to the respondent’s expertise, interests, time, and the setting of the interview. I used a small, hand-held digital recorder to record the conversations, which were later transcribed. Each interviewee signed a letter—approved in 2009 by the Edith Cowan University Ethics Committee—granting me permission to discuss parts of the transcripts in academic publications and to name the people interviewed. Expecting varying levels of familiarity and involvement with the flora amongst participants, I sought out individuals from five broad, overlapping categories: scientific botanists, amateur botanists, eclectic botanists, Aboriginal botanists, and wildflower tourists. Scientific botanists have had formal university training and professional experience in plant conservation (Collins 2009; Hopper 2009). Amateur botanists are self-trained experts in field botany or plant propagation who have strong site-specific, local, or subregional understandings of plant life (Collins 2009; James 2009; Nannup 2010; Sands 2009; Williams 2009). Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 9 Whereas scientific botanists tend to be specialized and more technically concise about regional scientific issues and trends, amateur botanists tend to be locally focused generalists who are attached to and well-acquainted with a particular locale or, in the case of Kevin Collins (2009), a particular genus, the banksia. Eclectic botanists, who will not feature in this paper, draw variously from scientific, humanities-based, and experiential knowledges; they are often writers or artists with a keen interest in nature. Aboriginal botanists invoke indigenous worldviews and storytelling in which sensory experience of plants mingles with spiritual and ecological meanings (Nannup 2010). Due to the sensitivity of Aboriginal knowledges of plants, I interviewed only one member of the Southwest Aboriginal community, Noel Nannup, an elder and spokesperson for the Nyoongar people. Wildflower tourists are international, national, or local visitors who may have complex understandings of plants based on the flowering times of the desirable species they endeavour to see (Alcock 2009; Sands 2009). It is important to consider that these distinctions, though useful to some extent, blur in actual practice. For example, an amateur botanist, such as Lyn Alcock, may participate in wildflower tourism when visiting a new locale or a scientific botanist, such as Kevin Collins, may have strong local affinities and be a long-term resident. As indicated above, my conceptualization of botanical memory will draw primarily from interviews with amateur botanists and wildflower tourists. The Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 10 interviews suggest the dialectics between mourning and celebration, as well as the role of sensory memory of plants. Some conversations show significant emotional and embodied affinities, including mourning the loss of species and the homogenization of biodiverse habitats through suburban overdevelopment or invasive exotic plants. Whereas wildflower tourists tend to emphasize the beauty of flowers, local residents—who can be scientific, amateur, eclectic, and Aboriginal botanists—tend to convey a sense of despair over imperiled plant species and diminishing habitats. This is particularly the case for land owners and others who are materially attached to a specific property (e.g. James 2009). The emotion of grieving surfaces more for interviewees, such as David James (2009), Noel Nannup (2010), and Don Williams (2009), who have lived for an extended time at a locale, property, or multiple places in the Southwest region. These individuals exhibit a well-developed sense of place and have endured more long-term changes and floristic extinctions than seasonal tourists have. Indeed, interviewees do tend to construct and communicate memories differently depending on the longevity of their emotional bonds to the changing landscapes of which the plants they know are part. As a caveat, however, the firm distinction between mourning and celebration—and between residents and tourists—is fuzzy at best and emotional complexities are to be expected. For instance, long-term visitors—such as Jack and Lena discussed in the context of the Stirling Range National Park and tourism proprietor Ayleen Sands—may express emotions of loss over changes in the landscape tinged with feelings of Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 11 appreciation for the rare orchids that remain in remnant parcels of bush. Thus, for the sake of structuring the analysis of interviews, I deploy the categories of mourning, celebration, and embodiment to emphasize the themes stressed by the speakers, although these categories are not mutually exclusive. Interviewees who are not included were perhaps less inclined to broach emotional or experiential matters when the interview format appeared formal, where trust was not developed fully, or where the paradigm of scientific objectivity—the pre-eminent discourse of botany—held back the expression of emotional bonds to flora. Such concerns should be scrutinized in further studies of ethnography as a method for researching botanical memory. 3. The Physiology of Human Memory What is the physiology of botanical memory in the context of contemporary research into memory studies, some of which emphasizes sensory or bodily memory? Memory has been well explored in literature, philosophy, and art, but some accounts of memory are acutely visualistic. Gaston Bachelard’s (1971, 101) notion of “reverie,” for example, entails an involuntary plummet to “the beauty of the first images,” rendering the immediate world “completely colourless.” Similarly, for John Dewey (1967, 154), the mind produces memory as “knowledge of particular things or events once present, but no longer so.” Cognitively created, memory is an “active construction by the mind of certain data” (Dewey 1967, 157). However, rather than localized in the brain and Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 12 visually assembled, as Dewey and Bachelard’s assert, memory is the somatic extension of feeling into the world (Connerton 1989; Casey 2000). We recollect plants through corporeal sensations as smells, tastes, textures, sights or sounds, as well as the rhythm of walking in botanical sanctuaries (Hitchings and Jones 2004; Ryan 2010b). Thus, bodies are physiological and emotional, as well as natural and cultural, sites of memory expression. Research of the last twenty years in the field of memory studies argues similarly that memory is not purely a cognitive construct of psychology or history, but a multisensorial faculty of the body, environment, and culture (Connerton 1989; Chawla 1994; Seremetakis 1994; Stratford 1997; Casey 2000; Jones 2005; Boyer and Wertsch 2009; Hua 2009; Waskul, Vannini, and Wilson 2009; Hamilakis 2010). The embodied aspects of memory are particularly important to the term “memory work,” introduced in the 1980s by the Frauenformen, a group of West German feminists interested in how various forms of femininity are imposed on female bodies (Stratford 1997, 207). Memory work links bodily experience to memory research as a method for examining “how we are socialised [sic] in and through our bodies — complex sites that are ‘natural’, ‘cultural’, and intimately connected to how we experience and construct our worlds” (Stratford 1997, 214). As an interrogation of knowledge production derived through privileged scientific and social discourses, memory work entails the exploration of embodied subjectivity. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 13 Thought to “elicit ‘only’ the anecdotal and folkloric,” place memory in this context instead provides “richly heterogeneous stories” that attain their own validity and importance (Stratford 1997, 214). Botanical memory may also comprise bodily memories. Casey (2000, 147) defines bodily memory as “memory that is intrinsic to the body, to its own ways of remembering: how we remember in and by and through the body.” While bodily memory is based in the senses, memories of the body can often be visual because sight “subtends most acts of recollection” and “has the effect of blurring the distinction between body memory and memory of the body” (Casey 2000, 147). In How Societies Remember, Paul Connerton (1989, 72-73) distinguishes between “incorporating” and “inscribing” practices of memory. Incorporating practices involve transmissions between bodies—for example, smiles, handshakes, or words spoken in conversation—that occur when bodies are co-present. These practices produce “a mnemonics of the body” (Connerton 1989, 74). Thus, for example, the memorization of the correct posture for a ceremony and the subsequent transmission of a cultural practice involving that posture occur through words or gestures between people present to one another. In contrast, inscribing practices require memory storage technologies, such as books, photographs, and computers, that “do something that traps and holds information, long after the human organism has stopped informing” (Connerton 1989, 73). Yannis Hamilakis (2010, 191-192) problematizes Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 14 Connerton’s categories, arguing instead for incorporating practices of memory that necessitate material culture. She cites eating and drinking as examples of mnemonic behaviors involving habits and gestures transmissible between individuals as well as the inscriptive materials of memory (i.e. the table, utensils, food, etc.). Hamilakis (2010, 192) argues that it is “time to collapse his binarism, which will also mean the collapse of his implied distinction between habitual, ‘internal’ memory which supposedly leaves no traces, and ‘external’ material memory with its associated recording devices.” The dynamics between visual and bodily memory are further taken up by some cultural scholars. The anthropologist Nadia Seremetakis (1994, 9) in The Senses Stilled argues that memory is not constrained to ocularcentric cognition, but is rather mediated by ongoing cultural and bodily (re)enactments: Memory cannot be confined to a purely mentalist or subjective sphere. It is a culturally mediated material practice that is activated by embodied acts and semantically dense objects. This material approach to memory places the senses in time and speaks to memory as both meta-sensory capacity and as a sense organ in-it-self. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 15 A material practice of memory through “semantically dense objects” reflects the notion of the indivisibility of “objects, settings, and moods” as integral to the formation of environmental memory (Chawla 1994, 1). Seremetakis’ notion of “sensory memory” augments environmental memory by emphasizing its embodied nestings. Seremetakis (1994, 9) explains that the senses and memory are coterminous and “co-mingled.” The senses coalesce to produce botanical memory, which is not purely a recitation of aestheticized plant images, constituting what Connerton (1989, 73) refers to as an “inscribing practice” of memory. Along with pictorializations, the smells, tastes, tactile sensations, and sounds of plants impart corporeal qualities to the act of remembrance (for example, Lawrence and Skinner 1924, 92-93). Paul Stoller (1997, 85) also suggests that “the human body [and non-human bodies, I would add] is not principally a text; rather, it is consumed by a world filled with smells, textures, sights, sounds and tastes, all of which trigger cultural memories.” Sensory research into cultural practices, for Stoller (1989, 8), entails a post-Kantian critique of the alignment between vision and reason characteristic of much ethnographic writing. Research into human sensory experience in its fullness attends to “the sensual aspects of the field,” making us “more critically aware of our sensual biases and [forcing] us to write ethnographies that combine the strengths of science with the rewards of the humanities” (Stoller 1989, 9). Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 16 Memory furthermore engages collective abilities to interpret embodied events and experiences. Hence, memory is not only the experience of a body in a place but of bodies in places; the content of memory varies with collective cultural meanings and values. Whereas individual memory is accepted in psychology and physiology, collective memory has been introduced relatively recently into human geography, cultural studies, sociology, and anthropology to describe memories held in common by a community or social group (Boyer and Wertsch 2009; Hua 2009). Collective memory “requires a public re-interpretation of personal memories that are placed at the service of the collectivity” (Hua 2009, 137). Boyer and Wertsch (2009) observe that collective memory’s primary shortcoming is its assumption of monolithic collectivity in the form of homogenized countries, communities or social groups. Collective memory raises the question of “whose voice, experiences, histories and personal memories are being forgotten” by the community, institution or nation (Hua 2009, 137). Memory may be bodily and collective as well as emotional and topographic. Collective memory, in particular, offers interesting intersections with emotional geography, a field which attempts to understand the spatial aspects of memory and its associations with environments (Bondi, Davidson, and Smith 2005). The emotional content of memory suggests that “memories always will have a spatial frame (even if it is unremembered or latent) and they will be always Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 17 emotionally coloured in hues ranging from pale to vivid” (Jones 2005, 210). Emotions construct how people make sense of the natural world through memory. Jones (2005, 207) argues that the call towards emotion in landscape research is part of the movement away from the claim that knowledge is, and should be, an abstract, disembodied, purely rational and objective construct. It recognises [sic] the role of emotions in the construction of the world, and in interpretations of the world [italics in original]. Emotional geography responds to the objective imperatives of empirical research by expressing “something that is ineffable in such objectifying languages, namely a sense of emotional involvement with people and places, rather than emotional detachment from them” (Bondi, Davidson, and Smith 2005, 2). Urry (2005) further argues that the emotions of place have been given visual form through modern ocular technologies. In the middle nineteenth century the language of the Claude glass, sketching, and photography spurred a “particular visual structure to the emotional experience of place” (Urry 2005, 78). Indeed, when conceptualized as landscape, place and its associated emotional hues assume a visual structure. Stephen Daniels and Denis Cosgrove (1988, 1) define the term “landscape” as “a cultural image, a pictorial way of representing, structuring or symbolising surroundings.” An Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 18 iconographic orientation toward landscape values images of places and historically conceived such “pictures as encoded texts to be deciphered by those cognisant of the culture as a whole in which they were produced” (Daniels and Cosgrove 1998, 2). Yet, not solely a space or landscape demarcated by sight, place is a sensory and corporeal topography. Sensory scholarship of the last twenty years in the anthropology of the senses recognizes this complexity and responds to the historical hegemony of vision in structuring sense of place and human perception (Stoller 1989, 1997; Synnott 1991; Classen 1997; Howes 2003; Hamilakis 2010). This scholarship acknowledges the importance of the senses to human experience and stresses that cultural research should acknowledge the body as a sensorium in which sensory interplay molds cultural values and practices. Sensory experience, as such, is “the basis for bodily experience. We experience our bodies—and the world—through our senses [italics in original]” (Classen 1997, 402). In Sensual Relations, David Howes (2003, xi) argues that sensation is a cultural milieu and that, in preferencing vision, Western anthropologists of the twentieth century also tended to study each of the five senses in isolation “as though sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch each constituted a completely independent domain of experience.” Howes (2003, xi) suggests that dynamics between the senses create culturally important “combinations and hierarchies” of sensory experience and expression. In Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 19 contrast, ocularcentric research obscures “sensory meaning—the associations between touch and taste, or hearing and smell—and all the ways in which sensory relations express social relations” (Howes 2003, 17). 4. Botanical Memory at the Intersection of Embodiment, Environment, Emotions, and Ethnography When from a long distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but enduring, more substantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection. Marcel Proust (1913/2008, 30) Proust argues that smell and taste affect memory with particular poignancy and primeval endurance. As such, memory not only comprises a visual theatre, but a sensory interweaving of tastes, smells, tactile sensations, sounds, and visible features. Jonah Lehrer (2007, 80) argues that “one of Proust’s deep insights was that our senses of smell and taste bear a unique burden of memory.” The potent connection between smell and memory, exemplified by Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 20 Proust, has a physiological basis and has often been labelled the “Proustian hypothesis of odor memory” (Engen 1982, 98). Receiving brain stimuli in the form of odors, the olfactory system of mammals regulates and integrates emotional responses, social behaviors and bodily memories (for example, Engen 1982, 25-29, 97-112; Engen 1991; Herz and Cupchik 1995; Lledo, Gheusi, and Vincent 2005). In this passage from Swann’s Way, Proust articulates the phenomenon of odor recognition or “knowing that an odor being experienced is one that was experienced on a earlier occasion” and, importantly, he intimates the possibility of odor recall, debated amongst physiologists and defined as the bringing back of “odor sensations from memory storage without any external aids” (Engen 1982, 14-15). Extending Proust’s metavisual mnemonics and the strong association between smell and memory he describes in particular, botanical memory can be said to comprise sensory, bodily, and emotional modes of remembering. Botanical memory goes beyond the individual psyche and the imagistic proclivity of the aesthetic imagination. Anh Hua (2009, 137) characterizes memory as “a construction or reconstruction of what actually happened in the past,” but memory in practice is a composite of bodily experiences and sensations, mental images, cultural values, and environmental stimuli in addition to a chronology of occurrences. Indeed, memory is beyond individual capacities and faculties. It invokes collectively all mnemonic modes to produce “tangled memory” in which Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 21 collective desires and needs are expressed (Hua 2009, 139). Hence, memory is a nexus of environmental, social, and personal factors, rather than purely a mental function of recall. Chawla (1994, 1) defines environmental memory as the convergence of the natural world, poetic deliberation, and childhood memory, including: all the fittings of the physical world that surround us: the natural world of animal, vegetable, and mineral, and the built world of human artifice. Its scope covers three dimensions of perception: individual objects; settings such as home, city, and region; and global moods or feelings for the world. These three dimensions—objects, settings, and moods—may be isolated for study, but in lived experience they are inseparable. Emotional responses to a landscape constitute environmental memories of particular natural and cultural phenomena. Memory and emotions, or moods, are inseparable; environmental memory develops from a stratum of feelings held in the body. So, in addition to temporal, spatial, and material memories aligned to the processes of thinking, the content of memory is a sensory and emotive scape, or an “emotional geography.” Liz Bondi, Joyce Davidson, and Mick Smith (2005, 3) further characterize the central aim of emotional geography as endeavoring “to understand emotion – experientially and Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 22 conceptually – in terms of its socio-spatial mediation and articulation rather than as entirely interiorized subjective mental states.” Transcending individual cognition and the construction of memory as the outcome of the rote processes of the brain, memory is influenced by society and space, culture and landscape, collective and personal proclivities. Reflecting Chawla’s claim for the indivisibility of “objects, settings, and moods” as unified lived experience, memory is an anatomical topography, orchestrated by cultural and natural cues. As the interview process reveals, memory may be said to live, particularly when spoken and when embodied. Research into the embodied, emotional, and environmental aspects of memory is well-suited to the narratives that come out of interviews. Memory narratives may emerge from the process of ethnography when interviewees are given space to reconstruct their sensory or emotional memories through a semi- structured or open-ended format (Brewer 2000, 63-66; Hammersley and Atkinson 2007, 97-120). Indeed, the exploration of memory is amenable to inscriptive forms, including interview transcripts, that record memory (Jones 2005), but the movement between the incorporating practice of the interview, especially one in the field with the interviewee, and the inscribing practice of the transcripts exemplifies Hamilakis’ (2010, 192) call to “collapse” Connerton’s binarism between the two. Working with interviews and transcripts prompts reflexivity between incorporating and inscriptive practices of memory. The Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 23 connection between memory and ethnography is emphasized by anthropologist Johannes Fabian (2007, 132) who observes that ethnographic investigation inherently probes human memory: “cultural knowledge, once articulated, is memory-mediated.” In other words, the process of speaking during an interview is naturally an invocation of remembering. Fabian (2007, 132) asserts that “memory makes articulation possible whilst also coming between the person and the statement.” Memory is often an unavoidable mediating formation in ethnobotanical interviewing in which usage or significance of plants is compiled from the recollections of the interviewee (for example, Martin 2004). During an ethnobotanical interview, plant specimens, images or other cues can be used to “jog interviewee memory” about actual plants in the field and to access information about the cultural uses of flora (Hoffman and Gallaher 2007, 203). An interface with memory through the interview process prompts questions of how memories are expressed and what values inform their communication. The accounts of botanical memory produced during an interview could entail a series of visual images, a recounting of bodily sensations, or a chronological recitation of events devoid of emotional context. But how does the interviewee feel about an experience of plants? Is there an emotional or sensory narrative behind the facts or the timeline of experiences? For the purpose of sensory plurality in the interview process, anthropologist Sarah Pink (2009, 2) points to the growing literature of multisensorial ethnography. The term “sensory Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 24 ethnography” is defined as “a process of doing ethnography that accounts for how this multisensoriality is integral…to the lives of people who participate in our research.” Reflecting Seremetakis’ (1994) conceptualization of memory, multisensorial ethnography assists researchers in understanding “the meanings and natures of the memories that research participants recount, enact, define or reflect on to researchers” (Pink 2009, 38). The research discussed thus far collectively suggests that memory is more than a series of images recalled cognitively. Due to the heterogeneous ways in which human memory can be approached, botanical memory considers these multiple aspects. Crossing into embodiment, environment, and emotions, botanical memory encompasses feelings and facts about plants, particularly with the use of ethnography to bring forth accounts of engagements. 5. Botanical Memories Of Mourning: Biodiversity, Beauty, and Grieving As both collective remembrance and embodied subjectivity, memory intersects with emotions and place (Jones 2005). Mourning in particular may form an emotional node between people and places in response to what Porteous (1989) terms “topocide” or the annihilation of place, and what Giblett (1996) calls “aquaterracide,” or the killing of wetlands. Glenn Albrecht (2010, 227) defines solastalgia as “the pain or sickness caused by the ongoing loss of solace and the sense of desolation connected to the present state of one’s home and territory.” While emotional in quality and tone, the statements of loss conveyed Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 25 in interviews are not necessarily embodied evocations that point to a visceral absence in the felt worlds of the interviewees. Multisensoriality may be evident, but respondents also tend towards chronologies of despair or narratives of loss: a sequence of events set in temporal, rather than in embodied, space. Themes of loss are evident in an interview with David James (2009) of Forrestdale, Western Australia. Born in the early 1950s, a passionate activist and self-trained botanist, David has lived near Forrestdale Lake all his life. Forrestdale Lake is located on the Swan Coastal Plain, shared by Perth, and protects numerous indigenous animals and plants (Giblett 2006). Nearby Anstey-Keane Damplands is one of the most botanically significant places on the Swan Coastal Plain and more diverse than the popular Kings Park, adjacent to Perth Central Business District (Giblett and James 2009) (Fig. 1). It lies at the northern tip of the Pinjarra Plains, a system of flat damplands— moist, shallow sinks—including the most suitable soil on the Swan Coastal Plain for pasture and devlopment (Beard 1979, 27). A member of multiple local conservation organizations, David expresses exasperation over the seemingly insurmountable pressures on the bush exerted by development in his area. Forrestdale Lake Nature Reserve and Anstey-Keane Damplands constitute “emotional geographies” for him, linked to conservation agendas in the rapidly suburbanized southern areas of Perth. When asked about his local efforts, David responds that he spends “more time trying to protect wildflowers than Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 26 actually going out trying to enjoy them for what they are.” His involvement with different organizations dedicated to preserving native habitats is “a period of— shall we say—activism [with] organisations that are actually trying to preserve the environment.” Activists, such as David, exemplify commitment to preserving a sense of place connected to the protection of floristic character. During David’s childhood in the 1950s, the bush seemed limitless and immune to modern suburban expansion: “we’d walk through bush to catch the school bus.” His memories convey a perception of the flora as all-encompassing. The abundance of the bush intermingles with recollections of the encroachment of development and attendant emotion of powerlessness: In those days, the bush was everywhere. Nowadays, you realize how threatened it is, but in those days, it was common. We’d walk through bush to catch the school bus. We took it all for granted. Even in those days, people were destroying bushland but, because there was so much, as a kid, you just accepted it. David’s recollections reveal how botanical memory marks the gradual transformation of the land by the juggernaut of modern progress. His childhood reverie has been displaced by an anxiety over the manifold threats to the local landscape, compelling him to align with conservation initiatives: Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 27 What we took for granted is now threatened by housing, expansion of agriculture and roads. The piece of bush that we took for granted as kids is now being threatened and it’s a bitter shame because now I spend more time trying to protect wildflowers than actually going out trying to enjoy them for what they are. David’s interview exemplifies botanical memory as a reservoir of emotions about nature. Moreover, the memory narratives of amateur botanists and local conservationists like David can impart a sense for the scale of change. For example, the proliferation of exotic species on road verges is a distinct difference: “Years ago roads were narrow and roads with vegetation in good condition was quite normal.” His recollections evidence the progressive incursion of exotic plants on the west side of Forrestdale Lake and the gradual disappearance of certain orchid species. These distinctive intrusions to the composition of the landscape near his home have occurred during his lifetime: Nowadays this side of the lake’s pretty much weed infested but in those days the weeds weren’t quite so bad. We used to get orchids growing alongside the road here, spider orchids and different species growing amongst the weeds. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 28 Slow-growing plants, such as banksias and the zamia palms, have been severely affected by development of bushland areas like Anstey-Keane Damplands and Forrestdale Lake (Giblett 2006). According to his direct observation, the climax character of the bush has been permanently altered, despite claims about the regeneration of the bushland by replanting: After thirty or forty years, it looks quite natural, but believe me, if you went back before that, there was a lot of big stuff in there. But that won’t be seen again in our lifetime because you need five-hundred years to grow big zamia palms or big banksias. Here, David evokes one of the distinguishing qualities of the Southwest flora: its ancientness and slow-growing tendencies (for example, Breeden and Breeden 2010). Certain plants require hundreds of years to reach a mature state, posing an amplified sense of loss comparable to the emotional debates surrounding the clearing of old-growth forests (for example, Humphries 1998). The emotions surrounding mourning are further elicited in an interview with Nyoongar elder Noel Nannup (2010). From 1978 to 1989, Noel served as a National Parks ranger and became the first Aboriginal head ranger in Australia. Noel recalls the destruction of native vegetation near Geraldton that he witnessed as a child. He expresses a “mixed” emotional state of despair over Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 29 the clearing of a million acres a year and affection for the botanical heritage of his birth region: When I say mixed, I mean loving it and watching it get smashed to smithereens as they cleared a million acres a year during the 60s and the 70s. That’s heartbreaking. And the old man says, “This is Australia’s greatest asset, its natural vegetation and look what we’re doing to it” as we followed the bulldozers along around places like Dalwallinu, Wongan Hills, Ballidu, Talingeri, to ‘round that country there. We were sad to watch it. The loss of native plants is more than an ecological abstraction, but has cultural and spiritual ramifications. Noel expresses being torn between affinity for the plants that are his totems and dismay over the onslaught against native bushland, and hence against Aboriginal spirituality, as the two are consanguineous (for a discussion of Australian Aboriginal relationships to land, see Rose 1992; Graham 2008). He says: But I've always had that, you know, tried to balance that. How do you cope, when your dad’s telling you that these things are our totems and yet we’re watching them get smashed to bits. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 30 As with David James, Noel’s memories track changes in the character of the Southwest landscape. Near Geraldton, plant biodiversity occurred along railway lines and road verges before the introduction of herbicides and developments in motorized technologies that impacted species such as the more prominent everlastings: I used to ride a pushbike from Geraldton out along the railway lines towards Mullewa. In those days they didn't use a lot of herbicides and sprays, and all the wildflowers were still there, including big pink everlastings. You’d watch them from little plants that come up, grow, and flower in the railway line. They started to bring out an X-class diesel which didn't have spark arresters on it. The railways had to burn. You’d watch the burning and you’d know that the seeds of the everlastings were all getting burnt. And because they burnt them all the time, some of them coped and some didn't. This statement points to the heterogeneous quality of botanical memory, comprising emotional impressions of plants linked to memories of childhood, communities, and changes to each. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 31 For Noel, everlastings also prompt associations with family and place. Memories of pom-poms (Fig. 2) call to mind his father who taught Noel to snip the stems and preserve the flowers in hot wax: There used to be pom-poms, little round ones, just north of Three Springs, near Arrino, and also in Coalseam [Conservation Park] at Mingenew. There’s still a lot of them there but they’re little ones. I’d always cut them into bunches and put rubber bands on them. Dad always said, ‘if you want them to last a long time, snip them off and dip them in hot wax’. That seals it. Then your flowers stay colourful for a long time. Noel’s recollection of flowers near Mullewa affirms the mixed quality of the botanical memory of someone with a lifelong history in a place. Memories of plants can be concurrently of wonderment and loss over the destruction of a place. Whereas the colours of the pom-poms would last indefinitely, the wreath flower was notably evanescent and delicate. Noel associates the rarity of the wreath flower with the mining of Tallering Peak where he recalls that the flower grew: They were rare. I remember if you picked those, by the time you stood up after you picked one, it started to wilt. Talk about an amazing flower. Just pick it up and it’s gone, it’s finished. But they were up around Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 32 Mullewa, north of Mullewa and Bullardoo Station. There's a big hill there. It was iron ore, sadly, and they loaded it onto trucks and railway lines and carted it away. Tallering Peak was a really important place. Memory itself is ecosystemic. Southwest plants instigate recollections of birds and the broader landscape, reflecting the concept of environmental memory posited by Chawla (1994, 1) as encompassing natural “objects,” landscape “settings” and emotional “moods.” The notion of ecosystemic connectivity as integral to botanical memory and mourning is referenced by conservationist and proprietor of Hi-Vallee Farm in Badgingarra, Western Australia, Don Williams (2009). He implies ecologically integrated mourning, in which the loss of one species has larger consequences for the biotic system of which it is part, including other animals, insects and plants: No one can put a value on individual species. Some people will say if we lose it, it doesn’t matter, more will evolve. It would appear that they won’t evolve as quickly as we can wipe them out. What a lot of people forget is that if you lose a plant species, you could lose an animal or insect species. And a lot of the orchids have evolved around one individual insect which pollinates them. Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 33 The exploration of memories of plants unavoidably confronts mourning the loss biodiverse habitats. All three interviewees have been life-long residents of the Southwest, and have thereby engendered emotional attachments to plants through regular exposure to the land and immersion in the depths of the botanical integrities of their respective places. All have been involved in conservation efforts. Although their responses shift between lament and celebration, their long-term perspectives on the Southwest express a startling sense of the bush in transformation by social and environmental pressures of suburban development, pesticides, technology, and mining. Fig. 2. Pink Everlastings in the Eneabba Region of Western Australia. The common name “everlasting” denotes various species of the cosmopolitan Asteraceae family, such as the pom- pom head (Cephalipterum drummondii). (Photo by the author) Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 34 Fig. 3. Wreath Flowers in the Northern Wheatbelt Region of Western Australia. With a genus name celebrating the French botanist Jean Baptiste Leschenault de la Tour and a species name derived from Greek for “large flower,” wreath flowers (Leschenaultia macrantha) are prostrate-growing plants endemic to the northern Wheatbelt areas near Mullewa and Perenjori. (Photo by the author) 6. Botanical Memories Of Celebration: Orchids, Love, and Rapture Whereas botanical memory may be characterized by mourning, it may also express the emotions of celebrating flowering beauty. Wildflower tourists such as Lyn Alcock (2009), originally from the Eastern States of Australia, emphasize the beauty and awe-inspiring qualities of native Western Australian plants. They do recognize the threats to botanical diversity, but more tangentially than David James, Noel Nannup, and Don Williams. Of all the Southwest plant species, Lyn is passionate about orchids and dryandras. When Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 35 I asked her about the attractiveness of orchids, she relays her first memory of encountering wild-growing orchids in the Murchison River area after having first grown them in her home: I think I had been given some Cymbidium bulbs at home and started growing orchids. Then, ten years ago on our first trip, [my husband and I] were travelling up north around the Murchison River area. I came across all these tiny little orchids about ten centimetres high. They were in a mass like the little snail orchids we saw this morning. For some reason they just grabbed me and I said ‘Wow, these are amazing!’ For some flora enthusiasts, the promise of spotting rare or elusive iconic species can invigorate botanical passions. When I asked about which orchids she feels particularly drawn to, Lyn reflected on the characteristics of rarity and visual strikingness. A beautiful and hard-to-find localized plant, such as the Queen of Sheba (Thelymitra variegata) or the winter spider orchid (Caladenia drummondii), is a peak moment for an ardent wildflower aficionado: Obviously the Queen of Sheba because it’s such a spectacular orchid. Just recently, we were up at Kalbarri and I saw a little orchid I thought I would never get to see. It’s called the Winter Spider Orchid. It’s a very tiny orchid, which only occurs mid-winter. And because it’s not very Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 36 common I never thought I’d see it, but I was walking through the bush and there it was. Similarly, the uncommonness of the Western underground orchid (Rhizanthella gardneri), with only two hundred and twenty recorded sightings, impacts the intensity of her recollection. As an orchid enthusiast, the underground orchid holds a prominent position in Lyn’s memory, as well as the botanical imagination of the Southwest region. First identified by its sweet smell in 1928 by John Trott on his farm near Corrigin, Western Australia, the white leafless orchid is perhaps the rarest endemic plant species in the state and is known to occur in only two locations in the Southwest. Lyn relates the delicate tactile memory of digging through the soil to unearth the extremely unusual, and very easily disturbed, subterranean species. The orchid requires a mutualistic relationship with the broom honey-myrtle or broom bush (Melaleuca uncinata) to survive. Lyn summarizes: My most amazing sight has been the underground orchid. Because it only ever grows underground, you have to have sand for it to grow. You have to have a particular type of broom bush that it seems to grow with, and you of course have to have the fungus that stimulates this orchid. So you have to have all these three things. It grows very near the roots of the broom bush, but you could look under the roots of a thousand broom Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 37 bushes and you won’t find one. It won’t be the thousandth that it’s under. Yes, I was taken, there were three of them all growing in a similar spot. And for me that was absolutely spectacular. It grows under leaf litter, and so you need to pull the leaf litter apart very, very carefully and then the flower is just sitting below the leaf litter, and then slowly excavate it, very carefully, very, very carefully. Digging through the leaf litter and slowly excavating the flower of the underground orchid are “sense making rituals” (Waskul, Vannini, and Wilson 2009) that invoke incorporating practices of memory—here between plants and people—and sensory recollection. The memory of the orchid is intrinsically bound up with the tactile and olfactory practice of exhuming it in order to momentarily see it. As collective or cultural memory (Hua 2009; Boyer and Wertsch 2009), the unearthing of the flower is practiced by anyone who wants to claim the experience or participate in exposing it. Other than digging through the leaf debris, there is no way to perceive the orchid. The action of pulling the leaf matter apart very carefully becomes part of a practice shared collectively by orchid enthusiasts, as part of the cultural network of memory surrounding the plant. Orchids furthermore play a significant role in the formation of sense of place for Ayleen Sands (2009) of the Stirling Range Retreat who recounts her first Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 38 spring in the area through her experiences of learning the orchid species of her property. The mountainous Stirling Range National Park consists of about one- thousand and five hundred plant species, or about one-third of the flora in the Southwest, including eighty-seven endemic species dispersed throughout five main botanical communities (Keighery and Beard 1993). Her sense of place has developed through the progression of time synchronized to the flowering of orchids: In May someone came to the office and asked me, ‘did you know your Hare Orchids were out’? I said, ‘ooh, Hare Orchids, have we got Hare Orchids here’? Off they took me. They showed me hundreds of orchid bed basal leaves of the little Hare Orchid, so I began to think, ‘oh, this is quite an important place’. Like other self-trained botanists, Ayleen learned through the tutelage of more experienced local orchidologists. The local transmission of botanical knowledge may occur as a type of informal apprenticeship based on experiential and verbal guidance by mentors: In August, a lovely couple named Jack and Lena came. They were both in their late seventies. We introduced ourselves. ‘My name’s Lena, and my Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 39 husband’s name is Jack, and we’ve been coming here for thirty years’. And I said, ‘you must love it’. ‘It’s the orchids we love’, she said. As mentioned also by Lyn Alcock, the Queen of Sheba is a sought after orchid for its iridescent visual wonder. Ayleen recalls her ecstatic first encounter with “the Queen” as a ceremonious baptism into the natural world of the Stirling Range: A day or two later they both bounded in with big smiles on their faces and said ‘The Queen’s out. You’ll have to come and see the Queen’. And I asked, ‘what’s the Queen?’ And they both were stunned. So off I went with them and I found the Queen. Ayleen’s memories of the Queen of Sheba orchid are highly associated with interpersonal memories of Jack and Lena, demonstrating that botanical memory crosses into the natural and cultural worlds and that memories of plants are not merely of plants alone. A larger narrative of cultural memory contextualizes the orchid flower in a network of social relations. For Lyn Alcock and Ayleen Sands, the celebration of the Southwest flora emanates from appreciation of visual beauty embedded in personal accounts of acquainting themselves with their places, as well as collective memories that Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 40 are shared by a community of wildflower enthusiasts. Revealing human topographies of the plant world, botanical memory may consist of such storied engagements with plants. The interviewing of people in communities, therefore, is an integral approach for eliciting the emotional and multisensorial content of human memories, for tracing the landscapes of emotions and remembrance in the Southwest. However, in my sample of interviewees, memories of celebrating wildflowers tend to characterize the experiences of itinerant interviewees whose sense of place is nascent and for whom the notion of topocide (Porteous 1989) may go unregistered because of affinity with legally protected reserves where pressures are diminished. For Ayleen and Lyn, orchid flowers are cause for celebration because of their rarity, colour, and delicate structure, as well as community knowledge of orchids provided by senior figures like Jack and Lena. Botanical memories may consist of storied engagements based in emotional absorption or corporeal involvement, but may also be distanced from concerns of habitat destruction or, in the case of the Stirling Range, alarming rates of plant disease. Further studies of botanical memory should focus on the dynamics between the closely related emotions of mourning and celebration environments. 7. Botanical Memories of Embodiment: Sucking Banksia Nectar Botanical memory influences how people construct a sense of place through multisensorial interactions with the living landscape. However, sense Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 41 experience may be rendered non-corporeal through the construction of remembrance as a procession of images rather than bodily and sensory memory (Connerton 1989; Casey 2000). Although vision is integral to the process of recollection, memories of plants may be rich with sensation. In practice, Kevin Collins (2009) of Banksia Farm in Mount Barker, Western Australia, exemplifies the conceptual frameworks of sensory ethnography (Stoller 1989, 1997; Pink 2009), sensory memory (Seremetakis 1994), and bodily memory (Connerton 1989) as constitutive of botanical memory. His embodied approach to educating the public about the flora of the region uses incorporating practice as one strategy for engendering appreciation of plants. This section details an autoethnographic approach to botanical memory, tracing my generation of bodily memory through multisensorial interaction with native Southwest flora on Kevin’s farm. Kevin and his family bought the property that is now Banksia Farm in 1984 and began planting banksias a year later. By 1987, thirty species had been planted. In ensuing years, the family completed a collection of all seventy-six species while developing overnight facilities for visitors. His interest is a long- term passion for propagating and cultivating banksia: We thought to ourselves, well we’ve got thirty species and there’s only seventy-six, so let’s keep going. It became an obsession and drove the Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 42 kids barmy, driving up and down looking for banksia seeds. In fact we flew to Cairns [in Queensland] to get the last species which grows on Hinchinbrook Island. Kevin draws from botanical science, Aboriginal bushtucker knowledges, and actual bodily contact with seeds, flowers, and leaves to foster appreciation not solely hinging on detached perception of flowers as aesthetic objects. For instance, the checkerboard symmetry of the banksia flower head consists of thousands of tiny flowers, which he encourages me to experience through touch: “So there’s thousands of flowers in there and they’re always in that pattern. Touch some of the little buds, run your fingers up the flower stalk and go down.” Kevin’s approach to the wildflower tourism public is the interactive and corporeal generation of botanical memory. Half of my interview with Kevin occurred as a “mobile interview” (Hitchings and Jones 2004, 8) as we walked amongst his collection of plantings (Fig. 4). Participation in the learning act involved tasting the nectar of the banksia flower and eating its nutty seeds. The ritualistic aspects of plant encounters recur as Kevin advised me to pluck the nectareous flower bunches and suck out the sweet liquid, then put a flame to the seeds to roast them before eating: Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 43 There are plenty of flowers. Get one on a bending stem at the base and pull out the recently opened ones. Pull out a handful while you have them, chew them and you will have sucked the nectar like Aboriginal people did. You can eat the seeds. They are delicious. Usually we put a flame on them just to take the kernel off but just try chewing. They are a little bit like a peanut and quite nutty. This passage expresses physical encounter involving gestural language; pull, chew, suck and eat are actions necessitating the closing of distance and the removal of the sensory distance associated with taxonomic knowledge. Kevin interfaces with plants with sensorial openness and abandonment. Although scientifically competent, his knowledge is partly imbued with the sensation of contact: This one smells quite sweet. You have to put your nose right into it. As kids we would part the flowers, poke our tongue in there and suck the delicious nectar from the flower. Recollections may be sense-rich, expressing the assertion by Seremetakis (1994, 9) that memory is a “culturally mediated material practice that is activated by embodied acts.” Memory of sweetness crosses into smell and taste actively constituted by the diction “poking” and “sucking,” implying an Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 44 intimacy with his plantings. He further encourages me to “squeeze,” “chew” and “suck” the flowers to draw out the sweet nectar: Sometimes you can just squeeze them and see little balls of nectar come up. There’s one in the middle there that’s showing. But just chew the yellow bits, suck it and you should get a little bit of nectar. Odors also shape a visitor’s experience when, for instance, Kevin points out the smell of boronia, one of the characteristic fragrances of the native Southwest vegetation: “This is boronia. One of the highly aromatic plants. Just have a smell of that.” References to modern taxonomic nomenclature commingle with his treatment of ancient aromatic qualities of the cosmopolitan Rosaceae family of which boronia is part: Boronias are in the Rosaceae family and all Rosaceae have highly aromatic foliage. Not only aromatic flowers but aromatic leaves. This is another Rosaceae. And this will be a little bit different. But they’re all very aromatic plants. Kevin bridges seamlessly the technical language of scientific botany and the sensuous language of bodily experience in a manner similar to nineteenth century American writer and naturalist Henry David Thoreau (1993, 2000) and Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 45 Australian place writers such as Edmund Banfield (1968). Sensory practice subtends his understandings of plant ecology: Feel how soft they are and put your head near one of these flowers. Very few banksias are aromatic. And these are pollinated by moths. See those tiny little pollen presenters. They’re very close together. They’re very thin and the little moths push in to suck the nectar to pollinate this one. He hybridizes scientific facts with embodied experience, emphasizing material human and non-human interdependencies. Also featured at Banksia Farm, dryandras offer possibilities for multisensorial involvement with visitors, affirmed by the appellation “honey pot flowers:” Most of the dryandras that have their flower seeds just coming into bud have what we call ‘honey pot flowers’. And when those little loops come out you can put your finger in there and just lick the nectar off. This mobile interview with Kevin Collins occurred at the crossroads of botanical science and human corporeality. As sites of memory expression, bodies mediate the natural and cultural worlds (Giblett 2008). Smells, tastes, and textures undergird abstract scientific explanations that may seem meaningless Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 46 or irrelevant to wildflower tourists. Incubated in the fibres of the body, memories of plants gestate ongoing re-enactments of sensoriality. Fig. 4. Menzies’ Banksia (Banksia menziesii). With common names such as firewood banksia and flame banksia, Menzies’ banksia is known for its quick-burning timber. (Photo by the author) 8. Conclusion I have advocated in this paper a sensory and emotional approach to the study of botanical memory, just as Classen (1997, 410) outlines the timeliness of “a sensory approach to culture” through an anthropology of the senses. Memories of plants are inextricably tied to the complexities of the human faculty of remembrance and its sensory and emotional aspects. As an area of potential Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 47 research into human-plant interactions, botanical memory represents a poignant component of environmental memory that is intimately related to the flora of diverse scales of place, from locales to regions. The beginning of this paper outlined various memory frameworks including sensory memory (Seremetakis 1994), body memory (Connerton 1989; Boyer and Wertsch 2009), collective memory (Hua 2009), emotional geography (Bondi, Davidson, and Smith 2005), and environmental memory (Chawla 1994) to show potential directions for botanical memory research and to establish the modes through which plant enthusiasts wend during the act of recollection. Through readings of excerpts from interview transcripts organized under the overlapping categories mourning, celebration, and embodiment, I have argued that botanical memory may be multisensorial, emotional, and place-specific, but more typically alternates between these various mnemonic modes. Indeed, it is more germane to consider a plurality of botanical memories reflecting cultural and place values, rather than to conceptualize memory as a homogeneous discourse shared by people who interact with flora in a particular locale or region. Botanical memories reflect personal and collective proclivities, values, and dispositions towards plants and places. Different kinds of interviewees have been presented: wildflower tourists and proprietors involved in the consumption of wildflower tourism or the provision of tourism services (Alcock 2009; Sands 2009); scientific botanists and Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 48 horticulturalists who can control, within limits, the health and longevity of their plant collections (Collins 2009); and long-term Southwest residents turned conservationists who have witnessed the destruction of plant biodiversity first-hand (James 2009; Nannup 2009; Williams 2009). As an educator, Kevin Collins could be considered a facilitator of botanical memory involving the senses. The experience he allows for visitors galvanizes the multivalent capacity of memory for sensorial content, but his interview largely excludes feelings or “moods” that foster emotional attachments to flora. Lyn Alcock and Ayleen Sands, on the one hand, express celebratory emotions of flowers fixed firmly in their personal stories but missing the technical specialization of Kevin Collins or the comfort he displays with sensory immersion in the botanical world. David James, Noel Nannup, and Don Williams, on the other hand, refer to attachments to place through memories of flora reflecting a sense of mourning as plant populations vanish. In a rapidly changing place such as the Southwest of Western Australia, the study of human and plant interactions is a much-needed complement to botanical conservation research. Increasingly, the region’s native flora exists as remnant pockets within agricultural, pastoral, industrial, or suburban places. As actual plants become less common, so do memories of those plants; memories which contain rich emotional and sensory narratives with the power to instill in others the emotions of appreciation, wonder, and dismay. The Botanical Memory: Exploring Emotional Recollections of Native Flora in the Southwest of Western Australia _______________________________________________ 49 botanist Stephen Hopper (2009) affirms this in saying “When I grew up, having a patch of bush in the backyard or close enough within walking distance to the city was normal. Increasingly, as areas of bushland diminish and the city expands, that experience is on-offer less and less. So, I think this is where we have to be vigilant and continue to celebrate Western Australia, what’s special about it.” An integral part of celebration and its obverse, mourning, is the faculty of memory in all its diversity. References Albrecht, Glenn. 2010. Solastalgia and the creation of new ways of living. In Nature and culture: Rebuilding lost connections. Eds. Sarah Pilgrim and Jules Pretty. 217-234. London and Washington, D.C.: Earthscan. Alcock, Lyn. Interview by John Ryan. Digital recording. 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Interview by John Ryan. Digital recording. Badgingarra, Western Australia, 28 August 2009. 
work_ihv5x4igszaubcelo4vmqd75t4	----	O'Neill Famine(1) UC Santa Barbara Journal of Transnational American Studies Title Excerpt from Famine Irish and the American Racial State Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/0bb4r3ws Journal Journal of Transnational American Studies, 8(1) Author O'Neill, Peter Publication Date 2017 License https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 4.0 eScholarship.org Powered by the California Digital Library University of California https://escholarship.org/uc/item/0bb4r3ws https://creativecommons.org/licenses/https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0//4.0 https://escholarship.org http://www.cdlib.org/ On a mid-August night in 1841, a thousand persons or so crowded into the Big Shop, a square building on the Massachusetts island of Nantucket, to hear a man, six foot tall with a stern gaze and a thick shock of hair, deliver his first-ever public speech. “It was with the utmost difficulty that I could stand erect, or that I could command and articulate two words without hes- itation and stammering,” the man, then twenty-three years old, later would recall. “I trembled in every limb.” Eventually he would warm to his task so well that his audience—advocates for the abolition of Southern slavery, most of them Northern Protestant intellectuals—“became as much excited as myself.” 1 This novice speaker was Frederick Douglass, who not long before had escaped from slavery and who soon would grow into an unequaled orator, writer, and activist. Contributing to his metamorphosis was a voyage from America to Ireland that Douglass undertook in 1845, the same year that Famine refugees began to sail from Ireland to America. Douglass’s was a “Black Atlantic” crossing, to use Paul Gilroy’s term—“an intercultural and transnational formation” (ix) that emerged out of a sojourn of ideational hybridization and exchange. Venturing eastward, Douglass reclaimed the humanity that had been denied to him and other Americans born into slavery—and to his Africa-born ancestors who, centuries before, had made the very different, Middle Passage journey of enslavement. Just as traveling on the Black Atlantic transformed Douglass, a “Green Atlantic” journey likewise transformed the Irish Famine emigrant—indeed, as this book illustrates, that westward journey often augured an Irish per- son’s crossing from green to white. In examining the interrelation of these Black and Green Atlantic crossings, it is worthwhile first to compare Dou- glass’s tongue-tied oratorical début—the 1841 speech in Nantucket—to the near-voicelessness of the Irish in flight. Near Silence of Famine-Ship Sorrows Appropriating from Antonio Gramsci a term denoting the economically dispossessed and historically muted subject, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak’s foundational postcolonial studies essay poses a question: “Can the Subaltern 1 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 33 Speak?” With regard to the nearly 2 million Irish who sailed to North Amer- ica in the Famine years, 2 many of whom were from the subaltern class, the answer is a resounding “no.” Only two “eyewitness” accounts of such crossings appear to exist, both of highly questionable origins. Moreover, the supposed authors of both were Irish men far different from the peasants who endured arduous journeys in the steerage sections of what are known to this day as “coffin ships.” 3 Between 1846 and 1851, an estimated 5,000 ships filled with Irish men, women, and children journeyed westward across the Atlantic (Laxton 7). Some Irish sailed directly to America from Ireland; many others left from Liverpool and other ports on the British mainland. This Liverpool leg indi- cates an intercrossing of the Black and Green Atlantics: Liverpool once was a premier center for slave trafficking. After Britain abolished slavery in its colonies in 1833, shipowners, crews, and agents who had profited from the Middle Passage suffered financially. According to Edward Laxton, Ireland’s 1840s misfortune proved the old slavers’ stroke of good luck. British ships again made westward journeys with human cargo—this time, Famine Irish in flight—and returned eastward laden with timber from Canada (8). Of the Irish who fled, Kenny states, 1.5 million went to the United States and another 300,000 elsewhere in North America 4 ( American Irish 89–90). Months in transit, in squalid quarters, took a heavy toll. The rate of deaths in the Famine’s worst year was 20 percent out of 214,000 Irish emigrants; that exceeds the estimated loss rate of 14.5 percent out of 12.4 million enslaved persons transported to America during the Middle Passage (Kenny,  103; K. Miller, 292; Rediker 5). To state this is by no means to diminish the ghastly criminality of the Atlantic slave trade; rather, the comparison is offered to explain how the vessels on which many Irish fled came to be called coffin ships. The Irish casualty rate, coupled with the abject poverty of many of the Irish who were emigrating, also helps to explain the virtual absence of coffin ship memoirs. One of the two published memoirs—said to be the diary of Gerard Kee- gan, a County Sligo schoolteacher and 1847 emigrant—has been proven to be a fraud. It first appeared in Quebec in 1895 under the title Summer of Sorrow , a work of historical fiction by Scottish-born Canadian Orangeman Robert Sellars. Despite this, a century later in Quebec, James J. Mangan, a teacher and member of the Christian Brothers religious order, published The Voyage of the Naparima (1982), claiming it to be an edited version based on a photostatic copy of Keegan’s manuscript. Republished in Dublin as Gerard Keegan’s Famine Diary: Journey to the New World (1991), Mangan’s work juxtaposes pages of printed prose with assertedly original journal entries, presenting the latter in cursive script. Whereas some Irish historians, in knee- jerk fashion, have seized upon the publication of the “diary” as proof of the fallacious nature of Irish nationalist received wisdom, without attempt- ing further investigation, Jason King has taken a more academically sound approach. Through meticulous archival research in Quebec, and elsewhere, 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 34 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era King contends that whereas both Keegan’s Famine Diary and Sellars’s Sum- mer of Sorrow are indeed works of historical fiction, they are based on actual eyewitness accounts and utilize other factual sources of famine migra- tion (“Genealogy” 47). King’s research has revealed, for example, that the two principal eyewitnesses upon which these publications were based were figures who ministered to the sick and dying Famine Irish in the fever sheds of Grosse Île, Quebec, Anglo-Irish landlord, Stephen De Vere, and Fr. Ber- nard O’Reilly 5 (48). Given King’s conclusion that Famine Diary “provides a discernable trajectory to contemporary first-person accounts of the fam- ine that are preeminent within a hierarchy of genres” (65), the harrowing entries of the Diary aboard the coffin ship, Naparima are worthy of our consideration. One such—an undated entry just above another dated May 1—states: While I was coming from the galley this afternoon, with a pan of sti- rabout for some sick children, a man suddenly sprang upwards from the hatchway, rushed to the bulwark, his white hair streaming in the wind, and without a moment’s hesitation leaped into the seething waters. He disappeared beneath them at once. His daughter soon came hurrying up the ladder to look for him. She said he had escaped from his bunk during her momentary absence, that he was mad with the fever. When I told her gently as I could that she would never see him again, she could not believe me, thinking he was hiding. Oh the piercing cry that came from her lips when she leaned where he had gone; the rush to the vessel’s side, and the eager look as she scanned the foaming billows. (79) Confabulation undercuts the force of this tale of the diseases and cruel- ties that more than 500 Canada-bound Irish migrants suffered aboard the Naparima , “an ancient tub of a vessel” (64). That said, Mangan’s effort to keep memories of the Famine alive stands in admirable contrast to those who would prefer to downplay the brutal treatment of the Famine Irish. Mangan’s perseverance, moreover, led to his rediscovery of another some- what more authentic coffin ship journal. Thus in 1994, Mangan published Robert Whyte’s 1847 Famine Diary: The Journey of an Irish Coffin Ship , a lightly edited version of The Ocean Plague: The Diary of a Cabin Passenger (1848), ostensibly written by one Robert Whyte. Whereas the authenticity of Ocean Plague has been called into question also, nevertheless, as Mark McGowan’s extensive research has revealed, 6 it contains fragments of eye- witness accounts that appear plausible, thus making it worthy of our con- sideration here. Little is known of Whyte––quite likely a pen name––except that he was an educated Irishman, possibly a professional writer, who on May 30, 1847, boarded the Ajax at a Dublin quay to begin a fateful Atlantic crossing. He and about a hundred other passengers were afloat for more than forty days before catching a glimpse of land. The Ajax did not make 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 35 port until almost sixty days had lapsed, and even then, the journey was not over. Whyte stayed a week at Grosse Île, a quarantine station in the middle of the St. Lawrence River; ailing passengers who had not perished at sea would stay much longer, and some would die at Grosse Île without ever setting foot in the Port of Quebec. Debility had been evident even as the passengers mustered on deck at the start of the journey. “[A] more motley crowd I never beheld; of all ages, from the infant to the feeble grandsire and withered crone,” Whyte writes (18). “Many of them,” he adds, “appeared to me to be quite unfit to undergo the hardship of a long voyage. . . . One old man was so infirm that he seemed to me to be in the last stage of consumption” (18). Not only illness, but also ignorance of what lay ahead, plagued these passengers. “They were chiefly from County Meath, and sent out at the expense of their landlord without any knowledge of the country to which they were going, or means of liveli- hood except the labour of the father of each family” (21). Conditions aboard made matters worse. Migrants were supposed to have brought their own food; there was not nearly enough, and the drinking water, stored in contaminated barrels, soon turned toxic. The inevitable results were fever, dysentery—the symptoms of which Whyte describes in graphic detail—and death. About a month into the journey, Whyte writes: “The moaning and raving of the patients kept me awake nearly all the night. . . . It made my heart bleed to listen to the cries for ‘Water, for God’s sake some water!’ ” (35). “[T]he effluvium of the hold,” he adds, “was shock- ing” (36). Having witnessed the “convulsive agony” of a child (34–35), and the “unnatural” deformity in a sick woman’s “swollen” head (36–37), Whyte learns from priests at Grosse Île that such scenes were not the exception, but rather the norm, on the coffin ships then anchored in the St. Lawrence River. “In the holds of some of them they said they were up to their ankles in filth. The wretched emigrants crowded together like cattle and corpses remaining long unburied—the sailors being ill and the passengers unwilling to touch them” (66). No doubt traumatized by the experience, Whyte crossed the bor- der to the United States, published his diary, then vanished into anonymity. To date no published, firsthand Irish diaries of the Famine voyage have surfaced besides these two. Yet even they do little to give voice to the sea- bounded experiences of the Famine Irish. Neither the putative author(s) of Keegan’s Famine Diary nor the pseudonymous author of Whyte’s 1847 Famine Ship Diary shared much in common with the illiterate, often Gaelic-speaking, spud growers and tenant farmers who suffered between decks (see Figure 1.1 ) Although Keegan’s Diary was based on secondhand sources, Whyte, sup- posedly a professional writer, traveled not in steerage with the subalterns below deck but was a cabin passenger who enjoyed meals with the captain and the captain’s wife. Thus these heart-wrenching sagas came from wit- nesses at some remove—at far less remove, however, than what may be the best-known account of death on a coffin ship. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 36 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era Figure 1.1 “Emigration Vessel.—Between Decks,” Illustrated London News, 10 May 1851: 387. Courtesy of the University of Georgia Libraries. A Coffin Ship Shattered at Cohasset “The brig St. John , from Galway, Ireland, laden with emigrants, was wrecked on Sunday morning.” 7 So writes Henry David Thoreau in “The Shipwreck,” an essay about his American encounter with the Irish Famine. It takes place in 1849 in Cohasset, eight years after and eighty miles away from Frederick Douglass’s début speech. By this time Thoreau was thirty-two years old and a writer of some note. He belonged to a circle of New Englanders, including the celebrated poet Ralph Waldo Emerson, who espoused transcendental- ism. Theirs was a “return to nature” movement, as a Thoreau biographer puts it, a movement that prized individualism and sought “to revert, as much as possible, from an artificial to a simple mode of living” (Salt 36). Thoreau had gone so far as to live alone in a hut beside Walden Pond from 1845 to 1847; by 1849, he was residing near Emerson in Concord, outside of Boston, and endeavoring to edit his Walden diary into a book (37–52, 67). 8 Thoreau begins “The Shipwreck” by explaining that a storm has thwarted his plans to travel via steamship from Boston to Cape Cod. He decides to take a train to see what the tempest has done to a coffin ship and its 145 pas- sengers. On arrival, the essayist accompanies “several hundred” distraught Irish Bostonians to the shore, passing a freshly dug mass grave. He relates: I saw many marble feet and matted heads . . . and one, livid, swollen and mangled body of a drowned girl,––who probably had intended to go out to service in some America family,––to which some rags still adhered, with a string, half concealed by the flesh, about its swollen neck; the coiled up wreck of a human hulk, gashed by the rocks or fishes, so that 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 37 the bone and the muscle were exposed, but quite bloodless,––merely red and white,––with wide-open and staring eyes, yet lusterless, deadlights: or like cabin windows of a stranded vessel filled with sand. (7) The sight doubtless brought to the minds of the Irish grisly Famine scenes, some of which they had lived through, some still occurring across the Atlan- tic. Thoreau misses the connection, finding the scene “bloodless.” Cohasset locals, Thoreau reports, go about their business of collecting seaweed: “Drown who might, they did not forget that this weed was a valuable manure. This shipwreck had not produced a visible vibration in the fabric of society” (9). One local speaks of the wreck “as if he had a bet depending on it, but had no humane interest in the matter” (11). Thoreau is with him: On the whole, it was not so impressive a scene as I might have expected. If I had found one body cast upon the beach in some lonely place, it would have affected me more. I sympathized rather with the winds and waves, as if to toss and mangle those poor human bodies was the order of the day. If this was the law of Nature, why waste any time in awe and pity? . . . It is the individual and private that demands our sympathy. (12-13) Later, he asks: “Why care for these dead bodies?” (14). Seeing so many victims seems to leave Thoreau with what today would be called compassion fatigue, not unlike the “Famine fatigue” that developed in mid-nineteenth-century Britain. 9 With his admission that only “the individual and private .  .  . demands our sympathy” (13), and his later reference to himself as “a lonely walker there” (13), Thoreau maintains distance between himself and the Irish vic- tims. His worldview is at odds with any public, communitarian, or corporate worldview—including Catholicism, 10 the religion of those who drowned at Cohasset. The most destitute of these Irish refugees had subsisted on the margins of a British colonial state that afforded them little to no relief when the Famine struck. These Irish arrived in America in bulk and, as Thoreau sees it, “really have no friends but the worms and the fishes” (14). This premise permits Thoreau to discuss the dead with remarkable detachment. He ticks off bodies on the shore. “Sometimes there were two or more children, or a parent and child, in the same box, and on the lid would perhaps be written with red chalk, ‘Bridget such-a-one, and sister’s child’ ” (7). The name he recites is the cultural imaginary’s stock label for the Irish woman—“Bridget,” partner of “Paddy.” Thoreau suggests that given their intended future of domestic “service in some America family” these drowned Bridgets may be better off dead: “No doubt we have reason to thank God that they have not been ‘shipwrecked in life again’ ” (7; 14). The 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 38 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era claim adumbrates the class dimension of this tragedy. The author’s Ameri- can, individualist, middle-class readers deserve to live, perhaps not the sub- servient, feminized Irish victims. Feminization is indeed at play. 11 In addition to the “body of a drowned girl . . . to which some rags still adhered” (7), the essay describes a woman’s body, “risen in an upright position,” a corpse “whose white cap is blown back with the wind” (13). Dwelling on these particular shipwreck victims, Thoreau indulges in what Jack Morgan calls the “female embodiment of catastrophe.” 12 Morgan shows how “The Shipwreck,” written by an Amer- ican man, charts a feminizing course similar to Famine journals written by British men. In so doing, Morgan draws on Margaret Kelleher’s identifi- cation of a transgressive voyeurism: These men’s Famine accounts, Kelle- her observes, stress the “nakedness or quasi-nakedness” of women victims ( Feminization 24). “The female figure, as scene of hunger and ‘bearer of meaning’, receives a detailed physical inspection, never matched in charac- terizations of male famine victims” ( Feminization 24). 13 If Thoreau shares this transgressive voyeurism with British male observers of the Famine, he shares it also with someone far closer to home. Deborah McDowell’s insightful critique of Douglass’s writing comes to mind here. McDowell observes that in the Narrative , as well as in his other autobiographies, the repeated accounts of whippings of Black women by white men are clearly sexualized. This repetition, she maintains, “projects him [Douglass] into a voyeuristic relation to the violence against slave women, which he watches, and thus enters into a symbolic complicity with the sexual crime he wit- nesses” (203). Douglass’s frequent association of freedom from bondage with manhood, most famously, in his account of his fight with Covey the slave breaker, 14 his constant emphasis on Black male power often at the expense of the female slave, aligns him with contemporaries such as Tho- reau. Both men reproduce a gendered division of power in their writing–– in the Narrative , it is reproduced through the elision of the female slave, whereas in “The Shipwreck” it is the male Famine victim who is elided. Indeed, of all the Paddies aboard the St. John , Thoreau gives not a men- tion. 15 And what little Thoreau said of such men in other contexts revealed an anti-Irish bias. One reference, to an Irish neighbor at Walden Pond, employs words evocative of the potato debate that roiled Britain in the early 1800s: 16 “With his horizon all his own, yet he a poor man, born to be poor, with his inherited Irish poverty or poor life, his Adam’s grandmother and boggy ways, not to rise in this world, he nor his posterity, till their wading webbed bog-trotting feet get talaria to their heels” ( Walden 156). Helen Lojek notes that Thoreau’s prejudicial “attitude towards the Irish is revealed not in a developed essay nor even in any extended analysis in the pages of his journal; rather it comes in bits and pieces; in casual references, in narra- tives included in longer works, in incidental descriptions” (280). 17 Like other aspects of his writings, these references situate Thoreau in the mainstream of nineteenth-century Protestant elite thinking. Douglass’s anti-Irish bias will be discussed shortly. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 39 Protestant Intellectuals and the Irish Peasant Thoreau’s dispassionate meditation on the St. John tragedy is in keeping with the Emersonian tradition that John Carlos Rowe calls “aesthetic dissent”; that is, “the romantic idealist assumption that rigorous reflection on the pro- cesses of thought and representation constitutes in itself a critique of social reality and effects a transformation of the naïve realism that confuses truth with social convention” ( Emerson’s Tomb 1). As Rowe shows, American transcendentalists privileged “rigorous reflection” over political engagement. Thoreau’s reflection leads him to view the St. John disaster as part of “the law of Nature,” not worth one’s “wast[ing] any time in awe and pity” (13). 18 He naturalizes the shipwreck—in effect, he removes human agency from the human carnage—and so senses no need to interrogate the human-made social and political events that drove these Irish Famine escapees to the rocks of Cohasset. The feint nicely illustrates how transcendentalism leant itself to the emergence of a US exceptionalist ideology disinterested in the ugliness of primitive accumulation lurking at the state’s foundations. The ugliness extended to the annihilation of indigenous Americans, to the subjection of women, and to the mistreatment of persons whose ancestors arrived from continents other than Europe. The ugliness also extended, of course, to slav- ery. As an emergent sovereign power, the United States included slaves only so that they could be excluded from its legal framework; that is, US laws regarded African American slaves not as people but as property subject to the laws of commerce. Slaves were “two persons in one,” Stephen Best main- tains (9). “Rights” were attached to the slave’s labor but not to the slave’s body; moreover, any such rights were held not by the slave but by the “free white person” adjudged the slave’s owner. Best points to the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850, which treated the slave both as bare life devoid of legal stand- ing as a human being and also as an article of property that may be bought, sold, or hunted down (9). These gritty complexities escaped the transcenden- talists’ regard. As Rowe maintains, the great emancipatory movements of the American nineteenth century–– women’s rights and the abolition of slavery––were unquestionably subordinated by this aesthetic ideology to the ‘higher laws’ of an Ameri- can Romanticism established firmly by Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman and institutionalized by several generations of professional interpreters. (5) This Protestant intellectual establishment likewise enabled prejudice more virulent than the casual form that Thoreau practiced. An example may be found in an 1837 sermon in which Emerson offered this assessment of minority groups then called “races”: 19 I think it cannot be maintained by any candid person that the African race have ever occupied or do promise ever to occupy any very high 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 40 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era place in the human family. The Irish cannot; the American Indian can- not; the Chinese cannot. Before the energy of the Caucasian race all the other races have quailed and done obeisance. (Emerson, Journals 152) 20 Emerson would elaborate on these ideas in English Traits , his 1856 trans- atlantic bestseller. From its inception, as evidenced by the Naturalization Act of 1790, the American state classified the Irish as “whites” eligible for citi- zenship. 21 Yet for decades thereafter, Emerson and his like distinguished the Irish from the Anglo-Saxon 22 and considered the latter the one true Amer- ican stock. Even as America’s dominant culture came to accept the Irish, 23 moreover, it continued to consign the other groups named by Emerson to racial otherness. Erasure/Excavation of Irish Identities Curiously, Thoreau’s essay “The Shipwreck” eventually contradicts its initial assertion of the Cohasset locals’ numbness. “They would watch there for many days and nights for the sea to give up its dead,” he writes, “and their imaginations and sympathies would supply the place of mourners far away, who as yet knew not of the wreck” (13). Yet even as he commends these locals’ vigilance, Thoreau—again, perhaps, revealing his own classism— insists that they lack his depth. Unlike them, he sees an aesthetic in the sea’s coughing up of the upright corpse of a woman, her white cap blowing in the wind: “I saw,” he says, “that the beauty of the shore itself was wrecked for many a lonely walker there, until he could perceive at last, how its beauty was enhanced by wrecks like this, and it acquired thus a rarer and sub- limer beauty still” (13–14). By this telling the drowned woman is reified, an unnamed figure put on the landscape just so that the “lonely walker” may contemplate her. Thoreau’s erasure of Irish identities contrasts with the unearthing of those same identities in a recent book on this same calamity. Writing in 2009, William Henry, author of Coffin Ship: The Wreck of the Brig St. John , has no circa-1849 quotations at his disposal. Nevertheless, by consulting community historians on both sides of the Atlantic, Henry pieces together details about the people doomed to travel on the St. John ’s final voyage. His book identifies the captain as Martin Oliver, a Galway resident like all his crew. Also reproduced are the names and homelands of passengers—most hailed from Clare or Connemara, and some had walked for days to reach the Galway port. With precision, Henry recounts that 109 passengers and seven crew members drowned at Cohasset; only seventeen passengers and nine of the crew—among them, Captain Oliver—survived. Henry’s prose is not polished. Yet by reviving facts in the lives of these shipwrecked, he succeeds where Thoreau, deadened to all feeling, cannot. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 41 Figure 1.2 “Frederick Douglass.” 1845. Courtesy of the Hargrett Rare Book & Manuscript Library at the University of Georgia. Thoreau’s “drowned girl” is not a human but rather “the coiled up wreck of a human hulk” (7)—the cast off of a transcendent “Spirit” (15). Perhaps unwittingly, by use of the term “hulk,” Thoreau conjures not only a ruin from which the Spirit has fled, a husk without its kernel, but also the “hulks” to which many Famine Irish were condemned for the crime of stealing food. In this respect, “hulk” is both a metaphor for expendable life and a metonym for the Famine victims who began fleeing from Ireland’s horrors the same year that Thoreau retreated to Walden’s splendors: 1845. Douglass Flees to an Ireland Itself in Flight In 1845, four years after his Nantucket speech, Frederick Douglass also put to flight. His first book had just been published, titled Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass , an American Slave, Written by Himself ; it begins with his life as a slave in Maryland, tells of his escape to the North, and ends with his speech at the abolitionist rally in Nantucket. Today, on account of that book and two other autobiographies, My Bondage and My Freedom (1855) and Life and Times of Frederick Douglass (1893), he is regarded among the most remarkable figures in the history of American letters. “In his writing,” William S. McFeely writes, “Douglass outran being a runaway” (115). Even as early as 1845, Douglass was much in demand as a public speaker. But he was a wanted man in another sense, too, his risk of forced return to slavery growing along with his fame. Thus in late August 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 42 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era of that year, Douglass accepted abolitionists’ invitation to visit Britain and Ireland. Douglass’s voyage to Liverpool aboard the Cunard liner Cambria was a transformative journey second only to his escape from Maryland. 24 It is true that he was forced to travel in steerage, for the reason that, as he writes in My Bondage, My Freedom , “American prejudice against color triumphed over British liberality and civilization, and erected a color test and condition for crossing the sea in the cabin of a British vessel” ( Autobiographies 370). Douglass was not unduly perturbed, however. Soon he began receiving pas- sengers from first class who began calling on him in his second-class quar- ters. He seemed to enjoy himself for the most part and was quite the center of attraction during the voyage. Perhaps responding to requests, Cambria ’s Captain Judkins invited Dou- glass to lecture on slavery (371). According to McFeely, “Douglass delivered a fiery oration denouncing the merchants who had used ships, like the one he was on, to haul human cargo from Africa” (120). Some inebriated South- ern slaveholders in the audience made to throw Douglass overboard. They were subdued by Judkins, who in a wonderfully ironic gesture, threatened “to put the salt water mobocrats in irons” ( Autobiographies 371). For the first time in Douglass’s life, authority had come to his rescue. As Alan J. Rice and Martin Crawford write in the introductory chapter to their collection of essays on Douglass’s visit to Ireland and Britain, Liberating Sojourn , “On the Cambria , the racial world is turned upside down in a carnivalesque picture of enchained slaveholders and free-speaking African Americans that only becomes possible away from American mores in the liminal zone of the sea” (3). Douglass often recalled this incident, expressing his gratitude that the slaveholders had unwittingly done him a huge favor. “Men, in their senses,” he wrote, “do not take bowie knives to kill mosquitoes, nor pistols to shoot flies; and the American passengers on board the Cambria took the most effec- tive method of telling the British public that I had something to say” (381). In no small part due to the publicity surrounding the incident, in Britain and Ireland Douglass’s appearances attracted large and enthusiastic crowds. But the incident had a much deeper significance, according to Rice and Crawford: What Douglass achieved through the recounting of his triumph aboard the Cambria was a refiguring of the Atlantic crossing from a histori- cally enslaving experience into a literally liberating one. The old Atlantic triangular trade had taken slaves to the Americas and brought back cotton and other raw materials that were turned into finished goods to be traded for slaves in Africa. Douglass’s trip could be seen symbolically to mirror aspects of this trade. He came to Britain as raw material of a great black figure; he would leave in April 1847 the finished indepen- dent man, cut from a whole cloth and able to make his own decisions about the strategies and ideologies of the abolitionist movement. (3) 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 43 Douglass stayed only a few days in England before he sailed back west to Ireland. There he was to spend almost six months before journeying onward to Scotland and England. It was in Ireland, not England, that Douglass first noticed a change within. “I can truly say,” he wrote in one of several public letters he sent New England abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison from Ire- land, “I have spent some of the happiest moments of my life in this country. I seemed to have undergone a transformation, I live a new life” ( Autobiog- raphies 373). Douglass Finds His Voice Ireland From Belfast on New Year’s Day in 1846, Douglass wrote Garrison: Instead of the bright blue sky of America, I am covered with the soft grey fog of the Emerald Isle. I breathe and lo! the chattel becomes a man. I gaze around in vain for one who will question my equal humanity, claim me as a slave, or offer me an insult. I employ a cab—I am seated beside white people—I reach the hotel—I enter the same door—I am shown into the same parlor—I dine at the same table—and no one is offended. No delicate nose deforms in my presence. (P. Foner 1:127–28) In the same letter, Douglass adds, “My opportunities for learning the char- acter and condition of the people of this land have been very great” (1:126). He had traveled all over Ireland, and whereas he undoubtedly learned a lot about the Irish people, he learned perhaps even more about himself. His observations in Ireland stand in marked contrast to some he made about England. Later in his tour, for example, Douglass would comment, “I find I am hardly Black enough for British taste” (qtd in Jenkins 27). “If Victorian Britain found in Douglass an answer to its need for an exotic Other,” Lee Jenkins has observed, “Douglass himself seems to have found the full com- plement of his selfhood—in Victorian Ireland” (27). Douglass’s Irish sojourn began in Dublin, in the home of Quaker Richard Webb, publisher of the Irish edition of The Narrative . Webb and Douglass argued over many aspects of publication. One row concerned the inclusion of articles by two Belfast clergymen in the Dublin edition. Webb did not want to include them, but Douglass insisted and, in the end, prevailed. In contrast to many American abolitionists “Webb was, in the main, an honor- able foe,” according to McFeely. “He was one of the few of Douglass’ anti- slavery antagonists who did not prefer to smile benignly and then do their undercutting offstage. Webb was brave enough to disagree with Douglass to his face” (122). This crucial difference between Webb and the New England abolitionists did not go unnoticed by Douglass. The Irish edition of The Narrative contains a new preface and other emendations. Until fairly recently, scholars for the most part ignored the 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 44 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era changes that Douglass made in Ireland; most considered the first Ameri- can printing of The Narrative to be the authoritative version. But then in 2001, Fionnghuala Sweeney and Patricia Ferreira published separate jour- nal articles, each of which highlighted the personal and literary opportu- nities of which Douglass had availed himself while in Ireland. 25 Sweeney contended that the reprinting of the Narrative in Ireland marks the beginning of a stage in Douglass’s career that has profound implications for contemporary reading of his life and work . . . the Irish Narratives mark a transitional phase in Douglass’ emergence as a modern subject and in his negotiation of nineteenth-century models of socio-cultural identity. (“Republic” 47) Ferreira in turn pointed out that Douglass’s use in the Irish edition of spe- cific, discursive methodologies marked a profound change: it “demonstrates his assertion of command over his own destiny” (60). Part of his new pref- ace and the entire appendix are devoted to an exchange between Douglass and a supporter of slavery, A.C.C. Thompson. Originally a set of letters in newspapers, Douglass crafted them into a dialog “that speaks to his desire to seize and manage his own affairs” (Ferreira 60). Douglass’s dialogic use of Thompson skillfully subverts nineteenth-century Americans’ refusal to deem a slave narrative authentic unless it granted discursive authority to white people of a certain social standing. The Narrative ’s Dublin version mocks this practice of privileging one writer’s words over another on account of social standing and race. The Dublin edition thus marks a turning point in Douglass’s literary and political life, a time when he took self-confident steps to get out from under the suffocating, paternalistic attempts of the New England antislavery establishment to control him. In Ireland, Douglass was becoming his own man. “In literary terms this involved the recreation of Ireland as a space of social mobility that allowed the crystallization of modern subjectivity that Douglass was so painstakingly constructing,” Sweeney writes. “Ireland, a liminal and empowering space—like Douglass himself, on the margin of modernity—provided the context of his political and literary evolution” (“Republic” 56). Ireland’s “Liberator” Besides his literary endeavors in Ireland, Douglass met with people who would inspire him for a lifetime, and no one inspired him more than Daniel O’Connell. Douglass so revered the man, known in Ireland as the Liberator, that he visited Dublin’s Kilmainham Jail just to see the cell where his hero once had been held (Rolston 78). 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 45 In his Life and Times , Douglass writes of the great Irish Nationalist leader and gifted orator O’Connell: Until I heard this man I had thought that the story of his oratory was greatly exaggerated. . . . His eloquence came down upon the vast assem- bly like a summer thunder-shower upon a dusty road. He could at will stir the multitude to a tempest of wrath or reduce it to the silence with which a mother leaves the cradle-side of her sleeping babe. Such ten- derness, such pathos, such world-embracing love!—and, on the other hand, such indignation, such fiery and thunderous denunciation, such wit and humor, I never heard surpassed, if equaled at home or abroad. He held Ireland within the grasp of his strong hand, and could lead it whithersoever he would, for Ireland believed in him and loved him as she loved and believed in no leader since. ( Autobiographies 682) O’Connell’s renown centers primarily on his political agitation around two main issues: first, repeal of the 1801 Act of Union that purported to join Ireland with Britain, and second, status for Irish Catholics whom Brit- ish Penal Laws denied even the most basic legal standing (Nowlan 10). The first effort failed. But O’Connell won partial success in the latter in 1829, when Parliament passed the Catholic Emancipation Act, which accorded Irish Catholics limited voting and property rights. Notable from Douglass’s perspective was O’Connell’s stance on slavery. At Westminster, O’Connell gave eloquent speeches advocating the abolition of slavery. O’Connell refused money offered him by Southern slaveholders, 26 moreover, and he enforced an oft-quoted test: “That one should ascertain where an Englishman or Irishman stood on slavery before shaking his hand” (Rolston 78–79). In her excellent biography of the Liberator, Christine Kinealy argues: “His unwavering commitment to the cause of abolition, and to human rights generally, marked him out as one of the truly great statesmen of the nineteenth century” (9). O’Connell’s exploits endeared him to Douglass, to Garrison, and to other abolitionists active on both sides of the Atlantic. Douglass would maintain a national and transnational presence after his return in 1847. The very next year, he was the only African American person to attend and speak at the first women’s rights conference in Seneca Falls, New York. Thereafter, he championed feminism as well as the abolition of slavery and the institution of home rule in Ireland. In 1872, he became the first African American to win nomination for vice president of the United States, on an Equal Rights Party ticket headed by the first woman presi- dential nominee, Victoria Woodhull. Over the decades, he traveled widely, was a frequent guest at the White House, and served as US envoy to the Dominican Republic and, from 1889 to 1891 as US minister resident and consul to Haiti. Moreover, Douglass’s publication of successive biographies 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 46 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era secured him a place among the greats of American letters. 27 This pivotal nineteenth-century figure died on February 20, 1895, and was buried in Mount Hope Cemetery in Rochester, New York. 28 Douglass Encounters the Famine Irish Douglass’s first transatlantic sojourn coincided with the single most destruc- tive event of nineteenth-century Europe. The Great Irish Famine had begun in 1845 with the partial failing of the year’s crop of potatoes, Irish peasants’ staple food. Repeated crop failures would hasten the spread of disease and destitution and lead, over the course of the decade, to the deaths of well over a million Irish children, women, and men. The sorrows surrounding him in Ireland were not lost on Douglass. In an extraordinary letter dated February 26, 1846, he described to Garrison a harrowing tableaux. In Dublin, “the scenes I there witnessed were such to make me ‘blush and hang my head to think myself a man’ ” (P. Foner 1:139). Douglass wrote of his visit to a windowless, mud-walled hut, filthy and scum covered, a place where men, women and children “lie down together, in much the same degradation as the American slaves. I see much here to remind me of my former condition, and I confess I should be ashamed to lift up my voice against American slavery, but that I know the cause of human- ity is one the world over” (1:141). Douglass echoes these thoughts in My Bondage and My Freedom , published nearly a decade later. Recalling songs that slaves were made to sing on American plantations, he writes: “I have never heard any songs like those anywhere since I left slavery, except when in Ireland. There I heard the same wailing notes, and was much affected by them. It was during the famine of 1845–6” ( Autobiographies 184). Like- wise, during an 1854 lecture, 29 Douglass describes “a large meeting of the common people” he attended nine years before in Dublin: “More than five thousand were assembled; and I say, with no wish to wound the feelings of any Irishman, that these people lacked only a black skin and wooly hair, to complete their likeness to the plantation negro.” He explains to his Cleve- land audience that the claim applies not to educated and well-to-do Irish but rather to the peasantry that suffered most during the Famine: “[T]he Irishman ignorant and degraded, compares in form and feature, with the Negro” (P. Foner 2: 305). Through comments like these, Douglass repeat- edly connects his bare life existence in America—that is, the experiences of himself and others who had been reduced to slavery in the early American Republic—with contemporaneous Irish subaltern poverty and deprivation under British colonial rule. Douglass’s perception of the underbellies of two Atlantic racial states distinguishes him from most Famine Irish emigrants, as we soon shall see. It likewise distinguished him from white Protestant elites who professed to draw inspiration from Douglass’s example. Among these latter was Thoreau. Born within months of one another, 30 Tho- reau and Douglass appear never to have met in person. Douglass frequently 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 47 traveled abroad and absorbed what he learned there; Thoreau never made an Atlantic voyage. 31 And yet the lives of the two men sometimes entwined. Thoreau’s Walden , published in 1854, following years of editing, has been compared to Douglass’s Narrative : both works involve the repudiation of and escape from a corrupt society; both record a tale of growing self-reliance and self-confidence. McFeely writes that “Thoreau heard a Wendell Phillips lecture describing Douglass’s exodus––and reporting that a written account was on its way––in the spring of 1845 as he was planning his sojourn outside Concord” (115). According to Thoreau biographer Robert Richardson, Jr., it is not “an accident that the earliest stages of Thoreau’s move to Walden coincide with . . . the publication of Douglass’s narrative of how he gained his freedom. Walden is about self-emancipation” (qtd in McFeely 115). Although they came to the position by profoundly different paths, both Thoreau and Douglass advocated the abolition of Southern slavery. Once, in 1859, when Douglass became unable to fulfill a speaking engagement, Thoreau served as his replacement. “The stand-in did well,” writes McFeely, adding that “Henry David Thoreau’s ‘A Plea for John Brown’ was the most powerful address of his life” (202). But intellectuals such as Thoreau did not link slavery in America to bare life existences elsewhere; rather, they expressed outrage at slavery’s denial of individual human liberty. Indeed, the detachment that Thoreau put forward in his “Shipwreck” essay matched that of many of Douglass’s sponsors in Ireland, most of whom were middle- to upper-class Protestants. They seemed not particularly concerned by the suffering all around them. McFeely writes, “Douglass did not entirely miss this tragic irony . . .” (126). To the contrary, Douglass’s February 1846 letter to Garrison demonstrates his grasp of connections among underclasses in Ireland and America; in McFeely’s words, “how real for him was the chain that linked all suffering people” (126). But although Douglass comprehended the irony, “he never brought it up in public addresses,” perhaps not wishing to offend his hosts (126). Douglass refrained from offering solutions to the problems that he saw in Ireland. “In lieu of explanation,” McFeely con- cludes, “he resorted to the familiar dodge of blaming drunkenness” (126). It was a dodge—a scapegoat stereotype of which Protestant elites in particular were fond 32 —that Douglass invoked when convenience warranted. As Swee- ney shows in her book Frederick Douglass and the Atlantic World , at times during his journey abroad, Douglass posited the starving Irish peasant as a symbol of social difference; in so doing, he enhanced the portrayal of himself as an enlightened expatriate American. Famine Irish Wash Ashore in America The ways that Atlantic crossings affected Irish refugees were no less com- plex. The surge of Irish sojourns had begun out of desperation; as despera- tion mounted, the number of crossings increased. In all, upwards of 2 million persons were forced to emigrate in less than a decade (Kenny, American Irish 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 48 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 89–90). They fled in one-time slave ships and even less seaworthy vessels, enduring conditions that might be called unspeakable had not Keegan’s and Whyte’s coffin ship memoirs given voice to those conditions. Transatlantic voy- ages once undertaken only in spring or summer, for safety’s sake, continued year-round. Emigrants were thrown to the mercy of the elements. As Thoreau’s and Henry’s accounts of the St. John make clear, not all of them survived. Exacerbating matters, English and Anglo-Irish landlords eager to shed the burden of Ireland’s impoverished surplus population offered their Famine-struck tenants free passage to America. Some landowners endeav- ored to assure that their tenants’ journey would be humane; many did not. In the latter category was John Henry Temple, known as Lord Palmerston—in Trollope’s telling, “he was dear old Pam to the normal Englishman” (185). 33 A cabinet member and future British prime minister, “Pam” spent most of his time in London and so never witnessed firsthand the suffering of his Irish tenantry; he did, however, take note of the Famine’s drain on his profit margin. In Black ’47, the worst year of the disaster, he dispatched 2,000 of his poorest tenants to North America by the cheapest means available. On arrival of the first of the nine Palmerston coffin ships, authorities in Saint John, New Brunswick, were enraged: most persons on board were too old, too young, or too sick to work. Worse was to come. On the next ship, 107 had died of fever, and sixty were seriously ill. Of a third ship, the chief sur- geon at the Canadian quarantine station reported: “[M]any are almost in a state of nudity; 99 percent of the passengers on this ship must become a public charge immediately” (qtd in Laxton 77). The story of the Famine Irish in the United States began much the same way. Their demographic impact was considerable: of all immigrants to the United States in the 1840s nearly half, and in the 1850s more than a third, were Irish. 34 They had left Ireland as a matter of survival rather than choice and so were vastly unprepared for the transition. As Kenny notes, “[T]he immigrants of the famine generation were close to the bottom of the Amer- ican social scale. There were many individual exceptions, of course, but American Irish in the period 1845 to 1870 were clearly the least successful of all European Americans” (109). The American Protestant elites were appalled, and as in Britain, simi- anized images of “Paddy” (sometimes, “Mick,” or “Mike”) and “Bridget” (“Norah”) became commonplace in American cultural production. These derogations were indicative of other discrimination the Irish endured on arrival in America, as will be detailed in succeeding chapters. Of special note in the context of this chapter is how fluctuations in the position of this gen- eration, as it voyaged out of one state and sought to anchor itself in another, affected the generation’s attitudes and actions toward others. The fact is that by the late nineteenth century, the transatlantic Irish had been liberated from their barely human status assigned them by the sovereign power of the British colonial state in Ireland. Undoubtedly, dis- criminatory practices due to their status as “white-if-not-quite” 35 in the 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 49 American cultural imaginary caused considerable hardship for the newly arrived, subaltern Irish. Many families struggled for generations to escape the inequitable, often brutal American class system. Even among the more well-to-do Irish Catholic immigrants, these quotidian struggles piqued Irish American anxiety with respect to race. These Irish were far less enamored than Douglass, for instance, with O’Connell’s assertions of common cause between Irish liberation and the liberation of enslaved African Americans. 36 Once in America, Famine refugees and their families deigned not to connect their own barely human status in Ireland with the bare life status of any group that America had relegated to the underclass on grounds of “race.” Irish America bristled at American nativist depictions that equated it with other groups. An 1876 cover of Harper’s Weekly , a “most important” US periodical, 37 exemplified such depictions (see Figure 1.3 ). Sitting in perfect balance in opposite pans of a scale, two men—a barefoot African Ameri- can designated “Black” and a simianized, leprechaun-garbed Irish American designated “White”—glare at each other. “The Ignorant Vote—Honors Are Figure 1.3 “The Ignorant Vote—Honors Are Easy.” Cover of Harper’s Weekly, December 9, 1876. Courtesy of the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 50 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era Easy,” reads the caption. As the next chapter details, ordinary Irish shared the anxiety such depictions caused with an ideological apparatus that was central to their new lives, the American Catholic Church. Irish American anxiety about race surfaced in more sinister ways as well. During the 1863 Draft Riots, Irish mobs burned down New York’s Colored Orphan Asylum and murdered and mutilated scores of African Americans (Kenny 124–25). In California in the 1870s and 1880s, the Irish led the often-violent anti-Chinese movement. 38 Examples of inspiring solidarity between the Irish and other ethnicities exist—the San Patricio Battalion is one 39 —but examples like these are the exception rather than the rule. As we shall see in subsequent chapters, the American racial state welcomed the Irish as “free white labor,” and many Irish responded by enforcing stereotypes that enabled the exclusion, or policing, of groups deemed “non-white.” 40 Entering a new calculus of race, they played a key role in defining the Amer- ican racial state. And one of most importance apparatuses that enabled that role was the Irish-controlled American Roman Catholic Church, to which we turn in the following chapter. Notes 1. The quoted recollection is from Douglass’s memoir titled My Bondage, My Freedom (1855), reprinted in Autobiographies 364. For an account of the speech, see McFeely 88–90. On Douglass’s age and height, see “Death of Fred Douglass,” New York Times , Feb. 21, 1895, available at http://www.nytimes.com/learning/ general/onthisday/bday/0207.html. Accessed 09/13/14. On Douglass’s appear- ance in this period, see Figure 1.2, reproduced later in this chapter. 2. See Kenny, American Irish 89–90 (writing that 1.8 million Irish went to North America between 1846 and 1855). 3. Statistics regarding these ships are set forth later in the chapter. See also O’Neill, “Frederick Douglass and the Irish.” 4. Because the US racial state is the focus of this book, Famine Irish migration to Canada will not be given a thorough investigation here. Fortunately there is some excellent scholarship on the subject. See King; McGowan. 5. Bernard O’Reilly’s writings on the family are analyzed in Chapter 4. 6. See McGowan, “Fame, Facts, and Fabrication.” 7. Thoreau, “Shipwreck,” 6. 8. Salt reports that immediately after leaving his hut at Walden—located on property owned by Emerson—Thoreau lived at the Emerson’s house in Concord, about twenty miles northwest of Boston, while the poet was away in Europe (40, 66). “After Emerson’s return to Concord in 1849 Thoreau lived at his father’s house in the village, and this continued to be his home for the rest of his life” ( ibid. 66). 9. For more on “Famine fatigue,” see Donnelly. 10. On Catholicism and corporatism, see the introduction. 11. On the gendering of Irish women and Chinese men in the nineteenth-century US cultural imaginary, see Ch. 5. 12. See Jack Morgan’s “Thoreau’s ‘The Shipwreck’ (1855): Famine Narratives and the Female Embodiment of Catastrophe.” 13. On Kelleher’s The Feminization of the Famine (1997). 14. For an illuminating examination of the psychoanalytical aspects of Douglass’s fight with Covey, see JanMohamed, Ch. 8. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era 51 15. The evidence suggests that a total of 98 passengers and 16 crew members were aboard the St. John when it sailed from Galway. Roughly ninety people were lost, of whom about one-third were men. Nineteen of victims were classified as children. For further information see Wreck of the St. John , http://www.clareli brary.ie/eolas/coclare/history/passlist_stjohn.htm. 16. See Introduction. 17. For a sympathetic treatment of Thoreau’s “The Shipwreck” as it relates to the Irish, see Jack Morgan. 18. Thoreau’s philosophy naturalizes the gross destruction of human life, a view entirely consistent with the basic tenets of the Manifest Destiny. 19. Today, they more likely would be referred to as “ethnic groups.” See Ch. 1. For an excellent account of Emerson’s racism, see Nell Irvin Painter’s History of White People. 20. I first found this quote in Luke Gibbon’s Transformations of Irish Culture (176). 21. See Introduction. 22. The term “Anglo-Saxon” became somewhat of a joke by the dawn of the twen- tieth century. Irish American journalist Peter Finley Dunne lampooned the label in his popular syndicated newspaper column, “Mr. Dooley.” Writing at the con- clusion of the Spanish-American War in 1898, Mr. Dooley pontificates: Mack is an Anglo-Saxon. His folks come fr’m th’ County Armagh, an’ their naytional Anglo-Saxon hymn is ‘O’Donnell Aboo.’ Teddy Rosenfelt is another Anglo-Saxon. An’ I’m an Anglo-Saxon. I’m wan iv th’ hottest Anglo-Saxons that iver come out iv Anglo-Saxony. Th’ name iv Dooley has been th’ proudest Anglo-Saxon name in th’ County Roscommon f’r many years. Mr. Dooley in Peace and War (54–55). 23. As the needs of the US racial state took precedence over WASP cultural objec- tions, the term “Anglo-Saxon” faded from American nationalist rhetoric. By then, its meaning had expanded to incorporate certain ethnic groups, including the Irish, into a larger European framework. 24. The voyage is the subject of a brilliant play, The Cambria: Frederick Douglass’s Voyage to Ireland 1845 , by the Irish actor and playwright Donal O’Kelly. 25. Three excellent and more detailed accounts of Douglass’s Irish visit have since been published––Sweeney’s Frederick Douglass (2007), Tom Chaffin’s Giant’s Causeway (2014), and Lawrence Fenton’s Frederick Douglass in Ireland . 26. Angela Murphy’s scholarship shows that O’Connell refused money from New Orleans-based repealers because of the violent anti-British language of the accom- panying letter and not, as has been claimed, because of the group’s pro-slavery views. See Murphy’s American Slavery, Irish Freedom . On O’Connell’s relation- ship with a pivotal Irish American, New York Archbishop John Hughes, see Ch. 2 of this volume. 27. As indicated earlier in this chapter, these were My Bondage, My Freedom (1855)—an updated and revised version of A Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave. Written by Himself (1847)—along with The Life and Times of Frederick Douglass (1881, revised 1892). The women’s rights movement of the era is further discussed in Ch. 4. 28. For a complete biography of Douglass, see McFeely. See also “Death of Fred Douglass,” New York Times , Feb. 21, 1895, available at http://www.nytimes. com/learning/general/onthisday/bday/0207.html. 29. Titled “The Claims of the Negro Ethnologically Considered,” the lecture was delivered on July 12, 1854, at Western Reserve College. 30. Thoreau was born July 12, 1817, in Concord, Massachusetts, and died there, at age forty-four, on May 6, 1862 (Salt 2, 98). Douglass’s New York Times 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 52 Black and Green Atlantic Crossings in the Famine Era obituary states that he was born in 1817 on a plantation in Maryland and died in Washington, D.C., on February 20, 1895, in his seventy-eighth year of life. See “Death of Fred Douglass,” New York Times , Feb. 21, 1895, available at http:// www.nytimes.com/learning/general/onthisday/bday/0207.html. Other sources place Douglass’s birthdate in February 1818. 31. On Douglass, see Sweeney’s Frederick Douglass and the Atlantic World. Thoreau’s only journey outside the United States was to Quebec; his farthest journey from Massachusetts was to Minnesota (Christie 3–8). 32. Douglass praised Father Theobald Mathew, the Irish friar who founded a tem- perance movement in 1838 and subsequently endeavored to establish it in the United States. See Ch. 4 of this volume. 33. Palmerston’s support of Malthusian ideas is treated in this book’s introduction. 34. To be precise, Irish made up 45.6 percent of all immigrants to the United States in the 1840s and 35.2 percent in the 1850s (Kenny, American Irish 97–98, 104, 121). 35. See Eagan, “ ‘White,’ If ‘Not Quite.’ ” 36. An extreme example may be found in the life story of the Ulster-born Protestant John Mitchel, who immigrated to the United States by way of an 1848 convic- tion and transportation to what is now Tasmania. I have written about Mitchel’s pro-slavery writings and activities in O’Neill, “Memory.” 37. Mott (40): in full, this passage of Mott’s history of late nineteenth-century US magazines states: Perhaps the most important American weekly in existence at the begin- ning of 1865 was the one for which the Harpers furnished the manage- ment, George William Curtis most of the editorials, and Thomas Nast many of the news pictures and cartoons. These three elements, with serial fiction and news articles, combined to make Harper’s Weekly popular and powerful. (ibid.) 38. 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At Emerson’s Tomb: The Politics of Classical American Litera- ture . New York: Columbia UP, 1997. Salt, Henry S. Life of Henry David Thoreau . (1890) Ed. George Hendrick, Willene Hendrick, and Fritz Oehlschlaerger. Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1993. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” in Cary Nelson and Law- rence Grossberg, eds., Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture . Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1988, 271–313. Stevens, Peter F. The Rogue’s March: John Riley and the St. Patrick’s Battalion . Wash- ington, DC: Potomac Books, 1999. Sweeney, Fionnghuala. Frederick Douglass and the Atlantic World . Liverpool: Liv- erpool UP, 2007. ———. “ ‘The Republic of Letters’: Frederick Douglass, Ireland, and the Irish Narra- tives.” Eire-Ireland 36.1–2 (Spring–Summer 2001): 47–65. Thoreau, Henry David. “The Shipwreck,” in Cape Cod . New York: Thomas Y. Crow- ell Co., 1961, 3–20. ———. Walden: Or Life in the Woods and On the Duty of Civil Disobedience . New York: Harper Classics, 1965. Trollope, Anthony. Lord Palmerston . London: Wm. Ibster, Ltd., 1882. Google Books . Accessed 12/16/14. Whyte, Robert. 1847 Famine Ship Diary: The Journey of an Irish Coffin Ship . Ed. James J. Mangan. Dublin: Mercier, 1994. 8.1 (2017)Journal of Transnational American Studies (JTAS) 
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work_inij7gumxbckjjaxsaxtpaiwsi	----	Life quality index for the estimation of societal willingness-to-pay for safety Life quality index for the estimation of societal willingness-to-pay for safety M.D. Pandeya,*, J.S. Nathwanib,1 aDepartment of Civil Engineering, Institute for Risk Research, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada bDepartment of Management Studies, Institute for Risk Research, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada Abstract The engineering and management of human safety is an important societal objective that includes extensive efforts by governments, both legislative and administrative, to enhance the health and safety of the public. Although the achievement of safety goals depend primarily on individuals and organizations responsible for safety, much support is drawn from expertise in diverse scientific and engineering dis- ciplines. The activities range from structural safety (dams, tunnels, bridges to tall buildings) to safe oper- ation of hazardous industrial installations (energy generation facilities, LNG terminals, petrochemical plants) to transportation systems (airline, rail, car safety) to technologies designed to minimize adverse impacts on the environment. All these activities are crucially concerned with risk: with the likelihood and the probable effects of various measures on life and health. We have developed a unified rationale and a clear basis for effective strategic management of risk across diverse sectors. Safety is an important objective in society but it is not the only one. The allocation of society’s resources devoted to safety must be con- tinually appraised in light of competing needs, because there is a limit on the resources that can be expen- ded to extend life. The paper presents the Life Quality Index (LQI) as a tool for the assessment of risk reduction initiatives that would support the public interest and enhance safety and quality of life. The paper provides an intuitive reformulation of the LQI as equivalent to a valid utility function that is con- sistent with the principles of rational decision analysis. The LQI is further refined to consider the issues of discounting of life years, competing background risks, and population age and mortality distribution. The LQI is applied to quantify the societal willingness-to-pay, which is an acceptable level of public expenditure in exchange for a reduction in the risk of death that results in improved life-quality. # 2003 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. Keywords: Life quality index; Risk; Utility function; Willingness-to-pay; Discounting; Value of statistical life; Cost-benefit analysis; Life table 0167-4730/$ - see front matter # 2003 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.strusafe.2003.05.001 Structural Safety 26 (2004) 181–199 www.elsevier.com/locate/strusafe * Corresponding author. Tel.: +1-519-888-4567-5858; fax: +1-519-888-6197. E-mail address: mdpandey@uwaterloo.ca (M.D. Pandey). 1 Manager, Strategic Planning, Hydro One Inc, 483 Bay Street, Toronto, ON, Canada. http://www.elsevier.com/locate/strusafe/a4.3d mailto:mdpandey@uwaterloo.ca 1. Introduction Risks can always be reduced but at some cost. However, demands for absolute safety, implying zero risk, can do more harm than good. If the costs of risk reduction are disproportionate to the benefits derived, then it diverts societal resources away from critical areas such as health care, education and social services that also enhance the quality of life. As aptly noted by Henry David Thoreau (1852): the cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life which is required to be exchanged for it, immediately or in the long run. The need to strike a balance between the benefits of improved safety (i.e. life extension), risk (potential for loss of life) and cost of risk reduction (i.e. enhancement of quality of life) is com- pelling. The balancing of impacts on the quality of life and health against economic costs of risk reduction, although controversial, is an essential professional obligation. Our ability to ‘‘save lives’’ is finite and limited by our capacity to create wealth. Thus, the central problem in mana- ging risk, in effect, translates into our ability to allocate a scarce resource wisely. Our work has been partly motivated by developments in Canada in the early 1990s and, in particular, the recommendation of the Government of Canada’s Regulatory Policy which requires comprehensive social and economic impact analysis for setting regulatory standards [1]. The goals of the policy are to ensure that the benefits of regulatory interventions must clearly outweigh the costs to Canadians. This is as true for policies that relate to safety and risk reduc- tion initiatives as they do for other areas of concern. When faced with risk, we are attempting to answer, intuitively, three related questions: (i) Is it safe? (ii) Is it a big and important risk? and if so, (iii) At what cost and level of effort would a life- saving proposition be worthwhile to reduce risk? In this context, we have proposed the use of the LifeQuality Index (LQI), described elsewhere [2], as a tool for assessing the rationale andeffective- nessofdecisionsaffecting themanagementof risk to life, healthandsafety.Goodriskmanagement not only requires a strategy for selecting risks (separating the important and consequential from the trivial risks), but also a consistent framework of reasoning as described below. The Life Quality Index is a social indicator derived to reflect the expected length of life in good health and the quality of life enhanced by wealth. It rests on the premise that helping individuals achieve a long life in good health is a fundamental value and therefore, it is ethical and reasonable to pursue this as a primary objective for risk management. The Life Quality Index gives an account of how well that objective is being met. Risk control and mitigation initiatives that do not increase the chance of longer life in good health detract from that objective and their justification remains tenuous. The LQI can help us choose appro- priate strategies for managing risk. Applications of LQI to safety of structures and other techni- cal facilities have been illustrated in [3–5]. The LQI combines societal wealth and longevity in the following function form: LQI=Gwe1�w, where G is the real gross domestic product ($/year/person), e is the life expectancy at birth, and w is a constant that reflects the proportion of time spent in producing G. In the original deriva- tion, LQI was presented as a mathematical construct [2], which requires additional explanation and justification. It has been observed by researchers and critiques that there is no clear expla- 182 M.D. Pandey, J.S. Nathwani/Structural Safety 26 (2004) 181–199 https://isiarticles.com/article/6835 
work_injdcanqrbh43noxvjak4cmomi	----	WestminsterResearch http://www.westminster.ac.uk/westminsterresearch ‘In the eyeblink of a planet you were born, died, and your bones disintegrated’: scales of mourning and velocities of memory in Philipp Meyer’s American Rust Bond, L. This is an Accepted Manuscript of an article published by Taylor & Francis in Textual Practice, DOI: 10.1080/0950236X.2017.1323494. The final definitive version is available online: https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0950236X.2017.1323494 © 2017 Taylor & Francis The WestminsterResearch online digital archive at the University of Westminster aims to make the research output of the University available to a wider audience. Copyright and Moral Rights remain with the authors and/or copyright owners. Whilst further distribution of specific materials from within this archive is forbidden, you may freely distribute the URL of WestminsterResearch: ((http://westminsterresearch.wmin.ac.uk/). In case of abuse or copyright appearing without permission e-mail repository@westminster.ac.uk https://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0950236X.2017.1323494 http://westminsterresearch.wmin.ac.uk/ repository@westminster.ac.uk 1 Lucy Bond ‘In the eyeblink of a planet you were born, died, and your bones disintegrated’: scales of mourning and velocities of memory in Philipp Meyer’s American Rust Abstract As Dipesh Chakrabarty (2009) has famously argued, the advent of climate change requires us to think questions of capital alongside ideas of species. However, Tom Cohen (2012) contends, critical accounts of climate change have exhibited a tendency to collapse the ecological into the economic, reinscribing the privileged epistemological and ideological homelands of liquid modernity (Bauman). Such slippages underscore the manifold conceptual insecurities inherent in imagining the era of the Anthropocene, which unsettle the fundamental categories of historical experience. As Robert Markley (2012) asserts, the Anthropocene “poses questions about […] different registers of time”, most specifically, how to negotiate the complex interrelation – and simultaneous irreconcilability – of embodied time, historical time, and climatological time. Timothy Clark (2012), meanwhile, foregrounds the seismic “derangements of scale” engendered by the continuous shifts between local, national, and global spaces that are required by any attempt to examine the causes and consequences of climate change. Finally, Ursula Heise (2004 and 2008), among others, contends that the imbrications of the Anthropocene pose a challenge to established modes of narrative and cognition. Bearing these observations in mind, this article examines the ways in which Philipp Meyer’s (2009) American Rust attempts to reckon with the shifting dynamics of the Anthropocene without abandoning the ecological to the economic or collapsing disparate temporal and 2 spatial scales of historical and geological change. Exploring the social and environmental degradation of the American Rustbelt that accompanied the deregulation of the market in the late 1970s, Meyer posits the post-industrial era as a period of conjoined economic and ecological precarity. Continually shifting beyond its apparent historical and geographical roots in late-twentieth-century America, the narrative veers restlessly across diverse temporal and spatial scales, linking the casualties of the Rust Belt to other stories of dispossession and dislocation. Ultimately, I argue, Meyer’s novel suggests that the study of literary planetary memory must examine not just the scales, but the speeds that inform cultural and critical practices of remembrance, analysing the uneven memorative velocities that shape the imagination and thought of diverse forms of suffering and loss across human and more-than-human milieux. Keywords: memory; mourning; scale; speed; myth; nation; wilderness narrative; American pastoral In his seminal work on climate change, Timothy Clark argues that ‘the Anthropocene enacts the demand to think of human life at much broader scales of space and time, something which alters significantly the way that many once familiar issues appear’.1 Such ‘scale effects’ register the manner in which ‘at a certain, indeterminate threshold, numerous human actions, insignificant in themselves […] come together to form a new, imponderable physical event, altering the basic ecological cycles of the planet’.2 For Clark, the latency and invisibility of many of these phenomena act as a barrier to thought and action because they ‘resist representation at the kinds of scale on which most thinking, culture, art and politics operate’.3 Tom Cohen similarly 3 contends that the belated recognition of the manifold ecological crises that threaten the foundations of human and more-than-human life on this planet has been perpetuated by a cultural amnesia towards the destructive industrial legacies of modernity, and a concomitant critical nostalgia for intellectual ‘systems of security’ that previously promised ‘a properly political world of genuine praxis or feeling’.4 For Cohen, such discourses have continued to prolong ‘the construct of ‘homeland security’ (both in its political sense, and in the epistemological sense of being secure in our modes of cognition)’ in ways that have simultaneously ‘accelerated the vortices of ecocatastrophic imaginaries’5 and ‘anaesthetized’ the public to the dangers of climate change by allowing attention to the ‘supposed urgencies of threatened economic and ‘monetary’ collapse’ to ‘occlude and defer any attention to the imperatives of the biosphere’.6 This ‘collective blind or psychotic foreclosure’7 arguably reinscribes an illusory separation of human and ‘natural’ history, which has, in turn, led to a widespread disavowal of the innate connection between socioeconomic insecurity and ecological vulnerability (and the elevation of the former over the latter as a category of cultural and critical concern). Together, Clark and Cohen conceive of the failure to adequately recalibrate culture and criticism to address the manifold crises of the Anthropocene as a disorder of memory, arising, on the one hand, from an unwillingness to relinquish outmoded regimes of imagination and thought, even in the face of their scalar derangement, and, on the other, from a refusal to remark or remember the myriad forms of social and environmental exploitation that attended the advent of industrial modernity. Bearing such issues in mind, this article will examine the ways in which Phillip Meyer’s (2009) novel, American Rust, foregrounds the 4 connection between socioeconomic and ecological precarity in order to expose the fallacious blindspots highlighted by Clark and Cohen. Meyer’s novel forms part of a growing corpus of American fiction that aims to problematise older conceptions of human/more-than-human relations, refusing the elevation of anthropogenic suffering above environmental catastrophe, and destabilising the institutional and epistemological biases that sustain the problematic modes of imaginary outlined above.8 Unlike more prominent modes of ‘cli-fi’, many of these texts do not explicitly explore the topic of climate change, or its incumbent phenomena, rather, these issues are registered, tangentially, in the cracks and elisions of the narratives. Although they share many differences, each of these novels position the manifold (conceptual, ontological, ideological, and ecological) challenges of the Anthropocene as a crisis of memory, and, more specifically, of mourning, manifested in the failure to attune individual and collective losses to the scales of planetary destruction and the inability to relinquish anachronistic narratives that serve to mask the historical connection between socioeconomic and ecological violence. Exemplifying such gestures, Meyer’s novel explores the slow decline of the American rust-belt in the late-twentieth and early-twenty-first centuries. The text traces a complex topography of loss, in which personal catastrophes (a death in the family, redundancy, homelessness, imprisonment) foreshadow and intersect with communal disasters (the closure of a steel mill, infrastructural collapse, racism, societal unrest), whilst the spectre of larger, human and more-than-human, calamities (terrorism, war, climate change) haunt the margins of the novel. Although it is rarely overtly addressed, the reality of ecological destruction hovers constantly in the background of the narrative, gestured towards in passing references to polluted rivers, climate change, the disrupted migration patterns of local birds, and the degraded 5 landscape of post-industrial Buell, the fictional setting of the text. The bucolic portrait of the Mon Valley is repeatedly unsettled by transient allusions to the invisible toxins by which it is pervaded. As Isaac, one of the protagonists, notes near the opening of the novel: the water was slow and muddy and the forests ran down to the edge and it could have been anywhere, the Amazon, a picture from National Geographic. A bluegill jumped in the shallows – you weren’t supposed to eat the fish but everyone did. Mercury and PCB. He couldn't remember what the letters stood for but it was poison.9 Isaac’s romanticized natural imagery (peculiarly deterritorialised) is here abruptly disrupted by the implicit acknowledgment that this ecosystem has been poisoned by the region’s industrial history. Such toxins trace chains of ‘transcorporeal’ relations that have the potential to reveal, in Stacey Alaimo’s terms, ‘the often unpredictable and always interconnected actions of environmental systems, toxic substances, and biological bodies’, and, of course, the essential entanglement of human and more- than-human pasts, presents, and futures.10 However, such links are never made overtly by the protagonists, eliding the fact that the socioeconomic and ecological crises facing present day Buell have their roots in the same historical processes. The novel’s polyvocal narratives draft the landscape of Buell into a nexus of historical violence in which personal, collective, and ecological crises are collapsed into an undifferentiated culture of mourning, in which the heat death of the universe comes to provide a screen memory for the loss of a parent, whilst the environmental damage wrought by Buell’s industrial past is masked by a misplaced nostalgia for a timeless and redemptive natural order. Meyer thus problematises the act of remembrance, foregrounding numerous examples of faulty, absent, or fictional 6 memory, in order to highlight the ways in which recuperated forms of national imagining (notably, the romanticised ideals of the American pastoral and the mythological struggles of the wilderness narrative) have been conscripted into flawed ‘memory regimes’ (to use Cohen’s evocative phrase) that foreclose any recognition of the imbrication of disparate modes of historical and environmental violence across variegated reaches of space and time. Attendant to such slippages, I suggest that the study of literary planetary memory must examine not just the scales, but the speeds that inform cultural and critical practices of remembrance, analysing the uneven memorative velocities that shape the imagination and thought of diverse forms of suffering and loss across human and more-than-human milieux. A. Rescaling literature and memory Such contentions have significant implications for the ways in which we think about the role that both literature and memory play in formulating a planetary imaginary. As Ursula Heise asserts, ‘climate change poses a challenge for narrative and lyrical forms that have conventionally focused above all on individuals, families, or nations, since it requires the articulation of connection between events at vastly differing scales’.11 Sebastian Groes, in turn, argues that ‘[m]emory has been rethought […]; much more central now are climatological and geological memory, and perhaps cosmological memory which dwarfs the individual, embodied memory that is part of anthropogenic thinking’.12 Such ‘derangements of scale’ (to borrow Clark’s phrase) challenge orthodox frames of literature and memory, which have often been regarded as central to the creation of a national imaginary. 7 Benedict Anderson famously connects the birth of the modern nation-state to changes in print technology that led to the emergence of new forms of literature: the novel and the newspaper. He contends that ‘each of these forms provided the technical means for ‘re-presenting’ the kind of imagined community that is the nation’,13 enabling geographically dispersed individuals and groups to picture themselves as part of a larger collective. Similarly, Pierre Nora’s seminal study of ‘lieux de memoire’ examines the ways in which official forms of commemoration aim to bind individuals into a ‘temporally-extended narrative’14 by constructing a ‘geography of belonging’,15 which positions national borders as containers of shared historical experience. However, the recent transnational (or transcultural) turn in literary and memory studies challenges such geographically delimiting approaches to imagination and history, highlighting the myriad ways in which past, present, and future experiences may be represented and remembered across local, national, and global scales.16 Wai Chee Dimock asserts that, as an imaginative framework, ‘the nation tends to work as a pair of evidentiary shutters, blocking out all those phenomena that do not fit into its intervals, reducing to nonevents all those processes either too large or too small to show up on its watch’.17 Accordingly, Dimock argues, literary studies must open this bounded imaginary to ‘the abiding traces of the planet’s multitudinous life’,18 adopting a ‘set of multitudinous frames, at once projective and recessional, with input going both ways, and binding continents and millennia into […] a densely interactive fabric’.19 Positioning the work of mourning as an ethical foundation for interpersonal relations, meanwhile, Judith Butler argues that memory regimes should not be determined by exclusionary nationalist politics, but facilitate the expansion of the cultural, political, and juridical frames through which human life is acknowledged 8 as grievable so that ‘an inevitable interdependency becomes acknowledged as the basis for global political community’.20 Although such appeals to the unboundedness of literature and memory have been highly influential, certain aspects of these discourses are not without problem. Whilst giving Dimock ‘considerable credit for broaching the issue of scale in literary studies’,21 Mark McGurl questions whether her apparent desire to ‘acquit culture of its complicity in historical violence’ by ‘dissolving it in a ‘deep time’ now recognisable as aestheticised time’ risks reducing the expanded scales and complicated causalities of the Anthropocene to ‘a remarkably frictionless conduit of transnational sympathy and identification’.22 In his critique of Butler’s work, moreover, Cohen contends that, in the face of a ‘suddenly reset referential horizon’,23 Precarious Life engenders a ‘negotiated back-loop to a more humane order’, ‘a residual humanism [that] cannot stop re-inscribing itself in familial oikos or boundedness’.24 Thus, whilst McGurl indicts Dimock for too easily eliding culture’s role in facilitating or forgetting historical violence, Cohen criticizes Butler for too readily recuperating the anthropocentric frames of memory he considers to be complicit in upholding ideologically and ethically suspect regimes of thought and action. In both of these instances, then, there is a sense that the ‘premise of mourning [is] itself the problem’ with these expanded literary and memorative imaginaries.25 Such contentions have been echoed in other critical readings that posit the conceptual and imaginative challenges posed by the Anthropocene as a consequence of failed or misappropriated mourning. Stephanie LeMenager examines the ‘conditions of grief’ that have defined a ‘petro-melancholia’, which accompanies the dwindling of global oil resources.26 For LeMenager, the failure to ‘acknowledge that conventional oil is running out’ has led to an ‘unresolvable grieving of modernity 9 itself’.27 Whilst LeMenager highlights a refusal to relinquish the exploitative approaches to human/more-than-human relations that structured historical modernity, and led to the emergence of the Anthropocene as a geological epoch, Claire Colebrook critiques an oppositional tendency to seek solace in dreams of a pure and redeemed nature. In such scenarios, she comments, ‘we mourn what we will have done to the planet’, on the grounds that it ‘implies an impossible counter-scenario where we might have lived in perfect harmony with a nature that might have been ours’.28 Ultimately, Colebrook contends, ‘rather than find recompense in mourning, we [should] look to […] an evolution that was not one in which ‘man’ emerges from a background of life, but where humans and earth are both historical’.29 Collectively, then, McGurl, Cohen, LeMenager, and Colebrook suggest that unreflexive attempts to embrace the expanded spatial and temporal frames of the Anthropocene risk reproducing a misplaced nostalgia for, and rehabilitation of, outmoded imaginaries that reinscribe the very modes of denial that have facilitated the problematic separation of human and more-than-human life worlds (and the enduring exploitation of the latter by the former). Such anxieties are mirrored in American Rust, as Meyer examines the ways in which the impulse to open the frontiers of contemporary American experience beyond the geographical or historical frameworks of the United States repeatedly results in a romanticised recuperation of established national narratives that threaten, on the one hand, to reinscribe naive illusions of withdrawing from the complexities of social life into a timeless natural world, and, on the other, to remediate anthropocentric fantasies of taming the ‘natural’ wilderness. Each of these approaches manifests, in different ways, a failure of mourning, and a disavowal of the scalar, systemic, and cognitive complexities of the 10 Anthropocene and the disparate, yet interconnected, modes of precarity engendered by humanity’s historical emergence as a geological force. B. Derangements of scale: space and time in American Rust Whilst Clark’s call to expand the geographical and historical scales through which the Anthropocene is considered amounts to an exhortation to enlarge both the spatial and temporal frames of cognition through which climate change is understood, one of the peculiarities of Meyer’s novel is that the protagonists are only able to make an imaginative leap across one of these axis at a time: they attempt, respectively, to confront the various socioeconomic dynamics that shape local, national, and transnational relations across the ‘now’ of the global present, or to acknowledge the complex processes of evolution and entropy that inform the ‘here’ of the geological past, but they cannot find a way of holding ‘then’ and ‘there’, globe and planet, together. This inability to think the history of economic and ecological change simultaneously across space and time replicates certain intellectual biases that have informed the spatial and temporal turns of critical theory over the past thirty years. In her seminal account of the ‘spatial turn’ that preoccupied a number of theorists working across the social sciences and humanities in the late twentieth- century, Doreen Massey contends that space ‘is the subordinated category, almost the residual category […] within modernity, having suffered depriorisation in relation to time’.30 Drawing upon the work of critics such as Edward Soja, Massey argues for a reconsideration of the political dimensions of space in order to challenge its naturalisation as a static or homogenous dimension of history, and expose the heterogeneous imbrication of local, national and global concerns. In so doing, she lays 11 out three principles that she believes should undergird a reconceptualisation of spatial dynamics in the early twenty-first century: ‘that we recognize space as the product of interrelations; as constituted through interactions, from the immensity of the global to the intimately tiny’; ‘that we understand space as the sphere of the possibility of the existence of multiplicity in the sense of contemporaneous plurality’; ‘that we recognize space as always under construction’.31 Charting the myriad ways in which the landscape of Buell, Pennsylvania, has altered in the post-industrial period, Meyer’s American Rust goes some way towards foregrounding the interrelation of spatial scales in the era of globalisation. The narrative constantly evokes the connectedness of different places and regions – as Poe, one of the protagonists remarks, ‘they could hear a stream running down to the ravine where it met the other stream and then the river. […] From there it met the Ohio and the Ohio met the Mississippi and then down to the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic. It was all connected’.32 However, whilst this sense of interconnection can be contemplated harmoniously whilst framed in natural terms, when reconceptualised in the historical context of globalisation, the recognition of Buell’s essential imbrication with other spaces is perceived as inherently negative. The inhabitants of the Mon Valley see themselves as having been abandoned by the federal institutions that ought to have protected them, falling victim to cheaper labour overseas and foreign governments more willing to invest in industrial infrastructure than the United States. As Poe’s mother, Grace, notes, ‘most ships and barges were now made in Korea, where the government owned all the industry’,33 meanwhile her son remarks that, whilst he ‘wanted to believe in America’, ‘anyone could tell you that the Germans and the Japs made the same amount of steel America did these days […] glory days are over’.34 Believing themselves to have been 12 disenfranchised by processes of globalisation that saw ‘American’ industry exported abroad, Meyer’s protagonists seek to escape their disintegrating lives by heading ‘[b]ack to nature’,35 figured as the timeless and stabilising antidote to an entropic socioeconomic order. Massey describes such impulses as embodying a ‘retreat to place’, a ‘protective pulling-up of drawbridges and a building of walls against the new invasions’ engendered by globalisation. She continues ‘[p]lace, in this reading, is the locus of denial, of attempted withdrawal’.36 Heise similarly critiques the elevation of a sense of place above a sense of planet that she sees at work in contemporary American environmentalism, contending that, whilst the late-twentieth and early- twenty-first centuries might be regarded as ‘a cultural moment in which the entire planet becomes graspable as one’s own local backyard’,37 this exposure to global forces has impelled the resurgence of a nostalgic strand of ‘ecolocalism’,38 which functions as a ‘principal didactic means of guiding individuals and communities back to nature’.39 Like Massey, Heise indicts this phenomenon as a ‘visionary dead end’,40 comprised of ‘pastoral residues’, which ‘manifest themselves variously in longings for a return to premodern ways of life, “detoxified” bodies, and holistic, small-scale communities’.41 Such tendencies have considerable precedent in American cultural history. Leo Marx argues that the ‘pastoral ideal has been used to define the meaning of America ever since the age of discovery’.42 This narrative presents the United States as ‘an unspoiled hemisphere’, providing settlers with the opportunity to ‘withdraw from the great world and begin a new life in a fresh, green landscape’ (3).43 From its earliest manifestations, the imaginary of the American pastoral has provided an important conduit for conceptualising human/more-than-human relations, and 13 thinking through – or paradoxically, eliding – the connection between land and nation, history and environment.44 As Marx contends, successive incarnations of the pastoral imagination have evidenced a ‘powerful metaphor of contradiction’,45 coupling the ‘urge to withdraw from civilization’s growing power and complexity’46 with a ‘simple-minded wishfulness, a romantic perversion of thought and feeling’ that negates, even as it responds to, the intimate imbrication of nature and culture.47 This contradiction reached its zenith in the nineteenth century, as a new strain of the pastoral, ‘formed in reaction against industrialisation’,48 intensified ‘the instantaneous clash of opposed states of mind: a strong urge to believe in the rural myth along with an awareness of industrialisation as counterforce to this myth’.49 Marx perceives this ‘clash of opposed states’ in the work of the Transcendentalists, most notably the seminal writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. As has been widely remarked, there are numerous tensions in Emerson’s work that mirror the paradoxes of the American pastoral more generally. Whilst Emerson, on the one hand, positions nature as a place of solitude where man might ‘retire […] from society’,50 on the other, he collapses the distinction between these realms, arguing that ‘[n]ature is so pervaded with human life, that there is something of humanity in all, and in every particular’.51 Emerson’s nature is simultaneously ‘inviolable by us’,52 and endlessly exploitable ‘in its ministry to man’.53 Perhaps, most importantly, however, nature is figured as both amnesiac and renewing – the sphere in which Emerson seeks ‘an original relation to the universe’ as a corrective to ‘the dry bones of the past’, to ‘the sepulchers of the father […] biographies, histories, and criticism’.54 American Rust is replete with traces of resurgent Transcendentalism. Recalling the cabin to which Thoreau withdrew to practice his dreams of self- 14 sufficiency, Harris, Buell’s chief-of-police, describes his homestead as his own ‘Walden’. Such pastoral residues, to echo Heise’s term, recur frequently throughout the text and primarily function to reinforce a romantic conceptualisation of nature, figured as the redemptive outside of human history. As Harris remarks at one point: There was a mountain of paperwork as always, but he decided to let himself watch the river for a while, twenty minutes to sit and watch the sky change, the river just flowing, it had been there before man laid eyes on it and would be there long after everyone was gone. […] Nothing mankind was capable of, the worst of human nature, it would never linger long enough to matter, any river or mountain could show you that – filthy them up, cut down all the trees, they still healed themselves, even trees outlived us, stones would survive the end of the earth. You forgot that sometimes, you begin to take the human ugliness personally. But it was as temporary as anything else.55 For Harris, the retreat to natural space can be perceived as an attempt to erase the violence of historical time, eliding the worst excesses of socioeconomic decline through the regenerative cycles of nature. However, throughout American Rust, this impulse to withdraw from history coexists with a contrasting imperative to escape the degraded spaces of post-industrial Buell through an invocation of immemorial cosmological time – a fantasy once again mediated through the framework of a foundational national narrative. In response to earlier attempts to catalyse a critical reconceptualisation of space, in recent years an emerging body of scholarship has sought to reprioritise the theorisation of time. Such accounts typically contend that orthodox theories of globalisation have devalued attention to temporal experience in favour of examining its spatial dynamics. Sarah Sharma argues, for example, that, in a spatially biased 15 culture, ‘the very fact that shared space, social space, or the public sphere is the privileged ground of political life is symptomatic of the negation of the temporal’.56 Accordingly, Sharma asserts, whilst it may be true that ‘space continues to be the valorised site of political life at the expense of time’, it is important to recognize the temporal as constituting ‘a site of material struggle and social difference’ in order to ‘balance the spatial imaginary with a temporal imaginary’.57 For Sharma, as for other exponents of the temporal turn, the alleged spatial bias of globalisation theory has led to a homogenisation of time, which masks the fact that the global present is comprised of multiple temporalities, all constructs of power relations. As Jeremy Rifkin asserts, the essential diversity of temporal experience has, since the industrial revolution, been negated by ‘artificial time worlds’, structured around the parameters of the working day, which have ‘increase[d] our separation from the rhythms of nature’.58 This separation from natural time is, of course, the very problem that Emerson and Harris seek to counter, hoping that the cyclical rhythms of nature will respectively renew or erase the quantified linearity of historical time. However, as Barbara Adam contends, rather than enacting a strict separation of two distinct temporalities, modernity engenders an ‘economic commodification of time’ through which the ‘time of ecological give-and-take becomes subsumed under the time logic of economic exchange, consumption and globalised market forces’.59 Paradoxically, this appropriation of ‘natural time’ at once subordinates the differential periodicities of the more-than-human world beneath the homogenising time frames of industry, and facilitates the nostalgic recreation of nature as a timeless, alternative realm outside of commodification and consumption. Whilst Adam, Rifkin, and Sharma argue that the impact of industrialisation historically facilitated the imposition of a normative chronopolitics that masked the 16 differential temporalities at work in both social and ecological life (or indeed, socioecological life), Robert Markley suggests that the consequent environmental legacies of industrial modernity have led to a reconfiguration of temporal dynamics. For Markley: Climate change invariably poses questions about time or, more precisely, different registers of time: experiential or embodied time, historical time, and climatological time. Each of these registers resists hard and fast definition, in part because climatological time – accessible through and mediated by a range of complex technologies – complicates and disrupts the connections among personal identity, history and narrative that Paul Ricoeur, for one, identifies as constituting the phenomenological and historical perceptions of time.60 Attendant to these complexities, Markley argues for a ‘critical archaeology of time’ able to acknowledge the variegated temporal relations engendered by the emerging phenomena of climate change.61 Throughout American Rust, Meyer’s protagonists struggle to navigate relations between embodied, historical, climatological, and even cosmological time. Although the narrative present remains embedded in early-twenty-first-century America, the characters reflect, nostalgically, upon the industrial heyday of the twentieth-century, conjuring heroic fantasies of reclaiming America’s settler past, seeking imaginative retreat to earlier geological epochs, and projecting themselves into the immemorial vastness of the universe. In each case, however, the scaling up of time can be construed as an attempt to escape the more localised problems of their present environment. For twenty-year-old Isaac, the landscape of the Mon Valley is a hopelessly haunted terrain. Whilst Harris sees his surroundings as a redemptive retreat from the violence of history, for Isaac, the natural world is a landscape of suffering 17 and pain: from the woods in which he inadvertently murders a ‘transient’ known as ‘the Swede’, to the river that is the site of his mother’s suicide, Buell is a topography of painful memory, from which Isaac attempts to flee, both geographically and imaginatively. Hoping to start a new life in California, Isaac retraces the steps of the original pioneers, casting himself as the protagonist in his own wilderness narrative, and investing heavily in the idea that the past can be redeemed and the world made anew. Much like the American pastoral, the wilderness narrative is one of the foundational mythologies of the New World. As Ruland and Bradbury contend, ‘the essential Puritan myth’ was that of ‘a chosen people crossing the sea to enter a wilderness peopled with devils, suffering, trial and captivity’.62 As seen in the writings of settlers such as William Bradford, and later commentators such as Cotton Mather, the wilderness narrative depicts the struggle to tame the landscape of the New World and conquer its native people. Like the American pastoral, the wilderness narrative has had an enduring (and varied) impact upon American literary culture,63 and it, too, has been remediated in the face of the encroaching developments of industrial modernity and its afterlives.64 In the nineteenth-century, the wilderness narrative served as the model for the critical writings of Frederick Jackson Turner, who, in 1893, published his seminal work, ‘On the Significance of the Frontier in American History’. Turner’s essay is essentially a eulogy to the settlement of the New World (and the related ideology of manifest destiny, which underscored the ethos of national expansion throughout the late eighteenth and nineteenth-centuries). He frames the period of industrialisation (and the closure of the frontier) as a time of historical transition, which poses a threat to the essential fluidity of pioneer life. ‘The peculiarity of American institutions’, 18 Turner proclaims ‘is, the fact that they have been compelled to adapt themselves to the changes of an expanding people—to the changes involved in crossing a continent, in winning a wilderness, and in developing at each area of this progress out of the primitive economic and political conditions of the frontier into the complexity of city life.’65 Turner perceives the frontier as the regenerative force in American culture - a shifting terrain, at once constitutive of and unburdened by historical forces. He argues: American social development has been continually beginning over again on the frontier. This perennial rebirth, this fluidity of American life, this expansion westward with its new opportunities, its continuous touch with the simplicity of primitive society, furnish the forces dominating American character. 66 Turner’s quintessential American is the frontiersman – a rugged and courageous individual, half outcast, half hero. Meyer’s Isaac possesses few of these characteristics, however, as he journeys across the United States, he reimagines himself as ‘the kid’ – a symbol of resourceful youth, afraid of nothing and noone. Over the course of Isaac’s travels, the kid assumes transhistorical dimensions. He becomes a roving figure, ‘[c]omrade to Arab traders and astronauts. All wanderers’,67 a timeless hero ‘beyond the places he knows anyone. His material comforts falling away, no place will be foreign. The world is his home’.68 Unmoored in space, the kid roams wide in time, however, for all the symbolic freedom promised by his alter ego, Isaac is plagued by recollections of his mother, and his own violent actions back in Buell. 19 Desperate to drive such thoughts away, Isaac immerses himself in fantasies of cosmic oblivion. Surveying the night’s sky, he ruminates: Closest star is twenty-five million miles. Proxima something. Burning before the dinosaurs. Burning still when there isn’t any human left on earth. Different galaxies, a trillion stars. However small you feel you’re nowhere close to the truth, atoms and dust specks.69 The exhaustion of a single life pales into insignificance when confronted with the vastness of the universe, and Isaac seeks solace in the erasures of cosmological time.70 He comments, ‘the stars stretched down to the horizon. Billions of them out there, all around us […]. Come from and go back. Star becomes earth becomes man becomes God. Your mother becomes river becomes ocean. Becomes rain. You can forgive someone who is dead’.71 However, whilst this vision of cosmic harmony may seem to offer a tentative mode of closure, Isaac is forced to concede that it is really a form of ‘weak thinking’ – another mode of denial in which the vastness of cosmological time is conscripted as a screen memory to displace troubling thoughts of more immediate loss and violence.72 C. Rethinking space-time relations: the question of speed Harris and Isaac thus construe contrasting scalar trajectories in their attempts to evade the memory of historical loss: whilst Harris hopes to dehistoricise space by seeking refuge in the amnesiac regenerations of localised place; so Isaac hopes to despatialise time, by evoking the immemorial cosmos in order to evade the unwelcome memories he associates with Buell and its environs. In so doing, both Meyer’s protagonists evoke universalising cycles of decay and regeneration to negate the historical and 20 geographical complexities of their present, collapsing different scales of space and time into one another.73 Moreover, each of these impulses implicitly evades the connection between historical and environmental violence: whilst Harris laments the social unrest generated by the closure of the mills, he does not acknowledge the ecological effects of this industrial heritage, unable to see the Mon Valley as anything other than a pure and unspoiled terrain; by contrast, Isaac characterises this landscape as a haunted place, bespoiled by remnants of unburied pasts, but cannot comprehend that these toxic traces, material and psychological, are also legacies of the region’s industrial decline, which acted as a catalyst for both the suicide of his mother and the dispossession of the Swede and the other ‘transients’ that populate the text.74 The problem, then, is twofold: firstly, an inability to think spatio-temporal relationality in a nuanced or meaningful manner without dehistoricising space or despatialising time; secondly, a refusal to acknowledge the imbrication of socioeconomic and ecological precarity, without purifying nature or naturalising social violence. Clark suggests that such forms of denial are intrinsic to the ‘Anthropocene disorder’, which he describes as ‘the emotional correlate of trying to think trivial actions in scale effects that make everyday life part of a mocking and incalculable enormity’.75 Such reactions commonly attest to the difficulty of thinking beyond the quotidian ‘terrestrial’ framework of imagination and experience and the incapacity to escape that ‘prereflective sense of scale inherent to embodied human life on the Earth’s surface’.76 In the case of Meyer’s novel, these ‘scale effects’ catalyse a mode of disavowed mourning, which sees the recuperation of normative narratives – characterised by foundational national mythologies – through which the protagonists attempt to stabilise the uncertain present and redeem the unwelcome past. 21 Throughout the novel, Meyer implicitly connects these characters’ individual modes of denial to a wider culture of forgetting. Despite the contrasting attitudes they appear to impel to human/more-than-human relations (the American pastoral constructing a harmonious vision of nature as the nurturing ground of human society and morality, the wilderness narrative documenting attitudes of domination and submission), both the American pastoral and the wilderness narrative have historically served to mask the imbrication of socioeconomic and ecological precarity. American Rust contains countless instances of the ways such imaginaries have naturalised manifold connections between the exploitation of people and landscapes. Looking out across the Mon Valley, Poe comments ‘Christ it was a nice day. It could have been back in Indian times’.77 This harnessing of the present into a premodern pastoral narrative occludes the fact that the displacement and genocide of Native American peoples, central to the establishment of the modern United States, was concomitant with the attempt to settle and ‘tame’ the American wilderness. Similarly neutralised is Isaac’s romanticised allusion to slavery: ‘looking out over the rolling hills, forest interspersed with pastures, the deep brown of the just-tilled fields, the wandering treelines marking distant streams’, he caught sight of his father, sleeping. ‘It was a peaceful scene […] Like an old planter looking over his plantation’.78 Cleansing American history of its troubling elements, these lingering national imaginaries resemble the emotional and ideological homelands that Cohen holds responsible for upholding faulty memory regimes. Given the ways in which certain derangements of scale can be so easily elided, even appropriated, by problematic frames of memory, it thus appears as though a reflexive engagement with historical loss (human and more-than-human) might require a different mode of attention to both spatiotemporal and socioecological relationality. Accordingly, it seems 22 instructive to note that, in recent years, a growing body of work has begun to redress the unhelpful binary between space and time by calling for a critical reconsideration of speed. As Sharma contends, whilst globalisation theory has often privileged ‘a set of questions that focused on the impact of technologies built for acceleration and faster-moving capital on the democratic fate of a sped-up globe’,79 ‘the complexity of lived time is absent’ from such accounts,80 which fail to acknowledge the differentiated temporalities of contemporary life alongside their dispersed spatial relations. Critiquing the tendency to view the period of liquid modernity (Bauman) as an undifferentiated era of acceleration (which she identifies in the work of Paul Virilio, among others), Sharma calls for ‘a balanced space-time approach to understanding differential temporalities under global capitalism’.81 Also positioning speed as a key power dynamic in contemporary life, Lauren Berlant has argued for closer attention to the various modes of ‘slow death’ that escape dominant cultural and critical imaginaries, calling for greater awareness of ‘the temporalities of the endemic’82 that accompany ‘the physical wearing out of a population and the deterioration of people in that population that is very nearly a defining condition of their experience and historical existence’, exposing ‘the phenomenon of mass physical attenuation under global/national regimes of capitalist structural subordination and governmentality’. 83 Berlant’s conception of slow death resonates strongly with Meyer’s portrayal of Buell as a town in which ‘half the people went on welfare and the other half went back to hunter-gathering’.84 As the title of the novel makes clear, this is a region in slow decline: once the prosperous heart of America’s steel industry, Buell is ‘rust[ing] away to nothing’, ‘return[ing] to a primitive state’, populated by ‘the last living souls’.85 The town has become ‘[t]he 23 ugly reverse of the American dream’ where hard work will bring no reward, monetary or spiritual.86 Dispossessed by institutions of the American public sphere, the inhabitants of Buell ruminate on their status as second-class citizens. As Grace comments: The mill had stayed closed, and then it had stayed closed longer, and eventually most of it was demolished. She remembered when everyone came out to watch the two-hundred-foot-tall and almost brand-new blast furnaces called Dorothy Five and Six get toppled with dynamite charges. It was not long after that that terrorists blew up the World Trade Center. It wasn’t logical, but the one reminded her of the other. There were certain places and people who mattered a lot more than others. Not a single dime was being spent to rebuild Buell.87 Highlighting the disjunction between the attention garnered by the spectacular attacks on the Twin Towers and the gradual collapse of the American rust-belt, Grace’s comments recall Rob Nixon’s recent work on ‘slow violence’, which provides a useful correlate to Berlant’s discussion of slow death. Noting that ‘[p]olitically and emotionally, different kinds of disaster possess unequal heft’, Nixon argues that, in contrast to’[f]alling bodies, burning towers, exploding heads, avalanches, volcanoes and tsunamis [which] have a visceral, eye- catching and page-turning power’,88 ‘slow violence’ manifests ‘a violence that occurs gradually and out of sight, a violence of delayed destruction that is dispersed across time and space’.89 Crucially, Nixon asserts, slow violence affects ‘the staggered and staggeringly discounted causalities, both human and ecological’,90 that arise ‘in situations where the conditions for sustaining life become increasingly but gradually degraded’ – in places such as Buell, for example.91 In drawing attention to the 24 imbrication of human and more-than-human vulnerability, Nixon’s notion of slow violence thus underscores the need to think economic and ecological precarity together, whilst acknowledging differentiated speeds at which loss occurs across diverse scales of space and time. Crucially, Berlant and Nixon posit the problems of slow death and slow violence as disorders of memory. Berlant argues that slow death construes ‘a zone of temporality […] where the structural inequalities are dispersed, the pacing of their experience intermittent, often in phenomena not prone to capture by consciousness organized by archives of memorable impact’.92 Nixon similarly contends that ‘[t]he long dyings – the staggered and staggeringly discounted casualties, both human and ecological’93 that arise from slow violence ‘are underrepresented in strategic planning as well as in human memory’.94 Thus it seems that, in order to engage with the ‘representational, narrative, and strategic challenges posed by the relative invisibility’ of slow death and slow violence,95 to make visible the imbrication of diverse forms of economic and ecological precarity, to counter the denials of the Anthropocene disorder identified by Clark, and to destabilise the imaginative and conceptual homelands critiqued by Cohen, it is necessary to rethink the relationship between different scales of mourning in order to attend to the diverse speeds (as well as the disparate subjects, both human and more-than-human) of historical violence. D. Memorative velocities and the planetary imaginary This endeavour should not only take into account the uneven speeds at which death and violence occur, as Berlant and Nixon suggest, but also attend to the immediacy or belatedness with which processes of loss are recognised and remembered. These 25 contentions seem particularly important in relation to the unfolding crises of industrial modernity and its afterlives. As has been suggested throughout this article, in many ways, the Anthropocene might be considered to invoke a crisis of mourning, not only because (as Cohen and McGurl suggest) of the challenge it poses to established regimes of thought and action, but also (as LeMenager and Colebrook contend) because the object of mourning is fundamentally opaque. The catastrophes of the Anthropocene are so widespread, engendering so many kinds of violence, across such large scales of space and time, that there is no clear focus of loss. This situation inevitably poses a change to orthodox psychoanalytic (Freudian) paradigms of grieving, which propose the act of mourning as a process through which, in Dominick LaCapra’s terms, the mourner gradually relinquishes their attachment to the lost object ‘in ways that permit a reengagement with ongoing concerns and future possibilities’.96 The ambiguous causalities and uneven scales of the Anthropocene disrupt such neat formulations of individual or collective ‘working through’, as the object of loss is neither discrete nor fixed, but continually emerging and evolving. In this sense, it seems imperative to regard Anthropocenic history as an ongoing process of mourning, continually frustrated and ultimately incomplete, in which disparate forms of slow and fast violence, entropic or sudden death, affecting myriad forms of human and more-than-human life, emerge, immediately or belatedly, into cultural and critical visibility. Accordingly, I suggest that it is important to attend to the differential memorative velocities at work in contemporary memorial culture. The concept of memorative velocities foregrounds the relationship between the scale and speed at which an event or experience takes place (its reach, duration, etc) and the scale and speed at which it is registered in cultural and critical discourse (the immediacy and breadth of its acknowledgement, its impact on thought and 26 imagination, etc). Highlighting tensions and intersections between the representation of disparate phenomena across embodied, historical, and climatological time and local, national, and global space, this approach aims to provide a way of thinking critically about diverse forms of historical violence without eliding attention to either macro or micro scales of loss. In so doing, it demands that we acknowledge all forms of imagination and thought as contingent and open to revision, as new images of disaster become, or are made, visible at unequal speeds, challenging existing conceptions of the world we inhabit, and the historical and geological processes that have shaped, and continue to shape, human and more-than-human existence on this planet. Opening the past and its texts to revision in this way offers the possibility that renewed attention to the uneven and unequal trajectories of different memorative velocities might facilitate, in turn, the emergence of a literary counter-memory of modernity. Whilst Cohen, Berlant, and Nixon rightly suggest that cultural and critical discourses have been slow to register the extended violence (and prolonged dyings) of industrial modernity, the recent work of Clark and McGurl argues that the emergent literature of planetary memory requires a planetary recalibration of literary memory itself. Clark contends that the Anthropocene’s challenge to normative models of interpretation engenders a ‘breakdown of inherited traditions of thought’,97 which impels a reconsideration of established literary texts ‘in relation to a newly recognized planetary context whose breadth and nature would not have been known to their writers at the time’.98 McGurl argues that this process forms part of a ‘new cultural geology’, comprising ‘a range of theoretical and other initiatives that position culture in a time-frame large enough to crack open the carapace of human self-concern, exposing it to the idea, and maybe even the fact, of its external preconditions’.99 This 27 recalibration of literary memory reveals the ways in which challenges to the ‘residual humanism’ of contemporary writing and criticism are:100 already as it were there as a latency in the postmodern, in fact already there in the discourse of the ‘modern’, whose narrative of the progressive domination of nature by science has long been ironized by the discovery, in that very process, of the bizarrely humiliating length of geologic time, the staggering vastness and complexity of the known universe, the relative puniness of the human in the play of fundamental and evolutionary forces.101 American Rust does something interesting to the forms of retrospective reading outlined by Clark and McGurl. In their nostalgic appeal to older imaginaries, characters like Harris and Isaac reveal the continuing pull of established national fantasies – testifying, in Cohen’s terms, to the ongoing forms of security provided by these ideological homelands. However, throughout the novel, Meyer makes it clear that these discourses are inadequate to the task of framing, or containing, historical experience. As much as Harris tries to conjure a vision of an uncorrupted nature able to provide a panacea to historical violence, the narrative continually slides from pastoral to the social, gesturing towards the intimate imbrication of these two realms, and the inability to separate ‘timeless’ nature from the history of industrial modernity. Similarly, whilst Isaac tries to escape his own traumas through imaginative immersion in the amnesiac cosmos, the ghosts of his past cannot be tamed by his ineffective dreams of extinction, or his desperate desire to ‘scale-up’ embodied experience. The idealised imaginaries to which Harris and Isaac turn in an attempt to disavow the destabilising effects of the present are thus exposed as nostalgic romances. Even more importantly, however, in gesturing to the traces of their earlier 28 iterations, Meyer also underscores the fact that such mythologies have always served a compensatory function: evoked to legitimise and stabilise an uncertain present; to impel a false sense of continuity over time; and to negate the violence that so often accompanies periods of historical transition. In foregrounding the flimsiness of these fantasies, American Rust suggests that, from the earliest settlement of the New World, to the remediation of these forms during the rapid industrialisation of the nineteenth- century, and onto the present day, the appeal to national mythologies such as the American pastoral and the frontier narrative is always already too late, invoked in a last-ditch-attempt to stave off processes of change (not necessarily of progress) that are irrevocably in force. In their heroic recreation of American history, such imaginaries thus seek to conceal the fact that they are essentially paradigms of mourning, evoked as elegies to a romanticised past that is perceived to be slipping away. Thus, whilst the recuperation of these imaginative homelands may, as Cohen suggests, superficially seem to buttress historical and cognitive blindspots, it seems important to acknowledge, as Clark and McGurl might argue and as Meyer demonstrates in American Rust, that a critical rereading of such texts has the potential to expose the essential emptiness of their promises, opening these frames of memory up for revision, and revealing the occlusions and biases naturalised by their tropes. University of Westminster 1 Timothy Clark, Ecocriticism on the Edge: The Anthropocene as a Threshold Concept (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), p.13. 2 Ibid. p.72. 3 Ibid. p.x. 4 Tom Cohen, ‘Introduction’, in Tom Cohen (ed.) Telemorphosis: Theory in the Era of Climate Change (Ann Arbor: Open Humanities Press, 2012), p.15. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. p.14. 29 7 Ibid. p.15. 8 For other novels in this corpus, see Blake Butler, Scorch Atlas (Chicago: Featherproof, 2009); Joshua Ferris, The Unnamed (London: Viking, 2010); Jonathan Lethem, Chronic City (London: Faber, 2010); Cormac McCarthy, The Road (London: Picador, 2007). 9 Philipp Meyer, American Rust (London: Pocket Books, 2009), p.4. 10 Stacy Alaimo, Bodily Natures: Science, Environment, and the Material Self (Bloomington: Indiana UP, 2010), p.3. 11 Ursula K. Heise, Sense of Place and Sense of Planet: The Environmental Imagination of the Global (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2008), p.205. 12 Sebastian Groes, ‘Introduction to Part III: Ecologies of Memory’, in Sebastian Groes (ed.), Memory in the Twenty-First Century (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2016), pp.140-146. 13 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London: Verso, 2006), p.25. 14 Duncan A. Bell, ‘Mythscapes: Memory, mythology, and national identity’, British Journal of Sociology 54.1 (2003), p.69. 15 Katherine Hodgkin and Susannah Radstone, ‘Patterning the National Past’, in Katherine Hodgkin and Susannah Radstone (eds), Memory, History, Nation: Contested Pasts (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2007), p.169. 16 For examples of the transnational turn in literary studies, see: Geoffrey V. Davis, Peter H. Marsden, Bénédicte Ledent, and Marc Delrez (eds), Towards a Transcultural Future: Literature and Society in a ‘Post’-Colonial World (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2005); Winfried Fluck, Donald E. Pease, and John Carlos Rowe, Re- Framing the Transnational Turn in American Studies (Dartmouth: Dartmouth CP, 2011); Franke Schulze-Engler and Sissy Helff (eds), Transcultural English Studies: Theories, Fictions, Realities (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2009). For a discussion of the transcultural turn in memory studies, see: Aleida Assmann, Aleida and Sebastian Conrad (eds), Memory in a Global Age: Discourses, Practices and Trajectories (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2010); Lucy Bond and Jessica Rapson (eds), The Transcultural Turn: Interrogating Memory Between and Beyond Borders (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014); Rick Crownshaw (ed.), Transcultural Memory. (London: Routledge, 2014); Chiara de Cesari and Ann Rigney (eds), Transnational Memory: Circulation, Articulation, Scales (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2014); Daniel Levy and Natan Sznaider, The Holocaust and Memory in the Global Age, trans. Assenka Oksiloff (Philadelphia: Temple UP, 2006); Michael Rothberg, Multidirectional Memory: Remembering the Holocaust in the Age of Decolonization (Stanford: Stanford UP, 2009). 15 Susan Gillman (eds), States of Emergency: The Object of American Studies (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2009), p.145. 18 Wai Chee Dimock, Through Other Continents: American Literature Across Deep Time (Princeton: Princeton UP, 2009), p.3. 19 Ibid. pp.3-4. 20 Judith Butler, Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence (London: Verso, 2004), pp.xii-iii. 21 Mark McGurl, ‘The Posthuman Comedy’, Critical Inquiry 38.3 (2012), p.536. 22 Ibid. p.534. 23 Cohen, ‘Introduction’, p.21. 24 Ibid. p.22. 25 Ibid. 26 Stephanie LeMenager, Living Oil: Petroleum Culture in the American Century (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2014), p.102. 27 Ibid., p.104. 28 Claire Colebrook, ‘Time that is Intolerant’, Sebastian Groes (ed.), Memory in the Twenty-First Century: Critical Perspectives from Sciences and Arts and Humanities (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2016), p.151. 30 29 Ibid. p.157. 30 Doreen Massey, For Space (London: Sage, 2005), p.29. 31 Ibid. p.9. 32 Meyer, American Rust, p.71. 33 Ibid. p.44. 34 Ibid. p.94. 35 Ibid. p.11. 36 Massey, For Space, pp.4-5. 37 Heise, Sense of Place and Sense of Planet, p.4. 38 Ibid. p.9. 39 Ibid. p.21. 40 Ibid. 41 Ibid. p.122. 42 Leo Marx, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000), p.3. 43 Ibid. 44 As evidenced in the writings of John Winthrop, the New World is perceived as a ‘city upon a hill’, a divine nation, whose providential history is preordained by ‘covenant’ with God, and whose exceptional destiny is inscribed upon its very landscape. As Malcolm Bradbury and Richard Ruland contend, in the eighteenth century, this typological mode of the American pastoral shifts into a more secular register, as ‘the American metaphysic that would merge man and terrain’ into an ever-closer relationship emerges in the work of writers such as Thomas Jefferson and J. Hector St John de Crevecoeur, whose thought, in their terms, ‘provides a powerful demonstration of how a new nature and a new social order might generate a new kind of man and close the great circle of civilization on American soil’. See Malcom Bradbury and Richard Ruland, From Puritanism to Postmodernism: a History of American Literature (London: Penguin, 1993), p.37. 45 Ibid. p.4. 46 Ibid. p.9. 47 Ibid. p.10. 48 Ibid. p.201. 49 Ibid. p.229. 50 Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature (Marston Gate: Amazon Publishing, no date), p.6. 51 Ibid. p.46. 52 Ibid. p.47. 53 Ibid. p.10. 54 Ibid. p.4. 55 Meyer, American Rust, pp.122-3. 56 Sarah Sharma, In the Meantime: Temporality and Cultural Politics (Durham: Duke UP, 2014), p.12. 57 Ibid. p.10. 58 Jeremy Rifkin, Time Wars: The Primary Conflict in Human History (New York: Touchstone, 1987), p.12. 59 Barbara Adam, Timescapes of Modernity: The Environment and Invisible Hazards (London: Routledge, 1998), p.14. 60 Robert Markley, ‘Time’, in Tom Cohen (ed.), Telemorphosis: Theory in the Era of Climate Change (Ann Arbor: Open Humanities Press, 2012), p.43. 61 Ibid. p.45. 62 Bradbury and Ruland, From Puritanism to Postmodernism, p.27. 63 The influence of this form can be clearly seen in the eighteenth century gothic novels of Charles Brockendon Brown, as well as the nineteenth century romances of Edgar Allen Poe and Nathaniel Hawthorne. 31 64 In terms that resonate strongly with the tropes of American Rust, for example, Raymond Malewitz notes that the cultural imaginary of the twenty-first century U.S. has been characterized by the return to ‘nostalgic notions of rugged individualism ‘that ‘mediate between the mythic modes of self-sufficiency required by [America’s] older, frontier culture and the empty and rusty realities that characterize its transition to a postindustrial economy’. See Raymond Malewitz, “Regeneration Through Misuse: Rugged Consumerism in Contemporary American Culture”, PMLA 127.3 (2012), p.527. 65 Frederick Jackson Turner, ‘The Significance of the Frontier in American History’. (1893). http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/turner/chapter1.html [Date accessed: 17 March 2016]. 66 Ibid. 67 Meyer, American Rust, p.101. 68 Ibid. p.103. 69 Ibid. pp.105-6. 70 Throughout the novel, a scaled-up sense of time is repeatedly used to occlude the fear of death and loss. Confronting his own mortality, Henry, Isaac’s father, remarks, ‘Earth is made of bones. From wood and back to wood and you never know what came before you’ (286). Fearing that he will die in his prison cell, Poe similarly asserts ,’[t]he truth was people died every minute […], really, when you were born, you were the same as a name on a gravestone. A gravestone of the future. A born destiny’ (320). Whilst Harris asserts, ‘[a]ll the dead men of the world – they had once been alive. That was what people forgot’ (327). 71 Ibid. pp.342-3. 72 Ibid. p.105. 73 These impulses expose the ways in which our approach to the more-than-human – whether regenerative nature or the inhuman cosmos – is always already framed by anthropocentric perspectives. As Colebrook argues, we do not ‘exist as historical agents against a stable and timeless nature, for nature is part of an overall milieu of composition in which we are affected as respondents to a world that is always unfolded from our practices’. Similarly, Mark Currie contends, it is a ‘mistake to align phenomenological [or embodied] time with the life of the mind and cosmological time with the outside world’ for, ultimately, ‘we are left with a kind of cosmological time conceived and perceived from within human experience and the mind’. See: Colebrook, ‘Time that is Intolerant’, P.147; Mark Currie, About Time: Narrative, Fiction and the Philosophy of Time (Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 2006), p.77. 74 In this sense, it seems instructive that the woods in which Isaac murders the Swede contain the ruins of Buell’s industrial infrastructure, whilst the river in which he mother committed suicide historically powered the steel industry. However, the recognition of this essential interconnection of social and natural history is further elided by the protagonists’ repeated naturalization of industrial ruins throughout the novel. As Isaac remarks, in tellingly evocative terms, of the former steel mill, ‘its buildings [were] grown over with bittersweet vine, devil’s tear thumb, and tree of heaven. The footprints of deer and coyotes criss-crossed the grounds: there was only the occasional human squatter’ (8). In Harris’s words, this process manifests ‘[n]ature assimiliating man’s work’ (53), as both the material remnants of the mill, and its invisible ecological afterlife, are dehistoricised. 75 Clark, Ecocriticism on the Edge, p.140. 76 Ibid. p.34. 77 Meyer, American Rust, p.97. 78 Ibid., p.35. 79 Sharma, In the Meantime, p.5. 80 Ibid. p.6. 81 Ibid. p.14. http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/turner/chapter1.html 32 82 Lauren Berlant, ‘Slow Death (Sovereignty, Obesity, Lateral Agency)’, Critical Inquiry 33.4 (2007), p.756. 83 Ibid. p.754. 84 Meyer, American Rust, p.120. 85 Ibid. p.8. 86 Ibid. p.230. 87 Ibid. p.45. 88 Rob Nixon, Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard UP, 2011), p.3 89 Ibid. p.2. 90 Ibid. 91 Ibid. p.3. 92 Berlant, ‘Slow Death (Sovereignty, Obesity, Lateral Agency)’, p.759. 93 Nixon, Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor, p.2. 94 Ibid. p.3. 95 Ibid. p.2. 96 Dominick LaCapra, History in Transit: Experience, Identity, Critical Theory (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2004), p.45. 97 Clark, Ecocriticism on the Edge, p.xi. 98 Ibid. p.52. 99 Mark McGurl, ‘The New Cultural Geology’, Twentieth-Century Literature 57.3-4 (2011), p.168. 100 Cohen, ‘Introduction’, p.22. 101 McGurl, ‘The New Cultural Geology’, pp.380-1. 
work_iobpmesteza6xfembmvyyrvkvy	----	BioOne sees sustainable scholarly publishing as an inherently collaborative enterprise connecting authors, nonprofit publishers, academic institutions, research libraries, and research funders in the common goal of maximizing access to critical research. Phenology and Citizen Science Author(s) :Amy Mayer Source: BioScience, 60(3):172-175. 2010. Published By: American Institute of Biological Sciences URL: http://www.bioone.org/doi/full/10.1525/bio.2010.60.3.3 BioOne (www.bioone.org) is a a nonprofit, online aggregation of core research in the biological, ecological, and environmental sciences. BioOne provides a sustainable online platform for over 170 journals and books published by nonprofit societies, associations, museums, institutions, and presses. Your use of this PDF, the BioOne Web site, and all posted and associated content indicates your acceptance of BioOne’s Terms of Use, available at www.bioone.org/page/terms_of_use. Usage of BioOne content is strictly limited to personal, educational, and non-commercial use. Commercial inquiries or rights and permissions requests should be directed to the individual publisher as copyright holder. http://www.bioone.org/doi/full/10.1525/bio.2010.60.3.3 http://www.bioone.org http://www.bioone.org/page/terms_of_use 172 March 2010 / Vol. 60 No. 3 www.biosciencemag.org Feature The first lilac bloom is considered a harbinger of spring. One person’s observation of a backyard f lower may be lovely, but thousands of people’s observations in myriad locations, re- corded in the same way and taken over the course of many years, become a data set that can be used to model po- tential changes in the arrival of spring and what those changes imply. Because these observations can be fairly simple to make, and because large data sets are necessary to design meaningful scientific studies, phenology—the re- lationship between annual events such as f lowering, breeding, and migration and climatic or seasonal changes— lends itself to the participation of citi- zen scientists. “That’s the cool thing about phenol- ogy,” says Jake Weltzin, executive direc- tor of the USA National Phenology Network (NPN). “We can work with the lay public. With only minor train- ing, they can help us collect quality data through space and time in ways we cannot get [ourselves].” Weltzin says the training strives to ensure everyone is using the same methods, because without consistency so many streams of data would be useless. “But once you get the standardization down, a scientist or a homemaker can con- tribute equally.” Along the way, people who aren’t professional scientists learn Phenology and Citizen Science AMY MAYER Volunteers have documented seasonal events for more than a century, and scientific studies are benefiting from the data. beginning with his dissertation in the 1980s. The US Department of Agri- culture (USDA) had funded field sta- tions to provide a network of observers with cloned lilacs and instructions for about field research and feel connected with the scientific process. Legacy data sets The modern term “citizen science” most likely dates back to the 1970s, says David Bonter, project leader for Project FeederWatch at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and assistant director for citizen science there. Current tech- nology makes participation faster and easier and has also greatly improved the process of converting citizen ob- servations into usable data. But lay in- volvement in data gathering dates back at least to the late 19th century. Simple Web sites make it relatively easy to ag- gregate data, mine it for improbable or impossible anomalies, and collate it into raw data sets. And the data can come from new observations made in real time or from the transcription of so-called legacy data sets, such as the North American Bird Phenology Program’s handwritten bird migra- tion cards that document observations made from 1890 to 1970. While the Cornell Lab has a long history of citizen science, it and other organizations that have sponsored phenological observations largely func- tioned as separate and unconnected data gatherers. That’s just the sort of isolation Mark Schwartz tired of as he conducted phenological research, BioScience 60: 172–175. © Amy Mayer. ISSN 0006-3568, electronic ISSN 1525-3244. All rights reserved. doi:10.1525/bio.2010.60.3.3 North American Bird Phenology Pro- gram volunteer transcriber Ken Pauley, shown here birding at Kikoti Rocks in Tarangire National Park, Tanzania, says entering data from the historical observation records gives him a con- nection to birders from a different era. Photograph: Courtesy of Ken Pauley. www.biosciencemag.org March 2010 / Vol. 60 No. 3 173 Feature documenting their seasonal changes, in some cases going back to 1950. Schwartz, now a professor of geogra- phy at the University of Wisconsin– Milwaukee, used this data on spring lilac blooms to develop a model that could simulate plant phenology over a continental scale based on climate data. When the USDA funding dried up, Schwartz personally maintained con- tact with about 50 observers because he appreciated the potential value of keep- ing the network functioning. By keeping the lilac study going, Schwartz has been able to refine his model over several iterations, and now, factoring in daily maximum and mini- mum temperatures, he has simulated lilac phenological responses for sites where there aren’t any historical data. He can also make projections into the future. The rescuing of the lilac pro- gram helped make it clear to Schwartz that a systematic and central way of archiving phenological data sets, espe- cially those from citizen scientists that might not have permanent institu- tional homes, would be critical to en- suring that these valuable observations got into the hands of researchers. and much of the more formal observ- ing is being done by undergraduates, field assistants, or technicians. “I don’t think that there’s any reason to believe that their information is of any higher quality than somebody who’s been watching what’s happening in their own back yard for the past 25 years.” Historically, even without formal standards and protocols, amateurs were considered fairly reliable. Jes- sica Zelt, coordinator of the North American Bird Phenology Program, is overseeing the transcription of 6 million data cards. They came from a network of naturalists, ornithologists, and backyard birders that peaked at 3000 participants. Ken Pauley, a vol- unteer, has found that transcribing the handwriting is often the biggest chal- lenge. He’s a retired educator from the Museum of Science in Boston and an avid birder. He’s been transcribing the historical cards for a year and enjoys the fact that he’s helping make those old observations useful today. The Bird Phenology Program, which is making its database available through the NPN Web site, built into its By August 2004, Schwartz was talking with colleagues about what ultimately became the NPN. It’s both an umbrella organization for infor- mation on phenological research and, increasingly, a clearinghouse for historical data sets. The NPN also administers a plant observation project of its own and plans to add an animal phenology citizen science project this year. Do citizen scientists gather good data? This is the question that invariably arises. To address it, the NPN, jointly sponsored by the US Geological Sur- vey and the University of Arizona, has developed standard protocols for gath- ering observations. It also uses some back-end strategies to ensure that the data it stores will be up to the quality standards researchers require. Schwartz, who also chairs the NPN’s board of directors, says while quality is obviously important, it’s not hard to come by. “What we have discovered is that most of these people can do a very good job of collecting data if they’re given clear instructions.” They tend to be highly motivated to do the job well because the only reward they seek is the knowledge that their data are being used. That said, Weltzin says both preventative and corrective measures are being built into NPN’s data reporting system. People won’t be able to enter a date in the future or select a plant species not found in their area. Anomalous data will be f lagged, and the person who entered it may be asked to verify it with a photograph. Bonter says Project FeederWatch, too, f lags questionable data. The pro- gram also increasingly relies on digi- tal photos. When someone reports an unexpected species at a feeder, Bonter or a colleague in the FeederWatch office gets a note to check out the re- port. Bonter finds people are generally receptive when asked for confirma- tion, and many volunteers have been credited with the first sighting of a species in an unexpected or new terri- tory. “There’s an awful lot of research that goes on out there,” Bonter says, Spring lilac blooming data became the basis for the climate models Mark Schwartz developed. He poses here with lilacs in bloom on the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee campus, where he is a professor of geography. Photograph: Alan Magayne-Roshak, University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee. The Eurasian collared dove is an in- vasive bird species whose colonization of North America has been docu- mented in part thanks to observations by participants in the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s Project FeederWatch. Photograph: Patricia Jones-Mestas, Project FeederWatch volunteer. 174 March 2010 / Vol. 60 No. 3 www.biosciencemag.org Feature transcription software a requirement for each card to be entered twice, by dif- ferent transcribers, so inconsistencies can be weeded out. If the two entries don’t match, the card is sent back into the pool to be transcribed again. Zelt says efforts are under way to collect similar data through contemporary observations, thereby strengthening the value of the historical information. Budding bud watchers Another citizen science program that has achieved a level of comfort with the quality of data it receives is Proj- ect Budburst. Like the lilac program, Budburst grew from the idea that continental-scale plant phenology ob- servations were needed, would require widespread participation, and could engage a broad public. “We are first and foremost an edu- cation and outreach project,” says Budburst director Sandra Hender- son, “but at the same time we want with successive groups of kids. Hen- derson says the data, when aggregated with observations from many sources, will help contribute to climate change studies. Weltzin, NPN’s director, says giving the public positive ways to contribute to the science of climate change helps broaden their understanding and di- minish what he calls the “doom and gloom” around the subject. “We can then empower the public to engage in global change activities,” he says. Project Budburst, though a partner of the NPN, differs from the citizen science plant project NPN sponsors: Registration is not a requirement for submitting data. That means the data won’t be incorporated into NPN’s own databases because, Weltzin says, regis- tration is something the NPN requires to help preserve the integrity of its data. The managers of both Project Budburst and the NPN are watching as another potential boon for citizen sci- ence emerges: the National Ecologi- cal Observatory Network, or NEON. Pending final congressional approval, it will begin construction this year. When it’s all up and running, NEON will have 60 sites—3 locations at each of 20 domains. Becky Kao, manager of NEON’s fundamental sentinel unit, says phenological observations of birds, mosquitoes, and plants will be collected and might answer questions such as whether plant phenology can be used as an indicator of community- and population-level changes in an ecosystem, or how the timing of birds and mosquitoes might alter disease modeling. Most NEON work will be done by staff, but the project includes a citi- zen science component. Wendy Gram, chief of public education and engage- ment, says phenology is a natural fit. She is looking at Project Budburst as a model. Although NEON’s citizen science component is still evolving, she anticipates that technology such as cell phones with cameras and GPS (global positioning systems) will help confirm people are correctly identify- ing specimens. to provide information that’s useful for science.” Sponsored by the Uni- versity Corporation for Atmospheric Research, the University of Montana, and the Chicago Botanic Garden, Project Budburst encourages partici- pation “from school kids to backyard naturalists to day hikers,” she says. Budburst participants choose a plant and then use the instructions pro- vided in a two-page document to get started. Mary Anstey, a fifth-grade teacher at Riverside Elementary School in Greenwich, Connecticut, has divided her 20 students into five groups. Each group monitors one tree on the school property. During the fall, they made observations of the foliage and fruit. That information drives the research they then do in the win- ter, while they wait to document the spring blooming. The project is ex- panding the way that students view their surroundings. “What they have started doing is to be more precise observers of nature,” Anstey says. The project has sparked interest in all of her students, not just those who were already excited about science or are outdoorsy. In addi- tion to honing the scientific skills of observation and data gathering, the students are using Project Budburst as a launch pad for exercises in ex- pository writing (they write about their trees and their observations), reading (they research the tree spe- cies, the seasonal cycles, and climate change), and technology (as a team they visit the Project Budburst Web site and enter their data). Anstey calls this approach “transdisciplinary,” and says her school district has been very supportive of her use of Budburst in the classroom. Henderson says plants are great for phenology volunteers, including young students, because they’re stationary. You can return to the same one again and again. For Anstey, the trees be- come a stable part of her curriculum, and although the students will change year to year, she can continue to con- tribute the same types of data about the same trees to Project Budburst Government biologist Wells Cooke launched a program to document bird migration habits that eventually swelled to 3000 volunteers across North America. The program ran from 1890 to 1970, and now efforts are under way to transcribe all of the handwrit- ten records. Photograph: Courtesy of the North American Bird Phenology Program. www.biosciencemag.org March 2010 / Vol. 60 No. 3 175 Feature accessible to the public, and advocates hope they will help researchers design studies that incorporate historical and contemporary observations. The nagging question, to which FeederWatch and NEON have found different answers, is how to sustain ongoing citizen observations for phe- nological research. To be useful, phe- nological data sets must be collected over long periods of time, and tradi- tional funding sources, such as grants from the NSF or other government agencies and foundations, are given typically for no more than fi ve years. NEON is designed to be gathering data for the next three decades and its infrastructure will be in place, so Gram and others there plan to develop and maintain projects that continue to at- tract citizen participants. FeederWatch, on the other hand, enjoys such a dedi- cated following that people who par- ticipate must pay $15. “They’re paying us to work for us,” Bonter says. “It’s really a challenge to build an endow- ment or come up with novel ways to fund long-term research.” Perhaps as researchers use con- temporary and legacy data sets to fi nd answers to vexing questions, the importance of ongoing observations will become self-evident. But that, of course, will depend in large part on exactly what it is scientists fi nd when they dig into the data. Amy Mayer (amy@amymayerwrites.com) is a freelance writer based in Greenfi eld, Massachusetts. become part of the scientific literature. But, Bonter says, “we publish scien- tific papers from FeederWatch and our other projects here all the time.” Recent papers emerging from largely citizen- collected data include one about the invasive Eurasian collared dove’s rapid colonization of North America, and another on the decline of the evening grosbeak, once one of the most com- mon feeder birds. Schwartz has been able to track seasonal changes from blooming data. “Over the last 30 years, the onset of spring as measured by the lilacs is earlier by about a week on average,” he says, a fact that has been documented by the citizen lilac observations. It’s a conclusion researchers couldn’t have drawn on their own, and it’s some- thing volunteers actually experience, which underscores their connection to the science. Weltzin lists papers about the phys- iological patterns of invasive species, the relationship between phenology and population abundance, and the relationship between phenology and species distribution all as relying on data collected by citizen volunteers. Some have even contributed unknow- ingly, such as Henry David Thoreau, an amateur naturalist whose legacy data from Walden Pond has been used by modern researchers. When NPN has its legacy clear- inghouse fully functional, data such as Thoreau’s and the Bird Phenology Program’s—and even phenological observations recorded by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark during their 1803–1806 expedition—will be Gram says another goal is to de- velop NEON’s citizen science proj- ects in such a way that scientists an- ticipate the data and are ready to use them when they’re available. “Every- one, including NSF [National Science Foundation] and research scientists and educators and this whole broader community, recognizes that it’s great to collect all this data, but if the data themselves aren’t usable and accessible and actually being valued by a variety of communities…that is going to be a disservice to all of the effort and funds that are being put into it.” The long haul Ultimately the dual goals of citizen science are to educate the public and generate data that can be used in research. Some of the younger pro- grams, like Project Budburst, haven’t been around long enough to have data Researchers confi rmed the decline of the evening grosbeak population, once one of the most common feeder birds, after analyzing data submit- ted by Project FeederWatch observers. Photograph: Tammie Hache, Project FeederWatch volunteer. 
work_ipbdcfdcxnaotnm2elycpx7j6u	----	03S - Hourigan FN POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE Law, Anarchy and Psychoanalytic Philosophy Daniel Hourigan* In many a romantic vision of the state dominating the aggressive nature of human beings, the yolk of anarchy stirs. But in our postmodern era, such a vision commits itself to a fundamental legal-epistemological dilemma: once you know the law, you cannot go back to a ʻno lawʼ space. This has led some theorists to follow Robert Nozick in seeking the meagre assurances of private property and open markets to regulate in the absence of a state apparatus that is too conflict-ridden, too corrupt to be remedied. However, it is the view of this discussion that such a theoretical purview misses several crucial features of the psyche of the contemporary Australian law revealed by Lacanian psychoanalysis. The purpose of this discussion is to draw on the recent High Court of Australia appeal Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 and related materials to the end of proposing a commentary on a philosophico-psychoanalytic theory of lawʼs relation to anarchy. The spectre of anarchy as crisis or boon is a properly structural phenomenon of modern legal systems. And in the contemporary Australian legal context, anarchy has a hidden place in the efforts of the High Court to effect legislative harmony.1 The discussion in this article proposes a speculative critique of law to the end of unearthing a philosophico-psychoanalytic theory of the dialectic of law and anarchy. The discussion opens with a brief outline of the contemporary framing of anarchy in current scholarship before moving to an elaboration of the key concepts of Lacanian psychoanalytic methodology that will be applied in the further analysis. The analysis proper begins with an overview of statutory interpretation in an Australian legal context to lay the groundwork for the subsequent discussion of the recent case of Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland.2 Lacey will then be examined at length to the end of unearthing the rich analytic material to be critiqued subsequently through analytic interrogation, interruption and elaboration. The final substantive section then takes the reader through a dialectical reappraisal of the law and anarchy in light of the conclusions drawn from the discussion of Lacey as an example of postmodern jurisprudence. Finally, the conclusion draws together the threads * Adjunct Research Fellow, Socio-Legal Research Centre, Griffith University. 1 Project Blue Sky Inc v Australian Broadcasting Authority (1998) 194 CLR 335. 2 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 331 of discussion with an elaboration of the juridico-epistemological problem for thinking anarchy today in the postmodern Australian legal context. Traditionally, views on the law and anarchy are split across the general political spectrum from right to left and back again. To the right we find thinkers such as Robert Nozick proposing a type of private property anarchism where property is stripped of government regulation and becomes its own mechanism of social and legal validation. To enforce such a rule of property, one needs a private force at one’s disposal. Such a mercenary attitude to law enforcement seems contrary to the utopic liberalism that is the thrust of Nozick’s arguments.3 Yet, logically played out, this libertarian scenario commits itself to a collapse of jurisdiction and provisional power. Coincidentally, such a collapse of jurisdiction and power was a feature of the decision of the majority in Lacey. As will be discussed, Lacey presents some interesting problems for such a libertarian position that treats the literal law as what is to be enforced. The views of the libertarian right can be juxtaposed to the arguments for a return to the commons by the new left. Following Hardt and Negri’s Empire (2001) and Multitude (2005), and works by other Italian political philosophers such as Roberto Esposito and to a lesser extent Giorgio Agamben, this return to the commons portents to provide a new socio-legal link on the basis of shared power in the space of a common municipality or new communism.4 Where the libertarian vision collapses jurisdiction and power by confusing the form of property as its substantial content, the new left’s new communism repeats and reinvents the very political apparatus that it critiques. In the new commons, we do not escape law; rather, law once again becomes a fiction of the shared social world: in no one person do we find the seat of law’s power, but projected as a totality together, in their being-with-one-another-in-common, the subjects of the commons function as if the law-in-common exists.5 In critical terms, the new left’s vision of a new communism of the commons highlights an all too familiar deadlock between the shared common experience and the difference between this experience and the subjective perspective upon the rule of law that insists on such egalitarian sharing, rendering the latter a legal fiction that legitimates social order.6 Such fictions are today the hallmark of any society claiming legal authority, and how a population behaves in accordance with the law or not is perhaps a sign of the psychic problem of believing in or distancing oneself from these fictions.7 3 Nozick (2007), pp 193-217. 4 I rely here on discussions with Professor Timothy C Campbell (Cornell University) after his keynote at the 2009 Trans(l)egalité conference hosted by the Law and Literature Association of Australia and the Law and Society Association of Australia and New Zealand, and also on transcripts from the Commonalities: Theorizing the Common in Contemporary Italian Thought conference hosted by Cornell University in 2010. 5 Dubreuil (2006), p 94; Esposito (2010), pp 14–16. 6 Žižek (2008), pp 337–38. 7 Salecl (2010), pp 22–28. 332 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 What neither the libertarian view nor the new left vision provides, however, is a method to analyse the garden of manias, fantasies and other structural psychic phenomena created by the psycho-social relation founding both property and the commons. This is not to propose yet another psychology of the law. Rather, the critical point here is to examine how anarchy is a phenomenon of the structure of the law as an aberration, an artificial but nonetheless objective order. To engage this maddening terrain of the law and anarchy, we shall now turn to psychoanalysis. Psychoanalysis – particularly of the post-Freudian or Lacanian variety – is becoming a more common sight in the contemporary study of law and culture, legal history and legal theory. Unlike philosophies of law, psychoanalysis resists inventing a grand metaphysical totality that secures law’s conservatism.8 Instead, psychoanalysis is a technique for reading, analysing and interrupting the all too smooth and arbitrary operation of the law.9 Because of its fascination with the order of the signifier, Lacanian psychoanalysis is particularly pertinent to this discussion.10 According to Jacques Lacan, the fundamental point about any law – whether civil or common, express or construed – is that it is composed of signifiers.11 At its base, the law is a signifier. But what does this mean? Here it is instructive to recall that Lacan’s return to the work of Sigmund Freud heralded not only a reinvigoration of psychoanalysis but also a response to deconstruction and what the Anglophony dubbed ‘post-structuralism’, a vague amalgam of many different continental European schools of thought from the 1960s to the 1990s that includes, among others, the work of Roland Barthes (semiotics), Jean-François Lyotard (aesthetic postmodernism), Gilles Deleuze (immanent postmodernism), Jacques Derrida (deconstruction), Edward Said (postcolonial studies), Michel Foucault (historical genealogy) and Julia Kristeva (semiotics and psychoanalysis).12 This philological point is significant because it provides a context for the way Lacan emphasises the signifier as shifting, fragmented, metaphoric, metonymic and chained. For Lacan, signifiers exist in a chain of signification wherein a given signifier refers to the other signifiers in the chain to generate its meaning.13 This network of signification, or ‘symbolic order’, operates through endless differentiation.14 In this space, a name or symbolic title is alienated through the misrecognition of the symbolic order: it never says what something is, only what it is not. What is meaningful is 8 Goodrich (1995), pp 240–47. 9 MacNeil (2007), p 10. 10 Goodrich and Carlson (1998), p 6; Lysy-Stevens (2009), p 79; Miller (2003), pp 88–89. 11 Lacan (2006), p 240. 12 This arbitrary amalgamating of thinkers and methods is epitomised by Yale French Studies (1975). 13 Lacan (1998), pp 210–12. 14 Lacan (2006), pp 682–83. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 333 thus always shifting, always a point of difference, always portended by the signifier but never equivalent to the signifier.15 This symbolic game of difference signifies the meaning of a signifier. For example, the context of other signifiers generates signified meaning through difference – for example, 1, 2, 3, 4, etc – but as this symbolic context does not exist in a particular signifier, it must always be inferred ‘as if’ it is present through association. For this game of difference to succeed, the subject of language must submit to a symbolic belief in metaphor whereupon something is something else: Signifier1 is Signifier2.16 For example, the law is just, the act is illegal, the sky is blue and so on; what makes the meaning coherent is the logic of symbolic differences as each signifier is associated with another. The belief in these symbolic fictions infers a ‘body of meaning’ or symbolic Other to whom these beliefs are addressed in language.17 The grammar of signifiers thus rests not in the subject’s consensual hallucination, but in the submission to a symbolic order that counters subjective needs with symbolic demands.18 Signification is thus not a matter of wild fantasising or solipsistic reasoning, but instead a negotiated interplay with a shared field of meanings that is always ‘other’ than the subject enunciating a language. From the Lacanian position, the subject is in some relation to that which is meaningful or desirable.19 Such desire is symbolic rather than a natural basis of the human animal. The Other of this symbolic order thus appears to ‘know’ what the subject wants, irrespective of what the subject intends. This has its echo in the trial process, where the sentencing judge signifies the meaning of the charges brought before the court in the sentence. The judge functions as not only an audience that hears the charges but also as an arbiter or Other who brings the charges into a new symbolic arrangement and fundamentally alters their meaning by associating them with a sentence, another signifier, that refers back to the ‘symbolic content’ of the charges to manifest a decision in a juridico-legal context. The judge is dehumanised through their symbolic place in the court as the arbiter who decides what the charges-qua-signifiers mean and where this decision is believed to be what it is by the legal profession and broader community. The important point is that without this game of symbolic fictions – that is, if the judge simply espoused random decisions that did not inhere to the contextual rules of legal context – the judge would be unbelievable; law would be unbelievable.20 Hence the letters of the law, its messages composed of signifiers, ‘always’ arrive at their destination – their legal sense.21 If they do not, then the 15 Zupancic (2006), pp 160–61. 16 Miller (2007), p 7. 17 Dolar (2006), pp. 16–17. 18 Chiesa (2007), p 48. 19 Lacan (1998), p 108. 20 Žižek (1999), p 219. 21 Žižek (2001), p 12. 334 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 symbolic misrecognition fails and the court ceases to retain its juridico-legal meaning as accepted by those who are subject to, for and by the court.22 Yet is this collapse of symbolic misrecognition an avenue to think anarchy in psychoanalytic terms? Or, to rephrase, can the subject desire anarchy? To answer this question, we must turn to the delimiting question of desire: ‘What do you want?’ (Che vuoi?). The form of this question iterates upon the metaphoric structure of meaning wherein sign1 is sign2. But to whom is ‘Che vuoi?’ addressed? It is to the big Other of the symbolic order, a symbolic apparition of the order of differences between signifiers who proffers commands and prohibitions? In the symbolic form of the signifier, such questions of desire take aim at the Other’s satisfaction to the extent that they are reliant upon the belief in the symbolic order and what it renders meaningful.23 Because the order of the symbolic is one of difference, all further differences offered in reply to ‘Che vuoi?’ amount to the same symbolic lack touched upon by the question of desire. The Other’s answer is thus restricted to the identical inverse form of the subject’s own question of desire, ‘What do you want?’24 This point is a further renovation of the concept that for a signifier or part of law to become meaningful, it must draw the subject into a symbolic space that then reflects meaning – vis-à-vis the subject’s message – back to the subject.25 Yet the meaningfulness of this reply requires a minimal difference be established between the subject and the Other. The repetition of the question’s symbolic form suggests that the question of desire must rest on something extra, beyond the substantial content of the message. This something extra in the question of desire (objet petit a) can be observed in the basic question that underlies discussions of law and anarchy: addressing the law, the subject asks ‘Do you want anarchy?’ and the law responds, ‘Do you want anarchy?’ The minimal difference here flags the fantasy coordinates that are involved and yet are not part of the empirical symbolic content of the message. Reading the question positively, the question of anarchy propounds the overthrow of law, as though in its reply the law flays itself, sunders its own condition by tempting the subject with its dissolution. In the negative, the question of anarchy is much more orthodox and familiar: the subject admonishes the law and the law tyrannises the subject’s questioning. Both thinly fantastic readings demonstrate how a simple adjustment in the fantasmatic coordinates of the message drastically alters the status of law as such and always imputes an intention to it.26 22 Žižek (2001), pp 16–17. 23 Lacan (1993), p 48. 24 Žižek (2008a), p 74. 25 Lacan (2006), pp 228–29. 26 This discussion targets the speculative construction of anarchy by the law’s own operations in Lacey. Unfortunately, space is too limited here to trace a comparative account of the philosophy of anarchy of Victor Yarros, Henry David Thoreau, David Miller and others, and how it inflects this question of desire. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 335 A further point here is that, to unreflective reasoning, the equating of law with anarchy is impossible or ‘mad’ unless one is willing to suggest a pre-legal space by retroactively establishing a minimal difference between the legal order of today and a past to which we only have fantasmatic access.27 The view that repealing legal order invites anarchy establishes the fiction that anarchy is always lying in wait. More strongly, if repealing the law is said to lead us to back to a non-legal space, we again commit to a fiction that we can somehow escape the law’s conditioning of our view of ‘not law’.28 The Lacanian formula for the arrival of the letter in its inverted form thus demonstrates the always-already symbolic nature of anarchy if it is taken in a non-legal sense – that is, anarchy is always part of the law. This symbolic interplay of anarchy’s meaningfulness recently manifested in the Australian legal context with the appeal case of Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland.29 In this appeal, the High Court of Australia repealed a decision by the Queensland Court of Appeal that decided that the provision in section 669A(1) of the Criminal Code (Qld), which allowed the Attorney-General to appeal sentences, provided some general power to vary sentences simply because the Attorney-General chose to appeal. Both the decision of the majority French CJ, Gummow J, Hayne J, Crennan J, Kiefel J and Bell J and the dissenting opinion of Heydon J focus on the interpretation of section 669A(1), but do so in divergent ways that elaborate differing operations of belief in the law and the place of anarchy in legislative harmony. Lacey provided the High Court with an opportunity to once again observe the presumptions of statutory interpretation in the Australian legal context.30 Moreover, the interpretation of statute functioned to maintain a 27 Lacan (2011), p 70. 28 Hourigan (2011), pp 10–12. 29 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573; hereafter Lacey in the text. 30 As summarised by Pearce and Geddes (2011), the presumptions of statutory interpretation in Australia include: • the presumption against surplusage • the presumption against retrospectivity • the presumption against the interfering with fundamental rights • the presumption against the abrogation of the privilege against self-incrimination • the presumption against the denial of access to the courts • the presumption that the re-enactment of previous legislation constitutes an approval of previous interpretations of this legislation • the presumption that legislation does not bind the Crown • the presumption that property rights cannot be taken away without compensation • the presumption that all law has territorial effect • the presumption that Australian law will conform to international law. It is useful to note that the fortunes of these presumptions vary, and some become of greater value or relevance than others, depending on the makeup of the court, the nature of the matter before the court and the social, political and historical context of the court. 336 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 symbolic economy of the law. The presumptions that structure statutory interpretation provide a set of fantasmatic coordinates through which statutes can be interpreted desirably in light of the matter before the court. They also form an unwritten code that quilts together the fragments of discretionary power of construction in matters of statutory interpretation, as exercised by the High Court of Australia in particular. These presumptions are fantasmatic in the psychoanalytic sense that they make the law believable and simultaneously coordinate the desire of the legal subjects recognised by the court’s symbolic regime – that is, the judges, council, appellant and so on. Without these presumptions, statutory interpretation would appear to lack the necessary distance from the wild fantasising of judges’ subjectivity and create a psychotic order that is without law.31 Yet, as we shall see, there is a particular type of psychoanalytic construction that fits well with the purposive construal of statutes now favoured by the High Court. While these presumptions may provide the fantasmatic background for statutory interpretation, the process of interpretation itself has undergone notable shifts across legal history. In the modern Australian legal context, what are known as the literal and purposive approaches stand as different polarities across the spectrum of judicial interpretation and decision-making. Put simply, the literal rule emphasises the meaning of the words used in legislation and may only vary its course to avoid absurdity, a tactic elsewhere phrased as the golden rule of statutory interpretation.32 On the other hand, the purposive rule looks to the context of the legislation and the mischief that the legislation is intended to remedy.33 However, while the purposive rule can only expand its domain in the absence of clear and precise wording in the Acts of Parliament, the literal rule treats all law as expressly meaningful and unambiguous although capable of absurdity. For a literal repose, such absurdities are not the fault of law but of the shifting social context in which the ‘true’ law finds itself. While the literal rule was the traditional method used to interpret statutes, today the purposive rule is de rigueur and has express mention in section 15AA of the Acts Interpretation Act 1901 (Cth) and the Fair Trading Act 1999 (Vic), for example, and – more pertinently to our discussion – in the majority decision in Lacey. At a glance, anarchy seems far from the presumptions and interpretative methods of the law. But even a mild questioning of why these presumptions can operate to provide the law with some measure of coherency reveals the orderlessness of a certain type of fantasmatic anarchy lying in wait, and hints at the forced choice to view anarchy as being outside the order of law when it is These presumptions are not hard law but their importance should not be underestimated. As highlighted by the psychoanalytic approach, it is the fantasmatic status of these presumptions that grants the interpretation of legislation some measure of coherency by giving them a fantasmatic frame the coordinates the desire for law to ‘happen’. 31 Lacan (1993), pp 53–56. 32 Adler v George (1964) 2 QB 7. 33 Heydon’s case (1584) 3 Co Rep 7a. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 337 given this purposive coherency. What the orderlessness of such anarchy indicates is not only an absence of order but also an absence of legal purpose.34 It is this loss of purpose that so threatens law with the decay of its fantasmatically sustained reality. The path to anarchy in this theoretical problem is through subjecting law to a premodern legal science that seeks the rational truth of law as the only valid criteria of judicial decision-making. This truth is rejected for its irrational and arbitrary enforcement, and thus we arrive at what the definition thinks as anarchy per se. However, such a legal science overlooks that when the fantasmatic coordinates of the law are suspended, the reality of law is suspended as well. The result is not the truth of law but rather nothing at all – ‘no law’ rather than ‘not law’. The fantasmatic content of the law grants legal context/symbolic sense to Lacey. But further than this, such legal fictions prompt the question of where to position the possibility for anarchy in the frame of a desire for law. The majority’s decision in Lacey shows a concern with different forms of legal anarchy that may ensue from the appeal process.35 Lacey is uniquely positioned, as it brings to light the polymorphous tension that exists between the symbolic differences of statutes, their fantasmatic construal and the fantasmatically sustained reality of the common law. This tripartite tension creates a point of difference between the opinion of the majority of French CJ, Gummow J, Hayne J, Crennan J, Kiefel J and Bell J and the dissenting opinion of Heydon J. This difference centres not only on points of law but also on the principles of statutory interpretation as they were applied by the majority in Lacey in direct response to the jurisdiction of the appellate court and the powers of the Attorney-General of Queensland. This pivoting point also raises the spectre of anarchy on several connected fronts: the reconstruction of history by the majority when they examine what the law was before the statutory remedy of the Court of Appeal was invented in English law; what dangers lie in wait for the Attorney-General’s collapsed jurisdiction and powers as perceived by the High Court; the tension between the fantasmatic support of the presumptions of statutory interpretation by the majority and Heydon J’s dissenting judgment; and the elision of the question of anarchy by the evaporation of jurisdiction and power from the vantage of Heydon J. The artifice of legal fictions that sustain the reality of law, even in its history, are present in the decision of the majority in Lacey: ‘an appeal is not a common law remedy. It requires the creation by statute of an appellate jurisdiction and the powers necessary for its exercise.’36 The historical narrative delivered by the majority of the High Court expounds the development of the English Court of Appeal at some length at the outset of their judgment. This recounting of the legal history of the Court of Appeal reconstructs the law to emphasise not only Australia’s legal inheritance but 34 Laurent (2007), pp 42-43. 35 What is ‘legal’ here is defined by its fantasmatic content, its symbolic difference. 36 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 577. 338 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 also the inheritance of a legal purpose, and therein signals not only an imparting of signifiers of the law but also their signified meaning: There was, at common law, no jurisdiction to entertain appeals by convicted persons or by the Crown against conviction or sentence. In 1892, the Council of Judges of the Supreme Court of England and Wales recommended to the Lord Chancellor that a Court of Criminal Appeal be established with jurisdiction to entertain appeals against sentence and to assist the Home Secretary, at his request, in reconsidering sentences or convictions … The legislature did not act on that proposal … It was not until 1988 that the Attorney-General was empowered to apply to the Court of Appeal (Criminal Division) for leave to refer a case to it for undue leniency in sentencing.37 The retelling of the historical manifestation of the Court of Appeal provides a basis for the majority’s subsequent rendering of a verdict in Lacey. That is to say, the way in which the purpose of the Court of Appeal is signified in the chain of signification creates a view of legal temporality, a past that is not anarchic but instead is undergoing constant ordering. The original intention of the Council of Judges thus becomes the measure for the contemporary state of affairs in the High Court of Australia and the Court of Appeal in the Supreme Court of Queensland, where it is possible for both the convicted felon and the Crown to appeal. In critical terms, the reconstruction or retelling of the legal history of the Court of Appeal shows the majority installing the order of law through a retroactive logic that consequently posits the contemporary appeal process through its deferral to an earlier purpose. It is a critical issue that once we are within law, such a reconstruction of legal history operates to identify a gap in the law where the history of law stands outside the law but simultaneously works to associate this historical moment with the politic of the law in the present. This reinforces the previous point that once we are within the chain of signification, within the law, we cannot commit a transcendental suspension of the law to get to some hypothetical beyond of law. Rather, because a subject is constituted in the symbolic space of signification, they will always-already be entwined with this existing symbolic framework. The reasoning of the High Court envelops the legal history being recounted within the present arrangement of law precisely because not to do so would make the law incoherent and expose the law to a kind of non-sense that is intrinsically ‘legal’ because it is only concerned with the decay of the fantasmatic associations that give law meaning. This concern with the decay of fantasy in its psychoanalytic sense as the artifice of the symbolic order is a central concern of the outcome of Lacey. The problem that is decided in Lacey is the legality of the Attorney- General’s appeal to enliven a sentence in the absence of an error by the sentencing judge. Allowing the Attorney-General to alter sentencing because of a desire to exercise the provisional right to appeal mistakes the signifiers 37 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 577–78. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 339 of the law for the symbolic differences that maintain the ordering of the law’s symbolic universe. Put simply, the majority note how the legislation securing the Attorney-General’s provision to appeal is couched in a legal historical narrative that establishes a minimal difference between the writ of statute and the interpretation of the provision. This suggests that, rather than favouring the signifiers in their barest, technical form, the majority in Lacey prefer maintaining fantasy in parallel with reality rather than in a hierarchical orientation of dominance. This lateral parallel of statutory fantasy and legal reality is further queried by the unfettering of discretion expressly demanded by section 669A of the Criminal Code (Qld) that provides the Attorney-General with the provision to appeal a sentence. The majority argue that this provision is a matter of discretionary power arising from a procedure that is seen to be in tension with the stated purpose of the Court of Appeal and the Attorney- General’s express statutory power to launch an appeal in the Court. Here, the signifiers of legislation appear to be at odds with the desire that is expressly stated in by the Minister for Justice’s Second Reading Speech: The Bill is being amended to make it clear that the Court of Criminal Appeal has an unfettered discretion to determine the proper sentence to impose when the Attorney-General has appealed against the inadequacy of the sentence.38 While the minister’s speech identifies the intention of Parliament, it also elides the necessity of an erroneous construction or improper deployment of principle by a sentencing judge to give grounds for appeal as distinct from the express function of appeals by the Crown: The Attorney-General may appeal to the Court against any sentence pronounced by: (a) the court of trial; (b) a court of summary jurisdiction in a case where an indictable offence is dealt with summarily by that court, and the Court may in its unfettered discretion vary the sentence and impose such sentence as to the Court seems proper.39 The majority herein identify an oblique figuring of section 669A(1), where the wording of the statute is too restricted to oblige the Attorney- General of the power to enliven a sentence – or, more strongly, to even entertain the possibility of enlivening a sentence a priori to the appeal process because the conditions of the jurisdiction forbid it in their express statutory construction. What is rejected by the majority here is the decay of the fantasy sustaining symbolic reality. Specifically, the majority reject what 38 Queensland, Parliamentary Debates Legislative Assembly, 23 April 1975 at 993. 39 Criminal Code (Q) s 669A(1). 340 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 they view as a collapse of the jurisdiction of the Court of Appeal and the powers of the Attorney-General.40 The decision of the Court of Appeal to enliven Mr Lacey’s sentence at the suggestion of the Attorney-General thus opens up a problem of how to approach the meaningfulness of the signifiers of legislation. This problem centres on how one is to construe the express wording of section 669A(1). Responding to this dispute, the majority turn to the Acts Interpretation Act 1954 (Qld) – apparently neglected by the Court of Appeal – and how the Act ought expressly to have guided its construal of section 669A(1). It is curious that this forms a bone of contention between the dissenting Heydon J and the majority as the majority favour extrinsic materials to resolve any possible ambiguity41 and provide a consistent construction, whereas Heydon J, as we shall see, is disenchanted with the way that the purposive inclusion of such extrinsic material leads away from the clear and precise language of the statutes, both the Criminal Code (Qld) and the Acts Interpretation Act 1954. The purposive approach of the majority in Lacey reads a unifying thread through the legal history of the Court of Appeal and the facility of the Attorney-General, as a representative of the Crown, to appeal a sentence and the legislative history of section 669A. This purposive approach to statutory interpretation invites and deploys cognate legislation throughout the decision, namely the Acts Interpretation Act 1954, which is buttressed by the legal history of the Court of Appeal offered at the outset of the majority’s decision. The legislative history of section 669A is used to define, limit and construe a purpose upon the Court of Appeal, the Criminal Code (Qld) and the powers of the Attorney-General. Yet the legal and legislative histories and the ratio decidendi indicate certain assumptions regarding the intended audience of the statutory enactment of the Court of Appeal, section 669A and the Attorney- General: the audience is the judiciary rather than the executive or the legislature, distancing the majority’s construal from political readings. The purposive construction of the majority shows a tendency to read down the ‘unfettered discretion’ conferred upon the Court of Appeal by the statute. This reading down operates by linking the relevance of section 669A to the jurisdiction that gives the Attorney-General the power to appeal, rather than placing section 669A ahead of the statutory origin of the Court of Appeal. In a general non-legal sense, the majority here construes the decision of the Court of Appeal as always being fettered by the constraints of the law. But within the juridico-legal framework within which the court operates, this fettering specifically pertains to judicial discretion rather than the possibility of ratio decidendi made in a preceding judgment somehow conditioning the final decision of a case at hand a priori. The majority elaborate the view that possible ratio decidendi made in a preceding judgment to an appeal case ought to be seen as part of the act of judicial discretion, or even after the fact of the judicial discretion as such, a posteriori.42 40 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 588. 41 The problem of construal is manifest due to the inclusion of the Minister’s speech. 42 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 601-602. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 341 The collapse of jurisdiction and power in Lacey is born of the Attorney- General’s insistence on a construction of section 669A that, in the view of the majority, gives no ‘jurisdictional content to the term “appeal”’.43 But what are the dangers that lie in wait for such a collapse of jurisdiction and power as perceived by the High Court majority? Here it may be instructive to understanding the dilemma counter-intuitively. Naïvely, we can assume that all law that exists has some substantial content to it, a legal meaning or purpose and so forth. As noted early on in this discussion, such meanings are sustained by symbolic differences: the law as it is composed by different elements that are all unlike each other but that seem to circulate and function according to an order that no one element of law can be unto itself. These associations are fictions in the strict psychoanalytic sense that they stage an objective fantasy that operates independently of the human subjects who encounter the law but can only be accessed through the imaginative symbolic capacity of legal subjects. The law is thus not humanistic but rather radically anti-humanitistic: it does not negate the humanity of legal subjects so much as such humanity will only matter to the law if it can be ‘named’ by a signifier common to its signification as law. This naming does not describe anything, but instead delineates what is named from other elements in the symbolic network of legal meanings and legal fictions. The concern of the High Court is that this symbolic difference that separates jurisdiction from power is lost. In an appeal process, this is intensely problematic as it voids the different interpretative capacities and purposes of Courts of Appeal and the High Court. Here, the principles binding the sentencing judge become the only constraints upon the courts, inviting a type of anarchy insofar as it removes the distinction between the original and appellate jurisdictions where the subject matter of a jurisdiction ‘must be discernible from some source’.44 The key point of difference for dissenting Justice Heydon is how to approach statutory interpretation in its fantasmatic entanglement. Heydon J’s more literalist and traditional approach to the writ of statute highlights the problematic judicial creativity that underlies the elegant reasoning of the majority.45 Heydon J’s critical reproach to the decision of the majority gives grounds for His Honour to claim that the appellant’s appeal is artificial.46 But what can this dissenting (symbolic) difference also tell us about anarchy and the desire for law? The juxtaposition of law and anarchy as ‘no law’ rests on Heydon J’s insistence on the ‘natural construction’47 of terms supposed to be ambiguous by both the appellant and the majority, such as unfettered discretion. Natural construction is, however, problematic for a view of law as an artifice. For Heydon J’s jurisprudence, natural construction supposedly overcomes the 43 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 588. 44 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 588. 45 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 595. 46 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 596. 47 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 596. 342 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 symbolic differences that enable legal language. Yet such supposedly natural constructions are a literalist, Ursprung approach to the logic of the provision of section 669A, yet at the same time avowedly appeal to the symbolic differences maintained by the commons, whom such plain language is supposed to also benefit. Heydon J’s vantage from within the law, with knowledge of the law, clearly delineates the possibilities present in his interpretation as against those who have no specialist legal knowledge or training, the commons. The salient psychoanalytic point at play here is an epistemological one: once you know the law, you cannot go back to a time ‘before’ law – that is, natural language devoid of any reframing by legal discourses – because the perspective one has on the law is part of the law itself. This emphasises the technical nature of legal discourse, its emphasis on mastering the legal craft that seems to be lost on the all too technical approach of the literalist Heydon J. The judicial process under appeal comes in two parts vis-à-vis the possibility of fettering judicial discretion for Heydon J. The first part, says Heydon J, ‘is to decide whether it is open to the Court to consider varying the sentence at all’.48 Heydon J states that if an error of judgement is found at this stage, then the matter proceeds to the second part: ‘to what extent should the sentence be varied?’49 Heydon J surmises that the discretions of each stage are connected, and therefore discretions that exist in the later stage and not at the first are not unfettered.50 It may be suggested that Heydon J dismisses the appeal because the appellant’s case erroneously excludes the expression of the Criminal Code (Qld) as part of a legal discourse, emphasising a purposive construal that is favoured by the majority rather than dealing with what is literally worded in the Act itself. This is a curious, critical point for Lacey because it highlights the difficult position of the dissenter as at once between both the matter before the court and the remainder of the court itself. But more than this, the division between Heydon J and the majority reveals a tension between the fantasmatic support of the presumptions of statutory interpretation by the majority and Heydon J’s dissenting judgment. The tension between the majority and Heydon J is a symbolic one. Restricted merely to the technicalities of jurisprudence and statutory construction, we might suggest that the difference is merely one of purposive against literalist construal. But let us ask a naïve question here: in what element or part of purposive or literalist statutory interpretation and construction do I find this purpose or literature? The answer is clearly the law itself. Yet this law appears to be separate from the judge’s consciousness and judicial discretion, and therein beyond the rationality and reasoning that we may call purposive or literal. While the presumptions of statutory interpretation may come to bear on all the judges presiding in the High Court during Lacey, the critical matter of 48 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 592. 49 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 592–93. 50 Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 at 596. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 343 note is that the access to the law itself is barred or veiled by these presumptions: statute operates as the object-cause of the desire for statutory interpretation. The elaboration of Heydon J and the majority’s differing approaches to statutory interpretation highlights different entry points into the chain of the law’s signification. If the presumptions of statutory interpretation were suspended somehow, their fantasmatic coordination of reality for the subject of law would crumble. The point is that both the purposive and literal approaches commit to a certain objective existence of the law in its fantasmatic – that is, interpretable or symbolic – aspect. The tension between the majority and Heydon J is thus a difference of how to approach fantasy. In a literal way, Heydon J constructs a clinical and technical analysis of the law that plays the game of the signifier by staging the desire for the law. This staging of desire is the desire for law, but it is fantasmatically elaborated by the legal fictions of natural language, as if the law is talking to us and it is our choice whether or not to listen. In the purposive way, the majority’s construction devolves the law from the status of an Other that has unknowable desires to that of a small ‘o’ other, an alter-ego that has purposes and desires that can be assumed.51 While the literal position may function as a formalist interpretation of law to the letter, it remains unable to answer the question of what the law wants. Hence the law itself is fantasmatic, objectively capable of taking care of itself. The purposive approach compositely veers instead towards treating the law as though it knows what this other wants. Where Heydon J stages the desire for law, the purposive majority know the desire of law, but at the price of law becoming a diffuse symbolic socio-political mass. The majority are thus more ‘postmodern’52: the Other is shot through with enjoyment, the law is an all- too-human, almost fleshy mass of real people, real bodies and real things.53 To rephrase this difference in the terms of some psychoanalytic tropes: Heydon J’s construction figures as that of an obsessive neurotic who enjoys in the structure of the law, but only insofar as it is an artifice or structure rather than a living thing. Conversely, the majority’s construction figures as that of the paranoid psychotic who knows the Other knows too that the law enjoys a life beyond what it says in its writ – that is, the intention of parliament, mischief that the statute is intended to remedy, and so on; it is an alter-ego or small ‘o’ other to compete with rather than a symbolic fiction to interpret.54 While the above offers some insights into the desire for law and interpreting statutes, what might this tell us of law’s relationship to anarchy? 51 Žižek (2008), p 35. 52 Emphasis is here used to highlight that these bodies are the other side of the ‘official’ language of postmodern jurisprudence’s emphasis on plural representation and interpretation as discussed by Murphy (1991). These bodies are closer to the emphasis of psychoanalysis and postmodern feminisms discussed by Patterson (1992). 53 Žižek (1999), p 219 54 Goodrich and Carlson (1998), p 6. 344 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 In the case of Lacey, this relation is figured in a very particular way. The demands of statutory interpretation and judicial construction play out in two apparent ways for anarchy’s relation to law in Lacey: either we may follow Heydon J and productively obsess over the technical expression of the law, ideologically coded as ‘natural language’ as though what is ‘natural’ is eternal and unchanging – thus anarchy is what is persistently deferred through a constant return of law’s signifiers; or we may follow the hermeneutic reasoning of the majority that is potentially endless and visceral insofar as the dead letter of the law comes alive with purpose and therein desires something from us all. In the latter, anarchy is not outside the law as it is in Heydon J’s construction. Instead, anarchy is constitutive of the legal order itself; the law is ‘mad’, more than the law alone or in itself, out of its ‘legal’ mind and instead in a plurality of para-legal or extra-legal voices. Here what the law frames as ‘order’ is in fact yet another species of ‘disorder’ claiming to be the Order. These approaches to anarchy are not extraneous to the previous discussion, but instead are part of the elaboration of their approaches to the law. Yet are the majority and dissenting judgments in Lacey so different? Can we view them instead as two sides of the same fantasmatic legal coin since they both clearly emphasise the law as a thesis, a starting point that installs an order of meaning. If the law is a thesis, from what is it differentiated? How might anarchy function as its antithesis? Given the arguments elaborated above, it may appear that anarchy returns to the law not as an organised movement but rather as an indivisible remainder that lingers on in the wake of synthesis of the purpose of law and the structure of law. Anarchy is an interminable symptom of the legal frame in Lacey. The case of Lacey is instructive in showing that the position of the law is not merely expressed across statute, case law and common law stare decisis, but is also posited as thinkable in very particular ways. The majority and the dissenter in Lacey highlight two possible approaches to law’s thetic positing. The first is the construal of the majority wherein law is a quilting of substantial legal and para-legal fragments that function as a type of normalised disorder or anarchy that is given normative value by the quilting of purpose that is, in strict clinical terms, a ‘delusional metaphor’ for what the law is and does.55 The second view of law is that of the dissenter, Heydon J, whose judgment differs in terms of its basis, outcome and approach to law as such. In what we might term a kind of jurisprudential modernism, Heydon J’s literalist approach to law in Lacey rejects para-legal materials or metaphors of purpose in favour of what is literally ‘there’ in the formal writ of the law itself. Heydon J’s fidelity to the law as signifier maintains the Otherness of the law that prohibits disorder or anarchy entirely; anarchy is out of the question, unthinkable – there is only the law and what the law says. In both instances, what can be ascertained is a certain psychic economy of access to the law. 55 Fink (1997), p 107. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 345 If the law is thus posited as either normalised anarchy or the symbolic order, what does this tell us about its relation to anarchy? In its vulgar definition as the absence of order or a type of mayhem, anarchy stands out as an antithetical negation of both positions discussed thus far. For the purposive construal of the majority, anarchic mayhem is a mischief against which the law protects by incarnating powers, jurisdictions and the difference between the two: power comes from jurisdictions; jurisdictions come from the purpose of having law. Anarchy is everything that does not inhere to this delusional order. Conversely, for the more literal reasoning of the dissenter, anarchic mayhem is a diffuse phenomenon among many phenomena that occur outside the law. The law operates to protect us from this dark continent of grotesque things that obey no law. In its stronger definition, anarchy is the rejection of law. This emphasises the thrust of anarchy as the antithesis of law, it is law’s negation but it is also ultimately without substance in the absence of a legal order to reject. Thus the law must always tarry with its negation by anarchy insofar as it is a remainder of law that stands for what law is not. The constant mediation and negotiation of anarchy by the law is perhaps only possible insofar as the law exhibits a reflective dimension that makes it aware of its conditions and limits. What is curious is how the postmodern logic of purposive construal such as that of the majority in Lacey elaborates a synthesis of anarchy. Synthetically, the law is generated by its negation of anarchy through attending to some purpose. Here, the law retroactively posits anarchy as some mischief to be remedied by something that is avowedly part of this anarchic pre-legal space. The law is thus to be read as a normalised disorder, a type of ‘pre-order’ that attempts to regulate all other disorders; a radical anarchy as the rule. Yet if we take the argument that anarchy is precisely what the law is not, even in its radical anarchic mode, where does this leave the distinction between what is legal and para-legal? The dialectic of law and anarchy elaborated above appears to be deployed by the majority’s construction in Lacey. It does not, however, assist the literalist reasoning of Heydon J that is instead mired in the elaboration of endless differentiation, endless negations of what is and is not in the law. What changes between the vantage of Heydon J and the majority is not the law but rather the perspective on the law – how the law is apprehended by and involves the nomological psyche of the judge or other legal subject. For law to function as a synthetic construct, the anarchy that is normalised as legal order must lose its anarchic tinge. It does this through the well-known arbitrary gesture of enforcing its order with negotiations that will always have an end-point. Arbitration and construction offer an important glimpse of the negation of anarchy by law disappearing from view: we all know there is law and that which is not law, but the point is that when we talk about the law, this mediation between the legal and the para-legal vanishes. This vanishing is not an elision in the same way that Heydon J’s reasoning portrays the law as endless negations of the anarchic thing-without-law to be 346 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 constantly arranged and specified; rather, the reasoning of the majority in Lacey presents an extremely different view of the law with a purpose. In proper dialectical fashion, then, it must be asked what negates this new thesis of law as construed by the majority in Lacey? Where exactly is anarchy in this arrangement, and what are the negations that operate as invitations to anarchy therein? The first point to which to return is that the law here is a normalised anarchy. This effectively means that any approach to anarchy in other than its normalised form as the law is not beyond the borders of the law but at its very core. If anarchy is not the law, incomprehensible to the law, but is at the same time part of the law, it is otherwise to be known as a symptom of the law. As verified by the majority’s purposive construal in Lacey, anarchy today is a symptom of the law. The task of law is thus to enjoy in this symptom in a legal way, to give it legal meaning and legal definition, to make socio-legal sense of it. Demands for anarchy as no law are thus thoroughly legal demands insofar as they reinstate the order of law by inviting its negation. Calls for anarchy in this way are not absolutely free in the sense of philosophical idealism, but are instead tyrannies to yet another universal legal ordering. This is the modern twist to the dialectic of the law: once you know the dialectical form of law, you cannot go back. From the above, it is supposed that anarchy today must handle a fundamental epistemological problem: once you know the law, you cannot erase it. There is no meta-language for anarchy theorists to rely upon in the postmodern jurisprudence of the Australian High Court majority in Lacey. The species of anarchy that is ruled by the market is of a species of anarchist thought that fits with a modern rather than postmodern frame. The useful psychoanalytic insight here is that the law is all too capable of disrupting itself as though its order is in fact a disorder. In the important precedent set by Project Blue Sky,56 the High Court identified that the legal subject must work towards establishing legislative harmony. The same can be said of the finding in Lacey insofar as what the majority’s judicial reasoning is really chasing down is the purpose or desire for law. This is an admittedly speculative critique of the law, but it is at the same time an important avenue to explore because it renders visible a range of complex structural issues for modern legal knowledge. Anarchy in the present is not outside the law. Radically normalised, anarchy is ‘the law’ and the repression that forgets this in Heydon J’s modern literalist construal in Lacey risks repressing this traumatic encounter with disorder at the heart of the modern Australian legal system. 56 Project Blue Sky Inc v Australian Broadcasting Authority (1998) 194 CLR 335. HOURIGAN: POSTMODERN ANARCHY IN THE MODERN LEGAL PSYCHE 347 References Secondary Sources Timothy C Campbell (ed) (2010) Commonalities: Theorizing the Common in Contemporary Italian Thought, http://commonconf.wordpress.com. Lorenzo Chiesa (2007) Subjectivity and Otherness: A Philosophical Reading of Lacan, MIT Press. Catriona Cook et al (2012) Laying Down the Law, 8th ed, LexisNexis Butterworths. Mladen Dolar (2006) A Voice and Nothing More, MIT Press. Roberto Esposito (2010) Communitas, Stanford University Press. Bruce Fink (1997) A Clinical Introduction to Lacanian Psychoanalysis, Harvard University Press. Peter Goodrich (1995) Oedipus Lex: Psychoanalysis, History, Law, University of California Press. Peter Goodrich and David Gray Carlson (1998) ‘Introduction’ in Peter Goodrich and David Gray Carlson (eds), Law and the Postmodern Mind, University of Michigan Press. Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri (2001) Empire, Harvard University Press. Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri (2005) Multitude: War and Democracy in the Age of Empire, Penguin. Daniel Hourigan (2013) ‘Breach! The Law’s Jouissance in Miéville’s The City & The City’ 19 Law, Culture and the Humanities forthcoming. Jacques Lacan (1993) The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book III: The Psychoses, Routledge. Jacques Lacan (1998) The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XI: The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis, WW Norton. Jacques Lacan (2006) Écrits, WW Norton. Jacques Lacan (2011) Le Séminaire, livre XIX: … ou pire, Seuil. Eric Laurent (2007) ‘The Purloined Letter and the Tao of the Psychoanalyst’, in Véronique Voruz and Bogdan Wolf (eds), The Later Lacan: An Introduction, State University of New York Press. Anne Lysy-Stevens (2009) ‘Unconscious and Interpretation’ 1 Hurly-Burly 75. William P MacNeil (2007) Lex Populi: The Jurisprudence of Popular Culture, Stanford University Press. Jacques-Alain Miller (2007) ‘Interpretation in Reverse’, in Véronique Voruz and Bogdan Wolf (eds), The Later Lacan: An Introduction, State University of New York Press. Steven Miller (2003) ‘Lacan at the Limits of Legal Theory: Law, Desire, and Sovereign Violence’ 1 UMBR(a): Ignorance of the Law 81. Peter Murphy (1991) ‘Postmodern Perspectives and Justice’ 30 Thesis Eleven 117. Robert Nozick (2007) ‘The State’, in Edward Stringham (ed), Anarchy and the Law, The Independent Institute. Dennis Patterson (1992) ‘Postmodernism/Feminism/Law’ 77 Cornell Law Review 254. Queensland Parliament 1975, Parliamentary Debates Legislative Assembly, 23 April. DC Pearce and RS Geddes (2011) Statutory Interpretation in Australia, 7th ed, LexisNexis Butterworths. Wayne Rumbles (2011) ‘Spectre of Jurisdiction: Supreme Court of New South Wales and the British Subject in Aotearoa/New Zealand 1823–1841’ 15 Law Text Culture 209. Renata Salecl (2010) Choice, Profile Books. Yale French Studies 1975, Graphesis: Perspectives in Literature and Philosophy, Yale University Press. 348 GRIFFITH LAW REVIEW (2012) VOL 21 NO 2 Slavoj Žižek (1999) ‘Death and the Maiden’, in Elizabeth Wright and Edmond Wright (eds), The Žižek Reader, Blackwell. Slavoj Žižek (2001) Enjoy Your Symptom! Jacques Lacan in Hollywood and Out, rev ed, Routledge. Slavoj Žižek (2008) In Defense of Lost Causes, Verso. Slavoj Žižek (2008a) Violence, Profile Books. Alenka Zupancic (2006) ‘When Surplus Enjoyment Meets Surplus Value’, in Justin Clemens and Russell Grigg (eds), Jacques Lacan and the Other Side of Psycho-Analysis, Duke University Press. Cases Adler v George (1964) 2 QB 7 Heydon’s case (1584) 3 Co Rep 7a Lacey v Attorney-General of Queensland (2011) 242 CLR 573 Project Blue Sky Inc v Australian Broadcasting Authority (1998) 194 CLR 335 Legislation Acts Interpretation Act 1901 (Cth) Acts Interpretation Act 1954 (Qld) Criminal Code (Qld) Fair Trading Act 1999 (Vic) 
work_ipcuo6tmnje6nf7vbp5xruoypi	----	John Brown’s “Madness” John Brown’s “Madness” Charles J. G. Griffin Rhetoric & Public Affairs, Volume 12, Number 3, Fall 2009, pp. 369-388 (Article) Published by Michigan State University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/rap.0.0109 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/363156 https://doi.org/10.1353/rap.0.0109 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/363156 Charles J. G. Griffi n is Associate Professor of Communication Studies at Kansas State University in Manhattan. © 2009 Michigan State University Board of Trustees. All rights reserved. Rhetoric & Public Affairs Vol. 12, No. 3, 2009, pp. 369–388 ISSN 1094-8392 JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” CHARLES J. G. GRIFFIN This essay explores how divergent interpretations of John Brown’s alleged “madness” in the aftermath of the Harper’s Ferry Raid defi ned the meaning and import of his actions for the Republic’s increasingly unstable social and political order. It argues that popular characterizations of Brown illustrate that “madness” can serve a num- ber of rhetorical functions in the civic sphere. The essay fi rst explores the popular etiology of insanity in antebellum America. It then argues that prevailing views of insanity in the mid-nineteenth century invited three metonymic interpreta- tions of the origins of Brown’s “madness”—and hence of the larger signifi cance of his actions: Brown as pariah, Brown as pawn, and Brown as prophet. A conclud- ing section discloses how these competing views may enrich our understanding of “madness” as a recurrent trope in American political and social controversy. How admirable is the symmetry of the heavens; how grand and beautiful. Everything moves in sublime harmony in the government of God. Not so with us poor creatures. If one star is more brilliant than others, it is continually shooting in some erratic way into space. —John Brown, 1856 J ohn Brown’s revelation to an eastern reporter as the two studied the night sky from a Kansas fi eld one summer evening in 1856 proved uncannily prophetic.1 Three years later, the scourge of Bloody Kansas and a small group of followers briefl y seized the Federal Arsenal at Harper’s Ferry, Virginia. The raiders hoped to rally slaves from nearby plantations and lead them on a cam- paign of liberation throughout the South. Brown’s audacious movement and its repercussions for a nation already teetering on the edge of civil war have been the subject of endless speculation and debate ever since.2 For many observ- ers, the Harper’s Ferry Raid has come to symbolize the peril that fanatical 02_12 3Griffin.indd 36902_12 3Griffin.indd 369 7/1/09 9:31:21 AM7/1/09 9:31:21 AM 370 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS devotion to a cause, however noble, can pose to civil society. Others have seen it as a shining, principled moment in the nation’s history, a hammer blow that shattered the brittle veneer of civility and compromise that safeguarded slavery. In the storm of popular commentary that surrounded the event itself, everyone, it seemed, had an opinion about the strange, charismatic fi gure who, Samson- like, set out to pull down the Republic on his own head. But on one point, at least, a great many of Brown’s contemporaries were agreed: Brown himself was almost certainly “mad.” In pulpits, public meetings, and a signifi cant number of the nation’s 4,000 newspapers, North and South, Brown was routinely judged to be “deluded,” “fanatical,” “maniacal,” or “crazed.” The indefatigable diarist George Templeton Strong confi ded to himself that Brown’s foray was an “insane transaction” and feared it might lead to “grave results” if prominent northern abolitionists were found to be involved. Even abolitionist editor William Lloyd Garrison wondered at Brown’s “misguided, wild, and apparently insane” adventure.3 But although the fact of Brown’s “madness” was ceded by most contemporaries, its meaning was sharply dis- puted. Some pointed to heredity or personal tragedy as the source of Brown’s derangement, dismissing Harper’s Ferry as a frightening but isolated incident. Others saw Brown as a man driven to insanity by the words or deeds of others, arguing that the raid was representative of the increasingly chaotic and irratio- nal state of the Union itself. And still others believed that Brown’s mania was divinely inspired, his raid a providential intervention into the nation’s affairs. This essay explores how divergent interpretations of John Brown’s alleged “madness” in the aftermath of the Harper’s Ferry Raid defi ned the meaning and import of his actions for the Republic’s increasingly unstable social and political order. It argues that popular characterizations of Brown illustrate that political insanity can serve a number of rhetorical functions in relation to the civic sphere. The essay fi rst explores the popular etiology of insanity in Antebellum America. It then argues that prevailing views of insanity in the mid-nineteenth century invited three metonymical interpretations of the ori- gins of Brown’s “madness”—and hence of the larger signifi cance of his actions: Brown as pariah, Brown as pawn, and Brown as prophet. A concluding section discloses how these competing views may enrich our understanding of madness as a recurrent trope in American public controversy. A POPULAR ETIOLOGY OF MADNESS IN ANTEBELLUM AMERICA The debate over Brown’s “madness” must be understood within the context of the popular etiology of insanity in the mid-nineteenth century. Then, as now, the average American’s understanding of insanity was an amalgam of received wisdom, scientifi c study, and personal prejudice.4 As a result, public 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37002_12 3Griffin.indd 370 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 371 attitudes toward the insane were confused and often ambivalent. They were frequently shunned, mocked, and persecuted as unwelcome object lessons in the perils of private or public sin. But they could be regarded with an almost superstitious veneration as well. After all, Western tradition has long associated madness with the genius of the poet and the foresight of the prophet.5 Whether they were kept at home, confi ned in institutions, or simply left to wander the streets, the “mad” maintained a tenuous relationship to civil society, at least as it was envisioned in Republican theory: they were agents of disruption in an ordered world, shooting stars within the symmetry of the heavens. The late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries witnessed the fi rst scientifi c efforts to study and treat insanity in Western Europe and the United States. Following the pioneering work of Philippe Pinel and William Tuke, and reformers such as Dorothea Dix, efforts to treat the insane on a more sys- tematic and humane basis took hold in Western Europe and the United States by mid-century.6 Along with the penitentiary, public school, and temperance meeting, the insane asylum took its place at the vanguard of a new age of social reform.7 The origins, nature, and treatment of madness were fashionable topics in scholarly and popular journals of the period. In general, insanity was thought to result when severe stress was placed on a “constitutionally weak nervous system.”8 The stress itself could originate internally—the result of hereditary disposition, illness, injury, alcoholism—or externally from a sudden reversal in business, grief over the loss of a loved one, or religious agitation. By mid- century some observers found inducements to insanity just about everywhere, and especially in “the exceptionally open and fl uid quality of American society” itself.9 To be sure, the era’s rough-and-tumble economic conditions, religious excitements, and political and social upheavals played havoc with long-estab- lished patterns of life. Sudden fortune and sudden fi nancial ruin seemed ever-present possibilities and with them came constant pressure to get—and stay—ahead. As Toqueville, writing in the 1830s, had foreseen, if industrialized democracy opened new vistas for those with ambition, it also introduced new ways those ambitions could be frustrated. When all of the privileges of birth and fortune are abolished, when all professions are accessible to all, and a man’s own energies may place him at the top of any of them, an easy and unbounded career seems open to his ambition. . . . But this is an erroneous notion, which is corrected by daily experience. The same equality which allows every citizen to conceive these lofty hopes, renders all the citizens less able to realise them: it circumscribes their powers on every side, while it gives freer scope to their desires. . . . [T]his constant strife between the propensities springing from the equality of conditions and the means it supplies to satisfy them harasses and wearies the mind.10 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37102_12 3Griffin.indd 371 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM 372 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS Mounting sectional tensions over slavery in the 1840s and 1850s only intensi- fi ed the emotional turmoil and sense of crisis that were thought to foster insan- ity in the vulnerable. As David J. Rothman notes, “The style of life in the new republic seemed willfully designed to produce mental illness. Everywhere they looked, they found chaos and disorder, a lack of fi xity and stability.”11 Medical authorities of the period held that insanity could manifest itself in a number of ways: melancholia, mania, monomania, dementia, and idiocy.12 Of these, the species of insanity most often associated with Brown by observers at the time was monomania. Monomaniacs were characterized by the ability to reason and behave normally in most situations accompanied by a tendency to “become irrational and obsessive on specifi c subjects.”13 The monomaniac was thus only “partially insane,” though perhaps all the more dangerous for this, because much of the time, he or she seemed an intelligent, reasonable person. But in pursuit of his or her obsession, the monomaniac could become implacable and ruthless, forsaking friends, family, even life itself in the head- long pursuit of a desired (and usually unrealistic) goal. One of the most compelling portraits of monomania produced during this period was that of Captain Ahab in Herman Melville’s 1851 novel, Moby Dick. Although the novel was not a commercial success, it vividly captures ideas popu- lar at the time about the nature of monomania and its potential dangers to soci- ety. Melville’s antagonist, Ahab, is a competent and successful mariner, a man who has risen to the top of his profession. But he also bears grievous physical and psychological wounds, the legacies of an earlier encounter with the malevo- lent white whale, “Moby Dick.” After a tortuous convalescence, Ahab gradually regains his physical strength. He is fi tted with a new leg and given command of the whaler Pequod. But, as Melville cautions readers, “Ahab, in his hidden self, raved on,” tormented by a compulsion to wreak vengeance on the white whale.14 At sea, Ahab’s behavior grows increasingly erratic. He broods alone in his cabin by day and paces the deck fi tfully by night. “If such a furious trope may stand,” Melville writes of his tragic antagonist, “his special lunacy stormed his general sanity, and turned all its concentrated cannon upon its own mad mark; so that, far from having lost his strength, Ahab, to that one end, did now pos- sess a thousandfold more potency than he ever had sanely brought to bear upon any one reasonable object.”15 Magnifi ed by madness, Ahab’s virulent compul- sion quickly infects the Pequod’s crew until they, too, are won over to his single- minded quest. It is, as every reader of the novel learns, the death of them all. MADNESS AND THE CIVIC SPHERE Melville could hardly have drawn a starker portrait of the monomaniacal leader willing to wreak havoc in pursuit of his mark. As Leland M. Griffi n conjectured 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37202_12 3Griffin.indd 372 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 373 of President Kennedy’s alleged assassin Lee Harvey Oswald, the turn to violence is all too seductive when ambition and heroic vision are unbridled from some internal “principle of self-restraint.” “The problem seems to be that the dreamer of Utopia—of all beings truly ‘rotten with perfection’—once convinced by an internal rhetoric of the virtue of his New Order, is tempted to bring it to power, to ‘round things out,’ by any means possible”16 But Ahab, at least, was a fi c- tional character in a not very successful novel. On the other hand, John Brown, obsessed with slavery and willing to wreck the Union to secure its demise, was a fi gure all too real. What was the meaning of his “special lunacy” and what did it portend for the country? To appreciate the range of responses to Brown’s alleged monomania, it is important to understand late antebellum views of the nature and vulnerabili- ties of the civic sphere. Although Jürgen Habermas initially conceived of the “public sphere” as a space for enlightened debate and discussion, I use a vari- ant of the term here to denote instead the collective norms operating at any one time to circumscribe the legitimate modes of civic expression. In American political culture, the civic sphere is both dynamic and contested; it can and does transform itself over time, conferring respectability on previously unknown or proscribed forms of expression while casting aside others that have become outmoded. Moreover, as James Darsey has argued persuasively, there is a long and honorable “prophetic tradition” in American culture that frequently tests the limits of civility and decorum in civic discourse.17 But the fundamental tendency of the civic sphere over time is toward coherence and stasis of some kind. Thus, although it can accommodate new forms of dissent, the civic sphere is also stable enough to enable parties that strongly disagree on the issues to concur nonetheless that certain types of (usu- ally violent) protest behavior, such as assassination, kidnapping, insurrection, and mob actions, lie squarely outside its boundaries. For instance, historian Kimberly Smith argues that in the post-Revolutionary period, public rioting by aggrieved groups was a relatively common and legitimate vehicle of social and political protest, at least in certain circumstances. However, as less vola- tile avenues of civic expression opened up to a greater number of citizens in the early nineteenth century, mob action became less acceptable as a form of civic expression.18 When they do occur, breaches of something so essential to a democratic polity as the norms of public controversy are apt to occasion soul-searching concerning the integrity and resiliency of the civic sphere itself. An assassination or insurrection may in this way come to be viewed as a metonymic indicator of some disorder affl icting society-at-large.19 For example, in the aftermath of the Kennedy assassination, commentators anguished over the “climate of extrem- ism” said to have been responsible for the president’s death. President Lyndon 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37302_12 3Griffin.indd 373 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM 374 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS Johnson’s frequent evocation of Isaiah 1:18 (“Come let us reason together.”) over the following months may be understood in this respect as a kind of “sec- ular prayer” (“the coaching of an attitude”) aimed at restoring calm to the civic sphere.20 Three decades later, after Timothy McVeigh and an accomplice blew up the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in 1995, President Clinton voiced the concerns of many when he recognized the need to “purge ourselves of the dark forces which gave rise to this evil. They are forces that threaten our common peace, our freedom, our way of life.”21 In her recent study of political engagement during the antebellum period, The Dominion of Voice, Smith argues that the boundaries of appropriate public discourse remained unusually fl uid in the half century following the American Revolution. Having rejected a traditional society in which the norms of public expression were clear, if highly deferential and restrictive, Americans adopted competing ideas about how they should participate in democratic society. Similarly, John M. Murphy asserts that the founders anticipated the diffi culty of establishing a stable public sphere in a nation of competing interests and loyalties. In response, he urges, they sought to inculcate through precept and example a model of citizenship that was “cool, prudent, disciplined and defer- ential,” and willing to sacrifi ce self-interest to the public good. And historian Peter Knupfer contends that, ever-conscious of the potential for single interest factions to tear apart the Union, the post-Revolutionary generation consciously instantiated “compromise” as a civic value. Even Darsey allows that “dread of chaos was epidemic in early-nineteenth-century America.”22 Within this logic, Brown’s violent challenge to the dominion of reasoned deliberation was ipso facto “irrational” and possibly indicative of a much larger threat to the civic sphere. But from whence that threat came and with what measures it should be met was less clear. Answers to these questions depended largely upon whether one believed that the civic sphere, as then constituted, was capable of coping with the passions aroused by slavery. For Americans who felt that the civic sphere could weather this storm, as it had so many before, the maintenance of stability and order remained the paramount consideration. Some of these dismissed Brown as a deluded, self-aggrandizing fanatic—a pariah whose protest should be ignored. Others agreed that Brown was a dangerous monomaniac, but believed that he had been driven to this state by the rancorous controversy surrounding slavery. For these observers, Brown was merely the pawn of malignant political factions whose extremism, if unchecked, threatened to destroy the civic sphere. For a third group of con- temporary observers, Brown’s “madness” signifi ed something altogether dif- ferent: paradoxical proof that the civic sphere itself had grown dangerously disordered. To these observers, Brown was a prophet, whose defense of the innocent could only be viewed as “mad” within a civic sphere that had itself 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37402_12 3Griffin.indd 374 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 375 become morally compromised through its complicity with the abomination of slavery. It is important to note that all three of these views were articulated from both sincere and cynical motives (and sometimes both at the same time). One might, for example, hold that Brown truly was insane, a tragic fi gure, and still appreciate the political capital to be gained by blaming his “madness” on one’s political foes. Similarly, one might believe that Brown was quite sane, yet recog- nize that he could be discredited by being labeled mad. It is doubtless impos- sible to know with any certainty whether individual users of the three tropes of “madness” were in earnest or merely exploiting an opportunity to promote (or discredit) an ideology. What is clear is that all three views were voiced in the aftermath of Brown’s raid and that each invited a differing interpretation of its meaning. BROWN AS PARIAH Popular opinion in Antebellum America held that “madness” typically orig- inated when some inherent fl aw or weakness within an individual’s mental character was subjected to severe stress. Everything from a physical injury to the brain, to the effects of alcoholism, to traumatic experiences, to an over-stim- ulated imagination might trigger insanity in a weak constitution. Grounding insanity in an “imbalance” between a weak-minded individual and a stressful or turbulent environment invited speculation as to whether the behavior of the “mad” had any real social signifi cance. Charles E. Morris notes that “madness” could be a politically expedient diagnosis as well, because “the cultural dis- course of madness . . . serves readily and effi ciently as a rhetorical mechanism with which the rebellious might be disciplined or silenced.” Indeed, Morris has argued that nineteenth-century concepts of gender, power, and madness con- spired to silence abolitionist agitator Abigail Folsom in just such a fashion.23 Morris demonstrates how an accusation of “madness” can insulate a move- ment’s leadership from the unruly behavior of one of its own members, even as movement leaders profess sympathy for his or her motives. In a similar vein, M. Jimmie Killingsworth and Jacqueline S. Palmer have shown how some early environmentalists were dismissed as “hysterical” by their foes in the agribusiness and chemical industries.24 More recently, politically embarrass- ing revelations concerning allegedly corrupt actions by Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich that threatened to refl ect badly upon the incoming Obama admin- istration were arguably minimized by attributing the governor’s behavior to “madness.”25 While the use of invective to silence one’s opponents is hardly new, a charge of “madness” has distinct advantages when applied to individu- als or groups whose actions directly challenge the legitimacy of the civic sphere 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37502_12 3Griffin.indd 375 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM 376 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS itself. First, it renders problematic any critique of the civic sphere raised by the actions of the accused. One can, after all, negotiate with a rational adversary, but there is no negotiating with a monomaniac who, by defi nition, compro- mises with no one. Second, by isolating and diminishing the credibility of the accused, it underscores the apparent rationality of the public sphere as it is. For the unreasonableness of one’s opponents doubtless bolsters one’s own claims to reasonableness.26 But although Brown was neither the fi rst nor the last social activist to be labeled “mad,” he was in some respects unique in earning that appellation from his friends as well as his enemies. In this regard, Abolitionists and Fireaters, Unionists and Disunionists, Republicans and Democrats—parties that could agree on almost nothing else—found some common ground, however tem- porary. It is true that the fear and outrage inspired by Brown’s raid were more pronounced in the South. Even so, the widespread consensus that Brown’s behavior had been irrational offered some reassurance to those worried about the possibility of a violent sectional confl ict that the norms of republican civil- ity were still in force. Hence, by labeling Brown “mad,” opinion leaders in the press and politics could effectively contain the damage caused by Harper’s Ferry and even, in a sense, convert it to their own advantage. Brown-as-pariah provided a kind of scapegoat whose exclusion from the public sphere might cleanse and heal a divided nation. It is not surprising, therefore, that many public commentaries in the raid’s aftermath discounted it as the product of one man’s fevered imagination. Brown, it was argued, was a pathetic fi gure, a victim of heredity, perhaps, and certainly of his own delusions of grandeur. He represented no one except him- self. The most ardent champions of the Brown-as-pariah trope may have been Republican politicians and editors. Their reasoning is understandable, given that secessionists and Democratic leaders, North and South, were eager to tie Brown to the new party. Brown’s actions seemingly placed Republican lead- ers on the horns of a dilemma. Republicans could not pretend to be a truly national party unless they condemned Brown’s “assault” on the South. At the same time, they could not affi rm their antislavery credentials unless they defended Brown, or at least expressed sympathy with his ends. In the end, they chose to split the difference, by condemning his actions as an “irrational” response to an honorable cause. For example, the Republican-leaning Chicago Press and Tribune professed sympathy with Brown’s desire to help the slaves, but lamented the “fanaticism which led him to his present strait.” In Pittsburgh, the Gazette editorialized: We cannot but disapprove his mad and folly-stricken act, but the unselfi shness of his deed; his moderation, when victorious, over the town which he captured; his 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37602_12 3Griffin.indd 376 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 377 spartan courage in defending himself and his fellows, and his sublime contempt of death while overborne and made the manacled tenant of a prison; his stern integrity in scorning the technicalities of the law, and his manliness in all things, will not be quickly forgotten.27 Abraham Lincoln, testing the presidential waters out in the Kansas territory, lamented: “Old John Brown has just been executed for treason against a state. We cannot object, even though he agreed with us in thinking slavery wrong. That cannot excuse violence, bloodshed, and treason.” In nearby Lawrence, Kansas, a local paper summed up the affair: “Poor silly fellows! A straightjacket should be their reward, for they lack moral responsibility because of lunacy.”28 Brown’s legal team did attempt to mount an insanity defense for their cli- ent. Working feverishly, they collected more than two dozen affi davits from friends and relatives of their client in an effort to establish that he was now and had been insane for years. Had the effort succeeded, Brown might have been spared the gallows, but the signifi cance of his acts would surely have been severely diminished. Brown must have realized this, for he strenuously objected to every suggestion that he was not of sound mind.29 One contem- porary historian has argued that Brown and Virginia Governor Henry Wise (under whose jurisdiction Brown was tried) shared a tacit understanding that precluded an acquittal on the grounds of insanity. Wise needed Brown to be seen as sane by the public because only then did his actions provide tangible proof of Northern designs on the interests of the South. Wise’s political ambi- tions demanded that he slay a formidable dragon, not a deluded loner. For his part, Brown needed above all to be taken seriously. In any event, the effort to have Brown acquitted at trial on grounds of insanity came to nothing. And Brown was duly convicted on charges of murder and treason against the state of Virginia. Appeals for clemency on the grounds that Brown was insane came from many quarters, right up to the day of the hanging. But Wise refused to stay the execution.30 BROWN AS PAWN The ambiguity inherent in the popular notion that insanity arose from an imbalance between a subject’s weakened mental constitution and a stressful environment opened the possibility for multiple interpretations of the cause and signifi cance of Brown’s alleged derangement. Emphasizing the former could support the conclusion that Brown alone was responsible for his actions and that they signifi ed little about the state of overall health of the Republic’s civic sphere. Emphasizing the latter produced an entirely different set of con- clusions about the meaning of his actions. 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37702_12 3Griffin.indd 377 7/1/09 9:31:22 AM7/1/09 9:31:22 AM 378 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS Opinions varied among those who saw Brown as a product or extension of larger forces operating within (or upon) the civic sphere. Southern editorial- ists, defenders of slavery, and Democratic leaders tended to blame Northerners, opponents of slavery, and Republicans, for Brown’s antisocial behavior. Northerners blamed slaveholders and Democrats. But regardless of their view- points on the origins of Brown’s insanity, proponents of the Brown-as-pawn trope tended to embrace one of two views about its signifi cance. One view held that Brown had been driven to “madness” by the bitterly partisan rhetoric in which both sides of the slavery debate increasingly indulged. His “madness” was but a harbinger of some darker and far greater rhetorical disorder that threat- ened to destroy the equilibrium of the civic sphere. The other held that Brown’s insanity resulted not from words, but from deeds of violence committed against him or his sons during his Kansas sojourn earlier in the decade. In both views, Brown was depicted as a fairly normal citizen whose capacity to function ratio- nally within the civic sphere had been subverted by the slavery controversy. Those inclined to attribute Brown’s fanaticism to the prevailing rhetorical climate in the late 1850s differed, of course, over just whose “violent speech” had incited Brown.31 Foes of slavery offered a range of possibilities. For exam- ple, the Chicago Press and Tribune put the blame on Congress: “As respects the attempt of an insane old man and his handful of confederates to excite a negro insurrection in Virginia and Maryland, it is easy to determine where the responsibility really belongs. The act is but a part of the legitimate fruit of the repeal of the Missouri Compromise.” Lyman Trumbull (R-IL), on the other hand, argued on the Senate fl oor that the Democratic Party was to blame for Harper’s Ferry, because it had failed to repudiate a similar raid by proslavery forces on the Federal Arsenal at Liberty, Missouri, in 1855. Yet another opin- ion was voiced by Thurlow Weed’s Albany Journal, which blamed the incident on slave holders who planted the idea of insurrection in the minds of slaves by continually fussing about abolitionists’ plans to free them. Had not such agita- tion incited Brown’s mad movement?32 On the other hand, the raid unleashed a storm of invective from critics who saw Brown as the product of virulent antislavery discourse. Memphis Appeal, for example, insisted that if indeed Brown was crazy, he had been made so “by the teachings of abolitionists” and that the “only tendency of abolition theo- ries is anarchy, bloodshed and confusion.” The Nashville Union and American asserted a commonly held view in the South that “Abolitionism is working out its legitimate results in encouraging fanatics to riot and revolution. . . . For the fanatics engaged there would never have dared the attempt at insurrection but for the infl ammatory speeches and writings of Seward, Greeley, and the other Republican leaders.” The Richmond Enquirer sounded an equally com- mon theme, asserting that the Republican Party had “impelled [Brown and his 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37802_12 3Griffin.indd 378 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 379 followers] forward in their mad career of treason and bloodshed.” Some com- mentators laid the blame for Brown’s actions on the words of specifi c individ- uals. The Republican Banner and Nashville Whig editorialized, “The effect of the speeches of [Senator William] Seward, [Representative Joshua] Giddings, and other prominent leaders of the Republican Party is to infl ame the minds of such fanatics as Ossawatomie Brown and his confederates, and incite them to deeds of blood upon the holders of slaves,” a view seconded by newspapers such as the Raleigh, North Carolina, Register, which concluded that “fanaticism at the North is rampant, and overrides every thing.”33 Nor were such opinions confi ned to Southern editorialists. James Gordon Bennett’s New York Herald asserted that Brown’s sympathies had been infl amed and exploited by the “Black Republicanism” of men such as William Seward and Charles Sumner: “They—not the crazy fanatic John Brown—are the real culprits; and it is they, not he, who, if justice were fairly meted out would have to grace the gallows.” The newspaper called him “a victim of the mad fanati- cism which would plunge the country into bloodshed for its own gratifi cation.” Another newspaper in Concord, New Hampshire, decried Brown and the insti- gators of “these fools and madmen.” And in his annual message to Congress in 1859, President Buchanan denounced Brown’s raid and worried that it was a symptom of “an incurable disease in the public mind, which may break out in still more outrages.”34 Another body of opinion attributed Brown’s madness to his searing experi- ences in “Bloody Kansas” three years earlier. There, Brown had lost one son to Border Ruffi ans. Another had been beaten nearly to death and scarred for life. Brown himself was suspected in the murder of fi ve proslavery settlers. The abo- litionist orator Wendell Phillips, speaking at Henry Ward Beecher’s Plymouth Church in Brooklyn, argued that “the South planted the seeds of violence in Kansas and taught peaceful Northern men familiarity with the bowie-knife and the revolver. They planted nine hundred ninety-nine seeds, and this is the fi rst one that has fl owered.”35 In the Senate, Ben Wade of Ohio alleged that the vio- lence done to Brown’s sons had maddened him: “Undoubtedly, sir, that raid was the parent of this. . . . I believe that he was maddened by the scenes through which he passed in Kansas, because I do not believe that any sane man on earth would have undertaken the enterprise that he undertook at Harper’s Ferry.”36 The Albany Evening Journal similarly theorized that in Kansas, Brown was robbed of his property, maltreated, his house was burned, and three of his sons murdered in cold blood. It is not strange that these wrongs kindled in him a thirst for revenge amounting to monomania. Brooding over them, he has con- ceived the wildest plans for repaying them, not only upon the guilty authors of his own misery, but upon all Slaveholders. The whole transaction at Harper’s 02_12 3Griffin.indd 37902_12 3Griffin.indd 379 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM 380 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS Ferry evinces this. None but a madman could seriously expect that twenty men could make head against the whole Union, and none but those whose sense of Justice was blunted by deep passion could fail to see that they were committing a crime against Innocent men, women, and children, which would inevitably meet, and justly deserve, universal condemnation. The next day, the Journal expanded its indictment: “But who made Brown a madman by murdering his sons? Who taught that crazy crew to band together with arms in their hands, as the most effective way to accomplish political pur- poses? The Border Ruffi ans of Kansas and the Democratic Administration at Washington!”37 Later on the Senate fl oor, Republican James Doolittle of Wisconsin wondered rhetorically, “Where did Brown get his education? Who taught him to draw blood on this question, and to open up the sluices of civil discord and civil war?” To which Tennessee’s Andrew Johnson countered that Brown’s raid was the “legitimate result” of antislavery agitation, declaring that “John Brown did not go to Kansas to go to school. He went there as a teacher.”38 BROWN AS PROPHET Portrayals of Brown as pariah and as pawn presuppose that, in a democracy, ideological fervor taken to the point of infl icting or suffering violence is, by defi nition, “irrational.” To be sure, Brown’s actions went well beyond the usual limits of incivility or civil disobedience. It is one thing to spend the night in jail for not paying one’s poll tax, quite another to lead an armed assault against a federal installation. Even those who otherwise approved of Brown’s audacious undertaking struggled to understand his reasoning. What were his intentions once the arsenal had been secured? How could he have hoped to succeed with so small a force? Why did he not fl ee Harper’s Ferry when it became clear that the raid had failed? What was he thinking? Yet, for at least some of Brown’s defenders, the very insanity of the raid on Harper’s Ferry confi rmed that it had been divinely inspired. Brown was “mad” all right, at least as the world reckoned such things, but his was the mania (enthousiasmos) of the prophet. Like a latter-day Jeremiah, Brown had been sent by God to chastise and redirect a nation that had lost its moral bearings and gone seriously astray. It was, after all, a commonplace among radical abolition- ists that the Union as it was amounted to a pact with the devil. “Compromise” was, for them, not a virtue but an enabler of vice. Of Wendell Phillips, the movement’s most strident voice, Darsey writes: The mentality of compromise that Phillips excoriated in both politics and the church was intended by its proponents as the vehicle for continued unity. It was 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38002_12 3Griffin.indd 380 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 381 a beguiling notion in its passivity—“live and let live.” It was not a strenuous doc- trine. It refl ected the realities of the world in all its imperfections. But compromise also has a sharply dyslogistic element: it does not always preserve the interests of opposing elements in mutual deference and respect, but sometimes surrenders one to the other. Compromise can be a “shameful or disreputable concession,” particularly when it is the self that is compromised. . . . In an age where the self is asserted only through the exercise of virtue, the life of ease involves the horrible anxiety of the loss of self, a condition of slavery. And for radical abolitionists such as Phillips, compromise with slavery amounted not only to a “failure of moral vision” at the national level, but to a surrender of personal integrity on the part of every “free” man as well.39 No one was more certain of this truth that Brown, himself. While he did not consider himself to be possessed or irrational, Brown certainly believed himself to be divinely appointed to the work of destroying slavery (a fact that doubtless convinced many others that he was “mad”). In a dramatic post-capture inter- view widely reported in the North, Brown had been asked: “Do you consider yourself an instrument in the hands of Providence?” “I do,” he calmly replied. Later in the same interview, one of Brown’s interrogators had asserted: “I think you are fanatical.” In reply, Brown defi antly turned the accusation back on its maker: “And I think you are fanatical. ‘Whom the Gods would destroy, they fi rst make mad.’ And you are mad.”40 Brown’s trial, which formally commenced on October 27, 1859, and played out over the next two and a half weeks, afforded additional opportunities to affi rm his status as a divinely appointed martyr. Indeed, Marouf Hasian has argued that Brown ingeniously exploited the situation to transform himself into the “iconic embodiment of the natural law itself,” and that his deliberate “blurring of the secular and the sacred allowed millions of Americans to visu- alize the possibility that natural laws could be both beautiful and reasonable.”41 Brown’s moving plea to the court at the trial’s conclusion, writes Stephen Oates, was intended to “win an entire generation to his side.” But it failed to impress the trial judge, who sentenced him to hang on December 2, 1859.42 Between his sentencing and execution three weeks later, Brown received a steady stream of visitors and corresponded regularly with family, friends, and supporters throughout the North. Brown’s composure during these last weeks and masterful manipulation of the rhetorical possibilities of his confi nement helped to lay the foundation for his enduring martyrdom. Brown’s jailhouse correspondence testifi es eloquently to his faith in the transcendent purposes of his work and to his confi dence that it had set in motion the machinery that would one day end slavery. It is clear that Brown believed himself to be playing a central role in a grand historical drama. As he wrote to one Boston friend: “I 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38102_12 3Griffin.indd 381 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM 382 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS know that the very errors by which my scheme was marred were decreed before the world was made. I had no more to do with the course I pursued than a shot leaving a cannon has to do with the spot where it shall fall.”43 Perhaps the most notable public proponent of the Brown-as-prophet trope was the philosopher and essayist Henry David Thoreau. On hearing the news of Brown’s execution, Thoreau famously apotheosized his subject: “Some eigh- teen hundred years ago, Christ was crucifi ed; this morning, perchance, Captain Brown was hung. These are the two ends of a chain which is not without its links. He is not old Brown any longer; he is an angel of light.” As for Brown’s executioners, Thoreau pronounced them “but helpless tools in this great work. It was no human power that gathered them about this preacher.”44 Abolitionist orators such as Wendell Phillips argued that Brown was doing God’s work, identifying him with Protestant heroes Jan Wycliffe and John Huss, as well as the early Christian martyrs. “It is honorable, then, to break bad laws, and such law breaking history loves and God blesses,” pronounced the Reverend George Cheever, an infl uential New York Congregationalist. John Brown is “God’s handwriting on the wall of Slavery; and the knees of the whole South knock together at the apparition. John Brown is God’s own protest against this tyr- anny, against the unrighteous laws that sanction it, against the men and states that support it.” At a memorial service for Brown held only days later, Cheever compared Brown’s apprenticeship to that of the prophet Jeremiah. Attended by such angels, commissioned by such words, John Brown grew onward to the sphere of character and duty for which God had appointed him. The same infl uence in kind came upon him as came upon Jeremiah, the same concentra- tion and intensifying of Divine revelation in one direction, as always happens when God pleases, and when, for his own great purposes, He will discipline and prepare a man for Himself, to bear the reproach among men of being a fanatic,— a man of one idea.45 James Freeman Clarke, fellow abolitionist and prominent Unitarian minister in Boston, labeled Brown’s raid “one of those acts of madness which History cher- ishes, and which Poetry loves forever to adorn with her choicest wreaths of lau- rel.” Still other ministers compared Brown to Samson, Moses, John the Baptist, and in the case of at least one Southern divine, Satan.46 CONCLUSION As a meaningful clinical diagnosis, “madness” has long since lost whatever stand- ing it might have enjoyed. It is wildly imprecise, easily abused, and freighted with centuries of prejudice. But these same ambiguities endue “madness” 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38202_12 3Griffin.indd 382 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 383 with formidable rhetorical power in popular usage, where it still evokes images of dark, chaotic, and often violent behavior. In civic discourse, “mad- ness” remains a grave accusation, usually applied only to individuals or groups whose behaviors are perceived to be both irrational and threatening to the pub- lic good. To level a charge of “madness” against an individual or group operat- ing within the public realm is to situate that person or group within a narrative that is tragic and cautionary. Fanatical idealists, after all, threaten the cherished goal of open and reasoned debate that undergirds the stability of a democratic society. They cannot be bribed, bargained with, nor bullied. They can only be banished beyond the margins of the civic sphere lest others, perhaps including ourselves, fall under their spell. However, this does not mean that the “mad” have no voice, or that their words and deeds cannot be made to serve other, more legitimate interests within the public sphere. Indeed, as I have argued here, they serve a necessary function in our civic life. Nineteenth century popular thought held that “madness” could result when an excessive amount of stress was placed upon an inherently weak mental con- stitution, a view that is not unfamiliar today. In effect, this view allowed phy- sicians and the public observers to attribute any given case of insanity to a range of causes, from the individual level to various levels of outside infl uence, whether originating in the family or social or religious fervor or political agita- tion. Side-by-side with these newer scientifi c explanations of “madness,” lay the more traditional theogenic interpretations of insanity. All three of these expla- nations were invoked by contemporary commentators on John Brown’s raid. Some critics attributed Brown’s fanaticism to heredity and a history of personal disappointment. In so doing, they minimized the scope and signifi - cance of Brown’s actions—his was a private tragedy played out, unfortunately, on a public stage. But it held no larger signifi cance for society. If anything, Brown’s “madness” offered critics on both sides of the slavery issue a brief respite from contention and an opportunity to affi rm mutually that certain kinds of behavior, at least, would not be countenanced in resolving the slav- ery issue. The important thing was to silence Brown so that his words might die with him as quickly as the Virginia authorities could arrange for it. Other commentators saw Brown’s words and actions as symptomatic of larger forces (political leaders, sectional interests, abolitionists, slaveholders) that threatened to destabilize the republic. For these critics, it was important not to silence, but to defl ect his voice by attributing his “madness” to their adversaries’ words and deeds. Still other contemporaries held that Brown’s madness was divinely ordained. Rather than a confused outcast or an overwrought idealist, Brown, they urged, was an instrument of divine chastisement and correction. Slavery had so compromised the nation’s capacity to reason and act justly that Brown only appeared insane and his captors reasonable. In truth, it was the other way 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38302_12 3Griffin.indd 383 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM 384 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS around. Brown’s purifying voice should be neither silenced nor defl ected, but amplifi ed throughout the land until the nation was cleansed of its great sin. Much as did Brown’s contemporaries, historians in the century and a half since Harper’s Ferry have argued endlessly over the origin and meaning of his “madness.” Brown has become, for generations of American schoolchildren, emblematic of the dangers that extremism, even in a good cause, can pose in a democratic society. Paradoxically, Brown has also become the patron saint of would-be martyrs for social justice everywhere. John Stewart Curry’s iconic image of a wrathful Brown, arms thrown back, a Bible in one hand and a gun in the other, sweeping like a whirlwind off the Kansas prairie has come to sym- bolize the righteous fi re of populist anger as a purifying force in American life. In the end, the enigma of Brown’s mind will probably never be solved. But the debate over Brown’s “madness” is itself instructive of the subtle elasticity of this common trope. For students of public address and the rhetoric of social movements, Brown’s case raises questions that transcend his own historical circumstances. How have a century and a half of advances in the understanding and treatment of mental illness infl uenced the character and function of “madness” as a trope in politi- cal controversy? What do those changes reveal about the changing dynamics of public controversy? What do they tell us about the mythology of our civic life? In what ways do the “mad” help to sustain, even as they challenge, consensus- based systems of deliberation and governance? How does the trope of madness shape our understanding of and response to terrorism? For there is no lack of “madmen” in the political life of our own era. We, too, have our Browns: our Lee Harvey Oswalds and Timothy McVeighs, our Ted Kaczynskis, our Weathermen and MOVEs. And we struggle, as did Brown’s contemporaries, to understand the meaning of their madness and to fathom what it foretells for society. Perhaps, we even need them, as if the very act of naming them “mad” helps us in some way to clarify and maintain the bound- aries of rational civic life. In any case, the rhetoric of madness would seem to be a recurrent feature of American political discourse, a trope that refl ects as well as shapes the character of the public sphere; like Brown himself, endlessly debatable—at once fascinating, terrifying, and deserving of our continued attention and study. NOTES 1. William A. Phillips, “Three Interviews With Old John Brown,” Atlantic Monthly, December 1879, 740. 2. The literature on the Harper’s Ferry raid is wide and deep, refl ecting sharp divisions of opinion over Brown’s motives and the signifi cance of his actions. See, for example: James Redpath, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry (Boston: Thayer & Eldridge, 1860); W. E. B. Du Bois, John 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38402_12 3Griffin.indd 384 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 385 Brown (New York: Everyman’s Library, 2001); C. Vann Woodward, “John Brown’s Private War,” in America in Crisis: Fourteen Crucial Episodes in American History, ed. Daniel Aaron (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1952), 109–32; Stephen B. Oates, To Purge This Land with Blood: A Biography of John Brown (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1970); Paul Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On: Responses to John Brown and the Harper’s Ferry Raid (Charlotte: University of Virginia Press, 1995); David S. Reynolds, John Brown Abolitionist: The Man Who Killed Slavery, Sparked the Civil War and Seeded Civil Rights (New York: Alfred A. Knopf: 2005); and Evan Carton, Patriotic Treason: John Brown and the Soul of America (New York: Free Press, 2006). 3. See John Edward Byrne, “The News From Harper’s Ferry: The Press as Lens and Prism for John Brown’s Raid” (Ph.D. diss., George Washington University, 1987), 24; Allan Nevins and Milton Halsey Thomas, eds., The Diary of George Templeton Strong (New York: Macmillan Co., 1952), 465; The Liberator, October 21, 1859, 166. 4. Norman Dain, Concepts of Insanity, 1789–1865 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1964), 202; William S. Bainbridge, “Religious Insanity in America: The Offi cial Nineteenth Century Theory,” Sociological Analysis 45 (1984): 236–37; Gerald M. Grob, The Mad Among Us: A History of the Care of America’s Mentally Ill (New York: Free Press, 1994), 57–60. 5. Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason (New York: Random House, 1965), 8, 13; Dain, Concepts of Insanity, 1789–1865, 43. 6. Grob, The Mad Among Us, 11. 7. David J. Rothman, The Discovery of the Asylum: Social Order and Disorder in the New Republic (Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 1970), xv, 108–29. 8. Rothman, Discovery of the Asylum, 110–11; Bainbridge, “Religious Insanity in America,” 236. 9. Rothman, Discovery of the Asylum, 133; Dain, Concepts of Insanity, 1789–1865, 88. 10. Alexis De Tocqueville, Democracy in America, trans. Henry Reeve (New York: Oxford, 1947), 346. 11. Rothman, Discovery of the Asylum, 114, 112. 12. Bainbridge, “Religious Insanity in America,” 237; Grob, The Mad Among Us, 58; Dain, Concepts of Insanity, 1789–1865, 197–98. 13. Lynn Gamwell and Nancy Tomes, Madness in America: Cultural and Medical Perceptions of Mental Illness Before 1914 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995), 80. 14. Herman Melville, Moby Dick, or the White Whale (New York: Everyman’s Library, 1988), 185. 15. Melville, Moby Dick, 185. I am indebted to Professor Robert E. McGlone, whose use of this passage in his own essay on the “politics of insanity” in the Brown case spurred my thinking about the parallels between Ahab’s monomania and that attributed to Brown by some con- temporaries; “John Brown, Henry Wise, and the Politics of Insanity,” in Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On. See also Andrew Delbanco, Melville, His World and His Work (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005), 165–66, and especially 170–74. 16. Leland M. Griffi n, “When Worlds Collide: Rhetorical Trajectories in the Assassination of President Kennedy,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 76 (1983): 125. 17. Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1989); James Darsey, The Prophetic Tradition and Radical Rhetoric in America (New York: New York University Press, 1997). 18. Kimberly K. Smith, The Dominion of Voice: Riot, Reason, and Romance in Antebellum Politics (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1999), 11–83. 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38502_12 3Griffin.indd 385 7/1/09 9:31:23 AM7/1/09 9:31:23 AM 386 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS 19. In Burke’s view, “The basic strategy of metonymy is this: to convey some incorporeal or intangible state in terms of the corporeal or tangible.” Kenneth Burke, A Grammar of Motives (1945, rpt. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), 506. Lakoff and Johnson under- score the refl exive nature of metonymy in observing that “[m]etonymic concepts allow us to conceptualize one thing by means of its relation to something else” and that “like meta- phors, metonymic concepts structure not just our language but our thoughts, attitudes, and actions.” George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 39. 20. Kenneth Burke, Attitudes Toward History, 3rd ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), 322; emphasis in original. 21. William J. Clinton, “Oklahoma Bombing Memorial Service Address,” April 23, 1995, in Public Papers of the Presidents: William J. Clinton, January–June, 1995 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Offi ce, 1996), 573. 22. Smith, The Dominion of Voice, 3–4; John M. Murphy, “Civic Republicanism in the Modern Age: Adlai Stevenson in the 1952 Presidential Campaign,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 80 (1994): 315; Peter B. Knupfer, The Union as It Is: Constitutional Unionism and Sectional Compromise, 1787–1861 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991); Darsey, The Prophetic Tradition, 63. 23. Charles E. Morris, “Our Capital Aversion: Abigail Folsom, Madness, and Radical Antislavery Praxis,” Women’s Studies in Communication 24 (2001): 69. 24. M. Jimmie Killingsworth and Jacqueline S. Palmer, “The Discourse of ‘Environmentalist Hysteria,’” Quarterly Journal of Speech 81 (1995): 1–19. 25. See, for example, “Being Rod Blagojevich: There’s No Way to Know Why He Sees Politics as He Does. But Few Seem Surprised,” Newsweek, December 22, 2008, 30; “A Portrait of a Politician: Vengeful and Profane,” New York Times, December 10, 2008, A1. 26. Of course, it can be countered that political protestors in the postmodern era have made some- thing of an industry out of mocking the conventions of the civic sphere, delighting in zany and outrageous stunts that call attention to its manifold hypocrisies and limitations. However, I contrast these “comic” exertions, which are (I believe) motivated by the impulse to reform a corrupt civic sphere, with the fundamentally “tragic” impulse of the madman or madwoman developed in this essay. An individual such as Brown, I believe, seeks not to reform the civic sphere, but to annihilate it altogether as a condition for the birth of a more just civic order. 27. “The Fatal Friday,” Chicago Press and Tribune, December 2, 1859; Pittsburgh Gazette, December 3, 1859. I wish to express my appreciation for the efforts of the Furman University Project on Secession Era Editorials for making available many of the original newspaper edi- torials cited in this essay. This valuable archive can be accessed at http://history.furman.edu/ editorials/see.py (accessed December 23, 2008). 28. Abraham Lincoln, “Address at Leavenworth, Kansas,” December 3, 1859, in The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, ed. Roy P. Basler (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1953), 502; Lawrence (Kansas) Herald of Freedom, December 1859, quoted in Byrne, “The News from Harper’s Ferry,” 154. 29. Robert E. McGlone, “John Brown, Henry Wise, and the Politics of Insanity,” in Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On, 215. The question of whether Brown was clinically insane has been a subject of lively debate among historians for generations. The assault on Harper’s Ferry was certainly premeditated. It was, moreover, abetted by a small group of wealthy northern abolitionists calling themselves “The Secret Six.” But whether either of these facts is inconsistent with Brown having suffered from what would today be recognized as 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38602_12 3Griffin.indd 386 7/1/09 9:31:24 AM7/1/09 9:31:24 AM JOHN BROWN’S “MADNESS” 387 a psychological disorder remains unclear. For contrasting views on the matter of Brown’s mental condition at the time of the Harper’s Ferry Raid, see: Carton, Patriotic Treason, and C. Vann Woodward, “John Brown’s Private War”; for insight into the planning and abet- ting of Brown’s raid, see Edward J. Renehan Jr., The Secret Six: The True Tale of the Men Who Conspired With John Brown (New York: Crown, 1995), and Otto J. Scott, The Secret Six: John Brown and the Abolitionist Movement (New York: New York Times Books, 1979). 30. McGlone, “John Brown, Henry Wise, and the Politics of Insanity,” in Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On, 216. 31. Peter Knupfer, “A Crisis in Conservatism: Northern Unionism and the Harper’s Ferry Raid,” in Finkleman, ed., His Soul Goes Marching On, 141; Lorman A. Ratner and Dwight L. Teeter Jr., Fanatics and Fire-eaters: Newspapers and the Coming of the Civil War (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 2003), 74–75. 32. “Where the Responsibility Belongs,” Chicago Press and Tribune, October 20, 1859; Congressional Globe, (36th Cong., 1st Sess.), December 7, 1859, 38; quoted in Ratner and Teeter, Fanatics and Fire-eaters, 81. 33. Memphis Appeal quoted in Ratner and Teeter, Fanatics and Fire-eaters, 75–76; “The Riot at Harper’s Ferry,” Nashville Union and American, October 21, 1859; “The Harper’s Ferry Invasion as Party Capital,” Richmond (VA) Enquirer, October 25, 1859; “The Irrepressible Confl ict,” Nashville Republican Banner and Nashville Whig, October 25, 1859; “Execution of John Brown,” Raleigh Register, December 3, 1859. 34. New York Herald, October 27, 1859, 6. See also, Ratner and Teeter, Fanatics and Fire-eaters, 78; New York Tribune, December 2, 1859, 4; “The Harper’s Ferry Affair,” New Hampshire Patriot, October 26, 1859; John Bassett Moore, ed., The Works of James Buchanan: Comprising His Speeches, State Papers, and Private Correspondence, vol. X, 1856–1860 (New York: Antiquarian Press, 1960), 339. 35. Wendell Phillips, “Harper’s Ferry,” in Speeches, Lectures, and Letters by Wendell Phillips, ed. James Redpath (Boston: Lee and Sheperd, 1892), 273. Interestingly, the following day’s edition of the New York Tribune described Phillips’s address as “The most extraor- dinary speech that was ever delivered by a man professing to be sane.” New York Tribune, November 2, 1859. 36. Congressional Globe (36th Cong., 1st Sess.), December 13, 1859, 142. 37. Albany Evening Journal, October 19 and 20, 1859. 38. Congressional Globe (36th Cong., 1st Sess.), December 12, 1859, 35; Leroy P. Graf and Ralph W. Haskins, eds., The Papers of Andrew Johnson, vol. 3, 1858–1860 (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1972), 348; see also New York Herald, November 2, 1859. 39. Darsey, The Prophetic Tradition, 68, 66. 40. F. B. Sanborn, ed., The Life and Letters of John Brown, Liberator of Kansas and Martyr of Virginia (Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1885), 565, 569. 41. Marouf Hasian Jr., “Jurisprudence as Performance: John Brown’s Enactment of Natural Law at Harper’s Ferry,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 86 (2000): 210, 209; see also Oates, To Purge this Land With Blood, 326–27. 42. Oates, To Purge This Land With Blood, 337–39. 43. Sanborn, ed., Life and Letters of John Brown, 624. 44. Henry David Thoreau, “A Plea for Captain John Brown,” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 41; see also Paul D. Erickson, “Henry David Thoreau’s Apotheosis of John Brown: A Study in Nineteenth Century Rhetorical Heroism,” Southern Communication Journal 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38702_12 3Griffin.indd 387 7/1/09 9:31:24 AM7/1/09 9:31:24 AM 388 RHETORIC & PUBLIC AFFAIRS 61 (1978): 307–9; Thoreau, “A Plea,” 31; Herbert L. Carson, “An Eccentric Kinship: Henry David Thoreau’s ‘A Plea for Captain John Brown,’” Southern Speech Journal 27 (1961): 152. 45. Hasian, “Jurisprudence as Performance,” 204–5; Wendell Phillips, “Harper’s Ferry” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 279; George Cheever, “The Example and Method of Emancipation by the Constitution of Our Country and the Word of God,” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 157–58; Cheever, “The Martyr’s Death and the Martyr’s Triumph,” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 215. 46. James Freeman Clarke, “Causes and Consequences of the Affair at Harper’s Ferry,” in Redpath, ed., Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, 328; Glenna Schraeder, “We Must Look This Great Event in the Face: Northern Sermons on John Brown’s Raid,” Fides et Historia 20 (1988): 34–36; Reynolds, John Brown Abolitionist, 431. 02_12 3Griffin.indd 38802_12 3Griffin.indd 388 7/1/09 9:31:24 AM7/1/09 9:31:24 AM 
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work_iyrrnis4c5cwbg6rqiklpylcue	----	Title Wilderness, the West and the Myth of the Frontier in Sean Penn’s Into the Wild Author Laura I. H. Beattie Publication FORUM: University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Journal of Culture and the Arts Issue Number 16 Issue Date Spring 2013 Publication Date 05/06/2013 Editors Laura Chapot & Lizzie Stewart FORUM claims non-exclusive rights to reproduce this article electronically (in full or in part) and to publish this work in any such media current or later developed. The author retains all rights, including the right to be identified as the author wherever and whenever this article is published, and the right to use all or part of the article and abstracts, with or without revision or modification in compilations or other publications. Any latter publication shall recognise FORUM as the original publisher. University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Journal of Culture and the Arts Issue 16 | Spring 2013 FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 1 Wilderness, the West and the Myth of the Frontier in Sean Penn’s Into the Wild Laura I. H. Beattie Freie Universität Berlin This article investigates the representation of wilderness in Sean Penn’s Into the Wild, specifically with regards to the myth of the American frontier. By using the myth of the frontier as a structure through which to read the film, we discover that the film proves William Cronon’s thesis that the idea of wilderness as an anti-human place is merely a human construct. Introduction Sean Penn’s Into the Wild was released in 2007 to widespread critical acclaim, with some describing it as “spellbinding” (Ebert) while others claimed that “it deserves to be one of the most talked about films of the season” (LaSalle). Based on the novel of Jon Krakauer, which in turn is based on a real life story, the film depicts the quest of college graduate Chris McCandless to escape from what he sees as the deceit ridden fabric of modern consumerist capitalist society into the freedom and the vast open spaces of the wild.1 As the title of the film indicates, one of its major preoccupations is the representation of wilderness and, beyond this, the meaning of wilderness in modern culture and society. William Cronon, in “The Trouble with Wilderness” (1995), makes what was seen as, at the time, “a very controversial attack” on the overly romanticised view of Nature held in the West and particularly in America (Clark 234).2 Cronon, Professor of History, Geography and Environmental Studies and specialist in American environmental history and the history of the American West, claims that “for many Americans, wilderness stands as the last remaining place where civilisation, that all too human disease, has not infected the Earth” (69). Cronon goes on, however, to highlight that this view o f wilderness as an escape from human civilisation is highly ironic, given the fact that “far from being the one place on earth that stands apart from humanity, it is quite profoundly a human creation”(69). In summary, Cronon claims that, in modern society, wilderness has come to embody a space that is anti- human but, in fact, wilderness is such a human construct that true wilderness in the sense of being completely other to the human, does not actually exist. Therefore, the contemporary Western relationship with wilderness cannot be perceived to be as “natural” as we might assume. In this essay, I intend to argue that Chris McCandless, the protagonist of Into the Wild, views wilderness in exactly the way that is condemned by Cronon. He thinks of it as a completely nonhuman place where he will be able to leave the falsity of human civilisation behind and at last discover “truth” (although he is always very vague as to what this truth might be). Chris’ highly romanticised and FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 2 idealised view of nature becomes apparent very quickly in the film. At the basis of Chris’ romantic perceptions of nature, we find the same two ideas that Cronon also claims are at the core of the wilderness’ sudden transformation at the end of the nineteenth century from being a place of barren wasteland to the desirable destination that it is today – the myth of the frontier and the idea of the sublime. Although we can use both these ideas as structures through which to read the film, this essay will focus on the myth of the frontier due to the fact that Into the Wild can be considered a type of Western, a genre to which the representation of the frontier is crucial. By using the myth of the frontier as a structure through which to read the film, I intend to prove that, ironically, Chris’ romanticised view of nature has been formed by the very society which he himself rejects and furthermore that he brings some of this civilisation into the wilderness with him, illustrating Cronon’s thesis that wilderness as an anti-human place cannot exist. The Significance of the Frontier in American History In venturing into the wild, Chris is following in the footsteps of his ancestors who set out, hundreds of years ago, as pioneers to discover the unknown lands of the Wild West beyond the frontier. Fredrick J. Turner, in his seminal essay “The Significance of the Frontier in American History” (1893), was the first to posit the theory that, rather than the relationship to colonial European powers, it was the American frontier that had the most significant formative influence not only on American history, but also on American character and culture. He argued that “the existence of an area of free land, its continuous recession, and the advance of American settlement westward explain American development” (3). Turner ends by claiming that, even by 1893, the geographical place of the frontier “has gone and with its going has closed the first period of American history” (38). This end, however, is also a beginning – Turner lays the foundations for the myth of the frontier which will come to have a pervasive influence on American culture and society, as evidenced in literature and film by the rise of the Western genre.3 Indeed, many of what will come to be the key aspects of the frontier myth, dealt with in the Western genre, are already evident in Turner’s essay. He defines the frontier as “the meeting point between savagery and civilisation” (2). Thus, as we witness, for example, in many Western films, it is a landscape of violence, “a place to express conquest and domination” (Schneekloth 210). Yet, paradoxically, seen through the eyes of the agrarian ideal, the frontier, as Turner emphasises throughout his essay, is also a place of “perennial rebirth” providing rejuvenation of both man and society (2), as well as a “new field of opportunity” for the rebirth of civilisation and society that will never come again (28). Believing to such an extent in the frontier’s capacity for renewal, Turner even goes so far as to describe the frontier as a “magic fountain of youth” (qtd. in Nash Smith 5).4 FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 3 The Frontier Myth in Into the Wild This is precisely the aspect of the American frontier that is mythologised in Into the Wild. It is the potential for rebirth and renewal provided by the frontier and what lies beyond, that really captures Chris’ imagination. This is evoked in the film by Chris’ rebirth as Alexander Supertramp and we are constantly reminded of this by the naming of the “chapters” the film is divided into: these progress from “My Own Birth” through to the “Getting of Wisdom.” Indeed, Penn deliberately associates this sense of rebirth and renewal with the myth of the frontier itself. In one of the opening scenes, when Chris is dropped off by the truck driver at the end of the Stampede Trail, the edge of the Alaskan wilderness, the way the camera is angled gives us a very high and wide bird’s eye view of the desolate and seemingly virgin wilderness into which Chris is about to set off, so much so that at first we do not even notice the approach of the van in one small corner of the screen. It is completely overpowered by the vast and immense landscape surrounding it. Even when the dialogue begins it is still the view of the landscape which dominates our attention, we do not even see the people who are talking. We are then presented with an overhead view of a tiny figure making fresh footprints in the otherwise untouched snow, signifying that this land into which he is about to venture is unknown and undiscovered. The edge of the Stampede trail, the climax of Chris’ journey of self discovery, is thus represented as a frontier beyond which the lands remain to be discovered. This idea is also emphasised throughout the sequence of the opening credits as we are presented with a montage of Chris journeying into the wilderness. The camera pans across the enormous, snow covered mountains, pausing to give us a shot of Chris’ face for the first time as he struggles through the snow, with no other sign of humanity in sight except the knitted hat that Chris places on a stick in a similar gesture to mountaineers who place a flag at the top of the mountain. The bright orange hat stands in great visual contrast to the snowy plains surrounding it and emphasises the lack of any other sign of civilisation by its stark and anomalous appearance. With the appearance of Chris’ words “I now walk into the wild” superimposed on the screen, the camera begins zooming out to show how vast, unforgiving and uninhabited this landscape appears. Chris is thus cast as a pioneer, about to embark on an adventure never before attempted. This cinematic technique is repeated at the start of the chapter noticeably entitled “My Own Birth.” Just after we have been shown Chris throwing off the ties and constraints of modern civilisation by cutting up his identification cards and giving away his money in order to allow for his rebirth as Alexander Supertramp, we are again presented with a high overhead shot, this time of him in his car driving into the desert, representing what he sees as his escape from society. Chris then simultaneously vocalises this escape and explicitly invokes the myth of the frontier by saying: It should not be denied that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape. History and oppression are gone and irksome obligations. The absolute freedom of the road has always led west. (Into the Wild) FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 4 Thus, with this statement, Chris not only inescapably references the frontier myth but makes it clear that his mythologisation of it specifically relates to the West as a place of liberation and self discovery. This, however, also presents us with a problem. Writing almost a century after Turner, Richard Slotkin, highlights the significance of the role of violence in the frontier myth to a far greater extent and brings the two opposing aspects of the myth together by claiming that this regeneration that Turner also speaks of was in fact achieved “through violence” (12 original emphasis). Hence we realise that by only viewing the frontier and the wilderness that lies beyond it as a place of escape from society, and failing to acknowledge the violence that Slotkin claims must go hand in hand with this, Chris holds a romanticised and unrealistic point of view about what he expects to discover beyond the frontier. We see this unrealistic perspective, for example, in his ecstatic statement to his friend Wayne: “I’m going to Alaska, I’m gonna be all the way out there on my own – no fucking watch, no map, no axe, no nothing, just be out there in it, big mountains, river, sky, in the wild – in the wild!” (Into the Wild). Noticeably throughout this conversation, Chris and Wayne are never shown in the same shot. The camera mostly focuses on Chris’ face, alight with passion and excitement, but occasionally switches to Wayne, whose expression is one of scepticism, mirroring the fact that one of the biggest criticisms which can be made of Chris by an audience is that he was severely underprepared for his journey and can therefore be seen as having a suicide wish. Ironically had he brought a map with him, it might have saved his life. However, clearly Chris believes that if he were to bring such tools of civilisation with him he would not be able to experience wilderness as an anti-human place. Indeed in the very next sentence Chris goes on to say that when he is in the wilderness he will be “just living, just there in that moment, in that special place in time” (Into the Wild). What is significant here is Chris’ mention of “that special place in time” because this is how wilderness, thanks to the frontier myth, is often falsely viewed. It is seen as being somewhere where all the past of human existence is miraculously erased and it thus becomes, to use the words of Cronon, “a flight from history” (79). William Talbot, in his 1969 essay “American Visions of Wilderness”, claims that in nineteenth-century America it came to be believed that “the past of the wilderness stretched back to creation itself, untouched by human civilization. This virgin nature was as close as man could ever hope to get to the primal state of the world” (152). This advocacy of primitivism, the belief that the ills of our modern society can only be escaped by returning to a more simplistic way of living, is an opinion endorsed by Chris. However, as Cronon is quick to point out, this is, and never has been, true of the lands beyond the frontier which were inhabited by the Native Americans before the Native Americans were forced out in order to maintain the myth of the virgin wilderness (79). In fact this irony only highlights how constructed the idea of wilderness has become. Furthermore, as we have already noted, in the opening scenes of the film, the frontier for Chris is shown to be the extreme North of America and not, in fact, the West. This is precisely because, as Turner highlights, the frontier of the West no longer exists – now it is only in Alaska where virgin wilderness can be found and this is why Alaska holds such an allure for Chris. The properties of the mythic West have been displaced to the North. Therefore, Chris is shown not only to be ignoring the violent aspect of the FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 5 frontier myth but also to be buying into this myth of virgin wilderness which is irrevocably intertwined with the renewal qualities of the myth of the frontier. Into the Wild has been recognised as including many elements of a more typical Western film, one of these key elements being a setting at the frontier and a representation of the frontier myth. Cronlund Anderson, in Cowboy Imperialism, argues that, in fact, without a representation of the frontier myth a Western film is not a Western (16). As such, the Western film itself, as a genre, is structured by the same series of oppositions which the frontier myth encompasses – the individual versus the community, nature versus civilisation and the West versus the East.5 In Into the Wild we can see these binaries present not only in Chris’ own beliefs but also in the way the film is structured. As Chris journeys North, Penn makes frequent use of flashbacks in order to contrast his past with his present. For example, as we see Chris renaming himself Alexander Supertramp and subsequently walking off towards the horizon, symbolising the beginning of his adventure, this image is pushed to the left hand side of the screen in order to allow for the simultaneous viewing of the lives of his parents who we see worrying about the whereabouts of their son. This splitting of the screen is a visual representation of the fact that Chris’ past is being contrasted with his present, as well as his new found individualism contrasted against the community he has left behind, and civilisation against the wilderness he is now living in. The voiceovers by Chris’ sister Carine also have this function – she acts as a voice from the past but a past which Chris has consciously severed himself from and is now placing himself in opposition to. Thus through its very structure the film is aligning itself with the Western film tradition specifically in regards to the dichotomies raised by the myth of the frontier. We could see Chris himself, however, as a kind of Western anti-hero. The typical hero of a Western film is the cowboy. Despite the fact that Chris does share some traits in common with the stereotypical cowboy, represented by a picture of Clint Eastwood on Chris’ wardrobe door, such as courage and skill, he is also very different from them mainly because although, like Chris, cowboys often acted alone, their actions were usually seen to be for the good of a community, as they sought to bring civilisation into the wilderness.6 Not only, however, does Chris act completely for himself but he deliberately seeks the primitive state of living that the wilderness can provide precisely because it is in complete opposition to civilisation, thus leading us to view him as an anti-hero. The question, then, is raised as to whether Chris manages to avoid tainting the wilderness he enters with traces of civilisation. We must remember that the very idea of the frontier itself is a human creation, as Schneekloth tells us, “it was invented, not discovered” (210). Therefore, we could see Chris’ conception of wilderness as a piece of civilisation he brings with him into the Alaskan wildness. The myth of the frontier as a place of rejuvenation is central to his conception of wilderness, an idea which comes from the very society he seeks to leave behind. This view of wilderness as a piece of civilisation comes to be visually and concretely represented in the symbol of the “magic bus,” the abandoned camper van where he lives while in Alaska. Chris calls the bus “magic” precisely because it contains enough of the vestiges of civilisation to fulfil his basic needs and allow him to live out his FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 6 fantasy of complete self-sufficiency in the Alaskan wilderness but not so much that he feels that he is no longer a pioneer. Another concrete piece of civilisation that Chris brings with him into the wilderness is his collection of books. Jonah Raskin criticises the film for “not being able to free itself from the written word” (4), but this is precisely because Chris himself is never freed from the written word. Throughout the film, we constantly see Chris reading the works of Thoreau, London, Tolstoy and Pasternak, from all of whom he learns important ideals which he applies to his own life, whether it is while he is sitting alone in the magic bus or perched upon a rock overlooking the sea and the ocean.7 We are shown early on in the film Chris’ capacity to take what he reads and apply it to his own life. When he and Carine are arriving at Chris’ graduation dinner, Chris reads out some poetry to Carine, who asks him “Who wrote that?’ to which Chris replies “Well, could have been either one of us, couldn’t it?” (Into the Wild). Thus, we see that, for Chris, there does not necessarily have to be a clear distinction between fiction and real life. Although books and reading abound in the film, the works of one writer in particular are important – those of Henry David Thoreau. It is from Thoreau that Chris borrows the idea that then forms his central philosophy on life: “rather than love or money or fame or fairness, give me truth” (Into the Wild). Thoreau’s Walden, or Life in the Woods is the only work of environmental literary non-fiction to be considered part of the Western literary canon (Clark 27). Throughout Walden, but particularly in the section entitled “Solitude”, we hear Thoreau express many sentiments that, as evidenced by references to the book throughout the film, Chris seems to have absorbed in his reading of it. For example, Thoreau speaks of the delight of having “a little world all to myself” and constantly expounds upon the innocence and benevolence of nature (98). When speaking of the one moment in his experience when he felt himself to be a little lonely, he goes on to say: In the midst of a gentle rain while these thoughts prevailed, I was suddenly sensible of such sweet and beneficent society in Nature, in the very pattering of the drops, and in every sound and sight around my house, an infinite and unaccountable friendliness all at once like an atmosphere sustaining me, as made the fancied advantages of human neighborhood insignificant, and I have never thought of them since. (99) Chris too believes that the society he will find in nature will be far superior and less corrupt than the human society he has chosen to leave behind. But most importantly of all, in the society of nature he will find truth where there is none to be found in civilisation. When Chris first arrives in the magic bus, he tells us that now comes, “after two years, the final and greatest adventure – the climactic battle to kill the false being within victoriously concludes the spiritual revolution” (Into the Wild). Chris believes that this “false being within” has been created by civilisation and only in the Alaskan wilderness is it possible to destroy it because first isolated surroundings must be found where nothing can contaminate the inner spirit. While Chris is speaking, FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 7 the image of him carving these words into the wood is interspersed with images of him chasing deer in the snow and watching them with tears welling in his eyes. Finally, he thinks that he has returned to “the truth of his existence” and has escaped from everything that kept this truth from him, as his sister tells us, once Chris has graduated: Now he was emancipated from that world of abstraction, false security, parents, materiality, the things that cut Chris off from the truth of his existence. (Into the Wild) Thus the frontier between the Alaskan Wilderness and the rest of the world becomes for Chris a boundary, a kind of dividing line, between truth and falsehood and reality and abstraction. He creates a dichotomy in his mind where everything good is ascribed to nature and everything else to humanity and the two are clearly distinct from one another. It is therefore more than a little ironic that Chris believes the “truth of his existence” is to be found in the wilderness, which he thinks has a radic al alterity to humanity, when this very idea of what this truth is has been formed by words and books coming from the civilisation he so despises. Significantly, not only is Chris constantly reading but he also writes a journal and tells his friend Wayne “maybe when I get back, I can write a book about my travels” (Into the Wild). Furthermore, when Chris speaks of his “spiritual revolution” he is writing the words at the same time and we witness him creating a narrative for himself as he carves painstakingly into the wood, emphasising the act of creation, while simultaneously reading aloud “no longer to be poisoned by civilisation, he flees and walks alone upon the land to become lost in the wild” (Into the Wild). The way the camera jerkily moves across the words as Chris carves them mirrors the act of reading, jumping from one word to another. This is a highly conscious deployment by Chris of the same types of narratives he has read by Jack London, for example, and suggests that in the narrative of his own story he is consciously representing himself as a heroic cowboy figure. This is emphasised by the fact that Chris chooses to write in the third person: by so doing he is distancing himself from his own story and writing about himself as though he were a character in one of his favourite novels. In Ecology Without Nature, Timothy Morton says, in reference to Thoreau, that “a white male nature writer in the wilderness may be “going native” to some extent, but he is also usefully distancing this wilderness, even from himself, even in his own act of narration” (126). We might modify Morton’s words slightly by saying that by the very act of narration the wilderness is being distanced because it starts to become something that is being written about and that has happened in the past rather than that is being experienced in the moment. Moreover it becomes subjected to the laws of storytelling and the control of the narrator. Therefore, just as the frontier has become a myth because it began to be written about, encoded with certain signs and symbols, the same thing happens to wilderness. By turning his wilderness experience into a narrative, Chris seems ultimately to be proving Cronon’s point , that the wilderness can never truly be an anti-human place because the wilderness is not allowed merely to exist, or even, to be enjoyed by humanity but is subjected to the narratorial authority of those who inhabit it. FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 8 In addition, Chris tells Wayne that, if he writes a book, it will specifically be about “getting out of this sick society” (Into the Wild). This is ironic because to write a book for others to read is to take part in the consumerist nature of capitalist society and by so doing, Chris would be allowing the account of his experiences to forever become trapped within, and perhaps be exploited by, the very society he escaped from. Although not written by Chris himself,8 a book was indeed written about the experiences the real Christopher McCandless had in escaping from this “sick society”. On a metatextual level, we are made aware throughout the film that what we are watching is indeed a story that has already been told and is subject to the narratorial whims of the director. Several times, for example, Emile Hirsch, as Chris McCandless, looks straight into the camera with an extra-diagetic gaze that is aware of the audience, reminding us not only that we are watching a man made film but that it has been constructed especially for our enjoyment and entertainment. These moments are also “intended to invoke the movie’s final shot”, a picture of the real Chris McCandless sitting outside the magic bus, smiling happily (LaSalle). This closing image reminds the audience just how distanced we are, first by Krakauer’s book, then by the film, from the “real” story as it actually happened and just how much narrative control it has been subjected to in the meantime. Therefore, not only are we shown that the wilderness itself is merely a construct but also that any attempt to relate a story about it inevitably involves enmeshing it even further in various human constructs, of which the myth of the frontier is only one. Notes 1. Throughout this essay, when I refer to Into the Wild, I am always referring to Penn’s film unless otherwise stated. It is also worth noting that when I refer to Chris McCandless, I am always referring to the character portrayed in the film and not the character of Krakauer’s novel nor the real life person. This essay focuses on the film as opposed to the book because it is through Penn’s film that the story of Chris McCandless has become well known. Furthermore, Penn makes more of a conscious effort than Krakauer to highlight the film’s links to the Western genre and thus the myth of the frontier takes on more importance in the film. 2. Despite Cronon’s assertion that his claim was “heretical”, it was both later and previously supported by many others. See, for example, J. Callicott, Kate Soper and Carolyn Merchant (although Merchant differs from Cronon in that she believes it is the myth of the garden of Eden that lies at the basis of our modern perception of wilderness rather than the myth of the frontier). 3. Much has been written about the influence, and presence, of the frontier myth in American literature and culture. For the impact of the Frontier myth on literature, see, for example, Bakker and McVeigh . For the influence of the frontier on American culture and politics, see Slotkin. 4. Nash Smith is quoting a speech delivered by Turner in 1896 of which I have been unable to find the original version. 5. For the full, more detailed table of oppositions see Kitses (12). 6. For more about the civilisation process of the lands of the frontier brought about by cowboys see Calder (5). 7. See Raskin for a discussion of the film’s intertextuality in relation to the works of Jack London. Issues of intertextuality are fairly prominent in the film, and would be interesting to investigate further, however, they fall outwith the scope of this essay. 8. Krakauer does, however, make extensive use of Chris’ journals in his book and has done extensive research on the journey that he took, even taking the same journey that he does. FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 9 Works Cited Anderson, Cronlund. Cowboy Imperialism and Hollywood Film. New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2007. Print. Bakker, Jan. The Role of the Mythic West in Some Representative Examples of Classic and Modern American Literature: the Shaping Force of the American Frontier. Lewiston: E. Mellen Press, 1991. Print. Calder, Jenni. There Must Be a Lone Ranger: the American West in Film and in Reality New York: Taplinger Pub. Co., 1975. Print. Callicott, J.B. ‘The Wilderness Idea Revisited, the Sustainable Development Alternative’. The Great New Wilderness Debate. Ed. J.B Calliot and M.P. Nelson. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1998. Print. Clark, Timothy. The Cambridge Introduction to Literature and the Environment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Print. Cronon, William. “The Trouble with Wilderness: Or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature.” Environmental History 1.1 (Jan. 1996): 7 - 28. Print. Ebert, Roger. “Into the Wild.” Chicago Sun Times. 28 September 2007. Online. [25th Jan 2013] Kitses, Jim. Horizons West. London: British Film Institute, 2004. Print. LaSalle, Mike. “Losing Himself to Nature.” San Francisco Gate. 12 September 2007. Online. [25th Jan 2013] McVeigh, Stephen. The American Western. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2007. Print. Merchant, Carolyn. Reinventing Eden: The Fate of Nature in Western Culture. New York: Routledge, 2004. Print. Morton, Timothy. Ecology Without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics. Harvard: Harvard University Press, 2007. Print. Into the Wild. Dir. Sean Penn. Paramount Vantage, 2007. Film. Raskin, Jonah. “Calls of the Wild on the Page and Screen: From Jack London and Gary Snyder to Jon Krakauer and Sean Penn.” American Literary Realism 43.3 (2011): 198 - 203. Print. Schneekloth, Lynda H. “The Frontier Is Our Home.” Journal of Architectural Education 49.4 (May 1996): 210 - 225. Print. Slotkin, R. Gunfighter Nation: The Myth of the Frontier in Twentieth-Century America. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1992. Print. Soper, Kate. What is Nature: Culture, Politics and the Non-Human. Oxford: Wiley,1995. Print. Smith, Henry Nash. “The Frontier Hypothesis and the Myth of the West.” American Quarterly 2.1 (Apr. 1950): 3 - 11. Print. Talbot, William S. “American Visions of Wilderness.” The Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art 56.4 (Apr. 1969): 151- 166. Print. Thoreau, Henry D. Walden: Or, Life in the Woods. London: J. M. Dent & Sons, Limited, 1912. Print. Turner, Fredrick .J. The Frontier in American History, by Frederick Jackson Turner. 1893. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006. Print. FORUM | ISSUE 16 Laura I. H. Beattie 10 Author Biography Having graduated from the University of St Andrews with an MA Hons degree in English and Latin, Laura is currently pursuing a Master’s degree in English Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin where her research interests lie in the varied fields of Renaissance literature, the American novel and film and, recently, ecocriticism. 
work_iz2mvk4co5hwxmaih5laaoga2q	----	49Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 PHILOSOPHY OF EDUCATION | Heather Greenhalgh-Spencer, editor © 2021 Philosophy of Education Society Echoes of the Coming Kingdom of God on Earth in America: The Religious Animation of Sarah Stitzlein’s Hopeful Hope in Democracy Clarence W. Joldersma Calvin University Stitzlein’s insightful and compelling book, Learning How to Hope, begins with “[h]ope is at the heart of democracy.”1 This radical idea has great promise for American society, which alone makes the book worth reading. She suggests teaching habits of hope to motivate citizens towards possibility, improving their own lives and that of others. Schooling should be directed towards citizenship, teaching hope “aimed at sustaining and improving democracy.”2 Her idea of citizenship is broad. Not just a legal status in a country which offers political rights and responsibilities, citizenship is a social/political identity connected to public practices. Habits of hope are not enacted in individuals pursuing personal goals of individual well-being, but rather towards public good in the social and political realm. In short, Stitzlein’s book addresses “the role hope plays in democracy and how it might be fostered in schools and civil society.”3 But what form of hope is at the heart of her vision of democracy? Stit- zlein embraces a pragmatist form of hope, a Deweyan inspired hope for a robust democracy—living well together, associatively. It is “a hope that is related to our experiences and our agency (our ability to participate in and impact democratic life).”4 This is an active sense of hoping, embodied in taking responsibility for shaping our lives together. It is tied to the well-being of communities, bringing them together to solve common problems. Stitzlein contrasts her pragmatist hope with hope “tied to faith in God.”5 For her, in formal religions “[t]heolo- gians tend to locate hope in an individual’s faith in a deity who will act on his or her behalf,” where the “desire for a better future…is then allocated based on 50 the faith, belief, and/or practices of the individual, depending on his religious affiliation.”6 She depicts religious approaches as depreciating human agency and fostering passivity, and suggests they are inadequate to animate democracy. She summarizes, “[r]ather than a religious faith, which entails an adherence to God or ideology, pragmatists exhibit faith by being willing to try out ideas and to pursue desired ends even in the face of uncertainty or difficulty.”7 Stitzlein’s contrast with religion echoes Dewey’s distinction in A Common Faith between “religion” (noun) and “religious” (adjective). Religion for Dewey “signifies a special body of beliefs and practices having some kind of institutional organization,” i.e., settled doctrines specifying the parameters of organized religion.8 By contrast, religious for Dewey is a spirit moving beyond the actual into what is possible, as if “[a]n unseen power controlling our destiny becomes the power of an ideal.”9 The religious has a “comprehensiveness and intensity” and “[l]ives . . . are consciously inspired by loyalty to such ideas.”10 Dewey’s idea of religious (adjective) evidently drew on his own religious tradition of Calvinist congregationalism. Dewey’s pastor at First Congregational Church, Lewis Brastow, emphasized “intelligence and social action . . . and reconstruction.”11 Brastow explained, “[o]ne should rise to ‘spiritual manhood’ [but] the rescue and reconstruction are not wholly of individual men in their isolation from their fellows, but of men in their associate life . . . No man ever finds completeness in himself . . . only in our associate life. Men must be won to a common life.”12 Dewey says “[t]he actual religious quality in the experience described is the effect produced, the better adjustment in life and its conditions . . . The way in which the experience operated, its function, determines its re- ligious value. If the reorientation actually occurs, it, and the sense of security and stability accompanying it, are forces on their own account.”13 For Dewey the religious nature of the experience is in its trajectory, a force towards “better adjustment” in living together. Rather than mere accommodation, it is adjustment that signals the experience as religious. What makes it a religious experience is its reorienting power, towards collective security and stability and peace. It also implies an inner change that accompanies a social change. Precisely when this sort of change of attitude occurs, it is a religious change, especially when it 51 “appropriates a person’s life as a whole.”14 The person as a whole self is imagi- natively projected into the ideal of harmonizing with society in associative living. The religious thus involves, Dewey says, “the unity of all ideal ends arousing us to desire and [to] actions.”15 Dewey’s idea of the religious (adjective) has obvious parallels with Brastow’s Calvinist congregationalism. Stitzlein’s pragmatist hope clearly contrasts with what Dewey calls religion (noun). But does it contrast with what he calls religious (adjective)? She invokes Cornel West, someone situated in the pragmatist tradition who brings explicitly religious sentiments into play to encourage agency for change.16 Stitzlein refer- ences West’s idea of meliorism, explaining that “[West’s] meliorism is driven by virtues that enable one to flourish as one faces despair, a drive ‘to try to keep struggling for more love, more justice, more freedom, and more democracy.’”17 She cautions that West isn’t drawing on his religion, for his “prophetic, blues hope is bolstered by habits of courage and Christian love, which is focused less on a savior figure and more on how people can support each other.”18 Perhaps not his religion (noun). However, West’s prophetic pragmatism is self-identified as an “Afro-American revolutionary Christian perspective.”19 West characterizes his prophetic stance religiously, as involving “distinctive Christian conceptions of what it is to be human, how we should act towards one another and what we should hope for.”20 His identification with what he calls the downtrodden involves a “moral vision and ethical norms . . . derived from the prophetic Christian tradition. I follow the biblical injunction to look at the world through the eyes of its victims.”21 His hope is rooted in “the good news of Jesus Christ, which lures and links human struggles to the coming of the kingdom,” the hope which he believes wards off despair and disap- pointment.22 West’s pragmatism is animated by a religious spirit, in Dewey’s adjective sense, where the Christian narrative is “stripped of its static dogmas and decrepit doctrines” while animating “political engagement.”23 However, West’s religious spirit still includes the “truth” of “the Reality of Jesus Christ” which “encourages the putting of oneself on the line.”24 West states that “the resurrection claim essentially refers to the inauguration of a new future, a future that promises redemption and deliverance.”25 West’s religious (adjective) spirit 52 draws on his religion (noun) to animate political actions of the sort Stitzlein values and connects to authentic democracy. West’s pragmatism isn’t an outlier. The Chicago school of pragma- tism—Dewey, Mead, Tufts, Addams—has a similar religious spirit.26 Tröhler argues that American Protestantism and the pragmatist idea of democracy are intimately connected, that “the ultimate aim of Protestantism (and, by exten- sion, Pragmatism) . . . was to build the kingdom of God on earth.”27 Without the doctrinal trappings associated with particular organized denominations in America, these pragmatists drew this decidedly religious sentiment from “the work of authors such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and especially Walt Whitman.”28 Tröhler quotes Dewey as drawing on Whitman especially for “[h]is philosophy of democracy and its relation to religion.”29 The religious vision of “establishing God’s kingdom on earth” was thought to embody particularly “an emphasis on mutual communication as a prerequisite for democratic decision making.”30 As a result, argues Tröhler, Dewey and the Chicago school thought of themselves as academics whose primary goal was “social justice guided by a spirit of democratic Protestantism.”31 In particular, influenced by Whitman and others, for Dewey and the Chicago school “the teaching of salvation was seen as the prerequisite to thinking and acting.”32 This was not, Tröhler makes clear, a concern with settled dogmas and doctrines, but with a religious (adjective) spirit. Nevertheless, for the Chicago pragmatists “[t]he goal of realizing the message of salvation required adjusting politics and education to these conditions in order to respond to them, where adjustment is an active process that requires targeted action.”33 Although not a fixation on dogma, this religious spirit was not devoid of doctrine either. The activities of intelligent cooperation and changing society, moving in the direction of becoming more democratic were not only religious in spirit, but echoed the protestant doctrine of salvation. This echo of salvation included particular religious public roles for humans. In Mead’s words, “Christianity was an infallible motive for an active life, ‘which raises every man to become a King and Priest.’”34 The Calvinist doctrines of the priesthood and kingship of all believers echoed within pragmatism. It lifted up everyday actions of doing good 53Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 and looking out for others to be a priestly function, and it lifted up the everyday mutual and active governance to be a kingly function, each mimicking Christ’s priestly and kingly functions. This allowed Mead and the other pragmatists to envision even small everyday actions for change as part of the religious trajec- tory of moving towards a better society. The trajectory of religious progress uncovered “the idea of a true community of interests” as normative, allowing a contrast with personal individual interests. It meant that “a true community of interests” was involved in moving society towards the “realization of the kingdom of God.”35 Although Protestantism as a religious spirit rather than settled dogma was the animating pulse of pragmatism, formal doctrines were nevertheless operative in that spirit. So when Mead states, “[t]he centering of our interest upon riches that pass away involves the absence of all ‘treasure in the Kingdom of Heaven.’ For where your treasure is there will your heart be also [Matthew 6:21],” he’s urging people to put their heart in building the kingdom of God here on earth.36 This was connected to the early American theology of millennialism, Christ’s reign over a kingdom on earth in which it was assumed that “Amer- ica was the kingdom of God.”37 Early America was dominated by views of a 1000-year reign of Christ at the end of time: “[t]he millennial theme was pervasive in [American] religion, where ministers promised millennial states that ranged from the literal heavenly kingdoms of the Calvinist conservatives to the metaphorical earthly states of the dissenters and deists.”38 The idea of millennialism, which had at least two major variations—premillennialism and postmillennialism—meant that what in Christian doctrine was termed “the king- dom of God” was going to occur at a particular location on earth at some time in history. For some—the premilliannials—this was believed to be preceded by a feared apocalyptic war and condemnatory judgment, before Christ would reign in peace and make all well. For others—the postmillennials—Christ’s reign on earth was going to happen after an age (millennium) in which Christians paved the way for that coming. In post-millennium doctrine, human action would Christianize culture, preparing a receptive earth for Christ’s return and reign. Both pre- and post-millennialism played central roles in the self-understanding Echoes of the Coming Kingdom of God on Earth in America54 Volume 76 Isuue 4 of America. In both versions, America was thought to be the place where that kingdom of God was going to occur on earth. In the postmillennial version, “[t]hese political prophets assumed that the founding would usher in a new era of republican peace and happiness. They called this political heaven-on-earth the ‘political millennium.’”39 Among the nations, America was an exceptional country precisely because it was going to be the geographic location where God’s kingdom would come down to earth. Although using markedly different language, and written in a different time, I’m struck by how Stitzlein’s depiction of democracy, and her urging America to engage in a pragmatist hope, echoes not only the Chicago school’s religious spirit but also postmillennialist theological doctrine. Not apocalyptic or dogmatic, her form of hope nevertheless embodies the spirit of the hope- ful hope of postmillennialism. Just like postmillennialists, her hopeful hope is tied up with America as a way of life, a combination of vision and action in America for America. She approvingly quotes pragmatist Colin Koopman, “America, like pragmatism, is an emblematic vision of hope.”40 This phrasing suggests that America is an exceptional nation in its serving as a symbol of hope. Further, Stitzlein suggests that pragmatism involves a profound social imaginary about “how we understood ourselves, our relation to each other, and our role in the world.”41 The “us” here is consistently “us Americans” and the place that we are living is consistently “America.” She references Thomas Paine, who envisioned “a common cause and a new utopian nation,” rooted in a religiously based exceptionalism: “America was God’s country of the future.”42 Of all the countries, it is America that is God’s country; America isn’t just a secular country, but God’s country; and, it isn’t America’s present, but its future, that is being imagined. In this social imaginary, “being an American meant building social and political life anew.”43 The content of Stitzlein’s pragmatist hope is American democracy. She states, “[t]he content of such hoping comes to compose a vision of our shared life together within American democracy, one that springs from the people and is enacted by them, and one that is, importantly, revisable.”44 This echoes not only Paine’s exceptionalism but also Mead’s “true community of 55Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 interests” that could move society towards the “realization of the kingdom of God.”45 Stitzlein’s idea of our shared life together in democracy, her broadest form of hope, is connected to a specific nation, America. It is America in the future, in which the shared life together involves “the flourishing of American people.”46 She suggests, “[s]hared objects and objectives of hope may help us build a new conception of America that we can rally around—a sense of who we are and what we stand for that we can take pride in, defend, and advance.”47 This is future-oriented vision of America is one in which more people will feel at home and thrive. Stitzlein’s hopeful hope for democracy echoes postmillen- nialism’s American exceptionalism, that America is (on its way to) the kingdom of God on earth. As stated earlier, central to Stitzlein’s form of hope is meliorism. She quotes Dewey in this context, who describes meliorism as “the idea that at least there is a sufficient basis of goodness in life and its conditions so that by thought and earnest effort we may constantly make things better.”48 But meliorism is central to postmillennialism, which embraces preparation for the Kingdom of God through steady progress of social improvement: “the future depended on the power of steady perseverance,” preparing a path “for the universal reign of the Prince of peace.”49 Postmillennialism centered on humans enacting such meliorative preparation: “the application of human action held out the possibility of incremental progress.”50 The Kingdom of God would be “ushered in by human means.”51 America could bring about its own status as Christ’s kingdom on earth by its own collective incremental effort of associative living. Stitzlein similarly emphasizes a future-directed meliorism, “a belief in the agency of people, trusting that they can have significant impact on the world.”52 Stitzlein’s meliorism is connected to her idea of hope in a robust democ- racy. Democracy is a radical way of living together, associative living. Stitzlein quotes Colin Koopman, “[d]emocracy is the simple idea that political and ethical progress hinges on nothing more than persons, their values, and their actions.”53 She states explicitly that this spirit of democracy, present in America from its founding, lingers to this very day. Central to democracy is the impulse “to create a new and better nation and world,” and “meliorism fits well with democracy Echoes of the Coming Kingdom of God on Earth in America56 Volume 76 Isuue 4 1 Sarah M. Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope: Reviving Democracy through Our Schools and Civil Society (Oxford University Press, 2020), 1, https://www. oxfordscholarship.com/view/10.1093/oso/9780190062651.001.0001/oso- 9780190062651. 2 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 3. 3 Stitzlein, 17. 4 Stitzlein, 3. 5 Stitzlein, 17. 6 Stitzlein, 17 & 21. 7 Stitzlein, 22. 8 John Dewey, A Common Faith (Yale University Press, 1936), 9. 9 Dewey, A Common Faith, 23. 10 Dewey, 27. 11 Siebren Miedema, “Heart and Reason: A Comparison of John Dewey’s as a way of life where our hopes can be nurtured together.”54 Meliorism as a belief in the improvability of the nation is not local and particular but general and national. She quotes Koopman to show that essential to America is such hope-embodied meliorism: “a loss of hope is a loss of America itself.”55 For Stitzlein, the hopeful impulse to create a new and better nation is the animating heartbeat of America itself. She argues that America’s history shows us becom- ing “more just and freer over time,” that despite significant exceptions, “the overall trend of progress.”56 This resonates with the long tradition of religiously hopeful meliorism that comprises postmillennialist thought in America, the re- ligiously-inflected idea of working together towards perfection by slow degrees. Stitzlein’s hopeful hope in democracy echoes the religious spirit of hope in the coming of the kingdom of God to earth in America. 57Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 A Common Faith and His ‘Religious’ Poems,” Religious Education 105, no. 2 (2010): 178, https://doi.org/10.1080/00344081003645178. 12 Quoted in Miedema, 178. 13 Quoted in Miedema, 183. 14 Quoted in Miedema, 184. 15 Quoted in Miedema, 185. 16 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 34, 53–54. 17 Stitzlein, 54. 18 Stitzlein, 54. 19 Mark David Wood, Cornel West and the Politics of Prophetic Pragmatism (University of Illinois Press, 2000), 2.revolutionary socialist stance to a later, progressive reformist one. Wood shows how West’s subsequent reworking of Marxism supports his transition from a socialist to a pro- gressivist politics.\”--BOOK JACKET.”,”ISBN”:”978-0-252-02578- 5”,”language”:”en”,”note”:”Google-Books-ID: RVdQ0mhiapUC”,”num- ber-of-pages”:”264”,”publisher”:”University of Illinois Press”,”source”:”- Google Books”,”title”:”Cornel West and the Politics of Prophetic Pragma- tism”,”author”:[{“family”:”Wood”,”given”:”Mark David”}],”issued”:{“- date-parts”:[[“2000”]]}},”locator”:”2”}],”schema”:”https://github.com/ citation-style-language/schema/raw/master/csl-citation.json”} 20 Cornel West, The Cornel West Reader (New York and Great Britain: Civitas Books, 1999), 13. 21 West, The Cornel West Reader, 370. 22 West, 14. 23 West, 177. Echoes of the Coming Kingdom of God on Earth in America58 Volume 76 Isuue 4 24 West, 419. 25 West, 419. 26 Daniel Tröhler, “The ‘Kingdom of God on Earth’ and Early Chica- go Pragmatism,” Educational Theory 56, no. 1 (February 1, 2006): 89–105, https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1741-5446.2006.00005.x. 27 Tröhler, “The ‘Kingdom of God on Earth’ and Early Chicago Pragma- tism,” 93. 28 Tröhler, 94. 29 Tröhler, 95. 30 Tröhler, 95. 31 Tröhler, 97. 32 Tröhler, 99. 33 Tröhler, 100. 34 Quoted in Tröhler, 100. 35 Tröhler, 102. 36 Quoted in Tröhler, 101. 37 Tröhler, 94. 38 Michael Lienesch, “The Role of Political Millennialism in Early American Nationalism,” The Western Political Quarterly 36, no. 3 (1983): 446, https://doi. org/10.2307/448402. 39 Lienesch, “The Role of Political Millennialism in Early American Nation- alism,” 446. 40 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 25. 41 Stitzlein, 24. 42 Stitzlein, 23 (emphasis added). 59Clarence W. Joldersma doi: 10.47925/76.4.049 43 Stitzlein, 23. 44 Stitzlein, 66. 45 Tröhler, “The ‘Kingdom of God on Earth’ and Early Chicago Pragma- tism,” 102. 46 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 67. 47 Stitzlein, 69. 48 Stitzlein, 33. 49 Lienesch, “The Role of Political Millennialism in Early American Nation- alism,” 448-458. 50 Lienesch, 458. 51 Lienesch, 458. 52 Stitzlein, Learning How to Hope, 36. 53 Stitzlein, 37. 54 Stitzlein, 36-37. 55 Stitzlein, 37. 56 Stitzlein, 33. 
work_iz3u5kwihrc6febyt7afaes7su	----	S2515045620000097jxx 231..239 Q&A The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Ralph Ellison listened carefully to how people talked. John Steinbeck read his dialogue out loud. Joan Didion confessed to sleeping in the same room with her nearly completed drafts. Historians, too, have special ways of working that are worth sharing. In February 2020, Thomas Andrews and Brooke L. Blower asked the distinguished and wide-ranging scholar Richard White to talk about writing habits, life with books, and arguments with friends. Richard White is a MacArthur Fellow, recipient of the Mellon Distinguished Professor Award, and Emeritus Margaret Byrne Professor of American History at Stanford University, CA, USA. He is the author of numerous award-winning books, including The Republic for Which It Stands: The United States during Reconstruction and the Gilded Age, 1865–1896 (Oxford University Press, 2017); Railroaded: The Transcontinentals and the Making of Modern America (W. W. Norton & Company, 2011); and Remembering Ahanagran: Storytelling in a Family’s Past (Hill & Wang, 2003). His most recent book, built around photographs by his son, Jesse White, is California Exposures (Norton, 2020). Tell us about how you usually write. Do you have any special techniques for getting words onto the page? I formed my writing habits when my son Jesse was three. I was a single parent and too busy teaching to write during the day and too exhausted to write after he went to bed, so I began getting up early—5:30 or 6:00—and writing for an hour or two before I had to get him ready for daycare and later school. I kept this routine up when Jesse was with his mother during the summers, and later when I no longer lived alone with him. I still write every day, except weekends, and these days sometimes even then. The early morning hours alone in my home office with the sun rising have remained my favorite time of the day. These old habits make my writing incremental. I might only spend an hour or two putting words on the page, but once the process starts, ideas constantly percolate in the back of my mind. They come to consciousness throughout the day and night, and I keep a notebook to jot them down. When I go back over these notebooks, I discover that most of my ideas are god awful, but it doesn’t matter. If 2 to 3 percent are workable, I am in business. This incre- mental writing means I do not write quickly or in large chunks, but I do write methodically and usually well ahead of deadline. I rarely start a piece at the beginning. My initial goal is just getting something on the page to which I can react. My first drafts are just a catalyst for new thoughts, which are usually criti- cisms of my initial thoughts on a topic. I revise endlessly, and I am willing to throw everything out and start over. I used to write in longhand. I have been going back over old papers that I am giving to the Stanford archives, and I discovered that my cursive was once clear and legible. Now I can barely read my own handwriting. I moved to a typewriter—an old big black Royal—and then to computers. © The Author(s), 2020. Published by Cambridge University Press Modern American History (2020), 3, 231–239 doi:10.1017/mah.2020.9 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog?doi=10.1017/mah.2020.9&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core At the final stages of a project, I print out my drafts to correct by hand. I read them out loud. I think good prose has a cadence and rhythm. When read aloud, sentences that either lack that cadence or make no sense slap me in the face. This stage is not proofreading (at which I am horrible). I have become too familiar with the rhythms of my own prose and I often fail to detect missing words. I mentally insert words that are not on the page. The final step of correcting my drafts takes place outside my usual writing time. In the early evening on days when it is not my turn to cook, I pour a glass of wine. The wine does not heighten my acuity; it lessens it and thus causes me to pause over patches of work which demand attention. One of the things of which I am proud in my own books and articles is that I try never to skip the hard stuff. My goal is to make what is difficult to understand as clear as possible. A glass of wine slows me down, makes me feel all the bumps and recognize all the wrong turns in my writing. I recognize what I need to revise, not by dumbing these sections down but by making them more direct—clearer and simpler. My attempts to clarify difficult topics and concepts have contributed to my use of analogy and metaphor. I, for reasons I do not know, think by analogy. If something does not make sense to me, I try to make it analogous to something else. As a way of thinking, this can be dangerous, and I try to be careful when using it, but when it does work, it can be a good way to explain a difficult concept. Did you grow up with lots of books? When did you start writing? My father was a voracious reader. He was not an easy man, but he would take me into New York City with him. We would go to used bookstores. I could buy whatever I liked. The books cost a nickel or a dime, sometimes a quarter. I think this began when I was in the second grade and went on until we moved to California when I was in the sixth grade. He told me I had to read whatever I bought; we would not come again until I had finished them. We went into the city, as I recall, once or twice a month. My father never censored what I read, nor did he tell me something I selected was too hard or unsuitable. He believed, and he was right, that if I had to read things I did not understand, I would not buy anything like it again. Among the purchases I remember were Landmark Books, historical novels by Kenneth Roberts and Harold Lamb, Bruce Catton’s histories, Jules Verne novels, and books about baseball. Outside of playing baseball, the thing I wanted most in the world to do was read. My bubbe believed I should be playing outside, so when we visited my grandparents, I would take a vol- ume from the collected works of Mark Twain that my zayde owned and go hide, reading in peace until my grandmother found me. Although my father was Jewish, when we moved to California my mother talked him into allowing me to attend Catholic school because I was in so many fights at the public school I attended. Catholic school meant confronting the Index Librorum Prohibitorum, or “list of for- bidden books,” produced by Vatican censors until 1966. It was the first time anyone had ever tried to prevent me from reading anything. With my father’s encouragement, I began treating the Index as if it were a recommended reading list. It was full of wonderful books, many of 232 The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core which we already had at home. The Index led me to read the Three Musketeers and to try Zola. It got me to attempt Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, which I don’t think I ever quite finished. My father had copies of these from the Heritage Press, which would send a new volume every month. I own them still. I also read Nikos Kazantzakis’s The Last Temptation of Christ, which was a wonderful respite from a Catholic education. Long before I started writing, I began telling stories—serial stories. I had three brothers and a sister, and my brothers and I for a while slept in a single room. For reasons I understand all too well now but did not then, my parents would insist we go to bed by eight. It seemed horribly unfair; I could hear my friends playing outside in the summer. They could make us go to bed, but they could not make us sleep. I began telling my brothers stories—I can’t recall them now— but I told them in installments, which forced me to think of the next installment before bedtime. I did not start writing seriously until I went to college. In the process of giving my papers to the Stanford archives, I have rediscovered short stories I wrote then, and what I called a novel that I wrote just after college. I was deceived by winning a college literary prize for one of the stories. They are all horrible. The novel was about a summer and fall I spent on the Nisqually River in Washington at Indian fishing rights encampments. A friend and I had started out to Chicago for demonstrations at the 1968 Democratic convention, but one thing led to another. My friend, who was a Yaqui Indian, took acid at the Sky River rock festival and talked to Rolling Thunder, who was briefly a famous Shoshone shaman, who told him to go to Frank’s Landing on the Nisqually River because his people needed him. I was along for the ride. The novel was a roman à clef; all I did was change the names. I discovered that I could not write dialogue to save my life. What surprises me now is how ear- nest all this early writing was. I can’t believe I wrote it. During these years my friends and I also wrote a set of chronicles about an imaginary place called Oscillia (we had various spellings), told from the point of view of various characters— Baron Vasil Konstantly, Roary Roberts, Full Bore Sloth, Brother Bernard the Beautiful Benedictine, and more. Some of these pieces have not aged well, but at least they were not ear- nest. We were trying to entertain each other rather than impress each other. Some of this work is still pretty funny and revealing about life in the late 1960s and early 1970s. But I will probably seal these until I die. I don’t want to be a guy in his seventies explaining what I had in mind at nineteen. I certainly don’t want anyone thinking all these letters described actual events, or, for that matter, that all they contain was fictional. But I am too busy to explain the difference on the longshot chance that anyone cares. My breakthrough as a writer came when I realized that historians not only didn’t have to write dialogue, but they weren’t allowed to do so. I had found my niche. Which writers do you most admire and why? This could go on forever, so I am going to leave out historians. I have too many friends who are historians. And I am going to leave out Western writers I admire but know or knew—Ivan Doig, Bill Kittridge, James Welch, L. Scott Momaday, and others. I will concentrate on people I know largely on the page. Modern American History 233 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core I will narrow it further by focusing on authors who excel at what I regard as the key to good historical writing: the ability to imagine past worlds. Novelists, essayists, and memoirists can do this. What historians add is degree of difficulty. We cannot invent stuff. So, in no particular order: • John McPhee, for the clarity of his voice and his ability to explain how he writes. He more than any other writer I know has solved the dilemma of being in a book without domi- nating it. He gives his characters room. He is the best writer on writing. • Henry David Thoreau: I would hate him if I had met him. I disagree with much of what he says, and I am pretty sure he was a horrible human being. But this is why I like him as a writer. Nearly two hundred years later his writing can not only enrage a reader but give a clear sense of his persona, if not his actual self. I have never gone back to the text of Walden without not only being surprised but also realizing that the man has made a fool of me in my previous readings. It is the most difficult book in the classic American canon. • Edith Wharton: For subtlety, creating a large picture through an accumulation of details, and for conveying a sense of social mores, there is no one better. • Mark Twain: Anyone as prolific as Twain had to be uneven, but at his best he both touches deep and persistent American traits and is hilarious. There are parts of Roughing It that I still cannot read to classes without cracking up. A man who describes a steamboat as so slow it raced islands is hard not to like. • Joan Didion: Her short pieces in particular are as near perfect as anything that I have read. Again, she is someone whose politics—at least her old politics—and her sensibility are for- eign to me, but her prose seduces. I do not share her opinions of it, but she captures the California world that produced me perfectly. • J. D. Salinger: Some years ago, I was teaching a summer class at the Buffalo Bill Center in Cody. I was staying in the guest house where the bookshelves had not been altered since the 1960s. There was a copy of Catcher in the Rye. I had not read it since I was a teenager. I read it again in a sitting. The book was as compelling as when I first looked at it. I had forgotten what a great writer he was. • Raymond Carver: For a long time, my highest aspiration as a writer was to write as simply and cogently as Carver. For pure writing, I don’t know anything better than his best stories. • Ralph Ellison: The 1940s through the 1960s were a golden age of American fiction, but Invisible Man was in my reading the best of them. Ellison opened a window on a world and a sensibility that I had seen only from the outside. • Molly Keane: Her Good Behaviour raised the level of difficulty in narration as high as pos- sible, and then she nailed it. It is a model of using the unreliable narrator so that the reader knows more than the narrator who is telling the story. • Margaret Atwood: I admire her craft, her productivity, and while I don’t appreciate every- thing she has written as much as others do, I find her best work, such as Alias Grace, remarkable. She can imagine past worlds. • James Baldwin: I inordinately admire his essays. • Italo Calvino: Many writers pretend they can create self-contained worlds. Calvino could, and he did it with amazing economy. • George Saunders: Lincoln in the Bardo is a remarkable book. In making his characters ghosts and spirits, he manages to evoke a nineteenth-century world I recognize. • Derek Walcott: His Omeros, an epic poem, may be my favorite twentieth-century book. It is a thing of beauty and quite moving. It reduces me to awe every time I read it. 234 The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core • Charles Portis: Probably the least known great writer of the twentieth century. People mostly know him through the movie version of True Grit, but his novels are a wonder. He could do what I could never do—write dialogue and plot. His books are laugh-out-loud funny. When I discovered he had written things beside True Grit, my wife and I read all of them in a week. • Richard Powers: I admired him before Overstory, but I didn’t think anyone could write a good environmental novel. He wrote a great one. There are others that I am leaving out, Richard Ford, Don DeLillo, and more, but this list is too long already. What writing practices have helped you to be such a productive historian? What do you do when you get stuck? I read somewhere that Ernest Hemingway said always stop writing for the day when things are going well because it will be easier to resume again. This usually works, but inevitably I do get stuck. When I can’t figure out how to move forward, I work on something else. People mistake my productivity for working fast. My books take years, usually around eight to ten years, from conception to production. I have more than four because I am usually working on two, occasionally three, at once. When I get stuck on one project, I switch to another project. I usually find that even if I am not consciously working on a book, it is percolating somewhere in the back of my brain. The solutions to the problems that stymie me are, when they come, usually embarrassingly simple. Do you outline before you write? No. I start in the middle with something I think I know. I have had some ex-students and other friends—Jared Farmer is one—who can plan a book or article in their head, outline it, and then write to the outline. I am incapable of doing that. My ideas are all born prematurely. They can do nothing until I have lavished attention on them. As they grow, they reveal themselves to me. What role do your research methods and techniques for organizing data play in your writing process? I research as I write. Until I begin to write, I do not know what I need to know. I don’t know what all my questions are. As the questions arise, I do research to try to find the answers. I have massive files of notes and xeroxes for my early books, but for the last few books I have gone digital with mixed results. I find it very difficult to keep track of scans that I take on my cellphone and file on my computer because inserting the citation material is so clunky. I tend to group them by source, which makes it harder to reorganize them topically. There is a silver lining to bad organization. I am forced to go through my notes constantly with resulting serendipitous finds. On a second or third reading, things jump out that I missed the first time around. Modern American History 235 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core I had a disaster when I used a footnoting program on Republic. It scrambled everything, so I avoid such programs like the plague. I have gone back to Microsoft Word. Your voice stands out as witty, incisive, and perhaps even quarrelsome. Does this come naturally, or have you had to cultivate it? I cultivate it. I do not have a single voice. When I lecture to a class, I have a different voice than I use in print. When I give an academic lecture at say Harvard, my voice is not the same as when I give a radio interview. I may sound contentious in print, but I have usually toned down what I have first written. I edit out my junkyard dog tendencies. In early drafts, for instance, I often have sections attacking interpretations I disagree with, but I drop them. I am more interested in sketching out my own position. The only valuable advice I have ever given my children and grandchildren is don’t be an ass- hole. Don’t be that guy. In the current moment, this seems like bad career advice, but I still have hope. I try not to be an asshole, even when I have serious disagreements with people. Anyone worth disagreeing with is worth taking seriously, and to take them seriously is to confront their strong arguments. I try not take cheap shots. I try to train my graduate students to do the same. Don’t make the easy attacks. Don’t complain about what an author didn’t do; concentrate on what they did do. Find the strongest part of your opponent’s argument and go for the heart. I find much of the history that I write about quite funny. It took me years to realize that when I had dinner with friends who were historians, the conversations could be hilarious. The past was as full of fools, blunders, and “what-were-they-thinking” moments as is the present. Historians share all this in conversation but usually edit it out of their published work. We want, I guess, to be seen as serious people. I just stopped editing those elements out. Over the course of my career, I have found that graduate school often strips historians of their voice. Many students are accepted because they can write, but then we turn them into bad writers. This is not inevitable. Kate Brown is a writer of enviable skill. I served on her dissertation committee, and I remember other committee members wanting her to eliminate the first person from her dissertation manuscript. I and another committee member success- fully opposed it, but the attempt was revealing. The ideal was bland academic prose. There is also, at least in my experience, pressure on assistant professors to make sure their first book is “academic,” which means the writer does not try to attract a broader audience. Popularity is suspect. I have been remarkably lucky to be a Western historian. It has shaped my work. There are superb writers in other historical fields—Jill Lepore, David Blight, Paul Johnson, Walter Johnson, David Kennedy, and more—but I think the concentration is greatest in Western his- tory. To cite only my cohort, Elliott West, Marni Sandweiss, Johnny Faragher, Patty Limerick, Virginia Scharff, Bill Cronon, Don Worster, Bill DuBuys, Paul Hutton, Neal Foley, and Ramon Gutiérrez can not only write wonderfully, they are also people of strong opinions. When I reg- ularly argue with my friends and colleagues, how can I avoid arguing with my enemies? 236 The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core I have had a second gift as a Western historian. Because the cohort of historians who have fol- lowed mine are as good or better writers, it is not a field where you can rest on your laurels. One of my complaints about much but not all popular history (I very much admire the work of Geoff Ward and Ron Chernow, for example) is that they provide a version of what amounts to a national bedtime story. We get the same characters, the same incidents, the same reassuring endings over and over again. Reading most popular history is like reading a book to my grand- daughter, Sofia, who is not yet two. When we reach the end, she always says “again.” In popular history, Sofia’s wishes come true: someone will write the same story again and again and again. Reading over this answer, I guess I am quarrelsome. You have published a textbook, trade books, traditional monographs, and a memoir. Do you think there are themes or threads that run through this diverse body of work? I don’t plan these books. I joke about being a short attention span theater historian who is never able to stay with the same topic, but there is some truth to it. Life is too short to do the same thing over and over again. I move from topic to topic and from century to century, usually from curiosity, sometimes from opportunity, and sometimes from necessity. One of my favorite lines from the movies is when the Wizard of Oz explains how he came to be the Wizard. “Times being what they were, I accepted the job.” This explains a great deal of what I do. I wrote Its Your Misfortune and None of My Own because my daughter Teal was going to col- lege and I needed the money. I wrote Remembering Ahanagran (which is an anti-memoir) because my mother, after trying to read The Middle Ground, said, “I am more interesting than this, why don’t you write a book about me?” My mother, who had a third-grade educa- tion, was proud of my books but never read them. My brother Stephen is a successful mystery novelist. Any one of his books has sold more than everything I have ever written put together. As my mother explained to my son, Jesse, “Your Uncle Stephen writes real books, not like your Dad. People read them.” I wrote The Republic for Which It Stands because my mother, who had dementia, was running out of funds and I needed the money. I wrote my most recent book, California Exposures, because of a bet with my son Jesse, a pho- tographer. I lost the bet, but I ended up with what I think is the most original and unusual of all my books. I have learned to try to think about audiences when I write. Years ago, I was talking with Bill Cronon and Patty Limerick about how you know when a book was done. I said, “It’s done when I am sick of it.” It is the only time in my life when I silenced them. After a while, Bill asked if I thought that was a good practice. I had never considered that. And on reflection, I had to admit that it probably was not. It was better to think about what I intended the book to do and whom I intended to read it. It was not done until I could get no closer to my goals. This, of course, does not mean that my intention is to please my audience. A book that does not arouse argument and opposition is probably not worth writing. Modern American History 237 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core Of all your books, which one was the hardest to write? Which one did you enjoy the most? The Republic for Which It Stands was the most difficult book because I had to write within con- straints that did not arise from the material itself. Because it was part of a series, I had to start at a certain point and end at a certain point. That I was also writing about an era that has become the flyover country of American history didn’t help. The Gilded Age eventually fully engaged me, and having David Kennedy as general editor was a great help, but I knew the volume would be an odd fit with the Oxford series whose volumes usually have themes of progress, improve- ment, and overcoming adversity. They end on a triumphant note. Still, I think of Republic as perhaps the most hopeful of my books—a story of struggle and reform under difficult circum- stances. But it is not celebratory in customary ways, and those looking for celebratory books certainly don’t read it as the kind of history they desire. The books I enjoyed writing the most were those I wrote collaboratively with my mother and my son. Remembering Ahanagran went to places my mother did not want to go, but eventually she became the book’s advocate even though it outraged relatives on both the Jewish and Irish sides of my family. The old joke about Irish Alzheimer’s—“you forget everything but the grudges”—could just as easily be a Jewish joke. I have relatives who went to their graves without ever speaking to me again. Fair enough, I come from the same family and can hold a grudge, too. Working with my mother was a wonder. She taught me a lot about history, memory, and how people make sense of their lives. I anticipated that working with my son Jesse on California Exposures would be fraught, and sometimes it was, but most of the time I enjoyed it immensely. He taught me how to see. I really had no knowledge of how photographers work. He saw photographs where I saw noth- ing. Once he made the photograph, I saw stories. I was sorry to see the project end. I hope I live long enough to do another one with him. Do you share your drafts with anyone? What is your revision process? Before multiple sclerosis hurt her eyesight, my wife Beverly read everything I wrote. She was ruthless. She is not a good writer, but she was a wonderful reader and an editor with an unerr- ing eye for what was unclear, flabby, and unnecessary. I miss her help. I send drafts to friends, particularly good friends who do not hesitate to tell me what is bad or inaccurate. Most recently, Jenny Price was invaluable in critiquing the early drafts of California Exposures. Hollywood has script doctors. Jenny is a book doctor. Her solutions were elegant and clear. I have also had a series of good editors, some of them legendary—Arthur Wang and Betty Ballantine, who recently died. I gather that a lot of historians do not like to be edited, but I appreciate all the help my current editors, Steve Forman at Norton and Susan Ferber at Oxford, can give me. Have you tried to teach your students—especially your graduate students—about writing and, if so, how? I teach writing by cruelty. My dissertation advisor, Vernon Carstensen, critiqued me mercilessly as a graduate student, and I appreciated it so much that I replicate it now. I am not proud of being cruel, but I have found that the best way to teach is by detailed and very direct criticisms of multiple drafts. I recognized a long time ago that to become a professor is to 238 The WRITER’S STUDIO with Richard White Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core consign yourself to a lifetime of reading bad prose. I find much academic writing—and a lot of popular writing—almost physically painful to read. When my graduate students give me such writing, I get irritable. I don’t want my graduate students producing more of it. I want them to become their own toughest critics. What I want them to do is fairly simple. I want an argument. I want only relevant details: “Why are you telling me this?” I want clear topic sentences and transitions. I want signposts to remind readers where they are going and why. I want like material grouped with like material. I want active verbs. My colleague, Marni Sandweiss, once told me of her pride in having written sev- eral pages without the verb to be. This made me envious and amazed. I often cannot do that for a paragraph. I am forgiving of mistakes the first time a graduate student makes them, but I do not want to see the same mistakes a second time. Would you change anything about the books you’ve already written if you rewrote them now? Of course I would, and of course I won’t. Life is a litany of mistakes and failures. You do the best you can and move on. I would never go back and rewrite earlier work. I am too interested in what I am doing now—and at my age there is a growing sense of desperation—not enough time to finish what I have started. If I did rewrite, I would cut, cut, and cut some more, taking out inessential material—no matter how much I am interested in it—to allow what is left room to breathe. I remember Arthur Wang telling me that since people read less these days, he would make the books he published shorter. If you hadn’t become a historian, what do you think would you have done instead? I have no idea. Once I realized that I was not going to be a major league shortstop, life reduced to a list of second bests. I wanted to be a novelist or short story writer, but I was horrible. Historian was next. Thank God that mostly worked out. Modern American History 239 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core The WRITER'S STUDIO with Richard White Tell us about how you usually write. Do you have any special techniques for getting words onto the page? Did you grow up with lots of books? When did you start writing? Which writers do you most admire and why? What writing practices have helped you to be such a productive historian? What do you do when you get stuck? Do you outline before you write? What role do your research methods and techniques for organizing data play in your writing process? Your voice stands out as witty, incisive, and perhaps even quarrelsome. Does this come naturally, or have you had to cultivate it? You have published a textbook, trade books, traditional monographs, and a memoir. Do you think there are themes or threads that run through this diverse body of work? Of all your books, which one was the hardest to write? Which one did you enjoy the most? Do you share your drafts with anyone? What is your revision process? Have you tried to teach your students---especially your graduate students---about writing and, if so, how? Would you change anything about the books you've already written if you rewrote them now? If you hadn't become a historian, what do you think would you have done instead? 
work_j4ao34dotbhfjda3rotxdnitni	----	Research Poster 36 x 48 - B Endangered Data Preservation Organizing and Visualizing Thoreau’s Botanical Observations Jodi Coalter, MLIS University of Maryland, College Park METHODS AND MATERIALS CONCLUSIONS DISCUSSION REFERENCES ABSTRACT CONTACT Jodi Coalter University of Maryland, College Park Email: jcoalter@umd.edu Phone: 301-405-9147 The aim of this work was to create a usable data set from botanical data gathered in the 1800’s by Henry David Thoreau for visualization and scientific purposes. A special focus was to preserve the work completed by Ray Angelo in his botanical index for future work. A Python script was written to scrape each HTML page on Angelo’s website to gather the botanical information and index information provided. The data has been useful in drawing out patterns in Thoreau’s exploration of botany. Specific plants are watched more closely, though his interest wandered throughout the botanical world. Future data work will be needed or helpful, including attribution of dates to specific pages and volumes, as well as updated botanical terms.. Further research is needed to complete the data sets. For example, dates (specially month and year) would be helpful in determining what Thoreau cited in winter months vs summer months. In addition, Ray’s index uses the Grey’s Manual of Botany 8th Edition. Since its use, other editions have been printed, and +plant taxonomy has continued to improve. Updating botanical terms will be required. Photograph by Herbert Gleason https://www.walden.org/collection/journals/ SAMPLE TRANSCRIPTION Feb 13th Skated to Sudbury. A beautiful summerlike day. The meadows were frozen just enough to bear-- -- Examined now the fleets of ice flakes close at hand. They are a very singu- lar & interesting phenomenon which I do not remember to have seen I should say that when the water was frozen about as thick as pasteboard--a violent gust had here & there broken it up & while the wind & waves held it up on its edge--the increasing cold froze it in seemed for the flakes firmly. So it were for the most part turned one way--i.e. standing on one side you saw only their edges on another--the N E or S W--their--sides-- They were for the most part of a triangular form--like a shoul- der of mutton? sail slightly scolloped--{drawing} like shells They looked like a fleeet of a thousand mack- eral fishers under a press of The Data Path Angelo, R. (2017, May 4, 2017). Botanical index to the journal of Henry David Thoreau. Retrieved from http://www.ray-a.com/ThoreauBotIdx/index.html Primack, R. B., & Miller-Rushing, A. J. (2012). Uncovering, collecting, and analyzing records to investigate the ecological impacts of climate change: A template from Thoreau's Concord. BioScience, 62(2), 170- 181. doi:10.1525/bio.2012.62.2.10 Figure 3 & 4: Example of Thoreau’s use names normalized by current Genus. RESULTS Figure 1: Distribution of citations by volume Figure 2: Current Genus by volume This work was completed with significant help from Dr. Peter Hook, Cornell University, and Dr. Timothy Bowman, Wayne State University. Acknowledgments Example journal page from Thoreau’s diary. Ray Angelo’s botanical index of Thoreau’s journals. http://www.ray-a.com/ThoreauBotIdx/ http://www.ray-a.com/ThoreauBotIdx/ 
work_j6syk5geizcmhbdsifj7dum2wy	----	Dustin Beall Smith the Invisible Dead And when the last red Man shall have perished [. . .] these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe. [. . .] the White Man will never be alone. Attributed to Chief Seattle in 1854 At the time of my birth, in April 1940, my grandfather sent my mother— his youngest daughter—a letter in which he expressed the hope that I would inherit the spirit of my famous ancestors. one of the ancestors he had in mind was my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother, hannah Emerson Dustin, born hannah Webster Emerson on December 23, 1657, in the frontier village of haverhill, Massachusetts. hannah spent the first thirty-nine years of her life in relative anonymity. At age twenty she married thomas Dustin, of Portsmouth, New hampshire, and over the next nineteen years she gave birth to eleven children, three of whom died of natural causes. then, on March 15, 1697, one week after her twelfth child, Martha, was born, a band of approximately twenty-five Indians (a ragtag mix of Nipmucks and Penacooks that included women and children) attacked haverhill, looting and burning the homes of Protestant settlers. twenty- seven people, well over one-third of the town’s population, died in the attack. the dead included thirteen children. hannah, along with her new- born infant, Martha, and her fifty-one-year-old midwife, Mary Neff, were dragged from the Dustin residence and taken captive. thomas, who had been working in a field behind their cabin at the time of the raid, man- aged to shepherd eight of the couple’s nine children to the safety of the nearby military garrison on Packer hill, but he could do nothing to protect hannah and baby Martha. river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 112 Fearing reprisal by the militia, the raiding party retreated from haverhill with thirteen hostages in tow. Smoke from the burning town had alerted other settlers, making stealth essential to the retreat. When little Martha began to bawl with hunger, one of the braves yanked the infant from hannah’s arms, grabbed the child by her ankles, and brained her against the trunk of an apple tree. this accounts for (if it doesn’t entirely justify) what hannah did several weeks later. the Indians and their hostages continued on foot through the woods, heading northwest toward the Merrimack river. During the twelve-mile journey that first day, thirty-nine-year-old hannah trudged along wear- ing only one shoe. Everything conspired against her progress—the muddy ground, patches of swampland, pockets of deep snow—not to mention the taunting and prodding of the captors. Several other hostages, unable to keep up, were killed and scalped on the spot, their bodies left for scaveng- ing animals, as baby Martha’s had been. the first of the French and Indian Wars was coming to a close. the Indians (who had recently been converted to Catholicism) thought of their captives as slaves and of themselves as masters. Assuming they could reach the safety of New France (now Canada), they planned to strip the hostages naked, forcing them to run a gauntlet of tomahawk-wielding men, wom- en, and children. Even if hannah and Mary were to survive the gauntlet (many didn’t), it was understood that their master would then sell them to the highest bidder—probably a French priest who would try to convert the women to Catholicism. For hannah’s master, whose name remains unknown, there was both sport and profit to be gained by keeping the women alive, which may explain why he seems not to have been worried that traveling with these two particular women—Mary, who had lost her husband to Indians sixteen years earlier, and hannah, who now assumed her whole family had died in the haverhill raid—was like traveling with two rattlesnakes in a basket. For fourteen days and nights, the Indians led their captives in a circu- itous route, north along the river, closer and closer to New France. hannah was plagued with painfully engorged breasts and, according to at least one account, still bleeding from her womb. She clung quietly to her Protestant faith. (“In my Affliction, God made his Word Comfortable to me,” she would later write.) her master forbade her and Mary to pray, even though he and the other “popish” Indians prayed aloud in Latin, three times daily. Smith: the Invisible Dead 13 he informed hannah that he himself had once been accustomed to pray- ing in English but that now he found the French way better. hannah patiently awaited her chance to escape, secretly plotting to steal one of the Indian children—a boy—as payback for Martha. She also cultivated the friendship of a fourteen-year-old fellow captive, Samuel Lennardson. Sam’s master, a brave named Bampico, had snatched Sam from his family in a raid on Worcester, Massachusetts, one year earlier. Sam had acquired hunting skills from Bampico and had come to enjoy living as an Indian. But, as the days dragged on, hannah’s maternal talents began to engender a profound homesickness in the teenage boy. Sam would soon become the third rattlesnake in the basket. on March 30, fifteen days after the haverhill raid and seventy-five miles closer to New France, the Indians and their captives arrived at the conflu- ence of the Contookook and Merrimack rivers, just north of what is now Concord, New hampshire. the watery intersection served as a staging area for Indians. Canoes, which were considered communal property, sat on the riverbank, free for the taking. It was here that the Indians split into two parties, roughly half the band continuing upriver on foot, hoping to encounter a larger war party—a rendezvous they had narrowly missed the day before. they took all but three of the hostages with them. hannah’s master, along with Bampico, three Indian women, and seven Indian children, remained behind to guard hannah, Mary, and Sam. they decided to camp for the night on Sugar Ball Island (now called Penacook), a two-acre sugar bush in the middle of the Merrimack river. they made the short crossing to the island in four or five canoes. the island’s existing wigwams and fire pits facilitated their preparations; kindling and toma- hawks lay scattered about. hannah’s master informed her that he planned to catch up with the larger war party the following day. then he shouldered his flintlock rifle and relaxed his guard. Late that afternoon, as the sun dropped behind the island’s bare-limbed sugar maples, hannah plotted their escape. First she and her cohorts would have to dispatch five adults and six of the seven children. She persuaded Sam to ask Bampico how best to kill a man with a tomahawk. Bampico, eager to teach his young protégé, answered Sam’s question by pointing at his own temple: Hit him here, hard. When Sam returned to the women with this information, hannah whispered her plan of attack. Each of them was to find and conceal a river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 114 tomahawk then wait until midnight, when the Indians would be sound asleep. they would have to kill their captors quickly, beginning with the two men. hannah assigned specific victims to both Sam and Mary and let them know which boy was to be spared. It fell to Mary to kill the boy’s mother. I picture hannah tossing more kindling on the fire and pulling a shawl around her shoulders, and I can hear the waters of the swollen river gur- gling in the evening air. I have always marveled at the resolve she brought to her dilemma. She knew her enemies, and when “God’s word became comfortable” to her, she felt certain she would be able to accomplish the awful deed. Such clear resolve is what her master seems to have lacked. having once been a devout Protestant himself, he had stayed in the house of the famous reverend rowlandson of Lancaster, before finding employ- ment as a mercenary with the French, who then pressured him to convert to Catholicism. his head must have been swimming with foreign alle- giances. Whether he and Bampico were drinking British cyder or French rhum on the night of March 30 is not clear. But my guess is that both men must have been utterly exhausted trying to maintain their dignity atop the shifting cultural and religious sands. too exhausted that night, in any case, to post a guard. too distracted to recognize that hannah’s quiet determi- nation masked a primal urge for revenge; or that midwife Mary’s passivity belied her recent resolve to kill Indian women and children; or that Sam’s choice to sit by the fire with two older women of his own race—rather than chew the fat with the braves—signaled a newfound need to go home. Around midnight the three captives crawled out from beneath their bedding to begin their grisly work. Sam probably whacked Bampico on the temple, a blow that would have instantly damaged the temporal lobe of his brain, the region that controls hearing and speech. hannah killed her master in a similar fashion. Mary valiantly hacked away at the mother of hannah’s replacement child, but the badly cut-up woman somehow escaped in the darkness with the little boy. (She and her child later joined the larger band of Indians; her fate is described in another captive story.) hannah and Sam may have shared in the killing of the remaining two women. Most accounts imply that hannah finished off the children by herself. the whole business could not have lasted more than a minute or two. there would have been a lot of thrashing and jerking in the night—punc- Smith: the Invisible Dead 15 tuated by the muffled thwacks of tomahawks cleaving flesh and bone. taken out of sleep so abruptly, the children may not even have had time to cry out. the peaceful sound of the river would have taken over again by the time hannah gained possession of her master’s flintlock and toma- hawk. She and Mary and Sam gathered a few provisions, carried them to the shoreline and scuttled all but one of the birch-bark canoes. As they were easing the surviving boat into the swift and chilly current, it occurred to hannah that no one back home would believe their story. She decided to return to the scene and scalp the Indians—all of them. Bampico had taught Sam how to take scalps. Now Sam showed hannah how to make the first crescent-shaped cut, high on Bampico’s own fore- head, right at the hairline—and how to yank the scalp back with each subsequent slice. hannah wrapped the bloody mementos in a piece of knitted cloth that the Indians had stolen from her loom during the initial raid. then the three of them returned to the canoe, shoved off from the shore, and glided quietly down the Merrimack river toward haverhill. Sleeping in shifts, they returned home without incident in several days. three weeks later in Boston, hannah received a twenty-five-pound bounty for her share of the ten scalps. Mary and Sam received twelve pounds, ten shillings each. the reverend Cotton Mather witnessed the reward and recorded the details of hannah’s story in his Magnalia Christi Americana. Sam returned a hero to his hometown of Worcester. hannah resumed her family life with thomas and their eight surviving children and built a new house on the ashes of the old one. At age forty she gave birth to her thirteenth child, Lydia. hannah died in 1729, at age seventy-two. Nearly a century and a half later, in 1874, a permanent monument honoring her bravery was erected on Penacook Island. She can be seen to this day, holding her left arm high in the air, brandishing a fistful of scalps. Another statue, depicting her in a long dress and wielding a hatchet, is one of haverhill’s modern-day tour- ist attractions. It stands at the edge of GAr Park, a startling reminder that haverhill was not always the peaceful and thriving metropolis it has since become. Artifacts of hannah’s captivity—her one shoe, her master’s flint- lock rifle and tomahawk—are on display in haverhill’s public library. her story has survived despite a good deal of moral scrutiny, perhaps because it portrays a time when Indians and whites held nearly equal sway on the river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 116 eastern edge of the continent, each side having something to offer the oth- er; each side able to dish out its own brand of cruelty and barbarity. Even today hannah’s story seems safely cocooned in moral inevitability. that she trespassed on the sacred ground of motherhood by killing children can be explained away by pointing to her belief that her own family had been murdered. What today might be thought of as lawless revenge was, to the Protestant ethic of her day, God’s justice: if Indian raids were part of God’s plan, so too was her escape from captivity—at whatever cost. her captors certainly shared that ethic, albeit with a Catholic slant, and “justice” has served as justification, ever since. henry David thoreau, after recounting hannah’s story in A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, avoids any moral judgment. Writing in 1839, 142 years after hannah’s captivity and nearly four decades before her monument was built, he muses: “this seems a long while ago, and yet it happened since Milton wrote his Paradise Lost. [. . .] From this September afternoon, and from between these now cultivated shores, those times seemed more remote than the dark ages” (261). the French and Indian War, a series of battles fought between England and France on American soil, continued for another sixty-six years after hannah’s escape—until the decade before the American revolution. haverhill was attacked again while hannah was still alive, but the maraud- ers avoided the Dustin house. Apparently her decision to scalp her victims had made her something of an Indian herself, and her fierce reputation acted as a kind of talisman—Big Medicine, so to speak. In any case, there was safety enough in her household to assure that her thirteen-year-old son Nathaniel would grow up to wed Mary Ayer, whose son John Dustin would wed Mary Morse, whose son timothy Dustin would wed Eunice Nutting, whose son Moody Dustin would wed Lucy Cowles, whose son William Dustin would wed Sarah Bentley, whose daughter Lucy Jane Dustin, after marrying Seth revere, would give birth to my maternal grandfather Clinton tristram revere, at whose artificial knee I first heard hannah’s story. C. t., as my grandfather revere was called, lost his right leg, at age twenty- two, to a grizzly bear during a Wyoming hunting trip in November 1890. the way he told it, a member of his hunting party shot a bear cub, and the cub’s angry mother mauled C. t. before anyone could shoot the bear. C. t.’s Smith: the Invisible Dead 17 companions carried him out of the woods and into town, where his leg was sawed off above the knee in a makeshift operation that took place on a bar top in some backwater saloon. he said the bartender gave him “god-awful rot-gut” to kill the pain. My mother, born harriett Winn revere, was the youngest of C. t.’s four children. By the time I came into the world, he was already an old man. he wore a prosthesis made of wood, held tight to his leg stump by a strap that went around his waist and over his shoulder. I clearly recall standing, at age five, next to his leather armchair in the book-lined study of his Westfield, New Jersey, home, listening to the story of the bear attack and the tale of hannah Dustin. he told a sanitized version of hannah’s story; all the Indians were fierce braves, and there was no mention of selling scalps. I remember fingering his crude knee-joint, the outline of which was visible beneath his pants leg. Even then, at age seventy-seven, C. t. was a robust man, still ambitious and full of life, the way you want a grandfather to be. Wire-rim spectacles added to his powerful aura, suggesting an active intellect. he had been born in San Francisco in 1868 and attended public schools there. Both his parents, native New Englanders, had died when he was twelve, and he and his brother, Charles, were left in the care of an abusive, pipe-smoking grandmother. one day, at age fourteen, after his grandmother slapped him too hard, C. t. ran away from home—for good. Like many self-made men of that era, he left a murky trail on his way to success. It is likely that he attended college, since he emerges first as a newspaper man—a drama critic and drama editor for The Washington Post. By then he had married harriett Winn, who hailed from Savannah, Georgia. C. t. and harriett had their first of four children, Anne, in 1903. In his capacity as a journalist, C. t. befriended a stockbroker named Daniel J. Scully, known on Wall Street as the King of the Cotton Market. As a consequence of this friendship, C. t. applied his considerable rhetori- cal skills to defend the structure of the free-market economy. Eventually, he himself became a broker and a partner in the firm of Laird, Bissell, and Meeds, whose office was at 120 Broadway in New York City. he soon became known on the street as King Cotton’s Boswell and the Shakespeare of the Cotton Market, a reputation that resulted chiefly from a series of essays published in a newsletter called Cotton and Other Problems. C. t. used this venue to hold forth on all manner of political, economic, and philo- river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 118 sophical issues. the newsletter was widely read and admired, even by people who cared nothing about cotton but especially by readers who admired C. t. as a “patriot”—a euphemism in those days for “anti–New Dealer.” on December 29, 1890, about a month after C. t. lost his leg to the griz- zly bear and at a place not too distant from the scene of the amputation, the U.S. Seventh Cavalry fatally gunned down 153 mostly unarmed Sioux Indians in an episode that would later become known as the Massacre at Wounded Knee. the dead included sixty-two women and children. this shameful event, which took place in the newly declared state of South Dakota, marked the end of armed Indian resistance to the white man’s presence on the Great Plains, effectively removing the last barrier to west- ward expansion. Whether twenty-two-year-old C. t. revere was still in the region at the time of the massacre, I can’t say. But I know for a fact that a twenty- two-year-old Sioux Indian named John White Wolf was summoned to the bloody scene right after it occurred. the young man, attracted by an offer of warm clothing and insulated boots, had recently signed on as a police- man at the nearby Pine ridge Indian Agency. Among the wounded he helped evacuate that day was a fourteen-year-old girl named Alice Waters, whose parents had been killed in the massacre. John married Alice soon afterwards, at the request of her uncle. At some point the couple converted to Catholicism, and over the course of the next half century, John and Alice raised their children and grandchildren in the harsh environment of the Pine ridge Indian reservation, a 2,778,000-acre tract in southwest South Dakota noted for its Badlands. they lived peacefully on a portion of land allotted to John by the U.S. government and survived, at least in part, on government-issued commodities. In his later years John White Wolf became a tribal chief. his wise advice about tribal matters was eagerly sought by other members of his tribe, as well as by U.S. government officials, just as my grandfather’s advice about the fluctuations in world cotton prices was sought by investors in the commodi- ties market. In the spring of 1940, at age seventy-two, White Wolf embarked on a road trip to Washington, DC, with three fellow chiefs. the four men were scheduled to testify before a congressional committee with regard to the upcoming fiftieth anniversary of the Massacre at Wounded Knee. Smith: the Invisible Dead 19 At noon on April 12, 1940, twenty-two hours before I was born, John White Wolf was relaxing on the lookout deck of the restaurant at Grand View Point, in Pennsylvania. Gazing eastward, in the direction of Gettysburg, where I now live and teach, he would have been able to see across seven counties and into the states of Maryland and West Virginia. Maple buds were beginning to redden in valleys where the grass was already green; small patches of snow still clung to wooded hilltops. Back home, on the Pine ridge Indian reservation, this month was called the Moon of red Grass returning. It cannot be said with any certainty what White Wolf had to eat for lunch that cold spring day—no autopsy was ever performed—but a hot dog is a good bet; it would have been easy on his dentures. At the coroner’s inquest four days later, the driver of White Wolf ’s car, Frank Short horn, forty-two, would testify from his hospital bed: “We stopped on top of the last hill, the last big hill, I don’t know the name, the boys had coffee and lunch there.” the two other “boys” were thomas Fast horse, fifty-six, and Arthur Bone Shirt, sixty-eight. the four Indians had been driving from Pine ridge for almost a week. that morning, they had left the town of Ligonier, Pennsylvania, thirty-five miles to the west, after resolving a persistent steer- ing problem. the Lincoln highway east of Ligonier is a tedious stretch of road that includes a steep climb to an elevation of 2,464 feet. As they crested the top of that last big hill, the four men would have seen before them the famous S.S. Grand View hotel and restaurant, a scaled-down replica of an ocean-going steamship, perched precariously on the rocky mountainside. It is possible that when John White Wolf saw this preposterous con- struction, he let out a reflexive “Aho!” and that his exclamation was echoed by his companions, as when some truth is uttered in a sweat-lodge cere- mony. But whatever amazement or mirth a mountaintop steamship might have occasioned in the mind of the four Plains Indians, there was nothing funny about the ninety-degree turn just ahead or the sharp descent that followed it. Short horn nosed the 1936 Ford tudor sedan into one of the restaurant parking spaces in front of a cliff-side stone wall. the four men stepped out and stretched, no doubt aware of the impression they were making on other travelers. though attired in street clothes, they wore beads and head- river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 120 bands, and they looked exactly the way old Indians from the Plains were supposed to look—flat-faced, weather-beaten, ruddy. Standing on the lookout deck, White Wolf did not need the tourist map to know that the nation’s capital lay quite some distance beyond the visible horizon, but he might have been surprised to learn that Gettysburg could not be seen from where he stood. he and the boys hoped to visit the Civil War battlefield before day’s end. of course he knew firsthand about battle- field carnage. he had no idea how he was going to describe to Congress his tribe’s encounter with the U.S. Seventh Cavalry at Wounded Knee, but he would not be at a loss for details: women and children huddled in bloody heaps and scattered along a winding gulch. A baby sucking at its dead mother’s breast. Frozen flesh and blood strewn like cobwebs across the hard mud and dry grass. And then that eerie, silent snow that had come out of nowhere and covered everything. Maybe he would quote Black Elk, the famous medicine man, who had called the massacre “the end of a beauti- ful dream.” White Wolf couldn’t say that he had fully registered the horror then, at age twenty-two. he couldn’t say he had processed it yet, fifty years later. ten U.S. Army soldiers had received Congressional Medals of honor for their murderous deeds that day. Why then, today, did some small part of him thrill at the prospect of testifying in Washington and perhaps even meeting President Franklin D. roosevelt? Why was he, like Crazy horse, Sitting Bull, red Cloud, and Big Foot before him, agreeing to yet another “dialogue” with the wasichu? It was the fate of the vanquished, of course. his appearance before the Committee on Indian Affairs promised to be a workaday bit of government propaganda. house resolution 953 sought to “liquidate the liability” of the United States for the massacre. he and his fellow Lakotas could expect to be called in front of the committee at 10:00 a.m. and dismissed before lunch. Keeping the memory of Wounded Knee alive would help his tribe obtain reparations from the government. on the other hand, by resurrecting the pathetic defeat of his people, he risked trumpeting their insignificance. the entire Sioux nation did not now number as many souls as were wasted in a single day at the Battle of the Somme, in 1916. Who in 1940 cared about 150 dead Indians in a ditch? Just two decades earlier, the trenches of Europe had absorbed the blood of more than eight million men. the four Indians browsed the gift-shop displays of international crafts. Smith: the Invisible Dead 21 Bone Shirt purchased an authentic Mexican sombrero. White Wolf, who had promised his grandchildren patent leather shoes and Keds, kept his spending money in his pocket. After lunch and coffee, they returned to the car, and Short horn took the wheel again. White Wolf stepped aside, allowing Bone Shirt to crawl in back, followed by Fast horse. Both men settled in, taking advantage of the padded armrests and the roominess afforded by the bustle-back luggage trunk. I can almost see White Wolf as he eased himself onto the front seat, unhappy perhaps that the seat springs poked at his buttocks through the corded upholstery. Short horn hit the starter button and pumped the floppy accelerator pedal. When the V-8 engine caught hold, he depressed the clutch, and with wide swings of the floor-mounted stick shift, finally found reverse. he waited while a trailer truck that had just topped the hill whined down and around the bend in low gear, followed closely by two cars. then he released the emergency brake, backed out into the road, shifted straight into neutral and coasted downhill to save gas. Divided by a single white line, the Lincoln highway dropped steeply from Grand View Point for about a quarter of a mile, then curved sharply to the right, passing close by a stone building used as a shot factory during the revolutionary War. It was the first of many such nine-degree slopes and sharp curves and one of the reasons Short horn would later say, “this is the worst road we ever came to.” Watching Lincoln highway unfold before him, White Wolf would have had time to consider the arc of his life. the Massacre at Wounded Knee had brought John and Alice together, defined their lives, really. Alice still bore scars on her left leg and back, which she obligingly showed her grand- children whenever they asked. John might well have reflected that this mission to Washington was the consummate act of his life. on the other hand, he might have thought nothing of the kind. he might simply have taken a nap. the road was like a roller coaster now. the whining trailer truck never got out of first gear and the driver was braking constantly, leaving behind a wake of diesel smoke tinged with the odor of hot rubber. At the top of each rise, Short horn edged over the centerline for a better look ahead, but all he could see was another impassable stretch. It had now taken about fifteen minutes to go two-and-a-half miles. At this rate, they wouldn’t get river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 122 to Gettysburg until after dark. roads were never this congested on the res- ervation. You could really step on it out there. they started into a big dip. Short horn hung back, waiting for the truck to make the grade up ahead. then he floored it and crested the next hill at forty miles an hour, only to find the opposite lane crowded with west- bound traffic. they headed down a gentle slope bordered on both sides by pasture. Short horn was tempted to kill the engine and coast, but he didn’t want to miss a chance to pass. the highway curved right, then left, then rose and dropped so sharply his stomach felt queasy. then it descended into the shadow of a large hill on the south side. Another right, another drop, another left, and another drop. hawks lost altitude this way if they weren’t in a mood to dive. one more stomach-flutter dip in the road, then a leveling-off. the car directly behind the trailer truck pulled out first, and the second car fol- lowed, close on its tail. Both cars managed to scoot past the truck and squeeze back in line just before the next turn. Short horn was forced to wait. he checked the odometer. they’d been stuck behind this truck for four-and-a-half miles already; he was feeling pressured to make a move. Pulling close behind the trailer, he wove in and out, warming up for the next chance to pass. he noticed looseness in the steering again and was going to mention it to White Wolf, but the old man was staring grimly ahead, as though he already knew. At exactly 4.7 miles from Grand View Lookout, the road curved sharply left and then leveled out across the valley. this was it, now or never. Short horn veered into the oncoming lane and floored it. At the same time, the driver of the trailer truck shifted into high gear, speeding up. Short horn clutched the steering wheel, fighting the sedan’s tendency to oscillate side- ways. he was halfway past the trailer when the real trouble began: three hundred yards ahead, a flatbed pickup, carrying a horse, popped up from a dip in the road. Seeing the pickup, the trailer-truck driver gave ground. Short horn eased up too, unintentionally boxing himself into the left lane. In a panic he floored it again. thomas Fast horse sat forward suddenly, gripping the back of White Wolf ’s seat. the driver of the approaching flatbed, Calvin Leonard, recognizing instantly that whoever was headed his way was out of control, skidded into the guardrail and tried to jump from his vehicle on the passenger side. the horse in back reared up against its ropes. the Smith: the Invisible Dead 23 Indians’ sedan, going sixty now, cleared the trailer truck with room to spare, but instead of cutting back into the right lane, it swerved left, slamming hard into the flatbed’s left front fender. the collision came midway back on Bone Shirt’s side of the car, pounding him against his armrest. White Wolf was thrown hard against Short horn. the car then caromed across the road and smashed into the south guardrail. White Wolf, rebounding against his now dislodged seat, somehow managed to hang on as the vehicle clipped three guardrail posts and tore out forty feet of steel cable. then the car leapt the shoulder and flipped. As White Wolf tumbled with the momentum of the event, his head struck the windshield, a split second before the vehicle severed a telephone pole and slammed into a concrete abutment. Four members of a road crew, working in front of Colvin Wright’s place, several hundred yards to the east, dropped their scythes and ran toward the accident. Someone in the house called the police and then dialed the Pate Funeral home for an ambulance. thomas Fast horse was found unconscious, jammed against his side window. Arthur Boneshirt, his ribcage crushed, lay heaped on the ceiling of the overturned car, the Mexican sombrero flattened beneath him. Frank Short horn hung upside down, his pelvis wedged between the flattened steering wheel and the seat, his collarbone snapped, blood gushing from a head wound. the V-8 engine was racing, the rear artillery-spoke wheels spinning madly, like a wind-up toy. Gasoline dripped from the ruptured fuel line. the trailer-truck driver, harvey rummell, held a small fire extinguisher at the ready while Calvin Leonard, ignoring his own minor injuries and those of his neighing horse, crawled through the driver’s window and flipped the ignition key to “off.” then he and rummell removed White Wolf from the passenger side, using his dislodged seat as a litter and placing it along the shoulder of the road. the deep lacerations on White Wolf ’s face, scalp, and neck would have to wait until the ambulance arrived. Across the highway, to the north, a tree-topped knoll rose above a cow pasture. A rivulet called Burns Creek, swelling with snowmelt from the Allegheny Mountains, traversed the pasture and narrowed into a culvert beneath the highway where White Wolf sat. though a few curious cows stared at the overturned car on the highway, most of the pastured dairy herd had returned to grazing on the fresh grass or drinking from the creek, their dull-brown backs turned orange by the sun. It was 1:29 p.m. river teeth · fall 2007 · vol. 9 no. 124 White Wolf, still breathing, was taken to timmins hospital by ambu- lance, along with thomas Fast horse, who lay on a stretcher next to him. Frank Short horn, Arthur Boneshirt, and Calvin Leonard were driven to the hospital in officer rowan’s patrol car. Dr. N. A. timmons stapled and sutured White Wolf ’s torn-away scalp, bandaged what was left of his nose, and dressed the deeper neck wounds. But he didn’t bother to x-ray the badly fractured skull. A nurse washed and set aside the old man’s shaved- off gray hair. John White Wolf never knew that he was dying in the town of Bedford, where fifty years earlier the Bedford Gazette had printed “the happenings of the Year Eighteen-and-Ninety,” a listing in which the only mention of a “wounded knee” was that of one George Stoler, who suffered a gun shot in the knee on the ninth of December, leading to his death on the tenth. And it is just as well that he never saw the headline in the Gazette on this very day, April 12, which announced the near-completion of a section of the Pennsylvania turnpike meant to replace the treacherous stretch of Lincoln highway. the sun was still up, barely visible through the trees on the hospital grounds, when John White Wolf ’s heart stopped beating. the same set- ting sun my grandfather might have glimpsed from the backseat of his chauffer-driven car on his way home from Wall Street, on the very evening my mother went into labor with me, in Boston, Massachusetts. take old Lincoln highway nine miles west of Bedford, and you’ll encoun- ter the straight stretch in the road. the highway is wider now—the shoul- ders delineated in white—but the pavement still crests over the culvert, just as officer rowan testified back in 1940. If you turn onto the only side road, as I did recently, you’ll find a place to pull over a few hundred feet from the crash site. roll down the car win- dow and listen for a moment to the surprising quiet of the countryside. Get out and stretch. that’s Burns Creek meandering toward you from the west, wending its way through a mixed stand of maples and oaks before it runs beneath the side road and cuts sharply south toward the large culvert under the highway. You’ll be able to make out the concrete abutment from here, and, in the stillness of the place, you’ll have no trouble imagining White Wolf ’s overturned sedan atop it, its rear wheels spinning madly. A few cows, descendants perhaps of the herd that witnessed the accident, may be Smith: the Invisible Dead 25 standing in the creekbed on the far side of the highway, their legs static and bronze in the sun and clearly visible through the culvert. Shut your eyes and wait. If you hear behind you the unmistakable sound of bovine hoofs making their way over rock and dirt, you’ll prob- ably assume, as I did, that some curious cow is climbing the embankment to check you out. take in the sound (take it as a blessing) and when the animal has stopped moving and is quite still, turn suddenly and open your eyes. If you’re lucky, as I was, you’ll see not a cow, but a large buffalo gazing back at you through a fence, its dark eyes set wide in its low-hung, massive head; its arched backbone communicating both weariness and power. For an instant, it won’t matter that there is a rational explanation for this—that a young Pennsylvania farmer named richard Darrow has purchased the pastureland on this side of old Lincoln highway in order to graze his small herd of American bison. For a brief moment, your encounter will need no elucidation, and the animal will seem more like spirit than flesh. Which is why, later, it probably won’t surprise you to learn that while richard Darrow’s wife, Ann, sells Native American crafts from her shop just down the road, neither she nor her husband have heard of an Indian chief named John White Wolf, killed in a car wreck near the old Colvin Wright place— now the Darrow place—way back in 1940. work cited thoreau, henry David. A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers. New York: Penguin, 1998. 
work_j7y775cfrbey5h25qpcvqpkd2a	----	Special Feature Medical Risks in Living Kidney Donors: Absence of Proof Is Not Proof of Absence Elizabeth S. Ommen, Jonathan A. Winston, and Barbara Murphy Mount Sinai Medical Center, Division of Nephrology, New York, New York Living-kidney donation has become increasingly widespread, yet there has been little critical analysis of existing studies of long-term medical outcomes in living donors. This review analyzes issues in study design that affect the quality of the evidence and summarizes possible risk factors in living donors. Virtually all studies of long-term outcomes in donors are retrospective, many with large losses to follow-up, and therefore are subject to selection bias. Most studies have small sample sizes and are underpowered to detect clinically meaningful differences between donors and comparison groups. Many studies compare donors with the general population, but donors are screened to be healthier than the general population and this may not be a valid comparison group. Difficulties in measurement of BP and renal function may underestimate the impact of donation on these outcomes. Several studies have identified possible risk factors for development of hypertension, protein- uria, and ESRD, but potential vulnerability factors in donors have not been well explored and there is a paucity of data on cardiovascular risk factors in donors. Prospective registration of living kidney donors and prospective studies of diverse populations of donors are essential to protect living donors and preserve living-kidney donation. Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006. doi: 10.2215/CJN.00840306 I n 1954, the first successful kidney transplantation was performed using a kidney from a living donor: the iden- tical twin of the recipient. Living kidney donation contin- ued to be performed because of a good-faith belief that it would do no harm to the donor. Enthusiasm for living donation waned somewhat in the early 1980s with experimental reports of hyperfiltration after uninephrectomy and fear that living kidney donation would cause proteinuria, hypertension, and eventual glomerulosclerosis. However, these data were not borne out in human studies, and living kidney donation has steadily increased in the past several years. The number of living donors has more than doubled, from 3009 in 1994 to 6467 in 2003, and in 2001 surpassed the number of cadaveric donors (1). In addition, data showing that living-unrelated transplants have similar graft and patient survival to living-related trans- plants (2) have increased the number of unrelated donors, including emotionally unrelated donors. Emotionally unrelated donors have increased from 2.5% of all living donors in 1994 to 21.4% in 2004 (1). All involved in the area of transplantation acknowledge the great contribution of living donors, and there are many safe- guards in place to protect donors. However, medical exclusion criteria are variable from center to center, reflecting the uncer- tainty of the importance of these criteria on donor outcomes (3). In the past few years, there has been a trend in some centers to expand the eligible donor pool beyond traditional limits, mo- tivated by and explained as a response to the increased demand for kidneys (4 – 8). Short-term studies have found no data con- traindicating these policies, and indeed there are few specific data for many of the existing exclusion criteria for donation. However, evidence-based policies must be based on appropri- ate and valid studies. There has been little critical analysis of existing studies of long-term medical outcomes in living kidney donors and little examination of whether these studies meet current methodologic, epidemiologic, and statistical standards. In this review, we analyze the existing data in the context of five major issues in study design that affect the quality of the evidence—retrospective studies, power and sample size, choice of appropriate controls, inclusion of racial and ethnic minori- ties, and measurement limitations—summarize possible risk factors in living donors, and make recommendations for future directions. Retrospective Nature of Existing Studies Virtually all studies that report medical outcomes of living kidney donors at �1 yr from donation are retrospective. Al- though practical for evaluation of long-term outcomes, retro- spective studies are vulnerable to certain methodologic pitfalls and biases that may limit their interpretability. Most important is the potential for selection bias, which may alter findings if there is a difference between included and nonincluded donors either as a result of nonparticipation or because the study investigators are unable to locate the subject. In studies that follow living kidney donors, donors in good health may be more likely to participate because of greater survival or greater ability to meet the requirements of participation. Selection bias is of greatest concern when the percentage of eligible subjects who are included is small. Table 1 illustrates the low inclusion Published online ahead of print. Publication date available at www.cjasn.org. Address correspondence to: Dr. Elizabeth S. Ommen, Mount Sinai Medical Center, Division of Nephrology, 1 Gustave Levy Place, Box 1243, New York, NY 10029. Phone: 212-241-3549; Fax: 212-987-0389; E-mail: elizabeth.ommen@ mssm.edu Copyright © 2006 by the American Society of Nephrology ISSN: 1555-9041/104-0885 Table 1. Studies of living kidney donor outcomesa Author, Year Years of Follow-Up, Mean(Range) Postnephrectomy Findings versus Comparison (Statistical Significance) N b Participation Rate (%)b Bertolatus et al., 1985 (50) 1.2 (0.1 to 3) SBP: 130 versus 118 predonation (P � 0.05)c DBP: 87 versus 76 predonation (P � 0.05)c Urinary albumin excretion (24-h urine collection): 9.9 versus 6.3 mg predonation (NS) Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): 64 versus 78 mg predonation (NS) 21 N/A Siebels et al., 2003 (83) 3 (0.04 to 5) Serum creatinine: 1.2 versus 1.2 mg/dl 1 yr postdonation (NS) Hypertension (not defined): 7 versus 5% predonation (N/A) Proteinuria (positive urine dipstick): 6 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 100 63 Rizvi et al., 2005 (47) 3 (0.5 to 18) CrCl (24-h urine collection): 87 versus 101 mg predonation (P � 0.0001)c Serum creatinine: 1.0 versus 0.8 mg/dl predonation (P � 0.0001)c Hypertension (�140/90): 10 versus 0% predonation (N/A) Proteinuria (�150 mg/24 h): 24 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 736 57 Dunn et al., 1986 (13) 4.4 (0.5 to 15) Serum creatinine: 1.18 versus 1.01 mg/dl predonation (P � 0.001)c 180 57 CrCl: 85.2 versus 128.2 ml/min predonation (P � 0.001)c 98 31 Hypertension (�150/90 by questionnaire): 14.4 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 250 80 Proteinuria (positive urine dipstick): 4 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 137 44 Serum creatinine: 1.16 versus 1.02 mg/dl in age/gender- matched potential donors (P � 0.001)c CrCl (24-h urine collection): 87.7 versus 131.6 ml/min in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.001)c SBP: 122 versus 123 in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.50) DBP: 77 versus 78 in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.63) 71 23 Tapson et al., 1984 (64) Short-term: 4.7 (1 to 10) Serum creatinine: 104.0 versus 88.4 �mol/L predonation (P � 0.001)c CrCl (24-h urine collection): 78.3 versus 105.1 ml/min predonation (P � 0.001)c SBP: 133 versus 128 predonation (P � 0.05)c DBP: 84 versus 78 predonation (P � 0.01)c Hypertension (not defined): 13 versus 0% predonation (N/A) Proteinuria (not defined, based on 24-h urine collection): 3 versus 0% predonation (NS) 38 N/A Long-term: 13.5 (10 to 21) Serum creatinine: 98.6 versus 87.2 �mol/L predonation (P � 0.01)c Cr l (24-h urine collection): 83.3 versus 101.4 ml/min predonation (P � 0.01)c SBP: 144 versus 130 predonation (P � 0.01)c DBP: 90 versus 80 predonation (P � 0.01)c Hypertension (not defined): 38 versus 0% predonation (P � 0.05)c Proteinuria (not defined, based on 24-h urine collection): 0 versus 0% predonation (NS) 37 N/A Miller et al., 1985 (18) 6 Hypertension (�160/90 or on antihypertensives): 31 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 29 14 Hypertension (�160/90 or on antihypertensives): 40 versus 13% in race/age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.11) 15 7 Serum creatinine: 1.2 versus 1.0 mg/dl predonation (P � 0.001)c; 1.19 versus 1.05 in race/age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.001)c 45 22 Borchardt et al., 1996 (21) 6.4 (0.7 to 24) Hypertension (SBP �140 or on antihypertensives): 23 versus 42% in age-matched general Austrian population (N/A) 22 19 Chavers et al., 1985 (10) 7 (1 to 22) Urinary albumin excretion (24-h urine collection): 6 versus 7.7 mg in potential donors (NS) 129 80 Fehrman-Ekholm and Thiel, 2005 (84) 7 Hypertension (DBP � 90): 34 versus 13% predonation (N/A) Albuminuria (�5 mg albumin/mmol creatinine): 9 versus 3% predonation (N/A) 91 70 886 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 Table 1. Continued Author, Year Years of Follow-Up,Mean (Range) Postnephrectomy Findings versus Comparison (Statistical Significance) N b Participation Rate (%)b Wiesel et al., 1997 (42) 8 Serum creatinine: 1.3 versus 1.0 mg/dl predonation (N/A) Hypertension (not defined): 27 versus 0% predonation (N/A) Proteinuria (not defined): 19 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 67 57 Toronyi et al., 1998 (63) 8.9 Hypertension (not defined): 17 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 30 38 Bahous et al., 2005 (15) 9.3 (4 to 18) CrCl (calculated by Cockroft-Gault equation): 86.2 versus 107.6 ml/min per 1.73 m2 predonation (P � 0.0001)c SBP: 130 versus 114 predonation (P � 0.0001)c DBP: 82 versus 69 predonation (P � 0.0001)c Hypertension (140/90): 18.8 versus 0% predonation (P � 0.0001)c 101 41 Hakim et al., 1984 (11) �10 Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): 188 versus �50 mg in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.01)c; men: 212 versus 63 mg in outpatient controls (P � 0.01)c; women: no difference versus outpatient controls, means not given 52 87 Hypertension (DBP �90): Men: 60 versus 18% predonation (P � 0.003)c versus 28% in age/gender-matched potential donors (P � 0.02)c versus 17% in normal controls (N/A); women: 30 versus 10% predonation (NS) versus 14% in age/gender-matched potential donors (NS) versus 20% in normal controls (NS) 51 87 Torres et al., 1987 (26) �10 Hypertension (combined “borderline” �140/90 and “definite” �160/95): 35 versus 26% predonation (N/A) 90 63 Talseth et al., 1986 (12) 11 (10 to 12) CrCl (24-h urine collection): 87 versus 108 ml/min per 1.73 m2 predonation (N/A) SBP: 140 versus 132 predonation (P � 0.003)c DBP: 90 versus 82 predonation (P � 0.001)c Proteinuria (urine dipstick positive for albumin): 13 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 68 92 SBP: 140 versus 132 in controls (NS) DBP: 90 versus 85 in controls (P � 0.05)c Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine): 105 versus 94 mg in controls (NS) Urinary albumin excretion (24-h urine): 7.7 versus 4.7 mg in controls (P � 0.002)c Albumin excretion rate: 4 versus 3.3 �g/min in controls (P � 0.002)c 32 43 Gossman et al., 2005 (9) 11.7 (1 to 28) Serum creatinine: 85.7 versus 72.5 mmol/L predonation (P � 0.001)c CrCl (24 h urine): 99 versus 119 ml/min per 1.73 m2 predonationc Estimated GFR (modified MDRD equation): 71 versus 92 ml/min per 1.73 m2 predonation SBP: 134 versus 125 mmHg predonation (P � 0.001)c DBP: 81 versus 79 mmHg predonation (NS) Hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 30 versus 7% predonation 135 93 Proteinuria (�150 mg on 24-h urine collection): 56 versus 0% predonationc Albuminuria (�50 mg/L on 24-h urine collection): 10 versus 0% predonationc 115 79 Fehrman-Ekholm et al., 2001 (14) 12 (2 to 33) Hypertension (DBP �90 or on antihypertensives): 38%, similar to age/gender-matched general population (NS) 348 87 Mild proteinuria (�1.0 g/L on urine dipstick): 9 versus 0% predonation (N/A) Significant proteinuria (�1.0 g/L on urine dipstick): 3 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 331 82 Anderson et al., 1985 (23) 12.6 Hypertension (�160/95 or on antihypertensives): 19 versus 21 to 27% in general Minnesota population (NS) 89 61 Watnick et al., 1988 (24) (9 to 18) Serum creatinine: 1.06 versus 0.86 mg/dl in race/age/gender- matched controls (P � 0.025)c CrCl (24 h urine): 85 versus 109 ml/min per 1.73 m2 in race/ age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.025)c Inulin Cl: 66 versus 78 ml/min per 1.73 m2 in race/age/ gender-matched controls (P � 0.025)c Hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 62 versus 42% in adults �50 yr old in Connecticut (P � 0.05)c versus 32% in race/age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.05)c Urinary albumin excretion (24-h urine): 61 versus 4 mg in race/ age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.05)c 29 71 Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 Medical Risks of Living-Kidney Donation 887 rate of most studies: the majority have a participation rate of �80%, and seven have lower than a 50% participation rate (9 –21). The results of these studies must be accepted with caution. Power and Statistical Significance Studies that fail to demonstrate statistical significance may do so because they are underpowered to reveal a true differ- ence between groups. As can be seen in Table 1, the majority of Table 1. Continued Author, Year Years of Follow-Up,Mean (Range) Postnephrectomy Findings versus Comparison (Statistical Significance) N b Participation Rate (%)b Williams et al., 1986 (25) 12.6 (10 to 18) Serum creatinine: 20% higher versus siblings, age- adjustedc CrCl: 20% lower versus siblings, age-adjustedc Hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 47 versus 35% siblings (P � 0.41); men: 42 versus 42% in age/race/gender-matched control group (P � 0.50); women: 50 versus 31% in age/race/ gender-matched control group (P � 0.16) 38 68 Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): mean increase of 100 mg versus predonationc 19 34 Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): men: 190 versus 40 mg in siblings (P � 0.001)c; women: 80 versus 20 mg in siblings (P � 0.08) 38 68 Vincenti et al., 1983 (20) 16 (15 to 19) BP: 122/77 versus 124/78 predonation (NS) Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): 141 versus 74 mg in age/gender-matched controls (P � 0.005)c 20 31 Iglesias-Marquez et al., 2001 (41) �20 Serum creatinine: 1.01 versus 0.87 mg predonation (P � 0.10) CrCl (24-h urine): 98.2 versus 125.3 ml/min predonation (P � 0.10) Prevalence of hypertension (not defined): 25 versus 22% in general population (N/A) MAP: 104.7 versus 89.8 predonation (P � 0.003)c Proteinuria by urinalysis: 5 versus 0% predonation (N/A) 20 N/A Saran et al., 1997 (49) 20 (12.5 to 31) Prevalence of hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 74.5 versus 51% in age/gender- stratified population controls (P � 0.001)c Albumin excretion rate �20 �g/min (timed overnight collection): 34 versus 0% in age/gender-stratified population controls (P � 0.0003)c Albumin excretion rate: median increase of 2.7 mg versus early postdonation (P � 0.001)c 47 62 Najarian et al., 1992 (19) 24 (21 to 29) Serum creatinine: 1.1 versus 1.1 mg/dl in siblings (NS) CrCl (24 h urine): 82 versus 89 ml/min in siblings (NS) 57 42 Prevalence of antihypertensive medication (by questionnaire): 32 versus 44% in siblings (NS) SBP of those not on antihypertensives: 130 versus 116 predonation (P � 0.01)c versus 122 in siblings (NS) DBP of those not on antihypertensives: 79 versus 74 predonation (NS) versus 79 in siblings (NS) 63 47 Proteinuria (�150 mg on 24-h collection): 23 versus 22% in siblings (NS) Abnormal albumin excretion (not defined): 6 versus 7% in siblings (NS) 52 38 Goldfarb et al., 2001 (17) 25 (�20) Serum creatinine: 1.2 versus 1.0 mg/dl predonation (P � 0.001)c CrCl (24-h urine): 73 versus 102 mg/ml per 1.73 m2 predonation (P � 0.001)c Prevalence of hypertension (�140/90 or on antihypertensives): 48 versus 0% predonation (P � 0.001)c Urinary protein excretion (24-h urine collection): 230 versus 80 mg predonation (P � 0.05) 70 39 aCrCl, creatinine clearance; DBP, diastolic BP; MAP, mean arterial pressure; MDRD, Modification of Diet in Renal Disease; N/A, data not available; SBP, systolic BP. bNumbers may vary for different comparisons within a study. cSignificant at P � 0.05. 888 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 studies of long-term outcomes of living donors have relatively small sample sizes; therefore, studies with “negative” results may simply be underpowered. One way to evaluate the adequacy of the sample size in a study is to determine the minimum detectable difference, which is the smallest difference in outcomes between two groups that could be statistically significant given the magni- tude of the outcome and the number of subjects in the study. If the minimum detectable difference is larger than what would constitute a clinically important difference in outcomes, then the study is underpowered to detect clinically important dif- ferences. Table 2 applies this approach to those living donor cohort studies with negative results. Only studies that compared do- nors with a control group were included, to eliminate the confounding effect of increasing BP and proteinuria with age. (Outcomes that evaluated kidney function were not included, because it is expected that function will be lower in donors than nondonors.) Minimal detectable differences were calculated using the Power Calculator offered on the UCLA Depart- ment of Statistics’ web site (http://calculators.stat.ucla.edu/ powercalc/). By convention, � was set to 0.05 and power was set to 80%. As is shown in Table 2, with only two exceptions, the negative studies evaluated had minimum detectable differ- ences that were larger than the differences that were seen between donors and control subjects. This suggests insufficient power in these studies. More striking, the minimum detectable difference in most studies is far greater than what would be deemed clinically important. Underpowered studies may provide invalid information to physicians and potential donors and undercut the need for future study. It is not possible, of course, to know whether the negative studies in Table 2 would find differences in BP or proteinuria outcomes if a larger sample of donors were in- cluded. The purpose of this analysis is simply to demonstrate that many of the “negative” studies of living donor outcomes do not rule out a true and meaningful effect of living donation on these outcomes. Comparisons and Controls Studies that measure outcomes without providing a compar- ison value for context may contribute to the body of knowledge on living donor outcomes, but they cannot be used to evaluate changes or associations in a meaningful way. The majority of studies in living donors compare postdonation to predonation values. Those that compare renal function postdonation with predonation provide little information, given the expected de- crease in function with donation. Studies that compare early and late postdonation function also may be limited because of an expected age-related decline in GFR (22). Similarly, the prevalence of hypertension increases with age, making com- parisons over time less informative. A separate control group may provide a more meaningful comparison, but to be valid, a Table 2. Minimum detectable differencea Study Finding of No Difference Minimum DetectableDifference Dunn et al., 1986 (13) SBP: 122 versus 123 in age/gender-matched potential donors 7 mmHg DBP: 77 versus 78 in age/gender-matched potential donors 5 mmHg Miller et al., 1985 (18) Prevalence of hypertension (�160/90): 40 versus 13% in race/ gender/age-matched controls 54% Chavers, 1985 (10) 24-h urinary albumin excretion: 6 versus 7.7 mg in potential donor controls 3.5 mg Hakim et al., 1984 (11) Prevalence of hypertension (DBP �90): Women: 30 versus 20% in outpatient controls 44% Women: 30 versus 14% in matched potential donors 43% Anderson et al., 1985 (23) Prevalence of hypertension (>160/95 or on medication): 19 versus 21 to 27% in general Minnesota population 12 to 13% Williams et al., 1986 (25) Prevalence of hypertension (�140/90 or on medication): 47 versus 35% in siblings 34% 47 versus 34% in age/race/gender-matched general population 34% Men: 42 versus 42% in age/race/gender-matched control group 57% Women: 50 versus 31% in age/race/gender-matched control group 42% Najarian, 1992 (19) Prevalence of antihypertensive medication: 32 versus 44% in siblings 26% SBP of those not on antihypertensives: 130 versus 122 in siblings 10 mmHg DBP of those not on antihypertensives: 79 versus 79 in siblings 4 mmHg Proteinuria (�150 mg on 24-h collection): 23 versus 22% in siblings 28% Abnormal albumin excretion (not defined): 6 versus 7% in siblings 23% aThe smallest difference in outcomes between donors and comparison group that could be statistically significant in studies with negative findings. Studies whose minimum detectable difference is within the difference found are in bold. Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 Medical Risks of Living-Kidney Donation 889 control group should be as similar as possible to the donor group in other characteristics that may influence outcomes. Unfortunately, several studies compare donor outcomes with those in the general population (9,21,23,24); because donors are screened carefully, they are expected to be healthier than the general population and therefore have a lower risk for devel- oping other health problems. Studies that find outcomes in living donors to be similar to or even better than those in the general population, then, cannot be used to show that living donation does not increase medical risk among donors. The most valid control group in studies of living donors would be composed of siblings or potential donors who are excluded for nonmedical reasons. Either of these groups would be expected to have age, race, and family history of renal disease similar to that in donors. Five studies have compared donors with siblings or potential kidney donors, and these have shown conflicting results for the impact of donation on BP, renal function, and proteinuria outcomes (10,11,13,19,25). The sum of the results of these five studies can be interpreted as showing that there is likely an increase in hypertension and proteinuria in male donors and, not unexpected, a loss of renal function of at least 20% in both genders. However, given small sample sizes and low participation rates, it cannot be deter- mined from these studies whether similar hypertension and proteinuria risks apply to women as well or more subtle dif- ferences in BP exist in donors. Race and Ethnicity There is a paucity of data regarding long-term outcomes in living donors from minority populations. In 2003, 14.3% of living donors were black and 12.6% were Hispanic (1), yet few studies that evaluate medical outcomes of donors describe race or ethnicity of the study participants, and US studies that do reveal that their donors are almost exclusively white (8,24 –26). There are clear racial and ethnic disparities in the development, progression, and control of disease, including those that may be especially relevant to living kidney donors. The incidence rate of ESRD in black individuals is four times higher than in white individuals (27) and in Hispanic individ- uals is 1.5 times higher than in non-Hispanic individuals (28). The prevalence of hypertension in black individuals is 41% compared with 28% in white individuals (29), and black indi- viduals with hypertension show a six-fold greater progression to ESRD than hypertensive white individuals (30). Although hypertension in Hispanic individuals is lower than that in other groups, the prevalence may be increasing (31), and Hispanic individuals have the lowest rates of controlled hypertension (32). In women, who constitute the majority of living donors, the prevalence of overweight and obesity is �50% in black and Hispanic women, compared with 34% in white women (33); obesity increases the risks for proteinuria, hypertension, car- diovascular (CV) events, and ESRD (34). Black individuals in general have a 50% higher rate of abnormal microalbumin excretion than white individuals (35) and are particularly prone to certain renal diseases, including focal segmental glomerulo- sclerosis and HIV nephropathy, a variant of focal segmental glomerulosclerosis that affects black individuals almost exclu- sively. There also are several reports of familial clustering of renal disease in black individuals with a family history of ESRD as a result of diabetes, hypertension, HIV, and systemic lupus erythematous (27,36 –38). It is possible, then, that living donors, especially living- related donors, from minority populations form a group at increased risk for developing hypertension or renal disease. Given the limited inclusion of minorities in studies of living donors and given the increased rates of renal disease in these populations in general, basing risk assessments in black and Hispanic potential donors on existing studies may be mis- leading. Limitations in Measurement Measurement difficulties limit our ability to interpret studies of BP outcomes. In several studies, measurement was not stan- dardized, or results were determined by patient self-report (13,17,19,24,39,40), thereby increasing chances of measurement errors and decreasing the chance of detecting a true difference in BP or hypertension in donors. The definition of hypertension has changed over time, and early studies (11,12,14,18,23) used cutoff points for hypertension that would not be considered acceptable today, whereas other studies (14,41,42) provided no definition of hypertension. Further complicating these studies is a prevalence of white-coat hypertension of 20 to 43% in potential kidney donors (4,43,44). BP that is measured during donor evaluation, which may be a time of considerable stress, may not reflect a donor’s true BP, and BP that is measured long after donation may underestimate changes in true BP. This may explain the finding in some studies that donors who were hypertensive at the time of donation were normotensive on follow-up (11,45). The majority of transplant centers use creatinine clearance as determined by 24-h urine collection to estimate GFR. However, 24-h urine samples are vulnerable to under- or overcollection, and prediction equations using body weight to determine the adequacy of a collection may not be useful (46). Furthermore, because of tubular secretion of creatinine, both serum creati- nine and creatinine clearance will overestimate GFR to a greater degree as renal function declines. This may lead to underesti- mation of decreases in renal function and the degree of renal dysfunction after donation in studies that rely on these mea- surements, as the majority do (11,12,17–20,23,25,40,45,47). This is demonstrated in a study by Watnick et al. (24), in which postdonation creatinine clearance was only modestly decreased at 85 ml/min per 1.73 m2, whereas inulin clearance was 44% lower at 66 ml/min per 1.73 m2. Summary of Risk Factors Several risk factors for bad outcomes have been identified in the existing literature and deserve special emphasis Hypertension BP does tend to increase after donation, and pretransplanta- tion BP may be a determining factor. Despite the possibility of white-coat effect in potential donors, higher values of BP before donation have been shown to be associated with a greater rate 890 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 of hypertension after donation, even when BP is within normal limits (12,23,47). In one study, donors who were hypertensive at follow-up had a predonation mean BP of 133/82 mmHg, as compared with 123/79 mmHg in those who were normotensive at follow-up (12,23,47). There are few studies of the effects of donation on established hypertensive donors, but the few data that do exist suggest that it is associated with worse BP control (8,10 –12,26,48). Renal Failure Studies that have compared early with late postdonation function have found no difference in mean function in the sample of donors (49,50). In fact, a study by Saran et al. (49), which compared 51Cr EDTA early postdonation and then 10 yr later, found that the mean GFR had actually improved slightly at a follow-up of 20 yr. However, there is evidence that some donors may be at risk for renal failure. Studies by Talseth et al. (12) and Hakim et al. (11) identified a small group of donors, 9 and 12% respectively, whose renal function declined by �50% at least 10 yr after donation. In a study by Ramcharan and Matas (40), 2% of donors who responded to a questionnaire had advanced renal disease or had required kidney transplantation. Ellison et al. (51) used the Organ Procurement and Transplan- tation Network database to identify former living donors who had received or were awaiting kidney transplant. This analysis revealed an incidence of ESRD of 0.04% as compared with a 0.03% incidence in the general US population (52); this study likely underestimates the true rate of renal failure in donors because it does not include donors with less advanced renal failure or those who had ESRD and were not listed for trans- plant. These studies suggest an increased risk for important renal dysfunction after donation in certain donors. Particular donor characteristics that confer vulnerability to renal failure in the general population have been examined in a few studies of living donors. Talseth et al. (12) found that the degree of renal decline after donation was inversely and inde- pendently associated with predonation systolic and diastolic BP, suggesting that higher levels of BP either interfere with compensatory hyperfiltration or promote decline in renal func- tion. However, a recent study that evaluated renal function after donation in donors with established hypertension found no difference in serum creatinine compared with normotensive donors at a mean follow-up of 11 mo (8), although most hy- pertensive donors were taking an angiotensin receptor blocker, which may have offered renal protection. Najarian et al. (19) reported that donors with “below normal” (not defined) creat- inine clearance were more likely to have siblings with “below normal” clearance than were donors with “normal” creatinine clearance, indicating a familial propensity to renal disease in these donors. Proteinuria Most studies that compare urinary protein with values pre- donation or in a control group reveal an increased amount of urinary protein or increased frequency of abnormal excretion (9,11,12,17,20,24,25,49), although the amount of urinary protein usually is small. However, studies use varying definitions of “abnormal,” and rates vary widely among studies (9 –12,16,17, 19 –21,24,25,42,45,49,50,53). One recent study that included 18 donors with established hypertension found that none had developed proteinuria at a median follow-up of 30 mo (48). However, studies with at least 7 yr of follow-up have shown greater levels of protein excretion in donors with higher BP or established hypertension (9 –11). Four studies of donors, in- cluding a meta-analysis by Kasiske et al. (53), have shown a greater rate of proteinuria in men as compared with women (11,25,49,53). CV Events Living kidney donors live longer than the general popula- tion, as shown in an often-cited study by Fehrman-Ekholm et al. (39). Although, as the authors pointed out, this is because living donors are healthier than the general population, the study does demonstrate that donor nephrectomy does not increase mortality beyond that in the general population. Nonetheless, uninephrectomy may increase certain CV risk factors and there- fore raise the risk for CV events in otherwise healthy living donors. This topic has not been studied specifically and has not been well explored in the literature on living kidney donation. Most living donors are left with creatinine clearances of between 70 and 90 ml/min after donation, whereas older do- nors or those with other CV risk factors may have a GFR of 60 ml/min or less (4,8,54,55). Given this decreased renal function in conjunction with the presence of a solitary kidney, many donors would be considered to meet criteria for chronic kidney disease (CKD). Several large studies have established that mor- tality and CV risk rise with even mild CKD and increase in a graded manner as renal function decreases (56 –59). In the Second National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey, people with an estimated GFR of �70 ml/min had a 64% greater risk for CV death than those with a GFR of �90 ml/min (56). Risk for CV events increases with increasing BP, even when BP is below hypertensive levels (60 – 62). In a study of the Framingham cohort, women and men with high-normal BP (130 to 139/85 to 89) had a 60 and 150% greater rate, respec- tively, of CV events than those with BP �120/80 (61). Several studies have found that BP not only increases after donation but also increases with time after donation; in several of these studies, increases in BP were independent of age (13,14, 47,63,64). Most living donor studies have shown a small increase in urinary protein or albumin. Even low levels of proteinuria and microalbuminuria have been shown to be important risk factors for CV events, independent of BP, diabetes, or other cardiac risk factors (65– 68). In one population study, an increase in the risk for death was seen beginning at an albumin-to-creatinine ratio of 6.7 �g/mg (68). Abnormal serum lipid profile is a long-established marker of CV risk. Elevations in LDL and triglycerides (TG) and declines in HDL each increase CV risk by approximately two-fold in healthy adults (69). LDL and TG typically increase and HDL typically decreases as renal function declines, although it is unclear whether there is a threshold GFR below which the lipid Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 Medical Risks of Living-Kidney Donation 891 profile significantly worsens (70). Animal models may suggest an increase in lipids as a result of nephrectomy itself: apoli- poprotein E– deficient hyperlipidemic mice that underwent uninephrectomy were found to have significantly increased total cholesterol despite similar serum creatinines (71). Al- though most transplant centers include serum lipid profile in their donor evaluation, there has been little study of risks that are associated with abnormal lipid levels in donors. Obesity is an important modifiable risk factor for CV events and death (72–74). As the prevalence of obesity in the US population continues to increase (75) and more transplant cen- ters accept obese living donors, the number of donors who face this health risk has increased. Individual risk for developing obesity increases with time (76), and this holds true for living donors as well (15,23,26,77). In a study that followed donors for at least 10 yr, there was a significant weight gain, and the mean weight at follow-up was in the obese range. The greatest weight gain was seen in donors who were already overweight at the time of donation (26). Although consensus statements encour- age weight loss and healthy lifestyle education in obese donors (78), there is no evidence that this lowers obesity risks in living donors. In one prospective study of living donors, there was no change in body mas index among overweight, obese, or ex- tremely obese donors at 1 yr after donation (5). The effects of donor nephrectomy may impart an increase in relative risk for CV events in living donors. Although this may translate into slight increases in absolute risk in most donors, it nonetheless necessitates careful follow-up of living donors for identification of the development of risk factors and timely initiation of risk factor modification. Discussion The Council on Ethical and Judicial Affairs of the American Medical Association issued a report on the transplantation of organs from living donors that stated, “The risks to a kidney donor . . . are fairly well understood, have a relatively low in- cidence, and are considered minimal beyond the regular risks of surgery” (79). This sense of understanding, at first glance, may seem justifiable given the number of studies on living donor outcomes and the long duration of follow-up of several of these studies. When we examine many studies closely, how- ever, we find limitations that weaken our confidence. Early in the history of living donation, it was necessary and appropriate to obtain fairly quickly data that would provide us with pre- liminary reassurance that donation posed no great harm. Ret- rospective study designs that included small numbers of sub- jects and comparisons with the general population were reasonable approaches at that time and have advanced the field. We should be reassured that there have been no consis- tent increases in BP or large decreases in GFR. However, we have not considered adequately small changes in GFR, protein- uria, and hypertension and the evidence that risk in certain donors may be enhanced by nephrectomy. We also must con- sider the potential long-term CV risk that is associated with such changes. Moreover, we have not evaluated these issues in donors from minority populations. The history of clinical re- search has taught us that extrapolation of results in white individuals to other racial and ethnic groups may underesti- mate the risks in a more diverse group of donors. Moving forward, it no longer seems sufficient to base prac- tices and consensus statements on the existing studies and the existing methods. It is time for the transplant community to call for prospective registration of living kidney donors and pro- spective studies of diverse populations of donors that may be compared with groups with similar compositions of race, eth- nicity, and family history. The United Network for Organ Sharing maintains a database on outcomes of living kidney donors. However, an analysis of the completeness of these data found that only 60% of 6-mo follow-up forms were returned to the United Network for Organ Sharing from transplant centers, and those forms that were returned revealed that 36% of donors already were lost to follow-up (51). It is understandably difficult to maintain a relationship with donors who wish to think of themselves as healthy individuals. However, the South-Eastern Organ Pro- curement Foundation reported on efforts to follow living do- nors with questionnaires and found an overall response rate of 90% (80). The authors attributed the maintenance of a high response rate to the fact that donors were enrolled prospec- tively and knew that participation was a part of their follow-up care. It is likely that registries or programs that involve hospital visits and blood tests, which are necessary to ensure adequate and accurate data, would have a lower rate of donor participa- tion than seen in this study. However, it also is likely that if donors understand that the risks of donation are not completely clear and understand from the outset that follow-up of their health is part of the donation process, then we will be able to obtain sufficient information to gain a better understanding of risks of living donation. How, then, in the era before the creation of a national donor registry and before the development of long-term prospective studies in diverse donor populations should we evaluate and counsel potential living kidney donors? The transplant commu- nity continues to revisit this question, most recently at the international Amsterdam Forum in 2004. The report that was generated from this meeting was published in 2005, and we direct the readers to this article for a comprehensive discussion of the currently accepted guidelines for living donation (81). As discussed in this article, however, the data on which these guidelines are based are not complete. Given these circum- stances, prudence suggests the exclusion of “marginal living donors”—prospective donors with medical abnormalities that have been shown to increase overall medical risk in the general population. We should recognize that the use of marginal living donors as a response to the growing number of patients who have ESRD and are dying while awaiting renal transplantation may be in direct conflict with our responsibility to potential donors to “do no harm.” A recent multicenter study of potential living donors in Canada found that acceptance of potential donors who were excluded for mild hypertension or protein- uria would have resulted in only a 3% increase in the number of patients who receive a transplant (82). Liberalization of these exclusion criteria would have a minimal impact on the waiting list and would not offset its steady growth. However, the 892 Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology Clin J Am Soc Nephrol 1: 885– 895, 2006 impact would be great for the potential donor who has hyper- tension and is eager to donate to his or her child. The evaluation of potential donors therefore must balance our respect for donor autonomy with our level of comfort with the risk in- volved. It is not paternalism but protection of our own core beliefs that prevents us from facilitating a donation that we have reason to believe may cause substantial harm to the do- nor. Perhaps the most compelling argument for maintenance of cautious donor acceptance criteria and for proceeding with registries and research studies is our dependence on public trust and goodwill for continuation of living-donor transplan- tation. If certain donor characteristics, including medical abnor- malities, confer greater medical risks, then it likely will be discovered many years in the future. If the transplant commu- nity has not made appropriate efforts, through registries and research, to understand potential risks, then living-donor trans- plantation and the health care system will be irreparably damaged. As Henry David Thoreau said, “To know that we know what we know, and that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge.” We must acknowledge to ourselves and to potential donors the limits of our knowledge and request of our donors another gift: That of continued participation in research and in registries. It is only by further study that we may truly protect our living donors and preserve the practice of living donation. 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work_jfaljtz7efdibk2qdkig6ln27q	----	ASME 5,2_f2_219-242.indd © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2011 DOI: 10.1163/157342109X568793 Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 brill.nl/asme Conservation, Cultivation, and Commodification of Medicinal Plants in the Greater Himalayan-Tibetan Plateau Sienna R. Craig and Denise M. Glover This special issue of Asian Medicine: Tradition and Modernity emerges from the Seventh International Congress of the International Association for the Study of Traditional Asian Medicine (IASTAM), which was held in Thimphu, Bhu- tan, from 7–11 September 2009. As readers of this journal may be aware, IASTAM’s unique vision aspires to bring academics and practitioners of Asian medical traditions into dialogue with each other, to promote the study and cross-cultural understanding of Asian medicines from a variety of disciplinary perspectives, and to do so in a way that honours and embraces the sometimes difficult task of reckoning the world of reflection and critique with that of engagement and practice. This Seventh Congress in Thimphu brought together scholars, practitioners and students of Himalayan, East Asian and South Asian healing systems, as well as social entrepreneurs, civil servants, and representa- tives of global businesses engaged in the commercial sale of Asia-derived medicinal products. This mélange of perspectives owed a lot to the theme of this Congress: Cultivating Traditions and the Challenges of Globalization. Cultivating the wilds In the context of the Seventh Congress of IASTAM, we co-organised a large multi-day panel titled ‘Cultivating the Wilds: Considering Potency, Protec- tion, and Profit in the Sustainable Use of Himalayan and Tibetan Materia Medica’. This panel included presenters who were from, or who had done extensive work in, Nepal, Bhutan, Ladakh, India, China (Tibet Autonomous Region and Yunnan, Sichuan, and Qinghai Provinces), and at sites of Tibetan medical production and practice in Europe. In this panel, we aimed to inte- grate knowledge, methods, and field experience from a variety of disciplines Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 220 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 and professional perspectives to explore the intersection of conservation and development agendas related to Asian materia medica. A selection of the pre- sentations given in Bhutan has been further developed for inclusion in this special issue of Asian Medicine. We began our discussions in Thimphu with the assumption that the land- scape of Asian medical production is undergoing a profound set of changes at present. Medicinal and aromatic plants are being increasingly commodified, and represent significant cultural and economic value to a range of stakehold- ers in new and increasingly interconnected ways. These changes are impacting the lives and work of am chi or sman pa (practitioners of gso ba rig pa, or the ‘science of healing’ in Tibetan)1 in a range of contexts and locales, to village farmers, herb traders and middlemen, pharmaceutical factory directors and marketing specialists and scientific researchers as well as patients and consum- ers in many different countries. Medicinal plants represent not only pathways to healing but also to profit; they remain paragons of ‘traditional culture’ even as they are clinically tested for safety, quality, and efficacy according to bio- medical and techno-scientific parameters. The various medicinal products derived from Himalayan and Tibetan raw materials are stable in one sense— based, as they are, on centuries of oral and textual tradition. Yet, like any aspect of culture, such products are also malleable, diverse, and at times embodiments of secret, guarded knowledge. Who holds or owns what knowl- edge, how it is passed down and to whom and for what ends are all questions we grappled with during the conference. In addition, we discussed the design and implementation of complex governance and regulatory structures related to the sourcing of medicinals and the production of medicines and other ‘nat- ural’ products in Asian countries and beyond. Our collective voices raised important questions about what ‘conservation’ and ‘sustainability’ mean and what these concepts accomplish, both discursively and in practice. Himalayan and Tibetan materia medica exist at the intersections of local, regional and transnational regimes of value and within different economic and cultural frames: from the moral economy associated with the ethics of gso ba rig pa to the market economy which shapes worlds at local and global levels and which is implicated in practices of conservation and sustainability. In relation to this theme of ‘sustainability’, the panel took up issues of over- harvesting and the depletion of medicinal resources upon which Tibetan med- icine and other Asian medicines depend. Market forces and the need for cash 1 Other commonly used spellings for the previous three Tibetan terms are amchi, menpa, and Sowa Rigpa. Throughout this essay we use Wylie transliterations for Tibetan terms, except for personal names where we use the spellings preferred by subjects themselves. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 221 income at local and regional levels are giving rise to new challenges with respect to the use and availability of these materia medica. Concomitantly, there has been an increase over the past decade in cultivation efforts, research into substitutions (tshabs) for rare, endangered or otherwise unavailable ingre- dients, and a deepening desire to document and more clearly understand pat- terns of medicinal plant resource use across the region. As we heard from some panelists—Pei Shengji from the Kunming Institute of Botany and Amchi Gyatso Bista, the chairman of the Himalayan Amchi Association in Nepal, Tsewang Gombo, the project supervisor for the Ladakh Society for Traditional Medicine (LSTM), Ma Jianzhong and Samdrup Tsering of the Deqin Tibetan Medicine Research Association in Northwest Yunnan Province, China, and Ugyen Dorje, from the Ministry of Health in Bhutan—medicinal plant culti- vation trials are ongoing and increasing in scope, with financial and technical support from governments and non-governmental organisations alike. In addition, efforts to create or expand protected areas and to monitor resource use are giving rise to new possibilities for collaboration between local com- munities, medical practitioners, scientific researchers, governmental and non- governmental organisations and (social) entrepreneurs. However, as crucial as such efforts are, these moves toward cultivation, con- servation, and delimiting sustainable harvesting levels raise a host of chal- lenges with respect to how to steward land and how to balance cultural and ecological possibilities and constraints with market-based concerns. Most of the Tibetan medical practitioners and conservation-development experts who presented preliminary results of cultivation trials pointed out that while cer- tain species (such as ma nu, ru rta, and lcum rtsa) did quite well as cultivars, many trial plant species failed to germinate under these changed growing conditions. Often, the potency (nus pa) in Tibetan medical terms was consid- erably weaker in cultivated varieties than in wild-crafted specimens. In his presentation, Ed Smith, the founder and director of HerbPharm based in the United States, stressed the practical difficulties, time commitment, and tech- nological resources that successful cultivation entails. Carroll Dunham, a social entrepreneur and the founder of Wild Earth, a Kathmandu-based herbal products company committed to sustainable sourcing and income generation, cited another practical limitation of cultivation: namely, the glutting of mar- kets with plants that are relatively easy to cultivate and that are ‘key’ species for commercial production, such as Swertia spp. (tig ta/rgya tig), but that might throw other local agricultural systems and regional economies into cycles of rapid and unpredictable change as a direct result of commodification. Calum Blaikie echoed this concern, based on his long-term fieldwork among Ladakhi am chi. Daniel Winkler’s longitudinal research on the (in)famous caterpillar Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 222 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 fungus (Ophiocordyceps sinensis) across the greater Tibetan Plateau tells a com- pelling story about sustainability and the power of the market—through informal and formal economic channels—as a driver of human-environment interactions. The methods by which quality and efficacy of cultivated and wild-crafted medicinal ingredients are determined can raise significant points of scientific and cultural incommensurability. Likewise, debates about the proper classifi- cation of medicinal plants and other materia medica across cultural and scien- tific systems—between Tibetan pharmacology and botany, for instance—expose concerns at once taxonomic and epistemological. Dr Dawa, the former direc- tor of the Men-Tsee-Khang in Dharamsala, India, and a leading expert in Tibetan medicinal plants, made important points in this regard during his presentation in Thimphu—points echoed in his more extensive Tibetan lan- guage essay which we have translated and include in this special issue.2 Kalden Nyima of the Lhasa-based Project to Strengthen Traditional Tibetan Medicine (PSTTM) raised similar concerns in his Thimphu presentation, and reiterates them in his practitioner’s report, included herein. Kalden Nyima’s father, Gawai Dorje, the renowned Tibetan medical practitioner and author of the Pure Crystal Mirror of Medicinal Plants (’Khrungs dpe dri med shel gyi me long) did not attend the conference in Bhutan. However, we have chosen to include an English translation of one of his original essays on the challenges of trans- lating names of Tibetan materia medica into other languages. The combina- tion of these three papers in translation represent a wealth of knowledge from foremost Tibetan medical experts in both India and China—scholarship that has not been easy for non-Tibetan scholars to access and that all too often has not been put in direct dialogue with each other, even in Tibetan language. Other presentations given in Bhutan dealt directly with trade, commodifi- cation, and regimes of governance connected to the ways medicinal plants are used in contemporary contexts, in Himalayan and Tibetan milieu and glob- ally. The equitable distribution of resources and determination of ‘ownership’ of traditional knowledge in this context raise further legal, cultural, and polit- ical issues. Such concerns were elucidated by Chamu Kuppuswamy in her presentation and further developed in her paper on Intellectual Property Rights (IPR) and Traditional Knowledge (TK). In his conference presentation and the practitioner’s report included in this issue, Herbert Schwabl discussed the blessings and burdens of ‘tradition’ with respect to the production and sale of Tibetan medicines in modern European contexts. Schwabl is a senior rep- 2 Tibetan versions of these essays are available through the IASTAM website: http://www. iastam.org. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 223 resentative of Padma, Inc., the only company that currently produces and sells Tibetan medicinal formulas in Switzerland and Austria, with permissions for distribution in the United Kingdom pending. In his report, Schwabl dis- cusses the ways ‘traditional medicines’ operate as discursive categories within the context of state regulation of all medicines, and as commodities within the greater context of increasing market-based activities around ‘complemen- tary and alternative medicines’ (CAM) worldwide. In a similar vein, Mona Schrempf put forth a preliminary interdisciplinary research agenda on the globalisation of ‘traditional’ Chinese and Tibetan medicines. This agenda encourages comparative analyses of how several hallmark Chinese and Tibetan pharmaceuticals whose ingredients stem from the Tibetan Plateau become recontextualised as both globalised and localised carriers of ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’ sentiment, often simultaneously. Furthermore, this dual sense of authenticity often emerges in strange consort with efforts at standardisation on the one hand and claims to extra-pharmacological efficacy (through ritual blessings, ideas of Tibetanness, etc.) on the other. Martin Saxer, whose paper is included in this volume, presented a fascinating study of Himalayan border regimes, at once geopolitical and ideological, which are impacting the trade of medicinal plants between Nepal and China. In his treatment of this issue, we see how supposedly ‘fixed’ practices of licensing and certification, tests for drug quality, etc. come up against social and economic realities that demand flexibility and innovation at all points along this trade route, at once ancient and (post)modern. Finally, impacts of climate change on high altitude medicinal plants can neither be underestimated nor easily assessed in the context of the ‘third pole’: Himalayan and Tibetan mountain environments. Jan Salick, a leading ethnobotanist of high Asia based at the Missouri Botanical Gardens, posed difficult yet crucial questions about the purpose of cultivation in the first instance. She stressed that cultivation should not be viewed unproblematically as a pathway to biodiversity conservation; rather, she argued that cultivation should be seen as fundamentally linked to world economic systems and mar- ket-based activities involving medicinal plants. In other words, cultivation should not be seen as a panacea for protecting vulnerable high altitude species, including those such as the snow lotus (Saussurea medusa, bya rgod sug pa), which she and colleagues in Yunnan have studied intensively. For Salick, cul- tivation is fundamentally untenable because the resources in question cannot be scaled up. Yet how to reconcile this with the general thrust of the com- modification of Tibetan medicine, and its powerful and pervasive link to notions of cultural preservation as well as the commodification of Tibetan cultural concepts more generally, proves especially challenging today. Salick Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 224 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 also inserted into the discussion the role that global climate change is playing not only within Himalayan and Tibetan natural ecologies, but also social ecologies—changes that bear on how Tibetan medical practitioners harvest plants, make medicines, and treat patients. These issues also play out through dynamics between national park and protected area managers and the people who make their homes or have historically used resources from these environ- ments. The creation of protected areas introduces additional variables into efforts to define, promote, or monitor ‘sustainable’ use of medicinals. All of these concerns point toward the intersection of cultural integrity, environmental protection, different ways of knowing and interacting with the world, and the socioeconomic pressures that are concomitant with modern life. They also present unique opportunities for cross-disciplinary and cross- cultural engagement. Of the many themes to emerge from the conference and which are threaded through the papers included in this special issue, three emerge as central. First is the relationship between conservation, preservation and sustainability. Second is the sense that medicinal plants are what our colleague Laurent Pordié (2002) has called ‘biocultural objects’. And third is the centrality of translation, both as key metaphor for work on Himalayan and Tibetan medicinal plants, and as a practical act. These three themes are deeply intertwined, but we find it useful to stream out some key components of each, below. Conservation, preservation and sustainability The concepts of conservation and sustainability have taken on widespread, global currency over the past two decades. However, the roots of these ideas can be traced to specific political and economic processes that converged at a particular historical moment. While a general concept of ‘conservation’ may not be the sole product of Euro-American ideas and historical processes, there is a conceptual lineage between contemporary discussions of conservation, preservation, and sustainability and the development of these ideas in Europe and North America. We find it useful to briefly outline the history of ‘conser- vation’ in the Euro-American context in order to explore the connections between and ramifications of past histories in the current moment. Stemming from romanticist reactions first to the Enlightenment and then to the Industrial Revolution in the eighteenth century, a sensibility of valuing ‘nature’ and ‘wilderness’ as embodying intrinsic worth—especially in contrast to rationalised and mechanised human artifices—developed in Euro-American intellectual and popular circles. In the United States in the nineteenth century, such views became popularised in the well-known works of Ralph Waldo Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 225 Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. Somewhat later, John Muir emerged as one of the leading voices of proto-environmentalism and what we might call a preservationist ethic, espousing the concept of wilderness preservation areas—where human presence and activity would be severely curtailed—and founding one of the oldest environmental organisations in the United States, The Sierra Club. Muir’s idea pivoted around the notion that ‘wilderness’ was in and of itself valuable, regardless of utility. This would in part, during Muir’s time as well as after, take the form of the establishment of national parks, protected areas and nature reserves. In the United States, for example, Yellow- stone National Park was established in 1872 with the expressed view that this was an area worthy of protection: [This] tract of land . . . is hereby reserved and withdrawn from settlement, occu- pancy, or sale under the laws of the United States, and dedicated and set apart as a public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people . . .3 Yellowstone was one of the first national parks established in the Western Hemisphere and would in many ways become a key model for national parks and preservation/conservation areas worldwide.4 In 1948, the International Union for the Protection of Nature (later known as the IUCN and later still as the World Conservation Union but maintaining the acronym IUCN) was founded with the stated goal of ‘the preservation of the entire world biotic environment’.5 This was perhaps one of the earliest examples of governmental and non-governmental organisations collaborating in the area of preservation/ conservation on an international level; such collaboration is also reflected in several of the articles contained within this issue. It should be noted that the IUCN is currently responsible for establishing and maintaining a list of threat- ened species, termed the Red List, which is used globally to decide the endan- germent status of species, and to which many of our panelists refer, directly or indirectly, in their work. Running parallel to these preservationist views of landscape, ecology and biodiversity was a movement that sought to combine the sensibility of an appreciation for ‘nature’ with a conviction that ‘nature’ is primarily an assort- ment of resources that should and need to be utilised—but with ever so much care, with (the ideology and empirical practice of ) science as a powerful guide, and with the state as protector/enforcer of resource use conservation policies. 3 Chittenden 1915, pp. 77–8. Note here the complete disregard for people already living within the area that became the park, such as Native Americans. We will return to this point below. 4 Nash 2001; Igoe 2003; Trusty 2010. 5 Quoted in Nash 2001, p. 361. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 226 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 Throughout Europe this initially took the form of forestry science with special focus on sustainable-yield management.6 A fundamental premise of this move- ment was that national governments would ensure ‘sustainable’ harvesting according to newly formed social and scientific metrics. As with other aspects of European colonial-era administrations, many of these same techniques of resource management were applied in the colonies, particularly in Africa, and South and Southeast Asia—including the region of concern for this volume, the Himalayas. Agrawal discusses the work of Dietrich Brandis in Burma in the mid-1800s, where the ‘linear evaluation survey’ method was utilised to maintain the ‘model forest’—a kind of ideal forest in which sup- posed perfect equilibrium exists due to careful calculation and harvesting annual increments only.7 As Agrawal quips about this kind of forestry, ‘Num- bers came to shape the way the world of trees and vegetation would be regarded and understood’.8 Under colonialism, when utility was considered and factored in, as was the case with the concept of conservation of forests, it was quite narrowly defined by colonists as useful to the empire. Hence Agrawal discusses the centrality of teak in Burma as being important for British Naval ambitions and therefore being the focus of conservation efforts by Brandis. Non-imperial uses, such as for local subsistence, were continually seen as problematic to the goal of con- servation during the colonial era.9 We might extend this argument today, and suggest that utility is in effect defined by international organisations and national governments in terms of being useful to the global economy and more specifically the markets for ‘sustainably sourced’ ‘natural’ medical prod- ucts from the greater Himalayas. Many of the founding ideas of conservation and sustainable development implicit in forestry management of the colonists remained in place in post-colonial administrations (including in many areas of the Himalayas), as Nash (2001), Igoe (2003), and West (2006), among others, discuss. Even today, while numbers do not completely determine the ways medici- nal plants are regarded, they nonetheless remain an important element in the discourses of conservation, preservation, and sustainability in Himalayan and Tibetan contexts. Certainly the concept of sustainability, based on the notion of sustainable yield as a particular, quantifiable measurement, is quite central 6 Scott 1998; Guha 2000; Agrawal 2005; Nash 2001. 7 Agrawal 2005, pp. 39–43. Incidentally, this became the model for forestry management in the United States, as reflected in the work of Gifford Pinchot, the first head of the US Forest Service. 8 Agrawal 2005, p. 37. 9 Agrawal 2005, pp. 32–64. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 227 to much state and non-governmental conservation initiatives in the region. In the Himalayas as elsewhere, concepts of conservation and sustainability also have become quite directly, if paradoxically, coupled with ideas of ‘develop- ment’. By this logic, economic growth and improved livelihoods are also sup- posed to facilitate the conservation of natural resources and Earth’s biodiversity. Yet as many of the papers in this volume illustrate, it is quite difficult to square concepts of ‘sustainability’ with efforts to scale up the Tibetan medical indus- try, either from the perspective of commodification and sheer resource use or from the perspective of a moral economy of gso ba rig pa practice and the standards of medicinal potency and benefit that practitioners of this tradition espouse. Turning again towards history, the national park model of preservation came under fire in the last decades of the twentieth century. As discussed above, most national parks were quite exclusionary of people except as tem- porary (non-residential) consumers of natural beauty. This model encoun- tered resistance among a large portion of the world’s populace that was already living within the claimed boundaries of national parks.10 In some cases, alter- native models were put forth, many of them in the Himalayas. One of the first of these was the Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP) of Nepal, established in 1992. ACAP was a newly conceptualised category of Protected Area (defined by IUCN) that aimed to explicitly link human dwelling in particular environments, their histories of environmental stewardship in these contexts, and their contemporary livelihood needs with the goals of conservation. The idea of joint conservation-development projects (and related concepts such as eco-tourism) was fleshed out, in great part, through initiatives such as ACAP. Today, ACAP is Nepal’s largest protected area, mea- suring 7629 km2; total coverage for protected areas in Nepal is currently 34,000 km2, according to the official governmental website of the National Parks of Nepal.11 In Ladakh (the location of Blaikie’s work), protected areas cover 15,000 km2;12 in all of India nearly 157,000 km2 of land is under pro- tected area status. In the Himalayan areas of China, dozens of protected areas exist, including the Baima-Meili Xueshan National Nature Reserve, where the work of Ma Jianzhong in this volume is located; this reserve is included within the larger Three Parallel Rivers UNESCO World Heritage Site (declared in 2003), approximately 9,390 km2.13 10 Igoe 2003. 11 www.dnpwc.gov.np. 12 Goeury 2010, p. 109. 13 How much environmental protection any of these designated ‘protected areas’ (or World Heritage sites) confer is an interesting issue, but one that is beyond the scope of this essay. Our Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 228 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 While it is difficult to know how much overlap there is between these pro- tected areas of conservation and actual sites of harvesting of medicinals, the mere presence of these zones of protection and conservation in the Himalayas signals a significant orientation at both the national and international levels to themes of conservation, preservation, sustainability. In this special edition, we witness Pei Shengji and colleagues propose that a number of significant areas within China for Tibetan medicinal plants should be designated for protection under the Important Medicinal Plant Areas scheme. Hence we can see the continuation of conceptual categories of conservation/preservation in the early twenty-first century, with newly created groupings focused on specific uses of natural resources. Furthermore, the value of these sites of conservation— as spaces of ‘wilderness’ particularly for national and inter national tourists and other consumers of nature and ‘traditional’ culture—becomes augmented in a larger field of political-economic relations. As Nash states, Thinking of wild nature as an actively traded commodity in an international mar- ket clarifies appreciation and largely explains the world nature protection move- ment. The export-import relationship underscores the irony inherent in the fact that the civilizing process, which imperils wild nature, is precisely that which cre- ates the need for it.14 International donors, non-governmental organisations, and governmental agencies involved in conservation efforts all value ‘the wilds’ so represented in and by these protected areas. Likewise, purveyors of knowledge about these landscapes, especially those who have specific expertise in natural resources with cultural and economic value—medicinal plants—become crucial ‘stakeholders’ within the politics of conservation. Enter the Himalayan am chi, the Tibetan medical practitioner. Such people are increasingly being recruited to do the work of conservation and sustainability science.15 They are engaged in the transformation and inter- pretation of these concepts on the ground in strategic ways, for a range of reasons, as Calum Blaikie examines in his article with am chi in Ladakh. Gso ba rig pa practitioners’ involvement in participatory species mapping projects such as those described herein by Ma Jianzhong, for example, can become an avenue for the recognition of specific types of indigenous/traditional knowledge—themselves key currency in efforts of such practitioners to defend point here is to highlight the extent to which ‘protection’ and ‘conservation’ have entered into the discourses of state-making, (inter)national funding, and even subject formation of people like am chi and sman pa. 14 Nash 2001, p. 343. 15 Cf. Lama et al. 2001; Ghimere et al. 2005. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 229 and transform their medical praxis in a contemporary context—to ‘develop’ am chi medicine, as many of our panel participants and interlocutors describe.16 Plant cultivation and efforts to broker wholesale trade in materia medica can provide reliable sources of income and extend local socioeconomic networks of am chi, but can also create or exacerbate divisions between am chi, as we see in Blaikie’s paper. For Tibetan medicine practitioners and many others, sustainability as a concept and joint conservation-development projects as lived practices become increasingly important avenues through which populations are governed—a process that Arun Agrawal (2005) has aptly dubbed ‘environmentality’, after Michel Foucault’s ‘governmentality’. Agrawal explores this occurrence in an area of the Himalayas of northern India and argues that a yoking between the state and local populations—often in consort with international NGOs—has created a new form of governance of natural resources as well the emergence of what he terms ‘environmental subjects’, people who are concerned about the environment and for whom the environment is an important domain of both cognition and action.17 This has clearly happened in many places, per- haps particularly so in some of the ‘hot spots’ of biological (and often cultural) diversity, from the highlands of Papua New Guinea18 to the jungles of Mexico19 to the Indonesian archipelago20 and, of course, the Himalayas, where pro- tected areas exist and where funding for conservation efforts is intense and intensely sought after, as discussed in Blaikie’s article in this issue. As the wave of sustainability studies was starting to crest, Donald Worster and others noted that the notion of ‘sustainable development’ (and kindred ideas) is essentially an economic model applied to an extremely complex and unpredictable reality.21 Recall the forest departments of Europe and the United States and their proposals to keep the resources of the forest available for an indefinite amount of time: the economic viability of the forest needed to be maintained through careful calculations of sustainable yield. As it turns out, the ‘model forest’ on which sustainable yield was figured resembled no forests that actually exist. As Worster argues, a main problem with an equilibrium- based, economic model of ‘sustainability’ is how exactly to determine the parameters of environmental ‘stress’ and/or ‘collapse’. Ecologists do not even agree on this. In part, Worster argues that this is due to the fact that previous 16 Cf. Pordié 2008; Craig and Bista 2005. 17 Agrawal 2005, pp. 164–5. 18 West 2006. 19 Hayden 2003. 20 Lowe 2006. 21 Worster 1993, pp. 142–55. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 230 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 notions of ‘equilibrium’ in nature are illusions. The environment is constantly in flux.22 Worster’s warning to us from over a decade ago is one that we should pay careful attention to, especially since so much of our attention with respect to Himalayan medicinal plants does indeed seem to hinge very much on notions of utility on the one hand and preservation (both cultural and natural) on the other. Yet plants are more than commodities—if they are even that. Medicinal plants at biocultural objects Due to their fundamental utility as well as their symbolic and market values, medicinal plants are situated within social and cultural fields of activity and knowledge. Whether the plants are harvested from ‘wild’ sources or are culti- vated intentionally, their existence intersects significantly with that of human- ity. From one perspective, many medicinal plants are chemically active due to evolutionary forces that have helped maintain protection from predators— including humans (since plants cannot flee from predators). Hence a ‘medi- cine’ within plants can also be a poison, as many an investigator of plant pharmacology has discovered throughout history. Humans have developed significant traditions of knowledge related to these medicinal/poisonous aspects of plants, undoubtedly aided through careful observation of other spe- cies’ interactions with plants, as discussed in Dr Dawa’s article in this issue. On the other hand, some plants may in fact ‘benefit’ from close interaction with ‘predatory’ humans—especially plants that are deemed ‘useful’ by human beings. A human community may in fact aid in the propagation and continu- ation of a plant community. Hence the ‘poisons’ that plants emit to protect themselves may prove to be valued by people, which may in fact prompt peo- ple to encourage the continued growth of that type of plant, which then also benefits the survival of the plant species. The central trope of utility is in many ways at the heart of the themes that this special issue addresses. Plants utilised for medicine become objects (or perhaps participants) in networks of exchange, governmental regulations, related systems of material and information transfer, and physiological pro- cesses taking place within human bodies. It is their usefulness within localised and increasingly globalised/globalising contexts that links particular natural kinds with spheres of human activity in particular and powerful ways. Yet, 22 Worster feels there are other issues with sustainable development as well, including its strictly utilitarian orientation that ignores intrinsic value and non-utilitarian aspects of the envi- ronment. In this sense, his work resonates with that of John Muir’s and the more general preser- vationist-oriented view of the wilds. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 231 how does this generalised utility relate to more specific notions of value, most germane in discussions of exchange, and in the points of tension that arise between localised barter economies or even moral economies tied to gso ba rig pa ethics, and the logic of the market? More precisely, is an abstract notion of utility sufficient to understand the particular ways in which plants are valued within specific human fields of activity? Furthermore, what hap- pens when there are varying values attached to plants by different human communities or actors and these, then, come into contact or conflict through systems of exchange? Pordié has argued that plants are themselves expressions of culture.23 They are, in this sense, biocultural. Plants, especially medicinal ones that are grounded in particular systems of etiology, diagnosis, and consumption, are not just floating signifiers, even if they can be anchored to an ‘objective’ reality of the biological species, for example. An effective analysis of plants as biocul- tural kinds must then address the culturally relevant significations of plants.24 Pordié goes on to discuss the connections between plants, medical practice and practitioners, and the Buddhist religious tradition of Ladakh, where he has worked for many years, to argue that a plant can be seen as ‘a principal vector of the symbolic efficacy of treatment’.25 Plants are endowed with medic- inal power in part through ritual practices of am chi, wherein various aspects of cultural and religious life are infused into the ‘object’ of the plant or into compounded medicines.26 In this sense, one could argue that plants in the medical context embody certain kinds of power and force. This is in part reflected linguistically in Tibetan concepts of plants. In Tibetan, there are sev- eral words for the general term ‘plant’ in the medical context: the neologism rtsi shing and the more literary term of skye dngos (‘things that grow’).27 The second term, at least, seems to imply some level of self-propulsion, some amount of agency and potentiality; a plant can become, in some sense, although not without the help of people, a culturally endowed object. We see this in part reflected in the significant arboreal metaphor of medical knowledge and learning in many Tibetan medical texts, and certainly in the medical paint- ings: medical knowledge can be represented by a tree—plant writ large. 23 Pordié 2002. 24 Pordié uses the phrase ‘biocultural objects’ in his work (bioculturel objet), which links in compelling ways to ideas of commodification. However, we prefer the term ‘biocultural kind’ because this allows for inclusion of potentiality, as will be discussed below. 25 Pordié 2002, p. 186. 26 Craig 2010; Garrett 2009; Pordié 2008. 27 Glover 2005. Here we exclude more specific terms such as sngo or sngo ldum (herbaceous plant) and shing (woody plant). Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 232 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 At the same time as plants take on cultural meanings, they circulate in sys- tems of exchange that have undoubtedly gone beyond localised pockets of culture for a very long time, as Saxer’s contribution points out. Sometimes the culturally imbued plant is ‘reborn’ in a new locality; the cultural meanings associated with the plant may change. However, sometimes a consistency of meaning across cultural boundaries is retained—or at least put to use (and here we are back at utility again). This is possibly due to cultural borrowings, but is in part also likely due to some of the biochemical bases of healing prop- erties in plants. These biochemical properties can become highly valued char- acteristics of plants, which can ultimately affect the harvesting and overall availability of the plant in any given region. Of course other social and cultural factors can affect the ‘popularity’ of a plant across cultural boundaries, some of which may be traceable to chemistry but some of which may be part of broader sociocultural systems of signification and value, couched within particular geopolitical milieu; witness the popularity of Ophiocordyceps sinensis in China as an aphrodisiac, as Winkler describes. Some of this plant popularity may be traceable to chemical properties but certainly much is also related to notions of fertility and sexuality, gender relations, conspicuous consumption, and effective marketing. Whatever the possible roots of interest in utilisation of particular plants as medicines, we have without a doubt seen some significant changes in pro- curement, production, and marketing of materia medica within the greater Himalayan region within the past decade. In general, we identify these trends in terms of commodification, which we understand in Marxist political- economic terms to involve the assignation of economic value to something that had not previously been understood, at least exclusively, in those terms. This is true even as discourses and practices of conservation, preservation, and sustainability are invoked. We have seen an increase in the amount of organi- sations, researchers, state-based and international structures of governance at work in this area to monitor, report, and propose solutions to issues of sustain- ability, as well as to regulate the ways medicinal plants and other materia med- ica are traded and put to use in, or as, commercial products. Interestingly these pressures come both from the side of conservation and sustainability through national and international policies on rare and endangered species (in the form of CITES or the IUCN Red List, for example28), practitioners’ own lists of threatened, rare, or expensive ingredients, etc., and from the more 28 The Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES) is an international agreement between governments which aims to ensure that the global trade in wild flora and fauna does not threaten their survival. The International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) maintains a Red List of threatened species (see http://www.iucnredlist.org/). Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 233 overtly market-implicated and techno-scientific demands of Good Agricul- tural Practices (GAP), Good Manufacturing Practices (GMP) and various other parameters for determining the ‘quality’ and ‘safety’ of drugs.29 It is interesting to note that, when spoken about in Tibetan, the transforma- tion of goods or services into substances for which particular market-based values are assigned becomes inflected with a certain kind of morality. There is an explicit desire to retain some sort of cultural space that is not about money but that is about the provision of ‘benefit’ ( phan) to sentient beings and the ‘real’ or ‘authentic’ (dngos nas) nature of this medical and cultural tradition. Of course this does not mean that the practitioners of Tibetan medicine with whom we engaged in Bhutan or whose work is represented here argue against commodification. Indeed, many are directly engaged in the act of ‘scaling up’ the Tibetan medical industry, in different ways—from Schwabl’s work to bring Tibetan formulas to new European markets, to the ‘elite’ Ladakhi am chi about whom Blaikie writes, and the general if controversial trend amongst many contemporary Tibetan medical practitioners, in both rural and urban settings, to buy ready-made Tibetan pills and powders, as opposed to produc- ing their own medicines. Yet do these changed production regimes mean the same thing in different social contexts? In thinking about medicinal plants as biocultural kinds and linking this idea to the dual pressures to both conserve and commodify, we find resonance with Arjun Appadurai’s concept of the ‘social life of things’, and to ideas about differential relations of exchange that this concept invokes.30 In his introduc- tion to his book, The Social Life of Things, Appadurai writes, ‘Focusing on things that are exchanged, rather than simply on the forms or functions of exchange, makes it possible to argue that what creates the link between exchange and value is politics, construed broadly. This argument . . . justifies the conceit that commodities, like persons, have social lives’.31 This focus on things is crucial for our purposes because it is these things—medicinal plants and other materia medica—that actually give rise to a certain kind of politics, as well as policies, on both ends of the conservation-commodification spectrum. Many of the papers in this volume speak to the ways plants are at once biocultural objects and embodiments of socioeconomic, historical and politi- cal relationships. We point out the historical continuity of trade in medicinals throughout the greater Tibetan-Himalayan region as an example. Yet we also note the ways in which these patterns of exchange are now implicated in global 29 Saxer 2010, this issue; Craig 2006, 2010. 30 Appadurai 1988. 31 Appadurai 1988, p. 3. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 234 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 commerce, and how this changes the terms of this exchange at distinctly local levels. While the more abstract or globalised argument about ‘trade’ connected to cultivating medicinal plants as supposedly a way to offset industry growth (parallel to ‘cap and trade’ arguments in larger environmental debates) is of dubious legitimacy, ideas that link local or regional income generation to plant cultivation may be viable at some level. However, as is reflected in several papers included herein, and in recordings of our Thimphu discussions,32 this depends greatly on the vagaries of market forces and on the enactment and enforcement of regulations on the ground. The many meanings of ‘translation’ A third central theme to emerge from the conference and this special volume of Asian Medicine revolves around concepts and practices of ‘translation’. We have already seen reference to this in the sections above, but it seems necessary to further elaborate what we mean. By translation, we refer not only to the multiple languages at play during our gathering in Bhutan, and the formal and informal moments of interpretation that defined our time together and made this cacophony of voices comprehensible, but also the layers of meaning and epistemological complexity that communication entails. Translation, in this sense, relates to the intersection of different knowledge systems and places on the map. Acts of translation can bridge distances between abstract and inadequate dichotomies such as local/global or tradition/modernity. Good translation can help to create a continuum and a dialogue where there might otherwise be only silence or the assumption of difference. Consider the words of the Spanish philosopher, José Ortega y Gasset. The stupendous reality is that language cannot be understood unless we begin by observing that speech consists above all in silences. A being who could not renounce saying many things would be incapable of speaking. And each language represents a different equation between manifestations and silences. Each people leaves some things unsaid in order to be able to say others. Because everything would be unsayable. Hence, the immense difficulty of translation: translation is a matter of saying in a language precisely what that language tends to pass over in silence.33 Following Ortega, we understand translation to be a process of distillation wherein decisions are made about what details are most important to repre- 32 Podcasts of the talks are available at www.iastam.org/conferences_VII_podcasts.htm. 33 Ortega y Gasset, quoted in Becker 1995, p. 6. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 235 sent, what might be taken for granted, and how to reconcile the spaces in between. While in Bhutan, each of us endeavoured to stretch beyond linguistic and disciplinary ‘comfort zones’ so that we might make the most of this extraordi- nary meeting and the opportunities it afforded. Presenters on our panel included native speakers of Nepali, Dzongkha, German, Chinese, English, and various dialects of Tibetan. The ability to speak with each other and share information depended on imperfect yet well-intentioned efforts on all of our parts to listen carefully, to ask questions, to speak slowly. While some non- native English speakers choose to present in English, others requested the assistance of a translator. Consider the following example. Sienna served as interpreter for one of our long-term colleagues Dr Gyatso Bista, an am chi from Mustang District, Nepal. This was not the first time these two individuals have stood side by side at a podium. However, in most other circumstances, Sienna has translated for Gyatso in front of an audience of non-Tibetan speakers. In this case, a testa- ment to the uniqueness of this IASTAM event, the audience was as diverse as our array of panelists. As such, she found herself choosing words differently than in past moments. She knew that others in the audience could probably surpass her technical aptitude in Tibetan. And yet she was the right person for the job because of their shared vocabulary of experience: Sienna knew inti- mately the places of which Gyatso spoke, and the people with whom he was working. She could anticipate the arc of his discourse, having heard him speak on such topics in the past. In short, there were few silences between them. Yet the nature of instantaneous translation and the time constraints of a formal conference setting created other silences, elided other areas of comprehension. While Gyatso felt compelled to describe his home region and the different planting methods he had used for medicinal plant cultivation trials, Sienna felt more obliged to capture the particular idioms and metaphors with which this am chi discussed his experiences. In a different setting, Sienna might have glossed over Gyatso’s comments about the particulars of Mustang’s air and soil in relation to a plant’s potency and the five elements (’byung ba lnga), aiming instead for a more overarching commentary about the ways materia medica are harvested and prepared in the gso ba rig pa tradition to people with little shared cultural context. And yet in this and other moments in Bhutan, while the words of a Tibetan speaker were interpreted in approximate English, the space created for reflection when patterns of speech are not monolingual became productive and meaningful. Beyond world languages and challenges presented by the need for simulta- neous translation, we also had disciplinary tongues to contend with: anthro- pology, ecology, ethnobotany, development, business, biomedicine, and law, Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 236 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 as well as the overarching yet unevenly shared vocabulary of gso ba rig pa, the ‘science of healing’, its theoretical principles, historical background, and key metaphors. This diversity is retained in the essays included herein. Our discus- sion about the uses of medicinal plants and other materia medica not only involve acts of translation across language and discipline, but also across scien- tific, economic, and cultural value systems, as we have alluded to above. The essays of Blaikie and Saxer emerge from a strongly anthropological tradition, both in terms of the extensive fieldwork that undergirds their arguments and in terms of their analytical frames. For example, Blaikie encourages us to con- sider alternative meanings of the concept ‘endangered species’ through an analysis of contemporary am chi practice in Ladakh. His argument is an act of translation in that he asks us to reconsider the intense focus on Himalayan medicinal plants as sites of endangerment from the perspective of am chi themselves. How have particular kinds of am chi praxis become ‘endangered’ by virtue of the increased focus on conservation activities on the one hand and the increasing industrial production of gso ba rig pa formulas on the other? Other papers and presentations address the tricky work of translation across classificatory systems, as well as across the domains of descriptive studies of ecological change and of evaluative studies geared toward the more interven- tion-oriented agendas of conservation and development. The scholarship of Daniel Winkler, Pei Shengji, and Ma Jianzhong illustrate these dynamics. Each essay is informed by long-term in situ engagement with natural and social ecologies across the Himalaya and Tibetan Plateau. Their contributions translate across registers of ethno- and economic botany into the languages of conservation and development. Pei translates decades of work documenting medicinal plants across High Asia into rationales for the creation of new pro- tected areas and reserves in China. Winkler tracks the freakonomics34 behind the yartsa gunbu phenomenon, putting the dynamic nature of rural household economies, cash-based and barter-oriented trade relationships, commodities markets, and official Chinese economic indices, into dialogue with each other—or at least translating the silences between them, when it comes to this unique and pervasive substance. In the appendix we list different species that have been the subjects of cul- tivation trials. The inclusion of these Appendices is itself an effort to make more widely available disparate knowledge about which plants are being cul- tivated, how, where, to what end, and with what outcomes. Yet technical and cultural acts of translation abound, even in these seemingly straightforward lists. Consider the various names for materia medica across Tibetan, Sanskrit, 34 Cf. Levett and Dubner 2005. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 237 Chinese, Latin, and common English, and the diverse epistemologies that underlie these names. Classification systems have long been seminal areas of inquiry for anthropology and ethnobotany/ethnobiology.35 Incommensurate classifications have given rise to much confusion when it has come to deter- mining everything from sustainable harvesting levels to pharmacological sub- stitutions (tshabs in Tibetan) for ingredients that are either not available or prohibitively expensive.36 As such, these species lists are enmeshed in cross- cultural and multidisciplinary debates about provisioning correct Linnaean equivalents for Tibetan and Himalayan plants. Gawai Dorje’s paper addresses exactly this. These species lists are also emblematic of debates about the names of things: from regional variations that surface in an effort to provide defini- tive contemporary examples of plants described in Tibetan medical texts or centuries-old drawings of medicinal plants as represented in sources like Desi Sangye Gyatso’s Blue Beryl,37 to efforts to assign a correct biochemical profile to a particular plant based on laboratory science performed in contexts far removed from the sites in which such plants grow or are harvested and made into medicines. The theme of translation across value systems can be elucidated also through a careful examination of key terms and how they move across sociolinguistic registers. What do words like ‘sustainability’ and ‘conservation’ mean when they are translated into Tibetan? How does the idea of trade—trade regula- tions, trade secrets, and industries—relate to culturally embedded systems of exchange or to more local and regional economies? How does a concept like ‘commodification’, which is so entangled in a net of cultural, historical, and political-economic relations, get unraveled in a foreign tongue? How does ‘potency’ translate across different scientific, disciplinary, and cultural registers? Questions about how the concepts of sustainability and conservation, and the values associated with them, get translated and/or conveyed at local levels are compelling sites of inquiry. The discourses of conservation and sustain- ability have taken root in possibly new and significant ways among many of the world’s populace, including gso ba rig pa practitioners and the communi- ties that harvest, trade in, grow, or otherwise produce and consume Tibetan 35 Durkheim and Mauss 1963 [1903]; Berlin, Breedlove, and Raven 1973; Berlin 1992; Ellen and Reason 1979; Hunn 1975, 1976, 1982; Glover 2005. 36 Glover 2010; Boesi and Cardini 2006. 37 Desi Sangye Gyatso (1653–1705) was the regent of the ‘Great’ Fifth Dalai Lama and an accomplished scholar of gso ba rig pa. The Blue Beryl (Bai dur sngon po) and the eighty paintings that illustrate this medical treatise are among the most significant cultural and medical docu- ments within the history of gso ba rig pa. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 238 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 medicine(s). Yet as powerful as official/international understandings of ‘con- servation’ and ‘sustainability’ may be, these are not the only sites in which meaning is made or the pragmatic work of conscious resource use is under- taken. The Tibetan term that largely is used as an equivalent for ‘conservation’ is srung skyob, a combination of terms that means to protect, safeguard or defend; in fact, srung is the same term in Tibetan for amulet, a protective item that one usually wears around one’s neck to keep harm at bay—particularly harm that can be inflicted by a whole range of nefarious spirits and other forces that dwell in particular places and distinct ways throughout the greater Tibetan landscape.38 The notion of utility does not seem to be a significant part of the Tibetan term. What a linguistic analysis of the term srung skyob seems to indicate is that the Tibetan concept that often gets translated as ‘conservation’ is in some ways more akin to the idea of preservation, to relationships between different classes of sentient beings (human and non-human, animal and vegetal), and to an ethic of resource use that is at times quite intimately if also subtly linked with Buddhist ideals and concepts about ‘right livelihood’, ‘right practice’, and moral imperatives against greed. We see such notions expressed in the papers of Dr Dawa and Kalden Nyima. And, even if we clearly understand that these are ideals, it is still worth noting that this involves a very different conception of ‘nature’ and the meaning underlying concepts such as ‘preservation’ or ‘con- servation’. Notions of ‘sustainability’, by turns, translate in a range of ways in Tibetan language. There is no one equivalent word, at least not in how the concept is translated in practice. Discussions of sustainability in local vernacu- lars produce phrases such as ‘using plants in the right way’ or ‘harvesting so there is enough in the future’. A perusal of the transcript from our panel reveals that at certain points and in strategic, if not always conscious ways, each of us chose to rely on English or Chinese instead of translating such terms, even when these terms were couched within a sentence that was other- wise spoken in another language. Intellectual Property Rights (IPR) is another example of this phenomenon. Such moments exemplify Ortega y Gasset’s insight that translation involves certain choices about what not to interpret. We would add that these choices are made in particular social and political-economic contexts and are often enmeshed in an array of power relations that can often render one interpreta- tion more valid or reliable than others. What counts as evidence of good sourcing? What methods are used to determine the potency of a plant? These instances in which terms are not translated raise issues about what types of 38 Cf. Samuel 1993. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 239 knowledge come to merit translation, however imperfect. Such moments also raise questions about equivalency and alignment. Does the Tibetan cognate phan nus—phan meaning ‘benefit’ and nus referring to ‘potency’—really cap- ture the meaning of ‘efficacy’, either with reference to its lay meaning, the capacity to produce a desired outcome, or in a more constrained biomedical sense of something that produces a specific, reproducible effect under con- trolled experimental conditions? Or, in another sense, does cultivating a few key species really translate into the alleviation of overharvesting pressures on wildcrafted plants? Can such acts of conservation (or industry-driven income generation, depending on how one looks at it) come to stand for ‘sustainable harvesting’ or ‘green’ business? Where do Buddhist concepts of ‘right liveli- hood’ fit into this picture? These and other questions remain open to debate, but we have been grateful for the opportunity to engage them, both in person and on the page. Honouring a friend A final yet crucial note is in order. The panel we organised in Thimphu was dedicated to Yeshi Chödren Lama (1971–2006). Yeshi was one of the 24 peo- ple who lost her life in the tragic helicopter crash in eastern Nepal in 2006, an event that also took the life of Mingma Norbu Sherpa and Chandra Gurung, leading conservationists and the original engineers of ACAP among many others. The crash was a huge loss for scores of people. When Sienna first met Yeshi in 1996, this young Tibetan woman had just returned from Middlebury College in Vermont. Yeshi joined the World Wildlife Fund Nepal Program in 1997, and immediately began working in Dolpo. What began for Yeshi as a project management assignment would quickly turn into a much deeper per- sonal and professional commitment. Her scholarly contributions include a book on medicinal plants of Dolpo that she co-authored in 2001, collabora- tive articles with colleagues at WWF and the UNESCO People and Plants Initiative, and her MPhil thesis at SOAS in London. Her dedicated engage- ment with am chi, local villagers, government representatives, and interna- tional scholars and consultants, and of course her co-workers and supervisors at WWF, straddled high quality scholarship and engaged conservation and development work. Yeshi’s background in anthropology and international studies, as well as her fluency in Tibetan, were huge assets in this process, and deeply appreciated by all the people she worked with in Dolpo, and later with the Himalayan Amchi Association, as well as her later work in the Kanchen- junga area. Downloaded from Brill.com04/06/2021 01:00:06AM via free access 240 S. R. Craig, D. M. Glover / Asian Medicine 5 (2009) 219–242 Yeshi bridged many worlds—worlds represented by all of us who gathered for this panel. She was as much a Tibetan as she was marked by her life in Nepal. She held fast to her family’s history in Tibet and Bhutan even as she made her peace, like so many Tibetans do, with the experience of exile. She was a scholar in the truest sense of the term: inquisitive, skeptical, with a deeply collaborative spirit and a commitment to the exchange of knowledge across cultural and disciplinary borders. She was a practitioner, in all senses of this term: dedicated, filled with duty and devotion to the people with whom she worked. Many of us still mourn her death and strive to continue the work to which she was so committed. And so, this conference was a bittersweet moment for those who knew Yeshi and those who have benefited, directly or indirectly, from her lifework. We hope that the exchange of ideas and experi- ences presented in this special issue will continue to inspire us: to remind us of all we do not know and to keep us working with the spirit of collaboration, respect, and insight that Yeshi embodied. Acknowledgements We gratefully acknowledge support from a Weiss Family Faculty Research/ Conference Grant through the Nelson A. Rockefeller Center for Public Policy and Social Science, and a conference travel grant from the John S. Dickey Center for International Understanding, both at Dartmouth College. We also thank the Trace Foundation and the University of Puget Sound for their sup- port. These grants made possible our panel at the IASTAM Bhutan confer- ence. Additionally, we would like to thank Theresia Hofer for her assistance at every stage of the IASTAM event, and Tsering D. Gonkatsang for his meticulous and thoughtful translation of the three original Tibetan language essays. References Agrawal, A. 2005, Environmentality: Technologies of Government and the Making of Subjects, Dur- ham: Duke University Press. Appadurai, A. 1988, The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Becker, H. 1995, ‘Introduction,’ In Beyond Translation: Essays toward a Modern Philology, Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1–20. Berlin, B., D. E. Breedlove, and P. H. Raven 1973, ‘General Principles of Classification and Nomenclature in Folk Biology’, American Anthropologist 75: 214–42. 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work_jg7gkx4uyraotbufgdt7q47zbm	----	A Transcendentalist Nature Religion religions Article A Transcendentalist Nature Religion Nicholas Aaron Friesner ID Department of Religious Studies, Brown University, 59 George Street, Providence, RI 02912, USA; nicholas_friesner@brown.edu Received: 28 June 2017; Accepted: 20 July 2017; Published: 26 July 2017 Abstract: Scholars of religion have often pointed to the Transcendentalists as progenitors of a distinct tradition of nature religion in the United States. Nevertheless, this work has not fully dealt with the problematic qualities of “nature” in light of growing concerns about the ethical and socio-political implications of human powers in the Anthropocene. This paper presents a brief overview of “nature religion” while focusing on the often uneasy way that Ralph Waldo Emerson is treated in this work. By looking at how Emerson is viewed as a stepping stone to Henry David Thoreau, I argue that it is precisely what the tradition of nature religion finds problematic in Emerson—his strains of recurrent idealism—that allows him to have a more expansive notion of nature as the environments in which we live, while preserving the importance of human moral agency. What follows, then, is a more nuanced position in environmental ethics that is informed by an Emersonian sense of the irreducible tension between being created and being a creator. Keywords: transcendentalism; nature religion; Ralph Waldo Emerson; environmental ethics; environmental justice 1. Introduction Among scholars as well as the general American public, it has long been acknowledged that the Transcendentalists have contributed to a specific tradition of environmental religiosity. Their influence has been variously named, both by those who would distance Transcendentalists like Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau from religious institutions (making theirs a kind of spirituality), and by those who allow that this is a different kind of religious tradition, one less invested in reiterating formal church structures and more in inaugurating a revolution in what religion (here, not opposed to spirituality) will look like in the future. Among scholars of religion, both Emerson and Thoreau have played a major role in the development of what is called a “nature religion” tradition insofar as each articulated a sense of religious reverence for the sacrality of the natural world that is inherited by a long line of readers, many of whom ascribe to them a near-prophetic status. However great its ongoing influence as an analytical category for drawing together a diverse set of religious phenomena under a symbolic engagement with nature, we might wonder whether, as a coherent concept, nature religion stands up to critical scrutiny. For instance, recent scholarship from a range of disciplines has questioned the continuing relevance of the analytic category of “nature” because of its seeming inoculation from an analysis of the effects of social and political power. Taking my cue from these critical reappraisals of the unstated normative undertones of “nature”, the question I will explore in what follows is whether a Transcendentalist sense of “nature religion,” returning to it so-called problematic Emersonian roots, might be better equipped to deal with questions of twenty-first century environmentalism. Thus, my goal is to interrogate one aspect of the legacy of the Transcendentalists for religious thought in the United States, focusing solely on the tangled question of a “nature religion”. However, I will not interrogate the particular historical trajectory presented by the dominant paradigm of nature religion in this essay—and whether its inclusion of certain voices operates to the exclusion of others—but will instead focus on the unraveling of a certain vision of “nature” that lays at its core. Religions 2017, 8, 130; doi:10.3390/rel8080130 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0002-1020-4838 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel8080130 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2017, 8, 130 2 of 18 In fact, what I will argue in the following is that we can see in miniature what is most troubling about “nature” as an ethical category in the traditional move from Emerson to Thoreau as it is represented by the majority of those who have been interested in the connection between nature religion and environmentalism in the past three decades. My contention will be that swirling within the criticism that is often made of Emerson’s proto-environmentalism—i.e., that his idealism prevents him from realizing the true value of nature as something independent of the human, a value that is not merely symbolic and not merely in service of human ethical flourishing—are the tools for an approach to environmental ethics and justice in the present. That is to say, the ambiguity of Emerson’s nature idealism allows him to have a sense in which human power and nature power are intertwined, in which nature is more than the wilderness but stands for the environments in which we live. Consequently, Emerson’s ideal of intimacy with the world preserves a unique sense of human responsibility while rejecting any picture in which human moral activity is autonomous from the environments it occurs. The lineage of the Transcendentalist interest in nature moves away from Emerson on this point, traveling instead through the tradition of nature writing and a more overt celebration of the land. My hope is to draw from Emerson the idea that humans now live in a tension with the world in which we are both creators of and created by own environments. This is one of what Stanley Cavell would call the “unhandsome” aspects of our condition, that when we try to clutch the hardest at our world we tend to lose contact with it the most.1 By turning back to Emerson, my hope is not to privilege Emerson over any other ethical response—as though he sets out something unique on the American intellectual scene. Indeed, there are many indigenous and ecotheological views that come to a similar kind of claim about human responsiveness to the environment, but which start in very different places.2 There are many roads to the place I hope to go. Rather, my hope is to focus on a kind of unconventional Emerson, a figure I believe has been used and misused at the nexus of religion, literature, and environmental thought, all in hopes of offering a view that might have resonance in the twenty-first century. 2. “Nature Religion” and Symbolic “Nature” Although it is still in wide usage in an array of fields, the term “nature” has itself come under criticism for a variety of reasons from many different disciplines. For those working in the field of religion and ecology, “nature” is problematic as a term to the extent that it refers to an individual object of religious concern that is often bound to a particular creation theology separating some autonomous order of “nature” from not-nature. This creation theology need not be explicitly monotheistic, for there are a variety of ways to separate the domains of a created order into two distinct (although perhaps entangled) spheres. The problem is that too often this creation theology is considered a neutral or universalizable descriptor. As Roger Gottlieb among others has written, religion and ecology in its early iterations as a discipline dealt explicitly with the question of how humans are to deal with “creation”, which was more or less equivalent to the term “nature”. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the idea of “creation” in this context uses either an explicit or implicit theological apparatus to preserve the order of nature as a created thing apart from human power. Nature (as creation) was thus viewed as a thing that becomes despoiled by human activity—the human (along with the equally pernicious 1 I follow Tyler Roberts in refining Cavell’s reading of this passage by taking it as an argument for receptivity through acknowledgment of the world (Buell 2003, p. 211). As Emerson puts it in “Experience”: “I take this evanescence and lubricity of all objects, which lets them slip through our fingers then when we clutch hardest, to be the most unhandsome part of our condition. Nature does not like to be observed, and likes that we should be her fools and playmates” (CW 3:29). In this essay, I will use the standard abbreviations for the works of Emerson: The Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson (J) (Emerson 1960–1982); The Early Lectures of Ralph Waldo Emerson (EL) (Emerson 1961–1972); The Collected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson (CW) (Emerson 1971–2013); and The Complete Sermons of Ralph Waldo Emerson (CS) (Emerson 1989–1992). 2 For instance, much of what I will say seems compatible with what Kyle Whyte and Chris Cuomo have recently described as an indigenous ethics of care with regards to the environment, one in which the human caretaker role arguably has elements of what I term a transcendental intimacy (Whyte and Cuomo 2017). Religions 2017, 8, 130 3 of 18 “culture”) coming to exist in disharmony with creation and therefore pitted against it. Nonetheless, not only is “nature” dubious as a universalizable concept, but without some form of creation theology to delimit the separate spheres of human and nature so that each is autonomous in its own way with powers distinct from the other, the idea of “nature” decoupled from a creation theology begins to break apart. Indeed, this decoupling is exasperated by what now seems empirically undeniable: what were once taken to be the categorically distinct spheres of human and nature are no longer viewed as separate realms with separable spheres of power, but mutually constituting, with no idyllic prelapsarian harmony to which we ought to return.3 For many who work in religion and ecology and are worried about how “nature” might provide a false sense of a fully harmonious order, there has been a conceptual change to thinking about the “environment” to avoid the problematic theological overtones of “nature”. Instead, as Gottlieb describes, we must focus our ethical gaze on “a nonhuman world whose life and death, current shape and future prospects, are in large measure determined by human beings” (Gottlieb 2006, p. 5). The conceptual change to talking about environments rather than nature is also meant to acknowledge a fact that now seems undeniable: that we are living in what is now fashionably called the anthropocene, meaning that we are living at a time when human activity and human power have unimaginable impacts on every facet of the Earth.4 This is an acknowledgment that in our twenty-first century, globalized industrial society there is no self-sustaining natural world that stands apart from the influence of human power—and vice versa. This is, first of all, an empirical claim to which we are witnesses through climate science, conservation biology, environmental medicine, as well as with the variety of those who work towards environmental justice, among other and diverse fields. But this has a philosophical resonance as well: that is to say, we are not passive receivers of impressions made on us by the world, but active creators of our experiences, beings that are shaped by socio-cultural systems in conjunction with the physical environments that are also shaped by these systems. The social and the environmental are nearly impossible to disentangle—and that is a central element of what the anthropocene forces us to acknowledge. I should note as well that just as Emerson and Thoreau saw humans as animals, my invocation of the anthropocene is not meant to make a categorical distinction between humans and animals (or any other form of life)—although it does take the human species to be exceptional in the sense that, at the present, human activity has a radical world-altering power and the concomitant moral responsibility that entails, even if this responsibility is not equally dispersed among all members.5 If we admit the logic of the anthropocene, this presents a problem for how we might talk about “experiences” of “nature”, especially those kinds of experiences that form the foundation of “nature religion”. In many ways, the realization that there is no autonomous order of nature not deeply shaped, physically and conceptually, by forms of human power has an analog with the debates about religious experience by scholars beginning in the 1980s with Wayne Proudfoot’s groundbreaking 3 This also becomes a problem for theological naturalists: insofar as there is nothing that is not nature, then nature ceases to mean anything. For instance, the following question seemed to alter radically Robert Corrington’s theological work: “If nature is all that there is, can we even use the word ‘nature’ in a philosophical perspective in which the concept of the ‘non-nature’ makes absolutely no sense?” (Corrington 2002, p. 141). 4 My usage of the “anthropocene” here is meant to follow in the work of Jeremy Davies who presents it as “a way of seeing” that “can work as a shock tactic. To say that the earth has changed so much that a whole new geological epoch has begun is a way of driving home the magnitude of recent damage to the living world.” Rather than promoting a universalism that absolves individual actors of responsibility, or providing a defense of a technocratic global elite as the saviors of our planet, Davies sees the “anthropocene” as a descriptor of a new epoch in geologic time, one that can encompass as well as celebrate the vast plurality of ecological responses to the effects of human power on the life and health of the planet and its organisms (Davies 2016, pp. 194–95). 5 This is, of course, a contentious portrayal of the anthropocene. For one recent criticism of this view, Donna Haraway argues that conceptions of the anthropocene seem to rely on “human exceptionalism and the utilitarian individualism of classical political economies,” which offer up a technocratic and pessimistic solution to environmental problems. She relates this to the “last gasps of the sky gods,” the monotheistic religious traditions that see divinity in a human form that transcends the earthly (Haraway 2016, p. 57). Religions 2017, 8, 130 4 of 18 work. Prior to this period, scholars of religion often treated an individual’s religious experience as a kind of preconceptual access to a world that imprinted itself on the subject independent of that person’s history, culture, or circumstance. Scholars of religion now see this position as woefully misguided. Instead, we ought to think about religious experiences as one way that people find meaning through a particular combination of their history, cultural frameworks, and the experience of physical things in the world.6 Religious experiences always happen in the midst of a complex web of processes that shape them to be what they are. The analogy with nature here should be evident: just as how “nature” once was taken to be an object sui generis that could impress itself upon people apart from their particular contexts, providing a source of normativity for human life that is removed from the social-cultural systems that have (potentially) led us astray, we now understand that there is no such thing out there that is not already mediated—both conceptually and physically—in some way by forms of human power. Consequently, there is no such experience of nature apart from the social frameworks of race, religion, gender, class, nationality, etc., all of which inform how we experience. It is here where we can also witness the move from what is sometimes called first-wave literary ecocriticism to its second-wave successor (Buell 2005). Whereas early forms of ecocriticism tended towards a celebration of the pristine quality of untouched natural lands and promoted efforts to legally, culturally, and biologically preserve those lands from human interference, second wave ecocriticism tends to take a more circumspect view of nature by beginning with the realization that too much focus on the untouched natural lands of the first wave tended to preclude questions about how “nature” is itself produced. In doing so, this second wave focuses on ways of representing environments that include more than just the wilderness, but also toxic waste dumps, the luxuries of ecotourism, and the variety of urban built spaces (Feldman and Hsu 2007, p. 200).7 As ecocritics take this criticism to heart, their work begins to show how “nature cannot be represented as something separate and complete in itself, but rather must be seen in material relation to socially differentiated bodies” (Feldman and Hsu 2007, pp. 205–6). Nevertheless, this thorough critique of “nature”, as a category treated apart from the social and historical forces that shore up its coherence, seems not yet to have been fully brought to bear on work exploring nature religion. Indeed, when Albanese (1990, p. 6) coined the term to refer to that somewhat diffuse collection of forms of religiosity that have a common way of “organizing reality” around a concern for the sacrality of nature, she was more interested in whether this proposed category could hold together as a descriptor of a “religious” phenomenon, as opposed to something quasi-or irreligious. Much of the conversation has followed this lead, asking whether it holds up as an accurate definition of “religion” without either dissolving all quasi-religious phenomena into religion proper or dismissing all phenomena that do not toe a rather narrow theological conception of what can count as religion (Berry 2011). That is to say, of the two constitutive conceptual components of “nature religion”, it has been the “religion” component that has garnered the bulk of scholars’ attention because it seeks to include a diverse array of religious phenomena under a single umbrella. In Albanese’s follow-up work, it is just this problem that draws her attention: she worries that “the appearance of nature religion dissolved almost as soon as it could be identified,” not because there are questions about the boundaries of the category “nature” and the various and diverse meanings it might have, but because she has trouble answering the question of “where does religion stop and something else begin?” (Albanese 2002, p. 23). “Nature” isn’t a problem for Albanese because she treats it as the “reality” in which human experience occurs, a stable point made up of the “forces and factors that delimit the human project—aspects of life over which humans, literally, have no control and before which they must bow” (Albanese 2002, p. 24). There isn’t a discussion of how this reality of “nature” shifts and 6 The classic presentation of this view was given by Proudfoot (1987). For more recent work that extends this view, (see Bush 2014; Taves 2009). 7 In this way, ecocritics are turning to the same environmental phenomena that sociologists pursuing environmental justice, such as David Pellow, have been exploring in recent years (Pellow 2002; Park and Pellow 2011). Religions 2017, 8, 130 5 of 18 morphs depending on how it is conceived, or whether the idea that there are forces outside of human control ceases to be an adequate way of describing nature in the anthropocene where we only have quasi-natural phenomena. As I will show below, Albanese, as well as much of the other nature religion literature, has trouble putting Emerson under the “nature religion” umbrella precisely to the extent to which he seems unsure of “nature” as a fixed reality in which human life participates. The discourse around “nature religion” has generally followed this path laid out by Albanese. For instance, Taylor and Horn (2006, p. 166) define “nature religion(s)” as “umbrella terms for religious perceptions and practices that, despite substantial diversity, are characterized by a reverence for nature and consider nature to be sacred in some way,” with an added sense that it involves “the feeling some people have of being bound, connected, or belonging to nature.” Taylor and Van Horn see this as a move away from efforts to achieve a transcendence of nature. For them, anti-transcendence opens the door to a different kind of nonsupernatualist religion that will inspire environmental action and a “reverence for life” (Taylor and Horn 2006, pp. 179–80). Similarly, Dacy (Dacy 2005, p. 1175) in The Encyclopedia of Religion and Nature describes “nature religion” as “a type of religion in which nature is the milieu of the sacred, and within which the idea of transcendence of nature is unimportant or irrelevant to religious practice.” There is a general tendency toward ecocentrism in these works, which explains the aversion to certain notions of “transcendence”. What is to be transcended is human culture and the problems therein, but not the natural world as the context in which all human thought and activity occurs. Indeed, it is the full-bodied “reality” or “nature” that ensures that “nature religion” can operate as a set of dispersed religious phenomena that all roughly employ a similar sense of the sacrality of a shared referent. Indeed, there isn’t much interrogation of what kind of creation theology would hold this “nature” together, or whether that theology is as shared as it is sometimes made out to be. In this regard, scholarship on nature religion is similar to first-wave ecocriticism. One of the places this commonality comes out most strongly is the tendency to treat Emerson as a stepping stone to Thoreau. When looking at the standard histories of US environmentalism that informs work on nature religion, there is no doubt that Thoreau is the more important figure, the one who inspires the earliest generations of explicitly environmentalist writers and who is credited as being perhaps the first American naturalist. In Thoreau’s work the land speaks to him in often finely attentive ways, ways to which he is more attuned and better at celebrating than the ephemeral-sounding Emerson.8 Indeed, Thoreau’s volumes of natural description and extended natural metaphor are so aesthetically superior to Emerson’s occasional observations that no one would dare put them on the same level. In Buell’s formative volume for understanding the American environmental imagination, he makes Thoreau’s treatment of the personified nonhuman world the central thread of the work, enacting a tradition of poetic animism that provides the bond between ecology and ethics. As Buell (1995, pp. 208–9) rightly describes the dominant paradigm of environmentalism in the US, Thoreau is seen as having a “personal intimacy with nature,” in which an animated Walden functions as “a living presence, not merely a ‘neighbor’ but a mentor, a role model.”9 When Buell offered his updated understanding of ecocriticism in 2005, Thoreau’s importance diminishes as a more global and justice-oriented literature rises to prominence, even though Buell 8 There is still a question (as there is for Emerson as well) of whether the later detailed naturalistic observations of Thoreau witness a religious disenchantment when compared to his earlier, more spiritually enthusiastic writing. As Hodder (2011, p. 473) puts it: “According to this decline narrative, as we might call it, at this watershed moment in his life [his late thirties into his forties]. Thoreau began to abandon his earlier spiritual euphoria, along with his former religious idealism, and devoted himself instead to a narrower set of scientific commitments.” Needless to say, oftentimes the literature that is more concerned with Thoreau’s naturalism as the archetypal environmentalist expression tends to view this as a positive change, rather than an extension of an coherent religious project from the beginning. In general, there is a tendency to “secularize” the prominent Transcendentalists when considering their contribution to the creation of a distinctive literary tradition. For an exploration of this, (see Van Anglen 1998). 9 Buell defends Thoreau’s blatant use of the pathetic fallacy as a means by which to present environmental care with a voice, a way of conceptualizing the environment as sacred on social terms. That is to say, because Thoreau was able to recognize an intimacy with nature through conceptualizing its presence to him in terms of human social relations, he was able to respond to it as though responding to a person—as, in a sense, allowing the things of the environment to speak to him in Religions 2017, 8, 130 6 of 18 hints at ways of bringing Thoreau into this conversation by expanding his concern beyond the strictly naturalistic literature inspired by him.10 Accounts that are more sympathetic to Emerson, such as Gatta (2004), still tend to find the fulfillment of the environmentalist turn in the ecocentric animism of Thoreau. Pitting Thoreau’s “hearty empiricism” against Emerson’s “metaphysical abstractions,” Gatta finds the latter to dwell too much on the idea that humans are creators of the visible world, and that the environment is too often nothing more than the mind’s projection (Gatta 2004, p. 89). Gatta reads Emerson as failing to attend properly to how his understanding of “nature” was historically mediated in those moments when he sensed that he had somehow gotten to the truth of nature by means of a heightened individual experience (Gatta 2004, p. 95). Thus, Thoreau is the one who finds a way of accounting for how human imaginative abilities “half-create” our interaction with a place, avoiding a simple celebration of the pristine and untouched wilderness by portraying the human-environment relationship as one of co-creation (Gatta 2004, p. 131). As Thoreau interprets nature through his carefully crafted empirical observations, he comes to self-consciousness about himself as interpreter. Thus, Gatta finds in Thoreau a less problematic theology of creation that makes the idea of living deliberately in close relation to the natural world an intentional act of acknowledged co-creation. In general, the literature on nature religion reinforces the picture given by the ecocritics, where Thoreau supersedes Emerson by taking significant steps to overcome his anthropic idealism with an ecocentrism that is informed by his scientific naturalism. Albanese’s work is emblematic in this regard, as she attributes to Emerson a confusion between “a view of matter as ‘really real’” and “a view of matter as illusion and unreality”—forcing a dilemma between choosing to view “nature as the embodiment of God” and thus the home for human life, or “transcending” nature “for higher things” (Albanese 1990, p. 82). She even argues that Emerson was aware of this shift from “Nature Major to Nature Minor” and felt the need to apologize for it once he realized that he was stuck in a problem that he was unable to remove himself from (Albanese 1990, pp. 85–87; 2002, p. 67). Thoreau, at least in Albanese’s earlier work, corrects some of what she sees as Emerson’s problem concerning the inherent “reality” of nature, replacing it with a more thoroughly “unchastened embrace of matter” (Albanese 1990, p. 87). Taylor and Horn (2006, pp. 169–70) reiterate this move, claiming that Thoreau and his inheritor John Muir were “far more interested in nature for its own sake than Emerson,” thus making them “naturalists who were more scientifically inclined than Emerson,” portraying their mentor Emerson as more representative of the strain of Transcendentalism that leads to contemporary New Age spiritualities than a deep environmental concern.11 The problem with all these moves from the symbolic “nature” of Emerson to the scientific naturalism of Thoreau is that the juxtaposition between Thoreau and Emerson—the empirical observer versus the metaphysical spiritualist—privileges an empirical model as the primary means by which to understand the environment, which is understood as a nature that exists waiting to be uncovered.12 his own language. He is able to treat Walden as a mentor precisely because he has augmented himself in order to stand in a relationship of intimacy with it. It is through nature’s personhood that Thoreau brings ecology and ethics together. 10 “But to think of the Walden persona, through an environmental justice lens, as struggling with the concerns of poverty, downward mobility, and chagrin at being socially reduced to the equivalent of an ethnic other helps both to define the book’s mental limits—the presumption of the still-comparatively privileged, subsidized Yankee likening his predicament to that of a wandering Native American basket-peddler—and to mark off what makes Walden a more searching ecocultural inquiry than much of the latter-day voluntary simplicity literature partly inspired by it” (Buell 2005, pp. 122–23). 11 Additionally, the three entries in the Encyclopedia of Religion and Nature that deal with Emerson, Thoreau, and the Transcendentalist movement, by Gould (2005), argue that Emerson cared more about nature’s symbolic power than its scientific importance, that Thoreau goes “beyond” Emerson with his scientific naturalism, but also Thoreau goes beyond most of the Transcendentalist movement in general, which she reads as interested in the moral and aesthetic value that “lay ‘behind’ or ‘inside’ external, natural phenomena,” showing their interest to lie more in a symbolic nature than an actually physically existing nature. 12 One could argue that Thoreau’s work pushes back on some of this simply juxtaposition. For instance, his claim in “Walking” that he lives a “border life” should cause us to question the very boundaries that seem necessary for a concept like the “natural”. Religions 2017, 8, 130 7 of 18 We are given the impression that if one is to be environmentally conscious, then he must become a naturalist. Often it seems that the conflation between environmentalism and naturalism is meant to express the rejection of any attempt at human transcendence—whether with a notion of divinity or not—because it would seem to distance one from a concern with nature. While “nature” is acknowledged to be a human construct for this model, it still treats it as though it is a reality somewhere out there awaiting exploration—and, we might add, conquered by a kind of masculinist knowledge of it. Consequently, a picture of nature as pristine wilderness seems to be lurking always in the background for this empiricism, always supplying that which is to be constructed by human cognition. What we lose, then, are the ways that nature is physically constructed by humans, not just conceptually. And the pristine wilderness seems again to run afoul of critiques of creation theology. What such a theology of creation fails to give us is a way of understanding that, for instance, our social and political systems have been inflected by racist ideologies and have formed the environment into a physical instantiation and instrument for the perpetuation of racism. Racialized human systems produced racialized environments. A theology of creation that doesn’t take this into account fails to allow us to attend to the ways that the formation of the environment comes to represent a type of slow violence, to use Rob Nixon’s term, one in which human actions cause changes in the environment which, in disproportionate ways, map onto socially marginalized peoples and cause them violence in long temporal durations (Nixon 2011, p. 2). That is to say, the physical landscape itself becomes the carrier for social injustice, remaking and remapping the environment according to social and political power—and there is no way of escaping this power.13 Let me consider one more preliminary concern before turning to my presentation of Emerson. To recuperate a sense of an Emersonian nature religion that gives us tools for thinking about the ambiguity of the human-environment relationship, we will need a way of understanding how nature religion can find forms of authority that are more than individual projection, that finds authority in the reality of nature even when “nature” is understood as a (partial) product of human power. Take, for instance, a criticism of Emerson made by Lundin (2005) that expresses a discontent with the modernity and the perceived liberalism of an Emersonian religion. In From Nature to Experience, Lundin tracks the loss of a kind of authority offered by the natural world as the locus of God’s revelation, which is replaced by a particularly American sense of the authority of individual experience. For Lundin, this is a story of the decline of religion (or, more appropriately, a certain understanding of Christian orthodoxy) in the face of secularizing pressures, a decline which can be seen in miniature in Emerson’s corpus.14 By turning the locus of authority from nature to experience, Lundin argues, the human becomes the measure of all things, and therefore the measure of nothing. Lundin has a reluctant sympathy for Emerson, who he reads as trying to preserve a thread of moral reality for nature through his doctrine of correspondence, as though Emerson saw the writing on the wall but was helpless to do anything about it. Many readers of Emerson (Lundin singles out Richard Poirier, but we might include Cavellians and Pragmatists of all stripes here as well) have de-divinized Emerson by removing that last thread of moral reality from him, emptying him of all his “metaphysical dimensions” (Lundin 2005, pp. 63, 65). From Lundin’s rhetoric, it is clear that this is a story of cultural 13 As Nixon (2011) notes, to respond to the contemporary situation of slow violence, more than a careful empirical attention to the environment is needed. In fact, the notion of wilderness that too often gets substituted for the environment in some ecocriticism as well as work on nature religion generally serves to obscure these formations of social and political power. Instead, we need creative representations that make visible what often goes invisible—i.e., the forms of environmental change that have disproportionate impacts on the socially marginalized because they occur in non-spectacular ways in ordinary everyday spaces. As Gottlieb (2006) pointed out above, there is no longer a sense of a nature that is not a product of or subject to human power—what we have no not are various and different environments, inflected in various ways by forms of human power and activity, and we need not look too far to find them, but we must make efforts to look. 14 In the short eight-year period from Nature to “Experience,” Lundin sees the crucial moment where American intellectual culture moves away from the authority of (Christian) tradition. This loss of traditional authority represented by the turn to experience would eventually take hold among the American pragmatists, culminating in the evacuation of all forms of non-experiential authority for the ungrounded, endless theorization that he claims to find in Richard Rorty (Lundin 2005, pp. 2–3, 8–9). Religions 2017, 8, 130 8 of 18 decline.15 As Lundin presents it, the loss of authority other than the self is a theological problem, and it is only made worse by an Emersonian theology which, as he conceives it, gives authority to individual experience against the authority of tradition, an authority that cannot be dethroned by anything other than the active self in its self-making activity. And if the active self is the only locus of authority, then there will be little regard for any ethical obligation imposed on the self from outside it—in this case, by one’s environment. In many ways this is one of the longstanding criticisms of Emersonian religion. A version of it is found in Orestes Brownson, the Transcendentalist turned Roman Catholic who departed with Emerson over the latter’s commitment to promoting the moral sentiment as an insight into one’s own soul, rather than seeing that morality required “obeying the command of a power out of him, above him, and independent of him” (Brownson 1991, p. 194). According to this criticism, the Emersonian active self that needs only to obey itself loses the sense of obligation entirely—or, as Brownson put it, morality becomes just “transcendental selfishness” and “pure egotism” (Brownson 1991, p. 196). Oftentimes this became, in Emerson’s day, the claim that Emerson dismissed traditional Christian practice when it seemed personally disagreeable to him, making it so that individual distaste becomes the primary determinate of one’s morality.16 One could offer a similar criticism of Cavell’s work and those inspired by him to the extent that it promotes an Emersonian self that is interested only in its untethered linguistic becoming (Buell 2003; Friedman 2009). Without some strong claimant outside the self that can serve as a source of authority that dampens the individual self, the criticism goes, the self swings too freely, and in the Cavellian case, revels too intently in its own playful creative power. Unfortunately, those who would make this criticism of Emersonian religion often hold a static conception of “authority”—that of a particular theological orthodoxy, either an orthodoxy of the book, church, or spirit. Without that, the criticism would go, there is nothing but the willing of the individual self. With that in mind, we must attempt to swim among these two pressures, neither succumbing to the tendency to defer human power to the power of nature, nor allowing the individual self to assume complete world-making power. Indeed, I will try to show that it is precisely in this tension that Emerson’s work can be informative. Furthermore, if we are to engage in a recuperative project of turning to Emerson for a nature religion that is fit for a twenty-first century understanding of the often tangled and mutually constitutive humans-environments relation, then we will need to be doubly insecure about our conceptual pairing of “nature” and “religion”. Neither stands as a constant grounded by the other: “nature” is the not the universal reality or shared context that collects a diverse set of religious phenomena, and “religion” is not a theologically constant phenomenon that collects diverse notions of nature into a single discourse. Because the scholarly literature had dealt with the latter concern for what is religious about “nature religion, in the next section I focus on just the former of these concerns by giving an account of Emerson as suppling an ideal of intimacy with the world that preserves the sense of human responsibility (not collapsing human agency in the ecocentric moves that have been characteristic of movements in deep ecology), while eschewing complete human autonomy from physical environments (the claim of anthropomorphic approaches to the environment). Through a cauldron of self, community, and environment, various competing senses of authority emerge. This, I claim, is a product of Emerson’s idealism when understood properly. That is, his idealism is not concerned with the mastery of creation through “manipular” means, nor is it about metaphysical abstraction (or, alternatively, transcendence) to the point of disregard for the 15 The last line of his book reinstitutes the kind of authority that he feels has been lost in the liberal turn to experience: “In that silence [of the cross], we may hear a word of abiding comfort, and in this insulted face, we may see an authority that we can indeed call master” (Lundin 2005, p. 202). 16 This claim continues today. For instance, in Barbara Packer’s analysis of the Lord’s Supper Sermon, Emerson rejects the rite because of the “boredom” that he felt towards it “elevat[ing] distaste into a principle of criticism,” which she reads as an instance of religious “indifference” (Packer 2007, p. 9). Religions 2017, 8, 130 9 of 18 physical—rather, it is about a careful acknowledgment of the power of human creativity and the need for that creativity to be wielded appropriately in relation to the very real bonds of the self that normatively bind it. 3. Emersonian “Nature” “Religion” It would be wrong to suppose that Emerson had a single conception of “nature” throughout his career. Indeed, there is a way that he is building his idealist conception of nature throughout his corpus. Accordingly, to make my case that Emersonian “nature” can be helpful for a different kind of nature religion, I will focus on four essays from different periods of his life: Nature (1836), “The Method of Nature” (1841), “Nature” (1844), and “Illusions” (1860). These essays are by no means exhaustive, but when read together, they present some of the fundamental aspects of how Emerson approached nature, as well as many of the elements that scholars have found to be anathema for an environmental concern. My goal, in particular, will be to develop an Emersonian notion of ecstasy in relation to religious piety, and to show how this relates both to the environment and the function of human agency. Although his first book, Nature, stands as perhaps his most well-read exposition of a transcendentalist view of “nature,” it is not without its ambiguities—something that the literature on nature religion has been right to identify. From the beginning of the book we are told that there are two senses of nature: first, the “philosophical” sense that separates Nature (or the “not-me”) from Soul (the human subject); and, second, the “common sense” of nature, which treats it as “essences unchanged by man,” separate from Art, which is the mixture of human will and nature (CW 1:8).17 The glibness of the way these positions are presented, in conjunction with the assertion that the differences between the philosophical and the common senses of nature will cause “no confusion” for his inquiry, already seems to indicate that something sly is happening. It is as if we are led from the outset to be suspicious of this distinction between soul/human and nature, primed to see perhaps how this Cartesian inheritance doesn’t hold up to critical scrutiny. Indeed, the arc of the first main section of the extended essay, appropriated labeled “Nature”, culminates with a subtle rejoinder to those who would treat nature and the human as distinct. We might begin our inquiries with the sense that nature is “the integrity of impression made by manifold natural objects” which the poet has the eyes to see as though an independent witness to a manifold imparting ideas or sentiments according to its own integrity, but we end the chapter with the realization that our “delight” in nature is self-produced, that “Nature always wears the colors of the spirit;” that is, our spirit (no longer just the poet’s), which can be joyful one day and “overspread with melancholy” the next, plays a determining part in dictating how these supposed “essences unchanged by man” are seen (CW 1:9–10). Even the so-called transparent eyeball passage is said to occur “in good health,” prompting us to wonder what such an experience might look like to one in “poor” health (CW 1:9). This, of course, draws attention to the infamous “crack” that generations of scholarship have pointed to as Emerson’s admission that his attempt to weld together the realism of the first five chapters with the idealism of the last two chapters—using his transitional “Idealism” chapter—ends up being a failure. The “Idealism” chapter seems at best to waver in what it aims to do. It gives us the five ways that one might understand idealism (“motion, poetry, physical and intellectual science, and religion”) but ultimately doesn’t seem to favor one over the others. Instead, Emerson discloses that he has “no hostility to nature, but a child’s love to it” and that “all right education” ought to go towards promoting the realization of “man’s connexion with nature” (CW 1:35–36). In fact, the chapter both begins and ends with the importance of the “active” over the “reflective” as a means to respond 17 Emerson’s distinction between me and not-me calls to mind Fichte’s distinction between Ich and Nicht-Ich, which Emerson would most likely have received at second-hand through a combination of Thomas Carlyle, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Victor Cousin, and Frederick Henry Hedge (Greenham 2012, pp. 70–81). Religions 2017, 8, 130 10 of 18 to the “noble doubt” that idealism raises about the existence of the world apart from the human, culminating with the claim that philosophy and virtue cannot simply take the position of watchers in an ideal world, but must marry this “watching” to “doing” (CW 1:30, 36).18 Importantly, it is love that Emerson returns to at the end of the book, excoriating a materialist science and philosophy that seeks only to fill up notebooks with facts about nature, urging the naturalist to attend also to himself and his position in which “the axis of vision is not coincident with the axis of things” (CW 1:43). In the end, then, the naturalist needs not only to “perceive” nature, but must love it as well, love it in such a way that his “thought is devout, and devotion is thought.” Admonishing the cold naturalist not to forget the importance of his love does not strictly solve the idealist-realist division, because it doesn’t tell us the true nature of our subjective influence on an objective world. Nevertheless, this affective dimension of one’s love for nature—one of Emerson’s inheritances from the Romantic tradition and his Aunt Mary Moody—reverberates throughout the corpus. In the essay “Love” from Essays: First Series, Emerson writes that he is pained by the accusation that his lectures have been too intellectual, and thus “unjustly cold to the personal relations” (CW 2:101). In response, he links together three ideas: the sense that “persons are love’s world,” the power of nature to evoke this love, and the impact of love on the “social instincts.” For Emerson, this is a linkage that occurs in youth and reverberates throughout the life of the individual even as she might no longer be able to “see” nature in that youthful way (CW 2:102). What is striking about this essay is Emerson’s usage of a kind of animism to describe how nature can be an object of love that becomes ethically significant. Through this love, “Nature grows conscious.”19 Emerson even evokes the idea of the flower, among other things in nature, as a kind of intelligent being.20 What the essay is concerned with is the “training” for a love that looks for virtue and wisdom everywhere, and uses an affection for the natural world as a place in which to cultivate this virtue and wisdom (CW 2:109). Emerson is clear that there is a current of idealism operating below the surface here: it is not that when one looks on nature with the right eye one sees it as it truly is, but that when one looks on nature with a particular kind of eye for it, then it will become the kind of animated intelligent thing to which we ethically respond. Emerson accepts the Kantian point that we do not see nature as it really is, but he rejects the idea that this empties nature of its ethical power in shaping us. The sin, as Wendell Berry (2000, pp. 7–8) points out, is not that our ideas imprison us, but that we presume “to reduce life to the scope of our understanding,” which “is inevitably to enslave it, make property of it, and put it up for sale.” When we do this, we reduce the “moral complexity” of the world. So far so good, one might say, but that doesn’t do much to answer our worries about the crack between realism and idealism. His 1841 lecture, “The Method of Nature,” goes a long way towards refining his position on just this point. In this lecture, Emerson develops the importance of a position of ecstasy, which he connects with a kind of religious piety and receptivity that stresses both love over knowledge and an “intimate divinity” (CW 1:136). Like many from the period, the lecture intends to argue against a materialist and empirical reduction of nature to merely a tool for human 18 Greenham (2014, pp. 89–90) sees Nature as an attempt to bring together idealism with the active shaping of a “nature” which is not separate from the human: “Nature, at the last, for Emerson, is not something material that exists in opposition to us, in excess of us; nature is that which we are inside and out. This is what Transcendentalism means. It is the discovery of ourselves through the process of giving shape to the natural world.” 19 This is also a common sentiment in the journals. For instance, in a passage related to Nature: “I love the wood god. I love the mighty PAN. Yesterday I walked in the storm. And truly in the fields I am not alone or unacknowledged. They nod to me & I to them” (J 5:179). 20 “Every bird on the boughs of the tree sings now to [the youth’s] heart and soul. The notes are almost articulate. The clouds have faces, as he looks on them. The trees of the forest, the waving grass and the peeping flowers have grown intelligent; and he almost fears to trust them with the secret which they seem to invite. Yet nature soothes and sympathizes. In the green solitude he finds a dearer home than with men.” (CW 2:103). The personification of the flower as having important value for ethical formation is a common thread in Romanticism. Wordsworth (2002, p. 85) writes about the daffodils in The Grasmere Journal: “I never saw daffodils so beautiful they grew among the mossy stones about & about them, some rested their heads upon these stones as on a pillow for weariness & the rest tossed & reeled & danced & seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon them over the Lake.” Religions 2017, 8, 130 11 of 18 advancement, a collection of facts cataloged in scientific journals to promote better consumptive practices. Emerson includes the metaphysical philosophers among those who engage in this reduction, since they attempt to analyze and observe nature to come to some ultimate indubitable cause of all things. These intellectual projects are bound to fail because they approach nature in the wrong mood, trying to wield intellectual power over it, as a thing fit for their ways of seeing. To them, Emerson proclaims: “Known [nature] will not be, but gladly beloved and enjoyed” (CW 1:125).21 Trying to “know” nature is related to the grander pretense of humans to suppose that their welfare is the final end that the natural world pursues at all cost: i.e., “to make holy or wise or beautiful men.” To counter, Emerson argues that nature has a “universe of ends,” not all of which aim to the benefit of humans, and as such, its work must be represented as one of “ecstasy”—”that redundancy or excess of life” that is “the genius or method of nature” (CW 1:125, 127). Emerson puts this view into the voice of nature as it speaks to presumptuous human creatures who wish to see themselves as the focus of the world’s development: “my aim is the health of the whole tree,—root, stem, leaf, flower, and seed,—and by no means the pampering of a monstrous pericarp at the expense of all the other functions” (CW 1:126). The pericarp metaphor serves a dual purpose: as the part of the tree that is most often eaten by humans, we would suppose that if the tree were created for human benefit, the pericarp would certainly be comparatively monstrous, drawing resources at the expense of the rest of the tree; however, the pericarp is also the human, that one fruit on a larger tree that feeds it, but not at the expense of everything else. So while we are not “strangers or inferiors” to nature, and “it is flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone,” this does not mean that our being a part of nature ought to bring us comfort (CW 1:123). For to know that the progress of nature aims to the benefit of better humans is to subscribe to a creation teleology that Emerson would say represents human hubris. Emerson believes that certain scientific advances, in fields such as astronomy especially, ought to enlarge how we understand theology so as decenter the human in our understanding of the universe, helping us to move away from those doctrines—he singles out the “theological scheme of Redemption”—that would put the human at the center of the universe’s concern (CS 4:156–57). In keeping with the emphasis on doing, ecstasy is not meant to breed inaction—precisely the opposite. Indeed, one must move from the universals of nature conceived in the reason to particular actions in the world. For the human to have the “ecstatical state” take place within—a kind of mirror of the world without—then one should become the “channel through which heaven flows to earth,” acting in accordance with the demands put upon one by the work that must be done (CW 1:130). This is why one must be “receptive”—a religious posture which Emerson equates to both “piety” and “veneration” (CW 1:130). The implication is not that one needs to have a kind of mystical withdraw in which one receives communication from nature that instructs him on what to do. Quite the contrary. Reception or piety means that one must be an active ethical agent in the world who is seeking always a better and better realization of the needs that must be fulfilled in the present. Importantly, though, one must do this in a particular way: “This ecstatical state seems to direct a regard to the whole and not to the parts; to the cause and not to the ends; to the tendency, and not to the act” (CW 1:131). What Emerson means here is that one cannot simply perform a set of acts and think that he has gotten it right. These acts must be performed with an eye towards the “spiritual” or the “supernatural”—otherwise the acts are just “a cup of enchantments” that seeks after self-satisfaction or the achievement of human ends. Our gods must always be “approached, never touched,” because our acts aspire towards a grander world than we could imagine, where we are overpowered by an enthusiastic love for the world, not a love of a set of some things in it (CW 1:133). This love is opposed to mastery and control, it “looks up and not down; aspires and not despairs” (CW 1:134). It is in this way that Emerson, probably to the chagrin of liberal Unitarians in his own day, can praise the dignity of a fading Puritanism, where “privation, self-denial, and sorrow” were valued 21 There are resonances here with Cavell (2002, pp. 242–43) reading of skepticism. Religions 2017, 8, 130 12 of 18 above all else, and where “A man was born not for prosperity, but to suffer for the benefit of others, like the noble rock-maple which all around our villages bleeds for the service of man” (CW 1:135). Nature’s lesson, according to Emerson, is “intimate divinity,” one which keeps the best parts of Puritan piety and its sense of humble service, but which gets rid of the divorce between “intellect and holiness” and stresses the importance of performance in the world, or taking learning and “reducing” it to practice. With an intimate divinity, among its many meanings, we get the sense of how humans are to shoulder the responsibility of responding to the claims that the world issues to us, without neglecting the special world-making power that the human has. Intimacy is here not an intellectual relationship only, but a relationship of affection, or being drawn up by one’s love to promoting a better world than the present. This world won’t be saved by technology, since the pursuit of mastery through technology, both material and intellectual, leads people to suppose falsely that nature ineluctably aims towards human gain. Nature is in what he calls “perpetual inchoation,” constantly rebuking the human who considers her aspirations to be the final ends of nature, a point which has recently taken hold among environmental ethicists thinking about technology in the anthropocene.22 Furthermore, Emerson is anticipating one of the common criticisms of contemporary ecotheology: that a certain ecological picture of the harmonious functioning of the parts of creation seems to condone wanton cruelty, especially between and among animals, because the virtue of ecological stability depends on the suffering of countless creatures in ways unfathomable to the limited comprehension of humans. Emerson’s response is to say that when confronted with this suffering, we ought to take it as an occasion for a realization of ecstasy, that is, an indication of the overflowing of what we could possibly comprehend about nature. In this ecstatic moment, we check our world-making powers, discovering that there is more out there than what we can manage—and a theology that rationalizes this suffering through a theodicy limits our ability to see the perpetual inchoation of nature. By the time he publishes “Nature” in 1844, the question of how one might come into harmony with this nature had only intensified. What was a young naturalist to do: leave the social world of the town in search of some closer relationship with the natural world, as many of Emerson’s friends had done at both Fruitlands and Brook Farm? For the question of nature religion, we should wonder what kind of worship one might perform—what would it mean to take nature as sacred and therefore direct one’s religious practice towards it. In this sense, Emerson’s later “Nature” essay can be read as a direct confrontation with a nascent back-to-the-land movement among his peers, and for our purposes, it seems to lodge some of the claims that will eventually become most problematic for what I presented above as the nature religion tradition. “Nature” begins with an unsurprising vision of “nature” as a resource that a young sojourner can use to escape the “knapsack of custom” that one finds in cities and human society, where he might find a “sanctity which shames our religions, and reality which discredits our heroes” (CW 3:99). Nature is a god-like judge of all things outside of human culture, carrying an authority to judge that culture and find it wanting (CW 3:100). In other words, nature is simultaneously a refuge outside of the human, and a resource that can correct the human. Some will enter this realm, leaving “villages and personalities behind,” which he likens to a taking of religious vows (CW 3:101). This is the view that Emerson will label natura naturata, or nature passive; it is that created thing that stands apart from the human and which the human represents always in a slightly corrupted way, and by which the human can be measured, like a “differential thermometer” (CW 3:104). Poets and artists praise this nature; naturalists seek it out; it is the realm of unlimited beauty and unfathomable depths. To the chagrin of the young naturalist—and perhaps the whole of the nature religion tradition—Emerson is not finally content with this view. He spends the rest of the essay trying to present an alternative, one that ultimately comes to trouble the very idea of a “nature”. The turn in 22 As Rolston (2017) argues, as we confront the fact of the anthropocene, we ought not to do so with enthusiasm, lest we risk making our world entirely subservient to human flourishing. Religions 2017, 8, 130 13 of 18 the essay occurs when Emerson comes to the realization that “we talk of deviations from natural life, as if artificial life were not also natural” (CW 3:106). Then, with a fell swoop, Emerson breaks down the distinction between nature and human society: Nature who made the mason, made the house. We may easily hear too much of rural influences. The cool disengaged air of natural objects, makes them enviable to us chafed and irritable creatures with red faces, and we think we shall be as grand as they, if we camp out and eat roots; but let us be men instead of woodchucks, and the oak and the elm shall gladly serve us, though we sit in chairs of ivory on carpets of silk. (CW 3:106) This is Emerson’s sense of natura naturans, or efficient nature: the idea that nature is a whole that works in and through the various parts, the human especially, so much so that there ceases to be a distinction between nature and its opposite (here, the artificial, or the opulence of “chairs of ivory and carpets of silk”). One of the few to draw out the environmentalist implications of this move is Anderson (2008), who sees in it the sense that humans are involved in a complex relation of making and receiving with the various environments in which they are situated. By focusing on the importance of natura naturans, Anderson gives a reading of nature as not a passive recipient of human action, but as an agency that runs through the human, “doing, creating, making, moving.” As Anderson puts it, “Nature is now not an objective environment but a creative environing” (Anderson 2008, pp. 154–55). This way of understanding the relationship between the human and the environment rejects the supposition that agency is an either/or: either the human is the active creative agent and nature the canvas, or nature is the active creative agent who merely works through the passive human. The former would lead to the Baconian view of nature as an instrument of human ends, one which White (1967) attributed to the dominance of a certain Christian understanding of the mastery of nature; the latter resembles a form of deep ecology that rejects entirely the constructive special agency of humans because of the intuition that nature is a kind of nondistinct unity (see Fox 1984). These extremes are, of course, well-worn in conversations in environmental ethics, and it is now common to search out some middle or alternative way. Emerson’s model is one such alternative. Anderson rightly focuses on the line quoted above, where Emerson reminds us to “be men instead of woodchucks.” What this means is that we accept that we have a kind of agency that is part of nature’s agency: “We are this aspect of nature, and we become ‘not ourselves’ if we slip into the state of mere witnesses of nature’s judging perfection” (Anderson 2008, p. 155). There is a sense here that Emerson is trying to escape two problems, which I identified at the end of the previous section: first, not succumbing to the tendency to defer human power to the power of nature, while, second, not allowing the individual self to assume complete self-making power.23 To fall prey to the first problem is to insist that humans are merely another iteration of nature, and the highest good is that one return to a sense of the pristine created order of nature, camping out and eating roots. To do this would be to relinquish any claim to the world-making power that humans have both collectively and individually.24 But to go in the other direction, by supposing that humans are somehow distinct from and therefore entirely separate from nature, is to promote the worst kind of egoism for Emerson, an egoism that only drives the materialist and consumerist aspects of culture that make the world a commodity to be cataloged, processed, and exploited. For Emerson, we ought neither to deflate our agency to the agency of our environments, nor should our agency become entirely independent from the environments in which we live, work, and play. These environments are not complete—they are “systems of approximations,” which are always changing in part due to human power, as well as reasons that humans only faintly 23 Greenham (2014, p. 90) rightfully puts it this way: “Emerson is of nature only insofar as he makes nature, and as nature’s creator he does not share in its limitations but expresses through it the shaping power of his divinity.” 24 You might say that it negates the possibility of ethical agency entirely. As Mooney (2009, p. 215) puts it: “If you reject the notion that ‘I am the doer’ in every sense, you reject the possibility of a philosophy of human action, and you lose all experiential purchase for reflection on reality as sustaining responsibility in an inexpugnable sense: namely, the possibility of responding, of our responding, in a way that is not arbitrary. Abstractly stated, man is a finite center of response.” Religions 2017, 8, 130 14 of 18 understand. We thus ought to see ourselves as “encamped in nature, not domesticated,” wielding our world-making power in ways that are attentive to the very real connections that we have with the natural world (CW 3:110). It is both to honor the way that nature works through the human, while preserving the sense that humans have creative abilities to shape and reconfigure nature. For Anderson, to do this we need the notion of an “acquaintance” with nature: “One must engage nature directly to know by acquaintance; this is the enduring relevance of wilderness to human beings” (Anderson 2008, p. 156). The idea of acquaintance requires that the active self and the not-me of nature (in the language of Nature) work together through reciprocity, transaction, and integration, assuming “an attitude that is at once receptive to nature’s language and open to human possibility” (Anderson 2008, pp. 158–59). Whereas “The Method of Nature” focused on ecstasy, in “Nature” Emerson focuses on excess: both nature and the human have a kind of excess that prevents them from being set, from being a stable thing to which we can refer. Consequently, as for “men and women” as well as “silent trees,” there is “always a referred existence, an absence, never a presence and satisfaction” (CW 3:112). Those who might wish to set themselves aright by bringing themselves in accord with nature discover that when they go looking for it, they will discover that they are “not near enough to his object” because “Nature is still elsewhere” (CW 3:111). But rather than despair of this, Emerson reminds us that this is precisely what ethics requires. As his is a perfectionism, it must always look out on a distant horizon. “The meeting of the sky and the earth,” looked at from the smallest hill to the highest mountain, inspires action even as we are unable to get nearer to it. We are thrown back to the impermanence of our own ideas, of the work that must continually be performed without end, as the creatures we are. Thus, Emerson can say towards the end: “Nature is the incarnation of a thought, and turns to a thought again, as ice becomes water and gas. The world is mind precipitated, and the volatile essence is forever escaping again into the state of free thought. Hence the virtue and pungency of the influence on the mind, of natural objects, whether inorganic or organized” (CW 3:113). With the flowing impermanence of nature, Emerson affirms his moral perfectionism, which depends on a constantly extended horizon, and now has its mirror in how we experience “nature”. Let me end this section by turning to “Illusions,” the final essay of The Conduct of Life from 1860. In many ways, “Illusion” presents the culmination of Emerson’s idealism, directly dealing with the way that the human constitution—and the lack of awareness that we have of how our own powers determine how the world is present to us—amplifies the question of the environment. He sums this up with a rather poignant example: “At the State Fair, a friend of mine complained that all the varieties of fancy pears in our orchards seem to have been selected by somebody who had a whim for a particular kind of pear, and only cultivated such as had that perfume; they were all alike” (CW 6:9.9). The problem is that we do not know ourselves yet, and this makes it so that “Our conversation with Nature is not just what it seems” (CW 6:9.5). We cannot take our experiences of nature to be unmixed: “In admiring the sunset, we do not yet deduct the rounding, coördinating, pictorial powers of the eye” (CW 6:9.5). Emerson even reiterates that sentiment that he had given in Nature, that our joy is not the world’s job, but it is something that we inscribe on the world, that colors it in certain ways. Or as he says, recalling his earlier essay, “Life is an ecstasy.” (CW 6:9.6). As such, it isn’t imperative that one strike out into the wilderness to find home, to leave the cities and towns that perpetuate the problems of human society; instead, the only “stays and foundations” that we have are “a strict and faithful dealing at home, and a severe barring out of all duplicity or illusion there” (CW 6:9.17). Read this way, with an emphasis on home and the practical activities performed therein, “Illusions” is not a grand statement about the unreality of our environments, but a constant reminder not to be looking elsewhere for the source of our activities in the world. Ecstasy returns again as the position in which we check human hubris, relinquishing that theology that would make us more than what we actually are, but never reducing the human to just a power of the world for fear that this would annul agency altogether. Religions 2017, 8, 130 15 of 18 4. Conclusions As I hope is coming into focus, there is a way that Emerson’s “nature” resembles more what we would now call “environment” because it seeks to avoid the totalizing of the not-human into a coherent and sound whole. Instead, it stresses the importance of the effects of human power in shaping nature—both our idea of nature, as well as the actual physical reality of nature—while stressing that the human is always intimately made by the environments in which we live. This is simultaneously a call to action and a call to humble oneself, to do the work that the human has the power to perform, while not supposing that the human has a special relationship for the benefit of nature. But more than anything, Emerson’s confusion for the reality or illusion of nature is not unintended—it is part of the very ethos of ecstasy that he is hoping to inspire. When the nature religion tradition seeks to relinquish the tension between the dual ways that the human can relate to the surrounding environments, it domesticates the relationship and loses aspects of what Emerson believes is powerful about it: that our experience in the world isn’t systematically coherent, but involves always a kind of doubleness.25 Furthermore, too often ethics stops before we get to practice—constructing a conceptual ideal but not saying how this might function within a set of ordinary social practices, the practices in which we are made and remade into the kinds of beings that we are and want to be. For Emerson, one of his essential question is: how ought religious institutions, which often coordinate the practices of a community, be reformed to better express higher ethical ideals. At certain moments, he goes so far as to say that “church” is just another word for “education” (EL 3:287). The fullest expression of this idea comes in The Conduct of Life, which seeks to describe in abstract ethical terms how the ordinary activities of people should be oriented towards their ethical development. Here, Emerson doesn’t specify exactly which practices people ought to take up, but rather, he gives the general rubric under which we ought to think about those practices if the goal is to make religious worship more carefully attuned to pressing ethical demands. What, then, can we say about an Emersonian Nature Religion? For many decades Emerson had been arguing that science and religion were more closely aligned than most of his contemporaries had thought. In fact, he rejected the idea that they were merely compatible for the idea that they were coming upon the same territory when properly understood. This meant rejecting both the idea that religion is concerned with the supernatural (or, that which is above scientific investigation) and the idea that science has no bearing on human moral becoming (in other words, he does not keep fact and value distinct). The goal, rather, is to allow scientific advances to have moral consequences. As he writes: “The religion which is to guide and fulfil the present and coming ages, whatever else it be, must be intellectual. The scientific mind must have a faith which is science” (CW 6:6.51). He then predicted what he thought this might be like: “There will be a new church founded on moral science, at first cold and naked, a babe in a manger again, the algebra and mathematics of ethical law, the church of men to come, without shawms, or psaltery, or sackbut; but it will have heaven and earth for its beams and rafters; science for symbol and illustration; it will fast enough gather beauty, music, picture, poetry” (CW 6:6.52). There are two important pieces to note. First we see Emerson’s long insistence that religious institutions be primarily focused on the moral lives of their members by being willing to let go of what Emerson saw as antiquated ecclesiastical rituals—this is his intentionally arcane reference to shawms, psaltery, and sackbut. These will be replaced by a church that is fully situated in and of the world, with “heaven and earth for its beams and rafters,” without reference to any other. It will take on science as “symbol and illustration,” meaning that its core content is represented by the actual investigation of our world in conjunction with our moral reflection on it (here, moral science and natural science are brought together). This church includes the production of and reflection upon representational material (“beauty, music, picture, poetry”) all of which express human ideals. This is, 25 One of the best expositions of this doubleness and its importance for ethical considerations of the self, see (Smith 2009). Religions 2017, 8, 130 16 of 18 of course, part of a continual practice in which representations must be environmental. In Cavell’s words, it is the community in search of achieving the ordinary. But this church doesn’t require an escape into untouched nature.26 It is a church of the community where it is located, for the people of that community, not, we might say, for woodchucks. It would seek to instill a sense of receptivity and piety in people, a meditation on the ecstasy of the environment that checks human hubris. But one can imagine that its “science” is not that of just the naturalist, but as much that of the investigating toxins surrounding the garbage dump, or the antibiotic resistant bacteria. 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Wordsworth, Dorothy. 2002. The Grasmere and Alfoxden Journals. Edited by Pamela Woof. Oxford: Oxford University Press. © 2017 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction “Nature Religion” and Symbolic “Nature” Emersonian “Nature” “Religion” Conclusions 
work_jjfnibxm35bknm2x4bfi4ebw7q	----	the case for a world lake vision 1 The Case for a World Lake Vision* Thomas J. Ballatore** and Victor S. Muhandiki International Lake Environment Committee, Kusatsu, Shiga, Japan *Accepted for publication in Hydrological Processes as of 4 October 2001. **Correspondence to Thomas J. Ballatore, International Lake Environment Committee, 1091 Oroshimo-cho, Kusatsu, Shiga, Japan 525-0001. E-mail: tom@mail.ilec.or.jp tel: +81-77-568-4567 fax: +81-77-568-4568 Abstract We regard the creation of a World Lake Vision as essential to achieving the sustainable management of the world’s lakes. In this paper, we discuss the value of lakes, how those values have historically led to changes in watershed land-use and population, and how those changes have resulted in stresses on lakes that impair their value. Current approaches to lake management at both the local and international level are examined and their shortcomings are highlighted. We illustrate how a World Lake Vision, along with the individual lake visions it promotes, can redress the shortcomings of current lake management approaches. Details of the World Lake Vision and the process of its creation are put forth. We end with a critique the World Water Vision presented at the 2n d World Water Forum in March 2000 from the perspective of lakes and conclude that, in its current form, the World Water Vision cannot provide an adequate guide for sustainable lake management. Keywords lake management; sustainability; World Lake Vision; individual lake visions; World Water Vision Introduction Lakes 1 are key components of our planet’s hydrological cycle. Additionally, they provide important social and ecological functions while storing water and supporting significant aquatic biodiversity. Much of the earth’s available fresh water is contained in lakes. Saline lakes, while not a primary source of fresh water, also have many valuable attributes. Despite their crucial importance, most lakes are undervalued and therefore face stresses resulting from inappropriate mana gement. These problems occur in developed as well as developing countries. Many efforts to protect lakes from stresses have been undertaken; however, problems remain, some even threatening the existence of certain lakes (e.g. Lake Chad, Aral Sea). Moreover , although scientific knowledge concerning the causes and effects of stresses on lakes has grown rapidly, effective management policies have lagged; in most cases, the values of lakes have not been fully considered by policymakers. 1 For simplicity, we use the term lake to refer to both natural and artificial lakes. 2 This paper explains why a new, global approach to lake management, the World Lake Vision, is necessary to improve the state of the world’s lakes. Such a vision will be an effective way of bringing scientific knowledge and stakeholder interests into the policy-making process while raising awareness of the value of lakes. The most comprehensive global-scale vision on water to date, the World Water Vision (Cosgrove and Rijsberman, 2000), provides a framework for global freshwater management for international agencies and national governments alike. It does not, however, adequately address the concerns facing lakes. This paper considers the uses of the world’s lakes and the numerous stresses impairing such uses. We examine current lake management approaches and discuss why they have been inadequate for many lakes. Then, we propose the World Lake Vision as a means of achieving sustainable 2 lake management3. We end with a critique of the World Water Vision, focusing on its consideration of lake issues. Value of Lakes To understand the value of lakes, try to imagine a world without them. In terms of water supply alone, lakes are invaluable as the source of approximately 90% of the world’s available liquid surface fresh water (derived from Shiklomanov, 1993). Additionally, lakes are precious repositories of biodiversity. Even saline lakes are of great value, not the least for their role in supporting ecological and hydrological functions. It is useful to have a systematic way of considering the many values that lakes provide. The World Bank, in its new Environmental Strategy (World Bank, 2001), divides the value of water and water-based ecosystems into the following four categories: • Direct Values (consumptive and non-consumptive use of resources); • Indirect Values (ecosystem functions and services); • Option Values (premium placed on possible future uses and applications); • Non-use Values (intrinsic significance). Based on these categories, we examine the major types of lake values below. Direct Values. The most obvious direct use of lakes is as source of drinking, irrigation and industrial water. The Laurentian Great Lakes contain 20% of the world’s available freshwater and serve as a drinking water source for over 24 million people (National Research Council, 1992). Even relatively small Lake Biwa (volume = 17 km3) in central Japan supports the activities of over 13 million people in the Kyoto-Osaka- Kobe conurbation (Nakamura, 1995). Furthermore, lakes and rivers have also been used 2 We follow the definition of sustainable development put forth by the Brundtland Commission in 1987: “Sustainable development is that which meets all the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.” 3 Some may claim that res ervoirs are inherently unsustainable. In this paper, we neither address that issue, nor the issue of decommissioning dams. The World Commission on Dams, in a recent report (World Commission on Dams, 2000) succinctly deals with these and other reservoir -rel ated issues. 3 as a means of transportation. Additionally, some natural and most artificial lakes are harnessed for power. Fishing, along with aquaculture, provides protein and employment for many people. Lakes are also well known as foci of recreation. Many lakes serve as a breeding ground for migratory waterfowl. For example, Mono Lake in California is an essential feeding stop on the way to wintering grounds in South America for tens of thousands of phalaropes (Hart, 1996) and is an essential stop for thousands of photographers, both amateur and professional. Indirect Values. Lakes can effectively absorb large inflows of water during floods, thereby moderating damage downstream. For example, the volume of the Tonle Sap in Cambodia increases dramatically during the flood season, effectively channeling the flood waters into an established basin (United Nations Environment Programme, 1994). Lakes often have a moderating influence on local climate due to the relatively high heat capacity of water. Decreases in lake size, such as has occurred in the Aral Sea, can have adverse impacts on local climate. Also, the method of waste disposal pioneered in Europe, namely the transport of wastes in water through sewers, has been adopted in many watersheds, with lakes acting as sinks for wastewater discharges. They provide dilution of waste, and in exorheic (open) basins, a way to send the waste elsewhere. Option Values. Lakes are repositories of biodiversity. The ancient lakes in Africa are home to hundreds of endemic species. Besides the direct benefits of biodiversity known today, it is possible that future values may be large. Hence, one value of preserving lakes is to keep options open for many different kinds of future needs, including preservation. Non-use Values. Henry David Thoreau went to Walden Pond to think. Others go to lakes to meet friends, relax, or to simply enjoy the grandeur of nature. Lakes can also provide a region with a collective symbol of culture. Furthermore, many lakes are sacred sites for religious and spiritual activities. In addition, simply knowing that a particular lake exists and has clean water carries a particular value. For instance, some people may be interested in the preservation of a particular lake, even though they may never expect to see it first hand. Stresses on Lakes It is the immense value of lakes, outlined above, that draws people to live, work and play in their watersheds. Ironically, the consequent changes in population and land-use inevitably lead to stresses that impact the lakes themselves, thereby decreasing the values that drew people in the first place. Because of their long retention times and the complexity of their ecosystems, lakes are particularly vulnerable to stress. Table I (at end of document) summarizes the main stresses on lakes, their causes, effects and an example for each. Much work has already been done reporting on the state of the world’s lakes. For example, based on a comprehensive survey of 217 lakes around the world carried out by the International Lake Environment Committee (ILEC) and UNEP (1995), Kira (1997) conclude d that lakes were facing five major problems, namely lowering of water -level, siltation, acidification, toxic contamination 4 and eutrophication, all of which alone or in concert lead to adverse effects on aquatic ecosystems. Other works that give an overview of the various stresses on the world’s lakes include National Research Council (1992), UNEP (1994), Dinar et al. (1995), Ayres et al. (1996), Nakamura (1997) and Duker (2001). Lake Management Today Given the magnitude of stresses impairing the value of lakes around the world, it is not surprising that many management responses have been undertaken. In this section, we will outline what has been done to address lake problems and discuss why those measures have not been completely successful. Current Approaches Laws and Regulations. Many countries have codified laws promoting environmental protection. These laws provide a statutory framework for the regulation of industrial and domestic discharges to water -bodies. Laws concerned with lakes in particular also exist at the international (e.g. Boundary Waters Treaty between US and Canada), national (e.g. Lake Law of Japan), and local (e.g. Lake Kasumigaura Eutrophication Prevention Ordinance) levels. Furthermore, direct bans on certain products such as phos phorus-containing detergents have been implemented in many watersheds. Pollution Control. Effluent regulations often lead to the introduction of sewage treatment facilities for both industrial and domestic sources. In some cases, treated sewage is diverted out of the lake’s watershed (e.g. Lakes Tahoe and Washington). Diffuse pollution resulting from agricultural, forestry, and urban land-use impairs most lakes. Governments often provide incentives to farmers to implement nonpoint runoff control (e.g., Best Management Practices in the US) but diffuse pollution remains a large problem. International agencies such as DANIDA (Danish International Development Agency), JICA (Japan International Cooperation Agency), SIDA (Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency), the World Bank and the Global Environment Facility (GEF) have provided funding and expertise for direct pollution control measures in many developing countries. Restoration Measures. Lake sediments are sometimes dredged to remove either toxic compounds or nutrients from the system. Liming has been employed in the treatment of acidified lakes. Biomanipulation is sometimes used to accelerate the recovery of a lake’s ecosystem. Rehabilitation of littoral communities, such as the conservation and reintroduction of reed beds, has also taken place. The Reed Colonies Conservation Ordinance for Lake Biwa has required that existing colonies (only 120 ha in 1990 compared to 280 ha in 1953) be maintained and that new colonies be introduced (Ohkubo, 2000). Research. The fields of limnology, hydrology, and water resources management have generated a substantial body of knowledge on the processes occurring within lakes, their watersheds, and on lake management in general. Lake modeling efforts have contr ibuted greatly to the development of an integrated ecosystem theory (Jorgensen, 5 1997). Great strides have been made in ecohydrology, many with important implications for lake management (Zalewski, 2000). Academic societies such as SIL (Societas Internationalis Limnologiae) and ASLO (American Society of Limnology and Oceanography) have long promoted research and its dissemination. Data Collection and Assessment. Governments sponsor the collection of data on the state of lakes within their borders. Many citizens also undertake lake monitoring activities and submit information to public databases. Comprehensive data compilation efforts, such as the ILEC-UNEP World Lake Database (1995) have been prepared and have shed light on the types of problems facing lakes. Additionally, the GEMS/Water program assembles data on water quality provided by over 100 national governments. A new program of the GEF, the Global International Waters Assessment (GIWA), will also be monitoring and assessing many problems of concern to lakes. Information Sharing. The sharing of experiences and ideas concerning lake management among citizens, governments and scientists is the goal of many conferences and workshops. Electronic forums on lake management issues have been established and allow participants to discuss their concerns with others. Education. Educationa l activities, such as training programs, school excursions, and the creation of resource materials have played an important role in teaching concerned stakeholders about lake iss ues. For example, all fifth-grade students living in the Lake Biwa watershed spend one day and night on the lake measuring water quality, identifying flora and fauna, etc. as part of a school program called “The Floating School” (Kawashima, 1998). Advocacy. Citizens concerned with either a specific lake or lakes in general have formed non-governmental organizations that have a range of activities. The Mono Lake Committee was instrumental in stopping the City of Los Angeles from diverting freshwater inflows to Mono Lake. International NGOs like ILEC, LakeNet, Living Lakes , and NALMS (North American Lake Management Society) have been advocates for sustainable lake management around the world. Shortcomings of Current Approaches Despite the approaches discussed above, stresses that impair the use of lakes remain and lakes continue to be degraded. In short, most of the world’s lakes are still not sustainably managed. Several reasons why the counter -measures to date have not been entirely effective are as follo ws. Lack of Awareness. There is a lack of information and awareness on the full value of lakes at key decision-making levels. At the global level, the most conspicuous example of the marginalization of lakes is the World Water Vision (Cosgrove and Rijsberman, 2000). Even though lakes make up approximately 90% of the world’s available surface liquid fresh water, they are markedly absent from the World Water Vision itself. A quick check of the World Water Vision’s index reveals multiple entries for groundwater, reservoirs, rivers, and wetlands yet there is no mention of lakes. This omission is also evident in the text of the Vision and is discussed in detail below. At the 6 local level, lack of awareness of the values of a lake also occurs, especially in developing countries, where meeting basic needs often out-weighs long-term preservation of a lake. It may not be immediately obvious to a fisherman on the shores of Lake Malawi, nor more obvious to the foreign aid worker attempting to show him how to increase his catch, the value of the lake’s biodiversity. At all levels, a lack of education has left the general public with insufficient understanding of lake issues. Lack of Integrated Responses. All of the current approaches to lake management suffer from fragmentation to various degrees. The boundaries of laws (political jurisdiction) rarely coincide with the boundaries of watersheds. This situation is common for most lakes because local and/or national borders were rarely drawn with the watershed in mind; indeed, in the days when bridges were difficult and expensive to build, rivers, and the lakes they flowed into and out of often were set as the political boundaries and many, if not most, of those political boundaries still exist. Pollution control efforts ar e seldom comprehensive, focusing instead on easily controlled point- sources. Direct restoration efforts, such as top-down biomanipulation of the food web are invariably accompanied by bottom-up responses, many of which are difficult to predict and control (Kasprzak, 1995). Poorly planned dredging carries the risk of degrading a lake further in the short run by stirring up nutrient-rich benthos. There is a marked gap between scientists and policy-makers: the findings of the former are rarely translated into the language of the latter. Many local and national governments, along with researchers, are active in collecting data on the state of individual lakes and the stresses on them; however, efforts to assemble these diverse sources of data on the internationa l scale lack coordination and result in significant overlap (e.g. GEMS/Water, GIWA, and ILEC databases). Furthermore, the disparity in resources between the developed and developing world means that even basic data are unavailable from poorer countries. Often the data that are available are of unknown reliability and in format hard to integrate into other assessments. Finally, a high degree of fragmentation exists among international organizations advocating sustainable lake management through information sharing, education, and advocacy. For example, significant overlap exists among the international activities (conferences, workshops, educational programs, etc.) carried out by ILEC, LakeNet, Living Lakes and NALMS. Lack of Conflict Resolution. Conflicts are part and parcel of lake management. Upstream-downstream conflicts over the use of lake water were significant in the history of many lakes. With lakes in particular, conflicts can exist at the same place and time: consider the conflict between commercial fishing and oil exploration in the Caspian Sea. Conflicts across time are profound and common. For example, the desire to exploit a lake in the short-term (e.g. maximize fish catch) is often in conflict with the goal of long-term sustainable management (e.g. preserve biodiversity). Despite the pervasiveness of conflict in lake settings, institutions and methods intended to promote conflict resolution are usually nonexistent. Many lakes are international water bodies, yet the special issues this entails are rarely recognized at the local or regional scale. For example, after the break-up of the Soviet Union, the Aral Sea became an international lake (Kazakhstan, Kyrgystan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan share the watershed) but at the same time the institutional framework to deal with the lake’s management was lost. Increasing conflict over water use for irrigation and hydropower 7 is one of the main reasons for the present wastage of large volumes of water in the desert areas of the Aral Sea Basin (Jansky and Nakayama, 2001).4 Lack of Meaningful Participation. Groups directly affected by lake management decisions are often not consulted. The displacement of large numbers of people resulting from reservoir construction is an extreme example of how a group can be marginalized in the decision-making process. In many cases, particular groups have gained a disproportionate influence in setting the management plans for certain lakes, precluding the participation of others. For example, the Japanese Ministry of Construction promoted extensive projects for the development of Lake Biwa including lakeshore road construction (Nickum, 1998) often neglecting the impact such projects had on water quality. Toward a World Lake Vision In this paper, we propose the creation of a World Lake Vision as a comprehensive way of dealing with the shortcomings of the current approaches to lake management. We see the creation and implementation of the World Lake Vision as a crucial step forward on the road to the sustainable management of the world’s lakes. In this section we define what the World Lake Vision is and how it addresses the current failings in lake management. Outline of World Lake Vision A vision embodies a long-term set of goals and a plan for how to achieve them. It can exist merely in someone’s head (e.g. our plans for our families) or be a formal written document (e.g. World Water Vision and Framework for Action). For a vision to be achievable, it must be realistic. Visions can have different scopes. For lakes, two different scales are important. First, there are individual lake visions, such as Lake Biwa’s “Mother Lake 21 Plan” (Shiga Prefectural Government, 2000) or UNESCO’s “Water-related Aral Sea Basin Vision” (UNESCO, 2000). Individual lake visions set out a long-term management plan for a given lake. Because the authority to implement such a plan lies at the local level, individual lake visions are essential in achieving effective changes in lake management. Second, there can be an over-arching, global- scale vision encompassing all lakes. We refer to the global-scale vision that we are calling for as the World Lake Vision. It will be a written document that outlines principles for sustainable lake management and raises the profile of lakes on the international agenda. It will serve as a guide for the creation of individual lake visions, yet at the same time, it will be informed by existing individual lake visions. An outline of the document is given in Figure 1 (at end of document) Details of the World La ke Vision document itself will emerge during its creation—a process already initiated by ILEC and other organizations. Nevertheless, at this point, we can note the following: 4 Some may argue that the collapse of the Soviet’s institutional framework to manage the Aral Sea was actually good for the lake because that previous institution greatly contributed to crises the Aral Sea faces today. Nevertheless, until recently, the five countries sharing the Aral Sea did not have a means of managing the lake jointly. 8 • It must start with a visionary statement, i.e. something that captures the imagination of decision makers and the general public about the importance of lakes and the problems facing them; • It must highlight the values of lakes and provide a framework for analysis of those values; • It must clearly state the scientific basis for the stress on lakes and their causes in easy-to-understand terms; • It must provide universally acceptable principles of lake management. We expect these principles to include a focus on the special nature of lake ecosystems, the importance of integrating lake management on multiple scales, the need for meaningful participation among affected stakeholders, the need for more education, and the need for increased conflict resolution; • It must give case studies illustrating the application of the principles and how they have led to sustainable lake management. It must also illustrate how the lack of or misapplication of the principles has led to problems; and, • It must provide guidelines on the implementation of the principles for individual lakes, i.e. how to create and implement individual lake visions and management plans. There must be a template for an individual lake vision itself as well as a checklist of actions needed to successfully implement a management plan. The written document will probably be between 50 and 100 pages and follow the outline given in Figure 1. It will be written in an easy-to-understand language. To have legitimacy, the World Lake Vision must be widely shared; that is, all concerned stakeholders must have meaningful input into the process. We expect a series of regional workshops along with gatherings at pre-scheduled international meetings along with an electronic forum to be sufficient. The document is intended, in general, for anyone concerned with lake management, but will specifically target individual lake managers and international organizations dealing with lakes. ILEC is expected to continue taking the lead as coordinator of the vision process. Many international lake organizations have expressed strong support for the development of the World Lake Vision. Several international organizations with large roles in the water field are also lined up to promote the process through related projects. The vision development process is expected to culminate at the 3rd World Water Forum in Kyoto in 2003. How the World Lake Vision Can Solve Shortcomings of Current Approaches If a World Lake Vision like the one outlined above comes into existence, then it will be able to address the shortcomings of the current approaches to lake management. Lack of Awareness. The process of creating a shared vision, as well as the final document itself, is designed to raise awareness among all stakeholders. We expect that international organizations dealing with lakes or water in general, along with individual lake organizations and managers, will come away with an increased awareness of the value of lakes. By providing principles, cases and guidelines, the World Lake Vision will promote the creation of individual lake visions and management plans, which in turn foster increased awareness at local levels. 9 Lack of Integrated Responses. The World Lake Vision itself cannot be expected to cause the realignment of all the world’s political boundaries to coincide with watersheds. Nevertheless, it will promote the creation of organizations like the International Joint Commission (Laurentian Great Lakes) with authority to implement integrated management plans. The World Lake Vision will also bridge the gap between scientists and policy makers by making a case for lakes, bas ed on science, yet put forward in an easy-to-understand format. The main problem is not a lack of scientific knowledge of lakes, but rather the limited role that knowledge currently plays in lake management. The vision process will require a coordinated effort to pull together existing data on the state of the world’s lakes. It will also call for international funding to assist developing countries to collect high quality, relevant and uniform data tailored to meet the needs of lake managers. Finally, the process of making the World Lake Vision will focus the efforts of all organizations in the field on a common task, thereby alleviating the overlap and fragmentation that currently exists. Lack of Conflict Resolution. The World Lake Vision will highlight that conflicts are an inherent part of lake management; it will call for increased conflict resolution efforts. It will expand the focus from the traditional upstream-downstream point of view to include international lake issues as well. If individual lake visions are developed according to the guidelines of the World Lake Vision, then key conflicts will be exposed in the individual lake vision-building process. The airing of conflicts is the first step toward their resolution, though the conflicts themselves may not be fully resolved. Lack of Meaningful Participation. To manage a lake sustainably, a long-term set of goals and a plan to achieve them must exist. To be widely shared, this vision must have meaningful participation from all stakeholders. The Wor ld Lake Vision and the individual lake visions it promotes will explicitly call for the extensive and effective participation of all concerned groups. Critique of the World Water Vision Visions on the global-scale dealing with water already exist. Of particular importance is the World Water Vision produced by the World Water Council (Cosgrove and Rijsberman, 2000) and presented at the World Water Forum in March 2000. It aimed to provide a vision for global water management, yet we conclude that it is an inadequate guide for the sustainable management of lakes.5 The World Water Vision was a direct response to the freshwater crisis currently affecting billions of people around the world. In short, the population explosion, along with pressures from development such as urbanization and industrialization, has put enormous pressure on the world’s limited freshwater supply. In many parts of the world, people do not have access to enough fresh water to meet basic needs. Additionally, improper sanitation means tha t the water they do have is often contaminated, leading to millions of deaths each year. The World Water Vision is a vision of “a world in which all people have access to safe and sufficient water resources to meet their needs, 5 It is probably also an inadequate guide for the management of individual rivers and aquifers; however, in this paper we restrict our critique to lake issues. 10 including food, in ways that maintain the integrity of freshwater ecosystems (Cosgrove and Rijsberman, 2000).” Its companion document, the Framework for Action (Global Water Partnership, 2000b), provides a plan for how to achieve that vision. As such, the documents are well designed to meet their goals; however, the term “World Water Supply Vision” would have perhaps been more appropriate than World Water Vision. In particular, the World Water Vision calls for the implementation of integrated water resources management (IWRM) (Global Water Partnership, 2000a) to meet its objectives. It proposes that IWRM can be achieved by: • Involving all stakeholders in integrated management; • Moving to full-cost pricing of water services for all human uses; • Increasing public -funding for research and innovation in the public interest; • Recognizing the need for cooperation on integrated water resource management in international river basins; and, • Massively increasing investments in water. Can the World Water Vision and the above -recommended actions resolve the four problems we stated regarding the current state of lake management? The immediate reaction of the participants in the ILEC Session of the World Water Forum was a clear “No” (Ballatore, 2001). In the wake of the Forum, several issues have become clear. First, the World Water Vision does little to raise awareness of lake issues; in fact, by marginalizing lakes, it probably lowers them on the international agenda thereby decreasing awareness rather than raising it. The call for full-cost pricing of water services is relevant to water supply concerns, but all of the services lakes provide need to be valued, not necessarily priced. Second, the World Water Vision makes a strong call for the implementation of IWRM in several places including the first and fourth actions given above. Indeed, many of the principles of IWRM will become principles of the World Lake Vision. The need for integration of all areas of lake management is obvious, yet the World Water Vision does not spell out how such integration can take place in the lake setting 6. Third, the fourth action above cites the need for cooperation in international river basins. While international upstream-downstream conflicts must be solved, lakes also require the resolution of conflicts among users in the same watershed and over time. This point, as well as a means of promoting conflict resolution, is absent from the World Water Vision. The World Lake Vision, by calling for individual lake visions, will create a framework for bringing all parties toge ther to at least “agree to disagree.” Finally, the first action given above makes a strong and laudable call for participation of all stakeholders in the decision-making process. This has been lacking in lake management and we completely agree with the World Water Vision on this point. Nevertheless, it is clear that the World Water Vision does not comprehensively and adequately address the four major problems that exist with current lake 6 In fact, the World Water Vision itself was fragmented into various sectors such as Water for People, Water for Food, Water and Nature, etc. An adequate integration of these issues, although important and obvious within the lake context, did not occurred. 11 management. Unfortunately, a lake manager trying to promote the sustainable management of a lake by coordinating the creation of an individual lake vision and management plan would find little to go on in the World Water Vision. In the end, by failing to promote the sustainable management of lakes, the World Water Vision je opardizes its own goal of achieving world water security, a goal that is dependent on the sustainable management of all water resources, including lakes. Conclusion Lakes are valuable; lakes are stressed. The dilemma of how to alleviate the stresses in order to protect the values has faced lake managers in particular and society in general for ages. The result of this long experience with lake management has undoubtedly slowed the degradation of these valuable resources; nevertheless, many lakes are facing severe crises—most are unsustainably managed. Some lakes, such as the Aral Sea and Lake Chad, are in danger of disappearing altogether. In this paper, we have argued that a World Lake Vision is necessary to surmount the shortcomings of current management approaches. We have shown how current policies are plagued by a lack of awareness of the value of lakes and the stresses on them, by a lack of integrated responses in all facets of lake management, by a lack of effective conflict resolution, and by a lack of meaningful participation of those affected by management decisions. We have illustrated how a World Lake Vision can be used to overcome these failings. In particular, the World Lake Vision will raise awareness of the value of lakes directly at the international level through the process of its creation and indirectly at the local level by fostering the development of individual lake visions. These local visions are the workhorses of sustainable lake management, yet they have never had comprehensive guidelines to assist in their creation or a global effort to champion them. The World Lake Vision will fill this gap. Importantly, the World Lake Vision can be expected to lead to increased integration of all aspects of lake management as well as increased conflict resolution. Furthermore, a shared vision, whether it is global or local in scale, must be created through the meaningful participation of all stakeholders. We find that the World Water Vision presented in March 2000 at the 2nd World Water Forum is an inadequate, incomplete guide for the sustainable management of the world’s lakes. In its current form, it serves to lower the profile of the world’s lakes and fails to provide a guide for those seeking how to manage lakes sustainably. Given the momentum created by the World Water Vision at the international level, we feel that the World Lake Vision is an idea whose time has come. Acknowledgements We thank Masahisa Nakamura for extensive discussions on the ideas contained in this paper: the good ones are his. Wayland Eheart, James Nickum, Richard Robarts and William D. Williams provided comments on an early draft. We have benefited greatly from the stimulating discussions at two recent workshops on the subject of the World Lake Vision held at ILEC headquarters (January and September 2001). The ideas contained in this paper do not necessarily reflect those of our organization. 12 References Ayres W, Busia A, Dinar A, Hirji R, Lintner S, McCalla A, Robelus R. 1996. Integrated Lake and Reservoir Management: World Bank Approach and Experience. World Bank Technical Paper No. 358. World Bank: Washington, D.C. Ballatore T. 2001. Lake Biwa and the world’s lakes. Water Policy 3(4): S205-S207. Cosgrove WJ, Rijsberman FR. 2000. World Water Vision : Making Water Everyone’s Business. Earthscan Publications Ltd: London. Dinar A, Seidl S, Olem H, Jordan V, Duda A, Johnson R. 1995. Restoring and Protecting the World’s Lakes and Reservoirs. World Bank Technical Paper No. 289. World Bank: Washington, D.C. Duker L. 2001. 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United Nations Environment Programme: Nairobi. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. 2000. Water-related Vision for the Aral Sea Basin. UNESCO: Paris. World Bank. 2001. Making Sustainable Commitments: An Environmental Strategy for the World Bank . World Bank: Washington, DC. World Commission on Dams. 2000. Dams and Development: A New Framework for Decision-Making. Earthscan Publications Ltd: London. Zalewski M. 2000. Ecohydrology: the scientific background to use ecosystem properties as management tools toward sustainability of water resources. Ecological Engineering 16(1): 1-8. 14 Table I. Stresses on lakes, their causes and effects with examples Stress Cause Effect Example Biological Exotic species Natural, intentional, or unintentional introduction Food web changes, loss of biodiversity Nile perch, Lake Victoria Pathogens Fecal contamination from domestic and livestock sources Waterborne diseases Cryptosporidiosis outbreak (1993), Lake Michigan, Milwaukee, USA Chemical Eutrophication Excessive nutrient input Algal blooms, excessive macrophyte growth, loss of transparency, taste and odor compounds, algal toxins Lake Dianchi Acidification Acidic precipitation, direct input of acidic effluent Ecosystem degradation Many lakes in Canada and Northern Europe Toxic contamination Industrial effluents, agricultural and urban runoff, atmospheric deposition Toxicity to fish and disruption of endocrine system, bioaccumulation in fish increases risk to humans and other predators DDT and PCB contamination, Laurentian Great Lakes Salinization Diversion of inflow, discharge of saline waters from irrigated lands, runoff of salts from deforested land Ecosystem degradation, loss of freshwater supply Lake Toolibin Physical Water level decline Diversion of inflow, over- withdrawal of water Secondary salinization, ecosystem degradation Aral Sea Siltation Soil erosion from cultivation and deforestation Decrease in lake volume and flood control capacity, destruction of aquatic habitats Tonle Sap Structural impacts Lakeshore developments (e.g. embankments, weirs, roads) Destruction of littoral communities Lake Biwa Climate variability Natural and anthropogenic Changes in hydrological balance of lakes Caspian Sea Ultraviolet Radiation Ozone layer destruction Mortality and reproductive problems in aquatic biota Cascade Lakes, Oregon, USA 15 Figure 1. Interrelationships between the World Lake Vision and Individual Lake Visions World Lake Vision 1. Visionary Statement 2. Values of Lakes 3. Stresses on Lakes 4. Principles for Lake Management 5. Cases of Implementation of Principles 6. Guidelines for Implementation of Principles contribute principles and cases provide guidance International Organizations Individual Lake Management Plans Individual Lake Visions influence policy provide guidance 
work_jlgxcsxn7rc3jo7j4oco4x6pou	----	Contents World Journal of Immunology Volume 5 Number 3 November 27, 2015 IIWJI|www.wjgnet.com ABOUT COVER AIM AND SCOPE Editorial Board Member of World Journal of Immunology, Terry Lichtor, MD, PhD, Associate Professor, Department of Neurosurgery, Rush University Medical Center, Wilmette, IL 60091, United States World Journal of Immunology (World J Immunol, WJI, online ISSN 2219-2824, DOI: 10.5411) is a peer-reviewed open access academic journal that aims to guide clinical practice and im- prove diagnostic and therapeutic skills of clinicians. WJI covers a wide range of subjects including: (1) autoimmune diseases such as type 1 diabetes, multiple sclerosis, rheumatoid arthritis, systemic lupus erythematosus, thyroiditis, myasthenia gravis, in both humans and animal models of disease, with an interest on as- pects including the etiology, pathogenesis, mechanisms of disease induction, maintenance and progression; (2) tumor immunology including immunosurveillance, immunoediting and immunotherapies in animal models and in humans; (3) clinical immunology in humans and animal models including mechanisms of disease, regulation and therapy and immu- nodeficiencies; (4) innate immunity including cell subsets, receptors and soluble media- tors, complement and inflammation; (5) adaptive immune mechanisms and cells including soluble mediators and antibodies; (6) immune cell development, differentiation, matura- tion; (7) control mechanisms for immune cells including immune tolerance and apoptosis; (8) immune cell interactions and immune cell receptors; (9) immunological methods and techniques; (10) immune cell activation including cell signaling pathways, biochemical and pharmacologic modulation studies; (11) infection; (12) different modalities of vaccination including gene therapy; (13) hypersensitivity and allergy; (14) transplantation. We encourage authors to submit their manuscripts to WJI. We will give priority to manuscripts that are supported by major national and international foundations and those that are of great basic and clinical significance. World Journal of Immunology is now indexed in Digital Object Identifier. I-III Editorial Board EDITORS FOR THIS ISSUE Responsible Assistant Editor: Xiang Li Responsible Science Editor: Fang-Fang Ji Responsible Electronic Editor: Xiao-Kang Jiao Proofing Editorial Office Director: Xiu-Xia Song Proofing Editor-in-Chief: Lian-Sheng Ma Xiu-Xia Song, Vice Director World Journal of Immunology Room 903, Building D, Ocean International Center, No. 62 Dongsihuan Zhonglu, Chaoyang District, Beijing 100025, China Telephone: +86-10-85381891 Fax: +86-10-85381893 E-mail: editorialoffice@wjgnet.com Help Desk: http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/helpdesk.aspx http://www.wjgnet.com PUBLISHER Baishideng Publishing Group Inc 8226 Regency Drive, Pleasanton, CA 94588, USA Telephone: +1-925-223-8242 Fax: +1-925-223-8243 E-mail: bpgoffice@wjgnet.com Help Desk: http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/helpdesk.aspx http://www.wjgnet.com PUBLICATION DATE November 27, 2015 COPYRIGHT © 2015 Baishideng Publishing Group Inc. Articles pub- lished by this Open-Access journal are distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution Non- commercial License, which permits use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited, the use is non commercial and is otherwise in compliance with the license. SPECIAL STATEMENT All articles published in journals owned by the Baishideng Publishing Group (BPG) represent the views and opinions of their authors, and not the views, opinions or policies of the BPG, except where other- wise explicitly indicated. INSTRUCTIONS TO AUTHORS Full instructions are available online at http://www. wjgnet.com/2219-2824/g_info_20100722180909.htm. ONLINE SUBMISSION http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/ FLYLEAF NAME OF JOURNAL World Journal of Immunology ISSN ISSN 2219-2824 (online) LAUNCH DATE December 27, 2011 FREQUENCY Four-monthly EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Antonio La Cava, MD, PhD, Professor, Depart- ment of Medicine, University of California Los An- geles, Los Angeles, CA 90095-1670, United States Seung-Yong Seong, MD, PhD, Professor, De- partment of Microbiology and Immunology, 103 Daehag-no, Jongno-gu, Seoul 110-799, South Korea EDITORIAL OFFICE Jin-Lei Wang, Director INDEXING/ABSTRACTING November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3| RNA polymerases in plasma cells trav-ELL2 the beat of a different drum Sage M Smith, Nolan T Carew, Christine Milcarek Sage M Smith, Nolan T Carew, Christine Milcarek, Department of Immunology, School of Medicine, University of Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, PA 15213, United States Author contributions: Smith SM and Carew NT contributed equally to this work; Smith SM and Carew NT reviewed literature and wrote text; Milcarek C suggested the theme to be reviewed, reviewed literature, wrote text, and served as principal investigator for primary data. Supported by The National Science Foundation grant MCB- 08­42725; National Institutes of Health shared resources Grant No. P30CA047904 to the University of Pittsburgh Cancer Institute; and internal funding from the School of Medicine and Department of Immunology. Conflict-of-interest statement: The above-mentioned authors hereby declare to have no conflicting interests, including but not limited to commercial, personal, political, intellectual, or religious, related to the work submitted. Open-Access: This article is an open-access article which was selected by an in-house editor and fully peer-reviewed by external reviewers. It is distributed in accordance with the Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial (CC BY-NC 4.0) license, which permits others to distribute, remix, adapt, build upon this work non-commercially, and license their derivative works on different terms, provided the original work is properly cited and the use is non-commercial. See: http://creativecommons.org/ licenses/by-nc/4.0/ Correspondence to: Dr. Christine Milcarek, PhD, Professor of Immunology, Department of Immunology, School of Medicine, University of Pittsburgh, 200 Lothrop St., Pittsburgh, PA 15213, United States. milcarek@pitt.edu Telephone: +1-412-648­9098­ Fax: +1-412-38­38­096 Received: June 26, 2015 Peer-review started: June 27, 2015 First decision: July 28­, 2015 Revised: October 23, 2015 Accepted: November 13, 2015 Article in press: November 17, 2015 Published online: November 27, 2015 Abstract There is a major transformation in gene expression between mature B cells (including follicular, marginal zone, and germinal center cells) and antibody secreting cells (ASCs), i.e. , ASCs, (including plasma blasts, splenic plasma cells, and long-lived bone marrow plasma cells). This significant change-over occurs to accommodate the massive amount of secretory-specific immunoglobulin that ASCs make and the export processes itself. It is well known that there is an up-regulation of a small number of ASC-specific transcription factors Prdm1 (B-lymphocyte-induced maturation protein 1), interferon regulatory factor 4, and Xbp1, and the reciprocal down- regulation of Pax5, Bcl6 and Bach2, which maintain the B cell program. Less well appreciated are the major alterations in transcription elongation and RNA proce- ssing occurring between B cells and ASCs. The three ELL family members ELL1, 2 and 3 have different protein sequences and potentially distinct cellular roles in transcription elongation. ELL1 is involved in DNA repair and small RNAs while ELL3 was previously described as either testis or stem-cell specific. After B cell stimulation to ASCs, ELL3 levels fall precipitously while ELL1 falls off slightly. ELL2 is induced at least 10-fold in ASCs relative to B cells. All of these changes cause the RNA Polymerase Ⅱ in ASCs to acquire different properties, leading to differences in RNA processing and histone modifications. Key words: Interferon regulatory factor 4; Antibody secreting cells; B cell differentiation; ELL2; Secretory- specific antibody; B-lymphocyte-induced maturation protein 1; OCA-B; Super elongation complex; Xbp-1; Mammalian target of rapamycin © The Author(s) 2015. Published by Baishideng Publishing Group Inc. All rights reserved. Core tip: B cell differentiation to antibody secreting cells is a highly regulated, complex process facilitated by factors such as interferon regulatory factor 4, Blimp-1, REVIEW 99 Submit a Manuscript: http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/ Help Desk: http://www.wjgnet.com/esps/helpdesk.aspx DOI: 10.5411/wji.v5.i3.99 World J Immunol 2015 November 27; 5(3): 99-112 ISSN 2219-2824 (online) © 2015 Baishideng Publishing Group Inc. All rights reserved. World Journal of ImmunologyW J I November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com OCA-B, Xbp1, and mammalian target of rapamycin. This results in a switch in immunoglobulin mRNA pro- cessing from the membrane-bound to the secretory- specific form, occurring when ELL2 releases RNAP-Ⅱ pausing during transcription elongation and causes exon skipping and proximal poly(A) site choice. Smith SM, Carew NT, Milcarek C. RNA polymerases in plasma cells trav-ELL2 the beat of a different drum. World J Immunol 2015; 5(3): 99-112 Available from: URL: http://www. wjgnet.com/2219-28­24/full/v5/i3/99.htm DOI: http://dx.doi. org/10.5411/wji.v5.i3.99 INTRODUCTION If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears….Henry David Thoreau. B cells mature in the bone marrow, having under­ gone a series of DNA rearrangements to produce the uniquely rearranged immunoglobulin (Ig) molecules (H2L2) on their surfaces, the B cell receptor (BCR). Also on the B cell surfaces are: CD79 alpha and beta Ig co­activators for the BCR; CD19, which acts as a co­ receptor with BCR; CD21, the complement receptor 2 for C3d; pattern recognition receptors like Toll­like receptors 2 and 4; and MHC­Class Ⅱ molecules. The mature B cells travel to the lymph nodes or the spleen and reside in niches awaiting stimulation. Upon stimulation the B cell radically alters its program of gene expression and “hears a different drummer”, turning into an antibody producing factory. If the B cells reside in and are stimulated in the marginal zone by T­independent antigen engagement of the BCRs, through the toll­like receptors, or Ig plus C3d, they will differentiate into antibody secreting cells (ASCs) with a high probability of differentiating into short­lived plasma­blasts. Activated marginal zone ASCs persist for only a few days after activation. They die rapidly either through an inability to deal with internal reactive oxygen species formed because of the large amount of secretory­specific antibody molecules they produce and/or because they fail to upregulate receptors for survival signals. B cells that initially travel to the follicles require a more complex set of reactions in order to be stimulated by antigen. Engagement of the B cell surface CD40 occurs via contact with T cells carrying surface CD40 Ligand (CD154). Secretion of cytokines including interleukin (IL)­2, ­4, and ­5 by T cells further activates the B cells. CD40 is a member of the tumor necrosis factor superfamily of receptors and engagement results in B cell activation, isotype switching, and somatic hyper­mutation upon passing through a germinal center. Those B cells then differentiate into ASCs or memory cells. The CXCR4+ ASCs from B cells stimulated in follicles can home to specific CXCL12+ niches in the bone marrow and become long­lived ASCs. Long life for ASCs depends on soluble factors like BAFF and APRIL made by the bone marrow stroma and a touch of autophagy to repair damage in the endoplasmic reticulum (ER)[1]. TUNING UP THE BAND How individual activated B cells choose between divi­ sion, death, ASC development and class switching is unknown, and the molecular basis of this heterogeneity is still a mystery[2]. The relationship between the short­ lived cycling plasma­blasts and the long­lived ASCs also remains unclear. The long­lived ASCs have the highest B­lymphocyte­induced maturation protein 1 (Blimp­1) expression, which might then explain the decreased levels of c­myc and proliferation in them[3]. We add­ ressed these issues more fully in a recent review[4]. Regardless of the source of the B cells (MZ or FO) the activation pathways to ASCs share a number of transcription factors that alter the expression pathways and pave the way to secretion of antibody. Several genes have been implicated in both the activated B cell transcriptional network and the ASC network, such as interferon regulatory factor 4 (Irf4) and Pou2af1 (OCA­B); meanwhile, ELL2, c­Fos, Prdm1 (Blimp­1) and Xbp1 are implicated only in the ASC network[5]. Of these, only ELL2, Irf4 and Pou2af1 (OCA­B) have been shown to act directly on the Ig genes. Irf4 plays a central role in B cell to ASC differentiation Irf4, also known as Pip, is unique amongst many others within its class of Irfs. Irfs have important roles within the immune responses. Irf1 and Irf2 were the first Irfs to be recognized for their novel immunomodulation and hematopoietic effects. Studies of Irfs prompted later discovery of other members in this class. The class now includes Irf3, Irf4, Irf7 and Irf8[6,7]. Irf4 was discovered via analysis of the specific Ets­transcriptions factors it interacts with; Irf4 binds to PU.1, an Ets­transcription factor, and together they form a functional ternary activ­ ating complex[8]. B cells experience class­switching recombination along with particular changes to cellular Ig specific tran­ scription factors due to Irf4 regulation. The formation and changes to the germinal center are most highly observed when centrocyte levels are decreased and Ig specific transcription factors become abundant. The progression from germinal center maintenance to germinal center­specific transcription is the final step in the B cell cascade before differentiation can occur. Irf4 meditated differentiation directs B lymphocytes to become memory B cells or ASCs[9]. ELL2, a transcription elongation factor discussed below, is highly expressed in ASCs vs B cells, and Irf4 binds to the ELL2 promoter to induce high levels of ELL2 mRNA[10]. When Irf4 is conditionally knocked out, germinal center formation is profoundly compromised[11]. The proximate cause of the Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells 100 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com differentiation from B lymphocyte to ASC is Blimp­1. When Blimp­1 is upregulated, the cell is directed to differentiate. With further observation, the ultimate cause is, in fact, Irf4. Irf4 upregulation causes the downstream increase of Blimp­1 via PU.1, Irf4 ternary complex activation. This suggests Irf4 is the major orchestrator of B cell to ASC differentiation. Originally, Irfs were thought to have all bound to a shared constitutive DNA consensus sequence, but later Irf4 and Irf8 were shown to have much lower affinities to these standard DNA sequence motifs. Due to the lower DNA binding affinity of Irf4 and Irf8, Ets­ transcription factors are required to facilitate their DNA binding. Irf4 and Irf8 share similar Ets­transcription factor protein binding domains, and therefore the same Ets­transcription factors are used by both of them. Ets­ transcription factors PU.1 and Spi­B have been shown to bind to specific DNA­binding motifs that then recruit Irf4 and Irf8[12]. PU.1 and Spi­B both promote binding to the 3’ enhancers of κIg and λIg light chains. Since both Irf4 and Irf8 are recruited by these factors, there is competition between the two similar Irfs. The outcomes of the Irf competition are starkly different, since B cell to ASC transition will not occur with an abundance of Irf8[13,14]. Irf4 and Irf8 not only compete for the Ets­transcri­ ption factors, but also promote expression for repressors of the other’s factors. In doing so, high levels of Irf8 would prompt decreased levels of Irf4, causing greater expression of Irf8­dependent genes. Irf8 dependent genes include Bcl6 and Pax5, which are high in B lymp­ hocytes. Irf8­dependent genes repress Aicda and Blimp­1 expression, which are products of Irf4­dependent transcription[15]. With increased Irf4, the exact opposite occurs, where Irf4­dependent genes such as Aicda and Blimp­1 are expressed. This in turn represses Irf8­ dependent gene transcription. Irf8 dependent gene Pax5 is repressed by Blimp­1, which is a negative transcription regulator in B lymphocytes. Presence of Blimp­1 represses Pax5 and c­myc. Repression of c­myc ceases cellular proliferation and causes an overall reduction of surface IgM[16]. The repression of Pax5 results in Xbp1 activation, which causes an increased production of unfolded protein response (UPR) components[17]. Irf4 has also been shown to drive Zbtb20 expression in B cells. Zbtb20, also known as Zfp288, DPZF and HOF, is a complex Bcl6 homologue that is a tramtrack, bric­ à­brac, and zinc finger protein[18,19]. Ectopic expression of Zbtb20 induced terminal B cell differentiation to ACS. Along with promoting differentiation, Zbtb20 expression in plasma cells induces cell survival and blocks cell cycle progression. Zbtb20 is directly downstream and regulated by Irf4, and acts independently of Blimp­1[20]. Blimp-1 is required for ASC differentiation Blimp­1 is encoded by the Prdm1 gene and plays a crucial role in the differentiation of B cells to ASCs, and thus the switch from expression of membrane bound antibody molecules to secreted antibody molecules[21]. The human homolog, PRD1­BF1, was discovered by Keller and Maniatis[22] by isolating a clone from a cDNA library encoding a protein that binds to the PRD1 site of the β­IFN promoter. Its ORF presents krüppel­like zinc finger DNA­binding motifs as well as proline and acidic regions resembling those of other known transcription factors, which indicates that Blimp­1 is a transcriptional regulator[23]. Blimp­1 mRNA expression is low in B cells and only present in late stages of differentiation[23]. Through Northern blots, it has been seen that Blimp­1 accumulation increases 5­fold in cells stimulated with IL­2 and IL­5. B cells transfected with Blimp­1 mature, although not all the way, to a point of exhibiting qua­ lities of early ASCs[23]. It was further shown that upon knocking out Blimp­1, secretion of Ig was severely reduced or failed[24]. Regardless of the levels of Blimp­1, however, B cells will not differentiate in the absence of Xbp1[25], and B cells lacking Blimp­1 are unable to normally induce Xbp1 mRNA as well as unable to normally process the Xbp1 protein[26]. This shows that Blimp­1 acts upstream of Xbp1 in the development of ASCs[25]. B cells deficient in Blimp­1, transfected with Blimp­1 on a retrovirus, were able to secrete IgM, but Blimp­1­/­ cells transfected with Xbp1 were not, proving that Xbp1 is not able on its own to drive differentiation if Blimp­1 is absent, thus indicating that Blimp­1 plays additional roles in plasmacytic differentiation[26]. Blimp­1 blocks transcription of a large set of genes[27]. C­myc is known to block terminal B cell differenti­ ation[28]. Ectopically expressing Blimp­1 in pre­B cell lines represses c-myc promoter activity[29] and causes deacetylation of histone H3 associated with the c-myc promoter[30]. By analyzing DNA microarrays after indu­ cible expression of Blimp­1, it was shown that Blimp­1 represses genes associated with progression of the cell cycle as well as synthesis and repair of DNA[27]. Blimp­1 was also shown to repress the gene expression program involved in B cell identity[27]. Blimp­1 represses Pax5[27], which is known to repress Xbp1[31]. This indicates that Blimp­1 induces expression of Xbp1 by repressing its repressor, Pax5[32]. It has also been shown that Blimp­1 represses the transcription elongation factor ELL3. When the ELL3 promoter was cloned, co­transfection with Prdm1 significantly repressed activity in B lymphocytes[33]. Blimp­1 was also seen to shut down Ig class switching by repressing expression of genes required in this process as well as inhibiting signals that serve to activate switch region Ig transcription[27]. Shaffer et al[27] showed that Blimp­1 participates in a negative feedback loop with BCR and Bcl6. BCR signaling restrains terminal differentiation of B cells by suppressing Blimp­1, while expression of Blimp­1 was reciprocally shown to block BCR signaling via the downregulation of its components[27]. Bcl6 is required for the differentiation of Germinal Center B cells[34]. 101 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells THE DOWNBEAT: OCA-B STARTS THE MARCH TO IG SECRETION OCA-B aids Ig expression. OCA­B, aka Pou2af1, BOB.1, Bob­1, OBF­1, or OBF.1, a­coactivator from B cells that increases Ig promoter transcription, was discovered by Luo et al[40] using the fractionation by ion­exchange chromatography of an oligonucleotide matrix­bound fraction. They isolated a novel B cell coactivator of Oct­1 and Oct­2. Binding of OCA­B to the octamer sequence of IgH is indirect and facilitated by Oct­1 and Oct­2 DNA binding[41] and as depicted in Figure 1. Oct­1 and Oct­2 contain POU domains, POU­1 and POU­2, respectively[42]. These POU domains are sufficient to mediate the interaction between Oct­1 and Oct­2 with OCA­B[41]. OCA­B has been shown to have no effect on the initial transcription of Ig genes, or play a role in the development of early B cells; however, mice deficient in OCA­B nonetheless exhibited impaired immune response[43]. Blimp­1 also represses Bcl6, while overexpression of Bcl6 represses Blimp­1 and thus ASC differentiation[35]. This feedback loop provides very tight control over the decision of a B cell to become an ASC, for while Bcl6 is expressed in a GC B cell, expression of Blimp­1 and thus plasmacytic differentiation is blocked, but as soon as Blimp­1 is activated, Bcl6 is repressed and differentiation begins[27]. It was also shown that Irf4 deficient cells were unable to differentiate and lacked expression of Blimp­1, indicating that Irf­4 directly activates the expression of Blimp­1[36]. In addition to Irf4, c­Fos also influences Blimp­1 expression. A proto­ oncogene, c­Fos is a transcriptional regulator that operates on DNA in an indirect fashion via its interaction with other transcriptional activators, such as c­Jun[37]. Ectopic expression of c­Fos with c­Jun induces Blimp­1 expression[38]. H2­c­Fos B cells, once stimulated with LPS, were found to proliferate at a higher level than normal B cells after LPS stimulation and induced enough Blimp­1 for terminal differentiation[39]. 102 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Figure 1 Transcription of Igh with alternative enhancer interactions. Oct-1 and -2 bind to the octamer sequence; OCA-B binds to Oct-2 and with TF105 (purple oval), a TFIID variant that is part of the basal transcription complex including TBP (yellow). Mediator (large teal complex) is a large complex of proteins that facilitates binding of RNAP-II to INR. Factors in Mediator like cdk8/cyclin C phosphorylate RNAP-II at ser-5 in the CTD consensus 7-mer for initiation. Then P-TEFb (cyclinT and cdk9, green oval) phosphorylates the ser-2 position of the CTD repeats of RNAP-II. Many genes have stalled polymerases awaiting the SEC, which contains ELL2 (purple hexagon) and P-TEFb[60]. Phosphorylation of the CTD by ser-5 and ser-2 is high near the Igh promoter[61]. The other members of the SEC are shown in gray. Differential transcription elongation occurs due to the potential interaction of the Igh enhancers. Cμ enhancer (annotated Eμ) interacts with promoter of Igh. A: In the first case, classical transcription of Igh can occur due to interaction between the promoter and enhancer, depicted by double arrow, without large-scale chromosomal looping; B: In the second case, along with promoter-enhancer interactions, Cμ enhancer has been hypothesized to interact with the 3’ Cα enhancer (3’ Eα), causing chromosomal looping. CTD: Carboxyl-terminal domain; SEC: Super elongation complex; TBP: TATA-binding protein; P-TEFb: Positive elongation factor b. OCA-B POU1 POU2 Oct-1Oct-1 Octamer TATA TF105 Mediator SECpTEFb ELL2 RNAPII VDJ E μ Cμ C δ C γ 3 C γ 1 C γ 2C γ 2a b C e C α 3'E α OCA-B POU1 POU2 Oct-1Oct-1 OCTAMER TATA TF105 MEDIATOR SECpTEFb ELL2 RNAPII VDJ E μ Cμ C δ C γ 3 C γ 1 C γ 2 b C γ 2a C e C α 3' Eα A B Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells OCA­B increases the effectiveness of Oct­1 and Oct­2 activity on Ig promoters[40]. Ectopically expressing OCA­B stimulates transcription of an IgH promoter in a HeLa nuclear extract[40]. Oct­2 mutants with deletions in one of the two activation domains were generated and were shown to have a reduction of ability to stimulate an artificial octamer­dependent promoter[41]. Several observations surrounding the phenotypes of OCA­B­/­ mice made by Kim et al[44] help reveal more information involving its function. Knockouts are able to produce the same levels of IgM mRNA and protein as the WT mice, as well as produce normal numbers of mature surface IgM+/IgD+ splenic B cells[44]. The cells had slightly reduced levels of proliferation following LPS stimulation, but the proliferative response to stimulation by anti­IgM crosslinking was greatly reduced ­ a res­ ponse that was almost completely rescued to WT level when IL­4 was added[44]. These results suggest that B cell differentiation and expression of IgM is not affected by knocking out OCA­B, and LPS and IL­4 pathways are for the most part intact. But these mice produce reduced serum levels of secondary Ig isotypes; the numbers of surface Ig­expressing cells and IgG2b, IgG3, and IgG1 secreting cells are not different between the knockout and WT. The rates of secretion per cell, however, are much lower in the OCA-B­/­ mice, suggesting that the knockouts are able to undergo the isotype­switching processes, but are incapable of efficiently expressing these switched Ig genes. Interestingly, knockout mice lack splenic germinal centers as well as germinal centers in lymph nodes[45]. There was also seen to be an increase in OCA­B expression in normal germinal center B cells[45]. Mice deficient in OCA­B also displayed a 2­4 fold decrease in splenic B cells, which suggests that it is required for splenic B cell maturation[43]. While there was a reduction in levels of mature B cells, cells of early differentiation stages remained unaffected[43]. OCA­B has been demonstrated to repress the development of the transitional Syndecan­1int cell by decreasing the division­based rate of differentiation[46]. In later B cell development, OCA­B is required to promote differen­ tiation into cells that exhibit high rates of Ig secretion[46]. This role of OCA­B in plasmacytic differentiation is in part due to its interaction with Blimp­1. OCA­B­/­ cells do not express Blimp­1 in vitro in response to CD40L and IL­4, and the genes that Blimp­1 is known to repress, such as Pax5 and Bcl6, are consequently expressed at high levels in these differentiating knockout cells[46]. In addition to its interaction with Blimp­1, OCA­B has also been shown to regulate immunosuppressive miRNA expression by the conserved octamer motif in the promoter of miR­146a[47]. In the absence of OCA­B, expression of miR­146a and miR­210 is greatly reduced, an interesting finding considering both have been found to suppress NF­κB signaling[47]. A comparison of the > 100 sequences of promoter regions for Igh Ⅴ regions in the mouse genome shows only the simple consensus of an octamer binding sequence (ATGCAAT) and an INR or initiation region[48]. Some Igh genes contain, while some lack, a TATA box, which would be bound by TBP and basal transcription factors. OCA­B interacts with TAF105, a lymphocyte variant of TFIID[49], and is upregulated in ASCs[50] (see Figure 1). The deletion of either TAF105 or OCA­B alone in vivo does not block Ig secretion[51,52]. Meanwhile, a set of enhancers [3’ Igh (alpha) enhancers, HS1­4] are found far downstream of the whole Igh gene cluster with long range effects for heavy chain class switching and V­D­J recombination[53,54]. Our studies and those of others with transfected Igh genes showed full regul­ ation of the secretory vs membrane alternative RNA processing choice with constructs that lacked the HS1­4 enhancers but retained the Emu/EH enhancer, see for example[55­58]. The Ig heavy chain EH/Emu enhancer stimulates transcription from functional promoters in B lymphocytes[53] but not other cell types. The EH/Emu enhancer region most likely loops back to the promoter and communicates with it as shown in Figure 1; it contains binding sites for the indicated transcription factors. It appears that for squelching of lymphocyte­specific transcription in non­lymphoid cells, the binding of the repressive nuclear factor­μNR to the Igh enhancer prevents nuclear matrix attachment by interfering with the positively acting matrix attach­ ment region proteins such as MAR­BP1, which drive transcription in B cells[59]. Igh 3’ enhancer­bound OCA­B and promoter­bound TFII­I mediate promoter­enhancer interactions, in both cis and trans, that are important for Igh transcription. This suggests an important function for OCA­B in Igh 3’ enhancer function in vivo that may be important for high levels of secretory­specific mRNA production[60]. THE UPBEAT: ELONGATION SETS THE TEMPO OF THE MARCH FOR IG SECRETION Antibody molecules are first expressed on the surface of maturing B cells as membrane spanning receptors for immunogens and are known as the B cell receptor or BCR. Engagement of the BCR by cognate antigen on a mature B cell leads to activation of transcription and cell growth as described above. After the activation process, the pre­mRNA transcribed from the rearranged Ig heavy chain gene is alternatively processed to produce the secretory­specific form of Igh mRNA, reviewed in[4]. Not only is there a shift to use of the proximal poly(A) site but also a large increase in the overall amount of mRNA, with a less than 2­fold increase in RNAP­Ⅱ loading on the gene[61]. This indicates that RNA processing increases the quality and the quantity of the mRNA made from the Igh locus. The transition in Igh mRNA processing serves as a hallmark for the differentiation of the B cell to a plasma blast or an ASC and is a harbinger of major changes in cellular architecture and transcription allowing the Ig protein to be secreted[62]. The RNA polymerase in 103 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells the ASC is traveling to the beat of drum different from that in a B cell. Transcription elongation sets the tempo and acts as the drum major. ELL factors equip RNAP-Ⅱ for elongation All three members of the ELL gene family, 1, 2, 3, are involved in transcription elongation in the super elongation complex, SEC, see Figure 2. ELL1 was cloned from multiple lineage leukemia cells when its COOH terminal half was found to be a fusion partner with MLL, a histone H3 K4 methylase[63]. Based on the available literature, ELL1 may play its biggest role in DNA repair and small RNA synthesis[64,65]. Other family members were cloned because of their homology to ELL1. ELL3, at 397 amino acids long, differs in sequence from ELL1 and ELL2 (602 and 633 amino acids respectively) and lacks the central disordered region depicted in Figure 3, but retains the majority of the NH2­terminal productive elongation domain and the occludin homology/p53 interacting domain. Both ELL1 and ELL3 have been shown to sequester p53 and abrogate its activities[66,67]. ELL2 was not tested for this activity. ELL3 was first described as testis specific[68], but subsequently it was shown to play a role in the epithelial­mesenchymal transition[69] and to mark enhancers in ES cells, priming for future gene activation[70]. ELL2 replaces ELL3, which predominates in embryonic cells[69] and B cells; ELL3 levels are diminished after stimulation to ASC diffe­ rentiation even in ELL2 conditional knockouts[62] see Figure 4. Its role in B cells is as yet undefined. ELL1 was unable to substitute for ELL2 in driving proximal poly(A) site choice in the Igh locus[71]. ELL1 and 2 differ primarily in the sequence of the disordered region starting at amino acid 292 in Figure 3. Thus each ELL can be expected to have unique interactions and functions in transcription elongation based on its unique sequences. For example, Mediator subunit 26 drives the association of ELL1 with snRNA gene promoters[72]. Using yeast two­hybrid assays, we have shown that conserved portions of the central disordered, proline­ rich regions of ELL1 and 2 bind specific proteins[73]; the absence of this region in ELL3 dictates that it will have different associations. We have shown that ELL2 modifies the RNA polyme­ rases in ASCs[10,61,71]; this causes RNAP­Ⅱ to traverse the genes in a manner that is unlike that in a B cell and hence the RNAP­Ⅱs in ASCs “travel to the beat of a different drum”. ELL2 has important and now well established roles in releasing paused RNAP­Ⅱ in Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) infection and in multiple myeloma[4,74]. There is a > 6­fold rise in the level of ELL2 ASCs (see Figure 4)[10,62,71,73,75], mediated by the Irf4 transcription factor[76­78]. There is also a increase in ELL2 mediated by Blimp­1 expression[76]. We showed that ELL2 drives alternative RNA processing [exon skipping and first poly(A) site choice] to influence the expression of the secretory­specific form of Igh mRNA at the expense of the membrane form[10] diagrammed in Figure 5A. This occurs because more mature mRNA results from every pass of the RNAP­Ⅱ; processivity is increased by ELL2. Studies of the ELL2 promoter (­1142 to + 154) show Irf4 and NF­κB p65 responsive sites[62], cyclic AMP response elements, and binding sites for the viral onco­protein Tax made in HTLV infection[79]. In the SEC, ELL2 associates with the positive transcription factor P­TEFb, AFF4, and other proteins found in fusions with MLL in cancer that facilitate H3K4 methylation[80], see Figure 2. In the case of model ASCs vs B cells, more ELL2 and P­TEFb are recruited to the RNAP­Ⅱ on the identical Igh gene; there is a correspondingly higher level of ser­2 phosphorylation of the carboxyl­terminal domain (CTD) of RNAP­Ⅱ nearer the promoter[61,71]. The scope of modifications of the histones on the Igh gene is different from that seen in B cells and ASCs. We saw more H3K79 di­ and tri­methylation as well as H3K4 methylation 3’ of the internal heavy chain enhancer in ASCs, which is indicative of a more open chromatin configuration[71] (see Figure 5). H3K79 methylation has also been linked to alterations in splicing[81]. All of these changes in chromatin would favor use of promoter proximal poly(A) sites, like that of the secretory Igh poly(A) site and skipping of the splice sites that would be necessary for the production of the Igh membrane­ encoding form of Igh. Ironically, an elongation factor causes the production of a shorter Igh mRNA. Our B­cell specific ELL2 conditional knockout mice (ell2loxp/loxp CD19cre/+aka ELL2cKO)[62] exhibit normal numbers of splenic B cells but curtailed primary and secondary humoral responses both in NP­ficoll and NP­KLH immunized animals. In ELL2 cKO mice relative to ELL2+/+ animals: CD138+/ B220 lo ASCs in spleen were reduced; there were fewer IgG1+ anti­ body producing cells in the bone marrow (i.e., long­ 104 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Figure 2 Components of the super elongation complex. ELL2 is part of the super elongation complex important for releasing RNA polymerase Ⅱ from pausing. Cdk9 phosphorylates the ser-2 of the heptad repeats in the carboxyl- terminal domain of RNAP-Ⅱ, negative elongation factor negative elongation factor, and DRB sensitive factor the DRB-sensitive factor, which becomes activated. ELL2: Eleven lysine rich leukemia protein 2; Cdk9: Cyclin dependent kinase 9. AF4/Aff1 pTEFb EAF2 ELL2 ENL/ AF9 Cdk9 Cyclin T Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells lived plasma cells); splenic B cells stimulated by LPS ex vivo were ¼ as likely to produce B220loCD138+ cells (ASCs) than from control splenic B­cells. The “pseudo ASCs” that arise in the ELL2 cKO have a paucity of secreted Igh, and distended, abnormal appearing ER by electron microscopy. The amounts of Ig kappa, activating transcription factor 6 (Atf6), BCMA (Tnfrsf1), BiP, Cyclin B2, OCA­B, and Xbp1 mRNAs, unspliced and spliced, are severely reduced in the ELL2 cKOs[62]. Thus we showed that ELL2 is essential for antibody synthesis and export. The complex expression pattern of the three ELL family members in B cells and ASCs both in ELL2+/+ and the ELL2­/­ conditional knockouts is shown in Figure 4. The knockout of ELL2 influences its own and ELL1 mRNAs but not that of ELL3, which declines following LPS stimulation to ASCs regardless of the presence of ELL2[62]. The super elongation complex acts at active genes A combination of genome­wide high­throughput sequ­ encing methods and drug treatments that inhibit P­TEFb have suggested that P­TEFb­driven release of paused RNAP­Ⅱ from promoter­proximal regions to begin productive elongation is a widespread and necessary step in transcription. Studies have shown that inhibition of P­TEFb, and by extension SEC, that prevents RNAP­ Ⅱ release, blocks almost all transcription[9,29,30]. Thus, all active genes experience a potentially rate­limiting pausing step in the transcription cycle and require SEC activity for gene body transcription. However, this pause step causes a significant accumulation of promoter­ 105 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Figure 3 Protein structure of ELL2 vs ELL3. ELL2 contains three domains the common ELL protein family domain the disordered region and the occludin homology domain. The central disordered region is missing in ELL3 and the amino acid sequences vary in other regions as well. ELL: Eleven-nineteen lysine rich leukemia protein; pfam: Protein family; Paf1: Polymerase associated factor 1. B cell B cell ELL2-/- ASC ASC ELL2-/- 0 50 100 150 200 250 ELL1 ELL2 ELL3 Amount relative to HPRT Figure 4 Expression of ELL1, 2 and 3 varies between B cells and antibody secreting cells. The expression of the mRNA for the three factors was measured by RT-QPCR relative to HPRT in both wild type mice and mice lacking ELL2 in their B cell compartment. HPRT: Hypoxanthine phosphoribosyltransferase; ASC: Antibody secreting cell; RT-QPCR: Reverse transcriptase quantitative polymerase chain reaction; ELL: Eleven-nineteen lysine rich leukemia protein. Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells ELL pfamELL2 292 532 633 Occludin High Low 192 Interacts directly with Paf1 350 Stimulates productive elongation1 Sequence Conservation Disordered regions Missing in ELL3 1 proximally paused RNAP­Ⅱ only at a subset of active genes in untreated cells (40%­70%, depending on the method and cell type)[3,9,29,31­33]. Presumably SEC activity is simply not limiting on the remainder of genes that do not show accumulation of paused RNAP­Ⅱ. This finding indicates that a pausing­ and SEC­dependent release step could become a rate­limiting and potentially regulatory step at all active genes[82]. Transcription and RNA processing are controlled in cells by the cooperating processes of modifications to the CTD of RNAP­Ⅱ, addition of elongation and RNA processing factors to the RNAP­Ⅱ complex, and by chromatin modifications[83]. Negative elongation factor (NELF) and DRB sensitive factor (DSIF) are recruited to an RNAP­Ⅱ when it pauses just after initiation of transcription. DSIF is composed of the highly conserved Spt4 and Spt5 subunits, which have been shown to have unique parts to play at different phases of Ig class switch recombination[84] and in germinal center B cells[85]. NELF is found only in paused metazoan, not yeast tran­ scription complexes[86]. Recruitment to the paused RNAP­Ⅱ of P­TEFb, composed of cyclin T and cdk9, and its associated factors like ELL into a super elongation complex[87], results in phosphorylation of DSIF and the 106 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Igh sec >> mb plasma cell -7 9 TA TA V: J2 EH se cp A CH 1 IV S PA m b3 ' Ga str in Ac tin K79me1 K79me2 K79me3 25 20 15 10 5 0 % I P C Igh sec = mb B cell *** K79me1 K79me2 K79me3 25 20 15 10 5 0 % I P -7 9 TA TA V: J2 EH se cp A CH 1 IV S PA m b3 ' Ga str in Ac tin B Igh gene and mRNA products TATA V:J2 J4 5' Secretory-specific mRNA Membrane-specific mRNA EH CH1 CH2 sec pA sec + 200 IVS M1 pAmb3' M2 Mb pA CH3 alt splice An An A Figure 5 Igh gene has a different pattern of H3K7methylation in B cells vs antibody secreting cells. Distribution of histone H3K7me is enhanced in the region downstream of the internal Igh enhancer in plasma cells (ASCs). The 11 kb Igh gamma 2a gene is identical in the B and PC (hybridoma) lines and located in the intact Igh locus. A: Location of probes used in QPCRs. Cells were fixed and chromatin IP performed with the indicated antibodies specific to the individual K79 methylations; B: The B cell line A20; C: The plasma/hybridoma line AxJ which is an ASC. ASCs: Antibody secreting cells; QPCR: Quantitiative polymerase chain reaction; IP: Immunoprecipitation. Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells ser­2 of the carboxyl­terminal end of RNAP­Ⅱ. NELF is also phosphorylated by P­TEFb, releasing it from the now elongation­competent RNAP­Ⅱ complex. It is clear from studies with HIV tat and tar that recruitment of P­TEFb with ELL2 also facilitates interactions of the five­subunit polymerase associated factor (paf) with RNAP­Ⅱ; paf then recruits the polyadenylation factors[88]. This would favor promoter proximal polyadenylation. Studies using RNAP­Ⅱ mutants or drugs to slow elongation show that reduced transcription rates are coupled with alternative exon inclusion while speeding up the polymerase causes exon skipping[89]. In addition, transcription factors have been shown to control the use of alternative exons and control splicing patterns, presumably by differentially setting up the RNAP­Ⅱ complex or its elongation rate[90]. Effects of altered RNAP-Ⅱ on other genes Using deep mRNA sequencing, the knockdown of ELL2 by siRNA in a plasma cell line was shown to influence several other genes besides Igh secretory specific mRNA processing, namely several splicing factors, cyclin B2 (Ccnb2), and the B cell maturation antigen (Tnfrsf17) aka BCMA. Long term survival of plasma cells is impaired by the lack of BCMA in a knockout mouse[91]. But loss of BCMA alone in ­/­ mice does not alter humoral responses (T­independent or T­dependent) nor the formation of short­lived plasma cells, yet loss of ELL2 in mice does[62]. Benson et al[92] saw changes in splicing in a number of genes involved in mRNA processing; this would have had other far reaching secondary effects beyond that of ELL2 on transcription. Dissociating the direct vs indirect effects of ELL2 is key to understanding its role in changing the RNAP­Ⅱ and RNA processing patterns on a given gene in ASCs. In the ELL2 conditional knockout mice we saw not only reduced Igh processing to the secretory­specific form, but also deficiency in light chain mRNA synthesis and decreased expression of UPR genes, especially in Xbp1. We also saw changes in the splicing of some ELL2 target genes as illustrated in the Sashimi plot shown in Figure 6 for Xaf1, a gene involved in apoptosis of cells[93]. Elongation factors like ELL2 not only change RNA processing patterns but they also increase the proces­ sivity of RNAP­Ⅱ[94]. As a consequence, they can cause higher production of mature mRNA from a precursor and boost mRNA yields without increasing RNAP­Ⅱ loading. For example, using a cyclin B2 promoter, addition of ELL2 cDNA had a greater than 7­fold enhancement in the luciferase reporter systems relative to a Blimp­1 promoter[62]. It is also worth noting that many of the genes in primary B cells affected by the loss of ELL2 after stimulation to ASCs are genes expressed at high mRNA abundance (Atf6, BiP, Igh, IgL, Pou2af1, Xbp1), genes for which efficient pre­mRNA to mature mRNA processing would be important. Interestingly, in the ELL2 knockout, there was a 5­fold decrease in the expression of Pou2af1 (OBF­1/ BOB­1/OCA­B) mRNA, a putative downstream target of Xbp1[95]. We also saw that ELL2 could enhance luciferase yields from a promoter carrying the UPR elements, so the effect on Pou2af1 could be direct as well as indirect through decreased Xbp1. THE UPR: SUPPLYING THE BACK BEAT FOR IG SECRETION The increase of ELL2 in ASCs drives alternative RNA processing and leads to an increase in secretory Igh mRNA[10]. The substantial amount of Ig chains being produced must first be processed efficiently into anti­ bodies by the ER. Differentiating B cells adapt to the added stress of processing the increased amount of antibody by inducing the UPR, a signaling cascade prompted by ER stress that upregulates ER chaperone and folding enzymes expression (reviewed in[96]). Even after initiation of terminal B cell differentiation and efficient elongation take place, regulators of the UPR and alleviators of ER stress are needed to ensure that successful ASC development occurs. Xbp1 regulates UPR for ASC differentiation In mature ASCs, the ER response is unique from that seen in other cells[97]. The UPR in many cells typically has three arms, the Ire1/Xbp1 pathway, an Atf6 path­ way, and the PERK pathway[98]. But PERK knockout mice secrete normal amounts of Ig, while PERK protein expression is not changed significantly between B cells and ASCs[99,100]. In addition, Atf6 is not necessary for the development of ASCs; thus when B cells are stimulated to secrete antibody, the primary pathway for ER remodeling appears to reside in the Ire1 to Xbp1 pathway[101]. Aggregation and then auto phosphorylation of Ire1 causes it to acquire the ability to specifically cleave and then splice Xbp1 mRNA; the newly spliced Xbp1 RNA species encodes a novel Xbp1 protein with transcri­ ptional activity on its own promoter and other UPR promoters containing the UPR element UPRE[99]. In an Xbp1 conditional deletion, the mice show defects in ASC development[25] and low levels of secretory Ig[102]. But it has been argued that the consequences of Xbp1 deletion alone are relatively mild[103]. ASCs are 107 November 27, 2015|Volume 5|Issue 3|WJI|www.wjgnet.com Figure 6 Sashimi plot depicting exon skipping. Xaf1 Sashimi plot obtained from RNA-Seq of ELL2 WT (red track) and cKO (blue track) antibody secreting cell samples. This plot demonstrates the exon skipping of exon 4 occurring in the cKO. The arcs indicate splice junction reads, with the thickness of the arc correlating with the number of junction reads spanning the two exons being connected by the arc. cKO: Conditional knockout; RNA-seq: RNA sequencing; WT: Wild type. Smith SM et al . Transcription in antibody secreting cells present in normal frequencies in resting and immunized animals, and Ig secretion is reduced but not eliminated in conditional Xbp1 knockouts. Thus the gene regulatory program controlling ASC differentiation may proceed relatively normally in the absence of Xbp1[103]. On further analysis, the low levels of Igh mRNA in Xbp1­/­ mice result from the 8­fold increased levels of Ire1­P over control; the highly abundant Ire1­P cleaves the Igh mu secretory mRNA[104]. This is a process similar to the previously described pathway[105] in which Ire1­P can act to cleave its own mRNA, as well as other RNAs in a process called regulated IRE1­dependent decay[106]. Only Xbp1 mRNA is spliced, not cleaved, by Ire1­P to form a new functional RNA[107]. A double deletion of Xbp1 and Ire1 restores IgM secretion by inhibiting Ig mRNA degradation[104]. Mutations in the Ire1 nuclease function cause only a 2­fold reduction in Ig secretion[108]. Taken together, this leads to a conclusion that some Ig secretion can occur without the unusual cleavage and splicing of Xbp1 and there may be other proteins that allow for the upregulation of the UPR besides the spliced mRNA encoded Xbp1. As we discussed above, ELL2 has a role in enhancing the transcription of other UPR proteins through the UPR element[62] thereby linking production of the Igh secretory mRNA and the build­ up of the UPR. Activation of the mammalian target of rapamycin (mTOR) pathway can also bypass Xbp1 for Ig secretion[109]. mTOR bypasses Xbp1 for ASC differentiation and Ig secretion mTOR is a vital serine/threonine kinase with two known subunit complexes, mTORC1 and mTORC2[110]. Much of the known function of mTOR, primarily in complex one, shows major roles in cellular proliferation[111] and Ig secretion[112]. The main function of mTORC1 is to recognize nutrient levels and mitogenic signals, and with these trigger cellular growth and proliferation. mTORC2 differs as it is nutrient independent and is activated by growth factors[113]. Within its pathway is the tuber sclerosis complex (TSC), which is an inhibitory complex of mTOR. TSC presents itself in two forms, TSC1 and TSC2. The two forms come together as a heterodimeric complex[114,115]. Akt, a protein kinase, is responsible for phosphorylation of TSC2 and is activated after LPS­ stimulation[115]. The release of TSC complex inhibition induces mTOR via BCR stimulation. The reversion of TSC1 inhibition of mTORC1 is responsible for protein synthesis in LPS­activated B cells, which is coupled with substantial ER stress[116]. ER stress can activate the UPR, restoring ER stability, or possibly lead to autophagy or apoptosis[117]. During B cell differentiation to ASC, ER remodeling is substantial and exclusively facilitated by the Xbp1 UPR pathway. Skipping of the Xbp1 pathway has been shown to allow B cells to viably differentiate into long­lived ASCs that only secrete small amounts of Igs[103,104]. It was shown that the ER morphology was highly compromised in the Xbp1 knockout after ASC transition. The successful transition, even with compromised ER morphology, from B cell to ASC was shown to be due to the positive regulation of mTOR[109]. Looking directly at mTOR, inhibition of mTORC1 in mice induces macro­autophagy[118]. When activated, mTORC1 promotes cell growth and protein synthesis. Along with mTORC1, TSC1 ablation ex vivo resulted in cell death of developing ASCs[116]. The production of a TSC1 KO, Xbp1 KO and TSC1/Xbp1 DKO has allowed for complete analysis of mTORC1 outcomes independent of parallel pathways. TSC1 KO promoted ASC differentiation with increased mTOR activity along with an unexpected increase in Ire1. Pertaining to the antibody secretion of the ASCs, the expected reduc­ tion of IgM and IgG1 levels in the KOs and DKO was observed. A marked increase of IgA titers in the serum of the DKO was also observed. This correlates with the novel finding that mTOR activation can bypass Xbp1 for antibody secretion. To assess the effect of TSC1 KO on the ER, the DKO and the Xbp1 KO were compared after LPS stimulation. It was clear that the double knockout had a less compromised ER, suggesting that mTOR activation and its directed UPR play a crucial role in ER maintenance and remodeling[109]. CONCLUSION The modification of RNAP­Ⅱ elongation by ELL2 in ASCs is dramatic with far­reaching consequences. It is important to further study the direct effects that this modification is having on transcription of Igh and on expression of other ASC genes. What else occurs as a result of RNA polymerases traveling to the beat of a different drum? The significance of understanding these systems lies in the foundation of the correct production and processing of antibodies, a vital part of immune response. Further study will allow for an expanded breadth of understanding concerning this complex system as well as great advances in diagnosis and therapy for autoimmunity and immune­deficiency diseases. REFERENCES 1 Pyo JO, Yoo SM, Ahn HH, Nah J, Hong SH, Kam TI, Jung S, Jung YK. Overexpression of Atg5 in mice activates autophagy and extends lifespan. Nat Commun 2013; 4: 2300 [PMID: 23939249 DOI: 10.1038­/ncomms3300] 2 Nutt SL, Hodgkin PD, Tarlinton DM, Corcoran LM. 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Eur J Immunol 2007; 37: 2923-2936 [PMID: 1772468­3 DOI: 10.1002/ eji.20073728­1] 115 Weichhart T, Costantino G, Poglitsch M, Rosner M, Zeyda M, Stuhlmeier KM, Kolbe T, Stulnig TM, Hörl WH, Hengstschläger M, Müller M, Säemann MD. The TSC-mTOR signaling pathway regulates the innate inflammatory response. Immunity 2008­; 29: 565-577 [PMID: 18­8­48­473 DOI: 10.1016/j.immuni.2008­.08­.012] 116 Goldfinger M, Shmuel M, Benhamron S, Tirosh B. Protein synthesis in plasma cells is regulated by crosstalk between endop- lasmic reticulum stress and mTOR signaling. Eur J Immunol 2011; 41: 491-502 [PMID: 21268­018­ DOI: 10.1002/eji.201040677] 117 Ron D, Walter P. Signal integration in the endoplasmic reticulum unfolded protein response. Nat Rev Mol Cell Biol 2007; 8: 519-529 [PMID: 17565364 DOI: 10.1038­/nrm2199] 118­ Kamada Y, Funakoshi T, Shintani T, Nagano K, Ohsumi M, Ohsumi Y. Tor-mediated induction of autophagy via an Apg1 protein kinase complex. 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work_jma5eujgo5cmjitqwvpapfware	----	FISCHER‐TINÉ  | 113    IZSAF  02/2017  Eradicating the ‘Scourge of Drink’ and the ‘Un‐pardonable  Sin of Illegitimate Sexual Enjoyment’: M.K. Gandhi as   Anti‐Vice Crusader  Harald Fischer‐Tiné1  Abstract: This essay highlights an oft‐neglected facet of M.K. Gandhi’s political work  by scrutinizing the anti‐colonial icon’s extended engagement in campaigns against  alcohol,  narcotics,  prostitution  and  a  number  of  other  ‘vices’  between  1906  and  1948.  It  argues  that,  while the  Mahatma’s  anti‐vice crusades  definitely  were  part  and  parcel  of  his  vision  of  ‘inner  swaraj’  (or:  self‐control)  as  a  necessary  pre‐ condition for national independence, they cannot be understood by situating them  merely  in  narrow  national  or  colonial  contexts.  As  is  demonstrated,  Gandhi  was  constantly  drawing  on  (and  simultaneously  contributing  to)  the  ideological  and  methodological repertoire of a flourishing transnational, indeed, global, network of  temperance  and  purity  activists  that  had  been  in  the  building  since  the  mid‐ nineteenth  century  and  cut across  a  wide  political,  social  and  religious  spectrum.  Hence, a close analysis of Gandhi’s fight against intoxication and debauchery on the  Indian subcontinent does not only shed new light on the formation of Indian mass‐ nationalism in early 20th century, it also enhances our knowledge of one of the first  world‐spanning ‘advocacy groups’.  According  to  conventional  historiographical  wisdom,  the  crusade  against  alcohol, opium and immorality in late nineteenth and early twentieth cen‐ turies  was  largely  a  Euro‐American  phenomenon,  a  middle  ground  and  melting  pot  for  evangelical  missionary  zeal,  ‘white  man’s  burden’‐ imperialism,  social  hygienic  reform  agendas  and  early  forms  of  the  orga‐ nized women’s rights movement.2 To be sure, such a conceptualization of                                                               1   ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:  This  article  is  based  on  a  talk  given  at  the  AHA  convention  in  Denver, CO on January 5th 2017. It draws on and expands some thoughts that I have first  articulated  in  the  introduction  to  a  book  on  global  anti‐vice  activism  which  I  have  co‐ edited  with  Jessica  Pliley  and  Robert  Kramm,  (Pliley  et  al.  2016:  1–29).  I  should  like  to  thank  David  Courtwright  for  his  encouraging  comments  after  the  Denver  talk,  Bernhard  Schär  for  his  incisive  comments,  Maria  Framke  for  bringing  me  in  touch  with  IZSAF  and  Martina Andermatt for diligently preparing the manuscript for publication.  2   There is a copious literature on anti‐vice campaigns that originated in Europe and North  America. See, for instance, Hunt 1999; Cox 2007; Walkowitz 1982; Tyrell 1991; Valverde  2000; Lodwick 1996; Padwa 2012; Donovan 2006.  ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’  | 114  02/2017  anti‐vice activism allows for its interpretation as a transnational phenome‐ non, but one whose operational centre and ideological roots materialized in  the West. This essay sets out to complicate this slightly euro‐centric picture  presented by much of the available literature on anti‐opium campaigners,  temperance activists and purity crusaders. It does so by pointing to the fact  that anti‐vice agendas had become a truly global occurrence by the turn of  the 20th century that transcended religious and cultural boundaries as well  as the infamous divide separating the colonizing imperial powers from the  colonized world. The case study focuses pars pro toto on the most promi‐ nent temperance campaigner from the Indian sub‐continent, showing that  the globalization of the anti‐vice agenda and methods of propagating can‐ not be understood in terms of a simple North‐South diffusion of protestant  norms  and  values.  Rather,  historical  actors  from  colonial  territories  and  their idiosyncratic methods and ideological repositories also began to exert  an influence on anti‐vice discourses and campaigns in the West.  Mohandas  Karamchand  Gandhi  (1869–1948)  is  one  of  the  handfuls  of  political  leaders  from  this  formerly  ‘colonized  World’  who  has  become  an  iconic figure all over the globe. Admittedly, he is mostly not known today as  an ardent crusader against the unholy trinity of drugs, drink and debauch‐ ery in the first place, but rather as a spokesman and symbol of anti‐colonial  nationalism. In other words, Gandhi spent the last three decades of his life  challenging precisely the kind of imperial world order that was being moral‐ ized by imperial administrators and Christian missionaries in Asia, Africa and  the Pacific. Yet, at the same time, Mohandas Gandhi started to cultivate a  quasi‐religious  obsession  with  health,  bodily  purity  and  moral  perfection  that seems astonishingly close to the concerns of many Western purity cru‐ saders.  It  made  him  engage  in  active  campaigning  against  the  very  same  evils  targeted  by  Protestant  temperance  activists  until  his  death  and  he  even  authored  several  books  solely  concerned  with  questions  of  health,  substance abuse, diet and control of the body (cf. Gandhi 1923; idem 1948;  idem 1949; cf. also Alter 2000).  Born in the small coastal town Porbandar in the western Indian region of  Gujarat, Gandhi was exposed to the cultural influences of the regional vari‐ ety of Vaishnava‐Hinduism and Jainism during his childhood. Their manifold  differences notwithstanding, both religious strands converged on the prin‐ IZSAF  FISCHER‐TINÉ  | 115    IZSAF  02/2017  ciples of strict abstinence, vegetarianism, and their aspirations towards very  high moral standards often articulated in terms of sexual discipline. There  can  hardly  be  any  doubt  that  this  had  a  durable  impact  on  young  Gandhi  (Jordens 1998: 6). Interestingly, the years he subsequently spent as a stu‐ dent  of  law  in  London  (1888–1891)  even  significantly  reinforced  his  rigid  moral principles (Brown 1999: 72–3). Unlike many of his Indian fellow stu‐ dents in the imperial metropolis, many of whom were apparently suscepti‐ ble to ‘immoral influences’ (Fisher, Lahiri & Thandi 2007: 129), Gandhi ap‐ parently  was  never  tempted  by  the  pubs,  music‐halls  and  brothels  of  late  Victorian  London.  As  Leela  Gandhi  (2006:  67–76)  and  others  (cf.  Arnold  2014: 37–40; Guha 2014: 36–54; Hunt 1978: 30–40) have discussed at great  length, the future Mahatma preferred to spend his time instead with Eng‐ lish members of the vegetarian and temperance movements. His rigid anti‐ alcohol  stance  was  further  confirmed  during  the  two  decades  of  his  resi‐ dence  in  South  Africa  (1893–1914).  Both  among  the  local  black  working  classes as well as among the Indian indentured labourers (or coolies, in im‐ perial parlance) whom he represented as a lawyer in those years, he could  witness with his own eyes the ways in which the ‘terrible scourge of drink  […]  ruined  people  morally,  physically,  economically’  and  ‘destroyed  the  sanctity and happiness of the home.’ (Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi  [henceforth CWMG] Vol. 76: 8). When commenting on the situation in India  later, Gandhi made it clear that he considered the ‘drink evil’ not to be ‘a  national vice’ (CWMG Vol. 29: 335). Like many of his contemporaries (Rich‐ ards 2002: 407–8), he understood alcohol abuse and alcohol addiction pri‐ marily  as  an  emanation  of  the  evil  influence  of  Western  civilization  which  imperial  expansion  helped  to  spread  to  places  like  South  Africa  and  the  Indian subcontinent. The supposedly imported vice of drink must have been  all  the  more  hateful  for  the  Mahatma  after  his  eldest  son  Harilal  Gandhi  (1888–1948)  developed  severe  alcohol  addiction  during  the  1910s  and  1920s in reaction to growing tensions with his father and the death of his  first wife (Dalal 2007).3 The fact that Harilal—obviously owing to his drink‐ ing problem—also became a gambler and started to display a penchant for  the company of prostitutes made things even worse in the eyes of his aus‐                                                              3   Harilal Gandhi’s tragic life story has also become the subject of a Bollywood drama (Feroze  Abbas Khan’s Gandhi, my Father, released in 2007).  ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’  | 116    IZSAF  02/2017  tere father. Notwithstanding his own family tragedy, Mohandas K. Gandhi  continued  to  portray  Indian  society  as  being  largely  intact  and  innocent  because in his mind alcohol had barely any roots in pre‐colonial South and  Southeast Asian cultures (Gandhi 1976a: 224–5). In his view, this was partly  due to the perceived moral superiority of the major religions in the region  Hinduism,  Buddhism,  Sikhism  and  Islam  all  of  which  rejected  intoxication.  At  the  same  time,  however,  he  also  invoked  the  authority  of  modern  sci‐ ence  by  putting  forth  the  well‐rehearsed  environmentalist  argument  that  ‘climatic conditions’ in the region were ‘totally opposed to the drink habit’  (Gandhi 1976f: 225; cf. also idem 1976g: 226).  It  is  noteworthy  that  Western  go‐betweens,  who  shared  Gandhi’s  cri‐ tique of ‘industrial civilization’, mediated his first major initiative to collec‐ tively  resist  such  evil  influences  (Nigam  2013:  74).  While  being  a  regular  guest in the Theosophist circles of Johannesburg, dominated by expats from  Europe, Gandhi met the architect Herman Kallenbach, who had been raised  and educated in East Prussia (Lev 2012: 1–9). As a practicing gymnast and  bodybuilder who had received physical instruction at the hands of his com‐ patriot  and  world‐famous  strongman  Eugen  Sandow  (Watt  2016:  74–99),  Kallenbach  shared  Gandhi’s  obsession  with  disciplining  the  body  and  con‐ trolling  dangerous  physical  appetites  of  all  kinds  (Lelyveld  2011:  88–91).  Together they founded the experimental rural commune at Tolstoy Farm in  1910,  where  Gandhi  would  refine  his  method  of  Satyāgrah  (passive  re‐ sistance)  that  he  had  developed  a  few  years  earlier  in  Natal  and  that  he  would later deploy to great effect after his return to India (Hunt & Bhana  2007).  The  rigid  prohibition  of  alcohol,  strict  vegetarianism,  and  the  thor‐ ough policing of sexual chastity prevailing in the small political ashram near  Johannesburg are thus not only remindful of similar experiments by adher‐ ents of the Lebensreform movement that developed more or less simulta‐ neously  in  Europe  and  the  Americas,  but  also  show  that  vice‐control  and  physical self‐optimization formed central elements in the training of would‐ be political elites (Alter 1996 and Valiani 2014: 507–8).4 It should be men‐ tioned that there was a strong gender dimension in this Gandhian optimiza‐ tion project, as he held the view that ‘procreation and consequent care of                                                               4   For an insightful account of the anti‐vice regime in the ashrams Gandhi was running later  in India see also Sarkar 2011: 187–191.  FISCHER‐TINÉ  | 117    IZSAF  02/2017  children’—tasks  he  deemed  to  be  the  part  of  the natural  duties  of  wom‐ en—‘were inconsistent with public service’ (Taneja 2005: 66) and the politi‐ cal elites thus trained ultimately tended to be all male.  Like many Christian crusaders against alcohol abuse, the opium trade or  the  state  regulation  of  prostitution,  (and  perhaps  also  owing  to  the  woes  caused by the dissolute behaviour of his son Harilal), Gandhi firmly believed  in what can be termed the domino theory of vice. He assumed that alcohol  consumption, which he considered the root of all evil, almost inevitably led  to sexual debauchery, smoking, gambling and other forms of immoral and  harmful  behavior.  Interestingly,  Gandhi  linked  the  rapid  global  spread  of  what he regarded as specifically Western forms of vice to the invention of  the steam as a locomotive power of great velocity. In his oft‐quoted anti‐ modern manifesto Hind Swaraj (or Indian Home Rule)—ironically written on  board a steam ship en route from London to South Africa in 1909 (Suhrud  2014: 154–5)—Gandhi made it a point that he regarded railways as a sinis‐ ter  Western  invention  that  would  only  serve  to  ‘propagate  evil’  whereas  ‘good travel[ed] at snail’s pace’ (Sharma & Suhrud 2010: 41; see also Nigam  2013: 79–80). In the light of the fact that he would later on constantly rely  on the railway and the steamboat to further his political agenda and social  reform projects, such a statement seems somewhat ironic.  Yet, it once more underlines that Gandhi’s anti‐vice attitude converged  with his staunch anti‐Westernism, which in turn drew on the arguments of  cultural  pessimist  intellectuals  and  religiously  minded  conservatives  in  Eu‐ rope  and  North  America,  who  equated  ‘Western  civilization’  with  a  new  kind of ‘hedonistic modernism’.5 This modernism, they feared, would erode  societies and families with its ‘values of instant gratification, pleasure and  egoistic  individualism’  (Sulkunen  &  Warpenius  2000:  425).  Given  these  ideological affinities, it is hardly surprising that the Mahatma put the fight  against drink as a potent symbol of the alien and corrupt character of Brit‐ ish colonial rule not only prominently on the agenda of the Indian National  Congress from 1920 onwards, but that he also repeatedly collaborated with                                                               5   For  a  definition  and  contextualization  of  ‘anti‐Westernism’  see  Aydin  2007:  37–8.  It  has  often  been  observed  that  Gandhi’s  ideology  as  it  crystallized  in  South  Africa  in  the  first  decade  of  the  twentieth  century  was  crucially  influenced  by  the  reading  of  authors  like  Lew Tolstoy, John Ruskin, Henry David Thoreau and Edward Carpenter (see Hyslop 2011:  42).  ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’  | 118    IZSAF  02/2017  Christian  temperance  agencies.  I  will  come  back  to  this  point  in  the  final  section.  Early Gandhian strategies to implement the anti‐vice agenda in national‐ ist politics included temperance campaigns among the ‘drinking classes’ (i.e.  the usual subaltern suspects: industrial workers, low castes, and ‘untoucha‐ bles’), as well as the boycott and picketing of foreign liquor stores. As early  as 1924, Gandhi, who was a great admirer of the infamous 18th Amendment  (i.e.  prohibition  legislation)  in  the  United  States,  had  announced  an  even  more radical strategy to fight the ‘drink devil’, when he wrote: ‘Not that we  shall ever make drinkers sober by legislation, but we can and ought to pe‐ nalize […] the drink habit by closing all liquor shops and […] make it as diffi‐ cult as possible to indulge in it.’ (CWMG Vol. 29: 334). As soon as the Con‐ gress was in power on the provincial level in the late 1930s, local govern‐ ments  promulgated  laws  of  prohibition,  thus  alienating  considerable  seg‐ ments of the local population (Colvard 2014; Fahey & Manian 2005). There  is by now a copious literature on the class antagonism underlying the poli‐ tics of drinking in late colonial India. In the logic of Gandhi and other aspir‐ ing nationalist elites, the subalterns could only be convinced to give up their  vicious  habits  through  harsh  legal  intervention.  Needless  to  say,  such  an  agenda often clashed with the subaltern classes’ claims of autonomy over  their bodies and leisure practices (Menon 2015; see also Hardiman 1985).  While  Gandhi  constantly  insisted  on  the  necessity  to  ‘wean  the  laboring  population  and  the  Harijans  from  the  curse’  through  legal  intervention  (CWMG Vol.72: 131), it is less well‐known that his class‐prejudice also cut in  the other direction. Gandhi often rebuked the Indian aristocracy and mem‐ bers  of  the  High  Society  for  being  negative  role  models.  In  1929,  for  in‐ stance, he caustically remarked about a dinner given in honour of the vice‐ roy in Delhi’s classy Chelmsford Club that the event proved to what extent  ‘educated  Indians  who  lead  public  opinion’  were  drawn  into  the  ‘satanic  net’  of  drink:  ‘All  but  one  or  two  Indians  drank  Champagne  to  their  fill.  When Satan comes disguised as a champion of liberty, civilization, culture  and  the  like,  he  makes  himself  almost  irresistible.  It  is  therefore  a  good  thing that prohibition is an integral part of the Congress programme.’ (Gan‐ dhi 1976d: 266).  FISCHER‐TINÉ  | 119    IZSAF  02/2017  Following  the  logic  of  the  ‘domino  theory’,  i.e.  entangled  character  of  vices, Gandhi soon extended his crusade against mood‐altering substances  also to opium, an intoxicant which many associated with Asian rather than  Western societies:  The criticism leveled against alcohol applies equally to  opium, although the two are very different in their ac‐ tion.  Under  the  effect  of  alcohol,  a  person  becomes  a  rowdy, whereas opium makes the addict dull and lazy.  He becomes even drowsy and incapable of doing any‐ thing useful. The evil effect of alcohol strikes the eyes  everyday [sic!], but those of opium are not so glaring.  Any one […] wishing to see its devastating effect should  go to Assam or Orissa. Thousands have fallen victim of  this  intoxicant,  in  those  provinces.  They  give  one  the  impression  on  living  on  the  verge  of  death  (Gandhi  1948: 36).  Opium’s spread to what Gandhi called the ‘immoral trade’ organized first by  the  East India Company and later  by the Government of British India per‐ fectly lent itself to a forceful critique of the depraved character of ‘Western  civilization’ in its British imperial avatar, particularly once the international  political pressure on the British to stop their opium dealings started grow‐ ing significantly in the early 1900s (Emdad‐ul‐Haq 2000: 69–95;  McAllister  2000:  43–102).  Quite  predictably,  therefore,  the  Indian  National  Congress  under  Gandhi’s  leadership  used  its  media  as  well  as  international  political  platforms  such  as  the  League  of  Nations  to  put  considerable  pressure  on  the  British  to  prohibit  the  opium  trade  (Framke  2013).  However,  his  pro‐ tracted anti‐opium crusade did not target solely the colonial administration.  The Mahatma also campaigned in the villages of the regions implicated in  opium  production,  consumption  and  trade,  attempting  to  convince  peas‐ ants  that  they  should  stop  cultivating  poppy  and  persuade  the  opium  smokers  to  quit  their  habit.  Considering  the  striking  discursive  affinities  between  the  evangelical  and  anti‐imperial  opposition  to  the  consumption  of  intoxicants,  it  is  rather  unsurprising  that  a  Christian  comrade  in  arms  supported  the  Indian  nationalist  leader’s  anti  opium  campaign.  Charles  Freer Andrews, Anglican  clergyman and long‐time friend and supporter of  the nationalist cause, accompanied Gandhi on his tour in Assam, published  many  articles  and  pamphlets  against  opium  trade  and  consumption,  and  ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’  | 120    IZSAF  02/2017  even served on a Congress Committee of Inquiry into the effects of opium  use  by  the  population  of  India’s  North‐Eastern  province  (Andrews  1926;  idem 1925; see also Kour 2014: 145).  Interestingly,  the  fight  against  opium  apparently  also  inspired  Gandhi’s  crusade against cigarette smoking. In a speech delivered to College students  in Madras in 1927, the Mahatma warned his audience about the dangers of  nicotine  addiction  in  evocative  terms:  ‘Cigarette  smoking  is  like  an  opiate  and the cigars that you smoke have a touch of opium about them. They get  to your nerves and you cannot leave them afterwards’ (Gandhi 1976e: 397).  In  the  light  of  this  rigid  anti‐tobacco  stance,  it  is  understandable  that  he  considered it an outright humiliation when an inventive cigarette manufac‐ turer  introduced  the  new  label  ‘Mahatma  Gandhi’  in  1921,  containing  his  portrait on the package (CWMG Vol. 22: 198).  The logics of the domino theory led Gandhi also to criticize practices that  were not directly related to the consumption of mood‐altering substances.  He wrote about a dozen articles on the disastrous effects of gambling and  race‐horse  betting,  vices  he  considered  to  be  ‘more  difficult  to  deal  with  than drinking’ (CWMG Vol. 23: 97).  The puritan leader of the  Indian inde‐ pendence movement displayed particular missionary zeal when it came to  the castigation of illicit sex and prostitution. Indian historian Ajay Skaria has  shown  that  the  figure  of  the veshya  (prostitute)  was  an  important  meta‐ phoric  trope  in  Gandhi’s  discursive  repertoire  (Skaria  2007).  However,  the  Mahatma’s preoccupation with prostitution was not restricted to the level  of figurative speech. He was also concerned about the social reality of the  existence of hundreds of thousands of ‘fallen sisters’ in India, a fact he per‐ ceived as a ‘matter of deep shame’ and ‘blot of the nation’ (CWMG Vol. 45:  457).  Much  like  in  the  case  of  opium  and  alcohol,  Gandhi  outsourced  the  blame  for  this  ‘tremendous  and  growing  evil’,  to  the  West  in  general  and  British  colonial  rule  in  particular.  He  described  the  imperial  metropoles  Paris  and  London  as  well‐known  global  centres  of  debauchery,  ‘seething  with the vice’, while simultaneously expressing his conviction that prostitu‐ tion  in  pre‐colonial  India  had  been  confined  to  a  minuscule  élite.  Conse‐ quently,  immorality  in  the  past  had  not  been  ‘so  rampant  as  now’,  when  the popularity of brothels was supposedly responsible for the ‘fast undoing  the  youth  of  the  middle  classes’  (CWMG  Vol.32:  104),  whom  Gandhi  be‐ FISCHER‐TINÉ  | 121    IZSAF  02/2017  lieved to be ‘afflicted by syphilis and other unmentionable diseases’ (Gan‐ dhi 1923: 60).  In  a  remarkable  statement  made  in  an  article  published  in  his  mouth‐ piece Young India in the summer of 1925, Gandhi summed up the pivotal  importance of an encompassing war on all different facets of vice for India’s  political struggle for self‐rule concluding with a stunning lament:  If I had the power of persuasion, I would certainly stop  women  of  ill‐fame  from  acting  as  actresses,  I  would  prevent people from drinking and smoking, I would cer‐ tainly  prevent  all  the  degrading  advertisements  that  disfigure even reputable journals and I would most de‐ cidedly  stop  the  obscene  literature  and  portraits  that  soil  the  pages  of  some  of  our  magazines.  But  alas,  I  have  not  the persuasive  power  I  would  gladly  possess  (CWMG Vol. 32: 104).  Given the lack of the necessary persuasive (let alone legislative) power, the  only  solution  for  Gandhi  consisted  in  protracted  and  concerted  anti‐vice  campaigns  that  would  gradually  bring  about  the  emergence  of  an  ‘intelli‐ gent,  sane,  healthy,  and  pure  public  opinion’  (CWMG  Vol.  32:  104).  The  growth of such a ‘pure’ public opinion alone, he felt, would be able to keep  the manifold perils emanating from vicious habits and threatening the na‐ tion‐in‐the making at bay. Given such lofty goals, it is somewhat ironic, but  certainly not atypical for anti‐vice crusaders, that their fight against carnal  temptations  at  times  contributed  to  their  own  individual  pleasure  gain  in  ways that could cast serious doubts on their moral integrity.6 In the case of  Gandhi,  recent  research  has  provided  ample  evidence  of  the  fact  that  his  own ‘chastity experiments’ included sleeping next to and bathing with na‐ ked  women  that  might  well  have  been  his  granddaughters  (Parekh  1999;  see also Adams 2010).  The example of Gandhi’s nationalistic puritanism is instructive, primarily  because  it  adds  new  layers  of  complexity  to  our  understanding  of  the  broader phenomenon of global anti‐vice activism. Clearly, the fight against  the social diseases and vicious habits neither was a purely Western occur‐                                                              6   British Prime Minister William Gladstone, for instance, regularly stalked the lanes of Victo‐ rian London seeking to reclaim street prostitutes from a life of vice with a zeal that raised  quite a few contemporaries’ eyebrows (cf. Fisher 1998: 10–12).  ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’  | 122    IZSAF  02/2017  rence nor was it the prerogative of Christian reformers, early feminists, and  paternalist  imperialists.  As  we  have  seen,  non‐Western  elites  could  add  their own critiques by seamlessly integrating the agitation for the abolition  of prostitution and the prohibition of alcohol and drugs as part and parcel  of  their  emancipatory  political  struggle.  That  being  said,  it  would  be  mis‐ leading  to  posit  the  existence  of  an  autonomous  ‘indigenous’  temperance  and purity ideology that would be exclusively embedded in Asian religious  traditions existing completely isolated from these Western groups and the  anti‐vice discourses they deployed. To be sure, Gandhi occasionally invoked  the  teachings  of  sacred  Indian  scriptures  like  the Bhagvadgītā  or  the  pre‐ cepts  of  Hindu  sages  like  Tulsidas  and  Chaitanya  in  his  pamphlets  against  alcohol, opium and ‘the unpardonable sin of illegitimate sexual enjoyment’  (Gandhi 1923: 59), thereby establishing links to local cultural traditions. Yet,  his anti‐vice agenda remained crucially moulded by the manifold contacts,  exchanges  and  interactions  with  individuals  and  organizations  from  the  west and a creative appropriation of their respective knowledges, discours‐ es and methods.  Let  me  illustrate  my  main  argument  with  a  few  examples  of  discursive  borrowing  and  active  collaboration  with  Western  anti‐vice  activists  other  than the well‐documented interactions with Kallenbach and Andrews. It is  striking that Gandhi found allies throughout the wide spectrum of anti‐vice  campaigners. Apparently, it made no difference to him whether they were  missionaries, medical men, or social hygienists, as long as they promised to  support his political agenda or provide ideological ammunition in the strug‐ gle  for  self‐purification.  Thus,  in  1934,  for  instance,  the  Mahatma  gave  a  speech at the Bangalore Temperance Association, thereby using one of the  oldest institutional platforms for anti‐alcohol agitation that existed in India  ― the BTA was founded by Chris an Missionaries in the 1830s.7 A few years  earlier he had addressed a huge meeting organized by the Burma Women’s  Christian Temperance Union in Rangoon (CWMG Vol. 45: 236–240), where  the  chair  of  the  meeting,  announced  him  as  ‘India’s  greatest  temperance  advocate’. Other Western anti‐vice organisations, too, attempted to recruit  Gandhi, who had become a global celebrity by the mid‐1920s, as a collabo‐                                                              7   The founding date 1837 is mentioned in Journal of the American Temperance Union 1837:  187.  FISCHER‐TINÉ  | 123    IZSAF  02/2017  rator. In the summer of 1924 William McKibben the founder of the Seattle  based organization White Cross, wrote a long letter to the Congress leader  trying to win his support. The organisation orchestrated a protracted anti‐ opium campaign. It had been established two years previously to save the  world from ‘The Coming Narcotics Armageddon’, as one of their pamphlets  had  it  (The  Coming  Narcotics  Armageddon  1923).  As  a  matter  of  course,  Gandhi  was  in  full  sympathy  with  this  agenda  and  immediately  reassured  McKibben  that  ‘the  White  Cross  may  rely  upon  India’s  co‐operation  in  its  noble work.’ (Gandhi 1976b: 371).  The  extent  to  which  a  consciousness  of  the  global  ramifications  of  the  anti‐vice  struggle  characterizes  the  Mahatma’s  propaganda  campaign  is  indeed  striking.  As  already  indicated,  Gandhi  frequently  referred  to  the  prohibition  experiment  in  the  United  States  in  appreciative  terms.  Even  more importantly, the publications of Western anti‐vice campaigners were  regularly recycled in speeches and writings. As early as 1906, he reprinted  an entire article by Dr. Cortez, a French medical expert, on the ‘Evils of To‐ bacco’ in his journal The Indian Review published from South Africa (CWMG  Vol. 5: 197). He stuck to this method of pastiche for decades. Thus, for ex‐ ample,  he  quoted  extensive  passages  from  the  American  journalist  and  anti‐opium  campaigner  John  Palmer  Gavit’s  report  on  the  Geneva  Opium  Conferences in an article published in 1926 under the title ‘Drugs, Drink and  Devil’ (Gandhi 1976c: 376–78). Earlier he had also written a series of articles  summarizing the French social hygienist Paul Bureau’s book Indiscipline des  moeurs.8  Bureau’s  book  castigated  birth‐control  and  advocated  chastity  instead—an  agenda  that  must  have  been  logically  appealing  to  an  ardent  believer in brahmacharya as the only panacea for various kinds of evils. In  the last article of this series, Gandhi appealed to the Indian youth to ‘treas‐ ure  in  the  hearts  the  quotation  with  which  Mr.  Bureau’s  book  ends:  The  future is for the nations who are chaste!’. Along similar lines, a piece pub‐ lished  in Harijan9  in  the  late  1930s  contained  a  long  excerpt  from  George  Catlin’s influential textbook Liquor Control, published in New York in 1931  (Catlin  1931;  see  also  Room  2005:  925–7).  In  this  case  Gandhi  used  the                                                               8   The  articles  were  later  re‐published  as  a  separate  chapter  in  Gandhi  1947:  8–38.  For  a  brief discussion cf. also Parel 2006: 141f.; Tidrick 2007: 342; Alter 1996: 8–10.  9   Harijan was a journal that especially targeted India’s untouchable population.  ERADICATING THE ‘SCOURGE OF DRINK’  | 124    IZSAF  02/2017  quote in order to proof scientifically that alcohol consumption was danger‐ ous  even  in  frigid  zones,  implying,  of  course,  that  it  was  outright  lethal  in  the tropics (CWMG Vol. 72: 166).  These  are  only  a  few  examples  that  can  help  elucidate  to  what  extent  the ‘glocalized’ or ‘pidginized’ variety of anti‐vice activism that crystallized  in  South  Africa  and  India  was  made  over  by  the  exchanges  and  dialogues  characteristic of the age of imperial globalization.10 Although it might sound  strange, then, at least for the purpose of this essay, it is not enough to un‐ derstand M.K. Gandhi only as an Indian nationalist or Hindu social reformer.  No doubt, ideas of purity, chastity and sobriety were pivotal for his vision of the  Indian nation in the making. At the same time, however, it has become clear  that the Mahatma’s vision was crucially shaped by the multi‐faceted, transna‐ tional and transcultural anti‐vice ecumene of which he was a member.  Harald Fischer‐Tiné is Professor of Modern Global History at ETH Zürich. His most  recent  monograph  is:  Shyamji  Krishnavarma:  Sanskrit,  Sociology  and  Anti‐ Imperialism (London and Delhi, 2014). He has also (co)‐edited ten anthologies, the  most recent of which is Anxieties, Fear and Panic in Colonial Settings: Empires on  the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (Houndmills and New York, 2017). His articles  and book reviews have appeared in many journals including the American Histori‐ cal Review, Comparative Studies in Society and History, Modern Asian Studies and  the  Journal  of  Imperial  and  Commonwealth  History.  Harald  Fischer‐Tiné  can  be  reached at harald.fischertiné@gess.ethz.ch.  BIBLIOGRAPHY  Adams, Jad 2010. Gandhi: Naked Ambition. London: Quercus.  Alter,  Joseph  1996.  “Gandhi’s  Body,  Gandhi’s  Truth:  Nonviolence  and  the  Biomoral  Imperative  of  Public  Health”,  in: Journal of Asian Studies  55 (2): 311–314.  Alter, Joseph 2000. Gandhi’s Body: Sex, Diet and Politics. Philadelphia: Uni‐ versity of Pennsylvania Press.                                                               10  For  the  concept  of  epistemic  pidginization  in  a  colonial  constellation  see  Fischer‐Tiné  2013.  FISCHER‐TINÉ  | 125    IZSAF  02/2017  Andrews, Charles F. 1925. “Opium in Assam”, in: Modern Review XXXVII (5):  511–515.  Andrews, Charles F. 1926. The Opium Evil in India: Britain’s Responsibility.  London: Student Christian Movement.  Arnold,  David  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work_jqv2t74nqzhrnj4vcuf2mzhndu	----	OP-OJLS140018 1..16 http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk Original citation: Brownlee, Kimberley, 1978-. (2014) Freedom of association : it's not what you think. Oxford Journal of Legal Studies. ISSN 0143-6503 Permanent WRAP url: http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/62129 Copyright and reuse: The Warwick Research Archive Portal (WRAP) makes this work of researchers of the University of Warwick available open access under the following conditions. This article is made available under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 (CC BY-NC 4.0) license and may be reused according to the conditions of the license. For more details see: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ A note on versions: The version presented in WRAP is the published version, or, version of record, and may be cited as it appears here. For more information, please contact the WRAP Team at: publications@warwick.ac.uk http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/ http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/62129 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ mailto:publications@warwick.ac.uk Oxford Journal of Legal Studies, (2014), pp. 1–16 doi:10.1093/ojls/gqu018 Freedom of Association: It’s Not What You Think Kimberley Brownlee* Abstract—This article shows that associative freedom is not what we tend to think it is. Contrary to standard liberal thinking, it is neither a general moral permission to choose the society most acceptable to us nor a content-insensitive claim-right akin to the other personal freedoms with which it is usually lumped such as freedom of expression and freedom of religion. It is at most (i) a highly restricted moral permission to associate subject to constraints of consent, necessity and burdensomeness; (ii) a conditional moral permission not to associate provided our associative contributions are not required; and (iii) a highly constrained, content- sensitive moral claim-right that protects only those wrongful associations that honour other legitimate concerns such as consent, need, harm and respect. This article also shows that associative freedom is not as valuable as we tend to think it is. It is secondary to positive associative claim-rights that protect our fundamental social needs and are pre-conditions for any associative control worth the name. Keywords: freedom of association, intimate association, social needs, social rights, freedom of expression, freedom of religion 1. Introduction Freedom of intimate association with family members, friends and acquaint- ances is not what we tend to think it is. It is not, as John Stuart Mill thinks, ‘the right to choose the society most acceptable to us’. 1 Nor is it, without significant qualifications, what the US Supreme Court describes as the * Associate Professor of Legal and Moral Philosophy, University of Warwick. Email: k.brownlee@warwick.ac.uk. For helpful feedback, I thank audiences at the Warwick Centre for Ethics, Law and Public Affairs research seminar, the Monash Law School staff seminar, the University of Tasmania Philosophy seminar and the University of Pavia Political Theory seminar. For written comments on this material, I am grateful to Christopher Bennett, Emanuela Ceva, Jonathan Floyd, Daniel Groll, Robert Jubb, Christoph Ortner, Thomas Parr and Adam Slavny. I thank Thomas Parr for his research assistance. I thank the Leverhulme Trust for a Philip Leverhulme Prize and the Independent Social Research Foundation for a Fellowship to work on the ethics of sociability. 1 John Stuart Mill, On Liberty (first published 1859) ch IV. � The Author 2014. Published by Oxford University Press. This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/), which permits non-commercial re-use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. For commercial re-use, please contact journals.permissions@oup.com Oxford Journal of Legal Studies Advance Access published January 27, 2015 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ protection of our choices to enter into and maintain certain intimate human relationships as a fundamental element of personal liberty. 2 Nor does it entail in any general sense the right to exclude. 3 Contrary to these standard liberal positions, intimate associative freedom is neither a general moral permission to associate or not as we wish nor a content-insensitive moral claim-right that protects us in behaving wrongly when we do so. 4 Both as a permission and as a claim-right, associative freedom is highly constrained and content-sensitive. As such, it differs from the other personal freedoms with which it is usually lumped such as freedom of expression and freedom of religion, which are largely content-insensitive claim-rights that do protect us in behaving wrongly within their domains. Associative freedom is also not as valuable as we tend in liberal societies to think it is. Although considerable associative control is necessary for self- respect, wellbeing and the cultivation of judgement, nevertheless it is not the most important associative right we have. Our fundamental associative interests ground more important positive claim-rights. These are, first, the right to have intimate associates (not necessarily of our choosing) during periods of abject dependency and risk of abject dependency and, second, the right to have minimally adequate opportunities to cultivate intimate associations when we are not abjectly dependent. These positive protections are necessary pre- conditions for any meaningful associative freedom worth the name. As such, they not only limit our moral permissions to associate or not as we please, but also trump our moral claim-rights to refuse to associate. Appropriate state institutions cannot fully guarantee these positive protections because, first, it is part of the nature of intimate associations that they tend to require more investment, care and persistence than state provisions can secure and, second, such institutions are hostage to people’s willingness to perform their functions. But, of course, state institutions can go some way to filling basic associative gaps, and can do much to assist (or impede) people in carrying out their personal associative duties. 2 This paraphrases Justice Brennan in Roberts v United States Jaycees 468 US 609, 618 (1984). ‘Our decisions have referred to constitutionally protected ‘‘freedom of association’’ in two distinct senses. In one line of decisions, the Court has concluded that choices to enter into and maintain certain intimate human relationships must be secured against undue intrusion by the State because of the role of such relationships in safeguarding the individual freedom that is central to our constitutional scheme. In this respect, freedom of association receives protection as a fundamental element of personal liberty. In another set of decisions, the Court has recognized a right to associate for the purpose of engaging in those activities protected by the First Amendment - speech, assembly, petition for the redress of grievances, and the exercise of religion. The Constitution guarantees freedom of association of this kind as an indispensable means of preserving other individual liberties.’ 3 Compare with Amy Gutmann’s statement that ‘The freedom to associate necessarily entails the freedom to exclude’. Amy Gutmann, ‘Freedom of Association: An Introductory Essay’ in Amy Gutmann (ed), Freedom of Association (Princeton University Press 1998) 11. 4 The distinction between intimate associations and collective or expressive associations is drawn by Justice Brennan in Roberts (n 2) 620. Justice Brennan characterizes the boundary between intimate associations and expressive associations in terms of the properties of intimate associations—their small size, selectivity and seclusion. Cited from Seana Valentine Shiffrin, ‘What is Really Wrong with Compelled Association?’ (2005) 99 Northwestern L Rev 839. 2 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , 3 , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ 2. Intimate Associations Intimate associations contrast with collective, expressive and political associ- ations like unions and clubs, which necessarily have some further purpose as outlets for the expression of shared values or pursuit of shared goals, and whose members’ freedom (or not) to be exclusive tends to dominate discussions of associative rights. 5 Collective associative rights are undoubtedly important, but they’re not the focus of the present analysis. 6 Intimate associations need not exist for any further expressive, cultural, aesthetic or political purpose. They can exist for their own sake, and they are distinguished by their interactions, persistence and comprehensiveness. Let’s take each feature in turn. Interactions are a constituent element of, and necessary prerequisite for, intimate associations. People are a ‘family’ in name only if they never interact with each other. 7 But, of course, interactions also occur outside of associations. We chat with the grocery store clerk when we pay for our milk, but we do not have an intimate association with her. Moreover, the interactions of intimate associates tend to be of a particular kind marked by interest and investment, if not care, concern and love. People are a ‘family’ in little more than name if their interactions are principally hostile or brutal. Intimate associations also persist over time, and mere interactions do not. If mere interactions do persist, they tend to bleed into associations. Our relation with the grocery store clerk develops into an association once we’ve chatted with her week after week. Similarly, the relations between people who know each other very little, such as a group of strangers who become trapped 5 Seana Shiffrin offers some plausible reasons to question a sharp dichotomy between intimate associations and collective associations, notably, that both are sites in which members’ thoughts and ideas are formed and the content of their expressions is generated and germinated rather than merely concentrated and exported. Shiffrin (n 4). Similarly, Larry Alexander argues that, although associations can be classified as intimate, political, expressive, creedal, hobby-based, recreational, commercial and so on, nevertheless many, if not most, associations fall into more than one category. For instance, social clubs are venues for close friendships, recreation and commerce. See Larry Alexander, ‘What is Freedom of Association, and What is its Denial?’ (2008) 2 Soc Phil & Pol 1. Finally, Rob Jubb has suggested in correspondence that it may be better to think of associations as lying along a continuum from more impersonal and instrumental associations to more intimate and affective associations. I grant that these views are credible, but even so, paradigmatically, intimate associations differ from collective associations in that, unlike the latter, they need not have some further purpose beyond associating to motivate their existence. 6 I put aside the question of whether my analysis of intimate associative rights can be extended to collective associations. Since intimate associations are fundamentally important to our lives as human beings in a basic way that is not obviously true of collective associations, it is unlikely that an analysis of the former would apply without modification to the latter. 7 Thomas Parr has suggested to me that people might be a family in more than name even if they never interact provided that they are always prepared to interact when a member needs assistance. In reply, I think this might make these people members of a clan, but not a family in its paradigmatic sense. A clan in this sense is not well characterised as an intimate association; it is at best an abstract association. Freedom of Association 3 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , , , 5 , , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ together in a mine for an extended period, morph into intimate associations as they come to depend on each other for continued survival. Finally, intimate associations are comprehensive. They are often a core focus of our lives, marked by emotional and material commitment. Many of our fundamental moral roles are structured around intimate association. The roles of parent, grandparent, spouse, friend, partner, son, daughter, cousin, nephew, niece, uncle and aunt are all animated by the associative relationships that give them their distinctive moral responsibilities. 8 People who lack intimate associations may give either mere interactions or collective associations the meaning that others give to their intimate associ- ations. But, neither mere interactions nor collective associations are well suited to perform this function since mere interactions are momentary and often insignificant to the other participants, and collective associations aim to further whatever shared interests animate them, which can conflict with the interests of the people who imbue them with intimate meaning. 9 Other distinguishing features of intimate associations, such as their small size, selectivity and seclusion, derive from their interactivity, comprehensive- ness and persistence. 10 Given the time and commitment required for intimate associations, they are necessarily few in number. Our positive decision to associate intimately with persons A–F entails that we not associate intimately with persons G–Z. And, given that typically we wish to invest our energies well, we tend to be selective about the people with whom we form intimate associations. But, of course, such selectivity is not always possible. We cannot select our biological relations, and yet those are often the closest associations we have. 11 Our associative activities come in two forms. The first are the positive acts of forming and maintaining associations. The second are the negative acts of refusing to form and refusing to maintain associations. Associative freedom encompasses both of these forms of activity. It encompasses whatever options 8 Emanuela Ceva has suggested to me that comprehensiveness does not apply to our acquaintances. This is true for, say, our passing nod to a colleague in the hall. But, that kind of connection is like our friendliness to the grocery store clerk. It is not an acquaintance in the sense meant here. Acquaintances fall short of friendships and loving family relationships, but are richer than incidental contacts. Think of Jane Bennett’s statement about Mr Bingley in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice once Bingley goes to London and Miss Bingley leads Jane to believe he doesn’t care about her. Jane says to Elizabeth: ‘He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all.’ She has deep feelings for him, but both propriety and social constraints on their contact make it unfitting for her to think of him as a friend or as a romantic possibility without any sign that he will continue to pay addresses to her. 9 I do not mean to imply that intimate associations cannot conflict with members’ interests. They can. But, it’s not the case that the animating purpose of such associations is to pursue interests other than those of the member parties. I thank Rob Jubb for prompting me to clarify this point. 10 See n 4. 11 This shows that it would be a mistake to think intimate associations are, by nature, voluntaristic and require that members be able to join and leave at will. A more credible view of intimate associations is akin to that underpinning Dworkin’s account of associative or communal obligations, better known as role obligations, which are ‘. . . the special responsibilities social practice attaches to membership in some biological or social group, like the responsibilities of family or friends or neighbours’. Ronald Dworkin, Law’s Empire (Harvard University Press 1986) 196. For the rest of this article, the term ‘association’ refers to intimate associations. 4 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , , 5 ' paper http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ we have to come together or not with others to form bonds of mutual attachment as well as whatever options we have to maintain or dissolve those bonds once they are formed. The question is: how expansive are these options? And what kinds of rights are they? To flesh out the nature and parameters of associative freedom, let’s locate these positive and negative options within the familiar Hohfeldian conceptual territory that we navigate in moral and legal philosophy to talk about rights. 12 What follows is, in the first instance, a discussion about moral permissions and moral claim-rights, including socially enforceable moral claim-rights that get their teeth from familial expectations, social norms and peer pressure. This discussion has implications for legally enforceable claim-rights, but that analysis lies beyond the scope of the present paper. 13 3. Permissions We might think that, if our associative freedom includes anything, it includes a Hohfeldian moral permission to act. 14 Having such a moral permission means having no moral duty not to act. In terms of complete associative freedom, it would mean that it is both morally permissible for us to form and maintain associations with others as we please and morally permissible for us not to form or maintain associations with others as we please. A complacent, unreflective liberal take on free association embraces both of these permissions. For instance, Mill can be read as endorsing both of them when he says that we are not bound to seek the society of any one of whom we have an unfavourable opinion and instead have a right to avoid it ‘for we have’, as quoted above, ‘a right to choose the society most acceptable to us’. 15 12 In this discussion, I focus on the credentials of associative freedom as a Hohfeldian permission and a Hohfeldian claim-right. Associative freedom can also be cashed out as a power and an immunity. Hohfeldian powers track what is possible for us to do. A Hohfeldian power is the ability to create or remove Hohfeldian categories (ie claims, duties, permissions, no-claims, powers, immunities, disabilities and liabilities). Immunities track our protections from others’ exercise of such powers. As a power, associative freedom is the power to create or remove our own or others’ associative duties, claims, etc. As an immunity, it is the protection from such powers. The simplest exercise of the power is to create associative duties for ourselves and associative claims for others. In marrying someone, I exercise my associative powers to create new duties for myself and new claims for my spouse. Yet, my powers to do this are intertwined with my spouse’s powers to do the same; neither of us has these powers (morally speaking) without the other’s consent, but the other’s consent doesn’t necessarily secure these powers for us. Also, we each retain a power of sorts to remove some of the other’s new associative claims— through divorce—but again that typically requires consent. Moreover, in divorcing, we cannot remove all of the other’s newly acquired claims. One of us may have to pay alimony, and we will have to share custody of the children. We each have residual immunities from the other’s power to remove our associative claims. As this case shows, our associative powers and immunities are constrained by context, others’ associative interests, consent and burdensomeness. 13 The discussion of social needs and rights will tend to slide quickly into a discussion about how we regulate society because, unlike other needs such as material needs, social needs are necessarily intersubjective; they’re about giving people access to social connections and social inclusion. That quickly leads to a discussion about how we set things up as a society so that people can more or less easily establish, sustain and further social connections. 14 To avoid confusion, I shall not use a ‘liberty’ to refer to a Hohfeldian privilege or permission. 15 Mill (n 1) ch IV. Freedom of Association 5 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , ' , , -- -- , , 2 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ In other words, we have no duty to associate with any person with whom we do not wish to associate and we have no duty not to associate with any person whom we favour and whose society is most acceptable to us. 16 Mill’s view is patently false. We do not have a permission to choose the society most acceptable to us for many reasons the simplest being that our own society may not be most acceptable to those whose society is most acceptable to us. A slightly less complacent, but still unreflective, liberal take on free association recognizes that whatever general moral permission we have to associate depends on our particular permissions to associate with particular people, and those particular permissions are hostage to various constraints including consent, the type of association, and its burdensomeness. This liberal take maintains, however, that our negative permissions to refuse to associate are fundamental, absolute and prior to any positive permission or claim to have associates. The standard thought is that the freedom to associate necessarily entails the freedom to exclude. But, our permissions not to associate are also hostage to numerous constraints such as necessity, the type of association, burdensomeness, pre-existing commitments and collective responsibility. Let’s flesh out each of these constraints on our positive and negative options. Starting with consent, if Eve wishes to be Adam’s associate, but Adam does not wish it, then often Eve has no moral permission to form or maintain an association with him. Adam’s consent matters even when his society is most acceptable to Eve. 17 But, luckily for Eve, not all of our associations must have mutual consent to be permissible. Indeed, some associations lacking it are not just permissible but obligatory. Think of parents and young children. If Abel is a young child and Eve is his mother, she does nothing wrong ceteris paribus in having an intimate, mother–child relationship with him even though he is unable to consent to it. Indeed, she has a moral duty to maintain the association since without parental care Abel will fail to develop. So, here Eve not only has a moral permission to associate with Abel, but has no moral permission not to associate with him ceteris paribus even if his society is not most acceptable to her. 18 16 There is an ambiguity in Mill’s discussion. Mill can be read as endorsing both of these permissions or he can be read as rejecting the first permission to form associations as we please since he goes on to say that we may have a duty to caution others against associating with a person of whom we disapprove, ‘if we think his example or conversation likely to have a pernicious effect on those with whom he associates’, and, by implication, presumably, we too may have a duty not to associate with the unfavourable person for the same reason. This duty not to associate clashes with the idea that we have the right to choose the society most acceptable to us, which includes the society of those who may have a pernicious effect on us. 17 In fact, in such cases, it is not even possible for Eve to form an association since there is no mutual attachment but instead active detachment from Adam and, therefore, what she is trying to make cannot be created. 18 One argument against compelled association is that it will interfere with the emotionally expressive purposes of the association, that is, the expression of affection between the parties. This argument, while not trivial, is less forceful than the argument that people require at least minimal access to intimate association even when it lacks the emotional connections we would wish to have in such associations. 6 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , ' http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ More interestingly, some associations are permissible, if not obligatory, even when neither party consents. Think of the associations among the 33 men in the 2010 Copiapó mining accident in Chile that trapped them underground for 69 days. Since they necessarily depended on each other for their collective survival, they had to form intimate associations regardless of whether they each favoured the others’ society. These examples show that necessity can constrain our negative permission not to associate by making an association obligatory. But, necessity does not always make non-consensual associations obligatory. For example, it is not obligatory (in any straightforward sense) for a girl, Lalit, to marry the man of her parents’ choice, Ali, even when her tribe’s survival depends on it. Suppose that unless Lalit marries Ali their tribe will die out, as there are no other people of childbearing age and no other accessible tribes that they can join. Even so, the type of association and its burdensomeness matter, and an under-age, forced marriage is overly burdensome and, of course, a gross violation of Lalit’s rights to physical security, movement, marriage choice and so on. By contrast, it might be obligatory for Lalit to be friends or at least to be friendly with Ali when her tribe’s survival depends on it since a friendly relation is not usually overly burdensome. That said, when a non-consensual association lacks necessity, this doesn’t always make the association optional for the non-consenting party (or impermissible for the consenting party). Think of a friendly little boy, Kevin, who follows his grumpy, retired neighbour, Mr Gustafson, around because his parents are always working. The relation is important, but not necessary to Kevin’s health and survival since he does have a family and he could find other neighbours to follow. And yet, Mr Gustafson has some duty to associate with him given Kevin’s vulnerability and need for a parental figure as well as his own proximity and awareness of Kevin’s situation. Again, the reasons for the duty have to do with the type of relation and its burdensomeness. The relation is important to Kevin and not particularly onerous for Mr Gustafson. But, of course, even severe burdensomeness doesn’t always remove the duty to associate. It may be very burdensome for Eve to continue her relationship with her son Abel if he’s psychologically unstable or wanted by the police. But, that doesn’t in itself remove her duty to associate with him. The intimate bonds between parent and child generate special duties that override many other considerations, partly because the relation is so important for the child. Similarly, Mr Gustafson might still have a duty to associate with Kevin even if the relation becomes very burdensome, given his ability to avert the harm to Kevin that would come from neglect. Now, although mutual consent is often a condition for permissibility, it’s not a guarantee of permissibility. Some consensual associations are morally impermissible. The reasons relate once more to the type of association and its burdens. Freedom of Association 7 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ The burdens of some consensual associations lie in the parties’ positions relative to each other. For example, a boss has a moral duty not to have a sexual relation with an employee, and a teacher with a student, and a president with an intern because, even if the intimate association is voluntary, it has hierarchical contours. The subordinate party is not well placed to assess the relation, may be harmed by it, and is vulnerable to domination during it and afterward. 19 The burdens of other types of associations lie in the parties’ positions in relation to people outside the association. Think of Romeo and Juliet. Or, think of Robert Bolt’s play A Man for All Seasons, which presents a friendship between Thomas More and the Duke of Norfolk. Once More is under suspicion for treason, he ends the friendship ‘for friends’ sake’. The Duke resists, but More persists. It would be impermissible for More to maintain an association that puts his friend in danger. That said, it wouldn’t be impermissible for the Duke to maintain the association. Indeed, it might be obligatory for him to do so despite More’s objection, which shows that there can be an asymmetry in people’s permission to associate with each other. More’s case also shows that there is a difference between intimate associations and the underlying commitments that tend to sustain them. In ending their friendship ‘for friends’ sake’, More and the Duke do not alter their regard for each other, but only the practical expectations each may have of the other. Finally, the burdens of associations can fall not only on the participants, but also on non-participants. The president’s affair with an intern affects not only the intern, but also the president’s spouse, children, allies, political party, and constituents. The president’s duty not to form that association rests not only on its hierarchical contours, but also on duties to other associates. Similarly, Eve has a duty to her son Abel not to adopt too many other children since she couldn’t be a good mother to them all. Together, these points show that, contra both Mill and the less unreflective liberal view, first, we have no general moral permission to choose the society most acceptable to us and, second, when we are in morally obligatory associations, we have no general moral permission not to associate. Therefore, our associative freedom, whatever it is, is not a Hohfeldian permission to associate or not as we please. At this point, the defender of the less unreflective liberal view might observe that we still have a general moral permission to associate in the abstract sense that it is morally permissible, in principle, for us to have associations. This is correct, but it has little content. The general permission to have associations 19 Of course, the relation between parent and child is hierarchical and can pose distinctive risks to the child for that very reason. But, that non-egalitarian quality is inescapable for much of childhood and, typically, its risks are vastly outweighed by the benefits of the relation. 8 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ is meaningless without particular permissions to have particular associations with particular people. If a person’s possible associations were all impermissible ones, then she would have no meaningful permission to associate. The defender of the less unreflective liberal view might then focus on the option not to associate and argue that if we extricate ourselves from our obligatory associations by patiently waiting for our existing associations to end and judiciously refraining from forming new ones, then we are free of associative duties to choose permissibly not to associate with anyone. By discharging our pre-existing associative duties, we gain a general moral permission not to associate at all, and that permission follows from our moral permission not to associate with any particular person. In the words of Henry David Thoreau on a solitary life: If you are ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again; if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man; then you are ready for a walk. 20 However, this too is mistaken. Even when we carefully avoid forming associative bonds, we do not have a general moral permission not to associate. The reason for this is that each person has certain fundamental, positive associative claim-rights. Claim-rights generate duties for other people that are either negative duties not to interfere or positive duties to assist, or both. Where such rights-correlated duties exist, the duty bearers have no moral permission to act other than as the duties require. The positive associative claim-rights that curtail our moral permissions not to associate include as noted at the outset, first, rights to have associates (not necessarily of our choosing) during periods of abject dependency or risk of abject dependency and, second, rights to have meaningful opportunities to form associations when we are not abjectly dependent. Let’s start with abject dependency. The most obvious period of abject dependency is childhood. For the newborn baby and the young child, it does not make sense to talk about associative freedom, but it does make sense to talk about acute associative need. Children have positive claim-rights to the comprehensive, persistent, interactive (and caring) relations that make intimate associations, first, because they have special claims to an ‘open future’. 21 Without intimate associations, their prospects for a decent or flourishing life radically diminish. 22 Second, children also have claims of dignity and respect as developing autonomous beings. Much of the meaning in our choices comes from our relations with others and, therefore, respect for our autonomy entails respect for our essentially social nature as human beings. 20 Henry David Thoreau, ‘Walking’ (first published 1861, Project Gutenberg EBook #1022 2010). 21 See Joel Feinberg, Freedom and Fulfilment (Princeton University Press 1994) 82. 22 See, for example, SM Liao, ‘The Right of Children to be Loved’ (2006) 14 J Pol Phil 420. Freedom of Association 9 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from ' ' http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ The other obvious periods of abject dependency in our lives are those of acute incapacitation such as old age and severe impairment. We have positive claim-rights to have intimate associates (not necessarily of our choosing) during these periods on the same grounds of respect for our dignity, sociality, autonomy, and future prospects however modest they may be. We may also have such rights on grounds of desert, based on our past associative contributions. When we are not abjectly dependent or at imminent risk of abject dependency, we have no positive right to have intimate associates just as we have no positive right to have a child. 23 But, we do have positive rights to have minimally adequate opportunities to cultivate associations as well as negative rights not to be rendered abjectly dependent through, for example, coercive or incidental social deprivation. 24 Without the protection of meaningful opportunities to associate, there can be no meaningful notion of associative freedom. Protection of such opportunities secures our fundamental associative interests. To see the force of positive associative claim-rights, all we need to do is ask: ‘What if everyone chose not to associate with this person?’ 25 In the case of a baby, child or other abjectly dependent person, the impact of isolation is immediate and extreme. In the case of a non-dependent person, the impact is less extreme in the short term, but sets up conditions for an extreme impact, if not abject dependency, since the empirical evidence indicates that we deteriorate mentally, emotionally and physically when we are chronically acutely lonely and socially isolated, in the same way that we deteriorate when we are chronically hungry, fearful or in pain. Like hunger, fear and pain, chronic loneliness causes an anxiety-inducing physiological threat response known as the ‘fight or flight’ response. It is associated with numerous health risks including obesity, Alzheimer’s disease, high-blood pressure, reduced immunity, reduced capacity for independent living, alcoholism, depression, suicide and mortality in older adults. 26 Bracketing for now the proposal that people’s basic associative needs be met through state institutions (see Section 4), we may conclude that positive associative claim-rights generate associative duties for us, collectively, to ensure that everyone’s basic associative needs are met. This limits our moral permissions both to not associate at all and to not associate with certain persons when our associative contributions are required. This does not mean 23 At most, we have a positive right to try to have a child and to be provided some assistance in that effort. 24 Kimberley Brownlee, ‘A Human Right against Social Deprivation’ (2013) 63 Phil Q 199. 25 In a related paper, I explore a number of each-we dilemmas of sociability, starting with the question ‘What if everyone chose not to associate with a person?’, which bring into sharp relief the tension between individual associative control and acute associate need. Kimberley Brownlee, ‘Ethical Dilemmas of Sociability’ (in progress). 26 John T Cacioppo and William Patrick, Loneliness: Human Nature and the Need for Social Connection (Norton 2008); and J Decety and John T Cacioppo, Handbook of Social Neuroscience (OUP 2011). 10 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , , , , , s http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ we have a duty to associate with any particular person. Rather, it means that if a person with associative needs either has special claims on us, such as our own dependent, or her fundamental needs cannot be met by others, then we have a duty to associate with her. By contrast, we have no such duty if a person who has no special associative claims on us simply wishes to associate with us rather than with someone else who is available. Consequently, at most, we have a conditional permission not to associate that depends on, first, other people honouring each other’s positive associative claim-rights and, second, our own dissociation neither undermining our capacity to offer associative contributions in future nor rendering us abjectly dependent on others’ associative contributions. Moreover, even when our associative contributions are not required, we have persisting associative duties, first, to concern ourselves with whether others’ associative needs are being met and, second, to contribute our associative resources to the common pool as required to ensure that others’ associative needs are met. Now, even though we have no general moral permission not to associate, we may have a moral claim-right not to associate that protects us when we act wrongly by refusing to honour these associative duties. Such a claim-right is intuitively compelling since, as David Miller notes, ‘we have a deep interest in not being forced into association with others against our wishes’, 27 even if we’re wrong to avoid the association. Let’s see, therefore, how well associative freedom can be cashed out as a Hohfeldian claim-right. 4. Claim-Rights of Conduct A claim-right of conduct secures a protected sphere of autonomy of action with which interference by others is justifiably restricted and of which positive protection by others may justifiably be expected. 28 That protected sphere secures a space for us to act unencumbered in ways that may be morally objectionable. This is one reason why moral rights of conduct are not moral permissions: what they protect may be morally impermissible. But, despite the protection they afford, rights of conduct do not immunise us from criticism when we exercise them to act wrongly. For instance, although our freedom of expression defeasibly protects us from interference when we make highly offensive racist jokes, it does not immunise us from criticism for doing so. Now, if associative freedom is a claim-right of conduct, what is the protected sphere of action that it secures? Just as there is an expansive, mistaken, liberal account of associative permissions, so too there is an expansive, 27 David Miller, National Responsibility and Global Justice (OUP 2008) 210–11, cited in Sarah Fine, ‘Freedom of Association is not the Answer’ (2010) 210 Ethics 338, 343. 28 See Joseph Raz, The Morality of Freedom (Clarendon Press 1986). Freedom of Association 11 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ mistaken, liberal account of associative claim-rights. One iteration of it can be found in human rights documents such as Article 20 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which states that: (1) Everyone has the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and association; and (2) No one may be compelled to belong to an association. 29 What goes unnoticed is that these two sections of the Article conflict with each other. If (2) is true, then (1) can be at most the freedom to try to form peaceful assemblies and associations. We can have no right to succeed in associating with others if no one may be compelled to associate with us. And, if (1) is true—that we have rights actually to associate (and not merely to try to associate)—then (2) is false since (1) requires that it be permissible, in principle, to compel others sometimes to associate with us. It turns out that both (1) and (2) are false. As we saw in the previous section, it is sometimes permissible to compel association, and therefore (2) is false. And, as we will see in what follows, in a general, content-insensitive form, (1) is also false since it is a mistake to align associative freedom with other claim-rights of conduct, such as freedom of expression and freedom of religion, which do provide a largely content-insensitive protection of our personal choices. Freedom of expression gives us defeasible, content-insensitive moral protec- tion to say, write, draw, film and display things that are objectionable. Some argue that freedom of expression does not extend to defamation or hate speech, but a true blue liberal like Mill holds that freedom of expression is content- insensitive (excepting incitement to violence), and is in good standing even when our expression is harmful. Similarly, freedom of religion gives us defeasible moral protection to engage in objectionable practices, though the scope of that freedom is not wholly content-insensitive. As John Rawls argues, religious protection does not extend to human sacrifice: ‘If a religion is denied its full expression, it is presumably because it is in violation of the equal liberties of others.’ 30 Nevertheless, the scope for religious freedom granted in many places is more expansive than the protection of everyone’s equal liberties would allow. In the UK, for example, despite the harm it causes, parents can refuse on religious grounds to let their newborn baby be given a blood transfusion. In many US states, religious parents are exempt from child abuse and child neglect laws when they 29 The conjunction of ‘association’ with ‘assembly’ suggests that this Article applies in the first instance to non-intimate, collective associations. (Commentaries on the drafting of the UDHR confirm that political associations, such as trade unions, were uppermost in the drafters’ minds.) But, I take it that this unspecified notion of associative freedom should be extended, broadly unaltered, to intimate associations since no other Article in the UDHR protects non-familial, intimate connections such as friendships. In subsequent agreements, such as the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, freedom of assembly and freedom of association are enumerated under different Articles, and one explanation given for this is that freedom of association includes private informal contacts. See Martin Scheinin ‘Article 20’ in Guðmundur Alfreðsson and Asbjørn Eide (eds), The Universal Declaration of Human Rights: A Common Standard of Achievement (Martinus Nijhoff 1999). 30 John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (Harvard University Press 1971) 205–8, 370. 12 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , -- -- , ' http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ deny their child standard medical care, and they are equally exempt from the requirement that their children receive public education or its equivalent. Some libertarian thinkers not only toss associative freedom into the same pot as freedom of expression and freedom of religion, but view the latter freedoms as examples of the former, and indeed as examples that demonstrate the priority of the negative option to dissociate over the positive option to associate. Concerning expression, Loren Lomasky argues that the realisation of free speech incorporates some form of semantic association, and that prior to a liberty to speak one’s mind there must be ‘a permission to desist from echoing the words that issue from the commanding heights of pulpit or palace’. That is, freedom of speech is no less fundamentally a freedom not to give utterance to objectionable phrases than it is to give declaration to one’s own beliefs and attitudes. Speech rights are, then, associational and, in the first instance, negative. 31 And, on religion, Lomasky argues that, insofar as freedom of religion is understood as ‘the struggle of individuals to secure adequate scope to practice their faith alongside others who espouse similar convictions, this is a mode of positive freedom of association’. However, these confessional congregations cannot begin to get underway until there is acknowledged a negative freedom to dissociate from the established church. . . To follow a preferred path to salvation was to eschew incompatible routes. Thus, freedom of religion is, in the first instance, a negative entitlement [to dissociate]. 32 Lomasky is mistaken about the priority of negative freedoms of expression and religion over positive freedoms of expression and religion. For the negative option to dissociate from Religion A to exist, there must be a pre-existing positive option to be a member of Religion A. We cannot leave associations of which we were never allowed to be members. Similarly, for the negative option not to parrot the words of others to exist there must first be the positive option to learn the language, concepts and expressions that make both imitative and original expression possible. We cannot speak at all without having access to the tools of speech. Hence, the positive protection of access is necessarily prior to whatever negative options we have to turn away from it. This does imply that freedom of expression and freedom of religion have associative aspects, but it does not imply that they are associative freedoms. It is a mistake to list off associative freedom in the same breath as the freedoms of expression and religion because, unlike the latter two freedoms, associative freedom does not give us a largely content-insensitive, defeasible protection to act in morally objectionable ways. We can see this by reviewing the different 31 Loren Lomasky, ‘The Paradox of Association’ (2008) 25 Soc Phil & Pol 182, 183. 32 ibid. Freedom of Association 13 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from ' ' , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ impermissible associations discussed in Section 3. We have claim-rights to form a few of these associations, but not most of them. First, our associative claim-rights do not protect us in forming friendships with non-dependent people who have no wish to associate with us. As noted in the case of Adam and Eve, Adam’s consent matters when Eve wants to be his friend. Her associative claim-rights of conduct do not protect her in hounding him with the aim of being his friend. The same is true in the case of Lalit, who refuses to be Ali’s friend even though it could save her family. She may well have a duty to be his friend, but Ali has no claim-right that she do so. He has no right of conduct to force his company on her. The associative duties that Adam, Lalit and we have correlative to everyone’s positive associative claim- rights do not translate, absent special claims, into duties to associate with particular people. Second, our claim-rights do not protect us in having associations that are otherwise very burdensome on either our would-be associates or third parties. For instance, our associative claim-rights do not protect us in forming unequal and harmful associations such as an adult’s sexual relation with a child or a father’s sexual relation with his daughter or a spouse’s relation with their partner in a forced marriage. Associative claim-rights may protect a teacher in forming a sexual relation with her student or the president with an intern, but not without a lot of explanation that will undoubtedly refer to consent. Consent matters not only for permissibility when it does make associations permissible, but also for the proper parameters of our claim-rights to act wrongly. Consent also does the moral work in other types of impermissible intimate associations, such as More’s friendship with the Duke. Given the morally uncomplicated, admirable nature of friendship, the interests we have in friendships, and the mutual commitment that More and the Duke have to their friendship, associative rights of conduct are well designed to protect More if he wishes to continue the friendship despite its risk to the Duke. The risk to the Duke is similar to the risk that a highly contagious mother poses to her baby when she wants to continue to be his primary carer. Yet, in the mother’s case, consent cannot do the moral work since the baby is unable to consent to the harm. Consequently, conflicting intuitions arise about the mother’s rights. On the one hand, we might think she has no moral right to sustain the association since the baby cannot consent. On the other hand, we might think that, given the morally uncomplicated, admirable nature of mothering and the inestimable value of the baby being loved, the mother has a moral right to sustain the association despite the risks to her baby. Equally morally ambiguous cases include our claim-rights to have associ- ations that are burdensome for non-participants. Suppose the president’s affair with someone is morally impermissible only because of its burdens for non-participants such as the president’s spouse and children whose home life 14 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ is damaged by the association. Presumably, the president’s claim-rights do protect that association. By contrast, suppose More’s friendship with the Duke is a threat not only to the Duke’s life, but to his children’s lives. In that case, More’s (and the Duke’s) claim-rights do not protect the association. The difference in the two cases lies in the severity of the burdens. Together, these cases show that our claim-rights protect some wrongful associations, but not many, since the nature of our relations matter greatly, which is why the positive claim-right to associate is much more limited than the other personal freedoms with which it is usually aligned. By contrast, there are no such restrictions on the negative claim-right not to associate. In its negative form, our associative right of conduct is like our freedoms of expression and religion. It gives broadly content-insensitive protection of our decisions not to associate when we have a moral duty to associate. For example, it protects Eve in refusing to associate with her son Abel, Mr Gustafson in refusing to associate with Kevin and Lalit in refusing to be friendly with Ali. It also protects More in refusing to remain friends with the Duke (though that act is more right than wrong, and hence doesn’t need a claim-right to protect it). That said, such negative claim-rights are defeasible. They can be overridden by the duties with which they conflict. Given the fundamental importance of the associative claim-rights discussed above—to have associates when we are abjectly dependent and to have opportunities to form associations when we are not abjectly dependent—the negative claim-right to refuse association is overridden when those competing positive claim-rights cannot reasonably be met through other means. A critic might object that our fundamental associative interests can always be met through other means, namely, by setting up appropriate state institutions, which then leave intact individuals’ claim-rights to decide to associate or not as they wish. 33 In reply, state institutions cannot fully satisfy our fundamental associative needs for several reasons. First, as noted in Section 1, intimate associations are marked by persistence, comprehensiveness and emotionally invested interactiv- ity, all of which are more demanding than what state provisions can typically secure. So, even though, in principle, paid employees can provide the emotional connection and caring support of intimate association, the practical realities of institutional operations make it unlikely that employees could sustain the persistent, proximate and comprehensive interactivity that makes for an intimate association. Second, to the extent that state institutions can meet some of our basic associative needs, they can do so only insecurely because their continued operation is contingent on people’s willingness to assume their offices. If no 33 I thank Thomas Parr for highlighting this objection. Freedom of Association 15 at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , -- -- s , , http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ one is willing to assume the office of caregiver, nurse or community supporter for an isolated person, then that person’s associative needs go unmet. This is analogous to the abortion stalemate in the USA, where women have a moral and legal right to reproductive control, but seemingly fewer and fewer doctors are willing to perform abortion procedures. That stalemate shows that we shouldn’t complacently assume that someone’s rights will be satisfied when we establish appropriate institutions. Hence, the moral burden of meeting people’s basic associative needs remains with us as individuals. 5. Conclusion This article has shown that, contrary to standard liberal thinking, intimate associative freedom is neither a general moral permission to associate or not as we please nor a content-insensitive moral claim-right akin to the other personal freedoms with which it is usually listed. It is at most (i) a limited permission to associate subject to constraints of consent, necessity and burdensomeness; (ii) a conditional permission not to associate provided our associative contributions are not needed; and (iii) a highly constrained, content-sensitive claim-right that protects only those wrongful associations that honour other legitimate concerns such as consent, need and basic respect. This article has also shown that associative freedom is not as fundamental as it is presumptively taken to be. It is secondary to positive associative claim-rights that both protect our fundamental social needs and are pre-conditions for any associative control worth the name. 16 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies at U niversity of W arw ick on F ebruary 5, 2015 http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from , paper , , , , paper http://ojls.oxfordjournals.org/ 
work_jrk5zlisi5ea5a4deesgii4y4a	----	e11:27 ETHICS IN SCIENCE AND ENVIRONMENTAL POLITICS Ethics Sci Environ Polit Vol. 11: 27–30, 2011 doi: 10.3354/esep00114 Published online June 1 This is an especially challenging time for discussions of serious action to address climate change in the United States. As Lemons & Brown (2011) explain, the scientific and ethical case for serious reductions in greenhouse gas emissions is compelling. They provide a summary of recent scientific reports indicating the importance of having an emissions peak in the very near future and a decline sharply thereafter in order to reduce the risk of destabilizing climate change. They also point out that global climate change raises ethical issues because, while developed countries bear most of the responsibility for increased greenhouse gas emis- sions, people in developing countries will suffer the most. The effects of climate change are ‘potentially catastrophic’ for many of the world’s poor (FAO 2011). Because most of the increase in atmospheric green- house gas concentrations comes from outside any par- ticular country, and because there is not yet an effec- tive international legal structure to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, ‘ethical appeals are necessary to moti- vate governments to take steps to prevent their citizens from seriously harming foreigners’ (Lemons & Brown 2011, p. 7). Still, ethical appeals and strong scientific evidence have not been enough to motivate action. Recent events, including the global economic recession, the public release of hacked climate scientist emails from the University of East Anglia, the failure of the United States to adopt climate change legislation and the 2010 US midterm elections, have made it much harder for those arguments to be heard, much less to be addressed civilly. Within the community of people who are working to address climate change, there has thus been considerable soul searching about how to pro- ceed more effectively. The suggestion by Lemons & Brown (2011) — that climate and environmental scien- tists and the public consider whether non-violent civil disobedience should be used to promote action on climate change — comes in the context of these recent events. Their suggestion should be considered as part of an approach that does not rely on any single action, but rather on a great number and diversity of actions. Two points seem particularly important and are discussed below. (1) CLIMATE CHANGE MITIGATION HAS NOT YET BECOME A BROAD SOCIAL MOVEMENT According to Brownlee (2009), non-violent civil dis- obedience is characterized ‘by the seriousness, sincer- ity and moral conviction with which’ those who use civil disobedience breach the law, by the desire of those involved to condemn and draw public attention to a particular law or policy, and by acts of disobedi- ence that are carried out in full view of the public. Non-violent civil disobedience is one of many forms of protest or dissent, including lawful protest, conscien- tious objection, radical protest, and revolutionary action. Another form of protest or dissent occurs when government officials refuse to enforce a particular law (Brownlee 2009). Non-violent civil disobedience is not ordinarily an isolated act; it is done as part of a social movement or to inspire or instigate the creation of such a movement. It does not appear that there is a broad public move- ment demanding government action on climate change in developed countries of the kind that has existed for other social causes. We have not seen, for example, a massive demonstration by hundreds of thousands of people at the National Mall in Washing- © Inter-Research 2011 · www.int-res.com*Email: jcdernbach@widener.edu COMMENT Can the battle against climate change become an effective social movement? John C. Dernbach* Widener University Law School, 3800 Vartan Way, PO Box 69381, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania 17106, USA OPENPEN ACCESSCCESS Ethics Sci Environ Polit 11: 27–30, 2011 ton, DC, or elsewhere. On its homepage, the website www.350. org says that ‘we are building a global move- ment to solve the climate crisis,’ but its rallies around the globe have each been much smaller. While polling data tend to show public support for government action, responding to a poll is hardly the same as par- ticipating in a social movement. At least one author has suggested that those advocating action on climate change have relied too much on powerful and well- connected political figures and environmental leaders, and have not done enough to engage public support (Pooley 2010). Climate change seems different from other issues that have led to social movements in that nearly everyone in developed countries has some responsi- bility for greenhouse gas emissions. In many other social movements, there has been a recognizable dif- ference between, say, those who owned slaves and those who did not, between victim and perpetrator. Although many of those active on climate change have worked toward carbon neutrality in their per- sonal lives and in their work, it is probably fair to say that most of those who are active in developed coun- tries are not carbon neutral. In fact, it is not even clear how a particular individual or organization could be entirely carbon neutral, except by acquiring carbon offsets for all of the goods and services they use to more than compensate for the carbon impact of those goods and services. There are simply too many unresolved methodological issues about carbon accounting to be sure, except in some unusual cases, that one is genuinely carbon neutral. So it is more dif- ficult to organize a social movement within devel- oped countries that is based on a clear and easily understood distinction between the ‘relatively guilty’ and the ‘relatively innocent.’ A second challenge in creating a social movement is that climate change is less visible, less tangible, more in the future, and harder to clearly identify than other problems around which social movements have been organized. Even catastrophic events, like those caused by Hurricane Katrina in 2005 or the Pakistan floods in 2010, are simply events that appear to have been made worse by increased greenhouse gas concentrations, not events that were caused entirely by human- induced climate change. In contrast, the modern envi- ronmental movement, which began in the 1960s with the publication of ‘Silent spring’ (Carson 1962), was based on public unhappiness with the all-too-visible effects of pollution and waste—including the decline of bird life and obviously polluted air and water—that could not be attributed to any other cause. One can thus conclude that there is a growing public movement in developed countries to address climate change, but it is still relatively small. There is also, it should be said, a significant opposing movement, funded largely by fossil fuel interests and their allies. This opposing movement has had considerable success in creating public doubt and confusion about both cli- mate science and the legal and policy options that are available to address climate change. A recent book by Appiah (2010) suggests an interest- ing but so far unrealized possibility for creating a social movement in developed countries to address climate change. Appiah (2010) argues that some of the most important moral revolutions in recent years have come about because people see a particular action as not merely morally right but also as bringing honor or esteem to those who support that action, and shame or loss of esteem to those who do not. Upper or privileged classes supported some practices, such as dueling (Europe, United States) or foot binding (China), until these practices no longer brought esteem but instead brought ridicule or shame. While there were long- standing arguments that these practices were immoral or wrong, those arguments were ultimately not suc- cessful until they were linked with loss of honor or social esteem. Could Appiah’s (2010) insights help support a public movement to address climate change? In developed countries, there is a tendency for the wealthiest people to consume more than poorer people, and for that con- sumption to be a source of higher status. Higher status tends to be linked to bigger cars, bigger houses, and more property and other luxuries. Imagine, in contrast, that being carbon neutral, or having a small ecological footprint, is seen in developed countries as a source of honor or esteem, and that high consumption is a source of ridicule or shame. That change in perception could provide the basis for a moral revolution on climate change, but we seem to be a long way from that point at present. The path to a social movement to address climate change may be clearer for developing countries. The ethical claim is that people in developing countries, who have the least responsibility for increased green- house gas emissions and the fewest resources to address or adapt to climate change, are bearing and will continue to bear the brunt of adverse climate change impacts. Developing countries are increas- ingly well organized and vocal at the annual meet- ings of the Conference of the Parties to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, including Copenhagen in 2009 and Cancún in 2010. There are enormous differences in wealth and carbon impact among people in individual developed coun- tries. In addition, the tremendous growth in Gross Domestic Product and carbon dioxide emissions in China and India has begun to make the distinction between developed and developing countries less 28 Dernbach: Climate change as a social movement clear. Still, differences between developed and devel- oping countries in per-capita emissions, impacts, and ability to address impacts provide some foundation for a social movement in developing countries to address climate change. That possibility should be of enormous concern to leaders and citizens in devel- oped countries. (2) PROTESTS AGAINST POWER PLANTS MAY (OR MAY NOT) BE THE BEST APPROACH TO INSTIGATE A SOCIAL MOVEMENT The key example of non-violent civil disobedience cited by Lemons & Brown (2010) — the 2007 protest at the Kingsnorth coal-fired power plant in England in which activists were arrested on charges of trespass and damage to property after they climbed the plant’s smokestack — serves as a useful and important starting point for a discussion. However, it also raises some cautionary flags. The most natural and direct understanding of civil disobedience is refusal to obey a law that is believed to be unjust; in 1846, Henry David Thoreau was jailed for not paying a poll tax that was used to fund Fugitive Slave Law enforcement as well as a war in Mexico with which he disagreed. The laws relevant to climate change tend to be different. While it is difficult to get along in modern society without causing or contribut- ing to greenhouse gas emissions, few if any laws require such gases be emitted. There is a considerable tradition of non-violent civil disobedience being used indirectly, as it was in the Kingsnorth case, to break laws with which the protesters do not disagree (tres- pass, property protection) in order to protest against something they object to (carbon dioxide emissions). Yet this is not quite the same, and may not be as com- pelling, as disobeying a hypothetical law that requires greenhouse gas emissions. The necessity defense is also problematic. Most obviously, the successful assertion of a necessity defense means that the action in question is no longer civil disobedience; the action is legal. As already noted, lawful protest is another means of protesting or dissenting from a particular policy, but it is not the same as non-violent civil disobedience. In addition, it is quite difficult to succeed with the necessity defense. The defense is available in English law ‘when a defendant commits an otherwise criminal act to avoid an imminent peril of danger to life or seri- ous injury to himself or towards somebody for whom he reasonably regards himself as being responsible’ (Regina v. Shayler, [2001] EWCA Crim 1977 [63], [2001] 1 W. L. R 2206 [2228]). Yet, the defense succeeds only rarely. Most famously, a court in 1884 upheld the murder conviction and rejected the necessity defense of 3 shipwrecked and starving sailors who killed and ate the cabin boy (Regina v. Dudley and Stephens, [1884] 14Q.B.D. 273). (The rules in American law are similar; Pearson 1992.) While the necessity defense persuaded a jury to acquit the defendants in the Kingsnorth case, it did not persuade a judge in a similar 2007 case. In that case, at least 10 people trespassed on the site of the Ratcliffe on Soar coal-fired power plant in the United Kingdom with the intention of disrupting operations at the plant. Some of the protesters chained or otherwise attached themselves to machinery or other equipment. The court found that they targeted this particular plant because it is a large emitter of carbon dioxide and because they were genuinely concerned about the effects of climate change. In fact, the protest resulted in a slight decrease in electricity generation from the plant for several hours. The court analyzed the neces- sity defense, element by element, and held it to be inapplicable (Regina v. Glass 2008). The first requirement for the necessity defense is that ‘the defendants’ actions were necessary, or rea- sonably believed by them to have been necessary for the purpose of avoiding or preventing death or serious injury to themselves or another or others.’ (Regina v. Glass, [2008] M.C. (Nottingham) [39] (25 February 2008)). The court held that this requirement was not met because a reduction in operation at the plant for several hours was highly unlikely to have any effect on climate change. Even though the defendants gen- uinely believed that climate change is a serious issue, and the judge accepted the seriousness of the climate change science, the court found that they could not reasonably have believed they were actually prevent- ing death or serious injury to others. The court also found that the second requirement, ‘that necessity was the sine qua non of the commission of the crime,’ (Regina v. Glass, [2008] M.C. (Notting- ham) [47] (25 February 2008)) was not met. The court found that the defendants were not impelled by the claimed necessity to commit the crime; they were con- cerned by climate change in general and were aware of the publicity their actions would generate. Third, the court held that the defendants did not meet the requirement that ‘commission of the offence, viewed objectively, was reasonable and proportionate, having regard to the evil to be avoided or prevented.’ (Regina v. Glass, [2008] M.C. (Nottingham) [48] (25 February 2008)). The court based its conclusion on the information and analysis already provided. ‘Reason- able people may take action to limit their own ‘carbon footprint’ and may campaign for more urgent action by governments, but attempting to stop a large power sta- tion from functioning is, in my judgment, a step too far 29 Ethics Sci Environ Polit 11: 27–30, 2011 for the reasonable person.’ (Regina v. Glass, [2008] M.C. (Nottingham) [51] (25 February 2008)). This decision — by a judge in the Nottingham Magis- trates’ Court in the United Kingdom — is almost cer- tainly not the last word on the effect of the necessity defense on the climate change issue. However, it sug- gests what those who engage in non-violent civil dis- obedience are well aware that they risk (even invite) real consequences for their actions. It is thus important in considering such actions to be aware of how the legal rules actually work, and not simply to be hopeful that they will always work in a favorable way. As Lemons & Brown (2011) acknowledge, there are also political risks to non-violent civil disobedience. Protests such as that at the Kingsnorth coal-fired power plant draw attention to the issue of climate change, but they also enable opponents to point out that the elec- tricity for a great many people (perhaps even some of the protesters) comes from this plant. Such protests thus run the risk of alienating a substantial percentage of the population as well as inviting critics to assert that the protesters are hypocritical. These and other political risks could be overcome with proper planning of a protest event, but they are quite real. Finally, Lemons & Brown (2011) are not clear about who should consider engaging in this kind of civil disobedience. In the abstract for their paper, they suggest that environmental and climate scientists do so. In the text of the paper, however, they suggest that all citizens have that responsibility. The latter view is preferable because the climate change is a public issue, and not an issue for any one group or profession. While I respect and admire Dr. James Hansen, who played a key role in the Kingsnorth case described by Lemons & Brown (2011), it is not clear that this is the best role for all scientists to play, or even a role that they are generally and uniquely equipped to play. CONCLUSION Non-violent civil disobedience is one of many possi- ble tools that should be considered to help build a social movement to address climate change. The real issue for J. Lemons and D. A. Brown, in my view, is the need for effective political action to address climate change. Their paper (Lemons & Brown 2011) may be understood as an effort to help provoke a dialogue on the best way to do that. This in itself is a significant contribution. The shape of that movement — and the exact role that non-violent civil disobedience, lawful protest, or other actions should play in it — require serious consideration. LITERATURE CITED Appiah KA (2010) The honor code: how moral revolutions happen. WW Norton, New York, NY Brownlee K (2009) Civil disobedience. In: Zalta EN (ed) The Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy. Available at http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2010/entries/civil- disobedience/ Carson R (1962) Silent spring. Houghton Mifflin, New York, NY FAO (Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations) (2011) Climate change and food security in the context of the Cancún agreements. Available at www.fao. org/news/story/en/item/54337/icode/ Lemons J, Brown DA (2011) Global climate change and non- violent civil disobedience. Ethics Sci Environ Polit 11:3–12 Pearson JO (1992) ‘Choice of evils,’ necessity, duress, or similar defense to state or local criminal charges based on acts of public protest. American Law Reports, 5th edn 3:521 Pooley E (2010) The climate war: true believers, power bro- kers, and the fight to save the earth. Hyperion, New York, NY Regina v. Dudley & Stephens (1884) Queen’s Bench Division 14:273 Regina v. Glass (2008) Nottingham Magistrates’ Court Regina v. Shayler (2001) House of Lords. 1 WLR 2206 30 Editorial responsibility: Darryl Macer, Bangkok, Thailand Submitted: January 31 2011; Accepted: February 15, 2011 Proofs received from author(s): April 30, 2011 cite1: 
work_jsptyo4herfxjcgdnv6qvhkema	----	The Digital Health Scorecard: A New Health Literacy Metric for NCD Prevention and Care INNOVATIONS & CONCEPTS gSOLUTIONS j The Digital Health Scorecard: A New Health Literacy Metric for NCD Prevention and Care Scott C. Ratzan*,y, Michael B. Weinberger*, Franklin Apfelz, Gary Kocharian*,x New Brunswick, NJ, USA; New York, NY, USA; and Somerset, United Kingdom ABSTRACT According to the World Health Organization, 3 out of 5 deaths worldwide are due to common, chronic conditions, such as heart and respiratory diseases, cancer, and diabetes. These noncommunicable diseases (NCDs) are linked to multiple lifestyle risk factors, including smoking, the harmful use of alcohol, and physical inactivity. They are associated with other “intermediate” risk factors, such as elevated body mass index (BMI), hypertension, hyperlipidemia, and hyperglycemia. Taking action to reduce these 7 risk factors can help people protect themselves against leading causes of death. All of these risk factors are measurable and modifiable, but globally available, cost-effective, and easy-to-use outcome metrics that can drive action on all levels do not yet exist. The Digital Health Scorecard is being proposed as a dynamic, globally available digital tool to raise public, professional, and policy maker NCD health literacy (the motivation and ability to access, understand, communicate, and use information to improve health and reduce the incidence of NCD). Its aim is to motivate and empower individuals to make the behavioral and choice changes needed to improve their health and reduce NCD risk factors by giving unprecedented access to global data intelligence, creating awareness, making links to professional and community-based support services and policies, and providing a simple way to measure and track risk changes. Moreover, it provides health care professionals, communities, institutions, workplaces, and nations with a simple metric to monitor progress toward agreed local, national, and global NCD targets. From *Johnson & Johnson, New Brunswick, NJ, USA; yMailman School of Public Health, Columbia Univer- sity, New York, NY, USA; zWorld Health Communi- cation Associates, Somerset, United Kingdom; xDepartment of Cell Biology and Neuroscience, Rutgers University, New Brunswick, NJ, USA. Corre- spondence: M. B. Wein- berger (MWeinbe1@its.jnj. com). GLOBAL HEART © 2013 World Heart Federation (Geneva). Published by Elsevier Ltd. VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 ISSN 2211-8160 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/ j.gheart.2013.05.006 Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. A total of 57 million deaths occurred worldwide during 2008; 36 million (63%) were due to non- communicable diseases (NCDs), principally cardiovascular diseases, diabetes, cancer, and chronic respiratory diseases. Nearly 80% of these NCD deaths (29 million) occurred in low- and middle-income countries [1]. Moreover, future prosperity is challenged with a cumulative output loss estimated at $47 trillion over 20 years [2]. In September of 2011, the United Nations (UN) convened a high-level meeting to “address the prevention and control of NCDs worldwide” [3]. Government leaders gathered there endorsed a Political Declaration that called for a wide- ranging set of actions; this is only the second time in history that the UN General Assembly has taken such a global initiative on a health issue (the other being HIV/ AIDS in 2000). Building on this Declaration, the World Health Assembly passed a resolution in 2012 calling for an action plan to achieve a global target of a “25% reduction in premature mortality from NCDs by 2025” [4], with mul- tistakeholder response to address modifiable risk factors, targets, and a monitoring mechanism to track progress. The World Health Organization (WHO) Global NCD Action Plan 2013-2020 is to be presented to the World Health Assembly in May 2013. The WHO has identified “best buys” (high impact, lower cost interventions) related to modifiable risk prevention and care. Simple, cost- effective tools to raise awareness and track progress GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 toward the adoption of these “best buys” on both indi- vidual and system levels are necessary for curbing the rise of NCDs and preventing further rises in mortality. KEEPING IT SIMPLEeCHECKLISTS AND SCORECARDS In their book Simple: Conquering the Crisis of Complexity, Alan Siegel and Irene Etzkorn challenge the rise in complexity of our everyday experiences, regarding everything ranging from “tax forms to medicine bottles” [5]. They quote Henry David Thoreau in their urgency to “Simplify, simplify” [5] to meet the ever-demanding complexities of the 21st century. System complexity has been identified as a major “naviga- tional” obstacle and challenge to people’s NCD health literacy [6] (the motivation and ability to access, understand, assess, and use information to improve health and reduce the incidence of NCD [7]). Successful approaches to simplifi- cation have been adopted in multiple industries (e.g., the airline industry, engineering, construction) with the use of simple tools that have raised awareness of safety and risk issues and thereby saved lives. A checklist is an intuitive, practical, easy-to-use tool that highlights critical actions to be taken [8]. In the medical field, such a tool was used for safe central line placement in intensive care units (ICUs). The incident rate ratio for central line infections in some hospitals was nearly halved by the implementation of this checklist in their ICU [9]. Stemming from this initial work, the WHO 171 mailto:MWeinbe1@its.jnj.com mailto:MWeinbe1@its.jnj.com http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.gheart.2013.05.006 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.gheart.2013.05.006 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ TABLE 1. Recommendations for preventing chronic disease NIH AHA Mayo Maintain blood pressure within normal range X X 120/80 mm Hg X 120/80 mm Hg Keep proper weight X X X BMI <25 Exercise more X X �150 min/ week X �150 min/ week Quit smoking X X X Eat a healthy diet X X Reduce blood cholesterol X <200 mg/dl Manage diabetes X Limit alcohol to moderate amounts X X NIH, National Institutes of Health; AHA, American Heart Association; Mayo, Mayo Clinic; ACC, American College of Cardiology; HMS, Harvard Medical School; LDL, low-density lipoprotein; HDL, high-density lipoprotein; BMI, body mass index. Table adapted from Miron-Shatz T and Ratzan S [21]. j gSOLUTIONS 172 developed other patient safety checklists, which built upon various industry models. The 90-second Surgical Safety checklist, for example, is a 1-page, 19-item tool, the use of which has led to dramatic reductions in surgery-related complications and deaths [10]. More recently, the WHO has developed a pilot edition of a Safe Childbirth Checklist to address the 2.6 million stillbirths and 3 million newborn deaths that occur each year [11]. A scorecard is similar to a checklist tool in that it lists key components necessary for achieving an overall goal. The difference is that a scorecard yields a score that becomes a standardized metric for users to assess identified conditions on a linear scale. Various expert groups have called for scorecard development in the NCD area. The World Economic Forum (WEF) Global Agenda Council, for example, has identified the NCD epidemic as one of the 4 key global economic threats and has called for the development of a ‘‘health and well-being footprint’’ [2] that serves as a scorecard for risk as a way of capturing global attention and action. It is proposed as a way to ‘‘help measure the contribution of the public and private sectors and individual behaviors to health and well-being, to help identify opportunities to manage the causes of chronic diseases at the key levels of impact and to serve as a yard- stick of progress in delivering change’’ [2]. Similarly, the Institute of Medicine (IOM) convened a September 2009 workshop on “Promoting Health Literacy to Encourage Prevention and Wellness,” in which the idea to develop a scorecard tool for disease prevention was articulated [12]. Applying scorecards for improved performance Individual scorecards were originally used in business management and quality improvement programs. One major use of scorecards within management organizations comes in the form of the Balanced Scorecard (BSC). The BSC was founded by Robert Kaplan and David Norton of the Harvard Business School in 1992 in an attempt to create a “measurement for driving performance improve- ment” [13]. Their idea was based on the familiar assertion by “prominent British scientist, Lord Kelvin that ‘if you cannot measure it, you cannot improve it’” [13]. The BSC incorporates various operational and financial metrics to create a “more robust measurement and management system” [13]. This model is now incorporated in various business and management quality control systems. Scorecards are being incorporated into health care as well. The D5, for example, represents the 5 goals a person with diabetes needs to achieve to reduce risk of heart attack or stroke. This is an example of an all or nothing scorecard where all 5 points must be met to achieve the D5 score [14]. This simplified method of scoring was posited by Donald Berwick and Thomas Nolan in order to get better diabetes outcomes, in an attempt to “[raise] the bar and [illuminate] excellence in a social enterprise” [15]. Another important use of scorecards is for risk analysis and evalu- ation. In the Queen Elizabeth II Health Sciences Center (Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada), a preoperative scorecard was developed to predict inhospital mortality from redo cardiac operations. By using previous mortality data, “a parsimonious logistic regression model was developed” [16], which was then used to create the scorecard. This clinical tool takes into account key risk factors like age, current procedure type, type and number of previous procedures, and renal failure. The total number score derived from these risk factors then correlates to the percent risk of mortality. This scorecard builds upon GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 TABLE 1. continued ACC HMS Jiao et al. (2009), Mozaffarian et al. (2009) Patterson et al. (2007), Cleary et al. (2006) X X <120/80 mm Hg X X X BMI <25 X X �150 min/ week X X X X X X X X X Reduce LDL, Increase HDL X <200 mg/dl X Control LDL X Keep fasting blood sugar <100 mg/dl X X gSOLUTIONS j mortality data to allow for a more exact assessment of procedure candidates in order to reduce mortality in high- risk patients [16]. Other more general health scorecards have been developed and are currently available free online. The American Heart Association and American Stroke Associ- ation developed My Life Check�, which incorporates Life’s Simple 7� Action Plan. This online scorecard asks users to register basic information and then guides them through 20 questions on biometrics, diet, and lifestyle choices [17]. It includes detailed questions on nutrition but does not include a component asking about alcohol use. Similarly, the World Health Professions Alliance (WHPA) drafted a recto verso “Health Improvement Card” that assesses 4 key biometric values (BMI, fasting blood sugar, cholesterol, and blood pressure) and 4 lifestyle choices (diet, tobacco use, alcohol use, and physical activity). While this paper-based tool does not yield a final score, it does utilize a “green, yellow, red” color scheme to indicate health factors that need to be addressed [18]. A simplified version of this tool is available for use online [19]. The development of the Digital Health Scorecard As early as the year 2000, the concept of a scorecard for evaluating chronic disease and raising health literacy was developed and disseminated. In the 2000 National Library of Medicine/Medical Library Association Leiter Lecture, an idea was put forth for developing a simple, modern (21st century), digitized health record, comprising 6 or more factors necessary for health [20]. At that time, the proposed factors included blood pressure/heart rate, BMI, and cholesterol levels, as well as a number of behavioral and GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 preventive measures. The concept was based on the idea that “reporting of numbers and health status could generate dialogue and health-seeking behavior and be integrated with technology” [20,21]. In 2009, there were proof-of-concept meetings with various organizations at which early paper drafts of the current Digital Health Scorecard were presented (then titled “Take Caree7 Steps for Better Health,” and later “Know Your Numbers”). Meetings and conferences included the United Nations Economic and Social Council (ECO- SOC) annual ministerial review in Beijing, the World Health Communication Associates (WHCA) Geneva roundtable on the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), the IOM roundtable on Health Literacy, the Council of Foreign Relations, and, in 2010, the Oxford Health Alliance annual summit. An early draft of this scorecard was introduced as a health literacy tool in the IOM Workshop Summary “Promoting Health Literacy to Encourage Prevention and Wellness” [12]. The IOM-commissioned paper for this workshop on integrating health literacy into primary and secondary strategies envisioned this tool as “a simple (parsimonious), but big idea” to be “some sort of galvanizing index that captures health and wellness” and to “facilitate individual and system monitoring of health literacy” [7,22]. More recently, there were advancements in the devel- opment of a more rigorous proof-of-concept and a prototype for the scorecard. In 2011, collaboration between Johnson & Johnson (J&J) and graduate students at Carnegie Mellon University established a proof-of-concept thesis paper for the scorecard, Design, Implementation and Go-To-Market Strategy for the Digital Health Scorecard: A Social Marketing Approach to Health Literacy [23]. This was conducted through a course under the direction of Rema Padman, PhD, Professor of Management Science & Healthcare Informatics at the Heinz 173 j gSOLUTIONS 174 School of Public Policy. The collaboration also yielded a directional proof-of-concept as to how a web-based tool might function.Basedontheoutcomesand feedbackreceived through this work, J&J developed a more polished interface design and an iPad-based fully-functional prototype. This initial prototype for the Digital Health Scorecard was preliminarily dubbed “ScoreMyHealth,” and was pre- sented for feedback in a number of forums in 2012. These included presentations and breakout sessions at TEDMED and the National Aeronautics and Space Administration Human Health and Performance Centre (NHHPC) work- shop mHealth: Smart Media and Health, Applications Benefiting Life in Space and on Earth. One of the key gaps identified in the initial scorecard model was the differential impact of the selected risk factors on one’s overall health. Further, it became apparent during these early trial sessions that the Digital Health Scorecard would need to account for the frequent occurrence that many users were unaware of their precise biometric values. Based on this feedback, significant improvements to the usability and validity of the scorecard as a wellness and risk prevention tool were made. These included developing and incorporating a weighting formula and the development of creative options for users who did not know specific values. These approaches were validated and improved upon through review meetings with epidemiology and health communi- cation experts at the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine and Columbia University’s Mailman School of Public Health. This current article reviews the rationale and meth- odologies used to develop the Digital Health Scorecard, a tool for addressing patient, personal, consumer, and global health needs. This includes an overview of how the limited set of health risk factors were selected, the devel- opment of a scoring algorithm and weighting system, and a review of initial user testing data. The aim of the Digital Health Scorecard is to provide a key measure, a “digital health score,” which can help educate and motivate people and patients to take action on the behavioral and biometric factors that drive personal risk for developing chronic disease. In so doing, the Digital Health Scorecard also aims to help systems on all levels better face the daunting health and economic burden stemming from the rising prevalence of chronic disease in both developing and developed nations. METHODOLOGY Selecting risk factors The scorecard asks 7 key questions about one’s health based on evidence-based risk factors that contribute to NCDs, disability, and death. The risk factors selected are as follows. � Overweight/obesity (BMI) � Physical inactivity � Tobacco use � Harmful alcohol use � Elevated blood pressure � Elevated total cholesterol � Elevated blood glucose These 7 health risk factors were selected based on WHO and other data that indicate a correlation between these risks and NCD incidence, prevalence, associated disabilities, and death. The November 2012 WHO report, based on a formal meeting concerning the global moni- toring framework for the prevention and control of NCDs, identified the above 7 factors as key behavioral and bio- logical risk factors from a set of 25 possible indicators “to monitor trends and to assess progress made in the imple- mentation of national strategies and plans on NCDs” [24]. Selecting these risk factors and assigning healthy ranges also drew on evidence and published recommendations from various health and research organizations (Table 1). Formula, algorithm, and weighting The overall health score is calculated on a scale of 0 to 100, with 100 being the optimal score. Although alternative scales were considered, the consensus from expert review groups suggested that the relative meaning of scores on a 0-100 scale is implicitly understood by the general public because that scale is commonly used. The application uses a simple formula and is driven substantially by 2 variables that are dependent on user input (Figure 1). This formula is based on a system of demerits in which the user starts with a perfect score and loses points (P) based on subop- timal biomarker levels and/or lifestyle behaviors. The P value for each of the 7 risk factors is dependent on the risk factor range (present, partially present, or not present) of the individual (Table 2). The second variable used in score determination is weighting (W). While P is assigned based on 1 of 3 static values for each factor, as indicated in Table 2, the potential W value changes among the 7 risk factors. The value of W determines the proportionate contribution of a given risk factor to the overall health score. Whereas the P variable is aligned to well-accepted risk factor ranges, the W variable represents an innova- tion and contributes to the novelty and validity of this algorithm. The weighting system and P values were initially determined using data from the Global Burden of Disease Study 2004, published in a comparative risk analysis (CRA) in 2009 by the WHO [1] (Table 3). The W values are inserted into a modifiable system in the Digital Health Scorecard software that allows for updating of numbers based on new research and data. The most recent W values used (in a Brazilian version of the scorecard launched on World Health Day in April 2013) utilized new data from The Global Burden of Disease Study 2010, published in the Lancet in December, 2012 [25]. By using Global Burden Of Disease (GBD) study data (including now available country-specific data), there is a consistent CRA method- ology for each update (and country customization) of the GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 FIGURE 1. Health score formula. gSOLUTIONS j scorecard; i.e., the methodology used by Ezzati et al. in their CRA, which is a component of the GBD study [25,26]. As indicated in Table 3, the specific GBD data that was used for developing the weighting system was based on disability adjusted life years (DALYs), as this metric not only incorporates number of life years lost, but also the number of healthy-living years lost due to chronic diseases. For the initial scorecard launch, specific high-income country numbers were used from WHO region America A, which comprises primarily the United States and Canada. Because there is overlap in mortality, morbidity, and NCDs between given risk factors like tobacco use and high blood pressure, consideration was given for those risk factors comprising 50% of the weighting; using the speci- fications of Ezzati et al. [25,26]. Additional weighting considerations were also made for the bivalent nature of alcohol risk curves and the increased alcohol risk for women, consistent with the CRA methodology conducted by Rehm et al. [27] from the same GBD study 2004. Only relative risk of diseases was used in the formulation of the weighting algorithm. Descriptive features and final computations With the computational components in place, additional features for calculating the score and final design compo- nents were implemented. The questions and visuals selected to get input from individual users were developed utilizing TABLE 2. Risk factor ranges Risk Present BMI >30 or <18.5 Cholesterol >240 mg/dl total Blood Glucose >125 mg/dl Blood Pressure >139 systolic Alcohol Consumption >4 drinks/day (m) >3 drinks/day (f) Smoking Yes Physical Activity <30 minutes 3 times per week BMI, body mass index. GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 published health literacy and cultural competency standards [6]. One key learning from early prototype reviews was the need to account for situations in which subjects do not know some or all of their biometric values. It was observed by the authors that although individuals often did not know precise values, there were multiple reasons why this occurred. In some cases it occurred because the individual had not had a recent primary care physician physical, including blood analysis. In other cases, such an exam had occurred but the individual did not have ready access to their biometric data and could not recall it; however, of this group, a significant number knew which risk factors their healthcare provider had warned them about and conversely those factors for which no concern was expressed. This being the case, the Digital Health Scorecard was adjusted to enable individuals to respond “I don’t know” and select the statement that best reflects them, as follows: i. I’ve had a check-up in the past year (including blood work) and was not advised that I have [health risk factor]. ii. I’ve had a check-up in the past year (including blood work) and was advised that I have [health risk factor]. iii. I’ve not had a check-up in the past year. The first statement is correlated to the same P value as “risk not present,” whereas the second and third statements correlate to “risk present.” In the case of the third state- ment, it was considered that not having had a check-up in the past year was as much a concern as actually having the risk factor because it indicates a lack of knowledge about (and perhaps a lack of interest in regular assessments of) one’s health. Information about each of the 7 risk factors is collected on different screens. The Digital Health Scorecard app then uses the data to calculate a final health score using the previously described algorithm and its weighting system (Figure 2). As the figure illustrates, in reporting back the collected data, each health risk factor is placed into 1 of 3 color-coded categories: good (green), caution (yellow), and at risk (red). When individual score components are deemed “caution” or “at risk,” the app provides a hypertext link to additional information on how to improve upon Risk Partially Present Risk Not Present 25-30 18.5-24.9 200-239 mg/dl total <200 mg/dl total >99 mg/dl <100 mg/dl 120-139 systolic �119 systolic 3 drinks (f) 3-4 drinks (m) 0-2 drinks X No 30 minutes 3 times per week �30 minutes 5 times per week 175 TABLE 3. Ranking of selected risk factors: 10 leading risk factor causes of disability adjusted life years by income group (high- income countries) Rank Risk Factor DALYs (millions) Percentage of total 1 Tobacco use 13 10.7 2 Alcohol use 8 6.7 3 Overweight and obesity (high BMI) 8 6.5 4 High blood pressure 7 6.1 5 High blood glucose 6 4.9 6 Physical inactivity 5 4.1 7 High cholesterol 4 3.4 8 Illicit drugs 3 2.1 9 Occupational risks 2 1.5 10 Low fruit and vegetable intake 2 1.3 DALYs, disability adjusted life years; BMI, body mass index. Table adapted from World Health Organization [1]. j gSOLUTIONS 176 that health factor and one’s overall health. For the purpose of the inaugural U.S.-based release, the hypertext links lead the user to www.healthfinder.gov and www.cdc.gov for these information resources. Additional options to customize links to reputable sources are envisioned (e.g., National Cancer Institute mHealth based Smoking Cessa- tion Program). Another key feature was incorporated as a result of prototype feedback. The authors observed that when users received their health scores, they often asked how their score would have varied had they answered the questions differently. To this end, the app was modified to offer a “what if” modeling capability. Upon receiving a health score, the individual can now select “what if” and see how the score changes when different answers are offered. For example, a user can model the impact of losing “XX” FIGURE 2. Scorecard app final results screen pictured on a pounds (or “XX” kilos in the metric version), cutting back on alcohol consumption, or quitting smoking, etc. DISCUSSION Technology platforms The Digital Health Scorecard application was introduced on the Windows 8 platform, in coordination with Micro- soft, on October 23, 2012. Following this launch—taking advantage of early feedback—were versions for other major consumer technology platforms, including iOS, Android, and web browser. In all cases, there is no cost to users to download or utilize the app. The intent is to ensure that individuals have free access to the tool on their technology platform of choice; consumer preferences across these platforms will be carefully monitored. Though there may be populations that prefer traditional browser-based tools, it is believed that given the growing dominance of mobile technologies, consumers will ultimately prefer to access the app on phone and tablet platforms. As such, the largest investment of both resources and time has gone into these modalities. Mobile versions present obvious advantages, enabling users to input and access data wherever they may be: home, a doctor’s office, a health fair, a pharmacy, or with friends and family. The app does not require a continuous data connection, so the absence of cellular data or Wi-Fi does not prevent use; however, if the user is connected, data such as the final health score with linkage to age, gender, and zip/postal code can be aggregated. All versions of the Digital Health Scorecard, regardless of platform, can upload data from each session to a central Microsoft Azure cloud-based database (except when data connectivity is absent, as previously noted). At no time is any personally-identifiable information captured and stored; however, the aggregated data does include basic demo- graphic identifiers including age, gender, and zip/postal code (mobile apps will provide additional GPS data). As n Android phone. GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 http://www.healthfinder.gov http://www.cdc.gov gSOLUTIONS j such, basic reporting and analytic capabilities have been enabled for research purposes. In designing the user experience, based on user feed- back, minimization of the time required to receive a health score was considered paramount. Initial observation suggests that a user who knows her/his biometrics can receive a health score in as little as 3 minutes. Users who do not know their biometrics and therefore must navigate the secondary questions regarding prior conversations with healthcare providers (as described previously) may require about 5 minutes. Equally important in the design of the digital experience was the creation of a user interface that is visually comforting and technologically forward without impeding access or ease of use. Experts in user interface design were employed and leveraged extensive experience in the creation of mobile-friendly digital landscapes. The interface takes a user though the 7 required biometric and behavioral data elements, making extensive use of soothing, aspirational, and/or contextually-relevant back- ground imagery, along with health literate terminology. The formally released versions of the Digital Health Scorecard app benefited greatly from feedback gained by prototype users at TEDMED and other events. There are a number of platform-specific capabilities that have been implemented and that will be measured over time. The Windows 8 and web-browser based versions enable users to print a report that can be used to facilitate conversations with healthcare providers. For the mobile versions of the app, the developers implemented the ability to e-mail a similar report to a healthcare provider, friends/family, or even to oneself in order to be printed at a later time. These mobile versions also incor- porate social media features, although actual scores are not shared through such services (specifically, Facebook and Twitter). Mobile versions of the Digital Health Scorecard were built to take full advantage of touch technology. As such, most data inputs are made using visual touch controls, such as slider controls and selection buttons; even in the browser-based version. The entire app can be experienced without the need to type in data using on-screen keyboards, with one notable exception: the demographics collection screen requests users to type a postal code. This particular data element, however, is an optional field and can be skipped at the user’s discretion. The Windows 8 and browser-based versions of the application serve as hybrids in that they run both on mobile tablets as well as on desktop/laptop computers. Given the growing demand for touchscreen computing even on nonmobile devices, the app was built to always favor touch, though it works equally well using a traditional mouse and keyboard equipped computer. Studies suggest that disparities do exist with Internet and mobile phone usage [28]. These studies also suggest a shift in which platforms are used to access the Internet: users across demographic groups are eschewing the GLOBAL HEART, VOL. 8, NO. 2, 2013 June 2013: 171-179 ownership of computers (desktop, laptop, etc.) and going directly to mobile phones [28]. The integration of the Digital Health Scorecard to mobile devices such as mobile phones and tablets could prove useful in increasing digital health access to distinct population groups. Future considerations We realize that this scorecard and the resulting health score will not be a perfect metric for NCD prevention. This is a relatively simple assessment of health risk when compared to the complexities of the human body. We recognize that there are important risk factors related to health and wellbeing that are not addressed by this appli- cation, such as family histories, diet, immunizations, preventive procedures, and emotional health and well- being, among others. Furthermore, the GBD estimates used in preparing the weighting for the algorithm are based on CRA “clustered risk factors” analysis. As such, this data is acquired through meta-analysis of large population groups and is also subject to assumptions. There have been arguments against the correlation of such data to individual health as a predictor of risk. A cohort study could provide more exact data to be linked to the algorithm’s weighting; however, such studies are limited by their highly specific nature and variance in methodology. The GBD estimates are available for multiple geographic regions (including low- and middle-income areas around the world) and ensure that the data for all risk factors are acquired and assessed using the same methodology. This, in turn, assures consistency for the assessment of all risk factors for users of the Digital Health Scorecard. Even so, the highly dynamic nature of the programming of this app allows for future changes as more appropriate and better quality studies come up. The data that serve as the basis for the scorecard are based on peer-reviewed CRAs conducted by some of the world’s best public health institutions united under the initiative of the GBD studies. One of the innovative aspects of the Digital Health Scorecard relates to “democratizing” this data and making it practically available for use by individuals in their daily lives. While the scorecard is limited to 7 key risk factors for health, we believe the factors chosen are most easily identifiable and measurable by users. The risk factors chosen were ranked by the WHO and others as among the highest for causes of NCD-related disability, mortality, and morbidity. In our attempts to create a simple and accurate 7-step tool, it was decided that measurements such as diet would be more complicated to recall and record and could contribute to discrepancies. As for mental and emotional health, there is no significant data at this time available from the GBD study source linking those risk factors to NCDs—chronic disease being the primary focus of this scorecard. Although there is a focus on chronic disease, the scorecard is not intended to be a diagnostic tool or 177 j gSOLUTIONS 178 a predictor of specific diseases. Instead, it is intended to be a simple application, in the style of a checklist, that high- lights health risk factors that could contribute to the development of NCDs. The scorecard provides just one number, thus establishing a metric for an individual’s overall health risk from 7 key factors, which can enable them to better comprehend these risks. While the metric is the innovation for action, the app also provides explana- tions and linkages to evidence-based resources to improve one’s score and improve health literacy. The “what if?” function allows for the user to interact with the medium, for mental modeling, to incite and support appropriate behavioral action. In this way, the scorecard can also be used as a health literacy tool that makes general users, consumers, and patients more aware of the important areas of their health that need to be focused on and addressed. We hypothesize that (and will track whether) Digital Health Scorecard use will prove to be an impetus for people to consult with their physicians on areas of concern, have more regular check-ups, and increase their use of community support services. Moreover, this metric, when aggregated, can also be used and interpreted on a variety of levels—from community to global—to identify critical problems in population health and galvanize multisectoral responses ranging from employer initiatives to government-sponsored educational and service provision focused on addressing identified population risks. Since its launch through the Microsoft Windows 8 app store in October of 2012, the Digital Health Scorecard has been used more than 25,000 times. It is receiving favorable reviews on the Windows Store app page. This launch version of the scorecard has been presented at public events, including the mHealth 2012 summit in Wash- ington, D.C., and the IOM health literacy meeting at the New York Academy of Medicine. Subsequently, versions for Apple iPhone/iPad and Google Android phones have been released into their respective app stores. The most recent versions have been integrated with social networking websites, Facebook and Twitter, allowing for more user connectivity and awareness. SUMMARY The potential reach and impact of this novel health literacy tool is significant. With planned technological and country-specific updates, more users will have the chance to access and complete and use the Digital Health Score- card to enhance their personal NCD health literacy. They will also be able to share and compare their “digital health score” with family members, peers, and even their own physicians. Current plans call for presentations of the scorecard at numerous health-related conferences and events. Through these initiatives and with continuing language and data updates, we are hoping that the Digital Health Scorecard will reach many more users globally. A variety of research plans aim to see how the “digital health score” correlates with actual burden and how the scorecard can be used in different settings (e.g., workplace wellness programs, clinical trial recruitment, and community public health campaign planning). While we believe this new metric can advance NCD prevention and care, it is not seen as a stand-alone entity. It does not replace the support and information provided by physicians and other health care providers. It needs to be well linked to other community-based infor- mation and evidence-based support services (e.g., smoking cessation hotlines, physical activities, and nutrition services). While it does not cover all levels of a person’s health and wellbeing, this application will allow people to assess the level of their risk for chronic disease and also track it over time. More importantly, it will highlight for individ- uals where they need to improve to reduce their risks and provide them with resources to achieve this goal. By providing just one number, users will be able to better visualize and judge their health-risk status. In addition to this, health professionals and policy makers, by aggregating results, will have a new source of data to assess and understand population health, as well as to identify key health areas that could be addressed to avert the dire consequences of the projected crippling health and finan- cial consequences from NCDs. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The authors thank Fikry Isaac, MD, at Johnson & Johnson, Dean Linda Fried, MD, MPH, at Columbia University Mailman School of Public Health, Rema Padman, PhD, at Carnegie Mellon University Heinz School of Public Policy, and Michael Hodin, PhD, at The Council on Foreign Relations. Conflict of interest statement: Financial support for the Digital Health Scorecard and associated research was provided by Johnson & Johnson. Scott Ratzan was employed at Johnson & Johnson as Vice President of Global Health at the time that the research was conducted. Michael Weinberger is employed at Johnson & Johnson and serves as Director, Marketplace Innovation. Gary Kocharian is an intern at Johnson & Johnson, serving as a global health researcher. Franklin Apfel is the Managing Director at World Health Communications Associates, which contracted with Johnson & Johnson to provide scientific and implementation support. REFERENCES 1. World Health Organization. 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work_jy5ye7uvyfa73mzpoeroyfz5bq	----	10841_2006_9018_11_1-web 47..59 Abstract Studies of conservation biology involving tiger beetles have become increasingly common in the last 15 years. Governments and NGOs in several countries have considered tiger beetles in making policy decisions of national conservation efforts and have found tiger beetles useful organisms for arguing broad conservation issues. We trace the evolution of the relationship between tiger beetle studies and con- servation biology and propose that this history may in itself provide a model for anticipating developments and improvements in the ability of conservation biol- ogy to find effective goals, gather appropriate data, and better communicate generalizations to non-scientific decision makers, the public, and other scientists. According to the General Continuum of Scientific Perspectives on Nature model, earliest biological studies begin with natural history and concentrate on observations in the field and specimen collecting, fol- lowed by observing and measuring in the field, manipulations in the field, observations and manipu- lations in the laboratory, and finally enter theoretical science including systems analysis and mathematical models. Using a balance of historical and analytical approaches, we tested the model using scientific studies of tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae) and the field of conservation biology. Conservation biology and tiger beetle studies follow the historical model, but the results for conservation biology also suggest a more complex model of simultaneous parallel developments. We use these results to anticipate ways to better meet goals in conservation biology, such as actively involv- ing amateurs, avoiding exclusion of the public, and improving language and style in scientific communi- cation. Keywords Cicindelidae Æ Conservation biology Æ History Æ Models Æ Tiger beetles Introduction The early 20th Century Spanish philosopher, George Santayana, is credited with the quotation, ‘‘Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’’ Although easily dismissed as a trivial aphorism, is it possible that this statement constitutes a testable hypothesis that we can use to understand and antici- pate advances in sciences such as conservation biol- ogy? Conservation biology is a field with too few years of experience to have engendered broad interest in its past (Zirnstein 1996; Meine 1999; Siemann 2003). However, its history together with that for longer- established supporting fields, such as systematics, genetics, wildlife management, and ecology, may hold critical information for developing future directions and goals for conservation biology. Faced with con- stant shortages of funding to adequately gather infor- mation and conduct studies, lessons from history may be useful as another set of tools in the quest for meeting these goals (Maienschein 2000; Gaddis 2004). CXLV, Studies of Tiger Beetles D. L. Pearson (&) School of Life Sciences, Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ 85287-4501, USA e-mail: dpearson@asu.edu F. Cassola Via F. Tomassucci 12/20, I-00144 Rome, Italy J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 DOI 10.1007/s10841-006-9018-9 123 B E E T L E C O N S E R V A T I O N Are we doomed to repeat history? A model of the past using tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae) and conservation biology to anticipate the future David L. Pearson Æ Fabio Cassola Received: 23 September 2005 / Accepted: 20 December 2005 / Published online: 7 November 2006 � Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2006 In a search for patterns within the history of scientific studies, historians have analyzed several fields from physics (Nye 1996) to biology (Killingsworth and Palmer 1992). Are there steps common to all scientific en- deavor? What recognizable patterns of change take place, and what are the significant factors causing the changes? How can they best be compared? Apart from satisfying intellectual curiosity, a solid understanding of patterns in the development of science could prove useful for conservation biology in many ways. It could: (1) help determine priorities for funding agencies, (2) enable biologists to better communicate with and inform non-scientific decision makers, (3) focus individual re- searcher goals, (4) prepare cooperative research agen- das, (5) formulate more reliable and efficient models for management and conservation goals, and (6) help anticipate problems that can then be ameliorated. Methods The historical model History does not lend itself to experimental repeat- ability (Gould 1989), and thus tests of patterns in his- tory rely on alternative methods. One of the most reliable techniques for answering pertinent historical questions and testing for patterns is by using insights from one field to tell us something about another—a process called consilience by historians. In so doing, we can make sense of the past and perhaps anticipate the future (Gaddis 2004). Within biology, such patterns have been proposed for understanding the historical progression of human cultures. Important causes with consistent outcomes across unrelated cultures include environmental factors (Rolett and Diamond 2004), plant and animal domestication (Diamond 2002), dis- ease (Acemoglu et al. 2001) and food production (Hibbs and Olsson 2004). Along the same lines, one general model of the his- tory of science proposed to anticipate historical pat- terns in biology is the General Continuum of Scientific Perspectives on Nature (GCSPN) (Killingsworth and Palmer 1992). According to the GCSPN, earliest bio- logical studies begin with natural history and concen- trate on observations in the field and specimen collecting, followed by observing and measuring in the field, manipulations in the field, observations and manipulations in the laboratory, and finally enter the- oretical science, including systems analysis and mathe- matical models. What is not clear is whether each of these chapters in the development of science can be identified as a chronological step or phase, or even more controversial, whether each step has identifiable and quantifiable characters that can be used to estimate the maturity of the field of study (Farber 2000). In addition to these uncertainties, this model has other constraints. As with all models, simplification is an acceptable aspect of their use as long as the results are interpreted within these limitations. Also, similar to many ecological and landscape studies, using time intervals that are too small or too large can obscure important patterns. Finally, sociological, economic, and psychological forces can be more crucial in affecting models of temporal changes than generally realized, but these factors often are difficult to incor- porate into general models. With these assumptions in mind, Battalio (1998) listed a series of specific char- acters that would demonstrate historical steps within the GCSPN model: (STEP 1) Descriptive natural history and search for new species predominate (STEP 2) Now an experimental science rather than a natural history model (STEP 3) Power is transferred from expert amateurs to trained professional scientists, and graduate training for employment in the field has become available (STEP 4) Systematics no longer dominant, and re- search focused more on theoretically complex issues with extensive use of graphs and statistical inference in publications (STEP 5) Formation of research teams and increasing evidence of socialization, such as use of acknowledg- ments sections, associations of peers, and co-authored publications (STEP 6) Technical terminology and methodology so refined they now limit the audience that can fully comprehend them (Fig. 1). Test subjects The history of entomology provides a rich and varied set of potential subjects to test the model. However, Fig. 1 Linear progression of steps in GCSPN model in which each step replaces the former one 48 J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 123 because of the myriad and often independent histories of various insects groups within entomology (Sorensen 1995), we felt that an initial test of the GCSPN model would be more manageable by using a single group. Tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae) provide a relatively discrete taxonomic unit whose history is well documented (Pearson and Cassola 2005). The tiger beetles are a small but distinct group of over 2600 species whose biology is also well known (Pearson and Vogler 2001). These beetles are attractive, fast-flying and fast-running insect predators that occur in many diverse habitats around the world. Many of the same characteristics of tiger beetles that have generated considerable interest among amateurs and professional biologists have also contributed to their increasing role in conservation studies. Most important among these characteristics is the ease with which most species can be found and identified in the field, their habitat specificity, and their value as indicators of habitat health and of biodiversity. Also, because they have been well-collected and studied, their past and present distributions are known sufficiently to evaluate historic trends of decline in range or abundance (Desender et al. 1994; Knisley and Fenster 2005). In addition, we will use the history of the field of conservation biology as a test subject. With a combi- nation of narrative and comparative analysis, we pro- pose to compare these two histories to test the validity of the model. Finally, we pursue the possibility that if the resultant pattern of steps conforms to the GCSPN model, can the model and its assumptions be used to anticipate and direct future steps in conservation biology? Results Step 1: Descriptive natural history and search for new species predominate As claimed by the GCSPN, much of the earliest history of conservation biology revolved around documenta- tion of species, in this case their extinctions. In the late 18th Century, American authors Ralph Waldo Emer- son and Henry David Thoreau influenced the devel- opment of Transcendentalism, a philosophy associated with nature. Through their writings, preservation of nature and wilderness became a powerful, novel doc- trine. In the midst of manifest destiny and impressions of inexhaustible resources, the unexpected disappear- ance of once abundant species, such as the Passenger Pigeon, and near extinction of the American Bison, first made extinction seem a real possibility, and the causes of extinction of individual species became an important area of study for the nascent field of con- servation biology. Because of an extensive knowledge of taxonomy and distribution starting with Linné (1758), tiger bee- tles lent themselves to early studies of declining pop- ulations and extinctions. As such, several species and populations of tiger beetles became some of the first insects declared legally endangered or threatened with extinction. Pearson et al. (2005) estimate that at least 33 (15%) of the 223 named species and subspecies of tiger bee- tles in Canada and the United States may be declining at a rate that justifies their consideration for inclusion on the US Fish and Wildlife Service’s List of Endan- gered and Threatened species (Fig. 2). However, at present, only four of these are officially listed by the federal government, and several others are under consideration for listing. In addition, several other countries (Belgium, Canada, Germany, Great Britain, Lithuania, The Netherlands, South Africa and Sweden), at least 24 individual states and provinces within the United States and Canada, and international NGOs (World Conservation Monitoring Centre and IUCN) have developed lists of endangered and threa- tened species that include tiger beetles. Few insects are well-enough known globally to document these types of population decline. Because of the rich collections of tiger beetle specimens avail- able for study, however, the disappearance of species from former parts of the range can be authenticated. From these historical records, some long-term changes in the environment can also be deduced (Nagano 1980; Desender and Turin 1989; Desender et al. 1994; Yarbrough and Knisley 1994; Kamoun 1996; Trautner 1996; Berglind et al. 1997; Diogo et al. 1999; Knisley and Hill 2001; Richoux 2001; Sikes 2002; Goldstein and Desalle 2003; Horgan and Chávez 2004; Mawdsley 2005). Thus, tiger beetles help offer a window into our past and can provide insight as to where protective measures are needed (Babione 2003). Step 2: Now an experimental science rather than a natural history model For tiger beetle studies, the major intellectual advance during the last half of the 18th Century was an often- conflicting attempt to place the growing number of species into a natural array of groupings. By moving from pure description to evolutionary questions, these attempts at phylogenetics were also some of the first signs of a change into an experimental paradigm (Barrow 1998). With more species known, better J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 49 123 chances for comparisons, and greater competition for research subjects among the increasing number of experts, tiger beetle systematists ventured into more sophisticated areas of research. Field naturalists such as A.R. Wallace and H. W. Bates often collected tiger beetles wherever they traveled. Emergent but signifi- cant ideas about behavior, ecology and evolution also grew from their experiences of collecting and observ- ing these beetles. The German medical doctor, Wal- ther Horn, became the greatest authority and acknowledged specialist of the tiger beetle family, working almost solitarily for more than 50 years. Although predominantly taxonomic in nature, his articles began, later in the 1900s, to incorporate experimentally testable ideas of habitat, biogeography and intraspecific variation (subspecies). Besides reconstructing the past, tiger beetles are useful for conservation in other ways. Because of political, sociological and economic pressures, conser- vation policy and research are under pressure to pro- duce quick results. This pressure is so pervasive, and the time, money and personnel to do the work are so limited that conservation biology is called a ‘‘crisis discipline,‘‘ in which risk analysis has become a major element (Maguire 1991). A common approach to resolving these problems has been to use indicator taxa as test organisms that purportedly represent other taxa in a complex environment. By focusing studies on a small but representative subset of the habitat or eco- system, patterns of habitat degradation and population losses can be more quickly and clearly distinguished (Noss 1990). Unfortunately most taxa suggested for use as indi- cators have been selected primarily on the basis of their public appeal (Pearson 1994). The consequences have cast doubt on the general usefulness and accuracy of bioindicators in conservation policy-making. For instance, among animal taxa, most studies using indi- cator taxa have relied on vertebrates, especially those ‘‘species of high public interest’’ (USDI 1980). Verte- brates, however, tend to be relatively long-lived, have low rates of population increase, long generation times, and comparatively low habitat specificity (Murphy et al. 1990), all of which tax the time and finances for proper investigation. As a result, there is a trend now to rely more and more on arthropod species, especially insects, instead of, or in addition to, vertebrates as appropriate indicator taxa (Pyle et al. 1981; Kremen 1992; Samways 1994; McGeoch 1998). Tiger beetles have been used throughout the world to test and develop better guidelines for choosing bioindicators (Holeski and Graves 1978; Schultz 1988; Bauer 1991; Pearson and Cassola 1992; Rivers-Moore and Samways 1996; Kitching 1996; Rodrı́guez et al. 1998; Cassola and Pearson 2000; Cassola 2002; Arndt et al. 2005). First, the category of bioindicator is determined (Kremen et al. 1993). Will it be used for monitoring (Greenberg and McGrane 1996), in Fig. 2 Controlled area in Santa Cruz Co., California, to protect the officially endangered Ohlone Tiger Beetle (Cicindela ohlone) Photo courtesy Univ. Calif. Santa Cruz Grounds Dept. 50 J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 123 inventory (Lees et al. 1999), as an umbrella (Mitter- meier et al. 2004), or some other type of model organism? Then a claim is made that a species or taxon, such as tiger beetles, is ideal as a bioindicator in a specific category. That leads to tests of whether this proposed indicator taxon meets the demands of widely accepted logistical and biological criteria for ideal indicators within each category. A useful bioindicator taxon should have characteristics such as stable tax- onomy, well-known biology and readily observed and manipulated (Brown 1991). More recently, it has be- come evident that even when chosen carefully, a single taxon is unlikely to be adequate. Seldom will a single taxon reflect accurately an entire habitat or ecosystem (Ricketts et al. 1999). Choosing a suite of indicator taxa from different trophic levels or different subhab- itats within the area of interest probably produces better data on which to base rational and informed biological and policy decisions. Nevertheless, each of the suite of candidates should be vetted experimentally to determine its appropriateness for that specific use as a bioindicator. Step 3: Power is transferred from expert amateurs to trained professional scientists, and graduate training for employment in the field has become available In the late 1800s, the first conservation organizations, such as the Audubon Society and the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, were formed with both pro- fessional and amateur participants. In the next few decades, the work of these professionals and amateurs created many conflicts, such as the benefits of specimen collecting and use of common names. Little by little, professional academicians and government employees with advanced degrees, such as Aldo Leopold and Rachel Carson, took over the study and communica- tion of conservation problems. In 1985 the Society for Conservation Biology was established, and by 2000 it had 5100 professional members. Conservation studies that involve insects have become more common (Bossart and Carlton 2002) in recent years, often focused by international insect organizations, such as the Xerces Society for the Conservation of Inverte- brates. In 1997 the Journal of Insect Conservation was launched in conjunction with the British Butterfly Conservation Society. By this time additional national societies dedicated to the conservation of insects had been formed in Asia, Europe and North America. Along with journals focused on this area, graduate programs and salaried positions as conservation biol- ogists, many of whom use insects as test organisms, became established, and the leadership and predomi- nance of professionals became more and more obvious. For tiger beetles, the near monopoly of a single expert, Walther Horn, had great influence on the direction of studies. Beyond his tight control of tiger beetle taxonomy, however, a few other professional biologists began to publish scientific articles using tiger beetles as test organisms for geological history (Wickham 1904), ecology (Shelford 1907), and behav- ior (Shelford 1902). The use of tiger beetles in con- servation did not begin until the late 20th Century (Pearson and Vogler 2001), and some potentially divisive problems, such as the development of common names, were less disruptive among amateur and pro- fessional tiger beetle workers (Pearson 2004) than with other groups, such as birds, butterflies and dragonflies. Even more subtly, professionalization of scientific articles, including those for conservation biology and tiger beetle studies, is reflected in its evolving language, writing styles, and grammar. Linguistic analysis of journals and scientific articles shows consistent changes that indicate levels of expertise and establish levels of authority, further separating professionals from ama- teurs. Some examples of changing words include adverbs that show degrees of reliability, such as ‘‘undoubtedly’’ and ‘‘possibly,’’ induction, such as ‘‘must’’ and ‘‘evidently,’’ identification of hearsay evi- dence, such as ‘‘it seems’’ and ‘‘apparently,’’ reserva- tions of deduction, such as ‘‘presumably’’ and ‘‘could,’’ and hedges, such as ‘‘approximately’’ (Chafe 1986). In addition, professional science writers use distinctive writing devices that include reduced use of personal pronouns, reliance on passive voice, a decrease in the number of simple sentences, the presence of technical terminology, an emphasis on reliability of evidence, and the use of citations (Lakoff and Johnson 1980). Carter (1990) also showed that although professionals rewriting scientific articles for semi-popular or popular consumption tend to write in broader generalities and use methods more similar to amateurs, they retain a concept of domain-specific knowledge that distin- guishes them from the style of amateurs. Step 4: Systematics no longer dominant, and research focused more on theoretically complex issues with extensive use of graphs and statistical inference in publications Among tiger beetles, in areas other than taxonomy, the 1960s saw a relatively small increase in articles published on behavior, ecology, morphology, bioge- ography and ecology (Pearson 1988). But starting in the 1980s, physiological studies of tiger beetles J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 51 123 emerged (Dreisig 1980; Hadley et al. 1988; Gilbert 1997; Hoback et al. 2000; Okamura and Toh 2004). In the 1990s, genetics studies began to appear (Galián et al. 1990; Proença et al. 2002), and by this time, these and other non-taxonomic publications constituted 85% of the articles on tiger beetles with statistical proce- dures and graphs. One area in which tiger beetles were at the forefront of more complex conservation biology studies was in the statistical application of assumptions of depen- dence among data points. In initial comparisons of species patterns across regions and countries, Pearson and Cassola (1992) claimed that among the tested attributes of tiger beetles as an ideal bioindicator was a high correlation between their species numbers and those of other groups. If one goal is to establish con- servation areas with the highest species diversity, tiger beetles were very useful because where you found more of them you also found more of other species like birds and butterflies. But tiger beetles, at the right season, could often be surveyed in a few weeks whereas birds took years to survey adequately in the same area. In addition, it was easy to train students and local workers to observe and sample tiger beetles, but training these same people to observe other taxa, such as birds and butterflies, was an enormous undertaking. Thus, one could argue that tiger beetles are logistically useful and biologically appropriate candidates to help represent entire habitats or ecosystems for species inventories. A major problem, however, was the misapplication of a common simplifying component in statistical tests used by many biologists (Carroll and Pearson 1998a). In virtually all traditional statistical tests, a datum from one point in space or time is assumed to not influence or affect any another datum in the analysis obtained from a different point in space or time (independent). If, however, the data are dependent (often called autocorrelated), and many subsequent studies show that many if not most biological data are likely to be dependent, the resultant analysis may be faulty or misleading (Carroll and Pearson 2000). Many researchers now apply more appropriate statistics, such as geostatistics (Cressie 1991), in conservation biology that avoid the assumption of independence. Tiger beetles were among the first taxa using these modern analytical techniques (Carroll 1998; Pearson and Car- roll 1998; 1999; Carroll and Pearson 1998b, Pearson and Carroll 2001). In addition to pioneering statistical analyses, tiger beetles also were used in early applications of molec- ular analysis for geographical implications of conser- vation. For instance, the subdivision of lineages of the tiger beetle species, Cicindela dorsalis, in Florida between the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean, can be detected only with molecular markers. How- ever, the fact that species of several taxa on one side of a barrier are consistently different from those on an- other is highly significant for conservation (Pearson and Vogler 2001). These regions of distinctive genetic overlap can reflect historical events in evolutionary time (Crandall et al. 2000; Goldstein et al. 2000; Satoh et al. 2004). By incorporating an evolutionary time scale, we not only gain another valuable factor to in- clude in our conservation planning, but it also makes us aware that areas chosen for protection require man- agement goals focused not just on 10, 20 or even 100 years, but for much longer into the past as well as the future (Schwartz 1999; Barraclough and Vogler 2002). Step 5: Formation of research teams and increasing evidence of socialization, such as use of acknowledgments sections, associations of peers, and co-authored publications Conservation biology has quickly moved from single and often isolated researchers such as Leopold and Carson to a predominance of interactive researcher teams. Among tiger beetle studies, there is consider- able evidence for similar changes on a broad level, some of them apparently caused by the appearance of field guides and general books on the biology of tiger beetles beginning in the 1990s (Knisley and Schultz 1997; Leonard and Bell 1999; Acorn 200l; Choate 2003; Pearson et al. 2005; Pearson and Shetterly 2006). Before this time, only individuals with time and inter- est to search through often obscure journals and arcane terms could acquire the basic knowledge and identifi- cation skills to do research using tiger beetles. More specific evidence of socialization is in co-authored publications. In one of the first general reviews of tiger beetle biology (Pearson 1988), only 23% of the cited articles were co-authored. Twelve years later in a book on general tiger beetle biology (Pearson and Vogler 2001) 40% of its citations were co-authored. In 1969, an informal correspondence among tiger beetle enthusiasts developed into a journal called ‘‘Cicindel- a.’’ Another indicator of socialization showed advances within this highly specialized journal. In the 1970s only 2% of its articles had acknowledgments sections; in the 1980s, 26% had these sections; and in the 1990s, 83% of them did. Similarly, the complex nature of modern conserva- tion biology research necessitates more and more research teams. For instance, many modern conserva- 52 J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 123 tion biologists working on rare and endangered species now rely heavily on molecular markers (Avise 1994; Galián and Vogler 2003) to distinguish species and populations within species. The importance of con- serving intra-specific variation is reflected in the U.S. Endangered Species Act, which calls for the conser- vation of ‘‘independent population segments’’. This makes conservation of distinct populations within a species a legal requirement, and involves coordination of field biologists, laboratory technicians, lawyers, and politicians. This coordination of effort is obvious in many areas of conservation biology, and recently has also become a dominant theme in tiger beetle studies (Knisley and Hill 1992; Vogler et al. 1993; Moritz 1994; Vogler and Desalle 1994; Vogler 1998). Some promising future uses of tiger beetles have direct ramifications for conservation biology, and most of them will involve teams that are interdisciplinary. These areas include climate change (Ashworth 2001), reintroductions (Omland 2002; Brust 2002; Knisley et al. 2005), habitat reclamation (Hussein 2002), habi- tat management (Omland 2004) and location of con- servation reserves and parks (Mittermeier and Mittermeier 1997; Desender and Bosmans 1998; Andriamampianina et al. 2000; Pearson and Carroll 2001; Mittermeier et al. 2004). Step 6: Technical terminology and methodology so refined they now limit the audience that can fully comprehend it Although communication with amateurs and the public is a stated goal of the developing cadre of professional conservation biologists, growing reliance on increas- ingly complex technology and terminology, mathe- matical models, sophisticated statistics and computer programs have excluded many amateurs and even some professionals in related fields. For tiger beetles, the rapidly growing use of highly sophisticated disciplines, such as molecular biology, statistical modeling, and satellite imagery have intro- duced many technical words and concepts. This jargon, in turn, can quickly limit comprehension to a narrow array of associated professionals. As measured in terms of scientific discourse, this trend includes increasing length and number of published articles, increasing sentence complexity, use of multi-word noun phrases, as well as narrowly defined technical terms. It is also well advanced among tiger beetle workers, especially in complex fields, such as molecular studies (Galián et al. 1990; Morgan et al. 2000; Proença and Galián 2003; Goldstein and Desalle 2003; Pons et al. 2004) and mathematical modeling (Carroll and Pearson 2000; Van Dooren and Matthysen 2004). Paradoxically, although the often-growing com- plexity of terminology and methodology used in advanced studies of tiger beetles may have excluded most amateurs and many traditional taxonomists, ecologists and behavioral researchers, it appears to have attracted others. For instance, molecular biolo- gists and mathematical modelers seeking appropriate systems on which to apply their technology have used data from tiger beetles with little previous knowledge of the animals themselves. Also, when the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service listed several tiger beetle species as endangered or threatened, economists, sociologists, foresters, politicians, land owners and members of many unrelated fields, who had little or no previous interest in these taxa, suddenly needed to know about them. At this point in the march of scientific history, the exclusion of tiger beetle amateurs from complex molecular and statistical studies, while lamentable is not debilitating. However, for conservation biology, just as the field of study reaches a high level of sci- entific rigor that knowingly will exclude many partici- pants, it simultaneously reaches a point where it must communicate with a growing number of essential participants. Many of these participants are unlikely to comprehend the message or be able to interpret the results of the increasingly complex but more reliable scientific effort. The legislators, judges, lawyers, teachers, and reporters who are critical for imple- menting policy decisions may not be able to under- stand the data and generalizations upon which they are basing their decisions. These apparently mutually exclusive goals and effort are potentially debilitating. Discussion Do the histories of tiger beetle studies and conservation biology follow the model? Both tiger beetle studies and conservation biology show patterns of change over their history consistent with the GCSPN. However, conservation biology has done so at a velocity that often blurs the progression. Studies of tiger beetles took hundreds of years to arrive at Step 6 and in the last 25 years have become greatly entwined with conservation biology. Conservation biology took less than a century to reach this level, and most of the steps were passed in the last 20 years (Primack 2002). J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 53 123 Although the GCSPN model appears to have broad relevance as shown in its application to the brief his- tory of conservation biology, the rapid advance of this field has apparently obscured some imperfections of the model along the way. Two significant questions need to be answered if the model is to be reliably ap- plied to conservation biology planning. (1) Are the steps deterministic and inevitable or are they mutable tendencies? Because the major goal of conservation biology is to protect biological diversity while providing for sustainable human needs (Primack 2002), it often seeks to change the outcome of environmental, economic and socio- logical trends, such as those associated with extinction and habitat destruction. If the general patterns of the GCSPN model represent tenden- cies that lend themselves to peremptory changes, the model can be used to anticipate problems and implement useful changes to better meet the goals of conservation biology. On the other hand, if the general patterns of the GCSPN model represent inevitable results, the changes funda- mental to conservation biology goals are unlikely to be accomplished using these general steps of science development (Myers 1989; Eldredge 1998). (2) Is each step of the model dependent on the pre- vious step, and if so, how well-developed must a step be before the subsequent step can be initi- ated and developed? For instance, academic and government support for naming and revising taxa and basic studies of natural history has been in decline for decades and is unlikely to reverse course. As crisis managers, conservation biolo- gists are often forced to make studies on taxa, natural communities and habitats that have severely incomplete foundations of knowledge, such as taxonomy and natural history (Wilson 2000; Hopkins and Freckleton 2002; Dubois 2003; Giangrande 2003). In terms of the GCSPN, the temptation is to yield to the pressures of crisis management and justify a leap from Step 1 to Step 4 or 5 with, perhaps, insufficient investment in the intermediate and supportive steps. Such a problem evidently occurred with the devel- opment of the use of bioindicators in the 1980s and 1990s. Several conservation biologists urged that these surrogate taxa be chosen carefully with predetermined ideal characteristics for a particular use and habitat or ecosystem (Brown 1991; Pearson and Cassola 1992). Unfortunately, many subsequent articles advocating taxa as bioindicators ignored or failed to adequately justify the choice of bioindicators based on predeter- mined criteria such as reliable taxonomy and basic natural history knowledge. As a result, the credibility of these poorly qualified taxa was challenged, and support of the entire concept of bioindicators quickly diminished (Lawton et al. 1998; Schwartz 1999; Andelman and Fagan 2000; Dale and Beyler 2001). In the same vein, the U.S. federal Endangered Species Act (ESA) was authorized in 1973. During its tenure, it has engendered considerable controversy, and its future is uncertain (Czech and Krausman 2001). Although property rights, conflicting economic inter- ests, and politics have contributed to many of the controversies, testimony to U.S. congressional com- mittees (Legislative Hearing on H.R. 2829 and H. R. 3705, 20 March 2002) by both conservation advocates and the Assistant Secretary for Fish and Wildlife and Parks place much of the blame for shortcomings of the ESA on poor scientific standards and lack of adequate independent scientific review of endangered species listings. For instance, in one official list of 36 species planned to be delisted in 1999 by then Secretary of the Interior, Bruce Babbitt, five species were already extinct by that time, four were based on taxonomic errors, and ten had been originally listed because of data errors. In this case 53% of these species should not have been on the endangered list in the first place, and a lack of scientific information was to blame (B. Babbitt, pers. com.). A powerful and sophisticated legislative policy assumed that conservation biology was at Step 4 or 5 in the GCSPN, even though Steps 1 and 2 were not sufficiently established to support an advance on to subsequent steps. What uses does the GCSPN provide for identifying and attaining conservation biology goals? One important role of the application of the GCSPN model to conservation biology is in providing a context so that we can focus on pertinent questions. At what points should funding agencies support specific efforts? Are there better periods than others in which to attract young recruits to maintain or increase interest in spe- cific taxa or fields such as conservation biology? Can or should dominance by a single individual or small clique be avoided? Will professional biologists exclude the expert amateurs, or will they be able to cooperate? A second use of the GSCPN is in recognizing broader philosophical problems. For instance, histori- ans of science have shown how cultural differences within national or between regional organizations 54 J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 123 often dampen paradigm changes in the general area of study (Browne 1996). Can our model illuminate factors such as this and thus avoid intellectual imperialism? Can ideas and hypotheses spread quickly throughout the network, or will resistance to change and other barriers make communication ponderous? Is there a Step 7 in our GCSPN model? Finally, these preliminary results from comparisons of tiger beetles and conservation biology highlight some specific actions that can be taken immediately. For instance in the area of communication between technical and popular audiences, a basic conservation biology goal, should or can we avoid or ameliorate Step 6? (1) Three simple changes in writing style and edito- rial format could make communication easier across a spectrum of readers. First, the abstract and summary of an article can be written in a style that simplifies complex concepts for non-profes- sionals (Gopen and Swan 1990; Knight 2003). Second, for many non-scientific readers, citations in parentheses may become a barrier that disrupts comprehension, a possibility rarely addressed or tested by scientific authors (Rudolph 2003). Using less obtrusive superscript numbers to key cita- tions is one simple change that might broaden communication. This format is already used in several prestigious journals, such as Science, Nature and Trends in Ecology and Evolution. Third, even though metaphors are central to how we think about things, especially when explaining complex concepts to the uninitiated (Short 2000), the editors of some journals, such as Conservation Biology, explicitly discourage authors from using metaphors. Encouraging the use of suitable met- aphors to enhance communication might prove more appropriate (Chew and Laubichler 2003). (2) Although administrators and professional col- leagues may demand publications in peer- reviewed journals for promotion and tenure, less prestigious methods for communicating results to the public, such as newspaper and magazine articles, books, and web sites, must receive more than a tacit blessing. (3) Even though most professional conservation biologists lack the talent or time to communicate with the public as well as Rachel Carson, Jared Diamond, Aldo Leopold, or E.O. Wilson, there are talented science writers, such as David Qua- men, Jonathan Weiner and Peter Matthiessen, who can make complex scientific writing com- prehensible and attractive to a wide range of the public who have little or no science background. Cooperating with these types of writers, even though credit may be diluted, could disseminate critical information effectively to a wider audi- ence. (4) Descriptions of new species of tiger beetles, nat- ural history observations, geographical distribu- tions, and seasonal records of occurrence and dispersion, as in many taxa, have by default been turned over largely to expert amateurs. However, not all professionals accept the resultant data as reliable. Recently the British social critics, Charles Leadbeater and Paul Miller (2004), identified a rapidly-growing involvement of ama- teurs in science from astronomy to medicine that is not fully recognized or utilized. These investi- gators are a new breed of largely self-trained experts or professional amateurs (Pro-Ams) who, using modern technology, such as the Internet, are producing significant innovations and discov- eries in a wide range of fields. Both the govern- ment and professionals need to facilitate the contributions of Pro-Ams and be prepared to share the stage with them. Conclusions As is typical of model-testing, results often reveal exceptions, unforeseen data, and other anomalies. One accepted procedure in the face of such problems, is to incorporate these unexpected results into a more gen- eralized and useful model. From results of our pre- liminary consilience tests of the GCSPN, several changes are evident that would make the model more useful. For instance, the history of tiger beetles shows that productive researchers can be working simulta- neously in several if not all the steps, especially at later times in the history of a scientific field. Thus it might be more accurate to consider the steps as benchmarks in a continuum rather than linear chronological progres- sions or irreversible advances. Also, even within well- defined taxa, amateur and professional lines of change appear to diverge into parallel lines rather than follow a single evolving line of science used in the original model (Battalio 1998) (Fig. 1). These parallel lines often have cross lines of influence and varying levels of communication. The different lines each may have their own characteristic benchmarks (Fig. 3). It is also obvious that broader fields, such as conservation biol- ogy, build on the work of contributing areas of interest and incorporate their histories rather than follow an independent disciplinary track. Thus, in these suc- J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 55 123 ceeding fields, the velocity of change along the time continuum could be expected to be faster and with entire groups of lines converging. To better understand the model, future tests are needed to clarify not only its patterns but the causes of the patterns. Consilience comparisons of the history of additional taxa or disciplines are one obvious approach. Do all taxa and fields follow the same sequence of steps? Do some histories reveal accelerated progress through certain steps and not others? Accumulated similarities and differences among these histories will provide opportunities to look for their causes. Do factors such as species numbers, their conspicuousness, economic importance, number of investigators, and level of re- search funding influence patterns and advances in the progression of steps within a field? With an under- standing of various combinations of characteristics that might cause differences in development or speed of change, we would be in a better position to understand and apply the model. Among insects, taxa such as ants, cerambycid beetles, scarab beetles, butterflies, dragon- flies, and termites would be good candidates for test organisms (New 1984; 1991; 1998; Gaston et al. 1993; Samways 1994; 2005). Comparisons of the history of fields such as wildlife biology, population genetics, and landscape ecology could also be enlightening. With some immediate solutions and the promise of even more important long range solutions made possi- ble by examinations of historical models, such as the GCSPN, we can be encouraged that conservation biology can make use of its history and learn from it. For instance, Leadbeater and Miller’s thesis indicates that with conscious effort the diverging model in Fig. 3 might morph eventually into a model with converging lines, at least between amateurs and early steps in the professional progression of changes. With improve- ments in the model and future tests of the process of science itself, we may have the best chance to develop foresight, learn from history, and better know if and what changes can be made to better reach our goals. We need not be doomed to repeat history, and even more positively, it may well be that, ‘‘We know the future only by the past we project into it’’ (Gaddis 2004). Acknowledgements We are indebted to J. Alcock, K.R. John- son, C.B. 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In: Akçakaya HR, Burgman MA, Kindvall O, Wood CC, Sjögren-Gulve P, Hatfield JS, McCarthy MA (eds) Species conservation and management: case studies. Oxford Univ. Press, London, pp 137–148 Pearson DL (1994) Selecting indicator taxa for the quantitative assessment of biodiversity. Philos Trans R Soc Lond B 345:75–79 Pearson DL (1988) Biology of tiger beetles. Ann Rev Entomol 33:123–147 Pearson DL (2004) A list of suggested common English names for species of tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae) occurring in Canada and the US. Cicindela 36:31–39 58 J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 123 Pearson DL, Carroll SS (1998) Global patterns of species rich- ness: spatial models for conservation planning using bioin- dicators and precipitation. Cons Biol 12:809–821 Pearson DL, Carroll SS (1999) The influence of spatial scale on cross-taxon congruence patterns and prediction accuracy of species richness. J Biogeog 26:1079–1090 Pearson DL, Carroll SS (2001) Predicting patterns of tiger beetle (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae) species richness in northwestern South America. Stud Neotrop Fauna Environ 36:123– 134 Pearson DL, Cassola F (1992) World-wide species richness pat- terns of tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae): indicator taxon for biodiversity and conservation studies. Cons Biol 6:376–391 Pearson DL, Cassola F (2005) A quantitative analysis of species descriptions of tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicin- delidae), from 1758 to 2004, and notes about related developments in biodiversity studies. Coleop Bull 59:184–193 Pearson DL, Knisley CB, Kazilek CJ (2005) A field guide to the tiger beetles of the United States and Canada: identification, natural history and distribution of the cicindelids. Oxford Univ. Press, New York, New York Pearson DL, Shetterly JA (2006) How do published field guides influence interactions between amateurs and professionals in entomology? Am Entomol 52. In press Pearson DL, Vogler AP (2001) Tiger beetles: the evolution, ecology and diversity of the cicindelids. Cornell Univ. Press, Ithaca, New York Pons J, Barraclough TG, Theodorides K, Cardoso A, Vogler AP (2004) Using exon and intron sequences of the gene Mp20 to resolve basal relationships in Cicindela (Coleoptera: Cicin- delidae). Syst Biol 53:554–570 Primack RB (2002) Essentials of conservation biology, 3rd edn. Sinauer Associates, Sunderland, Massachusetts Proença SJR, Galián J (2003) Chromosome evolution in the genus Cicindela: physical mapping and activity of rDNA loci in the tiger beetle species Cicindela littoralis and C. flexuosa. J Zool Syst Evol Res 41:227–232 Proença SJR, Serrano ARM, Collares-Pereira J (2002) An unusual karyotype with low chromosome number in Mega- cephalini, a basal group of tiger beetles (Coleoptera, Cic- indelidae): cytogenetic characterisation by C-banding and location of rDNA genes. Hereditas 137:202–207 Pyle R, Bentzien M, Opler P (1981) Insect conservation. Ann Rev Entomol 26:233–258 Richoux P (2001) Sensibilité de Cylindera arenaria aux amén- agements fluviaux: l’example de la région lyonnaise (Col- éptères Cicindelidae). Cahiers scientifique Mus.d’Histoire nat. Lyon 2:63–74 Ricketts TH, Dinerstein E, Olson DM, Loucks C (1999) Who’s where in North America? Patterns of species richness and the utility of indicator taxa for conservation. Bioscience 49:369–381 Rivers-Moore NA, Samways MJ (1996) Game and cattle tramping, and impacts of human dwellings on arthropods at a game park boundary. Biodivers Conserv 5:1545– 1556 Rodrı́guez JP, Pearson DL, Barrera RR (1998) A test for the adequacy of bioindicator taxa: are tiger beetles (Coleoptera: Cicindelidae) appropriate indicators for monitoring the degradation of tropical forests in Venezuela? Biol Cons 83:69–76 Rolett B, Diamond J (2004) Environmental predictors of pre- European deforestation on Pacific Islands. Nature 431: 443–446 Rudolph VJ (2003) Modifying forest management for biodiver- sity. Cons Biol 17:1463–1571 Samways MJ (1994) Insect conservation biology. Chapman and Hall, London, UK Samways MJ (2005) Insect diversity conservation. Cambridge Univ. Press, Cambridge, UK Satoh A, Sota T, Uéda T, Enokido Y, Paik§ C, Hori M (2004) Evolutionary history of coastal tiger beetles in Japan based on a comparative phylogeography of four species. Mol Ecol 13:3057–3069 Schultz TD (1988) Destructive effects of off-road vehicles on tiger beetle habitat in central Arizona. Cicindela 20:25–29 Schwartz MW (1999) Choosing the appropriate scale of reserves for conservation. Ann Rev Ecol Syst 30:83–108 Shelford R (1902) Observations on some mimetic insects and spiders from Borneo and Singapore. Proc Zool Soc London 1902:230–284 Shelford VE (1907) Preliminary note on the distribution of the tiger beetles (Cicindela) and its relation to plant succession. Biol Bull Marine Biol Lab, Woods Hole 14:9–14 Short DC (2000) Analysing metaphor in human resource development. Human Resour Devel Int 3:323–341 Siemann W (eds) (2003) Umweltgeschichte: Themen und Pers- pektiven. Verlag C. H. Beck oHG, Munich, Germany Sikes DS (2002) Beetles of Block Island: rare species that once occurred on the mainland, Chapter 11. In: Paton PW, Gould LL, August PV, Frost AO (eds) The ecology of Block Island: proceedings of the Rhode Island natural history survey conference, October 28, 2000. Rhode Island Natural History Survey, Kingston, RI, pp 183–191 Sorensen WC (1995) Brethren of the net: American entomology 1840–1880. Univ. of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa, Alabama Trautner J (1996) Historische und aktuelle Bestandssituation des Sandlaufkäfers Cicindela arenaria Fuesslin, 1775 in Deu- tschland (Col., Cicindelidae). Entomol Nact Berichte 40: 83–88 USDI (1980) Habitat evaluation procedures (HEP). Ecological services manual number 102. Division of Ecological Ser- vices, USDI. Fish and Wildlife Service, Washington, DC Van Dooren TJM, Matthysen E (2004) Generalized linear models for means and variances applied to movements of tiger beetles along corridor roads. J Anim Ecol 73: 261–271 Vogler AP, Knisley CB, Glueck SB, Hill JM, Desalle R (1993) Using molecular and ecological data to diagnose endan- gered populations of the Puritan Tiger Beetle Cicindela puritana. Mol Ecol 2:375–383 Vogler AP (1998) Extinction and the evolutionary process in endangered species: what to conserve? In: DeSalle R, Schierwater B (eds) Molecular approaches to ecology and evolution. Birkhäuser Verlag, Basel, Switzerland, pp 191–210 Vogler AP, DeSalle R (1994) Diagnosing units of conservation management. Cons Biol 8:354–363 Wickham HF (1904) The influence of the mutations of the Pleistocene lakes upon the present distribution of Cicindela. Am. Nat. 38:643–654 Wilson EO (2000) On the future of conservation biology. Cons Biol 14:1–3 Yarbrough WW, Knisley CB (1994) Distribution and abundance of the coastal tiger beetle, Cicindela dorsalis media (Cole- optera: Cicindelidae), in South Carolina. Ent News 105: 189–194 Zirnstein G (1996) Ökologie und Umwelt in der Geschichte. Ökologie und Wirtschaftforschung, Band 14. Metropolis- Verlag, Marburg, Germany J Insect Conserv (2007) 11:47–59 59 123 Are we doomed to repeat history? A model of the past using tiger beetles \(Coleoptera: Cicindelidae\) and conservation biology to anticipate the future Abstract Introduction Methods The historical model Test subjects Fig1 Results Step 1: Descriptive natural history and search for new species predominate Step 2: Now an experimental science rather than a natural history model Fig2 Step 3: Power is transferred from expert amateurs to trained professional scientists, and graduate training for employment in the field has become available Step 4: Systematics no longer dominant, and research focused more on theoretically complex issues with extensive use of graphs and statistical inference in publications Step 5: Formation of research teams and increasing evidence of socialization, such as use of acknowledgments sections, associations of peers, and co-authored publications Step 6: Technical terminology and methodology so refined they now limit the audience that can fully comprehend it Discussion Do the histories of tiger beetle studies and conservation biology follow the model? What uses does the GCSPN provide for identifying and attaining conservation biology goals? Conclusions Acknowledgements References CR1 CR2 CR3 CR4 CR5 CR6 CR7 CR8 CR9 CR10 CR11 CR12 CR13 Fig3 CR14 CR15 CR16 CR17 CR18 CR19 CR20 CR21 CR22 CR23 CR24 CR25 CR26 CR27 CR28 CR29 CR30 CR31 CR32 CR33 CR34 CR35 CR36 CR37 CR38 CR39 CR40 CR41 CR42 CR43 CR44 CR45 CR46 CR47 CR48 CR49 CR50 CR51 CR52 CR53 CR54 CR55 CR56 CR57 CR58 CR59 CR60 CR61 CR62 CR63 CR64 CR65 CR66 CR67 CR68 CR69 CR70 CR71 CR72 CR73 CR74 CR75 CR76 CR77 CR78 CR79 CR80 CR81 CR82 CR83 CR84 CR85 CR86 CR87 CR88 CR89 CR90 CR91 CR92 CR93 CR94 CR95 CR96 CR97 CR98 CR99 CR100 CR101 CR102 CR103 CR104 CR105 CR106 CR107 CR108 CR109 CR110 CR111 CR112 CR113 CR114 CR115 CR116 CR117 CR118 CR119 CR120 CR121 CR122 CR123 CR124 CR125 CR126 CR127 CR128 CR129 CR130 CR131 CR132 CR133 CR134 CR135 CR136 CR137 CR138 << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (None) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (ISO Coated) /sRGBProfile (sRGB 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work_k3gvqd3vyjg5fnhsujgc7debyu	----	Spring 2010 69 Mac Wellman and the Language Poets: Chaos Writing and the General Economy of Language Keith Appler Shake the flour can, get the particles. You lift the rod one inch too far, and the core’s crazy, you’re plastered on account of the ceiling. —Mac Wellman’s Cellophane By the time Marjorie Perloff would write the foreword to the 2001 Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman, she would note that, in addition to Bertolt Brecht, Samuel Beckett, Sam Shepard, and Harold Pinter, Mac Wellman also “recalls . . . the language poets–Bruce Andrews, Charles Bernstein, Steve McCaffery–who are his contemporaries.”1 Wellman, a prolific experimental playwright, has corresponded with Bernstein at least since 1977,2 and among Wellman’s extensive bicoastal associates is the Language poet Douglas Messerli, founder of Sun and Moon Press of Los Angeles. Wellman, described as a “language” writer by New York Times reviewer Mel Gussow in 1990,3 is identified as a Language poet in 2008 by Helen Shaw in her foreword to Wellman’s third major play collection. Shaw writes that Wellman “has been the deconstructionists’ mountaintop; he has read the very choppy tablets given down by the Black Mountain gang and the Language Poets (he is one). But he also returns to us [in the theatre] with their message.”4 Shaw’s identification of Wellman as a Language poet in no way diminishes his importance in the theatre, although his first plays were radio plays adapted from his poetry, and his dramatic works, always off-beat, suggest his “poetical” preoccupation with producing unconventional and emphatically non-didactic effects through linguistic and theatrical means. His plays have appeared in New York and on the West Coast since the late 1970s, when he was quickly successful in winning grants and awards for his plays, as well as forming important theatre relationships. The one with En Garde Arts director Anne Hamburger led to the site-specific plays Crowbar, at the Victory Theatre on Broadway, and Bad Penny at Bow Bridge, in Central Park. Wellman and composer David Lang collaborated on The Difficulty of Crossing a Field. Collections of Wellman’s plays have been published by major Keith Appler teaches at the University of Macau and writes on plays and institutionality in the 1980s and 1990s. 70 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism academic presses, among them Johns Hopkins University Press and University of Minnesota Press. His prominence as a playwright rose in the mid- to late 1980s with bicoastal productions and important notice in the New York Times and in American Theatre magazine, and publication in Yale’s Theater journal of his first manifesto (“The Theatre of Good Intentions”) attacking middlebrow theatre. The study which follows focuses on two of three plays associated with an experiment in “bad writing,” Cellophane and Terminal Hip, that stand apart in Wellman’s always-experimental drama as his most sustained use of nonsense to produce non-meaningful effects. Less will be said about Three Americanisms, the third play in the bad-writing series, which takes a new direction. However, all three of these plays demonstrate Wellman’s strong affinity with Language poetry, which emerges most clearly in them just as deconstruction and chaos theory are becoming conversant with one another. While the Language poets, who emerged in the late 1970s, are a heterogeneous group,5 they have tended to be politically progressive, theory-driven, and modernist in their self-definition. This modernism registers in Charles Bernstein’s 1992 declaration that “[w]e can act: we are not trapped in the postmodern condition if we are willing to differentiate between works of art that suggest new ways of conceiving our present world and those that seek rather to debunk any possibilities of meaning.”6 At the same time, the Language poets eschew binary and linear thinking, and have absorbed deconstruction in their poetry and their theories. By way of a notion of the deconstructive “general economy” of language, Bernstein and McCaffery agree that forms of expression (letters, words, images, sounds, gestures–language in its materiality) are of a completely different order from the institutions (contents of expression) in which they are situated or the official narratives (forms of content) with which their writing is engaged. These ideas derive from Georges Bataille and also from the Copenhagen linguist Louis Hjelmslev.7 Bernstein and McCaffery agree that meaning elides the materiality of expression to “refer to” (or to produce the look of) a stable order of reality and that in the postmodern, as power’s meaningful repetitions (or reifications) have saturated everyday life, they must resist power by reasserting the materiality of expression. Unless poetry resists reproducing the “natural” correspondence of expression with content, it would be, like ideologically complicit academic verse,8 part of the problem. Bernstein’s goal is, he writes, “to throw a wedge into this engineered process of social derealization.”9 The Language poet’s goal for cognition and understanding has been, George Hartley explained in 1989, “baring the frame” of the “production of meaning through the syntactical organization of force.”10 Wellman is equally committed to asserting the materiality of expression in Spring 2010 71 its spoken, written, and theatrical forms. He wrote in 1984 that “[a]rtists and thinkers of our time are engaged in a war against . . . the tyrannical domination of meanings so fixed, so absolute, as to render the means of meaning, which is to say the heart and soul of meaning, a mere phantom.”11 Wellman, Bernstein, and McCaffery all have resisted the institutions of their genres while producing, as a kind of surplus value, a powerful affect that can be simultaneously alienating and absorbing for readers and spectators, at least for those who are not merely alienated by the strangeness of some of their work. In ordinary life, affect is an unformed feeling that lasts for half a second: it takes a half second for a stimulus response to form affect into an emotion and a direction within the frames of perception and meaning.12 One effect of Language writing is to extend that half second for the duration of the performance. The Language writer achieves this when his or her forms of expression keep the spectator at the border between meaning and nonsense. In ways that I will develop below, this is the border where meanings that leap into view are overwhelmed by meanings and nonmeaning in the next instant. This is the border between meaning, formed as a restrictive economy and lost in an instant, and the general economy of language. The relationship between the general economy as a flow of language expression is staged in this model as a relationship of nonrelation with a restrictive economy, which constrains that flow of expression according to the contents of expression, understood as expressive modes and conduits that conform to forms of content, understood as the ideological order. Meaning expresses that ideological order and, as expression, recedes into the background as language refers itself to objects in the world. However, a practice that exploits the gap between expression and the ideological order to foreground the nonrelation of expression to this order is one that returns expression to the general economy and leaves the spectator at its threshold in an affective state of intensity. The affective state of intensity can be apprehended, as I will show in comparing two of Wellman’s plays, Cellophane and Terminal Hip, to Language poetry. But beyond describing the state itself we enter immediately into a host of problems accounting for the connections, if any, among authorial intentions, audience response, and critical interpretation. My purpose here is to explain the production of the affective state, but it is also to engage, if tentatively, with the theories that inspire these uses of language. With the Language poets, Wellman among them, this requires elaborating some important theoretical linkages. Wellman’s embrace, in the early 1990s, of chaos theory is compatible with the deconstructive language practices so far described, if we are to understand the singular enunciation as a convergence of different systems (forms of expression, contents of expression, and forms of content) in relations of nonrelation. The convergence of these systems forms a complex interaction of constraints, producing new potential for variation within a more complex system. Theoretically this convergence of constraints and 72 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism potentials, in the singular enunciation, produces unpredictable effects, potentially at different scales. N. Katherine Hayles writes that deconstruction and chaos theory, deriving as they do from the same episteme, had come, by the early 1990s, into productive conversation with one another.13 It is no surprise then that Wellman, a fellow traveler of the Language poets, should make his “chaos theory turn” at this moment, especially as he was, like Tom Stoppard, under the influence of James Gleick’s 1988 book Chaos: Making a New Science.14 Hayles’s point about the cultural importance of chaos at the time had to do with its appropriation, by cultural critics and artists, as a new way of conceiving and deconstructing the edifices of power. For artists and critics (if not for scientists), the ideas associated with chaos theory gave new credibility to nonrational and nonlinear ways of conceiving the world.15 William W. Demastes, writing of the “theatre of chaos,” remarks that “chaos as a paradigm is revolutionary because it asks us to see the world from a different metaphorical stance. It is the metaphor that hits the mark in ways others to varying degrees have not. In fact, often chaos is quite literal and not metaphorical at all.”16 But here I will say that in drama, it is not the metaphorical chaos allegories like Stoppard’s Arcadia and Wellman’s Cat’s Paw, but Wellman’s chaotic, nonmetaphorically effective plays Cellophane and Terminal Hip that, owing to the interplay of expressions and contents, present the chaotic phenomena upon which chaotic Language writing is to be theorized. Theoretically, our route through the Language poets is the straightest route from Wellman’s language practice, consisting in the production of affective intensity, to an understanding of the relevance of his invocations of chaos theory. The Radioactivity of Language There is, of course, no escaping meaning, and even cognate lexemes are “radioactive” with meanings, including connotations, which carry their emotional charge. In discussions of poetic nonsense in the last decade many have begun, as does Perloff, with reference to Gertrude Stein, for whom “nonsense” is not the absence of meaning, but the frustration of a total system in which some meanings are advanced and others repressed. Perloff writes, “But words, as even Gertrude Stein recognized, have meanings, and the only way to MAKE IT NEW is not to pretend that meaning doesn’t exist but to take words out of their usual contexts and create new relationships among them.”17 When the Language poet James Sherry complains that poetry’s “old forms are radioactive with the half- lives that constructed them,’”18 or when, in a similar vein (referring to Bernstein’s “business poems”), Perloff writes that “the pieces of the puzzle are always already contaminated, bearing, as they do, the traces of the media discourses . . . in which they are embedded,”19 “radioactivity” is understood as the toxicity of words, official discourses, and outmoded forms. One cannot detoxify language; one can, Spring 2010 73 however, exploit this toxic radioactivity by raising its kinetic level. Although Bernstein is no ideologue, he understands ideology as highly useful for producing what he would consider nonideological effects: he writes that “[i]deology . . . everywhere informs poetry and imparts to it, at its most resonant, a density of materialized social being expressed through the music of the work as well as its multifoliate references.” The connotations–investments and repudiations– surrounding culturally and/or politically freighted buzz words and scare words carry their histories with them: they are radioactive with those histories and lend their intensities to the musical flow of language. That Bernstein values mostly the intensification of fragmentary ideological reference is registered in his statement about the poetry scene of the early 1990s: “[t]he state of American poetry can be characterized by the sharp ideological disagreements that lacerate our communal field of action, making it volatile, dynamic, engaging.”20 For Wellman, ideological meaning is also, in itself, “worthless, as are the foundations of knowledge.”21 In the early 1980s, Wellman appears to have un- derstood reification in its larger ideological forms even as he filled his plays with small breaks in the flow of the action, including non sequiturs and other surprises. Ideology was associated in these earlier plays with characters whose modes of thought, owing to the reifications in society, were not fully engaged with reality. Wellman himself explains that his 1983 Bad Infinity was the conclusion of a five- play series (including Energumen, Diseases of the Well-Dressed, The Professional Frenchman, and The Self-Begotten)22 in which he was interested in contemporary “logic,”23 and we see that this final play features a more or less static Chekhovian lineup of “thinkers”: the affectless (postmodern) artist John Sleight; the messianic Megan; the sentimental bourgeois murderer Ramon; Deborah, a spirit of negation; and Sam, the anarchosocialist (modernist) artist. A countersign to this postmodern disengagement from history was the philosopher Hegel. In Wellman’s plays of the early 1980s, the Hegelian dialectic (dialectics in its “nonideological” form) does not operate well, owing to the reifications Bernstein and others have identified. If in Hegelian terms “spirit” must engage with history as necessity in order to transcend itself in a new synthesis, then history must be available in some more concrete way. Wellman, describing his work as “affective fantasy,” blames “a refusal to accept any kind of dialectic in the workings of society” for “the strange malaise in our playwriting.”24 This is an aspect of a simulacral condition Wellman thematizes as the Hegelian “bad infinity” where, owing to postmodern reifications, spirit (desire, creativity) can get no traction in its nonencounter with history (or necessity): the synthesis of the dialectical process does not take place.25 Or, more in keeping with Bernstein,26 Wellman’s dialectic may correspond more fully with Theodor Adorno’s negative dialectics. According to Adorno, a “successful work . . . is not one which resolves objective contradictions in a spurious harmony, but one which expresses the idea of harmony negatively by embodying the contradictions, 74 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism pure and uncompromised, in its innermost structure.”27 In this case, while there is no escape from the bad infinity of the modern world, art may, through means of embodiment that eschew meaning, offer a more vital engagement with the bad infinity of postmodern reification. Hartley writes that “[i]t is the achievement of many Language poets to think beyond the stalemate of the paradigmatic question [of meaning and ideology] and to pose poetry as an exploration of the syntagmatic. . . . The role of poetry thus shifts from denying to revealing, unveiling, discovery.”28 It is their achievement, that is, to exploit the radioactivity of language, which, for Hartley, is to engage “dialectically” with the individual sign and sequence of signs to produce from these a “negative” but ultimately affirmative complexity. Extending his concern with dialectics into the writing of work more like Language poetry itself, Wellman took up, a year later in 1984, his experiment in “bad writing,” which carried on for over two years29 alongside the writing and production of plays like Dracula (1987) and Whirligig (1988). The bad-writing experiment resulted in Cellophane and Terminal Hip, and a later third play, Three Americanisms, which is the only one of the three indebted to Gleick’s book. The bad-writing plays, essentially Language poems, are the clearest connection between Wellman’s art and that of the Language poets. In ways I will develop, they are the most chaotic of his plays, so much so that only the most provisional interpretations may be offered by one always fearful of “[b]ark[ing] up the wrong tree.”30 For example, provisional interpretation might suggest that the combination, across the field of writing from which Cellophane and Terminal Hip derive, of the Eliotic wasteland, Whitman’s self-song in the grass, Roethke’s “fragile” “Edenic pastoralism,”31 and no doubt other intertexts besides suggests a tortuous relationship between the self and nature, a troubled connection to the poetic tradition, and even the old affirmation, across a field of garbage (environmental, cultural, political). By way of the ubiquitous letters “X” and “Y” (almost always readable as syntax’s x-axis and grammar’s y-axis, respectively), the writing and reading of poetry, including the violence of interpretation to the poem’s syntactical flow, are also suggested. To focus briefly on the individual plays, a reading of Terminal Hip may justify Wellman’s claim that he was seeking religious meaning, but not in the West. Terminal Hip may owe its “structure” (or vague mimicry of signs that, read together, recall a narrative, perhaps the “ghostly narrative” Wellman mentions32) to Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” in Leaves of Grass, a poem structured in turn on the career of Christ. Wellman told David Savran that, in the bad-writing plays, he “wasn’t trying to make any sense or tell a story” but that he “found certain patterns emerging. I found a sort of lofty poetic line developing that reminded me of Whitman.”33 While in the play’s conclusion “a panda ghost sinks to the center of the world and sits there and sings,” several pages earlier he has recalled the crucifixion (Whitman’s “Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. / I Spring 2010 75 troop forth replenish’d with supreme power . . .” [969-70]) when he writes: How he on X feigned Y, hounded the Savior all his days, inspired his Xification, got Him no gumballs, derided him in His final agony, gambled for His garments at the foot of the cross, the whole kit and kaboodle. Philip Botely shows symptoms of X. Philip Boxley has not been vaccinated against hypofluvia. We see here the appropriation of Christ’s passion to “X,” which is identified, never more clearly than here, with syntactical “hypofluvia” or flow. Then, back at the beginning of the poem-play, there are lines like “Men like signs. Signs make sense of things” (Whitman’s “Or I guess [the grass] is a uniform hieroglyphic” [106]). And moving forward, as does Whitman’s speaker (“It is time to explain myself—let us stand up” [1134]): “Gotta move sideways, all balled up like so. . . . Moving sideways to escape detection.” And there is, of course, the pervasive hint of betrayal (Whitman’s “They have left me helpless to a red marauder” [635]): “Pay off X in the name of Y, advance career through artful changes.”34 Like that of Terminal Hip, the conclusion of Cellophane also echoes the conclusion of another poem to alert one retrospectively to other quotations and echoes: this time it is T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” (“We have lingered in the chambers of the sea / By sea-girls wreathed in seaweed red and brown” [129-30]). Wellman writes: “Limos in limo heaven, with little limo wings./Burning limos, in limo holocaust O aer./Dreaming limos at the bottom of the sea. In the first part, “From Mad Tomatoes,” there is a dramatic structure consisting of the speaker, generally identified by the verb form “am”; a “you,” which “am” berates and lectures (Prufrock’s “Let us go then, you and I” [Line 1]); and the “labernath,” which is a powerful liar. “Wow that labernath!” the speaker says, and “Who as has the labernath him do all,” but the labernath cannot be trusted: “You go aks at him labernath. / They tell you some crowe. / They tell you some indeed crowe.” The labernath may be associated with “at cat,” which seems to me to suggest a condition of displacement, dissonance, and alienation, a common condition (“We all was / At cat”) which might have been avoided: “it mighta could if we all hadda been / of one mind.” Perhaps owing to the labernath and the condition of being at cat, the “Mad Tomatoes” denouement seems to consist of Eliot’s dead crossing London Bridge, not in “Prufrock” but in The Waste Land: “The X’s. / The Y’s. / Came across in and out. / All / At cat like they knew,” and the upshot is “Longtime looksee allatime at zero am.” Is this the zero-degree of the “affectless” postmodern world? Meanwhile language becomes thematized by the play of binaries. At cat as “not once at dog am,”35 suggesting the Saussurean description of binary signifiers and its legacy in poststructural difference: in contradiction to “at dog,” “at cat” forms a signifier; as a singular 76 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism signified, “cat” is distinguished from the pack animal signified by “dog”: we are operating on social and linguistic levels, and perhaps others besides, to suggest a condition of—what, anomie? Entropy? Postmodernity? Countercultural failure? The breakdown of the Cold War consensus? The nature of a Language poem? Signs are selected and arranged to evoke questions about patterns of meaning, but these questions go unanswered. Cellophane’s next part, “From Hollowness,” continues to gesture toward meanings relating to environmental damage and also to a loss of meaning and spirituality. With respect to the American landscape, this section is filled with scenes of devastation and, in Part 2, it is hard not to associate the polluted river, “Cellophane wrapers all the way to the bank,” not only with the Thames of The Waste Land, but also with the Cuyahoga River flowing into Lake Erie through Cleveland (“Heaps of industrial hooha all the way, yeah! To the bank. Yeah!”), Wellman’s home town, which was so filled with chemicals that in 1969 it caught fire (“All the same on fire shall have did am. / By the dump all the way to the bank”). Here it is easy to see the slide from effects (dumps, river fires) to causes (industrialization, banks). With respect to the cultural and the political, “labernath” is a highly ambiguous figure, which could refer to the Borgesian labyrinth or the Language poem. “From ’S Sake,” the play’s third part, suggests that God, the author-god or god-the-subject is missing. However, for the first time in Cellophane, we encounter the word “I,” both in reference to Jesus (“I am the way, Jesus said, and the light and the life”) and in reference perhaps to the speaker: “I don’t know who I am. . . . I am thoroughly at sea in the weariness of prolonged political emptiness.” This mode is much more confessional and metacritical if we keep our focus on a linguistic relationship between X and Y: “[a] well-oiled insoluable conundrum transfixes X in the name of Y while down the road some man is trying to find Y′ in the crowe’s eye strange.” That is, a personal resolution can be effected by being the man down the road looking for meaning in the crow’s eye, here Y-prime or a meaning displaced from the meaning offered by power. Or, on the contrary, the man may encounter the lying “crowe” which turned up earlier in the play. Associated with expression’s escape from power, here there may be an affirmation of the syntactical: “For X belongs”: “X to Y / X′ to somewheres they told of once in error. . . . X upon the uncharted road. / X on the move forever the blue the gasp the.” Parts 3 and 4 introduce a “he” and “she” and, by the beginning of Part 5 (right on schedule?), “am” seems to be, or to have become, “Fortune’s basket case”36—to echo what Megan, in The Bad Infinity, refers to as Romeo and Juliet’s “old-hat dead language.”37 In other words, there seems to be some struggle involving a man and a woman and perhaps even a crisis. But those outlines appear only erratically, if at all. Spring 2010 77 The Paragram and the General Economy To the foregoing remarks about Cellophane and Terminal Hip, Bernstein would say that “[t]he obvious problem is that the poem said in any other way is not the poem”: . . . think only of the undercurrent of anagrammatical transformations, the semantic contribution of the visual representation of the text, the particular associations evoked by the phonic configurations. These features are related to the “nonsemantic” effects that Forrest-Thomson describes as contributing toward the “total image-complex” of the poem.38 Here Bernstein is describing what Steve McCaffery calls the “paragram” as a form of expression: For while assignable to a certain order of production [content of expression], value, and meaning [form of content], the paragram [does] not derive necessarily from an intentionality or conscious rhetoricity and seem[s] an inevitable consequence of writing’s alphabetic, combinatory nature. Seen this way as emerging from the multiple ruptures that alphabetic components bring to virtuality, meaning becomes partly the production of a general economy, a persistent excess, nonintentionality, and expenditure without reserve through writing’s component letters. There is no transparency to language and meaning, and the production of meaning, owing to forms of, and even contents of, expression, is always already partly engaged in the production of nonsense, or the flow of the general economy of language. Or again as McCaffery puts it, the paragram is that aspect of language which escapes all discourse and which commits writing unavoidably to a general economy and to the transphenomenal paradox of an unpresentability that serves as a necessary condition of writing’s capacity to present. All of this suggests a constitutional nonpresence in meaning itself.39 78 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism Because the production of meaning is always also the production of elements and effects that are nonmeaningful, there is no meaning that is not also paragrammatic to a certain degree. The Language poets in their texts and performances and Wellman in his plays—the bad-writing plays especially—are merely directing their energies more than usual to the paragrammatic aspect of language and performance. Again, an interpretive descriptive procedure elides the actual process of reception, reading, and spectatorship. This process is chaotic, at least until the text is brought to order through the exercise of reading strategies. I will suggest that Wellman’s lines have an important affinity with Bernstein’s poetic practice. McCaffery quotes a 1979 text by Bernstein, which, while less readable than Wellman’s text, operates in a similar way: Ig ak abberflappi. mogh & hmog ick pug eh nche ebag ot eb v joram lMbrp nly ti asw evn dictcr ot heh ghtr rties. ey Ancded lla tghn heh ugrf het keyon. hnny iKerw. in VazoOn uv spAz ah’s ee ‘ook up an ays yr bitder guLpIng sum u pulLs. ig jis see kHe nig MiSSy heh d sogA chHooPp & abhor ih cN gt eGulfer ee mattripg40 Perloff tells us that, in Bernstein’s business poems, the enemy is the media and all systems of data processing that “suppress ‘redundancy’ or ‘noise’” in favor of a totalitarian monologism. Faced with the mechanical binarism and routinization of computer systems, a Language poet like Bernstein will create a linguistic and cultural countercurrent. Perloff writes, The poetic function, in this scheme of things, subordinates the informational axis (language used as a pure instrument of efficient communication) to what we might call the axis of redundancy, “meanings” now being created by all those elements of reference that go beyond the quantifiable communication of data from A to B.41 The informational axis, like the grammatical axis, is subjected, in this kind of Language poetry, to the noise axis, which corresponds to the syntagmatic. In McCaffery’s reading of Bernstein’s poem, whatever this text tries to mean is accompanied by a great deal of waste that, to the degree that it is not useful or recuperable as meaning, exemplifies the general economy of language. To begin with, this text is sufficiently “English” so that it is not completely separate from a restrictive economy, which is an economy of energy conservation and exchange. With respect to the form of expression, there is, in the materiality of the words Spring 2010 79 and word cognates, certain resemblances that loop back to meaningful language forms. Here we recognize the word “abhor” and cognates of other ordinary words, and the more words we recognize the greater our urge to interpret (to form, that is, our own restrictive economies). To do so we would then have to sift through the relentless lexical and typographical anomalies. Starting perhaps with “abhor,” meanings would accumulate, perhaps to the point where we might hazard an overall interpretation. The text baits us in our interpretive habit, and much of the interest and even pleasure of the text is registering the suspicious “words” that even suggest a cryptography and a cipher, lexemes like “dictcr” “‘ook up,” “guLpIng,” “MiSSy,” and so forth. McCaffery himself focuses on “in VazoOn uv spAz” as “‘invasion of space.’”42 But of course McCaffery’s point is that meaning’s advance and withdrawal prevents “all certainty of meaning.” As McCaffery puts it, the text displays a regulating, conservational disposition that limits and organizes the independent letters, pushing them toward the word as a component in the articulated production and accumulation of meaning, and the other disposition that drives the letters into nonsemantic material ensembles that yield no profit. Language’s dispositions tend in different directions, first toward meaning as a restrictive economy and second toward its nonmeaningful productivity, the general economy, which arises at the very instant it is trying to mean. The lure of interpretation may keep us interested; however, McCaffery’s point is that, while lexemes and lexical cognates, or typography, may “mean” at the particle level, the passage does not communicate a message but instead effects overall the “general rematerialization of language.” McCaffery writes, for example, that “Capitalization here serves no grammatical purpose but is simply a fortuitous registry of eruption at the meeting of the linguistic sign with its unincorporatable materiality.”43 That eruption is the appearance in our field of reading and interpreting of that in language writing which is unassimilable, impermeable, but also irrepressible: it is the infusion of the general economy into our own reading practice. Affectively, what happens is suggested by Bernstein in his description of the poems of Leslie Scalapino: it is the rhythm created by permutating the attentional beams, the chordal patterns created by her serial scannings, that create the musical coherence that takes the work beyond any distancing or dislocating devices that serve to build it. The refusal to be absorbed in any single focus on a situation gives way to a 80 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism multifocused absorption that eerily shifts, as an ambiguous figure, from anxious to erotic to diffident to hypnotic. The eerie shifts—ambiguity, anxiety, eroticism, diffidence, hypnosis—are all responses of an affective kind, any one of them too inchoate to describe as an emotion. The goal of Language poetry of this kind is to maintain an affective flight along the border between meaning and the general economy, even as it erodes the border. Bernstein says “the reader stays plugged into the wave-like pulse of the writing. In other words, you keep moving through the writing without having to come up for ideational air; the ideas are all inside the process.”44 As we have seen, Wellman’s bad-writing plays demonstrate or feint toward meaning repeatedly and even repeat the same gesture, but meaning is never fully produced. There is the intensity of recognition in the meaning that comes into view, and the intensity of its immediate withdrawal, what Wellman means in referring to the “pulled punch”: he writes that “[a]n incomplete action figures forth a shadow, or limb, that completes itself variously—like the flinch response to a pulled punch—in the imaginary space of an audience member’s consciousness.”45 The unkept promise of the incomplete proposition is a residual question or mystery. In this testimony, the incoherence of the signs and the theatrical effects lead to a spectatorly absorption over the course of the performance in the ephemeral impressions made by repetitions and other recognitions over time. Wellman’s “pulled punch” describes the gesture in which, in lieu of recognition and understanding, the spectator experiences the affective intensity of meaning denied or deferred and supplanted, in the next instance, by a different feint toward meaning. Bernstein identifies the affects produced this way as “absorption” and “impermeability”: the first, absorption, he writes, is “engrossing, engulfing / completely, engaging, arresting attention, reverie / attention intensification, rhapsodic, spellbinding, / mesmerizing, hypnotic, total, riveting, / enthralling: belief, conviction, silence.” The second, impermeability, includes “artifice, boredom, / exaggeration, attention scattering, distraction, / digression, interruptive, transgressive, / undecorous, anticonventional, unintegrated, fractured, / fragmented” and so forth. These affects form, Bernstein says, poetry’s “outer limit” and its “inner limit”: in other words, they are constraints on poetic response in the relative absence of meaning. In the relative absence of meaning, absorption and impermeability’s “intersection,” interface, or phase space is, Bernstein says, “flesh,”46 and in this way he suggests that the individual’s recourse is to bodily rhythms, with which absorption and impermeability are involved. As limits, these affects form the range of affect’s variability over the course of a reading or a spell of spectatorship: they form the bounds of chaos along a line running parallel with the flow of the general economy. In this chaotic system, meaning’s emergence and withdrawal can contribute to either absorptive or impermeable effects. Meaning Spring 2010 81 is essential as an intensifier so long as its subordination to the nonmeaningful production of affect can be maintained. McCaffery and Bernstein theorize the affective flow produced by Language poetry in terms of the forms of expression of the general economy of language and the reader’s contrasting dispositions toward and away from meaning. The Language poet agitates language with a cascade of meaningless and radioactive expressions that together sustain for a time an affective, rather than meaningful or emotional, intensity. The result is an affective and wasteful flow which develops only when power is prevented from enforcing a relation of nonrelation between expression, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, official discourse, including narratives and generic codes. Meaning forms when expression corresponds transparently with official discourse. Meaning forms when, owing to this transparency, an enunciation, always a pragmatic singularity, is made through repetition to appear to transcend its moment to take the form of truth. Language poetry reverses this process by denying expression its transparency, by supplanting repetition and the illusion of transcendence with variation in a series of enunciations, each a singular occasion for the contrastive dispositions toward and away from meaning with absorptive and alienating effects. These dispositions produce a flow of affect, owing to the recurrent pulled punch of meaning, which erodes the border between the general and restrictive economies. Writing to the General Economy and Writing to Rule This interplay between the general economy and a restrictive economy is the theoretical basis for a nonmetaphorical description of chaos writing offered by McCaffery and assented to by Bernstein. But what is gained, then, by identifying Language writing with a nonlinear complex system? Bernstein is—and is not— “suggesting that poetics, or poetry, is a chaotic system.” He writes that poetry is produced by, and complexly related to, a chaotic system. Poetry “charts the turbulent phenomenon known as human being, must reflect this in the nonperiodic flow of its ‘chaotic’ prosody.” Poetry, “in its most ecstatic manifestation,” is indeed a chaotic or “nonlinear dynamic system.” As a chaotic system, poetry is “constrained . . . controllable not in its flowering but in the progression toward chaos or move backward out of it: perhaps this is the narrative of a poem that poetics can address.”47 At most, Bernstein suggests that a chaotic prosody is set going by a combination of aesthetic and referential features, but its “flowering” is beyond apprehension, to say nothing of analysis. What actually goes on in the consciousness of a reader or spectator, once he or she has reached the “flinch” plateau under the incessant impact of pulled punches, is unknown. If this affective flight of language is unknowable, this fact would have important implications for understanding the relationship of chaos theory to a reading of Wellman’s plays. At the moment when he turns to chaos theory, 82 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism Wellman writes of the plays’ “fractal” nature.48 In terms of the affective process just described, 1) the (always singular) enunciation, “radioactive” with meaning, is affectively intense more than it is meaningful; 2) owing to the chaos of the meanings of the enunciation, the whole ideological order (form of content) is not repeated. What is repeatable, with variation, is the degree of chaos; 3) the repetition of a degree of chaos (the fractal)49 is always the repetition of the constraints on the singular enunciation, which include the form of content (the ideological order) and the contents of expression (rhetoric, grammar, body, voice, gesture, theatrical production, institutionality) imposed upon the enunciation. Expression is the most variable, while in each new enunciation, the same constraints are operative: the fractal degree of chaos, with some variation from enunciation to enunciation, is maintained. This degree of chaos, registered as affective intensity, is the degree of openness in the relation of nonrelation between expression and content. There is no way to measure this degree, except, perhaps, by wiring spectators to medical equipment to arrive at some kind of somatic signature. We infer from science that this degree of chaos, whatever it is, is self- similar from enunciation to enunciation, and from scale to scale, beginning with the (corrupted) lexeme and continuing to include the play itself. That the degree of chaos, as an aspect of reception, is unmeasurable is certainly suggested when Hayles herself makes no attempt to measure it. Hayles stresses the importance of “recursive symmetries”50 and the manner in which constraints feed back into each step in the writing and reading processes. She writes of the fundamental importance of ethics in the opening or closing of the writing procedure.51 Yet she never goes further in her description of chaos than to say that the text, in a given phase, is or is not complex. I have suggested that the Language poets, and Wellman in Cellophane and Terminal Hip, exploit the gap between expression and content to give materiality back to expression and to resist the suppression of expression in the service of meaning and power. The reader’s and spectator’s dispositions toward and away from meaning maintain an affective intensity. There is, in fact, no part of this model that is knowable except the features of the text or performance, although, as has been noted, Bernstein feels that poetics can describe in general the way that chaos in poetry comes into being. Wellman writes to the general economy in his bad-writing plays of the late 1980s and early 1990s: Cellophane, Terminal Hip, and to a great degree in Three Americanisms. He writes to rule in plays such as Cat’s Paw (1995). Spring 2010 83 A well-known example of writing to rule is offered by Perloff in Radical Artifice (1991), in which she discusses performances of John Cage’s Lecture on the Weather, once in 1984 in California and again in 1989 in Maryland. Perloff discusses both Cage’s procedure and her observation of the audience’s unconscious, somatic group response to the inclement “weather” to which Cage subjected it. Perloff, in ways implicitly unacceptable to McCaffery and Bernstein, suggests that the effects she describes were caused by the operation of Cage’s procedure. His goal, according to Perloff, was to bypass the law in the name of “discovery” because, as he says, “Of all professions the law is the least concerned with aspiration. It is concerned with precedent, not with discovery.” Using a “strictly planned mathematical system,” Cage extracts passages from the writings of Henry David Thoreau. Cage desires to use Thoreau’s writings, in Perloff’s words, to “[pay] homage to the qualities of American ingenuity, pragmatism, and good sense epitomized for Cage in the person of Thoreau” while avoiding the law (“precedent”) in the form of meaning. By employing a mathematical system for selecting texts from Thoreau, except for selecting the archive on which this system operates to begin with, Cage effaces himself and confounds the law’s operation through him, in the form of interpretation, aesthetic response, and so forth. As Perloff explains, the fixed rule of this mathematical system helped Cage to evade himself as a human system so that Thoreau’s language could be offered to an assembly of other people with diminished mediation. Perloff writes that the performance of Lecture on the Weather “functions as a ‘strange attractor’ or ‘unpredictable system’” so that, she continues, “[t]he performance . . . is not about [does not represent] the weather; it is weather.” Perloff writes, “the ‘lecture’ on the weather turns the simulated event into a real one, causing the audience to take shelter from the cruel elements.” In California, she says, the audience, arranged in some disorder in the space, responded to the storm in an interesting way. She reports that “[b]y the time the storm ‘broke,’ lightning flashes appearing on the large screen in the form of briefly projected negatives of drawings by Thoreau, the audience had become something of a football huddle. Everyone wanted to join together to get out of the storm.”52 Here the question is not so much the audience’s behavior, but how much a mathematical procedure had to do with it. Certainly Cage, in Perloff’s account, took every measure, within the rules he made, to eliminate himself from the equation as a subject, and Perloff describes the audience less as subjects, than as a statistical mass—a “huddle.” Yet the causal connection between Cage’s procedure and the group response to ordinary stimuli remains vague and probably insupportable. After all, the mathematical procedure used in arranging Thoreau’s writings cannot determine how spectators process Thoreau’s language in its radioactivity. McCaffery takes issue with the tendency of a rule, as a writing procedure, to maintain the author-subject as author of the 84 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism rule and agent of its implementation. Of Ron Silliman’s similarly procedural poem Ketjak, McCaffery writes, What is striking . . . is the work’s double orientation toward, on the one hand, a textual production through a “random” economy or a free play of signification . . . and on the other hand an accumulative, preservational movement committed to the noncontamination of a transcendental “procedure” that seems precisely modeled on the Hegelian aufhebung [sublation, transcendence, or synthesis] and permits the structure to foreground itself as a first-order attention. There is in the authorship, in other words, no erosion of the borders between the general economy and the procedure, which, as a transcendent fabrication, in theory would not really achieve the subject’s effacement or dissolution of self-consciousness. In other words, from the standpoint of authorship, it is a restrictive economy, one that does not deliver the consciousness of the spectator to the affective nonmeaning of the general economy. A page earlier, McCaffery writes that “[c]rucial in Hegel’s argument is the inviolable, irreducible status of self-consciousness itself. Transgression and the negative in the Hegelian system do not risk the loss of the subject.” Regarding Cage, McCaffery groups him with Silliman, noting that “[t]his Hegelian aspect applies to most instances of procedural writing.”53 It is suggested, then, that the encounter between the general economy and a mathematically sustained, “Hegelian” restrictive economy does not risk the subject as author in the writing. If Cage’s Lecture on the Weather did indeed, through the performance’s absorptive and impermeable effects, risk the subjectivity of the spectator, the mathematical procedure or rule may have operated for Cage mostly as an especially disciplined form of bad writing. Nor is the subject, either of author or spectator, at risk in Wellman’s Cat’s Paw: A Meditation on the Don Juan Theme.54 Begun in 1995 and first staged in 2000, Cat’s Paw is written according to rule even as it produces self-similarity as a metaphor. Like Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia (1993), the playwright’s intentions are clearly heuristic, so that, where chaos is concerned, the play serves more as a model of certain chaotic principles than, like the bad-writing plays, as an actual means of producing chaos. Arcadia was, Demastes tells us, “the first mainstream theatre product consciously designed to be a ‘chaos’ play.” Stoppard’s play is said to be arranged on the principle of fractal self-similarity, which means that the same fractal shape or formula occurs on different scales. Plays written on this principle are thought to be formally nonlinear to suggest the chaotic lives and feelings of individual persons. Concerning Arcadia, Demastes writes, “In the play, we have instances of self-similar repetition between 1809 and 1993, between Spring 2010 85 leaf and park, between the formation of Thomasina’s leaf and Bernard’s Byron story, between Septimus’s hermit project and Valentine’s computer calculations.” That is, the parallels are apparently significant. Demastes continues: “[e]ven the algorithmic graphing of the leaf (the smallest-scale system in the play) finds self- similar parallels in the very nonlinear, seemingly chaotic structure of the play (the largest scale system).”55 But for all the talk of mathematics, Demastes is correct to point to the metaphoricity of this kind of play. Dramaturgically, such a chaos play seems to involve fashioning parallels for the mind, the principal excitement being in contemplating this new chaos paradigm. Wellman’s Cat’s Paw is also a meditation on fractal self-similarity and, while Wellman more or less follows a rule he has made for himself, the play is one of the more realistic and linear plays in his oeuvre. Although this is a Don Juan play, Wellman’s self-imposed rule is that no men will appear in the play and that the women will not discuss men in the play. Men, especially as agents of abuse of women, are a present absence, introduced most apparently through references to experiences so traumatic for the women (occurring in Bermuda, Caracas, and Singapore), that they are the last thing the women wish to talk about. The parallels between traumas and the vertical, gravity-prone settings in which these scenes take place (the observation decks of the Empire State Building and of the World Trade Center; the fist of the Statue of Liberty, where Jo takes her daughter Lindsey by evading the guards; and the hallway of the court building during a hearing on Jo’s trespass the scene before) provide a linear restaging of similar conflicts among characters. Lindsey, too young to have had her Don Juan event, is brimming with Young Republican aspiration, while the adult women, systemically complicated by their Don Juan events, range in dispositional polarity from the paranoid Jane to her ex-hippy mother, who embraced her Don Juan moment in a conscious pursuit of depravity. “Depravity,” she says, “was my object.”56 Jane’s mother is sufficiently self-aware to observe that she is herself “unself-similar”57 and thus unlike her self-similar daughter, who wears men’s clothes and who, ironically, seems much more constrained in her artsy New York City milieu than her mother is in Iowa. Jane’s mother says, “I feel rich and full and large with hopefulness, blood, and a sense of true being.” Even in her depravity she was, she says, “true to my nature, and to the clothes I wore.”58 The suggestion seems to be, not that Jane’s mother is free from constraint, but that her fractal evolution (variation in repetition) has been different from that of anyone else in the play, which makes her in that dramatic context capable of radically troubling her daughter and the worldview with which she is associated. Again, the play presents chaos mostly as a metaphor, the no-man rule notwithstanding. Conclusion: Back to the Theatre More relentlessly than Cat’s Paw and many other plays, Cellophane and 86 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism Terminal Hip constrain the body by greatly reducing extra linguistic theatrical potential in order to exploit the radioactivity of language. These plays were part of another Wellman experiment. If Wellman may have been in some sense a Language poet all along, the bad-writing experiment brought the poet fully out of the closet. He chose not to take this particular form very far. I have tried here to describe the nonmeaningful exploitation of the radioactivity of language, and, provisionally, its production of an affective state of intensity. Of course the style can be frustrating to those insistent on meaning. “When Terminal Hip appeared in 1992, a Los Angeles Times reviewer concluded, “it may be hip, but why bother and who cares?”59 Yet eight years later, a second Los Angeles reviewer wrote that there “emerges [a] different kind of sense . . . if you concede the all-but-futile battle of trying the parse [the] monologue for linear semantic content, and instead let Wellman’s recurring imagery and the carefully crafted mood shifts in James Martin’s staging guide the experience.”60 They know that they often must preach to the converted. McCaffery writes that “THE TEXTUAL INTENTION PRESUPPOSES READERS WHO KNOW THE LANGUAGE CONSPIRACY IN OPERATION.”61 This raises important questions about the institutional constraints on artistic power. The butterfly effect of avant-gardism has yet to be conclusively established. Meanwhile, I hope I have shown that in the 1990s the Language poets inhabited the same discursive formation as deconstruction and chaos theory, two isomorphic systems. All three were in some sense radioactive, i.e., complex mutual intensifiers, especially for those who needed to appropriate them to imagine an escape from the postmodern. The radioactive or theoretical relation of nonrelation characterizing this discursive (or antidiscursive) formation of expression (Language poetry, deconstruction, chaos theory) engaged with postmodern forms of content to express the impulse to escape. This escape entailed no physical relocation but productive engagement (if that were possible) with the bad infinity of reified postmodern culture. Bernstein’s “poetics” tells us that Language poetry, in the end, exists “to provoke response and to evoke company.”62 The modesty of the Language poets’ claims is striking, as is the note of piety, because nothing is guaranteed. Meanwhile, Wellman’s theatre remains, in its affective intensity, a “theatre of wonders.”63 Notes 1. Marjorie Perloff, Foreword, Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman (Baltimore: PAJ, 2001) xi. 2. The register of Bernstein’s papers, 1962-2000, at the University of California, San Diego (Mandeville Special Collections Lib., Geisel Lib., mss. 0519, 10 Sept. 2009 <http://orpheus.ucsd. edu/speccoll/testing/html/mss0519a.html>) indicates that the archive contains correspondence from Wellman between 1977 and 1993, as well as his unpublished paper submitted for the L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Book. 3. Mel Gussow writes that “Language is reaffirming itself in the American theatre, and the harbingers are Mac Wellman, Eric Overmyer and David Ives. In a reaction against the recent emphasis Spring 2010 87 on performance art, they value words—the polysyllabic as well as colorful vernacular. In common, their dialogue has an imaginative intellectual base. By intention, these plays begin with a rational impulse, seem to be written intuitively and generally end at recognizable destinations, but the journey can be outrageous—a trip to a Xanadu of the mind” (“Playwrights Who Put Words at Center Stage,” New York Times 11 Feb 1990: H:5). 4. Helen Shaw, “Foreword: Mac Wellman and Things of the Devil,” The Difficulty of Crossing a Field: Nine New Plays by Mac Wellman (Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2008) vii-xii. 5. George Hartley, Textual Politics and the Language Poets (Bloomington: Indiana U P, 1989) 6. 6. Charles Bernstein, A Poetics (Cambridge, MA: Harvard U P, 1992) 92, emphasis in original. 7. Steve McCaffery, in “Writing as a General Economy,” Artifice and Indeterminacy: An Anthology of New Poetics, ed. Christopher Beach (Tuscaloosa: U of Alabama P, 1998), quotes Bataille’s definition of a general economy as that which “‘makes apparent that excesses of energy are produced [that] can only be lost without the slightest aim, consequently without meaning’” (201). With regard to Hjelmslev, McCaffery writes that he “is one of several contemporary linguists who distinguish language as a system from its material support in sound and ink. . . . As its material support, sound and ink are separable from the signifying process, but at the same time the process is unsupportable without it. In light of this one could consider language’s materiality as meaning’s heterological object, as that area inevitably involved within the semantic apparatus that meaning casts out and rejects” (203). 8. Hartley writes that Language writing stems from “the rejection of the dominant model for poetic production and reception today [1989]–the so-called voice poem[, which] depends on a model of communication that needs to be challenged: the notion that the poet (a self-present subject) transmits a particular message (‘experience,’ ‘emotion’) to a reader (another self-present subject) through a language which is neutral, transparent, ‘natural’” (xii). 9. Bernstein 3. 10. Hartley 96. 11. Mac Wellman, “The Theatre of Good Intentions,” Performing Arts Journal 13.3 (1984): 59. 12. Brian Massumi, in “The Autonomy of Affect,” Cultural Critique 31 (Fall 1995), explains the missing half-second: “Experiments were performed on patients who had been implanted with cortical electrodes for medical purposes. Mild electrical pulses were administered to the electrode and also to points on the skin. In either case, the stimulation was felt only if it lasted more than half a second: a half a second, the minimum perceivable lapse. If the cortical electrode was fired a half-second before the skin was stimulated, patients reported feeling the skin pulse first. The research speculated that sensation involves a ‘backward referral in time’–in other words, that sensation is organized recursively before being linearized, before it is redirected outwardly to take its part in a conscious chain of actions and reactions. Brain and skin form a resonating vessel. Stimulation turns inward, is folded into the body, except that there is no inside for it to be in, because the body is radically open, absorbing impulses quicker than they can be perceived, and because the entire vibratory event is unconscious, out of mind. Its anomaly is smoothed over retrospectively to fit conscious requirements of continuity and linear causality” (89). He continues that “the half-second is missed not because it is empty, but because it is overfull. . . . Will and consciousness are subtractive” (90, emphasis in original). 13. N. Katherine Hayles, Chaos Bound: Orderly Disorder in Contemporary Literature and Science (Ithaca: Cornell U P, 1990) 176. 14. Wellman not only borrows terms and concepts from Gleick in writing Three Americanisms, but his epigraph to the play quotes from Gleick, Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 2001) 186. Meanwhile, Tom Stoppard acknowledges his debt to Gleick in writing Arcadia in an interview with Mel Gussow (American Theatre [Dec. 1995]: 25). Stoppard said, “I thought that quantum mechanics and chaos mathematics suggested themselves as quite interesting and powerful metaphors for human behavior.” 15. Hayles 184. 16. William W. Demastes, Theatre of Chaos: Beyond Absurdism, into Orderly Disorder (Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 1998) 10. 17. Marjorie Perloff, The Poetics of Indeterminacy: Rimbaud to Cage (Princeton: Princeton U P, 1981) 75. 88 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism 18. Hartley 72. 19. Marjorie Perloff, Radical Artifice: Writing Poetry in the Age of Media, new ed. (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1994) 197. 20. Bernstein 2, 1. 21. Interview with Shawn-Marie Garrett, Theater 27.2-3 (1997): 91. 22. Mac Wellman, Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 2001) 60. 23. Mac Wellman, “Poisonous Tomatoes: A Statement on Logic and the Theater,” The Bad Infinity: Eight Plays (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 1994) ix. 24. Wellman, “The Theatre of Good Intentions” 66, 65.. 25. Eric Overmyer explains the bad infinity as “a flawed system, which replicates itself forever” (“Mac Wellman’s Horizontal Avalanches,” Theater 21.3 [1990]: 55–56). Wellman, Overmyer writes, explores a number of such systems: geopolitics, fashion, economics, international banking, crime, criticism, media, language, and the theatre itself, or rather, the conventions of the conventional theatre. A Bad Infinity if ever there was one. (56) And yet, Overmyer also says I find Wellman’s work occasionally frustrating, as if he is pursuing an ideology of obfuscation, a strategy of deliberate inaccessibility in order to escape the received ideas of the theatre. But when I connect with his work, I understand it as I understand poetry, on a deep, cellular level. Much in life is unexplained, unexplainable, mysterious. So are Wellman’s plays. (56) In Overmyer’s discussion we see an odd tension between his philosophical explanation of Hegel’s phrase and his critical and affective responses to Wellman’s work. If a bad infinity has no productive engagement with anything but itself, wouldn’t the journey into the mysterious and unexplainable (operating on a deep cellular level) lead away from the flawed conventions operating in the bad infinities Overmyer identifies? Mightn’t it lead to a fuller engagement with history? 26. Bernstein describes a “strategy of tactics” with which “to think through . . . the relation among formal, antiaccommodationist, group-identified, cultural, regional, and gender-based poetic tactics so that they form a complementarity of critiques, projected onto an imaginary social whole in the manner of a negative dialectics” (164). Negative dialectics is Adorno’s response, Hartley writes, to his understanding that, owing to commodification and reification in modern life, “there is no positive Aufhebung [Hegel’s synthesis, sublation, or transcendence] of the dialectic” (58). In place of Absolute Spirit’s teleological unfolding through Spirit’s engagement with necessity, there is a bad infinity in which opposing objects remain in antagonistic juxtaposition because each object is itself self-contradictory. Each object has been set loose, by reification, from its referent in History to become a signifier/signified and has no absolute positivity with which to engage its other. Poetic tactics can foreground these contradictions or aporias with meaningful and nonmeaningful effect. The “imaginary social whole” Bernstein mentions is a projection that results from innumerable poetic encounters. If one can imagine it, there is a negative whole or totality that stands in opposition to its positive counterpart. 27. Quoted in Hartley (58). 28. Hartley 77. 29. Wellman, Cellophane 151. 30. Mac Wellman, Terminal Hip, The Bad Infinity: Eight Plays (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 1994) 263. 31. Cary Nelson, Our Last First Poets: Vision and History in Contemporary American Poetry (Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1982) 47. 32. Wellman, Cellophane 152. 33. Personal Interview with David Savran, American Theatre (Feb. 1999): 19. 34. Terminal Hip 277, 270, 259, 267, 269. Spring 2010 89 35. Cellophane 184, 159, 156, 153, 158, 159, 154. 36. Cellphane, 160, 161, 168, 169, 166, 170, 157. 37. Wellman, The Bad Infinity 72. 38. Bernstein 16, 11. 39. McCaffery 206, emphasis in original. 40. Qtd. in McCaffery, “Writing as a General Economy” 211, emphasis added. 41. Perloff, Radical Artifice 187. 42. McCaffery, “Writing as a General Economy” 211-12. 43. 210-12. 44. Bernstein 81, 60. 45. Mac Wellman, “A Chrestomathy of 22 Answers to 22 Wholly Unaskable and Unrelated Questions Concerning Political and Poetic Theater,” Theater (Mar./Apr. 1993): 43. 46. Bernstein 29-30, 66, 86. 47. 167. 48. Interview with Shawn-Marie Garrett 88. 49. N. Katherine Hayles writes that “[a]n important difference between fractal and Euclidean geometry is the scale-dependent symmetries of fractal norms” (165). Hayles further explains that “[s] caling, as Mandelbrot uses the term, does not imply that the form is the same for scales of different lengths, only that the degree of ‘irregularity and/or fragmentation is identical at all scales’” (166). 50. 13. 51. In Hayles’s discussion of the novels of Stanislaw Lem she explains “his belief that literature must be about something other than textuality if it is to engage ethical questions” (121). Yet ethics as reference to the things of the world and adjudicating right and wrong would seem to be a second-order operation. The first-order operation is to create a space for writing by establishing a dialectic between “chance”–Hayles’s equivalent of the form of expression–and necessity, understood as referential “resistances” (121) to expression. This is “a dialectic that ceaselessly renews itself, wresting rational explanations from the enigmatic silence of the text even as it opens fissures within the text which subvert those explanations” (120). 52. Perloff, Radical Artifice 22-27. 53. McCaffery 209, 208, 209. 54. Mac Wellman, Cat’s Paw: A Mediation on the Don Juan Theme, Cellophane: Plays by Mac Wellman (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U P, 2001) 337. 55. Demastes 85, 102. 56. Wellman, Cat’s Paw 353. 57. 349. In the three-play sequence of the bad-writing plays, Three Americans is, as I suggested at the beginning, a transitional play in that it mostly retains the chaotic aspects of Cellophane and Terminal Hip while incorporating a new discourse of chaos theory and a gesture perhaps toward metaphorical self-similarity, suggested, as in the later play Cat’s Paw, by way of clothes. Three Americanisms, three poems pulled together in 1993 into one performance with three monologues, opposes the body to clothing, and, just as Jane’s mother tells her she should be ashamed of her clothes, it is the clothing of Second Man and First Woman of which they are ashamed. First Man is not ashamed of his clothes, perhaps because he is too chaotically preoccupied with staying alive. First Man, “A strange man,” citing fractal pattern and fractal properties, says, “I am caught forever on a Sierpinski carpet in a region infinitely sparse, infinitely many.” “The pointed hat,” he says, “is my American destiny.” Knowing what to do, he runs, he says, “as fast I can, with all my stuff in a red bandanna.” Second Man, “a bit more well-heeled,” is also less frantic and more apologetic: “I put on someone’s clothes not mine. / The clothes cling to my human nakedness. I am ashamed.” He has been complicit, he seems to be saying (referring again to Whitman), with the fact that “Grasses grow up and while away unexamined”; and, because America refuses to “approve the cut part” of the U.S. Constitution “about dancing–drunk–in the forest at night, howling before strange gods, all before sun-up, in strange hats, aglow?” he proclaims (Romeo and Juliet again) “A pox on all your houses, you.” Second Man is succeeded by First Woman, dressed in “dark clothes, perhaps in mourning,” who speaks of keeping one’s head down owing to a “wall of flying debris.” In contrast to her clothes and her dim view of Second Man, she says, “Being happy is my secret weapon in the war of all against all.” 90 Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism Echoing, or prefiguring, Jesus H. Christ, the young African American woman in Sincerity Forever, she makes statements like “If the shoe fits, there’s something radically wrong with you, you loathsome, misnormal dickhead.” Yet her “feminist” spleen, too, resolves itself into the confession that the clothes she wears are not hers, and she is “ashamed” of this ideological betrayal of her “human nakedness” (Three Americanisms 187-205). 58. Wellman, Cat’s Paw 349, 353. 59. Philip Brandes, “Language Unravels in ‘Terminal Hip,’” Los Angeles Times 10 Nov. 2000: F26. 60. Nancy Churnin, “It May Be Hip But Why Bother and Who Cares,” Los Angeles Times 15 June 1992: F1. 61. Qtd. in Bernstein 64. 62 164. 63. The phrase “theatre of wonders” belongs to a collection of plays, Theatre of Wonders: Six Contemporary American Plays, edited by Wellman, which appeared from Sun and Moon Press (Los Angeles) in 1985. The collection contained plays by Len Jenkin, Jeffrey Jones, Des McAnuff, Elizabeth Wray, and Mac Wellman. 
work_kaxsqdx77jgnpn42s4gdd3nomm	----	humanities Article There’s No Nostalgia Like Hollywood Nostalgia Thomas Leitch Department of English, University of Delaware, Newark, DE 19716, USA; tleitch@udel.edu; Tel.: +1-302-239-4100 Received: 15 September 2018; Accepted: 18 October 2018; Published: 19 October 2018 ���������� ������� Abstract: This essay argues that the complexities of the nostalgic impulse in Hollywood cinema are inadequately described by Svetlana Boym’s particular description of Hollywood as “both induc[ing] nostalgia and offer[ing] a tranquilizer” and her highly influential general distinction between restorative and reflective nostalgia. Instead, it contends that Hollywood departs in important ways from the models of both the restorative nostalgia established by the heritage cinema and Great Britain and the reflective nostalgia commonly found in American literature. Using a wide range of examples from American cinema, American literature, and American culture, it considers the reasons why nostalgia occupies a different place and seeks different kinds of expressions in American culture than it does in other national cultures, examines the leading Hollywood genres in which restorative nostalgia appears and the distinctive ways those genres inflect it, and concludes by urging a closer analysis of the more complex, multi-laminated nostalgia Hollywood films offer as an alternative to Boym’s highly influential categorical dichotomy. Keywords: American literature; heritage cinema; Hollywood; reflective nostalgia; restorative nostalgia Hollywood nostalgia deserves more respect. According to Svetlana Boym, the leading contemporary theorist of nostalgia: “Popular culture made in Hollywood, the vessel for national myths that America exports abroad, both induces nostalgia and offers a tranquilizer; instead of disquieting ambivalence and paradoxical dialectic of past, present, and future, it provides a total restoration of extinct creatures and a conflict resolution” (Boym 2001, p. 33). This dismissive characterization is rooted in Boym’s highly influential discussion of nostalgia, which she defines as “a longing for a home that no longer exists or has never existed. Nostalgia is a sentiment of loss and displacement, but it is also a romance with one’s own fantasy. Nostalgic love can only survive in a long-distance relationship. A cinematic image of nostalgia is a double exposure or a superimposition of two images—of home and abroad, past and present, dream and everyday life” (Boym 2001, pp. xiii–xiv). Boym distinguishes between two types of nostalgia: Restorative nostalgia puts emphasis on nostos and proposes to rebuild the lost home and patch up the memory gaps. Reflective nostalgia dwells in algia, in longing and loss, the imperfect process of remembrance. The first category of nostalgics do not think of themselves as nostalgic; they believe that their project is about truth. This kind of nostalgia characterizes national and nationalist revivals all over the world, which engage in the antimodern myth-making of history by means of a return to national symbols and myths and, occasionally, through swapping conspiracy theories. Restorative nostalgia manifests itself in total reconstructions of monuments of the past, while reflective nostalgia lingers on ruins, the patina of time and history, in the dreams of another place and another time. (Boym 2001, p. 41) Considering Hollywood nostalgia in the broader context of American cultural nostalgia challenges Boym’s dismissal of Hollywood nostalgia, reveals illuminating contrasts between the nostalgia of Humanities 2018, 7, 101; doi:10.3390/h7040101 www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/h7040101 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com/2076-0787/7/4/101?type=check_update&version=2 Humanities 2018, 7, 101 2 of 13 American cinema and the nostalgia of American literature, and complicates the distinction between restorative and reflective nostalgia in rewarding ways. To speak of American cultural nostalgia already implies, as Boym acknowledges, that different national cultures and their cinemas are shaped by very different kinds of nostalgia. The most frequently discussed of these nostalgic cinemas, the so-called heritage cinema of Great Britain, began in the 1980s with movies like Chariots of Fire (1981) and A Room with a View (1985) that expressed what Cairns Craig called “the crisis of identity which England passed through during the Thatcher years” through sustained images of “film as conspicuous consumption, the country houses, the paneled interiors, the clothes which have provided a good business for New York fashion houses selling English country style to rich Americans” (Craig 2001, p. 3). The Britain of heritage films was rich, powerful, and untroubled, its citizens uniformly clean-cut, well-dressed, and good-looking, and the problems that drove their stories largely limited to private questions of morality, romance, or sexual identity with cautiously nationalistic overtones. Heritage films employed a “museum aesthetic” (Vincendeau 2001, p. xviii) combining exterior shots of spacious estates and stately homes with interiors marked by close attention to historically accurate furnishings, fashions, and music. The effect was to stage often intense interpersonal psychological and social conflicts against a placidly idealized Britain of day-before-yesteryear in which contemporary audiences could find comfort and refuge from the shocks and disappointments of the present. An important aspect of the heritage aesthetic was its new focus on television miniseries set in the past, often, though not always, based on classic English novels, and decorated with a finicky attention to visual and auditory detail quite new to the small screen. This aesthetic made British heritage cinema unusually distinctive. France, for example, has no comparable tradition of movies and television programs celebrating an idealized historical past. Films like Jean Renoir’s La Marseillaise (1938) are relatively rare, and no discernible pattern or general attitude toward the nation’s past emerges from the Gérard Depardieu department of history, which includes Le dernier métro (1980), Le retour de Martin Guerre (1982), Danton (1983), Camille Claudel (1988), Cyrano de Bergerac (1990), Tous les matins du monde (1991), Colonel Chabert (1994), and the 1998 miniseries Le Comte de Monte Cristo. Germany has a tradition of Heimat (“homeland”) cinema, but although the English word “nostalgia” represents Swiss medical student Johannes Hofer’s attempt in 1688 to translate the German word Heimweh, Eckart Voigts-Virchow has shown that “the term Heimat has different shades of meaning to the term ‘heritage’ in England” (Voigts-Virchow 2007, p. 126). To these different flavors of nostalgia, Primož Krašovec has added Yugonostalgia. Yugonostalgia, the remnants that survive “the process of depoliticization of the collective memory of socialism [ . . . ] is a form of popular memory that has been washed clean of all traces of political demands for social equality, workers’ participation in the production process, and internationalism, as well as [ . . . ] the antifascism, anti-imperialism, and anti-chauvinism that constituted the core of the revolutionary politics of socialism” (Krašovec 2011). Looking further east, Japanese cinema has a long and honorable tradition of jidai-geki, films about government officials and samurai warriors who ply their trades during their country’s Edo period, as opposed to the gendai-geki set in modern Japan. But no one would call Rashomon (1950) or Gate of Hell (1953) a heritage film, for the past they present as an alternative to the contemporary reality of postwar Japan is just as troubled, and in its way just as brutal, as the world of Ikiru (1952) or Tokyo Story (1953). The worlds of the Heimat film and the jidai-geki may be sources of nostalgia and national pride, but like French historical films, they do not offer visually idealized refuges of the same sort that British cinema finds in Jane Austen or Brideshead Revisited (1981). The real outlier among national cinemas is that of the United States, which for all the glories of Hollywood has never developed anything remotely comparable to heritage cinema. Heritage cinema has never taken root in the United States because so many factors combine to make it difficult for Americans—that is, for the purposes of this essay, citizens of the United States—to wax equally nostalgic over their own nation’s history, particularly as it is presented in the movies. Heritage cinema’s restorative nostalgia, which dreams ardently of an idealized home in an idealized past, has no clear Humanities 2018, 7, 101 3 of 13 counterpart in American culture, which “didn’t succumb to the nostalgic vice until the American Civil War” (Boym 2001, p. 6). Boym cites letter-perfect Civil War enactments and the CGI dinosaurs of Jurassic Park (1993) as characteristically American examples of restorative nostalgia that propose “a heroic American national identity” (Boym 2001, p. 34). But attempts to invoke this national identity through American nostalgia are complicated by several factors. For one thing, the unofficial culture of the United States is almost obsessively future-oriented, not past-oriented. Americans are famous for living in the present and dreaming of the future rather than the past. They are less rooted in their extended families than the English, or Europeans generally. They are more likely to move away from their birthplaces, and when they do move, they can move much further away without leaving their country. Americans are much less focused, less likely to define themselves, in terms of where they came from than in terms of where they see themselves going. Any nostalgic longing for the past has a strictly limited place in such a resolutely future-oriented world. This is true not only for Americans as individuals but for American culture in general. When they are not celebrating Independence Day on the Fourth of July—or, more recently and revealingly, on the first Monday in July, a holiday of convenience whose most notable trademark is the display of fireworks, an entertainment form notable for its glorification of evanescent spectacle—citizens of the United States display remarkably little investment in their shared country’s past. The continuing debates over the propriety of monuments to the heroes of the Confederacy during the Civil War dramatize the extent to which Americans define themselves in terms of local or regional rather than national ties. Nor does American history lend itself readily to restorative nostalgia. The epochal events prominently displayed in the textbooks through which American schoolchildren learn their nation’s history are largely disruptive and destructive. When Abraham Lincoln announced in the Gettysburg Address that the strife-torn United States had originally been “conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal” (Lincoln 1989, p. 536), he was rooting the national project in philosophical ideals Americans have felt obliged to enact in the present instead of celebrating their currency in the past, where they would be much more likely to regard them critically or reflectively. America lacks the primary motive behind Britain’s restorative nostalgia because although the United States may have given up the Panama Canal, it has not yet lost an empire. The Thatcherite cultural conservatism behind British heritage cinema was a reaction to the fear that the United Kingdom’s greatest days might have been behind it. Until very recently, it has been hard to get a critical mass of citizens of the United States to take the analogous proposition about their own country seriously. Most American Presidents have been widely identified as leaders of the free world. Flush with undiminished power, Americans have no need to take refuge in an idealized past. Even so, America has generated a widely acknowledged brand of nostalgia-based not so much of “the restoration of origins” Boym identifies as one of the “two main narrative plots” of restorative nostalgia but on the other plot: “the conspiracy theory, characteristic of the most extreme cases of contemporary nationalism fed on right-wing popular culture,” that proposes “a Manichean battle of good and evil and the inevitable scapegoating of the mythical enemy” (Boym 2001, p. 43). This myth of American supremacy, at once self-congratulatory and paranoid, has most recently been marketed by Donald Trump. In capitalizing on and amplifying a nostalgic undercurrent long dormant in the American public, Trump has ushered in a new era of restorative nostalgia. Under the revealing slogan Make America Great Again, he has campaigned and governed on the basis of an assumption that the United States is in decline and, as he told the Republican National Convention in accepting the party’s Presidential nomination in July 2016, “I alone can fix it.” Trump’s presidency has focused on rolling back federal regulations and protections, cutting taxes and government programs, withdrawing from foreign treaties, squeezing long-standing allies for more advantageous trade deals, promising to build an impermeable wall on the border between the United States and Mexico, appointing conservative federal judges and a remarkable number of Cabinet secretaries openly hostile to the mandates of the departments they have been chosen to head, defunding and suppressing initiatives designed to reduce unwanted pregnancies and climate change, and demonizing dissenters and opponents in an Humanities 2018, 7, 101 4 of 13 endless series of vituperative ad hominem tweets, all in the name of restoring a greatness America has presumably lost. Trump’s programs and policies are fueled by an unmistakably restorative nostalgia for an America that kept immigrants at bay, shunned political correctness and self-anointed East Coast elites, condemned political extremists on the left but not the right, prized individual initiative above paternalistic collective action, and promoted the promise of untrammeled material success to everyone lucky enough to grab the brass ring. Trump’s brand of MAGA nostalgia differs from heritage nostalgia not in being less restorative but in being more actively restorative. The idealized past the BBC dreams of finds its counterpart in an idealized American past, floating free of any limiting identification with a particular time or place, for whose return millions of Americans do not simply long but ardently work and pray. The emergence of MAGA should have come as no great surprise, for despite its self-avowed progressivism and its founding devotion to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—the last of these already an aspirational goal rather than a retrospective ideal—the United States has long found room within its culture for restorative nostalgia. But celebrations of this brand of nostalgia have rarely entered its literature because so many of these celebrations focus on artifacts rather than narratives. In accord with Boym’s observation that restorative nostalgia “gravitates toward collective pictorial symbols and oral culture” (Boym 2001, p. 49), American calls to restorative nostalgia are less closely associated with stories about America that with the icons, artifacts, and rituals revealingly labeled Americana, a term so common that a Google search for it reveals 300 million hits, though none at all for “Englishana” or “Britishana.” Giovanni Russonello roots the label for the late-twentieth-century music he discusses as “Americana” in an earlier history represented by “the comforting, middle-class ephemera at your average antique store—things like needle-pointed pillows, Civil War daguerreotypes, and engraved silverware sets” (Russonello 2013). This brand of Americana is familiar from American television series like The Waltons, Little House on the Prairie, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, Happy Days, and That ’70s Show. Contemporary expressions of American nostalgia by American politicians, editorialists, and citizens are remote from these incarnations, which they rarely invoke. What is even more remarkable, however, is the estrangement of Hollywood nostalgia from both the MAGA restorative nostalgia so stridently proclaimed by nativist politicians and the severely critical reflective nostalgia of Hawthorne’s novel The Scarlet Letter. This estrangement is particularly striking in view of the notorious economic conservatism of the American film industry, which has expressed itself most recently in a wholesale commitment to retro superhero franchises and other sequels and remakes. There are several reasons why Boym’s anodyne portrayal of Hollywood nostalgia as restorative requires complication, and why Hollywood nostalgia, when it does appear, is so distinctive. The first generation of Hollywood moguls were European émigrés who lacked any sense of nostalgia for a racially or ethnically pure United States, and when these moguls retired or died, they were replaced by liberals whose own nostalgia is quite differently oriented from either the BBC or MAGA. The capital-intensiveness of Hollywood filmmaking makes studios and bankers reluctant to gamble on projects they perceive as taking sides and preemptively alienating large portions of the audience. In the immortal injunction variously attributed to Samuel Goldwyn, Ernest Hemingway, Moss Hart, and Humphrey Bogart: “When you want to send a message, use Western Union.” Hollywood celebrations of history tend to focus on the history of the American film industry itself, a tendency abundantly on display during annual broadcasts of the Academy Awards ceremonies. This unusually single-minded focus tends to eclipse any traces of reflective nostalgia it finds in American culture or American literature. MAGA nostalgia finds a more ready home in popular music that evokes a favored earlier time either through its own conventions (as in country and western song and the blues) or through the conventions of its return as beloved oldies. The scarcity of MAGA nostalgia in Hollywood is illuminated by the production history of one film that traffics openly in this brand of nostalgia: Gabriel Over the White House, which Gregory La Cava Humanities 2018, 7, 101 5 of 13 directed in 1933 from a screenplay by Carey Wilson based on Rinehard, a novel by Canadian writer T.F. Tweed. The film focuses on Jud Hammond (Walter Huston), a do-nothing, don’t-rock-the-boat politician who has been elected President. Following a near-fatal car accident and a moment of possibly divine intervention, Hammond awakens from his coma suddenly determined to rescue his country from “big-business lackeys.” He purges his cabinet, responds to his impeachment by declaring martial law, suspends civil rights, revokes the Constitution, uses demonstrations of military force to blackmail world powers into disarming, and orders the execution of malefactors he personally identifies as “enemies of the people” before he suffers a fatal stroke, again of possibly divine provenance, and is eulogized as one of the greatest American Presidents. The film, produced by Walter Wanger for Cosmopolitan Pictures, whose head, reactionary newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst, had played an important role in shaping its screenplay, was distributed by MGM. As his biographer Charles Higham recounts, however, studio chief Louis B. Mayer, who had not been consulted during its development, “was appalled when he saw the picture’s rough cut” (Higham 1993, p. 196). Realizing that it was a piece of agitprop designed to criticize President Herbert Hoover as timid and ineffective in combatting the ills of the Great Depression and encourage incoming President Franklin D. Roosevelt to assume unilateral powers, he “intervened seriously for the first time over [Irving] Thalberg in the cutting of the picture” (Higham 1993, p. 196). Although contemporaneous reviewers equated Hammond with Mussolini and saw the film as an advance advertisement for home-grown Fascism, Gabriel Over the White House was a popular success—but a success that Mayer was so eager to avoid repeating that after buying the rights to It Can’t Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis’s 1935 parable of local resistance to an American Fascist President, before the bestselling novel’s publication, he was intimidated by the monitory response of Hollywood censor Joseph I. Breen and the possible reactions of MGM’s profitable foreign markets. “Mayer cannot have forgotten Gabriel Over the White House; he must have seen the anti-Hooverish elements in even a story summary,” notes Higham. “Had he read the novel itself [ . . . ] he would certainly never have embarked on the picture at all” (Higham 1993, p. 250). Despite Lewis’s vigorous public protests, It Can’t Happen Here never went before the cameras. Like Gabriel over the White House, it is best remembered as a cautionary example of Hollywood’s avoidance of partisan politics. Apart from the studios’ unwillingness to offend large portions of the American audience by releasing more recent MAGA adaptations, Hollywood adaptations of American literature rarely display restorative nostalgia because American literature itself has long shunned restorative nostalgia. Theorists of American literature have frequently contrasted the American Renaissance of the mid-nineteenth century with contemporaneous Victorian literature. Novelists like Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville play a less dominant role in the American Renaissance than their English counterparts, Charles Dickens, William Makepeace Thackeray, the Brontë sisters, Elizabeth Gaskell, and George Eliot, because so many writers of the American Renaissance were poets or essayists like Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, James Russell Lowell, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Although Thackeray’s view of the Napoleonic Wars, Dickens’s of the Poor Laws, and Eliot’s of the Reform Bill of 1832 are quite as jaundiced as Hawthorne’s view of the Salem Witch Trials or Harriet Beecher Stowe’s view of slavery, the social criticism of the great Victorian novelists from Dickens to Elizabeth Gaskell, Anthony Trollope, and Thomas Hardy is made more palatable by the satiric energy of Dickens and Thackeray and the detailed, integrative, largely sympathetic portraits of Victorian society in Gaskell’s Wives and Daughters, Eliot’s Middlemarch, and Trollope’s The Last Chronicle of Barset. When American writers of the period turn to the shorter forms of fiction, they produce not Dickens’s nostalgic stories “A Christmas Carol,” “The Chimes,” and “The Cricket on the Hearth,” but the gothic horror tales of Edgar Allan Poe. The leading American novelists who follow the American Renaissance and who might have been expected to provide material for restorative Hollywood nostalgia adopt instead a more critically reflective nostalgia. Washington Square, the best-known of Henry James’s forays into the historical past, is sharply critical of the mores of the early nineteenth century. So is Edith Wharton’s The Age Humanities 2018, 7, 101 6 of 13 of Innocence, which looks back on the later nineteenth century with an equally cold eye fifty years after the fact. Mark Twain’s boyhood idyll The Adventures of Tom Sawyer views growing up in the Midwest of the early nineteenth century through the lens of restorative nostalgia, but its more ambitious sequel, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, adopts a much more critically reflective nostalgia in its faux-naïve exposé of the corrosive effects of slavery. Whatever nostalgia appears in The Red Badge of Courage, Stephen Crane’s 1895 account of an episode from the American Civil War, is reflective rather than restorative. The same is true of the World War I fiction of Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, and John Dos Passos. The Great Gatsby has so often been filmed as an exercise in period nostalgia that it can be easy to forget that it is not itself a period piece but a sharply, if compassionately, observed portrait of a 1925 American present notable for its unblinking critique of the American dream of progress through individual self-actualization; like the novels F. Scott Fitzgerald revealingly titled This Side of Paradise, The Beautiful and Damned, Tender Is the Night, and The Last Tycoon, its primary mode is elegiac rather than nostalgic—or, as Boym would say, a mode of reflective rather than restorative nostalgia. And Faulkner, whose anatomy of the catastrophic legacy of racial injustice on Mississippi’s Yoknapatawpha County rises to an obsession in novels like Absalom, Absalom! and Go Down, Moses, shows that a fixation on the American past does not guarantee anything like restorative nostalgia. Nor does this highly critical attitude toward the past undergo any substantial change in recent novelists from Thomas Pynchon to Philip Roth to Don DeLillo, all of whose excursions into American history could be described as curdled, sometimes withering exercises in reflective nostalgia. Apart from James Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales about the relations between British American settlers and Native Americans in the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the most distinctive and distinguished American novelists have been not only non-nostalgic but anti-nostalgic. The great American novels from The House of the Seven Gables and Moby-Dick to The Plot Against America and Underworld have refused the cultural conservatism of their English counterparts and so left open few possibilities for restorative nostalgia in Hollywood adaptations—unless, like The Great Gatsby, they are pressed into service as the basis for period costume dramas. American literature may be employed as a site of restorative nostalgia in the same ways that any archive can be pressed into similar service, but that is not its own characteristic mode: when writers like Hawthorne and Faulkner and Roth plumb the American past, it is not to celebrate it but to mine it for previsions of contemporary social and cultural problems. If “nostalgia is a psychological mechanism that serves a motivational regulatory function by counteracting avoidance motivation and facilitating approach motivation” (Routledge 2015, p. 117), American literature, in general, facilitates approach motivation only in the most implicit, indirect, highly critical ways. So it is not surprising to find that Hollywood nostalgia, which in Clay Routledge’s terms “affirms feelings of belongingness” (Routledge 2015, p. 54), is distinct from both the restorative nostalgia of British heritage cinema and the critically reflective nostalgia of American literature. For all its enduring infatuation with British literature in general and the Victorian novel in particular as sites of nostalgia, cultural capital, and elitist cachet, Hollywood has had little use for American literature. When it has adapted American literary classics, the results have often been non-nostalgic, even anti-nostalgic. Roland Joffé’s The Scarlet Letter (1995) includes Demi Moore, Gary Oldman, Robert Duvall, an Indian attack, a hot tub, and a happy ending. The impetus behind Joffé’s adaptation, whose departures from Hawthorne’s novel Moore assured interviewers could safely be ignored because “it had been a very long time since people had read it” (Rubenstein 2017), was not a painstakingly recreated simulacrum of an idealized historical past but a determined, albeit anachronistic, attempt to improve that past by conferring on Hawthorne’s story the enlightened attitudes of the contemporary audience’s own beliefs about sex, love, adultery, social opprobrium, and true romance, an attempt, very typical of Hollywood, that ended up fetishizing the present rather than the past. Humanities 2018, 7, 101 7 of 13 A further look into Hollywood history reveals not so much a blanket dismissal of classic American novels as a highly discriminating selection of them and a strikingly consistent treatment of the properties that are actually selected. American regionalists like Sarah Orne Jewett, Eudora Welty, and Flannery O’Connor are rarely adapted to the screen. Instead, New England is represented by The Scarlet Letter and Peyton Place and the American South by The Birth of a Nation and Gone with the Wind. Edith Wharton’s most notable exercises in nostalgia, the four novella-length prequels to The Age of Innocence that she collected in the 1924 volume Old New York, have been largely neglected by Hollywood, although the longest of them, “The Old Maid,” was filmed as a period vehicle for Bette Davis in 1939, just as The Age of Innocence itself has been adapted three times, most recently and memorably by Martin Scorsese in 1993. Perhaps the most striking rejection of a truly nostalgic American author is Hollywood’s neglect of the novelist Willa Cather, whose sensitive, monumental Great Plains trilogy—O Pioneers! (1913), The Song of the Lark (1915), and My Ántonia (1918)—went unfilmed until 1991. Indeed the only two films before 1977 based on Cather’s work both adapted A Lost Lady, a romance that is the least historically resonant of her major novels, and every one of the ten Cather adaptations from 1977 to the present has been either a short film or a television original. Cather has fared better on the small screen than the big screen not because her novels are small-scaled themselves but because, like their British heritage counterparts, they use largely domestic settings to focus potentially large-scale cultural conflicts. They can be filmed on a limited budget on Nebraska locations, and their emphasis on strong women struggling to find themselves and their vocations makes them a natural for the Hallmark Channel and the Public Television Network alongside adaptations of Edna Ferber, the younger, Book-of-the-Month Club version of Cather. More important, successful television adaptations emphasize their worlds over their stories. Just as TV series from I Love Lucy to The Simpsons allow loyal audiences to enjoy their time with familiar characters by putting them every week into new situations that barely take them out of their comfort zone, television adaptations, whether they are miniseries or features, offer one more chance to spend quality time with characters they have already grown to love. Television episodes can be as densely plotted as feature films, but in situation comedies like All in the Family or dramas like Mission: Impossible, the goal of each episode is not to reach a new ending, but to return to the world as it was at the beginning of the episode. Sarah Cardwell contends that television “interacts with our present lives in a way that film does not. The transmission [ . . . ] of each text is perceived as being ‘present,’ due to its locus in television’s continuous flow. Added to this, our interpretation of the tenseless television image is that it is of the present tense” (Cardwell 2002, p. 87). Despite these insistent tokens of presentness, television, at least until the recent rise of cable miniseries like The Sopranos, The Wire, and Homeland, has been a nostalgic medium whose characters typically yearn to preserve their world rather than change it. Restorative nostalgia finds a readier welcome on television because its plots are less threatening, more predictable, more formulaic, and more ritualistic, like the stories parents tell their children at bedtime. Even though most viewers (the word is significant) think of cinema as a more visually oriented medium than television, television is particularly well suited to supplying visuals in a style their audience has already been trained to expect, and it is no coincidence that the great age of the British heritage adaptation was largely driven by television miniseries. More generally, because restorative nostalgia expresses its longing for the past by fixing on particular places and spaces—scenes, moments, situations, and tableaux it freezes and idealizes—rather than on the stories that complicate and disrupt these treasured moments, its natural vehicles are visual rather than narrative. The most characteristically nostalgic stories fall into two categories. The first is tales that have become so familiar that they can be fondly remembered as stories, whether the audience that greets their repetition with delight is children hearing the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears one more time or the adult fans watching Evil Dead II (1987) one more time. Even though all these audiences know exactly what is going to happen, that knowledge is itself a condition of their pleasure that frees them to savor every moment of the story, confident that it will end by arriving at its accustomed destination. The second kind of stories subject to nostalgia is those that showcase the largest possible Humanities 2018, 7, 101 8 of 13 number of privileged moments, lingering over them and inflating them before reluctantly revealing the less readily sentimentalized social forces that lead away from them. Apart from Eugene O’Neill’s Ah, Wilderness!, restorative nostalgia is not a particularly powerful force in the American theater. No one in the audience pines to return to the landscapes of The Hairy Ape or The Emperor Jones or The Glass Menagerie or A Streetcar Named Desire. The one great exception is the American musical theater, which systematically isolates moments of privileged emotional intensity from the rest of the story and then heightens them by embedding them in songs that will linger in the audience’s memory long after the final curtain. Broadway musicals that follow a line of descent from Rodgers and Hammerstein to Jersey Boys and Mamma Mia are repeatedly staged in what are aptly called revivals. The focus of communal nostalgia in the United States has been visual rather than narrative, spatial rather than temporal, and the American narratives most likely to invite a nostalgic response are those whose stories are ad hoc and ritualistic rather than end-oriented and definitive. Americana is typically envisioned in terms of places like Disneyland that foster or encourage idealized or sentimental dreams and memories rather than journeys into or within the spaces it envisions. The British, of course, have Austenland, incarnated both cinematically in an American movie and virtually in the online Republic of Pemberley, a discursive space revealingly named after a fictional place. Dickensland was the subject of an appreciative book by J.A. Nicklin over a century ago (Nicklin 2012). One factor that helps explains Hollywood’s relative neglect of the great American novels, in fact, is how few American authors could reasonably spawn their own lands. It is easy to envision Poeland but hard to imagine Hawthorneland or Melvilleland or Henry Jamesland or Flannery O’Connorland. And although it might be argued that Yoknapatawpha County, Mississippi, is Faulknerland, it is unlikely that spending time in that actual location would give readers anything like the same subjectively supercharged experience they treasure in reading Faulkner’s novels. Aristotle ruled that plots include a beginning, a middle, and an end that confer their definitive shape. But nostalgic audiences clearly treasure beginnings, endure middles mostly as exercises in deferred gratification, and prefer endings that close the circle by returning to the beginning rather than confirming the brave new world of an Aristotelian ending. If the locus of American nostalgia is indeed visual artifacts rather than stories, then the most nostalgic stories, and the most nostalgic moments in these stories, are those that are organized or crystallized around artifacts, objects endowed with frankly magical powers or objects whose psychological or spiritual magic depends on the rich web of associations the stories build up around them. Hollywood’s disinclination to celebrate any history but its own defines and markets Hollywood history as a series of aesthetic and technological triumphs interspersed with the inevitable losses like those commemorated in the Academy Awards ceremony’s annual necrology. But restorative nostalgia still appears in the American cinema, though typically with a distinctive twist. It appears most obviously in musicals, whose programmatic structural distinction between the timeless song-and-dance numbers that convey the characters’ deepest emotions, desires, hopes, and fears and the timebound continuity that motivates and separates these numbers makes the genre a natural for restorative nostalgia. But this tendency does not appear in nearly as many musicals as one might think. Film adaptations of the pioneering Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein II musical Show Boat, like Broadway revivals of the show, are increasingly exercises in restorative nostalgia, but the more reflective nostalgia of the original show comes through in every one. The early twentieth-century revue musicals associated with Florenz Ziegfeld and George and Ira Gershwin are not especially nostalgic. With the exception of A Connecticut Yankee, neither are the musicals Richard Rodgers wrote with Lorenz Hart. Not until Hammerstein replaces Hart as Rodgers’s collaborator does the team turn to nostalgic musicals like Oklahoma! Carousel, and The Sound of Music and their film adaptations. This tropism toward restorative nostalgia crests in the Hollywood musicals that recycle familiar songbooks instead of emphasizing new music—Night and Day (1946), Till the Clouds Roll By (1946), The Jolson Story (1946), Three Little Words (1950), An American in Paris (1951), Singin’ in the Rain (1952), The Band Wagon (1953), The Glenn Miller Story (1954), The Benny Goodman Story (1956)—and Humanities 2018, 7, 101 9 of 13 persists in movie musicals from Guys and Dolls (1955) to Grease (1978), quasi-musicals like American Graffiti (1973), and revivals, readaptations, and remakes onstage and onscreen. Restorative nostalgia also appears in Westerns, though again not where one might expect. The Western as a genre gravitates toward valedictory, reflective nostalgia rather than restorative nostalgia: it is not aimed at audiences who wish they were battling Indians and searching for signs of drinking water on the prairie. Indeed, as Jane Tompkins has observed, the Native Americans who hover on the fringes of most Westerns function “as props, bits of local color, textural effects. [ . . . ] Indians are repressed in Westerns—there but not there—in the same way women are” (Tompkins 1992, pp. 8, 9). The golden age of the Hollywood Western during the 1950s, when widescreen and Technicolor carried the potential to turn the most routine Western into a visual spectacle, is marked by an increasing focus on the traumas of conquest, miscegenation, and slavery in films like Broken Arrow (1950), Shane (1953), The Searchers (1956), and Two Rode Together (1961) before reaching an anti-nostalgic apotheosis in Little Big Man (1970). Of more recent Westerns, The Shootist (1976) evinces nostalgia for the days of John Wayne’s movie-created youth, stirringly excerpted in the film’s opening sequence; Silverado (1985) nostalgia not for the old West, but for old Westerns; and Unforgiven (1992) an unblinking summation of the costs of waxing nostalgic about the code of the West. The predominant mode of Westerns from The Vanishing American (1925) to The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence (1962) is elegiacally reflective nostalgia rather than restorative nostalgia; if the reverse were true, they would all join Dances with Wolves (1990) in urging a return to the days when Native American culture flourished. Restorative nostalgia appears in movies about movies, though again its provenance and valence are unexpectedly complicated. Unlike The Artist (2011), which is nostalgic for the days of silent films, Singin’ in the Rain (1952) is nostalgic for the transitional period to the talkies, but not for the silents, which it considers primitive and dramatically limited in expressiveness. Sherlock Jr., perhaps the finest movie ever made about the movies, is state-of-the-1924-art rather than nostalgic; The Bad and the Beautiful (1952) and Two Weeks in Another Town (1962) are gimlet-eyed rather than nostalgic; and Norma Desmond’s genuine, deep-seated, and unbridled nostalgia for silent movies in Sunset Blvd. (1950) is ultimately pathological and murderous. Restorative nostalgia appears as well in children’s movies—or, more accurately, in the kinds of family movies represented by Little Women (1933, 1949, 1994, 2018), The Wizard of Oz (1939), Johnny Tremain (1957), and innumerable Disney films from Treasure Island (1950) to Davy Crockett: King of the Wild Frontier (1955). The past about which these films invite younger audiences to wax nostalgic is not remembered but constructed by films whose aim is as much educational, in Disney’s own particular manner, as nostalgic. Further from Disney, deeper into the world of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971), Matilda (1996), and A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004), childhood is much less likely to appear as an object of nostalgia. Finally, restorative nostalgia appears in many of the costume dramas based on novels by Kate Chopin, Henry James, Edith Wharton, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Ernest Hemingway, and even in Todd Haynes’s five-part 2011 television adaptation of James M. Cain’s Mildred Pierce (1941). Once again, however, this restorative nostalgia is always tempered and often overwhelmed by far more critical attitudes toward the past that has been so meticulously recreated. A particularly telling example is The Heiress, William Wyler’s 1949 adaptation of James’s 1880 novel Washington Square. Although the film’s opening credit sequence suggests its sentimental attachment to tokens of a vanished past, the film, whose screenplay is based on Ruth and Augustus Goetz’s 1947 theatrical adaptation of the novel, moves into considerably more brutal territory than James. When James’s heroine Catherine Sloper, romanced for her inheritance by the charming, penniless Morris Townsend, is threatened by her coldly remote father with disinheritance if she marries Morris, she quietly stands up first to her dying father, then to the importunate Morris, and placidly returns to her joyless life. In the film, Catherine is far more outspoken in her relations with both men, bitterly rejecting her unloving father and then tricking Morris into believing that she will elope with him so that the film ends with his standing outside her home in a downpour as she retires to her bedroom with a sardonic smile. Aaron Copland’s celebrated musical Humanities 2018, 7, 101 10 of 13 score for the film manages to be both nostalgically classical and unflinchingly modern, and Olivia de Havilland won an Academy Award for playing Catherine, first with restraint, then with an unbridled fury that moved even further than James from restorative nostalgia. Discussing the “particular practice of pastiche” he calls the “nostalgia film,” Fredric Jameson identifies American Graffiti as “one of the inaugural films in this new ‘genre’ (if that’s what it is)” (Jameson 1983, p. 116). More recently, Vera Dika has announced, “The nostalgia film seems to privilege a 1950s past” (Dika 2003, p. 122), and Christina Sprengler has agreed that “the Fifties” are the “privileged object” (Sprengler 2009, p. 6) of contemporary American films like Far from Heaven (2002), The Aviator (2004), and Sin City (2005). An even more striking example of restorative nostalgia that shows how complex Hollywood nostalgia can be even at its most straightforwardly restorative is Annie Get Your Gun, a film released in 1950, at the beginning of Dika’s and Sprengler’s favored decade. It is a costume drama that is also a musical, a Western, and a movie about an entertainer, though not a movie star, that happens to be highly suitable for children even though it was not made for them. The film is a palimpsest of multilayered nostalgia. It invokes nostalgia for its real-life heroine, the sharpshooter and entertainer Annie Oakley, played here by Betty Hutton; nostalgia for her earlier incarnation by Barbara Stanwyck in George Stevens’s 1935 film; nostalgia for the 1947 Irving Berlin Broadway musical on which it was more immediately based—the film that gave its star Ethel Merman her signature song, “There’s No Business Like Show Business”—and nostalgia for hypothetical alternative versions starring Judy Garland, who was originally cast in the role and filmed at least two musical numbers before she was replaced by Hutton, and Frank Morgan, best known for playing the Wizard of Oz, who was replaced by Louis Calhern as Buffalo Bill Cody when he died before shooting began. In addition, an audience watching the film in 2018 will find new layers of nostalgia: nostalgia for the film’s highly selective version of American history; nostalgia for the grand compromise in the battle of the sexes, here represented by the professional rivalry between Annie and sharpshooter Frank Butler, that Annie first rejects, then accepts by deliberately missing a target to throw a shooting match against Frank; nostalgia for the comparatively simple days of first-wave feminism, combined with a certain squirming discomfort at Annie’s compromise; nostalgia for Howard Keel’s debut as a singing star in the role of Frank Butler; nostalgia for musicals made, like this one, by MGM’s fondly remembered Freed Unit; and of course nostalgia for a 68-year-old movie, especially one that waited fifty years for its first video release. One important lesson of Annie Get Your Gun is that nostalgia need not focus on recalling a particular time and place: it can valorize many favored sites, from the Wild West to screen representations of Annie Oakley to the days when the relations between men and women were governed by a narrow range of male-authored scripts women challenged at their peril to a beloved show-stopping number in Irving Berlin’s 1947 musical, without inconsistency or self-contradiction, because the primary energy of even the most determinedly restorative nostalgia is not the celebration of past realities, even imagined past realities, but the refusal to accept present-day realities. Another equally important lesson emerges from the conflict between Annie Oakley and Frank Butler, whose professional status she first threatens, then deliberately retreats from threatening in order to win his heart: a given film can incorporate logically contradictory attitudes toward any given problem, situation, time, or place without compromising its own nostalgia, which is merely complicated rather than undermined by such contradictions. Effervescently diffuse and often contradictory as it is, Annie Get Your Gun is no more typical of Hollywood nostalgia than the homecoming of Odysseus is of European nostalgia. Even though it is generally remote from the elegiacally critical attitude American literature adopts toward the American past, Hollywood nostalgia is less restorative than reflective, less reminiscent of the homecoming of Odysseus than of the returns of Agamemnon and Ajax, stories whose grimness depends not on the perils of their journeys but on the failures of their homes to welcome them properly and confirm their sense of the identities they have forged during their absence. This brand of nostalgia owes less to the Civil War anthem “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” than to its Humanities 2018, 7, 101 11 of 13 savagely ironic transformation in the Irish song “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye.” The complexities of this reflective nostalgia are found not in Annie Get Your Gun but in the Western and non-Western novels of Larry McMurtry and Cormac McCarthy and in their film adaptations: Hud (1963), The Last Picture Show (1971), Terms of Endearment (1983), Lonesome Dove (1989), All the Pretty Horses (2000), No Country for Old Men (2007), and The Road (2009). This brand of nostalgia is eminently consistent and indeed codependent on a sharp criticism of the homes from which its heroes are estranged, and often on the whole idea of home in general. It is the driving force behind Hollywood movies as different as Sunrise (1927), Citizen Kane (1941), Vertigo (1958), Memento (2000), and Blade Runner 2049 (2017), a final example that deserves a closer look because the relations among its many different modes of nostalgia are so complex. Denis Villeneuve’s film is not only a sequel to Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982) but, like most sequels, an unofficial remake of the original film, a revisiting of Scott’s dystopian world a generation later in a film that was produced a generation after the film that inspired it. Like its own source, Philip K. Dick’s 1968 story “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” Blade Runner is a futuristic meditation on the difficulties of distinguishing the human from the non-human. Although it failed at the box office, it became one of the most highly regarded of all cult films, and the visionary dreariness of its imagined 2019 Los Angeles exteriors inspired a generation of neo-noirs. Blade Runner 2049, whose cityscapes are less spectacularly overstimulating but equally rain-soaked and dreary, opens with an explanatory title card that reminds audiences who have seen the earlier film, informs those who haven’t, and brings all of them up to date about its focus on replicants, “bio-engineered humans” who were created as slaves but attempted an abortive revolt in the earlier film. The “new line of replicants who obey,” the film’s opening titles promise, are a distinct improvement over the old “Nexus 8s with open-ended lifespans” of the earlier film. This reassuring news cannot help but make the audience nostalgic for the 1982 Blade Runner, whose potentially disobedient replicants promised the narrative complications the audience has come to the cinema to experience. The audience, as it turns out, need not worry, for a discovery the replicant blade runner K (Ryan Gosling) makes in the opening sequence raises disturbing new possibilities: the skeleton of a female replicant who died during a caesarean section, demonstrating that replicants can biologically reproduce. K’s boss, Lt. Joshi (Robin Wright), commands him to find and kill the replicant’s child and destroy all traces of the birth in order to head off the possibility of another, more massive rebellion of replicants. But K finds himself increasingly ambivalent about his mission. He identifies the skeleton as that of Rachael, who had been played by Sean Young in Blade Runner, and, increasingly convinced that he himself is her child, attempts to track down Rick Deckard, the title character of Blade Runner, who vanished soon after the events of the earlier film, and who K believes is his father. K’s trajectory thus neatly inverts the trajectory of the earlier film. Instead of raising the possibility that its hero, a killer of replicants, is himself a replicant, as Scott’s film did, it offers more and more hints that its replicant hero is actually human. These hints turn out to be red herrings. K is a replicant who only longs to believe he is human, just as Rachael longed to believe she was human back in 1982. Both films tease their characters and their audiences with memories that turn out to have been false or implanted, making them nostalgic for a past they never truly experienced in the first place. But Blade Runner 2049 puts several new spins on Svetlana Boym’s “longing for a home that no longer exists or has never existed.” Like all sequels and remakes, the film is a return-with-a-difference to an earlier film it nostalgically valorizes even as it attempts to revise and improve it by deepening its moral sensitivity to the pathos of replicants like K’s servant Joi, who loves him even though she is only a synthesized voice and a series of holographic images readily available for purchase by millions of other consumers. The casting in both films of Harrison Ford as Deckard both resurrects the emotionally intense hero of the 1982 film, an obvious contrast to the dead-eyed Ryan Gosling, and mourns Deckard’s limited abilities as an action hero thirty-five years later. Humanities 2018, 7, 101 12 of 13 Like many other sci-fi sequels and remakes from Jurassic Park (1993) to King Kong (2005), Blade Runner 2049 is nostalgic for the future—in this case, the older, more reassuringly stable dystopia of Blade Runner. In this it follows Star Wars (1977), which Jameson calls “metonymically a historical or nostalgic film: unlike American Graffiti, it does not reinvent a picture of the past in its lived totality; rather, by reinventing the feel and shape of characteristic art objects of an older period (the serials [featuring Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers]), it seeks to reawaken a sense of the past associated with those objects” (Jameson 1983, p. 116). But the metonymic nostalgia of Blade Runner 2049 is far more complex than that of Star Wars. Like Blade Runner, it is filled with allusions to other films and avatars of pop culture: Alien (1979), A Clockwork Orange (1971), 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Treasure Island (1950), Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, and of course Blade Runner itself. Its most complicated citations, however, are to films and television shows made since the release of Blade Runner in 1982. Robin Wright’s performance as Lt. Joshi recalls her role as the brutally calculating First Lady Claire Underwood in the Netflix television series House of Cards. The importance of the toy horse K takes as a link between himself and Rachael’s missing child, which already echoes the origami unicorn Deckard had made in Blade Runner, is given even greater weight and foreboding for audiences who associate it with the totems the characters in Christopher Nolan’s 2010 film Inception used to determine whether or not they were dreaming. And Joi’s attempt to make love to K by entering the body of the human female Mariette (Mackenzie Davis)—a remarkable literalizing of Boym’s observation that “a cinematic image of nostalgia is a double exposure, or a superimposition of two images”—also recalls in uncomfortable detail a remarkably similar scene involving Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix), his operating system Samantha (Scarlett Johansson), and her ad hoc flesh-and-blood surrogate Isabella (Portia Doubleday) in Spike Jonze’s 2013 film Her. Citations like these go much further than the multiple nostalgic topoi of Annie Get Your Gun and the contradictory attitude that film adapts to professional rivalries, ritual courtship, and gender roles to broaden and deepen the resonance of Blade Runner 2049 in far more complicated ways by rooting it in a familiar mass-media culture, suggesting that contemporary culture has caught up with and perhaps even surpassed the visionary dystopia of Blade Runner, which after all was set in 2019. At the same time, they mark Blade Runner 2049’s distance from the earlier film, whose relatively black-and-white view of the differences between humans and replicants becomes the subject, amid increasingly urgent questions raised by the twenty-first century’s embrace of social media and the Internet of Things, of both nostalgia and critical distance. Despite generally positive and often rapturous reviews, Blade Runner 2049, like its predecessor, was a serious disappointment at the box office. Its American grosses totaled $92 million, less than two-thirds of its production costs. The moral commentators took from its underperformance was that the audience of 12-to-21-year-old males on which mainstream movies depend for their ticket sales were insufficiently invested in the earlier film, and that the cult audience that was invested in it was too small to make the film a success. Even so, the film is invaluable for several reasons. It provides a showcase for the remarkable complexities of reflective nostalgia, the audience’s longing for a past that at some level they know perfectly well never existed. It recreates the reflective nostalgia of the classic American novels, which know this lesson equally well, rather than following British heritage films in imposing a restorative nostalgia on authors like Dickens and Jane Austen who are not particularly nostalgic themselves. Its swooning embrace of a nightmarish dystopia suggests the rewards that Hollywood can reap by turning away from restorative and reflective nostalgia to a more complex, multi-laminated, sharply ambivalent amalgam of the two, even if Columbia Pictures did not reap those rewards this time. Its thematic focus on both the indispensability and the untrustworthiness of the audience’s most treasured memories, including their memories of the original Blade Runner, goes far to indicate why reflective nostalgia, so central to the American cultural experience, is so often complicated still further in American cinema. Eluding the categories of both the restorative nostalgia of heritage cinema and the reflective nostalgia of American literature, the film fuses the pleasure and pain of a perceived alienation from a homeland both idealized and dystopian that is at once a mourning of self-alienation and a cautiously reconstructive celebration of a self that may never have existed. Humanities 2018, 7, 101 13 of 13 Funding: This research received no external funding. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References Boym, Svetlana. 2001. The Future of Nostalgia. New York: Basic. ISBN 0-465-00707-4. Cardwell, Sarah. 2002. Adaptation Revisited: Television and the Classic Novel. Manchester: Manchester University Press. ISBN 0-7190-6046-X. Craig, Cairns. 2001. Rooms without a View. In Film/Literature/Heritage: A Sight and Sound Reader. Edited by Ginette Vincendeau. London: BFI, pp. 3–6. ISBN 0-85170-841-2. First published 1991. Dika, Vera. 2003. Recycled Culture in Contemporary Art and Film: The Uses of Nostalgia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ISBN 0-521-81568-1. Higham, Charles. 1993. Merchant of Dreams: Louis B. Mayer, M.G.M. and the Secret Hollywood. New York: Donald I. Fine. ISBN 1-55611-345-5. Jameson, Fredric. 1983. Postmodernism and Consumer Society. In The Anti-Aesthetic: Essays on Postmodern Culture. Edited by Hal Foster. Port Townsend: Bay Press, pp. 111–25. ISBN 0-941920-02-X. Krašovec, Primož. 2011. (Yugo)nostalgia. Atlas of Transformation. Available online: http: //monumenttotransformation.org/atlas-of-transformation/html/n/nostalgia/yugonostalgia-primoz- krasovec.html (accessed on 15 September 2018). Lincoln, Abraham. 1989. Address at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. In Speeches and Writings 1859–1865. New York: Library of America, p. 536. ISBN 978-0-940450-63-9. First published 1863. Nicklin, John. Arnold. 2012. Dickens-Land. Illustrated by Ernest William Haslehust. London: Forgotten Books. ISBN 978-1-4400-9893-2. First published 1911. Routledge, Clay. 2015. Nostalgia: A Psychological Resource. New York: Routledge. ISBN 978-1-84872-517-1. Rubenstein, Hal. 2017. New Again: Demi Moore. Interview, March 3. Available online: https://www. interviewmagazine.com/culture/new-again-demi-moore (accessed on 12 October 2018). Russonello, Giovanni. 2013. Why Is a Music Genre Called ‘Americana’ So Overwhelmingly White and Male? Atlantic, August 1. Available online: https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2013/08/ why-is-a-music-genre-called-americana-so-overwhelmingly-white-and-male/278267/ (accessed on 15 September 2018). Sprengler, Christine. 2009. Screening Nostalgia: Populuxe Props and Technicolor Aesthetics in Contemporary American Film. New York: Berghahn. ISBN 978-1-84545-559-0. Tompkins, Jane. 1992. West of Everything: The Inner Life of Westerns. New York: Oxford University Press. ISBN 0-19-507305-3. Vincendeau, Ginette. 2001. Introduction. In Film/Literature/Heritage: A Sight and Sound Reader. Edited by Ginette Vincendeau. London: BFI, pp. xi–xxxi. ISBN 0-85170-841-2. Voigts-Virchow, Eckart. 2007. Heritage and Literature on Screen: Heimat and Heritage. In The Cambridge Companion to Literature on Screen. Edited by Deborah Cartmell and Imelda Whelehan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 123–37. ISBN 978-0-521-61486-3. © 2018 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. 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work_kbbceakmbzfhrgfeutawp3tk3m	----	The Origins of Progressive Education The Origins of Progressive Education William J . Reese By the dawn of the twentieth century, a new way of thinking about the nature of the child, classroom methods, and the purposes of the school increasingly dominated educational discourse. Something loosely called progressive education, especially its more child-centered aspects, became part of a larger revolt against the formalism of the schools and an assault on tradition. Our finest scholars, such as Lawrence A. Cremin, in his mag- isterial study of progressivism forty years ago, have tried to explain the ori- gins and meaning of this movement. O n e should be humbled by their achievements and by the magnitude of the subject. Variously defined, pro- gressivism continues to find its champions and critics, the latter occasion- ally blaming it for low economic productivity, immorality among the young, and the decline of academic standards. In the popular press, John Dewey’s name is often invoked as the evil genius behnd the movement, even though he criticized sugar-coated education and letting children do as they please. While scholars doubt whether any unified, coherent movement called pro- gressivism ever existed, its offspring, progressive education, apparently did exist, wrealung havoc on the schools.’ William J. Reese is Professor of Educational Policy Studies and of History and European Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. H e would like to thank David Adams, Mary Ann Dzuback, Barry Franklin, Herbert Kliebard, B. Edward McClellan, and David B. Tyack for their constructive comments on an early draft of this essay and for the research assistance of Karen Benjamin, Matthew Calvert, and Suzanne Rosenblith, graduate students in Educa- tional Policy Studies at Wisconsin. This article was presented as the presidential address to the History of Education Society’s annual meeting, San Antonio, 20 October 2000. ‘ O n educational progressivism, see especially Lawrence A. Cremin, The Transjornza- tion of the School: Propessivism in American Education, 1876-1957 (New York: Vintage Books, 1964); Herbert M . Kliebard, The Smiggle f i r the American Ciinicnlzim, 1893-19f8 (Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1986); and Diane Ravitch, Le$ Back: A Centny, of Failed School Reforms (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000). E.D. Hirsch, Jr. contends that romantic, child- centered views triumphed in the twentieth century, and he blames Schools of Education for disseminating these and other harmful pedagogical ideals; see The Schools We Need: And why We Don’t Have Them (New York: Doubleday, 1996). T h e literature on progressivism more generally is too vast to cite, but the best recent contributions include Robert M. Crunden, Ministers of Refoorni: The Propessives’ Achievement i n American Civilization, 1889-1 920 (New York: Basic Books, 1982); Alan Dawley, StrugglesfirJustice: Social Responsibilizy and the Liber- al State (Cambridge: T h e Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1991); and Daniel T. Rodgers, Atlantic Crossings: Social Politics in a Progressive Age (Cambridge: T h e Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1998). Hirrory of Education @ant+ Vol. 41 Spring 2001 vi Histoly of Education Quarterly William J. Reese President, History of Education Society 2000 Photo courtesy of Robert Rashid 2 History of Education Quarterly Without question, something fascinating had emerged in education- al thought by the nineteenth century. Critics of traditional forms of child rearing and classroom instruction condemned what they saw as insidious notions about the nature of children and the antediluvian practices of the emerging public school system. In often evangelical and apocalyptic prose, an assortment of citizens proclaimed the discovery of new insights on chil- dren and how they best learned. Despite many differences among them, they produced an impressive educational canon. They proclaimed that chil- dren were active, not passive, learners; that children were innocent and good, not fallen; that women, not men, best reared and educated the young; that early education, without question, made all the difference; that nature, and not books alone, was perhaps the best teacher; that kindness and benev- olence, not stern discipline or harsh rebukes, should reign in the home and classroom; and, finally, that the curriculum needed serious reform, to remove the vestiges of medievalism. All agreed that what usually passed for educa- tion was mind-numbing, unnatural, and pernicious, a sin against chldhood. These views became ever expressed in books, educational magazines, and public addresses across the course of the nineteenth century. While it was easier to condemn schools than perfect them, the spirit of education- al reform reflected well a nation continually revitalized by waves of reli- gious revivalism and utopian experiments during the antebellum period. After the Civil War, voices for pedagogical change multiplied and formed a mighty chorus, singrng in praise of the child and insisting that a “new edu- cation” must supplant an “old education” based on false and wicked ideas. Some writers even substituted the word “progressive” as a synonym for “new,” adding the phrase “progressive education” to the nation’s peda- gogical lexicon, without always defining it very clearly or consistently.’ At the turn of the century, John Dewey brilliantly presented the case for each side, the old and new education, in landmark books. Knowing the complex origins of the child-centered ideal, Dewey refused the honorific title of father of progressive education, whch defenders of tradition already viewed as the demon child of romanticism. Even without DNA testing, Dewey’s paternity seems doubtful.’ ‘The phrase “new education” proliferated in editorials and articles in educational jour- nals and various magazines after the Civil War. Similarly, book titles followed suit, as for example, Joseph Rhodes, The New Edzccation: Moral, Industrial, Hygienic, Intellec~ual (Boston: Published by the Author, 1882); Mrs. [Elizabeth?] Peabody, The Nev Education (Cincinnati: Press of Robert Clarke & Co., 1879); and Robert H. Thurston, The New Education and the New Civilization: Their Unity (Columbus, OH: Press of Hahn & Adair, 1892). ’On evangelical movements and nineteenth-century reform movements, read Ronald G. Walters, American Reformws, I81 1-1 860 (New York: Hill and Wang, rev. ed., 1997), chap- ter 1 ; Steven Mintz, Moralists 6 Modernizers: America’s Pre-Civil War Reformers (Baltimore: T h e Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995); and Paul Boyer, Urban Masses and Moral Order i 7 z America, 1820-1920 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978). Dewey cleverly The Origins of Progressive Education 3 T h e sources of this “new education” were passionately debated from the start. T h e poet William Blake, publishing his Songs of Innocence at the outbreak of the French Revolution, pointed to religious visions since child- hood as central to his inspiration.’ Other champions of the child said they were simply following Nature’s Laws. T h e Swiss reformer, Johann Hein- rich Pestalozzi, whose words became Holy Writ to many, was frankly unsure of where his ideas originated. Acknowledgmg the influence of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Emile (1 762) and his own learning by doing, Pestalozzi wrote in 180 1 that “My whole manner of life has grven me no power, and no incli- nation, to strive hastily after bright and clear ideas on any subject, before, supported by facts, it has a background in me that has awakened some self- confidence. Therefore to my grave I shall remain in a kind of fog about most of my views.” But, he concluded, “it is a holy fog to me.”’ H m Gei-tmde Teaches Her Child?-en (1 801) remains difficult to classify: parts of his classic evoke the empiricism of Bacon, the mechanistic world of Newton, and the sometimes inconsistent, though confidently, asserted claims of his mentor Jean Jacques. Like most pedagogical pilgrims, however, Pestalozzi regard- ed his mission as a holy one. Shrouded in a holy fog, he nonetheless emit- ted celestial light from afar. Lifnng some of the historical clouds that have obscured the origins of early progressivism remains a challenge. So I will try to make my cen- tral propositions clear. In its American phase, child-centered progressivism was part of a larger humanitarian movement led by particular men and women of the northern middle classes in the antebellum and postbellum periods. This was made possible by changes in family size, in new gender roles within bourgeois culture, and in the softening of religious orthodoxy withm Protestantism. Progressivism was also part and parcel of wider reform movements in the Western world that sought the alleviation of pain and suffering and the promotion of moral and intellectual advancement. Like all reform movements, it sought both social stability and social uplift. In contrasted the old and new education in The School and Society (Chicago: University of Chica- go Press, 1899); and Interest and Eflort in Education (Carbondale: Southern Illinois Universi- ty Press, c. 1975). T h e latter was first published in 1913. ‘Geoffrey Keynes, “Introduction,” in William Blake, Songs of Innocence a i d ofExperi- ence (Oxford: Oxford University Press, c. 1967), 10; Peter Achoyd, Blake (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1995), chapter 1; and E.P. Thompson, Witness Against the Beart: William Blake and the Moral Law (New York: T h e New Press, 1995), on the complex dissenting religious tradi- tions that shaped Blake’s world. yohann Heinrich Pestalozzi, How Gemrude Teaches Her Children: A n Attempt t o Help Mothers To Teach Their Own Children and A n Acconnt of the Method (London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd., c. 1915, translation by Lucy E. Holland and Francis C. Turner), 6. Historians commonly note Pestalozzi’s inconsistent views on education and society; see Gerald Lee Gutek, Pestalozzi and Education (New York: Random House, 1968), 5 3 , 98-99, 157-58, 167-68; and Robert B. Downs, Heinrich Pestalozzi: Father of Modern Pedagogy (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1975). 4 Histoq of Education Quarter4 addition, child-centered ideas gained currency as activists drew very selec- tively upon particular romantic traditions emanating from Europe. A trans- Atlantic crossing of ideas from the Swiss Alps, German forests, and English lake district thus played its curious role in the shaping of early progres- sivism. Finally, the hopes of many child-centered educators were ultimately dashed by the realities of American schools a t the end of the nineteenth century. Their moral crusade nevertheless permanently changed the nature of educational thought in the modern world. I Loolung back on the famous reform movements that burst forth in the Western world between the 1750s and 18SOs, scholars disagree con- siderably on the sources and consequences of change yet underscore the complex transformations that altered society. During this period, the shift from a rural, agrarian, mercantilist world, to one of markets, commercial and industrial capitalism, and cities proceeded apace. T h e American and French Revolutions led many citizens to dream of a more just world based on universal respect for Enlightenment precepts of reason, the rule of law, science, and progress. As Thomas L. Haskell persuasively argues in his study of Anglo-American reform movements, dissenting religious groups such as the Quakers, among the most successful capitalists of the new age of Adam Smith, disproportionally led movements for moral reform and uplift. With other Protestant groups and a variety of secular reformers, they champi- oned many unpopular causes: pacifism, women’s rights, the abolition of slavery, and the more humane treatment of children, criminals, and the mentally ill. Unlike other scholars, Haskell causally locates a rising ethos of caring within an emergent capitalism, which increased human misery but also made social ties more expansive and intense, promoting empathy, compassion, and social action.6 Whatever the multiple causes of this growing humanitarianism, reform movements on both sides of the Atlantic reflected activist strains within Protestantism and the secular promise of social change and human improve- ment spawned by political revolution. Thus the rise of a child-centered ethos among a minority of vocal, middle-class activists by the middle of the nineteenth century emerged during an era of sweeping change. A genera- tion of American historians has focused their attention on the malung of northern middle-class family life and culture. In the decades after the Amer- ican Revolution, middle-class families shrank in size, enhancing the possi- bility of placing more attention on the individual child. Gender roles in ‘Thomas L. Haskell, 04ectivity Is Not Neutrality: Enpkznatory Schemes in History (Balti- more: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), chapters 8-9. The Origins o f Progressive Education 5 middle-class homes became more starkly separated in urban areas, the locus of social change, which intensified the domestic labors of mothers, includ- ing child rearing. By mid-century, middle- and upper-class Protestant con- gregations increasingly softened their view of original sin and emphasized Christian nurture over hellish damnation; more moderate, non-Calvinist views were heard from the pulpit and registered in child-rearing manuals. T h e gap between thought and practice, ideal and reality, likely diverged in all of these fundamental areas of northern bourgeois life. But the conver- gence of changes in demography, gender roles, economics, and religious ideology helped make some members of the northern middle classes recep- tive to new ideas about children and their education.’ T h e growing fascination with child-centered education often deteri- orated into pure sentimentality in the Victorian era or was transmuted into a revived effort at discovering the scientific laws of physical and human development reminiscent of the eighteenth century. But the discovery of the child owed an enormous debt to the age of Locke and Newton as well as to Rousseau and Wordsworth. American Progressivism was literally the child of Europe. As Hugh Cunningham has argued, Locke had challenged the seemingly timeless Christian precept of infant damnation by arguing that children’s ideas, if not exactly their talents and destiny, were capable of change and improvement through the influence of education and envi- ronment. Locke also stressed the need to observe the individual child to determine the most suitable education, a foundational idea of child-cen- tered thinking. Newton, in turn, held out the promise of discovering the natural laws that governed the universe, which similarly generated hope- fulness of the human capacity to know the world, unlock its secrets, and thus improve its fate. Before the so-called romantic poets and novelists penned their odes to childhood, English evangelical Protestants by the mid- eighteenth century had created a new genre of reading materials, from chil- dren’s hymns to a wide array of children’s literature, whose messages and S t u a r t M. Blumin, The Emergence of the Middle Class: Social Experiences in the American City, 1760-1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Mary P. Ryan, Cradle o f the M & l e Class: The Fumily in Oneida Connty, N m York, 1790-1865 (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni- versity Press, 1981); Karen Halltunen, Confidence Men and Painted Women: A Stndy ofMiddle- Class Culture in America, 1830-1880 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982); Barbara Finkelstein, “Casting Networks of Good Influence: T h e Reconstruction of Childhood in the United States, 1790-1830,” in American Childhood: A Research Guide and Historical Handbook, ed. Joseph M . Hawes and N. Ray Hiner (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1985), 127-28; Bernard Wishy, The Child and the Republic: The Dawn of Modern American Child Nurture (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1968); Robert V. Wells, Revolutions in Amer- icans’ Lives: A Demographic Perspective on the Histoly ofilmericans, Their Families, and Their Soci- ety (Westport, C T : Greenwood Press, 1982), chapters 5-6; Steven Mintz and Susan Kellogg, Domestic Revolutiom: A Social History ofAmerican Family Life (New York: T h e Free Press, 1988), chapter 3; and William J. Reese, The Origins of the American High School (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995). 6 History of Education Quarterly didactic approach differed considerably from an emerging romantic ethos but similarly stressed the heightened importance of the young. Moreover, the child became a more prominent character in novels and popular writ- ing generally. And, as markets expanded, toy shops proliferated, peddling their wares to the middling and upper classes.8 T h e motives of utilitarians, rationalists, shopkeepers, and revivalists obviously varied enormously. But the ascending importance of childhood was clear by the end of the eighteenth century, when revolution and roman- ticism together further led to what critics called a veritable cult of childhood. Increasingly within enlightened circles-among artists, poets, novelists, and educators-new ideas about the nature of the child arose that continue to resonate in the twenty-first century. Some, following Rousseau’s lead, assumed that the chld, naturally good, was corrupted not by Adam’s fall but by human institutions. Innovative thinkers of various stripes-sometimes appalled by the shocking criticisms of religon by the author of Emile-nevertheless ques- tioned whether childhood was preparation for salvation or even adulthood. Those later known to the world as romantics or transcendentalists often concluded that childhood was a holy, mystical place, superior to the cor- rupted lives of adults. Blake invoked the child’s innocence, Wordsworth its “natural piety.” T o many, childhood was a metaphor for goodness, a spe- cial time of life, or even a timeless, sublime essence worthy of contempla- tion. In his first book, Nature, in 1836, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote “The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shnes into the eye and the heart of the child.” Infants, in fact, were a “perpetual M e ~ s i a h . ” ~ T h e relationship of European Romanticism to the rise of American child-centered thought is nevertheless more complicated than it may appear. Literary critics (never mind the historians) have now published many more words on the romantics than their subjects ever wrote, and the very vocab- ulary ordinarily associated with romanticism is sometimes very ambiguous. The adjective romantic, derived from the word romance, appeared in English in 1650 and in French and German soon after. It referred specifically to medieval verse dealing with “adventure, chivalry, and love,” as Raymond Williams explains, but soon had the added connotations of sentimentality, extravagance, and an appeal to the imagination. Only in the 1880s did schol- ‘Hugh Cunningham, Children and Childhood in Western Society Since 1 YO0 (London: Longman, 1985), chapter 3 . On the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see Viviana A. Zelizer, Pricing the Priceless Child: The Changing Social Value of Children (New York: Basic Books, 1985); and Ellen Condliffe Lagemann, An Elzuive Science: The Troubling Histoly ofEdu- cation Research (Chicago: T h e University of Chicago Press, ZOOO), chapter 1. ‘Peter Coveney, The Image of Childhood: T h e Individualand Society, A Study of the Theme in English Literature (London: Penguin Books, c. 1967), 29; Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nature,” in Ralph Waldo Emerson, Selected Ersays, ed. Larzer Ziff, (New York: Penguin Boob, c. 1982), 13; and Barbara Beatty, Preschool Education in America: The Crilture of Young Children fiom the Colonial Era t o the Present (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 28. The Origins of Progvessive Education 7 ars routinely mean by Romanticism a distinctive movement of writers, poets, and artists who lived in Europe between roughly the 1790s and 1830s. And, as Williams points out, most of the essential key words in our usual under- standing of romanticism enjoy conflicting definitions. Nature, for exam- ple, “is perhaps the most complex word in the language,” as any dictionary indicates.’” For many decades, scholars have recognized that there was never any unified, single romantic movement. This may help explain the inability of scholars to discover a unified, single progressive movement in education. In the 1920s, the distinguished philosopher and historian of ideas, Arthur 0. Lovejoy, noted that different writers claimed that romanticism origi- nated in the mind of Francis Bacon, or Jean Jacques Rousseau, or Immanuel Kant, or began with that famous couple in the Garden of Eden, since obvi- ously “the Serpent was the first romantic.” By the 1920s, writers routinely praised or blamed romanticism for producing such incongruous phenom- ena as the French Revolution and the Prussian state, or Cardinal Newman and Friedrich Nietzsche. “Typical manifestations of the spiritual essence of Romanticism have been variously conceived to be a passion for moon- light, for red waistcoats, for Gothic churches, for futurist paintings, for talk- ing excessively about oneself, for hero-worship, for losing oneself in an ecstatic contemplation of nature.” Lovejoy knew that the human mind seeks clarity and simplicity, however much it distorts the past. Yet he still hoped one might recognize “a plurality of Romanticisms.” T h e r e were indeed “several strains” within European romanticism, yielding ideas that were “exceedingly diverse and often conflicting.”“ William Blake, who despised the rationalist thought of Locke and Newton, equally disliked Rousseau for his materialism and harsh words o n religion and Voltaire for his faith in reason. “Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, RousseadMock on, Mock on; ‘Tis all in vaidYou throw the sand against the wind/And the wind blows it back again.’”’ And yet he shared Rousseau’s hostility to institutions, likened schools to cages where teachers taught birds “’Raymond Williams, Keywords: A Vocabulaiy ojCultzri-e and Society (New York: Oxford University Press, c. 1976), 219, 274-75. As Alan Richardson notes, “In the Romantic poet’s appeal to nature lay the basis for a potentially radical critique of the disciplinary forms of con- temporary educational theory and practice.” See Literature, Education, and Romanticimz: Read- ing as Social Practice, 1780-1832 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 104. “Arthur 0. Lovejoy, Essays in the Histo7y of Ideas (New York: G. P. Pumam’s Sons, c. 1960), 229,231,235,2SZ. Also see Richardson, Literatnre, 9-10, 30; and the essays in Roman- ticism in National Context, eds. Roy Porter and Mikulas Teich (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni- versity Press, 1988). For the ongoing debates among educators, see the essays in John Willinsky, ed., The Educational Legary ofRomanticism (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1990). “William Blake, “Mock O n , Mock O n , Voltaire, Rousseau,” in The Portable Romantic Poets: Blake t o POP, ed. W . H . Auden and Norman Holmes Pearson (New York: Penguin Books, c. 1978), 13. Also see Isaiah Berlin, The Roots of Romanticimz, ed. Henry Hardy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 49-50. 8 History of Education Quarterly to sing, and thought educational institutions, like marriage, government, and the military were fairly Satanic. Blake and Wordsworth assumed that children were good and innocent, and their early dissenting politics were set aflame by the American and French Revolutions. As the Terror showed the unhappy face of change, however, Blake retained his radical politics but wrote a parody of his Songs of Innocence entitled Songs of Experience. Both were printed together by 1794, showing the “Two Contrary States of the Human Soul.” London born and bred, he never shared Wordsworth’s views on nature, nor did he tilt his politics Tory-side, like the famous bard from the Lake District.‘’ Without question, a wide variety of “romantics” influenced the rise of child-centered ideas in America in the nineteenth century. T h e inspir- ing words of Rousseau or Wordsworth were hardly unknown among those who attacked the old education and called for more humane treatment of the innocent child. Yet many of the romantics had conflicting views on human nature, society, and the prospect of social change. They were some- times individually inconsistent and could not offer blueprints for imagined educational utopias. European romantic writers, poets, and artists had come of age in a different time and place than those who struggled to make emerg- ing, comprehensive, public school systems in the American north more humane and child-centered. They could provide insights into the evil ways of child rearing and education in the past and inspiration for reformers. But anyone who read the romantics, who could be quite suspicious of institu- tions, closely enough, would have detected that they usually were not encum- bered by the challenging problems of teaching, raising school funds, or dealing with parents on a regular basis. T h e romantics mattered on these shores. But only those who wrote specifically and extensively about educa- tion and schools-especially Johann Pestalozzi (1 746- 182 7), in particular, and Friedrich Froebel(l782-1852) afterwards-had a clearly decisive impact. Even then, not surprisingly, their disciples took their ideas and made them compatible with the perceived needs of northern urban culture, tearing them from their original context. ”On Blake’s views on children, institutions, and politics, read S. Foster Damon, A Blake Dictionary: The Ideas and Symbols of William Blake (Hanover: University Press of New Eng- land, c. 1988), 81, 145; Coveney, Image, 54-55; and David V. Erdman, Blake: ProphetAgaimt Empire (New York: Dover Publications, c. 1977), 120-22,271-72. Invarious editions of Songs o f Innocence and of Experzence, Blake rearranged the placement of some poems, showing that he did not place “hard and fast” boundaries on the two contrary “States of the Human Soul.” See Andrew Lincoln’s “Introduction,” in William Blake, Songs o f Innocence and of Experience (Princeton: Princeton University Press, c. 1991), 17. Wordsworth’s politics, poetry, and views of children have generated an enormous list of secondary sources; consult at least Stephen Gill, William Wordnvorth: A Life (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989); Aidan Day, Romanticinn (London: Routledge, 1996), 33, 56-58; and Nicholas Riasanovsky, The Emergence of Romanti- cimz (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), chapter 1. The Origins of Progressive Education 9 American romantics nevertheless eloquently and movingly described the sweetness, harmony, and holiness of chldhood, views that echoed among native poets, progressive religious figures, and assorted visionaries. T h e transcendentalists, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau among others, saw something artificial about the schools, which nevertheless bore their names by the thousands in the twentieth century. Having failed in a brief stint as a district school teacher-reportedly quitting after discover- ing that using the switch came with the job-the author of Walden (1854) thought the common schools were decent enough but inferior to the vil- lage and nature. “It is time that we had uncommon schools,” Thoreau told his readers, and “villages were universities, and their elder inhabitants the fellows of universities, with leisure . . . to pursue liberal studies the rest of their lives. Shall the world be confined to one Paris and one Oxford for- ever? Cannot students be boarded here and get a liberal education under the skies of Concord?”’.’ W h a t was needed was not another schoolmaster sequestered between four barren walls but a modern Abelard urging peo- ple to think unconventional thoughts: precisely what common schools were never intended to do. Poets such as Walt Whitman, whose genius belies any easy literary classification, similarly found a more natural, not institutionally deadening, form of learning as essential to the making of the new education. Another former teacher, Whitman had, while editor of the Brooklyn Eagle, frequently excoriated corporal punishment and demanded better teaching methods. In h s poems he applauded the contemplation of morning glories over mem- orizing facts in books, elevated human intuition over intellect, merried in the joys of play, and snickered at the arrogance of the educated. As he grew old, he realized that schools were here to stay. At the inauguration of a new one in Camden, New Jersey, in 1874, he offered “An Old Man’s Thought of School.” And these I see, these sparkling eyes, These stores of mystic meaning, these young lives, Building, equipping like a fleet of ships, immortal ships, Soon to sail out over the measureless seas, O n the soul’s voyage. Only the lot of boys and girls? Only the tiresome spelling, writing, ciphering classes? Only a public school? “Henry David Thoreau, Wulden (New York: Penguin Books, c. 1986), 154. O n Emer- son and teaching, read Robert D. Richardson, Jr., Emerson: The Mind on Fire (Berkeley: Uni- versity of California Press, 1995), 41, 5 7 . 10 History o f Education Quarterly No, Whitman answered, the school, like the church, was not simply “brick and mortar” but a place of “living souls,” “the lights and shadows of the future. . . . To girlhood, boyhood look, the teacher and the school.”” I1 American advocates of the new education drew as they pleased from a large corpus of romantic writings, domestic and foreign. But few Euro- peans were as influential as Pestalozzi and Froebel, even though their ideas were bent and adapted to local conditions and sometimes rejected in the- ory and practice by some who invoked their names as the source of their inspiration. T h e Swiss-born Pestalozzi and German-born Froebel had emphasized the importance of motherhood, spirituality, and natural meth- ods in educating little children, sentiments soon embraced by many pro- gressive thinkers. Emerson E. White, who had recently retired as Cincinnati’s superintendent, told local high school graduates in 1889 that “The theo- ries and methods of Pestalozzi and Froebel have permeated elementary schools, and science and other modern knowledges, have entered the uni- versities and are working their way downward through secondary educa- tion.”’6 This may have surprised the graduates, since their academic success was mostly a testimony to the power of memorization and recitation of a traditional sort. But many educators like Emerson, searching for a way to improve their craft and answer their perennial critics, thought change was imminent and inevitable thanks to new ideas from abroad. As a contribu- tor to The ScboolJournal, based in New York and Chicago, said in 1895, “The educational world, as i t is spoken of here, has existed from only a modern date. It took on a distinct form when the impact of the Pestalozzian wave struck our shores.’”’ Indeed, Horace Mann, Henry Barnard, and other promoters of a gen- tler pedagogy eagerly publicized the romantic ideals emanating from Europe, which assailed memorization, textbooks, physical discipline, and the usual features of the neighborhood school. Children, as Whitman said, were “stores of mystic meaning,” not empty vessels waiting to be filled with use- ”Walt Whitman, “An Old Man’s Thought of School, For the Inauguration of a Pub- lic School, Camden, New Jersey, 1874,” in Walt Whitman: The Complete Poems, ed. Francis Murphy (New York: Penguin Books, c. 1986), 41 8-19. In “Song ofMyself,” he typically wrote “A morning-glory at my windows satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.” But, as a former teacher, he often showed great respect for teachers and their labors, and was quite familiar with Locke’s writings and the soft pedagogical ideals of Horace Mann and other con- temporaries. See Florence Bernstein Freedman, Walt Whitman Looks at the Schools (New York: King’s Crown Press, Columbia University, 1950); and David S. Reynolds, Walt W h i m a n ? America: A Cultural Biography (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1995), 15-16, 34-35, 52-63, 75. l6E.E. White, “Address to Graduates,” Pennsyluania SchoolJournal38 (October 1889): 153. ‘“‘The Educational World,” The School3oumal5 1 (October 5, 1895): 289. The Origins of Progressive Education 11 less knowledge through brutal methods. But something had obviously gone wrong. Otherwise he could not have alluded to the “tiresome” methods of the school in his poem in 1874. Changing school practices along the lines of the European masters was no simple matter. Mann himself had antici- pated the future by sponsoring city-wide examinations in Boston in 1845 to demonstrate what children had learned a t school, knowledge largely acquired by memorizing facts contained in textbooks. Written tests had become the rage after the Civil War, especially in the cities, where admis- sion to high school still required mastery of traditional textbook knowledge and passing a rigorous test. Recitations, too, retained their high place on all levels of instruction in the 1870s. Learning the value of work, not play, discipline, not doing as one pleased, said many citizens, were among the most important lessons taught at school. Textbook salesmen continued to hawk their ubiquitous stock, a familiar part of the business of education. Many teachers still tried to teach caged birds to sing.“ As in every transfer of ideas, American child-centered educators and reformers reworked Pestalozzi and Froebel in ways that made sense to them. Born t o middle-class parents in 1746, Pestalozzi wrote extensively in Rousseauian fashion on the power of nature, while elevating the spiritual and practical significance of womanhood and motherhood through his ide- alized views on peasant women, which had more than a hint of nostalgia for the countryside. This was music to the ears of northern middle-class Americans in the nineteenth century, as cities and factories transformed the landscape. An early enthusiast of the French Revolution, Pestalozzi ulti- mately recoiled just like other early romantics against its violent turn, cen- tering his hope for the future in education and social cooperation, not political radicalism and conflict.’” That, too, made him palatable to urban reformers. An avowed socialist such as Robert Owen found Pestalozzi’s writings and model schools on the continent one of several sources of inspiration for infant schools and for his wider communitarian experiments in New Lanark and New Harmony. But the famous Swiss educator embedded his views in a mystical but clearly Christian world view, which furthered his appeal among middle-class reformers building schools in capitalist Amer- ica. His writings sometimes evoked a pantheistic flavor, a synthesis of nat- uralistic and Christian imagery, common to romantics of his generation. Besides criticizing the horrors of traditional, adult-centered education and invokmg the child’s innocence, Pestalozzi explained that a mother could I n o n testing and the controversies surrounding it, see Reese, OrigiTzs, 142-61. O n the traditional emphasis on rote memorization and didactic teaching, see Carl F. Kaestle, Pillars of the Repablic: Common Schools and American Society, 1780-1 860 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1983), 18,45-46,97; Reese, Origins, 132-41; and Cremin, Transfrmation, 20-21. “Cutek, Pestalozzi and Edzrration, 6-8, 70-73. 12 History of Education Quarterly teach the child “to lisp the name of God on her bosom” and to see “him the All-loving in the rising sun, in the rippling brook, in the branches of the trees, in the splendor of the flower, in the dewdrops.”” Like many romantics, he personified Nature as female, the grver of life, seemingly syn- onymous with all that was holy and good. His message on the power of women as educators made sense to many American educators, who wit- nessed the transformation of the public school teaching force from male to female, especially in the primary and elementary grades.” Even Pestalozzi’s garden-variety slurs on Jesuits and the Papacy as the source of many evil school practices would hardly undermine his pop- ularity among educational reformers.” Otherwise gentle folk, such as the Reverend Horace Bushnell, a neighbor and ally of Henry Barnard’s in Con- necticut, could invoke themes of childhood benevolence and Christian nur- ture in one breath and spew forth anti-Catholic diatribes in another.” Finally, by saying that children learned best by experience with concrete objects, guided by the maternal power of educators, Pestalozzi’s popularity seemed assured. T o the northern Protestant middle classes, there was something practical and comforting in his overall message. Those who visited Pestalozzi’s model schools, read his writings, or even taught with him, however, had found inspiration, not an infallible guide to the future. A former colleague who later opened an upper-class male boarding school in Britain, supposedly on Pestalozzian lines, insisted that the grand master’s ideals were more important than how they were ‘“Pestalozzi, How Gertrude, 192. On Owen, see Beatty, Preschool Edncation, 1-2, 17-19; and Arthur Bestor, Backwoods Utopias: The Sectarian Origins and the Owenite Phase of Commu- nitarian Socialism in America, 1663-1 829 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, c. 1970), 138-39. “Gutek, Pestalozzi andEdwation, 61 -67; Beatty, Beschool Education, 1 1 -12; and Pestalozzi, How Gertmde, where the themes of motherhood, morality, Christianity, and educational good- ness intertwine. T h e significance of images of motherhood and a feminine Nature in roman- tic poetry is underscored in Barbara Shapiro, The Romantic Mother: Narcissistic Patterns in Romantic Poetry (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1983), ix. Feminist criticism of male romantic poets and writers are extensive and diverse; they often critique the men for appropriating “female” virtues such as empathy and nurture, already important themes in women’s writings by the eighteenth century. For a small sampling of this literary criticism, see Anne K. Mellor, ed., Romanticism and Feminism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988); and Meena Alexander, Women in Romanticism: Mary Wollstonerraji, Dorothy Wordrworth, and Mary Shelly (Savage, MD: Barnes and Noble Books, 1989). ?‘See Pestalozzi, How Gertrude, 46, 104, 146, 1 5 3 , where he offers slurs on “monhsh” education and barbarian peoples, presumably Slavs and Italians, and calls for the elimination of “Gothic monkish educational rubbish.” ”Reese, Origins, 52. For a taste of Bushnell’s views, see Horace Bushnell, Common Schools: A Discourse on the Modifications Demanded ly the Roman Catholics, Delivered in the North Church, HaMord, On the Day of the Last Fast, March 25, 1853. (Harrford, CT: Press of Cass, Tiffany, and Company, 1853). Unless Catholics (and Jews) were willing to send their chil- dren to Catholic schools, and the former end their campaign to divide the school fund, Bush- nell urged them all to leave the country. The Origins of Progressive Education 1 3 implemented. So he dropped many of Pestalozzi’s ideas and practices.” Despite the fame of his model schools, Pestalozzi emphasized educating better mothers and improving home-based education, but that did not stop those seehng to spread his ideals into schools. And the inconsistencies in his writings allowed child-centered educators and activists on opposite sides of a question to claim him as their authority. His insistence upon educat- ing the head, heart, and hand led some reformers to demand vocational education for the masses. Others, like Ralph Waldo Emerson, endorsed manual labor schools but said one should be educated for life, not merely for work.” In addition, Pestalozzi’s search for a science of education, where he invoked the spirit of empiricism and rationalism, inspired disciples on both sides of the Atlantic to create variations on a formal method-object teaching-that proved as rigid as any other pedagogical system. A former student who actually attended one of Pestalozzi’s model schools noted that from a child’s perspective, “ W h a t was so emphatically called Pestalozzi’s method was an enigma to us. So it was to our teachers. Like the disciples of Socrates, every one of them interpreted the master’s doctrines in his own fashion; but we were far from the times when these divergencies created discord, when our chief masters, after having each one of them laid claim to be the only one who really understood Pestalozzi, ended by declaring that Pestalozzi did not really understand himself.”26 However holy, his pedagogical fog could be impenetrable. Much the same was said about John Dewey’s prose over a century later, as innovative edu- cators med to translate it into educational programs and practices. His prose was variously called “lumbering and bumbling” or, as William James said, “damnable; you might even say God-damnable.”” Discord usually follows the lives of educational rebels, and Pestalozzi was no exception. Like Wordsworth’s Prelude, How Gertrmde Teaches Her Children was semiautobiographical, and it includes discussions of his bat- tles with bullheaded, working-class parents, certain he is using their chil- dren as guinea pigs, and with rival teachers a t his middle-class model schools unhappy with, among other things, his failure to balance the books. Every- one who worked with the poor, Pestalozzi said, knew the difficulties in try- ing to teach them. Their dlction was bad, and their parents wanted traditional discipline and religious orthodoxy ever present in the classroom. “Let him who lives among such people come forward and bear witness, if he has not ‘’Downs, Pestalozzi, 117-18; and Gutek, Pestalozzi and Education, 159-60. ”Middle-class Americans were also attracted to Pestalozzi’s emphasis on the individ- ual, which appealed to those who wanted to nurture an ethos of personal responsibility among the young. Emerson even cited him in his famous call for American literary independence, “ T h e American Scholar,” in Ziff, SelectedEssays, 103. ‘“Quoted in Downs, Pestalozzi, 7 1. ‘-Quoted in Cremin, Transfornation, 2 3 7 . 14 History o f Education Quarterly experienced how troublesome it is to get any idea into the poor creatures. But everyone agrees about this”--from the magstrates to the clergy. When he tried teaching the worhng classes without the standard books or cate- chism in a school in Burgdorf, “They decided a t a meeting that they did not wish experiments made on their children with the new teaching; the burghers might try on their own.”’s Progressive educators for decades to come would ask whether child-centered methods had any chance among the children of the poor. In the end, they would conclude, like many Amer- ican advocates of kindergartens-the romantic reform par excellence-that the innovations should stress moral education and social control when it came to the urban poor. Thus were child-centered ideals among the mid- dle classes continually shaped by social position.’y Froebelian ideas and practices also provided enormous inspiration for the champions of the child and faced continual reinterpretation after the mid-nineteenth century, when German emigres spread the kindergarten gospel after the failed Revolution of 1848. Born in one of the German states in 1782, Froebel drew upon an eclectic source of Enlightenment and roman- tic writings, and upon a variety of experiences that included an apprentice- ship to a forester and military service against Napoleon, as he fashioned his educational ideas in the early nineteenth century. He studied with Pestalozzi, taught in several schools, and similarly emphasized the heightened signifi- cance of motherhood, womanhood, and early education along natural lines.“’ Inventing an elaborate, highly symbolic, graduated series of what he called gifts and occupations, Froebel cast the kindergarten in the red hot glow of Christian pantheism. The child of a Lutheran minister, Froebel, like Pestalozzi, had a very unhappy childhood, but he grew up in a spiritual world rich in symbolism. More boohsh than his Swiss counterpart, he had similar finan- cial problems but became a teacher when “he accepted the call from ’“Pestalozzi, How Getrude, 113. Pestalozzi added that it was understandable that those in the expensive seats at the theater scorned those in the pit, t h a t employers complained about workers not following orders, and so forth. As a result of faulty teaching methods in the lower schools, he concluded, society bore the blame for the depressed state of Christianity in Europe among the poor and the resulting low state of moral life. ”Beatty, Preschool Education, chapters 5-6; Robert Wollons, “Introduction,” in Kinder- gartens and Cultures: The Global Dzfiuion of an Idea, ed. Roberta Wollons (New Haven: Yale University Press, ZOOO), 7; Barbara Beatty, “‘The Letter Killeth’: Americanization and Mul- ticultural Education in Kindergartens in the United States, 1856-1920,” in Kindergartens nnd Cultures, 42-55; and Selwyn K. Troen, The Public and the Schools: Shaping the St. Louis System, 1838-1920 (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1975), chapter 5, on the early establish- ment of kmdergartens in a major city. ’“For a sense of the range of intellectual and social forces that shaped Froebel’s life and educational views, see Robert B. Downs, F$-iedrich Froebel (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1978); Beatty, Preschool Education, chapter 3 ; Michael Steven Shapiro, Child’s Garden: The Kinder- garten Mouementfiom Froebel to Dewey (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1983), chapter 2; and the innovative volume by Norman Brosterman, Inventing findergarten (New York: Harry N. Ahrams, Inc., Publishers, 1997), chapter 1. The Origins of Progressive Education 1s Providence.”” Put the concrete before the abstract and experience before books in the education of little chddren both men, and their disciples, would say. Froebel’s writings were a fascinating blend of naturalism and Christian piety, as when he described the kindergarten: “As in a garden, under God’s favor, and by the care of a skilled, intelligent gardener, growing plants are cultivated in accordance with Nature’s laws. . . .7’31 In one of history’s many ironic twists of fate, Prussia banned the kmdergarten in 185 1, the year before Froebel’s death, since religious and political radicals and women activists had championed, and thus cast sus- picion upon, the innovation. As historian Roberta Wollons explains, how- ever, the kindergarten, ever malleable, ultimately found favor in many different corners of the world, championed by dictators and democrats alike.” Froebel’s hndergarten, melding the sweet sounds of nature, human goodness, social harmony, holiness, and maternalism into a pedagogical symphony, proved as appealing and flexible in America as Pestalozzi’s broad- er educational philosophy. Middle- and upper-class women, whether mor- alizing reformers o r champions of the liberation of the child, found in Froebel what they wanted. T h e well-known transcendentalist, Elizabeth Peabody, became a leading champion of the kindergarten, yet hardly read any of Froebel’s writings, which could be alternatively obtuse and highly prescriptive. And as Barbara Beatty explains, in her already standard histo- ry of early childhood education, the kindergarten had to be Americanized before it could find favor with the urban middle classes.’+ Many scholars have shown that America’s kindergarten advocates divided into rival camps, each claiming true discipleship and possessing the authentic vision.” Froebel’s followers substantially revised the master’s highly formalized gifts and occupations, and the commercialization of kindergarten materials (principally to make money, not to produce pan- theists) further undermined any uniform kindergarten ideal. Froebel hoped ”Quoted in Downs, Froehel, 19. “Ibid., 42. Froebel thus wrote of the child in Pedagogics of the Kndergarten, Or, His Ideas Corzcerning the Play and Playthings of the Child (New York: D. Appleton, c. 1899, translated by Josephine Jarvis), 7: “Man, as child, resembles the flower on the plant, the blossom on the tree; as these are in relation to the tree, so is the child in relation to humanity: a young bud, a blossom; and as such, it bears, includes, and proclaims the ceaseless reappearance of new human life.” “Wollons, “Introduction,” 1-14; Ann Taylor Allen, “Children Between Public and Private Worlds: T h e Kindergarten and Public Policy in Germany, 1856-1920,” in Kinder- gartensaizd Cultures, 16-37; and Joachim Liebschner, A Child’s Work: Freedom and Play in Froe- bel’s Educational Theory and Practice (Cambridge: T h e Lutterworth Press, c. 1992), chapter 8. “On Peabody, see Louise Hall Tharp, The Peabody Sisters of Salem (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1950), chapter 2 5 ; Reatty, Preschool Education, 57-64; and Beatty, “‘The Letter Killeth’,” 46. ‘<In addition to the previously cited scholarship by Beatty and Wollons, also read Eve- lyn Weber, The Kindergaiten: Its Encounter with Educational Thozight i n America (New York: Teachers College Press, 1969), x, chapters 3-4; and Shapiro, Child’s Garden, chapters 5-6. 16 Histoly of Education Quarter4 that the kindergarten would reach all children, but America’s public schools, despite important exceptions, adopted them very slowly. Moreover, those built for the urban poor often wore the badge of class stigma. T o the north- ern middle classes, the kmdergarten might help promote social mobility for their own children but for the laboring, increasingly immigrant mass- es, the emphasis was on discipline, control, and moral uplift.J6 Thanks to Pestalozzi, Froebel, and their acolytes, games, stories, play, and more infor- mal learning experiences became part of a widened educational discourse, but the question of social class bias in child-centered progressivism would never disappear. III After the Civil War, the American champions of the new education frequently invoked the names of Pestalozzi, Froebel, and other European romantics, along with a wider range of writers and theorists who, while more conservative in their views, similarly placed greater emphasis on the importance of education in the lives of children. Despite their many dif- ferences, advocates of a “new education” insisted that young children, who should be educated in kindly and natural ways, learned best not through books but through sensory experience and contact with real objects. Kinder- gartners soon fought over the best way to plant and cultivate children’s gar- dens. Many others who wanted to humanize and enliven instruction in the expanding public schools saw Pestalozzian object teaching as the cure for many pedagogical ills. They faced a difficult battle, since the forces of tra- dition proved very powerful, as various European romantics and innova- tors had earlier discovered. And yet the champions of the child persevered. T h e great European thinkers had demonstrated that most educational maladies could be cor- rected, said Calvin M. Woodward, the nation’s leading advocate of manu- al training, if young people of all ages worked with their hands. Class conflict, industrial alienation, and urban violence could be averted if the schools did their part for humanity. “Did you ever see one whose mind was nauseated with spelling books, lexicons, and grammars, and an endless hash of words and definitions?” Woodward asked in 1885, “And did you, in such a case, call in the two doctors, Johann Pestalozzi and Friedrich Froebel? And did you watch the magic influence of a diet of things prescribed by the former in the place of words, and a little various practice in doing, in the place of talking, under the direction of the latter?”” In the South following Recon- struction, white racists cited Pestalozzi approvingly, saying schools which ’6Beatty, Preschool Education, chapter 4. ”C. M. Woodward, untitled connibution,JournalofEducation 22 (December 24, 1885): 411. The Origins of Progressive Education 17 emphasized books had no place in the education of African Americans. T h e ex-slaves were lazy, said many white educators, and extensive book-knowl- edge for the masses (as Booker T. Washington and others agreed) was a luxury society could ill afford. As one North Carolinian fancifully believed, Pestalozzi had helped turn a “poor, shiftless, helpless Swiss peasantry” into modern, virtuous, hard-working capitalists. Without manual training for the working-class children, white and especially black, crime would persist and the chain gang remain a necessity.3x Like other northern activists, the charismatic Francis W. Parker, who also wanted to break “the chains of the old education,” envisioned a boun- tiful pedagogical future. He was widely quoted for condemning pall parrot teaching and the emotional slaughter of the innocents in the classroom. Too many teachers, he reported, worried about such trivial matters as a shortage of teaching apparatus; they lacked sufficient imagination. In a clear reference to the Swiss master, Parker asked, “Have we not pebbles, and shells, and leaves, and flowers, and the free ~ k i e s ? ” ’ ~ Edward Sheldon, who established a model normal school in Oswego, New York, that became a Mecca for progressive teachers, saw object teaching as a panacea. Though he claimed to have devised his theories prior to learning about Pestalozzi, he shared the master’s desire to discover the “laws of childhood” by observ- ing children. Like his counterparts on both sides of the Atlantic, he com- plained about the rigidities of the old education and tried to surround hmself with like-minded teachers, who similarly proclaimed that schools had an exaggerated interest in books and words and not in things and Nature.” An anti-intellectual strain was fundamental in many child-centered educators, who saw a broad array of sensory experiences as the basis of edu- cation and often emphasized transcendence, intuition, and feeling. T h e y ’““Cooking and Sewing in Colored Grade School of Durham, N.C.,” North Carolina j’oumal of Education 3 (November 1899): 10-1 1. On the opposition of African-Americans to white attempts to water down their academic instruction, see James D. Anderson, The Edu- cation ofBlacks in the South, 1860-1935 (Chapel Hill: T h e University of North Carolina Press, 1988). ”Col. F. W. Parker, “Training that Educates,” W i s c ~ i n ~ o z i m u l o f E d w a t i o n 13 (Novem- ber 1883): 445. ?“E. A. Sheldon, A Manual of Elementary Instruction, For the Use of Public and Private Schools and Normal Classes; Containing a Graduated Course of OBYECT LESSONSfor the Train- ing [ofl the Senses and Developing the Farzllties of Children (New York: Charles Scribner & Co., c. 1869), 5, 1 5 , 96; M a r y Sheldon Barnes, ed., Autobiography of Edward Austin Sheldon (New York: Ives-Butler Company, I91 l), 124; and Ned Harland Dearborn, The Oswego Movement in American Education (New York: Teachers College, Columbia University, 1925), 16-17, which perceptively notes the messianic, religious, and educational views shared by Sheldon and Pestalozzi. T h e commanding place of textbooks in the Oswego, New York, schools remained an impediment to the rise of object teaching, as a committee of educators reported to the National Teachers’ Association in 1865. See S.S. Greene, “Object Teaching: Its Gen- eral Principles, and the Oswego System,” in Pestalozzi and His Educational System, ed. Henry Barnard (Syracuse: C.W. Bardeen, Publisher, 188I), 455. 18 History of Education Quarterly could ably cite key passages in the writings of European romantics which questioned the importance of books, textbooks, grammars, and catechisms in the instruction of the young. In Emile, Rousseau had called reading “the greatest plague of childhood.” In 1801, Pestalozzi boasted that he had not read a book in thirty years. Wordsworth playfully told everyone to put away their books: “Books! Tis a dull and endless strifeKOme, hear the woodland linnet . . . . Come forth into the light of t h i n g d l e t nature be your teach- er.”” But schools, and their books, were here to stay. And popular suspi- cion about the life of the mind, as hstorian Richard Hofstadter once wrote, had multiple sources in the American past.+‘ In a century marked by recurrent religious revivals among Protestant denominations, child-centered school reformers actually deepened the wider evangelical faith among countless educators and citizens that schools could improve and perhaps perfect society. T h e mystical, quasi-religious, and Christian imagery that often found prominence in European romanticism (especially in Pestalozzi and Froebel) also found ample expression here. Many activists traveled to Europe to examine model schools first hand, much like religious pilgrims seelung inspiration, personal salvation, and human redemption. A religious aura frequently surrounded those who lob- bied for kindergartens or manual training or who published progressive training manuals or articles and books on the new education. A beautiful, radiant Madonna graced the cover of one kindergarten manual by William Hailmann, among the nation’s leading proponents of kindergartens and object teaching.” I n 1892, Louisa Parsons Hopkms, a supervisor of teach- ers in Boston, published a book entitled The Spirit of the New Education. Like other reformers, she attacked the “medievalism” of the schools and their unnatural preoccupation with “an exclusively book education.” In addition, upon visiting one kindergarten, she experienced an epiphany. T h e teacher and her tender charges sang joyfully and engaged playfully in their class- room activities. It was like a “baptism of the spirit.” “There was an ineffa- ble sweetness, and almost holiness, about the atmosphere of the place. The children’s faces were lighted up with real inspiration and interest, and one could almost see a tongue of flame on the forehead of the teacher^."^ “The Emile ofJean~acques Romseau, edited by William Boyd (New York: Teachers Col- lege Press, c . 197 l ) , 5 1; Pestalozzi, How Gertli~de, 2 5 (the volume is filled with slurs on books); and William Wordsworth, “ T h e Tables Turned: An Evening Scene on the Same Subject,” in William Wordsworth: The Poems, ed. John 0. Hayden (New York: Penguin Books, c. 1990): I : 3 5 7 . “Richard Hofstadter, Anti-Intellertzialrsmzm in Americun Life (New York: Vintage Books, 1962). ?’See W.N. Hailmann, Law of ChiMhood, and Other Papers (Chicago: Alice B. Stockham & Co., 1889), among his many writings. +‘Louisa Parsons Hopluns, The Spirit of the New Education (Boston: Lee and Shepard Publishers, 1892), 9, 20-2 1. The Origins of Propessive Education 19 Appropriately, a fine reproduction of the Madonna hung on the classroom wall, a fitting image of the mother’s role as savior. T h e Madonna, so sig- nificant to Catholic women’s devotion, had crossed into a largely Protes- tant world that frequently retained anti-Catholic sentiments even within polite middle-class circles.” Leading school men of the age, from editors of mainstream educa- tional magazines to administrators, were insulted by the many charges hurled at their institutions. Calling Parker an “apostle of the new education,” a writer in the Pennsylvania SchoolJoumal simply remarked, “If Col. Parker is right, nearly all of us are wrong.”” In the 1870s, William T. Harris, St. Louis’s famous superintendent, led the nation in establishing public kinder- gartens and science instruction in the primary grades. But he remained sus- picious of utopian claims on behalf of manual training and sugary views of the child, defended the importance of academics, and warned that starry- eyed teachers seemed more impressed with their bug collections and field trips than in the unglamourous task of teaching children to read. Harris presciently said that manual training would evolve into a class-based voca- tional system, anti-intellectual in tone and undemocratic in practice.’” Emer- son E. White similarly mocked the grandiose claims of manual training advocates: “I shall not be surprised to hear some enthusiast say that man- ual training is the only road to heaven. Every other possible claim has been made for it.’’iX Still other critics of the new education rejected the notion that play, and not work, should be the basis of a sound education, and even worried that the lundergarten, despite the saccharine image, was often a “disorderly n ~ r s e r y . ” ‘ ~ T h e late nineteenth century was a difficult time to be a child-cen- tered educator, a t least if one wanted to overturn the familiar practices of the common school. That the interests of the child should guide classroom instruction was given a boost in the 1880s and 1890s thanks to the follow- ers of Johann Friedrich Herbart (1 776- 1841), but resistance to change was +On urban middle-class Protestant fascination with Catholicism, see TJ. Jackson Lears, No Place ojGrace: Aiztimodeniism and the Traiisfioimatioii ofAmerican Ciiltiire, 1880-1 920 (New York: Pantheon Books, 1981). “William L. Ballantine, “Examinations,” Peiznsylz~ania SchoolJvziinal 32 (May 1883): 437. ‘-William J. Reese, “The Philosopher-King of St. Louis,” in Ciirvirulzim & Conseqzience: Herbelt M . Kliebard and the Promise of Schooling, ed. Barry M . Franklin (New York: Teachers College Press, ZOOO), 165, 171-72. ‘“‘Manual Training,”Jozirnal ofEdiication 3 5 (March 3, 1892): 134. T h e same article quoted William Hailinann, who wrote approvingly of manual training as essential in teach- ing social cooperation, work hahits, and hand and eye coordination, arguments common at the time. ‘“‘Drift,”Jm~nzal ofEdziratioi7 19 (May 2 2 , 1881): 326. This editorial takes a swipe at Hailmann and other kindergarten enthusiasts. 20 Histoly of Education Qua.te.4 pervasive.j0 Of course, depending on what books or journals one read or classrooms one visited, citizens could conclude that the schools had wit- nessed a pedagogical revolution and the annihilation of tradition, or its opposite. In a richly diverse nation, with hundreds of thousands of public schools spreading into the poorest, least populated, and recently settled corners of the nation, America had examples aplenty to confirm or deny educational change, the watchword of the era. In 1896, however, a deject- ed contributor to the SchoolJournal sadly wrote that “the study of pedagogy has been, and still is, derided by what may be termed the Three R men. They have said and still say that it is enough to know the subjects to be taught, and how to keep order.”j’ Another writer similarly feared that a “dead common school tone” prevailed in many classrooms.” Without question, there was abundant evidence that teachers still forced children to memorize knowledge learned from ubiquitous textbooks. Charles Francis Adams, Jr., who helped publicize Francis Parker’s labors as superintendent in Quincy, Massachusetts in the 1870s, said that before the latter’s arrival the town schools hired teachers who “unconsciously” made pupils into “parrots.” Children would “glibly chatter out the bound- aries and capitals, and principal towns and rivers of States and nation, and enumerate the waters you pass through and the ports you would make in a voyage from Boston to Calcutta, or New York to St. Petersburg.”j) Park- er’s stay in Quincy proved to be short-lived; he was off to Boston in 1880, where he would face another round of resistance to change. Other exam- ples of hostility to the spirit of the new education abounded. In 1882, a study of “common school studies” sponsored by the United States Bureau of Education discovered that teachers still spent most of their time on the basics. T h e purpose of instruction, said the researcher, seemed to be “the guessing of so many riddles” and memorizing incredible quantities of facts. Drill and recitation were more common than exercises that tapped the imag- ination.” Teachers everywhere frequently spent most of their time drilling chil- dren in the basic subjects. A foreign visitor to several New York City schools in the 1890s was struck by the heavy reliance on memorization: “I heard in one class the boys get up one after another recording the names, dates, and ”‘For a masterful history of Herbartian ideas and their American expressions, see Kath- leen Anne Cruikshank, “The Rise and Fall of American Herbartianism: Dynamics of an Edu- cational Reform Movement,” (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 1993). ”Editorial, The School~ournalS3 (September/October 1896): 388. ’?Editorial, WisconsinJournal of Education 2 8 (August 1898): 169. ”Charles F. Adams, Jr., The N m Departure m the Common Schools of Quinq and Other Paperson Educational Topics (Boston: Estes and Lauriat, 1879), 33,43. “John M. Gregory, “Some Fundamental Inquiries Concerning the Common School Studies,” Circulars of Information of the Bureau of Edzication (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1882), 87. The Origins of Progressive Education 2 1 chief performances of the eighteen presidents of the United States. In anoth- er school, the girls recited in order the names of the principal inventors and discovers, with a description of the exploits of each.’’is By the time Joseph Mayer k c e published his celebrated book attacking the old education in 1893, a generation of reformers had come to realize that despite some cel- ebrated victories, tradition had proven more than a little enduring. A pedi- atrician, Rice catalogued the usual litany of problems in urban, graded schools, where children memorized materials they did not understand, teachers resembled Gradgrind, and cram was king.” T h e advocates of the new education could point to some triumphs. T h e curriculum in some urban districts had been enriched by object teach- ing, occasionally by lundergarten classes, and even more by manual train- ing classes of great variety and quality. Nature study and field trips were not unknown. Even Rice noticed an occasional ray of light in the city sys- tems. In Indianapolis, Nebraska Cropsey, the supervisor of elementary teachers and alumnae of Oswego, had introduced and encouraged more active, natural teaching methods in some schools.” Maybe other places would take heed. And yet the apostles of the new education were aware that the seeds of reform often died on the hard soil of tradition. Even Harris in 1891 complained about the excessive preoccupation with memorization in the schools, where sing-song drill, question-and-answer teaching methods, and the heavy use of textbooks remained common.j8 Despite all the fears of traditional educators, the schools had not been won over by child-centered education. Books remained central to the pub- lic schools, and the familiar basics had not been crowded out by fashion- able romantic substitutes. T h e messianic visions of a Colonel Parker, Hailmann, or countless child-centered progressives were difficult to trans- late into reality. Real schools and ordinary teachers valued the traditional curriculum, books, and old-fashioned pedagogy. That was how most teach- ers had been taught. T o their credit, early progressives often recognized that primers on object teaching, kindergartens, and manual training could deteriorate into formula, rules and regulations, and question-and-answer ’7.G. Fitch, Notes o n American Schools and Training Colleges (London: Macmillan and Company, 1890), 5 1. ’“Joseph Mayer Rice, The Public-School System ofthe United States (New York: Cenis- ry, 1893). ”Rice, Public-School System, 93, 101-15; and Laura Gaus, “Nebraska Cropsey,” in The Enyclopedia of Indzunupolzs, ed. David J. Bodenhamer and Robert G . Barrows (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 483. “William T . Harris, “The Present Status of Education in the United States,”Jozirnal ofEducation 34 (August 13, 1891): 101, where he wrote: “The elementary school will always have the character of memory work stamped upon it, no matter how much the educational reforms may improve its methods. It is not easy to over-value the impulse of such men as Pestalozzi and Froebel; but the child’s mind cannot seize great syntheses.” 2 2 History of Education Quarterly formats, an odd result for a movement that began as an assault on formal- ism and expressed supreme faith in intuition and the individual. Turning romantic ideas into a program was never easy, and critics noticed the irony of discovering kindergarten and manual-training teachers instructing step- by-step from guides and primers.” And after the idea of formulating a “sci- ence of education” resurfaced late in the century, o r i p a l l y as part of scientific child study, children were soon measured by percentages and known by their placement on the curve.6o Middle-class private experimental schools, university laboratory schools, and a handful of suburban school districts would keep child-centered progressivism alive, but working-class parents, suspicious of their betters and more supportive of the basics in all things, would usually remain outside of their orbit.6’ As Pestalozzi had said in a dif- ferent context, they did not like having experiments performed on their children. It is not coincidental that the most famous American theorists of the new education were not teachers or if so left the classroom quickly. T h e transcendentalist and romantic poets beat a quick retreat for larger public roles. Susan Blow, who headed the lundergartens in St. Louis, apparently influenced hundreds of teachers through her training courses and lectures and became an outspoken defender of Froebelian While serv- ing as public school administrators, both Edward Sheldon and William Hailmann had faced resistance from teachers and parents. But Sheldon ulti- mately spent decades a t the helm of a prestigious, progressive normal school a t Oswego, and Hailmann moved on to other administrative posts, where he championed manual training, kindergartens, and object teaching6’ When ”See John Dewey’s perceptive comments in Dmon-acy and Education: A n Introduction t o the Philosophy ofEdmation (New York: T h e Free Press, c. 1944), 58-59, 198-99. T h e book was originally published in 1916. 60Max van Manen, “Romantic Roots of Human Science in Education,” in Educational Legacy, ed. Willinsky, 115-39. 61Patricia Albjerg Graham, Progressive Education: From Arcady t o Academe, A History of The Progressive Education Association (New York: Teachers College Press, 1967), 8-16; and Arthur Zilversmit, Changing Schools: Progressive Education Theory and Practice, 19?0-1960 (Chica- go: University of Chicago Press, 1993). “Shapiro, Child’s Garden, 60-63; and Barbara Beatty, ‘‘Susan Elizabeth Blow,” in His- torical Dictionary ofAmerican Edncation, ed. Richard J. Altenbaugh (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1999), 48. “Will S. Monroe, History of the Pestalozzian Movement in the United States (Syracuse: C.W. Bardeen, Publisher, 1907), 179, briefly describes the reaction against Sheldon’s system by local residents. After serving as superintendent of schools in LaPorte, Indiana, for nine years, Hailmann reported continued resistance from parents, since he reduced the tradition- al emphasis on textbooks and increased classroom time spent on drawing and manual train- ing and “experimental” methods. See Report of the Public Schools ofLaPolte, lndiana,for the School Year 1891-1 892 (LaPorte, Indiana: Wadsworth & Kessler, 1892), 11. O n Hailmann’s varied career, see Beatty, Preschool Education; William J. Reese, “Urban School Reform in the Pro- gressive Era,” in Hoosier Schools: Past & Present, ed. William J. Reese (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 44; and Ted Stahly, “Curricular Reform in an Industrial Age,” in Hoosier Schools, 62-63, 65-66. T h e Origins of Progressive Education 2 3 asked to reminiscence about her high school teacher, John Dewey, a woman vividly recalled that he was unable to control the unruly boys and led a school prayer that was unusually long. As a college teacher, he often lec- tured and students labored to stay awake, even if their notes revealed his brilliance.6’ People who were charismatic like Colonel Parker, however, were not called apostles and prophets for nothing-they inspired many who found the classroom experience dull and deadening, as student and teach- er. Reformers assumed at times that their charisma would infect others and thus help transform school bureaucracies, which became bloated in the cities. As reformers moved out of the classroom and into administrative positions, they found t h a t changing practice was not impossible but extreme- ly difficult. T h e advocates of the new education had nevertheless invented a whole new vocabulary and way of thinking about the child, the curriculum, and the purposes of schools. What they said and attempted to implement remained an important legacy for future child-centered activists. Dewey became the patron saint of something called progressive education, even though he, like his friend Harris, criticized its romantic side.6’ But by the turn of the century, many school critics would say that the child should be an active, not passive, learner; that the teacher should be a guide, not master; that the curriculum should adapt to a changing industrial society, not remain lodged in the past; and that something needed to be done about the many incom- petent teachers who sent their pupils to nearly eternal sleep. When he pub- lished “My Pedagogical Creed” in 1897, Dewey himself had exemplified the highly spiritual, mystical, quasi-religious side of the new education by claiming that “the teacher always is the prophet of the true God and the usherer in of the true l n g d o m of God.”66 T h e language of reform became more secular in the twentieth century, but a millennia1 faith in the gospel of education never disappeared. Child-centered education had been born in an age of romance and revolution, in the rich soil of human imagination. Dreamers and visionar- “‘George Dyzhuizen, The Lifk and lZlind ofJohn Dewey (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1973), 25; Lagemann, Elusive Science, 52; and Russell B. Goodman, Ameri- can Philosophy aizd the Romantic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 92. “In recent years, scholars have increasingly and properly recognized that Dewey opposed child-centered education. See, for example, Robert Westbrook, John Dewey and American Democraq (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991), 108-09; and Alan Ryan, John Devrey and the High Tide ofAmerican Liberalism (New York: W . W . Norton & Company, 1995), 134. 60John Dewey, “My Pedagogical Creed,” in Dewey on Education, ed. Martin S . D w o r h n (New York: Teachers College Press, 1959), 3 2 . O n the moral foundations of progressive reform generally, see Crunden, Ministers o f Refolm; and Timothy L. Smith, “Progressivism in American Education, 1880-19OO,”Ha?vard Educational Review 3 1 (Spring 1961): 173-74. Cruik- shank notes that the moral and spiritual foundations of Herbart’s ideas, which drew inspira- tion in part from Pestalozzi, helped in their popularization in America. See “ T h e Rise and Fall,” 873-74. 24 History of Education Quarterly ies from Europe knew that something was wrong with how children were treated and educated, and some sympathetic Americans agreed that only the stone hearted could ignore the prophetic words of the poet. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: T h e Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!67 6’William Wordsworth, “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood,” in The Portable Romantics, 199. 
work_kc3afa24czd3hevches2fa5em4	----	Urban dynamics-the first fifty years Urban dynamics-The first fifty years Louis Edward Alfeld Twenty-five years have passed since the publication of Jay W. Forrester’s Urban Dynamics. Any assessment of the condition of America’s cities today raises the question of what might have been had the model and the methodology been accepted as a central urban planning and policy tool. Instead of looking backward at what might have been, however, it seems more useful to look ahead at what still may be. Urban dynamics still has a role to play in our urban future; this article provides a backdrop for how that role might best be shaped. Louis Edward Alfeld served as Director of Urban Dynamics h g r a m s for the System Dynamics Group at Massa- chusetts Institute of Technology (M.I.T.) from 1970 to 1975. He is currently president of Deci- sion Dynamics, Inc., a consulting firm specializing in the application of sys- tem dynamics to management issues. This article recounts my own experience in five applications of urban dynamics. The first four applications occurred within a 40-mile radius of M.I.T. -Lowell, Boston, Concord and Marlborough, all in Massachusetts. The fifth transplanted the theory to the Atlantic beaches of Florida and a new community called Palm Coast. All five applications differed from one another. In the first, Lowell, we demonstrated the importance of a limited land resource in shaping urban policy. In Boston, we underscored how urban aging widens the gap between the city’s high-priced job base and its low-priced housing stock. Work in Concord employed simple models to capture the powerful feedback forces that drive migration and growth. Marlborough bypassed formal modeling, using the underlying theory to shape a verbal logic that supported political actions aimed at preserving the older inner neighborhoods in a dynamic equilibrium. Finally, a substantially revised model was constructed to guide the projected 80-year growth of Palm Coast, from a tiny community of 3000 to a new town of 224,000. Lowell 1971 The publication of Urban Dynamics in 1969 generated intense controversy. To help assess the model’s value, the then-new U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) provided a $210,000 research grant to support a two-year effort to validate the model. An advisory committee of urban experts drawn from academia and city government were to provide guidance and judge the results. At HUD’s insistence, the committee included some of our harshest critics. The committee experience Although we attempted to engage the committee in a constructive dialogue concerning the model’s utility, the members had neither the time nor the inclination to study system dynamics. Criticisms concerning data and validation techniques displaced issues of system structure and user needs. Neither side understood the other’s point of view. For example, when we requested that the committee suggest alternative hypotheses for testing in the model, HUD re- sponded by writing that: if we (the committee) feel that a specific hypothesis is incorrect or notably weak but don’t correct the hypothesis, this isn’t evidence that the hypothesis should stand. (Hoben 1973) System Llynamics ReviewVol. 11, no. 3 (Fall 1995): 199-217 0 1995 by John Wiley 8 Sons, Ltd. CCC 0883-7066/95/030199-19 Received October 1994 Accepted April 1995 199 200 System Dynamics Review Volume 11 Number 3 Fall 1995 Address: Decision Dynamics, h C . 9 B6O1 Georgia Avenue, Suite 806, Silver Spring, MD 20910, Since the committee, trained in traditional econometric modeling, would not accept any of the model relationships without support from solid literature references or published data, they essentially rejected everything. In respond- ing to HUD’s criticisms of our efforts, Forrester wrote: U.S.A. It is unfortunate that you have not found it possible to spend more time with us in order to better understand system dynamics and its application to the dynamic modeling of social systems. Many of the issues you raise seem to rest on assumptions that reflect practices in other kinds of modeling but which do not apply in the same way to system dynamics models. In fact, the strength of system dynamics arises from these differences. (Forrester 1973) In parallel to our work with the committee, we began the first practical appli- cation of urban dynamics in Lowell. Like many decaying New England towns, Lowell had ended a century of spectacular manufacturing growth with decades of crumbling old age. In contrast to the committee’s criticism, the Lowell political leadership embraced the model as a means to address its persistent 12 per cent unemployment rate. Resource constraints Urban dynamics incorporates limited land availability as an explicit resource constraint. The “Land Fraction Occupied” hypothesis is embodied in a non- linear table function that relates the rate of new construction to the fraction of land occupied by existing buildings. Early in its existence, city growth is hampered by a lack of supporting buildings and infrastructure. Too much open land holds risks for entrepreneurs. As the land is gradually developed, how- ever, the pace of growth quickens. Each newly constructed building adds to the conviction of a prosperous future and so fuels more growth. Soon all of the best sites are taken and the price of the remaining land soars. The rate of new construction begins to slow. As the last buildable sites are developed, the lack of open land and high land prices deters further construction. Only demolition of existing structures can clear the way for further building. In equilibrium, construction balances demolition. With nearly all of its land occupied by old mill buildings and aging factories, Lowell could not rebuild a new industrial base without first demolishing the empty hulks. New jobs required open land and, in Lowell, there wasn’t any. Urban dynamics emphasized the need to make the most of every scrap of potential job-producing land. Lowell residents took that advice to heart. In one case they refused to rezone industrial land for a much-needed new high school. Three years earlier a defense firm had built a factory on cleared land adjacent to a new highway, This was the first new industrial facility in Lowell in over two decades. A year later the government canceled the contract Alfeld: Urban Dynamics-The First Fifty Years 201 and the company put the building u p for sale. After it sat empty for a year, the company offered it to the school board, rent-free for a year. The company would add interior partitions to fit the school’s needs. For a year Lowell teens attended “Factory High”. At the end of the experiment, the company offered to sell the building to the school at a bargain price. The school board refused and moved the classes out, publicly justifying their actions by arguing that, if the school stayed, no new industry could ever use the building. Lowell needed jobs far more than cheap classrooms. Six months later Wang Industries bought the empty building and moved 1000 jobs into Lowell. Following a wide range of urban dynamics suggestions, the Lowell City Council developed incentives to encourage existing industries to refurbish their buildings and expand their businesses. At the same time, Lowell took steps to slow the deterioration of its housing stock. The continued out- migration of the more affluent was emptying much of the central city housing, which was being refilled by a growing lower-income population. Strict enforce- ment of the building code forced some housing renovation and reinvestment and this helped to slow the pace of residential decay. Achievements and frustrations Although Lowell began to apply urban dynamics theory to practical policy decision-making, neither HUD nor our advisory committee found the experi- ment convincing. We had begun the project by altering a few of the model parameters to reproduce Lowell’s historical growth curve. Except for the popu- lation census data and a few stories from the newspaper files, however, no hard data existed that could demonstrate that the model actually replicated Lowell’s historical housing and employment conditions. To the committee’s way of thinking, the fact that someone, somewhere wanted to use urban dynamics was not as important as first “proving” that the model was “correct”. We had neither the time nor the resources to follow the Lowell experiment for long. Because so many outside factors also impacted Lowell’s decision-making, no one could clearly separate urban dynamics from the rest. Did urban dynamics help or didn’t it? We who worked there know that it did. Clearly, Lowell wanted answers to pressing urban policy decisions and was not overly concerned with academic arguments over model validation issues. The model logic helped to create a consensus for action. The HUD committee, on the other hand, focused on the model data elements. Unfortunately, the mainframe technology of the time limited model accessibility to committee members. They could not test their own hypotheses and would not rely on us to interpret the model for them. The interface gap between model and critic contributed to the communication gap. In the final accounting, neither our 202 System Dynamics Review Volume 11 Number 3 Fall 1995 success in Lowell nor our outpouring of reports and papers could bridge that gap. HUD judged that we had nothing to offer and urban dynamics dropped out of academic sight, its potential contribution to resolving America’s urban crisis ignored for the past quarter-century. Boston 1974 In the fall of 1973 a $50,000 grant from The Kennedy Foundation provided the funds for what came to be called “The Boston Project”. The project invited us to review the city’s new ten-year plan, then under preparation by the city’s planning agency, the Boston Redevelopment Authority (BRA). Several dozen business leaders, city officials, academics and planners were invited to a series of bi-weekly luncheons, each of which addressed a different facet of the city plan. Before each meeting, the BRA circulated a planning paper to which we attached a short urban dynamics “think piece” that probed the longer-term dynamic consequences of the BRA plans. The exercise generated lively discussions, particularly around the issues of jobs and housing for Boston’s lower-income residents. What was the relation- ship, we asked, between the observed growth in high-rise office construction and the increase in lower-income residents? Did one cause the other? If so, how? Although the tone of the papers sought to remain objective, the conclusions were generally critical of the emerging plan and the questions usually posed politically difficult issues. For example, after describing the forces of neighbor- hood aging and quantifying the large flow of older housing that was filtering down to lower-income markets, one paper asked, “where will future residents of older neighborhoods work?”. Another paper, examining the proposed high- rise construction goals for the city, concluded that, “planners are asking ‘what can we get?’ rather than ‘what do we want?”’ Unlike our recent experience with the HUD project, the roles were now reversed. We unintentionally filled the role of critic and the BRA felt obligated to defend their traditional approach to city planning. The dynamics of aging If any single issue pervaded the luncheon discussions, it was the growing mismatch between jobs and housing. Urban dynamics describes the aging of both housing and commercial structures. As the housing stock ages, it is successively occupied by residents of lower socio-economic status. On the average, older housing is less desirable and less expensive. Further, because Alfeld Urban Dynamics-The First Fif‘ty Years 103 lower-income families cannot afford spacious residences, older housing tends to become more crowded, with more people occupying each structure. This phenomenon can be seen in the subdividing of large houses for smaller apart- ments and in the larger, extended families that often live together under cramped conditions. The gradual passage of housing from affluent to poor families is called “filter-down”. Urban dynamics traces not only the change in housing occupancy but also the increase in population density. Older housing tends to shelter more people of lower income than does newer housing. Parallel to residential filter-down, industrial and commercial buildings also age. Because older business structures generally command lower rents, they are usually occupied by less profitable enterprises. Lower rents also attract space-intensive businesses which require more floor space per employee. Urban dynamics follows the aging of industrial and commercial buildings as successive waves of tenants occupy them. Older buildings tend to contain fewer jobs and less profitable enterprises. Urban aging creates two dynamically opposing forces. Residential structures fill with more people of lower income while jobs in commercial structures evaporate. Over time an imbalance appears-too many people and not enough jobs. Urban dynamics attacked this outcome by recognizing the need to demolish the excess housing to make way for new enterprise construction. Only by increasing the rate of land turnover could a city achieve a healthy balance between population and jobs. Model application Two of our papers, relying on census data, carefully charted the dynamics of housing aging. Boston has a large stock of older housing, firmly anchored in traditional ethnic neighborhoods. There was little prospect, therefore, of any significant clearance program that could slow the inevitable expansion of lower-income housing opportunities. Dynamically, two courses of action were required. First, the lower-income employment base needed to be stabilized and expanded (with a parallel emphasis on education). Second, the housing stock needed to be upgraded through an effective program of conservation and rehabilitation. Neither action appeared on the BRA agenda. ‘What was the city going to do,” we wrote, “about the growing gap between the low job skills of the residents and the high tech employment offered by the planned office towers?”. The overall conclusion of the project can be summarized in the title of the final report, The Manhattanization of Boston, not a very attractive prospect. Yet the BRA’S plans unintentionally described the creation of a city with a high proportion of well-paid jobs for suburban commuters and a large pool of aging 204 System Dynamics Review Volume 11 Number 3 Fall 1995 housing for the underclasses trapped in the city without adequate education or employment. Sadly, twenty years later we see that this is exactly what has happened. Look beyond the glitter of high-rise wealth and discover the grime of South Boston’s and Roxbury’s poverty. Today, Boston is much like every other American city. But it could have been much better. If the HUD project failed because of the gap between model and committee, the Boston project failed because we did not understand the importance of accommodating short-term political objectives within a set of larger, long-term goals. If we had been content merely to provide answers to start a small shift in the balance of forces, we might have had some impact on the planning and development of Boston. Instead, by attempting to rebalance all of the forces at a single stroke, we placed ourselves outside the bounds of political realism. Acceptable answers, alternative tradeoff options, and consensus-building (in- stead of criticism) could have produced a successful outcome. Concord 1975 Concord is a small Massachusetts town with lots of history. Tourists come to see the 1776 birthplace of the American Revolution at Old North Bridge and to wander the shores of nearby Walden Pond in the footsteps of Henry David Thoreau. It is also quite an attractive, tree-lined bedroom community, less than 30 minutes from downtown Boston. Concord also happened to be the home of Jay Forrester and, in the 1970% was my home as well. In late 1972, several prominent residents approached Forrester to express their concern that continuing suburban growth would eventually destroy the unique pre-revolutionary character of the town. With a population of 15,000, Concord was already, in many minds, too big. They feared further growth would trade wooded expanses for garish commerciali- zation and crowded apartments. “Can urban dynamics,” they asked, “help us understand the growth process so that we might better control it?”. Forrester, already busy with the economics modeling project, suggested my participation instead. I agreed to join an informal “growth committee” and soon found myself leading bi-weekly urban dynamics discussions with a group of urban conservationists who wanted a tool to stop growth. Relative attractiveness We began by building some very simple, two-level models designed to explore the dynamic behavior between population growth and various aspects of com- munity attractiveness. One of the principal assumptions behind urban dynamics Alfeld: Urban Dynamics-The First Fifty Years 2@s is the theory of relative attractiveness. The theory states that, given free migration, no place CM long remain more attractive than any other place. A corollary of the theory suggests the existence of negative counterbalances. Population growth continues until negative pressures arise to counterbalance an area’s underlying attractiveness. Perception delays can cause population to over- shoot, thus exaggerating the negative impact of growth. Concord, with its many attractive qualities, would surely draw in more people than it could comfort- ably house and, in the process, erase its rural charm. A second corollary of relative attractiveness is that no two communities need suffer the same set of negative counterbalances. All that is needed to bring a community into equilibrium with its surroundings is a set of pressures suffi- cient to deter further in-migration. Any mix of pressures will do so, as long as people outside the community perceive them as sufficiently negative. Yet residents may chose which pressures they prefer. People pick where to live on the basis of such tradeoffs. One community, quite distant from downtown and requiring a long and difficult commute, might offer picturesque countryside and reasonable housing prices. Another community, close by downtown, might trade lack of parking and higher housing costs for urban proximity. Concord was poised to offer something of everything to everyone. It was, in a word, attractive. We needed to discover what mix of negative counterpressures could offset this attractiveness. Town goals and tradeofis The first models exhibited S-shaped growth patterns, with population equili- brium reached after exhausting whatever resource fueled community attrac- tiveness. Instead of the “Land Fraction Occupied” hypothesis, we substituted housing costs, open space, schools, commuter access, town services and utility use as potential resource constraints. All proved initially attractive, only to ultimately turn negative when population grew to high levels. Little by little, the participants in the “Concord Project” recognized that they faced a very difficult choice: what to sacrifice and what to preserve? In most communities, such tradeoffs go unrecognized, much less openly debated. Although the simple models did not pretend to forecast future growth, they did get across the point that growth was not inevitable. The town could control its own destiny. It had only to agree which problems to live with, which counterpressures to inflate, and it could lower its attractiveness as a target for developers and a magnet for regional population growth. In a pluralistic society, such choices are virtually impossible to make. Each group, in seeking its own goals, unwittingly blocks others from achieving theirs. Parents support spending for educational improvements that attract 208 System Dynamics Review Volume 11 Number 3 Fall 1995 more families. Stores expand to feed and clothe the newcomers. Roads are widened to ease traf6c congestion. Better automobile access opens more land for development. New houses require utility extensions, more school buses and a larger fire department. Taxes rise. Voters curtail teacher pay rises. Educa- tional quality begins to decline and concerned parents relocate to new suburbs whose residents support spending for educational improvements. Multiply the feedback structure a hundred times to reflect the different goals and preferences of every group. A community that tries to solve every problem and meet every need eventually satisfies no one. Concord residents were willing to live with narrow, poorly paved roads, congested shopping, limited utilities and negligible town services. But in ex- change they wanted good schools, woodland vistas, reasonable taxes and affordable housing for their sons and daughters. Would the tradeoffs appease the model? After mastering the dynamics of the simpler models, we plunged ahead with several larger models. One combined all of the attractiveness factors in order to examine their interrelationships. Another sought to disaggregate the single population level by age and income. The models suggested that the tradeoffs would not be enough. The town could not supply affordable housing without fueling rapid growth. Nor could the town purchase sufficient open land for conservation without driving up the price of remaining land. High land prices coupled with restrictive zoning guaranteed high housing costs. Every option led back to the same conclusion: limiting the amount of housing effectively stopped further growth. Yet limiting the housing supply would drive prices sky-high. Theory in action Concord was a refreshing experience. Concord participants welcomed the in- sights into the long-term tradeoffs and negative counterbalances that would ultimately determine the character of their community. While most did not attempt to fathom the depths of urban dynamics theory, they did study the sub- models well enough to master their workings and their implications for plan- ning. Group discussions probed new issues with informed responses. Having learned from the HUD experience, I spent considerable time explaining system dynamics and offering local, common-sense examples of dynamic behavior. The growing wisdom of a small group of influential citizens manifested itself in several town actions. The two most successful-using town funds to pur- chase developable lots fronting on scenic roads and limiting the expansion of the utility system-worked together to limit housing growth. Limited new housing, of course, drove up the prices of the existing housing stock, thus Alfeld Urban Dynamics-The First Fifty Yean, 207 further limiting the influx of new residents. A three-bedroom home on a quarter-acre lot that sold for $42,500 in 1970 was worth over $300,000 in 1990. Residents found that a return on their housing investments of 11 per cent per year for twenty years is not too high a price to stop growth, particularly when only the newcomers paid it. From 15,000 in 1970, Concord’s population increased to only 16,500 in 1990, an annual rate of growth of just one-half of one per cent. The number of homes, however, increased twice as fast, rising from 4000 to 4800, an annual rate of growth of one per cent. In the process, however, the average number of resi- dents per dwelling unit dropped from 3.75 to 3.45 persons. This drop reflects the fact that few new families could afford to move in, while many “empty nest” families (whose children had grown and left home) remained. In limiting growth, Concord turned gray. No longer does the town lure young families with small children from the city to the suburbs. Most of those families cannot afford it. All in all, Concord managed very successfully to pick and choose its way through a series of difficult tradeoffs and seemingly incompatible town goals. It did not want to grow. And it was willing to act to stop growth. Urban dynamics provided the necessary logic upon which to build an effective co- alition for action. The urban dynamics of Concord, however, was quite unlike the urban dynamics of Lowell or Boston. Lowell wanted the revival promised by Forrester’s book. Boston wanted a painless growth, free of difficult tradeoffs. Concord, wanting just to be left alone, interpreted the urban dynmics theory to fit its needs, discarding the inapplicable notions of job loss and housing obsolescence, while expanding upon the insightful migration and attractive- ness elements. The emphasis on finding practical answers to real town policy questions made urban dynamics a credible tool. In addition, the interface was a personal one, represented by myself at countless meetings. The models were accessible to the participants because they took the time to understand them and examine the results. Emphasizing answers and interface worked for Concord. Marlborough 1976 Late in 1975 I left M.I.T. to become the first director of the newly created Department of Planning and Community Development of Marlborough, a city of 30,000 located 30 miles west of Boston. Marlborough suffered many of the same aging problems that had characterized Lowell-except that Marlborough had plenty of unused land. Older buildings crowded the central district, many empty and awaiting demolition under an earlier urban renewal program that 208 System Dynamics Review Volume 11 Number 3 Fall 1995 had become bogged down in local politics. Random scatterings of new sub- divisions were replacing the surrounding woodlands and grim new apartment projects were sprouting alongside the roadways. Marlborough’s residents were struggling against their own economic decline while, at the same time, pro- moting uncontrolled housing development for newcomers. In a classic example of counterproductive behavior, Marlborough’s short-term pursuit of residential growth was sapping the long-term capacity of the city to provide the services, housing, education and employment so desperately needed by its lower- middle class residents. Planning for equilibrium Urban dynamics traces how persistent unemployment arises as a natural con- sequence of urban aging. Marlborough faced just such a future. Decaying homes and deteriorating neighborhoods ringed the crumbling Main Street commercial center. An ambitious urban renewal project had succeeded in demolishing several older structures for a new by-pass road, but had failed to attract any new development to fill the voids. Jobs were scarce, particularly entry-level jobs for local high-school graduates. In ignorance, new apartment clusters along the highways and new, inexpensive homes along the wooded back roads were taken as a sign of progress. With the close co-operation of elected officials, citizen’s groups and business associations, we gradually evolved a plan that reflected nearly every aspect of the urban dynamics revival scenario. Yet never once did I mention urban dynamics or simulation modeling. With the logic of urban dynamics behind it, even the highly partisan city council agreed that the emerging city plan made sense. Every citizens’ group endorsed it. The Chamber of Commerce, the League of Women Voters, the Arts Council and both local newspapers backed it. The plan clearly explained the dynamic consequences of the current shortsighted policies. Trading what little remained of its declining economic base for new apartments could only lead to more people, increased traffic, higher unemployment and more problems. Instead, the plan offered a series of interlinked programs that promised to move the city toward a long-term balance between population and employment. High-leverage actions The Marlborough plan contained five major action areas. First, an ambitious program of street and sidewalk repaving, housing repair, code inspections and tree planting aimed at arresting further neighborhood decline. Second, acqui- sition and demolition of structures too far gone to save created much-needed Alfeld: Urban Dynamics-The First Fifty Years 209 residential mini-parks and off-street parking areas. Third, construction of small parking lots bolstered the marginal commercial zones and a new large parking lot adjacent to the city’s second largest employer, an aging boot factory, con- vinced the company not to relocate but to expand its local operations instead. Fourth, the planning department purchased an old, empty church in the center of the aging neighborhoods and converted it from an eyesore into a landmark, restoring its formal gardens and installing a day-care center, community meeting rooms and the offices of the planning department. Lastly, the city purchased hundreds of woodland acres to land bank, thereby slowing some of the random, outlying residential development and preserving a critical watershed area. Taken individually, none of the actions sounds controversial. And none were, Taken together they created pressures within the urban system that tended to conserve the existing housing stock and employment base from further erosion. The city’s investment in its neighborhoods also encouraged private re-investment, which, in turn, helped to stabilize both the population turnover and the property tax base. Growth was not a goal; sustainable equil- ibrium was. Planning sought to equalize the rates of change, balancing housing and commercial renovation against the ravages of age and obsolescence. Positive results The plan worked well. Within a few years most of the inner neighborhoods showed visible signs of improvement. Residents and homeowners no longer feared that they would have to move, forced out by falling property values and displaced by lower-income strangers in search of housing bargains. Unlike Lowell, Marlborough sat within commuting distance of Boston and the metro- politan job market and so did not suffer the same unemployment problems. Marlborough needed care and conservation, not rebuilding. Marlborough proved that urban dynamics theory can translate into success- ful practice. It proved that long-term logic can prevail over short-term political pressures. But it also revealed the incredible difficulty of creating a coherent and acceptable plan of city action without direct access to urban dynamics theory. Marlborough presents the perfect argument for repackaging urban dy- namics into an interactive, desktop learning program. Such a program, com- bining answer-oriented analysis with an easy-to-use interface, could give urban officials a firm grasp of long-term dynamic principles, sufficient to offset some of the short-term political expediency that dominates urban decision- making today. 210 System Dynamics Review Volume 11 Number 3 Fall 1995 Palm Coast 1980 Palm Coast is the largest planned new community in the United States. It covers 42,000 acres along the Atlantic coast of north Florida, half-way between St. Augustine and Daytona Beach. ITT Community Development Corporation (ICDC), a subsidiary of IT”, plans and directs its continuing growth. ICDC believed that a simulation model could provide an underlying logic to the projected growth curves. In particular, the model could help convince Florida officials that sufficient affordable housing would result from the filter- down of the housing stock over the fifty-year development period. Not all of the affordable housing need be constructed at the beginning. If the mandated percentage of affordable housing was built each year, by the time the community completed its long growth period, on-going filter-down processes would insure that the community would become predominately lower-income. If Palm Coast followed Florida guidelines for smaller communities, ICDC argued, the result would be the largest slum north of Miami. The model would help to make this point clear. Palm Coast modeling efforts continued for nearly a decade, with periods of intense activity in preparation for hearings, followed by lulls once the desired building permits had been granted. Over that time the model naturally evolved, from a straightforward adaptation of Forrester’s model to the eventual develop- ment of entirely new models, first on mainframe computers and later on the Apple Macintosh. In between, I created perhaps a half-dozen distinct models, each exploring in greater detail one or more aspects of the urban growth process. For example, an early disaggregation of population into two distinct sectors -families and retirees-examined the impact of each group upon the other. Each group was attracted by different amenities. Retirees wanted recreational facilities (particularly golf courses), modern hospitals and isolation from noise, traffic and commercial enterprise. Families, on the other hand, desired afford- able housing, good schools and close proximity to jobs and shopping. Families also shunned “old age” developments, for they knew that their preferences would be ignored in favor of retirees. ICDC planned to sell sufficient homes to retirees (a very lucrative market) to generate cash flow while still attracting families who would form the backbone of the projected growth wave. The marketing people were sales oriented and that meant tapping the rich south- ward flow of the nation’s retirees. The planners held them back, forcing a more balanced sales effort. Without the model to back their logic, the planners would undoubtedly have lost the battle and Palm Coast might have tipped irreversibly toward becoming a retirement community. The Palm Coast modeling experience was unique in that the client’s planning team took the time to learn what urban dynamics was all about. We engaged Alfeld: Urban Dynamics-The First Fifty Years 211 in lengthy discussions concerning the possible impact of alternative assump- tions, tracing their consequences around the tangled feedback webs with in- creasing clarity. The models served as sounding boards for new ideas, not as revelations of ultimate truth. The result was that the methodology facilitated learning and communication; the planning process benefited tremendously by relying on an underlying discipline to assure that all elements of the plan mutually reinforced each other toward common goals. In 1992 Palm Coast housed 24,900 residents, right on the growth targets for the year 2030. Again, the two rules worked to create a successful application. We focused on providing answers to immediate planning questions, not on trying to pro- vide a proven “valid” model. The analytical methodology, rather than any single model, proved most valuable. It was at this time that the interface began to take on increased importance. For the first time, a modeling language (STELLATM) that the planners could use became available on a desktop compu- ter. The ability to try many different data assumptions and to compare many different scenarios turned the model from a n abstraction into an everyday planning tool. Conclusion The past twenty-five years have not treated urban dynamics kindly. Had HUD initially endorsed it, urban dynamics might have become the institutional foundation for the training of a new generation of urban leadership. Instead, it has become a curiosity, a relic of the past that few have heard of and most dismiss. But it is too early, I think, to write it off, to consign urban dynamics to the archives of academia. Although I mourn its history, I firmly believe in its future. It is, after all, perhaps the most insightful system dynamics appli- cation ever developed. Urban dynamics only awaits the right change for its revival and the right inspiration for its reinterpretation. To encourage that urban dynamics renewal, I offer a few conclusions based on my experience. Guiding principles If experience is any guide, then two central rules ought to guide any future application of urban dynamics: - emphasize answers, not models, and emphasize interface, not data. ANSWERS. The first rule cautions model-builders to present their work in terms 212 System Dynamics Review Volume 11 Number 3 Fall 1995 of answers that urban decision-makers need rather than models of urban problems. These answers must be responsive in three areas of decision support: how to maximize the leverage of existing programs by highlighting some * how to quantify the tradeoffs among competing programs in terms of budget, how to use the model logic to create a consensus to support needed change. aspects while downplaying others, performance and time, and INTERFACE. The rapid evolution of graphical interface techniques for desktop computer simulations now makes the second rule possible. Giving a model user the ability to easily create alternative scenarios and test “what if?” assumptions lessens a model’s dependence upon a fixed database. When the model user controls the data inputs, the model becomes a tool for organizing information and clarifying logic, rather than a single conclusion to be either accepted or rejected. New graphical interfaces can also help to turn future models into learning tools that encourage users to explore the logic of urban dynamics principles and their application to policy design. In addition to applying the two rules, any future urban dynamics work must help urban decision-makers grasp four interconnected principles that control urban behavior: resource constraints, * urban aging, relative attractiveness, and growth vs. equilibrium. These four principles are still the fundamental forces driving city evolution today and an understanding of how they combine to determine the impact of urban programs is essential to effective decision-making. In describing the five urban dynamics applications, I have attempted to show how one or more of these four principles provided a major theme for the work. In addition to guiding principles, the next wave of urban dynamics work should seek to overcome past weaknesses while building solidly upon past strengths. Overcoming shortcomings Urban dynamics suffers from two shortcomings-limited detail and limited resources. Both, I believe, can be overcome by new hardware and software technology. Limited detail refers to the model’s apparent inability to touch Alfeld: Urban Dynamics-The First Fifty Years 213 directly upon the everyday administrative decisions that determine a city’s fate. Where, for example, does one discover what to do with a request for a zoning variance? Or which street to repave and which to leave alone? Further, which goals should apply and how can they be distinguished, articulated and accepted so as to become guidelines for interpreting system behavior? Limited resources refers to the larger national (and global) setting, of which urban dynamics is only a part. The classic urban dynamics revival policies of creating jobs assumes that cities can be restored to the dynamic conditions of their past, functioning as great engines of individual economic advancement, By strictly limiting their population through carefully controlled housing poli- cies, cities can draw in large numbers of poor, provide them with skills and income, and disgorge them into the hinterland in order to make room for more newcomers. As Forrester himself noted, this is the America of the nineteenth century, when second-generation immigrants still had a frontier to settle and resources were plentiful. Late twentieth century America no longer has any place left to go to. Every place is already settled, already overfilled with people eager to go elsewhere. Urban revival may well be a dream, for the country now operates under such resource constraints and tradeoffs that it may not be able to support the urban “golden age” even if we attempted to create one. The solutions to both weaknesses lies in the development of new interface technologies that can help users establish goals, specify alternative actions and compare results. Many alternative urban goals, other than growth, are possible. Concord and Marlborough are evidence that not every model application need create an urban revival. Experience has shown that model extensions can expand model detail beyond the original Forrester model. Graphical interfaces and more powerful computers can help reach further into the detail of urban decision-making, perhaps by allowing users to geographically disaggregate their models and selectively to expand the level of detail according to their immediate needs. Extending strengths Urban dynamics contains far more than meets the eye. It is a theory of the forces that shape human settlements which, in turn, shape human history. The theory is rich with subtle nuances which deserve a vigorous reinterpretation, a reinterpretation suited for no less a purpose than the political management of the people and resources of every nation on Earth. Urban dynamics shows us the folly of traditional thinking, both for our cities and for our world. Human systems are too complicated for intuitive solutions. Traditional cause-and-effect thinking does not work. Feedback, nonlinearities and hidden delays defeat most conventional policies. Eventually we must shift 214 System Dynamics Review Volume 11 Number 3 Fall 1995 the paradigm away from traditional analytical methods to the urban dynamics viewpoint-conserve what we already have and reinforce the counterbalances we prefer. It is the mentality of the great cities of Europe and it is the mentality of the well-preserved American suburb. It works there and it can work worldwide. Within American cities, four directions for new work seem obvious. Although all four are interrelated, each forms a definable subject for future modeling extensions. URBAN POVERTY. Elements of the urban poverty cycle, particularly the fragmen- tation of families and transmission of values, are well-documented but have not yet been subjected to rigorous dynamic analysis. Models may help public policy to better address issues of inner city educational shortcomings, high rates of illegitimacy and persistent unemployment. URBAN VIOLENCE. Drugs and immature value systems contribute to violence, while current law enforcement and judicial systems provide ineffective counter- balances. Understanding the feedback linkages that nurture a violent sub- culture could uncover high leverage intervention points for public action. URBAN POPULATION. Age, sex, race and ethnic origin can be as important a determinant of urban migration and settlement patterns as economic status. How do the dynamics of urban aging and rebuilding either interrupt or rein- force the creation and isolation of homogeneous, segregated communities? URBAN ECONOMICS. Innovations in high-rise construction and transportation access gave cities the ability to support the continued economic growth of face- to-face businesses. Changing communications technologies and changing econ- omic needs are producing pressures to alter the historical course of urban evolution. How can public leadership best manage this transition? These four subjects hardly exhaust the possibilities for further urban dynamics work. They do illustrate, however, the rich possibilities of soaring structure that could be supported by the solid foundation that already exists. Urban dynamics represents a triumph of human reason, extending our ca- pacity to see and shape our future. Bogged down in political squabbles, we cannot envision how different the world might be if urban dynamics theory became a global household word. The next twenty-five years are crucial for the promotion of a dynamic viewpoint. Global population, pollution and resource usage are all following dangerous trends. Urban dynamics has much to contri- bute to both the well-being of urban residents and the well-being of our world. It is not too late to begin. Alfeld: Urban Dynamics-The First Fifty Years 215 References EDITOR’S NOTE: Given the historical review nature of this article, the author has grouped all references by project, along with the other bibliographic material. All D-prefixed references are Sloan School Working Papers, available from the Sloan School of Management, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 50 Memorial Drive, Cambridge MA 02139, U.S.A. General Alfeld, L. E. 1972. TheDynamics of MetropolitanDevelopment. D-1640.21 February. -. 1972. “Urban No-Growth Strategy?”, Letters, Technology Review, July/ -. 1973. Future of the City, Letters to the Editor, Boston Globe, 13 June, page 16. - . 1976. Introduction to Urban Dynamics. Cambridge, Mass.: Productivity Press. Alfeld, L. E., and D. L. Meadows. 1970. A Systems Approach to Urban Revival. Fifth Systems Symposium, Case Western Reserve University, 9-1 1 November. Forrester, J. W. 1971. Counterintuitive Behavior of Social Systems. Technology Review, 73(3). -. 1974. Systems Analysis as a Tool for Urban Planning. Chap. 2 , Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 1, ed. N. J. Mass. Cambridge, Mass.: Wright-Allen Press, Inc. -. 1974. “Toward a National Urban Consensus”. Chap. 18, Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 1, ed. N. J. Mass. Cambridge, Mass.: Wright-Allen Press, Inc. -. 1975. Urban Goals and National Objectives. Chap. 15 in Collected Papers of Jay W. Forrester. Cambridge, Mass.: Wright-Allen Press. August. The HUD Project Alfeld, L. E. 1973. Research and Development Agenda for Urban Dynamics. D-1796- 7. April 1973. See also its companion piece: Schroeder, W. W. III. Justification for Task 11. D-1830-1. 14 May 1973. -. 197?. A Preliminary Discussion of Urban Dynamics and the Suburbs. D18- 11-2 6 April 73 rewritten and published as Schroeder, Walter W. III; “Urban Dynamics and the Suburbs” Chap. 1 2 , in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder 111, R. E. Sweeney and L. E. Alfield. Cambridge, Mass.: Wright-Allen Press, Inc. -. 1973. A Report Describing Model Refinement and Model Extensions. D-1816- 2. 8 May 1973. -. 1973. Urban Goals. D-1756. 22 Jan 1973 (later rewritten as D-1756-5 10 May 1974). -. 1973. Dispute About HUD Contract H-2000R for Urban Dynamics Research at MIT. Unpublished memorandum to Forrester and Collins, 2 1 May, 1973. -. 1973. UD2: Refinements to the Urban Dynamics Model. D-1863-3. 13 August 1973. -. 1974. Reminiscing About the Future. D-1992.4 March 1974. -. Urban Dynamics Applied to an Old Industrial City. Chap. 11, in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder III et al. 216 System Dynamics Review Volume 11 Number 3 Fall 1995 Alfeld, L. E., J. S. Miller, and W. W. Schroeder. 1973. Urban Dynamics Applied to Britting, K. R. 1973. Societal Values in Urban Dynamics. D-1801-7. 6 April 1973. Britting, K. R., and J. G. Trump. 1973. The Parameter Sensitivity Issue in Urban Dynamics. Chap. 7 in Readings in Urban Dynamics. Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder 111 et al. (originally D-1788-8. 6 April 1973). Forrester, J. W. 1973. National Policy Recommendations Based on our Work with the Dynamics of Social Systems; Unpublished Memorandum to J. F. Collins, 6 January, 1973. -. 1973. “Response to HUD Letter”, Unpublished letter to J. E. Hoben, 19 June 1973. - . 1973. The Use of Data in Modeling: A Discussion. Chap 6 in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder 111 et al. -. 1974. Control of Urban Growth. Chap. 19 in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 1, ed. N. J. Mass. Forrester, J. W., and N. J. Mass. 1973. Urban Dynamics: A Rejoinder to Averch and Levine. Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder I11 et al. Hoben, J. E. 1973. Lowell Urban Dynamics Project-Contract H-2000R. Unpub- lished letter to Forrester and Collins, 18 May 1973. Makowski, A. 1973. Housing and Migration in Urban Dynamics. Chap. 4 in Read- ings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder I11 et al. (originally D-1753- 7. 6 April 1973). Mass, N. J. 1973. Resource Allocation Mechanisms in Urban Dynamics. D-1790-1. 6 April 1973. Miller, J. 1973. Urban Dynamics and Land Rezoning. Chap. 9 in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder I11 et al. (originally D-1844-5. 2 1 August 1973). Schroeder, W. W. 111. 1973. Urban Management Actions. Chap. 3 in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder I11 et al. (originally D-1763-4. 1 4 March 1973. -. 1973. Urban Dynamics and the City Boundary. Chap. 1 in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed W. W. Schroeder I11 et al. (originally D-1726-8. 6 April 1973). -. 1973. The Sensitivity of Migration to Housing Availability. Chap. 5 in Read- ings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2. ed. W. W. Schroeder I11 et al. -. 197?. Urban Dynamics and Housing Abandonment. Chap. 10 in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder I11 et al. (originally D-1860-2. 29 August 1973). -. 1974. Lowell Dynamics: Preliminary Applications of the Theory of Urban Dynamics. Chap. 20 in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 1, ed. N. J. Mass. (originally Master’s Thesis MIT February 1972). Schroeder, W. W. 111, and J. Strongman. 1973. The Lowell Model: A Comparison of Model Behavior and the City of Lowell, Massachusetts. D-1681-10. 15 August 1973. Senge, P. M. 1973. Multiplicative Formulations in Urban Dynamics. Chap. 8 in Readings in Urban Dynamics, Vol. 2, ed. W. W. Schroeder III et al. (originally Lowell: Policy Recommendations. D-1938-5. 9 November 1973. D-1731-3. 6 A141 1973). Staff, ??. 1973. Issues in Modeling the Dynamics of Cities. D-1815. 6 April 1973. Alfeld: Urban Dynamics-The First FifQ Years 217 Strongman, J. 1973. Summary of Urban Dynamics Applied Research. D-1776-2. 6 Strongman, J. and J. Miller. 1973. Geographical Disaggregation in Urban Dynamics. March 1973. D-1791-4. 6 April 1973. The Boston Project Alfeld, L. E. 1973. Questioning Boston’s Economic Future. D-1960. 26 November -, 1973. Planning Boston’s Neighborhoods. D-1961. 12 December 1973. -. 1974. Housing in Boston. D-1966. 4 January 1974. -. 1974. Summary of Planning Issues. D-1968. 11 January 1974. -. 1974. Jobs, Manpower, and Education in Boston. D-1973. 18 January 1974. -. 1974. Boston Navy Yard. D-1977. 1 February 1974. -. 1974. Southwest Corridor Project. D-1991. 28 February 1974. -, 1974. Assessing Boston’s Housing Strategies. D-1988-1. 12 March 1974. -. 1974. Boston’s coach-house dynamics. The Boston Globe. 1 2 March 1974. -. 1974. Towards a Plan for Boston (Draft). D-1999. 12 April 1974. -. 1974. Towards a Plan for Boston. D-2016. 31 May 1974. -. 1974. The Manhattanization of Boston. D-2076-5. Summer 1974. -. 1974. A Model of Housing Change in Boston, Summer Simulation Confer- Forrester, J. W. 1974. Unpublished remarks, Parkman Conference Center, 16 June 1973. ence. 1974. The Concord Project Alfeld, L. E. 1973. An Introduction to the Concord Dynamics Project; D-1836. May -. 1973. Housing and Population; A System Dynamics Model. D-1849. June -. 1974. To Grow or Not to Grow? D-1965. 22 January 1974. -. 1975. Energy and Growth in Concord; A Report to the Town of Concord by 1973. 1973. the Energy and Growth Study Committee. Spring 1975. Marlborough Alfeld, L. E. 1975. Community Development and Neighborhood Conservation in Marlborough, Massachusetts. City Brochure, 18 November 1975. 
work_kdo3wnmddjelbp6anpqkfsczly	----	TFJF069-03-60812.tex Paleolimnological assessment of human-induced impacts on Walden Pond (Massachusetts, USA) using diatoms and stable isotopes Dörte Köster,1∗ Reinhard Pienitz,1∗ Brent B. Wolfe,2 Sylvia Barry,3 David R. Foster,3 and Sushil S. Dixit4 1Paleolimnology-Paleoecology Laboratory, Centre d’études nordiques, Department of Geography, Université Laval, Québec, Québec, G1K 7P4, Canada 2Department of Geography and Environmentals Studies, Wilfrid Laurier University, Waterloo, Ontario, N2L 3C5, Canada 3Harvard University, Harvard Forest, Post Office Box 68, Petersham, Massachusetts, 01366-0068, USA 4Environment Canada, National Guidelines & Standards Office, 351 St. Joseph Blvd., 8th Floor, Ottawa, Ontario, K1A 0H3, Canada ∗Corresponding authors: E-mail: doerte.koster.1@ulaval.ca, reinhard.pienitz@cen.ulaval.ca Multi-proxy analysis of a sediment core spanning 1600 years from Walden Pond, Massachusetts (USA), reveals substantial changes in the nutrient status over the past ∼250 years resulting from anthropogenic impacts on the lake and watershed. Following a period of environmental stability from about 430 AD to 1750 AD, the abundance of the diatom Cyclotella stelligera increased, the chrysophyte cyst to diatom ratio decreased, organic content declined, bulk organic δ13C decreased, and bulk organic δ15N increased. These changes coincided with logging in the watershed, and are mainly attributed to an increase in detrital input of inorganic sediment and delivery of dissolved soil decomposition products from the watershed. With the beginning of intensive recreational development of Walden Pond in the early 20th century, oligotrophic diatom species were largely replaced by disturbance indicators and the diatom-inferred lake pH increased by 0.5 units, while the bulk organic carbon and nitrogen stable isotope composition markedly shifted to lower and higher values, respectively. These changes reflect inorganic inputs from erosion related to trails, beaches, and construction, as well as increased nutrient inputs by wastewater seepage into groundwater and extensive recreational usage. Diatom-inferred total phosphorus increased only slightly, probably because oligotrophic species still persist during spring and autumn, when Walden Pond has lower nutrient concentrations due to reduced recreational activity. During the last 25 years, diatom assemblages stabilized, suggesting that management measures have been effective in reducing the rate of eutrophication. Notably, the changes observed over the past 250 years are well beyond the range of natural variability of the past 1600 years, yet the pre-disturbance record provides a useful target for developing additional restoration and conservation measures to ensure future environmental protection of this historical site. Keywords: New England, chrysophytes, pH, total phosphorus, land-use history Introduction The evaluation of anthropogenic impacts on ecosys- tems and the development of effective and appropriate restoration and conservation management strategies re- quire knowledge of natural pre-disturbance ecosystem structure. In New England, lakes have been subject to watershed disturbance since European settlement in the 117 Aquatic Ecosystem Health & Management, 8(2):117–131, 2005. Copyright C© 2005 AEHMS. ISSN: 1463-4988 print / 1539-4077 online DOI: 10.1080/14634980590953743 118 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 17th century, when woodlands were cleared for pasture, housing, and wood harvest (Foster, 1995). Logging, agriculture and urban development in the catchment as well as recreational use have affected water quality in many New England lakes (Siver et al., 1996; Dixit et al., 1999; Francis and Foster, 2001). Walden Pond, Massachusetts, and its catchment have experienced multiple historical anthropogenic im- pacts. The site has attracted much attention since the publication of the American classic Walden by the natu- ral philosopher Henry David Thoreau (Thoreau, 1854; Whitney and Davis, 1986). Despite the public interest in the protection of the lake as a natural and histori- cal monument, few studies exist on the limnology of Walden Pond (Deevey, 1942; Winkler, 1993; Colman and Friesz, 2001) and no comprehensive study of the pre- and post-disturbance limnology of Walden Pond has been conducted. The comparison of historical and recent limnological data suggests that Walden Pond has become more eutrophic since the early 20th century, but there is insufficient data to estimate whether the trophic level has reached a steady state or eutrophica- tion is continuing (Colman and Friesz, 2001). Paleolimnological studies offer a well-established approach for acquiring pre-historical data on lake wa- ter quality (Pienitz and Vincent, 2003). The physical, chemical and biological information preserved in lake sediments provide insight into past events that have oc- curred within the catchment and their effects on the lake environment. Fossil diatoms, which are well preserved in lake sediments, are useful indicators of past envi- ronmental change, including lake trophic status (Moser et al., 1996). By relating limnological data such as to- tal phosphorus (TP) and pH to modern diatom assem- blages, diatom inference models have been developed and subsequently applied to fossil samples in order to reconstruct quantitatively past lake properties (Hall and Smol, 1999). Changes in sedimentary diatom compo- sition have been shown to reflect nutrient enrichment following logging and subsequent urban development in the catchments of New England lakes (Davis and Norton, 1978; Engstrom et al., 1985). Diatom-based quantitative reconstructions have been used to infer in- creased P and nitrogen (N) concentrations (Siver et al., 1999; Dixit et al., 1999) and rising pH and alkalinity (Davis et al., 1994) in New England lakes since Euro- pean settlement. The remains of chrysophytes, a group of fossilizing planktonic algae, are also well preserved in lake sediments and are useful indicators of water quality (Zeeb and Smol, 2001). They are used in pale- olimnological studies to investigate lake acidification and eutrophication (e.g., Siver et al., 1999). Lake sediment carbon and N elemental and stable isotope stratigraphy have been used extensively for as- sessing changes in lake water nutrient balance in re- sponse to the impact of human activities on watersheds. Forest clearance, agricultural activity and urban devel- opment in watersheds, for example, frequently lead to lake eutrophication, which is recorded by changes in the carbon (C) and N elemental and stable isotope compo- sition in lake sediment cores (e.g., Schelske and Hodell, 1991, 1995; Hodell and Schelske, 1998; Brenner et al., 1999; Teranes and Bernasconi, 2000). In some cases, these data also reveal the extent of lake recovery if measures have been taken to reduce nutrient loading, thus serving to evaluate the effectiveness of manage- ment strategies (e.g., Schelske and Hodell, 1991, 1995; Hodell and Schelske, 1998). Here we use a multi-proxy paleolimnological ap- proach to assess the impact of human disturbances and of recently adopted management measures on the nu- trient balance of Walden Pond within the context of natural conditions over the past 1600 years. Our efforts focus on 1) the pollen record to document the human impact on the regional vegetation, 2) lake sediment analysis of C and N elemental and isotope geochem- istry to qualitatively assess nutrient balance history, 3) the fossil diatom record and diatom-based quantitative inferences for pH and TP to assess the biological re- sponse of autotrophic organisms to disturbance, and 4) an evaluation of current management strategies for continued environmental stewardship of Walden Pond based on the results of this study. Study site and land-use history Walden Pond is a 25-ha kettle hole lake in eastern Massachusetts, USA (42◦26.3′N, 71◦20.4′W; Figure 1a). The present climate is temperate with warm summers (mean July temperature: 21.9◦C) and win- ters allowing the formation of ice cover (mean January temperature: −4.1◦C). Presently, 86% of the watershed is covered with pine-oak forest, dominated by Pinus strobus and P. rigida, as well as Quercus rubra, Q. velutina and Q. alba. The lake consists of three main basins, the eastern shallow basin (max. depth: 18 m), the central basin (max. depth: 20 m) and the deep west- ern basin (max. depth: 30.5 m) (Figure 1b). The wa- tershed (38 ha) is small in relation to the surface of the lake and is characterized by sandy glacial outwash soils and glacial till on granitic bedrock (Barosh, 1993). The main water supply (55%) is groundwater, enter- ing the lake at the eastern end and draining an area of 62.2 ha including a small lake. Precipitation contributes Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 119 Figure 1. a) Map of the study region. b) Bathymetric map of Walden Pond with coring site. Modified from Coleman and Friesz (2001). 120 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 45% to the water balance (Colman and Friesz, 2001). The thermocline during summer stratification develops at ca. 15 m water depth. The forested, steep banks of the Walden Pond watershed and a short fetch help to keep the stratification until October or November, when turnover starts. The area was settled at the beginning of the 17th cen- tury. The forest around Walden Pond was partly logged for timber harvest, with increasing intensity from the 17th to the 19th century (Brian Donahue, Brandeis University, pers. comm.). A slight decline in cutting occurred from 1850 to 1920 and a dramatic decline followed due to the donation of 80 acres surround- ing the pond by the owners to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for conservation and open space recre- ation. A railroad was built in 1844 near the south- western end of the lake. In 1866, an excursion park was built on the shore, which burned down in 1902 and was not rebuilt. In the 1920s, a beach was created at the eastern shore, a bathhouse opened, an amusement park was established, and the number of visitors rose to 500,000 per year. In 1975, the Massachusetts Depart- ment of Environmental Management assumed respon- sibility for managing the park and implemented protec- tion measures including the closure of the amusement park, trail improvement, control of access and improve- ment of facilities. Presently, the watershed is contains a well-developed series of hiking trails, and a public beach on the western shore is intensively used, attract- ing up to 100,000 visitors per month in the summer. According to recent limnological surveys (Table 1), Walden Pond has been characterized as a mostly cir- cumneutral, oligotrophic to mesotrophic lake with low conductivity (Colman and Friesz, 2001). The high- est total phosphorus (TP) concentrations in Walden Pond were measured during summer (e.g., 140 µg l−1, 6 September 1989 and 60 µg l−1, 27 May 1998). No- tably, these high values were measured on combined eastern and western basin samples, whereas the high- est TP values measured between 1997 and 1999 were 22 µg l−1 (23 May 1998) and 19.5 µg l−1 (16 July 1998) in the western basin, thus indicating that the eastern basin has the highest TP concentrations. Nu- trient budgets for the lake indicate that N inputs are dominated by groundwater, which is N-enriched by plume water from the septic leach field of the Walden Pond State Reservation headquarters and the bathhouse (30%), both located on the eastern shore of the lake, and recreational usage (34%) (Colman and Friesz, 2001). Phosphorus inputs are dominated by atmospheric dry deposition, background groundwater, and recreational usage, the latter representing more than 50% of the P load during summer (Colman and Friesz, 2001). The P budget calculations indicate that the present TP load- ing is classified between ‘permissible’ and ‘critical load’ according to the Vollenweider model (Colman and Friesz, 2001). The budgets include ground wa- ter, atmospheric deposition, swimmers, waterfowl, fish stocking, and direct runoff, but exclude internal nutri- ent recycling. Yet, high N and P concentrations near the bottom (max. 0.6 mg l−1and 50 µg l−1, respec- tively) as well as anoxic conditions in the hypolimnion during stratification reveal that nutrients are recycled from the sediments. Comparison with historical dis- solved oxygen data collected in 1939 (Deevey, 1942), which recorded an oxygenated hypolimnion, indicates that eutrophication has occurred since then. In the early 1990s, there have been reports on algae accumulation at the surface and bloom-like conditions (Baystate En- vironmental Consultants, 1995). Methods Sampling and dating On 24 February 2000, a 143 cm long sediment core was taken from the western basin of Walden Pond at a depth of 30 m (Figure 1b), using a simple-tube sur- face corer. The core was cut into 1 cm thick slices and sub-samples were used subsequently for the analy- ses of different proxy indicators and dating. The 210Pb chronology (Binford, 1990) was established for the upper 14 cm of the core and by 14C-AMS dating of bulk sediment (gyttja) at four horizons downcore. The European settlement horizon (ESH) was determined by pollen analysis and has been assigned to the historical recorded date 1635 AD for the foundation of the town Concord (Wheeler, 1967). The complete chronology was calculated by linear interpolation between the 14C dates and by exponential trend lines between the oldest 210Pb date, the ESH and the youngest 14C date. Sediment preparation of sub-samples for pollen analysis followed standard procedures (Faegri and Iversen, 1975). Pollen was counted to a total of 500 tree and shrub grains at 400× magnification. Pollen per- centages are based on total terrestrial pollen grains, ex- cluding aquatics, but including agricultural grains (i.e., herbs). Identification is based on standard taxonomic keys (McAndrews et al., 1973; Moore et al., 1991). Organic matter was measured at 1 cm intervals us- ing standard loss-on-ignition procedures (Dean, 1974). Approximately 1 cm3 of wet sediment was dried overnight at 95◦C and then weighed before and after combustion at 550◦C for one hour. Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 121 Table 1. Limnological characteristics of Walden Pond. Data for 1994 were obtained at four sampling dates (January, May, June, and August, 1994). Samples were taken from the epilimnion (1 m depth) and the metalimnion (10 m depth) and combined from the eastern and western basins (Baystate Environmental Consultants 1995). Data for 1997–99 are measurements in the western basin: epilimnion and metalimnion (0–14 m depth), taken at 11 sampling dates (May–August, 1997; March-September, 1998; February, 1999) (Colman and Friesz, 2001). For calculating minimum (min), maximum (max) and mean values, each sample was used separately, including samples from different depths. The mean N:P ratio for 1997–1999 was calculated from mean total N and mean total P, while minimum and maximum were not calculated because of different sample numbers and depths. The 2001 measurement represents surface water. 1989 Sample Date 12/2001 1997–1999 1994 West & East Sampled Basin West West West & East (combined) No. of Samples 1 >44 16 8 Characteristic Unit Min Max Mean Min Max Mean Min Max Mean Conductivity µS cm−1 93 83 92 n.d. 65 87 75 79 87 84 PH 6.9 6.4 9.4 7.7 6.5 7.3 6.8 6 7.7 7 Turbidity NTU n.d. n.d. n.d. n.d. 0.43 1.7 1.1 n.d. n.d. n.d. Alkalinity µg l−1 n.d. n.d. n.d. n.d. 134 182 153 11 12 11 Total phosphorus µg l−1 5.3 1 22 8.4 10 60 19 10 140 60 Month May April September Ammonia-N mg l−1 0.02 n.d. n.d. n.d. <0.01 0.14 <0.03 0.02 0.02 0.02 Nitrate-N mg l−1 0.03 0.01 0.12 0.04 <0.01 0.05 <0.03 0.02 0.02 0.02 Total Nitrogen mg l−1 0.33 0.1∗ 0.57∗ 0.23∗ 0.21∗∗ 1.1∗∗ 0.41∗∗ n.d. n.d. n.d. Secchi Depth M 8.5 2.5 7.5 5.2 4 9.3 6.8 n.d. n.d. n.d. N:P Ratio 68:1 n.d. n.d. 28:1 8.7:1 112:1 22:1 n.d. n.d. n.d. Chlorophyll a µg l−1 2.2 0.1 8.2 2 2.3 3.73 3.1 n.d. n.d. n.d. ∗Including ammonia. ∗∗Excluding ammonia. n.d. = no data. Sediment sub-samples were analysed at 4 cm in- tervals for bulk organic C and N elemental and sta- ble isotope composition. Samples were acid-washed in 10% HCl to remove carbonates, rinsed with de-ionized water and freeze-dried. Coarse-grained (>500 µm) sediments were removed by sieving. The fine-grained fraction was analysed for organic C and N per- cent and stable isotope composition using a Micro- mass Isochrom continuous flow mass spectrometer equipped with an elemental analyser at the Univer- sity of Waterloo—Environmental Isotope Laboratory. Carbon and N isotope composition are reported in δ-notation, such that δ = [Rsample/Rstd − 1] × 1000 where R is the 13C/12C and 15N/14N ratios in the sample and VPDB and AIR standards, respectively. Analytical uncertainty is ±0.03% for δ13C and δ15N based on re- peated analyses of several samples. Samples for diatom analysis were processed us- ing standard procedures (Pienitz et al., 1995). A min- imum of 500 valves per sample were counted and identified according to Camburn and Charles (2000), Krammer and Lange–Bertalot (1986–1991), and Fallu et al. (2000). The taxonomy of the fossil and the modern samples was matched by personal communication with S. Dixit and by comparing our photographs with figures presented in Camburn et al. (1984–86), as this was the main taxonomic reference used by Dixit et al. (1999) for the training set. Chrysophyte cysts were counted, but not identified, and the scales of synurophytes (a group of chrysophytes) were counted and partly identified on the same slides as the diatoms. The ratio of chrysophyte cysts and scales to diatom frustules are expressed as the percentage of the respective remains related to the sum of diatom frustules (= half of the diatom valve count) and the total count of chrysophyte remains. Fossil diatom assemblages were subdivided into stratigraphic zones by optimal partitioning using the computer program ZONE (S. Juggins, unpublished program; Stephen.Juggins@ncl.ac.uk). The significant number of zones was estimated by the broken stick model (Bennett, 1996). However, this zonation tech- nique separates groups at the midpoint of gradual 122 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 Table 2. Performance of the pH and TP models used for paleolim- nological reconstructions in this study, based on diatom and envi- ronmental data from 82 New England lakes (Dixit et al., 1999). max. Gradient Method r2 RMSE r2jack RMSEP bias pH WA inv. 0.87 0.24 0.82 0.30 0.37 TP WA inv. 0.65 0.19 0.40 0.25 0.36 WA inv. = Weighted averaging with inverse deshrinking; RMSE = root mean squared error of prediction; RMSEP = jacknifed RMSE; r2 = jacknifed coefficient of determination. changes, which does not always reflect the exact tim- ing of the onset of change. Therefore, we assigned the border between Zone II and Zone III to the level where the shift began (12 cm instead of the calculated 10 cm), in order to relate the start of this change to historically recorded human disturbances. For quantitative reconstructions of pH and TP, we used transfer functions based on limnological and sub- fossil diatom data (Dixit et al., 1999) from 82 lakes located in the states of Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Connecticut (Köster et al., 2004). Details concerning numerical analyses of the data set, model development, and comparison of quantitative re- constructions with the instrumental record of Walden Pond are presented in Köster et al., 2004). Diatom- based inference models based on weighted averaging with inverse deshrinking (WAinv) were used for the re- constructions in this study (Table 2), as they represented the simplest models with good statistical performance (Köster et al., 2004). Model development, environmen- tal reconstructions and calculation of sample-specific errors for the fossil samples were carried out using the program C2 (Juggins, 2003). Errors were estimated by jacknifing, an intensive cross-validation procedure. In order to test how well the fossil diatom assem- blages are represented in the model data set, two meth- ods of analog measures were applied. The coefficients of dissimilarity using chord distance (Overpeck et al., Table 3. 14C dates for Walden Pond including AMS dates in years BP (ybp), calibrated dates (cal ybp) and calibrated dates converted to years BC/AD. 2 Sigma 14C Converted to Years BC/AD Depth (cm) ybp Calibrated ybp Lab Error Error Cal ybp + 50 (2000 − Cal ybp + 50) 44–45 785 689 35 80 739 1261 ± 80 60–61 1084 970 35 110 1020 980 ± 110 90–91 1301 1261 36 120 1311 689 ± 120 124–125 1517 1396 38 96 1446 554 ± 96 1985) were calculated using the program ANALOG (H.J.B. Birks, University of Norway, Bergen, Norway and J.M. Line, Cambridge University, Cambridge, UK, unpubl. program). Based on the mean minimum dis- similarity coefficient (DC) within the model data, the 75 and 95% confidence intervals were calculated (Laird et al., 1998). Fossil samples with a DC lower than the 75% confidence interval were deemed to have good analogs in the calibration set, whereas DCs between 75 and 95% indicated poor analogs and DCs outside the 95% interval indicated no analogs (Laing et al., 1999). Furthermore, the ‘goodness of fit’ of the fossil assem- blages to the reconstructed variables pH and TP was evaluated by a CCA with the first axis constrained to one variable and defining the modern and fossil samples as active and passive, respectively. Fossil samples hav- ing residual distances to the first axis outside the 95% confidence interval of the modern samples’ distances were considered to have very poor fit (Birks, 1990). Results The chronology of the sediment core, based on 210Pb and 14C dates as well as the European settlement hori- zon (Table 3, Figure 2), indicates a sedimentation rate of about 0.13 cm yr−1 from ca. 430 to 1200 AD. From ca. 1200 to 1700 AD, sediment accumulation declined to 0.04 cm yr−1, rising to an average rate of 0.09 cm yr−1 over the last 300 years. The organic content of the sediments, inferred from loss-on-ignition, remained relatively constant with val- ues around 40% from ∼430 AD to ∼1500 AD, except at ∼670 AD (100 cm) where a value of 49% was ob- tained (Figure 4a). From ∼1600 AD, the percentage of organic matter began to decline, until it reached about 25% at ∼1960 AD. Afterwards, the proportion of or- ganic matter fluctuated between 25% and 40% with a tendency to higher levels in the most recent sediments. Before European settlement, Quercus (oak), Pinus (pine) and Betula (birch) dominated the pollen stratig- raphy, with about 15% aquatic macrophytes, and no Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 123 Figure 2. Age-depth model for Walden Pond.Dates were established by the 210Pb and 14C methods.The ESH (European settlement hori- zon) was determined by pollen analysis and assigned to the historical recorded date 1635 AD. significant changes were observed (Figure 3). After settlement in the early 17th century, the proportion of Pinus increased from 15 to 25% and the amount of agricultural weeds (including Poaceae, Ambrosia, Rumex, etc.) started to increase. Between ca. 1840 and 1900 AD, the abundance of Quercus decreased by 20 to 30%, Pinus declined and agricultural weeds increased until they reached peak proportions of 28% at 1900 AD. In the early 20th century, Betula showed a maximum of 28% and the herbs declined sharply. Shortly afterwards, declines in Betula coincided with increases of Quercus and Pinus. Fagus (beech) and Tsuga (hemlock) pollen declined gradually from the early 18th century on until present. Between 10 and 8 cm (ca. 1940–1960 AD), the relative abundance of aquatic macrophytes, mainly Isoëtes (Quillworth), declined rapidly from 11 to 1.5%. The C and N elemental and isotope composition of Walden Pond sediments was generally stable until marked changes occurred at the top of the core above ca. 24 cm depth (after ca. 1770 AD) corresponding with the main period of human disturbance in the catchment (Figure 4). Organic C and N contents in sediments be- low these strata were near constant with values of 20 and 2%, respectively (Figure 4b,c). Above this horizon, C and N rapidly declined to values as low as 16.8 and 1.2%, respectively, and then increased to values similar to those observed in the pre-1770 AD interval. A brief increase in % C at 12.5 cm depth (ca. 1910 AD) inter- rupted this general trend and corresponds to a horizon rich in charcoal fragments. Similarly, δ13C and δ15N were also generally stable in the lower strata with val- ues of about −26.5 and 1.5‰, respectively (Figure 4e, f). Around 1770 AD, δ13C values began to decline sub- stantially to −30‰, whereas δ15N values markedly be- gan to increase to 5‰. Unlike the trends observed in the elemental profiles, the C and N isotope values did not return to values observed in the pre-1770 AD interval. Three major periods with differing diatom assem- blages were distinguished for the last ∼1600 years, in- cluding one zone preceding ∼1750 AD and two zones after ∼1750 AD, the latter two corresponding to human disturbance in the watershed (Figure 5). Zone I (140–26 cm, ca. 430 to 1750 AD): In Zone I, the oligotrophic to mesotrophic and circumneutral to acidophilic species Tabellaria flocculosa (Roth) Kütz. str. IIIp sensu Koppen and Cyclotella stelligera (Cleve and Grunow) Van Heurck dominated. The acidobion- tic diatom Asterionella ralfsii var. americana Körner was present at low abundance throughout this period. Fragilaria nanana Lange-Bertalot and Cyclotella bo- danica aff. lemanica (Müller ex Schröter) Bachmann were present with abundances less than 10%. The ratio of synurophyte scales to diatom frustules varied be- tween 9 and 29% (mean: 18%, Figure 5). The ratio of chrysophyte cysts to diatoms ranged from 7 to 21% (mean: 13%), with the highest values (18–20%) around 1700 AD. Zone II (26–12 cm, ca. 1750 to 1920 AD): Around 1750 AD, the abundance of T. flocculosa str. III p started to decline, while C. stelligera increased by about 30%. Cyclotella bodanica aff. lemanica de- creased from around 10% to very low abundance at ∼1860 AD. The synurophyte scales to diatom frus- tules ratio remained constant (mean: 21%), however, the mean relative abundance of chrysophyte cysts de- creased from 13 to 8%. Zone III (12–0 cm, ca. 1920 to 2000 AD): In the early 20th century, diatom assemblage composition showed a striking change. The abundances of the disturbance indicators Asterionella formosa Hassal and Fragilaria nanana increased from about 5% in the late 19th cen- tury to 50 and 35% respectively in the 1960s. Simul- taneously, C. stelligera decreased rapidly, from a max- imum abundance of 77% at ∼1900 AD to an average abundance of 3% after ∼1930 AD whereas C. bodan- ica aff. lemanica and Tabellaria flocculosa str. IIIp re- mained relatively constant at ca. 5% and 15%, respec- tively. Asterionella ralfsii var. americana disappeared around 1940 AD and was not subsequently recorded. From about 1980 to 2000 AD this new diatom assem- blage stabilized. The mean synurophyte scales to diatom frustules ratio increased to 43%, with a maximum of 64% in ∼1998. This increase was mainly caused by much higher abundances of scales of Mallomonas cras- sisquama (Asmund) Fott. The ratio of chrysophyte cysts to diatom frustules remained low with values 124 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 Figure 3. Pollen and spores stratigraphy of selected taxa in Walden Pond sediments.Abundances of aquatic taxa were calculated as percentage of total non-aquatic pollen and were not included in the calculation of pollen percentages.Dashed horizontal lines indicate the major diatom zones (see Figure 5). around 8% until about 1997, and then increased to 10– 20% in the upper three levels. Two major periods with differing analog situations prevail in the sediment core (Figure 5). The samples between 140 cm and 9 cm (ca. 430 to 1950 AD) have dissimilarity coefficients lower than the 75% confidence limit, indicating that the fossil diatom species are well represented in the model data set. With the exception of the samples at 4, 3 and 0 cm, the recent samples between 8 and 0 cm (ca. 1950 to 2000 AD) have dissimilarity coefficients between the 75 and 95% critical values, indicating poor analogs (Figure 5). Similar patterns were obtained by the ‘good- ness of fit’ analysis using CCA. The samples from 140 to 9 cm have a good fit to pH and TP, whereas the levels 8 to 0 cm lay outside the 95% confidence limit, indicating a poor fit of those samples to both variables. Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 125 Figure 4. Loss-on-ignition (a), bulk organic carbon and nitrogen elemental (b, c, d) and stable isotope stratigraphy (e, f) for Walden Pond.Dashed horizontal lines indicate the major diatom zones (see Figure 5). The diatom-inferred pH (DI-pH, Figure 5) remained stable from ca. 430 to 1880 AD, with values fluctuating around 7.3. Afterwards, the DI-pH sharply increased to 7.8 at ca. 1970 AD, after which values stabilized until the present day. Figure 5. Diatom stratigraphy of Walden Pond with major zonations, ratios of chrysophyte scales and cysts to diatom frustules, diatom- inferred pH (DI-pH) and TP (DI-TP) and analysis of dissimilarity using the program ANALOG. The sample-specific error for DI-pH and DI-TP (for TP back-transformed to µg l−1) is indicated by horizontal bars. Dashed vertical lines in the ANALOG graph indicate the 75% and 95% confidence limits.Values lower than the 75% limit indicate good analogs, values between the 75% and the 95% limits indicate poor analogs. The diatom-inferred TP (DI-TP, Figure 5) followed similar trends as DI-pH, but increased with a time lag of about 50 years. DI-TP remained relatively stable with values around 6 µg l−1 in the lower levels until ca. 1930 AD. Thereafter, DI-TP continuously increased in 126 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 recent sediments, reaching a maximum of 10 µg l−1 in the 1970s, and remained stable afterwards. The mag- nitude of these inferred changes, however, remained inside the error range of lower core samples. Discussion Major patterns in sedimentary pollen assemblages (Figure 3) reflect the regional land-use history. High abundances of agricultural weeds and parallel declines of tree species between ca. 1800 and 1900 AD are likely associated with the regional maximum deforestation. Pollen abundances of Fagus and Tsuga also decreased since the 18th century due to land clearance and fire. A peak of the pioneer tree birch in the early 20th century and a subsequent increase of dominant pre-disturbance species of the genera Quercus and Pinus reflect the regional re-growth of forest. The clear decline of aquatic macrophytes (Isoëtes) spores between 1940 and 1960 AD may be related to changes in water transparency. Today, water trans- parency is moderate to high (Secchi depth: 2.5–9 m) thereby permitting growth of aquatic macrophytes, mainly the macroalga Nitella, between 6 and 13 m (Colman and Friesz, 2001). Deevey (1942) observed high water transparency in 1939, with aquatic mosses found at 15.7 m water depth. Therefore a moderate de- cline in transparency may have taken place since then. Fundamental to the interpretation of organic geo- chemical records in lake sediments is knowledge of the origin of the organic matter. In the Walden Pond sediments, the fine-grained organic matter fraction is dominantly of aquatic origin based on the C/N ratios of near 10 throughout the record (cf., Meyers and Lallier- Verges, 1999). The only exception is the charcoal-rich horizon at 12 cm (∼1910 AD), which correspondingly has an elevated C/N ratio of 18.2 and is consistent with organic matter derived from terrestrial sources (Figure 4d). Human disturbance since about 1770 AD evidently has had a dramatic impact on the nutrient balance of Walden Pond. Large changes observed in the C and N elemental and stable isotope stratigraphy are clearly beyond the range of natural environmental variability observed over the last ∼1600 years. Initial removal of catchment vegetation by logging appears to have resulted in an influx of primarily inorganic sediment, based on the decline in % C and % N (Figure 4b, c). Although the decline in organic content could also be interpreted as a reduction in lake productivity, this is less likely given the increase in catchment-derived nu- trient loading that probably occurred during European settlement and which has been suggested elsewhere in the region (e.g., Kaushal and Binford, 1999; Hilfinger et al., 2001). The subsequent increase in organic content at the top of the core may reflect a very recent increase in lake pro- ductivity. Alternatively, erosion protective measures in the catchment may be responsible for a reduction in the amount of inorganic sediment entering the lake or this sample may represent freshly deposited sediment that has not undergone degradation. A number of factors can influence the C and N sta- ble isotope composition of organic matter. For C, these are primarily processes that determine the C isotope composition of lake water dissolved inorganic carbon (DIC), the source of C for aquatic plants. These pro- cesses include the lake productivity-respiration bal- ance, CO2 exchange between the lake water DIC and the atmosphere, and the C isotope composition of DIC derived from soil respiration and bedrock weather- ing in the catchment (Boutton, 1991). The C isotope fractionation between the C source and aquatic plants can also vary depending on dissolved CO2 concentra- tions and HCO−3 uptake (Hodell and Schelske, 1998). Similarly, the N isotope composition of organic mat- ter is dependent on several factors, including produc- tivity, N transformations in the water column (e.g., denitrification, ammonium volatilization), and the N isotope composition of dissolved nutrients (Talbot, 2001). Changes in C and N stable isotope records of lakes that have undergone catchment disturbance are fre- quently attributed to shifts in C and N cycling re- sulting from increased nutrient loading (Teranes and Bernasconi, 2000; Wolfe et al., 2000; Herczeg et al., 2001). Indeed, trends to lower δ13C and higher δ15N values in the initial post-1770 AD interval (Figure 4e, f ) are also most likely associated with increased nutrient supply from removal of vegetation in the catchment and, in particular, increased delivery of 13C-depleted dissolved CO2 and 15N-enriched NO−3 from soil de- composition processes. Alternatively or in addition, productivity-driven enrichment of the dissolved inor- ganic nitrogen (DIN) with 15N may have contributed to the positive shift in δ15N in the lake sediment record. Evidently, similar productivity-driven enrichment of the DIC did not occur in Walden Pond perhaps due to a larger lake water reservoir of DIC compared to DIN. During the past 70 years, these trends have accelerated well beyond the range of natural variability observed over the past 1600 years and are possibly related to 13C- depleted and 15N-enriched wastewater seepage into the lake, although additional analysis of C and N isotope Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 127 composition of the wastewater at Walden Pond is re- quired to test this hypothesis. The changes in fossil diatom and chrysophyte assemblages observed in Walden Pond sediments (Figure 5) are likely related to the human-induced changes in nutrient balance at Walden Pond over the past two centuries, as evidenced by comparison of bios- tratigraphic changes with those revealed by the C and N elemental and stable isotope record. In Zone I (140–26 cm, ca. 430 to 1750 AD) the dominance of the diatom taxa C. stelligera and Tabel- laria flocculosa str. III p and the presence of Asteri- onella ralfsii and C. bodanica aff. lemanica indicate that Walden Pond was an oligotrophic, circumneutral to slightly acidic lake between ca. 430 and 1750 AD. The low nutrient content can be explained by the natu- rally nutrient-poor soils in the catchment and the rela- tively small watershed from which not much terrestrial material is washed into the lake, as reflected by low C/N ratios. The fossil diatom flora consists mainly of planktonic species, which may be expected in a core taken from the deepest part of the lake. As the coring site is located at 30 m depth, there is likely a large area around the coring site that does not receive enough light to support a benthic diatom population. In Zone II (26–12 cm, ca. 1750 to 1920 AD) the de- crease of Tabellaria flocculosa str. III p and the increase of C. stelligera between ca. 1750 and 1900 AD coin- cide with the first known anthropogenic disturbance by timber harvesting in the Walden Pond watershed. The proportion of herbal pollen increased significantly at the same time, from 5 to 30% (Figure 3), indicating an opening of the forest vegetation in the region. Addi- tionally, the decreases in sediment organic matter, % C, and % N (Figure 4a–c) suggest higher mineral inputs through soil erosion caused by logging activities. Cyclotella stelligera similarly increased following forest clearance in the watershed of British Columbia lakes (Laird and Cumming, 2001), in Michigan lakes (Fritz et al., 1993) and in a Swiss lake (Lotter, 2001) as well as in Adirondack lakes (Rhodes, 1991). Logging in the watershed can lead to nutrient enrichment of lakes (Lott et al., 1994; Carignan et al., 2000). Engstrom et al. (1985) and Stoermer et al. (1985) related higher Cy- clotella abundances, including C. stelligera, to nutrient enrichment. Other studies have indicated that C. stellig- era may reflect re-oligotrophication (Clerk et al., 2000) and Brugam (1989) reported its decline after almost complete deforestation of Washington lake watersheds. These results suggest that the increasing abundance of C. stelligera after ca. 1750 AD reflects the removal of vegetation in the catchment of Walden Pond by logging activities, but that its abundance may decline with further nutrient enrichment. The decrease in the chrysophyte cyst : diatom frus- tule ratio between ca. 1750 and 1920 supports the hy- pothesis of a slight nutrient enrichment. Decreasing abundances of chrysophyte cysts relative to diatoms in lake sediments have been proposed to accompany lake eutrophication (Smol, 1985). In Zone III (12–0 cm, ca. 1920 to 2000 AD) the striking change from a diatom assemblage associated with oligotrophic conditions and with moderate catch- ment disturbance, such as discussed above,to one dom- inated by disturbance indicators, such as Asterionella formosa and Fragilaria nanana, is likely related to ad- ditional nutrient supply derived from increased activity in the watershed (i.e., trail and beach development, rail- way construction, wastewater seepage, and other recre- ation activities) over much of the past century. Nutrient- enriched lakes are often characterized by increased abundances of Asterionella formosa (e.g., Pennington, 1981; Bennion et al., 2000) and larger Fragilariaceae, such as Synedra delicatissima W. Smith (Brugam, 1978), Fragilaria crotonensis Kitton (Reavie, 2000; Lotter, 2001), Fragilaria nanana(Reavie et al., 1995), and S. nana Meister (Bennion et al., 2000). The diatom species shift found in recent sediments probably relates to changes in summer conditions. Ac- cording to a phytoplankton record of Walden Pond in 1995, Asterionella formosa and Synedra spp. (likely synonymous with Fragilaria spp.) grow during sum- mer in this lake (Baystate Environmental Consultants, 1995). However, Asterionella and Fragilaria are also common during spring and autumn in lakes through- out North America. The explanation for this difference may be found in the combination of preservation and recreational use of Walden Pond, which is unusual for this region. During most of the year, the lake is al- most undisturbed because of the forested watershed and the absence of private houses, whereas during few summer months there are thousands of visitors to the lake, who contribute approximately 27% of the annual P load and 64% of the annual N load (Colman and Friez, 2001). Continuing nutrient (e.g., P) availabil- ity and sufficient epilimnetic mixing throughout the summer may permit diatoms to form a richer summer population (Sommer et al., 1986). Maximum nutrient concentrations at Walden Pond were measured in sum- mer in the eastern basin, close to the beach (Table 1). Therefore it is possible that recreational activities in summer were the source for nutrients that support a summer diatom population. This was likely different under the oligotrophic conditions that prevailed during 128 Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 periods preceding the anthropogenic disturbances, be- cause P would have been largely consumed by the spring blooms. Cyclotella stelligera is also a summer species, yet it is out-competed by Asterionella formosa and Fragilaria spp. which are good competitors for P (Van- Donk and Kilham, 1990) and which have been shown to be favoured by high total N:total P ratios (Inter- landi et al., 1999). The high N:P ratio of 40:1 (average January to August values in the epilimnion and metal- imnion, Baystate Environmental Consultants, 1995), indicates that phytoplankton growth is P-limited in Walden Pond. The proposed association between di- atom disturbance indicators with summer conditions in Walden Pond (see above) requires testing from compre- hensive phytoplankton surveys of the lake over several years and including all seasons. Also, as most nutri- ent inputs enter the lake on the eastern shore, a more detailed analysis of the eastern basin is necessary to completely characterize the lake’s limnology. The higher relative abundance of synurophyte scales in the recent sediments (Figure 5), mainly produced by Mallomonas crassisquama, supports the hypothesis of a nutrient enrichment of Walden Pond. This species also proliferated following nutrient addition to an Ex- perimental Lake in western Ontario, Canada (Zeeb, 2004). Preliminary counts of synurophyte scales in an- other core, taken at Walden Pond in 1979, showed strik- ing changes in species composition at about 1900 AD (John P. Smol, Queen’s University, Kingston, ON, pers. comm.), coincident with the major change in the diatom assemblages in zone III. Taxa associated with undis- turbed conditions and that are now quite rare, such as M. lelymene Harris and Bradley and M. allorgei (Deflandre) Conrad, dominated the pre-disturbance sediments. In the recent sediments, they were replaced by taxa indicating higher nutrient availability, such as M. elongata Reverdin and M. caudate Iwanoff. Thus, the changes in chrysophyte populations also reflect the nutrient enrichment of Walden Pond. The chrysophyte cyst proportions remained lower during the 20th century than during pre-settlement times, indicating a higher trophic state. The upper three samples (1995–2000 AD) showed increasing propor- tions, indicating decreasing nutrient concentrations. The stability in chrysophyte cyst proportions during the early 20th century seems to contradict the increas- ing synurophyte scale:diatom ratio at the same time. The explanation may be that only the Synurophyceae bear scales, such as the dominant M. crassisquama in the recent sediments of Walden Pond. However, cysts are formed by scaled and non-scaled taxa from several chrysophyte groups. It is therefore possible that scales were more abundant due to this scaled species follow- ing nutrient enrichment, but that overall chrysophyte and cyst abundances (consisting mainly of oligotrophic species) remained low. During the last ca. 20 years, diatom assemblages seem to have stabilized, probably indicating a reduced rate of eutrophication. As first management measures for water quality protection were implemented in 1975, these measures may have indeed reduced the nutrient loading to Walden Pond during summer. Analog and Goodness-of-fit analyses have shown that the reconstructions are reliable for all levels, with the exception of levels 0–8 cm. Poor analogs and fit were detected for these uppermost levels, although all dominant fossil species are present in the model. The poor analogs result from high abundances of few species in our fossil samples (e.g., Fragilaria nanana, Asterionella formosa), which is not the case in the train- ing set lakes, where these species are present at lower abundances. This is likely due to higher relative abun- dances of benthic taxa in the training set lakes, which are generally shallower than Walden Pond. We assume that useful ecological parameters (species optimum and tolerance) have been estimated for the models and that they are therefore appropriate for inferring pH and TP in our sediment core. From ca. 430 to 1880 AD (diatom zones I and II), diatom-inferred pH and TP remained constant, reflect- ing the stable diatom assemblages (Figure 5). The DI- TP of 5–6 µg l−1 indicated oligotrophic conditions. The circumneutral character of the dominant species was reflected by the DI-pH, which fluctuates between 7.2 and 7.3. A rapid increase in DI-pH by 0.5 units occurred between ca. 1920 and 1960 AD, reflecting the abrupt change in species composition from zones II to III. A rise in pH may indicate higher primary productivity in the lake. Phytoplankton and macrophytes remove CO2 from the water column by photosynthetic assimilation, thereby driving the bicarbonate balance towards the alkaline end. PH measurements in recent years have shown peak values of 9 and more in the epilimnion during summer (Colman and Friesz, 2001), suggesting a temporally alkaline environment generated by high primary productivity. Alternatively, pH can increase due to higher base cation concentrations (i.e., higher alkalinity). The source of such ions can be diverse: soluble inorganic material (Mg2+, Ca2+) may be washed into the lake by runoff over eroded soils, as suggested by lower organic N and C contents in the sediments beginning in zone II Köster et al. / Aquatic Ecosystem Health and Management 8 (2005) 117–131 129 and persisting through zone III. An explanation for an increase in alkalinity may also be the higher in-lake productivity attributable to higher nutrient levels from logging and recreational use as discussed above. In- creased deposition of organic material causes oxygen depletion in the hypolimnion of Walden Pond dur- ing late summer and autumn (Baystate Environmental Consultants, 1995; Colman and Friesz, 2001; Köster, unpubl. data) permitting sulphate reduction and den- itrification in the hypolimnion, as well as release of base cations from sediments (Schindler, 1986; Psen- ner, 1988). Manganese, Fe, P and ammonia concentra- tions were high in the hypolimnion near the sediments in late summer (Colman and Friesz, 2001), indicating that alkalinity was in fact generated in the anoxic hy- polimnion and at the sediment/water interface. Higher DI-TP values in the top of the core sup- port the evidence of rising nutrient levels at Walden Pond, which was provided by stable isotopes and chrys- ophytes. However, this change is subtle with 5 µg l−1. Given the drastic changes in diatom species composi- tion, and changes in geochemistry and stable isotope composition that were attributed to an increase in nu- trient loading, the small increase in diatom-inferred TP is surprising. However, the reconstructions corre- spond well with the instrumentally recorded mean an- nual TP levels in the western basin that remained below 10 µg l−1 between 1997 and 1999 (Table 1). Yet, some summer samples during this time show a deviation from the mean (ca. 20 µg l−1; Table 1). The shift in the diatom community of the western basin to one dominated by species typical of nutrient-enriched waters is probably due to these moderate seasonal P maxima, as discussed above. During seasons when Walden Pond is not sub- ject to intense recreational use (e.g., spring and autumn) the lake water returns to lower nutrient concentrations (<10 µg l−1), probably allowing proliferation of di- atoms with low TP optima, such as Cyclotella bodan- ica and Tabellaria flocculosa str. III p. For quantitative reconstructions based on fossil samples that integrate all seasons, this means that species with low-TP optima may partly balance out the effects of species with high TP optima growing during summer. Although the lake is presently considered to be oligo- to mesotrophic and its clear water suggests a ‘natural state,’ the geochemical and diatom records in the sediments of Walden Pond indicate substantial changes in the nutrient balance of the lake due to human impact during the last three centuries. The low suscep- tibility of the lake to exhibit evident signs of eutroph- ication, such as turbid water caused by phytoplankton blooms may be due to its great depth, its small water- shed, and the fact that it is mainly fed by groundwater. Human-derived nutrients added to the lake in the sum- mer may be used up by planktonic organisms, which subsequently transfer the nutrients by sedimentation to the lake bottom. However, increased nutrient inputs to Walden Pond through erosion and recreational use dur- ing much of the 20th century have left a signature in the lake sediments, which have the potential of being re- cycled into the lake water column. Active bacteriolog- ical decomposition of organic matter leads to oxygen- depleted conditions in the hypolimnion of the lake in late summer and autumn, permitting recycling of sed- imentary nutrients to the water column and up-welling during full circulation periods. If high nutrient inputs during summer persist, past and present nutrient loads may lead to further eutrophication of Walden Pond. Stable diatom assemblages and increasing chryso- phyte cyst proportions in the uppermost sediments sug- gest that initial management practices applied in the 1970s have halted the process of eutrophication. Cur- rent preventive measures to reduce nutrient loading in- cluding the monitoring of groundwater down gradient from the septic leach field and of oxygen content in the hypolimnion, storm water runoff control, and public awareness activities (Colman and Friesz, 2001) should therefore continue. Given the difficult interpretation of the available limnological records due to highly vari- able sampling protocols, continued monitoring using standardized sampling and analysis methods are of great importance. If signs of further eutrophication, such as more frequent anoxia in the hypolimnion, are observed, or if nutrient contamination of the groundwa- ter starts to increase, more effective wastewater treat- ment and reduced recreational usage may be neces- sary to protect Walden Pond from further water quality deterioration. Acknowledgements This study was supported by NSF and NSERC grants to D. Foster and to R. Pienitz, respectively, and by logistical support from the Centre d’études nordiques and Harvard Forest. We are grateful for the very help- ful comments of the members of the Paleolimnology- Paleoecology Laboratory at Université Laval and of several anonymous reviewers on earlier versions of the manuscript. 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A., lakes as inferred from siliceous algal remains and their relationships to land-use change. Limnol. Oceanogr. 44, 1928–1935. Smol, J. P., 1985. The ratio of diatom frustules to Chrysophycean statospores: a useful paleolimnological index. Hydrobiologia 123(3): 199–204. Sommer, U., Gliwicz, Z. M., Lampert, W., Duncan, A., 1986. The PEG-model of seasonal succession of planktonic events in fresh waters. Arch. Hydrobiol. 106, 433–471. Stoermer, E. F., Wolin, J. A., Schelske, C. L., Conley, D. J., 1985. An assessment of ecological changes during the recent history of Lake Ontario based on siliceous algal microfossils preserved in the sediments. J. Phycol. 21, 257–276. Talbot, M. R., 2001. Nitrogen isotopes in palaeolimnology. In: W. M. Last and J. P. Smol (Eds.), Tracking Environmental Change Using Lake Sediments: Physical and Chemical Techniques, Develop- ments in Paleoenvironmental Research, Volume 2, pp. 401–439. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht. Teranes, J. L., Bernasconi, S. M., 2000. The record of nitrate uti- lization and productivity limitation provided by δ15N values in lake organic matter—A study of sediment trap and core sedi- ments from Baldeggersee, Switzerland. Limnol. Oceanogr. 45, 801–813. Thoreau, H. D., 1854. Walden; or Life in the Woods. Ticknor and Fields, Boston. VanDonk, E., Kilham, S. S., 1990. Temperature effects on silicon- limited and phosphorus-limited growth and competitive interac- tions among three diatoms. J. Phycol. 26, 40–50. Wheeler, R., 1967. Concord: Climate for Freedom. The Concord Antiquarian Society, Concord. Whitney, G. G., Davis, W. C., 1986. From primitive woods to cul- tivated woodlots: Thoreau and the forest history of Concord, Massachusetts. J. Forest His. 30, 70–81. Winkler, M. G., 1993. Changes at Walden Pond during the last 600 years. In: E. A. Schofield and R. C. Baron (Eds.), Thoreau’s World and Ours: a Natural Legacy, pp. 199–211. North American Press, Golden, Colorado. Wolfe, B. B., Edwards, T. W. 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work_keep7yqeobfzhcslocy6l6vife	----	© The Author 2016. This is the author's version of the work. It is posted here for personal use, not for redistribution. The definitive version was published in Educational Theory, 66(4) pp. 519-534. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/edth.12186 Fulford, A. 2016. Learning to Write: Plowing and Hoeing, Labor and Essaying. Educational Theory. 66(4) pp. 519-534. http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/edth.12186 Learning to Write: Plowing and Hoeing, Labor and Essaying Amanda Fulford Leeds Trinity University, UK. ABSTRACT In this paper Fulford addresses the issue of student writing in the university, and explores how the increasing dominance of outcome-driven modes of learning and assessment is changing the understanding of what it is to write, what is expected of students in their writing, and how academic writing should best be supported. The starting point is the increasing use of what are termed ‘technologies’ of writing - ‘handbooks’ for students that address issues of academic writing - that systematize, and smooth the work of writing in, Fulford argues, an unhelpful way. This leads to a reconsideration of what it means to write in the university, and what it is to be a student who writes. Fulford explores etymologically the concept of ‘writing’, and suggests that it might be seen metaphorically as physical labor. Writing as physical labor is explored further through the agricultural metaphors in Henry David Thoreau’s Walden, and through Stanley Cavell’s reading of this text. In making a distinction between writing-as-plowing, and writing-as-hoeing, Fulford argues that some technologies of writing deny voice, rather than facilitate it, and concludes by offering a number of suggestions for the teaching and learning of writing in the university that emphasize the value of being lost (in one’s subject, and one’s work) and finding one’s own way out. These ‘lessons’ are illustrated with reference to Thoreau’s text of Walden, and from American literature and film. INTRODUCTION: TECHNOLOGIES OF WRITING This paper considers the student as ‘writer’ in the contemporary university. Writing, and academic writing in particular, is clearly under the spotlight, and the student in the university has arguably never had access to more detailed guidelines on what is expected, nor access to better support for writing. A whole industry now exists to produce these, what I call in this paper, ‘technologies of writing’. This is evidenced by the production of text books and ‘how to’ guides explaining, from initiation to completion, the process of producing the report, the essay, the reflective account, dissertation or the thesis. Many of these are differentiated by academic level1 and by discipline area.2 Some even focus on particular elements of a larger piece of writing such as the literature review.3 Universities have also recognized the need to address student support in writing. Many institutions have developed their own dedicated academic writing websites as ancillary support, have introduced a range of measures including study skills support services, centres for academic writing, and have recruited specialist writing mentors. Academic writing in the contemporary university can thus be said to be ‘technologized’. This needs some explanation: first, the use of this term recognizes that the development of students’ academic writing skills, and the support for its ongoing development, is often mediated by technology.4 But the use of the term ‘technologies’ calls attention to a second phenomenon: the systematisation of academic writing, as evidenced in its definition in terms of skills and competencies against which students’ writing can be measured through assessment, and for which they can be held to account. We might call these developments 'technologies of risk management'; they guide students to the product that passes the test, and that meets the learning outcomes. And managing risks in these ways is not just restricted to textbooks aimed at a student audience. To ensure new and early career researchers' success in delivering outputs, a plethora of guides promise a smooth path to writing, success through publication,5 and securing of grant funding.6 A further danger with such strict adherence to the formulae given in these kinds of text, is that they risk stripping out the thinking from the writing process.7 Perhaps a word of caution is needed here. In using the term ‘technologisation’ here, I am not offering a critique of the use of electronic or digital technologies to support the teaching and learning of academic 1 See Dorothy Bedford and Elizabeth Wilson, Study Skills for Foundation Degrees, (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013). 2 See Peter Redman and Wendy Maples, Good Essay Writing: A Social Sciences Guide, (London: Sage, 2011). 3 See Diana Ridley, The Literature Review: A Step-by-Step Guide for Students, (London: Sage, 2012). 4 See Mark Conroy, “Internet Tools for Language Learning: University Students Taking Control of their Writing”, Australasian Journal of Educational Technology, 26, Issue 6, (2010): 861 – 882. 5See Laura Belcher, Writing Your Journal Article in Twelve Weeks: A Guide to Academic Publishing Success, (London: Sage, 2009). 6 See Soraya Coley and Cynthia Scheinberg, Proposal Writing: Effective Grantsmanship, 4th edition, (London: Sage, 2014). 7 For a fuller discussion of this point, see Amanda Fulford, “Ventriloquising the Voice: Student Writing in the University”, Journal of Philosophy of Education, 43, No. 2, (2009): 223 - 237. writing per se, nor am I claiming that such technologisation is a new phenomenon, a characteristic emerging in postmodernity. Indeed, writing has always required the use of certain technologies, be these flints for scratching on rocks, styli for making marks on clay tablets, quills and pens for paper and parchment, or touch-screen and voice-activated technology in the digital age. In referring to the technologies of academic writing (and the technologisation that such tools bring), I am rather drawing on the Greek τεχνολογία (τέχνη - art or skill, and λόγος - discourse) and its sense of systematic treatment or technique. Equipping students with the power to write academically is, though, surely one good and proper outcome of a university education. To consider what is at stake in embracing these new technologies of writing is, however, not to argue against supporting student writing in the university. The argument made here does not deny that there are distinctive practices of writing that are shared by members of academic traditions, nor that students should be inducted into how writing is typically pursued in the respective disciplines. This is not to advocate students' unlimited self- expression, or to authorize an approach of 'anything goes'. Prescribed formal structures for forms of academic writing (as many of the handbooks provide) are not necessarily the problem. Indeed precise formal structure, such as the poetic forms of the sonnet or the haiku, can be the very medium for an intensification and release of thought. The aim here is rather to draw attention to two issues: first, that little thought tends to be given in these technologies to what it is to be a writer in more meaningful ways than in the simplistic categories described by Phyllis Crème and Mary Lea of the ‘Diver’, the ‘Patchwork Writer’, the ‘Grand Plan Writer’ and the ‘Architect Writer’.8 Second, that the emphasis on the technologies of writing often fail to give sufficient attention to the work of writing, focussing instead on ensuring that writers have got the ‘right “voice.”’ Of course we can see how students are attracted by this approach, its subtle assurances and its alluring promise. What I argue, though, is that such technologies fail to deliver the promised development of the ‘academic 8 Phyllis Crème and Mary Lea, Writing at University: A Guide for Students, 3rd edition, (Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2008). voice’, and rather render the student voiceless. It is as if the utilisation of certain technologies acts as a kind of magic formula, an easy shortcut to avoid the (hard) work of developing a certain writing style, but more importantly of knowing what to say. It implies that academic writing in the disciplines consists of a formula, a set of ‘tricks’; that a student achieves voice in her written work in a way that entails simply the mastering of a certain set of skills that commonly pass for academic writing. One characteristic of many technologies of academic writing is that they attend mainly to technical aspects of writing - to the development of skills in particular - that decontextualize writing and strip students of their voice and identity as writers.9 The creeping orthodoxy of such approaches might be attributed to two key factors. First, Higher Education has seen the broadening of the curriculum, in some contexts, to include vocationally-oriented and professional training courses that attract 'non-traditional’ entrants who often seek support with the practices of formal academic writing. Second, the pervasive culture of learning outcomes, and of student satisfaction league tables, drive a raft of measures - including the use of technologies of writing - to ensure and thereby raise student achievement. In the textbook technologies of academic writing in particular, a systematic approach that tends to be encouraged. Take this as an example from a popular textbook for students titled Writing for Academic Success where the skills of academic writing appear as something of a given: By applying the strategies, doing the exercises, and following the procedural steps in this chapter, you should be able to…renew your acquaintance with standard academic writing practices…and identify strategies to ensure clarity in writing, conciseness and appropriate use of voice and tone.10 9 Roz Ivanič, “Discourses of Writing and Learning to Write”, Language & Education: An International Journal, 18 Issue 3, (2004): 220 - 245. 10 Gail Craswell and Megan Poore, Writing for Academic Success, 2nd edition, (London: Sage, 2013), 56. The systematisation to which I draw attention is amply illustrated in the quotation above, and is found extensively in the language of support material for academic writing more generally. But if what constitutes ‘good academic writing’ is articulated, and reinforced through these media, then it is even further prescribed in university assessment criteria that tend to lay out the specific technical aspects of writing that need to be evidenced to achieve a grade of pass, merit, or of distinction. The establishment of sets of criteria against which competence or achievement in academic writing can be measured and monitored, is further evidence of both the technologisation of writing, and of the individual writer who is situated in particular ways by them. Of course, academic writing has always been a kind of restricted writing - a ‘hegemony of the mundane’11 - in comparison with, for example, literary forms such as fiction or poetry. But the strength and extent of its restriction is seen in criteria for academic writing that take little account of context or content, but rather tend to focus, almost exclusively, on the technical aspects of the writing. These include aspects such as genre and grammar, organisational features such as sentence structure and paragraphing that contribute to fluency, persuasiveness, and coherence, and above all, specific conventions such as citation, quotation, and referencing. In all this, there is a tendency to see writing as a process in need of demystification. In some ways, the burgeoning industry of writing technologies celebrates and feeds a certain mystique around academic writing on which, they claim, their products shed light. As a result, there is a move to deconstruct writing, only to reconstruct it as a series of linear processes that, if followed systematically, leads to the model output. Thus, writing that unthinkingly follows the procedural steps in the writing handbook has come to epitomize what writing is, what academic writing means. In this process the writer is passive, merely following a set of instructions that blind her to her task as an author. This task is perhaps clearer if we consider the roots of the word ‘author’ in the Latin augere meaning to promote or originate, and the Old French acteor (creator, instigator, one who causes to grow). Perhaps the etymological link between ‘author’ and ‘auth-entic ’ reveals 11 Jodi Kearns, Brian O’Connor and Francisco Moore, “Provocations of the Structure of Scholarly Writing in the Digital Era”, On the Horizon, 15, Issue 4, (2007): 222. something important about the task of writing that goes beyond the strictures of the proceduralized route to the model essay, report, reflective account, or journal article. It also suggests that writing- authoring is also about the creation of the self. The emphasis in many technologies of academic writing is a focus on the output, the final product, and support often proceeds according to a well-rehearsed, and often prescriptive formula of mapping ideas, creating a draft, editing, re-writing, and final proof reading.12 Writing tends to be conceived as a stage to be completed once one's thinking is done; it is just a case of 'writing up'. But writing is messier than this; thinking and writing cannot easily be separated. As Paul Standish notes: 'Sometimes you don't know what you think until you have written it.13 But Craswell and Poore's text reinforces a staged approach to writing for academic success, stating that it requires ‘improving your management of multiple communication tasks…considering procedural steps well in advance’,14 and ‘sequential outlining’ to ensure that you ‘gain control over [content] coverage’, and for ‘determining the logic of [topic] relations’.15 Handbooks such as these can be understood as facilitating a kind of self-expression, especially amongst those from non-traditional backgrounds. But these modes of expression are channelled in ways that are of a piece with other contemporary forms of what is supposed to be student-centeredness, all of which aim to enhance the overall student experience, and to drive up achievement.16 It is perhaps not too strong a description to say that these approaches, along with the rigid use of certain technologies of academic writing, are - to use Bert Lambeir and Stefan Ramaekers’ words - ‘a form of terror with respect to learning and knowing’.17 12 Stephen Bailey, Academic Writing: A Handbook for International Students, (Abingdon: Routledge, 2006). 13 Paul Standish, “What Is the Philosophy of Education?”, in The Philosophy of Education: An Introduction, ed. Richard Bailey, (London: Continuum, 2010), 11. 14 Craswell and Poore, Writing for Academic Success, 15. 15 Craswell and Poore, Writing for Academic Success, 75. 16 For further examples, see Elizabeth Staddon and Paul Standish, “Improving the Student Experience”, Journal of Philosophy of Education, 46, No. 4, (2012): 631 - 648. 17 Bert Lambeir and Stefan Ramaekers, “The Limits of ‘Blackboard’ are the Limits of My World: On the Changing Concepts of the University and its Students”, E-Learning, 3, No. 4, (2006): 547. WRITING: SCRATCHING OUT AND CARVING IN This paper now turns to consider what it is to be a student who writes, and drawing on the etymology of the word ‘write,’ explores the work of the writer, metaphorically, as physical labor. Etymologically, the modern usage of ‘write’ is derived from the Old English and the Saxon writan meaning ‘to score’ or ‘to tear’, and the Old Norse word rita meaning ‘to scratch’ or ‘to carve out’. In most Indo-European languages, ‘write’ is also related to words meaning ‘to carve’ or ‘scratch out’. To carve out or to scratch in, however, calls attention to writing as a form of art – τέχνη. This comprises not only the practical skill required for such a craft, but also the underlying knowledge and experience required to undertake and produce it.18 The Greek γράφειν, the German schreiben, and the French écrire are also all etymologically related to ideas of carving or engraving. The connotations of these terms clearly relate to the ancient origins of writing where physical effort was needed to carve out, or to dig into stone or clay, the required letters, symbols and words,. As the tools of writing have changed, so too has the physical effort required. For example, the effort needed to make marks with a hammer and chisel, with quills on parchment, or with pencils, fountain pens and biros on paper, is clearly not the same. With the advent of digital technologies, the physical pressing of the keys of the typewriter and the use of the carriage return, has been replaced by almost silent keys on our computers and laptops. Most recently, noiseless touch screen technology has been developed that is operated by the slightest physical touch, or swipe, and often doesn’t require us to touch each letter of a word, but predicts it for us. A further development has been the introduction of technology that uses voice-activated software, removing the need for any hand-held implement or hand-operated tools for writing. Still more recently, the use of eye tracking computer devices allows individuals with significant disabilities to communicate through the translation of eye movements across alphabetic panels to recreate text - writing - on a screen.19 The advent of such 18 This point is made in Stephen Halliwell’s book, Aristotle’s Poetics, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998). 19 R. Spataro, M. Ciriacono, C. Manno, and C. La Bella, “The Eye-Tracking Computer Device for Communication in Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis”, Acta Neurologica Scandanavia, 130, Issue 1, (2014): 40 – 45. significant electronic and digital technologies has not removed the discussion of the physical aspects of writing in the research literature, but rather changed its emphasis. In the first decades of the twentieth century, attention was given mainly to issues of penmanship,20 how to teach handwriting,21 and particularly on scoring legibility.22 A century later, the physical aspects of handwriting are now discussed more in relation to issues of gross and fine motor skills and co- ordination,23 so-called ‘muscle memory’,24 and ergonomics including pen design and grip, paper angle and furniture layout.25 So, in summary, whilst developments in the tools for writing have undoubtedly altered - and decreased - the physicality of the act of writing, the latest research seems to re-focus attention on some of the physical aspects of the writing task. But the main concern of this paper is not to pursue these aspects in terms merely of ‘what works’, but to ask what can be gained in thinking metaphorically of writing as physical labor. How might this kind of thinking counter the discourses of the technologies of writing that seek to construct the writer, and writing itself, in ways that deny its inherent messiness, complexity, and the transformation of the self that comes through continued attention to learning to do it? WRITING AND HOEING: THOREAU AND WRITING AS PHYSICAL LABOR In his book Walden,26 Henry David Thoreau, the nineteenth century transcendentalist author and philosopher, writes of living at Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, and of the way he spent his 20 G.M. Wilson, “The Handwriting of School Children”, Elementary School Teacher, 11, Issue 10, (1911): 540 - 543. 21 Frank Freeman, “Current Methods of Teaching Handwriting’” Elementary School Teacher, 12, Issue 10, (1912): 481 - 493. 22 Leonard Ayers, Scale for Measuring the Quality of Handwriting in School Children, (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1912). 23 Jérémy Danna, Fabienne Enderli, Sylvie Athenes, and Pier-Giorgio Zanone, “Motor Coordination Dynamics Underlying Graphic Motion in 7- to 11-Year-Old Children”, Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 111, No. 1, (2012): 37 -51. 24 Stephen Grossberg and Rainer Paine, “Neural Model of Cortico-Cerebellar Interactions during Attentive Imitation and Predictive Learning of Sequential Handwriting Movements”, Neural Networks, 13, Nos 8-9, (2000): 999 - 1046. 25 Turan Temur, “Description of Primary Education 1st Grade Students' Forms of Holding a Pencil as well as Their Grip and Compression Strengths”, Educational Sciences: Theory and Practice, 11, No. 4, (2011): 2199 - 2205. 26 Henry David Thoreau, Walden, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1854/1999). time: building his hut, laboring in the fields planting and tending his beans, visiting the pond, observing and recording nature and the seasons, and writing. Thoreau writes this: After hoeing, or perhaps reading and writing, in the forenoon, I usually bathed again in the pond, swimming across one of its coves for a stint, and washed the dust of labor from my person, or smoothed out the last wrinkle which study had made, and for the afternoon was absolutely free.27 At first glance, we might read this excerpt as saying that in the mornings, Thoreau would work, perhaps spending time hoeing (his beans) or reading and writing. But another possible reading is this: that the very physical work of hoeing is a way of thinking about reading and writing; so the line would read as: ‘After hoeing (that is, after reading and writing)…I washed the dust of labor from my person’. Both readings are suggestive of the work of writing, but the latter highlights the physical labor that is writing. This use of metaphor in Thoreau’s writing, as well as his use of puns and allegories, is highlighted in Stanley Cavell’s reading of Thoreau in his book The Senses of Walden. The work of writing Walden is in discovering what writing is. ‘It takes a while to recognize’, claims Cavell, ‘that every word in which he [Thoreau] identifies himself or describes his work and his world is the identification and description of what he understands his literary enterprise to require’.28 If this is the case, then Walden, with its lengthy sections describing the physical labor of building his hut, and growing and harvesting his beans, is a text on the work of writing, a task that he describes in his chapter titled ‘The Bean Field’ as a ‘small Herculean labor’.29 But this idea of the work of writing - described in relation to ideas of the physical labor of working the land and of producing a crop - is also found elsewhere in Thoreau’s writings. In his journal (for which extracts remain from 1837 through to 1862), Thoreau’s writes this in his entry for 1847: 27 Thoreau, Walden, 151. 28 Stanley Cavell, The Senses of Walden, (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1981). 29 Thoreau, Walden, 140. From all points of the compass, from the earth beneath and the heavens above, have come these inspirations and been entered duly in the order of their arrival in the journal. Thereafter, when the time arrived, they were winnowed into lectures, and again, in due time, from lectures into essays.30 For the modern reader of Thoreau’s text, familiar perhaps with highly mechanized, mass- scale farming practices that rely on sophisticated agricultural machinery, these metaphors of a man, toiling on the land with simple tools, are all the more powerful. But this does not suggest a bucolic reading of the text. Thoreau is not presenting an agrarian idyll. What the text does inform is a contemporary understanding of what it is to write, using Walden’s images of plowing, hoeing and the physical labor that these tasks entail. To use such an agricultural analogy as a form of practical wisdom for understanding the work of writing may seem unusual, too straightforward, or even romantic or nostalgic. But a closer reading of what is at stake in Thoreau’s account of tending his bean field, serves to illustrate its importance – and relevance. So let us return to Thoreau’s use of the hoeing metaphor here, since it is important in a number of ways. Just as the hoe cuts into the soil, so writing is a kind of cutting - of the ideas onto the page - and calls to mind the etymology of the word. But hoeing not only involves the cutting of the blade into the ground; it is also a turning of the clods, an exposing of fresh soil to the glare of the sunlight. Thoreau writes: As I drew a still fresher soil about the rows with my hoe, I disturbed the ashes of unchronicled nations … When my hoe tinkled against the stones, that music echoed to the woods and the sky, and was an accompaniment to my labor which yielded an instant and immeasurable crop. It was no longer beans that I hoed.31 30 Carl Bode, ed., The Best of Thoreau’s Journals, (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1967), 88. 31 Thoreau, Walden, 143. So here, the act of writing is one of cutting and dividing words, of exposing ideas so that readers are themselves exposed to the cutting characteristics of words. That writing 'disturbs the ashes' suggests that it draws on tradition, and on forms of expression that Thoreau did not even know were there in him to write.32 Stanley Cavell, in his Senses of Walden, writes this of Thoreau’s text: Hoeing serves the writer as a trope – in particular, a metaphor for writing…The overarching parable of the chapter on “The Bean Field” is one that describes the writer-hoer most literally, one which itself takes harrowing to be (a metaphor of) the effect of words…He [Thoreau] links these two labors of the hand.33 Thoreau draws attention to the importance of attending to the words that he uses when he writes: ‘Books must be read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written’.34 So, we need to consider what Thoreau’s hoeing consists in. For Thoreau, hoeing is not plowing (the systematic lifting and turning of the soil in a regular pattern). Nor is it furrowing (the forming of regular trenches in the soil to prepare it for sowing). The operations of plowing and furrowing suggest a regularity, proceeding according to a prescribed pattern, the production of neat rows (like lines of writing on the page). Hoeing is also not (in the agricultural sense) the same as harrowing - the systematic breaking up and smoothing out of the surface of the soil to make a finer finish that makes undertaking subsequent tasks easier. Yet, there is a paradox here: hoeing is harrowing when thought of in relation to our words. For Cavell, the effect of our words is harrowing in that we are disturbed by them; Cavell would say that we are sentenced to, and by, them.35 Thoreau’s hoeing (both in the field, and in 32 The idea of our drawing on tradition in language is found in Thoreau's account of his borrowing an axe to cut down trees for the construction of his hut at Walden Pond, and how he returned the axe sharper than when he borrowed it. Cavell shows how this account serves as a metaphor for the way that we use language. We use the words that we inherit, that are passed down to us (that we 'borrow'), but our father tongue responsibility to words is to use them in a way that passes then back sharper to the community (Thoreau, Walden, 38). 33 Cavell, Senses, 22. 34 Thoreau, Walden, 92. 35 In Cavell’s Senses of Walden, he includes chapters titled ‘Words’ and ‘Sentences’. There is a pun here: Cavell is not merely referring to grammatical elements of language here; he is also drawing attention to our relationship with language, and to how we are convicted by our words. He writes: ‘To read a text accurately is to assess its computations, to check its sentences against our convictions’ (p. 65). See also the discussion later in the paper on Cavell’s discussion of the father tongue in Thoreau’s Walden. writing), is a different kind of labor. Here, the hoer takes the tool and selects which beans to hoe, where to dig the blade into the soil, and to what depth. The hoer cultivates the crops, choosing where to loosen or to compact the earth and where to dig out choking weeds. Of course, this is not to suggest too strict a binary between plowing and hoeing; it is in straight lines that, in the end, we write things down. It is rather that the metaphor of the writer as hoer draws attention to the choices that are before the writer in terms of the words she chooses, and so what she causes to grow – or authors. But how does this help us to think of writing, and of academic writing in the university in particular? A comparison can be drawn between the ordered and standardized - even mechanistic - procedures of plowing, furrowing, and harrowing, and the technologies of academic writing that seek to bear the weight of the work, to prepare the ground, and make easy and smooth the work of writing. The plow, used in the field, eases (to some extent) the farmer's physical labor in cutting the earth. But plowing requires not only the farmer, but also the beast; and it is the animal in front that bears the weight, and it is there that the labor is felt. The regularity of the furrow that the plow assures makes for more efficient sowing and harvesting – and these are good things in the agricultural context. A steady pace and an even rhythm can be maintained given the affordances that plowing technology can bring, and hence, much ground can be covered. This is in contrast to the much slower pace that comes with the hoeing, because the hoer feels the full physical effort required to do the work. Here, the work may proceed by way of short bursts of intensive activity, and then periods of reflection - a looking around at the ground to see where to hoe next, and where to leave the earth uncut. But when technologies of academic writing rely on tools that produce only effective, neat patterning, they smooth the ground, and bear the weight of the work in a way that fails to recognize the complexity and messiness of the task. When the skill required in writing is merely that of following the prescribed path to achieve the uniform end result, then something of writing, and what it is to be a writer, is lost. But in hoeing, the hoer chooses where to cut into the earth, to till and scrape the soil, and which of the weeds to eradicate. Similarly, to be a hoer-writer is to be one who has responsibility for which words to use, how they should be put together, what should be worked, and re-worked, and what should be weeded out. This is labor of writing where the writer, as the hoer ‘makes such invidious distinctions with his hoe, levelling whole ranks of one species, and sedulously cultivating another’.36 WRITING AND LABORING: PEDAGOGICAL LESSONS All this is not to argue against the accepted conventions of different genres of writing, or to avoid teaching these to students. Without accepting certain patterns and conventions in writing, such as in the essay, the form of expression is frustrated. It is to argue, however, that there is a tendency in some technologies of writing to reduce it to an unthinking adherence to these schemas in a way that simplifies and sanitizes writing, and positions the writer as a mere puppet in the process. Of course, not all technologies are like this. Even when using a tool such as a plow, it is the blades that cut and work the ground, not the plower, but the responsibility for using the tool remains the plower’s, and it is his work in the end. However, what some technologies of academic writing seem to avoid is the idea that writing is labor - often difficult labor - and the work of the writer is in the recognition of her responsibility to the words she cultivates and brings to the surface, and to those she discards. As Duck-Joo Kwak says of writing the essay: ‘This is not just about “writing styles”, self-consciously taught, but about possibilities of learning, thinking and being’.37 It is as if writing itself, in some senses, produces the writer. Just as the hoer divides and tills the earth to bring forth life, so the labor of the writer consists in being awake, and being awoken to, the dividing possibilities of the words she uses; so Cavell writes: 36 Thoreau, Walden, 145. 37 Duck-Joo Kwak, “Practising Philosophy, the Practice of Education: Exploring the Essay Form through Lukács’ Soul and Form”, Journal of Philosophy of Education, 44, No. 1, (2010): 63. Perhaps it will happen by a line of words so matured and experienced that you will see the sun glimmer on both of its surfaces, as if it were a scimitar, and feel its sweet edge dividing you through the heart.38 So if we take seriously the hoeing metaphor for writing and the physical labor that this entails, then a number of lessons for teaching and learning writing in the university follow. These, outlined below, go beyond discussing where support for writing should begin and end, as if there were some kind of continuum. They focus instead on what can be learned about learning to write, and the teaching of writing, from attention to the task itself, and from the pedagogical relationship and the encounter between tutor and student. (i) THE REPETITIVENESS OF THE LABOR First, writers and tutors must recognize the repetitiveness of the labor. Against the simple linear process suggested by some of the technologies of writing, to write is to give attention repeatedly to the task; there are no easy shortcuts. Weed killer (a shortcut, perhaps, to an easily managed and harvested crop), when applied to soil in appropriate quantities, will kill and prevent more choking weeds from growing. But an excess makes the soil less fertile; it renders it toxic. So in a similar way, an excess of some kinds of technologies of writing (and this is not to deny entirely their usefulness) does not necessarily make for a better crop of writing. Just as weeds keep coming up and the earth dries out and needs hoeing, so writing needs ongoing attention and re-working; it is through this kind of labor that the earth is harrowed and that writing is cultivated. Writing in this sense is a kind of testing: a repeated assessment of the effectiveness of our words. Thoreau, considering the writing of Walden, says: ‘It will bear some iteration in the account, for there was no little iteration in the labor’.39 But this idea appears not only in Walden, but also elsewhere in Thoreau’s writings. In his 38 Cavell, Senses, 17. 39 Thoreau, Walden, 145. journal entry, for example, for February 28th 1841, he writes this: ‘Nothing goes by luck in composition. It allows no tricks...Every sentence is the result of a long probation’.40 (ii) USING TECHNOLOGIES Second, there is a lesson from Thoreau’s experience of cultivating his bean field using very few aids, or technologies. In his account in Walden of his work on the bean field, Thoreau writes: ‘As I had little aid from horses or cattle, or hired men or boys, or improved implements of husbandry, I was much slower, and became much more intimate with my beans than usual’.41 So what does this say about the process of writing in general, and what light does the use of tools or technologies shed on academic writing in particular? It is not that we should be nostalgic for some kind of pre- technological golden era, or that we should eschew technology per se. The issue here is not with whether or not we should use technologies to support the development of academic writing; it is rather concerned with which technologies we use, and how. Some technologies that are helpful enable writers to see language as something that needs to be worked on – labored at. Other technologies suggest language as something that needs to be put in its (correct) place; such technologies are ones that not only divide us from our words, but also from our world. A reliance on the tools and technologies of writing (that lead to an unthinking, or strict, adherence to the handbook guidelines) separates us from the work of writing itself. Thoreau seems to be advocating a closeness to our writing, the value in being forced to confront it and to cultivate it through the sheer ‘labor of the hands…pursued to the verge of drudgery’.42 But what particular merit is there in this approach? Thoreau writes that when he continued to plant where others had begun to hoe, this elicited different forms of criticism and comment from his neighbours: ‘Why is there no manure in the furrow?’ ‘Consider a little ash or plaster for the beans’, ‘This field bears no comparison with the crop from the neighbouring ones’. But for Thoreau, making these choices himself brought him closer 40 Bode, Journals, 58. 41 Thoreau, Walden, 141. 42 Thoreau, Walden, 142. to his work. And this had one distinct advantage, as he says: ‘I came to know how I stood in the agricultural world’.43 So for students, the closeness to their own writing that is as the result of the labor of confronting it and having to make decisions about it without the prescription that certain technologies bring, allows them to know where they stand in their own particular academic field. (iii) BEING LOST AND FINDING ONESELF Third, we should take seriously how we allow students to be lost in the task of writing. When certain technologies of writing promise to demystify it, to provide a quick fix, to smooth the way, or to guarantee success, something important is pushed aside. What the technologies of writing generally, and outcome-driven approaches in Higher Education in particular, both fail to acknowledge, is what can be gained from being engrossed – or lost – in an endeavour. These are experiences of which Thoreau writes: ‘It is a surprising and memorable, as well as a valuable experience, to be lost in the woods any time…Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations’.44 It is sometimes only when you are totally engaged in the activity, taken over by it – when you begin to write – that you know what it is you want to say, or are able to write. This idea of being taken over is one of which Cavell writes in relation to language more broadly. In his reading of Walden, he takes up Thoreau's reference to our relationship with language, and to the distinction that Thoreau draws between what he refers to as the mother tongue and the father tongue in language.45 Thoreau associates the mother tongue with the naturalness and familiarity of our spoken language. But he contrasts this with what he terms the father tongue, most often associated with the written word. Thoreau writes: 43 Thoreau, Walden, 142, 44 Thoreau, Walden, 154. 45 Cavell, Senses, 15-16. It is not enough even to be able to speak the language…for there is a memorable interval between the spoken and the written language, the language heard and the language read. The one is commonly transitory, a sound, a tongue, a dialect merely, almost brutish, and we learn it unconsciously, like the brutes, of our mothers. The other is the maturity and experience of that; if that is our mother tongue, this is our father tongue, a reserved and select expression, too significant to be heard by the ear, which we must be born again in order to speak.46 Acquisition of the mother tongue is a necessary part of our initiation into the language community. But the familiarity that is so central to the mother tongue is also its potential danger: that it nurtures, as Naoko Saito claims, ‘a state of conformity of the self to itself, and to language’.47 In contrast, the father tongue signals a relationship to our words that is characterized by a kind of disorientation, a distance from the native language for which Cavell claims that a transformation - akin to a re-birth - is required. Encountering the father tongue in language is our being taken over by words, and our having to find our place within them again. There is no sense of the authoritarian here, or of the priority of the father tongue over the mother tongue. Saito puts it like this: 'We need both an initiation into and departure from the language community'.48 Being taken over by words - being lost in them, or stopped in our tracks by them - is an invitation to us to re-consider our words - to find our own voice. But it is not only ‘lost’ in the sense of absorption in one’s task, and in the written word, that can be understood from Thoreau's writings. What is also at stake is how one finds oneself again. Thoreau considers this when he writes (literally and metaphorically) of staying late in town and then of finding his way home [at night]: 46 Thoreau, Walden, 93. 47 Naoko Saito, “Perfectionism and the Love of Humanity: Democracy as a Way of Life after Dewey, Thoreau, and Cavell”, The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, New Series, 20, No. 2, (2006): 98. 48 Saito, “Perfectionism”, 99. It was very pleasant to launch myself into the night…I frequently had to look up at the opening between the trees above the path in order to learn my route, and, where there was no cart-path, to feel with my feet the faint track I had worn, or steer by the known relation of particular trees which I felt with my hands’.49 There is something very physical about finding your way here; something about feeling your way and setting your own markers that brings you closer to the task in a way that an aid such as a map would not. In the same way, learning how to write might be more educative if it sometimes involves being lost, and finding one’s own way out. These ideas are beautifully illustrated in a scene from the American author, John Williams’, novel, Stoner.50 The central character, William Stoner, leaves his humdrum life on his parents’ farm, to enter university to study agriculture. He finds little difficulty with the work in classes such as soil chemistry, but in compulsory classes on English literature Stoner’s reaction is markedly different. The texts he is introduced to ‘troubled and disquieted him in a way nothing had ever done before’.51 He is introduced to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73. The instructor, Archer Sloane, asks Stoner directly the meaning of the sonnet. He cannot reply. Sloane reads the sonnet aloud, and asks the question of Stoner again. Stoner is entirely absorbed in the question, aware only of the light streaming through the windows in the room, the shadows cast, and the tension in his tightly-gripped fingers. He is seduced by the question, and by the text of the sonnet, to the extent that he is unable to articulate the response immediately: ‘“It means”, he said and with a small movement raised his hands up toward the air; he felt his eyes glaze over as they sought the figure of Archer Sloane. “It means”, he said again, and could not finish what he had begun to say’.52 Stoner’s labor in this scene, and in the subsequent weeks until his decision to change his major to literature, is in being absorbed in his task; in finding his own way. 49 Thoreau, Walden, 153. 50 John Williams, Stoner, (London: Vintage Books, 1965/2012). 51 Williams, Stoner, 8. 52 Williams, Stoner, 12. (iv) FINDING VOICE, AND THE ROLE OF THE TUTOR The role of the tutor in supporting the development of students' writing, is, of course, a crucial one. Allowing students to be lost, and to find their own way does not abrogate the tutor from her responsibilities. To consider what the tutor's role might properly consist in, I turn to a second scene, this time from the 1944 Hollywood film, Gaslight, a film about which Cavell has written, most notably in his 1996 book Contesting Tears: The Hollywood Melodramas of the Unknown Woman.53 Directed by George Cukor, the film portrays Paula, a young woman, and the niece of a murdered opera singer, Alice Alquist. The naive young Paula is seduced by the accompanist for her singing lessons, Gregory Anton, and they subsequently marry. Crucial to the plot is the fact that Gregory, unbeknown to Paula, is her aunt's murderer. Gregory, driven by the knowledge that Paula's aunt owned valuable jewels, persuades Paula to make their home in her aunt's old house in London so that he can secretly search for the jewels for his own gain. To this end, he needs Paula out of the way and, through manipulation and deceit, sets out to convince Paula of her own madness, a ploy that, if successful, will have her taken away. Gregory's tactics seem to work; Paula begins not to trust her own judgement, and we gradually see her loss of her reason, and the loss of her physical and metaphorical voice. Paula is hysterical at the noises she hears from the attic, and the intermittent dimming of the gas lights in the house (all because, unknown to her, her husband is frantically searching the attic for the jewels). A local detective, Cameron, recognizes Paula as she bears a striking resemblance to her aunt, whose murder case he investigated years before. He becomes suspicious of Gregory's comings and goings in night hours (to gain access to the attic though a secret external entrance). He suspects that Paula's demise is related to Gregory's strange behaviour, and takes it upon himself to help in some way. In the final scenes of the film, Cameron gains access to 53 Stanley Cavell, Contesting Tears: The Hollywood Melodrama of the Unknown Woman, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1996). the Anton house, and finds Paula, now in what Cavell calls the 'haunting of her existence'.54 She seems unable to speak, not from any kind of aphasia, but from an inexpressiveness - an inability to say how things are for her.55 Cameron seeks to facilitate Paula's recovery of voice, not by imposing a script - or we might say a technology of speaking - but by acting more as a voice coach, to enable Paula to find her own words. Cameron facilitates Paula’s recovery - her awakening - by letting her find her voice, her own way with words, and in this she is aided by his promptings. Her recovery is through conversation, a turning of her thoughts such that what she voices is her conviction that the noises in the attic that have nearly driven her to derangement are those of her husband, madly searching for Alice Alquist’s jewels. In a climactic scene towards the end of the film, the dialogue between Cameron and Paula runs like this: Cameron Mrs. Anton, you know, don’t you. You know who’s up there? Paula No, no. Cameron Are you sure you don’t? Paula No, no. How could he be? There are two aspects of Cameron’s interaction with Paula that are worth drawing attention to in this context. First, Cameron makes no attempt to determine the form of Paula’s speech through offering her a new script - say, a kind of salvation story - but allows her to arrive at her own words. Second, the marker of Paula’s recovery of voice that is spoken in a scene shortly after this one, what Cavell terms her ‘cogito ergo sum’,56 is announced in her own words. When she announces to 54 Stanley Cavell, Cities of Words: Pedagogical Letters on a Register of the Moral Life, (Cambridge MS: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press), 13. 55 Cavell signals a broader issue than simply the loss, and recovery, of voice at an individual level. One aspect of his rich conception of the term is how he sees voice as part of his own philosophical project - and how some forms of philosophy have repressed voice. For Cavell, voice is also political; it is central to his discussions of to what we give, or refuse, our consent, and so to criteria in language. These ideas also relate to Walden, and to how Thoreau's task, both in his time at Walden Pond and in writing the text, was to put his words to the test of his community, to account for himself. 56 Cavell, Contesting Tears, 47. Cameron ‘I want to speak to my husband. I want to speak to him alone’, the double meaning of ‘alone’ - that is, ‘to my husband only’, and ‘on my own’ - demonstrates that Paula has found a form of expression with which to confront Gregory. For Cavell this is a demonstration that ‘the act of speech is hers to define’.57 This scene from Gaslight can also be thought of as a pedagogical one. Cameron, as the voice coach, stands alongside Paula. He does not offer her a script, or speak for her, but allows her to find the words that are near to her already. It is as if Cameron is persuaded that Paula’s talking will in some way alter her reasoning and her capacity for voicing herself. Cameron does not direct Paula; his voice coaching consists of only the merest of nudges in a certain direction. Another point is significant: the voice coaching is not imposed. Cameron simply asks Paula: ‘Will you let me come and talk to you sometime?’ Cameron is aware that the process of coming to, finding or recovering the voice is an ongoing process; as he says in the final scene of the film: ‘This will be a long night’. Paula first has to recognize not only the denial of her voice, and the denial of herself, but also the enormity of what the journey to recovery of her voice will entail. The night may be a long one; only gradually will the fog (that persists in the film as a metaphor of the fogging of her mind) begin to clear. But some kind of clouding is necessary; being lost, as Thoreau teaches, is the precursor to finding one's way out. What this perhaps demonstrates is that the finding of an academic voice in writing is not the same as adhering to the prescriptions laid down in certain textbook technologies; it is not - or at least it is not only - about this. It is rather an ongoing struggle, a continual loss and recovery of voice. Its development, through writing, is an expression of the worded nature of our individual and political lives. CODA 57 Cavell, Contesting Tears, 58. One thing that Thoreau's 'experiment in living' at Walden Pond taught him was 'how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route...How worn and dusty must be the highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity’.58 These were Thoreau's reflections as he left Walden Pond. But this trope occurs iteratively throughout Walden; at the outset of his project, he also writes: 'I desire that there be as many different persons in the world as possible; but I would have each one be very careful to find out and pursue his own way, and not his father's, his mother's or his neighbor's instead'.59 In thinking of writing in these terms, it is not that students should do as they please, ignoring the conventions in their discipline for endless creativity. Thoreau advocated the value of being lost, but would not deny that some (even well-worn) paths need to be travelled. Just as the possibilities afforded by hoeing rely on the hard labor of prior plowing, so the kind of pedagogy of writing that I am advocating depends upon the hard work of acquiring the very skills and abilities that realize such possibilities in writing. Novice plowers or hoers need to learn their craft. So too, novice writers need guidelines, and these should properly be taught as an induction into the academic community of writers. But academic writing in the university must consist in more than simply the learning of prescribed skills or the mimicking of certain practices. Part of what it is to write, is to recognize that these practices are the ones against which I test my own voice in my community. The tutor too has responsibilities: for her, it is to advocate the value of approaches that do not always settle, and to recognize the pedagogical value in unsettling as a way of finding one’s own voice in writing. Such approaches open, rather than restrict, the possibilities of thought. The rich metaphor of writing as hoeing counters the trend in many of the technologies of writing towards a smoothing of the ground, what Michael Peters,60 and elsewhere Marina Garcés,61 58 Thoreau, Walden, 288. 59 Thoreau, Walden, 65. 60 Michael Peters, “Academic Writing, Genres and Philosophy”, Educational Philosophy and Theory, 40, No. 7, (2008): 819 - 831. 61 Marina Garcés, “The Standardization of Writing. Asphyxia of Philosophical Thought in Academia Today”, Open Journal of Philosophy, 3, No. 1, (2013): 39 – 46. call the ‘standardizing of academic writing’. Ideas of hoeing, of being lost, and of recovering voice, enable us to focus again on what it is to write, and to be a writer. Writing-as-hoeing rejects the demarcation of writing as a unit of production, an output for rating, evaluation, or assessment against criteria, where writing is reduced to what is effective for the communication of findings. It foregrounds instead our responsibility to, and for our words, and the educative possibilities of being and becoming a writer. In a recent paper on writing in academia, Marina Garcés writes about what she calls the asphyxia, the stifling of thought that the standardisation of academic writing breeds. What (good) writing should be (and here she is considering writing in philosophy) is ‘violent and fecund’; she writes: It is violent because it attacks the very roots of what is constituted. It questions what we are and what we know, what we value and what we purport. It is fecund because it opens up new relations and new ways of seeing and speaking, where once it was only possible to perpetuate what already existed. In brief, it offers new approximations to what makes us live.62 62 Garcés, “Standardization”, 42. 
work_kmqrzyp63jhyfgjsfmixa5utiu	----	Contact Support 
work_kmvttm336rhxlnkfvuud4p754y	----	Jolly Fellows: Male Milieus in Nineteenth-Century America (review) Jolly Fellows: Male Milieus in Nineteenth-Century America (review) Brian P. Luskey The Journal of the Civil War Era, Volume 1, Number 1, March 2011, pp. 96-98 (Review) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/cwe.2011.0004 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/417314 https://doi.org/10.1353/cwe.2011.0004 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/417314 9 6 b o o k r e v i e w s Jolly Fellows: Male Milieus in Nineteenth-Century America. By Richard Stott. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009. Pp. 376. Cloth, $55.00.) Richard Stott’s new book traces the social development and cultural persistence of a strain of white masculinity that nineteenth-century Americans sometimes dubbed “jolly fellowship.” Stott contends that jolly fellowship took shape in early republic village taverns, where fun-loving and violent men played pranks, gambled, and fought with each other while drinking prodigious quantities of alcohol. Jolly fellows eagerly dis- played their courage in brawls to safeguard their reputations. While they could be exceedingly generous to peers, they abused women, immigrants, African Americans, and even animals with impunity. Were they vicious tricksters or romantic chums with hearts of gold? Jolly fellows were an enigmatic bunch whom contemporaries “tolerated” until the 1820s, when evangelical reformers, off ering an alternative standard of masculinity that placed a premium on “respectable” self-control, successfully stig- matized jolly fellowship and the consumption of alcohol that fueled it. “Jolly” attitudes and behaviors were unceremoniously driven from the vil- lage tavern to the urban underworld, where they thrived among hearty “sporting men”—boxers, political shoulder-hitters, and minstrel perform- ers—who sought fun and frolic not only in urban oyster cellars and dance halls but in the liberating adventures on off er in western gold fi elds and cattle towns. Enthusiastic male audiences kept up with the most famous sporting men through a variety of cultural representations that valorized rowdy exploits. Stott, in his attempts to explain the persistence of jolly fellowship, steadfastly refuses to accept the old saw that “boys will be boys” (2). Instead, he implores us to “cease taking such behavior for granted and to scrutinize and analyze it” (54–55). Stott explores the memoirs of sporting men and the writings of their critics to illuminate the ways in which Americans defi ned, debated, and remembered the parameters of masculine conduct and identity. He argues that, after evangelical cam- paigns against it, jolly fellowship became a countercultural “resource” that men could use to reject the bourgeois defi nition of masculinity (213). Fighting, joking, and drinking with peers, sporting men thumbed their b o o k r e v i e w s 9 7 noses at sober “respectability.” In theaters and on the pages of sporting publications, “Americans commemorated the values of masculine disor- der and violence even as mainstream society embraced restrained male conduct” (186). Stott has crafted his narrative around an examination of cultural con- fl ict between supporters of two apparently irreconcilable defi nitions of masculinity. Ultimately, I think that narrative is too tidy. Stott’s rich evi- dence reveals a more complex understanding of white American man- hood that contributes to a developing synthesis among scholars such as Patricia Cline Cohen, Amy Greenberg, Helen Horowitz, and Brian Roberts. Despite Stott’s emphasis on confl ict, his evidence shows that white American men, the most powerful people in their society, did not have to choose between rudeness and refi nement. The attitudes and behaviors those standards embodied were indeed cultural resources, but they did not serve as identity categories. White men appealed to various aspects of those markers of masculinity in bids to accrue power among diff erent constituencies as the culture of the market shaped American life as never before. Stott’s work suggests that we should tell the story of American masculinity through an analysis of the culture of capital- ism. When men found economic independence—and the social status that accompanied it—harder to achieve, some adopted the values of a sporting culture that off ered comforting camaraderie among the “b’hoys” and permitted them to wield power over women and racial others. As Stott acknowledges, a burgeoning leisure culture and publishing industry helped well-to-do desk jockeys participate vicariously in sporting culture from the safety of theater boxes or parlors. Jolly fellows tried to manipulate the leisure market—and the culture of celebrity that it fostered—for their own ends. Boxers such as John Morrissey and entertainment proprietors such as Henry Hill claimed the aura of refi nement for themselves and their businesses. While respectabil- ity may have been a hollow “racket,” as Stott suggests, it also appeared to be a vehicle for obtaining economic success, political power, and cul- tural authority (273). The fact that neither Morrissey nor Hill was entirely successful in making his representation of respectability credible should not obscure the ways in which these standards of masculinity off ered white men opportunities to accumulate power at the expense of others. Evangelical critiques aside, bourgeois types did not necessarily have a beef with jolly fellowship. In fact, sporting life as lived experience and ideologi- cal discourse off ered entrepreneurs and participants the prospect of accu- mulating economic capital and cultural respect. Not always antagonistic 9 8 j o u r n a l o f t h e c i v i l w a r e r a , v o l u m e 1 , i s s u e 1 to each other, rude and refi ned masculinities were (and indeed still are) at the core of mainstream American culture, attitudes and behaviors that white American men use to cultivate and maintain power. br i a n p. lusk e y br i a n p. lusk e y is assistant professor of history at West Virginia University. He is the author of On the Make: Clerks and the Quest for Capital in Nineteenth- Century America (2010). Black Walden: Slavery and Its Aftermath in Concord, Massachusetts. By Elise Lemire. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009. Pp. 248. Cloth, $29.95.) Near the beginning of Walden; or, Life in the Woods, Henry David Thoreau expresses wonder that so much attention is being paid to the “somewhat foreign form of servitude called Negro Slavery” when “there are so many keen and subtle masters that enslave both north and south.” A northern overseer is worse than a southern one, although worst of all is “when you are the slave-driver of yourself,” he observes. “Self emancipation even in the West Indian provinces of the fancy and imagination,—what Wilberforce is there to bring that about?” By “foreign,” Thoreau meant alien to white people, not foreign to New England; he knew very well that “Negro Slavery” was once a common practice in his beloved Concord, and he tells the stories of Cato Ingraham, Zilpha (Zilpah White), and Brister Freeman and his wife Fenda, former slaves who had occupied Walden Woods within the memory of the oldest Concord residents living in the 1840s.1 Despite the popularity of Walden since the 1890s, the sections invoking the history of these local New England slaves seem not to have registered with many readers. Elise Lemire, who grew up two miles from Walden Pond, fi nally read Walden in graduate school, discovered the former slaves of Walden Woods, and decided to write the history of slavery in “the nation’s birthplace” by exploring the lives of both the African Americans invoked by Thoreau and the Concord families who once owned them (9). The result is Black Walden: Slavery and Its Aftermath in Concord, Massachusetts, a rich and absorbing account that seems to confi rm Thoreau’s notion that northern overseers were worse than southern ones and raises interesting questions about “self-emancipation.” Lemire’s book is one of a growing number of eff orts to excavate the his- tory of slavery hiding in plain sight in the towns and cities of New England. 
work_kq4lndmoyrbxngilzrauy6kxge	----	European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 European journal of American studies Reviews 2012-1 David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance. Tatiani G. Rapatzikou Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/9708 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference Tatiani G. Rapatzikou, « David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance. », European journal of American studies [Online], Reviews 2012-1, document 7, Online since 26 March 2012, connection on 19 April 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/9708 This text was automatically generated on 19 April 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/9708 David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance. Tatiani G. Rapatzikou REFERENCES Rochester, New York: Camden House, 2011. Pp. 162.ISBN: 9781571134998 1 David Sanders in his monograph entitled A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance (2011) sheds light on the dilemmas, doubts and personal conflicts Frost confronted while composing his poetic collection North of Boston in which some of his most well-known lyrics, such as “Mending Wall,” “After Apple- Picking,” and “The Wood-Pile,” are contained. This book should be considered alongside a number of other publications either in monograph or essay form that appeared in 2011 with an interest in Frost’s Derry farm years, New England landscape and poetry in addition to pastoral and twentieth-century American poetry.i In his quite accessible and informative book, Sanders meticulously analyzes all the poems in Frost’s North of Boston by also bringing to the attention of the readers the hardships of rural life and the socio- economic decline in New England at the turn of the twentieth century. This is exactly what makes this book interesting: the close attention it pays to the writing process Frost followed and the obstacles he had to overcome so as to achieve literary merit, to bring his work to the attention of a wide audience and to do justice to the moral values and way of life of the people who feature in it. This constitutes the main argument in Sanders’ volume which is gradually revealed to us in each one of the chapters contained in it. Although the way his argument develops may be repetitive at times, it actually manages to bring to light a number of interesting details deriving from Frost’s own correspondence and communication with other writers, publishers, reviewers and David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 1 friends. It is important to mention that Frost finalized North of Boston during his stay in England where he arrived with his family in 1912. His residence there forged his literary reputation and made his work much more widely known in the literary circles on both sides of the Atlantic. By avoiding to laden his commentary with theoretical references, Sanders carefully unfolds all facts and events in front of his readers’ eyes by making each chapter of his book a chronicle of Frost’s poetic craft and emotional conflicts as these resulted from the kind of poetic material he used and the subjects he drew into it. 2 In the first chapter, Sanders focuses on Frost’s move to Derry, New Hampshire, after having spent some time in the family farm in Lawrence, Massachusetts. This transition coincides with the decline of rural New England due to industrialization, urbanization and immigration. After working as a farmer and being acquainted with the hardships that such a life entails, he decides to move back to teaching so as to be able to meet the financial demands of his growing family, although he knew that poetry writing was his true vocation. The period between 1906 to 1911 Frost takes the part-time teaching post that had opened at Pinkerton Academy. It was during this period of time that Frost in addition to his teaching responsibilities would start establishing connections with his colleagues and the local community through his poetry writing and readings. The conflict however that arises here is that the material Frost would use in his poems would derive from his rural life experiences and acquaintances he had now decided to leave behind. This would trigger, as Sanders notes, a kind of tension due to the uneasiness Frost experienced that his own literary success would be based on the unhappiness of the characters that populated his verses. 3 In the second chapter, Sanders focuses more intensely on the formation of Frost’s poetic aspirations as well as on his viewpoints as regards poetic writing, as these were formulated during the period before North of Boston. Being caught up between different mentalities with regard to working rather than writing in order to make a living, Frost attempts through his writing practice to challenge certain beliefs, as for example the fact that poetry is an occupation for the social elite only, by forming a kind of writing that would bring to the fore the habits and mentalities of common people which had been overlooked for the sake of modernization. With reference to Frost’s poetry collection A Boy’s Will (1913), Sanders manages to highlight the transition to a much more mature poetic style that no longer attempts to follow the trends already set by other practitioners. The commentary Sanders includes of poems, such as “Reluctance” or “In Neglect” included in A Boy’s Will, provide an insight into the idealized tone, phrases and antiquated expressions that Frost had adopted from other well-known American poets, such as Henry W. Longfellow, which also marks his gradual transition to a much more personalized writing style that would be evidenced a few years later in North of Boston. What makes this poetry collection interesting though is the fact that Frost, as Sanders notes, is both an insider and an outsider of the culture and habits he records in it since the experience distilled in his poems comes directly from real life as well as personal experience. This is where the originality of his poetic practice resides, in viewing his own literary seclusion in his pre-North of Boston years hand in hand with the marginalization the New England farmers and mill workers had experienced at the turn of the twentieth century. 4 In the third chapter, Sanders provides an in-depth analysis of the poems “The Death of the Hired Man” and “The Self-Seeker” which constitute the dramatic narrative core of Frost’s North of Boston. In both poems, the poet introduces his readers to two embittered David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 2 personas that take on a symbolic significance as they both represent a value system which is now fading away. In the first poem, the persona is out of work since hired employment seems to be no longer the case in the industrialized New England, while in the second poem the persona has been crippled due to a factory accident. In both cases, the personas are lured by the economic opportunities the new, capitalist-driven reality offers but they are unable to follow or accept any them due to their own personal drama. Their denial or resignation highlights the feeling of loss New England workers or farmers had to come to terms with which would gradually lead to the waning of their rural lifestyle and life choices. The persona featuring in “The Self-Seeker” seems to be taking autobiographical dimensions, as Sanders argues, since it is molded on Carl Burrell’s personality, Frost’s high-school friend and mentor during his farm years. What Sanders highlights here is that Frost’s poems are intertwined with the fate of people he knew which further intensifies his dilemma of building his literary career on the suffering or the declining fate of others. 5 The same argument is pursued in the fourth chapter of Sanders’ book through the close reading of two more poems from North of Boston, that of “A Hundred Collars” and “The Black Cottage.” Attention is closely paid to the beliefs and convictions of each one of the personas in these poems which also highlights Frost’s own stance as to the messages his poetry attempts to communicate in addition to securing a profitable career for him. The first poem revolves around the juxtaposition between Magoon, the scholar, and Lafe, a subscription-payment collector, while the second poem brings to the forefront a protestant minister whose monologue refers to the now-dilapidated cottage which was once inhabited by a Civil War Widow. Each one of the personas stands for a particular mentality and frame of mind as well as moral code which determine their acts and values in an emerging competitive reality. In the “New Hampshire” subsection of the chapter, which focuses on a post-North of Boston poem, Sanders further highlights Frost’s ambivalence as to the New England ideals he felt he had to abandon but at the same time preserve in his poetry. 6 The same ambivalence is evident in the poems to be discussed in the fifth chapter of Sanders’s volume. In the first set of poems, Frost inserts his personas in various locations which serve as a backdrop to the emotional and moral dilemmas they face: in “A Servant to Servants” action takes place in Vermont’s Lake Willoughby, while in “The Mountain” in the nearby mountain Hor. In both instances, the local farm personas appear to be confined in their daily activities, while their visitors are free to roam in the countryside. This attitude exemplifies Frost’s own wavering outlook towards farm or close-to-nature life as he was torn, before he decided to move to England, between the family responsibility to become a farmer and his personal vocation to become an accomplished poet. In the second set of poems to be discussed in this chapter, Sanders concentrates on the doomed relationship of John and Estelle, as presented in Frost’s “The Housekeeper,” and on the distant cousins’ hopeful courtship in “The Generations of Men.” In this case, a number of perspectives are brought together enabling Frost to shed light on the socio- economic forces that often pull people apart or bring them together. In the third set of poems, that of “Blackberries” and “The Fear,” Sanders explores the idea of trespassing and violation with regard to everyday habits, language use and ways of looking at the surrounding environment that Frost himself had to come to terms with during the early stages of his poetic career. Similarly to his poetic personas, Frost also oscillated between the restricted and outmoded way of life his New England friends and acquaintances had David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 3 to lead and the outgoing one that his art had secured for him. In all the cases mentioned, Sanders meticulously analyzes each poem by paying careful attention to each one of the personas appearing in them, the way language is used, the titles Frost employs, the allegiances he sought in other writers, as is the case of Robert Burns, and the letters he wrote to close friends, in an effort to bring to the surface not only Frost’s grievances and ambitions, but also the techniques that would later become the North of Boston trademark. 7 In the final section of his book, Sanders deals with the way Frost’s poems in North of Boston were arranged, fifteen in total, and the role his long lyrics—“Mending Wall,” “After Apple-Picking” and “The Wood Pile”—played with regard to the formation of his own personal poetic style. These poems appear at the beginning, middle and end of the collection, each one highlighting a different phase in the way thinking develops throughout. As Sanders writes, readers enter rural New England with the “Mending Wall,” then they explore different surroundings via their acquaintance with a series of characters, and finally depart from it with “The Wood Pile.” Each one of the poems and its characters take an emblematic and dramatic dimension since they stand for a different facet of the vanishing New England rural world as well as of Frost’s own life choices. As for the lyric poetic mode used in North of Boston, Frost retains first person narrative without emotionally siding with his personas. According to Sanders, Frost lets his personas’ subjectivity emerge through their own reflections and perceptions of reality as shown in the way the vernacular and local idiom are used which is what makes these lyric poems special. 8 Sanders finishes his commentary by taking a look at the two poems, “The Pasture” and “Good Hours,” which respectively work as the prologue and epilogue to Frost’s North of Boston. Attention is paid to the conflicting emotions each one of the poems triggers, that of nostalgia and decay or high expectation and pain as well as to the relationships Frost tried to establish with his poetic subjects and audience. Sanders’ discussion is enhanced by Frost’s own views about his poetic practice which come at a later stage in his poetic career where he takes a retrospective glance at the losses and gains that the production of North of Boston is entangled with. Sanders concludes his book with reference to other writers Frost was influenced by, such as William Wordsworth, Henry David Thoreau, and Nathaniel Hawthorne, and to literary traditions, as is the case of the pastoral, he challenged with the North of Boston collection. 9 Overall, Sanders’ book is a good read for everyone interested not in a mere literary, theoretical or close textual analysis but in what goes on in the background of a major American poet’s writing practice. It should be noted that this book challenges the expectations of a conventional academic book reader. Frost’s dilemma formed by the pain he experienced for his New England people and the desire he felt to move on with his poetic career can be found in every chapter in the current volume which may put readers in an ambivalent position as to how the argument progresses. However, Sanders manages in this way to make his readers really appreciate Frost’s dilemmas not by being mere observers and passive readers of what he writes about in this book, but by being active participants in what was going on in Frost’s life at the time he composed North of Boston. The real care Sanders takes of Frost’s poems and the explanatory and well-informed footnotes he provides in each one of the chapters make this book a well-documented study of Frost both as a poet and an individual. David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 4 NOTES i. For more information, see New England Landscape History in American Poetry: A Lacanian View (Cambria Press, 2011) and Pastoral, Pragmatism, and Twentieth-Century American Poetry (Palgrave Macmillan 2011). AUTHOR TATIANI G. RAPATZIKOU Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, Greece David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama o... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2012-1 | 2012 5 David Sanders. A Divided Poet: Robert Frost, North of Boston, and the Drama of Disappearance. 
work_kscfsyyodzb63c6tlormgkqzpa	----	http://joc.sagepub.com/ Journal of Consumer Culture http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116 The online version of this article can be found at: DOI: 10.1177/1469540506062722 2006 6: 116Journal of Consumer Culture Vince Carducci Culture Jamming : A Sociological Perspective Published by: http://www.sagepublications.com can be found at:Journal of Consumer CultureAdditional services and information for http://joc.sagepub.com/cgi/alertsEmail Alerts: http://joc.sagepub.com/subscriptionsSubscriptions: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.navReprints: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.navPermissions: http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116.refs.htmlCitations: What is This? - Feb 20, 2006Version of Record >> at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116 http://www.sagepublications.com http://joc.sagepub.com/cgi/alerts http://joc.sagepub.com/subscriptions http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.nav http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116.refs.html http://joc.sagepub.com/content/6/1/116.full.pdf http://online.sagepub.com/site/sphelp/vorhelp.xhtml http://joc.sagepub.com/ 116 Journal of Consumer Culture Copyright © 2006 SAGE Publications (London, Thousand Oaks, CA and New Delhi) Vol 6(1): 116–138 1469-5405 [DOI: 10.1177/1469540506062722] www.sagepublications.com ARTICLE Culture Jamming A Sociological Perspective VINCE CARDUCCI New School for Social Research Abstract. ‘Culture jamming’ is defined as ‘an organized, social activist effort that aims to counter the bombardment of consumption-oriented messages in the mass media’ (Handelman and Kozinets, 2004: n.p.). This article seeks to understand culture jamming from a sociological perspective, situating it in the ‘expressivist’ tradition, which originates with the mid-18th century thinker Rousseau and whose legacy extends to postwar Western counterculture. Culture jamming is seen as an investigation into the apparatus of representation in late modernity, as it relates to both images and discourses of the media and commodity system, and the expression of political will. By providing an incentive for producers to respond to consumer demands for environmental sustainability and an end to labor exploitation, culture jamming may ironically help rehabilitate the market system it often portends to transcend. This may indeed serve to ameliorate certain ‘market failures’ of the global system. Key words consumer resistance ● culture jamming ● ‘hacktivism’ ● social marketing ● social movements ● the expressivist turn INTRODUCTION Fieldnote, Monday, 10 May 2004, 11:54 a.m. I’m walking down Fifth Avenue from the New York Public Library on my way back to the New School. Ahead, I see a guy standing in front of the Duane Reade drugstore on the at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ northeast corner of 34th Street, across from the Empire State Building. He’s handing out plastic bags to passersby who mechanically grab them as they hurry to make the light before it changes. From a distance, I notice the familiar red and blue interlocking ‘DR’ of the pharmacy chain’s logo, and presume the store has a street promotion going on. I come up to the corner, take my bag, and keep walking across the street, not making eye contact with the person handing it to me. I look down at my hand and notice that the ‘DR’ isn’t a ‘DR’ at all, but a ‘DG’. Underneath the letters, it reads not ‘Duane Reade’ but ‘Dwayne Greed’. And underneath that it reads ‘New York’s Greediest Employer’. It turns out the action on the street is a ‘culture jam’, the appropriation of a brand identity or advertising for subversive, often political, intent. In this case, the ‘jamming’ is being done by the Retail, Wholesale, & Chain Store/Food Employees Union (RWCSFEU) Local 338. Inside the bag is information about how Duane Reade exploits its employees, overcharges its customers, and otherwise acts disreputably. Inspired by the technique of electronically interfering with broadcast signals for military or political purposes, the term ‘culture jamming’ is believed to have been coined in 1984 by the West Coast-based perform- ance/activist group Negativland to describe a variety of activities (Dery, 1993; Klein, 2000; Morris, 2001). These include such tactics as the alter- ation of corporate advertisements by the Billboard Liberation Front, the parody of corporate and nongovernmental organization (NGO) websites by the Yes Men, and the appropriation of consumer goods through shoplifting and rebranding by Yomango. Much of this activity is chroni- cled in the magazine Adbusters, published in Vancouver, British Columbia, and on various websites such as the Culture Jamming Encyclopedia at Sniggle.net. The ability of culture jammers to imitate and satirize commercial messages is facilitated in part by the desktop publishing hardware and software readily available to consumers at relatively modest prices when compared to the capital-intensive technologies of other forms of media production, such as print and broadcast. The internet is another important digital tool for sharing images and information, and it should come as no surprise then that culture jamming, properly named, first emerged in San Francisco, near Silicon Valley, and the Pacific North- west, home of Microsoft. Carducci / Culture jamming 117 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ While much has been written about culture jamming from a journalistic perspective, sociological analysis has been limited.1 To help remedy the situation, this article situates culture jamming squarely in the tradition of the ‘expressivist turn’, the subjective rejoinder to the instru- mental rationality of scientific objectivism within what Taylor (1989) terms ‘radical Enlightenment’. Its heritage originates in the mid-18th century with Rousseau, is then taken up by the German and English Romantic Movements, and continues on into such phenomena as American transcen- dentalism, the European avant-garde, and postwar Western counterculture. Principles of subjective authority embedded in the expressivist tradition permeate culture jamming. These principles are revealed by examining culture jamming through the categories of culture, media, and social move- ments. In the area of culture, culture jamming aligns with the expressivist quest for authenticity, historically articulated through notions of the natural as it relates to the objective world and of originality with respect to the subjective under late modernity, a social condition Giddens (1991) charac- terizes as highly mediated and consumerist in orientation. In terms of media, culture jamming endeavors to achieve transparency, that is, to mitigate the asymmetrical effects of power and other distortions in the communications apparatus, cutting through the clutter as it were to clarify otherwise obscured meaning. In this respect, it relates to the culture industry critique of Frankfurt School thinkers Horkheimer and Adorno ([1944]1996) and their intellectual heir Habermas ([1962]1989, 1984), as well as to the social analyses of media pervasiveness undertaken by Debord ([1967]1995) and Baudrillard (1981), all of whom in some sense cultivate fields originally sowed by Rousseau. In terms of social movements, culture jamming may be seen as making a claim of democratic sovereignty relative to the social contract, engaging in the ‘life politics’ (Giddens, 1991) of self-determination in the face of an evolving global capitalist system (Sklair, 1991, 2001). The roots of modern consumerism in Romantic expressive subjectivity are widely recognized, and these readings usually proceed by counterpos- ing the emotional release of acts of consumption to the cold calculation of rational capital accumulation (Campbell, 1989; Miller, 1998; Slater, 1997). That expressive individualism has fueled new consumption patterns in the wake of critiques of the ‘other-directed’ conformity of mass society initially mounted in the 1950s by Riesman (1950), Mills (1951) and others has also been noted (Bellah et al., 1985; Carducci, 2004; Frank, 1997; Holt, 2002). That so-called oppositional or ‘counter’ culture can quickly be recu- perated by commercial interests and integrated back into the market system is another often-explored notion (Goldman and Papson, 1998; Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 118 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ Heath and Potter, 2004; Hebdige, 1979[1988]). Indeed, a number of commentators see culture jamming’s attempt to contest consumer society as ironically offering new sources of distinction for stoking the fires of consumer desire (Heath and Potter, 2004; Holt, 2002; Kozinets, 2002; Morris, 2001, see also Klein, 2000: 422–37). Yet by providing an incentive for producers to respond to socially responsible demands for sustainability of the environment through ‘green’ products and an end to labor exploita- tion through fair trade and anti-sweatshop production and distribution, culture jammers may in fact be performing a beneficial and some might even say necessary function as a consumer avant-garde (Klein, 2000; Lasn, 1999). From this perspective, culture jamming is an ad hoc form of social marketing (Kotler and Roberto, 1989); a way of advocating for change in mindset and behavior. THE CULTURE IN CULTURE JAMMING Culture jamming is also known as ‘semiological’ (Dery, 1993) or ‘meme’ (Lasn, 1999) warfare, a contest over meanings and forms of representation, particularly as propagated in society through various media of communi- cation. Hence a brief etymology of the concept of culture is useful in understanding the terrain upon which culture jamming maneuvers. According to Kroeber and Kluckhohn, the modern use of the word culture can be traced to the mid-18th century (Kroeber and Kluckhohn, 1952: 145). Its Latin root forms such words as cultura: cultivation; culter: knife or plowshare; cultor: planter and also worshipper of the gods (hence the English word ‘cult’), all of which are associated with nature and the earth. The term first became generally used in German and then spread to other European languages (Kroeber and Kluckhohn, 1952: 145). English and the other Romance languages had long used forms of the word civilization to mean ‘social cultivation, improvement, refinement, or progress’ (Kroeber and Kluckhohn, 1952: 145). The Latin root of civilization forms words such as civis: citizen, townsman; and civitas: state, citizenship, city-state – concepts associated with society and urbanity in particular. While the word kultur first appears to have come into use in Germany, it is in France that evidence of the epic dialectical battle between it and civilise: civilization, initially emerged. By 1750, Kroeber and Kluckhohn note, the idea of progress, i.e. modernity, had been established – its basis, enlightened human reason, i.e., objective rationality, was also acknowledged (1952: 145). It was in that year that Rousseau fired the opening salvos of the expressivist riposte against instrumental reason with the publication of the Discourse on the Moral Effects of the Arts and Sciences, also known as the Carducci / Culture jamming 119 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ First Discourse (1750, 1753[1969]). In it, Rousseau argues that civilization, ingrained in the formal pedagogies of European academies and the overly mannered rituals of its social institutions, corrupts humankind. Against the detached view of external nature proposed by radical Enlightenment thinkers like John Locke, Rousseau asserts ‘the inner voice’ as the primary point of entry into the experiential world (Taylor, 1989: 370). By the close of the 18th century, German Romantics, notably Goethe, Herder, and Schiller took up Rousseau’s mantle (Kroeber and Kluckhohn, 1952; Taylor, 1989), setting up culture as the moral, the natural, that which emanates from within, against civilization as the outwardly ‘proper’, the artificial, that which can be applied onto the surface like a cosmetic. Romanticism quickly spread throughout Europe, privileging intuition over rationality, emotions over logic, and creative imagination over formal education. The dichotomy between culture and civilization has run through social theory (indeed much of Western thought) for some two-and-a-half centuries (Taylor, 1989). It echoes in the early libertarian and abolitionist movements and in the writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Walt Whitman (Goffman and Joy, 2005). It can be discerned in the anthropological writings of the early Marx (1978), particularly in the concepts of alienated labor and private property inspired by Rousseau’s Second Discourse on the origins of inequality (1750, 1753[1969]). Kant’s dialectics of the sublime and aesthetic judgment, particular and universal, intuition and concept, and Tönnies’ (1912[1957]) distinction between gemeinschaft and gesellschaft (community and society) are other examples. When Horkheimer and Adorno speak of autonomous art and culture industry, they essentially speak of culture and civilization. When Habermas speaks of lifeworld and system, he essentially speaks of culture and civiliz- ation. Debord’s society of the spectacle (1967[1995]) and the commodity- sign of Baudrillard (1981) are effects of civilization. Yet as Kroeber and Kluckhohn note, the social interaction of humans with one another, in other words, civilization, is always already a prerequisite of culture (1952: 155). In addition, more recent theoretical perspectives on the heterogene- ity of the ‘imagined worlds’ of various global cultures (Appadurai, 1993) and the idea of simultaneously operative ‘multiple modernities’ (Eisenstadt, 2002) suggest the dialectic is overly reductive from an empirical standpoint. Nevertheless, the dichotomy, a bequest of the expressivist turn, is embedded in the concept of culture that culture jamming portends to jam, especially as it relates to the question of ‘authenticity’. What might be termed ‘bad’ culture, i.e., culture industry, system, spectacle, commodity-signs, and other progeny of civilisé, is artificial, Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 120 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ manipulative, ‘engineered’ (Holt, 2002). ‘Good’ culture, the province of kultur, on the other hand, is authentic, truthful and natural. Bad culture is managed from the top down; good culture is autochthonous, literally springing up from the earth itself. Earth-friendly and ergonomically designed products, organic foods and handcrafting all bear the mark of good culture authenticity. For example, the taste for natural fiber clothing that emerged in the early 1970s has been interpreted as a response to the perceived failure of social engineering represented by mass-produced synthetic fabrics (Schneider, 1994). The expressivist notion of good culture is apparent in the pronouncement by the founder and publisher of the culture jamming journal Adbusters, Kalle Lasn, that: ‘Culture isn’t created from the bottom up by the people anymore – it’s fed to us top-down by corporations’ (Lasn, 1999: 189). One theorist has gone so far as to construct a complete system of ‘vegetarian capitalism’ as a way of moving all of humankind down the food chain and closer to the earth (Boje, 2004). The rejection of civilization (which is to say bad culture) on a broad level under- lies what Holt (2002) terms ‘postmodern consumer culture’, arguably having its wellspring in the counterculture of the Beats and hippies of the 1950s and 1960s, and adopting extreme forms of expressive individualism as guiding market principles (Frank, 1997; Heath and Potter, 2004). According to Holt, ‘Postmodern consumer culture was born, paradox- ically, in the 1960s counterculture that opposed corporatism of all stripes’ (Holt, 2002: 82). This was when consumers began to embrace consump- tion as an activity through which identity could be constructed autonomously, and therefore authentically. They began to reject brands that appeared too inflected with the coercive, manipulative attributes of cultural engineering (Holt, 2002: 87). On the other hand, brands that were perceived as more ‘authentic’ began to prevail. In the 1970s, for example, Nike captured the running shoe market by embracing a brand positioning of ‘authentic athletic performance’, gaining legitimacy first and foremost by the fact that all of the company’s principals were runners, including one who had coached the 1964 USA Olympics men’s track team (Carducci, 2003). The company also embraced a marketing strategy of selling rebel- lious self-reliance in the American transcendentalist tradition at a time when the cultural contradictions of mass-produced consumption and rationally administered institutional bureaucracies seemed to be most clearly revealed in rising indicators of social and economic upheaval (Carducci, 2004; Goldman and Papson, 1998). The authenticity claims of producers in the postmodern consumer paradigm have in some measure provoked culture jamming as well as other forms of consumer resistance. The Carducci / Culture jamming 121 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ ‘trouble’ between consumers and brands, of which culture jamming is a manifestation, is in essence a renewal of the conflict between good and bad culture, kultur and civilisé: as consumers become more reflexive as to how branding, marketing, and advertising work from the top down in the consumption process, they are prompted to question the authenticity of producers’ claims. One of the conflicts in the postmodern consumer paradigm results from ‘peeling away the brand veneer’ (Holt, 2002: 86), an activity perhaps most effectively exploited by culture jammers and for which they are most well known. This refers to exposing the ‘backstage’ of the brand, i.e. exam- ining production practices, environmental impacts, competitive strategies etc. to hold corporations accountable to their authenticity claims by measuring what they do against what they say. For example, through their seamless mirroring of the Dow Chemical Corporation website (at www.dowethics.com), the Yes Men gained worldwide attention for success- fully mounting the ‘Bhopal Hoax’, in which representatives of the culture jamming group were inadvertently invited by the BBC to speak on air in the capacity of Dow spokespersons on the anniversary of the chemical disaster in Bhopal, India. They used the occasion to announce that Dow was accepting responsibility on behalf of Union Carbide, now a subsidiary, and promising to make full restitution amounting to billions of US dollars (Deutsch, 2004). The point of this exercise was to highlight the alleged disparity between actual environmental responsibility performance and credit often taken by the company in presenting a favorable image to its various publics. One of the prime ways brands operate in postmodern consumer culture is to enable consumers to express individual sovereignty through identities constructed by acquiring and displaying goods that convey infor- mation about them and their position within a constellation of social networks (Holt, 2002: 87; see also Baudrillard, 1981; Belk, 1988; Bourdieu, 1984; Douglas and Isherwood, 1979[1991]; Fournier, 1998). Sovereignty over brands requires the acquisition of considerable ‘cultural capital’ (Bourdieu, 1984), which takes the form of knowledge of various product universes and the positions of brands within their respective social, cultural and economic domains. With the increased microsegmen- tation of markets and consumer cohorts, the process has become increas- ingly burdensome for individuals to manage. One solution is the rise of cultural ‘infomediaries’, such as Martha Stewart, Lucky magazine, Zagat’s entertainment surveys and the like, to filter the dizzying plethora of choices on offer (Holt, 2002: 87). Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 122 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ Ironically enough, the Adbusters magazine website functions as a kind of culture jammer’s infomediary, providing links to products whose ostensible authenticity can be demonstrated at every level. One such product is the Blackspot sneaker made entirely from earth-friendly materials (including vegetarian leather), using non-exploitative union labor, and distributed only through ‘non-corporate’ independent footwear sales outlets (Adbusters, 2005). Citing Frank’s study of the creative revolution in advertising, Holt notes that: ‘Postmodern consumer culture produces the consumer as liberated’ (2002: 88).Yet,as Kozinets’s (2002) study of Burning Man (an anti-consumerist event that takes place each year in the Nevada desert) suggests, this ‘emancipation’ may be far more modest in reality than envisioned under the good culture ideal. To be sure, the accommodation by commerce to rebellious expressive individualism within the postmodern consumer paradigm takes place as a matter of course, as Heath and Potter (2004), among others, maintain. Holt theorizes a ‘post-postmodern’ consumer environment, in which the cultivation of self enables consumers to actively participate in the creation of the products and brands they consume (2002: 87). Culture industry bricoleurs, post-postmodern consumers use commodity-signs as forms of individual expression, striving for authenticity through organic unity at every level of the process (Holt, 2002: 87). By exposing the incon- sistencies on the producer side of the ledger, culture jammers may in fact be the avant-garde of the evolution of consumer society, encouraging producers to conform to new consumer expectations in order to garner sales, and thereby continuing the development of socially conscious production in Western capitalism, which has included the abolition of slavery beginning in the early 19th century in the British Empire and the introduction of the high wage/high output model of Fordism in America at the dawn of the 20th century. In this environment, commodity-signs attract consumers into forms of community not bounded by geography but by the social relationships they are able to sustain. Muniz and O’Guinn (2001) term this relationship ‘brand community’. While brand communities are not bound by geographic constraints, they do exhibit other aspects of traditional community. According to Muniz and O’Guinn, these include: ‘shared consciousness, rituals and traditions, and a sense of moral responsibility’ (2001: 412). The first entails ‘consciousness of kind’, that is, the shared perception of belonging to a particular group united by certain common attributes. The second encom- passes formal and informal social practices and customs that embody and propagate meaning, value and solidarity as well as a sense of history among the group’s current members and successors. The third entails the sense of Carducci / Culture jamming 123 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ obligation and duty individuals feel toward one another and the community as a whole, although such sense is admittedly more specialized and narrowly defined than the moral reciprocity of traditional community (Muniz and O’Guinn, 2001: 426). Muniz and O’Guinn also note that while members of a brand community by definition feel a connection with the particular brand that unites them, their sense of connection with one another is even stronger (2001: 418). That the hypothetically anti-consumerist cadre of culture jammers can constitute a brand community is a plausible if seem- ingly paradoxical contention. In this regard, the readers of the culture jammers’ journal Adbusters are a relevant case study. The self-proclaimed ‘Journal of the Mental Environment’, Adbusters magazine does not accept paid advertising, exhibiting a sense of moral responsibility to its anti-corporatist constituency. Instead, the magazine’s pages are filled with articles, artwork, and ‘subvertising’ (parodies of the ads of global brands such as Nike, Calvin Klein and Marlboro). Adbusters magazine and Media Foundation also promote ritual activities, like the annual worldwide ‘Buy Nothing Day’, and the organization of local culture jamming networks around the globe. The magazine’s editorial position is anti-consumerist and earth-friendly; deliberate articulations of its readers’ sense of shared consciousness. (The opportunity to align consumer power and worker interest sometimes gets overlooked in this formulation.) The market for Adbusters responds to the dramatic increase in advertising clutter permeating the public and private spheres – the number of messages the average person sees in a day is believed to have doubled by the mid-1990s over the previous 10-year period (Rumbo, 2002: 126). The sense of overload and expressive release as cause and effect can be seen in the state- ment by Carly Stasko, a Toronto-based culture jammer: The culture jamming for me is like breathing. If you never exhaled, you’d suffocate. And yet we’re supposed to just sit back and take in all the streaming commercials and television messages, and I’m supposed to take it and it’s supposed to stay inside? No way! (Sharpe, 2001) Yet a study of Adbusters magazine by Rumbo draws an important conclusion about the publication and the culture jamming phenomenon – the difficulty of mounting an entirely successful challenge to consumerism per se (1999: 124). Adbusters promotion of ‘green’ consumption and the simplicity or ‘downshifting’ movement have emerged as market segments in their own right as Heath and Potter (2004), Holt (2002), Kozinets (2002) and Muniz and O’Guinn (2001) observe. These new market segments have Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 124 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ attracted commercial interests to serve their wants and needs, making eman- cipation from the system of consumption elusive. Adbusters’ own market- ing efforts and product tie-ins for its ‘Buy Nothing Day’ anti-consumption event are themselves prodigious (Klein, 2000: 297). Witness also the Blackspot sneaker and subscriptions to the publication. Culture jamming’s strategy of disintermediating the perceived artificial effects of bad culture ironically opens new avenues of consumption through the pursuit of authenticity and the embrace of the natural. As Heath and Potter (2004) and Holt (2002) in particular demonstrate, but also Kozinets (2002), Muniz and O’Guinn (2001), and Rumbo (2002) suggest, resistance to one form of consumption often takes the form of another: what seems to offer respite from consumer society instead reinscribes it in a different and often more compelling way. If in late-modern society, absolute individual emancipation from societal constraint is seen as less and less viable when compared to earlier expressivist manifestations, it is in no small measure due to the recognition that ‘the natural’ is a construction of the social (itself the existential ground of human experience). Yet culture jamming does have the potential for ameliorating certain aspects of the global consumer marketplace. In this regard, Giddens’ theorization of life politics, which does not seek emancipation but instead endeavors to connect the individual with global concerns (1991: 214), provides a useful avenue for analysis. To see how this might be so first requires a consider- ation of culture jamming from a media perspective. CULTURE JAMMING AS REMEDIATION A related term for what is meant by the expressivist concept of civilisé or bad culture is ideology. Culture jamming as a media practice directly confronts the authority of corporate representation, which takes the form of certain words and images and their meanings circulating in the consumer marketplace and in society in general. Based on the Habermasian (1984) theory of communicative action, the Handleman and Kozinets definition of culture jamming cited in the abstract of this article presumes that distorted communication can be ‘clarified’, that the process of communi- cation between sender and receiver can be rendered sufficiently transparent to enable the ‘true’ message to be revealed. The concepts of transparency and its opposite, distortion, are central to media theory. The functionalist model, for example, sees media as a neutral instrument for transmitting information (Crane, 1992). In Laswell’s functionalist construct of media communications,‘Who says what to whom in what channel to what effect?’ (cited in Tuchman, 1988: 606), distortion is the signal degradation that Carducci / Culture jamming 125 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ occurs as messages travel through an intervening mechanism (i.e. a medium) from point of origin to point of reception, a problem that can ostensibly be corrected by fine tuning on either end. In Marxist-influenced theories of media, including the culture industry critique of Horkheimer and Adorno, and its positive variant the theory of communicative action underlying Handelman and Kozinets’ definition, distortion is a function of elites unilaterally transmitting their beliefs to audiences to serve the interests of class domination (Crane, 1992: 13). That false consciousness is manufactured and propagated through various forms of media under modern capitalism is fundamental to Horkheimer and Adorno’s use of the term ‘culture industry’ in lieu of the terms ‘mass’ or ‘popular culture’, both of which convey a determinative sense of responsi- bility on the recipients’ part (Adorno, 1967[1975]). The distorted nature of publicity (the management of public opinion made possible by the unequal access to centralized electronic media enjoyed by those in power) is key to understanding the structural transformation of the public sphere whereby the ability to achieve democratic consensus is severely diminished (Habermas, 1962[1989]). But from a media studies standpoint, Haug’s (1982) critique of commodity aesthetics is perhaps the articulation of the culture industry thesis most applicable to culture jamming. For Haug, brand names and other forms of symbolic capital in the commodity system constitute an ‘aesthetic monopoly’ over individual and group consciousness (Haug, 1982: 41). As with other critiques of bad culture (i.e. civilisé), Haug’s argument posits the commodity aesthetic as a surface effect, in this case as a device used by capital to mask class relations in the fetish of the commodity-sign. For Haug, consumption provides an illusion of classlessness (1982: 103). True emancipation starts with personal awakening, a rediscovery of the authentic inner voice essentially in keeping with the expressivist tradition, and the rejection of the self-deception that commodity aesthetics requires to preserve existing property relations. Deconstructing the seemingly seamless text of the system of commodity- signs, peeling away the ideological cover that is the brand veneer, is, of course, one of culture jamming’s primary objectives; although the result- ing personal liberation is embraced in some quarters as an end in itself (Lasn, 1999: 168) and not as a step in the emergence of universal class consciousness, as Haug would espouse. Heath and Potter (2004) would more modestly, and no doubt from their perspective more realistically, argue that the quest for personal liberation as an end in itself is socially damaging in forestalling action toward more practical avenues of reform of the existing system. It is further important to recognize that the process extends Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 126 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ beyond just media messages, i.e. advertising and other forms of promotion, to the things themselves. Goods have always had cultural significance beyond being simply tools of exploitation whose meanings are distorted by media (Douglas and Isher- wood, 1979[1991]). They are themselves communications media in the sense that people consume to express themselves as well as to fulfill their needs (Indeed, Douglas and Isherwood argue that expression, in the form of display, is one of the needs goods satisfy). Brands are overt parts of the sign system of consumer culture. In postmodern consumer society, brands are said to represent a kind of authenticity; they are part of a consumer’s self-identity, indications of a self-appointed claim (sometimes valid, some- times not) to a certain position in the social system (Belk, 1988; Carducci, 2003; Fournier, 1998; Holt, 2002). Brands reveal the dual nature of goods as bearers of commercial ideology, agents of social control, and as autonomous forms of expression, things used to construct personal and social meaning (Lee, 1993: 39). In as much as branded goods fail to repre- sent the truth, culture jamming provides feedback, which as certain studies assert, effectively remediates the system of consumption and the communi- cations mechanism through which it operates (Frank, 1999; Holt, 2002; Kozinets, 2002). Culture jamming is thus in some sense related to the hacker ethos, the value system of computer programmers, under the influence of dot-com libertarianism, that calls for ensuring the smooth and efficient operation of processing code through a procedure open for all to see and participate in. The affinity between media transparency in the theory of communicative action and ‘open-source’ computer programming ultimately stems from the subjective authority embodied in the expressivist tradition, that meaning and the means through which it is conveyed are distinct and that the former constitutes the ‘real’ message. In the case of culture jamming, exposing the ‘source code’ of commodity aesthetics, what Holt means by ‘peeling away the brand veneer’ (2002: 86), is an attempt to get at the authentic nature of goods in order to pass sovereign judgment over them. This transcends traditional advertising media, which have been adapted to the new consumer environment. In fact, one of the recuperations undertaken as part of postmodern consumer culture’s rejection of cultural engineering is the assimilation of skepticism toward advertising not just in terms of content but in terms of its very form.Word-of-mouth (Rosen, 2000), viral, one-to-one, and ‘gonzo’ (Locke, 2001) are just a few of the names given to new marketing prac- tices that seek to ostensibly disintermediate the relationship between Carducci / Culture jamming 127 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ consumers and products. All recognize the suspension of disbelief among consumers as to the authenticity of commercial messages delivered via the mass media. One of the more recent influential theories of branding (Reis and Reis, 2002) is based on the thesis that advertising is no longer capable of establishing brand equity in the marketplace, a function now best achieved by the more ‘believable’ medium of public relations. More radical forms (Locke, 2001) portray the only viable marketing solutions as being essentially forms of social marketing (Kotler and Roberto, 1989), ways of promoting ‘the good’ by promoting the right goods to the right people in the right way. These efforts strive for the ‘authentic voice’ of the product or company to be heard (Locke, 2001: 198). And as for its part in that conversation, culture jamming attempts a kind of discourse analysis of just exactly who is speaking. In an often-cited passage from The World of Goods, Douglas and Isher- wood assert: ‘Goods are neutral, their uses are social’ (1979[1991]: 12). Hebdige (1979[1988]) initially used a form of the reception theory developed by the Birmingham School of cultural studies to assert that punks, skinheads and other rebellious youth subcultures appropriate certain consumer goods to construct autonomous identities, inscribing new, oppo- sitional meanings onto them. However, he later revised his position to acknowledge the power of commercial culture to reintegrate counter- hegemonic styles into the system of consensus. This ongoing contest of meaning is a primary front in the ‘semiological warfare’ culture jamming engages in (Dery, 1993). That the ‘meme wars’ (Lasn, 1999) between coun- terculture and the so-called mainstream have been integrated into post- modern consumer society in a kind of masquerade under which the fashion cycle continually renews itself has been remarked upon by both culture jamming’s proponents and its critics (Heath and Potter, 2004; Klein, 2000). But in any event, culture jamming questions the ostensible neutrality of goods in the process. The World of Goods was first published in 1979, in the rising tide of informational society. This was the time when brands started moving from inside clothes to the outside, when the semiotic function of consumer goods came to more blatantly represent commercial interests. It was also when the disaggregation of mass-industrial production, particularly in the apparel industry, started ramping up (Gereffi et al., 1994). One of the roles of branding in this moment was to direct attention onto the consuming self through expressions of individual sovereignty in the display of distinc- tive goods (Holt, 2002: 87). The paradoxes of production and consump- tion are apparent in one of the emblematic products of the period, designer Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 128 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ jeans, which responded to the countercultural desire for natural fibers, distinctive ornamentation, and form-fitting tailoring, all of which marked the consumer as an ‘authentic’ individual (Schneider, 1994). Yet behind this lay a production process, the regime of batch production, that mobilized vast new pools of low-wage labor in lesser-developed countries, exploited the natural resources of those countries, and helped to undermine the social democratic welfare state in the West through deindustrialization and the erosion of union power in such sectors as the American apparel industry (Gereffi et al., 1994). That the product was inextricably bound up in this process is undeniable. And it is at this level – i.e. in revealing relationships of production and consumption – that the potentially most effective forms of culture jamming appear to lie. In his analysis of the evolving global system, Sklair identifies two primary dilemmas plaguing what he terms ‘transnational capitalism’: (1) the sustainability of the system from an ecological standpoint; and (2) growing class polarization within nations and between developed and developing nations (Sklair, 2001: 6–7). Sklair observes that transnational capitalism, and the environmental dangers and social inequality it is said to cause, can only be challenged by confronting all three of its contemporary foundations: transnational corporations, the transnational capitalist class, and what he terms the ‘culture-ideology’ of consumerism (2001: 297). Culture jamming as a media practice can be an effective technique in examining the third pillar, but it must do so at the service of collectivities capable of address- ing the first two. That this is on the agenda of some culture jammers can be seen in the work of the Yes Men and the more traditional activists of the Dwyane Greed campaign. While culture jamming is admittedly fraught with contradictions, it does lend itself to certain methods of social amelio- ration. CULTURE JAMMING AS SOCIAL PRACTICE In addition to its connotations as the iconographies and discourses of media analysis, the term representation has a political meaning relevant to under- standing culture jamming from a sociological perspective. This too issues from the expressivist tradition in terms of the social contract. Handelman and Kozinets refer to culture jamming as an ‘organized, social activist effort’ rather than as a social movement per se (2004: n.p.). Morris calls it a ‘movement of consumerist disruption and subversion’, but emphasizes its ‘media-based’ element (2001: 27) rather than the social. It may be best to understand culture jamming as an expressive outlet, a social practice that has affinities with contemporary social movements, such as feminism and Carducci / Culture jamming 129 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ environmentalism, surveyed by McAdams et al. in their review essay on the subject for Smelser’s (ed.) Handbook of Sociology (1988). Like the other move- ments and activities they discuss, culture jamming is ‘politics carried on by other means’ (McAdams et al., 1988: 699), a claim of sovereignty for under- represented groups in the democratic political process. That political engagement should find expression in unofficial channels such as culture and media has many precedents. Miller (in press) argues that popular culture, and consumption in particular, is where discontent has long been expressed in American society because ‘ordinary Americans have few authorized political outlets for expressing their actual interests, for articulating their desires and aspirations.’ In China, songs and ballads appeared during the Han Dynasty (202 BCE–220 CE) as forms of protest against the abusive practices of Imperial government (Innis, 1950: 151). Pamphleteering and newsletters arose in the 1600s for distribution in the coffeehouses and salons of Europe as a counterpoint to the official communiqués of government, providing a check on state power and a voice in the public sphere for the rising bourgeoisie (Habermas, 1962[1989]; Innis, 1950). From the time of the Reformation to the present, visual- culture producers have used parody and satire as weapons of propaganda in the form of political cartoons. Culture jamming reflects a theory of culture as a site of political action, seeing consumer culture as a viable path to social change. Two of Rousseau’s more enduring legacies within the expressivist tradition are the concern for nature and the imperative of universal human rights (Taylor, 1989: 413–14). The first finds continued force in the eco- logical movement and the second in the fair trade/anti-sweatshop critique of the globalization process. When looked at broadly from an activist perspective, culture jamming seeks to galvanize attention to these two dilemmas. A good example is BehindTheLabel.org, which brings together union activists, religious organizations, and students to promote ‘sweatfree communities’ around the globe. One of its recent projects exposes the alleged union-busting practices of American Apparel, a maker of casual wear for the youth market that promotes itself to consumers as being socially responsible. In September 2003, factory workers in Los Angeles began organizing a local of the garment industry union UNITE HERE to represent produc- tion employees of American Apparel, which markets itself as being ‘sweat- shop free’ (BehindTheLabel.org, 2005). While workers did earn wages comparable to unionized shops, they did not have other benefits such as paid time off, seniority or access to affordable health care. UNITE HERE Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 130 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ and several workers filed a complaint with the National Labor Relations Board alleging illegal antiunion activities on the company’s part, including threatening to shut down the plant. The awareness campaign of BehindTheLabel.org and UNITE HERE led American Apparel to settle the charges by posting a neutrality statement with regard to union- organizing activity, although the company’s labor force has yet to be repre- sented by a collective bargaining unit. Since the action, the company has come under further scrutiny for the highly sexualized imagery of its adver- tising and the alleged personal ethics of its founder, Dov Charney (Paul, 2005; Sauer, 2004). These new claims have prompted additional culture jamming efforts in the form of parody ads being posted around Los Angeles (McLaren, 2005). Culture jamming promotes anti-consumerism as one of its main agenda items (Lasn, 1999). By calling for active resistance to certain forms of consumption, culture jamming can be seen as a form of consumer boycott. The most dramatic is Adbusters, previously discussed annual world- wide ‘Buy Nothing Day’. In another example, activists in early 2005 circu- lated an email over the internet encouraging consumers to boycott the entire economy of the USA on 20 January 2005, the day of the presidential inauguration, in protest of the Iraq war through ‘Not One Damn Dime Day’ (AlterNet, 2005). Other boycott targets include Nike, Coca-Cola, Nestlé, and Starbucks. Consumer boycotts are among the most frequently, if not the most frequently, used organizing techniques for those outside the conventional power structure (Friedman, 1999: 3). Their use as an alternate means of politics has historically been to achieve either economic or social justice, following in the expressivist tradition of the call for universal human rights. Economic boycotts are typically the concern of consumers, and social boycotts often the concern of minorities. Examples of economic justice boycotts include the protests against high meat prices during the Great Depression and coffee in the 1970s. The Depression also saw the ‘Don’t Buy from Where You Can’t Work’ social boycotts for equal employment opportunity for African-Americans. The celebrated bus boycotts of the 1950s were instrumental to the civil rights movement. Most consumer boycotts have historically been directed against commodities, such as meat, grapes and coffee, and not specific brands (Friedman, 1999: 66). They have also tended to be more market-oriented, that is, directed to effecting change by attacking a target’s sales revenues, giving economic leverage to those mounting the action. Contemporary consumer boycotts, on the other hand, tend to be more media-oriented, Carducci / Culture jamming 131 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ seeking to have an effect by damaging the target’s reputation (Friedman, 1999: 216). Friedman offers two reasons for the change: (1) the entry of more women into the workforce, especially since the 1970s, removing significant numbers from the pool of recruits available to staff picket lines; and (2) the fact that it is difficult to get people to stop buying products they desire, as evidenced by the failure in the 1990s of Operation PUSH’s boycott of Nike to significantly affect sales in urban areas (Friedman, 1999: 216, 17, respectively). Another reason no doubt is the increased awareness and sensitivity on the part of companies as to the economic value of brands in the disaggregated commodity chain of production, in which investments in ‘cultural capital’ (advertising, design, brand identity etc.) have dramati- cally increased relative to often contracted-out manufacturing costs (Carducci, 2003; Gereffi et al., 1994). Parodies of brand names and marketing slogans are among the primary and more effective tools used in organizing contemporary consumer boycotts (Friedman, 1999: 221). This semiotic jujitsu is the culture jammer’s stock in trade and its efficacy can sometimes be striking. For example, CNN reported that the Yes Men’s mounting of the Bhopal Hoax sent Dow Chemical’s stock price down 4.24 percent in 23 minutes on the Frankfurt Exchange, causing the company to temporarily lose US$2 billion in market value (CNN, 2004). (It recovered as news of the hoax became known and its stock price was relatively unaffected in other financial markets, but the negative publicity from the incident continues to circulate, especially over the internet.) Edward Herman asserts in a letter to the editor of Adbusters (cited in Morris, 2001: 27) that culture jamming is really only a tactic, not an end in itself for effecting social change, especially in terms of amelio- rating the dilemmas of late-modern capitalism. And there is unquestion- ably a need to distinguish between culture jamming as an organized action perceived as an end in itself, and as an instrument of political action used by more conventionally defined social movements, such as labor and animal rights activists. McAdams et al. define social movements broadly as having members, a network of communications, and leaders (1988: 715). Additional factors in understanding social movements include the mobilization of resources and the implementation of political processes, in other words, how well constituencies and capabilities are activated and associations created as mechanisms for taking action (McAdams et al., 1988: 697). Social move- ments at their highest organizational level claim to speak on behalf of constituencies and seek to influence policy (McAdams et al., 1988: 717). Their process is one of ‘frame alignment’ (McAdams et al., 1988: 713), Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 132 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ bringing social action and worldview together to ameliorate relative deprivation and institutionalize a new paradigm. Social movements, if they persist over time, can evolve into enterprises, like the NAACP or the ACLU. By all of these measures, the community of culture jammers around Adusters magazine and Media Foundation can be considered at least a faction of a social movement, if perhaps not always an ultimately effective one in and of itself. Adbusters’ subscriber base, regular newsstand purchasers, and online communities constitute a membership of a kind. The magazine itself and the extended media of websites, listservs, discussion groups, and the like is a multidimensional communications network. Leadership is exhibited (for better or worse) by Lasn and other paid staff. Other less commercially visible groups also appear to meet the criteria, such as the bloggers who maintain the Culture Jamming Encyclopedia on Sniggle.net and the contributors to such alternative news and information portals as IndyMedia.org. Not unlike other consumer groups and special-interest organizations, Adbusters claims to speak for the consuming public at large. Besides seeking to affect corpor- ate policies through negative publicity and product boycotts (as well as their opposite action, ‘buycotts’, i.e., the patronizing of approved products), Adbusters magazine and Media Foundation have sought to influence public policy through legal action and other advocacies against American and Canadian regulatory agencies and for-profit companies on freedom of speech issues, in particular those related to the placement of anti-advertis- ing messages (Lasn, 1999: 192–9). Social movements are traditionally perceived to respond to situations of relative deprivation; however, McAdams et al. note that a general condition of prosperity seems to be connected to a rise in social-movement activity (1988: 702). According to their analysis, some level of wealth provides favorable conditions for collective activity, including the ability to raise funds to support communications and community building, thereby creating opportunities for ‘entrepreneurs of grievances’ (McAdams et al., 1988: 702). Also, concentrations of youth and the absence of ‘cross-cutting solidarities’ are other conditions that facilitate the rise of social movements. It is not surprising then to see culture jamming, properly called, first emerge in San Francisco (home of Negativland, the Billboard Liberation Front, the original Burning Man festival, and Silicon Valley) and the Pacific North- west (home of Adbusters, Nike, and Microsoft) and then spread to college campuses, areas where both highly transitory youth and comparative afflu- ence are concentrated. It is further worth noting that the rise of such alternative marketing techniques as ‘gonzo’, word-of-mouth, viral, etc., Carducci / Culture jamming 133 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ which also make a claim to rebellious authenticity, evolved out of networked online environments operating from those same locales awash in venture capital, where considerations of return on investment, even those as nebulous as measuring the effectiveness of conventional advertising, were considered irrelevant during the heady days of the dot-com boom. Social movements are not simply aggregations of individuals but ‘collectivities’ (McAdams et al., 1988: 709). They constitute an inter- mediate level of organization between individuals and the macrosocial contexts within which they live. Among the macrolevel factors culture jamming attempts to remediate are the plethora of commercial identities inserted into contemporary life, the pervasiveness of the culture industry, the seemingly all-encompassing spectacle of the commodity-sign (Baudrillard, 1981; Holt, 2002; Rumbo, 2002). The relative-deprivation model holds in this scenario in terms of the dual crises of relations of environmental sustainability and equitable exchange under late-modern capital and their masking by the universal call of consumption (Sklair, 2001: 2). Culture jamming provides a channel for sharing a feeling of sovereignty in consumer society, an environment within which knowledge of brands is a form of cultural capital and facility with them part of a habitus (Bourdieu, 1984; Holt, 2002). Culture jamming then, can be seen as a movement, but also as a technique in the same way that cubism or dada are both movements in the history of, and techniques for making, art. Indeed, it has even been the subject of an art museum exhibition, ‘The Interventionists: Art in the Social Sphere’, mounted by the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art in 2004. The question is one of conse- quences, intended or otherwise. From this perspective, critiques of those such as Heath and Potter (2004), which see transcendent strategies of individual emancipation on a cultural level as serving to reinforce the very systems of control they mean to defy, are well taken. Culture jamming has the greatest potential to achieve a useful end as a means in service to larger movements rather than as an end in itself. Yet it must also be recognized that, taken on this level, culture jamming in fact serves to remedy certain ‘market failures’, to take a phrase from Heath and Potter’s rational-choice lexicon, namely those of the instrumental reason that touched off the expressivist turn some two-and- a-half centuries ago and whose means-ends rationality cannot account for bonds of civility in society, the deeper meanings of human existence, and whose myopia in this respect has led to environmental destruction and exploitation around the globe. Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 134 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ CONCLUSION An analysis of culture jamming needs to supplement sociological exami- nation with a consideration of its political and economic effects. To be truly effective as a cultural, media, and social practice, it appears that culture jamming must be tied to a larger purpose and not be taken as an end in itself. The most effective tendencies seem to be those that link with broader social concerns about global ecology and human rights. As a result of consumer activism, Nike, to take one example, now offers PVC-free products packaged in recycled boxes and has established a code of ethics for offshore suppliers. (Whether these initiatives are sincere, much less sufficient, is still open to debate.) But as the American Apparel and Oper- ation PUSH efforts, noted above, suggest, affecting change on the consumer side of the market equation often has limited effect. Some producers have adapted and new producers have arisen to respond to post-postmodern consumer demands for environmentally sustainable, socially responsible goods. Sales of certified fair trade chocolate are growing, for instance, but remain trifling compared to total world consumption (Anti-Slavery Inter- national, 2004: 45). Duane Reade still refuses to acknowledge its employees’ desire to affiliate with RWCSFEU Local 338 and engage in collective bargaining, although the National Labor Relations Board has ordered the company to remedy its unfair labor practices and make full restitution to all employees and the union. The New York State Supreme Court in October 2004 also upheld the union’s right to continue the ‘Dwayne Greed’ culture jam, noting that its factual allegations against the company were credible, not to mention protected as free speech under the First Amendment. Thus on the streets of New York City the jamming of culture continues, and every now and then flashes of the red-and-blue ‘DG’ logo can be seen on white plastic bags in the hands of rushing passersby. Note 1. 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Address: Sociology Department, New School for Social Research, 65 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10003, USA. [email: cardv366@newschool.edu] Journal of Consumer Culture 6(1) 138 at GAZIANTEP UNIV on August 28, 2012joc.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://joc.sagepub.com/ 
work_ksr44wvvenct7hptd6vkumqqta	----	The Sociology of Humanist, Spiritual, and Religious Practice in Prison: Supporting Responsivity and Desistance from Crime Religions 2011, 2, 590-610; doi:10.3390/rel2040590 religions ISSN 2077-1444 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Article The Sociology of Humanist, Spiritual, and Religious Practice in Prison: Supporting Responsivity and Desistance from Crime Tom P. O’Connor 1, * and Jeff B. Duncan 2 1 Transforming Corrections, 1420 Court St. NE. Salem, Oregon 97301, USA 2 Oregon Department of Corrections, 2575 Center St. NE., Salem, OR 97301, USA; E-Mail: jeff.b.duncan@doc.state.or.us * Author to whom correspondence should be addressed; E-Mail: oconnortom@aol.com; Tel.: +1- 503-559-5752. Received: 20 September 2011 / Accepted: 24 October 2011 / Published: 2 November 2011 Abstract: This paper presents evidence for why Corrections should take the humanist, spiritual, and religious self-identities of people in prison seriously, and do all it can to foster and support those self-identities, or ways of establishing meaning in life. Humanist, spiritual, and religious (H/S/R) pathways to meaning can be an essential part of the evidence-based responsivity principle of effective correctional programming, and the desistance process for men and women involved in crime. This paper describes the sociology of the H/S/R involvement of 349 women and 3,009 men during the first year of their incarceration in the Oregon prison system. Ninety-five percent of the women and 71% of the men voluntarily attended at least one H/S/R event during their first year of prison. H/S/R events were mostly led by diverse religious and spiritual traditions, such as Native American, Protestant, Islamic, Wiccan, Jewish, Jehovah Witness, Latter-day Saints/Mormon, Seventh Day Adventist, Buddhist, and Catholic, but, increasingly, events are secular or humanist in context, such as education, yoga, life-skills development, non- violent communication, and transcendental meditation groups. The men and women in prison had much higher rates of H/S/R involvement than the general population in Oregon. Mirroring gender-specific patterns of H/S/R involvement found in the community, women in prison were much more likely to attend H/S/R events than men. Keywords: prison; humanist; spiritual; religious; responsivity; desistance; gender; religion; corrections; treatment OPEN ACCESS Religions 2011, 2 591 Introduction Prisons, by nature, are dangerous places. Prisons concentrate large numbers of people in crowded conditions with little privacy and few positive social outlets. Prisons hold healthy people dealing with issues of loss, fear, shame, guilt and innocence, alongside people with mental illnesses, varying levels of maturity, sociopathic tendencies, and histories of impulsivity and violence. The sense of danger and the generally oppressive nature of prisons make it all the more remarkable that prisons can also be places of reflection, exploration, discovery, change and growth. St. Paul, Henry David Thoreau, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Aung San Suu Kyi, and countless men and women have all used their time in prison for good. Malcolm X dropped out of school after eighth grade and gradually got involved in prostitution, burglary, drugs, and firearms. In 1946, when he was 21, Malcolm was sentenced to 8 to 10 years in the Massachusetts state prison system for larceny and breaking and entering. During his first year in prison Malcolm was disruptive and spent quite a bit of time in solitary confinement. "I preferred the solitary that this behavior brought me. I would pace for hours like a caged leopard, viciously cursing aloud to myself.” ([1], p. 156) Then, a self-educated and well regarded prisoner called Bimbi - "he was the first man I had ever seen command total respect…with his words" - inspired Malcolm to take up education, study and learning ([1], p. 157). Malcolm became more and more interested in religion and was advised by a religious leader to atone for his crimes, humbly bow in prayer to God and promise to give up his destructive behavior. After a week of internal struggle, Malcolm overcame what he describes as a sense of shame, guilt and embarrassment, and submitted himself in prayer to God and became a member of the Nation of Islam. It was a turning point, the kind of „quantum change‟ described by William Miller in Quantum Change: When Epiphanies and Sudden Insights Transform Ordinary Lives [2]."I still marvel at how swiftly my previous life's thinking pattern slid away from me, like snow off a roof. It is as though someone else I knew of had lived by hustling and crime." "Months passed by without my even thinking about being imprisoned. In fact, up to then, I had never been so truly free in my life." ([1], p. 173) This jail-house religious conversion experience set the direction for Malcolm X„s lifelong journey of self, religious, racial, political, class and cultural discovery, and his profound influence on American life, which continues to be a topic of immense importance and debate to this day [3]. There are many similar prison stories of conversion leading to successful desistance from crime and a generous life of giving to one‟s culture, community, and country [4]. In their article "Why God Is Often Found Behind Bars: Prison Conversions and the Crisis of Self-Narrative”, Maruna, Wilson and Curran (2006) make two important points. Their first point is the lack of social science knowledge about religion and spirituality in this unique context of incarceration. “The jail cell conversion from "sinner" to true believer may be one of the best examples of a "second chance" in modern life, yet the process receives far more attention from the popular media than from social science research." Their second point is that the discipline of “narrative psychology” can provide explanatory insight into the phenomenon of religious and spiritual conversion in prison. Prisoner conversions, they argue, are a narrative that "creates a new social identity to replace the label of prisoner or criminal, imbues the experience of imprisonment with purpose and meaning, empowers the largely powerless prisoner by Religions 2011, 2 592 turning him into an agent of God, provides the prisoner with a language and framework for forgiveness, and allows a sense of control over an unknown future." [5] Todd Clear and a group of colleagues, such as Harry Dammer and Melvina Sumpter, explored the meaning and impact of religious practice in prisons throughout the US in a series of ethnographic and empirical studies. They found this practice helped people to psychologically adjust to prison life in a healthy way [6,7], and to derive motivation, direction and meaning in life, hope for the future, peace of mind, and make a shift in their lifestyle or behaviors [8,9]. High levels of religious practice and belief in a transcendent being were also related to positive post-prison adjustment in the community upon release [10]. Interestingly, Clear et al. argue that the main role of religion and spirituality in prison is not to reduce recidivism but to prevent, or at least ameliorate, the process of dehumanization that prison contexts in the U.S. tend to foster. Religion and spirituality in prison help to humanize a dehumanizing situation by assisting prisoners in coping with being a social outcast in a context that is fraught with loss, deprivation, and survival challenges [11]. Along these lines, Cullen et al. argue that criminologists must be more willing to help discover and support ways in which correctional institutions can be administered more humanely and effectively [12]. The practice of religion and spirituality in prison is one way to foster humanity and support desistance in a social context that can be inherently inhumane. The Washington State Institute for Public Policy (WSIPP) meta-analysis of the impact of rehabilitation programs on recidivism included six „faith-based‟ or „faith-informed‟ studies that met their standards for methodological quality or rigor, and concluded that the findings on the impact of faith-based interventions on recidivism were "inconclusive and in need of further research". Interestingly, four of the six studies in the meta-analysis failed to find an overall program effect on reducing recidivism, but two found a positive effect, one of which was also the study with the highest effect size (-0.388) for reducing recidivism, among the 291 evaluations that met the rigorous methodological criteria for acceptance in the meta-analysis. The study with the highest effect size was a study of a faith-informed program for very high-risk sex offenders in Canada called Circles of Support and Accountability or CoSA [13]. Additional research conducted by CoSA since the meta- analysis confirmed the strong effect size findings for the CoSA program. [14] Johnson‟s review of the broad literature on religion and delinquency/crime in the community and after prison is very helpful because it examines a wide range of outcomes for a wide range of religious variables, and includes a large number (272) of studies of varying methodological rigor. Johnson‟s conclusion, however, that “clear and compelling empirical evidence exists that religiosity is linked to reductions in crime” is not fully supported by the WSIPP meta-analytic findings about the impact of faith-based programs/religion on reducing crime for ex-prisoners [15, p. 172]. O‟Connor et al. discuss the six studies included in the WSIPP meta-analysis along with some additional studies, and expand on the generally encouraging but inconclusive state of the research findings on recidivism from the corrections literature [16]. Dodson et al. also review some of the literature in this area of recidivism but do not include all of the relevant studies in their review [17]. Important new findings from a series of eight meta-analytic studies commissioned by the American Psychological Association (APA) are very relevant to this question of the connection between religion and corrections. These eight studies looked at whether or not it „works‟ to adapt or match psychotherapy to eight individual client characteristics. In correctional terms, this APA research relates Religions 2011, 2 593 to the third of the three main principles of the Risk-Need-Responsivity Model of rehabilitation, namely the principle of responsivity [18]. The evidence-based principle of responsivity in corrections has two aspects to it. First, „general responsivity‟ states that correctional interventions should use cognitive- behavioral modes of intervention as offenders respond best to this style of programming. Second, „specific responsivity‟ states that interventions need to be tailored to the specific ways in which individual clients respond to treatment; a very shy person will not do well in groups, an illiterate person will not do well in programs that require a lot of writing etc. Responsivity is about adapting treatment to the particular ways in which the offender population in general, and individual offenders in particular, respond to treatment. The APA studies concluded that it was "demonstrably effective in adapting psychotherapy" to four of the eight factors studied: (1) reactance/resistance; (2) client preferences; (3) culture; and (4) religion and spirituality (R/S). The APA now counsels all of its members to incorporate a person‟s religion and/or spirituality into their treatment (regardless of the therapist‟s religion and/or spirituality), because doing so produces better treatment outcomes. “Patients in R/S psychotherapies showed greater improvement than those in the alternate secular psychotherapies both on psychological (d = 0.26) and spiritual (d = 0.41) outcomes." [19]. The APA meta-analytic study on the outcomes of adapting psychotherapy to a patient‟s particular religious and spiritual outlook categorized these R/S outlooks into four different types of spirituality based on the type of object a person feels a sense of closeness or connection to: (1) humanistic spirituality; (2) nature spirituality; (3) cosmic spirituality; and (4) religious spirituality [20]. Many humanists, secularists and atheists etc., however, do not like to use word “spiritual” to describe their perspective on life, so we prefer to collapse this fourfold categorization into a threefold classification based on a person‟s way of making ultimate meaning in the world and their affective connection to the world and the transcendent: (1) humanist; (2) spiritual (includes both nature and cosmic spirituality); and (3) religious. Humanists tend to find meaning in human life itself and do not relate to a transcendent being or spirituality beyond human life. Sometimes referred to as secularists or „Nones‟ (no stated religious preference, atheists, agnostics), this group of people is growing and now accounts for 15% of the US public [21]. On the other hand, people who are spiritual and/or religious, (many people say they are both spiritual and religious) [22], find meaning in life precisely by relating to some being or force that transcends human life. However one categorizes the different types, it is important for Corrections to take note that the APA has recommended that all psychologists and counselors should integrate humanism, spirituality, and religion into their work in a way that matches each client‟s particular way of establishing ultimate meaning in life or feeling connected to something that is vitally important in their lives [19,20]. A new federal law, passed in 2000, called the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act (RLUIPA), has dramatically reduced the ability of prisons and jails to restrict humanist, spiritual or religious (H/S/R) accommodations because of security or practical concerns. Just as prisons and jails must provide inmates with access to health care, they must now provide inmates with the ability to express and practice their belief and meaning systems, unless there is a compelling government reason not to do so. The Supreme Court has consistently ruled that people do not lose their First Amendment constitutional rights to practice their religion, spirituality, or way of life, when they are incarcerated. Before RLUIPA, prisons had fairly wide scope as to what they would and would not accommodate. RLUIPA and a series of other US cultural and legal developments, have meant that the “topic of Religions 2011, 2 594 religion and the criminal justice system is now clearly on the national criminological agenda” [23]. These First Amendment rights and responsibilities extend beyond spirituality and religion into humanism. In 2005, the US Court of Appeal did not declare that atheism was a religion, but did decide that atheism was afforded the same protection as religion under the First Amendment, and ordered a prison in Wisconsin to allow an inmate to form a study group for atheists alongside the religious study groups they already allowed [24]. In his acclaimed book, A Secular Age, Charles Taylor describes what it means to live in a modern secular democracy and a secular age. For Taylor, every person can now choose how they will create a sense of ultimate meaning for their life, and relate to the big questions of health, justice, suffering, evil, death and the purpose of life. The more traditional choice derives meaning from a diverse range of religious and spiritual traditions, which posit a transcendent source or ground of meaning, usually called God or the Divine. Now that we live in a secular age, people can and do choose to make meaning in a way that makes no reference to a transcendent God/Divinity, but only to human life and the human condition. This purely secular or humanistic way of making meaning is new; historically, this choice has never been available on a broad societal level. Nowadays, people take this choice for granted [25]. Prison chaplains have a unique potential, by way of their training, prison roles, skills and interests, to work with all three ways of making meaning – humanist, spiritual and religious [16]. Working effectively with all three paths, however, is a challenge for some prison chaplains and prison chaplaincies. The legislative hearings for the RLUIPA act (above) in the US make it clear that RLUIPA was enacted, in large part, because various prison systems and chaplains were not equally or fairly accommodating the wide variety of humanist, spiritual and religious traditions and meaning- making represented in their prisons. Similarly, Beckford and Gilliat, devote a whole book to making the point that structural and sociological issues make it difficult for English and Welsh prison chaplains to provide “equal rights in a multi-faith society”. The English and Welsh prison chaplains function in a social system that gives a privileged position to the Church of England, often referred to as the “national church”. This meant that, until recently, a very large majority of the prison chaplains were from the Church of England/Anglican tradition. The dominant position of the Church of England chaplains increasingly caused problems of equal access and opportunity for a variety of non-Christian faiths as English and Welsh society became more multi-faith [26]. “The reason for highlighting the structural setting of religion in prison rather than the beliefs and actions of individuals was to expose the social, organizational and cultural factors which shape the opportunities for prisoners to receive religious and pastoral care.” To summarize: many people, like Malcolm X, undergo profound conversion experiences in prison that brings about a quantum change in the trajectory of their life; the practice of H/S/R in prisons and jails is constitutionally protected; and this practice has been found to help people adjust, psychologically and behaviorally, to prison life and develop personal narratives and identities that support desistance from crime. Further research will determine whether or not, and how, this practice is related to reductions in recidivism. Evidence from the field of psychology on the evidence-based responsivity principle of effective correctional programming, strongly suggests that treatment and correctional staffs in prisons, jails, probation and parole should incorporate a person‟s H/S/R into their correctional treatment and supervision practices. It is increasingly important, therefore, to have an Religions 2011, 2 595 accurate understanding of how H/S/R functions in a correctional setting and how to foster H/S/R in these unique contexts. Understanding Humanism, Spirituality, and Religion in a Prison Setting There are a few excellent ethnographic studies that seek to understand the meaning and role of H/S/R in the lives of prisoners [7,8, 27], but to our knowledge, there is not a single systematic or comprehensive description of H/S/R practice in prison. Maruna argues that researchers and practitioners who study correctional interventions often ask the question “What works?” but fail to ask the equally important question “How does it work?” [28]. O'Connor et al. review the literature on H/S/R in prisons and community corrections, and much of this literature is focused on the question of whether it works, rather than how it works [16,29,30,]. Most of the literature is also focused on organized religion but, as we have argued above, this conceptual approach needs to make a shift to include all three ways of making ultimate meaning: humanism, spirituality and religion. In this paper, we describe the sociology of H/S/R in a correctional system, specifically the Oregon state prison system, and leave the question of H/S/R content and outcomes to future papers [31]. An important first step to answering the “how does it work” question is to describe and understand the phenomenon we are questioning. To put it simply: What does H/S/R look like in a prison context? The Oregon Department of Corrections (ODOC) has a computerized scheduling system that helps organize and track the work and program involvement (education, cognitive, drug and alcohol treatment etc.) of the approximately 14,000 men and women who are incarcerated in 14 prisons around the state. Beginning in 2000, the department‟s Religious Services Unit began to add all of the events and services it organized to the scheduling system in each of the prisons. Gradually, the accuracy and completeness of the H/S/R data entry improved in each prison, and by 2004 the data was of sufficient quality to initiate the present study. The Oregon Department of Corrections organizes what it calls the Religious Services unit in a different way than many other state prison chaplaincy systems. Chaplains in many U.S. state prison systems are hired by the prison where they will work, and are supervised by a deputy warden/superintendent or the head of prison programming. In Oregon, the Religious Services unit is part of a centralized Transitional Services Division that has responsibility for overseeing the intake assessment/classification center, and the education, drug and alcohol, H/S/R, and reentry services for all of the prisons. So the Religious Services unit has its own centrally-based senior manager or Administrator who sets the direction for the statewide H/S/R services at each of the prisons, and oversees the budget, goals/policies, and hiring, training and supervision of the chaplains and other staff in the Religious Services Unit. Tom O'Connor, one of the authors on this paper, held the Administrator of Religious Services position with the Oregon Department of Corrections from 2000 to 2008. Currently, there are 22 full-time chaplains, two half-time chaplains, and seven other staff members in the Religious Services unit [32]. The staff members in the unit serve the H/S/R needs of all inmates, and they come from several different faith backgrounds including: Zen Buddhist, Sunni Muslim, Presbyterian, Unitarian, Baptist, Foursquare Christianity, Lutheran, Shambhala Buddhist, Latter-day Saints, Methodist, Missouri Synod Lutheran, Greek Orthodox etc. When we collected the data for this Religions 2011, 2 596 study (2004 to 2005), the Religious Services staff makeup was basically similar to the current makeup, though slightly smaller and less religiously diverse. The chaplains and other staff in the Religious Services unit are responsible for four kinds of programs or services: (1) the H/S/R services and programs in the 14 prisons; (2) a statewide faith and community-based reentry program called Home for Good in Oregon[33]; (3) a statewide volunteer program for about 2000 volunteers; and (4) a victim services program that includes the Victim Information and Notification Everyday (VINE) program and a facilitated dialogue program between victims of serious crime and their incarcerated offenders [32]. Almost all of the services and events organized by the ODOC chaplains are religious or spiritual in nature, however, the chaplains are increasingly involved in facilitating services that take place in a humanist or secular context, without any religious or spiritual overtones, such as non-violent communication classes, social study groups, victim-offender dialogues, restorative justice programs, third level educational programs such as Inside-Out, and non-religious meditation programs such as Transcendental Meditation [34]. The chaplains also do a great deal of direct counseling, informal interacting, and death/grief work with inmates who do not have any religious or spiritual background or practice. The Oregon prison chaplains would not be able to meet the diverse and widespread H/S/R needs of the men and women in prison without the help of a substantial cadre of volunteers. These volunteers are an indispensible part of the sociology we are examining, and many voices such as the Director of the National Institute of Corrections are now arguing for an expanded role for volunteers in corrections [35]. In this paper, we give a brief overview of these volunteers; a forthcoming paper will examine the volunteer program in depth [36]. The largest group of volunteers is related in some way to religious faith traditions or spiritualties. Approximately 75% of the almost 2,000 men and women who currently volunteer for prison and/or reentry programs with the Oregon Department of Corrections, are religious or spiritual volunteers who come from a wide variety of faith and spiritual traditions such as Native American, Jewish, Protestant, Catholic, Hindu, Buddhist, Seventh Day Adventist, Latter Day Saints, Jehovah Witness, and Earth-Based or pagan such as Wicca. Ten per cent of the prison volunteers work in the area of drug and alcohol recovery, primarily from the Alcoholics and Narcotics Anonymous (AA and NA) traditions, and tend to fall into the “spiritual” category, along with some Native Americans, Wiccans, and Buddhists etc., who prefer to think of themselves as spiritual but not necessarily religious. The AA and NA volunteers do not usually self-identify as „religious‟ in the sense of belonging to an organized religion, but often consider themselves as spiritual because a “higher power” is a core part of their way of being and making meaning. McConnell recently did a series of ethnographic interviews with a diverse group of spiritually and religiously involved men in two of Oregon‟s prisons (a maximum security prison with a population of about 2,400, and a medium security prison with a population of about 800). Tony, one of the men interviewed by McConnell, who had a Native American ethnic heritage but no previous exposure to Native American spiritual practices prior to being in prison, expresses this identification with spirituality and not religion: The first sweat [sweat lodge ceremony] I went to, I still had a lot of the anger, and I went in, and I heard some of the stories that they told.... A lot of their history, combined with their - I wouldn't call it a "religion" - but their beliefs. And then, a lot of their personal things that they were kinda lettin‟ go of and what not. And I was able to just let go of a lot Religions 2011, 2 597 of my anger. And was reassured that things, you know, if you have a good heart, a good mind and what not, it doesn't matter if it's God or Great Spirit, but you will be rewarded in time. ([27], p. 255) The final 15% of volunteers in Oregon tend to work out of a wide variety of humanist or secular contexts and help with high school and college education, cultural clubs, re-entry, communication skills, meditation, recreational activities, life-skills development and administrative tasks in the department. Some of these „humanist‟ volunteers work out of the Religious Services unit, and some of them work out of other units such as Education and Activities. A good example of this humanist or secular group would be many of the volunteers in the Inside-Out Prison Exchange program. Trained Inside-Out professors teach accredited college courses inside a prison, but half of the students in the class are inmates and half are outside students from a local university. Inside-Out has held nearly 200 classes with over 6,000 students, and trained more than 200 instructors from over 100 colleges and universities in 35 US states and Canada. The Inside-Out Program „increases opportunities for men and women, inside and outside of prison, to have transformative learning experiences that emphasize collaboration and dialogue, inviting participants to take leadership in addressing crime, justice, and other issues of social concern.‟[37] These humanist, spiritual and religious volunteers are a huge resource for corrections and public safety; they are dedicated to making a difference in society and helping to lift people out of crime and into productive lives in the community. The Sociology of Humanist, Spiritual and Religious Practice in a Prison Context We turn now to describe the H/S/R background and involvement of people who spend at least one year in prison. The Oregon correctional system sends people to the state prison system when their sentence length is one year or longer. Those who are sentenced to less than a year serve their time in the county jail system. Not everyone who is sentenced to the state prison system, however, spends a full year in prison because their time in the County jail awaiting trial etc. is counted toward their sentence. The population for this longitudinal study was the 3,009 men (90%) and 349 women (10%) who entered the Oregon state prison system at any point during 2004 and who were still in the system one year later from their original 2004 date of intake into the system. We started collecting data on the H/S/R involvement of these men and women from their particular date of entry in 2004 and followed them all for a one-year period from that date. Table 1 shows the basic demographics for both the men and the women. Compared to men, the women were more likely to be White, and Native American and less likely to be Asian, African American and Hispanic. Men were much more likely to be a gang member and to have committed a sexual offence than women. The average age of the men and women, however, was the same. So, demographically, the men in our study differ significantly to the women. Oregon has one central intake or receiving center for men and women who enter prison. The intake center is located on the grounds of the only women's prison in Oregon. The women and men are held in separate parts of the intake center for about three weeks and then moved to the only women's prison in Oregon or one of 13 male prisons for the remainder of their sentence. The men might be moved several times between these 13 prisons prior to their release. The women can only move between the Religions 2011, 2 598 medium and minimum sections of the women‟s prison which are located in separate buildings on the same grounds as the intake center. During intake, the ODOC conducts a battery of criminogenic risk, need, and responsivity assessments, including security, education, drug and alcohol, health, dental and psychological assessments. Table 1. Demographics of Study Population (N = 3009 males and 349 females). Male Female Race/ethnicity Caucasian African American Asian Native American Hispanic 76% 9% 1% 2% 12% 87% 6% 0% 4% 3% Gender 90% 10% Sexual Offence (yes) 25% 2% Gang member (yes) 14% 4% Average age 33 33 The department does not keep any data on the H/S/R self-identity or affiliation of the men and women in the state prison system, and generally permits anyone to attend whatever H/S/R service or activity might be of interest to them, regardless of their self-identity. In 2004, the Religious Services staff made a voluntary H/S/R self-report assessment available to each person coming through intake, and 684 out of the 3009 men (23%) and 124 of the 349 women (36%) took the H/S/R assessment. The first question in the survey was "Choose one statement that describes you the best." with four possible answers: (1) I am spiritual and religious; (2) I am spiritual but not religious; (3) I am religious but not spiritual; and (4) I am neither spiritual nor religious. The men and the women answered this question in a very similar fashion: 60% of the men and 66% of the women said they were „spiritual and religious‟; 23% of the men and the women said they were „spiritual but not religious‟; 9% of the men and 7% of the women said they were „religious but not spiritual‟; and 8% of the men and 4% of the women said they were „neither spiritual nor religious‟. So, most inmates consider themselves to be „both spiritual and religious.‟ Almost a quarter, however, consider themselves to be „spiritual but not religious‟, and relatively small percentages consider themselves to be either „religious but not spiritual‟, or „neither spiritual nor religious‟. This is roughly the same pattern that has been found in the general community, although people entering prison in Oregon may be different than the general population of Oregon in how they answer this question. One study with a general community sample from another state found that 74% were „spiritual and religious‟, 19% were „spiritual but not religious‟, 4% were „religious but not spiritual‟, and 3% were „neither religious nor spiritual‟ [22]. The neither „spiritual nor religious‟ group probably equates in some way to a humanist group that tends to find meaning within the boundaries of human life (and not in relationship to a transcendent realm or object). Obviously, more research needs to be done before we can make clear distinctions between these H/S/R categories, but these figures give us a good starting point. Figure 1 shows the self-reported H/S/R affiliation for the 648 men and 124 women who voluntarily took the H/S/R assessment in 2004. Respondents could check multiple answers, and because 180 Religions 2011, 2 599 (23%) of the men and women did so, we tallied all of the responses for a total N of 998. So if a person listed one preference we counted that as one, and if a person listed 2, 3, or 4 preferences, we counted that as 2, 3, or 4 etc. Although these numbers are not representative of the entire intake population, they are the best estimate we have of the incoming H/S/R affiliation of the study population. Later in the paper we will see that the decision to voluntarily take the H/S/R assessment at intake was a predictor of who would attend H/S/R events in prison, so our sample is biased toward people who are more actively engaged in H/S/R. The majority (48%) say they are Christian/Protestant, followed by 7% Catholic, 7% Native American, 7% Don't Know, 7% No Preference, 4% Other, 3% Latter Day Saint, 3% Earth Based, 3% Christian Scientist, 2% Jehovah Witness, 2% Seventh Day Adventist, 2% Buddhist and the remainder (6%) made up of very small numbers of Islamic, Agnostic, Jewish, Atheist, Hindu, Scientology, New Age, Confucian, Eastern Orthodox, and Hare Krishna (ISKON). Women were significantly more likely than men to say they were Christian/Protestant or Jewish, but equally likely to choose the other affiliations or self-identities. The unaffiliated 14% who said "no preference" or "don't know" are a fairly large group, and some of these may tend toward the humanist perspective. While 14% of our samples choose „no preference‟ or „don‟t know‟, only 4% said they were „neither spiritual nor religious‟, so these terms are not synonymous. A 2008 study found that Oregon's largest religious group was Evangelical Protestant (30%) or Mainline Protestant (16%), followed by Catholic (14%), and Latter Day Saints (5%). This study also confirmed what other surveys have found, that Oregon has one of the highest percentages of religiously unaffiliated adults in the country: 27% unaffiliated in Oregon compared to 16% nationally [38]. On the face of it, therefore, the H/S/R self-identities of people entering prison in Oregon seem to differ from the general Oregon population in some respects (fewer unaffiliated and fewer Catholic), and not to differ in others (similar percentages of Protestant and Latter-day Saints). Figure 1. Humanist, Spiritual and Religious Affiliation at Prison Intake (N = 998). Christain/Protestant, 48% Catholic, 7% Native American, 7% Don’t' Know, 7% No Preference, 6% Other, 4% Latter Day Saints, 3% Earth Based, 3% Christian Science, 3% Jehovah Witness, 2% Seventh Day Adventist 2% Buddhist, 2% Islamic, 1% Agnostic, 1% Jewish, 1% Atheist, 1% Hindu, 1% Scientology, 1% New Age, 0.4% Confutionism, 0.3% Eastern Orthodox, 0.2% Hare Krishna/ISKON, 0.2% Other, 6% Religions 2011, 2 600 The H/S/R assessment at intake asked people how often they had attended a church, synagogue, mosque, sweat lodge etc. as a child, as a teenager, in the year prior to their arrest and in the year following their arrest. Figure 2 shows how the women and men responded to this question. We see a similar pattern for both men and women of high levels of attendance as a youth, with progressively falling levels of attendance up to the point of arrest, and then a dramatic increase in attendance following arrest. The pattern, however, is even more pronounced for the women than the men. The women (70%) and the men (68%) were equally likely to have attended some religious or spiritual group as a child, and as a teenager (48% for both). The women (23%), however, were less likely than the men (30%) to have attended in the year prior to their arrest, and more likely (66%) than the men (54%) to attend in the year after their arrest. Findings like these, together with the higher rate of women voluntarily taking the H/S/R assessment at the intake center, soon led us to conclude that we needed to consider men and women separately in every analysis as there are significant gender differences in H/S/R behaviors in prison. In many cases these gender differences of involvement mirror similar gender differences of H/S/R involvement in the general community. Figure 2. Religious/Spiritual Involvement (once a month or more) over Time for Females and Males (N = 772). 68% 48% 30% 54% 70% 48% 23% 66% 0% 10% 20% 30% 40% 50% 60% 70% 80% 90% 100% As a Child Teenager Year Before Arrest Since Arrest Male Female Research has shown that, in the general population in America, there is a similar drop in religious/spiritual attendance for most people from their childhood to their teen years. During their early adult years, however, as factors such as having children begin to come into play, their attendance level returns to a level that is higher than in their teen years but not quite as high as in their childhood years [39,40]. In other words, the normal pattern of religious attendance in the general population is similar to a U curve. For the offender population, however, the pattern seems to have more of an Religions 2011, 2 601 extended downward slope on the U, followed by a later upturn upon being arrested and entering jail or prison. Most likely, this delayed response is triggered by the fact that people, once arrested, tend to be in institutions or situations with more time on their hands, more control and structure in their lives, their basic needs met, and less interpersonal conflict and substance abuse opportunities in their day-to- day lives. In this new context questions of meaning emerge in a new way. The following quotes from two Oregon inmates, first from Elijah, a Muslim, and second from Wayne, a Christian, nicely capture the influence of living in a structured environment on the exploration of personal meaning and introspection: One of the things, when I was on the street before I came to prison, is that there was so much, so much goin‟ on in my life, between school, my wife; we had a child. I didn't really have time to really look inward. And I don't know if I want to say “I didn't have time.” I didn't take the time. And, I've been able to do that now a lot more. One of the things about prison is that you have time to look inward ([27], p. 243). I hadn't slowed down enough to do any readin‟ of the Bible or anything... You got a lot more time to just do nothing really. You either do something with your time when you're here or you don't... It [the Bible] is the only real thing that's here, as far as I'm concerned... My heart‟s not into goin‟ out and hurtin‟ people. My heart's not into goin‟ out and bullshitin‟ and tellin‟ lies, and just playin‟, tryin‟ to beef up myself to look better and good, and all this stuff ([27], p.248). From the foregoing self-report information, we knew that a sample of men and women at the point of intake into the Oregon prison system were reporting much increased levels of engagement in religious and spiritual practices after arrest. Now the task was to explore, in a longitudinal manner, the actual patterns of H/S/R engagement from the point of intake forward into the first year of prison. First, we tracked each person in the 2004 intake population to discover the first and subsequent months they chose to attend any H/S/R event during their first 12 months of incarceration. For most of the first month of their incarceration, our subjects were at the intake center, and there are no H/S/R events or services at the intake center for the men. The women, however, are allowed to attend H/S/R events at the women's prison because it is directly accessible from the intake center. To our surprise, we found that 80% of the women attended an H/S/R event during their first month of incarceration. The equivalent for the men was 32% (counting the first two months for the men). Just as we found a different pattern of self-reported religious involvement for the men and women in the year prior to and after their arrest, we found a different pattern of actual involvement for the men and women during their first year of incarceration. Figure 3 below shows the cumulative attendance rates over the first year for the men and the women. It is remarkable that by the third month, 91% of the women had attended at least one H/S/R service, and by the end of the year 95% of the women had attended. We do not know what the precise attendance level for these women was while they were in the community, but this level of attendance is probably higher than it would have been in the community. For the men, 49% had attended at least one H/S/R event by the third month, and 71% had attended by the end of the year; also a very high rate of attendance. The higher attendance rate among women mirrors a higher H/S/R attendance level and interest among women in the general US population [41]. In more than 49 countries around the world, Religions 2011, 2 602 studies have found a pattern of significantly higher interest in religion and spirituality among women compared to men [421]. Therefore, the higher pattern of involvement for women seems to be a consequence of gender and not of the prison context itself. The overall high levels of re- engagement for both the men and the women, however, seem to be a consequence of the prior arrest and prison context. Figure 3. Cumulative Attendance for Male (N = 3009) and Female (N = 349) Across Months of Incarceration. The fact that 95% of the women and 71% of the men, a very large percentage of the population, had attended at least one H/S/R event during their first year in prison raises the question of how often these men and women attended overall. We examined this question of “dosage” or level of attendance in two different ways. First, we checked to see the average percent of attendance each month for both the men and the women as a group. Figure 4 shows the average attendance rates by male and female for each of the 12 months of our study. For the women, the first two months have the highest average attendance rates, at 80% and 79%. In the third month this drops to 68%, and then gradually settles to about 58% of the women attending each month. For the men, once again, the pattern is different. Very few of the men could attend during the first month, so the average attendance is almost 0%. For the second month, the average attendance is 29%, and by the third month it settles into an average monthly attendance rate of about 33% of the population. This means that the prison chaplains in Oregon, with the help of their volunteers, are directly engaging a large proportion of the total male and female population every month. This finding, therefore, confirms an earlier finding across state prisons that religious programming is the single most common form of programming in state prisons [43]. Religions 2011, 2 603 Figure 4. Average Attendance for Male (N = 3009) and Female (N = 349) Across Months of Incarceration. We found some very interesting religious and gender differences when we examined the kind of religious or spiritual service that people were attending. Protestant services (basically meaning any non-Catholic religious services) were at the top with 60.7% of men and 92.8% of women attending at least one Protestant service. Next was Seventh Day Adventist with 14.5% of the men and 28.9% of the women attending at least one service. The next highest was Catholic with 11.2% of the men and 18.3% of the women attending at least once, followed by a Native American with 6.6% of the men and 23.2% of the women. The pattern is clear (see Table 2): women are much more likely than men to cross- attend numerous types of religious and spiritual services. Also of note is the order of the religious or spiritual groups by size of participation - Protestant, Seventh Day Adventist, Catholic, Native American, Jehovah Witness, Latter Day Saints, Buddhist, Muslim and Earth-based/New Age for the men, and Protestant, Seventh Day Adventist, Latter Day Saints, Native American, Buddhist, Catholic, Jehovah Witness, and Muslim for the women. Clearly, therefore, the Protestant/Christian group, which represents a vast variety of different Christian groups, is by far the dominant group in terms of attendance for both men and women. Next, we examined how often people were going to events. Figure 5 reveals, as expected, a different pattern of attendance by gender. A very large group of men (45%) never attend or only attend once or twice in their first year, compared to only 8% of the women. Compared to the men, women were 7 times more likely to have attended an H/S/R event at least once. The same percentage of men and women (21%) attend from 3 to 12 times a year (up to once a month), and thereafter the women engage at much higher rates. It is important to note that a sizable percentage of both the men (24%) Religions 2011, 2 604 and the women (49%) attend at levels that approach weekly or more than weekly attendance. There is no easy way of comparing these levels of weekly or more attendance for inmates to the attendance levels for the general population in Oregon. In 2007, however, 32% of Oregonians said they attended religious services at least weekly, and the combined national US average was 39% with 44% of women and 34% of men self-reporting at least weekly attendance [38]. So it seems that women in Oregon prisons may be attending at slightly higher levels than women in Oregon communities, and men in Oregon prisons are attending at slightly lower levels than men in the community. Table 2. Percent of Men and Women Attending Religious or Spiritual Groups. Religious or Spiritual group Male % Female % Protestant/Christian 60.7 92.8 Seventh Day Adventist 14.5 28.9 Catholic 11.2 18.3 Native American 6.6 23.2 Jehovah Witness 4.9 13.5 Latter Date Saints 3.2 24.4 Buddhist 2.1 19.8 Muslim 2.0 1.4 Earth-based or New Age 1.4 14.0 Figure 5. Levels of Attendance During The First Year of Incarceration by Male (N = 3009) and Female (N = 349). Religions 2011, 2 605 Table 3 shows the results of a linear regression analysis on total number of H/S/R attendances of any type by men. Six factors were included in the model: having a current sexual offence, age at intake, voluntarily taking a spiritual assessment at intake, risk of recidivism, non-Hispanic versus Hispanic identification, and gang membership. These six factors, in that order, were significant predictors of which men attended H/R/S events more often (R 2 = 0.111). The risk of recidivism score, which has been validated on Oregon inmates, ranges from 0 to 1. This score is automatically generated by the Department of Corrections at intake using a mathematical formula based on a person‟s score on the following seven risk factors: age, earned time, sentence length, prior revocation, number of prior incarcerations, prior theft convictions, and type of crime (person, property or statutory). Men who had committed a sex offence, who were older, who had voluntarily taken a spiritual assessment at the intake center, or who were Hispanic were significantly more likely to attend H/R/S events more often. On the other hand, men with a higher risk of recidivism and who were members of a gang were significantly less likely to attend more often. None of these six factors were predictors of how often the women attended H/S/R events, and we were unable to generate a meaningful model for the women using the variables available to us, perhaps because so many of the women are attending at high levels. Table 3. Linear Regression Model Predicting Number of Attendances. Unstandardized Coefficients Standardized Coefficients t Sig. B Std. Error Beta (Constant) 6.858 1.837 3.733 0.000 Current Sex Offence - (no = 0, yes = 1) 10.330 1.100 0.172 9.389 0.000 Age at intake 0.267 0.044 0.112 6.103 0.000 H/S/R assessment - (no = 0, yes = 1) 8.415 1.090 0.135 7.723 0.000 Risk of Recidivism -12.657 2.650 -0.091 -4.777 0.000 Non-Hispanic (0) versus Hispanic (1) 7.322 1.456 0.090 5.029 0.000 Gang Member - (no = 0, yes = 1) -6.748 1.377 -0.090 -4.901 0.000 Dependent Variable: Number of H/S/R attendances over a year; Model F (6 df) = 61.380, p < 0.0001; Model R 2 = 0.111 It helps to interpret the linear regression results from Table 3 if we remember the finding from Table 2 above, namely that the Protestant/Christian group is by far the dominant group in terms of attendance for both men and women. So, the linear regression findings are heavily influenced by the people who are attending Protestant/Christian services. If we specified a linear regression model on people attending just Protestant/Christian or just Seventh Day Adventist services (the top two groups for men) the model is basically the same except that Non-Hispanic/Hispanic drops out in favor of Non-White/White. So, Whites are more likely to attend Protestant/Christian are Seventh Day Adventist services more often, along with those who had a current sexual offense, are older, voluntarily take a H/S/R assessment at intake, have lower risks of recidivism, or are not a gang member. Hispanics, however, are more likely to attend Catholic services along with people who have a current sexual offense, and are not a member of a gang, but the risk of recidivism, the age and the H/S/R assessment variables drop out of the model. For Native American attendance, the picture looks very different; people who are Native American, who have higher risks of recidivism (not lower, as in the other Religions 2011, 2 606 religious groups) and who are not a member of a gang are more likely to attend more often (R 2 = 0.148), and the current sex offense, age and taking a H/S/R assessment at intake drop out of the model. Race and culture, therefore, have a big influence on who attends which religious or spiritual group, but in different ways for different groups. Similarly, having a current sexual offense, age, and risk of recidivism are important variables for attendance at most, but not all groups. The final analysis we did on our data set was to look at what the H/S/R assessment information might tell us about the subset of 684 men and 124 women who voluntarily took the assessment at the intake center. We have already shown that the mere fact of taking this assessment predicts who will attend religious and spiritual services more often. A linear regression analysis number of attendances using this subset of men and women produced some startling results. Table 4 below shows the factors that came into a model to predict number of attendances for this 648 male subset of our population. The first variable into the model is called "Intrinsic Score". This variable comes from a 20 question intrinsic/extrinsic religiosity/spirituality scale [44] that was embedded in the H/S/R assessment. The scale asks questions to determine if a person uses their religion or spirituality in a more internal/intrinsic manner to make meaning, or a more external/extrinsic manner to create a social life. For example, one extrinsic oriented question in the scale asks people to respond (I strongly disagree, I tend to disagree, I'm not sure, I tend to agree, I strongly agree) to the following statement "I go to church (synagogue, mosque, sweat lodge etc.) because it helps me to make friends. A more intrinsic oriented question asks people to respond in the same way to the statement "It is important to me to spend time in private thought and prayer”. The scale produces an “intrinsic” score and an “extrinsic” score. The fact that the intrinsic score is the first variable into the model indicates that men who are going more often are going for internal reasons of making meaning. In an earlier regression model which was significant but not as strong as the model we ended up with, the extrinsic score also came into the model with higher scores negatively predicting who would attend more often (R 2 = 0.262). The intrinsic and the extrinsic scores are not significantly correlated with each other for the men (they are weakly correlated for the women). The fact that both the intrinsic and extrinsic scores operate in this way shows that, contrary to often voiced sentiment, the men in the Oregon prison system who took a H/S/R assessment are attending services for largely internal, meaning driven reasons, and are not doing so to “get out of their cell”, “get some cookies and refreshments”, “to meet women volunteers” or “to hang out with and meet other inmates”. Interestingly, age at intake, having a current sexual offense and gang member still come into the model for this subset of men, but the risk of recidivism and the race variables drop out from the model. Furthermore, three other variables from the H/S/R assessment come into the model along with intrinsic score – attendance at a worship service in last six months, prayed with others in the last six months, and how important is religious or spirituality in your daily life now. The F (7 df) = 35.429 value for the model is very high and very significant (<0.0001) and the R 2 for the model is also very high at 0.290 (recall that R 2 for the model in Table 3 with the full population was much lower at 0.111). So this H/S/R assessment tells us a great deal about the people who take an H/S/R assessment, and their answers highly correlate with their future religious and spiritual behaviors in a meaningful way. Table 5 gives the equivalent linear regression findings for the women who completed an H/S/R assessment. You will recall that we were unable to find a meaningful linear regression model for the women that would predict who, among all the women in our study, would attend more often. So it is Religions 2011, 2 607 very interesting to see that we were able to find a meaningful model using the subset of women who voluntarily took the H/S/R assessment at intake. Table 5 shows that three variables helped to predict which women would attend more frequently (R 2 = 0.261). These included the importance of religion or spirituality in their daily life (at time of assessment), the more they listened to religious programs on television or radio in the previous six months, and race (non-Whites attended more often than Whites). Table 4. Linear Regression Model Predicting Number of Attendances for Men Who Took an H/S/R Assessment at Intake. Unstandardized Coefficients Standardized Coefficients t Sig. B Std. Error Beta (Constant) -48.986 6.210 -7.888 0.000 Intrinsic score 0.588 0.242 0.132 2.431 0.015 Attended a worship service in last six months (0 = never or a few times a year, 1 = about once a month, about once a week or more than once a week) 6.511 1.624 0.179 4.008 0.000 Age at intake 0.558 0.104 0.194 5.356 0.000 Current Sex Offence - (no = 0, yes = 1) 9.061 2.389 0.134 3.793 0.000 Prayed with others in last 6 months (0 = never, 1 = sometimes, 2 = often) 4.318 1.828 0.110 2.362 0.019 Importance of religion or spirituality in daily life now/at intake (0 = not important, 1 = a little important, 2 = important, 3 = very important) 3.842 1.749 0.114 2.197 0.028 Gang Member - (no = 0, yes = 1) -6.593 3.234 -0.074 -2.038 0.042 Dependent Variable: Number of H/S/R attendances over a year; Model F (7 df) = 35.429, p < 0.0001; Model R 2 = 0.290. Table 5. Linear Regression Model Predicting Number of Attendances for Women Who Took an H/S/R Assessment at Intake. Unstandardized Coefficients Standardized Coefficients t Sig. B Std. Error Beta (Constant) 3.788 11.624 0.326 0.745 Importance of religion or spirituality in daily life now (0 = not important, 1 = a little important, 2 = important, 3 = very important) 8.385 2.928 0.250 2.864 0.005 Listened to religious programs on TV or radio in last six months (0 = never, 1 = sometimes, 2 = often) 13.663 3.644 0.327 3.749 0.000 white non white -20.953 7.366 -0.237 -2.845 0.005 Dependent Variable: Number of H/S/R attendances over a year; Model F (3 df) = 12.601, p < 0.0001; Model R 2 = 0.261. Religions 2011, 2 608 Conclusions In this paper we argue that the correctional system in the United States needs to take the humanist, spiritual, and religious self-identities of inmates seriously, and do all it can to foster and support those self-identities, or ways of making meaning. The meta-analytic findings from the studies commissioned by the American Psychological Association, together with the findings from ethnographic and some recidivism studies in prison, suggest that H/S/R pathways to meaning may be an important part of the evidence-based principle of responsivity, as well as the desistance process. The sociology of the H/S/R involvement of 349 women and 3,009 men during the first year of their incarceration in the Oregon prison system, and the extended pro-social network of chaplains, other staff and volunteers uncovered by our study, reveal a diverse and widespread human, social and spiritual capital that is naturally supportive of H/S/R responsivity and the desistance process for thousands of men and women in prison. In our view it is in the best interest of a more humane, effective, and less costly correctional system, not only to foster this capital, but also to integrate it more closely into the programming and treatment aspects of the correctional process. References 1. Haley, A. The Autobiography of Malcolm X; First Ballantine Books Edition: New York, NY, USA, 1973. 2. Miller, W.R.; Baca, J.C.D. Quantum Change: When Epiphanies and Sudden Insights Transform Ordinary Lives; The Guilford Press: New York, NY, USA, 2001; p. 212. 3. Marable, M. Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention; Viking Adult: New York, NY, USA, 2011. 4. Colson, C. Born Again; Chosen Books: Grand Rapids, MI, USA, 1976. 5. Maruna, S.; Wilson, L.; Curran, K. Why god is often found behind bars: Prison conversions and the crisis of self-narrative. Res. Hum. Dev. 2006, 3, 161-184. 6. Clear, T.R.; Sumter, M.T. Prisoners, prison, and religion: Religion and adjustment to prison. J. Offender Rehabil. 2002, 35, 127-159. 7. Clear, T.R.; Stout, B.D.; Dammer, H.; Kelly, L.; Hardyman, P.; Shapiro, C. Prisoners, prisons, and religion: Final report; School of Criminal Justice, Rutgers University: New Brunswick, NJ, USA, 1992; pp. 1-108. 8. Dammer, H.R. Piety in Prison: An Ethnography of Religion in the Correctional Environment. Ph.D. dissertation, Rutgers The State University of New Jersey, Newark, NJ, USA, 1992. 9. Dammer, H.R. The reasons for religious involvement in the correctional environment. J. Offender Rehabil. 2002, 35, 35-58. 10. Sumter, M.T. Religiousness and Post-release Community Adjustment. Ph.D. Dissertation, Florida State University, Tallahassee, FL, USA, 1999. 11. Clear, T.R.; Hardyman, P.L.; Stout, B.; Lucken, K.; Dammer, H.R. The value of religion in prison: An inmate perspective. J. Contemp. Crim. Justice 2000, 16, 53-74. 12. Cullen, F.T.; Sundt, J.L.; Wozniac, J. The virtuous prison: Toward a restorative rehabilitation. In Comtemporary Issues in Crime and Justice: Essays in Honor of Gilbert Geis; Pontell, H., Shichor, D., Eds.; Prentice Hall: Saddle River, NJ, USA, 2000. Religions 2011, 2 609 13. Aos, S.; Miller, M.; Drake, E. Evidence-based Adult Corrections Programs: What Works and What Does Not; Washington State Institute for Public Policy, January 2006, p. 21. 14. Wilson, R.J.; Cortoni, F.; McWhinnie, A.J. Circles of support & accountability: A canadian national replication of outcome findings. Sex. Abuse J. Res. Treat. 2009, 21, 412-430. 15. Johnson, B.R. More God Less Crime: Why Faith Matters and How It Could Matter More; Templeton Press: West Conshohocken, PA, USA, 2011. 16. O'Connor, T.P.; Duncan, J.B. Religion and prison programming: The role, impact, and future direction of faith in correctional systems. Off. Prog. Rep. 2008, 11, 81-96. 17. Dodson, K.D.; Leann, N.; Klenowski, P.M. An Evidence-Based Assessment of Faith-Based Programs; Do Faith-Based Programs “Work” to Reduce Recidivism? J. Off. Rehab. 2011, 50, 367-383. 18. Bonta, J.; Andrews, D. Viewing offender assessment and rehabilitation through the lens of the risk-needs-responsivity model. In Offender Supervision: New Directions in Theory, Research and Practice; McNeill, F., Rayner, P., Trotter, C., Eds.; Willan Publishing: New York, NY, USA, 2010; pp. 19-40. 19. Norcross, J.C.; Wampold, B.E. What works for whom: Tailoring psychotherapy to the person. J. Clin. Psychol. 2010, 67, 127-132. 20. Worthington, E.L.; Hook, J.N.; Davis, D.E.; McDaniel, M.A. Religion and spirituality. J. Clin. Psychol. 2011, 67, 204-214. 21. Kosmin, B.A.; Keysar, A. American Religious Identification Survey (ARIS 2008): Summary Report; Trinity College: Hartford, CT, USA, 2009. 22. Zinnbauer, B.J.; Pargament, K.I.; Cole, B.; Rye, M.S.; Butter, E.M.; Belavich, T.G.; Hipp, K.M.; Scott, A.B.; Kadar, J.L. Religion and spirituality: Unfuzzying the fuzzy. J. Sci. Stud. Relig. 1997, 36, 549-564. 23. O'Connor, T.P.; Duncan, J.; Quillard, F. Criminology and religion: The shape of an authentic dialogue. Criminol. Publ. Pol. 2006, 5, 559-570. 24. Kaufman vs. McCaughtry. In US Court of Appeals, Seventh Circuit; Chicago, IL, USA, August 2005. 25. Taylor, C. A Secular Age; Harvard University Press: Cambridge, MA, USA, 2007. 26. Beckford, J.A.; Gilliat, S. Religion in Prison: Equal Rights in a Multi Faith Society; Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, UK, 1998. 27. McConnell, R.D. The penitentiary: Prison control and the genesis of prison religion, self-control in a total institution. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Virginia, Dillwyn, VA, USA, 2010. 28. Maruna, S. Making Good: How Ex-convicts Reform and Rebuild their Lives; American Psychological Association: Washington, DC, USA, 2001. 29. O'Connor, T.P. What works, religion as a correctional intervention: Part i. J. Community Correct. 2004, XIV, 11-22, 27. 30. O'Connor, T.P. What works, religion as a correctional intervention: Part ii. J. Community Correct. 2005, XIV, 4-6, 20-26. 31. O 'Connor, T.; Duncan, J.; Lazzari, S.; Lehr, J. Prisoners, Chaplains and Volunteers in Oregon: Diverse and Widespread Human, Social and Spiritual Capital for Desistance; American Society of Criminology: Washington, DC, USA, 2011. Religions 2011, 2 610 32. Oregon Department of Corrections Transitional Services Division: Religious Services. Available online: http://www.oregon.gov/DOC/TRANS/religious_services/rs_home_page.shtml (Accessed on 4 May 2011). 33. O'Connor, T.P.; Cayton, T.; Taylor, S.; McKenna, R.; Monroe, N. Home for good in oregon: A community, faith, and state re-entry partnership to increase restorative justice. Correct. Today 2004, 66, 72-77. 34. Maharishi Foundation USA. "Being" behind bars. In Enlightenment: The Transcendental Meditation Magazine; Maharishi Foundation: Fairfield, IA, USA, 2011. 35. Thigpen, M. Message from the Director: Service; National Institute of Corrections Newsletter: Washington, DC, USA, September 2011 36. O 'Connor, T.; Lehr, J.; Lazzari, S.; Duncan, J. Prison and Re-entry Volunteers: An Overlooked, Creative and Cost Effective Source of Human Capital for Desistance; American Society of Criminology: Washington, DC, USA, 2011. 37. Inside-Out Prison Exchange Program. Available online: http://www.insideoutcenter.org/ home.html (Accessed on 12 October 2011). 38. Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. U.S. Religious Landscape Survey—Religious Affiliation: Diverse and Dynamic; PEW Forum on Religion and Public Life: Washington, DC, USA, 2008. 39. O'Connor, T.P.; Hoge, D.; Alexander, E. The relative influence of youth and adult experiences on personal spirituality and church involvement. J. Sci. Stud. Relig. 2002, 41, 723-732. 40. Roozen, D.A. Church dropouts: Changing patterns of disengagement and re-entry. Rev. Relig. Res. 1980, 21, 427-450. 41. Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. U.S. Religious Landscape Survey: The Stronger Sex— Spiritually Speaking; PEW Forum on Religion and Public Life: Washington, DC, USA, 2008. 42. Stark, R. Physiology and faith: Addressing the "universal" gender differences in religious committment. J. Sci. Stud. Relig. 2002, 41, 495-507. 43. Beck, A.; Gilliard, D.; Greenfeld, L.; Harlow, C.; Hester, T.; Jankowski, L.; Snell, T.; Stephan, J.; Morton, D. Survey of State Prison Inmates, 1991; U.S. Department of Justice: Washington, DC, USA, 1993. 44. Gorsuch, R.; Venable, G. Development of an "age universal" i-e scale. J. Sci. Stud. Relig. 1983, 22, 181-187. © 2011 by the authors; licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/). 
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work_ktjje554c5httarn6kciytwndq	----	O2832c04.pmd Reenchanting Nature: Modern Western Shamanism and Nineteenth-Century Thought Kocku von Stuckrad Kocku von Stuckrad is a lecturer (Privatdozent) for religious studies at Bremen University, D-28334 Bremen, Germany. An earlier version of this article was presented at the Annual Meeting of the AAR in Boston in 1999. I owe much to the interesting discussions of the “mysticism” group there. In addition, spe- cial thanks go to Don Handelman (Jerusalem), Bron Taylor (Oshkosh, WI), Antoine Faivre (Paris), Roberte N. Hamayon (Paris), Jan N. Bremmer (Groningen), Michael York (Bath), Ulla Johansen (Cologne), Jörg Rüpke (Erfurt), Jonathan Horwitz (Copenhagen), Annette Høst (Copenhagen), and—last but not least—Hans G. Kippenberg (Bremen). All of them helped me a lot in clarifying my argument and escaping (at least) some of the major pitfalls. Journal of the American Academy of Religion December 2002, Vol. 70, No. 4, pp. 771–799. © 2002 The American Academy of Religion In the second half of the twentieth century there emerged in North America and Europe a complex phenomenon on the fringes of anthropology, sci- ence, and the so-called New Age that is often referred to as “neoshaman- ism.” Part of a larger discourse of nature-based spirituality, contemporary western shamanism is deeply rooted in European and North American history of thought. It can be analyzed in the light of a dialectic process of “disenchantment” and “resacralization” of the world. After having scru- tinized neoshamanic concepts of nature, the article discusses paradigmatic examples for the existence of currents that contest disenchantment and fight the tendency within modern western culture to desacralize nature. It is shown that the nineteenth century must be considered the forma- tive phase of contemporary neoshamanic nature discourse. DESACRALIZATION REVISITED IN A RECENT ARTICLE on “modernity,” Gustavo Benavides points to the fact that the increasing separation of sacred and material realms is a characteristic of modernity. Nonindustrial societies, in contrast, are marked 772 Journal of the American Academy of Religion by a concept that might be called a “symbolic, or perhaps more accurately a sacramental view of reality” (Benavides: 198), in which the universe is not seen as consisting of discrete domains but, rather, as more or less unified. In modern Europe this integrative concept stands in contrast to the separation of the sacred and the material: “The differentiation of do- mains that characterizes modernity made it in the long run impossible, or at least illegitimate, to engage in activities that mingled the increasingly distinct religious and material realms. But it is necessary to emphasize that the extrication of religion from the material world was, and still is, a con- tested process” (Benavides: 198).1 Benavides’s approach can be easily combined with Max Weber’s con- cept of disenchantment. The former correctly observes that modernity is characterized by a self-referential reflexivity, in which the domains of culture are disembedded and newly ordered. It is important to note that this did not entail the suspension of the “sacred” but, rather, the exist- ence of multiple modernities (Benavides: 189). Weber, for his part, in- terpreted the genesis of modernity as the result of a religious process. As is well known, he proposed that the disenchantment of the world pro- vided room for the subjective search for meaning and significance. In the introduction to his “Economic Ethic of the World Religions” We- ber argues that the unity of the “primitive image of the world, in which everything was concrete magic,” was transformed by modernity into a dichotomy or, rather, a dialectic of rational cognition and mastery of nature versus something Weber calls “mystic experiences”; and he con- cludes: “The inexpressible contents of such experiences remain the only possible ‘beyond,’ added to the mechanism of a world robbed of Gods” (from Gerth and Mills: 282). Weber was fully aware of the fact that the world’s disenchantment has always been challenged by mystic, intellec- tualized, or private religious reasoning (see Breuer). Today we are inclined to call this “esotericism” or “New Age religion,” but, as Hans G. Kippen- berg reminds us, “if we replace ‘fundamentalism’ by Weber’s ‘sect,’ or ‘New Age’ by Buber’s ‘mysticism,’ we suddenly rediscover a theory assum- ing a significance of certain religious traditions for inhabitants of the modern world” (2000: 240). The notion of a diachronic development of western attitudes toward nature is not new, of course. But it is usually not applied to the twentieth- century phenomenon called “neoshamanism,” which scholars often de- scribe in terms of degeneration, syncretism, capitalism, “instant religion,” or hybridity. In contrast, this article wants to show that modern western 1 As for the prehistory of this thesis, see Horton’s interesting remarks, especially in his 1967 ar- ticle, “African Traditional Thought and Western Science” (1993, reprint: 197–258). von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 773 shamanism, as I prefer to call it, can be understood as a specific counter- reaction to modern tendencies toward the exclusion or sublimation of the “sacred” (whatever that might be). Being part and parcel of a specific re- ligious reaction to modernity, it carries on philosophical and religious concepts that have long been a current of western Geistesgeschichte. SHAMANISMS OLD AND NEW Shamanism has fascinated European and North American culture for the past 300 years. The first who brought news from the vast steppes of northern Eurasia to the West, along with stories describing exotic rituals, were missionaries, traders, and travelers. During the eighteenth century there already had developed a more or less fixed image of “shamanism” as a specific type of religion. For most enlighteners the shaman was a model for irrational behavior (here, we come across the “disenchantment fron- tier”), and Catherine the Great even wrote a comedy entitled Der sibirische Schaman, ein Lustspiel (1786), in which she tries to ridicule shamanism and lead her subjects to a new age of enlightenment. But this was only one side of the coin, and the counterreaction was soon to emerge.2 For quite a few European enlighteners—among them J. G. Herder, W. von Goethe, and Victor Hugo—the shaman was a religious virtuoso, a re- minder of those ancient ecstatics and artists who were able to transgress ordinary reality by means of music and poetry. The most prominent fig- ure in this European imagination was Orpheus (see Flaherty). Roberte N. Hamayon (1998: 179–181) has labeled the three-step his- tory of approaches to the shaman’s behavior during the past 300 years devilization, medicalization, and idealization. Although there surely exist examples for such a process, this description obscures the fact that west- ern attitudes toward shamanism have been ambivalent from the begin- ning. Hence, Karl-Heinz Kohl’s notion of “refutation and desire” (1987, see also 1981) seems more suitable for understanding the characteristics of modernity’s appropriation of the shaman. Descriptions of shamanism always carried with them an element of fascination that was made explicit when Mircea Eliade in 1951 put forth his new construction of the sha- man as a trance specialist (Noel: 26–41; see also Hamayon 1993, 1998, with a refutation of Hultkrantz’s famous definition). Now, shamanism ap- peared as a kind of anthropological constant, an ensemble of religious practices and doctrines that enabled certain socially discernible persons to interrelate with spiritual entities on behalf of their community. Eliade 2 As McMahon has shown, the counterreaction was indeed an integral part of enlightenment itself. 774 Journal of the American Academy of Religion must be addressed as the major “turntable” between nineteenth-century intellectual discourse and the popular appropriation of shamanism in the second half of the twentieth century. The problems connected to definitions of shamanism, to exploration and mythmaking, are enormous. But they are not the primary issue of this article.3 They only provide the background of my approach that deals with the new appreciation of shamanism in modern western culture. It was in the 1960s that the shamanic discourse in North America made a decisive step in a new direction when the so-called New Age movement discov- ered shamanism and made it a major reference tool for its worldview.4 Inspired by Mircea Eliade, C. G. Jung, and Joseph Campbell, the shaman became an indication of a new understanding of humanity’s relation to nature, of man’s ability to access spiritual levels of reality, and of leading a respectful life toward the “sacred web of creation.” Henceforth, shaman- ism was no longer regarded as a spiritual path limited only to “classical shamanic cultures.” Instead, by substituting the western positivistic and mechanistic attitude toward reality and nature with a holistic or vitalist one, shamanism was considered available to everyone—even to those in urban contexts that are estranged from nature. From this situation a phenomenon emerged that is called “neo- shamanism” by most scholars. Because of its biased tone, practitioners usually do not feel very comfortable with this label. As Annette Høst (2001) argues, “modern western shamanism” (or, for her part, even “modern European shamanism”) would be much more appropriate. I agree with this argument. Despite its complexity, several characteristics of the phenomenon are discernible: 1. Starting with the seminal work of Carlos Castaneda, the populariza- tion of academic knowledge became an important feature of modern western shamanism. Most major shamanic protagonists hold a degree in anthropology (e.g., Castaneda, Michael Harner, Joan Halifax, Nevill Drury, Steven Foster, Jonathan Horwitz, Felicitas Goodman, Gala Naumova) and try to combine this education with a spiritual practice outside the academia. Furthermore, what can be called the “interfer- ence” between academic research and religious practicing entailed a 3 A good survey of previous works is presented in Siikala and Hoppál. For a critical evaluation, see Taussig, Hutton, and also (although his introduction of Merlin as shaman seems strange to me) Noel. 4 Throughout this article I use the term discourse to describe a complex situation that is charac- terized by conscious and unconscious negotiations, power relations (in the Foucauldian sense), and debates applied to all levels of social action. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 775 transformation of “classical, indigenous shamanism” (if there is such), when native people began to read ethnographic accounts and reacted to anthropological systematization (see Atkinson: 322–23; Vitebsky). 2. From both religious and sociological points of view, modern western shamanism has a lot in common with neopagan groups (see York). Many features of Native American traditions or Celtic and North European religions, along with Wiccan chants and natural magic’s ritualizing, form the spiritual background of neoshamanic ritual prac- tice. For instance, Høst, of the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Stud- ies, includes in her shamanic workshops divination and trance rituals adopted from northern European pagan tradition (such as seidr ; see Høst 1997; Lindquist: 122–183; cf. Pike: 211). 3. Modern western shamanism is closely related to western concepts of nature and religion, which were newly appreciated within the New Age scene. Although with regard to New Age in general this longue durée has been recognized at least by some scholars (see especially Hanegraaff and now also Hammer), in the case of shamanism most interpreta- tions fail to recognize this important aspect.5 4. Comparing it with indigenous shamanisms, it is noteworthy that modern western shamanism—at least in its more New Age emphasis (Hammer: 136–139)—tends to deny the reality of intrinsically nefari- ous spirits. Furthermore, it is oriented toward personal and spiritual empowerment among practitioners. Hence, the role of the community is of less importance than it is in shamanism’s more traditional context. But despite these points of comparison (and contrary to Hammer’s oversimplification), Piers Vitebsky’s remarks are certainly correct: It is no longer possible to make a watertight distinction between “tradi- tional” shamanistic societies (a mainstay of the old ethnographic litera- ture and of comparative religion), and the new wave of neo-shamanist movements (still barely studied in depth). . . . [T]he shamanic revival is now reappearing in the present of some of these remote tribes—only now these are neither remote nor tribal. (184) As can be seen from this short list of characteristics, the neoshamanic “scene” is a cultic milieu of its own (see Kürti), with several points of 5 There are two monographs dealing extensively with (European) neoshamanism (Jakobsen; Lindquist). Although both are valuable contributions, they do not offer a historical explanation; fur- thermore, Jakobsen’s analysis is distorted by a preconceived attitude toward her “object,” Jonathan Horwitz, of the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies, who did not authorize her account (con- trasting Lindquist’s). Another illuminating source is Cruden 1995. Most shorter academic contri- butions concentrate on the question of neoshamanism’s authenticity and a comparison with “real” shamanism. 776 Journal of the American Academy of Religion overlap with both contemporary western paganism and New Age currents. Nevertheless, it is advisable to discern between modern western shaman- ism in its wider and its narrower senses. For the latter, Carlos Castaneda’s books are of paramount importance. Another major figure in this regard is anthropologist and practitioner Michael Harner, who coined the term core shamanism, which is a simple indicator of some basic shamanic char- acteristics found—as Harner argues—in a variety of traditional settings. Michael J. Harner and the Foundation for Shamanic Studies In 1979, Michael J. Harner, who had earned his Ph.D. in anthropology at the University of California, Berkeley, founded the Center for Shamanic Studies. Having resigned his professorship—at Columbia, Yale, Berkeley, and the New School for Social Research in New York—Harner renamed this nonprofit organization in 1987 the Foundation for Shamanic Studies (FSS). Subsequently, an international network was established in order to secure the quality of the teaching, to enable grassroots work, and to distrib- ute literature, music, and shamanic paraphernalia. Today, the FSS is present in industrialized countries around the world, but its major branches are located in North America and Europe. The constitutional aims of the foun- dation are threefold: preservation of shamanic cultures and wisdom around the world, study of the original shamanic peoples and their traditions, and teaching shamanic knowledge for the benefit of the earth (Uccusic: 269– 273). This last point in particular has raised some dispute because the FSS even offers scholarships to natives to regain their own shamanic heritage. Doubtlessly, the FSS is a kind of “center of gravity” for contemporary shamanic discourse. Several other groups have adopted the “core shaman- ism” constructed by Harner and organize their course programs in a simi- lar way. For Europe, the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies, which is run by Jonathan Horwitz (who had been collaborating with Harner for over ten years) and Annette Høst, has gained particular influence. If one reviews the spiritual practices of modern western shamanism within the FSS and related groups, several crucial features are to be mentioned:6 The first step—and, therefore, the obligatory basic course’s content—is to learn the shamanic journey. By beating a large frame drum, an altered state of consciousness (not necessarily a trance) is induced, enabling the par- ticipants to send consciousness’s focus through an entrance from this— visible—reality into the lower or upper world. There, they meet their power 6 Basic for the following are Drury, Uccusic, Harner, and Cowan. For a scholarly perspective, see Jakobsen and Lindquist. Lindquist’s dissertation includes detailed descriptions of the seminary’s activities and biographical notes about the participants. It is worth noting that the “constructions” of shamanic biographies converge to a high degree with the results of Stenger’s study. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 777 animals, which subsequently are addressed as their most important help- ers and teachers. Later, when the power animal is performed by song and dance—now the rattle is the primary instrument—the alliance between the shaman and the respective spiritual entity is further deepened. During their journey to the lower or upper world the practitioners encounter more personal helping spirits and teachers who later stand beside them when they make journeys for other people. For those clients, the shamanizing person looks for either a power animal or a helping spirit offering its advice for the respective problem. Those entities are then blown into the client’s chest or forehead. The ability to journey shamanically and the deep contact with helpers from the “other world” are essential propositions for the neoshamanic work that can be called therapeutic.7 One possible aim is to retrieve soul parts that had been lost by trauma and so forth (cf. Ingerman 1991, 1993). On other occasions bodily, mental, or spiritual illnesses are “sucked out” of the client. A journey can also be carried out in order to ask for help in “the other world.” The accompaniment of dying persons before and after death also is an important field of neoshamanic practice. Finally, the topic of deep ecol- ogy or spiritual ecology has gained growing attention in the last decade. This work includes not only communication with plants, stones, or other enti- ties that the animistic worldview considers to be alive but also healing work for energetically disturbed places or even the whole planet (see below). In addition, adaptations of indigenous traditions by Westerners are related to the neoshamanic movement. A broad reception of Vision Quests, the Sun Dance, and other religious features of the Native Americans has taken place, mostly in the United States and Canada (see, among many others, Andrews [cf. Drury: 87–92]; Foster and Little; Meadows; Moon- dance; Tedlock and Tedlock; Wall; Wesselman). People in Europe, for their part, have tried to bind their practice of shamanism to old Celtic semantics (Cowan; Cruden 1998; Jones; MacEowen; cf. the seidr ritual above). So, after having sketched the background and main characteristics of shamanic ac- tivities within modern western culture, I now turn to the issue of nature, which demonstrably is a key to understanding contemporary shamanic discourse and locating it in a long-standing tradition. CONCEPTS OF NATURE IN NEOSHAMANISM The central leitmotiv of contemporary western shamanism is nature. This by all means deserves an explanation, for in most of the older eth- 7 The following examples are chosen from the 1998–99 program of the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies in Copenhagen. 778 Journal of the American Academy of Religion nographies dealing with indigenous shamanism no specific concept of “nature” occurs. It even seems difficult to transfer this western term to cultures that do not have such a word in the first place. It was only re- cently that people from an indigenous background began to explain their shamanism with regard to their specific relationship to nature or envi- ronmental consciousness (see, e.g., Schlehe and Weber: 113–114; Vitebsky: 185–193). My central thesis is that the concept of nature prominent in neoshamanic discourse is a direct successor of western mysticism and philosophy of na- ture, whose relevant currents of thought had their “high time” (roughly) in antiquity, during the Renaissance, and in nineteenth-century German idealism (Böhme gives a good overview; see also Faivre and Zimmermann). The early-twentieth-century “rebirth” of Naturphilosophie and the so-called New Age science, for their part, owe a lot to romantic metaphysics and tran- scendentalism. To illuminate those traditions, I shall first describe some important features of modern western shamanism’s attitudes toward na- ture. After that I shall compare them with Schelling’s philosophy of nature and the romantic pantheistic discourses, including the American transcen- dentalist view of nature. At this point, one may ask what the contemporary American (and even the European) shamanic discourse has to do with German discus- sions between 1800 and 1850. Are those authors really exempla in the way Jonathan Z. Smith (xi–xii) describes them, or is this an arbitrary lineage of thought? In order to justify this construction of lineages, three points should not be forgotten: First of all, the image of the shaman as a religious specialist for the “other world,” for nature and art, is the product of European imagination as early as the eighteenth century. Second, there are intrinsic continuities, reaching from the nineteenth- century philosophy of nature to contemporary deep ecology, process philosophy, and shamanic discourse in Europe and North America. Often, these continuities are made explicit, for instance, when contem- porary authors “rediscover” the philosophy of Schelling and others, when authors such as Morris Berman refer to older esoteric traditions, or when modern shamans such as Jonathan Horwitz quote Hermann Hesse, who overtly sees himself in a romantic lineage (see n. 11). Third, Euro-America forms an inseparable field of discourse—although this does not mean that an Emerson would have been possible in France or Germany—in a way of mutual dependence and reference. When con- temporary environmentalists refer to Aldo Leopold and Thoreau, they implicitly react to Emerson’s appropriation of the discussions at Jena University around 1800. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 779 Animism and the Feeling of Connectedness In contemporary religious studies and cultural anthropology the term animism has a bad reputation. The HarperCollins Dictionary of Religion, for instance, calls animism “an obsolete term” that “should be used with caution” (51 ff.). That is because after E. B. Tylor had coined the term some people—quite against Tylor’s intention8—used it pejoratively to mean a primitive state of religious evolution, which had not yet reached the higher state of a personal god. In both neopagan and neoshamanic self- descriptions, though, there is no sign of such a negative connotation. Quite the contrary, animism in most cases affirmatively stands for the proposition that everything is alive and animated—even stones, rivers, and other allegedly “dead objects.” Nevill Drury puts it directly: “Shaman- ism is really applied animism, or animism in practice” (5). And Jonathan Horwitz clarifies: “Animism for the animist is not a belief: it is the way life is experienced. All objects do contain a life essence of their own, and as such do also contain power” (1999: 220). Indeed, the relation is so strong that sometimes the two concepts seem to converge, as becomes obvious in Horwitz’s statement: “The word shamanism has become over- used and really very over-worked. A lot of the time when people say ‘sha- manistic,’ they actually mean animistic—a perception of the world as it truly is, with all things alive and in connection. ‘Animism’ is the aware- ness of our connection to the world that is the foundation of the practice of shamanism. These two things are inseparable” (1995: 7). The shamanic journey is designed as a means to communicate with those layers of reality that are not accessible in normal states of conscious- ness. Considering all things alive, the shaman tries to learn the language of different entities, and in nonordinary reality she or he is able to talk to them in order to get advice or help. It is this communicative aspect that Joan Halifax has in mind when she says, “The sacred languages used dur- ing ceremony or evoked in various states of consciousness outside cul- ture (if we are Westerners) can move teller, singer, and listener out of the habitual patterns of perception. Indeed, speaking in the tongues of sea and stone, bird and beast, or moving beyond language itself is a form of per- ceptual healing” (92). Beginning with the 1960s, there were increased discussions concern- ing the sacred dimensions of nature that entailed both participation 8 We must not forget that Tylor’s primary concern was to show the simultaneous existence of “primitive” and “civilized” components in modern culture (see Kippenberg 1997: 80–98). Note also that the term was newly applied by contemporary scholars, for example, by Robin Horton. 780 Journal of the American Academy of Religion through man’s awareness and protection through environmental efforts (for an excellent survey, see Taylor 2001a, 2001b). In this context, the adaptation of Buddhist philosophy—like that being studied in the Esalen Institute in California—was a driving force. At times, the various lines of tradition come together in single persons. One example would be Joan Halifax; another one would be the famous poet and activist Gary Snyder, who spoke of himself as “Buddhist-Animist.” Snyder also was involved in the radical environmentalist movement Earth First! (Devall and Ses- sions; Taylor 1994, 1995). Hence, the animistic attitude is by no means restricted to neoshamanic circles. Instead, it is part of a larger flow of the sacralization of nature—Naturfrömmigkeit—which spread from North America to Europe during the last two decades. From this per- spective, shamanism can be addressed as a kind of ritualized way of experiencing nature. Snyder says that “the practice of shamanism in it- self has at its very center a teaching from the non-human, not a teach- ing from an Indian medicine man, or a Buddhist master. The question of culture does not enter into it. It’s a naked experience that some people have out there in the woods” (in Grewe-Volpp: 141).9 On another occa- sion Snyder assures us that poetry and song are among “the few modes of speech . . . that [provide] access to that other yogic or shamanistic view (in which all is one and all is many, and many are all precious)” (13–14).10 The shamanic journey can help put mystic experiences, for instance, on wilderness trips, into a ritualized form that not only conceptualizes the experience but also gives evidence and coherence to it. By means of this framing, those experiences are controllable and repeatable. Using the name of a famous environmentalist ritual, each neoshamanic workshop can be considered a council of all beings (Seed et al.). People be- lieve that, along with the workshop’s participants, there are present their helping spirits, their teachers, the entities of the place, and spiritual beings from different cosmic dimensions. To make those relationships known and open to experience is an important goal of neoshamanic courses. If animism is shamanism’s dominant religious feature, it will come with no surprise that the connectedness of all living creatures is also pre- dominant in modern western shamanism. Jonathan Horwitz, for instance, explicitly states that “an essential aspect of Shamanism is that we are all 9 Grewe-Volpp’s chapter “The Poet as Shaman” (141–143) unfortunately is entirely dependent on Eliadian interpretation. Note that Snyder’s proposition represents the neoshamanic conviction that an “indigenous” background is not necessary for shamanic practicing. 10 This fits Snyder’s proposition that communication with nonhuman species is realized not by normal speech but through song: “They don’t talk to you directly, but you hear a different song in your head” (in Taylor 1995: 113). von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 781 connected. When I say ‘we,’ I am not just including human beings, but human beings being connected to ants, to creatures at the bottom of the sea, to the stars, to dirt—to everything. This is an essential concept in shamanism, as it is in Buddhism” (in Brown: 16). Nancy Wood puts this impression into poetic language: All is a circle within me, I am ten thousand winters old. I am as young as a newborn flower. I am a buffalo in its grave. I am a tree in bloom. All is a circle within me. I have seen the world through an eagle’s eye. I have seen it from a gopher’s hole. I have seen the world on fire And the sky without a moon. All is a circle within me. I have gone into the earth and out again. I have gone to the edge of the sky. Now all is at peace within me, Now all has a place to come home. (in Halifax: 137–138) From this perspective, shamanism is a way—or maybe just a technique— to reach a mystical state of interconnectedness, a spiritual path to unio mystica. Horwitz has already pointed at Buddhism as a closely related tra- dition. This is emphasized by Halifax: Originally, I understood interconnectedness in terms of the Buddhist notion of pratityasamutpada, or conditioned co-arising, which says that everything that occurs is conditioned by and conditions everything else. As my meditation practice continued and I spent more time in the wil- derness, I began to feel that all creation shares a common skin. . . . I have for years felt strongly that it is important for us to discover directly this ground of reality, this web of mutuality. The experience of intercon- nectedness, however one might come to discover it, changes how we perceive the world. (138) It is not my intention to judge whether this perception of Buddhism or even shamanic tradition is “correct” from an academic point of view. What I try to illuminate is the longue durée of mystical perceptions of nature and its metaphysical implications. Poetry and science in a roman- tic context conceptualized nature in the same manner.11 What is more, 11 Another work of art illuminating this continuation into the twentieth century would be Hermann Hesse’s poem “Manchmal,” written in September 1904. Interestingly enough, this poem was chosen by Jonathan Horwitz and Annette Høst as a motto for their 1998–99 workshop program. 782 Journal of the American Academy of Religion already in nineteenth-century discourse Buddhism was blended into this matrix of alternative non-Christian religion.12 In all neoshamanic activities the dimension of artistic expression plays a decisive role. This becomes obvious when one looks at the courses of- fered at the Scandinavian Center for Shamanic Studies, such as “Shamanic Singing,” “Dancing with the Spirits,” and “Shamanism and Healing Art.” For the latter the following description is given: Shamans have always used artistic expression to make their experiences in the spirit world visible in this reality, to make power objects to help them in their healing work, and to strengthen their ties with their Spirit- helpers. On this course participants will work creatively and practically within a shamanic framework, expressing the experiences of the journey through painting, poetry, decoration, dance, and song. Participants will learn how to let power from the spirit world take form in the material world, how to put spirit power into power objects, and how to use them in their work. (autumn and winter 1998–99 program) Given the strong impact of animism and the feeling of connectedness, it is but one step to the notion expounded by “New Age science” that the earth is a living being. This notion was formulated by James Lovelock in his “Gaia hypothesis” and carried on by David Bohm, David Peat, Ilya Prigogine, Rupert Sheldrake, Fritjof Capra, and Ken Wilber, among oth- ers (see Hanegraaff: 62–76, 113–181). Today it is often discussed under the heading of deep ecology. To this I shall now turn. Deep Ecology The concepts of radical bioethics and deep ecology contribute signifi- cantly to modern western shamanism’s attitude toward nature. They bind spiritual practice to a comprehensive philosophical theory and offer rea- soning that is in turn able to secure the spiritual field. The term deep ecology was introduced in 1972 by the Norwegian analytic philosopher Arne Naess to denote a concept that radically attacks the anthropocentric orientation of contemporary ethics and politics (see also Devall and Sessions). The philosophical discourses about pantheism, panpsychism, ethical natural- ism, natural teleology, and the like soon left the academic field, meander- ing through the wide ranges of neopaganism and modern esotericism. As in the nineteenth century, biocentric views became a question of experi- ence, poetry, and religion, rather than philosophical argument and con- clusion. Dieter Birnbacher hints at the fact that “similar to the Romantic Naturphilosophie philosophy itself becomes part of the claimed process, the 12 On the renaissance of orientalism in the nineteenth-century academia and public, see Halbfass and Kippenberg 1997: 44–51. From a critical perspective, see also Asad. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 783 process of the holistic, i.e. no longer exclusively rational realization of the individual self ” (9).13 Thus, theory and practice are but two sides of the same coin. With regard to shamanism this becomes evident when one considers Jonathan Horwitz’s course bearing the title “Shamanic Healing and Spiritual Ecol- ogy” (summer 1998). It is described as follows: “Much of the course time will be spent connecting with the spirits of the stones and trees, the Moon and Sun, the wind and the rivers, and the creatures of the Earth. We will learn again from them to respect and work together with the Earth on a deep spiritual—and practical—level for our common continuation and growth.” Holism’s assumption that earth and cosmos are a living web of interre- lated parts finds its parallel in the research of deep ecology. Deep ecology, or spiritual ecology, tries to cope with the scientific impression that the world’s ecosystems seem to be connected in a way that cannot be explained by simple causal patterns. Instead, it induces metaphysical explanations (see Goodenough as an example). The shamanic model for interpreting real- ity—at least according to those authors’ view—can be seen as an appropri- ate rationalization of ecology’s otherwise paradoxical results. In a recent publication entitled “Shamanic Science” Franz-Theo Gottwald (from the Schweisfurth-Stiftung in Munich) assumes: “Formerly the empirical basis consisted of information about reality that met the standard of classical scientific empirical models. In contrast to this, the comparative view on shamanism and the axioms of deep ecology tries—by drawing on the whole spectrum of human perception and consciousness—to understand reality in a holistic manner” (Gottwald and Rätsch: 23).14 Within the neoshamanic spectrum this correlation already is an inte- gral component of common discourse, as can best be seen in Halifax’s statement: Like Buddhism and shamanism, deep ecology is centered on questioning and directly understanding our place from within the web of creation. All three of these practices—Buddhism, shamanism, and deep ecology—are based on the experience of engagement and the mystery of participation. Rooted in the practice and art of compassion, they move from speculation to revelation through the body of actual experience. (xxx) 13 From “Vorbemerkung” (Birnbacher). For a critical evaluation of deep ecology, see Katz, Light, and Rothenberg. 14 From “Hören, Wissen, Handeln—Schamanische und tiefenökologische Anregungen für eine konviviale Wissenschaft” (Gottwald and Rätsch). The New Science series of the publisher Eugen Diederichs has a tradition of its own, reaching back into the first decades of the twentieth century (see Hübinger). 784 Journal of the American Academy of Religion But one thing strikes the historically educated observer: Whereas the con- vergence of religious semantics and certain scientific theories (often chosen eclectically) is a well-known topos in literature of neoshamanic provenance, there is a considerable lack of acquaintance with the historical forerunners of those concepts, especially with the theories of philosophia naturalis. The academic study of religion, though, will lay special emphasis on this con- textualization. Hence, the rest of this article is devoted to exactly that pur- pose. I shall discuss paradigmatic examples for the existence of currents that contest disenchantment and fight the tendency within modern western culture to desacralize nature. It will be shown that the nineteenth century must be addressed as the formative phase of neoshamanic nature discourse. CONCEPTS OF NATURE IN NINETEENTH-CENTURY THOUGHT Making use of Antoine Faivre’s research into western esotericism, Wouter J. Hanegraaff has noted that “New Age science” is related to the field of philosophia naturalis, rather than to the scientific: “Naturphilo- sophie is not a secular but a religious philosophy, whether or not its de- fenders try to present it as such” (65).15 Hanegraaff ’s observation that the new paradigm should be studied in terms of philosophy and religion can be taken as a reasonable point of departure for analyzing contemporary shamanism. In this regard, it is the tradition of the philosophy of nature that is of crucial importance. I shall not attempt to scrutinize this topic in detail. Instead, I select from a huge field of thought traditions the seminal philosophy of Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling (1775–1854) and trace its impact on the roman- tic sacralization of nature, focusing especially on Novalis and the Ameri- can transcendentalists. Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling About Schelling’s work, Wolfdietrich Schmied-Kowarzik succinctly notes: “There is no comparable philosophy of nature until today that matches this project” (1989: 244). Indeed, Schelling’s influence has been enormous. As we face current global ecological crises, his concept of a living nature not dichotomously separated from man has been newly discovered in the late twentieth century, both in Europe and in North America (see Bowie; Esposito: 186–244; Schmied-Kowarzik 1996). Two aspects that appear to be of paramount importance for contemporary 15 As to the six characteristics of the esoteric “worldview” proposed by Faivre, see Faivre: 10–15. von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 785 shamanic speculation will be described here—the conceptualization of nature as a lively process and the role of empathy for nature’s cognition. Schelling, the colleague of Fichte, Hölderlin, and Hegel, strove from the beginning to overcome the difference between the idea of ontological substance and transcendental philosophy. What does that mean? Tran- scendental philosophy asks for the conditions of cognition of nature and, consequently, considers the perceiving subject, the active consciousness, as the uniting factor. In contrast, Naturphilosophie asks ontologically for the uniting factor within active nature itself, thus considering nature to be the productive power of its evolution. In his Erster Entwurf eines Sys- tems der Naturphilosophie (1799) Schelling assumes: “So it is not that we know nature, but nature is a priori, i.e. every single part in it is determined in advance by the whole or just the idea of nature. But if nature is a priori, it must be possible to know it as something a priori” (3: 279). Nature as an active category can only be recognized by transcending its single products—the material world—and looking behind the process of its evolution. As Schelling defines, “Nature as a mere product (natura naturata) we call nature as object (at this aims every empiricism). Nature as productivity (natura naturans) we call nature as subject (at this aims every theory)” (3: 284). The intention of Naturphilosophie, therefore, is to find out how nature brings forth its materially given products. The term natura naturans, first introduced by Aristotle and elaborated by Ibn Rushd, Albert Magnus, Thomas Aquinas, and Roger Bacon in high scholasticism, des- ignates the aspect of a “living becoming.” It contrasts with the study of dead being. The generated, material objects are of importance only inso- far as they allow conclusions about the principles of “becoming” that lie beneath them. Hence, Schelling argues against a mechanistic concept of nature that is limited to empiricism and for an organicistic model that resembles the modern philosophy of life. Schelling goes on to explain that if nature were characterized by pro- ductivity alone, then there would be an endless evolution without plan and form. This chaotic evolution must be regulated by a driving force within nature itself, not from outside. He assumes that “basically, na- ture must become an object for itself. This transformation from a pure subject into a self-object is unthinkable without a primordial polariza- tion in nature” (3: 288). But this is not the final result of Schelling’s ar- gument. He describes a synthesis of that polarization on a higher level: “It is simply impossible to think of the stability of a product without thinking of its continuous reproduction. The product is to be considered as being destroyed in every moment, and being reproduced in every mo- ment. What we see is not the product’s stability but its continuous re- production” (3: 289). 786 Journal of the American Academy of Religion In addition to this metaphysical and ontological approach it is impor- tant to note that, in contrast to Kant’s contention that the only authority for judging nature lies in the observing subject, Schelling conceptualizes nature as an independent and self-organized entity that can be known by any human with an empathetic and open mind (see Schmied-Kowarzik 1996: 37–94). In so doing, Schelling overcomes the crucial Cartesian di- chotomy of res extensa (extended matter) and res cogita (thinking). In contrast to Fichte, who sees nature as a dead object, Schelling holds the position that the dichotomy of humans and nature has to come to an end. It sounds rather modern when he says—in his Darlegung des wahren Verhältnisses der Naturphilosophie zu der verbesserten Fichteschen Lehre— that his time is the time “that makes the I-ness [Ichheit] the principle of philosophy”; it is the time that theoretically reduces nature to a “mere mechanism” (7: 102 ff.) and practically forces nature under humankind’s interests that do not shrink from nature’s destruction—“because as long as nature serves man’s needs, it will be killed” (7: 18). Against the total destruction of nature and humankind through thought- less monopolization of the subject, Schelling’s philosophia naturalis holds the principle of empathy and connectedness. This opinion grew stronger in his later works after 1804. A good example is the following quotation: Not life of nature itself, and not your own original sense is locked up; the inner death of your own mind and heart locks you out of both. The real seeing of the living, though, cannot be recognized through that stupid and arrogant passing over those things. What is needed, is a trait of inner love and familiarity of your own mind with nature’s liveliness, a quiet, deep-reaching composure of the mind that transforms the mere sensual perception into a sensible one. (Schelling, 7: 62) It is exactly this attitude toward life and nature that makes Schelling a very modern author, at least with regard to deep ecology and shamanism. Novalis and Romantic Pantheism The roots of modern western shamanism are to be found in the nine- teenth century’s philosophy of nature and pantheism, which for their part built on concepts that had been present in Europe from the time of the Renaissance. Under the influence of Schelling and the newly adopted mysticism of Baruch de Spinoza in nineteenth-century thought, German thinkers tried to maintain the Hermetic concept that nature is in itself divine. In 1822, at the founding assembly of the Association of German Scholars of Nature and Physicists (Gesellschaft deutscher Naturforscher und Ärzte), Carl Gustav Carus defined Naturphilosophie as “the Science von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 787 of God’s eternal metamorphosis into the world” (see Gladigow: 220–221).16 In this perspective everything is connected, everything carries deeper meaning, everything mirrors the world’s holiness. The dominant terms for this discussion are holism, or monism, and hylozoism (Gladigow: 219– 221). Hence, Ken Wilber—one of the prominent contemporary holis- tic thinkers—is wrong when he too simply contrasts “modern science” and “premodern religion” (see, e.g., chap. 2). It is the mutual depen- dence of both that characterized nineteenth- and twentieth-century holistic discourses. This leads me to the second important term for my argument—pan- theism. Though this concept is already dominant with Spinoza, its career can be traced from John Toland (1670–1722); to Lessing, Mendelssohn, Schopenhauer, and Schleiermacher; and later to J. F. Fries, F. M. Müller, and Wilhelm Dilthey, who wrote two important studies on the subject. Of further importance are the American transcendentalists Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau,17 as well as the French thinkers Vic- tor Hugo, Pierre-Simon Ballanche, and their circles (Bays; Juden; Riffaterre). Because this is not the place to give to those authors the attention they de- serve, I pick out from the many the writings of Friedrich von Hardenberg (1772–1801), better known as Novalis, and note parallel thoughts in North American nature writing. In Novalis, the religious charging of philosophi- cal models of nature is striking. Furthermore, his blending of poetry, art, philosophy, and religion prefigures neoshamanic attitudes in a character- istic way. Two issues running through Novalis’s oeuvre are of crucial interest here—the sacralization of nature, on the one hand, and the merging of humans with nonhuman entities, on the other. The first can be demon- strated with the Lehrlinge zu Saïs. In this novel, which is deeply impreg- nated with esoteric-alchemist motives, Novalis describes nature as a sacred organism, whose secrets can only be unveiled by poetic empathy and an all-embracing love and compassion. The author speaks of the visionary perception (Beschauung) of eternally flowing nature that creates in the observer “a new revelation of love’s genius, a new ribbon of the You and the Me. The careful description of this inner world history is the true theory of nature. Through the internal association of his [i.e., the think- ing human’s] world of thoughts and its harmony with the universe, a 16 This definition was also applied by philosopher of nature Lorenz Oken. 17 On the question of Schelling’s influence on them, see Esposito: 186–207; on Schelling’s recep- tion by Edwin Starbuck and G. Stanley Hall, see Fuller: 126–129. 788 Journal of the American Academy of Religion thought system is created automatically that exactly mirrors and formu- lates the universe” (1: 225). Nature in its entirety is only “comprehensible as a tool and medium of agreement between sensible creatures” (Novalis, 1: 225). Shortly before, Novalis had pointed out that “it would be more imaginable that [nature] was the result of an incomprehensible agreement between infinitely different entities, the miraculous ribbon of the spiri- tual world, the point of merging and contact of uncounted worlds”; this is because “nature would not be nature if it did not have a spirit” (1: 222). In this meeting, which is almost a “council of all beings,” the poets deserve a special place. Only the poets should deal with “the fluid,” that is, living nature: “The workshops would be temples and with a new love people would adore and praise their flames and rivers” (Novalis, 1: 229). Similar to other romantic authors and in direct prefiguration of Halifax’s or Snyder’s neoshamanic attitude, Novalis describes the poet as the true mystagogue of nature who is able to understand the language of the uni- verse. He calls this the “sacred language . . . that was the glooming ribbon between those royal humans with supernatural realms and their inhabit- ants” (1: 230). Some of them, namely, the adepts of Saïs, are still in pos- session of such secret knowledge: Their pronunciation was a wonderful singing. Its irresistible tones enter deeply into the inner side of every nature and take it apart. Each of their names seemed to be a password for the soul of every body of nature. With creative force those vibrations attract all pictures of the world’s appear- ances, and of them one could justifiably say that the life of the universe was an eternal talk of a thousand voices, because in their talking all forces, all kinds of action seemed to be united in a most mysterious way. (Novalis, 1: 230) One should compare this with Halifax’s notion that those who understand that Earth is a living being know this because they have translated themselves to the humble grasses and old trees. They know that Earth is a community that is constantly talking to itself, a communi- cating universe, and whether we know it or not, we are participating in the web of this community. . . . To connect with the medicine, or power, of lightning and star, one must sound them. . . . The singer is a specialist who through knowledge of evocative language has access to the natural world. (82) The similarities are striking. The concept of nature as a communicating universe, in which the human is but one participant among many others, led Novalis to the assumption that the boundaries among seemingly dis- parate entities are blurred: “Soon for him the stars were humans, the humans stars, the stones animals, the clouds plants” (1: 202). von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 789 In Novalis’s novel Heinrich von Ofterdingen those issues reappear. But now the motive of merging with nonhuman species is of even more rele- vance than in the Lehrlingen. This merging is characterized not only as an unio mystica but as an almost shamanic communication with other worlds. Novalis addresses this aspect already in the first chapter: “Once I heard talking of old times, how the animals and trees and rocks had talked to the people. I feel as if they want to begin right now, as if I could see by their appearance what they wanted to tell me” (1: 241). Interestingly, after this passage the protagonist is lost in a dream world and experiences an almost “shamanic” journey. Behind a meadow he discovers a rock with a large opening leading into a deep corridor. Entering it, he is led into the rock until he perceives a bright light from afar that attracts him. When he steps out, he finds himself in a new, mysterious world from which revela- tions break forth. In this revelatory context a “high light-blue flower” (hohe lichtblaue Blume, an alchemical image) is of special importance. Of course, I do not propose this episode to be a “shamanic journey.” What I am pointing to is the close relationship between the initiation, on the one hand, which Novalis describes in an esoteric, alchemical, and Masonic allegory, with the crucial place of experiencing nature and the neoshamanic conceptualization, on the other hand, that is likewise ex- plainable against the background of esoteric tradition. Although Novalis wrote the Ofterdingen with a strong reference to Goethe’s Werther, the sacralization of nature goes considerably beyond the pantheistic elements in Goethe’s early novel. Now empathy and ado- ration lead to complete merging: The plants are the most immediate language of the soil. . . . When one finds such a flower in the loneliness, is it not as if everything around is transfigured, and as if all those little befeathered sounds [befiederten Töne] love to gather in their near? One wants to cry for joy and, isolated from the world, to put one’s hands and feet into the earth in order to take root and never again leave this happy neighborhood. Over the whole dry world this green, mysterious carpet of love is stretched out. (1: 377) It is the “remembrance of the old flowership (Blumenschaft)” that keeps man’s knowledge of the mysterious unity of all entities alive. Because humans once were a part of the whole living universe, it comes with no surprise that the animals and plants talk to them directly. When the “pilgrim” Heinrich meditates about those secrets, “the tree began to tremble. The rock made a hollow rumbling sound, and as if coming from a deep subterranean distance some clear little voices sprang up and sang” (Novalis, 1: 369). They sang the song of all-embracing love. Furthermore, the crucial importance of love is also found in neoshamanic discourse. 790 Journal of the American Academy of Religion One example is Jonathan Horwitz’s proposition that “the spiritual root of ‘energy’ is probably love. When you look at the entire universe it is filled with power, but for me this power, way out to the very edges of the uni- verse, if there are any edges, is energy” (in Brown: 16). The Influence of the American Transcendentalists In North America romantic nature discourse followed its own direc- tion. From the “Pilgrim Fathers” on, the construction of wilderness as a reference point of identity and the religiously charged enterprise of the “American project” influenced the attitude toward nature in a significant way (see Brunotte; Oelschlaeger) and shaped what Catherine L. Albanese calls the “American nature religion.” Although this discourse took on char- acteristics of its own, it should not be artificially isolated from European philosophy and culture (interestingly, both Oelschlaeger and Albanese fully skip non-American traditions), especially because the nineteenth century brought forth quite similar concepts on both sides of the Atlantic. In the beginning, the reception of European philosophers had been marginal. American transcendentalists grounded their theories much more on biblical and Christian positions than on idealistic speculation (for ex- planations, see Esposito: 189). This picture changed when Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Victor Cousin, John Elliot Cabot (Emerson’s biographer), Wil- liam Ellery Channing, and others assimilated German idealism (Schelling in particular) to the American philosophical debates (see Coates: 134–139; Esposito: 197). For modern American (nonindigenous) shamanism, the influence of nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century environmental and conservation movements is decisive (Fox; Taylor 1995). But this influence notwith- standing, to a large degree the aestheticization of nature among the tran- scendentalists and environmentalists was similar to intellectual pantheism in Europe. Hence, it is part of a larger field of discourse that brought forth modern western shamanism. To demonstrate this, let me just briefly hint at a few instances, restricting myself to the topics of communication and merging, which I dwell on above. The issue of human trans-species communication, or, rather, the “council of all beings,” is not only present in Novalis. A direct parallel can be seen in Ralph Waldo Emerson’s famous essay “Nature” (1836), in which he talks of the true poet’s ability to describe the hidden levels of reality: “At the call of a noble sentiment, again the woods wave, the pines murmur, the river rolls and shines, and the cattle low upon the moun- tains, as he saw and heard them in his infancy” (21). To be sure, Emerson did not sacralize nature in a biocentric way. This was done by Henry David Thoreau and John Muir after him. The identifi- von Stuckrad: Reenchanting Nature 791 cation of humans and nonhuman entities and, furthermore, the ontologiza- tion of natural objects are particularly dominant in Thoreau’s works. For instance, he depicts the Walden lake as “character,” “neighbor,” “great bed- fellow,” and so on. On one occasion the protagonist views his image in the water and asks, “Walden, is it you?” (Thoreau: 193). Lawrence Buell cor- rectly concludes that those passages go beyond mere metaphor “toward an almost animistic evocation of Walden as a living presence” (208). From here, it is but one step to the lyrical shamanism of Gary Snyder or Joan Halifax. Schelling’s concept of merging through empathy and Novalis’s notion of “flowership” (Blumenschaft) also have direct parallels in North Ameri- can nature writing. Thus, John Muir talks of the Sierra Nevada: “You bathe in these spirit-beams, turning round and round, as if warming at a camp- fire. Presently you lose consciousness of your own separate existence: you blend with the landscape, and become part and parcel of nature” (416). In another context Muir addresses the “plant people” who are able to take part in his deep joy “as if they could read faces” (see Buell: 193; Oelschlaeger: 185). As a result, there can be no doubt that contemporary western shaman- ism’s attitude toward nature owes its characteristics to a long-standing tradition in European and American culture (for North America, see Fuller in particular). Rather than being a degenerated hybrid of indigenous cultures or an arbitrary bricolage of subjective spiritualities, modern west- ern shamanism belongs to a movement against the mechanization and disenchantment of nature, cosmos, and the human self. CONCLUDING REMARKS The analysis of contemporary western shamanic fields of discourse, whereby practitioners, scholars, representatives of native cultures, politi- cians, artists, and others negotiate their respective assumptions con- cerning “shamanism,” often claiming a master perspective—for instance, because of academic scholarship or religious experience—is a highly com- plex enterprise. It necessitates a historical awareness of the formation of identities, the power of definitions, and the endurance of older concepts. In this article I have exemplified some of these issues with regard to neo- shamanism’s concept of nature. Other topics could have been scrutinized too. Alternative—or, rather, additional—perspectives can be seen in the concept of the soul applied by neoshamans and anthropologists alike, which is by no means “indigenous” but shows the mark of Neo-Platonism and modern ideas of “personhood,” or in the concept of the “otherworld,” which is a crucial term for western esoteric interpretation of reality (I scrutinize those issues in more detail in von Stuckrad). 792 Journal of the American Academy of Religion But the focus on philosophia naturalis already shows the strong influ- ence of Euro-American reasoning on contemporary shamanic identities. Hence, it is correct when critics raise the point that neoshamanism has little to do with indigenous tradition (see Taylor 1997). But, unfortunately, it is not that easy. The same is true for academic description of “indigenous tra- dition” (see Hutton; Taussig) and even for native self-description.18 Instead of taking an often too simple moral stand, what is needed is a reflective cultural analysis of the interference among all parties of the discussion. Look- ing at the question of nature, it becomes obvious that neoshamanism in- tensely mingled with the project of European and American modernity. It tries to regain a “sacramental view of reality” and to retrieve sacred dimen- sions of nature. In so doing it carries on a mystical and philosophical tradi- tion that was “the other side of disenchantment.” From another analytical perspective this issue can be described as the triangle of the philosophy of nature, art, and shamanism. 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work_kweg7lwtezas5l4tz4suuqnns4	----	CAQ volume 48 issue 1 Cover and Front matter CLASSICAL QU ARTE RLY NEW SERIES VOLUME XLVIII NUMBER 1 1998 (VOLUME LXXXXII OF THE CONTINUOUS SERIES) PUBLISHED FOR THE CLASSICAL ASSOCIATION BY OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core E D I T O R S PROF. C. COLLARD, Classics Office, 37 Wellington Square, Oxford 0X1 2JF S. J. HEYWORTH, M.A., Ph.D., Wadham College, Oxford OX1 3PN (till 30th September 1998) PROF. J. S. RICHARDSON, Dept. of Classics, University of Edinburgh, David Hume Tower, George Square, Edinburgh EH8 9JX (from 1st October 1998) BOARD OF MANAGEMENT Professor A. F. Garvie, M.A., F.R.S.E. (Chairman) Professor J. Percival, M.A., D.Phil., F.S.A. Professor M. Schofield, M.A., D.Phil. R. Wallace, B.A., M.A. C. S. Kraus, M.A., Ph.D. Professor D. N. Sedley, M.A., Ph.D. (Hon. Treasurer, representing the Cambridge Philological Society) A. M. Bowie, M.A., Ph.D. (Hon. Secretary, representing the Oxford Philological Society) All correspondence concerning articles should be sent to the Editors. Authors are requested to follow the 'Notes to Contributors' printed on the inside back cover of the journal. Correspondence concerning advertisements to appear in this journal should be addressed to Jane Parker, Oxford Journals Advertising, 19 Whitehouse Road, Oxford OX1 4PA, U K . ' T e l & Fax: +44 (0)1865 794882. E-mail: oxfordads@janep.demon.co.uk. Subscribers who change their address must notify the Journals Subscriptions Department, Oxford University Press, Great Clarendon Street, Oxford 0X2 6DP. 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BOARD OF MANAGEMENT PROF. A. F. OARVIE, M.A., F.R.S.E. (Chairman) PROF. J. PERCIVAL, M.A., D.PHIL., F.S.A. PROF. M. SCHOFIELD, M.A., D.PHIL. R. WALLACE, B.A., M.A. C. S. KRAUS, M.A., PH.D. PROF. D. N. SEDLEY, M.A., D.PHIL. (Hon. Treasurer, representing the Cambridge Philological Society) A. M. BOWIE, M.A., D.PHIL. (Hon. Secretary, representing the Oxford Philological Society) NEW SERIES VOLUME XLVIII (Volume LXXXXII of the continuous series) JOH?i' RYLANDS t ['• •• •- ' , * ' V " " ; • - ' " - ; : OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 1998 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core © Oxford University Press, 1998 Printed in Great Britain by the University Press, Cambridge terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core New Series Volume XLVIII1998 (Vol. LXXXXII of the continuous series) CONTENTS N U M B E R 1 The Homeric poems as oral dictated texts Time and arete in Homer The text of Iliad 18.603-6 and the presence of an aoiSos on the shield of Achilles The social function of Attic tragedy Studies in the later manuscript tradition of Aristophanes' Peace Telestes and the 'five-rodded joining of strings' Notes on pseudo-Plutarch's Life of Antiphon The shape of Athenian laws Was Kerkyra a member of the Second Athenian League? Socrates' last words: another look at an ancient riddle The historical reader of Plato's Protagoras The Hippocratic treatise On Anatomy Eros in government: Zeno and the virtuous city Doubts about other minds and the science of physiognomies An early reference to perfect numbers? Some notes on Euphorion, SH 417 P. Sulpicius' law to recall exiles, 88 B.C. Love and death: Laodamia and Protesilaus in Catullus, Propertius, and others Virgil's third Eclogue: how do you keep an idiot in suspense? How many books did Diodorus Siculus originally intend to write? Juvenal, the Phaedrus, and the truth about Rome Three cruces in Juvenal Salpe's nAIFNIA: Athenaeus 322A and Plin. H.N. 28.38 Another chapter in the history of scholia S H O R T E R N O T E S Two notes on Greek dithyrambic poetry Phrynichus fr. 27 K-A: a pun The hoopoe's nest: Aristophanes, Birds 265-6 Thucydides 3.12.3 Thucydides' Nicias and Homer's Agamemnon Nam unguentum dabo: Catullus 13 and Servius' note on fhaon (Aeneid 3.279) Hebdomades (binaeT) The lark ascending: Corydon, Corydon (Vergil, Eel. 7.70) Two adynata in Horace, Epode 16 Aeneid 4.622-3 Violets and violence: two notes Heroides 16.303-4 The Crimen Maiestatis under Caligula: the evidence of Dio Cassius A. KEAVEI Problems of text and interpretation in Statius, Thebaid I-VI The chronology of Nicomachus of Gerasa Philoponus, Diodorus, and possibility R. JANKO M. FINKELBERG M. REVERMANN J. GRIFFIN S. D. OLSON A. BARKER M. J. EDWARDS C. CAREY C. M. FAUBER J. CROOKS D. WOLFSDORF E. M. CRAIK G. BOYS-STONES V TSOUNA J. L. LIGHTFOOT R. G. LEWIS R. O. A. M. LYNE J. HENDERSON C. RUBINCAM A. HARDIE M. HENDRY D. BAIN K. McNAMEE J. H. HORDERN E. L. DE BOO E. M. CRAIK R. I. WINTON A. V ZADOROJNYI R. S. KILPATRICK J. GEIGER S. J. HARRISON A. S. HOLLIS H. JACOBSON H. JACOBSON A. KERSHAW ,ND J. A. MADDEN P. T. EDEN A. H. CRIDDLE N. DENYER 1 14 29 39 62 75 82 93 110 117 126 135 168 175 187 195 200 213 229 234 252 262 269 289 291 292 294 298 303 305 310 311 313 314 316 316 320 324 327 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core N U M B E R 2 Ne Achilles in fire c. J. MACKIE The Branchidae at Didyma and in Sogdiana N. G. L. HAMMOND The place that beached a thousand ships A. J. BOWEN Simonides, Ephorus, and Herodotus on the battle of Thermopylae M. A. FLOWER Weaving and triumphal shouting in Pindar, Pythian 12.6-12 G. F. HELD Euripides' Electra: the recognition scene again M. DAVIES <PiXooo(f>ia ifydovos (Plato, Symposium 210d) J. GREGORY AND S. B. LEVIN The egalitarianism of the Eudemian Ethics M. PAKALUK Perceiving white and sweet (again): Aristotle, De Anima 3.7,431a20-bl c. OSBORNE Aristotle on the philosophical nature of poetry j . M. ARMSTRONG The poetics of Aethalides: silence and poikilia in Apollonius' Argonautica j . NISHIMURA-JENSEN Terence, Adelphoe: problems of dramatic space and time J. c. B. LOWE A house of notoriety: an episode in the campaign for the consulate in 64 B.C. A. M. STONE 487 Cicero's first readers: epistolary evidence for the dissemination of his works T. MURPHY The manuscripts and text of Cicero's Laelius de Amicitia i. a. F. POWELL Propertius and Tibullus: early exchanges R. O. A. M. LYNE Horace's Pindaric Apollo (Odes 3.4.60-4) j . F. MILLER S H O R T E R N O T E S Euripides, Troades 1050: was Helen overweight? D. KOVACS Plato, Timaeus 52c2-5 G. J. PENDRICK A new Pythagorean fragment and Homer's tears in Ennius E. LIVREA A tragic fragment in Cicero, Pro Caelio 67? A. s. HOLLIS On the interpretation of Cicero, De Republica A. R. DYCK Propertius and Livy A. J. WOODMAN A note on Virgil, Aeneid 5.315-19 M. DYSON Dionysius of Halicamassus, Antiquitates Romanae 2.30 and Herodotus 1.146 A. M. GREAVES The date of Claudius' British campaign and the mint of Alexandria A. A. BARRETT Is nothing gentler than wild beasts? Seneca, Phaedra 558 M. HENDRY Dividing the dinner: book divisions in Petronius' Cena Trimalchionis s. J. HARRISON Tacitus, Annals 4.70: an unappreciated pun L. MORGAN More falsa Gelliana L. HOLFORD-STREVENS Two passages of Justin T. D. BARNES The younger Pliny and Ammianus Marcellinus N. A D K I N The advocacy of an empress: Julian and Eusebia s. T O U G H E R A note on Juvencus 4. 286 G. HAYS Indexes 329 339 345 365 380 389 404 411 433 447 456 470 492 506 519 545 553 556 559 561 564 568 569 572 574 577 580 585 587 589 593 595 599 601 The Tm The The Stu( Tele Not The Was Soc The The Era. Doi An E P. Si Lov a Vir Hov Juve Thn Salp Ano S H ' Two Phr The Thu Thu Nan F Hebi The Two Aem Viol Here The E Prot The Phil« terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core New Series Volume XLVIII, No. 1 1998 (Vol. LXXXXII of the continuous series) CONTENTS N U M B E R 1 The Homeric poems as oral dictated texts Time and aretG in Homer The text of Iliad 18.603-6 and the presence of an aoiSos on the shield of Achilles The social function of Attic tragedy Studies in the later manuscript tradition of Aristophanes' Peace Telestes and the 'five-rodded joining of strings' Notes on pseudo-Plutarch's Life of Antiphon The shape of Athenian laws Was Kerkyra a member of the Second Athenian League? Socrates' last words: another look at an ancient riddle The historical reader of Plato's Protagoras The Hippocratic treatise On Anatomy Eros in government: Zeno and the virtuous city Doubts about other minds and the science of physiognomies An early reference to perfect numbers? Some notes on Euphorion, SHAM P. Sulpicius' law to recall exiles, 88 B.C. Love and death: Laodamia and Protesilaus in Catullus, Propertius, and others Virgil's third Eclogue: how do you keep an idiot in suspense? How many books did Diodorus Siculus originally intend to write? Juvenal, the Phaedrus, and the truth about Rome Three cruces in Juvenal Salpe's TIAirNIA: Athenaeus 322A and Plin. H.N. 28.38 Another chapter in the history of scholia S H O R T E R N O T E S Two notes on Greek dithyrambic poetry Phrynichus fr. 27 K-A: a pun The hoopoe's nest: Aristophanes, Birds 265-6 Thucydides 3.12.3 Thucydides' Nicias and Homer's Agamemnon Nam unguentum dabo: Catullus 13 and Servius' note on Phaon(^eneW 3.279) Hebdomades {binaei) The lark ascending: Corydon, Corydon (Vergil, Eel. 7.70) Two adynata in Horace, Epode 16 Aeneid 4.622-3 Violets and violence: two notes Heroides 16.303-4 The Crimen Maiestatis under Caligula: the evidence of Dio Cassius Problems of text and interpretation in Statius, Thebaid I- The chronology of Nicomachus of Gerasa Philoponus, Diodorus, and possibility R. JANKO M. FINKELBERG M. REVERMANN J. GRIFFIN S. D. OLSON A. BARKER M. J. EDWARDS C. CAREY C. M. FAUBER J. CROOKS D. WOLFSDORF E. M. CRAIK G. BOYS-STONES V. TSOUNA J. L. LIGHTFOOT R. G. LEWIS R. 0. A. M. LYNE J. HENDERSON C. RUBINCAM A. HARDIE M. HENDRY D. BAIN K. McNAMEE J. H. HORDERN E. L. DE BOO E. M. CRAIK R. I. WINTON A. V ZADOROJNYI R. S. KILPATRICK J. GEIGER S. J. HARRISON A. S. HOLLIS H. JACOBSON H. JACOBSON A. KERSHAW 1 14 29 39 62 75 82 93 110 117 126 135 168 175 187 195 200 213 229 234 252 262 269 289 291 292 294 298 303 305 310 311 313 314 316 A. KEAVENEY AND J. A. MADDEN 3 1 6 V I R T. EDEN 3 2 0 A. H. CRIDDLE 3 2 4 N. DENYER 3 2 7 Please visit the journal's World Wide Web site at http://www.oup.co.uk/clquaj terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 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BRUNT This collection of new and previously published essays examines the relationship between philosophy and social/political conditions, and includes a new analysis of Aristotle's views on slavery and a discussion of the practicality of Plato's political theories. 0-19-815242-6,420 pp., paperback, Clarendon Press, £27.50 The Legacy of Mesopotamia Edited by STEPHANIE DALLEY Stephanie Dalley explores the spread of culture through literacy from Mesopotamia into Egypt, Palestine and Greece after a system of writing was developed. Legacy Series 0-19-814946-8, 246 pp., halftones and line figures throughout, £50.00 visit our site .oup.co.uk Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta Selecta Edited by J. DIGGLE This volume presents the most interesting and substantial fragmentary texts of the lost tragic plays and poetry of ancient Greek literature. Oxford Classical Texts 0-19-814685-X, 192 pp.. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:01, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0009838800038726 https://www.cambridge.org/core O X F O R D W O R L D ' S C L A S S I C S *Books must be read as DELIBERATELY RESERVEDLY as they were written* HENRY D A V I D T H O R E A U , Walden Between 1845 and 1847 Thoreau lived alone in a hut on the shore of Walden Pond. During this experiment in solitary living he had plenty of time to read the classics: 'the noblest recorded thoughts of man'. Over 150 years later, Walden, Thoreau's account of these years, is itself firmly established as a classic work of literature. Together with 700 other titles, it is available in Oxford World's Classics — the series that combines definitive texts with the finest notes and introductions. Thoreau wrote that 'Books are the treasured wealth of t h e world*. 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work_kxkrvr6exrgcvi6mcvzee7y7ki	----	Microsoft Word - MJSS vol 3 no 7 April 2012.doc ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 249 Death as Surprise in 18th and 19th Centuries Romanticism Ramona Simut (PhD) Emanuel University of Oradea, Romania Email: ramona.simut@emanuel.ro Abstract. One of the major themes of discussion in the art and especially the literature of the 18th and 19th centuries was the problem of death. In the beginning this seemed to be the case mostly because of the natural processes related to death as a transforming event of the human body and mind. However, towards the end of the 18th century and well into the 19 century, a certain shift took place from the common and normal perspective on death to a rather accessorized and scientific literary approach. Our attempt is to notice and make the necessary connections between the concepts of nature (both the human nature and the external-physical nature) and the innovative technologies recently implemented in the society of the time, with reference to the new accidental and commercial facets of death as destruction of nature especially in the work of the American Romantics R. W. Emerson and H. D. Thoreau. Aware that they are highly spoken of in view of their transcendentalism as a particular philosophy about the bond between man and nature, we will slowly come to terms with this type of concerns and connect them to the conflicting reality of the industrialization as a sudden and repressive phenomenon within the society of men. Finally our point is that precisely this phenomenon caused these writers to make a historical detour and use their naturalist formation in order to make sense of their century deaths and diseases. Key words: death, nature, Romanticism, accident, science Introduction From a Romantic perspective, the signs of progress in the 18th century were perceived as unequivocal ways to destroy human personality and discard it from history. This perception is due to the fact that the attack which these mechanisms brought upon man was sudden and eclipsed the soul with the shadow of a violent and accidental death. Their cause is well portrayed in Nietzsche's aphorisms, for instance, where he staunchly resents a future vision developed by Martin Heidegger related to the relationship between man and the machine. On the other hand, the Romantic writers of the 19th century looked at the diseases of their time from a totally different angle, being aware that some of them were indeed new and of consumptive nature. As this was the case with tuberculosis, the Romantics would not speak of it as denigratory or regressive in a scientific manner, but thought of it was a means for spiritual and intellectual progress with a purgatory and reparatory purpose in the midst of the great industrial colossus. Thus the failure pertains to the machine which can sweep away the flesh, and not to the intellect or the soul, which in this case is always a step behind in matters of material productivity. The differences between the 18th and 19th Romantic centuries view on the main death agents equals the difference between surprise and accommodation when a new element is introduced into a stolid atmosphere. It should be stressed, however, that the surprise is always the prerogative of the technique, while a repressive disease smoothly turns into habit. Though it is as old as the 18th century, sudden death has never had a solid logic as the slow death, and what modernity did was merely diversify the terminology considered void in an existentialist context. Moreover, in a Romantic work which stresses the man-nature bond as a psychological and physical relationship, nature is a projection of the self, which in its absence remains without an object. Nowadays, that would be the case of the cultural meaning of man's travel to space or man being void of nature as we know it: man's displacement is considered a type of death, a divorce from nature in a more than symbolical sense. What is surprisingly connected with death and its definition in Romantic literature and philosophy is the accidental, a term perceived as being commercial just like the causes of death: the windmill, the pit or coal mine, the first usage of vaccination in the 18th century, new inventions and the 19th century industrialization, or more recently the atomic bomb and space craft. In the same time, the rituals associated with accidental deaths are from the very start commercial, and this truth is universally accepted (mourning is rapid and conscious, and its reward implies more materiality than humanity, an idea which can be found both at the beginnings and at the end of the Romantic fiction and non-fiction works. For our purpose here, we will consider mainly the non-fiction work in a particular setting of the Romantic school, namely the American Romantics of the 19th century whose work was strongly influenced by death in both its personal and technical terms. Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau were surrounded by consumption (tuberculosis) all their life not only in their enlarged families, but wherever they went, and death itself was the main reason why they even ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 250 travelled to see other parts of the world and other cultures, to become Romantics. This experience of death Emerson1 and Thoreau2 came to acknowledge as a century old in their literature and they are among only a few Romantic writers who would associate it with the need for natural purity in the form of transcendentalism and as utopia of the soul in a deadly body. But consumption was not the foremost accidental disease of their time as reflected by their journals and memorialist work: so were the pitfalls, windmills, coach travels on poor roads, horse riding, deep waters and suicide at the pressure of industrialization. Our aim here is to call for consumption as becoming a kind of personal and communitarian disease which brought a graceful and slow withering, while on the other hand the accidental deaths mentioned trapped the body and instantly eliminated the mind, allowing Romantics no time to adjust and temper their enthusiasm. Though the personal thoughts of these Romantic writers (they separated these diseases and deaths into different classes), we do not have to take their very word for it or suspect that their non-fiction work is subjective in all respect. One of the reasons why we chose to present aspects of deaths in these author's oeuvre was precisely the existence of factual documentation preoccupied with their lives and the historic details which illustrate a common fear of the accident both in Emerson and Thoreau, and in their contemporaries' mind. Emerson and the natural. When death defies nature Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) stands amid the Romantics of his generation as a pioneer of a new type of taste for nature. In his essay Nature,3 Emerson challenges all lovers of nature to take a stand and review their relationship with the external elements individually. In this attempt, he believes, one must be able to tell nature's prerogatives from man's intrepid actions which can cause the world irreparable damage. Emerson gets to describe nature as a powerful force that transforms not only its own state and climate, but man's state too, in that it surprises him with views and feelings which determine sensorial modulation in man's mind and soul: Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. Almost I fear how glad I am.4 When Emerson says that nature “fits” both a benevolent and a negative state of mind, he rather exempts man from having anything to impede nature with or from being nature's commander. Unlike his fellow European or British Romantic writers, Emerson seems to walk in the footsteps of mild pre-Romantics and Classics when he describes this special type of liaison between what is of nature and what belongs to man. He does not imply that man should overcome the powers of nature or that he could masterfully force his own feelings and will on nature. Neither of these realms seem to be prevail on each other, since nature only “fits” a man's state, while man only enjoys whatever nature brings along. There is, however, a special spot in which nature is believed to work its magic on man in the sense that nature changes man's state of mind and revives his body and soul: In the woods, a man casts off his years and... is always a child. In the woods is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed... In the woods, we 1 “The first known case in the Emerson family was that of reverend William Emerson, Ralph Waldo's father, who had the disease when he died in 1811 at the age of 42..., all [his children] has symptoms of tuberculosis. Both Edward and Charles died of it in their late twenties [also the case of Waldo's first wife Ellen Tucker, who died at 19]. Waldo appeared to have symptoms of the disease at various times in his life, once writing of having a mouse gnawing at his chest, but died of an unrelated illness at age 79.” See Constance Manoli- Skocay, “A Gentle Death: Tuberculosis in 19th Century Concord.” The Concord Magazine (Winter 2003). 2 “Henry David Thoreau succumbed to tuberculosis at age of 44... His grandfather had died of it in 1801, and when Henry father's died in 1859 his symptoms were consistent with tuberculosis. His brother John was living with it,... ad their sister Helen became a victim in 1849 at age thirty-six.” Constance Manoli-Skocay, “A Gentle Death: Tuberculosis in 19th Century Concord.” The Concord Magazine (Winter 2003). 3 Biographical and bibliographical data on R. W. Emerson, in Andrew Ballanthyne, Architecture theory: a reader in philosophy and culture (New York: Continuum, 2005), 30. For a detailed biography, see Richardson, Robert D. Emerson. The Mind on Fire (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1995). 4 Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature (Boston: James Munroe and Company, 1834), 12. ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 251 return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life – no disgrace, no calamity, which nature cannot repair.5 Moreover, in the woods, “the name of the nearest friend sounds foreign and accidental.”6 Faithful to its theory that nature and man are individually part of the transcendental being of God, and that God is not himself a unity, but an oikonomy (he is not merely one, but many in multiple manifestations), Emerson first rebels against his religious heritage as a unitarian Christian, and then plunges into the deep waters of natural theism also known from Antiquity and the Classics as polytheism or divine substance spread in each of nature's particular elements. He begins to sound more and more classical as he makes further comments on the necessity that man be moral as nature's actions are virtuous and thus beautiful. On these grounds, Emerson states, all heroic individual actions manifest virtue because they maintain universal balance, and since the universe is all we can find deep inside ourselves, nothing we do should harm the universe, otherwise it is suicidal. Emerson's idea is that heroic (human) action is not to be understood as an act of bravery, but as an act of makings good and meaningful sense of our innocence. Everything contrary to this strife for purity is contrary to nature, to human nature, and thus to reason and faith. This uncommon thinking for a Romantic writer is due to Emerson's transcendentalism which gives us a close up into his life and work unevenly molded in comparison with his fellow Romantic writers of the age, whose aim was to cause exceptions and not to attain the state of personal inner and external progress in good terms with the universe around us. While not so inclined to technical details as Henry David Thoreau in observing nature, Emerson is nevertheless prone to gathering physical data which help him understand nature in its raw form, that is the rawest (purest) the better. This does not affect though the meaningful purpose (reason) of what is natural, from whence we can only assume that by definition everything unnatural lacks proper reason and equilibrium. Even the loss of his brothers, his first wife and his first born he thought of as natural, because their fading away was gracious, slow, communitarian, and maybe reminded him how everything under the sun is eventually fading away. Nevertheless, his Romantic spirit reacted in shock when in one special situation the unnatural happened and suddenly took away a friend in the most “tragic” of ways: The death of Margaret Fuller when she was only forty was a shock to Emerson... Somehow, Margaret’s death caught him unprepared and undefended. Her loss drove him in on himself and made him intensely conscious of a side of life he usually tended to rush over. It is easier to call this conscience a sense of tragedy,... rather a sense that something was fundamentally wrong with the universe, an awareness of some elemental lack at the core of things…7 A journalist, editor, and transcendentalist herself at the age of forty, Margaret Fuller sure outlived other cultivated and notable women of her time who died from consumption, for instance. But why was her death only a matter of tragedy for Emerson? Why did he perceive its circumstances as being unnatural and shocking? For a start, it was probably because her death in 1850 was caused by a shift in the natural order, by something which should never happen to man. And indeed it was something bigger that one death, an event which foreshadowed the sink of Titanic, the supreme naval incident that for several years changed the face of the world. But the shipwreck in which Margaret died was so far from natural that people afterwards had to find a logic in building lighthouses before, not after, they built impressively large ships. The tragism8 of Margaret's death cannot be fully grasped according to the then Romantic American philosophy without examining the second personality besides Emerson who helped shape transcendentalism by moving it from “Nature” to the woods. Thoreau and the individual. When death defies the universe Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), a Harvard fellow himself, lived the life of a Romantic both in terms of his expenditures 5 Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature (Boston: James Munroe and Company, 1834), 12, 13. 6 Ibid., 13. 7 Robert D. Richardson, Emerson. The Mind on Fire (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1995), 486. 8 See comments about this in Abigail Rorer and Bradley P. Dean, eds., Of Woodland Pools, Spring-Holes and Ditches: Excerpts from the Journal of Henry David Thoreau (Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2010), 4. ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 252 which exceeded his income, and in terms of his confrontation with sickness and death.9 Reading Emerson's Nature as early as 1837, he was also passionate about Goethe and the Latin classics like Virgil, an interest which drove him to scientifically explore the natives of North America and their virgin land.10 He was equally concerned, as Emerson for instance, with the innocence of heart and mind, which is one of the reasons why he wrote Walden11, and why he did it in the woods. But in Thoreau the soul does not enter its well-being state until its need for morality and “right” is secured and protected by civil government. However, for what is worth Thoreau himself felt that he was compelled to retrieve into the woods in order to write and, as he says, “to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”12 Thoreau’s literature cannot be fully grasped without his philosophical system13 and his naturalist thinking, which just like Emerson’s is imbued with a utopian vision of man and nature. In Thoreau, it seems, the result of new experiments and industrial inventions is paramount and has the magnitude of natural disasters or calamities, and they both match the reaction that a Romantic writer is capable of in times of distress.14 However, he behaves like a classic when he uses his skills to observe the inner life of nature in the same habitat where purity and beauty are to be found, namely the woods.15 The relationship between sentiment and contemplation in Thoreau’s Walden and in his Journal is particularly important here, since it shows that he thinks as a classicist whose feelings spread from the observation of natural complexity and form. In other words, this binary relationship is what was called “Thoreau’s juxtaposition of his metaphysical musing with the scientific knowledge that triggered the excitement.”16 And what triggered the excitement was the form, which ultimately drives man to reassess his bond with nature: “How was it when the youth first discovered fishes?... [What interested] mankind in the fish, the inhabitant of the water?... A faint recognition of a living contemporary, a provoking mystery.”17 The conscious nature of this bond with nature comes through observation/contemplation only, because the mystery/divine is peculiar to all natural things. Consequently, Thoreau’s transcendentalism comprises not only natural, brute elements, but also areas where civilization has been installed and became traditional for our civil society. His naturalist taste is nevertheless obstructed by the civil order, in which Thoreau cannot find the natural order that the universe displays, hence his mistrust of ranks of power and human standards that are in breach with natural laws. Thus, in the essay “On the Duty of Civil Disobedience,” sometimes placed as an appendix of Walden, Thoreau extensively comments on the peculiarities of the then American government, which has not the vitality and force of a single living man…, it is a sort of wooden gun to the people themselves. But it is not the less necessary for this…; for the people must have some complicated machinery… to satisfy that idea of government which they have.18 Thoreau’s idea of naturality then does not apply to the state, and his transcendentalism is not a concept that would embrace all spaces though. Since man cannot enact his free and moral order into a social law, Thoreau shows, and since all law is a product of state technicalities, man as an individual must oppose whatever “does not keep the country free and… does not educate.”19 As a Romantic writer, Thoreau stands in awe at what “the people” (men) come to enforce as 9 Short and comprising information about H. D. Thoreau’s life and career, in Andrew Ballanthyne, Architecture theory: a reader in philosophy and culture (New York: Continuum, 2005), 150. For a detailed biography, see Robert D. Richardson, Henry Thoreau: a life of the mind (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986). 10Robert D. Richardson, Henry Thoreau: a life of the mind (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986), 1-15. 11An association of terms can be made here from Walden, the surrounding placed of Concord, Thoreau's home, to the German “Wald,” a word meaning woodland, of the woods. 12Henry David Thoreau, Walden (New York: Harper, 1950), 118. 13 Concerning the transcendental philosophical system in both Thoreau and Emerson, see Alfred I. Tauber, Henry David Thoreau and the Moral Agency of Knowing (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2001). 14 Jack Turner, ed., in A Political Companion to Henry David Thoreau (Lexington, KY: The University of Kentucky Press, 2009), quotes at note 4 from Leonard N. Neufeld, The Economist: Henry Thoreau and Enterprise, 1989, explains this seemingly equivocal relationship of a then Romantic writer with reality: “Thoreau is awake and alert; his neighbors are stagnant, asleep, little better than dead... One of his most common accusations is that ordinary men are dead in life, or they might as well be dead, or they are incapable of dying because they have not lived. Thoreau's romantic “half in love” with death deserves study.” See page 34, note 4. 15 In this respect, Thoreau is a follower of Goethe, who in a nutshell used to say that “we are pantheists by searching nature, polytheists as poets, and ethically monotheists.” See Goethe, in Jean Livescu, Preface to Goethe's Opere (Works), vol. 1 (Bucure�ti: Univers, 1984). 16 See Alfred I.Tauber, Henry David Thoreau and the Moral Agency of Knowing (Berkeley, CA:University of California Press, 2001)145. 17 H. D. Thoreau, Journal (November 30, 1858): 11, 360. 18 Henry David Thoreau, in Waldo R. Browne, ed., Man or the State? (New York: B. W. Huebsch, 1919), chapter IV: Henry David Thoreau, “On the Duty of Civil Government,” 70, 71. 19 Ibid., 71. ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 253 right and wrong and worthy of respect, which is in sharp contrast with the conscience that the individual (man) uses to decide on civil matters. Disobeying the civil order regards extensively the law of men and the intricate and foremost corrupt structure of their government, but also what the law of modern men praises as innovative and bountiful. In this respect, Emerson and Thoreau have their own special place within American Romanticism as they come from Concord, Massachusetts, an expanding commercial route and a promising industrial hub in their time. Emerson and Thoreau sure had much to see and in part repel in the dawn of this modern era, many things and facts of life which to a natural mind seemed disruptive. Every day the two writers would witness the forceful power of industrialization on their once beautiful town, and also people being proud of their achievement: A lead pipe manufactory was set up in 1819, a shoe factory was built in 1821.., a group of entrepreneurs had set up the Milldam company in 1821, developing thereby a new commercial district in the center of town,… and the town was also a center for the manufacture of pencils, clocks, hats, bellows, guns, bricks, barrels, and soap… Wagons rumbled through town continually on roads that were both dusty and noisy. Concord was a busy transport hub and its numerous taverns were full of teamsters. It had six warehouses, a bindery, two saw mills, two grist mills, and a large five-story cotton mill…20 Thoreau’s retreat in the woods for two years before commencing any civil or educational duties and at the peak of the industrial development of his homeland was an act of conscience directed towards his fellow citizens, as well as an act of self-instruction and observation. However, a devoted Romantic spirit would not go on a retreat for too long: he is an effervescent spirit. He would rather re-enter society with new ideas and new brute forces so as to overturn and invalidate the existing order. However, the fact that Thoreau does not advocate for a new government to replace the actual ruling, but for a better one instead, says a lot about his intentions as a citizen: he does not wish to abolish the present government, but to improve and educate it, which is as classical a method as it can be. Thoreau and Emerson alike were not the type of Romantics that would constantly complain about any kinds of inconveniences including their own fate and misunderstood genius, and they were mindful of the beneficial nature of progress.21 They were men of their time and did not oppose development, but given their family and friends dreadful history with consumption, they were also men of prudence aware that their contemporaries could not fight death and disease with more machines and money, or not just yet. For them it was the machine that imposed on people and increased the unknown of the natural order by expanding man’s territory, and thus by exposing him to further perils and diseases. For both Thoreau and Emerson, this exploration of the unknown creates an uneven relationship between social and moral, between industry and art, since the machines valued man’s physical powers only, leaving his soul behind. The machine (industrialization) works with machines void of sentiments. A conclusion on the unknown death Thoreau’s and Emerson’s fear of the unknown is likely triggered not necessarily by universal forces, cataclysms and furies: this kind of unknown has an observable source, which is the magnificence of nature and its raw material. These Romantics' fear is located deeply within the human habitat and was caused by people's search for rapid progress and transgression of nature and inner self. The unknown which brings fear is not of the elements. They welcome the elements because they bring them the joy of research and discovery, the return to essence. Of course that, for instance, water is an elements of which man manifests fear, but he that will not adventure into deep waters, but instead will respect and cherish the life embedded in them. This means that in our large universe (cosmos) another universe (microcosm) exists and from the latter life itself springs: In one of his last works, The Dispersion of Seeds... [Thoreau] recounts having “leveled for an artificial pond at our new cemetery, Sleepy Hollow”. The pond was finally completed in 1859, and the following year 20 Robert D. Richardson, Henry Thoreau: a life of the mind (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986), 15. 21 Emerson and Thoreau were loved by their fellow citizens and respected for their education, talent, and stamina manifested in spite of hardship of life and a tradition with consumption. They even had the conduct of a respected fellow Concordian, as Emerson was read by every cultivated American and gathered lots of cultivated men in his philosophy circle at the Emerson home, while Thoreau gave lectures which for all audiences and thus considerably maximized his incomes. For details, see Edward Waldo Emerson, Emerson in Concord. A Memoir Written for the Social Circle in Concord Massachusetts (Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2004). See also Bradley P. Dean and Ronald Wesley Hoag, “Thoreau's Lectures After Walden: An Annotated Calendar,” Studies in the American Renaissance (1996): 241-362. For the eulogy and pompous burial ceremony with which the people of Concord honored Emerson, see “Concord’s Irreparable Loss! The Death and Funeral of Ralph Waldo Emerson,” in Concord Freeman (May 4, 1882). ISSN 2039 2117 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (7) April 2012 254 sported “several small patches of the large yellow and kalmiana lily,” a fact which led him to remark, “Thus, even in the midst of death, we are in life.” Thoreau loved to see that Nature was rife with life, and nowhere is the life of Nature so rife as in vernal pools. But he also insisted that the “universe is wider than our views of it.”... The nature of vernal pools masterfully celebrate not just life, but the larger universe in which we live. In fact, his woodland pools, spring-holes, and ditches are microcosms of that... universe in which energies are constantly transmuted one into another.22 The same image captured in the presence of the pond (see Walden pond) or at Sleepy Hollow, where life is created at the surface of waters as a microcosm is encountered under the water, and we already learned about Thoreau's passion for ichthyology in that he considers the fish as “another image of God.23 Thus either naturally created or handmade, ponds, ditches, and pools which are water recipients are not perceived as agents of death, at least not of unwilling death. Yes, deep waters are to be feared, however murders at that time were deemed as exceptional “acts of God,” though the voluntary action of suicide was considered common even in the most uncommon places.24 The innovative nature of medicine, commerce, manufacture, transportation, food and mine industry, and leisure were particularly exponential as causes of death in both 18th and 19th centuries. They were the real unknown and unnatural factors which caused bereavement and uncertainty both physically and mentally, in spite of the progress they promised especially in the 19th century. They were feared more than cancer and heart failure both because they were everywhere in the news and they implied a foreign object that brought death instantly rather than slowly. Be it the inoculation formula against new infectious diseases such as smallpox25, which required many testing on real people, or the new windmills, coal pits, wagons or carts traveling with increasing speed, accidents at work, shipwreck or simply a horseback ride commonly practiced at the time for leisure but with no proper harness classes and skill, they were all perceived as unreliable, surprising, and sudden ways to produce death and suffering. References “Concord’s Irreparable Loss! The Death and Funeral of Ralph Waldo Emerson.” Concord Freeman (May 4, 1882). Aiken, Lewis R. Dying, death, and bereavement. Fourth Edition. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2009. Ballanthyne, Andrew. Architecture theory: a reader in philosophy and culture. New York: Continuum, 2005. Dean, Bradley P., and Ronald Wesley Hoag. “Thoreau's Lectures After Walden: An Annotated Calendar.” Studies in the American Renaissance (1996): 241-362. Emerson, Edward Waldo. Emerson in Concord. A Memoir Written for the Social Circle in Concord Massachusetts. Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2004. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. Nature. Boston, MA: James Munroe and Company, 1834. Lonton, Tony. “Vaccination, Windmills, and Other Causes of Death in 18th Century Whitkirk.” Barwicker 92 (Dec. 2008). Manoli-Skocay, Constance. “A Gentle Death: Tuberculosis in 19th Century Concord.” The Concord Magazine (Winter 2003). Oyebode, Femi, ed. Mindreadings: Literature and Psychiatry. Glasgow: Bell and Bain, 2009. Richardson, Robert D. Emerson. The Mind on Fire. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1995. Richardson, Robert D. Henry Thoreau: a life of the mind. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986. Rorer, Abigail, and Bradley P. Dean, eds. Of Woodland Pools, Spring-Holes and Ditches: Excerpts from the Journal of Henry David Thoreau. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2010. Tauber, Alfred I. Henry David Thoreau and the Moral Agency of Knowing. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2001. Thoreau, Henry David. In Waldo R. Browne, ed., Man or the State? New York: B. W. Huebsch, 1919. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden. New York: Harper, 1950. Turner, Jack, ed. A Political Companion to Henry David Thoreau. Lexington, KY: The University of Kentucky Press, 2009. 22 See Abigail Rorer and Bradley P. Dean, eds., Of Woodland Pools, Spring-Holes and Ditches: Excerpts from the Journal of Henry David Thoreau (Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2010), 3, 4. 23 Alfred I. Tauber, Henry David Thoreau and the Moral Agency of Knowing (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2001), 145. 24 See Tony Lonton, “Vaccination, Windmills, and Other Causes of Death in 18th Century Whitkirk,” Barwicker 92 (Dec. 2008). In the 19th century, suicide was usually associated with the increasing “pressure of industrialization.” For the then multiple ways to dye, see Lewis R. Aiken, Dying, death, and bereavement, fourth edition (Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2009). 25 Tony Lonton mentions this as having been practiced in England as early as 1722, for instance, before a proper vaccination was even approved of in 1796. 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work_l2phj5msozbvrg2tc4p3mvufsy	----	[PDF] Herbarium records are reliable sources of phenological change driven by climate and provide novel insights into species' phenological cueing mechanisms. | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.3732/ajb.1500237 Corpus ID: 23444424Herbarium records are reliable sources of phenological change driven by climate and provide novel insights into species' phenological cueing mechanisms. @article{Davis2015HerbariumRA, title={Herbarium records are reliable sources of phenological change driven by climate and provide novel insights into species' phenological cueing mechanisms.}, author={C. Davis and C. G. Willis and B. Connolly and C. Kelly and A. Ellison}, journal={American journal of botany}, year={2015}, volume={102 10}, pages={ 1599-609 } } C. Davis, C. G. Willis, +2 authors A. Ellison Published 2015 Biology, Medicine American journal of botany PREMISE OF THE STUDY Climate change has resulted in major changes in the phenology of some species but not others. Long-term field observational records provide the best assessment of these changes, but geographic and taxonomic biases limit their utility. Plant specimens in herbaria have been hypothesized to provide a wealth of additional data for studying phenological responses to climatic change. However, no study to our knowledge has comprehensively addressed whether herbarium data are… Expand View on PubMed bsapubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 114 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 4 Background Citations 46 Methods Citations 5 Results Citations 5 View All Tables and Topics from this paper table 1 Specimen Chills 114 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Herbarium specimens reveal substantial and unexpected variation in phenological sensitivity across the eastern United States D. Park, Ian K. Breckheimer, Alex C. Williams, E. Law, A. Ellison, C. Davis Geography, Medicine Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B 2018 28 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Herbarium specimens can reveal impacts of climate change on plant phenology; a review of methods and applications Casey A. Jones, C. Daehler Environmental Science, Medicine PeerJ 2018 25 Highly Influenced PDF View 9 excerpts, cites methods, background and results Save Alert Research Feed Herbarium records reveal early flowering in response to warming in the southern hemisphere B. H. Daru, Matthew M. Kling, Emily K. Meineke, A. V. van Wyk Biology 2018 1 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Using herbarium specimens to select indicator species for climate change monitoring Rebecca A. Hufft, Michelle E. DePrenger-Levin, R. Levy, M. B. Islam Biology Biodiversity and Conservation 2018 7 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Temperature controls phenology in continuously flowering Protea species of subtropical Africa B. H. Daru, Matthew M. Kling, Emily K. Meineke, A. V. van Wyk Biology, Medicine Applications in plant sciences 2019 5 Highly Influenced PDF View 1 excerpt, cites methods Save Alert Research Feed Low‐cost observations and experiments return a high value in plant phenology research Caitlin McDonough MacKenzie, A. Gallinat, Lucy Zipf Biology, Medicine Applications in plant sciences 2020 1 Save Alert Research Feed A new phenological metric for use in pheno‐climatic models: A case study using herbarium specimens of Streptanthus tortuosus N. Love, I. Park, S. Mazer Biology, Medicine Applications in plant sciences 2019 6 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Prediction of Arctic plant phenological sensitivity to climate change from historical records Zoe A. Panchen, Root Gorelick Geography, Medicine Ecology and evolution 2017 19 View 2 excerpts, cites methods Save Alert Research Feed Old Plants, New Tricks: Phenological Research Using Herbarium Specimens. C. G. Willis, Elizabeth R Ellwood, +9 authors P. Soltis Biology, Medicine Trends in ecology & evolution 2017 113 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Reproductive phenology of Leptolobium dasycarpum and L. elegans across the Brazilian savanna based on herbarium records W. S. Fava, N. L. Cunha, Aline Pedroso Lorenz Biology 2019 1 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 72 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Validation of biological collections as a source of phenological data for use in climate change studies: a case study with the orchid Ophrys sphegodes Karen M. Robbirt, A. J. Davy, M. Hutchings, David L. Roberts Geography 2011 146 Save Alert Research Feed Herbarium specimens reveal the footprint of climate change on flowering trends across north-central North America Kellen Calinger, S. Queenborough, P. Curtis Biology, Medicine Ecology letters 2013 116 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Photographs and herbarium specimens as tools to document phenological changes in response to global warming. A. J. Miller-Rushing, R. Primack, Daniel Primack, S. Mukunda Biology, Medicine American journal of botany 2006 158 View 1 excerpt, references results Save Alert Research Feed Shifts in flowering phenology reshape a subalpine plant community Paul J. CaraDonna, Amy M Iler, D. Inouye Environmental Science, Medicine Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 2014 304 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Herbarium specimens, photographs, and field observations show Philadelphia area plants are responding to climate change. Zoe A. Panchen, R. Primack, T. Aniśko, R. Lyons Biology, Medicine American journal of botany 2012 66 Save Alert Research Feed Influences of species, latitudes and methodologies on estimates of phenological response to global warming C. Parmesan Geography 2007 1,002 PDF View 1 excerpt Save Alert Research Feed Climate-associated phenological advances in bee pollinators and bee-pollinated plants I. Bartomeus, J. Ascher, +4 authors R. Winfree Medicine, Biology Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 2011 316 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Phylogenetic conservatism in plant phenology T. Davies, E. Wolkovich, +14 authors S. Travers Biology 2013 122 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Phylogenetic patterns of species loss in Thoreau's woods are driven by climate change C. G. Willis, B. Ruhfel, R. Primack, A. Miller-Rushing, C. Davis Biology, Medicine Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 2008 488 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Progress towards an interdisciplinary science of plant phenology: building predictions across space, time and species diversity. E. Wolkovich, B. Cook, T. Davies Biology, Medicine The New phytologist 2014 72 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... 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work_lazs3jb3srcobhdqbfjxaltw44	----	Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária Franco, António Cândido. “Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 15, 2020, pp. 1–5. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.27 RESEARCH Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária António Cândido Franco Instituto de História Contemporânea (FCSH-UNOVA), Universidade de Évora, PT acvcf@uevora.pt Trata-se da tentativa de situar a obra de Henry David Thoreau dentro do anarquismo como sistema político definido e do pensamento libertário em geral. Estabelece-se para isso um paralelo com pensadores como Pierre-Joseph Proudhon ou Anselme Bellagarrigue, quase seus contem- porâneos, e ensaia-se perceber por dentro dalguns dos textos do autor, sobretudo aqueles que maior impacto social imediato tiveram, o que pode haver de afinitário com o pensamento político libertário tal como ele estava a ser elaborado na Europa do tempo. Noções como “auto-governo”, com raízes fundas na tradição liberal estadunidense, e “desobediência civil” mostram-se operati- vas nesse campo, permitindo uma ligação não sistemática mas fecunda do autor ao pensamento libertário em geral. Finaliza-se com uma chamada de atenção para a história da recepção do autor americano junto dos historiadores do anarquismo, que o ignoraram até ao início do século XX, quer dizer, até à obra de Max Nettlau. Só na segunda metade do século XX o autor do ensaio “On the duty of civil disobedience” passou a integrar de pleno direito todas as histórias, mesmo as mais essenciais, do anarquismo. Portugal não fugiu a esta tendência e só em 1977 se dá nota da primeira referência a Thoreau na imprensa libertária portuguesa. Palavras-chave: Thoreau; anarquismo; pensamento libertário This essay is a tentative placement of Henry David Thoreau’s work within anarchism as a definite political system and libertarian thinking in general. To this end, a parallel is drawn with thinkers such as Pierre-Joseph Proudhon or Anselme Bellagarrigue, almost his contemporaries, and we try to analyze the depths of the author’s texts, especially those with the greatest immediate social impact. That is, we privilege the texts that display affinities with libertarian political thought as it was being elaborated in the Europe of the time. Notions such as “self-government”, rooted in the American liberal tradition, and “civil disobedience” are operative in this field, allowing for the author’s unsystematic but fruitful connection to libertarian thinking in general. The essay shall conclude by foregrounding the history of the American author’s reception by anarchist historians, who ignored him until the early twentieth century, that is, until Max Nettlau’s work. Only in the second half of the twentieth century did the author of the essay “On the Duty of Civil Disobedience” fully integrate all, even the most essential, stories of anarchism. Portugal did not escape this trend and the first known reference to Thoreau in the Portuguese libertarian press is from 1977. Keywords: Thoreau; anarchism; libertarian thought O escritor estadunidense Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862), cujo bicentenário de nascimento se celebrou em 2017, não podia, pela idade, pelo ano de nascimento, pelo quadro cultural, fazer parte dum movimento anarquista organizado. Na verdade, um tal movimento só toma lugar, e de forma embrionária, a partir do final da década de 60 do século XIX, depois da criação da Associação Internacional dos Trabalhadores (AIT), em especial no momento em que uma tendência anti-autoritária, assim se designou então, se polarizou https://doi.org/10.5334/as.27 mailto:acvcf@uevora.pt Franco: Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição LibertáriaArt. 15, page 2 of 5 dentro desta associação, nunca antes de 1868, em torno da figura de Miguel Bakunine. Assim se originou uma corrente de grande visibilidade na cultura finissecular europeia e americana, o anarquismo, cuja caracterização exacta, nos seus distintos graus e níveis, está fora do âmbito desta síntese. O que temos antes da década de 60, e Thoreau pela idade e pela época em que deu a lume as suas obras faz parte desse grupo, é um conjunto de pensadores isolados, que na Europa e nos Estados Unidos, quase sempre no desconhecimento uns dos outros, criaram um pensamento político/jurídico inovador e disrup- tivo, quer à direita quer à esquerda da época, marcada a primeira por tendências autoritárias e monocráti- cas e a segunda por inclinações liberais e democráticas. Este pensamento de definição difícil, furtivo que é a esquematizações lineares, contraditório até nas suas muito variadas expressões, apresenta, porém, um denominador comum, capaz de funcionar como uma identidade (embora instável): a novidade de socializar a política e a riqueza, retirando-as das mãos do Estado ou dos monopólios e entregando-as à sociedade e ao indivíduo. Pela ousadia das ideias, pela firmeza dos escritos, mas também pela aura de escritor e de panfletário vigoroso que marcou larga influência nas gerações mais novas, gerando uma admiração sem limite em figuras mais jovens, entre elas Bakunine, Baudelaire, Tolstoi, que lhe deve o título da sua epopeia, Guerra e Paz, Flaubert, Antero ou Eça de Queiroz, que o citou e parafraseou na Conferência do Casino Lisbonense, destaca-se entre todos Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1809–1865), o primeiro que reabilitou de forma positiva e dinâmica, logo em 1840, na introdução ao seu livro O que é a propriedade?, a palavra “anarquia”. Seria esta a primeira profissão de fé anarquista, que depois desenvolveu e alargou num livro já final, que pode ser avaliado como o seu testamento de ideias, Do princípio federativo (1863), que tanto significado veio a ter no surgimento da tendência anti-autoritária dentro da AIT. Assinale-se ainda a boa recepção das utopias coop- erativistas de Robert Owen (1771–1858) junto dos transcendentalistas americanos – Emerson e Margaret Fuller – e que por sua vez abriu caminho a uma recepção imediata das teorias económicas de Proudhon em solo americano, de Lysander Spooner a Benjamin Tucker, num tópico de grande pertinência mas que carece um estudo autónomo deste. As décadas de 40 e de 50 do século XIX foram fecundas em escritores e pensadores que, perto ou longe, nos Estados Unidos ou na Europa, seguiram itinerário paralelo e idêntico ao do grande mestre francês e se bateram por uma ideia política que deixava de lado o governo do Estado, insistindo na nociva inutilidade deste e na capacidade de auto-governo da sociedade, transferindo assim o princípio de soberania do povo (ou de Deus) para o indivíduo. Basta apontar esse caso curioso que se chama Anselme Bellagarrigue, de quem pouco se sabe, a não ser que, regressado dos Estados Unidos em 1848, admirador confesso de Thomas Paine e de William Godwin (de quem logo em 1796, três anos após a edição inglesa, se editou nos Estados Unidos uma edição do Political Justice), publicou em Paris, no quadro da revolução contra a monarquia de Luís Filipe, um jornal de nome fulminante, A Anarquia – jornal da ordem, que apresentava como legenda a desarmante frase, “a anarquia é a ordem; o governo é a guerra civil”. Daí talvez um pensador anarquista actual como Normand Baillargeon – canadiano de língua francesa – ter usado como título para a sua interessante e sintética história das ideias libertárias o seguinte título: L’ordre moins le pouvoir [A ordem menos o poder]. Pela idade, pelo espírito, pela obra escrita que legou ao futuro, Thoreau faz parte desta cintilante con- stelação de escritores, publicistas, panfletários, conferencistas e pensadores que na transição da primeira metade do século XIX para a segunda metade levaram a peito renovar as ideias político-sociais, passando ao lado de, ou melhor, deixando para trás as principais escolas de pensamento político-jurídico então em voga. Estranhos embora a qualquer movimento e a qualquer organização, são eles, na verdade, os fundadores daquilo que se chama anarquismo e é no seu pensamento que se encontram as raízes da moderna tradição libertária, das quais resultaram as muitas e variadas escolas que ao longo das décadas foram dando braçadas e ramos a esta árvore hoje frondosa e de avantajado porte. Thoreau viveu uma vida curta e deixou uma obra escassa, que se veio todavia a revelar de grande signifi- cado, quer para o ulterior desenvolvimento das ideias e das práticas libertárias, quer para uma literatura norte-americana ainda na adolescência e que aí encontraria um dos pilares estruturantes do seu imaginário. O seu texto mais conhecido e com certeza o mais decisivo no âmbito que aqui nos importa, Do dever de desobediência civil [Resistance to Civil Government (1849)], palestra inicialmente proferida na sua cidade natal, Concord, no Massachusetts, em 1848, e publicada no ano seguinte numa antologia de Elisabeth Peabody, foi gizado a partir dum motivo autobiográfico. Retirado desde 1845 numa cabana por si construída em Walden, nos arredores de Concord, Thoreau recusou, por imperativo moral, pagar os seus impostos no ano de 1846, atitude que lhe valeu o cárcere. Apresentou então como razão para a sua recusa o destino do seu dinheiro: financiar um sistema abjecto e um governo injusto, se não corrupto, que aceitava a escravatura e empreendia uma guerra desumana contra o México. Franco: Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária Art. 15, page 3 of 5 Fundado neste episódio autobiográfico, Thoreau, através dum estilo eloquente e interpelante, pensa a relação do indivíduo com o governo e do governo com a sociedade. A divisa de Jefferson, ou que pelo menos lhe é por vezes atribuída, “o melhor governo é o que menos governa” [the government is best which governs the least] é aceite com entusiasmo e desenvolvida até se tornar: “that government is best which governs not at all” (Thoreau, Collected 217). Este anti-estatismo – “I quietly declare war with the State”, diz ele no ensaio de 1849 (Thoreau, Collected 219) –, com o perecimento natural do governo de Estado, é uma meta ideal, à qual se chegará inevitavelmente através da vontade de todos e a colaboração de cada um, mas só no futuro, à imagem do que sucede no texto político clássico de Godwin, Political Justice, que foi com certeza a sua fonte de inspiração. Thoreau aceita, porém, que no imediato o que importa é estabelecer o melhor governo possível. Que governo é este? O que aceita a dissidência jurídica do indivíduo, dando-lhe um alto grau de soberania individual e reconhecendo-lhe o direito a viver à margem, que um mau governo, um governo autoritário, não permite, tratando os seres humanos como um rebanho e obrigando-os ao cumprimento rígido das leis e das normas, mesmo as mais iníquas, o que se torna do ponto de vista do autor uma forma de escravização humana e razão bastante para o afastamento, a dissidência ou desobediência do ser humano moral, preocupado com a justiça e a liberdade. Daí o passo do seu ensaio, hoje universalmente famoso, em que indica que sob um governo que prende injustamente o lugar do homem justo é a prisão – “Under a government which imprisons unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison” (Thoreau, Collected 213). A noção de “desobediência civil”, que parece ter antecedentes no ensaio de Étienne de la Boëtie, A servidão voluntária, e pode também aqui ter como fonte mais próxima Godwin, que foi a ponte entre a tradição humanista anterior e a do mundo moderno, é encarada por Thoreau como uma arma colectiva. Justamente célebre é a passagem do seu discurso, que tanto marcaria o Gandhi da década de 20 quando optou pela não- cooperação, pelo boicote e pela desobediência civil em massa, em que ele, Thoreau, assinala que bastariam 1000 homens determinados a não pagarem impostos para fazerem uma revolução pacífica, derrubarem um governo e pararem uma guerra tão injusta e desumana como a do México. O ditame da recusa de obedecer a um governo que não permite a dissidência ou a objecção e que se empenha em violentar outros povos através da guerra ou em violentar a consciência moral do indivíduo mantendo regras moralmente inacei- táveis como as do esclavagismo acaba por pôr em causa a eficácia da ciência política contemporânea de Thoreau. Não menos indelével é o passo final do grande ensaio de 1848 em que o autor se interroga se a democracia, tal como a conhecemos será mesmo a última palavra em termos de governo. A resposta é não. A democracia tal como existe, quer dizer, fruto das instituições políticas estadunidenses e das ideias francesas setecentistas, é apenas um fragmento, um esboço primário e imperfeito daquilo que é possível e desejável conceber e concretizar. A democracia pode ser aperfeiçoada no sentido da soberania individual, matriz da identidade libertária, o que está de acordo com a ideia que no início do ensaio ele avançou – o melhor governo é o auto-governo. Outros textos de Thoreau podiam aqui corroborar estas linhas fortes do seu ensaio mais sólido e desenvolvido. O mais conhecido, “Um apelo a favor do capitão John Brown” [A Plea for Captain Brown, 1859], é menos um afinamento ou uma evolução das noções antes criadas a partir da experiência autobi- ográfica vivida no Concord que uma tentativa de as aplicar a uma tragédia, a de John Brown, um dissidente com um perfil moral acima de qualquer suspeita e que por desobediência às leis fora condenado à forca. Tendo empreendido uma enérgica acção directa visando os potentados escravocratas, Brown encarnava a desobediência civil tal como Thoreau a teorizara. Daí o veemente apelo que fez para lhe salvar a vida, no que não foi bem sucedido. Mas talvez o texto mais significativo do ponto de vista que aqui nos move seja “A vida sem princípio(s)” [Life without Principle, 1863], em que o problema moral toca a sua tensão máxima e em que a ideia duma vida gratuita, vivida para os prazeres mais simples e humildes, parece ser a expressão literal do que espontaneamente, literalmente até, a anarquia é – a vida sem princípio (nem fim). A palavra anarquia, a não confundir com “acracia”, quer dizer à letra “sem princípio”. A recepção de Thoreau nos Estados Unidos, se não foi quase imediata, foi ao menos progressiva e as suas ideias acabaram por ser bem recebidas até aos dias de hoje entre minorias activas e expressivas. Embora inspiradas de forma directa na experiência de Gandhi na Índia, é de crer que as grandes campanhas pelos direitos civis dum Luther King no início da segunda metade do séc. XX não fossem o que foram se não tives- sem beneficiado muito do reconhecimento que um Thoreau e em especial a sua noção de “desobediência civil” já então gozavam junto da população estadunidense. O mesmo se poderá dizer da obra de Emma Goldman, não obstante a forte influência nela duma tradição libertária europeia. Já a penetração das ideias de Thoreau na Europa foi mais demorada e espaçada, com ausências e hiatos, se bem que um sábio tão empenhado e desinteressado como Max Nettlau (1865–1945), que alguém chamou o Heródoto da anarquia, tivesse tido contacto directo com as ideias do grande solitário norte-americano logo no início do século XX, Franco: Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição LibertáriaArt. 15, page 4 of 5 manifestando por elas grande apreço e simpatia e integrando-as na monumental história do anarquismo a que dedicou as últimas décadas da sua vida e de que uma síntese viu a luz no final da década de 20. Lá se encontra um curioso e bem documentado capítulo dedicado ao “espiritualismo libertário americano” do século XIX em que se diz de Thoreau: “A mais bela figura deste meio é, do ponto de vista libertário, Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862), autor de Walden: my life in the woods (1854) e do célebre ensaio ‘On the duty of civil disobedience’ (1849)” (Nettlau, 2008: 72–73). Não obstante a enorme recepção que a obra de Nettlau teve nos meios anarquistas europeus das primeiras décadas do século XX, o seu caso não significou a entrada imediata das ideias de Thoreau no património libertário europeu. Foi preciso esperar pela segunda metade do século XX para Thoreau sedimentar de forma definitiva neste cabedal. Talvez o caso de Henri Arvon seja representativo. Quando escreveu a primeira síntese sobre as ideias e as práticas libertárias para a colecção “que sais-je”, L’anarchisme (1951), e o livro foi escrito e seguramente pensado na segunda metade da década de 40, não consagrou a mais pequena alusão aos ensaios e à figura de Thoreau. No final da década de 70 Arvon interessou-se pelas novas ideias libertárias que estavam a surgir em torno da obra de Murray Rothbard, o libertarianismo e o anarco-capitalismo, e encontrou Thoreau, a quem passou a dedicar larga atenção, nunca mais deixando de o referir e estudar nos múltiplos trabalhos que ainda dedicou ao assunto. Não há hoje história do anarquismo, nos dois lados do Atlântico, que não contemple e acarinhe a figura e a obra de Thoreau. O caso português decalca o que acabamos de dizer. Se bem que Nettlau fosse então conhecido entre nós e desde o início da década de 30 existisse em Espanha uma tradução acessível da sua síntese historiográfica, as alusões a Thoreau são entre nós tardias. Nas mais representativas publicações libertárias portuguesas das primeiras décadas do século XX não se dão conta de referências a Thoreau ou às suas ideias. O investigador António Baião1 fez a meu pedido uma pesquisa exaustiva em revistas como Germinal e Sementeira e no jor- nal diário A Batalha, órgão da Confederação Geral do Trabalho, e dentro dele no seu suplemento ilustrado semanal, e ainda na bela revista Renovação que este jornal publicava, não encontrando em qualquer deles o nome de Thoreau ou o das suas obras. Conquanto o jornal tenha consagrado atenção às lutas anti-coloniais gandhianas da década de 20, a expressão “desobediência civil” é surpreendentemente rara de encontrar.2 Mesmo tendo ficado ainda por peneirar algumas publicações importantes, como A Aurora (Porto, 1910–19; 397 n.º) e A Comuna (Porto, 1920–27; 276 n.º), já que a imprensa libertária portuguesa foi neste período numerosíssima e variada – João Freire e Maria Alexandre Lousada só em Lisboa e apenas para o primeiro terço do século seleccionaram 53 títulos (Freire e Lousada 130–138) – não cremos que a pesquisa final e completa venha alterar, ao menos de forma decisiva, o quadro. Para o virar de página, foi necessário esperar pela segunda metade do século XX, em especial pelos anos 70 e pela Revolução dos Cravos. À revista A Ideia, fundada em Paris em 1973/4 por um desertor da marinha portuguesa, João Freire, coube talvez a primeira alusão a Henry David Thoreau e às suas ideias na imp- rensa libertária portuguesa. O número de estreia da publicação apareceu em Abril de 1974, manifestando logo nesse momento atenção à tradição libertária americana, através de tradução dum trecho de Murray Bookchin, um dos mais heterodoxos libertários da segunda metade do século XX. No seu número 9, Outono de 1977, consagrado às relações da ecologia com a anarquia, a revista apresenta uma página dedicada ao pensador e activista da desobediência civil, uma curta nota biográfica não assinada mas da autoria de Maria Teresa Campos Silva, com retrato à pena alusivo à sua figura, também não assinado, mas da autoria de Maria Alexandre Lousada, já então ligada à revista. O autor de Walden é dado como exemplo maior da luta do ser humano “contra todas as formas de poder” e as suas ideias encaradas como um contributo decisivo à formação e ao desenvolvimento do anarquismo de sentido individualista, o que nos parece certeiro, mesmo tendo em conta que lhe coube a ele, até antes de Tolstoi, conceber e testar pela primeira vez métodos de resistência social, como a recusa em pagar impostos e integrar exércitos ou instituições moralmente lesivas, que se tornariam no século seguinte nas mãos de Gandhi portentosas armas de combate colectivo. Conflito de interesses A autora não tem conflito de interesses a declarar. 1 Exaro aqui a minha gratidão a António Baião pelas informações prestadas. 2 A expressão surge uma única vez no artigo de A Batalha «A situação na India: O impôsto sobre o sal» (2), muito embora já anteri- ormente um outro relato, «O congresso pan-hindu», tivesse referido a «política de desobediência» (1). Ressalve-se ainda, a título de curiosidade, que anteriormente, durante o período de monarquia parlamentar mais afeto ao Partido Regenerador, a execução de John Brown no final de 1859 mereceu considerável cobertura noticiosa, em tom lamentoso, nos jornais Aurora do Lima, o Diário de Lisboa e o Comércio do Porto, conforme nos dá conta o artigo de Rute Beirante, “Thoreau em Portugal” (44–45). Franco: Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária Art. 15, page 5 of 5 Referências Arvon, Henri. L’anarchisme au XXème siècle. Presses Universitaire de France, 1979. Arvon, Henri. L’anarchisme. Presses Universitaire de France, 1951. Arvon, Henri. Les libertariens américains – de l’anarchisme individualiste à l’anarcho-capitalisme. Presses Universitaire de France, 1983. “A situação na India: O impôsto sobre o sal”. A Batalha, No. 5, issue 1516, 21 nov. 1923, p. 2. Beirante, Rute. “Thoreau em Portugal: Breve súmula da tradução e receção do autor em Portugal.” Thoreau em Portugal: Resistência Civil | Acordo com a Natureza, org. Margarida Vale de Gato, BNP/CEAUL, 2017, pp. 35–47. Eltzbacher, Paul. O Anarchismo. Tradução de Agostinho Forte, Francisco Luiz Gonçalves, 1909. Freire, João. Anarquistas e operários. Afrontamento, 1992. Freire, João, and Lousada, Maria Alexandre. Roteiros da Memória Urbana, Lisboa – marcas deixadas por libertários e afins ao longo do século XX. Edições Colibri, 2013. “H. D. Thoreau.” Maria Teresa Campos Silva (texto) e Maria Alexandre Lousada (il.), A Ideia 9 (inverno), 1977–1978, s/p. Nettlau, Max. História da anarquia. Organização e introdução de Frank Mintz, Edições Hedra, 2008. “O Congresso Pan-Hindu.” A Batalha, No. 3, issue 922, 21 nov. 1921, p. 1. Préposiet, Jean. História do anarquismo. Tradução de Pedro Elói Duarte, Edições 70, 2007. Proudhon, Pierre-Joseph. Du principe fédératif. Éditions Romillat, 1999. Thoreau, Henry David. A desobediência civil e outros ensaios. Selecção, tradução, prefácio e notas de José Paulo Paes, Editora Cultrix, 1978. Thoreau, Henry David. A desobediência civil. Tradução de Júlio-António Salgueiro, Estúdios Cor, 1972. Thoreau, Henry David. Collected Essays and Poems. Organização de Elizabeth Hall Witherell. Library of America, 2001. Thoreau, Henry David. Uma Vida sem Princípios. Tradução, introdução e notas de Jaime Becerra da Costa, Opera Omnia, 2014. How to cite this article: Franco, António Cândido. “Henry David Thoreau e a Moderna Tradição Libertária”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 15, 2020, pp. 1–5. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.27 Submitted: 12 November 2019 Accepted: 12 November 2019 Published: 29 January 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://doi.org/10.5334/as.27 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Conflito de interesses Referências 
work_ldnxrrajf5cn7p2izkjzymlq64	----	Title <Articles>Ventriloquising the Voice : Writing in the University Author(s) Fulford, Amanda Citation 臨床教育人間学 (2010), 10: 112-122 Issue Date 2010-03-31 URL http://hdl.handle.net/2433/197087 Right Type Departmental Bulletin Paper Textversion publisher Kyoto University Record of Clinical-Philosophical Pedagogy, Vol. 10, 2009 Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University AMANDA FULF ORD Leeds Trinity & All Saints Institute of Education, University of London Until we are capable of serious speech again—i.e., are re-born, are men `[speaking] in a waking moment, to men in their waking moment' (XVIII, 6) - -our words do not carry our conviction, we cannot fully back them, because either we are careless of our convictions, or think we haven't any, or imagine they are inexpressible. They are merely unutterable (Cavell, 1981, p. 34). STUDENT WRITING IN UNIVERSITY In recent years there has been an increase in the number and variety of methods used by universities to support students' writing at undergraduate and at Masters' levels. This is exemplified by more formal study preparation courses at induction, study skills packs and websites, taught courses on academic writing, and the appointment of tutors whose primary role is to support students with the development of academic and study skills. One particular study skills aid has been the writing frame, now used widely to support students in the preparation of summatively assessed written work. (An example is provided in the Appendix.) The writing frame is typically designed by lecturing staff to offer very structured support for their students' writing. The frame often supplies very detailed scaffolding of a particular type of written task, not only in respect of overall structure and organisation, but also with regard to required content in general and in specific terms, and of appropriate elements of language, style and compliance with academic conventions. The increasingly widespread use of writing frames, particularly in schools, tends to be seen as a positive move to encourage reluctant or struggling writers, and the writing frame's more general appeal in the school context lies in its potential to help develop children's confidence with some of the basic aspects of genre, of structuring writing and of enhancing textual cohesion. In the university, the writing frame appears to serve a rather different purpose from that in school contexts. Its use is ineluctably linked to formal student assessment rather than being used, as is generally the case in schools, as a developmental tool. Where students have been advised, or even required, to use the writing frame in presenting work for grading, the tutor can more easily assess the extent to which the student has complied with the requirements of the assignment. In this way, it is argued, the consistency of assessment decisions is increased, and standardisation of marking is more easily attained, especially in cases where large numbers of © 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University ''3 assignments are being marked by different tutors. The writing frame typically guides students' work and may merely give simple content headings as prompts. More detailed writing frames perform an additional function and determine students' sentence structure, choice of words and forms of expression through the provision of model sentences from which students make selections or into which they insert the appropriate terms. Such tools, it is often argued, help students to articulate their ideas using an appropriate register and to comply with the more general conventions of writing in academia. The practice of using writing frames has long been established in adult literacy classes to support the development of writing, but more recently has been recognised by England's National Literacy Strategy for schools as a valuable resource for supporting children's writing skills across different curriculum areas (DfEE, 2000). Indeed, inspectorate bodies and curriculum advisors from different sectors of education highlight the use of such supporting strategies and applaud the 'scaffolding' that teachers are able to offer and the differentiation in teaching and assessment that such tools afford. Such initiatives, however, are not limited to European approaches to the teaching of writing. Annemarie Jackson's work in the United States shows how writing frames can be used effectively by teachers to model and to support narrative writing as pupils work towards independent composition (Jackson, 2003). The increasing use of the writing frame in the university might be attributed to two key factors. First, recent years have witnessed a shift, particularly in the United Kingdom, from an elite, to a mass higher education system as part of an agenda of widening participation to university education, and in addition a shift to a broader curriculum that includes vocationally oriented courses and programmes of professional training and development. The increasing number of non-traditional university entrants, from culturally, socially and linguistically diverse backgrounds may be one contributory factor in the need some universities perceive to support students in replicating the specific discourses of more traditional forms of academic writing. Some students, indeed, feel an uneasiness in relation to aspects of what is generally considered as 'academic writing'. This is not primarily the result of a lack of confidence, or even ability, with written—as opposed to oral—forms of expression as some may claim, but, as Theresa Lillis' empirical investigations appear to show, is symptomatic of some students' views that academic writing involves a conflict, even a denial of the self (Lillis, 2003). Given these not insignificant changes in the student population, and in light of the time constraints and resource pressures faced by universities, the difficult issue of supporting such student need is indeed a pressing one, and the writing frame appears to offer a desirable mechanism for supporting assessed writing. A second, and perhaps more compelling, reason for the prevalence of writing frames within the university is the culture of performativity that pervades assessment regimes. In many institutions students' work must meet particular learning outcomes in addition to specific assessment criteria. In an education system increasingly driven by market forces, the achievement rates on courses have rarely been subject to such scrutiny, and the need to provide a competitive edge in student support has rarely been so urgent. More significantly, students paying considerable sums of money in tuition fees naturally appear keen to protect their investment and improve the likelihood of their passing assessments through the use of aids specifically designed to help with each written assignment. Writing frames are one way of (-1) 2010 The Author "4 A. Fulford increasing the chance that students' written work is structured appropriately, contains relevant content and conforms to academic conventions, with the result that the likelihood of success, though not guaranteed, is enhanced significantly. But little consideration seems to be given to what type of learning is engendered by the use of the writing frame in a university education. Is such learning in some way artificial, and what might constitute a more authentic academic development? In considering how students are best served in terms of their academic development, attention needs to be drawn to the distinction between the writing frame as a particular manifestation of support for student writing, and other forms of induction to, or assistance with, aspects of academic work that enable, rather than restrict, the possibilities of thought. The approaches that enable students to develop their skills of confident argument in writing, or to defend and refine their ideas in the light of criticism, might rightly be considered as supporting legitimate educational aims in the university, and moreover, what we might call a student's writing voice is developed through learning these very skills. I argue that student writing can be affected detrimentally when it is merely constructed in response to such rigid frames. Moreover, in some cases the whole focus of the assessment appears changed. The use of the writing frame is driven and controlled by the pressures of the assessment. Writing frames seem to offer students an increased chance of success in assessment, and the university the possibility of an increase in student achievement rates. Indeed the writing frame used as a tool to serve to the needs of the assessment process reduces marking to a somewhat simplistic `tick-box' approach, rather than the considered assessment of students' knowledge, understanding, argument or critical thinking in a discipline. Marking of students' work in these cases is merely reduced dimished to an assessment of the extent to which the student has complied with the requirements of the writing frame. In a prevailing educational culture where assessment controls teaching methods to a seemingly ever increasing extent, it is not too bold a statement to say that writing according to the requirements of a frame is seen to be what writing is: indeed in some institutions, it champions what academic writing means. The unease felt by some university staff over the growth in the use of writing frames is partly one of level: what might be appropriate for introducing style and genre to school children or to adults in literacy classes is highly questionable in, for example, a Masters' level university education. To use an analogy from foreign language teaching: the use of student drills that is characteristic of many beginner classes is alien to the authentic speaking required in an advanced class. Just as the language spoken by the beginner level student who repeats the teacher's drill is far removed from what it means to speak a language, so an essay following the restrictive and prescriptive directives of the writing frame is in no way an example of what it means to write in the university. But it is not just an issue of level; the writing frame also raises a second question concerning the degree of support provided. If we imagine some kind of continuum of support for students' writing, where the valuable discussion between lecturer and student on approaching, for example, the essay, a critically reflective account or the writing up of the report, is at one end of the continuum, then the use of of a highly prescribed writing frame clearly sits towards the other end. Whilst this is suggestive of a problem merely of degree, I argue, in ways that will become apparent, that the most detailed forms of the writing frame, increasingly commonly used in the university, represent a qualitative shift of a very significant kind. This © 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University II5 shift can be signified by a brief consideration of issues of form and content in writing. There is an inescapable and complex intertwining of concepts in any piece of writing, and the form in which such concepts are expressed. Martha Nussbaum elucidates the writer's art as follows: Certain thoughts and ideas, a certain sense of life, reach towards expression in writing that has a certain shape and form, that uses certain structures, certain terms. Just as the plant emerges from the seeded soil, taking its from from the combined character of seed and soil, so the novel and its terms flower from and express the conceptions of the author . . . Conception and form are bound together; finding and shaping words is a matter of finding the appropriate, and so to speak, the honorable, fit between conception and expression (Nussbaum, 1990, pp. 4-5). Advocates of the writing frame might argue that Nussbaum's comments only serve to show the usefulness of such a tool, enabling--they might call it 'empowering'—students to write, to seamlessly unite form and content. But this would be to entirely dismiss what is at the heart of Nussbaum's discussion of the writer's art: that a writer's text is 'fully imagined' and crucially for this discussion, all that makes up a piece of writing (form and content) 'flower from and express the conceptions of the author, his or her sense of what matters' (p. 5). And here is the very root of the problem for the writing frame: that it determines the content of a student's writing, not enabling the expression of her sense of what is important, but another's. Consider for a moment the sonnet and the haiku, both sophisticated poetic forms, each with its own established structural form which the poet follows. But such fauns are not in themselves restrictive, rather they are structures that are enabling, they release the possibility of thought. In contrast, what is most problematic about the writing frame is not particularly that it is a device for establishing structure, but that it is one that in determining content, to use Nussbaum's words, refuses the flowering of the author's expressions and of her sense of what matters; it strips the writer of her power not only as an author, but also as a thinker. VOICE IN EDUCATION Current educational discourses seem preoccupied with the notion of encouraging, developing and providing opportunities for the expression of student voice. As Paul Standish has pointed out, voice here is understood in a highly restricted sense (Standish 2004). The emphasis on voice is one that promotes student participation, be it in the classroom through discussion, or in students' contributions to organisational quality assurance and improvement processes through the completion of, for example, end of course questionnaires where voice is synonymous with the opinions of the customer, with gaining feedback, with individual student self-expression, and with the importance of hearing the voice of the hitherto silenced learner. This is evidenced in the proliferation of assignments that require such tasks as completing a learning biography; developing and maintaining a personal development portfolio; keeping a reflective learning diary, or of writing a critically reflective account of one's professional practice. Indeed, in education, self-expression, often termed 'reflective practice', has become something of a broadly unquestioned mantra. Such emphasis on self-expression can tend towards narcissism and a 2010 The Author Ii6 A. Fulford limited view of the individual as self-contained, as in some way attained, and therefore capable of voicing self-expression in an unproblematic fashion. Voice understood merely as self- expression, celebrates the finding, recognition and acknowledgement of the self without any sense of journeying towards that self that is characteristic of Emersonian moral perfectionism, or indeed of the role of the other in the perception of the self. Voice in education is often used with reference to the practices of writing shared by the academic community across a number of subject disciplines. Writing can be highly prescribed within many traditions, not only in a limited number where the rhetorical and linguistic structures are, arguably, most easily identified. The writing frame is prized in higher education because it is seen as a tool for the development of voice in writing. But Paul Stapletons's work (2002) highlights the problem with approaches to writing that give disproportionate emphasis to `voice' in relation to the actual content of the work. And this is the intractable problem of the most detailed forms of the writing frame when used in the university. Marketed as a tool of developing a student's academic voice, it not only determines style and structure, perhaps in a way that is useful for some students, but also the content and the very thrust of the argument itself. It is prescription not only of what might be said, but also of what can and must be said. If student voice is understood as the expression of an individual's grappling with the problems in her subject and her exploration of these through her writing such that the result is, to use Nussbaum's words, the expression of the 'author's sense of what matters', then the writing frame denies the very voice that it promises. The writing frame, therefore, gives voice not to the student, but to its author's interpretation of the perceived rules of the discipline in relation to how, and what, knowledge is presented and therefore privileged. Theresa Lillis' work illustrates how students' writing seems engaged with what amounts to a mere 'reproduction of official discourses' (Lillis, 2003, p. 193). She attempts to show that these practices are found particularly in much pedagogy of academic writing, because they recognise and aim to reproduce only certain powerful discourses, whilst denying voice to others. This often unthinking conformity with epistemological and textual conventions in academic writing—a conformity that is an inherent risk of the writing frame—leads to a form of academic voicelessness. In challenging what she terms ̀ monologic', though Emerson might call 'conformist', practices in education, Lillis draws on Bakhtin to argue strongly for a more dialogic approach to the pedagogy of academic writing, and for the bringing together of different discourses to create hybrid texts. There is a danger here, though, that Lillis' approach, with its emphasis on discussion and negotiation of assignment content, her desire for student writing to be open to what she terms 'external interests and influences' (p. 204) leading to hybrid texts as new ways to 'construct meaning', might lead to what Standish refers to as 'a kind of tokenism of expres sion' (Standish, 2004, p. 104). The so-called development of student voice using tools such as a writing frame, I argue, lead to a kind of voicelessness. It is as if the means by which the voice is developed can actually reinforce a state of voicelessness. The point to be made here is that the writing frame, a tool of academic voice tuition, has the potential—especially in the university —to repress thinking and to result in a state of academic voicelessness. The very idea of a writing frame embodies not only the authorised, monologic nature of much knowledge in some academic disciplines, but also reinforces accepted ways of its expression and presentation. The performative culture in higher education that embraces the use of such aids leads to the silencing © 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University i 17 of the student and to formulaic learning that amounts to a faking of education itself. VOICE AND PHILOSOPHY In exploring here a richer sense of how student voice in writing might be understood, I draw on the understandings of the term that have been pursued in Stanley Cavell's philosophical writing. Voice as textually mediated pronouncement or enactment, a form of self-expression in writing, is highlighted by Timothy Gould in his exploration of the concept in what he calls the method of Stanley Cavell's philosophy. For Gould, voice is a necessary condition of human expression (though is neglected and repressed by certain forms of philosophy): 'I learned to hear the question of the voice as epitomizing an entire region of questions about the means by which human beings express themselves and the depth of our need for such expression' (Gould, 1998, p. xv). Cavell's writing, its intricacies; it deliberate obfuscations; the breadth of its literary and film allusions; its ploys to slow the reader down; in sum, its style, is his philosophical project, the expression of his voice. In what follows, I want to explore voice somewhat differently, as a notion that incorporates aspects of personal expressiveness, writing style, as authenticity, but also as a more complex term that is concerned with the person an individual is; with her having a language; the relationships she has with her community; her responsibility to her language and her society, that is, her responsibility to say what she means. It is voice understood in these terms that is at risk of being silenced in the university. Voicelessness and Conformity With the use of a rigid frame, writing takes on the literal meaning of composition, that is, of putting together. But the far richer sense of composition, which involves a crafting of language, is lost. Let me offer the following analogy. Suppose a cabinet maker, a master craftsman, were creating a bespoke piece of furniture, the end product would be unique, and, upon inspection, the hand tooled joints, the marks of the plane, the depth of polish, would all be evident. This would be, however, a very different piece of furniture from the shop-bought, flat packed, ready to assemble piece that contains all the necessary elements, together with clear instructions for the order of assembly. Perhaps the idea of an apprentice here would be a useful one, especially as the origin of the word lies in its meaning as 'someone leaming'—apprentis, as distinct from `someone being taught' . Moreover, Heidegger states that the work of the teacher is more difficult than that of the learner, because 'what teaching calls for is this: to let learn' (Heidegger, 1968, p. 15). For Heidegger, the craft of the apprentice is not learned by gathering knowledge or by repeated practice only. Stanley Cavell, in discussing Heidegger's What is Called Thinking, makes a similar point when he quotes from Emerson: "'Truly speaking, it is not instruction, but provocation, that I can receive from another soul." What translation will capture the idea of provocation here as calling forth, challenging?' (Cavell, 1990, pp. 37-38). What is more important, wherein lies true learning, is in developing a response to the different woods and to `the shapes slumbering within them' . Surely the crafting of language is no different. This is (rD' 2010 The Author 118 A. Fulford suggestive of the apprentice recognising the possibilities of the wood in the same way as the student releasing the possibilities of thought in her writing. What is needed in the pedagogy of academic writing is not an approach that merely leads to unthinking observance, but the facilitation of student voice that recognises the importance of crafting, and of artistry. This is not a requirement for endless creativity; rather it is a moving away from the prevalent idea of the assignment with its rigid criteria that can be measured, to consider again the essay with its roots in essayer, to attempt or endeavour. Whilst the craftsman and apprentice analogy illustrates the expression of individual voice, Cavell is also concerned with the political, the community's voice, and he finds richer senses of this in readings of Ralph Waldo Emerson and of Henry David Thoreau. Whilst Emerson rejects conformity in favour of self-reliance, this is no mere individualism; conformity is a threat to democratic society, but self- reliant individuals benefit society, its religion, arts and culture. Non-conformity, characterised by aversive thinking, reminds us of Thoreau's description of thinking as being: 'beside ourselves in a sane sense' (Thoreau, 1854/1999, p. 123). 'Writing', Cavell claims, 'is the aversion of conformity, is a continual turning away from society, hence a continual turning toward it, as if for reference . . . One might call this process of writing deconformity' (Cavell, 1996, p. 66). Recovery of Voice If a student's voice has been repressed by the educational practices of academic writing to which she is subject, how might he recovery of voice be characterised? First, what is required is an initiation into language as it were, that previously has been blocked or frustrated for the student by particular educational practices. This is not an easy, once for all event, but rather part of an ongoing relationship with words that Thoreau describes as being our father tongue. Acquiring the father tongue is characterised by a finding of ones's own way rather than by an unthinking reliance on the monlogues imposed by others. Finding one's own voice, indeed one's own way, is part of the teaching of Thoreau's Walden: 'I desire that there be as many different persons in the world as possible; but I would have each one be careful to find out and pursue his own way, and not his father's or his mother's or his neighbor's instead' (Thoreau, 1854/1999, p. 65). Second, as Cavell highlights from his readings of a genre of 1940s Hollywood film that he terms the 'Melodramas of the Unknown Woman' the recovery of (a woman's) voice from the monologues of a man, is through a form of conversation with another, a turning away from one form of language to embrace another. In the films, Cavell highlights the role of the other involved in this conversation as crucial for the recovery of voice (Cavell, 1996, 2004). I want to argue that in the university, the tutor is the 'other' who initiates the conversation that develops the student's voice in her writing. LESSONS FOR THE PEDAGOGY OF ACADEMIC WRITING What, then, does all this imply for the pedagogy of academic writing and for what it is to write in the university? One significant point is that writing frames, particularly in their most detailed forms, may well deny the student voice that they aim to facilitate because they stifle the release CO 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University 1.9 of the possibilities of thought in writing through their prescription of content as well as structure. A further point is that student voice in academic writing cannot be forced through a tool such as a writing frame, for to do this is to subject students to a form of ventriloquism. Writing frames facilitate an easy and unquestioning reliance on established traditional forms, that can be a path to mere conformity. The development of voice for the student is through a process of initiation into the father tongue, into a form of language that may have been claimant and suppressed by academic practices such as the writing frame. But just as Thoreau's father tongue is an ongoing process, one of growth, of daily observance, so is the development of student voice. The discussions in this paper have implications for both the student and the academic writing tutor. If the student is truly to find voice, in whatever discipline she studies, then she must see this not as something merely 'acquired' through the mastery of technical skills. Just as the apprentice to the master craftsman watches and is aware of all the skill and artistry that comprise a unique piece of furniture, and as Thoreau's reader develops an understanding that she must find her own way of accounting for her life and language, so the student, embarking on academic writing should avoid thinking that the acquisition and demonstration of a limited number of techniques is the end of a journey. A student needs to recognise not only the denial of her voice and the denial of herself, but also the enormity of what the journey to recovery of her voice will entail. Curricula for academic writing must surely deal seriously with what Cavell terms the `grown-up social state of deafness to one's voices' (Cavell, 1994, p. 35). Recognition of, to use Emerson's term, the 'unattained self, is indeed 'a step in attaining it' (Cavell, 1990, p.12), and the process of its attainment, 'something we repetitively never arrive at, but rather, . . . a process of moving to, and from, nexts' (ibid.). Lillis calls for a re-examination of what knowledge is privileged in academia, and for the inclusion in student writing of different discourses to foreground the students' own experiences of the world. Whilst this might succeed in altering the tenor of students' academic writing in a limited fashion, what Cavell draws attention to in his discussion of writing philosophy, is to its nature as `autobiographizing, deriving words from yourself (Cavell, 1994, p. 41). Should this not also be a characteristic of academic writing, the kind that promotes students' self reliance, develops their autonomy as writers and which recognises their ongoing acquisition of the father tongue? The recovery of voice involves a readiness to be receptive to the new, to depart from settled ways of thinking or writing, to use Thoreau's celebrated pun, to embrace both 'mourning' and `morning' . Such a mourning, a leaving of some words behind, is necessary in order to aspire to others and be found by others. This aspect of the recovery and development of voice is notably absent from Lillis' discussions. Whilst she demonstrates successfully that students feel voiceless in the face of the academic writing practices and assessment requirements of many universities, her proposed solutions at best offer only a temporary outlet for self-expression at a given moment in time, and risk the very prescription and performativity of certain forms of academic writing which her design approach was intended to overcome. If the denial of voice is a denial of the self, then the recovery of voice is a finding of the self and the expression of voice a continual process of re-finding one's self. Any curriculum for academic writing should recognise the denial of the self that mere mastery learning suggests, and the ongoing possibilities for the creation of the self that voice coaching affords. The continual creation of the self, through the development of voice, is, for Cavell, akin to a re-birth; not a physical experience, but a re-birth © 2010 The Author 120 A. Fulford into language, into 'serious speech', that is, into the father tongue. This is suggestive of a different and compelling notion of voice, one that speaks loudly to the academic community: voice is not something that can, or should, be taught and learned through an aid such as a writing frame, but rather developed as an expression of the worded nature of our individual and political lives. NOTE 1. Cavell (1996, p. 3) identifies the following films as representative of the genre: Stella Dallas (1937) Now Voyager (1942) and Gaslight (1944). REFERENCES Cavell, S. (1981) The Senses of Walden (San Francisco, North Point Press). Cavell, S. (1990) Conditions Handsome & Unhandsome: The Constitution of Emersonian Moral Perfectionism (Chicago, The University of Chicago Press). Cavell, S. (1994) A Pitch of Philosophy: Autobiographical Exercises (Cambridge, Harvard University Press). Cavell, S. (1996) Contesting Tears: The Hollywood Melodrama of the Unknown Woman (Chicago, The University of Chicago Press). Cavell, S. (2004) Cities of Words: Pedagogical Letters on a Register of the Moral Life (Cambridge, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press). Department for Education & Employment (DfEE) (2000) The National Literacy Strategy: Grammar for Writing (DfEE0107/2000 London, DfEE). Gould, T. (1998) Hearing Things: Voice and Method in the Writing of Stanley Cavell (Chicago, The University of Chicago Press). Heidegger, M. (1968) What is Called Thinking (New York, Harper & Row). Jackson, A. (2003) Narrative Writing Instruction for Primary Grades: A Project Using Writing Frames, Cue Words and Sentence Starters (unpublished MSc dissertation, Connecticut State University). Lillis, T. (2003) Student Writing as 'Academic Literacies': Drawing on Bakhtin to Move from Critique to Design, Language and Education, 17.3, pp. 192-207. Nussbaum, M., (1990) Love's Knowledge: Essays on Philosophy and Literature (Oxford, Oxford University Press). Standish, P. (2004) In Her Own Voice: Convention, Conversion, Criteria, Educational Philosophy & Theory, 36.1, pp. 91-106. Stapleton, P., (2002) Critiquing Voice as a Viable Pedagogical Tool in L2 Writing: Returning the Spotlight to Ideas, Journal of Second Language Writing, 11, pp. 177-190. Thoreau, H. D (1854/1999) Walden (Oxford, Oxford University Press). © 2010 The Author Ventriloquising the Voice: Writing in the University I 21 ************** Appendix Writing Frame for Final Assessment of BA in Education: Introduction to Research—year 1 Core Module This frame provides a structure for your consideration of the issues raised by planning to undertake a piece of small scale empirical research. Following the guidelines below will enable you to meet the module learning outcomes. You should note the headings and detail required against which you will be assessed: 1. Introduction (200 words) Identification of research question or hypothesis 1.1 Introduce your questions. E.g. 'This small scale study proposes to answer the following question(s): . . ' 1.2 Description of context for the research (national or regional policy/organisational) E.g. `This research is of current importance in the field of . . . because of . . . 2. Justification of approach to the research (400 words) 2.1 State your broad approach to the study: is it interpretive or positivist? 2.2 Situate your research within the field. Answer the following questions: (i) Is this an entirely new field of research? If not, what distinctive approach are your taking (methodologically; with your sample; with data analysis?); (ii) What existing research is there in your field—historical and current? E.g. 'Although research has been carried out in this area over the last . . . years (give citations), the most current work is being undertaken by . . . (give citations).' 2.3 Justification of why the research fits into one of the categories—or how it crosses the boundaries E.g. 'Although this research will be of a broadly qualitative nature as it will use . . . as its main data collection method, the use of . . . demonstrates that quantitative data will also be considered because . . . 3. Description of and justification for proposed research method(s) (1000 words) 3.1 Justification for the choice of research method or methods 3.2 Describe each method in turn. Answer the following questions (i) What does the literature say are the advantages of your method(s) for the kind of question(s) you are posing? Give citations to texts from the indicative reading list; (ii) What other methods might you have chosen, and why did you reject them? 3.3 Analysis of any issues of triangulation. What kind of triangulation will you use (methodological triangulation? participant triangulation? triangulation in analysis?) Why? 3.4 In this section you should also cover: © 2010 The Author 122 A. Fulford • internal validity of the method(s); reliability of the method(s) • a discussion of population and justification for the size of the sample • method (s) of sampling (random, purposive, stratified?) Discuss the effect of the sample and sampling method on the data 4. Ethical issues (300 words) 4.1 To introduce this section, define ethics within the research process. (use citations and/or quotes from the module notes). Show knowledge of the various guidelines affecting educational research—e.g. BERA guidelines. 4.2 Show how you would approach ethical issues in your research. Answer the following questions: (i) How would you gain institutional ethical clearance? (ii) how would you gain informed consent? (iii) What measures would you put in place to ensure participant confidentiality? Ensure that you append copies of your documentation as appendices to your work. 4.3 In this section you should also cover: • Ethical issues in the collection of data (you should take a position on taping and video taping participants; what are the advantages/disadvantages of taping and transcribing over taking notes?) • Ethical issues in the writing up of data (for example, participant editing) • Storage of data, access to and destruction of data • Power relationships in the research process 5. Data analysis (400 words) 5.1 For each type of data you collect, include a section on how you will analyse it. Specify the process of data analysis (make reference the relevant literature covered in the module). In particular, cover the following areas: • Consideration of ICT versus manual methods • How you will deal with anomalies in your data • Critical discussion of your own positionality and its effects on the data analysis process • Generalisability (external validity) of the data and issues of demographics 5.2 Remember to relate this section to work that has already been done in your field. E.g. `Whilst the studies undertaken by . . . and . . . (citations) focussed on . . . in the data analysis process, my plan is to . . . because . . 6. Conclusion (200 words) 6.1 You must show awareness of the difficulties that can arise in the research process and of the cyclical, rather than linear, nature of much educational research. Answer the following questions: (i) How might you need to adapt your research plans? (ii) How might funding of your research or institutional commissioning affect your plans? How might timescales affect your plans? How might the research be developed given additional resources? © 2010 The Author 
work_lgzrfryyxngxbdlpld4eorem34	----	Dictionnaire des personnages du roman quebecois. 200 personnages des origines a 2000, and: Le Quebec et l'ailleurs. Apercus culturels et litteraires, and: D'autres reves. Les ecritures migrantes au Quebec. Actes du Seminaire international de Venise (15-16 octobre 1999), and: Les etudes quebecoises a l'etranger. Problemes et perspectives (review) Dictionnaire des personnages du roman quebecois. 200 personnages des origines a 2000, and: Le Quebec et l'ailleurs. Apercus culturels et litteraires, and: D'autres reves. Les ecritures migrantes au Quebec. Actes du Seminaire international de Venise (15-16 octobre 1999), and: Les etudes quebecoises a l'etranger. Problemes et perspectives (review) Paula Banks University of Toronto Quarterly, Volume 74, Number 1, Winter 2004/2005, pp. 113-119 (Review) Published by University of Toronto Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:00 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0054 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180487 https://doi.org/10.1353/utq.2005.0054 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/180487 sciences humaines 113 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 Par ailleurs, l�appareil de notes est très développé; toutes les personnes nommées ou à peu près ont droit à une note de bas de page, ce qui rend la lecture aisée. Cependant, ces notes n�expliquent pas toujours le contexte immédiat de certaines lettres, contexte perdu après un siècle pour le commun des mortels. Ainsi, dans les lettres 275–277, Conan s�élève contre le désir d�élever un monument à Rodolphe Forget à Saint-Irénée (Malbaie). Est-ce parce qu�il est contre la conscription ? parce qu�il boit trop ? Elle semble indiquer un méfait très grave, qui rend ridicule l�érection d�un monument. Le monument sera élevé et le lecteur qui n�est pas spécialiste de l�époque ne saura pas pourquoi. Somme toute, le volumineux J�ai tant de sujet de désespoir se révélera certainement une manne pour les chercheurs, moins pour la qualité littéraire de la correspondance que pour ce qu�elle laisse entrevoir d�une femmes de lettres, du réseau qui a permis la publication de son �uvre et d�une époque entièrement investie par le religieux. (NICOLE CÔTÉ) Georges Desmeules et Christiane Lahaie, Dictionnaire des personnages du roman québécois. 200 personnages des origines à 2000 Québec, L�instant même, 328 p., 24,95$ Le Québec et l�ailleurs. Aperçus culturels et littéraires, s. la dir. de Robert Dion Études francophones de Bayreuth/Bayreuther Frankophonie Studien, vol. 5 Bremen, Palabres Editions, 2002, 164 p. D�autres rêves. Les écritures migrantes au Québec. Actes du Séminaire international de Venise (15–16 octobre 1999), s. la dir. d�Anne de Vaucher Gravili, préface d�Anna Paola Mossetto Venise, Supernova Edizioni, 2000, 185 p. Daniel Chartier, Les études québécoises à l�étranger. Problèmes et perspectives suivi d�une chronologie et d�une liste des centres d�études québécoises Québec, Éditions Nota bene, coll. NB Poche, 110 p., 8,95$ Voici un titre stimulant pour les gens qui s�intéressent à la littérature québécoise, que ce soit des étudiants, des professeurs, voire des lecteurs du grand public. Les auteurs du Dictionnaire des personnages du roman québécois se sont donné pour but un travail quasiment impossible, mais tout à fait passionnant : faire le bilan des personnages littéraires au Québec pendant deux siècles. Projet de longue date (les auteurs disent avoir commencé à y penser dans les années 1980), il s�agissait initialement de regrouper une centaine de personnages « issus de notre littérature nationale ». Desmeules et Lahaie se sont inspirés des travaux d�Ajame et Bruckner (300 héros et personnages 114 lettres canadiennes 2003 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 du roman français, Paris, Balland, 1981) et de Laffont et Bompiani (Dic- tionnaire des personnages littéraires et dramatiques de tous les temps et de tous les pays : poésie, théâtre, roman, musique, Paris, Robert Laffont, 1982). Puisque la littérature québécoise est beaucoup plus jeune que celle de la France et qu�il n�existe évidemment pas autant de « classiques », l�ouvrage de Desmeules et de Lahaie traite naturellement d�un corpus plus restreint. Ils ont d�ailleurs choisi un genre particulier (le roman), une date de com- mencement très spécifique pour le corpus, 1837, soit l�année de publication du premier roman écrit en français au Québec, et une date finale, l�année 2000. Une courte introduction sert à présenter les entrées du Dictionnaire. Les auteurs font un bref commentaire sur le personnage de roman et spécifi- quement sur celui du roman québécois; figures maternelles, paternelles, homosexuelles, historiques, et ainsi de suite. Ensuite, la forme des entrées est discutée : comme dans un dictionnaire typique, la présentation suit une formule logique et économique. On donne le nom propre du personnage (nom de famille, prénom), le titre du roman dans lequel il figure, la date de la première édition de l��uvre dans lequel il figure et le nom de l�auteur. Certains protagonistes sont identifiés par un surnom ou par la simple désignation « anonyme », le cas échéant. La fiche signalétique inclut des informations telles que l�origine ethnique ou nationale, l�âge, les traits physiques et le(s) lieu(x) de résidence. Bien sûr, les données varieront selon le personnage et en fonction des choix narratifs des auteurs. L�exposition, c�est-à-dire le « c�ur » de chaque article, décrit les gestes principaux du personnage ainsi que ses caractéristiques psychologiques et idéologiques. Comme le constatent les auteurs « [i]l s�agit là de données brutes » : ils ne prétendent nullement être exhaustifs; il est plutôt question de tracer une esquisse à partir de laquelle les lecteurs et les lectrices peuvent comprendre et apprécier le rôle et l�importance de ces personnages, autant au sein de leurs histoires que dans la littérature québécoise en général. Alors on se demande qui figure dans ce Dictionnaire ? Il y a, par exemple, Vieux Os du Cri des oiseaux fous; Maude, le personnage éponyme de Suzanne Jacob; Catherine des Chambres de bois; Gregory Franc�ur d�Une histoire américaine; Maria Chapdelaine, Alexandre Chenevert, etc. Des personnages importants n�y figurent pas : La Grande Sauterelle (Pitsé- mine), de Volkswagen blues, peut-être le personnage féminin le plus important dans l��uvre de Jacques Poulin (elle est pourtant mentionnée dans la fiche du protagoniste, Jack Waterman). Et seul Stevens Brown, parmi tous les narrateurs des Fous de Bassan, mérite une fiche indépen- dante. Chaque lecteur ou lectrice de cet ouvrage aura ses propres idées en ce qui concerne les deux cents personnages les plus importants dans l�histoire de la littérature québécoise. Si le personnage en question n�a pas sa propre fiche, il est fort probable que l��uvre dans laquelle il figure est là ou qu�il est mentionné quelque part comme personnage secondaire. sciences humaines 115 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 Le Dictionnaire des personnages du roman québécois renferme en outre trois index (des auteurs, des personnages et des titres) très utiles pour avoir une référence rapide. Cet ouvrage ne prétend nullement remplacer le Dictionnaire des �uvres littéraires du Québec, mais il a bien sa place, car c�est un livre écrit avec passion, offrant des portraits variés qui reflètent à leur tour une culture toujours en évolution, à la fois riche et éclatée. À lire et à garder sous la main. * * * Le cinquième volume dans la série « Études francophones de Bayreuth » a pour thème le Québec, et en particulier la littérature québécoise contem- poraine. Regroupant une bonne dizaine d�articles, Le Québec et l�ailleurs présente les points de vue de plusieurs québécistes et spécialistes dans le domaine de l�altérité. Il est fort difficile de faire un compte rendu adéquat de ces articles, car ils foisonnent tous d�idées riches et intéressantes. Dans son introduction, Robert Dion explique le thème principal qui réunit toutes les études dans le volume, à savoir les diverses formes que prend l�altérité dans la culture et dans la littérature québécoises : l�attirance pour l�ailleurs et pour l�é- tranger, l�ouverture à l�Autre, les rapports tangibles et la représentation. C�est le brassage des populations au Québec, le multiculturalisme, la crise identitaire à la fois chez les Québécois « de souche » et chez les immigrants. Bref, c�est l�importance de la diversité au sein de la culture et de la littérature québécoises. Le premier article, de Robert Major, s�intitule « Au c�ur du continent ». Il s�agit d�une analyse très intéressante des discours sur le fleuve Saint- Laurent, à travers les siècles, dans des écrits aussi divers que les Relations des Jésuites, A Yankee in Canada de Henry David Thoreau et les poèmes de Louis Fréchette. Major étudie le symbolisme du fleuve comme repère, comme frontière et comme ouverture sur l�ailleurs. Dans le deuxième article, « La rhétorique de l�ailleurs dans le récit littéraire québécois », Frances Fortier remarque que la quête d�identité du « nous » collectif est supplantée désormais par celle d�un « je » dans son espace intime. Il est surtout question de l�écriture de l�intime dans cet article. Fortier étudie des textes écrits depuis les années 1980 qui traitent de l�appropriation de l�ailleurs : la présence de plus en plus importante des traductions d��uvres étrangères, des écrivains venus d�ailleurs, et des écrivains québécois écrivant sur l�ailleurs, dont Roch Carrier et Victor-Lévy Beaulieu, par exemple. Elle analyse aussi la polysémie de ce mot « ailleurs ». En fin de compte, comme elle le souligne, il y a aussi un « dépaysement » des genres qui figure au niveau du récit même. L�article de Jósef Kwaterko, « L�imaginaire diasporique chez les romanciers haïtiens du Québec», est une étude du caractère « postnational » 116 lettres canadiennes 2003 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 de la littérature du Québec contemporain. En analysant des �uvres écrites par des auteurs haïtiens comme Dany Laferrière, Kwaterko parle de l�intégration des écrivains francophones venus d�ailleurs et de leur statut d�« autres » au sein de la littérature et de la culture québécoises. Il compare les attitudes par rapport au « pays » chez des écrivains québécois (tels Aquin, Ferron, Godbout) à celles des écrivains haïtiens (dont Etienne, Phelps) et il parle de la « double inadéquation» des personnages, des deux solitudes � celle de la littérature québécoise et celle de la littérature migrante. Enfin, il discute des conséquences de l�entrée de la littérature migrante dans la littérature dite « légitime » au Québec. Marty Laforest, dans « Quelques images indirectes de l�ailleurs. Le discours des Montréalais ordinaires », se sert d�une approche sociolinguis- tique pour étudier l�expérience de l�altérité dans la grande ville multicultu- relle de Montréal. Elle analyse ainsi les « ailleurs rêvés », les « ailleurs goûtés » et les « ailleurs côtoyés ». Les extraits d�interview et l�analyse qui les suit sont fascinants et parfois surprenants. Dans « L�ici et l�ailleurs dans la vie et l��uvre de Gabrielle Roy », Gudrun Föttinger fait l�analyse d�un corpus très spécifique et très bien connu, mais la perspective sur l�altérité est tout à fait nouvelle. En effet, qui pourrait mieux représenter l�altérité que Gabrielle Roy, une écrivaine francophone du Manitoba, accueillie par le Québec comme une des siennes, et d�ailleurs une auteure qui s�est intéressée très tôt aux minorités au Canada. Les détails biographiques de l�auteure sont rapportés pour souligner le dé- veloppement des thèmes du multiculturalisme et de l�altérité dans l��uvre régienne. Dans « Géopolitique ducharméenne », Élisabeth Haghebaert fait une relecture de l��uvre de Réjean Ducharme à la lumière des événements et des changements sociaux survenus depuis la Révolution tranquille. Au moment où Ducharme écrivait, la société québécoise était beaucoup plus homogène. En ce sens, Ducharme était très en avance sur son temps, car l�altérité, la question du rapport à l�Autre, est centrale dans son �uvre. Robert Dion, dans «The Dragonfly of Chicoutimi. Un cas extrême d�hétéro- linguisme ? », étudie une pièce « française » écrite an anglais; l�altérité est au c�ur même de ce paradoxe. Dion analyse ici la cohabitation textuelle des langues, l�hétérolinguisme en tant que métaphore de l�altérité. Selon Dion, le fait français au Québec ne peut être dissocié complètement de l�anglais, ni être complètement monolingue. La question linguistique devient alors identitaire. L�avant-dernier article, « Un caillou dans le soulier nord-américain. Pourquoi les Allemands, à l�égard du Québec, oscillent entre rejet et fascination », de Lothar Baier, renverse la thématique développée dans les articles précédents. Plutôt que de considérer comment le Québec conçoit l�ailleurs, l�auteur se penche sur la façon dont l�ailleurs et spécifiquement les pays de langue allemande voient le Québec. sciences humaines 117 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 Enfin, Sherry Simon (« Trieste ») clôt le volume par une belle « lecture » de la ville italienne de Trieste, par le biais de Maigris, de Svevo et de Joyce. Dans cet endroit se mêlent la « vitalité » et le « désordre » et naît ainsi une sorte d�« idéal ». Comme on le voit bien, ce petit volume renferme des articles dont la richesse et la diversité, ainsi que le thème commun de l�altérité, fascinent, comme c�est d�ailleurs le cas pour la culture et la littérature québécoises. * * * Les Actes du premier Séminaire International du Centro Interuniversitario di Studi Quebecchesi traitent toujours de l�altérité, mais cette fois-ci sous un aspect particulier, à savoir les écritures migrantes. Les thèmes incluent le métissage, la créolisation, la migration, le cosmopolitisme et enfin l�influence des écritures migrantes sur la culture, et vice-versa. Comme l�affirme Anna Paola Mossetto dans sa préface, ces chercheurs et auteurs se sont mis d�accord sur la nécessité de « maintenir dans l�Indéterminé», de relancer constamment le débat sur l�écriture migrante. L�article de Régine Robin s�intitule « Les champs littéraires sont-ils désespérément monolingues ? Les écritures migrantes ». C�est une belle introduction au concept de l�altérité. Robin remarque que le français n�appartient plus à la France, que la langue est nécessairement hybride, plurielle. Il faut noter aussi qu�au Québec la langue n�est pas la culture et que l�écrivain de la migration, tout en partageant le même code linguis- tique, ne peut pas s�y reconnaître. L�écriture hybride relève donc d�une langue à la fois sienne et autre. Robin se penche sur la littérature juive pour faire ses analyses. L�article de Abla Fahroud, « Immigrant un jour, immigrant toujours, ou comment décoller une étiquette ou se décoller de l�étiquette », est rédigé au « je » et offre une perspective tout à fait personnelle, celle de l�auteure migrante elle-même, parlant de ses sentiments et de son point de vue personnel. Au Québec, elle est orientale; à l�étranger, elle est Québécoise. Elle offre des extraits de plusieurs de ses �uvres, dont Jeux de patience, Le bonheur a la queue glissante et Apatride. Fulvio Caccia, dans « Les écritures migrantes entre exotisme et éclec- tisme », considère les écritures immigrantes dans leur contexte mondial; d�ailleurs, le phénomène n�est nullement propre au Québec. Il propose une histoire de la définition de la « littérature nationale » au Québec et parle du rapport entre les écritures migrantes et les concepts de « valeur » et de postmodernité, puis aborde des thèmes spécifiques dont l�exil, l�éclectisme, la révolution, l�inceste et la colonisation, entre autres. Anthony Phelps offre « Variations sur deux mots. Écritures/Migrantes, Migration/Exil». Ses réflexions sur son état d�Haïtien, d�exilé et d�écrivain au Québec mettent en relief la sémantique de ces quatre mots, et ce, de 118 lettres canadiennes 2003 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 manière fascinante : «Écriture : ce qui est figé. Migrante : ce qui bouge ». Son style mi-télégraphique mi-poétique réussit très bien et porte à la réflexion. À savourer. L�écrivain Pan Bouyoucas, dans « De quelle origine est ce personnage ? », parle aussi de ses expériences personnelles, mais de façon tout à fait unique. D�origine grecque, élevé au Liban, Bouyoucas est venu au Québec pour finir ses études. Il parle de ses débuts littéraires et de la façon dont la critique le boudait, semble-t-il, puisqu�il n�était pas Québécois de souche. Il a donc décidé d�écrire sous un pseudonyme. Il parle des « modèles » littéraires au Québec et de son sentiment d�être « un trait d�union planté dans l�île de Montréal ». Dans « Écrivaines migrantes et éthique », Lucie Lequin se penche sur l�écriture des femmes migrantes. Elle souligne que la figure de l�immigré dans la littérature québécoise est en fait antérieure aux années 1980 (pensons à Maria Chapdelaine, au Survenant, à Trente arpents). Lequin fait l�analyse de quatre romans : Un amour maladroit, de Monique Bosco; La dot de Sara, de Marie-Célie Agnant; L�ingratitude, de Ying Chen, et Le bonheur a la queue glissante, d�Abla Farhoud. Dans un seul paragraphe d�une vingtaine de pages, Simon Harel parle de « Mémoires de l�identité, mémoires de l�oubli : formes subjectives de l�écriture migrante au Québec ». Selon Harel, la littérature migrante s�af- firme comme un désir d�échapper à la politique et comme une « déliaison de l�appartenance collective ». Harel analyse le(s) rôle(s) particulier(s) de l�écrivain migrant au sein de la société québécoise. La littérature migrante « a permis de défaire l�unanimité du discours identitaire ». L�ouvrage offre finalement une entrevue : « Pour une nouvelle culture et une langue de la migration. Entretien avec Marco Micone ». L�auteur italo-québécois raconte ses expériences personnelles et offre son point de vue sur les implications culturelles engendrées par le processus d�immigra- tion. Ce volume est très précieux, car il renferme non seulement des écrits théoriques mais également des perspectives quasi autobiographiques d�écrivain(e)s. La cohabitation est parfaite et donne envie d�en lire plus. * * * Daniel Chartier présente encore une autre perspective sur l�altérité ou, si l�on veut, un sujet connexe : il s�agit d�une analyse du développement récent des études québécoises à l�étranger. Comme le titre du livre l�indique, il y a trois volets principaux. La première partie, qui s�intitule « Méthodologie, problèmes et perspectives des études québécoises dans le monde », discute de l�importance de ces nouvelles perspectives « étrangè- res » sur la culture et la société québécoises. En premier lieu, Chartier rappelle l�histoire de l�intérêt des étrangers pour le Québec, soulignant le sciences humaines 119 university of toronto quarterly, volume 74, number 1, winter 2004/5 fait que ce dernier n�est pas si récent qu�on pourrait le croire. Il parle de l�essor des « études canadiennes » pendant les années 1970, discipline qui incluait initialement les études canadiennes-françaises. Chartier décrit le travail des « pionniers » des études québécoises « modernes » dans plusieurs pays étrangers et explique que c�est en grande partie l�intérêt pour ce mélange de francité et d�américanité qu�est le Québec qui a provoqué l�essor des études québécoises pendant les trois dernières décennies. Chartier remarque que, pendant les années 1990, on a vu naître des associations nationales et internationales, telles l�American Council for Quebec Studies (ACQS) et l�Association internationale des études québécoi- ses (AIÉQ), qui ont facilité et encouragé la collaboration des chercheurs à travers le monde, créant ainsi un réseau international. Il parle également du changement, ou mieux, de l�évolution des programmes d�études fran- çaises au niveau universitaire, qui se transforment en des programmes d�études francophones. En même temps, on a vu la naissance et l�essor des programmes d�études canadiennes et, au sein de ces derniers, une recon- naissance de la spécificité des études québécoises. Ce sont ces deux mouvements qui sont largement responsables de l�établissement et de l�épanouissement des études québécoises à l�étranger. Chartier termine son discours par des réflexions sur les défis posés par la pluridisciplinarité qui marque souvent les études québécoises à l�étranger, ainsi que sur les problèmes et les perspectives d�avenir. La deuxième partie, qui compte une dizaine de pages, est une chronologie des études québécoises (1958–2001), et la troisième partie, d�une quarantaine de pages, une liste des départe- ments, instituts et centres universitaires qui se consacrent en tout ou en partie aux études sur le Québec (au Québec et à l�extérieur du Québec). Clairement écrit et facile à lire, ce livre offre un excellent résumé du développement des études québécoises à l�étranger. Comme le souligne l�auteur, c�est un phénomène que les Québécois eux-mêmes trouvent à la fois flatteur et surprenant. Après avoir lu ce livre, on voit bien que c�est un phénomène beaucoup plus important qu�on ne le pense. (PAULA BANKS) François Ouellet, Passer au rang du père. Identité sociohistorique et littéraire au Québec Québec, Éditions Nota bene, coll. Essais critiques, 2002, 115 p., 20,95$ Comment Passer au rang du père aborde-t-il, dans un essai à la fois clair et concis, à la problématique de la figure du père dans l�identité sociohisto- rique et littéraire au Québec ? D�abord, le projet de François Ouellet est nettement balisé. Il s�agit de comprendre le parcours politico-historique du Québec à partir de la métaphore paternelle. Pour réaliser cela, l�essayiste nous convainc de la pertinence d�une lecture psychanalytique de la société québécoise. Cette lecture s�organise autour du meurtre du père originel, tel 
work_ll2jdkui7zcixiby3xpgd37hgy	----	Organizing phenological data resources to inform natural resource conservation Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 Contents lists available at SciVerse ScienceDirect Biological Conservation j o u r n a l h o m e p a g e : w w w . e l s e v i e r . c o m / l o c a t e / b i o c o n Organizing phenological data resources to inform natural resource conservation 0006-3207 � 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2013.07.003 ⇑ Corresponding author at: National Coordinating Office, USA National Phenology Network, 1955 East Sixth Street, Tucson, AZ 85721, United States. Tel.: +1 520 419 2585. E-mail address: alyssa@usanpn.org (A.H. Rosemartin). Open access under CC BY-NC-SA license. Alyssa H. Rosemartin a,b,⇑, Theresa M. Crimmins a,b, Carolyn A.F. Enquist a,c, Katharine L. Gerst a,b, Jherime L. Kellermann a,b, Erin E. Posthumus a,b, Ellen G. Denny a,b, Patricia Guertin a,b, Lee Marsh a,b, Jake F. Weltzin a,d a National Coordinating Office, USA National Phenology Network, 1955 East Sixth Street, Tucson, AZ 85721, United States b School of Natural Resources and the Environment, University of Arizona, Tucson, AZ 85721, United States c The Wildlife Society, 5410 Grosvenor Lane, Suite 200, Bethesda, MD 20816, United States d U.S. Geological Survey, 1955 East Sixth Street, Tucson, AZ 85721, United States a r t i c l e i n f o a b s t r a c t Article history: Received 1 December 2012 Received in revised form 29 June 2013 Accepted 4 July 2013 Available online 26 July 2013 Keywords: Data integration Climate adaptation Multi-taxa monitoring National-scale database Phenology Changes in the timing of plant and animal life cycle events, in response to climate change, are already happening across the globe. The impacts of these changes may affect biodiversity via disruption to mutu- alisms, trophic mismatches, invasions and population declines. To understand the nature, causes and consequences of changed, varied or static phenologies, new data resources and tools are being developed across the globe. The USA National Phenology Network is developing a long-term, multi-taxa phenolog- ical database, together with a customizable infrastructure, to support conservation and management needs. We present current and potential applications of the infrastructure, across scales and user groups. The approaches described here are congruent with recent trends towards multi-agency, large-scale research and action. � 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Open access under CC BY-NC-SA license. 1. Introduction Global climate change represents one of the greatest contempo- rary threats to biological conservation not only because its effects are non-homogenous across marine and terrestrial systems (Bur- rows et al., 2011; Loarie et al., 2009), but also because variation in these effects compounds the differential responses of species, communities and ecosystems (Chen et al., 2011; Sekercioglu et al., 2007). Negative consequences of these effects include changes in species interactions and temporal mismatches (Wal- ther, 2010; Yang and Rudolf, 2009), increased risk of species extinctions (Cahill et al., 2013; Maclean and Wilson, 2011), and loss of critical ecosystem services (Mooney et al., 2009; Thackeray et al., 2010). An effective conservation response must be broadly coordi- nated and informed by a range of scientific approaches with diverse data sources (Dawson et al., 2011). Observations of biodi- versity taken across spatial and temporal scales are central to this information base, yet the long-term monitoring programs needed to generate these data are typically under-prioritized and under- funded by non-governmental organizations and governmental agencies in the United States (Lovett et al., 2007). Many US federal resource management agencies now require climate response strategies as part of conservation and management planning pro- cesses (e.g., US Fish and Wildlife Service, US National Park Service, US Forest Service). Although new guidance aimed at preparing for climate-related changes is appearing with increased regularity in scientific, professional, and web-based outlets (Girvetz et al., 2009; Groves et al., 2012; West et al., 2009), there remains a paucity of climate-relevant, broad-scale, multi-taxa biodiversity data for making well-informed conservation and management decisions. Changes in plant and animal phenology, such as the timing of flowering, fruiting, breeding, and migration represent a coherent fingerprint of climate change impacts across the globe (Parmesan, 2007; Parmesan and Yohe, 2003; Root et al., 2003). Thus, as a key indicator of the effects of climate change on biodiversity, pheno- logical information is a critical component of the conservation toolkit (Janetos et al., 2012; Parry et al., 2007). For example, vulner- ability assessments, in which agencies and organizations evaluate http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.biocon.2013.07.003&domain=pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2013.07.003 mailto:alyssa@usanpn.org http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2013.07.003 http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/journal/00063207 http://www.elsevier.com/locate/biocon http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 91 their conservation goals relative to observed and projected climate impacts, are now part of the recommended practices for respond- ing to climate change (Glick et al., 2011). In this context, phenolog- ical data can be used to evaluate whether changes in species’ phenology are tracking changes in climate (Cleland et al., 2012; Willis et al., 2008), specifically as a measure of sensitivity and adaptive capacity (e.g., phenotypic plasticity), two of the three variables deemed essential to the vulnerability assessment process (Bagne et al., 2011; Parry et al., 2007; Young et al., 2010). However, existing phenology data resources tend to be limited geographi- cally and taxonomically, and vary substantially in their method of collection (Betancourt et al., 2005; Forrest and Miller-Rushing, 2010). Phenology has played an important role throughout human his- tory from 16th century European vintners (Maurer et al., 2009) to American naturalists and conservationists such as Henry David Thoreau (Miller-Rushing and Primack, 2008) and Aldo Leopold (Leopold and Jones, 1947). The history and approachability of phe- nology make it well-suited to public participation (Primack and Miller-Rushing, 2012). Globally, established and nascent national networks engaging both professional scientists and amateur natu- ralists (e.g., in the United Kingdom, Germany, France, the Nether- lands and Turkey) collect, store and share phenological information (Schwartz et al., 2013) . In the United States, a parallel effort, the USA National Phenology Network (USA-NPN, usanp- n.org), recently emerged to provide a free, web-based, full-service phenological monitoring program and database (Schwartz et al., 2012). By providing protocols and a data management infrastruc- ture standardized across multiple taxa and bioclimatic regions, the USA-NPN enables climate-informed biodiversity conservation for organizations and land management agencies with limited re- sources for adaptation. Here, we describe the USA-NPN’s online phenological monitoring program and database, collaborative part- nerships, and applications of these resources across the country. 2. Organizing and utilizing phenological data resources for conservation in the United States 2.1. The USA national phenology network The USA National Phenology Network was established in 2007 to collect, store and share historical and contemporary phenologi- cal data on a national scale to address the growing needs for this information (Schwartz et al., 2012). The USA-NPN serves science and society by promoting a broad understanding of plant and ani- mal phenology and its relationship with climatic and environmen- tal change. The USA-NPN serves not only as a data repository, but also as a hub of phenology-related activities for researchers, prac- titioners, decision-makers, and the public. In this way, the USA- NPN aims to foster a phenology ‘‘community of practice,’’ facilitat- ing increases in knowledge and understanding specific to phenol- ogy through participation, interaction, discourse, and the establishment of best practices (Kania and Kramer, 2011; Lave and Wenger, 1991). To increase the quantity and quality of phenological data re- sources in the United States, the USA-NPN developed a compre- hensive phenological monitoring infrastructure that includes standardized protocols, an online monitoring program called Nat- ure’s Notebook, the National Phenology Database (NPDb), and a suite of tools to facilitate use of these resources. This infrastructure accommodates a range of audiences, from individual scientists and trained volunteers (‘‘backyard naturalists’’ or ‘‘citizen scientists’’) to federal research and management programs such as the National Park Service and the US Global Change Research Program’s National Climate Assessment, private organizations such as botanic gardens and conservation groups, and public extension programs, such as Master Gardeners. The overall approach sup- ports regional question-driven research and scientific discovery by providing data resources at the national level and a framework for examining the response of the biosphere to climate variation and change at multiple spatial and temporal scales (Jones et al., 2010). 2.2. Nature’s notebook Nature’s notebook (www.nn.usanpn.org) is an online phenologi- cal monitoring program that uses standardized status-based proto- cols developed by the USA-NPN for in-situ monitoring of plants and animals (Denny et al., in preparation). Ground-based organis- mal data for plants and animals entered through Nature’s Notebook are stored in the NPDb and integrated with historical phenological data sets (Fig. 1). Data are freely available for download, synthesis and visualization with external data resources (e.g., physical data). Nature’s Notebook currently supports data collection, storage and use for 243 animal species (including fish, insects, reptiles, amphibians, birds and mammals) and 654 plant species (including coniferous and deciduous trees, shrubs, forbs, grasses and cacti) for the professional scientist, resource manager and naturalist audi- ences. Over 100 partner groups and 2000 observers have partici- pated in the program since 2009. The following sections describe key components and features of the Nature’s Notebook information architecture. 2.2.1. Tools for data entry Participants in Nature’s Notebook enter data through a browser- based interface or free iPhone or Android mobile applications. The first step to log phenology observations is to register, using a name and a valid email address (anonymous contributions are not ac- cepted). Next, the participant registers a location, or ‘‘site’’ for observing. Participants then register individual plants and/or cre- ate a checklist of animal species they will observe at the site. Final- ly, participants print customized paper datasheets to take into the field for documenting up to 16 days of phenophase status observa- tions (Fig. 2). After making observations, participants transcribe them from the paper datasheets into the online Nature’s Notebook system. Alternatively, participants may log observations, as well as add new sites, plants and animals, via mobile apps. 2.2.2. Tools for data download and visualization Once entered into the NPDb, data are accessible instantaneously to the individual collecting and submitting the observations in tab- ular format, and to the public through advanced data visualization and download tools. The visualization tool allows users to select species, states or a geographic area (by bounding box) and use a time-slider to animate spatiotemporal changes in phenology (Fig. 3). To support exploration of relationships between phenology and climatic patterns, gridded monthly climate data surfaces from PRISM (Parameter-elevation Regressions on Independent Slopes Model; http://www.prism.oregonstate.edu/) can also be displayed in the background (Auer et al., 2011). A three-panel graph allows users to compare the phenology of species or organisms across years or locations. Data and graphics can be downloaded in several formats. A filterable data download tool allows for further custom- ization of output, by partner group, date range, species, location and phenophases. Data may also be entered or accessed dynami- cally through web services. Metadata (compliant with the Federal Geographic Data Committee’s ‘‘Content Standard for Digital Geospatial Metadata’’), versioning information and supplementary information on sites, organisms and observers are available for each data file. http://www.nn.usanpn.org http://www.prism.oregonstate.edu/ 3 Milkweed-3: Do you see…? Status Initial growth No Leaves Yes Flowers or flower buds Yes Open flowers Yes Fruit No Ripe fruit No Recent fruit or seed drop No Monarch: Do you see…? Status Active adults Yes Flower visitation Yes Migrating adults No Mating No Active caterpillars No Caterpillars feeding No Date 07/05/12 Time 4:30 pm Site Wilson Park Plant Milkweed-3 Observer Willow Tamias Fig. 2. Example of data collection instance. In this example, an observer records flowering of her registered common milkweed plant (‘‘milkweed-3’’) at her ‘‘Wilson Park’’ site, together with observations of an active adult monarch butterfly on July 5, 2012 (photo credit: Howard B. Eskin). Products Curation and integration Sources Data collected via Nature’s Notebook National Phenology Database Historical data sets Climate Data Visualization & Synthesis User interfaces Data Download Nature’s Notebook Bulk upload tools Fig. 1. Information architecture diagram for USA-NPN data resources. Data enters the USA-NPN system from current Nature’s Notebook participants and historical sources, is stored in the National Phenology Database and is subsequently available for download, and visualization with auxiliary data (unpublished image courtesy of Wim van Leeuwen, University of Arizona, 2010). 92 A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 2.2.3. Data storage and integration All data collected through Nature’s Notebook are stored in the NPDb, a MySQL relational database (Widenius et al., 2002). The NPDb is also intended to serve as an archive for historical and con- temporary phenological datasets collected following protocols other than the standardized protocols developed by the USA-NPN. As a pilot project for historical data integration, the USA-NPN integrated 15 000 event-based records from historic lilac phenology observing efforts, dating back to 1955 (Schwartz et al., 2012). In the interest of furthering the accessibility, visibility and traceability of the data resources (Arzberger et al., 2004), datasets will be formally published, with unique digital object identifiers (Brase, 2004), and federated with data clearinghouses (e.g., Data- ONE, Knowledge Network for Biocomplexity). 2.3. Public participation in Nature’s Notebook and issues of data quality and compliance Public participation in scientific data collection has dramatically increased recently (Silvertown, 2009); technological advances to support distributed participation in such efforts have shown simi- lar rapid advances (Dickinson et al., 2012). Involving the public in data collection can both reduce costs and increase the spatial and Fig. 3. Screen capture of the USA-NPN visualization tool’s graph interface comparing common lilac (Syringa vulgaris) leafing and blooming phenophases in 2012 and 2013 across the United States (screen capture on May 16th, 2013). The record-breaking early spring of 2012 can be seen in the earlier leaf and bloom dates for common lilac in the top panel. A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 93 temporal coverage of monitoring programs (Devictor et al., 2010). Added benefits of involving the public in scientific data collection include an increased awareness of natural history and the scientific method, as well as increased community engagement among par- ticipants (Brossard et al., 2005; Cooper et al., 2007; Cosquer et al., 2012). While some have expressed concern over quality and reliability in data collected by non-professionals (Foster-Smith and Evans, 2003; Genet and Sargent, 2003), there is growing evidence that cit- izen science projects provide valuable results (Boudreau and Yan, 2004; Haklay, 2010; Lovell et al., 2009). To rapidly develop a long-term, national scale, multi-taxa data resource, the USA-NPN is recruiting and retaining thousands of volunteer and professional observers to participate in Nature’s Notebook. Given nationwide public participation in Nature’s Notebook, the USA-NPN has ad- dressed issues of data quality, data use and attribution, federal compliance, and liability, described below. 2.3.1. Quality assurance and quality control A number of quality assurance measures have been imple- mented to minimize the amount of inaccurate data entering the NPDb. For example, when entering data, participants select from lists of predefined values for species, date, phenophase status and intensity, rather than filling in free text fields. Datasheets match the online user interface in terms of color, font, layout and order of species to facilitate accurate transcription. Observers have access to extensive training materials, including resources for spe- cies identification and guidance for selecting sites and species. Fi- nally, validation rules in the user interface prevent observations on future dates and illogical values for phenophase status. In addi- tion, post-processing (quality control) measures are in place, such as the provision of site and organism level metadata to enable the identification of outliers by data end-users. Other measures, including flagging species out of range and phenophases out of sea- son are under development. 2.3.2. Policies Policies to protect individuals and institutions are as important as technological infrastructure to the utility and persistence of data resources. The USA-NPN has developed policies for data use and attribution, as well as policies related to liability (available at www.usanpn.org/terms). Under US law, federal agencies must be cleared by the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) before col- lecting information from the public. To remove this barrier for fed- eral partners interested in engaging the public in data collection, the USA-NPN obtained OMB clearance (Control #: 1028-0103) for information collection by the public via Nature’s Notebook. 2.4. Collaborations and partnerships The USA-NPN engages partners at many levels, understanding that the programs and technologies it provides are supportive of the actions taken by individuals and organizations. Nature’s Note- book provides a flexible and extensible infrastructure suitable for use by a wide range of organizations, and is a ready-to-use tool for many applications. Organizations, such as nature centers and arboreta, interested in tracking phenology for the purpose of engaging people with the natural world, often use Nature’s Note- book, to avoid developing their own observation protocols, data ar- chive integration and visualization tools. Nature’s Notebook can also be adapted in a variety of ways to support local to regional conservation and management goals or questions. The USA-NPN works with its partners to provide customizations, which depend on scientific questions of interest, geographic and taxonomic scope, audience, logistics and resources available. These services include: partner affiliation for regis- tered participants, organization-specific data visualization and download, landing pages and project-specific recruitment and retention efforts. Organizations already using this model include university researchers, US National Parks, and state and county Cooperative Extension programs (Table 1; www.usanpn.org/ partner/current). A recent example of a regional collaboration is the California Phenology Project (CPP; www.usanpn.org/cpp), an effort estab- lished by universities and National Parks across California, which leverages tools developed by the USA-NPN to understand how cli- mate change is impacting species and ecosystems. California has particularly high species diversity within a wide range of ecosys- tems, and is expected to have unique and diverse responses to cli- matic variation and change (Kueppers et al., 2005). For example, precipitation often plays a greater role than temperature in cueing phenological activity in Mediterranean habitats (Peñuelas et al., 2004), and deciduous plants in semi-arid systems frequently exhi- bit multiple leaf-out cycles in a single season. To capture these potentially diverse responses, phenological monitoring has been underway since 2011 in seven park units that represent three bio- geographic regions: mountain, desert, and coastal. The effort aims to establish the influence of environmental factors on phenological metrics, such as onset and duration of flowering. Analyses have fo- cused on the role of precipitation in driving phenological patterns and understanding spatial phenological patterns across broad envi- ronmental gradients for widespread species that occupy multiple habitat types. Ultimately, these data will inform management deci- sions by providing national parks with baseline phenological information on ecologically important species, and will support http://www.usanpn.org/partner/current http://www.usanpn.org/partner/current http://www.usanpn.org/cpp Table 1 Phenology data supports applications with societal benefits across geographic scales. Arborists Tree phenology data supports effective timing of herbicide and fungicide spraying Municipal Saguaro National Park Buffelgrass and native vegetation phenology inform optimal control windows (Fig. 4) Municipal Maine SeaGrant, Signs of the Seasons Nature’s Notebook connects the public with climate change research, including experiential learning focused on the local impacts of climate change (Posthumus et al., 2013) Regional Natural Resource Managers Phenology information informs vulnerability assessments in terms of sensitivity and adaptive capacity (Glick et al., 2011; Young et al., 2010) Regional Researchers, foresters, arborists Leaf out data, combined with remotely-sensed phenology data, informs models to predict future atmospheric and ecological conditions (Jeong et al., 2013) Regional State Health Departments, commercial allergy medicine distributors Flowering phenology for allergenic species supports predictions of timing and intensity of allergy seasons (e.g., www.usanpn.org/nn/jpp) Regional Western Hummingbird Partnership Flowering data for hummingbird nectar resource plants across western migratory corridors can be combined with hummingbird presence data to understand potential spatial and temporal mismatch Regional Environmental Protection Agency Lilac leaf and bloom dates (The Spring Indices) have been identified as indicators of climate change impacts (EPA 2012) National Natural Resource Managers Data on phenology and phenotypic plasticity support predictions of species vulnerability to climate change (Cleland et al., 2012; Glick et al., 2011) National Pollinator Partnership/NAPPC, farmers Crop flowering and bee phenology data shed light on temporal mismatch, and can inform valuation of pollination as an ecosystem service National USDA Natural Resource Conservation Service, Grassland Reserve Program Nesting times of protected bird species can inform Grassland Management Plans, allowing participants to comply with the program guidelines and receive federal funding National Atmospheric Scientists, Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change First leaf and flower data integrated across continents serve to understand and predict atmospheric circulation patterns Global 94 A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 planning for the effects of climate change on species activity, inter- actions, and distributions. The CPP is typical of the USA-NPN’s collaborations in that the partnering organization provides much of the human and social infrastructure, while the USA-NPN provides protocols and tools for data collection, entry, long-term archive, visualization and download. This significantly reduces the cost of developing a phe- nology project for partners and provides a platform for standard- ized data collection across diverse and sometimes remote or inaccessible regions such as national parks and wildlife refuges. Continued adoption of Nature’s Notebook will eventually enable Fig. 4. Buffelgrass phenology near Tucson, Arizona. Canopy foliar greenness (solid line; % and November 2012 along Pima Canyon trail near Tucson, Arizona, USA. Closed circles rep dates; boxes highlight potential manual control windows. Note that canopy foliar green Notebook provide for reporting canopy greenness in six categorical classes. cross-project and cross-site comparisons and synthetic analyses of data collected by many distinct efforts. 2.5. Current data resources The USA-NPN has developed a taxonomically, spatially and temporally rich data set through the implementation of the tools, policies and collaborations described above. As of May 2013, the database contained 2 064 419 records, reported by 2400 observers at 3500 sites across the nation, on 16 000 organisms. With the completion of the first version of the monitoring and cyber ; mean ±1 standard deviation) for buffelgrass, Pennisetum ciliare, between July 2010 resent sampling dates; closed triangles represent the presence of seeds on sampling ness was estimated to the nearest 5%, while the standardized protocols in Nature’s A.H. Rosemartin et al. / Biological Conservation 173 (2014) 90–97 95 infrastructure, and new and increasingly active partnerships, we expect to see sustained growth and expansion of these data re- sources into the future. 2.6. Applications A wide range of public agencies and private organizations are partnering with the USA-NPN to build a greater understanding of how phenological information can be used to inform conservation issues related to invasive species, ecosystem services, biogeochem- ical processes, species vulnerability to climate change, and the effi- cacy of adaptive management. Here we present an overview of these applications (Table 1) and illustrate the uses of Nature’s Note- book data in support of invasive species management and predic- tive modeling of deciduous tree leaf out. Phenology data inform invasive species management by enabling the identification of reproduction and green-up win- dows—the two timeframes that are critical for mechanical removal or herbicide application. For example, in desert habitats of the southwestern US, the invasive perennial grass Pennisetum ciliare (buffelgrass) is expanding exponentially and threatens biodiversity by disrupting fire and soil moisture regimes (Olsson et al., 2012; Rogstad, 2008; Rutman et al., 2002). Managers seek to minimize inadvertent spread of propagules during mechanical control and to maximize photosynthetic uptake of herbicide during chemical control activities. Thus, to inform future control efforts, researchers collected seed production and canopy foliar greenness data using Nature’s Notebook for a population of buffelgrass in the foothills of the Santa Catalina Mountains outside of Tucson, Arizona, USA. They found that, because seeds are almost always present on the plants, there are only brief windows of opportunity for mechanical control to minimize seed spread (e.g., July 2011, Fig. 4). Local land managers seek to expand this research, in order to inform the timing of existing invasive abatement treatments. Phenology data at a much broader scale is important for under- standing global biogeochemical cycles and climate change feed- backs, particularly in a predictive framework (Peñuelas and Filella, 2001). Predictive climate models using leaf out data for deciduous trees (collected through Nature’s Notebook), show leaf budburst across the northeastern United States advancing by up to 17 days by 2100, as well as a swifter spring ‘‘green wave’’ under multiple emission scenarios (Jeong et al., 2013). These changes have implications for migratory birds dependent on foraging for in- sects among young leaves, as well as global carbon and water bud- gets (Ewert and Hamas, 1996; Jeong et al., 2013). 3. Discussion Key climate-relevant biodiversity variables monitoring are re- quired to inform this new era of conservation and management (Pereira et al., 2013). As species vary in their responses to changing climate conditions, the probability of trophic mismatches is ex- pected to increase, often resulting in negative consequences for population dynamics (Conroy et al., 2011; Thackeray et al., 2010; Yang and Rudolf, 2009) that, in turn, may lead to increased risk of species extinctions, non-native species invasions, loss of ecosys- tem functions, and decreased provision of ecosystem services (Ca- hill et al., 2013; Schweiger et al., 2008). Long-term, multi-taxa phenological data are critical to support scientists and managers in confronting the uncertainty and variability in species and eco- system responses to ongoing variation and change. Over the past five years, building on the efforts of the prior fifty years (Schwartz et al., 2012), the USA-NPN has engaged partners and individuals, from neighborhood organizations to large, com- plex agencies, in developing a robust data set together with flexible tools and processes that serve stakeholder needs in many contexts (Table 1). As the USA-NPN continues to mature, development will focus on customization of data entry, output and decision-support tools for particular stakeholder groups and conservation needs. As evidenced by the range of initial applications, the USA-NPN is developing a valuable, national data resource. These data can be used to assess ecosystem services, species interactions, biologi- cal invasions, species vulnerability and the efficacy of adaptive management. As parallel advances in data collection, analysis, inte- gration and access take place in the fields of climate modeling, genetics and species distributions, new and exciting avenues of re- search into the causes and consequences of species phenology, as well as near- to long-term forecasts, will become possible (Pau et al., 2011). In addition, the USA-NPN’s Nature’s Notebook supports community-based monitoring, opening avenues for constituent engagement in confronting climate-related challenges for biodi- versity conservation. Nature’s Notebook can be leveraged as an edu- cational tool to increase scientific literacy and to foster in participants a meaningful, local connection to the abstract and large-scale challenge of climate change. Moreover, the USA-NPN is a model for international efforts which seek to standardize data collection across species and land- scapes. With several well-established and other incipient national- scale efforts to organize phenology research (Schwartz et al., 2013), the USA-NPN is taking steps to share methods and technologies internationally, including the development of protocols that align to the international agricultural standard for phenology data (BBCH; Biologische Bundesanstalt, Bundessortenamt and CHemi- sche Industrie) and support for an emergent version of Nature’s Notebook in Turkey. Beyond sharing tools and best practices, we also hope to see globally-integrated phenological data resources in the future. Today’s conservation challenges call for an unprecedented stan- dardization and integration of data collection efforts (Reichman et al., 2011). Recent trends towards multi-agency, landscape-level research and action (Austen, 2011; Rickenbach et al., 2011) are en- hanced by monitoring tools and approaches, such as those de- scribed here, that cross taxonomic, public-private and geographic boundaries. Moreover, advancing, web-enabling and standardizing phenological data resources in the United States holds promise for understanding biological responses to climate impacts. 4. Contributions AHR led the development of the manuscript; TMC, CAFE, KLG, JLK, EEP and JFW contributed ideas and sections of text. All authors contributed to the development of the data resources, infrastruc- ture and efforts described here. Acknowledgements We would like to thank Abraham Miller-Rushing and Kathryn Thomas, as well as Bruce Wilson, Mark Schwartz, Julio Betancourt, Angela Evenden, Brian Haggerty, Elizabeth Matthews and Susan Mazer for their contributions to these efforts. We thank Andrea Thorpe for insightful comments on an earlier draft. 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work_lmvwnf4ysvdznaywqou6yhu47m	----	Poetic Guard Poetic Guard Daniel Leary American Book Review, Volume 32, Number 4, May/June 2011, pp. 26-27 (Review) Published by American Book Review DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/abr.2011.0083 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/447527 https://doi.org/10.1353/abr.2011.0083 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/447527 Page 26 American Book Review Poetic GuarD Daniel Leary poEtiC AMusEMEnt Raymond P. Hammond Athanata Arts, Ltd. http://www.athanata.com 136 pages; paper, $14.95 “I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face?” “I looked at my face in the mirror and saw Open Admissions.” The first line is from Walden (1854). I was 15 when it woke me, and I felt a chill and—and what?—an imaginative stretch? The second line is my very own. It is from an exercise in a poetry course I observed and participated in while evaluat- ing new teachers at CCNY. I was 45 and had lost my way. The difference between the two lines is what Raymond P. Hammond’s book is about. Henry David Thoreau is touched by the Muse and what imagination is. In the second line, I was into my Open Admissions failure and not wanting to openly admit it. Hammond makes a persuasive, unsettling case that contemporary American poetry has become as institutionally deluded as I was in the seventies, that American literary instruction has become the stan- dardized, academically sponsored product of-by-for democratic mediocrity. The American Poetic Muse may not be dead, but she’s got the throat clearing of a nervous versifier. There’s hope! A champion has arrived. You won’t believe me, but it’s on the back cover of Poetic Amusement. Raymond P. Hammond guards the Statue of Liberty as “a law enforcement officer” by day—I’m not kidding—and guards the American Muse by night as Editor of The New York Quarterly, a literary journal. And in his book, he guards the Muse—energetically and persuasively marshalling impressive material in her defense. If that dedication extends to his day job, I can only say that anybody who blows up the Statue of Liberty is in big trouble. I come away from the book with my jaw ajar, thinking Hammond a personified oxymoron—passive/aggres- sive, contemporaneously traditional and patriotically un-American. Before we get to the good stuff, I best polish off reviewer’s chores. The title? Smarter ones have guessed it already. Amusement. That initial “A” prefix negates “Muse.” Hammond is at verses that lack the Muse, lack inspiration, verses passing themselves off as poetry. It’s a playful etymology, the only whimsy in this straightforward book. As I muse on it, the title is straightforward too, since uninspired verse slithers around boredom by being amusing or bemusing— being entertainment or a puzzlement—in short, a way of killing time. While we’re tidying up, add another hat to Hammond’s juggling act: the cop/editor was also a graduate student at NYU, writing this book as his thesis while pursuing an MA. The thesis was completed in 2000 and cites no material after 1999. Don’t let that put you off. It’s not written in dis- sertationese, and it’s not old hat but twirling perkily into our computerized pixilation. It says a great deal about Hammond that he elected for an MA rather than an MFA. There was a sacrifice involved. We’re talking about security. The MFA is a terminal degree equivalent to a PhD in matters of academic evaluation and employment and can be awarded—according to a disgruntled English department chair—after two years of relentless “poetry” writing. I should correct myself: yes, the book is about what poetry is, but equally it’s about the MFA and how it undermines poetry. Hammond, this editor-of-a-student, realized what was and is happening and began to blow his policeman’s whistle. What is happening is dubbed “po’ biz” in college circles. Yes, you’ve guessed this one too. Hammond calls the whole MFA boondoggle “the poetry industry” and claims that conformity is the name of the game if one wants to excel…. Therefore, one learns to write like other contemporary American poets in order to win contests, because the contests are judged by those same contemporary American poets. These students also conform because they need to complete their MFA in order to compete in the job market. Tied in with this completing the MFA is the need, on a weekly basis to produce a poem for re- view in the workshop…. The university, then, becomes the legitimizing aspect for the poet’s work. The matriculated students, sorcerer’s apprentices all, further conform to the po’ biz as they become teachers of classes that gratifyingly over-enroll— gratifying to teachers and administrators—to produce more weekly poetry weakly, thus generating more teachers, etc., etc. The result? The academic cess- pools overflow, meaning that there is no room left for new appointees—certainly no tenured lines—even if their versified efforts bob up in po’ biz journals relentlessly. The MFA is indeed terminal and raises the question: is American poetry in the same terminal cesspool? Hammond makes a persuasive, unsettling case that contemporary American poetry has become as institutionally deluded. This academic po’ biz overflow took me by sur- prise as I read about it in Hammond’s little but very important book. In my beginning paragraph—check it out—is my end. Back in the seventies, I gave the poetry-writing teacher a rave evaluation. I would have accepted “amusement” straight in describing class goings-on, but I recall using “refreshing,” refreshing for me certainly, a burnt-out case enjoy- ing students enjoying the work/play of making paddy/waddy verses—more importantly, enjoying the teacher’s bringing in a real poem to see how John Donne handled it and students on the brink of experiencing what a chilling expanding a poem is—allusive-elusive-delusive-never-conclusive. I realize now that the teacher was violating po’ biz if the rules had ossified already. She was—as the theory goes—discouraging her students by exposing them to excellence. What I saw were students challenged as they saw how serious was their fun. Alright, alright, probably not all of them. Indulge me for a paragraph while I make an instructive parallel. Four years ago, I enrolled in a beginner’s drawing class, and in doing a final assign- ment, I astonished myself by sketching what I saw in a mirror—a mirror again!—producing an image that many agreed looked recognizably like me. I was proud, delighted with my achievement as were most of the others with their self-images. We knew more about perspective, proportion, shading, knew more about what a real artist can sometimes achieve, knew a bit of how she achieved it, and knew that in our present state, we were nowhere near doing so. We had no intention of giving an art class or seeking an agent to pass us off as the new millennium’s Pablo Picasso, the likes of, God help us, Julian Schnabel. Now, the good stuff, the oxymoronic Ham- mond’s three-way championing of the Muse. Passive/Aggressive. I am not concerned with Hammond’s psychic condition, just describing the strategy and tactics he takes in his book. He is there and not there as others confront the po’ biz that he finds destructive to teachers, to their students, and to poetry in America. He uses the term “meta-criticism” in the preface to describe his wide historical approach that avoids specific literary examples while denigrat- ing the impact of our contemporary poetic practices. However distanced he is in theory, he detests the po’ biz and says as much in his own words, but in at least 40 percent of the book, our hero humbly steps aside. He lets recognized poets and critics, contemporaries as well as voices from the past, be heard on what a poem is and what must be present for it to be written. What is surprising is how well his tactics work. Our ears are not bent by an arrogant unknown but per- suaded by a living tradition. Like a few good teachers I’ve experienced, he’s both a sage on stage and a guide along side. He weaves the quotations smoothly and persuasively. Not till the end, when I read his list of “Works Consulted”—well over a hundred—and riffled through the index, did I appreciate how he assembled such a variety and made them one voice with his own voice intertwined. In the index, those cited nine times or more are Sylvia Beach, Charles Bukowski, T.S. Eliot, Donald Hall, Denise Levertov, J. D. McClatchy, Ezra Pound, Rainer Maria Rilke, and throw in the most-quoted of the critics: Dionysius Longinus, Edmund Wilson, and Harold Bloom. In the text, the citations are not a series of clippings, not quotations strung together. His 90 pages of exposition become a symposium on the nature, the value, the mystery of poetry, i.e., the Muse. Leary continued on next page Page 27May–June 2011 Leary continued from previous page Innovative Traditionalist. Again recall the opening paragraph. Hammond weaves the tradition- alist T.S. Eliot with the path-blazing critic Harold Bloom. With both of them in mind, he innovates, or perhaps I should say reinstitutes, an approach to poetry writing that takes us back to classroom I sat in 35 years ago. Eliot, in a timeless essay of 1917, “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” tells us that poetry—that literature—is a living organism, that when a poet—I mean a poet—creates, he engages in a form of magic realism, capturing the present and changing the past: Lear’s five iambic tolling “Never”s become more—more livable?, containable?, under- standable? By a psychic milometer in the listener’s consciousness when Donne challenges death, when Dylan Thomas commands, begs his father to hold on for another breath. Hammond combines this ongo- ing creative immortality with Bloom’s insight into creative despair, that the poet must always live with death, with his knowledge that it has all been done: “The covert subject of most poetry for the last three centuries has been the anxiety of influence, each poet’s fear that no proper work remains for him to perform.” I’ve penciled in the margin “beautifully put” alongside a passage from Seamus Heaney that Hammond approvingly quotes. It conveys the battle that writing poetry is and underscores what Ham- mond/Heaney want from an ideal poetry-writing class: What is involved, after all, is the replace- ment of literary excellence derived from modes of expression originally taken to be canonical and unquestionable. Writers have to start out as readers, and before they put pen to paper, even the most disaffected of them will have internalized the norms and forms of the tradition from which they wish to secede. Un-American Patriot. “Po’ biz”: even the term itself in its shoddy, showbiz, throw-awayness, its corrupt familiarity, is a public acknowledgment that the groves of academe have set up shop in the market place, have become part of a cynically taxless plutoc- racy with mediocrity for all. My reading of po’ biz may be somewhat between the lines, but “mediocre” or some variations of the word must occur in this book at least four score and seven times. I will say this in Raymond P. Hammond’s defense before the recently reconvened House Committee, that he is in good company. From Alexis de Tocqueville who was a qualified admirer of America near its beginning to Jonathan Franzen’s musings about Freedom’s end, there have been many who saw the seeds of decay in its median, consumer mediocrity. Hammond does not dream the American dream. He does not pretend with the rest of us that all men are equal, all potential poets, painters, posers, million- billion-trillion-aires. A democracy’s ability to thrive depends upon a large middle class. It also depends upon the rule of the majority. Both of these factors create a dependence upon the median. From strip malls to Mickey Mouse, our society is one in which a middle class and resultant ambivalence toward the arts flourishes. Most poetry written today reflects this mediocrity. My one reservation about this un-American decla- ration is the exclusive attack on the middle class. According to economists, if this ever-so profitable recession for banks and businesses and their sidekick politicians continues, there will soon be no middle class. Why not put some of the blame on the unedu- cated wealthy: the products of our business schools, our technical institutes, for that matter our colleges of the humanities that award MFA degrees to the readably unread? Consumerism “consumed by that which it was nourished by”: why only yesterday Thanksgiving was consumerized into the day before Black Friday adventing into White Xmas. Let’s end with the poets. Here’s Wordsworth, two hundred and three years ago, in one of those poems MFA candidates are taught to avoid: The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! Those powers wasted, hearts discarded, are what would have allowed the best to aspire beyond the world. That’s why Hammond is a patriot as well as being outrageously un-American. He’s calling us beyond mediocrity. You can summon the “power” as soul or imagination or muse, Muse—and I’m winging it now—and the Muse exists only when an imagina- tion, a heart, a soul, reaches beyond consciousness to something on the verge of being apprehended. Robert Browning gave words to what I’ve been groping for since Thoreau’s opening line, when Browning has his Andrea del Sarto, who never quite stretched far enough, settling as he did for a handful of gold and a twirl of girl, Browning has him sigh, “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, / Or what’s a heaven for?” For quite a while now, at Canisius College, Syracuse University, Bowling Green State University, Fordham University, City College of New York, La Université de Paris, Daniel Leary has been demonstrating and encouraging having a poem by heart. serPent curve Stephanie Rauschenbusch WhAt’s lEft Susan Sindall Cherry Grove Collections http://www.cherry-grove.com 80 pages; paper, $18.00 Susan Sindall has been writing, reading, and publishing her poems for a long time, and as an editor of Heliotrope has also encouraged other poets to publish. More recently, she has studied with Ellen Bryant Voigt at Warren Wilson College’s MFA poetry program. Her newest book, What’s Left, is a tremendous achievement—a sort of reckoning up of all that she has experienced, sensed, observed, and remembered in her entire life and of all that’s lost or left behind. There are many themes in this book, and they inter- weave gracefully with each other. Among them is music—as in “From Brahms’ Letter Thanking Robert Schumann”: Tenderness, you see, trembles at the edges of everything. Water slips over rocks at the inlet, enlarging the pebbles through the water’s tender moving. Your hands, poised above the keyboard— your nerves’ tricky fires on the piano keys: those sparks, their tortures: we know them… In Italy, for instance, as I watched Clara reach for the ripe figs; how gently she cupped each scrotum : those sacks, fleshy, yellow, and seed-filled— just seeing them generates the notes. Here we have brilliant shoptalk among musi- cians about where notes of music arise—from tenderness, from seeing water move over stones, from watching a woman handle and eat figs so sexual they are likened to testicles. This is an “ars poetica” but also a metaphysical discussion about geology and geography, about water and its mean- ings, about stones and their meanings, a discussion which appears in many other poems in this beauti- fully crafted book. From “Gros Ventre Valley,” we read this stanza: Water writes its own calligraphy. Water gathers rocks, hugs boulders to its sides, spreads them grandly in a long serpent curve, the hem of the water’s skirt. So we find here the geological “serpent curve” echoed throughout the book—introduced actually in the first poem, “After,” in which she sees them dangling everywhere, loops tangled in the branches, heads or tails, indecipherable…. The snake appears even in “Akhmatova’s Fountain House” in which the poet descries a boa constrictor (in a photo?) suffocating a rabbit. Snakes begin to seem objective correlatives, or even symbols, for inspiration, as they were in Stanley Kunitz’s poem about his Provincetown garden. What’s Left is a tremendous achievement. But to go back to “Gros Ventre Valley.” How many poets could reckon with death as baldly as in the couplet, “Not much between me and death. / Not enough years left”? This is another leitmotif of the book—death’s approach and its meaning in the midst of life. There are several wonderful elegaic poems dedicated to the poet’s mother and father—who are curiously both seen as under water. In “Voices,” “the great pike, enormous curve of pisces, / smiles my father’s smile.” In “Offshore,” the poet realizes when her mother speaks out loud to her, You must have been beside me for months beside me swimming, as our fingers Rauschenbusch continued on next page 
work_lo3g37gkufekvmib7nwrci464e	----	[PDF] Who Measures the World? Alexander von Humboldt's Chimborazo Climb in the Literary Imagination | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1111/J.1756-1183.2009.00061.X Corpus ID: 55043270Who Measures the World? Alexander von Humboldt's Chimborazo Climb in the Literary Imagination @article{Schaumann2009WhoMT, title={Who Measures the World? Alexander von Humboldt's Chimborazo Climb in the Literary Imagination}, author={C. Schaumann}, journal={The German Quarterly}, year={2009}, volume={82}, pages={447-468} } C. Schaumann Published 2009 History The German Quarterly On June 23, 1802, Alexander von Humboldt, Carlos Montufar, Aime Bonpland, and three guides attempted to climb the Andean peak Mount Chimborazo, which at 6267 meters (20,561 feet) was thought to be the highest mountain in the world. The ascent was one of the highlights of Humboldt’s legendary five-year research trip to the Spanish colonies in the Americas that began in 1799 in the Canary Islands and continued to Venezuela, Cuba, Columbia, Ecuador, Peru, Mexico, and the United States. Unlike… Expand View via Publisher warwick.ac.uk Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 6 Citations View All Figures from this paper figure 1 figure 2 figure 4 figure 6 figure 7 View All 5 Figures & Tables 6 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Social Class and the Production of Mountain Space: The historical geographies of the Seattle Mountaineers, 1906-1939 T. Christian Geography 2017 Save Alert Research Feed Stratified, destratified, and hybrid GIS : organizing a cross-disciplinary territory for design M. Carlsson Geography 2013 2 Save Alert Research Feed Eighteen Hundred and Eleven: Poetry, Protest and Economic Crisis E. Clery History 2017 3 Save Alert Research Feed Identity (De-)Formation in the Jungles of the Amazon Sarah Fernandes Grootz Geography 2014 Save Alert Research Feed Psicólogos europeos en los países andinos (Bolivia, Ecuador y Perú) durante la primera mitad del siglo XX* European Psychologists in Andean Countries (Bolivia, Ecuador, and Peru) in the First Half of the 20th Century Ramón L eón Geography 2014 Save Alert Research Feed The Spatial Imagination of Accelerated Globalization in Contemporary German-language Novels Brooke D. Kreitinger Sociology 2012 Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-6 OF 6 REFERENCES Picturing Tropical Nature N. Stepan Sociology 2001 134 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Alexander von Humboldt: Revolutionizing Travel Literature Oliver Lubrich Monatshefte 2004 7 Save Alert Research Feed The Humboldt Current: Nineteenth-Century Exploration and the Roots of American Environmentalism A. Sachs History 2006 23 Save Alert Research Feed Wo ist Carlos Montúfar? : über Bücher Daniel Kehlmann Art 2005 2 Save Alert Research Feed Der Maler ist immer im Bild. Alexander von Humboldts Beschreibung seiner Reise in eine neue Welt Wolfgang Griep History 2003 1 Save Alert Research Feed “ Vom Brocken zum Himalaja . Goethe ’ s ‘ Höhen der alten und neuen Welt ’ und ihre Wirkungen . ” Picturing Tropical Nature 2001 Related Papers Abstract Figures 6 Citations 6 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_lq642obedfh7vevpgdmg7wzc7u	----	value and zero. Even though thermal radiation is completely chaotic, an almost perfect interference pattern can be seen in such a set-up for small time delays. However, when the time delay becomes larger than a temperature-dependent quantity called the coherence time, the amplitude of the oscillations with respect to the maximum value quickly decays and the minimum value is no longer zero. Benea-Chelmus et al. observed this behaviour in their experiment at about room temperature (300 kelvin) and found that the coherence time agreed with theoretical predictions. If the temperature is lowered to a few kelvin, radiation in the terahertz frequency range, which is relevant to such experiments, is suppressed. For example, at 4 K, there are effectively no photons that have frequencies larger than 0.2 THz. As a result, in the standard set-up, the maximum amplitude of the oscilla- tions drops to zero and there is no evidence of correlations. Remarkably, Benea-Chelmus and colleagues found that they could still observe correlations in their version of the set-up at 4 K. They interpret these signals as a direct signature of correlations in the electric field of the vacuum. The authors achieved this feat because of a sophisticated detection scheme. Based on a branch of research known as nonlinear optics, the scheme simultaneously provides two key components that can be pictured in terms of a modified Mach–Zehnder interferom- eter (Fig. 1b). The first is a pair of elements called temporal gates that ‘observe’ electric fields in ultrashort time windows  —  the two observations differ by a time delay. In Benea-Chelmus and colleagues’ experiment, these gates are implemented by auxiliary ultra- short pulses of near-infrared light that interact with the vacuum in a nonlinear optical crys- tal. The second is a pair of detectors that are directly sensitive to the electric fields that have passed through the temporal gates and to the correlations in these fields. B ene a-C helmus  et  al. note t hat t he maximum amplitude of the oscillations, although non-zero, was so small that up to one trillion individual detection events at each value of the time delay were required for the correlations to be discernible f r o m m e a s u r e - ment-induced ran- dom fluctuations (shot noise). Such a large number of events took about 3 hours at a repeti- tion rate of 80 MHz. An intriguing aspect of the experiment that deserves further investigation is the effect of the detection procedure, including the use of temporal gates, on the measured fields — a phenomenon called quantum back-action7. Previous work has described how photons materialize in a vacuum for hypothetical, short-lived observers that, because of the finite speed of light, can access information only from restricted regions of space-time, called space-time diamonds8. By consider- ing multiple observers in such settings, it has been shown that the photons display quantum correlation called entanglement9. The field of quantum optics began with sim- ple experiments that probed amplitude and intensity correlations in optical fields, but now witnesses and applies sophisticated entangle- ment-based protocols in nascent quantum technologies. Perhaps the authors’ results are the first steps towards ultrafast quantum optics that will one day observe and control the entanglement that lies hidden in the space- time vacuum and in non-trivial ground states of interacting light–matter systems. ■ Andrey S. Moskalenko is in the Department of Physics, Korea Advanced Institute of Science and Technology, Daejeon 34141, South Korea, and in the Department of Physics, University of Konstanz, Germany. Timothy C. Ralph is at the School of Mathematics and Physics, The University of Queensland, St Lucia, Queensland 4072, Australia. e-mails: moskalenko@kaist.ac.kr; ralph@physics.uq.edu.au 1. Riek, C. et al. Science 350, 420–423 (2015). 2. Benea-Chelmus, I.-C., Settembrini, F. F., Scalari, G. & Faist, J. Nature 568, 202–206 (2019). 3. Young, T. Phil. T. R. Soc. Lond. 92, 12–48 (1802). 4. Arndt, M. & Hornberger, K. Nature Phys. 10, 271–277 (2014). 5. Ananthaswamy, A. Through Two Doors at Once: The Elegant Experiment That Captures The Enigma of Our Quantum Reality (Dutton, 2018). 6. Grangier, P., Roger, G. & Aspect, A. Europhys. Lett. 1, 173–179 (1986). 7. Braginsky, V. B. & Khalili F. Y. Quantum Measurement (Cambridge Univ. Press, 1992). 8. Martinetti, P. & Rovelli, C. Class. Quant. Grav. 20, 4919–4931 (2003). 9. Su, D. & Ralph, T. C. Phys. Rev. D 93, 044023 (2016). M I L E S F . W I L K I N S O N Convent iona l w is dom holds t hat modifying a gene to make the encoded protein inactive — ‘knocking out’ the gene — will have more severe effects than merely reducing the gene’s expression level. However, there are many cases in which the opposite occurs. In fact, the knockout of a gene sometimes has no discernible impact, whereas the reduction of expression (knockdown) of the same gene causes major defects1. Off-target or toxic effects of the re agents used for gene knockdown have sometimes been found to be the culprit2, but not always3, leaving one to wonder what else could be responsible. El-Brolosy et al.4 (page 193) and Ma et al.5 (page 259) provide an intriguing solution to this paradox. The authors identify a molecular mecha- nism that activates the transcription of genes related to an inactivated gene, thereby com- pensating for the knockout. The existence of such a genetic compensation response was ini- tially suggested by earlier studies, most nota- bly the discovery3 that knockout of the eg fl7 gene in zebrafish upregulates the expression of genes that encode proteins related to those encoded by eg fl7. This upregulatory response was triggered only by mutation of eg fl7, and not by eg fl7 knockdown, thereby explaining why knockdown caused biologi- cal defects, whereas knockout largely did not. Similar observations have been made for other genes3,6, suggesting the existence of a general compensatory mechanism. How does the compensatory mechanism work? By studying the effects of a variety of mutations in zebrafish embryos, both El-Brolosy et al. and Ma et al. found that the upregulation of compensatory genes is specifi- cally triggered by mutations that generate short nucleotide sequences known as premature termination codons (PTCs). These sequences — also known as nonsense codons — signal the early cessation of the translation of messenger RNAs into proteins. Thus, an apt name for this upregulatory response is nonsense-induced transcriptional compensation (NITC). The role of PTCs in NITC suggested the involvement of an RNA-degradation pathway called nonsense-mediated RNA decay (NMD), because NMD is also triggered by PTCs7. In support of this idea, El-Brolosy and colleagues M O L E C U L A R B I O L O G Y Genetic paradox explained by nonsense Gene mutations that truncate the encoded protein can trigger the expression of related genes. The discovery of this compensatory response alters our thinking about genetic studies in humans and model organisms. See Article p.193 & Letter p.259 “The authors found that they could still observe correlations in their version of the set-up at 4 kelvin.” 1 1 A P R I L 2 0 1 9 | V O L 5 6 8 | N A T U R E | 1 7 9 NEWS & VIEWS RESEARCH © 2019 Springer Nature Limited. All rights reserved. © 2019 Springer Nature Limited. All rights reserved. observed that a protein called Upf1 — one of the main factors involved in NMD — is required for NITC. Further support came from Ma and co-workers’ discovery that PTCs that do not trigger NMD also failed to elicit NITC. The two papers provide several lines of evi- dence suggesting that the agent that triggers NITC is the PTC-bearing mRNA generated from a mutant gene (Fig. 1). For example, both groups found that NITC is largely prevented when transcription of the mutant gene is com- promised. As evidence that the PTC-bearing mRNA must be degraded by NMD to elicit NITC, El-Brolosy et al. found that injection of ‘uncapped’ mRNA, which is inherently unsta- ble, into zebrafish embryos elicited NITC, whereas ‘capped’ (stable) mRNA did not. Both groups found that NITC is mediated by increased transcription of genes that are ancest ra l ly rel ate d to t he mut ant gene. The increased transcription of these gene paralogues was accompanied by increased occupancy of the genes’ promoter regions by H3K4me3 — a transcription-inducing form8 of a DNA-binding protein called histone H3. The two groups went on to find that NITC depends on the COMPASS protein complex, which catalyses8 the formation of H3K4me3, thereby providing further evidence that this H3 modification has a role in the increased transcription of the gene paralogues. How could a decaying mRNA specifically trigger transcriptional upregulation of genes similar to itself, but not of unrelated genes? On the basis of the finding that some factors required for the decay of RNA in the cytoplasm also ‘moonlight’ as transcriptional regulators in the nucleus9, El-Brolosy et al. posit a model in which cytoplasmic-RNA decay factors asso- ciated with PTC-bearing mRNA travel to the nucleus and recruit histone modifiers to activate the transcription of related genes. Specificity is provided by the RNA fragments generated by NMD, which bind to complementary nucleo- tide sequences in the gene paralogues (Fig. 1). This model also predicts that heterozygotic zebrafish, which have both a mutant and a wild-type copy of a gene, will upregulate the expression of the wild-type gene. Indeed, both research groups found that this is the case. A key discrepancy between the two papers is that El-Brolosy et al. found that knockout of the upf1 gene prevented NITC, whereas Ma et al. observed that NITC was not impaired by knockdown of Upf1, nor by knockdown of the NMD factors Upf2 and Upf3b. It remains to be seen whether this apparent discrepancy results from the use of different approaches for perturbing Upf1, from introducing PTCs in different genes, or from other factors. An intriguing discovery made by Ma et al. is that NITC requires the Upf3a protein, an enig- matic NMD factor that was previously shown10 to either repress or modestly promote NMD, depending on the mRNA targeted for degrada- tion. The authors found that Upf3a interacts with several components of the COMPASS complex, and increases H3K4me3 occupancy at the promoter regions of upregulated para- logue genes. These findings led Ma et al. to propose that Upf3a recruits the COMPASS complex to gene-paralogue promoters to generate the H3K4me3 mark responsible for activating gene transcription. The discovery of NITC will probably alter how genetic studies are interpreted and conducted in the future. For example, the unexpected finding that healthy humans typically have several loss-of-function muta- tions11 can now potentially be explained by compensation conferred by NITC. When constructing genetically engineered model organisms, it will be important to make mutants that do not trigger NITC, to avoid biological defects being masked. Indeed, NITC might explain why many knockouts produce few biological changes in mice, whereas chemical agents that block or activate the same targets have profound effects12,13. El-Brolosy et al. demonstrated that NITC provides protective compensation not only in zebrafish embryos, but also in mouse cell lines. NITC’s reach might extend much fur- ther than this, given that gene knockouts in diverse organisms have been shown to produce less-severe defects than corresponding gene knockdowns1. How broadly does NITC act in a given organism? El-Brolosy et al. and Ma et al. together identified eight zebrafish genes and four mouse genes that, when mutated, trigger the NITC mechanism, but it remains unclear whether this is a property of most genes. It is also unknown what dictates NITC’s strength and specificity. Both research groups identi- fied some specific mutant genes and mutations that trigger NITC only weakly, implying that there are factors yet to be understood that modulate NITC. NITC adds to the arsenal of mechanisms that confer robustness on organisms in response to mutations. Indeed, NITC provides hope even when a gene has been completely inactivated by mutation. In the words of the writer Henry David Thoreau: “If we will be quiet and ready enough, we shall find compensation in every disappointment.” ■ Miles F. Wilkinson is in the Department of Obstetrics, Gynecology, and Reproductive Sciences, University of California, San Diego, La Jolla, California 92093, USA. e-mail: mfwilkinson@ucsd.edu 1. El-Brolosy, M. A. & Stainier, D. Y. R. PLoS Genet. 13, e1006780 (2017). 2. Kok, F. O. et al. Dev. Cell 32, 97–108 (2015). 3. Rossi, A. et al. Nature 524, 230–233 (2015). 4. El-Brolosy, M. A. et al. Nature 568, 193–197 (2019). 5. Ma, Z. et al. Nature 568, 259–263 (2019). 6. Zhu, P. et al. J. Genet. Genom. 44, 553–556 (2017). 7. Popp, M. W.-L. & Maquat, L. E. Annu. Rev. Genet. 47, 139–165 (2013). 8. Howe, F. S., Fischl, H., Murray, S. C. & Mellor, J. BioEssays 39, 1600095 (2016). 9. Haimovich. G. et al. Cell 153, 1000–1011 (2013). 10. Shum, E. Y. et al. Cell 165, 382–395 (2016). 11. MacArthur, D. G. et al. Science 335, 823–828 (2012). 12. Brooks, P. C. et al. Cell 79, 1157–1164 (1994). 13. Bader, B. L., Rayburn, H., Crowley, D. & Hynes, R. O. Cell 95, 507–519 (1998). This article was published online on 3 April 2019. Figure 1 | Proposed mechanism for mutation-induced biological compensation. El-Brolosy et al.4 and Ma et al.5 report that mutations that lead to the production of truncated, often non-functional proteins indirectly activate the expression of related genes, to provide functional compensation. a, The mutations observed to trigger this process generate DNA sequences (red star) that lead to the production of messenger RNA molecules for which translation is prematurely terminated. b, These sequences also trigger mRNA degradation by a process called nonsense-mediated RNA decay (NMD), which both studies implicate in the compensatory response. c, El-Brolosy et al. propose that mRNA fragments generated by NMD bind selectively to complementary nucleotide sequences in related genes, and carry unknown regulatory factors to induce transcription. One of these factors might be Upf3a, an NMD factor that Ma et al. show is crucial for the transcriptional compensatory mechanism. They also find that Upf3a interacts with COMPASS — a protein complex that activates gene transcription by modifying one of the histone proteins (H3) with which genes are packaged in the nucleus. Both groups find that COMPASS is integral to the genetic compensatory response. a c b COMPASS Related gene H3 modi�cation H3 Cytoplasm NMD Upf3a? mRNA Nucleus Gene Mutation Functional compensation Activated transcription 1 8 0 | N A T U R E | V O L 5 6 8 | 1 1 A P R I L 2 0 1 9 NEWS & VIEWSRESEARCH © 2019 Springer Nature Limited. All rights reserved. 
work_lquhyojo3bbzhlbh5mwkjyeqr4	----	TERRA INCOGNITA: LITERARY MAPS AND NATURE REPRESENTATIONS IN JON KRAKAUER'S INTO THE WILD 64 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild 1 anguage lies at the heart of our current environmental crisis. As Bate notes, literature "[affects] how we understand ourselves, how we think about the ways in which we live our lives" 2 . When discussing or writing about the environment, we must 1 Undergraduate student at the Faculty of Social Sciences and Humanities of the New University of Lisbon (FCSH-UNL), currently in the final year of his BA (Modern Languages, Literatures and Cultures – English and North American Studies). Co-author (with Ana Brígida Paiva) of a paper entitled "Rebelling in Macau through Cross-cultural Matrimony: Emotional Landscape(s) and Strategies of Acceptance and Exclusion in Henrique de Senna Fernandes' 'The Bewitching Braid' (1993)", presented at the International Conference on Macau Narratives (FCSH-UNL/CETAPS/CHAM) at the Orient Museum (09/05/2013) and already submitted for publication. Participation in a discussion panel, held at the same Conference, entitled "Narrativas Pessoais em torno de Macau: A Viagem para Portugal e o Processo de Adaptação de Jovens 'Nascidos e Criados' em Macau". 2 This article is dedicated to all professors from the English and North American Literature department of the Faculty of Social Sciences and Humanities, New University of Lisbon (FCSH-UNL), with special thanks to Professor Ana Isabel Queiroz (FCSH-UNL/IELT), who taught me everything I know about Eco-criticism, and to Professor Miguel Alarcão (FCSH-UNL), for his support and contribution to make this publication possible. L 65 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild therefore be aware of how we represent the natural world if we are to change our understanding of, and actions towards, it. As such, a study of literature that includes nature metaphors is not only current, but an imperative one. 3 The corpus which will be the object of our analysis is Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild (1996), a non-fictional account of Chris McCandless' rejection of globalized society and subsequent journey into the Alaskan wilderness where, after 112 days of attempting to transcend himself, he dies of starvation. Being a non-fictional text, Into the Wild's representations of Nature are the literary sample which is supposed to be closer to "reality"; however, there are still subtle metaphors present throughout the narrative.4The purpose of this article is to analyze three metaphors used in literary contexts and to understand if one is able to move past these metaphors into a place of understanding the nature of man's relationship with wildernesses. Ecocriticism is a word still not registered in the Oxford English Dictionary, whereas eco- centric, eco-feminist, and eco-friendly are, the last one being added in 1989. Most people are more familiar with the term "environmentalism", which refers to a concern with the environment, whereas ecocriticism "addresses how humans relate to non-human nature or the environment in literature"(Johnson, 7). This study is mainly concerned with eco-criticism as a means of analyzing how metaphors can be unethical. According to Laurence Coupe, eco- criticism involves examining literature as a means of moving "beyond duality, beyond the opposition of mind and matter, subject and object, thinker and thing, [only then] there is the possibility to 'realise' nature"(1). In order to specifically demonstrate the origins of Krakauer's metaphors, Romanticism, as a reaction to the Enlightenment period, will be briefly examined in comparison to current reactions to globalization. Regarding Romanticism's relationship with eco-criticism, it would seem that many eco-critical texts do begin with or acknowledge the Romantic period as one of the milestones in the "nature writing" genre. However, the intuition to search for this "symbiosis" both precedes and follows the Romantic period. The idea of connecting with nature as a means of reconnecting with the self has remained with many cultures, since there has been industrial forces threatening nature and simpler ways of living. The most recent 66 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild resurgence of Romantic thinking could be viewed as a response to globalization and the environmental crisis. Globalization has stirred up a variety of social movements and political activism, as has the environmental crisis; however, as our understanding or ways of seeing the world change, so must our understanding of literature and the use of language that reflects that world. Romanticism, as it occurred traditionally in the eighteenth century, favoured nature "[which] was least touched by the hand of man, high mountains, deep forests and windswept lakes" (Cranston, 15). In 2000, Laurence Coupe's The Green Studies Reader represented a movement to formally marry green studies with Romantic literature by using the term "Green Romanticism"(13), apparently for the first time. Coupe's book examines traditional Romantic writers such as Henry David Thoreau and William Blake as early eco-critics, linking the green to the romantic explicitly in history. If we consider that "our perception of nature is a human construct [that can be] revealed through study of metaphors"(Adkins, 2), Krakauer's wilderness text becomes a poignant source of man's need for an environmental ethos and a shift in conceptualization which is hampered by the excessive use of metaphorical representations of Nature. Regarding this, in "Into Thick Air: Metaphors That Matter", Katherine Ericson identifies six metaphors (objective, enemy, animal, disease, spirit, goddess) used by Krakauer in another one of his books - Into Thin Air (1997); however, there is no mention that Krakauer uses a distinct, and more simple, group of metaphors in Into the Wild: Nature as a refuge, Nature as an objective, and Nature as an antagonist. Thus, for the remainder of this article, we will proceed to the analysis of these three metaphors which are present in the text. The first metaphor to be examined is Nature as a refuge, a place of healing. As such, individuals idealize natural places as a means of offering solutions to their own existential problems. It seems that individuals are able to find solace and peace in nature; they are able to think in ways they would be unable to do in urban spaces, which are commonly associated with stress, congestion, claustrophobia, and powerlessness. If one considers the history of medicine or pharmacology, nature can, in fact, heal us physically. Although it is likely that Romantic thought still remains in contemporary consciousness, and many of its poets have certainly contributed to an appreciation of natural spaces, the environmental movement seeks an ethic that Romantic thinkers throughout history have not always come to. In reaction to industrialization, the Romantic Movement favoured Jean Jacques Rousseau's concept of nature, one still removed from man's touch. From this 67 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild statement, it is obvious that nature, in opposition to man, the culture maker, is more desirable because of its apparent ability to provide transcendence, inspiration and freedom. The problem lies in the fact that globalization has obliterated much of the natural world that the Romantics and earlier periods knew and inhabited. As Cheryll Glotfelty noted in 1996, "we have reached the age of environmental limits, a time when the consequences of human actions are damaging the planet's basic life support systems. We are there." (xxi). Although there is a large body of people that longs for a simple, yet hard, life offered by a nature which no longer exists, it may be that they seek this life only in contrast to the complexity and convenience of our current culture. This sentiment abounds with Krakauer's protagonist and points to a growing environmental problem – and perhaps, more importantly, a spiritual one as well: we have not yet learned how to work with culture as a means towards happiness. Krakauer's "romantic types" look for narratives of a time when celebrity gossip did not trump family values and people found solace in home life. The problem is that these narratives are out of date. These texts inspire individuals to act because they see nature as the only means of spiritual renewal. However, by focusing on what we "get" out of nature, we create the idea that nature is a resource to be mined, such as a lumber yard or an oil platform, which is unethical. Also, because nature is not as plentiful in an age of globalization, individuals in Krakauer's text (himself included) are forced to seek remote wildernesses instead of city parks and back yards. Also, these individuals often go to remote places alone. As such, both man and nature are at risk of disappearing. Reading and taking inspiration from old perceptions about the reality of nature, Krakauer's men apply them to current wilderness places, creating a very dangerous discrepancy. Man's ability to live in wildernesses is no longer the norm; in fact, it is rare today. Texts, then, like Henry David Thoreau's Walden (1854) are powerful in their representation of the natural world as a place of transcendence and beauty; yet today the wild does not offer these experiences. Animals have been pushed closer to one another in the face of encroaching urban development, making contact with them potentially more dangerous. Wildernesses are disappearing daily, forcing would-be romantics and nature enthusiasts to seek out farther, deeper, and higher spaces more remote from civilization and, in many cases, rescue. 68 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild Krakauer's subjects, however, do not work within these new concepts, and we see that Romantic visions of nature prevail at the outset of their adventures. As Amy Clary notes, Krakauer's heroes are guided by "literary maps" as opposed to geographical ones (175) and the danger lies in the fact that with "wilderness areas [that] are understood solely as symbols or metaphors instead of as unique physical places … it becomes too easy to ignore the political and ecological forces that threaten them" (168). For Chris McCandless of Into the Wild, the literary maps that brought him to Alaska were provided by Henry David Thoreau and Jack London, the latter whom he claims in one of his now famous graffiti is "KING", and uses it as a catalyst to burn his money, abandon his parents and hitchhike into Alaska. McCandless was said to have been moved to visit Alaska by Jack London's The Call of the Wild. Even the title Into the Wild evokes London's first chapter in The Call of the Wild, "Into the Primitive", demonstrating London's pervasive voice. Of course, Chris McCandless's story is not unlike Buck's (incidentally, McCandless's own dog was named Buck): born into a life of privilege and destined to follow in his father's footsteps, Buck is taken (McCandless, on the other hand, chooses to go) into the wilds of Alaska, where he learns to survive without the comforts of society while discovering his newly awakened primitive identity. Obviously, there are major differences in that Buck is a dog and McCandless does not become primitive, although he does discover a new identity. Most importantly, London writes of Alaska during the Klondike Gold Rush, a time when it was possible to change one's life entirely if one could make his way there. Alaska, in particular, as a refuge is not an implausible metaphor for this time. However, the idea that Alaska offers McCandless the only opportunity for reinvention is a 69 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild foolish one. Perhaps it might be suggested that, in a time when globalization has minimized the amount of wilderness places, we learn alternative ways to find our identities within the urban spaces that surround us by looking inward, rather than outward, for healing. Instead, McCandless preferred to live in a world that exists primarily in the values offered by the literature he read. Amy Clary notes that Into the Wild is "so awash in literary references … that its emphasis on the literary seems to preclude any consideration of the materiality of the 'wild' into which McCandless walks" (168). Literature is able to convey the values of any particular culture and, as such, London's early twentieth century Alaska differs immensely from Krakauer's Alaskan landscape in the early nineties. In the end, McCandless misunderstood the complexities of London's writing, choosing instead only the ideas that served his journey. Chris McCandless's trip to Alaska "was to be an odyssey in the fullest sense of the word, an epic journey that would change everything" (Krakauer, 22). However, the idea that nature can somehow solve one's problems is a faulty one. Nature is no more a refuge for one's spiritual problems than it is a dumping ground for one's unwanted material garbage. This attitude results, quite often in Krakauer's text, in death because it causes individuals to ignore signs of danger and trek ill-prepared into isolated places. McCandless thought he could invent a whole new life for himself by going to Alaska. As Krakauer writes, "Alaska has long been a magnet for dreamers and misfits, people who think the unsullied enormity of the Last Frontier will patch all the holes in their lives… People from Outside, … they'll pick up a copy of Alaska magazine, thumb through it, get to thinkin', 'Hey, I'm goin' to get on up there, live off the land, go claim me a piece of the good life'" (4). McCandless was one of those, guided by literary maps (not just magazine articles) as opposed to literal ones, a point which contributed to his death. He took Thoreau's writings as "gospel" (28) and was fascinated by Jack London's "glorification of the primordial world … [but he] seemed to forget they were works of fiction, constructions of the imagination that had more to do with London's romantic sensibilities than with the actualities of life in the subarctic wilderness" (44). The many problems with Chris's seemingly ideal plan include the fact that he did not know how to hunt, had little provisions and did not understand that "winter, not summer, is the preferred season for traveling overland through the [Alaskan] bush" (165). As Krakauer notes: In coming to Alaska, McCandless yearned to wander uncharted country, to find a blank spot on the map. In 1992, however, there were no more blank spots on the 70 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild map - not in Alaska, not anywhere. But Chris, with his idiosyncratic logic, came up with an elegant solution to this dilemma: He simply got rid of the map. In his own mind, if nowhere else, the terra would thereby remain incognita (174). Chris McCandless's intentional rejection of a map (in order to create wilderness in his mind) is a key contention with many of Krakauer's readers. Amy Clary argues that Chris McCandless did not die in the Alaskan wilderness because he intentionally disposed of a topographical map; he died because "he carr[ied] too much of the past with him – too much literary history, and too much nostalgia for wild frontier landscapes…that can no longer be found in most of the contemporary U.S." (172). Perhaps this also explains Chris's decision to go forward into Alaska without a map. While McCandless was undoubtedly influenced by Jack London and Henry David Thoreau, Clary claims that McCandless "misread" the principles of their texts (177) and 71 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild overlooked the "literary nature" of the narratives (Krakauer, 179). What mattered to McCandless was the "idea" of wilderness, the "idea" of living off the land (176), rather than the material reality of Alaska's drastically changing sub-arctic conditions. Into the Wild's refuge metaphor seems to support an opposition between nature and culture, especially since Chris McCandless was seeking a spiritual overhaul and, it is posited by the book, that he indeed achieves it in the wilds of Alaska. Krakauer writes that Chris was "satisfied…with what he had learned during his two months of solitary life in the wild" (168). Although this part of Into the Wild does reinforce that nature is a refuge from one's problems, it does note that what Chris learns, in part, is that society is necessary, that "happiness is only real when shared" (189). It seems that, from his lonely vantage point in the wilderness, he looks to society now as a means of reconnecting. However, this understanding is a subtle one and may be overlooked by those looking to follow in McCandless's footsteps. After believing nature to be a refuge, nature then becomes man's objective. If this "thing" can heal us or make us happy, we have to have it. A problem with this, besides the fact that it permits man to attain the object at whatever cost, is that it breeds competition and risk- taking among the seekers, leading many to believe that they are separate from one another, as well as separate from the object. Jon Krakauer's text is rife with the prevailing attitude that man is not connected to nature, rather that nature, usually a wild or desolate landscape such as the Alaskan tundra, is the object of man's desire. With regard to separateness, Krakauer's hero does "connect" with nature physically by traversing its various landscapes, but a fundamental understanding that man and nature cannot be separated is missing, that "we" and "it" might simply be thought of as "us". Without this idea, it is easy to believe that nature is below man and can therefore be conquered, manipulated, controlled. Despite Chris McCandless's apparent love for natural places, he contributed to the objectification of those places. Almost everyone who encountered Chris McCandless knew that Alaska had become his objective: "Charlie: But like I was saying, Alaska, - yeah, he talked about going to Alaska…" (42); Jan Burres: "I thought Alex had lost his mind when he told us about his 'great Alaskan odyssey,' as he called it. But he was really excited about it. Couldn't stop talking about the trip." (45); Ronald Franz: "He confided that he was biding his time until spring, when he intended to go to Alaska and embark on an 'ultimate adventure'"(51); Wayne Westerberg: "That spring, however, McCandless's sights were fixed unflinchingly on Alaska. He talked about it at every opportunity" (66). More than an objective, Alaska had become his obsession. 72 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild However, objectives can make one blind to reality, to the obvious: one cannot "conquer" something that one is intrinsically a part of, nor is Alaska a safe place to test this theory. As one of the last true wilderness places, Alaska is unforgiving and those not prepared for its hardships are bound to find real danger. McCandless demonstrates his idea that Alaska was conquerable, which indicates his understanding of it as an object, by arriving there ill-prepared (he carried more books than he did food) and to many who responded to Krakauer's Outside magazine article (the article which was later adapted into the actual Into the Wild book), this added up to a "willful ignorance [that] amounts to disrespect for the land" (Krakauer, 72). Although Into the Wild does make a strong argument about the kind of person McCandless was (someone who was not suicidal or mentally ill), it does allow that he misunderstood the land he thought he could vanquish. Krakauer offers McCandless's diary entries from his stay in an abandoned Alaskan bus as evidence that he intended to eventually walk out of the bush; that he did not have a death wish. These entries, however, also present his overarching desire to subjugate the land. Krakauer notes, "… Under the heading "LONG TERM" [McCandless] drew up a list of more ambitious tasks: map the area, improvise a bathtub, collect skins and feathers to sew into clothing, construct a bridge across a nearby creek, repair mess kit, blaze a network of hunting trails"(165-166). By adding trails, mapping the area, and fashioning bathing facilities, McCandless's intentions would ultimately rob the land of the very essence he sought it out for. This demonstrates his poor understanding of his place and role within nature. The metaphor of separateness is not a new one. It is a standard idea that students in the western tradition learn that one of the primary conflicts in literature (ergo in life) is "man versus nature". This third metaphor materializes only after Christopher McCandless enters into wilderness places, such as the Alaskan tundra, and discovers that nature is not the way they thought it would be; however, this is due to their misconceptions of the true "nature" of nature. Nature as an antagonist comes from the idea that nature (when personified) simply refuses to comply with man's desire to conquer it, which is rooted in the objective metaphor and denies nature's rights. More than denying nature the right to exist outside our metaphors, we fight against nature that does not submit to our will. Here nature is a worthy antagonist, almost equal in that it is often difficult to defeat it (and in some cases it is not even defeated). Although this metaphor promotes violence against nature, it does acknowledge nature's power and some kind of equality with man. Also interesting is that nature here means to harm; as Katherine Ericson points out, "[t]hese creatures… fight to the death. So humans have the right 73 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild to destroy in order to preserve themselves and emerge triumphant"(88). If one finds himself in a fight for his life, respect for the enemy is foolish, even suicidal, and preservation is reserved solely for the self. Rowe furthers this idea by writing that "when Mother Nature is conceived as a harlot or witch, we need feel no sympathy for her. We are not flesh of her flesh, and we owe nothing to her. We are important and she is not, a perilous falsehood (143). Into the Wild presents antagonistic metaphors; however, Krakauer is able to undo them later in the book by retracing McCandless's steps. Chris walks into "the wild" quite easily, hearkening to the siren call of the Alaskan mountain range. At first, Chris's adventure is free of any antagonists: he is lent some boots and a small homemade lunch from Jim Gallien, who dropped the hitchhiker off at the Stampede Trail; he literally walks the trail until he conveniently finds an abandoned bus outfitted with a bed and a stove; he has relatively decent luck hunting small but sufficient game and lives quite comfortably for the majority of 116 days. The first encounter with the idea that nature is an antagonist comes when Chris kills a moose. Due to his lack of knowledge about preservation methods for Alaska (he consulted hunters from South Dakota), the meat began to spoil more quickly than he was able to prepare it. McCandless here works against flies, maggots, and rot for six days before "abandon[ing] the carcass to the wolves" (Krakauer, 167). He considers the waste of the moose meat "One of the greatest tragedies of [his] life" (167). McCandless implies in his journals that he is responsible for the waste and not nature when he writes "I now wish I had never shot the moose" (167), which points clearly towards an environmental ethic. The similarity between Chris and Coleridge's Mariner is somewhat obvious, although purely coincidental. Like the Mariner shot the Albatross in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1798), Chris killed the moose. The Mariner was cursed and underwent multiple hardships at sea; McCandless had to deal with his own difficulties in the wilderness. Instead of nature, both characters, viewed from an eco-critical perspective, ought to be seen as their own, real antagonists. Secondly, McCandless's ease in attaining the object of his desire is reversed when he attempts to leave Alaska. Upon reaching in April the Teklanika river, which he was required to cross, it was half-frozen and permitted his passage. In July, when Chris again tried to cross the river, it was "at full flood, swollen with rain and snow melt from glaciers high in the Alaska Range, running cold and fast…The water, opaque with glacial sediment and only a few degrees warmer than the ice it had so recently been, was the color of concrete. Too deep to wade, it rumbled like a freight train" (170). In order to return home, Chris (afraid of water) would have to 'negotiate' the river. In his journal, 74 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild he wrote "Disaster. … Rained in. River look impossible. Lonely, scared" (170). Certain that he would be unable to defeat the river, Chris returned to what Krakauer describes as "the fickle heart of the bush" (171). Chris's understanding of nature has shifted into an antagonistic force where previously he had "walked" into the wild, but he is now "trapped" in it. Nature here seems most vicious: allowing a man to pass into its folds, enjoy a stay there, then allow him to see his way out, and prevent him from leaving, ever. Krakauer, however, does achieve an ethic here because, during his journey to the bus one year after Chris's death, he notes that McCandless was, in fact, not trapped in the wild. There was a gauging station about twenty minutes from the Stampede Trail with an aluminum basket used to ferry hydrologists from one side of the river to the other. When Krakauer arrives at the station, the basket was on Chris's side of the river (the bus side) and, had he known about the station (if he had carried with him a topographical map instead of a literary one), "salvation" would have been his (174). Although it seems that nature was an antagonistic force that Chris McCandless was, at times, up against, Krakauer clarifies that Chris was really up against himself in going to and dying in Alaska. When we discuss our current environmental crisis, we might note the use of "our"; it is our crisis in the sense that we are also responsible for it. Our conception of nature as a refuge, object, or antagonist allows us to ignore recycling initiatives or throw garbage into the ditches from a car window without remorse. Literature, of course, is not to blame for the metaphors we use, but it can also be a tool for change or not. Becoming aware of how we use language to understand everyday reality is possible when writers include ethical metaphors in their texts, or, at least, reflect upon the negative implications of using outdated modes of perception. Ecology offers a view of nature that is inclusive of man. Together, man and nature are one system in the universe and until we are able to understand that our separateness is simply an illusion, nature (and oftentimes we forget that this includes man) remains in peril. It has been our purpose in this article to highlight literature's responsibility towards the Earth, by demonstrating that ethical uses of language can change our actions. By looking at Krakauer's unethical metaphors and ourselves, in the same manner he has looked at his metaphors and himself, one is able to move into a place of understanding about the nature of man's relationship with wildernesses. "Getting away" to nature does not serve nature or man. As many of Krakauer's characters realize, their problems simply await them. Nature, as a refuge, eludes protection. The refuge metaphor leads Krakauer's characters to objectify nature and compete against one another to obtain it; as such, it is argued that objectifying nature 75 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild creates the opportunity for man to take risks that he fails to see are real and deadly. Regarding nature as an antagonist: this metaphor is a result of the first two and is the most prolific one in Krakauer's texts. We think that if nature is standing in our way, or threatening our lives, we must take the necessary actions to prevent human loss because humans are superior to nature. Also, the necessary actions can include leaving pollution behind, commercializing wildernesses, altering the land or weather systems, and wasting natural "resources". In conclusion, the environmental crisis as we currently know it reflects our own struggle to come to terms with modernity. As such, nature, in addition to the use of eco- criticism as a means to better understand nature through literature, shows us that it is possible to change; it is necessary to change, and it is our responsibility to change, by searching for an alternative and eco-critical paradigm of nature representations in literature. Bibliography 1) Works cited: Adkins, Kaye. 2003. "Serpents and Sheep: The Harriman Expedition, Alaska, and the Metaphoric Reconstruction of American Wilderness", in Technical Communication Quarterly 12.4, 423-37. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1207/s15427625tcq1204_5>. Accessed 05.03.2013. Bate, Jonathan. 2000. The Song of the Earth. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Clary, Amy. 2009. "(Un)Mapping the Wild: Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, Thoreau's Walden, and the Textuality of Wilderness", in On and Off the Page: Mapping Place in Text and Culture. Ed. M. B. Hackler. Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Pub., 167-185. Coupe, Laurence. 2000. The Green Studies Reader: From Romanticism to Ecocriticism. London: Routledge. Cranston, Maurice. 1994. The Romantic Movement. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Ericson, Katherine. 2006. "Into Thick Air: Metaphors That Matter", in A Wilderness of Signs: Ethics, Beauty, and Environment After Postmodernism. Ed. Jordon Joe. Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Pub., 85-93. Glotfelty, Cheryll and Harold Fromm. 1996. The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press. Krakauer, Jon. 1996. Into the Wild. New York: Anchor Books. http://dx.doi.org/10.1207/s15427625tcq1204_5 76 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild Philips, Dana. 2003. The Truth of Ecology: Nature, Culture, and Literature in America. Oxford: Oxford UP. Raskin, Jonah. 2011. "Calls of the Wild on the Page and Screen: From Jack London and Gary Snyder to Jon Krakauer and Sean Penn", in American Literary Realism 43.3, 199-20. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/amerlitereal.43.3.0198>. Accessed 05.03.2013. Rowe, Stan. 2002. Home Place: Essays on Ecology. Edmonton: NeWest Press. 2) Works consulted: Buell, Lawrence. 1995. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Massachusetts: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. --------------------. 2005. The Future of Environmental Criticism: Environmental Crisis and Literary Imagination. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Fausset, Hugh l'Anson. 1962. "Rousseau and Romanticism", in Romanticism: Points of View. Eds. Robert F. Gleckner and Gerald E. Enscoe. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Garrard, Greg. 2004. Ecocriticism. London: Routledge. Hanssen, Caroline. 2011. "'You Were Right, Old Hoss; You Were Right': Jack London in Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild", in American Literary Realism 43.3, 191-7. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/amerlitereal.43.3.0191>. Accessed 05.03.2013. Heise, Ursula K.. March 2006. "The Hitchhiker's Guide to Ecocriticism", in PMLA 121.2, 503-516. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/25486328>. Accessed 05.03.2013. Johnson, Loretta. December 2009. "Greening the Library: the Fundamentals and Future of Ecocriticism", in Choice, 7-13. Kollin, Susan. Spring-Summer 2000. "The Wild, Wild North: Nature Writing, Nationalist Ecologies, and Alaska", in American Literary History 12.1/2, 41-78. <http://muse.jhu.edu/>. Accessed 05.03.2013. London, Jack. 1999. The Call of the Wild. Irvine: Saddleback Classics. Olwig, Kenneth R.. December 1996. "Recovering the Substantive Nature of Landscape", in Annals of the Association of American Geographers 86.4, 630-653. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/2564345>. Accessed 05.03.2013. Siddall, Stephen. 2009. Landscape and Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/amerlitereal.43.3.0198 http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/amerlitereal.43.3.0191 http://www.jstor.org/stable/25486328 http://muse.jhu.edu/ http://www.jstor.org/stable/2564345 77 Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 5, Dezembro 2013 Ricardo Pereira da Silva Universidade Nova de Lisboa Terra Incognita: Literary Maps and Nature Representations in Jon Krakauer's Into The Wild Press. Thoreau, Henry David. 1995. Walden; Or, Life in the Woods. New York: Dover. 
work_lr44g6sfrngs3kwv67mzra73cy	----	ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 73 Civil and/or laic religions Maria Serafimova South -West University, Blagoevgrad, Bulgaria Address correspondence to: Maria Serafimova, Department of Sociology, South -West University “Neofit Rilski”, "Ivan Mihaylov" 66, 2700 Blagoevgrad, Bulgaria; Phone: +359 73 885 501; Email: serafimova@swu.bg Objective. In postmodern culture, individuals explore ways to orient their worlds by a certain “invisible” religiosity, which penetrates throughout the so-called secular societies. The existence of societies is impossible without religions, neither the authentic ones, nor the so-called “earthly”, civil or laic religions. This is the transition from institutional religions to something that can be defined as "personal religion", a type of religiosity in which individuals construct their own conceptual systems. Methods. Both quantitative and qualitative methods have been used in an attempt to obtain the necessary authentic and thorough information. This means that data from a representative survey have been combined with an additional analysis of discussions within focus groups and with the results of participant observation and interviews for the purposes of the final analysis. Results. Bulgarians have a healthy dose of skepticism. This is due to their high level of education and not least to their alertness and inquisitive nature in real life, including faith. Many people are influenced by popular culture. Originally, the main elements of human culture, including religion, are phenomena with great momentum. They change slower and more difficult than other phenomena. Most people say that the path to the temple can be found in a different way. Unfortunately, young people turn to religion only when something bad happens to them, if they suffer, or if they have a dilemma that excites them. Conclusions. If “traditional” and “modern” are two ideal-typical poles, the present day Bulgarian society is situated somewhere in the middle between both of them. In all cases, it is a mixture that combines the pole of traditionalism, defined through continuity with the past, and the pole of modernity, defined by change, novelty and innovation. Keywords: ecology, family, religions, sacred, profane Introduction Probably one of the greatest ironies of our postmodern world is that we have more capacity for communication than at any other time in the history of humanity and yet, there is a widespread feeling of disconnection. We are preoccupied with distractions while at the same time we are being bound to a stark feeling of loneliness. In postmodern culture, individuals explore ways to orient their worlds. They find themselves amidst a sea of chaotic relativity and have a greater need to bring meaning to their lives. In such a situation, an ascertainment like God is dead unexpectedly turn out to be accompanied by a certain “invisible” religiosity, which penetrates throughout the so-called secular societies. That is why the existence of societies is impossible without religions – neither the authentic ones, nor the so-called “earthly”, civil or laic religions. mailto:serafimova@swu.bg ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 74 Culture Society is a product of various human activities and is characterized by cultural originality. Any time, any age, any stage of social development has the features and characteristics of their culture and cultural developments. This essential characteristic is inevitably associated with conscious human individuals and groups that have a particular historically determined humanistic coefficient, which allows the researchers to distinguish natural from cultural reality. At the same time, researchers get into the specifics of cultural reality, remaining in the position of objective observers. The development of each culture is associated with the creation of new values, which are the benchmark of people’s social activities. Culture enhances personal autonomy rights and covers knowledge, art, morality, and faith. The essence of culture is related to goal setting and action, regardless of the nature. Culture consists in emphasizing the social value of humans. As if, the difference between cultures seldom revealed for what it is – a natural phenomenon, people generally accept it as something monstrous or outrageous. One of the main characteristics of the world is cultural diversity. People from different cultures live, work, learn together and constantly look for ways to accept and understand each other. Problem areas of difference exist in every society, in every community, but should not be construed static, nor as a static object. Accordingly, the concept of diversity of human culture is not static. No doubt, people have created different cultures due to geographic distances, the specific characteristics of the environment and the ignorance of the rest of mankind. Furthermore, the differences are due to the isolation and the proximity. Culture fits inside created by generations, store experiences and decisions of past eras. It is a human expression and affirmation, but also provides opportunities for the future. Civilization Civilization is an important matter in a category that over the past three centuries gradually accumulated and painted colourful and dramatic pictures of a diverse cultural and historical process of mankind. At the end of 18 th century, it appeared that the idea of civilization contained mainly a new image for the human being and society. Civilization is an academic concept, which combines approaches of sociology, anthropology, cultural studies, and their interpenetrations from the middle of 20 th century until present. Civilization is related to education and politeness, but it includes a general overall improvement of the material and intellectual level of a group or community. It became the tradition of connecting with more countries, civilization of human life, and society. This tradition started from Immanuel Kant and reached Nikolai Berdyaev, connected the material civilization, technical and external aspects of human life activity. In their view, the advance of modern Western culture has left vast numbers of people in a state of spiritual and psychological alienation. The rapid pace of technological change, the dominance of huge, impersonal institutions, and the bewildering complexity of modern society has left many individuals feeling adrift, isolated, and lacking a sense of meaning or purpose of their lives. Society as a reality sui generis it has its own peculiar characteristics, which are not found elsewhere and which cannot be met again in the same form in the rest of the whole universe. The representations that express it have an absolutely different content from purely individual ones and we may rest assured in advance that the first adds something to the second. ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 75 Collective representations are the result of an immense cooperation, which stretches out not only into space but into time as well; to make them, a multitude of minds have associated, united and combined their ideas and sentiments; for them, long generations have accumulated their experience and their knowledge. Religion The sociology of religion is primarily the study of practices, social structures, historical backgrounds, development, universal themes, and roles of religion in society. There is a particular emphasis on the recurring role of religion in nearly all societies today and throughout recorded history. Sociologists of religion attempt to explain the effects of society on religion and the effects of religion on society. In my opinion, there can be no substantive definition of religion. If the notion of religion is de-substantialized, what remains of it is, as far as possible, a way of believing which is compatible with the idea of tradition. Its contents are not defined a priori and they refer to the way of validating a given collective memory. The object of religion is alive, reborn, spreads, and dissipates, moved to the "critical times". The task of sociologists is to track and analyse these transformations. The specific features of every religion can be read and interpreted sociologically. Sociologists of religion study religious facts, both past and present. These objective phenomena must also be treated as social facts, which can be explained by other social facts. In other words – to construct them, classify them, compare them, treat them within the relationship and conflicts in a society, recessed community in certain groups. In the study of religion, sociologists are interested in social context, social impact, social significance, role, nature and functions of a religion in society, the interaction of religion with other spheres of social life. Religion may be broadly defined as, the human quest for the Holy or Sacred, the experience of it, and the response to it. This universal human activity expresses itself in at least three ways: in thought (the intellectual expression), in action (the practical expression), and in fellowship (the communal expression). These complex religious expressions comprise the subject-matter of the academic study of religion. The sacred and the profane Sacred places function as some fixed reference points in the secular world. They offer a potential avenue for bridging the gap between the secular and the spiritual. The labyrinth of human relations with the sacred is incredibly complex and impassable. Sacred places connect very different and important realities. According to Emile Durkheim, the human conscience regards the sacred and the profane as two different kinds, two worlds that have nothing in common. Durkheim defines society by its symbolic boundaries: it is the sharing of a common definition of the sacred and the profane, of similar rules of conducts and a common compliance to rituals and interdictions that defines the internal bonds within a community. He posits that the boundaries of the group coincide with those delimitating the sacred from the profane. In The Sacred and Profane, Mircea Eliade begins his discussion of sacred place as it relates to the idea of the "holy" in Rudolph Otto's work The Holy. He agrees with Otto that the sacred is not some abstraction that has very little to do with our everyday lives. Eliade presents the three building blocks of every sacred place: disruption, orientation, and communication. These categories are important not only for understanding the sacred place. Sacred place then, in Eliade's thinking, "breaks upon" a profane world – a world in which there is no ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 76 difference. As opposed to so much of modern or new age thinking, a sacred place is a place of disruption and difference. Profane space or chaotic space would be a world where there are no differences, where place is the same in that one place and is no more significant than another. Creation without difference would be a creation without sacred place. The whole world then would be a profane space, which, of course, is a world of chaos, confusion, and relativity. Another way of saying this is that in our postmodern culture individuals’ look at themselves in order to orient their worlds. Yet we need more than ourselves to bring meaning to our worlds. Nevertheless, the sacred in its’ classical form seems to be losing ground. What are your sacred places? On say everything – from being alone in a car, to spending time in the desert, a barn, or a field, to a particular table in a coffee shop. No doubt, sacred space exists for the primary purpose of placing us in communion with the sacred world. Because we live in a secular world, because we no longer live in the garden, we experience great alienation, and it is here that sacred place offers the potential avenue to bridge the gap between the secular and the sacred. Eliade reminds us that we yearn for sacred place so we can find a fixed point in an otherwise relative world. All of the religious answers constitute the sacred universe of traditional societies, but it could be included in the creation of a modern sacred. In a condition, that “sacred” doesn’t mean only “religious”, religion could help to legitimate the purposes and actions of society, to strengthen the determination of people, to help build up a sense of identity. Religion could help to legitimate the purposes and actions of society, to strengthen the determination of the people, to help build up the sense of identity. This is the transition from institutional religions to something that can be defined as personal religion, a type of religiosity, in which individuals construct their own conceptual system. People construct their meaningful dispositive for themselves and are free to choose any religion or religious group to belong. Deep ecology In traditional societies, the individual exists only as far as taking its place in a group, a place that is often destined from birth in a social hierarchy. It is governed by the collective beliefs, rules and norms shared by all present that are not in dispute - transcendence based on social connections and "pre"-mythical past and valuable. The past is no longer an idyllic world, which stands as reference. It is an imperfect world and a subject of dispute. The modern man of the 21 st century chooses his preferred beliefs and values in a pluralistic world, where conflicting values co-exist and are subject to the critique of reason. He is surrounded with satellite television, radio, e-mail, computer networking, fax machines, and of course the Internet. There is a profusion of data, but very little knowledge that connects people. There is a deluge of information, but very little wisdom that helps him live skilfully. The religious man is more like a nomad, that hardly defines his time travelling and because he changes the places where he lives more often. Everyone is free to adopt and abandon the symbolic content of religious systems that they like. The dialogue between religions and ecology promises to be one of the most effective, because in practice the belief, religious values can oppose the inexorable forces of aggression, destruction and poor spirits. Ecology reminds of itself. It is becoming more and more evident how vast its field of study is. Ecological motives and considerations should become a major factor when governmental ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 77 decisions are taken. The norms and recommendations of ecologists are ignored all too often, and this is caused mostly by objective reasons but also by subjective ones. In societies that are connected with nature, not against its face to make it obey, and found it both its extension and its impact, certainly have kinship between the sacred and the political. Both categories can be defined simultaneously as the principles and the relationships that they suggest "match" each other. In the present situation of changes and transformations "things" obtain another different meaning. This creates a sense of doubt, confusion and transience. Putting it differently, more and more people realize that we must “live simply so that others may simply live”. (Mahatma Gandhi) The new environmentalism, which has been termed deep ecology or ecosophy, earth wisdom, gives rise to potent eco-theology and eco-psychology movements. The term deep ecology was coined by the Norwegian philosopher Arne Naess in 1972, based on the earlier work and inspiration of persons such as Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Robinson Jeffers, Aldo Leopold, Rachel Carson, David Brower, et al. Deep ecology has been elaborated in numerous books and articles since then by Naess and many other voices. Naess and George Sessions articulated a deep ecology platform in 1984. Here are the 8 points of this deep ecology platform, as posited by Naess and Sessions: “1. The well-being and flourishing of human and non-human life on Earth have value in themselves (synonyms: intrinsic value, inherent worth). These values are independent of the usefulness of the non-human world for human purposes. 2. Richness and diversity of life forms contribute to the realization of these values and are also values in themselves. 3. Humans have no right to reduce this richness and diversity except to satisfy vital needs. 4. The flourishing of human life and cultures is compatible with a substantially smaller human population. The flourishing of non-human life requires a smaller human population. 5. Present human interference with the non-human world is excessive, and the situation is rapidly worsening. 6. Policies must therefore be changed. These policies affect basic economic, technological, and ideological structures. The resulting state of affairs will be deeply different from the present. 7. The ideological change will be mainly that of appreciating life quality (dwelling in situations of inherent value) rather than adhering to an increasingly higher standard of living. There will be a profound awareness of the difference between being big and being great. 8. Those who subscribe to the foregoing points have an obligation directly or indirectly to try to implement the necessary changes.” (Naess., 1995, p.68) Environmental culture is not an independent and isolated phenomenon. It exists in certain socio-cultural context and there is a bilateral interdependence. The inherited culture is influenced by the environment – geographical, material, institutional, organizational and cultural components and at the same time it affects this background. On a personal level, environmental culture is in relation to age, education, social background, value systems, and individual life strategies. Unfortunately, anyone who sees our horrific and pressing environmental woes and who joins with others in the great work of educating friends, colleagues and the general public is going to have a hard time saying anything without sounding like one of those “grieving greenies” or “spoil- sports.” Within the empirical survey, carried out in the course of the project Transformation of the national value system and its synchronization with European patterns: the development of environmental culture as an indicator of transition of European values in the Bulgarian Society (Head Assoc. Prof. Dr. A. Mantarova and funding from National Science Fund of the Bulgarian ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 78 Ministry of Education, Science, and Youth, 2010), environmental culture was described as a complex social phenomenon, alternating historical unity of consciousness and behaviour related to the interaction society - nature in all its forms. Furthermore, based on information gathered during the survey conducted in the Blagoevgrad region in March 2010, we will present and analyse the basic parameters of the environmental culture of the population aged 18 and more, in the area and its main dependencies. The sociological surveys show that state of the environment is assessed as a very serious problem by 28.6 % of respondents and as a serious one - by 39.4%. A more detailed look at the information indicates the presence of inter-group differences in the assessment of the situation. Negative evaluations were given more frequently by young people - between 18 and 29 years (72.9% and in the sample – 67.4%), by highly educated people - 79.3 %. Instead, for the respondents between 50 and 59 years, a much more serious problem is unemployment (which they are much affected, and their prospects for returning to active working life are rather limited). The problem is described as less important by the low-educated groups. Conclusions Young people have a natural predisposition to build environmentally adapted worldview. This is the beginning of what should be followed to achieve the new thinking, new methodology, new approach, and new behaviour in today's global environmental situation. For the average Bulgarian, faith has little importance for the general development of the country. The roles of faith and religion in Bulgaria are so very secondary, even within Eastern Europe. They can influence neither the models for public conduct, nor the personal morality of citizens. The effect of modern mass culture in all of its forms serves as an addition to the traditionally neglectful attitude of Bulgarians towards faith before 1989. The invading secularism of the West mingles itself with the atheistic heritage from the Communist era. This process concerns the young generation most deeply. Popular culture, pseudo-folkloric music and all the new tendencies of modern day life have a dominant role in a young person’s view of life. Things like morality, faith or knowing the Bible seem like a secondary problem. Many among the young are more susceptible to ideas of occultism and exorcism than to those coming from the Churches or the Word of God. In conclusion, the atheistic period in the history of Bulgarian society is an important factor for the spiritual vacuum in Bulgarian society, but a more serious reason for it - is the period of transition leading to total carelessness - economic and spiritual carelessness. Young people need spiritual direction and they’re not the only ones, because in modern society and its dynamic rhythm, the material side of things prevails. We are witnessing not only a material crisis, but also a profound spiritual one. The spiritual is inverted to the point that kept the material and where available, can be said that there is some form of native flashes that are not organized in any process. Regardless of the logic of profanation and secularization of the modern world, there seems to be a process of reversion to the sacred – to the modern sacred. In their efforts to note at the same time the loss of influence that the institutional religions suffer, and the dispersions of the religious symbols in modern societies, a lot of researchers use the term sacred. Sacred things with their immunity offer the ultimate meaning of everyday life, because within the limits of the profane it is impossible to find such meaning. Because of this the existence of societies is impossible without religions – neither authentic, nor the so-called “earthly”, civil or laic religions. ANTHROPOLOGICAL RESEARCHES AND STUDIES No 6, 2016 79 References 1. Bell, D., 1991. The Winding passage. New Jersey: Transaction Publishers. 2. Berger, P., 1969, The Sacred Canopy. New York: Garden City. 3. Crisp, T., Religion and Dreams. Dream hawk. Available on: <http://www.dreamhawk.com/d- relig.htm> [Accessed 31.03.2015] 4. Durkheim, E., 1999, Suicide. (Maria Serafimova, scientific editor foreword). Sofia: Sofia S.A. 5. Durkheim, E., 1998, Elementary Forms of Religious Life. (Maria Serafimova, Lilyna Yanakieva, translation). Sofia: Sofia S.A. 6. Eliade, M., 1961. The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion. New York: Harper Torchbooks. 7. Fourastié, J., 1981. Ce que je croix. Paris: Gallimard. 8. Hervieu-Leger, D., 1993. La Religion pour mémoire. Paris: L.E. CERF. 9. Arne Naess, “The Deep Ecological Movement: Some Philosophical Aspects,” in George Sessions (Ed.), Deep Ecology for the 21st Century: Readings on the Philosophy & Practice of the New Environmentalism, Shambhala, 1995, p. 68. 10. Smart, N., 1999. Dimensions of the Sacred: An Anatomy of the World Beliefs. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1999. 11. *** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mircea_Eliade [Accessed 31.03.2015] http://www.dreamhawk.com/d-relig.htm http://www.dreamhawk.com/d-relig.htm http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mircea_Eliade Life 
work_lse3laiya5asxic46ps2hevhva	----	untitled D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org Introduction Cite this article: Post E, Høye TT. 2013 Advancing the long view of ecological change in tundra systems. Phil Trans R Soc B 368: 20120477. http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2012.0477 One contribution of 11 to a Theme Issue ‘Long-term changes in Arctic tundra ecosystems’. Subject Areas: ecology, environmental science Keywords: Arctic, climate change, long-term studies, tundra biome, warming Author for correspondence: Eric Post e-mail: esp10@psu.edu & 2013 The Author(s) Published by the Royal Society. All rights reserved. Advancing the long view of ecological change in tundra systems Eric Post1 and Toke T. Høye2,3 1The Polar Center, and Department of Biology, Penn State University, 208 Mueller Lab, University Park, PA 16802, USA 2Department of Bioscience, Aarhus University, Grenåvej 14, 8410 Rønde, Denmark 3Arctic Research Centre, Aarhus University, CF Møllers Allé 8, building 1110, 8000 Aarhus C, Denmark Despite uncertainties related to sustained funding, ideological rivalries and the turnover of research personnel, long-term studies and studies espousing a long- term perspective in ecology have a history of contributing landmark insights into fundamental topics, such as population- and community dynamics, species interactions and ecosystem function. They also have the potential to reveal sur- prises related to unforeseen events and non-stationary dynamics that unfold over the course of ongoing observation and experimentation. The unprece- dented rate and magnitude of current and expected abiotic changes in tundra environments calls for a synthetic overview of the scope of ecological responses these changes have elicited. In this special issue, we present a series of contri- butions that advance the long view of ecological change in tundra systems, either through sustained long-term research, or through retrospective or pro- spective modelling. Beyond highlighting the value of long-term research in tundra systems, the insights derived herein should also find application to the study of ecological responses to environmental change in other biomes as well. 1. Introduction Both long-term studies and studies adopting a long-term perspective are instrumental, if not critical, to revealing the complex interactions that shape, characterize and drive ecological systems. Such studies are, furthermore, of prime value in understanding the ecological implications of global climate change. In many cases, however, long-term studies in ecology have been initiated for reasons other than those concerned with detecting and characterizing conse- quences of climate change. This is especially true in the case of studies that were initiated before the onset of the recent anthropogenic warming trend, and in the case of studies that have developed secondarily out of long-term records that have since been co-opted for use in climate change studies. We argue that the long view of ecological change is particularly important during periods of rapid change and where data sources are limited. In tundra systems, where abiotic conditions are undergoing rapid and pronounced change [1], a long-term perspective on eco- logical change may derive from continuous, multi-annual data, or, where such data are lacking, may depend on retrospective or prospective analyses. In this special issue, we present a series of papers representing both types of approach with the aim of advancing the long view on ecological change in tundra systems. 2. Landmark long-term studies in ecology Whether initiated as ecological investigations or simply out of an interest in natu- ral history, long-term studies and studies conducted with a long-term perspective have in general been instrumental in exposing the complexities of species inter- actions and the role of these in ecological responses to environmental change [1]. A classic example of the heuristic value of long-term studies in ecology is the ongoing investigation initiated in 1958 of wolf – moose dynamics in Isle Royale National Park, USA. One of the many epistemological highlights of this study is the evolution of insights into predator – prey dynamics it has generated, from the simple notion of wolf limitation of moose abundance, to the more http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1098/rstb.2012.0477&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2013-07-08 mailto:esp10@psu.edu rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org PhilTrans R Soc B 368:20120477 2 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 nuanced understanding of the selectivity of wolf predation on certain age classes of moose, to the role of winter weather in wolf kill rates of moose, to the role of wolf disease outbreaks in moose dynamics, and ultimately, to the secondary role of wolf predation relative to climatic fluctuation in moose dynamics and abundance on the island [2]. Such an evolution of our understanding of the nature of the complex interac- tions among climate, pathogens and predation in herbivore population dynamics would, quite obviously, have been impossible in the absence of continuous, long-term research. Perhaps more interestingly, however, the Isle Royale wolf – moose study highlights the value of long-term and continuous studies in capitalizing upon unexpected developments to the benefit of improving our understanding of and appreciation for ecological complexity. In contrast to the Isle Royale wolf – moose study, the time series of observations comprising the Marsham phenological record [3] was not initiated as an ecological study, and yet it is perhaps one of the best-known long-term datasets on indi- cators of spring that has been adapted for the study of ecological responses to climate change. Comprising obser- vations of up to 27 phenological events in 20 species, including the timing of flowering and leafing out in plants, and appearances or vocalizations of birds, amphibians and butterflies, the Marsham phenological record was initiated by Robert Marsham on his estate in Norfolk, England, in 1736, and continued through five generations of his descen- dants [4]. Although obviously not initiated with the intent to investigate ecological consequences of climate change, the Marsham phenological record has been used to illustrate long-term species-level responses to fluctuations and trends in weather and climate [4,5]. Notably, analyses of the Marsham record have demonstrated variation among species in the extent to which their springtime phenologies have changed over two centuries [4], as well as differences among species in the proximal drivers of variation in their springtime phenol- ogies [6], thereby supporting the notion of individualistic species’ responses to climate change. Similarly, analyses of phenological observations recorded by Henry David Thoreau in New England, USA, and contemporary repeat sampling of similar observations in the same area have provided important insights into changes in community composition [7] and species-specific variation in rates of phenological response to climate change [8,9] that would not have been possible in the absence of such a long-term perspective [10]. Whereas long-term studies, such as that on Isle Royale, produce powerful datasets that can reveal non-stationary dynamics (i.e. those attributable to differing drivers as the time series and investigators’ understanding of the system-level nuances expand) [11,12], studies with a long-term perspective may not necessarily produce long-term datasets, but may expand upon historic datasets or use retrospective analyses to produce insights into long-term dynamics and processes [13,14]. Studies of the nesting ecology of tits in the UK initiated decades ago [15] have since, for example, provided compelling case studies of the role of resource availability and timing in con- sumer responses to climate change [16 – 18]. Persistent, ongoing monitoring of body condition and birth rates in polar bears in Western Hudson Bay, Canada, begun in 1981, eventually resulted in the first evidence of population ecological conse- quences in this species of recent warming [19]. Long-term observations of the annual timing of clutch initiation among Mexican jays breeding in the Chiricahua Mountains in Arizona, USA, produced seminal insights into the role of rising minimum monthly temperatures in egg-laying trends in avian species [20]. Long-term experimentation involving multi-annual exclusion of granivorous rodents in the Chihuahuan Desert revealed lagged responses to the El Niño Southern Oscillation and the relaxation of competition among members of this guild, neither of which would have been elucidated through shorter nor discontinuous experiments [21,22]. The demonstration of lagged responses to species removals and legacy effects of environmental disturbance are two key features of studies with long-term perspective. The local extinc- tion of grizzly bears and wolves from the southern Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, for instance, promoted, over one and a half centuries, the irruption of moose, decline of riparian wil- lows browsed by moose, and subsequent decline of neotropical migratory birds specialized upon nesting among riparian zone willows [23]. Long-term surveys of heavily logged areas of forest in Kibale National Park, Uganda, conducted over nearly three decades, were necessary to reveal the legacy effects of this disturbance on the recovery of primates, populations of some species of which continued to decline decades after log- ging [24], illustrating the importance of the extinction debt deriving from habitat destruction [25] that may also apply to species’ responses to climate change [26,27]. In contrast to the extremely long-term datasets applied to the study of ecological responses to climate change that characterize some mid- and lower latitude systems, such as the aforementioned Marsham record [4,6,28] and more recently published records from continental European [29] and Mediter- ranean systems [30 – 32], in tundra systems long-term datasets and multi-decadal studies are, with the occasional exception [33], comparatively rare. There are multiple explanations for this, among which logistical challenges inherent to conducting ongoing research in remote locations is clearly important. Perhaps for this reason, retrospective, prospective and com- parative studies are often employed in tundra systems to derive long-term perspective on ecological dynamics and trends in response to past and expected climate change [1,34]. In our judgement, the examples given above from lower lati- tudes demonstrate that unique insights can be gained from adopting a long view on ecological change either through long-term observations at the same site, by detailed studies of novel phenomena, or through modelling temporal dynamics. We argue that such an approach is imperative to understanding and adapting to the dramatic abiotic changes projected for the Arctic. The papers in this special issue employ multiple approaches to the study of long-term changes in tundra ecosys- tems along four major thematic lines, and will, we hope, stimulate new initiatives necessary for current and future understanding of this rapidly changing biome. 3. Plant phenology A previous analysis of long-term phenological monitoring data from the high Arctic demonstrated that mean pheno- logical advancements averaged across observations of the timing of flowering in plants, emergence in arthropods and egg-laying in birds were much stronger than similar reports from temperate latitudes [35,36]. The magnitude and appar- ently linear nature of these phenological advances raise the question of whether they will be sustained in the context of ongoing warming. The degree of potential phenological rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org PhilTrans R Soc B 368:20120477 3 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 advance within the lifespan of the individual is, after all, con- trolled by limits to phenotypic plasticity. The alleviation of current environmental constraints on the timing of life- history events by climate change may result in thresholds in plant phenological responses to warming [1]. With long- term observations of the timing of flowering from an Arctic and a subalpine site, Iler et al. [37] in this issue assess whether phenological variation in recent decades provides evidence of such nonlinear responses. As Iler et al. report, their results provide surprisingly little evidence of nonlinear patterns of flowering phenology in response to environmental variation, although some species appear to be approaching their limit in responding to earlier snowmelt. In contrast, a separate analy- sis in this issue by Oberbauer et al. [38] using long-term control (observational) data from the circum-Arctic dis- tributed International Tundra Experiment initiated in 1990 reveals minimal phenological advancement across the com- piled dataset. Instead, the observed phenological dynamics were highly species- and site specific, and the lack of any observable overall trend is, the authors contend, likely due to strong interannual variability in annual temperatures and variability among sites in long-term climatic trends [38]. 4. Dynamics among and within species The notion that Arctic ecosystems are inherently simple and form ideal test beds for understanding ecosystem properties such as stability and resilience prevails, despite numerous examples of complexity in food web structure [39], species diversity [40] and trophic interactions [41] from high-latitude systems. Olofsson et al. [42] provide a compelling example in this issue of a shift in long-term vegetation dynamics from ostensible regulation by rather predictable dynamics towards more complex dynamics once a new component of the eco- system becomes more important. In this case, field-layer vegetation accumulated over 15 years was eliminated by the combination of a major caterpillar outbreak and an increase in disease severity of a pathogenic fungus infecting the dwarf-shrub Empetrum hermaphroditum. Such an example supports the need for long-term observational and experimental studies because, similar to the Isle Royale study, it questions the generality of the results of shorter term studies. In another install- ment to this issue, Gauthier et al. [43] present unique information on long-term dynamics of multiple trophic levels from the Canadian high Arctic, demonstrating that directional trends in phenology, demography and life-history changes at their site are rare, despite its warming trend. These results are at odds with the strong trends documented at Zackenberg in high Arctic Greenland [44], but confirm apparent regional variation documented by Oberbauer et al. [38]. The results presented by Gauthier et al. [43] also suggest that, for at least one aspect of their monitoring programme, changes in graminoid biomass, sampling less frequently (every other year) would have revealed similar results, while shorter yet continuous time series would have yielded potentially contrasting results. While few clear cases of trophic mismatch imposing demographic consequences at the population level have been published [45,46], the datasets required to assess their importance are rare in most systems, particularly the Arctic. In this issue, Kerby and Post [47] expand upon observations initiated in 1993 [48] at a long-term study site near Kangerlus- suaq, Greenland, of the timing of plant phenology and reproduction by two herbivores with contrasting life-history strategies, caribou and muskoxen [1]. Characterizing caribou and muskoxen as species representative of income and capital breeding strategies, respectively, Kerby & Post [47] illustrate that mismatch with the timing of resource availability exerts negative demographic consequences in an income breeder but not in a capital breeder, and urge the application of this conceptual framework in other studies of match/mismatch. Mismatches are not confined to trophic interactions among species. In fact, there is a growing awareness that mis- matches can also happen within species [46,49]. Sex-specific phenology is often associated with territoriality and the com- petition for mates [50,51]. For instance, in birds, males typically arrive on breeding grounds before females, and early arrival is associated with higher reproductive success [52]. In arctic ground squirrels, winter hibernation imposes a challenge to time spring arousal so that it coincides with the optimal time for breeding. In this species, males emerge before females, and Sheriff et al. [53] in this issue demonstrate that males at an Alaskan site with late snowmelt accelerate the time between end of hibernation and emergence relative to males at another Alaskan site with earlier snowmelt. Males at the early site emerge despite incomplete sexual maturation, presumably because early emergence is critical for access to females. The authors base their findings on long-term data on interannual variation in male emergence phenology acquired by implanting temperature loggers in the abdominal cavity of individual male arctic ground squir- rels. Using this approach, Sheriff et al. [53] were able to assess correlations among different phenological events in the life cycle of this species, illustrating how males adapt their repro- ductive phenology to interannual variation in prevailing environmental conditions at the time of arousal in spring. Only through such detailed physiological studies can we begin to understand the extent to which organisms may exhibit phenotypic plasticity in response to climate change. 5. Long-term vegetation dynamics and ecosystem function One of the oldest ongoing tundra studies is that at the Abisko Scientific Research Station in subarctic Sweden. In this issue, Callaghan et al. [54] present a comprehensive overview of the multitude of ecological changes that have been observed through ongoing observations and experiments conducted at and around the Abisko site since 1913. Among the insights deriving from this remarkably sustained and inter-disciplinary history of research is that ecological dynamics at and around Abisko have been characterized by the full suite of complex- ity characteristic of ecological dynamics across the Arctic as a whole, including increased vegetation growth and range expansion, as well as decline and, in some cases, stasis in vegetation growth. While the recent literature includes many examples of species ranges expanding northwards [55], it is also increas- ingly clear that multiple factors (e.g. dispersal limitation and biotic interactions) interact to determine how species distri- butions will respond to climate change [1,56 – 58]. Greenland is presently host to a more depauperate flora than most other parts of the Arctic at similar latitudes, ostensibly owing to its climatic and glacial history [59]. Greenland is therefore a suit- able study system for quantifying the potential for colonization rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org PhilTrans R Soc B 368:20120477 4 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 by non-native shrub and tree species as well as their migra- tional lags. Normand et al. [60] in this issue address this problem by applying both a physiologically based tree line model and species distribution models of an array of shrub and tree species currently found in Greenland or occurring elsewhere in high-latitude regions. Using both palaeoclimatic data from different periods back to the Last Glacial Maximum and data deriving from climate change projections, Normand et al. [60] conclude that the envelope of suitable climatic con- ditions for many of these species has existed in Greenland for several thousand years, despite their lack of establishment. Pre- sumably, the distributions of these species, and their absence in climatically suitable areas of Greenland, are likely due to limit- ation by other factors than climate itself. In a future climate context, this study suggests that unintentional assisted migration by humans may be important in determining the rate and location of spread of new plants species in Greenland [60]. The so-called shrubification of the Arctic tundra biome that the contribution by Normand and colleagues addresses in Greenland is due to the presumably warming-driven spread of woody plants [61]. Such a transition towards an increasingly woody and leafy tundra biome may have important implica- tions for ecosystem carbon exchange because of the increased photosynthetic capacity potentially deriving from such a tran- sition. Shaver et al. [62] contribute the results of a pan-Arctic model of net ecosystem carbon exchange (NEE) parametrized using data collected over several field seasons at tundra sites in Alaska, Greenland, Norway (Svalbard) and Sweden [63,64]. The results of their model indicate an intriguing con- vergence across the Arctic tundra biome in drivers of NEE, despite the array of ecosystem diversity it represents: namely, nearly all (i.e. 75%) of the variance in NEE across the Arctic tundra biome is explained by a small suite of variables, includ- ing leaf area index [62]. This insight should improve the efficiency and accuracy of future efforts to model and analyse the consequences of increasing shrubification of the Arctic for ecosystem carbon dynamics at the biome level. 6. Extreme events The final installment in this special issue is a thorough case study of a recent and extensive tundra wildfire that occurred in Alaska near the Anaktuvuk River in 2007. In their paper, Bret-Harte et al. [65] quantify the magnitude and rate of vegetation recovery following the massive displacement of long-term carbon accumulation that resulted from this fire. The Anaktuvuk River fire was one of the first major tundra fires and the largest ever on the North Slope of Alaska, releas- ing an estimated 2.1 Tg of carbon to the atmosphere, an amount similar to the total annual net primary production of the entire tundra biome [66]. An estimated 37 years of carbon accumulation, and nearly 400 years of nitrogen accumulation, was combusted in the fire [66]. Four years after the fire, Bret-Harte et al. revisited the site and quantified the vegetation recovery and nitrogen dynamics at sites of severe and moderate burn severity, as well as in nearby unburned tundra as a proxy for pre-fire vegetation and soils. The authors conclude that vegetation recovery has been rapid so far, re-growth from sur- viving underground parts was extensive, and that vascular plant communities were on track towards re-establishment of previous vegetation communities [65]. Importantly, however, the bryophyte species found were mainly disturbance-adapted species, and non-vascular biomass had recovered less than vas- cular plant biomass, suggesting that continued monitoring will be necessary to determine the full trajectory and compositional nature of the recovery [65]. There is yet more to learn about long-term changes in eco- logical systems by advancing the long view, either through promoting and maintaining long-term studies, or through con- ducting research with a long-term perspective, both forward and backward in time. In addition, there is much to be learned about the nature of long-term studies themselves in the litera- ture about their value beyond the data and insights they generate. Others have emphasized the challenges inherent to long-term research in ecology, some of which may be cir- cumvented by shorter term studies adopting a long-term perspective. Highlighting these here, as we conclude this introduction, serves to remind us, and, we hope, remind policy-makers and funding agencies, of the qualities that characterize such studies by virtue of surmounting them for the goal of securing precious data. To paraphrase others, the success of such research requires anticipating and adapting to variability in space and time not only of the study system itself, but also to the succession of investigators involved [67]. As well as sustained interest on the part of said investigators, continued financial resources, surviving the ‘threat of rival ideologies’, and the support of host institutions are also all vital components of successful long-term research in ecology [2]. To this we would add our own, final, requirement: that of the willingness of the individual scientist and those they leave behind each field season to make the personal sacrifices required by such sustained devotion to ongoing research. In each of the papers in this special issue, this last is the inconspicuous essen- tial ingredient that led to its contribution to advancing the long view of ecological change in tundra systems. Acknowledgments. We thank the contributors to this special issue for their participation in the conference ‘Tundra Change: the Ecological Dimension’, hosted by the Department of Bioscience at Aarhus Uni- versity, Denmark, and supported by a grant to T.T.H. from the Danish Agency for Science, Technology, and Innovation. We also thank Helen Eaton for her assistance with the organization and pro- duction of this special issue. Funding statement. E.P. is grateful for support for this effort from the US National Science Foundation Office of Polar Programs under the grant ‘Timing is Everything: Seasonality and Phenological Dynamics Linking Species, Communities, and Trophic Feedbacks in the Low- versus High Arctic’. References 1. Post E. 2013 Ecology of climate change: the importance of biotic interactions. Monographs in Population Biology. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 2. 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work_ltyjjsuzv5bmte5lwviicuufwa	----	ACTA 2 2004 Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 131 GENOMA Y BIOÉTICA: UNA VISIÓN HOLÍSTICA DE CÓMO VAMOS HACIA EL MUNDO FELIZ QUE NOS PROMETEN LAS BIOCIENCIAS Jean-Luc M.J. Antoine* Resumen: La idea de la ciudad utópica es casi tan antigua como el pensamiento humano. Ella consiste en una sociedad teóricamente perfecta y transparente donde todo está perfectamente controlado y, en consecuencia, los ciudadanos podrían alcanzar la felicidad. En este artículo pretendemos reflexionar, mediante una perspectiva holística –y con ejemplos prácticos como la clonación, células troncales y eugenismo–, acerca de la sociedad genética actualmente en ciernes, la que, a pesar de presentarse como una potente herramienta para alcanzar una ciudad utópica, sería hoy imposible por los numerosos riesgos y peligros existentes. Por tanto, creemos importante un análisis sobre la bioética y el progreso, antes de seguir adelante. Palabras clave: Genética, bioética, clonación, eugenesia, células troncales GENOME AND BIOETHICS: AN HOLLISTIC VISION OF THE WAY WE MARCH TOWARDS THE HAPPY WORLD BIOSCIENCES PROMISE Abstract: The idea of an utopian city is almost as old as human thinking. It consists in a society theoretically perfect and transparent where everything is under control, so that citizens could achieve happiness. In this article, using a historical perspective, we pretend to reflect, with practical examples such as cloning, stem cells and eugenics, on a genetic society which is blossoming and in spite of presenting itself as a strong tool to achieve the utopian city, this would not be possible due to the warning for many risks and dangers. Therefore we believe it is important to carry out an analysis on bioethics and progress, before moving on. Key Words: Genetics, bioethics, cloning, eugenics, stem cells GENOMA E BIOÉTICA: UMA VISÃO HOLÍSTICA PARA O MUNDO FELIZ QUE NOS PROMETE AS BIOCIÊNCIAS Resumo: A idéia da cidade utópica é quase tão antiga como o pensamento humano. Consiste numa sociedade teoricamente perfeita e transparente onde tudo está perfeitamente controlado, onde consequentemente os cidadãos poderiam alcançar a felicidade. Neste artigo pretendemos refletir, mediante uma perspectiva holística –e com exemplos práticos como a clonagem, células tronco e eugenismo–, acerca da sociedade genética atualmente em cernes, a que, apesar de apresentar- se como uma potente ferramenta para alcançar uma cidade utópica, hoje seria impossível pelos numerosos riscos e perigos existentes. Portanto, cremos que é importante e necessário fazer uma análise sobre a bioética e o progresso, antes de seguir enfrente. Palavras-chave: Genética, bioética, clonagem, eugenesia, células tronco * Doctor en Genética Humana Correspondencia: jeanluc368@yahoo.fr ORIGINALES Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 132 “Pensad por cuenta propia y dejad que los demás disfruten del derecho a hacer lo mismo.” Francois Marie Arouet Voltaire Introducción: la ciudad utópica La genómica y la proteómica son neologis- mos de reciente creación que aumentan la lista de las nuevas siglas y técnicas bárbaras que son puestas a disposición de todos, y que han en- trado con fuerza en nuestras mentalidades, cul- turas, discursos y vocabularios. Es hoy común afirmar que las últimas aplicaciones de la ge- nética van a afectar la intimidad de nuestras vidas y que constituirán los fundamentos de una nueva sociedad: el último avatar del mito secu- lar de la ciudad utópica. Sin embargo, estos nuevos logos y las miríadas de siglas, tales como FIV, MBE o PCR, son también símbolos de un cisma cre- ciente en el seno de la nueva sociedad, la cual tiende a dividirse entre “los que saben” y “los que no saben”, entre los “nuevos cultos” y los “nuevos ignorantes”. El distanciamiento social así creado en la aldea global(1) está por gene- rar nuevas castas de individuos (los gobernan- tes y los gobernados, los poseedores y los des- provistos, los privilegiados y los ignorados) dentro de un sistema que va mucho más allá del simple uso de nuevas técnicas y tecnolo- gías y que está bajo el gran control de los mer- cados y de sus iniciados. La nueva Babel tiene el gran riesgo intrínseco de distanciar más aún a los ciudadanos, en lugar de englobarlos en una supersociedad basada en la idea de una nueva democracia fundada sobre la ecuanimi- dad, la igualdad de oportunidades, los derechos a la dignidad y a la felicidad. La gran profu- sión de conocimientos y descubrimientos, así como de las tecnologías que derivan de ellos, todos encauzados por el “gran capital global” y por los políticos fieles o resignados al mando vertical de este último, están generando nue- vas capas sociales transversales a nivel plane- tario, las cuales vienen a adicionarse a las ver- ticales ya existentes en cada país, cada región, cada cultura, cada religión. La utopía de To- más Moro está tomando cuerpo en un mundo global que tiende a perder sus ideales demo- cráticos y, sobre todo, sus ideales de felicidad. La utopía es una técnica de gestión social de los hombres, ubicada bajo el signo de la ra- zón. La ciudad utópica, que debería ser total- mente transparente, está dando lugar, más bien, a una aterradora transparencia del individuo. En efecto, la medicina predictiva, por ejemplo, bajo la presión de las aseguradoras o de los empleadores, podría permitir que información sobre nuestra salud y nuestro posible destino médico esté a disposición de terceros. Ligado de cerca a lo anterior, se encuentra el valor moral que tiene y tendrá la ideación y la concreción de la nueva ciudad global: ¿bajo qué términos éticos estamos construyendo el futuro de nuestras proles? “La felicidad para todos” es el lema que aparece en todas las dis- cusiones sobre el tema, pero tenemos muchos ejemplos históricos de nuevas tecnologías que sirvieron más a la destrucción que a la felici- dad. Es más: ¿quién determina las bases éticas, legales y políticas del uso de tales o cuales tec- nologías? Son aquellos que pertenecen a esa casta de “los que saben” y que dentro de sus centros, escuelas, universidades, capillas y tem- plos determinan lo “bueno” y lo “malo” basa- dos en ideas varias y, a veces, muy discutibles acerca de la felicidad para todos. La utopía clásica nace en el siglo XVI con las convulsiones intelectuales ocasionadas en Occidente por el descubrimiento de América y el consiguiente choque cultural que éste oca- sionó. La utopía emerge en el oscurantismo de la Edad Media, y no es casual el sorprendente paralelismo que se bosqueja entre ese sombrío Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 133 pasado y la ciudad utópica que se está levan- tando sobre la base de un diseño vertical de mando, de castas intelectuales, culturales y socioeconómicas, alentada por la moral pensa- da desde arriba en aras de un mundo mejor, un mundo justo, un mundo feliz para todos. La genómica y sus productos benefactores en la ciudad utópica En este capítulo trataremos algunos ejem- plos de aplicaciones directas y controversiales acerca de los productos biomédicos de la genómica, después de recordar, brevemente, cuál es el concepto de genómica, con el propó- sito de poner sobre el tapete el debate y los interrogantes bioéticos que dichas aplicaciones implican. La genómica como ciencia El neologismo “genómica” se refiere a la ciencia del desciframiento del genoma, ya sea humano o de otras especies. El genoma huma- no es el conjunto de genes que determinan lo que somos biológicamente y –tal vez en parte– intelectualmente. Ese conjunto tiene una base química llamada ADN (ácido desoxirribonu- cleico) que se encuentra dentro del núcleo (karion) de cada una de las células que compo- nen tejidos, órganos y organismos, y que está compuesto de un alfabeto de cuatro bases ele- mentales ordenadas según esquemas muy com- plejos. Esas cuatro bases están organizadas en 23 pares de cromosomas independientes al in- terior del núcleo celular y componen el alfabe- to de unas frases equivalentes a 3.000 millones de letras, las cuales corresponden, luego de varias “traducciones” y “manipulaciones” bioquímicas, a algunas decenas de miles de genes (algunos pretenden que son algunos mi- les) que determinan los caracteres y sus siste- mas de funcionamiento y regulación (por ejem- plo, el color de los ojos, el metabolismo del azúcar, la estatura, entre otros). Un gen puede determinar un solo carácter o intervenir en va- rios de ellos, y un carácter puede derivar de la acción de un solo gen o de varios, la mayoría de ellos siendo multigénicos. Es más, un juego de genes o un gen aislado puede expresarse en un momento y en un lugar dado y no en otro, así como algunos se expresan en un tipo de cé- lulas y no en otro y viceversa; esto permite que exista la “diferenciación celular”, vale decir: esto hace la diferencia entre una célula del hí- gado y una célula de la piel, pese a que ambas contienen el mismo ADN en cantidad y en ca- lidad. Ahí radica la dificultad de dilucidar el funcionamiento de nuestro genoma. Entre todos los individuos que pueblan la tierra, se considera que existe una similitud exacta de 99,9% de todos los genes del genoma, el 0,1% restante hace que seamos distintos uno del otro. Tenemos apenas el doble de genes que una mosca del vinagre (drosofila melanogaster) y existen animales que tienen mucho más que los humanos; la diferencia evolutiva reside en cómo se relacionan y funcionan dichos genes. Un gen o un grupo de genes alterados pueden promover una enfermedad y, de hecho, la ma- yoría de las patologías tienen una base genéti- ca (por ejemplo, el cáncer, la esquizofrenia o la diabetes). Es preciso mencionar que, en este nivel, “genético” no significa “hereditario”, pues para que así sea debe existir una altera- ción génica en las células germinales (reproductivas). Tenemos la convicción de que muchos genes –si no todos– son “inductibles”, es decir, están presentes en el genoma, pero requieren de fuer- zas exteriores (tales como el medio ambiente, la educación, la psicología, la presión social, entre otras) para expresarse. Muchas enferme- dades se explican, desde ya, por la influencia del medio ambiente (mutaciones e induccio- nes), y se descubre cada día que varias conduc- Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 134 tas psicológicas –hasta sociales– encuentran su explicación en esta aseveración. Lo que hoy sabemos representa sólo pala- bras escritas en un millón de páginas, con rela- ciones horizontales e hipervínculos entre ellas, sin que sepamos lo que significan realmente. Hasta el momento se identificaron menos de 2.000 genes relacionados con 1.500 a 1.800 enfermedades humanas. Faltan por lo menos veinte años, según las predicciones, para cono- cer el funcionamiento de todos los genes, ya que se debe estudiar en profundidad sus pro- ductos primarios (las proteínas) a través de la nueva ciencia que se llama “proteómica”. Fi- nalmente, es preciso mencionar que, pese al desconocimiento del funcionamiento y de la regulación génica, existen muchos marcadores que admiten, desde ya, establecer probabilida- des acerca de la ocurrencia de enfermedades, hecho que permite tanto la prevención de su aparición, como el peligroso control preocupa- cional por parte de las empresas o de las asegu- radoras. Algunos ejemplos elegidos y controversiales de los productos biomédicos de la genómica La clonación humana, el uso de embriones y de células troncales El hombre occidental tiende a buscar la in- mortalidad. Pese a su inexorabilidad, él sigue bus- cando vías para vivir más y mejor, “rejuvenecer” y, sobre todo, no morir. Entre el “morir bien” o eutanasia –en cuyo debate no entraremos por ser irrelevante en este artículo– y el no morir, el occi- dental demuestra un temor a la muerte, a lo des- conocido, a la pérdida de sus bienes, cuerpo e iden- tidad, como ser humano y ser social. No ocurre así en las civilizaciones orientales cuyas filoso- fías de vida son muy distintas. La clonación (también llamada “transferen- cia nuclear” o reproducción exacta –teórica- mente– de un individuo a partir de la introduc- ción de un núcleo celular somático –piel, por ejemplo– en el óvulo enucleado de una mujer y, después, de dicho producto en el útero de la misma) permite llegar a la obtención de un ser idéntico al donante del núcleo. Teóricamente –de nuevo– el proceso se puede repetir de ma- nera indefinida y obtener, de ese modo, colo- nias de clones de la misma persona. En un ni- vel técnico, el cigoto clonal y las células des- cendientes de este último no pueden ser toda- vía las fotocopias exactas de la célula donante de núcleo, dada la influencia de otros factores, tales como el ADN mitocondrial del óvulo enucleado receptor que proviene de la mujer donante y otros agentes citoplásmicos y proteicos. Sin embargo, podemos considerar que los avances de la tecnociencia permitirán, con relativa rapidez, llegar a resolver ese tipo de problemas, lastimosamente a través de la misma clonación. Otro problema biológico re- side en que, para obtener un solo clon, debe sacrificarse una gran cantidad de fetos así pro- ducidos. Esto presenta un gran problema ético, puesto que se está jugando con la suerte de muchas vidas humanas en pos de obtener un “producto” particular. Además de los problemas y de los peligros técnicos aparecen muchos interrogantes éticos. Varios de ellos, que serán descritos en páginas ulteriores, toman en consideración problemas y litigios específicos de la bioética y de los sis- temas humanos. Sin embargo, no tenemos res- puestas aún acerca de la validez de la clona- ción de seres humanos. Sus panegiristas más entusiastas apuntan a la inmortalidad del hom- bre a partir de su exacta reproducción (raelistas); otros aseveran que no estamos frente a un problema ético sino médico, que permiti- rá a personas estériles tener sus propios hijos a través de la doble técnica clonación-fecunda- ción in vitro (Antinori y Zavos); R. Seed afir- ma que la clonación permitirá llegar a tener los Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 135 conocimientos necesarios para frenar el enve- jecimiento y, tal vez, revertirlo, así como estu- diar la influencia del ADN mitocondrial en la senectud celular. Es cierto que existen opciones muy prome- tedoras en cuanto a salud y calidad de vida: un infarto cardíaco podría ser tratado y eliminado gracias a la clonación de las células del mismo corazón que reemplazarían a las lesionadas. En el mismo orden de ideas, la clonación de teji- dos y órganos permitiría tener bancos persona- lizados de material de reemplazo totalmente inmunocompatibles en caso de enfermedad o destrucción. De ahí a solucionar todos los pro- blemas de injertos de órganos y tejidos falta poco; pero ¿es preciso llegar a clonar un indi- viduo entero para guardarlo en un banco de material biológico en caso de que sea necesa- rio injertar al “original”? Sin contar con que el “original”, inmortal y “reparable” a voluntad, podría caer fácilmente en un sistema de vida totalmente descontrolado (fumar y beber sin límite, drogarse, contraer y difundir enferme- dades, por ejemplo) sin necesidad de creer en cualquier tipo de existencia moral. Por otro lado, podrían, también, para evitar esas conductas anárquicas, generarse terribles tiranías totalitaristas y represivas. Todo esto podría conducir a otro tipo de caos: es otra vi- sión posible de la ciudad utópica. Otros problemas éticos esenciales surgen a un nivel social y espiritual: ¿será el clon un ciu- dadano de idéntico “nivel” que el original, con los mismos derechos y deberes? ¿O un indivi- duo de segunda categoría, apto para enviar a explorar otros mundos, trabajar en condiciones peligrosas y servir a los “originales”? En ese caso, no sería tan “grave” su pérdida, pues se- ría “material desechable y directamente reem- plazable a bajo costo”. Ahí surge el tema de la fuerza que puede ejercer el sistema económico sobre las decisiones éticas y políticas, el cual será considerado más adelante. ¿Tendrán esos “seres” un alma? ¿Serán iguales ante Dios, ante los creyentes, ante la metafísica? Lo cierto es que si un día logran llegar a ser biológicamente idénticos, nunca lo serán como individuos pro- piamente dichos, pues existen muchas varia- bles ambientales, educacionales, psicológicas, sociales y espirituales que no pueden ajustarse. El problema espiritual nunca podrá ser resuel- to y esto representa una condicionante ética de gran peso. Otro asunto ligado muy de cerca a la clona- ción es el de las células troncales o células madre (stem cells). Se trata de células embrio- narias –en gran mayoría– de muy temprana edad (antes de la implantación intrauterina, a un nivel de desarrollo llamado “blastocisto”). Esas células son pluripotenciales, vale decir, son capaces, naturalmente, de transformarse y reemplazar a cualquier tipo de las 200 varieda- des de células del organismo humano. Su ori- gen es el embrión, “original” o clonado. Si bien es cierto que las esperanzas terapéuticas del uso de dichas células son enormes –reemplazo o corrección de órganos y tejidos, terapia celular en numerosas enfermedades (diabetes, Parkinson, lesiones medulares, entre otras)–, también despiertan problemas bioéticos impor- tantes. El principal consiste en saber si esta- mos usando simples células o bien si se trata de seres humanos vivos en potencia. Existe un debate casi imposible de resolver acerca de la existencia de una persona humana (real o potencial) a ese nivel de desarrollo em- brionario. La Iglesia Católica Romana, a tra- vés de su autoridad espiritual superior, ha de- cretado, basada en numerosas reflexiones y ase- sorías, que la vida existe en el momento de la fecundación. Otros dicen que sin el doble even- to fecundación-implantación no existe vida. El pensador utilitarista australiano Peter Singer, Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 136 en entrevista al diario “Las Últimas Noticias” –Santiago de Chile 1 de septiembre de 2004, página 4–, argumenta: “¿Cuándo comienza la vida? Es la pregunta equivocada […] no creo que haya ninguna significación moral en ello […] no debemos preguntarnos cuándo comien- za la vida, sino en qué minuto la vida adquiere un estatus que hace que el acabar con ella sea intrínsecamente algo malo”. También se debe considerar la noción de persona y de concien- cia: ¿cuándo existe la persona? ¿Existe en un “montículo” de células sin sistema nervioso, sin órganos, sin cerebro, o se considera solamente como persona “en devenir”? ¿Tiene alma el blastocisto? Las mismas preguntas se pueden plantear en relación con la conciencia, impera- tiva en la existencia de la persona como tal. Todas las grandes religiones promueven el res- peto a la vida, pero también apoyan el derecho humano a vivir sana y dignamente. ¿Debe la ética orientarse a salvaguardar el derecho a la felicidad y a la dignidad de la mayoría o de to- dos? O ¿debe la ética salvaguardar a cualquier precio la idea de vida, la esencia divina de la vida, aunque sea en potencia? Podríamos lle- gar a lo que muchos considerarían como ab- surdo: ¿hay vida humana, persona y alma en devenir en las células germinales? Aunque no hayan pasado por la fecundación y cuenten con la mitad del lote cromosómico, también son vidas potenciales. ¿Qué pasa, entonces, con la natural destrucción de la gran mayoría de ellas? ¿Qué pasa con el tema de la polución nocturna y del onanismo masculino, con el de las rela- ciones sexuales sin afán reproductivo o, sim- plemente, que no llegan a la fertilización? El eugenismo y el diseño del “homo geneticus” Eugenismo (del griego eu, bien, y gennân, nacimiento) significa literalmente “bien nacer”. El eugenismo es una técnica que busca mejo- rar a la sociedad humana según los conocimien- tos en la materia. Hoy dicha técnica se basa en la genética. Existen dos tipos de eugenismos. El “eugenismo pasivo” trata, esencialmente, de la elección natural que aparece siempre en el momento de optar por rasgos genéticos útiles para la supervivencia de la especie. La mayo- ría de los animales de sangre caliente de am- bos sexos buscan la “mejor” pareja. Una forma muy liviana sería la elección de un cónyuge. Ese tipo de eugenismo no está controvertido, pero sí el “eugenismo activo”, que es mucho más discutible. El eugenismo existe desde los tiempos más remotos, pero el moderno nace con Francis Galton (1822-1911), psicólogo y fisiólogo in- glés, primo de Charles Darwin y pensador victoriano muy adinerado. El es inventor del vocablo (eugenics) –aunque también utilizó el término “viricultura”–, a raíz del cual fundó la Galton Chair of Eugenics en el University College de Londres1. Su formulación del eugenismo se basa en la búsqueda del mejora- miento de las reservas (stock) humanas y en prevenir el deterioro del potencial genético del hombre(2)2. La noción de eugenismo se popu- larizó rápidamente entre los científicos e inte- lectuales de su época. Su trabajo culminó en la búsqueda del mejoramiento racial (race improvement) como eugenismo(3). Sin embar- go, Galton no conocía los trabajos de Gregor Mendel acerca de la transmisión de los carac- teres hereditarios y no podía distinguir entre, por una parte, el mejoramiento genético de los humanos por selección de los caracteres here- ditarios estimados como deseables y/o la su- 1 Para más información, consultar [Sitio en Internet] Disponible en http://www.galton.org 2 Ver: Galton F. Eugenics: its Definition, Scope and Aims. American Journal of Sociology 1904; X(1). En esta publicación se presenta, asimismo, un interesante debate entre Galton, G.B. Shaw, H.G. Wells, entre otros, acerca del eugenismo. Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 137 presión de caracteres estimados como indesea- bles, y, por otra, el mejoramiento de los indivi- duos a través de intervenciones acerca de sus condiciones de vida. Él se inspiró directamen- te en los trabajos y las enseñanzas de Darwin, muy influenciado por Malthus. En breve des- cripción, los principios del eugenismo de Galton se basan en el concepto de compensa- ción de la pérdida de los mecanismos de selec- ción natural. Las leyes del eugenismo de Galton han sido ampliamente debatidas y discutidas y han ins- pirado a un gran número de filósofos y pensa- dores. También han sido tergiversadas a lo lar- go del siglo XX, en particular por los nacionalsocialistas desde 1933. La nueva “ver- sión” del eugenismo nazi consistía en favore- cer la fecundidad de los humanos considera- dos como superiores (política pronatalista, apo- yo familiar, por ejemplo) y, a la vez, prevenir la reproducción de los humanos considerados como inferiores o bien no deseables a nivel eugénico (los criminales, homosexuales, entre otros). No hubo que esperar que Hitler llegase al poder para que una mayoría de políticos ale- manes fueran favorables a ese tipo de eugenismo. Por ejemplo, la ley de 1934 acerca de la esterilización eugénica se instaló gracias a la participación activa del doctor Gütt (médi- co, alto funcionario), del jurista Falk Ruttke y del psiquiatra y genetista suizo Ernst Rüdin. Así, 400.000 alemanes fueron esterilizados entre 1934 y 1945, representando el consenso de la casi totalidad de los miembros de la comuni- dad médica alemana. Luego vinieron las exterminaciones planificadas de gitanos y ju- díos y la esterilización de mestizos, mulatas, norafricanos, indochinos, entre otros grupos. Es interesante notar que esa forma de eugenismo se basaba sobre una noción considerada como mítica de la “raza aria”, también conocida como “raza nórdica” o “raza alpina”. El eugenismo alemán y sus variantes suecas y estadouniden- ses no eran actos aislados de algunos perver- sos, sino un proceso de eliminación sistemáti- ca, basado en técnicas científicas y organiza- das por la administración. Sobre la base de tales antecedentes resulta fácil entender que el eugenismo tenga una con- notación casi exclusivamente negativa. En par- ticular, cuando tenemos a disposición las he- rramientas genéticas necesarias para aplicarlo. En general, el eugenismo conserva muchos detractores (en Alemania, debido al shock que provocó el eugenismo nazi, es casi imposible abordar el tema: pasó a ser una especie de tabú). En otros países el eugenismo está siempre a la orden del día cuando se trata de “mejorar” la especie humana, el individuo, o de eliminar enfermedades potenciales, genes defectuosos y otras fallas biológicas. Una de las escuelas más interesantes es la francesa, dada la enorme ac- tividad en la materia. El eugenismo negativi- zante (que no contempla la libre elección) es una noción que muchos han tratado de cambiar en pos de ayudar al ser humano. Otros nunca aceptaron que el término “eugenismo” fuera asociado a una noción positiva. Está claro que la comunidad judía es la primera en oponerse a tal asociación. Así, nacieron muchas acomoda- ciones del término, las cuales le hicieron per- der todo sentido posible (eugenismo positivo, negativo, activo, “bien entendido”, nuevo, sua- ve, benevolente, científico, humanista, entre otras variadas acepciones). Todas las aplicaciones –o casi– del desci- framiento del genoma humano son herramien- tas potentes que deberían permitir la práctica de un eugenismo benevolente, pero, a la vez, pueden ser utilizadas con fines muy negativos. La clonación, la corrección de genes defectuo- sos, la eliminación de enfermedades genéticas y/o hereditarias, la elaboración de medicamen- tos “personalizados”, la prevención de enfer- medades altamente probables, la utilización de Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 138 embriones y de células troncales, los transplan- tes de órganos, los xenotransplantes y hasta los transgénicos, son técnicas aptas para participar de manera eficiente en cualquier tipo de eugenismo. La cuestión consiste en saber si es realmente útil o necesario tratar de perfeccio- nar tanto la especie humana. Al tratar de res- ponder a esto estamos nuevamente frente al concepto de “ciudad utópica”, que se transfor- ma en “utopía genética” con el deseo de llegar a perfeccionar a ultranza al ser humano, trans- formándolo en lo que podríamos llamar el homo geneticus. Es preciso recordar que una de las peculia- ridades de la sociedad utópica(4) es la volun- tad de dominio y control integral de la natura- leza y, por extensión, del ser humano. Existe, no obstante, una natural asociación entre uto- pía y eugenismo. Según R. Rutier, el eugenismo es consustancial a la utopía pues ambos resul- tan del intenso afán de perfeccionar al hombre. Desde Platón a Campanella la ciudad utópica se caracteriza por un eugenismo de estado intervencionista que pretende administrar la reproducción humana. Hoy en día, tal como lo vimos bajo la influencia de Galton durante los siglos XIX y XX, el riesgo se inicia con la tole- rancia de un eugenismo individualizado y de- mocratizado. El teatro de Aristófanes, que en- juicia la ciudad de la República de Platón, así como las “contrautopías” del siglo XX (Huxley, Bradbury, Zamiatine), mostraron el elevado peligro para el individuo de renunciar a su pro- pia libertad a favor de una dicha colectiva, pues- to que la realización de las utopías conduce al totalitarismo y al desamparo de los hombres, vale decir, hacia la exacta antítesis de sus pro- pósitos iniciales. Finalmente, no podríamos cerrar este capí- tulo sin mencionar el concepto de “ortogenie” (orthogénie), propuesto por el francés Pierre Simon, con el fin de borrar definitivamente la noción de eugenismo3. Según Cohen4, “...la ortogenie se refiere a los medios médicos que tienen como objetivo una reproducción volun- taria, elegida, permitiendo a las parejas dar a luz niños con buena salud, en la perspectiva de una armonía y de un bienestar familiar”. Es un concepto de no coerción, fundado sobre la li- bertad de elección de los padres y sus deseos de tener un hijo sano. De todos modos, cree- mos, subyace en estas nociones de derecho a la reproducción de niños con buena salud, de ar- monía y de bienestar familiar –aunque sea in- voluntario y basado en cierta noción altamente ética de libertad y de no coerción– la misma ideación de una ciudad utópica, de una genéti- ca utópica y, por consiguiente, de un eugenismo latente y peligroso. Conforme a estos razonamientos, podemos preguntar si es éticamente deseable mejorar lo más posible la especie humana. El debate que- da abierto y promete largas controversias que podrían permitir que se apliquen las herramien- tas biomédicas actuales antes de tener una opi- nión inequívoca. Reflexión. La bioética y su lugar en las decisiones en las biociencias y biotécnicas La bioética emite propuestas basadas en un concilio que reúne a los representantes del pen- samiento moral y que pone, teóricamente, to- dos los estamentos y componentes de la socie- dad alrededor de la mesa. No existe para legis- lar y no es una ciencia, pues no se basa en el método científico, sino en un método en sí ca- 3 “Orto” significa derecho y “genie” deriva de genética, sin embargo, con el propósito de no referirse a la “ortogénesis”, o idea según la cual los organismos vivos evolucionan en una dirección determinada estimulados por una fuerza interna, se adoptó el término “ortogenie” que engloba, a la vez, los conceptos de norma y de gen. 4 Cohen J. Eugénisme et orthogénie. Extracto de los proceedings de la jornada de estudio del 4 de marzo de 1997 sobre eugenismo y reproducción, en París, Francia. Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 139 racterizado por un conjunto de herramientas prácticas y un debate permanente. Algunos factores de riesgo y peligro en las tomas de decisión Existen varios peligros que pueden poner en jaque a las leyes o decretos, debido al tiem- po que se requiere para elaborar estos últimos. Un ejemplo es la clonación de seres humanos o el uso de embriones para la experimentación antes de que existiesen leyes que reglamenta- ran el uso de dichas tecnologías. A mediados de 2001, prestigiosas revistas internacionales, como Time, Wired y Focus publicaron a la clo- nación humana como tema principal, dedicán- dole la portada completa y acentuando sus re- flexiones sobre la conjetura –que varios cientí- ficos sustentaron–, según la cual el primer clon humano se crearía antes del final del mismo año. Mientras muchos países no tienen ningu- na ley sobre el tema, ni siquiera opiniones fun- dadas, otros han optado por legislaciones total- mente opuestas (por ejemplo, EE.UU., Europa y China). Este vacío deja abierta la puerta a quienes desean clonar el ser humano por razo- nes a menudo muy cuestionables. Por ejemplo, los médicos Antinori y Zavos, que argumenta- ron que la decisión de clonar es únicamente médica y no ética, ya que apunta al derecho de las personas a reproducirse. A la vez, se hicie- ron una enorme publicidad. Otro ejemplo es el de la secta raeliana, la cual, apoyada en livia- nas creencias y con la ayuda de grandes respal- dos económicos de fuentes desconocidas, ya está tratando de clonar humanos y se ufana de haberlo logrado hace tiempo. También existe el peligro de la influencia de fuerzas mayores, como el libre mercado en las sociedades liberales, las que se nutren de su creciente economía y que, por lo tanto, depen- den de ellas. La gran rapidez del progreso tec- nológico versus la lentitud de las propuestas éticas en la elaboración de leyes y en la adapta- ción social constituye un factor de riesgo que pone sobre el tapete la eventual necesidad de controlar la velocidad del mismo progreso en pos de velar por la no maleficencia y la justi- cia. De todas maneras, se crea un dilema cuan- do se toma en consideración la necesidad de favorecer la velocidad del progreso como fac- tor participativo en las economías y en el me- joramiento de la salud de los individuos. Adicionalmente, existen reales “batallas” entre las escuelas de pensamiento (moral reve- lada, ética de consenso, utilitarismo, raciona- lismo, materialismo, entre variadas posturas) que permiten aumentar la distancia entre “lo que se dice” y “lo que se hace”. A título de ejem- plo, dos perspectivas totalmente opuestas: la posición católica romana y el materialismo co- munista en cuanto a clonación humana y uso de embriones humanos se refiere. En ambos casos, prima el dogma: la Iglesia se sustenta en la letra de la Santa Biblia (revelada por Dios mismo y, por tanto, incuestionable) y los mate- rialistas maoístas en el dogma de la suprema- cía del todo en detrimento de las partes (de los valores del sistema sobre los del individuo). Uno se opone mientras el otro acepta, afirmán- dose ambos en el principio de una moral de tipo “canónica” y, por ende, indiscutible. Propuestas facilitadoras del necesario concilio en la bioética relacionada con los productos de la genómica Las distintas interpretaciones de los pensa- mientos se vuelven cada vez más centrípetas en cuanto a la genómica y sus productos. La supremacía de la subjetividad ortodoxa sobre la objetividad obtenida por la observación y el debate, metaposicionados en la ética aplicada (bioética) producen discrepancias paralizantes en las propuestas morales. Creemos que un nuevo paradigma conciliador podría ser la pues- Genoma y Bioética - J. L. Antoine 140 ta en “estado de metanoia” (es decir, con lo que está “más allá del pensamiento o del conoci- miento”), enfatizando “la percepción unitaria” que se encuentra en la base de casi todas las creencias y religiones del mundo. Otra aproximación ofrece la escuela de pen- samiento llamada “trascendentalista”, con in- fluencias de Kant y el neoplatonismo, el roman- ticismo inglés y la filosofía hindú; movimiento ideológico que fue propio de las ex colonias inglesas independientes de los EE.UU. en la década de 1830. Ralph Waldo Emerson fue su figura principal y algunos de sus integrantes fueron Bronson Alcote, Margaret Fuller, Theodore Parker, William Channing, Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman, el Conde León Tolstoi y el mismo Mohandas K. Ghandi. En esencia, Emerson define su libro Naturaleza (1936)(5) como un ensayo dedicado a la ética natural, luchando arduamente contra un calvi- nismo predominante, fruto del racionalismo del siglo XVIII y de las ideas de la Revolución Francesa que favorecieron la doctrina en boga en la nueva América independiente. Está claro que el trascendentalismo contie- ne los gérmenes del pensamiento de “estado de metanoia” antes mencionado y demuestra, a través de sus más fieles defensores y adeptos, que puede ser una propuesta unitaria y univer- sal de ética teórica y práctica, sin oponerse y sin defender las escuelas de pensamiento en lucha, antes mencionadas. Finalmente, cabe destacar que los movimientos heterodoxos y progresistas, tanto en psicología (desde Reich y, particularmente, desde Perls) como en filo- sofía, antropología y religión (acercamiento de las religiones y filosofías cristianas a las reli- giones y filosofías hinduistas, budistas y taoístas, tanto como a las sufíes, judías y mu- sulmanes) han progresado en ese sentido a lo largo del siglo XX y siguen hoy en día un ca- mino alentador hacia el unitarismo espiritual y humano. Conclusiones La sociedad “genética” que se está bosque- jando no es la “ciudad utópica” de Tomás Moro, pero es un resurgimiento, una nueva forma re- visada por la modernidad y los progresos de la tecnociencia. Después de habernos extendido sobre el posible futuro de los productos de la genómica y de las dificultades y riesgos de argumentar la propuesta bioética, debido a sus debilidades intrínsecas y extrínsecas, así como de haber esbozado una vía posible de conciliación en la ética práctica que podría, eventualmente, per- mitir la unificación de las escuelas de pensa- miento, creemos que, tal como están las cosas hoy en día, sería tal vez indispensable propo- ner una moratoria acerca de la finalidad de los productos de la genómica. El genoma, en su fase actual de desciframiento, no permite aún llegar a practicar el eugenismo, no permite to- davía fabricar medicamentos personalizados, practicar transplantes e injertos “perfectos”, entre sus variadas aplicaciones, pero sí permite ya la clonación y el uso de células embriona- rias, así como clonar individuos, aunque con dificultad. Estamos a la puerta de una nueva era y estamos elaborando la ciudad utópica con todas las dificultades y los peligros que hemos expuesto. Nos parece imprescindible llegar a consensos muy amplios, tomando en conside- ración a todos los pueblos, países, estamentos, religiones y culturas antes de seguir en la vía que hemos emprendido. El propósito es adap- tar mejor la bioética a un espíritu universal y, así, proponer soluciones viables a la humani- dad. Acta Bioethica 2004; año X, NO 2 141 Referencias 1. Castells M. La era de la información: economía, sociedad y cultura. Madrid: Alianza; 1998. 2. Galton F. Eugenics: its Definition, Scope and Aims. American Journal of Sociology 1904; X(1). 3. Galton F. Hereditary Genius. London: Macmillan; 1869. 4. Bacon F. La Nouvelle Atlantide. Paris: Flammarion; 1995. 5. Emerson R. The conduct of life. Nature & other essays. London: Dutton & Co.; 1908. Bibliografía Beck U. La sociedad de riesgo. Barcelona: Paidós; 1998. Harris J. Clones, genes, and immortality: ethics and the genetics revolutions. Oxford: Oxford University Press; 1998. Harris M. Materialismo cultural. Madrid: Alianza; 1982. Jonas H. El principio de la responsabilidad. Ensayo de una ética para la civilización tecnológica. Barcelona: Herder; 1995. Lolas F. Bioética. Santiago de Chile: Editorial Universitaria; 1998. Nussbaum M, Sunstein C, eds. Clones and clones: facts and fantasies about human cloning. New York: Norton & Company; 1998. Singer P. Ética práctica. Cambridge: Cambridge University press; 1995. 
work_lxjrn5yydbbppizq4hvctrofby	----	Creative citizen science illuminates complex ecological responses to climate change COMMENTARY Creative citizen science illuminates complex ecological responses to climate change Abraham J. Miller-Rushinga,1, Amanda S. Gallinatb,c, and Richard B. Primackd Climate change is causing the timing of key behaviors (i.e., phenology) to shift differently across trophic levels and among some interacting organisms (e.g., plants and pollinators, predators and prey), suggest- ing that interactions among species are being dis- rupted (1, 2). Studying the phenology of interactions, however, is difficult, which has limited researchers’ ability to zero in on changes in specific interactions or on the consequences of mismatches. In PNAS, Hassall et al. (3) use a combination of citizen science tech- niques to investigate the effects of climate change on dozens of specific interactions. They focus on a Bates- ian mimicry complex involving stinging bees and wasps, stingless syrphid flies (also known as hoverflies) that mimic their appearance, and avian predators. The meth- ods used by Hassall et al. (3) continue an upsurge of innovations in climate change ecology research, in which the role of citizen science is expanding to pro- vide new approaches to complex challenges. Citizen Science Has a Long History in Ecology and Climate Change Citizen science (i.e., the participation of nonspe- cialists in scientific research) has yielded important contributions throughout the history of ecology (4). Our understanding of ecological and phenological responses to climate change, in particular, has benefited from long-term observations collected by individuals and networks, like those of naturalists Henry David Thoreau and Robert Marsham (5, 6) and historical phenology and weather observation networks (7), and the ongoing insect monitoring schemes used by Hassall et al. (3). It is this type of citizen science—enthusiastic volunteers collect- ing and submitting field observations—that many people imagine when they think of citizen science in ecology. In fact, the amount of data being gener- ated from these types of observations is staggering; citizen scientists have recorded hundreds of mil- lions of observations, yielding much of the existing data describing how flowering, bird migration, and insect flight times are changing (8–10). These observations, as many as there are, account for only a small portion of the growing breadth of projects and ways to engage citizen scientists (11). For example, citizen scientists are categorizing, describing, and transcribing digital im- ages and museum specimens (12); community mem- bers are working jointly with researchers on all stages of some research projects (13); and volunteers are de- veloping new technologies for open research (14). Why Studying Interactions or Mismatches Is Hard The methodology of Hassall et al. (3) gives us a way to approach notoriously difficult-to-study questions about species interactions and temporal mismatches. Ecologists have speculated that phenological mis- matches may be occurring throughout nature, disrupt- ing ecological relationships; however, this speculation has been accompanied by surprisingly little evidence Fig. 1. The online game Hassall et al. (3) created to identify hymenopteran model (Right) and syrphid mimic (Left) pairs, in action. aAcadia National Park, National Park Service, Bar Harbor, ME 04609; bDepartment of Biology, Utah State University, Logan, UT 84322; cEcology Center, Utah State University, Logan, UT 84322; and dDepartment of Biology, Boston University, Boston, MA 02215 Author contributions: A.J.M.-R., A.S.G., and R.B.P. wrote the paper. The authors declare no conflict of interest. Published under the PNAS license. See companion article 10.1073/pnas.1813367115. 1To whom correspondence should be addressed. Email: abe_miller-rushing@nps.gov. www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1820266116 PNAS Latest Articles | 1 of 3 C O M M E N T A R Y D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1073/pnas.1820266116&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-01-04 https://www.pnas.org/site/aboutpnas/licenses.xhtml mailto:abe_miller-rushing@nps.gov https://www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1820266116 (15). Research is limited by the difficulty of examining interactions in the field and the possibility that mismatches may be uncommon or quickly corrected by evolutionary processes (15), and many interactions are hidden or would take too much time to observe. In cases of mimicry, like those studied by Hassall et al. (3), iden- tifying model-mimic pairs can require complex measurements and comparisons of morphology. As a result, testing the influence of shifts in phenology on the fitness of organisms is rare (but see refs. 16 and 17). In the case of model species, mimics, and predators, measuring the fitness consequences of phenological change can require experiments to test predator preference or behavior, but such experiments are difficult to carry out and might have un- expected artifacts depending on their design. New Approaches to Investigating Interactions In recent decades, new technologies have paved the way for more indirect approaches—for example, environmental DNA, satellite tracking, and time-lapse videos or camera traps—to investigate interactions among species. These techniques enhance our ability to assess which species are in the same locations at the same times and to document occurrences of specific interactions that might get captured on camera. But they leave open questions about the nature of interactions and the consequences of phe- nological shifts on interacting species. The approach of Hassall et al. (3) shows one way to fill these gaps; their unusual method- ology allowed them to investigate dozens of interactions across complex trophic relationships. Each step of their approach dem- onstrates a unique value of citizen science that other researchers might find useful in their own work. First, rather than observing model-mimic relationships directly in the field or using feeding tests with birds, Hassall et al. (3) created an online game in which citizen scientists could rate the visual similarities of co-occurring pairs of syrphids and hymenop- terans based on size, shape, color, hairiness, and other characters (Fig. 1). Over the course of a year, volunteers (recruited via Twitter) submitted 30,300 ratings and identified 237 high-fidelity model- mimic pairs out of 2,352 potential combinations, with results that correlated strongly with pigeon experiments. This technique demonstrates the value of citizen science to allow researchers to assess pairwise combinations faster and in greater numbers than can be achieved using traditional methods. Variations on this method could be appropriate for other studies involving mor- phological comparisons, such as in other model-mimic or cam- ouflage studies, or studies of specimens collected during bioblitzes or biodiversity inventories. Second, Hassall et al. (3) analyzed over a million records of syrphid fly, bee, and wasp abundance from two long-term citizen science monitoring projects in the United Kingdom. This exten- sive dataset showed that hymenoptera emerge earlier, on average, than syrphid flies, and that the spring emergence of hymenopterans is advancing faster than that of syrphids in response to warming temperatures. This study adds to the growing body of research using citizen science data to document shifts in species phenology and interactions, including community-level interactions at single locations (18), possible interactions across trophic levels (1), and known interactions (2). Third, Hassall et al. (3) developed a virtual reality game to sim- ulate model-mimic-predator interactions in different phenological scenarios. Instead of offering live hymenopterans and syrphids to birds in complicated feeding experiments, or using data-intensive and highly parameterized computational algorithms, 45 humans took on the role of bird predators in a game. Participants were recruited from the University of Leeds and surrounding areas and were compensated £5 for their time. They gained points by feeding on benign mimic syrphids and lost points when they ate stinging model hymenopterans. Participants had to identify mimics against complex backgrounds, a simulation of the challenges that bird predators face in deciding whether or not to feed on an insect. The results of the game showed that model species (i.e., bees and wasps) perform best (i.e., had highest survival rates) when they are active before the syrphid mimics. Mimics, on the other hand, per- form best when the phenology of model species and mimics overlaps and occurs randomly from the perspective of predators. In PNAS, Hassall et al. use a combination of citizen science techniques to investigate the effects of climate change on dozens of specific interactions. And predators do best when either the model bees and wasps emerge first or when the syrphid mimics emerge first, with con- sistency. This creative game-based approach worked because researchers could be fairly confident that decisions made by hu- mans in simulations were similar to those previously observed in animal-based experiments and results from algorithms and neural nets. This technique could be promising in other ecological systems in which human behavior and decision making provides an added value, such as in other predator-prey, competition, or mutualism interactions. Fourth, in the final phase of their study, Hassall et al. (3) re- turned to the long-term citizen science data to analyze changes in the phenology of the interacting species as the climate warms in light of what they discovered about the fitness benefits and costs of different phenological scenarios. They found that the phenol- ogy of many model bee and wasp species is shifting so that they appear before mimic syrphid species. These shifts create new situations that benefit bees and wasps and bird predators, while reducing the circumstances during which syrphids do best (over- lapping phenology) and worst (mimics emerge first). These con- clusions result from the synthesis of three citizen science tools, each of which benefitted from different styles and values of par- ticipant contributions, and each of which provided a different piece of this complex story. What Next? The approaches of Hassall et al. (3) avoid labor-intensive field research and sometimes impossible-to-get direct observations of interactions in nature. We are confident that researchers will find many more applications for these techniques. Most obviously, similar methods might be applied to other Batesian mimicry sys- tems such as those occurring in butterflies, in which there are models, mimics, and bird predators (e.g., 19). This approach might also be applied to other complex species interactions such as some predator-prey interactions, or to human activities such as bushmeat hunting or fishing strategies. Moreover, the results of Hassall et al. (3) have intriguing im- plications and raise questions about their generality and how they play out in nature. Is selection driving these changes in phenology or are the hymenopteran model species just more phenotypically plastic than the mimic syrphids? The predictions generated from this study (and other such studies) should also be tested with field studies of the target species. Do syrphid mimics really do worse 2 of 3 | www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1820266116 Miller-Rushing et al. D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 https://www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1820266116 when they emerge before hymenopteran models? And do birds and hymenopterans do better when models emerge before mimics? The approaches of Hassall et al. (3) add to the growing crea- tivity of citizen science in ecology and climate change research. New technologies, the collection and sharing of large datasets, and greater online access to historical data and museum speci- mens contribute to this growth, as does the willingness and in- terest of so many people to participate in scientific projects. We hope that ecologists continue to apply new, innovative approaches to pressing current problems like understanding ecological responses to climate change. Acknowledgments We thank Rick Bonney, Christopher Hassall, Tom Sherratt, and Jake Weltzin for comments on earlier versions of this paper. The findings and conclusions in this paper are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the views of the US Government. 1 Thackeray SJ, et al. (2016) Phenological sensitivity to climate across taxa and trophic levels. Nature 535:241–245. 2 Kharouba HM, et al. (2018) Global shifts in the phenological synchrony of species interactions over recent decades. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 115:5211–5216. 3 Hassall C, Billington J, Sherratt TN (2019) Climate-induced phenological shifts in a Batesian mimicry complex. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA, 10.1073/pnas.1813367115. 4 Miller-Rushing A, Primack R, Bonney R (2012) The history of public participation in ecological research. Front Ecol Environ 10:285–290. 5 Sparks TH, Carey PD (1995) The responses of species to climate over two centuries: An analysis of the Marsham phenological record, 1736-1947. J Ecol 83:321–329. 6 Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ (2012) Uncovering, collecting, and analyzing records to investigate the ecological impacts of climate change: A template from Thoreau’s Concord. Bioscience 62:170–181. 7 Schwartz MD, ed (2003) Phenology: An Integrative Environmental Science (Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, The Netherlands), p 564. 8 Chandler M, et al. (2017) Contribution of citizen science towards international biodiversity monitoring. Biol Conserv 213:280–294. 9 Theobald EJ, et al. (2015) Global change and local solutions: tapping the unrealized potential of citizen science for biodiversity research. Biol Conserv 181:236–244. 10 Parmesan C, Yohe G (2003) A globally coherent fingerprint of climate change impacts across natural systems. Nature 421:37–42. 11 Shirk J, et al. (2012) Public participation in scientific research: A framework for deliberate design. Ecol Soc 17:29. 12 Ellwood ER, et al. (2015) Accelerating the digitization of biodiversity research specimens through online public participation. Bioscience 65:383–396. 13 Fernandez-Gimenez ME, Ballard HL, Sturtevant VE (2008) Adaptive management and social learning in collaborative and community-based monitoring: A study of five community-based forestry organizations in the western USA. Ecol Soc 13:4. 14 Austen K (2015) Environmental science: Pollution patrol. Nature 517:136–138. 15 Renner SS, Zohner CM (2018) Climate change and phenological mismatch in trophic interactions among plants, insects, and vertebrates. Annu Rev Ecol Evol Syst 49:165–182. 16 Zimova M, Mills LS, Nowak JJ (2016) High fitness costs of climate change-induced camouflage mismatch. Ecol Lett 19:299–307. 17 Reed TE, Jenouvrier S, Visser ME (2013) Phenological mismatch strongly affects individual fitness but not population demography in a woodland passerine. J Anim Ecol 82:131–144. 18 Ovaskainen O, et al. (2013) Community-level phenological response to climate change. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 110:13434–13439. 19 Ries L, Mullen SP (2008) A rare model limits the distribution of its more common mimic:Atwist on frequency-dependent Batesian mimicry. Evolution 62:1798–1803. Miller-Rushing et al. PNAS Latest Articles | 3 of 3 D o w n lo a d e d a t C a rn e g ie M e llo n U n iv e rs ity o n A p ri l 5 , 2 0 2 1 
work_lzvs2gn3vbaodo54ltu4qncxmy	----	Sad Paradise: Jack Kerouac’s Nostalgic Buddhism religions Article Sad Paradise: Jack Kerouac’s Nostalgic Buddhism Sarah F. Haynes Liberal Arts & Sciences Department, Western Illinois University, Macomb, IL 61455, USA; sfhaynes77@gmail.com Received: 15 February 2019; Accepted: 10 April 2019; Published: 13 April 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: Jack Kerouac’s study of Buddhism started in earnest in 1953 and is traditionally believed to have ended in 1958. This paper considers the relationship between Kerouac’s Buddhist practice and his multi-layered nostalgia. Based on a close reading of his unpublished diaries from the mid-1950s through mid-1960s, I argue that Buddhism was a means of coping with his suffering and spiritual uncertainty. Kerouac’s nostalgic Buddhism was a product of orientalist interpretations of the religion that allowed him to replace his idealized version of his past with an idealized form of Buddhism. Keywords: Buddhism; Kerouac; Buddhism in America; nostalgia 1. Introduction1 Twentieth-century American writer Jack Kerouac spent his early adulthood enjoying an unfettered existence as he traveled around the United States in search of adventure, wisdom, and good times.2 At the forefront of Kerouac’s writing during the 1950s was the pursuit of experience. For Kerouac and fellow Beat Generation writers in post-World War II America, life was meant to be embodied. That is, lived, performed, and felt. Experienced. The Beat Generation was a movement that greatly valued the accumulation of sensory experiences, whether realized through drugs, jazz, literature, religion, or sex. In the late 1950s, Kerouac pulled away from his contemporaries, alienating his friends and fellow writers through his conservative politics, uncontrollable alcoholism, frequent moves, unhealthy attachment to his mother, and a likely undiagnosed depression.3 Kerouac’s mental state is of importance here as it is connected to his nostalgic sentiments and his turn to Buddhism in the 1950s. This essay focuses on Kerouac’s Buddhist Period in 1953–1958 through the mid-1960s, a time during which he withdrew from his fellow Beat writers. Of primary concern is the role of nostalgia in the development of Kerouac’s Buddhist practice. The following explores the connection between Kerouac’s Buddhist practice and his multilayered nostalgia. Though Kerouac’s nostalgia can be categorized into three separate areas, their boundaries are blurry. In what follows, I consider Kerouac’s nostalgia for his pre-World War II life, his pre-fame life, and his nostalgic Buddhism. Roughly, his nostalgia corresponds to pre-1945, 1945–1957, and 1953 onwards. I argue that nostalgia provided Kerouac with a means of coping with his internal and spiritual conflicts, but in the end resulted in the replacement of his idealized version of his past with an idealized form of Buddhism. On the one hand, his pre-WWII and pre-fame nostalgia are a by-product of modernity. On the other, his nostalgic Buddhism is more complex and a legacy of romantic, orientalist perspectives of Asia and its 1 Many thanks to Marylou Murray for her insightful comments on early drafts and her excellent skills as an editor. Also, I extend my gratitude to Mary Catherine Kinniburgh and Lyndsi Barnes of the New York Public Library for their guidance and knowledge of the Kerouac collection. 2 Though Kerouac’s two most popular novels, On the Road and The Dharma Bums, were published in 1957 and 1958, they are based on his travels and experiences from 1947–1950 and 1955–1957, respectively. 3 Though not a medical doctor or psychologist, I am basing this additional factor on a detailed reading of Kerouac’s diaries from the early 1950s to his death in 1969. See Johnson for a discussion of Kerouac’s depressive episodes, exacerbated by his use of alcohol and Benzedrine. Religions 2019, 10, 266; doi:10.3390/rel10040266 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/2077-1444/10/4/266?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel10040266 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2019, 10, 266 2 of 11 religions. Ultimately, his own nostalgic sentimentalities, as seen in his novels and poetry, resulted in the commodification of his image and cemented his status as a pop culture icon, a status he deeply despised, but which continues unabated to this day. This paper is part of a larger project that examines Kerouac’s impact on the development of Buddhism in America. It is based on approximately one hundred hours of archival research conducted during three separate trips to the Berg Collection at the New York Public Library (NYPL) between January 2017 and October 2018.4 The NYPL houses the majority of Kerouac’s diaries, notebooks, and other unpublished writing. The documents most relevant for the topic under discussion include Kerouac’s published works, as well as his unpublished diaries and notebooks in which he obsessively recorded his day-to-day life, then meticulously catalogued. More specifically, the analysis considers his unpublished works for a nearly fifteen-year period from the mid-1950s to the late 1960s.5 All but ten of Kerouac’s fifty-five diaries were consulted, in addition to miscellaneous documents in the Berg Collection’s enormous Kerouac collection.6 2. On Nostalgia The study of nostalgia remains a popular topic across a wide variety of academic disciplines—medicine, psychology, history, and sociology, to name a few.7 Boym writes, “Nostalgia (from nostos—return home, and algia—longing) is a longing for a home that no longer exists or has never existed. Nostalgia is a sentiment of loss and displacement, but it is also a romance with one’s own fantasy.”8 Furthermore, “[a]t first glance, nostalgia is a longing for a place, but actually it is a yearning for a different time–the time of our childhood, the slower rhythms of our dreams. In a broader sense, nostalgia is rebellion against the modern idea of time, the time of history and progress. The nostalgic desires to obliterate history and turn it into private or collective mythology, to revisit time like space, refusing to surrender to the irreversibility of time that plagues the human condition.”9 Thus, nostalgia is a modern condition, a byproduct of technological advancements. For Kerouac, his nostalgia was mediated by postwar technological developments including movies and music, as well as air travel and infrastructure improvements such as the interstate system. Twenty-first century scholarship no longer considers nostalgia a completely negative affliction. Rather, nostalgia is now viewed as part of a creative process, full of potential and enabling individuals to cope with major life changes.10 In fact, Batcho notes that nostalgia is now viewed as a fundamental component of human experience which, though often bittersweet, can enhance one’s mood and serve as a means to maintain self-identity.11 However, as will be seen below, the nostalgia in Kerouac’s writing reveals an individual struggling with attachments to an idealized past, much like the understanding of nostalgia depicted by Pierro, Pica, et al.: “People look to the past to provide a narrative structure for their lives, to make sense of regretted mistakes, and to forge a sense of belonging by recalling and affirming relationships with attachment figures.”12 Moreover, attachment to the past can be propel one forward into a more positive mode of being. For Kerouac, his nostalgic tendencies allowed him to fully actualize and mature his spiritual nature, resulting in his interpretation of Buddhism and incorporation of it into his life. As Boym notes, “[m]odern nostalgia is a mourning for the impossibility 4 The New York Public Library Berg Collection houses the Kerouac Collection which it acquired in 2001, but did not open to the public for research until 2006. The collection that is comprised of ninety manuscript boxes worth of material. 5 Kerouac gradually stopped writing in his daily diaries in the mid-1960s with very few entries in the two years leading up to his death in October 1969. 6 The ten diaries not consulted were those that pre-dated the start of Kerouac’s Buddhist Period in December 1953. 7 For an examination of the history of nostalgia, see Boym. 8 (Boym 2001, p. xiii). 9 (Boym 2001, p. xv). 10 (Atia and Davies 2010, p. 183). 11 (Batcho 2013, p. 170). 12 (Pierro et al. 2013, p. 653). Religions 2019, 10, 266 3 of 11 of mythical return, for the loss of an enchanted world with clear borders and values; it could be a secular expression of a spiritual longing, a nostalgia for an absolute, a home that is both physical and spiritual, the Edenic unity of time and space before entry into history. The nostalgic is looking for a spiritual addressee.”13 Thus, Kerouac’s nostalgic Buddhism is unsurprising considering his earlier nostalgia, romantic longings, and ongoing spiritual quest. In other words, it is a continuation of the spiritual longing found in his pre-Buddhist Period writing. 3. On Kerouac In March 1922, American literary and pop culture icon, Jack Kerouac, was born into a working-class French-Canadian Catholic family in Lowell, Massachusetts. Kerouac’s early childhood experiences, particularly the death of his older brother Gerard and indeed the town of Lowell itself, greatly shaped his identity, religious beliefs, and nostalgic sensibilities. Kerouac’s autobiographical publications, known collectively as the Duluoz Legend,14 revolve around his life as a young man in postwar America, but spend a significant amount of time reflecting on his childhood experiences. Regarding Kerouac’s religious practice, the Duluoz Legend is a coalescence of his childhood Catholicism and the Buddhism he turned to at the age of thirty-one. In 1957, at the age of thirty-five, Kerouac garnered attention from mainstream America, and quickly gained a global audience, with the publication of his controversial novel On the Road.15 The novel catapulted Kerouac to fame for a number of reasons. First, On the Road shattered the postwar dream of suburban America as it advocated for a lifestyle that was the complete antithesis of the materialism and conformity of postwar mainstream society. Second, as with his fellow Beat writers, salacious topics and antinomian behavior—drug use and homosexuality, for example—were in the forefront of his writing. And finally, Kerouac’s writing style was unique; his methodology was controversial and his spontaneous prose much criticized for its lack of traditional narrative structure. While On the Road remains his most famous work, Kerouac, in his short life of forty-seven years, was a prolific writer, both published and unpublished.16 On the Road introduces readers to his early interest in Buddhism and what was for the 1950s an unconventional lifestyle, a life driven by wanderlust and the pursuit of Truth. Buddhism became the cornerstone of later novels and poetry, specifically The Dharma Bums, Mexico City Blues, and Desolation Angels. Throughout his books, readers find Kerouac conflicted about his religious beliefs. As he had been raised Catholic by French-Canadian parents, Kerouac’s interest in Buddhism was a source of both internal and familial conflict, his mother, whom he called Mémère, and sister unable to understand his appreciation of Buddhism. This conflict is fully realized in a posthumous publication of Kerouac’s more personal writings, Some of the Dharma (1999), a scattered collection of poems, prose, and scribblings on Buddhism. In addition to his Duluoz Legend accounts and musings on Buddhism, Kerouac also wrote more “traditional” Buddhist texts, most notably Scripture of the Golden Eternity (1960) and the posthumously published Wake Up: Life of the Buddha (2008).17 13 (Boym 2001, p. 8). 14 The books that should be included in the Duluoz Legend are often debated by Kerouac scholars, regardless of the fact that Kerouac listed the novels in a 1960 diary. See the following link for a summary of the debate and a photo of the 1960 diary entry: http://thedailybeatblog.blogspot.com/2018/02/jack-kerouac-duluoz-legend.html. 15 The commonly told story is that Kerouac wrote On the Road in a spontaneous burst of creativity fueled by Benzedrine over a roughly three-week period in 1951. While not entirely false, Kerouac had worked on earlier drafts and, while he did complete a draft in a three-week period, the novel is largely based on his very detailed daily diary entries taken during his travels. 16 On 20 October 1969, Kerouac experienced an internal hemorrhage, complicated by cirrhosis, from which he was unable to recover due to the damage inflicted by decades of alcohol abuse. The number of published Kerouac books includes: fourteen novels, eight posthumously published novels, thirteen books of poetry, five works of non-fiction, and multiple collections of letters and interviews. 17 Kerouac’s retelling of the Buddha’s life story is unsurprising considering the centrality of Aśvaghos. a’s Buddhacarita to his study of Buddhism. The Buddhacarita is a Sanskrit composition from the early second century C.E. and offers a retelling of the Buddha’s life story. Written in the style of an epic poem, the text is divided into twenty-eight sections that detail the http://thedailybeatblog.blogspot.com/2018/02/jack-kerouac-duluoz-legend.html Religions 2019, 10, 266 4 of 11 Kerouac’s nostalgia was deeply connected to post-World War II America, reflecting a yearning for his childhood and the town of his youth, both of which were highly idealized and complemented the heavily romanticized lifestyle promoted in his writing. Looking beyond his printed works to his unpublished diaries and personal correspondence gives us a glimpse of a Kerouac overcome by a nostalgia not fully articulated in his published works. This paper considers more heavily the Buddhist elements of his spiritual writing and how he reconciled his religious practice with the nostalgia that, I argue, was complicit in his faithful return to the Catholicism of his youth. Towards the end of his life, Kerouac’s nostalgic longing for his New England childhood surpassed his nostalgia for an idealized Buddhist practice. Kerouac’s pre-fame nostalgia was rooted in his childhood and a product of postwar modernity. Whereas, his nostalgic Buddhism was the product colonial orientalist perspectives. The aim of this paper is not to provide a detailed discussion of Kerouac’s Buddhist practice. Furthermore, the following does not delve into the question, frequently raised in discussions of Kerouac’s Buddhism, of the legitimacy or authenticity of said practice. In many ways, the question of authenticity is irrelevant. For the purposes here, it is important to note that regardless of how deeply Kerouac understood Buddhism, his interpretation of Buddhism continues to influence the development of Buddhism in America. As Borup notes in his discussion of Buddhism and popular culture, it is important “ . . . to analyze such popularization, entertainmentization and mediatization of Buddhism not as deviant misunderstandings in a neo-liberal consumer market, but as cultural phenomena with their own rationale in a broader perspective. Rather than seeing ‘content’ (teaching, practice, institution) as the only prime mover, such developments are understood here as framing conditions and transmission technologies in the overall transformation and adaptation processes of the religion.”18 I will note that Kerouac’s Buddhist practice is far more complex than typically portrayed. Most accounts limit his Buddhist practice to a very short period of time, 1953–1958, his so-called “Buddhist Period.” A detailed reading of his unpublished materials presents a far different picture and a much longer engagement with Buddhism that in fact continued into the mid-1960s. It is true that he returned to Catholicism later in life, arguably having never left it entirely behind, but his diaries attest to a continuous interest in Buddhism that is often overlooked and not clearly presented in his published works. Kerouac’s diaries reveal an individual attached to an idealized past—his brother, his hometown, and his Catholicism, attachments he was aware of and attempted to work through with the help of Buddhism. Following the publication of On the Road in 1957, Kerouac’s increasing fame was matched by his increasing alcohol intake. His diaries reveal his struggle with the subculture—Beat Generation—he had helped create, and his resultant feelings of alienation from his contemporaries in both New York and the Bay Area. The Beat lifestyle with its unattached, non-conforming wanderlust featured in his writing conflicted with his nostalgic remembrances, thus feeding his sense of alienation. Pierro, Pica, et al. note that, “one of the primary functions of nostalgia is to induce positive mood or a sense of belongingness.”19 Yet, Kerouac’s fixation on his idealized past only served to further separate him from his friends and his Buddhist practice and propelled him into Mémère‘s Catholic embrace. Kerouac’s nostalgia can be placed into three overlapping categories: (1) Pre-World War II nostalgia for his hometown, his childhood, his French-Canadian, Catholic identity, and his brother and father; (2) Nostalgic Buddhism that ebbed and flowed from 1953–1969; (3) Pre-fame nostalgia for the period between 1945 and until 1957 characterized by travel, writing, and Beat friendships. Buddha’s life from beginning to end. There are several English translations of the text. Kerouac read Samuel Beal’s 1883 translation from the 5th-century C.E. Chinese text by Dharmaks. ema and E.B. Cowell’s 1894 translation from the extant Sanskrit, both of which are included in F. Max Müller’s collection Sacred Books of the East. 18 (Borup 2016, p. 42). 19 (Pierro et al. 2013, p. 654). Religions 2019, 10, 266 5 of 11 Like many in postwar America, Kerouac longed for a simpler past in the wake of the suburbanization of the country, as the burgeoning middle class pursued the American Dream. However, his postwar nostalgia was more than a yearning for simpler times; for Kerouac, his nostalgic focus on the prewar years was a focus on his childhood, and more specifically on his family’s heritage and home, on his deceased father, and, most importantly, on the divine nature of his brother. Kerouac’s personal identity was greatly defined by the suffering he experienced as child in his hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts, and was memorialized in the Duluoz Legend. In the early twentieth century, Lowell was a small but thriving mill town with a “Little Canada” neighborhood with a significant francophone population. It is the francophone community in Quebec to which Kerouac’s family traced their roots, and which Kerouac idealized in his published and unpublished writing. Kerouac’s Duluoz Legend reveals a significant amount about his childhood in New England, romanticizing the very few years during which his family was intact. For example, Visions of Gerard paints a picture of a happy, loving family despite Gerard’s debilitating illness. Kerouac affectionally recollects Christmas morning in 1925 and the gifts each child received.20 He ends the scene, “I basked in all this just like you would expect someone who deserved it, to bask in eternal bliss . . . ”21 A few pages later, Kerouac tenderly reminisces about a seemingly perfect family breakfast. “But comes morning and a temporary cessation of his pain and Ma’s up making oatmeal in the kitchen, the steam from the stove is fragrant and comes and steams Gerard’s bedroom window and gives everything a wonderful new quality of gladness, of simple attempt—he earth and the flesh be harsh, but there’s comradeship below–‘I’m making you some nice oatmeal, Gerard, and some nice toasts—wait another five minutes, I’ll put you that on a tray and we’ll have a nice breakfast together.’”22 When Kerouac was four, nine-year-old Gerard died of rheumatic fever. Kerouac’s father turned to alcohol to assuage his grief, while Mémère, a frequent drinker herself, turned towards her Catholic faith. Throughout his diaries and Visions of Gerard, Kerouac prays to his older brother, refers to him as a saint, and in many instances as an angel. For the Catholic Kerouac, the turning of his older brother into a guardian angel makes sense. The yearning for help with confronting his own suffering, and that of his dying brother’s, was a recurring theme in Kerouac’s writing. It was these experiences of suffering that made Buddhism so attractive to Kerouac. Ultimately, changing the angelic Gerard to a bodhisattva. For instance, several diary entries attribute great compassion to Gerard despite the immense suffering he experienced as a boy, and in an entry as recent as May 1961, Kerouac prays to Gerard, alongside Jesus, Mary, and Avalokiteśvara. A clearer expression of Gerard’s bodhisattva status is found in Visions of Gerard, Kerouac writes in poetic form: “O Lord, Ethereal Flower, Messenger from Perfectness, Hearer and Answerer of Prayer, Raise thy diamond hand, Bring to naught, Destroy, Exterminate— O thou Sustainer, Sustain all who are in extremity— Bless all living and dying things in the endless past of the ethereal flower, Bless all living and dying things in 20 Visions of Gerard was written during Kerouac’s Buddhist Period in 1956 but was not published until 1963. It serves as the first entry in the Duluoz Legend even though it was written later than some of his other autobiographical works. 21 Visions of Gerard, (Kerouac 1987, p. 67) 22 Visions of Gerard, (Kerouac 1987, pp. 70–71). Religions 2019, 10, 266 6 of 11 the endless present of the ethereal flower, Bless all living and dying things in the endless future of the ethereal flower, amen. Unceasing compassion flows from Gerard to the world even while he groans in the very middle of his extremity.”23 For Kerouac, Gerard’s bodhisattva-like abilities extended beyond that of a guardian angel to include caring for all the suffering beings in the face of his own hardships. For Kerouac, his childhood experiences and family’s French-Canadian heritage had lasting impacts. Both of Kerouac’s parents were born in Quebec and moved south to Massachusetts via New Hampshire in search of jobs in the booming mill towns of New England.24 Kerouac’s nostalgia extended to ancestors whom he had never met. He longed for the homeland of his ancestors, so attached to this familial identity that he traveled to France in the hopes of tracing his ancestry through Canada back to France. His family had settled in a community of French-Canadians in Massachusetts prior to his birth, yet, he wrote nostalgically about Quebec.25 Though born in America, Kerouac’s attachment to Canada is found in his writing. Skinazi writes in reference to Kerouac in On the Road “ . . . employing a language and heritage that hearken back to French Canada to create artful pictures of the American road . . . ”26 His French-Canadian heritage was intrinsic to his being, as Beaulieu notes, “Because Jack always identified with French Canada it never occurred to him to say he was Franco-American.”27 It has been argued elsewhere that Kerouac’s books are by their very nature spiritual, his quest while on the road a spiritual journey.28 His unpublished diaries are largely focused on religious matters, allowing the reader to trace the ebb and flow of his religious practice. In December 1953, Kerouac was introduced to Buddhism by fellow On the Road traveler Neal Cassady.29 Kerouac’s earlier diaries, prior to 1953, reflect his prior knowledge of Hinduism and Buddhism, most certainly influenced by his appreciation of nineteenth-century Transcendentalist writers such as Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Walt Whitman. While staying at the Cassady’s house, Kerouac began his study of Buddhism, having gone to the San Jose public library to check out books on Buddhism. Kerouac’s diaries and personal correspondence from late 1953 into 1954 reveal that he committed himself quite quickly to the teachings of the Buddha. Kerouac and the Beat Generation rose to fame through the postwar alienation that crept across America. The key players of the Beat Generation thrived on the margins of American society, both in their lives and in their writing.30 Kerouac’s novels championed a life on the fringes, instead of a life spent chasing the American Dream as portrayed in the 1950s and 1960s on The Adventures of Ozzy and Harriet and Leave it to Beaver. The other irony that the nostalgia he felt for the prewar freedom of the road, a breaking away from the American Dream through travel and Buddhism, ultimately resulted in his pop icon status. 4. On Kerouac’s Buddhism Despite being credited with popularizing Buddhism in America and the prevalence of Buddhism in several of his novels and poetry collections, as well as the publication of three Buddhist focused 23 Visions of Gerard (Kerouac 1987, p. 70). 24 See Maher Jr. for details about both sides of Kerouac’s family. 25 Kerouac’s family spoke a French-Canadian dialect. In 2014, a book containing Kerouac’s previously unpublished French writings was published called La vie est d’hommage. 26 (Skinazi 2010, p. 52). 27 (Beaulieu 1979, p. 122). 28 See Gewirtz, (Gewirtz 2007, chp. 5) “The Buddhist Christian.” 29 Neal Cassady was never influenced by Buddhism to the same extent as Kerouac and later Allen Ginsberg. However, in the early to mid-1950s, the period during which Kerouac turned to Buddhism, Cassady and his wife Carolyn were reading the teaching of clairvoyant Edgar Cayce. 30 See Panish for a discussion of the idealized and essentialized perspective Kerouac adopts towards racial minorities in his writing, particularly, The Subterraneans (Kerouac 1994). Religions 2019, 10, 266 7 of 11 works, his Buddhist practice has yet to receive a book-length consideration.31 His published works present Buddhism as the answer to his suffering and in line with the spontaneity and freedom he expounds in rejection of postwar America. This is evident early in The Dharma Bums when Ray Smith (Kerouac’s character) describes Japhy Ryder (Gary Snyder’s character). Regarding Japhy’s vast knowledge of Buddhism, Ray says, “[h]e knew all the details of Tibetan, Chinese, Mahayana, Hinayana, Japanese and even Burmese Buddhism but I warned him at once I didn’t give a goddamn about the mythology and all the names and national flavors of Buddhism, but was just interested in the first of Sakyamuni’s four noble truths, All life is suffering. And to an extent interested in the third, The suppression of suffering can be achieved . . . ”32 For Kerouac, and his character Ray, Buddhism could be reduced to a salve for the human condition.33 In accordance with his source material and western conceptions of Buddhism, Kerouac was less concerned with the mythology and ritual of the religion than the manner in which it alleviated his suffering. In chapter five, Japhy says, “[y]ou know when I was a little kid in Oregon I didn’t feel that I was an American at all, with all that suburban ideal and sex repression and general dreary newspaper gray censorship of all our real human values but and when I discovered Buddhism and all I suddenly felt that I had lived in a previous lifetime innumerable ages ago and now because of faults and sins in that lifetime I was being degraded to a more grievous domain of existence and my karma was to be born in America where nobody has any fun or believes in anything, especially freedom.”34 And later in his sutra, titled The Scripture of the Golden Eternity, published in 1960, when recalling a religious experience, he writes, “[i]t was perfect, the golden solitude, the golden emptiness, Something-Or-Other, something surely humble. There was a rapturous ring of silence abiding perfectly. There was no question of being alive or not being alive, of likes and dislikes, of near or far, no question of giving or gratitude, no question of mercy or judgment, or of suffering or its opposite or anything.”35 Kerouac’s suffering, whether brought on by his addictions or as a result of his postwar pessimism, made sense when he discovered Buddhism. His nostalgia for his youth, brother, and idealized family were replaced by a romanticized Buddhism. Through an analysis of his unpublished diaries, Kerouac’s Buddhism comes into focus as more complex than previously depicted/believed, serving as influential force and constant in his life from 1953 to the mid-1960s. When the above quote from The Scripture of the Golden Eternity is read alongside Kerouac’s unpublished works from the time the sūtra was written in 1956, we get a clear picture of his involvement with Buddhism. For instance, at the time Kerouac wrote his published sutra, he was also working on an extensive rewrite and reinterpretation of the Diamond Sūtra that remains unpublished but will be discussed below. Kerouac’s entry point into the study of Buddhism was, for the most part, late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century translations, including F. Max Müller’s fifty-volume collection titled Sacred Books of the East, and Dwight Goddard’s A Buddhist Bible, which contains many translations of Buddhist sutras, and includes: Laṅkāvatāra Sūtra, Diamond Sūtra (Vajracchedikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra), and Heart Sūtra (Prajñāpāramitāhr. daya). 36 Kerouac’s diaries clearly indicate that the Diamond Sūtra most resonated 31 Also, (Giamo 2000; Haynes 2005; Lardas 2000; Tomkinson 1995). 32 (Kerouac 1986, p. 12). 33 Kerouac’s archival documents, not limited to his diaries, often refer to the miracle of the Dharma and its ability to alleviate suffering. In a diary entry from early 1961, he refers to the Buddha as nothing more than realistic about suffering and the way out of it. 34 (Kerouac 1986, p. 31). 35 (Kerouac 2001, p. 59). 36 When one examines the source material in Kerouac’s diaries, both Goddard and Müller are the most commonly cited, but Kerouac’s interaction with Goddard’s text makes it the overwhelming favorite. It can be argued that the favoritism Kerouac showed for Goddard’s text is likely due to its ease of transport, as it is known that he stole a copy from a library that he said he’d eventually return (See his September 8, 1958 letter to Allen Ginsberg). Whereas, the size of Müller’s collection would have been prohibitive for Kerouac’s ongoing study of Buddhism. Though a fifty-volume collection of translations, Sacred Books of the East contains nine volumes of Buddhist texts, and at least seven were consulted by Kerouac. To a lesser extent, Kerouac also consulted Paul Carus’ The Gospel of Buddha for translations of Buddhist texts. All three collections can be found online at www.sacred-texts.com. www.sacred-texts.com Religions 2019, 10, 266 8 of 11 with him. Initially, his interest in Buddhism was not limited to a particular school, as he read whatever he had access to, which in postwar America was not a lot. However, the majority of the material he read was Mahāyāna in origin and, more often than not, Zen in orientation. One can well argue that the prevalence of Zen in Kerouac’s writing and Buddhist practice was reflective of his friendship with Gary Snyder and Philip Whalen and of the fact that Zen was popular amongst his peer group and, more broadly, white American males than other types of Buddhism in 1950s America.37 Kerouac was inconsistent in his adherence to a particular school of Buddhism. He was critical of different schools at different points in his life, as reflected in both his published and unpublished writing. For instance, he told Snyder, “I’m not a Zen Buddhist, I’m a serious Buddhist, I’m an old-fashioned dreamy Hinayana coward of later Mahayanism.”38 Here, Kerouac’s vision of his Buddhist practice parallels his idealized vision of the religion. However, in his diaries and in a 1958 letter to Allen Ginsberg, Kerouac was often dismissive of the “Hinayana earlier crude moral stratagems.”39 Regardless of his inconsistency, Kerouac’s diaries are overwhelmingly focused on Mahāyāna texts and teachings. As noted above, the overwhelming concern for Buddhist Kerouac was the religion’s focus on suffering (duh. kha). The premature death of his brother, his desire to be respected as a writer, and his struggles with alcoholism were, for Buddhist Kerouac, hurdles he was unable to overcome. His diaries reflect the near constant turmoil he experienced. It makes sense that he turned to Buddhism with its focus on attachment and desire it resonated with him and his yearning for the past and ongoing drinking problem. A close reading of his diaries reveals that Buddhism offered him a modicum of, though temporary, relief. While not drinking any less, he was cognizant of and accepted his problems and Buddhism seemed to provide him with a means to understand and deal with his addictions and past experiences. In many ways, Kerouac replaced his nostalgia for his past with a romanticized, nostalgia Buddhism. Kerouac had limited access to Buddhism when compared to the average twenty-first century American. With A Buddhist Bible as his guide, Kerouac immersed himself in the study of sūtras, including the “transliteration” of sūtras, and his attempts to translate them into French.40 He engaged with Buddhism in any form available to him, eventually finding Buddhist friends in Gary Snyder and Whalen.41 A few years into his Buddhist practice, at the urging of Snyder, Kerouac composed his own sūtra titled The Scripture of the Golden Eternity in 1956 although it remained unpublished until 1960. In addition to producing the above sūtra, Kerouac spent countless hours writing about Buddhism in his diaries. Eventually, he collected the material into the posthumously published Some of the Dharma. While Some of the Dharma contains a significant amount of Kerouac’s thoughts on Buddhism, it only touches the surface of his Buddhist poetry, diaries, and personal correspondence, included in his unpublished works. For instance, during his time in Northport, New York with Mémère, Kerouac wrote another short unpublished sūtra called The Northport Sūtra.42 The Northport Sūtra is a dialogue between Kerouac and a nameless individual on the ignorance of existence where he uses a tree as an example. After a discussion of the existence and non-existence of the tree, Kerouac concludes by asserting the emptiness of all things and that compassion is what characterizes people and the Golden Eternity.43 Kerouac wrote hundreds of Buddhist-themed haikus, drunken scribbles, and even the start 37 Gary Snyder, the character Japhy Ryder in The Dharma Bums, greatly informed Kerouac’s Buddhist practice. Snyder later received Zen training in Japan from where he continued to offer Kerouac advice via mail. Additionally, in postwar America, Zen was continuing to gain in popularity. For instance, D. T. Suzuki was active during Kerouac’s Buddhist Period. Kerouac and Ginsberg met Suzuki in New York City in the summer of 1957. See Nicosia for additional details, p. 579. 38 (Charters 1994, p. 248). 39 (Charters 1999, p. 171). 40 Kerouac incorrectly referred to copying and typing of sutras as his “transliterations.” 41 Snyder and Whalen were Kerouac’s closest friends with an interest in Buddhism. Allen Ginsberg turned to Buddhism long after Kerouac grew disillusioned with it. Interestingly, though not surprisingly, William S. Burroughs had little tolerance for Kerouac’s Buddhist practice. 42 NYPL 19.47—The Northport Sūtra is signed by Kerouac and dated 12 September 1958, Northport, NY. 43 Kerouac often referred to nirvān. a as the golden eternity. Religions 2019, 10, 266 9 of 11 of a movie script called Being a Tathāgata. Most of this material remains unpublished; however, in 1956, Kerouac did publish some of his Buddhist poetry in the Berkeley Bussei, a Bay Area publication of the Berkeley Young Buddhist Association put out by the Berkeley Jōdo shinshū community. In yet another example of the intensity of Kerouac’s Buddhist studies, just as he famously wrote and typed On the Road in the form of a scroll, he wrote a new version of the Diamond Sūtra onto a scroll nearly ten feet in length.44 His scroll version was The Diamond Vow of God’s Wisdom. However, his diaries refer to the Diamond Sūtra more often as The Diamondcutter of Perfect Knowing or simply The Diamondcutter. Kerouac’s rewriting of the text was done to facilitate his actual practice of Buddhism. The scroll is divided by days of the week which correspond to one of the six perfections (pāramitā) and ending with samādhi on Saturday. Kerouac’s division of the text by day reflects the meticulousness with which he dated and catalogued his writing, but arguably, was also meant to offer discipline for his practice and an easy entry point in to the canonical literature for the Americans he hoped to convert to Buddhism. Kerouac has been referred to as a literary Buddhist and is often criticized for his lack of sustained meditation practice. Though in an account of the time Kerouac spent with his friends Whalen, Snyder, and Ginsberg, Fields writes, “[e]xcept for Snyder, who sat regularly on his rolled-up sleeping bag for half an hour or so every morning, and Whalen who sat occasionally, the Buddhism was mostly literary. Kerouac’s sitting remained idiosyncratic.” Fields then quotes Whalen, “he [Kerouac] was incapable of sitting for more than a few minutes at a time . . . His knees were ruined by playing football . . . They wouldn’t bend without great pain, I guess. He never learned to sit in that proper sort of meditation position. Even had he been able to, his head wouldn’t have stopped long enough for him to endure it. He was too nervous. But he thought it was a good idea.”45 To discount Kerouac because of his physical inability to “sit in that proper sort of meditation position” reflects the western Buddhist focus on meditation as an essential element of practicing Buddhism, when in fact millions of Buddhists then and now spend very little, if any, time practicing meditation. Regardless, Kerouac’s diaries from spring and summer 1959 and into 1960 reveal he continued to engage in meditation and yoga practice well beyond the end of his so-called “Buddhist Period” (1953–1958). Kerouac’s Spring 1960 diary reveals his interest in Buddhism remained high. In mid-April, he meditated, followed by weeks of work on his version of the Diamond Sūtra throughout May, ending with yoga postures and breath work.46 Not surprisingly, Kerouac did not distinguish between his Buddhist meditation practice and Hindu Yoga. A conflation that remains common amongst modern western Buddhists.47 Furthermore, Kerouac’s picking and combining of elements from different religious traditions and types of Buddhism was standard in his attempts to find relief from his suffering. The nostalgic nature of Kerouac’s Buddhism is evident in how he engaged with the Buddha and his teachings in an idealized, romanticized manner. In Some of the Dharma, Kerouac writes, “[t]he great mystery and astonishing discovery of Indian Philosophy or Buddha is, that in reality there is only perfect emptiness and silence and all this rigamarole we see, hear, feel, taste, smell, touch and think about is originating from that first defilement of individuation . . . ”48 In his posthumously published life of the Buddha, Wake Up!, Kerouac writes: “People didn’t know that the actual Buddha was a handsome young prince who suddenly began brooding in his father’s palace, staring through the dancing girls as though they weren’t there, at the age of 29, till finally and emphatically he threw up his hands and rode out to the forest on his war horse and cut off his long golden hair with his sword and sat 44 The scroll is located in the NYPL archive. In May 2017, I requested to view the scroll but was unable to due to its fragile state. I requested that the NYPL Conservation Department repair the scroll and, in October 2018, I was able to open, read, and photograph the scroll. The scroll is dated as November 11, 1957, Orlando, Florida, U.S.A. 45 (Fields 1992, p. 214). 46 NYPL 57.4 Diary 21 Spring 1960. 47 See Andrea R. Jain (Jain 2014) Selling Yoga: From Counterculture to Pop Culture for additional discussion of the conflation of Hindu yoga and Buddhist meditation. 48 Some of the Dharma, (Kerouac 1999, p. 11). Religions 2019, 10, 266 10 of 11 down with the holy men of the India of his day and died at the age of 80 a lean venerable wanderer of the ancient roads and elephant woods. This man was no slob-like figure of mirth, but a serious and tragic prophet, the Jesus Christ of India and almost all of Asia.”49 The image of the Buddha portrayed in the above passage is representative of Kerouac’s nostalgic Buddhism, idealized and romanticized, and very much a product of the orientalist translations that served as his source material. In both his published and unpublished writing, Kerouac romanticized and idealized places, people, music, and religion. Five years later, in his diary from the Summer of 1960, Kerouac reminisces about the past, common in his diaries from the 1960s, and noted the nostalgia he experienced while serving as a fire lookout. And earlier in the diary, in what appears to be a lengthy drunken entry, he writes about the benefits of Zen practice and returning to the dharma in order to teach others.50 These entries reveal a suffering Kerouac, determined to return to a time, a place, and the Buddhism that alleviated his pain, albeit a short-lived respite. The very thing that made it possible for Kerouac to capture the popular imagination was his ability to present himself as an unhappy, suffering individual, ensnared by his nostalgia, who presents a romanticized lifestyle as the salve to ease society’s pains. When looking at Kerouac’s Buddhism and considering his romantic longing for the wisdom of the Buddha, the issue of orientalism needs to be addressed. The majority of Kerouac’s Buddhist reading materials were nineteenth- and early twentieth-century English translations of Buddhist texts, including the work of D. T. Suzuki. Thus, the texts were translated by individuals rooted in colonial and orientalist perspectives, and often biased and filtered through a Christian lens. Undoubtedly, Kerouac perpetuated the essentialism and orientalism that characterized his source material. 5. Conclusions The nostalgia Kerouac felt for his youth and pre-fame life were supplanted when he encountered postwar American Buddhism. His study of the religion provided him with the means to understand his suffering and attachment to the past and, through its colonial orientalist lens, he was able to formulate a version of Buddhism built on his romantic tendencies. Ironically, Kerouac’s nostalgia for prewar life espoused in his two most famous novels resulted in one of the anxieties that caused him the most suffering—fame. Kerouac’s non-religious nostalgia and his pursuit of direct experience led to his solidification as an American pop culture icon.51 His novels, in their rejection of modern 1950s–1960s America, laid the groundwork for his enshrinement in the pop culture hall of fame, representative of the process of commodified nostalgia. The lifestyle that Kerouac nostalgically wrote about in a quasi-religious, mystical manner is what made him popular, and resulted in the commodification of all things Kerouac related, which was exactly the consumerism of postwar America that he condemned. In its commodification of Buddhism and Kerouac, American popular culture has perpetuated the idealized images prevalent in Kerouac’s nostalgia, including his orientalist-mediated Buddhism. Funding: This research received no external funding. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References Atia, Nadia, and Jeremy Davies. 2010. Nostalgia and the Shapes of History. Memory Studies 3: 181–86. [CrossRef] Batcho, Krystine Irene. 2013. Nostalgia: The Bittersweet History of a Psychological Concept. History of Psychology 16: 165–76. [CrossRef] [PubMed] 49 Wake Up!, (Kerouac 2009, p. 7). 50 NYPL 57.5 Diary 22 Summer 1960. 51 Kerouac’s image, writing, and Buddhism have been used for many years. Some examples of this commodification include: t-shirts, bookmarks, word art, four Hollywood movies in fifteen years (which he tried to do during his life), a promotional campaign for The Gap, excerpts from On the Road read aloud during a Volvo commercial, and the online travel company Orbitz ran a series of On the Road retro promotional posters to commemorate its sixtieth anniversary. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1750698010364806 http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/a0032427 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/23646885 Religions 2019, 10, 266 11 of 11 Beaulieu, Victor-Lévy. 1979. Jack Kérouac: Essai-Poulet [A Chicken Essay]. Translated by Sheila Fischman. Toronto: The Coach House Press. Borup, Jørup. 2016. Branding Buddha–Mediatized and Commodified Buddhism as Cultural Narrative. Journal of Global Buddhism 17: 41–55. Boym, Svetlana. 2001. The Future of Nostalgia. New York: Basic Books. Charters, Ann. 1994. Kerouac: A Biography. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Charters, Ann. 1999. Jack Kerouac: Selected Letters 1957–1969. New York: Penguin Books. Fields, Rick. 1992. How the Swans Came to the Lake: A Narrative History of Buddhism in America. Boston: Shambhala. Gewirtz, Isaac. 2007. Beatific Soul: Jack Kerouac on the Road. New York: Scala Publishers. Giamo, Benedict F. 2000. Kerouac, the Word and the Way: Prose Artist as Spiritual Quester. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Haynes, Sarah F. 2005. An Exploration of Jack Kerouac’s Buddhism: Text and Life. Journal of Contemporary Buddhism 6: 171–89. [CrossRef] Jain, Andrea R. 2014. Selling Yoga: From Counterculture to Pop Culture. New York: Oxford University Press. Kerouac, Jack. 1986. The Dharma Bums. New York: Penguin. Kerouac, Jack. 1987. Visions of Gerard. New York: Penguin. Kerouac, Jack. 1994. The Subterraneans. New York: Grove Press. Kerouac, Jack. 1999. Some of the Dharma. New York: Penguin. Kerouac, Jack. 2001. The Scripture of the Golden Eternity. San Francisco: City Lights Publishers. Kerouac, Jack. 2009. Wake Up: A Life of the Buddha. New York: Penguin Books. Lardas, John. 2000. The Bop Apocalypse: The Religious Visions of Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Burroughs. Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Pierro, Antonio, Gennaro Pica, Kristen Klein, Arie W. Kruglanski, and E. Tory Higgins. 2013. Looking Back or Moving On: How Regulatory Modes Affect Nostalgia. Motiv Emot 37: 653–60. [CrossRef] Skinazi, Karen E. H. 2010. Jack Kerouac’s ‘America’: Canadian Revisions of ‘On the Road’. American Studies 51: 31–59. [CrossRef] Tomkinson, Carole. 1995. Big Sky Mind: Buddhism and the Beat Generation. New York: Penguin Books. © 2019 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14639940500470031 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s11031-013-9350-9 http://dx.doi.org/10.1353/ams.2010.0119 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction1]Many thanks to Marylou Murray for her insightful comments on early drafts and her excellent skills as an editor. Also, I extend my gratitude to Mary Catherine Kinniburgh and Lyndsi Barnes of the New York Public Library for their guidance and knowledge of the Kerouac collection. On Nostalgia On Kerouac On Kerouac’s Buddhism Conclusions References 
work_m32f7j7zzbfftjkm57em6avb3m	----	Elementa: Science of the Anthropocene | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Elementa: Science of the Anthropocene Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content All Articles Recently Published Knowledge Domains Atmospheric Science Ecology & Earth Systems Ocean Science Sustainability Transitions Special Features & Forums Submit Authors Submission Guidelines Publication Fees Journal Policies About Journal Alerts Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Elementa: Science of the Anthropocene Elementa: Science of the Anthropocene is a trans-disciplinary, open-access journal committed to the facilitation of collaborative, peer-reviewed research. View Recently Published Awards: Untapped motivation for agricultural conservation behavior Rachel E. Schattman, Luke Trinity et al. Comparative study of chemical characterization and source apportionment of PM 2.5 in South China by filter-based and single particle analysis Jingying Mao, Liming Yang et al. Distribution, water quality, and health risk assessment of trace elements in three streams during the wet season, Guiyang, Southwest China Jue Zhang, Qixin Wu et al. The global impacts of COVID-19 lockdowns on urban air pollution: A critical review and recommendations Georgios I. Gkatzelis, Jessica B. Gilman et al. Impact of anthropogenic pH perturbation on dimethyl sulfide cycling: A peek into the microbial black box Robin Bénard, Martine Lizotte et al. Browse All About the Journal Elementa: Science of the Anthropocene is a trans-disciplinary, open-access journal committed to the facilitation of collaborative, peer-reviewed research. With the ultimate objective of accelerating scientific solutions to the challenges presented by this era of human impact, it is uniquely structured into distinct knowledge domains, and gives authors the opportunity to publish in one or multiple domains, helping them to present their research and commentary to interested readers from disciplines related to their own. eISSN: 2325-1026 Frequency: Published continuously Impact Factor: 4.212 (Copyright Journal Citation Reports, Clarivate Analytics, 2020) Editors-in-Chief: Detlev Helmig, Principal, Boulder A.I.R. LLC, CO, USA; Steven Allison, University of California, Irvine, CA, USA; Jody W. Deming, University of Washington, WA, USA; Alastair Iles, University of California, Berkeley, CA, USA; Anne R. Kapuscinski, University of California, Santa Cruz, CA, USA Featured Most Read Carrying capacity of U.S. agricultural land: Ten diet scenarios Current global food production is sufficient to meet human nutritional needs in 2050 provided there is radical societal adaptation Securing the future of US agriculture: The case for investing in new entry sustainable farmers The global impacts of COVID-19 lockdowns on urban air pollution: A critical review and recommendations Differentiated impacts of human interventions on nature: Scaling the conversation on regulation of gene technologies Forums and Special Features Elementa publishes two types of special collections—Special Features and Forums Elementa Blog Posts Read the latest Elementa blog posts on the UC Press blog All Articles Recently Published Alerts Submit Submission Guidelines Publication Fees Journal Policies About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 2325-1026 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_m3b6fazzxfe3xea25uqjmqppsq	----	Reading Elizabeth von Arnim Today Isobel Maddison, Juliane Römhild and Jennifer Walker Elizabeth von Arnim is usually remembered as a novelist whose comic writing immortalised a leisurely life of privilege among flowers. Her first book, Elizabeth and Her German Garden (1898) and The Enchanted April (1922) are probably still her best known works. But to know only this is to belie the complexity of her writing and of her place as an author during the first forty years of the twentieth century. Born Mary Annette Beauchamp in Sydney, Australia, on 31 August 1866, she was the youngest of six children. In 1870, when she was three years old, the family left Sydney and went to live in London. Here she developed keen interests in history, literature, art and music. Her musical gifts were nourished at the Royal College of Music, where her principal study was the organ. Soon she was considering a career as a professional musician. At the age of twenty-two, however, while staying in Rome with her parents, she met the newly widowed Graf Henning von Arnim-Schlagenthin, a member of the Prussian aristocracy and a friend of the Wagner family. They became engaged and the Count took her to Bayreuth where she was introduced to the heart of German high society, performing organ works by Liszt for his daughter, Cosima Wagner. In February 1891, she and the Count von Arnim were married in London. By now fluent in German as well as French, she began a new life as a member of the Prussian aristocracy in Berlin. Three daughters were born in quick succession, leaving their mother with little time for music or books until, in the spring of 1896, she visited her husband’s country estate at Nassenheide (now Rzedziny, Poland) near the Baltic Sea. She immediately fell in love with it and decided to live there, far from Berlin and the demands of Prussian society. She had arrived in her ‘German Garden’. Inspired by the beauty of this place, her best-selling novel, Elizabeth and Her German Garden, was published anonymously by Macmillan two years later. The true identity of the author was, for some time, a closely guarded secret but ‘Elizabeth’ became famous. While living at Nassenheide, seven further highly successful novels were written and published as being ‘By the Author of Elizabeth and Her German Garden’. Following the death of the Count von Arnim in 1910, she and her five children left Prussia. Dividing her time now between London and her Chalet Soleil near Crans Montana, Switzerland, von Arnim hosted many famous literary and intellectual figures of the day, including Earl Francis Russell (older brother of Bertrand Russell) whom she married in February 1916. The marriage was a disaster and they separated three years later, though never divorced. The war years saw the deaths of several close friends and family members, including her youngest daughter, Felicitas, who died in Germany aged sixteen. In the 1920s, von Arnim (now known as the Countess Russell) was able to return to her Chalet where she formed a deep friendship with her young cousin Katherine Mansfield, who was staying at the resort for health reasons. She also embarked on a romantic relationship with a young man, Alexander Stuart Frere-Reeves (later president of Heinemann). During these years, she wrote two of her best novels: Vera (1921), and The Enchanted April (1922). During the 1930s, she made her home at the Mas des Roses in Mougins on the French Riviera. Once again, she created a garden, enjoyed her many dogs, and wrote several more works, including the semi-autobiographical All the Dogs of My Life (1936). The threat of war in 1939 forced her to flee to the United States of America, where two of her daughters and her son were living. While there, her last novel, Mr Skeffington (1940), was a great success with her American readers. However, living away from home and staying in hotels and inns without a library was not easy and her health suffered. Elizabeth von Arnim died of the complications of influenza in a hospital in South Carolina, early in 1941. Her ashes, at her request, were returned to England after the war where they were mingled with those of her brother, Sydney, in the churchyard of St Margaret’s, Tylers Green, Penn, in Buckinghamshire. Inscribed on her commemorative plaque in the churchyard are the words ‘Parva sed apta’ (small but suitable). The words had, as ever, been chosen by von Arnim herself, though those who remembered her were rather less low key in their estimations: as Bronwyn Stern wrote to Hugh Walpole, ‘What a devil she was, but what good company’ (Stern 24 Feb 1941: Maddison, xxii). This is borne out by von Arnim’s connections and wide association with a loose group of influential artists and thinkers in the early twentieth century. Elizabeth von Arnim was a valued member of the English literary and intellectual life of her time. Her crowd included George Bernard Shaw, Maud Ritchie, H.G. Wells (who is believed to have been her lover), Augustine Birrell, George Santayana, Bertrand Russell, George Moore, Dame Ethel Smyth, John Middleton Murry, Frank Swinnerton, James Cobden-Sanderson, Max Beerbohm and Vernon Lee. In the early 1900s both E.M. Forster and Hugh Walpole were tutors to von Arnim’s children at Nassenheide. In her heyday von Arnim was a literary celebrity, widely read and admired for her wit. L.P. Hartley, for instance, argued in 1934 that she was ‘among the most important novelists of to-day’ (Sketch: 72). Von Arnim was reviewed positively alongside Elizabeth Bowen, Jean Rhys, Dorothy Richardson and May Sinclair. Among her reviewers was also Katherine Mansfield, whose early writing was undoubtedly influenced by von Arnim’s work. By re-inserting Elizabeth von Arnim into the cultural milieu of which she was a significant part, recent critics have been able to re-revaluate her writing and rescue her from the posthumous neglect she has suffered until recent times. Her writing has, of course, always been regarded as women’s writing: a female author writing primarily for women readers and, as in other cases, this is likely to have contributed to her increasing neglect. As early as 1929, however, J.B. Priestley was speaking of von Arnim as an author of ‘feminine fiction’ (Evening News: 11), while Vernon Fane, a reviewer of her final novel, Mr Skeffington, was arguing in 1940 that ‘feminists galore’ might be writing fiction, but ‘Elizabeth’s strongest characteristic is her femininity’ (Sphere: 152), albeit in the first half of the twentieth century the terms ‘feminist’ and ‘feminine’ were not necessarily contradictory. Frequently the critical diction attached to von Arnim’s work in the 1920s and 30s tips over from ‘feminine’ through ‘feminist’ to ‘feline’ (Daily Telegraph: 6) as a way of capturing von Arnim’s use of satire in a lexis increasingly stained with pejorative gendered associations. Von Arnim’s work was largely forgotten until Virago republished several of her novels as ‘classics’ in the 1980s, and today scholars are interested in her writing precisely because of its complicated oscillation between ‘feminine’ and ‘feminist’.1 Understandably, all critical responses struggle to identify an appropriate and fixed classification for von Arnim’s hybrid writing, which moves deftly between outright social satire, the diary form, the country house novel, the (uneasy) romance and, occasionally, the Gothic genre. In an acknowledgment of this complexity, recent critics have re-contexualised von Arnim’s writing amidst the shifting classification of ‘the middlebrow’, which has provided a welcome platform to engage with her work within an increasingly ‘legitimate’ academic framework.2 This is not to define von Arnim’s work as middlebrow, but to regard it as caught within a series of shifting discourses that helped shape its reception, and which contributed to its increasing critical neglect. Her writing is being given a new, and welcome, lease of critical life and a fresh airing.3 So what kind of writer emerges from this collection of essays? While recent research on von Arnim in the context of the middlebrow has done much to raise her academic profile, the authors in the first part of this issue break new ground by offering fresh perspectives on von Arnim’s use of genre and her loose engagement with Modernist styles. Jennifer Shepherd’s essay resituates the garden novel as a form of imperial romance. While von Arnim’s nationalism and Elizabeth’s complex femininity has been examined before, Shepherd reads them together under a new paradigm, thereby offering a different angle on genre and gender. Next, Rachel O’Connell takes earlier research into Elizabeth’s hyperfemininity to a new level by exploring the nexus between Elizabeth’s gendering and form in her discussion on how the auto- eroticism of von Arnim’s protagonist is facilitated by the introspective genre of the garden diary. The next two essays by Jennifer Walker and Nick Turner offer detailed analyses of von Arnim’s unique style as a response to the modern condition. Walker discusses the musicality and stylistic proximity to Modernist fiction of In the 1 See, for example, Juliane Römhild, Femininity and Authorship in the Novels of Elizabeth von Arnim: At Her Most Radiant Moment, New Jersey: Fairleigh Dickinson, 2014. 2 See: Erica Brown, Comedy and the Feminine Middlebrow Novel: Elizabeth von Arnim and Elizabeth Taylor, London: Pickering & Chatto, 2013, and Isobel Maddison, Elizabeth von Arnim: Beyond the German Garden, Farnham: Ashgate, 2013. 3 See: Jennifer Walker, Elizabeth of the German Garden: A Literary Journey, Brighton: Book Guild, 2013. Mountains (1920). Turner explores von Arnim’s modern blend of Naturalism and Realism in The Pastor’s Wife (1914). Both authors offer a welcome new direction in von Arnim studies in exploring von Arnim’s Modernist affinities beyond her relationship with Katherine Mansfield. The essays in the second part of this issue discuss the pronounced intertextuality of von Arnim’s novels. While her talent for friendship has been well explored by her biographers, less has been written on von Arnim’s literary affiliations, the intertexts and influences in her work. The contributors to this journal break new ground in exploring von Arnim’s connections with writers such as Dickens, George Elliot, Daphne du Maurier, Henry David Thoreau, Max Beerbohm, Virginia Woolf, George Bernard Shaw and others. They broaden our understanding of her wide range of inspirations beyond the tradition of women’s writing in which her novels have mostly been discussed so far. Rachel Galvin opens this section with an exploration of the garden as a space of female autonomy and notes the connections between Elizabeth and Jennifer Dodge, the heroine of von Arnim’s later novel Father (1931), which so far has escaped critical attention almost entirely. Her essay shows that the garden motif remained central to von Arnim’s thinking even in later years. The exhilarating aspect of horticultural self-liberation is picked up by Juliane Römhild, who demonstrates how von Arnim draws on Henry David Thoreau and William Wordsworth to write about joy in The Solitary Summer (1899). Fiona Tomkinson’s essay on ‘The Pious Pilgrimage’ (1900), an additional chapter to Elizabeth and Her German Garden, demonstrates that the ghost Elizabeth encounters in a visit to her childhood garden has spectral ancestors in Dickens’s Great Expectations and other authors. While von Arnim’s affinities with Austen and the kinship between Vera (1921) and Rebecca (1938) have been discussed, Ann Herndon Marshall shows how the concept of a ‘natural’ femininity intersects with power in Austen, George Eliot and Daphne du Maurier, thereby adding historical depth to von Arnim’s critique of femininity. The issue closes with Isobel Maddison’s analysis of the satirical and broadly political cross-currents between von Arnim’s Introduction to Sally (1926), a novel previously unexplored, and texts by two of her friends: G.B. Shaw’s Pygmalion (1914) and Max Beerbohm’s Zuleika Dobson: Or an Oxford Love Story (1911). Her essay reveals the interplay of von Arnim’s wide ranging personal and literary affiliations beyond the tradition of female satirists. As the authors of this issue show, much remains to be done. The factors that led to Elizabeth von Arnim’s critical neglect may now be re-evaluated as precisely the qualities that make the scholarly exploration of her work so rewarding. Defying easy categorisation, we can now read von Arnim as a feminist satirist of complex personal and artistic affiliations, whose distinctive voice was inspired by both contemporary stylistic experiments and the literary traditions of the Nineteenth century. Her writings continue to inspire readers and intrigue scholars. Elizabeth von Arnim’s status as a central literary figure of early Twentieth century British fiction will continue to grow. Works Cited Arnim, Elizabeth von (1898) Elizabeth and Her German Garden, London: Macmillan. --- (1899) The Solitary Summer, London: Macmillan. --- (1900) ‘The Pious Pilgrimage’, Elizabeth and Her German Garden, London: Macmillan. --- (1914) The Pastor’s Wife, London: Smith. --- (1920) In the Mountains, London: Macmillan. --- (1921) Vera, London: Macmillan. --- (1922) The Enchanted April, London: Macmillan. --- (1926) Introduction to Sally, London: Macmillan. --- (1931) Father, London: Macmillan. --- (1936) All the Dogs of my Life, London: Heinemann. --- (1940) Mr Skeffington, London: Macmillan. Beerbohm, Max (1911), Zuleika Dobson: Or An Oxford Love Story, London: Heinemann. Brown, Erica (2013) Comedy and the Feminine Middlebrow Novel: Elizabeth von Arnim and Elizabeth Taylor, London: Pickering & Chatto. Dickens, Charles (1861), Great Expectations, London: Chapman and Hall. Fane, Vernon (1940) Sphere, 3 Feb, p. 152. Hartley, L.P. (1934) ‘The Literary Lounger’, The Sketch, 9 Jan, p.72. Maddison, Isobel (2013) Elizabeth von Arnim: Beyond the German Garden, Farnham: Ashgate. Maurier, Daphne du (1938 rpt 1997), Rebecca, New York: Harper. Priestley, J.B. (1929) ‘The Sentimental Sex’, Evening News, 1 Feb, p. 11. Römhild, Juliane (2014) Femininity and Authorship in the Novels of Elizabeth von Arnim: At Her Most Radiant Moment, New Jersey: Fairleigh Dickinson. Shaw, George Bernard (1914), ‘Pygmalion: A Romance in Five Acts’, Everybody’s Magazine vol xxxi. G.B Stern (1941), ‘To Hugh Walpole’, 24 Feb 1941, in Maddison, p. xxii. Walker, Jennifer (2013) Elizabeth of the German Garden: A Literary Journey, Brighton: Book Guild. West, Rebecca (1931) ‘Feline Wit’, Daily Telegraph, 10 Apr, p. 6. --- 
work_md4wbp7xnraujiyqryfkjidf44	----	Student Records: The Harvard Experience HARLEY P. HOLDEN T H E PASSAGE OF THE FAMILY EDUCATION RIGHTS AND PRIVACY ACT in 1974, the con- cern and confusion surrounding the Buckley Amendment, and the questionable use of student records by government agencies have made particularly timely the discus- sion of access to and confidentiality of student records. But I will touch upon these important subjects only in passing, leaving to my colleagues their detailed discus- sion. My aim in this paper is largely historical, to show through the experience of one large and old university the research use of student records and the importance of their permanent retention for researchers of the future. The ubiquitous student-folder did not appear upon the Harvard scene until the 1890s. Nevertheless, for the two and one-half centuries previous to that decade, the records of students at Harvard are many and varied. While we cannot produce a detailed record for every student who attended Harvard in the seventeenth century, we can for many. Student records for this period are found among the papers of the university presidents and in the recorded minutes of the Harvard Corporation and Board of Overseers, the two Harvard governing bodies, as well as in surviving diar- ies and commonplace books. Detailed records of student board, room, and other expenses may be found in the records of the steward, butler, and treasurer. A close study of these records will indicate how much (and in some cases what type) food a student ate, how much beer he drank, and how much he was fined for various infrac- tions of the college laws. In the majority of cases, this information can be deter- mined for individuals. Through an overall study of such material, the individual student can be placed within the social and intellectual tenor of his times. By the third decade of the eighteenth century, an organized faculty was formed at Harvard, and their records became another important source of information on stu- dents. As is still the case in some small, private secondary schools, the Harvard faculty of this period discussed students individually, particularly if academic fail- ings or conduct were in question. The results of these discussions appear in the min- utes of the Harvard faculty and are an unbroken record of information about indi- vidual students from the 1720s to the end of the nineteenth century. For the record of the eighteenth century, the District Reports and Disorders Papers are important also. The former consist of the records of how students kept their rooms and who their roommates were, and what repairs were required; the latter concern participa- tion of students in various riots and disruptions. Beginning early in the nineteenth century, student records became more numer- ous and more varied. We have available for different periods such records as absen- ces from recitation, admission books, class rank lists, concentration cards, course lists, disciplinary material, final returns, general exams, grade sheets, language requirement results, parentage cards, prayer cut records (daily chapel attendance The author is curator of the Harvard University Archives. The American Archivist Vol. 39, No. 4 October 1976 461 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 462 THE AMERICAN ARCHIVIST—October 1976 was compulsory at Harvard until 1886), rank scales, record cards, summons books, and withdrawals. Marking or grading, as we know it, was a nineteenth-century de- velopment. Before that, at least at Harvard, academic grading was a matter of pass or fail. To make academic judgment of a student, the tutor, instructor, or professor relied largely on themes, forensics, and recitations. The issuance of grades at Harvard began in 1827 with the aggregate system. Under this system students received a certain number of points or aggregates for themes, recitations, orations, and other endeavors. The total number of aggregates accumulated during a four-year period determined academic rank within a class. Thus, by looking at the system as a whole, biographers and other researchers can determine the comparative academic achievement of such nineteendi-century Har- vard notables as James Russell Lowell, Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Henry David Thoreau. For the decade between 1876 and 1886, students were marked by a combi- nation of aggregates and percentages. In 1886 came the present letter system of marking. This is not an exhaustive (and I hope not an exhausting) recitation of the stu- dent records available for research at Harvard for the period ending with the nine- teenth century. What I hope to show is that there is a rich body of student records available for researchers at the university and, I am sure, at many of its sister institu- tions. With very few exceptions, these records prior to the 1890s are fully available to competent scholars to use in a great variety of ways. Recently, a biographer sent for my inspection sixty double-spaced typewritten pages of information that he had accumulated on the college career of Henry Adams, A.B. 1858. This information was culled from the great variety of our official student records and from supplementary material in our collections on Harvard professors, student publica- tions, organizations, and biographical class material. One manuscript volume kept by a Harvard undergraduate organization contains a pornographic poem in Henry Adams's unmistakable handwriting. This poem and the other material discovered in the Harvard Archives by the biographer reveal much about the education of Henry Adams that does not appear in his book of that title. We have now come to the dawn of the twentieth century and to the era of the stu- dent folder and student record card. The Harvard University Archives contains approximately six-thousand Hollinger boxes of student folders for the period circa 1890 through 1970, and about one-hundred Hollinger boxes of student grade-cards. Until the 1920s the folders were thin, containing the basic information on the appli- cation form, the secondary school grades, and letters of recommendation. Begin- ning in the 1920s, the amount of information, and its variety and diversity, accumu- lated until, in the 1950s, there gradually emerged a folder of material containing a detailed account of the child and youth from birth to the age of approximately twenty-two. Restricted now? Of course. But, a century from now, a biographer's dream. The content of the Harvard student folders of the past forty years has changed, of course, by administrative whim and by state and federal regulation. The typical Harvard folder over this period, however, contains an application form with date and place of birth; citizenship; father's and mother's names, place of birth, national- ity, education, and occupation; parent's marital status; school attended by appli- cant; extracurricular activities; list of offices held; honors received; teams played on; names of persons recommending applicant; essays on why applicant wants to go to college and why to Harvard; a photograph; and the applicant's autograph. At some periods, an essay on a particularly significant educational experience has been D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 STUDENT RECORDS 463 required as well. Also in the folder are generally found the applicant's secondary- school transcript, a report on health, college semester grade reports, application for house assignment, administrative board reports on academic status, and details of various college encounters and experiences such as probation and leaves of absence. Of particular interest for the scholar are the letters of recommendation and com- ment written by teachers, principals, parents, tutors, and professors. It has long been the custom at Harvard to ask the parents of incoming freshmen for a letter of comment on their son. They reveal much about both the parents and the student. If only we had such letters by John and Susanna Adams about their son John, or from Increase and Maria Mather about their son Cotton, or from Thomas and Lydia Hancock about their nephew John. We do have them, presumably, for the twentieth century John Adams's, Cotton Mathers, and John Hancocks who have gone to Har- vard. Once a student is admitted to Harvard, a folder is created for him and, through his freshman year, is on file in the freshman dean's office. After the freshman year, the folder is transferred to the house (Harvard has a house system for upperclassmen similar to the college system at Oxford and Cambridge) where, generally, he will reside until graduation. It is here that the bulk of the file accumulates. The folders remain in the house after graduation, for the five-year period when professors are called upon most to write letters of recommendation. A number of professors have been particularly talented at writing these letters. Some are masterpieces of insight and prose style. How priceless would be similar letters written by Plato about Aris- totle or by and about other great teacher-student relationships through the ages. Harvard does not claim, to my knowledge, any Platos or Artistotles; but it is obvious that such letters will prove invaluable to those who study and write about such Har- vard men as John F. Kennedy and Henry Kissinger. The student folders containing this important research material are kept strictly confidential. When they are trans- ferred to the archives, five years after the student graduates, the folders are kept in a room with special locks and may be recalled only by the dean of the college or the registrar of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences. The most extensive use of Harvard's student records of the seventeenth and eight- eenth centuries has been made by Samuel Eliot Morison in his extensive and detailed histories of Harvard, and by my predecessor as Harvard archivist, Clifford K. Shipton, in writing volumes 4 through 17 of the series known as Sibley's Harvard Graduates. Besides serving as custodian of the Harvard University Archives and as director of the American Antiquarian Society, C. K. Shipton continued a project begun by Harvard Librarian John Langdon Sibley in the 1850s of gathering together all known information about Harvard graduates and presenting it in the form of compendious biographies. Sibley covered the classes of 1642 through 1689. After Sibley's death, the biographical project languished for half a century. In the 1930s, C. K. Shipton assumed the mantle of Sibley editor. By the time of his death, in December 1973, he had completed work on the members of the Class of 1771. One may wonder at the usefulness of producing a biography of every one of Harvard's graduates; but until the nineteenth century most of the prominent men, particu- larly in New England, who received a college education received it at Harvard or at Yale. In these brief biographies is gathered together all available information about the graduate's writings, his ancestors and descendants, and other matters that may serve as sources for research. Shipton always considered his biographies of obscure graduates more important than biographies of the famous. For gathered here, in these seventeen volumes, is a storehouse of information on the origins, occupations, D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 464 THE AMERICAN ARCHIVIST—October 1976 beliefs, and accomplishments of several thousand educated men of the American colonial period. These volumes have already served as the basis for many studies, sociological as well as historical. On the first two decades of the subjects' lives, most of the detail in them is based on Harvard student records. Harvard student disciplinary records have figured prominently in the Sibley- Shipton biographies. As already mentioned, there is much of this material available in the steward's and butler's records of the seventeenth century and in the faculty records of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Another good source is the disorders papers, recording instances of student insurgence and unrest that have occurred periodically throughout Harvard's history, from rancid butter riots in the seventeenth century to the student political and social unrest of the 1960s and early 1970s. All was recorded at Harvard, much has been preserved. The need for the con- fidential treatment of such material is obvious. None has been released yet concern- ing students of the twentieth century or even the end of the nineteenth, such as some material I came across recently marked "Cases of cheating and lying, 1890-1898." But in the perspective of history, after the elapse of a century or two, does it really injure our sensibilities or prove embarrassing to distant descendants to know that John Hancock, A.B. 1754, while in college, was involved in getting a Negro slave drunk and was degraded four places in rank (but was restored upon humble confes- sion); that Robert Treat Paine, A.B. 1754, forged a paper as a student; that Elbridge Gerry, A.B. 1762, was admonished for negligence in attending college prayers; that Samuel Adams, A.B. 1740, was "fined for drinking prohibited liquors"; or that Henry David Thoreau, A.B. 1837, was admonished for making a noise at prayers? I think not. Such information has certainly added to the interest of the Sibley- Shipton accounts, delighted genealogists, and can aid biographers and other researchers in developing a more complete picture of the man and of the milieu, social customs, and behavior of his era. Harvard student records of the seventeenth through the nineteenth centuries have been used extensively by numerous researchers besides Morison and Shipton. Recent studies have included such subjects as the occupations of fathers and sons, the economic and social background of nineteenth-century Harvard professors who were also Harvard graduates, religious backgrounds of students, parentage and social backgrounds of college athletes, early lives and backgrounds of naval officers, and separate accounts of student disorders at Harvard in the 1760s and 1830s. The last named use, by Robert A. P. McCaughey, about a student rebellion of the 1830s, is significantly entitled: The Usable Past. There are many ways that we can learn from the past through the varied use of student records. What of research use of student records of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the greatest concern in most colleges and universities? As I have mentioned, these records of the student-folder era at Harvard are still considered highly confidential. Nevertheless, qualified researchers with the permission of the literary heirs and the consent of appropriate Harvard officials have made detailed use of Harvard undergraduate and graduate records for biographical, literary, and political studies of such well-known former Harvard students as E.E. Cummings, John Dos Passos, Thomas Wolfe, Theodore Roosevelt, W. E. B. DuBois, Alan Seeger, John Reed, Wallace Stevens, Robert Frost, T. S. Eliot, and Syngman Rhee. Even richer and more nearly complete records exist, presumably, for such more recent Harvard luminaries as Christian A. Herter, John Phillips Marquand, Nor- man Mailer, John Updike, Henry Kissinger, Eliot Richardson, James Gould Coz- zens, and the three Kennedy brothers. When the need for privacy diminishes and D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 STUDENT RECORDS 465 with the consent of the heirs, a rich collection of material lies waiting for the schol- ar. May it be preserved. While those of us who are archivists and historians may realize and appreciate the value of student records for research in the social sciences and the humanities, sim- ilar feelings may not be shared by "hard-nosed" administrators and legislators. To them the problems, both real and imaginary, of confidentiality, and legal and stor- age considerations, may make the retention of these records more bother than they feel the records are worth. Possibly, the great value of student records for medical research, with promised or at least anticipated, immediately useful and tangible results, may help convince them of the necessity for the retention of the materials. A great deal of medical research had been done at Harvard through the use of stu- dent records. Al though medical records at the university, in the form that we usually envision them, go back only about fifty years, there are related records that are nearly a century old. The most important of these were compiled through the efforts of Dudley Allen Sargent, assistant professor of physical training and director of the Hemenway Gymnasium from 1879 through 1919. During that forty year period, Sargent gathered and bound in large folio volumes detailed physical and strength test measurements on all Harvard students. These records, together with records of athletic participation, have provided and will provide in die future source material for medical research. I should also mention that Sargent and his associates took nude photographs of most students. These have been used extensively for the study of body types. I do not, I hope, need to add that these are stored under secure condi- tions with very limited access, at Harvard's Peabody Museum of Archeology and Ethnology. I suppose it could be argued, at least facetiously, that since our scientific community does not hesitate to publish photographs of scantily clad native chiefs from New Guinea or the South American jungles, that community should not hesi- tate to feature photographs in the National Geographic or Natural History Maga- zine of Harvard graduates who became our chiefs of state. Harvard does have a Committee on Research and the Use of Human Subjects that governs the use of student medical records. Information for outside researchers gen- erally is provided only in coded or numbered form. Psychiatric records, which do not come under the jurisdiction of the Harvard Archives, have not been used so far for research. As the chairman of the Committee on Research and the Use of Human Subjects pointed out to me, medical records are much more objective and statistical than psychiatric records. The patient input is much clearer in physical medical rec- ords and less prone to subjective interpretation. With the consent of the students concerned, some investigations have been made to determine whether there is a correlation between those who visit the Harvard Health Services for medical and those who visit for psychiatric reasons. Results are not fully conclusive, but through the use of student records it has been found that those who have psychiatric prob- lems tend to have physical problems as well. Early in this century, Harvard admission records were used for a study of longev- ity. Admission records, from the beginning, have generally included date of birth. The information, combined with the usually accessible death dates, led to useful conclusions on the longevity of one large segment of college educated Americans. The Sargent physical and strength measurement records, as well as later student records, both medical and academic, have been used by Ralph S. Paffenbarger, Albert Damon, and others for studies of chronic disease in former college students, particularly the study of early precursors of fatal coronary heart disease, precursors of suicide in early and middle life, characteristics in youth predisposing to fatal D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 466 THE AMERICAN ARCHIVIST—October 1976 stroke in later years, and characteristics in youth predisposing to hypertension, sui- cide, and accidental death in later life. Some of their conclusions are that high blood pressure, cigarette smoking, and failure to participate in sports predispose toward heart disease and stroke. Early signs of suicide tendency were identified in the stud- ies and brought to the attention of college and university administrators and health officials. Among the conclusions of the researchers were that health educators should be encouraged to mold good health habits among students and to initiate long-term programs formulated to reduce or delay death from coronary disease and stroke. Suggested approaches include weight control, regular physical exercise, and abstinence from cigarette smoking both as students and in later life. Another major study at Harvard, employing both medical and other types of stu- dent records, is The Harvard Study of Adult Development (The Grant Study). For this project, under the current directorship of George E. Vaillant, 268 college sophomores were studied in great depth in 1939-42 and have been followed at roughly two year intervals ever since. These were Harvard students selected for rea- sons of physical and psychological health, and they now comprise a resource that is useful in studying the determinants of healthy adaptation to retirement and to the aging process, as well as the study of the antecedents of mental health and/or mental illness. Another similar study was begun with Harvard students in 1964-65. Other medically oriented studies at Harvard have included equipment design and a comparison of the longevity of Harvard oarsmen with those who did not participate in college sports. The potential value of these student records for future research is incalculable; the benefits for mankind are tremendous. We have considered the historical and medical use of student records, but there is also the legal factor for purposes of social security and other benefit information. Also, during the past decade, with its questioning of established procedures, the university lawyers have frequently called upon the Harvard Archives for back- ground material on procedures a century or two centuries old. A couple of years ago, the university was challenged as to whether it had been and was making proper use of scholarship money left by one William Stoughton, a member of the Class of 1650, who had died in 1701. Through the use of the scholarship records in the archives, which have taken many different forms over the centuries, the law researchers were able to determine, with but few omissions, the identity and place of residence (an important factor in this case) of recipients of Stoughton scholarship aid. Had it been necessary for them to extend their research back a full two and one-half centur- ies to Stoughton's death, I believe they could have, with a few gaps, done so. There were a number of scholarships available at Harvard by the eighteenth century. John Adams benefited from the Hollis scholarship and John Hancock from the Flynt scholarship. We have had it brought to our attention, many times, that seemingly obscure stu- dent records can yield "pay dirt." Until the 1890s, library charging records were reg- ularly maintained and preserved at Harvard. For the nineteenth century, these are in large, bound, folio volumes widi a page for each student for each academic year. By examining these records, scholars can determine what Ralph Waldo Emerson or Henry David Thoreau or Theodore Roosevelt read as students, the volumes and authors who may have helped to shape their thinking at an impressionable age. Possibly, a study of the college reading of Richard Henry Dana and Francis Park- man would reveal that there was more than eye trouble that made the former take leave of absence from college for two years before the mast and the latter hit the Oregon Trail. There is at least a chance that their early college reading as well as D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 STUDENT RECORDS 467 their physical afflictions may have influenced them toward non-academic adven- ture. Several days before I began writing this paper, a member of our staff had the occa- sion to examine one of our most obscure and little-used files, the correspondence for the Sheldon Fellowships for student study abroad. There in the records for the period just prior to the First World War was discovered a cache of T. S. Eliot mate- rial, letters of comment on him by well-known Harvard professors and Eliot's own reports on his study abroad. Close examination of this material, I think, will reveal influences on his early poetry. There may be similar material in this small box of correspondence about Eliot's contemporaries Conrad Aiken and Walter Lipp- mann. We had not had time yet to look. Through more than three centuries of wars, fires, and political and social change, Harvard has been fortunate enough to preserve its records from destruction. We are living now in a period of change and unrest, uncertain even of the moral and ethical character of our government. It is a period when those responsible for the creation and retention of student records question the advisability of saving this material. I am reminded of my visits to numerous Anglican churches and cathedrals in En- gland, where Oliver Cromwell's Roundheads, the English seventeenth-century Red Guards, acting out of political and religious fervor, wreaked havoc with memorials, smashed stained-glass windows, and destroyed other features of artistic and historic merit. These treasures had existed for three centuries before the Roundheads and have existed, in a marred condition, for three centuries since. I urge my fellow archivists and administrators to preserve student records, to act with deliberation and judgment, so that we will not be classed as the archival Roundheads of the twentieth century. New f°rfTb/77 You Are Invited . . . to write for your personal copy of our exciting new catalog. The largest collection of Library/AV equipment, furniture, and supplies in the world. Over 250 new items; almost 13,000 listings in all. An indispensable tool, and it's free to those who can use it! The Highsmith Co., Inc. P.O. 25/3500 Foil Atkinson, Wl 53538 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.39.4.b82315m 3q3944545 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 
work_me6ae274mjctncl5bej5gxjjj4	----	UDK 82.09:502 Jožica Čeh Steger Filozofska fakulteta, Univerza v Mariboru EKOLOGIZACIJA LITERARNE VEDE IN EKOKRITIKA1 Ekokritika se je kot posebna disciplina literarne vede uveljavila v devetdesetih letih prej- šnjega stoletja najprej v anglo-ameriškem prostoru in nato razširila po evropskih ter azijskih državah. Po začetni omejenosti na preučevanje podob in posameznih žanrov narave je v svo- je raziskovalno področje vključila različne teoretske koncepte narave, odnose med kulturo in naravo ter človekom in okoljem oziroma književnost v celoti ter pomembno prispevala k spoznanju, da je človek določen ne le z družbenimi razmerji, marveč v enaki meri tudi z naravnim okoljem. Prispevek se osredinja na razvoj ekokritike, njena predmetna področja, vprašanja v zvezi z ekološko funkcijo književnosti in na posamezne prvine ekokritiške ana- lize književnega besedila. Ključne besede: ekološka kritika, literarna ekologija, kulturna ekologija, ekološka funk- cija književnosti, ekofeminizem Ecocriticism as a special discipline of literary criticism in the 1990s first took hold in the Anglo-American world and from there it spread to the countries of Continental Europe and Asia. After being initially limited to the study of images and genres of nature, its scope of research later broadened to include various theoretical concepts of nature, relationships between culture and nature, man and the environment, i.e., literature as a whole, and contrib- uted significantly to the realization that man is defined not only by social relations, but to the same extent by natural environment. The article focuses on the development of ecocriticism, its subject areas, questions related to the ecological function of literature, and to individual elements of ecocritical analysis of a literary text. Keywords: ecocriticism, literary ecology, cultural ecology, ecological function of litera- ture, ecofeminism 0 Uvod Literarna veda je v zadnjih desetletjih prejšnjega stoletja v svoje raziskovalno področje ob kategorijah rase, razreda in spola slednjič dodala še okolje. Čeprav smo v današnjem času priča vsesplošni ekologizaciji znanosti, številnim diskurzivnim praksam o perečih ekoloških vprašanjih in globalni ekološki krizi, je ekokritika, ki se je kot anglo-ameriška literarnovedna disciplina etablirala šele v devetdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja in je na poseben način povezana z ekologijo in okoljskimi gibanji, še zmeraj precej na obrobju literarnovednega zanimanja. Začetki ekologije (gr. oikos – dom, logos – duh, nauk) segajo v drugo polovico 19. stoletja. Ta izraz je leta 1866 prvi uporabil zoolog Ernst Haeckel v svoji knjigi Generelle Morphologie der Organi- 1 Razprava je nastala v okviru programske skupine P6-0156 (Slovensko jezikoslovje, književnost in poučevanje slovenščine). Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://srl.si 200 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij smen, s katero je v nemškem prostoru prispeval k uveljavitvi Darwinove2 evolucijske teorije, ekologijo pa definiral kot nauk o naravnih domovanjih oziroma kot biološko znanost o interakciji med organizmi in njihovim anorganskim svetom. Ekologija v svoje predmetno področje sprva ni vključevala človeka, saj je bila omejena na preučevanje odnosov med rastlinskimi in živalskimi organizmi ter nji- hovih odnosov do okolja. Z nastankom humane in pokrajinske ekologije v dvajsetih letih prejšnjega stoletja, ki sta se začeli ukvarjati s človekovim vplivom na okolje,3 je ekologija kot prvotno biološka veda prestopila območje čistega naravoslovja.4 V zadnjih desetletjih minulega stoletja je prišlo do močne ekologizacije družboslovne in humanistične znanosti. Kljub temu da je ekologija pogosto kritična do večkrat po- enostavljenega prenašanja ekoloških pojmov v družboslovje in humanistiko, so v za- dnjem času nastale številne nove znanstvene discipline (politična ekologija, kulturna ekologija, ekološka estetika, ekološka etika, ekolingvistika, ekokritika idr.). Do pre- nosov naravoslovnih pojmov v družboslovje (npr. v sociologijo) je prihajalo že v 19. stoletju, vendar tedaj predvsem z namenom, da bi se družboslovne vede konstituirale kot znanosti, medtem ko smo od zadnjih desetletij prejšnjega stoletja priča vsesplošni ekologizaciji na spoznavni in praktični ravni. S široko ekologizacijo družbe in kultu- re so v današnjem času povezana tudi prizadevanja za paradigmatske spremembe v razumevanju družbenega razvoja, narave, življenja, etike idr. (Kirn 2004: 20). 1 Ekologija in okoljska gibanja Za širšo prepoznavnost ekologije so pomembno vlogo odigrala moderna okolj- ska gibanja. Pojavila so se v šestdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja kot odziv na silovit razvoj tehnike in industrializacije, ki sta povzročili velike spremembe v naravnem okolju in zahtevali od etično ozaveščenega človeka razmislek o tem, kako preprečiti preveliko širjenje industrije in tehnike v okolje ter kako prebuditi v človeku okoljsko zavest in odgovornost za ohranitev okolja tudi za prihodnje generacije,5 ko je bilo na pobudo neformalne mednarodne skupine Rimski klub objavljeno poročilo o mejah 2 Prve pomembnejše ekološke značilnosti (prilagajanje, naravna selekcija, boj za obstanek, izumiranje vrst, različni odnosi med organizmi, njihova interakcija z okoljem idr.) je opisal že Darwin leta 1859 v knjigi O izvoru vrst (điKić 2000: 9). 3 Pojem ekološki se danes nanaša na ekologijo kot biološko vedo in vključuje tudi družbene, kulturne, tehnične vidike razmerij človeka z naravo (Kirn 2004: 11). S širitvijo termina okolje, ki zajema vse prosto- re, v katerih je prisoten človekov vpliv, se v strokovnem jeziku vse bolj izgublja pojem narava. V ekologiji se uporablja v smislu neokrnjene narave, divjine oziroma okolja, v katerega človek ni posegel ali le v naj- manjši meri. V primerjavi z naravo označuje okolje prilagojeno ali spremenjeno naravno okolje, na podlagi česar ločimo spremenjeno oziroma oblikovano naravno okolje ter grajeno ali urbano okolje. 4 V SSKJ (1987: 554) je razložena kot »veda o odnosu organizmov do okolja«, kar samo po sebi ne izključuje človekovega odnosa do okolja. Ekološki leksikon (điKić idr. 2001: 9) med drugim opozarja, da prihaja v praktični rabi pogosto do nesprejemljivega poistovetenja ekologije z naravo- in okoljevarstvom in da je potrebno ločiti med ekologijo kot znanstveno vedo ter naravo- in okoljevarstvom kot uporabnima deloma te znanosti. 5 Tudi v slovenskem prostoru se je organizirano gibanje za varstvo okolja začelo v sedemdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja. Različne naravovarstvene organizacije so bile povezane v leta 1971 ustanovljeno Sku- pnost za varstvo okolja Slovenije. Tedaj najvidnejši slovenski borec za okoljska vprašanja Aleš Bebler je na primer izražal močno zaskrbljenost zaradi gradnje nuklearke v Krškem. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 201 rasti prebivalstva in gospodarstva.6 Moderna okoljska gibanja opravljajo v sodobni potrošniško usmerjeni družbi nujno in pomembno vlogo njenega korektiva. Prav tako predlogi o varovanju okolja in trajnostnem razvoju v današnjem času niso več zgolj v domeni zelenih strank, ampak so zapisani v programih vseh vidnejših strank tudi pri nas. Kljub vedno bolj izdelanim znanstvenim in političnim izhodiščem se okoljska gibanja še zmeraj prepogosto opirajo na romantično in utopično socialistično kritiko tehnike in kulture kakor tudi na agrarno romantiko in domačijstvo (Goodbody 1998: 20). 2 Ekokritika – nastanek in razvoj Ekokritika (ang. ecocriticism) kot literarnovedna disciplina je najprej nastala v anglo-ameriških akademskih krogih. Kljub temu da je okoljsko gibanje v ZDA zaži- velo že na začetku 20. stoletja, se je ekokritika kot posebna disciplina literarne vede na ameriških univerzah uveljavila šele v devetdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja. Eden od razlogov za njeno pozno uveljavitev tiči v literarni vedi druge polovice 20. stoletja oziroma v prevladujočih vplivih poststrukturalističnih usmeritev, ki ne priznavajo objektivnega statusa zunajtekstualne predmetnosti in jo razlagajo le v smislu druž- benega konstrukta. Odločilno vlogo za uveljavitev ameriške ekokritike raziskovalci (star re 2010: 16) največkrat pripisujejo omizju Ecocriticism: The Greening of Literary Studies, predstavljenem leta 1991 na osrednji letni konferenci MLA (Modern Language As- sociation). Pri omizju in naslednje leto pri ustanovitvi Društva za študij literature in okolja (Association for the Study of Literature and Environment, ASLE)7 je sodelo- vala tudi univerzitetna profesorica Cheryll Glotfelty z Univerze v Nevadi (Reno),8 ki je s Haroldom Frommom leta 1996 izdala zbornik The Ecocriticism Reader: Land- marks in Literary Ecology, s katerim se je ekokritika na ameriških tleh dokončno uveljavila, omenjeni zbornik pa velja še danes za eno najpogosteje citiranih eko- kritiških del. GlotFelty (1996: xix) je že v uvodnem delu tega zbornika definirala ekokritiko kot vedo, ki preučuje povezave med literaturo in fizičnim okoljem,9 in v kontekstu feministične ter marksistične literarne vede poudarila njeno politično vse- bino. V devetdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja se je ekokritika institucionalizirala tudi 6 Gre za poročilo The Limits to Growth, ki so ga leta 1972 objavili Donnela in Deniss Meadows ter njuni sodelavci s Tehnološkega inštituta v Massachusettsu. Še istega leta je bilo prevedeno tudi v nemščino (Die Grenzen des Wachstums). Do konca sedemdesetih let je bila knjiga prevedena v več kot trideset jezi- kov (v slovenščino leta 1974) in prodanih je bilo čez štiri milijone izvodov. Na podlagi analiz planetarnih fizičnih omejitev in računalniških izračunov je prineslo to poročilo pesimistične scenarije o možnostih za preživetje človeštva. Kljub pričakovanemu razvoju tehnike naj bi človeštvo v naslednjih sto letih doseglo absolutno mejo ob sicer nespremenjenih dejavnikih, kot so rast prebivalstva, industrializacija, onesnaževa- nje okolja, proizvodnja hrane in izkoriščanje naravnih surovin (goodbody 1998: 19−20). 7 Od leta 1993 izhaja pri ASLE tudi interdisciplinarno zasnovana revija ISLE (Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment). 8 Prav Cheryll Glotfelty je leta 1990 na Univerzi Nevada (Reno) prevzela prvo univerzitetno stolico za literarne in okoljske študije (Studies in Literature and Environment) (hoFer 2007: 32). 9 Na vprašanje, kaj je ekokritika, si je GlotFelty (1996: xix) odgovorila: »Symply put, ecocriticism is the study of the relationship between literature and the physical environment.« Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 202 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij v Veliki Britaniji, in sicer pod imenom zelene študije (Green Studies). Tamkajšnji ekokritiki so podobno kot njihovi ameriški kolegi združeni v društvo ASLE-UK in izdajajo revijo Green Letters. Zanimanje za ekokritiko se je v zadnjih letih precej razširilo tudi po deželah Daljnega vzhoda. Več sorodnih organizacij ASLE je nastalo v Indiji, Japonski, Koreji, Tajvanu idr. (star re 2010: 20). V nemškem govornem prostoru lahko konec prejšnjega stoletja govorimo le o zametkih ekokritike, ki so se rojevali znotraj kateder za anglistiko in amerikanistiko. Manjše zanimanje nemške literarne vede za ekokritiko je Axel Goodbody (1998: 35) v uvodu zbornika Literatur und Ökologie pojasnil z naslednjima razlogoma: (1) Med germanisti naj bi obstajali zmotni pomisleki o politično-ideološki motivaciji ekokri- tike, ki naj bi bila le trobilo za agitacijski in trivialni ekološki realizem. (2) Odsotnost nemške književnosti o naravi oziroma literarne tradicije, ki bi bila podobna ameri- škemu žanru nature writing. Ekokritika se je v nemškem govornem prostoru začela vidneje uveljavljati šele na začetku našega tisočletja in posebej po letu 2004, ko je bilo ustanovljeno Evropsko društvo za preučevanje literature, kulture in okolja (Eu- ropean Association for the Study of Literature, Culture and the Environment, EASL- CE). V zadnjih dveh desetletjih je nastalo v nemščini nekaj zbornikov in monografij, ki jih lahko umestimo v območje ekokritike (Hubert zaPF 2002, 2008, Stefan hoFer 2007, Christa GreWe-volPP 2004, Catrin Gersdor F/Sylvia Mayer 2005, Urte stob- be, Ulrike Kruse, Maren er Misch 2010 idr.). V zadnjih letih se ekokritika pomembno uveljavlja tudi na Hrvaškem. Leta 2007 je na primer na Inštitutu za etnologijo in folkloristiko Univerze v Zagrebu izšel ob- sežen zbornik Kulturni bestijarij, v katerega sta urednici Antonija Zaradija Kiš in Suzana Marjanić uvrstili prispevke o kulturnem animalizmu s klasično etnoloških vidikov kakor tudi z vidikov etičnih pravic živali, kritike speciesizma, animalistične- ga ekofeminizma in zoolingvistike. Pred izidom je že drugi del tega zbornika (Knji- ževna životinja. Del 2. Kulturni bestijarij). Posebej velja opozoriti tudi na hrvaške publikacije o ekofeminizmu. V uredništvu Karmen Ratković10 je leta 2000 izšla eko- feminizmu posvečena tematska številka revije Treća, temu sta sledili monografiji o ekofeminizmu, leta 2006 Kulturalni ekofeminizam: simboličke i spiritualne veze žene i prirode avtorice Marije Geiger in naslednje leto Mitski aspekti ekofeminizma (2007) izpod peresa Mirele Holy s podrobno predstavitvijo zgodovine ekofeminizma oz. različnih ekofeminizmov, ki se v teoriji in v okviru gibanj polarizirajo v politični in spiritualni ekofeminizem. Na Slovenskem ekokritika še ni dosegla večje odmev- nosti. Za zdaj smo priča le posameznim razpravam.11 Nastajajo tudi prve ekokritiško obarvane diplomske naloge, projekti in konference.12 10 Karmen Ratković je soustanoviteljica Centra za ženske študije v Zagrebu, kjer vodi kolegij o ekofe- minizmu in globinski ekologiji. 11 Navajamo nekaj slovenskih ekokritiško zasnovanih razprav: Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekološko usmerjena literarna veda in Prežihove samorastniške novele, JiS 55/3−4 (2010), 53−62; Marjetka Golež Kaučič, Fol- klorni in živalski slovar v ustvarjalnem opusu Svetlane Makarovič, JiS 56/1−2 (2011), 31−48; Miha Javor- nik, Ekologija teksta in ruska literatura 20. stoletja, PK 30/1 (2007), 55−69; Jelka Kernev Štrajn, O možnosti ekokritiškega pogleda na tematizacijo »ne-človeške subjektivnosti« v literaturi, PK 30/1 (2007), 39−54; Branislava Vičar, Koncept narave v Jamnici: ekokritični diskurzivni pristop, JiS 55/3−4 (2010), 123−137. 12 Slovensko društvo za primerjalno književnost je letos organiziralo mednarodni simpozij pod naslo- vom Skozi ekologijo do literature (Jureta Detele), na Inštitutu za sredozemske humanistične in družboslov- Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 203 2.1 Ekokritika ali literarna ekologija? V ZDA je ekokritika kot posebna smer literarne vede nastala pod pojmom ecocri- ticism. Ta izraz je 1978. leta prvič v smislu prenosa ekoloških pojmov v literarno vedo uporabil William Rueckert v razpravi Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism. Še pred tem je Joseph W. Meeker v razpravi The Comedy of Survi- val (1972) zapisal pojem literarna ekologija, s katerim je opredelil preučevanje biolo- ških tem in odnosov v literarnih delih (hoFer 2007: 33). Čeprav se je ecocriticism v anglo-ameriški vedi že dovolj dobro utrdil, obstajajo v angleških razpravah še zmeraj tudi drugačna poimenovanja, kot so literary-environmental studies, literary ecology, green cultural studies idr. (star re 2010: 18). Proti izrazu ecocriticism je še leta 2005 nastopil tudi Lawrence Buell13 in predlagal termin environmental criticism. V nemškem govornem prostoru se bolj kot ekokritika uveljavlja njena kulturnoe- kološka varianta, katere začetnika sta Gregory Bateson in Peter Finke. Kulturnoeko- loški model preučevanja književnosti oziroma književnosti kot kulturne ekologije je doslej najizraziteje izdelal Hubert zaPF (2002, 2008). Za angleški izraz ecocriticism se v nemščini pogosto uporablja beseda Ökokritik, čeprav zaradi prevelikih asociacij z literarno kritiko ni najbolj primeren izraz za posebno literarnovedno smer (hoFer 2007: 34). V nemški vedi se zapisujejo različni izrazi: Goodbody piše o ekološko usmerjenem opazovanju književnosti (1998: 11) in ekološko usmerjeni literarni kri- tiki (1998: 28). Hofer je v svoji monografiji Die Ökologie der Literatur (2007) v poglavjih o anglo-ameriški ekokritiki dosledno uporabljal z veliko začetnico pisani angleški izraz »Ecocriticism«, sicer pa zapisoval različna poimenovanja (ekologija literature, ekološka paradigma v literarni vedi, ekološko usmerjena literarna veda). Na precejšnje nelagodje nemške literarne vede v zvezi s poimenovanjem ekokritike opozarja tudi geselski članek v Metzlerjevem leksikonu Literatur- und Kulturtheo- rie, ki ga je avtorica Ursula K. heise (2004: 130) naslovila z angleškim in nemškim izrazom (Ecocriticism/Ökokritik). V slovenskih razpravah je sicer zaznati nihanje med različnimi poimenovanji, vendar se kljub asociacijam z literarno kritiko vse bolj uveljavlja izraz ekokritika. 2.2 Tematska področja, zvrsti in žanri ekokritike Ekokritika se je oblikovala iz različnih tematskih izhodišč, v ZDA najprej iz tra- dicije nature writing14 kakor tudi iz zanimanja za ameriške mite. Ameriški avtor- ne študije UP ZRS poteka pod vodstvom Nadje Furlan triletni (2010−2013) projekt z naslovom Teološki ekofeminizem in sodobna ekološka kriza. 13 Prim. njegovo delo The Future of Environmental Criticism. Environmental Crisis and Literary Ima- gination. (Oxford, 2005). 14 V ZDA je bila ekokritika sprva omejena na tipični ameriški žanr nature writing. Ta besedila s te- matiko narave so pogosto pisana v prvi osebi, vključujejo osebna opazovanja in čustvena doživetja narave ter filozofska razmišljanja o njej. Lahko so esejistična, avtobiografska, dnevniška, potopisna, tudi vmesne forme, ki vključujejo govore, komentarje, pridige idr. (Goodbody 1998: 27). Po Thoreauju kot utemeljite- lju nature writing sodijo med ameriške ustvarjalce tega žanra tudi Wendell Berry, John Muir, Leslie Silko, Mary Austin idr. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 204 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij ji so pisali o vplivu divje narave pri konstituiranju ameriške nacionalne identitete in ustvarili tako imenovani mit nature's nation (GreWe-volPP 2004: 2). Goodbody (1998: 27) zatrjuje, da lahko govorimo o nature writing, kadar izpolnjuje tri pogoje: posreduje informacijo o zgodovini narave, izraža subjektivno doživetje in filozof- sko interpretacijo narave. Osrednji avtor za ameriško ekokritiško preučevanje natur writing je transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau, ki se je v primerjavi z Emersono- vim15 filozofiranjem o naravi v resnici odpravil živet v divjino. V najbolj znanem in pogosto interpretiranem dnevniško-esejističnem delu Walden (1854) pripoveduje o svojem bivanju v utici ob jezeru Walden, o občudovanju narave, spoštovanju nečlove- ških bitij, povezanosti med človekom in naravo, duhom in materijo itd. Z omenjenim pisateljem se je podrobno ukvarjal tudi Lawrence Buell v svoji monografiji The En- vironmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture (1995), v kateri je predlagal pojem environmental writing za tako imenovano ekološko literaturo in jo opredelil kot razširjeno varianto nature writing ter ji dolo- čil naslednje značilnosti: 1) Ekološka literatura pripisuje nečloveškemu okolju več kot obrobno vlogo ter omogoča vpogled v zgodovino človeka in okolja. 2) Ekološka literatura razkriva emfatičnost do nečloveških bitij, zato v njej človekov interes ni edino legitimen. 3) Človekova odgovornost za okolje je del etične dimenzije ekološke literature, usmerjene v refleksijo, ki upošteva tudi človekove napake pri ravnanju z okoljem. 4) Ekološka literatura zasleduje nastajanje in izgubljanje naravnih prostorov ter pokaže na raznolikost odnosov med človekom in naravo. Spreminjanje narave je v njej vsaj implicitno posredovano (cit. po star re 2010: 23). V Veliki Britaniji se je ekokritika oblikovala iz drugačnih tematskih izhodišč. Za prototip ekološko usmerjene literature je izbrala angleško romantiko in za utemelji- telje ekološke zavesti razglasila romantične pesnike, kot so Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelly, Keats idr. To seveda ni presenetljivo, saj romantično literaturo in njeno poeti- ko v veliki meri določa prav razmerje med znanostjo oziroma razumom in naravo. S tega vidika je Kroeber (1994: 21) romantiko razglasil za prototip ekološke literature in njeno poetiko za prototip ekološko usmerjene literarne vede. Sistemizacijo teo- retskih osnov, predmetnih in raziskovalnih področij ekokritike z izborom besedil prinaša Laurence couPe v knjigi The Green Studies Reader. From Romanticism to Ecocriticism (2000). Izbor tekstov kaže na to, da je tematsko in raziskovalno podro- čje angleške ekokritike bilo že od vsega začetka drugače zasnovano kot ameriško, saj se ne omejuje na nature writing niti na besedila o ekološki problematiki, temveč nagovarja k raziskovanju zvrstno oziroma žanrsko različnih besedil. Coupe prište- va med osrednja raziskovalna področja ekokritike: (1) romantiko in moderno, zlasti z vidikov kritike modernizacije in tehnologije kot glavnih oporišč za predstavitev zgodovine ekološkega mišljenja, naravo- in okoljevarsta, (2) vlogo spomina in kultur spominjanja za oblikovanje okoljsko pomembnih drž in vrednostnih sistemov, (3) vlogo jezika, teksta in diskurzov za določitev zgodovinsko in kulturno raznovrstnih konceptov narave in kulture ter njunih funkcij, (4) pomen vladavin za človeško in ne- 15 Emerson seveda odmeva tudi v novejši ameriški književnosti. Z vplivi Emersona in pragmatizma na ameriško poezijo in misel 20. stoletja se med drugim raziskovalno ukvarja pesnik in univerzitetni profesor Andrew Epstein, znan tudi po odmevni knjigi Beautiful Enemies: Friendship and Postwar American Poetry (2006), v kateri so osrednje pozornosti deležni pesniki Frank O'Hara, John Ashbery in Amiri Baraka. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 205 človeško naravo z vidika spolnih, socialnih in etničnih kategorij, (5) opis specifičnih literarnih postopkov in nastanek ekološko usmerjene literarne zgodovine (Gersdor F 2005: 18). Ekokritika je svoje raziskovalno področje postopoma razširila na celotno knji- ževnost, ki jo opazuje z ekoloških vidikov (hoFer 2007: 90). Raziskuje različne koncepte in reprezentacije narave, kako se je narava v določenih obdobjih in v posa- meznih kulturah razvijala, kako je definiran pojem narave, katere vrednostne pred- stave in kulturne funkcije ima v književnosti, kako so v njej določeni odnosi med človekom in naravnim okoljem itd. Glotfelty je po analogiji s feministično teorijo Elaine Showalter določila tri razvojne stopnje ekokritike (hoFer 2007: 44). Na prvi stopnji si ekokritika prizadeva za ponovno odkritje narave v književnosti. Zanimajo jo različne, pogosto stereotipne upodobitve narave (arkade, raj, divjina, Mati Zemlja itd.) v književnem kanonu kakor tudi v besedilih z njegovega obrobja, mesto narave v razvoju književnosti, zakaj je narava pogosto izključena iz književnosti itd. Na drugi stopnji se ekokritika ukvarja z besedili, vrstami in žanri o naravi (npr. s poezijo narave, s pastoralnim romanom, z bukoličnim pesništvom, z idilo, z nature writing, z utopičnim in antiutopičnim romanom). Mesto teh žanrov je običajno na obrobju ali celo zunaj literarnega kanona, zato si ekokritika prizadeva za njihovo umestitev v literarni kanon ali za prevrednotenje njihovega mesta v njem. V ta sklop sodi zani- manje za posamezne avtorje ekološke literature kakor tudi za njihove kraje, kar lahko prispeva k razmahu okoljskega turizma. Na tretji stopnji se ekokritika osredini na te- oretska vprašanja, preučuje simbolne konstrukte narave, človeka in živali ter razmi- šlja z vidika ekološke paradigme o hierarhičnih dualizmih (kultura/narava, človek/ okolje, jaz/drugi, moški/ženska, duh/telo idr.) zahodne patriarhalne družbe. Razvoj ekokritike seveda ne poteka po strogo ločenih stopnjah. V sodobnem času je dosegla tretjo oz. teoretično stopnjo, vendar ohranja tudi prejšnji dve, jih teoretsko dopolnjuje in kritično motri. Mnogi očitajo ekokritiki teoretsko in metodološko neizdelanost, poststrukturalistične usmeritve pa še posebej trivialni realizem. Metodološko se na- slanja na različne smeri (na dekonstrukcijo, feminizem, kulturne študije idr.). Ursula K. Heise, avtorica geselskega članka v Metzlerjevem leksikonu Literatur- und Kulturtheorie (nü n ni nG 2005: 130−131), navaja, da so se v ekokritiki glede na metodološki pluralizem oblikovala štiri raziskovalna težišča: 1) Razumevanje prosto- rov oziroma metod, s katerimi spoznavamo naravne in umetne prostore, v kakšnem odnosu smo z njimi in kako skrbimo zanje. Pozornost je namenjena odnosom med lokalnimi oz. izkušenjskimi prostori in abstraktnimi okolji, kot sta država ali narod, povezavam med prostorskimi izkušnjami in drugimi dimenzijami kulturne identite- te, kot so spolna, rasna, starostna oziroma socialna pripadnost. 2) Ekokritika razisku- je, kako je v literaturi in kulturi definiran oziroma ubeseden odnos med človekom in drugimi živimi bitji v naravi. Čeprav je književnost že po jeziku v osnovi antropo- centrična, je obenem tudi medij za razkrivanje različnih stopenj antropocentrizma in drugih vrednostnih pogledov, kot so ekocentrizem, biocentrizem, veganstvo idr. Seveda se ob tem zastavljajo vprašanja, v kolikšni meri lahko književnost prispeva k spremembi človekovega vrednostnega pogleda na naravno okolje. V zvezi s tem se velja strinjati s tistimi, ki menijo, da književnost odpira drugačne in alternativne svetove ter vrednostne poglede, vendar nima prevzgojne funkcije. 3) Ursula K. Heise Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 206 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij opozarja, da je ekokritika v konfliktu z objektivističnim in s konstruktivističnim razumevanjem narave. Na eni strani so tako imenovani naivni realisti, ki postavljajo v književnosti v ospredje grozljive podobe sodobnega uničevanja naravnega okolja in trpinčenja nečloveških bitij, manj pa se posvečajo kritični refleksiji literarnega jezika ali strukturam ekoloških raziskav v naravoslovju. Zagovorniki konstruktivizma,16ki se navezujejo na poststrukturalistične teorije, trdijo, da imajo vsi diskurzi o naravi izhodišče v kulturi, da globalnih ekoloških povezav ni mogoče predstaviti s konven- cionalnim realizmom, obenem pa opozarjajo na to, da razume ekokritika nekatere ekološke pojme zelo ohlapno ali so ti sporni že v ekologiji (npr. harmoničnost ekosi- stema). 4) Posebno področje ekokritike predstavlja tudi razkorak med ekokritiko kot akademsko teorijo in političnim okoljskim angažmajem. V sodobnem času se ekokritika vse bolj odmika od shematskega raziskovanja odnosov med naravo in kulturo in se bolj posveča teoretskim opredelitvam nara- ve. Posebno zanimanje kaže za preučevanje živali oziroma za animalistične študije. Ekokritika je po začetnem zanimanju za upodobitve narave in divjine v nefikcijskih tekstih svojo pozornost preusmerila na okolje, še zlasti na urbane prostore (star re 2010: 28). Njeno tematsko področje se še zmeraj širi, zanimajo jo vprašanja o spremi- njanju naravnega okolja in o tako imenovani urbani divjini, povezave med okoljem, etničnimi skupinami in primitivnimi kulturami kakor tudi med ekokritiko in okolj- skim rasizmom, naravo in žensko idr. V času vse močnejših mednarodnih povezav je ekokritika razvila primerjalni vidik raziskovanja naravnega okolja v različnih na- cionalnih literaturah in povezovanje individualnih ter lokalnih upodobitev narave z globalno okoljsko problematiko. 3 Ekokritika in ekofeminizem Začetki ekološkega in feminističnega gibanja oziroma ekofeminizma17 segajo v sedemdeseta leta prejšnjega stoletja. Sredi osemdesetih let prejšnjega stoletja se je za- čel uveljavljati v akademskih krogih kot del širše ekokritiške discipline (holy 2007: 89) in temelji na predpostavki, da povzročajo sistemi prevlade in dualistično mišlje- nje, ki sestavljajo temelj zahodni civilizaciji, zatiranje ženske kakor tudi izkorišča- nje naravnega okolja. Ekokritika in ekofeminizem izhajata tudi iz skupnega cilja: osvoboditi žensko in naravo ter si prizadevati za odpravo rasnih, spolnih, etničnih, razrednih in drugih razlik oziroma za ukinitev odnosov med ljudmi in razmerij do naravnega okolja, ki temeljijo na kontroli, prilaščanju, posedovanju in izkoriščanju. Različni ekofeminizmi se najbolj razlikujejo v vrednotenju fizičnega oz. materialne- ga sveta, a tudi v predstavah o preddiskurzivnem in družbeno konstruiranem statusu narave in ženske. Socialni ekofeminizem se na primer zavzema za nedestruktivno 16 Pod pojmom konstruktivizem je mišljen objektivizmu nasproten metateoretski model, ki izhaja iz prepričanja, da nam svet in predmeti niso dani, ampak oboje konstruira človek s pripisovanjem pomenov (virK 2008: 228). 17 Izraz ekofeminizem je prvič zapisala Francoise d’ Eaubonne v knjigi La Féminisme ou la mort leta 1974, in sicer v smislu, da ženske bolje razumejo problematiko okolja, zato imajo več možnosti za uresni- čitev političnih sprememb, nujnih za ohranitev življenja na našem planetu. Kot oznaka za ekološko femini- stično gibanje se je uveljavil po letu 1978, ko ga je v svoji knjigi Gyn/ecology uporabila Mary Daly. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 207 držo do naravnega okolja in se osredinja na spolne zapise narave, vendar tudi na ostro kritiko povezanosti ženske in narave. Od te usmeritve odstopa spiritualni ekofemini- zem, saj izhaja iz mističnih predstav o povezanosti ženske z naravo in opeva idejo o t. i. Materi Zemlji. Ekokritika in ekofeminizem poudarjata povezanost oz. sožitje vseh živih (človeških in nečloveških) bitij ter pripisujeta naravi status subjekta. V primer- javi z obstoječim dualističnim mišljenjem, v katerem poteka človekov boj z naravo, gospodovanje naravi, izkoriščanje narave idr., želita vzpostaviti odnose mrežnega sožitja, sonaravnosti in medsebojne odvisnosti ter zagovarjata takšno intrinzično vrednost posameznih mrežnih elementov, ki se povezujejo z vsem obstoječim in hkrati ohranjajo pomen samostojnosti. Še posebej zanimiv je koncept ekokritiškega sebstva (jaza). Ta obstaja namreč kot kontinuiteta in diferenca, kar pomeni, da ohra- nja relativno samostojnost in je obenem v interakciji z Drugim, se ne stopi z naravo, kot to razlaga npr. globinska filozofija, vendar obenem presega dualistično miselnost patriarhalne družbe (GreWe-volPP 2004: 67). 4 Ekokritika in status narave Ekokritika pripisuje naravi18 pomembno, celo osrednje mesto. Naravno okolje v literarnih besedilih ni obravnavano kot nekaj obrobnega, ne predstavlja zgolj kulise, ozadja nekega dogajanja, mrtve materije ali pasivnega objekta. Narava prav tako ni razumljena kot projekcija človekovih potreb, predmet materialnega izkoriščanja ali ideološke zlorabe. Pogosto dobi status subjekta, čeprav mnenja ekokritikov glede tega niso enotna in nekateri nasprotujejo še posebej tako imenovani govoreči naravi. Vsekakor pa velja, da ekokritika priznava naravi, ki je postavljena v položaj Dru- gega, samostojno, od človeka neodvisno delovanje. Narava je sposobna delovanja in je samostojna, a hkrati tudi tako tesno povezana s človekom, da izginja nekda- nje dualistično razmerje med človekom in naravo, značilno za patriarhalno družbo (Greve-volPP 2004: 67). Kadar nastopa narava s samostojnim glasom, mora poseči po človeškem glasu, pri čemer moramo ločiti njen avtonomni glas od personifikacije narave v okviru antropocentrizma. Ekokritika analizira ubeseditve narave na ravni jezika, pridevkov, personifikacij, metafor in drugih podob narave. Vse to poteka z vidika ugotavljanja avtonomije oz. diference narave kakor tudi z vidika odvisnosti med naravo in človekom oziroma kulturo. 4.1 Koncepti in podobe narave Različne ekokritiške usmeritve izhajajo iz objektivističnih in konstruktivističnih konceptov narave. Prve se utapljajo v zelo naivnem realizmu, druge ne priznavajo 18 V slovensko književnost je narava po posameznih slavilnih in opisnih pesmih narave (V. Vodnik, L. Volkmer, Š. Modrinjak idr.) ter pastirski idili (U. Jarnik) opazneje vstopila v času romantike in realizma, in sicer s F. Prešernom (Krst pri Savici), S. Vrazom (Djulabije), z idilo kot pesniškim in pripovednim žanrom (F. Prešeren, S. Vraz, J. Stritar, I. Tavčar idr.), s pesmimi o naravi in živalih (J. Stritar, F. Levstik, S. Jenko, F. Gestrin idr.), s potopisnimi pesmimi (A. Aškerc, J. Stritar), s potopisi, z eseji, s pripovedno prozo naravo- slovne (F. Erjavec, F. Levstik, J. Mencinger, I. Tušek, J. Ogrinec idr.) in kmečko-vaške tematike (J. Jurčič, I. Tavčar idr.) ali z antiutopičnim romanom (J. Mencinger). Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 208 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij zunajbesedilnega statusa narave. S položaja vmesnega prostora med realističnimi in poststrukturalističnimi usmeritvami, kamor umešča ekokritiko na primer Stefan hoFer (2007: 53), priznava ekokritika naravo kot zunajbesedilno stvarnost in obe- nem poudarja, da so njene reprezentacije zmeraj tudi kulturni konstrukti. Gozd je na primer lahko ubeseden kot ekološki biotop, idilični prostor, lovišče ali prostor, v katerem domujejo zle sile. Če so upodobitve narave filtrirane skozi zavest kulture, le-ta ne more biti nevtralno ubesedena. S tega vidika je ekokritika kritična do tako imenovanih pojmov čiste, nedotaknjene oziroma neokrnjene narave. V človeško in nečloveško naravo so bolj ali manj vpisane posameznikove in kolektivne zaznave sveta, različne ideje in ideologije, ki jih je pri raziskovanju podob narave potrebno upoštevati in lahko povratno učinkujejo na človekovo ravnanje z okoljem.19 Različ- nim hierarhičnim dualizmom patriarhalne družbe, sistemom prevlade in spolnim označitvam narave se prav posebej posveča ekofeminizem. Z analizo podob, ki teme- ljijo na asociacijah ženske in narave, lahko odkrijemo njihovo stereotipnost, inven- tivnost in subverzivnost, prav tako pa opažamo tudi njihov morebitni negativni vpliv na človekovo ravnanje z naravnim okoljem. V raziskovalni spekter človeka in okolja, ki ob naravnem vključuje še urbano oko- lje, je ekokritika umestila tudi rasne, etnične, razredne, spolne in druge kategorije. Kot posebna disciplina literarne ali kulturne vede raziskuje na podlagi upoštevanja ekoloških spoznanj v celotni književnosti odnose med človekom/kulturo in naravo/ okoljem, pri čemer je pojem narava razumljen v smislu fizičnega oziroma člove- kovega okolja v določenem zgodovinskem obdobju. V njeno raziskovalno področje lahko ob literarnih spadajo tudi npr. filmske, slikarske, fotografske in druge oblike kulturnih reprezentacij odnosov med kulturo/človekom in naravo/okoljem (GreWe- volPP 2004: 89). 5 Ekološka funkcija književnosti Z uveljavitvijo ekokritike je postalo naravno okolje pomembno raziskovalno po- dročje literarne vede. Kot kulturnokritična disciplina usmerja pozornost na ekološke in literarne modele, ki dajejo prednost človeku in naravnemu okolju pred pridobi- tniškim in materialnim izkoriščanjem narave. Eno od pomembnih vprašanj, ki si jih ekokritika zastavlja na teoretski ravni, je vprašanje o družbeni vlogi »ekološke književnosti«. Gre za premislek, kakšno vlogo ima lahko književnost pri reševanju ekoloških vprašanj in oblikovanju ekološke zavesti. Na takšna vprašanja seveda ni 19 GreWe-volPP (2004: 1−7) opozarja na dekonstrukcijo ameriškega mita nature's nation, v katerem je narava konstruirana kot ideja za rasne, spolne, gospodarske, pokrajinske in nacionalne predstave njenih utemeljiteljev, tj. predvsem belopoltih anglosaških osvajalcev »divjega« Zahoda. Mit temelji na predstavi, da je imela neskončna divjina osrednjo vlogo pri oblikovanju ameriške nacije. Toda v sedemdesetih letih prejšnjega stoletja so Richard Slotkin, Annette Kolodny, Donald Worster idr. razgalili enostranskost ame- riškega mita, ki v težnji po ustvarjanju enotne ameriške nacije izpušča številne vidike, med njimi ženske, etnične manjšine, realno topografijo, industrializacijo, pokrajinske razlike idr. Pokazali so na mit kot dis- kurz, ki je bil ustvarjen za določene socialne in politične namene in je vodil v izkoriščanje določenih slojev prebivalstva in narave v procesu kolonialnega osvajanja. Tudi raziskave o spolnih označitvah narave lahko razkrijejo, da je opevanje narave oziroma divjine kakor tudi žalovanje ob njeni izgubi v funkciji strategije imperialistične prakse, ki tako zakriva in hkrati stabilizira lastno prevlado. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 209 enoznačnega odgovora, vendar je jasno, da književnost ne more opisovati in poja- snjevati vzrokov ekološke krize, lahko pa je kritična do človekovih nerazumnih in škodljivih posegov v okolje, do izkoriščanja, zastrupljanja, spreminjanja in uničeva- nja naravnega okolja, pri čemer mora paziti, da ne preide v agitacijsko pisanje. Druž- bena vloga ekološke književnosti je lahko najbrž le v tem, po čemer se književnost bistveno loči od znanstvenega, moralnega, praktičnega in drugih oblik diskurza, to je, da v patriarhalni in potrošniško usmerjeni družbi odpira v estetsko zakodirani obliki raznovrstne možnosti človekovega sobivanja z živo in neživo naravo ter po- nuja ob prevladujočem antropocentrizmu vrednostno drugačne poglede na naravno okolje. V sodobnejši slovenski književnosti je to najizraziteje opazno v poeziji, prozi in esejistiki pisatelja in zagovornika narave Iztoka Geistra. Ekokritika je ozavestila prepričanje, da kultura ni le rezultat družbenih odnosov, temveč v veliki meri tudi ali predvsem človekovega odnosa do naravnega okolja. Na slednje nas, kakor zatrjuje Goodbody (1998: 25), opozarja tudi književnost starejših obdobij, iz katere se pravi- loma razbirajo spravljivejši odnosi med človekom in okoljem.20 Ko ekokritika ni več omejena na »ekološko« književnost, to je na tipične žanre o naravi, njene podobe ali na zbir ekoloških tem, kot so na primer onesnaževanje okolja, zastrupljanje zraka, vode, prsti, uničevanje biotske raznovrstnosti, in je raz- iskovalno področje razširila na odnose med kulturo/človekom in naravo/okoljem, tj. na književnost v celoti, se zastavlja vprašanje, ali ima književnost ne glede na te- matiko ob spoznavni, etični, estetski in še kakšni drugi tudi ekološko funkcijo. S tem vprašanjem se je doslej podrobneje ukvarjal Hubert Zapf. Opirajoč se na Petra Finkeja in njegovo teorijo kulturnih ekosistemov je izdelal trojni kulturnoekološki funkcijski model književnosti, tj. književnost kot družbenokritični metadiskurz, imaginacijski protidiskurz in regeneracijski interdiskurz.21 O analogijah med ekolo- škimi procesi in specifičnimi strukturami ter kulturnimi učinki literarne imaginacije je pisal že v svoji knjigi Literatur als kulturelle Ökologie (2002). Po Zapfu ustvarja književnost kritično-kreativno energijo. Ta se kot ekološka moč usmerja na kulturo, na oblike sporazumevanja in zavesti oziroma na kulturne sisteme, v katerih živimo, in s simbolnimi podobami presega ločnice med kulturo in naravo. Tezo o ekološkem razmerju med književnostjo in kulturo je pojasnil s posebnostjo literarnega diskur- za v sistemu dominantnih diskurzov kulture, kot so pravo, politika, gospodarstvo, znanost, morala idr.: »Ökologisch« kann diese Beziehung der Literatur zur Kultur genannt werden, weil Litera- tur das, was kulturell getrennt, pragmatisch instrumentalisiert und diskursiv vereindeuti- gt wird – etwa durch Politik, Wirtschaft, Recht, Moral, Ideologie, Wissenschaft −, wieder in einen lebendigen Zusammenhang untereinander und mit dem bringt, was ausgegrenzt oder marginalisiert wird, was aber zugleich für die Vitalität und Selbsterneuerungskraft der Kultur von entscheidener Bedeutung ist (zaPF 2002: 5).22 20 Prim. Stritarjevega Zorina in njegove Popotne pesmi, Tavčarjevo Cvetje v jeseni, Kranjčevo Povest o dobrih ljudeh idr. 21 Zapfov trojni model ekološke funkcije književnosti je podrobneje predstavljen v razpravi Ekološko usmerjena literarna veda in Prežihove samorastniške novele (čeH steger 2010: 54−55). 22 V prevodu se Zapfova teza glasi: Odnos med književnostjo in kulturo se lahko imenuje »ekološki«, ker književnost tisto, kar je v sistemu kulture ločeno, pragmatično instrumentalizirano in diskurzivno po- Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 210 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij Književnost ima torej kritično in prenovitveno vlogo, je senzorij in prostor za simbolične izravnave kulturnega neravnovesja in razvojnih napak, kritična je do dominantnih struktur moči, diskurzivnih sistemov in oblik življenja, ki izrinjajo, izločajo ali zatirajo tisto, kar je za kompleksno določitev človeka v sistemu kulture nujno potrebno. Po drugi strani je književnost z ubeseditvijo kulturno izrinjenih vse- bin in s sprostitvijo vitalnosti, večpomenskosti in dinamičnih obnovitev dogmatično otrdelih podob sveta in diskurzivne enopomenskosti prostor trajne, kreativne obnove jezika, zaznav in kulturne imaginacije (zaPF 2002: 4). Pomembnost Zapfovega kul- turnoekološkega modela književnosti je vsaj dvojna, predmetno področje ekokritike razširja na celotno književnost in poudarja, da razvija književnost ekološko zavest v sistemu kulture ne le v vsebinskih, temveč tudi v estetskih procesih. viri i n liter atur a Lawrence buell, 1995: The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Har- ward UP. Laurence couPe (ur.), 2000: The Green Studies Reader. From Romanticism to Ecocriticism. London: Routledge. Jožica čeH steger, 2010: Ekološko usmerjena literarna veda in Prežihove samora- stniške novele. Jezik in slovstvo 55/3−4. 53−62. Domagoj điKić idr., 2001: Ekološki leksikon. Gl. ur. Oskar P Springer. Zagreb: Barbat. Peter FinKe, 2003: Kulturökologie. Konzepte der Kulturwissenschaften. Ur. Ansgar in Vera Nünning. Stuttgart, Weimar. 248−279. Catrin GersdorF in Sylvia Mayer (ur.), 2005: Natur – Kultur − Text. 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Stuttgart, Weimar: Metzler. 128. enostavljeno − s politiko, z gospodarstvom, s pravom, z moralo, z ideologijo, z znanostjo −, na živ način ponovno poveže in združi s tistim, kar je bilo iz dominantnih diskurzov izločeno, potisnjeno na obrobje, a je odločilnega pomena za vitalnost in obnovitev kulture. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jožica Čeh Steger, Ekologizacija literarne vede in ekokritika 211 Stefan hoFer, 2007: Die Ökologie der Literatur. Eine systemtheoretische Annähe- rung. Mit einer Studie zu Werken Peter Handkes. Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag. Mirela holy, 2007: Mitski aspekti ekofeminizma. Zagreb: TIMpress. Miha javorniK, 2007: Ekologija teksta in ruska kultura 20. stoletja. Primerjalna knji- ževnost 30/1. 55−69. Jelka Kernev štr aj n, 2007: O možnosti ekokritiškega pogleda na tematizacijo »ne- človeške subjektivnosti« v literaturi. Primerjalna književnost 30/1. 39−54. Andrej Kirn, 2004: Narava – družba – ekološka zavest. Ljubljana: Fakulteta za druž- bene vede. Karl Kroeber, 1994: Ecological Literary Criticism: Romantic Imagining and the Biology of the Mind. New York: Columbia UP. Suzana Marjanić in Antonija zar adija Kiš, 2007: Kulturni bestijarij. Zagreb: Insti- tut za etnologiju i folkloristiko, Hrvatska vseučiliška naklada. Donnella h. MeadoWs idr., 1974: Meje rasti: Poročilo za raziskavo Rimskega kluba o težavnem položaju človeštva. Prev. Gregor Berkopec. Ljubljana: CZ. William ruecKert, 1978: Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism. The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Ur. Cheryll Glotfelty in Harold Fromm. Athens: University of Georgia P. 103−123. Alexander starre, 2010: Always already green. Zur Entwicklung und den litera- turtheoretischen Prämissen des amerikanischen Ecocriticism. Ökologische Transformationen und literarische Repräsentationen. Ur. Urte Stobbe, Ulrike Kruse, Maren Ermisch. Göttingen. 13−34. Urte stobbe, Ulrike Kruse, Maren erMisch (ur.), 2010: Ökologische Transformatio- nen und literarische Repräsentationen. Göttingen. Branislava vičar, 2010: Koncept narave v Jamnici: ekokritični diskurzivni pristop. Jezik in slovstvo 55/3−4. 123−137. Tomo virK, 2008: Moderne metode literarne vede in njihove filozofsko teoretske osnove. Metodologija 1. Ljubljana: Znanstvena založba Filozofske fakultete, Od- delek za primerjalno književnost in literarno teorijo. Hubert zaPF, 2002: Literatur als kulturelle Ökologie. Zur kulturellen Funktion ima- ginativer Texte an Beispielen des amerikanischen Romans. Tübingen: Max Nie- meyer. Hubert zaPF (ur.), 2008: Kulturökologie und Literatur. Beiträge zu einem transdis- ziplinären Paradigma der Literaturwissenschaft. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 212 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 2, april–junij suMMary Under the influence of increasing ecological crisis and ecological movements that proliferated in the late 1960s, ecologization of scholarship and society also emerged. The same period also saw the first examples of the introduction of the ecological paradigm into literary scholarship and the beginning of ecocriticism. The term was first used in 1978 by William Rueckert in the paper “Literature and Ecology: An Ex- periment in Ecocriticism.” However, the dominant post-structuralist trends were not favorably disposed towards the study of extratextual reality, therefore ecocriticism as an Anglo-American discipline of literary criticism was not able to make a full breakthrough until the 1990s. Ecocriticism was first limited to the study of images of nature, to typical ecologi- cal themes and genres about nature (nature writing, an idyll, a pastoral, a utopian novel, etc.). Presently it is still broadening its thematic area, however, it increasingly deals with theoretical questions, various concepts of nature and evaluative views of it, particularly with the criticism of anthropocentrism, relations between culture/ man and nature/environment, relations between environment and racial, class, gen- der, and ethical identity. A broader ecocritical discipline includes different varieties of ecofeminism; they differ mainly in whether or not they recognize the feminization of nature. In comparison with the existing hierarchic dualisms (me/other, culture/ nature, intelect/emotion, male/female, etc.) of the patriarchal society, ecocriticism advocates their surpassing. It compiled a network model of ecocritical textual analy- sis (GreWe-volPP 2004), in which special attention is accorded nature and its status as a subject, towards coexistence relationships and codependence of the network ele- ments, their intrinsic value that exists in connections with the Other and, at the same time, in the preservation of differences. Broadening the subject area of ecocriticism to all literature has also fueled inter- est in the question of the ecological function of literature without literature being related to particular ecological themes. Hubert zaPF (2002) – who finds its presence in the content and aesthetic processes of a literary work – in the framework of his cultural-ecological model assigned to literature a function of socio-critical metadis- course, imaginational counter-discourse, and regenerational interdiscourse. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_2_05.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 2.59 Powered by TCPDF (www.tcpdf.org) http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://www.tcpdf.org 
work_mhj2ouzlx5hipn7qmlze5yelfm	----	Microsoft Word - 63-05.doc econstor Make Your Publications Visible. A Service of zbw Leibniz-Informationszentrum Wirtschaft Leibniz Information Centre for Economics Bosetti, Valentina; Locatelli, Gianni Working Paper A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks� Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Nota di Lavoro, No. 63.2005 Provided in Cooperation with: Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei (FEEM) Suggested Citation: Bosetti, Valentina; Locatelli, Gianni (2005) : A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks� Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks, Nota di Lavoro, No. 63.2005, Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei (FEEM), Milano This Version is available at: http://hdl.handle.net/10419/74248 Standard-Nutzungsbedingungen: Die Dokumente auf EconStor dürfen zu eigenen wissenschaftlichen Zwecken und zum Privatgebrauch gespeichert und kopiert werden. Sie dürfen die Dokumente nicht für öffentliche oder kommerzielle Zwecke vervielfältigen, öffentlich ausstellen, öffentlich zugänglich machen, vertreiben oder anderweitig nutzen. Sofern die Verfasser die Dokumente unter Open-Content-Lizenzen (insbesondere CC-Lizenzen) zur Verfügung gestellt haben sollten, gelten abweichend von diesen Nutzungsbedingungen die in der dort genannten Lizenz gewährten Nutzungsrechte. Terms of use: Documents in EconStor may be saved and copied for your personal and scholarly purposes. You are not to copy documents for public or commercial purposes, to exhibit the documents publicly, to make them publicly available on the internet, or to distribute or otherwise use the documents in public. If the documents have been made available under an Open Content Licence (especially Creative Commons Licences), you may exercise further usage rights as specified in the indicated licence. www.econstor.eu This paper can be downloaded without charge at: The Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Note di Lavoro Series Index: http://www.feem.it/Feem/Pub/Publications/WPapers/default.htm Social Science Research Network Electronic Paper Collection: http://ssrn.com/abstract=718621 The opinions expressed in this paper do not necessarily reflect the position of Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Corso Magenta, 63, 20123 Milano (I), web site: www.feem.it, e-mail: working.papers@feem.it A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks’ Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Valentina Bosetti and Gianni Locatelli NOTA DI LAVORO 63.2005 MAY 2005 NRM – Natural Resources Management Valentina Bosetti, Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Gianni Locatelli, DISCo, Università di Milano Bicocca A Data Envelopment Analysis Approach to the Assessment of Natural Parks’ Economic Efficiency and Sustainability. The Case of Italian National Parks Summary Wilderness protection is a growing necessity for modern societies, and this is particularly true for areas where population density is extremely high, as for example Europe. Conservation, however, implies very high opportunity costs. It is thus crucial to create incentives to efficient management practices, to promote benchmarking and to improve conservation management. In the present paper we propose a methodology based on Data Envelopment Analysis, DEA, a non parametric benchmarking technique specifically developed to assess the relative efficiency of decision-making units. In particular, the objective of the discussed methodology is to assess the relative efficiency of the management units of the protected area and to indicate how it could be improved, by providing a set of guidelines. The main advantage of this methodology is that it allows to assess the efficiency of natural parks’ management not only internally (comparing the performance of the park to itself in time) but also by external benchmarking, thus providing new and different perspectives on potential improvements. Although the proposed methodology is fairly general, we have applied it to the context of Italian National Parks in order to produce a representative case study. Specifically, the choice of adequate cost and benefit indicators is a very important and delicate phase of any benchmark analysis. For this purpose, a questionnaire was used to investigate the opinions of Italian National Parks managers and stakeholders and to define the relevant indicators for the analysis. Finally, relevant policy implications for the case study are given. Keywords: Data envelopment analysis, Natural park management JEL Classification: Q01, Q26, Q56 Address for correspondence: Valentina Bosetti Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei Corso Magenta 63 20123 Milano Italy Phone: +390252036938 Fax: +390252036946 E-mail: valentina.bosetti@feem.it 2 Introduction Since ancient eras, the idea of protecting portions of the land has appeared as a necessity. The reasons for this have intrinsically changed over time, going from the mere necessity of preserving hunting areas to the idea of biological conservation, which remains one of today’s driving causes. Although in different times and places, and motivated by different concerns, this idea has led to the same result: the conservation of ecosystems that would otherwise have disappeared. Indeed, if on the one hand the first example of a modern National Park is quite recent (Yellowstone, Wyoming, instituted in 1872), on the other hand, examples of protected areas can be traced back to game reserves. The first example, which can be dated back to 7.500-7000 B.C., shows the existence of hunting areas in archaeological sites in South-west Iran. During the history of Indo-European civilizations, the aristocracy used to create game preserves in forests with the effect of conserving wide pristine areas which solely a very restricted number of individuals could make use of. This was also the case for Italy where many areas which are still protected today, were originally game preserves. The preservation of wilderness is also linked to religious activities, for example the holy woods of Mediterranean cultures. During the Middle Ages, almost all of the forests surrounding monasteries were turned into preserves and the population was forbidden to harvest these areas. In Italy, the Apennine forest of Abetone and the “Foreste Casentinesi” National Park have been preserved to the present day thanks to the presence of eremitical places (Massa, 1999). However, the origins of the concept of ‘holy forests’ can be traced back to the Etruscan and Greek civilizations, when natural areas 3 surrounding towns were consecrated to divinities and any human activity was forbidden. The modern idea of protected areas, which underpinned the Yellowstone Park institution, was based on the recognition of the value of wilderness amenity and of the recreational services it produces. The American “Protection Ethics” sprung from the ideas of three naturalists: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and John Muir. In their interpretation, for the first time wilderness was as important as religion. Nature could not be exploited for purely economic reasons. Moreover, the beauty of Nature had to be safeguarded in that its contemplation was recognized as a basic need for human beings; this ‘use value’, mainly centered on human needs, was at the foundation of this early protection ethic. At the beginning of the twentieth century, a new idea took shape: that of Gifford Pinchot. He based his thought on the philosophical outlook of John Stuart Mill and believed that preserving nature has first of all an economic rationale behind it. It was only around the 1950s that along with these different interpretations of nature’s conservation, essentially based on an anthropocentric perspective, a new thought emerged: that of Aldo Leopold. It was based on the recognition of the intrinsic value of the existence of nature and it constituted, in subsequent years, the foundation of modern evolutionary ecology. During the twentieth century, particularly in Europe, the erosion of territory, hence of ecosystems, due to human activities was dramatically increasing. This led to a growing concern for wilderness conservation issues, tracing back from the first meetings in Paris (1902) and London (1937), up to the 1987 report “Our Common Future”, prepared as a discussion basis for the Earth Summit held in Rio de Janeiro in 4 1992. During these subsequent meetings, the concept of a preserved natural area, the ‘natural park’, has undergone several successive transformations, until a new interpretation emerged. Natural parks should be government- managed territories, where development and preservation forces are kept in balance. Management should not only be concerned with environmental issues, but more broadly with the socio-economic features of the territory. Indeed, in a dynamic perspective, it might turn out more appropriate for conservation purposes, to open a protected area to some human activities, rather than to close it completely, preventing any development, even under a pure non-anthropocentric ethic of conservation. Indeed, it is now widely recognized that untouchable territories are bound to slowly disappear, because of land scarcity, and this is particularly true for highly populated areas as Europe. Therefore, in a long-term perspective, the involvement and sustainable development of human activities within protected areas may prove to be a win-win strategy. Within this enlarged vision, natural areas’ management entails the dynamic assessment of environmental quality indicators as well as the sustainability level of management activities, thus increasing the need for comprehensive indicators. Qualitative and quantitative indicators may support the decision- maker in comparing different realities, in evaluating the environmental and economic performance of its management’s policies, and in trying to forecast the effectiveness of potential changes in management strategies. There is a long tradition of benchmarking methodologies, however most of them are commonly restrained to cover an internal perspective and do not investigate how the analysed protected area is performing when compared to others. 5 The main objective of the present paper is the external benchmarking of protected areas. To this aim, it is necessary to introduce a common benchmarking methodology, capable of taking into account specific features of different realities. Data Envelopment Analysis (DEA) is an extremely flexible and useful methodology, which provides an indicator of the relative efficiency for each different analysed decision- making unit (in our case National Park Management offices), where efficiency is a measure of different features related to the environmental as well as to the economic or social impacts of the protected area. In this paper we present and discuss the application of DEA to the case of Italian National Parks. In order to create a common set of indicators, a preliminary questionnaire was administered to investigate the opinion of parks’ managers and other stakeholders at a qualitative level. A follow-up questionnaire was subsequently carried out in order to collect intertemporal quantitative data for all the indicators that were considered more relevant by managers and stakeholders. DEA analysis was carried out on the data set. The paper is organized as follows. Section 1 provides a brief literature review. In Section 2 a brief description of the DEA methodology is given, while in Section 3 the data set and the data collection methodology are discussed, together with the types of DEA analysis performed. Section 4 is a description of the main results and Section 5 concludes with a summary of the main findings along with the final remarks and future extensions. 6 1 DEA and the environment DEA is a multivariate technique for monitoring productivity and providing insights on the possible directions of improvement of the status quo, when inefficient. It is a non- parametric technique, i.e. it can compare input/output data, making no prior assumptions about the probability distribution under study. The origin of non- parametric programming methodology, with respect to the relative efficiency measurement, lies in the work of Charnes et al. (1978, 1979, 1981). DEA has been applied to several benchmarking studies and to the performance analysis of public institutions, such as schools (Charnes et al., 1981), hospitals (Nyman and Bricker, 1989), but also of private ones, such as banks (Charnes et al., 1990). An exhaustive analysis of its underlying theory and main applications can be found in Charnes et al. (1993), while a comprehensive literature review in Tavaresa (2002). Applications to environmental and resource management problems are less frequent. An interesting overview of the role of DEA in environmental valuation can be found in Kortelainen and Kuosmanen (2004), while a survey of indicators of firm’s environmental behavior can be found in Tyteca (1996). We briefly report some application studies in the following. Application Author Measure ecological efficiency Dyckhoff and Allen, (2001) Measure environmental impacts of different production technology De Koeijer, et al. (2002) Measure different systems of waste management Sarkis and Weinrach (2001) Measure efficiency of environmental regulation schemes Hernandez-Sancho et al. (2000) 7 2 Methodology Although DEA is based on the concept of efficiency that approaches the idea of a classical production function, the latter is typically determined by a specific equation, while DEA is generated from the data set of observed operative units (Decision Making Units or DMUs). The DEA efficiency score of any DMU is derived from the comparison with the other DMUs that are included in the analysis, considering the maximum score of unity (or 100%) as a benchmark. The score is independent of the units in which outputs and inputs are measured, and this allows for a greater flexibility in the choice of inputs and outputs to be included in the study. An important assumption of the DEA is that all DMUs face the same unspecified technology and operational characteristics, which defines the set of their production possibilities. The idea of measuring the efficiency of DMUs with multiple inputs and outputs is specified as a linear fractional programming model. A commonly accepted measure of efficiency is given by the ratio of the weighted sum of outputs over the weighted sum of inputs. It is however necessary to assess a common set of weights and this may give rise to some problems. With DEA methodology each DMU can freely assess its own set of weights, that can be inferred through the process of maximizing the efficiency. Given a set of N DMUs, each producing J outputs from a set of I inputs, let us denote by yjn and xin the vectors representing the quantities of outputs and inputs relative to the m-th DMU, respectively. The efficiency of the m-th DMU can thus be calculated as: 8 ⎥ ⎦ ⎤ ⎢ ⎣ ⎡ = = = ∑ ∑ = = Ii Jj xv yu e I i imi J j jmj m ,..,1 ,..,1 , 1 1 (1) where uj and vi are two vectors of weight that DMU m uses in order to measure the relative importance of the consumed and the produced factors. As mentioned, the set of weights, in DEA, is not given, but is calculated through the DMU’s maximization problem, that is stated below for the m-th DMU. 10 10 ,.,,.,1 1 .. max 1 1 ≤≤ ≤≤ =∀≤ ∑ ∑ = = i j I i ini J j jnj m v u Nmn xv yu ts e (2) To simplify computations it is possible to scale the input prices so that the cost of the DMU m’s inputs equals 1, thus transforming problem set in (2) in the ordinary linear programming problem stated below: + == = = ℜ∈≤≤≤≤ =∀≤− = = ∑∑ ∑ ∑ εεε ,1 ,1 ,.,,.,1 0 1 .. max 11 1 1 ij I i ini J j jnj I i imi J j jmjm vu Nmnxvyu xv ts yuh (3) 9 In addition to the linearization constraint, weights have to be strictly positive in order to avoid the possibility that some inputs or outputs may be ignored in the process of determination of the efficiency of each DMU. If the solution to the maximization problem gives a value of efficiency equal to 1, the corresponding DMU is considered to be efficient or non-dominated, if the efficiency value is inferior to 1 then the corresponding DMU is dominated, therefore does not lie on the efficiency frontier, which is defined by the efficient DMUs. As for every linear programming problem, there is a dual formulation of the primal formulation of the maximization problem outlined in (3), which has an identical solution. While the primal problem can be interpreted as an output- oriented formulation (for a given level of input, DMUs maximizing output are preferred), the dual problem can be interpreted as an input- oriented formulation (for a given level of output, DMUs minimizing inputs are preferred). Scale effects can be accounted for modifying the model as presented in (3), in order to account for variable returns to scale (we adopt the solution suggested in Banker et al., 1984). Finally, the dynamic analysis was performed using the window approach, first put forward by Charnes and others (Charnes et al., 1978), in order to produce not only a static picture of efficiency, but also the evolution of efficiency of each municipality. The DEA is performed over time using a similar moving average procedure, where parks’ performances in one year are compared with their performances in another year. 10 3 Data Collection and Analysis To define environmental efficiency is a very challenging task; several different definitions of ecological efficiency exist in the literature. In the case of protected areas, the problem becomes even more complicated, because management and financial features have to be considered as well. As mentioned above, in a DEA study, the most crucial phase is indeed the choice of the representative benefit and cost indicators, which will be extremely influential in defining each DMU level of efficiency. For this reason, the direct involvement of stakeholders is appropriate, if not fundamental. The managers of all the National Parks1 in Italy were therefore interviewed through mail questionnaires in order to understand what they perceived as the most relevant indicators. In particular, for each proposed indicator, the respondent could choose among different qualitative definitions (very relevant, VR, relevant, R, not very relevant, NVR, and not relevant, NR). On the basis of the survey’s results, which are summarized in Table 1, a second survey was designed in order to obtain quantitative definitions of each of the indicators (the final set of indicators used in the DEA analysis is reported in Table 2 divided in three models, see section 4). On the output side, first the number of visitors to the park was considered as an indicator of its attractiveness, providing potential indirect benefit to the local economy. Second, the number of the parks’ employees, as an indicator of the social and economic indirect and direct benefits. Third, the number of economic businesses which are directly linked empowered or created thanks to the presence of the park (e.g. parks 1 There are 21 National Parks in Italy. The analysis was performed on the 17 parks which were able to produce the required data, which are: Abruzzo, Lazio and Molise; Arcipelago la Maddalena; Arcipelago Toscano; Asinara; Aspromonte; Cilento and Vallo di Diano; Circeo; Monti Sibillini; Gargano; Dolomiti Bellunesi; Foreste Casentinesi; Gran Paradiso; Gran Sasso and Monti della Laga; Majella; Val Grande; Vesuvio. 11 certifying farmers producing within the protected area). Fourth, the number of protected species, which is a good proxy of the environmental quality and biodiversity of the park (in some models the inverse of this biodiversity indicator was included as an input). Finally, the number of students who visit the park for environmental education trips, as a proxy of the social and educational benefits deriving from the park. On the input side, economic costs, computed aggregating management costs and variable costs and extraordinary expenses were considered. Moreover, the area extension was also considered as a proxy of fixed costs, which are assumed to be proportional to the area covered by the park. 4 Results Three different models have been used to perform DEA analysis. The choice of using more than one model specification derives from the consideration that the DEA technique is extremely sensitive to the choice of indicators. Hence, coherent responses obtained by different models prove to be more reliable and robust, diminishing the degree of subjectivity of the efficiency scores produced. Moreover, each different model mimics the three main existing management strategies, namely a ‘pure socio-economic development oriented’ (Model 1), a ‘pure conservation oriented’ (Model 2) and an ‘in between’ strategy (Model 3). In Table 3, results for Model 1, 2 and 3 (for the maximization of outputs approach, MAXOUTPUT) are shown, respectively. Parks scoring a 100% efficiency in Model 1 (as for example the National Park Foreste Casentinesi) are successfully promoting the development of the area. DMUs efficient according to Model 2 prove to have a high 12 natural performance, in terms of biodiversity conservation, attractiveness and capacity of diffusing awareness among new generations (as for example the National Park Gran Sasso and Monti della Laga). When a DMU is scoring maximum efficiency according to all three models, then one can argue the management has attained the sustainable development goal in a very broad sense. In the case of DMUs which are partially inefficient (as for example the National Park Gran Paradiso) it is possible to use the DEA analysis to obtain information concerning potential improvements of the management2 (see Figure 1). Finally, the total potential improvements, described in Figure 2, are defined by aggregating over all inefficient DMUs, in order to provide guidelines to properly allocate government incentives. Conclusions In recent years, a substantial re-interpretation of wilderness management objectives has occurred. According to this conceptual ‘revolution’, management strategies should aim at harmonizing human and nature’s interests, in the attempt of finding a balance between development and preservation, rather than a “put under a glass bell” approach. Nowadays a protected area has a new function: it is also a place where the concept of sustainable development can be put into practice and where traditional economic activities can be consistent with preservation needs. This is the interpretation of nature protection, and specifically of Natural Parks, underpinning the design of environmental protection strategies. 2 Parco Nazionale del Gargano, Parco del Vesuvio, Parco delle Foreste Casentinesi and Parco del Gran Sasso e dei Monti della Laga compose the peer group for the Parco Nazionale delle Dolomiti, used to define the virtual efficient DMU, thus providing information on potential improvements, P. 13 Accordingly, it becomes increasingly important to monitor multi-objectives efficiency, a task which can be successfully accomplished by adopting benchmarking techniques (as for example DEA). These techniques provide information about efficiency, interpreted as a multi dimensional object, but also enable a detailed analysis of potential improvements. The present study represents the first attempt to apply this methodology to this complex and experimental area. In particular, the methodology has been applied to the case of Italian National Parks; the resulting rankings and information to improve the management status have been provided as a feedback to their questionnaires to Parks’ managers and to the Italian authority. The next step on the research agenda is the enlargement of the data set to include a broader variety of parks (for example national parks of other countries in Europe) in order to produce a more reliable and useful efficiency classification. 14 References Banker, R.D., Charnes, A., Cooper, W. W. 1984. Some models for estimating technical and scale inefficiencies in data envelopment analysis. Management Science. 30 (9), 1078-1092. 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Rutcor Researc Report, 01-02, JANUARY, 2002 16 Tables and Figures OUTPUT VR-R NVR-NR a Number of annual visitors 100% 0% b Number of historical buildings 100% 0% c Number of protected species 89% 11% d Number of students which visit the park for environmental education trips 88% 12% e Number of equipped areas 56% 44% f Area extension 56% 44% g Number of parks employees 56% 44% h Number of environmental illegal acts 55% 45% i Restored environmental area extension 45% 55% l Presence of a certification system with park labels 44% 56% m Gadget sale 22% 78% n Number of economic business directly linked, empowered or created thanks to the presence of the park 22% 78% INPUT VR-R NVR-NR a Management costs 100% 0% b Variable costs 89% 11% c Area extension 56% 44% Table 1 - Results to questionnaire. The column VR-R presents the sum of the answers VR and R. The column NVR-NR presents the sum of the answers NVR and NR. (author) 17 Output Input Model 1 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Model 2 Visitors protected species environmental education trips Total costs Area extension Model 3 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Table 2 - Definition of input-output for the three models. Grey indicates input assumed as uncontrollable. (author) 18 MODEL 1 MODEL 2 MODEL 3 DMU Efficiency Efficiency Efficiency Abruzzo, Lazio e Molise 100 100 100 Arcipelago la Maddalena 6,54 45,2 22,94 Arcipelago Toscano 54,82 100 100 Asinara 100 100 100 Aspromonte 7,3 51,77 21,81 Cilento Vallo di Diano 16,56 30,14 35,33 Circeo 93,27 100 100 Dolomiti Bellunesi 23,56 62,28 33,07 Foreste Casentinesi 100 68,07 100 Gargano 68,23 100 100 Gran Paradiso 58,62 48,16 65,62 Gran Sasso e Monti della Laga 34,02 42,94 100 Majella 100 100 100 Monti Sibillini 100 92,45 100 Val Grande 9,43 100 53,32 Vesuvio 100 100 100 Table 3 - Efficiency results for the three models. (author) 19 52 52 67 -31 -86 0 -42 -100 -80 -60 -40 -20 0 20 40 60 80 Visitors Parks employees Economic business created thanks to the park Ind. of biodiversity Management costs Variable costs Area extension Figure 1 - Suggested potential improvements to obtain full efficiency. 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The Case of Italian National Parks (lxv) This paper was presented at the EuroConference on “Auctions and Market Design: Theory, Evidence and Applications” organised by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei and sponsored by the EU, Milan, September 25-27, 2003 (lxvi) This paper has been presented at the 4th BioEcon Workshop on “Economic Analysis of Policies for Biodiversity Conservation” organised on behalf of the BIOECON Network by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, Venice International University (VIU) and University College London (UCL) , Venice, August 28-29, 2003 (lxvii) This paper has been presented at the international conference on “Tourism and Sustainable Economic Development – Macro and Micro Economic Issues” jointly organised by CRENoS (Università di Cagliari e Sassari, Italy) and Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, and supported by the World Bank, Sardinia, September 19-20, 2003 (lxviii) This paper was presented at the ENGIME Workshop on “Governance and Policies in Multicultural Cities”, Rome, June 5-6, 2003 (lxix) This paper was presented at the Fourth EEP Plenary Workshop and EEP Conference “The Future of Climate Policy”, Cagliari, Italy, 27-28 March 2003 (lxx) This paper was presented at the 9th Coalition Theory Workshop on "Collective Decisions and Institutional Design" organised by the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona and held in Barcelona, Spain, January 30-31, 2004 (lxxi) This paper was presented at the EuroConference on “Auctions and Market Design: Theory, Evidence and Applications”, organised by Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei and Consip and sponsored by the EU, Rome, September 23-25, 2004 (lxxii) This paper was presented at the 10th Coalition Theory Network Workshop held in Paris, France on 28-29 January 2005 and organised by EUREQua. (lxxiii) This paper was presented at the 2nd Workshop on "Inclusive Wealth and Accounting Prices" held in Trieste, Italy on 13-15 April 2005 and organised by the Ecological and Environmental Economics - EEE Programme, a joint three-year programme of ICTP - The Abdus Salam International Centre for Theoretical Physics, FEEM - Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, and The Beijer International Institute of Ecological Economics. 2004 SERIES CCMP Climate Change Modelling and Policy (Editor: Marzio Galeotti ) GG Global Governance (Editor: Carlo Carraro) SIEV Sustainability Indicators and Environmental Valuation (Editor: Anna Alberini) NRM Natural Resources Management (Editor: Carlo Giupponi) KTHC Knowledge, Technology, Human Capital (Editor: Gianmarco Ottaviano) IEM International Energy Markets (Editor: Anil Markandya) CSRM Corporate Social Responsibility and Sustainable Management (Editor: Sabina Ratti) PRA Privatisation, Regulation, Antitrust (Editor: Bernardo Bortolotti) ETA Economic Theory and Applications (Editor: Carlo Carraro) CTN Coalition Theory Network 2005 SERIES CCMP Climate Change Modelling and Policy (Editor: Marzio Galeotti ) SIEV Sustainability Indicators and Environmental Valuation (Editor: Anna Alberini) NRM Natural Resources Management (Editor: Carlo Giupponi) KTHC Knowledge, Technology, Human Capital (Editor: Gianmarco Ottaviano) IEM International Energy Markets (Editor: Anil Markandya) CSRM Corporate Social Responsibility and Sustainable Management (Editor: Sabina Ratti) PRCG Privatisation Regulation Corporate Governance (Editor: Bernardo Bortolotti) ETA Economic Theory and Applications (Editor: Carlo Carraro) CTN Coalition Theory Network 
work_mks5ojb5bjbcnowtmmnkezi2ey	----	Aesthetic Investigations Sensus and Dissensus Communis. The Comedy of Democracy (Following Cavell). Author Josef Früchtl Affiliation University of Amsterdam Abstract: The thesis of the article is that, following Stanley Cavell, within the framework of Western culture, the cinematic comedy again and again can be seen as an aesthetic form where passions for democracy take their way. Cavell defines, first, philosophy as a matter of the ‘human voice’ which is, in reference to Kant’s third Critique, a ‘universal voice’. An aesthetic judgement insofar is a model of philosophical judgement. But beyond this, secondly, it is also a model of demo- cratic judgement. For Kant, arguing about aesthetic matters means facilitating the communitarisation of confrontation. ‘Common sense’ (sensus communis) is the po- litical term Kant offers for this. Since this term, thirdly, has recently again been appropriated by populist semantics, it is important to stress a radically democratic meaning, with Cavell: a romantic conception of democracy, and to this conception, fourth, the art form of comedy corresponds. Comedy and democracy both centre around ‘the common, the familiar, the low’, and in laughter give this human-social sphere both an anarchic-democratic level of meaning and a certain, humorous self- reflection. The movie Adam’s Rib finally works as an example for this. To say that philosophy is fundamentally dismissive of the ordinary is surely a cliché. Even Socrates, that ancient founder of Western philosophy, fa- mously involved ordinary people in conversations about everyday topics in order to draw additional theoretical conclusions, especially with regard to practical ethics. The most conspicuous examples of this in the Modern Age are David Hume, Friedrich Nietzsche and John Dewey. However, no philo- sophical tradition has taken the ordinary so seriously and spelled out its © Aesthetic Investigations Vol 4, No 1 (2020), 96-111 Josef Früchtl significance in so many different variations as that in which Stanley Cavell emphatically includes himself: namely the tradition of the later Wittgenstein, as well as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, somewhat con- fusingly known as ‘American transcendentalism’. The innovation of ordinary language philosophy presented by Wittgenstein consists in its precise analysis of linguistic expressions using colloquial means in order to cure philosophy of its old metaphysical and new scientific, that is logical-positivistic fixations. This theoretical-therapeutic strategy is easy to link to the declared goal of US-American transcendentalism, famously summarised by Emerson as fol- lows: ‘I embrace the common, I explore and sit at the feet of the familiar, the low.’1 Cavell also sits joyfully at the feet of the familiar, indeed he sometimes celebrates an embracing of the common, the simple, the ordinary in words no less emphatic than those Emerson chose in the romantic spirit of the early 19th century. To this extent he delivers a perfect US-American variant of Romanticism. Which culture, if not the US-American culture, should be bet- ter destined to declare the ordinary extraordinary, and vice versa, with all its concomitant ambivalences? In this cultural context, Cavell has no hesitation in including cinema, which he vehemently propounds without any European arrogance to be the appropriate art form for the masses in the 20th century. He undoubtedly deserves to be the honorary representative of ordinary film philosophy. Cavell also lends this context a political-philosophical and espe- cially democracy-theoretical accent, albeit allusively and indirectly. Readers of Cavell’s works need to work out for themselves that for him film, espe- cially comedy, represents a vision of militant democracy. The link between film, comedy, democratic forms of life and romantic becoming ordinary of the non-ordinary accordingly first has to be clarified through discourse. This is what I should like to attempt in the following. My thesis, thus, is that within the framework of Western culture, the cinematic comedy – that romantic fu- sion of the ordinary and the extraordinary, renewed in popular culture – again and again can be seen as an aesthetic form where passions for democracy take their way. I. CAVELL’S VOICES Drawing upon his honoured teacher John Austin, and with a deliberate, crit- ical stance towards the philosophy of Jacques Derrida, Cavell defines the essence of his philosophy as ‘a matter of reinserting or replacing the human voice in philosophical thinking.’2 That is a surprising and therefore for Cavell a typical statement. The voice is not, namely, a fundamental philosophical concept. In the relevant lexica it is rarely listed as an official term. And yet, if we remember Derrida’s now somewhat faded theory, it is key to philosophy that it views itself as being subject to massive criticism of so-called logocen- trism. Cavell is reticent with regard to this major theory. He agrees, on the one hand, that performative expressions can ‘be seen as an attack on what 97 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. deconstruction attacks under the name logocentrism’, but on the other hand he regards deconstructivism as a ‘flight from the ordinary’.3 Cavell raises in philosophy, however, not only the human voice of everyday language, but also that of the self. Accordingly, the text genres of philosophy include not only ordinary language philosophy, but also autobiography. Here Cavell can appeal to some famous references, and he has presented some of his own deliberations under the title A Pitch of Philosophy. Autobiographical Exercises.4 The term ‘voice’ refers not only to the spoken language of the everyday world and individual language use, but also, thirdly, to the field of politics, at least in German. In German, the word for ‘vote’ is identical to that for voice (Stimme) and here functions as a democratic-political metaphor found in words such as Stimmrecht (voting rights), Stimmzettel (ballot slip), Ab- stimmung (ballot), etc. and meaning the individual ‘right to speak’ or to voice one’s opinion.5 In this context Cavell also allows himself to be led by the romantic emphasis on individualism.6 The democratic-political seman- tics of the voice (Stimme) have an accent for Cavell which is individualistic in a radicalised and even intermittently anarchistic way, placing it within the American romantic tradition of civil disobedience. Finally, in addition to its colloquial, individualistic and political mean- ings, the concept of the voice also has a universal connotation for Cavell. When Cavell characterises philosophy as the claim ‘to speak for the human’, he moves within the classical tradition of philosophical understanding. His variation begins when he describes this claim to universality as a ‘univer- salising use of the voice’ and additionally recognises the ‘arrogance’ which can be found within this claim, namely ‘the arrogant assumption of the right to speak for others’.7 In its inevitability, this arrogance is immanent in the philosophical use of the substantivistic pronoun ‘I’, which means that it is legitimate despite the seemingly illegitimate gesture. One justification for this can be found in the concept of the exemplary. That which expresses itself in the first person of the autobiography is ‘representative’; ‘each life (is) exemplary of all’; herein also lies a ‘commonness’ of humanity.8 Cavell bases his deliberations, albeit seldom explicitly, on Kant’s Critique of Judgement.9 Here he finds not only the significance of the exemplary, but also preformulated the metaphor that guides it. According to Kant, if we call an object beautiful ‘we believe ourselves to be speaking with a universal voice’ and that means, again according to Kant, that with an aesthetic judgement one ‘lays claim’ to the ‘agreement of everyone’.10 It is this paradoxical struc- ture of a ‘subjective universality’ which Cavell transfers to the philosophical form of substantiation. What is only true of aesthetic judgements in tran- scendental philosophy, is also true of philosophical judgements in the sense of Cavell’s ordinary language philosophy. For a philosopher who says that ‘we’ use terms such as beautiful, game or meaning in a certain way, is also saying that all people who understand these terms (correctly) are compelled to use 98 Josef Früchtl them in the same way. And for this kind of compulsion he has no evidence other than that exemplary evidence underlined by Kant to provide validity for his taste judgement. To this extent, an aesthetic judgement is a model of philosophical judge- ment. Beyond this it is also a model of democratic judgement, and I would now like to briefly provide evidence for this in a second step. II. THE KANTIAN QUESTION OF WHY WE HAVE TO QUARREL ABOUT MATTERS OF AESTHETICS The desire to interpret Kant’s theory of aesthetic judgement politically, or rather with a political accentuation, is as old as the theory itself. Three well-known such proposals for interpretation have become established. In the historical context of the French Revolution, Friedrich Schiller is the first to use the contrasting capacities of cognition (imagination and reason) in a daring political analogy to also see therein the contrasting social classes. Hannah Arendt, on the other hand, emphasises the enabling powers of aes- thetic judgement to put oneself in the place of others; she accentuates the aesthetic capability of the imaginary, indeed the ideal of role playing; here aesthetic judgement is a form of empathy, the understanding of an intellec- tual sentiment. Finally, Jacques Rancière follows on from Schiller in terms of sociopolitical radicalisation when he describes the contrast between the two cognitive capacities or classes as that between exclusion and inclusion, between those who determine what is politically viable and those who are excluded from this process.11 I would like to add a fourth proposal to this list of interpretations. For politics as a model, especially democratic politics, the aesthetic is well suited because it commendably evens out the tension between communality and dis- cord, trains the as-if perspective and ultimately facilitates a (presentative, compensative and transformative) communication of sentiments. In the fol- lowing, I shall refrain from speaking about the last two for reasons of time and space. I should merely like to concentrate for a while on the first point named, that is the relationship between communality and discord. My theory here is: arguing about aesthetic matters means facilitating the communitarisation of confrontation. As we know, Kant analyses the argumentative logic behind the aesthetic judgement as a specific relationship between the faculties of the imagination (as a form of sensation) and understanding (Verstand) or reason (Vernunft) in general. One has to emphasise that these faculties are strictly oppositional. The one does precisely what the other does not want. As Kant puts it in §50 of his Critique of Judgement: Imagination stands for ‘lawless freedom’, but reason ‘is the power of judgement’. The one, taken alone, ‘produces nothing but nonsense’, the other is the faculty ‘consonant with understanding’.12 It seems that the contradiction can only be solved in one direction or the other: 99 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. either imagination in its unbridled freedom produces forms which overtax the power of judgement, or reason limits the imagination. In the case of an aes- thetic object (of nature, art, the everyday), however, what happens is neither a subordination nor a mere (static) contradiction, but a (dynamic) recipro- cal stimulation and potentiation of these oppositional elements. This is what Kant meant by ‘play’.13 And since this play takes place between our ‘cogni- tive powers’, i.e. between elements of experience which are fundamental to human recognition, it is possible to speak of the aesthetic as if it were a cog- nitively substantiated fact. In this way Kant can also impart the conciliatory suggestion that one may not be able to ‘dispute’, to decide objectively about taste, but that one can ‘quarrel’ about it, and for him that means: one can attempt to battle out a consensus.14 In an aesthetic judgement we maintain something which we cannot prove, but in a manner as if we were able to prove it. For that which we maintain entails a legitimately felt claim to generalis- able validity, a claim which is based on a feeling which is not merely private, in other words subjectively valid, but also generally valid because it grows from the interplay, the endless and passionate interaction of different, even opposing elements of knowing and experiencing which in addition manifests a reference to the dimensions of discourse called (explicit) knowledge, morality and politics.15 Expressed in somewhat old-fashioned political language, we cultivate in aesthetic experiences ‘a certain liberality in our way of thinking’. Kant understands this as ‘independence of the liking from mere enjoyment of sense’.16 But it is obvious that here he is also pointing out the significance of freedom from prejudice, preference and freedom of mind in a further sense. Aesthetic liberality is a successful balance between accord and discord. It is the passionate and endless attempt to battle out a consensus, in other words the fight among wilful or querulant individuals for community. III. DEMOCRATIC COMMON SENSE The general voice by which Cavell allows himself to be led is what Kant promi- nently calls common sense (Gemeinsinn), only to immediately distinguish it from the ordinary, political-ethical sense, that so-called healthy common sense (sens commun, gesunder Menschenverstand) of the Enlightenment. It is one of the peculiarities of the history of philosophical terms that the ‘history of decay’ of common sense as a term begins when its conceptual clarification reaches its climax through – nota bene – restriction to the aesthetic field pur- sued by Kant.17 This is not true for the history of the term in its political meaning, however. Whereas we can ascertain that the 18th century stands out as the heyday of the term common sense, the 20th century after the Sec- ond World War sees its revival in the services of representative democracy.18 The various stages of this history are quickly told. Following on from the epistemological meaning proposed by Aristotle un- der the term koine aisthesis, an authority intended to coordinate the impres- 100 Josef Früchtl sions of the five human senses, during Roman Stoicism the term acquires a politico-social and cultural meaning. Here, for the first time, it means those values and convictions which are usually shared unspoken within a commu- nity. At the beginning of the 18th century, following the Glorious Revolution, a definition is then brought into circulation in England and France. Shaftes- bury (1709), Giambattista Vico (1725) and Thomas Reid (1764) are the lead- ing theorists here. In his famous essay from 1776, Thomas Paine puts common sense into the US American context for the first time. Common sense is to provide an answer to the question which will continue to occupy theorists of modern society, namely ‘how to hold a heterogeneous society together with a minimum of force’.19 The French Revolution refutes the relevance of the term, the key concepts now being reason, freedom, truth and nation. Robe- spierre and his revolutionary allies are all too painfully aware of the fact that the people, in whose name they are conducting the Revolution, are hindered by ignorance (not to say stupidity) and superstition. Napoleon then finally succeeds in linking the revolutionary impulse with the counter-revolutionary impulse in order to mobilise the so-called people and successfully perpetrate a policy of disempowering those same people. The French Revolution, as we are aware today, for the first time stirs up that populist criticism of democ- racy which is later to have a mass impact in the totalitarian states of the 20th century.20 Populism is a buzzword which also in our times agitates the political spirits. In the political sciences, discussion of the semantics of this word has only just begun, and yet the link to an anti-elitist and anti-democratic element already seems at least plausible: in socio-critical terms, populism campaigns against ‘the Establishment’, those ‘elites’ of politicians, media representatives, intellectuals and managers who pull the wool over the eyes of the good hard- working taxpaying people; populism is anti-democratic to the extent that it unhinges pluralism, on which not only representative democracy is counting, following on from the fact that the people is in a constant battle with itself as a result of the division of powers, that it is not ‘one’ with itself.21 In the context of common sense, we should be aware that this term is not protected from appropriation by populist semantics. And not least because it, like our own theory of communitarianism, emerged from a tension with the idea of the liberal constitutional state and the principles of reason and autonomy; common sense represents the other, more collective side of the democratic coin. But that means that it, like the populism monopolising it politically, is both one of the columns of democracy and one of its permanent threats. The marriage between democracy and populism in the concept of common sense is inevitably a ‘slippery subject’.22 101 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. IV. COMEDY AND DEMOCRACY When I underline the relationship between common sense, quarrel and democ- racy, I indicate that I tend towards a conception of democracy which in more recent discussion has become known as an ‘agonal’ or – with less drama – ‘communicative-associative’ democracy.23 Within this framework democracy is concerned with the conflict between groupings who wish to assert their own convictions of a collectively correct life. Confrontational distinctions between ‘us’ and ‘them’ are here constitutive, but they do not harden to become a confrontation similar to that of civil war. Carl Schmitt’s notorious antago- nism is here mitigated or transformed to become agonism. The basic political distinction between ‘friend’ and ‘foe’ is relaxed as the Other enters the ring as a mere ‘opponent’. The political and moral basic principle of respect for the other holds true here, also and especially because the other advocates principles and convictions which are incompatible with one’s own. Schmitt’s political philosophy, as is well known, stems from his vehement criticism of Romanticism, which he comprehends, as is usual since Hegel and Goethe, as the hubris of the world-creating subject, that is, as a flight from the reality of the normal world.24 Cavell turns this criticism on its head. More precisely, he offers a secularly dialectic and humanistic interpretation according to which Romanticism is both a wish for the extraordinary and for the ordinary, climaxing in seeing the ordinary as something extraordinary. It is not a case of seeing the extraordinary as something ordinary, and thus removing what makes it special, but on the contrary of seeing the ordinary as something extraordinary.25 If Romanticism therefore means a new under- standing of the subjective, a reinterpretation of the everyday world, as it is driven ever onwards by the individual powers of imagination in order thus to express one’s own subjectivity, then this expressivism has the political im- plication elevated by the United States to rank as Constitutional: namely, the right of every individual to realise his or her own idea of a good life: the pursuit of happiness.26 This is Cavell’s Romantic concept of democracy. It means not only liberalistic self-determination, but within this same frame- work also individual self-realisation. In the sense of Isaiah Berlin, democracy means not only ‘negative’, but also ‘positive’ freedom, not only the freedom of citizens from state coercion, but also realisation of one’s own goals. It is Romantic because it places a significantly expressivistic accent on positive freedom. Now the final question is whether there is an art form which most closely corresponds to this democracy. Cavell’s philosophical emphasis on the voice steers our answer towards three art forms: music (predominantly opera), the- atre and finally film, that technological or, more precisely, technical-dynamic synthesis of music and theatre (whereas opera constitutes the artificial syn- thesis). But Cavell does not nobilise film in his theory of democracy by examining it media-essentialistically or ontologically for certain production techniques (such as montage) or methods of reception (such as experiencing 102 Josef Früchtl something as shocking, or noting something with distraction) in the manner attempted by Walter Benjamin in the 1930s. Rather, he limits his interest in this regard to certain genres, namely melodrama and comedy. In sociopolit- ical terms, melodrama deals with the bitter drama of failing female emanci- pation in bourgeois civilisation, whereas comedy deals with the battle of the sexes.27 At this juncture it would normally be necessary to include a detailed discussion of whether, and if so how, comedy displays a stronger affinity to democracy than tragedy or its diminutive bourgeois form, the melodrama. Instead, I shall limit myself to some supporting comments. They all point to the argument which Cavell embraces, with Emerson, namely that comedy and democracy both (a) centre around ‘the common, the familiar, the low’ and in laughter give this human-social sphere both (b) an anarchic-democratic level of meaning and (c) a certain self-reflection. Let us have a closer look at this. In its essence, this argument was formed as far back as Aristotle. As he says in his Poetics, comedy brings people onto the stage who are in some re- spects ‘worse than the average’, ‘beneath’ the level of the spectators, in other words people who, on the one hand, are governed in their anthropological weaknesses by the conditio humana and, on the other hand, belong socially and politically to a lower, non-aristocratic class.28 The latter distinguishing criterion is to retain its validity until the late 18th century but is completely diffused in the 20th century. The Hollywood comedies of remarriage which Cavell dedicates himself to are also evidence of this as these comedies al- ways take place in the setting of an affluent, a kind of money-aristocratic class. The anthropological attribution correspondingly moves further into fo- cus. Where comedy is concerned with human, all-too-human weaknesses, or in more neutral terms, characteristics, it is really concerned with our attitude towards these characteristics, in other words with our culture and morality. And the task of comedy is to expose these characteristics – from cultural and social inadequacies to moral weaknesses – to laughter and ridicule. This can occur in different ways, however, sometimes in very different ways. Two reac- tions seem to be key: derogatory and (re)cognisant, superior and conciliatory, mocking and humorous laughter. But they are joined by two others: releas- ing laughter and laughter reacting to the irreconcilable; relieving laughter and laughter which expresses an incongruity. At least four types of ‘comical’ or ‘funny’ therefore need to be distinguished.29 The first is the most evident and theoretically the most common type, summarised as the superiority theory. Accordingly, when we laugh we ex- press superiority over the object of our laughter. The weaknesses which we laugh at are those of others. It is a laughter which at least has a tendency towards the aggressive, which politically is keenly functionalised by totalitar- ian states, but that does not mean it does not also fulfil a useful function in democracies. Here it depends on translating negative-aggressive (morally humiliating) laughter to positive-aggressive laughter, similar to how in the 103 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. course of civilisation and upbringing we learn to translate the psycho-physical eruptive energy of aggression into rational thought and use it to lend our ar- guments ‘bite’ and ‘sharpness’.30 Plato, Aristotle and Thomas Hobbes can be named as relevant superiority theorists, but also Henri Bergson, according to whom derision can be grasped as a warning by the community to those so- called awkward individuals who do not manage to adapt in the expected social way and who therefore stiffen ‘mechanically’ and make themselves ridiculous. The best cineastic examples of this are Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton, who demonstrate that laughing at others does not have to be utterly morally superior, socially humiliating or politically exclusive. Bergson himself speaks differentiatingly of a ‘momentary anaesthesia of the heart’.31 A (mere) mo- ment of permitted moral-social coldness and political animosity is accordingly a necessary element of laughing at comic and comedic figures. The superiority theory covers probably the largest area of what makes peo- ple laugh. But the incongruence theory is also important. Here, laughter is a physical reaction to semantic ambivalences and logical nonsense, the unex- pected, and involves a sudden dissolution of an expectation, a game of surprise with conventions. Kant, Søren Kierkegaard and Arthur Schopenhauer rep- resent this theory, but also Helmuth Plessner with his famous philosophical- anthropological distinction between ‘bodily experience’ (Leib sein, literally translated: ‘being a body’) and ‘experiencing one’s body’ (Körper haben, lit- erally translated: ‘having a body’), which he links to the anthropological phenomena of laughing and crying. Laughing, like crying, is a physical reac- tion in the face of a situation to which we cannot react with speech. Instead, we seek out a different level of meaning where ‘bodily experience’ plays a ma- jor role. For the art form of theatre (but also film) this physicality has two consequences, as stressed by Bernhard Greiner. Firstly, it is constitutive of theatre that it ‘always simultaneously presents the movement of messages, for which the body is the instrument of “expression”, and the movement of bod- ies, which are the actors’. Linguistic and performative meaning are equally relevant. Particularly for the genres of comedy and tragedy, however, the consequence is that they each place different emphases on these double lev- els of meaning: whereas tragedy strengthens the importance of ‘expression’, comedy refuses to make the same hierarchisation, instead emphasising not the words, but the physical-performative happenings on the stage.32 Comedy, we can then say, is democratic-horizontal and anarchic (not: anarchistic) in its semantic structure.33 It performatively undermines the meanings it itself has offered, takes back in the course of the events what it itself has previously presented. Thirdly, the compensation theory claims to be comprehensive, but remains completely within an abstract-mechanical economy of the physical and the emotions. This theory was first developed by Herbert Spencer in the 19th century, who explained laughter in its physical process as a liberating release of accumulated nervous energy, and became famous with Freud and his work 104 Josef Früchtl on Wit and its Relation to the Unconscious (1905). According to Freud, the desire for wit, comedy and humour is drawn from a source which has become increasingly obstructed since earliest childhood, an obstruction we can only escape momentarily through laughter. Accordingly, laughter permits momentary satisfaction of a (particularly sexual and aggressive) drive which moral and legal standards prohibit us from acting upon. The later Freud is to write a text suited to the fourth theory of laughter and the comic, the reconciliation or more precisely humour theory. His short essay Humour (1927) is no longer based on the mechanic-hydraulic explana- tory model, but on Freud’s so-called structural or three-agent model of the psyche, with its now famous distinction between id, ego and superego. The surprising line of argumentation which Freud takes in this context consists in allowing the superego, that abstract agent of valid norms, to be not puni- tive and hostile, but liberating, inspiring, loving and comforting. To quote a funny pun from Simon Critchley: ‘this superego is your amigo’.34 Whereas in superiority we laugh at others by seeing them as children and ourselves as adults, in humour we laugh at ourselves. The adult once again accepts themselves as a child, and for the human species that means accepting itself in its infancy. In humorous laughter we adopt an amicable attitude towards our human limitations or conditio humana. In the context of the discussion about a common sense demanded by democracy, Freud’s later theory acquires an additional meaning. When we laugh at ourselves, we laugh not only at ourselves as individuals and part of humanity, but also as part of a social group. Humour and brilliant wit, following Shaftesbury’s observation, are a form of the sensus communis. They reveal a deep layer of our shared cultural (moral, social, political) values. Thus ‘the Bavarians’ laugh at ‘the Prussians’ and vice versa, ‘the Germans’ laugh at ‘the East Frisians’ or maybe at ‘the French’ and vice versa, and thus they all laugh imagining themselves as part of a small, yet unconquerable community. For example, somewhere in Brittany they might laugh at ‘the Romans’ as a symbol of imperialism, etc. But this superior laughing of one community of shared values at another also involves an additional, albeit often subtle, opposing element. In laughing in this way, we assure ourselves of that which we have in common, not only by placing ourselves in opposition to another group – the first and most common type – but also by distancing ourselves from our own group, albeit only maybe momentarily – and this is the second type. This type avails itself of the incongruence method in particular, the second of the models introduced above. Every unexpected turn in a joke or comic situation is also a turn against the sensus communis. We can therefore say that laughter at jokes and comic situations also indicates a dissensus communis.35 Laughter reveals structures in one’s view of the world because it not only invites one to identify blindly with some, but also to distance oneself from others. The latter is a weaker option, to be sure, but it enables the line of argumentation which Kant set out in his Critique of Judgement to 105 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. be taken up once more: the more laughter at the comic distances itself from a concrete community, the more an ideal community shines through. The affinity of democracy for comedy and, more broadly, for the comic therefore – firstly – consists in focussing on what, in a socio-cultural and an- thropological sense, is ordinary: the calamities (embarrassments and unfor- tunate mishaps) of human beings, whether as members of a certain group or as members of the species. Comedy is happy to leave extraordinary heroism, sublime idealism, devastating suffering, all-pervading pathos, entanglement in compelling contradictions, death in the name of a higher cause, acknowl- edgement of a fateful and stronger power, to tragedy. Of course, tragic con- flicts are also undeniably constitutive of democracy, conflicts resulting from equally justified claims which are therefore irreconcilable. This is precisely what makes democracy agonal. But these are not conflicts which culminate in life or death, at least not in usual circumstances falling short of revolu- tion and civil war. The dramas of polemic democracy are different, milder. The affinity of democracy for comedy – secondly – consists in cultivating an anarchic-democratic semantics which not only refuses to accept a higher in- stance, but which ultimately refuses to accept an instance at all. The comic insofar is constitutively anti-dogmatic. And thirdly, the affinity of democracy consists in giving laughter, in incongruence and humour, a self-reflective and again anti-dogmatic twist. Human beings who can laugh at themselves are at home in a democracy. V. LAUGHING AT THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES Let us, finally, cast a look at one of the Hollywood comedies which attracted Cavell’s romantic-democratic attention.36 Adam’s Rib, directed by George Cukor and first released in 1949, is one of those films known in Hollywood as a sophisticated or romantic comedy. They are filled with dialogue and fast action, in general line with comedy, which is not the place for silent and inactive characters, however much these characters may seem comic or even be comedians; the films of Aki Kaurismäki are worth watching in this con- text. Slapstick comedies, especially silent films, headed by the unforgettable Buster Keaton, focus on a very unique type of action based on the body and facial expression, or more precisely on physical misfortune, an alien situa- tion and a corresponding commentary by facial expression, which for Keaton can be completely deadpan. Cavell’s comedies of remarriage, in contrast, are closer to the type of conversational plays written by George B. Shaw or Oscar Wilde, set in more elevated, that is wealthier and educated social circles, and indulging us with brilliant conversation. Adam’s Rib is tellingly translated into German as Ehekrieg (Marital Feud) because the film deals with the bat- tle of the sexes fought inside a marriage, a sociopolitical problem in which, as always when real change is involved, one side must fight hard for what the other has long had and refuses to share. 106 Josef Früchtl Adam and Amanda Bonner, played by Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hep- burn, a Hollywood dream team in the 1940s, are a happily married couple, as we learn at the beginning of the film. Discussions immediately become heated, however, whenever sexual equality rears its head as a bone of con- tention. This happens also when a woman is accused of attempting to murder her husband after she has caught him with another woman in flagranti. Des- perately and clumsily (she first has to study the instructions), she waves a revolver around and shoots, injuring her husband. As soon as she realises what she has done, she immediately and comically remembers her role as loving wife and attends to him in his plight. Amanda, a lawyer by profession, assumes the defence of the wife, while Adam, a public prosecutor, takes up the case for the prosecution. He loses the case because his wife and professional adversary builds up a skilful line of defence based on the unequal perception of the sexes. If it had not been a woman directing a weapon at her husband, but a man directing one at his wife found with another man, he would not be found guilty because a husband can appeal to the unwritten law whereby he always has the right to defend his own home against intruders. Amanda demands the same right for her client. In ancient comic tradition, Adam, representing the male sex, is shown up quite badly by his wife. She repeatedly proves herself as the verbally dextrous lawyer. Once she even oversteps the verbal boundary and exposes Adam to physical ridicule when she asks a witness, a former weightlifter, to demonstrate her skills in the court room. Much to his amazement, the woman lifts him up in the air, leaving him to gesticulate wildly and awkwardly like a little boy. In private the couple also cross the aggression boundary, not badly or coarsely, but no longer lovingly. During a massage which they are both obviously enjoying, she smacks him on his behind, then he does the same to her more forcefully, until anger is written all over her face – and she is about to have a fit of rage. The curve of aggression reaches its peak when Adam, after his failure in court, turns his successful wife’s legal argument around and uses it against her. Knowing that a friend of theirs and presumptuous admirer of Amanda is visiting her for the evening, he surprises them both with a drawn pistol. This is clearly a re-enactment of the scene with the wronged wife that we saw at the beginning of the film. But Adam is only pretending. The pistol is made of liquorice, and he enjoys biting into it once he has achieved his aim, namely that his shocked and frightened wife falls back on the position that was precisely his own in court: that nobody has the right to break the law by taking it into their own hands. After he has taught her this lesson, an actual quarrel breaks out between the three people in the room involving physical violence or at least physical involvement, a small physical explosion of emotions which the film does not actually show. The film restricts itself to the outcome: crumpled, furious, dishevelled figures. 107 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. Adam’s rib thus brings two marriages to the courtroom, that of the ac- cused and her unfaithful husband, and that of Adam and Amanda Bonner, the prosecutor and his lawyer wife. In an exemplary culmination, we can also say that it brings to the courtroom the very institution of marriage itself, or rather the bourgeois form of marriage practised in America after the Second World War; and that it does this in such an uproarious way that the pro- ceedings sometimes seem like a Punch and Judy show.37 Marriage becomes the object of pugnacious debate, and the cinema becomes an extended court of law in which the audience, men and women, married or not (yet), are ulti- mately called upon to pass judgement on themselves. Not in legal earnest, but laughing: sometimes superior and mocking, pointing a negative-aggressive or maybe a positive-aggressive finger at others, momentarily anaesthetising the morally beating heart, sometimes in recognition and reconciliation, increasing expectations and thwarting them, and always relieving and releasing. Of course, in the film the couple ultimately manages to avert the threat of divorce. Adam proudly tells his wife that the Republican party wishes to propose him to hold the position of a Judge. His joyful expression changes, however, sensing an impending blow, when Amanda with feigned innocence asks him whether the Democrats have also proposed a candidate – and of course she means a female candidate. The film thus has a happy ending – otherwise it would not be a comedy – yet one which already hints at the next conflict – otherwise it would not be a comedy for a combative democracy. j.fruchtl@uva.nl NOTES 1‘The American Scholar’, quoted in Cavell 1981, 14. 2Cavell 1990, 63. 3Cavell 1994, 79, and, respectively 167. 4Augustine’s Confessions, those of Rousseau (which he does not specify, how- ever) and, finally, three testimonies from the 19th century, namely Nietzsche’s Ecce homo, Thoreau’s Walden and Mill’s work The Subjection of Women. Mill wrote this work with his wife, whom he also acknowl- edges as having influenced his other books, far removed from any patriarchal attitude or vanity (cf. Cavell 1994, 16-17, 2, 39). 5Cavell 1994, 37, 69. 6Cf. Cavell 1994, 50; Emerson’s fa- mous quotation in this context is: ‘Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist’, quoted in: Laugier 2015, 1048. 7Cavell 1994, vii-viii. 8Cavell 1994, 11. 9‘Kant’s “universal voice” is, with per- haps a slight shift of accent, what we hear recorded in the philosopher’s claims about “what we say”’ (Cavell 1976, 94). 10Kant 1987, 59-60 (§8), cf. 56 (§7), 86 (§19). 11Cf. Rancière 2002. 12Kant 1987, 188 (§50). 13Cf. here also Henrich 1992, 51-52. 14Kant 1987, 210 (§56). 15Privacy of feeling means their claim to validity, not their constitutability. The idea that even the seemingly most pri- vate of emotions are socially constituted and thus not private can be convincingly substantiated with theories such as those by the late Wittgenstein, Gadamer and Davidson. An aesthetic statement which 108 mailto:j.fruchtl@uva.nl Josef Früchtl is private or subjectively valid is one such as: ‘Barnett Newman’s “Who’s Afraid of Red, Yellow and Blue?” – taking Version III in the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam – ‘is a bad painting because I really am afraid of red.’ 16Kant 1987, 128. 17Cf. Maydell and Wiehl 1974, 244. 18Rosenfeld 2011, 244. On the history of the term following in the text cf. in turn Rosenfeld 2011, 22 (on Stoicism), 24 (Shaftesbury 1709), 59 (Vico 1725), 71 (Reid 1764), 136 (Paine 1776). 19Rosenfeld 2011, 24. 20Cf. Rosenfeld 2011, 182, 193, 194, 220. 21Cf. Müller 2016, 26, 55. 22Rosenfeld 2011, 6, 256. 23On the agonal, that means the prin- cipally, but not existentially antagonis- tic concept of the political, cf. Mouffe 2000; Mouffe 2005; with greater proxim- ity to a deliberative concept of democracy: Honig 1993; Tully 1995; Connolly 1999; on the communicative-associative concept of democracy cf. Benhabib 1992, Calhoun 1992, 73-98; Bickford 1996. 24Cf. Bohrer 1989, 138ff. (Hegel) & 284ff. (Schmitt). 25‘One can think of romanticism as the discovery that the everyday is an excep- tional achievement. Call it the achieve- ment of the human’ Cavell 1979, 463. This interpretation is fitting for the famous def- inition by Novalis (from Aphorismen und Fragmente 1798-1800): ‘Insofar as I imbue the mundane with meaning, the ordinary with mystery, the familiar with the seemli- ness of the unfamiliar, and the finite with the semblance of the infinite, I romanti- cise it.’ - We should remember here that Thomas Mann also once made a connec- tion between Novalis and Walt Whitman, between German Romanticism and Amer- ican democracy; both sides needed each other (cf. Lepenies 2006, 56). 26Romanticism then means the right of each subject to determine the ‘circum- stances’ under which this subject would be content (Cavell 1979, 466); cf. Laugier 2015, 10-49. 27The most renowned directors here are Douglas Sirk and Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Beyond Cavell’s theorising, there also exist masculine melodramas, of course; East of Eden (1955, by Elia Kazan, with James Dean) is one of the most fa- mous, with Manchester By the Sea (2016, by Kenneth Lonergan, starring Casey Af- fleck) being a more recent example. 28Aristotle 1924, 1448a & 1449a 32. 29In the following I refer to Morreal 1987, who distinguishes three theories of laughter: the superiority, incongruence and compensation theories (the last of which he prefers to call the relief or release theory). Simon Critchley 2002 rightly adds a fourth theory, the reconciliation or humour theory. Bernhard Greiner 2006, in contrast, taking up Hans Robert Jauß, works only with two basic forms of the comic, namely one superior looking down and one inferior looking up, which leads him to oversimplify the situation and at- tribute to Kant, for example, the supe- riority and not the incongruence theory, to Hegel likewise generally the superiority and not the reconciliation theory, and to Nietzsche (or more precisely the Nietzsche in The Gay Science) simply the basic in- feriority form (cf. 2f., 92, 98). 30Cf. Hoggett 2002, 114. 31Cited in Critchley 2002, 87. 32Greiner 2006, 5; on the principle of double levels of meaning as the principle of theatre, Greiner refers to theorists such as Umberto Eco and Erika Fischer-Lichte. 33On the difference between the anarchic and the anarchistic – the anarchic protests against all archè (rule, principle, origin) and thus also against all hierarchies – cf. Levinas 1992, 224 (Engl. transl. from French, Otherwise Than Being, Or Beyond Essence). 34Critchley 2002, 103. 35Critchley 2002, 18, 78, with refer- ence, amongst others, to Alfred Schütz, Strukturen der Lebenswelt (80) and to Kant, sometimes explicitly (80), some- times implicitly (90); Critchley ultimately and rightly weakens the assumption of the emancipatory and politically progressive power of humour: ‘humour also indicates, or maybe just adumbrates, . . . how things might be otherwise’ (90). 36It goes without saying that the thesis arguing for the affinity of democracy for 109 Sensus and Dissensus Communis. comedy or the comical should be tested, also, in the case of film on a number of distinctive examples, from the slapstick of Jerry Lee Lewis and Eddy Murphy via The Life of Brian (1980), The Blues Broth- ers (1980), A Fish Called Wanda (1989), Men in Black (1997), The Big Lebowski (1998), The Truman Show (1998), Ocean’s Eleven (2002) up to the romantic comedies of Moonstruck (1987), When Harry Met Sally (1989), Sleepless in Seattle (1993), Email For You (1998) and a contempo- rary screwball-comedy like One Fine Day (1996). 37Cf. Cavell 1981, 192, 194-5, 198. REFERENCES Aristotle. 1924. “Poetics.” In The Works of Aristotle, edited by W.D. Ross, Volume XI. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Benhabib, Seyla. 1992. “Models of Public Space: Hannah Arendt, the Liberal Tradition, and Jürgen Habermas.” In Habermas and The Public Sphere, edited by Craig Calhoun, 73–98. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Bickford, Susan. 1996. The Dissonance of Democracy: Listening, Conflict, and Citizenship. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Bohrer, Karl Heinz. 1989. Die Kritik der Romantik. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp. Calhoun, Craig, ed. 1992. Habermas and The Public Sphere. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Cavell, Stanley. 1976. “Aesthetic Problems of Modern Philosophy.” In Must we mean what we say? A Book of Essays. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. . 1979. The Claim of Reason. Wittgenstein, Skepticism, Morality and Tragedy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. . 1981. Pursuits of Happiness. The Hollywood Comedy of Remarriage. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. . 1990. Contesting Tears. The Hollywood Melodrama of the Unknown Woman. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. . 1994. A Pitch of Philosophy. Autobiographical Exercises. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Connolly, William E. 1999. Why I Am Not a Secularist. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Critchley, Simon. 2002. On Humour. London & New York: Routledge. Greiner, Bernhard. 2006. Die Komödie. Eine theatralische Sendung: Grund- lagen und Interpretationen. second edition. Tübingen & Basel: Francke. Henrich, Dieter. 1992. Aesthetic Judgment and the Moral Image of the World. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. 110 Josef Früchtl Hoggett, Paul & Simon Thompson. 2002. “Toward a Democracy of the Emotions.” Constellations 9 (1): 106–126. Honig, Bonnie. 1993. Political Theory and the Displacement of Politics. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Kant, Immanuel. 1987. Critique of Judgment (Kritik der Urteilskraft). Translated by Werner S. Pluhar. Indianapolis: Hackett (orig: 1790, Berlin und Libau: Lagarde und Friederich). Laugier, Sandra. 2015. “The Ordinary, Romanticism, and Democracy.” Modern Language Notes 130, no. 5 (dec). Lepenies, Wolf. 2006. The Seduction of Culture in German History. Prince- ton: Princeton University Press. Levinas, Emmanuel. 1992. Jenseits des Seins oder anders als Sein geschieht. Freiburg & München: Alber. Maydell, A. v., and R. Wiehl. 1974. Chapter Gemeinsinn of Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie. Basel/Stuttgart: Schwabe & Co. editor: Joachim Ritter. Morreal, John. 1987. The Philosophy of Laughter and Humour. Albany: State University of New York Press. Mouffe, Chantal. 2000. The Democratic Paradox. London/New York: Verso Books. . 2005. On the Political. London/New York: Routledge. Müller, Jan-Werner. 2016. Was ist Populismus? Berlin: Suhrkamp. Paine, Thomas. 1776. Common Sense. Rancière, Jacques. 2002. “The Aesthetic Revolution and its Outcomes. Emplotments of Autonomy and Heteronomy.” New Left Review 14:133– 151. Reid, Thomas. 1764. An Inquiry into the Human Mind, on the Principles of Common Sense. Rosenfeld, Sophia. 2011. Common Sense. A Political History. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Shaftesbury. 1709. Sensus Communis: An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour. Tully, James. 1995. Strange Multiplicity: Constitutionalism in the Age of Diversity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vico, Giambattisto. 1725. Scienza Nuova. 111 Cavell's voices The Kantian question of why we have to quarrel about matters of aesthetics Democratic common sense Comedy and democracy Laughing at the battle of the sexes 
work_mlfght32w5bsxhfcn7kqri2baq	----	Back On Into The Way Home ON THE POEMS OF J.H. PRYNNE 11 and the smoke goes wavering into the atmosphere with all the uncertainty of numbers. (lines 9-11) BACK ON INTO THE WAY HOME: ‘CHARM AGAINST TOO MANY APPLES’ Josh Stanley J.H. Prynne, Poems [Newcastle upon Tyne, 2005], p. 68. All future references to poems will be given as Poems. Originally published in Prynne’s 1969 collection, The White Stones (Poems, pp. 37-126). This smoke, rising from an unseen fire, informs us of its history, in and as what Geoffrey Hartman calls the ‘poetical smoke’ of William Wordsworth’s ‘Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour, July 13, 1798’ (Geoffrey H. Hartman, The Unmediated Vision [New York, N.Y., 1966], p. 7): and wreathes of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees, With some uncertain notice, as might seem, Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some hermit’s cave, where by his fire The hermit sits alone. (William Wordsworth, “Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour, July 13, 1798” in “Lyrical Ballads” and Other Poems, 1797-1800 ed. by James Butler and Karen Green [Ithaca, N.Y., 1992] ll. 18-23.) The uncertainty of Prynne’s smoke draws us immediately to the ‘uncertain notice’ of GLOSSATOR 2 12 Wordsworth’s. Prynne’s, meanwhile, is self-consciously poetical smoke: Hartman means by this firstly smoke within a poem and secondly smoke as an idealist figure for poetry, both marking an origin and writing on the sky. Wordsworth’s ‘notice’ is in parallel with numbers, which through the colloquial ‘with | all through’ operates as either comparison (‘with an uncertainty like that of numbers’) or as description (‘with all the uncertainty proper to numbers, which is what the smoke is’). In the first case, we might read numbers as a figure of abstraction. (But, compare Wordsworth, “Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow | For old, unhappy, far-off things”, “The Solitary Reaper” in The Poems Vol. I ed. by John O. Hayden [Harmondsworth, 1977], ll. 18-19). Numbers stands for verse: the numbers of metrical feet. Prynne’s smoke rises with all the uncertainty proper to metrical verse suggesting the risks (perhaps of fruitless isolation) inherent in the writing of poetry and the tense relationship between poetry and public discourse; Wordsworth’s uncertain notice hints at a break between sign or poem and its ideal – here the man who is always at home, even within this perhaps Platonic cave, watching shadows on the cave wall. Above I said that we are ‘immediately’ drawn to ‘Tintern Abbey’, but Prynne’s allusion to Wordsworth might in fact be shown to be mediated by other, more recent, poetical smokes as we read on in ‘Charm…’. While The White Stones engages on numerous occasions both with Wordsworth (e.g. ‘As now | each to each good-bye I love you so’, the end of ‘From End to End’ [Poems, pp. 62-63] quotes ‘each to each’ from Wordsworth’s ‘My heart leaps up’ and could be read as a [temporary] loving farewell to Wordsworth, as Fire Lizard is to Olson [Poems, pp. 141-47]) and ‘poetical smoke’ (e.g. ‘That this could | really be so & of use is my present politics, | burning like smoke, before the setting of fire’ in ‘First Notes on Daylight’ [Poems, p. 69]), ‘Charm Against Too Many Apples’ seems to be a particular response to ‘Tintern Abbey’. We know where we are. Charms, spells ‘against’ or ‘for’ physical and spiritual ailments and threats, are a genre of Old English poetry (e.g. “Against a Dwarf,” “For A Sudden Stitch”: Elliott Van Kirk Dobbie (ed.), The Anglo-Saxon Minor Poems [New York, N.Y., 1942], pp. 121-123). I say where rather than when because though ‘Charm…’ is as such located in Old English poetic tradition, the charm poems that survive “in manuscripts of the tenth century or later” are “difficult to date” (R.K. Gordon, Anglo-Saxon Poetry [London, 1926], p. 94). These charm Charm (title) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 13 poems “preserve much superstition and folk-lore” but draw on both “Christian and pagan” beliefs (Anglo-Saxon Poetry [1926], p. 94). As such the knowledge they preserve is both pre- and post-Christian missions; they demonstrate the fluidity and inter-penetration of historicized bodies of knowledge – evidence against the simplistic notion that strict, uncrossable lines mark pagan England from Christian England. At first, I understand the word charm as an object: a talisman or amulet. Etymologically, though, it derives from the Latin carmen meaning ‘song, verse, oracular response, incantation’ (OED 1: charm n.). The tension between two bodies of knowledge is encountered here, too, but the object-form originates in the oral-form, since the talisman is imbued with magical properties of protection by a song sung over it. In this way, the object is both a memory of the song, and also something which keeps the song present at hand. We see in this, holding the poem in a book, the conflict between the object form of the printed poem and its realization in oral (mental-oral) performance. Since it is possible to have too many apples, there is a right amount of apples to have. ‘An apple a day keeps the doctor away’ suggests itself, but I cannot work out how, in my daily life, I could have too many apples. This cannot be synecdoche, where apples stand for general woodland, so that too many apples is a figure for over-consumption, eating up too much of the earth’s fruits, thus warning against the domination of nature: too many apples is too open, and could as easily be a warning against over-production or the cultivation of nature that leads to bourgeois fetishization (conversion to garden). “[T]he road is lined with apple trees” (l. 4) describes a state of affairs on to which we reflect the design we ascribe to poetic construction, for these are apple trees lining a road in a line of poetry: the apple trees are a self-conscious aesthetic product. A road is, in the twentieth century, a path or way which has been purposefully constructed or developed for ease of travel (usually car travel); what describes the road we will instinctively put down to the intention of whoever built the road. Compare Wordsworth’s “hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines | Of sportive wood run wild,” which have been obviously roughened (Wordsworth, “Tintern Abbey” ll. 16-17). Any knowable specificity appears to be contained, then, in the apples. Too Many Apples (title) GLOSSATOR 2 14 But what are the apples? The title’s protection against, and, as such, injunction against, too many apples switches into what is both matter-of- fact declaration and prayer that the amount that is too many is unlikely to occur: “No one can eat so | many apples, or remember so much ice.” (ll. 30-31.) Eating so many apples is linked to remembering so much ice by the parallel structure of the semantic unit; what the “ice” is “was our prime matter” (l. 7), which is something we can ‘remember’, even if we cannot remember all of it. According to contemporary cultural Christianity in the west, apples are linked to knowledge, since the unnamed fruit in the Garden of Eden, which has the power to make you wise, is often represented as an apple: ‘And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat. And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew they were naked.’ (Genesis 3:6-7, Authorized King James Version.) But this is the affliction of self-knowledge and has no ties to memory: the wisdom the tree of knowledge provides is not recollective, but transformational. In “The Glacial Question, Unsolved” (Poems, pp. 65-66), Prynne considers “the matter of ice,” the origin of our current “maritime climate” in the glacial Pleistocene Epoch, an Epoch of which “‘it is questionable whether there has yet been | sufficient change […] to justify a claim that | the Pleistocene Epoch itself | has come to an end’” (this is a quotation from one of the references Prynne provides alongside this poem, R.G. West and J.J. Donner, “The Glaciations of East Anglia and the East Midlands: a differentiation based on stone-orientation measurements of the tills,” Quart. Journ. Geol. Soc., CXII [1956], 69-87). That is to say, we may still be living in a glacial age. In “Frost and Snow, Falling” (Poems, pp. 70-71) Prynne writes “of man in the ice block | and its great cracking roar.” In “Star Damage at Home” (Poems, p. 108-09) Prynne writes “the day itself | unlocks the white stone”; this “white stone” seems to be “the ice block” which, by thaw, releases man. This freedom from the ice block draws on a mythological framework usually referred to as Norse, the same pre-Christian framework which the Old English charm poems draw on. These myths are described in The Prose Edda of Snorri Sturluson: High One said: ‘When those rivers which are called Élivágar came so far from their source that the yeasty Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 15 venom accompanying them hardened like slag, it turned into ice.’ […] ‘That part of Ginnungagap which turned northwards became full of the ice and the hoar frost’s weight and heaviness, and within there was drizzling rain and gusts of wind. But the southern part of Ginnungagap became light by meeting the sparks and glowing embers which flew out of the world of Muspell.’ Then Third said: ‘Just as cold and all harsh things emanated from Niflheim, so everything in the neighbourhood of Muspell was warm and bright. Ginnungagap was as mild as windless air, and where the soft air of the heat met the frost so that it thawed and dripped, then, by the might of that which sent the heat, life appeared in the drops of running fluid and grew into the likeness of a man.’ […] ‘He and all his family were evil; we call them frost ogres. […] We call that old frost ogre Ymir.’ […] ‘As soon as the frost thawed, it became a cow called Auðhumla, and four rivers of milk ran from her teats, and she fed Ymir. […] She licked the ice-blocks which were salty, and by the evening of the first day of the block-licking appeared a man’s hair, on the second day a man’s head, and on the third day the whole man was there. He was called Buri. He was handsome and tall and strong.’ (Snorri Sturluson, The Prose Edda, trans. by Jean I. Young [Berkeley and L.A., C.A., 1966], pp. 33-34.) Man (in this case, Buri, who is the ancestor of the Norse gods) is both born from the ice while it thaws and also revealed in it; that is to say, both “the ice was our prime matter” and man was, in the beginning, “in the ice block,” but the thaw is not complete. This creation myth is not entirely dissimilar from the Greek creation myth recorded in Hesiod’s Theogony, which Charles Olson draws on at the opening of Maximus Poems: IV, V, VI (London, 1968 [unpaginated]); Olson cites the Norse creation in this volume (in book VI) in a poem called ‘Gylfaginning VI’: a cow Audumla, which had come into being to provide food for Ymir, licked a man [ not a iotunn ] out of ice whose name was GLOSSATOR 2 16 Buri, whose son (or maybe it was Burr himself) Burr (or Borr) is the father of Odin George F. Butterick suggests this poem was written in 1963, “when other Norse material” was being used by Olson (George F. Butterick, A Guide To The ‘Maximus Poems’ of Charles Olson [Los Angeles, C.A., 1978], p. 447). Prynne, in The White Stones, drew on a mythological framework which provides a localized alternative to the Greek myths embraced by the American Black Mountain poets, but there are loops in this parallel course which connect it back to Olson. To ‘remember’ amounts of ‘ice’ (l. 31) refers to how much can be remembered back to the first appearance of man from out of the ice, since the ice has been in a process of gradual thaw. The Pleistocene Epoch may not be over and we that are young may be able to remember ice – some of which may have melted and disappeared during our lifetime. We cannot remember ‘so much’ though. To remember so much ice in this Norse context means to be ancient, even immortal. This is paralleled with eating so many apples, for in Norse mythology the gods were immortal because they ate particular apples, which were guarded by the goddess Iðun: “She keeps in her box the apples the gods have to eat, when they grow old, to become young again, and so it will continue up to Ragnarök” (Sturluson, The Prose Edda, p. 54). The apples we can eat too many of are apples which would keep us alive and young forever. The title, then, might be glossed as ‘Poem/Spell Against Immortality’ — but this straightforward meaning would involve erasing the bodies of knowledge and belief which actually define this meaning. It would be to gloss belief without reference to belief. Furthermore, it would ignore the backward looking philological tracks by which we reject the mistaken Christian reading of apples as fruit from the tree of knowledge, reject reading charm as amulet and reject the Christian overlaying of Old English traditions as evidenced in the charm poems. The sentiment is of restraint and renunciation. What is being renounced might in fact be labeled stillness: those who do nothing, who ignore or fail to recognize the demand of there is Still there is much to be done, (line 1) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 17 much, as witnessed here. Still either indicates the continuation of a previous condition (OED 5: still, adv., 4) – a condition of either the possibility or the need for action – or it is a response to an earlier statement, affirming, in spite of what has been said or conceded, the continuation of a previous condition (OED 5: still, adv., 6.b). In the former sense, what is refused is the dual proposition that what was previously the case is no longer the case because what needed to be done or could be done was done. That is to say, both the ideas that what has gone before is over and that nothing needs to be done, or can be done, are refuted. There is much to be done restrains the emphatically moralizing senses of things that ‘need’ or ‘must’ be done by not disclosing (and therefore restricting) any possible action. However, in the context of ‘we can’t | continue with things like this, we can’t simply | go on’ (ll. 11-13), ‘need’ and ‘must’ are how we understand this there is much to be done. Reading this line as a response, we speculatively configure what is responded to. Still is not the same word as ‘yet’ or ‘nevertheless’. It may also be an imperative to calm down. To say there is much to be done is not to argue, but to speak matter-of-factly. As such I can read this line as a response to an impassioned imaginative discourse, which has quickly moved into abstraction – a discourse that has dominated and forgotten the state of things, since all that this speaker can think needs to be done is then imagined done. Still there is much to be done returns an abstract utopianism to the dialectic between the utopian imagination and the world. This dialectic is fixed on the temporal contradiction of the word still, which expresses tranquility (continuation) and, here, actual and possible change (continuation) simultaneously: truly there is a way things are and truly there is a way that they could be. Still reflects on a relationship between past and present; there is much describes a present state; to be done looks to the future and to the future’s past, glancing back at the moment of doing between the now undone and the future done. The proposition that something must be done is reliant on an understanding of time (whether relatively or universally) as a continuous process: I must do something because it needs to have been done, achieved. This is not to use the language of permanence, that once something has been done it will always be there, but of irreversibility. This temporal structure of continuance and irreversibility fits to both a materialist (that I do something and it matters and we go on and things change) and a messianic GLOSSATOR 2 18 understanding of time (that we irreversibly move forward toward an apocalyptic endpoint). What is shut out is a temporal structure of continuous re-beginnings, where all actions are mere repetition of what has been and what will be again because time is non-linear (with no basis in human finitude) and so nothing must be done because nothing can be achieved without the consciousness that at some point it will have never been, matched by the consciousness that it already has been, which is a consciousness of impotence. As Prynne expresses, after an assertion of continuation, a restrained desire for change, we hear Olson’s “What does not change / is the will to change” (Charles Olson, “The Kingfishers” in Selected Poems [L.A., C.A., 1997], pp. 5-12). The thought that change is merely a surface phenomenon, that the world remains the same beneath the mystifications of temporal process, is already flatly refused by still. Still contradicts Wordsworth’s “again […] Once again […] again […] Once again” (“Tintern Abbey”, ll. 2, 4, 9, 15) which defines a relationship with the past as possible total return. “Five years have passed” (l. 1), but this long period is discovered to be in certain ways nothing: though Wordsworth returns matured, the scene is fundamentally unchanged, and in his maturation, though he has lost and also been freed from the “dizzy raptures” (l. 86) he experienced in his youth, he has gained “a sense sublime | Of something far more deeply interfused” (ll. 96- 97). What the return, and thus time, reveals for Wordsworth is not change but the superficiality of change. Compare Prynne’s treatment of the word ‘again’ later in The White Stones: Again is the sacred word, the profane sequence suddenly graced, by coming back. More & more as we go deeper I realize this aspect of hope, in the sense of the future cashed in, the letter returned to sender. How can I straighten the sure fact that we do not do it, as we regret, trust, look forward to, etc? Since each time what we have is increasingly the recall, not the subject to which we come. […] I know I will go back down & that it will not be the same though Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 19 I shall be sure it is so. And I shall be even deeper by rhyme and cadence, more held to what isn’t mine. […] [W]e trifle with rhyme and again is the sound of immortality. (“Thoughts on the Esterházy Court Uniform” in Poems, pp. 99-100.) In a recent commentary, Prynne has in fact commented on Wordsworth’s “again” in “Tintern Abbey”: “The present visit is made ‘again’ after this double interval, part-clement and part- forbidding, and ‘again’ is a marker word which is itself repeated, so that these linked doublings establish a rhythm not dissimilar to the rhetorical patterns of the renaissance handbooks, or the looping journeys of a tour of visitations” (J.H. Prynne, “Tintern Abbey, Once Again” in Glossator, Vol. 1 [Fall 2009], 81-87 [81]). Depth is compulsive in “Tintern Abbey” (more deep, deep power, deeply interfused etc), so to read back the “Again” through “More & more as we go deeper” as a directed comment is not far-fetched. But even without these link chains, the above presents the experience of return as in itself an intimation of immortality, an immortality it knows to be only a sound, “increasingly the recall, not | the subject.” In the very experience of repetition and especially in its expression, change appears to be premised on what does not change, the immortal. In this way, “the profane sequence” is “suddenly graced” by the return. But the “sound of immortality” is a lie; it is “what isn’t mine,” since the act of return, of “coming back” is premised on change, on having left being beyond my control, beyond correction or recall. Still expresses the opposite of this “Again”; it holds up the mutual dominations of movement and repetition. As a response, it returns us from abstract thought to the way things have been and are. Time still moves on, we cannot go back, and this movement from abstraction into dialectical experience is the return still informs us of, a return conditioned by the recognition of change. Edward Dorn’s use of still in his 1961 collection The Newly Fallen (which Prynne would have read, having corresponded with Dorn since before the publication of The Newly Fallen) contains both imaginative desires and the tones of the matter of fact: still they whisper in the wind we need you GLOSSATOR 2 20 still they whisper of green elegant glass there and of emerald plains and say who will they let in first. Still the lethal metric bubbles of science burst there every day and those sophisticated workers go home to talk politely of pure science, they breathe, go about in their cars and pay rent until they advance by degrees to ownership it is like a gigantic Parker game of careers. No complaint. Still we see the marvelous vapor trails across the face of the moon. (Edward Dorn, “The Biggest Killing” in The Newly Fallen [New York, N.Y., 1961], pp. 15-18.) Imagination verges on metaphysics, and is able to survive on a rubbish tip of broken bottles. Restraint culminates in “No complaint”, which suppresses all other speculative reactions and holds them within spoken dissatisfaction, itself shut down. What is spoken is endurance. There is much to be done carries this out by restraining the usual attempt to know or show that which is to be done. There is much to be done does not oppose the later turn in the poem, “nothing remains | to be done” (ll. 37-38), as it seems to. It too says nothing, though it also may posit everything. Compare Martin Heidegger on anxiety, which he argues is always revealed as an anxiety about nothing, by which he means “the world itself”: “What oppresses us […] is the world itself. When anxiety has subsided, then in our everyday way of talking we are accustomed to say that ‘it was really nothing’. And what it was, indeed, does get reached ontically by such a way of talking.” (Martin Heidegger, Being and Time trans. by John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson [Oxford, 2008; this translation first published in 1962], p. 231.) Whilst Dorn pronounces endurance, endurance is demanded by Prynne. We no doubt strive to know what is to be done, but such a reaching after enlightenment here carries the prospect of imagined attainment, from which we are called back. We have to accept not knowing what must be done in the same moment that a something to do is pressed upon us. Compare Prynne’s analysis of Wyatt’s “They fle from me / that sometyme did me seke”: “the identity of they is out of reach for the Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 21 reader, and in this case the obscurity is perhaps a trial or test of the reader’s own constancy, to endure the pain of unknowing.” (J.H. Prynne, They That Haue Powre to Hurt; A Specimen of a Commentary on Shake-speares Sonnets, 94 [Cambridge, 2001], p. 3.) This imagined attainment would, for Prynne, involve a moral abstraction, producing a contemptible counter-earth variety to the mind. Keston Sutherland has suggested that for the philologist “who takes etymology as a means of recovering the senses of words that we need, the etymological history of ‘ought’ is evidence of progressive dispossession. To recognise this insight buried in etymology is, for Prynne, to recognise the falsity of any vigilant preoccupation with ‘ought’ as a moral abstraction” (Keston Sutherland, “J.H. Prynne and Philology” [unpublished PhD thesis, Cambridge, 2004], p. 174). Restraining any particularity in there is, Prynne restrains the desire for moral abstraction, refusing to give in to it. Compare Wordsworth’s abstract fatalism: ‘Yet ‘tis not to enjoy that we exist, | For that end only; something must be done […] Each Being has his office’ (‘Home at Grasmere’ in Wordsworth, The Poems Vol. I ll. 664-69). The word city derives from the Latin civis, the citizen; the condition of being a civis, citizen-ship, and, later, a com-munity of these citizens, was called civitas; this then became a name for the urbs, as we use it (OED, city). This distinguishes it from Olson’s polis, since the Greek word for a city-dweller, πολίτης is derived from the word for city, πόλις. Sutherland has argued that Prynne’s city throughout Kitchen Poems (1968) and The White Stones is an inalienable “‘whole’ in which we live,” thought through Thomas Aquinas’ conception of the city (“J.H. Prynne and Philology,” p. 166). However, as Sutherland recognizes, this is a broad scheme, and throughout The White Stones we encounter Prynne questioning from poem to poem that which at one point seems irrefutable. The city, in the context of the reserved and as such austere there is much to be done, ringing out a utopian longing now seriously grounded, sounds equally like an urban center and like heaven. It is both practical and ideal. While Prynne heads into the city, Wordsworth could not wait to be out, “A lover [...] of all that we behold | From this green earth” on the way into the city, and the sky as yet (lines 1-2) GLOSSATOR 2 22 (“Tintern Abbey,” l. 104-06): the “forms of beauty” of the Wye valley had been a source of “tranquil restoration” for Wordsworth when “in lonely rooms, and mid the din | Of towns and cities” (see ll. 23-31). Compare the start of book seven of The Prelude (1805) in relation to “Tintern Abbey,” which opens with the identical “Five years”: Wordsworth sings as he pours out from London (William Wordsworth, The Prelude: 1799, 1805, 1850 ed. by Jonathan Wordsworth et al. [New York, N.Y., 1979], Book VII, ll. 1-9). To get to the city we take all our time and the suspense continues: who are we? This question returns more pressingly after all our time. I may take my time to do something and something may take up all my time; the former is relative, the latter with reference to my day-to-day understanding of my life. If something takes up all my time, my time that is taken here refers to time in which I would do different things, and, as such, means other possibilities which I can personally imagine. Something taking up all our time could be understood in this way as inflected through an I or according to a shared desire to be doing something else. But here there is no I-conscious, wanting to be away – we are taking our time in pursuit of the longed for – nor is our time being taken up by something: we are taking it. All our time must then be a tolling up of all of our time, all the time of the group. Time is personal yet plural in terms of the work of much to be done we may read the way into the city as: two people working for a day is more time than one person working for a day. Our time must be a united effort of several individuated my times: there is no reason for these my times to be contemporaneous; and all, momentarily separated from first- person relativity by the line-break, hints at the ‘eternal’ vision with which the poem ends (l. 39). If all our time might be the eternal, the we might not be only those with whom I interact daily (as they would be for Olson) but could be humankind. The response, in the following sentence, to this sounding “too obviously prolonged” is after all “the ice was our prime matter,” where the “our,” premised on a creation myth, refers by potential to humankind, and only by hint to a small community within the kind. One does take one’s way, though, and it is on the way into the city where we take all our time. To take one’s way we take all our time (lines 3-4) way (line 2) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 23 is to journey or set out on a journey. We take all our time echoes we take our way: I want to correct all our time and it is revealed as part-proxy for our way. The Christian structure of the Fall haunts this echo, in the final two lines of John Milton’s Paradise Lost, “They hand in hand with wandering steps and slow, | Through Eden took their solitary way.” (John Milton, Paradise Lost ed. by Alastair Fowler [1998, Harlow; second edition], Book XII, ll. 648-49.) This “solitary way” is in some senses an “illimitable walk” (Wordsworth The Prelude [1805], Book VII, l. 159) but, of course, it is only “illimitable” until the Second Coming, Judgment Day; by this I mean it is a “way” that could be understood as all our time. The meaning of the English word way has been influenced by the Latin via, meaning road (OED 4: way, n.1). It derives from the Old English weg, meaning to move, journey, carry (perhaps carrying a burden in Milton). On the way into the city implies a marked road, and in fact way seems to be synonymous with road (l. 4). But in its relation to all our time, way becomes a distinct act of journeying: a journey can be measured by time, while a road is measured by distance. We are on our way and also on a road. The way here may then, also, be a variety of “illimitable walk,” if it is all our time. Alastair Fowler notes that Milton draws on Psalms, 107:4, “They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way; they found no city to dwell in.” Milton’s Adam and Eve leave Eden, which might be read with the Psalms in mind as a city left or a city never to be reached again by them. But the way in Prynne, even if it is not a direct road as it first appears, leads into the city. If the solitary way in Milton is what is taken from Paradise, is the way into the city perhaps to Paradise, i.e. is the city death, which it takes all our time to reach, for all our time is our very lifespan? A federate agency sounds like a government de- partment in the US, and though it is not this we cannot help overhearing a real institution. To be federate is to be joined in league, but the term has a particular reference as a translation of the French term fédéré, meaning “[a] member of one of the armed associations formed during the first French Revolution, or during the Hundred Days in 1815, or a member of the Commune in I wish instead that the whole federate agency would turn out into and across the land. (lines 31-34) GLOSSATOR 2 24 1871” (OED 1: federate, a. and n., B.2). The whole federate agency is either an embodied community of these revolutionary figures, or an institutionalized league. If the city is a community of citizens, with a view to an ideal community, the whole federate agency grounds the concept of a city in the poem within a community. Accordingly, the answer to my last question must be ‘no’. It could be ‘yes’ as well, but the city is not only death or the afterlife. Though the way may not be a road, there is a road and so a physical city or living community as the goal of the way remains a potent concept. Compare the young Gyorgy Lukács: “No light radiates any longer from within into the world of events, into its vast complexity to which the soul is a stranger. And who can tell whether the fitness of the action to the essential nature of the subject – the only guide that still remains – really touches upon the essence, when the subject has become a phenomenon, an object unto itself; when his innermost and most particular essential nature appears to him only as a never-ceasing demand written upon the imaginary sky of that which ‘should be.’” (Gyorgy Lukács, The Theory of the Novel trans. by Anna Bostock [London, 1971; first published in German in 1920], pp. 36-37.) To write over the sky is the dramatic act of the homeless consciousness, inventing a utopian world through the denial of life as it is and continually rewriting the word of this utopia’s law by graffiti: this is how Lukács’ objectified subject finds itself wanting to be, and so it cannot judge its actions in the world it really lives in. That the sky has only been partly written over may suggest gratitude or small pleasure that no more has been written over: writing out all of the real world (for there is a real sky for Prynne) is what Still there is much to be done warns against and draws the speculated abstract utopians back from. But as much as the sky as yet only partly written over may be an abstraction of the soul warned against, it may also be the urban development of a city. Skyscrapers and other tall buildings are referred to as a city’s sky-line; to pun on the sky-line as a form of writing does not seem unlikely, though banal. Compare Wordsworth: “Once again | Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, | Which [...] connect | The landscape with the quiet of the sky” (‘Tintern Abbey’, ll. 4-8). In Wordsworth, how things are, when beheld, impresses thoughts of balance, harmony and tranquility. In and the sky as yet only partly written over; (lines 2-3) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 25 the sky is our eternal city and the whole beautiful & luminous trance (lines 39-40) Prynne, the sky stands, at least for the moment, for the future, which is either abstractly possessed by the solitary or gradually developed into by an urban community. In “Numbers in Time of Trouble,” in Kitchen Poems, Prynne describes four cities , the last of which seems to connect to this eternal city (Poems, pp. 17-18): “we cannot | yet see the other side. But we deserve to, and | if we can see thus far, these are the few | outer lights of the city, burning on the horizon.” This developmental progression from city to city allows us to both move forward and always be at home, in the inalienable, current city, but this is not the case in “Charm Against Too Many Apples.” Two cities are posited, or one city is doubled, in this poem, a real and an ideal, but neither is reached or finished. The sky (as heavenly vault or firmament) is what will always border the earth I live on, no matter how high we build. The city I read as that which I am on the edge of: it is that which can be reached or produced by the physical exertions I know I am capable of and it is simultaneously the limit of my imagination. It is the horizon of the real and the ideal, in dialectical relation: “We are at the edge of all that” (“Bronze Fish” in Poems, p. 57). We are not alienated from the city but nor are we in it. It is what we know we can practically do but also the patient endurance of unlimited idealism. While Adam and Eve are cast out from Paradise, they have some consolation. Eve says to Adam: In me is no delay; with thee to go, Is to stay here; without thee here to stay, Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me Art all things under heaven, all places thou, Who for my willful crime art banished hence. (Paradise Lost, Book XII, ll. 615-19.) Paradise has already been lost to them through the Fall, but they remain the homes of each other. For Milton, Paradise is the ideal home, but after the Fall, “all things” “all places” are contained in other humans, so that we may be at home GLOSSATOR 2 26 with them, “till one greater man | Restore us, and regain the blissful seat” (Book I, ll. 4-5). For Wordsworth in “Tintern Abbey,” by the blessings of Nature we may be led “From joy to joy” (l. 126). By remembering the sights of Nature, “with an eye made quiet by the power | Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, | We see into the life of things” (ll. 48-50). We might discover in what we encounter everyday “a sense sublime,” as it “rolls through all things” (ll. 96, 103), but we may not always be able to, so Wordsworth instructs Dorothy that her memory shall be her home: […] when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, Thy memory be as a dwelling place For all sweet sounds and harmonies; Oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortation! (ll. 140-47.) The experience I am calling being at home is always available for Wordsworth, but not always achievable, though we may take it with us in memory. For most, it is located in specific places, but “chosen minds […] take it with them hence, where’er they go […] Perfect Contentment, Unity entire” (Wordsworth, “Home at Grasmere,” ll. 140-51). These “chosen minds” are the wanderer figures of many of Wordsworth’s poems, including the hermit of “Tintern Abbey.” These figures have no need for direction, while others may measure themselves by proximity as they move to and from their “Centre” – which for Wordsworth in the 1800s was Grasmere (“Home at Grasmere,” l. 148). In “Charm Against Too Many Apples,” the city is always beyond me, and I must always move according to direction, toward the specific limits of achievement, my own horizon. The city is the edge and future, and though it is ‘where we go’ (l. 5), it is by no means where we get to. Home, the city, for Prynne in this poem, is neither somewhere always available, as it is for Wordsworth, nor, as for Milton, somewhere we possess within us in compensatory form until redemption. These lines draw upon another the smoke spreading across into the upper air. (lines 41-42) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 27 “Tintern Abbey” response, and also on a response to this poem in turn, and the memory is mediated. In the first instance,”The sluggish smoke curls up from some deep dell” and moves “With as uncertain purpose and slow deed, | As its half-wakened master by the hearth,” a changed version of Wordsworth’s smoke which moves “With some uncertain notice,” from a cave (perhaps) and not a hearth. This poem, by Henry David Thoreau, concludes: First in the dusky dawn he sends abroad His early scout, his emissary, smoke, The earliest, latest pilgrim from the roof, To feel the frosty air, inform the day; And while he crouches still beside the hearth, Nor musters courage to unbar the door, It has gone down the glen with the light wind, And o’er the plain unfurled its venturous wreath, Draped the tree tops, loitered upon the hill, And warmed the pinions of the early bird; And now, perchance, high in the crispy air, Has caught sight of the day o’er the earth’s edge, And greets its master’s eye at his low door, As some refulgent cloud in the upper sky. (Henry David Thoreau, “The Sluggish Smoke Curls Up From Some Deep Dell” in Collected Poems ed. by Carl Bode [Baltimore, M.D., 1964], p. 13.) The smoke is, for Thoreau, what is beyond the man, what he could be. Wallace Stevens writes: It makes so little difference, at so much more Than seventy, where one looks, one has been there before. Wood-smoke rises through trees, is caught in an upper flow Of air and whirled away. But it has often been so. (Wallace Stevens, “Long and Sluggish Lines” in The Collected Poems [New York, N.Y., 1990; first published 1954], p. 522.) Stevens alters Thoreau’s “the upper sky” to “an upper flow | Of air,” between which two Prynne finds a middle ground, across into the upper air. Compare Dorn: “the clouds | are drifting up on the breeze | their darkening undersides | the ballast | of a change” (“There was a Change” in The Newly Fallen, p. 30). GLOSSATOR 2 28 The poetical smoke of “Tintern Abbey” is the marker of achieved trans- cendence: “The Hermit of ‘Tintern Abbey’ is an image of transcendence: he sits by his fire, the symbol, probably, for the pure or imageless vision – the ultimate end of the greater and partially unavowed journey Wordsworth makes into the chosen vale and to his ‘hermitage’” (Hartman, The Unmediated Vision, p. 34). The flame in “Charm Against Too Many Apples,” though, is not pure. Rather, it is both otherworldly and worldly simultaneously. At night, when the rest of the world (most obviously the so-called natural) could potentially be invisible in the darkness, I know all too well that I will see the flame clearly. In Thoreau’s “The Sluggish Smoke,” as the man follows the smoke out of his house to begin his day, it moves to the “earth’s edge” into the “upper sky.” It marks the limit of where the man can go, and where he should find the “courage” to follow it (and himself, since it is the emissary of him). In “Charm Against Too Many Apples” the smoke spreads across into the upper air. Why air, rather than sky? Stevens’ “flow | Of air” describes how the smoke disappears in something which it isn’t but something which it can be dispersed in. Smoke would blot out the sky, perhaps, spreading across without spreading into. The sky is the furthest configured surface, the heavens: clouds may be the sky and clouds may also move across it. The air may be that which is between the smoke and the sky, our eternal city. But sky, as we mean it, derives from a word that meant cloud or shadow (OED 1: sky, n.1); above the clouds, there is air, above the air, space. The sky is our eternal city, that which is unquestionably the horizon of our imagination and capacity, is true in the sense of furthest configured Flame is only just invisible in sunlight (lines 7-8) the sky is our eternal city and the whole beautiful & luminous trance of it is the smoke spreading across into the upper air. (lines 39-42) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 29 surface or heaven (cf. ‘the sky’s the limit’, sky, n.1 3.d); in the sense of cloud, the sky is right now our eternal city: we are not beyond them yet. Compare Thoreau, “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them”; “The purity men love is like the mists which envelop the earth, and not like the azure ether beyond”; and “Shall we with pains erect a heaven of blue glass over ourselves, though when it is done we shall be sure to gaze at the true ethereal heaven far above, as if the former were not?” (Henry David Thoreau, Walden: or, Life in the Woods [New York, N.Y., 1991], pp. 260-62.) The smoke is a trance of our eternal city. I read the trance as an intermediate state between sleeping and waking: it is part life and part dream, a dialectic of practical reality and the imagination as I conceive of our eternal city. The smoke is as such a metaphor for thought; the flame which produces it looks like some sort of divine soul. But it is also an intimation, a shadowing forth of what we must relinquish as beyond this dialectic: our eternal city is not only what is on our own horizon, but also the utopian vision we are instructed to restrain. The smoke is a shadow of the sky, which is itself a shadow of the heavens. Compare Stevens, in “Long and Sluggish Lines,” who uses a trance- like state in what seems to be a description of utopian longing, and what seems to be directed at Wordsworth: “… Wanderer, this is the pre-history of February. | The life of the poem in the mind has not yet begun. | You were not born yet when the trees were crystal | Nor are you now, in this wakefulness inside a sleep.” Compare Hartman: “We glimpse a universal paradox inherent in the human and poetic imagination: it cannot be, at the same time, true to nature and true to itself. If it is true to the external world, it must suspend all will toward relational knowledge; if it is true to itself, it must alter the external world by an action of the creative or moral will. The first leads to imbecility or mysticism, the second to artifice or sophistry; both spell the end of art” (The Unmediated Vision, p. 8). GLOSSATOR 2 30 I am quick enough to gloss fruit as apples, to cross temporal and spatial boundaries and misplace and read the Old English genre as a mistranslated moral from another myth fount: Atlanta, picking up the golden apples dropped by Hippomenes, thus losing the race against him, bound to marry him. Do the italicized fallen apples mirror her new fallen state: not in the Christian sense, but in the sense of losing her freedom to be a huntress, now part of a social norm? Compare Heidegger: “‘Fallenness’ into the ‘world’ means an absorption in Being-with-one-another […] a quite distinctive kind of Being-in-the- world – the kind which is completely fascinated by the ‘world’ and by the Dasein-with of Others in the ‘they’” (Being and Time, p. 220). There is no reason to read so specifically here. These fallen are fruit, they are not apples. The apples demand specific tests of interpretation, while fruit refuses these tests as it refuses apples. Peter Middleton is right to read this poem as skeptical (skeptical, Middleton argues, of “[t]he will to knowledge of modern science and industrialisation”), but he is wrong to read it as determined skepticism, moving knowingly from much to be done to nothing (Peter Middleton, “Thoughts on ‘Charm Against Too Many Apples’” Quid 17: For J.H. Prynne [24th June 2006], 8-10). The phrase “form of knowledge” (l. 36) for instance may well be in total earnest. It is a phrase that recurs through Prynne’s writing, most recently in Prynne’s Morag Morris Poetry Lecture at the University of Surrey on Edmund Blunden, given on October 8th 2009. The phrase appears slightly altered, with the gerund “knowing” replacing “knowledge”, in “English Poetry and Emphatical Language”: “[T]he paradox of making and unmaking discloses a bitter, dignified amazement, one that prompts a sudden, deep contradiction of feeling which is itself a form of knowing, as it was for Gloucester whose sight had been so cruelly unmade that he could see only feelingly.” (J.H. Prynne, “English Poetry and Emphatical Language,” Proceedings of the British Academy 74 [1988], 135-69 [150-51].) This “form of knowledge” seems to involve, follow from or even be the destruction of certain We even pick up the fallen fruit on the road frightened by the layout of so much fallen, the chances we know strewn on the warm gravel. (lines 17-21) Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 31 hierarchies or institutions, perhaps in a proxy flood of “circling motion” [l. 35], achieved by human action. That “we | would rest in it” is not to be immediately equated with a comedy of negative judgment. Rest correlates to the emphatic still of the first line. It is not the language of indolence, but of patience. Patience requires of longing a willingness to rest when nothing remains to be done then and there, and to rest may also mean “To remain, be left, still undestroyed” (OED 7: rest, v.2); what rests may also remain to be done (cf. “But fallen he is, and now | What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass | On his transgression, death denounced that day,” Paradise Lost, Book X, ll. 47-49). An analysis of the fruit would be carried out from mere curiosity. The line break and space between road and frightened is a temporal break with an interpretive shift marked by the now emphatic fallen, turned to a distinct vagueness of reference, while curiosity is turned to fear. The fruit ceases to be an interest in itself; the fallen have become a structure defined by relation to a former condition, a structure, the particularities of which are indifferent, but which by its presence frightens us. Chances we know are strewn on the gravel: does this provoke fear, that the layout reveals itself as without intention, or, is it that, though scattered, a layout has been produced, an omen that frightens us? The tongue sings that we are either afraid of being without that thing meaning or afraid of determinism. The reasoning each fear construes amounts to the knowledge that I will die. It is the inconstancy of the conditions for human life and of my human body that the sentence which follows witnesses, “Knowing that warmth is not a permanence” (“Charm...” ll. 21-22)." But vagueness can be specific (see Keston Sutherland, “Vagueness, Poetry” Quid 7c [2001], 11-18), and it is here specific by reference. However, it might be worthwhile specifying our terminology here, and switch from vagueness to ambiguity. The poem which Prynne draws on in these lines is one of the most remarkable poems of the 1960s: If It Should Ever Come And we are all there together time will wave as willows do and adios will be truly, yes, GLOSSATOR 2 32 laughing at what is forgotten and talking of what’s new admiring the roses you brought. How sad. You didn’t know you were at the end thought it was your bright pear the earth, yes another affair to have been kept and gazed back on when you had slept to have been stored as a squirrel will a nut, and half forgotten, there were so many, many from the newly fallen. (Edward Dorn, “If it should ever come” in The Newly Fallen, p. 31.) Prynne has much for ‘many’ and his fallen are not ‘newly’ so. Saying their farewells to time with good manners, the speakers who have greeted this ‘it’ recognize either the messiah or death. Quickly enough we interpret the ‘fallen’, but they are nuts, and the year moves on and time is not over. Messianics and utopianism are the central discourse of The Newly Fallen in the thinking patterns and speech rhythms of a community at the economic margins of America. I would like to compare this poem and the Prynne passage to a text Dorn might not have read at this point, but which Prynne probably had read: Everyone is acquainted with what is up for discussion and what occurs, and everyone discusses it; but everyone also knows already how to talk about what has to happen first – about what is not yet up for discussion but ‘really’ must be done. […] But when Dasein goes in for something in the reticence of carrying it through or even of genuinely breaking down on it, its time is a different time and, as seen by the public, an essentially slower time than that of idle talk, which ‘lives at a faster rate’. Idle talk will thus long since have gone on to something else which is currently the very newest thing. […] In the ambiguity of the way things have been publicly interpreted, talking Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 33 about things ahead of the game and making surmises about them curiously, gets passed off as what is really happening, while taking action and carrying something through get stamped as something merely subsequent and unimportant. (Heidegger, Being and Time, pp. 217-18.) This passage of Heidegger is entitled “Ambiguity.” It is this speaking of ‘the very newest thing’ that Dorn diagnoses with such pathos, mournfully ventriloquising the equivocating language and side-stepping engineering which is requisite in a discussion of the newest, both conceivable and inconceivable, thing: termed variously utopia, the end of time, the Second Coming. Prynne’s fallen fruit touches on this same ambiguity: a curiosity which we allow to write over what “must be done,” but which is not yet up for discussion as not genuinely in view. To discuss what is “really happening” one must refuse to surmise about what is beyond the edge. Here, too, Prynne is restrained, with all the force of decision. The same voices are acknowledged by Prynne as by Dorn, but Prynne refuses pathos. He struggles against these voices and determinedly presents their reliance on what they reject as “subsequent and unimportant” being done by others; for their (our) response to the inconstancy of the conditions for human life runs “ah we count | on what is still to be done and the keen | little joys of leaves & fruit still hanging up | on their trees” (“Charm...” ll. 22-25). Prynne knows from Dorn why some of these voices are as they are, but he decides here that he must put aside this knowledge. These may even be the same excited voices to whom he responds Still there is much to be done. But Prynne has decided that he must be a particular sort of poet – a poet unlike the one Dorn was in the 1960s: one who must restrain pathos and the urge to take up the voices of the disenfranchised. Otherwise, his spoken tones would be those which he cannot claim to be his own and they would lean toward exaggeration, as imagination attempted to close the relational gap. We can compare this with what Prynne knew Wordsworth would have known about the inhabitants of Tintern Abbey and the cause of the smoke he saw rising from the trees: It is a curious fact that nowhere in the poem does Wordsworth mention Tintern Abbey itself, though we know that he must have admired it, for they returned from Chepstow to spend a second night there. Gilpin describes GLOSSATOR 2 34 its condition; the grass in the ruins was kept mown, but it was the dwelling-place of beggars and the wretchedly poor. The river was then full of shipping, carrying coal and timber from the Forest of Dead. (Mary Moorman, William Wordsworth: The Early Years, 1770-1803 [Oxford, 1968; first published 1957], pp. 402-403.) Many of the furnaces, on the banks of the river, consume charcoal, which is manufactured on the spot; and the smoke, which is frequently seen issuing from the sides of the hills; and spreading its thin veil over a part of them, beautifully breaks their lines, and unites them with the sky. (William Gilpin, Tour of the Wye [1771], cited by Moorman, The Early Years, p. 402 n. Moorman notes that the Wordsworths took this book with them on the walking tour during which Wordsworth wrote “Tintern Abbey.”) Wordsworth did not write about abject poverty and rapid industrialization in “Tintern Abbey” not because he considered them unimportant, nor because he valued the aesthetic over human suffering, but because he made a decision that this was not his ethical role in this poem. (Cf. Prynne on Wordsworth’s “The Solitary Reaper” in Field Notes: ‘The Solitary Reaper’ and Others [Cambridge, 2007], pp. 25-26.) Prynne relinquishes all claims to relational knowledge concerning the flame and smoke: we are in the forest, sure, but in such obscure geography we do not speculate if the flame belongs to one of us, to those others that we know of, or to vague figures produced by our politics and philosophy. The sort of poet that Prynne decided to be was one who must endure the refusal of pathos and the cost of isolation this entails, in order to patiently reveal, and return to, in and as a practice, that which is dialectical. (Dorn would encounter isolation, too, but for him this was the risk that had to be endured for the sake of pathos, at least for a while.) The argumentative pressure, which this frame supports in “Charm Against Too Many Apples,” perhaps premising on time what Olson premised on geography, amounts to a demand to go further and do so by the mutual dominations of practice and thought, careful to refuse the desire which is not real desire to predict ourselves. For “What we bring off is | ours by a slip of excitement” (ll. 38-39). But Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 35 what is the difference between predicting ourselves by speculation beyond the edge and compulsive repetition and inconsequence? If we insist on predicting where we go, then if we do go there, we only return to our own abstraction unless we relinquish our initial prediction. As such, we would refuse the knowledge that doing is, and refuse ourselves the fact that things do change, valuing instead only abstraction under the name of insight and the immutability of this type of thought that displaces the real life we live and die in. Compare Thoreau: “A man can hardly be said to be there, if he knows that he is there, or to go there if he knows where he is going. The man who is bent upon his work is frequently in the best attitude to observe what is irrelevant to his work.” (Henry David Thoreau, Autumn: From the Journal of Henry David Thoreau Vol. VII [Boston, M.A., 1892], p. 293.) “I find it to be the height of wisdom not to endeavor to oversee myself, and live a life of prudence and common- sense, but to see over and above myself, entertain sublime conjectures, to make myself the thoroughfare of thrilling thoughts, live all that can be lived” (Thoreau, Autumn, p. 317). CONCLUSION: A PERSONAL NOTE ON PROSODY The falling rhy-thm of How can anyone breaks at the point of both its con- tinuance and its match in the fulfillment of the despondent tone: hope would be the next beat in this rhythm, to be followed by one or two offbeats, and is the rejected object of the melancholy question ‘How can anyone hope?’ But neither does the rhythm continue nor do I complete the question. Instead, there is a comma and I pause at the word hope. I first thought about these lines in December 2008, and they stuck with me then and stick with me now. When I go for walks around where I live, I often find myself saying them aloud; phrases from this sentence come into my head during conversation and I sometimes recall the whole sentence when I am sad. In December 2008, I read that comma after hope as the mark of hesitation inherent in hope itself. If I can hope my life will get better, then I may stop myself taking drastic measures to immediately change how it is. I was living in America at the time, Obama had just been elected, and since early November the language How can anyone hope, to accomplish what he wants so much not finally to part with. (lines 15-17) GLOSSATOR 2 36 of hope seemed to me contentless among many of the middle- and upper-class New Englanders I had been bumping into. (Their lives, after all, were going to remain comfortable in the same way, and, from their views, a little more morally grounded, as they were happy with their new president.) After the despondent tone and rhythm, and the break from this rhythm and also from sense at the comma (as the expected question mark is not there; nor is the direction-focusing ‘hope for this particular thing’) I find myself separating the sense from the rhythm. To accomplish what he wants so much not finally to part with I read in December 2008 as a comment on the joy which hope itself brings, as surrogate for the good thing desired: when I have achieved what I hoped for, I will be forced to relinquish all the joy (and reason to go on) that that hope has given me. To hope for something, it seemed to me, would provide me with every reason not to try and achieve it. The rhythm of to accomplish what he wants so much not finally to part with I read as a return to a rising rhythm. I elided to a- into a single syllable and stressed the -ly of finally. It then reads as six iambs with an extra syllable at the end, returning me to the sentence structure. This rhythm was to me then the enactment of going on, the forward rhythm that refused hope, . It broke through the pentameter, broke through a line break, leaving only with to return us to the sentence which this rhythm had, for me, overrun. Now, a year later, in December 2009, I do not read these lines in the same way. How can anyone hope, to accomplish what he wants so much not finally to part with I think implores us to continue to hope whilst recognizing that, when we do, we are not only bound to part with this hope once it is realized, but are also bound to, eventually, part with our accomplishments, with all our life as it is and as we want it. Things will change. I will die. I hear the same imploring tone in “Try doing it now," the final line of Prynne’s 2006 sequence To Pollen. When I read to a- I find that I am able to hear simultaneously these sounds as both distinct syllables and as elided also into one syllable. The poem allows me the passion of meter here without it having precluded the passion of the sense. But I confront a decision in the word finally. To pronounce and hear the meter here, I have to reject the sense: the last syllable of finally is not stressed when I use it general conversation or when I begin a paragraph in an essay with it. I have a choice to make: whether to leave the sense behind, abstract the rhythm from it (Coleridge might say distill) and acknowledge it only as a starting point, whilst I derive pleasure from the passion of meter; or to not do this. I can aestheticize the line as I repeat it to myself, and enjoy a Stanley – Back on Into the Way Home 37 moment of lyric flight. It is ridiculous to put this in terms of a choice, though; after all, can I really have much to gain or lose? However, if I refuse the passion of meter, and pay attention to the words I repeat to myself, I cannot exactly say ‘I think about death’ because I do not come to terms with it, but I do think about finality. In December 2009, I think about how even more ridiculous than taking these lines seriously it is to think unquestionably about eternal continuation. Perhaps what I mean is, when I think about these lines, what is more ridiculous than taking them seriously is not taking them seriously. GLOSSATOR 2 38 
work_mpec5lsmbfhwjgnu2mjv2kypfq	----	Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ doi:10.5194/angeo-32-485-2014 © Author(s) 2014. CC Attribution 3.0 License. Annales Geophysicae O pen A ccess Faith in a seed: on the origins of equatorial plasma bubbles J. M. Retterer1 and P. Roddy2 1Institute for Scientific Research, Boston College, 140 Commonwealth Avenue, Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts, 02467, USA 2Space Vehicles Directorate, Air Force Research Laboratory, Kirtland AFB, New Mexico, USA Correspondence to: J. M. Retterer (john.retterer@bc.edu) Received: 15 November 2013 – Revised: 19 February 2014 – Accepted: 18 March 2014 – Published: 15 May 2014 Abstract. Our faith in the seeds of equatorial plasma irregu- larities holds that there will generally always be density per- turbations sufficient to provide the seeds for irregularity de- velopment whenever the Rayleigh–Taylor instability is ac- tive. When the duration of the time of the Rayleigh–Taylor instability is short, however, the magnitude of the seed per- turbations can make a difference in whether the irregularities have a chance to grow to a strength at which the nonlinear development of plumes occurs. In addition, the character of the resulting irregularities reflects the characteristics of the initial seed density perturbation, e.g., their strength, spacing, and, to some extent, their spatial scales, and it is important to know the seeds to help determine the structure of the de- veloped irregularities. To this end, we describe the climatol- ogy of daytime and early-evening density irregularities that can serve as seeds for later development of plumes, as deter- mined from the Planar Langmuir Probe (PLP) plasma density measurements on the C/NOFS (Communication and Navi- gation Outage Forecast System) satellite mission, presenting their magnitude as a function of altitude, latitude, longitude, local time, season, and phase in the solar cycle (within the C/NOFS observation era). To examine some of the conse- quences of these density perturbations, they are used as initial conditions for the PBMOD (Retterer, 2010a) 3-D irregular- ity model to follow their potential development into larger- amplitude irregularities, plumes, and radio scintillation. Keywords. Ionosphere (equatorial ionosphere; ionospheric irregularities; modeling and forecasting). “Though I do not believe that a pla[sma bubble] will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders.” – Henry David Thoreau 1 Introduction There is much that remains poorly understood about the ori- gins of plasma density irregularities in the low-latitude region of Earth’s ionosphere (Kelley et al., 2011). These irregular- ities, first observed in ionosonde traces, have subsequently been observed by incoherent-scatter radars and in airglow images of the night sky, in situ measurements of plasma density and velocity, and by numerous other means. They are believed to begin as small-amplitude density variations which are then amplified by the exponential growth in time that is characteristic of plasma instabilities like the Rayleigh– Taylor (RT) instability of the bottomside of the ionospheric F layer (Kelley, 1989) until their amplitudes are large enough that nonlinear interactions significantly modify their struc- ture, leading to rising plumes of low-density plasma filled with turbulence. Bubble formation can occur anytime that the Rayleigh– Taylor growth rate is large enough for a long enough time for significant irregularities to develop. Generally they form at night, when the E region conductivity is small (otherwise, the E region conductivity will short out the growing polar- ization electric fields and prevent the feedback that leads to the instability). Uplift of the F layer aids the instability by moving the plasma layer into altitudes where the neutral col- lision frequencies are weaker and the RT growth rate is con- sequently larger. Thus, bubbles are often seen shortly after sunset, when the prereversal enhancement of the upward drift leads to stronger growth rates, but they can be seen at other times of night when other mechanisms produce electric fields that cause the uplift of the F layer (Yizengaw et al., 2013). Because the RT instability initially merely amplifies the structure of the perturbations, a number of the characteris- tics of the original irregularities (for example, the zonal spac- ing of plumes) are carried over into the developed turbulent Published by Copernicus Publications on behalf of the European Geosciences Union. 486 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed -50 0 50 100 150 200 250 V z pe ak Vpre = 3.9 m/sVpre = 3.9 m/sVpre = 3.9 m/s ∆N0/N 0.003 0.01 0.03 -50 0 50 100 150 200 250 V z pe ak Vpre = 6.7 m/sVpre = 6.7 m/sVpre = 6.7 m/s -50 0 50 100 150 200 250 V z pe ak Vpre = 12.3 m/sVpre = 12.3 m/sVpre = 12.3 m/s 18 19 20 21 22 23 Local Time -50 0 50 100 150 200 250 V z pe ak Vpre = 23.6 m/sVpre = 23.6 m/sVpre = 23.6 m/s Fig. 1. The sensitivity of bubble development to the magnitude of the initial perturbation as well as the magnitude of the Rayleigh– Taylor growth rate. Vz peak is the maximum vertical velocity (in m s−1) over the grid of the 2-D simulation of plume development; the upward jump in Vz peak indicates the formation of plumes. The panels of the plot show the results for the different prereversal ambi- ent drifts, which control the strength of the Rayleigh–Taylor growth rate. The different color curves represent the results of simulations with different initial magnitude perturbations: black, blue, and red represent a maximum perturbation 0.003, 0.01, and 0.03 times the peak ambient density, respectively. plumes. Moreover, when the time interval in the post-sunset sector in which the RT growth rate is significant is short, the strength of evening irregularities can be as much dependent on the initial amplitudes of the irregularities as it is on the strength of the RT instability because the stronger the ini- tial perturbation is, the less Rayleigh–Taylor growth is re- quired to boost the irregularities into the nonlinear regime. Figure 1 illustrates this situation. Several (two-dimensional, for simplicity) simulations (Retterer, 2010a) of plume for- mation are performed, with both different strengths of the RT instability (set by the magnitude of the prereversal verti- cal drift of the ambient plasma – higher drift means stronger RT growth rate) and initial density perturbations of differ- ent magnitudes, with the peak density perturbation 0.003, 0.01, or 0.03 times the F peak ambient density. The quan- tity plotted is the peak vertical plasma drift within the sim- ulation volume as a function of time. A rapid growth of this drift indicates that a plume of low-density, rapidly upward- rising plasma has formed. The top panel shows that when the RT instability is weak, none of these perturbations is suffi- cient to trigger plume formation. With the next largest RT growth rate, only the biggest initial density perturbation trig- gers plume development. With stronger RT growth, smaller initial perturbations can trigger plume development, but it is always the biggest initial perturbation (the red curves) that initiates plume formation soonest and produces the strongest plumes (as marked by the peak magnitude of the vertical drift). But what are the origins of the initial density fluctuations? What are their expected spatial and temporal scales? What are their seasonal, latitudinal, and longitudinal occurrence climatologies, and can knowing this help us forecast the probability of plume formation and radio scintillation? One of the processes that lead to ion density variations is momen- tum exchange with neutral constituents of the thermosphere, whereby the friction with the neutral component can induce the ions to drift in the same way as the neutral wind. When the neutral wind varies periodically as in a wave, the ion drift can be found to vary periodically in the same way. As the ion drift responds to the varying neutral wind, the plasma den- sity responds in the way dictated by the continuity equation, producing density perturbations that can be amplified in the RT instability. Wave perturbations in the winds and density are perva- sive features of the neutral atmosphere that exist over a wide range of spatial and temporal scales. Winds are responsible for many of the major electrodynamic features of the iono- sphere through the production of dynamo current systems (Fejer, 2011). In addition to the larger-scale tidal oscillations and planetary waves (Maute et al., 2012), there also exist smaller-scale gravity waves (Hines, 1974), traveling neutral disturbances that induce corresponding wave variations in the ionospheric plasma (Hooke, 1968). There are a number of sources for these waves, ranging from storm-time energy inputs at high latitudes to tropospheric storm systems at low and middle latitudes (Hagan and Forbes, 2003). Note that as the wave-like plasma density perturbations are supported and maintained by polarization electric fields that develop within their structure, the notion that, for the Rayleigh–Taylor instability, the strength of the growth rate and the initial density perturbation are independent quanti- ties is illusory. Large-scale wave structures (Tsunoda, 2010) can provide both the initial density perturbation and enhance- ments in the upward plasma drift that enhance the Rayleigh– Taylor growth rate. Typically, what is seen in the simulations (Retterer, 2010a) is that plumes initially develop from the points where the bottomside of the F layer is the highest in Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 487 PB10281 Date: 55477 281 2010 10 8 -10000 -8000 -6000 -4000 -2000 0 ∆ Ne PLP -0.8 -0.6 -0.4 -0.2 0 ∆ N e / N e 400 500 600 700 800 900 A lt it ud e -30 -20 -10 0 10 20 30 L at it ud e 21.5 21.75 22 22.25 22.5 22.75 23 23.25 UT 0 50 100 150 200 250 300 350 L on gi tu de 21.5 21.75 22 22.25 22.5 22.75 23 23.25 UT 0 5 10 15 20 local tim e Fig. 2. The plasma density perturbation observed by PLP onboard the C/NOFS satellite on day 281 of 2010, at around 22 UT. The top panel gives the density perturbation (red curve, in number per cm3) determined by high-pass filtering of the observations. The sec- ond panel gives the density perturbation normalized by the ambient density. (The gray lines in these panels mark the time of 18:00 LT, the yellow lines the time of 06:00 LT.) The third panel gives the alti- tude of the satellite at the time of the observation (black curve) and the apex altitude of the observation point mapped back to the geo- magnetic equator (red curve). The fourth panel gives the latitude of the observation, while the bottom panel gives the longitude (black curve, left-hand scale) and local time (blue curve, right-hand scale) of the observations. altitude. As a wave propagates along the F layer, it provides both density perturbations and enhanced plasma drifts. Empirical knowledge of the phenomenon is the first key to understanding it. Here we take advantage of the survey of low-latitude plasma densities provided by the Commu- nication and Navigation Outage Forecast System (C/NOFS) satellite from the solar minimum of 2008 through the rising phase of the solar cycle into 2012. We employ a high-pass filtering technique to isolate the shorter-term density irregu- larities in which we are interested from the smoother varia- tions of the ambient plasma as the satellite moves around its low-inclination orbit, sampling the plasma density through longitudes and local times. We accumulate statistics of the amplitude of the density fluctuations and plot it as a function of altitude, latitude, local time, longitude, season, and phase PB10282 Date: 55478 282 2010 10 9 -10000 -8000 -6000 -4000 -2000 0 ∆ Ne PLP -0.8 -0.6 -0.4 -0.2 0 ∆ N e / N e 400 500 600 700 800 900 A lt it ud e -30 -20 -10 0 10 20 30 L at it ud e 21.5 21.75 22 22.25 22.5 22.75 23 23.25 UT 0 50 100 150 200 250 300 350 L on gi tu de 21.5 21.75 22 22.25 22.5 22.75 23 23.25 UT 0 5 10 15 20 local tim e Fig. 3. The plasma density perturbation observed by PLP onboard the C/NOFS satellite on day 282 of 2010, at around 22 UT. The top panel gives the density perturbation (red curve, in number per cm3) determined by high-pass filtering of the observations. The second panel gives the density perturbation normalized by the ambient den- sity. (The gray lines in these panels mark the time of 18:00 LT, the yellow lines the time of 06:00 LT.) The third panel gives the alti- tude of the satellite at the time of the observation (black curve) and the apex altitude of the observation point mapped back to the geo- magnetic equator (red curve). The fourth panel gives the latitude of the observation, while the bottom panel gives the longitude (black curve, left-hand scale) and local time (blue curve, right-hand scale) of the observations. of the solar cycle. Lastly, we use snapshot examples of the density perturbations as an initial condition for a 3-D plume model to demonstrate how the fluctuations will evolve and how irregularity-filled plumes and radio scintillation can de- velop from them. 2 Data analysis The C/NOFS satellite was launched in April 2008 as a com- ponent of a system to specify and forecast the occurrence of radio scintillations that interfere with the systems that rely on transionospheric radio propagation (de La Beaujardiere et al., 2004). Its orbit was elliptical (400 × 850 km) with low incli- nation (13◦) so as to sample the ionospheric plasma in the re- gion near the geomagnetic equator, one of the regions where www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 488 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 10-4 10-3 10-2 Inverse Wavelength [km-1] PB10282 PLP data UT= 22.3375 104 105 106 107 108 109 P S D (∆ N e) Fig. 4. Power spectrum of the density irregularities around 18:00 LT in Fig. 3, illustrating their power-law-like nature, close to k−2 (the straight line in this log-log plot). The 1-Hz sampled PLP data were used for the spectral analysis; k is the inverse of the wavelength in km. the density irregularities responsible for the scintillation are found. Among the instruments onboard the satellite, we em- ploy here the plasma density measurements, Ne(t), from the planar Langmuir probe (PLP) (Roddy et al., 2010), at a one sample per second resolution. To isolate the faster density variations of interest, 1Ne, from the longer spatial scale or slower variations of the ambi- ent density (considered to be at along-track scales of 300 km or more), a smoothed version of the PLP density data series is formed, Ne0, which is then subtracted from the original data series, Ne, to leave the variations at the shorter scales, 1Ne = Ne −Ne0. The smoothed density can be estimated ei- ther by a running mean or, if the irregularities expected are overwhelmingly depletions (reductions in density), estimated by the envelope of density maxima spaced on an ambient- scale grid throughout the time series. Dao et al. (2011) em- ployed similar techniques, but looked solely at 1Ne/Ne0, which is always small in the daytime, to focus on the night- time irregularities. A sample of this density-irregularity cal- culation using data from day 281, year 2010, around 18 UT, is shown in Fig. 2. The top panel gives 1Ne, the density irregularity in number per cm3 as calculated by subtracting the smoothed density from the original signal, and the sec- ond panel gives this density irregularity normalized by the ambient density, 1Ne/Ne0. The ambient density in this ex- ample was determined using a set of density points sampled every 40 s, providing a spatial resolution of about 300 km; thus, 1Ne includes all spatial scales smaller than that (down to the 8 km resolution due to the sampling rate). The other panels give information about the time and location of the observations. The altitude of the satellite is shown in black in panel three, along with the apex altitude, shown in red (the altitude at the geomagnetic equator to which the location of the satellite maps; where the two curves touch, the satellite is at the geomagnetic equator). The fourth panel shows the latitude of the satellite, and the fifth panel gives the longi- tude (black curve, with axis on the left) and local time (blue curve, with axis on the right) of the satellite. The gray lines mark the points where the local time is 18:00 LT, while the yellow lines mark the points where the local time is 06:00 LT. We first see in this segment of data, at 21.8 UT (around 10:00 LT), a burst of irregularities with an amplitude of a few 1000 cm−3, followed by a few more bursts of smaller amplitude through the afternoon. Because the ambient den- sity is high during the day, these irregularities have small fractional strength, 1Ne/Ne0, and may not have much radio-propagation effect themselves, but they persist beyond 18:00 LT into the early evening, where they can act as seeds for the development of stronger irregularities amplified by the RT instability, such as can be seen later in the orbit, around 22.5 UT (around 20:00 LT). Another case, from day 282, 2010, is shown in Fig. 3, in exactly the same format as Fig. 2. Here the sampled day- side irregularities are smaller, perhaps because the satellite is farther away from the geomagnetic equator (note the dis- tance between the satellite altitude and apex altitude in the third panel), but the early evening irregularities might be a little larger and have a slower temporal variation (corre- sponding to larger spatial scales) than the case in Fig. 2. The spectral density of the power in these irregularities near 18:00 LT as a function of wave number (mapping from sam- pled time to space assuming static structures sampled by the satellite moving at 8 km s−1) is shown in Fig. 4. We see that the spectrum is close to a power law, as comparison with the straight line in this log-log plot suggests, with a spec- tral index close to −2. Unfortunately, this seemingly ubiq- uitous spectral shape in atmospheric fluid turbulence leaves few clues (like a preferred wavelength) as to the origins of the waves. 3 Climatology To produce a more general picture of the occurrence of these daytime density irregularities, we calculate their climatology, the statistical description of how their magnitudes vary with parameters such as altitude, local time, latitude, longitude, season, and phase of solar cycle, by binning large numbers of observations of them over a significant period of time. We choose periods of accumulation that are multiples of the or- bital precession period of the satellite (67 days) to insure bet- ter uniformity of sampling. Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 489 PB08249 0 L T 2 4 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 0 L T 2 4 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 0 L T 2 4 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 0 L T 2 4 0 Gglon 360 PB11307 0 Gglon 360 PB12067 0 Gglon 360 PB12123 0 Gglon 360 2 2.5 3 3.5 4 4.5 log rms∆Ne Fig. 5. Climatology of density irregularities as a function of longitude and local time, integrated over altitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The density scale is logarithmic, ranging from 102 to 105 cm−3 for the density irregularities. Figure 5 shows the climatology of irregularity strength as a function of longitude and local time through the first four years of the C/NOFS era. Each panel gives the root-mean- square magnitude of the irregularities as a function of longi- tude and local time, integrated over all altitudes (although we will see later that most of the contribution will come from the lowest altitudes that the C/NOFS samples). Each row gives the results for a year, while each column shows the results for a given season: summer (Northern Hemisphere), fall, winter, and spring, in order. The sampling for the summer plot was over 134 days ending on day 249, the sampling for the fall seasons was over 67 days ending on day 307, that for winter 134 days ending on day 67, and that for spring 67 days end- ing on day 123. Through the course of the C/NOFS era, we see the increases in density due to the stronger plasma pho- toproduction in the rising phase of the solar cycle, as well as seasonal variations, e.g., the daytime irregularities are weak- est in the summer season. Throughout the data set we see the strong evening and early morning irregularities produced by the RT amplification, which appear to follow the well- known climatology for scintillation and equatorial plasma bubbles (Gentile et al., 2006): strong through many longi- tudes at the spring and fall equinoxes, strong in the Ameri- can sector in winter, strong in the Pacific sector in summer, plus the general tendency to increase in intensity as the solar activity increases. Note how the daytime irregularities per- sist into the evening, where they can serve as seeds for the development of the strong irregularities and plumes under the influence of the RT instability. There is some suggestion of the four-node pattern in longitude that is a sign of cou- pling with the lower atmosphere (Immel et al., 2006), which is even more strongly visible in the longitudinal modulations www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 490 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed PB08249 0 L T 2 4 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 0 L T 2 4 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 0 L T 2 4 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 0 L T 2 4 0 Gglon 360 PB11307 0 Gglon 360 PB12067 0 Gglon 360 PB12123 0 Gglon 360 3.5 4 4.5 5 5.5 6 log Ne0 Fig. 6. Climatology of the ambient density as a function of longitude and local time, integrated over altitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The density scale is logarithmic, ranging from 3 × 103 to 3 × 106 cm−3. of the daytime densities in Fig. 6 and the 1Ne/Ne0 perturba- tions plotted in Fig. 7 below. For comparison, Fig. 6 presents the climatology of the am- bient plasma density as a function of longitude and local time over the same seasons (all the climatology plots will have this same organization). What is notable here is the steady increase of densities through the rising phase of the solar cy- cle, as well as the hints of the four-node pattern in longitude. Although the daytime irregularities in Fig. 5 appear to approximately follow the trends of the ambient density in Fig. 6, a detailed look at the ratio of density irregularity to ambient density, 1Ne/Ne0, in the daytime as a function of local time and longitude in Fig. 7 shows that there is struc- ture in the ratio, with a hint of the four-node structure in lon- gitude characteristic of E region tidal control, particularly in the summer seasons and at solar minimum (2008). Figure 8 shows the climatology of the rms density- irregularity magnitudes as a function of altitude and local time, showing how the irregularities in the midday and af- ternoon taper off in magnitude with altitude. The amplified irregularities due to RT growth in the evening and post- midnight times are apparent here as well. As the solar cycle advances toward its peak, the amplified irregularities extend to larger altitudes as freely convecting plumes develop and rise to greater heights. Finally, Fig. 9 gives the climatology of the rms density- irregularity magnitudes as a function of latitude and local time. To be able to combine observations from different lon- gitudes, the latitude parameter that is used is the latitudinal distance from the geomagnetic equator at the satellite longi- tude. We expect that the geomagnetic equator is the center point of organization of much of the plasma structure, so by Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 491 PB08249 0 L T 2 4 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 0 L T 2 4 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 0 L T 2 4 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 0 L T 2 4 0 Gglon 360 PB11307 0 Gglon 360 PB12067 0 Gglon 360 PB12123 0 Gglon 360 0 0.01 0.02 0.03 0.04 rms∆Ne /Ne0 Fig. 7. Climatology of the ratio of rms density irregularity to ambient plasma density as a function of longitude and local time (LT), integrated over altitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The scale of this dimensionless quantity (0 to 0.05) was chosen to show the daytime irregularities. using the distance from that point, we may put equivalent points at different longitudes on an equal footing to be com- bined in one picture. Note, however, that offset between the geographic and geomagnetic equators and the low inclination of the C/NOFS orbit means that the north side of the geomag- netic equator is not sampled to distances as great as the south side is. There is no consistent seasonal pattern here. There are lobes in the daytime irregularities that appear on either side of the equator at different times, with a reversed pattern the next year. One consistent feature is the lozenge shape of the amplified irregularities in the evening, due to the rising of the plumes, and thus the spreading out in latitude of their motion. 4 Seeding We next use the low-level density irregularities observed just before sunset as the initial perturbation in a calculation of the development of the RT instability in the evening time sec- tor. To follow the development we use the three-dimensional, fully nonlinear model of Retterer (2010a). This model as- sumes that the ions are inertia-less to solve the momentum equation (an assumption which is appropriate for F layer heights). Under this approximation, the ion drifts at an in- stant are specified by the instantaneous accelerations due to the electric field and other forces affecting the ions and elec- trons (modified by the mobilities that depend on the colli- sion and gyrofrequencies). The electric field, being the so- lution of an elliptic equation with coefficients dependent on the conductivities and external driving terms (like gravity and www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 492 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed PB08249 40 0 A lt 8 50 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 40 0 A lt 8 50 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 40 0 A lt 8 50 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 40 0 A lt 8 50 0 LT 24 PB11307 0 LT 24 PB12067 0 LT 24 PB12123 0 LT 24 2 2.5 3 3.5 4 4.5 log rms∆Ne Fig. 8. Climatology of plasma density irregularities as a function of altitude and local time (LT), integrated over all longitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The density scale is logarithmic, ranging from 102 to 105 cm−3 for the density irregularities. the neutral winds), in turn is dependent on the variations of the plasma density, so the initial condition can be specified solely in terms of the plasma density. For this we use the C/NOFS observations to describe the longitudinal (east–west along the geomagnetic equator) variation of the density, us- ing specific cases from particular times and dates since each is unique. Because of the satellite’s low-inclination orbit, its motion allows it to sample the longitudinal variation of the plasma density; because it moves quickly compared to the evolution timescales of the plasma, its sequential sampling through a time interval can be taken as a snapshot of the vari- ation through the range of longitudes it visits through that time. With the orbital speeds of low earth orbit (8 km s−1), the 1 Hz sampling of the PLP instrument is just about right for plume models of this kind, which typically have grid spacings of 4–8 km. To fully specify the plasma perturbation for the simula- tion’s initial condition, however, we need to specify the vari- ation of the perturbation with altitude and latitude as well. A linearization of the continuity equation shows that when the perturbations are small, the altitude variation is propor- tional to the altitude gradient of the ambient density. (This means, for example, that the perturbations are small near the F layer peak because any displacement of the layer brings plasma of nearly the same density to that height.) For the lat- itudinal variation, we appeal to our climatology and employ a Gaussian distribution over latitudes about the geomagnetic equator, with a half-width of 5◦. Thus, we first map out the perturbations in the equatorial plane, assuming that the de- pendence on altitude and longitude can be regarded as sepa- rable. The longitudinal variation is provided by the satellite observations while the variation in altitude is specified by the Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 493 PB08249 0 L T 2 4 PB08307 PB09067 PB09123 PB09249 0 L T 2 4 PB09307 PB10067 PB10123 PB10249 0 L T 2 4 PB10307 PB11067 PB11123 PB11249 0 L T 2 4 -20 ∆lateq 20 PB11307 -20 ∆lateq 20 PB12067 -20 ∆lateq 20 PB12123 -20 ∆lateq 20 2 2.5 3 3.5 4 4.5 log rms∆Ne Fig. 9. Climatology of plasma density irregularities as a function of latitudinal distance from the geomagnetic equator and local time (LT), integrated over all longitudes and averaged over seasons from (Northern Hemisphere) summer 2008 (upper left) to spring equinox 2012 (lower right). The density scale is logarithmic, ranging from 102 to 105 cm−3 for the density irregularities. variation of the absolute value of the derivative of the den- sity profile with respect to altitude in the equatorial plane, normalized by the magnitude of the derivative at the satel- lite observation point. Then, the variation along the length of each flux tube crossing the equatorial plane is described by the Gaussian function of latitude, because we expect the fast flux-tube-aligned parallel transport to maintain correlation of densities at points along each flux tube. We simulate the ionospheric plasma on days 281 and 282 of 2010, near the longitude 280◦. The ambient model of PB- MOD (Retterer, 2005) was run to provide the ambient back- ground and to evaluate the strength of the RT instability using the formulas of Sultan (1996) in the ambient plasma density as determined by PBMOD (Retterer et al., 2005) using the C/NOFS Ion Velocity Meter (IVM) vertical drifts (Stoneback et al., 2011) as a driver. Figure 10 shows that the plasma was mildly unstable on day 281 (minimum exponentiation time about 21 min) but stable on day 282. We show the results of the simulation of the irregulari- ties on the stable day first, in Fig. 11. Six snapshots of the plasma density at different times are shown here as a func- tion of east–west distance and altitude in the geomagnetic equatorial plane. The east–west distances are given in terms of geographic longitude. The simulation was performed with a 256 × 256 grid in the equatorial plane, thus with grid cells about 4 km by 4 km, with 201 points describing the varia- tion of the density along the magnetic field line in each flux tube intersecting that plane. Because the density variations would be too small to discern if the total density were plot- ted, we plot here instead the deviation from the mean density at each altitude, which allows the longitudinal structure of the small irregularities and their evolution to be seen. The top www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 494 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 15 20 25 30 35 RunID: PB10281 gglon= 280 gglat= -12 0 200 400 600 800 1000 Altitude γ [sec-1] 0.0005 0.0006 0.0007 0.0008 0.0009 15 20 25 30 35 Universal Time RunID: PB10282 gglon= 280 gglat= -12 0 200 400 600 800 1000 Altitude Fig. 10. Plasma density (contours) and RT instability growth rate (color shading) calculations for longitude 280◦ on days 281 and 282 of 2010, performed by PBMOD with assimilation of C/NOFS IVM vertical plasma drift. The plasma is mildly unstable on day 281 but stable on day 282. left snapshot is the initial condition, specified by the C/NOFS measurements. Time then advances to the right and then on to the lower row of snapshots. With the ambient vertical plasma drift employed in this simulation (note that the density struc- tures do not rise much in altitude with time), the strength of the RT growth rate is minimal and, although the irreg- ularities are amplified by about a factor of two, no rapidly rising plumes develop. We see the shear in the zonal drift of the plasma (Zalesak et al., 1982) shape the original verti- cal perturbations into the characteristic backward “C” shape. Other than the modest amplification and some slight diffu- sive smoothing and this zonal-drift shear, the density per- turbations propagate with little modification with time. Note that periodic boundary conditions are employed in the cal- culation, so that, with the eastward zonal drift, as a struc- ture leaves the simulation on the right side of the box, it is reintroduced on the left side. Although the amplitude of the density irregularities remains small, filamentation of the original density structures into shorter-wavelength features is apparent at later times in the simulation. The formation of these roughly 30 km-long irregularities may be caused by collisional shear instabilities driven by the shear in the neu- tral wind and the difference between the wind and the ion drifts (Hysell and Kudeki, 2004). (Note that although the ob- servations in Fig. 2 show amplified irregularities later in the evening, the satellite has moved into a completely different longitude sector by then, with different stability conditions.) The results of the simulation of the structure on the unsta- ble day 281, 2010, are shown in Figs. 12 and 13. Figure 12 shows snapshots of the density perturbations calculated as done for Fig. 11. Note the rapid increase in the range of the density variations (about a factor of ten from the initial range) as the plume develops around 25 UT. These density varia- tions become strong enough to view in a plot of the total density (Fig. 13). The spectrum of density irregularities in the simulations can be extrapolated into the scale range relevant to interac- tion with propagating radio waves to estimate the strength of scintillation that they can cause (Retterer, 2010b). We do not expect strong scintillation from these daytime irreg- ularities because daytime conductivities prevent the occur- rence of the Rayleigh–Taylor instability, whose nonlinear de- velopment leads to the cascade that strengthens the turbu- lence at the shorter wavelengths (λ <≈ 1 km) that interact with radio propagation at relevant frequencies. Weak scin- tillation (S4 < 0.4) during the daytime is in fact observed at the Ancon, Peru site of the US Air Force SCINDA (Scintilla- tion Decision Aid) network(Groves et al., 1997) on the days presented here. Daytime F region irregularities that produce spread-F-like effects have also been observed by radar and reported by Woodman et al. (1985), Chau and Woodman (2001), and Shume et al. (2013). 5 Conclusions In this paper we have shown how important it is to know the initial perturbation of the ionospheric plasma as well as the RT growth rate to model the development of equatorial plasma plumes and the turbulence embedded within them. There are many possibilities for the source of these initial perturbations, traveling ionospheric disturbances driven by atmospheric gravity waves being one of them. But systematic knowledge of the daytime irregularities has been limited, so we appealed to observations of densities by the PLP instru- ment on the C/NOFS satellite to provide a climatological de- scription of them. Using the data, we calculated the mean values of the den- sity irregularities as a function of altitude, latitude, longi- tude, local time, season, and phase of solar cycle through the C/NOFS era: so far, 2008–2012. The next step in the analysis will be to calculate occurrence probabilities because Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 495 LT= 17.9513 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e LT= 18.2847 LT= 18.618 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 18.9513 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 19.2847 Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 19.618 Longitude -10000 0 10000 ∆ Equatorial e- Density Fig. 11. Snapshots of the density perturbations taken at a sequence of times in a simulation (in number per cm3) in the plane of the geomag- netic equator as a function of longitude and apex altitude, beginning with the density perturbations observed by the C/NOFS satellite around 23.3 UT on day 282 of 2010 near longitude 280◦ (upper left plot). Time advances looking from left to right, and then continues in the lower row of plots. Modified by diffusion and shear, these perturbations do not develop into plumes; the plasma was stable at this location and time. the case studies we presented showed that the daytime ir- regularities can be quite variable, being stronger one day than the next. (We have hesitated to do this so far be- cause unevenness in sampling is a more difficult problem for occurrence-percentage calculations than it is for calculations of mean values.) Our analysis of the data showed a nearly ubiquitous pres- ence of density fluctuations in the low-latitude ionosphere with sufficient amplitude to form reasonable seeds for the formation of equatorial plumes as these irregularities get am- plified by the Rayleigh–Taylor instability. We used the ir- regularities observed on two days to seed a plume model to demonstrate the nature and properties of the mature irreg- ularities that can form from them, on both stable and RT- unstable days – the spacings of the plumes, etc. The next step here would be to perform these calculations for a large number of days to get a statistical characterization of such parameters to compare to the observational database. The near ubiquity of the density fluctuations may explain the suc- cess of calculations of the probability of equatorial plasma bubbles within the DMSP (Defense Meteorological Satellite Program) satellite data set using bubble simulations employ- ing uniform seeding with longitude and season (Retterer and Gentile, 2009). We isolated relatively small (shorter than 300 km) wave- lengths in our separation of finer scales from ambient scales (to better characterize the local structure of the irregularities). It has been suggested (Tsunoda, 2005) that very long wave- length waves are responsible for the seeding, and indeed it would be possible to extend the present study to look for these. In fact, the hints of coupling with the lower atmo- sphere within the data suggest that it would be interesting to look for planetary-wave scale variations in the ionospheric density measurements, which might help explain some of the long-term variations in scintillation occurrence. It has recently come to be appreciated that because the spa- tial filtering of the upward propagating gravity waves (Fritts and Vadas, 2008) limits the spectrum of gravity waves that reach ionospheric heights to those of 100 km wavelengths or longer, it is practical to conduct a simulation of the whole at- mosphere (Fuller-Rowell et al., 2008) with reasonably sized grids that permits these waves to affect the ionosphere. Using these gravity waves to produce the ionospheric disturbances that can be amplified by plasma instabilities in a plume sim- ulation (Retterer et al., 2014) removes the need to specify an artificially imposed initial perturbation altogether. It remains to be seen whether the variability in irregularity occurrence produced by this lower-atmospheric driving is sufficient to explain the observed day-to-day variability of scintillation occurrence. www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 496 J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed LT= 18.4813 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e ∆N limit: 40000 LT= 18.9813 ∆N limit: 40000 LT= 19.4813 ∆N limit: 80000 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 19.9813 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e ∆N limit: 160000 Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 20.4813 ∆N limit: 320000 Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 20.9813 ∆N limit: 320000 Longitude ∆ Equatorial e- Density -∆N limit 0 ∆N limit Fig. 12. Snapshots of the density perturbations taken at a sequence of times in a simulation in the plane of the geomagnetic equator as a function of longitude and apex altitude, beginning with the density perturbations observed by the C/NOFS satellite around 23.8 UT on day 281 of 2010 near magnetic longitude 280◦. Note the changing scale from snapshot to snapshot for the density perturbations (permitted to vary to capture all the variations of the density); the magnitude of the limits of the range of density perturbations (in number per cm3) spanned by the color bar are indicated in each panel. In this case, plumes do develop. LT= 18.4813 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e LT= 18.9813 LT= 19.4813 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 19.9813 300 400 500 600 A lt it ud e Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 20.4813 Longitude 274 276 278 280 282 284 LT= 20.9813 Longitude 104 105 106 Equatorial e- Density Fig. 13. Snapshots of the density taken at a sequence of times in a simulation in the plane of the geomagnetic equator as a function of longitude and apex altitude, beginning at the time of the density perturbations observed by the C/NOFS satellite around 23.8 UT on day 281 of 2010 near magnetic longitude 280◦. (These density snapshots correspond to the density perturbations in Fig. 12.) Ann. Geophys., 32, 485–498, 2014 www.ann-geophys.net/32/485/2014/ J. M. Retterer and P. Roddy: Faith in a seed 497 Acknowledgements. We thank the C/NOFS instrument teams for making their data available for this study. Support for this work was provided by AFRL and NASA. Topical Editor F. Rodrigues thanks E. Shume and one anony- mous referee for their help in evaluating this paper. References Chau, J. L. and Kudeki, E.: Discovery of two distinct types of equa- torial 150 km radar echoes, Geophys. Res. Lett., 40, 4509–4514, doi:10.1002/grl.50893, 2013. Chau, J. L. and Woodman, R. F.: Interferometric and dual beam observations of daytime Spread-F-like irregulari- ties over Jicamarca, Geophys. Res. Lett., 28, 3581–3584, doi:10.1029/2001GL013404, 2001. Dao, E., Kelley, M. C., Roddy, P., Retterer, J., Ballenthin, J. 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work_mqs4jkymnnaoxnwovxv2332xwy	----	S0021875817001426jra 1..26 Punishing Violent Thoughts: Islamic Dissent and Thoreauvian Disobedience in Post-/ America REBECCA RUTH GOULD American Muslims increasingly negotiate their relation to a government that is suspicious of Islam, yet which recognizes them as rights-bearing citizens, within a culture they claim as their own. To better understand how the post-/ state is reshaping American Islam, I examine the case of Muslim American dissident Tarek Mehanna, sentenced to seventeen years in prison in  for providing material support for terrorism. I read Mehanna’s verbal and visual depictions of his persecution in relation to the American dissidents Mehanna claims as intellectual predecessors, above all Henry David Thoreau and John Brown, while situ- ating this dissent within a long history of American activism Under a government which imprisons anyone unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison. Henry David Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government” Well over three million Muslims live in the United States. Islam is the third- largest US religion, following Christianity and Judaism. American Islam is more than a demographic phenomenon; scholarship is gradually revealing a rich literary Muslim American tradition, in many languages, and comprising many cultures, including slave narratives in Arabic that date back to the earliest days of the American republic. Yet for many within, as well as outside, the United States, the phrase “American Islam” still sounds like a contradiction College of Arts & Law, University of Birmingham. Email: r.r.gould@bham.ac.uk.  Besheer Mohamad, “A new estimate of the U.S. Muslim population,” Pew Research,  Jan. , at www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank////a-new-estimate-of-the-u-s-muslim- population.  John Esposito, “Muslims in America or American Muslims?”, in Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad and John L. Esposito, eds., Muslims on the Americanization Path? (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ), –, .  See, for example, Muhammad al-Ahari, ed., Five Classic Muslim Slave Narratives: Selim Aga, Job Ben Sulaiman, Nicholas Said, Omar ibn Said, Abu Bakr Sadiq (Chicago: Magribine Press, ). Journal of American Studies, Page  of  © Cambridge University Press and British Association for American Studies  doi:./S terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core mailto:r.r.gould&commat;bham.ac.uk http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/01/06/a-new-estimate-of-the-u-s-muslim-population http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/01/06/a-new-estimate-of-the-u-s-muslim-population http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/S0021875817001426&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core in terms. President Trump’s Muslim ban is only the latest in a long series of attempts to represent Islam as inherently alien to American culture. The reli- gious, ethnic, and even linguistic implications of American Islam defy ingrained stereotypes. Americans who complicate the monochromatic image of America frequently evoke surprise while traveling abroad when they diverge from these stereotypes. The false perception of a monochrome America retains its hold on the popular imagination, within the United States and globally. Yet America has been multi-confessional and multiethnic since its beginnings. While America’s diversity results in part from historical factors, including its precolonial indigenous populations and slavery, this diversity has more recently been affected by a substantial number of migrants from South Asia, Afghanistan, and the Arab world, many of whom, although not all, are Muslim. First-gener- ation Muslim Americans increasingly link the non-American aspects of their history, be it Pakistani, Egyptian, Iraqi, or Afghan, to their American selves. These hybrid identities are redefining the content of American Islam, and this redefinition calls for rigorous scrutiny and critical theorization. This essay tracks the transnational trajectory of one such hybrid identity, formed in the context of a post-/ US-led war on terror: the American- born Muslim Tarek Mehanna (b. ), from Sudbury, Massachusetts, of Egyptian descent. Mehanna was convicted of providing “material support” to foreign terrorists in  and is currently serving a seventeen-year prison sentence. Political theorists and legal scholars have written eloquently and persuasively about the dangerous legal precedent set by Mehanna’s case. They have focussed on how this precedent empowers the US government to criminalize protected speech, and to prosecute thought as dangerous in itself, apart from its actual consequences. While informed by such legal analyses, this essay takes a different turn. Through an analysis of his sentencing statement, delivered in , and the visual sketches that preceded it, I explore the intellectual origins of Mehanna’s mode of dissent, and analyze his location within the American tradition of civil disobedience. I focus on how Mehanna’s appropriation of  The experience of African Americans abroad has been extensively documented in this regard. See Gary Totten, African American Travel Narratives from Abroad: Mobility and Cultural Work in the Age of Jim Crow (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, ).  The Supreme Court ruling around which the prosecution built their case against Mehanna is Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project (), at www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/pdf/ -.pdf.  See Andrew March, “A Dangerous Mind?”, New York Times,  April , SR; Amna Akbar, “How Tarek Mehanna Went to Prison for a Thought Crime,” The Nation,  Dec. , at www.thenation.com/article/how-tarek-mehanna-went-prison-thought-crime.  A more recent source for Mehanna’s thinking which was not formally taken into consid- eration while working on this article are the posts on a Facebook page curated by his  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/09pdf/08-1498.pdf http://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/09pdf/08-1498.pdf http://www.thenation.com/article/how-tarek-mehanna-went-prison-thought-crime https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Thoreau fits into a longer history of American dissidence. While recognizing that Mehanna’s failure thus far to critically interrogate the violent premises of some of his Islamist texts is a significant weakness in his thinking to date, my interest lies more in his adaptation of core elements in American intellectual history to a Salafist Muslim identity. Alongside its status as a litmus test of the limits of the American justice system, Mehanna’s case marks a new, yet famil- iar, moment in the history of American civil disobedience. In bringing this complex legal precedent to bear on the study of Muslim American intellectual history, I want to suggest how, due to its progressive transnationalization and its changing internal demographics, American studies has entered a new phase. Mehanna’s case matters, and not just for what it tells us about the changing ethos of the US justice system and its increasing reliance on “innuendo and association” in a post-/ age. Equally, it is important for what it teaches us about America’s changing intel- lectual landscape. While Mehanna’s Muslim identity made him a target for prosecution, his familiarity with the classics of American literature and iconic moments in American history conditioned his ethics of dissent. Mehanna’s program for political action, including its problematic association with violence, belongs to an evolving indigenous tradition of American Islam, of which Mehanna’s is but one of many versions. While Mehanna, who affiliates with Salafism, a form of Islam that originated in Saudi Arabia which is linked to the conservative Hanbali school of Islamic jurisprudence, does not speak for all or even most Muslims, his thinking overall offers insight into the dialectics of American and Muslim identity today. In order to understand as well as resist the appeal of violence domestically and globally, we must come to terms with its original context, including its American history. THE CASE AGAINST MEHANNA On  April , Tarek Mehanna received a seventeen-year prison sentence for providing “material support” for al Qaeda. As legal scholar Amna Akbar brother, and regularly updated with reports from prison: www.facebook.com/Free TarekMehanna. This page has over , followers as of this writing.  The main Islamist text that Mehanna translated and disseminated on the Internet and which was a focus of his conviction is Muhammad bin Ahmad as-Salim (Isa al-Awshin), “ Ways to Serve and Participate in Jihad, at-Tibyan” (pdf at Internet Archive, ia.us.archive.org). Although the prosecution could not demonstrate any use of this work by al Qaeda, Mehanna’s promotion of this text was nonetheless regarded as “material support” for this terrorist group. See Wadie E. Said, Crimes of Terror: The Legal and Political Implications of Federal Terrorism Prosecutions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ), .  This phrase is taken from Akbar. Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.facebook.com/FreeTarekMehanna http://www.facebook.com/FreeTarekMehanna https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core notes, the government provided no evidence that Mehanna “acted at the group’s request, or even that he ever met or communicated with anyone from Al Qaeda.” It was not necessary for the government to prove collusion with any terrorist organizations in order to secure a conviction. It was enough to demonstrate that Mehanna “created and/or translated, accepted credit for authoring, and distributed text, videos, and other media, to inspire others to engage in violent jihad.” The ruling against Mehanna, and his extreme punishment, have been criticized by scholars of the First Amendment as “not properly founded in First Amendment law or statutory interpretation.” Critics note that in Mehanna’s case “material support” amounted to nothing more than posting on an online forum, maintaining a blog, and translating into English Arabic material supportive of jihad. There were related charges, including a trip to Yemen that the prosecution claimed was motivated by the intention to join a terrorist training camp, but these charges were never proven and did not constitute the basis of the case against Mehanna. As matters currently stand, Mehanna will pass the years – in solitary confinement in a super- max prison, as a result of his controversial beliefs. Mehanna’s conviction typifiesthelegalcultureof post-/ America.Already in , it was possibleto point to “twelve hundredMuslim and Arabmen” who were detained by US authorities in late  and to the “subsequent interroga- tion of eight thousand more.” Yet with regard to the crime with which he was charged, Mehanna’s conviction marks a new stage in the US war on terror. It indicates that the government need not provide evidence of the intention to per- petrate a terrorist act in order to secure a felony conviction. According to one legal scholar, Mehanna’s conviction “may have succeeded in pushing the doctri- nalenvelope,” effectively changingthe meaningof “materialsupport” within US law. Another specialist in the First Amendment notes that the case of Mehanna, like that of Julian Assange, illustrates “the complexities associated with the exercise of First Amendment liberties in an emerging global theatre.”  Ibid.  Quoted from United States of America v. Tarek Mehanna and Ahmad Abusamra, archived at www.investigativeproject.org/documents/case_docs/.pdf.  Nikolas Abel, “Note – U.S. v. Mehanna, the First Amendment, and Material Support in the War on Terror,” Boston College Law Review,  (), –, .  On the “material support” accusation see George D. Brown, “Notes on a Terrorism Trial: Preventive Prosecution, ‘Material Support’ and the Role of the Judge after United States v. Mehanna,” Boston College Law School Faculty Papers, , Paper .  Paul M. Barrett, Muslims in America: The Struggle for the Soul of a Religion (New York: Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, ), .  Brown, .  Timothy Zick, The Cosmopolitan First Amendment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ), .  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.investigativeproject.org/documents/case_docs/1726.pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core In his capacity as a representative of the US government, the prosecuting attorney in Mehanna’s case offered his own view of legal boundaries and norms. He told the jury that while it is “not illegal to watch something on the television,” it is illegal “to watch something in order to cultivate your desire, your ideology, your plots to kill American soldiers, or to help those, as in this case, who were.” Relying on charged, emotional language, and in effect calling on the jury to disregard the First Amendment in assessing Mehanna’s guilt, the prosecutor created a precedent for treating the cultiva- tion of an unpopular ideology as a crime, and suggested that reading a public document may be subject to legal sanction, depending on one’s motiv- ation (and, by implication, on one’s ideology and religion). The prosecutor’s assertion implies that, while it is permissible for people of certain beliefs (law enforcement officials, or, for example, non-Muslims) to read dangerous mate- rials, the same material is forbidden to those with different beliefs. As the prosecutor acknowledges, Mehanna was not accused of violent acts, or even of intending to commit such acts. The prosecution’s strategy went beyond criminalizing intent. To the extent that it is illegal “to watch something in order to cultivate your desire [or] your ideology,” criminality resides in the motives that accompany reading and watching, not in the acts themselves. Given that motives spring inseparably from beliefs, the prosecutor proposed to criminalize thought. Such (mis)readings of the law directly result from a post-/ legal culture, which treats terrorism as a crime that must be preemptively addressed. As Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez stated in , “we simply cannot and will not wait for these particular crimes to occur before taking action.” These documents demonstrate that the security agenda of the post-/ state is in tension with the free exercise of religion and the right to freedom of belief. In addition to heralding a new phase in the legal interpretation and appli- cation of the First Amendment, Mehanna’s ideological situation is distinctive in itself. As his sentencing statement (discussed in the next section) shows, Mehanna forges a chain of solidarity across racial and religious borders. When he addressed the judge and jury in a Boston courtroom following the announcement of his seventeen-year sentence, Mehanna also addressed a diverse cross-section of the American public, and situating himself within the American dissident tradition. His statement drew extensively on American ideologies, both violent and nonviolent, to justify his intellectual  United States v. Mehanna, No. ‐‐GAO (D. Mass. ), day , –.  Alberto Gonzales, “Remarks at the World Affairs Council of Pittsburgh on Stopping Terrorists before They Strike: The Justice Department’s Power of Prevention,” at www. usdoj.gov/ag/speeches//ag_speech_.html. Gonzalez’s statement is discussed in Robert Chesney, “Beyond Conspiracy? Anticipatory Prosecution and the Challenge of Unaffiliated Terrorism,” Southern California Law Review, ,  (), –. Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.usdoj.gov/ag/speeches/2006/ag_speech_060816.html http://www.usdoj.gov/ag/speeches/2006/ag_speech_060816.html https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core trajectory. This American dissident trajectory, Mehanna argued, had brought him into conflict with US government. The relation that Mehanna triangu- lated, between US dissidence, government surveillance, and Muslim piety, calls on us to rethink the parameters of civil disobedience in post-/ America. In bringing liberal conceptions of freedom and agency into conflict and dialogue with religious conviction, Mehanna departs from society’s mainstream secular liberalism and returns us to faith-based action. “IT’S BECAUSE OF AMERICA THAT I AM WHO I AM” On  April , when his sentence was announced, Mehanna read a pre- pared statement that is suffused with a rhetoric suggesting an awareness of its own posterity. By virtue of its historical significance, as well as the range of its examples and the scope of its arguments, this document is a key text in the canon of American dissent, and an important primary source for American Islam in the post-/ period. The testimony begins by explaining Mehanna’s refusal to cooperate with the FBI agents who offered him the chance to become a collaborator in exchange for avoiding prosecution. His opening sets the tone for the narrative that follows: Exactlyfour yearsagothis monthI wasfinishing mywork shiftata localhospital.As I was walking to my car I was approached by two federal agents. Theysaid that I had a choice to make: I could do things the easy way, or I could do them the hard way. The “easy” way, as they explained, was that I would become an informant for the government, and if I did so I would never see the inside of a courtroom or a prison cell. As for the hard way, this is it. Here I am, having spent the majority of the four years since then in a solitary cell the size of a small closet, in which I am locked down for  hours each day. Dramatically setting forth the events leading up to his arrest, Mehanna details the conflict with the state that ultimately resulted in his long-term incarcer- ation. In presenting his version of the case, Mehanna persuasively argues that he was punished for his principled refusal to become an informant and to cooperate with the authorities. Mehanna’s claim is reinforced by the facts of the case: the most damning evi- dence against him was provided by a felon-turned-informant, who financed Mehanna’s trip to Yemen (claimed by the government to have been in search of an al Qaeda training camp), and who later admitted to planning a terrorist attack in a US shopping mall. In exchange for immunity from prosecution,  Kareem Abuzahra was a co-collaborator who was granted immunity in order to testify in the case against Mehanna and was a key witness for the prosecution. However, as noted by several commentators, his testimony was compromised by his admission that he was willing to lie. See Brown, .  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core this individual agreed to testify against Mehanna. Due to this agreement, a man who plotted a terrorist attack against the United States remains unprosecuted (and indeed protected from prosecution) while Mehanna, who was never charged with planning such attacks, was punished with a seventeen-year prison sentence. After presenting himself as a scapegoat who refused to cooper- ate with the FBI, Mehanna dwells on his dual identity as a Muslim American. I wasn’t born in a Muslim country … I was born and raised right here in America and this angers many people: how is it that I can be an American and believe the things I believe, take the positions I take? Everything a man is exposed to in his environment becomes an ingredient that shapes his outlook, and I’m no different. So, in more ways than one, it’s because of America that I am who I am [emphasis added]. After affirming his American identity, Mehanna recounts coming of age as an Egyptian American learning about the world through the historical narra- tives he read in American public schools. Mehanna recounts how the Batman comic book series opened his eyes to the fact that “there are oppressors, there are the oppressed, and there are those who step up to defend the oppressed.” As Mehanna grew older he found this paradigm confirmed in every narrative he encountered. “I gravitated towards any book that reflected that paradigm,” Mehanna explains, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and I even saw an ethical dimension to The Catcher in the Rye.” Mehanna’s account of American political history is structured by a tripartite ethical frame- work: the oppressed, such as enslaved African Americans; the oppressor; and those who, like radical abolitionist John Brown, defend the oppressed. Mehanna invokes Harriet Tubman, Nat Turner, and John Brown for their “fight against slavery”; Emma Goldman and Eugene Debs for their advocacy of “struggles of the labor unions, working class, and poor”; the German-born Jew Anne Frank, persecuted and killed by the Nazis; Rosa Parks, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King Jr. for organizing the “civil rights struggle”; the commun- ist revolutionary Ho Chi Minh, who helped the Vietnamese “liberate them- selves from one invader after another”; and, finally, Nelson Mandela, who fought South African apartheid. Ranging across the globe, these are key figures in progressive US middle-school curricula. More debatable in terms of historical accuracy, but revealing of his invest- ment in American history, is Mehanna’s take on Paul Revere’s midnight ride.  “Tarek’s Sentencing Statement,” Appendix to Glenn Greenwald, “The Real Criminals in the Tarek Mehanna Case,” Salon,  April , at www.salon.com////the_real_- criminals_in_the_tarek_mehanna_case. All future references are to the unpaginated text at this link. Mehanna’s statement is available on numerous websites, including the dedicated website for Mehanna’s case at http://freetarek.wordpress.com.  See, for example, the lesson plans in Joy Hakim, Johns Hopkins University Teaching Guide and Resource Book (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ). Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.salon.com/2012/04/13/the_real_criminals_in_the_tarek_mehanna_case http://www.salon.com/2012/04/13/the_real_criminals_in_the_tarek_mehanna_case http://freetarek.wordpress.com http://freetarek.wordpress.com https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Arguing that it was conducted in order to “warn the people that the British were marching to Lexington to arrest Sam Adams and John Hancock then on to Concord to confiscate the weapons stored there by the Minutemen,” Mehanna treats Paul Revere’s ride as an example of jihad. “There’s an Arabic word to describe what those Minutemen did that day,” he states. “It was a word repeated many times in this courtroom. That word is jihad.” Mehanna here positions himself within the history of American dissidence, presenting it also as a history of violence. He also reclaims the term “jihad” while linking it to a progressive agenda, as many prominent Muslim Americans have done in recent years, partly in order to clarify the nonviolent aspects of its meaning. Mehanna’s lineage of abolitionism, the labor movement, anti-Nazi mobiliza- tion, Jim Crow laws in the American South, and South African apartheid is at once cosmopolitan and conventional. This list of milestones could have been lifted from many US textbooks on world history. The major difference between his version of American history and the state-sponsored one is Mehanna’s presentation of the American Revolution as a form of jihad against British imperialists. Mehanna may have been introduced to the figures he mentions while attending Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School, yet he adds to a familiar rendering of American history an incipient Salafi Islamist activism that introduces a new struggle of the oppressed against their oppressors. Perhaps due to the United States’ historical status as a primary military target for Islamic radicalism, the scope for reading Islamic dissent sympathetically in relation to the other Third World liberation movements has historically been minimized in US contexts. Against a dominant American version of world history that tends towards either indifference or hostility towards Muslim lib- eration movements, Mehanna’s sentencing statement extends the range of American nonviolence by integrating Islamist dissent into its ethical core. Mehanna’s outrage at US-perpetrated injustice in Iraq, Afghanistan, and else- where in the Muslim world is familiar to any regular reader of the news, but his endeavor to link his own radicalism with dissident strands in American history strikes a more unusual note. From Martin Luther King Jr. to Gandhi, many acti- vists critical of US politics prior to Mehanna have grounded their programs for political action in genealogies of American dissent. But transpiring as it does in a post-/ world that constructs Muslims and Americans as antagonists, Mehanna’s combination of American dissidence and Muslim activism demands closeattention.Mehanna’scritiqueofAmericanimperialismlaysanarrativefoun- dation forhisstatusas anAmerican dissident and complicates a USliberalism that has engaged in only limited ways thus far with Muslim points of view.  For one such use of “jihad” see Amina Wadud, Inside the Gender Jihad: Women’s Reform in Islam (Oxford: Oneworld, ), as well as below, n. .  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core My discussion of Mehanna’s case has three goals. First, I bring together the words and images through which Mehanna engaged with Henry David Thoreau. Second, I trace the implications of Mehanna’s merger of Salafi Islamism with this American political thinker for our understanding of American intellectual history. Third, I consider how the controversies stirred by Mehanna’s views and persecution make Thoreauvian modes of dissent meaningful within a post-/ world. Whereas, read on his own terms, Thoreau’s early writing can be seen to support a withdrawal from pol- itics, many subsequent engagements with Thoreau’s writings have activated other latent possibilities within his political thinking. In registering the disson- ance between what Thoreau likely intended and the meaning his words have since acquired, I clarify their ongoing relevance, as well as their relation to violence. WORDS AND IMAGES I will now turn to Mehanna’s verbal and visual commentaries on his impris- onment, composed prior to his conviction in , while he was awaiting trial. Like nearly all prison literature, these texts traverse the threshold of public and private writing, making a general statement while bearing witness to an inner struggle. From the prison cell where he was held under solitary confinement from  to , Mehanna gave visual form to his incarceration. Whereas Mehanna’s visual work explicitly signals his debt to Thoreau, his sen- tencing statement only alludes to Thoreau indirectly, through the persona of abolitionist John Brown (–). I will therefore first discuss Mehanna’s handling of Thoreau’s early essay on civil disobedience in his art before con- sidering how Thoreau mediated Mehanna’s encounter with John Brown in the sentencing statement. At the top of Mehanna’s sketch of life in prison is an inscription consisting of an extended citation from Thoreau’s “Resistance to Civil Government” (), a text which later came to be known – to Gandhi, Hannah Arendt, Martin Luther King Jr., and the many others who have drawn sustenance from it – by the title “On Civil Disobedience.” “Resistance to Civil Government” was composed in Concord, a mere eighteen miles away from Sudbury, the town where Mehanna grew up, and only four times further  “Resistance to Civil Government,” was based on a lecture originally entitled “The Rights and Duties of the Individual in Relation to Government” (). The essay was first called “Civil Disobedience” in the posthumous edition of Thoreau’s writings: A Yankee in Canada, with Anti-slavery and Reform Papers (). See Nancy Rosenblum, “Introduction,” in Henry David Thoreau, Political Writings, ed. Rosenblum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ), vii–xxxi, xii. Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core away from Springfield, the town where John Brown launched his abolition campaign. In an early sketch prior to his trial, Mehanna portrayed a tableau consisting of rows of bricks towering over a prisoner. Graffiti selectively adorns the bricks’ surface. The upper half of one wall is covered with a quotation from Thoreau, and the manner of inscription evokes Mehanna’s confinement. Thoreau’s words read as follows: “I could not help being struck with the fool- ishness of that institution which treated me as if I were mere flesh and blood and bones.” “If there was a wall of stone between me and my townsmen,” Thoreau continues, “there was a still more difficult one to climb or break through before they could get to be as free as I was.” Thoreau had good reason to minimize his confinement, and to stress its limited impact on his psyche, given that he was only imprisoned for one evening in the local Concord jail. Mehanna was incarcerated under different circumstances, yet he incorporated Thoreau’s words into his graffiti: “I did not for a moment feel confined, and the walls seemed a great waste of stone and mortar” (“RCG,” ). Although he faced a much longer incarceration, Mehanna’s kinship with Thoreau is obvious. Their shared tendency to privilege the spir- itual over the material reflects how both thinkers ground their political thought in religious conviction. “The state never intentionally confronts a man’s sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body,” Thoreau continues in Mehanna’s citation. “It is not armed with superior wit or honesty, but with superior physical strength.” The passage famously concludes with a mixture of defiance and a promise of peace: “I was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion” (“RCG,” ). Thoreau’s insistence on the sov- ereignty of his conscience over the materiality of the state was to become a central platform of Mehanna’s political theory. Turning from the words to the image: sticks marking the passage of time cover the bottom four rows of bricks. A flower blooms above the bricks, inscribed with the words “FREE AAFIA.” Mehanna here aligns himself with Aafia Siddiqui, a Pakistani neurologist currently serving a sentence of eighty-six years in solitary confinement in a Texas prison. The same year that he was sentenced, Mehanna wrote a short essay in which he recollected meeting Siddiqui in person. She was a “frail, limp, exhausted woman who could barely hold her own head up straight in a pale blue wheelchair.” The harshness of Siddiqui’s sentence is due to what her sentencing judge  Henry David Thoreau, “Resistance to Civil Government,” in Thoreau, Political Writings, –, . Future references to this text are given parenthetically in the text, with the abbre- viation “RCG.”  Tarek Mehanna, “The Aafia Siddiqui I Saw,” in Dr. Aafia Siddiqui: Other Voices (Silver Springs, MD: Peace Thru Justice Foundation, ), .  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core called “enhancements” for, among other things, terrorism. Siddiqui was con- victed of attempting to kill her US interrogators when she was detained for questioning in Afghanistan. Taken from her Pakistan residence and arrested in , Siddiqui was convicted in . While media coverage has focussed on alleged ties to al Qaeda, the attempted murder for which Siddiqui was con- victed is unrelated to such allegations. Aafia has acquired “iconic status” in some parts of the Muslim world as an exemplar of the hypocrisies of the US-led war on terror. Her case has received considerable media attention in Pakistan especially, and continues to strain US–Pakistan relations. In incorporating Aafia’s story into his tableau of prison life, Mehanna affiliates himself with a transnational network of Islamist political prisoners who are incarcerated for their thoughts, publications, translations, and comments on internet forums. To return to Mehanna’s image: completing the visualization of arbitrary justice, Aafia’s name is topped with the Arabic letters (la ‘ilaha ‘ila l- Lah), meaning “There is no God but God,” the Islamic confession of faith. To the right of these words is a poster, partially obscured by the frame, which reads, “ADMINISTRATION SEGREGATION UNIT RULES: GIVE UP YOUR HUMANITY.” Beneath this sign, as if to negate the directive above it, block letters spell the word NEVER. These words develop the Thoreauvian insistence on the sovereignty of the individual conscience over any nation’s law. In a passage which Mehanna no doubt applied to his own situation, Thoreau called onthe state to“recognize the individual asa higher and independ- ent power from which all its own power and authority are derived” (“RCG,” ). When he insists on the absolute prerogative of the individual over the state, Mehanna is influenced as much by Thoreau’s articulation of this prerogative as by the Muslim sources he cites at length in his social-media posts. Two rows below the quotation from Thoreau, a pair of outstretched hands reach towards a Quran. The sacred text is labeled as such in Arabic and English. To the left of these images are six prison bars (Figure ). When viewed together, the bars and the image at the bottom of three columns of stars and a white blotch trace, in purple and white lines, the US flag. The image of the flag captures the paradox Mehanna seeks to expose: the American Republic, created to protect life, liberty, and the pursuit of  A chronology is given in Middle East Journal, ,  (),  and ,  (), .  For a collection of accounts of what is known about Siddiqui’s case see the articles listed by the New York Times at http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/s/ aafia_siddiqui/index.html.  Declan Walsh, “The Mystery of Dr Aafia Siddiqui,” The Guardian,  Nov. , at www. theguardian.com/world//nov//aafia-siddiqui-al-qaida.  See the official Facebook page at www.facebook.com/FreeTarekMehanna. Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/s/aafia_siddiqui/index.html http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/s/aafia_siddiqui/index.html http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/s/aafia_siddiqui/index.html http://www.theguardian.com/world/2009/nov/24/aafia-siddiqui-al-qaida http://www.theguardian.com/world/2009/nov/24/aafia-siddiqui-al-qaida http://www.facebook.com/FreeTarekMehanna https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Figure . Mehanna’s prison sketch ().  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core happiness, is now actively undermining these commitments by persecuting the free speech of its Muslim citizens. Mehanna’s verbal solidarity with Aafia is reinforced by a second sketch, entitled “Tribute to Aafia” (Figure ). “The male and female believers are allies [awliya’] of one another” (al-Tawbah :), reads the inscription along the top. Although the first citation alludes to a suggestion of gender equality, the Quranic citation beneath those words reinforces patriarchal difference: “Men are the protectors and maintainers of women” (al-Nisa :). Both citations are given in Arabic, followed by English translation. The first quotation participates in a growing trend within American Islam to bring transnational feminism into conversation with Muslim learning, while the second reinstates a patriarchal hierarchy. Like the flag that adorns the bottom right corner of the sketch, representing the persecution of Muslim Americans, Mehanna’s citations serve a dual purpose: they protest injustice while appropriating a history of American dissent. In her exegesis of Thoreau’s political theory, political theorist Leigh Jenco documents how, carried to its logical conclusion, Thoreau’s political theory could be seen to underwrite a withdrawal from the political realm. While for Thoreau “physical coercion is both necessary and sufficient for the enforcement of political obligations,” writes Jenco, the state’s reversion to force “is at odds with the holistically perceived higher law that grounds Thoreau’s moral duty.” When Mehanna uses Thoreau to advocate a civil disobedience that privileges the individual over the masses as the locus of pol- itical protest, he adapts this form of dissent to a Muslim American reality, through a process that transforms both elements in this compound identity. This individualist orientation brings Mehanna even closer to Thoreau’s con- ception of civil resistance than the more collectively focussed forms of civil dis- obedience articulated by Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi. In the passage cited by Mehanna, Thoreau argues that no coercion from the state can over- ride the individual’s ethical prerogative. Unlike Thoreau, King regards the resistant body as a primary locus of political resistance. By contrast, Thoreau and Mehanna focus on the work of the individual conscience in critiquing the state. Their shared rejection of the state’s claims to legitimacy aligns Mehanna to Thoreau and contrasts with the collectivism of King and other civil rights activists.  See, for example, Asma Barlas, “Believing Women” in Islam: Unreading Patriarchal Interpretations of the Qur’an (Austin: University of Texas Press, ).  Leigh Kathryn Jenco, “Thoreau’s Critique of Democracy,” Review of Politics, ,  (), –, . Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Thoreau memorably wrote in the essay quoted by Mehanna, “law never made men a whit more just; and, by means of their respect for it, even the well-disposed are daily made the agents of injustice” (“RCG,” ). Thoreau’s insistence on the ethical limits of the law finds its way directly into Figure . Mehanna, “Tribute to Aafia.”  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Mehanna’s political thought, which converges and stands in tension with older currents within Islamic thought that similarly validate a higher law, shariʿa. Although classically shariʿa denoted a form of law that incorporated all aspects of human existence, for most modern Muslims shariʿa signifies pri- marily “a spiritual resource, a connection with God, and a way to discipline the inner self.” Mehanna is troubled by what Hallaq refers to as the “eviscer- ation” of shariʿa in modernity, wherein it has come to reference a primarily private realm. Like many Salafis, and Islamic modernists generally, he wishes to situate shariʿa more publicly, such that it can ground political decisions and thinking. Yet, as Hallaq also recognizes, any attempt to modernize shariʿa in this way is fraught with contradiction, because Islamic law originally developed in a world that thought differently about the relation between public and private spheres. Whereas in classical Islamic thought the individ- ual conscience lacks sovereignty, it plays a more decisive role within Thoreauvian political theory, and in most strands of American political thought that have developed from this beginning. Mehanna’s dialogue between Salafism and Thoreauvian political theory transpires within this this maze of contradictions. Against this analogy between American transcendentalism and Mehanna’s Salafi modernism, it might be objected that Thoreau did not directly endorse violence (although he did endorse a perpetrator of violence, John Brown). On these grounds, Mehanna’s use of Thoreau to elaborate his version of justice might be seen as a selective interpretation. It is true that “Resistance to Civil Government” presents a largely negative account of political action, and dwells more concretely on the dangers of acting wrongly than on the means and strategies for acting rightly. Additionally, and arguably in contradis- tinction to Mehanna, Thoreau defends the legitimacy of avoiding politics tout court. Thoreau states, It is not a man’s duty, as a matter of course, to devote himself to the eradication of any, even the most enormous wrong; he may still properly have other concerns to engage him; but it is his duty, at least, to wash his hands of it, and, if he gives it no thought longer, not to give it practically his support. (“RCG,” )  Wael Hallaq, The Impossible State: Islam, Politics, and Modernity’s Moral Predicament (New York: Columbia University Press, ), x.  See Talal Asad, Thinking about Secularism and Law in Egypt (Leiden: International Institute for the Study of Islam in the Modern World, ).  I do not intend to suggest that classical Islamic thought has nothing to say about the indi- vidual conscience, just that there is a difference in emphasis, and that Thoreau, rather than Islam, is closest to Mehanna in terms of his approach. For a discussion of the individual con- science in Islam grounded in classical sources see M. Mujeeb, “The Status of Individual Conscience in Islam,” Studies in Islam, ,  (), –. Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core While not an explicit rejection of violence or of direct political action, this passage can be read as a justification for withdrawal from the political realm. However, Thoreau’s vision of the appropriate grounds for political action should inform our understanding of the circumstances under which this essay was composed, including the night Thoreau spent in jail for his civil dis- obedience. Thoreau acted without drawing attention to his dissidence. It is legitimate to avoid politics, Thoreau believed, so long as this avoidance does not increase another’s suffering. Paying a poll tax to support an unjust war, in this case the Mexican–American War (–), as the US government required him to do, was for Thoreau unconscionable. ABOLITIONIST AND SALAFI MILITANCY COMPARED The ideology underlying Mehanna’s controversial views on violence also echoes the actions of another crusader against US-perpetrated injustice whom Thoreau, more than any other American writer, memorialized: the abo- litionist John Brown. More than  years after his death, Brown remains a controversial hero. His ethics of bloodshed, like Mehanna’s, leave little room for mercy. Brown’s legacy closely parallels that of Mehanna, not least because of the links between his Christian fundamentalism and Mehanna’s Salafism. Brown famously led a violent slave uprising at Harper’s Ferry in , and was soon afterwards publicly hung. Like Mehanna, Brown endorsed violence as a means of resisting extreme injustice. Prior to leading the slave rebellion in Harper’s Ferry, Brown oversaw the killing of five white settlers in the slave-owning settlement of Pottawatomie Creek, Kansas. (Notably, it was for his organization of the uprising, rather than for these murders, that Brown was hung; the former was considered action against the state and therefore subject to capital punishment.) Mehanna stands accused of no such violent crime. Both activists, however, share a concern with social justice, and believe that attaining social justice may require violence, whether exercised by them or by others. Mehanna’s explicit identification with Thoreau in his sketch and with Brown in his sentencing statement further links the two figures. On  October , one day before the jury’s sentence of death by hanging for Brown, Thoreau mounted the platform of the town hall in Concord,  For further on Thoreau’s support of political activism in relation to his skepticism towards politics see Jonathan Mckenzie, “How to Mind Your Own Business: Thoreau on Political Indifference,” New England Quarterly, ,  (), –.  Zoe Trodd, “Writ in Blood: John Brown’s Charter of Humanity, the Tribunal of History, and the Thick Link of American Political Protest,” Journal for the Study of Radicalism, ,  (), –, .  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Massachusetts to deliver the speech called “A Plea for John Brown.” In this and in a later essay written for Brown’s memorial service, Thoreau discussed Brown’s rebellion as “a revolution in behalf of another and an oppressed people.” Thoreau’s endorsement of Brown’s raid indicates an evolution in his thinking about violence and nonviolence beyond his earlier essay of , and reveals common ground between Thoreauvian political theory and Muslim militancy. As Turner suggests in his reading of Thoreau, conjoin- ing aesthetic and legal theory can make of civil (or uncivil) disobedience a “public statement through the artistic re-creation of the act of refusal and public meditation on its significance.” Stated otherwise, Thoreau and Mehanna made their private consciences publicly political through their words and images. Although Thoreau and Brown parted ways on many substantive issues, Thoreau’s memorialization of Brown and his efforts to save him from execu- tion reveal an important dimension of his intellectual agenda. Thoreau praises Brown as “a superior man” who “did not value his bodily life in comparison with ideal things” (“PJB,” ). The ideal dissident, in Thoreau’s understand- ing, is willing to lay down his life for his beliefs. Thoreau also praises Brown for recognizing that the individual is “the equal of any and all governments” (“PJB,” ). Revealing a kinship with Brown’s Calvinism, Thoreau implicitly acknowledges that there are occasions when violence is the only legitimate and viable form of resistance. In maintaining that individual conscience will ultimately prevail over the state’s violence, Thoreau and Mehanna cultivate a sovereign human conscience, which they consider more efficacious than bodily protest. Thoreau refers to this conscience as the “higher law”; for Mehanna, it is shariʿa. For both, this ethical hierarchy defines their respective positions within the American dissident tradition. The respective distance of Mehanna and Thoreau from the teachings of Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. regarding the efficacy of nonviolence is linked to their greater openness to violence and, ultimately, to their more militant politics. Brown’s concept of the sovereignty of the individual conscience was observed and appreciated by Emerson as well, following the former’s visit to  Henry David Thoreau, “A Plea for John Brown” (), in Thoreau, Political Writings, –; and Thoreau, “The Last Days of John Brown” (), in ibid., –. Future references to these essays are given parenthetically in the text, with the abbreviations “PJB” and “LDJB.”  Jack Turner, “Performing Conscience: Thoreau, Political Action and the Pleas for John Brown,” Political Theory, ,  (), –, .  For a suggestive account of the political dimensions of New England Puritanism that informs this reading of Thoreau and Brown see Michael Walzer, The Revolution of the Saints: A Study in the Origins of Radical Politics (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, ). Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Concord on a lecture tour. According to Emerson, Brown believed that “one good, believing, strong-minded man is worth a hundred, nay twenty thousand men without character, and that the right men would give a permanent direc- tion to the fortunes of a state.” Neither Thoreau nor Emerson dwelt on their substantive divergences from Brown, and equally, neither advocated violence. Their support of Brown was strategic: they saw it as a means of bringing slavery to an end, and of forestalling and delegitimizing Brown’s execution. As Truman John Nelson notes, the chronology of Thoreau’s stand for Brown ought to inform its interpretation: “it took place before Brown had had his day in court … and inevitably made his death a martyrdom.” In defending Brown, Thoreau was also defending the principle of “innocent until proven guilty,” and asserting his right to defend unpopular voices in the name of justice. It was an alliance forged from adversity. Yet a century and a half later, parallels between Thoreau’s approach to violence and militant social- justice agendas like Mehanna’s are increasingly evident. Brown insisted that “any man more right than his neighbors constitutes a majority of one” (“RCG,” ). All three thinkers – Thoreau, Brown, and Mehanna – vest their faith in the sovereignty of the individual. From their point of view, even one righteous person who practices justice is adequate to shift the balance of right and wrong. Brown raided a US government arsenal with only twenty-one men in his “battalion,” yet persuaded that his cause would triumph. Thoreau viewed with contempt the pragmatism of his contemporaries, who judged Brown crazy. In a speech he read at Brown’s funeral, Thoreau pointed out that if Brown had “gone with five thousand men, liberated a thousand slaves, killed a hundred or two slaveholders, and had as many more killed on his own side, but not lost his own life, these same editors would have called [his rebellion] by a more respectable name” (“LDJB,” ). Brown’s willingness to live and to die for a cause in defiance of mainstream liberal politics gives the dissident spiritual leverage over the state responsible for his incarceration. In Thoreau’s view, this spiritual prerogative (which he calls “the higher law,” anticipating Mehanna’s concep- tion of shariʿa) is the source of the dissident’s power. Mehanna’s writings from prison rely heavily on this concept of an individual conscience acting upon a higher law.  Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals of Ralph Waldo Emerson, –, Volume IX, ed. Edward Waldo Emerson and Waldo Emerson Forbes (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, ), .  Truman John Nelson, “Thoreau and John Brown,” in The Truman Nelson Reader, ed. William John Schafer (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, ), –, , original emphasis.  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core In defending Brown’s character, Thoreau compares him with the American revolutionaries of , expressing the same admiration that Mehanna felt for figures like Paul Revere. Whereas the  Revolutionaries “could bravely face their country’s foes,” Brown “had the courage to face his country herself, when she was in the wrong” (“PJB,” ). As Turner notes, “What Thoreau most admires about Brown is his willingness to hold not simply America’s enemies to moral account, but America itself.” Thoreau’s own practice of holding America to account no doubt served as a model for Mehanna, who also cited US violence as a basis for his opposition to his government. His senten- cing statement referenced the massacre perpetrated by Sergeant Robert Bales, who killed sixteen Afghan women and children while on a tour of duty in Kandahar in . “When Sgt. Bales shot those Afghans to death,” stated Mehanna, “all of the focus in the media was on him – his life, his stress, his PTSD, the mortgage on his home – as if he was the victim. Very little sym- pathy was expressed for the people he actually killed.” Controversially, Bales was tried in a military court in the United States, rather than in Afghanistan, among those who most directly suffered from his crime. Bales was sentenced to life in prison, without parole. Mehanna’s sentencing statement contains other allusions to Thoreau, par- ticularly to the latter’s writing on John Brown. For example, Thoreau insisted that Brown “could not have been tried by a jury of his peers because his peers did not exist” (“PJB,” ). Similarly, Mehanna follows his discussion of Bales in the sentencing statement with the claim that the media’s biases imperil the integrity of the justice system, making it impossible for a jury to deliver a just verdict. “I wasn’t tried before a jury of my peers,” Mehanna states, “because with the mentality gripping America today, I have no peers. Counting on this fact, the government prosecuted me – not because they needed to, but simply because they could” (emphasis added). Mehanna here compares his own prosecution to that of John Brown, as filtered through Thoreau’s writ- ings. Implicating Thoreau in this conversation introduces a new dimension. Both Mehanna and Brown openly advocate violence in ways Thoreau did not, and both do so on religious grounds. Each dissident regards his conscience as sovereign. They thereby elevate their political convictions and chosen faith  Turner, .  For a discussion of Bales’s case from the point of view of legal theory see Michael D. Smith, “Mapping the Geolegalities of the Afghanistan Intervention,” in Irus Braverman, Nicholas Blomley, David Delaney, and Alexandre Kedar, eds., The Expanding Spaces of Law: A Timely Legal Geography (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, ), –. Bales has recently accounted for his actions in an interview for GQ with Brenden Vaughn: “Robert Bales Speaks: Confessions of America’s Most Notorious War Criminal,” at www.gq.com/story/robert-bales-interview-afghanistan-massacre, accessed  Nov. . Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.gq.com/story/robert-bales-interview-afghanistan-massacre https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core over the laws of the state, which for them is based on precarious ethical foundations. “Resistance to Civil Government” was not the only work in which Thoreau set forth his views on the conditions under which rebellion against the state is both legitimate and necessary. Ten years after delivering “Resistance to Civil Government” to the Concord community, Thoreau called an assembly in Concord’s town hall to plead for John Brown. He had been disturbed by reports that, following Brown’s raid, some of his Massachusetts neighbors had begun to advocate for his execution. Thoreau was determined to contest their vilifications. As his biographer reports, Thoreau was “instantly, totally caught up in the passion of the moment” and “decided to make a public speech to right the imbalance” of the public sentiment that was turning against Brown. He rang the bell himself to call the meeting to order when the town’s selectman whose job it was to ring the bell for such meetings refused. Thoreau then proceeded to offer a plea to his neighbors, not, as he clarified, in the hopes of saving his subject’s life, which, as any realist could have seen, was already forfeited, but rather for the sake of saving Brown’s “character, – his immortal life” (“PJB,” ). Compared to his speech on Brown at Concord’s town hall, Thoreau’s earlier refusal to pay the poll tax to fund the Mexican–American War was a passive act of resistance. Thoreau was only jailed because of his unintended encounter with a tax collector. Although Thoreau acted with political convic- tion, his journey to jail was not intentional; nor was his release, which was secured by a friend who paid his taxes on his behalf. The political implications of such passive action are limited; waiting for specific circumstances is obvi- ously not the most effective way of overturning existing political norms. By contrast, Thoreau’s plea for John Brown was an act of mobilization. Thoreau’s attempt to persuade his neighbors of the justness of Brown’s cause was possibly his most political act. Not yet a theory of violence, Thoreau’s “Plea for John Brown” is a program for revolutionary political action. It proposes to overturn the existing social order, however gradually. While “Resistance to Civil Government” argues that every citizen is obliged to avoid perpetuating evil through nonviolent means, by , in a state of mounting frustration over the continuation of slavery, Thoreau was ready to acknowledge that under the right circumstances, political violence may be legitimate and necessary for combating injustice. Not everyone is obliged to engage in political violence, but when conscience dictates and when the cause is just, Thoreau accepts this form of dissent. While  Robert D. Richardson, Henry Thoreau: A Life of the Mind (Berkeley: University of California Press, ), .  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core praising Brown’s character, Thoreau reflects on the appropriate scope of pol- itical action, including the conditions under which violence is justified. “It was [Brown’s] peculiar doctrine,” Thoreau writes, “that a man has a perfect right to interfere by force with the slaveholder, in order to rescue the slave. I agree with him” (“PJB,” ). This acknowledgment that force is legitimate under certain conditions highlights an unresolved ambiguity in Thoreau’s concept of civil disobedience, which in part accounts for its range of appropriations, from the pacifism of Tolstoy and Gandhi to the militancy of Mehanna. The strat- egy Thoreau followed when he refused to pay the poll tax did not exhaust the range of legitimate political options. Political theorists who treat Thoreau as primarily or exclusively a theorist of nonviolence miss these incendiary dimen- sions of his political thought. Thoreau’s ambivalence towards violence (more than his more publicized rejection of it) is part of what makes him relevant to Mehanna, who came of age in a country that, with respect to conflicts in the Middle East, had demonstrated a preference for short-term violence over a longer-term quest for peace. Four months before his conviction, Mehanna circulated a series of quota- tions he had been collecting on the topics of violence, terrorism, freedom, the law, and prison. He had extracted these quotations from the writings and speeches of Malcolm X, Howard Zinn, Robert Fisk, Usama bin Laden, Sayyid Qutb, and Thoreau, indicating his source in each case. This is an eclec- tic but carefully selected list; US radicalism and Islamic dissent are closely intertwined in Mehanna’s thinking. Mehanna prefaced the collection with the remark that the quotations were “selected from various books I have with me in my cell that I feel to be relevant to my trial in one way or another.” One of the Malcolm X quotations directly touches on the legitim- acy of violence: “I don’t go along with anyone who wants to teach our people nonviolence until someone at the same time is teaching our enemy to be non- violent.” Although Thoreau is typically remembered as a pacifist who retreated to his home by Walden Pond instead of entering the political arena, the militancy expressed in his writings and speeches on Brown directly anticipates Mehanna’s approach to violence against the state.  Gandhi, for example, claimed that “until I read that essay I never found a suitable English translation for my Indian word, Satyagraha … There is no doubt that Thoreau’s ideas greatly influenced my movement in India.” Quoted in George Henrick, “Influence of Thoreau and Emerson on Gandhi’s Satyagraha,” Gandhi Marg, July , –, .  “Tarek Mehanna: A Selection of Timely Quotes,” at https://freetarek.wordpress.com/ ///tarek-mehanna-a-selection-of-timely-quotes, accessed  Nov. .  Malcolm X, By Any Means Necessary (New York: Pathfinder, ), . Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://freetarek.wordpress.com/2012/01/09/tarek-mehanna-a-selection-of-timely-quotes https://freetarek.wordpress.com/2012/01/09/tarek-mehanna-a-selection-of-timely-quotes https://freetarek.wordpress.com/2012/01/09/tarek-mehanna-a-selection-of-timely-quotes https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core A MUSLIM AMERICAN PROJECT While its Islamic inflection is obvious, Mehanna’s thinking opens a new chapter in the intellectual history of American radicalism. As Mehanna insisted in his sentencing statement, “It’s because of America that I am who I am.” This text, which is destined to become a foundational document within the history of American Islam, integrates a Muslim American identity into the American project. Emma Goldman, Anne Frank, and Nelson Mandela all feature as predecessors for Mehanna’s conception of political action. Mehanna’s approach is characterized above all by syncretism, and his insistence on the sovereignty of the individual conscience over the laws of the state is distinctively Thoreauvian. Indeed, Mehanna affirms that he gleaned his eclectic dissident history from his public education, and under- scores that his worldview looks beyond his specific religion. “With each strug- gle I learned about,” he recounts, “I found myself consistently siding with the oppressed, and consistently respecting those who stepped up to defend them – regardless of nationality, regardless of religion” (emphasis added). When, in , Mehanna was awarded the Sacco and Vanzetti Social Justice Award by the Community Church of Boston, named for Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, two Italian-born anarchist immigrants who were wrong- fully convicted for murder and electrocuted in , the award committee implicitly linked his Muslim activism to the history of American radicalism. The Sacco and Vanzetti Commemoration Society made the link explicit when they published a speech by Laila Murad of the Tarek Mehanna Defense Committee on their website entitled “Yesterday Sacco and Vanzetti; Now Tarek Mehanna.” Mehanna’s eclectic dissident genealogy, combined with his belief that soli- darity along the lines of class, race, and conviction runs even deeper than reli- gious affiliation, is one version of a distinctive yet heterogeneous American Islam that is increasingly visible within American culture, albeit in undertheor- ized ways. While Mehanna’s Salafi interpretation of classical sources is but  Sara Mulkeen, “Sudbury Man Convicted on Terrorism Charges Receives Award,” MetroWest Daily News,  Jan. , at www.metrowestdailynews.com/news/x/Sudbury- man-convicted-on-terrorism-charges-receives-award#ixzzHMQPaHQ. For the Sacco and Vanzetti case and background see Paul Avrich, Sacco and Vanzetti: The Anarchist Background (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, ).  See http://saccoandvanzetti.org/sn_display.php?row_ID=. The speech was delivered in Boston on  Aug. .  Studies that showcase the diversity of American Islam include Zareena Grewal, Islam Is a Foreign Country: American Muslims and the Global Crisis of Authority (New York: New York University Press, ); and many of the essays in Juliane Hammer and Omid Safi, eds., The Cambridge Companion to American Islam (New York: Cambridge University Press, ).  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://www.metrowestdailynews.com/news/x1058227140/Sudbury-man-convicted-on-terrorism-charges-receives-award%23ixzz2HMQPaH3Q http://www.metrowestdailynews.com/news/x1058227140/Sudbury-man-convicted-on-terrorism-charges-receives-award%23ixzz2HMQPaH3Q http://saccoandvanzetti.org/sn_display1.php?row_ID=73 http://saccoandvanzetti.org/sn_display1.php?row_ID=73 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core one of many voices in the diverse confessional landscape of contemporary Islam, his persecution by US authorities is the prism through which many American Muslims have come to experience what Thoreau called, with more than a small dose of irony, our “civil government.” One of the more eloquent testimonies to what Egyptian American writer Leila Ahmed has called the “quiet revolution” of American Islam is the com- mencement address delivered to Harvard’s graduating class of  by then- senior and president of Harvard’s Islamic society Zayed Yasin. In a speech boldly entitled “My American Jihad,” for which Yasin received a death threat purely on the basis of its title before the text of the speech was released, the Muslim American informed Harvard’s graduating class of his personal affection for both the Quran and the US Constitution. Yasin’s title was chosen in order to reclaim the original meaning of jihad as spiritual struggle from later, more militant, interpretations. “As a Muslim and as an American,” stated Yasin, “I am commanded to stand up for the protection of life and liberty, to serve the poor and the weak, to celebrate the diversity of humankind.” Yasin added that no “combination of faith, culture and nationality [that endorses] a community of the human spirit” could see a “contradiction” between the ethical claims of the US Constitution and the Quran. A similar reclamation of the word “jihad” occurs in Linda Sarsour’s keynote speech at the Islamic Society of North America convention in , which was rapidly picked up by the conservative media as posing a ter- rorist threat. Although Mehanna struck a different balance between Islamic dissent and American radicalism that brought him closer to the violent aboli- tionism of John Brown, each of these examples reveals Muslim Americans bringing “American” and “Islam” into a new kind of union. From the perspec- tive of American history, and of the history of Islam in America, it is notable that Mehanna and Yasin are exact contemporaries, both born in .  For the controversy preceding the speech see, among numerous media sources, “Free Speech: Testing,” Harvard Magazine, July–Aug. , –, .  Cited and discussed in Leila Ahmed, A Quiet Revolution (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, ), . The full text of the speech is reprinted, under the changed title “Of Faith and Citizenship,” in the Harvard Magazine, July–Aug. , , and at http://harvardmagazine.com///of-faith-and-citizenship.html.  Samantha Schmidt, “Muslim Activist Linda Sarsour’s Reference to ‘Jihad’ Draws Conservative Wrath,” Washington Post,  July , at www.washingtonpost.com/news/ morning-mix/wp////muslim-activist-linda-sarsours-reference-to-jihad-draws-con- servative-wrath/?utm_term=.beba. The fifteen-year gap between these two example, both of which caused tremendous controversy and placed the speakers in grave danger, indicates that, unfortunately, no progress has been made in terms of educating the general American public regarding the meaning of “jihad.” Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core http://harvardmagazine.com/2002/07/of-faith-and-citizenship.html http://harvardmagazine.com/2002/07/of-faith-and-citizenship.html http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2017/07/07/muslim-activist-linda-sarsours-reference-to-jihad-draws-conservative-wrath/?utm_term=.422b6eb91a84 http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2017/07/07/muslim-activist-linda-sarsours-reference-to-jihad-draws-conservative-wrath/?utm_term=.422b6eb91a84 http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2017/07/07/muslim-activist-linda-sarsours-reference-to-jihad-draws-conservative-wrath/?utm_term=.422b6eb91a84 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core The foregoing is not intended to suggest that Mehanna’s views ought to be embraced. Mehanna’s uncritical relation to many aspects of the Muslim trad- ition is worth noting, as is his lack of interest in recognizing the contingency of the historical and political processes through which his readings of classical Islamic sources have been formed. Many commentators have made these points, from both secular and Muslim perspectives, have recognized the con- tingency of these processes within their broader analyses of Salafism. Mehanna endorsed violence, often uncritically, in ways that are not clearly aligned with Islam and that have broader social-justice implications. For example, during the trial, the jurors were presented with a photo of Mehanna celebrating with friends in front of Ground Zero. Although such visual evidence can be interpreted in many ways, the prosecutor used this material to argue that Mehanna took an infantile delight in the deaths of the victims of the World Trade Center attack. It is difficult to determine where to situate such anecdotal detail within Mehanna’s broader political thinking, yet such evidence places him at a distance from Brown, whose nobil- ity of character was such that, in Thoreau’s words, in “teaching us how to die” he “taught us how to live” (“LDJB,” ). A civil society such as the one Thoreau advocated for must guarantee the right to dissent from the political mainstream without risk of imprisonment. I have reserved my critique of Mehanna’s embrace of violence in order to better understand his position within the history of American dissent that was largely founded by Thoreau and the abolitionists. Mehanna’s case is one of many that reveals how the US justice system’s cooptation by the war on terror has shifted the jurisdiction of the state and rearranged relations between public and private spheres. This cooptation has also exposed tensions internal to the liberal political imagination, which claims to be grounded in tolerance yet all too frequently refuses to give its opponents space for free expression when irresolvable antagonisms shape public debate.  Many recent studies contribute to various lines of critique, including Henri Lauzière, The Making of Salafism: Islamic Reform in the Twentieth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, ); Alexander Thurston, Salafism in Nigeria (New York: Cambridge University Press, ); Joas Wagemakers, Salafism in Jordan: Political Islam in a Quietist Community (New York: Cambridge University Press, ); and Laurent Bonnefoy, Salafism in Yemen: Transnationalism and Religious Identity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ).  See, for example, his appeal to Osama bin Laden as “my real father,” discussed in Innokenty Pyetranker, “Sharing Translations or Supporting Terror? An Analysis of Tarek Mehanna in the Aftermath of Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project,” American University National Security Law Brief, ,  (), –, .  United States v. Mehanna, day , , cited in Brown, “Notes on a Terrorism Trial,” .  In support of this point see the important critique of tolerance by Wendy Brown, Tolerance in the Age of Identity and Empire (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, ).  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Instead of imprisoning those we disagree with, let me conclude by offering an alternative, drawn from a different intellectual tradition than that invoked thus far. In place of the classical liberal attempt to eradicate difference through John Rawls’s concept of overlapping consensus, political theorist Chantal Mouffe proposes “agonistic pluralism” as a framework wherein “conflicts can take the form of an agonistic confrontation among adversaries.” Agonistic pluralism turns antagonism into agonism, and violence into dis- agreement. Violence does not thereby disappear, but it is mediated, debated, and engaged, and thereby made consistent with coexistence. Agonistic plural- ism incentivizes democratic speech and neutralizes the appeal of violence. This framework for managing radically opposed points of view approaches ideo- logical difference in a way that keeps these differences in tension rather than suppressing or privileging a single point of view. Hence agonistic pluralism is eminently suited to managing the tensions that Mehanna’s American- style Salafism would necessarily create within any diverse liberal society, such as the contemporary US. Mouffe’s agonistic pluralism offers a more promising strategy for engaging with political and religious ideologies that are hostile to the state than does the post-/ legal system’s practice of preemptively crim- inalizing, and incarcerating, dissent. Mehanna’s objections to US actions abroad call for debate. In the absence of incitement to violence, incarceration is counterproductive. The moral chal- lenges posed by the bombing of Iraq, Afghanistan, and even (via drones) Pakistan, as well as the war on terror within US borders, offer a parallel in certain respects the moral challenge posed by slavery in the nineteenth century. Thoreau made clear that he perceived violence as the best course of action in response to slavery in , and thereby revealed a potential affilia- tion between his political theory and Mehanna’s jihadist embrace of violence. As at the height of slavery, the public remains by and large passive in the face of their government’s excessive use of force. Now, as then, the majority prefers a problematic status quo to an uncertain peace. Now, as then, there are many reasons why an impassioned activist might become impatient with nonviolent protest, and might be persuaded of the necessity of violent action. I have undertaken to show how, notwithstanding his alienation from, and persecution by, the United States, Tarek Mehanna defines himself as an American dissident. His intellectual genealogy began in Boston rather than Egypt, and was first awakened by reading Harriet Beecher Stowe, Malcolm X, and J. D. Salinger rather than ideologues of the Muslim Brotherhood such as Sayyid Qutb and Hassan al-Banna. Mehanna’s many frames of refer- ence recalibrate existing alignments between various schools of political  Chantal Mouffe, The Democratic Paradox (London: Verso, ), . Punishing Violent Thoughts  terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core thought and various cultural traditions. That Mehanna’s relation to violence is uncritical is a weakness in his thought, but it is not a crime. Mehanna speaks from within an American cultural milieu because he is American. Given Thoreau’s description of John Brown as “the most American of us all” because he stood up for “the dignity of human nature” (“PJB,” ), it is easy to see why Mehanna chose to juxtapose Thoreau’s essays to the Quran when sketching the view from his prison cell. Scholars within American studies and beyond have recognized that the global circulation of knowledge requires us to become acquainted with an increasingly “innumerable number of archives” formerly excluded from purview in order to plumb the relevance even of such canonical texts as the essays of Henry David Thoreau. In the wake of this global turn, which shapes our disciplines as well as our daily lives, Thoreau’s writings enable us to examine how terrorism has changed the ways we write and think about pol- itical dissent. Mehanna’s visual and verbal exegesis of Thoreau, and his inser- tion of a Muslim voice into American history, tell us much about the potential for cross-confessional solidarity in post-/ America to reconstruct a broader political agenda. To make these claims for the importance of Mehanna’s voice, and the wrongfulness of his imprisonment, is not to defend any ideology that condones violence. Violence is indeed the weak spot in Mehanna’s extant work, and he has not offered an adequate statement regarding his views, which may of course have evolved since . Instead of dwelling on the limits of his thought, I have sought here to demonstrate how this body of work helps us move beyond empty polarities that oppose Islam to the West, and recognize the confluence of beliefs, cultures, and ideologies that informs post-/ America, notwithstanding the many violent attempts from the highest echelons of power to undermine our diversity. AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY Rebecca Gould is a Professor of the Islamic World and Comparative Literatures at the University of Birmingham. Her books include Writers and Rebels: The Literatures of Insurgency in the Caucasus (), After Tomorrow the Days Disappear: Ghazals and Other Poems of Hasan Sijzi of Delhi (), and The Prose of the Mountains: Tales of the Caucasus (). I wish to thank Elizabeth Gould for editorial assistance in preparing this article.  Brian T. Edwards, “The World, the Text, and the Americanist,” American Literary History, ,  (), –, .  Rebecca Ruth Gould terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Connecticut, on 11 Dec 2017 at 08:33:59, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875817001426 https://www.cambridge.org/core Punishing Violent Thoughts: Islamic Dissent and Thoreauvian Disobedience in Post-9/11 America THE CASE AGAINST MEHANNA “IT'S BECAUSE OF AMERICA THAT I AM WHO I AM” WORDS AND IMAGES ABOLITIONIST AND SALAFI MILITANCY COMPARED A MUSLIM AMERICAN PROJECT 
work_ms3ik4yzdnayjd2blxhpcymtdy	----	Prawdzik | Greenwashing Marvell | Marvell Studies News Articlesarrow_drop_down Submissionsarrow_drop_down Aboutarrow_drop_down Login Register News Articlesarrow_drop_down Submissionsarrow_drop_down Aboutarrow_drop_down Login Register menu Articles Collections Issues Submissions Author Guidelines Start Submission About Contact Become a Reviewer Research Integrity Editorial Team Articles Collections Issues Submissions Author Guidelines Start Submission About Contact Become a Reviewer Research Integrity Editorial Team Essay Greenwashing Marvell Essay Greenwashing Marvell Abstract This article considers ecocriticism’s reception of Andrew Marvell and suggests ways forward for thinking about Marvell and ecology. It questions ecocriticism’s commitment to a progressive framework that fulfills early modern ecocriticism’s hope that pre-Romantic literatures can demonstrate proto-ecological ethics. Instead, I argue that Marvell’s poetry intuits emergent systems and their relationships. In essence, Marvell does not herald progress but rather bears witness to a universal decline. The rift at the heart of human experience in Marvell corresponds with the splitting and suspension of the subject across vast distances, this suspension being a consequence of the historically widening divide between the site of individual agency and the material consequences of that agency. Nonetheless, natural phenomena continue to interact with the poet, attesting to the agony of the internally displaced subject and offering, as tangible connections between the human and the land, some still-unknowable hope. As such, the poetry addresses historical developments that precede modern capitalism and the corresponding emergence of presentist ecocriticism. Keywords Marvell, ecocriticism, John Evelyn, aesthetics, pastoral, industrialization 772 Views 125 Downloads Ecocriticism has been making its way through early modern literary studies for twenty years. The scholarship has focused overwhelmingly on Shakespeare and, to a much lesser extent, Milton. Ecocriticism has intermittently enriched our understanding of early modern texts while compelling them to speak to our present ecological crisis. For instance, Ken Hiltner (2003) foregrounds a presentist ethics of rootedness and place but still contributes to our understanding of ethics (and failed ethics) in Milton’s garden. Simon C. Estok (2011) establishes through Shakespeare the concept of ecophobia, where the psychological foreground of tragedy plays off against a sometimes mysterious, sometimes awful natural world. Meanwhile, the concept of ‘ecophobia’ focuses a cultural critique that is intended, in part, to help us to think and act responsibly as we wade into ecological cataclysm. Though scholars recognize Marvell as among the seventeenth century’s most important poets, he has not been treated in a full-length ecocritical study. While such a monograph appears nowhere, the green Marvell nonetheless appears everywhere, in monograph and anthology chapters and, most often, in smart lines brought in as supporting evidence for expansive claims. Marvell’s oeuvre is difficult, full of unanswered questions, yet it is easy to make Marvell speak to most occasions. The verse addresses difficult constellations of philosophical concerns. Of the poems most often cited in ecocriticism—the Mower triptych, ‘The Mower against Gardens’, ‘The Garden’, ‘Upon Appleton House’—we have no reliable knowledge of audience. Marvell’s green spaces are fraught with ironies and dense with classical and contemporary allusions. The pastoral was already one of the most sophisticated literary genres when Marvell complicated it further. However, when Marvell is greenly presentized, he is made to speak truths that ecocriticism, mostly, already knows. In such instances, we not only loosen our grasp on Marvell, but we also gag him from speaking what might be, for ecocriticism, exigent truths. Marvell’s lyrics have been ‘greened’ for two and a half centuries. As Bruce R. Smith notes in The Key of Green: Passion and Perception in Renaissance Culture (2009), Alexander B. Grosart’s introduction to the 1872 Complete Poems gushes forth the spirit of Romanticism: ‘Fundamentally, the Poetry of Marvell is genuine as a bird’s singing, or the singing of the brook on its gleaming way under leafage … There is the breath and fragrance of inviolate Nature ….’1 The features of this green aesthetic—purling streams, the poet’s song-bird innocence, nature in its purest state—are still attractive. From the vantage of ecocriticism, the ‘inviolate Nature’ of Marvell’s landscapes can offer a hopeful vision of what might be. As soon as ecocriticism tapped the poet’s shoulder, he was conscripted as an agent of ecological progress. Ecocriticism is committed to progress, to cultural advance under the banner of saving the planet or (less dramatically) of slowing and mitigating the effects of climate change. This commitment has offered the political energies of the humanities new direction, relevance, and urgency. Given its pre-Romantic terrain, early modern ecocriticism has needed to define its place in a sprawling field unified only in its commitment to ecosystemic salvation. The imperative of progress helped to establish two agendas for ecocriticism of early modern texts. The first was to locate, in the literature, evidence of environmental crises analogous to those of the present. The second was to reveal, in that literature, insights of ethics, imagination, perception, and critique that might help to shape twenty-first century readers, academic institutions, and ecocriticism itself into more responsible agents of progress. The imperative of progress informs the ways that our discoveries are made to speak. Robert N. Watson (2007) scrutinizes early modern representations of nature within their historical contexts and epistemic frameworks. He articulates sharp skepticism towards the aims of ecocriticism and questions the motives driving it. And yet, he feels obliged to confront ecocriticism at the outset of his project. Midway through the introduction’s first page, in a section titled ‘Ecocriticism’, we find him mulling why ecocriticism does what it does: Is ecocriticism … mostly an effort of liberal academics to assuage their student-day consciences (and their current radical students) about their retreat into aesthetics and detached professionalism, by forcing literary criticism into a sterile hybrid with social activism? … [In our sentimentality, do we strive] to have religion without coming to terms with religion’s irrational and authoritative demands, … to find an alternative locus for the sacred in an increasingly secular culture? … Is attempting to speak for animals, or trees for that matter, a progressive or an appropriative action?2 Despite a withering critique of ecocriticism in the early paragraphs of Back to Nature, Watson nonetheless concludes the section with a pivot into ecocriticism’s primary terms: ‘If we can understand how some people came to care in politically and intellectually responsible ways, about present and future life on this planet as a collectivity, we can hope to expand the ecologically minded community and its wisdom’.3 With the possible exception of Thomas Traherne, the authors and artists examined in Back to Nature show little capacity ‘to care in politically and intellectually responsible ways … about life on this planet’. Rather, Back to Nature tells a story of cultural decline, one that traces how early modern literature and art participated in deepening the division at the heart of human experience. Progress is such a dangerous concept because it imposes a teleological structure, a vision of where things will end, which the present projects onto a past where such discourses are emergent or unintelligible. Further, it hammers flat structures of language and thought that point in directions other than to our present place and time—structures for which emergence, where past and future touch, brings much of the meaning. In his account of the English Civil Wars in The Rehearsal Transpros’d (1672), Marvell suggested that ‘men may spare their pains where Nature is at work, and the world will not go the faster for our driving’. Though the larger passage warrants sustained analysis, its premise is clear: the so-called ‘Good Old Cause’ was ‘too good to have been fought for’.4 As a ‘good’ cause, it should have been committed to Providence, that is, to its slow ‘work’ in the processes of ‘Nature’. Forcing progress had only thrown a nation into horrific war to no clear end. The Whig narrative had identified Marvell as a protoliberal and patriot.5 Arguably, the green Marvell has absorbed some of this narrative’s underlying desire, namely, to place our poet as a champion of progress. Ecocriticism of early modern texts has become more historically informed and more theoretically responsive, and accounts of Marvellian nature in the past two decades have served a variety of purposes. Nonetheless, the idea that Marvell models ecolologically adept perception, action, and expression suggests not a liberation of the literary subject but, rather, the crystallization of a vision where Marvell stands predictably in the vanguard of progress. For instance, Diane Kelsey McColley (2006) contended that Marvell’s verse offers insight into ecological principles: his ‘language is fluidly responsive to the liquidity of truth … overflow[ing] expected forms to carry new perceptions’.6 Joanna Picciotto (2008) aligns Marvell with cultural enterprises working to redeem humanity through new understandings of nature enabled by instrument and experiment. ‘The Garden’, ‘Upon Appleton House’, and ‘Last Instructions to a Painter’, asserts Picciotto, offer ‘means to chart a progressivist escape from fallen illusions … Through reading, we see observation in action, and as action, and are re-modeled into its agency’. Marvell’s verse strives toward the restoration of Adamic perception: ‘trustworthy prosthetic insight is generated by many pairs of eyes and hands working to discipline each other’.7 Andrew McRae (2010) finds Marvell’s poetry to be among the seventeenth century’s ‘most sensitive reflections on relations between humanity and the natural world’. The poems ‘reveal a mind grappling its way towards new kinds of appreciation of the natural environment’.8 Ecocriticism has only partially fulfilled its promise to open new ways of reading literatures of the past and new ways of making them speak meaningfully to the present. Greenwashing ‘Greenwashing’ occurs when a commodity is represented as green—as eco-friendly—to meet the consumer’s aesthetic and ethical needs in the face of ecological catastrophe. ‘Greenwashing’ compels because all modern consumers both share and deny the open secret that they are complicit in the dawning horrors of the Anthropocene. Greenwashing invites consumption that, nominally, does not participate in ecological decline and that represents antidote rather than poison. Scholarship can greenwash literature. However rigorous or responsibly historicized our analyses, we greenwash when we maneuver earlier literatures into ecocriticism’s master paradigm of ecological progress. In this section, I want to demonstrate what scholarly greenwashing can look like and to sketch out the more cosmic consequences of our eagerness to prefer the aesthetic over a systemic and material reality. John Evelyn’s 1661 Fumifugium offers an excellent starting point, for it allows us to observe how Evelyn greenwashes proto-industrial London and how scholars, in turn, have followed his lead. While Fumifugium sold sparingly and held no influence until the late twentieth century, it has now become a locus classicus for ecocriticism on early modernity.9 Evelyn is attractive, first, because he offers thick description of urban pollution with which modern readers can sympathize. We learn that those ‘who repair to London, no sooner enter into it, but … find a universal alteration in their Bodies; which are either dryed up or enflam’d, the humours being exasperated and made apt to putrifie’.10 Evelyn’s account invites analogy between early modern London and the modern toxic city. For Hiltner, Fumifugium is ‘the first modern work to take as its subject industrial air pollution’.11 For John Bellamy Foster (1999), ‘The brilliance of Evelyn’s 17th-century contribution to conservation … raises important theoretical issues’ for the present. It ‘prefigur[es] an ecological stance that was not to become a political force until the late-19th century (if then)’.12 If the primary end of ecocriticism is salvific political action, in entering Evelyn’s London, we have invited ecocriticism into a place where it can make early modernity meaningful. Evelyn is also attractive because he proposes a perimeter of herbs and flowers, which will serve the city as natural air filters. Evelyn proposes that London be encircled by fields of 20–40 acres, with 150-foot-wide borders between. The fields would be used for agriculture and the borders for horticulture. Evelyn’s enumeration of the herbs and flowers that he proposes to plant is seductively lush, full of beautiful names and olfactory descriptions. As botanical air filters, these plants would absorb smog from outside of the city and waft pleasant odors into it. McColley celebrates that Evelyn’s tract teaches ‘air-cleansing planting’: ‘Evelyn turns to grass roots remedies for air pollution’.13 In appropriating Fumifugium, ecocriticism has discussed its crucial second part infrequently.14 Here, Evelyn aims his reforms at industry: not only those that burn sea-coal, but also non-coal-burning industries and services that are simply noxious, unsavory, or ugly. His solution would ‘requir[e] only the Removal of such Trades, as are manifest Nusiances to the City … [to] farther distances; such [are the] Brewers, Diers, Sope, and Salt-boylers, Lime-burners, and the like’. These industries, ‘together with some few others of the same Classe’, would be ejected from the city center to ‘farther distances’ beyond the suburbs. Here, ‘Classe’ refers at once to a category of industry and an economic status. Whereas the botanical borders would frame the city beautifully, it is the removal of industry that ‘would even be found to breath a new life as it were, as well as London appear a new City’.15 Evelyn’s public-works project would have cleansed the city of material and labor conditions that answered demands of trade and consumption in this emergently industrial city. Industries ‘whose Works are upon the Margent of the Thames’ should ‘be banished further off, and not once dare to approach that silver Channel … which glides by our stately Palaces’. Evelyn adds to the banished not only chandlers, butchers, and fishmongers, but also our ‘Nasty Prisons and Common Goales [jails]’.16 We can hardly fail to notice relationships between urban planning and poverty familiar to the gentrified or ghettoized urban cultures of modern capitalism. ‘Tenements’ and ‘nasty Cottages near the City’, those which ‘are already become a great Eye-sore in the grounds opposite to His Majesty’s Palace at White-Hall’, are ejected to benefit the nobler and wealthier. ‘The Platts [plots] and Houses deserted … might be converted into Tenements, and some of them into Noble Houses for use and pleasure, respecting the Thames to their no small advantage’.17 Depopulating enclosure had contributed to London’s growth throughout early modernity. The ongoing private consolidation of England’s agriculture had uprooted laborers and had pushed many to find wage work in London. Evelyn’s plan would reverse that process: London becomes the enclosed land of the wealthy while laborers are pushed (back) out to dwell where they cannot easily be seen. The material and organizational processes of primitive accumulation (or proto-industrial capitalism) tend to run beneath or outside of the aesthetic. The tools of ecocriticism have not proven sharp enough to dig beneath the aesthetic or to gauge what the aesthetic conceals or reveals. Raymond Williams’s 1970 The Country and the City, which explores how aesthetics, consumption, and materiality informed each other during four centuries of industrial growth in England, proves helpful in this respect. For Williams, ‘structures of feeling’ are dominant assumptions that function to maintain social order but that are also under pressures of social and temporal processes. They are not merely dominant ways of thinking but, rather, ‘affective elements of consciousness and relationships’ that assist the subject’s passage through ideology torqued by the pressures of social change.18 They inform our concessions to pastoralizing aesthetics.19 They are affective, insofar as they reproduce predictable responses (for instance, attitudes toward the countryside or to the days of yore). They are aesthetic, in so far as the aesthetic adheres to affect. They are formal, insofar as linguistic and prosodic structures concretize the aesthetic. They are material, insofar as the affective, aesthetic, and discursive shape the industrial capitalist landscape. Since Evelyn shows us the ugly to promote the beautiful, and since he is writing a proposal instead of a utopia, he must also consider, to the extent possible, the material consequences of his aesthetic vision. By imagining the removal of industries, Evelyn must account for how the demands of consumption would be met: ‘Thousands of able Watermen may be employed in bringing Commodities into the City, to certaine Magazines & Wharfs, commodiously situated to dispense them by Carrs or rather Sleds, into the several parts of the Town’.20 In these good intentions, we can already see the tentacles of the supply chain extending from the commodity-form into the land and across rivers and oceans. In under 150 years, with the opening of the London and Greenwich Railway, Londoners and manufacturers would have their first (coal-driven) steam-train. Soon after, across the Atlantic, Henry David Thoreau would lament hearing, from his home at Walden Pond, ‘the iron horse mak[e] the hills echo with his snort like thunder, shaking the earth with his feet, and breathing fire and smoke from his nostrils’. He foresees the airplane, that superlative emitter of carbon dioxide: ‘what kind of winged horse or fiery dragon they will put into the new Mythology I don’t know’.21 Evelyn’s Fumifugium envisions the horticultural encircling of a London that radiated outward from Westminster. London assumes the aesthetics of its own consumption, of the commodity-form, of an objectified desire framed to efface the conditions of its becoming. The structure of Evelyn’s London in Fumifugium was determined, in part, by his failure to understand the extent of material interconnectivity between consumption and industrial pollution and, thus, between the individual and the horizon. We see, then, a greenwashing that is internal to Evelyn’s tract: the air can be cleansed of pollution and London made a new city. Since the problem is industry and not consumption, industry must be removed while still meeting the demands of town and port. The problem of transport becomes an opportunity for job creation. Meanwhile, the distancing of production leaves the commodity enshrined and the culture of consumption enlivened. In celebrating Evelyn as a proto-ecological thinker, scholars have missed what his proposed reform can tell us about why we find ourself, some 350 years later, within a sixth global mass extinction event. We can see the ugliness of Fumifugium gutted in the moment of its introduction to early modern ecocriticism. Foster’s 1999 Marx’s Ecology: Materialism and Nature details Marx’s interest in ecology, especially the processes through which nature is made to serve the state and to constitute culture. Given Foster’s learned materialism, we would expect him to be a poor ambassador for Evelyn’s tract. And yet, Foster’s ‘edition’ of Fumifugium in 1999—which, published in the journal Organization & Environment, offered to many scholars a first encounter—reifies the text in a form responsive to the desiderata of ecocriticism as it was beginning to enter early modern studies. Foster publishes the first part of Fumifugium, which thickly describes London’s air pollution and its grotesque effects upon denizens and visitors. But he redacts the proposals. As such, the text is prepared to foreground an analogy between early modernity and present ecological crisis: dressed to please and ready to serve. Landshapes Like Evelyn, Marvell struggles, variously, to understand the relationship between the material systems of emergent capitalism and the aesthetic dimensions of the landscape. His lyrics often suggest a suspended subjectivity, one that straddles individual agency and some uncertainly located immanence in the land. The lyrics strive to grasp continuities that double as ruptures, that mark at once psychological rift and material flow. Frequently, shapes or abstract forms appear in Marvell’s landscapes to mark this paradox. These shapes—most frequently, squares or circles—figure soul, form, quantity, and development in antithesis to body, matter, quality, and wildness. In ‘A Dialogue between the Soul and Body’, the square represents form which has been imposed upon wild matter. Through its arguments, imagery, and double-meanings, the poem has dramatized, as dialogue, the soul’s and body’s interdependent suffering. Based on the preceding uniformity of four-couplet stanzas, the poem should conclude at line 40. Yet an additional quatrain breaks through: What but a soul could have the wit To build me up for sin so fit? So architects do square and hew Green trees that in the forest grew. (ll. 41–44) The quatrain analogizes the operation of the soul—to impose form on matter to achieve the conditions whereby the body must fail—with the work of architects, who extract resources from felled forests. Where the soul imposes the concept of sin to cut down the body, so do architects impose form upon wildness to clear space and to extract resources. Here, that form determines, in another register of reality, the leveling of forest. The trees are described as ‘green’—verdant, thriving, free—yet the past tense of ‘grew’ immediately revises them as dead, as already shaped into lumber. ‘Grew’ renders ‘green’ painful; as in the Mower triptych, we see natural presence recede as quickly as it is conceptualized.22 The opening quatrain of ‘Upon Appleton House’, also written in 1651, performs similar work in its suggestion that foreign architects impose grandiose designs that correspond to the wounding and reshaping of earth: Within this sober frame expect Work of no foreign architect; That unto caves the quarries drew, And forests did to pastures hew. (ll. 1–4) The ‘sober frame’ of Nunappleton incorporates no work of foreign architects because at least one, the Huguenot David Papillon, was passed over for the English John Webb.23 The Englishness of the house evokes a sense of humility and rootedness, whereas the foreign is associated with impractical grandeur. Such proud buildings as the palace in William Davenant’s Gondibert appear to inflict strange violence upon the land, so that they gut rock deposits and ‘pastures hew’. Marvell suggests that Nunappleton required no such violation, since its materials were drawn from the ruins of the convent, which had occupied the grounds until the English Reformation. As such, its development follows an inductive, more materially fluent process. Materials were reconstituted without the violence of geometry: ‘all that neighbour-ruin [of the nunnery] shows/The quarries whence this dwelling rose’ (ll. 87–88). To ‘draw’ ‘quarries’ ‘unto caves’ implies a tight correspondence between design and material extraction, between the geometry that delimits development and the violence that is inflicted upon matter. In ‘The Garden’, ‘the skillful gardener’ is described not as having cultivated the floral sundial but, rather, as having drawn it: ‘How well the skillful gardener drew/Of herbs and flowers this dial new’ (ll. 65–66). ‘Skillful gardener’ indicates the person who designed this garden, yet it does so by relating this horticulturalist to the divine Creator, whose art the seventeenth-century garden was understood to emulate. We might think of designs for pleasure gardens that appear in works such as Gervase Markham’s Certaine Excellent and New Invented Knots and Mazes, for Plots and Gardens (1623) and Stephen Blake’s The Compleat Gardeners Practice (1664).24 Blake notes correspondences between his square designs and the pleasure garden’s square. He points to his skill as a draftsperson: ‘This figure represents Lines how they ought to be layed before you begin to draw a Large knott’. He notes in his design for a pleasure garden shaped as the fleur de lis: ‘Heere I have in the paper the Ovalls so round put/And in the Ground the same I can cut’.25 Marvell’s ‘drew’ implicates at once form and matter in the service of aesthetic production. If a floral sundial has been sketched (‘drawn’), so too does the sketched form correspond, exactly, with the ‘draw[ing]’ of the ‘herbs and flowers’ into the horticultural manifestation of that form. As Katherine Acheson explains in her analysis of military structures in the horticulture of ‘Upon Appleton House’, seventeenth-century print addresses a broad cultural interest in the relationship between geometrical structure and land: The conceptualization of space that brings together the military and the horticultural in ‘Upon Appleton House’ derives from the application of ideas and techniques that were germane to early modern arts of mensuration, through which earth was measured and thereby transformed into territory, property, or ‘land’. The arts of mensuration and the modes of spatialization they generate are most commonly expressed in diagrammatic illustrations that represent the world schematically rather than naturalistically—that show the world as it was measured and made use of, rather than as it was seen and enjoyed.26 Blake’s knot garden designs are consummate examples of ‘illustrations that represent the world schematically rather than naturalistically’. They ‘show the world as it was [to be] measured and made use of’, particularly to display one’s wealth and taste. From upon raised ground or from the higher floors of the country house, one might be able to enjoy the design as an emblem, yet the experience of walking through such gardens would be essentially different. As ‘drawn’—formalized, aestheticized, imposed—the sun dial of Marvell’s garden requires that we attain a bird’s-eye perspective to imagine it. The likely contemporary ‘Mower against Gardens’ takes geometrical imposition upon untouched nature as its starting point, from which it opens concerns about aesthetics, cosmetics, sexual corruption, the new economics, and colonial enterprise: Luxurious man, to bring his vice in use, Did after him the world seduce: And from the fields the flowers and plants allure, Where Nature was most plain and pure. He first enclosed within the gardens square A dead and standing pool of air. (ll. 1–6) Humanity capitalized on the original sin by seducing the natural world from its ‘plain and pure’ state. It ‘allure[d]’ the ‘flowers and plants’ from the open field into the form of the garden, this square now immuring a stagnant ‘pool of air’. This geometrical imposition seconds the Fall and repeats that fall in horticultural development.27 From the start of ‘The Mower against Gardens’, Marvell integrates the language and logic of the new economics, of emergent agro-industrial capitalism. ‘Luxurious’ is both lustful and extravagant. The pleasure garden belonged to the privileged, its primary purpose to display opulence, standing, and taste. ‘Luxurious man’ not only had put its vice into practice—that is, ‘in use’—but also had circulated it to accumulate interest, as through usury.28 What begins in the poem as manipulation of soil becomes abstracted into a range of other corruptions. Among those who could grow capital were landlords who optimized their yield through enclosure. We might understand this pleasure garden as complicit, on the one hand, in the enclosure movement and its geographical and macroeconomic implications and, on the other, in the emergence of the commodity-form, which is the sign of these transitions. Once the gardener had walled in the air, he then kneaded nutrients into the soil. Instead of growth and vitality, the product became the prize, and accelerated growth became the means to attaining it. The ‘luscious earth’ ‘stupefied’ the plants ‘while it fed’ them: ‘The pink grew then as double as his mind;/The nutriment did change the kind’ (ll. 6–10). The enriched soil could now alter the colors of tulips and even convert their reproductive organs. For instance, the ‘double pink’ was made by mixing nutrients into the soil that prompted stamen and carpel to develop into petals, thus doubling their number.29 In the poem, this both aesthetic and biological corruption corresponds with sexual corruption: the flowers wear cosmetics and serve in the gardener-regent’s ‘green seraglio’ (l. 27), guarded, according to custom, by neuter plants, ‘eunuchs’ (l. 27) such as the ‘double-pink’ itself. Ultimately, the garden’s promiscuity leads to a complete confusion of origin: ‘No plant now knew the stock from which it came’ (l. 23). In ‘The Mower against Gardens’, the impurities of horticulture and the sexual corruption of court concur with an economic reshaping or devastating of the land. Marvell cites the Dutch tulip bubble of 1637, when prices for bulbs, based on off-season speculation, reached absurd heights.30 Here, Marvell notes that the blush-interlined white tulip was so in demand that the ‘onion root’ or bulb ‘was for a meadow sold’ (ll. 15–16). In framing tulip speculation within the ‘gardens square’, Marvell develops connotations of usury and coinage into an economics that abstracts and quantifies the land and whirls it about. The labeling of ‘man’ as a ‘sov’reign thing and proud’ suggests not only independence, pride, and monarchy, but also the representation of the monarch’s face upon the ‘sovereign’, then a viable but declining currency. As such, the abstraction of the land destabilizes ‘man’, whose self has been assumed into the representation of a wildly unstable value. To satisfy ‘luxurious man’, garden delights must also be sought through colonial enterprise: ‘Another world was searched, through oceans new,/To find the Marvel of Peru’ (ll. 17–18). In other words, colonial expansion was required to find a single exotic flower, the mirabilis jalapa.31 Trans-oceanic trade was increasingly integral to the economics of Marvell’s England, especially by 1668 (one proposed date of the poem’s composition).32 Whereas the poem’s ‘garden’ was planted to reconstitute a lost paradise, that mission leads to continuing expansion, to the domination of new lands and people and to the expansion of markets and trade routes. As with ‘use’ and ‘sov’reign’, the assertion, ‘No plant now knew the stock from which it came’, easily slides into economic critique. The expansion of colonial efforts through plantations large and small leads to ‘plants’—short for ‘plantations’—that seem causally disconnected from the ‘stock’, from the business capital of trading companies and speculators. In a Restoration context, ‘stock’ would evoke the ‘joint stock company’, such as the East India Company, which caused numerous bubbles and collapses while exploiting the land and its people. These aspects of the same corruption—horticultural, material, economic, and mercantile—are ordinary in themselves but extraordinary in their interrelation. ‘The Mower against Gardens’ situates us within an uncertain space of systemic emergence. It also associates this immanence with the subject’s divided consciousness: ‘The pink grew now as double as his mind’ (l. 9). Most importantly, the poem represents the subject’s suspension across emergent systems in ways that are biological (‘grew’) and tactile: over time, humanity ‘did knead’ its perversion into the ‘earth’ (l. 7). What might be reduced to diametrical oppositions between art and nature, form and matter, economics and earth, is complicated by the fact that these poles are connected by material processes and innumerable acts of consumption. All-Natural Ecocriticism continues to redefine itself by shedding the romanticism of earlier ecocriticism. At the same time, it threatens always to maintain romantic sensibilities while attempting to surpass them through hardier method and more sophisticated meta-discourse. Accounts of Marvellian nature remain under the spell of what Theodor Adorno terms Naturschöne or ‘natural beauty’. For Adorno, artistic representations of nature pose—falsely—as communicative media between nature and the human subject.33 The artwork, in presenting itself as a mediation of nature and thus as making nature speak, requires a conception of nature that is, in fact, an idealization pulled from a bygone aesthetic. The concept of natural beauty permits art to convince itself—again, delusively—that it is recapturing communication from the silence that nature speaks to human languages. Moreover, ‘Natural beauty, purportedly ahistorical, is at its core historical’, so that aesthetic shifts not only demand, but also bestow new criteria by which to define this beauty.34 For eco-aware art, as also for literary criticism, such criteria might be interconnectedness, fluidity, texture, ambience, ephemerality, repetition, slowness, and melancholy. Such beauty, however far from vulgar kitsch, carries with it the promise of progress, of the new human and the new earth. The millenarian fervor of the 1640s and 50s assumed that human beings could act to usher in the thousand-year reign of Christ, which was to precede the Apocalypse. Gerrard Winstanley thought that Paradise could be restored in communal agriculture. Thomas Traherne thought that it could be reclaimed in the present as a state of mind and being. Milton’s Adam and Eve exit the garden uncertainly, ‘With Providence thir guide’.35 Marvell’s own worldview, however, was rooted in a more firmly Calvinist view of nature and man as fallen, hopelessly depraved, and resigned to death and judgement. Although not theologically dogmatic, he saw attempts to reclaim ‘that happy garden-state’ (‘The Garden’, l. 57) as potentially escapist.36 Marvell’s concept of a corrupted nature was informed by reading Lucretius and Virgil.37 In De rerum natura and the Georgics, respectively, agricultural labor and reform are consequences of the slow dissolution of matter. ‘Omnia fatis in peius ruere ac retro sublapsa referri’, declares Virgil: ‘All things hasten backward, toward the worse’.38 The gradual diminishment of nature’s fruitfulness necessitated agricultural improvement, such as the invention and perfecting of the plough, along with all agricultural technologies and techniques thereafter. Instead of speaking to the Baconian narrative of scientific progress, Lucretius and Virgil postulated a ‘progress’ from a golden age to a bronze to an iron, the iron of the ploughshare. Thus, they offered Marvell narratives of human and natural regression. The Marvellian pastoral is discernibly georgic. It presents the subject as a laborer in the space of the subject’s own alienation during a time of indefinite suffering. ‘The Mower to the Glow-worms’ captures the primary aesthetic division between cognition and perception: ‘For she my mind hath so displaced/That I shall never find my home’ (ll. 15–16). In “Damon the Mower,” Damon labors seasonally in the land of his dispossession. He is Virgil’s Meliboeus, dwelling comfortably in his pastoral home; yet he is also Tityrus, forced from his land to begin a life of labor in cold foreign soil. In Marvell’s England, such a paradox was plausible: a mower like Damon could have returned to the same land—now enclosed—where he might have sharecropped, grazed cattle, and dwelt with a family. Now, he returns each summer to reap hay for the lord of the estate, to be compensated by wages or according to the volume of hay that he reaps: ‘With this [scythe] the golden fleece I shear/Of all these closes every year’ (ll. 53–54). Facing his internal displacement, the Mower takes aim at the land, attacking the grass vengefully: ‘While thus he threw his elbow round,/Depopulating all the ground …’ (ll. 73–74). ‘Depopulate’, with its unmistakable root in populus (‘people’), unites humanity and nature even as it describes the act of severing that unity ‘between the earth and root’ (l. 76). ‘Depopulate’ is no semantic coincidence. Damon’s stroke, directed at the grass, lacerates his own ankle: The edgèd steel by careless chance Did into his own ankle glance; And there among the grass fell down, By his own scythe, the mower mown. (ll. 77–80) As such, Damon’s stroke severs at once land and mower while suggesting the displacement caused by depopulating enclosure. Damon’s internal displacement is so complete that he can see himself only unreliably, in the reflection of his face (and of the blinding sun) in the steel of his blade. His self-perception is not only unreliable; it is also aesthetic: Nor am I so deformed to sight, If in my scythe I lookèd right; In which I see my picture done, As in a crescent moon the sun. (ll. 57–60, my emphasis) With this aesthetic self-perception in the midst of an alien nature, Damon is the picture of a mind displaced, a mind absolutely and irrevocably split from the earth and from itself. The person and the grass are ontologically split populus. Throughout the Mower triptych, these divisions are attributed to Juliana; yet she possesses no identity, no realness. Rather, in her absence, she haunts Damon’s world as an allegory for a division at the heart of experience that is bound up with the history of the laborer-in-the-land. The innate sense of loss that comes with our emergence into the cultural matrix intensifies an antagonism to the natural world, one exceptionally tragic because, especially in ‘Damon the Mower’ and ‘The Mower’s Song’, human and nature are materially bound. In the latter poem, this antagonism becomes complete, as the Mower, whose decline is counted in years, is mocked by nature’s cyclical renewal: Unthankful meadows, could you so A fellowship so true forgo, And in your gaudy May-games meet, While I lay trodden under feet? (ll. 13–16) In Lucretius and in Virgil’s Georgics, nature and humanity share the same plight, but not necessarily the same fate: in both, nature declines while bearing the promise of renewal. Regardless of the degree to which Marvell accepted these accounts of matter, he places the Mower at odds with nature, which renews cyclically while he is abandoned to his demise and death. They are ‘unthankful’ for his labors and friendship. They abandon ‘A fellowship so true’: here was the grass that brushed his sides and shared his sweat each summer. As he prepares to die, the meadows celebrate in ‘gaudy May-games’. Given the Mower’s death, why wouldn’t they? Rather than killing them, he will be joining them. One might conjecture that Marvell’s prose, and especially his satires, suggest a much more progressive vision. After all, polemic and satire are almost constitutionally committed to change for the better. Marvell’s tracts and satires are not so much persuasive documents as they are committed to exposing discursive error and abuses of political and religious power. Unlike Milton’s early tracts, Marvell’s prose and satires show little concern for guiding humanity forward. As in the Remarks upon a Late and Disingenous Discourse, Marvell suggests that Christianity entered a regressive trajectory when adopted by Constantine and codified at the Council of Nicaea: ‘the first and greatest Æcumenical blow that by Christians was given to Christianity’.39 The history of the perversions and abuses of Christianity, in the hands of worldly power, stem, for Marvell, from this event. Adam and Eve bit the apple. Constantine summoned the bishops to Nicaea. Death holds dominion in the language and imagery of Marvell’s nature. The topos of et in Arcadia ego not only reminds us that death comes to those in Arcadia, too, but also suggests that death fully inhabits Arcadia, that this nature, experienced as aesthetic, has already been given over to death. The natural world in Marvell is regularly perceived within the poems as aesthetic. For instance, ‘everything did seem to paint/The scene more fit for his complaint’ (‘Damon the Mower’, ll. 3–4); ‘Nor white nor red was ever seen/So am’rous as this lovely green’ (‘The Garden’, ll. 17–18); ‘The oak leaves me embroider all’ (‘Upon Appleton House’, l. 587); ‘flowers themselves were taught to paint’ (‘The Mower against Gardens’, l. 12). For several of Marvell’s narrators, death provides the only exit from the displacement that generates desire for and antipathy towards nature. It is the only exit from the human condition. As Watson articulates: Marvell consistently depicts the Fall as an onset of self-consciousness, for which the Other—a field or a woman, almost indistinguishably—becomes the scapegoat. Death, the obvious consequence of that Fall, is also its radical cure: the last hope for participation in nature without the obstructions of language and consciousness.40 The Fall’s original severing of human experience from natural presence determines the recursiveness of our efforts to reclaim it. We repeatedly strive to embrace what is always an aesthetic ghost: ‘the self-regarding reflex of the mind is always already bringing the fallen world back in’.41 Indeed, the ‘self-regarding reflex of the mind’ determines that apprehension of nature is really confrontation with hopeless alienation. ‘The Mower’s Song’ begins with the assertion that the Mower’s mind, once tuned to nature and once sharing its hopes, was itself mown when ‘Juliana came’ (l. 5). Even as he looks back upon that cutting, he can only recall a ‘mind [that] was once the true survey/Of all these meadows fresh and gay’ (ll. 1–2, my emphasis). In other words, he can only look back in time to a map of the meadows, not to the meadows themselves, as though nature were already a landscape painting stolen from an observer’s gaze upon it. The phrase ‘true survey’ is oxymoronic. Nonetheless, the Mower must suffer this banishment while remaining inextricable—materially—from the land. In death, he returns to the ‘Companions of my thoughts more green’ (l. 26), to the ‘fellowship so true’ (l. 14): ‘ye meadows … Shall now the heraldry become/With which I shall adorn my tomb’ (ll. 25–28). Conventionally, nature and mortality are never far from each other. But in many of Marvell’s lyrics, nature is associated with magic, festivity, and renewal—indeed, with comedic resolution. After all, Damon’s story ends happily. Ch[i]asm In Marvell, then, we see a conjunction of paradoxes. The first of these paradoxes is that humanity is alienated from within nature: on one hand, psychologically and perceptually cleft from natural presence and, on the other, materially confluent with nature, integrated into its systems. If visual perception is suspect in Marvell, the tactile seems potently sincere, surcharged with dynamic meaning, insistent upon spreading its body like a bridge across the chasm, clinging like a residue. The second paradox of Marvellian nature is that the human experience of alienation coincides with the emergence of epistemological systems in the landscape that evade the individual’s critical comprehension. As such, the Marvellian subject straddles materiality and the aesthetic perception of nature in a way that stretches the subject uncertainly across the land and, ultimately, across impossibly vast expanses of space and time. Thus, Marvell writes of attempts ‘To find the Marvel of Peru’: he is split between here and there, despite never having crossed the Atlantic. The aesthetic perspective toward nature of the ‘mind … displaced’ translates, through the transactions of the commodity-form, into a geometrical development of the land, which imposes abstractions upon matter that are answerable to the commodity-form and that assist in consolidating its dominion. In the meantime, the vermiculations of the supply chain, concealed through the mirror tricks of consumer culture, sprawl with unthinkable convolutions into the future. As humanists seek new and better ways to locate human progress and to insist upon their contributions to it, so have I, too, hoped to find in Marvell a thinker and agent in that progress. In our labors, from our institutional and market carrels, we yearn for such revelations and discover them perhaps too often. I have paused over many moments in Marvell’s poetry and prose where meditations on history, aesthetics, and materiality converge upon representations of phenomenal experience. I think of the dewdrop of ‘Upon a Drop of Dew’: on the one hand, caught up within physical forces as a soul embodied; on the other, divided from nature as a body riven by soul: Restless it rolls, and unsecure, Trembling, lest it grow impure; Till the warm sun pity its pain, And to the skies exhale it back again. (ll. 15–18) In addition to restlessness, rolling insecurity, trembling, warmth, pity, and pain, the dewdrop’s experience entails, also, a curious exhalation. ‘Exhale’, from ex-halare, indicates the act of breathing outward. Yet ‘hale’ derives a different, equally visceral sense from the Old French haler and Old Saxon halôn (‘to fetch, draw, or pull’).42 Both senses were current during the seventeenth century. Thus, ‘exhale’ signifies at once the intimately physical act of breathing outward and the less pleasant, though as visceral, experience of being fetched or pulled from earth. I imagine that the poet of ‘Upon Appleton House’ is feeling something similar when ‘lick[ed]’, ‘clasp[ed]’, ‘curl[ed]’, and ‘haled’ by ‘Ivy’ (ll. 589–90). The verbs, all of which emphasize tactile interaction, begin with the intimacy of a lick and conclude with the latent aggression of a firm pull (‘hale’). Three stanzas later, they become violent: ‘Bind me … chain me … nail me through’ (ll. 609–16). ‘Curls’, which follows ‘Me licks’ and ‘clasps’, pinpoints the closeness of caress and aggression, ontological division and phenomenal continuity. What does it mean ‘to curl’ a human being (‘me’)? The second appearance of ‘curl’, in line 610, is part of a different, intransitive verb, ‘to curl about [me]’. Here, it is unambiguously the ‘gadding vines’ that the poet encourages to curl around his body, to ‘bind’ him. The earlier appearance, ‘[Me] curl’, suggests that the ivy that ‘licks’ and ‘clasps’ will also make the speaker’s body curl—as it ‘hales’ that body. The poet thus remains entangled with the ‘gadding vines’ of ivy in a relationship of both communion and a desired violent ‘bondage’ of ‘brambles’ that ‘chain’ and ‘briars’ that ‘nail me through’ (ll. 614–16). Marvell’s poetry represents a subject at once ontologically divided from and phenomenally integrated with material nature. At the same time, the interchange that occurs at the body’s contact with the land—that crossing over which Maurice Merleau-Ponty refers to as the chiasm, the intertwining of a shared flesh43—is historically situated. It cannot be reduced to the type of ecological ethics that we see, repeatedly, in the greener shades of ecocriticism. Such reading seizes the moment of the early modern text, extracting it from its depth to speak to contexts that may be superficially similar but that are also profoundly alien, since present moments buried in the past absorb so much from their situation—both horizontal and vertical—in the strata of time. The chiasmic in Marvell drapes over an historically shaped rift that renders nature inaccessible to the Marvellian subject-in-nature. Jacques Derrida, in his articulation of the divide between the human and the animal, permits the chasm an historical and material contingency. The barrier is as a ‘foliated consistency’, a ‘plural and repeatedly folded frontier’: ‘What are the edges of a limit that grows and multiplies by feeding on an abyss?’44 In other words, the chasm continues to be reshaped, indeed, to be layered and folded over repeatedly through our insidious discourses of the animal: ‘No one can deny seriously, or for very long, that men do all they can in order to dissimulate this cruelty [inflicted upon the animal] or to hide it from themselves, in order to organize on a global scale the forgetting or misunderstanding of this violence’.45 So too with the human’s relationship to non-human nature more broadly. What have we to show for our attempts to celebrate nature in our songs and poetry, to exalt nature in our art, to care for it in our discourses, to serve it in our purchases? This year, 5,000 to 50,000 species will be lost. (The current extinction rate is 1,000 to 5,000 times the background rate of extinction throughout geological time.) If it takes, say, an hour to read this article, then it is likely that we have lost one to six species since you began. Too often, presentism requires the capture of a snapshot from a moment in the past. This moment has been extracted from contexts—especially historical, economic, discursive, technological, epistemological, organizational, aesthetic, and material contexts. To seize the moment of the early modern text from this contextual sediment is, perforce, to view it from above as though looking down upon an ornate tabletop. Even as this surface comes under the microscope, it loses its sense of emergence, loses the textures, the caresses and agonies, the sense of being separated from nature, God, and oneself. For the structures of feeling discussed by Williams are not simply algorithmic; what makes them transformative is that they channel a feeling of transition. They are at once of the past, present, and future. Lost, also, is that brilliance in the text that illumines, partially and imperfectly, myriad forgotten connections. Fully manifested, the impulse towards presentism in ecological criticism—towards utility in the service of progress—would ensure that it found well-signposted avenues of inquiry. In such a case, ‘progress’ would be catastrophic indeed. And Marvell would be useless. Notes Bruce R. Smith, The Key of Green: Passion and Perception in Renaissance Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 14; citing Alexander B. Grosart, ed., The Complete Works in Verse and Prose of Andrew Marvell: With … a Translation of the Greek and Latin Poetry … 4 vols. (London: AMS Press, 1872–1875), 1.lxvi. [^] Robert N. Watson, Back to Nature: The Green and the Real in the Late Renaissance (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 4–5. [^] Watson, 5. [^] Andrew Marvell, The Rehearsal Transpros’d, ed. Martin Dzelzainis, in The Prose Works of Andrew Marvell, vol. 1, ed. Annabel Patterson, Martin Dzelzainis, Nicholas von Matzahn, and N. H. Keeble (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003), 192. All citations of the prose refer to this edition. See also Brendan Prawdzik, ‘“Til Eyes and Tears Be the Same Things”: Marvell’s Spirituality and the Senses of History’, Explorations in Renaissance Culture 41 (2015): 202–24, esp. 204–16. [^] See Nicholas von Maltzahn, ‘Andrew Marvell and the Prehistory of Whiggism’, in ‘Cultures of Whiggism’: New Essays on English Literature and Culture in the Long Eighteenth Century, ed. David Womersley, Paddy Bullard, and Abigail Williams (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2005), 31–61. [^] Diane Kelsey McColley, Poetry and Ecology in the Age of Milton and Marvell (Farnham: Ashgate, 2007), 16. [^] Joanna Picciotto, Labors of Innocence in Early Modern England (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010), 376–77: ‘If we, along with the poet, feel the grounds of observation shifting underfoot … this is the surest sign that progress is being made’ (377). [^] Andrew McRae, ‘The Green Marvell’, in The Cambridge Handbook to Andrew Marvell, ed. Derek Hirst and Steven N. Zwicker (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 123. [^] See Mark Jenner, ‘The Politics of London Air: John Evelyn’s Fumifugium and the Restoration’, The Historical Journal 38, no. 3 (1995): 535–51. [^] John Evelyn, Fumifugium, or, the Inconveniencie of the Aer and Smoak of London Dissipated (London: Gabriel Bedel and Thomas Collins, 1661), 9. [^] Ken Hiltner, ed., Renaissance Ecology: Imagining Eden in Milton’s England (Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press, 2008), 2–3. [^] John Bellamy Foster, ‘Introduction to John Evelyn’s Fumifugium’, Organization & Environment 12, no. 2 (1999): 185. [^] McColley, 154, 84. [^] See Jenner, 544–51; and Hiltner, What Else Is Pastoral? Renaissance Literature and the Environment (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2011), 96. [^] Evelyn, 15. [^] Ibid., 21. [^] Ibid., 17. [^] Raymond Williams, Marxism and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), 132. [^] Williams, The Country and the City (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973), 1–54. [^] Evelyn, 17. [^] Henry David Thoreau, Walden; or, Life in the Woods (Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1854), 127. See also Sharon O’Dair, ‘Slow Shakespeare: An Eco-Critique of “Method” in Early Modern Literary Studies’, in Early Modern Ecostudies: From the Florentine Codex to Shakespeare, ed. Thomas Hallock, Ivo Kamps, and Karen L. Raber (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 11–13. [^] Cf. Marvell, ‘The Gallery’, ll. 54–56. All references to Marvell’s poetry refer to Nigel Smith, The Poems of Andrew Marvell (Harlow: Longman, 2003). [^] Jane Partner, ‘“The Swelling Hall”: Andrew Marvell and the Politics of Architecture at Nun Appleton House’, The Seventeenth Century 23, no. 2 (2008): 225–43, esp. 238–39. See also N. Smith, Poems, 216, n. 2–4. [^] See Rebecca Bushnell, Green Desire: Imagining Early Modern English Gardens (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003), 41–83. [^] Stephen Blake, The Compleat Gardeners Practice (London: Thomas Pierrepoint, 1664), 1, 24. [^] Katherine O. Acheson, ‘Military Illustration, Garden Design, and Marvell’s “Upon Appleton House”’, ELR 41, no. 1 (2011): 148; cf. D. K. Smith, The Cartographic Imagination in Early Modern England: Re-writing the World in Marlowe, Spenser, Raleigh, and Marvell (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 157–88. [^] Cf. Marvell, ‘Upon Appleton House’, 21–22. See also N. Smith’s note on ‘mote’, Poems, 217, n. 22. [^] Cf. Watson, 120. [^] Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. ‘double (adj. 1.d)’, accessed 12 January 2019, http://www.oed.com. [^] Peter M. Garber, ‘Tulipmania’, Journal of Political Economy 97, no. 3 (1989): 535–60; cf. Earl A. Thompson, ‘The Tulipmania: Fact Or Artifact?’, Public Choice 130, no. 1 (2007): 99–114. [^] N. Smith, Poems, 134, n. 18. [^] For a discussion of the poem’s date of composition, see Paul Hammond, ‘The Date of Marvell’s “The Mower against Gardens”’, Notes & Queries 53, no. 2 (2006): 178–81; Derek Hirst and Steven N. Zwicker, Andrew Marvell, Orphan of the Hurricane (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 165–77. [^] Theodor W. Adorno, Aesthetic Theory, trans. Robert Hullot-Kentor Adorno, ed. Gretel Adorno and Rolf Tiedemann (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), 68–69. [^] Adorno, 64; cf. 71, 77. [^] John Milton, Paradise Lost, in The Works of John Milton, ed. Frank A. Patterson, vol. 2, pt. 2 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1931–1938), 12.647. [^] Prawdzik, 205–6; cf. John Rogers, The Matter of Revolution: Science, Poetry, and Politics in the Age of Milton (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996), 61–69. [^] See N. Smith, Poems, 152, 160; John M. Potter, ‘Another Porker in the Garden of Epicurus: Marvell’s “Hortus” and “The Garden”’, SEL 11, no. 1 (1971): 137–51, esp. 139–41. [^] Virgil, Georgics, 1.199–200, in J. B. Greenough, Ed., Bucolics, Aeneid, and Georgics of Vergil (Boston: Ginn & Co., 1900). My translation. [^] Marvell, A Short Historical Essay, in The Prose Works of Andrew Marvell, vol. 2, 142; Prawdzik 208–9. [^] Watson, 33. See also N. K. Sugimura, ‘Marvell’s Mind and the Glow-Worms of Extinction’, Review of English Studies 62, no. 254 (2010): 241–60. [^] Watson, 120. [^] Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. ‘hale, (v. 1)’, accessed 12 January 2019, http://www.oed.com. [^] Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Le visible et l’invisible, suivi de Notes de travail (Paris: Gallimard, 1964), 191. [^] Jacques Derrida, ‘The Animal that Therefore I Am (More to Follow)’, trans. David Wills, Critical Inquiry 28, no. 2 (2002): 399. [^] Ibid., 394. [^] Competing Interests The author has no competing interests to declare. References Acheson, Katherine O. 2011. ‘Military Illustration, Garden Design, and Marvell’s “Upon Appleton House”’. English Literary Renaissance, 41(1): 146–88. DOI: [doi: 10.1111/j.1475-6757.2010.01082.x] Adorno, Theodor W. 1997. Aesthetic Theory. Trans. Robert Hullot-Kentor Adorno. Gretel Adorno and Rolf Tiedemann (eds.). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Blake, Stephen. 1664. The Compleat Gardeners Practice. London: Thomas Pierrepoint. Bushnell, Rebecca. 2003. Green Desire: Imagining Early Modern English Gardens. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Derrida, Jacques. 2002. ‘The Animal that Therefore I Am (More to Follow)’. Trans. David Wills. Critical Inquiry, 28(2): 369–418. DOI: [doi: 10.1086/449046] Estok, Simon C. 2011. Ecocriticism and Shakespeare: Reading Ecophobia. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. DOI: [doi: 10.1057/9780230118744] Evelyn, John. 1661. Fumifugium, or, the Inconveniencie of the Aer and Smoak of London Dissipated. London: Gabriel Bedel and Thomas Collins. Foster, John Bellamy. 1999. ‘Introduction to John Evelyn’s Fumifugium’. Organization & Environment, 12(2): 184–86. DOI: [doi: 10.1177/1086026699122003] Foster, John Bellamy. 1999. Marx’s Ecology: Materialism and Nature. New York: Monthly Review Press. Garber, Peter M. 1989. ‘Tulipmania’. Journal of Political Economy, 97(3): 535–60. DOI: [doi: 10.1086/261615] Greenough, J. B. (ed.) 1900. Bucolics, Aeneid, and Georgics of Vergil. Boston: Ginn & Co. Grosart, Alexander B. (ed.) 1872–1875. The Complete Works in Verse and Prose of Andrew Marvell: With … a Translation of the Greek and Latin Poetry, 4. London: AMS Press. Hammond, Paul. 2006. ‘The Date of Marvell’s “The Mower against Gardens”’. Notes & Queries, 53(2): 178–81. DOI: [doi: 10.1093/notesj/gjl018] Hiltner, Ken. 2003. Milton and Ecology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. DOI: [doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511483639] Hiltner, Ken. (ed.) 2008. Renaissance Ecology: Imagining Eden in Milton’s England. Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press. Hiltner, Ken. 2011. What Else Is Pastoral? Renaissance Literature and the Environment. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. DOI: [doi: 10.7591/cornell/9780801449406.001.0001] Hirst, Derek, and Steven N. Zwicker. 2012. Andrew Marvell, Orphan of the Hurricane. Oxford: Oxford University Press. DOI: [doi: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199655373.001.0001] Jenner, Mark. 1995. ‘The Politics of London Air: John Evelyn’s Fumifugium and the Restoration’. The Historical Journal, 38(3): 535–51. DOI: [doi: 10.1017/S0018246X00019968] Markham, Gervase. 1623. Certaine Excellent and New Invented Knots and Mazes, for Plots and Gardens. London: John Marriott. McColley, Diane Kelsey. 2007. Poetry and Ecology in the Age of Milton and Marvell. Farnham: Ashgate. McRae, Andrew. 2010. ‘The Green Marvell’. In: The Cambridge Handbook to Andrew Marvell. Derek Hirst and Steven N. Zwicker (eds.), 122–39. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. DOI: [doi: 10.1017/CCOL9780521884174.008] Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1964. Le visible et l’invisible, suivi de Notes de travail. Paris: Gallimard. O’Dair, Sharon. 2008. ‘Slow Shakespeare: An Eco-Critique of “Method” in Early Modern Literary Studies’. In: Early Modern Ecostudies: From the Florentine Codex to Shakespeare. Thomas Hallock, Ivo Kamps and Karen L. Raber (eds.), 11–30. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. DOI: [doi: 10.1057/9780230617940_2] Partner, Jane. 2008. ‘“The Swelling Hall”: Andrew Marvell and the Politics of Architecture at Nun Appleton House’. The Seventeenth Century, 23(2): 225–43. DOI: [doi: 10.1080/0268117X.2008.10555612] Patterson, Annabel, Martin Dzelzainis, Nicholas von Matzahn, and N. H. Keeble. (eds.) 2003. The Prose Works of Andrew Marvell, 2. New Haven: Yale University Press. Patterson, Frank A. (ed.) 1931–1938. The Works of John Milton, 18. New York: Columbia University Press. Picciotto, Joanna. 2010. Labors of Innocence in Early Modern England. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Potter, John M. 1971. ‘Another Porker in the Garden of Epicurus: Marvell’s “Hortus” and “The Garden”’. SEL, 11(1): 137–51. DOI: [doi: 10.2307/449823] Prawdzik, Brendan. 2015. ‘“Til Eyes and Tears Be the Same Things”: Marvell’s Spirituality and the Senses of History’. Explorations in Renaissance Culture, 41: 202–24. DOI: [doi: 10.1163/23526963-04102004] Rogers, John. 1996. The Matter of Revolution: Science, Poetry, and Politics in the Age of Milton. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Smith, Bruce R. 2009. The Key of Green: Passion and Perception in Renaissance Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Smith, D. K. 2008. The Cartographic Imagination in Early Modern England: Re-writing the World in Marlowe, Spenser, Raleigh, and Marvell. Aldershot: Ashgate. Smith, Nigel. 2003. The Poems of Andrew Marvell. Harlow: Longman. Sugimura, N. K. 2010. ‘Marvell’s Mind and the Glow-Worms of Extinction’. Review of English Studies, 62(254): 241–60. DOI: [doi: 10.1093/res/hgq100] Thompson, Earl A. 2007. ‘The Tulipmania: Fact Or Artifact?’ Public Choice, 130(1): 99–114. DOI: [doi: 10.1007/s11127-006-9074-4] Thoreau, Henry David. 1854. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Boston: Ticknor and Fields. DOI: [doi: 10.5962/bhl.title.146169] von Maltzahn, Nicholas. 2005. ‘Andrew Marvell and the Prehistory of Whiggism’. In: ‘Cultures of Whiggism’: New Essays on English Literature and Culture in the Long Eighteenth Century, David Womersley, Paddy Bullard and Abigail Williams (eds.), 31–61. Newark: University of Delaware Press. Watson, Robert N. 2006. Back to Nature: The Green and the Real in the Late Renaissance. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Williams, Raymond. 1973. The Country and the City. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Williams, Raymond. 1977. Marxism and Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Share Authors Brendan Prawdzik (The Pennsylvania State University) Download Download XML Download PDF View PDF Issue Volume 4 • Issue 1 • 2019 • Volume 4 Dates Submitted 2018-06-26 Published 2019-03-27 Licence Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 Peer Review This article has been peer reviewed. File Checksums (MD5) XML: b3a75e5393682169b37bcb2703629058 PDF: df283eaa0f3d4035a2b260c18e5e2f18 Table of Contents Non Specialist Summary This article has no summary Close | 2399-7435 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy | 
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work_n35ddkw4fvcr7k6xplmbvz4kny	----	TAXES, CONSCIENCE, AND THE CONSTITUTION Steven D. Smith* I. TAX EXPENDITURES AND THE CLAIMS OF CONSCIENCE Al Agnostic and Betty Basic are neighbors-and citizens. They are also taxpayers. As humans, they do not especially relish paying taxes, but as citizens they understand that taxes are a civic necessity and obligation. Like most citizens, Al and Betty approve of some of the uses to which their tax dollars are devoted, and they disapprove of other uses. Sometimes they disapprove on grounds of policy: they simply do not think that particular expenditures are a good use of public funds. Sometimes their disapproval runs deeper: they might express this deeper opposition by saying that they are opposed "in conscience" to particular expenditures of public money. Naturally, the specific expenditures that provoke such scru- ples differ as between Al and Betty. As an agnostic, Al opposes public expenditures that he sees as supporting or advancing re- ligion. So he objects to the inclusion of religious institutions in publicly-supported programs established to provide social ser- vices like job training or drug rehabilitation (the so-called "faith- based initiatives"), and he also opposes the subsidization of reli- gious schools (as in so-called voucher programs). By contrast, Betty is supportive of these types of expenditures. But as an evangelical Christian she is conscientiously opposed to programs that she sees as supporting or condoning premarital sex. And she is especially pained to think that her tax dollars are being used in the public schools to support the teaching of evolution and other ideas that she believes to be false, corrosive of civic virtue, and * Warren Distinguished Professor of Law, University of San Diego. I thank Larry Alexander, Ed Eberle, Tony Ellis, and participants in a workshop at Chicago-Kent for helpful comments on an earlier draft. 365 366 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 subversive of what she regards as the saving faith that she hopes to instill in her children and neighbors. 1 So, do either Al's or Betty's objections have any sort of con- stitutional status? More specifically, can Al or Betty plausibly claim a constitutional right to freedom of conscience that is vio- lated when he or she is forced to pay taxes that will be used in part for these objectionable purposes? It is not hard to imagine a possible (though perhaps not very viable) argument suggesting that both Al and Betty's objections ought to have constitutional status. Al and Betty might join in urging the proposition that in a community that respects "the sanctity of conscience," citizens should not be forced to subsidize governmental activities to which they are conscientiously op- posed. The First Amendment, with its assorted clauses protect- ing the free exercise of religion and the freedom of speech, is sometimes viewed as a haven for conscience. 2 So Al and Betty might try to anchor their appeals to conscience in that amend- ment. In the abstract, it should not be hard to appreciate the ap- peal-and the logic-of this argument. Nor should it be hard to appreciate the overwhelming practical objections that the argu- ment will provoke. After all, many citizens and taxpayers will say, sincerely, that they are opposed in conscience to any num- ber of things that (with the support of their tax dollars) govern- ment doc:s. Some citizens are conscientiously opposed to particu- lar (or all) military activities, others to particular government funded programs in the arts or in science, others to an array of "liberal" or "conservative" social programs. We can appreciate the problem if we let our imaginations run just a little and sup- pose that Al's and Betty's argument were actually accepted by the courts: millions of citizens who have been thus encouraged to develop bloated consciences might thereby excuse themselves from all manner of taxes. That nightmare may easily lead us to the opposite conclu- sion: neither Al nor Betty should be deemed to have a valid ob- jection. More generally, objections of conscience cannot be per- I. Citizens with this perspective are recognized in both scholarly and judicial legal literature. See, e.g., Nomi Maya Stolzenberg, "He Drew a Circle that Shut Me Out": As- similation, Indoctrination, and the Paradox of a Liberal Education, 106 HARV. L. REV. 581 (1993); Mozert v. Hawkins County Bd. of Educ., 827 F.2d 1058 (6th Cir. 1987). 2. See, e.g., J. John Paul Stevens, The Freedom of Speech, 102 YALE L.J. 1293, 1297 (1993) (describing '"the individual freedom of conscience protected by the First Amendment"') (quoting Wallace v. Jaffree, 472 U.S. 38 (1985)). 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 367 mitted to excuse citizens from their basic civic obligation to pay taxes, even if these citizens have sincere moral objections (as many surely will) to some of the things government does with their money. 3 So there is an intelligible argument for accepting both Al's and Betty's claims of conscience, and there is a realistically more acceptable argument for rejecting both arguments. We can also imagine an argument that might support Betty's claim of con- science but not Al's. After all, our Constitution does not explic- itly recognize any "freedom of conscience" -such language was proposed when the First Amendment was drafted, only to be re- jected4- but the Constitution does have a provision recognizing the right to "free exercise of religion." We can stipulate that Al's and Betty's objections are equally sincere and equally conscien- tious, but we have also supposed that Betty's objection is grounded in religious belief; Al's is not. So Betty's claims may seem more at home in the Constitution as it is written. 5 Can we imagine an argument for the opposite result-for recognizing Al's claim of conscience but not Betty's? At least on first reflection, this alternative seems untenable. As noted, Al cannot as plausibly invoke the protection of the right to "free exercise of religion." Nor can he as easily ground his objection in the rationales that historically were offered for protecting rights of free exercise or of conscience. Claims of conscience were typi- cally asserted in reaction to attempts to coerce people in matters of religion, and according to the classic defenses developed by luminaries like Roger Williams and John Locke and James Madison,6 such coercion was wrong because forced worship or religiosity is unacceptable to God-it "stincks in God's Nos- trills," in Williams's pungent phrase. 7 It is doubtful whether Betty can successfully assert this rationale in this context, 8 but 3. This rejection would seem to apply as well, perhaps a fortiori, to citizens who have conscientious objections not to the way their tax dollars arc spent, but to the pay- ment of taxes itself. See United States v. Lee, 455 U.S. 252 (1982). 4. See Michael W. McConnell, The Origins and Historical Understanding of Free Exercise of Religion, 103 HARV. L. REV. 1409, 1481-84 (1990). 5. For an assessment of the question whether the free exercise clause protects nonreligious manifestations of conscience, see Steven D. Smith, What Does Religion Have to Do with Freedom of Conscience?, 76 U. COLO. L. REV. 911 (2005). 6. For an overview, sec REX AHDAR & IAl' LEIGH, RELIGIOUS FREEDOM IN THE LIBERAL STATE 22-36 (2005) 7. See Edward J. Eberle, Roger Williams on Liberty of Conscience, 10 ROGER WILLIAMS U. L. REV. 289, 297 (2005). For a more recent version of this rationale, see JOHN H. GARVEY, WHAT ARE FREEDOMS FOR? 49-57 (1996). 8. Betty can claim that payment of taxes for this purpose violates God's will, but 368 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 surely Al cannot cogently invoke it: after all, Al does not even believe that God exists. So perhaps we should be surprised to learn that a common view today, advocated by jurists like Justice David Souter9 and by scholars like Noah Feldman, 10 would recognize Al's claim of conscience while politely declining to notice Betty's. Moreover, people who take this view often try to support it by quoting lan- guage from venerable sources such as James Madison and Tho- mas J efferson. 11 It is a curious position but also a longstanding one-and one that is arguably at the core of the distinctively American commitment to the nonestablishment of religion. Let us investigate that position more closely. II. FROM CONSCIENCE (THROUGH TAXES) TO NONESTABLISHMENT? In Zelman v. Simmons-Harris, 12 the Supreme Court upheld a Cleveland voucher program that included religious schools among the institutions eligible to receive public funding. Dis- senting, Justice Souter argued that the program violated the con- sciences of taxpayers, and he quoted in support of this claim James Madison's famous statement that conscience is offended by any law that would "force a citizen to contribute three pence ... of his property for the support of any ... establish- ment."13 The basic argument had been made countless times before, of course. And in a sense it seems almost truistic: if the Constitu- tion forbids government to establish religion (a proposition that by now is very well settled14), and if the inclusion of religious schools in a more general program of educational support is an establishment of religion (a proposition that remains hotly con- tested), then it would seem to follow that the Cleveland voucher program violated the Constitution-even if the amount of fund- ing directed to religious schools was relatively small (as it argua- she cannot cogently make the classical argument about the inefficacy of forced worship, since the government is not attempting to induce her to worship. 9. See infra note 13 and accompanying text. 10. See NOAH FELDMAN, DIVIDED BY GOD 33-43,246-47 (2005). 11. See id. at 33-43. 12. 536 u.S. 639 (2002). 13. !d. at 711 (Souter, J., dissenting). 14. For at least the first century or so of the Republic, the prevailing view had been that the First Amendment prohibited the national government but not the states from establishing religion. The turning point came with Everson v. Board of Education, 330 U.S. 1 (1947). 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 369 bly was not). "No aid" separationists have been making this ar- gument almost from time immemorial, 15 or so it seems, and in the last century their position often prevailed (though perhaps less often toward the end of the century than closer to the mid- dle)16. This argument can be made, however, and often is made, without any invocation of freedom of conscience. The "no aid" separationist can simply point out that the First Amendment contains a clause forbidding establishments of religion and then argue that a voucher program including religious schools trans- gresses this prohibition. There seems to be no need to bring in- dividual conscience into the argument at all. Conversely, "free- dom of conscience" would seem to resonate more naturally with the free exercise clause than with the nonestablishment prohibi- tion. Why then did Justice Souter emphasize that the allocation of public money to religious education violated the consciences of taxpayers? Though we can only guess at Souter's particular motivations, we can also imagine reasons why "no aid" separa- tionists might want to assert a link between freedom of con- science, taxes, and nonestablishment. Let us briefly notice four such reasons. First, a commitment to nonestablishment might be made stronger, and more rhetorically powerful, if tied to a commit- ment to freedom of conscience. The case for respecting con- science is arguably more compelling than the case for constitu- tionally mandated nonestablishment. Conscience is an intimate personal concern-one that looks and sounds like the subject of a "right," even a "natural right"- while nonestablishment is more institutional and structural and abstract. Long before arguments for religious disestablishment went mainstream, major theorists like Locke along with scores of by-now-forgotten golemicists were pressing arguments for freedom of conscience. 7 Even to- day, international human rights law embraces freedom of con- science but does not mandate nonestablishment. 18 And nations 15. See generally PHILIP HAMBURGER, SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE (2002). 16. For an overview of these developments, see JoHN WITTE JR., RELIGION AND THE AMERICAN CONSTITUTIONAL EXPERIMENT 149-84 (2000). 17. For a scholarly overview of the historical developments, see ANDREW MURPHY, CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY: REVISITING TOLERATION AND RELIGIOUS DISSENT IN EARLY MODERN ENGLAND AND AMERICA (2001 ). 18. See Michael J. Perry, Whm Do the Free Exercise and Nonestablishment Norms Forbid?: Reflections on the ConstitLltional Law of Religious Freedom, 1 UNIV. OF ST. 370 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 we regard as civilized and progressive and supportive of religious freedom- England, for example- maintain established churches. In short, standing alone, the constitutional commitment to nonestablishment may seem vulnerable. Perhaps that commit- ment would be rendered more secure if it could be tied success- fully into the more unassailable right to freedom of conscience. Second, and more technically, linking nonestablishment to conscience may solidify the anomalous doctrine whereby tax- payers are treated as having legal standing to challenge viola- tions of the nonestablishment provision. Typically, the fact that a person pays taxes is not enough to permit him to bring a lawsuit challenging a constitutional infraction, 19 even one involving the expenditure of public funds; the successful plaintiff needs to be able to assert a more concrete and particularized injury. 20 Even if the consequence of this requirement is that no one has standing to challenge a constitutional violation, the courts have some- times insisted on a showing of such personalized harm. 21 In the area of nonestablishment, however, the courts have departed from this ~osition, routinely allowing litigants to claim "taxpayer standing." 2 Erwin Chemerinsky reports that "the only situation in which taxpayer standing appears permissible is if the plaintiff challenges a ~overnrnent expenditure as violating the establish- ment clause." 3 But why? The Supreme Court's own explanation of the ex- ception borders on gibberish. 24 But if taxpayers can plausibly claim that the use of their money to advance religion violates their consciences, then arguably the requisite personalized harm would be present. After all, a violation of conscience seems about as personal a harm as one could hope for. THOMAS L.J. 549, 564 (2003) (observing that "the international law of human rights does not include anything like the American nonestablishment norm"). 19. See Frothingham v. Mellon, 262 U.S. 447 (1923). 20. See ERWIN CHEMERINSKY, FEDERALllJRISDICTION 52 (1989). 21. United States v. Richardson, 418 U.S. 166 (1974); Schlesinger v. Reservists Committee to Stop the War, 418 U.S. 208 (1974). 22. For a recent instance with a scholarly opinion by Judge Richard Posner and a thoughtful dissent by Judge Kenneth Ripple, see Freedom from Religion Foundation v. Chao, 74 U.S.L.W. 1446 (7th Cir. 2006) (upholding taxpayer standmg m suit challengmg Bush Administration program promoting "faith-based initiatives") 23. CIIE~ERINSKY, supra note 20, at 82. 24. Flast v. Cohen, 392 U.S. 83 (1968). See especially the dissenting opinion by Jus- tice Harlan. 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 371 Third, if state monetary support for religion violates the consciences of taxpayers, a long-standing embarrassment in the constitutional doctrine of "incorporation" might be allayed. As all law students know, the Bill of Rights did not originally apply to the states, nor did the Supreme Court ever hold that the Four- teenth Amendment incorporated the Bill of Rights per se against the states (Justice Black notwithstanding). Instead, the Court ruled that the Fourteenth Amendment's due process clause in- cluded certain substantive rights that were "implicit in the con- cept of ordered liberty,"25 or "deeply rooted in this Nation's his- tory and tradition. "26 And the Court treated various provisions in the Bill of Rights as authoritative expressions of some of these rights. Though often critical of the path taken by the Court, scholars have argued for a similar overall outcome by contend- ing that rights contained in the Bill of Rights should have been treated as among the "privile.pes and immunities" referred to in the Fourteenth Amendment. 2 Under these "rights" rationales, it is easy enough to say that the Fourteenth Amendment incorporated the free exercise clause-or perhaps some more general right to freedom of con- science emanating from the free exercise and free speech clauses. 28 But it is conceptually awkward to say that a merely structural limitation on the national government was somehow incorporated against the states. Thus, scholars and jurists have sometimes argued that the establishment clause (at least in its original meaning) could not have been incorporated against the states: the claim simply defies logic. 29 But if the payment of taxes to be used for religious purposes violates the taxpayers' rights of conscience, so that nonestablishment is a corollary of freedom of conscience, then this objection is readily overcome. That is be- cause, once again, a right of conscience has a strong claim to be- ing "deeply rooted in this Nation's history and tradition." Finally, for those who believe that "original meaning" should count heavily or decisively in constitutional interpreta- tion, linking "no aid" nonestablishment to freedom of con- science might be helpful in parrying a threatening interpretation of the original meaning of the religion clauses. In recent years, 25. Palko v. Connecticut, 302 U.S. 319,325 (1937). 26. Moore v. City of East Cleveland, 431 U.S. 494,503 (1977). 27. See, e.g., AKHIL REED AMAR, THE BILL OF RIGHTS 181-87 (1998). 28. See Cantwell v. Connecticut, 310 U.S. 296 (1940). 29. See, e.g., AMAR, supra note 27, at 41. See also Note, Rethinking the Incorpora- tion of the Establishment Clause: A Federalist View, 105 HARV. L. REV. 1700 (1992). 372 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 some scholars Uoined recently by Justice Clarence Thomas30) have argued that the establishment clause was not originally in- tended to constitutionalize any particular substantive principle or right of religious freedom, but was merely intended to con- firm the jurisdictional arrangement whereby relipion was a mat- ter for the states, not the national government.3 One argument in support of this jurisdictional interpretation grows out of the fact of widespread disagreement during the founding period about the proper relation between government and religion: some citizens and states (Jefferson, and Virginia, for example) had concluded that government should not support religion, but other citizens and states (such as the Congregationalists in Mas- sachusetts and Connecticut) believed that government support for religion was proper and necessary. Given this disagreement, supporters of the jurisdictional interpretation ask, how could Americans have converged to approve any substantive principle of religious freedom or nonestablishment? Instead, the Framers steered around substantive differences by simply agreeing that jurisdiction over such matters would remain where it had always been-with the states. 32 Opponents of this jurisdictional interpretation typically ar- gue that despite their conspicuous differences, Americans of the period agreed on certain general principles in matters of religion. Specifically, they shared a commitment to freedom of con- science.33 But even if it is persuasive, the argument asserting a consensus on conscience would seem most pertinent to the free 30. See, e.g., Cutter v. Wilkinson, 544 U.S. 709,726 (2005) (Thomas, 1., concurring). 31. I have argued at length for this interpretation elsewhere. Steven D. Smith, The Jurisdictional Establishment Clause: A Reappraisal, 81 NOTRE DAME L. REV. 1843 (2006); STEVEN D. SMITH, FOREORDAINED FAILURE: THE QUEST FOR A CONSTITUTIONAL PRINCIPLE OF RELIGIOUS FREEDOM (1995). 32. Douglas Laycock, though a critic of this interpretation, explains that "[t]hcre was not yet a consensus for disestablishment, which suggests that the Founders might not have been able to agree on a substantive understanding of the Establishment Clause. But they did not have to agree on disestablishment; they had to agree only on what powers they were denying to the federal government." Douglas Laycock, Comment, Theology Scholarships, The Pledge of Allegiance, and Religious Liberty: Avoiding the Extremes But Missing the Liberty, 118 HARV. L. REV. 155, 241-42 (2004). See also Daniel 0. Conkle, Toward a General Theory of the Establishment Clause, 82 Nw. U. L. REV. 1113, 1133-35 (1988). 33. See, e.g., FELDMAN, supra note 10, at 27-33. For Feldman's more developed argument, see Noah Feldman, The Intellectual Origins of the Establishment Clause, 77 NYU L. REV. 346 (2002). See also Steven K. Green, Federalism and the Establishment Clause: A Reassessment, 38 CREIGHTON L. REV. 761, 775 (2005) ("Moreover, Americans throughout the fourteen nascent states agreed that freedom of religious conscience was an essential right."). 2006) TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 373 exercise clause. What does that argument have to do with the es- tablishment clause? While exploring various difficulties with the argument, Noah Feldman suggests that "no aid" nonestablishment can be derived from the shared commitment to freedom of conscience. 34 Why? Because forcing taxpayers to support religions contrary to their beliefs is a violation of their freedom of conscience. So if Americans of the period agreed in supporting freedom of con- science, they effectively agreed on a principle of "no financial aid" to religion as well. III. CONNECfiONS HISTORICAL AND LOGICAL-OR NOT In sum, the contention linking conscience to nonestablish- ment via taxes may be important to the separationist position (and, arguably, to the distinctive American commitment to non- establishment itself) in a variety of ways. This contention can be advanced or understood in two quite different senses, or in terms of what we can call "the historical claim" and "the entailment claim." (In actual debate, of course, these claims usually are not clearly distinguished.) The historical claim asserts that founding era Americans be- lieved that the use of tax money for religious purposes was a vio- lation of conscience. They may have been right or they may have been wrong, but this was what they believed; and their belief was constitutionalized in the First Amendment. Or at least so runs the claim. The entailment claim, by contrast, asserts that what- ever Americans may have believed, or whatever they may be- lieve today, the use of tax money for religious purposes just is a violation of conscience. So if our Constitution protects freedom of conscience, a principle of "no aid" to religion logically follows. Interesting questions might arise if we were to conclude that the historical claim is correct but the entailment claim is not. What would follow, in other words, if we concluded that the founding generation believed that the use of tax money for reli- gious purposes violated conscience but that their belief was (and is) mistaken? Should we conclude that the founding generation's belief, however misguided, was cemented into the Constitution, so that short of constitutional amendment we are bound by that belief despite its deficiencies? Or should we instead conclude 34. Feldman, supra note 33, at 418-25. 374 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 that the case is comparable to that of the Fourteenth Amend- ment and the principle of racial equality? In discussions of Brown v. Board of Education, for example, it has become a sort of commonplace that the Framers believed they could constitu- tionalize equality without dismantling racial segregation in schools and other contexts, but we now realize that they were mistaken about the implications of their principle, and we are bound to respect what the principle really means, not what its enactors mistakenly thought it meant. 35 Perhaps the ostensible link between freedom of conscience and "no aid" nonestablish- ment is like that? We can avoid this conundrum, however, either by rejecting the historical claim or by accepting the entailment claim. And indeed, the historical claim seems hard to square with the his- torical evidence, because in fact the founding generation does not seem to have shared the view that the use of tax money for religious purposes was a violation of anyone's freedom of con- SClence. Some Americans thought this, of course-probably quite a few. Jefferson is a good example. The famous preamble to his Virginia Bill for Religious Freedom did not use the term "con- science," but the idea is clearly there: the Bill's eloquent premise is that "Almighty God hath created the mind free," and the pre- amble reasons on to the proposition that "to compel a man to furnish contributions of money for the propagation of opinions which he disbelieves, is sinful and tyrannical." 36 We might call this the Jeffersonian proposition. It is nicely congruent with the position advocated by Souter, Feldman, and others of a similar inclination. 37 It is clear, however, that other Americans of the founding generation rejected the Jeffersonian proposition. The fact that New Englanders continued for decades to maintain and defend state support for religion even as they also endorsed freedom of conscience is powerful evidence that they did not acknowledge the controversial entailment. 38 For them (as for contemporary 35. See, e.g., ROBERT H. BORK, THE TE\1PTI:-;G OF AMERICA 74--S3 (1990). 36. The bill is reproduced in THE SUPREME COURT ON CHURCH AND STATE 25-27 (RobertS. Alley ed., 1988). 37. For example, in arguing for a strict "no aid" position in Everson v. Board of Education, Justice Rutledge's dissenting opinion repeatedly quoted Jefferson's proposi- tion. 330 U.S. 1, at 28, 44, 46,60 (1947) (Rutledge, J., dissenting). 38. Feldman, supra note 33, at 416. Feldman sometimes suggests that even those who favored state financial support for religion acknowledged, at least in principle, that freedom of conscience required permitting objectors to opt out or to designate a recipi- 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 375 human rights law), freedom of conscience and nonestablishment were independent propositions, and one could accept one proposition without accepting the other. So the historical claim that Americans largely converged in believing that public monetary support for religion violates the consciences of taxpayers turns out to unpersuasive- separationist wishful thinking, perhaps. But what about the en- tailment claim? It could be that Jefferson was right (even though not all Americans were, or are, willing to concede this). Maybe a taxpayer's freedom of conscience is violated when her tax dollars are spent on causes to which she is opposed in conscience. We need to consider the question more closely. IV. OF COMPLICITY AND COERCED AFFIRMATIONS So, is there a good argument that using tax money to further ends to which a taxpayer is conscientiously (and not merely po- litically or prudentially) opposed violates the taxpayer's con- science? The question brings us back to Aland Betty. And as we saw earlier, at least in the abstract the proposition seems plausi- ble. Wasn't this exactly the position taken by Henry David Tho- reau, who refused to pay a tax to support the war with Mexico because he thought the war was morally unjustified? No one was asking Thoreau himself to pick up his rifle and join the troops, but Thoreau thought that paying a tax to support the war would implicate him in the moral offense39 - and he thereby became one of our legendary conscientious objectors. Thoreau's view has its logic. Under the label of "complicity" or "cooperation with evil," we often regard people who support immoral activities as sharing in the immorality. People who fund terrorists are themselves complicit in the terrorism. People who give money to subversive or traitorous groups and activities are themselves guilty of subversion or treason. If it would be a viola- tion of your conscience to do X, it should similarly be a violation of conscience if you pay other people to do X. ent of their choice for their own financial contribution. FELDMAN, supra note 10, at 41. And typically some such designation was allowed. But again, views differed: the argu- ment that compelling a person to pay taxes to support a religion with which he disagreed violated freedom of conscience was considered at length and explicitly rejected in Barnes v. First Parish of Falmowh, 6 Mass. 401, 408-11 (1810), which objected that the claim "seems to mistake a man's conscience for his monev." /d. at 408. 39. See Henry David Thoreau, On the Dwy of Civil Disobedience (1849). 376 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 So the logic is not implausible. Still, doubts arise. In assess- ing moral culpability, ethicists often see a crucial distinction be- tween acting voluntarily with the intention of bringing about an evil and acting with the knowledge that bad consequences may be an unwanted side effect, but without the intention to produce those effects.40 In this vein, we might pronounce a judgment of complicity on someone who voluntarily contributes money to an immoral cause with the intention of bringing about an immoral result. But it is much less clear (Thoreau notwithstanding) that a person who is compelled by law and against his will to pay taxes that are used for immoral purposes should be held responsible for the evil. In addition, the person adjudged to be complicit will typically have contributed money consciously and specifically to some immoral cause or activity. The taxpayer, by contrast, pays money into a general fund which is used to support a whole vari- ety of activities and programs-most of which the taxpayer knows little or nothing about, and many of which are presump- tively beneficial. So again, it is far from clear that the taxpayer has any responsibility for the fact that some of the money is used for purposes to which she is conscientiously opposed. Even more fundamentally, the complicity rationale as de- scribed thus far seems too sweeping, or too crude. The rationale does nothing to distinguish between Al and Betty, or between conscientious objections to religious and nonreligious expendi- tures. But as we have noted already, an argument that would op- erate to excuse from tax obligations everyone who is opposed in conscience to some use of public money could not be accepted, because accepting it would wreak havoc on the civil order. So it seems we need a rationale that is narrower in the scope of protection it would afford. The statement from Jefferson quoted above suggests a possibility. What was "sinful and tyran- nical," in Jefferson's statement, was not compelling a taxpayer to pay for ends of which he disapproved, but rather compelling him 40. See, e.g., Thomas Nagel, The Limits of Objectivity, in 1 THE TANNER LECfURES ON HUMAN VAWES 75, 130 (Sterling M. McMurrin ed., 1980): It is also possible to foresee that one's actions will cause or fail to prevent a harm that one does not intend to bring about or perrmt. In that case It IS not, In the relevant sense, something one does, and does not come under a deontologi- cal constraint, though it may still be objectionable for impersonal reasons. See also John H. Garvey & Amy V. Coney, Catholic Judges in Capital Cases, 81 MARQ. L. REV. 303, 318-19 (1998) (distinguishing between "formal cooperation" with evil, which is "always immoral," and "material cooperation," which "involves an act that has the effect of h-elping a wrongdoer, where the cooperator does not share in the wrong- doer's immoral intention''). 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 377 to support "opinions which he disbelieves." The statement sug- gests that claims of conscience have special force in matters of expression of opinion or belief. It is not necessarily tyrannical, or a violation of conscience, to make a taxpayer pay for programs (a war, for example) to which he is conscientiously opposed. But it is tyrannical to force the taxpayer to subsidize the promulga- tion of opinions he disbelieves. Carelessly considered, modern First Amendment decisions may appear to provide the material to support this argument. We might elaborate the argument in the form of two proposi- tions, each of which can claim some support in the modern case- law. First, the First Amendment protects citizens against com- pelled affirmations. Government cannot force people, in other words, to say things they do not believe. 41 Second, for constitu- tional purposes, money talks. Contributing money to support the expression of an opinion is itself a way of expressing the opin- ion.42 From the conjunction of these propositions, it may seem to follow that government cannot force a person to contribute money that will be used to support the expression of opinions the person disbelieves and opposes: to do so would be to compel an affirmation, which is something the First Amendment forbids. And this seems to be pretty much what Jefferson asserted. Modern caselaw does not in fact draw this conclusion,43 however; nor could it. Once again, the rationale is simply too broad to be acceptable. To put the point differently, even the narrower "compelled affirmation" rationale covers Betty as well as AI. In- deed, the logic of the rationale may fit Betty better than it fits AI. That is because Betty actually believes that the ideas that she wishes not to subsidize-evolution, perhaps, or "safe sex" for teenagers, or any number of other ideas regularly taught in the public schools-are false and pernicious. She would rather that they not be taught anywhere; and she certainly has scruples against supporting their inculcation in any context. AI, on the other hand, very likely does not think the same of the religious ideas that he wishes not to subsidize. AI might think this, of 41 The classic case is West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette, 319 U.S. 624 (1943). For a provocative discussion criticizing this venerable assumption, see Larry Alexander, Compelled Speech, 23 CONST. COMMENT. 147(2006). 42. See, e.g., Buckley v. Valeo, 424 U.S. 1 (1976). 43. See, e.g., Board of Regents v. Southworth, 529 U.S. 217 (2000). In a few in- stances, however, the Court has ruled in favor of persons who objected to being com- pelled to subsidize speech by private associations. See, e.g., Abood v. Detroit Bd. of Educ., 431 U.S. 209 (1977). The limited scope of this right is emphasized in Johanns v. Livestock Mktg Ass'n, 544 U.S. 550 (2005). 378 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 course: he might be a devout atheist who would like to see relig- ion disappear altogether. But in the America of 1790 or the America of 2006, it is at least as likely that Al's objection is not so much to the religious ideas themselves as to public support for the promotion of those ideas. Al typically will protest that he is not opposed to religion, and that he is perfectly content to have such religious beliefs taught in private homes and churches. In- deed, we could easily recast Al as a religious liberal who actually agrees with the religious ideas in question (whatever they hap- pen to be), who in fact teaches similar ideas in his role as a Sun- day School teacher, but who thinks the government should not be supporting and promoting such ideas. Hence, if Betty is not ex- cused from paying her taxes she can fairly say that she has been "compel[led] . . . to furnish contributions of money for the propagation of opinions which [sjhe disbelieves"; Al may not be able to say as much. But our question was whether a plausible argument could be advanced for recognizing Al's objection in conscience to sub- sidizing the teaching of religious ideas while refusing to recog- nize Betty's objection in conscience to subsidizing the promulga- tion of what she regards as anti-religious ideas. And it seems that the Jeffersonian contention fails to give us that argument. Its terms and its logic cover all publicly subsidized "propagation of opinions" that some taxpayers may "disbelieve" -religious or not. And given the fact that there are large numbers of citizens who "disbelieve" all manner of opinions taught in the public schools or subsidized in other ways, this broader argument is again one which, as a practical matter, we cannot expect courts ever to embrace. So does it follow that the noble sentiments expressed in Jef- ferson's revered statute were simply misguided? Maybe. But perhaps we could rescue Jefferson by supposing that he wrote in a context in which subsidization of Christian ministers was thought to be just about the only form of public financial support for the expression of controversial opinions. If we view the mat- ter in this way, then we might conclude that although Jefferson's view was viable and attractive on his assumptions and for his time and place, it simply cannot be embraced today in a world in which government pervasively makes and supports expressions of controversial opinions. Either way, there is no apparent excuse for the opportunis- tic practice by which people like Justice Souter invoke the Jef- fersonian proposition selectively to shut down aid for the sup- 2006] TAXES, CONSCIENCE AND CONSTITUTION 379 port of some controversial views while blithely failing to notice that similar subsidies are routinely made available for the sup- port of a whole array of other controversial views. 44 IV. ANTI-RELIGIOUS DISCRIMINATION? Our assessment of the entailment claim -or, rather, of its implausibility-may shed some light on the recurring contro- versy in which some citizens and Justices accuse other citizens and Justices of being "hostile" to religion, and in which the ac- cused indignantly deny the charge.45 We can charitably suppose that in ruling to invalidate various forms of aid to religion, sepa- rationist Justices are not being consciously hostile to religion. They are simply enforcing a constitutional prohibition as they understand it. Still, if a principle is consistently enforced against one set of causes and parties but conveniently forgotten when other causes and other parties' interests are at issue, suspicions will naturally arise. 46 Suppose there is a classroom with a rule against talking in class without permission. The teacher disciplines Susy and Jane several times for whispering in class, and when they suggest that 44. So, should we conclude that the American commitment to noncstablishmcnt is based on a mistake, and that the position of international human rights law requiring freedom of religion and freedom of conscience but not nonestablishment is the sounder position'! See supra note 18. Not necessarily. The ostensible connection of conscience to nonestablishment is a theme that has been historically important in this country, but it is surely not the only reason for favoring a constitutional prohibition on the establishment of religion. Those other reasons may be more than sufficient to support the American commitment. In addition, whether or not it was founded on conceptual errors or on con- ditions that no longer obtain, the commitment to "separation of church and state" is by now a firmly entrenched feature of the American constitutional tradition, arguably cen- tral to our national identity. Tradition itself furnishes a more than adequate justification for maintaining that commitment. See Steven D. Smith, Separation as a Tradition, 18 J. LAW & POLITICS 215 (2002). To be sure, abandonment of the "entailment claim" might make for a somewhat dif- ferently shaped nonestablishment commitment. I have already noted, for example, how the specialized doctrine of taxpayer standing for establishment clause cases arguably rests on the implicit assumption that public expenditures for religious purposes violate the consciences of objecting taxpayers, and thereby cause the sort of personalized injury that allows them to bring suit. Without that assumption, the doctrine of standing might be different; a different standing doctrine might lead to different cases, and hence a dif- ferent substantive doctrine on the subject. There is no way to know. But in any case, the basic commitment to nonestablishment does not seem threatened. 45. See, .e.g., Santa Fe Indep. Sch. Dist. v. Doc, 530 U.S. 290, 318 (2000) (Rehnquist, 1., dissenting) (arguing that the majority opinion "bristles with hostility to all things reli- gious in public life"). 46. Cf Douglas Laycock, Formal, Substantive, and Disaggregated Newrality toward Religion, 39 DEPAUL L. REV. 993, 1010 (1990) (arguing that Justice Stevens' unusual vot- ing pattern in religion cases can best be explained by "hostility to religion"). 380 CONSTITUTIONAL COMMENTARY [Vol. 23:365 she is being mean to them she explains that, no, she is simply en- forcing the rule. Rules are rules. But when Carlos and Horace engage in what looks like similar behavior, the teacher appears not to notice. If someone asks about this, she says she assumed that they were "conferring" or doing some other legitimate task. The teacher might actually believe her own explanations. But observers will understandably begin to suspect that her real (though perhaps subconscious) motives must be different than her announced ones. By the same token, when people like Justice Souter rou- tinely invoke the sanctity of conscience in supporting the claims of the Als of the world (even when the Als' claims have a tenu- ous grounding in the constitutional text) but seem not even to conceive of the possibility of employing the same reasoning in behalf of the Bettys of the world (even though the Bettys' claims have if anything a firmer footing in the text), observers are natu- rally going to wonder what is really going on. 
work_n3h6mn3rfjhjzpwowxw2bs7zzu	----	Embracing the sacred: an indigenous framework for tomorrow’s sustainability science Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 DOI 10.1007/s11625-015-0343-3 SPECIAL FEATURE: ORIGINAL ARTICLE Weaving Indigenous and Sustainability Sciences to Diversify Our Methods (WIS2DOM) Embracing the sacred: an indigenous framework for tomorrow’s sustainability science Kekuhi Kealiikanakaoleohaililani1 • Christian P. Giardina2 Received: 14 October 2014 / Accepted: 21 September 2015 / Published online: 19 October 2015 © Springer Japan (outside the USA) 2015 Abstract Mahalo (thank you) for reading our paper. What you will find is an attempt to synthesize and compare the strengths and weaknesses of Indigenous and Western per­ spectives on sustainability and a proposed path leading to the integration of these two perspectives into a sustainability framework that considers resources as much more than commodities. We enter into this discussion with 50 years of experience between us, both of us products of our experi­ mentation with the integration that we are advocating. From this experimentation, we have concluded that sacred rela­ tionship must be the foundation of any successful sustain­ ability effort, with success achieved only when resource management practices and policies engage the spirit and are aligned with equitable and respectful interactions among human and non-human. By sacred, we refer to those senti­ ments, actions, and commitments that emerge from spirit- based relationships that are founded on love, respect, care, intimate familiarity, and reciprocal exchange. By spirit, we refer to that which gives life to the material body, the enigma that is our collective conscious, subconscious, and uncon­ scious beings. In formulating this paper, we made three assumptions: (1) the need to shift our spiritual selves, and our collective weight and resulting ecological footprints, is fully evidenced by the failure of purely Western approaches to sustain the social and biophysical world around us; (2) Handled by Renee Pualani Louis, The University of Kansas, USA. & Kekuhi Kealiikanakaoleohaililani ohaililani@gmail.com 1 Humanities Department, Hawaii Community College, Hilo, HI 96720, USA 2 Institute of Pacific Islands Forestry, USDA Forest Service, Hilo, HI 96720, USA each and every citizen of our planet contributes to both sustainability’s advancement and its demise; and (3) by engaging the spirit and reclaiming sacredness in all our relationships, we can help move the Earth community towards her fullest potential of wellbeing. Our hope here is that we are able to grow the connections among a nascent but rapidly evolving transformational vision for sustainability, the enlightened thinking of contemporaries, and inspired ancestral knowledge. To facilitate the continued emergence of this transformative vision, we marry Western sustain­ ability concepts to an Indigenous sacredness framework. Keywords Hawaii · Aloha aina · Malama aina · Love · Relationship A Greeting ALO-HA to YOU reading! The response, if you choose, is ALO (uh-lo) HA (ha) Alo-ha to the place in which you are reading this article Alo-ha to your oikos, your home Alo-ha to your family Alo-ha to the people around you Alo-ha to your mountain, your flat land, your water source, your ocean, your forest, your grasslands Alo-ha to dry-ness, your heat, your season flooding, your coolness Alo-ha to your bird people, your people on twos, on fours, on eights Orienting ourselves We are here in Hilo, Hawai‘i. I (Kekuhi) would like to introduce you to our community. We are almost there. 123 http://orcid.org/0000-0002-9823-9639 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s11625-015-0343-3&amp;domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s11625-015-0343-3&amp;domain=pdf mailto:ohaililani@gmail.com 58 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 I have arrived (I should probably say we have arrived since your here too, right now). I park the car, sit on the nearest rock, open my lap top, and begin chanting softly to ask for permission to be in the place to record this moment for the purpose of this article. At this very moment, I coerce my fingers to strike the keyboard as I turn my sensual and inward attention to this place called Puhi, a very little bay in my hometown of Hilo on Hawai‘i Island. Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa mountains (intimately referred to by my children as Papa Kea and Mama Loa) are in the background as Kanehoalani or grandfather sun begins his descent between the moun­ tains. Alo-ha old ones. Alo-ha e Puhi, I whisper. The exhale of the blow hole answers, alo-ha. (A very useful courtesy my grandmother taught me.) There in front of me the current pulls out revealing the scent of seaweed. Spring water trickles into the ocean. As I inhale, the surface of the ocean moves up; as I exhale, the surface of the ocean recedes, in and out, up and down. To the south I see Kauku, a small cinder cone created by two deities fighting one another. Hello Kauku. OH!!! Just saw a turtle come up for air. There he is again! And again! Alo-ha ancient one. The moa‘e, prevailing wind or breeze from the ocean, is our constant. Welcome back, I say. Because for the last two weeks, the surface lava flow has sucked the moisture out of the air and frightened away the rain, while making plans with the sun (volcano’s father) to dry up everyone’s grass. Silly Tutu Pele (grandmother lava)! Alo-ha coconut trees and moving fronds, Alo-ha ulili bird, Alo-ha again, turtle, Alo-ha guy on your paddle board. OH! Who just fell off, Alo-ha cliffy coast line, Alo-ha family swimming across the way, Alo-ha, sea spray. The moa‘e breathes, I breathe too. Ocean breathes, I breathe along. I invite you to learn this process. Big breath in and say ‘ALO‘—completely release the breath and say ‘HA‘! Two more times, please. Together we just thanked the moment at Puhi. I cast the eyes downward as a gesture of respect to my community. And then wait for a response. Then, I pick up the rubbish around me and ask for permission to leave. Till the next time, Puhi. I ola ‘oe, I ola ia‘u nei. I live in you, you live in me. This process is Alo-ha, an in-the­ moment relationship and reciprocal exchange (Alo) of breath (Ha). Introduction ‘‘The land has become an extension of Indian thought and being because, in the words of a Pueblo elder ‘It is this place that holds our memories and the bones of our people…This is the place that made us’.’’ Greg Cajete 1999 ‘‘A man is ethical only when life as such is sacred to him, that of plants and animals as well as that of his fellow men.’’ Albert Schweitzer, 1933 The advent and eventual primacy of the academic research enterprise, social and cultural modernization, and the market economy are Western sustainability science’s double-edged swords. These engines of change have con­ tributed a great deal to improvements in the quality of life for humans across the planet: medical research and resulting innovations have extended lives and reduced or in some cases eliminated crippling diseases; slavery once normative is now a distant and shameful memory for much of humanity; and access to goods and services is being elevated for much of the Earth’s citizenry. And yet there are negative consequences including ecological degrada­ tion on unprecedented scales (Dirzo et al. 2014; The Millennial Ecosystem Assessment, www.millenniu massessment.org/), large-scale disenfranchisement from market-based promises of prosperity (Hawken 2011), and emotional and psychological isolation in an era of elec­ tronic hyper-connectedness (Louv 2006). Additional important but rarely discussed changes accompanying humanity’s march to modernity, and the focus of this paper, are the relentless infilling of a commodity ethic into our daily life, including into relationships with family and environment, and the diminishing role of the sacred in these foundational relationships (Louv 2006; Vaughan-Lee 2013 and chapters within; Nash 2014). We view these changes as important because expanding commercializa­ tion coupled with declines in how and where the sacred is expressed have transformational impacts on the sustain­ ability of human health and wellbeing—admittedly com­ plex terms that are viewed differently by Western and indigenous communities. Western sustainability science most often considers human individual and community wellbeing as a function of the supply of resources and services that underpin health, where wellbeing is gauged as an individual having physical and emotional health, access to social and per­ sonal resources, and retaining physical capabilities (The Millennium assessment). Indigenous perspectives further consider attributes that directly connect the individual to community and to the surrounding ecological world, 123 http://www.millenniumassessment.org/ http://www.millenniumassessment.org/ 59 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 because these persistent and intimate relationships provide sustenance (Vaughan and Vitousek 2013). These locally based sustenance relationships contrast Western sustain­ ability’s anonymous and ephemeral market-based con­ sumer relationships mediated by the black box of international commerce. Simply stated, Western sustain­ ability has concerned itself primarily with events and activities that operate on either side of that black box, with intentional lack of attention on the nature of the linkages across the black box, while Indigenous sustainability is fundamentally dependent on and so concerned with these linkages (Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999; Berkes et al. 2000; McGregor et al. 2003). As noted by Donatuto et al. (2014), Indigenous concepts of wellbeing include not only ‘‘fa­ milial and community-wide considerations’’ but also reflect ‘‘interlinked social, cultural, spiritual, environmental and psychological aspects of health’’ that are ‘‘structured in content and internal logic, and comprise practices and knowledge about connections between human beings, nature, and spiritual beings’’. Critically, it is this embracing of resources from within a network of sacred relationships that distinguishes Indigenous from Western approaches to sustainability (Berkes 1999; Vaughan and Vitousek 2013). This concept is eloquently captured by Cajete (1999), who describes a theology of place that is founded on the notion that one’s sense of place is ‘‘constantly evolving and transforming through the lives and relationships of all participants’’ because, he continues ‘‘Humans naturally have a geographic sensibility and geographic imagination borne of millions of years of interactions with places. Humans have always oriented themselves by establishing direct and personal relationships to places in the landscapes with which they have interacted.’’ Considerations of the sacred often underpin discussions of wellbeing, and these considerations have varied over time and across both Indigenous and Western cultures (Leopold 1949; Trenholm 1986; Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999; Berkes et al. 2000; Vaughan-Lee. 2013 and chap­ ters within; Nash 2014). Within Indigenous communities, beliefs about the sacred are tightly coupled to place-based knowledge systems and culturally driven management practices. These systems operate as shared responsibilities that bind communities (Vaughan and Vitousek 2013), and are transferred across generations through regular com­ munity practice (Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999). Throughout human history, Indigenous sacredness as a natural resource ethic has conflicted with western commodity-based approaches to resource management and conservation (Trenholm 1986; Williams 1990; Nash 2014). Today, these conflicts span from the scale of an individual’s daily decision making about cost versus environmental stew­ ardship and respect for life to that of wars that arise between local communities and market-driven entities seeking to secure the raw materials and labor required to produce wealth. Clearly, many Western-based resource management and conservation efforts were the result of sacred relationships between person and place (Nash 2014). Further, a sacred­ ness ethic (Leopold 1949) has given rise to many of Western sustainability’s modern examples of thoughtfully implemented stewardship, from fishing and forestry to mining and energy production (Hawken 2011). However, within the ecosystem services framework, Western sus­ tainability science’s dominant paradigm (The Millennium Assessment), sacredness has been relegated to a minor service in an effort to fully commodify sustenance rela­ tionships between society and the natural world. Because of strong pressures to minimize costs while maximizing services and profits, the ecosystem services paradigm ultimately may limit the capacity of Western sustainability science to catalyze and achieve large-scale sustainability. Delving deeper, indigenous subsistence relationships are informed by inter-generational accumulation of intimate knowledge of local resources, with the ever-present need to survive as the driver of local innovation and adaptation to environmental change (Cajete 1999; Berkes et al. 2000). And so sustainability in an indigenous framework can be seen as the capacity of a community to access and manage local natural resources, or to construct a resource supply via agriculture or husbandry, so as to assure the survival of and interconnectedness of the members of both that com­ munity and the environment, what Cajete (1999) describes as respectful relationship. In contrast, commodity-based resource management requires time investments into Western systems of learning, financial investments into the infrastructure of resource acquisition and transport, and political investments that enhance economic competitive­ ness and increase access to resources. Within this market- driven framework, sustainability is the desired condition wherein access to a resource is stable, secure, and as inexpensive as possible; high security, long-term stability, and low cost are achieved by a wide variety of means, both ethical and unethical, in order to assure the continued supply of goods and services to a global network of con­ sumers. It is not surprising then that knowledge about commodity-based resource management is generated by paid professionals where activities are aligned with cor­ porate interests. Within a sacredness ethic, taking of resources is viewed as an exchange and a privilege that comes with stewardship responsibilities, and the knowledge that to waste has direct consequences on the web of interactions that sustain life (Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999; Johnson and Larsen 2013). In contrast, a commodity ethic, even when tempered by thoughtful resource management, legislated environmental regulations, or consumer activism, is founded on 123 60 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 maximizing consumer purchasing power and profits for shareholders. Within a commodity-driven framework, resource extraction and associated consequences are diffi­ cult for the consumer or shareholder to consider because distances between resource and consumers/shareholders are typically large and convoluted such that acts of degradation are often hidden. Further, the global-scale commodification of resources and services means few still retain the knowledge of how to steward their own goods and services, have relationships with the landscapes that sustain, or experience how consumption impacts environ­ ment and humanity. We suggest that as with the loss of our connection to the landscapes that sustain us, familial perspectives on sacredness are increasingly impacted by the encroachment of the commodity ethic into daily life. Many of us still retain elements of the sacred in our interactions with family and community. For example, while intrepid economists have quantified the financial benefits of marriage, and official union does come with tax benefits, marriage still represents the sacred union between two loving individu­ als. And most parents view the birth of a healthy child as a sacred gift, much more than a tax break, with child rearing still defined by sacred devotion to a child. The developed world’s concept of care for elderly parents provides a poignant counter example, however, where care is no longer a sacred exchange between parent and child, but rather a market-driven commodity. As with parental care, commodity-driven distractions are whittling away our capacity to love and sustain sacredness within our mar­ riages and between parents and children. Many of us have witnessed couples having lunch with their cell phones, or have relied on electronic babysitting. The cumulative effect of these distractions is to make us less than human, cynical, depressed, addicted, and undeniably unsustainable (Louv 2006). When we reclaim and embrace the sacred in everyone and all around us, when we act in ways that maintain spirit-focused relationships with family, with community as an extension of our family, and with envi­ ronment as an extension of our community, we grow our capacity to love and attain a soulful state—joyful, fulfilled, connected, and undeniably sustainable. Foundations of Western sustainability science Sustainability has been described in Western literature in various ways. From Merriam Webster: ‘‘Sustainability: of, relating to, or being a method of harvesting or using a resource so that the resource is not depleted or permanently damaged.’’ From Wikipedia: ‘‘The word sustainability is derived from the Latin sustinere (tenere, to hold; sus, up). More broadly sustainability is the capacity to endure. In ecology the word describes how biological systems remain diverse and productive over time. Long-lived and healthy wetlands and forests are examples of sustainable biological systems. For humans, sustainability is the potential for long-term maintenance of wellbeing, which has environ­ mental, economic, and social dimensions. Healthy ecosystems and environments provide vital goods and services to humans and other organisms. There are two major ways of reducing negative human impact and enhancing ecosystem services and the first of these is environmental management. This approach is based largely on information gained from earth science, environmental science and conservation biology. The second approach is management of human consumption of resources, which is based largely on information gained from economics.’’ A more modern and comprehensive perspective on sustainability is captured in the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment: ‘‘The MA is an assessment that focuses on the linkages between ecosystems and human wellbeing and, in particular, on ecosystem services. An ecosystem is a dynamic complex of plant, animal, and microorganism communities and the nonliving environment interacting as a functional unit. The MA deals with the full range of ecosystems—from those relatively undisturbed, such as natural forests, to landscapes with mixed patterns of human use, to ecosystems intensively managed and modified by humans, such as agricultural land and urban areas. Ecosystem services are the benefits people obtain from ecosystems. These include provisioning services such as food, water, timber, and fiber; regulating services that affect climate, floods, disease, wastes, and water quality; cultural services that provide recreational, aesthetic, and spiritual benefits; and supporting services such as soil formation, photosynthesis, and nutrient cycling. The human species, while buffered against environmental changes by culture and technology, is fundamentally dependent on the flow of ecosystem services.’’ The conceptual framework for the MA posits that ‘‘people are integral parts of ecosystems and that a dynamic interaction exists between them and other parts of ecosystems, with the changing human condition driving, both directly and indirectly, changes in ecosystems and thereby causing changes in human wellbeing. At the same time, social, economic, and cultural factors unrelated to ecosystems alter the human condition, and many natural forces influence ecosystems. Although the MA emphasizes the linkages between ecosystems and human wellbeing, it recognizes that the actions people take that influence ecosystems result not just from concern about human wellbeing but also from considerations of the intrinsic value of species and ecosystems. Intrinsic value is the value of something in and for itself, irrespective of its utility for someone else.’’ 123 61 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 The main findings of the MA include (1) ‘‘Over the past 50 years, humans have changed ecosystems more rapidly and extensively than in any comparable period of time in human history, largely to meet rapidly growing demands for food, fresh water, timber, fiber, and fuel. This has resulted in a substantial and largely irreversible loss in the diversity of life on Earth.’’ (2) ‘‘The changes that have been made to ecosystems have contributed to substantial net gains in human wellbeing and economic development, but these gains have been achieved at growing costs in the form of the degradation of many ecosystem services, increased risks of nonlinear changes, and the exacerbation of poverty for some groups of people. These problems, unless addressed, will substantially diminish the benefits that future generations obtain from ecosystems.’’ (3) ‘‘The degradation of ecosystem services could grow significantly worse during the first half of this century and is a barrier to achieving the millennium development goals.’’ And 4) ‘‘The challenge of reversing the degradation of ecosystems while meeting increasing demands for their services can be partially met under some scenarios that the MA has con­ sidered, but these involve significant changes in policies, institutions, and practices that are not currently under way. Many options exist to conserve or enhance ecosystem services in ways that reduce negative trade-offs or that provide positive synergies with other ecosystem services.’’ The above assessment of planet Earth’s ecosystem ser­ vices suggests that global management of natural resource is in a dire state. We argue that Western sustainability science has strengths that equip it for improving natural resources management, but it also has weaknesses that may contribute to continued degradation. Strengths include methodologies and associated metrics that allow the impact (negative and positive) of actions (or inaction) to be quantified and monitored over time. For example, if society defines clean rivers as a sustainability value, Western sustainability science can provide specific metrics for what constitutes clean water and the tools for quantifying and monitoring cleanliness of the water over time, and the methods for correcting deviations. More generally, the assigning of value to an organism, process, or outcome allows sustainability science to then develop, test, apply, and validate metrics for the sustainability of that organism, process, or outcome, as well as methods to correct depar­ tures from a desired condition. Further, because of the hypothesis-driven framework in which Western sustain­ ability science operates, managers can rely on robust results derived from complex analyses, often published in peer-reviewed publications (e.g., Root et al. 2003; Lamb et al. 2005; Hessburg et al. 2012; Dirzo et al. 2014; Vig­ nieri 2014). Given a reliance on strong metrics, managers know what component of an ecosystem is being examined and so to some extent what is being ignored. An additional strength is the systems nature of Western science. That is, Western sustainability science has biophysical tools (hy­ drological and biogeochemical techniques, economic analyses, remote sensing, modeling, etc.) to examine the effects of change on an entire system and how change varies across systems, for example, climate effects on water delivery from entire mountain ranges, management effects on global warming potential of entire regions, or policy effects on fossil fuel consumption of entire coun­ tries. Western sustainability science provides this knowl­ edge via case studies, experiments, and synthetic analyses, elaborating the meaning and mechanics of Western sus­ tainability at multiple scales (Fig. 1). Western sustainability science also has important weaknesses. At the conceptual level, Western sustainability science remains a surprisingly poorly defined identity as exemplified by ongoing debates about the motivations and drivers of resources management (e.g., Chase 1986; Marris 2011; Tallis et al. 2014). Similarly, there is a poor under­ standing of the target baseline for sustainable management of resources and landscapes, itself complicated by realities of ever-changing natural forces that affect systems (Liv­ ingston 1968), and of human-induced global change (Root et al. 2003; Hawken 2011; Dirzo et al. 2014). Further complicating the concept of target baselines are regularly used anthropomorphizing descriptors such as healthy (versus unhealthy) in the management of ecosystem com­ position, structure, and function (Chase 1986; Hobbs et al. 2014). This concern is not restricted to present day, human- related disturbances; the ecological sciences have shown robustly that most of the Earth’s ecosystems have been subject to millennia of human activities (Crutzen 2006). And so baselines tend to be arbitrary—a compromise function that integrates societal pressures, ownership needs, and scientific best guesses at, for example, what something might have looked like had Europeans not set­ tled in an area. A few enlightened best guesses attempt to consider the long-term presence of native cultures and the effects of their management on land, all the while keeping in mind that global change has always and continues at an accelerated rate to alter ecosystem composition, structure, and function. In the application of Western sustainability science, other weaknesses closer to the ground have emerged. Because of various pressures on management to succeed, managing for sustainability has at times drifted to ‘‘com­ mand and control’’ solutions (Chase 1986; Holling and Meffe 1996). Complicating what already are often intractable ecological problems, applications of Western sustainability science can encounter conflicting public sentiments about management, distrust of agency leader­ ship especially when controversial management decisions seek to be implemented, and short-sighted political 123 Re ce I P c e e i We e i d 62 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 Gnqdcn Syuve m Clioav e, uour u Eperiy Social Syuve m pu vu opu oli cu E opooy Humcp Syuve m W llbeipi Healvj Culvur Global Sustainability Suuvc ipcdne Prqduc qp & Cqpuump qp Humcp Secur vy nndeipg Hecnvh Ccrdqp Neuvrcn Cqmmupi eu Lcpduccpeu Sqcie vy Complex Problems Mcrm v Dr v ep Degrc c qp Fig. 1 Western, global-scale sustainability is a function of three systems operating at the individual, societal, and global scales, as well as their linkages and solutions to complex problems (adapted from Komiyama and Takeuchi 2006) pressures to achieve outcomes that may not lead to real solutions (Chase 1986; Komiyama and Takeuchi 2006). Further, because Western sustainability science must pro­ vide simple metrics that can be easily and quickly adopted by resource management entities that seek cost-effective approaches that work across systems, the focus of man­ agement applications is on a small number of charismatic or economically important organisms, processes, or out­ comes that are of broad interest and perceived value. Sustainability of an entire system, including all of its components, typically cannot be examined or managed because resources, tools, and even understanding are lacking (Chase 1986). Despite these weaknesses, humanity has turned to Western sustainability science for help with achieving the incredible balancing act of meeting: (1) society’s need for equitable access to life sustaining resources (Ostrom 2009; Lamb et al. 2005; Vignieri 2014; The Millennium Assessment); (2) the profit expanding needs of corporations and share-holder beneficiaries who are often disconnected from, and even misled about corporate resource extraction activities (Hawken 2011); and (3) academic research’s need for reliable and robustly measured sustainability metrics. To achieve this balancing act, Western sustainability science may need inwardly directed and reflective critiques. We suggest one important question is whether the commodity ethic, on which Western sustain­ ability science and the ecosystem services paradigm cur­ rently rest, can continue to be relied upon to solve our most pressing sustainability issues. On this question, Winthrop’s (2014) critique of the ecosystem services paradigm is illustrative, making the case that the ecosystem services approach cannot be credibly used to understand let alone value Indigenous cultural services because the paradigm and its methods are incompatible with the social con­ struction of Indigenous environmental experience, the symbolic character of Indigenous environmental knowl­ edge, and the multidimensionality of Indigenous environ­ mental value. This timely critique may be broadly relevant if, as we contend, Indigenous perspectives on the sacred offer an important alternative to the market-driven com­ modity ethic. Foundations of an indigenous sustainability science Indigenous sustainability science emphasizes place, rela­ tionship, and sacred exchanges among humans and the resources required for survival (Johnson and Larsen 2013). The concept and practice of sacredness in the context of sustainability is a relatively new academic field of study (Berkes 1999), but has been strongly developed and expressed within traditional Indigenous communities for millennia, most often accurately captured in Indigenous- authored academic writings. Indigenous sustainability sci­ ence emphasizes humans as components of a complex system that make up with other organisms an ecological web (Vaughan-Lee 2013 and chapters within; Donatuto et al. 2014). In this framework, ensuring the long-term health of the system directly supporting one’s survival and survival of community members is the goal. And so quality of life is adjusted to meet the needs of the system and future generations. To achieve this, Indigenous sustain­ ability science seeks local knowledge particularly relevant to a place, often scaled down and attained through long­ term and local relationships that lead to the accumulation of observations and experience. This contrasts Western sustainability science, which seeks general knowledge applicable across systems, with data being aggregated upwards and gained through broadly established methods and protocols. And so while Western-based studies need not include as experts people from the place being studied (approaches are agnostic, so to speak), Indigenous science cannot proceed without individuals who are from the location being studied because expertise and knowledge resides with local individuals. A closely related contrast involves ways of knowing. Indigenous sustainability 123 63 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 science emphasizes familial, that is regular and intimate approaches to knowing as with friends, spouses, children, parents, and extended family members. In contrast, Wes­ tern sustainability science emphasizes objective data-dri­ ven process, typically long-term monitoring of indicator variables or short-term experimental data collection. To elaborate on these concepts, in this next section, we draw strongly on Native Hawaiian perspectives because it is the land base and the system most familiar to us. There are many elements to a native Hawaiian ethic of sustain­ ability, but we focus on two of the most understood and practiced: Aloha aina and Malama aina, translated, respectively, as to love the land and to care for the land. Aloha is an in-the-moment relationship and reciprocal exchange (Alo) of breath (Ha) resulting from a relationship or bond between entities that is characterized by mutual benefit, commitment, and physical exchange. To give aloha for another entity involves a commitment that assures the wellbeing of that entity, and more important for this dis­ cussion, that allows the giver to see one’s self in each and every entity. Malama is the result of aloha-based rela­ tionships because the act of loving an entity must translate into caring for that entity, with care including protecting, tending, stewarding, and where needed restoring health and wellbeing. And so in the practice and engagement of Aloha aina and Malama aina, we achieve a deep love for and commitment to caring for and protecting our surroundings, made real through relationship with the land, broadly defined as the world with which a native Hawaiian engages. A third fundamental element of this Hawaiian Indige­ nous ethic of sustainability is the idea of resource as akua or deity. An extension of this ethos is that all forms and functions (biotic and abiotic, physical and non-physical, observable and non-observable, dynamic, inert, internal, external) are akua expressions. As a result, all interactions are by definition akua or potentiality, and so are sacred. But what does that mean, to be sacred? In native Hawaiian thought, sacred means that there is vitality about an object, a thought, a feeling, or an action, which is experienced through relationship. It is this vitality or mana that brings form to some things and consciousness to others. In certain relationships at certain times there is no form, just mana. This is spirit, the sacred, divinity—a-kua. This perspective recognizes that it is the potentiality of each and every life and non-life form, and its akua state that sustains life, human and non-human, whether it is fresh water for habitat or drinking, soils for growing forests or crops, or air that is breathed. And so the world is an ever-present and contin­ uous expression of divinity—your divinity, a tree’s spirit, the sacredness of the lava, the ocean, sky, the rock, a baby, an idea, and so on. The invitation of Hawai‘i sustainability is that kanaka (humans) are an intimate part of this continuous expression. By extension then, to ignore, per­ mit, or actively participate in the degradation of kanaka or the aina (environment) is to ignore, permit, or actively participate in the degradation of a family member. Ulti­ mately, this degradation returns to the self. From an Indigenous Hawaiian point of view, environ­ mental kinship and the ancestral teaching of I ola ‘oe, i ola ia‘u nei (You live in me, and I live in you) is an everyday reality, and implicit in Hawaiian Indigenous perspectives on Sustainability. The Hawaiian perspective on life cycle is not based in the linearity of living, but a literal ‘‘cycle’’ of living, reproduction, and dying. Even in death we are contributors to living. Our physical bones return to Papa, to feed the earth, and the mana of our wailua or spirit is recycled into one of many other natural phenomenon, be it animal, plant, ele­ mental, air, or water. In this way, there is no absolute beginning or finality of ending; there is only the beginning and ending of cycles. We are creators and co-creators of some these cycles, and there is no forgetting exactly who we are biologically, physically, psychologically, and genealogically because we are alertly aware of the dynamic continuity of our relationships and these cycles. And there­ fore, Native Hawaiians recognize that relationships between the animate and inanimate, visible and invisible, human and nature, and between the conscious, subconscious, and unconscious are inherently indivisible. The term ‘ohana, or family, applies to this environ­ mental relationship, and is above all the single most important element relating to Hawaiian Indigenous sus­ tainability, the ability to identify the water source to whom one is related, to embrace as family the natural phe­ nomenon that are part of the organic lived world. And so, in a socio-cultural context, a Hawaiian perspective of ‘ohana will include, for example, biological and/or adop­ tive parents, all relatives dead or alive, the ‘i’iwi bird, the taro plant, lightning, a particular shark guardian, or a par­ ticular rock formation. Puku’i and Handy (1998) so expertly and succinctly state in The Polynesian Family System in Ka’u, Hawai’i: ‘‘A Hawaiian’s oneness with the living aspect of native phenomena, that is, with spirits and gods and other persons as souls, is not correctly described by the word rapport, and certainly not by such words as sympathy, empathy, abnormal, supernormal or neu­ rotic; mystical or magical. It is not ‘extra-sensory,’ for it is partly of-the-senses and not-of-the-senses. It is just a part of natural consciousness for the normal Hawaiian-a ‘second sense,’ if you will…but it is not ‘sight’ only, or particularly, but covers every phase of sensory and mental consciousness….To comprehend the psyche of our old Hawaiians it is necessary to enlarge the implications of the word ‘relationship’ 123 http:consciousness�.To 64 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 beyond the limitations of the ‘interpersonal’ or social. The subjective relationships that dominate the Polynesian psyche are with all nature, in its totality, and all its parts…’’ (pp. 117–118) The landscape is an essential part of this totality, and not only that which is under one’s foot. Aina or landscape is the physical geography of the island, the surrounding ocean, the different levels in the firmament of the heavens and all bodies of the heavens, layers of earth, all creatures, vegetation, mineral, and elemental phenomenon. Land­ scape also implies the metaphysical, non-material elements such as the dreamscape, ancestral memory and ancestral prompting or what is commonly known as na‘au or gut feeling, vitality or mana, and a host of other ‘‘unobserv­ able’’ dynamics. The later type of landscape is what, inevitably, maintains the connection of the individual to her familial relations in nature. That all these features are included in the notion of landscape may seem peculiar, but without the non-material landscape, the primary connec­ tions among members of the larger ‘ohana are severed. The social-ecological reality of belonging to and being connected with the surrounding environment is simply depicted in familial terms such as ‘ohana, meaning taro stalk; kua’āina, meaning back bone of the land; and, kama’āina, child of the land, or one who is physically, psychologically, biologically, and genealogically insepa­ rable from the surrounding environment. We will refer again to the clarifying insight of Handy and Puku’i in their explanation of Hawai’i perspective as ‘‘the old Hawaiian theory of Natural History’’ (p. 122), and kinship, based on the ‘‘systematic theory’’ (p. 122) and analogical logic of kinolau (p. 122-126): ‘‘The comprehension of the relationship of persons and families in these islands to natural phenomena and the various genera of plants and animals, requires an understanding of the old Hawaiian theory of Natural History. This theory was based upon the observation of the resemblances, in form, in colour, in some notable detail of marking, or of habit, between natural phenomena, plant and animal forms. On the basis of these observed resemblances, the old Hawaiians developed a systematic theory which considered forms (kino, body) having notable resem­ blances of particular sorts to be multiple forms (kino­ lau) of one or another of the ancestral nature gods which mythology and tradition purported to be either (a) primordial, i.e., born of the union of Sky with Mother Earth, in these islands; or (b) proto-historic or historic migrants from abroad, or (c) native Hawaiians who, long ago became elevated to the rank of gods of high rank and power. For example, the edible tree-ferns which cover the uplands are ‘‘bodies’’ of Haumea, who is Papa, Mother Earth herself. The sharks, on the other hand, are ‘‘bodies’’ of one of the brothers of Pele, goddess of vulcanism, who was an immigrant from abroad. Lizards seen to­ day are related to a deified chiefess of the island of Maui who was a worshipper of the ancient goddess who was ancestress of all lizards, whose kino-lau all lizards are. Caterpillars are cousins of sea-cucum­ bers and baby eels, all descended, as his ‘‘multiple­ forms,’’ from a nature god who rose from the bottom of the sea in an age long past. The rationale of these old Hawaiian theories of nat­ ure will be plain, in the notes that follow, for anyone who can understand the logic-by-analogy of old Polynesian thinking. The significance of the theory of kino-lau in relation to the ‘ohana, as family and community, lies in the fact that these concepts form the basis of kapu affecting individuals and groups; while equally they serve psychologically as common denominators of descent, relationship, status and duty for the kindred affected.’’ And so familial ties to the natural environment are a significant subject of concern, as are connections among community members. Vaughan and Vitousek (2013) describe in detail the subsistence fishing-driven connec­ tions that bind members of the Haena, Kauai community, connections forged by the mahele or distribution/sharing of fish caught locally by subsistence fishers. Specifically, the reciprocal, non-commercial sharing of locally caught fish promotes community resilience and sustainability by sup­ porting perpetuation of cultural practices, food sufficiency activities, and maintenance of place-based knowledge and social networks. As described by Cajete (1999) and Berkes (1999) for other Indigenous communities, native Hawaiian relationships with the environment could not have come into existence or continue to exist for that matter, without reciprocal exchanges among community members, human and non-human. Accordingly, Hawaiians view themselves as younger siblings to the surrounding environment, and so are compelled to demonstrate filial piety via ritual and reciprocal exchanges. As with any familial relationship, the rules of aloha and malama apply: to love and care for all relations with the goal of creating abundance for current and future generations. Hawaiian understanding of the universe is shaped by Hawaii’s geography, cultural traditions, and mythology, but also particular kapu and kanawai or resource and self- management tools, which ensure sustainable living on this land space. Kapu is the level of a person’s, place’s, or element’s sacredness, which is determined by a person’s, place’s, or element’s status and contribution to the Hawaiian social-ecological world. And Kanawai dictates 123 http:networks.As 65 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 accessibility and behavior in proximity to the resource in order to preserve a resources kapu. Again, accessibility and behavior applies to relationships between natural phe­ nomena, between natural phenomenon and kanaka, and between kanaka. These ideas, life ways, persist through the process of aloha: generating the ‘‘ability’’ to ‘‘sustain’’ our relationships (ALO) with reciprocity (HA), with the ulti­ mate goal of creating abundance for current and future generations. Weaknesses of Indigenous sustainability science include a high sensitivity to local knowledge, which in many cases is now held by very few traditional practitioners or land experts. Because of colonial activities, relocations forced and otherwise, introduction of diseases, cultural marginal­ ization including outlawing practices and language, knowledge held by land experts has become fragmented and in some cases lost. This loss is now compounded by the fact that across planet Earth, the traditional knowledge tied to a location, and developed over millennia may no longer apply because degradation has changed the patterns and processes that had come to define a system. While local Indigenous knowledge systems are clearly defined by their capacity to evolve and adapt to change in a system, the extent, severity, and rapidity of degradation to the envi­ ronment seen today are unlike anything witnessed in the history of humanity. As a result, and often out of necessity, most Indigenous communities participate in Western approaches to securing sustenance. Further, because Indigenous knowledge systems are relevant at local spatial scales, planning, implementing, or managing larger scale efforts requires investment into building substantial col­ laborative teams that may not be cohesive, at least initially (Berkes 2007). A path to integration and thoughts on a way forward There has been significant debate about the extent to which Western and Indigenous ways of knowing are dissimilar (Berkes et al. 2000), and we cannot resolve this debate here. However, we suggest that a starting point for inte­ gration is the same starting point for Indigenous sustain­ ability science—using resources, yes, but in all cases with respect of the sacred and with caring for a resource that is to sustain current and future generations. This somewhat obvious starting point can provide critical insights into how individuals can rebuild relationships among members of a community, and how communities can rebuild relation­ ships with the environment by addressing local ecological, social, and spiritual needs of all participants. This approach is eloquently captured by Johnson and Larsen (2013) who describe the need to embrace a deeper sense of place in the study of how humans relate to their surroundings, with the important goal of decolonizing both perspectives and actions in research environments. And just as they high­ light that ‘‘Indigenous ontologies structure worldly under­ standing through firsthand experience in place’’ and that ‘‘places speak to the recognition that context is essential for knowledge,’’ so too is a sense of place central to the integration of multiple knowledge systems in sustainability science (Vaughan 2014) and to achieving sustainability (Berkes 1999; Cajete 1999; Vaughn and Vitousek 2013). Only when people are in relationship with place and with resources can there be deepened connections between beings (plant, animal, physical, spiritual). And only when intimate connections are married to deep understanding can informed stewardship and passionate guardianship occur (Johnson and Larsen 2013). As the rich story of American conservation has demonstrated (Nash 2014), this marriage is a powerful engine of change, playing out over the past century in conservation success after conservation success. Mirroring Berkes (2007) and his treatment of community- based conservation of biodiversity, we propose that humanity’s sustainability crisis is also a multi-level prob­ lem of the commons, and its solution should rely on a broadly integrated, pluralistic framework found on an ethic of the sacred. And so management planning should yield context specific and community-based sustainability actions that are derived from collaborative deliberations among diverse partners who are intimate with and deeply invested in place (Vaughan and Vitousek 2013). Integrating Western and traditional tools and approaches within an Indigenous place-based, relationship-driven framework may be an effective approach to fundamentally altering our patterns of consumption, widely viewed as being as critical a driver of global ecological degradation as population growth (The Millennium Assessment). To be intimately connected to sustaining resources would change how we view and interact with the world around us, what we purchase and why, and where and how we acquire our food. An integrated and pluralistic, place-based and rela­ tionship-driven framework would achieve (1) recovery the sacred nature of resource removal (Johnson and Larsen 2013); (2) focusing on managing for abundance and taking the minimum needed for survival thereby reducing damage caused to resources; and (3) enhancement of resource management oriented social networks. And so this approach has the potential to transform the physical quality (obesity, cancer, diabetes, etc.) and spiritual quality of our lives (fulfillment from connectedness to the resources that sustain us, our families and the communities that partici­ pate in resource stewardship and protection). Critically, the folding of the sacred into larger scale resource management and conservation has also occurred in Western communities, and has been a central feature of 123 66 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 Western thinking about the natural world and the place of humans in that world. For example, Nash (2014) docu­ ments the very spiritual foundation of the North American conservation movement. Many of our most cherished conservation initiatives (e.g., the National Park System, The Wilderness Act) were achieved in large part because congressional and agency leadership and the public were aligned by a common appreciation for the sacredness of natural areas. Thinkers such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, and Aldo Leopold contributed much to a sacredness ethic underpinning these advances, viewing our relationship to wildness resources as a sacred one that binds human to place. While this spiri­ tually based, twentieth century conservation ethic repre­ sented a significant departure from that of early European settlers (utilitarian farmers who sought to subdue and convert wild areas to productive agricultural uses), was not universally embraced, and caused the dislocation of countless Indigenous communities (Nash 2014; Williams 1990), sacredness has been none-the-less a critical pillar in the history of American resource conservation (Leopold 1949; Nash 2014). Looking forward, Abram (1996) pro­ vides an eloquent summary: ‘‘Ecologically considered, it is not primarily our verbal statements that are true or false, but rather the kind of relations that we sustain with the rest of nature. A human community that lives in a mutually beneficial relation with the surrounding earth is a community, we might say, that lives in truth. The ways of speaking common to that community—the claims and beliefs that enable such reciprocity to perpetuate itself—are, in this important sense, true. They are in accord with a right relation between these people and their world. Statements and beliefs, meanwhile, that foster violence towards the land, ways of speaking that enable the impairment or ruination of the surrounding field of beings, can be described as false ways of speaking—ways that encourage an unsustainable relations with the encompassing earth. A civilization that relentlessly destroys the living land it inhabits is not well acquainted with truth, regardless of how many sup­ posed facts it has amassed regarding the calculable properties of its world.’’ And so the task ahead seems to be how to identify the needs of our landscapes, redefine what it means to be in sustainable relationship with each other and our land­ scapes, and embrace the sacred in setting sustainability objectives—all the while knowing that further extinctions are inevitable, further degradation of ecosystem services impossible at least in the short term to avoid, and spiritual and social alienation increasingly the norm. Indigenous sustainability science offers us powerful solutions on all these fronts—solutions that can be implemented immedi­ ately in the home by individuals of any community, and eventually by any community. Because many of our sustainability problems are no longer solvable only by application of highly local, Indigenous knowledge-based solutions (Berkes 2007), incorporation of the tools of Western sustainability science into an Indigenous sustainability science framework with its own complement of traditional knowledge and tools holds great promise for both achieving larger scale sus­ tainability but also transforming lives in a way not achievable in a market-driven commodity-based frame­ work. This would require several changes: (1) Western sustainability science positions itself to embrace sustain­ ability as something inseparable from human value systems where sustainability becomes a balanced manifestation of a community’s collective values as well as processes based on respect of the sacred nature of both living and non­ living resources; (2) integrated perspectives on sustain­ ability that lead to educated, inspired, and motivated individuals who make decisions with the goal of cultivating more meaningful, aloha-based relationships among people, within communities, and with the environment; and (3) societies that are more intentional about how value systems are constructed, evaluated, maintained, and modified, especially deemphasizing norms where financial health is valued over spiritual and ecological health and at the cost of personal and ecological wellbeing. Of course, there is an enormous need to support sustainability efforts that are seeking such integration in order to expand and document the processes, methods, curricula, and demonstrations required for integrating multiple knowledge systems in the management of sacred landscapes. Until we meet again, generate aloha in every relation­ ship. I ola ‘oe, i ola ia‘u nei! Acknowledgments This paper resulted from a 2012 National Sci­ ence Funded workshop entitled: Weaving Indigenous and Sustain­ ability Sciences: Diversifying our Methods. We thank our workshop host, Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington; workshop organizers, especially Jay Johnson and Renee Pualani Fisher; and other workshop participants, who over the course of three days, provided much inspiration for this paper. We thank Paul Hessburg, Marla Emery, Tamara Ticktin, and Frank Lake for important insights into how integration of multiple knowledge systems can support efforts to foster sustainability. We thank Tamara Ticktin, Kealoha Kinney, Chris Heider, and an anonymous reviewer for helpful com­ ments on earlier drafts of this manuscript. References Abram D (1996) The spell of the sensuous. Vintage, New York Berkes F (1999) Sacred ecology: traditional ecological knowledge and management systems. Taylor & Francis, Philadelphia, London 123 67 Sustain Sci (2016) 11:57–67 Berkes F (2007) Community-based conservation in a globalized world. Proc Nat Acad Sci 104:15188–15193 Berkes F, Colding J, Folke C (2000) Rediscovery of traditional ecological knowledge as adaptive management. Ecol Appl 10:1251–1262 Cajete G (1999) Look to the mountain; reflections on indigenous ecology. In: Cajete G (ed) A people’s ecology: explorations in sustainable living, health, environment, agriculture, native traditions. Clear Light Publishers, Sante Fe Chase A (1986) Playing god in yellowstone. The destruction of America’s First National Park. 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Ecol Econ 108:208–214 123 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/08920753.2014.923140 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/su40x000x http://dx.doi.org/10.4337/9781843768616.00019 http://dx.doi.org/10.4337/9781843768616.00019 http://dx.doi.org/10.2984/67.3.3 Embracing the sacred: an indigenous framework for tomorrow’s sustainability science Abstract A Greeting Orienting ourselves Introduction Foundations of Western sustainability science Foundations of an indigenous sustainability science A path to integration and thoughts on a way forward Acknowledgments References 
work_n2nm6ess2zd3xgt6l46cb3luyu	----	Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America ISSN 1870-0128 ISSN online 2255-3371 Mario López Martínez Política sin matar. Los métodos de la acción no-violenta NO KILL POLICY. THE METHODS OF NON-VIOLENT ACTION Vol. 7 No. 7, 37-90 pp. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 36 36 MONOGRAFÍA NO-VIOLENCIA CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 37 37 RESUMEN Este artículo pretende definir, delimitar y detallar cuáles son los métodos de acción no-violenta; en principio distin- guiéndolos de aquellos otros que podrían ser catalogados como medios de lucha armada y violenta o métodos crueles, inhumanos y degradantes (los cuales cau- san daño, sufrimiento y muerte), pero, también, diferenciándolas de otros procedimientos democráticos y medios alternativos de solución de conflictos, con los que la no- violencia suele ser confundida. Más adelante explicamos cómo surgió el arte de la resistencia no-violenta y cómo existe una vasta historia tras ella, así como cuáles son las principales escuelas de pensamiento sobre el tema de los métodos no-violentos: el siste- ma satyagraha de Gandhi y la teoría de la acción política de Gene Sharp. La primera se fundamenta no sólo en varias décadas de lucha y práctica sino en una visión integral de los conflictos, en la importancia de los procesos y en la opción por la “conversión” del adversario. La escuela de Sharp, profundamente enraizada en el trabajo académico, considera a la no-violencia como una ciencia (de lo social), cuyo valor está en su enseñanza técnica, metodoló- gica y sistemática, que permite elaborar hipótesis, deducir princi- Política sin matar: Los métodos de la acción no-violenta NO KILL POLICY. THE METHODS OF NON-VIOLENT ACTION ENVIADO 26-6-2013 REVISADO 26-8-2013 ACEPTADO 30-8-2013 Mario López Martínez Instituto de la Paz y los Conflictos, Universidad de Granada, España Palabras claves: Poder social, no-violencia, democracia, violencia, Ciencia Política Key Words: Social Power, non-violence, democracy, violence, Political Science CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 38 38 pios, desarrollar razonamientos o experimentar sus límites. Sharp estaba preocupado por encontrar un método eficaz de ejercicio del poder, más allá del bien y del mal, más allá de la ética, una teoría del poder no-violento que conmovió algunos de los cimien- tos más sólidos de la ciencia política clásica. ABSTRACT This article aims to define, refine and detail what me- thods of non-violent action are, in principle distinguishing those that could be classified as armed and violent means of struggle or cruel, inhuman and degrading methods (which cause injury, suffer- ing and death), but also trying to differentiate them from other democratic procedures and alternative means of conflict resolu- tion, with that non-violence is often confused. Later we explain how the art of non-violent resistance and how there arose a vast history behind it, and what the major schools of thought on the subject of non-violent methods are: Gandhi's satyagraha system and the theory of political action Gene Sharp. The first is based not only in decades of struggle and practice, but in a holistic view of the conflict, the importance of the processes and the choice for the conversion of the adversary. School Sharp, deeply rooted in academic work, consider non-violence as a science (the social), whose value is in its technical, methodological, systematic instruc- tion that allows hypothesize, deduce principles, develop their rea- soning or experience limits. Sharp was worried about finding an effective method of exercising power, beyond good and evil, beyond ethics, a theory of non-violent power that moved some of the most solid foundation of classical political science. Podemos tratar de contemporizar, negociar pequeños cambios, inadecuados, y prolongar en el tiempo nuestro plan de liberación, esperando que los narcóticos de la demora minimizarán el dolor del progreso (…). Sería ineficaz porque los negros han descubierto en la acción directa no-violenta una fuerza irresistible que propulsa lo que hasta la fecha fue objeto inamovible Martin Luther King Jr. (2010: 123) 1 Introducción ¿Se puede hacer política sin matar? ¿Sin causar daño y sufrimiento a otros, a los adversarios y enemigos? ¿En qué consistieron los métodos políticos usados, durante largos períodos de tiempo, por personalidades como Gandhi, Luther King o Petra Kelly? ¿De qué CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 39 39 hablamos cuando nos referimos a los métodos de acción política no-violenta? ¿Existen diferencias, y semejanzas, con otras prácti- cas, tales como los métodos democráticos o los medios alternati- vos de solución de conflictos? ¿Podemos distinguir de manera elocuente las diferencias entre métodos violentos o los que no lo son? ¿Qué hace que la acción política no-violenta sea un modelo de intervención y movilización socio-política peculiar? La no-violencia la podemos calificar como una forma de pensar y de actuar consciente en busca de justicia, reivindicando derechos y construyendo dignidad humana, pero sin que ello implique o re- quiera usar métodos que resultarían contraproducentes con esos objetivos. La no-violencia considera que las injusticias, la violencia, la discriminación, la marginación, etc., deben ser afrontadas, la actitud no es la pasividad y/o la aceptación, tampoco es cometer otras injusticias o causar daños crueles e irreversibles a otros para obtener la ansiada justicia. ¿Hay margen entre una y otra actitud? ¿Entre la aquiescencia social y política frente a un orden injusto y el uso de métodos de socialización del sufrimiento y de la violen- cia, podemos encontrar algo que no permita la deshumanización en un proceso de reivindicación y de lucha? La no-violencia pre- tende responder a estas preguntas. No se trata sólo de rechazar la violencia y de construir la paz, sino de que –cuando nos referimos a la no-violencia- estamos hablando de combate, lucha, desafío y rebeldía frente a los abusos y atropellos negándose a cualquier proceso de deshumanización (López Martínez, 2001, 2004a, 2004b, 2006). Debe quedar claro que estamos hablando, por tanto, de cosas bien distintas a la lucha armada, los métodos violentos, crueles, in- humanos y degradantes, la guerra en todas sus formas, el terro- rismo, etc.; porque dentro de los métodos no-violentos no pueden caber el uso de la tortura, el asesinato, la violación sexual, la escla- vitud, el minado de un territorio y cosas similares. Como sabemos, la mayor parte de estos métodos causan –con bastante facilidad- pérdidas de vidas humanas, en muchas ocasiones de manera indis- criminada, degradan también la dignidad humana, causan tremen- dos sufrimientos o lo hacen de manera irreversible, socializan el dolor y la mortificación más allá de las víctimas directas, generan traumas profundos y heridas difíciles de superar. Cuando estos métodos se generalizan y se extienden en el tiempo no sólo matan CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 40 40 muchísimas personas sino que acaban destruyendo tejido social y político, sentido de comunidad, espacios de confianza, posibilida- des de futuro. Las sociedades que sufren estas abyecciones no saben cómo y cuándo ponerles límite, han alcanzado el insondable territorio de la barbarie, la violencia acaba degradando los objeti- vos que se perseguían al usarla, acaban produciéndose interrela- ciones muy asimétricas y jerarquizadas entre grupos sociales y políticos, así como muchos sectores se ven impregnados por posi- ciones intolerantes, dogmáticas y militaristas (Pontara, 2000; López Martínez, 2009: 58-61). Este tipo de métodos usados en la violencia física y en su máxima expresión que sería la guerra, warfare, es decir, todo un “sistema” de producción de muerte, sufrimiento, miedo y aniquilación se evidencian en la serie de Los desastres de la guerra de Francisco de Goya, en El bombardeo de Guernica de Pablo Picasso o en Suppres- sion of the Indian Revolt by the English de Vasily Vereshchagin. Obviamente con el descubrimiento de la fotografía y la generaliza- ción del cinematógrafo, el verdadero rostro de la guerra no puede conducir a fraudes, si bien la censura, la contra información, el engaño, la manipulación y otras técnicas muy habituales en el uso de la violencia son orquestadas para evitar los efectos negativos que tales imágenes generarían entre las personas (Cabañas, López y Rincón, 2009 y García, 2006). De hecho, como creemos que demuestra Max Scheler (2000) en una conferencia, pronunciada en Alemania en 1927, sobre “La idea de la paz y del pacifismo”, la guerra y sus formas de violencia se idealizan hasta tal punto que los valores que pretenden represen- tar se identifican con lo más positivo que puede aportar el ser humano (valor, solidaridad, compañerismo, honor, etc.), empero todos son un conjunto de falacias, puesto que tales valores tam- bién se dan entre los pacifistas y; sin embargo, éstos no son ni idealizados, ni admirados de igual forma, sino perseguidos y encar- celados porque se niegan a matar a otras personas en tiempos de guerra. Al igual que Scheler, anteriormente Thoreau, Tolstoi, Gandhi o William James pensaron estas contradicciones: los obje- tores de conciencia a la guerra, los abolicionistas de la esclavitud, los desobedientes a la tiranía, etc., demostraban con su conducta un altísimo valor de dignidad humana. En concreto William James (1910) esbozó unas primeras ideas de cómo sustituir a la guerra por otros métodos que, sin tener los efectos negativos de ésta, CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 41 41 permitieran desarrollar lo más positivo del ser humano. A este semejante le denominó, de forma provocativa, El equivalente mo- ral de la guerra. Asimismo, si bien me he referido a procedimientos ligados a lo que se denomina la violencia directa y física, también debemos añadir un conjunto de métodos que entrarían dentro de la violencia cul- tural-simbólica (Galtung, 2003) y que serían incompatibles, de igual manera, con la no-violencia y con su acción política. Me estoy refiriendo a la intimidación, la amenaza, el chantaje, la extorsión, la vejación, etc., así como el uso de símbolos sociales o culturales asociados históricamente a la violencia, los cuáles en su contexto puede ser fácilmente comprendidos como amenazantes, ofensivos e intimidatorios (las cruces gamadas, ciertos tatuajes, gestos y banderas, etc.); o métodos ligados a la violencia verbal y psicológi- ca, tales como: la simplificación, la cosificación del otro, el libelo, el insulto, el desprecio, la degradación, la humillación, el ultraje, la injuria, la infamia, la ignominia, la vileza, el oprobio, la ofensa, etc., (Contreras, 2004; Romano, 2007). Se trata pues de un conjunto muy amplio de procedimientos que, de manera abierta o de forma indirecta, generan violencia y sufri- miento en una relación de poder y de lucha entre seres humanos. No se trata, solamente, de no usar medios letales y armas de gue- rra contra otras personas, sino que también es negarse a des- humanizar, degradar o despreciar a los adversarios, dado que es- tos procesos pueden ser, fácilmente, la antesala para el uso gene- ralizado de la violencia directa. Por tanto, cuando nos referimos a la no-violencia estamos preci- sando un tipo de acción política muy sensible a cuáles y cómo se deben usar métodos y procedimientos que no permitan la des- humanización, la injusticia y la ofensa, dado que nos estamos refi- riendo a que la no-violencia –como acción política- se aplica en contextos de conflictos abiertos y encarnizados, en situaciones de tensión y fuerza, donde es fácil que se produzcan escaladas y deri- vas hacia la violencia. Neutralizar y contener esas escaladas resulta fundamental, sin que con ello se tergiverse la verdadera naturaleza del conflicto, la contradicción entre las partes, sus incompatibilida- des, sino muy al contrario, hacer emerger y visibilizar las asimetr- ías, iniquidades e ignominias. En general, cuando la violencia dire- cta aparece en una lucha, ésta centra la atención de todo observa- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 42 42 dor, diluyendo las causas profundas y los orígenes del conflicto. Son precisamente las causas, las raíces y los fundamentos de los conflictos los que no se deben soslayar en una lucha política desde la no-violencia, es por ello especialmente importante la elección de los métodos, dado que éstos son un referente permanente que alimenta el poder moral y la legitimidad de la propia protesta. Uno de los líderes más destacados de la lucha contra el apartheid, en Sudáfrica, el obispo anglicano Desmond Tutu señaló: “Por qué debemos desacreditar a nuestra causa al usar métodos a los que nos opondríamos si fueran usados contra nosotros. Ustedes y yo debemos ser quienes caminemos con la frente en alto. Diremos que usamos métodos que pueden resistir el escrutinio, el duro escrutinio de la historia” (South Africa. Freedom In Our Lifetime, 2000). Este último es un elemento muy importante a tener en cuenta. Es una “regla de oro”: “trata a otros como te gustaría que te trataran a ti”, aunque el partidario de la no-violencia sepa que contra él pueden usarse o, habitualmente, se usen métodos que aquél des- aprobaría usar con sus adversarios (métodos claramente violentos, humillantes y degradantes). Esto en parte es así, porque la concep- ción que se tiene de la violencia no implica una sola dirección de la acción sino una mutua interrelación. El violentado sufre y es morti- ficado, pero quien lo hace, el violento, al realizar una acción indig- na e ignominiosa acaba envilecido y avergonzado. El pensamiento no-violento no cataloga una violencia como mala, injusta e innece- saria, o todo lo contrario, sino que está muy atenta hacia los efec- tos sobre quienes la padecen y quienes la producen (la deshuma- nización). No es sólo, por tanto, la no-violencia un pensamiento fundamentado en principios deontológicos, sino que está muy preocupada y motivada por la acción (o la omisión), de ahí la im- portancia que da a la relación medios-fines, a los procedimientos. Es precisamente la elección de éstos lo que permite explorar el territorio de lo concreto, lo cercano, lo inmediato, aquello sobre lo que se puede tener capacidad de elección. 2 Métodos democráticos y alternativos de solución de conflictos Así, los métodos no-violentos implican el uso de todo tipo de me- dios a nuestro alcance: simbólicos, sociales, psicológicos, económi- cos y políticos, exceptuando y descartando todos aquellos que CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 43 43 implican violencia o amenaza de ella, tal y como hemos venido exponiendo. Pero no se trata de métodos habituales, instituciona- lizados y convencionales como pudieran ser los métodos democrá- ticos o los medios alternativos de solución de conflictos, sino que nos estamos refiriendo a procedimientos que van más allá. Las técnicas y procedimientos no-violentos, además de ser un sistema para intensificar y dinamizar la acción colectiva, son de naturaleza disruptiva, provocadora y desafiante. Su intención es tensionar y presionar sobre los conflictos para hacer emerger la dimensión profunda de los mismos, revelando las contradicciones, las caren- cias y las paradojas que en ellos se producen (desvelando la posición de los actores, las asimetrías de poder, los intereses ocultos, etc.). Además, en relación con las instituciones y las leyes de un orde- namiento jurídico-político, los métodos no-violentos tratan de traspasar los límites establecidos por ese orden, ofreciendo múlti- ples formas de resistencia, protesta, presión, no cooperación y acción directa. ¿Esto significa que la no-violencia no tiene en cuen- ta los métodos del estado de derecho, la democracia o la solución alternativa de conflictos? Sí, sí que los tiene en cuenta y, de hecho, trata de agotar estas vías antes de poner en marcha la panoplia de formas de presión colectiva; pero entiende que, en muchas oca- siones, resultan insuficientes, que tienen sus límites, que requieren mucho tiempo y recursos, e incluso que ocultan situaciones que son sobradamente injustas y arbitrarias. Los métodos democráticos son muy conocidos e implican un amplísimo catálogo de formas y contenidos que contribuyen a facilitar la vida en común y resolver muchos conflictos, evitando que éstos deriven hacia el terreno de la violencia. Por ejemplo, las elecciones periódicas permiten elegir representantes, sin derra- mamiento de sangre, los cuales reunidos en un parlamento, desig- nan un gobierno y elaboran leyes que son las reglas del juego que permiten un compromiso para resolver problemas políticos y so- ciales. Junto a ello están otras cámaras de representación, un go- bierno de mayorías, los derechos de las minorías, las consultas concretas, el plebiscito, el referéndum, la iniciativa popular legisla- tiva, la revocación de mandato, el “impeachment” o “juicio políti- co”, las comisiones de investigación, las defensorías del pueblo, las audiencias públicas, entre otras muchas. Además, en las democracias liberales donde a éstas se asocian el CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 44 44 estado de derecho, éste puede contribuir poderosamente a garan- tizar que aquellos métodos queden respaldados por instituciones y procedimientos que ofrezcan más garantías a la ciudadanía, tales como: tribunales independientes, un sistema garantista, la posibi- lidad de apelación y revisión, la presunción de inocencia, el habeas corpus, las libertades y derechos fundamentales (asociación, ex- presión, conciencia, prensa, etc.), la división de poderes del esta- do, los recursos administrativos, entre otros muchos. Junto a unos y otros, otras muchas formas de asociación y organi- zación de la sociedad civil que, con sus procedimientos e instru- mentos, pueden ayudar a controlar y a nivelar las asimetrías, los desencuentros y conflictos entre comunidad política e institucional con la sociedad civil, para ello están los lobbies, el asociacionismo profesional, los sindicatos, las ONGs en general y los movimientos sociales (Moyer, 2004). Este brevísimo panorama se puede completar con lo que se deno- minan medios alternativos de solución de conflictos, los cuales están pensados para ayudar y suplementar a los medios democrá- ticos y jurídicos (estado de derecho) en la tramitación y el desenla- ce positivo y satisfactorio de conflictos políticos, sociales, jurídicos, económicos y culturales. Estamos hablando de la mediación, la conciliación, la negociación y el arbitraje. Aún con todo, sabemos que ni los métodos democráticos (espe- cialmente en el modelo de democracia representativa y de merca- do), ni los del estado de derecho, ni los medios alternativos, ni las formas organizativas de la sociedad civil resultan, en ciertas cir- cunstancias, suficientes para ofrecer satisfacción parcial o plena a sectores de la sociedad que no ven recogidas y resueltas sus de- mandas y peticiones. Cuando esto ocurre, y sucede en demasiadas ocasiones, la sociedad y sus instituciones entran en estado de ten- sión, la cual se puede diluir por entre los múltiples canales que hemos citado antes, siempre y cuando éstos funcionen correcta- mente y ayuden a encontrar soluciones sobre el reparto de los recursos, la adjudicación de las cargas, el reequilibrio de poder, etc.. Sin embargo, como en muchas ocasiones esos canales no funcionan, son lentos o están anquilosados, suele estallar la pro- testa social, la cual puede adoptar tintes violentos o, por el contra- rio, derivar hacia métodos no-violentos. ¿Son, entonces, los métodos no-violentos bastante excepcionales CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 45 45 puesto que existen otros muchos medios que convendría agotar antes y que están en el ordenamiento jurídico-político de una so- ciedad? Pues en realidad los métodos no-violentos son bastante usuales y, de hecho, históricamente hablando se han venido incor- porando algunos de ellos al elenco de procedimientos convencio- nales y modulares de los sistemas demo-liberales. Un ejemplo de ello han sido las huelgas, las cuales eran ilegales durante buena parte del siglo XIX y XX pero que acabaron incorporándose al elen- co de derechos adquiridos por la ciudadanía. Esto mismo se podría decir de aquellos medios que Sharp denomina de “persuasión y protesta”, bastantes de ellos se han acabado incorporando a las formas cotidianas de la acción política en democracia: las declara- ciones formales, ciertas acciones simbólicas, la queja en grupos, etc., la toma, en definitiva, de la calle de manera pacífica para usar la libertad de expresión. No obstante, se puede aseverar que a medida que una democracia está más consolidada, es más profunda y tiene mejor repartidos y distribuidos los diversos poderes, nos hallamos ante un régimen que acepta de mejor grado los métodos no-violentos, insisto y muchos de ellos constituyen parte del muestrario del ejercicio real de los derechos fundamentales de reunión, expresión, etc. En sen- tido contrario, a medida que el sistema político es débilmente de- mocrático, semidemocrático, autoritario o una férrea dictadura, menos se acepta y más se persiguen los medios no-violentos. De hecho, en el caso de los regímenes totalitarios y dictatoriales, o en las monarquías semifeudales aún existentes no caben elementos como la sátira, la crítica, la ironía, la parodia, el sarcasmo, la bro- ma, la mordacidad, la socarronería, la irreverencia, el descaro, el desafío, el atrevimiento, la frescura, la desobediencia, la transgre- sión, la contravención, la insumisión, etc., todos ellos medios no- violentos que formarían parte, en una sociedad democrática, de las formas habituales en que se realiza la oposición política, la pro- testa económica o los intentos de mejora del orden social. 3 El arte de la resistencia no-violenta Desobediencia, desafío, rebeldía y resistencia han estado presen- tes e integradas, desde tiempos remotos, en la historia y la crea- ción de mitos de la humanidad, desde los relatos bíblicos del Géne- sis con Adán y Eva a la cabeza, pasando por la mitología greco- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 46 46 latina, hasta la historia de los inicios del Neolítico, el creciente fértil, el antiguo Egipto o la Grecia clásica. Por supuesto, esta histo- ria no se queda en las lejanas épocas pretéritas, sino que atraviesa, con multitud de ejemplos, todas las latitudes y geografías por don- de los seres humanos han ido creando civilización (Hsiao y Lim, 2010). Desobedecer las verdades establecidas, desafiar a los poderosos, rebelarse frente a las injusticias, resistirse a la dominación, protes- tar las arbitrariedades, estimular la crítica, explorar más allá de los límites fijados, transgredir el orden social y muchas más acciones similares no sólo han sido parte importante de nuestra historia sino todo un arte, una habilidad y una ciencia, sin cuyos saberes resulta difícil imaginar el progreso humano. ¿Qué ha motivado los cambios en la humanidad, cuál ha sido el motor de la historia? Afirmaría que, desde la óptica de la no-violencia, la disidencia, la resistencia y la desobediencia serían lo más parecido a lo que Marx denominaría “comadrona” de la Historia 1 . Aunque Karl Marx se refirió a la violencia como partera de la histo- ria, la no-violencia sintetizaría –en una sola palabra- esa capacidad 1 Karl Marx señala en su obra El Capital que “la violencia es la comadrona de toda sociedad vieja que lleva en sus entrañas otra nueva” (1946: 639). Si tomamos varios de los personajes posibles de esta metáfora: la madre (so- ciedad vieja) que va a parir, quien ayuda a parir (comadrona) y quien va a nacer (una sociedad nueva) ¿dónde se sitúa la violencia? Desde luego, en sentido literal, no es la madre, ni tampoco la persona que va a hacer, la vio- lencia se identifica con la partera o comadrona. Esto significa que, para un alumbramiento necesitamos a alguien que facilite, acelere o ayude al naci- miento de alguien nuevo, necesitamos algunas dosis de violencia, ¿puede haber nacimiento sin ayuda? ¿condiciona el uso de esa ayuda la naturaleza, el carácter o los atributos de quien va a nacer? Efectivamente puede haber nacimiento sin ayuda, un parto natural y no asistido, podríamos deducir –un tanto a la ligera- que la Historia no necesita de ayudas (o no necesitaría de violencia para progresar), sino que puede seguir o conseguir su propio curso natural. Igualmente, lo que nace, el “nasciturus” no tiene las cualidades de la comadrona (violencia), sino que tiene las suyas propias, mejor dicho, aquellas que le vienen de su herencia genética (y de su futura educación): la de la sociedad vieja. En cualquier caso, la metáfora marxista es muy interesante, ni siquiera diseccionando la frase pierde su carga de intensidad comunicativa. Sin embargo, si el uso de la violencia acelera la historia o facilita el nacimien- to de una nueva sociedad (un nuevo sistema económico, un nuevo orden social, etc.), lo que podría ser verdad, no obstante, no es toda la verdad. El examen de la desobediencia y la rebeldía, a lo largo de la historia, nos llama pode- rosamente la atención como un motor de ésta, precisamente porque se identifi- can mucho más con una categoría o cualidad propia de la especie humana. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 47 47 y potencialidad de la desobediencia, la resistencia y la rebeldía para motivar cambios, abrir nuevas épocas y traspasar los límites fijados. La inventiva, la originalidad y la imaginación, todas ellas cualidades de los seres humanos, se acoplan muy bien a la idea de evolución, superación y desarrollo. ¿Qué hubiera sido de la huma- nidad sin Eva, sin Galileo Galilei o sin Thoreau? La historiografía dominante sigue ahondando sobre la importancia de la violencia en los cambios históricos; sin embargo, resulta poco convincente considerar que los cambios sociales se han producido por la capa- cidad de violencia y de muerte desplegadas. No se trata de restar importancia a la presencia de la violencia en la historia, sino de cuestionar su significación y trascendencia en los cambios sociales. El colonialismo y el imperialismo desplegaron todo género de vio- lencias y sometieron a pueblos enteros por esta vía, pero los cam- bios más significativos los obtuvo cuando la gente aceptó de buen grado el valor de nuevas ideas y formas de vida, en cambio se re- beló y desobedeció –de manera continuada- y rechazó cualquier elemento impuesto por la fuerza. Tampoco podemos negar la exis- tencia de violencia durante la revolución francesa, las revoluciones de 1830 y 1848 o, más tarde, la revolución de los soviets de 1917, entre otras; sin embargo, todas ellas no hubieran sido posibles, no hubieran existido sin la capacidad de desobediencia, obstinación, rebeldía, insurrección e insolencia frente a los poderes estableci- dos, es ese sentimiento disidente el que prende la mecha del cam- bio y no la violencia (que por lo general es posterior). Esto es lo que creemos que ha estado muy presente en los cam- bios sociales, ese sentido disidente que no acepta las injusticias pasadas, que está saturada de hartazgo, que se manifiesta frente a los abusos, esos han sido los procedimientos que nos permiten valorar los avances y progresos humanos. ¿Y, cómo se ha manifes- tado esa rebeldía sin la cual resultan imposibles los cambios? En unos casos de manera violenta y en otros muchos no, porque la resistencia (civil y civilizada) se ha mostrado precisamente frente a la violencia anterior, frente a la tiranía, la violación de la “econom- ía moral”, el desprecio hacia las iniquidades y desigualdades, el desafuero hacia la libertad, etc., y lo ha hecho históricamente tra- tando de encontrar soluciones y fórmulas que permitieran reducir el sufrimiento y aumentar la felicidad humanas. La deriva hacia la violencia de las revoluciones, sea la violencia de los que no quieren los cambios (han pretendido atrasarlos, han amordazado a la disi- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 48 48 dencia, han censurado la rebeldía, han castigado la desobediencia, etc.), como de aquellos que los pretenden a toda costa (negando la oportunidad de disentir, convirtiendo el nuevo orden en un con- junto de dogmas, despreciando la vida a favor de la causa, etc.), les acaban separando del origen que motiva y ansía el cambio, y de esa capacidad humana para la rebeldía, generando en demasiadas ocasiones nuevas tiranías. El arte de la resistencia no-violenta, sea en un sentido genérico, o motivada desde un punto de vista filosófico o ético-político, ha sido un comportamiento muy presente en toda la historia de la humanidad. Cualquier recorrido somero por esa historia nos per- mite encontrar muchos ejemplos de actuaciones, formas de pen- samiento y de interpretación del mundo que, hoy día, podríamos calificarlos de no-violentos o que tienen patrones similares a lo que hoy se denomina no-violencia (Kurlansky, 2008). En muchos de estos ejemplos podemos ver cómo ha habido un proceso de deslegitimación de la violencia (que no de la rebeldía y la disiden- cia) y de necesidad de encontrar alternativas concretas a ella, o de mejora de lo que definimos como “humanización” de las relacio- nes político-sociales, un proceso largo y costoso. No es posible, aún, tener una “historia de la no-violencia”, tan pormenorizada y sistematizada como la historia de la violencia, pero sí es posible ya realizar un acercamiento a la “no-violencia en la historia”, desde luego con un enfoque epistémico distinto, reco- giendo procesos de la “historia de la paz” (Muñoz y López, 2000) o del declive de la violencia (Pinker, 2011) susceptibles de ser inter- pretados como un desarrollo tan imperceptible como constante de pensamientos, acciones y valores que, hoy día, identificaríamos con el pacifismo y la no-violencia. Desde luego los historiadores y politólogos, en nuestro quehacer, hemos hecho algunos adelantos interesantes sobre la no-violencia en la historia contemporánea, lo que nos permitirá en un horizonte temporal cercano realizar una historia contemporánea de la no-violencia, al menos desde Gandhi hasta ahora (Díaz del Corral, 1987; Ackerman y Kruegler, 1994; McCarthy y Sharp, 1997; Ackerman y Duvall, 2000; López 2001; Castañar, 2010). En el mundo occidental, desde la antigüedad clásica y los ejemplos expuestos por Aristófanes en sus obra Lisistrata, Antígona de Sófo- cles, el comportamiento vital, pedagógico y desafiante de Sócrates. El estoicismo greco-romano, el senequismo, los Pensamientos de CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 49 49 Marco Aurelio. El comportamiento de los primeros cristianos y sus formas de resistencia y de interpretación del poder temporal. Pa- sando por el mundo medieval cristiano con personajes como Fran- cisco de Asís. El mundo moderno, tanto parte del pensamiento utópico, como los esfuerzos por denunciar la guerra o limitar su abyección. Algunas formas de protestantismo de las iglesias mino- ritarias (cuáqueros, amish, mennonitas, anabaptistas, etc.) y sus formas comunitarias. Las lecciones de Etienne De la Boétie sobre la “servidumbre voluntaria”, la defensa de los indios de Bartolomé de Las Casas, buena parte del pensamiento de Spinoza, las críticas de Jonathan Swift a las formas despóticas de poder en Los viajes de Gulliver, y así un nutrido grupo de obras de pensamiento, literatu- ra, personajes, procesos, historias en fin que nos sirven para nutrir una vasta experiencia humana de construcción de la paz desde la no-violencia (Balducci y Grassi, 1983; Barash, 2000). Parecido recorrido se puede realizar en el mundo oriental, africa- no, indigenista, aborigen, desde posiciones éticas y religiosas en el jainisimo, el hinduismo, el budismo, el taoísmo, las religiones ani- mistas negras y su concepción del “Ubuntu”, las formas de resis- tencia cultural y social de los pueblos sometidos por el imperialis- mo y el colonialismo. De parte de este mundo surgió el concepto de ahimsa que no es sólo negación y rechazo de la violencia, sino el esfuerzo por no causar muerte, hacer daño o infligir sufrimiento hacia los seres vivientes, así como una actitud de pureza y de amor en la interacción humana (López Martínez, 2004a: 15-17). Para las ciencias sociales y la historia política contemporánea, la relación entre no-violencia política y su conjunto de métodos ha sido poco estudiada o no suficiente valorada. Sin embargo, una atenta mirada y lectura a las aportaciones del socialismo utópico y científico, del anarquismo, del feminismo, del liberalismo, del re- publicanismo y la democracia moderna, entre otros, nos permiten afirmar que no sólo la rebeldía, la disidencia y la resistencia están presentes como valores teóricos importantes, sino que, en muchos casos, lo están desde posiciones en las que se critican la violencia o, incluso, se rechaza, condiciona o restringe su uso (Díaz del Co- rral, 1987; Powers y Vogele, 1997; Castañar, 2010). En relación con la importancia en la elección de los medios y los procedimientos para hacer política, esta historia contemporánea de la no-violencia no puede dejar de nombrar a Henry David Tho- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 50 50 reau (al que luego nos referiremos), John Ruskin, León Tolstoi o Gandhi, todos ellos maestros de la no-violencia específica, esto es, consciente, intencionada, ideológica y doctrinal. Y, junto a ellos, otros muchos como: Jane Addams, Abraham J. Muste, Martin Lut- her King, Cesar Chavez, Aldolfo Pérez Esquivel, Dom Hélder Câma- ra, Chico Mendes, Óscar Romero, Dorothy Day (en el continente americano); Romain Rolland, Lanza del Vasto, Petra Kelly, Danilo Dolci, Lorenzo Milani, Aldo Capitini, Marco Panella, Michael Rand- le, Edward P. Thompson, Adam Roberts, Johan Galtung, Alexander Langer, Theodor Ebert (en Europa); Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, Vi- noba Bhaave, Narayan Desai, Toyohito Kagawa, Vandana Shiva, Chaiwat Satha-Anand, Aung San Suu Kyi, Albert Luthuli, Nelson Mandela, Demond Tutu, Albert Schweitzer, Ken Saro-Wiwa (en Asia y África). 2 Todos estos personajes –y muchos más- han sido fuentes de inspiración o cabezas visibles de movimientos de resis- tencia, liberación y lucha frente a injusticias, en definitiva, expe- riencias y procesos históricos de muy diverso tipo, pero cuyo hilo común han sido los procedimientos y la filosofía ético-política de la no-violencia. En realidad y, especialmente, durante el siglo XX este tipo de expe- riencias de conflictos conducidos mediante un combate no- violento han sido mucho más numerosos, frecuentes y significati- vos de lo que la historiografía histórica y politológica nos ha mos- trado (Schell, 2005); han tenido, además, el “poder positivo del efecto mariposa” (Briggs y Peat, 1999), han constituido “una trans- formación social tan importante como inesperada, desconcertando todos los pronósticos de la ‘real politik’” (Martínez Hincapié, 2012: 38). Hemos reelaborado 3 una clasificación en tres ejes de reivindicación 2 El autor italiano Peppe Sini mantiene un esfuerzo a través de la revista digi- tal La nonviolenza e’ in camino y de la web “peacelink”. Telematica per la pace para la construcción, sistemática, de un archivo biográfico de hombres y mujeres que han hecho un aporte significativo a la paz y la no-violencia: académicos, filósofos, científicos, líderes de movimientos sociales, políticos, personajes ligados a la solidaridad, etc. La lista implica docenas de personas, algunas de las cuales serían susceptibles de no integrarlas en una lista de estas características (http://www.peacelink.it/storia/a/6420.html, consultado 12 junio 2013). 3 En la propuesta original (López Martínez, 2000: 294-295) lo organicé en cuatro clasificaciones: a) lucha contra la dominación colonial, b) la liberación de los regímenes dictatoriales y totalitarios, c) la reivindicación de derechos y libertades y d) el sostenimiento y apoyo de políticas alternativas y sustenta- http://www.peacelink.it/storia/a/6420.html CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 51 51 y conflictos (luchas de liberación colonial, derribo de dictaduras y sistemas tiránicos, y defensa de los derechos humanos) y hemos aumentado el número de casos –a la luz de nuevos trabajos que se han venido publicando-. No son todos, ni muchísimo menos, son sólo una muestra que puede ofrecer una aproximación del vasto caudal de información y análisis que nos pueden dar: A La lucha contra la dominación colonial Es decir, las luchas de resistencia contra la presencia y el dominio de los imperios, preferentemente europeos, en donde se combina- ron combates y revueltas armadas y no armadas. En general, estas resistencias se iniciaron en cuanto la relación entre visitantes y visitados se inclinó por un vínculo de dominio, opresión y superio- ridad, en donde los imperios usaron todo tipo de formas de violen- cia hacia los pueblos indígenas o autóctonos (Ferro, 2005). Los ejemplos que aquí recogemos son los de respuestas no armadas y no-violentas, si bien lo habitual fue la combinación de períodos de guerra abierta, con otros de calma tensa, con otros de resistencia civil no-violenta y, en especial eran aún más frecuentes las etapas en donde se armonizaba algún tipo de guerra popular con resis- tencia popular no-violenta. Lo interesante de la bibliografía más actual es que está comenzando a reconocer que no todo fueron guerras y luchas armadas y violentas sino que hubo extensos per- íodos de lucha y desafío al colonialismo en claves de resistencia civil no-violenta, donde amplios sectores de la población (mujeres, niños, ancianos) ejercieron múltiples formas de resistencia cultu- ral, social, política, económica, psicológica, reforzando el senti- miento de rechazo y generando formas de poder social frente a la dominación. Algunos ejemplos de ello fueron (Bartkowski, 2013; Pearlman, 2011; Sutherland y Meyer, 2000): - Las Trece colonias (1765-1775) - Cuba (1810-1902) - Argelia (1830-1950) - Egipto (1805-1922) - Ghana (1890-1950) - Mozambique (1920-1970) - Sudáfrica (1899-1919) bles. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 52 52 - Zambia (1900-1960) - India (1900-1947) - Irán (1890-1906) - Hungría (1850-1860s) - Polonia (1860-1900) - Finlandia (1899-1904) - Irlanda (1919-1921) - Kosovo (1990s) - Burma (1910-1940) - West Papua (1910-2012) - Palestina (1920-2012) B La lucha contra los regímenes autoritarios, dictatoriales y totalitarios. El uso de los métodos de resistencia civil organizada, en particular, y la lucha no-violenta en general, tiene aquí un protagonismo muy destacado aunque ha sido bastante silenciado, pues pertenecía al haber de los “sin poder” y al espacio de la “disidencia” (Havel, 1990). La pregunta central fue siempre la misma y recorre como denominador común a estos movimientos: ¿se debe obedecer a un gobierno que tiene políticas y leyes tiránicas? O ¿qué se puede hacer cuando un país es invadido y el ejército ocupante quiere imponer sus leyes y su voluntad? En ambos casos la respuesta puede ser no obedecer las leyes del tirano o del ocupante y, así, en ambos también puede pensarse en organizar la resistencia. ¿Por qué, en bastantes casos, se optó por una lucha no-violenta? No existe una sola respuesta, sin embargo, hay que tener en cuenta que la represión y las violaciones en general de derechos y liberta- des, en un régimen dictatorial, ha sido un arma muy usada por el aparato burocrático-político-militar que sostiene el régimen, la lucha armada acaba legitimando la represión, en cambio una lucha no-violenta hace insostenible política y moralmente la contención violenta del adversario, puede producir justamente un efecto de rechazo (Martin, 2012), generando deserciones entre sus filas y haciendo engrosar altas dosis de legitimidad y de poder moral entre la oposición (Ackerman y Kruegler, 1994; Ackerman y Duvall, 2000; Chenoweth y Stephan, 2011; Schock, 2004; Shell, 2005; Ro- berts y Garton Ash, 2009, Sharp y Paulson, 2005; Sharp, 2003; Zu- nes, 1999 ): - Huelga general en Rusia (1905) - El contra golpe frente al golpismo de Kapp en Alemania CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 53 53 (1920) - La resistencia no-violenta en Holanda (1940s) - La resistencia de los maestros en Noruega (1940s) - La resistencia en Dinamarca (1940s) - La oposición a Hitler de la organización la Rosa Blanca (1940s) - La resistencia civil de las mujeres en Italia (1943-45) - Las campañas contra la dictadura en El Salvador (1944) - Luchas y campañas contra el apartheid en Sudáfrica (1945- 80s) - Hungría (1956) - La Primavera de Praga, Checoslovaquia (1968) - Caída del Sha de Persia (1979) - Campañas de Solidaridad en la Polonia del general Yaruzelski (1980s) - El poder del pueblo en la caída del dictador Ferdinand Mar- cos (1986) - Las revoluciones cantadas (Lituania, Estonia y Letonia, 1987- 1990) - Contra la dictadura militar en Myanmar (1980s-2000s) - Movimiento por la democracia en Tiananmen (1989) - El colapso de los regímenes soviéticos y la caída del Muro de Berlín (1989) - La revolución de terciopelo en Checoslovaquia (1989) - El contra golpe en Rusia (1991) - Derribo del presidente Suharto en Indonesia (1998) - Resistencia ciudadana (Otpor) en Serbia contra Milosevich (2000) C La reivindicación de derechos y libertades democráticas y ciudadanas, por la solidaridad internacional, por la ecología y en defensa de la naturaleza, por “otro mundo es posible” En estos casos, que son muchos, el espectro se amplía considera- blemente y recorre desde los viejos movimientos sociales (obre- rismo, republicanismo, democracia radical, etc.), tan ampliamente desarrollados durante el siglo XIX y la primera mitad del siglo XX, hasta los nuevos movimientos sociales (feminismo, pacifismo, eco- logismo, etc.) que irrumpieron con fuerza tras Mayo de 1968. Múltiples formas de resistencia política, social y contracultural no sólo al imperialismo político-cultural, sino a las formas adoptadas CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 54 54 por el capitalismo (del bienestar, de consumo, de la globalización), sus modos de violencia estructural, procesos de aculturación, de- pendencia y dominación. Los métodos no-violentos han sido muy usados por el mundo de las ONGs, asociaciones de la sociedad civil, grupos alternativos y contestatarios que han venido aportan- do ideas y prácticas a favor de los derechos humanos, una ética hacia los animales, la conservación de Gaia, etc. (Brock y Young, 1999; Checa Hidalgo, 2011; Filiu, 2011; López Martínez, et. al., 2008; López Martínez, 2009; Martin, 2001; Moser-Puangsuwan y Weber, 2000; Powers y Vogele, 1997; Roberts y Garton Ash, 2009; Sharp, 1985): - Movimiento obrero cartista (1830s) - Resistencia de las naciones indias, especialmente cherokees, a la concentración en reservas (siglo XIX) - Movimiento antiesclavista (1830s-1860s) - Movimiento social feminista –sufragismo, igualdad, etc.- (ss. XIX-XX) - Movimiento afroamericano de los derechos civiles (1955- 1968) - Movimiento chicano de Cesar Chavez (1950s-1970s) - Movimiento cristiano Plowshares contra las armas nucleares en Estados Unidos (1980s) - Campañas del END (European Nuclear Disarmament) (1970s-1980s) - Movimiento de objeción de conciencia a las guerras y al servicio militar, especialmente la Internacional de Resisten- tes contra la guerra (s. XX) - Resistencias y despliegue del movimiento gay estadouniden- se y europeo (1960s-2010s) - Contra la instalación de bases militares en Europa: Larzac (Francia), Greenham Common (Reino Unido), Cabañeros y Rota (España) (1970s-1980s) - Movimientos indígenas (Nasas en Colombia, zapatistas en México, etc.) - Intervenciones internacionales no-violentas. Brigadas, cuer- pos civiles, shanti sena, etc. - La revolución naranja en Ucrania (2004-2005) - La revolución de los cedros en Líbano (2005) CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 55 55 - La primavera árabe en Túnez y Egipto (2011) 4 - El movimiento 15M en España (2011-presente) A pesar de que es una teoría política joven (Sharp, 1973 y 1980; L’Abate, 1990; López Martínez, 2001), todos estos ejemplos son bien significativos, no sólo como experiencias históricas, sino en la elección metodológica, atendiendo a múltiples factores: buscar la eficacia en la transformación del conflicto, reducir costes en vidas humanas, generar confianza entre la sociedad civil, organizar “po- der social”, etc. Si bien, en muchos de estos ejemplos no se da la “no-violencia específica” (Pontara, 2000), aquella que busca un programa creativo y constructivo con el adversario, sino que se trata de una “no-violencia estratégica” (Sharp, 1973) o “genérica” (Pontara, 2000), -elección de estos medios por conveniencia, nece- sidad, oportunidad, etc.- o como Gandhi denominó como la “no- violencia del débil” (Pontara, 1983). A pesar de ello, se puede afir- mar –como han tratado de demostrar, estadísticamente, las profe- soras Chenoweth y Stephan, 2011- que todo este tipo de interven- ciones y transformaciones han dado como resultado cambios de régimen o procesos hacia la democracia con resultados muy favo- rables en términos de humanización de los conflictos: sociedades que han sido capaces de superar antes sus traumas, los procesos de reconciliación han sido más profundos, los “peacebuilding” resisten más cambios, las fuerzas cívicas de la resistencia se han transformado en partidos políticos o coaliciones civiles, etc. 5 4 Sobre lo mucho que se puede aprender de la relación entre nuevos movi- mientos de resistencia y los métodos no-violentos, este es un buen ejemplo, el de las primaveras árabes. Como señala Jean-Pierre Filiu (2011), se dan en estos movimientos diez características que han de tenerse presentes, a saber, 1. Los árabes no son una excepción, 2. Los musulmanes no son sólo musul- manes, 3. La ira es poder para los más jóvenes, 4. Las redes sociales funcio- nan, 5. Los movimientos sin líderes pueden vencer, 6. La alternativa a la de- mocracia es el caos, 7. Los islamistas deben elegir, 8. Los yihadistas podrían convertirse en anticuados, 9. Palestina sigue siendo un mantra, y 10. No hay efecto dominó en el renacimiento. 5 Existen dos estudios de peso académico, en la relación con el derribo de regímenes dictatoriales y la conquista de la democracia liberal-formal, en términos de uso de métodos no armados y no-violentos: el de las profesoras Chenoweth y Stephan (2011) y el de los profesores Karatnycky y Ackerman (2005). En ambos, por no entrar en múltiples detalles sobre otras variables (poder del pueblo, movimientos de abajo-arriba, fuerte cohesión social de las coaliciones civiles en torno al uso de la no-violencia, la perspectiva de la liber- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 56 56 Históricamente estos métodos de acción política no-violenta se han venido identificando con todo tipo de marchas de protesta, demostraciones multitudinarias, sentadas, huelgas generales, boi- cots o desobediencia civil. Tomados aisladamente estos procedi- mientos (prácticas, formas, tácticas, métodos, etc.) pueden tener un efecto reducido o limitado;, sin embargo, combinados de una manera estratégica (con maestría, competencia, oficio, autoridad, experticia, de manera sistémica, etc.) pueden dar lugar a un nota- ble abanico de posibilidades: fuerte oposición política, considera- ble desafío social, colapso de un sistema jurídico, subversión del orden establecido, etc. Con el añadido de que estos métodos, combinados con un vasto sistema estratégico, se fundamentan en la voluntad de acción de la gente, no median en ellos otro tipo de instrumentos, por supuesto ningún tipo de arma de fuego o similar, por tanto, el disidente, el insumiso, expone su cuerpo, su físico y poco más. Requiere coraje, valentía, superar los miedos propios de una lucha abierta y en franca desprotección (Pontara, 1996). ¿Cómo es posible superar esa situación de desventaja? La determinación, la estrategia y la masa son factores muy importantes que no se deben soslayar. Tanto la primera, como la segunda, no son posibles sin entrena- miento, formación y adiestramiento; en cuanto a la tercera, es el germen de un poder moral y social que une cuerpos y mentes orientados hacia un objetivo común. De hecho la teoría ético- política de la no-violencia se fundamenta en un conocimiento pro- fundo de cómo funciona la obediencia-desobediencia política en- tre gobernantes-gobernados, de cuáles son las fuentes del poder y cómo desafiar esas relaciones (Sharp, 1973). De hecho, existe toda una literatura de fines del siglo XVIII y prin- cipios del XIX en la que se discuten las posibilidades y potenciali- dades de las técnicas no-violentas, por entonces dentro de la teor- ía religiosa de la “no-resistencia” (no tolerar las injusticias gene- rando violencias) o de métodos de resistencia pasiva. Algunos de tad mejora mucho cuando la oposiciones decide no usar la violencia, etc.), se les otorga una gran importancia al uso de la no-violencia como metodología para mejorar las posibilidades de victoria de las coaliciones o movimientos de oposición política y social a un régimen dictatorial, es la variable “uso de métodos noviolentos” la que ofrece una dimensión nueva para comprender el éxito de los movimientos de resistencia civil en los últimos 50 a 100 años frente a los movimientos de lucha armada. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 57 57 estos autores fueron: William Lloyd Garrison (1971-81), Adin Ba- llou (1848) y Elihu Burritt (1854), en todos ellos aparecen los métodos de protesta, la no-cooperación o la desobediencia a las leyes esclavistas, contemplando como contraproducentes el uso de métodos violentos que, en términos teológico-eclesiásticos, se contemplaban en términos de guerra justa y derecho a rebelarse contra la tiranía o las leyes tiránicas (García Cotarelo, 1987; Rand- le, 1998; Romero Carranza, 1967, Spitz, 2001: 173-178). Uno de los rasgos generales en esa literatura fue que la acción y los métodos no-violentos perseguían la “persuasión” moral o espi- ritual de los adversarios: proclamas pacifistas, argumentaciones humanísticas, apelación a tesis religiosas. Así, a principios del siglo XIX, muchos grupos de protesta y de acción política, como los abo- licionistas de la esclavitud, las feministas de la igualdad o el movi- miento obrero cartista británico exploraron ideas similares en sus demandas y divergencias frente al Estado o los grupos dominantes, no sólo protestaban para obtener ciertas ventajas de clase o géne- ro, sino que persuadían con sus argumentos y manifestaciones simbólicas de que sus propuestas traspasaban a su grupo y benefi- ciaban otro modelo y orden sociales más justos. Aunque en algunos de los movimientos emancipatorios de las cla- ses populares se dieron formas de lucha armada (guerra de guerri- llas, actos concretos de terrorismo, levantamientos revolucionarios y convulsiones sangrientas), lo más habitual fueron las formas de lucha no armada, bien continuando y ampliando el viejo repertorio de protestas y rebeldías de clase impidiendo la represión estatal: el anonimato, el eufemismo, el refunfuño, la picaresca, etc. (Scott, 2003), como la concurrencia en los sistemas institucionales- liberales y democráticos: participación en elecciones, creación de sindicatos, negociaciones colectivas, peticiones parlamentarias, etc.; así como un amplio repertorio abierto y genuino de métodos no-violentos que acabaron por expandirse como procedimientos muy habituales por los nuevos movimientos sociales, algunos de cuyos métodos (especialmente la huelga) se acabaron convirtiendo en derechos constitucionales. Con las experiencias de lucha del siglo XIX la acción no-violenta (persuasión y resistencia), llegó al siglo XX con un significado mu- cho más amplio. El punto de unión entre un siglo y otro fue la figu- ra decimonónica de Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) y su capital CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 58 58 obra Sobre la desobediencia civil (1848-49), en la que señaló cómo las minorías podían y debían generar sanciones (castigos políticos y reprobaciones), fricciones (disputas, desencuentros, discusiones) y presiones (apremios, recomendaciones, etc.) contra las políticas de las mayorías aún cuando éstas fueran respaldadas por un gobierno salido de las urnas. Thoreau fue conocido por sus ideas sobre el deber de resistencia a un gobierno liberal-democrático (y no sólo opresivo); pero no sólo eso, él también buscaba un método para conducir más adecuadamente los conflictos (disparidades y discre- pancias en términos incompatibles) entre minorías-mayorías (e incluso a la inversa). 6 Su idea de fricción y presión era una manera de ver el derecho de resistencia clásico -el deber de oponerse o matar a un soberano cruel y tiránico- de otro modo, esto es, no sólo desde la resistencia no-violenta sino yendo más allá de la hol- gura que ofrecían las instituciones de un régimen liberal que, sien- do liberal, negaba los derechos y libertades de sectores de la po- blación o mantenía políticas inadecuadas con los principios de la democracia. Es lo que Thoreau tradujo como el derecho a la des- obediencia civil a las leyes. Thoreau situaba la cuestión no sólo en el derecho a desobedecer leyes injustas y antidemocráticas, sino que planteaba -en términos de poder- la relación entre gobernar y obedecer, alumbrando apuntes fundamentales para las posteriores doctrinas políticas sobre el consentimiento y la obediencia (Goodwin, 1997: 329-361). El individuo se situaba entre la obligación y la protesta, la primera en relación con el Estado y el conjunto de la sociedad, digamos del orden social y jurídico; en cuanto a la segunda, la protesta, respal- dado por su conciencia moral, por su idea de la justicia, por su afán de mejora, por su razón ciudadana. Este auténtico dilema entre razón de Estado y razón ciudadana tuvo una enorme influencia en Tolstoi y Gandhi y, posteriormente, entre Luther King, Mandela, Havel o Aung San Suu-Kyi. Este dilema conducía a preguntarse ¿por qué obedecer las leyes? ¿cuándo se tiene derecho a protestar? ¿dónde están los límites de ambas? ¿qué tipo de razones morales existen tras estas actitudes? ¿qué importancia tienen los medios 6 Un ejemplo de minorías-mayorías, minorías no-violentas frente a la mayor- ías fue el caso de los abolicionistas de la esclavitud o el movimiento pro dere- chos civiles y políticos de la minoría negra en Estados Unidos. Un ejemplo a la inversa fue el movimiento de liberación nacional en la India o contra el apart- heid en Sudáfrica, donde una mayoría, sin usar métodos violentos generali- zados, se enfrentó a una minoría dominante. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 59 59 elegidos para justificar y legitimar el fin pretendido? Pues bien, esta idea de las múltiples y diferentes formas de la ac- ción no-violenta tiene su origen histórico, más propiamente, en los escritos de Mohandas Gandhi (1928), Clarence Marsh Case (1923), Richard Gregg (1935), Wilfred H. Crook (1931), Bartelemy De Ligt (1935) y Krishnalal Shridharani (1939), así como en algunos otros politólogos de la segunda mitad del siglo XX, entre los que cabe destacar el italiano Aldo Capitini (1949), la norteamericana Joan Valérie Bondurant (1958), el británico Adam Roberts (1969), el estadounidense Gene Sharp (1973), el noruego Johan Galtung (1976), entre otros; y, los más modernos: los franceses Jean-Marie Muller (1983) y Jacques Sémelin (1989), el alemán Theodor Ebert (1984), el italiano Alberto L’Abate (1985), el australiano Brian Mar- tin (1993 y 2001) y los norteamericanos Christopher Kruegler (1994) y Peter Ackerman (2000), entre un nutrido elenco puesto que la literatura sobre el estudio y la investigación de los métodos, a partir de los años 60, se ha ampliado considerablemente, llegan- do a ser un tema importante en algunos centros de investigación - y entre algunos académicos- preocupados por la transformación y resolución de conflictos por métodos no-violentos. 4 Gandhi way: la satyagraha (conversión política y transforma- ción de conflictos) Mohandas Gandhi (1869-1948) pretendió modular de una manera coherente la investigación vital 7 y la puesta en práctica de su que- hacer político. 8 Tal cosa fue más allá de poner en marcha todo un conjunto de métodos de acción no-violenta a los que englobó bajo el concepto de satyagraha (es decir, la fuerza y la persistencia en la verdad), si bien tal idea es mucho más compleja y va mucho más allá de una simple escenificación o articulación de métodos de 7 Mohandas Gandhi, Autobiografía: la historia de mis experimentos con la verdad (volumen I, 1927 y volumen II, 1929). 8 Algunas obras, en un umbral de tiempo amplio, insisten en la importancia de no soslayar el análisis político de la filosofía o la espiritualidad gandhiana, este es el caso del politólogo Bhikhu C. Parekh (1989 y 1997) y muchos años después Bidyut Chakrabarty (2006) expresando la importancia que adquirió el nacionalismo tamizado por un lenguaje noviolento (satya, ahimsa, etc.) y el potencial del programa económico y social de swaraj; así como Gene Sharp (1979) que siguió insistiendo, afortunadamente, en la dimensión más com- pleja de la filosofía política de Gandhi. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 60 60 protesta, persuasión o resistencia y, por supuesto, va más allá de una simple definición funcional de qué son tales métodos. En términos occidentales vendríamos a decir que supo combinar tácticas y estrategias pero -dado el fuerte componente político, social, espiritual, ético y religioso de la satyagraha- estaríamos reduciendo, en exceso, su significado integral (Rai, 2000; Sharma, 2008). Para el político Gandhi la lucha satyagraha 9 implicaba no sólo un alto grado de conocimiento tecno-científico (lo diríamos así con nuestro lenguaje actual) de la lucha, sino una implicación espiritual y una preparación personal que trascendía el simple método para, en realidad, comprometer toda una forma de vida (Diwakar, 1946). Pero, satyagraha era, también, la puesta en práctica de ideales humanos: fraternidad, igualdad, justicia, dignidad, etc., (de ahí la importancia de no matar en nombre de ellos) por tanto implicaba una concepción humana y una visión de la historia y del universo en transformación y cambio, no determinado pero sí orientado hacia la perfección. Por esto, también, no se puede ver exenta la satyagraha de otros conceptos gandhianos como swaraj, swadeshi o sarvodaya (Galtung, 1992; Pontara, 1983, 2004 y 2006). Influido por la “no-resistencia” de Tolstoi, por la “desobediencia civil” de Thoreau, por la resistencia pasiva del feminismo y por la crítica al capitalismo de John Ruskin, el método satyagraha era mucho más que todo lo anterior. Satyagraha era más que resis- tencia moral, implicaba muchas más acciones que la desobediencia a ciertas leyes, suponía un trabajo activo de tenacidad e involucra- ba un proyecto alternativo a las formas de producción y explota- ción capitalistas. Asimismo, en la concepción gandhiana no era tan importante el resultado final o el alto grado de eficacia del método sino el propio proceso, o visto también de otra manera, uno (resultado) y otro (método), no podían estar separados y desconectados, porque para Gandhi medios y fines eran intercambiables. Gandhi deducía que los métodos no-violentos había que cuidarlos escrupulosa- 9 La obra original de Gandhi salió publicada en 1928 como M.K. Gandhi, Sat- yagraha in South Africa, Navajivan, Ahmedabad y, en una edición moderna se puede consultar en M. Gandhi (2001) Non-violent resistance (Satyagraha) Dover Publications; no obstante, recomiendo las consultas de dos obras, una con textos parcialmente del libro de 1928 en M.K. Gandhi (1973) y más re- ciente (2009). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 61 61 mente para cuidar así los fines u objetivos, y aún más, que ambas cosas eran una misma, porque satyagraha no era sólo método sino una manera de perfeccionamiento y búsqueda del yo social, sin causar daño y sufrimiento a los demás. Bajo la mentalidad gandhiana se entendía el conflicto como una confrontación profunda, no sólo de intereses y necesidades, sino especialmente de percepciones, cada pugna era, por tanto, una batalla entre dos puntos de vista aparentemente irreconciliables, los cuales iluminaban a la auténtica “verdad”. Por esto, desde el punto de vista gandhiano, el sentimiento de certeza era una peli- grosa ilusión. De manera que, cualquier pugna debiera ser una oportunidad para lanzar sobre el terreno conflictivo las frustracio- nes y los límites propios de cada uno de los adversarios, que lu- chan y pugnan pero acaban conociéndose mutuamente. En esta visión del conflicto consisten algunas de las intuiciones más intere- santes de Gandhi (encontradas en el Bhagavadgita), según el cual, toda persona posee al mismo tiempo grados de verdad y de false- dad, de lo que Gandhi dedujo que el conflicto era el terreno apro- piado para separar falsedad de verdad, una oportunidad para puri- ficar las posiciones morales por medio de la confianza, porque la clave no estaba en la solución del conflicto o en el conflicto mismo, sino en los que combaten, ahí es donde radica la transformación y la claridad moral, por ello era preciso eliminar los métodos de la mentira, las malas artes, las ofensas, porque nada de ello ayudaba a aclarar, dejar puros y transparentes los puntos de vista contra- puestos, sino a dejar en el centro del conflicto la misma violencia y la falsedad 10 . De alguna manera, la clave que permite comprender la filosofía gandhiana en este preciso punto de los métodos está en el térmi- no “conversión” 11 . Lo que pretendía Gandhi era conseguir la trans- formación y el cambio del adversario político y no la victoria sobre él o la derrota del mismo. Todo tipo de presión, forcejeo o resis- tencia había de estar encaminada a la búsqueda de la conversión. Gandhi, además, se interesó porque su método satyagraha fuese eminentemente entendido como una práctica cotidiana o forma de vida y no algo reducido exclusivamente a conquistas políticas y 10 Para destacar la importancia del proceso es indispensable el libro de Johan Galtung (1992). 11 Es muy recomendable el capítulo VIII del libro de Giuliano Pontara (2006). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 62 62 sociales o a la sola independencia de la India. De ahí que, aunque siempre evitó precisar en qué consistía su método de acción no- violenta, sí que se pueden precisar sus nervaduras en cinco princi- pios generales que acaban identificando a satyagraha con humani- zación de la lucha, y que paso simplemente a describir (Galtung, 1992; Pontara, 2004: 493-498 y 2006: 203-234; López Martínez, 2012 c): A La abstención de la violencia: lo que implicaba la auto- privación de lesionar, dañar o hacer sufrir al adversario, así como seleccionar muy cuidadosamente los métodos a elegir para mini- mizar al máximo cualquiera de esas acciones. B La disposición al sacrificio: toda lucha requiere ciertos nive- les de compromiso, coraje y sacrificio. Para Gandhi el valor desta- cable estaba en el sacrificio propio (tapasya) y no en la demanda del ajeno, en la disposición a sufrir como una manera de testimo- nio de la importancia de una lucha noble y justa por la que se está dispuesto a morir pero no a matar. No obstante la tapasya que es, también, la renuncia al interés personal y a los propios deseos, no significa por el contrario la pasiva autodestrucción. C El respeto por la verdad: implicaba, según el método gand- hiano, el mantenimiento del máximo nivel de objetividad e impar- cialidad en cada fase de la lucha, así como orientar aquella hacia objetivos compatibles con la justicia y la ética. D Un empeño constructivo: el método gandhiano está pensa- do y hecho para integrar y construir con el adversario, no para destruirlo, así como para la realización de un modelo social donde todas las partes se sientan integradas y participantes. Asimismo el método está considerado como instrumento de transformación político-social que, a la vez que tiene objetivos, los va desarrollan- do al mismo tiempo que se despliega la lucha. E La gradualidad de los medios: esta condición exige una ade- cuación progresiva de los medios a los elementos de tensión, for- cejeo y lucha adecuados a cada situación y circunstancia, mante- niendo la proporcionalidad y la serenidad que no permitan alejarse del compromiso. Gandhi conocía muy bien los métodos de presión social, máxime cuando había tenido una dilatada vida como activista y político en CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 63 63 Sudáfrica y la India; sin embargo, no tuvo ningún interés en siste- matizarlos. Sin embargo, la psicología social, Clarence Marsh Case, en su obra más acabada Non-Violent Coercion (1923), 12 sí que se refirió a cómo había que comprender a líderes como Gandhi en su faceta para forzar, presionar y constreñir a un adversario a través de la no-violencia. Esto se fundamentaba en el conocimiento pro- fundo y fundado de cuáles podrían ser y cómo deberían ser usados adecuadamente los denominados “métodos de presión social”, unos procedimientos que -a su juicio- debían ser manejados en el contexto de lo que significa el “ejercicio de la presión social- psicológica no-violenta”. Case (1923) primero, como Sharp (1973) mucho después, tuvieron un análisis más utilitarista de esta cuestión (no-violencia pragmáti- ca). Y aunque también defendieron la existencia de una fuerte identidad entre los métodos y los objetivos, no obstante, se aleja- ban bastante de la interpretación que Gandhi o el italiano Aldo Capitini daban a la relación entre medios y fines. Case y Sharp es- taban más preocupados por entender y optimizar las técnicas de acción no-violenta, tenían una visión más funcionalista de esta relación, en cambio los otros dos se preocupaban porque la rela- ción medios y fines fuese totalmente coherente (sólo los medios no-violentos se pueden usar para fines no-violentos) y porque una de las cuestiones fundamentales del proceso se hallaba en la con- versión del adversario (no-violencia de principios). Gandhi consideraba que los medios no-violentos no podían usarse en cualquier momento, ni a la ligera, ni para cualquier causa. Usar- los para defender privilegios, para extender formas de dominio, para razones poco dignas resultaba contraproducente e inadecua- do. Los medios tenían que tener una relación coherente, íntima y directa con los fines que se perseguían (la semilla y el árbol). Gandhi insistió mucho en esto de la convertibilidad de medios- fines, por tanto la elección de los medios no era menos importante que la elección de los fines en una lucha. Junto a los medios: ahim- 12 Años antes publicó (1915) The social psychology of passive resistance. Uni- versity of Wisconsin-Madison [vuelto a publicar en 2010 en BiblioBazaar] y el de 1923 Non-violent coercion: a study in methods of social pressure. Century ed. Se puede ver a Brian Martin (1996) que ha desarrollado una amplia litera- tura sobre estas cuestiones. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 64 64 sa, satyagraha, swaraj, swadeshi, sarvodaya, etc., en ellos mismos (no dañar, resistirse a las injusticias, la autonomía, la autosuficien- cia o el bienestar de todos) estaban incorporados los objetivos más apetecidos por un satyagrahi, de dignidad, libertad, justicia. En cambio, en Sharp, existe una extremada preocupación por de- mostrar la eficacia y la utilidad de las técnicas no-violentas, el es- tudio de los procedimientos permitiría analizar un conjunto de fenómenos observables que podían variar según el espacio, el tiempo y las circunstancias en las que se dieran; y, además, permit- ían usar indicadores o marcadores para comprobar los resultados obtenidos. Por ejemplo, si estuviéramos estudiando una campaña o una movilización social no-violenta, la clasificación de esas técni- cas (198 métodos según Sharp) servirían tanto al académico, como al activista, para tener un instrumento de medición de resultados o posibilidades, lógicamente dentro de los parámetros en los que se desenvuelven las ciencias sociales (que no siempre son exactos sino un reflejo de la vida real). Sin embargo, para Gandhi, la no-violencia, no es exactamente una técnica o un saber, sino una manera de preguntar, indagar y bus- car respuestas sin romper, en ese camino, la unidad y la interrela- ción de todo lo existente, de todo lo viviente. La no-violencia es una filosofía de vida, un lugar de encuentro humano, una espiri- tualidad y no sólo una filosofía política y una nueva forma de lu- cha. De alguna manera el sistema satyagraha de lucha era un desafío político y social pero, también, una manera de contención en un luchador, de autoconocimiento, de aprendizaje del espíritu huma- no. Como señalara Naess (1974: 60-84), sólo un verdadero satya- grahi sería capaz de pensar en grupo y a largo plazo, reduciendo al máximo cualquier violencia, tendría en cuenta los medios más que los resultados, trabajaría por un programa constructivo, lucharía contra las injusticias pero consideraría a los antagonistas, respetar- ía y no humillaría a sus oponentes, estaría pensando en ofrecerles un espacio social y político en una sociedad más justa, mostraría confianza en el cambio, estaría dispuesto al sacrificio por la causa, no se aprovecharía torcidamente de la debilidad táctica de su an- tagonista y estaría, siempre, dispuesto a compartir el resultado positivo de la lucha. Sólo teniendo en cuenta el conjunto de estas características podríamos apreciar las grandes diferencias entre una forma de lucha armada y violenta y la satyagraha gandhiana. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 65 65 5 Las influyentes enseñanzas de Gene Sharp Gene Sharp, el viejo politólogo nacido en Ohio en 1928, ha consti- tuido un auténtico revulsivo en el campo de la teoría política -como ciencia social aplicada- a través del estudio de la no- violencia. Mohandas Gandhi como político, personaje histórico e inventor del método satyagraha, con más de cuarenta años de lucha activa y directa; y, Gene Sharp como filósofo-teórico, cientí- fico social y académico ha sabido sintetizar la complejidad de la no-violencia, ofreciendo una mirada aplicada, útil y pragmática de una filosofía profunda y abierta. Debemos a ambos una compren- sión joven y actual de lo que Gandhi denominó algo “tan antiguo como la montaña”. Aunque Sharp fue un objetor de conciencia al servicio militar y un pacifista activo frente al armamentismo nuclear, sin embargo, su trabajo adquirió renombre gracias a sus estudios como profesor de filosofía política. Sus primeros trabajos fueron sobre Gandhi, en 1960 (Gandhi Wields the Weapon of Moral Power), precisamente sistematizando la literatura dispersa y desigual que sobre el perso- naje se había publicado pero ofreciendo un elemento de originali- dad al reforzar el concepto de “poder moral” que se hallaba en la lucha satyagraha. Esta primera publicación se completó con un estudio más sistemático e integral, en 1979, sobre Gandhi as a Political Strategist, en el que revisaba a teóricos como Erik Erikson, Joan V. Bondurant o Shridharani. Además, Sharp, estuvo muy interesado por evidenciar que Gandhi no fue una excepción en el campo de la acción política no-violenta. Rastreó muchos ejemplos históricos, así como su posible lectura para la ampliación del campo de las ciencias sociales y la adopción de políticas alternativas a la seguridad, la defensa y la acción políti- ca convencionales. Esto le permitió colaborar con autores como Walter Conser y Ronald McCarthy (1986) para evidenciar la impor- tancia que la desobediencia y la rebeldía tuvieron en la indepen- dencia de las Trece Colonias, más allá de la posterior deriva hacia la violencia armada, una historia poco conocida incluso por los especialistas en ese episodio. Así como años más tarde, y junto a Joshua Paulson (2005), editar un compendio de prototipos históri- cos sobre procesos de liberación nacional, luchas políticas y sindi- cales, movimientos de masas, etc., con hegemónicas formas de CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 66 66 acción no-violenta. Sharp se sintió muy comprometido con los valores de la no- violencia, aunque sin perder su marcado sentido pragmático y utilitarista, lo que le condujo no sólo a cuestionar los modelos de defensa nuclear estratégica y de defensa armada convencional, sino a plantear alternativas a ellas. Junto a Adam Roberts (1967) se introdujo en la “defensa de base civil”, ampliando y explorando originales caminos en la década de los 80s. Justo esta etapa fructí- fera para su producción científica coincidía con el despliegue de nuevos misiles en Europa y la denominada “guerra de las galaxias”, una etapa muy significativa para las relaciones internacionales en los prolegómenos de la extinción de la Guerra Fría y, especialmen- te, para el movimiento pacifista internacional. ¿Qué sucedería si Europa occidental fuese invadida por el Ejército Rojo? ¿Cuál sería la mejor manera de oponerse a esa ocupación? ¿Qué enseñanzas se podrían derivar de ello para trascender el sistema de armas nucleares estratégicas fundamentado en la “disuasión” y la “des- trucción mutua asegurada”? La respuesta a ello fue aplicar la teor- ía de la acción política no-violenta, desarrollada en 1973, a la de- fensa civil sin armas en varias obras que concedieron a Gene Sharp (1985a; 1985b y 1990) un lugar privilegiado entre los partidarios del desarme total y de la “opción cero” de E. P. Thomson (1983). Sin embargo, Gene Sharp pasará a la historia de la filosofía política, no tanto por sus trabajos sobre Gandhi, el análisis de ciertos epi- sodios históricos o por sus obras sobre defensa civil no-violenta, sino por su teoría del poder no-violento, su aplicación práctica y la relevancia que para muchos movimientos políticos concretos ha supuesto su teoría, muy difundida y conocida entre líderes locales, gentes del común y activistas sociales. Sharp (1970) comenzó ex- plorando las alternativas no-violentas a la política convencional releyendo autores como Etienne de la Boetié (1576) y Henry David Thoreau (1848) a la luz de acontecimientos contemporáneos, es- pecialmente asociados a caídas de dictaduras militares y de movi- mientos de masas, obra ampliada en 2003. Esto le condujo a des- arrollar su campo de aplicación con varias obras posteriores, en 1994 y 2009, siendo la primera: De la dictadura a la democracia (publicada en Bangkok en plena ebullición del movimiento por la democracia liderado por Aung San Su-Kyi contra los militares), la que le daría fama internacional al maduro profesor de Boston. Una obrita que tuvo un gran éxito editorial (traducida a más de 20 CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 67 67 idiomas) y una enorme repercusión en el campo de la movilización política de masas. Y, sin duda, la obra más controvertida en el jue- go de la “real politik” que aún continúan aplicando los nostálgicos de la guerra fría y los “maquiavelistas” dentro de la filosofía políti- ca y las relaciones internacionales 13 . Pero su obra monumental, la más importante (resultado de su tesis doctoral), se publicó en 1973, The Politics of Nonviolent Ac- tion, dividida en tres volúmenes, complementada posteriormente, en 1980, con el estudio: Social Power and Political Freedom, en términos de repensar la política. Una obra, ciertamente, menos sistemática que la anterior pero que abordaba interesantes temas muy relacionados con la teoría política del poder y el gobierno, tales como el punto de vista de Hannah Arendt en relación con 13 Algunos gobiernos, como el de la República de Irán (http://www. youtu- be.com/watch? v= OTCuBFuhikM) o la República Bolivariana de Venezuela (http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=fvsG0GAkrqI), algunos grupos de opi- nión a través de páginas webs y documentales (“The Revolution Business”) y académicos incluso de prestigio (como creemos que es el caso de Doménico Losurdo, 2010: 228), han querido asociar –o han caído en la fácil teoría de la conspiración- coligando a Gene Sharp con la CIA y con otros servicios secretos de inteligencia al servicio de las economías imperialistas de mercado o le han hecho responsable e inductor de la mayor parte de las protestas de masas que han conducido a cambios de régimen o caídas de gobiernos en países (revoluciones blandas o de colores) que, a juicio de los acusadores, ya no sirven a los intereses de la República de Estados Unidos. En mi caso no puedo decir que cuente con información para desmentir, de manera absoluta, estos juicios contra Sharp, pero desconfío de personas y teorías que puedan argu- mentar que sólo una persona o un grupo de personas puedan manipular a miles de individuos que protestan por adquirir más libertad y justicia. La experiencia histórica señala que muchas cancillerías y gobiernos, y sus servi- cios secretos, no tienen ninguna estima porque las ciudadanías tomen las calles desafiando el statu quo, entre otras cosas porque la historia demuestra que la gente en la calle es un poder social y político potencial difícil de ser controlado. Esto no desmiente que pueda existir una coincidencia de inter- eses entre los defensores de la democracia liberal de mercado y el uso que se pueda hacer de las teorías políticas de Gene Sharp. Otra cosa distinta es que las teorías políticas de Sharp sólo sirvan para traer ese modelo de democracia y no desarrolle, como creo que sí lo hace, un potencial social y político que es inherente a las masas cuando deciden no obedecer y no dejarse gobernar. Lo que quiero decir es que la teoría de Sharp está abierta a todos aquellos que quieran usarla, incluido a aquellos que no tienen un interés por la democracia formal. De hecho, teóricos y revolucionarios de la no-violencia coinciden con la teoría de Sharp (L’Abate, 1990; Krippendorff, 2003), si bien entienden que la misma no puede reducirse sólo a cambios de un solo modelo de democra- cia. http://www/ CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 68 68 Eichmann en Jerusalén y con su concepto de libertad y revolución, el modo de enfrentar las dictaduras o el apartheid, la desobedien- cia civil en democracias o el equivalente político de la guerra. Volviendo a su obra de 1973, en ella desarrolla –de modo general- la idea de que la no-violencia ha de ser tratada como una ciencia, cuyo valor no es sólo su aporte al conocimiento humano sino, también, una enseñanza técnica, metodológica, sistemática, que permita elaborar hipótesis, deducir principios, desarrollar razona- mientos o experimentar sus límites. Sharp está preocupado por encontrar un método eficaz de ejercicio del poder, más allá del bien y del mal, más allá de la ética. Una forma de acción eficiente, de “demostración de fuerza, de solución práctica de problemas concretos, de disciplina de la acción, pero no de mística, no un acto de ingenuidad moralista” (Soccio, 1985: 20). Sharp busca una alternativa realista a los graves problemas de nuestro tiempo: la guerra, la violencia, la escalada en las luchas sociales, etc., tratan- do de que sea la no-violencia un conocimiento estratégico y táctico de la acción política sustitutivo, y más provechoso, que las anterio- res y sin sus múltiples repercusiones negativas (daños materiales e inmateriales). Por ello, Sharp hace mucho hincapié en que la no- violencia, como acción política, se comporta como un sistema que ha de conocerse en toda su complejidad: sus principios, sus reglas, sus técnicas. Debe ser aprendida, enseñada y experimentada. Sólo un profundo conocimiento permite desarrollar su potencialidad y eficacia, pues hay que manejar múltiples factores (tácticos, huma- nos, jurídico-políticos, accidentales, etc.), variables (miedo, lide- razgo, poder, preparación, presión, etc.), junto a otros saberes y conocimientos (psicología, historia, geografía, etc.), así como la combinación de todo ello. Sharp, en definitiva, quiere construir una ciencia de la acción desechando los métodos armados por resultar contraproducentes y, a la larga, inútiles. Como dijimos anteriormente, The Politics of Nonviolent Action está dividida en tres volúmenes: el primero denominado “poder y lu- cha” en el que se desarrolla cuál es la naturaleza del poder político y cuáles serían las bases estructurales para controlar a los gober- nados, seguida de múltiples ejemplos históricos –especialmente del siglo XX- donde la acción no-violenta ha sido una forma activa de lucha. En este libro desarrolla su concepto de poder, que no es monolítico y compacto, sino fragmentado y distribuido entre di- versas fuentes que lo abastecen (autoridad, recursos humanos, CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 69 69 factores psicológicos e ideológicos, recursos materiales, sanciones) y que, además, se sustentan esas fuentes sobre la capacidad de gobernar y obedecer y los factores que en ello pueden influir, tales como: el hábito, el miedo a las sanciones, la obligación moral, los intereses personales, la identificación política, social y psicológica con el gobernante, la falta de confianza de los ciudadanos o el margen de indiferencia o falsa tolerancia con quienes gobiernan. Es esa difícil ecuación entre gobernar-obedecer, en equilibrio per- manente y con posibilidades de quebrarse, el que sustenta la doc- trina del consentimiento político, más sostenible en democracias que en sistemas dictatoriales y tiránicos. Es en esa capacidad de desobedecer, de resistirse, de decir que no lo que ofrece un mar- gen amplio a la constitución de la política de la acción no-violenta como un arte (López Martínez, 2006: 71-106 y 2012: 37-62). En el segundo volumen sobre “métodos de acción no-violenta”, es donde Sharp desarrolla sus famosos 198 métodos o técnicas de acción política, dividiendo en tres grandes grupos los mismos, no sólo explicando en qué consisten, desde el punto de vista teórico, cada uno de ellos, sino poniendo ejemplos histórico-políticos de cómo se han desarrollado en la práctica dichos procedimientos. De una parte divide los métodos de la acción no-violenta en tres grandes bloques en función de la naturaleza de la participación: A Si su expresión es fundamentalmente simbólica y comunica- tiva les llama “Métodos de protesta y persuasión”. Se trata de ac- ciones muy simbólicas que expresan el desacuerdo, el rechazo o, por el contrario, el apoyo a ciertos asuntos específicos. Pueden buscar influir -directamente o indirectamente- sobre el adversario o sobre terceros en un conflicto. Se trata, de un primer nivel de intervención en el que se busca persuadir, convencer o inducir al adversario a que rectifique o actúe de cierta manera 14 . 14 Entre sus tipos están las declaraciones formales (discursos, cartas, firmas, peticiones), las formas de comunicación a grandes audiencias (consignas, banderas, pancartas, folletos, panfletos, periódicos, revistas), las quejas en grupos (piquetes, delegaciones), las acciones públicas simbólicas (desnudar- se, hacer fogatas, realizar pinturas y rotulaciones, sirenas, silbatos, gestos irreverentes), presiones sobre individuos concretos (hostigamiento, burlas, confraternizar, vigilias), espectáculos y música (sátiras, parodias, humor, representaciones teatrales-musicales, cánticos), procesiones (marchas, desfi- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 70 70 B Si su modo consiste en la retirada activa del apoyo o del consenso, o de una esperada participación o relación en activida- des conjuntas, a ello le llama “Métodos de no-cooperación”, los cuales pueden ser de “no-colaboración social” (aquellos que difi- cultad o entorpecen el normal desenvolvimiento de la vida social o del orden social de una comunidad, llamando la atención no sobre las normas del ordenamiento jurídico positivo, sino sobre las nor- mas, las costumbres y los hábitos de una comunidad política, o aquellas que afectan a la moral establecida o a los usos ciudada- nos. Algunos de ellos fueron muy famosos como el boicot sexual que aparece en la obra “Lisístratas” o el boicot a los autobuses de Montgomery en Alabama). 15 Los de “no-cooperación económica”, aquellos que afectan al normal funcionamiento de la economía, que alteran la libre producción, distribución o consumo de mer- cancías, productos y servicios, aquello que trastorna el habitual consumo, etc. Es la realización de muchos tipos de huelga o paros de muy diversa naturaleza y funcionalidad: para protestar, para trabajar más, para bajar el rendimiento, etc. No sólo estaría la huelga general, muy conocida en la historia y habitual en Occiden- te especialmente en la época contemporánea, sino la huelga de- nominada “hartal”, una forma de huelga general que implica no sólo no trabajar sino dedicarse a la meditación, la reflexión y la oración, que se daba en las culturas indostánicas. Así, también, son interesantes las acciones de bloqueo económico, esto es, asediar y les, procesiones religiosas, peregrinaciones, caravanas motorizadas), tributo y homenaje a los muertos (duelo y luto, funerales fingidos, funerales en masa, homenajes a tumbas y en cementerios), asambleas públicas (mítines), aban- donos, retiradas y renuncias (guardar silencio, renunciar a premios, volver la espalda, abandonar un lugar como protesta), etc. Como se puede comprobar históricamente, han existido muchísimas expe- riencias de este tipo en las luchas de liberación nacional frente al colonialista, en las luchas contra las dictaduras, en la defensa de los derechos humanos, en el movimiento feminista, ecologista y pacifista, etc. Pero, asimismo, tam- bién en las relaciones interpersonales, en el ámbito doméstico o de pequeños grupos resulta bastante habitual usar este tipo de acciones de manera más o menos deliberada y al margen de si sus fines están compuestos de juicios y decisiones ético-morales (López Martínez, 2012a) 15 Los métodos de no-colaboración social como el ostracismo de personas (boicot social, sexual, religioso), no colaboración con eventos, costumbres e instituciones sociales (suspender actividades sociales, deportivas, huelgas estudiantiles, desobediencia social, retirada de instituciones sociales), retira- da del sistema social (quedarse en casa, fuga de trabajadores, asilo y refugio en lugares con inviolabilidad, desaparición colectiva, emigrar como forma de protesta). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 71 71 cercar a ciertos productos o a ciertas marcas comerciales. La histo- ria de la “lucha de clases” entre Capital y Trabajo, los procesos de liberación colonial o las campañas por el comercio justo están sal- picadas de esta forma de despliegue de la no-violencia en su di- mensión de boicot económico. 16 Y, en tercer lugar, se refiere a los métodos de “no-colaboración política” que implican, entre otras cosas, el rechazo de la autoridad o el retiro de la fidelidad y de la obligación política, en una clara muestra de resistencia. Esto fue muy habitual durante la ocupación militar o colonialista de un te- rritorio, fuese en tiempos de paz o de guerra, por supuesto duran- te los procesos de ocupación territorial y de reparto colonial esta resistencia se hizo constante con períodos de mayor o menor ten- sión, pero también durante las guerras concretas o de ocupación y sometimiento de poblaciones que se negaban a reconocer las nue- vas leyes del conquistador, su ideario político o sus costumbres sociales. Esto permitió múltiples formas de resistencia civil en si- tuaciones verdaderamente difíciles y aparentemente imposibles para desplegar acciones no-violentas pero, los estudios de casos, nos están permitiendo considerar que, aún en márgenes estre- chos, la inventiva de resistencia sin armas fue extraordinaria (Bose- rup y Mack, 2001; Ebert, 1984; Sémelin, 1989; López Martínez, 16 He aquí algunas de las formas de la no-colaboración económica: acciones de parte de los consumidores (no consumir mercancías boicoteadas, política de austeridad, no pagar rentas o alquileres, negarse a alquilar, no comprar a otro país), acciones por parte de los trabajadores y productores (no trabajar con productores o herramientas del adversario, negativa a vender o distribuir sus productos), acciones de parte de los intermediarios, acciones de parte de los propietarios, administradores y comerciantes (paro patronal, negar asis- tencia industrial o técnica, huelga general de comerciantes o cierre de nego- cios), acciones de naturaleza financiera (retiro de depósitos bancarios, negar- se a pagar impuestos, no contribuir con los ingresos del Estado, rechazar dinero del gobierno), acciones por parte de los gobiernos (embargo domésti- co, lista negra de comerciantes, embargo a vendedores o compradores inter- nacionales, embargo comercial), huelgas simbólicas (huelga de protesta, huelga relámpago), huelgas agrícolas (campesinas y de braceros), huelgas de grupos especiales (huelga para no realizar trabajos forzados, de prisioneros, huelga de artesanos, h. de profesionales), huelgas industriales comunes (co- operativas y gerenciales, industriales, huelgas de solidaridad), huelgas limita- das o restringidas (huelgas a paso lento, por sectores, huelgas de celo o blan- cas, absentismo para fingir enfermedad, huelga por horas, selectiva para ciertos trabajos), huelgas multitudinarias (generalizada, h. general), combina- ción de huelgas con cierres económicos (hartal, cierre económico donde trabajadores y empresarios van a la huelga). Víd Sharp (1973, vol. II). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 72 72 2012b y d) 17 . C Cuando se trata de acciones basadas en la interposición o el impedimento sistemático, Sharp lo clasifica como “Métodos de intervención no-violenta”. Se trata de un nivel de participación concentrado, profundo y sistemático, que desarrolla de manera muy coordinada grados de actuación y diseños estratégicos en una lucha planteada a un nivel de escalada. En estos métodos se com- prenden varias áreas de intervención que van desde lo individual a lo masivo, desde lo más concreto y simple a lo más complejo. Uno de esos métodos es la abstinencia política de comer alimentos, entre esa privación habría que distinguir: el ayuno de presión mo- ral (aquel que se hace con la intención de ejercer una cierta in- fluencia moral en otros para conseguir un objetivo), la huelga de hambre (rechazo a comer con la finalidad de forzar al adversario a tomar ciertas decisiones pero sin intentar cambiarle, sino ejercien- do cierto grado de coerción sobre él), y el ayuno satyagrahi o gandhiano que buscaba la “conversión” del corazón del adversario. Otro elemento importante de este nivel es la intervención deno- minada “acción directa” no-violenta que implica un elenco grande de actuaciones (contra procesos, ocupación, asaltos, incursiones, invasiones, interposiciones, obstrucciones, etc.). Un apartado es- pecial lo ocupa la desobediencia civil, arma “extremadamente 17 Los métodos de no-cooperación o no-colaboración política son: el rechazo a la autoridad (retirar la obediencia, negarse a dar apoyo público, discursos que inviten a la resistencia), no colaboración de los ciudadanos con el gobier- no (boicots de elecciones, de parlamentarios, de funcionarios, retirarse de las instituciones educativas, no colaboración con las fuerzas del orden, quitar, cambiar o trasladar señales de su emplazamiento, no aceptar funcionarios, negarse a disolver instituciones existentes), alternativas ciudadanas a la obe- diencia (cumplimiento de mala gana o a disgusto, no obediencia en ausencia de supervisión directa, desobediencia encubierta, no dispersarse estando en reuniones y asambleas, sentadas, no cooperación con la conscripción y las deportaciones, asumir falsa identidad, desobediencia civil a las leyes ‘ilegíti- mas’), acciones de parte del personal gubernativo (colaboración selectiva, bloqueo de la cadena de mando, evasivas, ganar tiempo, obstruccionismo, no colaborar administrativamente, no cooperación selectiva por las fuerzas del orden, amotinamiento), acciones gubernativas nacionales contra un ejército o gobierno invasor (evasivas, retrasos, aplazamientos fingidos, no colabora- ción administrativa), acciones gubernativas de carácter internacional (cam- bios de representación diplomática, retraso, cancelación o anulación de en- cuentros diplomáticos, rechazo o aplazamiento del reconocimiento diplomá- tico, ruptura de relaciones diplomáticas, retirada o rechazo a estar en orga- nismos internacionales, expulsión de esos organismos). Víd. Sharp (1973, vol. II). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 73 73 peligrosa” -tal como recordaba Gandhi-. La desobediencia civil es el incumplimiento público de una ley u orden de la autoridad, que se hace por motivos ético-políticos, de manera no-violenta y en donde se acepta el castigo de la ley penal como parte de esas mo- tivaciones. Gandhi la usó en pocas ocasiones de manera masiva y como un arma excepcional (1919 contra las leyes Rowlatt, 1921 contra la vida político-administrativa británica, 1930 la Marcha de la Sal, 1942 campaña Quiet India). Luther King Jr. (1968: 200) tam- bién lo entendió así, de hecho se refirió a la desobediencia civil como un acto último de rebeldía, un hecho terminal, el pre acto de la “coexistencia o la aniquilación total. Ésta será la última alterna- tiva del género humano: caos o comunidad”. También resulta bastante original, en Sharp, su concepción del enfrentamiento político en términos de Aikido, arte marcial, me- diante el concepto de “jujitsu político” (aprovecharse de la mayor fuerza y potencia del contrario en beneficio propio, beneficiarse de sus errores o provocarlos para obligarle a recomponer, enmendar o rectificar sus acciones o sus políticas), máximo grado de inter- vención directa (desafío y provocación) que permite abrir la espo- leta de la creación de instituciones paralelas (administrativas, judi- ciales, políticas, culturales, etc.). Implica una organización de la vida económica, social y política en términos de máxima resisten- cia, desobediencia y rebeldía frente a los poderes establecidos (en realidad es crear una “doble soberanía” y un gobierno paralelo). El ju-jitsu abre un nuevo escenario que tiene una difícil marcha atrás pero que es posible y, en ocasiones, recomendable poder rectifi- car. La ventaja a la hora de rectificar, como la ventaja de todas estas formas de acción política y de metodologías, es bien eviden- te: Hacer política no letal 18 . 18 Los métodos de intervención no-violenta son: la intervención psicológica (ayuno o huelga política de hambre, contraprocesos o contrajuicios, hostiga- miento, exponerse a riesgos, incomodidades o malestar), intervención física (sentadas, quedarse de pié, ocupación de un lugar con vehículos, o de espa- cios abiertos, hacer caminatas en puertas de bases militares, ponerse a rezar, asaltar u ocupar lugares prohibidos, incursiones aéreas, invasiones, interposi- ciones o peacekeeping, obstrucciones, ocupaciones no-violentas), interven- ción social (establecer nuevos patrones sociales, sobrecargar instalaciones o servicios públicos, ralentizar, atascar o parar negocios y comercios a la hora de comprar o pagar, discursear o interrumpir, interrupciones dramáticas fingidas e improvisadas, crear instituciones sociales alternativas, crear un sistema alternativos de comunicaciones), intervenciones económicas (traba- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 74 74 El tercer libro de Sharp es sobre la(s) dinámica(s) de la acción no- violenta, es decir, sobre cómo funciona, cuál es el nivel de intensi- dad y cómo un sistema de fuerzas se dirige hacia un objetivo. A juicio de Sharp sabiendo cómo es la dinámica se puede entender cómo este método opera en la sociedad y la política para evaluar el potencial de utilidad en múltiples situaciones de conflicto. Sien- do el análisis de la dinámica un proceso muy complejo, pero nece- sario, al igual que resulta complicado realizar un examen con otros sistemas que se comportan de manera activa como las campañas militares o el sistema de guerra popular. Es la dinámica la que permite ejercitar la filosofía política de la no-violencia (sus funda- mentos) y su conjunto de técnicas (métodos) y, en consecuencia, la que hace real el poder político y social que aquella representa co- mo una práctica que -renunciando al uso de la violencia- no renun- cia al ejercicio del poder y de su capacidad de transformar la vo- luntad del adversario en un conflicto. En seis capítulos aborda, en primer lugar, las bases de la acción no- violenta, es decir: a) afrontar el poder del adversario (por lo gene- ral un gobierno y su estado con toda su maquinaria administrativa, militar y policial, con amplios apoyos, por lo que hay que evitar ataques frontales y desgastes innecesarios), b) los riesgos y varia- bles de la acción (el peligro a perder en la contienda, el riesgo a perder la vida, las propiedades y otras seguridades, el que aparez- ca de manera abierta la violencia o la represión, etc.), c) liberarse del miedo (superarlo, aumentar el coraje, la capacidad), d) las cau- sas sociales de los cambios de poder (conocer las fuerzas propias y las del adversario, jugar con los acontecimientos para engrosar más apoyos, etc.), e) el liderazgo en una lucha (la no-violencia permite una dirección más descentralizada, comités populares de base, organizaciones menos jerarquizadas y rígidas sin tener que renunciar a liderazgos personales), f) la preparación de la lucha jar en exceso, ocupar el puesto de trabajo, incautarse temporalmente de tierras, desafiar los bloqueos, falsificación de dinero o documentos, comprar o acaparar productos en el mercado que el adversario necesita, apropiación de bienes y capitales financieros, provocar caídas económicas como vender productos a muy bajo precio, crear mercados alternativos, tener instituciones económicas y transportes alternativos), intervención política (sobresaturar los sistemas administrativos políticos, revelar la identidad de agentes secre- tos o de actividades secretas, dejarse arrestar y encarcelar, desobediencia civil a leyes ‘neutrales’, no trabajar y no colaborar con nuevas instrucciones o normas que se consideran ilegítimas, tener y crear una doble soberanía, tener y crear un gobierno paralelo. Víd. Sharp (1973, vol. II). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 75 75 (investigación, negociaciones, focalizar el punto de ataque, crear una “conciencia de causa”, cantidad y calidad de la acción, y orga- nización del movimiento), g) la acción abierta o encubierta (de- pendiendo de múltiples variables y valoraciones), h) los elementos fundamentales de una estrategia (la importancia y los elementos claves de la estrategia y las tácticas –factores psicológicos, físicos, geográficos, elección adecuada, número de participantes, selec- ción de las técnicas, etc.), o i) el ultimátum (el momento de difícil marcha atrás). En segundo lugar, Sharp tiene claro que cualquier desafío desen- cadena la represión, esto conviene saberlo porque la acción no- violenta implica a) finalizar con la sumisión y la pasividad (retirar el consentimiento entraña una provocación que puede ser contesta- da con extrema dureza); b) toda lucha se inicia polarizada pero luego se van recomponiendo las fuerzas en presencia; c) el adver- sario ha de responder pero ¿cuándo? ¿cómo? y ¿dónde?; d) la represión abierta (controlando las comunicaciones y la informa- ción, presionando psicológicamente, confiscando, sancionando económicamente, prohibiendo y restringiendo, deteniendo y en- carcelando, adoptando medidas excepcionales, con formas de violencia directa, e) perseverancia en la acción no-violenta; f) la exigencia de sufrir todos estos inconvenientes, g) enfrentarse a la brutalidad del adversario (la brutalidad institucional y la paralela, mantenerse indomable frente a esa brutalidad). En tercer lugar, Sharp aborda un capítulo importante que permita salir de la situación anterior, el cómo combatir la represión desde la solidaridad y la disciplina. El mantenimiento de la moral y la solidaridad internas, así como la continuación de la lucha son ele- mentos en la línea de aumentar la capacidad de aguante y de re- star eficacia a la represión: a) fomentando la solidaridad (mante- ner los contactos, crear incentivos para mantener la lucha, reducir las bases para una rendición, apelar al uso de sanciones y restric- ciones en caso de persistir la represión); b) neutralizando la repre- sión (haciéndola muy visible, afeándola, apelando a terceros, etc.); c) si el adversario prefiere seguir usando la violencia (neutralizar las provocaciones, buscar la máxima transparencia, backfire o tiro por la culata); d) persistir en una conducta no-violenta; e) evitar que cualquier conato de violencia pueda debilitar al movimiento no-violento; f) el sabotaje (destrucción de bienes materiales) pue- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 76 76 de resultar contraproducente y hasta incompatible con el movi- miento no-violento; g) tener un plan B en el que se contempla el uso de la violencia puede hacer caer en la tentación de usarlo; h) la necesidad de mantener la disciplina interna; i) promocionar y des- arrollar la disciplina no-violenta; j) negarse a odiar; k) la ineficacia de la represión (arrestar y detener a líderes puede resultar muy infructuoso y acabar fomentando nuevos liderazgos, nuevas medi- das de represión acaban generando nuevas demandas y más pre- sión sobre el adversario). Uno de los aportes interesantes de Sharp es el concepto de “jujitsu político” que pretende ir más allá del “jujitsu moral” de Richard Gregg (1935). Éste se refiere a los efectos morales y psicológicos de la persistencia no-violenta sobre los agentes de la represión (un aspecto importantísimo como parte de la construcción de poder moral y legítimo frente al contrincante), no obstante para Sharp el “jujitsu político” y el “jujitsu social” son procesos más importantes por cuanto -tras la brutalidad y la crueldad cometidas contra per- sonas inermes- pueden producir una reacción que genere desequi- librios políticos y sociales (y no sólo sentimientos de conmiseración o indignación) que resten o quiebren sustentos, generen disensos y hagan cambiar de bando a muchos sectores sociales y políticos inclinando hacia el otro polo el desequilibrio y la asimetría de fuer- zas. Para ello conviene conquistar el apoyo de terceras partes no comprometidas (la indignación internacional, controlando los fac- tores que pueden determinar el impacto en la opinión pública de terceros), hacer nacer la división y la oposición en el campo del adversario (fomentando el cuestionamiento de la represión, alen- tando las deserciones, suscitando el amotinamiento de las tropas, favoreciendo la división interna, provocando y apelando a sectores del adversario), desarrollando el apoyo y la participación del grupo de protesta (la represión puede aumentar las filas de los que pro- testan pero también puede motivar a la opción por una resistencia armada que responda de igual forma a la represalia), en general, haciendo ver a los adversarios que una represión dura es contra- producente e inadecuada para enfrentarse a la no-violencia y que ésta requiere de otro tipo de medidas que, en cualquier caso, habrían de ser de una violencia muy medida y controlada; y, final- mente, no conviene olvidar el elemento esencial del modo de ope- rar del “jujitsu político” que consiste en lograr alterar las relaciones de poder, trasvasando autoridad y poder del adversario al grupo CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 77 77 de protesta. El penúltimo capítulo plantea tres procesos o mecanismos por los cuales la acción no-violenta puede influir sobre el adversario, su capacidad de acción y facilite decantar la causa hacia el grupo de protesta. Estos mecanismos son la conversión, la acomodación y la coerción no-violenta. En el primer caso, el adversario ha sido trans- formado interiormente así que éste quiere realizar los cambios reivindicados por los activistas no-violentos (los factores para este cambio pueden ser múltiples, en razón de la empatía al sufrimien- to ajeno, la cercanía social, la personalidad de los adversarios, las creencias y normas compartidas, nunca haberse sentido humilla- dos, etc.). En el caso de la acomodación (o adaptación), los adver- sarios no quedan ni convencidos, ni persuadidos –de hecho podr- ían continuar la lucha-, sin embargo, concluyen que es mejor aten- der en parte o en todo a las demandas del grupo de protesta (para evitar perder credibilidad y legitimidad, disminuir su poder, perder el control y resignarse ante lo inevitable, etc.). En la coerción, el adversario no ha cambiado, ni acepta la adaptación, su voluntad es la de alcanzar la completa victoria sobre los protestantes; sin em- bargo, situaciones ajenas a su albedrío, situaciones de fuerza ma- yor, le hacen doblegar su posición inicial, por ejemplo: cuando el desafío ha sido tan generalizado que no puede ser controlado por el aparato represor; cuando la no-cooperación política, social y económica está estrangulando a la institucionalidad a punto de colapsarla; o, cuando se han perdido buena parte de las fuerzas que permiten mantener posiciones de dureza y puntos de vista inamovibles. Es justo en esos contextos cuando las protestas ejer- cen una fuerza intangible que obliga al adversario a actuar contra su propia voluntad. El último capítulo revela el aspecto más significativo en la dinámica de la acción no-violenta, ¿para qué se realiza ésta? ¿cuáles son las consecuencias que acarrea el proceso?, ¿cuál es el objetivo final? Sharp es muy contundente en esta última cuestión: para propiciar la redistribución del poder, es decir, el método de la acción no- violenta comporta, de manera inevitable, importantes efectos sobre el propio grupo no-violento y sobre la (re)distribución del poder entre los contendientes en conflicto, así como en el conjun- to del sistema social. Esta cuestión era, también, crucial para Gandhi y su método satyagraha, pues la aspiración más importan- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 78 78 te de este sistema de lucha (“abrazar la verdad”, “persistir en la verdad”, etc.) era la conversión de los contendientes, el aprendiza- je en el propio proceso y la aspiración a la reconciliación. Ahora bien, es evidente que en Sharp este lenguaje gandhiano se carga de connotaciones políticas y se aleja de elementos espirituales y éticos. La redistribución del poder se efectúa generando varios efectos, de una parte sobre el grupo no-violento (logra poner fin a la sumisión; se aprende a actuar frente a la adversidad; se experimenta una técnica que revela el poder de cada uno; aumenta la capacidad de superar el miedo; acrecienta la autoestima; genera satisfacción, entusiasmo y esperanza; reduce, canaliza o atempera la agresivi- dad, la virilidad, la criminalidad y la violencia; aumenta la unidad del grupo; acrecienta la colaboración interna; y, produce contagio), y de otra, no menos importante, sobre los equilibrios, contrapesos y correspondencias de poder(es). Una sociedad con poderes mo- nolíticos, opacos y concentrados hace disminuir e incluso anular cualquier capacidad de control, revisión o independencia de una sociedad civil. Para romper esas asimetrías peligrosas se hace ne- cesario, a través del trabajo no-violento, generar grupos e institu- ciones fuertes e independientes, con capacidad de organización social, con técnica política y capacidad de crítica. De hecho, Sharp, ve una relación directa entre la violencia y la concentración y cen- tralización del poder, así como en el uso de aquélla para conseguir formas de poder absoluto y concentrado (las revoluciones o con- quistas por medio de la violencia han acabado generando nuevas formas de violencia), de ahí la importancia de mostrar que la ac- ción no-violenta puede facilitar la descentralización del poder, teniendo diversos efectos a medio y largo plazo con respecto a la distribución del propio poder dentro de una sociedad, así como otros resultados bastante perceptibles para sectores muy amplios de una sociedad (crear una ciudadanía más responsable y organi- zada, desarrollar espacios de libertad y participación, ayuda a des- centralizar la toma de decisiones y los controles, favorece las dinámicas que generan poder social-popular, etc.). 6 Conclusiones El científico social y el analista de fenómenos políticos deberían precisar, conceptual y metodológicamente, entre la pléyade de CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 79 79 métodos que recorren el vasto espectro de técnicas de moviliza- ción colectiva, protesta social e intervención en conflictos. Es im- portante por tanto, a nuestro juicio, superar la confusión que se suele encontrar al creer que los métodos no-violentos podrían confundirse, con cierta facilidad, con otros procedimientos con- vencionales e institucionalizados. Hemos visto que, con bastante facilidad, podemos distinguir entre los métodos de lucha armada y violenta, los cuales generan con- ductas crueles, inhumanas y degradantes (guerra, genocidio, terro- rismo, asesinado, etc.), con respecto a los procedimientos funda- mentados en la no-violencia. A medida que observemos casos más extremos de una y otra forma de lucha podremos vislumbrar con más facilidad las evidentes diferencias. Las campañas de desobe- diencia civil lideradas por Martin Luther King Jr., pasando por la acción directa de Greenpeace, hasta las recientes protestas del 15- M en España entran dentro de la esfera de unos métodos no- violentos. En el otro extremo, el lanzamiento de bombas napalm en Vietnam, pasando por los desaparecidos en Argentina y Chile, hasta la intervención bélica en Irak, son un pequeñísimo muestra- rio de hasta dónde estos métodos pueden causar dolor y sufri- miento humano. Pero donde suele haber mayor confusión es entre los métodos no- violentos y otros como los procedimientos democráticos y los me- dios alternativos de solución de conflictos. Se confunden porque muchas de esas técnicas, cuando se ejercen, resultan ser pacíficas o ausentes de violencia. Por ejemplo, en una consulta electoral hay campañas políticas, declaraciones, el día electoral, el escrutinio y la publicidad sobre quién resultó vencedor, en general, habiendo juego limpio hay una ausencia clara de formas de violencia, y por ello se confunden con que sea métodos “no violentos” 19 . Sin em- bargo, hay que tener presente que se tratan de métodos institu- cionalizados y normativizados, con reglas muy claras, resultan con- vencionales y aceptados, están dentro de un ordenamiento jurídi- co-político. Igual podríamos decir de un ejercicio de mediación familiar, existen unos protocolos de actuación mínimos, las partes 19 Ver las diferencias que establezco entre “no violencia” (sin violencia), “no- violencia” (métodos y técnicas) y “no-violencia” (programa constructivo) y sus significados y genealogía (López Martínez, 2004 a: 784-786, 2006: 5-8, 2012 a: 7-10). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 80 80 han de aceptar unas reglas, ciertamente el proceso se realiza con ausencia de violencia, sin ejercer intimidación y extorsión, pero no podríamos decir que se trata de métodos no-violentos, pues en la mediación, como en la negociación y el arbitraje resultan ser métodos convencionales, institucionalizados y normativizados, las partes conocen básicamente los límites y los márgenes en los que se desenvuelven. De hecho, cuando existe una negociación colecti- va, por ejemplo, de naturaleza capital-trabajo, cuando una de las partes abandona la mesa negociadora lleva el proceso a un terreno no convencional tratando de forzar la situación, aquí sí se podría entrar en el terreno de los métodos no-violentos (o, incluso de los violentos). Debemos, por tanto, a Gandhi primero y a Sharp después, la exac- titud de cuáles son y en qué consisten los métodos no-violentos de presión, protesta, no cooperación y acción directa. También de- bemos a ellos la precisión de cuáles son los contextos más propi- cios y las dinámicas adecuadas para sacarle el máximo partido a estas formas de lucha y desafío en conflictos abiertos. Sin embargo, conviene precisar algo más. Una de las cuestiones claves está (una vez delimitados cuáles son esos métodos) en rela- cionar el uso de los medios no-violentos con la finalidad de esa práctica. En una ciencia exenta de considerar valores, y que se centre sólo en la teoría y su aplicación, quiénes, de qué manera, con qué intención o con qué resultados se usen los medios no- violentos puede resultar un tanto superfluo. En cambio para los irenólogos tiene que haber una consonancia entre teoría, práctica y valores. Podemos decirlo en términos clásicos, para el maquiave- lismo “vale cualquier medio para obtener un fin”, en términos no- violentos esta premisa no es aceptable. Llevado al ejemplo, entre un Gandhi y un Hitler hay diferencias muy evidentes que no admi- ten comparaciones pero, el científico social, no siempre tiene la suerte de encontrar personajes tan puros, ni situaciones o proce- sos que claramente se puedan delimitar en sus fronteras concep- tuales entre métodos no-violentos y violentos. De hecho, durante algún tiempo, los partidarios de Hitler usaron algunos métodos que entrarían dentro de la clasificación de Gene Sharp, lo hicieron para evitar ser molestados por la policía o tener que enfrentarse a juicios y jueces que podrían conducirles a la cárcel, lo hicieron por meras razones pragmáticas y tácticas, métodos que fueron pronto olvidados cuando el sistema fue más indulgente con ellos, permi- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 81 81 tiéndose el lujo de usar los métodos violentos que resultaban ser para los que habían sido entrenados y que coincidían con su filo- sofía política. Con lo dicho hasta ahora, se nos plantean varios problemas sobre los métodos en relación con situaciones históricas. De una parte, la historia nos muestra que pueden existir grupos que usan los métodos no-violentos en situaciones de conflicto pero que, esos mismos grupos, pueden usar métodos violentos cambiando las circunstancias o, más simplemente, porque los usaban de manera provisional. También la historia nos demuestra que en conflictos abiertos y duraderos nos vamos a encontrar con grupos no- violentos puros y con grupos violentos que comparten escenario (y hasta parecida causa y objetivos), siendo habitual una cierta cere- monia de la confusión que suele ser aprovechada para accionar la represión y el descrédito de un movimiento o una causa, por parte de sus adversarios. Uno de los problemas inmediatos por parte de esos grupos no-violentos consiste en delimitar y aclarar las fronte- ras en torno a la elección de los medios para la lucha. Por ello Gandhi distinguió muy bien a qué se refería cuando hablaba de lucha no-violencia o satyagraha y cuándo sólo se trataba de puros métodos “sin armas”. Esa precisión puede ser muy reveladora para quien se dedique al análisis de procesos de esta naturaleza con sensibilidad hacia los valores. No obstante, nos puede ayudar lo que señalan Ronald M. McCart- hy y Ch. Kruegler (1993) –miembros de la escuela de Sharp-, res- pecto a cuáles deberían ser los componentes o denominadores comunes consensuados por la comunidad de investigación en la no-violencia. Algunos de estos denominadores parecen claros: a) las técnicas de acción no-violenta deben ser usadas dentro de un conflicto para influir en el curso o en el resultado del mismo; b) las técnicas no se agotan con el exclusivo uso de la razón, el diálogo o la persuasión en un contencioso; c) no tienen cabida en ellas el uso de la amenaza, la violencia hacia las personas o las agresiones y lesiones físicas, aunque bien es posible que tales acciones puedan causar otro tipo de perturbaciones emocionales o de costes económicos a personas o grupos; d) las acciones están cimentadas en los efectos que puedan producir el despliegue de códigos simbólicos y comunicativos sobre el adversario; y, e) tales métodos no se detienen o se agotan dentro del marco legal o de los proce- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 82 82 dimientos políticos institucionalizados, sino que pueden ir más allá. Precisamente en lo que al marco legal se refiere, la acción no- violenta puede usarse como un instrumento de poder político y de control del poder. De hecho, los Estados y los sistemas legales in- tentan manejar y limitar las maneras en los que la acción no- violenta puede ser usada. Por ejemplo, al regular las huelgas y las demostraciones, un gobierno puede estar conservando el orden público o sólo protegiendo ciertos privilegios contra sus efectos. Sin embargo, obviamente, un Estado no puede determinar (ni limi- tar con facilidad) los procedimientos y, sobre todo, los efectos que pueden tener los métodos no-violentos sobre la sociedad, que pueden traspasar, en muchas ocasiones, los límites marcados por un ordenamiento legal y/o social. Siempre cabe la duda entre los gobiernan y los que se dejan gobernar. A pesar de lo dicho, queda aún pendiente la difícil cuestión del uso “ético” y la orientación deontología que debiera encauzar una lucha con métodos no-violentos o, dicho de otra manera, ¿hasta qué punto resulta irrelevante que se usen métodos de esta natura- leza con objetivos que no coincidan con esta cualidad? Antes nos hemos referido a los nazis, pero podrían ser muchos los ejemplos en los que se han usado los medios no-violentos para defender privilegios, objetivos espurios o causas indignas. Como historiador me inclino por dejar que sea el tiempo quien nos muestre si esos medios eran puramente coyunturales y tácticos para ocultar o desviar la atención sobre las verdaderas intenciones de un movi- miento o lucha o no era así; sin embargo, como científico social e irenólogo las consideraciones de Ronald M. McCarthy y Ch. Krue- gler pueden ser de una gran ayuda; no obstante y una vez más, tenemos que usar un decálogo de valores para ver qué concordan- cia y coherencia existe entre realizar una huelga de hambre y tra- tar de defender con ella la causa del racismo, o realizar una cam- paña de boicot contra los derechos humanos, o desobedecer una ley que garantiza la libertad civil de un grupo social. Desde los va- lores de la dignidad humana, esos objetivos hacen que esos méto- dos, aunque no se usen con presencia de violencia física, resulta que defienden formas de violencia cultural o estructural que si- guen siendo formas incompatibles con la filosofía de la no- violencia. Terminamos estas conclusiones haciendo referencia a los dos per- sonajes de referencia que hemos usado: Gandhi y Sharp. Es evi- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 83 83 dente que Sharp ha influido mucho en el ámbito académico que se dedica a los estudios de la no-violencia. De hecho ha creado una escuela propia y muchos seguidores no sólo en el ámbito escolar sino entre los movimientos sociales y de protesta. Tiene un reco- nocido prestigio como analista de los métodos y como teórico del poder no-violento, pero Gandhi sigue siendo la referencia funda- mental, tanto política, como ética y espiritual, entre otras cosas porque además de reflexionar, llevó una vida política coherente, supo extraer todo el potencial a los medios no-violentos y llegó a confeccionar una crítica seria y profunda al capitalismo industrial e imperialista. Esto último es lo que más se echa en falta en los libros de Shap, las referencias a cómo los métodos no-violentos pueden subvertir unas formas de violencia estructural tan arraigadas. En Sharp hay, aún, una intensa mirada hacia la no-violencia como un sistema alternativo a la violencia política y la guerra, pero muy pocas referencias a aquélla como un sistema alternativo a las cre- cientes formas de violencia estructural y cultural. En esto Gandhi es un campeón, está más interesado en encontrar una forma de liberación social y económica de los más oprimidos, marginados y pobres del sistema que en una alternativa a la violencia física. Para Sharp los métodos no-violentos son los más adecuados para derri- bar dictaduras y sistemas totalitarios, así como para traer sistemas de participación democrática donde la gente adquiere voz y sobe- ranía, de manera consecuente esto implica cuestionar los conven- cionales sistemas de defensa y seguridad de una sociedad (que evite el monopolio de éstas en manos del ejército), así como una redistribución del poder en la tensión entre Estado y ciudadanía a favor de esta última. Para Gandhi los medios no-violentos tendrían similar función pero éstos debían ir más allá, de hecho no pode- mos decir que su modelo político fuese la democracia representa- tiva sino la democracia de las pequeñas aldeas (village democracy) y unas formas de participación ciudadana y de construcción del poder fundamentados en conceptos como la autogestión, el auto- gobierno y la autosuficiencia, entre otros. 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work_n5jeesfrvrf3vbnrovvd5olze4	----	Environmental Ethical Commitment (EEC): The Interactions Between Business, Environment and Environmental Ethics Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 1877-0428 © 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of Centre for Environment-Behaviour Studies (cE-Bs), Faculty of Architecture, Planning & Surveying, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia doi: 10.1016/j.sbspro.2013.08.368 AcE-Bs 2013 Hanoi ASEAN Conference on Environment-Behaviour Studies Hanoi Architectural University, Hanoi, Vietnam, 19-22 March 2013 "Cultural Sustainability in the Built and Natural Environment" Environmental Ethical Commitment (EEC): The interactions between business, environment and environmental ethics Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman* Faculty of Business Management, UiTM, Malaysia Abstract Traditionally, businesses that regard the natural world as “free” and “unlimited” have abandoned environmental considerations. Environmental considerations also act not only as the source of raw materials and energy to meet human needs but also act as the repository for human-generated waste. Because of this, business functions and their intrusion into ecosystems have frequently had unfavourable effects. Business produces dangerous products and causes pollutions that may result in many kinds of dangers. Therefore, it is the purpose of this study to review the interactions between business, the natural environment and environment ethics. © 2013 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of the Centre for Environment- Behaviour Studies (cE-Bs), Faculty of Architecture, Planning & Surveying, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia. Keywords: Environemntal ethical commitment; business; natural environment 1. Introduction Today, business corporations have broader responsibilities to society besides providing profits to their shareholders. The broader responsibilities are due to the demand of a bigger population that corporations have to serve. Saha and Darnton (2005) developed a long list of these broader responsibilities. According to them, the broader responsibilities of business corporations may include producing not only products but safe products, providing high-quality reliable services and applying ethical business practices. The responsibilities also include paying contribution to society, involvement in social investment, exercising welfare and rights, considering health and safety, offering employment, offering working conditions and * Corresponding author. Tel.:016-2340387 E-mail address: malizadelima@yahoo.co.uk. Available online at www.sciencedirect.com © 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of Centre for Environment-Behaviour Studies (cE-Bs), Faculty of Architecture, Planning & Surveying, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia ScienceDirect http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ 393 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 practices, conducting fair trade, responsibility in marketing and communication, involvement in stakeholder affairs and disclosing information, codes and conducts. Above all, the social responsibilities of a corporation are to produce goods and services, make a profit for its shareholders, respond to the market and operate along with the competitors. Asking businesses to do more than those responsibilities stated above is unfair to them (Hoffman, 1991). Nonetheless, the broader responsibilities stated by Saha and Darnton (2005) do not include the responsibility towards the natural environment. The business corporations, according to them, do not have the responsibility to protect the natural environment. Bansal and Roth (2000) argue that corporations will have an association with initiatives and benefits by having motivations towards the ecology. Corporations would benefit from higher profits, gain process intensification, gain a larger market share, enjoy lower cost and differentiation, gain higher share price, rent-earning resources and capabilities. They also emphasize that with legitimation, corporations would gain long-term sustainability, survival, operation license, fines and penalties avoidance, lessen risk, and employees satisfaction. Corporations would also benefit from feel-good factors, employee morale, and individual satisfaction by engaging in social responsibility. According to Bansal and Roth (2000), all these benefits would be enjoyed by corporations if they are motivated to respond to the ecology. Although the benefits seem to be abstract and immeasurable, the anticipated benefits can act as a trigger for corporations to commit ethically. Besides the broader responsibilities of the corporations, Hoffman (1991) includes ethical responsibilities. Corporations have the ethical responsibility to become an increasingly active partner in dealing with social concerns. Hoffman (1991) agrees that business corporations are urged to think creatively to find solutions and not to create problems in order to achieve environmental success, as it has become an aspect of the search for total quality. Hoffman (1991) included ethical responsibilities in total social responsibilities, that ranked the most difficult responsibilities to comprehend. Other factors are discretionary responsibilities, legal responsibilities, and economic responsibilities. It is difficult and ethically hard for corporations to carry these responsibilities as well as to be motivated towards ecology. 1.1. Health risk The interaction between business activities and the natural environment had brought tremendous risk to the environment, people’s health, and the economy. An example is the release of chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) for food preservation. It is not really going to harm us but constitutes risks for future generations as it depletes the ozone layer. Synthetic insecticides are not only cause illness to human but also cause destruction to crops and will eventually affect birds and mammals gradually. The health risks include the risk of impairment, contraction of diseases, and other health implications that are not only harmful to present population but also to future generations. In the worst case, humans chance of death will increase by one in a million if they breathe New York’s polluted air for two days (Wilson, 1990). In terms of food consumption, it is very hard to avoid consumption of food that contains potentially dangerous additives or pesticide residues as the way to realise their presence is limited. Based on Foon and Kong (1998), the haze that has effects on human beings comprises carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons (both caused by vehicles), sulphur dioxide (caused by power plants and industrial fuel), nitrogen dioxide (caused by vehicles and power plants), and the main pollutant in the current Trans boundary haze (caused by the industrial processes). Among health problems, carbon monoxide could weaken heart contractions; sulphur dioxide could cause bronchitis; nitrogen dioxide could aggravate asthma; ozone could cause chest pain, sore throat, and coughing, particulates could damage lung tissue; while lead could destroy the brain and nervous system. 394 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 1.2. The ecological risk Ecological risk is another risk in consideration to environmental issues. According to Ives (2000), more than 50 percent of the world’s land surface has been transformed and used in supplying freshwater for human use. Humans have used non-renewable energy by engaging in land deforestation activities. This produces enormous waste that results in water supply contamination and will worsen human activity. In order to increase food supply, the human use of crop growth agents such as nitrogen and phosphorus fertilizer that will eventually result in Lake Eutrophication and and also use wood and coal that will cause deforestation and climate change. Wood and coal are cheap and readily available sources to create energy for consumer and industrial use. The use of synthetic insecticides to curb crop destruction affects animals severely, especially birds and mammals, which will result in their extinction. Cheap energy often requires wood and coal, notwithstanding that humans are actually reducing forest area. Thus, it results in global climate change that can cause global warming and dangerous acid rain. The use of nitrogen and phosphorous fertilizers to increase food supply had killed many lakes. In Ives’s article (2000), a scientist from Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organization (CSIRO) estimated that all these activities decreased oxygen and increased carbon dioxide in the atmosphere to an estimate of 70 percent since more than 200 years ago. In addition, Ives (2000) emphasized that a combination of carbon dioxide and other gases in the air will create a greenhouse effect that leads to global warming and climate change. Surrounding issues are burning rivers, dying lakes, oil fouled oceans, radioactivity in food, lead and mercury in water (Hoffman, 1991), ozone depletion, acid rain, declining biodiversity, toxic waste (Shrivastava, 1995), air and water pollution, toxic emissions, chemical spills and industrial accidents. The environmental issues also include global warming, mass destruction of the rain forest, species extinction, and clean water. Other issues in environmental concern are serious adverse effects on agriculture, plant and marine life (Foon and Kong, 1998), water rights, waste export, power generation and exchange, scarce clean air and water, and pesticide use. The species extinction is estimated to affect a quarter of the world’s mammalian species, three quarters of the world’s birds, and at least 50 thousand species go extinct each year and the rapid climate change will accelerate this extinction rate more severely. There has also been widespread damage to the world fisheries of about 50 per cent depletion during the last 50 years which has resulted in 18 of the world’s major fisheries already reaching or exceeding their maximum sustainable yield levels (Hart, 1997). 1.3. The economic risk Besides health and ecological risks, the interaction of business and the environment incurs economic risk. The environmental disasters have caused many risks to businesses economically. Shut downs in economic activities, massive financial losses, flight cancellations (Foon and Kong, 1998), high medical costs, workers’-productivity lost (due to illness), and damage to building structures and materials are some of the examples. Companies might also face monetary settlement, pressure group activities, negative press, industry reputation downturn, and stringent legislation. In order to seek lower cost for hazardous waste disposal, Exxon caused injuries to people and industry. They had to pay monetary settlement and endured negative press for two years (Hamilton and Berken, 2005). Union Carbide in Bhopal, India, faced the reputation downturn of the entire chemical industry, lost an estimation of one million dollars or 28 percent in market capitalization, and experienced cumulative abnormal returns for 50 days, following the Bhopal chemical leak (Blacconiere and Patten, 1994). 395 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 2. The interactions between business between business activities and the natural environment Manufacturing activities have contributed to the decline of the natural environment and, in turn, can lead to the destruction of the Earth. Humans are said to “commit biocide” (Ives, 2000) when the planet is being “beaten and poisoned to death” (Rowe, 1990). It is because, compared to people, the planet is considered to be relatively unimportant. In addition, according to an estimation, within the next few generations the planet will become a “superheated pressure cooker” (Skillman, 1998) due to the risks faced, which will bring major chaos to the human race. Therefore, integrating of environmental ethical considerations and commitment towards the natural environment into everyday business operations, as well as giving them equal weight as other business considerations, is a critical move. 3. Environmental ethics The development of environmental ethics began with the publication of Leopold’s Sound County Almanac in 1949 (Thompson, 1998). Aldo Leopold was the pioneer of American Wildlife Ecology and was the first ecologist to extend the ideas into environmental ethics. Later, Rachel Carson became the catalyst for the environmental movement after she released her book, Silent Spring, in 1963 (Brennan and Yeuk-Sze-Lo, 2000). Since then, environmental ethics has become a crucial issue. Modern Western perspectives on the management of organization in the natural environment have many influences, some of the best known of which are based on Starik and Marcus (2000) as shown in Table 1. They come from various fields, which include environmental conservation, natural science, environmental economics and environmental philosophies. Table 1. The environmental ethics influencers Field Authors Environmental Conservation John Muir, John James Audubon and Aldo Leopold Natural Science Charles Darwin, Rachel Carson and Fritjof Capra Environmental Economics Thomas Malthus, Ronald Coase and Herman Daly Environmental Philosophies Henry David Thoreau, Arne Naess and E. F. Schumacher Source: Starik and Marcus (2000) 3.1. Environmental ethics philosophy Environmental ethics emerged as a new sub-discipline of philosophy in the early 1970s by posing a challenge to traditional anthropocentrism, a human centred way of thinking (Brennan and Yeuk-Sze-Lo, 2002; Partridge, 1980), in conjunction with the opposite theory of non-anthropocentrism. According to Thompson (1998), theoretically, anthropocentric places the human species at the center of the human moral universe. However, human beings are not the only moral agents in the world. They are only creatures with oral interests of “intrinsic” worth. In anthropocentrism, the rest of nature has no such interest and only has worth to the extent that it is instrumental in meeting the needs of the people. Anthropocentrism consists of two varieties, i.e., Egocentric and Homocentric while Non- anthropocentrism consists of Biocentrism and Ecocentric (Thompson, 1998). In an extreme corner, egocentric perspectives regard man as the master or the justification of the natural community (Partridge, 1980). Normally, egocentric theories have relation with laissez faire 396 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 liberalism, capitalism, and free market. In addition, the theories pay scant attention to environmental concerns and see nature as an exploitable resource for human benefit (Thompson, 1998). The prominent contributors in egocentric theories are Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, Adam Smith, Thomas Malthus and Garret Hardin; while J. S. Mill, Jeremy Bentham, Barry Commoner and Murray Bookchin represent anthropocentric theories (Thompson, 1998). Thompson (1998) argues that the Anthropocentric or Homocentric view perceives all moral claims in terms of humans and their interest (Hoffman, 1991). More commonly, anthropomorphic theories can be described as homocentric as they are grounded in notions of welfare and social justice. Both utilitarianism and Marxism are categorized as homocentric theories. If utilitarians come to regard the stewardship of the natural world as an important priority, it would only be because this, in turn, contributes to the greatest happiness to the greatest number of people (Thompson, 1998). This theory also put the “dignity of personhood” in front of nature (Partridge, 1980). Biocentric environmental ethics comprises all things that are alive or a vital part of an ecosystem (Hoffman, 1991). Biocentric environmental ethics includes plant and animals, i.e. it extended its concern beyond the boundaries of moral significance. Some philosophers advocate the principle of biocentric egalitarianism (Bio-egalitarianism) according to which human lives is not just parts of nature; they are an equal part of nature (Thompson, 1998). Non-anthropocentrism/Ecocentric started from a radically different position. They base their ethics on the view that all living things, and in some theories, even non-living things like rocks or mountains, have intrinsic moral value and humans, therefore, owe a duty to them (Thompson, 1998). Anthropocentric reflects the concern about human beings as a subset of biocentric that comprises the concerns for both human and animal. Both anthropocentric and biocentric are subsets of ecocentric, which concern all parts of nature such as trees, land, water, animals, and people. Rowe (1990) has portrayed attitudes that should govern people’s relationship with the environment. Attitude that slowly killing the world and, if continued, will finish the human race is Anthropocentrism that puts people first before all matters. The highest goal of anthropocentrism is a service only to the human community. The saving attitude, the attitude in short supply is ecocentrism, which identifies the ecosphere as a center, a main point not only for ethics but also for arts and religion, at least in the latter, immanent aspects. However, ecocentrism is challenged by the cultural obstacles. The goals of traditional management are to achieve growth and shareholders wealth while ecocentric management aims for sustainability and quality of life as well as stakeholder welfare. Table 2 views the traditional versus ecocentric management in terms of goals, values, products, production systems, organizations, and environment and business functions. According to Shrivastava (1995), in action of Ecocentric, management proliferates all aspects of organization mission, inputs through and outputs. Shrivastava argues that Ecocentric management seeks ecofriendly product designs, packaging, and material use. They also seek to renew natural resources systematically in order to minimize waste and pollution. Ecocentric management encourages the use of low energy and small amounts of resources as they have scaled appropriately provide meaningful work, decentralized participatory decision making, have low earning differentials among employees and non- hierarchical structures. Ecocentric management also establishes a harmonious relationship between the natural and social environment. 397 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 Table 2. Traditional versus ecocentric management Business Functions: Traditional Management Ecocentric Management Marketing aims at increasing consumption Finance aims at short-term profit maximization Accounting focuses on conventional costs Human resource management aims at increasing labour productivity Marketing for consumer education Finance aims at long-term sustainable growth Accounting focuses on environmental costs Human resource management to make work meaningful & the workplace safe/healthy Extracted from: Shrivastava (1995), p. 131. Shrivastava (1995) also emphasizes that marketing in ecocentric management seeks to educate customers about responsible consumption, instead of promoting unrestricted consumption. The finance aims for long-term sustainable growth, instead of short-term profits, accounting seeks to incorporate the social and environmental costs of production instead of externalizing them while management in ecocentric management seeks to provide meaningful work and safe working conditions, instead of single- mindedly pursuing labor productivity. According to Shrivastava, in ecocentric companies, their mission and vision include a corporate commitment to 1) minimize the use of virgin materials and non-renewable forms of energy, 2) eliminate emissions, effluents and accidents, and 3) minimize the life cycle cost of products and services. 3.2. Environmental sustainability It was predicted that the most important issues in the next century would be the issues related to the environment (Schmidheiny, 1992). Schmidheiny (1992) and his colleagues provided a vision of “sustainable development” at the 1992 Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro. They saw that there is a linkage between environmental protection and economic growth. In 1997, the Kyoto Protocol – a codicil to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) – was signed in Japan. The Kyoto Protocol commits most industrialized countries to reducing their emissions by six to eight per cent below 1990 levels by 2012. Corporations would be able to obtain valuable information by capturing the environment as a commodity (Egri and Herman, 2000). Corporations would be able to identify environmental strategies, understand the decision process, understand organizational participants and also reintegrate humanity and ecology, both of which could advance long-term ecological or organizational sustainable development. Parallel to the understanding of organizational participants, Hart (1997) argues that corporations must change the way the participants think, especially the customers, in order to create products and services preferred by them that are consistent with sustainability and enable the corporations not only to be known as marketers but also to be known as educators. In doing so, corporations must lower material and energy consumption, develop clean products and technology, reduce pollution burdens, build the skills of the poor, ensure sustainable use of nature’s economy, replenish depleted resources and foster village-based business relationships. There are various terms by several authors in order to define sustainable development. The term includes vision expressions, value change, moral development, social reorganization and transformational process. They have also come out with the components of sustainable development, operational principles and techniques of biophysical sustainable behavior. Environmental or ecological sustainability could enjoy the benefit of the ongoing challenge to ensure the prosperity of humankind, which deals with the 398 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 ability of more individuals, sufficient duration and related systems (Starik and Marcus, 2000) by adapting to the sustainable competitive strategies. In order to represent sustainable sector (emerging sector), marketing opportunities were created from better consumer information and product labeling where corporations can recycle the waste and find its new uses in order to venture into new emerging economies such as in food industry, cosmetics industry, paper products industry, household products industry, and other upstream industries that could be adjusted to meet the environmental requirements. In order to achieve sustainability of the biosphere, some alterations must be done by the corporations. Corporations must reduce the extraction of virgin ores of toxic heavy metals, change many industrial processes, and curb the use of toxic, mutagenic and carcinogenic metals. “Spiritually” the corporations are also urged to pledge and support the environmental guideline, namely, the “Business Charter for Sustainable Development”. The aim of any corporation pertaining to sustainable development is to achieve zero emission, zero pollution and zero waste, however, to achieve zero discharge or no pollution at all is impossible. If corporations understand the concept of ecological sustainability, they could achieve several benefits to ecological sustainability such as driving down the operating cost, competitive advantage, to become environmental leaders, maintain and enhance corporate image, reduce the long-term risk, benefits ecosystems and communities and achieve a firmer legal footing (Shrivastava, 1995). However, there are several major challenges to sustainability. The process of achieving sustainability involves a tremendous amount of money (Hart, 1997) and leads to severe pollution, depletion and poverty. According to Hart (1997) developed economies face greenhouse gases, use of toxic materials, contaminated sites, scarcity of materials, insufficient reuse and recycling, urban and minority, and unemployment. Emerging economies experience industrial emissions, contaminated water, lack of sewage treatment, over exploitation, overuse of water for irrigation, migration to cities, lack of skilled workers and income inequality. Survival economies experience the worst scenarios including dung and wood burning, lack of sanitation, ecosystem destruction due to development, deforestation, overgrazing, soil loss, population growth, low status of women and dislocation. However, in order to counter this scenario, corporations could reduce their corporate footprint, avoid collision and meet basic needs in order to achieve success. 4. The benefits of environmental ethical commitment Moving towards environmental sustainability could benefit corporations in many ways. Many research findings discuss those benefits. The benefits were presented in various approaches, detailed explanations, and broadly explained opportunities (Saha and Darnton, 2005; Starik and Marcus, 2000). They also came from business process that considers social, moral, and ethical factors. The benefits are interpreted into quality of life such as customer satisfaction, quality of work life, and environmental impact. They consist of achieving cost leadership and competitive advantage (Shrivastava, 1995; Saha and Darnton, 2005; Starik and Marcus, 2000), boosting profitability (Shrivastava, 1995), improving public relations (Shrivastava, 1995), and improving ecological and business performance (Shrivastava, 1995). Other benefits include capturing the green market, achieving environmental leaders, improving image of the company, reducing long term risk, reducing health expenses, gaining firmer legal footing (Shrivastava, 1995), gaining stakeholder importance, avoiding environmental fines, improving raw materials utilization, rejuvenating employee’s morale, improving public perception of the industry, increasing sales, gaining interest from investing institutions and gaining more business (Saha and Darnton, 2005). Companies were offered a wide range of opportunities while dealing with core and primary environmental products and services. These opportunities include a decrease in cost of waste 399 Maliza Delima Kamarul Zaman / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 85 ( 2013 ) 392 – 399 disposal, a gain in reputation in environmental responsibility, a reduce in operating cost, a venture in new environmental packaging, a gain in new marketing for existing and new green products, an in crease in revenue from pollution control products, and finally, an ability to sell their pollution compliance capacity. Therefore, it can be concluded that environmental ethics has evolved into a platform that concerned with the rise of the earth and its creatures that portray what is needed to solve ecological crisis as often argued in the on-going debate. Finally, Kamarul-Zaman (2012) emphasizes that corporations must understand, believe, plan, and acquire skills of EEC in order to achieve environmental excellence. References Bansal, P. and Roth, K. J. (2000). Why companies go green: A model of ecological responsiveness. Academy of Management Journal, 43, 717-736. Blacconiere, W, G, and Patten, D. M. (1994). Environmental disclosures, regulatory costs and changes in firm value. Journal of Accounting and Economics, 18, 357-377. Brennan, A. and Lo, Y. (2002). "Environmental Ethics". The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2002 Edition). Edward N. Zalta (ed.). Egri, C.P. and Herman, S. (2000). Leadership in the North American environmental sector: Values, leadership styles, and contexts of environmental leaders and their organizations. Academy of Management Journal, 43(4), 571-605. Foon, L. M. and Kong. C. S.(1998). The Haze: When Smoke Gets In Your Eyes. National Institute of Public Administration (INTAN), Malaysia. Hamilton III, J. B. and Berken, E. J. (2005). Exxon at Grand Bois, Louisiana: A Three-Level Analysis of Management Decision Making and Corporate Conduct. Business Ethics Quarterly, 15(3), 385-408. Hart, S. L. (1997). Beyond greening: strategies for a sustainable world. Harvard Business Review, 75(1). Hoffman, W. M. (1991). Business and Environment Ethics. Business Ethics Quarterly, 1(2), 169-184. Ives, R. (2000). Biological rooted: Why an environmental ethic should be of central importance for humanist. Summary of a paper prepared for Australis 2000. Kamarul-Zaman, M.D. (2012), The Environmental Ethical Commitment (EEC) of the Business Corporations in Malaysia, Procedia – Social and Behavioural Sciences, 36, 564-572. Partridge, E. (1980). Environmental Ethics: An Introduction, http://gadfly.igc.org/e-ethics/Intro-ee.htm. Rowe, J. S. (1990) Ethical ecosphere. Home Place; Essays in Ecolog, 139-143. Saha, M. & Darnton, G. (2005). Green companies of green con-panies: Are companies really green, or are they pretending to be?. Business and Society Review, 110(2), 117-157. Schmidheiny, S. (1992). Changing course. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Shrivastava, P. (1995). Ecocentric management for a risk society. Academy of Management Review, 20(1), 118-137. Skillman, R. (1998). Environmental ethics: Earth gains consciousness through humanity. ://www- rohan.sdsu.edu/faculty/troxell/332_s98/SKILLMAN.html. Starik, M. and Marcus, A. A. (2000). Introduction to the special research forum on the management of organizations in the natural environment: A field emerging from multiple paths, with many challenges ahead. Academy of Management Journal, 43(4), 539-547. Thompson, I. H. (1998). Environmental ethics and the development of landscape architectural theory. Landscape Research, 23(2). Wilson, R. (1990). Analysing the daily risk of life, In T. S. Glickman & M. Gough (Eds.), Readings in risk (p. 55-59) Washington, DC: Resources for the Future. 
work_n5lno7q3w5cfhbqfo7u36vvegy	----	polis43_14.p65 7 Prólogo Noviolencia, resistencias y transfor- maciones culturales Mario López-Martínez Universidad de Granada, Granada, España. Email: mariol@ugr.es Óscar Useche Aldana Uniminuto, Bogotá, Colombia. Email: ouseche@uniminuto.edu Carlos Eduardo Martínez Hincapié Uniminuto, Bogotá, Colombia. Email: cmartinez_esp@yahoo.com Estamos viviendo una etapa muy interesante en los estudios sobre las resistencias, los cambios sociales y la producción cultural contempla- das desde la noviolencia. De hecho, en ese campo muy amplio y diverso que son los Peace Studies (Estudios para la Paz), la noviolencia en general y la resistencia noviolenta en particular están ocupando y adquiriendo re- novadas interpretaciones. Algunos ejemplos de ello, son la realización de múltiples trabajos de investigación (tesis doctorales, de maestría, etc.), la publicación de monográficos en revistas de alto prestigio (Journal of Peace Research, nº 50 de mayo de 2013), incluso nuevas revistas específicas so- bre este campo (Journal of Resistance Studies, desde 2015), junto a una gran cantidad de monografías sobre campañas de resistencia noviolenta, movimientos sociales que usan técnicas e instrumentos de lucha noviolenta o nuevas formas de expresión artística, estética y cultural opuesta a la creciente globalización de la violencia, denunciando, recuperando viejas utopías o reconociendo las muchas formas de rebeldía y desobediencia cívica y social contra la violencia de la globalización. Hay que reconocer que, a pesar de los impulsos tan interesantes y hasta numerosos en el mundo académico –en gran medida reflejo de lo que está sucediendo en el mundo a escala real- sobre estas temáticas que, gené- ricamente, hemos denominado noviolencia, somos conscientes de que la generación de esta nueva epistemología contestataria y genuinamente liberadora, va a seguir coexistiendo con las preferencias en el mundo acadé- mico de múltiples interpretaciones hegemónicas (el realismo político, los análisis funcionalistas, las teorías de la elección racional, las epistemologías neoliberales, etc.) que, de una u otra manera, perpetúan tendencias explica- tivas y de análisis de arriba abajo, donde la agencia estado es preeminente, Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016, p. 7-15 Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 8 valora acríticamente la institucionalidad, es muy poco sensible hacia for- mas de violencia estructural, tiende a justificar sino a legitimar a los actores poderosos, conserva una visión andro y eurocéntrica, es prejuiciosa con el activismo radical y las “nuevas” epistemologías críticas, etc. En este contexto, las resistencias sociales, económicas, culturales, políticas, etc., realizadas por los “nuevos” actores, donde la agencia huma- na resulta de vital importancia, es decir, un espacio y unos grupos que viven, luchan y se defienden frente a las múltiples agresiones de los merca- dos, los intereses privados y los procesos crecientes de domesticación y aculturación, se despliega el universo creativo de lo que muchos denomi- namos la Noviolencia como resistencia y transformación cultural. Como decimos en ese contexto, no obstante, y a través de ella, florecen riquísimas y diversas formas de vida solidaria, de ayuda mutua, de creatividad, de fortalecimiento de lazos afectivos, de economías alternativas y “buen vi- vir”, de nuevas verdades, de encuentros y redefiniciones metodológicas, conceptuales e intelectuales que se construyen socialmente de manera di- námica y viva. Justo como reflejo de ese mundo real, pero invisible en muchas oca- siones para medios de comunicación, para agencias de calificación, para los grandes consorcios económicos transnacionales, para los G-8 y G-20, etc., también para una parte del mundo académico, estas luchas tienen su reflejo para conquistar espacios de verdad, de realidad y de control de lo que se piensa, se investiga, se debate, se financia. La noviolencia también es un campo que se la juega en el mundo académico y universitario sobre cómo se construye la ciencia, para quiénes y con qué finalidad. Es de esperar, pues, que el trabajo que hay por delante se antoja ya difícil, un espacio propio de las resistencias sociales (por la vida, la libertad, la autonomía, el reconoci- miento, etc.). La noviolencia ha tenido y tiene múltiples caras y expresiones. Aún no hemos sido capaces de crear, en el mundo occidental, una palabra que refleje su auténtica riqueza semántica. Una visión ingenua es considerarla una simple negación y deslegitimación de la violencia en todas sus formas y manifestaciones. Ciertamente puede ser esto pero es, también, mucho más. Gandhi consiguió recuperar el viejo concepto de ahimsa, dotándole de un sentido político moderno y dinámico. También inventó el concepto de satyagraha, lo más parecido a nuestra concepción de resistencia civil de masas usada para fines ético-políticos. Todo esto es mucho pero aún no es suficiente para ofrecer la riqueza histórica y vital que tiene la noviolencia. Respetar la vida, negarse a deshumanizar a los otros, rebelarse frente a lasiniquidades, no colaborar con las injusticias, atreverse a desobedecer las leyes que aseguran las arbitrariedades, derribar gobiernos tiránicos, enfrentarse a las formas del colonialismo e imperialismo, luchar por los derechos y las libertades, movilizar a amplios sectores sociales en el reco- nocimiento de sus identidades y personalidades etno-culturales, serían sólo algunos de esos aspectos de la protesta, la concienciación y la persuasión, junto a la no colaboración o la intervención directa. Sin embargo, parece 9 Prólogo que la noviolencia siga perfilándose como aquello que se opone a algo que ya existe y que se califica de abyecto o negativo. No obstante es mucho más. Igual que originalmente el concepto de ahimsa es más que no matar, no causar daño o sufrimiento, y puede traducirse como inocencia, pureza, amor, compasión y valores similares. Noviolencia, asimismo, se expresa mucho más allá de negar a la(s) violencia(s) y, por tanto, es mucho más: desde proyectos de vida y programas constructivos complejos y profun- dos (“buen vivir”, villagedemocracy, sarvodaya, hindi swaraj, etc.), hasta múltiples intentos de formas de vida sostenible (ecología profunda, permacultura, veganismo, bienestar animal), usos y costumbres económi- cas alternativas y sociales (economía budista, decrecimiento, banca ética, mutualismo, trueque, renta básica), pasando por acciones ético-políticas desobedientes (objeción de conciencia, insumisión, rebeldías culturales) o búsquedas y propuestas alternativas a la hegemonía de instituciones estatalesy sociales, esto ha permitido debates sobre formas diferentes de protección, educación, comunicación, etc. (defensa popular, educación y comunicación noviolenta). Muchos movimientos sociales y formas de resistencia popular no usan necesariamente para autocalificarse el concepto de noviolencia pero son conscientes de su importancia doctrinal, estratégica y aplicada, saben que es la fuerza propia y genuina del poder popular, del poder de la gente del común. Ellos no sólo protestan contra las formas de la violencia de la globalización y otros procesos de privatización de los recursos que permi- ten la reproducción de la vida, sino que se niegan a sí mismos el uso de métodos que no aceptan se usen contra ellos. No tratan de luchar contra los sectores privilegiados que usan la violencia (en sus diferentes formas) con sus mismos métodos sino con otros repertorios ligados a formas clásicas y modernas de protesta, no colaboración y desobediencia. Muchos de esos métodos han sido sistematizados, desde un punto de vista político y doctri- nal, por líderes como Gandhi, Luther King, Mandela, Kelly, Aung San SuuKyi, entre otros; por activistas-académicos como Jean Marie Müller, Theodor Ebert, Michael Randle, Howard Clark; o por teóricos como Gene Sharp, Peter Ackerman, Giuliano Pontara, Alberto L’Abate. El elenco es tan grande de pensadores/as, académicos/as, filósofos de la política, investigadores/as, etc., dedicados a reflexionar e investigar sobre todos los campos de la noviolencia que la lista comienza a ser más que notable. Lo importante, hoy por hoy, es que es un tema en alza por muchas razones, entre ellas, y son sólo algunas: por lo que ya sabemos sobre los efectos nocivos que producen las violencias en las sociedades (deshumanización, embrutecimiento, violación de los derechos humanos), por el uso de las nuevas tecnologías (que permiten acercar las luchas y las energías contra las formas negativas de la globalización), por la importancia que han adquirido los nuevos movimientos sociales (críticos con el sistema pero vitales para las democracias), por el resurgimiento de movimientos de excluidos (indígenas, afrodescendientes, movimientos de identidad), por la Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 10 necesidad de encontrar alternativas económicas al capitalismo depredador (neoprimitivismo, calidad de vida noviolenta, vida lenta, etc.). Estas son algunas razones que están detrás de un repertorio amplísimo de maneras de “resistencia” o de “transformaciones culturales” que, en el fondo, son se- rias contestaciones a la crisis civilizatoria actual. En este sentido, la noviolencia se identifica con este amplio proceso crítico-alternativo con la deriva sistémica del mundo y sus formas de dominación. En este número monográfico de la Revista Polis hemos intentado combinar académicos e investigadoras de ambos lados del Océano, librepensadores/as, personas críticas y analíticas, pero también comprome- tidas con su mundo local y concreto en el que aplican su tiempo, sus esfuer- zos y sus terapias para mejorar, desde la resistencia noviolenta, la vida del Planeta. Son estudios de aspectos muy diversos, que nos ofrecen una va- riedad de casos históricos y sociales, en los que se mezclan reflexiones, investigaciones y diagnósticos de problemas pero también soluciones que se han ofrecido desde la noviolencia. La sección “Lente de Aproximación” del número 43 de Polis reúne, en tal sentido, quince artículos, de amplio espectro, sobre Noviolencia, Resistencias y Transformaciones culturales que reflejan, tras un proceso selectivo muy riguroso, algunas de las muchas historias y experiencias que ha habido sobre la búsqueda de alternativas que permitan una radical apues- ta por una vida sostenible y perdurable. En este número de POLIS convocamos a una gama de autores lati- noamericanos y europeos que reflexionan sobre la noviolencia desde dis- tintas perspectivas. Este Lente de Aproximación se inicia con el aporte de Giuliano Pontara, el filósofo pacifista italiano que se refiere a“Gandhi el político y su pensamiento”. Allí da cuenta de la propuesta revolucionaria del gandhismo, de su lucha noviolenta anti-colonial, de su doctrina ético- política que contiene un mensaje todavía muy relevante para los movimentos sociales y los grupos de resistencia civil empeñados en su oposición con- tra el colonialismo, la globalización de la violencia y los procesos violentos de dicha globalización. Mario López Martínez, en “La resistencia civil examinada” realiza un repaso por la bibliografía más importante que abarca desde la obra de Henry David Thoreau hasta Erica Chenoweth. La literatura sobre la resistencia civil va desde el estudio de los fenómenos de movilización de las masas durante el siglo XIX atravesados por los movimientos obreros, abolicionis- tas, pacifistas y sufragistas, hasta la lucha liderada por Gandhi en Sudáfrica y la India. Gandhi, como inventor de la satyagraha, la fuerza del alma, genera muchos estudios y trabajos para comprender su potencialidad. En los años 70s, la figura del investigador Gene Sharp inaugura la corriente funcionalista y aplicada de la resistencia civil. Tras la Guerra fría se extien- den los «resistance studies» con una clara visión estratégica y pragmática de la resistencia. 11 En una perspectiva similar, Óscar Useche, en “La resistencia social india y el bien de todos. Aportes de Gandhi para una economía noviolenta”, presenta algunos de los acontecimientos que definieron el devenir del pro- ceso noviolento de la India, centrándose en el examen de sus aportes en la dimensión de una economía del bien de todos basada en la potencialidad de los pequeños productores y de las redes comunitarias. Allí analiza el impac- to de la política gandhiana a través de su Programa Constructivo de la India y los aprendizajes que dejan sus principios y prácticas económicas novedosas asentadas en la cultura y en la fuerza ética de su verdad. El profesor colombiano Carlos Eduardo Martínez presenta su artícu- lo “Mandela y la construcción histórica de la noviolencia. Otras formas de hacer y de pensar”. La propuesta de la noviolencia, plantea el autor, es una construcción histórica, es decir, hija de los retos que como humanidad he- mos tenido en los últimos cien años. Es también una propuesta de transfor- mación cultural que pretende dar cuenta de cambios profundos en nuestras formas de relacionarnos entre los humanos y con la naturaleza. Mandela y su gente hicieron de la política el arte del encuentro y no de la confronta- ción, contribuyendo a una transformación de la concepción y la práctica de la política contemporáneas.El artículo evidencia varios de los elementos que les permitieron salir avante de la tentación de la guerra y leerlos como su aporte a este camino en proceso, que es la noviolencia. “Movimiento por la Paz con Justicia y Dignidad: construir paz en la guerra de México” es el título que el investigador y activista por la paz en México, Pietro Ameglio, da a su artículo en el que reflexiona sobre las for- mas de lucha noviolentas ejercidas por el Movimiento por la Paz con Justi- cia y Dignidad(MPJD), como fuerza moral, en el contexto de guerra de Méxi- co y de las diferentes fases de resistencia civil que ha ido ejerciendo la sociedad. Se analizan las etapas de las estrategias y tácticas noviolentas que realizó este movimiento, el testimonio de dolor e indignación de las víctimas y su determinación de luchar para encontrar a sus desaparecidos; hacer justicia a sus muertos y “parar la guerra” en las plazas de México y ante los medios nacionales e internacionales. Se analiza un ejercicio de presión moral y material hacia el poder político, señalado por los familiares como directamente responsable de la muerte o desaparición, en contuber- nio con el delito organizado. Por su parte Juan David Villa nos presenta su texto“Perdón y recon- ciliación: una perspectiva psicosocial desde la noviolencia” en el que desa- rrolla una reflexión sobre la importancia del perdón en la construcción de paz en situaciones de conflicto armado prolongado, como la que vive Co- lombia, además de aportar a transformaciones subjetivas y la recuperación de dignidad en víctimas de violencia política. Allí desarrolla una breve revisión de procesos investigativos y teóricos donde se han evidenciado fuertes relaciones entre narrativas de memoria, dispositivos socio-emocio- nales e intereses políticos para el mantenimiento de guerras y violencia. Luego convoca las voces de participantes en el trabajo colectivo de apoyo mutuo que configuró escenarios transformadores para construir una lógica Prólogo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 12 noviolenta de reconciliación social y perdón conducentes a la transforma- ción y superación de conflictos violentos. Daniel Ricardo Martínez Bernal presenta su trabajo: “La Noviolencia en los Nasa, del norte del Cauca: relaciones entre la teoría y la experiencia específica”. El autor se refiere a las resistencias indígenas del Cauca, en el occidente colombiano, y cómo en ellas se pueden descifrar algunos de los principales caminos y alternativas a los ciclos de violencia vividos en este país.Se propone una aproximación a las concepciones y significaciones propias de las comunidades indígenas frente al concepto de noviolencia, mostrando la existencia de condiciones político-prácticas que llegan a cons- tituir un ejemplo de cómo hacer política de manera no armada, civil y no cruenta, en contextos de guerra. Leonardo Nicolás González y María Eugenia Patiño contribuyen con el artículo“Noviolencia como alternativa de resistencia en Chiapas, México: el caso de Las Abejas de Acteal”. La pregunta que problematiza el texto es acerca de la posibilidad de que la noviolencia pueda servir como categoría analítica de los procesos de resistencia en Chiapas, México. Para ello se retoma el caso de la organización indígena y pacifista “Las Abejas de Acteal” y se exploran las relaciones entre la noviolencia y la resistencia que dicha organización ha realizado entre los años 2009-2015; atendien- do fundamentalmente a la relación entre medios y fines en su lucha, la búsqueda de autonomía y justicia y, el papel de la memoria. Se plantea la necesidad de un abordaje diferenciado de los fenómenos de resistencia indígena en la zona y se resalta la potencialidad que la teoría ético- política de la noviolencia puede tener para el estudio de la resistencia indígena en Chiapas. Por su parte, José Luis Aguilar, en su artículo “Resistencia civil noviolenta: la lucha contra el Socialismo Real en Polonia”, plantea la plura- lidad de formas de acción noviolentas, desde las protestas simbólicas hasta las organizaciones paralelas al estado, posibilitando un empoderamiento de la sociedad civil, que tomó la apariencia del Sindicato Solidaridad. Esta organización heterogénea, formada por un gran número de plataformas ci- viles de distinto cariz, alcanzó un poder social que con posterioridad le otorgó un papel clave en la disolución del régimen socialista y en la confor- mación de la nueva Polonia democrática. El artículo de Dennyris Castaño “El feminismo sufragista: entre la persuasión y la disrupción”, presenta una revisión de los aportes que el movimiento sufragista realiza a los métodos de lucha no armada a finales del siglo XIX y principios del siglo XX. Hace un análisis de la relación entre estos métodos de lucha y los objetivos perseguidos, estableciendo matices entre las opciones de lucha de suffragists y suffragettes. Igualmente, pre- tende hacer una comparación entre lucha sufragista y «resistencia pasiva», más allá de la distinción hecha en el artículo escrito por Gandhi sobre Satyagrahavs. «resistencia pasiva». 13 Por su parte, Sabina Cárdenas y María Verónica D’Inca, en su artícu- lo “Arquitectura de la noviolencia, el papel del otro en la construcción del espacio común” plantean que la arquitectura de la noviolencia es una ma- nera de resistir a las formas arquitectónicas higienizadas y fortificadas de la ciudad de hoy, haciendo énfasis en el profundo papel transformador que tiene el “otro” en la reconquista del espacio común. Proponen una revisión crítica de las principales ideas asociadas a la producción del espacio: una cercana al territorio vacío, otra como resultado de los proyectos hegemónicos de ciudad y una tercera como alternativa hacia una ciudad más humana, que es la arquitectura de la noviolencia. Esta última explora maneras creativas para la producción de espacios de ciudad, desde las ideas de transforma- ción, inclusión, solidaridad propuestas en el concepto de noviolencia. Carlos Ángel Ordaz en “Noviolencia, objeción de conciencia e insu- misión en España, 1970-1990” analiza cómo la resistencia al servicio militar obligatorio en España, durante el último tercio del siglo XX, sirvió para articular un importante movimiento antimilitarista y juvenil. Este movimien- to comenzó durante la década de los setenta muy ligado a la doctrina de la noviolencia y su vinculación con la objeción de conciencia. La extendida desobediencia a las leyes de conscripción acabó forzando el fin del servicio militar obligatorio. Para conseguir este objetivo, los jóvenes desobedientes tuvieron que hacer frente a diversos contextos políticos, redefiniendo sus estrategias, logrando conseguir un paulatino aumento de apoyos sociales, consiguiendo un constante trasvase generacional y, sobre todo, asumien- do y convirtiendo la represión derivada de la desobediencia a las leyes en algo dañino para el propio Gobierno. En el artículo “Sa´el jun ontonal, la búsqueda del bienestar, la auto- nomía y la paz desde Las Abejas de Acteal”, Carla Zamora aborda el origen de la organización Sociedad Civil Las Abejas, en el estado de Chiapas – México, y su configuración en áreas de trabajo que atienden a lo económi- co, lo social y lo cultural, para ilustrar los procesos que han desarrollado como alternativas a la violencia y al conflicto social y político que se ha mantenido desde la década de los noventa en la región. Las Abejas emergen como un actor colectivo que opta por la noviolencia y se suma a la reivindi- cación de los derechos de los pueblos indígenas, desde la construcción de sus procesos de autonomía orientados hacia lo que definen como el Lekil Kujlejal, el buen vivir, articulándose en distintos proyectos de trabajo co- lectivo como alternativas de vida. Nicole Darat y Andrés Maximiliano Bello en “Desobediencia intelec- tual: resistencias a la privatización del conocimiento”, describen y analizan una forma específica de la desobediencia civil que surge en medio de la reciente expansión de los procesos de privatización del conocimiento a nivel global. Se refieren a la “desobediencia intelectual” frente a los nuevos dispositivos jurídicos que aseguran los procesos de acumulación del capi- talismo contemporáneo. Luego de revisar el contexto económico-político en que esta desobediencia intelectual aparece, ahondan en tres ejemplos de sus prácticas: las obras de Nina Paley, el activismo de Aaron Swartz y el Prólogo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 14 caso del portal Sci-Hub. Estos casos remiten a prácticas que infringen las leyes de la propiedad intelectual, buscando poner de manifiesto la ilegitimi- dad de las mismas. El autor Danny Monsálvez en “Un espacio de resguardo y resisten- cia no violenta bajo la dictadura cívico-militar: El Boletín de Derechos Hu- manos de la Pastoral de Derechos Humanos del Arzobispado de la Santísi- ma Concepción (1986-1989)” analiza cómo las formas de oposición en con- tra del régimen de la dictadura cívico militar, que gobernó Chile durante 17 años, adquirieron diversas y variadas expresiones de resistencia y denun- cia, siendo el tema de la sistemática violación a los derechos humanos el aspecto más visible y reconocible de todos aquellos actores, grupos y movimientos que fueron víctimas de la violencia institucional de la dictadu- ra. El presente artículo busca situar el Boletín de Derechos Humanos del Arzobispado de la Santísima Concepción como uno de los principales es- pacios de resguardo y resistencia no- violenta en favor de quienes fueron perseguidos por los aparatos represivos de régimen en el Gran Concepción. La creación de un conocimiento sobre el tema de la violencia, represión y tortura, dieron paso a una lucha en favor de quienes estaban siendo asedia- dos por la dictadura de Pinochet. En ese sentido, el Boletín de Derechos Humanos fue un espacio de denuncia, de resguardo, de resistencia y de llamado a la acción no violenta por parte de la ciudadanía. Se trata de quince trabajos que han tratado sólo algunos de las múltiples miradas y acercamientos que se puede hacer a la noviolencia. En un mundo globalizado, la ciencia ha de construirse con conciencia. Análi- sis, investigaciones y aplicaciones se deben a la propia sociedad, de donde surge la propia comunidad científica. No existe la una sin la otra. ¿Pero qué ciencia social? La noviolencia no tiene respuesta completa e incontroverti- ble a tal interrogante, sólo nos dice que el saber se debe construir para dar respuesta a los grandes problemas de las necesidades y las potencialida- des humanas, partiendo de la capacidad de la gente para encontrar y cons- truir respuestas a sus retos específicos, acudiendo al poder de los “sin poder”, una paradoja que devela nuevas perspectivas de la potencia huma- na, para plantear alternativas al desigual reparto de los recursos planetarios y de las exclusiones hechas por los que se perciben como más rápidos, más fuertes o más idóneos. Una ciencia que no deshumanice al otro, sino que lo tenga en cuenta, que resista la presión de los que, con dinero, quieren comprarlo todo y, sobre todo, que se haga para expandir la felicidad de la vida. La sección “Cartografías para el futuro” incluye cuatro artículos que aunque no forman parte de la monografía convocada proveen de interesan- tes perspectivas para el trabajo de transformación cultural. Gilma Balleste- ros abre la sección con “Desobediencia Civil Indígena: El pueblo Nasa y el incidente del Cerro Berlín” que aborda entre otras cosas las formas espon- táneas de desobediencia civil, en la que los indígenas se manifiestan en contra de una postura institucional. 15 El segundo artículo de Gustavo Cantero Meza titulado “La trayecto- ria social del arte y cultura nogalense: artistas, colectivos, circunstancias, reflexiones y oportunidades” presenta miradas alternas sobre la frontera norte de México, subrayando su sentido, valor social y humano desde el arte y los colectivos culturales de la ciudad de Nogales. De autoría de Patricia Lora León se titula el tercer texto “Desvendando o potencial de uma humanidade “outra” a través do pensamento indígena serrano” y nos presenta el enorme potencial para una transformación cultu- ral hacia otro mundo posible contenida en el pensamiento de los pueblos indígenas que habitan la Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. Finalmente Maria Consuelo Oliveira Santos, cierra la sección con su artículo “Hablando de resistencia y del ejercicio de la noviolencia en la experiencia comunitaria en candomblés” con un novedoso aporte a nuevas formas de resistencia social noviolenta, desde el Terreiro de candomblé un espacio afro-brasileño de resistencia como una forma de persistencia cultural,en defensa de un conocimiento integrador, Se completa el número 43 de la revista con la sección “Propuestas y avances de investigación” que contiene un total de diez artículos y la sec- ción “Comentarios y reseñas de libros” en la cual son presentadas tres reseñas. Prólogo 
work_ndpbll3ypjfhhfp66d6hlle3la	----	untitled Multiple and interacting disturbances lead to Fagus grandifolia dominance in coastal New England Posy E. Busby1 ,2,3, Glenn Motzkin, and David R. Foster Harvard Forest, Harvard University, Petersham, MA 01366 BUSBY, P. E., G. MOTZKIN, AND D. R. FOSTER (Harvard Forest, Harvard University, Petersham, MA 01366). Multiple and interacting disturbances lead to Fagus grandifolia dominance in coastal New England. J. Torrey Bot. Soc. 135: 000–000. 2008.—Recent studies have emphasized the importance of multiple and interacting disturbances in controlling plant community dynamics. However, detailed information on disturbance history and changes in species abundance are unavailable for many forest ecosystems. As a result, it is often difficult to evaluate the influence of disturbance interactions on changes in species composition over time. This study examines the history and dynamics of Fagus grandifolia-dominated forests in coastal New England to evaluate the role of multiple disturbances in the development of Fagus dominance. Detailed historical and dendroecological data were used to reconstruct disturbance history and compositional trends for the past . 300 years. At the time of European settlement, the study area supported mixed forests of Quercus, Fagus, Carya, and Pinus. Intensive harvesting in the early 19th century resulted in abundant Quercus alba, Q. velutina, and Fagus regeneration. Thereafter, harvesting and fire were limited, but repeated low-moderate intensity hurricanes allowed Fagus but not Quercus species to establish and persist in the forest understory. A severe hurricane in 1944, accompanied by intense herbivory from a high deer population, accelerated the development of Fagus dominance by releasing Fagus saplings, initiating Fagus establishment, and preventing Quercus establishment. The extreme shade tolerance of Fagus, in combination with its flexible regeneration strategy (i.e., the ability to regenerate from seed or from root sprouts), and low palatability to deer, contributed to the increase in abundance of Fagus in response to this complex disturbance history. Thus, long-term changes in forest composition and reduced species richness resulted from species-specific responses to multiple, interacting disturbances. Key words: beech, disturbance interactions, Fagus grandifolia, herbivory, hurricane, monodominance, oak, Quercus. Forest composition and dynamics are heavily influenced by disturbance history. While most studies emphasize the importance of individual disturbance events, or distur- bance regimes of a particular type (e.g., fire, wind, or cutting), in driving forest dynamics, in fact, most temperate forest ecosystems are characterized by complex histories of natural and anthropogenic disturbance (Whitney 1994, Foster and Aber 2004). Recent studies demonstrate that multiple disturbances often interact to shape landscape-level patterns of forest vegetation (e.g., Veblen et al. 1994, Bigler et al. 2005). For example, intense herbivory may prevent the regeneration of species otherwise expected to establish follow- ing severe wind disturbance (Peterson and Pickett 1995), and prior disturbance may strongly influence the probability and severity of subsequent disturbance (Veblen et al. 1994, Bigler et al. 2005). Thus, disturbance interac- tions influence patterns of species composition in ways that are not easily predicted based on the independent effects of each disturbance. In this study, we examine the role of natural and anthropogenic disturbances over the past . 300 years in the development of extensive forests dominated by Fagus grandifolia Ehrh. on Naushon Island, Massachusetts (MA). Fagus is common in northern hardwood forests across the northeastern U.S., but is uncommon in coastal New England where it occasionally forms unusual ‘monodominant’ stands, with Fagus representing . 90% of stem density (Good and Good 1970, Busby 2006). The study area contains the largest (approx- Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:28 346 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 1 We would like to thank Charlie Canham and Wyatt Oswald for comments on an earlier draft of this manuscript. Emery Boose reconstructed the history of hurricane frequency and intensity on Naushon Island using the HURRECON model. We appreciate field assistance from Harvard Forest volunteers. Paul Elias, Gon and Holly Leon, and Bruce Bagley provided valuable historical informa- tion and logistical support. Financial support for this project was provided by the National Science Foundation through the Harvard Forest Long Term Ecological Research Program, the Beech Tree Trust, the Coalition for Buzzard’s Bay, and the Harvard Graduate Student Council. 2 Author for correspondence: e-mail: busby@ post.harvard.edu 3 Current address: Stanford University, Depart- ment of Biology, Stanford, CA. Received for publication January 9, 2008, and in revised form June 8, 2008. Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society 135(3), 2008, pp. 346–359 346 imately 1,000 ha) known monodominant Fagus forest in the eastern U.S. Although consider- able attention has been devoted to understand- ing the influence of disturbance on high species richness in forests (e.g. Janzen 1970, Connell 1978), the role of disturbance in the develop- ment of species-poor forests is not well- understood (but see Hart et al. 1989). In particular, few studies have documented the long-term history and dynamics of mono- dominant forests, despite the widespread occur- rence of such forests in tropical, temperate, and boreal regions (Connell and Lowman 1989). We use detailed historical records of distur- bance and vegetation change, data on stand age structure and growth dynamics, and information on life history traits of the study species to investigate the influence of a complex disturbance history on long-term forest development. The specific objectives of this study are to: 1) document the history and development of Fagus forests in the study area since European colonization, and 2) examine the role of multiple disturbances and life history traits in the development of single- species dominance. Materials and Methods. STUDY SITE. Study sites are located on Naushon Island, MA (12 3 2 km), the largest of the Elizabeth Islands (Fig. 1). The island is morainal, with medium- to-coarse sandy soils (Fletcher and Roffinoli 1986). Two large areas on the island, hereafter referred to as the East and West End forests, cover 1,052 ha (47%) of the 2,226 ha island. Fagus dominates nearly all of these forests, with scattered large Quercus alba L. and Quercus velutina Lam. occurring at very low densities. Beech bark disease has been present on the island for . 30 years (D. Houston pers. comm.), but has resulted in little decline or mortality, in contrast with high mortality rates throughout the northeastern U.S. (Twery and Patterson 1984, Morin et al. 2006). Naushon Island has an unusual history of ownership and land use that has ensured the preservation of this landscape, and may have facilitated the development of extensive forests characterized by single-species dominance. Before European settlement, the nearby and substantially larger islands of Martha’s Vine- yard and Nantucket supported the highest Native American population densities in New Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:44 347 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 FIG. 1. Map of the study area along the southern New England coast. Forested areas on Naushon Island, MA in 1999 (top panel) (MassGIS 2002) and in 1845 (bottom panel) (USCGS 1845) are shown with locations of study plots and stone walls. 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 347 England (Bragdon 1996), suggesting that Native peoples may have lived on Naushon and used it extensively for hunting and gathering. The Native population in the mid- 17th century was 40 families, but may have been larger before the 1612–1613 epidemic that killed large numbers of coastal Native Americans (Emerson 1935, Banks 1911). Since European settlement (1641 AD), the entire island has remained in single-family owner- ship, with only four different families through time. The current ownership was established in 1843. Population densities on the island were thus substantially lower than in surrounding areas through the historical period (Yentsch 1974, Foster et al. 2002). STUDY SPECIES. Fagus grandifolia is found throughout eastern North America, and is considered a late-successional species in north- ern hardwood forests where it regenerates in gaps created by small-scale wind disturbance (Runkle 1981, Canham 1990). Fagus repro- duction occurs both by seed and vegetatively by root sprouts that develop in response to above or below-ground injury (Jones and Raynal 1988). In the Northeast, Fagus was abundant in pre-Colonial forests (Cogbill et al. 2002), especially in northern New England and at higher elevations, but frequent and intense anthropogenic disturbances in the historical period have contributed to its region-wide decline (Siccama 1971). Since the 1930s, beech bark disease, a scale-fungus complex, has led to further Fagus decline and substantial changes in forest structure and dynamics in most inland locations (Twery and Patterson 1984, Morin et al. 2006). These historical changes contributed to a long-term Fagus decline in the Northeast that began 1,000– 2,000 years ago due to broad-scale climate change (Russell et al. 1993, Fuller et al. 1998). Although the role of Fagus in northern hardwood forests has received substantial attention (e.g., Siccama 1971, Canham 1990, Merren and Peart 1992, Poage and Peart 1993), the long term dynamics of coastal Fagus forests are poorly understood. Coastal Fagus dynamics likely differ from inland dynamics because hurricanes, which may facilitate Fagus forest development, are more frequent and intense in the coastal region (Boose et al. 1994, 2001). In addition, fire, which has the potential to limit or restrict Fagus, has been more frequent in the coastal region historically than in most other areas in New England (Parshall et al. 2003). FOREST HISTORY. A detailed historical rec- ord for the study area was used to determine the timing, and in some cases extent, of natural and anthropogenic disturbance events, and to track compositional changes in forested areas (Appendix). Early nautical maps (Des Barres 1780), municipal land cover maps (Crapo 1837), and a detailed US Coast and Geodetic Survey map (USCGS 1845, scale: 1:10,000) identified areas that were forested through the mid-19th century. Documentary sources, aerial photographs, and land-cover maps were used to track changes over the past century (MacConnell 1951, 1973, MassGIS 2002). Study sites were established in areas continu- ously forested throughout the historical peri- od, defined as areas consistently mapped as forested for which we found no documentary or field data to suggest otherwise (Fig. 1). WIND DISTURBANCE. We used the HURRE- CON model (Boose et al. 1994, 2001) to reconstruct hurricane frequency and intensity for Naushon Island for 1620–1997. Boose et al. (1994, 2001) identified all hurricanes with damaging winds for the Northeast based on a comprehensive review of a wide range of sources: personal diaries and town histories for the period 1620–1699, contemporary news- papers from 1700–1997, and meteorological data from 1871–1997. The HURRECON model predicts the frequency and intensity of hurricanes at a specific site based on wind damage reports and meteorological observa- tions for each storm. In addition, we used local documentary sources from Naushon Island (e.g., personal descriptions, anthologies, and annual reports) to develop an independent reconstruction of hurricane strikes. MODERN FOREST STRUCTURE AND DYNAMICS. To characterize forest development, we sam- pled vegetation in 24 fixed-area plots (400 m2) in continuously wooded areas. Within each plot, species and dbh were recorded for all trees . 10 cm dbh, and increment cores were taken from 15–20 trees . 7 cm dbh for age determination and radial growth analysis. Because of the low density of Quercus spp. in study plots, and their greater age than the more abundant Fagus, additional Quercus trees outside of study plots were cored to Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:49 348 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 348 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 facilitate reconstructing long term forest dy- namics. We collected sound cores from 647 trees: 433 Fagus, 146 Quercus alba, and 68 Q. velutina. Tree rings were counted and mea- sured to the nearest 0.01 mm using a Velmex measuring system (East Bloomfield, NY). Cores were used to determine tree ages, excluding those that were rotten or substan- tially missed the pith. All cores were used to examine growth releases. Because our analyses did not require precise chronologies, we did not cross-date the complete sample. However, a sub-sample of cores (Fagus N 5 92, Q. alba N 5 58, and Q. velutina N 5 25), cross-dated using the program COFECHA (Holmes 1983), was used to validate results obtained using the complete sample. This comparison indicated that partially or completely missing rings were extremely uncommon, and thus were not significant for our analyses (Busby 2006). Cross-dated cores were used for the growth suppression analysis. To characterize patterns of tree response to disturbance across the study area, we generat- ed island-wide (East and West End data pooled) disturbance chronologies for Fagus, Quercus alba, and Q. velutina. By identifying the percentage of trees that experienced growth releases each decade, a disturbance chronology is used to estimate the average level of decadal small-scale disturbance, and to approximate the timing of stand-level distur- bance events based on pulses in decadal release. The severity of a disturbance event is estimated by the percentage of trees released, with a stand-level disturbance defined as growth release in a minimum of 25% of stems (Lorimer 1980, Nowacki and Abrams 1997). We identified growth releases using criteria developed in previous studies of Fagus and Quercus growth response to disturbance (Lor- imer and Frelich 1989, Nowacki and Abrams 1997). Moderate and major releases for Fagus were defined as growth changes of 50–100% and . 100% (Lorimer and Frelich 1989). Moderate and major releases for Quercus species were defined as growth changes of 25–50% and . 50% (Nowacki and Abrams 1997). Using all cores, percent growth change (GC) was calculated for all years using prior (Mp) and subsequent (Ms) ten-year growth means: GC 5 [(Ms 2 Mp) / Mp] 3 100. Running comparisons of sequential ten-year means were made and release dates were assigned to years in which the maximum GC reached the pre-determined threshold (Now- acki and Abrams 1997). We examined growth changes based on ten-year averages to filter out short term tree responses to climate while detecting sustained growth responses caused by disturbance (Lorimer and Frelich 1989, Nowacki and Abrams 1997). Disturbance events resulting in growth suppression (GC 5 50% or less) from structural damage to surviving trees were identified using crossdated subsamples (Foster 1988). Results. FOREST HARVESTING. In the early colonial period, valuable tree species (i.e., Quercus spp., Sassafras albidum Nutt., and Chamaecyparis thyoides L.) were selectively, and in some cases heavily, cut from the study area for shipping timbers and other special uses (Fig. 2, Appendix, Emerson 1935). Addi- tionally, a major logging operation from 1824– 1827, employing 10–20 men, clear-cut much of the West End and portions of the East End forest (Fig. 2). Detailed records indicate that there has been minimal cutting in continuously forested areas over the past . 150 years under the current ownership (Appendix). DOMESTIC AND NATIVE HERBIVORES. Nau- shon Island supported a large domestic sheep population through much of the historical period, peaking in the mid 19th century with . 2,000 sheep (Figs. 2, 3; Emerson and Leon 2003). The number of sheep remained high through the 19th century, and then declined in the 20th century. White-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginiana) are native to Naushon Island, and have maintained a population ranging from 50–500 over the past 200 years (Fig. 3). Whereas sheep grazing was largely restricted to open pastures in the central and far eastern and western portions of the island (Emerson 1935, Raup 1945), deer browsing undoubtedly occurred in continuously forested areas throughout the historical period. In the Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:49 349 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 FIG. 2. Timeline of human activities and live- stock and deer impacts on Naushon Island for the past 400 years. 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 349 1980s, coyotes (Canis latrans) established on the island and quickly reduced the populations of both deer and sheep. The deer population has since recovered to . 100 animals, but the sheep population remains low (G. Leon, unpubl. data). WIND DISTURBANCE AND FIRE HISTORY. The HURRECON model identified 58 storms that impacted the study area since 1620 (frequency 5 0.15/year, Fig. 4). We found historical descriptions of storms affecting Naushon Island for only 16 hurricanes. Historical descriptions were restricted to the most intense storms and indicate high variability in forest damage among storms (Appendix, Busby 2006). We found little documentary evidence of fire on Naushon Island for the historical period. Large forest fires would almost cer- tainly have been recorded in the detailed historical records available for the island. The absence of such records suggests that few fires occurred in permanently wooded areas during the past 200 years. VEGETATION HISTORY. Historical descrip- tions of Naushon and nearby islands provide information on pre-settlement vegetation, and help to document changes in landscape conditions since colonization. In 1602, forests on Cuttyhunk Island, approximately 10 km southwest of Naushon and also part of the Buzzard’s Bay moraine, were described as: ‘‘…full of high timbered oaks, their leaves thrice as broad as ours, cedars, straight and tall; beech, elm, holly, walnut trees [hickory] in abundance’’ (Appendix). Given the close proximity and similar geological history of these islands, the vegetation on Naushon Island may have been comparable at the time, with Quercus spp., Fagus, and Carya spp. dominating upland forests, and Chamaecy- paris thyoides restricted to wetlands (Foster et al. 2002). Although we found few descriptions of forests on Naushon Island from the 17th and 18th Centuries, paleoecological reconstructions indicate that Quercus spp. and Fagus were common, with lesser amounts of Carya, Pinus, Acer, and Nyssa (Foster et al. 2006, W. W. Oswald and D. R. Foster unpub. data). Historical descriptions indicate that Fagus and Quercus spp. were the dominant tree species on Naushon from at least the early 19th century. (Appendix). In 1815 it was estimated that three fifths of the island’s trees were Fagus, while the remaining trees were Quercus spp., Carya spp. and Pinus spp. (MHS 1815). In 1856, Henry David Thoreau visited Naushon Island and wrote: ‘‘I was surprised to find such a noble primitive wood, chiefly beech, such as the English poets celebrate, and oak (black oak, I think)…’’ (Torrey and Allen 1962). Fagus and Quercus spp. persisted into the 20th century. In 1930, J. M. Fogg reported that: ‘‘In some regions…these woods present an almost pure stand of beech, in others there is considerable admixture of oak, hickory, hop Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:50 350 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 FIG. 3. Historical changes in sheep (introduced to Naushon in 1684) and native deer populations on Naushon Island (Emerson and Leon 2003). Deer populations . 10 per km2 (equivalent to 224 animals on Naushon) are thought to negatively affect tree regeneration (Healy 1997). FIG. 4. HURRECON reconstruction of hurri- canes affecting the study area (1620–1997). An average of 6.5 years elapsed between hurricanes. F0 5 wind speeds 18–25 m s21, minor damage to buildings and broken branches and shallow-rooted trees uprooted; F1 5 26–35 m s21, buildings unroofed or damaged and single trees or isolated groups blown down; F2 5 36–47 m s21, buildings blown down or destroyed and extensive tree blowdowns; F3 damage 5 48–62 m s21, buildings blown down or destroyed and most trees blown down (see Boose et al. 1994, 2001 for details of HURRECON). 350 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 hornbeam, maple and black gum’’ (Fogg 1930). MODERN FOREST CONDITIONS. Fagus trees dominated all study plots, accounting for . 96% of stems. Quercus spp. accounted for the remaining stems; other species (Acer rubrum L. and Ostrya virginiana Mill.) made up , 1% of stems and were excluded from age structure and growth analyses. Fagus trees ranged in age from 26 to 204 years (median 5 61 years, N 5 433). Two major pulses of Fagus establishment occurred in the past 200 years—one following the logging in 1824–1827 that persisted for . 50 years and a second following the 1944 hurricane (Fig. 5). In addition, with the exception of 1910–1920, some Fagus estab- lished in every decade since 1800. The oldest trees in the study area were Q. alba, which ranged from 59 to 351 years (median 5 181 years, N 5 146) (Fig. 5). Q. alba establishment occurred in the late 1700s, followed by a period of increased establishment beginning in the 1820s. Q. velutina establishment occurred from 1820–1860, synchronous with the second period of Q. alba establishment. Q. velutina ranged in age from 108 to 196 years, with a median age of 152 years (N 5 68) (Fig. 5). GROWTH DYNAMICS. Greater than 25% of Fagus trees were released in the 1920s (28% of trees) and 1940s (37%) (Fig. 6a). Excluding these decades, 13% of Fagus trees experienced moderate or major release each decade (Fig. 6a). An average of 10% of Fagus trees showed suppression every decade. Decades with . 25% moderate and major releases in Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:04:53 351 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 FIG. 5. Tree establishment (binned by decades) for Fagus and Quercus spp. on Naushon Island. Quercus spp. sampled outside of study plots are not included. FIG. 6. Disturbance chronologies for Fagus grandifolia, Quercus alba, and Q. velutina. Bars above the x-axis indicate the percentage of released stems (moderate and major); bars below the x-axis represent the percentage of suppressed stems. The sample size of trees used in the release analysis is shown above the panels; the size of the sub-sample used for the suppression analysis is shown below. We report the percentage of stems showing release or suppression only for N . 10. 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 351 the Q. alba chronology were: 1820 (38% of trees), 1840 (35%), 1860 (27%), 1880 (27%), 1920 (32%), and 1940 (50%) (Fig. 6b). Ex- cluding these decades, the average level of Quercus alba release per decade was 13%. Abundant Q. alba suppression occurred in two decades (1810, 1830) which were also charac- terized by low levels of release (Fig. 6b). Two decades were characterized by . 25% Q. velutina release: 1840s (33% of trees) and 1960s (40%) (Fig. 6c). Excluding these de- cades, the average decadal moderate and major Q. velutina release was 14%. Major Q. velutina release events occurred when the even- aged cohort was young (1840–1870), while varying levels of moderate release occurred thereafter (Fig. 6c). Q. velutina suppression occurred in the 1940s (9% of trees) (Fig. 6c). Discussion. Temperate forests across the eastern U.S. are characterized by complex histories of natural and anthropogenic distur- bances (Williams 1989, Whitney 1994, Foster and Aber 2004). However, attempts to evalu- ate the influence of such complex histories on forest composition and dynamics are frequent- ly limited by the lack of detailed information on both disturbance history and changes in forest composition over time. On Naushon Island, detailed historical records for the past . 300 years, in combination with dendroeco- logical analyses, provided an unusual oppor- tunity to document disturbance history and historical changes in forest composition. Our results suggest that modern Fagus-dominated forests developed as a result of species-specific responses to multiple disturbances through the historical period, including forest harvesting, hurricanes, and deer herbivory, and the absence of fire. Thus, our results support a growing body of literature that highlights the importance of disturbance interactions in shaping long-term forest structure and com- position (e.g., Veblen et al. 1994, Pickett and Peterson 1995, Bigler et al. 2005, Cowell and Hayes 2007). STAND DEVELOPMENT. Early historical de- scriptions and paleoecological data indicate that mixed forests of Quercus spp. and Fagus, along with several less abundant species, were widespread at the time of European settle- ment. Several factors apparently contributed to the decline in Quercus spp., and an increase in the relative importance of Fagus in the past 200 years. Selective logging of highly valued Quercus spp. may have reduced their abun- dance, as has occurred elsewhere in the eastern U.S. and in Europe (Vera 2000, Cogbill et al. 2002, Abrams 2003). However, a large clear- cut in the 1820s initiated abundant Q. alba and Q. velutina (and Fagus) establishment and the second biggest pulse of Q. alba release in the study period. Following heavy cutting, Quer- cus spp. may re-sprout from the root collar or establish from seed, with sprouts and seedlings thriving in open conditions (Roberts 1990, Sander 1990, Abrams 2003). However, a lack of substantial cutting in the past . 150 years has resulted in little further establishment by Quercus spp. (Abrams 2003). In the eastern U.S., fire-adapted ecosystems often contain Quercus spp. capable of surviv- ing fires or establishing from seed or sprouts after fires. Fire suppression, in combination with selective cutting, has contributed to a regional decline in Quercus regeneration (Abrams 2003). The lack of fire in the study area during the historical period has presum- ably contributed to Quercus declines by maintaining conditions unfavorable for Quer- cus establishment, while allowing for an increase in fire-intolerant Fagus (Tubbs and Houston 1990). Hurricane history has apparently also con- tributed to the increase in Fagus over the past . 150 years. Fagus in the study area have higher rates of average decadal release than those in inland forests (Lorimer 1980, Lorimer and Frelich 1989). We suspect that this results from the high frequency of low-moderate intensity hurricanes on the coast, which create scattered canopy gaps that initiate growth release among understory Fagus (Busby 2006). While most such hurricanes have not resulted in substantial establishment of Fagus or Quercus spp., they provide a mechanism for Fagus seedlings and saplings to reach the canopy, and thus contribute to an increase in Fagus abundance relative to less shade-toler- ant Quercus species (Canham 1990). Results of our dendroecological analyses indicate that, in addition to frequent low- moderate intensity hurricanes, a major distur- bance affected the study area in the 1940s. We interpret this event as the 1944 hurricane based on documentation of severe damage (,1/5 of trees island-wide were reported to have been uprooted) and subsequent salvage operations (Appendix). Although the proportions of Fa- Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:00 352 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 352 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 gus, Quercus alba and Q. velutina uprooted by the hurricane are unknown, all were in the overstory at the time and were susceptible to damage and blowdown (Busby 2006). A high percentage of Fagus present in the understory experienced substantial growth releases, and Fagus established abundantly following the 1944 hurricane. Unlike Fagus, we observed no Quercus spp. regeneration in response to the 1944 hurricane. As Fagus, Q. alba, and Q. velutina were all previously common and were blown down by the storm, but only Fagus successfully established, the 1944 hurricane apparently resulted in a substantial increase in the proportion of Fagus relative to Quercus spp. High levels of herbivory undoubtedly also contributed to the relative increase in Fagus versus Quercus over time. Quercus spp. are more palatable to deer than Fagus and may decline in response to high browsing pressure (Tubbs and Houston 1990, Vera 2000, Tripler et al. 2005). Through the historical period, deer densities on Naushon ranged from 2–22 deer/km2, with substantially higher densities when expressed relative to the area of wood- lands. Elsewhere in the Northeast, deer densities . 10 per km2 have reduced Quercus rubra L. sapling abundance and overall sapling species richness (Healy 1997). Following the 1944 hurricane on Naushon, H. M. Raup observed that deer browsing in forested areas restricted Quercus and Carya regeneration, while Fagus reproduction was abundant (Raup 1945; Appendix). We suspect that deer herbivory favored Fagus over Quercus. spp. through the histor- ical period, and that this was particularly important following the 1944 hurricane. How- ever, if herbivory alone prohibited Quercus spp. establishment, Quercus regeneration would have been expected to increase follow- ing a drastic reduction in the sheep and deer populations in the 1980s; this did not occur. Thus, selective herbivory is not the only mechanism responsible for Fagus dominance (Gross et al. 2000). Rather, Quercus spp. regeneration requires not only release from herbivore pressure but also open canopy conditions created by fire, heavy cutting, or other disturbances (Abrams 2003). To summarize, several interacting factors resulted in the rise in Fagus dominance over the past . 300 years. Early selective harvesting of Quercus spp. accompanied by intense herbivory and frequent, low-moderate intensi- ty hurricanes favored Fagus over Quercus spp. Although a large clear-cut operation in the early 19th century resulted in both Quercus spp. and Fagus establishment, thereafter, a century of limited harvesting but frequent low-moder- ate hurricanes encouraged Fagus but little Quercus spp. regeneration. A severe hurricane in 1944, accompanied by selective herbivory of Quercus seedlings, accelerated the develop- ment of Fagus monodominance by releasing Fagus saplings and initiating abundant Fagus establishment. In the absence of severe distur- bance that may allow Quercus spp. to regen- erate, we expect the relative importance of Fagus to continue to increase as mature Quercus spp. begin to die off. GEOGRAPHIC VARIATION IN BEECH STAND DYNAMICS. Unlike the gap dynamics model of beech regeneration that has been described throughout much of its geographic range (Ward 1961, Leak 1975, Canham 1990, Tubbs and Houston 1990, Poage and Peart 1993), beech regeneration in the study area has occurred in pulses related to severe distur- bance (e.g., after the early 19th century cutting event and the 1944 hurricane). Importantly, our results confirm the importance of wind disturbance for the establishment and persis- tence of beech (Russell 1953). The ability of beech to develop abundant root-sprouts in response to crown, stem or root damage contributes to successful regeneration after wind disturbance (Putz and Sharitz 1991, Cooper-Ellis et al. 1999). For example, fol- lowing a catastrophic tornado in northern Pennsylvania, Peterson and Pickett (1995) reported that 66% of beech stems originated from sprouts and 33% from seed. We suspect that root sprouting was similarly important in beech response to the 1944 hurricane. Positive growth change following the 1944 hurricane is a second line of evidence suggest- ing that wind disturbance may be important for the establishment and persistence of beech. The high frequency of substantial growth increases among understory trees confirms the importance of advanced regeneration in establishing dominance following wind distur- bance (Zimmerman et al. 1994, Bellingham et al. 1995, Peterson and Pickett 1995, Cooper- Ellis et al. 1999). This behavior is similar to beech growth following the severe hurricane that struck central New England in 1938 (Merrens and Peart 1992), and following a Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:01 353 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 353 moderate hurricane that struck Florida in 1985 (Batista et al.1998, Batista and Platt 2003). However, unlike results from this study, no long term increase in beech abundance was observed or predicted by Merrens and Peart (1992) or Batista et al. (1998). In Florida, at the southern edge of beech’s geographic range, beech apparently do not develop root sprouts, which may help explain why a positive long term effect of hurricanes on the beech population was not observed. In central New England, where hurricanes occur less frequent- ly than along the coast, a single hurricane may release beech or initiate sprouting, but beech may be subsequently overtopped and the positive effects of the disturbance may be short-lived (Peterson and Picket 1995). As a result, in inland northern hardwood forests, beech typically requires several periods of release before reaching the canopy (Canham 1990, Poage and Peart 1993). Conclusion. Numerous prior studies at- tempting to relate disturbance history to changes in species composition and richness over time have focused on simple systems characterized by disturbances of a single type, assuming that ‘pioneer’ species are favored by frequent disturbance, whereas superior com- petitors are favored in the absence of distur- bance (e.g., Connell 1978). Results of this study, and others (e.g., Collins et al. 1995), do not support such a trade-off between the ability to withstand disturbance and compet- itive ability. In coastal environments charac- terized by complex disturbance history, Fagus has both a superior competitive ability (pro- nounced shade tolerance) and a superior ability to tolerate disturbance (through ad- vanced regeneration and sprouting). Thus, rather than following generalized models relating species composition or richness to disturbance frequency or intensity, our results highlight the importance of individual species responses to complex and interacting distur- bances in controlling changes in forest com- position over time (Veblen et al. 1994, Pickett and Peterson 1995, Bigler et al. 2005, Cowell and Hayes 2007). In our coastal study area, modern Fagus dominance developed in re- sponse to such a complex history of natural and human disturbance over several centuries. Interestingly, Fagus was apparently equally abundant in the study area and other coastal sites at various times before European coloni- zation (Foster et al. 2002, Foster et al. 2006), having undoubtedly developed in response to differing disturbance regimes. 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Historical descriptions of Naushon and nearby Elizabeth Islands. 1602 ‘‘On the outside of this Island [Cuttyhunk] are many plane places of grass, abundance of strawberries and other berries…This Island is full of high timbered oaks, their leaves thrice as broad as ours, cedars, straight and tall; beech, elm, holly, walnut trees in abundance’’ (Brereton in Quinn and Quinn 1983). ‘‘[Cuttyhunk]…is overgrown with wood and rubbish, viz. oaks, ashes, beech, walnut, witch-hazel, sassafras and cedars…’’ (Archer in Quinn and Quinn 1983). Cedar and sassafras were harvested from the Elizabeth Islands by Bartholo- mew Gosnold’s crew (Emerson 1935). 1682 ‘‘mostly good land…tho something unsub- dued…a very rugged place’’ (Winthrop in Emerson 1935). 1684 First tenant farmer on Naushon Island (Emerson 1935). 1696 From the Captain’s Log, H.M.S. Falkland: ‘‘In this place [Naushon Island] is but one small house in which live one family the Island affords wood and sum deare for other convenient very barren land but being obledged for severall reasons and necessaries we are happy in our safe arrival’’ (Emerson 1935). Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:02 356 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 356 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 1699 Lease, Winthrop to tenant farmer: ‘‘And shall not cut or fell any the red cedar trees nor make any strip or waste of the white cedar trees upon the said land except such of the white cedars as shall be needful for the building and fences upon the said farme and the repairs thereof’’ (Emerson 1935). 1700 Letter from Matthew Mayhew to Wait Winthrop: ‘‘Sr. you may please call to mind you promised to let me have cedars [1,000] for inclosing my field, out of the swamps at Nashawna’’ (Emerson 1935). 1718 Letter from Thomas Lechemere regarding illegal sale of cedar by Naushon tenant farmer: ‘‘…more accounts are told me concerning his carrying cedars to Nantucket whereupon I wrote him and told him it would not be allowed and directed him to desist there from’’ (Emerson 1935). 1765 ‘‘Bill for the Preservation of Moose and Deer on Tarpaulin Cove Island and Nennemessett Island’’ passed in the Massachusetts Legislature (Emerson 1935). 1776 ‘‘The said Commissary, be and hereby is directed with the assistance, or the soldiers on said station, to build as many log houses with timber on said Island as will be sufficient for the reception of 70 or 80 men [rebels]’’ (Emerson 1935). British soldiers set fire to ‘‘everything that would burn, so that neither house, barn, hay nor Indian corn that could be met with escaped the Flames, nor did the live stock share a better fate for what could not be carried off was shot’’ (Emerson 1935). 1801 Diary of Josiah Quincy: ‘‘The soils of this Island are weak and sandy. All of the cluster appeared destitute of wood, although I was assured there was enough in the interior. On Nashant deer run wild and are protected to the proprietor by an act of Legislature’’ (Emerson 1935). 1807 James Bowdoin to Albert Gallatin: ‘‘…the Island of Naushon is appropriated to grazing and to the rearing of horses, cattles and sheep principally the latter; as the Island is long and narrow and has many landing places, it is much exposed to be robbed of its stock; owing to the circumference I have obliged to erect houses and to attach families to them unprofitably for the sake of protecting stock. The same circumstance required me to build a house and connect there with 200 acres of land for a Tavern for the accommodation of the sea men belonging to vessels which anchors on Tarpaulin Cove Harbor…[who]…frequently kill the stock and steal both timber and fire wood from ye island’’ (Emerson 1935). 1813 From the Captain’s Log, H.M.S. Albion: ‘‘Still in Tarpaulin Cove. Daylight sent the boat for wood and water’’ (Emerson 1935). 1814 From the Captain’s Log, H.M.S. Nimrod: ‘‘Anchored in Tarpaulin Cove…sent boats for water…carpenters on shore cutting wood’’ (Emer- son 1935). 1815 ‘‘There are on it [Naushon] four farms, four dwelling houses, at which are milked 40–50 cows. The soil in the eastern part is a sandy loam and good; in the western part it is light, and not so good. The principal part of the mowing land is at the east end…Nashaun is well wooded: the other Elizabeth Islands, except Nanamesset, have no wood. About 3/5 of trees are beech: the remainder of the wood is white and black oak, hickory, and a little pine. About K of the island is in wood and swamps; and in the swamps grow white cedar. Some fire wood is sold, and transported from the island. Very little ship timber remains, not more than 300 tons; but it is of a superior quality’’ (Winthrop in MHS 1815). 1817 ‘‘While all the Elizabeth islands west of it have been stripped of their woods, the trees here, consisting of beech, pine, oak, and hickory, have been carefully preserved, and afford shelter to a hundred deer, one of which bounded across our path at a little distance before us’’ (American Review 1817). 1823 ‘‘…[West end forest] generally to be in a state of decay and great deterioration… the wood on the aforesaid large tract which is oak and particu- larly the larger and older oak are in a state of actual decay and that they are growing worse daily…- Quantity of beech is great, but great deal of wood is in a state of decay and deterioration. No walnut wood, except some dead or dying trees…the woodland at this end [East End] is more valuable and the growths more thrifty – there is a large proportion of oak on the same and that it is young and sound generally and that the beech wood is also thrifty and healthy and valuable…The oak timber on this said east end is also generally better than on the west end of this Island’’ (SJC 1823). 1824 ‘‘I have taken a partial view of the timber on Naushon Island. I find there is a tract of the best timber land I have seen in this part of the country, say, timber suitable for ships, from 300 to 400 tons…the timber is white oak and yellow bark oak’’ (Emerson 1935). ‘‘And as there are many places where the trees are all old and going to decay and no young wood to sprout and therefore no matter what season cut, it might be well to continue the ten best men through the season chopping – the foregoing calculation upon the supposition that about 3,000 cords are to be cut the next spring’’ (Towne in Emerson 1935). ‘‘When the wood choppers had come and gone, leaving behind them a great denuded area, the island returned to its peaceful routine. Many vessels still stopped at the Cove and vegetables, meat and cheese were still in demand, but the farms were on the wane. Those at the French Watering Place and the Tall Farm were abandoned’’ (Emerson 1935). 1825 ‘‘The Island is extremely well wooded, a great number of men being now employed cutting timber from it, about thirty horses are annually raised for market from the farm, and a vast number of sheep find rich pasture in its forest and upon its waste land’’2 (Emerson 1935). 1838 ‘‘Account of Wood on Hand, 121 cords at the Cove, 20 K at North Wharf, 2 K at Lower Landing, and 5 in Cottage Woods’’ (Emerson 1935). 1841 Oct. 3 1841 ‘‘A gale from the north-east commenced in the morning and in the course of the Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:03 357 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 2 The accuracy of this description of sheep grazing in forests is questionable. The quote is taken from an article written in the Barnstable Gazette, which falsely described 200 British soldiers stationed on Naushon Island in the Revolutionary War (Emerson 1935). 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 357 afternoon and night blew most violently and undoubtedly was the heaviest storm which has occurred since the memorable one of 1815….Tues- day afternoon took a ride in the woods; sad havoc the storm has made there. The ground is covered with leaves torn from the trees; large limbs are wrenched and twisted off; many of the time honored and venerable old oaks and beech lie prostrate with an air of grandeur about them even in their lowly estate. The air is fragrant with the odor of bruised and crushed leaves: the roads and paths are blocked up in many places with trees uprooted and lying across them’’ (Forbes and Gregg 1979). 1856 ‘‘…I was surprised to find such a noble primitive wood, chiefly beech, such as the English poets celebrate, and oak (black oak, I think), large and spreading like pasture oaks with us, though in a wood. The ground under the beech was covered with withered leaves and peculiarly free from vegetation. On the edge of the swamp I saw great tupelos running up particularly tall, without lower branches, two or three feet in diameter, with a rough, light colored bark….No sight could be more primeval…’’ (Thoreau in Torrey and Allen 1962). 1860 John Gifford sold $84.13 worth of wood in 1860, $65.39 in 1861, and $13.90 in 1862 (Forbes and Gregg 1979). 1869 ‘‘September…It was the greatest gale since the famous September gale of 1815. The ‘‘Apollo’’ tree in the amphitheatre was rooted up, and many other fine trees’’ (Hughes 1902). 1870 ‘‘…nearly the whole of the rugged isle is covered with thick woods, in which paths and carriage tracks have been cut…rich oak and beech woods’’ (Bryce 1870). 1875 Thinning along roads, for example: ‘‘I have this marked for culling about 100 old trees on Main Road between Grapevine Walk and Yellow Gate, and about 100 more from Red Gate (at Trotting Course) along Ridge Road as far as Amphitheatre Path, including 100 yards or so on said path – also including some on the south ridge of the valley where Robert’s grave stands’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). Additional thinning along South Bluff road: ‘‘Along the ridge from the Cove to the Black Woods seems to have been left a strip of the original forest now chiefly fine old oaks and beech. I have, along the wood road, tried…thinning out the beech saplings and sprouts around any good oaks and I mean to extend this plan’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). Very few descriptions of thinning in contin- uously forested areas were found: ‘‘The Black Woods and beech woods are fine bodies of wood with many old trees which we gradually thin for fuel’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1882 Thinning along roads: ‘‘They have made quite a show in thinning along the Gap in the Wall Road to the north end of Painted Path, and some on the Cove Road. I have marked some 80 trees with O with a limit of 12 ft. to be cleared around each’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1898 ‘‘We were at the bottom of a hollow, where the trees grew straight and tall; but as I looked about me, following the sides of the hollow up, I observed that the trees immediately about me grew no taller than the top of the hollow. They were tall because their growth started from the very bottom; and by just so much as the other trees were rooted higher along the sides of the hollow, but just so much they were shorter than those rooted in the depths. All growth was checked at the top of the hollow. Those trees which grew near the top, where the wind could dive in upon them, were like the cedars you see in the sand hollow along a beach. Their branches had been blown on so from one direction that they all grew leeward’’ (Kobbé 1898). 1898 Winter gale: ‘‘probably wrecked 1,000 trees on Naushon…you would be surprised to see the tremendous number of trees that are down every- where through the woods…that whole hillside sloping north looks like a battleground; it is so thick with the fallen bodies of trees’’ (Forbes and Gregg 1979). 1902 ‘‘Probably 50 chords (of firewood) this winter will round up all traces of the gale of 1898, and the dead and dying trees that have fallen since, as well’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1901 ‘‘The forest growth was a revelation, as most of it had all the appearance of never having been disturbed by civilization. The trees are in every stage of growth, from seedling and small saplings to those which are in their prime or past it, while lying on the ground, where they have fallen naturally, are the decaying trunks of former generations…In certain sections there are acres of forest where this tree [beech] monopolized fully nine-tenths of the growth, and a complete tree census of the island would undoubtedly show it to be in a considerable majority…Another peculiar effect is also produced by these conditions in the relative heights of trees. The trunks of those which grow in the bottom of any depression are tall, while those on the sides are successively shorter and shorter, according as their location approaches the summits’’ (Hollick 1901). 1911 ‘‘The Forbes family, as the last ‘Masters of Naushon,’ has emulated successfully its predecessors in the high ideals of the establishment created by the Winthrops and Bowdoins, and it bids fair to pass on under their tenure with this unique reputation untainted by commercial exploitation’’ (Banks 1911). 1918 ‘‘…Naushon alone attests to the noble forests of the past’’ (Pratt in Dunwiddie and Adams 1994). 1916 ‘‘Trees, in stretches of miles; beech, oaks, most numerous; - many of them hung with moss, looking like bearded Druids; some coiled in the clasp of huge, dark-stemmed grape-vines’’ (Holmes 1919). 1924 ‘‘A hurricane struck the Island in August after three days of heavy rain. It was short-lived but violent, coming from the northwest and laying low a swath of trees from the vicinity of the Green Gate Wall across to the South Shore’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). ‘‘…we realized that a lot of trees had been blown down, and I went out the next day to clear trees that had fallen on the Main Road’’ (Forbes 1964). Post-hurricane timber salvage (1926): ‘‘Chair- man reported that arrangements have been made for the sale of wood now being cleared out and cut up’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1928 ‘‘The hurricane which hit Florida on Sept 6 reached Naushon on the 9th [September] with gale winds and torrential rains. Cellars were flooded and trees were down, 28 on Lackey’s Bay Road alone. Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:03 358 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 358 JOURNAL OF THE TORREY BOTANICAL SOCIETY [VOL. 135 Except for the uprooting of trees no great damage was done’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1930 ‘‘The most conspicuous vegetational fea- ture of the islands, aside from the open grassy downs, is the dense growth of rather low beech woods which clothes the greater part of Naushon and smaller areas on some of the other islands…In some regions, like the area near French Watering Place, these woods present an almost pure stand of beech, in others there is considerable admixture of oak, hickory, hop hornbeam, maple and black gum. Almost the only portions of Naushon which are not wooded are those right along the shore or some of the higher exposed ridges in the central part of the island’’ (Fogg 1930). 1938 Sept. 21. ‘‘Terribly destructive hurricane hit the Island at extreme high tide. Pine Island was swept clean of its age-old cedars and all but washed away. At the Blue Hills Observatory the wind reached 186 mph’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). ‘‘A great many of the noblest trees on the island were blown down….Most of the trees on Cedar Island were blown down’’ (Forbes 1964). ‘‘The storm, by far the worst in many years, blew down thousands of trees, some of magnitude and beauty, but fortunate- ly most of those blown down showed that they had been defective in sundry respects, and once they had fallen and were cleared away, there were enough fine trees left so that the grandeur of the forest will be in no way impaired’’ (Annual Report 1939). 1944 Sept. 14. ‘‘The hurricane hit Naushon with 134 mph winds. All bath houses were destroyed and wharves and bridges damaged but the greatest destruction was to the trees. In many places the woods were flattened down to the ground in tangled masses’’ (Forbes 1964). ‘‘A survey of the woods after the 1944 hurricane shows that although the damage was very severe in several of the most heavily wooded regions, about two thirds of the island woods containing many very fine trees have not been appreciably injured…The forests were not seriously damaged by the hurricane of 1938, but were hard hit by that of September 1944. The wind came across the island from the southeast and blew down a large proportion of the heaviest stands of timber. The wind was gusty, so that the damage is not entirely uniform, leaving some stands relatively untouched and de- stroying others almost completely. In general, how- ever, most of the woods containing large trees were more or less affected’’ (Raup 1945). An estimated 1/5 of trees, or 30,000, blew down in the hurricane (Annual Report 1945). Post-hurricane timber salvage (1946–48): ‘‘So far the total amount removed is a little under 1,000 cords or less than 10% of the estimated total’’ (Annual Report, 1946). ‘‘To date Smith has sawed up about 330,000 feet of lumber, 90% of which is oak.’’ (Annual Report 1947) ‘‘H.D. Smith sawed over 200,000 board feet, chiefly oak, most of which remains unsold’’ (Annual Report 1948). 1945 ‘‘Forests composed primarily of white and black oaks, beech and hickory cover a large portion of the island of Naushon. Other species that appear commonly or occasionally are hop hornbeam, red maple, red oak, pitch pine, coastal white cedar, flowering dogwood, holly tupelo, red cedar, etc’’ (Raup 1945). ‘‘In spite of the fact that they [deer] do not eat it [Fagus] if other browse is available, many of the young beech sprouts in the east end have been severely nibbled back. Further more numerous oak seedlings have been reported early in the year but no young oaks are to be found. Also a place that was wired in by D.C. Forbes to keep deer and sheep out did show a good growth of oak as well as other young trees that he planted there’’ (Raup 1945). 1954 Aug. 31 ‘‘[Hurricane] Carol, with winds of 135 mph, struck Naushon at high tide. All bridges to Nonamesset were carried away and the Monsod boat house landed upside down in the swamp across the road at the head of Lackey’s Bay’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). ‘‘Hurricane Carol turned most of the leaves grayish-brown so that it looked like winter’’ (Forbes 1964). 1954 Sept. 11 ‘‘[Hurricane] Edna, with winds of almost 100 mph, did some damage to already weakened trees and structures but far less than ‘Carol,’ as the tide was low when it hit the island’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). ‘‘Hurricane Edna blew leaves off the trees that had been recently damaged by Carol’’ (Forbes 1964). 1954 Oct. 16 ‘‘[Hurricane] Hazel, the third hur- ricane to strike the islands this autumn, did immense damage to the trees. Clouds of wind-swept spray were driven right across Naushon. This final blast denuded the forest, already weakened by the previous storms, and actually killed great numbers of trees, especially on the south side of the Island. The forest has never recovered’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1955 Aug. 13 ‘‘[Hurricane] Connie did not do much harm at Naushon’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1955 Aug. 19 ‘‘[Hurricane] Diane, with winds reported at 74 mph, struck the Island hard, also at high tide. Tremendous rain (16 inches reported at Hartford) and heavy seas washed out the beaches and banks along the shores. Cedar Island lost all its cedar trees and Fisherman’s Island was badly denuded of trees and badly washed away in places’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1960 Sept. ‘‘[Hurricane] Donna again washed away the shores…the woods, which were just beginning to show signs of recovery from the past hurricanes were again badly battered. Although it seemed that the forest would never recover, nature has reasserted herself, and except for some blow- downs and areas of thickly crowded new growth, the forest has come back and regained much of its former beauty’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1985 ‘‘[Hurricane] Gloria hit with winds of 70 mph’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 1991 ‘‘In August, ‘‘Bob’’ hit the Island, going from east to south to west and creating many downed trees and from spray, caused much loss of foliage which sprouted out again later, in some cases flowering’’ (Emerson and Leon 2003). 2005 Fagus grandifolia dominates areas contin- uously forested throughout the historical period. In plots in dwarf Fagus stands, 96% of stems are Fagus and 4% are oak species. In intermediate sites, 98% are Fagus and 1% Quercus spp., and in tall plots 93% are Fagus and 6% Quercus spp. Other species found in study plots, but not used for age or growth analysis, included Acer rubrum and Ostrya virgini- ana. No Quercus spp. regeneration was observed in continuously wooded area, although oak have established in open areas. Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society tbot-135-03-05.3d 24/7/08 14:05:04 359 Cust # 08-RA-004R1 2008] BUSBY ET AL.: BEECH-DOMINATED FORESTS IN NEW ENGLAND 359 
work_ndpfxjuiovbl3gnypq64phrgu4	----	SF5 S&F_n. 23_2020 337 GIACOMO SCARPELLI FILOSOFIA SELVATICA. UNA RIVISITAZIONE DEL PENSIERO WILDERNESS 1. Una civiltà dai nervi scossi 2. Pennelli selvaggi 3. La bestia nell’uomo, l’uomo nella bestia 4. Il wilderness riattualizzato ABSTRACT: WILD PHILOSOPHY. REVISITING WILDERNESS THOUGHT The notion of nature has been changing during the last two centuries: from an antagonist that must be conquered, to the environment of which the Homo sapiens is part of. Perhaps this second notion of nature is subjective too. Thoreau considered nature a free creative force and a resource that can decrease but never grows. It is precious for manhood only if humanity understands it is independent and self-governing. Consequently, the man should preserve habitat and prevent its transformation in exclusively human world. But recreating a wild environment, isn’t it an artifice? Will nature be transformed in a mummified representation or pathetic caricature of itself? Does the preservation of wild nature really improve the quality of life? Probably yes, if preservation is not recreation, and if quality of life is quality of life of all species. Certainly, something good is coming for manhood because we will stop to think only of ourselves. 1. Una civiltà dai nervi scossi La natura oggi si è trasformata in ambiente, mentre la storia naturale in ecologia: la doppia metamorfosi concettuale è espressione dell’urgenza di salvare il pianeta. A queste rappresentazioni se ne lega un’altra che ha invece ascendenza secolare, il wilderness. Secondo la definizione di un atto emanato dal Congresso degli Stati Uniti nel 1964, per wilderness si intende una data porzione di territorio popolata di animali allo stato selvatico, in cui predominano le forze della ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 338 natura, in contrasto con le aree dove l’uomo e la sua opera costellano il paesaggio; un territorio protetto che pertanto può rappresentare una risorsa di tipo scientifico, educativo ed estetico. Il trascendentalista Henry David Thoreau, convinto che la natura fosse una risorsa che poteva decrescere ma non aumentare, affermava nell’infuriare della Guerra Civile che il wilderness (lo chiamava ancora wildness) costituiva un tesoro da salvaguardare piuttosto che da saccheggiare, poiché in esso era racchiusa l’intera «preservazione del mondo»1. E John Muir, il fondatore della più autorevole istituzione americana per la difesa dell’ambiente, il Sierra Club, osservava già nel 1898 come il wilderness fosse diventato una necessità di fuga per «migliaia di persone affaticate, dai nervi scossi e ipercivilizzate»2. Oggi il discorso varrebbe a maggior ragione, alla luce di pandemie ricorrenti: il wilderness potrebbe rappresentare un luogo d’asilo anche per chi è traumatizzato dalle conseguenze della globalizzazione. Entrambi gli autori, Thoreau e Muir, esprimevano in termini pratici le idee filosofiche di colui che era stato il loro capofila, Ralph Waldo Emerson. Questi aveva introdotto nel Nuovo Mondo un idealismo tedesco dagli echi panteistici e intendeva la natura come un simbolo metafisico o, più precisamente, l’ente spirituale stesso cui tendeva la psiche umana. In altri termini, wilderness significava una condizione mentale, a prescindere dall’intento di preservazione ecologica, poiché assumeva il rilievo di un valore assoluto, legato all’idea di qualità della vita, non soltanto fisica e materiale, ma anche e soprattutto sentimentale, etica ed estetica3. 1 H.D. Thoreau, Walking (1862), Arc Manor, Rockville 2007, p. 26. 2 J. Muir, The Wild Parks and Forest Reservations of the West (1898), in Nature Writings, The Library of America, New York 1997, p. 721. 3 Vedi R.W. Emerson, Nature, Munroe & Co., Boston 1836, e anche il saggio con lo stesso titolo, ma dal diverso contenuto, pubblicato in Essays, ibid., 1844, pp. 183-216. S&F_n. 23_2020 339 Un tempo si riteneva che la natura fosse il mezzo attraverso il quale Dio parlava agli uomini. E allora il continente americano, con la sua abbondanza di riserve incontaminate, teoricamente avrebbe dovuto essere in vantaggio sull’Europa, dove millenni di civiltà si erano stratificati, separando l’uomo dall’opera del Signore. Tuttavia, è anche vero che i primi coloni del Nuovo Mondo non erano ancora americani, bensì europei in fuga da terre che li affamavano o li perseguitavano. Essi consideravano il continente selvaggio scoperto da Colombo come un paese da conquistare, dissodare, rendere fertile, in nome del Cristo e delle diverse fedi da esso derivate. Questa opinione discendeva dalla tradizione religiosa e culturale secondo cui il mondo era stato donato agli uomini, la creatura prediletta dall’Altissimo, per il loro personale beneficio4. Non possedevano, i pionieri, un patrimonio intellettuale sufficiente per capire che quel paese selvaggio non era precisamente un nemico5. Del resto, i pionieri, impegnati ogni giorno per cercare di sopravvivere e per ricreare comunque una parvenza di vecchio mondo nel nuovo, non potevano soffermarsi ad ammirare e considerare la magnificenza di quelle terre. Erano strenuamente impegnati nella ricerca di cibo e sicurezza, e il wilderness appariva soltanto come un rischio costante e una fatica spossante6. Aristotele non aveva forse stabilito una precisa cronologia delle tappe culturali? Soltanto quando furono raggiunti «tutti i mezzi indispensabili alla vita» e «quelli che procurano benessere, agiatezza, gli uomini incominciarono a dedicarsi a una sorta di indagine scientifica» e anche filosofica7. 4 Cfr. W. Leiss, The Domination of Nature (1972), McGill-Queen’s University Press, Montreal 1994. 5 Vedi C. Culmsee, Malign Nature and the Frontier, Utah State University Press, Logan 1959. 6 R. Nash, The Cultural Significance of the American Wilderness, in M. McCloskey e J.P. Gilligan (a cura di), Wilderness and the Quality of Life, Sierra Club, San Francisco 1969, p. 96. Vedi anche M. Cioc e C. Miller, Roderick Nash – Interview, in «Environmental History», XII, 2007, pp. 399-407. 7 Aristotele, Metafisica, I, 982b. Cfr. G. Scarpelli, Bergson e la techne. Le origini della precisione, in «Intersezioni», XIV, 1994, pp. 229-242. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 340 Analogamente, è possibile che l’atteggiamento di stupore, ammirazione e partecipazione del colono americano per il wilderness nascesse soltanto dopo la conquista del continente, non durante la sua dura marcia verso l’Ovest, quando egli doveva rimboccarsi le maniche e lavorare, sempre tenendo a portata di mano lo schioppo. Kant aveva affermato nella Critica del Giudizio che il piacere del sublime per la natura selvaggia e incontaminata non implica tanto una gioia positiva quanto una meraviglia in senso negativo8. Il sublime suscita emozione e sgomento e inoltre ha carattere matematico e dinamico. Matematico perché prodotto dall’immensamente grande (montagne, foreste, firmamento) e dinamico perché prodotto dall’immensamente potente (oceano, vento, vulcani). Così, l’uomo da un lato scopre di essere piccola cosa e si sente schiacciato, ma dall’altro lato si accorge di essere superiore a ciò che è immensamente grande e potente, perché coltiva dentro di sé l’idea di ragione, intesa come totalità assoluta. Affermava Kant che sublime è ciò che per il solo fatto di poterlo pensare, attesta una facoltà dell’anima superiore a ogni misura dei sensi. Forse questa tesi, insieme alla lezione aristotelica, ci aiuta a capire il motivo per cui furono gli artisti, prima dei pionieri, a rapportarsi con il sublime americano. 2. Pennelli selvaggi Fino all’inizio dell’Ottocento la pittura americana fu contraddistinta dagli stilemi europei. Quando un artista riproduceva un paesaggio del Nuovo Mondo si rifaceva al manierismo pastorale, punteggiato di pecore, ruscelli, mucche e, sullo sfondo, qualche evidenza dell’opera dell’uomo. Nel 1823 Thomas Cole, giovane immigrato inglese, giunse nella Ohio Valley e fu 8 I. Kant, Critica del giudizio (1790), tr. it. Utet, Torino 1993 (l’«Analitica del sublime» è affrontata nella parte prima, sez. prima, libro secondo). S&F_n. 23_2020 341 affascinato dalla sua selvatica bellezza. Decise di abbandonare il vecchio stile figurativo e di dedicarsi a ritrarre cascate, boschi, montagne inviolate, cercando di cogliere lo spirito della vita selvaggia. In luogo di oggetti e animali domestici inserì nei propri dipinti alberi stroncati, nuvole e banchi di nebbia e dichiarò che la scenografia americana aveva caratteristiche opposte a quelle del Vecchio Continente: i coloni dovevano essere grati a Dio per aver creato quel paesaggio, ideale per la contemplazione del sublime e dell’eterno9. L’iniziativa di Cole sancì una sorta di dichiarazione d’indipendenza dell’arte americana (anche se va riconosciuto che egli risentiva dell’influsso del fiammeggiante romanticismo tedesco). Le prime concrete immagini del wilderness uscirono dunque dal pennello dei pittori piuttosto che dalla penna dei suoi teorici. L’arte di Cole e del suo allievo Frederic E. Church, e soprattutto di Albert Bierstadt raffigurò con sincera magniloquenza il Gran Canyon, Yellowstone, Yosemite, su tele di enormi dimensioni10. In seguito, come è noto, i pittori che fecero del Far West una leggenda furono Frederic Remington, Charles M. Russell, Charles Schreyvogel e altri, ma qui è necessario sottolineare il posto che spetta a un’altra corrente pittorica, la cosiddetta Brandywine School. Agli inizi del Novecento essa fissò nell’immaginario collettivo l’avventura nell’estremo Ovest, nell’estremo Nord e non solo. Howard Pyle, il fondatore della scuola, viene tutt’oggi considerato il padre dell’illustrazione americana. Tra i suoi più celebri allievi Frank Schoonover, Philip Goodwin, Dean Cornwell e il geniale Newell C. Wyeth11. Va tuttavia notato che se l’arte di Cole risaliva al tempo in cui il pioniere doveva lottare per la vita, diversamente l’arte della Brandywine School risaliva al 9 R. Nash, The Cultural Significance of the American Wilderness cit., pp. 69- 73. Vedi anche M. Lewis (a cura di), American Wilderness. A New History, Oxford University Press, Oxford 2007. 10 R. Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (1967), 3a ediz., Yale University Press, New Haven and London 1982, pp. 82-83. 11 J.E. Dell e W. Reed, Visions of Adventure. N.C. Wyeth and the Brandywine Artists, Watson-Guptill Publications, New York 2000. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 342 tempo in cui la Frontiera aveva ormai raggiunto il traguardo del Pacifico: il wilderness era diventato una deliberata ricerca di un piacere, di un brivido, del confronto con l’ancestrale e il primitivo. L’uomo rientrava in scena o, meglio, in azione. Era il momento del richiamo della foresta, che ebbe come aedo Jack London12. Quando l’idea di wilderness americano raggiungerà l’Europa, si mescolerà ad altre suggestioni esotiche, generate dall’espansione coloniale in Oriente, nel Pacifico e nel cosiddetto Continente Nero, e troverà nel Theodore Roosevelt di African Game Trails l’autorevole incarnazione di una simile miscela culturale13. In seguito, grazie al pensiero di Aldo Leopold, l’atteggiamento verso il wilderness si modificherà ulteriormente, in senso più decisamente etico. Leopold trasformerà il sentimento di istintivo trasporto verso la vita selvaggia in rispetto responsabile e in autentica scienza14. 3. La bestia nell’uomo, l’uomo nella bestia Oggi l’idea di wilderness che, come abbiamo visto, è strettamente associata a quella di ecologia e di ambiente, appartiene tuttavia a un tumultuante movimento di pensiero attraversato da correnti che non sempre si muovono nella stessa direzione. Il principio comune di base è che la conservazione della natura selvaggia vada considerata una risorsa che migliora la qualità della vita, ma le motivazioni che vi risiedono si presentano anche in contrasto fra loro e sono di natura non solo etica ed estetica, ma anche 12 Il celebre romanzo di Jack London, The Call of the Wild (Macmillan, New York 1903), fu illustrato da Philip Goodwin e da Charles L. Bull. 13 Anche African Game Trails (Scribner, New York 1910) fu illustrato da Philip Goodwin. Vedi inoltre C.C. Mann, 1493: How Europe’s Discovery of the Americas Revolutionized Trade, Ecology and Life on Earth, Granta, London 2012. L’economista catalano Joan Martinez Alier (The Environmentalism of the Poor: A Study of Ecological Conflicts and Valutations, Edward Elgar, Cheltenham 2002), ha auspicato un’alleanza tra i propugnatori del wilderness e le popolazioni native del Terzo Mondo. 14 A. Leopold, Pensare come una montagna (1949), tr. it. Piano B Edizioni, Prato 2019. S&F_n. 23_2020 343 religiosa, scientifica, psicologica e persino mistica15. In questa situazione confusa il filosofo forse se la cava meglio del cittadino comune, dal momento che il suo compito prevalente non è quello di dare risposte ma di porre domande. Circa la necessità di un «ritorno» alla natura, qualcuno afferma che si debba ragionare non soltanto in termini ecumenici – vale a dire la necessità della più ampia adesione a un progetto di salvaguardia – ma anche economici – vale a dire la questione della sostenibilità in rapporto al mercato. A ciò si potrebbe replicare che non di rado è la cultura che traina il mercato. John Davies, autorevole storico dello sviluppo industriale, ha per l’appunto dichiarato che il libero mercato è un’astrazione di comodo e che la cultura è il vero motore dell’economia16. Il wilderness, come l’ecologia, è dunque una forma di cultura che non prescinde nemmeno dalle istanze religiose, anche se, appunto, si tratta di atteggiamenti che vanno in direzioni diverse. Il Puritanesimo, fortemente insediato nel New England, aveva guardato ai territori selvaggi come un luogo di prova, lo sfondo per una purificazione spirituale, dove la corruzione morale della Vecchia Inghilterra avrebbe potuto essere definitivamente eliminata. In tal modo, colui che si fosse rifugiato in seno al wilderness avrebbe trovato nutrimento materiale e spirituale in nome del Signore17. Tuttavia, non è difficile individuare nell’idea wilderness anche valori che appaiono pagani, o per certi versi panteistici, una ricerca della verità dentro la realtà naturale. Thoreau definiva Dio come un «Qualcosa» di vicino, che si manifestava con la natura ed era immanente alla natura18. Al wilderness appartiene pertanto anche un sentimento di esasperato individualismo che non esclude la misantropia, la fuga 15 Cfr. H. Rolston III, Philosophy Gone Wild, Prometheus Books, Buffalo 1989. 16 Cfr. G. Scarpelli, Ingegno e congegno. Sentieri incrociati di filosofia e scienza, Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, Roma 2011, p. 140. 17 Vedi C. Albanese, Nature Religion in America, Chicago University Press, Chicago 1990, pp. 37-40. 18 H.D. Toreau, Walden, or Life in the Woods (1854), Houghton Mifflin, New York 1995, p. 129. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 344 dell’Homo sapiens dai co-specifici19. Esso rappresenta un rifiuto della società oppressiva e ipertecnologica, che si esprime come ritorno, ideale o fattuale, alla selva primeva, alla ricerca di una libertà ancestrale. Nietzsche scriveva nella Genealogia della morale: «Non intendo in alcun modo aiutare i nostri pessimisti a tirare nuova acqua ai loro stridenti e cigolanti mulini del tedio vitale: al contrario dev’essere espressamente attestato che allorquando l’umanità non si vergognava ancora della sua crudeltà, la vita sulla terra era più serena di oggi che esistono i pessimisti. L’offuscarsi del cielo al di sopra dell’uomo è andato aumentando in rapporto al fatto che è cresciuta la vergogna dell’uomo dinanzi all’uomo»20. Si tratta di un aspetto non estraneo al pensiero wild, almeno a livello immaginifico: essere crudeli tra le bestie come le bestie quale via per recuperare l’innocenza originaria. Da entusiasta dell’idea di Superuomo, Jack London combinava questi concetti con il principio di lotta per la vita darwiniana, per temperarli poi con un’ottimistica fede nel socialismo. Ai nostri giorni, certe propensioni possono nondimeno condurre a delusioni pericolose. Wildmen non ci si improvvisa, come hanno dimostrato negli ultimi anni imprese di dilettanti o velleitari che si sono concluse tragicamente, perché la natura autentica non perdona. Muir fu tra i primi ad averne consapevolezza: wild life può significare wild death, ed è inutile aspettarsi l’aiuto divino21. Giunti fin qui, il concetto di wilderness sembra assumere davvero tanti significati diversi fra loro o addirittura contrari. Il wilderness è una realtà e un ideale, in cui il cristiano si riscatta lo spirito, e anche dove il panteista avverte di essere 19 R.W. Gilbert, Notes from a Wilderness Layman, in M. McCloskey e J.P. Gilligan (a cura di), Wilderness and the Quality of Life cit., pp. 81-87. 20 F. Nietzsche, Genealogia della morale (1887), tr. it. Adelphi, Milano 2000, p. 55. 21 M. Cohen, The Pathless Way. John Muir and American Wilderness, University of Wisconsin Press, Madison 1984, p. 61. S&F_n. 23_2020 345 immerso nel divino, dove il pagano crede di non avere più freni alla propria libertà e il laico si sente moralmente nobilitato. È uno scenario di godimento estetico e però di sofferenza, nel quale è inutile raccomandarsi all’Onnipotente. Il wilderness è una fuga dal consesso civile e però salvaguardarlo richiede sostenibilità economica. È un nido di istinti primordiali che va protetto con l’impiego della ragione. L’uomo non vuole rinunciare al wilderness, ma nel wilderness l’uomo è meno importante della altre creature; anzi, perché esso continui a esistere l’uomo deve impedire a se stesso di violarlo. E allora, come recuperare il posto dell’uomo nella natura? Forse, non si tratta soltanto di sollecitare quel che di animalesco si trova nell’uomo, ma anche di individuare quel che di umano si trova nella bestia. Per Darwin infatti ogni specie prosegue nella successiva e lascia qualcosa di sé nella precedente. È più animale l’uomo che si comporta da bestia o la bestia che dimostra barlumi di affetto, di intelletto e persino di morale, come le scienze biologiche ritengono di aver determinato? Inoltre, qualsiasi specie per modificarsi fisicamente e nelle abitudini deve cambiare lì dove è immagazzinata l’informazione genetica. Ciò significa che gli animali possono assumere modificazioni nel comportamento a livello individuale, ma per tutto il resto l’adattamento ai mutamenti d’ambiente è estremamente lento, nell’ordine di migliaia o di milioni di anni22. Al contrario, per un essere umano se l’ambiente cambia, egli trova soluzioni adattative e la generazione successiva è già preparata ad affrontarla, poiché la trasmissione delle caratteristiche psico-comportamentali acquisite è praticamente immediata23. Di qui discende che se l’Homo sapiens scegliesse la via del recupero ambientale, le prossime generazioni sarebbero teoricamente in grado proseguirla. 22 Cfr. B. Commoner, The Closing Circle, Knopf, New York 1971. 23 Vedi A. Nisbett, La vita di Konrad Lorenz (1976), tr. it. Adelphi, Milano 1978, p. 276. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 346 4. Il wilderness riattualizzato Il moderno concetto di wilderness parte dal principio di tutela, che deve impedire il consumo di massa dell’habitat naturale, pena la sua irrimediabile trasformazione, appunto, in contesto umano, passibile di essere corrotto. Tuttavia, questa forma di trascendentalismo adattato in alcuni casi non è contraria alla fruizione degli spazi protetti, secondo dettami che non escludono aprioristicamente la caccia24. Le convinzioni anti-caccia e la scelta di un animalismo vegetariano sono per la verità generalmente bersagli polemici del pensiero wilderness, che in questo si distacca dal pensiero ecologista e le considera inadeguate, postmoderne e artificiose. Inoltre, ricreare artificialmente un ambiente selvaggio potrebbe risultare una contraffazione, trasformare la natura in uno spettacolo mummificato o in una sua patetica caricatura ad usum del turista: in altre parole, la «società dello spettacolo» finirebbe per trasferirsi e rovesciare lo spettacolo della natura in una natura- spettacolo. Nondimeno, il precetto wilderness non può essere applicato al Vecchio Continente – ad alta densità urbana e culturale – allo stesso modo che alle Americhe, all’Africa equatoriale, all’Asia tropicale e all’Oceania. Sarebbe improponibile. In Europa, per tradizione, è più rilevante l’albero che la foresta: la quercia, l’olmo, il tasso, il melo, il cipresso secolari sono una sorta di monumenti della tradizione, che risalgono all’epoca di San Francesco, di Chaucer, di Elisabetta I, di Newton, di Garibaldi25. L’Associazione Italiana Wilderness (AIW), per fare un esempio, si dichiara consapevole che nell’accezione di base la tutela delle aree selvatiche comporta un impegno continuo a non modificare determinate zone, e però si mostra favorevole a moderati prelievi di risorse rinnovabili. 24 J.F. Reiger, American Sportsmen and the Origins of Conservation, Winchester Press, New York 1975. 25 K. Thomas, L’uomo e la natura. Dallo sfruttamento all’estetica dell’ambiente (1500-1800) (1983), tr. it. Einaudi, Torino 1994. Vedi anche M. Agnoletti, Storia del bosco. Il paesaggio forestale italiano, Laterza, Bari-Roma 2018. S&F_n. 23_2020 347 Riguardo al territorio italiano, storicamente lavorato e umanizzato, pertanto vengono ragionevolmente abbandonati i presupposti di verginità di derivazione americana, spostando l’interesse dall’integrità ambientale all’integrità paesaggistica26. D’altra parte, persino Thoreau si era chiesto: è possibile combinare la durezza selvaggia con l’intellettualità dell’uomo civilizzato, amalgamare le due forme apparentemente antitetiche e recuperare l’una senza rinunciare alle conquiste dell’altra? Se la risposta fosse positiva, forse oltre che di un nuovo wilderness si dovrebbe parlare di autosufficienza: questo non significherebbe retrocedere obbligatoriamente a una qualità della vita idealizzata e primitiva, quanto piuttosto proseguire cimentandosi in un modo di vivere diverso, che comporta l’accettazione delle responsabilità di uomo e di individuo. Spetta all’uomo ponderare attentamente prima di agire e avvalersi dei propri poteri per interferire con la piramide della vita27. In definitiva, un’area selvatica potrebbe avere un proprio valore indipendentemente dal fatto che costituisca o meno una risorsa per gli umani28. Secondo Leopold i luoghi selvaggi sono le unità di base della natura e lo stato di salute di ciascuno di questi luoghi dovrebbe essere misurato sulla base della sua capacità di 26 Per un’idea dello stato dell’arte in Italia: M. Armiero e S. Barca, La storia dell’ambiente. Un’introduzione, Carocci, Roma 2004 e, a cura di M. Armiero e M. Hall, Nature and History in Modern Italy, Ohio University Press, Athens (Oh) 2010. 27 Cfr. J. Seymour, Il libro della autosufficienza (1976), tr. it. Mondadori, Milano 1989, pp. 7-11. 28 Vedi T. Regan, The Case for Animal Rights, University of California Press, Berkeley 1983; A. Brennan Thinking about Nature, University of Georgia Press, Athens (Ge) 1988. William Cronon (The Trouble with Wilderness; or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature, in W. Cronon (a cura di), Uncommon Ground: Rethinking the Human Place in Nature, Norton, New York pp. 69-90), ha affermato che il wilderness è una “invenzione culturale” dell’uomo civile per sottrarsi alle sue responsabilità di abitante delle metropoli. Vedi anche G. Scarpelli, Wilderness, in A. La Vergata, G. Artigas-Menant, J.J. Boersema (a cura di), Nature, Environment and Quality of Life, «Archives internationales d’histoire des sciences», LXIV, 2014, pp. 83-93; L. Robin, Wilderness in a Global Age, Fifty Years On, in «Environmental History», XIX, 2014, pp. 721-727. ALTERAZIONI Giacomo Scarpelli, Filosofia selvatica 348 autoregolazione29. Il valore reale del wilderness non risiederebbe quindi né nel passato né nel presente, ma nel futuro. Tuttavia, ciò implicherebbe un recupero del principio della biodiversità, un recupero che sarebbe realizzato attraverso alcuni cambiamenti fondamentali e definitivi: limitazione e controllo della tecnologia, modifica dello stile di vita, riconoscimento della diversità organica30. Il wilderness andrebbe perciò inteso come impegno etico nel suo significato più limitato e più ampio allo stesso tempo: una vera e propria filosofia d’azione. Potrebbe allora delinearsi la possibilità che civiltà e wilderness non siano due concetti strenuamente opposti. La civiltà, nella sua ricerca di un’etica rassicurante, trova conforto nella certezza che la fauna e la flora selvatiche ancora esistono e, del resto, il wilderness per esistere richiede pur sempre che la civiltà si assuma il compito di proteggerla. GIACOMO SCARPELLI sceneggiatore cinematografico e storico della filosofia e delle idee, insegna all’Università di Modena e Reggio Emilia. È Fellow della Linnean Society of London e della Royal Geographical Society giacomo.scarpelli@unimore.it 29 A. Leopold, Pensare come una montagna cit. Vedi anche J.M. Turner, Rethinking American Exceptionalism: Toward a Transnational History of National Parks, Wilderness, and Protected Areas, in A. Isenberg (a cura di), The Oxford Handbook of Environmental History, Oxford University Press, Oxford 2014, pp. 282-308. 30 P. Ehrlich, The Loss of Diversity, in E.O. Wilson, Biodiversity, Washington, D.C., Natural Academy Press, 1988, pp. 21-27. 
work_nec2qql3xrgg3feoq7bltzc5xq	----	12-Hist.Nat. 77/2-Jax 349ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATIONRevista Chilena de Historia Natural 77: 349-366, 2004 Ecological theory and values in the determination of conservation goals: examples from temperate regions of Germany, United States of America, and Chile Teoría ecológica y valores en la definición de objetivos de conservación: ejemplos de regiones templadas de Alemania, Estados Unidos de América y Chile KURT JAX1,2 & RICARDO ROZZI2 1UFZ Centre for Environmental Research Leipzig-Halle, Department of Conservation Biology, Permoserstr. 15, D-04318 Leipzig, Germany; e-mail: kurt.jax@ufz.de 2Omora Ethnobotanical Park, Universidad de Magallanes, and Omora Foundation, Puerto Williams, Chile; e-mail: ricardo.rozzi@umag.cl ABSTRACT The definition of conservation goals is a complex task, which involves both ecological sciences and social values. A brief history of conservation strategies in Germany (protection of cultural landscapes), United States (wilderness ideal), and southern Chile (preservation paradigm and the more recent interest in ecotourism) illustrates a broad range of conservation goals. To encompass such an array of conservation dimensions and goals, the ecosystem approach adopted by the Conference of the Parties of the Convention on Biological Diversity represents a good approach. However, to become effective, this kind of approach requires clarifying and agreeing upon basic concepts, such as ecosystem. To serve that purpose, we present a scheme that considers the selected phenomena, internal relationship, and the component resolution to define an ecosystem. We conclude that: (1) conservation traditions encompass interests in the preservation of both natural and cultural heritages, which also appear as mutually dependent dimensions. Hence, nature and humans are brought together as much in the goals as in the processes of conservation. (2) In the context of current global change, it is impossible to completely “isolate” protected areas from direct or indirect human influences. In addition, the current view of nature points out that biota and ecosystems will change over time, even in protected areas. Hence, in order to preserve species or habitats it is not enough to isolate protected areas, but it often requires active management and conservation actions. The two former conclusions suggest the need to revise the conservation approach that has been undertaken in the southern region of Chile, because (a) local people have been systematically excluded from protected areas, and (b) these areas lack personnel and facilities to conduct appropriate conservation and/or management programs. (3) Our analyses of the views of nature and conservation goals in different regions and/or historical moments demonstrate that these involve not only scientific criteria, but also philosophical, political and broader cultural, social and economic dimensions. Hence, effective conservation requires a greater degree of interdisciplinary and interagency cooperation. Key words: conservation, comparative approach, ecological theory, Chile, ecotourism, ecosystem management, Germany, images of nature, Magellan region, social values, Yellowstone. RESUMEN La definición de los objetivos de conservación es una tarea compleja que involucra tanto valores sociales como teorías ecológicas. Un breve análisis histórico de las estrategias de conservación en Alemania (protección de paisajes culturales), Estados Unidos (protección de áreas silvestres) y el sur de Chile (paradigma preservacionista y más recientemente ecoturismo) exhibe un amplio espectro de objetivos de conservación. Para abordar tal diversidad de objetivos y dimensiones de conservación, la aproximación de ecosistemas de la Conferencia de las Partes de la Convención de Biodiversidad representa una aproximación apropiada. Sin embargo, para que este tipo de aproximaciones sea efectivo se requiere clarificar y coincidir acerca de conceptos básicos, tales como el de ecosistema. Para facilitar este propósito, presentamos un esquema que considera los fenómenos seleccionados, las relaciones internas y grado de resolución de los componentes. Concluimos que: (1) las tradiciones de conservación demuestran un interés tanto por el patrimonio natural como cultural, dimensiones que además aparecen como mutuamente dependientes. Por lo tanto, la naturaleza y los seres humanos se reúnen tanto en los objetos como en los procesos que conciernen a COMMENTARY 350 JAX & ROZZI la conservación. (2) En el contexto del cambio global actual es imposible aislar completamente las áreas protegidas de la influencia humana directa o indirecta. Además, la actual perspectiva dinámica de la naturaleza enfatiza que las biotas y los ecosistemas cambiarán, aun en las áreas protegidas. En consecuencia, para preservar especies o hábitats no es suficiente “aislar” áreas protegidas, sino que a menudo se requieren acciones de conservación y manejos activos. Las dos conclusiones anteriores sugieren revisar la aproximación para la conservación adoptada en el extremo sur de Chile, debido a que (a) la gente local ha sido excluida de las áreas protegidas y (b) en estas áreas el personal y la infraestructura son insuficientes para conducir programas de conservación y/o manejo adecuados. (3) Análisis de las visiones de la naturaleza y de los objetivos de conservación en diferentes regiones y/o momentos históricos demuestran que estos involucran no solo criterios científicos, sino también dimensiones filosóficas y políticas, en contextos culturales, sociales y económicos. Por lo tanto, una conservación efectiva requiere promover un mayor grado de cooperación interinstitucional e interdiciplinaria. Palabras clave: Alemania, conservación, Chile, ecoturismo, Magallanes, manejo de ecosistemas, visiones de la naturaleza, teoría ecológica, valores sociales, Yellowstone. INTRODUCTION A significant number and diversity of people and institutions agree about the necessity of conservation today (Primack et al. 2001). However, in spite of this general agreement, defining conservation goals is a complex issue a n d t h e r e i s m u c h d i s a g r e e m e n t o n t h e questions of what to conserve and, moreover, how should this be done. At the same time, c u r r e n t g l o b a l i z a t i o n a n d l a r g e - s c a l e ecological, economic and social problems make i t n e c e s s a r y t o s e t p r e c i s e g o a l s f o r conservation actions (Figueroa & Simonetti 2003). Setting aside some areas and leaving them alone, protecting them by drawing lines or even fences around them is not enough (Pickett et al. 1997, Armesto et al. 1998, Bruner et al. 2001, Liu et al. 2001). First, environmental problems are no longer purely local or regional, but they have now an important global dimension ( C h a p i n & S a l a 2 0 0 1 ) . F o r e x a m p l e , atmospheric changes induced by humans, such as the Antarctic ozone hole or global warming due to greenhouse gases, are problems that affect and concern the planet and society as a whole (Vitousek 1994). Even more the causes and consequences of those changes are often s p a t i a l l y u n c o u p l e d , t h e y d o n o t s t o p a t national boundaries, and they may lead to sequels of hitherto unknown dimensions (Rozzi & Feinsinger 2001). A second reason to argue about the direction of conservation efforts is that it is becoming increasingly evident that conservation cannot b e d o n e a g a i n s t t h e p e o p l e a n d / o r b y completely excluding them from protected a r e a s , b u t o n l y w i t h t h e m ( A l c o r n 1 9 9 1 , Shaxson 1991, Toulmin 1991, Rozzi et al. 2 0 0 0 ) . L a c k o f p a r t i c i p a t i o n o f l o c a l communities has been a major cause of failure in many conservation projects (Abu Sin 1991), and at the same time, the rights of indigenous people and the value of traditional ecological knowledge has gained increasing recognition (Mark 2001)1, especially after the 1992 Earth Summit (Jardin & Kares 2000). W e a r g u e t h a t c o n s e r v a t i o n q u e s t i o n s cannot be delegated to science alone because they are also questions of values for at least three reasons: (1) humans are affected by conservation actions (Alcorn 1991, Armesto et al. 2001), (2) the role of humans within conservation must be discussed in the face of conflicting social interests (Jardin & Kares 2000, Rozzi et al. 2000), and (3) conservation e s s e n t i a l l y c o n c e r n s o u r m o r a l a t t i t u d e s t o w a r d s h u m a n a n d n o n - h u m a n n a t u r e (Callicott & Nelson 1998, Callicott 1999). This paper analyzes the role of ecological science and social values in the definition of c o n s e r v a t i o n g o a l s a n d d i s c u s s e s t h e difficulties of this definition. In particular, we d i s c u s s w h y n a t u r e a l o n e c a n n o t p r o v i d e unequivocal guidelines and how ecological theory can contribute to define conservation units and criteria. Going beyond the traditional role of ecology as a provider of empirical data and predictions, we emphasize the hitherto neglected heuristic role of ecological theory in clarifying conservation goals and connecting facts and values. We provide a historical introduction on the origins of protected areas in two Northern Hemisphere temperate countries, Germany and the United States, as two contrasting models. Following, we examine conservation criteria and policies involved in the protected areas of 1 MARK A (2001) Symposium: managing protected natu- ral areas for conservation, ecotourism, and indigenous people. Journal of The Royal Society of New Zealand 31: 811-812 351ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION the southernmost forests of the world, in the Magellan archipelago of Chile. We compare t h e C h i l e a n c a s e w i t h t h e N o r t h e r n H e m i s p h e r e c a s e s , a s w e l l a s w i t h m o r e r e c e n t c o n s e r v a t i o n a p p r o a c h e s i n v o l v i n g zoning and regulation of human activities w i t h i n p r o t e c t e d a r e a s . T h e s e e x a m p l e s display a wide range of possible conservation approaches and the values implied within t h e m . B u i l d i n g o n t h e s e e x p e r i e n c e s , w e finally discuss a novel approach for defining conservation goals, derived from ecological theory and ecosystem management concepts, which may help clarify the goals and the i n t e r f a c e b e t w e e n s o c i e t a l d e c i s i o n s a n d scientific knowledge. EXPERIENCES FROM THE NORTH: HISTORICAL AND RECENT CONSERVATION GOALS IN GERMANY AND THE UNITED STATES Conservation efforts and the establishment of t h e f i r s t p r o t e c t e d a r e a s s t a r t e d i n b o t h , Germany and the United States, in the 19th c e n t u r y . H o w e v e r , t h e m a i n e m p h a s i s o f conservation and the kinds of areas that were protected differed strongly on the two sides of the north Atlantic (Table 1). T h e f i r s t p r o t e c t e d a r e a i n G e r m a n y , e s t a b l i s h e d d u r i n g t h e 1 8 3 0 s , w a s t h e Drachenfels, a hill with an old castle ruin towering above the banks of the Rhine south of Bonn (Fig.1). The reason to protect it as a natural monument (Naturdenkmal) was the danger of a complete destruction of the castle and the mountain side pointing towards the Rhine by a quarry, which had already caused part of the old ruin to collapse. Later the area w a s g r e a t l y e x t e n d e d t o i n c l u d e t h e surrounding hills in the nature protection area (Naturschutzgebiet) in Siebengebirge. Both the hills of the Siebengebirge and the Drachenfels ruin, however, had a high symbolic value in the context of romanticism and the search for national identity in Germany, which at that time was divided into many small more or less independent states. The broader conservation movement in Germany was articulated and driven towards practical and political relevance most effectively by the musician Ernst Rudorff. Inspired by the traditions of romantic art and skilled in writing, Rudorff became the major spokesman of the new i d e a o f c o n s e r v a t i o n ( K n a u t 1 9 9 0 ) . T h i s conservation idea started not as a movement to p r o t e c t “ w i l d ” l a n d s c a p e s , b u t a s “Heimatschutz” (Dominick 1992, Knaut 1993), which meant the protection of the home country or home landscape (the “Heimat”). This was essentially the protection of cultural landscapes, that is of landscapes molded by centuries of extensive and use practices. “Heimatschutz” was an explicit reaction a g a i n s t t h e r i s e o f i n d u s t r i a l i z a t i o n a n d urbanization in Germany. It expressed the desire to secure what was conceived as the historical identity of the German nation, which during Rudorff’s time already existed as a unified state, s i n c e 1 8 7 1 . T h u s i n i t s f i r s t d e c a d e s , conservation was mainly Heimatschutz and the conservation of natural monuments, a word coined explicitly as a parallel to cultural monuments, meaning extraordinary singular features of nature like particular old trees or remarkable rock assemblages. TABLE 1 The beginnings of nature conservation in Germany and the United States Comienzos de la conservación de la naturaleza en Alemania y Estados Unidos Germany USA First protected area 1830s: first natural monument 1872: first national park (Drachenfels) (Yellowstone) Later extended to nature conservation area (Naturschutzgebiet Siebengebirge) Main emphasis of early Cultural landscapes, Wild landscapes, conservation protection of resources protection of resources Role of humans Equilibrium including humans Equilibrium excluding (modern) humans 352 JAX & ROZZI A n a d d i t i o n a l e m p h a s i s o f e a r l y conservation in Germany was the protection of natural resources, e.g., birds (but only “useful” birds; see Berlepsch 1899) or game (Rozzi et al. 2001). Human beings were not excluded from conservation but, as major agents of the development of the rural landscapes, they were i n c l u d e d i n t h e i d e a o f “ H e i m a t s c h u t z ” , h o w e v e r o n l y a s f a r a s t h e y d w e l l e d i n traditional, non-industrial lifestyles. I n c o n t r a s t t o t h e G e r m a n m o d e l o f “Heimatschutz”, conservation efforts in the United States emphasized the protection of “wild”, “untouched” landscapes, pursuing the “wilderness” ideal of Henry David Thoreau and John Muir (Nash 1982, Oelschlaeger 1991). The first park in the United States (state park at that time) was the Yosemite Valley in the Sierra Nevada of California, established in 1864 by the state of California. Later in 1890, Yosemite was declared a national park (Runte 1997). The first national park in the United States was established in 1872, namely Yellowstone National Park, which also constitutes the first n a t i o n a l p a r k o f t h e w o r l d . M o r e o v e r , Yellowstone can be considered the prototype of all national parks and has shaped this notion (Runte 1997, Sellars 1997). The area is situated in the northern Rocky Mountains of the United States, mostly in the state of Wyoming, and covers an area of almost 9,000 km2. It protected the wild landscape, which was perceived as not used and altered by humans. The main features which led to the establishment of this park were its magnificent l a n d s c a p e s , i n c l u d i n g m a n y g e o t h e r m a l features – geysers and hot springs – and abundant wildlife, including attractive large mammals, such as grizzly bears (Ursus arctos) and elk (Cervus elaphus) (Fig. 2A and 2B). Following the idea of wild landscapes, humans were explicitly excluded or at least considered irrelevant for the current appearance of the protected landscapes. This does not, however, imply that national parks were meant to exclude human visitors. The founding law of Yellowstone stated explicitly that the Park was created “for the benefit and enjoyment of the p e o p l e . ” U n t i l t o d a y t h e c r i t e r i a o f t h e International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources (IUCN 1994) for the establishment of national parks explicitly r e q u i r e r e s t r i c t e d p u b l i c a c c e s s . B e s i d e s Fig. 1: The Drachenfels hills at the banks of the river Rhine, south of Bonn, Germany. The remains of the quarry that endangered the hill and the castle in the early 19th century can still be seen. (Photo: Kurt Jax, early 2001). Las colinas de Drachenfels en las riberas del río Rin al sur de Bonn, Alemania. Los remanentes de las canteras que amenazaron a la colina y al castillo a comienzos del siglo XIX. (Fotografía de K Jax, a comienzos del 2001). 353ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION Fig. 2: The creation of the world’s first national park (established 1872), Yellowstone National Park, was motivated by the fascination provoked by its magnificent landscapes, including geysers (A) and its wildlife, including large mammals like Cervus elaphus (B). (Photos: K Jax 1998). La creación del primer parque nacional del mundo, Parque Nacional Yellowstone (establecido en 1872), fue motivada por la fascinación que provocaban sus magníficos paisajes (A) y su vida silvestre, que incluye grandes mamíferos como ciervo rojo (Cervus elaphus) (B). (Fotografías K Jax 1998). A B 354 JAX & ROZZI protecting wild nature, another emphasis of e a r l y A m e r i c a n c o n s e r v a t i o n w a s – a s i n Germany– the protection of natural resources, particularly forests, a current connected with the name of the forester Gifford Pinchot (see Norton 1991). The American idea of preserving wild nature has become very popular and has been the inspiration of conservation systems in southern South America (see below). However, what is often forgotten is the fact that national parks were never meant to completely exclude people. SIMILARITIES BETWEEN GERMAN AND NORTH AMERICAN MODELS OF CONSERVATION Evident differences place early conservation strategies in Germany and the United States at opposite ends of a gradient: culturally molded nature versus wild nature. At the same time, however, there are also important similarities b e t w e e n c o n s e r v a t i o n a p p r o a c h e s i n b o t h N o r t h e r n H e m i s p h e r e r e g i o n s , a n d t h o s e similarities have even become more apparent as knowledge about the conditions that prevailed in 19th century North America increased. A s i n G e r m a n y , t h e e s t a b l i s h m e n t o f protected areas in the United States was a reaction to the growing impact of humans on the landscape. In North America, human impact w a s n o t a s m u c h i n d u s t r i a l i z a t i o n a n d urbanization, but the extensive land use that reached the “untouched” western areas of the continent. In addition, the natural heritage of the wild and magnificent landscapes, protected in parks, was considered part of the identity of the American nation, as a substitute for the longer cultural heritage of the European nations (Nash 1982, Runte 1997). D u r i n g t h e 2 0 t h c e n t u r y t h e e a r l y conservation aims were criticized in many respects (e.g., as being to narrow or too conservative), and were changed in that course. The German tradition of conserving cultural landscapes was soon extended to particular (rare) species of plants and animals, which often depended on these habitats, and later to the protection of wild landscapes. In 1970, almost 100 years after the establishment of Yellowstone National Park, the establishment of national parks began also in Germany with the creation of the Bavarian Woods National Park, the first German national park. Today, there are 13 national parks in Germany, with a f e w m o r e i n t h e s t a g e o f p l a n n i n g o r negotiation. It is important to note, however, that to date most German parks do not fulfill the strict IUCN- criteria, which demand that at least 75 % of the area should be completely free of human use. Especially in the last decade, the traditional approach of German conservation has been criticized as being too conservative and antiquated, turning nature into a museum with species. Further, many of those species would not occur in those protected areas without human influence, and they will not survive without the perpetuation of these old practices or their substitution by other forms of active management. This debate is still prevailing. On the other hand, in the United States the n o t i o n o f “ u n t o u c h e d ” n a t u r e h a s b e e n seriously challenged (see Callicott & Nelson 1998). Recent ecological, anthropological, and geological research has demonstrated that the landscapes of North America were not in a “ p r i s t i n e ” s t a t e w h e n E u r o p e a n s a r r i v e d (Russell 1980, Callicott 1999). First, North American indigenous population was in the order of millions (Diamond 1999). Secondly, the notion of the American Indians as “noble savages” or “homo oecologicus” which had no significant impact on the natural setting has turned out to be an idealization. That simplified notion is as false as that of an almost “empty” country, waiting to be taken over by the white intruders (Mann 2002). The pendulum has swung back so far that some scholars see almost every landscape as influenced by land use practices of native Americans (e.g., Kay 1994; see Vale 1998 for a criticism). Similar doubts about the factual basis of the western wilderness idea have also been expressed for other parts of the Americas (e.g., Gomez- Pompa & Kaus 1992). Under this perspective, Yellowstone or other American national parks would also be “ c u l t u r a l l a n d s c a p e s , ” i f t h e y a r e t o b e protected as “vignettes of primitive America,” i.e., in the state which the first Europeans found them (as proposed in an influential paper by Leopold et al. 1963). In this case, humans, with their traditional land use practices would be included in American national parks as much as in traditional German “Naturschutzgebieten”. However, both the American and the German ideal would exclude modern man as a valid a c t o r , a v o i d i n g i n d u s t r i a l a n d u r b a n development in Europe, and non-indigenous European settlers in the United States. In contemporary conservation strategies t h e s e e m i n g ( a n d s o m e t i m e s r e a l ) contradiction between the German and United States contrasting conservation philosophies 355ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION becomes even less relevant. Several concepts have been developed aimed at reconciling conservation and human needs, which propose t h e d e s i g n o f p r o t e c t e d a r e a s i n c l u d i n g different zones subject to different intensity and type of human use. Hence, different conservation concepts – such as those of the c o n t r a s t i n g G e r m a n a n d U n i t e d S t a t e s traditions – would apply to different zones of a protected area. T h e z o n i n g c r i t e r i o n i s a n e s s e n t i a l component of the Biosphere Reserve concept launched by UNESCO through its Man and Biosphere (MAB) program in the 1970s. Each biosphere reserve includes three distinct zones: (1) core zone, strictly dedicated to protect “ w i l d e r n e s s , ” w h i c h i n v o l v e s c o m p l e t e exclusion of human activities (except regulated scientific research); (2) surrounding buffer areas, which are defined to permit or even foster traditional forms of land use which, in turn, may be essential to conserve the culturally founded diversity of habitats and species associated with those traditional practices; (3) transition areas, where productive and other economic activities and infrastructure are permitted (Jardin & Kares 2000). In southern South America, zoning criteria have been implemented as a mean to reduce u s e r c o n f l i c t s b y t h e A r g e n t i n e a n administration of national parks in Patagonia (Martin & Chehébar 2001, Salguero 2001). Each Argentinean national park includes five zones: (1) strict conservation areas, where human activity (except for scientific research) is forbidden; (2) extensive public use zones, w h e r e e x t e n s i v e u s e s s u c h a s s c i e n t i f i c , e d u c a t i o n a l , t o u r i s t a n d r e c r e a t i o n a l a r e permitted; (3) intensive public use zones, w h i c h a r e r e l a t i v e l y s m a l l a r e a s w h e r e intensive tourism and recreation is allowed, including associated service infrastructure such a s h o t e l s , l o d g e s , r e s t a u r a n t s , c a m p i n g facilities; (4) natural resource use zones, where sustainable productive activities and indigenous people residence are allowed; (5) special use areas, which are small areas for administration, services or human settlement not related to public use. Strategies based on zoning criteria can provide a valuable bridge between opposite notions associated with the wilderness United S t a t e s o r t h e c u l t u r a l l a n d s c a p e G e r m a n conservation traditions. The zoning approach seems to us particularly suited for regions, such as southern South America, which maintain heterogeneous mosaics of landscapes regarding the degree of human influence. The extreme south of Chile, for example, includes a broad diversity of ecosystems that range from pristine (i.e., wild) to completely man-modified (i.e., cultural) landscapes (Rozzi 2002). CONSERVATION AND PROTECTED AREAS IN SOUTHERN CHILE O n l y f o u r y e a r s a f t e r t h e c r e a t i o n o f Yellowstone National Park in United States, the f i r s t L a t i n A m e r i c a n p r o t e c t e d a r e a w a s established in Mexico. The creation of the Mexican Reserva Forestal Desierto de los Leones, was followed by the Reserva Perito Moreno in Argentina (1903), and the Reserva Forestal Malleco in Chile (1907) (Ormazábal 1988). Since then the number of national parks, state and private reserves has significantly increased in Chile (Armesto et al. 2001) and throughout Latin America (Primack et al. 2001). Today, the Chilean state maintains 92 protected areas, which includes 32 national parks, 47 reserves, and 13 national monuments (Table 2). The area protected by these 92 units represents 19 % of the Chilean land surface, which almost triplicates the mean of 6.4 % for South American countries (Armesto & Smith- Ramírez 2001). Among Chilean administrative regions, Magallanes exhibits an outstanding 7,079,285 ha of protected land, which represents more than 50 % of the region. National parks cover 4,732,785 ha, which represent 53 % of the total area devoted to public national parks in Chile. Magellanic reserves comprise 2,346,189 ha, i.e., 42.6 % of the area of reserves in the entire country. Therefore, Magallanes has the highest rank of protection in Chile, concentrating nearly 50 % of the country’s protected land. At the same time, such large amount of protected land emphasizes the importance of the Magellanic r e g i o n a s a r e s e r v o i r o f n o n - f r a g m e n t e d temperate ecosystems for Chile and the world. In spite of the large proportion of protected l a n d , c u r r e n t f i g u r e s a n d c o n s e r v a t i o n approaches in Magallanes present several problems. First, the country’s distribution of protected areas is very biased toward the e x t r e m e s o u t h ( A r m e s t o e t a l . 1 9 9 8 ) . Administrative regions Eleventh (Aysén) and Twelfth (Magallanes), which extend between 44° and 56° S, include more than 80 % of the Chilean protected land. Hence, large protected areas in Magallanes should not hide the lack of protection in other critical regions of Chile. A second problem arises from the scarcity of park personnel: less than 20 park rangers work 356 JAX & ROZZI permanently in Magallanes. This yields a mean of one park-ranger per 3,540 km2. This is a common problem in Latin America, where a dramatic situation also occurs in the Brazilian Amazon, which has only 23 permanent park rangers for the whole basin, i.e., an average of one park ranger per 6,053 km2 of protected land (Primack et al. 2001). This situation contrasts with the United States, which has 4,002 permanent park rangers, that is an average of one park ranger per 82 km2. The majority of protected areas in Magallanes also lack proper infrastructure, such as navigation media that are indispensable in this archipelago region. This lack of transport and personnel determines that not a single park-ranger works in the diverse habitats included in the 1,460,000 ha of the National Park de Agostini – the second largest of Chile. Therefore, most protected land in Magallanes, as is the case in other regions of Latin America, would fall within the label of “paper parks” (Rozzi & Silander unpublished results). In fact, Magellanic national parks do not fulfill the requirements and the criteria of IUCN (1994) for this category of protected areas. A third problem in the Magellanic region arises from the almost complete disregard for local people living close to protected areas, and in some cases indigenous residents have been displaced from their land (Rozzi et al. 2000, Rozzi 2002). The United States preservationist paradigm, sketched above, has had a strong influence on the conservation approach in the extreme south of Chile. The debate about the influence that pre-Columbian cultures had on their local ecosystems and regional landscapes, and the integration of indigenous people into conservation areas is as intense and controversial in South-America as in North America. This discussion involves two extreme positions: (1) one that idealizes aboriginal people as living in harmony with nature; and (2) another that considers native people as threats that should be removed from “pristine” or “natural” landscapes. Both are misleading oversimplifications (Alcorn TABLE 2 Protected areas in the southernmost Administrative Region of Chile, Magallanes. For each category the total numbers (N) and total area in Chile are given in parenthesis. The extreme right column calculates the percentage that each Magellanic protected area represents relative to the entire country Áreas protegidas en la Región Administrativa más austral de Chile: Magallanes. Para cada categoría de área protegida se indican en paréntesis el número total (N) y el área total en Chile. La columna al extremo derecho calcula el porcentaje que representa la superficie de cada área protegida de Magallanes respecto al área total protegida en el país Category Name Province Area Percentage relative (ha) to total protected area in Chile (%) Bernardo O’Higgins Última Esperanza *2,962,420 33.2 National Park Torres del Paine Última Esperanza 242,242 2.7 (total in Chile: Pali Aike Magallanes 5,030 0.1 N = 32; Cabo de Hornos Antártica 63,093 0.7 8,912,724 ha) Alberto d Agostini Antártica 1,460,000 16.4 Subtotal 4,732,785 53.1 Alacalufes Última Esperanza 2,313,875 42.0 Reserve Laguna Parrillar Magallanes 18,814 0.3 (Total in Chile: Magallanes Magallanes 13,500 0.2 N = 47; Subtotal 2,346,189 42.6 5,503,499 ha) Cueva del Milodón Última Esperanza 189 1.1 National Los Pingüinos Magallanes 97 0.5 Monument Laguna de los Cisnes Tierra del Fuego 25 0.1 (Total in Chile: Subtotal 311 1.8 N = 13; 17,669 ha) Total Magallanes 7,079,285 49.0 Total Chile 14,433,892 100.0 * This figure corresponds to the area of the National Park Bernardo O’Higgins included in the Region of Magallanes. The total area of this national park is 3525901 ha, but 563481 ha are included in the Region of Aysen, north of Magallanes (data from Muñoz et al. 1996) 357ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION 1994). Regarding the first position, it would be interesting to evaluate the work done in southern Chile by the German missioner and anthropologist Martin Gusinde, who was deeply concerned about the future of the Fuegian Indians. In his monumental ethnographic work, Gusinde describes in detail several concepts and practices of traditional ecological knowledge of Kaweskar, Yahgan, and Selknam, indigenous people at the austral extreme of South America (see Gusinde 1946, 1961). Regarding the second position, it follows a preservationist approach identified with John Muir (see Norton 1991), which has been strongly influential for conservation designs in Latin America during the last 130 years (Rozzi et al. 2001). In southern Chile, indigenous populations have been excluded from national parks. For example, the national parks of Chiloé, Bernardo O’Higgins, and Cape Horn have respectively excluded Huilliche, Kaweskar, and Yahgan communities. Interestingly, today the general trend of abandonment and human exclusion in protected areas of southern Chile is changing due not only to conceptual changes about the role of humans as ecosystem components (McDonnell & Pickett 1993, Rozzi et al. 1994), but also to a growing interest in ecotourism. Ecotourism is promoting a shift, which i n s t e a d o f e m p h a s i z i n g a p r e s e r v a t i o n i s t approach, underlines the statement “parks are created for the benefit and enjoyment of the people,” asserted in the founding law of Yellowstone National Park. In the extreme south of Chile, this statement (which is closer to the United States conservation tradition identified with Gifford Pinchot, see Norton 1991), is acquiring a prevalent role today. This shift toward ecotourist activities requires, however, careful examination in order to achieve a sustainable compatibility between conservation and human needs or benefits (di Castri & Balaji 2002, Figueroa et al. 2003). Between Yellowstone National Park and the Magellan national parks, in particular Torres del Paine National Park, some remarkable similarities exist. In the Magellan Region, Torres del Paine National Park constitutes an area that, like Yellowstone, possesses marvelous landscapes (including glaciers and mountain peaks), and attractive megafauna (including species like rheas, Pterocnemia pennata, and guanacos, Lama guanicoe) (Fig. 3A and 3B). Also, like Yellowstone, Torres del Paine is visited by a large number of tourists (Fig. 4). Although the number of visitors to Torres del Paine (43,624 in 1995) ranks two orders of magnitude below Yellowstone (more than 3 million in 1995), for Chile it holds the largest number of foreign visitors and it has a substantial impact on the development of the nearby city of Puerto Natales (Villarroel 1996). Of the visitors to Torres del Paine, 62 % are from overseas, coming from Europe (37 %), North America (15 %), and Oceania (10 %) (Ferrer 2001). Torres del Paine National Park was created in 1959, and was designated as a Biosphere Reserve in 1978. Like Yellowstone National Park, the Torres del Paine landscape shows s i g n s o f h u m a n i n f l u e n c e . T h e a u s t r a l landscape exhibits the marks left mainly by European colonists that arrived to Magallanes at the beginning of the 20th century (Dollenz 1991). Before the Chilean government acquired the park, it belonged to German ranchers who burned large expanses of forests to increase pasture area, which was later overgrazed (see Martinic 1984). Therefore, in spite of the goal to protect pristine or “wild” areas, the imprints of both indigenous and European settlers, are present even in the remote austral regions of the American continent. W i t h i n t h i s c o n t e x t e c o t o u r i s m p o s e s complex puzzles to conservation biology. On the one hand, it seems to favor a larger integration between society and protected areas. On the other hand, with current deficiencies in the planning and regulation of ecotourism within parks, such as Torres del Paine, undesirable environmental impacts may follow (Villarroel 1996, Massardo et al. 2001). Hence, a close c o l l a b o r a t i o n a m o n g g o v e r n m e n t o f f i c e s , tourism agencies, and academic institutions is required for the planning of protected areas, and defining their conservation goals. HUMAN VALUES, SCIENCE, AND THE DETERMINATION OF CONSERVATION GOALS The short overview of conservation strategies in Germany (protection of cultural landscapes), the United States (wilderness ideal), and southern Chile (preservation paradigm, and the m o r e r e c e n t i n t e r e s t i n e c o t o u r i s m a s a potentially sustainable economic activity) illustrates the broad spectrum of conservation goals and the different role of humans within conservation. Consequently, it is not always clear what exactly should be protected within reserves or national parks. However, with increasing human pressure on nature, especially in a period of rapidly growing global economy, and an increasing probability of human-induced global changes, the necessity for a conscious decision about conservation aims and measures 358 JAX & ROZZI Fig. 3: Torres del Paine National Park was created in 1959, and declared a Biosphere Reserve in 1978. The criteria for the creation of Torres del Paine National Park follow closely those of Yellowstone National Park, that is, magnificent landscapes (particularly the Paine Towers [A]), and the abundant wildlife megafauna, which includes the guanaco (Lama guanicoe) [B]. Notice the analogy between Fig. 2 and 3. (Photos by Orlando Dollenz [A], and Ricardo Rozzi [B]). El Parque Nacional Torres del Paine fue creado en 1959, y se declaró Reserva de la Biosfera en 1978. Los criterios para la creación del parque Torres del Paine son muy similares a aquellos que motivaron la creación del Parque Nacional Yellowstone: sus majestuosos paisajes (particularmente los Cuernos del Paine [A]), y la abundante presencia de megafauna y vida silvestre, que incluye al guanaco (Lama guanicoe) [B]. Nótese la analogía entre las Fig. 2 y 3 (Fotografías de Orlando Dollenz [A] y Ricardo Rozzi [B]). (A) (B) 359ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION becomes greater. Confronted with this scenario, and a broad range of conservation goals: what should we protect? What roles should humans play in this context? Where can we find guidelines? What is the role of science? A n s w e r i n g t h e s e q u e s t i o n s r e q u i r e s t o systematically integrate multiple aspects that influence any conservation strategy, aspects that hitherto have in part been developed independently from each other (Jentsch et al. 2003). Such integration has not been achieved, and it challenges the prevailing trend of specialization that dominates science and other disciplines since the second half of the 20th c e n t u r y ( R o z z i e t a l . 1 9 9 8 ) . H e n c e , t o interconnect diverse aspects of conservation, such as empirical data, ecological theory, human values and worldviews, represents an urgent and important task. At the same time, t h i s t a s k d e m a n d s n o v e l t h e o r e t i c a l a n d practical approaches. V a l u e s e n t e r t h e d e t e r m i n a t i o n o f conservation goals in many different ways: in our images of nature (Ahl & Allen 1996, Rozzi 1999, Rozzi 2003), in our economic values (Daly & Townsend 1994, Daily 1997), in our political preferences (Norton 1991), in our moral attitudes towards human and non-human n a t u r e ( R o l s t o n 1 9 9 0 ) , a n d e v e n i n o u r decisions about what is important in science. However, values are often not explicit and remain hidden behind seemingly objective scientific facts or economic necessities. The provision of empirical data is one of the basic tasks of ecological research within conservation. It is necessary to describe the current conditions of an area or – by means of e.g., paleoecological analyses – to restore its “original” or “natural” conditions, e.g., in terms of plant cover or animal life. However, criteria for selection of particular areas and their subsequent management are not purely based on scientific knowledge. What kinds of data are collected and what kinds of questions are asked is already a matter involving value decisions. Although many people argue that for conservation purposes ecology should simply identify the “natural” c o n d i t i o n , t h i s t a s k i s f a r f r o m a p u r e l y “objective” scientific enterprise. For example, the concept of what is natural plays a major role when deciding which role should humans play within protected “natural” areas. Both the German and American early conservationists wished to protect “natural” landscapes although their images of what is “natural” differed Fig. 4: Number of visitors to the national parks Yellowstone and Torres del Paine in the 1990s. Notice that the scales are visitors x1,000 for Torres del Paine, and visitors x1,000,000 for Yellows- tone (Data from the administrative offices of CONAF, and Yellowstone National Park). Número de visitantes a los parques nacionales de Yellowstone y Torres del Paine en 1990. Nótese que las escalas son de visitantes x1.000 para Torres del Paine, en cambio visitantes x1.000.000 para Yellowstone (datos de las oficinas adminis- trativas de CONAF y Yellowstone National Park). 360 JAX & ROZZI considerably. In addition, these concepts have changed during the following decades and they still have different meanings for different g r o u p s o f p e o p l e . P a r t i c u l a r l y d i f f i c u l t questions related directly to value decisions arise today with respect to alien plants and animals (invasive species) entering an area and spreading there. Should they be considered as “natural”? Ecological theory is a third important and often neglected ingredient in the determination of conservation goals, which can serve two main purposes. First, ecological theory allows us to go beyond a purely static description of an area, by providing insights into the interactions between the elements of ecological systems, their dynamics, and the ways they might respond to external changes. Ideally, ecological theory should provide the means for predicting the development of ecological systems. A second, much less considered role of ecological theory is its heuristic use in the f o r m u l a t i o n o f r e s e a r c h q u e s t i o n s a n d conservation goals (Jax 2003). Ecological theory can help identify gaps in our knowledge and expose uncertainties. Even more important within conservation, ecology can help clarify our questions, forcing us to be more precise about the concepts we use. Although this remains a difficult task, ecological theory can also help distinguish between values and facts and promote their integration in the definition of conservation goals. We illustrate this point using one of the currently most discussed approaches to conservation, the strategy of ecosystem management. PRESERVING ECOSYSTEMS: THE SOLUTION TO CURRENT CONSERVATION DILEMMAS? E c o s y s t e m m a n a g e m e n t r e p r e s e n t s a n i n c r e a s i n g l y p o p u l a r s t r a t e g y , w h i c h i s compatible with a dynamic view of nature ( C h r i s t e n s e n e t a l . 1 9 9 6 ) . I t r e c o g n i z e s ecosystems as permanently changing and, at the s a m e t i m e , p r o m o t e s a m u l t i p l e u s e perspective. The management of whole ecosystems –in contrast to that of single “commodities”– seems to be an elegant solution to many conservation problems. By protecting the whole ecosystem, we avoid protecting only certain parts of an area at the cost of others. This approach, to our knowledge, was first applied systematically in Yellowstone National Park, starting in the late 1960s (Jax 2001, 2002b). During the 1990s the notion of ecosystem management experienced a rapid rise in North American environmental policy (Grumbine 1994, Christensen et al. 1996, Boyce & Haney 1997, Jax 2002b). In contrast to its beginnings, in which ecosystem management was mainly a particular way of dealing with complex natural settings, t h e n o t i o n h a s n o w b e e n e x t e n d e d t o a n a m b i t i o u s s o c i e t a l p r o g r a m ( J a x 2 0 0 2 b ) . Although the ecosystem approach in the United States means very different things to different people (Yaffee 1999), some common ground is emerging. The ecosystem is used here as a cipher for the treatment of “the whole”, a whole that also includes humans, their societies and resource use practices. Moreover, it emphasizes, interagency management and a focus on natural boundaries in contrast to administrative ones (Grumbine 1994, Carpenter 1995, Szaro et al. 1998). In this context, the ecosystem and ecosystem management concepts are becoming s t r o n g l y v a l u e - l a d e n , d e p a r t i n g f r o m t h e perspective of “value-neutral” science. It is this ecosystem approach which is a p p l i e d b y t h e C o n v e n t i o n o n B i o l o g i c a l Diversity (CBD). The Fifth Conference of the Parties of this convention, which took place in Nairobi in 2000, passed a resolution that recommended the “ecosystem approach” as a cross-cutting issue for the CBD and obliged all parties to implement this approach within their conservation policies (resolution COP V/6). Based on the so-called Malawi-Principles, the approach emphasizes the social dimensions of management and that societal choices have to be made. It also acknowledges the changing nature of ecological systems (Botkin 1990, Pickett & Ostfeld 1995, Plachter 1996). The ecosystem approach is considered a major tool for implementing the three basic g o a l s o f t h e C B D , n a m e l y b i o l o g i c a l c o n s e r v a t i o n , s u s t a i n a b l e u s e o f n a t u r a l resources, and equitable sharing of benefits ( S m i t h & M a l t b y 2 0 0 1 ) . H o w e v e r , t h e implementation of such an approach is far from simple. First of all, it is an illusion that we would really be able to grasp the whole. This is an epistemological problem (Pickett et al. 1994, Rozzi et al. 1998). To investigate anything in nature, we have to select and isolate a particular characteristic of interest, from which we mentally form the system which we then d e s c r i b e a n d a n a l y z e . T h i s h a s d i r e c t consequences for the scientific perception of the ecosystem as the very object of the ecosystem approach. In spite of some “naive-realistic” attitudes, an ecosystem is not a natural entity that can be identified in nature without reference to particular interests and selection criteria (Jax 361ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION et al. 1998). It is defined in a task-specific manner. Definitions of ecosystems are manifold (Jax 2002a), and those that are commonly accepted as embracing the many and contrasting meanings are, in consequence, very general, too general to provide clear criteria for defining the goals of ecosystem management. To implement an effective approach to ecosystem management it is necessary to: (1) set a baseline, (2) define what an ecosystem is, and (3) to have criteria to decide when it is “destroyed” or deviates significantly form a baseline condition. For example, the case of southern Chile might involve questions such as: are the subantarctic evergreen rainforest ecosystems c h a r a c t e r i z e d b y a p a r t i c u l a r s p e c i e s c o m p o s i t i o n o r j u s t b y a p a r t i c u l a r physiognomy of plant and animal types? Has the invasion of the North American beaver (Castor canadensis) –which started in the late 1940s on Tierra del Fuego, Navarino island and other areas of the Cape Horn archipelago (Lizarralde & Venegas 2001)– created new and more diverse ecosystems? Today, is Castor canadensis part of the “old ecosystem” or is it the destroyer of the “original ecosystems”? Will we say that an ecosystem has become “ a n o t h e r ” e c o s y s t e m i f s o m e n a t i v e undergrowth species are lost (or replaced by alien species) or will the ecosystem only be “another” if also its physiognomy is changed? The ways in which ecosystems are defined must be communicated in a clear manner. However, this is still frequently not done, generating difficulties at different levels. To serve this communication purpose, Jax and collaborators (Jax et al. 1998, Jax 2002a) have recently developed an approach to clarify and p r o v i d e a n u n a m b i g u o u s d e f i n i t i o n a n d specification of any ecological unit. To do this, statements are needed about: (1) whether the unit is bounded topographically or functionally, (2) which kind of relationships among the components are minimally required, (3) which phenomena (i.e., components and internal relations) are selected for the definition of the unit, and (4) what is the degree of resolution of the unit’s components. The first criterion represents an essential distinction. It describes an element (e.g., organism) either seen as a part of a unit by virtue of being in a particular spatial location or b y v i r t u e o f b e i n g f u n c t i o n a l l y ( i . e . , b y interactions) related to other elements. For example, within the bounds of a Nothofagus forest on an austral island, are all species components of one ecosystem or are there several separate ecosystems characterized by specific functional connections within these topographical bounds? The remaining criteria apply to both spatialy and functionaly bounded units. They can be seen as gradients, which can be assembled as three axes into a graphical scheme that allows visualizing the different definitions (Fig. 5). The axis of selected phenomena displays which and how many phenomena (kinds of objects and/or processes) are included in the definition of the ecosystem. The axis of internal relationship indicates the degree of intensity and specificity that internal relationships are required to have in order to call a unit an ecosystem, or even an intact ecosystem. In some definitions, for example, the requirements to call a system an ecosystem are such that interactions have to be very specific and lead to an equilibrium state, or that feedback-loops are present which lead to the self-regulation of the system (high internal r e l a t i o n s h i p s ) . I n o t h e r d e f i n i t i o n s a n y interactions between the organisms (low internal relationships) are sufficient to call the system an ecosystem. The axis of component resolution describes to what degree the components of the ecosystem must be resolved, e.g., whether the system parts are considered at the species or just trophic levels. Based on the initials of the three axes (selected phenomena, internal relationship, component resolution) this scheme was named “SIC-scheme” (Jax 2002a). Fig. 5 displays this general scheme to illustrate some of the most common meaning of ecosystem in the context of ecosystem management. These meanings vary according to the conservation aims. The most general definition i s d e p i c t e d b y t h e e l l i p s e “ A . ” H e r e t h e ecosystem is preserved simply as a system of i n t e r a c t i n g n a t u r a l o b j e c t s . I n d e e d , t h e interactions themselves may be the focus of management (which can also mean to refrain from active management). The kinds (i.e., s p e c i e s ) o f o r g a n i s m s a r e n o t o f s p e c i a l importance here (low component resolution), and the degree of required internal relationships m i g h t a l s o v a r y . F o r e x a m p l e , p a r t i c u l a r feedbacks may be demanded within the system to call it an ecosystem, such as the criterion that most primary production must occur within the system itself. This kind of ecosystem may be useful for the management of wilderness areas, even in regions that have been strongly impacted by humans but where now “nature can take its course”. This is an especially interesting concept for ecosystem management i n c e n t r a l E u r o p e a n c o u n t r i e s , w h e r e completely “pristine” areas no longer exist. 362 JAX & ROZZI S p h e r e “ B ” ( F i g . 5 ) d e p i c t s a n o t h e r frequently applied definition of ecosystem, which focuses on particular interactions and processes. Here, the ecosystem is described by particular functional compartments, interacting in a manner that particular services –such as primary production, clean air or waters– are provided by the system. Component resolution is thus slightly higher than in type A, but still particular species are not of interest, only functional types. The degree of interaction is higher than in many other definitions because interactions, and particular feedbacks, between specific functional elements are essential for the definition. This kind of definition is s u f f i c i e n t w h e n t h e a i m o f e c o s y s t e m management is to provide benefits for humans in the form of “ecosystem services” (Costanza et al. 1997). Sphere “C” (Fig. 5) depicts a third type of ecosystem definition that demands a higher resolution in the three axes. For example, a Nothofagus forest ecosystem or a Sphagnum b o g a n d t h e e s s e n t i a l i n t e r a c t i o n s t h a t perpetuate such systems are to be protected. The aim is to protect a large ecosystem which is “typical” for the area, without the necessity that all constituent species have to be preserved in the long run, except for some conspicuous and dominant taxa such as Nothofagus trees and Sphagnum mosses. Particular types of taxa ( i n d i c a t o r s p e c i e s , k e y s t o n e s p e c i e s o r “umbrella species“; see Simberloff 1998) are thus already part of the definition. This – physiognomic– view of ecosystems is perhaps the most common one in the practice of conservation and resource management. Finally, sphere “D” (Fig. 5) illustrates a concept of ecosystem defined by all species occurring in a setting. Interactions themselves are protected mostly for the sake of conserving the interacting components. These may be those species which are present in a protected area at a date t (e.g., the date at which the measures start) or –much more difficult to determine– all species which are considered as “typical” for a particular site. The aim is here t o p e r p e t u a t e a l l s p e c i e s , w i t h o u t f i x i n g particular growth rates or dwelling places, abundances, or specific ratios between species. Everything, besides the species composition, is in a condition of waxing and waning, including local disturbances and recolonizations (within t h e s y s t e m ) . T h i s a i m i s f o r m u l a t e d , f o r Fig. 5: Representation of different definitions of “ecosystem” that are applied in ecosystem mana- gement strategies (see text). Representación de diversas definiciones de “ecosistema” utilizadas en las aproximaciones de manejo de ecosistemas (véase el texto). 363ECOLOGICAL THEORY AND CONSERVATION e x a m p l e , i n s o m e n a t i o n a l p a r k s a n d c o r r e s p o n d s t o t h e c u r r e n t s t r a t e g y o f e c o s y s t e m m a n a g e m e n t i n Y e l l o w s t o n e national park (Jax 2001). CONCLUDING REMARKS B a s e d o n t h e c o n c i s e e x a m i n a t i o n o f conservation approaches that have taken place in temperate regions of Germany, United States, and Chile, followed by the analysis of conservation units based on the SIC-scheme, what can we learn for conservation in the austral Magellanic region? First, conservation traditions encompass interests for the preservation of both natural and cultural heritages. Even more, these two dimensions are mutually dependent, as shown by the “natural areas” of Yellowstone and Torres del Paine, which have been molded in part by humans. Therefore, nature and humans a r e b r o u g h t t o g e t h e r i n t h e o b j e c t o f conservation, as well as in the processes occurring in the protected units. Consequently, the dichotomies between nature and culture, a n d b e t w e e n p r o t e c t e d a r e a s a n d h u m a n presence become irrelevant. Second, in the context of current global change it is impossible to completely isolate p r o t e c t e d a r e a s f r o m h u m a n i n f l u e n c e s (Primack et al. 2001). Human impacts can arise as much from local populations (for example, f i r e w o o d e x t r a c t i o n ) a s f r o m r e m o t e populations inhabiting a different hemisphere, as in the case of the austral ozone hole caused by the emissions of chemicals in Northern Hemisphere industrialized countries. Moreover, in the three temperate regions considered, humans as components of ecosystems may be a “keystone species.” In addition, a dynamic view of nature –the “flux of nature”– points out that biotas and ecosystems will change over time, even within “protected areas.” Hence, to preserve species or habitats it is not enough to “isolate” protected areas, but often it requires active management and conservation. The two former conclusions invite us to revise the conservation approach undertaken in the extreme south of Chile, where local people have been excluded from protected areas, and where the National Forestry Service (CONAF, the organization responsible for these areas) has serious logistic and financial limitations to carry out conservation and/or management programs. T h i r d , o u r a n a l y s e s d e m o n s t r a t e t h a t conservation goals involve not only scientific criteria, but also philosophical, political and b r o a d e r c u l t u r a l , s o c i a l a n d e c o n o m i c d i m e n s i o n s . H e n c e , i n t e r d i s c i p l i n a r y a n d interagency cooperation is urgently needed. None of these actors can see or understand the “whole” by themselves. Therefore, operational d e f i n i t i o n s o f t h e u n i t s a n d g o a l s o f conservation need to be jointly defined. This process requires presenting explicitly the goals, methods and values involved in conservation or management of species and ecosystems. Finally, we consider that the ecosystem a p p r o a c h t o c o n s e r v a t i o n , a s c u r r e n t l y conceptualized within the guidelines of the CBD, represents an extremely valuable tool. It allows integrating solid empirical research, sound ecological theory and human value dimensions. However, it is important to avoid the pitfalls that these approaches can have, when unproductive and improper mingling of facts and values involve a fuzziness of basic and practically relevant theoretical concepts, such as the ecosystem concept. These problems c o u l d u n d e r m i n e t h e u s e f u l n e s s o f t h e ecosystem approach, concealing the issues really at stake. In this context, ecological theory, embedded in interdisciplinary work and social participatory proceses, represents an indispensable key element for determining conservation goals. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors thank Juan J. Armesto and an anonymous reviewer for valuable comments on the manuscript. The work that initially led to this paper has been kindly supported by travel g r a n t s o f t h e D e u t s c h e r A k a d e m i s c h e r Austauschdienst (DAAD) to Kurt Jax. Ricardo R o z z i a c k n o w l e d g e s t h e s u p p o r t o f t h e D e p a r t m e n t o f E c o l o g y & E v o l u t i o n a r y Biology, University of Connecticut, and the Millenium Center for Advanced Studies in Ecology and Biodiversity (CMEB). This article is part of the BIOKONCHIL project (FKZ 01 LM 0208, German Ministry of Education and Research, BMBF), and the ongoing research and conservation activities conducted by the Omora Foundation and the Universidad de Magallanes, at the Omora Ethnobotanical Park, Puerto Williams, Chile. LITERATURE CITED ABU SIN ME (1991) Community-based sustainable development in central Butana, Sudan. In: Baxter 364 JAX & ROZZI PTW (ed) When the grass is gone: 152-161. The Scandinavian Institute of African Studies, Uppsala, Sweden. AHL V & TH ALLEN (1996) Hierarchy theory: a vision, vocabulary, and epistemology. Columbia University Press, New York, New York, USA. 206 pp. ALCORN JB (1991) Ethics, economics and conservation. 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work_neve5en4xvfmtld46tfzs55n5m	----	Why Look at Animals? Creaturely Encounters in Philosophy and Literature This is a repository copy of Why Look at Animals? Creaturely Encounters in Philosophy and Literature. White Rose Research Online URL for this paper: http://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/117729/ Version: Accepted Version Article: Malay, M. (2017) Why Look at Animals? Creaturely Encounters in Philosophy and Literature. Forum for Modern Language Studies, 53 (2). pp. 142-162. ISSN 0015-8518 https://doi.org/10.1093/fmls/cqx004 eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ Reuse Items deposited in White Rose Research Online are protected by copyright, with all rights reserved unless indicated otherwise. They may be downloaded and/or printed for private study, or other acts as permitted by national copyright laws. The publisher or other rights holders may allow further reproduction and re-use of the full text version. This is indicated by the licence information on the White Rose Research Online record for the item. Takedown If you consider content in White Rose Research Online to be in breach of UK law, please notify us by emailing eprints@whiterose.ac.uk including the URL of the record and the reason for the withdrawal request. mailto:eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ WHY LOOK AT ANIMALS? CREATURELY ENCOUNTERS IN PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE MICHAEL MALAY ABSTRACT This essay considers encounters with animals in the work of Henry David Thoreau, Stanley Cavell and J. M. Coetzee. More specifically, it explores what it calls ‘poetic’ engagements with animals – engagements in which our relations with nonhuman others are not cast in appropriative or instrumental terms. Along the way, it draws on the work of the American philosopher Cora Diamond. It also takes inspiration from a famous passage from George Eliot’s Middlemarch, and offers a creaturely, environmental reading of some of the ideas invoked in that novel. What, it asks, might it be like to respond to Eliot’s injunction to treat the lives of others with complete seriousness? Keywords: poetry; animal studies; ecocriticism; philosophy; literature. _______ If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. (George Eliot) This well-known sentence from Middlemarch enacts what it celebrates: it turns outwards. Beginning with a ‘vision’ of ‘ordinary human life’, it moves towards a larger, ecological landscape, one which includes the grass’s growth and the squirrel’s beating heart. Moving outwards, the sentence also rides on the circles of a widening sensibility – modulating from a human ‘we’ to an intimate form of ‘hearing’ others, before ending with a recognition of the immense activity that ‘lies on the other side of silence’. Yet the sentence, it should be noted, is predicated on a subjunctive clause: ‘If we had’. This mode of attention, it seems, is difficult to inhabit. Indeed, it seems impossible to sustain: ‘we should die of that roar’. This listening, this intense attunement, would destroy you. The sentence thus says two things: imagine, but also acknowledge the impossibility of truly imagining. The sentence begins with ‘vision’ but ends with ‘silence’. The narrator does not try to resolve this tension. On the one hand, she praises the effort involved in imagining. On the other hand, the sentence is an injunction whose very terms are impossible to fulfil: the state it imagines would lead to a terminal breakdown, an overwhelming of one’s self. Eliot has explored these dangers before. In The Lifted Veil (1859), for instance, she endows her narrator Lattimer with extrasensory abilities, so that, able to participate in ‘other people’s consciousness’, he can hear a ‘roar of sound where others find perfect stillness’.1 For Lattimer, however, these abilities turn out to be debilitating: they overwhelm – constantly, and against his will – his sense of self. It seems that the narrator in Middlemarch is alert to the dark side of sympathy, to the possibility of total (and therefore incapacitating) absorption in the lives of others. Her exhortation to imagine is qualified by a caveat emptor. But the qualification is also qualified, I think, by the narrator’s affirmative vision of the imagination. If unlimited sympathy is unsustainable and even impossible, one must also guard against being too guarded. The novel is partly an exploration of this proposition. True, even the most sensitive of people can be insensible to others: Eliot is realistic about this. ‘As it is,’ her narrator observes in Middlemarch, the ‘quickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity.’2 Nevertheless, her narrator enjoins us to imagine anyway – even if the effort is patchy and hard to sustain. One may not physically ‘hear’ the squirrel’s heartbeat, but one might imagine what that sound might ‘be like’, and this might be sufficient. What is at stake, after all, is not the success or failure of sympathetic identification but the sensibility involved in the imaginative effort. There is a richness to the attempt which stands independent of its success. What might it mean to stand before animals in the way described by Eliot? What would it ‘be like’? This essay explores that question by looking at animal encounters in the work of Henry David Thoreau and Stanley Cavell. In different ways, both writers dramatize what it means to see animals with ‘keen vision and feeling’, not as ideas, symbols or allegories, but as living, breathing creatures. They therefore show what it might be like to see animals as fellow others or as companion species, and in such a way that attends to their ‘significant otherness’, as Donna Haraway has put it.3 This essay then engages with Elizabeth Costello (the fictional protagonist of J. M. Coetzee’s The Lives of Animals) and the work of Cora Diamond (an American philosopher); it concludes with some brief remarks on poetry and the philosophy of Ludwig Wittgenstein. Thoreau’s moose In The Maine Woods, a record of three separate journeys to Maine between 1846 and 1857, Thoreau reflects on the experience of disturbance before an animal – namely, a dead moose discovered by his travelling companion during a hunting expedition. ‘He had found the cow-moose lying dead, but quite warm, in the middle of the stream, which was so shallow that it rested on the bottom, with hardly a third of its body above water.’4 Thoreau’s first response betrays the instincts of a naturalist. Lacking a measuring tape, he fashions a gauge using a rope from his canoe, tying knots to mark out the moose’s length and height. All these pains he takes, Thoreau writes, because he ‘did not wish to be obliged to say merely the moose was very large’ (MW, 153). Once the measurements have been taken, however, and once his companion begins to ‘skin the moose’, the voice of Thoreau the naturalist is troubled by another, more complicated presence: I looked on; and a tragical business it was, – to see that still warm and palpitating body pierced with a knife, to see the warm milk stream from the rent udder, and the ghastly naked red carcass appearing from within its seemly robe, which was made to hide it. […] In the bed of this narrow, wild, and rocky stream, between two lofty walls of spruce and firs, a mere cleft in the forest which the stream had made, this work went on. (MW, 156-57) The discovery of the moose is, to some extent, the culmination of Thoreau’s expedition. Earlier in The Maine Woods, he explains that he has come to the woods as ‘reporter or chaplain to the hunters’ in order to satisfy his desire to see ‘a moose near at hand’ (MW, 133). But his reaction to the moose surprises him, prompting a range of unexpected feelings. The above passage is fascinating but particularly difficult to interpret. For a moment, Thoreau’s voice seems to lift free of the scene, as though he and his companion were being watched from above, from a detached, even cosmic perspective. In the bed of a stream, in the cleft of a forest, ‘this work went on’. The detachment of that phrase, ‘this work’, is especially marked Thoreau’s close observations of the moose being skinned, a process which prompts both horror (the moose’s carcass is ‘ghastly’) as well as admiration for the creature’s former dignity (its ‘seemly robe’). Vacillating, his voice is at once engaged and detached, embedded and quite apart: in any case, it bears the signs of being deeply troubled. The event is described as a ‘tragical business’, and, in a repetition of that theme, Thoreau later speaks of the ‘afternoon’s tragedy’ (MW, 160). He has come to the woods to see moose ‘near at hand’, but this encounter is much too close. The expedition has somehow gone awry. Part of Thoreau’s anxiety is explicable. The moose has been shot neither for its hide nor for its flesh but ‘merely for the satisfaction of killing him’ (MW, 161). In this regard, the moose’s death is without utility – a shocking waste of life. But what does it mean to see the moose’s death as a ‘tragedy’? There is something powerfully charged about Thoreau’s response that cannot be explained conventionally – that exceeds, I think, the ‘normal’ response which many of his contemporaries would have had to the moose’s death. During his expedition in the woods, Thoreau spends a great deal of time studying local plants. This fact is worth stressing, as it gives some indication of his state of mind at the time of the moose’s discovery. When his companion stumbles upon the dead creature, indeed, Thoreau says that he was ‘absorbed’ in the activity of looking at a flower, an Aster macrophyllus (MW, 152). Part of his disturbance at the moose’s death can thus be attributed to the shock of transition. The gentleness of botanizing, characterized by close looking and noticing, is interrupted by a different form of relating to the natural world, one characterized by harmful imposition. The ‘tragedy’ of the afternoon is partly this loss of ‘innocence’. It seems that this loss allows Thoreau to appreciate, in a particularly striking way, the violence involved in hunting. The ‘hunting of the moose’, he goes on to write, ‘merely for the satisfaction of killing him […] is too much like going out by night to some wood-side pasture and shooting your neighbor’s horses’. The moose, he continues, ‘are God’s own horses, poor, timid creatures’ (MW, 161). Despite the severity of these remarks, however, Thoreau’s view of hunting is not at all straightforward. Although he has ‘had enough of moose-hunting’ after the moose’s death, he also recognizes, in the same paragraph, the appeal of the hunter’s life: ‘I think that I could spend a year in the woods, fishing and hunting just enough to sustain myself, with satisfaction.’ He continues, ‘this would be next to living like a philosopher on the fruits of the earth which you had raised, which also attracts me’ (MW, 161). There are aspects to the hunter’s life, and the hunter’s embeddedness in the natural world, which he refuses to disparage. As his thoughts develop, however, he goes on to wonder why others cannot spend time in the ‘solitude of this vast wilderness’ without the urge to hunt animals or cut down trees: ‘For one that comes with a pencil to sketch or sing, a thousand come with an axe or rifle’ (MW, 162). Thoreau is pained by the fact that, for some, engagement with nature means damaging it in some way. On the other hand, he does not spare himself from these critical musings, even in his capacity as a ‘chaplain’. For the ‘chaplain’, he notes, ‘has been known to carry a gun himself’ (MW, 133). ‘The afternoon’s tragedy,’ he later admits, ‘and my share in it, as it affected the innocence, destroyed the pleasure of my adventure’ (MW, 160). Thoreau’s account is noteworthy for the range of feeling it records. His response to the moose’s death is animated by subtle moods and complex tensions. There is his aversion to the moose’s exposed flesh, for instance, but also his curiosity for detail (as the animal is being dragged to the stream’s edge, Thoreau wonders if the colour of its skin is best described as being ‘brownish-black’ or ‘perhaps a dark iron- gray’ (MW, 152-53). Or, mixed in with his interest in the hunter’s life, there is his visceral sense of its unscrupulousness. Finally, there is his sense of guilt and ownership over what has happened. Though he had not come to Maine to hunt, and though he had ‘felt some compunctions about accompanying the hunters’ through the woods, he accepts that he is somehow complicit in the moose’s death (MW, 133). Of course, Thoreau must have seen dead animals before: hunting scenes would have been difficult to avoid for someone who liked roaming in the woods. For whatever reason, however, the death of this particular moose cannot be ignored so easily. Indeed, it marks Thoreau’s conscience as it does his consciousness, and, once his companions have left him to make his camp alone, his meditation reaches its apogee: As I sat before the fire on my fir-twig seat, without walls above or around me, I remembered how far on every hand that wilderness stretched, before you came to cleared or cultivated fields, and wondered if any bear or moose was watching the light of my fire; for Nature looked sternly upon me on account of the murder of the moose. (MW, 163) The fire, the night and the expansiveness of the forest all prompt in Thoreau a sense of awe for the world around him. But the mood is compromised by the wrong which he feels has been committed against the moose, a wrong which involves him intimately. The ‘botanical specimens’ he studies by the light of the fire may remind him of gentler hours – but the ghost of the moose chastises and haunts him: ‘Nature looked sternly upon me’ (MW, 163). Oddly, this experience of being looked on from above reprises Thoreau’s earlier description of the moose’s skinning: in the cleft in the forest, in the middle of a stream, ‘this work went on’. Is this initial description perhaps the first iteration of being watched by the ghost of the moose – and was that earlier ghost, as it were, shrugged off even as its presence was felt? Is it being addressed more directly now? In any case, the natural world that so absorbed Thoreau in the day rebukes him at night. And Thoreau’s response, to use a phrase from Donna Haraway, is to ‘stay with the trouble’, to avoid, that is, simplifying or trivializing the moose’s death.5 Sitting by the fire, reflecting on his ‘share’ in the day’s ‘tragedy’, he stays awake to the disturbance the moose has caused in him, encountering it face to face, as it were – even if in ghostly form. Cavell’s horse In a letter to his friend and fellow philosopher Vicki Hearne, Stanley Cavell recounts an equally memorable encounter with an animal – in this case a horse. Cavell’s record is more philosophical than Thoreau’s, at once denser and more self- reflexive, but it contains reflections of a similar nature, not least feelings of shame and awe before a nonhuman other: The horse, as it stands, is a rebuke to our unreadiness to be understood, our will to remain obscure ... And the more beautiful the horse’s stance, the more painful the rebuke. Theirs is our best picture of a readiness to understand. Our stand, our stance, is of denial ... We feel our refusals are unrevealed because we keep, we think, our fences invisible. But the horse takes cognizance of them, who does not care about invisibility.6 A number of things seem to be happening here. First, Cavell suggests that our relation to the horse is defined by a desire for knowledge. ‘There is something specific,’ he writes, ‘about our unwillingness to let our knowledge come to an end with respect to horses.’ At the same time, Cavell writes that we fail to acknowledge what horses can ‘know of us’. There is an ‘unwillingness to make room for their capacity to feel our presence’ (AT, 115). Our relationship with the horse, in other words, is asymmetrical. We approach the horse as a subject of knowledge but refuse to stand before it unguardedly, exposed to what it might know of us. But what if horses have the ‘capacity to feel our presence incomparably beyond our ability to feel theirs’ (AT, 115)? Why might we be unwilling to acknowledge this? In one of his essays, Cavell says that we sometimes forego acknowledging others because of our fear of being exposed before them. Our denial of others is thus partly a denial of ourselves, and this is partly how we keep ourselves hidden. In particular, Cavell speaks of Shakespeare’s famous tragedy, King Lear, and of Lear’s attempt to ‘avoid recognition’, which he sees as linked in complex ways to a ‘shame of exposure’ and the ‘threat of self-revelation’.7 Understanding this, Cavell writes, can lead to a shock of recognition as we realize the ways we have also evaded the work of acknowledgment: Lear is not a tragic figure because he is ‘singled out’ to suffer, but because he keeps himself in ‘hiddenness, silence, position; the ways people do’.8 But since, Cavell writes, we are ‘ineluctably actors in what is happening’ in our lives, ‘nothing can be present to us to which we are not present.’9 Our hiddenness, which also hides others from us, is not an inevitable fact about the world but something to which we commit. We therefore bear responsibility for what we miss or make present. A similar denial of an other occurs in Cavell’s encounter with the horse. We miss the horse’s presence by casting our relationship with the animal in primarily epistemological terms – terms not entirely apposite to the embodied experience of seeing and being seen by another. Our stance is therefore one of ‘denial’ because, by grasping for knowledge, we curtail the possibility of understanding. As Stephen Mulhall writes in a related context: It is not, after all, too difficult to imagine ways in which the picture of a concept as subsuming a particular, or of concepts as ways of grasping reality, might encode a kind of imperialism of reason with respect to the real. Heidegger, for example, noted the echo of ‘greifen’ [grasp] in the German for concept (Begriff), and the possibility it opens up of picturing thinking as grasping or clutching at things, even pawing or clawing at them, rather than (say) allowing them to make an impression on us, or taking them to heart.10 The horse’s stance, in contrast to that of the grasping thinker, is open to what it cannot know. As such, it presents a kind of rebuke, chastising us for ‘our will to remain obscure’. The knowing human subject, it turns out, is the least ready. But the horse remains unperturbed: it takes ‘cognizance’ of our ‘fences’ but does not care for them (AT, 115). Cavell’s account can be read productively alongside Thoreau’s experience of the moose. There is an ‘unwillingness’ which Cavell admits to, and which can be discerned in Thoreau, to be entirely exposed to the animal other: ‘Nature’s stern gaze’ and the horse’s ‘rebuke’ suggest that some form of evasion has taken place (AT, 115). At the same time, there is a self-watchfulness in both writers that tries to take ‘cognizance’ of inner fences that have been built, of ‘refusals’ that are ‘unrevealed’ but powerfully active. Indeed, both accounts can be seen as painful exercises in fence- dismantling – painful because, in Thoreau’s case, one must confront a ghostly accuser in a difficult tribunal, and because, in Cavell’s case, the disavowal of intellectual mastery over the horse means the relinquishing of control. Both Thoreau and Cavell attempt ‘to make room’ for the animal’s presence even though the cost of making room is a profound disturbance to the self. By the end of his meditation, Thoreau opens himself more fully to the moose’s death, an occasion which involves difficult self-interrogation, while Cavell gently remonstrates himself for his own deflections, deflections which he recognises in the hope of overcoming. Denials take place all the time in human encounters. We risk dealing out ‘little deaths’ to others every day, Cavell writes, through ‘our slights of one another’, a ‘willful misconstrual’, a ‘shading of loyalty’, and through ‘any countless signs of skepticism with respect’ to the ‘separateness of another’.11 But the risk of denying others is especially pronounced in the case of relations between humans and nonhumans. This is because the factors that we count on in human encounters – a shared cultural context, for instance, or the ability to speak English – are limited or even non-existent. The possibilities for ‘willful misconstrual’ are therefore endless. There is of course a rich spectrum in which this is and is not the case. In thinking of the language I share with my dog, for instance, I feel satisfied that we understand each other in certain ways, even if many things remain incommunicable.We share a world with each other – and to the extent that we share a world, our forms of life share meaningful points of contact. When I watch my dog chase a bee, however, I realize that there are cases in which understanding and being understood are impossible. The bee’s seems completely unavailable to me in a way my dog’s life is not. I simply do not know how proceed with some animals – or what proceeding would even look like. Even in the case of my dog, however, what I may sometimes take to be mutual understanding might not be understanding at all, as when I think my dog has understood and assented to an instruction (not to pee on the shoes of our house-guests), only to find that that instruction has not been understood (we wake to find that the shoes are wet). Or there might be moments when I point to the distance, indicating a dog in another field, only to see that my dog is looking at my finger. These are comic instances of misunderstanding, and one can list many more. But there is also a more substantial sense in which our attempt at mutual intelligibility comes to an end, not so much because of ‘miscommunication’, but because the grounds for what it might mean to communicate simply do not exist. As Ludwig Wittgenstein writes, ‘A dog cannot be a hypocrite, but neither can he be sincere.’12 Here Wittgenstein is not making a value-judgement about dogs but illustrating the radical differences between us and them. ‘Hypocrisy’ and ‘sincerity’ only make sense, only have a proper home, in inter-human communication, because of the particular ways in which human beings can lie to each other or be desirous of honest conduct. There are deep connections, in other words, between a culture’s way of being and the words that make sense for it. The dog’s inability to be a ‘hypocrite’ is a powerful index of cultural difference, an indication of what Wittgenstein might call a different ‘form of life’.13 What is significant about Cavell's encounter, however, is the sense in which openness to the other can continue even when our knowledge comes to an end. It is in this sense that the horse’s stance provides a model for the human observer: its deportment is not defined by a need for knowledge but by a readiness to understand and be understood. But it is also in this sense that the horse rebukes us for our unwillingness to acknowledge what it might feel of us. As Cavell writes in a different context: To withhold, or hedge, our concepts of psychological states from a given creature, on the ground that our criteria cannot reach to the inner life of the creature, is specifically to withhold the source of my idea that living beings are things that feel; it is to withhold myself, to reject my response to anything as a living being.14 However, as much as Cavell’s horse rebukes us, its stance is also an invitation to relate to it differently, to stand before it without withholding ourselves. This includes resisting the movement in which our lack of knowledge turns into a curtailment of what the horse may know of us, a projection of our own lacunae, that is, onto the animal other. One can continue being open to the other without being certain what one is relating to. The horse is a good picture of this. This quality of being radically open exemplifies what I want to call a ‘poetic’ relationship to the world. It is a relationship George Eliot, Thoreau and Cavell explore in the passages discussed above – and it is a relationship J. M. Coetzee explores with extraordinary intensity in The Lives of Animals (1999), through his fictional character Elizabeth Costello. If the horse is, for Cavell, our best picture of understanding, poetry is, for Costello, our best form of reciprocating that understanding in language. ‘The difficulty of reality’ In her essay on Coetzee’s The Lives of Animals, the philosopher Cora Diamond writes that Elizabeth Costello is trying to come to terms with a ‘difficulty of reality’.15 Here, Diamond is alluding to our treatment of animal others under industrial modernity and to Costello’s engagement with this reality. A famous novelist, Costello has come to an Australian university to deliver a lecture and seminar, and, at liberty to select her own topic, has chosen to address what she calls the ‘horrors’ of human domination of animal life, of ‘what is being done to animals at this moment in production facilities (I hesitate to call them farms any longer), in abattoirs, in trawlers, in laboratories, all over the world’.16 According to Diamond, Costello is trying to grasp the immensity of this reality, to think and imagine it fully. By doing so, she is trying to avoid what might be called ‘deflection’. In Diamond’s account, deflection names a movement in which we turn away from or elide the complexity of an experience of life. We sometimes ‘deflect’ an issue, Diamond says, by dishonouring an experience through the form that our responses take. As she explains with reference to Cavell (from whom she borrows the term): Cavell writes about the philosopher who begins (we imagine) from an appreciation of something appalling: that I may be suffering, and my suffering be utterly unknown or uncared about; ‘and that others may be suffering and I not know’. But the philosopher’s understanding is deflected; the issue becomes deflected, as the philosopher thinks or rethinks it in the language of philosophical skepticism. And philosophical responses to that skepticism, e.g., demonstrations that it is confused, further deflect from the truth here. (Diamond, 57) In this example, what originally strikes the philosopher as appalling –the pain of another – loses its force. This is because that pain is diluted as the philosopher tries to think about that pain in the ‘language of philosophical skepticism’ (i.e. in a language which requires justification for any truth-claim about the world). Crucially, both Diamond and Cavell point out that that pain is further deflected by engaging with the sceptic on his or her terms, even if one is refuting what the sceptic says. This is because the issue of pain is being addressed within the wrong framework, one which fails to appreciate the true appallingness of what is going on (ibid.). In addition to ‘deflection’, Diamond uses another important phrase in her essay, the ‘difficulty of reality’: That is a phrase of John Updike’s, which I want to pick up for the phenomena with which I am concerned, experiences in which we take something in reality to be resistant to our thinking it, or possibly painful in its inexplicability, difficult in that way, or perhaps awesome and astonishing in its inexplicability. (Diamond, 45-46) In Diamond’s reading, Costello is someone who particularly tries to resist, as far as possible, certain deflections she sees at work in philosophical thinking with regard to animal others. Deflection is what happens, Diamond explains, ‘when we are moved from the appreciation, or attempt at appreciation, of a difficulty of reality to a philosophical or moral problem apparently in the vicinity’ (Diamond, 57). In trying to avoid such a deflection, not least by refusing the language in which animals are seen as a question, and in which issues are taken up and advanced, Costello wants to engage more fully with the material reality of our relations with animals, including, in this case, the ‘horrors’ of our treatment of them in abattoirs, trawlers and laboratories. Something of this reality, she feels, is threatened by adopting a particular language – the language of philosophy. This is not to belittle the importance of philosophy when it comes to clarifying and explaining our ideas. As Diamond remarks, there are ‘hard problems’ in philosophy, and ‘university philosophy departments’ are integral in helping us see ‘what constitutes a good argument, what is distorted by emotion, when we are making assertions without backing them up’ (Diamond, 58).17 Nor is it to repudiate completely what Diamond calls ‘deflection’ – which is, after all, part of the experience of being human. As Ian Hacking writes in response to Diamond’s essay, ‘Don’t knock deflection […]. Man is the deflecting animal.’18 Here, Hacking is not advocating ignorance as a virtue, nor celebrating the fact that we are sometimes closed off to others. Rather, he is pointing out that, in the course of a normal day, we often act in ways that fall short of the ideal image of the non-deflecting, open-minded person. To open ourselves fully to every uncertainty, exploring the hidden depths of every encounter, including encounters that might pose a threat to our identity, is impractical, undesirable, and perhaps even impossible. There are, after all, bills to pay and buses to catch. One might say that we deflect as a matter of course, as a way of just getting by in the world. But when Diamond remarks that certain philosophical arguments block us from appreciating a difficulty of reality, in this case an aspect of our relationship with other animals, she is saying something much more particular than Hacking’s general claim that ‘Man is the deflecting animal.’ She is pointing out the ways in which certain modes of thought involve deflection, or, more strongly, the ways in which deflection is built into certain ways of relating to the world. The refusal to engage with reality, that is, may not only happen in moments of ignorance or absent-mindedness, but in the very midst of our thinking life. And Costello, for Diamond, is a figure who tries to overcome this kind of deflection: What I have meant to suggest by picking up Cavell’s use of the term ‘deflection’ is that the hardness there, in philosophical argumentation, is not the hardness of appreciating or trying to appreciate a difficulty of reality. In the latter case, the difficulty of reality lies in the apparent resistance by reality to one’s ordinary mode of life, including one’s ordinary modes of thinking: to appreciate a difficulty of reality is to feel oneself being shouldered out of how one thinks, how one is apparently supposed to think, or to have a sense of the inability of thought to encompass what it is attempting to reach. Such appreciation may involve the profound isolation felt by someone like Elizabeth Costello (Diamond, 58–59).19 In remarking upon Costello’s ‘isolation’ in Coetzee’s novella, Diamond seems to have in mind various instances where Costello alienates herself from other characters. John, Costello’s son, thinks that his mother has become too ‘intense about the animal business’ (LA, 66). And Norma, Costello’s daughter-in-law, thinks Costello has withdrawn from the arena of rational thought (LA, 48-49). Then there are instances where Costello makes controversial comparisons between factory farming and the Holocaust, an analogy which offends various characters in the text, none more so than Abraham Stern (a character of clearly Jewish origins), who refuses to attend a dinner held in Costello’s honour (LA, 49-50).20 But Costello’s isolation from others is also much more subtle and pervasive, in that, apart from seeing the ‘animal business’ differently, she often finds herself unable to use the language of her peers. Her isolation is, among other things, deeply linguistic. Coetzee draws our attention to Costello’s differences in a number of ways. Recall, for instance, that Costello is a famous novelist, speaking to a university audience as an invited guest. Her audience, we can assume, is well- versed in the protocols of critical debate, and, in the context of a university lecture, it probably expects her to understand and adopt these protocols too. But Costello is a novelist – a point she emphasizes repeatedly – and this turns out to be a crucial source of tension in the novella. She wants to approach animal others primarily in literary and imaginative terms and not in the philosophical or critical terms of her interlocutors. This makes her impatient with academic debate, and she is often unwilling or unable to clarify herself in the ways desired by others. ‘I was hoping not to have to enunciate principles,’ Costello says in response to a question from an audience member. ‘If principles are what you want to take away from this talk, I would have to respond, open your heart and listen to what your heart says’ (LA, 37). One can only imagine how, in the context of university lecture, this would have baffled (or perhaps even irritated) Costello’s questioner. From time to time, Costello shows an awareness of how she might be baffling others. She also recognizes that her remarks might be taken as sentimental or even irrational. ‘I want to find a way of speaking,’ she says at one point, that is ‘cool rather than heated, philosophical rather than polemical.’ This is the kind of language, Costello continues, in which ‘we can discuss and debate what kind of souls animals have’ or ‘whether they reason or on the contrary act as biological automatons’ (LA, 22). But this philosophical language – the language of ‘Aristotle and Porphyry, of Augustine and Aquinas, of Descartes and Bentham’ – is also precisely what Costello wants to avoid. This is because philosophical discussion of ‘the animal’, in her view, deflects the singularity of animal others by approaching them in the form of philosophical questions. Her refusal to use the language of Descartes and Bentham, then, or even the language of ‘Mary Midgley and Tom Regan’, emerges from her desire to avoid the reduction of animal otherness into an issue or a question. That language partly tempts her, not least because it seems to offer a way of getting a grip on a difficulty of reality, but it is one that she also declines to take up. ‘[S]omething in me resists’ that language, Costello says, ‘foreseeing in that step the concession of the entire battle’ (LA, 25). Resisting a particular philosophical language is of crucial importance to Costello. Indeed, on certain occasions it is a matter of life and death – or rather a matter of how we appreciate or fail to appreciate life and death. This is especially clear in Costello’s debate with Professor Thomas O’Hearne, an academic philosopher who has been invited to respond to her lecture on animals. For the most part, the debate proceeds in a calm and civilized manner. O’Hearne raises a number of substantial objections to Costello’s lecture, to which she responds forcefully but politely. The tone of the debate changes, however, when O’Hearne raises the topic of death. Animals, according to O’Hearne, do not ‘understand death as we do’: death is ‘just something that happens’ to animals, ‘something against which there may be a revolt of the organism but not a revolt of the soul’. ‘And the lower down the scale of evolution one goes, the truer this is. To an insect, death is the breakdown of systems that keep the physical organism functioning, and nothing more’ (LA, 63). Costello’s response is direct and curt, but also, in the context of an academic debate, unusually impassioned: Anyone who says that life matters less to animals than it does to us has not held in his hands an animal fighting for its life. The whole of the being of the animal is thrown into that fight, without reserve. (LA, 65) Costello admits that the ‘fight’ of other animals against death may lack the intellectual dimension of the human fight, but she also argues that it is ‘not the mode of being of animals to have an intellectual horror’. Their ‘whole being,’ she continues, ‘is the living flesh’ (ibid.). Then Costello does something remarkable. She points out the weakness of everything she is saying: If I do not convince you that is because my words, here, lack the power to bring home to you the wholeness, the unabstracted, unintellectual nature, of that animal being. That is why I urge you to read the poets who return the living, electric being to language. (ibid.) Costello feels she has reached the limits of what can be said between herself and O’Hearne, at least in the terms of their current discussion. There is something amiss, she realizes, about the form their dialogue has taken, in which positions are staked out through arguments. O’Hearne has been defending a certain notion, namely that animals do not have an ‘intellectual horror’ of death, a position which Costello thinks mischaracterizes the animal response to death. However, precisely at the point where Costello’s argument stands in need of explanation, and where she might be expected to adduce certain examples, she stops short: ‘my words [ … ] lack the power to bring home to you the wholeness […] of that animal being’(ibid.). At a crucial moment in the debate, Costello breaks off from a particular way of speaking, from a particular manner of continuing. And she turns to poetry: ‘I urge you to read the poets.’ Rilke’s panther, Hughes’s jaguar But what is this thing called poetry? What can it ‘do’ that academic debate cannot? Costello explores these questions in a seminar entitled ‘The Poets and the Animals’, which takes place the day after her lecture and examines the connections between our forms of thought and the ways in which we acknowledge or refuse to acknowledge nonhuman others.. As in her engagement with the philosophers, Costello’s treatment of poetry is patchy: she skates over intricate historical questions connected to particular writers and ideas, and offers unsystematic readings of animals in poetry, confining her analysis to a handful of poems. Unlike her engagement with philosophy, however, which is mostly antagonistic, Costello’s tone in this seminar is more affirmative. She finds in poetry an entirely different mode of relating to the world, one which allows for the kind of sympathetic attachment she thinks philosophy has denied itself in relation to animal life. Costello never explicitly spells out a theory regarding the relations between poetry and animal life. But it soon becomes clear that a definition would be antithetical to her purposes, for what seems to attract her in poetry is precisely its indefinability, its wild resistance to paraphrase. Nevertheless, a kind of thesis emerges in her reading of poetry about animal life. Some poems, it seems, are capable of their own deflections in relation to animal others – while other poems seem to resist this especially well. Costello explores both kinds of poems. Costello’s seminar begins with a reading of ‘The Panther’ (1903) by the poet Rainer Maria Rilke. When Rilke wrote this poem, he was under the counsel of Auguste Rodin, who apparently urged the poet to observe animals at the Jardin des Plantes in Paris. Studying the world with a naturalist’s precision, Rodin said, was integral to his artistic training. The result of this advice was ‘The Panther’, one of Rilke’s most translated poems. The lithe swinging of that rhythmical easy stride which circles down to the tiniest hub is like a dance of energy around a point in which a great will stands stunned and numb. The poem is ranked among Rilke’s finest works. According to Charlie Louth, the poem ‘provided a standard concentrated utterance’ against which Rilke would measure his future writing; and according to T. J. Reed, the poem ‘describes with an exactitude a zoologist can admire’.21 Rilke seems to ‘become the panther’ in this poem, William Pratt writes, ‘pacing in his cage in the menagerie’ of the zoo.22 For Costello, however, there is something amiss about poem. The panther is powerfully evoked, but its energy seems to be projected onto it. In fact, the panther is really a ‘stand-in for something else’, she argues. Its ‘dance of energy around a center’ is an ‘ image that comes from physics, elementary particle physics’. And ‘Rilke does not get beyond this point – beyond the panther as the vital embodiment of the kind of force that is released in an atomic explosion’ (LA, 50). His animal is a trope for trapped energy – and it is energy, not the animal, that is the subject of Rilke’s poem. Costello finds a different spirit at work in the poems of Ted Hughes, whom she says is ‘writing against Rilke’ (LA, 50). As she remarks of two of Hughes’s poems, ‘The Jaguar’ (1957) and ‘Second Glance at a Jaguar’ (1967): He uses the same staging in the zoo, but it is the crowd for a change that stands mesmerized, and among them the man, the poet, entranced and horrified and overwhelmed, his powers of understanding pushed beyond their limit. (LA, 50-51) Against Rilke, whose animal is a ‘stand­in for something else’, Hughes feels ‘his way toward a different kind of being-in-the-world’ (LA, 51). For him ‘it is a matter […] not of inhabiting another mind but of inhabiting another body’ (ibid). This places Hughes in contact with what might be called a ‘difficulty of reality’, in that he confronts something which resists his ordinary forms of thought. What Cora Diamond says of Elizabeth Costello is true of Hughes’s experience here: ‘shouldered out’ from how he is ‘apparently supposed to think’ about the world, he encounters a limit to his understanding with respect to the jaguar, an animal which brings home to him the ‘inability of thought to encompass what it is trying to reach’ (Diamond, 58). Personal observation was central to the later poem Hughes published about a jaguar, ‘Second Glance at a Jaguar’. ‘I’m having a pleasant time at the [London] Zoo,’ he wrote in a letter, five years before the poem’s publication. ‘I have a season ticket & go nearly every day & draw animals & look at them a bit more closely than I have done heretofore.’23 One result of looking ‘more closely’ was the accumulation of concrete details. Images and associations are not projected upon the creature, as in Rilke’s ‘The Panther’, but seem to emerge from the speaker’s close observation of how the jaguar actually acts and moves: Skinful of bowls he bowls them, The hip going in and out of joint, dropping the spine With the urgency of his hurry Like a cat going along under thrown stones, under cover, Glancing sideways, running Under his spine. There is a complex interplay between rhythm and experience here. The repetitions of certain sounds (‘bowls’, ‘thrown’ and stones’, as well as ‘urgency’ and ‘hurry’,) establishes a dominant pattern of long ‘o’ and short ‘ur’ and ‘ee’ sounds, which, in combination with the repetition of ‘under’ (‘under thrown stones’, ‘under cover’, ‘Under his spine’), has the effect of propelling the poem forward as we read in anticipation of similar cadences. Just as the poem surges forward, however, there is a sense that it also looks back at itself. ‘Skinful of bowls he bowls them’, for instance, is notable not only for its description of the black marks on the jaguar’s skin, but for its daring repetition of ‘bowls’, a word which, in its first iteration, is used as a noun (‘Skinful of bowls’) but then quite suddenly as a verb (‘he bowls them). Through this weird description, the line forces a jarring retrospective glance. Similarly, ‘hurry’ contains the auditory memory of ‘urgency’, just as the third iteration of ‘under’ (‘Under his spine’) makes us conscious of its earlier iterations (‘under thrown stones’, ‘under cover’). The poem’s repetitions sweep us backwards in the movement of going forwards, a dense layering of sounds and energies which seem, at the verbal level, to mirror something of the jaguar’s hunched ‘running’, the ducking movement of its head, and the sway of its hip as it goes ‘in and out of joint’. Unlike ‘The Panther’, in which the creature is a ‘stand-in for something else’, the creature in Hughes’s poem seems to be muscling its way into language, ‘Like a cat […] under cover’. Of course, as with any poem about any animal, Hughes cannot escape the prism of language. The jaguar is necessarily described within an all-too-human framework and so tangled up with human concerns and projections. Later in the poem, Hughes seems to acknowledge this through a number of extreme (and self- consciously outlandish) descriptions of the jaguar. Nevertheless, even as Hughes’s poem owns up to these inescapable contingencies, to the fact that we inevitably anthropomorphize other creatures by describing them, his poem also manages to gesture towards the jaguar’s otherness, not by transcending figures of speech (an impossible task in a poem), but by underscoring the provisional nature of each of his descriptions. By amassing a dizzying array of images to describe the creature, only to then summarily dispense with those images, the poem foregrounds both the inadequacy of its previous images and a sense that future images, however precise, will also fail to capture something of how the jaguar moves. The portrait Hughes completes is also a monument to the impossibility of a complete portrait. The jaguar moves with a A terrible, stump-legged waddle, Like a thick Aztec disemboweller, Club-swinging, trying to grind some square Socket between his hind legs round, Carrying his head like a brazier of spilling embers, And the black bit of his mouth, he takes it Between his back teeth, he has to wear his skin out, He swipes a lap at the water-trough as he turns Swivelling the ball of his heel on the polished spot, Showing his belly like a butterfly. Again, the poem unfolds new images and phrasings in quick succession, as though to keep pace with the creature’s movements. ‘Aztec disemboweller’ gives way to ‘square socket’ which gives way to ‘hind legs round’ which gives way to ‘spilling embers’ which gives way to ‘black bit’ which culminates in the surprising image of ‘a butterfly’. Hughes’s associations flow with an urgent momentum, never quite at rest. At first glance, there seems to be very little that holds these images together; on closer inspection, however, one can see how particular images seem to anticipate the next. ‘Grind’ and ‘socket’, for instance, clearly borrow from a mechanistic vocabulary, and so prepare the ground for ‘Carrying his head like a brazier of spilling embers’, an image which suggests a steam-engine overloaded with fuel. This description anticipates, in turn, the ‘the black bit’ of the jaguar’s mouth, an image which suggest coal or ash, but which in any case contains a memory of the now burnt-out embers. In turn, the ‘a’ and ‘t’ sounds in ‘black bit’ prepares us for ‘back teeth’, just as the description of the jaguar wearing its ‘skin out’ anticipates ‘polished’. Rushing from images of fire to water, from square sockets to round legs, from Aztec disembowellers to butterflies, the poem brings together dynamic opposites, finding in the jaguar a site of multiple forces and energies. It is in this sense that Hughes’s poem may be said to encode an ‘ecological ethic’ that is absent from Rilke’s poem. If Rilke’s ‘The Panther’ uses the animal as a symbol, Hughes’s ‘Second Glance at a Jaguar’ engages with the creature as an embodied other, one with a particular way of moving and being. Like the jaguar, moreover, which at ‘every stride’ seems to ‘turn a corner | in himself and correct it’, Hughes’s poem is full of revisions and recalibrations. It conscientiously breaks apart its own images, underscoring the creature’s otherness by refusing to allow a particular metaphor or conceit for the jaguar to reify into an emblem. In this way, the poem redeems the etymology of poetry as poesis – poetry, that is, as a process of making, creating, producing. The poem also suggests how the restless and transformative activity of poetic making and remaking might offer (non-instrumental) forms of relating to animal others, specifically forms of description which do not simply re- embed the animal other into what we know, but which find a way of acknowledging – even in the act of describing – the other’s otherness to what we know. This is not to say that the jaguar, by the end of Hughes’s poem, is somehow captured in its full totality. On the contrary, the poem cannot be more than its own conceits; even its most precise images reduce the jaguar to a series of verbal figures. By means of continually unsettling language, however, there is a sense in which the poem ‘releases’ the creature by foregrounding the ways in which the jaguar is always other to the poem’s images. The poem affirms that we can only ever ‘glance’ at the jaguar, and that its otherness is finally beyond the figures we make for it. Rather than positing this as a loss, however, the poem celebrates the alterity that ‘glancing’ implies – by itself becoming glancing. Unable to free the animal in reality, in the actual setting of the zoo, this homage is perhaps the only real gesture (if still a feeble one) available to the poem. Recognizing the intolerability of the creature’s caged condition, the poem refuses to burden the creature further by pinning it down in words. The difference between Rilke and Hughes is nicely captured by the phrase ‘becoming-animal’, a term used by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari in A Thousand Plateaus.24 As Randy Malamud explains in relation to ‘The Panther’, Rilke’s poem fails the task of ‘becoming-animal’, a task which would require seeing ‘the whole animal and its life’ over and above ‘its iconically reductive cultural representation’.25 In other words, Rilke sees the panther in all-too-human terms: his poem is not so much an encounter with an animal as an encounter with an idea of energy that the animal embodies. Indeed, this was partly the point: as Ralph Freedman observes of this period in Rilke’s career, the poet was striving to achieve a sculptural stillness in his poems. ‘The panther has become wholly thing,’ Freedman writes, and ‘this was the most advanced development so far in Rilke’s professional life: the absorption, interpretation, and reinterpretation of Rodin’s new sculpture.’26 But if this text marked an artistic breakthrough for Rilke, a thoroughgoing assimilation of Rodin’s influence, the poem is troublingly uncritical in its relation to the actual panther. As Malamud writes, the ‘poet and audience recognise this animal’s intensity and his soul,’ but they ‘remain powerless within the text to celebrate this, or to ameliorate the animal’s constraint […]. There is no emotion possible other than pathos.’27 Malamud might be asking too much of Rilke here. Short of physically liberating the animal, it is not clear how Rilke might ‘ameliorate’ the panther’s life in captivity. Nor is it clear if ‘pathos’ is entirely undesirable: the emotion, after all, might be the catalyst for a more fully- realised sympathy. As a comment on the imaginative trajectory of ‘The Panther’, however, Malamud’s general point is convincing: because Rilke approaches the panther as an aesthetic ‘thing’, and because he is a sentimental and uncritical visitor to the zoo, the animal is further imprisoned by the concepts we make for it. The panther, to adapt a related comment Malamud makes elsewhere, lacks those ‘lines of flight’ which ‘highlight the animal’s mobility and agency’, and which provide animals with ‘paths of escape from the captivity and inertia’ that ‘plague animals in so many of their modern cultural incarnations’.28 Rilke’s panther, in other words, is never more than Rilke’s panther (or the dominant cultural idea of panther’s in his time). Hughes approaches his jaguar differently. If Rilke describes his panther with the eye of an artist, sculpting the animal into an expression of trapped and deflated energy, Hughes is partly sculpted by the animal: his engagement with the jaguar mesmerizes him. This is because Hughes tries to inhabit another body – and in so doing relinquishes some degree of intellectual control over the other. He does not approach the animal as a subject of knowledge (Cavell’s horse), or as an artistic challenge (Rilke’s panther), but as an embodied other that must be met halfway. As Costello remarks, Hughes is feeling his way toward a different kind of being-in-the-world, one which is not entirely foreign to us [ … ] . In these poems we know the jaguar not from the way he seems but from the way he moves [ … ] . The poems ask us to imagine our way into that way of moving, to inhabit that body. (LA, 51) To imagine the jaguar in this way is to recognize the animal’s embodied vitality. The jaguar is not only something to look at, but something that looks. It is full of ‘currents of life’, before which the ‘crowd stands mesmerised’. In this way, Hughes’s poem can lead to what Mark Payne calls, in another context, a ‘perceptual change’ in our relations with animals. ‘To see oneself seen,’ he writes, ‘ is to become aware of oneself as an object of another animal’s perception, then as one object among others in this perception, and then, finally, as a participant in an intersubjective encounter as it is experienced by another subject.’29And that, as Costello tells her audience, ‘is the kind of poetry I bring to your attention today: poetry that does not try to find an idea in the animal, that is not about the animal, but is instead the record of an engagement with him’ (LA, 51). Costello’s analysis is not without its problems. In her reading of Hughes’s jaguar poems, for instance, she acknowledges but does not engage with the ‘ethics of caging large animals’ (LA, 51). If anything, this issue should be central to our reading of the text. Since the poem cannot be separated from zoos as institutions, it cannot be read as a straightforward encounter between a human being and a nonhuman other. It is also a massive oversimplification for Costello to speak of ‘philosophy’ and ‘poetry’ as though they were clearly separable, each characterized by a set of common themes and properties. In many cases the distinction is not only simplistic but untenable. Lucretius’ De rerum natura, for instance, or Ovid’s Metamorphoses, are works of both poetry and philosophy, and these elements cannot be separated without severely distorting the texts. We might also think of modern examples where poetry is in intimate conversation with philosophical themes, as in the work of Wallace Stevens, or philosophy which moves towards ‘lyrical’ or ‘poetical’ forms, as in the writing of Gaston Bachelard or Maurice Blanchot. In these cases, ‘philosophy’ and ‘poetry’ are deeply connected: they form crisscrossing strands of a particular writer’s voice. Finally, we might also resist Costello’s uncritical celebration of the ‘heart’ as the ‘seat’ of sympathy, that ‘faculty’ which ‘allows us to share at times the being of another’ (LA, 34). In ‘Reopening the Question of the Human and the Animal’, Dominick LaCapra argues that we should be wary of such over-reaching formulations, criticizing Costello for ‘seemingly accepting the questionable ideas that sympathy is identification with the other and that such identification is itself a preservative against cruelty and genocidal behaviour’.30 In particular, LaCapra argues that thinking of sympathy in these terms – namely, as a ‘fully identificatory form’ of engagement – is ‘very problematic as a moral or ethical sentiment in that it induces projective or incorporative identification’.31 Sympathetic projection, in other words, may end up eliding the other by turning its otherness into a version of the same, even, paradoxically, as one tries to resist that very move. The ‘type of empathy or compassion Costello seems to be seeking,’ LaCapra adds, ‘would be better construed as an affective response that may involve elements of identification but nonetheless is also informed both by acknowledgement of the other as other and by the realisation that sympathy or empathy alone, however desirable on an ethical level, is not sufficient as a response to social and political problems.’32 To be fair to her, Costello is partly aware of the problems posed by an unqualified conception of sympathy, an awareness that comes out most forcefully when she criticizes Hughes for the ‘primitivism’ of his thought. ‘It is deeply masculine’ and ‘masculinist’, she remarks, and its ‘ramifications into politics are to be mistrusted’ (LA, 52). In any case, however, LaCapra is right to suggest that Costello’s remarks on sympathy and compassion – remarks that are usually couched in aesthetic and ecological terms – require ‘supplementation by norms and processes linked to forms of socio-political practice’. Although such considerations may not ‘contradict’ Costello’s view, they nonetheless ‘take one beyond the world envisaged’ by her.33 Without recapitulating Costello’s simplistic view of philosophy, however, and even as one recognizes the limits of her discussion of sympathy, one may nevertheless take her seriously when she claims that poets return the ‘electric, living being’ to language (LA, 61). One might take seriously, that is, the notion that there are deep relations between our forms of language and the forms of recognition that language makes possible (or unwittingly withholds). Wittgenstein’s ladder Ludwig Wittgenstein was convinced that many of the intractable issues in philosophy were misconstruals of language, arising from what Gordon Hunnings has called ‘mistaken grammatical assimilations’.34 Problems in philosophy came about when words and concepts from different homes were erroneously mixed up. The task of the philosopher, in this context, was to look at the ways this happened and to stop it from happening again: Language sets everyone the same traps; it is an immense network of easily accessible wrong turnings. And so we watch one man after another walking down the same paths and we know in advance where he will branch off, where walk straight on without noticing the side turning, etc. etc. What I have to do then is erect signposts at all the junctions where there are wrong turnings so as to help people past the danger points.35 Given the state of language’s roads, where ‘wrong turnings’ were all too ‘easily accessible’, the philosopher’s role, as Wittgenstein conceived it, was to stop people from getting lost – by bringing an end to philosophy as it was understood by the great figures of the Western tradition, who were concerned with solving metaphysical or epistemological problems. As Wittgenstein puts it in Philosophical Investigations: ‘Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of our language’ (§109). Or, as he remarks in a later passage, ‘What we are destroying is nothing but houses of cards and we are clearing up the ground of language on which they stand’ (§118). But the work of ‘destroying’ a ‘house of cards’ is not a simple task. On the contrary, it can involve the terrifying unmaking of ideas and concepts in which we felt at home, the abandoning of roads with which we were deeply familiar. In Elizabeth Costello’s case, it can also involve a feeling of out-of-jointedness with cultural practices around her, as in her inability to understand the ‘stupefying’ practices of eating meat, something she once took for granted. It can also involve, finally, a wrenching apart of a sense of self. ‘It’s that I no longer know where I am,’ Costello confesses to her son, John, after she has completed her presentation at the university. ‘I must be mad!’ (LA, 69). Here, Costello seems to describing a crisis of language, as well as the loss of a former understanding of the world, one that is deeply frightening.36 Her house of cards comes down with a disorienting swiftness, disrupting all the signposts that had once seemed intelligible. She is now travelling, to put this another way, without a clear sense of direction, perilously close to the edge of sanity. As Diamond writes of such moments, ‘To attempt to think [a difficulty of reality] is to feel one’s thinking come unhinged. Our concepts, our ordinary life with our concepts, pass by this difficulty as if it were not there; the difficulty, if we try to see it, shoulders us out of life, is deadly chilling’ (Diamond, 58). Paradoxically, however, this experience of being ‘shouldered’ out of life can also return one to life, not least by reminding one of the body one inhabits. Or, as Diamond writes in her essay’s conclusion, the ‘coming apart of thought and reality belongs to flesh and blood’ (ibid., 78). Costello’s turn to poetry also belongs to ‘flesh and blood’. By reading poems such Hughes’s ‘Second Glance at a Jaguar’, and by trying to relate to animal life beyond the terms provided by philosophy, she brings herself to the limits of what she can think. Not that poetry is without concepts, or that poetry always avoids ‘deflection’, or that avoiding deflection is always even desirable. Nor even that Costello wants to put a limit on thinking. On the contrary, her turn to poetry seems to signal something else – call it an embrace of ‘negative capability’ (John Keats), or an acceptance of poesis, that activity of restless making and remaking by which, relinquishing what we know, we reclaim the ordinary. Whatever it is, it returns her to life. Poets, Costello remarks, ‘return the living, electric being to language’. NOTES 1 George Eliot, The Lifted Veil (London: Virago, 1985), p. 26. 2 George Eliot, Middlemarch (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 159. 3 Donna Haraway, The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness (Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press, 2003), p. 3. 4 Henry David Thoreau, The Maine Woods (New York: Penguin, 1998), p. 152. Further references will be given in the text as MW, followed by the page number. 5 This phrase is taken from the title of a lecture delivered by Donna Haraway in 2010, ‘Staying with the Trouble: Becoming Worldly with Animal Species’, presented at Duke University Women’s Studies Program, Fifth Annual Feminist Theory Workshop. 6 Stanley Cavell quoted in Vicki Hearne, Adam’s Task: Calling Animals by Name (London: Heinemann, 1987), p. 115. Further references will be given in the text as AT, followed by the page number. 7 Stanley Cavell, ‘The Avoidance of Love’, in Must We Mean What We Say? (New York: Scribner, 1969), pp. 267 – 353 (p. 286). 8 Ibid., p. 351. As Cavell writes of King Lear: ‘The cause of tragedy is that we would rather murder the world than permit it to expose us to change’ (ibid.). 9 Ibid., p. 346. 10 Stephen Mulhall, The Wounded Animal: J. M. Coetzee and the Difficulty of Reality in Literature and Philosophy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009), p. 116. 11 Stanley Cavell, ‘The Good of Film’, in Cavell on Film, ed. by William Rothman (New York: State University of New York Press, 2005), p. 340. 12 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, trans. by Elizabeth Anscombe (Oxford: Blackwell, 1958), p. 229. 13 The idea of a ‘form of life’ appears in various sections of Philosophical Investigations and is expressed most succinctly in the following formulations: to ‘imagine a language means to imagine a form of life’ (§19); and ‘the speaking of language is part of an activity, or of a form of life’ (§23). 14 Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason: Wittgenstein, Skepticism, Morality, and Tragedy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 83. 15 Cora Diamond, ‘The Difficulty of Reality and the Difficulty of Philosophy’, in Stanley Cavell, Cora Diamond, John McDowell, Ian Hacking and Cary Wolfe, Philosophy and Animal Life (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), pp. 43–90 (p. 57). Further references will be given Diamond, followed by the page number. 16 J. M. Coetzee, The Lives of Animals, ed. by Amy Gutmann (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), p. 19. Further references will be given in the text as LA, followed by the page number. 17 Indeed, Diamond’s own writing on animals, particularly her essay ‘Eating Meat and Eating People’, exemplifies the importance of sustained philosophical thought in reaching clarity about issues which have been ‘distorted by emotion’. This essay is in Cora Diamond, The Realistic Spirit: Wittgenstein, Philosophy and the Mind (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1991), pp. 319–34. 18 Ian Hacking, ‘Deflections’, in Philosophy and Animal Life, p. 164. 19 In speaking of being ‘shouldered out of how one thinks’, Diamond is alluding to a word Ted Hughes uses in his poem ‘Six Young Men’, and which Diamond quotes at the beginning of her essay (Diamond, 44). In the poem, Hughes describes a photograph of ‘six young men’ who were killed in World War I. The poem speaks of the difficulty of coming to grips with the fact that all these men – in the bloom of their youth in the photograph – died fighting during the war. There is something painfully astonishing about this, and the speaker struggles to reconcile these deaths with the joviality of the young men in the photo, ‘all trimmed for a Sunday jaunt’. The poem concludes: ‘To regard this photograph might well dement, | Such contradictory permanent horrors here | Smile from the single exposure and shoulder out | One’s own body from its instant and heat.’ 20 Readers of The Lives of Animals have also taken issue with the comparison, objecting to Costello’s conflation of the deaths of animals under factory farming and the deaths of humans under religious persecution. See Peter Singer’s response in LA, pp. 85–89. 21 Charlie Louth, ‘Early Poems’, in The Cambridge Companion to Rilke, ed. by Karen Leeder and Robert Vilain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), p. 56; T. J. Reed, ‘Nietzsche’s Animals: Idea, Image and Influence’, in Nietzsche: Imagery and Thought: A Collection of Essays, ed. by Malcolm Pasley (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), p. 190. 22 William Pratt, Singing the Chaos: Madness and Wisdom in Modern Poetry (Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press, 1996), p. 45. [should I put MO here so as to be consistent with reference 31, which places ‘IL’ after Evanston? Happy to leave out the state names, though, if that looks cleaner.] 23 Ted Hughes, Letters of Ted Hughes, ed. by Christopher Reid (London: Faber and Faber, 2007), p. 179. 24 See chapter 10 of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (London: Continuum, 2004), pp. 256 -341. 25 Randy Malamud, An Introduction to Animals and Visual Culture (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), p. 46. 26 Ralph Freedman, The Life of a Poet (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1998), p. 172. 27 Malamud, An Introduction to Animals and Visual Culture, p. 48. 28 Ibid., p. 46. ‘Lines of flight’ is another term Malamud borrows from Deleuze and Guattari. As they explain in A Thousand Plateaus, ‘The line of flight marks: the reality of a finite number of dimensions that the multiplicity effectively fills; the impossibility of a supplementary dimension, unless the multiplicity is transformed by the line of flight; the possibility and necessity of flattening all of the multiplicities on a single plane of consistency or exteriority, regardless of their number of dimensions’ (p. 10). 29 Mark Payne, The Animal Part: Human and Other Animals in the Poetic Imagination (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010), p. 8. 30 Dominick LaCapra, ‘Reopening the Question of the Human and the Animal’, in History and its Limits: Human, Animal, Violence (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2009) pp. 149–89 (pp. 180–81). 31 Ibid., p. 181. 32 Ibid., p. 181. 33 LaCapra, ‘Reopening the Question of the Human and the Animal’, p. 181. 34 Gordon Hunnings, The World and Language in Wittgenstein’s Philosophy (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1988), p. 200. 35 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Culture and Value (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), p. 18. 36It is no exaggeration to describe Costello’s sense of being lost here as a crisis of identity. As Charles Taylor points out in a separate but related context, there are deep connections between our spatial metaphors and our sense of self. ‘To know who I am,’ he writes, ‘is a species of knowing where I stand.’ Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), p. 27. [MICHAEL MALAY CREATURELY ENCOUNTERS IN PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE] 
work_nfjafgapynf3nmcg57dunide3i	----	[PDF] The patient’s lament: hidden key to effective communication: how to recognise and transform | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1136/jmh.2004.000164 Corpus ID: 872346The patient’s lament: hidden key to effective communication: how to recognise and transform @article{Bub2004ThePL, title={The patient’s lament: hidden key to effective communication: how to recognise and transform}, author={B. Bub}, journal={Medical Humanities}, year={2004}, volume={30}, pages={63 - 69} } B. Bub Published 2004 Medicine, Psychology Medical Humanities “Our dancing is changed into mourning” Lamentations 5:15 to “you turned my lament into dancing” Psalm 30:12. Numerous studies and well publicised complaints from the public have long revealed a pressing need for physicians to improve their communication skills and their ability to interpret and respond appropriately to what they hear from patients. Rushed and dispirited, physicians are routinely urged to become more compassionate and to spend more time listening. This article challenges the… Expand View on Publisher mh.bmj.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 21 CitationsBackground Citations 4 View All Topics from this paper Grief reaction Auditory Perception Patients 21 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Understanding compassion in family medicine: a qualitative study. Jane Uygur, J. Brown, C. 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Shapiro Psychology, Medicine Families, systems & health : the journal of collaborative family healthcare 2011 41 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Preparing medical students to become attentive listeners J. Donald Boudreau, E. Cassell, A. Fuks Psychology, Medicine Medical teacher 2009 53 View 1 excerpt Save Alert Research Feed Spiritual assessment of patients with cancer: the moral authority, vocational, aesthetic, social, and transcendent model. K. Skalla, J. McCoy Medicine Oncology nursing forum 2006 26 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed How Music-Inspired Weeping Can Help Terminally Ill Patients K. Norton Psychology, Medicine The Journal of medical humanities 2011 11 Save Alert Research Feed The London Deanery pilot project: Trust-based learning groups to foster professionalism D. Gill, Ann Griffin, +4 authors J. Launer Medicine 2011 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 39 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency The saddest day of my life M. Rudolph Psychology 1978 2 Save Alert Research Feed A study of patient clues and physician responses in primary care and surgical settings. W. Levinson, R. Gorawara-Bhat, J. Lamb Medicine JAMA 2000 558 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The inner life of physicians and care of the seriously ill. D. Meier, A. Back, R. Morrison Medicine JAMA 2001 539 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Strategic Risk Management: Reducing Malpractice Claims Through More Effective Patient-Doctor Communication B. Virshup, A. Oppenberg, M. Coleman Medicine American journal of medical quality : the official journal of the American College of Medical Quality 1999 64 Save Alert Research Feed How well do medical oncologists' perceptions reflect their patients' reported physical and psychosocial problems? Data from a survey of five oncologists. S. Newell, R. Sanson-Fisher, A. Girgis, A. Bonaventura Medicine Cancer 1998 171 Save Alert Research Feed Physician Communication Skills: Results of a Survey of General/Family Practitioners in Newfoundland F. Ashbury, D. Iverson, B. Kralj Medicine Medical education online 2001 42 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Why do people sue doctors? A study of patients and relatives taking legal action C. Vincent, A. Phillips, M. Young Medicine The Lancet 1994 501 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Physician reactions to the health care revolution. A grief model approach. A. Daugird, D. Spencer Medicine Archives of family medicine 1996 19 Save Alert Research Feed “Give Sorrow Words”: Lament—Contemporary Need for Job's Old Time Religion P. H. Byrne Psychology, Medicine The journal of pastoral care & counseling : JPCC 2002 4 Save Alert Research Feed Family physicians' approach to psychotherapy and counseling. Perceptions and practices. J. Swanson Medicine Canadian family physician Medecin de famille canadien 1994 8 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 ... Related Papers Abstract Topics 21 Citations 39 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_nik552td6nbe7pryokgwv2jaji	----	doi:10.1016/j.amepre.2004.10.018 I H O B K B M R C I I l l l F l C e A a A P s l A © ncreasing Walking ow Important Is Distance To, Attractiveness, and Size of Public pen Space? illie Giles-Corti, PhD, Melissa H. Broomhall, MPH, Matthew Knuiman, PhD, Catherine Collins, MBBS, ate Douglas, MBBS, Kevin Ng, MBBS, Andrea Lange, BA (Hon), Robert J. Donovan, PhD ackground: Well-designed public open space (POS) that encourages physical activity is a community asset that could potentially contribute to the health of local residents. ethods: In 1995–1996, two studies were conducted—an environmental audit of POS over 2 acres (n �516) within a 408-km2 area of metropolitan Perth, Western Australia; and personal interviews with 1803 adults (aged 18 to 59 years) (52.9% response rate). The association between access to POS and physical activity was examined using three accessibility models that progressively adjusted for distance to POS, and its attractiveness and size. In 2002, an observational study examined the influence of attractiveness on the use of POS by observing users of three pairs of high- and low-quality (based on attractiveness) POS matched for size and location. esults: Overall, 28.8% of respondents reported using POS for physical activity. The likelihood of using POS increased with increasing levels of access, but the effect was greater in the model that adjusted for distance, attractiveness, and size. After adjustment, those with very good access to large, attractive POS were 50% more likely to achieve high levels of walking (odds ratio, 1.50; 95% confidence level, 1.06 –2.13). The observational study showed that after matching POS for size and location, 70% of POS users observed visited attractive POS. onclusions: Access to attractive, large POS is associated with higher levels of walking. To increase walking, thoughtful design (and redesign) of POS is required that creates large, attractive POS with facilities that encourage active use by multiple users (e.g., walkers, sports participants, picnickers). (Am J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2):169 –176) © 2005 American Journal of Preventive Medicine m a r r p i g p t w t e t p P r v m s ntroduction The indescribable innocence and beneficence of Nature . . . such health, such cheer, they afford! —Walden, Henry David Thoreau (1817–1842) n the 19th century, public open space (POS) was created in the United Kingdom and United States with a view to improving the health and quality of ife of the working classes living in squalid and crowded iving conditions.1–3 Perceived as the “lungs” of pol- uted cities, POS provided alternative activities for the rom the School of Population Health, University of Western Austra- ia (Giles-Corti, Broomhall, Knuiman, Collins, Douglas, Ng, Lange), rawley, Western Australia, Australia, and Division of Health Sci- nces, Curtin University of Technology (Donovan), Perth, Western ustralia, Australia At the time of the studies discussed here, Robert J. Donovan was ffiliated with the School of Population Health, University of Western ustralia, Perth, Western Australia, Australia. Address correspondence and reprint requests to: Billie Giles-Corti, hD, Associate Professor, School of Population Health, The Univer- p ity of Western Australia, 35 Stirling Highway, Crawley 6009, Austra- ia. E-mail: billie@cyllene.uwa.edu.au. m J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2) 2005 American Journal of Preventive Medicine • Published by asses seen to be slipping into “moral decay,” as well as place for physical recreation.4,5 Public open space continues to play an important ole in contemporary society. However, until recent ecognition of the health benefits of brisk walking,6 its otential as a community resource for increasing phys- cal activity has not been the subject of investigation.7 A rowing body of evidence indicates that a range of erceived and objectively measured environmental at- ributes—including access to POS—are associated with alking.8,9 As yet, however, the characteristics of POS hat encourage more physical activity have not been xplored. Items used to measure usage of POS vary in terms of ime period, activities, and types of POS studied. This roduces equally varying estimates of the prevalence of OS usage. For example, U.S. and Australian parks and ecreation surveys report that over 70% of those sur- eyed had visited a park at least once in the previous 12 onths.10,11 However, POS is used for infrequent pas- ive pursuits (e.g., picnicking) as well as for regular hysical activity. The prevalence of use for the latter 1690749-3797/05/$–see front matter Elsevier Inc. doi:10.1016/j.amepre.2004.10.018 p t i 1 w “ e o a o e v g d A s m A f t a o w l a l p i w A f a d f n P c s ( s ( a a u s i t p l ( p a F a p t p i f U t T w a i s M T 4 E i a p P S T a p s o t ( ( ( o e h a r r s w m s A E A 1 urpose is somewhat lower. In Australia, for example, he prevalence of adult use of POS for physical activity n the previous 2 weeks ranges from 13.0%12 to 7.3%.13 This increases to 18% and 23%, respectively, hen combined with use of undeveloped POS (i.e., bushland” or forest). Park usage varies between, and within, countries. For xample, a North Carolina study found that only 8.6% f respondents had used a public park for their physical ctivity in the previous month.14 Unequal distribution f POS throughout cities and between countries may xplain apparent cross-cultural and socioeconomic ariations in POS usage.15 In some Australian states, overnment policy has been used to ensure equal istribution of POS across communities. In Western ustralia, for example, a 1955 metropolitan plan16 tipulated that 10% of land in new housing develop- ents be allocated to POS. This may explain why in ustralia, POS is the third single most popular venue or physical activity, after the streets and home.12,13 Distance from home to POS also seems to influence he frequency of use and type of usage (for physical ctivity or for passive recreation). Two studies of users f a large urban park in Chicago found that compared ith other ethnic groups, Caucasian users were more ikely to visit the park on a daily basis, alone or with nother person. However, they were also more likely to ive nearby and to walk, rather than drive, to the ark.17,18 Non-Caucasian users living farther away vis- ted the park less frequently, were more likely to visit ith a family group, and stayed longer once there. ustralian surveys of users of smaller parks19,20 have ound that, provided there are no physical barriers ffecting access (e.g., a major road), distance is a major eterminant of park use, with most users being drawn rom within a 500-m radius of the park. A literature review by Broomhall21 concluded that umerous observable factors may influence the use of OS. These include the quality and quantity of space; haracteristics of potential users (e.g., socioeconomic tatus, age, gender, and ethnicity); psychological factors e.g., self-efficacy, perceived barriers) influencing per- onal preferences; access to competing local facilities e.g., recreational centers); the match between park ttributes and needs of local users; park maintenance; nd perceived safety. Attributes of POS provide cues about how it is to be sed, and by whom.22,23 Qualitative24 and quantitative urveys suggest that factors influencing use of POS nclude perceived proximity17,24 and accessibility (i.e., he absence of major roads)24; aesthetic features of the ark such as the presence of trees, water (e.g., a ake),10,17,18,24 and birdlife24,26; park maintenance e.g., irrigated lawns)17,18,24; park size (which, in turn rovides variety and opportunities to “lose oneself”)24; nd the availability of amenities such as walking paths.17 actors that influence park usage for passive recre- 70 American Journal of Preventive Medicine, Volume 28, Num tional outings, such as picnics (e.g., availability of icnic tables, barbecues, toilets), are different from hose that encourage physical activity (e.g., walking aths).17,18 Although not raised as an important issue n Australian research,24 perceived safety is another key actor found important to Caucasian users in the nited States.17 The evidence to date suggests that users and poten- ial users prefer proximate, attractive, and larger POS. hus, the aim of this study was to examine the extent to hich access to POS is associated with using POS and chieving recommended levels of physical activity, us- ng three models of accessibility that adjust progres- ively for distance to, attractiveness, and size of the POS. ethods his paper describes three related studies undertaken in a 08-km2 area of metropolitan Perth as part of the Studies of nvironmental and Individual Determinants of physical activ- ty. Two of the studies—an environmental scan of 516 POS nd a survey of adults aged 18 to 59 years (n �1803)—took lace in 1995–1996, and the third, an observational study of OS users (n �772), was carried out in 2002. tudy 1: Environmental Scan he Ministry for Planning (MP) provided the name and ddress of all POS in the study area (n �2500). POS included arks with and without play equipment, recreational grounds, ports fields, commons, esplanades, and buffer strips. Based n qualitative research findings,24,25 the study was restricted o POS �2 acres (n �516). Inaccessible recreational areas e.g., sports stadia) were also excluded. The POS Tool known as the POST) was developed by the second author MB), using information from focus groups24,25 and a review f literature. Content validity was assessed by a panel of six xperts (two community architect and planners, one public ealth academic, one government expert on sport and recre- tion and two government experts on planning). Inter-rater eliability was assessed (n �20),21 and unreliable items were emoved or modified. The reliability of the instrument was atisfactory with kappa values ranging from 0.6 to 1.0. Data ere collected in four domains, including activities, environ- ental quality or aesthetics, amenities, and safety, as de- cribed below. ctivities. Two items related to type of usage (active-formal, active-informal, and passive), and specific activities for which the space was designed (e.g., tennis, football, walking). nvironmental quality. Fifteen items related to the presence of features including birdlife; the number and placement of trees; presence and placement of walking paths, and the amount and quality of shade along the paths; park contours (i.e., slope); whether lawns were irrigated; whether dogs were allowed (leashed or unleashed); and the presence of graffiti. menities. Fourteen items related to the presence of chil- dren’s play equipment, barbecues, picnic tables, parking facilities, public toilets, public transport within 100 meters, ber 2S2 S w l a t p ( r b p t r t p a r p a s p P P S U w h t 4 ( e s S D i p b c a w a a R i d f 2 V a a ( e D m h w P e m d t i o a o o d s g t a a c l w w o t a w a i e b d d M c ( S O T a a P w a a r m ( ( w a seating, fencing within park, clubrooms/meeting rooms, rubbish bins, drinking fountains, a kiosk/cafe, presence and height of boundary fencing, and availability and amount of car parking afety. Four items related to the presence of lighting, visibility of surrounding houses or roads, type of surrounding roads, and presence of crossings. The POST assessed attributes used for active recreation as ell as passive pursuits (e.g., barbecues). Based on the iterature review and focus group research,24,25 ten park ttributes specifically related to participation in physical ac- ivity were selected for inclusion in a composite score of the arks in three domains: five environmental quality factors presence of a water feature, shady trees along walking paths, eticulated lawns and birdlife, the park being adjacent to the each or river); three amenity factors (presence of walking aths, sports facilities, and children’s play equipment); and wo safety factors (presence of lighting and quiet surrounding oads). The advice of expert panel members indicated that hese attributes may not be equally important. Thus, urban lanners in the 13 local government authorities in the study rea were approached to form a second expert panel (77% esponse rate). Based on the importance of each attribute to articipation in physical activity, the panel was asked to llocate 100 points across the attributes; and the average core for each was used as the weight. The weights applied are ublished elsewhere,27 but also appear in Table 2. Two observers collected the POST data, visiting 10 to 15 OS per day (n �516). The observers walked through each OS, checking off each of the items on the POST. tudy 2: Survey of Residents sing probability cluster sampling, healthy homemakers and orkers aged 18 to 59 years were randomly selected from ouseholds in advantaged and disadvantaged collection dis- ricts (CDs) (i.e., top and bottom 20th percentile) in a 08-km2 area of metropolitan Perth, Western Australia n �1803; 52.9% response rate) (referred to later as socio- conomic status [SES] of area of residence).28 CDs are the mallest spatial unit defined by the Australian Bureau of tatistics (ABS) and comprise about 220 households. The isadvantage Index is derived by the ABS from census nformation (e.g., income, educational attainment, unem- loyment, and dwellings without motor vehicles), and was ased on all households in the CD. To control for potentially onfounding variables likely to influence engaging in recre- tional physical activity, ineligible respondents included those ho were unemployed, aged �59 years, ill or injured, and in ctive occupations (i.e., three 20-minutes sessions of vigorous ctivity per week or 1 hour of moderate activity per day). espondents were interviewed in their homes using a 255- tem survey that included measures of the frequency and uration of vigorous and light-to-moderate activity, walking or recreation, and walking for transportation in the previous weeks.29 ariables. Four dichotomous dependent variables were ex- mined: use of POS (defined as use of a POS for physical ctivity in the previous two weeks); sufficient physical activity i.e., accumulation of the equivalent of 30 minutes of mod- rate activity on most days of the week) (see Giles-Corti and s onovan28 for details); walking as recommended (i.e., five or ore walking sessions totaling �150 minutes/week); and igh levels of walking (i.e., six or more sessions of walking/ eek, totaling �180 minutes) (1�Yes, 0�No). The main independent variable studied was accessibility to OS. It was based on a gravity model,30 and is described fully lsewhere.27,28 Geographers conceive of accessibility as a easure of the spatial distribution of facilities adjusted for the esire and the ability of people to overcome distance or travel ime to access a facility or activity.30 Although use of POS is nversely related to distance, the impact of distance depends n the attractiveness of the POS (i.e., its attributes), location, nd the user’s access to transport. The effort required to vercome distance to use a facility is measured by a distance- f-decay parameter. In this study, three models of accessibility were tested: a istance-only model, which estimated distance from the re- pondent’s home to all POS in the study area using geo- raphic information systems software, and which assumed hat all the POS in the study were equally attractive; a distance nd attractiveness model that adjusted for distance and the ttractiveness of the POS, attractiveness being based on a omposite score derived from the nine weighted items col- ected using the POST. The attractiveness score for each POS as estimated as follows: Att � � j Aj * wj here Att is the attractive score, Aj is a binary indicator (0,1) f the presence of the jth attribute, and wj is the weight for he jth attribute. The final model that adjusted for distance, ttractiveness, and size of the POS was as follows: Ai � � j Attj �sj �⁄ d ij � here Ai is the accessibility index at origin i, Attj is the ttractiveness of destination j, sj is the size of destination j, dij s the distance between origin i and destination j; � is an stimated destination-specific attractiveness-decay parameter etween i and j, � is an estimated destination-specific size- ecay parameter between i and j, and � is an estimated estination-specific distance-decay parameter between i and j. ore fully described elsewhere,27,28 destination-specific de- ay parameters were estimated for distance (�), attractiveness �), and size (�). tudy 3: Observations of Public pen Space Users he pilot observational study was undertaken by three of the uthors (KN, KD, CC). The aim was to validate the POST21 to ssess the impact of the attractiveness of POS, independent of OS size. Six pairs of POS from the environmental scan study ere selected, two each from low-, medium-, and high-SES reas. Each pair was located within the same postal code area, nd had a POST score differential of 30 points. The study was estricted to POS �6 hectares in size, and an attempt was ade to match the size of each pair of low-scoring POS mean�3.0 ha, range of 1.8 to 4.8 ha) and high-scoring POS mean�3.3 ha, range of 2.0 to 5.3 ha). An observational tool as used to record the estimated age and gender of users, ctivity performed, who the user was with, and total time pent at the POS. After training observers, the tool was pilot Am J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2) 171 t E 0 w o S T a S 2 a t r o r i p 2 l a e t d s w b q u R D R p a b 1 p w o i D T t o [ ( A P R o o s f s w i w a P 2 t a A a P A n m m A S P A a s l t w t T C A G E S U W W S P 1 ested and satisfactory inter-rater reliability was established. ach pair of POS was monitored on the same Saturday from 730 to1730 hours, with two scheduled breaks. To control for eather-dependent behavior patterns, observations occurred nly on days when temperatures ranged from 20°C to 32°C. tatistical Analysis he data collected in Study 1 were used to develop the ccessibility indices variables described for Study 2. Using PSS, version 11 (SPSS Inc., Chicago), the analysis for Study was based on 1773 survey respondents. Logistic regression nalyses were used to examine multivariate associations be- ween the dependent and independent variables. All models eported were adjusted for age, gender, education, number f children aged �18 years at home, and SES of area of esidence. In one model, use of POS (1�Yes, 0�No) was also ncluded as an independent variable. To develop the distance-, attractiveness- and size-decay arameters used in the accessibility indices described in Study , a linear regression model was used to separately regress the og of distance, attractiveness, and size on the log of percent- ge of opportunities available to access the facilities used. The xponential coefficients from the linear regressions used as he decay parameters in subsequent modeling were 1.91 for istance, 0.52 for attractiveness, and 0.85 for size. The mea- ures of accessibility developed from the three gravity models ere re-coded into quartiles with 1�very poor access (i.e., ottom quartile of access) and 4�very good access (i.e., top uartile of access). Only descriptive analysis of the observational study data was ndertaken. esults escription of Sample eflecting the sampling method, an almost equal pro- ortion of respondents were from high and low SES reas. All age groups were appropriately represented, ut women were over-represented in the sample (Table ). Overall, 28.8% of respondents had used a POS for hysical activity in the previous 2 weeks, 23.0% had alked as recommended, 17.3% reported a high level f walking, and 59.2% had undertaken sufficient activ- ty overall. escription of Public Open Space Attributes able 2 shows the distribution of POS attributes, and he weights assigned to each attribute. The average size f POS in the study area was 6.2 ha (standard deviation SD]�11.1), and the total average POST score was 47.5 SD�9.3). ssociation Between Accessibility and Use of ublic Open Space egardless of the model used (i.e., a simple distance- nly model through to the more complex model), verall use of POS was positively associated with acces- s 72 American Journal of Preventive Medicine, Volume 28, Num ibility (test for trend p �0.000) (Table 3). Accounting or attractiveness as well as distance did not produce a tronger trend with level of access. However, when size as also taken into account, the odds ratio (OR) ncreased for those with very good access. Compared ith those with very poor access, those with very good ccess to large attractive POS were twice as likely to use OS (OR�2.05, 95% confidence interval [CI]�1.52– .75). These results suggest that after distance to POS is aken into account, size was more important than ttractiveness in encouraging use. ssociation Between Use of Public Open Space nd Achieving Recommended Levels of hysical Activity s can be seen in Table 4, those who used POS were early three times as likely as others to achieve recom- ended levels of activity, regardless of how it was easured. ssociation Between Access to Public Open pace and Achieving Recommended Levels of hysical Activity s shown in Table 5, regardless of which model of ccessibility was used, the accessibility of POS was not ignificantly associated with achieving overall sufficient evels of activity or walking as recommended. However, hose with very good access to attractive and large POS ere 50% more likely (OR�1.50, 95% CI�1.06 –2.13) o achieve high levels of walking, that is, six walking able 1. Description of sample haracteristic % (n � 1773) ge group (years) 18–29 26.2 30–39 28.4 40–49 27.1 50–59 17.2 ender Male 32.1 Female 67.9 ducation Subsecondary 21.5 Secondary 23.5 Trade school 5.4 Certificate 22.5 Tertiary 27.0 ES of area of residence Disadvantaged 48.5 Advantaged 51.5 sed POS for physical activity 28.8 alking five sessions/week totaling >150 minutes 23.0 alked six sessions/week totaling >180 minutes 17.3 ufficiently active 59.2 OS, public open space; SES, socioeconomic status. essions/week, totaling �180 minutes. ber 2S2 O T P d O S j o u a h s u i s m i D A m l u C l l f m c w t W o d ( i e s r f r n t g i e p r e r a s f T A S L W S A W Q L B T A a b c P T a T D D D a h b bservational Study Results he observational study was designed to validate the OST by examining whether parks of equal size but ifferential POST scores attracted more or less users. verall, 772 people were observed using the POS. ixty-four percent of those observed were walking or ogging, 12% were cycling, and 5% were engaging in rganized sports. However, 70% of those observed were sing high-scoring POS. Furthermore, 70% of walkers nd joggers and 75% of cyclists observed were using igh-scoring POS. All of those engaged in organized ports were in low-scoring POS. A total of 18.4% of POS sers were engaged in passive pursuits such as picnick- ng, and 82.3% of passive users were visiting high- coring POS. This suggests that high-scoring POS were ore likely to attract walkers, joggers, and those seek- ng passive pursuits. iscussion ccess to proximate and large POS with attributes that ake them attractive appears to encourage higher evels of walking. Having a proximate POS is important because POS se is sensitive to distance.28 Tinsley et al.17 found that able 2. Description of POS attributes ttributes (n � 516) Weight assigneda hade along paths (%) Very good 1.9 16.90 Good 3.1 13.52 Medium 7.0 10.14 Poor 11.0 6.76 Very poor 11.0 3.38 No paths 65.9 0.00 awns irrigated (%)b 63.2 15.30 alking paths present (%)b 34.1 13.90 porting facilities present (%)b 46.7 13.30 djacent ocean or river (%)b 9.6 13.10 ater feature present (%)b 13.0 8.30 uiet surrounding roads (i.e., cul de sac or minor road only)b 54.5 8.00 ighting present (%) Along paths 4.8 6.80 In some areas 23.6 5.10 In barbecue/play equipment areas only 3.3 3.40 No lighting 68.2 0.00 irdlife present (%) 10.9 3.80 otal average score for parks/100 47.5 (SD � 9.3) verage size of POS (ha)c 6.2 (SD � 11.1) Weights assigned based on the presence of each attribute. If attribute not present, weight � 0. Excludes two outliers. OS, public open space; SD, standard deviation. aucasian users of a large, attractive urban park lived q C ocally and walked daily, while non-Caucasian users who ived farther away visited the park infrequently as a amily and for passive recreational pursuits. However, these results suggest that although proxi- ate parks encourage use generally, having good ac- ess to larger POS is associated with higher levels of alking. Larger parks tend to have more attributes21 hat provide more satisfying experiences for the user. hen asked about factors that they liked about POS17 r that influenced use for physical activity,24 respon- ents described trees, water features, bird life, and size, which provided opportunities to “lose oneself”). This s consistent with Kaplan and Kaplan’s31 hypothesis that xposure to nature— even in local parks— can be “re- torative.”31–33 Natural environments are said to be estorative when they give users a sense of being away rom their usual setting, and a sense of fascination esulting from exposure to (for example) birdlife or atural beauty.31 Exposure to restorative environments hat provide satisfying experiences may encourage reater use and help maintain regular walking behav- or. A small experimental study of runners and walk- rs34 randomized to either using the streets or urban arks for their physical activity, found that those who an or walked through urban parks perceived the xperience as more restorative. The respondents also eported higher ratings of happiness, lower anger/ ggression scores34 or anxiety/depression/anger cores,35 and had lower levels of postexercise mental atigue.34 able 3. Logistic regression associating use of POS to ccess to POS ype of model Adjusted odds ratiosa 95% CI istance-only model Very poor accessb 1.00 Poor access 1.28 0.94–1.76 Good access 1.87 1.38–2.53 Very good access 1.87 1.37–2.54 Test for trend p � 0.000 istance and attractiveness model Very poor access 1.00 Poor access 1.03 0.76–1.41 Good access 1.67 1.23–2.25 Very good access 1.62 1.20–2.19 Test for trend p � 0.000 istance, attractiveness, and size model Very poor access 1.00 Poor access 0.90 0.65–1.23 Good access 1.20 0.88–1.64 Very good access 2.05 1.52–2.75 Test for trend p � 0.000 Adjusted for age, gender, education, children aged �18 years at ome and socioeconomic status of area of residence. Very poor access � bottom quartile of access; very good access � top uartile of access. I, confidence interval; POS, public open space. Am J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2) 173 n e m t o s a s t e b c i a I W c n b w u s v a m u u A w i a t u fl e fi o o s a r u s t u o f t a b v g T a T O F S a h C T T o O F S a b C 1 This study found that the impact of POS attractive- ess on park use and higher levels of walking was quivocal without the inclusion of park size in the odel. However, larger POS generally have more at- ributes that make them attractive.21 In addition, the bservational study (Study 3), which controlled for POS ize and compared high- and low-quality POS, found dditional support for the hypothesis that even in maller POS of equivalent size, POS with more at- ributes attract more users. Thus, in the main study, the quivocal results related to attractiveness may have een due to the selection of attributes used in the omposite score, the assignment of weights, or the nclusion of the attractiveness-decay parameter in the ccessibility model. mplications for Research and Practice ell-designed public open spaces are an important omponent of the recreational mix providing opportu- ities for physical activity and social interaction. It may e possible to attract more users to POS by creating able 4. Logistic regression associating use of POS to chieving recommended levels of physical activity ype of model Adjusted odds ratiosa 95% CI verall levels of sufficient activity 2.66 2.10–3.37 ive or more walking sessions/ week totaling �150 minutes 2.78 2.19–3.54 ix or more walking sessions/week totaling �180 minutes 2.82 2.17–3.67 Adjusted for age, gender, education, children aged �18 years at ome and socioeconomic status of area of residence. I, confidence interval; POS, public open space. able 5. Logistic regressions associating different levels of ph ype of behavior and level f accessb Distance-only model OR (95% CI) verall sufficient physical activity Very poor access to POS 1.00 Poor access to POS 0.69 (0.52–0.92) Good access to POS 0.89 (0.67–1.17) Very good access to POS 0.87 (0.66–1.15) ive or more walking sessions/week totaling >150 minutes Very poor access to POS 1.00 Poor access to POS 1.01 (0.73–1.41) Good access to POS 1.04 (0.75–1.44) Very good access to POS 1.20 (0.87–1.65) ix or more walking sessions/week totaling >180 minutes Very poor access to POS 1.00 Poor access to POS 1.02 (0.70–1.48) Good access to POS 1.19 (0.83–1.71) Very good access to POS 1.14 (0.79–1.65) Adjusted for age, gender, education, children aged �18 years at ho Very poor access � bottom quartile of access; very good access � top qua I, confidence interval; OR, odds ratios; POS, public open space. 74 American Journal of Preventive Medicine, Volume 28, Num alking trails that link smaller local parks through the se of signage, developing shaded walking paths land- caped with trees and shrubs selected to maximize isibility,37 creating interest by developing undulating reas around the perimeter of flat POS, and better aintenance and care of the POS. Encouraging more se will have a synergistic effect by attracting even more sers and thereby making the POS safer.37 Redesigning existing space is also important. An ustralian study found that despite the popularity of alking, a disproportionate amount of community POS s zoned for organized sports (i.e., playing fields known s “ovals” in Australia) rather than for informal activi- ies such as walking or jogging.36 Playing fields are sually characterized by being well irrigated, green, and at, and thus, insufficiently interesting to attract walk- rs. When not being used for organized sports, playing elds are usually under-utilized and mainly used for ccasional informal ball sports by children or by dog wners exercising their dogs.24 The small observational tudy confirmed that fewer people use POS with fewer ttributes. With thoughtful design, it is possible to edesign playing fields with public access for multiple sers— organized sports participants, walkers, and pas- ive recreational users—thereby making better use of his important community resource.36 Similarly, greater se could be made of school playing fields, which are ften not used during out-of-school hours. Despite a number of limitations and the need for urther development, gravity models may be useful ools for physical activity research. In attempting to djust for attractiveness and size, this study tried to go eyond simply thinking about distance as the only ariable that encourages use of a destination. As sug- ested by Handy and Neimeier,38 it is also important to l activity to accessibility of POSa Distance and attractiveness model OR (95% CI) Distance, attractiveness, and size model OR (95% CI) 1.00 1.00 0.71 (0.54–0.94) 0.82 (0.62–1.09) 0.90 (0.68–1.19) 0.73 (0.55–0.96) 0.87 (0.66–1.16) 0.91 (0.68–1.20) 1.00 1.00 0.98 (0.70–1.36) 0.68 (0.48–0.95) 1.19 (0.86–1.65) 0.96 (0.69–1.32) 1.23 (0.89–1.69) 1.24 (0.91–1.70) 1.00 1.00 1.05 (0.72–1.53) 0.73 (0.50–1.08) 1.27 (0.88–1.82) 1.11 (0.77–1.59) 1.24 (0.86–1.79) 1.50 (1.06–2.13) d socioeconomic status of area of residence. ysica me an rtile of access. ber 2S2 c a a i c “ r o t a o c b f i u a a m t L W A h s w c r w r e F m a C T c l S t t r m p T P d a b 2 o R 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 onsider the quality of destinations and how this might ffect use. The approach taken in this study could be pplied to other destinations (e.g., access to shops) mportant for walking. Applying a gravity model over- omes the problem of having to define a specific neighborhood.”39,40 For example, in this study, all espondents had access to all destinations (regardless f where they were located). However, by incorporating he distance-of-decay parameter, destinations farther way had little impact on access. This approach also vercomes concerns about the “ecologic fallacy,” be- ause the exposure variables were linked to individual ehavioral outcomes,41 while allowing for adjustment or confounding factors. Future research could exam- ne the specific attributes that make parks attractive to sers, more sophisticated methods of weighting park ttributes before deriving an overall score, different pproaches to using attractiveness factors in gravity odels, and the interaction between factors such dis- ance, size, and attractiveness. imitations ith a population of about 1.2 million, Perth is one of ustralia’s smaller capital cities, and enjoys a relatively igh standard of living by national and international tandards.28 Due to limited resources, a study area ithin Perth was selected, and to control for potential onfounding variables, those who might have some eason not to engage in recreational physical activity ere excluded. In addition, the sample was limited to esidents of socially advantaged and disadvantaged ar- as. These factors may limit the study’s generalizability. inally, the approach to weighting the attributes that ake POS attractive may have resulted in the results on ttractiveness being equivocal. onclusions his study confirmed that POS is an important ommunity resource. Good access to attractive and arge POS is associated with higher levels of walking. imply providing proximate POS appears insufficient o increase walking: Consideration needs to be given o its size and attributes that make it attractive. More esearch is required to understand the attributes that ake POS attractive and which encourage more hysical activity. his research was funded by the Western Australian Health romotion Foundation (Healthway). Kathryn Boyd and An- reana Kursar, who assisted with auditing, are gratefully cknowledged. The first author (BG-C) is currently supported y a NHMRC/NHF Career Development Award (grant 54688). 2 No financial conflict of interest was reported by the authors f this paper. eferences 1. MacMaster N. The battle for Mousehold Heath 1857–1884: popular politics and the Victorian public park. Past and Present, 1990, pp. 117–54. 2. Arnold HF. Trees in urban design. 2nd ed. New York: Van Norstrand Reinhold, 1993. 3. Percifull E, Thomas S, Kendle T. Multi-cultural parks. Landscape Design, 1993, pp. 9 –12. 4. Solecki W, Welch J. Urban parks: green spaces or green walls? Landscape Urban Planning 1995;32:93–106. 5. Maller C, et al. Healthy parks, healthy people: the health benefits of contact with nature in a park context. Melbourne: Deakin University, 2002. 6. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Physical activity and health: a report of the Surgeon General. Atlanta GA: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, National Center for Chronic Disease Prevention and Health Promotion, 1996. 7. Sallis J, Bauman A, Pratt M. Environmental and policy interventions to promote physical activity. Am J Prev Med 1998;15:379 –97. 8. Owen N, et al. Understanding environmental influences on walking. Am J Prev Med 2004;27:67–76. 9. McCormack G, et al. An update of recent evidence of the relationship between objective and self-report measures of the physical environment and physical activity behaviours. J Sci Med Sport 2004;7:81–92. 0. Veal T. Using Sydney’s parks. Parks and Leisure Australia, September 21–23, 2001. 1. Payne L, Mowen A, Orsega-Smith E. An examination of park preferences and behaviors among urban residents: the role of residential location, race and age. Leisure Sci 2002;24:81–98. 2. DASETT. Physical activity levels of Australians. Canberra: AGPS, 1988. 3. McCormack G, et al. Physical activity levels of Western Australian adults 2002: results from the adult physical activity survey. Perth, Western Austra- lia: Government Printing Office, 2003. 4. Huston S, et al. Neighbourhood environment, access to places for activity, and leisure-time physical activity in a diverse North Carolina population. Am J Health Promotion 2003;18:58 – 69. 5. King AC, et al. Environmental and policy approaches to cardiovascular disease prevention through physical activity: issues and opportunities. Health Educ Q 1995;22:499 –511. 6. Stephenson G, Hepburn J. Plan for the metropolitan region Perth and Fremantle. Perth, Western Australia: Government Printing Office, 1955. 7. Tinsley H, Tinsley D, Croskeys C. Park usage, social milieu and psychosocial benefits of park use reported by older urban park users from four ethnic groups. Leisure Sci 2002;24:199 –218. 8. Gobster P. Managing urban parks for a racially and ethnically diverse clientele. Leisure Sci 2002;24:143–59. 9. Boyle R. Survey of the use of small parks. Aust Parks Recreation 1983;:41–3. 0. Just D. Appropriate amounts and design of open spaces. Aust Parks Recreation 1989;25:32–9. 1. Broomhall MH. Study of the availability and environmental quality of urban open space used for physical activity. Master’s thesis, Department of Public Health, University of Western Australia, Perth, 1996. 2. Rutledge AJ. Anatomy of a park: the essentials of recreation area planning and design. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company, 1971. 3. Whyte WH. The social life of small urban spaces. Washington DC: Conservation Foundation, 1980. 4. Corti B, Donovan RJ, Holman CDJ. Factors influencing the use of physical activity facilities: results from qualitative research. Health Promotion J Aust 1996;6:16 –21. 5. Corti B, Donovan RJ, Holman CDJ, Shilton TR. Encouraging the sedentary to be active every day: qualitative formative research. Health Promotion J Aust 1995;5:10 –7. 6. Raymore LD, Scott D. The characteristics and activities of older adult visitors to a metropolitan park district. J Park Recreation Admin 1998;16:1–21. 7. Giles-Corti B, Donovan R. Increasing walking: the relative influence of individual, social environmental and physical environmental factors. Am J Public Health 2003;93:1583–9. 8. Giles-Corti B, Donovan R. The relative influence of individual, social and Am J Prev Med 2005;28(2S2) 175 2 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 3 4 1 physical environmental determinants of physical activity. Social Sci Med 2002;54:1793– 812. 9. Risk Factor Prevalence Study Management Committee. Risk Factor Preva- lence Study Survey No 3 1989. Canberra: National Heart Foundation of Australia and Australian Institute of Health, 1990. 0. Hansen WG. How accessibility shapes land use. J Am Inst Planners 1959;15:73– 6. 1. Kaplan R, Kaplan S. The experience of nature: a psychological perspective. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989. 2. Kaplan S. The restorative benefits of nature: toward an integrative frame- work. J Environ Psych 1995;15:169 – 82. 3. Herzog T, et al. Reflection and attentional recovery as distinctive benefits of restorative environments. J Environ Psych 1997;17:176 – 80. 4. Hartig T, Mang M, Evans G. Restorative effects of natural environment experiences. Environ Behav 1991;23:3–26. 4 76 American Journal of Preventive Medicine, Volume 28, Num 5. Bodin M, Hartig T. Does the outdoor environment matter for pyschological restoration gained through running? Psychol Sport Exerc 2003;4:141–53. 6. Hahn A, Craythorn E. Inactivity and the physical environment in two regional centres. Health Promotion J Aust 1994;4:43–5. 7. Kuo F, Sullivan. Environment and crime in the inner city: does vegetation reduce crime? Environ Behav 2001;33:343– 67. 8. Handy S, Neimeier D. Measuring accessibility: an exploration of issues and alternatives. Environ Planning 1997;29:1175–94. 9. Pikora T, et al. Developing a reliable audit instrument to measure the physical environment for physical activity. Am J Prev Med 2002;23:187–94. 0. Pikora T, et al. Developing a framework for assessment of the environ- mental determinants of walking and cycling. Social Sci Med 2003;56: 1693–793. 1. Hennekens C, Buring J. Epidemiology in medicine. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1987. ber 2S2 Increasing Walking Introduction Methods Study 1: Environmental Scan Activities. Environmental quality. Amenities. Safety. Study 2: Survey of Residents Variables. Study 3: Observations of Public Open Space Users Statistical Analysis Results Description of Sample Description of Public Open Space Attributes Association Between Accessibility and Use of Public Open Space Association Between Use of Public Open Space and Achieving Recommended Levels of Physical Activity Association Between Access to Public Open Space and Achieving Recommended Levels of Physical Activity Observational Study Results Discussion Implications for Research and Practice Limitations Conclusions Acknowledgment References 
work_njhqoy54ybexdjqgoy2h6w4cey	----	Another Look from Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective on New England Environmental History and Conservation Another Look from Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective on New England Environmental History and Conservation Author(s): Brian Donahue Reviewed work(s): Source: Environmental History, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Jan., 2007), pp. 9-34 Published by: Forest History Society and American Society for Environmental History Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25473031 . Accessed: 05/04/2012 11:46 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. Forest History Society and American Society for Environmental History are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Environmental History. http://www.jstor.org http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=fhs http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=aseh http://www.jstor.org/stable/25473031?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp BRIAN DONAHUE another look from SANDERSON'S FARM: A PERSPECTIVE ON NEW ENGLAND ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY AND CONSERVATION ABSTRACT Hugh Raup's "Sanderson's Farm" essay is remembered for Its vivid account of New England land use history, illustrated by the famous Harvard Forest dioramas. But Raup also used that history to argue that natural resource conservation (particularly as attempted at Harvard Forest itself) had proven a failure, because it assumed economic and ecological stability that was naive and untenable. This article reexamines the history of New England farming and forests, and explores ways in which the current understanding of that history and its implications have been used at Harvard Forest to support a renewed call for wide scale land conservation. I HAVE ALWAYS FELT a bit uneasy about Hugh Raup's classic "View from lohn Sanderson's Farm," published in the journal of Forest History in 1966. Perhaps the most widely cited article in the history of that journal (which is now merged with this one) it was forcefully written, firmly grounded in New England history, and very persuasive. Conservation, Raup concluded, is out of touch with ecological reality and seldom pays. Was he telling us that conservation is bunk? Raup raised his challenge after the heyday of the gospel of efficiency in resource management, but before the rise of the modern environmental movement. Safeguarding the land's long-term productivity was the conservationist's creed. Raup rejected that. He denied that the use of nature should be clouded by moral considerations, which he called emotional. Instead, Raup championed laissez-faire: Get it while you can. It is naive to try to save resources for tomorrow, said Raup. Tomorrow's demands will be different, and technologies will change to meet them, thanks to human ingenuity. Raup urged Brian Donahue, "Another Look from Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective on New England Environmental History and Conservation," Environmental History 12 (January 2007): 9-34. 10 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 1. Hugh Raup. * "** ^-^_^l43iB_l__W_L " .^v* ?5-f:; ^ ^^ii^^f^^PB^^^ l_____________________i 'wA^ - *$ ^jV4mHH-_-0__-_-_-_-_-_-_H *^^yp^^wwa^^lMy^g i.-v^-'t '^^Sf1^_^____^P_!_P^^__K__^__^__^__^__^__^__H P^^S9_G_9____^__i__Jl^^m'' ?* * * __!__* * ^______^BHi^H-^^__-_________________________ ^_8_!^^j_&i& * - * *^*v#' a ll^_^^i9____^B_H__H_^__^B^_S__Ri^__^__^__^_i^__? II Courtesy of Harvard Forest Archives, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. Hugh Raup (right, with pipe) listens as Ernest Gould (left, with pipe) talks with University of Syracuse forestry students on Petersham town common, 1965. landowners to take advantage of current market opportunities, trusting that those who come next will do the same with whatever resources they inherit. Land and trees, he said, merely provide shifting "stage and scenery" to this unpredictable but always progressive human drama. Hugh Raup was director of the Harvard Forest from 1946 to 1967. His acerbic take on the history of New England land use was even less charitable toward his own institution. Raup's tenure came in the aftermath of Harvard Forest's early twentieth-century push to promote conservation of New England's regenerating forests for sustained timber yield-an effort he declared a "dismal failure." Raup himself was an Arctic biologist, geographer, and field botanist. Under his guidance, Harvard Forest researchers turned away from forest management and toward study of ecology and history. To this day they devote themselves primarily not to silviculture, but to scientific investigation of the New England landscape. Yet in spite of Raup, Harvard Forest still promotes forest conservation, and on a grand scale. The urge to conserve just will not die. Perhaps it is time to reexamine Raup's view of New England's environmental history, and his nettlesome challenge to conservation. ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 11 Figure 2. "Clearing of a Homestead by an Early Settler 1740 A.D." Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. One of the famous series of seven Fisher Museum dioramas that show the history of land use in Petersham. In general, these models have stood the test of time. HUGH RAUP'S HISTORICAL essay had no citations, but his sources aren't far to seek. He clearly drew on Percy Bidwell, Harold Wilson, and John Black.1 These Harvard and Yale men wrote the seminal works on the hardscrabble history of rural New England, up through the first part of the twentieth century. Theirs was a hard-headed, unsentimental economists' view: The way New Englanders used the land had been driven by large-scale market forces that farmers could scarcely comprehend, much less control. This became the classic account of the rise and fall of New England's agrarian culture and landscape, and the matching fall and rise of its forest. But the most succinct, vivid, compelling version of that story may belong to Hugh Raup. His account was particularly moving because it evoked not just one place he knew-the Sanderson farm that became Harvard Forest-but simultaneously another: the Ohio farmland of his youth. The farmers who opened that rich country in his grandfather's day had innocently destroyed the agricultural prosperity of their counterparts back in Massachusetts. They shuttered the noble view the Sanderson family and their neighbors had painstakingly cleared, returning leagues of pastures to pines. In Raup's telling, the changing outlook from this New England hillside unfolded in neat, half century pieces. First came the founding of Petersham, an upland town in central Massachusetts, in 1733-already four generations into the settling of that colony 12 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 3. "Height of Agriculture 1830 A.D." ^^^^^tK^^^^^^^^B^^^^^S^SBl^P'^^':i^^^^ .-^ ;'|iiil!^^ Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. Note the improved farm house, and most of the land converted to pasture. But also note the red cedar and two tall white pines at left, fated to endow much of this landscape with their progeny. by English farmers. The first Sanderson upon the scene, Jonathan, acquired in 1763 the core of the land that would become Harvard Forest and pioneered a farm. In Petersham, the colonial era was a time of slow development of a "self contained economy," according to Raup. The inhabitants "lived by a subsistence agriculture. They had no external markets worthy of the name for three generations. They cleared very little land during that time, for they had no need to, nor could they afford to. ... By 1791 only about 15 per cent of the town had been cleared of forest."2 Next, from 1791 to 1850 came a "period of prosperity" in which farmland in Petersham expanded rapidly to about two-thirds of the landscape, opening bright prospects. On the Sanderson farm, which had passed from Jonathan to his son John, clearing may have reached 90 percent. John Sanderson amassed a large holding of 330 acres, grew prosperous as a farmer and tanner, and built a handsome Georgian house. He and his neighbors succeeded, according to Raup, not because of any change in the land or fresh initiative in how to use it, but in response to an external stimulus-the rise of strong demand for their produce in the mill towns of industrializing New England. Farming brought modest but real wealth in spite of the soil's poor quality, thanks to chance proximity to new markets. Raup's argument followed the main lines of Percy Bidwell's "New England agricultural revolution," though judging from the Sanderson example ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 13 Figure 4. "Farm Abandonment 1850 A.D." HHHH . ^.v^SHS?5\>*'. ^^:i{|^^^^S^__M_________^____| Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. This is perhaps the most problematic of the dioramas. Although pines, cedars, and brush would surely have been invading many pastures, the picture of farm enterprises in utter collapse is misleading. that revolution began some decades earlier than Bidwell thought, as historians have since confirmed.3 No matter when it began, this agricultural prosperity did not last. Abruptly, it all fell apart. Again, it was nothing that the Sandersons and their neighbors did wrong-they had farmed and built as well as their technology allowed, and presumably meant to stay. It was people like Hugh Raup's grandfather-a miller, and then a farm implement manufacturer-who had moved on to more fertile, easily worked soils in places like western Ohio, where corn sprang out of the ground without manure, and a man could plow straight to the horizon. It was investors who built the Erie Canal, and then the railroads, bringing inexpensive midwestern foodstuffs to the East Coast. Once this national network of production was in place, the New England farm economy collapsed "rather suddenly and on a large scale over wide expanses of the landscape. Agricultural use of the land was simply abandoned as the Sandersons and others like them sought prosperity elsewhere. Probably at least half the open land, and perhaps more, went out of farming within 20 years after 1850."4 Here, Raup echoed Wilson's Hill Country of Northern New England along with Black's Rural Economy of New England, right down to the maps of the shrinking road net in the shriveling upland town.5 During the second half of the nineteenth century Petersham farmers moved away, or fell on hard times, or searched for something new. The Sandersons, either through foresight or good fortune, had already sold 14 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 5: "'Old Field' White Pine on Abandoned Land 1910 A.D." i^lM^ttrti^^-- ,...________^__lBi^B ^^H^^^^^^m ^B|ilii^jfc^^^^^^^^^Htiiaiii0r ? * _^tii__fl__^__BP^^ - ---^'^^^bBBjHBB^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. Here the pine that sprang up on the old farm has been felled, and lumber can be seen issuing from a portable sawmill at the lower left. A few hardwoods have been left standing, and many more would sprout from stumps faster than pines could re-seed and grow?giving rise to a stand dominated by black birch, red maple, and red oak. the farm back in 1845, extricated their capital, and started a bank. The next era in Hugh Raup's chronology was the pine box-board boom, lasting from the turn of the century until 1940, at best. Abandoned farmland had quickly seeded to white pine, which is supremely well adapted to colonize old pastures. As this pine matured, its owners discovered it could be profitably converted into containers to ship goods throughout the nation. Again, none of this-and here is the lynchpin of Raup's argument-was by design, or by good long-term management. The pine just happened to be there because of the earlier collapse of farming, the market just happened to be there because no one had invented cardboard yet. But they had invented the portable sawmill, and landowners responded with alacrity to another unforeseen economic opportunity. And so Petersham's pines were swiftly cut and milled, and some of them made their way to Ohio in the form of pine buckets packed with salt mackerel, which young Hugh brought home from the store for his mother. He didn't much care for mackerel, himself. That bucket gives Raup's story its special flavor. Just as his grandfather's implements had spelled doom for Sanderson's farm back in Massachusetts, now the boy was holding the pine that followed-cut (figuratively, at least) from the very place where he would one day work for himself. For at that moment, in ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 15 1907, as the portable mills were proliferating, Harvard Forest was born. These pioneering conservationists were led by Richard Fisher, an early student of Gifford Pinchot. They saw the pines of Petersham as more than a happenstance of history. They saw the forest as an imperiled resource to be conserved by careful management. The pasture pines were being harvested at the climax of the great cut-over of the primary forests of the eastern half of the United States, half a century of concerted devastation. The boom had swept first across the North Woods from Maine to Minnesota, picking out the towering old-growth pines to build cities like New York and Boston. Now the lumber barons were clear-felling the remainder of the same forests, taking spruce for pulp and hemlock for tanbark. With the advent of logging railroads they had moved on to strip the longleaf pines from the South, and the grand oaks, maples, chestnuts, and tulip poplars up and down the rugged Appalachian mountain chain. Everywhere, in the wake of unscrupulous logging, came scourging fires. With this feverish consumption of natural capital showing no sign of abating, and nothing left standing but the West Coast, the nation seemed headed for a timber famine. As the Harvard foresters looked around at the knotty second-growth pines being cut in Petersham, and the younger trees springing up on more recently abandoned farm land, they set about learning how to provide for the future by managing the rebounding New England forest for sustained yield. They were wrong, said Hugh Raup. Their fundamental mistake was that while they were trying to manage trees on a sixty-year planning horizon (which proved difficult enough in itself), they did not consider the "human element." They did not understand that "the human mind produces changes in uses of wood several times faster than trees can grow." By the middle of the twentieth century sawn wood packaging had been replaced by cardboard and plastic, and the world had entered a long era of timber glut. Just as the New England agrarian landscape didn't provide the permanence that the nineteenth-century farmers who laboriously cleared it had expected, the forests that recovered those pastures proved not to have the lasting value assumed by twentieth-century foresters. In fact, by the second half of the twentieth century, the land in places like Petersham possessed little productive value of any kind, but was instead coming to be appreciated mainly for its aesthetic value as a nice place to live-mere stage and scenery. Indeed, said Raup, the guiding assumption of the whole conservation movement, that "the land and its productivity must be preserved at all costs," was "in serious conflict with reality."6 Conservation, said Raup, "has been plagued by stresses originating from deep cleavages between theory and reality, the former often clouded by emotions." Conservation theory was muddled by "moral issues, whether they belong there or not."7 By framing the issue this way Raup was apparently (again, he cited no one) invoking Aldo Leopold's land ethic, and firmly repudiating it. Leopold's plea was precisely that human society should extend moral consideration to the entire biotic community. Leopold, too, had spoken of a deep 16 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) "cleavage" in American society: between those who saw land as something from which to extract commodities as cheaply as possible and those with a budding "ecological conscience" who saw land as a community within which human beings were "plain members and citizens" with not just privileges but responsibilities.8 Surveying the conservation movement itself, Leopold placed most foresters on the economic side of the divide, "content to grow trees like cabbages" instead of managing natural forests for broader biotic values. But for Hugh Raup, the cleavage was between ecological theory and the real world. Conservation theorists like Leopold accused humans of sinning against nature in moral terms that made no sense to farmers like John Sanderson, who were just trying to produce what people needed to live. Even Leopold's mercenary production foresters were too idealistic for Raup, because their long-term plans assumed both economic and ecological stability that didn't exist. The John Sandersons of the world had no practical way of implementing such plans, without going broke. Raup frequently delivered his view from Sanderson's farm as a public lecture. Addressing a general audience, he concentrated on the economic flaws of conservation. He developed that in a parallel essay called "Some Problems in Ecological Theory and their Relation to Conservation," published in the Journal of Ecology in 1964. Among ecologists, Raup was a mid-century pioneer of the idea that North American vegetation had never enjoyed the predictable march of succession to a stable climax state theorized by the likes of Henry Cowles, Frederick Clements, and Lucy Braun, but had always been marked by disturbance.9 The forests of New England were open systems heading for uncertain futures. Yet conservationist thought had been pervaded by the false ideal that forests and grasslands were closed, self-replicating systems, slowly returning to normal after the unusually harsh disturbances brought upon them by the invasion of European farmers and lumbermen. That idea was wrong too: Disturbance and change were normal. The problem with the Harvard foresters was not that they tried to grow trees like truck crops, without listening to their biotic conscience. It was that they had been misled by half a century of fuzzy ecological thinking, and were trying to induce sustained yield from managed versions of stable ecosystems that had never been there in the first place. Conservation had been dominated from the start by a moral ideal of economic and ecological stability that Raup believed had no basis in fact. Conservationists like Leopold held that human society should strive to achieve harmony with nature, and some degree of permanence (or at least decent long term planning) in our relation to the land, by imposing ethical restraints on economic behavior. Raup responded that rather than planning for a future that was unknowable, we would be better off meeting immediate economic demands-the history of New England proved that, he said. Human innovation makes long-term planning impossible: If you have valuable trees, cut them now. Tomorrow, they may be worth nothing. Luckily, the land is capable of recovering ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 17 from such treatment-trie New England forest proved that also. It had been preconditioned by its long history of adapting to natural disasters to be cut hard and bounce back.10 Hugh Raup was surely right about many things. The half century since he wrote has proven as unpredictable as he predicted. The value of forest products in Massachusetts has gone up and down, with oak often unexpectedly topping pine, and with an unexpected firewood boomlet in the 1970s. But in general the market for wood has been soft, making sustainable forestry (as we now call it) as difficult to practice as Raup said it would be. The land has gained much higher market value for housing development, and that high price has sometimes been met by a new kind of conservation that reflects new social values. Meanwhile, among scientists Raup's position that ecosystems are frequently disturbed, open systems as much a product of their unique histories as of pre-determined, self replicating internal dynamics has gone mainstream. Many ecologists now caution that trying to restore forests to their pre-European condition is a chimera. Harvard Forest researchers have published a great deal of work in support of Raup's position that the New England forest will never develop back toward what it once was, but only forward along a new trajectory influenced by its history of disturbance and by the unknown impact of changes to come.11 And yet, the modern community of scientists at Harvard Forest has drawn a very different lesson from that history of landscape change, and has advanced a conservation initiative as ambitious as any its founders a century ago could have imagined: Wildlands and Woodlands, a call for the stewardship of fully one half of the state of Massachusetts in permanently protected forest. In this proposal prominent roles are granted both to large reserves that closely resemble pre-European conditions, and to sustainable forestry.12 This is a long way from Hugh Raup, even though the past half century has played out much as he foretold. It sounds positively Leopoldian. What changed? Does New England environmental history allow for a different interpretation-a new view from Sanderson's farm-that can support these conservation ideals? IN RAUP'S HISTORY of New England, both human culture and the land in little Petersham responded reflexively to a larger driving force: the market. The market changed repeatedly because of technological progress in people's ability to extract and transport natural resources throughout an expanding industrial economy. In the colonial era there was little outside demand for produce and therefore little farm development, but in the first half of the nineteenth century there were strong markets and therefore rapid clearing. When the farm market collapsed, the forest quickly returned; when a market for pine appeared, it was quickly cut; when that market in turn collapsed it became impossible to sustain long-term forestry, in spite of the best efforts of conservationists. The rise of the automobile by the mid-twentieth century foretold a new market for land in Petersham, for residential development. Only a fool would deny the power of these market forces. But one might ask, 18 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) first, whether people in Petersham had so little ability to adapt their relation with the land to changing demands; and second, whether the response of the land itself was as simple as Raup proposed. Beyond that, of course, one might ask whether the overarching economic and technological changes that Raup described are as eternally progressive or sustainable as he seemed to assume. Maybe Raup was right about the power of the market, but wrong about the corresponding need for conservation. A New England story retold along other lines might again make conservation seem to be a worthy goal. It surely won't make it seem easy. Raup's sharp contrast between a stagnant Petersham in the colonial era and a vigorously expanding commercial Petersham in the nineteenth century captured an important transformation in New England, but in a way that exaggerated and distorted it. Eighteenth-century Petersham was not so isolated and lethargic as Raup made it seem-things were moving right along. Raup's figure of only 15 percent of the town cleared of forest in 1791 was impossibly low, as he knew.13 In fact, Petersham was something like 12 percent cleared in 1771, and already about 25 percent cleared by 1791, after only two generations, not three. Population was growing and farm settlement was expanding fast, repeating a pattern of town making long familiar in Massachusetts. Had agricultural development continued to replicate mother towns such as Concord and Lancaster, Petersham (along with all the similar towns surrounding it) would have been full of farms after three or four generations. Half to two-thirds of the landscape would have been cleared by the mid-nineteenth century, increased outside stimulation or not. These hill towns might have wound up with somewhat more woodland and pasture, and somewhat fewer farmsteads than earlier lowland towns, but not a lot. Raup may have been correct in calling Petersham's economy at this early stage largely "self-contained," although no doubt it had connections with older towns and the coast, principally in pasturing beef cattle. But he was wrong in suggesting that little land was being cleared. New England yeomen and goodwives had proven themselves capable of converting forest to a working agrarian landscape by sheer demographic force, long before they were fully engaged in a larger market economy.14 But something did change in Petersham during the first half of the nineteenth century, as Raup suggested. Population growth in the town slowed, reaching a peak during the century's second quarter. At the same time cleared land jumped to 61 percent by 1831 and kept on climbing for another half century. New farm creation stumbled, while clearing went on leaping ahead. The great majority of this farmland-about two-thirds of it-was pasture, and most of the rest was hay. The number of acres in tillage scarcely grew at all and never rose above 4 percent of all the land in town. New England was in the midst of the rapid expansion of a commercial grazing economy. Much of the clearing was for wool, but Petersham was not really part of the Merino sheep boom that stripped the forests of hill towns farther west and north with lightning speed. Petersham pastured hundreds of sheep, for example, while in the Berkshire hills ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 19 across the Connecticut River valley the town of Ashfield pastured thousands. In Petersham farmers raised beef cattle,followed by butter and cheese. It was a cow economy. Hugh Raup was correct that stronger markets and a more commercial approach to farming accelerated agricultural expansion in Petersham and brought new prosperity to some, like John Sanderson. But, again, there are caveats to Raup's simple argument. First, market opportunities did not strike Petersham farmers like a bolt from the blue, sparking those who were still breathing into belated activity. The market revolution sprang as much from within rural society as from outside it, and did not follow industrialization so much as drive it. After all, the entrepreneurs setting up shop along every brook in New England were often the brothers and cousins of these farmers, if not the farmers themselves. John Sanderson was not just a farmer-he was a real estate speculator, a cattle drover, and a successful tanner. The vertical integration among those enterprises isn't hard to imagine. Second, not everyone prospered in the new commercial environment-farmers were much more likely to go bankrupt than they had been in the past. John Sanderson acquired the bulk of his 330 acres from neighbors who had downsized, or left-his expansion by definition accounted for two new 100-acre farms that were never created, or existing farms that failed. Failure did not have to await western competition, but was woven into the new economy.15 Finally, there was an underlying ecological problem: New England farmers never figured out how to keep all those rapidly cleared pastures productive. They were skinning the land, and they knew it. This is crucial to understanding what happened next: the centerpiece of Raup's anti-planning parable, the fabled collapse of New England farming between 1850 and 1900 at the hands of western competition. It just didn't happen like that. Half of the farmland in Petersham was not "simply abandoned" to forest in the twenty years after 1850, as Raup asserted. In fact, the amount of cleared farmland there kept rising until it peaked at 70 percent in 1885, and then went into steep decline. That consumes most of Raup's supposed period of collapse, but the issue is not just about three or four decades difference in timing. The real point is what was going on within those pastures. For decades, Massachusetts farmers had been aware that they had a problem with their upland pastures and hayfields,the basis of their grazing economy. In the first place, continuous grazing and haying with no effective return of manure (which was consigned to tilled land) along with the weak performance of clover in those acid granite soils led to a steady drain of nutrients and hence declining yields. Second, continuous grazing encouraged the spread of pasture weeds such as hardhack, juniper, red cedar, and (notably) white pine-whatever the cows wouldn't eat. Controlling these native woody invaders of an alien sward took hard labor with the brush whack, in the face of diminishing returns. Not just George Perkins Marsh and Henry David Thoreau worried about excessive clearing and ecological degradation in New England-farmers themselves were 20 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) wrestling with this problem throughout the middle decades of the nineteenth century. In the end, they decided that the only sensible thing to do was to let most of their spent pastures go, and stop clearing new ones. Pastures were not filling up with pines because farms had been abandoned. Even on prosperous farms, pastures were abandoned because they were filling up with pines.16 This startling transformation in the landscape was made possible by the arrival of cheap feed grains from Raup's Ohio, and points west. It was a godsend to New England farmers. The idea that Midwestern grain could have caused the collapse of New England farming is an odd one, considering how little of New England farmland was committed to tillage to begin with. Cheap grain did cause a decline in tilled land-in Petersham between 1850 and 1900 it plummeted from 4 percent of the landscape to 2 percent, for example. But what cheap grain enabled was a surge in dairy production. Cows were fed a richer diet, greatly increasing their year-round yield of milk. They also increased their yield of fertilizer, which farmers devoted to their best hay and silage, most of which was run back through the cows. These changes in stock feeding and nutrient flow gave rise to statistical paradoxes: Between 1880 and 1910, the acreage in agricultural production in Massachusetts fell in half-the vast majority of that loss was pasture. During the same thirty years, the value of agricultural production doubled. New England farming was undergoing dramatic change, but it was hardly collapsing.17 The peak of Massachusetts agricultural production was not in fact around the time of the Civil War, as standard accounts like Raup's would have it, but about 1910. The leading sector in this late nineteenth-century New England farm boom, if I may call it that, was dairy; followed by advances in production of hay, vegetables and fruits, and poultry. New England farmers purchased cheap grain from Raup's Ohio, which they knew very well came from soil mining with which they could not compete, and turned it into what they called "concentrated products" for nearby urban markets. The number of farms in Massachusetts during the second half of the nineteenth century stayed basically flat-by and large, farmers adapted to the new commercial environment and maintained their way of life. In the process they brought themselves some ecological relief as well, as forest rebounded to about 50 percent of the landscape. I don't want to paint too rosy a picture of this difficult passage. Rural people made these changes under great social, economic, and ecological stress, searching for their place in an emerging urban, consumer society, and many of them did lose out. Population in hill towns like Petersham fell in half between i860 and 1910, as much of the old village economy that had accompanied farming was replaced by mass-produced industrial goods, and by services rendered in larger towns.18 Remote from a rail connection, Petersham's farm production only rose to a gentle plateau between 1874 and 1905, whereas across the Connecticut valley Ashfield rode a dairy boom to a tripling of production over the same period. It may indeed have appeared to the residents of Petersham as if the burgeoning pines were eating their town. But in many cases, even the ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 21 Figure 6. "Third Thinning, White Pine and Hardwoods." if* _*' ;.* * \ v -. f' x^ F? - */ ^ySv'^ 41k- ^ r \ I '" ^' %t' '^i_y 8^BiHwBKE_i_Mi8kM_g'-wJsMay.Vj^'--^ i*- wsJ \w / ': v- if-',... K .--'N*':-,-/?/' "" ? 1. ^#itypK^H_BSi^ H_8___H_a_B_M_l% i-^1^1^ :4^i> ' ' * W> / '>L-I v-;?rV' :i-^W/i- x?v .: p^IIB _H__H___H_nmiil?' vTY i ^ .> ''?'<%'/..// ^f':\^i\'V-m^.f^:y ?-' '4 ^^%J^B^mi H__^_H_____ll_^j_^lr ^mI^^ipsl ? " ^---1^' fm .3i\--^ ilK!^^^;ii^ '^llfeft __i___L#^^Pm^^S___i__i _____________H_ffl____Ej:< TiJi^#y I^Ib^%P?"^^^^^^ ^'al^wiiiM __-_-_-_-_-_-_BB___B_^^liiiiiii^^ Hf^'-iiiflliiiiil^^ ..." b ̂"Ti\ ? t' '^^wwili^^ ^^ ' Binr ?K t ^^U.-,: III I'lJIlinB Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. This diorama is one in a longer series showing careful management of re-grown forest stands, aimed at producing high-quality timber. Lower-value trees have been removed over several decades, leaving straight, vigorous specimens of more valuable species. release of those pines may have been a calculated cropping decision: Farmers simply recognized that with grain readily available to feed their stock, pines were likely to make a better return than patchy grass-and so it proved, half a century later.19 These farmers were looking ahead in much the same way as their fathers and grandfathers who had cleared those pastures, and in much the same way as the foresters who would come along later to try to manage the pine. It just happens that the generation that traded grass for pines guessed right, over a time-scale that benefited their own children. Raup was wrong to separate the very human impulse to plan for the future from rural culture and ascribe it solely to muddle-headed, impractical conservationists. It might be more useful to look into the particular circumstances of why long-term stewardship of the land sometimes succeeds and sometimes fails, rather than writing it off as inevitably doomed because of the dynamism of the American economy. Into this turn-of-the-century Petersham, thick with pines, came the Harvard Foresters-determined to manage the forest for the long haul. No doubt, by their own terms, they did fail. It seems worth noticing, though, that they failed not in the same way as the farmers before them, but at the same time as the farmers around them. This suggests that farming and forestry in Petersham may have been not serial but parallel ongoing enterprises that eventually failed together, for distinctly twentieth-century reasons. What Richard Fisher and his fellow 22 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 7. Dr. Richard Fisher (circa 1908). _fl__H_____Bk______ifHHH Courtesy of Harvard Forest Archives, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. Dr. Richard Fisher was director of the Harvard Forest from its inception in 1907 until his death in 1934. A Harvard English major, Fisher went to work for Gifford Pinchot and the Division of Forestry in 1898 before graduating with the first class of the new Yale School of Forestry. conservationists set out to accomplish, and where they went wrong, is all laid out quite nicely at Harvard Forest itself, in the famous models that line the walls of the Fisher Museum. The dioramas were constructed during the 1930s, and most of them were designed by Fisher before his death in 1934. The first half dozen dioramas are world famous, and have been endlessly reproduced. They depict the death and re-birth of the Petersham forest, the rise and fall of New England farming. These models were at the heart of Raup's article, and served to illustrate it. But around the rest of the hall are more models-three-quarters of the exhibit that few but museum visitors ever see. These dioramas display the vision of conservation that flowed from an understanding of that history. The hope was that visitors would take the lessons home and apply them to their own farms and woodlands.20 Those lessons were hard won. At first, the foresters had aimed to harvest mature white pine at a slow rate that could be renewed indefinitely. This would provide steady income, and underwrite the regeneration and management of young pine stands to increase their ultimate value. Good forestry would pay as it went, as Pinchot had insisted it should. Only gradually did Fisher and his ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 23 colleagues learn that the pine forest they had inherited was historically contingent and transient, and could not so easily be renewed. Many upland pine stands had a strong tendency to succeed to hardwoods when cut-something noticed by Henry Thoreau (and for that matter, by legions of farmers) half a century earlier. By the 1930s, the museum displayed this deepening understanding of the New England landscape. Five dioramas show the improvement of hardwood stands that often followed pine; another five the re establishment and care of pine on sandier soils. Other models depict fire protection, control of erosion on farm land, and wildlife management-all the pillars of good conservation stewardship. Something else had entered the foresters' consciousness by then: the value of wildness. Opposite the museum entrance is a double-sized diorama of an old-growth forest on the property, Professor Fisher himself stands deep within the scene, enjoying the view across a wild pond at sunset. Toward the end of his career Fisher sought out stands of old growth throughout New England and led a campaign to purchase the superb Pisgah tract in New Hampshire, protecting it as a reference to study for the better management of woodlands. Taken together, the dioramas depict an autumnal New England landscape of farms and forests-one that is clearly changing from what it had been, yet still attractive and diverse. There are some wild places and many more where people are actively engaged with the land. These foresters were not interested in growing pines like cabbages, but stood well over on Aldo Leopold's side of the conservation cleavage. What went wrong? As Raup reminds us, the timber famine never came. Demand for box boards softened after 1920 as new packaging materials appeared, so the incremental harvest of pasture pines did not yield the steady annual income upon which the foresters had counted.21 But they were not aiming to grow box boards forever-they were managing for high-quality timber. Unfortunately, that market never emerged in the way that the foresters expected, either: Demand for timber in the United States throughout the twentieth century stayed essentially flat. New energy-intensive construction materials like concrete and steel dominated the upward urban surge of the era of oil. Lumber did play a major role in outward suburban sprawl, but demand was met by new sources-first private lands in the Pacific Northwest, then National Forests, then Canada and beyond-with many environmentally problematic consequences. Demand for pulp did increase dramatically, but, again, sources have so far proven more than adequate. Hugh Raup was correct: The twentieth century turned out to be an era not of wood scarcity, but of embarrassing surplus. This, and rising land values, has made it next to impossible to profit from careful, long-term forestry on small parcels in southern New England.22 Even as Harvard Forest was slowly learning these painful economic truths, nature itself turned against them. Upstairs at the Fisher Museum is a smaller room, which not even many visitors chance upon. Tucked away in one corner is an exhibit on the pivotal event in the history of Harvard Forest. On September 24 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 8. A Model of Richard Fisher in an Old-growth Stand. ^____b^Tjt_P_T3im.^SMP^ ?^ -:-, -^-*, _? ____up_mtk ^?^*i**rv - >34k _ ^^^^^^HKHHEK^;^9B?h"^A.^^k?a\: '^ ?^?sm3^B___^_--^^ __ * ̂ *-->- $ ______________H_HB_K^_. ^TTTIIfffBMi;, ~ 1 ____________fll|^^_B_____|_f\_Bp~p%i^ -<^^B" ^P^^^vH^^^Bi^" i^B ____________ff %J^^^HP^W^^^^Hfll^^3P^"^ "B _fil ____________t_!__M_____p^_"~mL'?*'*' _3lCr__Br iTii^flWii ^^"^^ H ' ^Tif^ Photograph by John Green, courtesy of Harvard Forest Dioramas, Fisher Museum, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. This stand, the Tom Swamp tract, was severely damaged by the Hurricane of 1938 a few years after the diorama was completed, but was left without added human disturbance to study its process of recovery. 21, 1938, an unnamed category 3 hurricane came across Long Island and rampaged north through central New England. The storm obliterated some 70 percent of Harvard Forest's white pine inventory, along with large chunks of the surrounding forest from the Connecticut River valley east to Boston. This event punctuated the foresters' dream of equilibrium, shredding their sustained yield management plan and leaving it a "sorry spectacle," to quote Hugh Raup again.23 The storm delivered the final blow to Harvard Forest's program of active silviculture, and precipitated a more reflective era of research into ecological science and landscape history. The Hurricane of 1938 certainly had a profound impact on Raup's thinking. Curiously, he never mentioned the storm in his Sanderson piece, but it did figure prominently in his essay on problems in ecological theory and conservation. The storm had a lasting influence on many ecologists, as it drove home the lesson of disturbance at a prominent center of twentieth-century forest research in America. But while no one today would deny the importance of disturbances in regenerating many ecosystems, we should not get the idea that every century or so all forests are routinely blown flat. While this may be true along the coast, as one moves inland storms capable of toppling significant numbers of trees ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 25 Figure 9: The Tom Swamp Tract. l_____R?^_^______i^^l___________C^7_9_l Courtesy of Harvard Forest Archives, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA. The sign withstood the Hurricane of 1938, but many of the large old trees in the Tom Swamp tract did not. The distinctive "pit and mound" topography left by this storm is still visible in many forests in southern New England. Although this stand was labeled "old growth," the sign suggests that it had been high-graded in the nineteenth century. become less frequent, and their effects more spotty on the landscape. Large parts of inland New England have pollen records that reveal forest composition persisting in a steady state for many centuries at a time, even for intervals of a thousand years, before a disturbance initiates change.24 It is also important to remember that the extraordinary devastation wrought by the 1938 hurricane was in part a cultural event: Because of pasture abandonment, the landscape was more full than it had been for perhaps eight thousand years of vulnerable white pine, just waiting to be blown over like that.25 Foresters have drawn contrasting lessons from hurricanes. While some in the forest industry use the existence of these storms to justify frequent clear cutting, others take a more moderate stance.26 A measured rate of harvest that diversifies forest age classes and composition can closely mimic the patchiness 26 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) Figure 10. Forest Cover and Population Trends in New England. - -- Vermont ^*\^ rW* '^^ fv>y ? - *--Massachusetts ^^^^ \ ?Nr/'*~ ' v V & 40 ~?- New Hampshire \\ y^X//^ ? ? Rhode Island >r S 20 - ? ? Connecticut r^ ? ?New England jr-**^^ population, % of 199()^^^'^ pop'n. ______??i?""""^ o k- ???*-,-,-,-,-,-, 1650 1700 1750 1800 1850 1900 1950 2000 Year From David Foster et al., Wildlands and Woodlands: A Vision for the Forests of Massachusetts (Petersham, MA: Harvard Forest, 2005). This graph from the 2005 Harvard Forest "Wildlands and Woodlands" report shows New England population steadily increasing, while forest cover in all six states fell to a low point in the second half of the nineteenth century. After recovering for about a century, most states have entered a fresh stage of forest decline in recent decades. of a natural landscape, while still allowing most stands to grow to maturity. That, in essence, is what the Harvard Forest management program might have eventually achieved-unfortunately they were caught early in the game by an extreme event. Much the same approach has been employed since the 1930s by the Metropolitan District Commission on fifty thousand acres surrounding nearby Quabbin Reservoir, to guard against the possibility of wholesale destruction of a mature forest. Ironically, this was inspired largely by the same catastrophe that caused Harvard Forest to give up.27 All in all, the early conservationists at Harvard Forest had noble aims, and were not as naive about change as Raup made them appear-but their timing was bad. While the Harvard foresters were failing to show that sustainable forestry was economically viable, farming, too, was declining all around them-and for many of the same reasons. New England farmers had mostly been able to adapt to the changing market conditions of the nineteenth century; not so to those of the twentieth. There was no sudden collapse, but a long descent over roads paved for the automobile. Dairy farming, which had become the keeper of the pastoral landscape in places like Petersham, succumbed farm by farm to competition from larger herds on cheaper land elsewhere-the amount of milk produced in Massachusetts in 1900 has never been surpassed. Production of fruits and ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 27 Figure 11. Wildlands and Woodlands Report. Projected Land Cover After i Change & Proposed i prooosed Recent Land Cover Change J Acres Protection VotectSn ~* j-?.....?__ ....?. ̂? ?____?^^__. 100 j? Ail Other Types i j . J "T 4 -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_JW?1ffi Mif^ 2 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ __^__^^HHH^HHHH ? ,.5555HLT- *? a ? 2 Unprotected Forest i ^^<^ '* - " I m m i -"^^^^^^_^^___fl__lri_l^^ * c lllgimi^ ' -.! m.' - 11 "? 0 __^i^__?_^_______^________Ho& I,..._-_-____?M__m_i^ 0 ? 1951 1971 1985 1999 2013 ^^_7nM\ 2^} w <**"Proposad WIWIandiP_> Year v-? ?^^ From David Foster et al., Wildlands and Woodlands: A Vision for the Forests of Massachusetts (Petersham, MA: Harvard Forest, 2005). A quickened pace of land protection will be needed to protect half the forest in Massachusetts over the next several decades. The "Wildlands and Woodlands" proposal calls for 10 percent of the protected forest to be set aside in large wild reserves, while the balance is managed in diverse ways for a wide range of social and ecological benefits. vegetables followed the same generally downward path after peaking in the early twentieth century. Farmers far away began to grow perishable foods on an unprecedented scale, refrigerate them, and ship them with great speed-a transformation made possible by abundant oil. The conversion from horses to automobiles and trucks also wiped out most of the regional hay market. New England farming was done in not by Raup's canals, railroads, virgin prairie soil, and mechanical reapers, but by fertilizers, pesticides, massive irrigation, trucks, and airplanes-by industrial agriculture. Today, farmland covers just 7 percent of the land in Massachusetts, and we are working hard to protect what is left. But what we mainly have to work with is the returned forest. From about 50 percent at the turn of the century, forest cover increased until it reached 70 percent of Massachusetts in 1970. The story is about the same in other New England states. In many hill towns such as Petersham, forest cover is increasing still, and has reached nearly 90 percent. The forest is growing up as well as out, because harvesting has slowed to infrequent, widely scattered high grade trees. Timber volume in Massachusetts has increased by a factor of ten since 1950, as the forest matures almost unmolested. But the trees aren't gaining ground anymore. Since 1970 forest cover has declined to just a bit over 60 percent, thanks to suburban sprawl. During the twentieth century, but particularly since 1950, the sprawl frontier has surged out from Boston in just the way the agricultural frontier expanded during the colonial era. The 28 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) reforested landscape has acquired a new value for residential development, as Hugh Raup foresaw.28 This onslaught of "hard deforestation" by conversion to lawns and parking lots has given birth to the modern forest conservation movement. Conservation since Raup's time has been driven not by the old ideal of sustained wood yield, but by a simple desire to protect the forest itself as an essential part of the landscape. By this measure, twentieth-century conservation in Massachusetts hasn't done so badly. Between the acquisition of state forests and water supply protection lands in the first half of the century, and the expansion of municipal conservation lands and easements held by land trusts and the state in the second half of the century, about l million acres (or 20 percent) of Massachusetts is protected from development. The vast majority of this protected land is forest. The Wildlands and Woodlands report, published by Harvard Forest in 2005, suggests that an achievable goal is to protect 2.5 million acres of forest, or one half of the state. If current rates of forest conversion were to continue unabated, two to three decades remain in which to achieve that goal. This puts a different spin on the lesson of history than Hugh Raup did. Raup saw the forest's recovery as a temporary artifact of shifting market forces that ought to be allowed to go on running their course and dictating land use. We argue that history has afforded us a rare second chance to get it right, and that the public ought to intervene in the private land market on behalf of a set of larger social and ecological values. As its title implies, the Wildlands and Woodlands proposal doesn't choose between the two traditional, often warring strains of conservation, wilderness preservation and efficient resource management. Instead, it argues that by expanding the scale of forest protection, both wild lands and woodlands can be accommodated and work together. They are joined in support of a broader set of benefits conferred by the forest as a whole: biological diversity, water protection, carbon sequestration, and a nice place to live. Biodiversity is desirable because species have an intrinsic right to exist, make for a richer world, and provide Leopold's "cogs and wheels" that keep ecosystems functioning under changing conditions. The report argues that biodiversity can never be adequately protected within wild reserves alone, but only across a diverse, changing, continuous forest. Similarly, both unmanaged and well managed forests can do a fine job of supplying clean water for healthy aquatic ecosystems and for human consumption, another social and ecological benefit long touted by conservationists. Carbon sequestration to help moderate the rapid buildup of greenhouse gasses and resulting climate change can be accomplished by either working woodlands or untouched old growth, and may soon provide a major new source of funds for forest protection on a large scale. An adequately forested landscape that combines wild places and places of cultural engagement with nature provides a "natural infrastructure" that enables and enhances all other human activity, and ought to be protected on that account, across at least half of the landscape. ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 29 Wildness and sustainable wood production are combined in the proposal, as means to larger goals and as ends in themselves. The report makes historical arguments that try to avoid fundamentalist positions. We call for one-tenth of the protected forest, or 250,000 acres, to be devoted to a set of large wild reserves (5,000 to 50,000 acres in size) across Massachusetts.29 These reserves would be left virtually untouched to gradually develop old-growth structure, and would be large enough to accommodate the natural disturbances that periodically destroy such old growth. A similar ratio applied to the 26 million acre Northern Forest that stretches from the Adirondacks to Maine could generate wild reserves an order of magnitude larger, or hundreds of thousands of acres in size. An absolutist reading of ecological history might conclude that "wild" conditions are a Romantic cultural construction of nature that never really existed, and so there is no point in having any, and no practical way of recreating them anyhow. But paleoecological evidence in fact suggests that in spite of natural disturbances and an important degree of human influence, large parts of the upland New England forest actually were in old growth condition that changed little in composition and structure for long periods of time. New England may have been not strictly "wilderness" but instead deeply inhabited country for many thousands of years, but what was being inhabited, away from the coast and river valleys, was equally deep forest.30 Allowing representative tracts to grow untouched will surely not return them to unchanging climax communities identical in composition to their prelapsarian state. It will provide new examples of a kind of forest dynamics and structure that was once commonplace across the landscape, and that cannot easily be duplicated in managed woodlands: very large old trees, small gaps, large standing deadwood, and much coarse woody debris. Such reserves will not only have special ecological value, they will provide useful comparisons to managed forests, and will have great appeal as places of respite and spiritual connection to the many Romantics among us. An opposite absolutist reading might be that if seldom disturbed old growth forest was once the norm, we ought to return most of our forest to that condition. Should we? The deeper paleoecological record indicates that forest species have been capable of dealing with many different climate and disturbance patterns, and persisting in a wide variety of ecosystem assemblages, throughout the unruly Quaternary era. This means there is nothing that precludes maintaining the bulk of the forest in a similar range of managed ecosystems, if we have good reasons to do that. And we do, because there are millions and millions of us. The ecosystem management toolbox includes hunting, doing battle with invasive species, and prescribed burning-tools to be employed in different ways in different places. The biggest hammer in the box is sustainable harvesting of wood products, which can be used to diversify forest composition and to maintain a percentage of brushy, regenerating habitat. Considerable evidence suggests that the great majority of forest species will thrive perfectly well under such a diverse management regime.31 Sustainable forestry can serve as an 30 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) economic driver for a much broader program of forest stewardship. It doesn't need to produce a competitive return on the full market value of the land to justify itself-the early Harvard foresters set that bar too high. The forest needs to be protected by society at large for the value it provides simply by existing. Forestry just needs to bring a modest return, or at least cover its costs. Perhaps, one day, it will bring a modest return-it depends on whose reading of history proves more correct. Hugh Raup saw the global expansion of timber supply, and the rise of new technologies, as part of the march of economic progress that makes careful management of local natural resources obsolete. That is the cornucopian view. But many conservationists and environmental historians see the ascendancy of the same economic forces as contingent on heedless disregard for environmental consequences and on extraordinarily cheap oil, and thoroughly unsustainable. If the price of energy rises substantially and stays high for more than a few years; if a carbon market to combat rapid climate change emerges, then it may again make eminent economic sense to increase our reliance on local resources. Another Harvard Forest study entitled "The Illusion of Preservation" calculates that Massachusetts now produces a mere 2 percent of the wood products it consumes-we tend to preserve our forests in a wishfully pristine state while importing our pulp and lumber from places we do not often see, or have to live with. Given conservation, recycling, and an increase in sustainable harvesting, the Massachusetts rate could be improved to 25 percent to 50 percent.32 It remains to be seen whether Raup was correct that we are in the grip of an irresistible tide of economic and technological progress that will dictate wholesale landscape change in every generation, willy-nilly, or whether the past century only marks a temporary evasion of an inescapable requirement to forge a more stable, deliberate relationship with the land we inhabit. In rural Massachusetts, both nineteenth-century farmers and twentieth century foresters strove in part for such a lasting relationship, and struggled with economic reality to achieve it. Both were concerned about the health of the land, and both tried to make some provision for the future of human families and communities upon the land. Both made mistakes. The farmers cleared too much forest, and were unable to maintain the productivity of their pastures. They fell back to a more balanced ecological position, but only with the aid of cheap grain being mined from soils in the Midwest-a harbinger of the economic forces that would crush them in the twentieth century. The foresters were false prophets of a twentieth-century timber crisis, and were too narrowly devoted to an inflexible model of sustained yield. What they undertook proved an economic failure. But is the inevitable lesson to be taken from New England's history simply to bow to laissez-faire economics, as Raup would have it? The current generation at Harvard Forest has not drawn that conclusion, but has returned to the vision of their founders. The conservation plan they have proposed looks an awful lot like what you see in the dioramas in their own museum. What they have added, I think, is a stronger Leopoldian conviction ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 31 that conservation cannot succeed if it is subjected to short-term economic tests. People are not simply creatures of the market. Conservation must rest on the faith, cloudy and emotional though it may be, that some moral brake on economic drives is necessary to ensure greater ecological and social well-being. This is not to ignore the healthy skepticism of Hugh Raup. In the end, I cannot tell whether Raup really believed that conservation is bunk. He seemed to stop just short of that conclusion, but to remain uncertain about how conservation could be reconfigured to accommodate the reality of repeated, abrupt changes. He presented a problem that he did not solve, and by not solving it he left the impression that perhaps he thought it insoluble. It is best to plan around open, uncertain systems, and to be flexible, he advised. Strive for efficiency in resource management only in the short run, while retaining a wide variety of options for the future.33 By this Raup seems to have been urging landowners to cash in on new opportunities, avoid getting capital tied up planning to do the same thing forever, and wait to see what the market might call for next that the land might be ready to provide. If technological innovation makes distilling ethanol from cellulose profitable, for example, should we liquidate our returned forest and see what grows in its place? There may be other, more restrained ways to be economically nimble. Flexibility could also mean conserving the landscape in a broadly beneficial mixture of forests, farmland, and settlements, and within those boundaries responding shrewdly to shifting markets-using biofuel sales to finance timber stand improvement, to use the same example. We might guess which course lohn Sanderson would take, left to fend for himself in the wilderness of an untrammeled market. To engage the abilities of the Sandersons of the world, while safeguarding the long view from his farm-one that encompasses both an honest look at the past and a sincere concern for the future remains the hard challenge of conservation. Brian Donahue is associate professor of American environmental studies on the jack Meyerhoff Foundation at Brandeis University, and environmental historian at Harvard Forest. He is the author of Reclaiming the Commons: Community Farms and Forests in a New England Town (Yale, 1999) and The Great Meadow: Farmers and the Land in Colonial Concord (Yale, 2004), winner of the New England Historic Association book award, the Theodore Saloutos award from the Agricultural History Society, and the George Perkins Marsh prize from the American Society for Environmental History. NOTES Thanks to David Foster and lohn O'Keefe for reviewing the manuscript and providing illustrations. This essay owes much to conversations with colleagues at Harvard Forest, and to a Charles Bullard Fellowship there in 2005. 32 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) i. Percy W. Bidwell, "The Agricultural Revolution in New England," American Historical Review 26 (1921): 683-702; Percy Wells Bidwell and John I. Falconer, History of Agriculture in the Northern United States, 1620-1860 (New York: Peter Smith, 1941); Harold Fisher Wilson, The Hill Country of Northern New England: Its Social and Economic History, 1790-1930 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1936); John Donald Black, The Rural Economy of New England: A Regional Study (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1950). 2. Hugh M. Raup, "The View From John Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective for the Use of Land," Forest History 10 (1966): 3. 3. Bidwell, "Agricultural Revolution;" Christopher Clark, The Roots of Rural Capitalism: Western Massachusetts, 1780-1860 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990); Charles Sellers, The Market Revolution: Jacksonian America, 1815-1846 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991); Winifred Barr Rothenberg, From Market-Places to a Market Economy: The Transformation of Rural Massachusetts, 1750-1850 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 4. Raup, "Sanderson," 6. 5. Wilson, Hill Country; Black, Rural Economy, 159-60. 6. Raup, "Sanderson," 7, 9,11. 7. Ibid., 10. Raup and Leopold did correspond, but their letters in the Harvard Forest archive contain little of substantive interest. 8. Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac with Essays on Conservation from Round River (1949; reprint, San Francisco: Sierra Club/Ballantine, 1970), 239-40, 258-61. 9. Hugh M. Raup, "Some Problems in Ecological Theory and their Relation to Conservation," Journal of Ecology 52 (Supplement) (1964): 19-28. Cowles stressed dynamic succession and never claimed much for the stability of the climax, as Clements later did. Raup's real argument was with Clements. 10. Raup, "Some Problems," 26-27. In his economic argument Raup leaned heavily upon his colleague Ernest M. Gould, Jr., "Fifty Years of Management at the Harvard Forest," Harvard Forest Bulletin 29, i960. 11. See, for example, David R. Foster, "Insights from Historical Geography to Ecology and Conservation: Lessons from the New England Landscape," special issue of the Journal of Biogeography29 (2002); David R. Foster and John D. Aber, eds., Forests in Time: The Environmental Consequences of 1,000 Years of Change in New England (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004). 12. David Foster, et al., Wildlands and Woodlands: A Vision for the Forests of Massachusetts (Petersham, MA: Harvard Forest, 2005). I am among the authors of this report. 13. See Hugh M. Raup and Reynold E. Carlson, "The History of Land Use in the Harvard Forest," Harvard Forest Bulletin 20 (1941), 25. Data on Massachusetts and Petersham land use and agricultural production in my paper are drawn from U.S. Census Population and Agricultural returns, Massachusetts state census returns, and Massachusetts tax valuation town aggregates. 14. Joseph S. Wood, The New England Village (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997); David Jaffee, People of the Wachusett: Greater New England in History and Memory, 1630-1860 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1999); Brian Donahue, The Great Meadow: Farmers and the Land in Colonial Concord (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004); Gloria L. Main, Peoples of a Spacious Land: Families and Cultures in Colonial New England (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001); Rothenberg, Market-Places to a Market Economy; J. Ritchie Garrison, Landscape and Material Life in Franklin County, Massachusetts, 1770-1860 (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2003). ANOTHER LOOK FROM SANDERSON'S FARM | 33 15. Garrison, Landscape and Material Life; Clark, Roots of Rural Capitalism. 16. See, for example, numerous discussions in the minutes of Concord Farmers Club, Concord Free Public Library, 1865,1866,1875,1883; also numerous discussions in state agricultural reports collected in the volumes Agriculture of Massachusetts 1849,1853,1859,1864,1865. See, also, David R. Foster, Thoreaus Country: Journey Through a Transformed Landscape (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999). Townwide tax and census data for Petersham strongly suggest that from the early nineteenth century depleted pastures were being abandoned even as forest was being cleared to create new pastures, but more research on particular farms is needed to pin down the dynamics of these practices. 17. See Brian Donahue, "Skinning the Land: Economic Growth and the Ecology of Farming in Nineteenth-Century Massachusetts," paper presented to the American Social History Society, Chicago, 1988; Michael M. Bell, "Did New England go Downhill?" Geographical Review 79 (1989): 450-66; Paul Glen Munyon, A Reassessment of New England Agriculture in the Last Thirty Years of the Nineteenth Century: New Hampshire, A Case Study (New York: Arno Press, 1978); David J. Soil, "Milking the Landscape: Reforestation in Norfolk County, Massachusetts, 1850 1900," paper presented to the Boston Environmental History conference, Massachusetts Historical Society, 2006. 18. Hal S. Barron, Those Who Stayed Behind: Rural Society in Nineteenth-Century New England (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1984). 19. Soil, "Milking the Landscape." 20. David R. Foster and lohn F. O'Keefe, New England Forests Through Time: Insights from the Harvard Forest Dioramas (Petersham, MA: Harvard Forest, 2000). All the dioramas are shown here, along with an updated interpretation of their historical and conservation meanings. 21. Gould, "Fifty Years of Management." 22. Michael Williams, Americans and their Forests: A Historical Geography (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Thomas Dionysius Clark, The Greening of the South: The Recovery of the Land and Forest (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1984). 23. Raup, "Some Problems," 24. 24. Foster and Aber, Forests in Time, 54, 369. 25. Ibid., 235-58. 26. See, for example, Thomas M. Bonnicksen, "Nature's Clearcuts: Lessons from the Past," in Closer Look (Washington, D.C.: American Forest and Paper Association, 1994), 22-28. 27. Many ecologists would argue that such an approach is not strictly necessary to protect water quality, but the Quabbin forest management program has nevertheless been successful on its own terms, and is widely regarded as a model of sustainable forestry of a fairly intensive kind. See Paul K. Barten, et al., "Managing a Watershed Protection Forest," Journal of Forestry 96 (1998): 8-15. 28. Foster, et al., Wildlands and Woodlands. The report and its detailed figures can be downloaded at http://www.wildlandsandwoodlands.org/. 29. This scale is appropriate and achievable in a small, fragmented region such as southern New England. The same proportions applied to heavily forested regions such as northern New England could yield reserves an order of magnitude larger. 30. David R. Foster, et al., "Oak, Chestnut and Fire: Climatic and Cultural Controls of Long-term Forest Dynamics in New England, USA," Journal of Biogeography 29 (2002): 1359-79 34 | ENVIRONMENTAL HISTORY 12 (JANUARY 2007) 31. David Lindenmayer and Jerry F. Franklin, Conserving Forest Biodiversity: A Comprehensive Multiscaled Approach (Washington, D.C.: Island Press, 2002). 32. Mary M. Berlik, et al., "The Illusion of Preservation: A Global Environmental Argument for the Local Production of Natural Resources," Harvard Forest Paper 26 (2002). 33. Raup, "Some Problems," 26-27. Article Contents p. [9] p. 10 p. 11 p. 12 p. 13 p. 14 p. 15 p. 16 p. 17 p. 18 p. 19 p. 20 p. 21 p. 22 p. 23 p. 24 p. 25 p. 26 p. 27 p. 28 p. 29 p. 30 p. 31 p. 32 p. 33 p. 34 Issue Table of Contents Environmental History, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Jan., 2007), pp. 3-226 Front Matter From the Editor [pp. 7-8] Another Look from Sanderson's Farm: A Perspective on New England Environmental History and Conservation [pp. 9-34] 'Mark Well the Gloom': Shedding Light on the Great Dark Day of 1780 [pp. 35-58] From King Cane to King Cotton: Razing Cane in the Old South [pp. 59-79] Democratizing the Air: The Salt Lake Women's Chamber of Commerce and Air Pollution, 1936-1945 [pp. 80-106] The Problem of the Problem of Environmental History: A Re-Reading of the Field [pp. 107-130] Gallery On the Blood-Red Sky of Munch's "The Scream" [pp. 131-135] Sources On Epigraphic Records: A Valuable Resource in Reassessing Flood Risk and Long-Term Climate Variability [pp. 136-140] Interview [pp. 141-152] Book Reviews Book Review Editor's Note [pp. 153-153] Review: untitled [pp. 154-155] Review: untitled [pp. 156-157] Review: untitled [pp. 157-159] Review: untitled [pp. 159-160] Review: untitled [pp. 160-162] Review: untitled [pp. 162-163] Review: untitled [pp. 163-164] Review: untitled [pp. 165-166] Review: untitled [pp. 166-167] Review: untitled [pp. 167-169] Review: untitled [pp. 169-170] Review: untitled [pp. 171-172] Review: untitled [pp. 172-173] Review: untitled [pp. 173-174] Review: untitled [pp. 174-175] Review: untitled [pp. 175-176] Review: untitled [pp. 177-179] Review: untitled [pp. 179-181] Review: untitled [pp. 181-182] Review: untitled [pp. 182-184] Biblioscope. An Archival Guide &Bibliography [pp. 185-218] Back Matter 
work_njpaib4fnbeq3dae47d57iu72i	----	JBI376.fm Journal of Biogeography, 27 , 27– 30 © 2000 Blackwell Science Ltd MILLENNIUM GUEST EDITORIAL NUMBER 5 Blackwell Science, LtdOxford, UKJBIJournal of Biogeography0305-0270Blackwell Science Ltd, 200027no issue no.2000376Millennium guest editorial number 5Millennium guest editorial number 5Millennium Guest Editorial Number 5100Graphicraft Limited, Hong Kong From bobolinks to bears: interjecting geographical history into ecological studies, environmental interpretation, and conservation planning A B S T R A C T In these days of supercomputer-based global climate models, large ecosystem experiments including Biosphere II, and aircraft-borne sensors of ozone holes it is often overlooked that many fundamental insights into ecological processes and major environmental issues come not through reductionist or high-tech studies of modern conditions but from thoughtful consideration of nature’s history. In fact, it is foolhardy to make any ecological interpretation of modern landscapes or environments or to formu- late policy in conservation or natural resource management without an historical context that extends back decades, at least, but preferably centuries or millennia. Oftentimes, the ecological and conserva- tion communities, in their search for more detail on the present and simulation of the future, appear to have forgotten the value of a deep historical perspective in research and application. However, the willingness of the geographical sciences to embrace broad temporal and spatial perspectives and to consider cultural as well as natural processes is worth emulating as we address environmental subjects in the new millennium. Keywords History, ecological history, landscape history, historical geography, cultural processes, conservation. G E N E R A L E X A M P L E S FRO M W I L D E R N E S S T O C U L T U R A L L A N D S C AP E S Examples of historical processes that control modern ecosystem pattern and process abound in wilderness settings as well as cultural landscapes. Any attempt to interpret the structure, function or landscape pattern of Northern Hemisphere conifer forests is fruitless without a millennial-scale appreciation for natural disturbance, particularly fire (Mooney et al ., 1980). In landscapes from the Pacific Northwest to northern Scandinavia downed wood, scarred trees, and stand age-structure are legacies of past fires that are critical forest attributes in terms of ecosystem function and habitat value (Franklin & Halpern, 1989; Foster, 1983; Zackrisson, 1977). Since the fire regimes that generated modern landscape patterns were oftentimes quite unlike those prevailing today it is critical not only to recognize the role of history but also to reconstruct and interpret it in detail (Clark, 1988). Failure to grasp this lesson has led to misguided efforts to preserve ecosystems that are, in fact, inherently dependent on continual dynamics (Heinselman, 1996). In quite contrasting regions, ranging from oceanic heathlands to tropical forests in Latin America, a history of human activity has produced cultural landscapes that are dependent on people for their structure, composition, and function (Birks et al ., 1988; Foster et al ., 1999; Gomez-Pompa & Kaus, 1992; Bush & Colinvaux, 1994). In many cases current conditions may be linked to ancient, oftentimes forgotten land-use practices or people that are apparent only in archaeological remains (Denevan, 1992). Failure to appreciate the human element in these lands certainly leads to erroneous ecological inter- pretations, misdirected research emphases, and misguided approaches to management (Gomez-Pompa & Kaus, 1992; Foster et al ., 1999). However, it also misses an opportunity to address major ecological questions with important conservation ramifications. As one stands atop a Mayan temple and gazes across seemingly endless and continuous forest in the Southern Yucatan intriguing questions abound that are central to modern environmental debate. How rapidly do tropical forest landscapes recover from widespread assault of land clearance and intensive agriculture? In the thousand years since the enigmatic decline of the Maya to what extent have forests and aquatic ecosystems recovered towards their earlier condition? And, How do we differentiate these ancient secondary forests from so-called primary forests that have not been so intensively disturbed—what are the legacies of this landscape’s cultural origins? Ecologists and conservationists have only recently joined forces with geographers and archaeologists to investigate such issues. JBI376.fm Page 27 Friday, April 21, 2000 11:21 AM 28 Millennium guest editorial number 5 © Blackwell Science Ltd 2000, Journal of Biogeography , 27 , 27– 30 B O B O L I N K S , B E A R S , A N D C A R B O N S T O R AGE I N T H E N O R T H E A S T E R N U N I T E D S T A T E S Over the next century in many landscapes, including the Northeastern U.S., the history of the land will continue to control ecological processes and influence future changes more than much-debated global climate change (Foster, 1999). This region’s history of landscape transformation—from forest to agriculture and back to forest—determines modern ecosystem structure, composition, process, and response to new human impacts. Thus, this largely forested area provides not only a paradox of a natural appearing, though completely cultural, landscape but it offers important insights into the ways in which history controls modern conditions and will determine future trajectories. These are lessons that geographers, ecologists, environmentalists, and policy managers should all appreciate (MacCleery, 1992; McKibben, 1995). In 1854, after years of walking the Massachusetts countryside, Henry David Thoreau, one of North America’s great natural historians and writers, made an observation that seems incredible today: ‘Is not [the muskrat] the heaviest animal found wild in this township?’ For while he reveled in the open agrarian landscape of 19 th C New England, entertained by meadowlarks, whippoorwills, bobolinks, and bitterns, Thoreau lamented the loss of what he called the ‘noble animals’: the cougar, bear, moose, fisher, and turkey (Foster, 1999). Deer, he observed had not been seen in central Massachusetts for 80 years and beaver had been extirpated in the early 1700s. Indeed, he even despaired that the black fly and ‘no-see-um’, two irritating insects that are the bane of modern hikers, had disappeared before the hand of civilized man. Today, coyotes wander the Boston suburbs and moose-crossing signs line the highways just west of Thoreau’s hometown of Concord, Massachusetts. Deer are abundant and increasing across the eastern U.S. and are routinely maligned for their impact on forest regeneration and their role in spread- ing Lyme disease. Beavers dam streams to flood roads and housing, bears are a common sight among birdfeeders throughout northern and western New England, and confirmation of cougar in more than half of the New England states and wolf in a few indicate the potential for re-establishment of large predators. Meanwhile, the open-land birds of Thoreau’s day—the bitterns, meadowlarks, bobolinks, and upland sandpipers—are declining or disappearing and are major priorities for conservation (Vickery & Dunwiddie, 1997). An explanation for these ongoing wildlife transformations across the Eastern U.S. does not lie in global climate change and will not be revealed through intensive study of modern conditions at any scale (O’Keefe & Foster, 1998). Rather it must be sought in the history of the land and its people and in the decision, some century and a half ago, of a rural population to relocate from the farm into cities and suburbs. As agriculture shifted to the Midwestern U.S., Thoreau’s landscape of extensive pastures, meadows, and grainfields reforested naturally and small and isolated woodlots, such as the one at Walden Pond that provided him with inspiration, became part of a vast, regional forest. The rate and extent of this ecological transformation are staggering and its environmental ramifications are diffi- cult to overstate (McKibben, 1995). Since 1900, forest area in the northeastern U.S. has increased more than 50% to over 70 million acres (Irland, 1999), with increases greatest in states like Vermont, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Rhode Island (65 – 85%), somewhat less in New Hampshire and New York (45–55%), and least in Connecticut and Maine (15–20%). This new forest continues to grow and mature precisely because the expanding, but ‘environmentally concerned’ population obtains its natural resources from other parts of the globe (Berlik, 1999): a recent survey in Massachusetts documented a 19% increase in wood volume from 1985 to 1998 and an even greater increase (41%) in larger, sawtimber trees. This forest recovery has environmental repercussions at local, regional and global scales. As mature woodland habitat has increased forest-dwelling animals have returned through migration (e.g. bear, moose, pileated woodpecker, fisher), population growth following re-introductions by wildlife agencies (e.g. beaver, turkey, eagle), or expansion of native ranges (e.g. coyote, opossum, vulture). However, the new forests and their wildlife form a very cultural landscape controlled in most aspects by prior, and ongoing human impacts (McLachlan et al ., 2000; Foster et al ., 1996). For example, the single factor that best explains the age, height, and composition of modern woodlands is the history of past land-use (O’Keefe & Foster, 1998). Adjoining forests differ strikingly in appearance depending upon whether they remained as woodlots through time or experienced a short-term bout as farmland, which eradicated the original plant cover. Due to the differential ability of species to disperse and spread across the land- scape, coupled with the inherent inertia in ecological systems once they are established, such land-use legacies are extremely long lasting (Motzkin et al ., 1998). Similarly, wildlife communities have only the JBI376.fm Page 28 Friday, April 21, 2000 11:21 AM Millennium guest editorial number 5 29 © Blackwell Science Ltd 2000, Journal of Biogeography , 27 , 27– 30 appearance of being natural: many are undergoing extremely rapid changes in size and distribution and most are poorly controlled by either natural predators or human intervention (Foster & Motzkin, 1998). The ecosystem function of forests in this region, including their response to novel forms of stress, is also strongly conditioned by cultural history. For example, one of the greatest environmental threats to northeastern forests is the regional deposition of nitrogen resulting from fossil fuel combustion (Aber, 1992). Initially, the addition of a limiting nutrient like nitrogen has a fertilizing effect that leads to increased productivity. However, through time excess nitrogen may leach from forest soils, depleting other nutrients and generating adverse ecological and health effects on aquatic ecosystems (Aber et al ., 1998). Studies indicate that the ability of Northeastern forests to store nitrogen and cope with this threat is not explained as well by the type of forest or trees as whether prior land-use activity altered original levels of nitrogen in the soils (Aber & Driscoll, 1997). At an even broader scale, the grow- ing eastern forests store massive amounts of carbon and are a globally-important sink for some of the excess carbon dioxide added to the atmosphere by fossil fuel combustion and land clearance worldwide (Houghton, 1999). Consequently, the 19 th C decision by farmers to abandon their land will continue to influence the character and function of the northeastern landscape for decades to come (Wofsy et al ., 1993). H I S T O R Y I S A LW AY S M O RE C O M P L I C A T E D And yet, as we look at these forests their dynamics are not a simple matter of response to European impacts, but rather a more complicated, and poorly understood, story of broad-scale environmental change interacting over the last millennium with changing cultural activities by Native Americans and their successors. A regional analysis of modern forest composition in central New England reveals no consistent variation in forest composition across a subtle, but well-defined climatic gradient (Foster et al ., 1998). However, at the time of European arrival the same region displayed variation in forest composition that was strongly correlated with this gradient in growing season length. A simple matter of rather homogeneous land-use activity and reforestation leading to regional homogeneity in vegetation, it would appear. In fact, a deeper look into the past reveals that hundreds of years before the arrival (in 1620) of the Mayflower the regional vegetation was changing substantially and becoming more homogeneous (Fuller et al ., 1998). This early shift was apparently driven by climate change associated with the Little Ice Age and perhaps also by changes in Indian fire regimes (Campbell & McAndrews, 1993; Bragdon, 1996). The substantial changes in forest composition since European arrival are thus a consequence of many factors: rapid decline in species such as beech and hemlock, which were already in decline due to climate change, selective reduction of species like chestnut, elm, beech (and now hemlock) due to the introduction of new pathogens, and broad-scale increases in weedy species that proliferate with intensive land use and early successional conditions. Thus, as ecologists initiate new research projects and address environmental concerns, as conserva- tionists turn to protect or restore species, as the larger population tries to understand the wildlife in its backyards, and as we debate future environmental change, let us not forget to look back to understand the forces and changes that shape the ecosystems we seek to understand. Trees and clonal species have extremely long lifespans. Significant lags exist in ecosystem response to changing conditions or in species ability to re-invade sites from which they have been eradicated (Davis & Botkin, 1985). Soils and many below-ground processes are slow to recover from past changes in physical or chemical characteristics (Motzkin et al ., 1998). For all of these reasons and more, past processes in the landscape condition the present and loom as legacies in modern and future landscapes. For us to succeed in our science, our environmental interpretations and predictions, and our management objectives we must heed the past. For, as Henry Thoreau put it so well in 1860 ‘Our wood-lots, of course have a history, and we may often recover it for a hundred years back, though we do not … Yet if we attended more to the history of our lots we should manage them more wisely.’ DAVID R. FOSTER Harvard Forest, Harvard University, Petersham, MA 01366, U.S.A. R E FE RE N C E S Aber, J. D. (1992) Nitrogen cycling and nitrogen saturation in temperate forest ecosystems. Trends in Ecology and Evolution , 7 , 220 – 223. JBI376.fm Page 29 Friday, April 21, 2000 11:21 AM 30 Millennium guest editorial number 5 © Blackwell Science Ltd 2000, Journal of Biogeography , 27 , 27– 30 Aber, J. D., McDowell, W. H., Nadelhoffer, K. J., Magill, A. H., Berntson, G., Kamekea, M., McNulty, S. G., Currie, W., Rustad, L. & Fernandez, I. 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work_nkpxw3htrvdplfhyiit2nejmcu	----	Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. European journal of American studies Vol 5, No 1  (2010) Spring 2010 ................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ Ramón Espejo Romero Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. ................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ 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Revues.org is a platform for journals in the humanities and social sciences run by the CLEO, Centre for open electronic publishing (CNRS, EHESS, UP, UAPV). ................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ Electronic reference Ramón Espejo Romero, « Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. », European journal of American studies [Online], Vol 5, No 1 | 2010, document 5, Online since 28 June 2010, connection on 04 January 2015. URL : http://ejas.revues.org/8467 ; DOI : 10.4000/ejas.8467 Publisher: European Association for American Studies http://ejas.revues.org http://www.revues.org Document available online on: http://ejas.revues.org/8467 Document automatically generated on 04 January 2015. Creative Commons License http://ejas.revues.org http://www.revues.org/ http://ejas.revues.org/8467 Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 2 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 Ramón Espejo Romero Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby- Dick. 1 The purpose of this paper is to explore the way in which Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick (1851) reflects a dialogue between the novelist and Transcendentalism. Such a dialogue would moreover shape the rest of his career as a writer. Being a fiction writer, Melville uses several of his characters to offer his conclusions, and specifically the traits of their different personalities and their respective outcomes in the novel. These characters are Ismael, Ahab, and Bulkington. Captain Ahab is a living embodiment of the terrible consequences of Transcendentalism when and if taken too literally. Its undeniable allurements are embodied in the elusive yet mystifying Bulkington. However, Melville’s (ambivalent) stand about the Concord movement is best gleaned from a character who stands at the center of his reflection on Transcendentalism. Let us call him Ishmael. Like the eyes of the whale, which can simultaneously receive two different (even conflicting) views of the same reality, or the leviathan’s whiteness, an apparently colorless crucible of all colors and meanings, Ishmael will expose a highly idiosyncratic form of Transcendentalism. It is unorthodox, contradictory, and far from the dogma that Transcendentalist writing appeared to construct (or some insisted it did). But in being unfaithful to “mainstream” Transcendentalism (meaning what is often thought of as defining Transcendentalism), Ishmael is closer to its genuine spirit than any other character in the novel. 2 Difficult as it is to say what Moby-Dick is exactly about, my starting point is that it is very much about Transcendentalism. I might be taking things too far, but it seems obvious that Milton R. Stern was wrong when he affirmed decades ago that [t]hematically, Melville was out of keeping with much of the mainstream of thought in his own times, which popularly and philosophically for the most part emphasized an untrammelled individualism, free from the restrictions of the past (4). 3 It seems clear that Melville was perfectly aware of major intellectual trends in his age, although critics have been divided as to how he specifically interacted with Transcendentalism. Howard P. Vincent says that “Moby-Dick is a satire of New England Transcendentalism” and also “a criticism of American social and ethical thought, a condemnation of brutalizing materialism, and an affirmation of the dignity and nobility of Man” (8). However, how can Melville satirize a movement which contained a profound criticism of American social and ethical thought, condemnation of materialism, and vindication of the dignity and nobility of Man, when these are things which, in Vincent’s opinion, Melville is also commending in the novel? This is just an example of how unfocused critical assessment of Melville and Transcendentalism has often been. 4 Special attention should be paid to the work already done on the Melville-Emerson connection. Among Melville’s reading, which Milton M. Sealts extensively documented in the 1960s, Emerson’s essays figured prominently (see also McLoughlin 171-173). The novelist attended one of Emerson’s lectures in 1849, and then wrote an often-quoted letter to Evert Duyckinck sharing his impressions: I was very agreeably disappointed in Mr. Emerson. I had heard of him as full of Transcendentalism, myths and oracular gibberish . . . To my surprise, I found him quite intelligible, tho’ to say truth, they told me that night he was unusually plain . . . I could readily see in Emerson, notwithstanding his merit, a gaping flaw. It was the insinuation that had he lived in those days when the world was made, he might have offered some valuable suggestions. These men are all cracked right across the brow. (qtd. Freeman 58) 5 This letter establishes a pattern of simultaneous embrace and rejection of Transcendentalist ideas. It also noted the gap between “the Transcendentalist ideal and the real” (Williams 12), Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 3 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 which Melville would explore more fully in the novel with which he astonished American readers two years later. The remark that Melville, while admiring Emerson, did not see himself as at all oscillating in his “rainbow” (Bryant 69) is well known too, as is the scribbling on the margins of a copy of Emerson owned by Melville, specifically next to a passage on the essential goodness of men: “God help the poor fellow who squares his life according to this” (Stern 12). 6 The different stand Emerson and Melville take towards the existence of evil (whose reality the latter was fully and painfully aware of) has too often been used as evidence of Melville’s anti-Emersonianism. But Melville may have disagreed with Emerson on that or other issues, while not necessarily rejecting all of his thought. As a matter of fact, he was not the only one to respond critically to Emerson; even some of his declared followers, like Thoreau, did. For John B. Williams, Emerson was not surrounded by “little Emersons” but rather by “an odd collocation of resolutely-defined figures who shaped their careers as much in reaction to Emerson as in emulation of him” (34). That is the reason moreover why we still consider the age of Transcendentalism one of the most fruitful in American intellectual history. Similarly, it is important to bear in mind that Transcendentalism was profoundly contradictory and thus impossible to contain within the narrow bounds of a simple definition; as a matter of fact, Vincent finds it difficult to characterize beyond saying that it was “a protest against usage, and a search for principles” (154). A movement that regarded individidualism as the supreme value and rejected rationality should not be expected to have, in spite of that, a homogeneous outlook. Not even individual members of Transcendentalism felt constrained to hold on to ideas they had entertained in the past. Emerson wanted to know, somewhat proudly, why one had to “drag about this corpse of your memory, lest you contradict somewhat you have stated in this or that public place? Suppose you should contradict yourself: what then?” (“Self-Reliance” 136). 7 One of the first critics to investigate the Transcendentalist element in Melville was Perry Miller, who, in a lecture read at Williams College at the Moby-Dick’s centennial celebration in 1951, and later re-written as the article “Melville and Transcendentalism,” pointed out a connection between Melville and the Transcendentalists while also admitting that Melville never fully embraced Transcendentalism. While Nina Baym considered Emerson as the most important influence over Melville (Williams 6), both Charles Feidelson in Symbolism and American Literature, and Harry Levin in The Power of Blackness, argued that Melville contributed some skepticism to Emerson’s self-assurance (Williams 7). Other critics have addressed Melville’s connection with Transcendentalism. McLoughlin, for instance, analyzes the different “gams” in the novel as comments upon the Transcendentalist subtext. That between the Pequod and the Albatross “suggests both the difficulty of communication between the self and the outer world and the essential enigma of nature”, and that with the Town- Ho is an endorsement of self-reliance, since it “portrays Moby Dick as an agent of God’s justice in destroying the mate Radney and ending his tyranny over Steelkilt, a rebellious, self- reliant seaman” (85). From a different perspective, Steven Gould Axelrod has suggested the convenience of pairing Melville and Emerson in the teaching of American literature as both of them are more interested in the process of thinking than in whatever results might come from it (68). 8 Only two full-length books have so far taken up this subject, and both are relatively recent: John B. Williams’ White Fire: The Influence of Emerson on Melville (1991), and Michael McLoughlin’s Dead Letters to the New World. Melville, Emerson, and American Transcendentalism (2003). Williams surveys Melville’s fiction up to and including Moby- Dick, but has a limited scope; his aim is mostly to demonstrate that Melville’s view of Transcendentalism in general and Emerson in particular was not only based on a reading of the latter’s works, but also on the newspaper discussion of Emerson’s lectures and essays. Whether to praise or satirize it, Transcendentalism was often discussed in the circles Melville frequented and in the magazines and newspapers he used to read, as well as in his conversations with Hawthorne. McLoughlin’s focus is broader. His book revisits the novels already analyzed by Williams but continues the exploration throughout the fiction that followed Moby-Dick, which acts to him as a hinge between the initial phase in Melville’s career, in which he heartily followed Transcendentalism, and the post-Moby-Dick one, in which he grew more Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 4 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 and more critical of that movement, as revealed by his indictment of self-reliance and the disastrous consequences it entails for characters such as Ahab, Bartleby, or Pierre. McLoughlin also provides the only existing annotated bibliography on the Melville-Emerson connection (171-174). His main conclusion is that any accurate consideration of the Transcendentalism in Melville’s art must ultimately account for the dynamic nature of literary influence, which moves through time in patterns of attraction and repulsion, ranging in emphasis between the poles of original interpretation and critical reaction. (9) 9 He thus discourages any “pro-Emerson” or “anti-Emerson” approach to Melville’s fiction. 10 The successive moves within Melville’s literary career can be seen as a dialogue between the writer and Transcendentalism. It is well known that he at first enjoyed popular success with novels such as Typee or Omoo, sea narratives that amused, and sometimes shocked, American readers, but which definitely established his reputation as a writer. The following novels, still pre-Moby-Dick ones, slightly departed from the “adventure” pattern, and met with more moderate success. Melville discovered that the further he strayed from established literary conventions and patterns, the less successful his writing was, and concluded perhaps that following one’s path rarely meets with the applause that Emerson’s lectures never failed to draw. In all probability, these notions were prominent in Melville’s mind as he was conceiving and executing the one that would be hailed (posthumously) as the peak of 19th- century American fiction and a masterpiece of world literature. But Moby-Dick is Melville’s attempt at testing the validity and scope of Transcendentalist ideas, not only as an abstract or intellectual problem but as a necessary step in figuring out his future career. No matter how inspiring (or otherwise) the topic was for his readers, Melville’s exploration of the concept of self-reliance and how self-reliant one could afford to be was enormously relevant for himself at that juncture. Was he to play it safe so as to insure recognition (and sales), or was he to take to more daring and uncertain paths, even if that alienated a substantial part of his readership? Moby-Dick was both the vehicle and reflection of such debate. 11 What will happen if one models oneself entirely on Transcendentalist principles? What consequences will result from being oneself at all times? Who defines that “self” and how can the degree of faithfulness or unfaithfulness to it be measured? Is it a moral obligation to truly be who one is? Captain Ahab, who clearly concluded with Emerson that “if I am the Devil’s child, I will live then from the Devil” (“Self-Reliance” 134), is one of Melville’s tools for answering the questions above. F. H. Jacobi, the German philosopher, had already been quoted by Emerson in “The Transcendentalist” as saying that he was that atheist, that godless person who . . . would lie as the dying Desdemona lied . . . would assassinate like Timoleon . . . would commit sacrilege with David . . . For, I have assurance in myself, that, in pardoning these faults according to the letter, man exerts the sovereign right which the majesty of his being confers on him. (100) 12 There is not a great distance between such words and Ahab’s: I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here . . . while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights . . . Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee. (616) 13 The Gothic undertones of all such passages in Moby-Dick should not obscure the fact that Ahab is not paying homage to the Devil of Christian mythology but rather claiming the status of a God himself. His, in Captain Peleg’s words, “ungodly, god-like” character (176) is the result of an excessively blind application of Transcendentalist injunctions to respect natural inclinations and be consistent with one’s inner urges. But that always poses a danger for other people. Ahab becoming a God also to his crew has the tragic results that readers of Moby-Dick are perfectly familiar with. These results indict Ahab’s peculiar assimilation of Transcendentalism. Such a radical respect for one’s own self may only be valid if it is not permitted to invade other spaces beyond the self. But how easy is that to accomplish? Is it possible to be a God only to oneself? Melville tries to answer these questions through another character in the novel: Bulkington. Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 5 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 14 In his “Introduction” to Moby-Dick, Harold Beaver regards Bulkington as “a thumbnail sketch of the Emersonian hero” and as a “virtuous and self-reliant transcendentalist, dedicated to the solitary search for truth”; Beaver then refers to Ahab as “Emerson’s transcendental philosopher turned satanic” (32). Bulkington makes a brief appearance in chapter 3, “The Spouter-Inn,” where he is already referred to as someone who “held somewhat aloof,” a fact which his being so tall underscores; he is then described as a formidably strong man, very popular with his comrades and yet gloomier than them (107-108). Chapter 23, “The Lee Shore,” tells us that, in spite of having just disembarked from another vessel, Bulkington enlists right away on the Pequod, the sea acting as a magnet to him. According to Walcutt, throughout Moby-Dick there is “a symbolic opposition of land and sea, according to which the land stands for safety, security, conformity, orthodoxy, and so on, while the sea stands for the hidden, the secret, the half-known world where the other side of reality is shown and where alone one may find the full truth” (qtd. Barrio Marco 124).Bulkington is then attracted to a sea which is in the novel the Transcendentalist haven in which, paradoxically, all of the crew, including Bulkington, will perish. All but one, that is. The island of Nantucket, with its sand plains and so deep into the sea that clams are said to adhere to the furniture, serves as the reader’s rite of passage into the world of the Pequod. It is presented as the capital of the oceans, its inhabitants dominating the watery world. Thus, it stands as a metaphor of the isolated, self-reliant, independent man, who is a lord to that portion of the globe, the sea, where freedom and individuality are only possible, and where communion with Nature is absolute, even while one sleeps: “[A]t nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales” (159). His sleep is accompanied by the sea and its creatures, whether the more benign walrus or the dangerous whale. 15 Bulkington’s communion with Nature is as full as the Nantucketers’, and, unlike Ahab, he does not see brutality and destruction in it. But Bulkington’s reading of Transcendentalism, even if superficially more peaceful and harmless, is equally devastating for himself: his Transcendentalist quest for completion and knowledge, and his challenge of assumed ideas, those “wildest winds of heaven [religion] and earth [social norms and custom]” (203) which threaten to dash him against a deceptively safe coast, destroy him. Nevertheless, through this character, Melville concludes that it is possible to undertake a harmless (except for oneself) Transcendentalist quest for free thought. Where Ahab was a God, Bulkington is only a “demigod” (203), however. But Melville is far from proposing Bulkington as a valid Transcendentalist model. As a matter of fact, like Ahab, he is also indicted, though more sympathetically, as the solemn yet skeptical question “Know ye, now, Bulkington?” (203) reveals. Where has that knowledge taken you? Has it given you anything worth having? Was it all really worth it? These are probably questions that the novelist had in mind. Bulkington’s death may be glorious and heroic but it is death all the same, and it is hard to conceive of a philosophy of life that only offers death as the result of its application. 16 Everything so far would seem to confirm the view that Melville is indicting Emersonian self- reliance, and all of Transcendentalism by the same token, as essentially selfish, pointless, bleak, and often harming to others. The path towards freedom and a complete acceptance of individuality may be worth following, but the destination one intends to approach is hardly the haven one probably had in mind. In other words, the dream is more than likely to result in a nightmare. Such a contradictory situation is best gleaned when Ahab confesses to feeling “damned in the midst of Paradise,” as “[g]ifted with the high perception,” he nows lacks “the low, enjoying power” (266). We would all feel “damned” in the midst of such “Paradise” as his personal reading of Transcendentalism has created and where, despite the enlarged vision resulting in that “high perception,” everything beyond the self has vanished, one has completely embraced what one is, intuitions reign undisturbed by logic, and no enjoyment is possible as sensory gratification has been ruled out. But if the ultimate aim of Transcendentalist voyages was such a joyless enlightenment, they are probably, in Melville’s opinion, not worth taking. However, Melville’s dialogue with Transcendentalism does not conclude with that utterance. Such a statement is only the starting point for another journey, one in which Melville will attempt to find some other way to pursue Transcendentalism, one definitely not leading to Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 6 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 such “paradise” as Ahab has created. In chapter 94, “A Squeeze of the Hand,” Ishmael already warns us that the greatest happiness may not reside in having the greatest thoughts or ideals but in enjoying the simplest of pleasures. Such thought was triggered by his pleasant squeezing of the whale’s sperm, an activity that would be meaningless for Ahab (or probably Bulkington), bent as he is upon “loftier” pursuits and “deeper wonders” (176). But, after all, to enjoy the world one must first experience it through the senses, a possibility that Ahab seems to have denied himself: when he tells the carpenter what his ideal man would be like, he insists that he would have “no heart at all, brass forehead, and about a quarter of an acre of fine brains” and is devoid of eyes, having only “a sky-light on top of his head to illuminate inwards” (582). And how is such an ideal man to enjoy what surrounds him if he cannot even see it? Yet, it is Ishmael’s, who can enjoy the squeeze of his colleague’s hands or the contemplation of a tranquil sea, that Melville posits as a more fruitful reading of Transcendentalism, a less literal one to be sure, but one which allows our narrator to survive the tragedy of a ship sunk by a more literal exegesis. 17 It is probably useful to insist that Ahab resembles much more than Ishmael the “hero” that Emerson seemed to have in mind in his essays. In “Self-Reliance,” which, as McLoughlin has noted, Melville read months before writing Moby-Dick (79), Emerson welcomed the “self- helping” man resulting from the application of his ideas in the following terms: “Welcome evermore to gods and men is the self-helping man. For him all doors are flung wide: him all tongues greet, all honors crown, all eyes follow with desire” (146). Ahab certainly fits that description better than Ishmael does. It is him whom all tongues do greet, as his mostly unquestioned leadership shows. Ishmael is unable to explain the captain’s allure: “How it was that they [the Pequod’s crew] so aboundingly responded to the old man’s ire – by what evil magic their souls were possessed, that at times his hate seemed almost theirs . . . would be to dive deeper than Ishmael can go” (286). Emerson would explain that “evil magic” as the attainment of complete self-reliance, and would have applauded gestures such as Ahab’s casting of his pipe into the sea or the destruction of the quadrant as they imply a total commitment to his true nature (by refusing to contain his wrath through the pipe or to follow a reasonable course through the quadrant). Both are also gestures allowing instinctive behaviour to take over, as insisted upon by the Transcendentalists. Ahab has moreover unusual mental strength and a wealth of experience. His long-time seclusion in the remotest seas has led to independent thought and complete self-reliance. Part of his knowledge has come from Nature, as he is said to have received “all nature’s sweet or savage impressions fresh from her own virgin voluntary and confiding breast” (170), such “voluntary” revelations evincing a deeply Thoreauvian communion with it. As a good Transcendentalist, Ahab has received everything that Nature has volunteered and is also familiar with the Transcendentalist injunction to wait for revelations from Nature and not actively seek them. His lethal distrust of the white whale seems to place him far from the more sympathetic attitude of Thoreau, however. He has written the whale into an allegorical enemy and it is to be sure an unexpected reading of Nature (from one who is so close to Transcendentalism in most other aspects). On the other hand, in constructing Nature as text, Ahab is being faithful to Transcendentalist positions, the same from which Thoreau could write that “[e]very morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with Nature herself”; he went on to textualize “the faint hum of a mosquito making its invisible and unimaginable tour through my apartment at earliest down” as “itself an Iliad and Odyssey in the air” and “a standing advertisement . . . of the everlasting vigour and fertility of the world” (62). 18 The character in Moby-Dick, however, who most resembles Thoreau, or, as McWilliams would put it, “the self-created character of Henry David Thoreau” (12), is obviously Ishmael, representing as he does “el hombre insatisfecho de sí y del mundo, que busca y deambula de un lugar a otro, exiliado voluntario en pos de respuestas incontestables y de paraísos perdidos” (Barrio Marco 121). Both the character/narrator of Moby-Dick and the celebrated author of Walden adopt “similar personae” (Van Nostrand 114-5): dissatisfied with their lives so far, for reasons neither of them leaves very clear, both moved to new surroundings, and in both cases such a move involves water. Both were probably desirous of a peep at Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 7 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 the everlasting, the unfathomable and the ungraspable sublime, a confirmation that life was more than they knew it to be. Resulting from the lack of a satisfactory life and consequent psychological imbalance, both Ishmael and Thoreau often change the moods in which they come before us: now they are joyful, now moody, now melancholy, now ironic or gloomy. Both are solitary beings, which often leads them to engage in silly dialogues with themselves, dozens of examples of which can be found in Walden and Moby-Dick. Sometimes, though, both Thoreau and Ishmael reach out to other beings, a lumberman in Thoreau’s case, Queequeg in Ishmael’s, and readers in both. Since the famous opening of Moby-Dick and its narrator urging the reader to call him Ishmael, he will address his readers almost as often as Thoreau addresses his: Some of you, we all know, are poor, find it hard to live, are sometimes, as it were, gasping for breath. I have no doubt that some of you who read this book are unable to pay for the dinners which you have actually eaten, or for the coats and shoes which are fast wearing or already worn out, and have come to this page to spend borrowed or stolen time, robbing your creditors of an hour. It is very evident what mean and sneaking lives many of you live, for my sight has been whetted by experience. (5) 19 It seems clear that Thoreau’s project is not to retreat from society for good, and he has not forsaken human connection. Unlike Ahab’s, Ishmael’s thoughtfulness is not an obstacle for him initiating fruitful bonds with people like Queequeg either, or patting his readers’ back heartily every now and then. 20 Nevertheless, and in spite of the similarities above, Ishmael and the Thoreau of Walden also differ from each other in important respects. Ishmael, for one, does not heed the Transcendentalist insistence on laying aside books and traditions, stemming from Emerson’s conviction that “[t]he centuries are conspirators against the sanity and authority of the soul . . . and history is an impertinence and an injury, if it be anything more than a cheerful apologue or parable of my being and becoming” (“Self-Reliance” 141). Whether in the etymologies and extracts at the beginning of the novel or the intertextual games throughout it, Ishmael makes clear that he is heavily indebted to those who dealt with his subject before him. The result is a novel where one easily gets lost in the “unshored, harborless immensities” (227) of so much erudition and learning, the traditional boundaries between different discursive practices (of law, linguistics, or science, to name only a few) being constantly blurred. Ishmael certainly does not feel that the past is an “impertinence” or detects a conspiracy in the intellectual wealth accumulated over the centuries, and such position would constitute a first aspect of his (and Melville’s) argument with Transcendentalism: rather than denounce the castrating potential of authoritative voices, Ishmael concludes that it is possible to empower oneself through them. The specific strategy by which he retains control of the narrative consists in handling such voices of authority ironically, and thus creating a distance or space where they can be contested. Use the past, and do not let it use you, seems to be Ishmael’s response to Emerson’s assertions, while probably agreeing with the need to “[i]nsist on yourself; never imitate” (148), also set forth in “Self-Reliance.” Ishmael’s project is innovative, and yet respectful with his literary heritage. He leaves from Nantucket, the starting point for New England’s whaling industry, and a reasonable kind of departure for one who attaches such an importance to one’s roots. But then Nantucket is just the threshold of a journey that, as intended, takes him to confines (geographical, mental, experiential, sentimental, emotional, literary) he had never visited and for which books had not completely prepared him. 21 Alluding to Emerson, Melville said in 1849 that he loved “all men who dive” (McSweeney 10; author’s emphasis). Ishmael is also made to believe in the Transcendentalist (and neoplatonic) contention that reality is only partly (if it is that at all) what our senses are capable of perceiving, and declares that “some certain significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth, and the round world itself but an empty cipher” (540; my emphasis). The verb lurk apparently implies that the meaning which is to be extracted from everyday occurrences is not easily or immediately available but can only be got after considerable exertion. This is the idea that underlies Emerson’s contention that “the whole of nature is a metaphor of the human mind” (“Nature” 16) or Thoreau’s minute scrutiny of his Walden surroundings, ones where he Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 8 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 declared he was to “live deep and suck out all the marrow of life” (63), since “we are enabled to apprehend at all what is sublime and noble only by the perpetual instilling and drenching of the reality that surrounds us” (67). Thoreau would also subscribe to Ishmael’s positing of man’s soul as an endless landscape to seek out and discover, though one usually neglected and “parched” by the paradoxically “dead drought of the earthly life” (602). Ordinary life is often empty and deadening, suffocating, but every now and then men may walk those landscapes of the soul and feel “the cool dew of the life immortal on them” (Melville 602). This is akin to the Thoreauvian emphasis on spiritual concerns being the immortal part of man: “In accumulating property for ourselves and our posterity, in founding a family or a state, or acquiring fame even, we are mortal; but in dealing with truth we are immortal” (69). 22 Both Thoreau and Ishmael use the material world as windows into their own selves, even if Melville’s character is more aware than Thoreau of the limitations of such a method. Ahab also tries to use Nature for the same purposes, but he is unable to let meaning flow smoothly and imposes on it only one possible text. He does not really listen to Nature, or at least to everything that Nature has to say. But how is he to know himself (or anyone else) in Nature, or let it disclose who he truly is, when, like a ventriloquist, he has silenced its voice and allows it just to repeat the same (violent) sentence over and over again? And it is a sentence that Nature has uttered (after all, it can indeed be brutal and violent, and Ahab has lost a leg to Moby-Dick). Sadly for him, it is not the only sentence that Nature can utter. Others may be comforting, soothing, invigorating, or inspiring. Towards the end of chapter 68, after noting how the whale preserves its warmth even in very cold climates, Ishmael declares: “Oh, man! admire and model thyself after the whale! Do thou, too, remain warm among ice. Do thou, too, live in this world without being of it. Be cool at the equator; keep thy blood fluid at the Pole. Like the great dome of St Peter’s, and like the great whale, retain, O man! in all seasons a temperature of thine own” (414). Readers are asked to preserve their individualities even if surrounded by unpropitious conditions. In other words, external pressure to change what we are or be what we are not should be resisted at all times.That was a “text” suggested by the peculiar anatomy of the whale, which makes it possible for the animal to keep warm regardless of conditions outside. While Ahab can only impose meaning, Ishmael reveals greater capacity to really listen to, closely observe and make sense of Nature in a more balanced way. He reminds us of the passage where Thoreau tells his readers that “[w]e should be blessed if we lived in the present always, and took advantage of every accident that befell us, like the grass which confesses the influence of the slightest dew that falls on it” (213), and reads the way in which the grass never fails to benefit from a gentle rain, no matter how dry it was yesterday, as an invitation to enjoy and live in the present. Not all readings of Nature are cheerful, however. Much as Thoreau realizes how often men hazard their chances of present enjoyment because of the past getting in their way, Ishmael realizes towards the end of the paragraph quoted above how difficult it will be for man to follow such advice and truly be himself: “[H]ow easy and how hopeless to teach these fine things!” (414). 23 From the very outset of the novel, Ishmael displays a rare thirst for knowledge, which may well remind us of Ahab’s, whose declared foe, the white whale, contains all meanings within its whiteness. It is moreover a symbol of Ahab’s quest for total knowledge, one eagerly engaged in, as “unless you own the whale you are but a provincial and sentimentalist in Truth” (445), but one that can only result in utter frustration and the seeker eventually sucked down by such whirlwind as his eagerness has provoked. Who can know all? But for Ahab, only when Truth is whole, only when it is spelt with a capital letter, is it worth seeking. Ishmael seems at times fairly close to Ahab’s obsession, refusing to leave anything out, however trifling, and calling for Vesuvius’ crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! For in the mere act of penning my thoughts of this Leviathan, they weary me, and make me faint with their outreaching comprehensiveness of sweep, as if to include the whole circle of the sciences, and all the generations of whales, and men, and mastodons, past, present, and to come, with all the revolving panoramas of empire on earth, and throughout the whole universe, not excluding its suburbs. (567) Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 9 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 24 But, unlike Ahab, Ishmael is often happy to accommodate to the reality of imperfect knowledge. Many chapters end with an exhausted Ishmael, more than ready to settle for half, and who asks readers to complete whatever task he began: “If then, Sir William Jones, who read in thirty languages, could not read the simplest peasant’s face in its profounder and more subtle meanings, how may unlettered Ishmael hope to read the awful Chaldee of the Sperm Whale’s brow? I but put that brow before you. Read it if you can” (455). Sometimes he has to conclude that in his investigations of the whale, “[d]issect him how I may, then, I but go skin deep; I know him not and never will” (487). But Ishmael is not gloomy at such moments; on the contrary, he is happy to be at least engaged in a process which is giving him so much. In Thoreau, such failed quests often ended in bitter disappointment, as is the case with the ending of the section “Former Inhabitants; and Winter Visitors”: “There too, as everywhere, I sometimes expected the Visitor who never comes . . . I often performed this duty of hospitality, waited long enough to milk a whole herd of cows, but did not see the man approaching from the town” (183). His quest for that symbolic “visitor” has only resulted in sadness and frustration. But not only Ishmael has to settle for half; more orthodoxly ambitious (epistemologically speaking) Transcendentalists like Ahab or Thoreau have to. But they are pained to have to do so (Ahab simply refuses), while Ishmael is not. It is not healthy to expect too much knowledge from the world of nature, Ishmael seems to contend throughout the novel, and such a notion would be a second aspect of his (and again Melville’s) argument with Transcendentalism. 25 Every true Transcendentalist needed to feel moments of communion with the Oversoul, that mystic force that bound all living things together by means of invisible ties, which, for brief spells, were somewhat made visible. Upon spying an albatross, Ishmael is awed and confused: Through its inexpressible, strange eyes, methought I peeped to secrets which took hold of God. As Abraham before the angels, I bowed myself; the white thing was so white, its wings so wide, and in those for ever exiled waters, I had lost the miserable warping memories of traditions and of towns. Long I gazed at that prodigy of plumage. I cannot tell, can only hint, the things that darted through me then. (289) 26 Right away, Ishmael leaves it clear that he had never read Coleridge’s poem. It is, quite simply, the coming before a strange, alien nature (having lost the memory “of traditions and of towns”), which shows him things that, because of their profusion (the whiteness of the albatross suggests the simultaneous presence of all colors and meanings), he cannot successfully translate into words. It is impossible not to feel that this is akin to what Ahab feels before the white whale, though he responds differently. In chapter 35 of the novel, significantly entitled “The Mast-Head,” we are offered a new glimpse of the Oversoul or “soul pervading mankind and nature” (257), which implies a loss of personal identity and the crossing of temporal and geographical barriers. It is now represented by that “mystic ocean” to which the narrator abandons himself, going through the kind of experience which, in Emerson’s view, caused man to become “a transparent eye-ball” and to be nothing yet to see all (“Nature” 6). Seductive as such disembodiment undoubtedly is, Ishmael has, however, one final remark to make: “But while this sleep, this dream is on ye, move your foot or hand an inch: slip your hold at all: and your identity comes back in horror. Over Descartian vortices you hover. And perhaps, at mid- day, in the fairest weather, with one half-throttled shriek you drop through that transparent air into the summer sea, no more to rise for ever” (257). Were Transcendentalists listening? Just in case, he stresses that the message is mainly intended for them: “Heed it well, ye Pantheists!” (257). 27 The whole sequence above seems a rebuke of the Transcendentalists and their excessive idealism: too much abandonment and communion with Nature may result in drowning (both literally and symbolically, just as Ahab drowned, or lost his balance, long before he actually drowns at the end of the novel). Shortly before, the narrator had ironically deplored the disastrous consequences, for business, of enlisting “sunken-eyed young Platonists” for whaling ships, boys or men who, perhaps influenced by Transcendentalism, were too introspective and removed from the materiality of the whaling business: [Y]e shipowners of Nantucket! Beware of enlisting in your vigilant fisheries any lad with lean brow and hollow eye; given to unreasonable meditativeness; and who offers to ship with the Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 10 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 Phaedon instead of Bowditch in his head . . . your whales must be seen before they can be killed; and this sunken-eyed young Platonist will tow your ten waked round the world, and never make you one pint of sperm the richer. (256) 28 As Michael Paul Rogin convincingly argues, Ishmael may, at the mast-head, see “all”, but fails to see whales, which is why he was up there (110). In Bryan Wolf’s opinion, his is in that instance “an extreme version of Emersonian innocence, a state of mind that expands consciousness only by diminishing the material world and the dangers it contains” (147). Nonetheless, it is a mistake, in my opinion, to conclude that Melville rejects the communing experience in itself. Vincent quotes Melville’s sarcastic assessment of such an idealistic communion with the Oversoul by referring to a similar insistence on the part of Goethe: “Here is a fellow with a raging toothache. ‘My dear boy,’ Goethe says to him, ‘you are sorely afflicted with that tooth; but you must live in the all, and then you will be happy!’” (qtd. Vincent 152). However, immediately afterwards, Melville claims that such a feeling of communion may be temporarily valid and rewarding. Similarly, in the episode above, Melville sees jeopardy only when such communion threatens to remove all connection with the real and obscures the risks often inherent in Nature. This could also be regarded as a third aspect of Melville’s argument with Transcendentalism. Abstractions are necessary and useful, and so it is to feel disembodied from time to time, and alive to other lives and Life as a whole. But it would be a mistake to let such feelings separate us from reality. Once we let go of the real, a potentially nurturing experience is rendered useless, dangerous even. In chapter 96, “The Try-Works,” Ishmael has an epiphany of sorts and realizes how crazy it is to create ghosts, to yield to irrational hallucinations, though Stern probably makes too much of the character’s warning “look not too long in the face of the fire, o man!” and uses it as proof that Melville is farther from Transcendentalism (247) than he actually was. But it is true that such a passage alerts us to the danger of abandoning reason, which is always inherent in Transcendentalist reveries. 29 A fourth aspect of Transcendentalism alarms Melville: excessive self-absorption, which may throw us into an irreversible state, particularly if we lack the necessary mental equipment. This is eloquently illustrated by means of Pip, who, in chapter 93, “The Castaway,” loses his sanity after having been left alone at sea for a good many hours, enduring “[t]he intense concentration of self in the middle of such a heartless immensity” (525). Richard S. Moore considers that chapter as Melville’s response to Thoreau’s project of isolation (56). But, in my opinion, what happens to Pip is a result of his own mental weakness. Unlike Thoreau, he is just a boy and has not chosen isolation; therefore, he lacks the mental strength needed to face the moment when his “ringed horizon began to expand around him miserably” (525). Moreover, also unlike Thoreau, he does not possess an intellectual or philosophical background allowing him to read the experience profitably and to make sense of that “horizon,” his horizon of consciousness, which kept enlarging without him knowing how to accommodate to its changing shape. Thus, it expands “miserably,” i.e. with disastrous results, bringing him misery and not Transcendentalist joy. But it cannot follow from it that all projects of self-retreat (by adult, willing, intellectually prepared individuals) are going to have the same results. Rather than condemning Transcendentalism, Melville is again interrogating it: What happens if a weak mind tries to swallow larger truths than he can possibly digest, such as those “strange shapes of the unwarped primal world” (525), or the mass of timeless impulses, instincts, intuitions and human universals which Pip had never encountered before? Madness is the obvious answer. Afterwards, “Pip saw the multitudinous, God-omnipresent, coral insects, that out of the firmament of waters heaved the colossal orbs” (525) and begins to see that God of Nature that was manifest in every one of its creatures: “He saw God’s foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and therefore his shipmates called him mad” (525). Pip discovered indeed the divine principle in himself and Nature, but, sadly enough, it just led to ostracism and incomprehension. Then, it is affirmed that “man’s insanity is heaven’s sense” (525-6), that is, that Transcendentalist revelations may drive us crazy, though only, I would like to add, if we lack the tools, the age, the strength, or the will, to come to terms with them. 30 Transcendentalism is systematically read in the novel as a cutting edge, a sort of thin line separating self-fulfilment from madness, joy from sorrow, meaning from meaninglessness. Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 11 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 Pip’s episode is only one more example of the danger inherent in a philosophy that seems to be able to give one moments of extreme existential joy, but also the utter hopelessness with which it curses Ahab or Pip. Similarly, in chapter 96, Ishmael was on the brink of becoming another Ahab, bringing disaster upon his fellow sailors, when he was about to lose control of the ship and his own mind by the same token. In the Epilogue of the novel, Ishmael is also “drawn towards the closing vortex” of the maelstrom about to sink the Pequod, “[t]ill gaining that vital centre, the black bubble upward burst” and he was “liberated” (687). Ishmael got dangerously close to the point in which the two other Transcendentalist “heroes” of Moby-Dick (Ahab and Bulkington) and the martyrs of an unimaginative reading of Transcendentalism (the rest of the crew) tragically ended their journeys. But he is saved by the upward thrust of a more idiosyncratic Transcendentalism, one that does not make him unhappy. Unlike Ahab, he is not “damned in the midst of Paradise”; rather like the whales in the “Grand Armada,” he affirms of himself that “while ponderous planets of unwaning woe revolve round me, deep down and deep inland there I still bathe me in eternal mildness of joy” (498). But, in order to reach such a Transcendentalist haven and benefit from it in terms of his personal and experiential growth and of his ability to delve into reality in search of its “marrow,” he had to undertake an arduous, but finally successful negotiation. 31 Resulting from such a negotiation is a prominent use of humour, which was rare in Transcendentalism, but which, as Edward H. Rosenberry in Melville and the Comic Spirit has argued, is a very important part of the novel’s epistemology. When referring to the most trivial of thoughts, Ishmael can say, tongue-in-cheek, “I devoted three days to the studious digesting of all this beer, beef, and bread, during which many profound thoughts were incidentally suggested to me, capable of a transcendental and Platonic application” (557), thus poking fun at Transcendentalism itself. However, McLoughlin is, I think, wrong in regarding Ishmael as “the new post-Transcendentalist man, whose ultimate ironic detachment will become a commonplace pose for the new ‘hero’ of the ‘realistic’ novel” (69). The irony of the novel does not come from Ishmael’s self-conscious ironic detachment but rather from the author’s ironic rendering of Ishmael’s over-serious approach to his task as a narrator. He is often laughable because of his (initial) ill-digested Transcendentalism, as displayed in those passages in which Ishmael earnestly tries not to leave out even the most trivial aspect of the whale’s anatomy, thus coming dangerously close to the sucking vortex of literal Transcendentalism and total knowledge. But it will be precisely as he becomes capable of reading Transcendentalism more creatively that the irony will be left behind. Ishmael’s idiosyncratic Transcendentalism also allows him to engage in an emotionally and intellectually fruitful relationship with Queequeg that a more literal approach to Transcendentalism seems to preclude, as Ahab’s and Bulkington’s conspicuous loneliness heralds. For a spell, Ahab finds his own Queequeg in Pip, but their liaison is doomed from the start by the kind of Transcendentalist journey in which Ahab has embarked. It is also true that shortly before the final chase begins, Ahab tells Starbuck: “[S]tand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God” (652), thereby implying that human contact is likely to give us more than any Transcendental quest, and thus confirming the validity of Ishmael’s agenda. But Ahab is too far into his mad quest to be able to harp on such a fleeting perception for long. 32 Ishmael is the only Transcendentalist hero in Moby-Dick who is finally able to transform ideals into a source of happiness and growth, and, by that token, make them worthwhile. Ishmael wants to know and, above all, he wants to know himself; but he does not think that the attainment of such knowledge justifies the use of whatever means. He also finds out that it is man’s lot to resign himself to live with whatever knowledge he can reach, and should not aspire to know everything. Beyond that, he is able to see that human relationships are also meaningful, that knowledge by itself and without a further goal makes very little sense, that isolation and communion with Nature may be only valid for a while (and as long as one is fully prepared to cope with them). In other words, he does not incorporate Transcendentalism uncritically but after having negotiated his own Transcendentalist agenda, absorbing such aspects as could serve him and discarding the most irrational, selfish and radical ones. Melville Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 12 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 seems to be thus attacking the Ahab-like stereotyped view of Transcendentalism, the surface reading of what was a very sophisticated philosophy but probably also easy to reduce to a few over-simplified notions. Ishmael’s survival is an urge to be faithful to the spirit of Transcendentalism, not to its letter, and thus build our own philosophy of life (inspired rather than dictated by Transcendentalism). Aware as I am of the number of interpretations for Ishmael’s survival that already exist, I would like to propose one more: his final triumph, aside from giving him the chance to transform the story into his story, validates his personal version of Transcendentalism, and indicts alternative ones (Ahab’s or Bulkington’s). Thus, at the Epilogue, we become, with Ishmael, “pragmatic idealists left revolving on the edges of Ishmael’s maelstrom, staring into the vacant suction of Ahab’s political and philosophical idealism” (Bryant 71). This is an Ishmael-like novel, a compromise novel, with the action and adventures of a thrilling sea narrative and yet with the philosophical inquiry Melville was engaged in at the time. Such a combination will moreover characterize Melville’s future career. He indeed wrote works which “se fueron haciendo cada vez más profundos, más psicológicos, más metafísicos y enrevesados, en definitiva más transcendentes y complejos” (Barrio Marco 121), but never failing to give his readers amusing stories. Unfortunately, Ishmael’s pragmatic idealism served him better than his creator’s would serve him, judging by the sad story of Melville’s post-Moby-Dick life and literature. Bibliography Axelrod, Steven Gould. “Teaching Moby-Dick to Non-English Majors.” Approaches to Teaching Melville’s Moby-Dick. New York: MLA, 1985. 66-74. Barrio Marco, José Manuel. “La novela norteamericana desde sus orígenes hasta la Guerra Civil”. Historia crítica de la novela norteamericana. Ed. José Antonio Gurpegui Palacios. Salamanca: Almar, 2001. 65-127. Beaver, Harold. “Introduction [to Moby-Dick].” Moby-Dick. By Herman Melville. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986. 20-42. Bryant, John. “Moby-Dick as Revolution.” The Cambridge Companion to Herman Melville. Ed. Robert S. Levine. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998. 65-90. Cowan. S. A. “In Praise of Self-Reliance: The Role of Bulkington in Moby-Dick.” American Literature 38 (Jan 1967): 547-56. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “Nature.” Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ed. Richard Poirier. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990. 5-36. ---. “Self-Reliance.” Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ed. Richard Poirier. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990. 131-51. ---. “The Transcendentalist.” Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ed. Richard Poirier. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990. 97-110. Freeman, John. Herman Melville. New York: Haskell, 1974. Marx, Leo. The Machine in the Garden. Technology and the Pastoral Idea in America. London: Oxford UP, 1980. McLoughlin, Michael. Dead Letters to the New World. Melville, Emerson, and American Transcendentalism. New York: Routledge, 2003. McSweeney, Kerry. Moby-Dick. Ishmael’s Mighty Book. Boston: Twayne, 1986. McWilliams, John P. Jr. Hawthorne, Melville, and the American Character. A Looking-Glass Business. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1984. Melville, Herman. Moby-Dick. 1851. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986. Miller, Perry. “Melville and Transcendentalism.” Moby-Dick. Centennial Essays. Eds. Tyrus Hillway and Luther S. Manfield. Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1965 (1953). Moore, Richard S. That Cunning Alphabet. Melville’s Aesthetics of Nature. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1982. Rogin, Michael Paul. Subversive Genealogy. The Politics and Art of Herman Melville. Berkeley: U of California P, 1985. Rosenberry, Edward H. Melville and the Comic Spirit. New York: Octagon, 1979. Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. 13 European journal of American studies, Vol 5, No 1 | 2010 Sealts, Milton M, Jr. Melville’s Reading: A Checklist of Books Owned and Borrowed. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1966. Shanley, J. Lyndon. The Making of Walden with the Text of the First Version. Chicago: Chicago UP, 1957. Stern, Milton R. The Fine Hammered Steel of Herman Melville. Urbana: Illinois UP, 1968. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden. 1854. Ware: Wordsworth, 1995. Van Nostrand, A. D. Everyman His Own Poet. Romantic Gospels in American Literature. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968. Vincent, Howard P. The Trying-Out of Moby-Dick. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1949. Williams, John B. White Fire: The Influence of Emerson on Melville. Long Beach: California State UP, 1991. Wolf, Bryan. “When Is a Painting Most like a Whale?: Ishmael, Moby-Dick and the Sublime.” New Essays on Moby-Dick. Ed. Richard H. Brodhead. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1986. 141-79. References Electronic reference Ramón Espejo Romero, « Negotiating Transcendentalism, Escaping « Paradise » : Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. », European journal of American studies [Online], Vol 5, No 1 | 2010, document 5, Online since 28 June 2010, connection on 04 January 2015. URL : http://ejas.revues.org/8467 ; DOI : 10.4000/ejas.8467 About the author Ramón Espejo Romero University of Seville,Spain Copyright Creative Commons License This text is under a Creative Commons license : Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 Generic Abstract   By reviewing the critical literature on Melville and Transcendentalism and then undertaking a close reading of Moby-Dick (1851), this paper argues that the novel reflects, among other things, an ongoing debate between the novelist and Transcendentalist philosophy. While in later works, Melville seems to express a more robust condemnation of the Concord movement and its dangerous idealism, Moby-Dick occupies less firmly-defined territory. The Transcendentalist urge of an Ahab to be himself is a counterpoint to Ishmael’s more idiosyncratic deployment of self-reliance, communion with the oversoul, and various other concepts easy to trace back to Emerson or Thoreau. The conclusion seems to be that a negotiation is necessary if Transcendentalism is to be heeded at all, precisely the kind of negotiation Ishmael undertakes throughout the novel, one which spares him from the maelstrom created by a more radical approach to self-acceptance and self-fashioning. Index terms Keywords : Henry David Thoreau, literary influence, Melville, Moby-Dick, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Transcendentalism http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.5 
work_nkrxoyens5bcbjboiluba2dd7m	----	[PDF] Meta-accuracy and relationship quality: Weighing the costs and benefits of knowing what people really think about you. | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1037/pspp0000107 Corpus ID: 3407297Meta-accuracy and relationship quality: Weighing the costs and benefits of knowing what people really think about you. @article{Carlson2016MetaaccuracyAR, title={Meta-accuracy and relationship quality: Weighing the costs and benefits of knowing what people really think about you.}, author={Erika N. Carlson}, journal={Journal of personality and social psychology}, year={2016}, volume={111 2}, pages={ 250-64 } } Erika N. Carlson Published 2016 Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology People use metaperceptions, or their beliefs about how other people perceive them, to initiate and maintain social bonds. Are accurate metaperceptions associated with higher quality relationships? In four studies, the current research answers this question but considers the possibility that the self might not experience the same relational benefits of accurate metaperceptions, or meta-accuracy, as the people who form judgments about the self. For example, people tend to like individuals who… Expand View on PubMed doi.org Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 24 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 2 Background Citations 13 Methods Citations 1 Results Citations 1 View All Tables and Topics from this paper table 1 table 2 table 3 table 4 benefit Verifying specimen Happiness Eye Experience impression (attitude) Trait Paper Mentions News Article It’s time for your annual relationship MOT. Brace for impact! The Guardian 6 January 2018 24 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Blissfully Blind or Painfully Aware? Exploring the Beliefs People With Interpersonal Problems Have About Their Reputation. Erika N. Carlson, A. Wright, H. Imam Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality 2017 3 PDF View 11 excerpts, cites background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Social anxiety and liking: Towards understanding the role of metaperceptions in first impressions. H. Tissera, Lauren Gazzard Kerr, Erika N. Carlson, Lauren J Human Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2020 1 Save Alert Research Feed No Expectation, No Disappointment: How Does Meta-Accuracy Affect Hireability? Laetitia Renier, E. P. Kleinlogel, C. Toma, M. Mast, N. Murphy Psychology 2018 1 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Disagreement About Moral Character Is Linked to Interpersonal Costs Maxwell Barranti, Erika N. Carlson, R. Furr Psychology 2016 10 PDF View 4 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed What is the structure of perceiver effects? On the importance of global positivity and trait-specificity across personality domains and judgment contexts. R. Rau, Erika N. Carlson, +5 authors S. Nestler Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2019 5 Save Alert Research Feed On the relation between felt trust and actual trust: Examining pathways to and implications of leader trust meta-accuracy. Rachel L Campagna, Kurt T. Dirks, A. Knight, C. Crossley, S. Robinson Psychology, Medicine The Journal of applied psychology 2019 2 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Eagerness and Optimistically Biased Metaperception: The More Eager to Learn Others’ Evaluations, the Higher the Estimation of Others’ Evaluations J. Lu, Hebing Duan, X. Xie Psychology, Medicine Front. Psychol. 2018 1 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Inaccurate group meta-perceptions drive negative out-group attributions in competitive contexts J. Lees, M. Cikara Psychology, Medicine Nature Human Behaviour 2019 14 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Consistency between individuals' past and current romantic partners' own reports of their personalities Y. Park, G. Macdonald Psychology, Medicine Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 2019 5 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Perceived Image, Prestige, Respect and Support: How Employees Manage Multiple Reflected Appraisals at the Workplace T. Bongiorno Psychology 2017 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 75 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Resolution of Meta-Accuracy Erika N. Carlson, R. Furr Psychology 2013 16 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Meta-accuracy about potential relationship partners' models of others K. B. Carnelley, J. B. Ruscher, Samantha K. Shaw Psychology 1999 5 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Is It Adaptive for People With Personality Problems to Know How Their Romantic Partner Perceives Them? The Effect of Meta-accuracy on Romantic Relationship Satisfaction. Erika N. Carlson, T. Oltmanns Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality disorders 2018 2 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Do We Know the First Impressions We Make? Evidence for Idiographic Meta-Accuracy and Calibration of First Impressions Erika N. Carlson, R. Furr, Simine Vazire Psychology 2010 42 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Who knows what about a person? The self-other knowledge asymmetry (SOKA) model. Simine Vazire Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2010 622 PDF View 3 excerpts, references background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Overcoming the Barriers to Self-Knowledge Erika N. Carlson Psychology, Medicine Perspectives on psychological science : a journal of the Association for Psychological Science 2013 127 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Meta-insight: do people really know how others see them? Erika N. Carlson, Simine Vazire, R. Furr Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2011 102 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Do people know how others view them? An empirical and theoretical account. D. Kenny, B. Depaulo Psychology, Medicine Psychological bulletin 1993 426 Highly Influential PDF View 6 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Judgments of a relationship partner: specific accuracy but global enhancement. L. Neff, B. Karney Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality 2002 77 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Self-Knowledge of Personality: Do People Know Themselves? Simine Vazire, Erika N. Carlson Psychology 2010 160 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Tables and Topics Paper Mentions 24 Citations 75 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
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work_noukkj5iu5hbjgodnv6ccl6t5a	----	Conservation Ecology: de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological Utopias: Envisioning the Sustainable Society. International Books, Utrecht, The Netherlands. Home | Archives | About | Login | Submissions | Notify | Contact | Search  ES Home > Vol. 4, No. 1 > Art. 18 Copyright © 2000 by The Resilience Alliance The following is the established format for referencing this article: Thiele, L. P. 2000. Book Review: de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological Utopias: Envisioning the sustainable society. International Books, Utrecht, The Netherlands. Conservation Ecology 4(1): 18. [online] URL: http://www.consecol.org/vol4/iss1/art18/ Book Review de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological Utopias: Envisioning the Sustainable Society. International Books, Utrecht, The Netherlands. Leslie Paul Thiele University of Florida Book Information Responses to this Article Literature Cited Published: July 4, 2000 In an age characterized by pragmatism and postmodern skepticism, utopian thought is easily rejected as a useless form of daydreaming or a dangerous flirtation with totalistic social planning. Marius de Geus, a political theorist at the University of Leiden in The Netherlands, argues that this depreciation of utopian thought is unnecessary and unjust. For contemporary environmental scholars and practitioners, he maintains, utopian writing constitutes a unique and valued resource. In Ecological Utopias, de Geus offers a concise review, critical analysis, and synthetic appraisal of the works of nine authors whose utopian writings span the last five centuries. Each of these authors limned what de Geus calls a "utopia of sufficiency." Utopias of sufficiency posit ideal societies whose raison d’etre is the satisfaction of moderate human needs through harmonious social and ecological relations. These societies are characterized by simplicity and self-restraint rather than material abundance and overconsumption. They demonstrate how a high quality of life can be achieved through richness of community, sufficiency of goods, meaningful work coupled with significant leisure, and ecological integration. Utopias of sufficiency are contrasted to utopias of abundance. De Geus does not examine this latter genre of utopian thought, where technological prowess produces widespread luxury. Such "technotopias," as portrayed by Bacon, Owen, Saint-Simon, and Fourier among others, celebrate human power over nature rather than human interdependence with nature. Instead, de Geus investigates the ecologically attuned works of Thomas More, Henry David Thoreau, Peter Kropotkin, William Morris, Ebenezer Howard, B. F. Skinner, Aldous Huxley, Ernest Callenbach, and Murray Bookchin. While paying heed to the shortcomings and dangers exhibited in the utopian thought of these authors, de Geus highlights the insight and inspiration that a critical reading of their works may yield. Utopias of sufficiency are not all cut from the same green cloth. They vary dramatically on a number of scores, including the individual liberties they celebrate and the forms of social control they advocate. In 1516, Thomas More published the first depiction of an ideal, ecologically attuned state. More’s Utopia is characterized by egalitarian relations (notwithstanding its inherent patriarchy) and the absence of private property. Its inhabitants achieve happiness and spiritual fulfillment by way of harmony with nature, adherence to a strict work ethic, and puritanical ethical standards. Ecological values are pervasive, but so is a lack of personal freedom. As de Geus observes, More's utopia is largely modeled after the monastic community. While underlining its originality, de Geus rejects More's vision because of the stifling social control it promotes. With similar qualms, de Geus assesses B. F. Skinner’s modern depiction of utopian life in Walden Two (1945). Although the inhabitants of Skinner’s community are not subject to coercion and are much more open to technological progress than the citizens of More’s ideal state, they are made equally compliant to social and ecological norms. This control is achieved by way of “positive reinforcement” and other forms of behavioral engineering that are routinely exercised on the denizens of Walden Two from cradle to grave. Henry David Thoreau published Walden, or a Life in the Woods in 1854. In this paean to the simple life, personal freedom is the foremost concern. However, it is a particular sort of liberty that Thoreau advocates. For Thoreau, the freedom to live luxuriously generally leads to lives fettered to production, consumption, and accumulation. Thoreau’s remedy is an unadorned life that mimics natural rhythms and liberally imbibes the "tonic of wildness.” For Thoreau, the ideal is not the cloistered communitarian but the noble savage. De Geus rightly doubts whether the world could sustainably support six billion Thoreauvians marching off to the woods with axe in hand to find peace of mind. Most of the utopian works discussed in Ecological Utopias lean more toward anarchism than authoritarian control. When Peter Kropotkin wrote Mutual Aid (1902), he was setting himself against the (social) Darwinists who described nature red in tooth and claw and claimed that survival and success went to the fittest of rugged individuals. Kropotkin argued that in the animal world, no less than the human, welfare was gained by way of solidarity and cooperation as much if not more than individual struggle. It is the pervasiveness of mutual aid, Kropotkin believed, that makes anarchism a viable option for humankind. Kropotkin looked to the Middle Ages as a period of relative well-being whose virtues were trampled under by the rising bourgeois society and the centralized state. Kropotkin suggested that the ideal society of the future might go beyond the decentralized and federative structures of the Middle Ages to foster lives of liberty and harmony, such that cooperation would supplant coercion and the preservation of nature would replace efforts to master it. In William Morris's romantic novel, News from Nowhere (1891), we confront an ecological utopia grounded in small-scale human craftsmanship. Like his acquaintance Kropotkin, Morris lauds decentralization, cooperative community, social equality, and individual freedom. Yet, more than any other utopian writer, Morris grounds these virtues in an aesthetic view of the human condition. Inspired by medieval arts and crafts, Morris became one of Europe's foremost graphic designers and established a well-known firm of artisans. Morris was appalled by the array of shoddy products that large-scale industry belched out along with pollution. News from Nowhere depicts a society in which the preservation of nature goes hand in hand with the beautification of the world. Ebenezer Howard’s Garden Cities of To-morrow (1898) provides another account of sustainable communities defined by human artistry. Howard's blueprint of utopia, however, is grounded in architectural and horticultural arts that effectively wed town and country. Murray Bookchin combines and modernizes Kropotkin and Morris. In The Ecology of Freedom and his other writings on “social ecology,” Bookchin argues that the domination of nature first arises from human domination, including patriarchy. Achieving a healthy relation to nature, Bookchin insists, will only be possible if humans first achieve egalitarian social relations. Aldous Huxley suggests a similar dynamic. Huxley is best known for his distopic novel, Brave New World. However, he also wrote Island (1962), a utopian novella depicting a people that seeks ecological balance and the development of higher consciousness through meditation and the use of non-addictive psychedelic drugs. The basic premise is that environmental preservation and spiritual development go hand in hand. The inhabitants of Ernest Callenbach's Ecotopia (1975), a secessionist nation of the 21st-century northwestern United States, also live a decentralized, egalitarian life close to nature. Many cultivate marijuana and, like Huxley’s islanders, facilitate ecological attunement through higher states of consciousness. In Ecotopia, sustainability is the foremost concern. Consequently, production is small-scale and laws require that goods be durable and easily repairable. What cannot be repaired or reused simply gets recyled or composted, as almost everything is organically produced. In Ecotopia, the steady-state economy has been attained. De Geus makes the valid criticism that ecological thinkers, including modern ones such as Bookchin and Callenbach, generally propose relatively static models of society. In turn, most utopian thinkers portray their lands and peoples as isolated from the world around them. Yet, contemporary societies are highly complex, quickly changing, and increasingly interconnected on a global scale. The utopian writing most needed today, de Geus suggests, would provide a vision of a sustainable society that preserves individual freedom, complex social relations, and ongoing social and ecological transformation. De Geus might have been more specific in this regard. One could argue, for instance, that what is most needed is the utopian portrayal of a progressive, market society characterized by full-cost accounting, wherein the social and ecological costs of production, distribution, and waste management are figured into the price consumers pay for goods and services. Herein, ecological sustainability would be achieved without sacrificing economic freedom. In the end, de Geus makes the case that utopian thought provides insightful social critique and imaginative vision. Radical perspectives allow us to evaluate the habits of thought and practice that we so often assume to be necessary features of our world. A political theory of sustainable society is still lacking, de Geus notes, and the critical insight and visionary ideals of utopian thought are an indispensable component of such theorizing. BOOK INFORMATION de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological Utopias: Envisioning the Sustainable Society. International Book, Utrecht, The Netherlands. 319pp., paperback, US$ 24.95. ISBN 90-5727-019-6. RESPONSES TO THIS ARTICLE Responses to this article are invited. If accepted for publication, your response will be hyperlinked to the article. To submit a comment, follow this link. To read comments already accepted, follow this link. LITERATURE CITED Bookchin, M. 1991. The ecology of freedom. Black Rose Books, Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Callenbach, E. 1975. Ecotopia. Banyan Tree Books, Berkeley, California, USA. de Geus, M. 1999. Ecological utopias: envisioning the sustainable society. International Books, Utrecht, The Netherlands. Howard, E. 1898. Garden cities of to-morrow. Reprinted in 1985 by Attic Books, Eastbourne, UK. Huxley, A. Brave New World. Harper and Row, New York, New York, USA. Huxley, A. 1962. Island. Panther Books, London, UK. Kropotkin, P. 1902. Mutual Aid. Porter Sargent Publishers, Boston, Massachusetts, USA. More, Thomas. 1516. Utopia. Reprinted in 1982 by Penguin Books, Harmondsworth, UK. Morris, W. 1891. News from nowhere. Reprinted in 1983 by Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, UK. Skinner, B. F. 1945. Walden Two. Reprinted in 1976 by Collier Macmillan, London, UK. Thoreau, H. D. 1854. Walden, or a life in the woods. Reprinted in 1966 in O. Thomas, editor. Walden and civil disobedience. W. W. Norton, New York, New York, USA. Address of Correspondent: Leslie Paul Thiele Department of Political Science University of Florida Gainesville, Florida USA 32611-7325 Phone: 352-392-0262 thiele@polisci.ufl.edu Home | Archives | About | Login | Submissions | Notify | Contact | Search 
work_nr7dolyexnannlxxsjdkcuxw7i	----	Working with Hindu Clients in a Spiritually Sensitive Manner David R. Hodge Although social work is witnessing growing interest in spiritual and religious issues, little guidance has appeared in the literature to assist practitioners in addressing the unique spirituality of rapidly increasing non-Western populations. This article discusses the significant cultural/spiritual beliefs, practices, and values of Hindus, the largest Asian religion in the United States. Possible conflicts emanating from the lack of congruence between the values of Hindu consumers, derived from the dharma—the sacred moral order—and the values of social workers, derived from a Western Enlightenment discourse, are highlighted. The author offers practice-oriented suggestions to facilitate cultural sensitivity and to further integrate the spiritual strengths of Hindus into the clinical dialogue. Key words: dharma; diversity; Hinduism; religion; spirituality W hen working with nonmainstream popula- tions, effective service provision is often contingent on the practitioner's level of cultural competence (Mizio, 1998; Poole, 1998). Cultural competence is predicated on developing an awareness of the two worldviews involved in the counseling dialogue, the consumer's and the practitioner's (McPhatter, 1997). Not only should workers strive to develop an empathetic under- standing of consumers' reality, but workers should also seek to acquire an awareness of their own culturally informed assumptions (Wambach 8c Van Soest, 1997). Based on the new awareness, social workers can implement interventions that are congruent with the consumer's beliefs, values, and practices. Lack of cultural competence can have serious ramifications, particularly when working with re- ligious traditions that practitioners may not be familiar with, such as Hinduism. Not only is effec- tive practice impeded, but harm may occur. Reddy and Hanna (1998) emphasized that practi- tioner application of typical Western secular val- ues and related interventions with Hindus in counseling settings my cause "confusion and fur- ther negative affect." Indeed, whereas Goodwin and Cramer (1998) found that 80 percent of the 70 Hindus in the study would use a counseling service, they also found that 76 percent of respon- dents "were insistent that the counselor should be someone who understood their culture inti- mately" (p. 422). Most social workers, however, have received no training on Hinduism during their graduate pro- grams (Canda 8c Furman, 1999), suggesting the need for practitioners to familiarize themselves with this population. This need may be particu- larly salient given that Hinduism is the largest Asian religion in the United States (Richards 8c Bergin, 1997) and is growing rapidly (Williams, 1997). Yet, only a few articles have appeared in the literature on Hinduism (Canda & Furman), and none has focused on orienting workers to in- teract with Hindu consumers. This article attempts to equip workers with a practice-oriented understanding of Hinduism. This articles highlights the centrality of commu- nity as a metaphor for understanding Hinduism CCC Code: 0037-8046/04 $3.00 O 2004 National Association of Social Workers, Inc. 27 and leads into a discussion of the dharma, the underlying sacred order that informs classical Hinduism. Hinduism Hinduism is a 12th-century Persian term used by Mushms to describe "the belief of the people of India" (Fenton et al, 1993, p. 21). Although there are more than 800 million Hindu adherents worldwide, 13 percent of the earth's population (Juthani, 1998), the overwhelming majority live in India, the cradle of Hinduism, where they are ap- proximately 85 percent of the population (Fenton et al.). Thus, Hinduism is closely tied to Indian history, geography, and culture. In the eyes of many Indians, and especially among the Hindu majority, Hindu culture and Indian culture are functionally equivalent (Fenton, 1988). Hindu self-awareness and self-identity affirms Hinduism as a single religious universe (Weightman, 1998). As Melton (1999) noted, there are a num- ber of commonly held beliefs, practices and val- ues, including a shared religious history in India. Conversely, it is important to note that there is an extraordinary degree of diversity within Hindu- ism. For example, even prevalent terminology, such as Brahman and dharma, can signify a wide range of divergent and discrete concepts among various spiritual traditions within the religiion (Reat, 1990). Consequently, it should be kept in mind that this article is intended to provide social workers with an "exploratory working hypothesis" with which to interact with Hindu clients, rather than a definitive framework. In other words, practition- ers should use the concepts developed in this ar- ticle as a starting point, while allowing consumers the freedom to adjust practitioners' understand- ing of their reality on the basis of their own inter- pretation of Hinduism. Centrality of Community For social workers raised and educated in a West- ern Enlightenment-derived worldview that em- phasizes personal autonomy, human rationality, and a positivist epistemology (Crocker, 1997; Jafari, 1993), the Hindu cosmology can represent a radically different model for understanding real- ity. Shweder and colleagues (1997) suggested that U.S. society stands in direct contrast with Hindu culture. The concepts of individualism, au- tonomy, materialism, and secularism that charac- terize Western, and especially U.S., culture are subordinate in Hindu society, where the concepts of community, interdependence, and divinity are primary, made salient, and implicitly institution- alized. Animated by the divine, Hindu culture tends to conceptualize the person as inherently part of a social body (Miller, 1994). Consequently, for most Hindus there is a great awareness of, and respect for, human interdependence and interconnectedness, which is understood to be the foundation of well-being. If an individual's ac- tions weaken the community to which the person belongs, they weaken the person. Instead of indi- viduals attempting to meet their own needs, people work together to care and provide for each other (Miller, 1994; Shweder et al., 1997). This interdependent social body is grounded in and is a manifestation of the Hindu dharma. Dharma—the Sacred Order The dharma has been suggested as the "funda- mental unifying principle of traditional Hindu- ism" (Fitzgerald, 1990, p. 112). Indeed, many In- dians use the term to signify their own religion (Corbett, 1994; Fenton et al., 1993; Weightman, 1998). In addition to religion, dharma also signi- fies eternal order, moral law, justice, righteous- ness, and personal duty (Fenton et al.; Juthani, 1998; Weightman). Dharma can be understood as an unseen, metaphysical moral order that perme- ates the universe. Because dharma represents the ultimate moral and sacred reality, ordering society and personal conduct to correspond with the de- sign of the universe is one's duty and brings integ- rity, harmony, and balance both societally and personally. Harmonizing beliefs, practices and values with the implicit sacred design, manifested as one's personal dharma, fosters corporate and individual well-being. Because the dharma is woven into the fabric of existence, Hinduism can be conceived of as all- encompassing, providing structure and coherence to all facets of life (MuUatti, 1995). The encom- passing nature of dharma represents a sharp con- trast with Western Enlightenment epistemology, which tends to dichotomize the secular and sacred into two different realms, public and private, and gives precedence to the former over the latter (Crocker, 1997). Therefore, for Westerners who construct reality from within an Enhghtenment framework, "Hinduism is more than a religion; it Social Wort/Volume 49, Number 1 /January 2004 28 is a way of life" (Siegel, Choldin & Orost, 1995, p. 131). Indeed, in addition to personal moral codes, values, ritual conduct, and other areas typically assigned to the private sphere, dharma forms the basis for family roles and the structure of tradi- tional Indian society. Family The dharma places a high priority on the family. For most Hindus, family is considered to be a critical stage on the path of action, discussed later in this article, which leads to ultimate spiritual liberation (Fenton et al., 1993). It is through the family that Hindus fulfill many religious obliga- tions. Consequently, a number of rituals and spiritual practices are connected with family life. Common life cycle rituals of Hindus in the United States, which typically involve the extended family whenever possible, include prenatal rituals, birth and childhood ceremonies such as naming the child, marriage, and cremation within 24 hours after death (Williams, 1988). As an expression of the path of devotion, families commonly have one or more family gods that are honored at home shrines (Mullatti, 1995). The individual dharma differs for women and men. Traditionally, wives are considered exten- sions of Hindu goddesses, responsible for trans- mitting cultural and religious knowledge— dharma—to their children and through them to the wider society (Reddy & Hanna, 1998). Con- versely, husbands have been responsible for pro- viding for the family and have final responsibility for family decisions (Mullatti, 1995). The marriage unites two family systems in a manner that approximates the Western bond be- tween blood relations. In keeping with the com- munity ethos of Hinduism, the individual is un- derstood to be embedded in a family that is embedded in an extended family, which in turn is embedded in an even wider kin network (Reddy & Hanna, 1998). The family, and often the kin net- work, may take an active role in guiding mate se- lection, up to and including arranged marriages. In essence, rather than marrying the one they love, Hindus love the one they marry. Western divorces based on the perception that one's emo- tional needs are no longer being satisfied by one's partner and the resulting suffering such divorces cause for the participants, particularly women (Smock, Manning, & Gupta, 1999) and children (Ross & Mirowsky, 1999; Wallerstein & Lewis, 1998), is comparatively rare among Hindus (Mullatti, 1995). Child rearing is typically child-centered, with children being seen as a gift from the divine. Having a son is often important to family mem- bers because only a male child can discharge the spiritual debt the husband owes his ancestors (Mullatti, 1995; Saraswathi & Pai, 1997). Little pressure is applied to children to become autono- mous and independent. Rather, children are so- cialized to see themselves as an integral part of a divinely ordered whole. For example, money may be held communally rather than individually in the form of personal allowances (Dhruvarajan, 1993). In keeping vnth the child-centered approach, it is generally held that the gratification of the child's desires in conjunction with an environ- ment that fosters minimum frustration is most conducive for development (Saraswathi & Pai, 1997). Disciplinary "time outs" are often per- ceived as too distancing and controlling of the child's behavior. Correction is commonly applied by holding the child and discussing the situation, and perhaps spanking (Almeida, 1996), a disci- plinary measure that has been shown to enhance reasoning and ameliorate disruptive behavior (Larzelere, Sather, Schneider, Larson, & Pike, 1998). The Four Varnas For more than 2000 years, the dharma has been understood to prescribe the structuring of society into four varnas, or castes. Although this arrange- ment has been criticized by many Hindus and its salience seems to be decreasing, it bas provided India with a remarkably peaceful and stable social order for more than two millennia. In addition to many sub-varnas, four major varnas are recog- nized: the brahmans, who perform religious and spiritual duties, the kshatriyas, who govern and administrate, the vaisya, comprising merchants and farmers, and the sudras, who carry out menial tasks considered to be spiritually unclean (Fenton et al., 1993; Hiltebeitel, 1987). Ideally, this matrix of relationships is understood to work to the re- ciprocal advantage of all parties, with each one having duties necessary for the proper functioning of the whole (Hiltebeitel). All parties are needed and important to the health of society and benefit from a stable social system (Saraswathi 8c Pai, 1997). Hodge / Working with Hindu Clients in a Spiritually Sensitive Manner 29 The assignment of social roles is hereditary, in a manner analogous to Western society, where individuals are born into a particular set of envi- ronmental and personal attributes (for example, wealth, access to education, class status, intellec- tual and emotional intelligence) that enable them to attain certain social positions. However, the individualistic competitive di- mension that enables Westerners to achieve or maintain their personal social position is largely absent in Hinduism, where individuals know their position in the social structure from birth. Thus, the stable group orientation in Hinduism may foster a greater sense of community, intercon- nectedness, esteem, and security than is found in individualistic, competitive Western settings (Saraswathi & Pai, 1997; Shweder et al., 1997). Further- ^ ^ ^ more, through the process of karma and satnsara, the indi- vidual has the assurance of ob- taining what are often deemed to be more prominent social positions. Karma can be understood as a law of moral cause and effect. The Law of Karma and the Cycle of Rebirth Following the ethical duties of one's personal dharma allows one to accumulate good karma, while living selfishly results in the accumulation of bad karma (Fenton et al., 1993; Weightman, 1998). Karma can be understood as a law of moral cause and effect and is closely allied with belief in samsara, the cycle of birth and rebirth, or trans- migration, to which the soul is subject (Melton, 1999). Karma, in conjunction with samsara, pro- vides universal justice in the sense that actors reap the consequences of their unjust or meritorious actions in this and the next life. Therefore, karma and samsara provide a meta- physical explanation for life's inequities that are otherwise unexplained and consequently can be a source of encouragement during trials. Con- versely, karma also may engender a sense of hu- man agency and hope for a better future, because it states that individuals possess free will and have the ability and potential to improve their standing in this life and the life to come (Juthani, 1998; Karnik & Suri, 1993). Furthermore, knowing that one has the opportunity to experience life again has been shown to decrease death anxiety (Parsuram & Sharma, 1992). Moksha—Liberation from the World Although the central precept of Hinduism is dharma, right living in this world, moksha, or lib- eration from this world, is also an important con- cept (Weightman, 1998). To escape samsara, with its possibility of a virtually endless cycle of death and rebirth, moksha is often sought. To achieve moksha, the individual must avoid the accumula- tion of any karma, good or bad, because it is karma that affects the transmigration of the soul. Although there are many, nonexclusive, roads to moksha, typically three major paths are cited: the paths of illumination, action, and devotion (Corbett, 1994; Fenton et al., 1993; Melton, 1999; Weightman). The path of illumination, jnana yoga, is based on meditation, which in turn leads to spiritual knowledge that results in lib- ^ ^ ^ 1 ^ eration. Particularly on this path, moksha is understood to occur when one's true, spiritual self, or atman, achieves unity with the all en- compassing, monistic Abso- lute—Brahman—sometimes referred to as the world-soul. Illumination occurs through meditative disciplines, which reveal how the illu- sion of this present empirical world has prevented one from seeing the ultimate unity of one's atman with the Brahman. The path of action, or karma yoga, suggests that selfiess action based on the requirements of personal dharma leads to moksha. However, these actions must be done without concern for per- sonal gain. Egocentricity results in the accumula- tion of karma and emphasizes separateness, which in turn inhibits union with the Brahman. Thus, in the way of action, moksha is achieved through performing actions based on the dharma in a spirit of detachment and selfiessness. As men- tioned earlier marriage and family, in which one has the opportunity to selfiessly serve others, are intimately tied into this path. Within the path of devotion, bhaktiyoga, lib- eration is obtained through devotion to a deity, or deities, with Shiva and Krishna being the most prominent in an extensive pantheon of deities. For instance, Krishna, an avatar, or incarnation of the Vedic deity, Vishnu, and the most popular deity of north India (WiUiams, 1988), is held by adher- ents to be the personal God who stands behind the impersonal Brahman. Krishna is worshipped Social Wor/c/ Volume 49, Number ] /January 2004 30 through various actions, including prayer and puja, or ritual offerings performed at household shrines or in a temple. Because Krishna is the creator of karma, he can be enjoined by the worship of his devotees to exempt followers from its effects and to grant liberation from samsara into an eternal life with Krishna (Fenton et al., 1993). As discussed earlier, most Hindu households have one room dedicated exclusively to puja and adopt one or more family gods (Fenton, 1988). Although the home shrine and temple are both considered residences of the gods, the family shrine is primarily responsible for transmitting religious beliefs and practices, particularly for Hindus in the United States (Williams, 1988). Although living in harmony with the dharma imposes a number of constraints on conduct, Hindus have considerable freedom in seeking moksha (Weightman, 1998). There are a number of sacred writings in Hinduism that serve to in- form the faith, including the Vedas, the Laws of Manu, the Upanishads, and the Bhagavad-Gita, the most popular text (Corbett, 1994; Williams, 1988). However, these scriptures play a relatively minor role in Hinduism, especially when com- pared with the Bible in Christianity or the Koran in Islam, although Hindu scriptures often assume increased prominence in U.S. settings as devo- tional texts (Williams, 1988). Transformative religious experience based on spiritual disciplines, rather than doctrinal con- cerns, is of central concern for most Hindus (Puhakka, 1995). Thus, in practice, Hindus tend to draw from all three paths, emphasizing various components on the basis of their caste, education, geographic location, personal tastes, stage of life, and so forth. However, for most Hindus, includ- ing those living in the United States, some combi- nation of the latter two paths is usually followed (Corbett, 1994; Miller, 1995). Hindus in the United States Hinduism has had a significant influence in U.S. history. Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Tran- scendentalists such Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, and the New Age move- ment were all influenced in varying degrees by Hinduism (Tweed, 1997). Missionary efforts by Svami Vivekananda, prompted by his success at the 1893 World Parliament of Religions held in Chicago, led to the establishment of Vedanta Cen- ters throughout the United States. More recent missionary successes have been Swami Prabhupada and Maharishi Mahesh Yogi who, respectively, founded the International Society of Krishna Consciousness, or more popularly, the Hare Krishna movement, and transcendental meditation (TM). It is interesting and in contrast with Indian Hindus that the relatively less popular path of illumination, jnana yoga, has held the most attraction for U.S. converts, particularly in its TM form (Tweed; Williams, 1997). Although missionary activity by notable Hindu gurus or teachers has resulted in a number of con- verts and increased awareness of Hindu concepts among the general population, immigration has led to the rapid increase in the U.S. Hindu com- munity (Williams, 1997). Almost all Hindus in the United States are first or second generation immigrants. The repeal of the Asian Exclusion Act in 1965, which was introduced in 1917 because of heightened nationalist sentiment during World War I, has resulted in a dramatic population in- crease that shows few signs of abating (Melton, 1999). Ascertaining the exact number of Hindus in the United States is difficult because of a 1957 Congressional prohibition that prevents the United States government from collecting infor- mation on religious affiliation to safeguard reli- gious privacy (Williams, 1998). Figures ranging from just under half a miUion (Kosmin & Lachman, 1993) to about 5 million (Canda & Furman, 1999) have appeared in the literature. However, perhaps the best estimate is approxi- mately 1 million, a number that suggests that Hinduism is the largest Asian religion in the na- tion, with slightly more adherents than Buddhism (Richards & Bergin, 1997). The cohort of Hindu immigrants who entered during the post-1965 immigration are among the best educated and most professionally advanced and successful of any population, partly because of U.S. immigration regulations that favored professional and educational status (Williams, 1998). However, with the passage of the Family Reunification Act of 1990, immigration policy granted preference to relatives of earlier immi- grants. These latter arrivals are generally not as highly educated as their predecessors and conse- quently may face additional challenges adapting to their new home because of language barriers, employment problems, difficulty gaining access Hodge / Working with Hindu Clients in a Spihtuaiiy Sensitive Manner 31 to services, and other impediments. (Almeida, 1996). Hindu Social Supports Most Hindus have settled in urban areas (Corbett, 1994). New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, and Atlanta all have significant Hindu communities (Corbett; Fenton, 1988; Williams, 1988). New York State is home to just over one- third of U.S. Hindus, and California (10 percent). New Jersey (7 percent), and Illinois (7 percent) also have substantial populations (Kosmin & Lachman, 1993). The mushrooming growth has led to the estab- lishment of an extensive number of institutions to support Hindus in the United States. Currently, there are more than 412 Hindu centers in the United States, including an accredited university in Fairfield, Iowa, the Maharishi University of Management (Tweed, 1997). This total also in- cludes more than 50 major temples built since 1976 in cities throughout the United States, al- though full operation has been hindered to some extent by the lack of brahman priests (Williams, 1997). More than 500 Hindu organizations, number- ing in size from a few individuals to more than 15,000, have also been established (Williams, 1988), although a number of the 412 centers noted would also be included in this category. These organizations frequently offer a wide range of programs and provide social support for Hindu immigrants (Fenton, 1988; Miller, 1995). As with temples, Hindu organizations, 90 percent of which were begun by lay personnel, have been hampered by the lack of qualified gurus, or spiri- tual teachers (Williams, 1988). There are two particularly widely read periodi- cals that help support and inform the American Hindu community (Miller, 1995). India Abroad offers news and information on activities related to ethnically specialized organizations, whereas Hinduism Today provides a mainstream Hindu perspective on contemporary issues. Both publi- cations are available online. Demographics Although Kosmin and Lachman's (1993) national data on religious groups may have underrepre- sented the Hindu population, particularly its more disadvantaged segment, it clearly reveals the middle- to upper-income status of the U.S. Hindu community, a finding that has been widely repli- cated in regional studies (Dhruvarajan, 1993; Fenton, 1988; Miller, 1995; Williams, 1988). When 30 major U.S. religious groups were com- pared on annual household income, Hindus {N = 142) ranked 10th, ahead of Catholics, Lutherans, and Baptists. When ranked according to level of education, Hindus were second, behind Unitar- ians. Forty-seven percent of Hindus were college graduates, more than twice the national average. Similarly, in the area of employment, Hindus ranked first, with 64 percent reporting full-time employment (Kosmin & Lachman, 1993). Con- versely, they finished second-to-last in home own- ership, with only 47 percent of respondents indi- cating they owned their own home. Significantly, Hindus were the most likely to live in homoge- neous households. Roughly 95 percent of Hindus in multiple adult households lived in settings in which all adults were of the same religioun. Value Conflicts In general, the extant research suggests that first- generation Hindu immigrants successfully accul- turate; that is, they maintain their own value sys- tem while negotiating with the host culture to appropriate values and norms useful for adapting to the latter (Dhruvarajan, 1993; Fenton, 1988; Williams, 1988). For instance, Dhruvarajan found that first-generation Hindus generally retain their belief in interdependence, ritual worship, and complementary family roles, regardless of how long they had lived in North America. Similarly, Williams (1988) found that 85 percent of Hindus {N= 224) had a home shrine, 80 percent per- formed morning puja each day, and almost 60 percent visited a temple weekly. Fenton and Ralston (1998) also documented majority partici- pation in home religious practices, although at somewhat lower rates than Williams. High levels of education and English fluency usually enable Hindus to master the outward me- chanics of cultural adaptation quickly and effi- ciently (Joy & Dholakia, 1991). Concurrently, the same decentralized fiexibility, manifested in the centrality of family as the seat of spiritual devo- tion that enabled Hinduism to survive repeated attempts at subjugation, facilitates a relatively smooth transition to a new cultural setting (Will- iams, 1997). However, in addition to the problems encoun- tered by other Americans, Hindus may experience Social Work/Volume 49, Number 1 /January 2004 32 a number of value-related stress points in the United States, particularly with their children (Joy & Dholakia, 1991). Whereas Indian culture sup- ports following one's dharma, the Western En- lightenment-derived values that permeate U.S. culture frequently mitigate against fulfilling one's dharma (Fenton, 1988; Fitzgerald, 1990). The same flexibility and lack of doctrinal insti- tutionalization that eases acculturation may also lead to assimilation or the complete adoption of the host culture. Although many U.S.-born youths affirm classic Hindu norms, such as ar- ranged marriages, modesty, and respect for others (Miller, 1995), in aggregate they may be more in- clined to assimilate than youths from other spiri- tual traditions, such as Islam, which have firmly institutionalized norms (Ghuman, 1997). Con- cern within the Hindu community that youths are in danger of losing their heritage has led to the establishment of summer camps, temple "Sunday schools," and other instructional activities de- signed to institutionalize, preserve, and transmit Hindu values that were implicitly institutionalized in India (Fenton, 1988; Miller, 1995; Ralston, 1998; Williams, 1988). These value conflicts have ramifications for the majority of social workers who have been raised and professionally trained in the dominant cul- ture. Indeed, fewer than 1 percent of social work- ers (N= 1,616) self-identify as Hindus (Canda & Furman, 1999). As Jafari (1993) noted, the En- lightenment-based discourse that serves to inform the Western counseling project enculturates a specific set of values and norms. For example, this meta-narrative tends to give precedence to certain values over others: individualism over community, egalitarian roles over complementary roles, and a material concept of reality over a spiritual concept of reality. Workers may tend to impose values drawn from their own meta-narra- tive on clients simply because they seem "nor- mal," "universal," or "right" within the context of the discourse in which they have been raised and educated. For example, Fenton (1988) found that the value most Hindus {N= 225) desired to preserve is family, which was ranked most important by more than 60 percent of respondents, roughly three times more often than any other single cul- tural value. However, the values associated with the Hindu construction of family conflict with those upheld by the dominant culture. Conse- quently, some individuals operating under West- ern Enlightenment concepts call the desire to have a son to perform the sacred rites owed to ances- tors a "prejudice" (Almeida, 1996, p. 403), whereas the sacred dharma that prescribes differ- ent roles for women and men is referred to an "ideology" that serves to "camouflage injustice" while deceiving women into desiring a position of "bondage" (Siegel et al., 1995, pp. 132-134). From the perspective of the Enlightenment- based meta-narrative, the desires of Hindu women cannot be trusted, because only Western discourse perceives reality accurately and is uni- versally true. Such academic literature does little to equip social workers to further the goals of Hindu clients who desire to retain their construc- tion of family, and it does not demonstrate re- spect for personal autonomy. As Reddy and Hanna (1998) stated, "it cannot be overempha- sized that enforcing or applying Western cultural values on these clients or stressing the typical view of Western individuality may result in confusion and further negative affect... [and] is also likely to have a negative impact on the integrity of the family system" (p. 393). Therefore, Hindus may be reluctant to receive services from social work- ers because of concerns that they will attempt to impose their Western Enlightenment-derived val- ues (Goodwin & Cramer, 1998). As Cornett (1992) noted, effective therapy is predicated on respecting client autonomy. Social workers must be aware that Hindus may not share many of their value assumptions and closely monitor their own reactions to ensure that they avoid imposing their own values on Hindu cli- ents. Starting from a nexus of interdependent family and a sacred epistemology, Hindus com- monly affirm chastity outside of marriage, limited dating and arranged marriages, heterosexuality, role distinctions for women and men, and mod- esty (Almeida, 1996; Fenton, 1988; Juthani, 1998; Miller, 1995; Williams, 1988). So practitioners who affirm the "normality" of constructs such as sexual fulfillment at all life stages, dating, homo- sexuality, and egalitarianism must be especially vigilant to ensure that they respect the autonomy of Hindu clients. Practice Implications It is important to again note the diversity that oc- curs among self-identified Hindus. Although a general trend exists between time spent in the Hodge / Working witii Hindu Clients in a Spirituaiiy Sensitive Manner 33 United States and assimilation into the main- stream culture, first-generation Hindus may be as secularized and individualist as other Americans (Fenton, 1988). Conversely, second- and third- generation Hindus may strongly affirm classic Hindu values (Miller, 1995). Moksha, may be a motivating factor for some and not others. Thus, the following suggestions are meant to expand workers' consciousness regarding the possibilities that may have salience among Hindu consumers, rather than to provide practitioners with set pat- terns of interaction. School social workers and family practitioners in particular may wish to make note of the variation that can occur between generations. With this caution in mind, and as implied throughout this article, the psy- chological makeup of many ^ ^ ^ Hindus is modally different from westerners. Because of the Hindu emphasis on selfiessness, detachment, and a dharma-ori- ented epistemology, some Hin- dus may appear to have an "un- derdeveloped ego" from a psychodynamic perspective (Roland, 1997).Inotherwords, in certain cases they may lack ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ the independent, self-reliant, self-directing ego of Western individualism. Thus, as Roland noted, some Hin- dus can appear to exhibit vague boundaries be- tween self and others and demonstrate a weak conscience or superego, because Hindus often follow the highly contextualized emotional cues and values of others rather than the imperatives of Western individualism. Cultural sensitivity is demonstrated by recog- nizing that Western Enlightenment-derived theo- ries are not universally applicable, and corre- spondingly, adapting clinical strategies to comply with the psychological and value orientation of the Hindu cosmology (Roland, 1997). For ex- ample, Balodhi (1996) suggested that Hindu con- sumers may make extensive use of religious my- thology to communicate underlying problems. By using nondirect communication styles, consumers are able to share their own story while safeguard- ing the emotional space of the community's other members. Therefore, workers should incorporate a similar sensitivity regarding the direct commu- nication of emotions into their questions and re- Balodhi suggested that Hindu consumers may make extensive use of religious mythology to communicate underlying problems. sponses to conform to the implicit value of re- spect for the emotional well-being of others. Supportive direct questioning combined with empathetic listening skills are appropriate means for exploration of presenting problems and allevi- ating concerns Hindus may have over possible value confiicts (Juthani, 1998). As implied earlier, straightforward self-revelation of personal experi- ence and emotional trials may not occur, because such practices are often deemed to be too self- focused (Almeida, 1996). A carefully nuanced di- rect approach may be beneficial when combined with a sensitivity to the use of metaphor and story to communicate underlying problems. A direct approach can be effective in the sense that Hindus may perceive the structure of the counseling rela- tionship to be ordered so that ^ ^ ^ ^ workers are responsible for taking initiative, or demon- strating leadership, in ad- dressing pertinent issues (Juthani). In keeping with the cen- trality of the family unit, in- volving all family members in the therapeutic dialogue is usually advisable (Juthani, ^ ^ ^ ^ 1998). Individual goals are acceptable insofar as they do not subordinate the collective ethos (Joy & Dholakia, 1991). Thus, interventions that balance autonomy and interdependence are likely to be well received (Reddy & Hanna, 1998). The family unit can also be a significant source of social support. Extended family members may be aware of cultural resources, such as a local Hindu youth group, a childcare service, or a devo- tional worship group, that can be marshaled to ameUorate problems (Juthani, 1998). In light of the recent growth in Hindu organizations and programs, new immigrants and even those who are well-established may not be aware of the avail- able options. A genogram covering at least three generations can be especially helpful in identifying significant family members. Showing deference to the husband as the key decision maker by addressing him first, for ex- ample, communicates respect for the family unit as a whole as well as for the dharma (Reddy & Hanna, 1998). Similarly, direct eye contact with older family members may be perceived as being disrespectful (Almeida, 1996). Caste may be a Social Work / Volume 49, Number 1 /January 2004 34 significant factor in socialization, family func- tions, and the selection of marriage partners re- gardless of the degree of parental involvement (Fenton, 1988; Williams, 1988). The construct of adolescence, at least in the Western sense, does not exist in classical Hindu- ism. Therefore, it is advisable to inform the par- ents of the difficulties youths in the United States typically encounter while supporting the decisions of the family unit. Thus, for example, instead of taking a position in support of an adolescent's struggle for fi-eedom and independence, it is usu- ally more profitable to seek a solution v^dthin the context of the family's framework of autonomy and interconnectedness (Almeida, 1996). Group interventions would seem to harmo- nize well with a Hindu cosmology. However, it is important that group-based programs be congru- ent with Hindus' belief in other-centeredness. For example, 12-step programs are considered to be to self-centered, as well as lacking any avenue for family involvement (Almeida, 1996). In short, group dynamics should be adjusted to be compat- ible with Hindu norms. Tapping into spiritual strengths can help ame- liorate problems and sends the message that the consumer's culture has relevance in addressing life challenges. Using spiritual resources may be particularly efficacious because the religious devo- tion of Hindu immigrants may increase in the United States (WiUiams, 1998). Taking a spiritual history may be an appropri- ate means of understanding the spiritual capabili- ties and experiences that have been developed over time and inform the consumer's spiritual universe (Hodge, 2001). Alternatively, Hodge (2000) has developed a spiritual eco-map to iden- tify and operationalize spiritual strengths that ex- ist in consumers' environment. This diagram- matic instrument can be used to visually depict the salience of spiritual assets, including those dis- cussed in this article, all of which should generally be incorporated into any assessment procedure. Finally, because all spheres of Hindu life are con- sidered to be religious, it may be helpful to em- phasize the strategies of moksha. Hinduism is a religious tradition rich in ritual, the most prominent being daily puja. Rituals, such as puja, re-enact the individual's relationship with the Absolute, reinforcing the participant's connection with the Divine (Jacobs, 1992). In turn, these practices can serve to ease anxiety and dread, defeat loneliness, promote a sense of secu- rity, and establish a sense of being loved and ap- preciated (Levin, 1994). Rituals have been associ- ated with a wide array of positive outcomes (Levin; Worthington, Kurusu, McCuUough, 8c Sandage, 1996), including resilience and coping (Pargament, 1997). Workers can encourage cli- ents to further operationalize these strengths by, for example, replacing maladaptive behavior with ritualistic behavior, increasing the frequency of rituals perceived to engender positive outcomes, and reinforcing the salubrious messages rituals implicitly transmit (Hodge, 2000,2001). Although many rituals can be conducted by lay people, workers should be aware that many of the more personally significant rituals (for example, life cycle rituals) require brahmans (Hertel, 1998). Because brahman priests are not a preferred im- migration category in the eyes of immigration of- ficials, there is a substantial shortage of qualified individuals to perform certain rituals. Thus, there may be structural barriers to carrying out certain rituals. Another ritual that may be particularly impor- tant is Hindu meditation, which has been linked with salutary outcomes in diverse areas. Reviews indicate that meditation has been used to amelio- rate various problems, including depression, hy- pertension, type A coronary-prone behavior, stuttering, and substance abuse (Keefe, 1996; Singh, 1992). Thus, meditation techniques, drawn from the way of illumination, may be an effective intervention. Singh (1992) suggested that biofeedback techniques and auto-genic training may be inter- ventions that are congruent with both Hindu and Western worldviews. Similarly, Sheikh, Kunzendorf, and Sheikh (1996) reported that vi- sualization and imagery can be effective interven- tions. Therapeutically meaningful images can be drawn from the rich Hindu pantheon of religious imagery. Pilgrimages to festivals, events that bear some similarity to religious revivals, and prominent temples, both in the United States and in India, can be a significant intervention, fostering reflec- tion on the ultimate aims of life, a reordering of priorities, and social support. Many Hindus who participate in such endeavors refer to them as "once in a lifetime" experiences (Williams, 1988). Rangaswami (1994) suggested that facilitating Hindus' desire to seek moksha can have positive Hodge / Working with Hindu Clients in a Spiritually Sensitive Manner 35 benefits. The spiritual pursuit can foster motiva- tion and enhanced purpose in life while diminish- ing the scope of current problems. Workers should also be aware of Ayurvedic treatment, which has official status as an indig- enous health care system in India and Nepal (Jilek, 1994) and is widely used to overcome problems. Derived from the Vedas, Ayurvedic therapy aims at correcting imbalances and restor- ing equilibrium by replacing negative emotions with positive ones, for example (Crawford, 1989). Finally, demons, which are addressed in Ayurvedic treatment, are real beings in the Hindu cosmology and consequently, are not necessarily a sign of psychosis. Conclusion This article attempts to facilitate cultural sensi- tivity by acquainting social work practitioners with Hindu cosmology so that social work prac- tice can be harmonized with the dharma. Not only will valuable therapeutic resources lie dor- mant if workers are unfamiliar with the Hindu cosmology, but harm may occur because of a lack of knowledge. Effective practice with consumers from various religious traditions is dependent on achieving a measure of cultural competence re- garding their traditions. Finally, as a further step, workers who regularly encounter Hindu clients may wish to read Seplowin's (1992) article on karma therapy as well as Singh's (1992) article on integrating concepts from Eastern psychology and spirituality into treatment. • References Almeida, R. (1996). Hindu, Christian and Muslim families. In M. McGoldrick, ]. Giordano, 8c J. K. Pearce (Eds.), Ethnicity and family therapy (pp. 395- 423). New York: Guilford Press. Balodhi, J. P. (1996). 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New York: Cambridge Univer- sity Press. Williams, R. B. ( 1997). South Asian religions in the United States. In J. R. Hinnells (Ed.), A new hand- book of living religions (pp. 796-818). New York: Penguin Books. Williams, R. B. (1998). Asian Indian and Pakistani reli- gions in the United States. In A. W. Heston (Ed.), The annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Sciences {Vol. 558, pp. 178-195). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Worthington, E. J., Kurusu, T., McCuUough, M., 8c Sandage, S. (1996). Empirical research on religion and psychotherapeutic processes and outcomes: A 10-year review and research prospectus. Psychologi- cal Bulletin, i i 9 , 448-487. David R. Hodge, MSW, MCS, is a postdoctoral fel- low. Program for Research on Religion and Urban Civil Society, University of Pennsylvania, Leader- ship Hall, 3814 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, PA 19104; e-mail: dhodge@sas.upenn.edu. The author thanks Swapna Kommidi, Uma Murugan, and Pratima Pandeyfor their comments and encourage- ment regarding this article. Original manuscript received December 2, 1999 Final revision received May 1, 2000 Accepted June 22, 2000 THE CENTER FOR THE STUDY OF SOCIAL WORK PRACTICE announces the recipients of SOCIAL WORK RESEARCH FELLOWSHIPS, 2003-04 Jacqueline Corcoran Virginia Commonwealth University Richard Embry and Aron Shlonsky Columbia University David Zanis University of Maryland The Center for the Study of Social Work Practice is a joint program of the Columbia Uni- versity School of Social Work and the Jevnsh Board of Family and Children's Services. The Center's competitively-awarded Social Work Research Fellowships seek to strengthen so- cial work practice through significant advances in evidence-based research. Social Worlc/ Volume 49, Number ] /January 2004 38 
work_ntayryv2ujejnh4q2elkeste4u	----	Palestra sobre o Tempo: John Cage e Henry David Thoreau Valdeira, Ana Luísa. “Palestra sobre o Tempo: John Cage e Henry David Thoreau”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 9, 2020, pp. 1–8. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.3 RESEARCH Palestra sobre o Tempo: John Cage e Henry David Thoreau Ana Luísa Valdeira Centro de Estudos Anglísticos da Universidade de Lisboa, PT alvieira@live.com.pt Este ensaio parte da peça Lecture on the Weather (1976), uma lecture performance de John Cage (1912–1992) elaborada a partir de textos de Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862). A poética de Cage ajuda a revelar as afinidades existentes entre os dois autores e ressalva a importância da experiência empírica para uma compreensão mais alargada do mundo, partindo do fluxo duracional do momento presente. Palavras-chave: John Cage; Henry David Thoreau; Performance; Experiência; Tempo This essay is based on Lecture on the Weather (1976), a lecture performance by John Cage (1912–1992) drawn from texts by Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862). Cage’s poetics helps to reveal the affinities between the two authors and underscores the importance of empirical experience to achieve a broader understanding of the world, cultivating present moment awareness. Keywords: John Cage; Henry David Thoreau; Performance; Experience; Time Mais de cem anos depois da morte de Thoreau, em 1975, a televisão e rádio pública do Canadá, a Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), encomendou uma obra ao compositor norte-americano John Cage para ser apresentada no ano seguinte, em 1976, nas comemorações do bicentenário dos Estados Unidos da América. O produtor musical da CBC sugeriu a Cage que este compusesse a partir de textos de Benjamin Franklin, já que a obra homenagearia o nascimento do seu país. No entanto, Cage não seguiu a sugestão e, em vez de escolher Franklin, escolheu Thoreau, um dos americanos que mais admirava e que mais inspirou a sua obra. Cage compõe então Lecture on the Weather (1976), uma lecture performance composta a partir de textos de Thoreau, nomeadamente a partir de excertos de Walden, Journal e Civil Disobedience. A obra está divida em quatro partes: um texto inicial que corresponde à leitura de um prefácio escrito por Cage e outras três partes que correspondem à leitura por doze intérpretes, em simultâneo, dos vários excertos dos textos de Thoreau. Cada uma destas três partes faz-se ainda acompanhar por diferentes sons gravados pela compositora Maryanne Amacher: na primeira parte pode ouvir-se o som de vento, na segunda, de chuva e na terceira, de tempestade. Nesta última parte, as luzes vão progressivamente diminuindo até à plena escuridão do espaço e pode ver-se a projecção de um conjunto de imagens organizado pelo artista visual Luis Frangella, imagens essas que mais não são do que vários negativos de desenhos de Thoreau publicados em Journal. Thoreau é claramente uma escolha deliberada de Cage, mas os vários excertos do escritor norte-americano a incluir em Lecture on the Weather não são, no entanto, uma escolha sua, são antes o resultado das suas usuais operações de acaso feitas a partir do método utilizado no livro I Ching. A colagem final é então uma teia de vários pedaços de três obras de Thoreau que não está sujeita a qualquer ordem ou organização específicas. Os doze intérpretes leem um conjunto de textos colados ao acaso, onde em cada um desses textos há desenhos de Thoreau que representam silêncios, sugerindo a cada intérprete que pause a sua leitura no momento em que encontra o desenho, seja ele no meio ou no final de uma frase (Figure 1). Cada conjunto de textos deve ainda ser lido dentro de uma moldura temporal entre 22’45’’ (vinte e dois minutos e quarenta https://doi.org/10.5334/as.3 mailto:alvieira@live.com.pt Valdeira: Palestra sobre o TempoArt. 9, page 2 of 8 e cinco segundos) e 36’24’’ (trinta e seis minutos e vinte e quatro segundos). Esse intervalo corresponde à multiplicação, entre cinco a oito vezes, da moldura temporal 4’33’’ (quatro minutos e trinta e três segundos), a duração da peça mais famosa de Cage, mais conhecida por peça silenciosa, mas cujo título é exactamente a sua duração, o seu tempo, ou seja, 4’33’’. Esta obra, composta e apresentada pela primeira vez em 1952, pressupõe que nenhum som intencional seja produzido. Na estreia, o pianista David Tudor apenas se sentou ao piano, abrindo e fechando o seu tampo entre os três andamentos em que está dividida a obra, não tocando, no entanto, qualquer nota Figure 1: Página de Lecture on the Weather (1976), de John Cage, correspondente a uma parte do texto de um só intérprete. Valdeira: Palestra sobre o Tempo Art. 9, page 3 of 8 musical. Cage não tinha prescrito qualquer som na sua notação porque queria chamar a atenção do público, partindo intencionalmente do vazio notacional, para todos os outros sons não intencionais que estavam a ser produzidos. Uns pelo próprio público e outros oriundos do exterior da sala de concertos. Na verdade, como Cage concluiu, o silêncio não existe, o som está sempre presente ainda que não lhe prestemos atenção.1 Para tal, não quis impor, nem escolher, e muito menos organizar determinados sons; aceitou-os simplesmente, tal como eles naturalmente acontecem. Cage tinha construído uma obra “vazia” para que tudo o resto a pudesse “preencher”. Por outras palavras, Cage queria que o público, tal como ele, aceitasse a música que já acontece, em vez de ouvir, ou ficar na expectativa de ouvir, algo imposto por um autor. 4’33’’ configura-se como uma moldura temporal enquanto forma de aceitação dos sons que nos rodeiam, como uma casa de vidro aberta ao exterior, uma enorme transparência acústica e visual para todo o tipo de acontecimentos exteriores não- intencionais. A peça silenciosa de Cage consagra a descoberta, a audição e a observação de acontecimentos que entram no domínio da experiência quotidiana, da experiência da percepção da natureza e do mundo. Cage quis que todas as suas obras compostas depois de 1952 fossem uma espécie de continuação da sua peça silenciosa, quer se tratassem de obras do domínio exclusivamente musical ou sonoro, quer se tratassem de obras de carácter multidisciplinar. Aliás, a duração da leitura de cada um dos intérpretes de Lecture on the Weather não é mais do que a soma de vários 4’33’’. Para além disso, a ideia de Cage de que os sons do ambiente são música e podem integrar uma obra de arte musical, sejam eles uma produção humana, sejam eles produzidos por toda a natureza, não é propriamente uma ideia original sua, mas uma ideia que também descobriu em Thoreau. Como o escritor norte-americano afirmou: “Music is continuous; only listening is intermittent” (Thoreau citado por Cage em Kostelanetz 121). Cage chegou a dizer que quando fazia longas caminhadas, muitas delas para apanhar cogumelos – em que ele era um especialista –, costumava dirigir a sua peça silenciosa, absorvendo todo o tipo de sons e imagens que o rodeavam ao longo do seu percurso na floresta. 4’33’’ é uma obra de Cage, claro, mas não é apenas interpretada em salas de concerto ou em espaços mais ou menos convencionais; está em todo o lado, bastando para isso que prestemos atenção, ouvindo e observando o que nos rodeia. Na verdade, existem em Walden e em Journal de Thoreau infinitas peças silenciosas. Muitas das passagens dos seus textos revelam-se como relatos de pequenas peças perceptivas, pequenas obras silenciosas da experiência imediata apreendidas a partir de um fluxo duracional do momento presente. Nas palavras de Thoreau, escritas em Walden: In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have been anxious to improve the nick of time, and notch it on my stick too; to stand on the meeting of two eternities, the past and future, which is precisely the present moment; to toe that line. (21) Mas como analisar este tempo presente da experiência? Como perceber que a experiência está de certa forma contida no momento que agora corre, se esse agora já não é mais agora porque já passou? Como compreender o presente se ele parece não ter duração? Estamos habituados a pensar sobre o tempo como uma linha contínua que liga passado, presente e futuro, onde o momento presente, no entanto, se apresenta como uma barreira divisória entre passado e futuro, um instante indivisível que existe, mas não dura, ao contrário de passado e futuro que são vistos como tendo duração. Como se o tempo fosse um carro que se cruza connosco em sentido contrário. Vem do futuro, passa ao nosso lado, no instante presente, e fica para trás, no passado. Antes de mais, Thoreau não compreendeu apenas a importância do momento presente – e já se prosseguirá a discussão sobre este presente – para a sua experiência perceptiva diária, como também experienciou a natureza cíclica do tempo. O tempo, longe de poder apenas ser considerado como uma infindável e progressiva linha contínua, tem também de ser entendido, na sua relação com a natureza e a experiência humana, como um ciclo. No dia 18 de Abril de 1852, Thoreau escreveu em Journal: “For the first time I perceive this spring that the year is a circle – I see distinctly the spring arc thus far. It is drawn with a firm line” (127). Visto como um ciclo, o tempo já não pode ser entendido simplesmente como um carro cuja trajectória é apenas uma linha recta, mas uma enorme roda, progressivamente em andamento sobre uma linha contínua, sim, mas em constante rotação sobre si própria, exactamente por ser roda. Compreendido 1 Cage recordou assim a estreia de 4’33’’: “There’s no such thing as silence. What they thought was silence, because they didn’t know how to listen, was full of accidental sounds. You could hear the wind stirring outside during the first movement. During the second, raindrops began patterning the roof, and during the third the people themselves made all kinds of interesting sounds as they talked and walked out” (Cage in Kostelanetz 69). Valdeira: Palestra sobre o TempoArt. 9, page 4 of 8 deste modo, o tempo, ainda que esteja sempre a fluir numa progressão contínua, é apreendido enquanto conjunto de durações preenchidas por certos fenómenos naturais que se vão repetindo. Thoreau não só apreende o tempo deste modo, como também estrutura o seu discurso da experiência a partir das estações do ano, como em Walden, ou de acordo com a passagem dos dias, como em Journal. A nossa percepção do fluxo temporal depende então de dois factores em simultâneo e, por paradoxal que possa parecer, depende ao mesmo tempo da natureza da sua irreversibilidade e da nossa consciência da repetição cíclica de certos fenómenos da natureza. Esta repetição cíclica está aliás expressa nos nossos calendários e nos nossos relógios, um tempo de grandeza mensurável, um tempo quantitativo. O ponteiro do relógio, porém, como comenta Henri Bergson, não faz mais do que dividir a duração do tempo como quem divide o espaço. Claro que também apreendemos o tempo deste modo, quantificando-o e atribuindo a cada nova posição do ponteiro do relógio um novo instante e à diferença entre posições dos ponteiros uma quantidade temporal, um espaço de tempo. No entanto, a explicação de Bergson sobre o modo como experienciamos o tempo presente contraria a sua quantificação, privilegiando, ao contrário, a sua natureza qualitativa, numa perspectiva em que o tempo presente se constitui como uma duração, uma continuação qualitativa de algo que já não é para algo que ainda é. A nossa apreensão do tempo então, segundo Bergson, é uma espécie de memória do próprio escoar do tempo, como algo que prolonga o antes no depois, unificando-os. Esse tempo como duração compreende assim um movimento progressivo que liga o que já passou ainda agora com o que ainda corre agora, impedindo que o prolongamento do antes no depois desapareça na fugacidade do momento presente. Um dos exemplos que Bergson refere na sua obra Durée et Simultanéité para a experiência desta duração é o seguinte: podemos fechar os olhos e passear o nosso dedo sobre uma superfície de papel; e só ao abrirmos os olhos é que conseguimos ver a linha traçada pelo percurso do nosso dedo, até lá percebemos interiormente a duração (45). Visto a partir desta perspectiva, o momento presente de que nos fala Thoreau não só tem duração, como deixa de ser uma linha divisória entre o que já passou e o que há-de vir para ser, ao invés, uma linha de união que liga progressivamente os momentos imediatamente anteriores aos momentos imediatamente posteriores. O momento presente é um agora duracional qualitativo, indistinto e inquantificável. Viver intensamente o presente, vivendo a partir da experiência de cada agora duracional, fez com que Thoreau se preocupasse mais com o que os seus sentidos iam captando a cada momento presente do que com qualquer abstracção, conceptualização ou relação com pensamentos passados. Trata-se da primazia da experiência sensorial do que está a acontecer face à intelectualização do que já aconteceu. Como se vivesse sempre tudo pela primeira vez. Quando escreve em Walden que lamenta não ser tão sábio como no dia em que nasceu, Thoreau está também a dizer que prefere a experiência pura, não-reflexiva, à experiência mediada pela inteligência. “My head is hands and feet” (106), escreve Thoreau. E as mãos e os pés não têm conceitos. Como nos diz Paul Valery: “seeing is forgetting the name of the thing one sees” (Valery citado por Weschler 207). Só quando não atribuímos um conceito a determinado objecto poderemos começar a percepcioná-lo atentamente e a partir daí apreender as suas propriedades, as suas cores, as suas linhas, o seu movimento, o som que produz, a sua transformação. É esta a contemplação pura e subjectiva que consegue capturar o natural num momento presente e sempre único. Nas palavras de Thoreau, escritas no seu diário, a 4 de Outubro de 1859: It is only when we forget all our learning that we begin to know. I do not get nearer by a hair’s breadth to any natural object so long as I presume that I have an introduction to it from some learned man. To conceive of it with a total apprehension I must for the thousandth time approach it as something totally strange. (…) You must get rid of what is commonly called knowledge of them. Not a single scientific term or distinction is the least to the purpose, for you would fain perceive something, and you must approach the object totally unprejudiced. You must be aware that no thing is what you have taken it to be. (Thoreau citado por Vitek e Jackson 327–328) Thoreau quis voltar-se para a descoberta da experiência actual, aceitando os fenómenos naturais antes de os distanciar e fixar nas determinações da inteligência. As construções que minam o nosso conhecimento apenas nos direccionam para o que há de universal e determinado nos fenómenos. Mas se esquecermos esse aspecto formal do que aprendemos talvez sejamos capazes de encontrar o que neles existe de particular e indeterminado. Foi ao reflectir sobre a natureza do particular e sobre a relação entre particulares e universais que Brian John Martine ficou interessado em discutir a noção de inteterminação. Em Indeterminacy and Intelligibility, o livro que escreveu a este propósito, Martine defende que não podemos continuar a supor que podemos limitar Valdeira: Palestra sobre o Tempo Art. 9, page 5 of 8 com sucesso os “muitos” dentro das fronteiras de “um” ao reduzirmos a diferença à semelhança. O que não significa que não possamos compreender o mundo, significa apenas que não nos é possível dar uma resposta totalmente determinada de algo que inclui aspectos e dimensões indeterminadas (Martine 42). Somos confrontados com um mundo repleto de variedade aparentemente infinita, mas lutamos constantemente por marcar fronteiras que irão de alguma maneira dar sentido às formas confusas das aparências evasivas da nossa experiência. Todos temos a tendência para limitar e definir. Na verdade, a determinação parece mesmo ser uma função natural e também necessária do modo como pensamos. Pensamos, logo determinamos. E quando determinamos traçamos linhas, carregamos nos contornos, circunscrevemos, categorizamos, classificamos e definimos sistematicamente. Acabamos por querer determinar tudo, mas nem tudo pode ser determinado. Como Martine explica: The lines that we draw as we form categories and classes, principles and laws, are drawn always against the background of direct experience. They are drawn by contrast with the indeterminate shapes and contours of a world that will continue to resist any effort to completely confine it within the determinately structured bounds of traditional reflective schemes. (xiii) Essas linhas que traçamos, diz ainda Martine, são como as linhas dos mapas que circunscrevem e dividem diferentes espaços no mundo. O que só nos traz dificuldades. Significa ficar tão ligado ao mapa que o origi- nal acaba por se perder por negligência ou, em tantos outros casos, porque o descartámos conscientemente em favor do mapa. Começamos a esquecermo-nos que o mapa foi elaborado apenas com o intuito de ofer- ecer um melhor e mais completo entendimento do mundo. O mapa é uma ferramenta extremamente útil, uma vez que pode de facto reformar as nossas noções de espaços mapeados. No entanto, como defende Martine, não podemos correr o risco de confundir o mapa com o mundo porque quando o fizermos cor- remos o risco de não só compreender mal o mundo, mas também de destruir o significado do mapa. As fronteiras determinadas que surgem no decorrer das nossas tentativas de tirar sentido da nossa experiência imediata podem levar-nos ao encontro de uma nova e melhor compreensão dessa experiência, mas apenas se nos lembrarmos que elas são fronteiras que nós próprios estabelecemos e que, por muito seguras que nos possam parecer, elas permanecem abertas à mudança ou mesmo à completa dissolução (Martine: 114). As linhas do mapa de que Martine nos fala são por isso como as ideias universais que nós próprios instituímos por convenção de modo a conseguirmos organizar o nosso conhecimento. Essas ideias são fruto de generalizações que resultam da eliminação das diferenças, para apenas ficarmos com as semelhanças, com os traços comuns, e por isso mesmo contrastantes com a realidade dos fenómenos existentes e com a nossa experiência imediata desses mesmos fenómenos. Mas Cage parece querer proporcionar-nos a experiência em bruto, sem estar filtrada por convenções e sem adaptar nenhum esquema conceptual capaz de a acomodar ou organizar. A obra de Cage, partindo das ideias de Thoreau, reaproxima o espectador da singularidade de cada momento da experiência que apenas se alcança no momento presente. Como Cage revela numa entrevista: If you become open to the world outside of your ideas about it – I mean really attentive to the world outside of you, which you can perceive through your eyes and ears primarily – then you become a Thoreau unto yourself. The pavement you’re standing on can become fascinating, or the way the light falls on two different Coca-cola bottles. So we come to a poetic awareness of the uniqueness of each experience, of the necessity to have the experience at the moment it presents itself because it’s constantly changing. There’s no other time to leave than each moment. (Cage in Dickinson: 206) É talvez neste sentido que Cage procura uma relação com o mundo numa espécie de inocência pré-racional. A escolha de Thoreau é neste aspecto bastante reveladora, reforçada ainda pelo modo como Cage reconfig- ura os seus textos num processo que vai ao encontro de uma recepção mais fiel da experiência. O resultado parece ser então uma poética que procura uma experiência não mediada pela razão ou, pelo menos, uma poética que ressalva a importância da experiência empírica para uma compreensão mais alargada do mundo. Na verdade, reduzimos a complexidade do nosso fluxo da experiência bruta a uma simplicidade conceptual. Como nos diz Quine, associamos uma sensação de redondo a uma sensação posterior de redondo tanto à mesma moeda como a duas moedas diferentes, obedecendo às exigências da simplicidade dos nossos esque- mas conceptuais e ao nosso quadro global do mundo (233). Mas não deveremos concluir que tudo o que existe depende dos nossos esquemas conceptuais. Tudo o que há no mundo não depende de palavras. Talvez Cage nos queira fazer compreender que a nossa capacidade racional nos pode afastar do conhecimento Valdeira: Palestra sobre o TempoArt. 9, page 6 of 8 sensível e das suas circunstâncias particulares e casuais. E talvez por isso nos queira possibilitar a descoberta, perturbando a nossa confiança convencional e as nossas estruturas conceptuais profundas que estão na base dos nossos diversos encontros com o mundo e, sobretudo, com as nossas representações desses encontros. O mesmo será dizer que Cage propõe a descoberta do lado complexo e indeterminado da experiência, ao desafiar e contrariar a construção de modelos coerentes que tentam descrever a ordem das coisas. Cage quer proporcionar-nos então um modo particular de falar sobre o mundo e de como a experiência pura é importante para o podermos conhecer. E fá-lo a partir de Thoreau, claro, mas também a partir da forma de Lecture on the Weather enquanto processo dinâmico. Nas palavras de Cage, fazendo a distinção entre estrutura e processo: A structure is like a piece of furniture, whereas a process is like the weather. In the case of a table, the beginning and end of the whole and each of its parts are known. In the case of weather, though we notice changes in it, we have no clear knowledge of its beginning or ending. At a given moment, we are when we are. The nowmoment. (178) Não é por acaso que Cage relaciona a obra de arte, enquanto processo dinâmico, ao tempo meteorológico, uma vez que as suas obras, e Lecture on the Weather por maioria de razão, expressa desde logo pelo título, se comportam como a dinâmica dos processos naturais. Esta peça de Cage comporta-se como um sistema meteorológico ele próprio, comportamento ainda enfatizado pelos sons de vento, chuva e trovoada. Lecture on the Weather é a imitação da natureza no seu modo de operar, expressa no seu modo de formar como um sistema aberto, dinâmico, imprevisível e indeterminado. Contrariamente à perspectiva de Cage, existe porém uma visão determinista do mundo, ou aquilo a que podemos chamar determinismo científico. Esta perspectiva assenta na ideia de que o mundo se comporta de tal forma que os fenómenos podem ser racionalmente previstos, se for fornecida uma descrição precisa dos estados passados desses mesmos fenómenos, em conjunto e em harmonia com as leis da natureza. O filósofo Karl Popper apresenta uma excelente imagem para este determinismo, proposta que o próprio rejeitará. E a imagem é a seguinte: o mundo determinista é como um filme onde a imagem que está a ser projectada é o presente, as imagens que já foram projectadas, o passado, e as imagens por projectar, o futuro, mas onde esse futuro, tendo uma relação causal com o passado, se apresenta como fixo porque determinado pelos fotogramas anteriores. Ou seja, esse futuro pode ser visto, diz Popper, como estando contido no passado, tal como um pintainho dentro de um ovo (91). O futuro tornar-se-ia então redundante, seria supérfluo e não necessário. Para contrariar a teoria determinista, Popper, para além de dar conta de alguns acontecimentos naturais imprevisíveis, tais como o comportamento das nuvens ou as variações meteorológicas, explica que os resultados que serão obtidos durante o crescimento do nosso conhecimento são também eles imprevisíveis; não poderemos antecipar hoje o que conheceremos amanhã (62). O argumento decisivo para o indeterminismo de Popper é então a existência do próprio conhecimento, acompanhado do nosso modo de experienciar a mudança e o fluxo de tempo, a nossa experiência consciente. Quando ouvimos doze discursos em simultâneo em Lecture on the Weather, e ainda que consigamos distinguir vozes diferentes, dificilmente conseguiremos seguir apenas uma e impossível será compreendê-las a todas. O discurso de cada uma dessas vozes deixa de se compreender no seu todo e muito provavelmente só conseguiremos detectar fragmentos entre outros tantos fragmentos que vão impossibilitando uma linearidade discursiva. Perdemos o sentido de uma possível unidade textual, mas ganhamos uma multiplicidade discursiva do pensamento de Thoreau. Lecture on the Weather é uma paisagem de discursos, tal como uma paisagem natural. A escrita tem a nossa concepção linear do tempo. Na verdade, a linguagem configura-se como um processo contínuo e inter-relacional que limita as nossas mentes a pensar de modo linear num processo passo-a-passo. É por essa mesma razão que quando não estamos a compreender alguém dizemos “não te estou a seguir”. O homem apenas consegue caminhar num único trilho, mas o que o rodeia vai para lá da simples linha do seu percurso, também ela parte integrante do seu mundo múltiplo e em constante mudança. Em resposta à ideia de Norman O. Brown de que a sintaxe é um arranjo de ordem militar e ao comentário de Thoreau de que quando ouvia uma frase, ouvia pés a marchar, Cage começou a dedicar-se àquilo a que apelidou de linguagem desmilitarizada.2 A multiplicidade discursiva disponibilizada por Cage, gerando um 2 Na introdução ao texto “Writing for the Second Time through Finnegans Wake”, publicado no seu livro Empty Words, Cage men- ciona esta ideia de linguagem desmilitarizada: “[d]ue to Norman O. Brown’s remark that syntax is the arrangement of the army, and Thoreau’s that when he heard a sentence he heard feet marching, I became devoted to nonsyntactical ‘demilitarized’ language” (133). Valdeira: Palestra sobre o Tempo Art. 9, page 7 of 8 texto quase incompreensível, funciona também como uma chamada de atenção para o discurso enquanto construção legislada; não uma correspondência directa com a realidade, mas uma possível verdade construída a partir de leis. Como um exército em marcha, como um governo. A primeira parte de Lecture on the Weather consiste na leitura de um prefácio escrito por John Cage, um texto político como enquadramento de toda a obra e em plena harmonia com a Desobediência Civil de Thoreau. Nesse prefácio, Cage conta que antes de decidir escolher os textos de Thoreau, tentou encontrar uma Antologia Americana que melhor se adequasse aos seus objectivos. Mas quando encontrou uma numa biblioteca infantil de Nova Iorque, uma antologia intitulada Documents of American History, escrita por adultos, numa abordagem que os adultos pensam ser a melhor para as crianças, Cage apenas se deparou com textos relacionados com as leis do seu país, entre eles discursos presidenciais ou vários juízos sobre diversas questões legais. Como se a história americana assentasse sobretudo nas leis que os sucessivos governos americanos implementam para desenvolver, ordenar e defender o seu país. De facto, uma das grandes preocupações do homem concentra-se nas leis: nas leis da natureza que incessantemente tem vindo a querer determinar; nas leis da gramática, onde tem medo de tropeçar; e nas leis governativas, construídas apenas por alguns, eleitos ou não democraticamente, para que nos rejam a todos. Ainda no prefácio, Cage explica a razão da escolha dos textos de Thoreau, sublinhando a importância da leitura do texto Desobediência Civil, dando conta da sua enorme influência em Gandhi, quando este se preparava para dedicar a sua vida à libertação da Índia, ou em Martin Luther King, na sua incessante luta contra a discriminação racial. Posto de forma mais resumida, Cage explica assim no prefácio o grande propósito de Lecture on the Weather: I have wanted in this work to give another opportunity for us, whether of one nation or another, to examine again, as Thoreau continually did, ourselves, both as individuals and as members of society, and the world in which we live: whether it be Concord in Massachusetts or Discord in the world. (5) Em plena sintonia com Thoreau, Cage pede ainda na partitura que os doze leitores de Lecture on the Weather sejam preferencialmente doze cidadãos canadianos expatriados, antes cidadãos americanos, numa clara homenagem a todos os americanos que abdicaram da sua nacionalidade e do seu país para não combaterem na guerra do Vietname. Lecture on the Weather é, desde o seu prefácio, enquanto conteúdo político, até à sua forma, enquanto metáfora epistemológica do mundo, e passando pela escolha dos seus intérpretes e pela escolha dos textos de Thoreau, uma obra que continua a questionar a nossa relação com a natureza e a convidar-nos a olharmos para nós próprios como seres dotados de uma consciência individual e ao mesmo tempo enquanto membros de uma sociedade, quer seja nos EUA, em Portugal, ou em qualquer outra parte do mundo, incentivando-nos a reflectir sobre os diferentes problemas que parecem ciclicamente repetir-se ao longo do tempo. Conflitos de interesse A autora não tem conflito de interesses a declarar. Referências Bergson, Henri. Durée et Simultanéité. Arvensa Editions, 2015. Cage, John. Empty Words: Writings ’73–’78. Wesleyan UP, 1981. Dickinson, Peter, ed. CageTalk: Dialogues with and about John Cage. U of Rochester P, 2006. Kostelanetz, Richard. John Cage (ex)plain(ed). Schirmer, 1996. Kostelanetz, Richard, ed. Conversing with Cage. 2ª ed., Routledge, 2003. Martine, Brian John. Indeterminacy and Intelligibility. State U of New York P, 1992. Popper, Karl R. The Open Universe. An Argument for Indeterminism. Psychology P, 1988. Quine, Willard Van Orman. De um ponto de vista lógico. Trad. Luis Henrique dos Santos, Marcelo Guimarães da Silva Lima e João Paulo Monteiro, Abril Cultural, 1985. Thoreau, Henry David. A Desobediência Civil/Defesa de John Brown. 4th ed., Trad. Manuel João Gomes, Antígona, 2015. Thoreau, Henry David. The Journal 1837–1861. Ed. Damion Searls, New York Review Books, 2009. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden or, Life in the Woods. CRW Publishing Limited, 2004. Vitek, Bill e Wes Jackson, eds. The Virtues of Ignorance. Complexity, Sustainability, and the Limits of Knowledge. The UP of Kentucky, 2008. Weschler, Lawrence. Seeing Is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees: Over Thirty Years of Conversations with Robert Irwin. U of California P, 2008. Valdeira: Palestra sobre o TempoArt. 9, page 8 of 8 How to cite this article: Valdeira, Ana Luísa. “Palestra sobre o Tempo: John Cage e Henry David Thoreau”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 9, 2020, pp. 1–8. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.3 Submitted: 26 September 2019 Accepted: 26 September 2019 Published: 29 January 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://doi.org/10.5334/as.3 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Conflitos de interesse Referências Figure 1 
work_nvjcpi62jrcetn4ezfo3qmsf5a	----	Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 27 SHERWOOD ANDERSON’S "THE BOOK OF THE GROTESQUE"– REWRITING THE STORY IN THE MARGIN | Sherwood Anderson ANA PAULA MACHADO UNIVERSIDADE ABERTA Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 28 1 ld age. The physical body fails and man gets ready for the next stage. The heart flutters and he looks at Nature around him to see how it renews itself and how the cycles follow an eternal pattern. Outside, the trees stand in their majesty through the seasons. They are either thick and lush with leaves and birds’ nests or they look sad and desolate – reminders of a springtime once had. Dark and hard against the softness of the winter’s snow. They look dead and bring to mind human beings approaching the last phase of their lives. Yet, their life force has merely withdrawn underground, and it stays at the level of their roots, hidden, buried deep beneath the earth, and it keeps feeding the dead- looking trunk and branches inconspicuously, waiting for the next season to come, to flourish into green leaves and blossom once again. It all just lies secretly underground, seemingly dying or dead (to the senses), yet alive, full of vitality and vigour beneath the surface. Thus the old man, in the winter of his life, wanted to contemplate the eternal life cycles outside his window, because something inside him was altogether youngi - it was like a baby, a youth, or a young woman dressed as a knight. He carried something charged with life force buried deep within him, like a pregnant woman carries a child in the secrecy of her womb, or a tree holds the germ of spring in the 1 BIO NOTE: Ana Paula Machado é doutorada em Estudos Ingleses e Americanos pela Universidade Aberta; Mestre em Estudos Americanos pela Universidade Aberta; fez uma Pós-Graduação em Literatura Inglesa na Universidade de Adelaide, Austrália do Sul; Licenciada em Filologia Germânica – Ramo Anglístico, pela Faculdade de Letras da Universidade de Lisboa. As suas áreas de interesse e investigação situam-se no Ensino de Inglês como Língua Estrangeira, Ensino de Inglês para Fins Específicos, Estudos Europeus, Estudos Índios e Estudos Canadianos. Foi bolseira da FLAD e do International Council for Canadian Studies, em várias ocasiões, tendo efectuado pesquisa nas Universidades de: Denver, Arizona, Trent (Ontário), entre outras. Participou em múltiplos congressos internacionais e nacionais, na área de Estudos Índios/Estudos Canadianos. É autora de artigos nessas áreas em publicações universitárias nacionais e internacionais. Colaborou em projectos de investigação no Laboratório em Ensino a Distância da Universidade Aberta e no Centro de Estudos de Comunicação e Cultura da Universidade Católica Portuguesa. O Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 29 secrecy of its roots – it was the promise of renewal buried deep within the old man, as in the pregnant woman and the tree. Strange indeed that it was a young woman dressed as a knight that dwelt inside the old man... He seemed to carry within him someone of the opposite sex ... perhaps what he had spent half his life searching for, and that was within him all along! And this maiden was clad as a knight! She combined the image or archetype of the fair maiden, the virgin, with that of a knight ...Perhaps she had to undergo many fights, many battles, against the dragons of daily existence to defend her unmarred beauty. She had to protect herself from being wounded and devoured by the dragon of physical decrepitude and mental grotesqueness. In the twilight of his days and in the twilight of his consciousness, the old man starts reviewing his life in a way hitherto unknown to him, because in the twilight of rationality, another capacity lurks and takes over, just as in the twilight of life, death gives a different meaning to one’s existence and shows it in a hue that one has never – or hardly ever – been conscious of. One stands on the threshold between two dimensions and can see in either direction. It is into this misty zone that the old man wanders – the world of dreams, of visions, of myth – a realm so often sensed by us as being interwoven with our common daily living, but usually only encountered at night during sleep. So, the old writer, who thought he knew people so intimately, sees a procession of all those beings he had known unfold before his eyes under a new light, led by the young woman inside him. The promise of youth, life, and love within him, his elixir of eternal life makes him see how all the people he had known had become grotesque, distorted out of shape and ludicrous. The explanation of the grotesqueness of people takes us to a primeval time, the mythic times of the beginning of the world and to the state of consciousness permeating existence before the Fall. Everything then was beautiful, everything of value, and so were all the truths that were all about. Nothing was excluded in favour of anything else. There were no distinctions, no split, no separation and duality, no conflict between good and evil; everything encompassed everything else, even its seemingly opposites, holistically: "There was the truth of virginity and the truth of passion, the truth of wealth and of poverty, of thrift and of profligacy, of carelessness and of abandon.”ii It was the Garden of Eden, when all was a promise, all possible. When Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, they knew good as distinct from evil. Reason, the seat Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 30 of knowledge, took them to see things as separate, to grab the truths, taking them out of their context, breaking the whole pattern of life, creating a rupture in the woven fabric of reality. Suddenly seeing themselves as naked, they created the separation and the conflict between them and the environment, and between good and evil, "snatching" one or two of the truths, and losing their sense of oneness with all, their holistic communion with the universe and reality. They became grotesque, distant from their original Edenic state. The same thing happened to the people the writer had known. They became untrue, false, and grotesque, by following or identifying with one or a few truths, tearing them out of their woven fabric. Doing that is just as false as to affirm that only the night is real and not the day, or the other way around, or that only one aspect of life is real or valid, denying its opposite, and anything else... The young thing, or the woman within the old writer saved him from becoming grotesque, because youth and love take in, embrace all life and do not permit aging, fossilization, and stagnation. Youth has vigour and moves on, women are prone to feel and sense things intensely and, on the contrary, old age tends to stay, to become hardened, to keep to its truths, to stagnate. Learned people, in their turn, also tend to cling to their own little truths, and to develop contempt for the others. Common people are seen as less grotesque, as they tend to be less conceited and more tolerant and compassionate towards other people’s truths. The old man never published his Book of the Grotesque, because what is left unsaid is more powerful and less grotesque than what is said. Words tend to distort reality and render just one side of it. When we read a story, what lies hidden between the lines is as important as what is actually written – if not more – to the full understanding of it. The old man did not want to become a grotesque, so his book was left unpublished, his words unread... Reality can only be grasped through piercing the meshes of the rational mind. Silence, symbol, myth are the only ways of conveying existence in its whole, its totality. Ritual, contemplation, mysticism are the means to experience it. The hero of this saga will have to be like the young maiden-knight, to subdue the dragon of illusion. And as for me, I had better refrain from overindulging in words, lest I become a grotesque myself... Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 31 "My life has been the poem I would have writ, but I could not both live and utter it.” Henry David Thoreauiii BIBLIOGRAPHY: ANDERSON, Sherwood, Winesburg, Ohio-A Group of Tales of Ohio Small Town Life, New York, NY: B. W. Huebsch, 1919. JUNG, Carl G., Man and his Symbols, London: Aldus Books, 1964. - "Psychology and Literature", (11930), C W, Vol. 15. - The Spirit in Man, Art, and Literature, trad. R. F. C. Hull, Princeton: U P, 1972, (11966). KERÉNYI, C., Essays on a Science of Mythology: The Myth of the Divine Child and the Mysteries of Eleusis, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1993 (11941). ------ "The Role of the Unconscious", (11918), The Collected Works, Vol. 10. ------ "The Meaning of Psychology for Modern Man”, (11933), C W, Vol. 10. THOREAU, Henry David, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, N.Y.: Dover Thrift Editions, 2001 [‘1849]. WEBGRAPHY: Anderson, Sherwood, "The Book of the Grotesque": https://www.bartleby.com/156/1.html ABSTRACT This essay is an attempt at rewriting Sherwood Anderson’s somewhat enigmatic short story from a mythological and Jungian perspective. It is an expression of the thoughts inspired by the story, and a possible interpretation of the author’s original words. _______________________ i Sherwood Anderson, The Book of the Grotesque. 2. ii Id. Ibid.,4. iii Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, 223. https://www.bartleby.com/156/1.html Gaudium Sciendi, Nº 16, Junho 2019 32 
work_nxrbe6f4ufexld2kssgggnaide	----	[PDF] The Globalization of Ayahuasca Shamanism and the Erasure of Indigenous Shamanism | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1111/ANOC.12056 Corpus ID: 53580043The Globalization of Ayahuasca Shamanism and the Erasure of Indigenous Shamanism @article{Fotiou2016TheGO, title={The Globalization of Ayahuasca Shamanism and the Erasure of Indigenous Shamanism}, author={Evgenia Fotiou}, journal={Anthropology of Consciousness}, year={2016}, volume={27}, pages={151-179} } Evgenia Fotiou Published 2016 Sociology Anthropology of Consciousness Ayahuasca is a hallucinogenic plant mixture used in a ceremonial context throughout western Amazonia, and its use has expanded globally in recent decades. As part of this expansion, ayahuasca has become popular among westerners who travel to the Peruvian Amazon in increasing numbers to experience its reportedly healing and transformative effects. Drawing from ethnographic fieldwork in and around the area of Iquitos, Peru, the epicenter of ayahuasca tourism, this paper focuses on some of the… Expand View via Publisher sites.tufts.edu Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 13 CitationsBackground Citations 6 View All 13 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Purging and the body in the therapeutic use of ayahuasca. Evgenia Fotiou, A. Gearin Psychology, Medicine Social science & medicine 2019 5 Save Alert Research Feed It’s all you! Australian ayahuasca drinking, spiritual development, and immunitary individualism R. Rodd Sociology 2018 3 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Ayahuasca Ethno-tourism and its Impact on the Indigenous Shuar Community (Ecuador) and Western Participants Dima Salibová Geography 2020 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Traditionally transnational: Cultural continuity and change in Hmong shamanism across the diaspora S. Lee Sociology 2019 View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Exploring the Use of Amazonian Plant Diets in Europe Giorgia Tresca, M. Alexiades 2015 1 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Takiwasi: addiction treatment in the "Singing House" D. O’Shaughnessy 2017 4 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Therapeutic Potential Ascribed to Ayahuasca by Users in the Czech Republic M. Horák, Lea Hasíková, N. Verter Psychology, Medicine Journal of psychoactive drugs 2018 5 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Evaluating herbal medicine preparation from a traditional perspective: insights from an ethnopharmaceutical survey in the Peruvian Amazon Giorgia Tresca, O. Marcus, M. Politi Sociology, Medicine Anthropology & medicine 2020 2 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Psychedelic Communitas: Intersubjective Experience During Psychedelic Group Sessions Predicts Enduring Changes in Psychological Wellbeing and Social Connectedness H. Kettner, F. Rosas, C. Timmermann, L. Kaertner, R. L. Charhart‐Harris, L. Roseman Frontiers in Pharmacology 2021 View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed The role of Indigenous knowledges in psychedelic science Evgenia Fotiou Sociology 2019 1 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 85 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Singing to the Plants: A Guide to Mestizo Shamanism in the Upper Amazon S. Beyer Art 2009 59 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ( Neo ) Shamanic Dialogues Encounters between the Guarani and Ayahuasca E. J. Langdon, I. Rose 2012 5 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Neo)Shamanic Dialogues E. J. Langdon, I. Rose Sociology 2012 5 Save Alert Research Feed In Darkness and Secrecy N. Whitehead, R. Wright, J. Wilbert, S. Vidal Psychology 2004 31 Save Alert Research Feed Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy M. Eliade History 1951 843 Save Alert Research Feed Pilgrimage and healing Jill Dubisch, M. Winkelman Art 2005 40 Save Alert Research Feed Shamanism and Its Discontents Michael F. Brown Sociology 1988 39 Save Alert Research Feed Mysteries of the Jaguar Shamans of the Northwest Amazon R. Wright Geography 2013 28 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Towards an experiential analysis of shamanism L. Peters, D. Price-Williams Sociology 1980 105 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Shamanism and Violence: Power, Repression and Suffering in Indigenous Religious Conflicts D. Torri Sociology 2013 5 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract 13 Citations 85 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_nytqmbkptfgs5mtft337luwdtm	----	Microsoft Word - Manogue, Anna- Livingstone Award Final .docx Protesting the Internment of Japanese Americans: Dissent as a Duty of Citizenship Anna Manogue History 0949: Honors Dissent in America Fall 2017   1 After the tragic attack at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the United States’ government convinced the public that the forced internment of Japanese Americans was imperative to American success in the Second World War. Between March of 1942 and December of 1944, more than 110,000 Americans of at least 1/16th Japanese descent were forcibly evacuated from their homes on the West Coast and relocated to internment camps across the nation.1As the war progressed, these interned residents and citizens endured horrific conditions as they struggled to protect their rights while also supporting the war effort. Minoru Yasui, a young Japanese American lawyer, was one of three individuals to challenge the constitutionality of evacuation and internment in court. Meanwhile, George Fujii and other interned young men earned the nickname the “no-no boys” after they protested internment by resisting the draft. Although these isolated efforts were only partially successful at the time, they had a lasting impact on the culture of American dissent; Yasui and the “no-no boys” normalized dissent as a duty of citizenship and forced the American government to publicly address the alarmingly relevant abrogation of constitutional rights in times of war. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor personalized the violence of the Second World War and engendered an incredible patriotism that united most Americans behind the war effort. In fact, those who did not support the Second World War often functioned as individuals, rather than as a unified body of dissenters. This was no doubt due, in part, to the harsh consequences that dissenters faced if they chose to question the war effort. David Dellinger, for example, was a conscientious objector who eloquently defended his refusal of the October 1940 draft by citing political and religious objections. Despite his articulate defense of his decision, however,                                                                                                                 1 “Report on the Work of the War Relocation Authority: An Anniversary Statement by Dillon S. Meyer, Director of the War Relocation Authority,” in Japanese-American Internment During World War II, Peggy Daniels Becker (Detroit: Omnigraphics, 2013) 181, accessed November 14, 2017, ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/templeuniv-ebooks/reader.action?docID=3384077.     2 Dellinger faced years of imprisonment and mistreatment for threatening the war effort.2 In an attempt to evade such consequences, many soldiers chose to accept the draft, instead voicing their dissent in the letters that they sent home. African American soldiers detailed the unequal treatment that they received in the army; one soldier poignantly described his attempts to reconcile his patriotism for the American cause with his concern that his efforts would only help to maintain an undemocratic society that systematically favored white Americans.3 At home, civilians echoed the soldiers’ worries about the ultimate impacts of the war. Henry Miller rejected the ideology of the “just war,” which the government often used to defend both the entrance into the war and the repression of dissenting voices during the war. Miller asserted that such a concept was nullified by the fact that each side in every war believes in the justness of their cause and in the evils of the opposing cause.4 Indeed, the idea of a “just war” could potentially allow the government to unconstitutionally expand its powers. Still, the majority of Americans were too invested in the war effort to worry about the later impacts of wartime policies. Even Charles Lindbergh, who had at first been a leading opponent of American entry into the Second World War, ultimately consulted on air attacks in the Pacific theater and flew in several missions.5 Such contradictory actions belied the defining feature of dissent during the Second World War: dissenters struggled to balance patriotism for the United States with concern over the impacts of the war at home. This conflict between individual beliefs and national                                                                                                                 2 David Dellinger, “Why I Refused to Register in the October 1940 Draft and a Little of What it Led To,” in Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young (New York: Pearson Education, 2008), 296-301. 3 Charles F. Wilson, “Letter to President Roosevelt, 1944,” in Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young (New York: Pearson Education, 2008), 295-296. 4 Ralph Young, Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation (New York: Pearson Education, 2008), 249. 5 Carl Zebrowski, “America First,” America in WWII, April-May 2017, accessed November 16, 2017, http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A497797964&v=2.1&u=temple_main&i t=r&p=AONE&sw=w#   3 patriotism only grew as the government increasingly demanded that Americans forfeit individual liberties to ensure the success of the war effort. Within this broader context of limited dissent, Minoru Yasui and the “no-no boys” carefully negotiated the balance between wartime patriotism and individual rights. Unlike protests against the American entrance into the war, dissent against Japanese American internment was a much more personal attempt to force the government to acknowledge the unconstitutionality of its wartime domestic policies. The process of internment began very early in the war, on February 19, 1942, when President Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066. In this decree, Roosevelt not only instructed the Secretary of War to designate military areas within the United States, but also authorized him to exclude certain groups of people from those areas.6 Although the order did not mention Japanese Americans specifically, it was an obvious response to fears that Japanese spies had infiltrated the United States and were orchestrating attacks against Americans. Such anxieties were so widespread that, outside of the affected Japanese American communities on the West Coast, there was very little dissent against Executive Order 9066. At congressional hearings held to finalize the internment policy, hundreds of white Americans testified their support for the camps.7 In the face of so much national hostility, Japanese Americans were essentially left to conduct their own dissent movement. Even then, however, there were extreme difficulties in organizing such a diverse community of people who had been suddenly thrust together by a sweeping governmental decree. To begin with, Japanese Americans on the West Coast came from a variety of educational, religious, political, and social backgrounds. Perhaps the most divisive                                                                                                                 6 Eugene V. Rostow, “The Japanese American Cases: A Disaster,” The Yale Law Journal, vol. 54, no. 3 (June, 1945) 498, http://www.jstor.org/stable/792783 7 Paul R. Spickard, “The Nisei Assume Power: The Japanese American Citizens League, 1941-1942,” Pacific Historical Review, vol. 52 (Jan. 1, 1983): 164, https://search-proquest- com.libproxy.temple.edu/docview/1290976599/fulltextPDF/8442FFD49AB14200PQ/1?accountid=14270       4 force within the Japanese American community was the division between Issei and Nisei. Before the war, the Issei—noncitizens who had been born in Japan and then immigrated to the United States—had controlled many elements of Japanese American culture. As internment camps threatened to destroy families and livelihoods, however, the Nisei—the children of the Issei, who had citizenship by their birth on American soil—assumed control of organizing a response to internment.8 This division was enormously important as the Nisei had access to more rights as citizens than did the Issei, whose lack of citizenship limited their ability to protect themselves from internment. Possibly as a result of this crucial difference in citizenship status, Japanese Americans failed to mount a unified dissent effort against internment. Rather, dissenters took individual actions that held potential ramifications for the entire Japanese American community. Minoru Yasui was a Nisei lawyer who immediately rejected the legitimacy of the government’s evacuation and internment orders. He noted his alarm at the military’s sudden ability to control the movements of citizens, and decided to deliberately violate the orders to force the courts to rule on their constitutionality. The principle issue, Yasui asserted, was “whether the military could single out a specific group of U.S. citizens on the basis of ancestry and require them to do something not required of other U.S. citizens.”9 On March 28, 1942, Yasui violated the terms of Public Proclamation Number Three, which mandated an 8:00 PM curfew for all Americans of 1/16th Japanese descent or more living on the West Coast. By the time that Yasui was arrested and imprisoned for his actions he had already been drafted into military service and ordered to report for evacuation.10 This form of nonviolent protest with an aim to force courts to                                                                                                                 8 Ibid., 159. 9 Minoru Yasui, “Resistance,” in Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young (New York: Pearson Education, 2008), 305.   10 Ibid.   5 rule on potentially unconstitutional laws echoed the approaches used by earlier activists like Henry David Thoreau and anticipated the tactics later used in the Civil Rights Movement. In many ways, Yasui’s civil disobedience was an ironically American approach to dissent; he not only appropriated the language of the American Revolution to defend himself, but also utilized the very systems enshrined in the Constitution in order to protect his rights as an American citizen. In his address to the court after his 1942 sentencing, Yasui reminded all of those present of his status as an American citizen who was “confident that the American judiciary would zealously defend those rights, war or no war, in order to preserve the fundamental democratic doctrines of our nation and to perpetuate the eternal truths of America.”11 The patriotic wording that Yasui chose underscored not only his full intent to assert his rights as a citizen, but also his belief in the Constitution as a document that would successfully protect him. Yasui’s case forced the courts to consider the constitutional limits of the relationship between the military and the citizenry—an issue rarely addressed within the framework of an American legal system that involves little overlap between the military and the civilian.12 Unfortunately, in a 1943 ruling on Yasui v. United States of America, the Supreme Court rejected Yasui’s case, arguing instead that his status as a citizen was irrelevant because it was constitutional for the United States government to indefinitely detain citizens in a time of war.13 The ruling came in conjunction with a ruling in a similar case, Hirabayashi v. United States, in which the Supreme Court ruled that “the curfew as applied was a protective measure necessary to meet the threat of sabotage and espionage (…) and (…) did not unconstitutionally discriminate                                                                                                                 11 Ibid., 307. 12 Eugene V. Rostow, “The Japanese American Cases: A Disaster,” The Yale Law Journal, vol. 54, no. 3 (June, 1945) 491, http://www.jstor.org/stable/792783. 13 Yasui v. United States, 320 U.S. 115 (1943).   6 against citizens of Japanese ancestry.”14This decision not only severely limited the protections of the writ of habeas corpus by allowing the government to constitutionally detain citizens without trial, but also set a precedent for the internment of citizens in times of war. Although Yasui’s dissenting action actually ended up affirming the constitutionality of the evacuation and internment orders, his successful utilization of the American court system was also an affirmation of his rights as a citizen. Even as the government essentially nullified the citizenship status of many Japanese Americans by targeting them for internment, the judiciary affirmed that status by allowing Japanese Americans access to one of the defining protections of American democracy. Remarkably, despite the failure of the case, Yasui did not advocate that Japanese Americans then fully reject the war effort. Indeed, governmental officials inside internment camps often brought Yasui to speak to “no-no boys” who had refused the draft. In a final attempt to discourage these draft resisters, Yasui warned of the lasting consequences that a federal conviction might have on their lives.15 Many “no-no boys,” however, argued that they could not call themselves Americans if they blindly followed a government that so harshly abridged their rights. After two years of internment, American success in the war effort and the repeated court cases brought by Japanese Americans against the government had begun to encourage certain governmental officials to end the internment programs. In order to ensure the loyalty of those released from the camps, however, the government forced each internee to complete a questionnaire. Questions twenty-seven and twenty-eight asked individuals if they would adhere to the draft and swear their allegiance to the United States, respectively. “No-no boys” thus earned                                                                                                                 14 Hirabayashi v. United States, 320 U.S. 81 (1943). 15 Yasui, “Resistance,” in Dissent in America, 306.     7 their name by responding “No” to both questions, cementing their position as not only draft resisters, but also potential traitors.16 George Fujii, interned at the Poston Relocation Center, was an active member of the camp’s community and an avid draft resister. Fujii protested not only for himself as a U.S. citizen—he was the son of Issei parents—but also for those who did not have citizenship. After his 1944 arrest for draft resistance and attempting to incite further resistance among his fellow internees, Fujii wrote several letters to governmental officials from prison. In a letter to President Roosevelt, Fujii argued, “the Nisei should not be compelled to bear arms until such date as our status is definitely established as to what privileges and rights we are fighting for.”17 Fujii astutely recognized the crucial importance of receiving his full rights as a citizen. Indeed, Fujii believed, “in order for me to protest the government, or demand a right to the government, I would have to be a citizen. If you declare yourself a non-citizen, you have no right to protest. (…) So, I kept my position as a citizen intact so that I could protest the government.”18 Much like Yasui, Fujii viewed protest as a defining characteristic of citizenship; both men felt that it was not merely their right, but their duty as American citizens to protest unjust laws. Although this was not necessarily a new understanding of citizenship—earlier activists like Thoreau and Emerson had espoused similar views—the circumstances in which Yasui and Fujii asserted their rights were unique. Although the United States government never unilaterally                                                                                                                 16 Frank H. Wu, “Difficult Decisions during Wartime: A Letter from a Non-Alien in an Internment Camp to a Friend Back Home,” Case Western Reserve, vol. 54 (2004): 1338, accessed November 12, 2017, http://heinonline.org/HOL/Page?handle=hein.journals/cwrlrv54&div=51&g_sent=1&casa_token=&collect ion=journals#. 17 Arthur A. Hansen, ed., “An Interview with George Fujii Conducted by Ronald C. Larson on August 31, 1976” in Japanese American World War II Evacuation Oral History Project: Part IV: Resisters (Fullerton: California State University): 92, accessed November 10, 2017, http://content.cdlib.org/view?docId=ft1f59n61r;NAAN=13030&doc.view=frames&chunk.id=George%20 Fujii&toc.depth=1&toc.id=0&brand=calisphere&query=Japanese%20American%20Oral%20History%20 Project. 18 Ibid.     8 rescinded the citizenship of Japanese Americans, it repeatedly minimized the citizenship rights of Japanese individuals. A district court that ruled on Yasui’s case, for example, declared that he had rescinded his citizenship and therefore his case should be thrown out.19 Although the Supreme Court later reversed the ruling that Yasui had forfeited his citizenship, the lower court’s decision reflected the widespread hostility that surrounded Japanese American citizens. Under these conditions, the assertion of citizenship by Yasui and Fujii almost became an act of dissent in itself. In repeatedly referencing their citizenship and utilizing the protections available for them as citizens, both men quite clearly threatened the legitimacy of the evacuation and internment orders. The idea that citizenship in itself could be used as a form of dissent epitomized the essential hypocrisies and contradictions that have marked the history of dissent in the United States. Yasui, Fujii, and other agitators wanted nothing more than to be afforded their full rights as citizens. This is evident in the fact that after the Supreme Court ruled against Yasui, he fully accepted their decision and even encouraged other Japanese Americans to adhere to the draft. Fujii, on the other hand, encouraged draft resisters to plead “Not guilty” in an attempt keep the issue of the constitutionality of drafting interned residents and citizens in the public eye.20 The dissent movement against the internment and evacuation of Japanese Americans ultimately normalized the idea that citizens should protest if they were not receiving the full protections of the law. It also served as a warning to citizens about the importance of honoring citizenship rights domestically, especially in times of war.                                                                                                                 19 Taylor Natsu Saito, “Interning the ‘Non-Alien’ Other: The Illusory Protections of Citizenship,” Law and Contemporary Problems (Spring 2005) Academic OneFile, accessed November 12, 2017, http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A137876572&v=2.1&u=temple_main&i t=r&p=AONE&sw=w&authCount=1#. 20 Hansen, ed., “An Interview with George Fujii,” 93, accessed November 10, 2017, http://content.cdlib.org/view?docId=ft1f59n61r;NAAN=13030&doc.view=frames&chunk.id=George%20 Fujii&toc.depth=1&toc.id=0&brand=calisphere&query=Japanese%20American%20Oral%20History%20 Project.   9 Today, concerns over the abridgment of constitutional rights in wartime have remained incredibly relevant. The “War on Terror” saw comprehensive limitations of the privacy and legal rights of American citizens. In some cases, Americans who supported terrorist groups have been denied their right to a fair trial by jury. In 2001, while the United States was at war with Afghanistan, Esam Hamdi, an American citizen born in Louisiana, was captured at an Al Qaeda base. Rather than detain Hamdi in a federal prison, the government took him to Guantanamo, and then to a naval brig in Virginia. He remained imprisoned in Virginia without charges for three years while the government stripped him of his citizenship and began referring to him as an “enemy combatant.” Hamdi was ultimately released to Saudi Arabia after his lawyer filed for a writ of habeas corpus, which the government failed to produce.21 The parallels between this rather recent incident and the government’s treatment of Japanese Americans during the Second World War are remarkable. In both cases, Americans were denied their basic rights, their citizenship was minimized, and they were ultimately released only after an extended period of time in which American foreign policy evolved and adapted. It is because of the dissenting efforts of Yasui and Fujii that the government today must tread carefully in implementing policies that limit the rights of citizens. Both men successfully presented logical, constitutional objections that contradicted the actions of the government. Yasui proved his citizenship by utilizing the court system created in the Constitution as a check on executive and legislative powers. Similarly, Fujii specifically retained his citizenship in order to protest against the evacuation and internment orders. In this manner, both men quietly espoused an incredibly patriotic view of citizenship that was successful in part because it did not threaten                                                                                                                 21 Saito, “Interning the ‘Non-Alien’ Other,” accessed November 12, 2017, http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A137876572&v=2.1&u=temple_main&i t=r&p=AONE&sw=w&authCount=1#.     10 an American public that was in a state of nationalistic anxiety about the outcome of the war. As the current administration in the United States continues to foment jingoism and xenophobia, Yasui, Fujii and other dissenters who fought the internment of Japanese Americans will serve as models of the proper response to the denial of citizenship rights on the basis of ethnicity.                   11 Bibliography Dellinger, David. “Why I Refused to Register in the October 1940 Draft and a Little of What it Led To.” In Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young. New York: Pearson Education, 2008. 296-303. Hansen, Arthur A., ed. “An Interview with George Fujii Conducted by Ronald C. Larson on August 31, 1976” in Japanese American World War II Evacuation Oral History Project: Part IV: Resisters. Fullerton: California State University. 73-99. Accessed November 10, 2017, http://content.cdlib.org/view?docId=ft1f59n61r;NAAN=13030&doc.view=frames&chunk. id=George%20Fujii&toc.depth=1&toc.id=0&brand=calisphere&query=Japanese%20Ame rican%20Oral%20History%20Project. “Report on the Work of the War Relocation Authority: An Anniversary Statement by Dillon S. Meyer, Director of the War Relocation Authority,” in Japanese-American Internment During World War II, Peggy Daniels Becker. Detroit: Omnigraphics, 2013. 181-188. Accessed November 14, 2017. ProQuest Ebook Central. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/templeuniv-ebooks/reader.action?docID=3384077 Rostow, Eugene V. “The Japanese American Cases: A Disaster.” The Yale Law Journal, vol. 54, no. 3 (June, 1945): 489-533. http://www.jstor.org/stable/792783 Saito, Natsu Taylor. “Interning the ‘Non-Alien’ Other: The Illusory Protections of Citizenship.” Law and Contemporary Problems. (Spring 2005) Academic OneFile. Accessed November 12, 2017. http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A137876572&v=2.1&u =temple_main&it=r&p=AONE&sw=w&authCount=1#. Spickard, Paul R. “The Nisei Assume Power: The Japanese American Citizens League, 1941- 1942.” Pacific Historical Review, vol. 52 (Jan. 1, 1983): 147-174. https://search-proquest- com.libproxy.temple.edu/docview/1290976599/fulltextPDF/8442FFD49AB14200PQ/1?ac countid=14270 Wilson, Charles F. “Letter to President Roosevelt, 1944.” In Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young. New York: Pearson Education, 2008. 294-296 Wu, Frank H. "Difficult Decisions during Wartime: A Letter from a Non-Alien in an Internment Camp to a Friend Back Home." Case Western Reserve, vol. 54 (2004): 1301-1346. Accessed November 12, 2017, http://heinonline.org/HOL/Page?handle=hein.journals/cwrlrv54&div=51&g_sent=1&casa _token=&collection=journals#. Yasui, Minoru. “Resistance.” In Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation, Ralph Young. New York: Pearson Education, 2008. 304-310.   12 Young, Ralph. Dissent in America: Voices that Shaped a Nation. New York: Pearson Education, 2008. Zebrowski, Carl. “America First.” America in WWII, April-May 2017. Accessed November 16, 2017.http://go.galegroup.com.libproxy.temple.edu/ps/i.do?&id=GALE|A497797964&v=2 .1&u=temple_main&it=r&p=AONE&sw=w#. 
work_nyzeg5mkfrbxha2gn2kn3vb6ly	----	Discovering Davies-Land: Arthur B. Davies in the West, 1905 Arthur B. Davies, Twin Lakes, Colorado, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 3/8 in. Private collection This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). Vol. 31, No. 1 © 2017 Smithsonian Institution American Art | Spring 2017 25 Charles C. Eldredge Discovering Davies-Land Arthur B. Davies in the West, 1905 In June 1905 Arthur B. Davies left New York City on a trip that had great con- sequence for his career. The artist was riding high on the recent success of not one but two solo shows—an exhibition at the prominent Doll & Richards Gallery, in Boston, and subsequently one with his New York dealer, William Macbeth. The proceeds from sales of his popular paintings were sufficient to underwrite the summer excursion on which he was embarking. Escapes from the discomforts of summer in the city were not unusual; artists for generations had been trekking to scenic vistas and salubrious climes, seeking seasonal inspiration for their winter’s work back in the urban studio. Since establishing himself in New York in 1888, Davies had joined this exodus on several occasions. Although he married in 1892 and had children shortly there after, Davies continued to enjoy periodic sojourns away from home, with a particular prefer- ence for Europe, the favored destination for many artists of his era. In the summer of 1895 he visited Amsterdam, Paris, and London; in 1897, Ireland, Belgium, Germany, Italy, and Spain; in 1901, London again. But in the summer of 1905—a year headlined in one magazine as the dawn of “Another ‘Go West’ Period”—this dedicated Europhile turned in a different direction.1 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 26 American Art | Spring 2017 It was as if Davies were heeding the advice of Henry David Thoreau, whose famous essay “Walking” was published in June 1862, a month after the author’s death and just three months before Davies’s birth. “When I go out of the house for a walk,” Thoreau wrote, “uncertain as yet whither I will bend my steps . . . I finally and inevitably settle southwest. . . . Eastward I go only by force; but westward I go free. . . . We go eastward to realize history and study the works of art and literature, retracing the steps of the race; we go westward as into the future.” The philosopher concluded that “I must walk toward Oregon, and not toward Europe.”2 When Davies left home late in the spring of 1905, there was no uncertainty about his direction or his destination. This trip was undertaken to visit the Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition in Portland, one of the numerous celebrations of history, place, and modernity that punctuated the decades before World War I.3 Seven of Davies’s paintings were included in the Department of Fine Arts Exhibition at the Portland fair, six of them loaned by William Macbeth. These works, which ranged in date over nearly a decade, were imaginative compositions of the sort that had earned Davies early notice—subjects from ancient mythology and scenes from his far-flung foreign travels.4 In the West adventure also beckoned. For decades landscapists had sought scenic inspiration in the field. “Pleinairists received constant encouragement from the press,” according to the landscape scholar Eleanor Jones Harvey; one mid-nineteenth- century art journal declared that “the true artist . . . will risk body and brains in his pursuit of a good sketch.”5 So attractive became these pursuits away from home and studio that Henry Tuckerman, in his 1867 chronicle of American artists, praised painting from nature as “an element in American artist-life which gives it singular zest and interest.”6 As it had for many before Davies, the prospect of adventure— as well as an escape from the city and domestic routine—added to the West’s allure for him. Transcontinental rail travel in 1905, though vastly improved in speed and comfort from earlier generations, was still a long and arduous undertaking. From Chicago, where Davies and his family had lived when he was a teenager and to which he had likely journeyed by rail, the artist probably continued to Denver on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe (AT&SF), the railroad for which, in 1881–82, he had worked as a draftsman in New Mexico Territory, planning new rail lines in the Southwest. On that occasion, which was his only previous experience in the American West, Davies was still early in his career, and he was limning the land with a practical purpose, not the personal expression of his later paintings. However, as he later admitted, “That training [as draftsman for AT&SF] made me see and feel not the surface only of those mountains, but their construction, as one feels the anatomical structure of the human figure when expressing its exterior forms.”7 Davies’s early experience in the Southwest inspired a lifelong fascination with mountainous landscapes. In 1898, after his first visit to the Great Smoky Mountains in western North Carolina, the artist wrote with excitement to Macbeth, describing one of the most enjoyable trips . . . to the top of Junaluska mountain . . . I have been much surprised at variety in these many peaks and I feel it is like a new language which I must become familiar with. I have been making innumerable notes . . . I have several good motifs . . . the mountains are an inspiration.8 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 27 But not Junaluska, nor even the peaks of New Mexico or the Mexican highlands, could compare with the grandeur of the Colorado Rockies. Heading west from Denver on the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad, Davies encountered scenery and summits unrivaled in his earlier travels. The pace slowed as Davies took advan- tage of opportunities for art and recreation along the way. At Twin Lakes, near Leadville, in Colorado’s high country, he was distracted by the vista—and by trout. In mid-June he reported excitedly to Macbeth about “my week just finished at Twin Lakes fishing & sketching!!! I resemble a carcass left in the sun, fat and blistered. . . . I caught a few trout and had a good, new experience.” Lying between Mount Elbert and Mount Massive, two of Colorado’s highest peaks, Twin Lakes provided a welcome respite and artistic inspiration; “a most beautiful place,” Davies concluded. “I doubt if I shall find anything better.”9 In a quick oil sketch Davies recorded the view, framed by slender pines, across the water to the distant mountains (frontispiece). Painted on diminutive wooden panels, these easily transported souvenirs of his western travels were intended as inspiration for easel paintings to be made after his return to New York. From Seattle in late September, nearing the end of his journey, Davies dispatched a parcel of approximately seventy such sketches to Macbeth, along with a message urging care in their handling since some were so fresh that the paint was not yet fully dry.10 When exhibited in New York shortly after his return, Davies’s “superbly faithful and glowing sketches” won critical praise and the prediction that “some day collec- tors will compete for them.”11 Yet surprisingly, although the easel paintings they inspired have been admired and recognized as pivotal in the artist’s career, his oil sketches from the West have been largely neglected. Nevertheless, today a number of these quickly brushed notations of scenery glimpsed in passing remain, and the best of them are still “glowing.” Davies’s reputation today rests on his figurative works, particularly those featuring the female nude, as well as his participation in the 1908 exhibition of The Eight, painters who challenged the conservative standards of the National Academy of Design, many of them (but not Davies) with gritty urban subjects dashingly ren- dered. Even more so, contemporary scholars recognize Davies for his role as an advocate for modern art, most notably as president of the Association of American Painters and Sculptors, organizers of the famed Armory Show in 1913. At the time of his western sojourn, however, all that still lay ahead. Arresting alpine motifs abounded in the Rockies. As spring arrived in Colorado’s high country, so did the artist. He found during the ride from Twin Lakes to Leadville that “in the stimulating air was something to spiritualize in paint.”12 However, Leadville itself he found less inspiring, a bleak shanty town populated by “knots of miners and prospectors” who would not hold him long. From there Davies headed toward the San Juan country of southwestern Colorado. On June 18 he announced in a letter to Macbeth his intention to be in Ouray the next day and, rejuvenated by his Twin Lakes sojourn, reassured the dealer, “I am feeling tip-top.”13 Between Leadville and Ouray, however, there were plenty of scenic distractions, a number of them warranting stops for sketches, and Davies’s progress began to slow. At Emerald Lake, in the present-day San Juan National Forest, the artist paused to make several sketches of the lake and mountains. In one wide-angle view (fig. 1), dark mountain slopes frame a distant, purple peak and placid water in the foreground, its surface defined by a narrow, pale stroke of paint that snaps This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 28 American Art | Spring 2017 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 29 the picture into focus. The slopes and peak in turn are mirrored in the lake’s surface, creating a sym- metrical design of four intersecting V-shaped planes. In another sketch of Emerald Lake (fig. 2) the moun- tain rises more abruptly, blocking the view, not framing it; its dark flank presses against the shoreline as it looms over several buildings that suggest the beginnings of settlement, or perhaps vacation- ers’ accommodations. While Davies’s intent was not narrowly topographic or documentary, the inclusion of buildings in the landscape was unusual for him; the painting is less moody, less mystical than other sketches and their successors from the easel. This effect apparently pleased the artist, whose signature on the front of the painting is unusually prominent. (More often he signed the panel in pencil on the verso.) Between Emerald Lake and Ouray, near Ironton, the artist’s attention was caught by the landscape tinted rust-red by iron oxides in the soil. Red Mountain, Ironton (ex-Spanierman Gallery) records the dramatic vista and suggests Davies’s facility with color. The foreground is dominated by earthen tones and dark greens, some nearly black, colors found in many of his early works. In the middle distance, a slope of warm iron-red strikes a colorful note. Red mountain, white clouds, and blue sky suggest a national palette suitable for an American landscape. The artist’s progress was slowed by scenic distractions, but eventually the rails crossed the Red Mountain Pass, cresting at 11,000 feet, and descended to Ouray. The old mining town is nestled at the head of a narrow valley, surrounded by the lofty San Juan Mountains, some of the highest and most rugged peaks in the Rockies. Davies recorded their steep rise and snowcapped summits in a quick sketch (fig. 3), repeating the asymmetrical composition of his earlier view at Emerald Lake, but he did not include any buildings. At the time of Davies’s visit the town was prospering, thanks to its gold and silver mines, and several hotels served a fledgling tourist trade. “Trains are terribly crowded,” Davies reported, presumably including vacationers.14 But it was natural scenery, not evidence of progress, that most often caught the artist’s attention. From Ouray the Denver & Rio Grande line ran northwestward, down Colorado’s Western Slope toward Utah. From Leadville, Davies anticipated arriving in Salt Lake City about July 1. Given the vagaries of travel and the distractions of scenery, however, he did not get to the city until July 17. He wrote the next day to Macbeth, explaining that the delay meant “I shall give up the Yellowstone trip which will consume seven days . . . & my Lake Tahoe would be cut out practically for sketching purposes.” He reported that “Salt Lake is a great little city; you must not miss it.” Nonetheless, Davies’s stay there was brief, only long enough to dispatch a shipment of “spoiled” panels back to New York and to retrieve a batch of replacements that Macbeth had sent. “These new ones I shall save for lucky hits in the Northwest.” In Colorado he had “seen enough already to satisfy any ordinary man,” and now “[T]he great Pacific calls.” So, “It’s off to Lake Tahoe tomorrow.”15 Davies left Salt Lake City on July 19 and the next morning arrived at Truckee, California, the entry to scenic Tahoe country. He planned to spend a week there before 1 Arthur B. Davies, Emerald Lake, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 1/2 in. Private collection 2 Arthur B. Davies, Emerald Lake, Colorado, 1905. Oil on panel, 6 3/8 x 10 1/2 in. Denver Art Museum Collection, D.A.M. Yankees and funds from the Acquisition Challenge Grant, 1987.16. Photo courtesy of the Denver Art Museum 3 Arthur B. Davies, Ouray, Colorado, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 1/2 in. Private collection This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 30 American Art | Spring 2017 moving on to San Francisco; judging from the multiple panels that survive, it was time well spent. At Emerald Bay, on the lake’s southwest margin, he sketched the view across the water to the far shoreline and the mountain beyond (Oakland Museum of California), a composition similar to that he had employed at Emerald Lake in Colorado (see fig. 2). A second view of the Tahoe motif (ex-Garzoli Gallery) included a pine bough at the left margin, a bit of foreground greenery contrasting with the vaporous landforms in the distance. The composition apparently satisfied him, for he repeated it with an entire tree, not just a bough, punctuating the left side of another view (fig. 4). Sketches like these served later as the inspiration for easel paintings of the site, such as Lake and Island, Sierra Nevada (1905, ex-coll. Art Institute of Chicago), depicting Tahoe’s only island, Fannette, in the middle of Emerald Bay. The asymmetrical design of Davies’s views of the area is most effective in another sketch, Lake Tahoe (fig. 5). In it a foreground tree arrests attention, placed before simplified, smoothly brushed bands of blue and mauve that depict a watery middle plane and the far shore. The effect here is akin to woodblock prints by Hokusai and other Japanese masters, no surprise, for Davies shared enthusiasm for Japanese prints with numerous others of his generation. Bennard Perlman, one of Davies’s biographers, noted additionally that some of the artist’s later and larger easel paintings of California scenes demonstrate the mathematical principle of the Golden Section—the ratio of small part to larger as larger is to whole (3:5::5:8)—a compositional approach that accounts for the off-center place- ment of a prominent tree or peak approximately fifteen inches from one side of several landscapes.16 Whether from nineteenth-century Japanese prints, the ancients’ principle of the Golden Section, or simply from the serendipitous discovery of tree and vantage, the designs had their initial impetus on the shores of Lake Tahoe. Venturing south, Davies continued to the Tuolumne region. His travels might have been inspired by a contemporary account that appeared in the popular press on the eve of his departure from New York. “[T]o see California understandingly,” the author advised, “one must visit the mountains as well as the valleys. Probably no other section is richer in scenes noted for their beauty and grandeur, places made famous in literature than is Tuolumne county in the Sierra Nevada foothills of California.”17 Davies’s destination was Yosemite National Park, which had been established by an act of Congress on October 1, 1890. In August and September of that year, John Muir, the great champion of Yosemite whose advocacy led to the federal designation, described to distant readers of the popular 4 Arthur B. Davies, Lake Tahoe, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/2 x 9 3/8 in. Courtesy of Joel B. Garzoli Fine Art, San Francisco, Calif. 5 Arthur B. Davies, Lake Tahoe, ca. 1905. Oil on wood, 5 3/8 x 9 3/8 in. Collection of the Oakland Museum of California, Gift of Concours d’Antiques, Art Guild This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 31 Century Magazine the treasures of the region and the features of the proposed national park.18 Muir’s celebration of this beauty spot was accompanied by black-and-white illustra- tions by artists ranging from the notable, like Thomas Moran, to the anonymous. Several of them were initialed “ABD,” an indication that they were early examples from Davies’s hand. His early illustrations of Cathedral Peak, the Merced River, and the entrance to the Hetch Hetchy Valley were drawn from photographs or verbal accounts by others, or from his imagination, for the Sierra were as yet unvisited by him. Now, fifteen years later, Davies had his first opportunity to experience the wonders that Muir extolled. The mountains’ precipitous rise from the valley floor added drama to the numerous depictions of the park that appeared in the late nineteenth century. Thomas Hill, the most frequent and prolific painter of the Yosemite region, repeatedly depicted such attractions as Half Dome, Bridal Veil Falls, and the grand, long view of the valley. At the time of Davies’s visit, the elderly Hill (1829–1908), who had been working with the Sierra landscape for nearly half a century, was residing in the park at the Wawona Hotel and continuing to portray Yosemite’s glories. His canvases were eagerly sought by well- heeled visitors, as by his brush Hill helped make the park’s chief sites familiar. Like many other tourists—including President Theodore Roosevelt, whose 1903 visit with his friend Muir was well documented and added to the park’s allure—Davies was drawn to such familiar views. He sketched, for instance, Cathedral Peak, Tuolumne Meadows (Joel B. Garzoli Fine Art, San Francisco) as well as Half Dome from Glacier Point (fig. 6), one of the most popular views in the park (and a site where the president and Muir had been photographed). In each case Davies composed the painting with the highest point off center, just as he had asymmetrically arranged pines before views of Lake Tahoe. The trees of Yosemite, however, inspired a different composition. Instead of his customary horizontal views, Davies, surrounded by lofty sequoias, turned his panel 90 degrees to produce a vertical composition, its elongation echoing the rise of the ancient evergreens, as in Trees, Mariposa Grove (ex-Spanierman Gallery). Such sketches became sources for Davies’s later studio paintings, in which compositions often featured similar tree trunks—arboreal monuments that, as later described by Marsden Hartley, “become columns of Doric eloquence and simplicity.”19 From Yosemite the artist made his way westward to the mid-California coast, where he received a warm welcome from the congenial community of artists, writers, and 6 Arthur B. Davies, Half Dome from Glacier Point, 1905. Oil on wood panel, 5 1/4 x 9 1/2 in. Private collection of Michael P. and Patricia A. Smith. Photo courtesy of James D. Julia Auctioneers, Fairfield, Maine, U.S.A., www.jamesdjulia.com This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 32 American Art | Spring 2017 freethinkers gathering in scenic Carmel and Monterey. Many years later the widow of one Bay Area artist recalled spirited times in that creative enclave: “We’d get a telegram from [the Monterey painter Charles] Rollo Peters, ‘So and so from New York’s going to be here, bring your wife and two or three pictures.’ So we would stay with them for two or three days while he gave a big party and sold pictures.”20 In addition to the pleasant company, Davies discovered landscape attractions of the sort described by the local author Mary Hunter Austin. About the same time as Davies, she had been drawn to the region by “the Mission buildings, the strange wild beach at Carmel, the matted plots of cedar, the dunes all white and silvery, the glittering chaparral.”21 Davies made obligatory visits to such historic missions as San Juan Bautista, whose facade provided the inspiration for several pencil sketches.22 More often, however, he painted the landscape without evi- dence of human settlement. In Monterey arboreal subjects again attracted Davies’s attention—not the venerable giants of Yosemite but the oaks and cypresses that punctuated the rolling landscape. In Live Oaks, Monterey (1905, ex-Garzoli Gallery), the trees mass together, as they often do in the sheltered valleys beyond the coast; in other sketches, such as Landscape, Monterey, California (fig. 7), a single cypress, or several, are bent by sea winds. The coast also cap- tured the artist’s attention. In some sketches the Pacific crashes against rocky Monterey headlands, while in others it washes ashore in a foamy arc, as in California Bay (fig. 8), perhaps a view of Carmel’s Monastery Beach. Farther north, in San Francisco, William Macbeth had provided Davies with introduc- tions to the gallerist’s West Coast counterparts. Prominent among them was the firm Vickery, Atkins & Torrey, purveyors of fine furniture (European and Japanese) and decorative objects to embellish the new homes and gardens of Bay Area barons. In their downtown showrooms the dealers also exhibited and sold works of art, including Japanese prints, watercolors, and oil paintings, the last chiefly landscapes of a tonalist sort (e.g., Barbizon School, late George Inness, William Keith).23 According to one source, it was Frederick C. Torrey, a partner in the firm, who hosted Davies in the city.24 While in San Francisco Davies sketched the view looking north from Twin Peaks across the city and its Golden Gate Park (fig. 9). The painting is unusual for its urban subject, one seldom encountered in Davies’s western scenes. It is exceptional as well for its provenance, being a gift from Davies to a fellow artist, Xavier Martinez.25 The gift suggests the friend- ship that developed between the visitor and Martinez, one of the young leaders in the 7 Arthur B. Davies, Landscape, Monterey, California, ca. 1905. Oil on panel, 5 5/16 x 9 13/16 in. Image courtesy of Los Angeles County Museum of Art 8 Arthur B. Davies, California Bay, n.d. Oil on panel, 5 x 9 in. Brigham Young University Museum of Art, Purchase/gift from the Mahonri M. Young Estate, 1959 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 33 resident art community who had welcomed Davies to San Francisco. That the two should meet was no coincidence. San Francisco’s Sequoia Club held an exhibition of Martinez’s work in the summer of 1905, coincident with Davies’s visit to the city; he also showed that year with the California Society of Artists, the group of young Turks that Martinez helped found in 1902 in a revolt against the conservative standards that prevailed in California. At the time of Davies’s visit, Martinez was preparing for a fall exhibition at the Vickery, Atkins & Torrey gallery, featuring a group of works produced on a recent trip to his native Mexico, as well as local landscapes and scenes of Paris. That exhibition was restaged the following year in New York by Macbeth, suggesting commercial as well as artistic ties between the two artists.26 The gregarious and affable Martinez provided a center for San Francisco’s bohemian cultural life. He hosted open-house receptions every Sunday, with guests drawn from the area’s creative avant-garde, among them the novelist Jack London. Davies commissioned Martinez to paint London’s portrait, part of a suite of six likenesses of prominent western- ers intended for an exhibition in the East.27 Martinez was a member of San Francisco’s Bohemian Club, a gathering of the city’s corporate leaders and creative select. At least one Davies sketch, Bohemian Grove (private collection), depicts the Northern California forest retreat where members of the Bohemian Club still come together in fraternal gatherings; Davies was doubtless a guest of Martinez at the grove, perhaps even at such an assembly, and the sketch is a further memento of their friendship. Following the calamitous San Francisco earthquake in April 1906, which destroyed his studio, Martinez relocated to the East Bay. His new home-studio in Piedmont was built largely by the artist himself, with some materials supplied by friends—and with a generous contribution of $300 from Davies (approximately $8,000 today). Many years later Martinez’s widow recalled in simple yet moving terms the gift that was made “to help a fellow artist.”28 9 Arthur B. Davies, View of San Francisco, 1905. Oil on wood, 5 1/8 x 9 3/8 in. Collection of the Oakland Museum of California, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Leefeldt This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 34 American Art | Spring 2017 10 Arthur B. Davies, North from Mt. Tamalpais, ca. 1905. Oil on wood, 5 1/4 x 9 3/8 in. Collection of the Oakland Museum of California, Gift of Concours d’Antiques, Art Guild 11 Arthur B. Davies, Pacific Parnassus, Mount Tamalpais, ca. 1905. Oil on canvas, 26 1/4 x 40 1/4 in. Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, Museum pur- chase, Gift of The Museum Society Auxiliary This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 35 While the San Francisco view inscribed and donated to Martinez is unique among Davies’s sketches, the Bay Area provided other scenic inspiration. Especially prominent in the region’s hilly terrain is Mount Tamalpais, in Marin County, across the Golden Gate from the city. Like many artists of his day and later, Davies was drawn to the peak and the expansive view enjoyed from its heights. His sketch, North from Mt. Tamalpais (fig. 10), surveys the expansive Marin landscape. More than topography, however, in this work Davies’s chief interest was the landscape’s chromatic variety—russet hills, dark green foliage, lavender mist—producing “quirkily observed color notes,” as one curator wrote, “freely brushed and boldly composed.”29 Davies produced similar effects in a sketch from the summit of Mount Diablo, the highest peak in the East Bay region (Oakland Museum of California). Long a landmark for explor- ers in California, the Mount Diablo summit was established in 1851 as the official base point for California land surveys, and its base line and meridian lines continue to be used in many California real estate descriptions. Davies, however, was not interested in meridians or in real estate; instead, as he did at Tamalpais, he turned his attention to a chromatic study, registering the transition here from inky blue-blacks at the top of the com- position to warm tans below. The view from such lofty perches continued to stir Davies’s imagination even after his return to New York. Using the sketches and his keen memory, the artist reimagined the view of Stinson Beach, on the Marin County coastline, as the easel painting Pacific Parnassus, Mount Tamalpais (fig. 11), an early example of the continu- ing hold that California and the western landscape had on him. Davies had arrived in San Francisco in late July and was still tarrying in the area in late August, enjoying its scenery and congenial company. But the artist was well into his four- month itinerary and had not yet reached Portland and the Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition, the ostensible purpose of this long journey. By early September he left the Bay Area and headed northward and inland. In correspondence with his dealer, he noted stops in the Sacramento Valley country and another at Mount Shasta.30 However, feeling the pressures of time, he apparently had scant opportunity to paint at either site, and conse- quently there were only a few sketches made en route to Portland.31 Mount Shasta was an exception, its distinctive double-humped profile providing inspiration for at least two images. Enjoying the chromatic liberty that he had discovered in his Bay Area vignettes, Davies twice sketched Shasta—once with its pink slopes rising above greenery at the base, another time in deep blues, the mountain hovering like some monochrome mirage above a few treetops in the foreground (fig. 12). In Portland he finally had the opportunity to view his paintings in the exposition’s Fine Arts Museum, although finding his seven among the more than seven hundred works installed in multiple galleries must have been a challenge.32 Alas, his letters to his dealer include no references to the hunt or to his reaction on finding his work on view; neither did he discuss any of the other fine arts exhibits, nor other attractions at the exposi- tion, which ranged from the Temple of Mirth to a Haunted Castle, numerous state and national buildings, and performers such as the One-legged Bicyclist or Trixie, the Educated Horse. What he did record were visits to private collectors in Portland and descriptions of their holdings. Opportunities for socializing were recounted in a name-dropping missive to 12 Arthur B. Davies, Mount Shasta, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 3/8 in. Private collection This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 36 American Art | Spring 2017 Macbeth: “At Portland I saw Mr. Ladd, visited the house where I met Mrs. Ladd, who took me over to Mother Ladd’s house, there I met Mrs. F. B. Pratt & Mrs. Corbett (another Ladd).” After such a recitation of names and family ties, Davies graciously con- cluded, “All were extremely cordial as these westerners know how to be.”33 The highlight of Davies’s Portland visit—even more than the Ladd clan and other cordial hosts—was a side trip to Mount Hood. He wrote with excitement to Macbeth, describing his “Three days on Mt. Hood with an unsuccessful expedition to the top, bad weather, soaked through by rain one day, and heavy snow Sunday with the opening of big crevasses above the 10,000 ft. snow fields. However a most exhilarating experience[,] one of my choicest.”34 Davies stayed there at the Cloud Cap Inn, the nation’s oldest alpine lodge (built 1889), a tourist destination at that time reached only by stagecoach. Years later Davies still reveled in the memory of this adventure: “a thrilling experience. When I went by horse stageing [sic] from Hood River it was an unforgettable one.”35 The weather at Mount Hood was unfavorable for sketching, and soon Davies was headed farther north, to Seattle. From there in late September he began “making the turn homeward. With all too short a time left.” He was headed toward Glacier Park, then to several more stops along the way (“two or three [days] at Emerald [Lake] & the remaining time at Lake Louise”) before taking the train to Montreal, then “home by night of Oct. 4th. My time limit.”36 The pace was rapid, and as a consequence, the northern leg of his trip was not frequently illustrated. His sketches made along the railway route were few but fresh, such as a view of the glacier on Mount Sir Donald in the Selkirk Range, one of the rare souvenirs of the trans-Canada passage (fig. 13). Before leaving Seattle, the artist dispatched to Macbeth most of the oil sketches that would be used to create new easel paintings in the East. By early October, on his schedule, Davies was back in New York and reunited with his sketches—but not with his wife and sons. Rather, he returned to a new domestic arrangement, living in the city pseudonymously with his mistress, Edna Potter, as Mr. and Mrs. David Owen. The story of their relationship, which was unknown to nearly all of Davies’s contemporaries, has now been made familiar by the artist’s several biographers.37 Potter, a tall, lithe dancer, had begun modeling for Davies in 1902, and her graceful figure was the inspiration for many of the artist’s nudes, largely dating from after the western trip, works by which he was best known to his contemporaries and to history. The easel paintings that Davies produced in the immediate wake of his western sojourn were, however, different from those that had preceded his journey. The figures, generally female and usually nude, seemed more sensual than his earlier depictions of prim Victorian children, or young Madonnas, or subjects drawn from ancient mythol- ogy, like Psyche, exhibited at the Portland Exposition. Moreover, in Colorado and especially in California, landscape became newly important to the artist. The sketches were, with few exceptions, devoid of figures or evidence of human habitation, and so, too, were many of the most notable easel paintings they inspired. Even though the western trip changed Davies’s approach to landscape painting, his distinctive treatment of the genre had been noted earlier. For instance, reviews of his Boston show in February 1905 lauded “[h]is pictures [that] are of a visionary caste, and are memories rather than direct representations of nature.”38 Though “visionary,” Davies’s landscapes were based on his “conscientious interrogation of nature”—as in the oil sketches—a focus that the critic Royal Cortissoz would later assert “was at the bottom of his art.”39 Memories of the West percolated in Davies’s imagination and prompted a new emphasis on landscape, with results that were sometimes even more visionary than his earlier work. In Canyon Undertones (fig. 14), a large canvas inspired This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 37 13 Arthur B. Davies, Mount Sir Donald Glacier, 1905. Oil on panel, 5 1/4 x 9 1/2 in. Private collection 14 Arthur B. Davies, Canyon Undertones, ca. 1905–6. Oil on canvas, 25 x 39 in. Private collection This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 38 American Art | Spring 2017 by the Sierra Nevada country, the foreground canyon floor is ringed by steep cliffs down which multiple cascades plummet. The cliffs-and-waterfalls motif appeared as well in Many Waters (ca. 1905, Phillips Collection), one of Davies’s best-known landscapes, with the cascades further multiplied, as if he was seeking to include all of Yosemite’s famous falls in one hydraulic fantasy. The view, with the Merced River flowing in the foreground, is purely imaginary, for the dozen cascades depicted are nowhere visible from a single vantage point in the park. The jagged profile of the Sierra figures prominently in the backgrounds of numerous landscape paintings executed following Davies’s return to New York. In Before Sunrise (1905, ex-Corcoran Gallery of Art), the warm glow of a new day rises above the dark plane of jagged peaks; in this work, as in another Sierra subject, Horizons (ca. 1906, Washington County Museum of Fine Arts), the view is punctuated by the verticals of tall pines, a compositional device familiar from some of his Lake Tahoe sketches. The elongated horizontal format (18 by 40 inches) of these pictures was used in a number of western views and suggests the panoramic landscape that Davies enjoyed in California. In Leda and the Dioscuri (fig. 15), lofty mountains provide a backdrop for a diminutive Castor and Pollux and their mother, the trio improbably relocated from the ancient Greco-Roman world to a Sierran lakeside, giving new meaning to notions of the “mythic West.” Davies also introduced tiny figures into his large canvas The Lure of the Chase (fig. 16). In its lower margin, dogs chase, deer flee, and figures gambol among the pines. While their purpose may only have been to provide a sense of scale for the landscape’s vastness, their size and placement tempt comparison to Washington Allston’s romantic Diana on a Chase (1805, Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum), with its small mythological figures similarly transplanted to the corner of an expansive mountain view. Davies likely painted his view of Stinson Beach from sketches made nearby. He titled the work Pacific Parnassus, Mount Tamalpais (see fig. 11), a reference to the 15 Arthur B. Davies, Leda and the Dioscuri, ca. 1905. Oil on canvas, 26 x 40 in. Spencer Museum of Art, University of Kansas, Museum purchase, Peter T. Bohan Art Acquisition Fund, 2014.0138 This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 39 mountain sacred to Apollo and home to the Muses, the locus of creativity now relocated from Greek mythology to the California coast. Unlike Raphael’s famed Vatican fresco of Parnassus, in which the artist looked up to Apollo and his Muses, Davies assumes the lofty position of the god and looks outward, surveying the arc of blue Pacific and sandy shoreline beneath the moist clouds passing overhead. In the lower right corner of the composition Davies quickly and lightly sketched three small nudes playing on the grassy slope. Easily overlooked in a casual glance, their presence signals California as the new Arcadia, its muses beckoning from a golden shore. In addition to mountains and Pacific shorelines, forests left their impression on the artist, particularly the giant California redwoods. The shafts of their trunks recur in numerous studio paintings, occasionally singly, more often in groups suggestive of the famous groves. In the woods, human figures, especially female nudes, assume larger proportions and more prominent roles. Posed before a distant view in Hills of the Sierras (ca. 1909–10, Frye Art Museum), five nudes seem at home in nature; the upstretched pose of one standing figure rhymes with the trunk of the tree beside her, an alignment similar to contemporaneous images by the California photog- rapher Anne Brigman. In Davies’s On the Cliffs (ca. 1905, Smithsonian American Art Museum), another group contemplates a redwood; the seated pair at left seems transfixed by its height, while the trio at the right embraces the trunk as if to take in its girth. More often, in sketches and in subsequent easel paintings, multiple tree trunks suggest the density of the ancient redwood groves that Davies enjoyed in California. Later paintings of such subjects were often populated with creatures, real or imaginary. In The Nearer Forest (fig. 17), beauty and beast are linked as female nudes escort a pale horse into the grove’s interior—perhaps a precursor to the fantastic white creatures that appeared the next year in Davies’s most famous work, Unicorns (Legend—Sea Calm) (ca. 1906, Metropolitan Museum of Art). In Redwoods (ca. 1905, Santa Barbara Museum of Art), a group of female nudes and scantily clad men crowd the grove. Several muscular males wield axes, as if threatening the giant 16 Arthur B. Davies, The Lure of the Chase, 1905. Oil on canvas, 18 x 40 in. Huntington Art Collections, San Marino, Calif., Purchased with funds from the Art Collectors’ Council, Margery and Maurice Katz, and the Virginia Steele Scott Foundation © Courtesy of the Huntington Art Collections, San Marino, Calif. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 40 American Art | Spring 2017 trees; a heap of bodies lies on the forest floor, seemingly mourned by a kneeling figure, while a female nude floats gracefully above. A celebration of nature and sensuality? A lament over death or deforestation? Or some more personal narra- tive? Davies’s intent here, as in so many of his works, is left ambiguous. A Mighty Forest—Maenads (fig. 18) seems clearer in its mood and meaning. In a redwood grove, a reddened troupe of female nudes dances athletically, their slender figures and graceful poses suggesting the inspiration of Davies’s model and mistress, the modern dancer Edna Potter. Visions of Potter appear in many of the artist’s post-California works, with A Mighty Forest being one of the most striking. Also reappearing is his interest in classical mythology, suggested by the maenads, the female followers of Dionysus who were often excited by their leader into a state of ecstatic frenzy. The single figure who bursts forward to center stage, her arms upraised, is the embodiment of sensual energy—Edna among the redwoods, a truly bohemian grove. She animates her companions at left and right and charges the picture—and the artist’s life—with sensual, indeed erotic, power. Visions of mountains and redwoods and of Potter continued to stir Davies’s creativity years after his return from the West. In Crescendo (1910, Whitney Museum of American Art), seven nudes strike poses before a profile of high and craggy peaks; nine figures do the same in Rhythms (ca. 1910, Milwaukee Art Museum), as does a troupe of twelve in Moral Law—Line of Mountains (ca. 1911, Virginia Museum of Fine Arts). In Silence, Waterfall and Forest (fig. 19), Davies returns in his imagination to Yosemite, positioning his figure against a stand of redwoods, listening to the falls. The feminine subject, the mysterious stillness of 17 Arthur B. Davies, The Nearer Forest, 1905. Oil on canvas, 18 x 30 in. Myron Kunin Collection of American Art, Minneapolis, Minn. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 41 the scene, and its auditory theme all suggest the legacy of Odilon Redon and late nineteenth-century symbolist iconography, now relo- cated to the American West. By the time he painted Silence, Davies was already a veteran of the legendary exhibition of The Eight presented at Macbeth’s gallery in February 1908. The show was a landmark in the development of urban realism in American art, a gathering in whose company Davies’s six imaginative works, including at least two paintings inspired by California, might have seemed out of place.40 Davies’s seniority, however, and his sympa- thy for the moderns were accepted by his fellow exhibitors. By 1912 those same attributes led to his crucial role, as president of the Association of American Painters and Sculptors, in organizing the monumental Armory Show that debuted the following year. In his foundational chronicle of the Armory Show, Milton Brown asserted, “Without [Davies] it never would have happened.”41 18 Arthur B. Davies, A Mighty Forest—Maenads, ca. 1905. Oil on canvas, 18 x 40 in. Image courtesy of Doyle New York 19 Arthur B. Davies, Silence, Waterfall and Forest, n.d. Oil on canvas, 29 3/4 x 17 1/2 in. The Dayton Art Institute, Gift of Mr. C. N. Bliss, 1943.2. Photo courtesy of The Dayton Art Institute This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 42 American Art | Spring 2017 That exhibition is often credited with introducing a broad American audience to advanced European modernism; it also transformed Davies’s art, at least momentarily, into abstract designs of cubist fracture, before he reverted to figurative subjects in his later years. Yet even while briefly in the cubist thrall, Davies’s western adventure of a decade earlier was still on his mind. About 1915 he painted an abstract design with the curious title Listening to the Water Ousel (fig. 20). The ouzel is a western bird found along mountain streams in Pacific ranges from Alaska to Mexico and east to the Rocky Mountains. In the Sierra John Muir was particularly fond of the little bird, which he called “the mountain streams’ own darling, the hummingbird of blooming waters. . . . Among all the mountain birds, none has cheered me so much in my lonely wanderings.” Muir delighted in “the spontaneous, irrepressible 20 Arthur B. Davies, Listening to the Water Ousel, ca. 1915. Oil on canvas, mounted on panel, 13 x 11 in. Collection of the McNay Art Museum, Bequest of Mrs. Jerry Lawson This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 43 gladness of the Ouzel,” which he watched along the Merced River, an area where Davies enjoyed sketching.42 Like Muir and many others, naturalists and tourists alike, Davies was drawn to the brave little waterbird. While in California or, more likely, shortly after his return, he painted a small canvas depicting a seated woman, Listening to the Ouzel (fig. 21). But more than simply the song and the antics of a western waterbird, the design of about 1915 suggests the lingering hold of an enchanted time and place on the artist’s imagination. It is notable that in Virgil Barker’s introduction to a 1924 catalogue of Davies’s works in diverse media, many of them figurative in design, the author located Davies’s special inspiration in nature and the landscape. Indeed, without specifically naming it, Barker suggested its source in the artist’s long-ago, singular trip to the American West. “In Davies-Land are to be found long coast lines and majestic mountain ranges, valleys of dew-pure charm, trees rising tall and solemn into serene heights of sky, legendary beasts and noble beings. . . . These pictures,” Barker advised, “ask, not an optical recognition of familiar details, but an emotional comprehension of mood. The appreciation of them is . . . an activity of the mind which has the keen pulsa- tion of temperateness.” He concluded, “The paintings of Arthur B. Davies constitute this time’s most explicit appeal to the imagination. Therein lies their measure of greatness.”43 It was an imagination, and a greatness, fueled by the discoveries of his western sojourn during the summer of 1905. 21 Arthur B. Davies, Listening to the Ouzel, 1905. Oil on canvas, 14 1/4 x 18 1/2 in. Courtesy of Joel B. Garzoli Fine Art, San Francisco, Calif. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 44 American Art | Spring 2017 Notes Numerous collectors, dealers, and museum colleagues made works available to me over the long gestation of this project, and their kindnesses are much appreciated. I am indebted as well to my research assistants Clair Robertson, Mindy Besaw, Samantha Lyons, and Meaghan Walsh for their expert help at multiple stages in the essay’s prepa- ration, and to my colleague Mark Olson for his assistance with images. My research has been generously supported by the Hall Family Foundation through the Kansas University Endowment Association, for which I am extremely grateful. 1 Arthur I. Street, “Another ‘Go West’ Period,” Sunset 14, no. 3 (January 1905): 205–17. 2 Henry David Thoreau, “Walking,” Atlan tic Monthly 9, no. 56 (June 1862): 662. 3 The attraction to the Lewis and Clark Exposition may have been further enhanced by family ties. The artist’s wife, Dr. Virginia Meriwether Davies, was related to the explorer Meriwether Lewis, whose feat was being celebrated at Portland. Dr. Davies, however, did not accompany the artist on his trip to the West. 4 As Davies rarely dated his works, determining their historical sequence has always been a challenge, reliant on exhibition dates, sales records, reproductions, and similar extrin- sic information. In the catalogue for the memorial exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in 1930, Davies’s widow provided an extensive listing of paint- ings, some with owner and (her) dates included. Over time, however, this inventory has proven incomplete and in many instances inaccurate. Nonetheless, it is the basis for the dates provided in this paragraph, each of which might prudently be consid- ered circa. For all, the terminus ante quem would be the year of the Portland exhibition: 1905. 5 Eleanor Jones Harvey, The Painted Sketch: American Impressions from Nature, 1830–1880 (Dallas: Dallas Museum of Art in association with Harry N. Abrams, 1998), 20; and “Our Artists and Their Whereabouts,” Cosmopolitan Art Journal 2 (September 1858): 209. 6 Henry T. Tuckerman, Book of the Artists: American Artist Life. . . . (New York: G. P. Putnam and Son, 1867), 389. 7 Quoted in Frederic Newlin Price, “The Etchings and Lithographs of Arthur B. Davies,” Prints 1, no. 1 (November 1930): 8, quoted in Bennard B. Perlman, The Lives, Loves, and Art of Arthur B. Davies (Albany: State Univ. of New York Press, 1999), 146. 8 Davies to William Macbeth, August 1898, Macbeth Gallery Records, 1838– 1968, bulk, 1892–1953, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution (hereafter A A A), reel NMc6, frames 305, 251, quoted in Perlman, Lives, Loves, and Art, 105, 106. 9 Davies to William Macbeth, June 18, 1905, Macbeth Records, A A A, reel NMc6, frames 315–16. 10 Davies to William Macbeth, September 21, 1905, Macbeth Records, AAA, reel NMc6, frame 320. 11 Unidentified clipping (“American Art: A Partial Glimpse”), ca. 1905, Ferargil Galleries Records, circa 1900–1963, A A A, reel 1028, frame 766. 12 Davies to Macbeth, June 18, 1905, frame 316. 13 Ibid., frames 315, 316. 14 Davies to William Macbeth, July 18, 1905, Macbeth Records, A A A, reel NMc6, frames 317–18, at 318. 15 Ibid., frames 317–18. 16 Perlman, Lives, Loves, and Art, 149. 17 S. H. Smith, “In Bret Harte’s Country,” Sunset 15, no. 1 (May 1905): 33. 18 John Muir, “The Treasures of the Yosemite,” Century Magazine 40, no. 4 (August 1890): 483–500; and “Features of the Proposed Yosemite National Park,” Century Magazine 40, no. 5 (September 1890): 656–67. 19 Marsden Hartley, “The Poetry of Arthur B. Davies’ Art,” Touchstone and the American Art Student Magazine 6, no. 5 (February 1920): 278. Reprinted as “Arthur B. Davies,” in Hartley, Adventures in the Arts: Informal Chapters on Painters, Vaudeville and Poets (New York: Boni and Liveright, 1921), 82. 20 Elsie Whitaker Martinez, interview by Franklin D. Walker and Willa Klug Baum, in “San Francisco Bay Area Writers and Artists,” Univ. of California Regional Oral History Office, type- script, 106, Bancroft Library, Univ. of California, Berkeley. 21 Mary Austin, Earth Horizon: Auto­ biography (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1932), 297. 22 One drawing, mistitled and misdated as Mission Dolores, San Francisco, 1913, is in the collection of the National Gallery of Art (acc. no. 1984.7.32); another is in a Davies sketchbook at the Oakland Museum of California (acc. no. 68.66). 23 Numerous other objets d’art are pic- tured or listed in inventories in the Vickery, Atkins & Torrey Records, ranging from Della Robbia religious sculpture to Frederick MacMonnies’s Pan of Rohaillon. Vickery, Atkins & Torrey Records, [undated] and 1901– 1930, owned by California Historical Society, microfilmed by A A A, reel 1080. 24 John Davis Hatch to Paul Mills, February 1966, letter, Oakland Museum curatorial files. Hatch owned two drawings by Davies, including one reportedly of Mission San Luis Obispo. He also owned a small sketch- book containing five more California drawings. Davies had given the sketch- book to Frederick Torrey in 1905; in 1939 Torrey’s daughter gave it to Hatch, who in turn donated it to the Oakland Museum. Information from curatorial files, Oakland Museum of California. 25 On its verso the panel bears a ded- ication in the artist’s hand, “To Martinez—from A B Davies Aug 21, 1905.” 26 There were parallels in their career trajectories as well. Both (like many of their era) had begun as illus- trators. In August 1905 Sunset magazine (Nonette V. McGlashan, “The Legend of Tahoe,” Sunset 14, no. 4 [August 1905]: 375–78) pub- lished Martinez’s illustrations for “The Legend of Tahoe,” an area that Davies had illustrated in 1890 and that more recently had inspired him while en route to San Francisco. In their subsequent works as well, there were stylistic affini- ties between the soft focus and tonal qualities of many of Davies’s paintings, especially from his early period, and Martinez’s landscapes and figurative compositions. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). American Art | Spring 2017 45 27 Other subjects commissioned by Davies included the poet and playwright George Sterling, the humorist and illustrator Gelett Burgess, the social- ist author Anna Strunsky, and the Tasmanian-born watercolorist Francis McComas. Janet B. Dominik, “Xavier Martinez,” in Plein Air Painters of California: The North, ed. Ruth Lily Westphal (Irvine, Calif.: Westphal Publishing, 1986), 101, 196n10. 28 Elsie Whitaker Martinez interview, typescript, 88. 29 Nancy Boas and Marc Simpson, “Pastoral Visions at Continent’s End: Paintings of the Bay Area 1890 to 1930,” in Steven A. Nash, Facing Eden: 100 Years of Landscape Art in the Bay Area (San Francisco: Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, 1995), 43. In one pencil sketch, describing a coastal land- scape, Davies similarly made note of colors, but verbally, not in paint; he inscribed the page with “spring green,” “olive green,” “grey indigo blue,” and “violet” (Sketchbook, Oakland Museum, acc. no. 68.66). 30 Davies to William Macbeth, September 21, 1905, Macbeth Records, A A A, reel NMc6, frames 319–21. 31 According to one source, Davies “in at least one instance, around 1908 [sic] . . . painted an unusual view of just Shastina and the meadows below (this view, quite ordinary, was perhaps a conscious attempt, in keeping with his views on the philosophy of art, to not paint a more traditional view of the mountain).” The same source men- tions other paintings by Davies of Mount Shasta, but without illustration or identification. “East Coast Artists: 1870s–1920s,” in The Significance of Mount Shasta as a Visual Resource in 19th and Early 20th Century California Art, accessed May 28, 2010, http:// www.siskiyous.edu/shasta/art/eas.htm. 32 Davies was represented by Dryad Hill, Forest Chorus, Autumn Flame and Passion, The Wish, The Source, and Newfoundland Coast (all loaned by William Macbeth), plus Psyche (loaned by Mr. F. B. Pratt, Brooklyn). Catalogue of the Fine Arts Exhibit of the Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition (Portland, Oreg.: Albert Hess & Co., 1905), 16, 40, 45, 65. 33 Davies to Macbeth, September 21, 1905, frames 319–20. 34 Ibid., frame 320. 35 Davies to Sally Lewis, March 27, 1923, Arthur B. Davies Letters to Sally Lewis, 1919–1923, A A A, reel 2803, frame 252. 36 Davies to Macbeth, September 21, 1905, frame 319. 37 See, for instance, Brooks Wright, The Artist and the Unicorn: The Lives of Arthur B. Davies (1862–1928) (New City, N.Y.: Historical Society of Rockland County, 1978); and Perlman, Lives, Loves, and Art, each notable for the plural nouns in its title. 38 “Art and Artists: Exhibition of Oil Paintings by Arthur B. Davies,” Boston Sunday Globe, February 26, 1905, 35. 39 Royal Cortissoz quoted in “Davies the Mystic,” Literary Digest, January 19, 1929, 20. 40 Davies included Many Waters and A Mighty Forest—Maenads in The Eight exhibition, the former inspired by Yosemite’s cascades, the latter by the redwood groves. Perlman, Lives, Loves, and Art, 163. 41 Milton W. Brown, The Story of the Armory Show (New York: Abbeville, 1988), 82. 42 John Muir, The Mountains of California (1894; New York: Modern Library, 2001), 201, 204. Muir was so enchanted by the bird that he devoted an entire chapter of his book to the subject (chap. 13, “The Water-Ouzel”). 43 Virgil Barker, introduction to An Exhibition of Paintings, Drawings and Water Colors by Arthur B. Davies (Pittsburgh: Carnegie Institute, 1924), n.p. This content downloaded from 129.237.045.171 on November 01, 2018 11:02:55 AM All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 
work_o3odubwfsndibbzpqzaqo3khny	----	The Essence That Is Belonging Together: Identity, Embodiment, and Skillful Coping During the 2015 Greek Referendum Title: The essence that is belonging together : identity, embodiment, and skillful coping during the 2015 Greek referendum Author: Justin Michael Battin Citation style: Battin Justin Michael. (2017). The essence that is belonging together : identity, embodiment, and skillful coping during the 2015 Greek referendum." SAGE Open" (2017, Iss. 3), doi 10.1177/2158244017717300 https://doi.org/10.1177%2F2158244017717300 https://doi.org/10.1177/2158244017717300 SAGE Open July-September 2017: 1 –8 © The Author(s) 2017 DOI: 10.1177/2158244017717300 journals.sagepub.com/home/sgo Creative Commons CC BY: This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 License (http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/) which permits any use, reproduction and distribution of the work without further permission provided the original work is attributed as specified on the SAGE and Open Access pages (https://us.sagepub.com/en-us/nam/open-access-at-sage). Special Collection - Locative Media to every being as such there belongs identity, the unity within itself. —Heidegger (1957/1969, p. 26) Some time ago, a colleague and I engaged in an inspired exchange over how to best situate the concept of identity in the era of widespread mobile social media use. Our criti- cisms centered on how identity was too often discussed in terms of its position within a system of exchanges, how it is affixed with various properties, or as something abstracted from day to day living (this is especially true of social media identities, which have too often been viewed as disembod- ied; see Moores, 2012). For my colleague and me, these approaches seemed stagnant and lacked something funda- mental. It was not until I stumbled upon Heidegger’s (1957/1969) The Principle of Identity that a solution to our concerns presented itself. In this published lecture, Heidegger proclaims that identity is belonging together. When uttering this phrase, emphasis ought to be placed on the word belonging rather than together. Heidegger proposes that by stressing the former rather than the latter, one is better able to jettison thinking that positions identity as a fundamental trait of Being, the traditional view of identity held by metaphysics (Stambaugh, 1969, pp. 12-13). Heidegger suggested for us to revisit the pre-Socratic philoso- phers, namely, Parmenides, to demonstrate that our attempt to understand identity with a metaphysically laden approach was an erroneous path to embark upon. Rather than consider iden- tity as a facet of one’s existence—something a person, upon reflection, declares allegiance to or lays claim over as one uni- fies the self with socially defined traits through performative actions (I have the identity of a student because I attend uni- versity)—Heidegger’s statement encourages us to realize identity as a claim speaking from the Being of beings. Heidegger’s entire philosophical project advocates that a human being’s essentiality lies in his or her ability to remain open to being’s claim and respond to it; “man is essentially this relationship of responding to being, and he is only this . . . a belonging to Being prevails within man, a belonging which 717300 SGOXXX10.1177/2158244017717300SAGE OpenBattin research-article20172017 1University of Silesia in Katowice, Poland Corresponding Author: Justin Michael Battin, University of Silesia in Katowice, Bankowa 12, Katowice, Silesia 40-007, Poland. Email: Justin.michael.battin@gmail.com The Essence That Is Belonging Together: Identity, Embodiment, and Skillful Coping During the 2015 Greek Referendum Justin Michael Battin1 Abstract In the forward of Heidegger’s Identity and Difference, Joan Stambaugh proposes that in his statement “identity is belonging together,” the emphasis ought to be placed on the word belonging. By emphasizing belonging rather than together, one is better able to jettison thinking that centers identity as a fundamental trait of Being, the traditional view of identity held by metaphysics. This article will explicate this idea by drawing from a series of unstructured interviews conducted with young people in Athens during the 2015 July 5th Greek Referendum. This article argues that with attention devoted to the practice of skillful coping, the essence of identity, rather than a reflective cognitive undertaking, correlates to what Heidegger refers to as the event of appropriation. When finding the self affected by the world, what becomes revealed is an intimate identification with the world and things within it as it unfolds. With mobile media technologies, we are privileged to witness a particular way of being affected by the world, one where material and immaterial locations (such as social media arenas) converge together and whose perceptual distinctions become inseparable. Subsequently, we can also witness how the act of skillful coping, the motivated relationship between the body and the object, stands as the principal site where engulfment and investment become unconcealed. Keywords skillful coping, embodiment, identity, mobile media technologies, Greek referendum (2015) https://journals.sagepub.com/home/sgo mailto:Justin.michael.battin@gmail.com http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1177%2F2158244017717300&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2017-07-07 2 SAGE Open listens to being because it is appropriated to being” (Heidegger, 1957/1969, p. 31). Drawing from Heideggerian scholar Hubert Dreyfus, it is my assertion that our appropriation to being manifests itself with the most clarity when we find ourselves invested in and involved with the things that populate our immediate sur- roundings, when we find ourselves engulfed in our daily doings. Thus, to make sense of identity, as belonging together with being, we must remain attentive to skillful coping, defined by Heidegger (1927/1962) as that “kind of concern which manipulates things and puts them to use” (p. 95). Skillful coping is indicative of both engulfment into and investment with the world, as evidenced by how objects become revealed as both available and ready-to-hand-for- the-sake-of-which. This distinction is meant “to indicate the mostly smooth and unobtrusive responsiveness to circum- stances that enable human beings to get around in the world” (Rouse, 2000, p. 8; see also Dreyfus, 2015). Upon reflection, when taking objects and putting them to use, one finds the self temporarily taken and affected by the unveiling world in that the person, the object, and the world seemed to have temporarily fostered a harmonious unity. This piece will show that with attention devoted to the practice of skillful coping, the essence of identity, rather than a reflective cognitive undertaking, belongs to what Heidegger (1957/1969) refers to as the event of appropriation (p. 39). When finding the self affected by the world, what becomes revealed is an intimate identification with the world itself and the things within it as it unfolds through interaction. With our use of mobile media technologies, we are privi- leged to witness a particular way of being affected by the world, one where our being-in-place involves our material situatedness intertwining with immaterial locations (such as social media arenas). As these locations converge within our phenomenological horizon via the engagement with one’s mobile, their perceptual distinctions become nearly insepa- rable. Through this event (Ereignis), we can thus witness how the act of skillful coping, the motivated relationship between the body and the object, stands as the principal site where our engulfment and investment become apparent. This idea will be explicated by drawing from a series of unstruc- tured interviews conducted with young people in Athens dur- ing the 2015 July 5th Greek Referendum. In the summer of 2015, I took an impromptu trip to Greece to spend some time with a close friend. While there, Tsipras called for a referendum on the conditions of the European Union’s proposed financial package. Throughout the city, people could be heard debating about which avenue presented the best path forward. Although this trip was intended as a holiday, I felt that speaking with individuals during such a tumultuous period would allow me to gain some insight into the crisis. While walking with a friend through an assortment of Athenian boroughs, I asked people at random to discuss their experience of the crisis, how they acquired information about it, and finally their personal ways of coping with it. Because these interviews were improvisationally conducted, they tended to adopt a semistructured approach (van Manen, 2016) and, at times, exhibited traits more fitting of a conver- sation. To draw from Merleau-Ponty (1962/2002, p. vii), I encouraged the participants to abandon abstract generaliza- tions and causality, and instead offer direct descriptions of their experience, both as it happened in real time and via per- sonal reflection. They were asked to consider themselves in the context of the there, of themselves as individuals being- in-place. By situating these individuals as Daseins,1 we could better emphasize the immediacy of how they were experienc- ing that brief period, specifically to showcase how they found themselves uniquely involved in the crisis as they lived it. Specifically, my objective was to find commonalities between the individuals as it pertained to their mobile social media engagement as a prereflective response to the crisis. The fol- lowing paragraph consists of general information gleaned from these conversations. Because Tsipras’s referendum sprung up so quickly, those spoken with explained that they were detrimentally unaware about what exactly was at stake. People immediately took to their mobile to find and discuss information concerning the country’s economic instability and its possible Grexit. Although negotiations had been tense for months, until now never did any of the interviewees feel that Greece was in dan- ger of being removed from the Eurozone. The potential for such an immediate shift in stability encouraged the utilization of the mobile as a tool to access a plethora of news outlets from both Greece (Athens Voice) and abroad (Le Monde in France, CNN or VICE in the United States, and the BBC or The Guardian in the United Kingdom). Social networks were another principal source to mine information. Facebook, in particular, was described as a dependable source because the discussions taking place were all from people known to the viewer. People were curious to know the opinions of those within their social circle, both close friends and distant acquaintances. One interviewee, named Eirini K. (personal communication, June-July, 2015), suggested that Facebook was an insightful avenue for information acquisition because of the diversity of shared articles and because it permitted the gauging of what people thought in the form of comments. Depending on the diversity of one’s friend group, one could see which side tended to accumulate the most support. After speaking to a number of people, it appeared that each would recursively turn to the mobile as the primary means to combat any confusion. This tiny instrument had gradually become their device of choice due to how their skillful engagement with it, the everyday tapping and swiping that accompanies this technology, fostered a portal-like opening that subse- quently seemed to produce sense of community and a harmo- nious unity between the self and the world. The tapping and swiping one does on mobile media tech- nologies, similar to hammering a nail or stirring with a spoon, can be considered a form of skillful coping. We usually over- look such actions because they seem mundane, simple, and Battin 3 routine to us. Moreover, they tend to be performed without cognitive contemplation. When questioned how we execute particular undertakings such as using an array of cooking utensils in a kitchen to prepare a dish, we often cannot ade- quately describe how we move with such confidence. As someone who cooks quite frequently, even I have difficultly explaining how I know the precise amount of a particular ingredient to add, the duration necessary to let something sit, or which of my utensils is best suited to stir sauce. As we confidently perform our tasks, we seem to know what is required. If the user is skilled enough in the sense that the user has experience with such matters, cognitive thought is rarely relied upon; rather, the user simply takes the object, molds with it, and puts it to use in ways that are specifically relevant. The individual is suddenly caught up in a flow of invested activity. What we are privileged to see with this phenomenon is that when inhabiting an world and encountering things with a phenomenal body, “they become the preliminary theme for a preview of a ‘knowing’ which, phenomenologically, looks towards Being . . . [they] are simply what gets used, what gets produced, and so forth” (Heidegger, 1927/1962, p. 95). Skillfully interacting with objects equally affords us the opportunity to engage with their thingly qualities. The term thing holds much significance for Heidegger; he proclaims that the word’s original meaning best translates to what we call gathering (see Heidegger, 1971, pp. 163-180). Today, however, the word thing is too easily substituted with scien- tifically infused words like entity or object. When thinking of the term exclusively with a scientific mind-set, Heidegger frets that we lose sight of a thing’s fundamental thingy nature. It is imperative to recognize that thingly qualities have noth- ing to do with distinguishable properties, such as weight or color; instead, thingly qualities are meant to indicate the way that our interactions with a series of interrelated things per- mit the unobtrusive unfolding of a world suitable for us to inhabit. A formal dinner party, a concert, a sporting event, or a political rally are examples by which one can witness this unfolding. To reference the Greeks specifically, when my interviewees were inspired to take their mobile media tech- nologies and interact with others, their investment in the cri- sis, their allegiance to being Greek, and their desire to participate with peers all seemed to intertwine through the mobile itself. A participant named Again Lydia K. (personal communication, June-July, 2015) remarked that although residing in Bulgaria, before coming home for the summer, she found herself feeling incredibly near to Greece and its troubles, a sentiment made possible in part because of her recursive, skillful utilization of the mobile. Following the instrument’s activation and unlocking, within a few short clicks, Greece, and the hectic commotions taking place there, ushered into her phenomenological horizon. She not only found herself virtually transported to Greece, à la John Urry’s mobilities paradigm (Urry, 2000, 2007), but equally experi- enced a seamless intermeshing of the digital with her mate- rial location, a fushion that provided the foundation for her felt closeness to Greece. We ought to be aware that Lydia cultivates and thus nurtures this smooth intertwining by using her iPhone to explore media publications, social media sites, or even to speak with her friends and family via appli- cations such as iMessage and Facebook Messenger. This happening is best exemplified with the term poiēsis. Although translated nowadays as poetry, poiēsis should be equated with its original ancient Greek meaning, to make, albeit not in the sense of production, but rather as poetic cultivation. When Heidegger revisited the pre-Socratics, he discov- ered that this rendition of poiēsis was always correlated with phusis, a word the ancient Greeks used in place of the word being; “it was the name for the way the most real things in the world present themselves to us” (Dreyfus & Kelly, 2011, p. 200). Instrumental to the pre-Socratic use of phusis is that the word names the sense of Being as such and not merely one specific mode of being, or a part of the whole as it was for Plato and Aristotle. This Pre-Socratic notion of phusis moreover contains an intrinsic absencing dimension which, therefore, is not reducible to pure presence. (DiPippo, 2000, p. 17) This understanding of phusis is best demonstrated with the Heraclitus phrase, Φύσις κρύπτεσθαι φιλεί (nature loves to hide itself). As explained in Tao Ruspoli’s (2010) Being in the World, for the Homeric Greeks, to be (as phusis) was to manifest out into the open via a temporal emergence or blos- soming. This coming into presence would, inevitably, wither way and fade from one’s phenomenological horizon. The presence of phusis in our lives today can be viewed, for example, via one’s emotional expressions or a triumphant athletic performance. Hubert Dreyfus often refers to these phenomena as a whooshing up, moments where an individ- ual person becomes so attuned to the particular mood or aura of their surroundings that they become compelled to respond in a specific way. In plain speak, following such a response, one might proclaim that they seemed to have temporarily lost control or were taken by an indescribable force. To associate poiēsis and phusis with identity, consider how instrumental a truly engaged person’s methodical pro- gressions are for permitting the world to continuously pres- ence itself not only as inhabitable but also as the site for an array of possible pathways to embark upon. Consider, for instance, the way the American transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau describes his mission to confront what he designates as the essential facts of life by secluding himself in the woods outside of Concord, Massachusetts (see Thoreau, 1964). Thoreau sought to adopt a very specific atti- tude during his time there, one where he could acquire an acute awareness of and attentiveness to the various manifes- tations that emerged because of his being-there with Walden Pond. Thoreau, to use Heidegger’s terms, attempted to become a master of his mood, to account for and contemplate the unique way that the world manifested itself to him (see 4 SAGE Open Heidegger, 1927/1962, p. 175). Mood, or Stimmung, is Heidegger’s method to illustrate Dasein’s specific ways of finding itself attuned to the world—“ways of finding things that matter” (Dreyfus, 1991, p. 169). Each day when ventur- ing out into the territory surrounding Walden Pond, Thoreau found himself not just noticing various alterations with more lucidity, but increasingly being captivated by them. Thoreau often described with remarkable clarity moments where he was taken or seized by specific unfoldings, thus demonstrat- ing a temporal attunement to the tiny developments that accompanied spring’s arrival. Instead of being isolated enti- ties abstracted from one another, the melting snow, flourish- ing vegetation, and animals emerging from hibernation clearly took on newfound value. As Thoreau found himself meaningfully engaging with the things that surrounded him, he experienced taking part in a cocreative phenomenon where he felt a unique identifica- tion with the world’s offerings. He noticed the subtle differ- ences each day and came to further appreciate how they collectively contributed not only to the emergence of spring but also to how he identified with them and with the rejuvi- nating power of spring as a whole. In essence, he accepted Periander’s advice, μελέτη τό πãν (take into care beings as a whole; see Heidegger, 1981/1993, p. 3). Take note of how he keenly elaborated on how his attitude and general disposition underwent a sweeping alteration at the first sight of spring’s arrival, and how he found himself attuned with the world in a perfect congruent unity: At length the sun’s rays have attained the right angle, and warm winds blow up mist and rain and melt the snow banks, and the sun dispersing the mist smiles on a checkered landscape of russet and white smoking with incense, though the traveler picks his way from islet to islet, cheered by the music of a thousand tinkling rills and rivulets whose veins are filled with the blood of winter which they are bearing off. Few phenomena gave me more delight than to observe the forms which thawing sand and clay assuming in flowing down the sides of a deep cut on the railroad through which I passed on my way to the village. (Thoreau, 1964, p. 544) It is important to remember that Thoreau was not simply observing the unfolding world, but because of his specific investment with it and responses to it, was actively working to draw it out. In speaking on Thoreau’s experience, Richard Gray (2011) writes, The annual resurrection of nature figures the possible resurrection of human nature, his and ours. It is not just a figure, however: the rhythms of seasonal renewal ground the rhythms of spiritual renewal, they supply a resource and correspondence for the soul. (p. 65) As the vegetation returned from its dormant state, it became an integral component for the emergence of spring and the transformation of Thoreau’s mood, one significantly different from what showed itself in winter. Thoreau’s reflections indi- cate his world seemed to take on a particularly distinct quality as the things around him began to look and feel different. As the ushering in of spring coincided with winter’s withdrawal, Thoreau’s fading doldrums speak to how self-hiding belongs to the predilection of Being. And the essence of Being is to conceal itself, to emerge, to come out of the unhidden. Only what in its essence unconceals and must unconceal itself can love to conceal itself. Only what is unconcealing can be concealing. (Heidegger, 1998, pp. 229-230) In this instance, what occurred was the materialization of meaning independent of Thoreau, meaning that he as a per- ceiving entity was not a sole provider of, à la the Cartesian tradition. Rather Thoreau sensed and cultivated meaning through his active engagement with a collection of interre- lated things situated in place, in the nature that surrounded his modest cabin. In cultivating and nurturing his identifica- tion with the unfolding world, Thoreau is, to use Heidegger’s own phrase, delivered over to being—his being appropriated by it. Amid these experiences, we must remember that Thoreau’s evident conviviality is not explicitly governed by his own subjectivity in that he did not directly assign mean- ing to it as it occurred. In hindsight, however? Yes. Reflectively, Thoreau did categorize and proclaim things to be, typically in ontic terms. When reflecting on the walk and the collectivity experienced, Thoreau could and often did categorize it in its parts. By now, one should know that this is not how he experienced things! Rather, the felt understand- ings emerged because of his innate receptivity to meaning that he was capable of sensing and thus cultivating through involved interaction. Should we nonchalantly belittle Thoreau’s heightened sense of awareness of the objects around his walking path as the by-product of habit, we will do him a disservice. We should rather be aware that his ability to detect changes is an indication of a willingness to be affected and drawn into action alongside things. As Dreyfus and Kelly (2011) sug- gest, “the achievement of skill involves more than the mere acquisition of a physical ability. Learning a skill is learning to see the world differently” (p. 207). For Heidegger, this is the work poets perform: The artist or poet cannot do his work in any normal human way, in any way that already presupposes the world that he is to set up. He must be something like the vehicle of an impersonal force—art or truth or being itself. The artist must be “resolute,” entschlossen, ecstatically “opened up” to this force. (Inwood, 1997, p. 127) While Thoreau is not a poet in a strictly traditional sense, it is evident that he is absorbed in the practice of poetic activ- ity in that he possesses the capacity to remain open to mani- festations and, by consequence, being’s embrace; Battin 5 the idea that there is something there independently of me is something you have to cultivate and develop a sensitivity to, and . . . that is what a poet does. The poet is sort of the paradigmatic instance of the person who’s learned a receptivity to things independent of us. (Thompson, 2010) Instead of progressing along the path toward town with indif- ference, Thoreau’s willingness to remain open to being affected allowed him to respond quite specifically to mean- ing independent of him and, moreover, actively cultivate being (phusis) through poetic engagement (poiēsis). In our modern age, one vastly more complex than Thoreau’s, we are tasked with allowing skillful coping to deliver us over, to experience being’s claim on us, and thus respond accord- ingly. Heidegger’s own advice is that “we must experience simply this owning in which man and being are delivered over to each other, that is, we must enter into what we call the event of appropriation” (Heidegger, 1957/1969, p. 36). By this point, it is fair to question how this philosophical chatter relates to locative mobile media use and the Greek Referendum. Before proceeding, it would be fruitful to pro- vide a hypothesis about the relationship between technology and human beings in the modern technological epoch. As Ling (2012) insightfully shows us, mobile media technolo- gies are now deeply embedded into the social fabric of most societies. Whether a person is an active participant is inconse- quential because all people must deal with a world that has invited these technologies into the everyday social ecology. Because of such prevalence and omnipresent use, many peo- ple have come to take these technologies for granted. Their presence goes practically unnoticed unless one is faced with an inoperable instrument. One reason we fail to notice their presence is because, gradually, we have incorporated them into what Kalaga (2010) refers to as the third of the body, the portion of the body which “occupies a place both overlapping and bracketing binaries” (p. 4). When a person encounters an instrument that they feel comfortable handling, the object undergoes a process of internalization and steadily loses the distinction of being an object all together, eventually molding with the body, a phenomenon made evident through Merleau- Ponty’s example of the blind man’s cane; the stick “has ceased to be an object for him, and is no longer perceived for itself; its point has become an area of sensitivity, extending the scope and active radius of touch, and providing a parallel to sight” (Merleau-Ponty, 1962/2002, p. 165). Consider the different ways that these technologies are utilized in relation to the body: We willingly implant earbuds into our audial cavities, we take the mobile and strap it onto our arm to monitor various body-related measurements while exercising, and we employ applications to replace tangible objects like airline boarding passes, credit cards, and tradi- tional cameras. When these technologies are viewed from a positive prospective, we phenomenologically project our future with them as though they were additional limbs. In fact, in previous work, I have associated a missing or broken mobile with the phantom limb phenomenon (Battin, 2016). When observing the phenomena of projection, people exhibit qualities of what David Seamon (1979) refers to as a feeling- subject, an experiential stratum associated with attachment that is “a matrix of emotional intentionalities within the per- son which extend outward in varying intensities to the cen- ters, places, and spaces of a person’s everyday geographical world” (p. 76). A feeling-subject is driven by attraction and closeness to specific things encountered in the world. These examples, however, only speak to the mobile’s material dimensions. The most fascinating aspect about the mobile concerns the concept of interface; “when cyberspace becomes an extension of mental space, when one beings to think cyberspace, the tool changes into an interface” (Kalaga, 2010, p. 17). In this specific era, we should be mindful of how multilayered our existence has become. Any consider- ation of our lifeworld (Lebenswelt) ought to account for how mobile social media, as locations to be traversed, always in some way exist as possibilities within our experiential horizon. Location is a concept that is markedly different from world, both spatially and temporally. Whereas world is defined by its encompassing and enduring character, location instead speaks to Dasein’s immediate reading of and respond- ing to what populates that world. Conceiving location as an experientially derived point draws further emphasis to the unfolding of Dasein’s horizon, made evident with the use of the words here and yonder. Foundational to Dasein’s exis- tence is that its understanding is derived from being appro- priated by the immediacy of the there (the Da of Sein) and how that there allows Dasein to progress free from existen- tial obstructions from its here toward the yonder (or towards- which). Heidegger writes, The “here” of an “I-here” is always understood in relation to a “yonder” ready-to-hand, in the sense of Being towards this “yonder”—a Being which is de-severant, directional, and concernful. Dasein’s existential spatiality, which thus determines its “location,” is itself grounded in Being-in-the-world. The “yonder” belongs definitely to something encountered within- the-world. “Here” and “yonder” are possibly only in a “there.” (Heidegger, 1927/1962, p. 171) This very Heideggerian quote invites a particularly insightful reading, being that because Dasein is not closed off, in the sense that the world is open and made available to Dasein via forthcoming disclosures, Dasein is always driving forward, typically toward something that develops into a location through our invested activity. Reflect upon a ques- tion raised in Building Dwelling Thinking (Heidegger, 1954/1977). After asking what it is to dwell, Heidegger’s (1954/1977) second question becomes, “in what way does building belong to dwelling?” (p. 329). The answer, Heidegger proclaims, is that the act of building generates locations. The constructed Heidelberg Bridge creates 6 SAGE Open conjoined riverbanks that, now united by the bridge, come to take on new significance once traversed by inhabitants. The bridge and the riverbanks create implications for the worlds of the conjoined towns, their populaces, and their surround- ing regions. Please note, also, that my use of location is not akin to place, a concept which tends to be associated with the nebulous and ambiguous characteristics that provide human inhabitants with a range of emotions and feelings like attach- ment or repulsion (see also Cresswell, 2004; Malpas, 1999; Tuan, 1977). In my view, mobile social media applications are also locations available for our traversing. Like the bridge in Heidelberg, they are built things that gather seemingly unre- lated areas together. Whereas the riverbanks come to take on a new meaning due to the presence of the built bridge, the unknown whereabouts of others (friends, family members, etc.) come to take on increased relevance in how the applica- tion draws them nearer. Moreover, like inhabitants departing Heidelberg who find themselves guided toward the bridge, mobile phone users may find themselves steered toward an application to engage with those on the other side. Each of these, mobile users and travelers from Heidelberg, move along with a state of mind that guides them toward their des- tination. Because mobile media technologies allow us to draw immaterial locations nearer (social media arenas, news outlets, etc.), we are privileged to see how “the subject’s cor- poreal experience and awareness reaches beyond the limits defined by physical boundaries” (Kalaga, 2010, p. 5). In other words, in the modern world, we now think in terms of interface; we are always already thinking beyond our own corporeality (see also Farman, 2012; de Souza e Silva, 2006). For instance, Lydia, the Greek residing in Bulgaria, ada- mantly stated that Greece never felt far away because of an embodied awareness of her ability to access others within immaterial locations. By simply possessing a mobile, know- ing its capacities and feeling its penetrating presence in her life, Lydia world now gathers in a very specific way, one that seems to provide confidence through the embodied under- standing of her place within a communal world; she never felt isolated or alone. Some individuals were, unsurprisingly, inspired enough to attend the rallies in Syntagma Square. To include those not permitted to attend (some parents felt that the event could be dangerous), individuals maintained an open line with others by uploading posts to Facebook and Twitter, predominantly in video and photo format. One interviewee named Nikolas P. (personal communication, June-July, 2015) proclaimed that the reason for sending out messages to absent others is because he found himself compelled to include them, to allow them a purview into the actions taking place on the ground. Nikolas’s description indicates how his identifica- tion with the specific world at this particular junction fosters a welling up; he found himself overcome with an irresistible urge to provide an avenue for others to join in the emerging collective. The important aspect to remember is that people attending the rallies in the city center were not disinterest- edly retrieving their mobiles and broadcasting for the mere sake of it. A combination of the unfolding scenario, their relationship to others, and an embodied allegiance to Greekness motivated their actions. Moreover, when Nikolas prereflectively retrieves his mobile to invite others into the mêlée, he reveals an intertwining of Heidegger’s here and yonder unique to this age. The mobile, as a modern artifact incorporated into the body’s third, acts as a locational portal bridging the here (material) and the yonder (immaterial). Influenced by those populating his immediate copresence, in addition to his present mood, Syntagma Square, as a geo- graphical, spatial, and temporal scene, had come to take on greater significance for Nikolas and his world, thus encour- aging him to respond accordingly.2 Somewhat like the Heidelberg Bridge, albeit with an immaterial dimension, his mobile media applications prove to be a distinct junction containing their own uses and values that contribute to the evolving character of that world. Finally, his experiences lend support to the notion that we still exist in an intimately and affectually bound mobile society, aptly exemplified with Weber’s reformulation of Tönnies’s notion of Gemeinschaft. In perpetually feeling others and being drawn to them, each stands opposite gesellschaft, a society defined by its imper- sonal, obligatory ties. This awareness demonstrates the sort of conditioning by the world that we should remain attentive to, not simply for the sake of doing so, but because we are better capable of seeing how we identify with a world that existentially matters to us and how, in this era, we are always situated among others, regardless of physical proximity. Somewhat similar to how Thoreau found himself caring and identifying with a world he himself helped cultivate, the Greek interviewees declared that they suddenly found them- selves identifying with their nation, with Athens, with the country’s rich history, and most importantly with its ensured continuation. The general consensus from the interviewees is that Greece was under attack, as a nation, as a culture, and as a tradition. People even began to question whether Greece ought to be considered a European nation. The interviewees agreed that the future seemed decidedly murky. The mood permeating throughout the region, particularly within the Athens city center, is one that could be felt by each person. Its unavoidable presence lingered through crowded squares, quiet alleys, and half-empty cafes. Anywhere one traveled, one was faced with an intermixture of glaring uncertainty, outright frustration, and, in some instances, utter contempt for the European Union. According to Iris K. (personal com- munication, June-July, 2015), one of the interviewees, each person was faced with the undeniable reality of needing the other. To successfully move beyond this crisis, the realiza- tion of a rich community was necessary. Iris suggested that this understanding is the primary reason each individual recursively took to their mobiles. Although not necessarily clarified with dense terminology, the interviewees disclosed that their persistent retrieval of the mobile followed by the Battin 7 tapping of buttons and icons were in fact skillful actions that encouraged the cultivation of social cohesion. By using the mobile and keeping it readily available, they all concurred that they suddenly felt more Greek. Their persistent retrieval of the mobile helped to temporarily establish a closer rela- tionship to other Greeks and, consequently, a revival of their shared sense of Greekness. Actions like the typing of a com- ment within an ongoing thread or scrolling down the screen to read an article seemed to bring the individual, the immate- rial locale, and those that populate it closer together, particu- larly when sharing the articles on social media to stimulate dialogue. Their prereflectively grabbing of the mobile to open a portal to others would not have been performed had they not become attuned to the world in a specific way.3 Like Thoreau in Walden Pond, the participants too found them- selves affected by, responding to, and drawn into a world, albeit one uniquely Greek at this moment in time. Being attentive to such marginal practices, while seem- ingly insignificant if understood superficially, is important because, as Dreyfus and Kelly state, The fact is, whether you know it or not, you already care about a whole range of goods. Just as the world is pregnant with meanings waiting to be revealed, human beings are filled with modes of caring that they have hidden from themselves. This may seem surprising. The idea that our cares exceed our understanding of them seems to be an affront to the fundamental principles of knowledge. Surely, if I can care about something than I am in a position to know I do. The Enlightenment tradition suggests such a principle, and contemporary philosophy takes it virtually as an article of faith. But to be an embodied being as we are, open to moods as meaningful, just is to be a being who extends beyond what we can know about ourselves. The project, then, is not to decide what to care about, but to discover what it is about which one already cares. (2011, pp. 215-216) This last statement is one I find pertinent in the modern world, particularly for understanding identity in its essence. By finding one’s self delivered over to being, one is able to see two forms of belonging together. As discussed, one is ontological. In taking these technologies for granted, we often forget about how unique our relationship to others has become, in addition to how we initiate, maintain, and nourish our bonds with others through them (see Licoppe, 2004, for an overview of connected presence; see also Ling, 2008, for an insightful analysis of mobile rituals and how they relate to social cohesion). These inspired actions are indicative of an identity unique for today’s skilled mobile user, one where the self is generally understood by its ability to weave material and immaterial domains together, each populated with the presence of others. In being compelled to reach out to like- minded others, particularly through electronic means that have, through recursive use, seemingly molded with the cor- poreal body, one demonstrates the observable manifestation of being delivered over to being’s embrace, of belonging together with being in this particular epoch. The second form of belonging together concerns, of course, being together in the embrace of the digital Gemeinschaft (see Ling, 2012, p. 191). Being together in the communal sense is something we, as Dasein, inherently care about. If we are to understand identity, particularly in an era of widespread mobile social media, we must give consideration to how our fundamental mode of existence is not one where we stand over the self, examine it, and then assign it with properties. Before labeling one’s identity with ontic proper- ties, one first must recognize how they are delivered over into a world where such claims can be made and make sense— where they arise out of being-there. Through this sort of phe- nomenological disclosure, we are better equipped to recognize how poiēsis, the term Aristotle used to describe creative pro- duction/cultivation, is a constitutive feature of Dasein; it is the means by which we become absorbed into worlds that we ourselves nurture due to our identification with and invest- ment in them. For the Greeks enduring confusion brought about by the referendum, this is yet another instance where we should carefully take note of the invitation we have received, an invitation to recognize how our purposive move- ments simultaneously allow and reveal how we become involved with and invested in worlds, particularly those pop- ulated with like-minded others. For such investment to shine most brightly, we must, in some fashion, remain attentive to the way our everyday taken-for-granted skillful practices per- mit a poetic opening where our temporal identification with the world manifests with clarity. Such being delivered over unveils the way we, as Daseins, possess a unique ability to respond to manifestations in ways that matter to us, to sync ourselves with the world in a congruent unity, and to thus remember that we belong together with being. Declaration of Conflicting Interests The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. Funding The author(s) received no financial support for the research, author- ship, and/or publication of this article. Notes 1. As a refresher, in Being and Time (Heidegger, 1927/1962), Heidegger’s entire reconfiguration of human being as Dasein makes it explicit that the world matters to us by way of our absorption into the world. 2. See also Saker and Evans (2016), who propose that the loca- tion-based app Foursquare functions as a form of technologi- cal memory and digital preservation. In his article, Saker and Evans draw on interviews with app users to suggest that, in a rather Bergsonian way, the locative past has a tendency to per- meate the present. More pertinent to this study, however, con- cerns the users’ ability to share their previous check-ins with others and revisit them at a later date. The locative-inspired media sent via Syntagma Square can also be revisited by users 8 SAGE Open at a later date, as social media functions as a digital database or dossier. Despite the recent calls to abandon Heidegger (see Fuchs, 2015), Evans (2015) further validates Heidegger’s place in media studies by drawing upon the notion of affectedness, or mood (Stimmung), to position mobile media technologies as “things.” Such a combination allows us to better understand mobile media technologies as instruments that contribute to the gathering of existential locales. 3. While this piece does advocate for positioning identity as perfor- mative, it takes a Heideggerian, phenomenological approach and, thus, sees performative identity as Dasein being appropriated by and with a world manifesting itself within Dasein’s own temporal horizon. In my view, this particular positioning of identity pro- vides a unique way to further understand Goffman’s front stage/ back stage theatrical metaphor (see Goffman, 1959), in addition to how we pre-reflectively read and engage with environments. References Battin, J. (2016). Mobile media technologies and the phenomenon of unconcealment (Doctoral thesis). Center for Research in Media and Cultural Studies, University of Sunderland, UK. Cresswell, T. (2004). Place: A short introduction. Malden, MA: Blackwell. de Souza e Silva, A. (2006). From cyber to hybrid: Mobile tech- nologies as interfaces of hybrid spaces. Space and Culture, 9, 261-278. DiPippo, A. 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Retrieved from http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/arti- cle/view/6006/5200#p6 Seamon, D. (1979). A geography of the lifeworld: Movement, rest, and encounter. New York, NY: St. Martin’s. Stambaugh, J. (1969). Introduction. In J. Stambaugh (Ed.), Identity and difference (pp. 7-18). Chicago, IL: The Chicago University Press. Thompson, I. (2010). Interviewed by Tao Ruspoli. In Being in the World. New York, NY: Mangusta Productions. Thoreau, H. D. (1964). Thoreau. New York, NY: The Viking Press. Tuan, Y. (1977). Space and place: The perspective of experience. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Urry, J. (2000). Sociology beyond societies. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Urry, J. (2007). Mobilities. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. van Manen, M. (2016). Researching lived experience. New York, NY: Routledge. Author Biography Justin Michael Battin, PhD, is an assistant professor in English Cultures and Literatures at the University of Silesia in Katowice. His research interests include media anthropology, the philosophy of technology, and Heidegger’s phenomenology. http://www.iwm.at/wp-content/uploads/jc-09-03.pdf http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/6006/5200#p6 http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/6006/5200#p6 
work_o6tt5xlz6jgxrduex7ekcfpfai	----	polis43_16.p65 357 Desobediencia Civil Indígena: El pueblo Nasa y el incidente del Cerro Berlín Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Asesora gubernamental, docente e investigadora. Universidad de Bogotá Jorge Tadeo Lozano Email: gilmabp@hotmail.com Resumen: El artículo tiene el objetivo de revelar formas espontáneas de desobediencia civil, en la que los indígenas se manifiestan en contra de una postura institucional, como la guerra, a través de acciones noviolentas. Sus manifestaciones no solo señalan las injusticias que trae consigo el ejercicio de la violencia, sino que su postura invita a reflexionar sobre la actitud de los ciudadanos frente a la organización para la transformación positiva, la defensa de los derechos y el rechazo a la guerra. Palabras clave: Noviolencia, Desobediencia Civil, Indígenas Nasa, Resis- tencia Civil, Conflicto Armado. Indigenous civil disobedience: the Nasa people and the Berlin mountain Abstract: The article aims to reveal spontaneous forms of civil disobedience, in which the Indians demonstrate against an institutional position, as is the war, through nonviolent actions. Its manifestations do not only point out the injustices brought up by the exercise of violence , but invites reflection on the attitude of citizens in regards the organization for positive transformation, the defense of rights and the rejection of war. Key words: Nonviolence, civil disobedience, Indigenous Nasa , Civil Resistance Armed Conflict. Desobediência Civil Indígena: O povo Nasae o incidente do Morro Berlím Resumo:O artigo tem como objetivo revelar as formas espontâneas de desobediência civil, na qualos indígenas se manifestamem contra de uma postura institucional, como a guerra, através de ações não violentas. Suas manifestações não somente assinalamasinjustiças que traz consigo o exercício daviolência, mas que sua posição convida a refletir sobre aatitude doscidadãos frente à organização para atransformação positiva, a defensa dosdireitose a rejeição à guerra. Palavras chaves: Não-violência,Desobediência Civil, Indígenas Nasa, Re- sistencia Civil, Conflito Armado. * * * Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016, p. 357-374 Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 358 Los indígenas del Norte del Cauca se cansaron de la guerra. Durante el mes de julio del año 2012 toda Colombia se enteró por los medios de comunicación de su postura frente al conflicto: no tolerar ningún enfrenta- miento armado en sus territorios. Esto significa, en la práctica, expulsar tanto a militares como a guerrilleros, valiéndose de la autoridad representa- da en el bastón de mando —una pequeña vara de madera con cintas de colores— en las manos de la guardia indígena, así como de una serie de acciones que incluyen marchas, concentraciones y diferentes tipos de pre- sión social en los medios de comunicación. En palabras de Feliciano Valen- cia, líder del Concejo Regional del Cauca —CRIC—: “nos cansamos de la guerra aunque respetamos al Gobierno y a la Constitución (…) tenemos derecho a la paz” (Arias 2012). La serie de enfrentamientos entre la guardia indígena y el ejército colombiano alcanzó su cenit el 17 de julio de 2012, cuando la primera se tomó el Cerro Berlín, posición estratégica sobre el municipio de Toribio, custodiada por el ejército colombiano. Los indígenas marcharon al Cerro, rodearon la base militar y se encontraron con los militares que se resistieron a marcharse. Lo que ocurrió luego fue materia de intenso debate por algu- nos días en todo el país: los indígenas, a empujones, sacaron a los soldados y suboficiales, quienes aferrados a su fusil tuvieron que dejar sus posicio- nes. Como lo narra un periodista de la Revista Semana: Con el careo entre militares e indígenas se armó la de troya en el cerro. Primero, porque los indígenas le exigían a los soldados que se fueran del lugar, mientras que los militares respondían con timidez que de ese sitio los tenían que sacar cargados. Y así fue; por la fuerza varios indígenas cogieron de pies y manos a los militares para reti- rarlos, pero en algunos casos esa acción se mezcló con empujones y el llanto de uno de los soldados que impotente reclamaba respeto. “Debo reconocer que allí nos equivocamos”, dijo Feliciano Valencia, líder de la guardia indígena. El momento más tenso se vivió cuando la guardia rodeó al oficial que estaba a cargo de esa unidad militar; de inmediato sus hombres respondieron con disparos al aire para dispersar a los indígenas, pero la acción solo sirvió para causar más confusión. (Murcia 2012) Las imágenes se repetían sin cesar en los televisores y redes socia- les virtuales. Los militares, levantados de manos y pies, siendo arrastrados cerro abajo. Un suboficial llora de impotencia, mientras otros relatarán lue- go cómo los indígenas les gritaban arengas, les escupían y les insultaban. En la madrugada del día siguiente, el Presidente colombiano, Juan Manuel Santos envió el siguiente tuit, condenando lo sucedido: “No quiero ver un solo indígena en bases militares” (Sierra 2012). Luego declaró: Gobierno respeta a las comunidades indígenas y su deseo por dialo- gar, pero que no (sic) permitirá ataques contra los soldados, son hechos inaceptables que constituyen conductas penales y deber ser investigadas por las autoridades y agregó que como presidente 359 de todos los colombianos rechaza categóricamente dicha actitud y hace un vehemente llamado para que cesen las hostilidades. (ElPlaneta.co 2012) El mismo 17 de julio, el ex presidente Álvaro Uribe, en un tono más beligerante, escribió el siguiente tuit: “Cómo se permite la masacre de nues- tros soldados! Cómo se pretende seguridad si se permite humillar a nues- tros soldados” (León 2012). Esta expresión se sumaba a una serie de críticas que el ex mandatario venía realizando al gobierno Santos por el tema de seguridad. El ex vicepresidente Francisco Santos opinó de manera similar: “Nunca, nunca pensé ver a mi Ejército humillado, como lo veo humillado hoy. Colombia Despierta (…) Jacobo Arenas, Tirofijo, Reyes, Jojoy y Cano deben reír a carcajadas con el mayor triunfo en la historia de las FARC” (León 2012). Así, una parte de la opinión nacional clasificó las acciones indígenas como subversivas, llegando, de forma extrema, a identificarlas con el mismo accionar de la guerrilla. Muestra de ello son las declaraciones del General Alejandro Navas, comandante de las fuerzas armadas, quién sentencio: “los que agredieron a los soldados están infiltrados por las FARC” (Noguera 2012), Sin embargo, no todas las reacciones de la opinión pública se dieron en ese sentido. Escritores colombianos como Héctor Abad Faciolince prefi- rieron felicitar a los militares, “que el Ejército se haya portado civilizadamente no es una humillación, es un triunfo” (León 2012), y el periodista Daniel Coronell expresó, refiriéndose a las declaraciones del ex presidente Uribe: “Lo de hoy en el Cauca fue grave, pero no fue una masacre de militares. Hay gente tratando de sacarle provecho político a la situación” (León 2012). En la ola de los acontecimientos, el concepto de los representantes de la justicia se tornó importante. El Fiscal General de la Nación, Eduardo Montealegre, afirmó, como se lee en la siguiente nota periodística: Los indígenas del Cauca podrían pagar cárcel si se les llega a com- probar el delito de asonada, por haber atacado a la fuerza pública (…) [el Fiscal General] dijo textualmente que: Lo que quiero significar es que en Colombia no se puede penalizar la protesta social; que la libertad de reunión, las expresiones en la vía pública, son un derecho constitucional (…) pero ya cuando se acude a la violencia, pues lo ha expresado la Corte Constitucional y el Sistema de Interamericano de Derechos Humanos -en esos casos- se puede presentar el delito de asonada. (El País 2012) En las redes sociales la discusión estaba al orden del día. Entre de- tractores y defensores, páginas como Facebook y Twitter se llenaron de comentarios que variaban desde la defensa a la autonomía del pueblo Nasa y su decisión de no permitir actores armados en sus territorios, hasta la condena radical de las acciones indígenas. UAIRA ATY?@UairaAty, por ejemplo publicó:“Los indígenas delCAUCA- Colombia, han demostrado su grandeza al decir NO a la guerra, y fuera los actores de la guerra; Legales e Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 360 ilegales”. Otros han defendido la posición indígena basados en la Constitu- ción: “Kiwe Nasa?@KiweNasa: Que las justas exigencias de los hermanos indígenas Nasa del Norte delCauca, gozan de plena disposición legal y constitucional. ONIC”. Algunos más elogiaron la posición de los Indíge- nas: “Los indígenas del Cauca pusieron en su lugar al Ejército y a las Farc: The Economist”. Las expresiones de simpatía incluyeron muchas del ciuda- dano de a pie. Por ejemplo, el siguiente mensaje intentó reflexionar sobre las consecuencias de la vecindad con una base militar: “Don Julián?@The_Tripman: yo si entiendo a los indígenas del cauca. Yo tampo- co quisiera ser vecino de una base militar”. En las mismas redes sociales no faltaron los señalamientos de infil- tración de las FARC en el movimiento indígena. Durante dos semanas, fra- ses como“Los del Cauca deben respetar a nuestras FF.MM1 igual que lo hacen los otros indígenas que representan nuestro pasado” (Duque 2012), se leyeron abundantemente en los diarios y en la web. En Twitter hubo incluso acusaciones como la siguiente: “Verdad para Colombia@miletrina: Los indígenas del Cauca son guiados por líderes que le juegan al plan de masas de las Farc” o “sebastianmorales?@sebasm9417: muchos indígenas del cauca terminan siendo indirectamente cómplices del terrorismo, que los indígenas acepten dialogar con el gobierno”. Colombianos indignados por la reivindicación de los Nasa afirmaron cosas como: “@PalomaValenciaL Los indígenas se están apropiando de toda la tierra del Cauca, y no la trabajan”. Algunos hasta le escribieron al Presidente, advirtiéndole: “Elizabeth Gonzalez@lizzy0714@santos, retire la tropa en el cauca de paso del territorio colombiano y déjele el país y todos nuevos sus amigos (FARC INDIGENAS Y ETC)2 ”. De esta manera creció la polémica sobre los hechos sucedidos en el Cerro Berlín. Sin embargo, ninguna de las reacciones se aproximó a una explicación sobre la situación, ni mucho menos, vislumbró una salida que no generara controversia. Fueron los mismos indígenas los que, mediante comunicado público el 18 de julio de la Asociación de Cabildos Indígenas, mostraron una ruta para dar fin a la controversia: “Ante el reclamo de que la Guardia Indígena se extralimitó en sus funciones y violó derechos humanos de los soldados, la justicia indígena procederá a la investigación corres- pondiente; esperamos que el ejército nos formalice la denuncia” (Prensa Indígena 2012). De forma notable, el comunicado abre la posibilidad de un diálogo con el ejército colombiano sin renunciar a la autonomía indígena amparada en la Constitución. A pesar del impacto mediático tras la toma del Cerro Berlín por los indígenas Nasa, lo que los noticieros de televisión colombianos no explicitaron es que la resistencia indígena a la guerra en esta zona del país no es nueva. De hecho, la toma del Cerro Berlín es un capítulo más de las acciones de todo tipo que los indígenas han emprendido al verse en medio de la guerra, que en sus territorios adquiere una desproporcionada crudeza, como quiera que la guerrilla históricamente ha utilizado el norte del Cauca como posición estratégica en su accionar en el sur-occidente colombiano. 361 A su vez, a esta violencia se suman otras violencias aún más antiguas, que también involucran a los indígenas, especialmente en cuanto a la lucha que estos han tenido que emprender para defender sus territorios de los deseos de terratenientes caucanos, desde el mismo inicio de Colombia como pro- yecto de nación. No se trata de una reacción inmediata, la resistencia civil indígena ha sido sistemática e histórica, implica una posición política, que las narracio- nes sobre el Cerro Berlín pasa por alto. “En medio del fragor de las batallas y del orden bélico cerrado, propios de los dispositivos de dominación y de guerra perpetua que se imponen en las poblaciones, han surgido nuevos modos de vida, al calor de la solidaridad y de la capacidad creativa de la gente sencilla que (…) enunciaremos como resistencias sociales. Por su carácter de rupturas con la lógica de la guerra, que les permite desarrollar, su propia capacidad de producción de mundos nuevos, los denominare- mos también como modos de resistir noviolentos” (Useche, 2014, 11). Es importante insistir en que, el Cerro Berlín es apenas un episodio de los muchos que componen la resistencia histórica de los indígenas y de los Nasa en particular. Una resistencia consciente y sistemática, que les ha permitido no solo sobrevivir y reivindicarse como pueblo, sino sobrevivir a la violencia. De estos episodios, debemos aprender sus ejemplos de resis- tencia civil, desobediencia civil y dignidad, de la lucha por la justicia. Comprender la resistencia civil implica comprender su trasfondo so- cial y política y su objetivo de transformar pacífica y positivamente situa- ciones que se consideran injustas, recurriendo a formas alternativas de posturas políticas que rompen con los paradigmas clásicos de la concep- ción de poder y de política, situándose en lo micro y macro político. “La resistencia civil es un método de lucha política basada en la idea básica de que los gobiernos dependen en último término de la cola- boración, o por lo menos de la obediencia de la mayoría de la pobla- ción, y de la lealtad de los militares, la policía y de los servicios de seguridad civil (…) sus métodos abarcan desde la protesta y la per- suasión hasta la no cooperación social, económica y política, y por último hasta la intervención noviolenta” (Randle 1998, 25). Ahora bien, es preciso recordar el largo debate teórico del derecho de resistencia en la construcción democrática de los Estados o las organiza- ciones políticas, colocando de manifiesto que ningún régimen político ga- rantiza ante la dinámica compleja de la humanidad los principios fundamen- tales, ni una ética infalible, ante lo cual, el derecho de resistencia cuestiona- rá las formas y hará perfectible la organización. “La aceptación, reconoci- miento y ejercicio de esos principios éticos absolutos universales, entre los cuales se encuentra el derecho de resistencia, depende, de un modo diría- mos connatural, la existencia misma de la democracia. Una de las posibles manifestaciones de esta ética universal tiene su formulación teórica concre- ta en la teoría de los derechos humanos” (Carvajal, 1992, p.67). Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 362 Estas posturas alternativas al poder y especialmente a la guerra, revalúa el concepto de revolución, y sugiere prácticas que conservan la humanidad misma, sin recurrir a la violencia, pero con una vehemente posi- ción frente a las injusticias y desacuerdos. Deconstruyen y construyen colectivamente. Forman nuevos paradigmas e invitan a reflexionar. (Balles- teros, 2014). La resistencia civil tiene una cualidad ético –política, es una forma de lucha noviolenta: “De esta manera, las tácticas y los métodos de resistencia activa, dinámica, creativa y participativa; así como las formas de no cooperación, desobediencia civil, etc., quedan salvaguardadas no sólo por su renuncia al uso de la violencia sino también por su fundamentación ética y su coherencia axiológica (López Martínez 2001, 208). Los medios de comunicación tampoco entendieron a cabalidad las palabras de Feliciano Valencia. La consigna del pueblo Nasa frente al con- flicto armado es decidida y fundamentada en lo que ellos mismos conside- ran como bueno, deseable y justo para su propia comunidad. Y es que, como ellos mismos lo han dicho, la posición en la que se encuentran en medio de las balas de uno y otro lado amenaza seriamente su continuidad como pueblo y como cultura. No nos vamos a quedar de brazos cruzados mirando cómo nos ma- tan y destruyen nuestros territorios, comunidades, planes de vida y nuestro proceso organizativo. Por esto, enraizados en la palabra, la razón, el respeto y la dignidad, iniciamos caminar en grupos hasta donde están atrincherados los grupos y ejércitos armados, para de- cirles frente a frente, que en el marco de la autonomía que nos asiste, les exigimos que se vayan, que no los queremos, que nos cansamos de la muerte, que están equivocados y que nos dejen vivir en paz. (verdadabierta.com 2012) Posición decidida que no riñe ni con el régimen político ni con las leyes. Volviendo a las palabras del líder del CRIC, “respetamos al gobierno y a la constitución”. En esta declaración, Valencia reconoce que la decisión de expulsar a los soldados tanto del Cerro Berlín como de sus territorios obedece no a una oposición al Estado como tal, sino se trata de la desobe- diencia a una política particular y a la manera en cómo el Estado colombiano enfrenta el conflicto armado. Es preciso retomar en este momento el concepto de desobediencia civil: “negarse a cumplir con una disposición legislativa, normativa o de política pública3 , con el objetivo de transformarla, porque se considera que genera algún tipo de injusticia y se encuentra evidentemente en contra de la conciencia moral del desobediente” (Ballesteros, 2014, p.286); y se debe agregar que la desobediencia civil es un instrumento de la lucha noviolenta, para corregir alguna cuestión del sistema político que gene- ra injusticia. Convivir en medio del fragor de la guerra es en sí mismo es una situación que genera injusticia, rechazar con vehemencia la violen- cia armada venga de donde venga es una postura ética cuyo objetivo es la vida misma. 363 El fenómeno de la desobediencia civil es seguramente una expresión del malestar de la democracia, y surge claramente en el momento en que las reglas del juego democrático se desnaturalizan sin que por ello se vea alterada completamente la confianza en su funcionamien- to (Ugartemendia 1999, 77). Los indígenas Nasa son reiterativos en afirmar que no están en con- tra del gobierno ni del Estado. Disienten de las formas como se ha querido enfrentar los problemas de seguridad. La definición que se ha ofrecido de desobediencia civil nos conlleva a anotar que implica que los desobedien- tes, en este caso los indígenas, cuestionan asuntos de interés público e invitan a la deliberación, a la confrontación política, específicamente en el campo ético. Nos retan a pensar en formas alternativas de hacerle frente a la violencia sin violencia. De allí la importancia de pensar y actuar en térmi- nos de noviolencia. La desobediencia civil se caracteriza por ser consciente, pacífica, pública, responsable y democrática. Es decir, producto de nuestra capaci- dad de discernimiento y por lo tanto de decisión autónoma de obedecer o desobedecer. Es un acto que no debe producir más daño, ni violentar a otros, cuyas razones de justificación se someten a la deliberación pública, reflejo de la responsabilidad que se asume en ejercicio de la ciudadanía. La desobediencia civil debe ser un instrumento de las democracias actuales. Sus principios son la libertad, los derechos fundamentales y la noviolencia como agente protector de los dos primeros anteriores. (Ballesteros, 2014) Los hechos del Cerro Berlín deben a su vez contemplarse, al menos, en el marco de las diferentes acciones emprendidas en todo el mes de julio por los indígenas Nasa. Entre estos pueden contarse, por ejemplo, la des- trucción de tres trincheras de la Policía Nacional en Toribio, el rodeo al puesto militar en monte Redondo (Miranda-Cauca) el 10 de julio de 2012, y la marcha al caserío de Huasanó exigiendo el retiro del Ejército, en el cual hubo tiroteos con resultado de un campesino muerto y tres heridos (Sierra 2012). De igual forma los indígenas han emprendido temerarias acciones frente a la guerrilla. Así, quitaron dos retenes de las FARC en la carretera hacia Santander de Quilichao, detuvieron a cuatro guerrilleros en las afue- ras de Toribio, procediendo luego a enjuiciarlos públicamente. Estas acciones como se ha dicho se suman a una multiplicidad de acciones históricas del pueblo Nasa en el marco de su proyecto de resisten- cia, cuyo origen surge por iniciativa del sacerdote indígena jesuita Álvaro Ulcue Chocue, en 1980 y cubre los resguardos indígenas de Toribío, San Francisco y Tacueyó. Los grupos del proyecto Nasa declaran que “la resis- tencia comunitaria indígena, es entendida como un proceso, como un reto de 84 pueblos indígenas de Colombia y los demás pueblos indígenas de América Latina, no sólo frente a un mundo globalizado, sino armar una propuesta alternativa, Latinoamericana, una resistencia que tiene que ser desde distintos ángulos, una resistencia también a los grupos armados” (Hernández, 2004, p.126). Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 364 Los indígenas del norte del Cauca se han levantado en resistencia contra el colonialismo, el servilismo, el terraje, la defensa por la tierra que es la misma madre, por la dignidad, por la autonomía y la libertad. Comprendie- ron hace mucho tiempo que la guerra no es funcional, ni logrará la conser- vación de la vida. Por eso desde hace décadas se han declarado en resisten- cia civil. “La cosmovisión de este pueblo resistente concibe al mundo y a la vida como una dinámica perpetua, una metamorfosis ejemplificada en el cambio de formas de las mariposas o en el cambio de piel de las serpientes (des- escamar); este es para ellos, el mayor regalo de los ancianos sabios, que crearon el mundo. La resistencia es entonces un mandato de vida que fluye, es tan natural y decisiva como el tremor de la tierra, ante los embates de las fuerzas que intentan cambiar su curso e impedir que se afiance en su naturaleza de ser” (Useche, 2014, 507). Esta resistencia tiene su anclaje no solo en el descredito de la violen- cia, sino en la fuerza creadora alternativa que ofrece las luchas noviolentas, en armonía con la conservación y la paz, en línea con la cosmogonía propia; de esta manera se entrelazan el mundo espiritual nasa y los principios éticos del hinduismo, para coincidir en la noviolencia, como lucha válida en la reivindicación de la justicia. (…) La noviolencia, en su versión política, es un gobierno sobre la base de que ninguno usará la fuerza violenta sino la de las convicciones y las razones, porque no basta con ser simplemente demó- crata, liberal o socialista, sino un desobediente e insatisfecho ante las injus- ticias del mundo (Capitini citado por López Martínez 2012, 15). Esto implica por parte del pueblo Nasa, disciplina, constancia, inno- vación, creatividad, fuerza, coherencia y defensa. Por siglos han tenido que hacerle frente a la violencia. Han elegido una forma de lucha diferente a la lógica tradicional, rompen los esquemas de la violencia tradicional. Se han cansado de la guerra. Pero no dejaran de luchar por su dignidad: “La noviolencia requiere de personas (…) emprendedoras, inquietas, que se hagan interrogantes para crecer mental y espiritualmente. Personas que obedezcan la voz de su conciencia, gentes que ejerzan su capacidad de poder para cambiar las injusticias del mundo, que sean desobedientes fren- te a la abyección, objetores de conciencia respecto del mal… (López Martínez 2001, 210). Gandhi desarrolló el concepto de la noviolencia como aquella ac- ción política activa cuyo principio básico moral es ahimsa (no hacer daño), que busca la verdad con la fuerza de la persistencia y la perseve- rancia (satyagraha). Nunca está de más insistir en que la noviolencia no es sinónimo de debilidad, pasividad, utopía imposible, impotencia, indi- ferencia, ni de aceptación a las determinaciones del poder (López Martínez, 2009, 8-14). De ahí que podamos ver cómo la desobediencia y la resistencia participa, asimismo, de muchas de esas características que atribuimos a la noviolencia y que, en consecuencia, podríamos usar para ambos conceptos. 365 Para los Nasa entonces, “resistir es cuidar, clamar por la defensa de la gran casa (la tierra) y afianzar el plan de vida y dignidad de los pueblos indígenas” (Useche, 2014, 507). Las acciones que emprenden se encuen- tran en el marco de los principios de vida, territorio, autonomía y dignidad, con lo cual las resistencias y desobediencias civiles indígenas son formas que guardan coherencia con sus principios rectores. Lo que aquí se configura es una lucha histórica, que hace frente a la violencia sin violencia, con métodos alternativos y creativos, con métodos de lucha noviolenta como la resistencia y la desobediencia civil. Por otro lado, con respecto a los hechos del Cerro Berlín, la reacción de la academia colombiana fue prácticamente nula. Salvo algunos artículos y editoriales de prensa, especialmente en medios alternativos de difusión, no hubo una discusión sobre lo que significan las acciones indígenas de cara al largo conflicto armado colombiano. El debate giró en torno a la preocupación por armonizar el derecho de autonomía de los territorios indí- genas –reconocido por la Constitución de 1991— y el deber constitucional del Estado de preservar el orden público en todo el territorio nacional. La cuestión se presentó en forma de dilema, como si la presencia del Estado y la defensa del orden público sólo pudiesen hacerse a través de las armas, reduciendo el Estado a las Fuerzas Armadas. De esta manera, muy en con- sonancia con la tradición legalista colombiana, la discusión del problema fue prácticamente monopolizada por los más expertos abogados constitucionalistas, quienes tendrían que evaluar si prevalece el derecho de la autonomía de los territorios indígenas, el respeto y el reconocimiento de una nación pluriétnica, o el deber del Estado de preservar la seguridad para garantizar los derechos y libertades, bajo el único instrumento que conocen, el monopolio de la fuerza. En entrevista con Lasillavacia.com— un medio de comunicación interactivo, ampliamente consultado en Colombia— el ex magistrado de la Corte Constitucional, Alfredo Beltrán, afirmó que “la autonomía (indígena) que tienen sobre esos territorios está limitada a la observancia de la Cons- titución y de la ley” (Maya 2012). Con esta afirmación coincidió el ex direc- tor del Programa Presidencial de Derechos Humanos durante el gobierno de Álvaro Uribe, Carlos Franco: “En todas partes se le atribuye al Presidente el manejo del orden público. Por eso la autonomía de las comunidades no es absoluta y está limitada en este tema” (Maya 2012). Mientras, el doctor en Ciencia Política y profesor de la Universidad de los Andes, Iván Orozco, abogó por la necesidad de una mediación: “Me parece razonable que en un modelo presidencialista como el colombiano los actos últimos de afirma- ción de soberanía sobre el territorio correspondan, en buena medida, a actos presidenciales, pero insisto en que para el caso de las comunidades indígenas es importante la figura del mediador” (Maya 2012). Afirmación a la que se sumó el ex magistrado de la Corte Constitucional José Gregorio Hernández: “(…) es necesario que se llegue a un acuerdo entre ambas partes, más aún si en un caso como éste se trata de la protección y defensa de las comunidades y debería interesarles llegar a un acuerdo. Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 366 El Gobierno debe garantizar su seguridad pero para ello debe antes con- sultarlos” (Maya 2012). En este contexto, es pertinente recordar que estas formas de lucha de una u otra forma cuestionan el régimen político y social, por lo tanto, termina siendo prueba de constitucionalidad. Arendt resuelve esta discu- sión también con una propuesta audaz, incluir la figura de la desobediencia civil como norma constitucional (Arendt 1999, 61), lo cual giraría la discu- sión sobre lo realmente trascendente: cambiar las formas en las que el Esta- do pretende resolver el tema de orden público. Al fin de cuentas, lo que los indígenas controvierten en este punto es su vulnerabilidad por encontrarse en medio del fuego cruzado. Estos acontecimientos se convierten en una oportunidad única de explicar la resistencia civil y de ofrecer un concepto de desobediencia civil, que permitiera romper con el dilema en la discusión pública y pudiera com- prender que la postura Nasa frente a la guerra es compatible con la demo- cracia, los derechos de las comunidades indígenas y el deber del Estado. Precisamente, ante la incesante presión mediática y el abordaje de los acon- tecimientos como una disyuntiva entre el respeto por la autonomía indíge- na y la presencia de las fuerzas armadas, el Presidente de la República declaró: Éste es un Gobierno que le abre las puertas al diálogo. Queremos concertar las soluciones. Pero hay asuntos donde quiero reiterar que nosotros no podemos ceder un solo milímetro; nosotros no podemos ceder un centímetro de nuestro territorio. La presencia de la Fuerza Pública no es negociable, en ninguna parte del territorio, y que cualquier diálogo no puede depender que ese tema esté sobre la mesa, porque ese tema no es negociable (Santos 2012). Para el analista, la pregunta que surge ante la declaración del presi- dente es: ¿cómo dialogan sobre una situación que de entrada califican de innegociable? Las partes declaran que se respetan y se reconocen, pero dicho respeto y reconocimiento no se traduce en la posibilidad de dialogar sobre las disidencias. De esta manera, no sólo se estableció una mesa de diálogo en el que el asunto principal que los convoca no se abordaría, sino que además se creó de manera paralela un delegado presidencial para coor- dinar con los ministerios la ejecución de proyectos sociales y un general a cargo de un recién creado Comando Conjunto del Suroccidente para que continuara con la estrategia militar que se venía desarrollando. En conclu- sión, no sólo no se atendía el asunto de controversia sino que se insistía en la continuidad de lo que se venía desarrollando, precisamente aquello a lo que estaban desobedeciendo los indígenas. El punto es que, precisamente, los hechos del Cerro Berlín, se convierten en un acto de desobediencia civil de los indígenas, que hace evidente una situación que genera injusticia y que, guardando fidelidad con la democracia constitucional, busca generar un debate público que permita ajustar o reformar la situación que denuncia. De esa manera, las acciones indígenas podrían contemplarse como un ele- 367 mento de transformación política positiva, si se entiende que la compleja dinámica de las democracias exige permanentes adaptaciones sin perjuicio de los derechos fundamentales ni de las normas constitucionales. Además de coherencia entre fines y medios lo cual ofrece las luchas noviolentas. La incomprensión sobre figuras como la protesta social, la resisten- cia y la desobediencia civil no permitió abordar una discusión serena, rigu- rosa, participativa y juiciosa sobre la postura de los indígenas Nasa, como tampoco permitió explorar alternativas de complementariedad entre su au- tonomía y la garantía de seguridad en el territorio, la incorporación de la guardia civil indígena en una estrategia conjunta de rechazo a la guerrilla de las FARC, la visibilización de los programas sociales en el departamento del Cauca y la estrategia en materia de garantía de derechos y libertades. Aun- que se reiteraba el respeto entre unos y otros, el Presidente anunció que en la incautación del computador de un cabecilla de las FARC, alias Pacho Chino, se encontró el siguiente mensaje: “Repartir propaganda en los mu- nicipios del norte del Cauca para que la población le exija a la Fuerza Pública el retiro de las áreas pobladas”, para luego agregar: “Yo creo que esto habla por sí solo, sin acusar ni mucho menos a los indígenas de estar confabula- dos con las Farc” (Santos 2012). Por su parte, la Asociación de Cabildos Indígenas del CxhabWalaKiwe –ACIN—, lamentó las declaraciones que se hacen sobre infiltraciones de las FARC en el movimiento indígena, denunciando que después de la decisión presidencial de retomar el Cerro Berlín, hubo heridos y muertos que los medios de comunicación no registraron: No hubo prensa que mostrara las agresiones de que fuimos víctimas. Hasta el momento hay 26 heridos indígenas, cuatro con papa-bomba y otro con disparo de arma de fuego, así como 1 detenido y cerca de 10 con paradero desconocido (…) (Prensa Indígena 2012) Si se pudiera comprender la protesta, la resistencia o la desobedien- cia civil, como un elemento que puede abordar debates neurálgicos, colo- cando en el debate público cuestiones éticas y posiciones políticas en las que los ciudadanos participan activamente y deciden sobre las formas como deberían resolverse las situaciones complejas, haciéndose responsables de sus exigencias y decisiones, entonces podría identificarse en la posición de los indígenas una oportunidad para hacer del Estado una representación de la decisión política de los ciudadanos. En esencia las practicas noviolentas, en este caso las resistencias y desobediencias, siguen la lógica de la lucha contra la injusticia, no prestan colaboración a lo que consideran injusto, hacen pública su posición e invi- tan a debatir sobre estas prácticas que rechazan, sin que implique un cuestionamiento a todo el entramado del Estado. Es indudable que dichas prácticas se encuentran en una sinfín de complejidades contextuales, pero la dificultad más evidente son las contradicciones argumentativas para abor- dar el incidente: dialogamos, pero no sobre los acontecimientos, respeta- Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 368 mos la autonomía, pero no dejaremos que la ejerzan, vamos a concertar sobre los principios que las partes no han cuestionado. A lo que se suma la falta de conocimiento de su lucha milenaria y de estas formas como meca- nismos de participación que fortalecen una democracia inacabada por la dinámica misma de la humanidad. Ahora bien, se puede identificar con cierta claridad que el mayor temor del Estado es que la guardia indígena no pueda repeler una toma de las FARC, y termine incrementándose el ya caótico orden público que se presenta en la zona. Por su parte, algunos indígenas Nasa manifiestan te- mor ante la posibilidad que se incremente la criminalidad o la perpetración de las FARC ante la ausencia de fuerza pública. (…) El portavoz de ACIN reconoció que sí existe división entre algu- nos indígenas que no están de acuerdo con que la fuerza pública abandone la zona porque varias personas tienen miedo de que los bancos también abandonen los municipios y con ellos las iniciativas de diferentes proyectos productivos (Semana.com 2012). Sin embargo, la mayoría de ellos considera que su acción de retirar a todos los actores armados redundará en la protección de sus vidas y en evitar estar en medio de los enfrentamientos armados, lo cual ha cobrado cientos de vida en las casi cinco décadas que ha durado el conflicto armado en la zona. Al temor del Estado, se le suma asimilar una figura como la desobe- diencia o la resistencia civil a subversión, insurgencia o asonada. El Fiscal General de la Nación, Eduardo Montealegre, dijo que“los indígenas del Cauca podrían pagar cárcel si se les llega comprobar el delito de asonada, por haber atacado a la Fuerza Pública” (Elpais.com 2012). Poco tiempo des- pués de la toma, el Presidente de la República dio órdenes a la fuerza pública de retomar el Cerro donde los indígenas habían corrido a los militares y al ministro del interior de establecer una mesa de diálogo: Anoche con el señor Ministro (de Defensa, Juan Carlos Pinzón) dimos unas instrucciones muy precisas; las instrucciones eran que hay que retomarse la base militar del cerro de La Estrella, donde sucedieron los hechos que el país conoció el día de ayer. Al mismo tiempo dimos la instrucción y autoricé al Ministro del Interior a que tuviera toda la disposición para el diálogo como lo hemos venido haciendo desde un principio (…) (Santos 2012) Dos instrucciones evidentemente contradictorias, continuando con la tónica que aquí se ha intentado delinear. Por ello, no debe sorprender que mientras parte del Gobierno habla de respeto y diálogo, el Ministerio de Defensa intentó argumentar que las acciones indígenas se trataron de una acción de las FARC: Lo que quieren es que la Fuerza Pública salga para ellos quedar 369 soberanos ahí. Todo eso está sucediendo porque las Farc quieren ‘caguanizar’4 el Cauca con el argumento de la autonomía indígena, sostuvo Navas, quien dice que no tiene dudas de que en la revuelta de ayer estuvo infiltrada por las Farc: Ahí hay milicianos, están ahí confundidos con esa población civil que la utilizan como escudos. (Eltiempo.com 2012) Por su parte las FARC anunciaron que se retirarían si también lo hacía el ejército y la policía, en una clara provocación a un Estado compun- gido por la situación: “(…) el Gobierno notificó que no retirará las fuerzas de seguridad de ningún lugar y ordenó la retoma de sus posiciones, mien- tras que los insurgentes condicionaron su salida a la de sus contendien- tes”. (EFE 2012). Entre asociar la postura indígena frente al conflicto armado con la asonada y la insurgencia, y el temor de que las FARC logrará sacar algún provecho de la situación, se anuló cualquier posibilidad de comprender los hechos mediante figuras como la desobediencia o la resistencia civil, que podrían explicar mucho mejor los acontecimientos aquí referidos. Desde una postura dispuesta al diálogo, lo allí sucedido significa de hecho una oportunidad para, a partir del debate, afrontar de otra manera el conflicto armado en territorios indígenas, en primera instancia, y en el país en gene- ral. El punto crucial y que no es en ningún caso así identificado, es que la desobediencia civil, por ejemplo, está acorde no sólo con los principios de libertades y derechos sino con el desarrollo democrático de lo que conoce- mos como Estado. En primer lugar, la desobediencia civil permite corregir cuestiones que generan algún tipo de injusticia, sin tener que derogar el sistema políti- co en cuestión o sin la pretensión de subvertir el orden establecido. El desobediente civil hace evidentes varios temas éticos y políticos sustan- ciales en la construcción de la democracia, tales como: la conservación de los principios, la participación, la autonomía y la moralidad. Con sus actos, los indígenas Nasa fundamentalmente están expresando que en la forma de abordar el conflicto armado en Colombia se vulneran sus derechos. Su actitud es participativa y autónoma, en el marco de la constitución y las leyes que los amparan, sugieren debatir lo que les afecta en todos los as- pectos de su cotidianidad. La imagen no puede ser más evidente: si es preciso, la comunidad indígena sacará a rastras a los actores del conflicto que hacen presencia en su territorio. Cuando Feliciano Valencia dice que los indígenas están “cansados de la guerra”, no hace sino dar palabras a lo que luego la guardia llevaría a los hechos. Es indispensable entender no sólo los hechos del Cerro Berlín, sino especialmente el marco de acciones y declaraciones de los líderes y comu- neros indígenas en el que se insertan, como actos de desobediencia. Como ya lo hemos dicho, los indígenas no están oponiéndose ni al Estado ni al Gobierno, pero sí desobedecen activamente una política específica, aquella que determina la forma en que se enfrenta el conflicto en sus territorios. Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 370 Insistir que sus manifestaciones son contra unas formas de acción del Es- tado, no contra todo el estamento o la organización. Es clarísimo, están contra cualquier forma de violencia, están contra la guerra y sus conse- cuencias, y rechazan enfrentar la guerra con más violencia. Por otra parte, el desobediente civil evidencia que se está fallando en algún principio, particularmente en materia de justicia. En un ejercicio de autonomía y moralidad, actúa desobedeciendo una ley o política que debe ser una representación de su propia moralidad y de la ética colectiva. De esta manera, hace evidente la imperiosa necesidad de discutir sobre el asunto y de realizar los ajustes correspondientes. Lo cual es una forma no sólo de participación sino también de ciudadanía activa. Se trata de un hecho que ilustra la desobediencia civil. El célebre autor clásico Henry David Thoreau, quien conceptualizó el término en su ensayo Del deber de la Desobediencia Civil en 1848 señala sencillamente que: ante una ley injusta, el deber ciudadano es desobedecerla e instar al gobierno a su reforma (Thoreau (1848) 2008). Llamando a la coherencia entre la vida práctica con los principios éticos y las ideas liberales. El ensa- yo de Thoreau nace precisamente de su negativa a pagar impuestos dirigi- dos a financiar la guerra contra México. Para Thoreau era incoherente for- mar una república con base en el sometimiento de otra nación. Estudiar y conocer la desobediencia civil permite adicionalmente recordar que la construcción del Estado tiene un objetivo: el de preservar los derechos y las libertades de los ciudadanos. El régimen político sólo es posible en la medida que los ciudadanos consientan la forma de gobierno y que las leyes sean una representación de los acuerdos morales y éticos. Thoreau es enfático en reconocer el derecho de resistencia, señala como injusto y contradictorio considerar la resistencia como un derecho para la recién constituida república de los Estados Unidos, pero negar este derecho a los pueblos que son conquistados y sometidos. (…) cuando una sexta parte de la población de un país que se ha comprometido a ser refugio de la libertad, está esclavizada, y toda una nación es agredida y conquistada injustamente por un ejército extranjero y sometida a la ley marcial, creo que ha llegado el momento de que los hombres honrados se rebelen y se subleven. Y este deber es tanto más urgente, por cuanto que el país así ultrajado no es el nuestro, sino que el nuestro es el invasor (Thoreau [1848] 2008, 34). El discurso de Thoreau nos sirve para reflexionar sobre los derechos que proclamamos como nación y los derechos que reconocemos para los pueblos indígenas. Este episodio del Cerro Berlín nos sirve como excusa para señalar que la autonomía de los pueblos indígenas sigue siendo res- tringida y que algunas de sus posturas son cuestionadas, como la que han tomado frente a la guerra. 371 Si el Estado colombiano se diera la oportunidad de comprender en este sentido la serie de acontecimientos que alcanzaron su cenit de confrontación en el Cerro Berlín, tal vez se podrían encontrar nuevas vías para construir alternativas que respondan a una realidad compleja y diversa. La dinámica de los acontecimientos podría así utilizarse para consolidar la propuesta democrática que, al menos en teoría, supone el Estado colombiano. En ese sentido, es preciso que el lector comprenda la figura de la desobediencia civil como un elemento eminentemente político, que expresa la relación moral del ciudadano con la ley, con lo público, con la política, con el poder y con el Estado. En ese abordaje es necesario recordar que la obligación política de la obediencia a las leyes tiene una fundamentación moral y ética, una cohe- rencia lógica para la garantía de los derechos y el desarrollo de las liberta- des, y esos mismos argumentos que se tienen para la obediencia son los mismos que deben motivar la desobediencia en los casos en que la ley permita alguna injusticia o se presente alguna incoherencia con los princi- pios pactados en las constituciones políticas. Desobedecer es una forma de relacionarse con el poder, que además abre a lo público cuestiones pertinentes como la coherencia entre la moral y la obediencia. La desobediencia indígena reclama cambios necesarios que permitan coherencia entre lo que se busca: convivencia, respeto, libertad y los medios para hacerlo: noviolencia. Para el desobediente, es importante establecer una detallada relación entre medios y fines. Así lo hace el pueblo Nasa, cuestiona la violencia con la que se enfrenta la violencia misma. El desobediente civil no puede seguir nunca la máxima maquiavélica de “el fin justifica los medios”, pues para el desobediente civil los medios son fines en sí mismos (la expresión de la inconformidad y a través de ella el empoderamiento por la desobediencia), y el fin es a su vez un medio para alcanzar fines aún mayores, enmarcados en la confrontación con la injusticia. Finalmente, lo que debe comprenderse es que los hechos del Cerro Berlín, deben interpretarse desde las luchas contra la injusticia, que recoge los estudios de la noviolencia (Cappetini 1992, Gandhi (1948) 2004, López 2009, 2011, Muller 2004, 201, Useche 2014,) y sus formas de expresión como la protesta, la insumisión, la objeción de conciencia, la resistencia, la des- obediencia, etc. (Ballesteros 2014,López 2009, 2011, Martínez 2011, Useche 2014) Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 372 Notas 1 FFMM: siglas para referirse a Fuerzas Militares. 2 Mayúsculas en el original. 3 Una política pública es una disposición estatal o gubernamental que responde a una demanda de la sociedad y determina una serie de disposiciones normativas, administra- tivas y de servicios. El profesor Alejo Vargas (1999) explica que es una iniciativa, decisión o acción del Estado frente a una situación problemática. Por tratarse de disposiciones que responden generalmente a la racionalidad técnica, tiene el riesgo de desestimar la deliberación pública y la participación, ocasionando algunas veces injus- ticias. 4 Durante el Gobierno de Andrés Pastrana (1998 – 2002), se desmilitarizo la zona del Caguán – Caquetá, Colombia) por parte de las Fuerzas Armadas de Colombia, con el objetivo de desarrollar una mesa de diálogo con las FARC. Al tiempo que en el resto del territorio Colombiano continuaban las hostilidades del conflicto armado colombiano. El “despeje” como se le conoció a este hecho, le sirvió a la guerrilla de las FARC para cometer actos como tráfico de drogas, retención de secuestrados, reclutamiento y planeación del desarrollo de sus estrategias militares, políticas y diplomáticas. Mantu- vieron secuestrados en la región a más de 450 militares y policías secuestrados. La sensación que este hecho dejo en la opinión pública, es que la posición flexible del gobierno sirvió para que las FARC recrudecieran la guerra y cometieran cientos de secuestros. Los diálogos de paz finalizaron el 20 de febrero de 2002 y el conflicto armado colombiano recrudeció sus acciones militares. “Caguanizar” significa entonces entregar una zona desmilitarizada a las FARC, para que ésta lo utilice en pro del recrudecimiento de su acción armada. 373 Bibliografía Arendt, Hannah (1999), Crisis de la República. Taurus, Madrid. Arias, Diego (2012), “Conflicto en el Cauca: ¿Santos aprendió la lección?”, Semana.com, 26 de julio. Ballesteros, Gilma Liliana (2014), Desobediencia civil: un análisis político. Ed. Universidad de Granada, Granada. Capitini, Aldo (1992), Scrittisullanonviolenza. Protagon, Perugia. Duque Naranjo, Lisandro (2012), “Colombia resultó blanca”, Elespectador.com, 22 de julio. EFE (2012), “Indígenas del Cauca y Gobierno retomarán diálogo este miér- coles”. Eltiempo.com, 7 de agosto. http://www.eltiempo.com/politica/ indigenas-del-cauca-y-gobierno-retomaran-dialogo-este-miercoles- _12106641-4 ElPais.com (2012), “Indígenas del Cauca podrían ir a la cárcel si se com- prueba delito de asonada: Fiscalía”, 18 de julio. http://www.elpais.com.co/ elpais/judicial/noticias/indigenas-del-cauca-podrian-ir-carcel-si-comprueba- delito-asonada-fiscalia ElPlaneta.com (2012), “Desalojo en el cerro Berlín genera reacción nacio- nal”, 18 de julio. Eltiempo.com (2012), “Las Farc quieren Caguanizar el Cauca”, 17 de julio. Gandhi [1948] (2004), Escritos esenciales, Sal Terrae, Bilbao. Hernández Delgado, Esperanza (2004), Resistencia Civil Artesana de Paz, Ed. Pontificia Universidad Javeriana, Bogotá. León, Juanita (2012), “¿Valdrá esta imagen la reelección de Santos?”. lasillavacia.com, 18 de agosto. López Martínez, Mario (2009), Política sin violencia. La noviolencia como humanización de la política, Corporación Universitaria Minuto de Dios, Bogotá. Ídem (2013), “Política sin matar: los métodos de la acción no-violenta”. Revista Vectores de Investigación. 7: 33-84. Martínez, Carlos E. (2011), Los nuevos movimientos sociales y cambio de paradigmas en el último siglo a través de la lógica de la Noviolencia, Universidad Granada, Granada, España. Gilma Liliana Ballesteros Peluffo Polis, Revista Latinoamericana, Volumen 15, Nº 43, 2016 374 Maya, Martha (2012), “Cuáles son los límites de la autonomía indígena según los expertos”, lasillavacia.com, 19 de julio. . Muller, Jean-Marie (2004), El coraje de la noviolencia: nuevo itinerario filosófico, Sal Terrae, Maliaño. Ídem (2011), L’impératif de la désobéissance. Fondementsphilosophiques et stratégiques de la désobéissancecivile. Le PrésaintGervais: Le passagerclandestin. Murcia, Luis Ángel (2012), “Cauca: Un día de furia y vergüenza en Berlín, el cerro de Toribío”, Semana.com, 18 de julio.http://www.semana.com/ nacion/cauca-dia-furia-verguenza-berlin-cerro-toribio/180985-3.aspx Noguera, Luisa (2005), Mahatma Gandhi, la fuerza del alma, Panamerica- na, Bogotá. Prensa Indígena (blog) (2012), “Colombia: Comunicado sobre los hechos del Cerro el Berlín”. Randle Michael (1998), Resistencia Civil, Paidós, Barcelona. Santos, Juan Manuel (2012) “Comunicado Oficial de 18 de Julio”, Presidencia.com. Thoreau, Henry David [1848] (2008a), Desobediencia Civil y otros escri- tos. Juan José Coy (comp.), Tecnos, Madrid. Ugartemendia, Juan Ignacio (1999), La desobediencia civil en el Estado constitucional democrático, Marcial Pons, Madrid. Useche, Óscar (2014), El acontecimiento de las resistencias sociales: Micro política de las revoluciones noviolentas como apertura de nuevos territo- rios existenciales. Ed. Universidad de Granada, http://digibug.ugr.es/ bitstream/10481/34191/1/24049955.pdf * * * Recibido: 30.01.2016 Aceptado: 05.04.2016 
work_oagm4an2qjgzpedxjnklboceum	----	geosciences Review Geoheritage, Geotourism and the Cultural Landscape: Enhancing the Visitor Experience and Promoting Geoconservation John E. Gordon School of Geography and Sustainable Development, University of St Andrews, St Andrews KY16 9AL Scotland, UK; jeg4@st-andrews.ac.uk Received: 5 March 2018; Accepted: 3 April 2018; Published: 16 April 2018 ���������� ������� Abstract: Geotourism spans a range of visitor interests, from the specialist geotourist to the more general visitor. As well as supporting geoconservation outcomes, it provides economic, cultural, relational and social benefits for both visitors and host communities. The interconnections between geoheritage and the cultural components of the landscape have antecedents in concepts of landscape aesthetics in different cultures. These interconnections provide a range of opportunities for enhancing the geotourist experience and promoting geoconservation and geoeducation by means of activities that involve aesthetic and emotional experiences and interpretation through different cultural filters that encourage the rediscovery of a sense of wonder both about the geological stories in the landscape and the human interactions. A cultural ecosystem services framework provides a holistic approach for informing conservation policy, management and planning for geotourism, enabling assessment of multiple benefits and trade-offs for visitors and communities based on the values of the geoheritage assets. Geotourism studies could also benefit from integration of existing theory, conceptual analysis and practice from broader heritage and nature-based tourism and closer collaboration with relevant social sciences. Adhering to sound geoethical practice is an essential part of geotourism, which can also play a role in the promotion of geoethics among the public and professionals. Keywords: cultural ecosystem services; landscape aesthetics; geoheritage interpretation; geoparks; geoethics “....landscape is the work of the mind. Its scenery is built up as much from strata of memory as from layers of rock”. (Simon Schama, 1995, p. 7) [1] 1. Introduction Much of the focus in geoconservation over the last few decades, particularly in Europe, has centered on the protection of geosites primarily for scientific and educational reasons [2]. At the same time there has been growing recognition of the cultural and aesthetic values of geoheritage especially in relation to the development of geotourism [3–8] and UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) Global Geoparks which are required to deliver a range of educational, economic, cultural and social benefits as well as geoconservation [9,10]. Geotourism emerged in the 1990s [11,12] to promote wider awareness of geoheritage and its values beyond the geoscience community as a means to gain support for geoconservation at a time when sustainable development and eco- or nature-based tourism were attracting increasing attention. As a precursor to modern geotourism, tourism based on the aesthetic appreciation of the physical landscape and natural geological “wonders” is not a recent phenomenon. In various forms, it extends back over more than two centuries in Western Europe [13] and much longer in Asia [7]. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136; doi:10.3390/geosciences8040136 www.mdpi.com/journal/geosciences http://www.mdpi.com/journal/geosciences http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/2076-3263/8/4/136?type=check_update&version=1 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/geosciences http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/geosciences8040136 Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 2 of 25 Geotourism today is essentially a cultural response to the physical landscape. More specifically, it combines geologically based tourism in suitable locations with interpretation, education and awareness raising to foster geoconservation and sustainable economic benefits for local communities based on their geoheritage. Notwithstanding the different definitions proposed [12–20], geotourism may be considered to span a spectrum of interests and opportunities appealing to a range of visitors from “dedicated” geotourists to “casual” visitors [11,12,14,21,22]. The former are actively seeking to learn about geology and geomorphology as their prime motive for visiting an area; the latter, to appreciate scenery, enhance their experience of natural wonders in the landscape through cultural and aesthetic interests, and enjoy outdoor recreation, or simply to “be there”. Although, like ecotourism [23], geotourism may be viewed as originally a Western concept, it is now global in its reach [7,11,24,25]. As a cultural phenomenon, geotourism is part of a spectrum of activities embraced by natural area tourism and a microniche within niche tourism but with a distinctive focus on geoheritage [26,27]. The scope of geotourism includes a wide range and scale of geological and geomorphological features, from mountains and coasts to small rock exposures and the built environment [24]. These may occur in a variety of locations from natural areas to urban environments and include both geoparks and geosites, as well as buildings and monuments with geological associations. As a contribution to progressing geotourism discourse beyond much of the current, and necessary, focus on the inventory of potential sites and case studies of geotourism activities, this paper reviews how the links between geoheritage and cultural heritage can be developed to enhance the visitor experience and advance geoeducation and geoconservation. The paper first outlines the range of connections between geoheritage and cultural heritage within an ecosystem services framework which is now widely adopted within the environmental science and policy communities; second, considers the changing cultural values, both historical and modern, placed on the physical landscape and geological features, and the lessons they provide for geotourism; and third, evaluates how the interpretation of cultural links can enhance the visitor experience and at the same time promote sound geoethical values. The full range of the visitor interest spectrum is addressed since geotourism in a broad sense has a vital role to play in raising awareness of geoheritage and the need for its conservation among a wider public. The term “nature” is used to include both the biotic and abiotic aspects of the natural world. 2. Geoheritage and the Cultural Landscape Throughout history, people have placed different cultural values on nature, including its abiotic components. In modern times in Western thinking, these range from a Romantic view of the physical landscape in the 18th and 19th centuries as an aesthetic experience, to a scientific view of nature in the latter half of the 20th century as a focus for study and conservation in protected areas; and more recently, to a recognition of the need for sustainable use of natural resources that combines both the aesthetic and the scientific viewpoints and provides benefits for people, and embodied now in geoconservation and geotourism activities [28]. In contrast, Eastern and indigenous cultures have placed a much stronger emphasis on harmony with nature and landscape appreciation through different cultural filters [29]. Consequently, a landscape can be understood and appreciated as a cultural image [30], involving all its natural and cultural components existing in a symbiotic, rather than a dichotomous relationship [3,31–36]. For both the dedicated geotourist and particularly the general visitor who has less specialized interest in geology, the nature-culture symbiosis provides a means to enhance the visitor experience of engaging with geoheritage through different aspects of landscape appreciation. Cultural heritage comprises tangible and intangible components. The former include movable (e.g., paintings, sculptures, manuscripts and fossils) and immovable (e.g., buildings, townscapes, monuments, archaeological sites and rural landscapes) constituents; the latter, oral traditions, performing arts, rituals, cuisine, traditional skills and technologies, religious ceremonies and storytelling. As noted by Panizza and Piacente [31,37], aspects of geoheritage may in themselves be Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 3 of 25 cultural elements of the landscape (e.g., as features celebrated in art, sculpture, music, poetry and literature or that are revered as sacred places), or may provide the essential context in which cultural features (e.g., settlements, castles and archaeological sites) are located. Geology and geomorphology are also a fundamental part of the distinctive character of many rural landscapes and the built environment and contribute to the aesthetic qualities of these landscapes. As described below, there are many connections between geoheritage and cultural heritage that provide a basis for geotourism activities. The value of these connections is now acknowledged within the UNESCO Global Geoparks framework [9]. Likewise, many cultural World Heritage Sites benefit from strong supporting geoheritage interests [38], while many existing natural properties are also cultural landscapes that have potential for re-inscription as mixed properties, recognizing their cultural and spiritual associations as well as their outstanding geoheritage features, as happened in the case of Tongariro National Park (New Zealand) (1992) and Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park (Australia) (1994) [39]. The World Heritage Committee of UNESCO defined cultural landscapes as representing the “combined works of nature and of man” and “illustrative of the evolution of human society and settlement over time, under the influence of the physical constraints and/or opportunities presented by their natural environment and of successive social, economic and cultural forces, both external and internal” [40] (p. 14). Cultural landscapes fall into three main categories, all of which provide possibilities for geotourism: designed and created landscapes (parks and gardens, often with historic and/or religious monuments or buildings); organically evolved landscapes (that have developed their present form through human activities or occupancy interacting with natural environments); and associative cultural landscapes that have religious, artistic or cultural associations arising from the natural elements [40]. Cultural landscapes are at the interface between nature and culture and include both tangible and intangible components that are place-specific [41–43], but the traditional separation of the natural and cultural worlds in Western thinking makes little sense [44]. Apart from some parts of the polar regions, deserts and higher parts of mountain areas, most landscapes, including many so-called “wild” or “wilderness” areas, have been modified by people, and even the former all have strong cultural resonance (e.g., [45–50]). Landscape can therefore be perceived as a meeting ground between nature and people, past and present, and tangible and intangible values [44], and where there is a continuous interaction between natural processes and human activities that both shape and are shaped by each other [51,52]. This is reflected in the European Landscape Convention, which recognizes landscapes as the composite result of the action and interaction of both natural processes and/or human activities [53]; in effect, the landscape is a palimpsest recording, albeit incompletely, the geological and geomorphological history of the Earth and the interactions with human activities and cultural practices. 3. Geoheritage, Geotourism and Cultural Ecosystem Services Cultural ecosystem services, a subset of ecosystem services, “has emerged as a concept around which researchers and decision makers can understand ecosystems in terms of their life-enriching and life-affirming contributions to human well-being” [54] (p. 208). Culture is not intrinsically an attribute of ecosystems, but is created through interactions between people, their values and the environment [55]. The Millennium Ecosystem Assessment (MEA) [56] defined cultural ecosystem services as “nonmaterial benefits people obtain from ecosystems through spiritual enrichment, cognitive development, reflection, recreation, and aesthetic experiences” (p. 40). It identified ten categories: cultural diversity, spiritual and religious values, knowledge systems, educational values, inspiration, aesthetic values, social relations, sense of place, cultural heritage values, recreation and ecotourism (Table 1). Although recreation and nature-based tourism were considered to be a service in the MEA, they are more appropriately regarded as benefits or cultural goods [55]. Notwithstanding the difficulties in classifying and measuring cultural ecosystem services, the overlaps in the categories and the conflation of values, services and benefits in the MEA [55], the concept is nevertheless useful in exploring the interconnections between geoheritage, geotourism and the cultural landscape. These Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 4 of 25 interconnections involve complex interactions of cultural practices and values within environmental spaces (in this case geosites and geoparks). As well as providing economic benefits from tourism activities, they also give rise to a range of relational benefits: shaping people’s identities (belonging, sense of place, spirituality); experiences (tranquility, inspiration) that enhance well-being, mental and physical health; and knowledge skills and capabilities [55]. Cultural ecosystem services can therefore be set in a relational framework, in which people interact with nature, rather than a deterministic one [54,57]. “Places, localities, landscapes and seascapes enable cultural practices to occur, but are also created through them” [54] (p. 213). Cultural ecosystem services also have value in themselves and can play an important part in generating support for ecosystem conservation [58], while appreciation of aesthetic and spiritual values can encourage people to develop moral responsibilities towards nature [59]. An ecosystem services approach can therefore provide a holistic framework for analysis and evaluation that incorporates the multiple economic, cultural and social values of geotourism and thereby help to inform policy, management planning and practice. Geodiversity and geoheritage contribute significantly to cultural ecosystem services and benefits (Table 1). Geodiversity links the Earth, people and culture [60]. It has intrinsic, instrumental and relational values that underpin geoheritage and provide or contribute to a range of benefits for society and people [61–66]. The varied connections between geoheritage and cultural heritage are reviewed elsewhere (e.g., [6,37,64,67–69]). As outlined below, these have the potential, or are already being deployed, to enhance geotourist experiences, both through new and engaging avenues for interpretation and through embracing the aesthetic appeal of geosites and geoparks as visitor destinations. First, the diversity of the physical environment is one factor influencing the diversity of cultures, cultural identity and people’s sense of place. For example, glaciers, volcanism and glacial outburst floods have been powerful forces in shaping Icelandic society and culture [70,71] (Figure 1a,b), celebrated for instance in the poetry of Jónas Hallgrímsson (1807–1845) [72]. Natural rock formations, mountains, glaciers, volcanoes, caves, lakes, rivers, waterfalls, erratic blocks and other landforms often have religious or spiritual values and cultural meanings (Figure 1c), expressed through geomythology, local folklore and legends [73–76]. Such features are also modern geotourism attractions where visitors can learn not only about the shaping of the planet and associative cultural interests, but also enjoy more adventurous activities such as glacier hiking and visiting active volcanoes, show caves, mines and lava tubes [75,77–81]. Second, natural features play an integral part in determining landscape character. Many geosites have become iconic places (e.g., the Grand Canyon, Uluru, the Matterhorn and the Giant’s Causeway), globally recognized with cultural, religious, symbolic and economic values [82,83]. Many are appreciated for their aesthetic value [67], which refers to sensory, usually visual (but also nonvisual), appeal both in a passive receiving (e.g., appreciating a view) and an actively sensing (e.g., through hiking in the mountains) context based on aspects of harmony, variation/contrast, scenery/viewing, genuineness and art/architecture [84]. All of these aspects are inherent in geoheritage features and experienced by the visitor through an interplay of the senses. Hence many people are attracted to visit geoheritage sites through their aesthetic appeal or visual attractiveness as remarkable landforms or landscapes [69,85] (Figure 1c–f). This appeal may be enhanced through connections with art, sculpture, photography, music, poetry, literature, history and archaeology. The physical and cultural elements in most landscapes are closely interlinked and reflected in landscape character, land use and human activities. This includes the built environment, urban landscapes and designed landscapes (e.g., through influences on the physical setting or the use of local building stones and vernacular architecture), as well as localities representing industrial archaeology and mining heritage. These all offer opportunities for increasingly city dwelling populations to engage with, and benefit from, geoheritage (e.g., [86–88]). Third, geotourism can help to foster understanding of geology and geomorphological processes in relation to current environmental issues, including climate change, sea-level rise, flooding and Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 5 of 25 other natural hazards, as well as developing sustainable environmental management that integrates geodiversity, biodiversity and socioeconomic awareness, together with better public understanding of the issues and more informed public debate and engagement about difficult adaptation decisions that will need to be made [65,89–92]. For example, mountain geosites have scientific and educational value in conveying clearly the impacts of climate change and the role of dynamic processes in shaping the landscape [81,93,94] (Figure 1e). Recent glacier recession is strikingly demonstrated through comparisons of historical photographs and paintings (e.g., [95–97]), as well as in conspicuous environmental changes [98–100] that are already having an impact on tourism [77,81,101–103]. The ways in which different societies perceive glaciers and their changes [104–107] can also enhance interpretation for geotourists. Similarly at coastal sites, art can be a useful tool in informing understanding of coastal changes [108], while educative interpretation can raise awareness of the significance and implications of sea-level rise [109]. Often geosites also have ecological educative value [4]. Most species and plant communities depend on specific geological, geomorphological and soil conditions [110], which can be used to highlight the ecological significance of geodiversity. Similar connections are demonstrated in particular types of land use, such as viticulture [111]. Table 1. Cultural ecosystem services and benefits arising from geodiversity and geoheritage (adapted from [56,61–64]). Cultural Ecosystem Service Category/Benefits Description Cultural diversity The diversity of the physical environment is one factor influencing the diversity of cultures and cultural identity. Spiritual and religious values and cultural meanings Natural rock formations and landforms often have associated religious or spiritual values. They also feature in local folklore and legends. Knowledge systems Society benefits from knowledge of the Earth’s physical properties, materials, processes and history in many ways (e.g., through applied, engineering and environmental geology, medical geology and geoforensics). Records of past climate and environmental changes preserved in a variety of archives (e.g., ice cores, ocean sediments, landforms and lake sediments) enable a longer-term perspective on Earth system processes and ecosystem dynamics, trends and human interactions. They provide baselines for environmental monitoring and forecasting, and can indicate possible ecosystem responses to future changes in climate and other factors. Education Geodiversity provides the basis for both formal and non-formal education for people of all ages, through desk-based learning and outdoor learning opportunities. Artistic inspiration Geodiversity provides a rich source of inspiration for art, literature, poetry, music, sculpture, national symbols, architecture and built heritage and gardens. Aesthetics Many people find natural beauty and aesthetic value in various aspects of the natural environment, scenery and scenic views, interesting/beautiful/dramatic landscapes and silence/tranquillity/peacefulness. Social relations Changes in ecosystem services (e.g., availability of fresh water, flood regulation or erosion regulation) can affect social relations, particularly in cultures that have retained strong connections to their local environments. Volunteering through Local Geoconservation Groups can also provide opportunities for social interaction. Sense of place Many people value the sense of place that is associated with recognized features of their environment, such as natural rock formations and landscapes, and the perceived “feeling of security” and character created by those features. Cultural heritage and geoheritage Geosites associated with major developments in geoscience are part of the cultural value of geoheritage. Other geosites are significant for their historical, literary or artistic associations or other cultural meanings. Geodiversity underpins landscape and seascape character and different types of cultural landscape. The use of local or traditional stone and other geological materials within the built environment and the conservation of cultural landscapes contribute to the cultural heritage of an area and its landscape character. Cultural memories are often expressed through natural features such as mountains, waterfalls and rock formations. Environmental quality Geodiversity and geoheritage contribute to environmental quality which supports people’s health and well-being. Recreation and nature-based tourism People often choose where to spend their leisure time based on the characteristics of the natural or cultural features in a particular area. Physical features (geodiversity) underpin landscape character, valued habitats and ecosystems, and the aesthetic and other cultural qualities of an area. They provide opportunities for outdoor recreation (e.g., walking, rock climbing, caving, skiing and outdoor adventure) and leisure, or a peaceful haven in which to relax and reflect, and contribute to people’s health and well-being. They also support geotourism, which in turn provides a source of employment (e.g., in geoparks) and a range of relational and other benefits described above that contribute to people’s health and well-being and educational and life-long personal development. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 6 of 25 Figure 1. (a) Interpretation board at Eyafjallajökull Visitor Centre, Iceland, explains that “life goes on” after the volcanic eruption of April 2011. (b) Interpretation board at Múlakvísl, Iceland, explains the effects of the jökulhlaup in 2011, which destroyed a major bridge on the island’s main ring road. (c) The Bungle Bungle Range in Purnulu National Park and World Heritage Site, Australia, is becoming an increasingly popular tourist destination. It is an outstanding example of cone karst in Devonian sandstone, supports a diverse range of habitats, from deep, sheltered gorges to semi-arid plains, and has special spiritual and cultural significance for local Aboriginal clan groups. (d) The Palaeogene volcanic features at Fingal’s Cave, Staffa, Scotland, have been a tourist destination since the late 18th century and a source of inspiration for poetry music and art. (e) The retreat of the Pasterze Glacier, the largest glacier in Austria and the Eastern Alps, in the Hohe Tauern National Park, has increased in response to warmer summer temperatures and lower snowfall. A major tourist attraction, the Kaiser-Franz-Josefs-Höhe Visitor Centre offers panoramic views over the glacier and the Grossglockner massif, Austria’s highest mountain. Information boards and an educational glacier trail explain the glacial processes and history of retreat. (f) The spectacular karst landscape of Guilin and the River Li, China, is a World Heritage Site celebrated in poetry and painting for many centuries. Photos: John Gordon. Fourth, in addition to tangible benefits in the form of economic returns to local communities, geotourism confers relational benefits through opportunities for recreation, outdoor activities and physical challenges, as well as aesthetic, inspirational and spiritual experiences that directly contribute to people’s health and well-being and to educational and lifelong personal development (Table 1) [112,113]. Geotourism also enables people to reconnect with nature. This is important because people’s experiences of nature have increasingly become diminished, with consequent damaging effects on health and well-being and adoption of negative attitudes to the environment [114,115]. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 7 of 25 4. Geoheritage, Landscape Aesthetics and Geotourism 4.1. Western Cultural Values and the Roots of Modern Geotourism In Western Europe, the cultural values of geodiversity and geoheritage have changed over time and are linked with parallel developments in landscape aesthetics, geoscience and, latterly, geoconservation. In particular, literature and art played an important part in transforming perceptions of the landscape from a physical to a cultural construct with aesthetic value [1,116]. The roots of modern geotourism lay in the European Romantic movement of the mid-18th to the mid-19th centuries and the development of landscape aesthetics [117,118], although in many other cultures the appreciation of landscape and geological features is much older [7,48,50]. The Romantic movement saw a change in perception of “wild” landscapes, particularly mountains and spectacular natural phenomena such as caves, volcanoes and waterfalls (e.g., [14,75,119,120]), from places to be feared and avoided to landscapes to be appreciated through a “romantic gaze” [121]. The aesthetics of the sublime [122] and picturesque [123], respectively, inspired feelings of awe and admiration (Burke’s “delightful terror”) in the presence of geological “wonders”, or contemplation of the compositional qualities of “natural” landscapes [124]. The representation of the physical landscape in travel journals, literature and art [14,117,125–131] inspired writers, artists, poets and members of the wealthy classes and social elites in Britain and elsewhere in Europe to seek out and experience beautiful, sublime and picturesque scenery as part of a shift from the “classical” to a more “romantic” Grand Tour in the mid-17th to early 19th centuries and before the development of mass tourism in the mid-19th century [13,132,133]. This is well illustrated in the case of mountain aesthetics. Although nature poetry featured in Western classical civilizations (e.g., [134]), during the Middle Ages, wild nature and notably mountains were perceived as dangerous and fearsome places [48,135,136]. Particularly influential in transforming the perception of mountains were the accounts of sublime landscapes of the Alps celebrated in the influential works of Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778), Thomas Gray (1716–1771) and William Wordsworth (1770–1850), and later Lord Byron (1788–1824), Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822), John Ruskin (1819–1900) and their continental counterparts, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832), Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller (1759–1805) and Alexandre Dumas (1802–1870). By the mid-18th century, as documented for example in the journals of those crossing the Alps on the Grand Tour [132], travelers were appreciating the beauty and grandeur of the mountains, while writers, artists, poets and members of the aristocracy visited in increasing numbers specifically for recreation, scientific or health reasons, rather than simply passing through [137]. Romanticized by writers, poets and artists, mountains gained a strong aesthetic appeal for their sublime and unspoiled beauty, and by the end of the century tourists were regularly making excursions to the Mer de Glace and Glacier des Bossons [132]. Mountaineering also became an increasing attraction from the late 18th century [138]. Mass tourism in the Alps and elsewhere was facilitated in the second half of the 19th century by improvements in transport, through railways and steamships, and the development of package tours following Thomas Cook’s first venture to the Alps in 1863 [139]. Also influential were Goethe’s travels in Italy [140] and to the “rock cities” in central Europe [130], as were the sublime attractions of active volcanoes [74,119]. At the same time, tourist guidebooks and popular geology books [14] written for a mass market of visitors underpinned a huge growth of the travel industry focused on natural wonders. In North America, railways opened up the Rockies to tourists and climbers inspired by the publications of Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862) and John Muir (1838–1914), both influenced by the vision of Alexander von Humboldt (1769–1859) of the unity and wonder of nature [141], and by the sublime paintings of the Hudson River School and the work of contemporary photographers [142]. This historical perspective highlights the contribution of physical features in the development of Western landscape aesthetics and the role of the latter in early tourism. These developments took place at a time when geology was perceived as an exciting subject among the reading public, presented in a romantic, literary way that appealed to the imagination. Popular books related stories Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 8 of 25 of past worlds beyond a human timescale, blending geology together with folklore, legends and local scenery [143–145]. For poets, writers and artists, geology was a powerful source of inspiration that offered new ways of seeing the landscape, while in the popular imagination writers and artists inspired a sense of wonder and curiosity about the physical landscape and its aesthetic qualities. The rediscovery of such a sense of wonder can make key contribution to the wider development of modern geotourism [127,129,146,147]. 4.2. Eastern and Indigenous Cultural Values The Romantic movement was a product of European culture at a particular time. Elsewhere, people have responded differently to the natural world, reflecting the contention that there is no single nature, but rather multiple natures constructed by different societies [23,29,148–151]. In Eastern cultures, there is a long tradition of respect, harmony and synergy between humans and nature, embodied in the concept of the cultural landscape (e.g., [152]). Geological characteristics are fundamental to perceptions of the scenic quality and natural beauty of this cultural landscape [7]. For example, mountains, rivers, waterfalls and other natural features have all been recurring motifs in Chinese painting, poetry and travelers’ journals for over two millennia, celebrating the sacred character of nature and the connectedness of humans and nature (e.g., [7,153–155]). In contrast to the Western tradition of regarding nature and culture as separate elements of the same landscape, and which idealizes nature and wilderness protection free from human intervention, the traditional view of nature deeply rooted in Chinese philosophies is that nature and culture are indivisible and form a cosmological whole [7,43,156]. As people and nature are perceived to be in harmony in Chinese traditions, human intervention and manipulation of nature can enhance landscape appeal. Hence the installation of temples, carvings, inscriptions of poetry in stone, and artificial lakes and gardens in natural environments enhances rather than detracts from appreciation of the natural landscape, compared to Western preferences for the preservation of wild nature [157]. Chinese perceptions of landscape are strongly influenced by idealized images portrayed in paintings and poetry [158], so that Chinese tourists tend to view natural places in terms of their cultural meanings and significance. Consequently, their experiences of landscapes differ from those of Western tourists [159–161] and their motivation is often in the form of a pilgrimage to places that feature in poetry and paintings (e.g., the Guilin karst—Figure 1f) or have other cultural associations [158,162]. They are there to view the beauty of the physical features but gaze at them through cultural filters involving landscape memories and intangible cultural heritage [162,163]. Li [160] termed this distinctive Chinese gaze, the “harmony gaze”. In contrast in Western cultures, the aesthetics of nature and art have diverged [164]. In Western societies, spiritual attachment to nature declined during the scientific flourishing of the European Enlightenment. For many indigenous peoples, however, natural features remain an integral part of their culture and beliefs (e.g., [165]). Indigenous peoples have a strong kinship with nature, based on long connections with place, and take their identities and systems of beliefs from their natural surroundings. This is expressed, for example, in the traditions and philosophy of “Pachamama” (“Mother Earth”) in Andean indigenous communities in Latin America. Similarly, for Indigenous Australians, landscape features form part of their spirituality expressed through dreamtime stories and ceremonies, and embodying deep connections with the physical landscape which they experience in different ways and respect through the concept of “caring for country”. Hence geoheritage features such as Uluru, Kata Tjuta and the Bungle Bungle Range (Figure 1c) have special spiritual significance. In contrast in Western cultures, Ellison [166] described how the “suffocating embrace of romantically-infused notions of landscape has cut humans off from nature and from the world” (p. 87) and advocated that landscape artists, ecologists and environmentalists need to re-engage with the concept of humans as part of the natural world—that nature is not something “out there”. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 9 of 25 5. Discussion 5.1. Enhancing the Visitor Experience The success of geotourism in delivering its goals of geoheritage education, sustainable development and geoconservation is ultimately dependent on the quality of the visitor experience [27]. If visitors have a deeper awareness and connection with geoheritage through meaningful and memorable experiences, they are more likely to value it and help to manage it sustainably [113,167,168]. Interpretation planning is therefore crucial [169]. Although some evidence is inconsistent [170], well-planned and well-designed interpretation delivered to high standards by committed guides [24,171] is most likely to achieve satisfaction for the majority of general visitors and influence environmentally sensitive behavior and attitudes [168,172,173] and to help to manage the negative impacts of geotourism and recreation such as on-site damage [24,174]. Visitors have diverse motives and interests. Interpretation therefore needs to meet the requirements of a broad spectrum of audiences from the specific site-related geological and educational information for the dedicated geotourist and those actively seeking to learn about the geology of an area, to the broader interpretation that will engage and enthuse the casual geotourist and those simply wishing to “be there”, not only so that their experience is enhanced but also that their awareness of geoheritage and the need for its conservation is increased [11,21,175]. From a commercial perspective, the focus will tend to be on the general visitor, but the interests of the dedicated geotourist must also be met. Different approaches and messages are needed for different audiences [22], and the challenge is to interpret geoheritage in meaningful ways that involve active engagement and follow best practice principles [167,168,176,177]. As noted above, appreciation of the physical landscape is not a new phenomenon, but the goals are different and modern methods and approaches are available to enhance the visitor experience and their awareness of geoheritage [130]. While the geoheritage features themselves must have a strong story to tell, their cultural connections have a vital part to play, particularly in engaging the interest of the non-specialist visitor. Whereas in the 18th and 19th centuries, people experienced geoheritage through landscape aesthetics, literature and romantic tourism and through the spectacular appeal of past worlds, the modern didactic approach to geological interpretation has frequently provided information overload through on-site panels, leaflets, and other media. The focus on reading the landscape [178] has involved geologists telling their stories and presenting their way of understanding the landscape [179]. This is fine for the dedicated geotourist already interested in geology and geomorphology. However, the purpose of interpretation should be to inform and entertain as well as to educate, as recognized by one of the founders of modern geology, James Hutton [180], who remarked that study of the Earth “may afford the human mind both information and entertainment” (p. 30). But it must also provide more meaningful experiences. This was appreciated by Friedrich Nietzsche who began the foreword to his essay (published in 1874), On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life, with a quotation from Goethe emphasizing the value of knowledge for enriching life: “In any case, I hate everything that merely instructs me without augmenting or directly invigorating my activity” [181] (unpaged). Emotions play an important part in augmenting or invigorating visitors’ memorable experiences [89,113,182,183], involving other senses than just “gaze” [133]. Emotional experience is a strong influence on subsequent behavior, particularly personal experiences that are unique and unexpected [184]. Ham [168] stressed the importance of provoking deep personal thought and making personal connections as a basis for subsequent positive actions by visitors. For the great majority of visitors, therefore, the challenge is to enhance their experiences beyond the presentation of “information medicine” [185] by providing interactive engagement on an emotional and imaginative level that enables the rediscovery of sense of wonder, inspiration and enchantment about the landscape and its natural features [127,129,146,186–188]. This includes embracing the cultural landscape and engaging with the artistic in a way that connects with the imagination [185]. Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 10 of 25 The Irish poet, Seamus Heaney [189], explored the concept that poets and geologists transform geological landscapes into cultural landscapes, so that rocks and landscapes can take on new meanings for people when viewed from a cultural perspective. The stories in the rocks and their cultural associations provide opportunities for people to reconnect with geoheritage, and experience a renewed sense of wonder. This is particularly the case for those who might otherwise have little interest in the geological detail. Such an approach can also help to link people with their cultural roots and enhance their sense of place and connections with the natural world [190,191]. It should be recognized, too, that traditional indigenous knowledge is an integral component of site management and interpretation [23,41]. This cultural element can introduce new stories that engage visitors, enrich their experiences and enhance understanding of contemporary environmental issues [192]. For example, indigenous people attribute different cultural values and animate meanings to glaciers compared with Western values that emphasize landscape aesthetics, wilderness, natural hazards, sublime scenery, mountaineering and tourism [104–107]. This means shifting the emphasis from appreciating landscape stories through geologists’ eyes to alternative storylines about the landscape [41,127,147,193–196]. Interpretation of cultural links can enhance the geological stories and offer alternative ways of attracting and engaging visitors and adding to their experiences [197]. Artists, musicians, poets, writers, geoscientists and local people interpret the landscape in different ways. Exploring the landscape through these different cultural filters [117] can provide memorable personal experiences for visitors and enable a more holistic view of the landscape. Such an approach to interpretation can bring together Western and Eastern cultural traditions. For example, studies of interpretation in some Chinese geoparks reveal that the traditional Western-style didactic approach, involving presentation of overly technical information, is ineffective and ignored by a majority of visitors [162,198]. On the other hand, for many visitors, geoheritage is more likely to be appreciated through guided tours and involving stories, art and poetry. Such media can make cultural and aesthetic connections and emotionally engage visitors with the landscape and its geoheritage, reflecting the principle that interpretation should relate to the audience and be culturally relevant [161,162,198–200]. Providing it is done well, such engagement with the cultural landscape is not “dumbing down” the geology, but involves the enrichment of knowledge. Rather than simply present information, many geoparks already promote links between geoheritage and other aspects of the area’s natural and cultural heritage through innovative interpretation that integrates geological and cultural history based around trails and on-site panels, digital tools and novel exhibits and installations of rock sculptures and land art designed to stimulate people’s interest, along with creative experiential engagement with local schools (e.g., [201–203]). This parallels the growing interest in art-based science education [204,205] and, more widely, a cultural turn towards geology as a source of artistic and literary creativity to contextualize life in the modern world and the role of humans in changing the planet [206]. As in the past, and recognized in the UNESCO Global Geoparks Network [9], the aesthetic appeal of the landscape is a highly valued asset, particularly for the general visitor, but the challenge is to introduce awareness of geoheritage and geoconservation as an element of the aesthetic appreciation of the landscape [22] and in a manner that does not compromise the aesthetic qualities of the landscape [207]. The aesthetic should complement and enhance the science, providing a pathway to introduce and educate visitors about the physical environment [208], while knowledge should enhance the appreciative sensory experience through “participatory engagement” with the environment [164]. Appreciating the landscape and engaging the emotions are more powerful than simply learning about the science alone. As noted earlier, the range of benefits from geotourism is not only instrumental or utilitarian, but includes relational benefits that should be fully addressed in management planning and practice. In order to achieve its objectives, geotourism should not be an exclusive experience for dedicated geotourists but should cater for a spectrum of visitor interests and activities depending on the nature of the site. This will require judgements about different uses—what are the activities and experiences Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 11 of 25 most likely to foster geoconservation? It will require development of mapping, spatial inventories and indicators at regional and local scales to assess the potential for different activities and the sensitivities of particular geosites (e.g., [5,209,210]) and implementation of good-practice guidance for visitor management [211]. As recognized for tourism [212] and ecotourism [213,214], the Tourism Opportunity Spectrum is a tool that may be useful for managing geotourist activities and to guide management decisions and planning to accommodate different interests sustainably. It incorporates attributes of site access, compatibility with other activities, attractions and types of experience offered, existing infrastructure, social interaction of visitors and host population, level of skill and knowledge, acceptability of visitor impacts, and acceptability of a management regime. 5.2. Geotourism: Bridging the Nature–Culture Divide The connections with the cultural landscape provide opportunities to promote the values of geoheritage to a wider public constituency. This aligns with the “new paradigm” in nature conservation that emphasizes “people and nature” and recognizes community needs and the value of joint management approaches [215–218]. It also connects with the UN Sustainable Development Goals, where geotourism can both help to promote the role of the geosciences [92] and contribute directly to the delivery of specific goals (e.g., Goal 8: Promote inclusive and sustainable economic growth, employment and decent work for all). The concept of “biocultural diversity” has been suggested as a way of overcoming the nature-culture divide [219]. It requires finding a balance between Western scientific approaches to nature conservation and stewardship with approaches grounded in alternative concepts of “being part of the natural world” [165,219] and that nature in all its aspects should be part of everyday experience, connected with human lives and with humans as part of nature [115,220]. One could equally suggest a parallel concept of “geocultural diversity”, but compartmentalizing in this way is unhelpful as it negates the interweaving of geodiversity, biodiversity and people and the recognition that nature is the unity of the biotic and abiotic. Indeed, Harmon [221] emphasized this unity and advocated the inclusion of abiotic diversity within the concept of “biocultural diversity”. Similarly, Kellert [222] argued that we need to develop a synthesis of Eastern, Western and indigenous cultural traditions, bringing together appreciation of the wholeness of nature and existence in harmony with the natural world, with Western concepts of environmental stewardship and sustainable management based on empirical understanding. In practice, however, the complexities of managing landscapes in the face of widely differing cultural interests and philosophies should not be underestimated, as demonstrated in the case of Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park [223]. Recognizing that there is an opportunity spectrum for geotourism that embraces both the dedicated geotourist and the more casual visitor should enable geoheritage values be promoted to a much wider and nonscientific audience and in ways that promote a more holistic awareness and appreciation of the links between geoheritage, biodiversity, landscape history and the cultural characteristics and heritage of an area [175,224]. Consequently, geotourism may be viewed as a form of sustainable tourism that incorporates themes from various sectors such as integrated rural tourism, cultural and heritage tourism and community-based tourism [225]). This approach, advocated in the Arouca Declaration [20], integrates geology, environment, culture, aesthetics and heritage, but as noted by Martini et al. [226], it has geology as a central focus (cf. [227]) and embraces geological tourism for dedicated geotourists as one of its essential components. In this respect, it differs from the broad National Geographic definition of geotourism [228]. Martini [229] also argued that we must think in terms of whole areas that are coherent in terms of geography and society and not isolate geoheritage from other types of heritage within any given territory. He advocated that to make the most of geosites and protect them, it is necessary to understand and integrate the cultural context and the values of the territories in which they are situated. In a similar vein, Stoffelen and Vanneste [19] proposed a reinterpretation of geotourism in order to provide a holistic analysis of landscape to incorporate various society–nature interactions Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 12 of 25 and meanings. Integrating nature (including geodiversity) with people through cultural filters also implicates an ethical responsibility to protect it and pass it on to future generations with the options to apply their own values (see below). This approach requires specialist knowledge in assessing and identifying appropriate sites for geotourism, managing these sites to enhance geoconservation and contributing to engaging interpretation and education (e.g., through museums, visitor centers, exhibitions, guided tours, interpretative panels and websites) and activities that facilitate the comprehension of geoheritage by the visitors [24,34]. 5.3. Geotourism and Geoethics Geotourism has a cultural role in the developing field of geoethics. According to Peppoloni and Di Capua [230], geoethics through the development of geotourism and UNESCO Global Geoparks promotes geoeducation, aiming to develop awareness, values and responsibility for geoheritage, especially among young people. By creating awareness of the value of a region’s geological heritage, “geological culture and geoethics can strengthen the links between people and their land, between the places of their origins and their own memories” [231] (p. 339). Education can also highlight messages about environmental issues and sustainable use of natural resources, including the consequences of ignoring the loss of geoheritage [232]. Importantly, an ethical approach is not restricted to the economic sustainability of natural resources, but must include the life-enhancing value of nature as a subject of sensual, contemplative, spiritual, religious and aesthetic experience to be passed on to future generations [57,233,234]. The contention that nature has intrinsic value that should be protected for its own sake is often based on spiritual or metaphysical beliefs, but it also arises from moral considerations and the responsibilities of human beings towards the natural world and to maintain the diversity of the world’s natural and culture heritage [221,235,236]. Adhering to good geoethical practice is an essential part of geotourism both among providers and participants. In addition, geotourism should help to promote and enhance awareness of geoethics among the public [237]. There are several aspects to this. First, geotourism activities and infrastructure must be sustainable and incorporated, where appropriate, into the aesthetics of the site, and they should enable geoconservation without damaging the features of interest or causing other environmental impacts [24,27]. Second, they should be sensitive to the values and cultures of local communities, recognizing that the latter may hold different norms, values and interpretations of the landscape, as well as incorporating local knowledge fundamental to sustainable management of the geotourism assets. Commodification of geoheritage as a resource for geotourism may not align with local cultural values [23], but sensitive community participation should help to encourage a wider sense of ownership [238–240]. This may include management zoning or employment of local guides in sensitive areas to present indigenous interpretations of the landscape [41]. Such cross-cultural collaboration involving local and indigenous people can help to maintain traditional knowledge and culture, while delivering geoconservation [239,241]. Third, geotourism should be guided by ethical principles to ensure that commercialisation does not destroy harmony with nature [242] and that the geotourism experience combines enjoyment of the aesthetic features of geoheritage with gaining knowledge about their interest and value, while minimizing management or infrastructure footprints that impact on the aesthetic experience. Part of this includes reconciling contrasting expectations and demands of tourists from different cultures and with different backgrounds [242]. Fourth, risk assessment of hazards must be fully taken into account in evaluating the potential use of geosites for tourism and in their subsequent management. Large numbers of visitors to inherently dynamic sites may expose visitors to hazards with risk of injuries or death [75,243,244], but geotourism also has an important role in educating visitors about natural hazards [245]. Fifth, geotourism can help to promote sustainable use of natural resources that recognizes the value of local knowledge and the spiritual connections between people and the land [246,247]. Sixth, geotourism interpretation and education also provide opportunities to raise awareness and discuss broader geoethical issues. This includes encouraging a positive attitude to the values of geoconservation and promoting sustainable environmental management based on better Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 13 of 25 appreciation of geology and geomorphological processes and the implementation of geoconservation principles such as “working with natural processes” [66,248]. In turn, this should enable better public understanding and more informed debate about natural hazards and global changes in the geosphere. Finally, geotourism has a part to play in educating geoscientists about geoconservation and good practice such as responsible rock coring [249,250]. 6. Conclusions Progressing geoconservation depends on better public awareness, understanding and support. Geotourism has a vital contribution to make in achieving these goals. Strong geological stories that appeal to the imagination are essential, but the visitor experience for both dedicated and casual geotourists can be enhanced through explorations of the connections between geoheritage and the cultural landscape. Interpretation that involves aesthetic and emotional experiences and encourages the rediscovery of a sense of wonder and a more holistic appreciation of nature, people and landscape is likely to have wide appeal and be most effective. To be sustainable, geotourism must promote and strengthen geoconservation [251], not conflict with it for commercial gain, and geoconservation must work for both people and the land in a harmonious relationship [252]. Geotourism needs to be integrated with best practice management to preserve and enhance the visitor experience and protect the resource [253]. For many, aesthetics are a significant part of the destination experience, if not a primary factor [162,254], so that a challenge for the management of geotourism is to provide access to places of scenic beauty and natural wonders in a way that not only avoids development which detracts from the aesthetic experience [120,207,252], but also accommodates divergent cultural perspectives and ensures the well-being of local communities and visitors, as well as maintaining the full range of ecosystem goods and services upon which they, and geotourism, depend. While the cultural landscape offers rich potential to engage a wider audience, there remains a need to evaluate the cross-cultural expectations of visitors [200,255] and the kinds of desired activities and meaningful and memorable experiences that will best connect people to geoheritage in a way that will influence their attitudes and increase support for geoconservation [113,198,254]. Visitor demand for, and success of different approaches to interpretation merit further investigation linked with the broader heritage and nature-based tourism research agenda and detailed analysis of: (1) what geotourists actually want [161,162,256]; (2) destination image and reality [257]; and (3) management options and the effectiveness of geotourism in raising visitors’ awareness of geoheritage and changing their behavior [258]. There are important historical lessons about rediscovering a sense of wonder through aesthetic and emotional experiences, although the role of emotional content in destination experiences for geotourists remains to be evaluated [183]. However, rather than re-engagement in a romantic way, there should be a focus on people as part of nature. Linked to this is a need for a stronger academic foundation for geotourism which could benefit from existing theory, conceptual analysis and best practice from other forms of heritage and nature-based tourism [259]. This will require closer collaboration with relevant social sciences to develop multidisciplinary approaches with a range of stakeholders. A cultural ecosystem services framework should be valuable in this respect, and particularly relevant in the case of UNESCO Global Geoparks, which are required to deliver both geoconservation and a range of benefits for people. Specifically, a cultural ecosystem services framework can highlight multiple benefits, as well as trade-offs, and support integrated resource and environmental management that includes links to human well-being and delivery of different services [260,261]. Further analysis is also required to develop new insights into how cultural ecosystem services and benefits influence visitor motivations, expectations, behaviors and levels of satisfaction and how these might be carried through into planning and management practice [260]. The assessment of geoheritage assets, values and benefits within a cultural ecosystem services framework can enable a more holistic approach to geotourism, recognizing the connections between people, geoheritage and the landscape. In addition to geoconservation outcomes and economic Geosciences 2018, 8, 136 14 of 25 returns for communities, wider relational benefits for participants include improved health and well-being through aesthetic and spiritual enrichment, possibilities for recreation, physical activity, inspiration, reflection, acquiring scientific knowledge and reaffirming cultural identity. In view of the growing importance of the ecosystem approach in environmental policy, management and decision making, active engagement by the geoscience community is required to ensure that geotourism is fully factored into wider assessments of ecosystem services and nature’s contributions to people (e.g., [262]). 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Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09669582.2017.1291649 http://dx.doi.org/10.1126/science.aap8826 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/29348221 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction Geoheritage and the Cultural Landscape Geoheritage, Geotourism and Cultural Ecosystem Services Geoheritage, Landscape Aesthetics and Geotourism Western Cultural Values and the Roots of Modern Geotourism Eastern and Indigenous Cultural Values Discussion Enhancing the Visitor Experience Geotourism: Bridging the Nature–Culture Divide Geotourism and Geoethics Conclusions References 
work_obghdcjdkzgwbibx2qdhmdw5w4	----	errgo_13_n_kopia.p65 99 Lawrence Buell Literackie początki Ameryki jako zjawisko postkolonialne 1. Historia Ameryki, pierwszej kolonii, która uzyska³a niepodleg³oœæ, czêsto uznawana jest przez Amerykanów za wzór dla innych m³odych narodów, tym- czasem wielce po¿yteczna nauka p³ynie ze studiowania historii Ameryki w œwietle doœwiadczeñ skolonizowanych narodów, które zdoby³y niepodleg³oœæ znacznie póŸniej. Jednak niewielu specjalistów od historii literatury pokusi³o siê dotych- czas o retrospektywn¹ interpretacjê uwzglêdniaj¹c¹ ten punkt widzenia. W ni- niejszym eseju postaram siê odpowiedzieæ na pytanie, w jakim stopniu wykry- stalizowanie siê bogatej literatury narodowej w okresie tak zwanego Amerykañskiego Renesansu, przypadaj¹cego na po³owê dziewiêtnastego wieku, wpisuje siê w teoretyczn¹ formu³ê, opisuj¹c¹ nowe literatury postkolonialne. Piszê te s³owa jako amerykanista z wykszta³cenia, który zainteresowa³ siê litera- tur¹ anglojêzyczn¹ tworzon¹ na ca³ym œwiecie. Ta literatura i jej krytyczna systematyzacja – frapuj¹ce same w sobie – sk³oni³y mnie do przemyœlenia sze- regu pogl¹dów typowo amerykanistycznych. Je¿eli moje stanowisko kogoœ zaskakuje – a przypuszczam, ¿e tak jest – nie mam wiêkszych w¹tpliwoœci, dlaczego tak siê dzieje. Niewiedza i Ÿle pojmowa- ne zasady zniechêcaj¹ amerykanistów do szukania analogii miêdzy literackimi pocz¹tkami Ameryki oraz, powiedzmy, Kanady albo Australii, nie wspominaj¹c o Indiach Zachodnich i zachodniej Afryce. Wiêkszoœæ amerykanistów wie bar- dzo niewiele o tych literaturach, ja sam posiadam o nich wiedzê najwy¿ej pod- stawow¹. Co do b³êdnych zasad, to nawet uczeni bêd¹cy na bakier z liberali- zmem musz¹ nabraæ podejrzeñ, ¿e jest jakaœ hipokryzja w ukazywaniu Ameryki w dobie ekspansjonizmu raczej jako potêgi postkolonialnej ani¿eli proto-impe- rialnej; takie jej przedstawienie wydaje siê bowiem tuszowaæ amerykañski inter- wencjonizm w sprawach miêdzynarodowych. Mój artyku³ tym bardziej mo¿e wzbudziæ zastrze¿enia, zwa¿ywszy, jak ³atwo przejœæ od myœlenia o Ameryce jako o pierwszym nowym narodzie do pochwa³y tego¿ narodu jako wzoru dla innych nowych nacji. Przyznajê, ¿e taki projekt komparatystyczny niesie ryzyko zamazania ró¿nicy miêdzy dwiema kategoriami podmiotu kolonialnego: osadni- kiem europejskim i rdzennym mieszkañcem. Badania historii literatury amerykañskiej skupiaj¹ siê na tekstach amerykañ- skich, skutkiem czego obecnoœæ elementów miêdzynarodowych (przede wszyst- 100 kim europejskich) poœród tematów godnych rozwa¿enia zosta³a ograniczona do minimum. Zarówno kosmopolityczni erudyci, jak i amerykaniœci, których wie- dza niezmiernie rzadko wykracza poza historiê literatury amerykañskiej, zawê- ¿aj¹ pole widzenia. Na przyk³ad w opisie rozwoju poezji amerykañskiej wed³ug Harolda Blooma, wp³ywy zewnêtrzne zanikaj¹ wraz z pojawieniem siê Emerso- na; otó¿ Bloom wyraŸnie rozgranicza historiê literatury brytyjskiej i amerykañ- skiej, mimo ¿e powinien zdawaæ sobie sprawê, i¿ jeszcze w dwudziestym wie- ku, nie wspominaj¹c o okresie wczeœniejszym, „sztandarowi” poeci amerykañscy czytali angielskich mistrzów chêtniej i uwa¿niej ani¿eli siebie nawzajem. Wpraw- dzie od dawna ukazywa³y siê porównawcze monografie na przyk³ad Emersona i Carlyle’a, Fuller i Goethego itp., lecz badanie wp³ywów pozwala odkryæ tylko niewielk¹ niszê w rozbudowanej strukturze i pokazaæ ducha epoki lub pomniej- sze wp³ywy – taki materia³ pasowa³by raczej na wstêp do monumentalnego, wielow¹tkowego opracowania. Z pozoru nie ma nic dziwnego ani niew³aœciwego w tym, ¿e studia nad literatur¹ amerykañsk¹ koncentruj¹ siê na Ameryce, przecie¿ wszystkie historie literatur narodowych zawê¿aj¹ horyzont w podobny sposób. Jednak historyczny opis literatury amerykañskiej posiada pewn¹ szczególn¹ cechê, mianowicie ograni- czenie zainteresowañ do problematyki narodowej wynika tu z przekonania o wyj¹tkowoœci kultury amerykañskiej. Innymi s³owy, wyznacznikiem statusu pisarza jest kryterium œwiadomoœci narodowej, z jednej strony obojêtne wobec przenikania siê elementów „rdzennych” i „obcych”, a z drugiej umacniaj¹ce arbi- tralne regu³y selekcji autorów do kanonu (np. Hawthorne – tak, Longfellow – nie). Taki kierunek istnieje w badaniach nad literatur¹ amerykañsk¹, odk¹d zosta³y uznane za dyscyplinê naukow¹ w latach 1920; ton historiografii literackiej nada- wa³y prace z naczeln¹ tez¹ o jednolitej tradycji literatury amerykañskiej, pióra D. H. Lawrence’a, Williama Carlosa Williamsa, Lewisa Mumforda i Vernona L. Parringtona. American Renaissance F. O. Matthiessena nadal uchodzi za dzie³o prze³omowe miêdzy innymi z tego wzglêdu, ¿e by³a to ostatnia wa¿na ksi¹¿ka w epoce krytycznoliterackiej, w której tak silnie zaznaczy³o siê uznanie dla inter- tekstów anglo-amerykañskich – wszak w twórczoœci piêciu autorów omówio- nych przez Matthiessena pobrzmiewa retoryka Szekspira, Miltona, poezji i pro- zy metafizycznej, neoklasycyzmu i romantyzmu. Po teorii Matthiessena nast¹pi³ czas opisów genezy literatury amerykañskiej, które zak³ada³y, ¿e jednorodnoœæ kanonu wynika z mitów wyj¹tkowoœci Ameryki, takich jak dziedzictwo pury- tañskie i niewinnoœæ Adama, odwo³ywa³y siê do gatunków uznanych za artefak- ty narodowe – jeremiady, relacji z porwania, romansu – i akcentowa³y ci¹g³oœæ tradycji: po Edwardsie by³ Emerson, po Emersonie Whitman, po Whitmanie Stevens itd. Za spraw¹ tak nakreœlonej wizji rozwoju literackiego ros³a naukowa ranga historii literatury. Uboczn¹, aczkolwiek brzemienn¹, konsekwencj¹ uprzy- wilejowania jednych tekstów i motywów kosztem innych by³o narzucanie litera- turze coraz bardziej sztywnych ram. 101 Stworzyliœmy w Ameryce hermetyczn¹ krytykê literack¹. Wszystko zaczyna siê, gdy jako studenci literatury snadnie zapominamy o tym, ¿e ¿aden autor Amerykañskiego Renesansu, z wyj¹tkiem Thoreau, który jako pisarz tak wiele zawdziêcza³ Emersonowi, nie stworzy³ oryginalnego stylu wy³¹cznie pod wp³y- wem literatury narodowej, albo ¿e jedynym œladem uznania któregokolwiek kanonicznego pisarza Renesansu za literata œwiatowego formatu przez jemu wspó³czesnych jest esej Melville’a o Hawthornie. Z nawyku kojarzymy Haw- thorne’a z Melville’em, ale nigdy na przyk³ad z George Eliot, chocia¿ ¿adne kanoniczne dzie³o Melville’a nie realizuje artystycznego planu Hawthorne’a wierniej ani¿eli Adam Bede wobec Szkar³atnej litery. Ze studentów stajemy siê nauczycielami, zachowuj¹c ów porz¹dek estetyczny na kursach z Amerykañ- skiego Renesansu. Dzisiaj jesteœmy ju¿ przygotowani do rewizji doœæ zaœciankowych pogl¹dów o literaturze. Feministyczna i afroamerykañska krytyka kanonu ustalonego w latach 1920-1960 wywo³a³a powa¿n¹ dyskusjê o instrumentach klasyfikacji literackiej i o genealogii tekstów. Pojawi³y siê ujêcia transatlantyckie, takie jak analiza permutacji Eshu w The Signifying Monkey Henry’ego Louisa Gatesa, albo omówienie obrazu spo³ecznoœci euroamerykañskiej w utworach pisarek dzie- wiêtnastowiecznych w ksi¹¿ce The Madwoman in the Attic Sandry Gilbert i Susan Gubar, która to publikacja da³a impuls feministycznej krytyce poezji Emily Dickinson. Kilku amerykanistów – ich œladem pod¹¿aj¹ ju¿ kolejni – zajê³o siê tematem zwi¹zków angielsko-amerykañskich albo europejsko-ame- rykañskich: Jonathan Arac (Commissioned Spirits), Leon Chai (The Romantic Foundations of the American Renaissance), Nicolaus Mills (American and En- glish Fiction in the Nineteenth Century), Larry Reynolds (European Revolutions and the American Literary Renaissance), Robert Weisbuch (Atlantic Double- Cross) i William Spengemann (A Mirror for Americanists). Powsta³y nowator- skie monografie – James Fenimore Cooper: The American Scott George’a Dek- kera oraz Adrift in the World Jeffreya Rubin-Dorsky’ego o Washingtonie Irvingu. Wymienione opracowania nie zaowocowa³y jednak zmian¹ kierunku badañ amerykanistycznych. W dydaktyce oraz krytyce, nie wspominaj¹c o osobistych pogl¹dach amerykanistów, dominuje przekonanie, ¿e – cytuj¹c Spengemanna – „w³aœciwa ocena literatury amerykañskiej zak³ada oddzielenie jej od literatury reszty œwiata”1. Spengemann widocznie wierzy, ¿e rzecz ma siê podobnie we wszystkich epokach historiografii literatury amerykañskiej. Niewykluczone, ¿e ma racjê; ja wszak¿e ograniczam siê w tym artykule do pocz¹tkowego okresu literatury narodowej nie tylko dlatego, ¿e pozna³em go dog³êbniej ni¿ inne, ale równie¿ z tego wzglêdu, ¿e szufladkowanie zjawisk z tej epoki zdarza siê o wiele czêœciej ni¿ ma to miejsce w przypadku modernizmu albo wczesnego okresu kolonialnego. Nadal zastanawiamy siê nad tym, jak Hawthorne interpre- towa³ spuœciznê purytañsk¹, a nie nad tym, jakie wnioski wyci¹ga³ z powieœci Scotta, podkreœlamy wp³yw Emersona i Poego na prozodyczne eksperymenty Whitmana, zapominaj¹c o znaczeniu poetyckich dokonañ Keatsa i Tennysona 102 w tej mierze. Sporo wiemy o stosunkach miêdzy autorami powieœci dla kobiet w Ameryce, zdecydowanie mniej o ich opiniach na temat Dickensa oraz innych brytyjskich pisarzach i pisarkach tworz¹cych literaturê sentymentaln¹. Wizja nakreœlona w typowym artykule albo monografii o literaturze amerykañskiej dziewiêtnastego wieku bywa do tego stopnia autoteliczna, ¿e nie znajduje uza- sadnienia w tekstach, poza utworami, w których nacjonalizm kulturalny jest najsilniej zaznaczony. Przyczyn¹ takiego stanu rzeczy nie jest przywi¹zanie lite- raturoznawców do koncepcji wyj¹tkowego charakteru Ameryki, lecz istnienie ró¿nych zastrze¿eñ dotycz¹cych klasyfikowania pisarzy. Efektem zaœ jest utopij- ne przeœwiadczenie krytyków o autonomii wczesnej literatury narodowej i o wyj¹tkowoœci Ameryki. Taka wiara wydaje siê o tyle groŸna, ¿e narzuca nam – lub naszym s³uchaczom –– zawê¿on¹ i fa³szyw¹ perspektywê. Znamienne, i¿ pomimo wyrafinowanej metodologii Nowy Historycyzm, naœwietlaj¹cy ideolo- giczn¹ dwulicowoœæ klasycznych tekstów Amerykañskiego Renesansu (godze- nie ostentacyjnego radykalizmu z rzeczywistym centryzmem), w istocie nie pod- wa¿y³ przekonania, ¿e uk³adaj¹ siê one w cykl o duchu narodu. Przyznajê, ¿e ja te¿ przyczyni³em siê do scentralizowania badañ ameryka- nistycznych, ale przynajmniej teraz staram siê na nowo przemyœleæ pocz¹tki literatury narodowej. Nie twierdzê, i¿ Amerykañski Renesans nie mia³ miej- sca; chcê natomiast wykazaæ, ¿e w celu lepszego zrozumienia osi¹gniêæ lite- rackich tego okresu i bardziej gruntownego poznania narodowej tradycji lite- rackiej, warto postawiæ pytanie, w jakim stopniu ta tradycja wyros³a z „kultury ludzi podbitych, d¹¿¹cych do pokonania swoich w³adców w granicach psycho- logicznych ustanowionych przez tych¿e w³adców”, jak ujmuje to Ashis Nandy mówi¹c o klimacie intelektualnym w kolonialnych Indiach2 . Jeœli chce siê zmieniæ perspektywê postrzegania pierwszej po³owy dziewiêtnastego wieku z kolonialnej na postkolonialn¹, nale¿y przenieœæ uwagê z w³adzy politycznej/ /militarnej na w³adzê kulturow¹, która staje siê celem oporu. O ile doœwiad- czeñ trzynastu kolonii amerykañskich nie da siê porównaæ z polityczn¹/mili- tarn¹ dominacj¹ w kolonialnych Indiach, o tyle kolonizacja kulturowa – efekt rzekomo przyjaznego re¿imu imperialnego – mia³a w tej epoce niebagatelne znaczenie i objawi³a siê w ró¿nych dziedzinach ¿ycia, pocz¹wszy od episte- mologii i estetyki, a na dietetyce skoñczywszy. 2. W mniemaniu badaczy Amerykañskiego Renesansu zagadnienie kulturo- wej zale¿noœci pisarzy odgrywa³o rolê najwy¿ej drugorzêdn¹. Naukowe eks- plikacje dziedzictwa purytañskiego pokazywa³y, i¿ korzenie w³asnej kultury by³y na tyle wczesne i g³êbokie, ¿e jej rozkwit pozostawa³ kwesti¹ czasu, a zatem problem kulturowego przenikania siê Ameryki ze Starym Œwiatem schodzi³ na dalszy plan. Dlatego te¿ zale¿noœæ postkolonialna jawi³a siê jako wirus obecny w juweniliach wielkich pisarzy sprzed wojny secesyjnej. Przy- 103 puszczam, ¿e my, nauczyciele literatury amerykañskiej dziewiêtnastego wie- ku, uk³adaliœmy listy lektur, traktuj¹c pob³a¿liwie s³owa niegdysiejszego bry- tyjskiego recenzenta Sydneya Smitha („Na obydwu pó³kulach œwiata – kto czyta amerykañskie ksi¹¿ki?”) i nie zastanawiaj¹c siê nad nieprzyjemnym wy- dŸwiêkiem tego komentarza o stanie literatury amerykañskiej. Henry T. Tuckerman, autor America and Her Commentators (1864), monu- mentalnej i gruntownej rozprawy poœwiêconej kszta³towaniu siê transatlantyc- kich pogl¹dów o Ameryce, uwa¿a opiniê Smitha za „bezczeln¹ i pozbawion¹ sensu”: „W historii, poezji, nauce, krytyce literackiej, biografistyce, debatach politycznych i etycznych, relacjach podró¿niczych, opisach obyczajów, roman- sach, amerykañskie modele s¹ œwiadectwem geniuszu i kultury narodu”3 . Przy wszystkich swoich nieugiêtych przekonaniach, Tuckerman podwa¿a w³asny pro- jekt. O ile Tuckerman wyra¿a swój patriotyzm, snuj¹c wizjê rodz¹cej siê kultury Ameryki, o tyle przyznaje siê do obawy, ¿e „nie istnieje drugi równie ludny kraj, którego mieszkañcy tak czêsto oceniani byliby en masse”4 . Jego teza, jakoby Amerykanie przestali byæ zwyczajnymi konsumentami kultury, jest ry- zykowna i nieprzekonuj¹ca. „Statystyki sprzeda¿y ksi¹¿ek oraz kultura indywi- dualna Amerykanów pokazuj¹, ¿e dzie³a najwiêkszych mistrzów literatury bry- tyjskiej z lepszym skutkiem karmi¹ umys³y Amerykanów ani¿eli Anglików” – pisze. Tuckerman dowolnie traktuje statystykê (do roku 1876 na dziesiêæ ksi¹¿ek importowanych przypada³a jedna eksportowana) i b³êdnie ocenia men- talnoœæ konsumenta: otó¿ „dystans nieodzowny dla zachwytu” oraz ogólne wy- kszta³cenie Amerykanów rzekomo sprawi³y, i¿ „Szekspir i Milton, Bacon i Wordsworth, Byron i Scott, byli i nadal s¹ szerzej znani, i bardziej doceniani po tej stronie Atlantyku, i tutaj lepiej zadomowili siê w ¿yciu intelektualnym”5 . Innymi s³owy, o kulturowej autonomii Ameryki ma œwiadczyæ fakt, ¿e wiêcej egzemplarzy klasyki literatury angielskiej trafia do r¹k czytelników w Ameryce ani¿eli w Anglii. Ksi¹¿ka Tuckermana jawi siê sk¹din¹d jako vademecum dla wykszta³conego importera ksi¹¿ek. Tuckerman nie dostrzega zwi¹zku miêdzy „zachwytem” amerykañskich czy- telników nad ksi¹¿kami angielskimi a w³asnym przeœwiadczeniem, ¿e nie po- winno siê ulegaæ urokowi Ameryki, o jakiej opowiadaj¹ zagraniczni podró¿nicy. Jednak sam fakt powstania jego ksi¹¿ki œwiadczy o potêdze autorytetu literatury europejskiej, która w istocie stworzy³a nowy dyskurs Ameryki. Z tym dyskur- sem pisarze amerykañscy musieli siê zmierzyæ. Wprawdzie w ostatnim pó³wie- czu pisarstwo podró¿nicze by³o tematem licznych rozpraw naukowych, a niektó- re teksty reprezentuj¹ce tê odmianê piœmiennictwa s¹ powszechnie znane (mam na myœli rzecz jasna O demokracji w Ameryce Alexisa de Tocqueville’a), lecz rolê tej formy „okcydentalnego” pisarstwa widaæ w pe³niejszym œwietle dopiero uwzglêdniwszy najnowsze badania dyskursu kolonialnego. W okresie, który nazywamy naszym literackim renesansem, zagraniczni (przede wszystkim an- gielscy) obserwatorzy kojarzyli Amerykê – pomimo dostrzegalnych sympto- mów zmiany tej percepcji – z „innym”, czymœ niewyra¿alnym, egzotycznym, 104 barbarzyñskim i pozbawionym klarownej struktury; zupe³nie ignorowali fakt, ¿e Amerykanie zbudowali nowoczesne prawo i siln¹ gospodarkê, ¿e nie istnia³a ¿adna bariera rasowa miêdzy Anglikami i elitami amerykañskimi, i ¿e oni sami – pod- ró¿nicy europejscy – mieli œwiadomoœæ, i¿ ci rdzenni mieszkañcy chcieli i mogli na wszystkie w¹tpliwoœci odpowiedzieæ w jêzyku europejskim. Wra¿li- woœæ Amerykanów na opinie Europejczyków by³a wrêcz przys³owiowa; niektórzy podró¿nicy przyznawali nawet, ¿e z tego powodu powœci¹gali swoj¹ szczeroœæ. Dziewiêtnastowieczni Amerykanie czêsto odnosili wra¿enie, i¿ w oczach przy- byszów ich kraj, pomimo osi¹gniêæ, jawi³ siê jako potêga o drugorzêdnym zna- czeniu. Pewien polityk skar¿y³ siê brytyjskiemu geologowi Charlesowi Lyello- wi: „stawiacie nas na równi z republikami po³udniowoamerykañskimi; wasi ambasadorowie przyje¿d¿aj¹ do Waszyngtonu z Meksyku albo Brazylii, a urz¹d sprawowany w Ameryce jest szczeblem w karierze, któr¹ najlepiej zakoñczyæ na jakimœ prowincjonalnym dworze niemieckim”6 . Amerykanie przy ka¿dej okazji wypatrywali oznak, ¿e Europejczycy patrzyli na nich z pob³a¿aniem. Przybysze widzieli powa¿ne braki w og³adzie Ameryka- nów (w Domestic Manners of the Americans Frances Trollope uzna³a uparte poprawianie obyczajów za najwiêksz¹ ich przywarê). Uwagi dziewiêtnastowiecz- nych podró¿ników o amerykañskim nawyku ¿ucia tytoniu i spluwania przypo- minaj¹ opis praktyki defekacji w Indiach z ksi¹¿ki V. S. Naipaula An Area of Darkness. Podró¿nicy europejscy pisali, ¿e Amerykanie dobrze kalkuluj¹ (ten przejaw amerykañskiego materializmu traktowano z lekk¹ pogard¹), zarazem uznawali ich za istoty nieracjonalne, które wprawdzie posiada³y pewne osi¹gniê- cia w dziedzinie prawa, ale mia³y kulturê wyzut¹ z filozoficznej g³êbi, a pañstwo zbudowane po partacku. Wzorem Sydneya Smitha, nie liczyli siê z g³osem Ameryki w debatach o kulturze („Jeœli oceniaæ umys³ narodu amerykañskiego w oparciu o legislacjê, trzeba powiedzieæ, ¿e jest zaiste wielki. … Jeœli nato- miast o narodzie ma œwiadczyæ literatura, to w ogóle brak mu umys³u”7 ). Za- przeczali nawet istnieniu jêzyka amerykañskiego; Rudyard Kipling pisa³, ¿e „Amerykanin nie posiada jêzyka”, tylko „dialekt, slang, akcent, odmiany pro- wincjonalne itd”8. Europejscy podró¿nicy czêsto czuli siê rozczarowani Ameryk¹; wspomina- li, i¿ na pocz¹tku podró¿y mieli nieomal utopijn¹ nadziejê, ¿e poznaj¹ prawa rz¹dz¹ce powstaniem nowego narodu, ale docieraj¹c do ró¿nych miejsc wi- dzieli tylko kulturowe pop³uczyny. Charles Dickens w Notatkach z podró¿y do Ameryki nie mówi otwarcie o swoim rozczarowaniu Ameryk¹, tylko od czasu do czasu sugeruje, ¿e coœ mu siê tam nie podoba³o, osi¹gaj¹c efekt nawarstwienia w¹tpliwoœci. Zrazu Dickens wiele sobie obiecuje po Ameryce, odbywszy bardzo udan¹ wizytê w Bostonie, jednak póŸniej traci dobry humor, gdy obserwuje slumsy Nowego Jorku albo ha³aœliwych mieszkañców Waszyng- tonu, i gdy jedzie na wyczerpuj¹c¹ wyprawê do interioru. Jego opis podró¿y rzek¹ Ohio na pok³adzie parowca poniek¹d zapowiada Conrada. Dickens mówi o przygnêbiaj¹cych pustkowiach („Ca³ymi milami nie zak³óca tych pustkowi 105 ¿aden œlad ludzkiego ¿ycia, ¿aden odcisk ludzkiej stopy”), czuje odrazê na widok polany, któr¹ ktoœ wyr¹ba³ w lesie, ¿eby postawiæ prymitywn¹ chatê i zdobyæ ziemiê pod uprawê („Stoi w rogu ubo¿uchnego poletka pszenicy, gdzie pe³no wielkich, brzydkich kikutów pni, przypominaj¹cych wkopane w ziemiê kloce rzeŸnickie”), odwraca wzrok od z³owieszczych konarów drzew, wyzieraj¹cych z nurtu rzeki („ich zbiela³e ramiona stercz¹ ze œrodka pr¹du i jak gdyby usi³uj¹ pochwyciæ statek i wci¹gn¹æ go pod wodê”)9 . Trudno nie zauwa¿yæ analogii miêdzy tym fragmentem zapisów Dickensa a dziennikiem Conrada z wyprawy do Konga. Fantasmagoria staje siê bardziej intensywna w powieœci Martin Chuzzlewit, bêd¹cej swoistym odpowiednikiem J¹dra ciem- noœci: Posuwali siê naprzód wœród rozleg³ych pustkowi. Drzewa ros³y bujnym g¹szczem na brzegach, p³ynê³y z pr¹dem i wyci¹ga³y powykrêcane ramiona z g³êbi rzeki, zeœlizgiwa³y siê z obrze¿a pó³ rosn¹c, pó³ gnij¹c w b³otnistej wodzie. Posuwali siê naprzód nu¿¹cym dniem i melancholijn¹ noc¹, pod pra¿¹cym s³oñcem, we mgle i oparach wieczoru. Posuwali siê naprzód, a¿ powrót zacz¹³ im siê wyda- waæ niepodobieñstwem, a ponowne znalezienie siê w domu beznadziejnym snem10 . Dickens i Tocqueville – ka¿dy na swój sposób – uwa¿ali Amerykê za kraj przysz³oœci, ale pogl¹d Tocqueville’a, i¿ Ameryka zainicjowa³a demo- kratyzacjê nowoczesnego spo³eczeñstwa, zachodz¹c¹ równie¿ w Europie, by³ mniej typowy ani¿eli ocena, jak¹ Ameryce wystawi³ Dickens, widz¹c w niej m³ody, rozgor¹czkowany naród, wci¹¿ wielce niedojrza³y. Zatem nic dziw- nego, ¿e Tuckerman z uznaniem mówi o Tocqueville’u, krytykuje zaœ Dic- kensa za „powierzchownoœæ i drobne z³oœliwoœci”. Jednak nawet Tocquevil- le zdradza³ okcydentalne poczucie wy¿szoœci, gdy swobodnie uogólnia³ wnioski. „Niezale¿nie od wieku, pozycji i poziomu umys³owego Ameryka- nie nieustannie siê stowarzyszaj¹”; „Amerykanie pos³uguj¹ siê ideami ogól- nymi znacznie czêœciej ni¿ Anglicy i robi¹ to z wiêkszym upodobaniem”; „Jednym z podstawowych motywów postêpowania wszystkich Amerykanów okazuje siê wiêc zwykle mi³oœæ do pieniêdzy, co upodabnia do siebie ich namiêtnoœci i rych³o nu¿y obserwatora”11 . Celne obserwacje Tocqueville’a nie powinny przyæmiæ aroganckiej retoryki znaczonej imperialnymi uogól- nieniami. Michel Foucault móg³by nabraæ podejrzeñ, czy aby Tocqueville’a nie stawia siê w pozycji autorytetu tytu³em rekompensaty za indywidualn¹ bezsilnoœæ na p³aszczyŸnie wizji spo³eczno-historycznej. Tak czy inaczej, imperialne generalizacje od zarania s³u¿¹ „wyra¿aniu” rdzennych mieszkañ- ców, jak wykaza³ miêdzy innymi Albert Memmi12 . 3. Portrety Amerykanów w dziewiêtnastowiecznych relacjach Europejczyków z podró¿y do Ameryki w niczym nie przypomina³y literackich wizerunków Afry- kanów albo Azjatów – taka miara po prostu nie pasowa³a do osób najczêœciej 106 o pochodzeniu anglosaskim, energicznych i przedsiêbiorczych, buduj¹cych gospo- darcz¹ i militarn¹ potêgê, zapalonych do nauki pomimo wad w obyciu. Wszak¿e cywilizacja Ameryki mia³a znamiona barbarzyñskie, albowiem rzeczywistoœæ kszta³- towa³a siê tam na pograniczu, a arystokracja (jak napisa³ Francis Grund w Aristo- cracy in America) sk³ada³a siê z ¿a³osnych eurofilów. Kultura bazowa³a na przeka- zach ustnych; poza nielicznymi wyj¹tkami, które podró¿nicy mogli policzyæ na palcach, przedstawiciele kultury literackiej w zasadzie nie istnieli, a do rangi literatów najbli¿ej by³o dziennikarzom, maj¹cym zreszt¹ bardzo niskie notowania. O ile amerykañski przedsiêbiorca nie przejmowa³ siê tym niepochlebnym zbioro- wym portretem, o tyle ambitny pisarz czu³ siê wobec autora zza Atlantyku jak Kaliban przed Prosperem. W takich warunkach Walt Whitman poszukiwa³ nowego g³osu poezji amery- kañskiej w Zdzb³ach trawy. W przedmowie do wydania z roku 1855 poeta kreœli wizjê Ameryki bêd¹cej spokojnym œwiadkiem „powolnych narodzin” trupa eu- ropejskiej tradycji „w komnatach s³u¿¹cych za jadalnie i sypialnie”13 . Poniewa¿ z jednej strony Whitman przyjmuje tu pozê biernoœci, a z drugiej jego tekst uchodzi powszechnie za kluczowy dla narracji o sukcesie amerykañskiej niepod- leg³oœci literackiej, potrzeba pewnego wysi³ku woli, by dostrzec, ¿e poeta w istocie nada³ groteskowy wymiar eurocentrycznemu tropowi translatio studii, wedle którego sztuka i nauka przywêdrowa³y do Nowego Œwiata ze Starego, tropowi uwypuklaj¹cemu, gdy pojawi³a siê taka koniecznoœæ, wysi³ki koloniza- cji, a w póŸnym okresie kolonialnym tak¿e hegemoniê arystokracji. Podobne figury przewijaj¹ siê w poezji Whitmana: w „Song of the Exposition” z 1871 r. poeta donoœnym g³osem ¿¹da od Muzy, aby „porzuci³a Grecjê i Joniê”, „wysta- wi³a tablice »Przeniesiono« i »Do wynajêcia« na zaœnie¿onych ska³ach Parna- su”, i wyobra¿a sobie, jak Muza kroczy w rytm „stukotu maszyn i przenikliwe- go dŸwiêku gwizdka parowego”, „Nie zniechêc¹ jej … rynny, gazometry, sztuczne nawozy. / Zadowolona, uœmiecha siê, chce tu zostaæ. / … umieszczona poœród kuchennych sprzêtów!”14 Wyrachowanie i pretensjonalnoœæ, bêd¹ce jednocze- œnie oznak¹ i skaz¹ obyczajów Starego Œwiata, staj¹ siê wyrazistsze w œwietle odwróconego tropu Prospero-Kaliban, obecnego we wspó³czesnej literaturze In- dii Zachodnich. Wystêpuje on miêdzy innymi w autobiograficznym eseju Geo- rge’a Lamminga The Pleasures of Exile i adaptacji Burzy autorstwa Aimé Cesa- ire’a. Podobny charakter ma inwersja tropu Cruzoe-Piêtaszek w sztuce Dereka Walcotta Pantomime. Przytoczone fragmenty poezji Whitmana ilustruj¹ „kaliba- nizacjê” tropu translatio studii. Poeta popiera nieustann¹ walkê Ameryki o nie- zale¿noœæ od punktu widzenia Starego Œwiata, nie tylko w sferze figur retorycz- nych, ale tak¿e w obszarze figuracji spo³ecznych, takich jak „barbarzyñski” stereotyp Amerykanów. Warto zastanowiæ siê nad umotywowaniem tej walki. My, amerykaniœci, rzadko wnikamy w historiê motywu translatio studii, zak³a- daj¹c, ¿e w Ameryce zupe³nie straci³ on na znaczeniu na pocz¹tku dziewiêtna- stego wieku. Zwykliœmy s¹dziæ, ¿e Kaliban zawdziêcza status bohatera intelek- tualistom z Trzeciego Œwiata, zw³aszcza z Karaibów, którzy „promuj¹c” tê ` ` 107 szekspirowsk¹ postaæ wyra¿ali sprzeciw wobec eurocentryzmu, charakteryzuj¹- cego zarówno Amerykê, jak i wczeœniejsze potêgi imperialne. Wszak¿e wp³y- wowy zachodnioindyjski pisarz, lansuj¹cy Kalibana jako „nasz symbol”, nie- œmia³o przyzna³, i¿ Kaliban kojarzony by³ z Jankesami nim zadomowi³ siê w kanonie za spraw¹ twórców z Ameryki £aciñskiej15. Dodajmy, ¿e w pewnej angielskiej recenzji Whitman zosta³ przyrównany do „Kalibana, który zrzuca z pleców ciê¿ki pieñ i zasiada do pisania wiersza”16. Odniesienia do postaci Kalibana pozwalaj¹ dostrzec pokrewieñstwa miêdzy nowym Whitmanowskim konceptem translatio studii a strategiami wspó³cze- snego pisarstwa postkolonialnego. Zdzb³a trawy to projekt o ogromnej skali, który nagina i ³amie tradycjê epick¹17. Przepisywanie translatio studii znamio- nuje syndrom sprzeciwu-uleg³oœci, wywo³uj¹cy u artystów i uczonych reakcje zabarwione nut¹ hipokryzji. Whitman chcia³ albo wymazaæ mit Starego Œwiata, albo ujrzeæ jego odrodzenie („Jam jest Brahmin, jam Saturnus”18 ). Krytyk, który uprzywilejowuje narracjê o narodowej odrêbnoœci, si³¹ rzeczy uznaje pierwsz¹ postawê za bardziej „autentyczn¹” lub „postêpow¹”; tymczasem te dwa wektory da³y unikaln¹ wypadkow¹ – oto bowiem „imperialny” model epicki zarazem decydowa³ o sile tekstu i stanowi³ cel oporu. Skojarzenia poniek¹d analogiczne wywo³uje postaæ Skórzanej Poñczochy z cyklu powieœci Jamesa Fenimore Coopera. Spoœród wszystkich amerykañskich bohaterów literackich mówi¹cych dialektem tylko Huckleberry Finn mo¿e siê równaæ z Nattym Bumppo. Ten drugi nie jest bohaterem rdzennym sensu stricte, ale posiada rysy „rzeczywistych” postaci z pogranicza; Cooper przypisuje Nat- ty’emu cechy obecne w motywie wêdrówki, jak¹ g³ówny bohater odbywa z towa- rzyszem, zazwyczaj przeœmiesznym i u¿ywaj¹cym dialektu. Ten motyw istnieje od zarania „nowoczesnej” powieœci (Don Kichot), a spoœród utworów póŸniej- szych wystêpuje na przyk³ad w powieœciach Waltera Scotta z cyklu „Waverley” (Henry Morton i Cuddie Headrigg w Old Mortality). Cooper przeprowadza inwer- sjê, w wyniku której cz³owiek prosty i niewykszta³cony okazuje siê wzorcem bohatera literackiego. Cooper musia³ dojrzeæ do prze³omu, jakiego dokona³; nie- wykluczone, ¿e wpad³ na pomys³ odwrócenia hierarchii obecnej u Scotta, kiedy pisa³ Pionierów. Powieœæ tê rozpocz¹³ bowiem w tonacji melodramatu z Oliverem Edwardsem i sêdzi¹ Templem na pierwszym planie, na który potem wchodzi Bumppo, byæ mo¿e uznany przez Coopera za postaæ o wiele ciekawsz¹. Niemniej Cooper potrzebuje postaci waverleyowskiej, gwarantuj¹cej efekt mimetyczny, który to efekt Bumppo nieco podwa¿a, poniewa¿ gdy mówi „przerzuca siê z rejestru na rejestr”, z soczystego slangu na wznios³e, pretensjonalne klisze19 , jak zauwa¿a Richard Bridgman. Niejako powœci¹gaj¹c w³asny populizm, Cooper obsadza Bump- po w roli wasala w pierwszych czterech czêœciach cyklu; dopiero gdy pisarz czyni zeñ bohatera ze wszech miar kompletnego w Tropicielu zwierz¹t, Bumppo prze- staje byæ czyimœ s³ug¹. Niemo¿noœæ wyjœcia spod wp³ywu Scotta jest symptomem „kolonizacji umy- s³u”. Literacka kreacja arystokratycznych podopiecznych Natty’ego, takich jak ` ` 108 Oliver Edwards i Duncan Uncas Middleton w Prerii, wyra¿a ¿enuj¹ce aspiracje klasowe Coopera, aspiracje czytelne tak¿e w znamionach dzikoœci u Chingach- gooka, indiañskiego towarzysza Bumppo. Ale dlaczego porzucaæ hierarchiczny paradygmat bohatera-arystokraty i jego prostolinijnego kompana, skoro okaza³ siê Ÿród³em tylu interesuj¹cych innowacji? Teksty Coopera zyskuj¹ na wartoœci jako przemyœlane, lokalne adaptacje transkontynentalnego intertekstu, a trac¹ jako nacechowane manieryzmem, cha³upnicze historyjki albo ma³o oryginalne opowieœci o podboju. Do utworów Whitmana i Coopera wypada dodaæ Amerykañskiego uczonego Ralpha Waldo Emersona, „intelektualn¹ deklaracjê niepodleg³oœci”, jak zwykli okreœlaæ ów tekst dwudziestowieczni badacze (za Oliverem Wendellem Holme- sem). Na pocz¹tku Emerson formu³uje credo nacjonalizmu literackiego: „Okres naszej zale¿noœci, d³ugiego pobierania nauk u innych narodów dobiega koñ- ca”20 . Jednak dopiero z zakoñczenia eseju dowiadujemy siê, ¿e oznakami nieza- le¿noœci s¹ wartoœci docenione w Europie i kie³kuj¹ce w Nowym Œwiecie: poko- ra i prostota („Ta w³aœnie idea jest inspiracj¹ geniuszu Goldsmitha, Burnsa, Coopera, a w czasach bardziej nam wspó³czesnych – Goethego, Wordswortha i Carlyle’a”21 ) oraz szacunek dla indywidualnych upodobañ, którego w zasadzie nie ma jeszcze w Ameryce („Zbyt d³ugo ws³uchiwaliœmy siê w dworskie muzy Europy. Duszê amerykañskiego obywatela ju¿ teraz podejrzewa siê o nieœmia- ³oœæ, poczciwoœæ i niesamodzielnoœæ”22 ). Paradoksalnie, Emerson zawstydza rodaków, nakazuj¹c im szacunek dla samowystarczalnoœci i ¿yciowej prostoty oraz przypominaj¹c, ¿e ¿yj¹ w „epoce rewolucji”23 . W przeciwieñstwie do To- cqueville’a, nie uwa¿a Ameryki za œwiatow¹ awangardê; historia narodu, tak jak wyobra¿a j¹ sobie Emerson, odzwierciedla jego w³asny rozwój intelektualny, w którym pewne idee pojawi³y siê z opóŸnieniem i w którym Coleridge odcisn¹³ wyraŸniejszy œlad ani¿eli którykolwiek myœliciel amerykañski. Tote¿ temat lite- rackiego nacjonalizmu wypada w Uczonym amerykañskim nader nieprzekonuj¹- co i nie trafia w swój czas. Emerson najwiêcej mówi o œrodkach uczonego – naturze, ksi¹¿kach i dzia³aniu, które poniek¹d oddaj¹ charakter Nowego Œwiata (Emerson odrzuca edukacjê klasyczn¹ oraz dyscypliny nadmiernie sformalizo- wane, kieruje siê natomiast pragmatyzmem i empiryzmem, przy czym nie s¹ to idee kosmopolityczne), ale nie ustalaj¹ ¿adnych ram kultury narodowej. Pisarz nie k³adzie akcentu na odrêbnoœæ kulturow¹ przeciwstawn¹ internacjonalizmowi w swoim ogólnym dorobku ani te¿ w ¿adnym pojedynczym utworze nie czyni tego tematu wiod¹cym. Pamiêtajmy, i¿ Emerson przemawia³ do bodaj najwiêk- szych anglofilów w Ameryce; zreszt¹ on sam by³ zbyt kosmopolityczny (i zbyt uczciwy), by twierdziæ, ¿e wp³ywy, jakim podlega uczony, s¹ zagadnieniem szczególnym wy³¹cznie dla Ameryki. Dlatego te¿ retoryka kulturowego nacjo- nalizmu pojawia siê w minimalistycznej postaci kilku obowi¹zkowych zdañ na pocz¹tku i na koñcu. Uzasadniony jest wiêc pogl¹d, ¿e poleganie na sobie by³o dla Emersona czymœ bli¿szym ni¿ narodowa samowystarczalnoœæ. 109 Amerykañski uczony i Przedmowa do Zdzbe³ trawy z 1855 roku stanowi¹ dwa bieguny literackiego nacjonalizmu w kulturze wysokiej Amerykañskiego Renesan- su: otó¿ Emerson tworzy wizjê rodz¹cej siê kultury amerykañskiej, której katalizato- rami s¹ tendencje ogólnoœwiatowe, znajduj¹ce w Ameryce ¿yzny grunt, z kolei Whitman, odsuwaj¹c na bok dokonania poprzedników, kreuje nowy, rady- kalny g³os Ameryki, g³os posiadaj¹cy du¿e mo¿liwoœci i równie du¿y potencja³ dramatyczny. W obydwu przypadkach rola kluczowa przypada „Europie”, jawi¹cej siê jako Ÿród³o konfliktów, których miar¹ jest to, co zapisano lub pominiêto w tekœcie. 4. Sposób budowania modeli literackich i strategii pisarskich zale¿y od oczeki- wañ publicznoœci. To zagadnienie jest bardzo istotne w obecnej debacie na temat tak zwanych nowych literatur w jêzyku angielskim, które musz¹ sobie odpowiedzieæ na pytanie o potrzebê dostosowania zasad przedstawiania kultury narodowej do horyzontów myœlowych miêdzynarodowej publicznoœci. Oto krót- ki fragment z pocz¹tku ksi¹¿ki Chinuy Achebe Things Fall Apart (1958), pierw- szej powieœci z Trzeciego Œwiata, jaka trafi³a do anglojêzycznego kanonu: „Okoye wypowiedzia³ kilka zdañ, u¿ywaj¹c tylko przys³ów. Plemiê Ibo wysoko ceni sztukê konwersacji, a przys³owia s¹ oliw¹, z któr¹ po³yka siê s³owa”24 . Retoryka wyjaœniaj¹ca, powszechna w anglojêzycznej literaturze afrykañskiej, nasuwa szereg pytañ: Kto jest adresatem tego fragmentu? Czy Ibo nie wiedz¹ o opisanych tu rzeczach? A czytelnicy z plemienia Joruba i Hausa? Czy Achebe zwraca siê zatem do publicznoœci euroamerykañskiej? (Nawiasem mówi¹c, pisarz zaprze- cza, ale jednoczeœnie przyznaje: „moi czytelnicy nie pochodz¹ wy³¹cznie z Ni- gerii. Ka¿da osoba zainteresowana sprawami, o których piszê, nale¿y do mojej publicznoœci”25 ). Achebe wyznacza przestrzeñ negocjacji w obrêbie dualizmu cz³o- wiek st¹d – cz³owiek sk¹din¹d, dlatego precyzyjnym, wrêcz antropologicznym, objaœnieniom obyczajów nadaje formê przys³ów, charakterystyczn¹ dla Ibo. W klasycznej literaturze amerykañskiej przyk³adem poniek¹d analogicznym móg³by byæ nastêpuj¹cy fragment Bia³ego Kubraka Hermana Melville’a: „Po- woduj¹c siê jakimiœ bli¿ej nie okreœlonymi republikañskimi skrupu³ami w spra- wie utworzenia w marynarce wojennej wysokich stopni oficerskich, Ameryka, jak dot¹d, nie ma admira³ów, chocia¿ w miarê jak liczba jej okrêtów wojennych bêdzie wzrastaæ, mog¹ oni staæ siê niezbêdni. Stanie siê tak z pewnoœci¹, gdy zajdzie potrzeba u¿ycia licznych flot. Wówczas trzeba bêdzie przyj¹æ schemat organizacyjny w rodzaju angielskiego”26 . Badacze Amerykañskiego Renesansu przyjmuj¹, ¿e implikowany czytelnik utworów z tego okresu jest Amerykaninem, które to za³o¿enie jest o tyle nie- prawdziwe, ¿e pisarze amerykañscy bardzo chcieli byæ czytani za granic¹. Melville pojecha³ do Anglii przy okazji tamtejszego wydania Bia³ego Kubraka, wprowadza³ zmiany do swoich powieœci (lub pozwala³ to zrobiæ komuœ innemu) ` ` 110 z myœl¹ o czytelnikach angielskich. Z myœl¹ o nich w istocie umieœci³ w swojej pierwszej ksi¹¿ce pt. Typee przedmowê, zawieraj¹c¹ strategiczne odniesienia do pewnych miejsc w Anglii (Chettenham, Stonehenge, Opactwo Westminsterskie). W przytoczonym powy¿ej fragmencie Bia³ego Kubraka stylistyczny kunszt nie- co traci polor w œwietle opozycyjnej wobec autorytaryzmu postawy narratora; daje tu o sobie znaæ swoista pisarska przebieg³oœæ Melville’a, który chce zafra- powaæ czytelników bêd¹cych zarówno amerykañskimi patriotami, jak i toryski- mi outsiderami, to znaczy Europejczykami albo jankeskimi anglofilami. Listy i pisma krytyczne Melville’a œwiadcz¹ o tym, i¿ dostrzega³ on potrzebê stworze- nia wspólnej p³aszczyzny intelektualnej dla czytelników o ró¿nych, nawet prze- ciwstawnych, postawach ideologicznych. To w³aœnie postkolonialna pozycja Melville’a zdecydowa³a o treœci jego doktryny, jakoby wielki pisarz budowa³ przes³anie dla idealnego czytelnika z ambiwalentnych znaczeñ, nieczytelnych dla filistrów. Tekstowe konsekwencje pisania dla publicznoœci transkontynentalnej s¹ trudniejsze do wypunktowania ani¿eli obce wp³ywy literackie. Rzadko zda- rzaj¹ siê jednoznaczne przypadki, takie jak dyplomatycznie skomponowany szkic o opowieœciach europejskich podró¿ników o Ameryce w The Sketch Book Washingtona Irvinga. Zazwyczaj mamy do czynienia z wariantami tek- stowymi, stawiaj¹cymi pod znakiem zapytania kwestiê odpowiedzialnoœci (czy autor wymyœli³? doradzi³? zgodzi³ siê? niechêtnie przysta³ na coœ?), albo – przeciwnie – z autorytatywnymi opiniami (Cooper poinformowa³ angielskie- go wydawcê, ¿e Preria „nie zawiera niczego obraŸliwego dla angielskiego czytelnika”27 ), które w ¿aden sposób nie uzasadniaj¹ tezy, ¿e tekst napisany wy³¹cznie dla amerykañskich czytelników wygl¹da³by inaczej. Jednak powy¿- sze okolicznoœci podsuwaj¹ pewne wnioski. Po pierwsze, nawet te utwory Amerykañskiego Renesansu, które wyrastaj¹ z doœwiadczenia prowincji, maj¹ fragmenty potwierdzaj¹ce, i¿ autor bra³ pod uwagê czytelnika nie-amerykañ- skiego. Wprawdzie na pocz¹tku Waldena Henry David Thoreau zwraca siê do mieszkañców miasteczka Concord, gdzie w sali wyk³adowej po raz pierwszy odczyta³ swoje zapiski, ale ju¿ na koñcu snuje refleksje o tym, „czy John, czy Jonathan pojm¹ to wszystko”28. Po drugie, jeœli przyj¹æ, ¿e pisarzom zale¿a³o na czytelnikach tak amerykañskich, jak zagranicznych – jakiekolwiek by³y rzeczywiste ¿yczenia autorów w tym wzglêdzie – to widaæ w lepszym œwietle pewne k³opotliwe sytuacje literackie, takie jak krytyka Whitmanowskiej kon- strukcji podmiotu lirycznego w Zdzb³ach trawy, podmiotu wypowiadaj¹cego siê nie tylko w imieniu Ameryki, ale i ca³ego œwiata („Salut au Monde!”), albo kulturowe implikacje d³ugiego, ambiwalentnego opisu spotkania za³óg „Pequoda” i „Samuela Enderby” w Moby Dicku (rozdzia³y 100-101)29 . James Snead pisze o powieœciach Achebe, ¿e stanowi¹ „ryzykown¹ lekturê dla zachodniej publicznoœci z uwagi na przewrotn¹ narracjê, która burzy narodo- we i rasowe iluzje”. Achebe „przedstawia normy afrykañskie [czytelnikom miê- dzynarodowym] w sposób bezpretensjonalny”: z jednej strony z premedytacj¹ ` ` 111 umieszcza w powieœciowym dyskursie luki, które czytelnik wype³nia wykorzy- stuj¹c w³asn¹ wiedzê, z drugiej zaœ przypomina zachodniemu odbiorcy o jego statusie outsidera, który da³ siê zwieœæ znajomej formie narracyjnej, odwo³uj¹cej siê do europejskiej powieœci realistycznej30. Cytowany wczeœniej fragment Things Fall Apart, sk¹din¹d wygl¹daj¹cy na wyimek z przewodnika turystycznego, zwodzi czytelnika pozorn¹ klarownoœci¹. Jednak formu³a „mamy takie powie- dzenie” pojawia siê w tradycji Ibo jako typowy wstêp do przys³owia, ale tej informacji odbiorca nie uzyskuje; innymi s³owy, fragment ukrywa istotn¹ treœæ pomimo – i za spraw¹ – swojej bezpoœrednioœci. Melville stosuje podobne za- biegi narracyjne, gdy w Moby Dicku pisze o przenikaniu siê kultur; chwali now¹ Amerykê, pozbawion¹ obci¹¿eñ w obliczu Starego Œwiata, lecz powstrzymuje siê od szczerej krytyki Europy. W opisie spotkania za³ogi „Pequoda” z marynarzami z „Samuela Ender- by” Melville nawi¹zuje do podszytej uprzedzeniami obserwacji, jak¹ czêsto czynili angielscy podró¿nicy, mianowicie, ¿e Amerykanie byli posêpnymi pracoholikami i ¿a³owali czasu na przyjemne rozmowy o niczym. Kompozy- cja ca³ego rozdzia³u zasadza siê na grze narodowymi stereotypami. Rozmo- wê Ahaba z kapitanem Boomerem poprzedza z pozoru bagatelna konwersa- cja tego drugiego z chirurgiem „Pequoda”. Têpy i protekcjonalny Anglik zostaje w niej zdemaskowany. A jednak to Ahab zachowuje siê impertynenc- ko i agresywnie do tego stopnia, ¿e angielska jowialnoœæ (tym razem stereo- typ amerykañski) wydaje siê dla jego postawy odpowiedni¹ przeciwwag¹. Anglika staæ nawet na szczere zaskoczenie, dyktowane dobrym humorem. W nastêpnym rozdziale („Karafka”) Izmael staje siê przeœmiewc¹ (to wa¿na cecha bohatera) i z udawanym uznaniem wyra¿a siê o ca³ej firmie „Ender- by”. Warto wspomnieæ, i¿ owa firma jako pierwsza wys³a³a wielorybników na ten obszar Pacyfiku, gdzie bieg³a trasa „Pequoda”. Na koniec, jak gdyby w formie dygresji, Izmael napomyka o zakrapianej biesiadzie obu za³óg w rejonie „ko³o Patagonii”31 . Komitywa Izmaela z angielskimi kolegami po fachu równowa¿y ex post facto szorstkoœæ Ahaba, zarazem t³umaczy, dlaczego dobroduszny kapitan by³ zdumiony nag³ym odejœciem naburmuszonego Ahaba. Melville wywraca na nice stereotyp angielskiej g³upoty, uporu i krótkowzrocznoœci dwukrotnie – gdy pi- sze o tragedii Ahaba i gdy pisze o zabawie marynarzy – w efekcie popiera amerykañski nacjonalizm kulturowy, nie powoduj¹c urazy czytelników angiel- skich. Melville respektowa³ zatem cenzuralne rygory wydawnicze w Anglii. Pokornie przyj¹³ decyzjê wydawcy o usuniêciu rozdzia³u 25 o przebiegu korona- cji. Wszak¿e rozdzia³y 100-101 pozosta³y nietkniête. 5. Obecnoœæ w¹tków postkolonialnych w literaturze Amerykañskiego Renesan- su jest zjawiskiem wielowymiarowym i wykracza poza tematyczne ramy tego 112 artyku³u, dlatego tylko zasygnalizujê najistotniejsze zagadnienia, które warto by³oby rozwa¿yæ. 1. Czêœciowa amerykanizacja jêzyka angielskiego. Jakim jêzykiem bêdziemy mówiæ? OdpowiedŸ amerykañskich osadników na to pytanie nie musi przybie- raæ tak radykalnego tonu jak wywód Ngugi’ego wa Thiong’o w Decolonizing the Mind, gdzie wystêpuje postulat pisania literatury afrykañskiej w rdzennych jêzykach32. Jednak gdyby taki postulat bardziej wywa¿yæ (kreolizacja i neologi- zacja amerykañskiej angielszczyzny umo¿liwiaj¹ tak¹ artykulacjê kultury, która wy³amuje siê z jêzykowych standardów), poparliby go z jednej strony Cooper, Emerson, Whitman i Twain, a z drugiej Amos Tutuola, Gabriel Okara i Raja Rao. Utwory tych ostatnich rzucaj¹ zupe³nie nowe œwiat³o na takie kwestie, jak nieroz³¹cznoœæ „naturalnoœci” i „sztucznoœci” w poezji Whitmana albo po³¹cze- nie idealizacji i karykatury w portretach Cooperowskich bohaterów mówi¹cych dialektem. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths i Helen Tiffin pisz¹, ¿e u Ÿróde³ lite- ratur postkolonialnych le¿y „napiêcie miêdzy oporem wobec narzuconej, wzor- cowej formy jêzyka angielskiego, a koniecznoœci¹ zaw³aszczenia tego¿ jêzyka i poddania go wp³ywom miejscowym”33. Taki dualizm to klucz do literackich pocz¹tków Ameryki. We wczesnym okresie narodowym mo¿na go dostrzec w tekstach, w których bohaterowie mówi¹cy dialektem (zawsze komiczni) kon- trastuj¹ z postaciami pos³uguj¹cymi siê standardow¹ angielszczyzn¹; przyk³ado- we pary to pu³kownik Manly i jego s³u¿¹cy Jonathan w powieœci Royalla Tylera The Contrast oraz kapitan Ferrago i Teague O’Reagan, kolejny s³u¿¹cy, w Mo- dern Chivalry Hugha Henry’ego Brackenridge’a. Dialekt wywo³uje narodowe za¿enowanie, dlatego pojawia siê w kontekstach satyrycznych. Jak stwierdza Bridgeman, „wulgarnoœæ nale¿a³o wzi¹æ w cudzys³ów”34. Istniej¹ analogie miê- dzy takim dyskursem prozy amerykañskiej a dyskursem kolokwialnych monolo- gów dramatycznych indo-angielskiego poety Nissima Ezekiela: Pragnê pokoju i wyrzekam siê przemocy Dlaczego œwiat nadal walczy i walczy Dlaczego nikt na œwiecie Nie bierze przyk³adu z Mahatmy Gandhiego Nie rozumiem35. Jêzykowa inwencja Amerykanów, przejawiaj¹ca siê w neologizacji i regio- nalizacji – notabene uznanych przez Tocqueville’a za op³akane skutki demokra- tyzacji – stworzy³a pozytywn¹ wartoœæ estetyczn¹ jeszcze przed Whitmanem i Thoreau. Tote¿ nie ma cienia parodii we wznios³ym obrazie w pi¹tej czêœci Pieœni o sobie, gdzie podmiot poddaje siê w³adzy w³asnej duszy i spoczywa na „omsza³ych strupach wij¹cego siê p³otu”36. Mowa tu o doœæ szczególnej ozdob- nej konstrukcji spotykanej na farmach amerykañskich, a uwa¿anej przez Euro- pejczyków za brzydk¹ i marnotrawn¹37 . Metafora „omsza³ych strupów” jedno- znacznie wskazuje, ¿e Whitman pragn¹³ wydobyæ wznios³e cechy z rzeczy 113 zwyczajnych (w sensie pozytywnym). Rzecz jasna poeta nie wyrzek³ siê literac- kiej angielszczyzny. Przyj¹³ pogl¹d, typowo postkolonialny, ¿e nale¿y ameryka- nizowaæ jêzyk angielski, aby wykuæ poetyck¹ formê na przysz³oœæ; zreszt¹ Whitman twierdzi³, ¿e angielszczyzna szybko przyswaja³a sobie obce wp³ywy38 . 2. Hybrydyzacja kulturowa. W utworach Amerykañskiego Renesansu prze- wija siê motyw miêdzykulturowego kola¿u: Whitman kreuj¹cy podmiot zainte- resowany wszystkim, Thoreau zag³êbiaj¹cy siê w mitografiê purytañsk¹, grec- ko-rzymsk¹, indiañsk¹ i orientaln¹, Melville wykorzystuj¹cy ró¿ne mitologie w symbolice wieloryba oraz „Pequoda” jako globalnej wioski, Cooper eksponu- j¹cy wielog³osowoœæ, najwyraŸniej w Pionierach, gdzie znajdujemy przedstawi- cieli bodaj szeœciu albo siedmiu narodowoœci. David Simpson stwierdza, ¿e wielojêzycznoœæ Cooperowskiego Templetonu, gdzie ka¿dy mieszkaniec lub przybysz mówi w³asnym, charakterystycznym dialektem (oczywiœcie wyj¹wszy rodzinê Temple’ów), pokazuje pêkniêcia w narodzie, który nie wyszed³ jeszcze z fazy eksperymentalnej39 . Inne ciekawe obserwacje mog³yby dotyczyæ kreowa- nia wielowymiarowych, symbolicznych bohaterów – p³aszczyzn¹ odniesieñ by- ³aby tu na przyk³ad twórczoœæ Salmana Rushdiego (Saleem Sinai z Dzieci Pó³- nocy) albo G. V. Desani’ego (pan Hatterr) – czy te¿ strategii synkretyzmu – tu z kolei warto by³oby siê odnieœæ do pisarstwa Wolego Soyinki, który miesza mitologiê jorubañsk¹ z greck¹. Uwaga Lewisa Nkosi’ego na temat wyzwañ wspó³czesnej anglojêzycznej poezji afrykañskiej trafnie opisuje projekt Pionie- rów Coopera: „podstawowe zadanie… polega³o na oddaniu warunków spo³ecz- no-kulturowych, w jakich ¿y³ pisarz afrykañski, tudzie¿ heterogenicznoœci do- œwiadczeñ kulturowych, poœród których wytycza³ w³asny szlak”40 . 3. Oczekiwanie, ¿e artyœci zaanga¿uj¹ siê w walkê o wyzwolenie narodu. Podobne zaanga¿owanie dowodzi, ¿e koncepcja sztuki nie jest do koñca wykry- stalizowana, a postawy estetyczne s¹ dwuznaczne. Z takiego stanu rzeczy mo¿e wynikn¹æ swoista schizofrenia. Soyinka pisze, ¿e postkolonialny pisarz afrykañ- ski staje wobec presji, i¿ powinien „odsun¹æ na daleki plan doœwiadczenia, które go uformowa³y, i staæ siê trybem w maszynerii wydarzeñ”41 . W Amerykañskim uczonym Emerson ma podobny dylemat, zwi¹zany z funkcjonowaniem pisarza na styku obszaru publicznego i prywatnego. Z czasem uzna³ prymat polityki, zabieraj¹c g³os w kwestii prawa, które dotyczy³o zbieg³ych niewolników. Stwier- dzenie Sunday Anozie, ¿e „istnieje genetyczny konflikt miêdzy romantycznym idea³em czystej sztuki a przemo¿n¹ œwiadomoœci¹ jej spo³ecznego znaczenia”, dobrze oddaje dylematy zarówno Soyinki, jak i Emersona, tymczasem odnosi siê do nigeryjskiego poety Christophera Okigbo42 – reprezentuj¹cego s³ynn¹ pierwsz¹ generacjê nigeryjskich pisarzy jêzyka angielskiego i w tej grupie naj- bli¿szego idea³owi „estety” – który walczy³ i zgin¹³ w wojnie biafrañskiej. 4. Konfrontacja z neokolonializmem. Bankructwo rewolucyjnych idei grozi- ³o tym, ¿e artysta przeciwstawi siê publicznoœci, która z celebr¹ odbiera³a jego twórczoœæ jako zapowiedŸ nowej kultury. Nieprzypadkowo w postkolonialnej Afryce wy³oni³a siê literatura opozycyjna. Proces powstawania takiej literatury 114 w kontekœcie postkolonialnym rzuca œwiat³o na opozycyjny podtekst pisarstwa Amerykañskiego Renesansu, sk¹din¹d symptom porewolucyjny, i pomaga wy- tyczyæ granice literackiej opozycyjnoœci. Bowiem stanowisko Thoreau, indywi- dualisty i niepos³usznego obywatela, jest i zarazem nie jest odpowiednikiem rewolucyjnego socjalizmu Ngugi’ego. 5. „Obce gatunki”. Istniej¹ gatunki eurocentryczne, które emanuj¹ autoryte- tem i których naœladownictwo oznacza rezygnacjê z kulturowej autentycznoœci. Doprawdy zaskakuje zbie¿noœæ krytyki powieœci realistycznej za jej podporz¹d- kowanie pojedynczym bohaterom, jak¹ wyrazili intelektualiœci z Trzeciego Œwiata, i skarg dziewiêtnastowiecznych pisarzy amerykañskich – pocz¹wszy od Coope- ra i Hawthorne’a, a skoñczywszy na Jamesie – jakoby powieœæ nie dawa³a siê przeszczepiæ na grunt amerykañski. Z drugiej strony, pewne gatunki wydawa³y siê wrêcz stworzone dla Ameryki i nowych œwiatów w ogóle. Najlepszy przy- k³ad stanowi¹ gatunki pastoralne. 6. Gatunki pastoralne w Nowym Œwiecie. Szeroko definiowany „pastora- lizm”, czyli fascynacja natur¹ fizyczn¹, bêd¹c¹ podmiotem, symbolem, tako¿ teatrem rytua³ów dojrzewania i oczyszczenia, jawi³ siê jako domena amerykañ- ska, dlatego p³yn¹ce st¹d wnioski nie podlega³y zbyt du¿ym uogólnieniom. Jed- nak podobny stan rzeczy mo¿na dostrzec z jednej strony w literaturze kanadyj- skiej i australijskiej, mimo ¿e przedstawiaj¹ wizerunki natury (nie tylko z powodu ró¿nic geograficznych) mniej ³agodne ni¿ amerykañskie, a z drugiej w literatu- rze Trzeciego Œwiata z jej drastycznie odmiennymi wersjami pastoralizmu, stwo- rzonymi przez bia³ych osadników i rdzennych mieszkañców. Nacjonalizm kul- turowy, na przyk³ad w postaci negritude, ewokuje prekolonialny, idealny porz¹dek. Retrospektywna pastoralizacja staro¿ytnych struktur plemiennych znajduje od- zwierciedlenie tak¿e w pisarstwie Amerykañskiego Renesansu, choæby w senty- mentalnych opowieœciach o czasach purytañskich i o dziedzictwie plantacji, nie wspominaj¹c o nostalgicznych fantazjach w rodzaju Song of Hiawatha Longfel- lowa. Czy nie warto zastanowiæ siê w tym duchu nad jednoczesnym przywi¹za- niem Thoreau do natury i do zamierzch³ej przesz³oœci Nowej Anglii? Wspólnym mianownikiem Waldena i Szkar³atnej litery jest poszukiwanie Ÿróde³ kultury Ameryki. Amerykaniœci, którzy stawiaj¹ znak równoœci miêdzy pastoralizmem i uwiel- bieniem natury fizycznej, trac¹ z pola widzenia znacz¹cy problem, uwypuklony we wspó³czesnych teoriach postkolonialnych, mianowicie nie odró¿niaj¹ pasto- ralizmu jako oznaki niezale¿noœci kulturowej od pastoralizmu jako elementu neokolonializmu. W Notes on the State of Virginia Thomas Jefferson zawar³ klasyczn¹ dewizê amerykañskiego idea³u pastoralnego, stwierdzaj¹c, i¿ przy- sz³oœci¹ narodu jest agraryzm, przy czym – Amerykanie winni to wiedzieæ – agrarna Ameryka godzi siê na uzale¿nienie od fabryk europejskich. Wszak¿e cnota narodowa, któr¹ Jefferson kojarzy z sielskoœci¹, z nawi¹zk¹ rekompensuje przewidywane koszty. W dzisiejszej dobie Jefferson tak¿e mia³by zwolenników. W jego wczesnej myœli pojawia siê pewna niekonsekwencja: otó¿ wiara w mo- 115 raln¹ niezale¿noœæ narodu nie wyklucza akceptacji zale¿noœci ekonomicznej. Leo Marx pisze w The Machine in the Garden, ¿e z up³ywem czasu Jefferson zmieni³ zdanie w kwestii uprzemys³owienia Ameryki43 . Marx niestety nie od- czytuje sprzecznoœci pogl¹dów Jeffersona jako artefaktu przynale¿nego póŸno- kolonialnemu intelektualiœcie. Wprawdzie naœwietla europejskie Ÿród³a amery- kañskiej utopii pastoralnej, lecz uznaje, ¿e wk³ad Europy ca³kowicie straci³ na znaczeniu, gdy myœl pastoralna ugruntowa³a siê w Ameryce w po³owie osiem- nastego wieku. Dlatego te¿ Marx nie zauwa¿a, ¿e Jefferson i Thoreau postêpo- wali na przekór w³asnym intencjom, dopasowuj¹c siê do ideologicznego mecha- nizmu, który wi¹za³ Nowy Œwiat z interesami Starego. Ich wizje i propozycje przeczy³y porz¹dkowi, za którym rzekomo orêdowali. Romantycy amerykañscy rzecz jasna uczynili z fizycznej natury przewodni temat literacki (w utworach transcendentalistów by³a ³agodna, w Moby Dicku i w Szkar³atnej literze, zw³aszcza w scenie w lesie – z³owroga) i nadali wartoœæ czemuœ, co jawi³o siê jako kulturowa s³aboœæ. Jednak korzyœci, wynikaj¹ce z estetyki miêdzynarodowego romantyzmu oraz wizerunku Nowego Œwiata wy- kreowanego w Starym, nios³y ryzyko. Oto s³ynny sonet po¿egnalny pióra Wil- liama Cullena Bryanta, dedykowany Thomasowi Cole’owi, który wyrusza³ w podró¿ do Europy: Ujrzysz œwiat³o odleg³ego nieba: Atoli, Cole’u!, twoje serce w Europie Bêdzie ¿ywym obrazem rodzinnej ziemi, Zapamiêtanym widokiem z twych przes³awnych p³ócien; Samotne jeziora – stepy karmi¹ce bizona – Ska³y utkane girlandami – to wynios³e strumienie – Niebo z pustynnym or³em, co szybuje i gwi¿d¿e – Bezkresne gaje, w wiosennym rozkwicie, w jesiennym z³oceniu. Gdziekolwiek zawitasz, zwiedzisz miejsca piêkne, Ale inne – znaczone œladami ludzi, Drogami, domami, grobami, ruinami, w najg³êbszych dolinach I na szczytach Alp, gdzie mroŸne powietrze odbiera dech. Patrz na to wszystko, póki ³zy nie przes³oni¹ widoku, Lecz nie pozwól, by dzikie obrazy wyblak³y w pamiêci44. Bryant przyjmuje nacjonalistyczn¹ wizjê Ameryki jako narodu natury (jezio- ra, stepy, ska³y, niebo) i akcentuje przewagê Ameryki nad Europ¹, gdzie wszyst- ko jest „znaczone œladami ludzi”. Wypada zgodziæ siê z poet¹, ¿e pejza¿owe malarstwo Cole’a oddaje innoœæ Ameryki. Podobnie jak Whitman, Bryant kry- tycznie patrzy na translatio studii, tote¿ nakazuje Cole’owi, by ten g³osi³ w Europie amerykañsk¹ ewangeliê estetyczn¹, chocia¿ w zakoñczeniu wiersza zdradza postkolonialn¹ obawê co do silnej wiary przyjaciela. Ta usprawiedli- wiona obawa pokazuje, i¿ Bryant i Cole, œwiadomie lub nie, zawsze tkwili 116 w orbicie wp³ywów europejskich. Cole i inni malarze amerykañscy znajdowali inspiracjê w europejskim romantycznym malarstwie krajobrazowym (sam Cole tak¿e w historycznym)45 . Wiersz Bryanta, wrêcz naszpikowany amerykañskimi emblematami (bizon, orze³, nasycone, zmienne kolory, które zachwyca³y euro- pejskich podró¿ników) posiada retorykê wypreparowan¹ z jêzyka i form Starego Œwiata: wszak „stepy” to kosmopolityczny synonim „prerii”, orze³ ma za sym- boliczne t³o „pustyniê”, piêkno Alp zastêpuje urok wynios³ych gór amerykañ- skich. Ponadto, chyba nieœwiadomy ironicznych implikacji takiej decyzji, Bry- ant wybiera sonet, czyli „cywilizowany” gatunek poetycki, aby oddaæ przes³anie „dzikich obrazów”. Innymi s³owy, wyobra¿enie Ameryki, jakie Bryant/Cole, ewangeliœci kultury Nowego Œwiata, daj¹ Europie, to urozmaicony niuansami obraz widziany oczyma euroamerykañskich osadników. W œwietnej ksi¹¿ce o przedstawianiu krajobrazu w malarstwie okresu rewolucyjnego Robert Lawson-Peebles nazywa podobny efekt „halucynacj¹ wywo³an¹ przez przesuniê- cie geograficzne”. Pisze, i¿ nacjonalistyczne wizje pastoralnej Ameryki grawitowa³y „ku Europie, oddalaj¹c siê od realiów amerykañskich. Nawet pisarze, którzy posiadali wyj¹t- kowy dar obserwacji, opisywali rzeczywistoœæ amerykañsk¹ w taki sposób, by odeprzeæ ewentualne zarzuty Europejczyków, i w rezultacie stworzyli jakiœ alternatywny, wyma- rzony œwiat”46 . Bryant, nazywany wszak „amerykañskim Wordsworthem”, pokaza³ Amerykê tylko w znikomym stopniu „dziksz¹” od tej nakreœlonej trzydzieœci lat wcze- œniej przez Coleridge’a w sonecie o „w³adzy wszystkich nad wszystkimi”, w którym pojawia siê i sielska dolina, bez ¿adnych koszmarów i neuroz, i „Cnota” tañcz¹ca w „ksiê¿ycowym œwietle”, i „wschodz¹ce s³oñce” z „nowymi promieniami docieraj¹cy- mi do g³êbi serca”47. Wskazuj¹c postkolonialne pod³o¿e amerykañskich wizji pastoralnych, by- najmniej ich nie kwestionujê; wrêcz przeciwnie – uwa¿am, ¿e jako konstrukcje mimetyczne i ideologiczne nadal posiadaj¹ spory potencja³. Niew¹tpliwie pasto- ralna tradycja mo¿e byæ kluczem do wspó³czesnej œwiadomoœci ekologicznej, bardzo rozwiniêtej w Ameryce pomimo rozbie¿noœci pomiêdzy doktryn¹ i prak- tyk¹, prawem i jego realizacj¹. Jednak jako konstrukcja kulturowa pastoralizm niesie zagro¿enie zwi¹zane z mimetycznym pragnieniem, które da³o mu impuls. W autobiograficznej ksi¹¿ce The Enigma of Arrival V.S. Naipaul wspomina: kiedy by³em dzieckiem, wszystkie ksi¹¿ki, jakie przeczyta³em, zostawia³y œlad w krajobrazie Trynidadu, na trynidadzkiej wsi, na ulicach Port of Spain. (Uda³o mi siê nawet dopasowaæ Dickensa i jego Londyn do ulicznych realiów Port of Spain. Czy jego bohaterowie byli bia³ymi Anglikami, czy te¿ ludŸmi, których zna³em? Takie pytanie jest jak dywagacja, czy œni siê w kolorze, czy w barwach czarno-bia³ych. Niemniej myœlê, ¿e kaza³em postaciom z Dickensa przeistoczyæ siê w znane mi osoby. Wprawdzie gdzieœ w umyœle œwita³a œwiadomoœæ, ¿e Dickens by³ czystej krwi Anglikiem, lecz to nie przeszkadza³o mi rozpoznawaæ w jego prozie bohaterów wielorasowych.)48 Analogiczn¹ projekcjê znajdujemy w Waldenie. Otó¿ Thoreau sugeruje, i¿ podczas pierwszego lata nad stawem nie straci³ entuzjazmu dlatego, ¿e w swoich 117 doœwiadczeniach widzia³ wymiar epicki i pastoralny. Wzorem innych romanty- ków, Thoreau uznawa³ staro¿ytn¹ Grecjê za kolebkê kultury zachodniej, a co za tym idzie za Ÿród³o tradycji pastoralnej. Ten tok rozumowania widaæ w rozdzia- ³ach „Goœcie” i „Lektura”. Oto napotkawszy drwala, Thoreau odgrywa tê sam¹ grê, o jakiej mówi Naipaul. W rozdziale „Stawy” nazywa okolice Waldenu swoj¹ krain¹ jezior. Ju¿ w pierwszym opisie tego miejsca czytamy: „Przez pierwszy tydzieñ za ka¿dym razem, gdy spogl¹da³em na staw, robi³ na mnie wra¿enie górskiego oczka, hen wysoko na zboczu”49 ; zatem Walden jawi siê jako jezioro alpejskie. Aby dusza Thoreau mog³a wraz z cia³em wêdrowaæ do fizycznego miej- sca, czy raczej aby staw móg³ staæ siê tematem powa¿nego amerykañskiego dzie- ³a, pisarz musi odkryæ w tym skrawku prawdziwej jankeskiej ziemi cechy jakiegoœ bardziej romantycznego „gdzie indziej”. Naipaul i Thoreau o¿ywiaj¹ prowincjonaln¹ codziennoœæ, stosuj¹c œrodki obrazowania z repertuaru kultury metropolitalnej, co jest konsekwencj¹ ich przynale¿noœci do okreœlonej klasy spo³ecznej (wykszta³cony pisarz, uznaj¹cy kulturê europejsk¹ za miarê lokalnej wiedzy, powinien trzymaæ siê pewnych standardów gustu). O ile w przypadku obydwóch autorów œwiadomoœæ spo- ³eczna mo¿e skutkowaæ zawê¿eniem pola widzenia, o tyle jednoczeœnie powo- duje ona podwojenie pewnej wizji (na któr¹ sk³adaj¹ siê przedmiot, nabieraj¹- cy wyraŸniejszych kszta³tów, oraz autor, to znaczy potrzeby i strategie wyobraŸni). Nie nale¿y wiêc wytykaæ Thoreau i Naipaulowi fa³szywej œwiado- moœci – aczkolwiek taki pogl¹d interpretacyjny mo¿e wydawaæ siê uzasadnio- ny – skoro czytaj¹c na przyk³ad Waldena, zak³adamy, ¿e obecne tam motywy pastoralne wyra¿aj¹ amerykañsk¹ postawê Adama, opozycyjn¹ wobec kultury europejskiej, ale nie s¹ uznawane za czynnik rozwoju tej¿e kultury. 6. Proza Thoreau, maj¹ca o wiele wyraŸniejszy charakter lokalny ani¿eli poezja Bryanta, zachêca do zastanowienia siê nad tym, kiedy – o ile w ogóle – zakoñczy³ siê okres postkolonialny w historii literatury amerykañskiej albo kiedy nast¹pi³a cezura, gdy „postkolonializm” przesta³ wnosiæ istotne treœci do analizy tekstu. Zwa¿ywszy, ¿e literatura amerykañska to pierwsza literatura postkolonialna, od- powiedŸ na to pytanie pomog³aby wyznaczyæ kierunki dyskusji na temat póŸniej- szych literatur postkolonialnych, tako¿ na temat samej literatury amerykañskiej. Zaznaczmy od razu, ¿e jednoznacznej odpowiedzi nie ma. Z jednej strony sam termin „postkolonialny” narzuca ograniczenia koncepcyjne, ka¿¹c widzieæ ca³¹ rdzenn¹ kulturê jako wytwór Starego Œwiata. Z drugiej zaœ kultura amerykañska dopóty bêdzie przynajmniej „szcz¹tkowo” postkolonialna, dopóki Amerykanie bêd¹ pod wra¿eniem akcentu wykszta³conych Brytyjczyków albo dopóki (to przyk³ad nieco bardziej à propos) ksi¹¿ka D. H. Lawrence’a Studies in Classic American Literature bêdzie figurowaæ wœród obowi¹zkowych opracowañ literatury amery- kañskiej. Jak na ironiê, amerykaniœci zaakceptowali Lawrence’owski paradygmat 118 romansu rozgrywaj¹cego siê na tle dzikiej puszczy i odpornego na cywilizowane struktury, natomiast w ogóle nie zwrócili uwagi na fundamentalne za³o¿enie Law- rence’a, i¿ Ameryka jest spo³eczeñstwem postkolonialnym z niedojrza³¹ kultur¹, nêkanym przez impulsy eskapistyczne, które zrodzi³y siê z pragnienia ucieczki z kraju rodzinnego. Oczywiœcie taka diagnoza Ameryki wynika ze stanu umys³u Lawrence’a, który by³ marzycielem w duchu Coleridge’a i wykorzysta³ Amerykê, by w³asne marzenia zrealizowaæ50. Mo¿na za³o¿yæ, ¿e w chwili, gdy wyobraŸnia dojrzewa do ulokowania „cywiliza- cji” w Ameryce, a nie po drugiej stronie Atlantyku (vide sonet Bryanta), nastêpuje ca³kowita amerykanizacja tonu pastoralnego; jednak ró¿ni pisarze ró¿nie definiowali ten prze³omowy czas, a zdarzali siê i tacy jak Henry James, który mniema³, ¿e podob- ny prze³om nigdy nie mia³ miejsca. Innym godnym rozwa¿enia kryterium jest dzie- wiêtnastowieczny tzw. imperializm amerykañski. Niektórzy krytycy utrzymuj¹, i¿ okres postkolonialny dobieg³ koñca, a przynajmniej wszed³ w fazê schy³kow¹, gdy Mark Twain w Jankesie na dworze króla Artura pokaza³ Amerykê góruj¹c¹ pod wzglêdem militarnym i politycznym nad archaiczn¹ Angli¹ (wywracaj¹c przekonania podró¿ni- ków brytyjskich z poprzedniej generacji), albo gdy Melville skontrastowa³ przedsiê- biorczoœæ Amerykanów z dekadenckim imperializmem Hiszpanów w noweli Benito Cereno. Tu powstaje kluczowe pytanie o zwi¹zek miêdzy amerykañskim postkolonia- lizmem i imperializmem. W rzeczy samej taki zwi¹zek istnieje. Kapitan Frederick Marryat, który jako oficer marynarki i autor powieœci dla m³odzie¿y zapisa³ siê w historii ekspansjonizmu brytyjskiego, dowiedzia³ siê w Ameryce, ¿e Anglia nie powinna siê tak bardzo szczyciæ swoj¹ potêg¹ imperialn¹, bo Ameryka te¿ wkrótce zajmie jakieœ kolonie (A Diary in America). Na zakoñczenie jeszcze kilka s³ów o Cooperze i Whitmanie. Dumny i gor¹czkowy patriotyzm Whitmanowskiego podmiotu wynika³ z determinacji, by przebyæ ca³¹ kulê ziemsk¹ i osi¹gn¹æ swoist¹ rekompensatê. Cooper by³ podmiotem postkolonialnym pod wra¿eniem fabularnych konstrukcji Scotta, by³ zarazem imperialist¹ i autorem romansów o ekspansjonizmie amerykañ- skim. Tropy literackie ze Starego Œwiata, których przejêcie oznacza³o kultu- row¹ zale¿noœæ, mog³y siê odrodziæ w Ameryce albo gdzie indziej (Hemin- gway w Afryce Wschodniej) i stworzyæ nowe warianty kulturowego podporz¹dkowania. Ta nieunikniona konsekwencja postkolonializmu nie jest jedyna, ale w³aœnie ona najbardziej doskwiera, albowiem uzmys³awia nam bezcelowoœæ szukania sztywnej granicy miêdzy okresem postkolonialnym a er¹, jaka nast¹pi³a póŸniej. prze³o¿y³ Marek Pary¿ Przypisy: 1 Spengemann William C., A Mirror for Americanists: Reflections on the Idea of Ameri- can Literature, Hanover, NH, University Press of New England 1989, s. 141. 119 2 Nandy Ashis, The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self Under Colonialism, Delhi, Oxford University Press 1983, s. 3. 3 Tuckerman Henry T., America and Her Commentators, New York 1864, ss. 285-286. 4 Tuckerman, America..., s. 444. 5 Tuckerman, America..., s. 287-288. 6 Lyell Charles, A Second Visit to the United States of North America, vol. 1, New York 1849, s. 226. 7 Martineau Harriet, Society in America, vol. 2, New York, 1837, ss. 200-201. 8 Kipling Rudyard, American Notes, New York, Arcadia 1950, s. 24. 9 Dickens Karol, Notatki z podró¿y do Ameryki, prze³. Barbara Czerwijowska, Warszawa, PIW 1978, ss. 181-182. 10 Dickens Karol, Marcin Chuzzlewit, tom 1, prze³. Krystyna Czerwijowska, Warszawa: Ksi¹¿ka i Wiedza 1951, s. 417. 11 de Tocqueville Alexis, O Demokracji w Ameryce, prze³. Barbara Janicka i Marcin Król, Warszawa, Fundacja Aletheia 2005, s. 406, 488, 592. 12 Memmi Albert, The Colonizer and the Colonized, prze³. Howard Greenfield, Boston, Beacon 1965. 13 Whitman Walt, Leaves of Grass, red. Harold W. Blodgett i Sculley Bradley, New York, New York University Press 1965, s. 709. 14 Whitman, Leaves…, s. 196, 198. 15 Retamar Roberto Fernández, Caliban and Other Essays, prze³. Edward Baker, Minne- apolis, University of Minnesota Press 1989, s. 10. 16 Cytowane w: Walt Whitman: A Critical Anthology, red. Francis Murphy, Baltimore, Penguin 1970, s. 60. 17 McWilliams John P., Jr., The American Epic: Transforming a Genre: 1770-1860, Cam- bridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989, s. 218-237. 18 Whitman, Leaves…, s. 443. 19 Bridgeman Richard, The Colloquial Style in America, New York, Oxford University Press 1966, s. 67. 20 Emerson Ralph Waldo, Natura. Amerykañski uczony, prze³. Micha³ Filipczuk, Kraków, Wydawnictwo Zielona Sowa 2005, s. 51. 21 Emerson, Natura..., s. 65. 22 Emerson, Natura..., s. 66. 23 Emerson, Natura…, s. 64. 24 Achebe Chinua, Things Fall Apart, Greenwich, CT, Fawcett 1959, s. 10. 25 Egejuru Phanuel, Towards African Literary Independence: A Dialogue with Contempo- rary African Writers, Westport, Greenwood 1980, s. 17. 26 Melville Herman, Bia³y Kubrak, czyli œwiat okrêtu wojennego, prze³. Marian L. Pisarek, Gdañsk, Wydawnictwo Morskie 1974, s. 28. 27 Cooper James Fenimore, Letters and Journals, vol. 1, red. James Franklin Beard, Cam- bridge, Belknap-Harvard University Press 1960-1968, s. 166. 28 Thoreau Henry D., Walden, czyli ¿ycie w lesie, prze³. Hanna Ciepliñska, Warszawa, Pañstwowy Instytut Wydawniczy 1991, s. 391. 29 Melville Herman, Moby Dick, czyli Bia³y wieloryb, tom 2, prze³. Bronis³aw Zieliñski, Wroc³aw, Wydawnictwo Dolnoœl¹skie 1999, s. 288-307. 120 30 Snead James, European Pedigrees/African Contagions: Nationality, Narrative, and Com- monality in Tutuola, Achebe, and Reed, W: Nation and Narration, red. Homi K. Bhabha, London, Routledge 1990, s. 241. 31 Melville, Moby Dick, tom 2, s. 303. 32 wa Thiong’o Ngugi, Decolonizing the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Lite- rature, London, Currey 1986. 33 Ashcroft Bill, Griffiths Gareth i Tiffin Helen, The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures, London, Routledge 1989, s. 39. 34 Bridgman, The Colloquial Style…, s. 7. 35 Ezekiel Nissim, Latter-Day Poems, Delhi, Oxford University Press 1982, s. 22. 36 Whitman Walt, Pieœñ o sobie, wybra³, prze³o¿y³ i pos³owiem opatrzy³ Andrzej Szuba, Kraków, Wydawnictwo Literackie 1992, s. 51. 37 Mesick Jane Louise, The English Traveler in America, 1836-1860, New York, Columbia University Press 1922, s. 161-162. 38 Warren James Perrin, Walt Whitman’s Language Experiment, University Park, Pennsy- lvania State University Press 1990, s. 5-69. 39 Simpson David, The Politics of American English, 1776-1850, New York, Oxford Uni- versity Press 1986, s. 149-201. 40 Nkosi Lewis, Tasks and Masks: Themes and Styles of African Literature, Essex, Longman 1981, s. 151. 41 Soyinka Wole, Art, Dialogue and Outrage: Essays on Literature and Culture, red. Biodun Jcyifo, Ibadan, New Horn 1988, s. 16. 42 Anozie Sunday, Christopher Okigbo: Creative Rhetoric, London, Evans 1972, s. 175. 43 Marx Leo, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America, New York, Oxford University Press 1964, s. 139. 44 Bryant William Cullen, Sonnet—to an American Painter Departing for Europe, W: The Norton Anthology of American Literature, red. Nina Baym i in., wyd. 3, tom 1, New York, Norton 1989, s. 893-894. 45 Novak Barbara, Nature and Culture: American Landscape and Painting, 1825-1875, New York, Oxford University Press 1980, s. 226-273. 46 Lawson-Peebles Robert, Landscape and Written Expression in Revolutionary America: The World Turned Upside Down, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press 1988, s. 57. 47 Coleridge Samuel Taylor, The Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, red. Ernest Hartley Coleridge, London, Oxford University Press 1931, s. 68-69. 48 Naipaul V. S., The Enigma of Arrival: A Novel in Five Sections, New York, Viking 1987, s. 169-170. 49 Thoreau, Walden, s. 117. 50 Cowan James C., D. H. Lawrence’s American Journey, Cleveland, Case Western Rese- rve University 1970, s. 1-12, 124-128. 
work_ocjksodaerhnrmopql463va2py	----	[PDF] Anisakidosis: Perils of the deep. | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1086/656238 Corpus ID: 15203312Anisakidosis: Perils of the deep. @article{Hochberg2010AnisakidosisPO, title={Anisakidosis: Perils of the deep.}, author={N. Hochberg and D. Hamer}, journal={Clinical infectious diseases : an official publication of the Infectious Diseases Society of America}, year={2010}, volume={51 7}, pages={ 806-12 } } N. Hochberg, D. Hamer Published 2010 Medicine Clinical infectious diseases : an official publication of the Infectious Diseases Society of America Anisakidosis, human infection with nematodes of the family Anisakidae, is caused most commonly by Anisakis simplex and Pseudoterranova decipiens. Acquired by the consumption of raw or undercooked marine fish or squid, anisakidosis occurs where such dietary customs are practiced, including Japan, coastal regions of Europe, and the United States. Severe epigastric pain, resulting from larval invasion of the gastric mucosa, characterizes gastric anisakidosis; other syndromes are intestinal and… Expand View on PubMed academic.oup.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 200 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 19 Background Citations 89 Methods Citations 2 View All Figures, Tables, and Topics from this paper figure 1 table 1 figure 2 figure 3 figure 4 View All 5 Figures & Tables Albendazole gastric infection Stomach Diseases Sodium Chloride Syndrome Drug Allergy Gastric mucosa Freezing Juncus decipiens Occupational Diseases Anisakidae Paper Mentions News Article Media Goes Wild After One Guy Gets Sick From Sushi Gizmodo Australia 12 May 2017 News Article Media Goes Apeshit After One Guy Gets Sick Off of Sushi Gizmodo 12 May 2017 200 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Intestinal anisakidosis: histopathological findings and differential diagnosis. L. Baron, G. Branca, +4 authors V. Barresi Medicine Pathology, research and practice 2014 12 Save Alert Research Feed Gastro-allergic anisakiasis: The first case reported in Colombia and a literature review John Patino, M. Olivera Medicine 2019 3 Save Alert Research Feed Anisakis simplex: current knowledge. V. Pravettoni, L. Primavesi, M. Piantanida Biology, Medicine European annals of allergy and clinical immunology 2012 68 Highly Influenced PDF View 3 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Anisakiasis Involving the Oral Mucosa Sang Kyu Choi, C. Kim, S. Kim, Dong In Jo Medicine Archives of craniofacial surgery 2017 3 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Chronic anisakidosis presenting with intestinal intussusception. A. Piscaglia, M. Ventura, +6 authors M. L. Stefanelli Medicine European review for medical and pharmacological sciences 2014 8 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Anectodal report of acute gastric anisakiasis and severe chest discomfort E. Mariano, M. Fioranelli, M. Roccia, M. Onorato, V. Nardo, M. Bianchi Medicine 2016 3 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Human Infections with Pseudoterranova cattani Nematodes, Chile T. Weitzel, H. Sugiyama, H. Yamasaki, Cristián Ramírez, Reinaldo Rosas, R. Mercado Biology, Medicine Emerging infectious diseases 2015 22 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Accidental endoscopic finding of Anisakis simplex in human colon A. Aloia, Pasquale Carlomagno, M. Gambardella, M. Schiavo, V. Pasquale Biology 2011 2 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Geohelmintiasis y nematodosis tisulares I. C. Timón, C. Sáez, E. Tejero, A. N. Martínez Medicine 2014 5 Save Alert Research Feed Foodborne anisakiasis and allergy. F. Baird, R. Gasser, A. Jabbar, A. Lopata Biology, Medicine Molecular and cellular probes 2014 68 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 62 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Anisakidae and anisakidosis. H. Ishikura, K. Kikuchi, +4 authors K. Sugane Biology, Medicine Progress in clinical parasitology 1993 173 Save Alert Research Feed Human anisakiasis: an update. M. Kliks Medicine JAMA 1986 27 Save Alert Research Feed Intestinal anisakidosis (anisakiosis). H. Takei, S. Powell Medicine Annals of diagnostic pathology 2007 32 Save Alert Research Feed Anisakiasis of the colon presenting as bowel obstruction. R. Schuster, J. Petrini, R. Choi Medicine The American surgeon 2003 17 Save Alert Research Feed [Anisakiasis in the Nantes area. From fishmongers' stalls to medical offices]. S. Chord-Auger, M. Miégeville, P. Le Pape Biology, Medicine Parasite 1995 13 Highly Influential View 3 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Gingivostomatitis after eating fish parasitized by Anisakis simplex: a case report. A. Eguía, J. Aguirre, M. A. Echevarria, R. Martínez-Conde, J. Pontón Biology, Medicine Oral surgery, oral medicine, oral pathology, oral radiology, and endodontics 2003 15 Save Alert Research Feed Acute allergic reactions to Anisakis simplex after ingestion of anchovies. C. Foti, E. Nettis, N. Cassano, Iris Di Mundo, G. Vena Medicine Acta dermato-venereologica 2002 29 Save Alert Research Feed Anisakis simplex: from Obscure Infectious Worm to Inducer of Immune Hypersensitivity M. Audícana, M. Kennedy Biology, Medicine Clinical Microbiology Reviews 2008 440 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Chronic gastric anisakiasis presenting as pneumoperitoneum. Y. Ito, Y. Ikematsu, +7 authors T. Kanematsu Medicine Asian journal of surgery 2007 22 Save Alert Research Feed Albendazole for the treatment of anisakiasis ileus. E. Pacios, J. Arias-Díaz, J. Zuloaga, J. González-Armengol, P. Villarroel, J. Balibrea Medicine Clinical infectious diseases : an official publication of the Infectious Diseases Society of America 2005 35 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Figures, Tables, and Topics Paper Mentions 200 Citations 62 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_od5oswii5bdtdgs33345elbbu4	----	[PDF] Stepping Forward Together: Could Walking Facilitate Interpersonal Conflict Resolution? | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1037/a0040431 Corpus ID: 23656198Stepping Forward Together: Could Walking Facilitate Interpersonal Conflict Resolution? @article{Webb2017SteppingFT, title={Stepping Forward Together: Could Walking Facilitate Interpersonal Conflict Resolution?}, author={C. Webb and Maya Rossignac-Milon and E. Higgins}, journal={American Psychologist}, year={2017}, volume={72}, pages={374–385} } C. Webb, Maya Rossignac-Milon, E. Higgins Published 2017 Psychology, Medicine American Psychologist Walking has myriad benefits for the mind, most of which have traditionally been explored and explained at the individual level of analysis. Much less empirical work has examined how walking with a partner might benefit social processes. One such process is conflict resolution—a field of psychology in which movement is inherent not only in recent theory and research, but also in colloquial language (e.g., “moving on”). In this article, we unify work from various fields pointing to the idea that… Expand View on Wolters Kluwer higginsweb.psych.columbia.edu Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 13 CitationsBackground Citations 2 Results Citations 1 View All Tables and Topics from this paper table 1 Psychology, Social Gait Disorders, Neurologic Empathy Paper Mentions News Article 25 Amazing Health Benefits of Walking BestLife 30 April 2020 Blog Post Fitting in Family Fitness at the Holidays Well - New York Times 23 November 2019 News Article Fitting in Family Fitness at the Holidays New York Times 23 November 2019 News Article How Emotionally Intelligent People Run Meetings Inc. 7 March 2018 13 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Moving on or Digging Deeper: Regulatory Mode and Interpersonal Conflict Resolution C. Webb, P. Coleman, Maya Rossignac-Milon, Stephen J Tomasulo, E. Higgins Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2017 15 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Flexibility in Treatment: A Trial of Walking Psychotherapy. Cathy R. Schen Psychology, Medicine Psychodynamic psychiatry 2020 Save Alert Research Feed Walking in My Shoes: Imagined Synchrony Improves Attitudes Towards Out-groups Gray Atherton, Liam Cross 2020 PDF Save Alert Research Feed How Moving Together Binds Us Together: The Social Consequences of Interpersonal Entrainment and Group Processes L. Cross, M. Turgeon, Gray Atherton Psychology 2019 9 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The socioecological psychology of upward social mobility. S. Oishi, Minkyung Koo, Nicholas R. Buttrick Medicine The American psychologist 2018 4 Save Alert Research Feed Individual differences in aggressive and peaceful behavior: new insights and future directions C. Webb, P. Verbeek Psychology 2016 2 Save Alert Research Feed An Innovative Framework for Delivering Psychotherapy to Patients With Treatment-Resistant Posttraumatic Stress Disorder: Rationale for Interactive Motion-Assisted Therapy M. van Gelderen, M. J. Nijdam, E. Vermetten Psychology, Medicine Front. Psychiatry 2018 20 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed How Person-Organization Fit Impacts Employees' Perceptions of Justice and Well-Being M. Roczniewska, Sylwiusz Retowski, E. Higgins Psychology, Medicine Front. Psychol. 2018 8 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed An attempt to test whether dogs (Canis familiaris) show increased preference towards humans who match their behaviour K. Silva, J. Bräuer, +5 authors C. Tennie Biology Journal of Ethology 2020 View 1 excerpt, cites results Save Alert Research Feed Motor imagery, performance and motor rehabilitation. T. Macintyre, C. Madan, A. Moran, C. Collet, A. Guillot Psychology, Medicine Progress in brain research 2018 9 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 100 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Walking in (Affective) Circles: Can Short Walks Enhance Affect? P. Ekkekakis, E. Hall, L. Vanlanduyt, S. Petruzzello Psychology, Medicine Journal of Behavioral Medicine 2004 233 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Sync or sink? Interpersonal synchrony impacts self-esteem J. Lumsden, L. Miles, C. N. Macrae Psychology, Medicine Front. Psychol. 2014 60 Save Alert Research Feed Give your ideas some legs: the positive effect of walking on creative thinking. M. Oppezzo, D. Schwartz Psychology, Medicine Journal of experimental psychology. Learning, memory, and cognition 2014 262 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed The sensory feedback mechanisms enabling couples to walk synchronously: An initial investigation A. Zivotofsky, Jeffrey M. Hausdorff Psychology, Medicine Journal of NeuroEngineering and Rehabilitation 2006 108 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed The rhythm of rapport: Interpersonal synchrony and social perception L. Miles, Louise K. Nind, C. N. Macrae Psychology 2009 256 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Do birds of a feather move together? Group membership and behavioral synchrony L. Miles, J. Lumsden, M. Richardson, C. Neil Macrae Psychology, Medicine Experimental Brain Research 2011 112 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Too late to coordinate: Contextual influences on behavioral synchrony L. Miles, J. L. Griffiths, M. Richardson, C. N. Macrae Psychology 2009 121 Save Alert Research Feed Creativity in the Outcomes of Conflict P. Carnevale Political Science 2006 30 Highly Influential View 4 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed To "do the right thing" or to "just do it": locomotion and assessment as distinct self-regulatory imperatives. A. Kruglanski, E. P. Thompson, +4 authors S. Spiegel Psychology, Medicine Journal of personality and social psychology 2000 435 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Social Connection Through Joint Action and Interpersonal Coordination K. L. Marsh, M. Richardson, R. Schmidt Psychology, Medicine Top. Cogn. Sci. 2009 409 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Tables and Topics Paper Mentions 13 Citations 100 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. 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work_odmy3er76rbzhf7f32tvwmxcny	----	Imaging the Left Atrial Appendage With Intracardiac Echocardiography Editorial Imaging the Left Atrial Appendage With Intracardiac Echocardiography Leveling the Playing Field Mathew D. Hutchinson, MD; David J. Callans, MD Amid the boundless scientific discovery of the mid-19thcentury, Henry David Thoreau reflected, “The question is not what you look at, but what you see.” Scientific discovery emerges from novel perspectives on commonly observed phe- nomena. To truly “see” in the scientific sense, we must approach questions using the proper point of view. In this context, perspective is at least twice as important in comparative studies. To be fair and scientifically rigorous, each technique needs to be interpreted under optimal conditions. Article see p 571 In this issue of Circulation: Arrhythmia and Electrophys- iology, Saksena and colleagues1 present the results of the Intracardiac Echocardiography Guided Cardioversion Helps Interventional Procedures (ICE-CHIP) study: a prospective comparison of intracardiac echocardiography (ICE) with transesophageal echocardiography (TEE) in a cohort of pa- tients with atrial fibrillation (AF) undergoing invasive elec- trophysiology procedures. The major outcome variables were imaging completeness and concordance between the 2 imag- ing modalities in visualizing (1) the interatrial septum, (2) the left atrium (LA), and (3) the left atrial appendage (LAA). The major finding of clinical importance in the study was the lack of sensitivity of ICE to detect LAA thrombus when present on TEE. The incidence of spontaneous LA thrombosis detected by TEE in patients with AF referred for AF ablation has been reported to be quite low, ranging from 0% to 1.6%.2,3 Although the authors argue otherwise, TEE is widely consid- ered to be the clinical gold standard in the diagnosis of LA thrombosis. Correlative studies with pathological specimens of ultrasound images are rare. To further complicate the situation, some patients undergoing TEE may have equivocal findings or acoustic artifacts that may be incorrectly inter- preted as thrombus, thereby delaying their planned ablation procedure. Furthermore, TEE imaging cannot be safely per- formed in a minority of patients, thus creating a potential niche for ICE to exclude thrombus in selected patients.4 –7 Because the overall incidence of LA thrombus in patients referred for AF ablation is low and many centers already use ICE to facilitate their AF ablation procedures, using ICE to exclude thrombus in this population could minimize the excessive cost and risk associated with duplicative TEE studies. As the authors highlight in their discussion, there are several methodological deficiencies in ICE-CHIP that may limit its broad applicability. First, although the authors report complete ICE imaging of the LA and LAA in 94% and 85% of patients, respectively, they offer no consistent methodol- ogy by which this survey was performed. It seems curious that little or no advice was given to operators in this study about how studies would be judged as “complete.” In fact, 95% of patients with complete ICE studies did not have LAA pulsed Doppler flow velocity measured. Although we recog- nize that there is no generally accepted standard protocol for LAA imaging with ICE, it is axiomatic that fully imaging this complex 3D structure requires multiple 2D planes at a minimum. It is also our experience, as the authors assert, that there is a significant learning curve required both to navigate the phased-array ICE catheter within the heart and to interpret ICE images. This learning curve builds naturally on prior training in ultrasonography; however, there is no substitute for hands-on learning. Although not explicitly stated in the study methodology, it is assumed that all of the operators in the study were highly skilled in ICE imaging. Another unavoidable criticism is that the blinded reviewers certainly would easily discriminate the 2 imaging modalities during adjudication of the study end points. The authors define concordance as the chief comparative metric in the study. Despite no difference in the overall proportion of ICE and TEE studies with LA and LAA spontaneous echo contrast, there was strikingly low concor- dance between the 2 imaging studies within individuals (65% and 60%, respectively). Conversely, there was a high concor- dance in detecting LA and LAA thrombus (97% and 92%, respectively). The large number of “normal” patients in this cohort may inflate the observed concordance of thrombus detection, thereby limiting its prospective value. Moreover, the markedly disparate concordance between ICE and TEE images for the related clinical entities of spontaneous echo contrast and thrombus discloses fundamental differences in the imaging techniques. The 2 patients with normal ICE studies who were found to have thrombus on TEE underscore this point. It is not surprising that the image quality obtained with ICE was poor. In our experience, complete imaging of the LAA with phased-array ICE from the right atrium is achieved in a minority of patients, which may in part be due to variability in the thickness and the orientation of the interatrial septum The opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the editors or of the American Heart Association. From the Cardiovascular Division, Department of Medicine, Univer- sity of Pennsylvania School of Medicine, Philadelphia, Pa. Correspondence to David J. Callans, MD, 9 Founders Pavilion, 3400 Spruce St, Philadelphia, PA 19104. E-mail david.callans@uphs.upenn.edu (Circ Arrhythm Electrophysiol. 2010;3:564-565.) © 2010 American Heart Association, Inc. Circ Arrhythm Electrophysiol is available at http://circep.ahajournals.org DOI: 10.1161/CIRCEP.110.960245 564 D ow nloaded from http://ahajournals.org by on A pril 5, 2021 through which the ICE images are obtained. When imaging from the right atrium, the LAA lies obviously in the echo far field; enlargement of the LA merely increases the distance of the LAA from the imaging transducer, which often requires lowering the imaging frequency to enhance the imaging field depth, often severely compromising far-field tissue resolu- tion. This concept is analogous to the poor resolution of anterior structures (eg, the right ventricle) with TEE. Al- though it was not part of the present study, this anatomic limitation with ICE can be easily overcome by navigating the phased-array catheter in closer proximity to the LAA, com- monly through the left pulmonary artery (Figure). Several reports have highlighted the importance of novel imaging planes to more completely visualize the LAA.8,9 Finally, because there are multiple commercially available phased- array ICE systems with variable transducer functionality and navigability, it may be inappropriate to generalize the results of the trial to all ICE systems. Like most trials, ICE-CHIP provokes more questions than it answers. It serves as a much-needed first step toward a just comparison of LA imaging with ICE and TEE. A pivotal trial will be very difficult to design because the critical end point (the finding of LAA thrombus) is rare in patients referred for AF ablation, and invasive examinations are hard to justify once a positive finding is made with TEE. Nonetheless, the operators who have experienced the exquisite detail achieved when imaging with ICE proximate to the LAA remain confident that ICE will eventually win the day. Disclosures Drs Hutchinson and Callans both receive research support and speaker’s honoraria from Biosense Webster, Inc. References 1. Saksena S, Sra J, Jordaens L, Kusumoto F, Knight B, Natale A, Kocheril A, Nanda NC, Nagarakanti R, Simon AM, Viggiano MA, Lokhandwala T, Chandler ML; ICE-CHIP Investigator Study Group. A prospective com- parison of cardiac imaging using intracardiac echocardiography with trans- esophageal echocardiography in patients with atrial fibrillation: the Intra- cardiac Echocardiography Guided Cardioversion Helps Interventional Procedures Study. Circ Arrythm Electrophysiol. 2010;3:571–577. 2. Valenzuela TD, Roe DJ, Nichol G, Clark LL, Spaite DW, Hardman RG. Outcomes of rapid defibrillation by security officers after cardiac arrest in casinos. N Engl J Med. 2000;343:1206 –1209. 3. Mazarelli J, Keane MG, Wiegers S, Hutchinson MD, Callans DJ, March- linski FE, Silvestry FE. Incidence of left atrial thrombus by transesopha- geal echocardiography prior to pulmonary vein isolation procedures for atrial fibrillation. J Am Coll Cardiol. 2007;49:159A. 4. Manning WJ, Silverman DI, Gordon SP, Krumholz HM, Douglas PS. Cardioversion from atrial fibrillation without prolonged anticoagulation with use of transesophageal echocardiography to exclude the presence of atrial thrombi. N Engl J Med. 1993;328:750 –755. 5. Agmon Y, Khandheria BK, Gentile F, Seward JB. Clinical and echocar- diographic characteristics of patients with left atrial thrombus and sinus rhythm: experience in 20 643 consecutive transesophageal echocardio- graphic examinations. Circulation. 2002;105:27–31. 6. Looney YM, Chandrasekaran V, Crerar-Gilbert A. Diagnosis of left atrial appendage thrombus in the presence of sinus rhythm with the aid of transesophageal echocardiography during coronary artery bypass grafting. J Cardiothorac Vasc Anesth. 2006;20:96 –97. 7. Kallmeyer IJ, Collard CD, Fox JA, Body SC, Shernan SK. The safety of intraoperative transesophageal echocardiography: a case series of 7200 cardiac surgical patients. Anesth Analg. 2001;92:1126 –1130. 8. Reddy VY, Neuzil P, Ruskin JN. Intracardiac echocardiographic imaging of the left atrial appendage. Heart Rhythm. 2005;2:1272–1273. 9. Hutchinson MD, Jacobson JT, Michele JJ, Silvestry FE, Callans DJ. A com- parison of intracardiac and transesophageal echocardiography to detect left atrial appendage thrombus in a swine model. J Interv Card Electrophysiol. 2010;27:3–7. KEY WORDS: ablation � echocardiography � electrophysiology � Editorials Figure. Two views of the LAA obtained with the phased-array AcuNav catheter (Siemens Acuson; Mountain View, Calif). A, The imaging catheter is placed through the tricuspid valve and rotated 180° to obtain a superior view. The aortic valve is seen in short axis, with the mouth of the LAA visible adjacent to the left coronary cusp. Note the proximity of the left main coronary artery to the LAA. The proxi- mal segment of the left superior pulmonary vein also is visible in this view. B, The imaging catheter is now deflected superiorly, inserted through the pulmonic valve and directed leftward in the pulmonary artery. The LAA is now seen in the near field with detailed visualiza- tion of the pectinate musculature. LCC indicates left coronary cusp; LM, left main coronary artery; LSPV, left superior pulmonary vein; P, pectinate musculature; PA, pulmonary artery; PV, pulmonic valve. Hutchinson and Callans TEE vs ICE for LAA Assessment 565 D ow nloaded from http://ahajournals.org by on A pril 5, 2021 
work_oejvq4u5sjex5n6cpaagf6lppe	----	© Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 39 Publication date: September 30, 2018 DOI: 10.5281/zenodo.2529548 Philosophical Sciences ENVIRONMENTAL ETHICS: FROM PHILOSOPHY TO MOVEMENT Samuel Akpan BASSEY 1 , Leonard NWOYE 2 1 Department of Philosophy, University of Calabar, Calabar, Cross River, 540242, Nigeria 2 Department of Philosophy, University of Calabar, Calabar, Cross River, 540242, Nigeria Abstract: Environmental ethics is an area that investigates the subject of which ethical norms are suitable for governing human relations with the natural environment. The association among humanity and her environment turn out to be an ethical dilemma amid the twentieth century, when accelerated economic and scientific development was convoyed by deep modifications in our global ecological systems. In response, environmental ethics calls for restrictions to this dichotomous association between man and nature. This paper unites the existing literatures on environmental ethics, asking for a move from philosophical postulations to tangible action so as to save our world. Keywords: legislation, environmental ethics, environmentalism. I. INTRODUCTION Prior to the introduction of major legislation concerning the environment, it had been a popularly accepted notion that our utilization of the earth would be subject to no limitations. Our manifold reason, pertaining to the growth of commercial industries, the purchase of lands for residency, the optimization of environmental settings for pedestrian requirements and the persistently swelling request for space upon which to drive had for many years after the start of the Industrial Age taken priority in our perception of sociological development. The overarching notion that the earth belonged to man to do with as he pleased was given little contest in the public © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 40 forum, with large economic, political and cultural contingents generally conceding to the argument that this was the best avenue to serving the public interests. Decades of industrialization, however, leading into the economic boom which followed World War II and saw America into its first great age of consumerism, began to take a legitimate toll on the natural landscape of the nation. Especially in the United States, which was so valued a land asset in its founding due to the seemingly endless wealth of natural resources and species diversity, it had been perceived that such bounties were at our disposal in perpetuity. With growing evidence that this perception was not only false but was bearing deeply destructive consequences for the species and land surrounding us, a new perspective began to emerge which would be the ideological grounding for the environmental, conservation and wildlife preservation movements. Namely, a thought referred to as environmental ethics would take root, first as an outcome of a few significant works of literature and afterward as a meaningful, multifaceted and harmonized political movement. II. ENVIRONMENTAL ETHICS Accordingly, we are guided by the definition offered in the text by Brennan & Lo (2002), which establishes that “environmental ethics is the discipline in philosophy that studies the moral relationship of human beings to, and also the value and moral status of, the environment and its nonhuman contents.” (Brennan & Lo, 1) In other words, prior to the inception of a popular environmental movement, the notion that we as a species have a responsibility to live in harmony with rather than in dominion over our surroundings would be broached in the philosophical context first. The advance of this idea in popular consciousness would ultimately produce a compelling and mainstream acceptance of the idea that we must shift our perspective as a species to one with more ecological sensibility. Indeed, the most practical ways that this has come to affect us on a day to day basis can be seen in the way that products are packaged, the manner in which land is used and the way that our natural elements are protected from abuse. For instance, the ideals of the environmental ethics movement may be credited for forcing the adoption of emissions standards for factories and automobiles. This will in turn have reduced the number of pollutants in the air and the occurrence of resultant health maladies such as emphysema, bronchitis and certain types of cancer. This capacity to effect practical change is the primary reason for the emergence of global effort movements such as those represented in Earth First and Greenpeace. Such groups have been dedicated through activism first and practical political orientation thereafter to help make the philosophical imperatives of environmental ethics a practical reality. The notion of biocentric equality is an underlying impetus of the environmental movement known as Earth First! According to its website, the organization rejects the arrogance of any entity-corporate, environmental or governmental—which assumes a human superiority tantamount to negotiating control over nature. Founded in 1979, Earth First! explicitly rejects trivialization under the category of „organization,‟ instead remarking upon itself as a movement, a priority and a family. Under this supposition, it purports itself a global group intent upon recognizing that nature is not a resource to be exploited by humanity, but a network of codependent systems and species of equal value. Subscribing to the tenets of the Deep Ecology movement, Earth First! is accordingly sympathetic to and explicitly in favor of actions which, though perceived in the mainstream as radical, are actually directed at liberating the environment from the radical abuses of human institutions. In this regard, it is apparent that there is a direct correlation between the tenets of the modern Deep Ecology movement and the principles offered by early environmental icon, Henry David Thoreau. Several years prior to the publication of his landmark 1854 © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 41 Walden, Thoreau would coin the term „civil disobedience,‟ in an essay which determined that legally or socially subversive tactics may sometimes not only be acceptable but may be considered the only ethical redress to the institutionalized symptoms of a sick society. It is the explicitly stated design of Earth First to engage the problems of our environmental abuses through direct action rather than what its leaders refer to as the indirect methods of structural compliance. Earth First! campaign search of biocentric goals on all fronts, attempting to interrelate with the court system, to systematize grass-roots campaigns in the face of precise threats and even to engage in non-legal forms of civil display. The movement‟s ethical position is that there is no acceptable compromise with regard to the earth‟s health and that it is the responsibility of every single individual to take action. As Thoreau had argued, it may be considered unethical to stand by and witness the performance of grave injustices without taken preventative action. More moderate groups though, have experienced greater success in gaining some level of legitimacy on the global environmental scheme. To this end, Greenpeace, probable the most identifiable name in the movement for environmental ethics activism was shaped in 1971. This was done upon the event of a nuclear test conducted in Alaska by the U.S. government. One of what would become a sizeable and easily recognizable fleet of ships, the Amchitka stood „witness‟ to the abuses of our environment as a principle of individual responsibility. It was the view of those a party to this action that the organization‟s policy of witness against crimes perpetrated upon the environment could help it to expose and campaign for the reduction of such behaviors. In accordance with the principles of Social Ecology, Greenpeace views the institutional violation of the environment as reflective of a shared indifference. It is thus that it promotes the ascendancy of individuals to both sustainable living practices and alignment with its goals of global climate-change prevention, ocean protection, wildlife defense and the elimination of nuclear power, among many other associated interests. Arguing that there is a direct relationship between the state of the environment and the inherent inequality in a number of human institutions, this organization brings to bear some of the ideas of Rachel Carson, whose 1962 watershed text, Silent Spring, as we will observer hereafter, pinpointed the consequences of corporate and governmental negligence. III. DISCUSSION ON ENVIRONMENTAL ETHICS References here above to Henry David Thoreau and Rachel Carson are crucial. Though separated by roughly a century, the works of these two writers may be seen as the philosophical basis to the environmental ethics ideology that would ultimately become a practical movement. The concept of environmental ethics would originally be established with the proliferation of Thoreau‟s ideas of simplification and ecological compatibility and thereafter, with the collision of Carson‟s ideas and the age of reform in America. In 1962, marine biologist and environmental activist Rachel Carson published Silent Spring, a work that opened the first round of fire against the perception that man was the only species of importance on the Earth. A book rife with frightening contentions about the irreparable damage with which we have already lashed the earth, Silent Spring would be a sensible point of entry into the discourse over environmental preservation. As one of the first popular works of non-fiction to promote the idea that ecological decline will inevitably lead to a decline in the survivability of man, Carson‟s book touched off a public awareness of the need to apply new strategies to extending environmental conscientiousness. Carson‟s book centers on the ill effects which the commonly accepted use of pesticides in agriculture were having on the health of environments which hosted all manner of life, among them humanity. Decrying the absence of regulation against the use of such dangerous chemicals, Carson‟s work points to some of the major environmental contingencies of our failure to prevent this poisoning of our ecology. She also uses this stark and © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 42 frightening logic to connect a failure of the government to regulate environmental behaviors with an ethical failure to do the business of protecting the people. To accomplish this, she uses startling imagery that keys into our capacity for moral outrage over environmental abuses and their implications. She represent a town where “mysterious maladies swept the flocks of chickens; the cattle and sheep sickened and died. Everywhere was a shadow of death. The farmers spoke of much illness among their families. In the town the doctors had become more and more puzzled by new kinds of sickness appearing among their patients.” (Carson, 2) That the correlation between these collected symptoms and the use of pesticides in our predominantly agricultural towns had yet to be recognized at this point in history is important to consider. Though today it still receives troublingly little acknowledgment, the exponential rise in the consumption of organic produce in recent years is indicative of a graduating cognizance of that which Carson‟s work brought to the forefront of ecological discourse. Here, she makes apparent the causality of her concern and, thus, illuminates the pattern of environmental abuse which is an immediate ethical trespass and an ultimate threat to man as much as it is to any other species which is targeted by such behavior, either with intent or by collateral happenstance. Herein, she expounds upon the retribution which man will receive for his impractical coexistence with other species and habitats on earth. In simplified terms, she describes a cycle in which man ultimately poisons himself. Using pesticides to exterminate entire species of insect has had the effect of eliminating certain creatures from an ecological chain, therefore removing an important set of players in the interaction between predators and prey. With the toxification or disappearance of insects in the habitats discussed in Silent Spring, the bird population which relied upon these as a source of food also began to suffer. Given the adaptability of nature, insect populations commonly resurge with new genetic immunities to our pesticides. In the absence of the bird populations once controlling them, these insects are then capable of spreading disease and crop devastation without obstruction from natural ecological balance. And as it is described above and throughout the book, it is clear that these are ecological changes which directly correlate to man and his survival. This is sensible given his singular role in creating environmental blight and ecological imbalance. Carson‟s work would also give rise to works of great importance by figures such as Lynn White, whose “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis” would tighten the correlation between ecological decline and ethical misappropriation of man‟s self-appointed role as a custodian of the planet. Indeed, White (1974) most aggressively identifies man‟s moral disposition as a key catalyst for the destruction of the earth, demanding some more practical channeling of the various strands of ethical divergence reflected in our environmental policy. As White opine, “with the population explosion, the carcinoma of planless urbanism, the now geological deposits of sewage and garbage, surely no creature other than man has ever managed to foul its nest in such short order. There are many calls to action, but specific proposals, however worthy as individual items, seem too partial, palliative, negative: ban the bomb, tear down the billboards, give the Hindus contraceptives and tell them to eat their sacred cows. The simplest solution to any suspect change is, of course, to stop it, or better yet, to revert to a romanticized past: make those ugly gasoline stations look like Anne Hathaway's cottage or (in the Far West) like ghost-town saloons.” (White, 2) This point of focus is a useful one for beginning to understand the orientation of such nations as the U.S. toward a global environmental movement. Indeed, for the U.S., ethicality scarcely enters into the discourse. Quite to the contrary, the United States appears to be inexorably and ruthlessly driven by the ambitions of its economy. The desire for massive levels of consumption and the conditioning of a lifestyle of excess have both delivered the U.S. to a place of ecological unsustainability. However, its government and industries have simultaneously proven unresponsive to these conditions. U.S. automakers lag behind those in other nations that have worked out of economic necessity to develop more fuel efficient alternatives to the gas-guzzlers which are so popular in America. © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 43 The economic effects of this chosen dependency are based on the danger of relying upon a finite source of fuel. To this point, Whitehall (2008) demonstrates a pattern which denotes the close correlation between an increasing oil scarcity and a set of clear economic challenges. His findings show that over just a period of a year, the cost per barrel rose from just fewer than 60 U.S. Dollars a barrel on the international market to upwards of 140 U.S. Dollars a barrel. The increase is a demonstration of how unreliable oil is not just in terms of its lack of sustainability but in terms of its negative economic implications, which associate it to dangers of economic inflation. (Whitehall, 1) This signifies the ecological effects of America‟s poor orientation towards environmental ethics have undoubtedly identifiable economic cost as well. On a global scale, the environmental movement is increasingly becoming less a fringe activist terrain and more a policy area of great importance for the industrialized nations of the world. There is increasingly a consensus on the dangers of global climate change; the threat to our health of pollutants in land, air and water; the implications to food scarcity to hungry populations; and the need to change energy harvesting and consumption habits. Collectively, these environmental concerns are registering with ever-greater prominence in the nations of Western Europe, North America and in economically advanced parts of China. Qsuite certainly, in all of these contexts, there remain considerable challenges ahead in achieving projected future goals for meeting environmental improvements. However, these challenges pale in comparison to those which lay ahead of the developing nations of the world. Where environmentalism is concerned in particularly, a clear challenge exists to the developing sphere, with many developing nations simultaneously demonstrating the greatest need for extreme environmental reform and yet fully lacking the resources or priority to address pressing environmental concerns. IV. HOW IT HAS BECOME A MAJOR ISSUE This presents our future outlook with its greatest area of complexity. As nations struggle simply to feed their populations and to address famine, disease and homelessness, environmentalism is a policy focus often perceived as luxury at best and as politically motivated at worst. Also impacted by the patterns of globalization which open the doors of developing nations to the activities of multinational corporations, many developing nations find that their environmental conditions are very much at the mercy of outsiders. As a result, as the debate raging around many developing countries on how to bring global restraint to environmental abuses continues, practices in many of these contexts continue to reflect a severity of neglect for reform. Indeed, all evidence suggests that in spite of the economic arguments against the implementation of environmental restrictions in developing nations, rationality denotes that soon all nations must face these issues. According to our research, “environmentalism, although a good postmodern indicator, is more fundamental than a culture shift because it is based on serious global threats to life on this planet. Ideologies may surge and flow across the face of these realities, but environmental issues cannot be argued or deconstructed away.” (Peritore, 30). This is quite a pertinent point to the discussion, lending us the basic understanding that the permeation of environmental ethics into developing nations, though inclined by the processes of globalization, is not simply a vestige of foreign imposition. The establishment of more firm protections for land, air, water and, by extension, food sources, communities and homes, in the developing world is tantamount to the emergence of this sphere form untenable conditions of poverty and filth. And yet, resistance exists in a variety of forms, even beyond the obviation that nations such as those in Africa, the Middle East or South Asia will frequently lack the stability or resource to maintain or enforce sound environmental policies. This is true for a number of cogent reasons relating to the cost of environmental enforcement and for a number of more conditional reasons relating to the desire of globalizing firms to operate in © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 44 nations with decidedly lax environmental parameters. This morass of conditions denotes that “while we should not necessarily be sanguine about environmental protection in developing countries, we need not be pessimistic either.” (Warshawsky, 114) This is to say that the international community is increasingly drawing to a consensus on the need to curb behaviors which have are causing trauma to the environment, with the leadership change from Bush to Obama in the United States promising significant new level of improvement in regulatory enforcement. In general, the pattern of the last two decades has moved the developing world toward higher levels of control over corporate polluting in particular, especially with the 1997 inception of The Kyoto Treaty. This set of environmental protocols “commits industrialised nations to reducing emissions of greenhouse gases, principally Carbon Dioxide, by around 5.2% below their 1990 levels over the next decade” (BBC News, 1). In many ways, though this should be considered a model for improvement in the industrialized world, it has interceded with the forces of globalization to encourage corporate polluters to find contexts in which those activities will be enabled. Ultimately, the matter of this opportunity for exploitive profitability is a dominant force obstructing the development of stricter environmental regulations in the developing sphere. V. SOURCES The set of sources consulted for this subject drive together the topics of environmentalism and ecological ethics. The array of journal articles, complete texts and web sources consulted discuss these two topics both individually and in intercession with one another to formulate a thorough overview of environmentalism as a function of an ethical imperative. This is most importantly noted in the text by Carson (1962), which is a template setting work in the field. Among the first to aggressively affiliate ethical trespass with the degradation of the environment, this would be both historically important to the discourse and central to the way that this account addresses environmental ethics. This is grounded even further in the literary milestone that was Thoreau‟s W alden (1854), which promoted perhaps for the first time in any notable context the ethical clarity which can be gained through a simplicity and naturalness of living. The text by Peritore (1999) is valuable for applying the assumption that ethics and environmentalism must be inherently related, presenting the case that the way environmental abuses are perpetrated in the developing world represents a serious trespass of human ethical responsibility. By contrast, the article by Warshawsky (2003) shows some developing nations, in this case Costa Rica and Bolivia, working to achieve progressive templates for environmentalism in the developing world. Such a dynamic segues well into an evaluation of such web-pages as the Earth First! Worldwide and Greenpeace International organizational sites. These present an overview of the environmental challenges and activities poised at addressing them as channeled through prominent activist groups. These sites are also driven by explicitly stated ethical imperatives to the protection and preservation of the earth. Indeed, such activities are characterized by the Brennan & Lo (2002) text, which defines these activities as comporting to the specific principles of environmental ethics. This also serves as a working definition for our purposes, demonstrating the notion that environmental responsibility is tantamount to the preservation of human life, among the utmost of ethical imperatives. The compilation by Light & Rolston (2003) underscores this concise definition by providing an exhaustive list of many of the landmark discussions on the subject. This would include important texts by Aldo Leopold, Richard Sylvan and Peter Singer. On an applied level, the text by Whitehall (2008) would discuss the over-consumption of fossil fuels and the connection of this pattern with environmental degradation. This denotes a concrete human behavior that may, in this discussion, be addressed according to an ethical lens. © Journal «Bulletin Social-Economic and Humanitarian Research», № 2, 2018, e-ISSN 2658-5561 45 So too may this be applied to evaluation of the article published by BBC News (2003), which describes the Kyoto Treaty and its implications to global environmental responsibilities. With respect to our discussion, this would provide a useful construct for what should be expected of the ethically oriented environmental perspective. VI. CONCLUSION Economic Development single-handedly cannot prolong for long except the health of our surrounding environment is properly ensured. This is achievable only when human beings begin to understand their own potential and restrictions in terms of the immensity of God's creation and value the entire ecosystem at large for sustainable future. Hence combination of environmental, social, ethical concepts and strong communal involvement along with community participation is the key to successful sustainable development program. REFERENCES BBC News. (2003). What is the Kyoto Treaty. BBC.co.uk. Online at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/2233897.stm Brennan, A. & Lo, Y. (2002). Environmental Ethics. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Online at http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ethics-environmental/ Carson, Rachel. (1962). Silent Spring. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co. Earth First! Worldwide. (2010). Homepage. http://www.earthfirst.org/ Greenpeace International. (2010). Homepage. http://www.greenpeace.org/international/ Light, A. & Rolston, H. (2003). Environmental Ethics: An Anthology. Wiley-Blackwell. Peritore, N.P. (1999). Third World Environmentalism. University Press of Florida. Thoreau, H.D. (1854). Walden. Project Gutenberg Warshawsky, H. (2003). Environmental Leadership in Developing Countries: Transnational Relations and Biodiversity Policy in Costa Rica and Bolivia. Global Environmental Politics, 3(3), 114-116. White, L. (1974). The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis. New York: Harper and Row. Whitehall, J.K. (2008). Get on the Other Side of the Pump. Jutia Group. Online at http://jutiagroup.com/2008/09/12/get-on-the-other-side-of-the-pump/ http://www.earthfirst.org/ http://jutiagroup.com/2008/09/12/get-on-the-other-side-of-the-pump/ 
work_ofcem56ar5b3bha3qqwqnrv2ci	----	Thru-hiking the John Muir Trail as a modern pilgrimage: implications for natural resource management Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=reco20 Journal of Ecotourism ISSN: 1472-4049 (Print) 1747-7638 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/reco20 Thru-hiking the John Muir Trail as a modern pilgrimage: implications for natural resource management Sarah Hitchner, John Schelhas, J. Peter Brosius & Nathan Nibbelink To cite this article: Sarah Hitchner, John Schelhas, J. Peter Brosius & Nathan Nibbelink (2018): Thru-hiking the John Muir Trail as a modern pilgrimage: implications for natural resource management, Journal of Ecotourism, DOI: 10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 Published online: 15 Feb 2018. Submit your article to this journal View related articles View Crossmark data http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=reco20 http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/reco20 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 https://doi.org/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=reco20&show=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=reco20&show=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2018-02-15 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2018-02-15 Thru-hiking the John Muir Trail as a modern pilgrimage: implications for natural resource management Sarah Hitchnera, John Schelhasb, J. Peter Brosiusc and Nathan Nibbelinka,d aCenter for Integrative Conservation Research, University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA; bSouthern Research Station, USDA Forest Service, Athens, GA, USA; cDepartment of Anthropology, University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA; dWarnell School of Forestry and Natural Resources, University of Georgia, USA ABSTRACT In many religions, the simple act of walking from one point to another, sometimes over great distances, becomes a life-changing event, often undertaken only once in a lifetime at great financial and physical cost. In recent decades, walkers often label themselves or are labeled by others as pilgrims, and their walks parallel traditional religious pilgrimages such as the Hajj or the Camino de Santiago. In this article, we examine 26 travel blogs of thru-hikers (or intended thru-hikers) of the John Muir Trail in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California, U.S.A., for elements of spirituality that correspond to discussions of religious pilgrimages. We also examine the ways that thru-hikers discuss management of the trail; like pilgrims on other trails, John Muir Trail (JMT) thru- hikers convey simultaneous annoyance and appreciation of rules that restrict behaviors on the popular trail. We contend that understanding a thru-hike of the JMT as a form of pilgrimage has important implications for natural resource management and can help wilderness managers better meet the needs of this type of trail user, one who crosses multiple administrative boundaries, often seeks a distinctive combination of comradery and solitude, and for whom a backcountry hike may be a transformative experience. ARTICLE HISTORY Received 3 May 2017 Accepted 24 January 2018 KEYWORDS Backpacking; John Muir Trail; pilgrimage; spirituality; thru- hiking; trail management; travel blogs All that is necessary to make any landscape visible and therefore impressive is to regard it from a new point of view, or from the old one with our heads upside down. Then we behold a new heaven and earth and are born again, as if we had gone on a pilgrimage to some far-off holy land … (John Muir) 1. Introduction Intentional immersion in natural places, and specifically hiking long distances through parks and wilderness areas, can be interpreted as a form of modern pilgrimage in which people temporarily disengage from their daily life activities, enter a liminal period of attempting to complete a journey for personal reasons, and then re-enter the outside world, often with a changed perspective as a result of spiritual or personal © 2018 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group CONTACT Sarah Hitchner slhitchn@uga.edu Center for Integrative Conservation Research, University of Georgia, 321 Holmes-Hunter Academic Building, 101 Herty Drive, Athens, GA 30602, USA JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM, 2018 https://doi.org/10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1080/14724049.2018.1434184&domain=pdf mailto:slhitchn@uga.edu http://www.tandfonline.com growth gained during the experience (Badone & Roseman, 2004; Ptasznik, 2015; Turner, 1969; Turner & Turner, 1978; Van Gennep, 1960). There are many modern examples of pilgrimages through federal lands in the United States, including reenactment of impor- tant cultural journeys such as the Trail of Tears, following in the footsteps of important naturalists such as John Muir or William Bartram, or thru-hikes (hikes from one endpoint to the other) of long-distance hiking trails such as the Appalachian Trail and the Pacific Crest Trail. Pilgrimages have renewed importance in the modern world as people seek meaning, and many pilgrimages have close ties to landscapes as people grapple with the meaning of the human relationship with nature (Frey, 1998; Maddrell, della Dora, Scafi, & Walton, 2015; Stronza, 2001). Journeys to and within these natural areas, even when conducted with non-religious motivations, resemble religious pilgrimages in that they are transformative experiences undertaken by individuals or groups for the purposes of spiritual or emotional benefit along well-defined routes in places that are considered ‘more sacred than the environment of everyday life’ (Margry, 2008, p. 17). As noted by Ross-Bryant (2013) and Schelhas (2014), national parks are considered by many U.S. citi- zens to be sacred places, and the performance of secular pilgrimages within or between them both reflect and create meanings of the sacrality of these spaces. Because of the importance of these journeys to the individuals that undertake them, there are numerous sites on the internet where one can read detailed blogs of natural pil- grimage experiences. Such blogs remain a largely unexplored resource for understanding the environmental thought and in-person nature experiences (with the notable exception of Champ, Williams, & Lundy, 2013). In this article, we analyze 26 publicly available blogs of thru-hikers of the John Muir Trail (JMT), an ∼211-mile trail that mostly overlaps with the Pacific Crest Trail, in terms of how the thru-hiking experience meets the criteria of a modern pilgrimage. We also explore the tensions, as well as the overlaps, between the desire of hikers for solitary communion with nature and the social nature of the trail, as well as between annoyance at the rules regarding the JMT and an appreciation of the need for these regulations. Understanding a thru-hike of the JMT as a type of pilgrimage has implications for wilderness management. As noted by Cole and Williams (2012, p. 15), who summarized 50 years of research on wilderness experiences, managers must under- stand that visitors’ experiences in wilderness areas are ‘diverse, situational, and idiosyn- cratic,’ making it difficult for managers to know how to best manage these areas for the highest quality visitor experiences. They emphasize the need to ‘delve more deeply, through in-depth interviews, into the meanings people attach to experience’ (Cole & Wil- liams, 2012, p. 16). We suggest that managers of the parks, forests, and wilderness areas through which the JMT passes can better serve the segment of the users who view a thru-hike of the trail as a pilgrimage by understanding their spiritual motivations and experiences, and we contend that ethnographic analysis of thru-hikers’ blogs both lays the foundation for future interviews and offers insights not obtainable by other data col- lection methods. 2. Background: John Muir and the JMT John Muir (1838–1914) was a Scottish-American naturalist and author who advocated for the federal protection of wilderness areas, especially in the Western United States (and specifically in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California). He co-founded the Sierra 2 S. HITCHNER ET AL. Club in 1892 and helped encouraged the passage of the 1890 Congressional National Park Bill, which led to the establishment of Yosemite National Park and other parks and wild- erness areas. Many natural sites have been named for him (e.g. Muir Woods National Monument, Muir Pass, Muir Beach, Mount Muir, and Muir Glacier), and his writings have inspired millions of people to both protect natural places and experience nature first- hand (Sierra Club, 2017). A Christian who claimed to know much of the Bible by heart, Muir saw the beauty of nature as a great gift from God, and he often expressed his love for wilderness in religious terms. Worster (2008, p. 8) wrote in his biography of Muir that: ‘“God” for Muir, was a deliberately loose and imprecise term referring to an active, creative force dwelling in, above, and around nature’ (Worster, 2008, p. 9). As we discuss in this article, many JMT thru-hikers share Muir’s views of nature as the physical manifestation of a divine presence both within and outside the confines of the label of Christianity. The JMT is an ∼211-mile trail in the Sierra Nevada mountain range of California, U.S.A. For 160 of those miles, it follows the longer Pacific Crest Trail that runs from Mexico to Canada. Construction on the trail began in 1915 when the Sierra Club received $10,000 in governmental funding from the state of California, and it was completed in 1938, the year of the 100th anniversary of John Muir’s birth (http://www.pcta.org/). Most people hike the trail from north to south, starting at Happy Isles in Yosemite National Park and ending on the summit of Mount Whitney, the highest point in the con- tiguous United States. The JMT passes through different adjacent and overlapping man- agement areas with different types of regulation: national parks (Yosemite, Kings Canyon, and Sequoia), national forests (Inyo and Sierra), wilderness areas (Ansel Adams), and national monuments (Devil’s Postpile) (see Figure 1). Hikers intending to travel the entire length of the JMT must obtain permits from the administrative entity (National Park Service (NPS) or Forest Service) where they begin their hike, which is usually the northern terminus of the trail, Happy Isles in Yosemite National Park. This is challenging because permits for this area become available 24 weeks in advance of the hikers’ intended start date, and given the short window of time available for a thru-hike due to seasonal restrictions, these spots fill quickly. Some permits, such as those needed to summit Mount Whitney, the southern terminus of the JMT, are given out almost exclusively through a lottery system. For both southbound and northbound hikers, permits can be elusive, as demand is higher than available supply. The NPS has noted a 100% increase in demand for JMT permits from 2011 to 2015 and an increase of 242% from January 2014 to January 2015 (NPS, 2017). Figure 2 shows the average number of people annually using the JMT, while Figure 3 shows the number of permits given to exit Donahue Pass from Yosemite Valley, a stretch required to thru-hike the JMT. These statistics indicate the total number of users of the trail and possibly the hikers who intend to complete the JMT; however, the number of people who complete a thru-hike is difficult to ascertain. Clearly, the blogs we analyzed were written by people who had obtained permits, but many others intending to thru- hike are not able to because of limited permits. In essence, the legal ability to thru-hike the JMT is dependent on a combination of careful planning and good luck. Although there is administrative coordination among agencies for JMT hikers, each agency must also balance thru-hiking with other hiking interests and experiences (e.g. day hiking, other backcountry users, and Mt. Whitney ascents) and environmental con- cerns (NPS, 2017). As Mitchell (2016) emphasizes, these agencies represent the state in JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 3 http://www.pcta.org/ shaping the spiritual experiences of hikers on two levels. First, backcountry policy and management structures the pilgrimage experiences of hikers, and second, national parks and wilderness areas have historically been promoted by the state and others as places that provide opportunities for what can be considered public religious activities, including pilgrimage. As Mitchell (2016, p. 177) notes of JMT hikers: ‘In the public, state-managed space of wilderness, hikers attested to a sense of spiritual liberation from the burdens of civilized life. In this way, their spirituality takes on the character of a liberal, progressive public religion.’ It is the explicit exclusion of private enterprise that creates the opportunity for spiritual experience (Mitchell, 2016). Figure 1. JMT. Credit: Nathan Nibbelink. 4 S. HITCHNER ET AL. The popularity of this trail by many different types of users requires regulations and trail management practices that may infringe on those long-distance hikers seeking soli- tude, freedom, a temporary escape from urban life, and spiritual experiences through natural immersion. However, many thru-hikers grudgingly accept the rules enforced by natural resource managers (and occasionally break them), similar to pilgrims on more tra- ditional religious pilgrimage routes in which overuse and improper management threaten Figure 2. Number of people using the JMT (from NPS, 2017). Note: 2002–2006: average number of people using the JMT was about 1000 per year. 2006–2009: number of people nearly doubled to almost 2000 per year. 2009–2014: the number of people increased to 3500 per year. 2015–2016: number of people leveled out just above 3500 per year. Figure 3. Graph showing increase in permits exiting Donahue Pass (NPS, 2017). Note: Reservation data as of 9 January 2015 show an approximate year-to-date increase of 242% as compared to last year for JMT permits and an overall increase in permit requests of approximately 165%. JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 5 the physical integrity of the landscape and have detrimental effects on people’s spiritual experiences in these areas. 3. Pilgrimage studies Barber (1993, p. 1) describes a pilgrimage as ‘a journey resulting from religious causes, externally to a holy site, and internally for spiritual purposes and internal understanding,’ and the practice of traveling long distances to sacred places, often by foot, is common to many of the world’s religions. Many people associate the term with religious pilgrimages such as the Hajj, a once-in-a-lifetime journey to Mecca for Muslims, or with Catholic pil- grims to Lourdes in France or Hindu pilgrims to the Ganges River in India (Barber, 1993; Collins-Kreiner, 2010b). Other well-known pilgrimages include the Christian Way of Saint James along the Camino de Santiago (Road to Santiago) in Spain (some routes include France and Portugal) and the Way of 88 Temples/Shikoku Buddhist pilgrimage in Japan (Westwood, 2003). Many scholars have noted that modern tourism is rooted in pilgrimage (Cohen, 1992; Collins-Kreiner, 2010b; Graburn, 1989; McIntosh & Mansfeld, 2006), and numerous studies addressing the differences between pilgrims and tourists or travelers have found the lines between them to be blurry (Badone & Roseman, 2004; Collins-Kreiner, 2010a, 2010b; Jirásek, 2014). Tourists often call their own journeys ‘pilgrimages,’ and non-reli- gious tourists (or adherents of other faiths) often visit sacred sites. Terms such as ‘pilgrim- age tourism’ (Collins-Kreiner & Kliot, 2000), ‘secular pilgrimage,’ and ‘sacred tourism’ (Singh, 2005), ‘religious tourism’ (Collins-Kreiner, 2010b), or ‘pilgrimage as tourism’ (Rountree, 2002) reflect the lack of clear distinction between tourism and pilgrimage. Collins-Kreiner (2010b, p. 156) says that ‘the polarities on the pilgrimage-tourism axis are labeled sacred vs. secular, and between them range an almost endless list of possible sacred-secular combinations.’ Tourism thus is not simply hedonistic consumerism devoid of meaning, and is instead understood to be rooted in the history of pilgrimage and a modern adaptation of it, often accompanied by a modern, more expansive view of religion (Ross-Bryant, 2013, p. 6). Badone and Roseman (2004, p. 2) claim that as Geertz (1973) conceptualized religion as a search for meaning and the ‘really real,’ ‘tour- istic travel in search of authenticity or self-renewal falls under the rubric of the sacred, col- lapsing the distinction between secular voyaging and pilgrimage.’ People of all faiths (or without faith) continue to conduct pilgrimages for a variety of reasons. Religious reasons can include a vow or promise, reflection or meditation, prayer, atonement for sin, or a demonstration of faith (Frey, 1998, p. 32) or spiritual reasons, which are ‘more vaguely defined personal searches or inner journeys of trans- formation’ (Frey, 1998, p. 33). Other motivations include a desire to see and experience places of cultural and historical significance and places of folklore and legend, to advance causes (social, political, personal, religious), or as a personal challenge, the path to self-discovery, or temporary escape from everyday life. As ethnographers continually remind us, knowing the motivations of ‘the Other’ is difficult if not impossible (Badone & Roseman, 2004). The motivations of travelers rarely fit into discrete categories, and mul- tiple reasons for undertaking a particular journey are most likely the norm rather than the exception. Badone and Roseman (2004, p. 2) point out that this has always been the case; they state: ‘among the large number of medieval Europeans who traveled to Santiago de 6 S. HITCHNER ET AL. Compostela and Canterbury, it is not likely that all were propelled by uniquely pious motives’ (see also Smith, 1992). Frey (1998, pp. 4–5) notes that: Although the Santiago pilgrimage has a religious foundation based in Catholic doctrine regarding sin, its remission and salvation, in its contemporary permutation these religious elements endure, but they also share the same stage with transcendent spirituality, tourism, physical adventure, nostalgia, a place to grieve, and esoteric initiation. The Camino can be (among many other things) a union with nature, a vacation, an escape from the drudgery of the everyday, a spiritual path to the self and humankind, a social reunion, or a personal testing ground. It is ‘done’ and ‘made’ as a pilgrimage, but what does that mean now? The glue that holds these disparate elements together seems to be the shared journey, the Camino de Santiago. A pilgrimage is done alone but also communally; everyone on the path overcomes per- sonal challenges, but the challenge itself becomes a shared experience, both in the physical presence of other people and in the knowledge that many other people have literally walked the same path. Everyone must overcome his or her own challenges on the way. Citing work by Turner (1969) and Van Gennep (1960) on rites of passage, and applying it to long-distance thru-hiking, Ptasznik (2015, p. 20) notes that: ‘During the state of liminality, social distinctions cease to exist, creating a camaraderie between those under- taking the ritual.’ The shared nature of this physically and emotionally intense experience creates a sense of kinship with others facing the same challenges, although it is simul- taneously a personal journey of self-discovery and self-reflection in which many hikers seek solitude. While seeking solitude, many long-distance hikers also recognize and appreciate the social component of the hike. It is a shared journey, one that some hikers complete together in the same space and time and that other hikers share virtually through social media, blogs, videos, books, and other forms of communication. Peterson (2017) notes that while some early nature writers and explorers such as John Muir and Henry David Thoreau did seek solitude in nature, hiking clubs were formed in the late 1800s because ‘what most early hikers sought was not solitude; it was fellowship.’ For hikers today, the experience is collective whether a person hikes alone or with partners, and many people choose to share their experiences. Regardless of how the experience is shared, whether physically or virtually, the camaraderie that results is part of what makes the journey a pilgrimage. Other scholars have researched modern hiking and backpacking as a spiritual practice. For example, Bratton (2012) writes about hiking the Appalachian Trail as a spiritual experience, and the trail itself as both a physical and social environment. She notes the ‘growing academic interest in nature religion, pilgrimage from secular to sacred, wilder- ness spirituality, and the meaning of walking’ (Bratton, 2012, p. xv). She maintains that long-distance walks have been a key element in many of the world’s religions and that modern long hikes on established trails such as the Appalachian Trail confer similar spiri- tual benefits to traditional pilgrimages associated with mainstream religions. Theologian Belden Lane (2014, p. 4) notes that ‘spiritual practice – far from being anything ethereal – is a highly tactile, embodied, and visceral affair,’ and it is precisely the physicality of the journey that leads to spiritual renewal and, in some cases, redemption. Further, Peterson (2017) notes that for long-distance trails such as the Appalachian Trail and the Pacific Crest Trail, ‘the lack of utilitarian function also made the trails’ ideological purpose JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 7 more evident.’ Since the process of undertaking a long hike is for most people unnecessary, these hikes serve as means to fill emotional, and in many cases, spiritual needs. Ptasznik notes how the use of the term ‘pilgrimage’ when applied to hiking long dis- tances reflects a diversified approach to spirituality in the United States; among many hikers, there is less a focus on organized, mainstream religions and more emphasis on ‘diffuse and individualized forms of spirituality common to the United States’ (Ptasznik, 2015, p. 6; see also Mitchell, 2016; Taylor, 2010). Similarly, McIntosh and Mansfeld (2006, p. 118) note that the conventionally Western distinction between the external world of objects and events and the inner world of spirituality and religion is also becom- ing less clear as ‘we are now seeing a major integration of outer and inner life’ (see also Neal & Biberman, 2003). With this in mind, trail maintenance organizations have fre- quently adopted language that reflects the spiritual aspect of the trails and the desire of users of the trail to experience spiritual moments while immersed in nature (Ptasznik, 2015, p. 16). For example, the Appalachian Trail Conservancy states that their vision ‘is to connect the human spirit with nature … . We are committed to protect this sacred space through education and inspiration’ (http://www.appalachiantrail.org/). The internal and external worlds of people intersect in specific places at specific moments, and the landscapes through which journeys take place are also a key element of the definition of a pilgrimage. Pilgrimage routes often contain layers of cul- tural, historic, and religious or spiritual significance. Specific sites along the pilgrimage paths are socially constructed as sacred, secular, or both at once (Collins-Kreiner, 2010b, p. 157, see also Gatrell and Collins-Kreiner, 2006; Sarmiento & Hitchner, 2017). Scholars have noted the restorative and therapeutic aspects of the physical land- scapes in which spiritual pilgrimages take place (Conradson, 2007; Maddrell et al., 2015), and these landscapes are also often considered sacred. Maddrell et al. (2015, p. 1) focus on the intersection of pilgrimage and landscape studies, noting that ‘the shrine, pilgrim route and their wider surroundings are often deeply intertwined as part of the pilgrim experience.’ Ross-Bryant (2013, pp. 17–18) notes that travelers in the United States often visit national parks, which are still seen by many Americans as pristine, untouched places of natural beauty that embody American values and ideals and to which people can go in order to spiritually recharge and even be ‘born again.’ Recognizing the critique of ‘pristine wilderness’ articulated by Cronon (1996) and other scholars, she states that: ‘The national park is nature that has been made culture, while claiming to be pure nature’ (Ross-Bryant, 2013, p. 2). Mitchell (2016) interviewed 32 JMT hikers at access points along the trail, focusing on the extent and nature of religion and spirituality among the hikers and their relationships to nature and place. Hikers identified more with spirituality than organized religion, emphasized the importance of ‘wilderness’ in contrast to ‘civilization’ and the opportunities for reflection and spiritual experiences afforded by stepping out of ‘civilization,’ and contrasted ‘community’ of hikers with non-wilderness users (Mitchell, 2016). While not directly invoking the idea of pilgrim- age, Mitchell (2016) notes that the experience is a temporary retreat from ‘civilization’ for spiritual refreshment that is then carried back into ordinary life. In this sense, visitors to national parks and other federally regulated areas such as national forests and wild- erness management areas can be considered pilgrims, and their journeys to and within these parks can be labeled pilgrimages. 8 S. HITCHNER ET AL. http://www.appalachiantrail.org/ 4. Ethnographic analysis of thru-hiker blogs Anthropology can help understand the ‘full story’ of what happens to those who engage in all forms of tourism (Stronza, 2001, p. 278), and ethnographic analysis of travelers’ narra- tives is a key method of investigating the meaning of their experiences. As noted by Doost- dar (2004, p. 653), ‘calls are increasingly being made for an ethnographic and anthropological approach to the study of computer-mediated communication and online communities’ (see also Escobar, 1994; Hakken, 1999; Miller & Slater, 2000; Wilson & Peterson, 2002). Blogs, or weblogs, are web-based personal journals, with dis- parate entries uploaded by individuals in chronological (or reverse chronological) order (Banyai & Havitz, 2013; Dearstyne, 2005; Panteli, Yan, & Chamakiotis, 2011). Backpackers keep blogs for a number of audiences: family and friends they know ‘in real life,’ people with whom they maintain personal but virtual friendships (i.e. have never met offline), unknown audiences (i.e. readers of blogs who read and sometimes respond to blog posts but are ‘strangers’ to the bloggers), and the bloggers themselves (Panteli et al., 2011). Motivations for writing for these different audiences can shift; some bloggers begin blogging in order to update friends and family of their whereabouts and experiences but change their writing style in response to comments from unknown blog readers or as the act of blogging becomes a more personal means of self-expression (Panteli et al., 2011). Travel blogs are written voluntarily and not for commercial or research purposes; thus, they are perceived by various audiences as more accurate interpretations and reflections of the authors’ perspectives, priorities, and ascribed meanings of their experiences (Nelson, 2015; Volo, 2010). However, travel blogs have limitations as a resource for tourism research: (1) not all locales are equally represented (long-term travelers are more likely to blog); (2) there is considerable variation in the content of blogs and among bloggers; and (3) blogs are subjective versions of reality and cannot be verified (Nelson, 2015). We have chosen to analyze blogs in order to understand how hikers describe inner spiri- tual experiences while hiking the JMT. We analyze how these experiences are similar to more traditional pilgrimages and reflect on implications for resource managers who are responsible for managing public lands for many types of users. 5. Methods The data and analysis presented here represent preliminary work intended to lay the foun- dation for future fieldwork in the Sierra Nevadas involving in-depth interviews with thru- hikers and natural resource managers. We chose to focus on blogs related to thru-hiking the JMT primarily because of the overwhelming number of blogs about thru-hiking longer trails in the United States such as the Pacific Crest Trail and the Appalachian Trail. Focus- ing on a less-represented trail was more manageable given limited time and resources we had available for the exploratory research. The fact that the trail was named for John Muir, an icon of environmentalism and a noted figure in linking nature and spirituality/religion (Taylor, 2010), suggested that hikers might be inclined to reflect on issues central to our study. We selected blogs to analyze based on the following criteria: (1) blogger’s intention to thru-hike the JMT (though not all were successful), (2) sufficient length of blog/number of entries (at least 10), and (3) self-reflective nature of blog posts (not just a description of gear and list of waypoints and campsites). This was a subjective process, neither random JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 9 nor statistically generalizable. We analyzed 26 blogs that met these criteria. Rather than rigidly specifying preconceived categories of topics and looking for evidence to support them in the blogs, we employed a grounded theory approach to this inquiry that allowed themes to emerge from the data (Glaser & Strauss, 1967). We used NVivo quali- tative data analysis software to note, categorize, and organize these themes, and we then linked these themes to ideas encountered in the extant literature on heritage tourism, pil- grimages, and immersion in nature as a spiritual experience. As is conventional with social science research, we have coded the names of the partici- pants, in this case bloggers unaware of our study. Although publicly available blogs are considered open access, we have chosen to use codes,1 as it is standard practice in our dis- cipline and because the names of the bloggers are not relevant to this research. We have lightly edited the direct quotes for the sake of clarity and correct spelling and punctuation; we have retained original markers of emphasis such as capital letters or italics as they appear on the blogs. 6. Results 6.1. Motivations to hike the JMT As with other types of pilgrimage, hikers mentioned different reasons for wanting to hike the JMT. Some hiked in memory of someone who served as an inspiration to the hiker, including a close family friend with a ‘true mountaineering spirit’ (HB19) and a great- aunt who, for 87 years, ‘lived out her own adventures’ (HB16). Others saw the thru- hike as a personal challenge or adventure; one hiker noted that she ‘wanted to see if I could do it, and what kind of hiker I am’ (HB 22). Some used this hike as preparation for other long hikes (HB2). One hiked to bring attention to a specific cause, in this case ‘to inspire others to support the cause of HIV/AIDS and Mental Health Care’ (HB2). Several wrote that their main motivation was simply a love of hiking, including the ‘ritua- listic daily pattern of backpacking’ (HB22), and being outdoors. As described below, for many hikers, there was also a spiritual motivation for hiking. 6.2. Hiking the JMT as a pilgrimage or spiritual experience As noted, the word ‘pilgrimage’ is used loosely by many types of travelers and might not refer to an explicitly religious experience. We found that some JMT thru-hikers directly used the word ‘pilgrimage’ in their blogs to describe their experience on the JMT and the word ‘pilgrim’ to describe fellow hikers. I’m heading up to do a day hike of Clouds Rest on Monday, then off I go for my JMT pilgrim- age! (HB19) From August 23 to September 13, 2015, I hiked the John Muir Trail … The journey was just as much an interior pilgrimage as a physical walk through the mountains. (HB22) We share one evening and one morning, and I never see them again … That’s typical of this linear community, this fleeting intimacy. When one meets another on the path, both have a sense for what the other is experiencing … when one outpaces the other, or heads the oppo- site direction, why bother saying goodbye? Await the next pilgrim and pick the conversation up where it left off. (HB22) 10 S. HITCHNER ET AL. Most hikers characterized their thru-hike as some sort of personal journey, often with a spiritual element. Hikers wrote about this in various ways. One man wrote that while experiencing an unintended employment gap, he decided to ‘pursue a quest … to have an adventure, a spiritual journey’ (HB5). Another wrote about how the process of thru- hiking forced one to be ‘present in the moment, accept whatever the trail offered us, and cultivate our state of mind. After all, we had not come to the mountains to carry our work ethic into them, but to … feel different on the inside’ (HB17). Several specifically discussed their faith in Christianity; they wrote about God (HB5, HB12, HB13), and several carried Bibles and/or prayer books on their hike (HB12, HB13). One ascribed the incredible beauty of the scenery to God and thanked Him for ‘His magnificent cre- ation’ (HB5). Another wrote directly, and extensively, about his Christian faith and the ways that it infused his thru-hiking experience: I’m a Christian and I’m going to get all gushy about Christian related things, so if you don’t like that kind of stuff then just skip this … if you can handle it then read on … . Then of course there was the scenery, and man if you don’t believe in God after you see that then I don’t know what it would take. (HB12) Others wrote about a more personalized, less formal spirituality. For example, one hiker said that ‘This isn’t a “moment” for me, it truly is a spiritual experience, a sense so strong that tells me that everything’s been aligned so that I may be here, right here, right now’ (HB5). Another noted that for her and a good friend of hers, nature serves as a church and refers to outdoor immersion experiences as ‘worshipping in the green temple’; she further notes that she has recently been ‘church-shopping vigorously’ in various national parks (HB22). Others wrote about the idea of renewal, restoration, or rejuvenation of being immersed in nature, which they consider to be a type of spiritual or sacred land- scape. One hiker compared natural places in the United States to sacred sites in other parts of the world; she wrote: ‘If the great cathedrals of Europe can be described as houses of stone and light, then places like the Grand Canyon and the Sierra Nevada moun- tains are surely America’s great cathedrals’ (HB13). Finally, one woman who hiked the JMT alone, described how the walk itself becomes a sort of prayer: ‘This path in the present connects my path in the past and my path in the future. Every step I take is memory, is hope, is prayer’ (HB26). Some thru-hikers described this experience as time away from ‘the real world,’ a liminal period during which one can be refreshed in order to better face the challenges of everyday life. Several hikers wrote about how the thru-hiking experience forced them to focus and be continually aware; one man said that he was ‘more aware on the trail than I had ever been in the city’ (HB7). This awareness, according to many hikers, stems from the simplicity of life on the trail: the repetitive nature of daily activities (HB7), nonstop immersion ‘in the splendor of Nature’ (HB7), and the fact that while hiking, ‘everyday life is stripped down to the bare necessities (i.e. staying fed, staying hydrated, trying to stay clean, staying warm and getting rest)’ (HB12). The combination of being fully aware (of one’s self and surroundings) and being distanced from distrac- tions and non-necessities for even a short time can have profound positive impacts on hikers. One man noted that: Yeah it was only 3 weeks, but I guess that’s all it took to have a profound impact on me from the standpoint of putting things in my life into better perspective … . For me it was realizing JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 11 how much time I’ve spent over the years stressing over things in my life that don’t really matter. So I hope to take this new perspective and apply it by focusing on the important things like being a good husband, a good father, a good friend, and putting my time and effort into the things that really matter in life. (HB12) Several hikers specifically referred to their experience thru-hiking the JMT as a break from ‘the real world’ (HB23, HB26) and expressed reluctance to return to it (HB9). They all planned to carry their newfound perspectives into the lives to which they are returning (HB6, HB7, HB23), acknowledging the challenge of this. One man, nearing the end of his hike, stated: Just one more day remains to make sure that when I come home the golden goose will still have been fed and remain healthy. If you can’t tell by the previous posts, I’m getting anxious. I’m not worried about what’s out there, I’m worried about what I return to. (HB9) These quotes reflect the various ways that bloggers were self-reflective while on the JMT or writing about their experiences afterwards and reveal the personally transformative nature of the experience. Others specifically mentioned that this was not a particularly spiritual experience for them. However, they often acknowledge that for many people, it is. For example, one thru-hiker noted that: ‘Unlike many people, I don’t have anything profound to say; this hike won’t be about a life changing event or a catharsis of some sort. I just like to hike, especially in beautiful country’ (HB11). 6.3. Social encounters and relationships on the JMT Some hikers discussed the desire for solitude and the dislike of contact with other hikers. As several bloggers noted, the JMT trail is very popular and often crowded. One person cited its nickname of ‘the John Muir Thoroughfare’ (HB9). Several people noted the lack of solitude on much of the trail and commented that opportunities, even for hikers without companions, to be totally alone while hiking, are rare (HB6, HB22). One hiker said: ‘This isn’t the trail for you if you want to be alone for days on end’ (HB6). Another expressed such disappointment at the lack of solitude that she would not hike the JMT again: I was amazed how many people were hiking up! A nearly constant stream. I was glad to be going down and ready to be out of the crowd. As beautiful as this trail is, I don’t plan to return. It is simply too popular, too regulated, and if I were to return, it would be off the beaten path on the high Sierra. (HB20) Some hikers discussed the pros and cons of hiking solo and with partners. One person, hiking alone, stated that although at times she wanted a hiking partner, other times, ‘when the world is calm between rivers, silent, gentle enough for wildlife to come be noticed, I am at peace and happy – not ready to give up the solitude for the companionship and shared worries’ (HB3). Others wrote explicitly about recognizing the complexity of seeking both solitude and company at the same time, or enjoying the solitude with only occasional shared moments. One noted that she prefers to hike alone, but enjoys chatting with fellow hikers along the way: ‘Solitude and accidental companionship – the best of both worlds!’ (HB3). 12 S. HITCHNER ET AL. Several blogs reflected a sense of community among hikers, particularly of thru-hikers who often pass each other multiple times over periods of several weeks and tend to con- gregate in the same campsites and lodging facilities. Many bloggers describe meaningful social interactions, even intense and genuine connections, with fellow hikers on the trail; one man noted: I’m not exactly sure how to explain this without sounding woo-woo, but I felt a connection between myself, Nature and other hikers that I’ve never felt before. I felt their energy in my heart; and this energy gave me great strength and a considerable sense of peace. (HB7) Interactions that may be taken for granted off-trail become infused with meaning while thru-hiking (HB1, HB7, HB22, HB23). For example, one hiker wrote: I’m not having super deep conversations with anyone. But it feels deep. The content of the conversations is irrelevant to their underlying truth: We are in the fellowship – we are the fellowship. We say our destination is Mount Whitney, but our journey is through one another. (HB22) Bloggers explained how these positive encounters had a clear effect on restoring their faith in humanity. One hiker wrote about learning on this hike that ‘there are a lot of good people still out there. You just need to turn off the TV and the radio and look around you. I’m sure that you’ll see them’ (HB23). Another noted that the connection among strangers on the trail, and the constant concern for one another’s safety and well-being, encourages compassion for others in off-trail life as well, stating that: ‘We need to look after and care for our fellowman at all times not just while we are on the trail’ (HB23). 6.4. Regulation and management of the JMT Once hikers are on the trail, management decisions and bureaucratic details affect the thru-hiking experience in several ways. Specific management issues that hikers must navi- gate include rules regarding where they are allowed to camp, where they can have camp- fires, the requirement to use bear canisters for food in some areas along the trail, and the rules regarding human waste. Several hikers noted disappointment in not being able to have a fire (HB9, HB11) or use wood-burning stoves. Another hiker was annoyed at a regulation banning thru-hikers from staying in a lodge at Tuolumne Meadows, under the threat of having his permit revoked. He said sarcastically: ‘I never have quite under- stood this rule … Oh well, people surely smarter than I am must have made up this rule’ (HB10). Several people discussed issues regarding the requirement to use bear cans for food storage, stating that they were heavy, bulky, not big enough at times, and too big at others. One hiker stated: ‘The canisters are heavy, rigid, and large. They occupy a prime hunk of backpack real estate and make accessing anything else more complicated. I’m not thrilled’ (HB22). Some would prefer to hang their food from trees, as they are likely accustomed to doing elsewhere. One, however, recognizes that the rule exists ‘thanks to many, many clueless or apathetic folks who improperly stored food’ (HB22). Regulations regarding human waste, including the difficulty of burying it in rocky terrain away from trails, camp sites, and water sources, and the requirement to pack it all out from the Mount Whitney area, are a popular topic of discussion in the blogs (HB14). JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 13 While hikers did complain about some of these management issues in their online hiking blogs, they also wrote about the need for regulations to preserve the natural beauty and ecological integrity of the popular trail. One hiker noted: There seems to be so many rules that are new and foreign to me. I’m used to being free when in the wilderness and not regulated with all these rules … I guess the trail is so popular that if it wasn’t regulated it would be trashed in no time. People are loving The John Muir Trail to death. (HB21) Others admitted intentionally breaking the rules during their hike, due to both unex- pected circumstances and gaps in planning and knowledge. One hiker noted that his group was forced to make an unauthorized camp site in Yosemite National Park because they were slower than they had planned and could not safely hike in the dark (HB1); another hiker described a similar situation around Tenaya Lake, where they would have to camp illegally near water if they could not reach the road to town before dark (HB17). Others admitted to hanging bags of food instead of keeping it all in a bear canister as required (HB11, HB12). One stated: ‘That’s illegal, but what choice is there? I’m pretty sure the rangers know that people do this all the time’ (HB11). One woman freely admitted to helping herself to an outdoor hot spring bath at Red’s Meadow, knowing it was closed (HB22). Another hiker noted that he could probably get away with breaking a rule regarding using a wood-burning stove. However, he decided to comply, saying: ‘Oh well, if you can’t adapt you shouldn’t be out there anyway’ (HB9). Despite complaining at times about rules and regulations, interactions with park rangers and other authority figures along the trail were overwhelmingly positive. Several hikers noted instances in which rangers had exerted extra effort to warn hikers of potential dangers on the trail ahead, including threats of wildfires, lack of potable water, approaching storms, and damage to the trail (HB1, HB10). In some cases, rangers ‘stretched the regs’ (HB10) to help thru-hikers, indicating that they were not as interested in policing the trail as in keeping hikers safe and the trail well-maintained. Many of these details may be common among backcountry users, but some that are specific to the JMT can perhaps be addressed through tailored management strategies in ways that both enhance hikers’ experiences and maintain the ecological integrity of the trail and adjoining areas. 7. Discussion: understanding the JMT as a pilgrimage route and implications for natural resource management Pilgrimages, in all their modern manifestations, continue to hold deep cultural meanings (Badone & Roseman, 2004). Thru-hiking the JMT meets many criteria of being a modern pilgrimage. It presents physical challenges and hardships, requires a period of liminality or time spent away from ‘real life,’ and offers an opportunity for transformative spiritual experiences while completing the hike. Many people go to wilderness areas such as this to find solitude and independence; however, the JMT is often quite crowded, especially in certain high-traffic areas. Despite this tension, there is a sense of community among thru-hikers. Thru-hikers of the JMT appreciate the work that has gone into the creation and maintenance of the trail, and although they are annoyed by some of the regulations 14 S. HITCHNER ET AL. and rules of the trail, they recognize the need for them in order to preserve the natural beauty and ecological integrity of this area, given the popularity of the trail for different types of users. They also value the role that rangers and other authority figures play in not only enforcing rules, but also genuinely caring about the safety and experience of hikers. For thru-hikers seeking immersion in nature and an opportunity to temporarily distance themselves from an urban environment and their normal lives, the JMT offers a pilgrimage experience akin to more explicitly religious journeys by foot. The increasing popularity of this route, and people seeking to hike the entire length of it, has necessitated the development of mechanisms to limit both potentially damaging behaviors and the number of people on the trail at any given time. Increased demand has led to a revised interim management system in order to limit some of the negative effects of overcrowding on the trail, including the inability of short-distance hikers to obtain permits, crowding at designated campsites and creation of new and unauthorized campsites along the trail, and increased interactions with bears. In 2015, the NPS implemented an interim management plan which includes an exit quota of 45 hikers per day over Donahue Pass (to exit Yosemite National Park). NPS (2017) notes that: The goal of the exit quota is to restore traditional wilderness use patterns, balance access for JMT hikers with access for non-JMT hikers in the Yosemite Wilderness, and reduce physical and social impacts. Additionally, the interim exit quota allows the park to collect more data to inform future planning efforts. Data collected by NPS employees and other natural resource administrators along the trail, as well as feedback gathered during planning sessions open to the public, will lead to an integrated and holistic wilderness management plan (NPS, 2017). Park and wilderness managers understand the need to balance access to the trail with limiting negative physical impacts on the trail itself and negative social impacts on the hiking experience. A recent review of research on wilderness experiences found that wilderness users share many motivations with those engaging in other outdoor recreation experiences: enjoying nature, physical fitness, and reducing tensions (Cole & Williams, 2012). However, the same review also highlights the importance of understanding variation in motives across wilderness areas and users, and the need to more deeply explore the lived and felt experiences of wilderness users (Cole & Williams, 2012). Another recent review, which focuses on future research, encourages social scientists to understand both the values associated with wilderness and the role of technologies in wilderness experiences (Watson, Cordell, Manning, & Martin, 2016). Natural resource managers, park rangers, employees of national forests, etc. can glean information from travel blogs (and possibly other forms of online shared social media) that may help guide decisions on how to manage places and resources to best meet the needs of people that go there while maintaining the integrity of the place. Mitchell (2016) suggests that natural resource managers provide both public goods and facilitate the interior and private satisfaction of individuals. Our analysis of JMT thru-hiker blogs shows that, for many hikers, this journey is a type of modern pilgrimage, and we maintain that wilderness managers need to understand and manage for such pilgrimage experi- ences. To be clear, we chose the blogs we analyzed to reflect our focus on pilgrimages, and other selections of blogs could emphasize other dimensions of thru-hiking, such as athletic endeavor, aesthetic experience, or engagement with other people. Yet Mitchell JOURNAL OF ECOTOURISM 15 (2016) suggests that all of these aspects – the daily ritual of hiking, the beauty of nature, and the social bond with other hikers – in effect make hiking the JMT a spiritual experi- ence. If one goal of natural resource management is to serve the public, recognition of and management for pilgrimage experiences is highly appropriate. The fact that pilgrimage experiences may represent turning or re-orientation points in the lives of some hikers emphasizes the power and uniqueness that a hiking pilgrimage can evoke. While other research has examined the relative importance of spiritual motivations compared to other motivations, only a few studies have examined the nature of the spiri- tual experiences of wilderness users (Bratton, 2012; Frederickson & Anderson, 1999; Mitchell, 2016). Though our exploratory study demonstrates the complexity of managing trails and public lands for multiple types of users with different objectives, approaches, and aspirations, our results are not sufficient to make specific recommendations about how managers should balance pilgrimage experiences with other management objectives. However, this study does highlight how the cultural experience of thru-hiking long-dis- tance trails in wilderness areas serves as a modern pilgrimage and is consistent with trends in American spirituality and religion. 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HITCHNER ET AL. http://www.nybooks.com/articles/2017/08/17/take-a-hike-american-trails/ http://www.nybooks.com/articles/2017/08/17/take-a-hike-american-trails/ http://vault.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/life/muir_biography.aspx http://vault.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/life/muir_biography.aspx Abstract 1. Introduction 2. Background: John Muir and the JMT 3. Pilgrimage studies 4. Ethnographic analysis of thru-hiker blogs 5. Methods 6. Results 6.1. Motivations to hike the JMT 6.2. Hiking the JMT as a pilgrimage or spiritual experience 6.3. Social encounters and relationships on the JMT 6.4. Regulation and management of the JMT 7. Discussion: understanding the JMT as a pilgrimage route and implications for natural resource management Note Disclosure statement References 
work_ogo5xau4ejeqfn5oaohwqohcay	----	Articles 514 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Spring Flowering Response to Climate Change between 1936 and 2006 in Alberta, Canada ElisabEth bEaubiEn and andrEas hamann In documenting biological responses to climate change, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change has used phenology studies from many parts of the world, but data from the high latitudes of North America are missing. In the present article, we evaluate climate trends and the corresponding changes in sequential bloom times for seven plant species in the central parklands of Alberta, Canada (latitude 528–578 north). For the study period of 71 years (1936–2006), we found a substantial warming signal, which ranged from an increase of 5.3 degrees Celsius (8C) in the mean monthly temperatures for February to an increase of 1.58C in those for May. The earliest-blooming species’ (Populus tremuloides and Anemone patens) bloom dates advanced by two weeks during the seven decades, whereas the later-blooming species’ bloom dates advanced between zero and six days. The early-blooming species’ bloom dates advanced faster than was predicted by thermal time models, which we attribute to decreased diurnal tem- perature fluctuations. This unexpectedly sensitive response results in an increased exposure to late-spring frosts. Keywords: climate change, global warming, phenology, flowering, Canada observations, including Thomas Jefferson, Henry David Thoreau, and Aldo Leopold (Stoller 1956, Miller-Rushing and Primack 2008), long-term records of phenology obser- vation are scarce for North America as compared with Europe (Schwartz and Beaubien 2003). A notable analysis was carried out by Aldo Leopold’s daughter N. L. Bradley and his son A. C. Leopold. They compared Aldo Leopold’s 1935–1945 Wisconsin farm records (Leopold and Jones 1947) with data on 36 plant species collected in the same area from 1976 to 1998 (Bradley et al. 1999). Another major long-term observation effort is the phenology network established by Caprio (1957), in which the phenology of lilac (Syringa vulgaris) and honeysuckle cultivars (Lonicera spp.) was recorded with the help of local garden clubs in 12 western US states until 1994 (Cayan et al. 2001). A simi- lar lilac–honeysuckle network, which still exists today, was established in 1959 in the northeastern US states and eastern Canadian provinces (Schwartz and Reiter 2000). However, there is a notable lack of phenology data for western Canada and Alaska, where the change in the spring warming signal over the last 50 years has been most pronounced globally (Rosenzweig et al. 2007). Besides being a documentation of global change, trends in plant phenology can reveal important ecological conse- quences associated with climate change (Parmesan 2006, Cleland et al. 2007). Plant populations are finely tuned to local frost-risk environments at the beginning and end of the growing season, and phenological traits are usually highly heritable and are often subject to strong selection The scientific field of phenology, the study of the seasonal timing of life-cycle events, has seen a recent revival in light of climate change’s growing prominence. Sparks and colleagues (2009) noted that the use of the term phenology in the scientific literature became seven times more common between 1990 and 2008. In documenting biological responses to global climate change, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change has relied on phenology studies as compel- ling evidence that species and ecosystems respond to global climate change (Rosenzweig et al. 2007). Particularly for perennial plants in temperate zones, temperature exposure over time is the main driver for spring development, includ- ing the timing of bloom and leafout (Rathcke and Lacey 1985, Bertin 2008). This makes spring phenology one of the most sensitive, immediate, and easily observed responses to chang- ing climate in temperate regions (e.g., Schwartz et al. 2006). The use of phenology observations to document climate variability and climate change has a long history. Arakawa (1955, 1956) analyzed a long-term record of the dates of the annual cherry blossom festival in Japan that reached back to the ninth century. Remarkable phenology records covering more than two centuries also exist for European countries, starting with observations made by Linnaeus in the eighteenth century (Parmesan 2006). In a meta-analysis for Europe, Menzel and colleagues (2006) compiled an astonishing 125,000 time series recorded for more than 500 plant species in 21 countries. Although a number of famous North American his- torical figures were involved in early systematic phenology BioScience 61: 514–524. ISSN 0006-3568, electronic ISSN 1525-3244. © 2011 by American Institute of Biological Sciences. All rights reserved. Request permission to photocopy or reproduce article content at the University of California Press’s Rights and Permissions Web site at www.ucpressjournals.com/ reprintinfo.asp. doi:10.1525/bio.2011.61.7.6 Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 515 Articles pressures (Campbell and Sugano 1975, Vitasse et al. 2009, Li et al. 2010). The timing of spring plant development balances the need to avoid damage due to late-spring frosts with a maximization of the use of the available growing season in competition with other species (Lechowicz 1984, Leinonen and Hänninen 2002). Therefore, plants at higher northern latitudes and at high elevation break bud relatively early; that is, the need to utilize the growing season takes precedence over avoiding late-spring frost damage. This has been documented in many common garden studies for widespread plant species (reviewed in Li et al. 2010). The timing of spring development in virtually all temper- ate perennial plants is primarily controlled by temperature (Rathcke and Lacey 1985, Hunter and Lechowicz 1992). Plants require a certain amount of exposure to warm tem- peratures before leafout or flowering occurs. Exposure to warm temperatures over time can be measured in degree days, which is the sum of the average daily temperatures above a base value. A common base temperature is 5 degrees Celsius (8C), which is widely used to calculate growing degree days in agriculture. For a given species, this amount of warmth over time, referred to as the required heat sum, is nearly constant and can be used to predict bloom times from daily temperature records in what is called a thermal time model (Bertin 2008). The required heat sum for spring development is a genetically controlled adaptive trait (Lei- nonen and Hänninen 2002). Heat sum accumulation allows plants to respond to an unpredictable onset of the grow- ing season, which can easily vary by a month in northern latitudes. If spring development were exclusively driven by expo- sure to warm temperatures, climate change would not be expected to affect the match of plant development with the available growing season. However, additional factors are known to modulate the timing of spring development. Photoperiod may delay bud break if warm temperatures arrive unusually early (Menzel et al. 2005). Some plants also require a certain amount of exposure to cool temperatures following bud set in the fall before they start development in response to warm spring temperatures. This is referred to as a chilling requirement and is measured by summing the exposure to moderately cool temperatures, typically between 08C and 108C. The chilling requirement is thought to guard plants from prematurely breaking bud during midwinter thaws. In both cases, climate warming would be expected to delay the spring response. Plants may be constrained by photoperiod effects that prevent early development, or in warmer regions, they may not receive sufficient exposure to cold temperatures to release them from dormancy (Bertin 2008). Another factor that affects spring phenological response at high latitudes and high elevation is the prevalence of snow (Inouye and Wielgolaski 2003, Wielgolaski and Inouye 2003). A deep spring snowpack further shortens the growing season, and once the snow has melted, the plant response is often immediate, suggesting very low heat sum requirements, and making the release from snow a primary driver of spring phenology. This also has important implica- tions for the effects of climate change. A smaller snowpack due to either higher temperatures or less precipitation would lead to an earlier release from snow, an earlier start of plant development, and potentially higher frost exposure (Inouye 2008). In the present article, we report the results from spring flowering observations conducted over approximately seven decades (1936–2006) in Alberta, western Canada. We ana- lyzed the first-bloom dates for seven plant species that come into flower in a temporal sequence between early April and June. The first objective of this study was to attempt to pro- vide evidence of a plant response to global climate change for a higher-latitude location in western North America, a region for which long-term data are scarce. Second, we asked whether phenology trends correspond to observed tem- perature trends according to spring thermal time models or, alternatively, whether other factors influence spring devel- opment, which would potentially lead to altered sequences of bloom time. Finally, we investigated whether shifts in bloom time have led to changes in the exposure of species to late-spring frosts. Phenology observations in central Alberta We evaluated observations from a phenology network across the central parkland of Alberta (figure 1). This ecological subregion covers approximately 50,000 square kilometers and is situated between the boreal forest to the north and the warmer and drier grasslands to the south. The native vegetation consists of open forests dominated by two poplars (Populus tremuloides Michx. and Populus balsamifera L.), white spruce (Picea glauca [Moench] Voss), and birch (Betula spp.), as well as prairie vegetation found under drier microsite conditions. However, much of the native vegetation has been converted to agricultural use because the area has some of the best soils in Canada. Intensive phenology observations began in 1936 with a program by Agriculture Canada, in which the timing of wheat development and the bloom times for 50 native plant species were recorded over 26 years. The purpose of this program was to identify indicator events to guide the timing of agricultural activities (Russell 1962). This program ended in 1961, which resulted in a data gap of 11 years before botanist Charles Bird initiated a new research program, which tracked the bloom times for 12 native spe- cies between 1973 and 1986. The data were collected by a network of citizen scientists (Bird 1983), supplemented by Bird’s own observations (figure 1). This network was extended by EB in 1987, and in its current form, the vol- unteer observers record data for one or more of 25 species (www.plantwatch.fanweb.ca). Since 1987, this network has collected data from approximately 650 observers, with up to 240 observers reporting each year. The plant species for this phenology network were selected primarily on the basis of the plants’ wide distribution and short bloom period in 516 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Articles spring, the ease of their identification by citizens, and the lack of similar-looking species. For additional background on these data series, see Beaubien and Johnson (1994) and Beaubien and Freeland (2000). In the present study, we evaluated the dates of the first bloom for several plant species. First bloom was defined as a plant stage at which the first flower buds had opened in an observed tree or shrub or in a patch of smaller plants. We requested that the observers report on plants that were situated in flat areas away from heat sources such as the walls of houses. Observers were asked to select plants that approximately represented the average bloom time for that species in their area (i.e., that were not the first or last of that species to bloom). Therefore, our first-bloom data do not rep- resent the earliest-blooming individuals of a popula- tion (as in Miller-Rushing et al. 2008). Rather, they represent a developmental stage sampled to represent a local population. Gener- ally, the first-bloom stage is the simplest to observe and yields more temporally pre- cise data than later bloom stages, which can be harder to estimate. Because many of the data (e.g., those col- lected between 1987 and 2006) were compiled from multiple individual plant observations, we used the mean annual bloom date from all available points in the central parkland. The annual first-bloom dates were categorized by species and year for all three data sets and were used for sta- tistical analysis and graphi- cal presentation. Except for the first data set (collected between 1936 and 1961; Russell 1962), we excluded phenology data from the greater Edmonton area. Edmon- ton’s human population has grown at an exponential rate to over one million from 85,000 at the beginning of this research (Statistics Canada 2010). It is therefore possible Figure 1. Central parkland study area in Alberta, western Canada. The figure indicates the location of long-term weather stations and the locations of phenology observations. The white symbols indicate long-term observations. For the Alberta PlantWatch network, the size of the circles indicates the length of data collection by a volunteer. Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 517 Articles that urban heat-island effects on temperature may confound data on climate-change trends (e.g., Roetzer et al. 2000). The three observation programs (those of Russell [1962], Bird [1983], and Beaubien [Beaubien and Johnson 1994, Beaubien and Freeland 2000]) included the same four woody and three herbaceous (nonwoody) plant species (figure 2). The first species to bloom is the prairie crocus (Anemone patens L.), which is found in grasslands through- out the Northern Hemisphere and blooms soon after a snowmelt. Usually blooming within two days of the prairie crocus is the trembling aspen (P. tremuloides), one of the most common and widely distributed tree species in North America. It is the first tree in Alberta to shed pollen and to produce leaves in spring. About 25 days later, saskatoon, or serviceberry, (Amelanchier alnifolia Nutt.) blooms. Saska- toon is a widespread tall woody shrub with edible berries that were the most important plant food for the prairie Blackfoot First Nations. The remaining four species follow in approximately eight-day intervals, starting with the choke cherry (Prunus virginiana L.), a tall woody shrub that is also widespread throughout North America. The wolf willow (Elaeagnus commutata Bernh. ex Rydb.), or silverberry, is a nitrogen-fixing, medium-sized shrub with a short, well- defined bloom period and an overpowering smell that aids in correct identification. The northern bedstraw (Galium boreale L.) is another widely distributed and easily identi- fied herbaceous species. The last species in this sequence is the yarrow (Achillea millefolium L.), perhaps one of the best known and most widely distributed herbaceous species in the world. In this section, we followed the scientific nomen- clature of Moss (1983). Climate and phenology trends We used daily minimum, maximum, and mean tempera- ture data obtained from the Adjusted Historical Cana- dian Climate Database (AHCCD 2009) to analyze climate trends. This database includes four weather stations with long-term records for the study area (figure 1): Edmonton Figure 2. The species included in the study were prairie crocus (Anemone patens L.); trembling aspen (Populus tremuloides Michx.); choke cherry (Prunus virginiana L.); wolf willow (Elaeagnus commutata Bernh. ex Rydb.), or silverberry; saskatoon (Amelanchier alnifolia Nutt.), or serviceberry; yarrow (Achillea millefolium L.); and northern bedstraw (Galium boreale L.). Photos by Linda Kershaw. 518 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Articles International Airport (ID #3012205), which is well outside the city of Edmonton; Lacombe (ID #3023722); Calmar (ID #3011120); and Coronation (ID #3011887). To visualize temperature trends and to compare station records, we also calculated the mean monthly minimum, the mean monthly maximum, and the mean temperature values for February, March, April, and May from the daily data. In addition, we generated interpolated monthly data following the method of Mbogga and colleagues (2009) for the central parkland ecoregion. The interpolated climate data and station data suggest that the central parkland ecoregion is climatically very homogenous. The mean monthly temperatures for Feb- ruary, March, and April for the 1961–1990 normal period differ by less than 18C between any two of the four weather stations and among the grid cells of the interpolated surface. The average correlation coefficient between pairs of stations is .97 for the mean monthly temperatures from February through May. Because of the climatic homogeneity of the study area, we used the mean climate values from the four weather stations for subsequent analysis, which matches the data preparation of phenology observations as regional averages for the central parkland. We observed a substantial warming trend between 1936 and 2006 that was most pronounced in late winter and early spring (figure 3). For the 70-year period of this research, the slope of a linear regression equates to a 5.38C increase in the mean February temperature, a 2.78C increase in the mean March temperature, and a 1.88C increase in the mean April temperature. These trends were even more pronounced in the mean monthly minimum temperatures (6.08C, 3.98C, and 2.28C for February, March, and April, respectively), whereas the mean maximum temperature changes over the study period were 4.58C, 1.58C, and 1.58C. A Mann–Kendall test for identifying trends in time-series data following the method of Hipel and McLeod (1994) revealed that the warming trends for the monthly temperatures from Febru- ary to April were statistically significant at a = .05 (table 1). The annual sequence of the species’ first-bloom dates was fairly consistent between years (figure 4a). The plants responded to warming temperatures by blooming earlier in spring, with the most pronounced changes in the earliest- blooming species (A. patens and P. tremuloides). These spe- cies’ flowering dates advanced by approximately two weeks, whereas the later-blooming species’ flowering dates advanced Figure 3. Temperature trends for the central parkland study area for the change in the mean monthly minimum temperature (in degrees Celsius) and the change in the mean monthly maximum temperature. Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 519 Articles This result corresponds to the observed temperature changes, with considerable warming in late winter but minimal warming in late spring. Figure 4. (a) Trends in observations of first bloom for seven species. The species names are abbreviated to the first four letters of the genus and the first three letters of the species name provided in figure 2. (b) The predicted day of first bloom from a thermal time model (the best model is highlighted in bold in table 3). between zero and six days over the study period. A Mann– Kendall test also confirmed the advanced blooming in the earliest-blooming species as statistically significant (table 2). Table 1. Mann–Kendall test statistics for time-series trends in minimum, maximum, and mean monthly temperature (shown in figure 3). Month Minimum temperature Maximum temperature Mean temperature Temperature change (8C per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(>) Temperature change (8C per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(>) Temperature change (8C per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(>) February 0.86 0.31 .0001 0.64 0.28 .0004 0.75 0.28 .0003 March 0.56 0.21 .0052 0.21 0.07 .1854 0.39 0.15 .0365 April 0.31 0.18 .0157 0.21 0.07 .1928 0.26 0.12 .0756 May 0.05 0.10 .1275 0.00 0.04 .5874 0.02 0.04 .3010 8C, degrees Celsius 520 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Articles Trends toward an earlier onset of spring phenology in the Northern Hemisphere are well documented in the literature. In a meta-analysis for the Northern Hemisphere, Root and colleagues (2003) revealed an average three-day advance per decade in tree phenology, with somewhat more pronounced trends at higher latitudes. For Western Europe, Menzel and colleagues (2006) and Schleip and colleagues (2009) analyzed phenology time series of at least 30 years between 1955 and 2000. They found that changes in the spring phenology of plants were most pronounced in central and western maritime Europe, advancing around 3.5 days per decade. These changes appear to be larger than our observed changes for our earliest-blooming species (which advanced approximately two days per decade). However, the difference arises mainly from the observation period. For example, in a long-term study of UK plant communities, Amano and col- leagues (2010) found approximately the same 3.5 days per decade rate of change as did Menzel and colleagues (2006) over the last 30 years. Conversely, the rate of change over the 70 years corresponding to our study showed an advance of only approximately one day per decade for the data from Amano and colleagues (2010), because most of the observed warming at their study site occurred over the last 30 years. Our observation of a total advance of 14 days for A. patens and P. tremuloides over 70 years appears to be on the high end of changes observed in the Northern Hemisphere. Thermal time models of spring development Thermal time models use daily temperature data to predict the timing of bud break or flowering. Daily temperatures are, however, not directly used as predictor variables. Instead, daily temperature values are integrated over time by adding daily temperature measurements. The derived predictor variable for bud break or flowering is the date at which the tempera- ture sum reaches a certain value (the required heat sum). De Réaumur (1735) was the first to establish the principle of thermal time and the concept of degree days as predictors for plant development. Degree days are calculated as the sum of the daily average temperature values from a chosen start date (often arbitrarily set as 1 January) and a threshold value (often 08C to 58C for early spring–blooming species). This summa- tion continues up to the day of a phenology event, yielding a required heat sum for the observed event. This classical thermal time model has been modified in various ways to account for the nonlinearity of the physio- logical response to temperature (for a review, see Bonhomme 2000). Other modifications include accounting for the chill- ing requirements of plants before temperature accumulation begins or for additional environmental factors (for a review, see Chuine et al. 2003). Nevertheless, the simple linear model has proven to be surprisingly accurate, often having just one variable parameter: minimum temperature threshold. This parameter bounds the lower end of the temperature range that is assumed to be approximately linearly correlated with a spring physiological response (Bonhomme 2000). Sometimes, start dates of heat sum accumulation other than 1 January are tested in order to approximately account for dormancy release or photoperiod effects (e.g., Wielgolaski 1999). Complex mechanistic or statistical models often yield only minor improvements—if any—over the classical ther- mal time model, particularly for studies that are not carried out in controlled environments (e.g., Hannerz 1999, Schaber and Badeck 2003, Linkosalo et al. 2006). In figure 4b and table 3, we show the results from a classical thermal time model applied to our data. The development of a thermal time model involves the selection of a base tempera- ture for degree-day calculations—for example, 08C. The next step is to calculate the required heat sum for an observed phe- nology event to occur. This required heat sum is a mean value based on the phenology events of a species observed over multiple years that can be estimated with a standard error (SE; see table 3). With a species-specific required heat sum value, we can now use daily temperature data to predict a bloom time for each year (figure 4b). The correlation between the observed bloom dates in each year (figure 4a) and the bloom date predicted by the thermal time model (figure 4b) serves as a measure of model fit. The model fit may be improved by modifications of base temperatures or start dates. We tested a wide range of base temperatures for degree- day calculations from –108C to 108C, in 18C intervals. Fur- thermore, we tested multiple start dates for temperature accumulation (1 January, 1 March, and 31 March) in order to account for possible unmet chilling requirements. The best thermal time model—the one with the highest cor- relation between the observed and the predicted flowering dates—was obtained with threshold values between –38C and 38C (bold correlation coefficients in table 3). This is a fairly typical result for northern temperate and boreal plant species, which usually have optimal threshold parameters between 08C and 58C (e.g., White 1995, Hannerz 1999). As was expected for a northern environment, later start dates did not improve the correlations, suggesting that species’ chilling requirements were met before winter. We therefore report only the statistics for a start date of 1 January in table 3. Table 2. Mann–Kendall test statistics for time-series trends in first-bloom dates for seven plant species, expressed in number of days per decade shift to earlier bloom time. Species Change in bloom time (days per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(<) Anemone patens –2.1 –0.26 .0039 Populus tremuloides –2.0 –0.29 .0008 Amelanchier alnifolia 0.0 0.03 .6181 Prunus virginiana –0.6 –0.09 .1759 Elaeagnus commutata –0.7 –0.16 .0735 Galium boreale –0.4 –0.03 .3735 Achillea millefolium –0.9 –0.09 .1673 Note: See figure 4a. Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 521 Articles also checked for the effects of chilling requirements in the previous fall, with chilling degree days calculated between the upper and lower thresholds of 08C and 58C and 28C and 88C, following the method of Linkosalo and colleagues (2006). None of these additional factors could account for a significant portion of the variance that was not already explained by the thermal time model (data not shown). A nonlinear, Q 10 -based thermal time model following the method of Bonhomme (2000) yielded model accuracies for all species (measured as r2 between the observed and predicted events and as the SE of heat sum) that were similar to previous results (figure 4b). However, they actu- ally increased the discrepancy between the observed and predicted temporal trends for the early-blooming species by a small amount (data not shown). A possible remaining explanation is that spring phenology is not only a function of mean daily temperatures; it is also influenced by the amplitude of diurnal temperature variations. Karl and colleagues (1993) were the first to demonstrate that global minimum temperature increased faster than maximum temperature, resulting in a significant decrease of diurnal temperature variation, which was subsequently confirmed by Easterling and colleagues (1997). This differential warm- ing pattern in minimum and maximum temperatures clearly applies to our study area as well, where the minimum night temperatures in March increased more than twice as fast as the daily maximum temperatures (figure 3, table 1). We therefore hypothesize that the increase of the minimum night tempera- tures relative to the mean daily temperatures used in the heat sum model results in a more rapid heat sum accumulation. Correlation coefficients are a good measure to use in assess- ing statistical error, but they do not detect statistical bias (sys- tematic over- or underprediction). We therefore validated the thermal time model using a second statistical measure: mean absolute error (MAE). MAE is calculated as the absolute dif- ference between the observed and predicted bloom dates. We carried out an independent cross-validation using a temporal split of the temperature and phenology data. The first two- thirds (1936–1986, with approximately 40 years of data) were used for the development of the thermal time model, and the last third (1987–2006) was used for model validation. Generally, the classical thermal time model appears to be very accurate in predicting the mean bloom dates of the species in the central parkland (table 3). The MAE values in predicting bloom time in the independent cross-validation ranged from 1.6 to 4.5 days. The species with the largest MAE values in table 3 were the earliest-blooming species: A. patens and P. tremuloides. For these species, the predictions were biased, underpredicting the rate of change in bloom time (compare figure 4a and 4b). Observed versus predicted phenology trends In an attempt to explain the discrepancy between the observed and predicted trends in A. patens and P. tremuloides, we used a multiple regression approach in order to incorporate other climatic and environmental factors (see equation 1 in Chuine et al. 2003). The environ- mental factors that we tested include the amount of winter precipitation that fell as snow, the depth of snowpack at the end of February and March, and several dryness indices. We Table 3. Correlations between flowering date and thermal time for different base temperature values for heat sum accumulation. Species Heat sum Base temperature (°C) Years of recorded data HS0 (8C) HS (8C) SE –3 –2 –1 0 1 2 3 MAE (days) Anemone patens 50 94 187 9.6 .81 .80 .79 .78 .75 .72 .68 3.9 Populus tremuloides 60 103 202 6.4 .90 .89 .88 .88 .86 .84 .81 4.5 Amelanchier alnifolia 60 303 172 3.1 .84 .86 .87 .89 .90 .91 .92 1.6 Prunus virginiana 57 419 258 3.8 .84 .86 .87 .89 .90 .90 .91 2.4 Elaeagnus commutata 44 511 385 7.0 .75 .76 .78 .79 .80 .81 .81 3.5 Galium boreale 58 690 467 6.3 .70 .72 .74 .75 .75 .76 .77 2.1 Achillea millefolium 52 782 696 8.9 .69 .71 .72 .73 .74 .73 .72 2.2 Note: The threshold value for the best model (highest correlation) is shown in bold. °C, degrees Celsius; HS, heat sum for the best model; HS 0 , heat sum for a threshold of 0°C, provided for comparison of thermal time requirements across species; MAE, mean absolute error of the observed versus the predicted bloom time; SE, standard error 522 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Articles to –208C (represented by the gradient). To give an example, in 1994 and 1995, there were frost events of –208C as late as 28 and 30 April (days 118 and 120, respectively). That means that virtually all of the reported flowering individuals were exposed to these extreme frost events. As a contrasting exam- ple, in 2000, we had a –128C event that occurred on 14 April (day 104). This affected only the early-blooming portion of the population. Most individuals bloomed after that late frost event and were exposed only to a –48C frost that occurred as late as day 133 (13 May). In figure 5, trends toward an earlier bloom would be represented by the violin plot points being located higher on the left side than on the right side. Higher frost exposure experienced by blooming populations would be visible as darker colors toward the right side. Note that we have population-level information from many observers of the PlantWatch Alberta network only since 1987. Before that date, we assume a normal distribution around the known annual average reported by Russell (1962) and Bird (1983). In the case of A. patens, we can see a slightly increased exposure of blooming populations to frost events over time, with overall darker shades toward the right side of figure 5. To test whether this trend is statistically significant, we can- not directly use the distributions shown in figure 5, since we lack population-level data from before 1987. Instead, we analyzed trends in the value of the coldest frost event follow- ing the average bloom times shown in figure 4a for each year (table 4; later-blooming species that were not exposed to frost were excluded). For example, A. patens individuals with an average bloom time were exposed to colder spring frost events, at a rate of –0.578C per decade. This means that frost events to which blooming plants were exposed were on aver- age 48C colder at the end than at the beginning of the study period. This trend was not significant for any other species at an a level of .05. However, two other early-blooming species showed similar trends toward increased exposure to Although heat sum accumulation calculated from min- imum night temperatures is not biologically reasonable because it does not incorporate daytime temperature expo- sure, we explored this option as well. The result is a relatively poor model fit (r = .79 for P. tremuloides), but the flowering advance over time was predicted more accurately (14 days observed versus 13 days predicted over the study period). It makes adaptational sense that the minimum temperature values (which could represent damaging frost events) modu- late daytime thermal time accumulation to control spring development. This would allow plants to fine-tune spring development for microsites with different diurnal temperature variation but may also increase the exposure of P. tremuloides and A. patens to late-spring frosts under climate change. Exposure to late-spring frost Late-spring frosts of –108C occurred earlier, at a rate of 0.7 days per decade, and very severe spring frosts of –208C occurred earlier, at a rate of 1.1 days per decade over the study period (data not shown). This is a considerably slower rate than the advance of bloom times for the early-blooming species, which occurred at a rate of approximately 2 days per decade (figure 4a). This discrepancy raises the question of whether early-blooming species might be exposed to increased risks of late-spring frosts because of climate change. To answer this question, we compared the incidence of late-spring frost events with the timing of first bloom. In figure 5, we show the variance of bloom times observed across a population sample of A. patens for different years by means of a special form of boxplot, the so-called violin plot, which reveals the frequency of bloom time for different dates. This plot quantifies the bloom dates of the sampled popula- tion (the width of the violin plot points indicates frequency, the number of reported observations with that date). It also shows the latest dates of spring frost events ranging from 08C Figure 5. The distribution of the day of the year when flowers appear in Anemone patens individuals. The width of the points in this form of boxplot indicates the frequency of reported observations. The gradient indicates the severity of frost events to which blooming individuals are exposed, with the lighter part of the gradient representing less severe frost events. We have population-level data available only since 1987. Before that date, we assume a normal distribution (which is used only for visualization in this figure). Articles www.biosciencemag.org July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 • BioScience 523 Articles tures in this month). The phenology response of two early- blooming species—A. patens and P. tremuloides—appears to be unexpectedly sensitive to these temperature changes. Their bloom times changed twice as fast as did the frost events, thus shifting their bloom period closer to the receding winter and increasing the danger of damage from late-spring frost. The database that we analyzed was assembled as a col- laborative effort among university biologists, government researchers, and over 650 members of the general public. This effort has both harnessed the energy of concerned citizens and provided them with biological insights and a raised awareness of climate-change issues in Alberta. Besides documenting a biological response to global climate change, citizen contributions are invaluable for the validation of remote-sensing data and the calibration of carbon uptake models in terrestrial ecosystems (Badeck et al. 2004). In con- clusion, we would like to encourage interested readers to join local phenological networks that make this research possible. Links to local networks can be found at www.plantwatch.ca for Canada and www.usanpn.org for the United States. Acknowledgments Funding to carry out the analysis presented in this paper was provided by NSERC Discovery Grant RGPIN-330527-07 and Alberta Ingenuity Grant #200500661. We thank all citizen sci- entists who contributed to the data collection and appreciate their enthusiasm and continued support of this program. Botanist Linda Kershaw contributed the photographs, and we thank Mryka Hall-Beyer for her helpful comments. References cited Amano T, Smithers RJ, Sparks TH, Sutherland WJ. 2010. A 250-year index of first flowering dates and its response to temperature changes. Pro- ceedings of the Royal Society B 277: 2451–2457. AHCCD. 2009. Adjusted Historical Canadian Climate Data. (26 April 2011; http://ec.gc.ca/dccha-ahccd ) Arakawa H. 1955. Twelve centuries of blooming dates of the cherry blossoms in the city of Kyoto and its own vicinity. Geophysica Pura e Applicata 30: 147–150. Arakawa H. 1956. Climatic change as revealed by the blooming dates of the cherry blossoms at Kyoto. Journal of Meteorology 13: 599–600. Badeck F-W, Bondeau A, Böttcher K, Doktor D, Lucht W, Schaber J, Sitch S. 2004. Responses of spring phenology to climate change. New Phytolo- gist 162: 295–309. Beaubien EG, Freeland HJ. 2000. Spring phenology trends in Alberta, Canada: Links to ocean temperature. International Journal of Biome- teorology 44: 53–59. Beaubien EG, Johnson DL. 1994. Flowering plant phenology and weather in Alberta, Canada. International Journal of Biometeorology 38: 23–27. Bertin RI. 2008. Plant phenology and distribution in relation to recent cli- mate change. Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society 135: 126–146. Bird CD. 1983. Alberta flowering dates. Alberta Naturalist 13 (suppl. 1): 1–4. Bonhomme R. 2000. Bases and limits to using ‘degree day’ units. European Journal of Agronomy 13: 1–10. Bradley NL, Leopold AC, Ross J, Huffaker W. 1999. Phenological changes reflect climate change in Wisconsin. Proceedings of the National Acad- emy of Sciences 96: 9701–9704. Campbell RK, Sugano AI. 1975. Phenology of bud burst in Douglas-fir related to provenance, photoperiod, chilling, and flushing temperature. Botanical Gazette 136: 290–298. frost, and trends of this magnitude or larger would arise by random chance only once in 19 times for P. tremuloides or once in 16 times for A. alnifolia. This paradoxical result of increased frost risk with climate warming differs from the results of comparable studies at lower latitudes. Scheifinger and colleagues (2003) observed that frost risks generally decreased, because the retreat of late frosts outpaces the advance of spring development. However, the low heat sum requirements of species from environments with short growing seasons results in a finely tuned adaptive balance between avoiding spring frost and using the avail- able growing season (Li et al. 2010). Earlier snowmelt due to higher temperatures or lower winter precipitation may affect this balance in high-elevation environments (Inouye 2008). In our study, at relatively high latitude, we excluded snow as a factor that can explain the unexpectedly sensitive pheno- logical response of A. patens and P. tremuloides to warming trends. Instead, changes in diurnal temperature fluctuations may be responsible for a faster advance in bloom dates than can be explained by standard thermal time models. Although this explanation is speculative, it could guide future experimental research toward the development of improved thermal time models that take diurnal temperature fluctuations into account. Regardless of whether diurnal tem- perature variations are the ultimate cause of the discrepancy between the observed and predicted trends, our results sug- gest that projections of phenology response into the future, although they are important (e.g., Leinonen and Kramer 2002), should be made with caution. Models that explain interannual variation of plant response very well over a limited observation period may not always provide reliable long-term projections. In the case of P. tremuloides and A. patens, it appears that we would underpredict climate change response by 23% and 44%, respectively, with a standard thermal time model. Conclusions In this study, we documented considerable advances in phe- nology over time that were driven by what we perceive as astonishing warming trends in spring temperature. Particu- larly in March, we also found large changes in diurnal temper- ature fluctuations (the average daily minimum temperatures increased 2.7 times faster than the daily maximum tempera- Table 4. Mann–Kendall test statistics for time-series trends in the value of the coldest frost event following average bloom time, expressed in degrees Celsius change per decade. Species Temperature change (°C per decade) Mann–Kendall statistic () p(<) Anemone patens 20.57 20.20 .0231 Populus tremuloides 20.44 20.15 .0521 Amelanchier alnifolia 20.13 20.06 .0671 Prunus virginiana 20.01 0.01 .4909 524 BioScience • July 2011 / Vol. 61 No. 7 www.biosciencemag.org Articles Parmesan C. 2006. Ecological and evolutionary responses to recent climate change. Annual Review of Ecology, Evolution, and Systematics 37: 637–669. Rathcke B, Lacey EP. 1985. Phenological patterns of terrestrial plants. Annual Review of Ecology and Systematics 16: 179–214. Roetzer T, Wittenzeller M, Haeckel H, Nekovar J. 2000. 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work_ogre5spupfarhkw4w5yncuetia	----	edth_5 89..105 THE ‘‘KINGDOM OF GOD ON EARTH’’ AND EARLY CHICAGO PRAGMATISM Daniel Tröhler Pestalozzianum Research Institute for the History of Education Teachers College, Zurich ABSTRACT. Pragmatism has been rediscovered in recent years and presented as emblematic of modern thinking. At the center of this worldwide interest in late-nineteenth century Pragmatism stood, first, a rejection of the traditional dualistic construction of the world in philosophy and psychology; second, a distinguishing of the findings of learning theory from those of evolutionary theory; and, third, a consider- ation of industrial democracy as the context of modern thinking and action. In this essay Daniel Tröhler shows that these innovations were far less secular than has generally been assumed. Underlying early Chicago Pragmatism is a reformed (Calvinist) Protestant mentality that was shaped by a vision of a com- mon mission: realizing the ‘‘kingdom of God on earth’’ — a mentality that responded critically to the provocations of modernity (specifically, industrialization and capitalism) and, through this response, de- veloped a distinctive discourse that came to be called ‘‘Pragmatism.’’ REFORMED CONGREGATION In the last quarter of the nineteenth century, many young American college grad- uates traveled to Germany to obtain their doctoral degrees. These journeys took place in the context of changes occurring in the traditional American system of higher edu- cation during this period. Previously, the colleges were not so much research institu- tions as theological seminaries aimed primarily at educating future pastors; for this reason, doctorates were rare. However, with the rise of new, modern research univer- sities, such as Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, established in 1876, there was a need for qualified faculty. Many young college graduates therefore traveled to Germany in order to acquire the PhD degrees that would qualify them for teaching positions in the research departments of these new universities — and also of older universities, such as Princeton or Harvard, which were being reformed more slowly. 1 At first glance, the careers of these young graduates seem to follow a straightfor- ward plan — go to Germany, earn a doctorate, and then embark on an academic career in the United States. This has often led people to conclude that the American univer- sity system was more or less a copy of the German system. But upon closer examina- tion, the differences between the systems were much greater than the traditional account would have us believe. The greatest difference no doubt emerged from the dif- ferent way that the universities saw themselves in relation to religion, which led to numerous other differences. To illustrate, take the example of James Hayden Tufts, 2 1. Laurence R. Vesey, The Emergence of the American University (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965), 174ff. 2. James Hayden Tufts was born on July 9, 1862 in Monson, Massachusetts, and was taught by his father at Monson Academy. After graduating from Amherst College in 1884, he served as high school principal in Westport, Connecticut, for one year and then taught mathematics at Amherst College for two years. From 1887 to 1889, he studied at Yale Divinity School under William Rainey Harper, who would later become president of the University of Chicago. EDUCATIONAL THEORY j Volume 56 j Number 1 j 2006 � 2006 Board of Trustees j University of Illinois 89 who studied Kant in Berlin and Freiburg in 1891 and completed a doctorate on Kant’s teleology under the Kantian scholar Alois Riehl in 1892. 3 In his unpublished memoirs, Tufts related a small episode regarding his experience in Germany that indicates the significance of this difference in attitudes toward religion. When he matriculated in Berlin, he was asked to state his religious affiliation, and he hesitated: I didn’t think ‘‘Congregationalist’’ would mean much in Deutschland. Fortunately a friendly German solved the difficulty by two questions and a syllogism. ‘‘Are you Jewish?‘‘ ‘‘No.’’ ‘‘Are you Roman Catholic?‘‘ ‘‘No.‘‘ ‘‘Then you must be evangelical, for these are the only possibilities.’’ 4 Evangelical (meaning Lutheranist), however, was precisely what Tufts was not, and the Prussian public official’s apparent lack of understanding of this can be taken as symptomatic of a wider lack of understanding on the part of Germany’s scholars and the public at large (whose ideas were shaped by state religion) of the specific forms and denominations of Protestantism in the United States. The sepa- ration of church and state had not, in defiance of European fears, reduced the religiosity of Americans; on the contrary, it had strengthened it, as Reverend Robert Baird had already attempted to make clear to Europeans in 1844. 5 The success of American Protestantism derived in part from the great distances separat- ing communities in the United States — that is, from geographical conditions, which provided an ideal breeding ground for the English varieties of Calvinism (reformed) and their understanding of political-religious participation. These comparatively vast distances fortified the autarkic worldview of Calvinism, as it was initially developed in England against the background of the dominant episco- pal Anglican church in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. These views stood in fundamental opposition to the practices in Lutheranist-dominated Germany. 6 Tufts’s memoirs are incomplete and were never published. Tufts himself has remained relatively unknown, and his writings are not generally included in the academic canon of the period from 1880 to 1930 that today is called the DANIEL TRÖHLER is Head of the Pestalozzianum Research Institute for the History of Education in the University of Applied Sciences at Teachers College, Zurich, Kurvenstrasse 17, Postfache, CH-8090 Zurich; e-mail \daniel.troehler@phzh.ch[. His primary areas of scholarship are the history and his- toriography of education, republicanism and education, pragmatism, and the internationalization of research. 3. James Hayden Tufts, ‘‘The Sources and Development of Kant’s Teleology’’ (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 1892). 4. James Hayden Tufts, ‘‘Germany,’’ n.d., James H. Tufts Papers, box 3, folder 13, University of Chicago Regenstein Library. 5. Robert Baird, Religion in America (New York: Harper and Bros., 1844). 6. It should be noted that at the beginning of the nineteenth century, some of the German states — in- cluding Prussia, Baden, Hessen, Nassau, and Pfalz — had a so-called united church, meaning that the Lu- theran (evangelical) and Calvinist (reformed) churches were joined together. However, Lutheranism remained dominant even in these areas. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200690 ‘‘progressive era.’’ 7 However, I do not refer to Tufts merely because his memoirs supply a fitting anecdote, nor do I think that the ideas of this little-noted thinker might fundamentally alter our understanding of American intellectual history. Nor is it my objective to extol Tufts as one of the ‘‘Greats’’ alongside the well- known ‘‘Greats’’ — John Dewey, George Herbert Mead, William James, and Jane Addams. In examining Tufts, my aim is, rather, to throw light on the tight net of mu- tual relations among those people who would later be celebrated as the stars of Pragmatism. Through this narrowly focused study, my goal is to achieve a kind of historical reconstruction of the mentality characterizing what William James called the ‘‘Chicago School’’ in a 1904 essay, published only twelve years after Tufts’s return from Germany. 8 Even in that essay, James had already carried out a reduction, narrowing down the Chicago School to John Dewey and his disciples. 9 This reduction of the Chicago School to one man not only represents a pattern of thought common at that time; it also accords with the mainstream of traditional historiography up until today. Contemporary accounts of the intellectual develop- ment of individual persons frequently spring from pedagogical motives — namely, from the hope that the ideas or thoughts of a ‘‘hero’’ will aid us in the present. 10 7. Tufts does not appear at all in the thirty-volume Encyclopedia Americana, for example, nor in Michael McGerr’s recent book on this period, A Fierce Discontent: The Rise and Fall of the Progressive Movement in America, 1870–1920 (New York: Free Press, 2003). Tufts does not even figure in the canon of the so-called Pragmatists, which is generally restricted to Charles Sanders Peirce, William James, George Herbert Mead, and John Dewey (see, for instance, Israel Scheffler, Four Pragmatists: A Critical In- troduction to Peirce, James, Mead, and Dewey [London: Routledge and Kegen Paul, 1974]). There are ex- ceptions, of course: see James Campbell, The Community Reconstructs: The Meaning of Pragmatic Social Thought (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1992); James Campbell, ed., Selected Writings of James Hayden Tufts (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1992); Andrew Feffer, The Chicago Pragmatists and American Progressivism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993); and John R. Shook, The Chicago School of Pragmatism, 4 vols. (Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 2000). 8. William James, ‘‘The Chicago School,’’ Psychological Bulletin 1 (1904): 1–5. 9. Ibid. James characterized this group as follows: ‘‘Some universities have plenty of thought to show, but no school; others plenty of school, but no thought. The University of Chicago, by its Decennial Pub- lications shows real thought and a real school. Professor John Dewey, and at least ten of his disciples, have collectively put into the world a statement, homogeneous in spite of so many cooperating minds, of a view of the world, both theoretical and practical, which is so simple, massive, and positive that, in spite of the fact that many parts of it yet need to be worked out, it deserves the title of a new system of philos- ophy’’ (p. 1). 10. This is the reason I do not consider here accounts such as Steven Rockefeller’s impressive study, John Dewey: Religious Faith and Democratic Humanism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991), or Bruce Kuklick’s Churchmen and Philosophers: From Jonathan Edwards to John Dewey (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1985). Rockefeller takes a biographical approach and provides a study of arguments and concepts rather than an investigation of languages or mentalities. Furthermore, his study is pedagogically motivated. Rockefeller describes his goal as demonstrating the ‘‘relevance of Dewey’s philosophy to the dilemmas of contemporary American society and the merging global community,’’ and he maintains that Dewey’s views continue to hold for ‘‘for all those throughout the world today who love freedom and seek to pursue the democratic way of life’’ (pp. 5, ix). The problems with Rockefeller’s mis- sionary tone are quite apparent in the current political context. Kuklick’s study runs counter to my own analysis from a methodological perspective. My aim is to explore the mental dispositions and in- tellectual options that led to the development of a network of thought, while Kuklick, in asserting that ‘‘Dewey’s arrival [at the University of Chicago] in 1894 created a ‘school’ of thought,’’ seems to suggest that philosophical systems spring from individual thinkers. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 91 In contrast, the present study is an attempt at contextual reconstruction of a historical phenomenon: the ‘‘creation’’ of Chicago Pragmatism (which I take to include, among others, Mead, Tufts, and Addams, as well as Dewey). Such a project requires an analysis of the dominant mental dispositions that frame the theoretical options of these figures, as well as the personal networks out of which — against a background of specific social and economic developments — their discourse devel- oped. Put more simply, no matter how the intellectual hierarchy of this ‘‘school’’ of Pragmatism is assessed, I argue, the exponents would most likely never have come together in Chicago without James Hayden Tufts. What interests me is the discourse underlying the invitations to Dewey and Mead in 1893 to join the fac- ulty at the University of Chicago, as well as their connections with others outside the university (notably Jane Addams). I want to discover why we can speak of a ‘‘Chicago School’’ and what its shared mode of thinking was. My thesis is that the common ground connecting what James called the Chi- cago School was American reformed Protestantism as it articulated itself within the unprecedented environment of a booming city like Chicago. In this context, American Protestantism is best understood not as a specific theology, but rather as a mentality, one that was highly skeptical toward universally applicable doctrines (see, for example, the Baptist and Congregational churches). Because these Protes- tant movements saw the local congregation as the fundamental and essential ele- ment of the church and were committed to the strong particularism of individual congregations, which were organized according to ‘‘democratic’’ structures, social- religious practice was more important than theological speculations. Around the end of the nineteenth century, the liberal movements in American theology (such as ‘‘New Theology’’) strengthened the will toward worldly redemption. Therefore, this kind of Christianity does not — to use a distinction Reinhardt Koselleck made in one of his essays in Futures Past — refer to religiousness, as it can be found prior to the religious war in the seventeenth century; it should be understood instead as ‘‘secular’’ religion. 11 In this spirit Theodore Munger observed in 1883: ‘‘The New Theology does indeed regard with question the line often drawn between the sacred and the secular.a line that, by its distinction, ignores the very process by which the kingdom of this world is becoming the kingdom of the Lord Jesus Christ.’’ 12 Social- religious movements that developed against the backdrop of massive urban problems, such as the Social Gospel, sought to reconcile Christianity and industrial society. 13 I will develop my thesis, first, by showing how American Protestantism and democracy are connected in order to explain the narrow, religiously homogeneous 11. Reinhart Koselleck, Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1985). 12. Theodore T. Munger, cited in William R. Hutchinson, The Modernist Impulse in American Protes- tantism (Durham and London: Duke University Press 1992), 76. Munger, in his volume on Horace Bush- nell, the prominent Congregationalist minister who rejected distinctions between the sciences and Christianity, constructed a prehistory of ‘‘New Theology.’’ See Theodore T. Munger, Horace Bushnell: Preacher and Theologian (Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin, 1899). 13. It is not by chance that another Congregationalist minister, Washington Gladden, is held to have been the inaugurator of the Social Gospel. For a good overview, see Charles Howard Hopkins, The Rise of the Social Gospel in American Protestantism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1940). E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200692 personal network of Chicago Pragmatism. Then, I examine how American Protes- tantism reacted to the process of modernization. Through exploring this reaction and the specific efforts mounted to address problems associated with industrializa- tion, we can reconstruct the ultimate aim of Protestantism (and, by extension, Pragmatism), which was to build the kingdom of God on earth. Finally, I describe how very modern Pragmatism seemed at that time, as it responded to the crisis of democracy with a demand for more democracy. Yet, I conclude, this vision of democracy, which so mistrusted modern institutions, was problematic. CALVINISM AND DEMOCRACY Around the turn of the twentieth century, many reports from Germany sharply criticized both the American economic system of capitalism and its political sys- tem of democracy. In Germany, capitalism and democracy were lumped together and denounced (by Thomas Mann, for example) as incompatible with Christianity. 14 This subjective and somewhat aggressive critique of the United States is really quite surprising given the fact that there was extensive discussion of Max Weber’s theses in Germany at this time. Weber, of course, strongly argued for the Calvinist roots of the form of capitalism as performed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Perhaps the quintessential model of a turn-of-the-century American capitalist, John D. Rockefeller, owner of the Standard Oil Company, was a deeply religious Baptist. The Baptists emerged in the early seventeenth century as a kind of left-wing splinter group within the Puritan movement. Their fundamentally democratic faith (with its principles of ‘‘soul competency’’ and religious liberty) distinguished the Baptists from other sects. According to their underlying conviction, only true be- lievers, those who have personal faith in Christ, comprise the true church, and they confess their faith through baptism as adults. Regularly held readings of the Bible in the presence of the Holy Spirit are sufficient to uphold the true faith, on their view. This belief leads directly to the concept of congregational government and is related to the doctrine of ‘‘the priesthood of all believers.’’ Only Christians, with a unified voice, should make the decisions in the church, and in this they contribute to estab- lishing the kingdom of God on earth. By the late 1800s the Baptists had become the strongest Protestant community in the United States. In a letter dated May 15, 1889, Rockefeller, certainly the wealthiest Baptist in America at that time, stated that he would contribute $600,000 as a challenge pledge toward the first $1,000,000 in endowment for a college to be established in Chicago. Rockefeller’s donation was an act of philanthropy as practiced by a network of wealthy Americans of mostly Protestant origin. According to Weber’s thesis, philanthropy could be understood as an effort by the wealthy in the face of the dark side of Protestant religiosity — harsh capitalism and its striving for political 14. Recently, critical studies on this German reaction have also appeared. See, for example, Georg Kamphau- sen, Die Erfindung Amerikas in der Kulturkritik der Generation von 1890 [The Invention of America in the Cultural Criticism of the Generation of 1890] (Weilerswist: Velbrück Wissenschaft, 2002); and Daniel Tröhler, ‘‘The Discourse of German ‘Geisteswissenschaftliche Pädagogik’ — A Contextual Reconstruction,’’ Paedagogica Historica: International Journal of the History of Education 39, no. 6 (2003): 759–778. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 93 power — to put things right with God and their fellow human beings through acts meant to serve the social good, such as founding universities. According to Dorothy Ross’s analysis, the social sciences that emerged at these universities had a scientistic and liberal — or, as one would say in German, a social — character, as they were grounded on the premise that American history was set on a millennial course, exempt from real historical change. 15 In other words, the social sciences thrived in contexts that adopted the premise that America was the kingdom of God. Thus, it is not surprising that the introduction of the liberal arts, the secular humanities curriculum, at U.S. universities was in no way a departure from religious values but was instead seen as a more sublime form of transmitting those values. 16 The idea of ‘‘American exceptionalism’’ was deeply rooted in the religious feel- ings of Americans, largely independent of social class. This is evident, for example, in the fact that in a large percentage of late-nineteenth-century American homes, The Pilgrim’s Progress, John Bunyan’s allegorical narrative about a ‘‘Christian’’ heading to salvation, occupied a place right next to the family Bible. 17 The same vision is reflected in the distinctively American literature that emerged during the nineteenth century, including the work of authors such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and especially Walt Whitman, whom Harold Bloom de- clared the center of the American canon of literature and poetry. 18 In this work, America, democracy, and religion — not theology and also not denomination 19 — are 15. Dorothy Ross, The Origins of American Social Science (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). Compare this with Thomas L. Haskell, The Emergence of Professional Social Science: The American Social Sci- ence Association and the Nineteenth-Century Crisis of Authority (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1977). 16. Kersten Jacobson Biehn, ‘‘Kanonisierung der Freien Künste: Der Aufbau eines säkularen Lehrplans — das BeispielderPrincetonUniversität’’ [Sanctifyingthe LiberalArts:TheConstructionofaSecularCurriculum— the Example of Princeton University], Zeitschrift für Pädagogische Historiographie 10, no. 2 (2004): 74–82. 17. Bunyan wrote The Pilgrim’s Progress while in prison from 1678 to 1684, during the period of the English Restoration. The book follows a Christian’s arduous journey from his home to the heavenly city. In German Pietist circles, the book was read as an illustration of the inner journey upon which Christ had to embark; Americans saw the story as emblematic of their own task, to realize the kingdom of God in the United States. It is no coincidence that in John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, The Pilgrim’s Progress was the on- ly book besides the Bible that the Joad family possessed. David Tyack shows clearly that between 1860 and 1960 many American school superintendents patterned their autobiographies after Bunyan’s description of life in The Pilgrim’s Progress; in turn, this Protestant self-understanding and worldview exerted a strong in- fluence on the field of education generally. See David Tyack, ‘‘Pilgrim’s Progress: Toward a Social History of the School Superintendency, 1860–1960,’’ History of Education Quarterly 16, no. 3 (1976): 257–300. 18. Harold Bloom, The Western Canon: The Books and School of the Ages (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1994), 264ff. 19. It is important to see that theology is not what is at issue here — that is, we are not examining questions about the character of the Trinity or the doctrine of Holy Communion, for example. Instead, my interest lies in the mental dispositions that emerge from the practice of life and that limit intellectual options. Ulti- mately, I argue that people who are born into a Protestant Congregationalist community and are raised and socialized within that community have a different mentality than people brought up in, say, a Catholic mi- lieu, particularly with regard to the issues of individual responsibility and political-democratic engagement. Given this background, Rockefeller’s concern that Dewey did not become a member of a church in Chicago and did not send his children to Sunday school is less important; see Rockefeller, John Dewey, 214. Before the 1980s, there was virtually no research on American congregations in the area of intellectual history. At that time, the Congregational History Project was launched and it has since produced promising new re- search perspectives. See, for example, James P. Wind and James W. Lewis, eds., American Congregations, vol. 2 New Perspectives in the Study of Congregations (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200694 inseparable, as Whitman expressed in his 1871 work Democratic Vistas: ‘‘For I say at the core of democracy, finally, is the religious element. All the religions, old and new, are there.’’ 20 And in one of his later dedicatory poems, ‘‘Starting From Paumanok,’’ Whitman wrote: ‘‘My comrade! For you to share with me two great- nesses, and a third one rising inclusive and more resplendent, The greatness of Love and Democracy, and the greatness of Religion.’’ 21 The influence that Whitman had on Dewey is evident in a letter that Dewey wrote to his wife, Alice Chipman Dewey, on April 16, 1887: ‘‘I have been reading Walt Whitman more and find that he has a pretty definite philosophy. His philoso- phy of democracy and its relation to religion strikes me as about the thing.’’ 22 Dewey’s deep trust in Whitman continued throughout his life — it is an expression of the dominant discourse in the United States at the turn of the twentieth century that bound together the chief architects of Pragmatism. THE BIOGRAPHICAL NETWORK OF THE CHICAGO SCHOOL What we might today call the ‘‘moderate Protestant discourse’’ of that time — the vision of establishing God’s kingdom on earth — was infused by a religious understanding of social life and, in particular, an emphasis on mutual communica- tion as a prerequisite of democratic decision making. This view was advocated in the academic milieu by a network of men who, as a rule, came from strict Protes- tant family backgrounds — mostly Congregationalists and also Baptists, but never Lutherans — and whose views were guided by their faith. Nor did these academics see a conflict between their commitments to religion and to liberal education: Frederic Henry Hedge, a Harvard professor and Unitarian pastor, for example, wrote, ‘‘The secularization of the College is no violation of its motto, ‘Cristo et Ec- clesiae.’ For, as I interpret those sacred ideas, the cause of Christ and the Church is advanced by whatever liberalizes and enriches and enlarges the mind.’’ 23 Neither the ‘‘secularization’’ of the curriculum nor the increased emphasis on research at the universities changed the character of the firmly anchored Protes- tant self-understanding in the United States, despite the fact that the majority of immigrants in the late nineteenth century were no longer Protestants. The chro- nological priority of Puritanism, as well as its strong localism, which was particu- larly suited to meet the needs of such a vast country, discouraged the emergence of a serious competitor to ‘‘liberal Protestantism’’ in the public discourse. I will illuminate this point through the example of the University of Chicago, which 20. Walt Whitman, ‘‘Democratic Vistas,’’ in Leaves of Grass and Selected Prose, ed. Ellmann Crasnow (1871; repr. London: Orion, 1993), 521. 21. Walt Whitman, ‘‘Starting from Paumanok,’’ in Leaves of Grass (London: James R. Osgood and Com- pany, 1881), 23. 22. John Dewey to Alice Chipman Dewey, April 16, 1887, The Correspondence of John Dewey, vol. 1, no. 00057 (Charlottesville, Virginia: InteLex Corporation, 2002). 23. Frederic Henry Hedge, cited in George M. Marsden, ‘‘The Soul of the American University: A Histor- ical Overview,’’ The Secularization of the Academy, eds. George M. Marsden and Bradley J. Longfield (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 9. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 95 eventually replaced the old center of ‘‘New Theology,’’ Andover Seminary, 24 and thus became ‘‘probably the country’s most powerful center of Protestant liberalism.’’ 25 In 1891, Rockefeller entrusted the president of the University of Chicago, Bap- tist theologian William Rainey Harper, with the great task of building up the uni- versity. Harper was looking for a star to head his philosophy department, and William James recommended Charles Peirce, but the appointment fell through when a member of the Harvard philosophy department expressed doubts as to Peirce’s character. 26 In the meantime, Harper hired James Hayden Tufts, one of his own former students from Yale Divinity School. At the time, Tufts had been work- ing as an instructor in the University of Michigan philosophy department, headed by John Dewey. 27 As noted previously, Harper offered the Chicago position on con- dition that Tufts first go to Germany to earn his doctorate in philosophy. Tufts’s departure left a hole in Dewey’s philosophy department at Ann Arbor, which was to be filled by George Herbert Mead. Mead was the son of Congrega- tionalist minister Hiram Mead, who had joined the faculty at the Oberlin Theolog- ical Seminary as professor of Sacred Rhetoric and Pastoral Theology in 1869. George Herbert Mead studied at Oberlin College, completing his bachelor’s degree and forming a close friendship with Henry Northrup Castle, the son of a Protestant missionary in Hawaii. When Castle and his sister, Helen, traveled to Europe and settled temporarily in Leipzig, Germany, in 1888, Mead, too, went to Leipzig in order to pursue a PhD in philosophy and physiological psychology, where he studied mainly under Wilhelm Wundt. In 1891, Dewey’s offer of an instructorship in philosophy and psychology at the University of Michigan interrupted Mead’s work on his degree (interestingly, he never did complete his PhD). One year later in 1892, Tufts, now equipped with a German PhD, became a member of the University of Chicago faculty. He urged Harper to invite Dewey to chair the philosophy department. Dewey accepted the post on the condition that Mead also be brought to Chicago as an assistant professor. Thus, in 1894, the Dewey-Mead-Tufts trio became the core of the group that William James would later call the Chicago School, a local and closely linked network of intellectuals whose understanding of themselves as academicians — in absolute contrast to the German tradition — was shaped by the idea that science and knowledge must have practical utility and must guide our living activity. Their shared Protestant social doctrine, as we will see, certainly informed their understanding of social issues. All of them became involved with the work of Jane Addams’s settlement house, Hull House. This affinity with Addams was not surprising, since Addams, too, was 24. See Daniel Day Williams, The Andover Liberals: A Study in American Theology (New York: King’s Crown Press, 1941). 25. Sydney E. Ahlstrom, A Religious History of the American People (New Haven and London: Yale Uni- versity Press, 1972), 774–775. 26. Louis Menand, The Metaphysical Club (New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2001), 285ff. 27. John Dewey to James H. Tufts, June 20, 1889, The Correspondence of John Dewey, vol. 1, no. 11892. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200696 raised in a devout Protestant family, her father imparting to her strong sense of moral responsibility, purpose, and charity — traits characteristic of his Quaker faith. In addition, Tufts was an active member of the City Club of Chicago Com- mittee on Housing Conditions for many years, even serving as chairman in 1910. Mead and Dewey were active in the League for Industrial Democracy, a social political movement founded in 1905 by Upton Sinclair and Jack London and aimed at the radical democratization of society (it was originally called the ‘‘Intercolle- giate Socialist Society’’). The ideal held up by Dewey and his colleagues was not the disinterested scholar but rather the socially responsible academician, and their primary object was not Bildung but rather social justice guided by a spirit of demo- cratic Protestantism. This network of colleagues, over time, formed even stronger professional and interpersonal relations. For instance, George and Helen Mead published Dewey’s early progressive education papers under the title The School and the Society in 1900, and their only child, whom they named Henry Castle Albert Mead (after Helen’s brother), later married Irene Tufts, the daughter of James Hayden Tufts and Cynthia Whitaker. When Dewey left Chicago for Columbia University in 1904, Tufts was promoted to professor and succeeded Dewey as chair of the philosophy department. In 1908, several years after Dewey had left, he and Tufts coauthored Ethics, and they published a completely revised edition in 1932. After Helen Mead’s death, Dewey arranged for Mead’s appointment as a professor at Columbia University for the 1931–1932 academic year; before he could take up that appointment, however, Mead died in Chicago on April 26, 1931. CALVINISM AND THE MODERN AGE At the end of 1893, around the time that Dewey was hired by the University of Chicago, he wrote a letter to James Rowland Angell, the son of James Burrill Angell, a devout Congregationalist and president of the University of Michigan. The elder Angell had hired Dewey at Ann Arbor on the recommendation of George Sylvester Morris, while the younger Angell had studied under Dewey at Ann Arbor and was in Halle, Germany, when Dewey wrote him (he would later also come to Chicago and set up the new department of psychology there; in 1921 he became president of Yale University). In his letter, Dewey undertook to clarify the differ- ence between German and American thinking. 28 The Germans, Dewey wrote, had in the main developed an unsurpassed philological expertise, while at the same time building remarkable scientific laboratories. He doubted whether Americans could ever rival the Germans in the art of philology, but doubted also that efforts to do so would be justified, for it would not make sense according to the principle of the division of labor: 28. Unlike many other academics, Dewey had not studied in Germany. He was one of the first to obtain a doctorate in philosophy in the United States (from Johns Hopkins University). TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 97 What we can do, perhaps, on the historical side is to interpret the history of thought more from the anthropological and political standpoint — as a social phenomenon..I think that even the ‘‘Ideas‘‘ have yielded and turned out not ‘‘metaphysical’’ but aesthetic-political products. 29 The separation of idealism and reality that characterized German thought was intellectually attractive to the Americans, as is indicated by their interest in and study of German philosophy. But such a dualistic starting point, premised as it was on the Lutheran doctrine of the two kingdoms, 30 provided little tangible with which to understand and address the multitude of social, political, and economic problems at the turn of the century. 31 Dewey, like many others, was seeking a ‘‘unified lan- guage,’’ as he wrote in 1892 in a letter to Joseph Villiers Denney, professor of English and dean of the College of Arts, Philosophy, and Science at Ohio State University: The ‘‘unified language’’ seems to be the most complete expression of what the ‘‘idea’’ does in thought, how religion has one language, philosophy another, science another, literature another & so on. Seeing the common objective fact, we get the unified language — the language of action. This is democracy — the appropriation of the store of spiritual wealth in all directions by the whole & common people. Slang unifies with philosophy, theology & poetry. This unified language is the breaking down of barriers & rigid separation to my mind. 32 This idea of an all-inclusive language, encompassing not only disciplinary and ideological thoughts but also thinking and acting, demonstrates just how far from liberal, in the current philosophical sense, these exponents who belonged to the ‘‘liberals’’ of the time actually were. The following assertion by Daniel Coit Gilman, founding president of Johns Hopkins University, illustrates this point: ‘‘American universities should be more than theistic; they may and should be avowedly Christian — not in a narrow or sectarian sense — but in the broad, open and inspir- ing sense of the Gospels.’’ 33 These Protestant academics believed in teaching the 29. John Dewey to James Rowland Angell, May 10, 1893, The Correspondence of John Dewey, vol. 1, no. 00478. 30. Martin Luther and German evangelical Protestantism hold to the doctrine of the two kingdoms. In Christ’s kingdom, governed by the spiritual authority of the Word and the Sacraments, there is grace and forgiveness of sins, and there are no differences among men. The other realm, the secular kingdom, is ruled by the temporal authority of the ruler, the sword, and the law; there is neither grace nor equality. Lutherans view the two kingdoms as instituted by God as mutually beneficial. The realm of Christ bene- fits from the temporal realm, because secular authority enforces peace in the world, and the temporal realm is served by the realm of Christ in its proclaiming of the Gospel through the Word. This Evangel- ical Protestantism holds further that it is of prime importance not to confuse the two kingdoms: God rules the spiritual kingdom through the Gospel. The Gospel is not meant to rule the secular kingdom, which is ruled by its own power and laws. Any attempt to use the Gospel to rule the secular world is an error. Politically, this doctrine —particularly since it was accompanied by a state church — was tanta- mount to total deprivation of people’s right of decision making. This makes clear once more the funda- mental difference between the Baptist faith and Congregationalism, and it explains why American Lutherans and Presbyterians did not follow the liberal turn of theology — that is, in the words of William R. Hutchinson, they were ‘‘most resistant to change.’’ See William R. Hutchinson, The Modernist Im- pulse in American Protestantism (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1992), 114. 31. These problems were primarily found in urban areas, such as Chicago. William Stead, son of a British Congregationalist minister, wrote an impressive account of the conditions in Chicago around 1893–1894; see William Thomas Stead, If Christ Came to Chicago! A Plea for the Union of All Who Love in the Service of All Who Suffer (Chicago: Laird and Lee, 1894). 32. John Dewey to Joseph Villiers Denney, February 8, 1892, The Correspondence of John Dewey, vol. 1, no. 00462. 33. Gilman, cited in D.G. Hart, ‘‘Faith and Learning in the Age of the University: The Academic Minis- try of Daniel Coit Gilman,’’ in The Secularization of the Academy, eds. Marsden and Longfield, 107. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 200698 Gospel — that is, the teaching of salvation through Jesus’ words on the coming of the kingdom of God — but not with the intention of making those teachings the subject of discussion in theology or the science of religion. Instead, the teaching of salvation was seen as the prerequisite to thinking and acting, as the fertile ground, so to speak, on which life and thought took place and out of which sprung liter- ature such as Walt Whitman’s. The University of Chicago’s President Harper pro- vided another, more specific statement of this purpose when he told the student body that the fourth part of world history was beginning, it had its center in the United States, and in this era civilization was reaching its apex: according to him, ‘‘the history of civilization has been synchronous with the development of a pure and true conception of God, and of his relation to man’’ — that is, the Baptist- Protestant interpretation of God and his relation to man. 34 Harper saw this move- ment as a mandate for a mission that had been assigned to the United States by God and that had deep educational consequences: ‘‘If, now, our faith is sure that there has been committed to us this great mission, shall we not purify ourselves?’’ For Harper, this was a purification from both immorality and ignorance: The ideal purification is a purification from vice and immorality, from sin of every kind and from impurity; but it is more — it is a purification (I use the word advisedly) from ignorance and prejudice, from narrowness of every kind, and from intellectual dishonesty. What is nee- ded? The gospel and education. 35 Only the two together would empower the United States to convert the world: ‘‘In this work of educating humanity to understand God and itself, America is the training-school for teachers.’’ 36 THE KINGDOM OF GOD ON EARTH American Protestantism, therefore, was a fundamental part of the American mentality during this period. This religious understanding was not fundamentalist in orientation but liberal in the American sense: mostly undogmatic, not specific to any denomination or church, and thus best understood as an all-encompassing certainty rather than as a sect. James B. Angell, Dewey’s employer at the Univer- sity of Michigan, characterized the proper relation of religion and higher education as follows: Michigan is a Christian State, and her University can be true to her only by cherishing a broad unsectarian but earnest Christian spirit. I think that her sister universities in the Northwest are pervaded by the same spirit, and that they are contributing their full share to the dissemi- nation of a Christian culture. 37 Accordingly, true science could not oppose Christianity — in this circle, the choice was not one of either Darwinism or Christianity. To be liberal meant a lack of 34. William Rainey Harper, ‘‘America as a Missionary Field,’’ in William Rainey Harper, Religion and the Higher Life (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1904), 175. 35. Ibid., 180–181 (emphasis added). 36. Ibid., 184. 37. James Burrill Angell, cited in Bradley J. Longfield, ‘‘From Evangelicalism to Liberalism: Public Mid- western Universities in Nineteenth-Century America,’’ in The Secularization of the Academy, eds. Marsden and Longfield, 46. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 99 concern about dogmas, like original sin, and this opened up the possibility of thinking and acting in a scientific and modern way and, at the same time, in a Christian way. Of course, some theological tensions between these value systems were recognized, and numerous studies attempted to reconcile them. (See, for in- stance, the writings of John Fiske, who served under Tufts on the faculty of the University of Chicago’s philosophy department. 38 ) All of the participants in the Chicago School recognized that the conditions of living were changing, particularly in large cities such as Chicago. The goal of real- izing the message of salvation required adjusting politics and education to these conditions in order to respond to them, where adjustment is an active process that requires targeted action. Out of this recognition grew the Social Gospel movement, to which Jane Addams also belonged. In Addams’s programmatic treatise, ‘‘The Necessity for Social Settlements’’ (1892), written prior to the founding of the Uni- versity of Chicago and nearly two years before Dewey and Mead’s arrival in Chicago, she interpreted her settlement community, Hull House, as a response to the manifold social divisions characteristic of the urban experience, which had isolated people from one another and therefore weakened democracy, understood as ‘‘social intercourse.’’ 39 Addams saw democracy primarily as a process of social exchange, as a form of cooperation, to which she gave a religious interpretation: The Settlement movement is only one manifestation of that wider humanitarian movement which throughout Christendom, but pre-eminently in England, is endeavoring to embody it- self, not in a sect, but in society itself..I believe that this turning, this renaissance of the early Christian humanitarianism, is going on in America, in Chicago, if you please, without leaders who write or philosophize, without much speaking, but with a bent to express in social service and in terms of action, the spirit of Christ. 40 Action in the sense of self-activity stood at the center of intelligent cooperation for the purpose of mastering and changing the environment into an industrial democ- racy, and ‘‘activity’’ here was at its core religious. This line of thinking was impressively developed by George Herbert Mead. As early as March 20, 1885, Mead wrote to his friend Henry Castle that Christianity was an infallible motive for an active life, ‘‘which raises every man to become a King and Priest,* me to God; makes every man a man of action and gives the most exceeding pleasure health and removes the dregs from the cup and despair from life.’’ 41 Mead developed this view shortly before he was asked to join the faculty at 38. Fiske’s work in this area was controversial — at Harvard, he was condemned as an atheist and denied permission to teach. Tufts stood by him, however. In a 1916 letter, Tufts explicitly and positively identi- fied Fiske as one of the few contemporary authors mentioned in Dewey’s Democracy and Education. James Hayden Tufts to Edith Foster Flint, March 9, 1916, James H. Tufts Papers, box 1, folder 7, Uni- versity of Chicago Regenstein Library. See also John Dewey, Democracy and Education (1916; repr. New York: Free Press 1944), 45n. 39. Jane Addams, ‘‘The Subjective Necessity for Social Settlements,’’ in Philanthropy and Social Pro- gress, ed. Henry C. Adams (New York: Thomas Y. Cromwell, 1893), 1. 40. Ibid., 19–20 (emphasis in original). 41. George Herbert Mead to Henry Northrup Castrup, March 20, 1885, Mead Papers, box 1, folder 2, University of Chicago Regenstein Library (emphasis in original; asterisk indicates uncertain reading of Mead’s handwriting). E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 2006100 the University of Chicago on Dewey’s recommendation. Evidence of this develop- ment is a forty-page manuscript, probably written in 1893 while Mead was still in Ann Arbor. In this lecture, Mead discussed the meaning of the New Testament, focusing on the relationship of Jesus Christ to John the Baptist and on Christ’s Gospel, specifically on his announcement of the coming kingdom of God on earth in the Sermon on the Mount. According to Mead, it is from their spontaneous rela- tionship with God in prayer that men recognize they have common — not contra- dictory — interests, which are endangered by the capitalist economy: ‘‘The centering of our interest upon riches that pass away involves the absence of all ‘treasure in the Kingdom of Heaven.’ For where your treasure is there will your heart be also [Matthew 6:21].’’ Mead continued, ’’We find in a later chapter [of the Holy Bible] still more strongly expressed the destructive effect of the greed for wealth upon that identity of interest that should exist between all men in the Kingdom, — ‘If thou wilt to be perfect go and sell all that thou hast and give to the poor and thou shalt have treasure in heaven’ [Matthew 19:21].’’ 42 Mead then quoted Matthew 19:24 — the passage saying that it is easier for the camel to pass through a needle than it is for a rich man to enter Heaven — to which he offered the follow- ing as a complement: It is just as impossible to do both — serve God in this Kingdom and Mammon as well. One’s life is not made up of the abundance of things one possesses, but life is more than meat. In God’s King- dom it is impossible that one’s interest should be centered upon the mere conditions of existence. 43 Faith in Christ and thus the ‘‘community of interest’’ of men is not a matter of rational understanding, but it is also not a matter of ‘‘emotion in the sense in which we generally perhaps consider an emotion. It does not represent a feeling insofar as this is something static but a state mind prepared for the most absolute, the most perfect acting — it is the condition of perfect activity.’’ 44 To provide evidence for this interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount, Mead referred to William James’s Principles in Psychology, first published in 1890, in which James insisted that emo- tions are the consequence of activities and thus exist prior to all attempts at ration- alization. In that work, James had wanted to demonstrate clearly that the traditional assumption of a causal relation of the following type was false: coming unexpectedly upon a bear in the woods, then experiencing fear, then running away. James wrote that it was more correct to assume that we experience fear because we run away — that running away is the physical activity and that the subsequent perception of the activity is what we call a feeling. 45 Following this digression, Mead returned to Jesus in order to show that the emotion of love can arise only in connection with action and activity: I come back to our theme if the principle which Jesus represents is to be expressed as an emo- tion. The emotion of love — it can only be as an active principle — the principle of the most 42. George Herbert Mead, untitled essay on Jesus, love, activity [ca. 1893], Mead Papers, box 10, folder 1, University of Chicago Regenstein Library: 20–21. 43. Ibid., 21. 44. Ibid., 26. 45. William James, Principles in Psychology (New York: Henry Holt, 1890), 449–450. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 101 complete and absolute activity our natures are capable of. It must have back of it the instinc- tive actions of the whole social — in other words: religious — nature and it must have the power of supporting these activities at once and without cessation. 46 Or, as Dewey expressed it in the same year of 1893: Christianity is revelation, and revelation means effective discovery, the actual ascertaining or guar- anteeing to man of the truth of his life and the reality of the Universe. It is at this point that the sig- nificance of democracy appears. The kingdom of God, as Christ said, is within us, or among us. 47 DEMOCRACY AS REDEMPTION The idea of a true community of interests and thus the realization of the king- dom of God on earth was not held exclusively by the Chicago Pragmatists; rather, it shaped a wider Protestant discourse that dominated the field of common school- ing at the end of the nineteenth century. 48 This same idea can be seen in Graham Taylor, who, after Jane Addams, was perhaps the most important exponent of the settlement house. Like Addams and others in the Chicago School, Taylor oscillated between scholarship and social engagement: he was founder and director of the Chicago Commons Settlement House and, at the same time, a professor of biblical sociology in the sociology department at the Chicago Theological Seminary. 49 His lectures were based largely on Francis Herbert Stead’s The Kingdom of God: A Plan of Study in Three Parts, which was written in 1893. However — and this may ex- plain why the Dewey circle had close contacts with Addams but not with Taylor — Taylor championed a type of social reform that was much more closely oriented to formal institutions: for example, it targeted, among other things, better conditions for, and an increase in, civic participation and voting among the work force. In 1882, about ten years before Mead set down his thoughts about the Sermon on the Mount as a guide for realizing the kingdom of God on earth, Taylor deliv- ered a Thanksgiving address titled, ‘‘The Unity of Human Interests.’’ While the ad- dress has been passed down to us only in the form of phrases and abbreviated words (‘‘That in Ch[rist] of G[od] at call of State, on day sacred to Home’’), its con- tent is illuminating. In contrast to Mead or Addams, Taylor asserted that the in- stitutionalized interests of state, church, and family ‘‘are really one. Their common blessings imply substantial unity.’’ 50 This was precisely not what Mead, Dewey, and Addams thought. Whereas they shared with Taylor the vision of a kingdom of 46. Mead, untitled essay on Jesus, love, activity, 37f. (punctuation as in original). 47. John Dewey, ‘‘Christianity and Democracy’’ (1893), in John Dewey: The Early Works, 1893–1894, vol. 4, ed. Jo Ann Boydston (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1971), 6–7. 48. David Tyack, ‘‘The Kingdom of God and the Common School: Protestant Ministers and the Educa- tional Awakening in the West,’’ Harvard Educational Review 36, no. 4 (1966): 447–469. 49. Taylor’s private papers contain the following description of his settlement house: ‘‘Chicago Com- mons is a ‘Social Settlement’ located at the corner of Grand Avenue and Morgan Street. It was founded in May, 1894, and is the home of a group of people who want to share the life of the neighborhood its com- forts and discomforts; its privileges and responsibilities; its political, civic and personal duties and pleas- ures. They offer their home as a social center for the neighborhood, in which they desire to be friends, fellow-citizens, neighbors,’’ Graham Taylor Papers, Chicago Commons Scrapbooks, box 1 (1900–1906), Newberry Library, Chicago. 50. Graham Taylor, ‘‘The Unity of Human Interests — Address at Thanksgiving’’ [November 30, 1882], Graham Taylor Papers, Newberry Library, Chicago. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 2006102 God and the idea of a community of interests, they did not view these primarily in the context of formal institutions, and certainly not the church. It is not by chance that Jane Addams was convinced that Hull House was the expression of a renais- sance of early Christianity. Mead, Dewey, and Addams were less concerned than Taylor with strengthening the institutional power of the state and were not at all interested in a strong church; instead, they sought to perfect their vision of com- munity as an expression of a common interest that was Christian, social, and dem- ocratic — and therefore critical for American development. They viewed as ‘‘good’’ that which emerged from unity and remained unified; ‘‘bad’’ was the particular or the particularizing: ‘‘The bad act is partial, the good organic..The good man, in a word, is his whole self in each of his acts; the bad man is a partial (and hence a dif- ferent) self in his conduct. He is not one person, for he has no unifying principle.’’ 51 Within this framework, capitalism had to be criticized, not because it is based on private ownership of the means of production, but instead because of its socially divisive, segregating consequences, which, because it made common intercourse, the community of interests, and organic unity impossible, stood in the way of realizing the kingdom of God on earth. Theologian and journalist George Davis Herron, one of the most popular activists of the Social Gospel movement, expressed this by calling America undemocratic: We Americans are not a democratic people. We do not select the representatives we elect; we do not make our own laws; we do not govern ourselves. Our political parties are controlled by private, close political corporations that exist as parasites upon the body politic, giving us the most corrupting and humiliating despotisms in political history, and tending to destroy all political faith in righteousness. 52 This critique, formulated in the language of republicanism, finds fertile ground in the Protestant ideal of liberal reform, according to which social, religious, and democratic life are fundamentally identical — a natural expression of the common interests of men. On this view, formal institutions become, if not superfluous, cer- tainly secondary: The political realization [of Christianity] will be a pure democracy. Christianity can realize it- self in a social order only through democracy, and democracy can realize itself only through the social forces of Christianity. A pure social democracy is the political fulfillment of Christi- anity;.It is the historical and providential idea that God shall lead the people by his Spirit of right as his sons, governing them inspirationally rather than institutionally. 53 51. John Dewey, ‘‘The Study of Ethics: A Syllabus,’’ in John Dewey: The Early Works, vol. 4, ed. Boy- dston, 245. 52. George Davis Herron, ‘‘The Christian State — The Social Realization of Democracy,’’ in The Christian State: A Political Vision of Christ (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1895), 76–77. Herron was a Congrega- tional Church minister and professor of applied Christianity at Grinnell College from 1893 to 1899. In many ways, his views were closer to those of Graham Taylor. In fact, Taylor invited him to teach ‘‘social religion’’ at the Chicago Commons School of Social Economics in 189 (see Graham Taylor Papers, Chicago Commons Scrapbooks, box 2, Newberry Library, Chicago). After his scandalous divorce in 1899, Herron resigned from Grinnell College and joined the Socialist Party. The passage cited here, which is as representative of Pragma- tism as it is of Christian Socialism, shows how closely connected the various social reform movements were; specifically, it indicates that the mentality of liberal Protestantism linked these movements together. 53. Ibid., 74–75. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 103 This argument is not very far from the analysis that Dewey set forth in The Public and Its Problems, first published in 1927, when he accused the captains of industry of destroying democracy in order to serve their private interests. 54 In this connection, Dewey said, ‘‘the cure for the ailments of democracy is more democ- racy,’’ so that a scattered and mobile and diverse public can come to ‘‘recognize it- self as to define and express its interests.’’ Given this premise, it is not surprising that Dewey viewed democracy as the ‘‘idea of community life itself,’’ in which there is a single consciousness of a single interest that produces the public as a public and in this way makes democracy truly possible in the first place: ‘‘The clear consciousness of a communal life, in all its implications, constitutes the idea of democracy.’’ 55 As Dewey repeatedly stressed, the vitality of democratic social life does not depend on formal democratic institutions, like voting or representa- tive government, but vice versa. Thirty years after the period examined here, Dewey’s mode of thinking had not essentially changed: ‘‘Democracy will come into its own, for democracy is a name for a life of free and enriching communion. It had its seer in Walt Whitman. It will have its consummation when free social inquiry is indissolubly wedded to the art of full and moving communication.’’ 56 On Dewey’s view, the project of communion and immediacy must start with education, namely, education in the home within communal ‘‘face-to-face relationships.’’ 57 Upon this background, it is probably advisable when interpreting My Peda- gogic Creed — Dewey’s first work on education to enjoy broad reception — to 54. John Dewey, The Public and Its Problems (1927; repr. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1954). This book is an answer to Walter Lippman’s The Phantom Public (1925; repr. New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1929). Lippmann, the son of second-generation German-Jewish parents, declared himself a socialist dur- ing his years at Harvard, but, starting at the turn of the twentieth century, he turned to radical liberalism in the European sense. In The Phantom Public, Lippmann criticized the Protestant-republican ideology of homo politicus: ‘‘The environment is complex. Man’s political capacity is simple’’ (p. 78). He wrote that the ideal of the old American communities, whereby ‘‘the voter’s opinions were formed and cor- rected by talk with their neighbors,’’ was no longer effective within the complexity of the ‘‘Great Soci- ety’’ (p. 181). For this reason, Lippmann called for a plural public, arising from the exchange of interests: ‘‘I have conceived public opinion to be, not the voice of God, nor the voice of society, but the voice of the interested spectators of action’’ (p. 197). Dewey responded first with a critical review (see John Dewey, ‘‘Practical Democracy,’’ New Republic 45 [December 2, 1925]: 52–54) and then with a series of lectures at Kenyon College, Ohio, in 1926. These lectures were later edited and published as The Public and Its Problems. 55. Dewey, The Public and Its Problems, 140, 148–149 (emphasis in original). 56. Ibid., 184. 57. Ibid., 218. Evidently, The Public and Its Problems was not the definitive answer, because Dewey was unable to solve the problem of how local communities, which he wished to revitalize, could be brought to engage in the type of global communication necessary to advance scientific knowledge. That is, he failed to resolve the issue of why local communities should want to harmonize with other communities. Dewey developed a strategy for harmonizing the particular with the universal in his 1934 book, A Com- mon Faith. What is crucial in the present context is not so much the fact that in this work Dewey, as Rockefeller stresses, once again uses the term ‘‘God’’ in a positive sense after not having done so many years (see Rockefeller, John Dewey, 234), but rather the fact that human and religious experience are made synonymous — that is, plurality is attributed to an assumed unity. Compare with Daniel Tröhler, ‘‘The Global Community, Religion, and Education: The Modernity of Dewey’s Social Philosophy,’’ Stud- ies in Philosophy and Education 19, no. 1–2 (2000): 159–186. E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y VOLUME 56 j NUMBER 1 j 2006104 understand the democratic element of his theory of the school in the context of Dewey’s own summary of his educational belief: ‘‘I believe that in this way the teacher always is the prophet of the true God and the usherer in of the true king- dom of God.’’ 58 In these days when religion in education is invariably equated with the agenda of conservative, fundamentalist Christianity, it is important to con- sider, by way of contrast, an encompassing religious stance on education that does not lie in an illiberal religiousness. 58. John Dewey, ‘‘My Pedagogic Creed’’ (1897), in John Dewey: The Early Works, 1895–1898, vol. 5, ed. Jo Ann Boydston (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1972), 95. See also Dewey’s final ad- dress before the Students’ Christian Association of the University of Michigan on May 27, 1894: ‘‘The re- sponsibility now upon us is to form our faith in the light of the most searching methods and known facts; it is to form that faith so that it shall be an efficient and present help to us in action, in the co-operative union with all men who are sincerely striving to help on the Kingdom of God on earth’’ (John Dewey, ‘‘Reconstruction’’ [1894] in John Dewey: The Early Works, vol. 4, ed. Boydston, 105). AN EARLIER VERSION OF THIS PAPER was presented at the International Research Seminar ‘‘Peda- gogical Modernization: Secular and Religious Aspects of Pedagogics,’’ Ascona, Switzerland, October 2004; at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, 2005; and at Rice University, Houston, Texas, 2005. I would like to thank Thomas S. Popkewitz, Thomas L. Haskell, and the editor of Educational Theory, Nicholas C. Burbules, for their amicable help in shaping this article. TRÖHLER ‘‘Kingdom of God on Earth’’ and Chicago Pragmatism 105 
work_ohhtb2cao5eqzgopljr7ce2jla	----	A Pig Doesn't Make the Revolution - Review: Leonardo Caffo, Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un antispecismo debole (2013) A Pig Doesn’t Make the Revolution Valentina Sonzogni Architecture and Art Historian, Museum of Contemporary Art, Rivoli, Italy valentina_sonzogni@yahoo.it Caffo, Leonardo. 2013. Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un anti spe ci- smo debole. Casale Monferrato: Sonda. 127 pp. € 12.00. ISBN 978-8-87106-701-8 We are always coming up with the emphatic facts of his- tory in our private experience, and verifying them here. All history becomes subjective; in other words, there is properly no history; only biography. Every mind must know the whole lesson for itself, must go over the whole ground. What it does not see, what it does not live, it will not know. (Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essays, 1841) Writing a review of Leonardo Caffo’s book Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione (A Pig Doesn’t Make the Revolution) has a special meaning for me, as the title of the book recalls the eponymous interview that I did with Caffo in 2011, focusing on what I would call “the bases” of antispeciesism. At that time, after embracing Vegetarianism, I was looking for a theo- retical background that would provide intellectual support to my spiritual longing for animal welfare: this is how I came across his research. I would call it a piece of good luck, as Caffo’s thinking has been complementing what I consider to be not only a new political position and a major reality check but, in the first place, a personal evolution. Caffo’s conceptual system, which I then carried with me in my path as an “amateur” animal rights advocate (I promote this view in a rather small community), revolves around the concepts of compassion and lucidity, civil disobedience and the capacity to talk to ordinary people as well as to finely educated people in order to transmit “the truth” that is hidden behind the clean and anonymous walls of the slaughterhouse. So this is a review of a book, but it also contains my personal opinion on Caffo, who embodies – he will excuse me for using him as a guinea pig – a new genre of activism that may finally manage to get the message outside of the enclave of activists, perhaps finally conquering the attention of indifferent omnivores as well as leather and fur fashionistas. http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ Valentina Sonzogni 144 Relations – 2.2 - November 2014 http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ The book is structured in a rather simple and clear way. After a first chapter in which Caffo presents the thesis of the animal liberation’s move- ment initiators such as Peter Singer and Tom Regan, he proceeds to deline- ate a genealogy of the movement by oppositions calling into cause thinkers such as Matthew Calarco and Jacques Derrida as well as Martin Heidegger to accompany the reader in a series of mental experiments proving the specificity of the struggle for animal rights. The crucial transition of the field of animal cognition into that of animal studies is analyzed by Caffo through a review of the different definitions of speciesism, showing that the intellectual plea today is for a larger perspective that would start from pain and distress, anguish and fear and in which sensiocentrism would be the ethical guide to such (r)evolution. In the third chapter, Caffo examines his main ideas and achievements, namely what he defines “antispecismo debole” or “terzo antispecismo” (“weak antispeciesism” or “third antispeciesism”). The fourth chapter is the re-publication of a dialogue between Caffo and Marco Maurizi in which they debate in a reciprocate interview on the topic of possible scenarios for animal liberation, among which Maurizi especially supports political antispeciesism, a theory and practise that pairs advocacy for human and non human animals rights. The conclusion of the book tells a lot about its own premises: Caffo acknowledges and incorporates in his method the idea of “negoziato concettuale” (“intellectual negotiation”) as it was introduced by Roberto Casati (Casati 2011). The enormous task of achieving animal liberation can progress only through the negotiation of the different souls and minds of the animal rights movement and, I would add, not only in the Italian scenario, but opening up to other countries and their experiences, from Austria to China, learning from their victories and defeats while developing a solid strategic action for animals, as Melanie Joy would put it (Joy 2008). Something may surprise the reader: Caffo states to have tried to write his book not as an animal rights advocate but as an animal (Caffo 2013, 9): writing as a pig would write can make visible to our eyes the only possible way to his own liberation. Once you get familiar with his thinking, believe me, you will agree that Caffo is that pig, that forgotten nameless animal dying unheard, in this very moment, in a filthy slaughterhouse, somewhere on the planet earth. His “weak antispeciesism” is born out of compassion (and, of course, out of a strong philosophical grounding); yet, if this kind of “sentimental” approach to the matter can be regarded as inappropriate or “weak” within Academic circles, his theory is appealing for most audi- ences, reaching out for non-vegan communities, intersecting with other disciplines and slowly permeating those communities that have no familiar- L. Caffo, “Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un anti spe ci smo debole” 145 Relations – 2.2 - November 2014 http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ ity with such topics. A new definition of activist, also fostered by Joy in her book Strategic Actions for Animals, seems to be another important step in the process of helping the pig with his revolution: animal rights advocates should not present themselves as “non-eaters of something” (opposing omnivores in this), but as supporters of a new conception of the world, that is, as an avant-garde movement. Do you remember the Cubists, or Igor Stravinsky, James Joyce or Le Corbusier, The Beatles and Madonna? That’s it, we won’t make it as vegans (although we must all tend to this kind of diet) but we will make it as antispeciesists in that we bring further a new idea of life and philosophy. But Caffo says more: antispeciesists are not only doing this, but what is more, they are speaking up for those who have no voice, so they must become that pig. Having said that, Caffo proceeds to take a distance from what he is known as “political antispeciesism”, generally intended as a movement that aims at liberating both human and non-human animals at the same time (and I apologize for not acknowledging the different tendencies of the movement here). Caffo does not deny political antispeciesism but defines the ideological and practical limits of struggling for animals in order to define sharply the timing and the goals of this battle. Caffo has been criti- cized for his “third antispeciesism” in that it seems to exclude human rights struggles. Yet, although he sets animal suffering as a priority in the agenda, he is not devaluing the equally urgent issue of human slavery or exploita- tion. Such urge derives from the philosophical difference between action and intention, which is killing an animal in a car accident versus allowing the livestock system with the consequent death row, from the creation of lives that should never have been born to the slaughterhouse etc. The care- fully planned and organized killing of billions of non-human animals for food industry, fashion and science (among other purposes) is enough of a reason to set animal liberation at the top of the agenda. Caffo’s antispe- ciesism is weak in this sense: that is, it suspends the judgment on broader theories and limits its goal to a more “humble” task, i.e. to act immediately for animal liberation in any possible manner. So far so good. But how to fight for animal rights? That seems to be the question here. Once the conceptual frame is set, Caffo seeks inspiration in the work of the philosopher Henry David Thoreau in indicating the path of civil disobedience as a form of individual struggle against the privileges that the human species has self-granted to its members: “A new antispe- ciesism must be politically aware of a systemic mistake, while being able to morally deal with individual deviant behaviours on which, if possible, we must immediately take action” (Caffo 2013, 72). These guidelines are summarized in a few points that encourage to give up part of established Valentina Sonzogni 146 Relations – 2.2 - November 2014 http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ and socially accepted privileges, such as for instance the food obsession that is so typical of Western (and especially Italian) people. This different education fosters individual disobedience, for instance accepting to go to jail after freeing operations and rescues, transgressing the law and so forth, as is already done by ALF and other groups worldwide. From a theoretical point of view, Caffo restates the priority of the non-human animal: “[…] accepting that ours is a struggle not for people and not even also for people, but only for non-human animals, and that the face of a weeping pig alone matters more than all the dreams of man- kind” (Caffo 2013, 75). Getting involved with animal liberation limits the field to this specific battle, which is remarkably different from a global, larger and more complex battle against exploitation – situating it non before human liberation, but just next to it, although separated. Animal liberation is prioritary for Caffo and it is a moral imperative based on a commonly accepted truth that is not questionable: non-human animals do suffer, feel and remember, they can think and some of them understand human language (everyone who has a dog or a cat, let alone a monkey can confirm this). They have familiar bonds and memory and a nervous system that makes them feel physical pain and psychological distress. One can have no empathy for non-human animals but these facts are as accepted nowadays as the fact that the planet earth is spherical. And, just as many people today dismiss as unacceptable any act of sex, gender and race discrimination, one day they will find unacceptable the habit of animal corpses consumption in public (once called “meat”) or shoes made with dead skin (once called “leather” or “hide”). It is again Caffo who writes: Unfortunately, however, it is widely believed that we should not force other to stop eating meat because, in the name of a generic pluralism, we must respect the food choices of other individuals. Those who argue that eating or making clothes out of non-human animals is justifiable rarely try to pro- vide valid arguments for their thesis. […] However, a value judgment about what is eaten is widespread: the proof can be found in the fact that, virtually, human cultures do not practice cannibalism, because eating humans is con- sidered reprehensible. (Caffo 2013, 93) Even though he distances himself from the actual debate on political antispeciesism, Caffo is a political antispeciesist because antispeciesism is political in the first place. What Caffo states is: let’s put non-human ani- mals back at the center of our struggle and let us not only feel their pain but be them. In any case, there is enough space in one’s mind and heart to embrace more than one cause. Pigs perhaps don’t make the difference (yet), but we (still) do. L. Caffo, “Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un anti spe ci smo debole” 147 Relations – 2.2 - November 2014 http://www.ledonline.it/Relations/ RefeRenceS Caffo, Leonardo. 2013. Il maiale non fa la rivoluzione: manifesto per un antispecismo de bole. Casale Monferrato: Sonda. Casati, Roberto. 2011. Prima lezione di filosofia. Roma: Laterza. Joy, Melanie. 2008. Strategic Actions for Animals. New York: Lantern Books. 
work_oi5j5yhkfvhedlektr5ni4cleq	----	UCLA UCLA Previously Published Works Title How Social Movements Do Culture Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/7q98d88c Journal International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, 23(2) ISSN 1573-3416 Author Roy, William G. Publication Date 2010-09-01 DOI 10.1007/s10767-010-9091-7 Peer reviewed eScholarship.org Powered by the California Digital Library University of California https://escholarship.org/uc/item/7q98d88c https://escholarship.org http://www.cdlib.org/ How Social Movements Do Culture William G. Roy Published online: 26 February 2010 # The Author(s) 2010. This article is published with open access at Springerlink.com Abstract While much social science literature has analyzed the cultural bases of social movement, activity, and the content of cultural production by social movements, relatively little has been written about the concrete social relations within which social movements do culture. This paper addresses the issue of what social movements are doing when they produce culture. Four dimensions of social relations within which culture is enacted are identified: the division of labor, the relations of power, tuning in, and embeddedness. A contrast between the how the People's Songsters Movement of the 1930s and 1940s and the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s used American folk music illustrates how variation in these dimensions affects the effects that cultural production had on social movement outcomes. Keywords Social movements . Culture . Modes of relationships . Civil Rights Movement “When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe. I am related to the earliest times, and to the latest.” Henry David Thoreau The power of music has long been celebrated by philosophers, poets, statesmen and activists. Music has the power to seduce, inspire, soothe, and fortify. We all know that. What do social movements do? They protest, plea, organize, recruit, petition, demonstrate, meet, debate, strike, and express. As collective agents of expression, like other collectivities, they do art, literature, music, drama, and other creative endeavors. Some authors have even suggested that their cultural activities are more enduring and historically important than their political achievements (Eyerman and Jamison 1998). The most common question about the cultural activities of social movements probes meaning: How are cultural expressions motivated by activists and interpreted by audiences? Insofar as Int J Polit Cult Soc (2010) 23:85–98 DOI 10.1007/s10767-010-9091-7 The paper has benefited from the constructive and insightful comments of Jacqueline Adams and Violaine Roussel. Permission to publish this article in English was granted by Presses Universitaires de Vincennes. W. G. Roy (*) Department of Sociology, University of California, Los Angeles, Los Angeles, CA 90095-1551, USA e-mail: billroy@soc.ucla.edu social movements are defined in terms of their goals and demands, cultural objects are critical to fathom movements' mindsets, ideologies, and cultural resonances. But, content is only one dimension of how social movements do culture. Thus, the central issue of this paper is how sociologists studying social movements study culture. The argument is simple: As important as content of cultural forms is, the effects of art, music, drama, literature, etc. achieved by social movements depend at least as much on the social relations within which culture is embedded. We need to move beyond attending to the content of art, music, drama, literature, etc. to examine how people relate to each other while doing music, drama, literature, etc. We need to recognize that the social relationship by which one person or group has a monopoly on creativity, which they disperse to audiences, is only one kind of social relationship for culture. The claim here is that many people doing art, doing music, doing drama, doing literature, not just consuming it, is an extraordinarily powerful mode for both solidifying commitment to social movements and for helping them achieve their goals. I will illustrate the argument with a comparison of two social movements that self- consciously used American folk music but with very different results. In contrast to Europe, where the genre of folk music was invented as part of the nationalizing projects of the late nineteenth century (Cohen 2002), folk music in the US was used by left-wing groups. Like recent social movements in France (Waters 2003), social movements in America have used music and other cultural forms to simultaneously express distinctive identity and cultural commonality. The communist-led movement of the 1930s and 1940s developed the most extensive and elaborate cultural infrastructure of any movement in American history, with influence in every aesthetic realm from fine literature to Hollywood (Denning 1996). They successfully catapulted American folk music from an esoteric interest of academics and antiquarians into a genre of popular music. But, they failed to reach their target audience—the working class. One major reason is that they never transcended the conventional social relationship that prevails in western culture, that of performer and audience, even though they were to create a culture of participatory performance. In contrast, the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s is well known as one of the most musical movements in American history. For a brief period at least, music fortified the movement, wielding solidarity among the participants, and, with music that had strikingly thin political content, stirred the public imagination. The more powerful role that music played in the Civil Rights Movement is explained less by the music itself, much of which was inherited from the Old Left, than by the social relationship within which it was done. For the Civil Rights Movement, music was less a matter of a performer singing for an audience than part of the collective action itself. At the lunch counter, on the picket line, on the bus rides, and in jail, they made music collectively. Unless we attend to the social relations in which people are doing culture, we will be unable to explain the different effects that music had for these two movements. Modes of Relationships Between Culture and Social Movements Sociology has conceptualized several ways that social movements relate to culture. 1. Art as a social movement: Sometimes artists organize as artists, musicians as musicians, or writers as writers, not just in pursuit of their own self interests, as when they unionize but toward larger social or political goals. The Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s exemplified this type of movement when such luminaries as Langston Hughes, James Weldon Johnson, W. E. B. DuBois, Louis Armstrong, and Billie Holiday transformed the face of American letters and music (Bell 1975; Floyd 1990). Artists often feel obliged to join 86 Roy together as artists to use their talents on behalf of movements for justice and change. Thus, artists against the war in Iraq have formed an Artist Network that supports the larger anti-war effort. Roussel has investigated the trajectories by which artists become active and cope with conflicting pressures (Roussel 2007). 2. Social movement dynamics in art worlds: Apart from the overt politically engaged artistic projects like the Harlem Renaissance, Howard Becker has pointed out that all art is a collective activity that shares characteristics with social movements. Art worlds coalesce around networks, mobilize resources, selectively defy conventions, wax and wane, much as social movements (Becker 1982; Zolberg and Cherbo 1997). Innovation tends to appear at the margins of art worlds and diffuse in manner of new ideologies. Artists cluster around insurgent schools to challenge orthodoxies, often based in new organizational forms. Thus, impressionism became a major art form when a new distribution system based on critics, dealers, and small exhibitions challenged the Academy system and created a very different art world (White and White 1993). Even when change is initiated by elites, it often takes the form of innovating new organizational forms that diffuse to other locales. In the US, high art and music became differentiated from popular art and music through the institutionalization of the elite- sponsored non-profit corporation. Such organizations as the Boston Museum of Fine Arts or the Boston Symphony Orchestra were able to liberate themselves from dependence on commercial success by relying on elite subsidies, making it possible to sustain refined culture (DiMaggio 1982a, b). The art world that the organizational form enabled then spread to other cities, much as a movement spreads. 3. Cultural analysis of music, literature, and drama in social movement art: By far the most common mode of analysis is cultural analysis of the content of art, music, literature, and drama. Art, music, literature, or drama is treated merely as a vehicle to communicate content, like speeches, newsletters, protest demands, petitions, or interviews. Hermeneutic, semiotic, or interpretative analysis is applied to understand how social movements make meaning or connect to the meaning sets of constituencies. As Swidler describes the cultural role of social movements: “Even without conscious efforts at publicity, one of the most important effects social movements have is publicly enacting images that confound existing cultural codings” (Swidler 1995, p. 33). The model typically underlying the role of culture in social movements is that social movements succeed in reaching goals by adding members: members decide to join and participate on the basis of alignment between their meaning systems and those of the social movement. So a social movement can grow and thus succeed by articulating meanings close to potential constituents or by doing the cultural work of converting potential constituents to their ways of seeing the world. As a close parallel to the way that some religious organizations grow, we might call this the evangelical model of movement building. What becomes sociologically at stake in this perspective is what content of ideas, symbols, ideologies, narratives, and in recent scholarship, frames most effectively converts recruits into apostles. The recruit is assumed to be mainly a culture processor, taking in ideas, symbols, ideologies, narratives and frames, and responding with support, indifference, or hostility on the basis of a pre-existing mental state. The typical event in this process is the culture-driven decision.1 And that culturally driven decision to participate or not is often prior to and analytically divorced from 1 While there is no reason why sociologists could not study iterative processes by which previous cultural work changes social movements or recruits, setting the stage for later culturally informed decisions, this is rarely done. Though see Pedriana and Stryker (1997) for an effective analysis of how discourse at one point in time can influence later discursive interaction. How Social Movements Do Culture 87 the recruits' actual participation in the social movement itself. Though eschewing the autonomous decision-maker of rational choice theory, cultural theory (understood as a system of mental frames) too often substitutes a culturally informed decision-maker. Both assume an autonomous actor soaking up input, digesting it internally, and outputting a decision. Missing is the kind of social relationship within which culture is performed. As important as the content of culture is, the same words, symbols, images, narratives, and frames can have very different effects depending on the qualities of relationship within which it occurs. This is what a relational approach can bring to the table. The relational approach focuses on the qualities of interaction itself. It is the sound of two hands clapping, which can never be reduced to the qualities of each hand separately. For example, equality is a relational quality, irreducible to the amount of goodies held by either party, but found only in the relationship of parties to each other. Equality between two actors can be achieved if both are wealthy or both poor. It depends on the wealth of neither actor as individual but only how they relate to each other. A relational approach to social movements can take at least three forms. The most common is the network approach (Snow et al. 1980; Klandermans and Oegema 1987; Marwell et al. 1988; Gould 1995; Diani and McAdam 2003; Andrews and Biggs 2006). Here, the content of cultural work is refracted through the structure of relationships within which a recruit is embedded. Such factors as the unanimity of influence, the number of people that influence a recruit, the extent to which interaction partners interact with each other all have an effect on how people make decisions. A second relational approach focuses on various enduring qualities of interaction among people. Trust, emotional bonds, and solidarity among people lubricate cultural work making potential recruits more open to influence (Stepan-Norris and Zeitlin 1989; Jasper 1998; Tilly 2005). A third approach, which is emphasized here, focuses on the social dynamics of the interaction as it happens, examining how the nature of what is going on at the time of the interaction affects the consequences of doing culture. For example, the social relationships in a classical music performance are shaped by such factors as the architecture, physical layout, performance practices, norms of audience comportment, and the division of labor among composer, performer, conductor, and audience (Small 1998). Similarly, DeNora (2000) describes how the activities that people do to music shapes not only the meaning of the music but the activities being done, whether solitary listening, aerobics, shopping, making love, or raving. The social relations interact with the sonic qualities to shape the experience, as music affords or lends itself to different ways of experiencing. For the purposes of this paper, we can identify four dimensions of the social relationships within which culture is enacted: 1. The division of labor within which culture is enacted: For western music, labor is divided among composer, performer, listener, and interpreter, though other societies have very different divisions of labor (Feld 1984). Likewise Graffiti, especially when it is part of gang activity, typically is embedded in a very different relationship of artist and audience from conventional art. Some forms of street theater attempt to break down the wall between performer and audience by enticing bystanders to participate in the unfolding drama. When we acknowledge that “Music is not a thing at all but an activity, something that people do” (Cohen 2002, p. 2), the division of labor becomes very important. Western culture distinguishes between composition, performance, distribu- tion, and reception, even when individuals do more than one job. There are of course exceptions. Jazz blurs the line between composition and performance. Congregational singing blurs the line between performance and reception. Other societies do not make these distinctions. Among the Suya of Brazil, there are distinctions between composer, 88 Roy performer, and audience. Music is led by village elders for rituals in which men collectively improvise on known musical themes (Seeger 2004). The division of labor defines the bundle of tasks that people perform when participating in the doing of art or music. Merely viewing or only listening calls for a much lower degree of participation than more active tasks and thus is less involving. This is especially true when the involvement is collective. As Becker argues, all the arts are collective, even those, such as painting or poetry, often considered solitary (Becker 1982). The division of labor in that collective effort and the role that people play in the division of labor is a major factor in the effects that the arts can have, quite apart from their content. 2. Power: Whatever the division of labor among people doing culture, there is variation in the power structure that describes the relative distribution of influence among different actors within art worlds. In classical music, for example, music directors select the repertoire for programs, composers dictate the notes played, conductors shape how the notes are played, and listeners influence trends through their choices of patronage. Similarly, artists, patrons, critics, brokers, and consumers differ in their relative power in different societies and different kinds of art. To some extent, the distribution of power is shaped by the division of labor. Separating the composer from the performer necessarily gives the composer considerable power. The musical score becomes a device by which the composer restricts the power of the performer to shape what is performed. When the performer is separated from the audience, any power the audience might wield is generally negative, their choices a selective mechanism that can reinforce some composers, pieces, and performers over others. The operation of power in social movements is important for the role of art not only in terms of the content, but also the form. Centralized movements make decisions about culture at the top, tending to adopt forms that maintain control. Leaders in centralized movements generally prefer to control the messages of cultural production and thus to prefer forms in which messages can be monitored. Decentralized movements allow a greater proliferation of message and permit forms of music in which the collective experience is more important than the message. 3. Tuning in: Schütz (1964) has described how music has the ability to synchronize people's consciousness into a sense of sharing that transcends the meaning it might have for any solitary listener. McNeill has argued that the synchronization of drilling, chanting, and singing fortifies collective efforts, including war (McNeill 1995). While auditory media like music, poetry, and chanting have obvious qualities of tuning in because they are set in time, visual arts also vary in the extent to which people experience them collectively or individually. For example, Chicano activists have self- consciously created murals as group projects to foster solidarity (Reed 2005). Many accounts have described how the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the late 1960s was fanned by the crowds which gathered around poster walls. Schütz describes tuning in as a synchronization of inner time, “the experience of ‘We,’ which is at the foundation of all communication” (Schütz 1964, p. 173). It can take the form of mutual gaze, conversation, ritual participation, or music. This is a variable concept, not a dichotomy; there can be shallow or deep tuning in that can foster trivial or consequential bonds. Singing a duet together bonds more tightly than hearing canned music in a store. For social movements, joining arms and singing creates more solidarity, more a sense of “We” than attending a concert together, no matter how effective the performance, just as congregational singing is more likely to foster devotion than a choral anthem. Tuning in is one of the major mechanisms by which the content of artistic expression affects recruitment and commitment. The impact of a message depends not only on whether How Social Movements Do Culture 89 it resonates with a receiver's values and world view, but also on the circumstances under which it is communicated, especially the presence of others. Messages are more likely to have impact when the sender and receiver are tuned in through what Schütz calls precommunicative interaction, by which he means intercourse that precedes communication through mutual orientation toward each other. It is the social achievement by which people are on the same page, by which they can react when interacted with. Music is one of the strongest means for tuning in, especially making music together (Schütz 1964; McNeill 1995; Frith 1996). To persuade, messages must be consistent with receivers' prior values and world view. But, they are much more powerful when refracted through tuning in. It is tuning in that gives music, not just lyrics, its power. This is why states have national anthems, religions have hymns, and social movements have protest songs. 4. Embeddedness: Western society is distinctive in the extent to which it has framed culture as putatively pure form, denigrating art, music, literature, and drama that is supposedly compromised by “using” culture for non-artistic purposes. Culture is considered most aesthetic when it is the most pure and aesthetically compromised when it is intended for political, commercial, or other instrumental purposes. Comparative and historical studies have shown the peculiarity of the quest for pure culture. Other societies embed the arts in a variety of social forms—religion, work, political ritual, family, etc. (Lomax 1962; Small 1998; Feld 1984; Seeger 2004; Bohlman 1999; Gioia 2006; Taylor 2007). Similarly, historians and other scholars have documented how the conception of pure art or music autonomous from “society” is itself a historical development that emerged from a set of very particular circumstances. The exaltation of “pure” art as a separate sphere of action is an achievement to be explained more than it is an immanent aesthetic to automatically be defended against encroachment by society (Zolberg 1990; DeNora 1995; Citron 2000; Weber 1999). Social scientists are moving beyond the simple issue of whether “pure” culture is possible to investigate the relation between cultural and other social relations by studying what people are doing when they do culture. This is not a question of motivation or intention. Even when people understand themselves as doing pure culture, they are doing other things. Small, for example, has ethnographically described how the classical music concert is a site of displaying and reproducing middle class respectability (1998). Other studies more explicitly have investigated the relationship between cultural objects and religion, politics, sports, relaxing, making love, education, and of course social movements. While many of these studies focus on the content, others have analyzed how the culture is embedded in social relations (Zolberg 1990; Reed 2005; Berezin 1994; Du Gay 1997; Leblanc 1999; DeNora 2002; Martin 2004; Ikegami 2005; Rosenthal and Flacks 2009). Analyzing the embeddedness of culture means suspending the distinction between pure and pragmatic culture or between aesthetic and social dimensions to focus on what people are doing when they are doing culture. Music as Propaganda Versus Music in Collective Action The use of music by the Communist-inspired Left of the 1930s and 40s, often called the People's Songsters, and by the American Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s offers a vivid contrast of the social relationships within which culture can be done. Both adopted American folk music as an explicit cultural project but embedded it in very different types of social relationships with very different effects. The Old Left used music as a weapon of 90 Roy propaganda, establishing a formidable cultural infrastructure to expound the ideology they wanted the working class to embrace. While they succeeded in introducing the genre of folk music to American popular music, they failed to reach across the social boundaries they hoped folk music would bridge. In contrast, the Civil Rights Movement used music within collective action itself, singing freedom songs as they gathered, marched, rode busses, and endured jail. Abandoning conventional distinctions between performer and audience, content and form, with relative nonchalance about the political content of their music, their music helped bridge one of the most intractable social boundaries of American society, that of race. Although the American Communist Party in the first half of the twentieth century is best known for heavy-handed political economy and a strongly materialist version of Marxist– Leninism, as the leading force in the American left during the 1930s and 1940s, it developed an elaborate cultural infrastructure that touched on all media of cultural expression (Denning 1996.) Many of America's most respected literary figures such as Langston Hughes, John Dos Passos, Malcolm Cowley, and Richard Wright were active in the left and belonged to organizations affiliated with the party. Other party organizations produced drama, art, and criticism on a large scale. Beginning in the 1920s, politically engaged musicians established foreign language choruses for workers and a Composers' League that included such distinguished contributors as Marc Blitzstein, Aaron Copeland, Charles Seeger, and the recently immigrated Hanns Eisler. After discovering that politically motivated modern classical music did not appeal to workers, largely at the instigation of Charles Seeger, they took on American folk music as “the people's music.” Folk music was more appealing than other vernacular genres for several reasons. Popular commercial music reeked of bourgeois culture; country music and blues were associated with particular groups, namely rural whites and rural blacks, and most important, “the folk” could be thought of as “the people.” As one of the few politically engaged predominantly white organizations that self-consciously reached out to African Americans, the people's song movement explicitly defined folk music to include black and white music. For the rest of the paper, I want to contrast how the Communist-inspired movement of the 1930s and 1940s and the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s each used music. The social relations within which culture was enacted helps explain the differential effect that the People's Songsters had on the movement and the broader society, why they succeeded more at making folk music a well known form of popular music than bringing together the broad range of people included in the “folk” and why the Civil Rights Movement was able to forge a racially diverse movement that served as a model for subsequent movements to emulate. I will organize the discussion around the four dimensions of social relationships within which culture is enacted, as discussed above. Some of the contrasts are over-drawn here for reasons of brevity. 1. The division of labor within which culture is enacted: The People's Songsters movement adopted the conventional composer/performer/audience model, while the Civil Rights Movement assumed a song-leader/group model. Although the earliest communist-inspired music was found in popular choruses, mostly non-English, the composers, song collectors, and performers who promoted folk music in the 1930s and 1940s tended to fall back into a performance mode. Music was taken to the people in union meetings, urban coffee houses, night clubs, concerts both large and small, and rent parties needed to pay the rent of movement musicians. To be sure, they did not foster conventional quiescence of classical music concerts. One of the reasons they embraced folk music was so that audiences could participate. The best-known leftist singing group of that period, the Almanacs, was self-consciously participatory. The How Social Movements Do Culture 91 group's bass, Lee Hays, had come from the folk-music-rich Appalachian region where he honed the skills of song leading. He found an enthusiastic ally in the movement's most visible advocate, Pete Seeger. The Almanac singers intentionally refrained from becoming too professional, even to the point of abstaining from rehearsals and allowing participants of modest talent to participate. Prior to that time, American folk music had been known mainly to academics and antiquarians. The “folk” in rural America who did the music that the academics labeled folk music did not understand their music to be folk music and did not make any distinction between inherited songs learned orally and commercial music learned from sheet music or the newly available radios many of them owned. Music that the academics labeled folk music was occasionally introduced to urban dwellers by rural musicians packaged as quaint, urban interpreters such as poet Carl Sandburg or concert versions performed in classical style. It was almost always performed by individuals or occasionally by duos. The leftist movement invented the urban folk singing ensemble with groups such as the Almanacs and the commercially successful Weavers, typically quartets with accompanying guitar, banjo, string bass, and sometimes, a mandolin. It was hoped that the ensemble format would encourage the audience to sing along, to make a concert a participatory experience. They even invented a new concert format, the hootenanny, an occasion where a variety of musicians could perform, with audience participation highly encouraged. But, they failed to foster the singing movement they had hoped for. Even though activists wholeheartedly embraced the music and energetically participated in musical activities, the broader movement, especially the unions, did not become a musical union. Some movements produced songbooks, and some union meetings invited the Almanacs or other performers to perform, but music-making was more performative than participatory. The main problem was that the social roots of the music promoters conflicted with that of the workers. “Folk music” almost always refers to someone else's music. The people who indigenously do the music do not call it folk music, and those who do call it folk music are rarely very folk-like. “Folk music” typically refers to rural, agrarian, unlettered, unrefined music that is embraced by urban, educated, sophisticated observers. The activists who adopted folk music as the music of the people were mostly college educated, either white Anglo-Saxon Protestants or second generation European Jewish immigrants sincerely motivated to reach across the cultural divide. However, the working class, mostly white, often upwardly mobile workers were unresponsive. Their music was more likely to be the popular commercial music of Benny Goodman than the politically charged folk music of the Almanacs. As Almanac lead singer Pete Seeger recalled, “We were convinced that the revival of interest in folk music would come through the trade unions... How our theories went astray! Most union leaders could not see any connection between music and pork chops” (Seeger 1992, p. 26). It was not just a matter of culture vs material interests. After a union performance in which the Almanacs dressed casually in order to connect more easily to the workers, the union members were offended at the lack of respect. They attended union meetings in coats and ties and expected performers to look their best. The conventional composer/performer/audience division of labor was also reinforced by the organizational infrastructure developed by party members and sympathizers. The Communist Party from its earliest days self-consciously used culture as a weapon in the class struggle, creating art, literature, and music for, about, and sometimes, by the working class. In doing so, its creative practitioners also created culture by and for themselves, many of whom were not working class. Beginning in the 1920s, they were especially active in literature, reflecting the high culture orientation of many participants. “John Reed Clubs” 92 Roy named after the renowned communist journalist who emigrated to the Soviet Union, were created in many cities. The organizational infrastructure of left-wing folk music reached its peak after World War II, when the Communist Party was bearing up under assault from McCarthyism and expulsion from labor unions. At no point before or since has the organized left had such a significant presence in the musical culture of the nation. People's Songs, Inc. (PSI) drew together progressive musicians from the party fringes, New Deal activists, unions, and college campuses. By publishing books and magazines, sponsoring events, creating forums for interaction, and linking to other producers and distributors of left-wing music, they gave folk music a greater presence both in the media and movement at large. While American folk music had been given a radical tinge during the era of the Popular Front and the Almanacs, it was indelibly stamped as pink in the PSI era. Its musicians included many who are now considered folk legends—its inspirational leader, Pete Seeger, its icon of African American heritage, Huddie Ledbetter, its conscience of authenticity Woody Guthrie, and its storehouse of talent including Josh White, Brownie McGhee, Burl Ives, Tom Glazer, and Oscar Brand. The division of labor in making music for the Civil Rights Movement dissolved the distinction between composer, performer, and audience. Meetings were modeled after the template of the black church where members were accustomed to congregational singing. While some major events such as the celebrated 1963 March on Washington followed a conventional performer/audience model, most of the collective action events in the movement had no single presider. Sit-ins, picketing, bus riding, marching, and the like involved organized crowds. So, the primary division of labor in the music was the leader and group, a well-known relationship in black communities, one that was further refined during the course of the movement. The Highlander School in Monteagle, Tennessee, a crucial training ground for movement activists, had regular workshops to train song leaders, share songs, and integrate music into the collective action. Many SNCC (Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee) and CORE organizers in small towns were trained song leaders and many SCLC activists were ministers. 2. Power: The vanguard strategy of the Old Left manifested itself in a hierarchical party structure, contrasted with the leadership and empowerment orientation by which the Civil Rights Movement did culture. Though the artists and musicians associated with the party exercised considerable autonomy from the formal hierarchy overseen by the Cultural Division, the party did authorize the broad parameters of cultural form and content. Most importantly, the party inculcated in them the use of culture as a propaganda weapon (Lieberman 1995). A vanguard is a group that takes responsibility for educating masses. Under party guidance, culture is a means to communicate its understanding of truth. So, the Almanac Singers, who were hardly Party stalwarts, reversed their earlier anti-war lyrics after Hitler invaded the Soviet Union, parroting the party's fresh pro-Roosevelt belligerency. As educated urbanites, the institutional form they knew to achieve anything was to form an organization, elect officers, develop a program of activities, put out a newsletter, forge links with other organizations, and mobilize a constituency. With the Communist party as the major leftist organization in the country during the 1930s, even those not initially affiliated would gravitate in that direction. When People's Songs, Inc. was established after World War II, they found an office in a building with other party-related organizations, hired a young party member as executive director, issued a newsletter containing tips on how to run a hootenanny along with politically engaged songs, and worked to find venues for radical performers. It was not top down in the sense of fealty to the party, which was at best indifferent to How Social Movements Do Culture 93 their activities.2 But, it was hierarchical in the sense that they assumed that the goal of the movement was to take their message to the less enlightened masses through the strategy of national organizations headquartered in the nation's cultural capital, New York City. In contrast, the Civil Rights Movement was always highly decentralized, both organizationally and culturally. Song leaders were accountable only to other organizers. They were trained at transitory events such as workshops at the Highlander School and communicated with each other through mimeographed song books and gatherings at demonstrations. Thus, the music could more easily serve to create solidarity among people than having to carry a message from a central leadership. Song leaders were either paid organizers, who may have come from outside the community but who were socially similar to community members, or community leaders, especially ministers and teachers. Community meetings were run like church services, which for African American southerners meant extensive congregational singing. Some of the songs, such as the movement's anthem “We Shall Overcome,” were converted hymns, while others were stylistically similar to hymns. Many of the songs were so-called “Zipper songs” that could be easily adapted for any situation and which allowed participants to make up verses on the spot. They would typically have a single line repeated several times, followed by a chorus. “Oh Freedom” for example, had several verses made up by demonstrators in Albany, Georgia, including “No more jail house...” and to defy the local sheriff, “No more Pritchett...” each verse ending in “And before I’ll be a slave, I’ll be buried in my grave, And go home to my Lord and be free” (Carawan and Carawan 1963). 3. Tuning in. Music always involves some sort of tuning in (Schütz 1964). And virtually all social movements that use music are attentive to its ability to create solidarity as well as carry a message (Eyerman and Jamison 1998). But, the social relations within which music is enacted affect the ways in which people are connected to each other and thus what is political about the culture. For the Old Left, politics was first and foremost in the lyrics. So tuning in took the form of frame alignment (Snow et al. 1986; Gamson et al. 1992; Benford and Snow 2000; Johnston and Noakes 2005). People were considered close to each other to the extent that they were “on the same page.” Cultural activities were considered successful when they raised people's consciousness. To extend the metaphor of tuning in, resonance was defined in terms of political agreement. In contrast, for the Civil Rights Movement, tuning in was based more on common participation in making music. They were able to achieve what the Old Left had aspired to, creating a singing movement. SNCC organizer Charles Sherrod has described how when he first arrived in Albany, Georgia, people had learned to sing “We Shall Overcome” from seeing it on television, but that it was stiff and passive. So, he taught them how to join arms, sway, and harmonize, binding the participants into a collectivity (Reagon 1975). 4. Embeddedness: Music for the Old Left was embedded in a political party aspiring to change people's consciousness. Their music was overtly political, which in western society creates a tension with aesthetic standards of “pure” culture. When activists became performers, they thus distinguished between their political songs and their popular songs, as the Almanac Singers did when they intentionally balanced their repertoire with political and folk songs (Lieberman 1995). When they tried to embed music in other forms, such as unions, they found little success. They did find a ready 2 Interview with Irwin Silber and Barbara Dane, Oakland-California, 2001. 94 Roy audience when they performed for Progressive candidate Henry Wallace in the 1948 presidential campaign, although the effort bankrupted the sponsoring organization, People's Songs, Inc. For the Civil Rights Movement, the music was embedded in the collective action itself, in meetings, picketing, riding on busses, sitting in, and passing the time in jail. These were activities in which a crowd of people, often confronted with hostile authorities, engaged in drawn out activity that required tight coordination and communal movement. Their repertoire of collective action was ideal for making music together. And music was the ideal medium for reinforcing and empowering these forms of collective action. Tellingly, when the movement abandoned non-violent civil disobedience and its related repertoire of collective action, they also abandoned music in the movement and, like the Old Left before them, embraced music for its content. Conclusions and the Future of Music in American Social Movements Both the Old Left and the Civil Rights Movement were musically successful on their own terms. American folk music developed from a category comprehensible mainly to academics and antiquarians into a mainstream genre. People associated with the folk music project of the 1930s and 1940s created a set of musical codes and a canon of songs that erupted in the 1960s with a new revival. And American folk music, even when divorced from activism, would carry a leftist overtone. The Civil Rights Movement not only ended de jure segregation, its number one goal, but also has offered the template of collective action for all sorts of rights-based movements since then, even those on the right. The lessons can be extended beyond music. The social relations within which social movement culture is enacted are shaped by both cultural medium and the designs of the activists. For the women's movement of the 1970s, poetry was a major activity in consciousness-raising groups, both its writing and reading. It was a medium for women to articulate problems they had intuitively felt but for which they lacked a language. Women used poetry as a means to communicate with other women in their consciousness-raising group and to collectively connect the personal to the political (Reed 2005). Both music and poetry have a strong metric component, a pre-cognitive tuning in that transcends the literal meaning of the words. By the social process, they were also making the personal collective, taking a medium usually assumed to be the epitome of personal expression and individuality and using it to both capture and deepen the consciousness of a group. Similarly, the Chicano collective creation of murals collectivizes what is usually considered an individualistic medium. Though there is a division of labor between production and consumption of murals, the producers remain part of the public whose space is transformed by the mural. Thus, examining the social processes by which people do culture can deepen our understanding of how social movements operate. Recent work, such as Polletta's path- breaking analysis of participatory democracy in movement organizations, has focused on the internal dynamics of how social movement operate, shifting attention away from the perennial issue of why people join. We can move beyond the evangelical model of social movements to see what explains the internal social relationships with movements and how those social relations help shape the broader effects that social movements have on society. The social relations of culture—the division of labor within which culture is enacted, the power dynamics among those doing culture, the way that culture tunes in people involved in culture, and the activities within which culture is enacted—transcend cultural content. The social relations explain the effects of culture on social movement dynamics and How Social Movements Do Culture 95 consequences in a way that analyzing the content of culture inevitably misses. In this paper, music illustrates a general principle that applies similarly to art, drama, poetry, and other aesthetic endeavors. The conditions for social movements to deeply embed music in their collective action like the Civil Rights Movement are today not propitious. First, most constituents have grown up relating to music almost solely as mass media. Even Christian churches include more performative music and less congregational singing. Children reaching maturity today have had fewer opportunities to participate in music-making than previous generations as schools have cut back on all arts. Thus, music is increasingly something you buy more than something you can imagine participating in. Secondly, it is unlikely that any culturally coherent group will have the cultural authority to shape any movement's culture independent of the mass media in the way that blacks did in the Civil Rights movement. Beyond the critical core who grew up singing in churches, participants from other cultural backgrounds entered a movement in which the culture of the black church and the black colleges presented a template respected by all. Only ethnically based groups today have a culturally homogeneous leadership that offers a model for doing culture. Third, there is virtually no cultural infrastructure in current movements—no unifying party such as the communists had, no national organizations like People's Songs, Inc., no record companies like Folkways. Finally, collective action itself has lost the tradition of doing music. In marches, chants have replaced songs. Demonstrations only occasionally have music, almost always as performance without participation. The songs of an earlier generation are considered old fashioned, and none have taken their place. The web itself can be the institutional basis of new movements if they can be thoroughly integrated into other aspects of life in the same sense that black churches and black colleges were integrated into the lives of many Civil Rights activists. Yet, there are glimmers of change. New electronic technologies allow music to be made more easily than ever before. All but the very poor and uneducated have the hardware to make music and the means to distribute it broadly. The potential that the web offers for decentralized movements in general equally applies to music and other culture. Especially if we broaden the making of music beyond singing and playing an instrument to include mixing, synthesizing, and sampling, there are new opportunities for movements to do music. Finally, both of these movements can offer inspiration for activists of the future. 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Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 98 Roy How Social Movements Do Culture Abstract Modes of Relationships Between Culture and Social Movements Music as Propaganda Versus Music in Collective Action Conclusions and the Future of Music in American Social Movements References << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /None /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Gray Gamma 2.2) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (ISO Coated v2 300% \050ECI\051) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Error /CompatibilityLevel 1.3 /CompressObjects /Off /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJDFFile false /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Perceptual /DetectBlends true /DetectCurves 0.0000 /ColorConversionStrategy /sRGB /DoThumbnails true /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedOpenType false /ParseICCProfilesInComments true /EmbedJobOptions true /DSCReportingLevel 0 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work_ojzorm7dy5c3bjn6ylxdiyszby	----	ORX1300010 584..592 Tools for thinking applied to nature: an inclusive pedagogical framework for environmental education M E R E D I T H R O O T - B E R N S T E I N , M I C H E L E R O O T - B E R N S T E I N and R O B E R T R O O T - B E R N S T E I N Abstract An effective educational framework is necessary to develop the engagement of children and adults with nature. Here we show how the tools for thinking framework can be applied to this end. The tools comprise 13 sensory- based cognitive skills that form the basis for formalized expressions of knowledge and understanding in the sciences and arts. These skills are explicitly taught in some curricula. We review evidence of specific tools for thinking in the self-reported thinking processes and influential childhood experiences of prominent biologists, conservationists and naturalists. Tools such as imaging, abstracting, pattern rec- ognition, dimensional thinking, empathizing, modelling and synthesizing play key roles in practical ecology, biogeo- graphy and animal behaviour studies and in environmental education. Ethnographic evidence shows that people engage with nature by using many of the same tools for thinking. These tools can be applied in conservation education programmes at all levels by actively emphasizing the role of the tools in developing understanding, and using them to design effective educational initiatives and assess existing environmental education. Keywords Biophilia, empathy, environmental education, Gerald Durrell, John Muir, naturalists, Robert MacArthur, tools for thinking Introduction Improving conservation education and fostering attach-ment to nature are considered essential to prepare future generations of conservation biologists and facilitate positive outcomes for conservation initiatives (Noss, 1997; Orr, 1999; Ewert et al., 2005). Simply placing children in natural settings for play or for study is not enough to foster biophilia (Turner, 2003; Louv, 2008). Developing engagement with nature requires an educational framework. One proposal is to use the naturalistic intelligence defined in Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences (Gardner, 1999) to guide conservation education in schools and outreach programmes (Jacobson et al., 2006; Hayes, 2009). This type of intelligence is identified as a cognitive capacity typical of naturalists and those who excel in the study of nature. Gardner’s multiple intelligences have been characterized in a strong form as innate (thus largely unteachable), dedi- cated, computational capacities existing in discrete mental silos and characterized by a unique developmental style and a specialized language (Gardner, 1983), and in a weak form as clusters of competences that exist on a gradient and coalesce into culturally valued forms of learning and ex- pression (Gardner, 1999). This theory is most often used to justify teaching in multiple formal languages (e.g. verbal, mathematical, dance) to reach multiple intelligences. We disagree with multiple intelligence theory on several grounds and propose alternative educational recommenda- tions. Here we present a universal, targeted and inter- disciplinary approach to conservation education. We propose that conservation education should be centred on teachable and learnable cognitive skills that are accessible to everyone. We believe that those who appreciate and study nature share a common set of tools for thinking with everyone else (Root-Bernstein & Root-Bernstein, 1999) and that by stimulating and practising these skills everyone has the potential to develop an improved understanding of and appreciation for nature. Analysing what hundreds of scientists, artists and inventors have reported about their own thinking processes we have identified 13 cognitive skills or tools common to creative problem-solving endeav- ours across disciplines (Table 1; Root-Bernstein & Root- Bernstein, 1999). Used serially or in an integrated manner, clustered according to task and talent, these tools reflect intuitive ways of thinking that yield formal understanding through sensual experience, emotional feeling and intellec- tual knowledge. Their exercise largely precedes the rational articulation of knowledge in words, numbers or artistic or other disciplinary expressions. One core difference between tools for thinking and multiple intelligences is thus that we put pedagogical emphasis on mode of cognition rather than mode of expression. Teaching in multiple formal languages MEREDITH ROOT-BERNSTEIN* Department of Ecology, Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, Santiago, Chile MICHELE ROOT-BERNSTEIN Department of Theatre, Michigan State University, East Lansing, USA ROBERT ROOT-BERNSTEIN (Corresponding author) Department of Physiology, Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI, 48824, USA. E-mail rootbern@ msu.edu *Also at: School of Geography and the Environment, Oxford University, South Parks Road, Oxford, UK Received 21 August 2012. Revision requested 28 November 2012. Accepted 9 January 2013. First published online 13 March 2014. © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 48(4), 584–592 doi:10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core is not on its own an adequate educational strategy because (as polymaths adept in multiple disciplines can demon- strate) formal expressions are interchangeable, translatable products whose forms are dictated by disciplinary norms, not the origins or bases of ways of learning and thinking. The tools for thinking are trainable and their practised, conscious use improves analytical and creative thought through learning how and when each tool can be applied to a given problem or situation. This is a second core difference between tools for thinking and multiple intelligences; train- ing people to concentrate on a cluster of competences is contrary to the evidence that successful practitioners in any field learn to use many or all of the tools for thinking. Teaching should thus focus on training everyone to use each of the tools. However, systematic training in the use of specific tools has often been clustered in particular domains despite being applicable to a range of multidisciplinary activities (Table 2; Root-Bernstein, 1991; Root-Bernstein & Root-Bernstein, 1999). One of our key arguments is that making the tools for thinking explicit in science-based and avocational conser- vation activities will improve performance in relevant thinking, feeling and problem-solving. This claim takes a position within the complex field involving consciousness, introspection and knowledge. Previously researchers be- lieved that it was impossible for introspection to produce accurate reports of cognitive processes but this view has been critiqued and problematized (White, 1988). There are many different aspects of a cognitive process (e.g. rules, intermediate outputs, causal explanations) and many forms in which they can be reported (White, 1988). People appear to have little or no introspective insight into psychological processes underlying perception (e.g. illusions), motor learning (i.e. acquiring muscular patterns), attitudes or TABLE 1 Descriptions of the 13 tools for thinking, with examples of their application in conservation. Tools are listed in order of potential development, from basic to complex. For source material see Root-Bernstein & Root-Bernstein (1999). Tool Description Examples in conservation science or outreach Observing Honing all the senses to perceive acutely Finding signs of animal activity in a habitat; recognizing a new species Imaging Creating mental images using any or all senses Imagining a plant, insect or bird species from its description in a guide; imagining biogeochemical cycles Abstracting Eliminating all but the essential characteristics of a complex thing Selecting functional traits in functional trait ecology; focusing on carbon in REDD+ payment for ecosystem service programmes Recognizing patterns Perceiving similarities in structures or properties of different things Investigating diversity–latitude & diversity–altitude relationships; studying El Niño/La Niña cycle effects Forming patterns Creating or discovering new ways to organize things Making taxonomies & phylogenies; developing data-sharing structures; developing selection guidelines for flagship species Analogizing Discovering functional similarities between structurally different things Studying the common ecological roles of top predators & megafauna; proposing fire as a herbivore Body thinking Reasoning with muscles, muscle memory, gut feelings & emotional states Engaging in charisma-generating interactions with other species, such as swimming with dolphins; designing structures such as bridges or barriers to affect movements of wild animals Empathizing ‘Becoming the thing’ one studies, be it animate or inanimate Raising or living with wild animals to understand species- specific behaviours; analysing what selfish genes ‘want’ Dimensional thinking Translating between two & three (or more) dimensions (e.g. between a blueprint & an invention); scaling up or down; altering perceptions of space & time Putting space & scale into ecological models; communicating the possible effects of climate change Modelling Creating a simplified or miniaturized analogue of a complex thing to test or modify its properties Creating a model habitat in a shoebox; graphical, mathematical & simulation models of ecological processes Playing Undertaking a goalless activity for fun, incidentally developing skill, knowledge & intuition Playing outdoors; catching insects or collecting flowers as an amateur; amateur nature photography; doing a low- investment, high-risk exploratory study Transforming Using any or all tools for thinking in a serial or integrated manner Observing biodiversity at a field site; hypothesizing an expected pattern; searching for the pattern; abstracting the key parameters controlling the observed pattern; building a graphical model based on the abstracted parameters; scaling the model up to derive global implications Synthesizing Knowing in multiple ways simultaneously: bodily, intuitively & subjectively as well as mentally, explicitly & objectively Studying invasive species in a restoration ecology context; developing a long-term relationship with a local habitat, park or study site Tools for thinking in conservation 585 © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core self-esteem (Wilson & Dunn, 2004). By contrast, introspec- tion can provide accurate reports of cognitive working memory (Baars & Franklin, 2003) and, as such, is inter- preted as indicating the development of conscious knowl- edge (Baars & Franklin, 2003). A common definition of conscious knowledge is knowledge whose use can be controlled (Jacoby, 1991). Knowledge may be unconscious when its representations are of too poor quality to support control, while still affecting performance (Cleeremans & Jiménez, 2002). There is evidence that control, and hence consciousness, of different aspects of knowledge exists on a gradient and that as learning progresses, knowledge can come under greater control (Fu et al., 2007). Subjects who progress from unconscious to conscious knowledge during a learning task are able to use the knowledge strategically (Haider et al., 2011). When conscious knowledge is manipulated by intentional instruction, significant quali- tative and quantitative improvements in performance are observed (Haider et al., 2011). Thus we argue that intro- spection by talented practitioners (who have developed high levels of control) is a valid tool for generating reports about cognitive processes using the tools for thinking. Explicit teaching and thinking with the tools is then expected to improve their control and strategic use by students and consequently improve measures of performance. Here we make a case for the central role of tools for thinking in conservation-related research and nature appreciation, using qualitative research methods. We present examples from memoirs and other writings by and about naturalists, conservationists, ecologists and biologists. We also draw on ethnographic studies of the public’s engagement with nature. The focus on thinking tools offers a novel approach to understanding that engage- ment. It also facilitates pedagogical replication of critical processes of that engagement, with implications for conservation education in the classroom and in the public arena. The role of childhood experience Childhood exposure to nature can be a defining experience (Louv, 2008). The naturalist Gerald Durrell, founder of the first conservation-oriented zoo, published two memoirs about his childhood on the Greek island of Corfu, where he learned to train his eyes and body to observe nature (Durrell, 1956). The ethologist and artist Desmond Morris spent his childhood similarly. He described the experience of observing samples of pond water through a microscope: ‘I felt I was entering a secret kingdom, where flagella undulated, cilia beat, cells divided, antennae twitched, and tiny organs pulsated. I spent so much time with my head bowed over the eyepiece of this magical instrument, and became so engrossed TABLE 2 Examples of areas of learning where explicit training in the tools for thinking is provided. Tool Areas where currently trained explicitly References Observing Nature appreciation Scientific training Checkovich & Sterling (2001) NSF (2000), Dvornich et al. (2011) Imaging Reading comprehension Engineering Chemistry Surgery Spatial reasoning Borduin et al. (1994) Alias et al. (2002) Drummond & Selvaratnam (2009) Sorby (2009) Beermann et al. (2010), Stieff (2011) Abstracting Computer science Mathematical modelling Root-Bernstein (1991) Bennedsen & Caspersen (2008) Pattern forming and pattern recognition Mathematical reasoning Silvia (1977), Burton (1982), Pasnak et al. (1987) Analogizing Scientific training Glynn (1991), Harrison & Treagust (1994), Coll et al. (2005) Body thinking Sciences Druyan (1997), Root-Bernstein & Root-Bernstein (2005), Robson (2011) Empathizing Medicine Animal welfare outreach Ascione (1997) Mariti et al. (2011), Riess et al. (2012) Dimensional thinking Geology Chemistry Kastens & Ishikawa (2006) Stieff (2011) Modelling Ecology Other sciences Welden (1999) Ewing et al. (2003), Musante (2006) Transforming Uses of graphs Thought experiments Colburn (2009) Galili (2009) All or most Kindergarten through PhD curricula Hawaii Arts Alliance (accessed 2012), Mishra et al. (2011), Mishra et al. (2012), Kellam et al. (2013) 586 M. Root-Bernstein et al. © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core with what I saw, that I would cheerfully have dived down the tube of the microscope.. .’ (Morris, 1979, p. 15). For Morris this was the first experience of an imaginative skill he later found critical to his work as a zoologist and artist (Morris, 1979; Root-Bernstein, 2005). The lepidopter- ist and novelist Vladimir Nabokov also combined artistic and scientific response to nature. He described his numerous childhood hunts for new specimens as synaes- thetic (multi-sensorial) experiences. His success in finding butterflies of which he had only read verbal descriptions (Nabokov, 1947) implies a well-developed ability to recall what he had seen at first- or second-hand or to imagine what the unseen species might look like. It also suggests an ability to form patterns, to organize phenomena in systematic ways, to recognize gaps in that organization and conjecture the existence of new phenomena, all skills that would have served him well at the Museum of Comparative Zoology at Harvard University, where he made contributions to butterfly taxonomy (Lumenello, 2005). Aware of the childhood foundation for his cognitive skills, Nabokov advised adults never to hurry children absorbed in play (Nabokov, 1947). The maturation of engagement and practice The skilled analytical activities of biologists, such as decomposition of complex systems into functional parts or hypothesizing causal pathways, can all be reduced to constituent tools for thinking: analysis of complex systems is a combination of abstracting and patterning; hypothesizing causal pathways is a combination of patterning, analogizing and modelling. Here we review examples of how tools for thinking have contributed to the research or outreach of naturalists, biologists and conservationists. Observing the natural environment leads to pattern recognition and formation, both of which are critical to teasing out ecological or biological structures and their functions. The 19th century philosopher and naturalist Henry David Thoreau recorded in prose and sketches the details of what he saw, heard, smelled, touched and tasted during his walks (Thoreau, 2009). He also returned repeatedly to the question of how new oak forests were formed. After observing a squirrel burying a nut, he imagined the large-scale pattern that would emerge from repetition: ‘This, then, is the way forests are planted.. .If the squirrel is killed, or neglects its deposit, a hickory springs up’ (Thoreau, 2009, pp. 454–455). Similarly, through the selection of key images, the biologist and writer Rachel Carson revealed ecological functions and patterns, with their particular rhythms over time and space. She supplemented her observations of ocean life by imaging deep-sea scenes and processes that she could not witness (Lear, 2007). Biogeography began with the search for repeating patterns in community composition over space, and has developed increasingly sophisticated tools, concepts and models of pattern-forming (Lomolino et al., 2004). Current advances in ecology and biogeography are indebted to dimensional thinking, focusing on the influence of space on biological processes and exploring scale-dependence in space and time (Levin, 1992; Whittaker et al., 2005). The naturalist E.O. Wilson describes how dimensional thinking granted him insight into how to conduct his experimental studies of island biogeography: ‘To an ant or spider one-millionth the size of a deer, a single tree is like a whole forest. The lifetime of such a creature can be spent in a microterritory the size of a dinner plate. Once I revised my scale of vision downward in this way I realized that there are thousands of such miniature islands in the United States, sprinkled along the coasts as well as inland in the midst of lakes and streams’ (Wilson, 1994, p. 262). By contrast, many advances in animal behaviour research and outreach have occurred as a result of empathy. Jane Goodall wrote that ‘intuitive interpretations [of chimpanzee behaviour], which may be based on an understanding stemming directly from empathy with the subject, can be tested afterward against the facts set out in the data’ (Goodall, 1986). Combining empathizing with the kinaes- thetic enactments of body thinking and playing, Konrad Lorenz would crouch and waddle like a goose to raise and study his goslings, or speak to birds using their own calls (Lorenz, 1952). By these and similar means he was able to observe many species-specific behaviours, including im- printing and courtship (Lorenz, 1952; Burkhardt, 2005). The neuroendocrinologist Robert Sapolsky also expressed a strong identification with the animals he studied: ‘I joined the baboon troop during my twenty-first year. I had never planned to become a savannah baboon when I grew up, instead, I had always assumed I would become a mountain gorilla’ (Sapolsky, 2001, p.1). Sapolsky’s empathy and judicious anthropomorphism allowed him to develop a functional comparison between baboon personalities and society and human personalities and society. That extended analogy had clear scientific outcomes in his discoveries linking stress physiology, personality differences and the dominance hierarchy (Sapolsky, 2001). Although its validity as a research tool is debated, anthropomorphization can be helpful for engaging the public empathetically with other species and promoting conservation (Root-Bernstein et al., 2013). Tools for thinking are usually used in clusters, according to problem-solving needs. The mathematical ecologist Robert MacArthur, who founded several subfields in ecology, had a passion for observing, abstracting, pattern recognition, and imaging or visualizing his models as memorable and elegant graphs (Pianka & Horn, 2005). Tools for thinking in conservation 587 © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core Observed data had first to be abstracted or simplified into generalizations. He then patterned generalizations in new ways to draw out new implications. He believed that the best science ‘comes from the creation of de novo and heuristic classification of natural phenomena’ (Wilson & Hutchinson, 1989). He further excelled at the translation of derived patterns into the formalisms of mathematics and mathematical models, using mathematics to communicate ideas developed with multiple tools for thinking. Accomplished biologists and naturalists demonstrate a capacity to use multiple tools for thinking, to transform or move serially from one to another and to use them simultaneously and synthetically. The naturalist and con- servationist John Muir demonstrated an ability to observe with all his senses and with empathic sensitivity, to body- think a route over challenging landscapes while noticing the influence of large-scale geological patterns on smaller- scale patterns such as animal movements (Muir, 1954). He communicated his experiences not in mathematics, like MacArthur, but in evocative prose. Promoting engagement through conservation education Imaginative, sensual thinking is central to the creative processes of biologists, ecologists and conservationists. Therefore incorporating tools for thinking explicitly in educational curricula at all levels and in outreach pro- grammes would help to prepare future naturalists, biolo- gists, conservationists and concerned citizens. Anthropological research has shown that non-scientists relate to animals and nature through sensual engagement and use tools for thinking, such as imaging, body thinking, pattern recognition and empathizing, to under- stand their experiences. People who swim with dolphins, for instance, report experiencing transformative physical grace, a form of body-thinking that enables them to identify empathetically with dolphins and with nature as a whole (Peace, 2005; Servais, 2005). A reindeer herder has described empathizing with his reindeers at play in the snow (Lorimer, 2006). Volunteers in a scientific study of corncrakes used auditory and kinaesthetic imaging, pattern recog- nition, and transforming to interpret radio-tracking noise (Lorimer, 2008). Folk biology, local ecological knowledge and people’s ability to recognize morphospecies (Dupré, 1999; Abadie et al., 2008) depend on pattern recognition and pattern forming, whether in terms of identifying morphospecies or categorizing them as edible or inedible, for example. Researchers have tried to understand such engagement by invoking non-human charisma. Lorimer (2007) defined three types: ecological charisma refers to the way we detect or sense a species, corporeal charisma to the epiphanies we experience through physical engagement with a species, and aesthetic charisma to our emotional response to a species’ appearance. Non-human charisma is often misunderstood as an intrinsic characteristic of a species but it is intended to refer to the processes through which we understand species as fellow beings (Lorimer, 2007). Tools for thinking can play a role in these processes. Observing, imaging and patterning can underlie ecological charisma, body thinking and empathizing can contribute to developing corporeal charisma, and synthe- sizing and synaesthetic thinking can lead to aesthetic charisma. There are several ways in which tools for thinking can be implemented in conservation education. They can be used to make people more aware of how they can interact with nature in the most rewarding ways, to devise the most effective conservation education approaches, and to evaluate educational programmes. The passive inclusion of tools for thinking in environ- mental education is not sufficient to make people aware of how they can apply these tools to understand nature (Turner, 2003; Dvornich et al., 2011); teaching and outreach must be active and explicit. Although all the tools can be applied to conservation science and outreach (Table 1), tools are problem-specific and need not be taught as a complete group in each creative or problem-solving activity. Learning to observe well can help change young people’s perceptions of nature from an empty, bewildering or meaningless place to a place filled with stories and secrets (Fig. 1). A tools-for-thinking approach emphasizes the universality of the thinking process, which can be expressed in many formal languages, and thus facilitates the incorporation of favourite skills and activities into an engagement with conservation. Using tools for thinking can alter both the content and delivery of conservation education. We have listed the tools in the order in which they are likely to be developed, from the simplest and most basic to those relying on the integration of prior tools (Table 1). Thus we would recommend employing only the first few tools with young children and reserving tools such as dimensional thinking, modelling, transforming and synthesizing for older children and adults. Although scientists use many and sometimes all of the tools for thinking, a study has suggested that only a few of the tools (observing, abstracting, patterning and analogizing) are explicitly taught in science textbooks (Lownds et al., 2010). Imaging, dimensional thinking, modelling, transforming and synthesizing are sometimes present implicitly in the form of illustrations but are rarely explicit. Body thinking, empathizing and playing are often rejected as being subjective and therefore non-scientific but they may be useful for amateur engagement with nature and for professional scientists. Fig. 2 is a summary of a workshop incorporating body thinking and empathy, intended for 588 M. Root-Bernstein et al. © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core advanced undergraduates or graduate students with existing competence in mathematical ecology. Finally, tools for thinking can be used to evaluate the cognitive practices of students and the strengths and weak- nesses of conservation education programmes. A good programme will incorporate many of the tools explicitly and student outcomes may be structured to demonstrate mastery within particular lessons and transfer of learning outcomes to other contexts. We have noted a predominant use of certain tools by naturalists, biologists and conservationists: observation, empathy, pattern recognition and formation, dimensional thinking, modelling and synthesis. There are fewer reports of the use of imaging, abstracting, analogizing, body thinking, playing and transforming among this group. As tool use is problem-specific, what problems are we over- looking or failing to solve by not using these tools to their potential? What new chapters in the advancement of Animal Signs Using your Observing, Pa�ern Recogni�on and Imaging Tools How to observe: Walk slowly, using all your senses. Take notes of what you hear, smell, taste, and feel. Draw or photograph animal signs you see. How to recognize pa�erns: Review your notes. Sort them and reorganize them. What associa�ons or common traits do you find in the signs? How to image: Imagine the images, sounds, feelings, etc. when the sign was formed. Ac�vity: Understanding animal signs 1. Use your observing skills and take note of any nests, burrows, pits, trails, footprints, faeces, eggs, bones, feathers, and marks that might be made by animals. 2. Search for pa�erns; for example, for the signs above you could ask ‘Are these signs made in the same way? Are they found near the same vegeta�on, the same footprint, etc. or different ones? Are they clustered? Are they the same size?’ Make a collage, diagram or taxonomy showing your pa�erns. 3. Now image how these animal signs might have been formed. What animal do you think made each sign? What was it doing when it made the sign? When did it happen? Write a short story imaging how your favourite sign was formed. Example sign 1 Example sign 2 FIG. 1 An activity to train school students to use the tools of observation, pattern recognition and imaging (adapted from NatureMapping Foundation). Tools for thinking in conservation 589 © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:02, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 https://www.cambridge.org/core Advanced workshop in thinking tools and foraging ecology: Using mul�ple tools in dance and mathema�cal modelling Stage 1: Observing, body thinking, empathizing GOAL: a shape and movement repertoire of body observa�ons Step 1. Observe a foraging animal (live or video). What body shapes, movements and rhythms do you observe? Step 2. Imagine you are the animal foraging. Imitate the body shapes, movements and rhythms you observed. Stage 2: Abstrac�ng and pa�ern forming GOAL: a number of movement and shape phrases describing the essence of the body observa�on experience Step 1. Select up to five observa�ons as the essence of your observa�on experience. Explore how they fit together. Step 2. Organize your abstracted shapes and movements into two phrases, one short (3–5 movements) and one long (5–7 movements). Decide how o�en to repeat each and in what order. Does this represent the essence of the foraging you observed? Stage 3: Transforming and modelling GOAL: a mathema�cal model of foraging ecology Step 1. Find a partner. Observe them performing their dance. Step 2. Abstract the essence of what you see and feel in the observed dance. What units do you see? What are their rela�onships? Are �me and space important? Step 3. Here is where you use the mathema�cal modelling skills that you already possess. Pa�ern the abstracted units and rela�onships into a mathema�cal equa�on. Plot the behaviour of the model. Does the model represent the foraging dance? Reflec�on • How does your model differ from other par�cipants’ models? • Do you think you lost or gained informa�on through the transforma�on? • What would happen if you wrote a story or made a moving sculpture instead of composing a dance in Stage 2? • Can you skip the abstrac�ng and pa�ern-forming steps? FIG. 2 A workshop for undergraduate or graduate ecology students who already have well-developed mathematical skills. The use of dance to express observations about animal foraging helps to make students more aware of the steps prior to model building and may suggest new ways to think about their subject (adapted from Root-Bernstein & Overby, 2012). 590 M. Root-Bernstein et al. © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 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RIESS, H., KELLEY, J.M., BAILEY, R.W., DUNN, E.J. & PHILLIPS, M. (2012) Empathy training for resident physicians: a randomized controlled trial of a neuroscience-informed curriculum. Journal of General Internal Medicine, 27, 1280–1286. ROBSON, D. (2011) Your clever body: thinking from head to toe. New Scientist, 2834, 34–38. ROOT-BERNSTEIN, M., DOUGLAS, L., SMITH, A. & VERÍSSIMO, D. (2013) Anthropomorphized species as tools for conservation: utility beyond prosocial, intelligent and suffering species. Biodiversity and Conservation, 22, 1577–1589. ROOT-BERNSTEIN, M. & OVERBY, L. (2012) Thinking Tools and the Multi-disciplinary Imagination: Exploring Abstraction in Dance and Creative Writing. Workshop developed for the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, Washington, DC, USA. ROOT-BERNSTEIN, M.M. & ROOT-BERNSTEIN, R.S. (2005) Body thinking beyond dance: a tools for thinking approach. In Dance: Current Selected Research, Volume 5 (eds L. Overby & B. Lepczyk), pp. 173–202. AMS Press, New York, USA. ROOT-BERNSTEIN, R.S. (1991) Teaching abstracting in an integrated art and science curriculum. Roeper Review, 13, 85–90. ROOT-BERNSTEIN, R.S. (2005) Desmond Morris’s two spheres. Leonardo, 38, 319–322. ROOT-BERNSTEIN, R.S. & ROOT-BERNSTEIN, M.M. (1999) Sparks of Genius. Houghton Mifflin, New York, USA. SAPOLSKY, R.M. (2001) A Primate’s Memoir: A Neuroscientist’s Unconventional Life Among the Baboons. Simon & Schuster, New York, USA. SERVAIS, V. (2005) Enchanting dolphins: an analysis of human– dolphin encounters. In Animals in Person: Cultural Perspectives on Human–Animal Intimacies (ed. J. Knight), pp. 211–230. Berg, Oxford, UK. SILVIA, E.M. (1977) Patterning: an aid to teaching math skills. School Science and Mathematics, 77, 567–577. SORBY, S. (2009) Developing spatial cognitive skills among middle school students. Cognitive Processes, 10 (Suppl. 2), S312–S315. STIEFF, M. (2011) When is a molecule three dimensional? A task- specific role for imagistic reasoning in advanced chemistry. Science Education, 95, 310–336. THOREAU, H.D. (2009) The Journal 1837–1861 (ed. D. Searls). The New York Review of Books, New York, USA. TURNER, S. (2003) Review of Children and Nature: Psychological, Sociocultural and Evolutionary Investigations. The Trumpeter, 19, 119–122. WELDEN, C.W. (1999) Using spreadsheets to teach ecological modelling. ESA Bulletin, 80, 64–67. WHITE, P.A. (1988) Knowing more about what we can tell: ‘introspective access’ and causal report accuracy 10 years later. British Journal of Psychology, 79, 13–45. WHITTAKER, R.J., ARAÚJO, M.B., JEPSON, P., LADLE, R.J., WATSON, J. E.M. & WILLIS, K.J. (2005) Conservation biogeography: assessment and prospect. Diversity and Distributions, 11, 3–23. WILSON, E.O. (1994) Naturalist. Island Press, Washington, DC, USA. WILSON, E.O. & HUTCHINSON, G.E. (1989) Robert Helmer MacArthur: Biographical Memoirs. National Academy of Sciences, Washington, DC, USA. WILSON, T.D. & DUNN, E.W. (2004) Self-knowledge: its limits, value and potential for improvement. Annual Review of Psychology, 55, 1–26. Biographical sketches ME R E D I T H RO O T-BE R N S T E I N researches interactions between an- imal behaviour and ecosystems and the ethnography of human– nonhuman relationships. MI C H E L E RO O T-BE R N S T E I N, a historian and poet, researches the invention of imaginary worlds by children and adults. She is a Kennedy Center teaching artist and has presented numerous workshops on tools for thinking for educators. RO B E R T RO O T-BE R N S T E I N researches the evolution of physiological control systems and autoimmune diseases. 592 M. Root-Bernstein et al. © 2014 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 584–592 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605313000100 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 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work_on7haurudngcpmf65jn4igna7u	----	New Literary History, 2010, 41: 173–190 The Slaveries of Sex, Race, and Mind: Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Lady Byron Vindicated By T. Austin Graham Harriet Beecher Stowe’s notorious 1869 exposé, “The True Story of Lady Byron’s Life,” has quite plausibly been described as “the most sensational magazine article of the nineteenth century,”1 but as is often the case with sensations it has tended to be talked about much more than understood. Stowe’s nominal project in the “True Story” was the defense of the poet Lord Byron’s wife against criticism levied against her in the British and American press both before and after her death in 1860, and she continued advocating on her behalf the following year in a subsequent, stand-alone treatment titled Lady Byron Vindicated (1870). Her larger aim, however, was to strike a blow in the service of women’s rights, with Stowe attempting in her Byron studies to refine her earlier thinking about the institution of slavery and to expand its definition in such a way that it could be applied to the condition of women in the United States and elsewhere. But her project’s fate is a textbook illustration of the grievous consequences that can occur when an example used in the service of an argument overshadows the argument itself, as it was the inflammatory means by which Stowe made her point that received the most attention during her lifetime and afterwards. First aired in America’s Atlantic Monthly and England’s MacMillan’s, Stowe’s polemic could not have been better designed to provoke contro- versy. The “True Story” proclaimed in a public forum the long-whispered rumor that Lord Byron had carried on an incestuous affair with his half sister and had fathered a daughter by her, and the reaction was swift, angry, and damaging for nearly everyone involved. Partisans of Lord Byron and defenders of his memory were predictably incensed, claiming that the story would permanently besmirch his reputation and that his wife had fed it to Stowe out of disloyalty and deceit. A large contingent of Stowe’s audience was horrified that she would so exceed the bound- aries of propriety and pollute mainstream publications with salacious subject matter, with fifteen thousand of the Atlantic’s subscribers (about one third of the readership) canceling in protest and almost wrecking new literary history174 the magazine in what Oliver Wendell Holmes dubbed “the Byron whirl- wind.”2 And Stowe, who was of course no stranger to controversy, stood to lose a great deal. The Atlantic survived and the poet’s work ended up suffering little in its popularity and critical esteem, but Stowe’s ca- reer was not the same after 1870. Forrest Wilson, one of Stowe’s early biographers, despaired in 1941 that after the Byron affair, “Never again would she stand alone as the supreme female figure in the American scene. . . . Today with the millions the most conspicuous and influential American woman of the 1850’s and 1860’s is but a name—the author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin—she who deserved to be remembered for so much else.”3 Stowe’s later writing, of course, now has a more secure place in the academy than it did when Wilson wrote her literary obituary, but the sheer peculiarity of the imbroglio still lingers: why would the author of the nineteenth century’s best-selling novel jeopardize her career in such spectacular fashion, airing an allegation that was all but certain to inflame the public and yet was unlikely to benefit anyone other than Lady Byron, a woman whom Stowe considered a friend but who had been dead for nearly a decade? Until relatively recently, scholars who discussed Stowe’s Byron texts mainly concerned themselves with the veracity of their allegations and the motivations that led Stowe to make them, with most concluding either that she made a fool of herself or that Lady Byron rather craft- ily took advantage of her. Biographies of the poet have varied a great deal over the years, but one constant has been the tendency to dismiss Stowe as a hack and to treat Lady Byron’s collaboration with her as an expression of vanity and revenge: in 1925, John Drinkwater called Lady Byron Vindicated “one of the most nauseating essays in sanctimony that has ever been written”; in 1970, Leslie A. Marchand deemed Stowe’s account of the controversy “garbled”; and in 2002, Fiona MacCarthy included an unflattering photograph of Lady Byron in her Byron: Life and Legend, a caption declaring that she “devoted herself to self-justification and philanthropy” in her final years.4 In Americanist circles, meanwhile, twentieth-century studies of Stowe’s Byron texts were for quite some time essentially speculative, taking quasi-psychoanalytical form as critics attempted to make sense of her baffling professional decision. In years past some of her theorized motives for writing Lady Byron Vindicated have included a desire to boast of her connections to the English aristocracy, a hope of making money by exploiting a celebrity, and, most eyebrow raising of all, a peculiar kind of crush on Byron himself, a simultane- ous attraction to and repulsion from a bad-boy literary idol left over from her schoolgirl days.5 In many ways, then, the conversation about Stowe and the sensation she caused has gone on as it always has, with 175the slaveries of sex, race, and mind commentators on both sides of the Atlantic sharing a certain disbelief at her audacity and a need to make sense of it. Such reactions are to be expected, given Stowe’s sordid subject matter, but they tend to distract attention from the forceful claims about gender and social marginalization that she makes in Lady Byron Vindicated, with this oversight being no less pressing for Stowe’s having more or less brought it upon herself. Only recently have scholars been able to get beyond the text’s lurid claims about the Byron marriage and consider what the couple’s relationship might have represented to Stowe more broadly, with a handful of investigations having uncovered Stowe’s im- plicit arguments about the female voice, the burden of authorial proof, and transatlantic readership.6 But perhaps the most compelling char- acterization of Lady Byron Vindicated has also been the least explored: the biographer Joan D. Hedrick’s suggestion that Stowe intended it to be “the Uncle Tom’s Cabin of sexual slavery,”7 an explosive portrait of a famous female victim whose example would help correct a pervasive and institutional abrogation of women’s rights. The term “slavery” in connection with the brief and unhappy Byron marriage might from the outside seem something of an overstatement on Hedrick’s part, but Stowe deploys or implies it at several points throughout Lady Byron Vindicated and appears to mean it quite literally. As Stowe put it in a let- ter to Horace Greeley, Lady Byron’s sad life had for her come to typify “the old idea of woman: that is, a creature to be crushed and trodden under foot whenever her fate and that of a man come in conflict.”8 What is more, Stowe had recently found a new way of framing and criticiz- ing this “old idea” thanks to John Stuart Mill’s The Subjection of Women (1869), which had appeared in the same year as the “True Story” and provocatively conflated the institution of marriage with that of chattel slavery. And if ever there were a writer capable of considering the condi- tion of women in relation to theories of enslavement it would be Stowe, whose novels of the 1850s were instantly recognized as monuments of abolitionist literature. One of the peculiarities of Lady Byron Vindicated and its place in Ameri- can literary studies, however, is that scholars have made precious few attempts at connecting Stowe’s treatment of the “slavery” Lady Byron is alleged to have suffered with race slavery of the sort found in Stowe’s other works. Stowe’s ridiculers in the cartooning community certainly had no compunctions about broaching the subject while the Byron controversy was raging, caricaturing the affair by playing up the incon- gruous, presumably comic juxtaposition of a conspicuously whitened Byron with leering, pitch-black characters from Stowe’s novels. Men of letters did the same: Charles Mackay’s 1869 biography of Medora new literary history176 Leigh (the daughter produced by Byron’s alleged incest) speculated that Lady Byron had attracted Stowe’s attention in part because she was active in abolitionist circles and was therefore “what the Americans call a nigger-worshipper.”9 Still others speculated, somewhat gleefully, that the American Civil War and the end of the most obvious depredations of chattel slavery had robbed Stowe of her most reliable and best-selling subject matter, leaving her unable to make fiction out of what one scholar has termed “the difficult and unglamorous problems of reconstruction” and leading her to defame Byron out of desperation.10 But all this nastiness aside, sustained critical attention to Stowe’s earlier concern with emancipation and American slavery can make her decision to leap to Lady Byron’s defense seem considerably less odd than it otherwise might. Her treatment of the poet’s wife has often struck readers as a departure from the social and political concerns of her 1850s fiction, but putting Lady Byron Vindicated into conversa- tion with Stowe’s antebellum, racially oriented works not only makes it seem more of a piece with her previous career, but also reveals a more expansive, even philosophical understanding on her part as to what “slavery” entails. Exploring Stowe’s ideas about race and sexual subjugation through the prism of Lady Byron Vindicated puts her in the company of such metaphysically minded writers as Frederick Douglass, Henry David Thoreau, and even Byron himself, all of whom understood slavery to be an institution of the mind as well as a matter of public policy, its tyrannical masters found, as Thoreau put it, everywhere from Mississippi to Massachusetts, enslaving “understandings and consciences” in addition to black bodies.11 Far from a mere exercise in literary score settling or sensationalism, Lady Byron Vindicated advances a conception of slavery that goes beyond legal and social conditions and defines it as a way of thinking, with Stowe arguing that women can as a sex be enslaved in much the same way that Africans once were as a race, and worse, that women can be complicit in the act of enslavement by enslav- ing themselves. Indeed, one of the ironies of this text is the fact that the extraordinary controversy that has surrounded it over the years has had so little to do with its feminism—a feminism so radical that, had it not been overshadowed by Stowe’s invocation of scandal, might have caused every bit as much of an uproar in its time. *** The evolution of Stowe’s thinking on the subject of sexual slavery is best illustrated by the differences between her magazine and book treatments of the Byron affair, which, when taken together, illustrate a 177the slaveries of sex, race, and mind growing sense on her part that Lady Byron was an especially prominent victim of a broader male conspiracy against all of womankind. In the “True Story,” Stowe’s claims are comparatively modest, mostly in rela- tion to the question of whether and how women ought to go about defending themselves and their family members in public. Perhaps the most notable quality of Lady Byron that emerges in this account is her unfailing discretion, with Stowe depicting her as a woman who took refuge in a “perfect silence” after she and her husband separated in 1816 and who refrained from responding to the many attacks that were subsequently levied against her in print—attacks that, according to Stowe, frequently came from Byron himself.12 Much of the first half of the “True Story” finds Stowe engaging in literary exegesis, quoting and condemning lengthy passages of Byron’s poetry that are alleged to be an insulting commentary on his wife. While Stowe’s doing so invites the charge that she has failed to recognize, as Peter W. Graham has put it, that much of Byron’s work depends upon “fiction-making that braids or weaves two or more realities into a whole that resists reduction into any one of its component strands,” her portrait of Lady Byron is neverthe- less one of extraordinary forbearance.13 And yet, Stowe writes, even this forbearance has been twisted into a fault by her detractors, with a recent memoir by Byron’s mistress—the Countess Guiccioli—dwelling “with a peculiar bitterness on Lady Byron’s entire silence” during the years in which the poet became an infamous public figure and was himself in need of defenders (TS 532, emphasis in original). For Stowe, the irony is simply too cruel: Lady Byron’s unwillingness to damage her husband’s already-shaky reputation has been transformed into an act of disloyalty, “the most aggravated form of persecution and injury” (TS 532). Then, about halfway through the “True Story,” Stowe drops her bomb- shell, making for one of the most extraordinary instances of “burying the lead” in all of American literary history: From the height at which he might have been happy as the husband of a noble woman, he fell into the depths of a secret adulterous intrigue with a blood relation, so near in consanguinity that discovery must have been utter ruin and expulsion from civilized society. From henceforth, this damning guilty secret became the ruling force in his life, holding him with a morbid fascination, yet filling him with remorse and anguish and insane dread of detection. (TS 542) Stowe may not have realized just how inflammatory this claim would turn out to be, for in the “True Story” it is essentially a supporting detail, an occasion for her to illustrate the superior character of Lady Byron, new literary history178 the grace with which she handled her husband’s “secret adulterous intrigue,” and the generosity of her never having revealed the truth. The poet, Stowe writes, was torn “between angel and devil” throughout his life, but his wife was entirely committed to saving his soul, showing “that immortal kind of love such as God feels for the sinner,—the love of which Jesus spoke” (TS 545–46). This eminently Christian goodness, Stowe argues, was in part a consequence of Lady Byron’s “heroic self- abnegation and self sacrifice” (TS 555), her determination to put aside her own injuries (no matter how painful) in order to ease her husband’s torment (no matter how self-inflicted). But even more importantly, Lady Byron’s unwillingness to denounce her husband’s crime is presented not as a consequence of doctrinal obedience or wifely obligation, but rather as the manifestation of unusual strength. Stowe’s Byron is tragically divided and utterly confined by his wicked impulses, whereas her Lady Byron is a divine liberator: “Her love was never the doting fondness of weak women; it was the appreciative and discriminating love by which a higher nature recognized godlike capabilities under all the dust and defilement of misuse and passion” (TS 557). As introduced in the “True Story,” then, Lady Byron is an object of admiration rather than of pity, with her silence represented as stoicism and her charity as munificence. But the outcry that followed the article’s publication forced Stowe to take a very different tack as she expanded on and clarified her claims the following year in Lady Byron Vindicated. Here Stowe relies considerably more on evidence and documentation than she does on character analysis, including a voluminous array of articles, letters, literary works, and other commentary related to the affair. Stowe also writes with a more defensive tone, justifying her involvement in the case with nearly as much fervor as she declaims Lady Byron’s virtue. Most importantly of all, however, Lady Byron Vindicated is broader in scope and intention than the “True Story,” with Stowe concerned not only with the Byron marriage but also with a transatlantic “slavery for women” that she believes the affair has brought to light.14 Stowe’s broader intentions are evident at the very beginning of her book: to those critics who have argued that her previous article had failed as a “literary effort,” she asks, “Are the cries of the oppressed, the gasps of the dying, the last prayers of mothers,— are any words wrung like drops of blood from the human heart to be judged as literary efforts?” (LB 4, emphasis in original) Stowe’s violent imagery and accusatory, direct mode of address should of course be familiar to anyone who has read the abolitionist pronouncements of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and for Stowe the stakes in Lady Byron Vindicated are every bit as high. Stowe returns to the subject of Lady Byron’s silence in the first half of the text, but this time finds much larger and more sinister social 179the slaveries of sex, race, and mind problems at play. Some of her points are relatively unremarkable, such as her assertion that sexual double standards obliged Lady Byron to remain quiet so as not to damage the woman who bore her husband’s child: “The world may finally forgive the man of genius anything,” Stowe observes, “but for a woman there is no mercy and no redemption” (LB 74). More notable is Stowe’s sense that the vilification Lady Byron endured after her separation was the result of her having been subject to a pervasive and unjust taboo, one holding that wives, even those in the most abusive of marriages, may not contest the wrongs they suffer at the hands of their husbands. Stowe recounts with particular fury the editorial attention that a rare statement of clarification from Lady Byron drew after Thomas Moore’s biography of the poet appeared in 1830, with one representative article in Blackwood’s Magazine declaring that Lady Byron had, in asserting herself, trampled on “the rights of a husband to his wife’s silence when speech is fatal . . . to his character as a man” (LB 113). Even worse, in Stowe’s estimation, is the model that another writer suggests that Lady Byron ought to have followed instead, that of a local widow who declined repeatedly to cast aspersions on her husband after his death in spite of the fact that he had in life treated her with extraordinary violence and cruelty, even beating her while she was pregnant: “Nay, I remember once how her pale countenance reddened with a sudden flush of pride, when a gossiping crone alluded to their wedding . . . That, I say, sir, whether right or wrong, was—forgiveness” (LB 116, emphasis in original). As Stowe glosses this conversation, the outrage is not simply that these writers are suggesting that Lady Byron attempt to burnish her husband’s posthumous reputation but rather that they expect her to alter her inward, private estimation of him, that “this abused, desecrated woman must reverence her brutal master’s memory” (LB 117, emphasis in original). For Stowe, this doctrine of perpetual feminine silence and forgiveness is not only restrictive but also seems to demand outright masochism, as though the woman in question is somehow to enjoy the abuse she receives from her husband. The corrective image of femininity that Lady Byron’s detractors offer is, in Stowe’s words, that of helpless, cowering, broken-hearted, abject women, given over to the animal love which they share alike with the poor dog,—the dog, who, beaten, kicked, starved, and cuffed, still lies by his drunken master with great anxious eyes of love and sorrow, and with sweet, brute forgiveness nestles upon his bosom, as he lies in his filth in the snowy ditch, to keep the warmth of life in him. Great is the mystery of this fidelity in the poor, loving brute,—most mournful and most sacred! (LB 118) new literary history180 Here and elsewhere, Stowe finds the construction of feminine false consciousness to be the greatest of all social outrages perpetuated on women and argues that it leads to “utter self-abnegation” (LB 138), a condition that in no way resembles the “heroic self-abnegation” that she had attributed to Lady Byron in her earlier article. There Lady Byron is presented in explicitly religious terms, but Lady Byron Vindicated is more concerned with the “patron saint” of femininity venerated by the masculine press, a woman whose state is described in such grotesquely unequal terms that she seems almost to have sprung from the pages of antebellum abolitionist literature. In Stowe’s words, the husband of such a woman “tears her from her children; he treats her with personal abuse; he repudiates her,—sends her out to nakedness and poverty; he installs another mistress in his house, and sends for the first to be her handmaid and his own: and all this the meek saint accepts” (LB 138). And for Stowe, the danger is that these outrages will become all the more entrenched in England and America if so prominent and ac- complished a woman as Lady Byron is silenced. “If the peeress as a wife has no rights,” she asks, “what is the state of the cotter’s wife?” (LB 120, emphasis in original) It is worth pausing at this point to acknowledge the polemical, fre- quently bombastic quality of Stowe’s language and to consider whether her comparison of even the most abused wife with that of an enslaved African is in fact reasonable. Certainly Stowe’s comparison is an extreme one, but by making it in Lady Byron Vindicated she entered a long-running conversation on women’s rights that had been unfolding—at least in America—for about forty years, one that routinely invoked the term “slavery” to describe the legally inferior condition of women. As virtually every history of the women’s rights movement notes, it was the antislav- ery cause that gave American women their first, significant opportunity to engage in political advocacy, that provided them with a model of how such campaigns could be organized and operated, and that most importantly of all theorized a doctrine of higher laws and human rights that was quickly invoked in the service of other marginalized groups.15 More than three decades before Lady Byron Vindicated, Angelina and Sarah Grimké advanced the notion that free women not only could empathize with African slaves but also were enslaved themselves, with Sarah declaring in 1838 that “it requires but little thought to see that the condition of women and that of slaves are in many respects paral- lel.”16 Before long the woman-slave analogy was, according to Blanche Glassman Hersh, “the most frequently used feminist argument in the antebellum period,”17 and such rhetoric reached a high point in the “Declaration of Sentiments” drafted at the Seneca Falls Convention of 181the slaveries of sex, race, and mind 1848, which invoked Jeffersonian, emancipatory language in much the same way that Abraham Lincoln later would and declared: “The history of mankind is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man toward woman, having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over her.”18 In subsequent decades it was almost de rigeur for Lucy Stone and other reformers to declare that “marriage is to woman a state of slavery,”19 and in so doing they laid the groundwork for Stowe’s defense of Lady Byron. So too had other thinkers anticipated Stowe’s notion that the ulti- mate product of sexual slavery is a warped feminine consciousness. Perhaps the most significant early articulation of such a theory was Mary Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Women (1792), a text that was somewhat in vogue at the time of Lady Byron Vindicated, thanks to its having been serialized in the American feminist journal Revolution in 1868. Among other things, Wollstonecraft argues in the Vindication that Western society seeks “to enslave women by cramping their under- standings and sharpening their senses,” subjecting them to a regimen of indoctrination that deadens their mental faculties, intensifies their sensual urges, and produces submissive creatures beholden not just to men but also to their own degraded appetites. “To their senses, are women made slaves,” Wollstonecraft declares, such that they come to “despise the freedom which they have not sufficient virtue to struggle to attain.”20 And while Wollstonecraft was too infamous a figure to be much invoked by feminists during the first half of the nineteenth cen- tury, her notion that a person could be mentally enslaved even while enjoying legal freedom was routinely echoed in American intellectual circles, whether politically or philosophically. Thoreau would famously argue in 1854 that it is conventional wisdom, and not the government, that most often turns humanity into chattel, declaring that “the law will never make men free”21 and advancing an argument suggested in 1837 by the title of Angelina Grimké’s Appeal to the Women of the Nominally Free States. Indeed, when thus expanded the term “slavery” could be made to apply to virtually any sentient person, such that nineteenth-century advocates for Native Americans, European immigrants, white laborers, and even free lovers could all claim those populations to have been “enslaved” in one way or another. Thus does Herman Melville’s Ishmael show himself to be very much a man of his era in posing his famous rhetorical question in Moby-Dick: “Who ain’t a slave?”22 Perhaps the single most important influence on Stowe’s thinking in Lady Byron Vindicated, however, was John Stuart Mill’s The Subjection of Women of 1869 and his contention therein that the same primitive desire for dominion that had produced African slavery was continuing, albeit new literary history182 more insidiously, to characterize relations between the genders. As does Stowe, Mill argues that Western institutions of custom, education, and religion all are designed to rob women of their ability to ponder and question their status as second-class citizens, thereby bestowing upon men “not a forced slave but a willing one.”23 Indeed, Mill goes so far as to declare that sexual slavery is even more encompassing than the sort that had been practiced in the antebellum South, which, while more spectacular in its brutality, nevertheless left slaves with at least some de- gree of privacy, “off duty” moments that could not be impinged upon. As Mill puts it: “‘Uncle Tom’ under his first master had his own life in his ‘cabin,’ almost as much as any man whose work takes him away from home, is able to have his own family. But it cannot be so with the wife.”24 Much of Mill’s argument on this score, of course, can be disputed, particularly his notion that marriage slavery is more totalizing than the racial variety because it has a built-in sexual component, requiring a “last familiarity” from wives that chattel slaves can refuse.25 But the important thing to grasp in The Subjection of Women is Mill’s belief that the degraded position of black chattel and that of the English wife dif- fer only in degree and not in kind; as for Stowe, she credited Mill with making her thinking on gender relations “all clear,” and she appears to have brought his theorization of a mentally stunted female underclass to bear on her second, more expansive treatment of Lady Byron.26 Perhaps the most significant difference between Stowe’s “True Story” and Lady Byron Vindicated is her concern not just with the Byron marriage and its aftermath, but also with the larger process of socialization that it seems to reveal: those who would enforce Lady Byron’s silence are seek- ing also to imbue her with “that utter deadness to the sense of justice which the laws, literature, and misunderstood religion of England have sought to induce in woman as a special grace and virtue” (LB 119, emphasis in original). Social institutions, and in particular the “misunderstood religion of England,” are for Stowe bent on forcing women to view them- selves as a degraded sex and become their own, self-regulating captors, and it is on this subject that the connections between her conception of sexual slavery and the racial variety she had opposed nearly two decades earlier can be seen most clearly. Frederick Douglass, whom Stowe read and attempted to correspond with during the writing of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, had years before reached much the same conclusions about the psychological dimensions of the slavery he had suffered. He observes in his 1845 Narrative that “to make a contented slave, it is necessary to make a thoughtless one,” usually by a series of steps that not only force the slave to submit to a master’s will but more importantly convince him of the essential rightness of his enslavement.27 In Douglass’s theorization, 183the slaveries of sex, race, and mind the completely mastered slave must believe that he is morally unfit for freedom, that his fate is best left in the hands of an enlightened other, and that Christianity reserves a special reward for those who suffer worldly torments; once this has been accomplished, the slave will rule himself far more sternly than any outside authority could. And it was the ignorance that had been systematically forced upon Southern blacks that gave Stowe her first opportunity to develop a broad conception of slavery that could later be applied to the condition of women, with her novels of the 1850s considering subjection in both its legal and metaphysical terms several years in advance of her encounter with Mill. The influence of Douglass’s theorization of slavery on Stowe’s fiction is most obviously evident in her characterization of the perennially suffering, unerringly forgiving, and supremely Christian Uncle Tom, whose inflexibly doctrinal way of thinking—“confined entirely to the New Testament”28—produces in him a wellspring of love for those who own him and a comparative disregard for worldly justice insofar as it affects the master-slave relationship. Such assured and even enthusias- tic martyrdom, of course, is precisely what has rendered Stowe’s novel uncomfortable for contemporary readers and made the name “Uncle Tom” synonymous with passivity, accommodation, and racial shame. But it is important to note that Stowe would in her later writings find such self-abasement—particularly when informed by religion—to be more disturbing than saintly, not only in regard to sex in Lady Byron Vindicated but also in her subsequent treatments of black slavery. Hence, her second novel Dred, the story of a slave conspiracy and uprising, is in many ways an extended meditation on the perversions Christianity suffers when used to justify slaveholding and on the pronounced intel- lectual shuttering required if one is to believe that it is, in fact, God’s will that slaves serve their masters. For each African moved to a “higher piety” through Biblical instruction, Stowe observed in 1856, “thousands are crushed in hopeless imbecility,” rendered docile and even accepting of the outrages perpetuated on them.29 And if slavery’s most important hallmarks include a tendency towards self-restriction and self-deprecation in the slave, then it does not take too many associative steps to see how Stowe might eventually conclude that women—even so prominent a woman as Lady Byron—could suffer the fate that Africans had. The key question in Lady Byron Vindicated, then, is whether or not the object of its inquiry—a woman whom Stowe had praised the year before for her “heroic” silence and loyalty—had upon further reflection come to seem a slave instead. Put another way, have the men whom Stowe accuses of attempting to master Lady Byron succeeded? In the second half of the volume, Stowe provides a lengthy account of her personal new literary history184 meetings, interviews, and correspondence with Lady Byron, and to some degree the portrait of her that emerges seems to indicate that she had in fact lived up to the standard of self-repressing femininity that Stowe now finds so objectionable. Lady Byron remains proud of her long-departed husband: “We talked for some time of him then; she with her pale face slightly flushed, speaking, as any other great man’s widow might, only of what was purest and best in his works, and what were his undeniable virtues and good traits, especially in early life” (LB 218). She strikes Stowe as passive, “an interested spectator of the world’s affairs” instead of “an actor involved in its trials” (LB 206). And even in revealing the secret of her husband’s incest, she seems still to believe that it is improper of her to do so: “There was something awful to me in the intensity of repressed emotion which she showed as she proceeded,” Stowe writes (LB 235). The sticking point lies once more in the question of self-assertion, in whether or not Stowe now finds Lady Byron’s decision to be “a silent sufferer under calumny and misrepresentation” to be impressive or an exemplary expression of sexual slavery (LB 360). Certainly Lady Byron has not descended to the sickening, animalistic level that Stowe fears men would consign women to, but even the Byron defender Charles Mackay (he of the “nigger-worshipper” comment) had been taken aback by Stowe’s depiction of her in the MacMillan’s piece. If Stowe’s allega- tions are in fact true, Mackay writes, then Lady Byron is a woman “so meek, so spiritless, so abject, so stupidly forgiving, so unconscious of the respect due to herself and to the outraged laws of God and man, that she preferred to be a dog sleeping at the door of an incestuous adulterer, rather than an honest and outraged woman.”30 Once more Lady Byron is faulted for failing to speak on her own behalf, and Stowe seems to support such criticism at points in Lady Byron Vindicated, arguing that utter self-abnegation has been preached to women as a peculiarly feminine virtue. It is true; but there is a moral limit to the value of self-abnegation. It is a fair question for the moralist, whether it is right and proper wholly to ignore one’s personal claims to justice. The teachings of the Saviour give us warrant for submitting to personal injuries; but both the Saviour and St. Paul manifested bravery in denying false accusations, and asserting innocence. (LB 196) Here and elsewhere, Stowe’s implications are stern indeed: by allowing herself to be the victim of injustice, Lady Byron could perhaps also be said to have become an instrument of it, as acquiescence and passivity are in Stowe’s estimation as often as not the moral equivalents of active support for an ideological position. Stowe even goes so far as to accuse 185the slaveries of sex, race, and mind those Americans who have done nothing more than read rumors about Lady Byron in the print media of having been “betrayed into injustice, and a complicity with villainy,” and she will not allow the Byron contro- versy to be treated simply as a case of one woman’s failing to protect her reputation (LB 194, 196). Rather, the principle at stake has an effect on women more broadly: “There are thousands of poor victims suffering in sadness, discouragement, and poverty” to whom Lady Byron’s testi- mony “might bring courage and hope from springs not of this world” (LB 162–63). Lady Byron’s story, in other words, belongs not just to her but also to her sex, and her failure to defend herself is by extension a failure to defend women more broadly. For Stowe, the mind-forged manacles that enslaved women and left them thoughtless participants in an unjust system could only be broken by active resistance, and to a point she is offering—she did in Uncle Tom’s Cabin—an iconic sufferer who is too weak for rebellion but who might be able to inspire it in others. Indeed, the tragedy of Lady Byron as presented in Lady Byron Vindicated is less that she has suffered abuse than that she aspires to a freedom of thought that she is ultimately too bound by convention and doctrine to attain. In some ways, Lady Byron is depicted as remarkably heterodox: at her most bold she tells Stowe, “I look upon creeds of all kinds as chains,—far worse chains than those you would break,—as the causes of much hypocrisy and infidelity” (LB 210). But when all is said and done, she cannot bring herself to speak against her husband or on her own behalf, in spite of the fact that she recognizes, as Stowe paraphrases it, a “last duty which she might owe to abstract truth and justice in her generation” (LB 368). Stowe’s ultimate estimation of Lady Byron’s degree of “enslavement” is best expressed in the following: Lady Byron’s hopes for her husband fastened themselves on all the noble frag- ments yet remaining in that shattered temple of his mind which lay blackened and thunder-riven; and she looked forward to a sphere beyond this earth, where infinite mercy should bring all to symmetry and order. If the strict theologian must regret this as an undue latitude of charity, let it at least be remembered that it was a charity which sprang from a Christian virtue, and which she extended to every human being, however lost, however low. (LB 398–99) In the end, Stowe’s Lady Byron is more an Uncle Tom than a Dred, but if she has not served the cause of highest justice by publishing her story herself, she has gone part of the way and given an intermediary the opportunity to do so in her stead. She did not defy those who sought to confine her, but neither could her condition be classed as total enslavement. new literary history186 Indeed, if there is a true slave to be found in this text it is not a woman, but rather the “master” himself, Lord Byron. For Stowe he is ultimately a figure of lost potential, a man who possessed the capacity to be a friend of universal liberty but was too shackled by worldly vice for his work or life to reflect it. Stowe notes in Lady Byron Vindicated that there has always been a “peculiarity in Lord Byron, that the pure and the impure in his poetry often ran side by side without mixing,” and for most of her life she seems to have understood him to represent an almost poignant failure of possibility (LB 397). The poet and his works were profoundly attractive to Stowe when she was a girl, but she would later remember that, upon Byron’s death in 1824, her father mourned his “wasted life and misused powers” and eulogized him thus: “I did hope he would live to do something for Christ. What a harp he might have swept!”31 Following Stowe’s lead, scholars have classified a great many characters in her novels as “Byronic” over the years, usually because they are impossibly divided between lofty principle and base actuality—for example, the sardonic Augustine St. Claire of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a man who mocks the intellectual justifications of chattel slavery but is too unprincipled to free the slaves he owns. But perhaps nowhere is Stowe’s sense of Byron’s moral schizophrenia more evident than in Dred, a novel that she wrote around the time she made Lady Byron’s acquaintance and in which there seem to be two utterly opposite and yet entirely plausible versions of the poet. He first appears in the form of Edward Clayton, a young man who is “quite Byronic” in appearance and who devotes his law career to the cause of abolition.32 But he can also be found in the wicked Tom Gordon, a slaveholder who drinks away his time at univer- sity, threatens to purchase and rape a slave married to his mulatto half- brother, and, significantly, shares the surname of Lord Byron himself. These antithetical Byrons, when taken together, manifest the duality that Stowe had so often found in him, with the poet emerging at some points as a friend of liberty and at others as the product of a primitive and dying social order. And if Lady Byron Vindicated is any indication, it was the latter fate—that of the very worst kind of conventionality—that Stowe believed had ultimately befallen him. There are a great many ironies implicit in Stowe’s project, among them the fact that her moral inflexibility rather uncomfortably resembles the rigid closed-mindedness that she identifies at the root of gender in- equality. But perhaps most important of all are the myriad ways in which Stowe, by denouncing tyranny, winds up sounding like the very poet she condemns. Many of Byron’s poetical works contain a similar sense that it is in its thinking that humanity is most completely enslaved and that emancipation is a matter of the mind, but perhaps none does so more 187the slaveries of sex, race, and mind effectively in the context of Lady Byron Vindicated than his verse drama Cain (which, as it happens, Stowe believed to have been motivated in part by Byron’s obsession with incest). Cain is introduced as a Promethean figure, a man told to be “cheerful and resign’d” in a postlapsarian world of toil but who yet desires to satisfy those “thoughts which arise within me, as if they / Could master all things.”33 God has left him in what the tempter Lucifer calls “a Paradise of Ignorance, from which / Knowledge was barr’d as poison”34 and so he abjures it, choosing to think freely and heretically even at the cost of having his progeny condemned to eternal labor—a divine sentence against one man’s subsequent race that eighteenth- and nineteenth-century proponents of African slavery often claimed to be carrying out, on the grounds that black skin was in fact the residual “mark of Cain.”35 For the contemporary novelist Charles John- son, the rebelliousness that Byron attributes to Cain is in part a product of his despised “blackness,” but it is also in this crucible of slavery that modern thought is born. In Byron’s treatment, Johnson writes, “Western man himself was Cain, cursed with the burden of restlessness and the endless quest for selfhood.”36 And thus does Byron bring together many of the ideas that Stowe would grapple with fifty years later, questioning whether the act of enslavement can ever be completed unless the mind as well as the body has been mastered. In the end, it is difficult to reconcile the fact that Byron could at the same time be, as one scholar has put it, “the single greatest literary and imaginative influence on the writings of Harriet Beecher Stowe” and also one of her greatest villains.37 Understanding the figure of Byron as reflected in her works requires readers to think of him as both a champion of liberty and a symbol of sexual subjection, and this paradox is no doubt at least part of the reason why Stowe, on one striking oc- casion in Lady Byron Vindicated, figures him in feminine terms. “There have been women able to lead their leashes of blinded adorers; to make them swear that black was white, or white black, at their word,” Stowe observes. “Such an enchanter in man’s shape was Lord Byron” (LB 84). Most immediately, Stowe is referring here to Byron’s uncanny ability to command the admiration of other men, even those whom, like Walter Scott, he might have previously insulted. But Byron’s femininity, given the larger context of feminine self-slavery that hangs over Lady Byron Vindicated, is surely meant by Stowe to be seen as not a little pathetic, as well. For Stowe, the coquettish woman, even one able to reduce a company of men to a coffle that she can lead about as she pleases, is still the greater slave, still subject to those social dictates that give her the illusion of control but that nevertheless render her complicit in her own unwitting imprisonment. And if women can be understood to enjoy their new literary history188 enslavement and do the work of their masters for them, then perhaps even Lord Byron—feminine “enchanter” that he is—can become the very sort of stifling master he claims in his poetry to despise. University of California–Los Angeles NOTES 1 Edward Wagenknecht, Harriet Beecher Stowe: The Known and the Unknown (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1965), 83. 2 Oliver Wendell Holmes, Life and Letters of Oliver Wendell Holmes, ed. John T. Morse, Jr. (Cambridge, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 1896), 2:183. 3 Forrest Wilson, Crusader in Crinoline: The Life of Harriet Beecher Stowe (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1941), 551. 4 John Drinkwater, The Pilgrim of Eternity: Byron—A Conflict (New York: George H. Doran, 1925), xxiii; Leslie A. Marchand, Byron: A Portrait (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1970), 476; Fiona MacCarthy, Byron: Life and Legend (London: John Murray, 2002), photo insert. 5 In addition to Wagenknecht and Wilson, see Jean Willoughby Ashton, “Harriet Stowe’s Filthy Story: Lord Byron Set Afloat,” Prospects 2 (1976): 373–84; and Alice C. Crozier, The Novels of Harriet Beecher Stowe (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1969). 6 See Jennifer Cognard-Black, Narrative in the Professional Age: Transatlantic Readings of Harriet Beecher Stowe, George Eliot, and Elizabeth Stuart Phelps (New York: Routledge, 2004); Caroline Franklin, “Stowe and the Byronic Heroine,” in Transatlantic Stowe: Harriet Beecher Stowe and European Culture, ed. Denise Kohn, Sarah Meer, Emily Todd (Iowa City: Univ. of Iowa Press, 2006), 3–23; Susan McPherson, “Opening the Open Secret: The Stowe-Byron Controversy,” Victorian Review 27, no. 1 (2001): 86–101; and Susan Wolstenholme, “Voice of the Voiceless: Harriet Beecher Stowe and the Byron Controversy,” American Literary Realism 19, no. 2 (1987): 48–65. 7 Joan D. Hedrick, Harriet Beecher Stowe: A Life (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1994), 356. 8 Hedrick, Harriet Beecher Stowe, 369. 9 Charles Mackay, Medora Leigh: A History and an Autobiography (London: Richard Bentley, 1869), 17. 10 Ashton, “Harriet Stowe’s Filthy Story,” 378. 11 Henry David Thoreau, Collected Essays and Poems, ed. Elizabeth Hall Witherell (New York: Library of America, 2001), 342. 12 Harriet Beecher Stowe, “The True Story of Lady Byron’s Life,” The Oxford Harriet Beecher Stowe Reader, ed. Joan D. Hedrick, (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1999), 538 (hereafter cited as TS). 13 Peter W. Graham, Don Juan and Regency England (Charlottesville: Univ. Press of Virginia, 1990), 27–28. 14 Stowe, Lady Byron Vindicated (Boston: Fields, Osgood and Co.: 1870), 114 (hereafter cited as LB). 15 For two excellent studies that take up the woman-slave analogy in detail, see Jean Fagan Yellin, Women and Sisters: The Antislavery Feminists in American Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale Univ. Press, 1989); and Kathryn Kish Sklar and James Brewer Stewart, eds., Women’s Rights and Transatlantic Antislavery in the Era of Emancipation (New Haven, CT: Yale Univ. Press, 2007). Other useful histories of the women’s rights movement and its connection to the antislavery cause include Bonnie S. Anderson, Joyous Greetings: The First 189the slaveries of sex, race, and mind International Women’s Movement, 1830–1860 (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2000); Ellen Carol DuBois, Feminism and Suffrage: The Emergence of an Independent Women’s Movement in America, 1848–1869 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univ. Press, 1978); Eleanor Flexner, Century of Struggle: The Woman’s Rights Movement in the United States (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 1975); Blanche Glassman Hersh, The Slavery of Sex: Feminist-Abolitionists in America (Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press, 1978); Gerda Lerner, The Grimké Sisters from South Carolina: Pioneers for Women’s Rights and Abolition (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 2004); Sally G. McMillen, Seneca Falls and the Origins of the Women’s Rights Movement (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2008); Shirley Samuels, ed., The Culture of Sentiment: Race, Gender, and Sentimentality in Nineteenth-Century America (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1992); Kathryn Kish Sklar, Women’s Rights Emerges within the Antislavery Movement, 1830–1870: A Brief History with Documents (Boston: Bedford, 2000); Kathleen S. Sullivan, Constitutional Context: Women and Rights Discourse in Nineteenth-Century America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 2007); Judith Wellman, The Road to Seneca Falls: Elizabeth Cady Stanton and the First Woman’s Rights Convention (Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press, 2004); and Jean Fagan Yellin and John C. Van Horne, eds., The Abolitionist Sisterhood: Women’s Political Culture in Antebellum America (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univ. Press, 1994). For a study of the women’s rights movement that argues that its debts to the antislavery cause have tended to be overstated by historians, see Nancy Isenberg, Sex and Citizenship in Antebellum America (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1998). 16 Sarah Grimké, Letters on the Equality of the Sexes, and Other Essays, ed. Elizabeth Ann Bartlett, (New Haven, CT: Yale Univ. Press, 1988), 130. 17 Hersh, The Slavery of Sex, 196. 18 Sklar, Women’s Rights Emerges, 176. 19 Hersh, The Slavery of Sex, 197. 20 Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792.; repr., New York: Norton, 1982), 22, 61, 52. 21 Thoreau, Collected Essays and Poems, 338. 22 Herman Melville, Moby-Dick (1851; repr., New York: Norton, 1967), 15. 23 John Stuart Mill, The Subjection of Women (London: Longmas, Green, Reader, and Dyer, 1869), 26. 24 Mill, The Subjection of Women, 23. 25 As Eric J. Sundquist has noted, no attentive reader of Uncle Tom’s Cabin could agree that American slaves were free from sexual abuse at the hands of their masters, as Stowe consistently shows “that slavery and sexual violation were inseparable and that the plantation could become an arena of erotic dissipation and male lust.” See Sundquist, “Introduction,” New Essays on Uncle Tom’s Cabin (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1986), 24. 26 Hedrick, Harriet Beecher Stowe, 359. 27 Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself (1845; repr., New York: Norton, 1997), 64. 28 Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin: or, Life Among the Lowly (1852; repr., New York: Penguin, 1986), 210. 29 Stowe, Dred: A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp (1856; repr., New York: Penguin, 2000), 51. 30 Mackay, Medora Leigh, 45. 31 Stowe, Life and Letters of Harriet Beecher Stowe, ed. Annie Fields (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1897), 39. 32 Stowe, Dred, 9. 33 George Gordon, Lord Byron, The Major Works, ed. Jerome J. McGann (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2000), 885, 889. 34 Byron, Major Works, 910. new literary history190 35 For more on this subject see David M. Goldenberg, The Curse of Ham: Race and Slavery in Early Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 2003); and Stephen R. Haynes, Noah’s Curse: The Biblical Justification of American Slavery (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2002). 36 Charles Johnson, Dreamer: A Novel (New York: Scribner, 1998), 161–62. 37 Crozier, The Novels, 203. 
work_opd3eqyvmbcrhkpahprrncktbu	----	Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 60 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 RESUMEN Se presentan los orígenes del método abductivo en el romanticismo oscuro estadounidense. Sus implicancias semióticas como método de investigación científica. Se replantea el problema semiótico en una actualidad trans e intercultural llamada desglobalización. Por último se presenta el método abductivo como ejemplo de una metodología de investigación en la carrera de Interpretación y Docencia Musical Especializada de la Universidad de Talca, Chile. Palabras Clave: Método Abductivo, Romanticismo, Semiótica, Hermenéutica ABSTRACT The origins of the abductive method in American dark romanticism are presented. Its semiotic implications as a method of scientific research. The semiotic problem is reconsidered in a trans and intercultural news called deglobalization. Finally, the abductive method is presented as an example of a research methodology in the Specialized Musical Interpretation and Teaching career at the University of Talca, Chile. Keywords: Abductive Method, Romanticism, Semiotics, Hermeneutics Revista NEUMA ISSN 0719-5389 • Año 12 Volumen 1 • Universidad de Talca 61 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization Pp. 60 a 75 * Correo electrónico jasoto@utalca.cl Artículo recibido el 22-12-2018 y aceptado por el comité editorial el 27/05/2019 EL MÉTODO ABDUCTIVO DE INVESTIGACIÓN CIENTÍFICA. SUS ORÍGENES EN EL ROMANTICISMO OSCURO ESTADOUNIDENSE Y ALGUNAS REFLEXIONES Y EJEMPLOS EN TORNO A CONTEXTOS MULTICULTURALES Y LA ENSEÑANZA DE LA MÚSICA EN LA DESGLOBALIZACIÓN THE ABDUCTIVE METHOD OF SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH. ITS ORIGINS IN US DARK ROMANTICISM AND SOME REFLECTIONS AND EXAMPLES REGARDING MULTICULTURAL CONTEXTS AND THE TEACHING OF MUSIC IN DEGLOBALIZATION Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas Universidad de Talca Chile* Introducción: El presente artículo explora el origen del método abductivo de investigación en el llamado romanticismo oscuro norteamericano (estadounidense) del siglo XIX, específicamente en obra de Edgar Allan Poe y sus cuentos y novelas de investigación detectivesca como “Los Cuentos de la Rue Morgue” (1841), “El Misterio de Marie Rogêt” (1842) y “La Carta Robada” (1844), en las cuales participa el detective Agustin Dupine, modelo posteriormente utilizado por el mundialmente famoso personaje Sherlock Holmes del escritor Arthur Conan Doyle para sus tramas de investigación detectivesca. En ese sentido se explora el método abductivo como una herramienta de pensamiento legítima, surgida durante el periodo conocido como el Dark Romanticism. Posteriormente se analiza los diversos tipos de abducción hipotética Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 62 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 1 Entendemos por “Desglobalización” al estrato de tiempo actual (2018/2019), considerando como tal, la actualidad relativa al desgaste de la hegemonía de los EEUU luego de la crisis financiera del 2008 y el crecimiento constante de las migraciones globales producto de los procesos de descolonización en África, Centro América y Medio Oriente. El surgimiento de las identidades étnicas subalternas y sus demandas de representaciones políticas como por ejemplo el pueblo mapuche, palestino y kurdo. Así como el surgimiento de nuevas hegemonías políticas y económicas como China, todo esto en el marco de un proceso de destrucción acelerada del medio ambiente y de cambio climático global con el resultado de las llamadas Crisis de las Migraciones. Sobre el término Desglobalización ver: Ibarra, Manuel (2008). “Alfredo Jalife-Rahme. Hacia la Desglobalización”, Revista Estudios Fronterizos, Vol. 9, Nº 17, pp. 197-202. propuestos por el filósofo estadounidense Charles Sanders Pierce, respecto de su teoría semiótica, en la cual propone la existencia de tres planos de relaciones semiótico-textuales. Las relaciones dadas entre signo, interpretante y contexto. En este sentido, el filósofo propone tres niveles en el proceso de semiosis, pasos previos a la construcción de hipótesis abductivas, a saber; la primeridad, donde el concepto o signo existe en estado puro del Ser, la Segundidad, donde el concepto o signo existe en relación a un sujeto interpretante, y una Terceridad, donde el concepto o signo existe en el plano de relación del sujeto y su contexto. En el sentido anterior, reflexionamos en la implicancia que tiene para la semiótica el actual contexto multicultural del periodo de post-globalización o desglobalización1, pues por ejemplo, es muy distinto enseñar e investigar sobre música en el contexto europeo-occidental, que en el contexto global multicultural, donde existen músicas de otras culturas, como por ejemplo la mapuche, que posee diferentes concepciones del tiempo o del espacio, o de la música oriental, con sus microtonos y su especial sonoridad. En ese sentido proponemos una hermenéutica diatópica según la propuesta epistemológica de Soussa Santos basada en el diálogo transcultural. En seguida proponemos una cuarteridad, o cuarta etapa en el proceso de semiosis, donde el signo es hermenéuticamente leído diatópicamente, superando la hegemonía ideológica del positivismo cultural occidental univocista, en una época de desglobalización con individuos de dos o más identidades. Finalmente, y luego de los anteriores planteamientos teóricos, ejemplificamos la aplicación metodológica del modelo abductivo, en la investigación en múeica llevada a cabo en la carrera de Interpretación y Docencia Musical Especializada en la Universidad de Talca en Chile. Desarrollo El Romanticismo Oscuro o Dark Romanticism, tiene su cuna en la sociedad estadounidense del siglo XIX. En general, es un movimiento influenciado por el romanticismo europeo de fines del siglo XVIII y principios del XIX, aunque también, en Estados Unidos fue influenciado por los autores adscritos al llamado Trascendentalismo, sistema filosófico, político y literario surgido como reforma dentro de la Iglesia Unitaria. La propuesta trascendentalista estaba basada en El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 63 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 2 Hernández, Gloria (2009). “El Proceso de Recepción de The American Scholar de Ralph W. Emerson”. Revista Norteamérica. Año 4, número 1, p. 222. 3 Vásquez, Adolfo (2015). Romanticismo Oscuro. De la Literatura Gótica a los Poetas Malditos. Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Actas de Literatura Contemporánea; XVI, p. 1. 4 Mié, Fabián (2012). “Demostración y Silogismo en los Analíticos Segundos. Reconstrucción y Discusión”, Diánoia, volumen LVIII, 70, pp. 35–58. las ideas que el ser humano posee un espíritu libre e inquieto, el cual posee un trascendental impulso llamado intuición, que lo separa de intermediadores y de milagros, y que pone en su mano la capacidad de cambiar su realidad basado en sus percepciones del mundo. Esta filosofía está influenciada por la filosofía alemana de autores como Kant, Fichte, Schelling y Schopenhauer y su principal representante fue el autor Ralph Waldo Emerson en su ensayo The American Schollar2; “Los autores más representativos de la corriente son: Edgar Allan Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville, y también se adscriben a la misma la poetisa Emily Dickinson y el poeta italiano Ugo Foscolo. La expresión romanticismo oscuro proviene por un lado de su condición pesimista y por otro de la influencia del primigenio movimiento romántico. Su nacimiento se produjo a mediados del siglo XIX, como se ha dicho, a partir del trascendentalismo. Éste se originó en Nueva Inglaterra a cargo de intelectuales de renombre como Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau y Margaret Fuller, y cosechó gran prestigio más o menos desde 1836 hasta finales de los 1840s. El movimiento tuvo gran influencia en distintas áreas, como la literatura, a medida que los escritores iban imbuyéndose de su doctrina. Mientras tanto, ciertos autores, entre ellos los citados Poe, Hawthorne y Melville, encontraron las ideas trascentalistas demasiado optimistas o egoístas, y reaccionaron contra ellas a través de sus obras poéticas y prosísticas; ésta sería la tendencia que daría origen al “Dark Romanticism”3. La atracción por los temas oscuros de estos autores. los llevó a diseñar nuevas estructuras narrativas para contar historias sobre asesinatos y detectives. Uno de ellos, el atormentado y genial Edgar Allan Poe, diseñó una estructura narrativa basada en la hipótesis, también comprendida como una sospecha, curiosidad, o una conjetura frente a determinado fenómeno o situación específica generalmente de tipo problemática. Si bien es cierto el romanticismo oscuro se alejó del movimiento filosófico del trascendentalismo, mantuvo de esta filosofía la idea de poner la intuición humana como una herramienta del pensamiento, mientras los trascendentalistas, separados de la Iglesia Unitaria de Bostón, sostenían la idea que cada ser humano poseía un dios interior y cómo éste se manifestaría en la intuición. En sus novelas de detectives, Poe pone de manifiesto el método abductivo de investigación como una metodología de la intuición, método que ya había sido mencionado por Aristóteles en sus Segundos Analíticos4. Sin embargo será Pierce Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 64 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 5 Lada Ferredas, Ulpiano (2001). “La dimensión Pragmática del signo literario” Estudios Filológicos. Nº 36, pp. 61-70. quien lo sintetiza y desarrolla como una herramienta científica de investigación semiótica. El aporte de Edgar Allan Poe, es metodológico. Si bien hasta el siglo XIX se utilizaba el método abductivo de investigación hipotética conjuntamente con los métodos deductivo e inductivo, Poe es el primero en proponer el método abductivo como estructura narrativa y como estructura de investigación dentro de una estructura literaria, para lo cual eligió la novela. Si bien es cierto, también escribió cuentos detectivescos, la estructura de sus novelas con Agustin Dupine como protagonista, es la estructura sampleada por Arthur Conan Doyle quien lo reconoce como su maestro. La lista de escritores influenciados por Poe y los demás autores del romanticismo oscuro incluye a Julio Cortázar, Charles Baudelaire y al mismo Charles Sanders Pierce (por solo nombrar a los que reconocen su influencia en novela, cuento y poesía) quienes además lo han traducido al francés y al español y estudiado desde el punto de vista semiótico. En ese sentido, Pierce es quien llega a un mayor nivel de profundidad, ya que desarrolla el estudio de la hipótesis y la categoriza. El filósofo estadounidense, fue quien desarrolló una teoría sobre el funcionamiento del proceso semiótico, por ende, es uno de los padres de la ciencia de interpretación de los signos conocida en Estados Unidos como semiótica y en Europa como semiología. En ese sentido, vamos a analizar el aporte del método abductivo en la ciencia de la semiótica y en cómo opera la mente humana en la comprensión de cualquier signo. Respecto de signo, utilizaremos la definición de Umberto Eco, quién intenta integrar tanto la definición de signo de Pierce, como la definición del también semiólogo Ferdinand de Saussure. Primero veamos la definición de signo que hace Pierce, para acercarnos a las definición de signo que hace Eco. Pierce define el signo como; “un signo, o representamen, es un primero que está en una tal genuina relación tríadica a un segundo, llamado su objeto, que es capaz de determinar que un tercero, llamado su interpretante, asuma la misma relación tríadica a su objeto en la que él se encuentra respecto del mismo objeto (Pierce; 1988, 144)”5. En esta definición de signo, Pierce dice que independiente de si ese signo es representado por otro signo, un carácter, un objeto, u otra cosa como un fenómeno, identifica un triángulo con el objeto a representar, el signo representante y el interpretante. El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 65 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 6 Murillo, Sandra y Berna Valle (2015). “El signo y sus aproximaciones teóricos en el desarrollo de la ciencia semiótica”. Razón y Palabra, Vol. 19, Nº 91, S/P. En cambio, de Saussure, se centra en el signo como palabra, digamos propone una semiótica lingüística. En ese sentido, propone que el signo lingüístico posee dos caras, un significado y un significante. Umberto Eco entonces nos dice que signo es tanto algo que representa (Pierce), como lo que decodifica el interpretante (Saussure); “Sin embargo, Eco termina estableciendo que la semiótica deberá ocuparse de cualquier cosa que pudiera considerarse como signo, aludiendo a la definición peirceana sobre el signo como sustituto de algo. Explicará que signo es cualquier cosa que se presente como substituto significante de cualquier otra cosa “Esa cualquier otra cosa no debe necesariamente existir ni debe subsistir de hecho en el momento en que el signo la represente. En ese sentido, la semiótica es, en principio, la disciplina que estudia todo lo que puede usarse para mentir (Eco, 2005, p. 22)”6. El aporte de Pierce además de la teoría de signos, es en la metodología de la abducción, pues es quién identifica el método abductivo como producto de la imaginación, del asombro, mientras define que la deducción y la inducción, son producto de la lógica y no de la intuición. Para comprender esto, podemos explicarlo en cualquier ejemplo de las Ciencias Sociales. Cuando se estudia un sujeto x, ese sujeto es asociado a su cultura y por ende cae en la generalización de cualquier análisis, puesto que se entiende que como sujeto debería cumplir con las características que configuran su cultura o la cultura a la que pertenece. Esta generalización es típica en las Ciencias Sociales y en alguna forma ha sido legítima para describir científicamente a los sujetos de alguna cultura en particular. También las Ciencias Sociales utilizan el método inductivo, es decir de una amplia gama de características de alguna cultura: un sujeto puede ser descrito como parte de esa cultura, por simplificación. ¿Qué sucede entonces cuando un sujeto puede pertenecer a dos o más culturas? La respuesta es justamente el desafío de nuestra conclusión. Volvamos a Pierce. Pierce es quién sistematiza el estudio del método abductivo, especialmente de la hipótesis. “El término Abducción, según el Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology de Baldwin, corresponde a la απογογη de Aristóteles, ajustándose a la palabra latina del humanista Julius Pacius, abductio. Abducción o presunción es la mejor forma de traducir este término aristotélico, el cual, tomado desprevenidamente, podría significar secuestro, lo sorprendente de los fenómenos. La presunción es el tipo de razonamiento que Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 66 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 proporciona o permite la formulación de nuevas ideas. La abducción se puede considerar adecuada para la comprensión de fenómenos culturales y para la caracterización de las culturas, no sólo porque está dotada de un sustrato filosófico sólido, sino porque las culturas, multifactoriales y polisémicas, exigen una postura inter y transdisciplinar, la cual es bienvenida por la abducción. Además, como la abducción no se propone llegar a la comprobación de ningún tipo de teoría, sino a la formulación de hipótesis, se convierte en la herramienta óptima, lejos de la cual está la enunciación de juicios. El procedimiento abductivo consiste, básicamente, en la identificación de la anomalía o la novedad, la descripción de la misma, la indagación por referentes teóricos que ayuden a comprender dicha anomalía y, por último, la formulación de hipótesis explicativas que den cuenta del fenómeno detonante, indistintamente si dichas hipótesis son consistentes o no con las diversas formulaciones teóricas encontradas y descritas en el marco teórico”7. Pierce define entonces hipótesis como una “inferencia mediata de carácter sintético, probable y explicativa”8 lo que vuelve a la hipótesis un elemento lógico a pesar de surgir de la imaginación, pues toda hipótesis parte de la base de ser probable, es decir, el explicar con amplia validez la verosimilitud del fenómeno estudiado. De esta manera y suponiendo que la hipótesis hubiera existido antes que el fenómeno, éste podría entenderse hipotéticamente como una consecuencia. Tampoco se trata de hacer hipótesis con cualquier idea que surja, sino más bien el científico propone hipótesis dentro de marcos lógicos posibles. Al respecto Pierce estipula tres reglas para formular una hipótesis; “1.- La hipótesis ha de presentarse expresamente como una cuestión a discutir, antes de hacer las observaciones que atestiguarán su verdad. En otras palabras, debemos procurar discernir cuál será el resultado de las predicciones de la hipótesis. 2.- El aspecto tocante al cual se anoten las semejanzas debe tomarse al azar. No hemos de escoger un tipo particular de predicciones, para las que se sabe que la hipótesis es válida. 3.- Los fracasos tanto como los éxitos de las predicciones deben reseñarse honradamente. El procedimiento entero tiene que ser franco e imparcial”9. Respecto de su clasificación, esta depende de la ciencia desde donde surge la hipótesis, pues se hace necesario diferenciar su aplicación tanto en las ciencias 7 Montoya, Juan Eliseo (2013). “Abducción, Interdisciplinariedad y Cultura”. AdVersuS, X, Nº 24. pp. 122-144. 8 Pierce, Charles (1878). Deducción, Inducción e Hipótesis. Traducción castellana y notas de Juan Martín Ruiz- Werner, Buenos Aires: Aguilar 1970. pp. 1-12. 9 Pierce (1878). Deducción…, pp. 1-12 El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 67 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 exactas como en las ciencias sociales y humanas. En ese sentido, las ciencias exactas poseen la capacidad de demostrar a través de experimentos y resultados comprobables las hipótesis propuestas, mientras que en las ciencias humanas y sociales, esto no es tan así, pues la esencia de las ciencias del espíritu, es que no buscan leyes, al menos no en el postpositivismo10, sino que las ciencias humanas y sociales buscan significados entre los signos culturales, los cuales pueden ser medibles a veces, pero esa no es la meta de las ciencias blandas, cuyo objetivo es comprender significados y no establecer leyes. En ese sentido, las ciencias sociales y las ciencias humanas, obligatoriamente están sujetas a la interpretación y por ende a la hermenéutica y a la semiótica. Es decir, a las ciencias de la interpretación y de la representación. No es de extrañar que haya sido un semiótico como Pierce, quién haya entregado una sistematización de las hipótesis. Para Pierce, la hipótesis, es el método investigativo por excelencia. Pues, la inducción y la deducción siempre están sujetos a la lógica del interpretante y la generalización y simplificación están en directa relación a la cultura del investigador. Umberto Eco y Thomas Sebeok clasifican las abducciones en explicativas, creativas y explicativas-creativas11. así como Pierce sistematiza el procedimiento metodológico para elaborar una hipótesis por abducción de la siguiente manera. 1.- Identificar una anomalía, novedad o fenómeno. 2.- Descripción de la anomalía. 3.- Indagación por referentes teóricos que ayuden a comprender la misma. 4.- Formulación de hipótesis explicativa que busque dar cuenta del fenómeno o anomalía. 5.- Comparación de si aquellas hipótesis explicativas son coherentes con el marco teórico. La abducción no tiene como propósito la comprobación de una hipótesis; su rigurosidad está dirigida a la producción de las mismas, pues éste es su punto de llegada a diferencia de la inducción, la cual es predicativa, y de la deducción la cual es predictiva12. 10 Entendemos por postpositivismo, según la definición que hace Javier Benito Seoane; La ciencia postpositivista considera que sobre un objeto caben diversas interpretaciones válidas, diversos lenguajes. En consecuencia, apuesta por el diálogo entre las múltiples voces que hablan acerca de un objeto y no cree en la posibilidad de hallar un lenguaje privilegiado para la descripción de la realidad, un «espejo de la naturaleza» (RORTY, 1990; 1996a y 1996b). De esta manera, la ciencia postpositivista es una ciencia dialógica. Seoane, Javier Benito (2011). “Teoría Social Clásica y Postpositivismo”, Barbaroi, Nº 35, pp. 141-163. 11 Eco, Umberto y Thomas A. Sebeok (1989). The Sign of Three. Pierce, Holmes, Dupin. Bloomington: Indiana U.P.; (traducción española) El signo de los tres. Dupin, Holmes, Pierce. Barcelona: Lumen (1989), p. 38. 12 Montoya, Juan Eliseo (2013). “Abducción, Interdisciplinariedad y Cultura”. AdVersuS, X, Nº 24. pp. 122-144. Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 68 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 En este caso Juan Montoya sostiene que la abducción es una posibilidad, que siempre va a funcionar dentro de un sistema simbólico cultural. ¿Pero qué ocurre, cuando el investigador trabaja con un sistema cultural desconocido para él? Aquí es cuando entramos en el área de la hermenéutica. Es decir, en la ciencia de la interpretación de textos, como el mismo Pierce sostenía “no tenemos ninguna capacidad de pensar sin signos”13. Para comprender el proceso hermenéutico desde el punto de vista semiótico, debemos considerar que el trasvasije teórico de lo hermenéutico y lo semiótico sí es posible, aunque los semióticos y los hermeneutas siempre celosos de sus disciplinas se opongan al considerar todo signo como texto y todo texto como signo. Al respecto Paul Ricoeur sostiene lo siguiente: “He escogido como problema crítico el punto más delicado, aquel en el que tanto la semiótica como la hermenéutica, me atrevería a decir, encuentran un obstáculo. Este problema se ha designado frecuentemente con el término mimesis. El término proviene de Aristóteles. Declara, en la Poética, que el tipo narrativo que es para el drama (la tragedia, la comedia y la epopeya) constituye una «μίμησίς της πράξες»14, que se traduce normalmente por «imitación de la acción». Pero ¿hay que traducir mimesis por imitación? Este es todo el problema. Precisamente, acaba de aparecer una traducción de la Poética que han hecho alumnos de Todorov donde se traduce mimesis por «representación». De esto se trata justamente. Esta traducción tiene además un precedente: Erich Auerbach subtitula su gran libro Mimesis «La representación de la realidad en la literatura occidental»”15. Según lo anterior, tenemos que tanto en la hermenéutica como en la semiótica, existe un lector de códigos, ya sea este código signo o texto. Ambas disciplinas necesitan de un interpretante que se enfrenta necesariamente al proceso de mimesis. Por lo tanto en la semiótica, todo signo no es más que representación (mimesis) de otro signo, como en hermenéutica todo texto se construye en imitaciones textuales de otros textos (mimesis) por lo que mimesis significa tanto imitación como representación. La separación entre estas dos ciencias humanas (hermenéutica y semiótica) estuvo en la doble interpretación de la palabra poiesis en Aristóteles. Esta doble significación consiste en que para unos, mimesis significa representación y para otros significa imitación. La diferencia es abismal entre uno y otro concepto y separó las dos ciencias por caminos muy diferentes a lo largo de la historia de la ciencia, con resultados dispares. Sin embargo como el proceso de interpretación se centra en un acto interno, mental y consiente de decodificación 13 Pierce, Charles (1878). Deducción…, pp. 1-12 14 Paul Ricoeur se refiere a la traducción llevada a cabo por Roselyne Dupont-Roc y Jean Lallot: La Poétique, París, Seui!, 1980 (N. del T). 15 Ricoeur, Paul (1997) “Hermenéutica y Semiótica. Dedicado a: Horizontes del Relato: Lecturas y Conversaciones con Paul Ricoeur”. Revista Cuaderno Gris, Nº 2. pp. 91-106. El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 69 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 16 Montoya, Juan Eliseo (2013). “Abducción, Interdisciplinariedad y Cultura”. AdVersuS, X, Nº 24. pp. 122-144. 17 Como lo hacían los antiguos antropólogos que se iban años a vivir con los indígenas de la Amazonía y luego publicaban en Europa o EEUU interesantes libros sobre lo observado, pero en un idioma incomprensible para el sujeto-objeto de estudio. de un interpretante circunscrito a un proceso de comunicación, el sentido de la abducción funciona igual para semióticos que para hermeneutas. Es la hermenéutica la que se ha preocupado en profundizar la comprensión e interpretación, mientras a rasgos generales, la semiótica se ha preocupado de la creación y circulación de signos, siendo la generadora de las teorías de la comunicación más conocidas. En la tradición hermenéutica latinoamericana se ha profundizado en la comprensión del Otro en el sentido cultural, destacando la hermenéutica analógica de Mauricio Beuchot, la cual propone la creación de hipótesis de parte del investigador, en el contexto del mismo fenómeno16. Es decir, el autor propone una hermenéutica donde el interpretante construye en su mente una analogía del fenómeno a investigar, haciendo el esfuerzo de situarse en el contexto del fenómeno cultural mismo. Esto significa un gran avance en materia metodológica y hasta hace un par de décadas fue una buena herramienta para la investigación cultural, aplicable en la etnomusicología como en el estudio de los textos de culturas diferentes a la cultura del investigador. Pero en la actualidad, en el proceso de desglobalización estamos ante un nuevo desafío metodológico, pues la realidad es mucho más compleja que colocarse en el lugar del Otro para comprenderlo. ¿En qué sentido? En que en la realidad transcultural actual, el Otro no necesariamente es otro sujeto, sino más bien puede ser varios otros, en el sentido que en la época de la desglobalización, las identidades culturales son múltiples producto de las grandes migraciones tanto capo-cuidad, como de un continente a otro, así como el mismo investigador como sujeto con conciencia, puede ser uno y otro a la vez. Tanto para el interprete como para el interpretante, atrás ha quedado la dicotomía cultura occidental/cultura otra. El binarismo yo-otro, ya no aplica. Hoy yo puedo ser yo y otro al mismo tiempo. Según lo anterior, podríamos afirmar que en la época de la desglobalización, la hermenéutica analógica se queda corta, pues el investigador ya no está analizando un fenómeno en el contexto del fenómeno17, ya que hoy somos objeto y sujetos de estudio a la vez, por lo tanto podemos analizar un fenómeno en uno o dos contextos diferentes al mismo tiempo. En la desglobalización, por ejemplo, el investigador es un mismo indígena de la Amazonía que estudia sus tradiciones dentro y fuera de su cultura, pues los indígenas de la desglobalización van a las universidades, son indígenas y científicos a la vez, como es el caso de Linda Tuhiwai Smith. La investigadora Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 70 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 18 Tuhiwai Smith, Linda (2013). A Descolonizar las Metodologías. Investigación y Pueblos Indígenas. Santiago: LOM. de origen maorí, escribe en inglés, es de nacionalidad neozelandesa y es autora del célebre libro “A Descolonizar las Metodologías”18. Lo mismo ocurre con los investigadores occidentales. Foucault era un filósofo occidental y homosexual, por lo que estaba en una posición dominante y era minoría subalterna a la vez, dominante y dominado el mismo tiempo, por lo que no podemos afirmar que era un occidental que pudiésemos clasificar fácilmente según una inducción o una deducción. En ese sentido se ha propuesto una nueva hermenéutica conocida como hermenéutica diatópica, que no pone su esfuerzo en situarse por analogía en el contexto del Otro, sino más bien en una hermenéutica que intenta dialogar con el Otro, generar un diálogo de culturas, comprender y conocer al Otro mediante el diálogo de saberes, y no desde una situación investigativa parcial. Propuesta por De Soussa Santos, está basada en el diálogo y no en la analogía, pues el problema de la analogía (más allá de su buena intención) es que nunca el sujeto podrá situarse ni material ni imaginariamente en el lugar del otro, por lo tanto. Así, el investigador empático, va a hacer el ejercicio de ponerse en el lugar del otro, pero su analogía no pasará más allá del ejercicio, mientras el extractivismo epistémico sigue adelante. Esto explica, cómo a pueblos subalternos, no solo se les extrae los recursos naturales, sino además el sentido de su existencia y su cultura. De esta manera, éste diálogo de saberes propuesto por De Sousa Santos es una hermenéutica basada en la diferencia, pero no en una diferencia discriminadora, sino en una diferencia consiente, que el conocimiento es necesario construirlo entre todos los seres humanos, independiente de su cultura. _____________________________________________________________________ En este sentido, De Soussa Santos parte de la base que la ciencia se ha desarrollado sobre la base del colonialismo occidental. En ese sentido es fácil acusar a la ciencia como colonialista, que de hecho lo es. ¿Qué ganaron los indígenas a los cuales estudió Levi Strauss? El aporte de Levi Strauss es a la ciencia de la antropología y del conocimiento en general, no en sentido de un aporte local a los indígenas estudiados. Este extractivismo epistémico se reproduce día a día en las universidades del mundo y es un verdadero desafío superarlo. En la Universidad de Talca hay músicos de varias nacionalidades, pero no hay músicos ni musicólogos mapuche, ni aymara, ni quechua, ni rapa nui. El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 71 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 La ecología del saber que propone De Soussa Santos19 es ideal como hermenéutica en la desglobalización, pues en este estrato de tiempo en que estamos presente, las identidades no son sólidas ni estables, las identidades son múltiples, trans y líquidas. Es decir, una persona del mundo actual, en el que la tendencia cultural de los humanos es la movilidad y la multiculturalidad, un sujeto puede tener varias identidades, occidental, indígena, bisexual, liberal, conservador, religioso o agnóstico, las identidades pueden ser de varios tipos dependiendo de la cultura. Es trans, además porque la identidad no es estable. Una persona un día puede convertirse al Islam o por el contrario leer a Feuerbach y volverse ateo, la identidad es algo que siempre está cambiando. Además, el contacto intercultural ya no está relegado a una elite o a un grupo de inmigrantes. En la desglobalización, el fenómeno de la migración afecta a todos los países y a todas las clases sociales. Por último, la identidad es líquida, pues al ser múltiple y trans, es algo que está modificándose a cada momento. En cada rincón del mundo hay alguien que se está adaptando a una nueva cultura, pero filtrando elementos de la cultura nueva y de su cultura de origen, creando una nueva identidad todos los días. Desde el punto de vista semiótico, proponemos que la transculturalidad podría ser vista en términos de Pierce como una cuarteridad, es decir una nueva etapa en la representación semiótica donde el signo es hermenéuticamente leído diatópicamente, superando la hegemonía ideológica del positivismo cultural occidental univocista, pues en la época de desglobalización los individuos tienen dos o más identidades. En ese sentido, los sujetos de la desglobalización asumen los significados y sentidos de lo simbólico en sus diferentes contextos culturales y es necesario que así lo hagan para su completa adaptabilidad cultural, pero nunca antes en la historia había ocurrido que la diversidad cultural se transforme en un proceso contextual dinámico. La cuarteridad como categoría de la experiencia, en términos de Pierce, sería una lectura semiótica compleja de la realidad multi y transcultural en la que signos y textos funcionan en varios sentidos. La multicausalidad y multidireccionalidad de los signos es una característica de la desglobalización. Esto ha ocurrido históricamente con muchos conceptos, pero como vimos anteriormente con el ejemplo del concepto mimesis, ahora podemos funcionar en un mundo donde mimesis significa representación a la vez que imitación. 19 De Soussa Santos, Boaventura (2014). “Más allá del pensamiento abismal: de las líneas globales a una ecología de los saberes”, En: B. De Sousa Santos, B. y Meneses, M. Epistemologías del Sur (Perspectivas). Madrid: Akal. pp. 43. Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 72 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 Igualmente, como en la categoría de experiencia, primeridad es el concepto puro y en abstracto, pero sujeto a la libertad, posibilidad e indeterminación. Es una idea en una mente humana, cualquiera sea la idea y cualquiera sea la mente. Segundidad como categoría de la experiencia, implica algo tal como es, pero en relación a otra cosa. Pierce relaciona esta categoría con la idea de la existencia, por lo tanto, es una categoría ontológica. Esto en relación a los sentidos que captan cualidades de los fenómenos, cuyas cualidades serían una primeridad o cualidad pura. En la secundidad nosotros construimos hechos de la realidad o de existencia. Es la relación del objeto abstracto con la existencia en sí misma. Por terceridad o tercera categoría de la experiencia, se hace posible la conexión de las cualidades de las cosas con lo que percibimos. En esta relación formulamos razonamientos, por lo que el signo se transforma en lo que entiende el interpretante, quien constituye un razonamiento que relaciona el concepto abstracto en que el interpretante es a su vez medio de razonamiento. Sabemos que todo interpretante tiene su contexto, por lo que podríamos decir que las terceridad tiene que ver con el concepto abstracto, el interpretante y su contexto. Pero ¿Qué ocurre en un contexto trans y multicultural, en el que los conceptos tienen dos o más significados y estos significados a su vez son líquidos y cambiantes en contextos cambiantes? Estos múltiples significados no están dados por la doble significación de un concepto dentro de una cultura como el concepto poiesis, o como el concepto historia que significa tanto pasado como disciplina investigativa del pasado. Sino que está dado por el hecho que en la desglobalización, los conceptos tienen doble o más significados en diferentes culturas, así como existen conceptos en un idioma que no tienen traducción en otros idiomas. Por ejemplo, para un occidental una montaña es un paisaje y a su vez un recurso económico. Mientras para un maorí una montaña, por un colonialismo aprendido, significa paisaje y recurso, pero también puede significar un espacio sagrado, en un sistema simbólico propio, significado que no existe en la lógica occidental. Así es como tenemos conceptos que en diferentes culturas significan diferentes cosas, por lo que observamos que el contexto de significación es multiple, trans y líquido y que la enseñanza de la historia, las artes y la música está supeditado a esta nueva época transcultural. Específicamente el caso de la enseñanza de la música en una universidad regional de Chile, implica investigar con los ojos abiertos a los nuevos elementos que atraviesan la cultura chilena. La revalorización de lo mapuche, aymara, quechua y rapa nui. El aporte cultural rítmico de la migración afrodecendiente- caribeña. Los nuevos musicólogos deben ser formados en las ciencias semióticas y hermenéuticas para poder captar aquellas sutilezas culturales que occidente El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 73 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 ha identificado, pero no ha comprendido, o lo que es peor, no ha querido comprender. Introducción a la Metodología de la Investigación Musical en la Universidad de Talca En el anterior contexto cultural y teórico, dictamos el curso; Metodología de la Investigación a alumnos de la carrera de Interpretación y Docencia Musical Especializada en la Universidad de Talca, Chile, quienes deben hacer una tesis en investigación musical, para lo que se diseñó un curso en el que la tesis sea trabajada como un Estudio de Caso formulado en el noveno semestre de la carrera, y desarrollada como Trabajo de Grado en el décimo semestre. Comenzamos por pedirle a los alumnos del curso en el noveno semestre, que hagan en su Centro de Práctica un análisis FODA y lo expongan al curso, respecto del contexto del proceso de enseñanza aprendizaje de la música. Lo anterior, con el fin que se interioricen de la realidad de sus contexto educativo y encuentren un tema a investigar aplicando el modelo de Estudio de Caso, el que está amparado en mostrar evidencia científica de algún problema de investigación relacionada al proceso de enseñanza de la música. De este procedimiento metodológico surgieron los temas de investigación que los alumnos deben trabajar en forma individual o en parejas, descubierto por ellos, de acuerdo a fortalezas, oportunidades, debilidades o amenazas (FODA) que ellos encuentren en el proceso de educación musical, mientras hacen su Práctica Profesional como futuros profesores de la música, en diferentes establecimientos educacionales de la ciudad de Talca. A continuación les pedimos un anteproyecto evaluado en el que deben indicar su investigación en términos implícitos; (observación del tema-problema, hipótesis, antítesis (3 autores mínimo) análisis, síntesis, tesis). Anteproyecto que en este caso nace del análisis FODA y que les permite ordenar sus ideas de investigación, construir preguntas de investigación, realizar conjeturas e hipótesis, cuestionar sus premisas y construir instrumentos de investigación, utilizando el método abductivo antes expuesto para el desarrollo de una investigación de tipo Estudio de Caso. Los resultados fueron óptimos, ayudando el método abductivo a encontrar eficazmente un tema-problema a investigar, que en definitiva es lo más difícil de lograr en alumnos que no tienen experiencia investigativa. Posteriormente en el décimo semestre de la carrera en el curso Trabajo de Grado, los alumnos debieron llevar a cabo su anteproyecto de investigación, transformando el proyecto de forma implícita antes mencionada a la forma explicita; Introducción, Hipótesis, Marco Teórico, Marco Metodológico, Objetivos de Investigación, Presentación del Tema-Problema, Justificación del Dr. Javier A. Soto Cárdenas 74 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 Tema-Problema, Análisis y Resultados, Conclusiones Específicas y Generales, hasta lograr obtener una Tesis. Este método ha sido útil en la construcción y diseño de los trabajos de grado de los alumnos del a Escuela de Música de la Universidad de Talca. Conclusión En el Romanticismo Oscuro norteamericano del siglo XIX, surge en la cabeza de un escritor genial y atormentado un método de investigación abductiva como novedosa construcción narrativa. Capta el interés de otro escritor, ahora en Europa y desarrolla todo un canon de la novela de investigación. Luego un semiólogo estadounidense sintetiza y elabora una teoría del conocimiento basada en la hipótesis como reemplazo de los modelos inductivos y deductivos surgidos de la lógica griega y propone a la intuición a la altura del método. Luego y tras el debate hermenéutico de la actualidad, se presenta la abducción como un método del pensamiento necesario para comprender la compleja realidad que vive la humanidad en el siglo XXI y su aceleración del tiempo. Por último, se propone el método abductivo como una importante herramienta de investigación en el contexto de una sociedad que está viviendo un proceso de desglobalización donde el viaje es la mejor didáctica para investigar la música, las artes, las ciencias humanas y sociales, entregando el ejemplo de; cómo el método abductivo es utilizado para una investigación de tipo Estudio de Caso en la Universidad de Talca, con alumnos de la Escuela de Música. BIBLIOGRAFÍA Aguayo, Pablo (2011). “La Teoría de la Abducción de Pierce: Lógica, Metodología e Instinto”. Ideas y Valores, Nº 145, pp. 33-53. De Soussa Santos, Boaventura (2009). “Un discurso sobre las ciencias”. En: J.G. Gandarilla. Una epistemología del sur: la reinvención del conocimiento y la emancipación social. México: Siglo XXI. pp. 17-59. De Soussa Santos, Boaventura (2014). “Más allá del pensamiento abismal: de las líneas globales a una ecología de los saberes”, En: B. De Sousa Santos y M. Meneses. Epistemologías del Sur (Perspectivas). Madrid: Akal. pp. 21-61. Eco, Umberto y Thomas A. Sebeok (1989). The Sign of Three. Pierce, Holmes, Dupin. Bloomington: Indiana U.P.; (traducción española) El signo de los tres. Dupin, Holmes, Pierce. Barcelona: Lumen (1989), p. 38. Hernández, Gloria (2009). “El Proceso de Recepción de The American Scholar de Ralph W. Emerson”. Revista Norteamérica. Año 4, número 1, p. 222. El Método Abductivo de Investigación Científica. Sus orígenes en el Romanticismo Oscuro Estadounidense y algunas Reflexiones y ejemplos en torno a contextos Multiculturales y la Enseñanza de la Música en la Desglobalización The abductive method of scientific research. Its origins in us dark romanticism and some reflections and examples regarding multicultural contexts and the teaching of music in deglobalization 75 Revista NEUMA • Año 12 Volumen 1 Ibarra, Manuel (2008). “Alfredo Jalife-Rahme. Hacia la Desglobalización”. Reseña en Revista Estudios Fronterizos, Vol. 9, Nº 17, pp. 197-202. Lada Ferreras, Ulpiano (2001). “La dimensión pragmática del signo literario”. Estudios Filológicos. Nº 36, pp. 61-70. Mié, Fabián (2012). “Demostración y Silogismo en los Analíticos Segundos. Reconstrucción y Discusión”, Diánoia, volumen LVIII, número 70, pp. 35–58. Mancuso, Hugo (2010). De lo decible. Entre semiótica y filosofía: Pierce, Gramsci, Wittgenstein. Buenos Aires: SB Editorial Montoya, Juan Eliseo (2013). “Abducción, Interdisciplinariedad y Cultura”. AdVersuS, X, Nº 24. pp. 122-144. Murillo, Sandra y Berna Valle (2015). “El signo y sus aproximaciones teóricos en el desarrollo de la ciencia semiótica”. Razón y Palabra, Vol. 19, Nº 91, S/P. http://www.redalyc.org/articulo.oa?id=199541387030 Consultado el 20 de agosto del 2019. Pierce, Charles (1878). Deducción, Inducción e Hipótesis. Traducción castellana y notas de Juan Martín Ruiz-Werner Buenos Aires: Aguilar 1970. pp. 1-12.pp. 1-12. Poe, Edgar Allan (1973). Ensayos y Críticas. Traducción e Introducción de Julio Cortázar. Madrid: Alianza Editorial. Ricoeur, Paul (1997). “Hermenéutica y Semiótica. Dedicado a: Horizontes del Relato: Lecturas y Conversaciones con Paul Ricoeur”. Revista Cuaderno Gris, Nº 2. pp. 91-106. Seoane, Javier Benito (2011). “Teoría Social Clásica y Postpositivismo”, Barbaroi, Nº 35, pp. 141-163. Tuhiwai Smith, Linda (2013). A Descolonizar las Metodologías. Investigación y Pueblos Indígenas. LOM. Santiago. Vásquez, Adolfo (2015). Romanticismo Oscuro. De la Literatura Gótica a los Poetas Malditos. Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Actas de Literatura Contemporánea; XVI, p. 1. Velásquez, Graciela (2015). “El rol de la abducción peirciana en la investigación científica”. Valenciana, Volumen 8, Nº 15, pp. 189-213. Yegres, Alberto (2005). “Filosofía, Ilustración y Romanticismo”. Revista de Investigación, vol. 39, Nº. 86, pp. 1-8. 
work_opwbg27ypbg2dj5fenlscwbah4	----	Figure 4.1: The famed rust-less iron pillar installed in Delhi in about 1233 CE was originally erected as a gnomon in Udaigiri, central India, located on tropic of Cancer. The gnomon, built about 400 CE was designed to cast shadow in the direction of the passage to temples, on summer solstice day. (Photo courtesy R. Balasubramaniam) 40 4. Astronomical Heritage: Towards a Global Perspective and Action Rajesh Kochhar, International Astronomical Union (IAU) This international symposium is taking place in the 400th year of the chance invention of telescope. The accidental discovery in 1608 of a combination of lenses by the Dutch optician Hans Lippershey may belong to the realm of romance of history. But the next year when Galileo made the world’s first designer telescope and turned it skywards, he initiated a revolution the impact of which has gone beyond astronomy and science. Homo Sapiens is an astronomical species. Ever since humans learnt to walk upright they have looked at the sky and wondered. The sky has remained the same but its meaning as well as significance has continually changed. To begin with, the sky was a divinity to be feared and appeased. It then became a phenomenon to be observed and utilized. And finally now it has been reduced to be an object of study and a labora- tory for testing our scientific theories. In the course of time as the human intellect gradually gained sophistica- tion, humankind also reworked its equation with nature. From estimating angles to measuring distances our un- derstanding of the skies has indeed deepened, literally and figuratively. Astronomy today is at the cutting edge of intellec- tual enquiry and, at its most glamorous, a child of high technology. But it is more than a branch of modern sci- ence. It is a symbol of the collectivity and continuity of humankind’s cultural heritage. This mixture of science and culture is astronomy’s strength as well as dilemma. Strength, because support for astronomy transcends all boundaries; dilemma, because this support transcends science also. As is well known it is very difficult to define things. It has been said that definition should emerge from actual practice. This is largely true. But there are times when concepts need to be defined properly so that future ac- tions can be given a direction. When we were in school we were told in the English class that the word his- tory has no plural. Now I realize that we were wrongly taught. I am inclined to go to the other extreme and assert that there is no history only histories. That is why today the trend is to use the term heritage as in the title for this symposium. Heritage can be seen as the sum total of histories. And yet for the sake of developing a global perspective and planning combined action we must try to develop a universal history. Elsewhere I have used the term Cultural Copernican- ism. Just as Copernican principle in cosmology tells that the universe does not have a preferred location or direction, Cultural Copernicanism would imply that no cultural or geographical area or ethnic or social group can be deemed to constitute a benchmark for judging and evaluating others. Within this framework how do we deal with the past? Past should not be pitted against the present. It must be conceded that modern astron- omy is the terminus of an evolutional track. Astronomy (as well as science in general) should be seen as a multi- stage civilizational cumulus where each stage builds on the knowledge gained in the previous stages and in turn leads to the next. In various stages there are invariably deed ends which should be handled with sensitivity. In this context it would be useful to keep in mind a wise statement by Henry David Thoreau: “A man is wise with the wisdom of his time only, and ignorant with its ignorance.” History is an exercise in reconstructing the past that is carried out in the present with an eye on the fu- ture. Thus paradoxical as it may seem history is an instrument that converts the past into a bridge between the present and the future. More specifically, history of astronomy is an enquiry into how human perception of their cosmic environment has evolved with time. It is relatively an easy matter to discuss the history of modern astronomy as western astronomy. But if we wish to advance the cause of astronomy, if we wish to see world-wide development of astronomy, we must place post-Galilean developments in a wider spatial and temporal context. Some relevant details of the activities planned by the International Astronomical Union and the United Nations in commemoration of International Year of Astronomy 2009 will be provided. 41 
work_oqo4qspn7jfbjl732muc2iavde	----	renselange.com IKS Rense Lange IKS Rense Lange Home Integrated Knowledge Systems (IKS) focuses on the application of advanced analytic techniques and statistical modelling in new contexts and emerging industries. In educational assessment this includes Computer Adaptive Testing (CAT) to achieve greater testing efficiency, as well as Automatic Essay Grading (AES) where students’ essays are graded by computer. In a financial technology (FINTECH) context, the approach focuses on using psychographic data to provide loans to meritorious – but often under-served - groups like minorities or women that may lack an extensive credit history. Central to IKS’ approach is the use of Machine Learning, often relying on the powers of Google’s TensorFlow or Keras. Rense Lange Following his undergraduate studies at the University of Groningen, the Netherlands, Rense Lange was awarded a Doctorate in Psychology and a Master's Degree in Computer Science from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, USA. He has published over 75 refereed papers, books, and chapters in the areas of computer science, econometrics, education, machine learning, medicine, psychology, psychiatry, and psychometrics, and serves as a reviewer and member of the editorial board of several journals. As well, he is an Honorary Fellow at the Malaysian Psychometric Association. While teaching at the University of Illinois, Dr. Lange founded Integrated Knowledge Systems (IKS) to provide test administration, psychometrics and quality control services for medium and large scale clients, at the US state and district level, in educational assessment and personnel testing. Over the past years IKS has served clients in Canada, China, Malaysia, Mexico, Portugal, Spain, and the USA. Additionally, Dr. Lange heads the ISLA Laboratory for Statistics and Computation in Vila Nova de Gaia - Porto (Portugal). At ISLA he aims to leverage the power of modern psychometrics, process mining, and machine learning to applications in banking, education, social media, and personnel selection. In conjunction with Global Psytech (located in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia) - one of the world’s leading FINTECH startups - various projects are currently in progress. Name * E-mailadress * Text * Leave this field empty Submit form © 2021 renselange.com Powered by JouwWeb 
work_os5d3nqo5bekdmbt65apcgeeue	----	Ian McHarg’s confident skill Vol.:(0123456789)1 3 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42532-019-00028-0 P E R S P E C T I V E E S S AY Ian McHarg’s confident skill Danilo Palazzo1  · Leah Hollstein1 Received: 15 March 2019 / Accepted: 6 August 2019 / Published online: 13 September 2019 © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2019 Abstract Fifty years has passed since the publication of Ian McHarg’s Design with Nature. With “confident skill,” a quality that Mumford attributed to McHarg in the book’s Introduction, the text intermingled autobiographical notes and philosophical thoughts with chapters on ecological planning case studies and the use of the map overlay technique. Design with Nature provided limited indications about the authors or books that inspired and supported McHarg. The paper, through a literature review, investigates the contingent circumstances that fed the social milieu of the 1960s and 1970s as well as the individuals and ideas preceding or contemporary with McHarg that backed, validated, or substantiated his book and ecological planning. The paper considers the multiple influences that McHarg gathered from scientists and philosophers in the time preceding the preparation of Design with Nature when he created and led his Man and the Environment course and hosted The House We Live In, a CBS television show. It also reflects the multiple ways in which McHarg’s ideas influenced, and were influenced in return, by the development of academic ecology practice and education. McHarg recognized that the book borrowed from the thoughts and dreams of others and that his intention was to divulge his ideas to a wider audience than just academic insid- ers. The paper affirms that Design with Nature and its author catalyzed social, cultural, scholarly, and professional factors, started a chain reaction that had an undeniable impact on academia, practice, and government in the 50 years afterward, and became a central and fundamental academic reference for landscape architecture and planning. Keywords Ecological planning · Landscape planning · Ian McHarg · Map overlay · Environmental planning · Design with Nature · Socio-ecological practice research 1 Introduction The tone that McHarg adopted in Design with Nature can be explained by his “confident skill,” an attribute that Lewis Mumford, in the book’s Introduction, ascribes to the author: “Without the passion and courage and confident skill of peo- ple like McHarg […the] hope [for a better world] might fade and disappear forever” (Mumford 1969, p. viii). McHarg was extremely confident in himself and his capacities, as many of those who have met him in person testify: “McHarg’s rangy mind, colorful mode of expression, and willingness to offend makes him rather unusual as landscape architects go. But behind the extravagant language hums a methodi- cal brain and a fervent, highly developed philosophy about man’s relationship to nature that has propelled him to the forefront of landscape architecture in America” (Holden 1977, p. 379). McHarg himself described his boldness, his temper, and his self-assurance in several episodes of A Quest for Life, his autobiography (McHarg 1996, pp. 75, 111, 118, 166, 190, 238). McHarg’s self-confidence, his interdisciplinary strength in synthesizing and communicating (Holden 1977, p. 379), his acquired knowledge of the topics discussed in Man and Environment and The House We Live In—combined with the intention to “address larger problems and wider audi- ences” (McHarg 1996, p. 201)—prevailed over adopting a more traditional choice of paratextual parts in Design with Nature, such as bibliography, index, and further readings. The book, in fact, intermingles autobiographical notes and philosophical thoughts with chapters on ecological plan- ning case studies and applications, while providing limited indication about the authors or books that inspired and sup- ported McHarg’s theoretical background. In Design with Nature, the nearest McHarg comes to acknowledging the inspirations of others is when he mentions that “a procession * Danilo Palazzo palazzdo@ucmail.uc.edu 1 School of Planning, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, OH, USA http://orcid.org/0000-0002-3029-3452 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s42532-019-00028-0&domain=pdf 348 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 of great men have [sic] addressed my students and me during the past decade. It is their conceptions that constitutes [sic] the theory of this book” (1969, p. iv). This paper investigates the development of some of the principles that matured just prior to the appearance of Design with Nature, as well as the general milieu that pre- ceded and eventually supported and sustained the affirmation of ecological planning. The paper places Design with Nature within a scenario of thought-leaders, publications, and con- tributions on close topics published during the same period. It will show the way in which McHarg’s lifetime of experi- ences led him to write Design with Nature and how those same experiences influenced the style he chose to employ in its writing. Finally, the paper tracks how McHarg recognized in papers, books, or interviews published in the years subse- quent to Design with Nature’s publication, the gaps in his knowledge of what and who preceded him in the develop- ment of ecological planning. A thorough story of ecological planning has yet to be written; despite the relevant role that McHarg would have in it, we can certainly agree with Ervin Zube (1986a, p. 67) it was through an uneven progress that ecological planning systems and methods matured. 2 Fortune favors the bold Throughout his life, McHarg thrust himself into position after position, always advancing (in the way of a former soldier) to higher aspirations. His bold, take-no-prisoners attitude knocked down walls that would have slowed or stopped others, enabling McHarg to place himself in the “right place” at the “right time” for many opportunities (McHarg 1996, p. 66). After serving in WWII, and being introduced to the field of landscape architecture as a young man, McHarg enrolled in Harvard University’s Graduate School of Design (GSD). Despite not having a bachelor’s degree, or even a high-school certificate due to his having left school at age 16, McHarg brazenly sent a telegram to the chair of the Landscape Archi- tecture Department, informing him of his intention to enroll, and asking him to “make necessary arrangements” (McHarg 1996, p. 66). On summer break in 1949, McHarg and his wife drove across the USA, exploring American landscapes, cities, and projects. They ended their trip in California. Tak- ing advantage of letters of introduction given to them by the chairman of the GSD’s City Planning program, they met landscape architects Thomas Church, Garrett Eckbo, and Lawrence Halprin. Considered Modernist masters today, at the time they were seen as the new guard, the people rein- venting the field. While these “young turks” (McHarg 1996, p. 72) were ignored in the GSD’s curriculum at the time, McHarg’s letter of introduction gave him special access to their “revolutionary” (McHarg 1996, p. 80) work, enabling him to form relationships that later would lead to collabora- tions and exchanges. As he began his academic career, McHarg also charged boldly, taking on momentous tasks, especially for one so new to academia. He tied his employment at the Univer- sity of Pennsylvania’s Graduate School of Fine Arts (Penn) to the contemporaneous departure of Walter Gropius from the faculty, along with “massive sympathetic resignations” (McHarg 1996, p. 132). One of the resulting faculty open- ings was given by Penn’s Dean, and former Chair of city planning at the GSD, to a 34-year-old McHarg, along with the task to develop a landscape architecture program (Miller and Pardal 1992). The Dean then introduced him to the ben- efactor who provided scholarships that made it possible to attract outstanding candidates to this new program. This funding, along with a Rockefeller grant obtained in the pro- gram’s second year, and a subsequent million-dollar Ford Foundation grant (McHarg 1996, pp. 190–192), allowed McHarg to employ distinguished practitioners as visiting faculty and, most importantly, to hire natural scientists to accomplish his commitment to develop and teach human ecological planning (McHarg 1981, p. 109). McHarg’s meticulously choreographed convergence of talented stu- dents, faculty, funding, and the decision to tackle “current and conspicuous social problems” in courses, catapulted both a young McHarg and Penn’s landscape architecture program into national prominence at an early stage (McHarg 1996, p. 135). McHarg’s development and organization of the course Man and Environment at the University of Pennsylvania in 1959 permitted him “to invite the most distinguished speak- ers in the environmental movement for the illumination of students and the development of my own knowledge” (1996, p. 157). The guests invited to talk represented a “Who’s Who of theology and science,” a flabbergasting list that encom- passes almost three pages of McHarg’s autobiography (1996, pp. 159–161). After only 1 year of offering his Man and Environment survey course at Penn, McHarg was contacted by the local CBS affiliate to turn the course into a twelve-part television series—The House we Live In (1960–1961). Despite his hav- ing no experience in television, McHarg was given free rein to select contributors and formulate the topic of each epi- sode. As host, McHarg had the opportunity and privilege to meet and discuss topics with the brightest minds of his time. He invited the leading thinkers in theology, philosophy, and science to discuss the human role on earth—the House in the title is a reference to Oikos, the Greek word for house from which derives the English prefix eco- for ecology. The guest list, again, is long and contains the best and the brightest of that time. Among them were philosophers Erich Fromm and Paul Tillich, anthropologist Margaret Mead (the only woman 349Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 in a male-dominated group), astronomer Harlow Shapley, ecologist Frank Fraser Darling, psychiatrist Leonard Duhl (author of The Urban Condition, 1963), and sociologist and historian Lewis Mumford. McHarg’s steadily increasing profile with cultural and environmental groups hurtled him into ever more elevated circles. Additionally, the lessons he learned from this media experience and the broad exposure it gave to his views on man’s relationship with the environment influenced his evocative writing style in Design with Nature. McHarg acknowledges that when the environmental move- ment emerged, there were not many well-known people who could speak on its behalf, suggesting “that’s one of the rea- sons I became conspicuous” (Miller and Pardal 1992, p. 47). Just as McHarg’s academic reputation influenced his professional contacts and responsibilities, these profes- sional activities, in turn, influenced his academic research. In 1965, the American Institute of Architects (AIA) was invited, at the behest of US Interior Secretary Stewart Udall, to nominate members of a task force to make a model plan for the Potomac River basin. McHarg was confronted with the necessity of acquiring the data needed to investigate the region beyond the urban confines of Washington, DC. In a responding studio, McHarg and his landscape architecture students thus “developed the ecological planning method,” using chronology to organize layers of data, revealing land- scape structure, and determining suitability (McHarg 1996, p. 197). McHarg’s growing prominence and the revolutionary forces at work in the decade came together in 1966 when Russell Train, president of the Conservation Foundation, and his chief scientist Raymond Dasman (McHarg 1996, p. 199) suggested to McHarg that he should write a book on ecology, a book that would become Design with Nature. As discussed in the next section, this suggestion was based on the underlying judgment that the time was right for a book on this topic and that it would find an eager audience. 3 Design with Nature: supportive milieu in the USA When McHarg was persuaded to write Design with Nature, he was professor at the University of Pennsylvania and co- founder of Wallace, McHarg, Roberts, and Todd, and was positioned at a confluence of international, domestic, aca- demic, and disciplinary events that contributed to a milieu primed to receive his message. The 1966–1967 period was a propitious time to write Design with Nature, for a number of seminal ideas were surfacing simultaneously. The book offered the opportunity to assemble, integrate, and present these as a new way of looking at the earth (McHarg 1996, p. 201). At the national level, McHarg was correct that the 1960s was the right time for Design with Nature. The period between WWII and 1969 was a time of turbulence in the US; cities were rocked by demographic changes, and many people were searching for new ways of living. Individual cit- izens were demanding increased responsiveness from their governments and wanted to have more influence over the great issues of the day. Common to many of the tendencies of the time was a growing recognition of the dangers facing our environment. This generated in many people within the environmental movement “an increased awareness of gov- ernment as an environmental culprit. […] Looked at closely, most of the agencies of the state […] seemed driven more by economics than by ecology” (Sale 1993, pp. 12–13). Between 1950 and 1960, more than three quarters of met- ropolitan growth in the USA took place outside of central cities. A common fear was that the increased development pressure on rural and suburban locations could lead to hous- ing being developed in unsuitable or even dangerous loca- tions without advanced planning (Heskin 1980). Even in areas where housing was not being developed, transportation routes and encroaching urbanization threatened the integrity of environmental resources. In Design with Nature, McHarg directly addresses these fears with in-depth case studies of urbanizing regions on the US east coast, at scales ranging from the area known as “The Valleys” near Baltimore and the Philadelphia and Washington, DC metro areas, to Staten Island, New York, and the entire Potomac River Basin. The inclusion of these case studies validates contemporary fears of uncontrolled, misplaced, and/or unplanned suburban growth on the landscape, showing the wisdom of McHarg’s own sensible, alternative process protecting the environment while accommodating inevitable growth (McHarg 1969, p. 83). The national exurban movement was largely facilitated by the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956, which allocated over $16 billion dollars (in 2019 funds) to primary, secondary, and urban extensions of the federal highway system (United States Congress 1956). Promoted as a boon to both indus- try and national defense, it was criticized by many for what was seen as its racist, anti-environmental, and anti-urban orientations (Rose 2003). In fact, McHarg noted that he was lucky to have entered transportation planning in the 1960s: “my first encounter occurred at the peak of this situation. Given the prevailing ignorance, it was not difficult to reveal omissions and recommend improvements” (1996, p. 337). A prime example of this revelation and recommendation is shown in Design with Nature, as McHarg demonstrates how an alternative road design process, one that “provides the maximum social benefit at the least social cost” could be followed in a case study of Richmond Parkway in New York (McHarg 1969, p. 32). 350 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 Students and activists protested against perceived injus- tices, ranging from segregation and discrimination to the Vietnam War and the House Un-American Activities Com- mittee. Protests were supported by a widespread awak- ening to fundamental inequalities in the USA regarding race (Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s 1963 “I Have a Dream Speech”), gender (the 1963 publication of Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique), and the environment (Rachel Carson’s 1962 release of Silent Spring). In response, a number of organizations were created and laws passed to work toward a more just country, including the 1964 Civil Rights Act, the 1966 creation of both the National Organi- zation for Women and the Black Panther Party, and, in 1967, the Environmental Defense Fund. In conjunction with the perceived need for environ- mental defense were actions indicating a more wide- spread awareness of the environment in many facets of public life. In 1964, the Ford Foundation invited promi- nent actors in ecology and resources, including McHarg, to a four-day conference in New York City to determine whether the field was worth funding (McHarg 1996, pp. 190–192). The next year saw the reprinting of George Perkins Marsh’s Man and Nature, marking the 100-year anniversary of the initial 1864 printing of “the fountain- head of the conservation movement,” as it was called by Mumford in Lowenthal’s introduction to the book (Marsh 1965, p. ix). In 1968, Garrett Hardin published his Tragedy of the Commons, putting voice to concerns about environ- mental pollution as well as overpopulation based largely on environmental reasoning—a theory recently rejected from a scientific point of view and now controversial due to the author’s racist, nativist, and anti-immigration ideas (Mildenberger 2019). McHarg and other leaders of the environmental movement, like Paul Ehrlich, Barry Com- moner, Rene Dubos, and Ralph Nader, were “frontline troops [who] crisscrossed the country giving lectures to enormous and excited audiences” (McHarg 1996, p. 208). Their efforts culminated in the first Earth Day on April 21, 1970. The 1960s and 1970s also represented a real break- through for ecological planning in the USA. The envi- ronmental crises that hit the country in those two decades caused the materialization and development of the envi- ronmental movement (Gottlieb 1993; Sale 1993; Shabecoff 1993; Dryzek 2003; Neimark and Rhoades Mott 2017) and the launch of a “sweeping and intensive array of regulatory regimes at all levels of government” (Ruhl et al. 2007, p. 167), stimulating the emergence of studies on the relation- ship between planning and the environment. Ecological planning in the same period is marked by some significant changes, which, according to Steiner, Young, and Zube, can be summarized in three points: 1) the literature […] has proliferated and its sources have become more broadly based, with more and more planners (and scholars from other disciplines) calling for the increased use of ecology in planning; 2) the movement, if it can be called that, has become more explicit, uses language that is more explicitly ecologi- cal and more clearly mandates that planning be eco- logical; and 3) more of the literature is now oriented toward planning as applied human ecology rather than just incorporating bio-ecology concepts into land-use or landscape planning. (1988, p. 33) In parallel to the evolution toward ecological planning in society at large and in planning literature, regulations were adopted at both the federal and state level, particularly the National Environmental Policy Act of 1969 (United States Congress 1970), denoting an attitude of greater attention toward the impact of human actions on the environment and the emergence of a significant demand for planning. 3.1 Design with Nature: academic ecology, practices, and methods The ecological development of landscape architecture and urban and regional planning also restarted in the postwar period. It was concentrated around the development of methodologies to assess landscapes and the impacts of transformations and was characterized by the attempt to combine—through methodologies applied to design and planning—interdisciplinary contributions and to inaugu- rate the use of computer processing and the first geographic information systems (GIS). Raymond Belknap and John Furtado explain the reasons for the advancement of these methods in a famous document that compared the environmental resource analysis methods of McHarg, Philip H. Lewis Jr., and George Angus Hills: One is the growing concern for the quality of our envi- ronment. […] Over the next two or three decades, bil- lions of dollars and countless man-hours will be spent to protect and develop resources that create and affect the quality of our physical environment. […] Faced with immediate needs, there is no choice but to use existing approaches to resource analysis, planning and development, and to improve them as may be possible. (1967, p. 1) In 1970, as a segue from the Belknap and Furtado report, Carl Steinitz confirmed the strong growth of this type of study comparing fifteen examples of landscape resource analysis to measure their effectiveness. Some of the studies he considered already made use of the first rudimentary com- puters, which gradually began to be used for the analysis and planning of the environment from the mid-1960s (Steinitz 351Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 1993). Throughout the 1960s, landscape architecture and planning were improved through the adoption of new tools, the establishing of new goals, and the recognition of new responsibilities. New tools included new methods (Hollstein 2019) and the introduction of the first computers (Carlsson 2017). New goals envisioned a less intrusive future (Land- scape Architecture Ed. 1967). New responsibilities were rec- ognized in the professional (Eckbo 1966; Gunn 1966), social (Grunwald 1966), historical (Brooks 1966), esthetic (Marx 1964), and ecological arenas (Odum and Davis 1969; Young 1974). In this climate, which was both supportive and com- plex, planning became explicitly and consciously ecological (Cain 1968). Hills, Lewis, and McHarg were the best-known authors among those who accepted the new challenges and new dimensions of responsibility to which planners were called. They provided a strong drive to both technical and ethical elaborations and to a deep reflection on their roles as ecological planners (Hills 1974; Lewis 1996; McHarg 1996). McHarg’s overlay process, as described in Design with Nature, is considered one of the foundational influences upon GIS, establishing a scientific process for land-use suit- ability analysis within the environmental design fields (Mal- czewski 2004). GIS, when used in conjunction with Stein- itz’ decision-making framework (Steinitz 1990), operates today as the field of geodesign. While the concept of spatial thinking and problem solving is not new, as Li and Milburn (2016) demonstrate in the field of landscape architecture, evolving sociocultural concerns within environmental design are changing the field. In common with broader trends away from the rational, positivist approach to planning and deci- sion making, the application of GIS has undergone a transi- tion through contextual, political approaches to communica- tive theories and on to shared-governance approaches to the use and implementation of spatial data and decision making (Malczewski 2004). 3.2 Design with Nature: environmental design education Reflecting the increased attention being paid to the environ- ment and ecology at large, and within the design professions in particular, university programs in landscape architecture and urban and regional planning began to pay more attention to ecological issues in the 1970s, with McHarg’s own pro- gram leading the way. They started to incorporate disciplines related to environmental sciences, showed a maturing multi- disciplinary attitude (Sanoff 1974; Erichsen and Goldenstein 2011), and experimented with interdisciplinary planning techniques (Appleyard 1971; Fein 1975; Gunn 1978; Lyle 1978; Heskin 1980; Lang 1983; Twiss 1986; Zube 1986b; Dalton 2001). Through the 1960s, with the rise of the envi- ronmental movement, “complex problems conceptualized as dynamic conflicts with geographical distribution entered the agenda of the landscape architecture profession” (Carlsson 2017, p. 37). Consequently, landscape architecture began to assume the leading role in the field of ecological planning (Spirn 1997; Conan 2000; Spirn 2000; Meyer 2001; Lystra 2014; Weller 2015). In the same years, urban and regional planning programs began to evidence similar changes, sup- porting wide offerings in the field of environmental plan- ning and management of natural resources (Niebanck 1993; Steinitz 1995) through the introduction of geodesign and GIS (Batty 1994; Muller and Flohr 2016: Li and Milburn 2016; Hollstein 2019.) University programs showed contacts between landscape architecture and environmental sciences, first timidly in the 1950s (Walker and Simo 1994, pp. 261–263) and more openly a decade later. A survey of about twenty landscape architecture programs in US universities, carried out in 1953, showed that courses on plant ecology and geology were already present in at least two universities: Ohio State University and Texas A&M University (White 1953). Other programs already applied tools such as the topographic maps and aerial photographs overlay, an anticipation of the method of map overlay technique that became popular with McHarg fifteen years later (Steinitz et al. 1976; Walker and Simo 1994). McHarg’s explicit approach to landscape architecture and planning education at the University of Pennsylvania is described in his own address to a 1964 Ford Foundation conference on the field of ecology (as discussed earlier): “I was firmly committed to ecology as the scientific foundation for landscape architecture, but I also submitted that it could perform invaluable services if employed in environmental and regional planning” (1996, p. 191). Two years later, when a half-million-dollar grant was approved, McHarg used the money to recruit natural scientists to be integrated “into a holistic discipline applied to the solution of contemporary problems” (1996, p. 192). The grant, as McHarg said, “trans- formed education in environmental problems” (1996, p. 192) and the “evolution of the department [of Landscape Archi- tecture and Regional Planning] over the past quarter century has been from a preoccupation with design in the absence of any scientific prerequisites or training to a continuous increase in the content of both physical and biological sci- ence, integrated by ecology” (McHarg 1981, p. 120). 4 The place of Design with Nature within the unwritten story of ecological planning As demonstrated, Design with Nature was written at an inflection point in US history and arrived at a time of soci- etal change, increasing environmental awareness, and dis- ciplinary reinvention. McHarg was no less a product of the 352 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 time than was his work. He was influenced by the confluence of events that had brought him to landscape architecture, his professional position in Philadelphia, and his exposure to a diverse set of influential thinkers through his courses and television show. These inspirations, along with his “confident skill,” as succinctly characterized by Mumford (1969), led him to write a book that does not specifically acknowledge those contemporaries and predecessors who provided a wider, yet unrevealed, intellectual framework within the pages of Design with Nature. However, this has not prevented Mumford (1969), from placing the book on a literary shelf with similar or related authors. Mumford listed Hippocrates, Henry Thoreau, George Perkins Marsh, Patrick Geddes, Carl Sauer, and Rachel Carson as similarly influential authors, providing a peek at McHarg’s putative companions. Interestingly, Udall’s Forward to A Quest for Life (McHarg’s 1996 autobiography) also identified “three individuals who provided the philosophical foundation for this [ecological] revolution,” namely Aldo Leopold, Carson, and McHarg (p. xii). In naming these three in this order, Udall is identifying McHarg as a foundational contributor to the environmental revolution but also, in indicating that he came after the other two (Sand County Almanac finished 1948, Silent Spring published 1962), is suggesting that he is one part of a greater tradition, an inheritor of environmental interests spurred by others before him. Steiner et al. (1988) identified a group of visionary think- ers and ideas to whom ecological planning (and presumably McHarg) owes a large debt. These include such figures as George Perkins Marsh, John Wesley Powell, and Patrick Geddes, but also the “Chicago School” so prominent in the history of ecology, and the first urban park planners, Frederick Law Olmsted, Charles Vaux, H.W.S. Cleveland, Charles Eliot, and Jens Jensen. Warren Manning is listed among these individuals for his early use of the overlay tech- nique that involved “the use of ecological information in the planning and design of human communities” (Steiner et al. 1988, p. 32.) To the list Steiner, Young, and Zube also added Lewis Mumford and Benton MacKaye’s Regional Planning Association of America. Palazzo, in a book published in Italian in 1997, speculated that the emergence of ecological planning in the 1960s in North America arose from three main origins. The first was that of landscape architecture, which derived from an origi- nal adaptation of English landscape gardening connected to an appreciation of the American landscape and nature, with protagonists such as Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jack- son Downing, Frederick Law Olmsted, Charles Eliot, and Warren Manning. A similar conclusion is reached by Forster Ndubisi (2002) who placed ecological planning in a histori- cal perspective, confirming that “ecological planning in the United States evolved as a part of landscape architecture in the mid-nineteenth century” (2002, p. 9). Ndubisi extended his exploration into ecological planning, collecting the main contributions to the field in The Ecological Design and Planning Reader (2014). Among the important contributors whose works appeared prior to Design with Nature’s 1969 publication, Ndubisi listed Henry David Thoreau, George Perkins Marsh, Ebenezer Howard, Patrick Geddes, Benton MacKaye, Aldo Leopold, and Rachel Carson. Palazzo identified a second origin of ecological planning in the conservationist period and the management of the vast public domain by various federal land management agencies. Early proponents were George Perkins Marsh and John Wesley Powell. The third origin, as described by Palazzo (1997)—confirming the conclusion reached earlier by Steiner et al. (1988)—connects ecological planning to Lewis Mumford and Benton MacKaye’s Regional Planning Association of America, which ended up influencing some of the New Deal’s programs and initiatives and having a relevant ecological component (Luccarelli 1995). More recently, Palazzo has suggested that, to the three origins, a fourth should be added: that of utopian thinking. Most of these influential utopian thinkers, reacting to the effects of the Industrial Revolution, were of the view that The unities of cities are intricately connected as a sys- tem that functions based on a balance among these unities. To achieve their visions, therefore, meant that these unities - cultural, economic, environmental, insti- tutional, political, social, spiritual, and spatial - must work in harmony to achieve a society devoid of pollu- tion, slums, and blights, where social justice is a key principle that underpins every action. (Palazzo 2016, p. 219) Other authors have mapped the development of ecological thinking in planning and landscape architecture. A brief recounting follows. Steinitz et al. (1976) explore the origin of hand-drawn overlay mapping. Giliomee (1977) describes the ecological planning method taught and practiced in the Department of Landscape Architecture and Regional Plan- ning, University of Pennsylvania, where McHarg was Chair- man. Fabos (1979) shows the emergence of concerns with human impact on landscapes and the evolution of landscape planning principles and the techniques, methods, and proce- dures developed in planning. Steiner and Brooks (1981) offer an account of an ecological planning process that derives from McHarg and others after him. Steiner (1983) presents the “uneven history” of regional planning in the USA, exploring its evolution during the New Deal and its later development into two different orientations: one led by John Friedman and the other by McHarg. Spirn (1985) outlines the roots of historical precedents and traditions connecting nature, human purpose, and city design from Hippocrates to McHarg and Lynch. Seddon (1986) observes the concep- tual—and semantic—relations among landscape planning, 353Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 landscape architecture, and town and regional planning, con- cluding that landscape planning should become more ana- lytical, ecologically based, and a social and political activ- ity. Zube (1986b) presents the history and development of landscape architecture and planning education in America, suggesting enhancement of curricula. Berger (1987) offers an insight into three landscape synthesis methods and mod- els as they evolved from ecological landscape planning and design efforts by Geddes, MacKaye, Hills, Dansereau, and McHarg. Johnson (1990) lists and compares the literature on landscape architecture from the beginning of the twentieth century to McHarg—“lonely prophet of environmentalism” (p. 91)—and beyond. Olin (1990) provides portraits of a dozen figures, from Muir to Wright to Venturi, who brought “an ecological viewpoint to bear upon the physical, social, and ethical worlds about us” (p. 83). William Marsh (1991) briefly describes the milieu in which the environmental cri- sis of the 1960s and 1970s “paved the way for stronger and broader environmental legislation at all levels of govern- ment” (p. 3). Walker and Simo (1994) offer an understand- ing of the evolution of landscape architecture in the twen- tieth century from Olmsted to McHarg to corporate office design. Schott (2004) traces urban environmental history, starting from the 1990s in America and in Europe. Vasishth (2008) proposes an ecosystem approach to planning using cases from ecological science and social theory. Stephen- son (2018) establishes a historical connection among John Nolen’s and Lewis Mumford’s common interests in utopia, garden cities, and the early unveiling of sustainability. These sources establish the existence of a past (or more than one) that led to the emergence of ecological planning in the 1960s and its further evolution. 5 McHarg’s later reflections on his position in ecological planning After the publication of Design with Nature, McHarg became more willing in later papers to acknowledge ecolo- gists, planners, landscape architects, and others whose ear- lier work contributed to his own. In 1970, he publicized an open space study of the Philadelphia Metro Region and spe- cifically placed this work within a tradition of metropolitan open space planning, dating to Charles Eliot’s 1893 plan for Boston. At the same time, he noted other earlier, similar plans, including Benton MacKaye’s 1928 open space plan- ning proposal and Patrick Abercrombie’s 1944 Greater Lon- don Plan, as well as his contemporary Philip Lewis’ state- wide work in both Illinois and Wisconsin (McHarg 1970). Another early influence that McHarg was prepared to credit later in his career was Patrick Geddes. Geddes was noted by McHarg as the first to identify that “each region is believed to comprise unique attributes of place-folk-work,” which McHarg identified as a crucial preliminary step in the ecological planning process (1981, p. 147). Within the field of landscape architecture itself, McHarg credited Brian Hackett with introducing ecology to the field (McHarg 1996) and particularly noted his influence on McHarg’s own department at the University of Pennsylvania. In his own field of expertise, McHarg came to acknowledge earlier indi- viduals who undertook studies of the sort he would come to include in his ecological planning method, including Neville M. Fenneman in the 1930s and Charles B. Hunt in the 1960s (1996, p. 327). McHarg’s willingness to acknowledge the preeminence of others in his chosen field seemed to wax and wane. In the same year that he published an essay stating that “I invented ecological planning during the early 1960s,” (1997a, p. 194), he also wrote an essay for the American Society of Landscape Architects acknowledging that Charles Eliot conducted “the first ecological planning study in the United States or the world” in 1893 (1998, p. 190). Further, he had already acknowledged as much in his own autobiography, published a year earlier, as he complained of having to “reinvent the wheel” (1996, p. 82). Despite some admis- sions of this kind, McHarg remained largely reluctant to concede that anyone who conducted ecological design and/ or planning before him did so in a manner that suggested they had a part in the invention process. A typical semi- acknowledgment along these lines was found in McHarg’s 1966 Ecological Determinism. Discussing the eighteenth- century English landscape artists William Kent, Capability Brown, and Humphry Repton, McHarg noted that while they and their followers were “lacking a science of ecology, they used native plant materials to create communities which so well reflected natural processes that their creations endured and are self-perpetuating” (1966, p. 528). McHarg admired their proto-ecological design ethos (Podolak et al. 2013) but carefully noted that their applied ecology was entirely rural and that a more modern ecology is needed as “the basis for modern interventions particularly at the scale of city, metropolis, and megalopolis” (1966, p. 528). In The Classic McHarg: An Interview, McHarg again sets himself apart from the ecological planners who came before him. He notes that, before he undertakes a planning process, he first studies the process of a place, which includes all of the endemic natural and social factors. With the possible exception of Eliot, McHarg claims to be the first to insist on the “study then plan” process (Miller and Pardal 1992). McHarg was also clear about the limited influence of his contemporaries Angus Hills and Philip Lewis. While very effusive about Hills as a soil scientist and forester, McHarg notes that he “didn’t address himself really to planning” and remained relatively unknown in his native Canada (Miller and Pardal 1992, p. 88). He is again very complimentary of Lewis while simultaneously noting that Lewis was only 354 Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 interested in his particular Midwestern region of the country and in river corridors, and not the environment as a whole. McHarg insists that his own, distinct, contribution to eco- logical planning was the uniting of various environmental scientists, the chronological arrangement of layers of infor- mation into a physical model, and the augmenting of this model with social science input (1981, 1992, 1997b; Miller and Pardal 1992, p. 89). 6 Conclusions Despite McHarg’s ongoing relationships with influential academics and researchers, resulting from his career as a professor and practitioner, the first edition of Design with Nature cites very few books or authors in the manner scien- tific and/or academic books were, and are, usually expected to do. Design with Nature, in fact, does not include a list of references, a bibliography, or an index. The book has 34 footnotes that refer to 14 books, 7 papers, 1 newspaper arti- cle, 1 TV show—McHarg’s own The House We Live In—7 professional reports, 1 research study, and 4 case studies undertaken by graduate students at the University of Penn- sylvania. In his autobiography, McHarg explains this unu- sual formatting choice as reflecting what he saw as a shifting audience for the book: “I had begun writing to landscape architects and planners, but the evidence was pushing me to address larger problems and wider audiences” (1996, p. 201). To reach a wider audience, McHarg embraced a tone that had already been adopted, with slight variations, by Carson’s Silent Spring (first published in 1962), and Leopold’s Sand County Almanac (first published in 1949). Both of these influential books provided the philosophical foundation for “the rise of environmentalism and the falter- ing of Big Technology,” as Udall wrote in the Foreword of McHarg’s autobiography (1996, p. xii). Silent Spring’s com- plete absence of footnotes in the text (Carson clarified that she had “not wished to burden the text with footnotes” 1999, p. vi) was compensated for by a list of principal sources 55 pages long at the end of the book and a 14 page index. Sand County Almanac adopted a similar style—no footnotes and also no bibliography—to reach a more general audience and Leopold’s message of conservation became popular in the 1960s when the book was reissued (Sale 1993). In McHarg’s format choice, we can see the influence of these earlier authors, as well as his strategic decision to tar- get a wider audience. The juxtaposition of ecological science with case studies focused on contemporary topics of inter- est such as land use, conservation, and highway planning, as well as the inclusion of a rare photo of the earth from outer space, are part of this targeting. Additionally, we must remember that McHarg hosted a very successful television show, The House We Live In, which brought esoteric ideas and topics into the mainstream for his audience. In hosting the show, he was exposed to the way his guests were able to communicate complicated subjects to a television audience. This was an education for McHarg in new communication modes and augmented his natural abilities. Design with Nature also was a book that could only have come about, as it exists, at that period of time. There was a palpable desire for change in the USA in the late 1960s, a desire to upset the status quo and question given assump- tions. Truisms about development, transportation, energy, and the environment were no longer accepted. Protests, environmental crises, and the impacts of past choices on development were inspiring new voices and actors. Within the environmental design and planning field, landscape architects and urban planners were becoming more aware of their responsibility to nature and were advocating more forcefully for it in their practice. Ecological values also were appearing within university education in the environmental design fields. The influential educational programs devel- oped by universities eventually would infiltrate the entire discipline. This emerged very clearly in the World Confer- ence on Education for Landscape Planning (Steinitz 1986): “Landscape architecture (and landscape planning) should have—must have—a biological base. This is why I believe it has a significant contribution to make in the future” (Seddon 1986, p. 337). More recent research conducted in 2004— 35 years after the publication of Design with Nature—on the curricula of all 63 accredited, first-professional degree programs in North America (28 offering a BLA, 17 offering an MLA, and 18 offering both) suggests a widespread degree of required ecological literacy (Dalton 2004; Miller et al. 2004.) In 2008, the ASLA Council on Education (ASLA 2008) in a white paper on “Growing the Profession” notes that “sustainability or ecological design was listed by twenty of the twenty-seven (74%) responding master’s programs” (p. 3). While McHarg was reluctant to position his book within a larger arc of thought on ecology and ecological planning, it is clear that Design with Nature does, in fact, belong to that tradition. It has been recognized by other prominent ecolo- gists as a foundational tome. It has also been recognized as the beneficiary of ideas generated by earlier theorists and practitioners. The authors of this paper are inclined to think that McHarg acted as an “enzyme,” a catalytic force for the synthesis of ideas, theories, and realizations that took place in previous decades, as well as contemporaneously, to form what has been known, from that moment on, as ecological planning. His book and larger-than-life personality worked to speed up, bring to maturity, and catalyze a specific reac- tion onto an existing, if scattered and not well known, heritage, supported by a sensitive and responsive soci- ety and by particular contingencies in the history of the 355Socio-Ecological Practice Research (2019) 1:347–357 1 3 USA. McHarg was a mostly unconscious product of the proto-ecological and conservationist tradition—and the same can be said of Lewis and Hills. Design with Nature is an unconventional tome—its coffee-table size, its unu- sual academic language format, its use of the NASA earth image as a visual statement on the planet’s finite resources—that communicates to distinct audiences. Scholars, students, practitioners, public officers, environ- mental activists, laypeople—all were eager, for different reasons, to find a way to incorporate nature into human- made changes, to protect, through data-informed design, those most sensitive parts of the earth, to react to the greediness of speculators and urban renewal and highway proponents. This greediness has been perpetrated in spite of some of McHarg’s analysis and planning suggestions— as in Staten Island and The Woodlands—to the point that we can agree with Wei-Ning Xiang (2019) that “history voted many times in Ian McHarg’s favor.” Support for this characterization lies in the reconstruc- tions written in the aftermath of Design with Nature, which shed light on historical precedents that were uncon- sciously parts of the personal, disciplinary, and profes- sional paths taken by McHarg, an obliviousness that he partially recognized later in his life. From 1969 onward, Design with Nature and its author started a pervasive and global disciplinary change due to a peculiar ability to catch readers’ attention, a dialectic-persuasive skill, a quite extensive professional experience to support his writ- ings, and a particular sensitivity to and influence upon the zeitgeist. The reactions McHarg and Design with Nature started 50 years ago have not yet been completed (Steiner 2001; Yang and Li 2016; Wang et  al. 2016; Yang and Young 2019) and Design with Nature still remains one of the most influential books on planning (Planetizen 2019; American Planning Association 2019). The same words written in the early 1990s by Kirk- patrick Sale about Carson’s Silent Spring can be adapted perfectly to McHarg’s Design with Nature and its role in the ecological planning revolution: “Such a revolution was not created by a single book, to be sure, however influen- tial forces that lay behind the movement were multiple and complex. 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She holds a master of landscape architec- ture degree from the University of Michigan and Ph.D. in commu- nity and regional plan- ning from the Univer- sity of Texas at Austin. https://doi.org/10.1016/0304-3924(83)90038-2 https://doi.org/10.1016/0304-3924(83)90038-2 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90049-6 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90049-6 https://doi.org/10.3368/lj.9.2.136 https://doi.org/10.1177/1538513218755498 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90067-8 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90067-8 https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/STATUTE-70/pdf/STATUTE-70-Pg374.pdf https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/STATUTE-70/pdf/STATUTE-70-Pg374.pdf https://www.energy.gov/sites/prod/files/nepapub/nepa_documents/RedDont/Req-NEPA.pdf https://www.energy.gov/sites/prod/files/nepapub/nepa_documents/RedDont/Req-NEPA.pdf https://doi.org/10.1016/j.progress.2008.05.001 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.progress.2008.05.001 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.landurbplan.2016.05.019 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.landurbplan.2016.05.019 https://doi.org/10.3368/lj.33.2.85 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42532-019-00013-7 https://doi.org/10.1007/s42532-019-00013-7 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.landurbplan.2016.04.010 https://doi.org/10.1016/S0065-2504(08)60277-9 https://doi.org/10.1016/S0065-2504(08)60277-9 https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90054-X https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-2046(86)90054-X Ian McHarg’s confident skill Abstract 1 Introduction 2 Fortune favors the bold 3 Design with Nature: supportive milieu in the USA 3.1 Design with Nature: academic ecology, practices, and methods 3.2 Design with Nature: environmental design education 4 The place of Design with Nature within the unwritten story of ecological planning 5 McHarg’s later reflections on his position in ecological planning 6 Conclusions Acknowledgements References 
work_otjuhve5wjaqfnyzyd4hym5g2e	----	untitled D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Review Cite this article: Perl O, Mishor E, Ravia A, Ravreby I, Sobel N. 2020 Are humans constantly but subconsciously smelling themselves? Phil. Trans. R. Soc. B 375: 20190372. http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2019.0372 Accepted: 4 February 2020 One contribution of 18 to a Theo Murphy meeting issue ‘Olfactory communication in humans’. Subject Areas: behaviour, neuroscience Keywords: body-odour, face-touching, self-sampling, self-sniffing, social chemosignalling Author for correspondence: Noam Sobel e-mail: noam.sobel@weizmann.ac.il © 2020 The Authors. Published by the Royal Society under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/, which permits unrestricted use, provided the original author and source are credited. †These authors contributed equally to this study. Electronic supplementary material is available online at https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare. c.4880268. Are humans constantly but subconsciously smelling themselves? Ofer Perl†, Eva Mishor†, Aharon Ravia, Inbal Ravreby and Noam Sobel Department of Neurobiology, Weizmann Institute of Science, Rehovot 76100, Israel NS, 0000-0002-3232-9391 All primates, including humans, engage in self-face-touching at very high frequency. The functional purpose or antecedents of this behaviour remain unclear. In this hybrid review, we put forth the hypothesis that self-face-touching subserves self-smelling. We first review data implying that humans touch their faces at very high frequency. We then detail evidence from the one study that implicated an olfactory origin for this behaviour: This evidence consists of significantly increased nasal inhalation concurrent with self- face-touching, and predictable increases or decreases in self-face-touching as a function of subliminal odourant tainting. Although we speculate that self-smelling through self-face-touching is largely an unconscious act, we note that in addition, humans also consciously smell themselves at high frequency. To verify this added statement, we administered an online self- report questionnaire. Upon being asked, approximately 94% of approxi- mately 400 respondents acknowledged engaging in smelling themselves. Paradoxically, we observe that although this very prevalent behaviour of self-smelling is of concern to individuals, especially to parents of children overtly exhibiting self-smelling, the behaviour has nearly no traction in the medical or psychological literature. We suggest psychological and cultural explanations for this paradox, and end in suggesting that human self-smelling become a formal topic of investigation in the study of human social olfaction. This article is part of the Theo Murphy meeting issue ‘Olfactory communi- cation in humans’. It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see —Henry David Thoreau 1. Face-touching may reflect unconscious hand-smelling Mammalian smelling largely depends on sniffing [1–5]. This is clearly evident in the stereotypical terrestrial mammalian behaviour of olfactory self-investigation: we look at rodents, canines and felines, and see animals that are often sniffing themselves or their own bodily secretions. Why don’t we see this when we look at humans? The lay person may answer that: ‘well, humans just don’t smell themselves like mice, cats and dogs do’. However, to paraphrase the opening Thoreau quote, we think this lay answer reflects what people choose to see, and if we looked at human behaviour differently, we would in fact see an animal that is often sniffing itself. The primary hypoth- esis that we put forth in this hybrid review manuscript is that the very prevalent human behaviour of face-touching in fact often subserves hand-smelling, and hence, social olfaction. 2. Face-touching in primates Face-touching is a prevalent primate behaviour. In 20 min observations, goril- las, chimpanzees and orangutans touched their own faces an average of http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1098/rstb.2019.0372&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2020-04-20 http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstb/375/1800 http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstb/375/1800 mailto:noam.sobel@weizmann.ac.il https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.c.4880268 https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.c.4880268 http://orcid.org/ http://orcid.org/0000-0002-3232-9391 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil. 2 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 19.87, 24.2 and 12.12 times respectively, i.e. about once a minute [6]. Moreover, these face-touches were predominantly with the left hand [6]. Whereas the above study failed to observe a similar extent of face-touching in monkeys, a later study found 51.33 face-touches per hour in monkeys as well, i.e. also about once a minute [7]. This later study did not observe laterality in the monkey behaviour, and also argued against the claim on laterality in apes [7]. Regardless of lateralization, primates clearly touch their own faces at high frequency, and this behaviour has been labelled as puz- zling [6]. It has been labelled as such because its function remains unknown. A major hypothesis of this hybrid review article is that the function of face-touching is hand- smelling. We put forth the hypothesis that this is a path to obtaining olfactory information on self and on others. Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 3. Face-touching in humans The above-quoted study that observed primates also observed humans: over a 20 min observation, 18 participants touched their faces an average of 13.33 times, i.e. at a rate similar to orangutans [6]. It was unclear whether participants in this study knew they were being observed, or why. In turn, because of its role as a possible path for disease propagation, face-touching has been incidentally quantified in the study of infectious disease. For example, one study reports on 10 par- ticipants (5 women), each video-observed individually for a period of 3 h seated at a desk performing ‘office tasks’ [8]. The participants knew they were being filmed for later behav- ioural analysis. Even though this knowledge may have increased self-awareness and minimized self-touching, they nevertheless brought their own hand to their faces approxi- mately 16 times per hour [8]. Moreover, approximately five touches per hour were directed specifically at the nostrils. A second study reports on 26 participants, medical students who were videoed while attending two 2 h lectures (i.e. 4 h of group observation) [9]. These participants also knew they were being filmed for later behavioural analysis, but did not know the question being addressed. In this study, face-touching occurred approximately 23 times per hour, and approximately seven touches per hour were directed specifically at the nostrils [9]. In a third study, 79 family-medicine doctors and staff were observed within a clinical setting. Although they knew they were being observed, they did not know that the question of interest was face-touching. Despite iteration of proper contact hygiene in this population, they nevertheless touched their own eyes, nose and mouth approximately 10 times an hour across a 2 h observation [10]. We note that this behaviour of face-touching may be responsible for transferring nearly 25% of respiratory illness [11]. Given this potentially significant con- tribution to disease, simple evolutionary thinking implies there must also be very meaningful advantages to self-face-touching; otherwise, this behaviour would have been minimized in the human behavioural repertoire in light of its price. 4. Is face-touching an olfactory behaviour? Thisquestionwasonlyaddressed inonestudy, conductedinour laboratory [12]. In this study, we used video to observe 160 par- ticipants, each seated alone in the observation room, unaware of the observation process or interest. Participants were observed for 3 min before and 3 min after an experimenter (either same or opposite sex) entered the experimental room to greet them either with or without a handshake. We defined a face-touch for possible hand-sniffing as contact application of the hand to the faces, below the eyebrows, and above the lower lip. The use of video allowed us to not only count face-touches, but also time them. We observed that participants seated alone in a room (before a handshake took place) brought a hand into the vicinity of their nose and kept it there for approximately 22% of the time [12] (figure 1a). In other words, humans are bringing their hands to their nose, and keeping them there, at an astonishingly high rate. But are they sniffing these hands? Perhaps this is all merely face-touching as a form of displacement behaviour. Human displacement behaviour is pronounced, and indeed increased in moments of stress, or in pathological conditions associa- ted with anxiety [13]. To address this important alternative, in a separate control study with 33 participants, we measu- red nasal airflow during such hand-to-face encounters. We typically define a sniff as a greater than 15% change in normalized sniff volume from baseline respiration (increase (as often after pleasant odours) or decrease (as often after unpleasant odours)), and/or a modulation in sniff volume reflecting a shift in standard deviation (s.d.) > 0.35 over ongoing respiration [14]. We found that nasal airflow more than doubled when the hand was at the nose (12 of 17 partici- pants increased (binomial probability p = 0.047), group baseline flow = 112.75 ± 75.56 ml s−1, hand-at-face flow = 237.81 ± 220.82 ml s−1, t16 = 2.37, p = 0.03) [12], or in other words, people are sniffing their own hands (figure 1b). More- over, in a second control described later in more detail, we covertly scented the experimental environment. This signifi- cantly increased or decreased the rate of face-touching in a predictable odourant-specific manner (figure 9a). These two control studies suggest to us that the very prevalent behav- iour of face-touching is driven in part by olfaction. We identified several ‘typical’ postures of what we think is hand-sniffing that consistently reoccurred across participants (figures 2 and 10a). Somehow, we are all looking at this behaviour, but mostly not seeing it. We invite the reader to engage in the following observational experiment: next time you sit at a seminar or an online video meeting, take a moment to look not at the speaker, but rather at your fellow audience. How many people have their hands at theirnose?Typically,youwillobservethatovertimethisaccounts for a large proportion of the audience. Moreover, look carefully, and you will often see the unmistakable action of sniffing. To further illustrate this, we mined YouTube for a seminar audience video and invite the reader to look at the onlyonewe found (orig- inalfull-length version:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_ dpPc-XQ6w). In our view, it is quite remarkable (electronic sup- plementary material, video S1, also available at https://youtu. be/mKpOGdIVjDI) (figure 3). We stress, however, that here this is our interpretation of the behaviour, because unlike in the above-reported experiments where we verified that hand-to- face touching was accompanied by sniffing and modified by odourants, here this merely reflects our speculation. 5. When humans sniff their hands, they are also smelling where their hands touched When people sniff their own hands, they are not smelling their intrinsic odour alone. First, they may also be smelling https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_dpPc-XQ6w https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_dpPc-XQ6w https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_dpPc-XQ6w https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI 800 (b)(a) 0.50 0.45 0.40 0.35 0.30 0.25 0.20 0.15 0.10 0.05 0 right hand fr ac ti on o f co ho rt ba se li ne f ac e to uc he s left hand w om en s ub je ct s m en s ub je ct s 700 600 500 400 300 200 100 ai r fl ow ( m l s– 1 ) –100 –200 0 * baseline hand at face Figure 1. Humans often bring a hand to their nose and sniff it. (a) A heat-map of face-touching in 160 participants. Colour reflects the proportion of the cohort that increased face-touches over baseline at that facial location (red = increase). Most face-touching is directly at or around the nose. (b) Measurement of nasal airflow during face-touching versus non-face-touching periods in the same session in 17 participants. Blue lines reflect participants that increased airflow and pink lines reflect participants that decreased airflow. Face-touching was accompanied by near doubling of nasal airflow, or in other words, a sniff. Adapted from [12]. (Online version in colour.) Figure 2. Illustration of typical postures that may serve subconscious hand-smelling. We reviewed the several hundred participants in our videoed experiments and identified numerous stereotypical postures for placing the hands at the nose. Given that these were often accompanied by a measurable sniff, we propose that these postures subserve subconscious hand-sniffing. This is a staged illustration figure, and the presented postures reflect a typical but not exhaustive set. (See also figure 10a.) royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 3 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 added fragrance such as perfume. Remarkably, such per- fumes may be specifically self-selected so as to amplify the olfactory-related signature of one’s own human leukocyte antigen (HLA) [15]. Moreover, they are also smelling where their hands were previously. A common, if not formally quantified behaviour, is placing the hand at an erogenous body location, and then sniffing it. This behaviour is often seen in public in toddlers or small children who have yet to internalize the associated social taboos. The behaviour likely persists in adults, albeit mostly in private. The reason we describe this behaviour as common is because of its Web presence: a simple Google search for [‘hand sniffing’ Figure 3. Humans who may be sniffing their hands. A screen-shot from electronic supplementary material, video S1 ( also available at https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI), time: 00:40. In the edited video, we used orange circles to highlight individuals with a hand at their nose, and red circles to highlight those cases where you can literally ‘see’ the action of sniffing (although we think hand-sniffing is occurring in almost all of these cases, albeit less explicitly). The person to the lower left of the individual indicated with the red circle is not highlighted because his hand is not above his lower lip, thus not meeting our criteria for hand-sniffing face-touches. We further turn the reader’s attention to time point 00:52 in electronic supplementary material, video S1 for our favourite instance in this edited video, where despite the lack of any information (it is soundless), it appears that the red-highlighted person is self-consciously embarrassed by something that was said and appears to sniff her own hand in what we speculate might be reassurance. (Online version in colour.) royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 4 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 in children] yields approximately 6500 results. A large number of these are parents describing what they fear is excessive hand-sniffing in their children. In contrast with this prevalence implicated by the common Web search, the phenomenon of olfactory self-sniffing has only minimal men- tion in the medical or psychological literature. For example, the exact same search that yielded approximately 6500 results in Google yielded zero results in PubMed and PsycNet/ PsychInfo. We are hard-pressed to think of a human behav- iour that is so wide-spread, that troubles so many people, that clearly reflects underlying processes with develop- mental, clinical and social relevance, and yet has so little traction in the formal medical/psychological record. To gain a further sense of prevalence of these and associ- ated behaviours, for the purpose of this review, we circulated a brief self-report questionnaire (electronic supplementary material, file S1) (interested readers can still participate at https://forms.gle/A5JK5Aq4LpmM1Gtb7). 6. Questionnaire methods The questionnaire probed for age, gender and country of resi- dence and then went on to ask 11 questions concerning smelling of self and significant others, and one question on behaviour of offspring. Participants reported the prevalence of olfactory behaviours (never/rarely/occasionally/often) and could skip any question. In cases where more than one answer was given for a question, we discarded that entry. There were 33 such deletions, amounting to less than 1% of the data. Whereas most of the report of this effort is descrip- tive, sex-differences were estimated using a Cramér–von Mises (CvM) test [16]. The CvM test compares the cumulative density functions of two distributions and is thus suitable for ordinal variables. The p-value for this statistic was estimated using bootstrap analysis. The group labels were randomly assigned to the ratings 1 000 000 times, and a CvM statistic was calculated for each assignment. By that, a relevant CvM statistic distribution was generated and was used to estimate the p-value. Critical alpha was set at p < 0.05. We finally corrected the p-values for the 10 questions using Benjamini–Hochberg false discovery rate (FDR) correction. We acknowledge that this effort suffers from all the limit- ations associated with self-report: the sampled population is biased (we circulated through our own social media paths), answers are a reflection of self-perceived behaviour rather than behaviour itself, and so on [17]. These limitations are here further accentuated given that we are dealing with a https://forms.gle/A5JK5Aq4LpmM1Gtb7 https://forms.gle/A5JK5Aq4LpmM1Gtb7 https://youtu.be/mKpOGdIVjDI no. participants >100 women men 70 60 50 40 30 20 age (years) 18 24 30 36 42 48 54 60 66 72 10 0 N = 404 N prefer not to say 1% (b)(a) (c) non-binary<1% 64% 34% 51–100 26–50 10–25 <10 0 scan to enter questionnaire Figure 4. Online self-report survey demographics. (a) Respondent proportions by sex. (b) Respondent proportions by age. (c) Respondent geographical distribution. Map by Freepik. (Online version in colour.) royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 5 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 behaviour that is largely subconscious, and often treated as taboo [18]. Nevertheless, this effort sheds initial light on behaviours that otherwise have almost no reflection in the literature. 7. Questionnaire results We obtained 404 responses from 137 men and 260 women (figure 4a), ranging in age from 19 to 74, mean age 35.28 ± 10.39 years old (figure 4b), and who live in 19 different countries (figure 4c) (the complete raw data are available in electronic supplementary material, file S2). We excluded data from five participants; one was underage, and four had five or more uninformative answers (n.a. or blank). Seven respondents did not report gender and were thus unavailable for the gender comparisons. These participants provided self-report on various olfac- tory sampling activities, which they rated as engaging in either never, rarely, occasionally or often (detailed in info- graphic figure 5). Whereas 60.64% of respondents reported sniffing/smelling strangers, an overwhelming 94.34% of indi- viduals reported sniffing/smelling their close relations. Men and women reported sniffing their romantic partners equally, but women reported sniffing their children more than did men (sniffing often: women = 66.67%, men = 45.00%, CvM = 0.80, bootstrap p = 0.025, corrected p = 0.125). A similarly over- whelming 94.31 and 91.58% of respondents reported sniffing/smelling their own hands and armpits, respectively. As to placing hands in either the armpit or crotch, and then sniffing them, while 55.94% of all respondents reported doing this with the armpits, 73.89% of men and 55.69% of women reported doing this with the crotch (CvM = 1.41, boot- strap p = 0.0002, corrected p = 0.002). Finally, respondents also reported high rates of sniffing clothes that they had worn. All of these results are detailed in the infographic figure 5. Finally, 182 respondents (60 M) were parents. Whereas 61.54% of parents reported no awareness of a phase of never rarely occasionally often romantic partner worn shirt armpit armpit hand from hands M W 6719 42 45 10 10 4 3 7 5 5 35 17 43 2 53 13 32 4 4 17 41 38 8 6 4 3024 42 18 30 44 43 20 31 3523 38 44 15 36 9 8 24 24 hand from crotch strangers 44 45 15 31 5 2428 43 2526 42 own children worn underpants worn socks/shoes Figure 5. Humans self-report sniffing themselves and their conspecifics. Distribution of replies to all the questions asked in the questionnaire. The values reflect percentage (rounded) of respondents. M = men, W = women. For questions with a significant sex-difference in replies, each sex is represented separately. (Online version in colour.) 0 0 4 8 12 16 20 N = 116 61.5% ‘no’ (a) (b) 38.5% ‘yes’ fr eq ue nc y 3 6 9 12 15 18 age (years) Figure 6. Parents report increased hand-sniffing in children aged 3–6. (a) Nearly 40% of parents noticed a stage of increased hand-sniffing in their children. (b) The frequency of reported hand-sniffing in children by age. An increase was observed primarily between the ages of 3 and 6. royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 6 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 increased hand-sniffing in their children, 38.46% did report noticing such a period, which peaked between the ages of three and six. Confirming that nearly 40% of parents observe such a phase may here serve to mitigate the concerns of those parents who think their child’s behaviour is aberrant in this respect (figure 6). We further investigated whether there were questions that were rated differently with age. To this end, we grouped respondents into four equally sized age quartiles (ages 19– 28, 29–33, 34–40 and 41–74, denoted here by Q1, Q2, Q3 and Q4, respectively) and asked whether rating distributions for specific questions significantly varied across these age groups, both overall and within-sex. We found significant differences for one question only: ‘Do you ever sniff/smell your romantic partner?’, both within each sex and overall. For women, three out of six comparisons were significant, and for men two out of six comparisons were significant (women Q1 to Q4 CvM = 1.69, bootstrap p = 0.0007, corrected age (years) women Q4Q3Q2Q1 DO YOU EVER SNIFF/SMELL YOUR ROMANTIC PARTNER? *** men often occasionally rarely never 19–28 29–33 34–40 41–74 Figure 7. Self-reported romantic partner-sniffing as a function of age. Whereas in the age-group 29–33, women reported significantly higher partner- sniffing than men, this pattern shifted such that in the age-group 41–74, men reported more partner-sniffing than women. Q1 nF = 9, nM = 30; Q2 nF = 72, nM = 30; Q3 nF = 61, nM = 29, Q4 nF = 48, nM = 40. We have no explanation for this pattern. royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 7 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 p = 0.0057; women Q2 to Q4 CvM = 1.15, bootstrap p = 0.0057, corrected p = 0.023; women Q1 to Q3 CvM = 0.71, bootstrap p = 0.0317, corrected p = 0.0846; men Q2 to Q4 CvM = 1.31, bootstrap p = 0.0022, corrected p = 0.012; men Q1 to Q2 CvM = 0.64, bootstrap p = 0.038, corrected p = 0.087) (figure 7). We finally asked whether there were differences between men and women for each age group and found that for Q2 women sniffed their romantic partners more than men (CvM = 1.75, bootstrap p = 0.0021, corrected p = 0.002) and for Q4 men sniffed their partners more than women (CvM = 0.83, bootstrap p = 0.016, corrected p = 0.016) (figure 7). This is a rather striking dissociation for which we do not have a good explanation. We conclude from all this that although in our view most of olfactory social sniffing is subconscious, upon being asked, humans are nevertheless quite aware of engaging in this behaviour. 8. When humans sniff their hands, they are also smelling who their hands touched After observing the extent of human hand-sniffing, it occurred to us that this behaviour may provide information not only regarding one’s own body, but also regarding the bodies of others. Indeed, in the previously described exten- sive hand-sniffing in primates (figure 10c), the animals typically mix between merely sniffing their own hands spon- taneously, or sticking their fingers within bodily orifices (often the nostrils) of conspecifics and then carefully sniffing their own hand [19]. Humans obviously touch each other within the context of close relationships, but they also touch complete strangers: handshaking is a common introductory greeting ritual in the West and beyond [20,21]. We therefore set out to test in our previous study [12] the hypothesis that handshaking subserves social chemosignalling. We first used gas-chromatography mass-spectrometry (GCMS) to test whether the brief contact of a handshake is sufficient to transfer volatile organic compounds from one hand to another and found evidence for extensive transfer of several molecules from skin (figure 8). We then covertly recorded and quantified hand-to-nose contact before and after handshaking with an experimenter within a fixed paradigm. What we view as the most signifi- cant result of this effort was the astonishingly high baseline rate of hand-sniffing, as reported above (figure 1). However, we also observed that this behaviour was significantly impacted by handshaking. Participants significantly increased sniffing of the shaking hand (right) after within- sex handshakes, yet increased sniffing of the non-shaking hand (left) after cross-sex handshakes. In other words, hand- shaking impacts ensuing hand-sniffing. Moreover, to again verify the olfactory origins of this behaviour, in a separate control experiment with 63 participants, we artificially tainted the body-odour of the experimenter. Here the exper- imenter wore a device on his/her wrist that covertly emitted one of three odourants during handshake. We found that we could selectively increase or decrease hand-sniffing in par- ticipants as a function of the odourant we used to taint the experimenter, and all this despite using subliminal levels of odour (figure 9a). This further verifies the olfactory ori- gins of this behaviour and, in our view, serves not only to mitigate, but potentially to reverse our initial concern regarding this merely being a reflection of displacement be- haviour. In using the term ‘reverse’, we mean that not only do we think that the behaviour we observed is chemosignal- ling and not displacement behaviour, but moreover, we suspect that many of the previous reports of displacement behaviour may in fact reflect chemosignalling. As to the counterintuitive within-sex versus cross-sex dissociation, it was very powerful (ANOVA, three-way interaction: F1,77 = 37.79, p < 0.0001), yet we have no strong theoretical hypoth- esis for it. We speculate that whereas sniffing the shaking hand provides information about the conspecific in question, sniffing the non-shaking hand provides comparative infor- mation on self (more about this in §9). We do not know, however, why one would want to increase this type of infor- mation on same-sex conspecifics rather than on cross-sex conspecifics and can only speculate that the sex interaction 16.3 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 140 glove worn no handshake glove worn with handshake geranyl acetone 16.58 squalene 18.78 hexadecanoic acid 20.3 ab un da nc e (a .u .) × 1 0 00 0 16.6 17.0 17.4 17.7 18.1 18.4 retention time (min) 18.8 19.1 19.5 19.8 20.2 20.6 G 0 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 900 (c) (b) (a) A U C ( a. u. ) × 1 00 00 0 S H *** ** *** Figure 8. Handshaking transfers volatiles from skin. (a) A representative image of our sampling method using a nitrile glove during handshake. (b) An example chro- matogram from one experiment. Note that the ‘clean’ condition is a glove worn by the same hand, but not shaken. The only three peaks that were present following all shakes but never once in the control are those we describe in the following panel. (c) Summated data from 10 individuals (each an average of three shakes) demonstrating three compounds of interest in chemosignalling (geranyl acetone (G), squalene (S) and hexadecanoic acid (H)) that were effectively transferred by handshaking in all instances and never once in the control. Error bars show standard error, **p < 0.01, ***p < 0.001. a.u., arbitrary units. Adapted from [12]. (Online version in colour.) –20–15 –10 –5 5 0 10 clean perfume AND EST 0 20 40 ch an ge i n fa ce -t ou ch in g du ra ti on p os t- gr ee ti ng ( s) 60 TD * ** ** * * right handleft hand ch an ge i n fa ce -t ou ch in g du ra ti on p os t- gr ee ti ng ( s) ASD (a) (b) Figure 9. Humans sniff their hands after handshaking. (a) Change in face-touching duration post-handshake within-sex in 66 women. Different conditions were either untainted, or tainted with odour (either a generic perfume, or one of the steroidal compounds 4,16-androstadien-3-one (AND) or oestra-1,3,5(10),16-tetraen- 3-ol (EST)). Sniffing of the shaking hand (right) increased after handshake, increased even more in the presence of a perfume, but reversed in the presence of the steroids. A mirror-image pattern is evident in the left hand. *p < 0.05, **p < 0.01. Adapted from [12]. (b) Change in face-touching duration post-handshake within- sex in 18 men with autism (ASD) and 18 typically developed men (TD). Adapted from [22]. (Online version in colour.) royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 8 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 may reflect context specificity: although participants increased sniffing the within-sex shaking hand in the context of our experiment, they may opt to increase sniffing cross- sex hands in other behavioural settings. This remains a ques- tion for investigation. Amusingly, the handshake effect has been ‘replicated’ in live recreations on several popularized science television shows around the world (electronic supplementary material, figure S1 and video S2), and we have now replicated the handshake effect in one additional published study. Given royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 9 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 our overarching working hypothesis that social chemosignal- ling is a big part of human social interaction, we therefore hypothesized that social chemosignalling will be altered in disorders of social behaviour. A particularly relevant con- dition is autism spectrum disorder (ASD). With this in mind, we replicated the handshake paradigm in 18 cogni- tively able adult men with ASD [22]. The effect replicated in the ASD cohort as a group, and moreover, four members of the ASD cohort stood out with hand-sniffing behaviour that was inordinately persistent and explicit (figure 9b). After handshake, three of the four practically did not remove their hand from their nose for the duration of the recorded session. Their behaviour reflected explicit careful olfactory investigation. In turn, the fourth participant care- fully sniffed his hand for much of the baseline, but then never brought it back to his nose after handshake. In other words, consistent with other measures [23], the variability in the ASD cohort was higher than in controls. In conclusion, this result in ASD replicates the effect of increased face-touch- ing after handshake, but the limited size of the cohort prevents us from determining whether this increase is greater in ASD than in controls, despite a trend to that effect. This dovetails with reports on excessive olfactory social investi- gation in ASD. In fact, the observation that initially drove us to investigate social olfaction in ASD in the first place was from a newspaper weekend magazine story in the lead- ing Israeli newspaper Haaretz. This was the story of Ayala, a 51-year-old woman, who was one of the first in Israel to be diagnosed with autism (the English translation of the story is currently viewable at: http://www.haaretz.com/ weekend/magazine/eternal-child-1.342756). Ayala is non- verbal, and her primary avenue of social investigation always was, and still is, her sense of smell. Ayala uses her nose to investigate all individuals. The following is a quote from the story: When Ayala was four, her mother took her to preschool and stayed with her there. ‘I thought that if she heard children talking she’d pick something up’, she explains. ‘The children really loved her, but she didn’t cooperate with them. The most important thing to her, even then, was smell. She would smell the children. If she liked the smell, you were her friend. If not, you couldn’t come near her’. This overt pattern of olfactory social investigation, or social sniffing, is repeated often in more detailed case-report depic- tions of behaviour in ASD (e.g. Stephen Wiltshire in [24]). 9. Why do humans smell themselves? As implied from the above, humans sniff their hands in part in order to obtain information on others whom they’ve touched, information that may be processed in dedicated brain networks [25–27] to provide assorted and important information on conspecifics (the types of information shared through human chemosignalling have recently been reviewed in [28–30]). However, given the potentially high frequency of human olfactory self-sniffing (e.g. approx. 20 times per hour), and its persistence in isolation, it is more likely that this behaviour primarily provides information on intrinsic and not external sources. So why do people smell themselves? In answering this question, we first make an important distinction between conscious versus subconscious olfactory self-investigation. To get a sense of this, we can similarly ask why do people consciously look at themselves in mirrors? Most people will probably answer that it is in order to verify that they ‘look good’. Similarly, people may consciously sniff them- selves in order to verify their own odour, although paradoxically, most people will note that it is to verify that they ‘don’t smell bad’. This distinction between want- ing to ‘look good’ on one side, and ‘not smell bad’ on the other, may reflect fears related to the morality of malodour [31], an issue we will return to later in this article. Moreover, people may also consciously sniff themselves in order to detect signs of disease [32]. These reasons for conscious olfactory self-sampling, interesting though they may be, are not at the core of what we think is important in this be- haviour. It is the incessant subconscious action of olfactory self-sampling that we think tells a more important story. To stick with the visual mirror analogy, parents intuitively know to imitate or mirror their developing child’s sounds and actions [33]. This mirroring provides the developing infant with the information that he/she is a separate inde- pendent being that can trigger reactions in others and this gives rise to a sense of self [33]. Similar reflection and reas- surance of self is provided by a glass mirror as well, and this may be one of the inherent incentives for its use [34]. Given that mirrors have not been around since the dawn of humanity [35], a sense of self can likely be formed without one at hand. We propose that the path by which humans could have always observed themselves to get a notion of self is by olfaction. Thus, we think that in sniffing our own body, we are subconsciously obtaining an external reflection and reassurance of self. This is consistent with the increased face-touching in times of stress, previously viewed as displacement behaviour. Just as looking in the mirror can serve to reduce stress and anxiety by reassuring a sense of self [36], so can smelling oneself. It is through this prism that we view most of face-touching behaviour. For example, humans are said to hide their faces in their hand when they sense shame. But why do they do this? We argue that sniffing the inside of the hand provides a reas- suring signal of self that aids in managing such self- threatening emotions (figure 10, electronic supplementary material, video S1, time 00:52). One may argue that humans are not that good at recognizing their own body- odour [37–39]. However, several studies have suggested that humans can in fact recognize their own smell [39–43], and that this ability is evident even in children [44]. More- over, implicit measures typically uncover self-recognition of body-odour in the very same individuals who could not explicitly identify their own smell [37,39]. This dis- sociation may imply that olfaction subserves mostly unconscious contributions to a sense of self, or what has been referred to as a ‘minimal self’ [45]. Mirror behaviour also serves to illustrate a second and critical role we see for olfactory self-sniffing. This illus- tration arises from a somewhat surprising outcome of a behaviour termed mirror-fasting, namely the self-imposed avoidance of looking in the mirror. Although we could not find any formal investigations of this relatively recent behavioural fad, it does have representation online, and in one informal review, it was noted that a rather universal outcome of mirror-fasting is ensuing avoidance of social interaction [46]. For example, in a report on one week of mirror-fasting [47], the fourth of 11 reported effects was as follows: http://www.haaretz.com/weekend/magazine/eternal-child-1.342756 http://www.haaretz.com/weekend/magazine/eternal-child-1.342756 http://www.haaretz.com/weekend/magazine/eternal-child-1.342756 (a) (c) (d ) (b) Figure 10. It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see. (a) An additional typical posture of placing the hand at the nose. (b) The same typical posture, here in Henri Vidal’s 1896 sculpture of Cain after killing his brother Abel. (c) The same typical posture, here in a non-human primate. (d) The same typical posture, here witnessed in Sigmund Freud himself (1935). Although others may see in these images displacement behaviours, what we see in all four images are apes smelling the inside of their hand. royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 10 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 4. I purposely avoided people. I felt insecure, shy, and I wanted nothing more than to just avoid people and avoid wondering what was crossing their minds as they looked at my face. As I mentioned, when I did speak with others, it was a lot of me playing with my hair and staring at my feet. So I began to just avoid seeing people altogether. It made things easier, and I felt more secure. Whereas reduced social interaction is to us a surprising out- come of glass mirror-fasting, a role of olfactory self- sampling in social interaction is in our view highly likely. Many social chemosignalling behaviours rely on comparing self-odour with others. For example, humans may optimize mate selection based on genetic compatibility (particularly in the HLA complex) [48], and this can be inferred from body-odour [49,50]. This process, by definition, entails a com- parison to self-body-odours. Moreover, we speculate that this holds true for dyadic interactions beyond those directed at mating alone. For example, close friends have more similar genetics than expected by chance [51,52]. Assuming friends do not sequence each other before deciding on their friend- ship, this implies that they must compare some traits that inform on genetic makeup. Physical phenotype is obviously a candidate, but we propose that body-odour could, and does, serve as an added effective cue. In other words, we pro- pose that humans are smelling themselves also as part of a matching-mechanism in social interaction. Indeed, we pro- pose that it is the loss of this ability that may underlie part of the social difficulties associated with congenital anosmia [53,54]. Finally, we think that humans sniff themselves also to obtain information on their transient physiological and emotional state. Body-odour reflects general arousal [55] and may specifically reflect emotions ranging from fear [56,57] to happiness [58] and beyond. Thus, self-sniffing may be part of a general mechanism for emotional homeosta- sis [59]. In this, we may be proposing a new arena for contrasting of the James–Lange/Cannon–Bard/Schacter– Singer debate [60]. Do we sniff ourselves, smell fear and then become afraid? Or experience fear and smell it on our- selves at the same time? Or some combination of these? This too is an area for future investigation. 10. Why has olfactory self-sniffing received such scant attention? So humans are sniffing the environment [61], sniffing others, and sniffing themselves (see [8,9,12], and current self-report survey). This behaviour is troubling to people when they become aware of it (e.g. [‘hand sniffing’ children] Google search), yet it has near zero traction in medical and psycho- logical research. Why? We think that self-sniffing has been disregarded for reasons mostly common with the general dis- regard of human olfaction in twentieth–twenty-first century thinking. Much has been written on this (e.g. [62–65]), and from this, we will extract three primary reasons. First, sniffing conspecifics is viewed as animalistic behav- iour. Although we have come a long way since ‘we will hope it is not true. But if it is, let us pray that it may not become royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 11 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 generally known’, scientists nevertheless remain reluctant to consider behavioural parallels between humans and other animals such as meerkats, goats and donkeys, particularly in behaviours related to mating. Sniffing others in this respect is considered ‘undignified’ [63]. Second, odours are associated with filth, and a short path from moral filth [31]. This relatively new (in an evolutionary perspective) and current status of odour is well illustrated by the following example: in 1796, Napoleon famously wrote to Josephine asking her not to bathe before his eminent return home, supposedly so that he would take increased pleasure in her body-odour (attributed to [66]). Today, only slightly more than 200 years later, most Westerners would literally cringe at such a thought. Given that human sensory physi- ology has not dramatically changed over the past 200 years, it is a change in attitude that underlies this shift. This shift in attitude may be attributed to the uncovering of the link between germs and disease [31]. This shifted odours from the position of agents that fight infection (up to about the time of Napoleon) to the position of an agents that signal infection (in our times). Bodily odours became a sign of something unclean and disease prone, and therefore their sampling may also be viewed as a negative action. Finally, there is no escaping the fact that human olfaction is still widely perceived as dull and unimportant, and as such, it is unsurprising that its mechanisms of acquisition within social settings have been largely overlooked. Despite some recent efforts of review manuscripts highlighting the acuity and importance of human olfaction [65,67,68], all of these authors are facing a remarkable power: Sigmund Freud (figure 10d). No single person has had a greater impact on current attitudes towards human psychology and behaviour [69]. Freud, especially in his later writing [64], and aligning with Havelock Ellis in this respect [70], deni- grated the behavioural significance of human olfaction, particularly in healthy sexual behaviour, where he saw no role for it. Freud argued that in the evolutionary transition to bipedalism, olfactory interests shifted away from the sexual organs (that were no longer directly in front of the nose), and that any such current interest therefore reflects a regression into animalism, or in other words, a pathological state [64]. An interesting analysis went so far as to suggest that Freud had a ‘nasal complex’ [71]. In this analysis, Freud’s nasal complex was attributed to the history of the relationship between Freud and Wilhelm Fliess. Fliess, an ENT physician, was a close and influential friend of Freud [72]. Much like the authors of this manuscript, Fliess thought that many aspects of human behaviour, and particularly sexual behaviour, could be attributed to olfaction and the nose [73–75]. Fliess in fact conducted two lots of surgery on Freud’s nose in order to address various conditions [71]. Freud also called on Fliess to assist in treating the ‘sexual neuroticism’ of his patient Emma Eckstein. Fliess proceeded to treat this condition by obvious means: surgery on her nose (…) [75]. Moreover, Fliess proceeded to forget a long string of gauze within Eckstein’s nose, the later surgical removal of which was purportedly a profoundly traumatic event for Freud (and no doubt for her) [71]. According to Howes, this traumatic event was at the heart of the ensuing fallout between Freud and Fliess, and the source of Freud’s ‘nasal complex’. Whatever the reason was, Freud indeed made no allowance for olfaction in his accounts of healthy human behaviour, sexual or other. Given the significant impact of Freudian psychology on current views of human behaviour, if olfaction is indeed not seen as a factor in healthy ongoing human behaviour, it is unsurprising that olfactory sampling behaviour remains unnoticed. 11. Limitations and future research Our account of human behaviour still faces at least one major challenge or limitation: whereas we see the majority of face- touching behaviour as instances of hand-sniffing, others may argue that these are mere incidental touches of the faces, perhaps a form of displacement behaviour [13], with no link to olfaction or social chemosignalling. The current empirical arguments we present in this respect are that people double nasal airflow when they bring their hand to their nose (figure 1b), and that olfactory tainting can increase or decrease face-touching in a predicted fashion (figure 9a). Although both of these are arguments for an olfactory behav- iour, they both come from one study out of one laboratory–– ours. Thus, added verifications, from us and others, as to the olfactory origins of face-touching are absolutely necessary for solidification of our hypothesis. One line of verification depends on technical advance: we desperately need a method to precisely measure nasal airflow from a distance. Our current measurements depend on placing a nasal can- nula at the nose, and this in itself may alter behaviour. Our laboratory has experimented to this end with for- ward-looking infra-red (FLIR) cameras, but we have failed to reach satisfactory results, and this remains a major chal- lenge. A second line of potential hypothesis testing is to measure face-touching in individuals without a sense of smell. Notably, whether anosmia necessarily implies social anosmia also still remains a critical open question in the field [76,77], but if it does, then face-touching behaviour should be altered in anosmia, particularly congenital anos- mia. Finally, if one accepts our thesis on hand-sniffing as a significant component of human behaviour, this opens a field of questions in social sniffing: What are the neuronal mechanisms of this behaviour? How is it related to different ongoing behaviours? Is self-smelling altered in particular pathologies? And finally, can we harness this behaviour towards therapy? Although we again stress the need for additional verification studies on the olfactory origins of face-touching, we end in stating that we think human self- smelling is a significant yet overlooked aspect of human behaviour. Ethics. This study includes an online survey that was approved by the Weizmann Institute of Science IRB committee, in accordance with the conditions of the Declaration of Helsinki. Data accessibility. All the raw data are presented in an electronic sup- plementary material file. Authors’ contributions. All authors analysed data and wrote the paper. Competing interests. We declare we have no competing interests. Funding. Our studies on social chemosignalling are supported by the ERC AdG grant SocioSmell grant no. 670798 and by an ISF grant no. 1379/15. Acknowledgement. We thank Arak Elite and Yaara Yeshurun for suggesting the Thoreau quote, and for comments on the manuscript. 12 D ow nl oa de d fr om h tt ps :/ /r oy al so ci et yp ub li sh in g. or g/ o n 05 A pr il 2 02 1 References royalsocietypublishing.org/journal/rstb Phil.Trans.R.Soc.B 375:20190372 1. Mainland J, Sobel N. 2005 The sniff is part of the olfactory percept. Chem. Senses 31, 181–196. (doi:10.1093/chemse/bjj012) 2. 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Face-touching may reflect unconscious hand-smelling Face-touching in primates Face-touching in humans Is face-touching an olfactory behaviour? When humans sniff their hands, they are also smelling where their hands touched Questionnaire methods Questionnaire results When humans sniff their hands, they are also smelling who their hands touched Why do humans smell themselves? Why has olfactory self-sniffing received such scant attention? Limitations and future research Ethics Data accessibility Authors' contributions Competing interests Funding Acknowledgement References 
work_otu4ixzxbraiba6asyhe3ir47u	----	Southern African Journal of Environmental Education, Vol. 26, 2009 © 2009 Environmental Education Association of Southern Africa Abstract This think piece elaborates possible research connections between ecocriticism and climate change educational research, addressing the overarching question of what cultural responses to climate change can offer climate change education and climate change education research. It investigates literary critic Louise Rosenblatt’s transactional theory of reading in the context of ecocriticism and suggests a few possible climate change education research questions. Introduction In relation to the accelerating scientific and public concern about climate change and all its related matters, the interest in cultural responses to climate change is increasing. Consider for example the work done by the organisation Cape Farewell founded by the artist David Buckland in 2001.1 Bringing together climate change scientists and various artists such as musicians, painters and authors, it is a good example of a trans-disciplinary and cultural response towards climate change. The belief that cultural responses to climate change have a crucial role to play in increasing knowledge and engaging the public runs through the wide variety of activities performed by scientists and artists connected to Cape Farewell. Another participant in the present climate change and sustainability debate is the exhibition Green Architecture for the Future at the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art.2 The exhibition addresses issues such as sustainable cities, the relationship between city and nature, climate engineering, resource scarcity, population growth and interior design. Created in relation to the United Nations Climate Change Conference in Copenhagen in December 2009, the exhibition Nature Strikes Back, showing at The National Gallery of Denmark, portrays how the relationship between humans and nature has been portrayed in Western art from antiquity to today. The exhibition does not have an explicit focus on climate change as such. Rather, the aim is to give an historical background to present day views of nature and climate change.3 Both Cape Farewell, the Louisiana exhibition and Nature Strikes Back are creative and innovative examples of how climate change and sustainability can be addressed through the creative arts and architecture. As participants in the climate change debate, these initiatives emphasise the importance of finding new ways of addressing and communicating climate change and its related matters to the public in ways that move beyond scientific discourse. However, telling stories of natural disasters, environmental catastrophes and human responses to events such as climate change is nothing new for authors Sigtuna Think Piece 7 Readings for Climate Change: Ecocriticism and Climate Change Education Research Petra Hanson, Uppsala University, Sweden SigTuna Think Piece 7 75 and filmmakers. The theme of human struggle for survival in Robinson Crusoe, the fight against extreme weather conditions in the film The Day After Tomorrow and the struggle for life after the extinction of the planet earth in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake are just a few examples.4 It was not until quite recently however, that literary scholarship began paying attention to environmental issues. This think piece pays special attention to possible research connections between ecocriticism and climate change educational research, addressing the overarching question of what cultural responses to climate change can offer climate change education and climate change education research. It focuses in particular on the reading of literature and investigates literary critic Louise Rosenblatt’s transactional theory of reading in the context of ecocriticism, and elaborates a few possible climate change education research questions, as discussed in more detail below. Ecocriticism Ecocriticism developed as a response to the modern global environmental crisis in the 1990s and has taken literary criticism to previously unexplored fields. The most commonly cited definition of ecocriticism derives from the first introductory ecocritical reader, The Ecocriticism Reader:, Landmarks in Literary Ecology, edited by Cheryl Glotfelty and Harold Fromm (1996: xviii): Simply put, ecocriticism is the study of the relationship between literature and the physical environment. Just as feminist criticism examines language and literature from a gender conscious perspective, and Marxist criticism brings an awareness of modes of production and economic class to its reading of texts, ecocriticism takes an earth-centred approach to literary studies. Ecocritical scholarship was started through authors primarily interested in non-fiction nature writing portraying ‘wild’ nature involving classical authors such as Henry David Thoreau, Aldo Leopold, Rachel Carson, John Muir and others (Glotfelty, 1996:xxiii; Garrard, 2004:59–84; Lyon, 1996:276–282; Buell, 1995). The genre of nature writing contains a wide variety of approaches and subgenres but can briefly be defined as first-person narratives about the natural environment combining scientific and philosophical observations and reflections of the natural world (Lyon, 1996:276–282). Nature writing often takes on an enthusiastic and admiring attitude towards nature and there is frequently a strong divide between the natural world and the cultural world. Texts portraying the natural world have dominated much ecocritical scholarship. Accordingly, traditional ecocritical issues of interest concern representations of nature and human impact on the environment answering questions such as: ‘How is nature represented in this sonnet? What role does the physical setting play in the plot of this novel? How has the concept of wilderness changed over time?’ (Glotfelty, 1996:xviii–xix). Texts portraying urban and ‘intoxicated’ environments were marginalised within early ecocritical research. However, voices calling for expansions of ecocritical boundaries both regarding research questions and texts have been emerging for quite a while. As a result, 76 PETRA HANSoN modern ecocritical research has moved into the cities, to fiction and other kinds of visual narratives such as films, plays and, albeit to a lesser extent, artworks have also gained recognition around the ecocritical table.5 one aim of ecocritical research and ecocritical teaching is to contribute to an increased understanding of environmental issues in times of environmental crisis and is engaged in questions regarding the promotion of sustainable thinking. For example, on the home page of the main organisation for ecocriticism, the Association for the Study of Literature and Environment (ASLE), the ‘mission’ of the organisation is stated as: … to promote the understanding of nature and culture for a sustainable world by fostering a community of scholars, teachers, and writers who study the relationships among literature, culture, and the physical environment … Thus, there is a clear ambition to increase knowledge and understanding regarding how we relate to and act on natural and cultural environments. Following this, ecocriticism seems to be a potentially valuable theoretical vantage point that can help to investigate what ecocriticism can offer climate change educational research. However, even though ecocritical boundaries have been expanded since its beginning, it seems to me that ecocritical research boundaries need to be even further expanded in relation to the development of climate change educational research. Despite the interest in increasing awareness of environmental issues, few investigations focus on what students of ecocriticism learn while studying literature. Consequently empirical investigations of learning processes and meaning making in relation to the reading of texts are rare within ecocritical research. Therefore, in order to qualify the discussion about the meaning of ecocritical readings for learning about issues related to climate change, I believe that a more explicit research focus on students’ responses to the reading of texts used in ecocritical classrooms would be fruitful and add knowledge to the meaning of reading in climate change education. In the forthcoming section I will turn to Louise Rosenblatt’s theory of reading as a transactional process, which serves as a guide for the forthcoming discussion of research connections between ecocriticism and climate change education research. Reading as a Transactional Process In Literature and Exploration, Rosenblatt (1938/1995) develops a theory of reading as a transactional process regarding meaning as being created in the encounter between reader and text. By using the concept of transaction, rather than interaction, Rosenblatt (1938/1995:xvi) emphasises the constituent relationship between reader and text: Interaction … suggests two distinct entities acting on each other like two billiard balls. Transaction lacks such mechanistic overtones and permits emphasis on the to-and-fro, SigTuna Think Piece 7 77 spiralling, nonlinear, continuously reciprocal influence of reader and text in the making of meaning. In the discussion of the reader as an active participant in the meaning making of texts, Rosenblatt distinguishes between ‘efferent’ and ‘aesthetic’ reading purposes. This line of thought is based on the idea that it is possible for readers to have different stances, or different ‘focus of attention during the reading-event’ (Rosenblatt, 1978/1994:23). The term ‘efferent’ derives from the Latin efferre and implies that ‘the reader’s attention is focused primarily on what will remain as the residue after the reading – the information to be acquired, the logical solution to a problem, the actions to be carried out’ (Rosenblatt 1978/1994:23). Questions such as analysis of characters, summaries of plots and how female and male roles are played out in texts could all demand efferent activities. The same goes for the examples of ecocritical questions introduced in the beginning of this piece focusing for example on how nature is portrayed in particular texts. Contrastingly, in aesthetic reading, the attention is directed to what happens during the reading-event, which means that the reader pays attention to personal associations, feelings, and ideas and ‘the reader’s attention is centred directly on what he is living through during his relationship with that particular text’ (Rosenblatt, 1978/1994:25). Such readings would rather focus on eliciting readers’ personal feelings and opinions in relation to the reading. Instead of focusing on what Thoreau means by ‘to live deliberately’, what he considers be ‘the essential facts of life’ or his style of writing in the famous quote from Thoreau’s Walden: I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. (http://thoreau.eserver.org/walden02.html) Illustrating an ‘efferent’ apporach, an aesthetic reading would gear students’ attention to their immediate responses to the passage giving them the opportunity to express their personal thoughts in relation to the reading. Rosenblatt claims that efferent reading approaches are more common than aesthetic reading approaches within the teaching of literature excluding the possible aesthetic ‘lived through’ experiences that the reading of literature can offer. Rosenblatt (1978/1994:29) is however careful to make sure that an aesthetic reading is something more than just ‘free associations’ and claims that ‘The concept of transaction emphasises the relationship with, and continuing awareness of the text.’ Furthermore, she (1938/1995:3) gives literary and aesthetic experiences special status within education and emphasises their importance for the development of self- understanding. She argues, ‘In contrast to the analytic approach of the social sciences, the literary experience has immediacy and emotional persuasiveness’ (1938/1995:7). From this follows that the same text can be read both aesthetically and efferently (Rosenblatt, 1978/1994:25) depending on which attention, or which stance is adopted. The purpose of the reading will accordingly shape the meaning being made in the reading. For the purposes here, it becomes relevant to investigate what ‘readers do in different kinds of reading’ (Rosenblatt, 1978/1994:23) related to climate change topics. In order to be able to make claims on the place 78 PETRA HANSoN of and the meaning of literature within climate change education, knowing what readers do and what activities they carry out in relation to the reading of various climate change texts may contribute to the development of a climate change education based on empirical research. Adding Rosenblatt’s theoretical perspective to empirical ecocritical research might be a fruitful way of addressing questions relevant to climate change education research. In relation to the uncertainties commonly connected to issues of climate change and Rosenblatt's claims that the reading of literary works would ‘both have an intrinsic aesthetic value and make possible the development and assimilation of insights into human relations’6 and play a pivotal role in developing critical readers, I find Rosenblatt’s transactional theory of reading useful in order to come up with potential research questions in the intersection between ecocriticism and climate change education research. Ecocriticism has by now a well-developed theoretical framework and many ecocritical analyses have been carried out. However, as mentioned above, ecocritical research has not investigated students’ responses to the reading of literature. Questions such as: what can students learn from ecocritical readings?; what happens during the reading process?; and do the readings have any bearing on the students’ actions in every day life? are crucial questions for climate change education research. Expanding the Boundaries: Ecocriticism and Climate Change Education Research empirical studies Turning the attention to empirical investigations of ecocritical practice is my first suggestion of how the boundaries of ecocritical research can be expanded in order to become a fruitful contribution to the development of climate change education research. Due to the lack of empirical studies within ecocritical research, I think one potential area for this research would be to carry out empirical studies of students’ responses to ecocritically relevant texts in order to find out what meanings are produced in these encounters. How do students respond? Empirical studies of students’ responses to ecocritically relevant texts would also make it possible to test the potential of literary investigation for promoting environmental awareness and sustainable thinking. For example, in a forthcoming study we (Hansson & Östman, forthcoming) study students’ responses to the reading of Thoreau’s Walden focusing on how the students use the text to discuss their own views of nature and how they relate the text to their personal nature experiences. Taking Rosenblatt’s ideas of aesthetic and efferent reading stances into account, it would also be relevant to investigate what stances dominate ecocritical teaching. Are the students given the opportunity to ‘live through’ the literary texts and/or are efferent stances more common? Is there equal emphasis on efferent and aesthetic readings within ecocritical teaching? How are literary works related to ‘real’ environmental and development challenges? In relation to climate change education research it would furthermore be relevant to investigate students’ responses to different kinds of texts within the climate change discourse elaborating on different reading stances. For example, in what ways may aesthetic readings of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPPC) reports and efferent readings of climate change poetry and fiction help enhance understanding of climate change issues? SigTuna Think Piece 7 79 asking questions relevant to climate change Another expansion would be to investigate how climate change matters are addressed within ecocritical teaching. Is ecocritical teaching still traditional in the sense that the genre of nature writing dominates ecocritical classrooms? The challenges we are facing when it comes to the future of urban development in a changing climate make texts portraying such issues crucial from a climate change education perspective and therefore highly relevant for climate change education research. Therefore, it becomes significant to continue the critical discussion concerning the identity of the texts in focus for ecocritical teaching in relation to climate change. Issues such as for example adaptation and mitigation, insecurity and conflicting values are all crucial in the climate change debate and for all the people affected by climate change. Whether such issues are addressed in ecocritical classrooms seems another relevant research question to be addressed in climate change education research. The meaning of art and aesthetic experience The emphasis on aesthetic experiences expressed by Rosenblatt and the growing interest in cultural responses to climate change as mentioned above, makes the meaning of the arts and aesthetic experience within educational settings a potential research area in itself. What is the meaning of aesthetics and the arts in climate change education and in students’ meaning making? How are the arts used in education? What aesthetic experiences do students express in relation to the reading of literature? Do artistic expressions automatically lead to aesthetic experiences and emotional expressions and responses to issues related to climate change? Such questions need to be empirically investigated as well. Conclusion In developing the arena of climate change education research, I think it is crucial that the arts do not only become mere appearances in relation to more established fields such as climate change science in the ongoing discussion about climate change in general and climate change education and research in particular. Viewing the arts as an equally important participant in addressing issues related to climate change – with equal status to scientific observations and investigations – will hopefully lead us a bit closer to the goal of a sustainable future in a changing climate. Notes on the Contributor Petra Hansson is a PhD candidate at the Department of Curriculum Studies, Uppsala University, Sweden. She is writing her thesis about the meaning of nature encounters in education for sustainable development. E-mail: petra.hansson@did.uu.se Endnotes 1 http://www.capefarewell.com (accessed 27 November 2009). 80 PETRA HANSoN 2 http://www.louisiana.dk/uk/Menu/Exhibitions/Green+Architecture+for+the+Future (accessed 27 November 2009). 3 http://www.smk.dk/naturestrikesback (accessed 27 November 2009). 4 Editor’s note: It is difficult not to make the links to the Namafe paper in this edition here. 5 See for example Bennet and Teague, Urban Ecocriticism (1999) and Steven Rosendale, The Greening of Literary Scholarship: Literature, Theory, and the Environment (2002), Greg Garrard, Ecocriticism: The Ability to Investigate Cultural Artefacts from an Ecological Perspective, in Arran Stibbe and Heather Luna (eds), The Handbook of Sustainability Literacy, http://www.sustainability-literacy.org/multimedia. html (2009). 6 Interview with Louise Rosenblatt at http://www.education.miami.edu/ep/Rosenblatt/ (accessed 27 November 2009). References Bennett, M. & Teague, D.W. (1999). The Nature of Cities – Ecocriticism and Urban Environments. Tuscon, Arizona: The University of Arizona Press. Buell, L. (1995). Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Garrard, G. (2004). Ecocriticism. oxon and New York:Routledge. Garrard, G. (2009). Ecocriticism – The Ability to Investigate Cultural Artefacts from an Ecological Perspective. in Stibbe, A. & Luna, H. (Eds), The Handbook of Sustainability Literacy. http://www.sustainability-literacy.org/multimedia.html Glotfelty, C. & Fromm, H. (1996). The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press. Hansson, P. & ostman, L. (forthcoming). Reading Thoreau. An Empirical Study of Teacher Students’ Responses to an Ecocritical Classic. Mayer, S. & Wilson, G. (2006). Ecodidactic Perspectives on English Language, Literatures and Cultures. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier. Lyon, T.J. (1996). A Taxonomy of Nature Writing. In Glotfelty, C. & Fromm, H. (Eds), The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens, Georgia: University of Georgia Press. Rosenblatt, L.M. (1938/1995). Literature as Exploration. New York: Modern Language Association of America. Rosenblatt, L.M. (1978/1994). The Reader, the Text, the Poem: the Transactional Theory of the Literary Work. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Rosendale, S. (Ed.) (2002). The Greening of Literary Scholarship: Literature, Theory, and the Environment. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Thoreau, H.D. (2009). Walden http://thoreau.eserver.org/walden02.html, accessed 27 November 2009. 
work_oud6y7inlrg7dclikj6gj6crsm	----	T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T R E V I E W E S S A Y Going Postal Peter J. Wosh News Over the Wires: The Telegraph and the Flow of Public Information in America, 1844-1897. Menahem Blondheim. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994. viii, 305 pp. Index. Bibliography. ISBN 067462212x. Spreading the News: The American Postal System from Franklin to Morse. Richard R. John. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995. xiii, 369 pp. Index. Bibliography. ISBN 0674833384. ® News in the Mail: The Press, the Post Office, and Public Information, 1700- 1860s. Richard B. Kielbowicz. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1989. xii, 209 pp. ISBN 0313266387. © Consumer Rites: The Buying and Selling of American Holidays. Leigh Eric Schmidt. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1995. xvi, 363 pp. Index. Bibliography. Illustrated. ISBN 0691029806. © Handwriting in America: A Cultural History. Tamara P. Thornton. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1996. xiv, 284 pp. Index. Bibliography. Illustrated. ISBN 0300064772. © A Fictive People: Antebellum Economic Development and the American Reading Public. Ronald J. Zboray. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. xxiii, 326 pp. Index. Bibliography. Illustrated. ISBN 019507582x. © 2 2 0 T h e A m e r i c a n A r c h i v i s t , V o l . 6 1 ( S p r i n g 1 9 9 8 ) : 2 2 0 - 2 3 9 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L • ^ o r my part," wrote Henry David Thoreau in the mid-1840s, "I w^ could easily do without the post office." The railroad, the mill, M and the pace of modern life all disturbed Thoreau, who fretted as Massachusetts rapidly transformed itself into the most urbanized and in- dustrialized state in the Union. Writing from his bucolic vantage point in the woods outside Concord, the twenty-eight-year-old philosopher counseled fel- low New Englanders to resist these modernizing trends, to "stay at home...mind our business" and, above all, "simplify, simplify." Still, as Tho- reau shrewdly realized in 1845, regular mail delivery made such advice vir- tually impossible to follow. He despised the intrusion of postal service into his daily existence: "to speak critically, I never received more than one or two letters in my life...that were worth the postage." Thoreau believed that "very few important communications" found their way into correspondence and that mail recipients would usually be better off emotionally and finan- cially if they avoided paying the postage due. People visited the post office to satisfy a seemingly insatiable craving for news, but they left with mere "gossip." Newspapers, which dominated the mid-century mails, filled their columns with accounts of steamship wrecks, railroad accidents, livestock mis- haps, and the local police blotter. Thoreau trivialized the newspaper as fem- inine and therefore insignificant, sneering that "they who edit and read it are old women over their tea." In the very act of deriding the post office's irrelevance, however, he soberly acknowledged its threatening and transfor- mative qualities.1 In addition to Thoreau, many Americans—reflecting a broad diversity of sociopolitical perspectives—have complained about, critiqued, and wryly rid- iculed the nation's postal policies. From the Post Office Act of 1792 through the creation of the U.S. Postal Service in 1971 and beyond, America's mail delivery system has served as the focal point for intense political wrangling, public debate, consumer controversy, and corporate rivalry. Some of the most extraordinary cultural figures in American history have tied their fame and fortune to postal affairs. Benjamin Franklin used his postmastership to great personal and political advantage in the eighteenth century. "Wild Bill" Hickok honed his gunfighting skills and participated in an early post office shootout while riding the post in Rock Creek, Kansas in 1861. Department store magnate and pious Presbyterian John Wanamaker served as postmaster general during a particularly innovative period in the department's history during the 1890s. Vice reformer Anthony Comstock used his position as a postal inspector to prevent the circulation of birth control information and to stifle radical political movements in late-nineteenth-century America. His attempt to "purify" the nation by banning "obscene" literature from the 1 Henry David Thoreau, Walden, or Life in the Woods (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1929), 102-5. 221 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T mails became inextricably linked with "Victorian" morality in the popular mind. Charles Lindbergh flew the mail between Illinois and St. Louis before achieving celebrity status in 1927 with his New York to Paris flight, and his aerial exploits stimulated a dramatic increase in airmail volume. It thus hardly seems surprising that, when popular showman "Buffalo Bill" Cody sought to recreate his early career and magnify his own significance in his popular 1879 autobiography, he carefully invented an adventuresome series of exploits dur- ing a supposed stint as a Pony Express rider.2 Thoreau recognized the revolutionary potential and cultural significance of the post office. Surprisingly, many historians and most archivists have ig- nored it. Despite the sheer volume of correspondence in most archival col- lections, and the profession's fetishistic obsession with dissecting every minor episode in the new "information revolution," archival theorists have not ad- equately historicized or contextualized current electronic events. A tendency to equate informational advance with technological change, to assume (rather than prove) that the electronic records revolution constitutes some- thing fundamentally new and unprecedented, and to focus on the form rather than the content of archival documentation, pervades much current professional thinking. Paying attention to the post office offers one way to put history back into current debates over information and communication issues. A growing, embryonic scholarly literature has emerged in the past few years that has altered the ways in which historians view mail, correspondence, and public postal policy. The newer works cited at the outset of this essay in particular, when considered alongside some older studies, such as the note- worthy work of Wayne Fuller, and some recent works concerning writing, literacy, and American business, alter our understanding of the history and nature of American communication. By synthesizing these studies, a narrative emerges that points to especially important and archivally interesting trans- formations in American communications culture between 1790 and 1930. Archivists who review and consider this new body of work will gain some important insights into their collections, their craft, and the claims of the new corps of "information specialists" and silicon snake oil salesmen who populate the American landscape in the 1990s.3 2 Franklin's years as postmaster are covered in Ruth L. Butler, Doctor Franklin, Postmaster General (Gar- den City, N.Y.: Doubleday, Doran, 1928); "Wild Bill" Hickok's postal slaying of the McCandless gang is covered in William F. Cody, The Life of Hon. William F. Cody Known As Buffalo Bill the Famous Hunter, Scout and Guide (New York: Indian Head Books, 1991), 127-29; Wayne E. Fuller, RFD: The ChangingFace of America (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1964), 18-25 discusses Wanamaker, as does William Leach, Land of Desire: Merchants, Power, and the Rise of a New American Culture (New York: Vintage Books, 1993), 180-85. On Comstock and vice suppression, see Paul Boyer, Purity in Print: The Vice Society Movement and Book Censorship in America (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1968) and Wayne E. Fuller, The American Mail: Enlarger of the Common Life (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1972), 252-72. Lindbergh's contributions are documented in Carl H. Scheele, A Short History of the Mail Service (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1970), 156. 3 This "review essay" essentially seeks to synthesize this new literature, to draw out its most significant 222 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L B u i l d i n g t h e N a t i o n a l I n f o r m a t i o n I n f r a s t r u c t u r e , 1 7 9 0 - 1 8 4 0 The most intriguing and thorough historical work on this subject con- cerns the early antebellum period, described by historian Richard John as possibly "the single most revolutionary era in the entire history of American communications."4 In fact, it appears that many major elements of America's public communication policy were developed, debated, and at least partially resolved during an era that actually preceded the commercialization of the telegraph, the completion of the national railroad network, and the rise of national corporate capitalism. Subsequent technologies confirmed, rather than created, shifts in the existing informational universe. They supple- mented, rather than subsumed, older forms of communication. Americans incorporated these technologies into a public informational infrastructure that, at its base, centered first and foremost on the mail. Archivists need to keep in mind that several ongoing communication systems complement and compete with each other at any particular historical moment, and that the documentary universe remains richer and more diverse than often appears the case. Early American postal policy catered primarily to newspapers and com- mercial concerns. Both the Federalists who drafted the Post Office Act of 1792 and the Jeffersonians who supported it shared a general goal of increas- ing the flow of "public" information. The Federalists viewed a strong post office as a way to foster a national consciousness, strengthen a centralized state, and, not incidentally, expand their patronage network. Jeffersonians hoped to use the system to propagate their own ideology, provide a counter- point to the Federalist press, and alert Americans to their opponents' shady political machinations. Both sides believed that increasing popular accessi- bility to news sources would strengthen their positions, and the 1792 legis- lation explicitly favored the press. Postal rates for newspapers remained disproportionately low, printers retained the crucial right to freely exchange their papers through the mail, and publishers could even circulate papers archival implications, and to incorporate these more recent arguments concerning mail, corre- spondence, and the post office into the still very useful older literature. The most accessible overview of postal history, written prior to the office's transformation into a governmental corporation, is Scheele's Short History of the Mail Service. The two works by Wayne Fuller cited in footnote 2, The American Mail and RFD, are indispensable starting points for examining United States postal history. There are also a number of interesting works on the Canadian postal system, which have not been included in this review. These include Robert M. Campbell, The Politics of the Post: Canada's Postal System from Public Service to Privatization (Peterborough, Ont.: Broadview, 1994), and Susan O'Reilly, On Track: The Railway Mail Service of Canada (Ottawa: Canadian Museum of Civilization, 1992). Another good point of entry into American postal history is to view the exhibits at the Smithsonian Institution's National Postal Museum, at 2 Massachusetts Avenue, N.E., Washington, D.C. The phrase "silicon snake oil salesmen" is borrowed from Clifford Stoll, Silicon Snake Oil: Second Thoughts on the Information Highway (New York: Anchor Books, 1995). 4 John, Spreading the News, 24. For a classic statement on the antebellum era, see Robert G. Albion, " T h e 'Communication Revolution,' " American Historical Review 37 (July 1932): 718-20. 223 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T outside of established postal routes. Letter-writers remained in a subordinate position and heavily subsidized the system. Best estimates suggest that news- papers generated only about 3 percent of postal revenue in 1792, but com- posed approximately 70 percent of postal weight. Comparable figures for 1814 were 8 percent and 70 percent, while in 1832 the press generated no more than 15 percent of total revenue while composing up to 95 percent of the bulk carried through the mails. Further, the free newspaper exchange privilege meant that printers always had a ready supply of news that could be reprinted to fill empty columns.5 Several important and seemingly contradictory informational implica- tions resulted from these early postal policies. First, the widespread dissemi- nation and subsidization of news through the mails appears to have buttressed the centralizing and nationalizing tendencies that some historians have associated with "modernization." By 1820 the United States boasted "more post offices and newspapers per capita than any other nation in the world," and a national news network centered largely in New York dispensed information to the hinterland. Newspapers, freely exchanging information by mail, tended to reprint the same national and foreign stories. This provided the news with a certain coherence, and created a relatively homogenized informational universe, although local variations existed and multiple politi- cal perspectives certainly were reflected. Up-to-date market information, data concerning new agricultural techniques and practices, significant (and trivial) government documents, and accounts of party debates all flowed from the major seaport cities to more isolated communities. The federal government largely underwrote the cost of this venture by indirectly subsidizing newspa- pers with cheap postage, subcontracting with transit companies (primarily stagecoaches, but increasingly steamboats and railroads as well) to deliver the mail, and using the postal service as a rationale for building a national over- land transportation network. A cozy public/private partnership developed, as the postal system stimulated a wide range of business enterprises and internal improvements.6 Modernization and homogenization, however, constitute only part of the story. The national dissemination of news through the mails also created and fostered the growth of communities of interest that operated outside of tra- 5 J o h n , Spreading the News, 36-42; Kielbowicz, News In The Mail, 32-36, 43-50. 6 The classic statement of modernization theory is Richard D. Brown, Modernization: The Transforma- tion of American Life, 1600-1865 (New York: Hill and Wang, 1976). See also his "Knowledge Is Power": The Diffusion of Information in Early America, 1700—1865 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). Allan R. Pred, Urban Growth and the Circulation of Information, 1790—1840 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973) remains indispensable in tracing the ways in which information circulated between urban centers and their peripheries. The interpretation in this paragraph is based on Kielbowicz, News In the Mail, esp. 5-6, 31-50. The quote can be found on page 57. For an excellent account of the way in which the post office fostered private transportation, see Oliver W. Holmes and Peter T. Rohrbach, Stagecoach East: Stagecoach Days in the East from the Colonial Period to the Civil War (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1983). 224 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L ditional geographical boundaries. Specialized periodicals, resembling news- papers in order to take advantage of lower postal rates, developed along political, occupational, fraternal, reform, and religious lines. Tensions devel- oped between particularistic local cultures and national "imagined commu- nities" of interest that sought to erase geographical differences and shape public opinion. If the postal system initially supported nationalist sentiments and buttressed the concept of a strong central government, it also divided Americans in new ways. Serious culture wars fragmented the nation in the 1820s and 1830s. Jacksonian politicians, exploiting popular resentment against eastern elites and such large national institutions as the Bank of the United States, rode to power on a platform that promised respect for provin- cial cultures, acknowledgment of regional diversity, an end to large govern- mental public works programs, and hostility toward the national institutions and bureaucratic concerns located in the metropolitan centers. Debates often centered on how "news" and "facts" were defined and how they differed from mere "opinion," and how authority itself might become institutional- ized and recognized in a society of democratic equals.7 The post office figured prominently in two political controversies that especially exposed the fault lines of American culture in the 1820s and 1830s: Sabbatarianism and abolitionism. Movements to eliminate Sunday mail deliv- ery and boycott transportation companies that moved freight on the Sabbath pitted an increasingly aggressive national coalition of evangelical activists against the interests of merchants and businessmen in such smaller commer- cial ports as Rochester and Canandaigua, New York. Religious observance conflicted with the growing need for timely market information by capitalist entrepreneurs in the hinterlands. Significantly, both sides used the national mail network itself to circulate and file petitions, publicize their respective causes, and recruit like-minded national constituencies to advance their in- terests. Although their moral visions for the nation differed, these competing interest groups participated in a national process of coalition building and information sharing that relied heavily on the modern postal system. Both evangelicals and their opponents created "virtual" national communities that sought influence and control over the new transportation and communica- tion revolutions. They acknowledged the reality of the transformation, even if some lamented the message.8 7 John, Spreading the News, 169-80, explores these tensions in detail. On Jacksonianism and the state generally, see Robert Remini, Andrew Jackson and the Course of American Freedom, 1822—1832 (New York: Harper and Row, 1981). J o h n William Ward, Andrew Jackson: Symbol for an Age (New York: Oxford University Press, 1955) remains a critical study for understanding Jacksonian ideology. 8 John, Spreading the News, 169-205, covers Sabbatarianism. For other accounts of the mail issue, see Robert H. Abzug, Cosmos Crumbling: American Reform and the Religious Imagination (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 105-16; James R. Rohrer, "Sunday Mails and the Church-State Theme in Jacksonian America," Journal of the Early Republic! (Spring 1987): 53-74; and Bertram Wyatt-Brown, "Prelude to Abolitionism: Sabbatarian Politics and the Rise of the Second Party System" Journal of 225 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T Abolitionism presented an even more direct threat to national unity. During the summer of 1835, New York-based abolitionists sent roughly 175,000 pieces of mail to the southern states, in an effort to convince slave- holders that they should abandon their "sinful" practices. The reformers carefully formatted their appeals to resemble magazines so that postal officials would allow them in the mail without question. Abolitionists did not prepay postage, thus offering mailmen an incentive to deliver and collect from the recipients, and they addressed their publications to specific individuals in order to answer the objection that information might fall into the hands of slaves or free blacks. The mail campaign appeared to confirm the worst fears of southerners who operated on the communications periphery: the post office made it possible for outside national interests, unresponsive to regional concerns and opinions, to flood communities with "incendiary" material that violated local norms. Control over the postal system, and the informational universe that it spawned, was critical to maintaining local folkways, customs, and institutions. Southerners won the battle in 1835: a vigilante society known as the "Lynch Men" broke into the Charleston, South Carolina post office and destroyed thousands of abolitionist periodicals. The Charleston and New York City postmasters soon reached a formal agreement that abolitionists could no longer transmit their periodicals through the mails to South Car- olina, since the content violated southern law, tradition, and opinion. Amos Kendall, the nation's postmaster general, adopted an extreme states' rights position and suppressed the periodicals in the interest of buttressing local mores. In the long run, however, the post office helped to redefine the nature of community and undermined local control over information flow. As the events of the 1830s indicated, competing social groups and conflicting inter- ests would continue to batde over postal policy and, implicitly, control over the nation's information network.9 Politicians and postmasters during this formative period also concerned themselves with providing equal access to information. A speculative venture by northeastern capitalists in 1825 illustrated the problem. After receiving notice of a sharp price rise in European cotton markets, these merchants paid a mail contractor to speed a purchase order for large quantities of cotton to southern farmers, and to withhold the news of the market shift until the purchase had been concluded. By controlling the news, they made a quick financial killing and impugned the integrity of the postal system. Information meant money, and postmasters in the 1820s and 1830s devised a series of American History 58 (Sept. 1971): 316-41. In fact, the Sabbatarian issue was not resolved finally until 1912, when Congress voted to close down the few post offices that still maintained Sunday hours. 9 John, Spreading the News, 257-80. Other accounts of the abolitionists' postal crusade include Leonard L. Richards, "Gentlemen of Property and Standing": Anti-Abolition Mobs injacksonian America (London: Oxford University Press, 1970), and Bertram Wyatt-Brown, " T h e Abolitionists' Postal Campaign of 1835," Journal of Negro History 50 (Oct. 1965): 227-38. 226 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L methods to favor public interest over private business concerns. They care- fully laid out postal routes, restricted private expresses, and used special pony riders to transmit timely economic information between northeastern ports and such burgeoning market towns as St. Louis, New Orleans, Mobile, and Charleston. Faith in the federal government as a protector of the public good characterized the antebellum communication pioneers. When Samuel F.B. Morse began commercializing the telegraph in 1844, he hoped that this new invention would be administered as a branch of the general post office, and many merchants agreed. A democratic society and a smoothly functioning capitalist culture required equal access to information and controls over spec- ulative interests. Mounting evidence indicated, however, that information could not be distributed on an equitable basis. Insiders continually sought ways to subvert the postal system, relying on private couriers and bribing public officials. The specter of a society divided into knowledgeable infor- mation "haves" and less sophisticated "have nots," loomed large.10 Most historians and archivists associate America's communication and transportation revolution with a series of technological innovations roughly traceable to the 1830s and 1840s: railroads, the penny press, photography, and telegraphy. The above survey indicates that the major intellectual ques- tions that confront information policymakers today predate technological change. The post office stimulated widespread debate over privileged infor- mation, the creation of "virtual" communities not based on geographical proximity, the relationship between public policy and private enterprise, and the desirability of limiting the free flow of information. Positions were staked out early, and the antebellum experience offers no comforting evidence that conflicting views could be resolved equitably. Individuals and professional associations concerned with information policy in the 1990s need to study and digest these early debates. P r e s e n t i n g O n e ' s S e l f T h r o u g h t h e M a i l s , 1 8 4 0 - 1 8 7 0 Beginning in the 1840s, a series of postal reforms altered the structure and very nature of the American mail system. Legislation between 1845 and 1855 slashed and simplified rates for individual letters. Weight, rather than number of sheets, became the criteria for determining rates, and three cents per half ounce emerged as the standard price for mailing a letter. With some variation, this basic cost endured for nearly a century. Individuals no longer subsidized cheap newspaper postage by paying high rates, and Congress ac- cepted the notion that the post office might run a deficit in the interest of increasing communication and information exchange between American cit- izens. Other reforms also encouraged individuals to make greater private use 10 John, Spreading the News, 83-89; Fuller, The American Mail, 171-78. 227 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T of the post office. Distance zones were largely eliminated, and standard rates applied for letters sent up to three thousand miles. Prepayment of domestic postage became compulsory, the stamp was introduced as a standard item, and the post office even began issuing embossed stamped envelopes in 1853. Other new features guaranteed greater security and convenience. The post office introduced a domestic registry service (1855), second and third class mail categories (1863), free city delivery by carriers in major metropolitan centers (1863), money orders to eliminate transmission of cash and currency (1864), and penny postal cards for convenience (1873)." Cheap postage, convenient delivery, and the new safety features stimu- lated and coincided with what may be termed the golden age of American letter-writing. Prior to 1845, Richard John has noted, "Few Americans ever sent or received a letter through the mail." Between 1840 and 1860, however, the number of letters handled by the post office increased fourfold, to over 161 million items. Merchants still wrote the vast majority of letters, and the commercial northeast still mailed a disproportionate amount of correspon- dence. Other social groups, however, were beginning to put pen to paper as well. Technological change made writing tools much more widely available. Machine-made paper came into common use, with chemically treated wood pulp emerging as an inexpensive alternative to rags as raw material for paper manufacturing. Mass-produced steel pens also decreased in price, as Richard Estabrook opened the first pen company in the United States in Camden, New Jersey, on the eve of the Civil War. A more literate public eagerly con- sumed these writing products. The nation's expanding common school sys- tem, which developed and matured alongside a broad range of private educational institutions from Sunday schools to academies, helped produce nearly universal white literacy by the end of the antebellum period. White women especially read and wrote in unprecedented numbers.12 The postal revolution coincided with, and supported, a transportation revolution and geographical movement that reshaped the North American continent. Depleted soil and declining agricultural opportunities precipitated a mass movement from farm to city in the northeast. Canals, steamboats, and the completion of the transcontinental rail network destroyed traditional no- tions of time and distance, and stimulated the invention of new forms of business enterprise. Americans on the move appeared to be creating new kinds of communities, composed of strangers, young men on the make, and Summaries of the legislation can be found in Scheele, Short History of the Mail Service, 73-76, Kiel- bowicz, News in the Mail, 82-89, and J o h n , Spreading the News, 156-61. ' John, Spreading the News, 156. A good brief overview of writing technology can be found in Edmund Berkeley, Jr., "Writing Instruments and Materials," in Edmund Berkeley, Jr., ed., Autographs and Manuscripts: A Collector's Manual (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1978), 28-39. On literacy, see the instructive essay by Carl F. Kaestle, "The History of Literacy and the History of Readers," Review of Research in Education 12 (1985): 11-53. 228 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L random acquaintances. Correspondence remained the only way to stay in touch with kin and friends left behind. Convenient mail service perpetuated old social ties and in many instances created new forms of virtual community among an increasingly rootless population whose constant mobility threat- ened traditional links to locality and place. The rising tide of German and post-famine Irish immigration in the 1840s also produced a new transatlantic traffic in letters, and the United States accordingly concluded a number of international postal treaties and arrangements. Women began corresponding with women in growing numbers, prompting one historian to discover a "fe- male world of love and ritual" that relied on letters to establish and deepen affective ties.13 The sheer volume of this letter-writing frenzy is staggering. The amount of per capita correspondence traveling through the mails increased from 1.61 pieces per year in 1840 to 5.15 in 1860. Figures for urban centers were much higher: New York and Boston both sent out over thirty letters per person in 1856, reflecting at least in part their emergence as important national and regional business centers. Evidence indicates that mid-nineteenth-century correspondence took on new physical characteristics as well. Historian Tamara Thornton has chronicled the way in which Victorians viewed hand- writing as a presentation of the self and a key element in the formation of character. White women took up their pens and carefully learned elaborate ornamental hands, using the lush roundness and ornate letters of Spencerian script. While writing became the way in which many Victorians invented and physically presented their unique characters in an increasingly anonymous and impersonal society, it also became the way in which they demonstrated their self-control and conformity to external models of achievement. Accu- rately reproducing a perfect script, rather than expressing one's own individ- uality through handwriting, became the desired goal for many. The substance of correspondence, as well as its form, developed in new ways. Few historians have analyzed the actual content of nineteenth-century personal letters, but Ronald Zboray's comments are suggestive. He argues that correspondents strove "to perfect their orthography and grammar be- cause they knew they would be on public display," and that "a stiff formality commonly plays tug-of-war with the conversational tone" in Victorian letters. Observing that personal communication often took on the tenor of popular fiction, he concludes that "the changeover from face-to-face oral communi- cation to the written medium of the letter transformed the very nature of the self, from one defined by total immersion in the community to one self- constructed in the act of writing letters." New lines of commercial products 1S Carroll Smith-Rosenberg, "The Female World of Love and Ritual: Relations Between Women in Nineteenth-Century America," Signs: A Journal of Women in Society and Culture 1 (Autumn 1975): 1- 30. 229 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T communicated the same message. "Letterwriter" books proliferated and went through multiple editions, instructing correspondents on the proper form, technique, and style for communicating messages.14 Perhaps the valentine craze, one of the remarkable cultural creations of the 1840s and 1850s, best exemplifies the new mode of public and private correspondence. Valentine's Day, virtually unknown as a holiday in the United States in the 1830s, was transformed into a major commercial event by the following decade. Both homespun and commercially produced cards, often circulated through the mail, became the hallmark of the February fes- tivities. Ready-made sentiments and verses, composed by professional "val- entine writers," were reproduced both in handmade cards and the mass-printed varieties. Self-expression and originality coexisted and blended with formulaic and often hackneyed sentiment in communicating the most private and personal of thoughts. Comic valentines, which lampooned the recipient and frequently contained at least mildly obscene overtones as well, could also be sent under cover of the mails. As the first American holiday structured around the "greeting card," Valentine's Day reflected the ambiv- alence of a culture on the cusp of a communications revolution, where new forms of structured rituals and heavily stylized correspondence threatened to overwhelm older forms of celebration and talk.15 Most correspondence during this period remained business-oriented, however, and the transformation of corporate culture also contained impor- tant implications for the post office and for America's information infrastruc- ture. Clearly, the telegraph significantly altered the nature of nineteenth- century communications. It permitted the instantaneous transmission of news and information and, in language very familiar to late-twentieth-century Americans who have been schooled in the exaggerated claims of the Internet, was immediately hailed as the "great highway of thought." Still, telegraphic transmission did not replace postal communication in any quick or linear fashion. In the newspaper industry, for example, both the telegraph and the postal exchanges coexisted side-by-side, each serving a very different purpose. The telegraph provided quick, concise, simplified, homogenized information in a reasonably efficient manner. It also cost money, proved difficult for in- dividual newspapers to commandeer for any length of time, and was subject to sabotage by speculators seeking to limit the flow of inside commercial information. Partly in response to these issues, six New York City newspapers com- bined in 1846 to establish the "Associated Press" (AP), a wire service de- 14 Zboray, A Fictive People, 71, 110-21; Harry B. Weiss, American Letterwriters, 1698-1943 (New York: New York Public Library, 1945); Scheele, Short History of the Mail Service, 99-103; Thornton, Hand- writing in America, 43—66. lr> Schmidt, Consumer Rites, 39-104, is an excellent discussion of Valentine's Day that traces the ma- terial culture of the holiday. 230 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L signed to supply consolidated news stories to participating news organs. The AP pioneered a new journalistic style, based on precise, matter-of-fact state- ments that seemingly contained no personal references or opinions. The medium shaped the message in this instance, as the cost of transmission demanded brevity and concise description. A veneer of objectivity masked the real biases and partisanship inherent in the news selection process, and furthered the development of an impersonal, nonlocal and seemingly even- handed mode of discourse. Newspaper exchanges through the post office, by contrast, allowed the circulation of multiple perspectives at a somewhat slower pace. Stories that proved more complex, overtly opinionated, feature-ori- ented, or of somewhat narrower interest could only be shared through the traditional exchanges. Thus the exchanges and the telegraph coexisted for thirty years, until Congress eliminated the privilege of postage-free newspaper exchange in 1873.lfi One additional communication-related business concern that thrived during this period deserves some attention as well: the private express. Wil- liam F. Harnden, a former railroad conductor, established the first private express route between New York and Boston in 1839, and a number of other prominent competitors soon followed suit: the Adams Express Company, the American Express, and Wells Fargo. The western "Pony Express," which ac- tually enjoyed a very short existence between 1860 and 1861, especially cap- tured the popular imagination and received a disproportionate share of subsequent historical notoriety. Most firms made their money carrying par- cels, since the post office limited the maximum weight of any item that could be carried through the public mails, and by serving densely populated areas of the country at a lower cost than the government. Private companies carried money, perishable goods, and other valuable commodities from place to place at a speed that could not be approached by the post office. By ignoring unprofitable routes, taking advantage of transportation routes and companies subsidized by the postal service, and marketing their services aggressively to soldiers in the Mexican War and Civil War, the expresses proved highly prof- itable. The post office responded with cheaper rates, door-to-door service, and tighter enforcement of its monopoly over letters. Not until a subsequent generation invented the parcel post, however, would express companies aban- don their communications interest and move into other even more profitable areas. By that time, however, the relationship between postal service and American business enterprise had been reconfigured in new and unprece- dented ways.17 16 Kielbowicz, News in the Mail, 151-55; Richard B. Kielbowicz, "News Gathering by Mail in the Age of the Telegraph: Adapting to a New Technology," Technology and Culture 28 (January 1987): 2 6 - 41; Blondheim, News Over the Wires. 17 Kielbowicz, News in the Mail, 170-75; Fuller, The American Mail, 162-64; Scheele, Short History of the Mail Service, 71—73. A good corporate history of one of the premiere companies in this area is 231 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T T h e B u s i n e s s o f A m e r i c a , 1 8 7 0 - 1 9 3 0 In 1890, shortly after Benjamin Harrison appointed John Wanamaker as postmaster general, only nineteen million out of the seventy-six million peo- ple in the United States enjoyed mail delivery at their front doors. For vir- tually all small town and country people, postal service proceeded in the time-honored fashion described by historian Wayne Fuller: "The trip to the post office, a mile or so down the old dirt road to the first crossroad, a turn to the right and straight into the village...the methodic process of tying the horses to the rail in front...the call at the window, the slow, unconcerned movements of the postmaster as he shoved a letter or two and the county weekly through the iron grating." The post office, usually located in a country store, served as a place of conversation, informal communication, waiting for the star route rider, and male social club. It also operated, in Fuller's words, in "painfully unbusiness-like" fashion and seemed particularly ill-suited to an age of corporate consolidation, speed, the completion of the national trans- portation network, and the urbanization of America.18 Beginning in the 1890s, Congress, the post office, and rural Americans themselves engaged in a massive campaign to lay out postal routes across the nation: in 1902, there were fewer than eight thousand routes in the nation; by 1905, there were thirty-two thousand. The goal of "everyman's mail to everyman's door" was articulated and largely accomplished by the 1920s. Pol- iticians scrambled to obtain service for their districts, farmers began one of the largest petition-writing campaigns in history, and the rural mail carrier emerged as an important social type in the countryside. Rural Free Delivery (RFD) service often pitted the interests of farmers against small town mer- chants, who feared a loss of business and customer traffic in their post office/ stores, and competition with mail-order houses in the cities. It also divided county road occupants who competed and lobbied for routes that would pass their own houses. And it stimulated support among rural Americans for the "good roads movement" in the early twentieth century, as federal money reshaped the country landscape through the creation of state post roads.19 RFD did not realize its full potential until the establishment of parcel post service in 1913. Prior to that date, postal patrons could not send do- mestic packages weighing more than four pounds through the mails. Express companies handled freight, and six notoriously arrogant businesses exerted almost complete control over this unregulated monopoly at the turn of the century. Excepting a few urban centers, express service ended at the railroad Peter Z. Grossman, American Express: The Unofficial History of the People Who Built the Great Financial Empire (New York: Crown Publishers, 1987). 18 Fuller, RFD, 14-15. 19 Fuller, RFD, 58, 177-98. 232 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L terminal and door-to-door service was virtually unknown. Country people oc- casionally paid postmen a fee "under the table" for delivering packages and supplies, but the post office's inability to compete in this area represented lost revenues and inconvenient service. The parcel post debate proceeded along similar lines to the controversy over RFD. Small-town merchants, ac- cording to Fuller, operated in "the world of the general store and the cracker barrel: still the world of the smooth-talking, flashily dressed drummers who traveled from town to town and store to store, carrying bags packed with samples of their line." Express companies, country storekeepers, small busi- nessmen, and wholesale merchants lobbied heavily against parcel post. Ulti- mately a coalition of farmers, urban consumers who believed that the service would provide cheap farm products direct to their door, and mail-order com- panies prevailed. American business, and the nation's communication infra- structure, would never be quite the same.20 First and most immediately, parcel post accelerated the death and re- birth of the express companies. Few mourned their demise, as they had gained an extraordinary reputation, even by Gilded Age standards, for indif- ference to consumers, inconsistent and shady rate practices, and unscrupu- lous political chicanery. Some, like United States Express, simply closed up shop. Others attempted to compete with the government for a few years but transformed their companies by World War I into very different corporate configurations. American Express, for example, chose to become a worldwide banking organization, concentrating on a full range of shipping, foreign trade, and tourist services. Wells Fargo abandoned its express business and similarly concentrated on its banking functions. The government had the lucrative express business largely to itself, and its representatives often be- came the chief points of contact between federal bureaucrats and ordinary Americans.21 Parcel post proved an enormous boon to another business. Postal his- torians have noted that RFD service did not really increase outgoing mail from farmers to the extent that proponents had anticipated. Per capita letters from rural route patrons did increase somewhat, from fifteen in 1903, to nearly twenty in 1911, and to twenty-one in 1929, but this growth certainly did not coincide with the thousands of postal routes opened during the pe- riod. Further, much of the increase can be attributed to the use of penny postcards, which achieved great popularity with farmers and small-town letter- writers. Incoming mail, however, proved a different story. Each farmer re- ceived approximately thirty-four pieces of mail in 1911, and a staggering 20 Fuller, RFD, 199-227; Scheele, A Short History of the Mail Service, 143-46; Richard B. Kielbowicz, "Government Goes Into Business: Parcel Post in the Nation's Political Economy, 1880-1915," Studies in American Political Development % (Spring 1994): 150-72. 21 Grossman, American Express, 125-87, charts both the abuses and the entrepreneurial rebirth of this organization. 233 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T sixty-one pieces in 1929; and much of this increase can be attributed to vast changes in American marketing, advertising, and business practice.22 Mail-order stores developed shortly after the Civil War, and in 1872 Aaron Montgomery Ward opened the first large retail concern that sold a full range of goods through the post. Ward's business boomed, and other urban retailers discovered a large market of potential consumers in country towns and rural hamlets. Robert W. Sears, capitalizing on his homespun smarts and his ability to communicate with ordinary people, soon entered the field and transformed the industry. Often denigrated as "hayseeds" and far removed from metropolitan centers of influence, farmers and small-town dwellers found that the fashionable catalogues developed by the mail-order giants linked them with a glitzy and seductive world of culture, style, and status. They liked what they saw and voted with their pocketbooks to partic- ipate in this consumer culture in ever-increasing numbers. By the 1890s nearly twelve hundred mail-order companies competed for their patronage and Sears' catalogues became staple items in rural households. Attractively designed, skillfully lithographed, and overflowing with exaggerated yet witty advertising copy, these catalogues distributed dreams and desires throughout the countryside. Urban department stores, including Macy's, Wanamaker's, and Spiegel's, found that they no longer needed to tie sales to showrooms, and that marketing by mail paid. Consumer goods became separated from places, and every living room became a shopper's paradise. For the consolidated corporate entities that dominated the Gilded Age economy, the national mail system became an enormous commercial bo- nanza. The break-up of the express monopoly and the introduction of parcel post offered mail-order houses an important government subsidy, and their profits soared during the 1910s. Direct-mail marketing itself emerged as an important segment of the advertising industry. When the American Heart Association used a series of fund raising appeals penned by Jacob Riis to solicit contributions through the mail, nonprofits discovered a lucrative new way to market themselves as well. With the formation of the Direct Mail Mar- keting Association in 1917, postal solicitation entered a new era of visibility and professionalization. Newspapers, fearful of losing their advertisers, would soon coin the term "junk mail" to derisively describe the enormous flow of sales literature entering American mailboxes and living rooms. Mass mailings became so common that the post office established special mailer permits, metered mailer machines, and automatic cancelers. The merger and subse- quent success of Arthur Pitney's American Postage Meter Company and Walter Bowes' Universal Stamping Machine Company in 1920 testified to the new era of mechanical mail.23 22 Fuller, EFD, 3 1 2 - 1 3 . 23 G o r d o n L. Weil, Sears, Roebuck, U.S.A.: The Great American Catalog Store and How It Got That Way 234 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L Other businesses also grew up during this period to exploit the popular fascination with the mails. Private mailing cards (popularly, if somewhat in- accurately, referred to as postcards) grew into an enormous business and provided future generations with nostalgic collectibles and priceless views of vanished landscapes. Middle-class Americans now vacationed in unprece- dented numbers, and they documented their tasteful travels to family and friends with missives from the seashore, the mountain retreat, and the fash- ionable urban center. Greeting cards best illustrated the link between busi- ness and Victorian sentiment. By the 1880s and 1890s, manufacturers produced cards for a full pantheon of modern American holidays: Valentine's Day, Easter, New Year's, and the most commercially successful of all, Christ- mas. Birthdays also became occasions for exchanging postal wishes. Mass- produced, corporately sponsored sentiments became inscribed with private thoughts and personal signatures. In 1910 Joyce Hall, son of an itinerant Methodist minister, observing that "it's the sentiment that counts" and urg- ing Americans to "care enough to send the very best" founded a mail order postcard business that would eventually evolve into the wildly successful Hall- mark Cards. Merely greeting one's friends and relatives became a series of annual consumer rituals best conducted through the mail, with the benefit of corporate sponsorship and the imprimatur of American business.24 Some American politicians and reformers detected a less benign and somewhat seamier undertone to the private messages and personal thoughts that flowed freely across the continent. Antebellum mail disputes usually cen- tered around political and ideological issues, such as the abolitionist effort to flood the mails. Obscenity appeared as the primary legislative issue troubling Victorian congressmen. Government regulators began scrutinizing the mails with a more discerning eye in the late 1860s. Mail fraud became a problem, as a series of well-publicized confidence games, pyramid schemes, and dis- reputable lotteries operated in the post-Civil War era. The most time-consum- ing debate and effort, however, was directed toward defining and restricting "obscene" material. In 1865 Congress embarked on a long legislative journey designed to outlaw the postal circulation of "lascivious" paperback books, photographs, poems, songs, contraceptive products, and morally suspect ad- vertisements. Anthony Comstock began his notorious campaign to purify America in the 1870s, and the passage of the Comstock Laws in 1873 heralded (New York: Stein and Day, 1977) contains an interesting account of the catalog and the early mail- order years on pp. 21-40 and 61-77. On the transformation of American culture during this period, see William Leach, Land of Desire: Merchants, Power, and the Rise of a New American Culture (New York: Vintage Books, 1993), esp. 42-45, 182-85. See also Alfred Chandler, The Visible Hand: The Mana- gerial Revolution in American Business (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1977), Richard B. Kielbowicz, "Origins of the Junk-Mail Controversy: A Media Battle Over Advertising and Postal Policy," Journal of Policy History 5 (1993): 248-72, and Scheele, Short History of the Post Office, 160- 66, on Pitney and Bowes. 24 Schmidt, Consumer Rites, 94-102. 235 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T a much more restrictive era. In 1888 Congress allowed postal inspectors to open sealed mail in an effort to track down "obscene" material, and a series of well-publicized prosecutions under the obscenity statutes occurred through the 1920s. As businesses received increasing latitude and indirect govern- mental support to use the mails in new ways, Congress took much greater care to restrict the kinds of information being communicated by individuals and to police the content of personal parcels. Denning the limits of free information flow and determining community standards opened a new range of nationally explosive issues.25 Compared to its antebellum predecessor, the post office itself became a very different kind of physical space in Gilded Age America. Local post offices during the early nineteenth century had served as gathering places for mer- chants, tradesmen, and prominent local worthies. Richard John has described the post office as "a bastion of white male solidarity and an adjunct to the racially and sexually stratified world of politics and commerce." Drinking, gambling, and gossiping took place within its walls. Women found it an es- pecially unfriendly place, and postal officials ultimately established both spe- cial "ladies' windows" where mail could be picked up and urban "mail boxes" where patrons could deposit letters without being harassed. Offices themselves proved transient, and no distinction existed between public and private facilities. New York City's main post office in the antebellum period, for example, was located successively in the postmaster's home, the basement of the mercantile exchange, a former museum, and a renovated Dutch Re- formed church. In less urban settings, the post office rarely occupied a sep- arate facility and usually consisted of a small window in some commercial building.26 By the late-nineteenth century, however, a golden age of postal architec- ture had dawned. New York City's relatively modest structure on Nassau Street was replaced by an enormous building located in City Hall Park and designed in the Second Empire style by Alfred Mullet. Brooklyn soon boasted a new Romanesque facility of its own. The monumental style reached its New York peak in 1913, when McKim, Mead and White designed a granite, classical revival General Post Office on Thirty-Fourth Street to complement nearby Pennsylvania Station. Massive interiors, iron gates, concrete pillars, and an image of solid, conservative tradition and reliability characterized the new buildings. As the postal system speeded the transformation of the nation into 25 Fuller, The American Mail, 2 5 1 - 6 0 , 2 6 7 - 7 3 . See also J o n Bekken, ' " T h o s e G r e a t a n d D a n g e r o u s Powers': Postal Censorship of the Press," Journal of Communication Inquiry 15 (1991): 55-71; Jay A. Gertzman, "Postal Service Guardians of Public Morals and Erotica Mail Order Dealers of the Thirties: A Study in Administrative Authority in the United States," Publishing History 37 (1995): 83-110; and Bruce A. Lehman and Timothy A. Boggs, "How Uncle Sam Covers the Mails," Civil Liberties Review 4 (May/June 1977): 20-28. 26 J o h n , Spreading the News, 1 1 2 - 1 5 , 161-67. 236 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L a country of anonymous producers and consumers, the arena for its own commercial transactions became ever more grandiose and spectacular. Shorn of its makeshift and slightly disreputable veneer, the Victorian post office became a properly genteel facility, accessible to the most prudent and pru- rient middle-class patron. Congress cleansed both the content of the mails and the look of the service in its effort to create a businesslike, morally up- right atmosphere. The idiosyncratic quality of earlier service, the cracker- barrel informality of the older facilities, and the modestly anarchic exchange of multiple messages gave way to efficiency, speed, regularity, and cleanliness. Congress and federal bureaucrats had tamed the post office, transforming it into a model progressive era concern. C o n c l u s i o n Several archival conclusions ensue from this brief tour through postal history. First, the much-lamented era of personal correspondence lasted for a remarkably brief historical period. Ordinary Americans wrote very few let- ters prior to the postal reforms of the 1840s, and by the 1870s they functioned largely as postal consumers rather than producers. From the outset, the mails functioned primarily as outlets for business enterprises: mainly for newspa- pers in the antebellum period, and for mail-order houses, stores, and express companies by the turn of the century. Even when large numbers of Americans first put pen to paper in the mid-nineteenth century, they constructed largely formulaic, stylized, and conventional documents that historians have only begun to analyze in any meaningful way. Personal letter-writing has not "de- clined" in any significant manner as a response to the telephone or any other technological cause; rather, the volume of private correspondence itself is a very recent historical phenomenon owing more to the unique demographic, business, and social milieu of nineteenth-century culture than to any roman- tic notions of a kinder, simpler, and more leisurely past. Second, technological change never purely displaces one form of com- munication with another. The commercialization of the telegraph coincided with the greatest age of letter writing in American history. Businesses adapted the telephone to their purposes, but they also invented and expanded their direct mail marketing operations, created new forms of corporate organiza- tion to take full advantage of changing postal regulations, and invested large amounts of money in print advertising during the same period. Communi- cation vehicles exist primarily to transact business, and corporate America makes full use of all possibilities, adapting print, visual, and electronic forms to its purposes. The Internet, once hailed as a source of "information" and alternative cultures, has begun its seemingly inevitable transformation into primarily an advertising and shopping medium, where the most visually ap- 237 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 T H E A M E R I C A N A R C H I V I S T pealing web sites created by the "hippest" corporate and entertainment conglomerates, receive the most "hits." Its history nicely parallels the trans- formation of the post office, which was originally conceived as a vehicle for transmitting news and was ultimately transformed into a virtual marketplace without walls. Third, the most visible public issues in the information marketplace to- day reflect and rehash timeworn cultural conflicts that have divided Ameri- cans since the introduction and expansion of mail service. Contemporary concerns over "equal access to information" parallel late-nineteenth-century debates over RFD, private express companies, and parcel post service. Un- fortunately, many present-day reformers appear more interested in ensuring that Americans have equal access to advertising, rather than to the educa- tional and social advantages that allow one to navigate the nation's separate and unequal informational universe. Similarly, the notion of "community standards" often dominates current discussion. As national corporate, gov- ernmental, and nonprofit bureaucracies grew to dominate American life in the late-nineteenth century, resentments often surfaced. Many Americans be- lieved, like antebellum South Carolinians, that keeping outsiders' messages from entering their turf might best preserve their way of life. Current debates over obscenity and personal expression have lengthy and well documented historical precedents. The ways in which previous "solutions" failed to achieve their goals should give pause to current policymakers and political panderers. In fact, the concept of community became divorced from locality at some point during the mid-nineteenth century. Americans belong to a broad range of familial, professional, corporate, religious and fraternal com- munities that bear little relationship to place. Recognizing this essential fact, and accepting the notion that our current communication systems simply reflect the fragmented nature of modern life, places contemporary anxieties in a larger context. Finally, the history of American correspondence through the postal sys- tem suggests that the current archival angst over controlling and keeping electronic information represents much ado about some relatively minor al- terations in the nation's informational infrastructure. The critical "speed-up" in America's information flow, after all, occurred early in the nineteenth century. By the late 1840s instantaneous transmission of information became a reality. Henry David Thoreau witnessed the defining historical moment, as he sadly realized. Victorian Americans with superior expertise, personal con- tacts, and leisure manipulated various data resources in order to obtain the insider information that enabled them to better conduct their businesses and gain advantages over their competitors. Their contemporary counterparts continue to do so. Most Americans still consume and discuss "news" gained from multiple sources, including print and electronic media, mail, urban 238 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 G O I N G P O S T A L . legends, and gossip in order to construct their views of reality. ' 'Virtual com- munities," really a creation of the mid-nineteenth century and its transfor- mation of the physical and mental landscape, remain the primary locus of much social and business activity. Basic informational debates remain unre- solved: equal access to data in a democratic society; the nature of social au- thority; the boundaries between individual expression and community restraint; and the dominance of large, highly capitalized, thoroughly bureaucratized entities over most aspects of modern life. This does not mean, of course, that the current "information revolu- tion" poses no archival challenges and has not affected the way in which most people go about their daily life. New record forms both shape and reflect subtle and significant sociocultural shifts that ultimately create the documentary universe. Putting pen to paper in the mid-nineteenth century, as we have seen, often constituted a very personal and almost ceremonial act. Victorian letter-writers carefully communicated with distant friends and rel- atives using heavily stylized hands and often formulaic phrases in order to document their own characters and invent their own personalities. Writing a letter meant creating a permanent record of the self. Today's listserv lurkers and chatroom addicts also carefully construct virtual personalities for them- selves, albeit with some significant differences. Often cloaked in anonymity, and frequently writing to loosely defined groups that share their personal and professional interests, they create ephemeral and malleable identities that can quickly evaporate. Impermanence itself can become a virtue, and individuals may move easily between a series of tangentially related commu- nities and identities, adapting their styles and discourse accordingly. The vir- tue of brevity, critical to the circulation of information in the telegraphic age, becomes less relevant. Individuals and groups find it relatively easy to flood the informational marketplace with large quantities of undigested, unfiltered, and unedited discourse. Very different notions of authority, self, and com- munication hold sway, and capturing the complexity of the new environ- ment—which coexists alongside more traditional informational avenues— means nothing less than redefining the very nature and reexamining the very purpose of a personal manuscript. Documentary form and informational con- tent share a complex, ever-changing, and unexplored relationship. Unless we begin to acquire some historical perspective on current communication de- velopments, however, we will continue to conclude that what is largely trivial is truly revolutionary. Further, there exists a real danger that our fascination with form will continue to overwhelm more meaningful concern over con- tent. Perhaps, in other words, the moment has arrived to stop asking "what is a record?" and start examining what's in a record. 239 D ow nloaded from http://m eridian.allenpress.com /doi/pdf/10.17723/aarc.61.1.74014n4r21676222 by C arnegie M ellon U niversity user on 06 A pril 2021 
work_ovvmzoksuzbmfasekdsh7g5mua	----	Willis Adventure Therapy for repository Edinburgh Research Explorer Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies Citation for published version: Willis, A 2011, 'Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies: healing places and selves in an era of environmental crises', Journal of Adventure Education and Outdoor Learning, vol. 11, no. 2, pp. 91-108. https://doi.org/10.1080/14729679.2011.633375 Digital Object Identifier (DOI): 10.1080/14729679.2011.633375 Link: Link to publication record in Edinburgh Research Explorer Document Version: Early version, also known as pre-print Published In: Journal of Adventure Education and Outdoor Learning General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Edinburgh Research Explorer is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The University of Edinburgh has made every reasonable effort to ensure that Edinburgh Research Explorer content complies with UK legislation. If you believe that the public display of this file breaches copyright please contact openaccess@ed.ac.uk providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1080/14729679.2011.633375 https://doi.org/10.1080/14729679.2011.633375 https://www.research.ed.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/restorying-wilderness-and-adventure-therapies(87c168da-15c5-407c-b6ad-33c8b5c1be0b).html Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies: healing places and selves in an era of environmental crises Alette Willis, PhD, University of Edinburgh [Post-print version, for the final published version see: “Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies: healing places and selves in an era of environmental crises.” Alette Willis. Journal of Adventure Education and Outdoor Learning 11.2 (2011): 91-108. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14729679.2011.633375] Alette Wilis, PhD Counselling and Psychotherapy School of Health in the Social Sciences The University of Edinburgh Medical School Teviot Place Edinburgh, EH8 9AG United Kingdom a.willis@ed.ac.uk 1 Re-storying wilderness and adventure therapies: healing places and selves in an era of environmental crises 1. Introduction Once upon a time, people believed that by acquiring and analysing data about the ecology, biology, geology, physics and chemistry of environmental problems and then passing relevant findings on to policy-makers, these issues would get resolved. However, today we find ourselves in a position where a great deal is known about the science of such potentially catastrophic problems as climate change and yet relatively little is being done. The environmental crises we are currently facing are not simply crises of science and technology, they are rooted in the human condition and as such are also crises of meaning. In order for us as individuals, as societies, and as a species to make the changes that we need to make focus must move beyond the science to look as well at how cultural and psychological contributing causes might best be addressed. As disciplines concerned with meaning-making (Handley 1989), and as practices that often incorporate interactions in and with "natural" places (Beringer 2004), adventure and wilderness therapiesi (as well as certain practices of outdoor education) have much to offer in helping people and societies transform and transcend these crises. At the same time, there is a growing body of research, including but not limited to ecopsychology, that indicates exposure to landscapes that are minimally dominated by human activities and artifacts can be healing (Beringer and Martin 2003). The potential for outdoor practices, including adventure therapy, to contribute to social change in relation to the environment has not gone unremarked. As far back as 1991, Cooper outlined both the opportunities presented by field centres and criticized outdoor and adventure educators for not doing enough to help change students' attitudes towards the environment. In more recent years, his call has been echoed in the allied fields of adventure sport and leisure (Humberstone 1998), outdoor education (Higgins 1996, Loynes 2002, Lugg 2007, Beames 2008), psychology (Stokol et al. 2009), and adventure and wilderness therapies (Beringer and Martin 2003). And these calls are being heeded. Many adventure programs have incorporated the development of people's care for the environment into their goals (Outward Bound Trust 2009, McKenzie and Bleckinsop 2006). At the same time, environmental organizations, which have traditionally concentrated their resources on conservation and lobbying, have begun to turn their attention to effecting change at the level of individual psychology. In their efforts to inspire and motivate people, some of these groups have drawn on practices from outdoor education and adventure and wilderness therapies ii. It is only through such interdisciplinary efforts that we have a chance of affecting the sorts of changes that environmental sustainability requires. However, in this paper I want to sound a note of caution. Through critically examining the language and practices of adventure and wilderness therapies it is possible to see that these fields share many of the same historical and cultural roots as those dominant societal discourses (such as those which separate culture from nature and which reduce all that is not human-made to the category of resource) that have led to the environmental crises we face today. Rather than reifying these old stories, what the world needs now are new stories about selves, about places, and about relationships between people and the more-than-human world. Adventure and wilderness therapies are well placed to help excavate and amplify such stories. 2 This paper begins by examining the therapeutic work of adventure therapy through the lens of narrative counselling and the concept of the narrative-self. The terms wilderness and adventure are unpacked and attention is drawn to the risks of working uncritically with these concepts. Illustrations of alternative understandings of people in relationship to the more-than-human world are offered. In keeping with the principles of narrative therapy (White and Epston 1990), rather than providing definitive answers, which risk foreclosing on alternative storylines, this paper seeks instead to open up new possibilities for being and acting within the field of wilderness and adventure therapies and within Western societies more broadly. 2. Re-storying people's lives through adventurous experiences in the wilderness Russell (1999), in her study of tourists watching whales, observed that simply putting people in natural places and enabling them to interact with non-human others is not enough to make them care for the environment or for wildlife. In their later meta- analysis, covering a wide-range of international research on outdoor learning, Rickinson et al. (2004) similarly concluded that, "[t]here seems to be a strong case for questioning the notion that nature experience automatically contributes to environmental awareness, commitment and action" (6). Their conclusion was specifically derived from only finding weak links between outdoor adventure activities and the development of environmental values and awareness. Russell (1999) hypothesised that what was missing from analyses of relationships between experiences in nature and environmental values was the concept of stories. This paper takes her intuition further, proposing, through the concept of the "narrative self", that story is what links experience, identity and ethics. People give meaning and value to their lives, to their selves, to the places where they dwell, and ultimately to the choices that they make, through stories. One of the limitations of wilderness and adventure therapies in relation to instilling environmental values lies in some of the stories that are often unwittingly invoked. All practitioners need to ask themselves whether the stories they are drawing on and working with open up useful possibilities for selves and societies in an era of environmental crisis or merely propagate and reify ways of thinking and living that will contribute to further declines in the health of our shared ecosytems. Over the last two decades, the concept of the "narrative self" has been gaining ground in psychology (Gergen and Gergen 1988, Bruner 1990 and 1996), sociology (Somers 1994, Maines 1993, Gubrium and Holstein 1999, Frank 2004), education (Clandinin and Connolly 2000), bioethics (Brody 2002), environmental ethics (Willis 2009 and forthcoming), philosophy (Nelson 2001), counselling (White and Epston 1990, Speedy 2008, McLeod 1997), and even in adventure therapy (Stolz 2009). In brief, the concept of the narrative self proposes that on a very fundamental level people understand their experiences, give meaning to their lives, make decisions about what to do and come to identify their very selves with the stories they and others tell about who they are. One of the most appealing aspects of the this concept is that it allows for a certain degree of agency, while at the same time conceiving of individuals as fundamentally embedded in relationship and in social context. People always tell stories about their selves to an audience, even if that audience is only imaginary (embedded in relationship) and in order to render their storied-selves intelligible, people must draw on narrative resources that circulate more broadly within society (embedded in a social context). 3 Because the stories people tell concern their experiences, changes can be facilitated both by assisting people in finding new plotlines and by enabling people to have novel experiences. Counselling and psychotherapy can be understood as particular practices of meaning-making to which people turn when they need assistance in re- storying their lives (White and Epston 1990). While counselling and therapy in general accord primacy to the relationship between practitioner and client (audience and teller) as a medium for reflecting on experience, wilderness and adventure therapies go further, providing opportunities for people to have new experiences: to learn new, neglected or forgotten skills, to work within an inter-subjective group context, and to forge relationships with earth others--by which I mean beings profoundly other than human-- in places more clearly marked by geological, biological and ecological processes than the urban locales where most people dwell. At their best, therefore, wilderness and adventure therapies intervene in people's lives through providing unique experiences that challenge the limiting stories they may hold about who they are and how they ought to live. However, the experiences wilderness and adventure therapies facilitate can only be transformative to the extent that people use them to create new stories. Evidence indicates that if experiences are not incorporated into stories, they are quickly forgotten (Bruner 1996). Because individual lives and individual self-stories are so deeply embedded within relationships and cultures, when individual lives change, societies change.iii It is this possibility for social change through helping individuals that is the central hope of this paper. Many of the stories that bring people to therapy, stories that they have found to be limiting, are part of broader discourses that dominate societies as a whole (Nelson 2001). In so far as they enable individuals to challenge such dominant narratives, wilderness and adventure therapies may help to bring about social change. However, if wilderness and adventure therapists are not critically attentive to the stories that their language use and practices invoke, they may instead end up reproducing and reinforcing the very narratives that have generated the crises we face today. To illuminate how wilderness and adventure therapies might unwittingly reproduce and reinforce dominant and ultimately damaging narratives, the following two sections of this paper examine some of the language and cultural geography that they often invoke. Specifically, the terms wilderness and adventure are critically unpacked, demonstrating that they are associated with very specific cultural stories and that they carry very specific concepts about places. These terms, therefore, support certain plotlines while silencing others. In this critical examination, I echo the perspective of Michael White and David Epston (1990) who advocate that the first and most crucial thing any therapist needs to do in order to contribute to social change is to ensure that his or her own practices do not inadvertently reinforce those narratives that limit people's options for meaning-making and, therefore, for living and acting in the world. 3. Troubling wilderness If experiences outdoors are going to usefully contribute to social change in relation to environmental sustainability, then it matters which stories are told about the places where those experiences happen (Stewart 2008). In their critical history of the development of modern "nature-based" adventure sport in the U.K. and Norway, Humberstone and Pedersen (2001) point out that "[h]ow ‘nature’ and a specific place, a landscape or ‘natural’spaces/environments are conceptualised, is…always historically and socially constructed" (22). Following on from their work, this section of the paper 4 briefly examines the construction of a particular category of place, "wilderness", which is often implicitly or explicitly referred to in adventure therapy literatures. The term “wilderness” is popularly understood to refer to environments minimally modified by human activity. However, truly pristine landscapes untouched by human activities do not exist anywhere on Earth today. Air and water currents have spread toxic pollutants throughout the world, anthropogenically induced climate change affects every square inch of the globe, and most of the places that have been designated by Western societies as wilderness have been traversed by, used by and often inhabited by people for hundreds if not thousands of years. “Wilderness” is not a clearly definable geographical category, but rather a concept. The current usage of the term "wilderness" can be traced to a very particular context: that of the rise of industrialization. Prior to this period, the label “wilderness” was the equivalent of “wastelands” and “worthless” (Cronon 1995). With industrialisation, the term came to be constructed as other to urban, while cities came to be constructed as other to wilderness.iv The two concepts are opposite sides of the same modernist dualism (Plumwood 1993). As a concept, therefore, wilderness is dependent for its construction on ideas of civilization in its industrial, urbanized form. Consequently, in order to change stories about civilization and its relationship to the more-than-human world we must also change stories about wilderness. In his critical history of “wilderness”, primarily in the context of the U.S.A., William Cronon (1995) draws attention to the role played by the Romantic movements of the eighteenth century. Through such words as the poems of William Wordsworth, the philosophizing of Immanuel Kant, and the prose of Henry David Thoreau, wilderness was rediscovered as the place of the “sublime”. That is, certain landscapes came to be valued as holding the promise of revealing the face of God. The Romantics searched for the sublime “on the mountaintop, in the chasm, in the waterfall, in the thundercloud, in the rainbow, [and] in the sunset” (Cronon 1995, p. 73), places that wilderness and adventure therapy programs often seek out. Besides being sublime, wilderness also came to be understood as the other of civilization in more material form. This was reflected in the Romantic idea of primitivism from Jean-Jacques Rousseau onward, culminating in American myths of the frontier (Cronon 1995). Cronon argues that the national myth of the passing frontier led to the founding of national parks in the US: wilderness had to be preserved so that the nation's men (I will return to gender in due course) could retreat there and forge themselves anew. These places became the recreational destinations of choice for those who could afford it, marking the birth of wilderness as both boundable place and as commodity. Cronon (1995) argues that the twin narratives of wilderness as sublime and of wilderness as frontier—narratives that are products of the urban-wilderness dualism-- underpin contemporary environmentalism—and I would add wilderness and adventure therapiesv. It is no coincidence that the predominant history of wilderness is also the predominant history of outdoor education (Higgins 2002) as well as nature-based sports and adventure recreation (Humberstone and Pedersen 2001).vi The following description of wilderness that Cronon (1995) ascribes to many contemporary environmentalists applies equally to much of wilderness and adventure therapy: “[wilderness is] the natural, unfallen antithesis of an unnatural civilization that has lost its soul. It is a place of freedom in which we can recover the true selves we have lost to the corrupting influences of our artificial lives. …Combining the sacred grandeur of the sublime with the primitive simplicity of the frontier, it 5 is the place where we can see the world as it really is, and so know ourselves as we really are—or ought to be.” (80) These are stirring words. Part of their power comes from how embedded these notions are in the narratives that circulate through Western society, narratives that we routinely draw on in giving meaning to our experiences and in storying our own lives. They resonate with us because wilderness has been produced by the same discourses that have produced our selves. But what is so problematic about this concept of wilderness? If wilderness is where God is, then the rest of the world, those other places, the fallen ones, become nothing more than wastelands; God has turned his back on them, or been forced to leave. If wilderness is pristine, then the other places of this world are tainted. If wilderness is to be preserved then the rest of the world may be sacrificed. This is the trap of dualistic thinking, things are black or white, no room is left for mingling, for grays, and only one side can be the right side, the ascendant side, all the rest is thrown in the wastebasket of the Other. This is not to deny that there are places where perhaps there has been less human impact on the landscape than elsewhere and which elicit strong reactions in people who encounter them. However, such encounters need to be understood as continuous with experiences in other places as Cameron (2003) writes: "the capacity to be receptive to country and be moved out of habitual states may be easier to develop in wild places, but it can and must be brought to fruition in our everyday places. Otherwise, it becomes rather an elitist exercise, giving certain people a special experience in a special place that cannot be brought home." (106) To tie this back to therapeutic process, to the extent that the doctrine of wilderness stories our true selves as existing in wilderness places and not in urban ones, it makes it difficult, if not impossible, for participants to continue to perform the preferred selves they may have developed in therapeutic programs once they return home.vii Moreover, the doctrine of wilderness as separate and special and located in specific places, allows for those places to be enrolled in the very ethos of consumption that is fuelling environmental crises. If wilderness is valuable and boundable, then monetary value can be extracted from it. A price can be put on it in terms of the costs and benefits of its preservation, the base it provides for tourist and leisure industries, and the impact on exchange-values for land, goods and services, including therapy (see also Loynes 2002), with which it is associated. If wilderness and adventure therapies are going to play a role in helping individuals and societies move towards greater sustainability, they will need to ensure that the discourses they invoke and the practices they engage in do not reinforce those dominant cultural geographies that foreclose on stories of relationship, interpenetration and hybridity between humans and the rest of the more-than-human world, but instead open up new possibilities for being and acting.viii 4. Troubling adventure If there ever was a word that demanded a story, “adventure” is it. The word cannot be uttered without conjuring up a plotline, and more often than not that plotline takes people to the wilderness. Indeed, practitioners themselves have reflected that 6 wilderness and adventure therapies, particularly when structured around an expedition, seem particularly well suited to stories (Loynes 1999) and to storytelling (Gray and Stewart 2009). The critical question is, what stories are being propagated through these discourses and practices and what stories are being silenced? Historically, Europeans went on adventures to discover and conquer other parts of the world, which were retrospectively constructed as pristine wilderness. These sets of stories about the places of adventure were exercises of power that denied the presence of and inhabitation by non-European peoples (Stewart 2008). Subsequently, Romantic artists, writers and poets, such as Wordsworth and Thoreau, also went on adventures into the wilderness, this time bringing back art and ideas. Cronon (1995) argues that although these two groups were motivated by different goals, they were both drawing on the same discourses which put culture over nature and which justify colonialism and the commodification of the more-than-human world. Today's dominant representations of adventure in the fields of wilderness and adventure therapies continue on from these historical roots (Humberstone and Pedersen 2001), emphasizing physical risk, uncertainty, remote locations and overcoming challenges posed by nature (Little 2002). They also generally involve masculine protagonists (Humberstone and Pedersen 2001 and Little 2002) and often draw on masculine military traditions (Loynes 2002).ix In these dominant cultural understandings, adventures involve traveling across space and overcoming obstacles, and are usually undertaken by people who, while they might start out as ordinary, end up becoming heroes, at least of their own lives. It is a storyline whose mythical status has been famously outlined by Joseph Campbell as the Hero's Journey (1973 [1949]). In this “monomyth” an ordinary person receives an invitation to leave the everyday world and embark on a journey or quest. On this journey the hero-in-the-making meets and must overcome many trials. If he or she is successful, a boon of some sort is granted, often to do with self-awareness. If the hero manages to bring this boon back home, it may be bestowed on the society he or she came from and enrich or restore it in some way. Joseph Campbell's impact on contemporary storytelling has been enormous. George Lucas famously used the Hero's Journey to structure his original Star Wars movie. Subsequently, Hollywood producer Christopher Vogler published a book (now in its third edition, 2007), which outlines the monomyth and advocates its use in movie- making and fiction writing. The Hero's Journey has also made its way into adventure therapy (Gray and Stuart 2009) adventure education (Loynes 1999) and adventure coaching (Gray 2004). Part of the popularity of the Hero's Journey is that it provides a template for a story that is already deeply embedded within the narratives that dominate Western societies, including wilderness and adventure therapies (see for example, Walsh and Golins 1976).x At first glance, enabling disempowered people to have experiences that allow them to story their selves with heroic plotlines may appear to be a good thing. It might seem to equalize opportunities between genders, classes, races, ages etc., and it might seem to provide motivation to disaffected members of society. Mary Gergen's (1992) analysis of biographies of prominent Americans at first appears to support such a use of the Hero's Journey. Her research finds that men tend to structure their stories along the lines of the Hero's Journey, while women's biographies tend to emphasize relationship and connection and to be more diverse, more complex and less straightforward. She argues that part of the reason women are under-represented in positions of power is because of the gendering of the hero story. However, while Gergen acknowledges that enabling women to story themselves along the lines of the Hero's Journey may help give them access to positions of power, it does so at the cost of reinforcing the dominance of 7 the monomyth and of further marginalizing other stories of what it is to be human. Men also suffer by not being able to access plotlines about connection and relationship in storying their lives.xi From a narrative therapy perspective, what is particularly troubling about the Hero's Journey is it's “mono” moniker. In its aspiration to be the one true pathway of human development, it reduces people's options for being and living. The introduction of the Hero's Journey to adventure therapy participants is useful when it provides them with a new option in storying their lives and thereby opens up a new possibility for being and acting in the world. However, it becomes problematic to the extent that its use becomes dogmatic, dominant, and reduces the range of plotlines available for people to use in giving meaning to their experiences and to their lives. From the perspective of environmental issues, the Hero's Journey is problematic for other reasons. The Hero's Journey emphasises movement across space and separation from home and from others as necessary and desirable. In this monomyth, in order for a hero to make a journey, wilderness must be clearly separate from and at a distance from home. It therefore reifies the dualism created between urban industrial society and wilderness. It also reifies a worldview in which the more-than-human world (including other people) may be judged according to whether they help or hinder the achievement of personal, individualized goals. As evidenced by the current crises, the exploitation of people and earth others in the pursuit of personal goals does not necessarily bring about happy endings for all. For just these reasons, author and literary critic Ursula K. LeGuin has re-named the hero story the “killer story” writing, “It is the story that hid my humanity from me, the story the mammoth hunters told about bashing, thrusting, raping, killing, about the Hero… The killer story. It sometimes seems that that story is approaching its end. Lest there be no more telling of stories at all, some of us out here in the wild oats, amid the alien corn, think we'd better start telling another one, which maybe people can go on with when the old one's finished." (LeGuin 1989: 168). In such hero stories the hero requires an other to be superior to, whether that be woman or nature. In Caroline Merchant's (1980) classic work, The Death of Nature, she traces the links made between women and nature throughout historyxii. In this history men are the heroes, they are the explorers, the scientists and the adventurers who manage through cunning, through violence and through leaving home, to cajole, seduce and sometimes even rape nature, forcing her to give up her secrets and treasures. This is the old story of man versus nature and ultimately of man as superior to nature (Plumwood 1993). It is also the story of the objectification of nature, which brings us back to the currently dominant story of the commodification of the more-than-human world and the reduction of earth others and places to resources and to their value in terms of monetary exchange. As Humberstone and Pederson (2001) demonstrate, this gendered story of man overcoming nature, and later of man exploiting the resources of nature, runs through the history of outdoor education and adventure sports as well. While the Hero's Journey is a story of obstacles overcome, as Gergen (1992) demonstrates, alternative and equally compelling stories may be constructed around individuals' desires and struggles to connect with and relate to others (see also Burroway 2000). Boniface (2006), in her study of gender in relation to adventurous activities, found that women tend to emphasise relationships rather than separation or accomplishments in the stories they tell about their adventures. More broadly, research 8 into wilderness and adventure therapies has shown that for many participants it is not risky activities or physical achievements—activities that might be associated with adventure narratives—that they perceived to be most beneficial, but rather the relationships they formed with other participants, with facilitators, with landscapes and with earth others (Berman and Berman 2008).xiii Indeed, this central role of relationship may be a crucial aspect of wilderness and adventure therapies' affinity with other kinds of therapies. The Hero's Journey requires an elsewhere to journey to. Being at a distance from home and being associated with nature and the feminine, wilderness is that place of the other and, therefore, the place of adventure. It is no coincidence that wilderness and adventure therapies are often elided: in the logic of dominant narratives we cannot have one without the other. In this way, wilderness and adventure therapies are incorporated into dominant narratives of wilderness as separate and opposite to cities, of landscapes and earth others as resources and commodities, and of healthy self-stories as involving gendered adventures of physical journeying in which ties are severed, obstacles are overcome and opponents (including nature) are defeated. If wilderness and adventure therapies wish merely to aid the status quo by disciplining disruptive bodies into docile, well-behaved citizen-consumers, then this argument need go no further.xiv However, if these therapies wish to contribute to the re-storying of societies in relation to the more-than-human world, then more work needs to be done. While the Hero's Journey dominates Western stories about adventure, it is not the only plotline that people use. Participants in adventurous activities, particularly women, are often already actively engaged in contesting dominant narratives about what adventure is, where it happens and who might undertake it (Little 2002). In the final sections, I offer further inspiration for opening up a range of plotlines for re- storying lives in relation to place, in relation to adventure, in relation to therapy and in relation to the more-than-human world. 5. Excavating, amplifying and mobilising alternative narratives Thus far, this paper has focused on unraveling old stories in order to examine the historical and discursive roots that wilderness and adventure therapies inadvertently draw on. This is in keeping with one of narrative therapy's most important tenets: that therapists must "be constantly vigilant in their ongoing critical examination of their practices" so that they do not end up reproducing those same universalizing discourses that dominate modern societies and their citizens (White and Epston 1990, p. 29). However, critical examination alone cannot point us towards the sorts of alternative plotlines that would reconnect us to the rest of the more-than-human world and help us transition to more environmentally sustainable ways of living. Attention must also be paid to excavating, amplifying and mobilising alternative "life stories". The plural on "stories" is crucial here. Given White and Epston's warning about unitary universalizing discourses, and the dangers associated with the currently favoured monomyth of the Hero's Journey, we must beware of replacing one "correct" story with another. Rather than reductively analysing narratives to find key elements for a monomythic Life Story, we should instead seek out the moral impulses in a diversity of stories (Frank 2002) and through openness and resonance, thicken our understandings (White 2000) of how to relate to the more-than-human world. These two contrasting orientations of reductive analysis and thickening are often portrayed in terms of thinking about stories versus thinking with them (Frank 2004). 9 Narrative therapy--with its focus on deconstructing, co-creating and thickening people's self-stories--offers useful insights for those wilderness and adventure therapists concerned with reconnecting people with the more-than-human world. In narrative therapy, the first task of the therapist is to help their client separate their sense of self from the problematic dominant narratives that are told about who they are, and to show them that there are other possible stories to tell. This is done through helping them to identify "sparkling moments" that contradict limiting stories and point towards new ones (White 2000). Because wilderness and adventure therapies provide clients with new experiences, thought should be given to creating opportunities that increase the chances that clients will experience "sparkling moments" of reconnection, care and relationship with the-more-than-human world. These opportunities might be facilitated in a range of places from the wild to the urban in order to challenge those dualistic stories that separate culture from nature. However, "sparkling moments" on their own will not be enough to facilitate change. Attention must also be given to helping people integrate these experiences into new stories. Examples of themes for such stories include the comedic (Griffiths 2008, Hickory 2003), focussing on relationships with earth others (Bleckinsop 2005, Willis forthcoming), stressing the feelings of being for another (Jones 2000), or even caring for those elements of the more-than-human world that provide challenges (Warren 1990). People do not tell stories in a vacuum. They learn what types of plots can be told in particular contexts by being exposed to other stories (Bruner 1990, Nelson 2001). The plotlines available in any culture or institutional context can be understood as narrative resources. Diversity is as useful in storytelling as it is in ecosystems and the Hero's Journey is just one possible narrative resource, there are many other resources that programme leaders and clients can draw on. There are other traditions within folklore that emphasise relationship. These are often associated with indigenous traditions in specific places (Cameron 2003; Stewart 2008; Hickory 2003).xv Programme leaders can also cue participants as to what constitutes an intelligible story through the ways in which they story their own experiences. It is therefore critical that leaders cultivate their own self-stories in ways that are compatible with an ethic of reconnection and care in relation to the more-than-human world. One easily accessible way leaders might begin to do this is to explore their lives and experiences with the published life stories of those who have already come to provisional answers to the question: how ought I to live in relation to the more-than-human world (Willis in press).xvi Since the early 1980s, there has been a noticeable re-focusing in the way many published writers story their selves in relation to nature (Sauer1989). As Shauffler (2003) explains, this new type of writing is profoundly relational: “Because nature writers have traditionally focused primarily on the external environment, those who describe the dynamic interplay between inner and outer ecology are more accurately termed ecological writers, which suggests an integration of human and natural realms and helps dissolve the traditional divide between them...The reflective personal accounts of ecological writers can best be seen as a form of natural autobiography, a memoir of their evolving relation to the more-than-human world” (11-13). This new "ecological writing" (Shauffler 2003) provides a useful narrative resource to the rewriting of selves in relationship to the-more-than-human world. Such writing fundamentally challenges dominant narratives about the separation of culture and 10 nature, urban and wilderness, and self and earth other. Ecological memoirs offer alternative plotlines by which to re-story the selves of wilderness and adventure therapy leaders and participants. In the last section of this paper, I offer brief summaries of two memoirs in which authors tell stories of healing their selves through healing their relationships with the more-than-human world (see also Willis 2009). Following practices of narrative therapy (Polkinghorne 2001), as you read these and other stories of being in relationship with the more-than-human world I invite you to ask yourself the following questions: 1. What captures my attention and imagination? 2. To which areas of my life, identity, relationships and practice as a wilderness and adventure therapist do these captivating elements relate? 3. Are there any experiences in my past that resonate with these elements? 4. What new possibilities for being, relating and acting in my life and in my practice of wilderness and adventure therapy are opened up through engaging with these stories? 6. Thinking with memoirs about healing in place The two memoirs I have chosen to introduce concern people in crisis who achieve some degree of healing through their interactions with specific places and with the earth others whom they encounter there. Their personal narratives challenge both dualistic representations of culture as separate from and ascendant over nature and the cultural geography that results. 6.1 The Hopes of Snakes, Lisa Couturier (2005) Lisa Couturier's collection of autobiographical essays is largely set in New York City. In her opening chapter, she writes that she moved to Manhattan to become a magazine writer, believing that in doing so she would have to sacrifice her connections with the more-than-human world, connections central to her identity. Though she chose this move, she still enters into a personal crisis that can only be resolved through challenging the story of Manhattan as a place bereft of earth others. Of this crisis and its resolution she says: “For someone like me who has desired little except a closeness to animals, and who craved this so strongly that without them I often felt fractured and lost, then the creatures of New York City, once discovered, became healers in a way” (xii). In her essays, Lisa journeys into the parks and wastelands of the cities where she finds herself living. In one essay she writes about watching a gull chick hatch on a heavily polluted tidal strait that separates Staten Island, New York, from New Jersey. The nest is surrounded by old tires, plastic dolls' heads and pools of iridescent, oily water, and yet here she experiences something akin to the Romantics' sublime. She writes, “I realize that after traveling through the Arthur Kill for two summers, I have given up trying to hate it. It both stuns and offends me. I cannot describe the chick’s place of birth as ugly or beautiful: such labels seem too simple. I walk away from the chick knowing only that I feel deeply for this wasteland, where through the births of birds I’ve witnessed a kind of magic” (7). In order for Lisa to develop a satisfying story for her self, she seeks out experiences that provide her with the connections to earth others that she craves. In 11 turn, these experiences lead her to challenge dominant discourses about the landscapes she inhabits and the stories she tells about her self in a way she finds healing. 6.2 The Cincinnati Arch, John Tallmadge (2004) In his memoir, John Tallmadge also writes about moving to a city. John was living in a small town where he taught environmental studies and took students on trips into the wilderness, when he suddenly found himself out of work with his first child on its way. Out of necessity, he took an administrative job in downtown Cincinnati. Like Lisa, he arrived in the city believing that as a city dweller he would no longer be able to live out his preferred storyline of being connected with the natural world. This belief depressed him. However, through a series of "sparkling moments" ranging from watching his partner give birth to noticing a weed growing through a crack in the pavement, he comes to realize that he can hold onto the story he prefers by rejecting dominant narratives that separate wilderness from urban areas and nature from humans. While John continues to spend the majority of his time in Cincinnati, he feels it is important for his wellbeing to periodically journey to landscapes that are less dominated by human activities than cities. However, he stories these journeys as continuous with his urban experiences. These pilgrimages to places that could be labeled as wilderness help John to stay awake to the presence of earth others in the city and help him to strengthen his vision of what Cincinnati could be like if “the wild” was allowed to further interpenetrate and co-exist with the urban. By understanding the urban and wilderness as interpenetrating, rather than separate, John is able to bring insights gleaned from time spent outside of cities back home to Cincinnati. These memoirs provide a tiny sample of a growing genre of literature that offers counter-narratives to those that dominate our selves and our landscapes. Rather than story some places as pristine wilderness, untouched by human activities, the protagonists of these tales seek out hybrid places where humans and other elements of nature mix. Once there, they ask themselves how they might heal through healing those places and how they might heal those places through healing themselvesxvii . These protagonists do not merely consume places, they help restore them. The best of such memoirs are also ecological in the sense of being explicitly located within physical, biological, social, cultural, economic and political contexts (Dixon 2002, Hogan 2001, Williams 2001 [1991], Grover 1997). These authors are as aware and reflexive of their position in society as they are of their place within ecosystems. As Cameron (2003) points out, in order for work on the scale of individuals to have broad implications within society, it is important to provide people with the means to contextualize their experiences both environmentally and socially. As narrative resources, thinking with ecological memoirs offers one creative starting point for rewriting wilderness and adventure therapies. Final thoughts One of the many unfortunate consequences of our current stage of globalized industrial capitalism is the reduction of diversity in the places we dwell in and the stories we tell about who we are. While I have critically unpacked the notion of wilderness and highlighted the potential importance of urban places, I do support the conservation of places which may be out of the ordinary, particularly places in which hints of plotlines that exceed the span of individual human lives and societies may be read (Rolston 1998). In landscapes such as these, often but not always the ones 12 designated as “wilderness”, our chances of experiencing the otherness of other organisms, the sense that they neither need us nor exist for our purposes, may be enhanced. Also, in such landscapes our own sense of wellbeing may be improved through our experiences of connection with earth others (Buzell and Chalquist 2009). However, in order to avoid commodifying and exploiting these landscapes and the organisms that dwell there, the stories that are told about such experiences need to acknowledge that the territories of these earth others do not end at national park boundaries but interpenetrate our own homes. We must take responsibility for all the places that are impacted by our activities. Instead of rehashing old stories of adventuresome men overcoming all the obstacles that nature puts in their way, new stories must be told, stories that challenge what adventure is and who heroes are, stories that open up possibilities for being and acting and that bring renewed meaning to people's lives and to the more-than-human world. 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Endnotes i I acknowledge that the fields of adventure and wilderness therapies are diverse and occasionally contested, I also acknowledge that some outdoor education interventions, while not specifically therapeutic, may aim to effect changes in behaviours and values through adventurous and/or wilderness experiences. However, because of word limits and my interest in the concept of wilderness, I refer throughout to this paper only to adventure and wilderness therapies and I refer to them as a group. ii See for example, the Scottish branch of the World Wildlife Fund's Natural Change program: www.naturalchange.org.uk/research. iii Sociologists Gubrium and Holstein (1999), for example, trace the influence that informal storytelling in meetings of local chapters of a self-help organization for care- givers of people with Alzheimer's disease has on the story that the national organization tells. iv Given the interrelationship between the concept of nature and wilderness, it is not surprising that their modern usage shares a common history (see Humberstone and Pedersen 2001). v For the purposes of this paper, my engagement with the literature concerning the social construction of "nature" is necessarily limited. However, those with an interest in 16 this area might wish to consult Braun' (2001) book Social Nature or the work of Haraway on naturecultures (see for example Haraway 2003). vi See Loynes (2002) for a review of some alternative historical influences upon these fields. vii For an example of a programme that incorporates an "Urban Expedition" component see Norton (2010). viii For an example of stories about relationship see Willis 2009. Hybridity and interpenetration between culture and nature are discussed academically by Latour (1993) and Haraway (1991, 2003). ix Although there are a growing number of alternative representations of adventure being articulated (see for example Loynes 2002), it has been difficult to bring these into practice because of the continued dominance of those same distructive discourses that reduce everything to instrumental value and commodified relationship (Beames 2006). x I am indebted to one of my anonymous reviewers for pointing this out to me. xi Mary Gergen, along with Kenneth Gergen, was influential in introducing the concept of the narrative-self to psychology. Their 1988 paper is still widely cited today. Her 1992 solo-authored piece discusses the misgivings she began to have over this earlier work--work that attempted to define one overarching plot-line that all self-narratives ought to have. She finds in Joseph Campbell's monomyth the source of the overarching narrative she and her husband were trying to define and concludes that it is the "major manstory" (130) dominating western culture. Contrary to the goals of her previous collaborative work, in her 1992 paper Mary Gergen concludes that having only one plot to follow imprisons people and instead advocates for a diversity of plotlines, for playfulness, and for improvisation in the storying of lives. xii For a more detailed discussion of gender and nature in relation to "nature-based" sports, including adventure-type activities, see Humberstone (1998). xiii This is not to say that there is no perceived benefit from adventure activities. In her analysis of interview narratives Norton (2010) found that they did story "challenge and adventure" as important to their experience of the programme she studied. However, in her quantitative research she also found that "positive peer group interaction" was the most statistically significant component in helping the participants therapeutically. From the perspective of this paper it is also interesting to note that "connection with nature" was also highlighted as important in participant interviews. xiv For a thought-provoking discussion of how the broader field of counselling and psychotherapy is implicated in serving the status quo and working against social change see Masson (1997). xv In working with children in North America, Caduto and Bruchac's "Keepers" series of books, which link environmental lessons to traditional native tales, could be quite useful (see for example 1989). xvi The approach of thinking with literature is already being used in the field of healthcare in an effort to bring an ethic of care, respect and generosity to relationships between healthcare providers and patients (Charon 2002 Frank 2004). xvii For more on healing selves through healing places see Willis (2009). 
work_owgfo6yvfnblniet222tqdz6ay	----	!1Novi zvuk 40_DEO1i2_FINAL.indd 161 Abstract: This paper focuses on the relationship between pop culture, i.e. pop music, and ideology. The main thesis of the text is that the works of pop culture are the product of the social-historical context in which they emerge, but that the same works can also function as a criticism of that very context. As an example, we took Bob Dylan’s media phenom- enon and the elements of utopia as a narrative genre in his work. As a theoretical-interpre- tative context we relied on the propositions of American analytic philosopher Stanley Cavell: through his ethical theory on ‘moral perfectionism’ an analysis was made of the way in which pop culture functioned as the necessary internal corrective of a democratic community. It is assumed that texts on pop culture cannot be truly revolutionary, but they can certainly be critical. Keywords: pop culture, pop music, moral perfectionism, utopia, ideology, democracy. Апстракт: Рад се бави односом између популарне културе, односно популарне музике и идеологије. Основна теза текста јесте да су дела популарне музике продукт друштвено-историјског контекста у коме настају, али да та иста дела могу функционисати и као место критике тог контекста. Као пример узети су медијски феномен Боба Дилана и елементи утопије као наративног жанра у његовом раду. Као теоретско-интерпретативни оквир искоришћене су поставке америчког аналитичког филозофа Стенлија Кавела: кроз његову етичку теорију о „моралном перфекци- онизму“ анализира се на који начин популарна култура функционише као нужни STUDIES Article received on 13 February 2013 Article accepted on 15 February 2013 UDC: 78.067.26(73)"19" ; 316.72(73)"19" PLEADING FOR UTOPIA: AMERICAN PASTORAL IN BOB DYLAN’S MUSIC Nikola Dedić* University of Niš Faculty of Philosophy * Author contact information: dedicnikola@yahoo.com New Sound 40, II/ 2012 162 унутрашњи коректив демократске заједнице. Претпоставка је да текстови популарне културе и музике не могу бити револуционарни у јаком смислу те речи, али могу бити критички. Кључне речи: популарна култура, популарна музика, морални перфекционизам, утопија, идеологија, демократија Ralph Waldo Emerson in the postmodern context The starting point of this paper is the analysis of the relationship between Bob Dylan’s music and the broad tradition of the ‘inclination’ towards uto- pia, which was most clearly anticipated by Ralph Waldo Emerson within the American romanticist tradition. This kind of Emersonian progressive heritage is determined by the philosopher Stanley Cavell as ‘moral perfectionism’; moral perfectionism implies the reflection on ethics that begins with Plato and Aristo- tle, and ends with thinkers such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Friedrich Nietz- sche in the 19th century, i.e. Martin Heidegger and Ludwig Wittgenstein in the 20th century. In its modern form, moral perfectionism implies the principle of ethical progress of the subject, i.e. the transcending of the moral and material conditions of existence, but through the denial of the external guarantee of this transcending. In that sense, moral perfectionism represents the first manifesta- tion of criticism of Western metaphysics: the process of moral progress is not attained through interaction with the external instances of God, absolute spirit, ruler’s authority, religion, etc., but through the process of individual transfigu- ration that Stanley Cavell, taking Emerson’s philosophy as central, labels as ‘the process of individuation’. Moral perfectionism, in that sense, is the system of the reflection of subjectivity, along with the denial of the possibility of the external representation of that same subject; this process is, perhaps, the most consistently conveyed in Emerson’s essay ‘Self-Reliance’, where the self is de- fined as the process of continual individual progress, the revolutionizing of that same self towards transcending the current conditions of living, but through the anti-metaphysical denial of the subject’s involvement by representation1. Ac- cording to Cavell, 1 Ralf Valdo Emerson, „Samodovoljnost“, Ogledi, Grafos, Belgrade, 1983, p. 48–77; on Emerson cf. Tiffany K. Wayne, Critical Companion to Ralph Waldo Emerson. A Literary Reference to His Life and Work, Facts on File, New York, 2010; Harold Bloom (ed.), Bloom’s Classic Critical Views: Ralph Waldo Emerson, Bloom’s Literary Criticism, New York, 2008; Harold Bloom (ed.), Bloom’s Modern Critical Interpretations: Emerson’s Essays, Chelsea House Publishers, New York, 2006. 163 Emerson’s problem of representativeness, or exemplification (‘imitation’), or perfec- tion, thus begins earlier than Plato’s, both in lacking a sun and in having no standing representative man (anyone is entitled, and no one is, to stand for this election) and he warns that we have to – that we do – elect our (private) representative(s). In a sense his teaching is what we are to see beyond representativeness, or rather see it as a process of individuation.2 Thus, Cavell relates the philosophy of Ralph Waldo Emerson to the con- temporary criticism of metaphysics; Emerson is, in that sense, the anticipa- tion of Heidegger’s philosophy that supports the doubt in Cartesian rationality, where there is a denial of the possibility of absolute completeness, the totality of thinking (Emerson, due to Heidegger, is also the anticipator of the thesis about ‘the not-whole’ of thinking and the subject, which post-modernism most con- sistently inherits). The anticipation of knowledge, not mediated by any external guarantor, is also the basis of Wittgenstein’s philosophy: his main thesis is that all traditional, metaphysical notions and judgments should be considered in the context of the structure of everyday speech: knowledge, truth, the subject are the forms of linguistic definition, the proposition whose meaning is determined by context (by the rules of ‘linguistic games’) within which this proposition becomes used. So, Stanley Cavell comes to conclusions close to postmodern philosophy; the basis of his theory is, relying on Emerson – the deconstruc- tion of Western metaphysics and the devastation of the assumption about the complete, ‘whole’ subject. However, the point where Cavell, i.e. the doctrine of ‘moral perfectionism’ and post-modernism disband are political implications of these two theoretical systems; the relativistic positions of Lyotardian post-mod- ernism, through an assumption that manifestation, sense, meaning, value, or any other effect of signifying a product, are relative or arbitrary, necessarily lead to a sort of political, ethical and existential nihilism.3 Contrary to this, Cavell associates Emersonian moral perfectionism to the emancipating principle of the utopian transformation of the subject and the world; utopia is, thus, not seen as an ideal place (which would be a ‘metaphysical’ determination of utopia), but more like a non place, as an on-going and never finished process of the progres- sive improvement of the self: Emerson’s invoking the world he thinks is at once to declare what I am making as the perfectionist’s address to Utopia as to something somehow here, whose entrance is next to us, hence persistently just missed, just passed, just curbed, and so to declare that the world in question inspires or requires a particular mode of thinking. 2 Stanley Cavell, Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome: The Constitution of Emersonian Perfectionism, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London, 1990, p. 10. 3 Miško Šuvaković, „(Post)moderna i nihilizam“, Projeka(r)t No. 11–15, Novi Sad, March 2001, p. 276–282. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 164 (…) But suppose that the intelligible world is ‘the city of words’, say Utopia; and suppose that the world of that city is not a ‘something’ that is ‘outside’ (i.e., ‘beyond’ ‘the world of sense’ – what is the process Kant figures as taking a standpoint?), but is, as it says, ‘no place’, which perhaps suggests no place else, but this place transfig- ured(…) You cannot bring Utopia about. Nor can you hope for it. You can only enter it(…) In this way the imaginability of Utopia as a modification of the present forms a criterion of presence of good enough justice.4 Having all this in mind, it is possible to come up with more precise con- clusions about the ‘nature’ of Dylan’s politics: Dylan’s utopism is not leftist- Marxistic (although Dylan mostly comes from the American Leftists’ heritage and leftist-oriented folk music); his abandoning of leftist positions of folk re- flects ‘the spiritual climate’ that announced post-modernism; however, Dylan’s distancing from folk is not nihilistic (in the way Lyotard’s or Baudrillard’s is): Dylan’s abandoning of folk, his distancing from the left wing will retain a uto- pian character; this kind of utopism is in its base Emersonian, and hence anti- collectivistic, i.e. highly individualistic. Utopism of the Midwest and ‘The North Country’ Dylan’s utopism can be regarded, as David Pichaske points out, in the context of the grand heritage of the American ‘pastoral’, with the two central moments within: the motive of nature and the motive of travel. The American pastoral vision starts from the praising of rural life and it binds it with the at- tempts of the ethical defining of the ‘right’ and the ‘authentic’ way of living; within the Anglo-Saxon tradition, pastoralism becomes visible already in the works of the early British romantic poets such as Oliver Goldsmith and Thomas Gray, and later in the works of William Wordsworth, William Blake, and John Keats.5 The American pastoral, thus, has a triple foundation: aesthetic, religious and philosophical. The aesthetic frame finds its origin in the tradition of Brit- ish and American Romanticism, while the religious aspect finds its inspiration in the labour ethics of Lutheranism and later – Calvinism. The philosophical foundation of the American pastoral will allow, first of all, the representatives of transcendentalism, such as Henry David Thoreau and Ralf Waldo Emerson; their direct antecedent is Jean Jacques Rousseau’s philosophy, who praised na- ture as the source of good in the ethical sense, considering that nature and ‘the 4 Stanley Cavell, op. cit., p. 19–20. 5 David Pichaske, Song of the North Country: A Midwest Framework to the Songs of Bob Dylan, Continuum, New York, 2010. 165 authentic’ human community are contaminated by contradictions and complexi- ties, i.e. by the progress of human history. The utopian vision of nature is, thus, at the very centre of Emersonian idealistic philosophy, which begins from the assumption that the manifesting, material world is only a kind of reflection of that which Emerson will denote as ‘over-soul’ in the manner of Neo-Platonism. Emerson views nature in the context of reflecting the universal world of ideas.6 For Emerson, nature is one of the elements for attaining the ethical principal of self-reliance, i.e. the element of the progressive improvement of the subject and the critical transcending of the current conditions of existence, which is ‘con- taminated’ by the apparatus of a mechanical civilization. The reinterpretation of the Emersonian vision of nature as an element of criticism of the consumerist culture, mostly became the basis of the American counter-culture during the 1950s and 1960s – from literature (the writers of that period in their criticism of American capitalism often started from the dialectic tension between ‘the freedom’ of the revelation of nature and ‘the alienation’ of the big cities – this is the main conflict in the novels such as Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, Jack Kerouac’s On The Road and Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest), then in the movies (Laszlo Benedek’s The Wild One, Dennis Hopper’s Easy Rider, John Boorman’s Deliverance), to pop music (the whole folk revival from the be- ginning of the 1960s was founded on the fascination with the rural musical tradition of ‘the old’ America, while Emersonian pastoralism would mostly be integrated into the heritage of American psychedelic rock and country rock; typical examples are songs such as ‘Goin’ Up the Country’ by Canned Heat, ‘Woodstock’ by Jonni Mitchell, ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ and ‘Wild Montana Skies’ by John Denver, numerous songs by The Byrds, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, etc.). Such a dialectic between the criticism, i.e. the alienation of the urban and the projection, i.e. redemption in the rural, is the basis of Dylan’s utopian pastoralism: places of alienation mostly are the big cities of the East Coast (especially New York), while the utopian vision is reserved mostly for the territory of the American Midwest or ‘the North country’ (Dylan’s homeland Minnesota). This pastoral vision was present already in Dylan’s earliest songs – on the first album, in the songs such as ‘Talkin’ New York’ or ‘Song to Woody’, nature is the place of literal, but also spiritual escape from the destructiveness of the great megalopolis, which is directly sung about in ‘Desolation Row’, ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues,’ and ‘Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again’. As Pichaske points out, 6 Ralf Valdo Emerson, „Priroda“, Ogledi, Grafos, Belgrade, 1983 Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 166 Usually, Dylan finds nature, whether sunny or stormy, to be a source of sanity, res- toration, escape, grace... and the right kind of girl, what Andy Gill calls ‘the unpreten- tious, undemanding earth-mother type’. Nature is an antidote to insanity, decay, confinement, corruption, and the wrong kind of girl. ‘Time again in Love and Theft’, writes Andy Muir, ‘it seems that “majesty and heroism”, if it is to be found anywhere, is to be found in or of country roots...’ The agrarian world is depicted as the authen- tic alternative to all that has ‘gone wrong’.7 So, Dylan’s vision of nature is a symbol of deliverance and renewal, in his love songs it is a space of emotional escape from a bad relationship (e.g. ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right’), and very often a place of fulfilment of the religious ideals of the Judeo-Christian myth, where nature is related to Biblical reinterpretations (e.g. ‘11 Outlined Epitaphs’, ‘When the Ship Comes In’, ‘In the Garden’, etc.). The second important segment of American utopian pastoralism is the mo- tive of travel: Pichaske minutely explains the archetypal structure of this motive, which has been present since classic American literature, to western movies, to country music and rock and roll. Dylan’s songs on this issue reflect three basic ‘stages’ of pastoral myth on travelling: the ‘preliminary’ stage, or departure; the ‘liminaire’ stage, or separation from home on a road fraught with dangerous adventures in marvelous environments; and the ‘postliminaire’ stage, or return. This is the ideal scheme, and within American pop-culture some of these stages (as the third stage, or return) can be left out. In that sense, the road, in the utopian spirit, is experienced as a sign of individual freedom (travelling as a rejection of materialism, social hypocrisy, as well as an invitation to reject the conventional, routine way of life); finally, the metaphor of the road signifies the place of individual development, i.e. ‘In terms of personal, individual develop- ment (...) individuals are woefully incomplete if they fail to go on the road’. American authors, like Dylan, ‘proclaimed other attributes of the American open road, including health, freedom of choice, heroic deeds and art, above all the expanded consciousness’.8 The motive of travel is essentially related to the dialectic tension between criticism and projection; the frequent absence of the third phase implies the Protestant ethics which insist on the linear, progressivist view of history and consideration of America as a utopian project of constant expansion towards the West. On the other hand, the absence of the motive of return implies the issue of alienation of the subject which is in the process of 7 David Pichaske, op. cit., p. 117. 8 Cecelia Tichi, High Lonesome: The American Culture of Country Music, The University of North Carolina Press, 1994. 167 ongoing internal transformation. Here lies the ambiguity of American utopism which is still necessarily connected to the feeling of loss (a typical Dylanesque bond between travel and problematic emotional relationships), and thus, to the motive of nostalgia. As Pichaske points out, You can’t go home. Nat Hentoff once wrote of Dylan, ‘You can only go home for a visit, unless you’ve stopped growing’, but that’s not it, really. You can’t go home again because the person returning home is not the person who left home, and home is not the way you remember it. Actually, in the Midwest these days, home is prob- ably falling apart. (...) Thus develops the sense of bewildered nostalgia which colors so much of the depar- ture-return literature of the Midwest, including the late songs of Bob Dylan. You remember why you left, you know that what you found away from home was in many respects no better than what you had at home, you know that home is even deader now than it was when you left, you know you no longer fit in at home, so you might as well be away.9 Such a description fits perfectly into the determination of ‘moral perfec- tionism’ that Stanley Cavell provides, and which, again, agrees with the post- modernist thesis about the non-whole subject, i.e. the subject in the process, but from over-antinihilistic positions. According to Cavell, Emersonian moral perfectionism describes a progressive process of signifying a ‘still not attained, but attainable self’: To recognize the unattained self is, I gather, a step in attaining it(...) I do not read Emerson as saying(...) that there is one unattained/attainable self we repetitively never arrive at, but rather that ‘having’ ‘a’ self is a process of moving to, and from, nexts. It is, using a romantic term, the ‘work’ of (Emerson’s) writing to present next- ness, a city of words to participate in.10 Utopism of romantic love One more element that follows, and practically derives from Dylan’s utopian pastoralism is the image of the romantic relationship; it is even possible to say that in the whole of Dylan’s opus, along with the motive of politics, the motive of romantic love takes a dominant position. What is typical of Dylan is the fact that the image of this romantic relationship is always related to a broader vision of the critical perception of social reality, i.e. to an attempt of transcending it; accord- 9 David Pichaske, op. cit., p. 157. 10 Stanley Cavell, op. cit., p. 12. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 168 ingly, a few motives are integrated into Dylan’s perception of romantic love: (1) criticism of urbanized consumerist society, (2) the praising of individualism and (3) searching for ‘authentic’ life, in keeping with the pastoral vision of the world. The frequent method that Dylan uses in the criticism of modern consumer- ist society is the representation of the allegedly ‘inauthentic’ way of life through female characters, in songs like: ‘Like a Rolling Stone’, ‘Just Like a Woman’, ‘To Ramona’, ‘Bob Dylan’s Blues’, ‘Love Sick’, etc. What connects all these songs is the bond between the ‘bad’ woman and the alienation of life in a con- sumerist megalopolis; a paradigmatic case is ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ in which Dylan portrays the ‘fallen’ woman from high society. The song famously opens: ‘Once upon a time you dressed so fine / You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn’t you?’ The suggestion here is that the female ad- dressee held a high position in the social hierarchy, from which she behaved conde- scendingly towards others lower down the ladder. The idea that she is further developed in Dylan’s remark that: ‘You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and clowns / When they all come down and did tricks for you.’ This woman was clearly the center of attention, and used those around her for her own pleasure and entertainment. Further, Dylan seems to accuse the addressee of the song – and presumably others like her – of being not only callous towards others lower down on the social ladder, but also guilty of the crime of wasting their own time (...) Those at the top of the consumerist culture ladder fritter away their lives by trading with each other the tokens of their success. All of us who are familiar with this song will no doubt agree that Dylan’s bitterness at such societal workings is hard to over- estimate.11 For Dylan, material wealth and status symbols mask weakness, and they are not able to offer maturity, ‘depth’, or strength. As an answer to the ‘lies’ of consumerist society and ‘inauthentic’ life, Dylan offers the need for the individ- ualistic, spiritual transformation of the subject. This is why the second dominant theme of Dylan’s love poetry is the criticism of possessiveness, emotional re- lationships, i.e. an escape from a bad relationship; typical examples are: ‘Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right’, ‘I’m Not There’, ‘It Ain’t Me, Babe’, ‘It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue’, ‘If You Gotta Go, Go Now’, etc. These motives derive from a typical Emersonian view on interpersonal relationships; the base of Emersonian philosophy is searching for the state of self-reliance of the subject; anyway, this does not imply a life in isolation, but reaching for mental self-reliance, where 11 Kevin Krein and Abigail Levin, ‘Just Like a Woman: Dylan, Authenticity, and the Sec- ond Sex’, Peter Vernezeze and Carl J. Porter (eds.), Bob Dylan and Philosophy: It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Thinking), Open Court, Chicago and La Salle, 2006, p. 54–55; also cf. Bar- bara O’Dair, „Bob Dylan and Gender Politics“, Kevin J. H. Dettmar (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Bob Dylan, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2009, p. 80–86. 169 no social relationship is experienced as given, but as an assumption that all so- cial relations are prone to constant questioning and the free decision of an indi- vidual; loneliness is often a basic element of self-acceptance of the subject, and a precondition for reaching emotional independence. Only with this acceptance of the self is it possible to enter into social relationships on an equal basis. Such a relationship implies a radical rejection of possessiveness: In two essays on love and in other pieces on domestic life, Emerson tries to look at love – even at personal love – from the perspective of mental self-reliance. It is not always easy to say whether he is being unsettlingly radical or just prudish or cold. Maybe the line between the two is indistinct: the radical individualism of Emerson’s sort is in a principled opposition to possessiveness and exclusiveness in human rela- tions because these qualities are interwoven with the vices of envy, jealousy, and spite. What binds too tightly also blinds: exclusive love presumptuously defines the lover and the loved.12 This does not mean that Dylan, especially in his poetry of the 1960s, re- jects the possibility of a harmonious, almost ideal emotional relationship; this relationship is, however, bound to his pastoral utopian criticism of capitalism. The ‘ideal’ woman in Dylan’s imagination is always related to the rural and preindustrial archetype of the ‘authentic’ America; such an idealized image of the woman is in opposition to the inauthentic life in the big cities – the ‘ideal’ woman is a synonym for nature, i.e. for the rural territories of the Midwest and ‘The North Country’ (projection), while the ‘bad’ woman, i.e. bad emotional relationship, is related to urban (criticism): Dylan’s pastoralism causes him to associate good women with benevolent nature, and bad women with the city (...) The association of the good girl with country life is not unusual in American thought, and might have religious origins. In his study of the American pastoral, Mark Peter Buechsel notes, ‘The conflation of the Virgin, Woman, Midwestern nature, and sac- ramentalism in opposition to an ideological cluster centered around the Dynamo (mechanical culture), abstraction, industrialism, literalism, and the New England tradition can be traced in any number of Midwestern works.’ Dylan is in this regard a typical Midwestern pastoralist.13 Such examples of the idealized, rural archetype of woman are more than numerous: ‘Girl of the North Country’, ‘Tomorrow is a Long Time’, ‘Ballad in Plain D’, ‘Mama, You Been on My Mind’, ‘Love Minus Zero/No Limit’, ‘Sad- 12 George Kateb, ‘Friendship and Love’, Harold Bloom (ed.), Bloom’s Modern Critical In- terpretations: Emerson’s Essays, Chelsea House Publishers, New York, 2006, p. 208. 13 David Pichaske, op. cit., p. 124. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 170 Eyed Lady of the Lowlands’, ‘I’ll Remember You’, ‘One More Cup of Coffee (Valley Below)’, and among albums, Dylan’s most ‘pastoral’ one is Nashville Skyline (1969), which is, by no means accidentally, a true country album, both in the musical and in the poetic sense; it is dominated by songs where the visions of idealized love are interwoven with pastoral visions of nature (‘To Be Alone With You’, ‘I Threw It All Away’, ‘Lay, Lady, Lay’, ’Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You’). The album represents one more of many ‘turnovers’ in Dy- lan’s work – the lyrics are reduced, fit into the traditional structure of country music, without any allusions to post-modernist experiments from his rock’n’roll phase; in the moment of its creation, the album caused numerous controversies: immediately after the revolutionary 1968, at the moment when the American counter-culture and the new left wing reached their peak, Dylan, outside every stream, recorded an apolitical album in Nashville about love relationships and the idyllic country pastoral. However, through a retrospective reading of the album, in the context of Emersonian utopism, it is possible to recognize that Dylan’s apoliticality is in this case also illusory, and that one of the most ‘apo- litical’ of Dylan’s albums is possible to read in the clearly ideological key. However, it should be emphasized that Dylan’s pastoral, idealized vision of the romantic relationship is simultaneously one of the most disputable segments of his work: the ‘ideal’ woman is reduced to the level of an archetype, not rarely of even typical male phantasm; an active woman is bound to the alienation of the machine-like, consumerist culture, and in Dylan’s verses she frequently becomes criticized. Dylan’s goal is self-reliance, individual freedom and tran- scending the current conditions of existence, but it seems that this transcen- dence is reserved only for the male hero. The woman in Dylan’s verses is rarely an individual in the real sense, and even less ‘the heroine’, i.e. the protagonist. She’s more a passive mythical image that offers ‘shelter from the storm’ (as the song of the same name says) to the male, active hero: The women he praises are almost all ones who have given him shelter from the storm, who are there to allow him to go someplace that is innocent and in which he can escape from the harsh realities of a competitive social world that contains deceit and injustice. But they can do that only by completely removing themselves from the modern world. The way Dylan describes them, the most active thing they do is grow- ing their hair. Beauvoir complains of such women that, ‘The curse that is open woman as vassal consists, as we have seen, in the fact that she is not permitted to do any- thing; so she persists in the vain pursuit of her true being through narcissism, love, or religion’. Of course, Dylan feels safe and relaxed in the company of women who do little else but lie across his big brass bed.14 14 Kevin Krein and Abigail Levin, op. cit., p. 61. 171 In addition, what distinguishes Dylan from the typical machoist perception of the world, which dominated the rock’n’roll in the 1960s, despite the first hints of feminism, is the perception of the romantic relationship in a broader political and social context, with a tendency towards a renewal of the utopian way of thinking.15 Also interesting is Dylan’s period from the mid-1970s when he was gradually leaving the idealistic and pastoral view of romantic love (in order to exchange it for a religious view, by the end of the 1980s): Blood on The Tracks from 1975 is a paradigmatic album where the dominant motives in the songs are devastated love, loneliness, misunderstanding and separation, instead of the complete utopia of a realized love relationship; in this case, Dylan associ- ates personal themes with a broader social and ideological context – alienation, instability, and contradictions of historical development have an impact on the complexity of emotional relationships. Despite the evident machoism, Dylan came close to feminist practice at least in one segment: for Dylan, as well as for feminism, the personal is always political. Utopism of the Judeo-Christian myth The third segment in which Dylan’s utopism can be recognized is the tradi- tion of the Judeo-Christian myth; this religious aspect of Dylan’s pastoral can be recognized from the beginning of the 1960s, but it would culminate at the end of the 1970s – on the album John Wesley Harding (1967) and partly on The Basement Tapes that was recorded during 1967 and published later in 1975, and then on the albums from Dylan’s ‘Christian phase’ from the late 1970s and the beginning of the 1980s. The starting point of this religious utopism is the con- struction of the prophet figure as the basis of Dylan’s media image: the prophet is the man chosen by God in order to spread the revelation and to advocate God’s will before the people. The prophet is thus a strictly individualized char- acter, who speaks for and on behalf of the community; the prophet is the symbol 15 According to this, until the emergence of punk, the greatest female names were mostly related to strong, great male authors, and later they were recognized as ‘authentic’ authors: Wanda Jackson had been standing in the ‘shadow’ of Elvis Presley (in the context of rocka- billy), Joan Baez in the ‘shadow’ of Bob Dylan (in the context of folk), Emmylou Harris in the ‘shadow’ of Gram Parsons (in the context of country rock). These female artists had opened a road to female emancipation within rock’n’roll that would really take place in the mid-1970s with punk; in that sense, the key position was taken by Patti Smith’s album Horses, which seemed to be the first great, truly ‘female’ rock album. Also see: Simon Frith and Angela McRobbie, „Rock and Sexuality“, Simon Frith and Andrew Goodwin (eds.), On Record: Rock, Pop and the Written Word, Routledge, London and New York, 2006, pp. 371– 389; Mark Paytress, Patti Smith’s Horses and the remaking of Rock’n’Roll, Piatkus, London, 2010. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 172 of truth, and he stands for the feeling of continuity, i.e. a utopian projective relationship between the present and the future. In other words, the prophet acts within the dialectical tension and between criticism of the present moment and projectivity, i.e. the prediction, that is to say, between sin (alienation) and salva- tion. For his audience, since the earliest days, Dylan has been some kind of po- et-prophet: the audience has always experienced his music as a form of almost mystical knowledge that reveals the truth about the corruption and alienation of America, suffering, class and racial inequality; all this implies the presence of a strict, almost moralizing perception of the world. The sources of Dylan’s ‘pro- phetic’ utopism are, firstly, the Hebrew tradition, and then a specific heritage of the American Christian-oriented Romanticism. According to Stephen Scobie, The Hebrew prophet took on a public role, speaking about the moral and political health of a whole community. ‘A constant characteristic of Hebrew prophecy’, writes Peter Southwell, ‘was its concern with matters of national morality and social justice, with the character of God and his purposes for Israel and mankind.’ At various stages in his career, Dylan’s prophetic stance has been inflected in different ways: through his involvement with the civil rights movement of the early 1960s; through his ex- plicitly Christian preaching of the late 1970s; and through the tradition of American music which gives him the words to proclaim, in 1994, that we live in a ‘world gone wrong’. Always, however, the concern is public and, in a broad, nonpartisan sense, political.16 In that sense, the basis of the whole of Dylan’s work is the movement be- tween a projective and a critical ‘analysis’ of the current social order; his image of society is simultaneously utopian and apocalyptic, and it exists between the vision of the ideal, but still not attained future, and the dystopian present. On the other hand, the figure of the prophet is also a part of the specific American heritage, founded primarily on the Christian tradition of the 17th century American Puritans, as well as the poetic tradition of Anglo-American Romanticism, outlined by 19th century writers such as William Blake, Walt Whitman, and Henry Thoreau, and taken over in the 20th century by Allen Gins- berg, Woody Guthrie and Dylan himself. However, at the very centre of this tra- dition is, again, Ralph Waldo Emerson and his individualistic, anti-institutional views on religiousness, which are some kind of non-canonical reinterpretations of the utopian philosophy of St. Augustine. This relationship between Emerson and Augustinian utopism, that can directly be applied to the understanding of Dylan’s pastoral, is underlined by Harold Bloom; the Emersonian vision of the world rests upon the duality between the apocalyptic vision of reality, i.e. the individualized vision of sin and messianism, i.e. the progressive improvement 16 Stephen Scobie, Alias Bob Dylan Revisited, Red Deer Press, Alberta, 2003, p. 27. 173 of the self. For Emerson (as well as for Dylan), the apocalypse and utopia are the constituent elements of the ‘American sublime’: Augustine’s vision of the Fall, as Brown also shows, had changed from an early, quasi-Platonian belief, which was that Adam and Eve had ‘fallen’ into physicality: ‘that the prolific virtues they would have engendered in a purely “spiritual” existence had declined, with the Fall, into the mere literal flesh and blood of human families’. In the mature Augustinian doctrine, the dualizing split in human consciousness is no technical descent to a lower degree of being, but is the most willful and terrible of catastrophes. How does this compare with the catastrophe theory in Freud, and in Emerson? Do all three doctors-of-the-soul, Augustine, Emerson and Freud agree fundamentally that consciousness, as we know it, cannot inaugurate itself without a catastrophe? (...) This, I now assert, is the distinguishing mark of the specifically American Sublime, that it begins anew not with the restoration of rebirth, in the radically displaced Prot- estant pattern of the Wordsworthian Sublime, but that it is truly past even such dis- placement, despite the line from Edwards to Emerson that scholarship accurately continues to trace. Not merely rebirth, but the even more hyperbolic trope of self-re- begetting, is the starting point of the last Western Sublime, the great sunset of self- hood in the Evening Land.17 For Bloom, this tension between alienation and salvation is not only a part of Emerson’s political vision of society, but a much more typical, Emersonian conception of subjectivity that Bloom associates with Freud’s ‘catastrophe’, i.e. ‘the Fall’ is an element in constituting the subject, which is split between the process of repression and sublimation. In other words, the dialectic of ‘apoca- lypse’ and ‘deliverance’, criticism and projections, but within the process of individuation, are the constituent elements of the Emersonian vision of transfor- mative subjectivity, i.e. the vision of the ‘attainable, but still not attained self’, in keeping with the principles of ‘moral perfectionism’. That is how it is relatively easy to understand the changes in Dylan’s po- litical program; Dylan’s utopia moved from a traditionally, Marxist political utopism that was cherished in the American folk revival from the beginning of the 1960s, to the utterly individualized, anti-collectivist, Emersonian utopism from the late 1960s, resting upon the rejection of all grand, collectivist, politi- cal projects, that were cherished in both folk and the American new left-wing and counter-culture, on the whole. His early folk songs have a clear program 17 Harold Bloom, ‘Introduction: The American Sublime’, Harold Bloom (ed.), Bloom’s Modern Critical Interpretations: Emerson’s Essays, Chelsea House Publishers, New York, 2006, pp. 4, 8. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 174 structure, and one can comment that they are often examples, in the true sense of the word, of ‘engaged’ political song; social criticism in them is almost never satirical, but Dylan binds the apocalyptical vision of modern America with poli- tics, i.e. with the social role of the poet and the musician. The dominant themes he deals with are universality of individual freedom, i.e. the themes of political, class and racial equality. A turnabout followed in the mid-1960s, and his rejec- tion of the ideology of the American New Left culminated in the albums after his ‘electric phase’, when he came nearer to the tradition of American country music. Utopism in John Wesley Harding is more religious than political, more individualist than collectivist, more mystical than programmatic. However, John Wesley Harding, perhaps, has the ‘cleanest’ structure where the mentioned dia- lectics between the critical and projective aspect of Dylan’s music are in ques- tion: the album is not directly political, but it is ideological criticism transposed into the language of biblical parables – the A side of the album is dominated by songs with motives of sin, alienation, temptation and death, while the B side offers the motives of deliverance and projection. Seth Rogovoy points out this individualistic character of Dylan’s utopism from the end of the 1960s, on the example of The Basement Tapes: Beginning with the songs on The Basement Tapes, Dylan’s interests around this time shift from the merely prophetic toward the mystic. It’s hard to separate the two, as the prophetic experience is at heart a mystical one – a Prophet, inspired by the divine, has undergone something of a mystical experience. And much of the basis of Jewish mysticism comes in the form of prophetic visions of the Godhead, for example, Ezekiel’s chariot, and in vivid descriptions of the end of days and the Messianic era. It is precisely this aspect of the prophetic tradition – call it prophetic mysticism – which now engages Bob Dylan intensely, more so than, say, that of social criticism. This corresponds with a sense that with time and maturity Dylan has grown con- cerned with personal matters and less with social critique, although, as we shall see, the pendulum will swing back before settling somewhere in between the two polari- ties. 18 Between utopia and nostalgia: The Basement Tapes The Basement Tapes is a 1975 album that consists of a series of record- ings which were released during 1967 by Dylan and the members of the-band- to-be The Band; the recordings had been circulating as bootleg, and later the album comprised dozens of recordings that had originally consisted of covers of traditional folk songs, improvisations and completely new songs, many of 18 Seth Rogovoy, Bob Dylan: Prophet, Mystic, Poet, Scribner, New York, 2009, p. 123; cf. also: Christopher Ricks, Dylan’s Visions of Sin, ECCO, New York, 2005. 175 which would remain unfinished ‘sketches’. I shall not go into a close reading of the mentioned recordings, but I am going to focus on the interpretation offered by Greil Marcus, one of the most significant American interpreters of Dylan’s work, in the book entitled Invisible Republic, which was created from the ‘side notes’ for the mentioned Dylan album. Generally speaking, Marcus’s approach is certainly unique when it comes to the interpretation of rock music: he is a critic with nomadic principles who functions on the border of musical jour- nalism, musical criticism, and literature, but also ‘serious’, i.e. philosophically grounded cultural theory. Marcus treats pop phenomena as symptoms within Western culture, putting them into inter-textual relations with painting, art, so- cial movements, i.e. material practices within a certain historically given so- ciety. In his book, Markus does not offer ‘the analysis’ of the album released by Dylan and The Band, but the writing that steps into the already mentioned inter-textual relationship with music, practically complementing it in its own medium; the book functions almost as a paraliterary ‘stream of consciousness’ that has related Dylan’s album to phenomena such as American folk music, Cal- vinist Christianity, mining trade-union movements from the early 1900s, and the American politics of the second half of the 20th century. So, this book is on the edge of criticism, literature and theory; in its very centre dwells the notion of utopia.19 In Marcus’s interpretation of Dylan’s album it is possible to recognize the double determination of the notion of utopia – first of all, the determination of utopia as a pastoral vision of the ideal city; in that sense, utopia is viewed as an ideal place, or non-place, i.e. ‘a place without the place, we see ourselves where we are not, in the imaginary space that opens up, potentially, from the other side of its surface, we are there where we are not, and what is more important, we see ourselves where we do not exist’.20 Marcus uses the metaphor of an ideal city in order to describe Dylan’s relationship towards the vision of a better, more perfect society, that emerged through the musical and cultural dialogue with the folk heritage that was collected by Harry Smith in his famous Anthology of American Folk Music; Dylan’s world, i.e. the vision of the world presented in The Basement Tapes is some kind of experimental reflection of the social pas- toral that Smith’s anthology sketches. In the paraliterary, parasurrealistic key, Marcus sketches two ideal cities, two possible visions of a better, more humane community, which society constructs as the answer to the antagonisms of the current order. The view of Smith’s folk world (which Marcus describes with the 19 Greil Marcus, Invisible Republic: Bob Dylan’s Basement Tapes, Picador, London, 1998. 20 Branislav Dimitrijević, „Heterotopografija“, Irina Subotić (ed.), Umetnost na kraju veka, Clio, Belgrade, 1998. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 176 metaphor of a city under the imaginary name of Smithville) is a nostalgic view of an idealistic, rural community uncontaminated by industrialization and me- chanical civilization; Dylan’s world (a new ideal city named Kill Devil Hills) is the actualization of the utopian impulse in the moment when American society, under the wave of the Vietnam War, imperialism and consumerism, has departed from the principles of universal freedom and equality. The two ideal cities are related to each other as the head and tail of the same utopian vision; the view of the past gives directions for an emancipating vision of the future: Each time a new key opened a door, America opened up into both the future and the past – and it is perhaps only a progressive notion of time that leads one to presume that when Dylan spoke of an America that was wide open, he meant open to what was to come, not to what had been, open to the question of who and what Americans might become, not to the question of who and where they came from. There is no nostalgia in the basement recordings; they are too cold, pained, or ridiculous for that. The mechanics of time in the music are not comforting. In the basement, the past is alive to the degree that the future is open, when one can believe that the country re- mains unfinished, even unmade; when the future is foreclosed, the past is dead. How the future depends on the past is more mysterious. (...) in the basement you could believe in the future only if you could believe in the past, and you could believe in the past only if you could touch it, mold it like the clay from which the past had molded you, and change it. (...) Like the records Smith collected, the known and unknown basement tapes together make a town - a town that is also a country, an imagined America with a past and a future, neither of which seems quite as imaginary as any act taking place in the pres- ent of the songs.21 The vision of the ideal city that functions as a corrective narrative within the current historical moment is related to the vision of utopia as a transitory instance, as a project of incessant transformation, i.e. the perception of utopia as a processuality: at this point, Marcus associates The Basement Tapes, i.e. the fragmented, unfinished structure of the tapes from Woodstock, their bond with the past, and their critical relationship towards the present (where ‘art, religion, and politics’ are parts of the same process), with a great utopian project that was sketched by Walter Benjamin in his unfinished work Passagen-Werk. It is one of the most ambitious, in the true sense, utopian theoretical essays of the 20th cen- 21 Greil Marcus, op. cit., pp. 70, 128. 177 tury: Benjamin starts from the motive of the 19th-century Paris, around which he arranges a critical image of the whole bourgeois culture, building a synthetic analysis of the capitalistic relations of the production. During a long period of time, Benjamin complemented his work with a series of fragmented images, depictions, the accompanying texts that very often had only distant matching points with the main ‘theme’ of his monumental study. Benjamin’s ‘magnum opus’ between 1927 and 1940 became some sort of personal obsession with collecting, archiving and collaging, which would, in the end, as a utopian ten- dency for the ‘total’ work of philosophy, remain unfinished. This is a typical, modern work of philosophy with processuality in its centre; similarly, Smith’s anthology and the monumental collection of poems, improvisations, sketches, and covers that include tapes from Woodstock, are examples of ongoing, never finished, Utopian-progressivist projects; like Benjamin’s work, The Basement Tapes remained an unfinished album, which is more a sketch, a draft that binds the past with the utopian vision of the future, and not a complete unit that would attain at least a pseudo-ideal form. Conclusion: Dylan, pop culture and the criticism of American democracy Finally, one must ask a question considering Dylan’s radical individual- ism and pastoral utopism, regarding the social and historical context in which it emerges, and that context is a project of American liberal democracy of the second half of the 20th century. Dylan’s work rests upon the idea of perma- nent criticism of all the ‘official’ institutions of the liberal capitalistic soci- ety – starting from the university, the political institutions, political parties, to the capitalistic economic order: in Dylan’s poetry, the institutions of American liberalism are presented as essentially corrupt and incapable of guaranteeing the individual, the principles of freedom, equality and the individual develop- ment of their personality. Dylan’s utopism is an answer to a sort of ‘contami- nation’ of the American democratic order. However, if Dylan’s utopism is not leftist-collectivist, if Dylan changes the language of the materialistic analysis of equality, within the American capitalistic system, for the idealized language of the rural pastoral, should it be written off as naive idealism, or as a form of radical individualist elitism, in which a contempt for all collective emancipat- ing projects is built? This is one of the central questions that Stanley Cavell asks with regard to Emerson’s individualistic moral perfectionism: can we use Emerson, in the current postmodern environment, as a relevant reference for critical reflection on modern democracy? Here Cavell enters a dialogue with the American liberal theorist John Rawls, who treats Emerson as a form of elitist, i.e. teleological Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 178 philosophical and ideological platform. Radical individualism, at worst, im- plies the demand to reject all the institutions of the liberal order, i.e. there is a platform which demands the totalitarian suspension of all democratic principles (the extreme form of individualism); at best, in its moderate, Emersonian op- tion, individualism is a teleological political platform that rests upon the ideal idea of maximization of the potential of the individual, or certain (often privi- leged) classes in keeping with the concept of ‘high culture’: ‘In the moderate version, it is merely one principle amongst others and directs society to arrange institutions and to define the duties and obligations of individuals so as to maxi- mize the achievement of human excellence in art, science and culture.’22 On the other hand, Cavell rejects such a teleological interpretation of Emerson, and puts his moral perfectionism into the centre of democratic debate, i.e. of what Rawls determines as ‘the debate on justice’. For Cavell, moral perfectionism is the individualist, but not the atomist, i.e. the elitist ethical position: Emerson also takes over Plato’s assertion, according to which, in order to constitute real democratic social relationships, it is necessary to walk the path from the prin- ciple of ‘being one’ to the system where the individual is a representative of society as a whole: I might at once declare that the path from the Republic’s picture of the soul’s journey (perfectible to the pitch of philosophy by only a few, forming an aristocratic class) to the democratic need for perfection, is a path from the idea of there being one (call him Socrates), who represents for each of us the height of the journey, to the idea of each of us being representative for each of us – an idea that is a threat as much as opportunity.23 In that sense, moral perfectionism is the practice of criticism of democracy within democracy; the freedom of practicing radical individualistic utopism is possible only within the democratic order: If there is perfectionism not only compatible with democracy but necessary to it, it lies not in excusing democracy for its inevitable failures, or looking to rise above them, but in teaching how to respond to those failures, and to one’s compromise by them, otherwise than by excuse or withdrawal. To teach this is an essential task in Rawl’s criticism of democracy from within.24 Emerson’s moral perfectionism and his thesis on ‘self-reliance’, i.e. Dy- lan’s pastoral utopism as the objectification of Emerson’s thesis within the cur- 22 Stephen Mulhall, Stanley Cavell: Philosophy’s Recounting of the Ordinary, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1998, p. 267. 23 Stanley Cavell, Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome: The Constitution of Emerso- nian Perfectionism, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London, 1990, p. 9. 24 Ibid, p. 18. 179 rent postmodern pop culture are in the very centre of what Cavell determines as the ethical debate on justice and the just society, i.e. democracy. Cavell ap- proaches the reflection on democracy through reflection on morals and morally correct action, in Wittgenstein’s spirit, from radically anti-essentialist positions; for Cavell, there is no transcendental, metaphysical foundation of moral values; ethics is founded in language, and as such, it rests not upon the universal ethical imperatives, but on grammatical rules defined by the community, through the process of communication. The question of ethics is thus the question of proce- dures and not conclusions; ethics is a dynamic debate between the members of a community, and not a static and unchangeable facticity. Thus, for Cavell, there is no morality by itself, but the conditions of ethically correct action are defined through the relationship with another: ‘In effect, participation in this practice involves declaring something about oneself and discovering something about others; moral discussion is an arena for the revelation of oneself to another.’25 Or as Cavell puts it, the point is to determine what position you are taking, that is to say, what position you are taking responsibility for – and whatever it is, one I can respect. What is at stake in such discussion is not, or not exactly, whether you know our world, but whether, or to what extent, we are to live in the same moral universe. What is at stake in such examples as we’ve so far noticed is not the validity of morality as a whole, but the nature or quality of our relationship with one another.26 In other words, to act politically within a certain social context means to speak on behalf of others, and to leave the possibility for others to speak on behalf of us; the constitution of a political identity is the practice of self-knowl- edge through a relationship with other members of a community. However, the moment when the ideals of the community, defined through the practice of moral debate between their members are abandoned, the individual is left with the possibility to ‘withdraw consent’ in terms of political participation in that community. This is exactly the practice of Dylan’s utopism that appears in the moment when the ideals of universal equality become abandoned; this is in fact a demand not for the elitist privatization of political speech, but a demand for the redefinition of the ‘polis’, i.e. of society as a whole. The ‘withdrawal of consent’ in the process of political participation is a demand for the reconstruc- tion of the principle of universality, and not its deconstruction, it is a criticism of democracy within democracy, and not a demand for its abolition: Dissent is also an attempt to speak for others, and if it involves rebuking some who claimed to speak for the dissenter, it is intended to bring them back to a position in 25 Stephen Mulhall, op. cit., p. 41. 26 Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason, quoted from Stephen Mulhall, ibid., p. 41. Dedić, N.: Pleading For Utopia: American Pastoral In Bob Dylan’s Music (161–180) New Sound 40, II/ 2012 180 which they can continue to do so; it is an attempt to restore or redefine the nature and extent of the polis, not an attempt to move beyond its bounds. (...) When citizens such as Thoreau resort to civil disobedience, they are not attempting to privatize their political voice, to transform it into something non-political, but are rather using it to rebuke their fellow citizens in the name of something to which they are jointly committed.27 This is exactly Dylan’s position: the pastoral, utopian withdrawal from the political community is a tendency towards the reconstruction of the original ideals of equality and egalitarianism that the community abandoned, as well as the tendency to define the position from which the individual speaks on be- half of others; i.e. withdrawal from the political community, in keeping with the principles of self-reliance and moral perfectionism, means defining a new form of universality which is founded on the exception. In that sense, Dylan’s individualistic utopism is not the elitist rejection of democracy, but exactly the opposite – Dylan is an example of how pop culture functions as the necessary internal corrective of a democracy. In other words, Dylan is a typical product of the American liberal project, but also the place of its radical utopian criticism. Translated by Ivana Marjanović 27 Stephen Mulhall, ibid., p. 63. 
work_oza2zvb6ujbplmgcyjo2qwueai	----	Cultivating an Academy We Can Live With: The Humanities and Education for Sustainability1 religions Article Cultivating an Academy We Can Live With: The Humanities and Education for Sustainability1 Lucas Johnston Department for the Study of Religions, Wake Forest University, 118 Wingate Hall, PO Box 7212 Reynolda Station, Winston-Salem, NC 27109, USA; johnstlf@wfu.edu Academic Editor: Evan Berry Received: 16 March 2016; Accepted: 7 September 2016; Published: 28 September 2016 Abstract: Many facets of the university system in North America are fundamentally unsustainable, developing and perpetuating knowledge practices that not only do not sustain the biospheric conditions in which our species evolved, but actually defray them. This analysis proceeds in three ways: (a) highlights the historical entanglement of religion and sustainability discourse and the now global concern over climate disruption; (b) it interrogates assumptions regarding whether, when, and to what extent scholars of religions should advance politically significant arguments; (c) explores problem-based learning and integrative curricular development, which may be fostered by focusing on complex wicked problems such as climate disruption. Keywords: sustainability; climate change; religion and sustainability; higher education; education for sustainability; problem-based learning 1. Introduction Although there are a variety of ways that one can interpret the concept of sustainability, by almost any definition much of the knowledge the contemporary academy produces contributes to an unsustainable civilization. As the Vice Provost of St. Mary’s College Richard Carp put it, “the network of institutions that make up ‘the academy’, which includes not only colleges and universities, but also (at least) professional and disciplinary organizations, its sources of funding, and its methods for distributing economic and status rewards, predominantly defray rather than support resilience” ([1], p. 224). Some educators have long been aware of this fact, but because that ultimately unsustainable academic network of interests and individuals has its own inertia, it has been slow to change. The environmental educator David Orr wrote in 1991 that “sustainability is about the terms and conditions of human survival, and yet we still educate at all levels as if no . . . crisis existed. The content of our curriculum and the process of education . . . have not changed, the crisis cannot be solved by the same kind of education that helped create the problems” ([2], p. 83; quoted in ([3], p. 79). Unfortunately many of these shortcomings remain in the academy in general, particularly within the humanities disciplines, and I want to link climate change and education for sustainability together by wrestling with some of the obstacles which prevent change—some of the things which contribute to the inertia of the status quo. I do so first by highlighting that contested terms like sustainability and climate disruption are themselves deeply entwined with religious and spiritual narratives, and have been part of the political economy of the sacred since they became widely deployed in the public sphere.2 The religion scholar 1 My thanks to Richard Carp, Todd LeVasseur, Bernie Zaleha, and several anonymous reviewers who provided helpful feedback on early drafts. 2 Chidester [4] uses the phrase “political economy of the sacred” to refer to the now global trafficking in popular symbols, metaphors and tropes which have their origins in or take their power from their exploitation of the religious or spiritual Religions 2016, 7, 120; doi:10.3390/rel7100120 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2016, 7, 120 2 of 16 David Chidester does not specifically refer to the term sustainability in his meditations on popular religiosity in America [4], but sustainability discourses certainly fit his definition of forms of religious cultural production which are contested and disseminated through economic and political means, helping to negotiate what it means to be human. Second, I interrogate a question raised by the scholar of religions Ivan Strenski in his criticism of the “climate change” theme for the 2014 meeting of the American Academy of Religion: “can religion professors save the planet?” [5] Both Strenski and I would answer “no”, but for very different reasons. Strenski and others often worry that organizing academic work toward real-world problems instrumentalizes the humanities, potentially evacuating it of the really important sort of research that should be the hallmark of the humanities. In contrast, I think the very notion that humanities scholars ought to aim for that sort of “pure research” is one of the outmoded types of thinking that drives unsustainability by training students who are unable to solve complexly related problems at multiple scales. Third, then, I note that one of the hallmarks of education for sustainability has been problem-based education. Far from merely instrumentalizing these disciplines, it makes them more relevant than they have been in some time. Fourth, I suggest that one of the ways in which scholars, particularly scholars of religions might engage in problem-based learning without becoming “activists” is to treat the normativities and ontologies that inhere to social contestations over discourses of sustainability and climate change, and the political policies implicated in them, as data. Fifth, I suggest that one form of problem-based learning, engaged learning, where students interact with and impact the communities in which they live, work, and play, can be both a worthwhile learning experience for students, and a window through which we can re-envision the shape of the Academy in general. I will conclude with some specific examples of problem-based and engaged teaching and learning from my home institution. Re-shaping pedagogical approaches, encouraging problem-based learning, and acknowledging that terms like sustainability and climate disruption are currencies in the global political economy of the sacred are good starting points for owning the disciplinary past of religious studies and related areas of study, and for providing some positive ways forward. If we cannot re-vision the work that takes place in the academy, we cannot solve the global crises under discussion here. And we cannot re-vision that academic work without exposing the often patriarchal and erroneous assumptions which underlie the exercise of academic power in the twenty-first century. First, however, it is important to get clearer about the terms under analysis here. 2. Climate Disruption and Sustainability Have Religious Dimensions Which Run Deep Climate disruption is often used as a shorthand to refer to an interlocking set of biophysical and social problems, but generally it refers to the destabilization of the planet’s climate system caused by anthropogenic disturbance of the carbon cycle. The physicist John Tyndall first noted that carbon dioxide warmed the atmosphere in the 1850s. The science related to climate disruption, then, is old, but perhaps only more recently connected with religious ideation as climate disruption has quickened. In the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries climate disruption took on important apocalyptic dimensions, in the sense that it was portrayed as bringing about a radical reduction in human populations, if not a dramatic reduction of biodiversity generally.3 For instance, the film baggage they carry, and which do religious work (whether they are authentically religious themselves) by binding communities of people together, focusing desire, and channeling exchange relations in particular directions. 3 One reviewer suggested that I tease out theological ideas related to the term apocalypse, noting that in some theological contexts (particularly in Jewish and Christian texts produced around the turn of the Common Era) the term often referred to a sort of revelation, or unveiling. While this is certainly one use of the term, unpacking this more theological usage would not further any argument I make here. The most common understanding (and indeed the first one in most dictionaries) refers to extreme disasters which bring destruction and loss. Religions 2016, 7, 120 3 of 16 The Day After Tomorrow (2004) depicted the world passing a climatic tipping-point, entering a new ice age nearly overnight. Populations across the world were decimated, and survivors flocked south, toward warmer climes. Although not overtly religious, such apocalyptic films fueled a religious brand of apocalypticism in the United States grounded in the quasi-religious belief that “peak-oil” and climate destabilization would precipitate the end of the world as we know it. In one important study, Christian apocalyptic narratives clearly conditioned concern about and behavior change related to climate disruption [6]. Defining sustainability is somewhat trickier. The term sustainability is rather like Joseph Campbell’s famous “hero with a thousand faces”, a slippery term that that means many things to many different people. Some imagine that the best measure for sustainability is biodiversity, while others focus on social factors and metrics (equity and justice, for example), while still others are more centrally concerned with “greening” industrial technologies and promoting technical solutions. In all cases, though, they are related to the survival of the human species within certain biophysical limits. The scholar of religions J.Z. Smith influentially argued that religion is a second-order, generic category ([7], p. 269), that there is no data for religion: “Religion is solely . . . .created for the scholar’s analytic purposes by his imaginative acts of comparison and generalization” ([8], p. xi). Elsewhere I have argued that the same is true of sustainability [9]: it should not be imagined in an essentialist way, as a fixed goal, or endpoint, but as a function of the imaginative acts, interests, and values of the individual or group deploying the term. When individuals or groups utilize the term sustainability, they give a glimpse into their core values, those things (whether cultural practices, economic development, social equity, and so on) that they wish to see persist into the foreseeable future. In this sense sustainability is analogically related to religion, but there is also a strong genealogical relationship between the two terms. The first uses of the term sustainability, at least as early as the mid-1800s, referred to wise human use and preservation of natural resources ([10], p. 146; [11], p. 347). It was typically related to some supposedly universal set of “goods”, for instance its usefulness in preventing social chaos, or promoting patriotism, or in some cases encouraging counter-hegemonic values. The first resource management regimes in the US drew directly on these European usages of the term, but the religious dimensions of such universal goods became much more obvious. The spiritual sympathies of nature writers such as William Bartram, Thomas Morton, and the Transcendentalist authors and those they influenced, including Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, and many others are well known. The first official federally mandated resource manager, however, was Gifford Pinchot, who was significantly influenced by the Social Gospel movement, a widespread and influential stream of Christianity which deemphasized the transcendent dimensions of the religion and sought to apply its ethical principles to the alleviation of the social ills that resulted from the so-called industrial revolution [12]. Pinchot believed the application of Christian ethical norms to the management of the commonwealth was the solution to maximizing individual utility and national well-being ([9], pp. 46–49; [13], pp. 95–96, 115). He is but one exemplar, but broader international political experiments with “development” and later the term “sustainable development” were ultimately grounded in Western religious values and norms [9,14,15]. The religious dimensions of these movements have played important roles in both the 20th and 21st century outgrowths of the concern for nature first spurred by the ethic of scarcity which emerged first in Europe and then the US in the 19th century. In the post-World War II period a host of new international organizations were created. The Bretton Woods institutions (the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, and the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade) represented the financial and economic powerhouses that would prevent the sort of poverty that many imagined had driven the world into a second global war. The United Nations (UN) and its affiliated bodies represented the liberal-democratic response to an increasingly global political culture, responsible for development, and by the 1970s, sustainable development. The UN and its affiliated bodies have paid particular attention to the religious dimensions of development. To a lesser extent, those who defended economic growth and their attendant institutions have also utilized Religions 2016, 7, 120 4 of 16 spiritualized ideation and metaphor to further their aims ([9], pp. 50–71). Although a narrower notion than “sustainability”, sustainable development was nonetheless grounded in Western, often Christian values related to individual economic freedom, and access to wealth generation ([9]; [14], p. 70). Narrower still is the phrase “education for sustainability” (EfS), which began as an effort among Western European and North American institutions of higher learning to create synergistic relationships between life sciences, social sciences, humanities disciplines, and professional schools ([16], p. 1): “The most pressing problems across the globe—famines, armed conflicts, demographic transitions—are the result of dynamic biophysical, social, and psychological processes. Solving such wicked problems requires an educational system that trains students to be adaptive learners who can anticipate disruptions and envision their solutions and attendant opportunities at multiple scales—from the local to the geopolitical. Most classroom experiences do not reflect this general need” ([16], pp. 1–2). Organizing principles, such as problem-based learning, were developed to facilitate this cross-disciplinary work and illustrate the interdependence of usually disparate fields. These ideas are discussed in more detail below. My concern here is primarily with EfS, although even this narrower exercise of the notion of sustainability is beholden to the religious ideation inherent in the foundations of sustainability, and to interrogating and overcoming the received Western mode of education. But some of my suggestions toward the end indicate ways in which even this relatively ethnocentric model can be usefully decolonized. Both sustainability and climate disruption, then, carry religious baggage, and recognizing this can help to clarify cultural responses to these terms, and also help to illustrate how humanities scholars in general can contribute to public debates about them. As the religion scholar David Chidester put it something—a social movement for instance—is doing religious work when it facilitates particular economic exchange relations, acts as a sort of social glue by promoting sets of shared languages and values, and focuses collective desire ([4], p. 5). This is certainly true of sustainability and climate change discourse, whether they are deployed to support existing hegemonic powers or to subvert them. But the religious dimensions of sustainability and climate change are not merely superficial. Sustainability movements are religious from roots to shoots, and climate change activism and public portrayal has long been linked to apocalyptic ideation [6]. Climate disruption and sustainability have elective affinities with the explosion of monitory agencies in the post-World War II period and the new technologies and media of the late 20th and early 21st centuries [17]. International political coordination proceeds along at least three fronts: the social-democratic bodies related to and derivative of the UN; the manipulation and channeling of markets through the Bretton Woods Institutions; and civil society organizations, which come in a panoply of forms and work at multiple scales, and which may subvert hegemonies, or promote them. Sustainability and climate change discourses and advocacy are increasingly central concerns of groups in all of these categories, and whether at the local or international scale these narratives, metaphors and tropes have significant religious dimensions, even in supposedly secular organizations [9]. It will be illustrative to look more closely at how these religious dimensions of climate disruption and sustainability, and specifically education for sustainability, play out in the always-political context of education. 3. Can Religion Professors Save the Planet? In 2014 Laurie Zoloth, then President of the American Academy of Religion (AAR), declared that the yearly conference theme, a choice that is the prerogative of the sitting President, would focus on climate change. Scholarly interest in the nexus of religion and environmental issues goes much deeper, however, with an AAR Sustainability Task Force active from 2007–2012 [18], and a Religion and Ecology Group which dates back to 1993 [19]. Moreover, scholars in other disciplines have long attended to the nexus of various religious traditions and their biophysical contexts (just to name a few [20–29]). Despite a rich tradition of scholarly exploration of religions, cultures, and their perceptions of and behaviors related to nature, Zoloth’s theme prompted some derisive reactions. Religions 2016, 7, 120 5 of 16 For instance, in a piece in Religion Dispatches titled “Can Religion Professors Save the Planet?” scholar of religions Ivan Strenski proposed that such problem-based scholarship might compromise the “open-ended questioning, unbridled curiosity and pursuit of understanding” that is characteristic of humanities-oriented research [5,30]. Strenski is not alone in his critique. But such a critique is the classic example of the academic default to Western, patriarchal values, assuming that the value of pursuing knowledge for its own sake is self-evident. In fact, such an idea is reasonably new, and worth interrogating.4 At my home institution I was asked to respond to a talk by a visiting critical theorist on climate change. I suggested that there were responsible and productive ways in which education could be more problem-focused. She fretted that such an approach could “instrumentalize” the humanities, making them little more than useful tools. With Strenski, she worried this would truncate the power of creativity that characterized humanistic inspection. As Strenski put it, the AAR’s focus on climate change amounted to hitching itself “to the latest star in the universe of social causes”, evacuating it of any research or teaching that “have an integrity of their own”. But climate change is not simply a faddish “social cause”, it a robustly defended and described mass of scientific data. There is a scientific consensus [31] even if significant portions of the general populace in the US still do not assent to the notion that it is human-caused.5 This is all the more reason that scholars of any ilk, who should be savvy enough to do their homework, should not refer to matters of such profound scientific consensus as faddish social causes. Moreover, religious studies has long embraced problem-oriented scholarship, from work on pluralism, to postcolonial studies, to queer theory, to critiques of racism and ethnocentrism. To defend the work of the academy as the disinterested and objective pursuit of knowledge about the world is to recapitulate the worst crimes of the academy. That religious studies developed constituencies which deploy the tools developed in their own peculiar training and areas of expertise to some of the most pressing problems that all carbon-based life faces seems unsurprising. What is surprising is that some scholars continue to advocate for the view that humanities scholars should engage in open-ended questioning which masquerades as value-neutral, apolitical, but which in reality reifies obvious failures in the academy. Why celebrate the “freedom” to engage in open-ended inquiry if the understanding it aims at has little or no relevance to the lives of individuals or groups? The traditional disciplinary boundaries that have divided the academy are withering, and preserving their rotting remains does little to hide, as the author and provocateur Edward Abbey once noted, that formal education can be broadening, but more often merely flattens our purview. 4. Is “Instrumentalizing” the Humanities All Bad? What does it mean to instrumentalize the humanities? It seems that it would be a negative development if engineered by, say, national or state governments. For example, the humanities could be used to generate propaganda, or research favorable to particularly powerful social actors. But at least in my department, and in the academic habitats of many with whom I have spoken, humanities and even social scientific scholars consistently struggle with staying “relevant” as their departments lose majors and minors to the increasing numbers of students who flock to business schools, engineering programs, and finance or computer science departments (even at liberal arts universities, like my own). Perhaps part of the solution is to engage in scholarship that is relevant, and to more intentionally explore the methods by which we gather research data, and how we transmit it to students. I do not view Strenski’s argument as evidence that we ought to leave the debates over climate disruption and 4 My thanks to Richard Carp for pointing out just how recent such assumptions are. 5 The Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) noted that 50% of US citizens surveyed characterize themselves as somewhat (29%) or very unconcerned (21%) about climate change. Interestingly, however, 74% of respondents reported that people in developing countries will suffer moderate (20%) or great (54%) harm. Yet climate disruption still ranks as the lowest priority among environmental issues to voters, with only 5% noting that it is the most important issue facing the US (jobs (22%), the gap between rich and poor (18%), health care (17%), budget deficit (13%), immigration reform (10%), and cost of education (9%) are all much greater concerns among US citizens [32]. Religions 2016, 7, 120 6 of 16 sustainability out of humanities courses, but rather as an invitation to draw them into the conversation. Can the humanities save the ice caps, as Strenski put it? No, particularly since several studies indicate that the rate of warming essentially locks us in to climate patterns that will ensure the dissolution of both ice caps, the northern one within this century, and the southern one within a few [33]. What, then, can humanities scholars offer to the broaden debate, and to transform the academy? Stephen Prothero claimed in a popular book that religion was one of the key identity markers of the twenty-first century [34]. I would agree, but terms like “climate disruption” and “sustainability” are also key identity markers, as global leaders (from Pope Francis to Prince Philip, and from Presidents Barack Obama to Evo Morales) link their own religious and national interests and religious convictions to them. One way humanities and human science scholars can contribute to the conversation is by first acknowledging that public deployments of these terms provide a window into the values, practices, and beliefs of other humans. In other words, public invocations of particular understandings of “sustainability”, and their relation with religion, are inherently political. One approach, then, is to imagine that the task of the scholar of religions is not to advocate for a particular political position, or somehow rise above the public debate by deploying critical theory to deconstruct the scientific consensus, but rather to treat this consensus, and the effort of some senior scholars to retreat from these cultural debates, as data. Strenski notes that most of the empirical research related to such questions occurs within the confines of the Society for the Scientific Study of Religion (SSSR), while the AAR is a home for non-empirical theologians and humanists. This was certainly largely true three decades ago, and indeed on its public face the trend continues. For instance, taking the President’s prerogative to set the theme for the annual conference, Serene Jones declared 2016’s focus to be the theologically inflected theme “revolutionary love”. In her call, Jones suggests this sort of love occurs in a “state of grace” [35]. Perhaps this theological framing is merely a reminder of the theological roots of the AAR and the Society of Biblical Literature, which meet concurrently each year. Even today perhaps the bulk of papers and workshops bend toward the theological and confessional rather than the analytical or critical. Nonetheless, there have been strong genealogical critiques of such ethnocentric and theological understandings of the category religion [36–39], and a turn toward what Robert Orsi ([40], p. 8) referred to as a “radically or phenomenologically empiricist” approach in his call for the study of “lived religion”. The emergent contributions from a more empirical or analytical bent have rightly been critical of this persistent theological inflection of the largest membership body in our field. As Naomi Goldenberg put it, “Aren’t there already enough ecclesial and ecumenical venues that justify themselves through an ideology of love? Shouldn’t the AAR be promoting something else—say, for example, the critical analysis of institutional power and pretense?” [41]. I concur, and climate change and sustainability-oriented social movements seem like prototypical cases in which various forms of capital (financial, political, social, and ecological) are exchanged in power-laden relationships, and which are ripe for analysis and commentary. But deeper problems remain, namely that these modes of inquiry are so often imagined as separate. We might endeavor to explore the ways in which climate disruption is linked with the exercise of power, the shaping of information technologies and access, as well as tied up with important questions about what it means to be a human in a world populated by other-than-human persons. For example, what does it mean to inhabit a world in which broader ecological, atmospheric, and bio-geochemical cycles also have some agency [42], at least in the sense that they can impact the size, shape, and character of social groups and their behaviors? Asking what relevance our discipline has to the most important questions our species is faced with—namely how we can persist, and even thrive, and more importantly, what are the values that particular individuals and groups envision as measures of success or “thriving”—seems to me to be legitimate exercise of the analytical tools at our disposal. There is a difference between using critical analytical and even empirical methods to answer such questions—what I am advocating—and pushing all scholars to be sustainability activists who advance a prescriptive response to issues such as climate change. Imagining an intellectual terrain in which Religions 2016, 7, 120 7 of 16 there are academics and there are activists and nothing in between is one of the tired, old dichotomies that should be put to sleep. 5. Ontologies and Normativities Are Data In an introductory text for students of religion and ecology, Bauman, Bohannon, and O’Brien note that religious and scholarly responses to environmental problems can be grouped as efforts at recovery, reformation, or replacement [43]. The ecologist and evangelical Calvin DeWitt would be an example of one who advocates recovery, exploring the roots of his own tradition to reinterpret it in light of contemporary issues. The ecofeminist Rosemary Radford Ruether, who has suggested that the patriarchal and oppressive development of her Christian tradition have resulted in a parallel exploitation and oppression of earth systems, was one who forcefully tried to reform her tradition. The religion scholar Bron Taylor is offered as one whose analyses suggest that in the very long term institutionalized global religions will become less influential as they morph into more relevant forms, perhaps disappearing altogether in some cases, as new forms of global green spirituality emerge [44]. Such scholarship can be engaged in different ways, but in some cases may be dismissed by critics as inappropriately activist. For instance, DeWitt is a conservation biologist, which means that he stands within an academic discipline that is, from its inception, committed to particular values, namely the preservation and utility of biological diversity. He is also engaged with communities of evangelical Christians, and is himself an evangelist for Christian “creation care”. Indeed, several leaders among the evangelical communities in which I conducted field work cited DeWitt as one of those who had convinced them that climate change was a religiously relevant issue (interviews conducted 2008).6 Is he, then, an activist and not a scholar? Ruether exercised influence within Catholic theology, feminist studies of religion, and a now widespread ecofeminist movement. Is she, too, an activist? Taylor, who openly discusses his activist roots, was the founding President of the Society for the Study of Religion, Nature, and Culture, an organization that explicitly states in its by-laws that it is not an activist or advocacy organization [45]. Yet Taylor’s scholarly work on “dark green religion” is inspirational for many practitioners and purveyors of green religions. So where does one draw the line between “activist work” and “scholarly work”? If entwined, are they both compromised? One could answer that they are all activists, and therefore their scholarly work is suspect, since they are only half-scholars (and half-activists). These chimeras of the contemporary academy should not all be lumped together, however, for their methods and message are distinct, allowing some analysis regarding their efficacy but also their supposed “place” in the academy. Among those who study the nexus of religion, nature, and culture, there are those who engage in (a) constructive or normative explorations; (b) social scientific and cultural investigations; and (c) natural scientific studies [45]. The sort of research that worries some scholars falls into the first category. In short, the worry is that the 2014 AAR conference made the study of religion about combating climate change. Certainly there are scholars who have imagined the study of religion and environment as an opportunity to advocate for particular interpretations of the so-called world religions [46–52], and others attempt to forge an entirely new type of green religion that is amenable to a number of different religious traditions. The former group represents a type of revitalization movement (parallel to the recovery or reform platforms listed above), the latter is itself a new religious movement which blends latent or under-scrutinized resources in the world’s religions with scientific understanding of earth systems [53]. These are different modes of study with different aims, but both could be characterized as advocating for specific, and in some cases politicized changes within the academy and society in general. But all of these modes of scholarship and engagement can also be 6 In 2008-2009 I put together a case study of evangelical creation care movements, participating with members of a megachurch in central Florida, and interviewing several prominent evangelical advocates, as well as a number of congregants. This work was published in Religion and Sustainabiltiy [9]. Religions 2016, 7, 120 8 of 16 the primary data for empirically-minded scholars of religions who analyze the ways in which the normativities and ontologies that are the focus of commitment among those constituencies impact social and political processes. To illustrate, the religious studies scholar Kocku von Stuckrad [54] noted that Roger Gottlieb’s introduction to his book This Sacred Earth [55] contains “a cornucopia of ontologically laden expressions” ([54], p. 43), including “‘our love of God’s creation’ or ‘our simple joy in the divinity of the earth’ ([55], p. 13). ‘Making nature sacred’ thus is a strategy that underlies not only products of literature . . . but products of academic literature, too. From a critical scholarly point of view, these affirmations and admonitions are not an argument. They are data” ([54], p. 43). Likewise, normativities underlie some religious and scholarly argumentation, suggesting that religions and spiritualities that are environmentally positive are “better” than other religions. As von Stuckrad put it, “That is why we have to put these normativities on the table and regard them as data of scholarly research” ([54], p. 43). Climate disruption need not necessarily be an “action” issue. When it is framed as such, the ontologies and normativities which support such claims should be interrogated. But it may also foster the sort of open-ended questioning and rumination that many who fear the instrumentalization of the humanities actually want [56]. For instance, climate disruption should be acknowledged a fact of existence for the next generation (those who are currently my students). How will they plan for their futures in an increasingly unpredictable world? Certainly one of the tools they will need at their disposal is the capacity to reflect on their own individual and collective values, and to be able to articulate a vision of a desirable future, a skill that the humanities supposedly excel in cultivating. They might be able to compare such visions with the likely outcomes if other current hegemonic visions of the future should continue to predominate. Such exercises can expand the horizon of ethical reflection by wrestling with the limits of the human moral imagination against a backdrop of truly global-scale change [57]. In short, there is a distinction between advancing normative positions with the affectively powerful category of religion, a project in which many scholars are actively engaged [46–52,58], and the analysis and the empirical study of the academic and popular constituencies they target [9,44,59]. In other words, there is a difference between making religion about climate change, and thinking about the academic study of religion, the academy, and its usefulness (or lack of it) through the lens of climate change. To borrow an analytical frame first deployed by the scholar of religions Russell McCutcheon [37], some are caretakers of the fields in which they work and the categories that are central to them. Others are critics of them and attempt to analyze the ways in which they either challenge or reinforce the enactment of specific power-laden social arrangements. In reality, only the former are participating in the worrisome project that Strenski and others object to. If anything the latter group should help to clarify the values (both explicit and implicit) which drive ideological public debates. Admittedly, though, both Strenski and McCutcheon have in mind a somewhat binary perception of the problem, imagining that one can occupy only one or the other camp (academics vs. activists, critics vs. caretakers). There is a certain amount of privilege (intellectual, social, and ecological) behind such assumptions, as though we could view these oppositional approaches from a god’s-eye perspective. In fact, I suspect that many, even most scholars (and this is true of those who work in any discipline) more likely have their own normative presuppositions, and particular interests which drive their research and scholarship. I argue that engaged scholarship can be good scholarship, and I aim here to provide some examples of how grounded, problem-based scholarship can cultivate more integrated communities, and provide rich data for humanities scholars who are interested in the nexus of values and spiritual sensibilities. Religions 2016, 7, 120 9 of 16 6. Can Engaged Scholarship be Good Scholarship? Alongside the always political posturing that bounds the field of religious studies, there are also some “social facts”, as Durkheim would have it [60].7 These can and should be integrated into explanatory (and not just descriptive) research. Today, many of those social facts have to do with climate disruption and sustainability. There are quantifiable ecological, social, and economic impacts of climate disruption, and sustainability movements and discourses which offer various solutions to these interwoven crises. Important questions bubble up: Is it possible to study cultures, as anthropologists do, without noting that there has been a dramatic erosion of indigenous cultures across the globe in the past few centuries? Or is it possible to study biological organisms and ecosystem services without noticing that there has been a dramatic drawdown in biological diversity in the past century? Is it possible to study religion in an age of climate disruption and not inquire whether and/or to what extent religious individuals, groups, and ideologies contribute to this global problem? No, these developments are predictable outcomes of what we might now call socio-ecological facts. Problem-based and engaged teaching and learning is one valuable strategy that is common across contexts which aim toward education for sustainability, and one of the ways in which we can imagine that education might actually foster more a sustainable civilization. To elaborate, “activist anthropologists” emerged at least as early as the 1960s, advocating the rights of indigenous people to sovereignty and self-determination in an era when globalizing trends were obviously eradicating them at an alarming rate [61]. Few would argue that this was a faddish development, or that it distracted from some essentialized mode of pure research at the real heart of anthropology. Likewise restoration ecology, while practiced rather informally through a handful of projects since the early 20th century became in the mid-1980s a robust discipline with a scholarly society and affiliated journal [62,63]. This was spurred by “the growing recognition of the value of restoration as a conservation strategy, a technique for basic ecological research, a way of experiencing about landscapes and ecosystems” ([63], p. 1379). It had both normative value (as a conservation strategy), and scientific value (as a lens for “basic” research).8 Far from compromising this discipline, these developments provided new avenues for exploration, enlivening it and encouraging connections with others. Conservation biology emerged in similar fashion, with an academic society and affiliated journal arising in 1986, driven by concerns that humans might be forcing a mega-extinction across trophic levels. Importantly, some have even argued that some of its foundational characters, scientists such as Michael Soulè and Reed Noss, were motivated by some form of nature spirituality [64–66]. Again, this helped the science of biology develop in new directions, spurring new lines of inquiry, and opening new lines of communication with others, including scholars of religion. Currently many conservation biologists are on the frontlines of the fight against both biodiversity collapse and displacement of marginalized peoples, since the causes of both of these symptoms are often the same, namely agricultural or industrial usurpation of resources and land for profit generation. In these other disciplines there seems to be very little hand-wringing regarding whether or not they were appropriate developments in those fields. David Orr once wrote that all education is environmental education. To the extent that education either ignores, downplays, or dismisses ecosystems and habitats, or suggests that such things should be examined by only scholars in this or that discipline, then this is itself a lesson in the ways in which we imagine and relate to the environment. Richard Carp, quoting the psychologist Mihaly 7 As Durkheim put it, social facts are “external to individual minds considered as such, in the same way as the distinctive characteristics of life are external to the mineral substances composing the living beings” ([61], p. 70). Durkheim’s goal was to differentiate these from mere psychological facts. I would add that some social facts are also “ecological facts”, since the biophysical limitations of the planetary system are obviously also recognized by both civil society, governments, and corporate entities across the globe. 8 While I quote Jordan approvingly here, I think that the distinction between “basic” and “normative” research should be jettisoned. Religions 2016, 7, 120 10 of 16 Csikszentmihalyi, noted that material culture “‘compete[s] with humans for scarce resources’; our survival depends on establishing a relationship with material culture that builds, rather than frays, resilience. The antidote to an ‘addiction to objects’ is ‘a genuinely rich symbolic culture . . . poetry, songs, crafts, prayers, and rituals.’ If he is right,” Carp continues, “the doorway to resilience opens in a revised practice of the academic backwaters of art, music, theatre, religion, and philosophy” ([1], p. 228). Bringing a concern for the ecosystems in which we participate is neither a fad, nor does it necessarily compromise the rigor of any discipline or scholarly approach. Quite simply, all scholarship is interested scholarship. To declare certain areas of inquiry or modes of study out of bounds for religious studies scholars is to participate in political contestations over the “authenticity” of our discipline. Russell McCutcheon discussed such contestations related to public understandings of Islam, but his point is germane to other public contests over authenticity: the task of the cultural critic is to pick up the faint waft of dung that remains after we try to “sanitize the unsightly and the unruly by means of binary distinctions portrayed as nature. For it is the faint odor of rhetorical bullshit that provides evidence that the world of cultural artifacts [in which we might place the study of religions] is infinitely more complex” than the representations of those who generate such oppositions would have us think ([67], p. 58). The odor becomes especially pungent when people who study religions attempt to bound their studies by declaring certain explorations off limits, or beyond the edge of some always political disciplinary map. The jargon of authenticity is one of the sharpest weapons that can be forged with the category “religion”, and it is wise to cast our critical gaze toward how such sharp edges are deployed in the public sphere. To let those edges cut humanities and social science scholars out of particularly relevant cultural questions is itself one of the primary drivers of unsustainable educational outcomes. When it comes to knowledge practices, Carp insisted, “There is nowhere ‘outside’ from which to know. There are not two zones, one of ecology (nature) and one of culture (human), so that the question is of the impact of the culture on the ecology. Rather, cultural landscapes and their components participate fully in the developmental system of which they are a part” ([1], p. 224). The academy, therefore, is not only complicit in climate disruption and the fraying of resilience across multiple scales, it is one of the primary drivers of these trends: “The ecological crisis is not an ‘accident’ of cultural development; it is a necessary correlate of our knowledge practices” ([1], p. 225). The solution is to re-evaluate the ways in which scholars and their bodies create knowledge practices, to recognize that good knowledge practices should be less concerned with “accuracy” and centrally concerned instead with practices that enable communities to live well ([1], p. 225; [68], p. 73). An example from the well-known anthropologist Darrell Posey will be illustrative. He recalled that once while staying with his host family in the Xingu River Basin in the Brazilian Amazon he disposed of a significant quantity of tapir meat after finding that it was infested with maggots. He also recalled the apparent delight of passing neighbors when they observed him, and the surprise and anger of his hosts when they returned. Posey was unaware that the maggots’ saliva contained an enzyme which cured the meat, preserving it for future consumption ([20], p. 232; [69], p. 54). This is an example of traditional ecological knowledge, wisdom tied to particular places and contexts, which is not always easily or directly translated into western or other cultural contexts. But it’s valuable knowledge, nonetheless. Sometimes it’s good to let the maggots eat. And sometimes it’s good to encourage new modes of inquiry in an educational system that has largely lost its way. 7. Strategies for Integrative Learning across Disciplines Indeed, attending to what he calls “indigenous education” is one of the strategies Carp suggested for creating more relevant educational systems. Why are things like traditional ecological knowledge important for education for sustainability? Because they weave together empirical knowledge, normative propositions (including rumination about other-than-human entities with whom we co-habitate), and practical action aimed at solving specific societal needs. It is a more embodied form of knowledge production and deployment. “Embodied scholarship”, Carp noted, is another Religions 2016, 7, 120 11 of 16 strategy for promoting change, and it is of course related to modifying the ways in which scholars imagine their vocation, and the strategies by which they pursue their learning outcomes. The science writer Nicholas Wade noted that “a person should really be considered a superorganism . . . consisting of his or her own cells and those of all the commensal bacterial. The bacterial cells also outnumber human cells by 10 to 1, meaning that if cells could vote, people would be a minority in their own body” ([70]; quoted in [71], p. 85). Viewing our scholarly bodies as ecosystems, along with imagining how we tack toward indigenous education requires rejection of the traditional siloed approach to education by refusing to recognize a distinct divide between knowledge and action, and by prioritizing wisdom and values in both lifeways and in policy deliberation [3]. Similarly, professor of Chinese Studies James Miller has elucidated a plan for what he calls education from the outside-in, which “means that students’ learning will be oriented towards the problems of the real world, not the problems as conceived and articulated within the historic university disciplines” [72]. Like Carp’s examples of embodied and indigenous education, this includes thinking about learning outcomes by putting values, wisdom, and skills first, and by increasing educational breadth, not specialization. As Miller put it, “outside-in education means learning how to know what facts are important in which contexts (valuing), how to deploy knowledge to achieve practical results (skills), and how to decide what goals are truly worthwhile (wisdom).” The ethicists Anthony Weston and Jim Cheney [73] influentially argued that Western ethical reflection typically depends on an epistemology-grounded ethics—the assumption that the world is readily knowable, and that ethical action is a response to knowledge about the world. In this approach, ethics is an incrementalist and extensionist business: the task is to sort the world ethically, to articulate the nature of things in ethical terms. In contrast, an ethics-based epistemology, the sort employed by indigenous and traditional cultures, considers ethical reflection an exercise in relational exploration, an attempt to open up possibilities and enrich the world by engaging both with what is known, and what is unknown. In this model, ethics is not a response to an already known world, but draws on wisdom and encounter, and aims at perceiving a pluralistic, dissonant, and discontinuous world rather than attempting to incrementally extend epistemology-based ethics to other entities. To move from these more theoretical examples toward the practical, it will be helpful to review some data which further illustrate that sustainability is not simply a faddish social movement. At this writing 772 institutions of higher learning are registered as using the Sustainability Tracking and Rating System (STARS), a program designed and deployed by the Association for the Advancement of Sustainability in Higher Education (AASHE) to measure sustainability outcomes. Well over 600 college and university presidents have signed on to the President’s Climate Commitment, a statement of purpose which obligates these institutions to pursue a carbon action plan. These are high-level commitments which simply illustrate the breadth and depth of concern about these issues. But what do they mean in the context of creating a more sustainable academy? Some concrete examples will be illustrative. Two of my colleagues in the Department for the Study of Religions found their research growing enmeshed with some of their other interests. Ulrike Wiethaus was working with youth from the Eastern Band of Cherokee, in North Carolina, helping them train to take the MCAT exams, and also on a literacy program with inmates at a maximum security prison. Steve Boyd was working with the San Carlos Apache to halt construction of large telescopes on Mount Graham, a sacred site, and increasingly found himself entangled in a murder investigation in Winston-Salem. They began to drawtheir lessons into the classroom, using them of examples of how, and under what circumstances, religious individuals and groups could be impactful. Beginning with pilot internships which reflected both community needs and the interests of individual students, they created a Religion and Public Engagement Concentration, open to students from any major. The concentration was approved by the full faculty in 2011, and graduated its first true concentrators in 2012. To date, forty-seven students have completed the requirements. It was from its inception not merely another internship program, but coupled engaged learning with a community partner with academic work relevant to student Religions 2016, 7, 120 12 of 16 interests. Students meet with the faculty director once a week, along with composing weekly journals, several book reviews of relevant works, and an integrative final paper. The concentration is both academically rigorous, and fundamentally about problem-based, engaged knowledge [74]. Boyd helped to develop an interfaith group who lobbied a district attorney to end his defense of a wrongful conviction, after which the defendant was exonerated by DNA evidence after being wrongfully imprisoned for nineteen years [75]. He continues to work on similar projects in the Winston-Salem area, including the case of Kalvin Michael Smith, imprisoned for eighteen years (so far) in an improperly prosecuted and likely racially-charged case [76]. Wiethaus’s work with the Cherokee aims to preserve traditional knowledge (which is significantly related to spirituality) with Western medical knowledge to increase their success on standardized tests. Like broader understandings of sustainability, education for sustainability fundamentally depends on social equity and justice, and trustworthy monitory and enforcement agencies. These are exercises, then, in building community capital and resilience which leverage spiritual and religious knowledge. These are but a few examples specific to our campus, but ones that are easily generalizable to others. Any university or college of any size can facilitate engaged and service learning opportunities for students. At least at my own institution, the results in terms of impactful student learning speak for themselves. Opportunities for engagement have shaped career and further educational choices, and actually helped to contribute to cultivating a more resilient and transparent local community. 8. Conclusions and a Look Ahead Other approaches might be more site-specific, drawing on local resources. For instance, in collaboration with Wiethaus, we have also begun to cultivate the “Cherokee Meditation Garden” in collaboration with campus landscape services, the indigenous students’ organization, and in consultation with the Eastern Band of Cherokee. The “garden” is really the land around a retention pond built to control storm water runoff. But it has become a quiet corner of the campus where, with no formal funding, we have been able to begin to replace invasive plant regimes with traditional medicinal varieties. Wiethaus uses it each year for her MCAT training class with Cherokee youth. It is a work in progress, but it is also a classroom tool for discussing restoration ecology (one of the other normatively-grounded disciplines noted above), and an exercise in place-making. Wake Forest’s motto is Pro Humanitate, for the human good, and at least ideally our curriculum is designed not just to facilitate student learning, but educational outcomes that contribute in some meaningful way to the communities in which people live, work, and play. To that end, our university has sponsored the creation of a new Pro Humanitate Institute, designed to facilitate such public engagement and exposure to non-profit organizations that help build sustainable communities. These examples are, of course, not generalizable to any campus, but the values that drive them may be. Strategies for bringing sustainability education into the classroom vary, from the “infusion model”, in which integrative education permeates curricular offerings, to the “unique discipline model”, in which sustainability becomes its own holistic area of study. Examples of both abound [77], but common to all of examples of best practices is dispensing with tired old assumptions about certain types of questions and research being the proprietary terrain of one or another discipline or set of disciplines. The toolkits of religious studies scholars vary widely. What I am suggesting is that there appears to be an increasing emphasis on training related to empirical methods, whether the push toward the study of lived religion, or the increasing importance of field work methodology in advanced graduate training, or in the emerging importance of explanatory (rather than merely descriptive) research pioneered by those in the fields of cognitive science of religion [78–83], evolutionary psychology [84–86]; cognitive ethology [87,88], and even primatology [89–91]. Religious studies scholars engaged in these modes of explanatory research take as some of their primary data the ways in which humans are shaped by biological inheritance, ecological constraints, and psychological predispositions. Among the factors which shape all three of these today are the complex and multi-scalar effects of climate disruption, the Religions 2016, 7, 120 13 of 16 increasing urbanization of human social life, demographic shifts (both voluntary and involuntary), and attempts to rethink social life within these dynamic constraints. Climate disruption and sustainability are important global trends and highly influential in the global political economy of the sacred. One of the tasks of humanities scholars is to discern the consonances and divergences between different deployments of these terms in the public sphere. They are well suited for this since sustainability discourse has at its roots religious individuals, metaphors, and concepts, and climate change traffics in highly affective narratives of ecosystem decline if not apocalypse. Moreover, teaching and research can bend toward a more problem-focused, grounded theoretical stance, and methodologies that view religious behaviors and ideologies, and the ontological and normative assumptions that accompany them, as data for analysis, not starting points for reflection. It is time that scholars of religions and our students shouldered our religious baggage, owning it for what it is, and carrying it toward the future. Understanding which way to go, which maps to follow, can only be the result of processes of rethinking our modes of knowledge production, and the knowledge practices which legitimize them. Our models of what happens if we sally forth with existing knowledge practices are unequivocal: there are unpredictable and catastrophic consequences which will undoubtedly yield great suffering for humans and for many of the species with which we have co-evolved. 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This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC-BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://www.jamesmiller.ca/teaching/outside-in-education/ http://college.wfu.edu/rpe/ http://www.innocenceproject.org/cases/darryl-hunt/ http://freekalvinnow.org/ http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction Climate Disruption and Sustainability Have Religious Dimensions Which Run Deep Can Religion Professors Save the Planet? Is “Instrumentalizing” the Humanities All Bad? Ontologies and Normativities Are Data Can Engaged Scholarship be Good Scholarship? Strategies for Integrative Learning across Disciplines Conclusions and a Look Ahead 
work_ozhp4f72oveknmcewdyjd62zre	----	Out of Mind, Out of Sight: Unexpected Scene Elements Frequently Go Unnoticed Until Primed Out of Mind, Out of Sight: Unexpected Scene Elements Frequently Go Unnoticed Until Primed George M. Slavich & Philip G. Zimbardo Published online: 18 September 2013 # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2013 Abstract The human visual system employs a sophisticated set of strategies for scanning the environment and directing attention to stimuli that can be expected given the context and a person’s past experience. Although these strategies enable us to navigate a very complex physical and social environment, they can also cause highly salient, but unexpected stimuli to go completely unnoticed. To examine the generality of this phenomenon, we conducted eight studies that included 15 different experimental conditions and 1,577 participants in all. These studies revealed that a large majority of participants do not report having seen a woman in the center of an urban scene who was photographed in midair as she was committing suicide. Despite seeing the scene repeatedly, 46 % of all participants failed to report seeing a central figure and only 4.8 % reported seeing a falling person. Frequency of noticing the suicidal woman was highest for participants who read a narrative priming story that increased the extent to which she was schematically congruent with the scene. In contrast to this robust effect of inattentional blindness, a majority of participants reported seeing other peripheral objects in the visual scene that were equally difficult to detect, yet more consistent with the scene. Follow-up qualitative analyses revealed that participants reported seeing many elements that were not actually present, but which could have been expected given the overall context of the scene. Together, these findings demonstrate the robustness of inattentional blindness and highlight the specificity with which different visual primes may increase noticing behavior. Keywords Visual attention . Selective attention . Perception . Inattentional blindness . Figure-ground perception . Aschematic blindness . Priming . Expectations . Transformational teaching Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 DOI 10.1007/s12144-013-9184-3 G. M. Slavich (*) Cousins Center for Psychoneuroimmunology and Department of Psychiatry and Biobehavioral Sciences, University of California, Los Angeles, UCLA Medical Plaza 300, Room 3156, Los Angeles, CA 90095-7076, USA e-mail: gslavich@mednet.ucla.edu P. G. Zimbardo Department of Psychology, Stanford University, Stanford, CA 94305-2130, USA Philosophers and psychologists have long questioned whether humans have access to an objective reality. One possibility is that we are capable of seeing the physical and social world as it actually exists. This perspective has been termed naïve realism, or direct realism (Ross and Ward 1996), and it posits that our eyes function like cameras or sensors that collect information and then send it back to our brains, where it is represented accurately and objectively. Underlying this approach to seeing the empirical world “as it is,” in terms of its database of information, is bottom-up processing. In this mode of processing, visual attention is deployed based largely on the inherent saliency of different objects in a visual scene (Itti 2005; Itti et al. 1998). Objects that are highly salient are readily noticed and perceived by observers, while less salient objects are not. Another possibility is that our experience of the physical and social world is inevitably influenced by subjective mental processes. This perspective was described in Bruner’s (1957) classic treatise on perceptual readiness. In that landmark paper, Bruner argued that some people are readier to expect, and therefore quicker to perceive, the least desirable event among an array of expected events; for others, in contrast, it is the most desirable event that stands out. From this perspective, for some people at least some of the time, we see the world “as we think it is,” in terms of our expectations, values, goals, and personal history. Underlying the process of seeing the world in this way, as influenced by cognition, is top-down processing. In this mode of processing, detection and perception of visual information is inherently shaped by observers’ differing histories, motivations, and tendencies, leading people to perceive different aspects of the visual scenes they encounter. A large body of research has recently attempted to evaluate the respective contri- butions of bottom-up and top-down processing to visual search, and this work has renewed the debate about how real-world scenes are perceived and remembered (e.g., Chun 2003; Henderson and Hollingworth 1999). Arising from this research is evidence that bottom-up processes affect attention at a localized level, especially in the absence of top-down or contextual cues (Chen and Zelinsky 2006). When contextual information is present, however, it appears to heavily guide visual search behavior (Hsieh et al. 2011). This means that under most natural viewing conditions, top-down processes likely play a prominent role in guiding visual search, insofar as these processes provide information about the likely presence and expected location of various elements within a given scene (Torralba et al. 2006; Wolfe et al. 2003). Central to top-down processing are conceptual frameworks, or schemas, that encode complex generalizations about one’s experience of the structure of the surrounding environment. We have schemas for virtually all aspects of our experience, including objects, people, and situations. Ultimately, it is through these schemas that we perceive, attend to, evaluate, understand, and remember experiences of the physical and social world (Cantor and Michel 1979; Levy et al. 1999). Schemas simplify the extremely complex task of identifying and classifying the innumerable things in our visual world by grouping instances into more readily-accessible wholes, or gestalts. By doing so, schemas greatly enhance the speed and accuracy of processing the enormous amount of information to which we are exposed everyday (Stryker and Burke 2000). The obvious utility of schematic perception is based on the swift processing of the familiar. However, what about the novel event, or unfamiliar or unexpected stimulus (Beiderman et al. 1982)? Do perceptual objects of this sort require greater time or mental energy to process? Or, are such objects simply not perceived if they are sufficiently 302 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 incongruent, or aschematic, with our personal expectations, or with their general context or background (Wolfe et al. 2005)? Early answers to these questions were offered by social philosopher Henry David Thoreau (1860/1906), who wrote: A man receives only what he is ready to receive, whether physically or intellectually or morally, as animals conceive at certain seasons their own kind only. We hear and apprehend only what we already half know… The phenomenon or fact that cannot in any wise be linked with the rest which he has observed, he does not observe (pp. 77–78). Thoreau argued that perception is guided in part by previously-established schemas that provide categorical assignments for new stimuli based on their inherent meaning. This process, in turn, influences our expectations for the probable appearance of different stimuli within different contexts. According to this view, stimuli or changes that violate our expectations, or that rarely occur, should be less likely to be seen than those that are schematic or expected given their context or background. A large body of research has documented effects that are consistent with this view, and this phenomenon has generally been referred to as inattentional blindness (Becklen and Cervone 1983; Mack 2003; Mack and Rock 1998; Most et al. 2001; Neisser and Becklen 1975; Simons 2000). Updating Thoreau takes us to a social-constructionist view of perception. This perspective posits that we see only what we have learned to see and that we are psychologically prepared to see. This perceptual preparation comes as a consequence of a complex personal history of perceiving events, actions, and people in certain ways, within certain contexts that are socially and culturally appropriate. Each individual’s personal history creates a set of powerful perceptual expectations about the way the world is and ought to be. As a result of these expectations, we most readily see what we expect to see and interpret incoming visual information in ways that are highly congruent with preexisting schemas. This notion that perceptions of the external world are shaped in this way have long been recognized by cognitive and gestalt theorists (e.g., Beck 1967; Perls 1969), and have been elaborated on in many ways over the years (e.g., Attneave 1954; Axelrod 1973; Becker 1973; Greenberg et al. 1986; Henderson and Hollingworth 1999). The present study was designed to examine this general perceptual phenomenon by testing how frequently individuals report seeing contextually expected and unex- pected objects in a visual scene. The study idea originated from an experience of one the authors (PGZ). Specifically, while looking through photos in the book, LIFE: The First 50 Years, 1936–1986, PGZ expressed surprise and distress at a photo that depicted a woman in midair, who had been photographed seconds after having leapt from a hotel window (See Fig. 1). A companion who was also looking at the photo over his shoulder noticed nothing unusual. Indeed, his recognition of the reality of the shocking scene came only after seeing the photo caption, which read: “The camera caught the 1942 plunge toward the Buffalo pavement of despondent divorcee in the last dreadful split second before death” (Kunhardt 1986, p. 64). To examine whether this failure to perceive the suicidal woman was a unique experience or an instance of a more common phenomenon, we conducted a series of eight studies in which more than 1,550 students viewed the photograph in a controlled classroom setting under fifteen different experimental conditions. Each study was Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 303 conducted under the auspices of an experiential activity on “visual perception,” which is consistent with a transformational teaching approach to classroom instruction (Slavich 2005, 2006, 2009; Slavich and Zimbardo 2012; see also Slavich and Toussaint 2013). First, we examined the generality of the phenomenon of failing to see an object that is unexpected, but which should otherwise be readily apparent given its dynamic centrality in a static stimulus array. Based on previous research demonstrating the failure of individuals to detect rare objects (Wolfe et al. 2005) and unlikely or unexpected events (Simons and Chabris 1999), we hypothesized that most viewers would not report having seen the suicidal woman. Next, to extend the existing literature on this topic, we examined the extent to which a series of very specific priming and structural manipulations of the photograph enhanced participants’ detection of the woman and other peripheral scene elements. Across these experimental manipulations, we predicted that reporting of particular scene elements (including the woman) would increase greatest for participants Fig. 1 Original suicidal woman stimulus photograph, published in LIFE: The First 50 Years, 1936–1986 304 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 who received primes aimed at making these elements more schematic with the scene, and thus more expected given the visual context. Method Overview The suicidal woman photograph previously described was shown to students in introductory psychology courses over eight years. The photograph was presented on a projection screen for multiple exposures (2, 3, or 4 exposures) of increasing duration (2–10 seconds per exposure). Before each viewing, participants were instructed to extract as much information as possible from the photograph. After each viewing, participants were asked to report on a standardized response form every scene element that they could remember from the photograph. As described in Table 1, eight replications utilizing this basic study design were conducted in all. Each replication occurred in a classroom format with 106–305 students per class (M=197.1, SD=73.6). The default study instructions prompted participants to “notice all that you can in the photograph” or to “extract as many details as possible from the scene.” In some replications, participants were randomly assigned to different groups and then primed with a specific visual search instruction (e.g., notice as many animate, inanimate, or unusual aspects as possible). In other replications, the photograph was modified in some way in sequential presentations of the test scene (e.g., the suicidal woman was deleted but then added to the scene, or vice versa; see Table 1). Given that the methods, stimuli, and procedures were essentially the same across the eight different studies (i.e., with the exception of structural changes and focus primes in some studies), we report the results of the studies together below. Participants A total of 1,577 students at Stanford University, the majority (74.9 %) of who were freshman, participated in the eight replications that comprised this overall program of research. Participants were of college age (M=19.2 years old; SD=1.03) and approx- imately equal in sex representation (56 % were female). Participants received re- search credit for their time. All participants provided written informed consent prior to participation, and all study procedures were approved in advance by the Institu- tional Review Board at Stanford University. Stimulus Materials The central element of the test scene is a woman in the act of committing suicide, who was photographed just seconds after she jumped from a top-story window in the Genesee Hotel in Buffalo, New York, in 1942 (See Fig. 1). The photograph was published in the oversized LIFE Magazine book called LIFE: The First 50 Years, 1936–1986 (Kunhardt 1986). The woman is located approximately in the center of the scene. Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 305 T a b le 1 O v er v ie w o f ch ar ac te ri st ic s o f ea ch st u d y S tu d y T ri al s S ti m u lu s d u ra ti o n IS Ia E x p er im en ta l co n d it io n n 1 2 6 s/ 6 s 2 m in N o ti ce al l th at y o u ca n 2 4 3 2 4 2 s/ 4 s/ 6 s/ 8 s 2 m in E x tr ac t as m an y d et ai ls as p o ss ib le 1 0 6 3 3 2 s/ 4 s/ 6 s 2 m in D et ec t n am e o f b u si n es se s an d an y th in g u n u su al 3 0 5 4 4 3 s/ 4 s/ 7 s/ 1 0 s 2 m in D et ec t n am e o f b u si n es se s an d an y th in g u n u su al 11 7 5 2 2 s/ 6 s 2 m in N o ti ce al l th at y o u ca n 1 0 9 N o ti ce as m an y an im at e o b je ct s as p o ss ib le , su ch as p eo p le 4 5 N o ti ce as m an y in an im at e o b je ct s as p o ss ib le , su ch as st o re s o r si g n s 5 0 N o ti ce th in g s th at ar e u n u su al 4 2 6 2 2 s/ 6 s 2 m in N o ti ce as m an y an im at e o b je ct s as p o ss ib le , su ch as p eo p le 8 3 N o ti ce as m an y in an im at e o b je ct s as p o ss ib le , su ch as st o re s o r si g n s 8 4 N o ti ce as m an y th in g s th at ar e u n u su al 6 4 7 2 2 s/ 6 s 2 m in S u ic id al w o m an st o ry p ri m e 1 2 1 8 2 2 s/ 6 s 2 m in W o m an p re se n t→ W o m an ab se n t 6 7 W o m an ab se n t→ W o m an p re se n t 6 8 B ar b er p o le p re se n t→ B ar b er p o le ab se n t 7 3 N = 1 ,5 7 7 a T h e IS I, o r in te rs ti m u lu s in te rv al , is th e ti m e b et w ee n o ff se t o f o n e st im u lu s an d o n se t o f th e n ex t. D u ri n g th is ti m e, p ar ti ci p an ts w er e as k ed to li st w h at th ey sa w in th e p h o to g ra p h . 306 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 Priming Manipulations The stimulus photograph was presented after a classroom lecture that discussed perceptual violations of expectations. This overall procedure thus constituted a “meta prime” for noticing scene elements that do not fit one’s schema for such scenes. Schematic perception and violations of expectation had also been defined and discussed prior to presenting the photograph. As described above, we primed participants in a number of different ways across the different studies. We also altered the structure of the test scene in several ways to examine the effects that these experimental manipulations had on participants’ reporting of the different scene elements. The number of trials, stimulus duration, interstimulus interval, and sample size for each study is summarized in Table 1, and a brief description of each of the experimental manipulations is provided below. Focus Primes In two separate replications, participants were given more specific instructions on what to focus on in the scene (i.e., “focus primes”). These instructions were printed on the standardized response forms, which were randomly assigned to students in the classroom. As summarized in Table 1, the focus prime in Study 3 and Study 4 was to “Detect the name of businesses in the scene and anything else that is unusual.” In Study 5 and Study 6, participants were asked to “Try to notice…” (a) “as many Animate Objects as possible, such as people,” or (b) “as many Inanimate Objects as possible, such as stores or signs,” or (c) “as many things that are Unusual.” Despondent Woman Story Prime The most direct schema-congruent prime with respect to the suicidal woman was a brief vignette that participants in this priming condition read immediately before viewing the test scene. This vignette was presented to students in Study 7. The vignette, introduced as “background information that might be useful to you,” read as follows: Joan was usually a happy person until she suffered a series of setbacks following graduation. Her mother died in a car crash, and soon after she lost her job that she really liked because the company was downsizing. She has had difficulty getting another job. Her boyfriend recently told her he was breaking off their engagement because he found a woman better suited to his values. Joan was despondent enough to seek help, but her depression worsened anyway. She felt her future was bleak when she checked into that downtown hotel… Structural Manipulations Finally, in one replication of the study (Study 8), we systematically altered the structure of the scene to examine how this manipulation influenced participants’ reporting of the different scene elements. In two experimental conditions in this study, the suicidal woman was airbrushed out of the scene to compare perceptions of the photograph on sequential viewings in which the central figure’s presence was manipulated as either present or absent in counterbalanced presentations (i.e., woman present then absent, or woman absent then present; See Fig. 2). In a third experimental condition in Study 8, the barber pole was added to and removed from the scene in counterbalanced presentations to test for differences in noticing scene elements as a function of altering a peripheral detail of the scene. Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 307 Procedure In each replication of the study, the test scene was projected onto a large screen using a Kodak CAROUSEL slide projector. The room was lit with low, ambient lighting. Participants were told that they were about to see a scene presented multiple times, for a few seconds each time. They were instructed to scan the scene as quickly and carefully as possible, and to then report every scene element that they could recall. When reporting on subsequent presentations of the scene, they were told to list elements that they had not noticed previously, as well as any modifications of previously reported items. Participants were given two minutes to record their responses after each viewing. Prior to this testing procedure, students recorded their age, sex, college year, quality of corrected vision (excellent, good, fair, poor), and viewing/sitting position in the classroom (center or side, and front, middle, or rear) on their standardized Fig. 2 Altered suicidal woman stimulus photograph, with woman airbrushed out 308 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 response form. This enabled a comparison of the reports of participants with the best vision in ideal viewing positions (front, center) with the reports of those in other viewing conditions. Participants were also asked to write their names on the response form to increase their motivation to perform the task well, given that one of the experimenters was also their course instructor.1 Results Effects of Visual Acuity and Viewing Position on Reporting of Scene Elements Analyses were conducted on data from an early replication of the study (Study 1, N=243) to test whether quality of vision (excellent, good, fair, poor) or viewing position (center-front, center-rear, sides) were related to the frequency of reporting elements in the scene. Viewing position was unrelated to reporting frequency, and quality of vision was only associated with reporting of the small “Coffee Shop” sign, χ2(6, N=243)=23.61, p=.001. Among those with excellent/good vision, 85 % of participants saw “Coffee Shop” compared to 52 % of those with fair/poor vision. Because noticing the central figure was unrelated to quality of vision and viewing position, we collapsed the data across these categories for all subsequent analyses. Perceiving the Central Figure A summary of seeing the central figure and several peripheral scene elements across all studies is presented in Table 2. Across all priming and structural manipulations, and averaged across repeated exposures (of 2, 3, or 4 presentations) and total exposure times (of 8, 12, and 24 seconds), only 2.2 % of participants reported seeing the target stimulus as a suicidal woman and only 3.9 % of participants reported seeing a suicidal person in the central position of the scene. Nearly half of all viewers (46 %) failed to report seeing anything or anyone in or near the position of the woman. Additional viewing opportunities and increased total exposure time did not significantly increase reporting of the target stimulus. Perceiving Peripheral Elements of the Scene These data may be contrasted with what participants did report. For example, a majority of participants (65.7 %) reported seeing “Garage,” “Hotel” (83.0 %), and “Coffee Shop” (94.0 %). Perhaps even more remarkable, 24.2 % and 26.1 % of participants accurately reported seeing the small signs announcing “Sandwiches 10¢” and “Milk Shakes,” respectively, in the hotel window. 1 Asking students to identify themselves could have led to less complete reporting of elements about which students were uncertain. However, given that students were explicitly instructed to list as many elements from the scene as possible, reporting elements about which students were uncertain was associated with doing better, not worse. This, we believe, decreased the likelihood of omitting uncertain scene elements. Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 309 Priming Effects Focus Primes In Study 5 (N=246) and Study 6 (N=231), participants were primed by having been asked to notice animate, inanimate, or unusual elements of the scene immediately prior to viewing the photograph. These manipulations did not significantly affect the likelihood of seeing the woman as a central figure in the scene. As summarized in Table 3, however, these primes did influence seeing peripheral elements in the scene in predictable ways. For example, participants who received the Inanimate focus prime were more likely than those in the Unusual and Animate conditions to report seeing “Hotel,” χ2(2, N=231)=7.07, p=.03, and “Coffee Shop,” χ2(2, N=231)=7.07, p=.03. Participants who received the Unusual focus prime were more likely than those in the Table 3 Percentage of participants who reported seeing scene elements after two seconds of exposure by type of prime Type of prime Scene element Neutral Animate Inanimate Unusual Story Central element Saw suicidal woman 0.0 % 0.0 % 0.0 % 0.0 % 12.4 % Saw suicidal person 0.5 % 0.0 % 0.0 % 0.0 % 1.7 % Saw falling person 0.6 % 15.7 % 9.5 % 9.4 % 2.5 % Saw target stimulus 11.1 % 39.7 % 27.2 % 31.4 % 25.0 % Peripheral elements Saw people in doorway 3.4 % 19.3 % 6.0 % 3.1 % 10.1 % Saw “1.00 Up” 14.0 % 15.7 % 23.8 % 40.6 % 26.7 % Saw “Garage” 18.2 % 13.3 % 20.2 % 20.3 % 33.1 % Saw “Hotel” 53.1 % 47.0 % 66.7 % 51.6 % 91.6 % Saw “Coffee Shop” 77.0 % 45.8 % 70.2 % 53.1 % 83.3 % Table 2 Percentage of participants who reported seeing the target stimulus and comparison peripheral stimuli across all studies, trials, and experimental conditions Scene element N % of participants Central element Saw suicidal woman 34/1,577 2.2 % Saw suicidal person 62/1,577 3.9 % Saw falling person 76/1,577 4.8 % Saw target stimulus 852/1,577 54.0 % Peripheral elements Saw “Sandwiches 10¢” 382/1,577 24.2 % Saw “Milk Shakes” 411/1,577 26.1 % Saw “Garage” 1,036/1,577 65.7 % Saw “Fountain” 1,145/1,577 72.6 % Saw “Hotel” 1,309/1,577 83.0 % Saw “Coffee Shop” 1,482/1,577 94.0 % 310 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 Inanimate and Animate conditions to report seeing “1.00 Up,” χ2(2, N=231)=12.05, p=.002. Finally, participants who received the Animate focus prime were more likely than those in the Inanimate and Unusual conditions to report seeing people in the doorway of the hotel, χ2(2, N=231)=12.88, p=.002. Despondent Woman Story Prime We hypothesized that seeing the suicidal woman would be enhanced for participants who read an account of a despondent woman with reasons to commit suicide immediately prior to viewing the stimulus photograph. This prediction was validated in Study 7. Of the 121 participants who received the despondent woman story prime immediately prior to viewing the scene, 15 individuals (12.4 %) reported seeing a suicidal woman, compared to 2.2 % of individuals across all samplings and manipulations in this research program, χ2(1, N=1577)=36.34, p<.001. Structural Manipulation Effects Woman Present or Absent In Study 8 (N=135), we altered the structure of the scene by either adding or removing the woman from the photograph in the second of two consecutive presentations of the stimulus. Participants in this study were asked to detect anything that changed in the scene between the first and second viewing. Participants in the condition where the woman was present and then removed differed significantly from those in the condition where the woman was absent and then inserted into the scene with respect to whether they noticed a change on the second viewing, χ2(1, N=135)=55.66, p<.001. Specifically, when the woman was absent and then added to the scene, no one noticed that something was added. However, when she was present and then removed from the scene in the second viewing of the photograph, 58.2 % of participants reported that something had been deleted. Barber Pole Present or Absent To test for differences in noticing central scene elements (i.e., those involving the woman) as a function of altering the scene’s peripheral details, the barber pole was added to and removed from the scene in counterbalanced presentations with a sample of 73 participants (Study 8). However, addition and removal of the barber pole did not affect the frequency of reporting any central scene elements. Qualitative Aspects of Scene Perception A content analysis was subsequently conducted on the written perceptual accounts to qualitatively examine how participants processed the photograph. When noticed, the central figure was described in 42 different ways – for example, as a woman, man, person, object, and figure. The animate individual was seen as flying, hanging, leaping, diving, and committing suicide. The static object was a statue, mannequin, sculpture, gargoyle, and fixture. When perceived as a figure, it was an angel, cherub, fairy, nymph, and mermaid. Remarkably, the hotel was frequently (and accurately) recalled as the “Genesee Hotel,” but it was also called the “Genesee Motel” and “Genesee Drugs.” The garage sign was described in 18 ways – for example, as free Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 311 garage and free parking. The people in the window and the doorway were described as a bellboy, doorman, crossing guard, customer, waiter, and policeman (the person in the doorway was actually a policewoman who was responding to the scene). Participants also frequently reported seeing things in the scene that were not actually present. For example, some participants reported seeing a marine kissing a girl, two people dancing, a fire hydrant, car, bench, tree, alley, overcast sky, and foggy weather. Some of the remembrances involved assimilation to the familiar, extensions of seen objects to related ones, and the mention of elements that were not present, but which would be schematic with the scene. Examples of this included seeing a “car parked out front” immediately after reporting “garage.” Given the setting, fire hydrants and colored neon signs could be expected and were reported, although none are actually present in the scene. In three instances a “red and white barber pole” was reported as being present in this black and white photograph. Finally, several participants dealt with the uncertain, perhaps distressing sight of the suicidal woman by transforming her into a static object, such as a “thing on the roof,” even though the roof is not visible in the photograph. Discussion Human visual recognition processes are usually quite robust and effective even when viewing conditions are degraded (Cox et al. 2004). When information about an element or figure in the visual field is insufficient or incomplete, though, we rely heavily on contextual cues to determine how to best understand and interpret the stimulus (Bar and Ullman 1996; Beiderman et al. 1982; Palmer 1975). In such instances, the personal expectations that we bring to a given perceptual task – for example, as a result of our histories, motivations, and disposition – dramatically influence what we see and remember. This is the essence of top-down processing: Humans see what they are psychologically prepared to see and are generally blind to what they are not prepared to see in a particular visual context, given their preexisting schemas and associated expectations for that context. Data from the present study provide robust evidence in support of this phenomenon. Across eight studies, 15 different experimental conditions, and more than 1,550 highly motivated, educated viewers, a large majority of participants failed to see the most significant event in a scene: a woman in the act of committing suicide. This occurred despite giving participants specific instructions to detect as many elements as possible from the scene, which was presented repeatedly with increasing duration times. Frequency of detecting the suicidal woman did not improve with additional exposure to the photograph and, in fact, was increased (from 2.2 % to 12.4 %) only among participants who read a paragraph-long priming story just prior to viewing the test scene. The story told of a despondent woman entering a hotel and was intended to increase the woman’s schematic congruency with the scene. Although some participants reasonably interpreted the central figure to be something other than a suicidal woman, nearly half of all participants (46 %) across all study replications and experimental manipulations failed to see anything or anyone in the general location of the woman. In contrast, participants exhibited remarkably accurate and detailed recognition of many other elements in the scene. Across all replications and experimental conditions, 312 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 for example, 65.7 % of participants saw “Garage,” 83 % of participants saw “Hotel,” and 94 % of participants saw “Coffee Shop.” These scene elements are arguably easier to perceive and recall than the suicidal woman. Importantly, though, they are also more schematically congruent with the scene. Coffee shops are frequently seen on street corners and garage signs are often posted near hotel entrances. More remarkable is that 24.2 % and 26.1 % of participants reported seeing “Sandwiches 10¢” and “Milk Shakes,” respectively. These two elements are incomplete and remain difficult to decipher even after prolonged exposure to the photograph. They are similar to the woman in this way, but differ in that they are schematically congruent with major elements of the scene, like “Coffee Shop” and “Fountain,” which were reported by more than 70 % of all participants. These two sets of results permit one of the more interesting comparisons of the study: Approximately one-fourth of all viewers made complete sense out of two highly degraded window signs, presumably by using their expectations to fill in the visual information they needed but which was not present; in the same amount of time, only 2.2 % of participants were able to make sense out of the woman given the visual information provided. Accurate detection of the window signs and not the suicidal woman is made more remarkable by the fact that the signs are approximately one-tenth the size of the woman. These results can be interpreted in several ways. One interpretation is that given the limited amount of time participants had to view the photograph, they simply reported the scene elements that had the greatest bottom-up saliency, such as “Hotel,” “Garage,” and “Coffee Shop.” These elements could arguably require less time to interpret than the suicidal woman. Although the present data do not speak to this interpretation, if tenable, we believe more participants would have reported basic stimulus elements of the central figure as well, such as the woman’s arms or legs. However, frequency of describing the woman’s basic features was relatively low. Indeed, half of all participants across all eight studies did not perform a bottom-up analysis of the suicidal woman. Taken together, these findings demonstrate that while visual schemas can enhance the detection of expected stimuli, they can also significantly hamper the perception of aschematic stimuli. We hypothesized that several different priming and structural manipulations would improve participants’ detection of the central figure and various peripheral elements, and this prediction was validated. Compared to a neutral condition, for example, participants primed to search for something animate were more likely to see a falling person (15.1 % more) and some central figure (28.6 % more), and they were less likely to report seeing “Hotel” (6.1 % less) and “Coffee Shop” (31.2 % less). Although neither the Inanimate nor the Unusual primes impacted reporting of a suicidal person, both increased the likelihood of seeing some central figure. These findings are novel insofar as they demonstrate the high degree of specificity with which a variety of priming manipulations may influence what individuals see in a complex visual scene. As expected, the largest priming effect was the significant increase in seeing a suicidal woman among participants who had just read a brief vignette about a despondent woman entering a hotel. In this condition, 12.4 % of participants reported having seen the suicidal woman, compared to 2.2 % across all conditions and replications. Participants who had just read the priming story were also much more likely to report seeing “Hotel” (91.6 % in the story condition, compared to 83 % Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 313 across all conditions and replications). We interpret these effects based on the formula- tion that the despondent woman story made the suicidal woman schematic with the photograph, at least temporarily. Interestingly, removing the woman from the scene in the second of two sequential presentations caused 58.2 % of participants to notice a change in the scene, but it did not increase reports of having seen the suicidal woman. Without these primes, a large majority of viewers failed to notice the woman in any form, suicidal or not. At the same time, participants saw much that was not really there. Indeed, although schematic processing of the scene interfered with participants’ accurate recognition of the aschematic figure, it also contributed to their tendency to invent a series of very reasonable elements to accompany the composite. For example, the barber pole becomes colored, neon signs flash, cars are parked on the street, and fire hydrants, trees, benches, and chairs are all introduced in schematically-congruent fashion. The perceived overcast sky (which is not even visible in the photograph) is enlivened by noticing a Marine kissing a girl, a man pulling a woman by her hair, and two people dancing in the street in front of the hotel. The central figure, when seen, takes on more than forty different forms across various perceptual accounts that all make sense given the context of the scene. Such is the stuff of vivid imaginations at odds with a simpler, more accurate visual account of the scene. A reasonable question is whether participants’ inability to detect the suicidal woman is simply a failure of proper perceptual grouping (i.e., seeing an arm or leg and the hotel sign, but not grouping the elements so as to perceive both the sign and woman). This would be akin to the classic R. C. James (1973) photograph of a Dalmatian, where viewers can stare at the photograph for minutes but not see the Dalmatian… until it is labeled as such, at which point it becomes obvious. The label, it seems, helps to organize the otherwise random dots into a meaningfully-grouped representation of a dog. Although somewhat similar, the present findings differ from this demonstration in at least two ways: first, participants viewing the suicidal woman photograph were not required to decipher the general context of the scene (in fact, they were told they were going to see an urban scene); and second, participants viewing the suicidal woman photograph were not asked to code a seemingly random visual array of elements (i.e., both the suicidal woman and the setting were “conceptually whole” to begin with). Relation to “Inattentional Blindness” Considered more broadly, these effects are consistent with a growing body of research on “inattentional blindness” (Becklen and Cervone 1983; Bredemeier and Simons 2012; Hyman et al. 2010; Mack 2003; Mack and Rock 1998; Most et al. 2001; Neisser and Becklen 1975; Simons 2000; see also Varakin and Levin 2008). This work has demonstrated, for example, that when an experimenter stops to ask a pedestrian for directions and is interrupted by workmen walking between them, one of whom then replaces the experimenter, only half of participants notice the change (Simons and Levin 1998). And when a person in a gorilla suit or a woman with an umbrella enters a visual scene, 46 % of participants fail to notice the event, despite its prominent placement in the scene (Simons and Chabris 1999). Remarkably, these effects occur even among “expert observers” who look directly at the target (e.g., the gorilla), as confirmed by eye tracking (Drew et al. 2013). The present findings extend the results of 314 Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 these studies by showing that many objects in complex scenes (e.g., “Fountain,” “Hotel,” and “Coffee Shop” in the suicidal woman photograph) are actually easy to see and readily reported by participants, assuming they can be reasonably expected given the general context of the scene. This suggests that inattentional blindness cannot simply be the result of poor visibility. In addition, the data from the eight studies reported here show a far lower incidence of noticing (2.2 % for the suicidal woman) than in earlier studies, in addition to high rates of misidentification and schema-congruent replacements. In addition, the present results are consistent with research on figure-ground perception, including Davenport and Potter (2004), who found that objects and their settings are processed interactively, with general knowledge about an object’s appropriateness in a particular scene influencing the perception of that object (see also Beiderman et al. 1982; Boyce and Pollatsek 1992; Boyce et al. 1989). Our findings extend this work by highlighting the remarkable acuity that people exhibit when deciphering objects that are schematically-congruent with their context or setting. The present study also highlights the effects of a variety of priming and structural manipulations on reporting accuracy. In many cases, these effects are highly specific, improving recognition of prime-congruent elements while decreasing recognition of prime-incongruent elements. Limitations and Future Directions Several limitations of these studies should be noted. First, our main comparisons relied on frequencies of noticing the unexpected woman versus frequencies of noticing other more schematic elements of the scene (i.e., a within-scene compari- son). Future research would benefit from utilizing scenes in which it is possible to systematically modify the extent to which elements are schematically congruent with the scene by, for example, moving or altering the target object so as to make it either congruent or incongruent with the context of the scene while keeping constant the scene’s other characteristics. In addition, given the design of the present study, it was not possible to determine why participants failed to report the woman. For example, the present data do not speak to whether the unexpected visual information was ignored or distorted at the sensory-perceptual level or at the encoding or retrieval stages of remembering and reporting. This begs the question, were elements not reported because they were not seen in the first place (i.e., “inattentional blindness”) or rather because they were seen but not remembered (i.e., “inattentional amnesia”; see Wolfe 1999)? Future work could employ a gaze-tracking device to identify participants who look at the woman but who do not report seeing her. In addition, researchers could monitor arousal levels in this context (e.g., using measures such as the EEG P-300 “surprise wave,” heart rate measures, or fMRI indices) to identify participants who respond emotionally, but who still do not report seeing the woman. Concluding Remarks In conclusion, the human visual system is remarkably good at helping us navigate a very complex physical and social world that, more often than not, is highly predictable. Partly because of the dynamics that underlie this efficiency, however, we are also surprisingly Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 315 bad at noticing rare or unexpected events, even when they are central elements of a scene (Wolfe et al. 2005). When confronted with scene elements or situations for which we have no established (or active) schema, such information appears to fall into a visual “black hole” – a conceptual blind spot. This is the take-home message from the present data. When perceptual expectations are violated, even our most basic visual recognition processes may fail, as we look but do not see. Acknowledgments Preparation of this report was supported in part by National Institutes of Health grant R01 CA140933, by the Cousins Center for Psychoneuroimmunology, and by a Society in Science – Branco Weiss Fellowship to George Slavich. We thank Lauren Anas, Waki Gamez, and Connie Turcott for assisting with data management. 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Curr Psychol (2013) 32:301–317 317 http://www.teachpsych.org/ebooks/eit2005/eit05-11.html http://dx.doi.org/10.1002/smi.2523 Out of Mind, Out of Sight: Unexpected Scene Elements Frequently Go Unnoticed Until Primed Abstract Method Overview Participants Stimulus Materials Priming Manipulations Structural Manipulations Procedure Results Effects of Visual Acuity and Viewing Position on Reporting of Scene Elements Perceiving the Central Figure Perceiving Peripheral Elements of the Scene Priming Effects Structural Manipulation Effects Qualitative Aspects of Scene Perception Discussion Relation to “Inattentional Blindness” Limitations and Future Directions Concluding Remarks References 
work_p4s2jwsyczatdac5xdbo2i7pzq	----	Heddon, D., and Turner, C. (2012) Walking women: shifting the tales and scales of mobility. Contemporary Theatre Review, 22(2), pp. 224-236. There may be differences between this version and the published version. You are advised to consult the publisher’s version if you wish to cite from it. http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/29877/ Deposited on: 16 June 2016 Enlighten – Research publications by members of the University of Glasgow http://eprints.gla.ac.uk Walking Women: Shifting the Tales and Scales of Mobility Deirdre Heddon and Cathy Turner The art of walking has become a significant mode of practice and subject of critique in recent years. Festivals, events, networks and publications attest to the popularity of walking as art, including Will Self’s Psychogeography and Psycho Too, Merlin Coverley’s Psychogeography, Roberta Mock’s edited anthology, Walking, Writing and Performance, Phil Smith’s Mythogeography: A Guide to Walking Sideways, Geoff Nicholson’s populist The Lost Art of Walking, AntiFestival’s Walking festival, Deveron Art’s Walking Festival, Plymouth’s Perambulations and the Walking Artists Network.1 Reviewing contemporary writings about and reflections on current walking practices, we have found that this practical and critical interest in walking is cast in a much longer history. In this essay we first of all suggest that earlier theories and interpretations of walking continue to exert influence on cultural understandings of aestheticized walking, informing and shaping current knowledge. We argue that the reiteration of a particular genealogy – or fraternity – which includes Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Henry David Thoreau, Andre´ Breton and Guy Debord generates an orthodoxy of walking, tending towards an implicitly masculinist ideology. This frequently frames and valorizes walking as individualist, heroic, epic and transgressive. Such qualities are not exclusive to men of course; however, as we go on to suggest, a lack of attention to gender serves to fix the terms of debate, so that qualities such as ‘heroism’ and ‘transgression’ are understood predominantly in relation to a historically masculinist set of norms. It is our proposition that a persistent iteration of these features marginalizes other types of walking practices and the insights they might prompt, a marginalization that this essay seeks to address. The invisibility of women in what appears as a canon of walking is conspicuous; where they are included, it is often as an ‘exception’ to an unstated norm, represented by a single chapter in a book or even a footnote. Coverley’s populist Psychogeography proves illustrative. Treading a path through urban pedestrianism from the seventeenth to the twenty-first century, he introduces the reader to Daniel Defoe, William Blake, Thomas De Quincey, Robert Louis Stevenson, Arthur Machen, Alfred Watkins, Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Baudelaire, Walter Benjamin, Andre´ Breton, Louis Aragon, Guy Debord, Michel de Certeau, J. G. Ballard, Iain Sinclair, Peter Ackroyd, Stewart Home and Patrick Keiller.2 The only woman represented in the entire book is the eponymous prostitute of Surrealist Breton’s Nadja (herself a re-presentation of a woman stalked through the night time streets of Paris).3 1 Will Self, Psychogeography (London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2007); Will Self, Psycho Too (London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2009); Merlin Coverley, Psychogeography (London: Pocket Essentials, 2006); Walking, Writing and Performance, ed. by Roberta Mock (Bristol: Intellect, 2009); Phil Smith, Mythogeography: A Guide to Walking Sideways (Axminster: Triarchy Press, 2010); Geoff Nicholson, The Lost Art of Walking (Chelmsford, Harbour Books, 2010); Kuopio AntiFestival, www. antifestival.com4 [accessed 31 January 2012]; Deveron Arts www.deveronarts.com [accessed 31 January 2012]; Walking Artists Network, http:// walkingartistsnetwork. org/ [accessed 2 February 2012]. Perambulations was part of the Hidden City Festival held in Plymouth 2008 www. hiddencityfestival.org.uk [accessed 12 April 2012]. 2 Coverley, Psychogeography. 3 Andre´ Breton, Nadja, trans. M. Polizzotti (London: Penguin Books, 1999 [1928]). While this particularly male-centred chronology may be an extreme example, it seems to represent a general trend.4 It is this surprising absence of women and the persistent cultural and ideological narratives attached to walking – the former connected to the latter – that has prompted our research project, ‘Walking Women’. Having established, with relative ease, that many contemporary women artists use walking as an integral material to their art, during 2009 we walked with and talked to thirteen artists based in the UK, discussing in some detail their practices, motivations, and experiences, including their sense of walking as a woman.5 Our project always and consciously treads a difficult line between the risk of essentialism and that of understating the real differences in experience that may be produced by cultural expectations of gender performance. We do not seek to identify a way of walking specific to women; given that there is no singular ‘woman’, there can be no such practice. Nevertheless, we do recognize that the body that walks potentially makes a difference to the experience of walking. As geographer Tim Cresswell writes, ‘ways of moving have quite specific characteristics depending on who is moving and the social and cultural space that is being moved through’.6 Here, we set out to ask whether women’s work, itself under-represented, might draw attention to invisible, under-estimated or unexamined aspects of walking performances, thus serving to challenge the dominant discourses that remain attached to walking practice. We argue that setting the work we have encountered thus far beside persistent narratives of walking prompts a necessary and renewed attention to the relative and contextual – mobile – nature of concepts of freedom, heroism and scale, on the one hand, and to the relational politics that make up the spatial on the other. Walk Like A Man . . . Before introducing practices which variously trouble our perceptions of scale, we must first expand on our opening suggestions concerning the predominant and influential narratives attached to walking. The represented landscape of walking as an aesthetic practice is framed by two enduring historical discourses: the Romantics and Naturalists, tramping through rural locations; and the avant- gardists, drifting through the spectacular urban streets of capitalism. Irrespective of historical or geographical location, two related imperatives recur: seek out adventure, danger and the new; and 4 For instance, Rebecca Solnit’s Wanderlust: A History of Walking (London and New York: Verso, 2002) references specific male walkers approximately four times as frequently as it identifies female walkers, despite her consciousness of questions of gender, feminism and the history of prostitution. The list of men to whom she devotes most space bears some similarity to Coverley’s genealogy, and to the lineage we suggest in our opening remarks: Jean-Jacques Rousseau, John Muir, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, William Wordsworth, Thomas De Quincey, Charles Dickens, Charles Baudelaire, Søren Kierkegaard, Walter Benjamin, Andre´ Breton, Louis Aragon, Guy Debord. The only women given comparable space are Jane Austen, Dorothy Wordsworth, Virginia Woolf and Ffyona Campbell. 5 ‘Women Walking’ was funded by the British Academy. We completed peripatetic interviews with Emma Bush, Hilary Ramsden, walkwalkwalk, Tamara Ashley and Simone Kenyon, Elspeth Owen, Rachel Gomme, Linda Cracknell, Sorrel Muggridge, Misha Myers, and Ana Laura Lopez de la Torre. 6 Tim Cresswell, On the Move: Mobility in the Modern Western World (New York, London: Routledge, 2006), p. 197. The recent statement by a representative of Toronto Police that ‘women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized’ is a stark indication of the ways in which the occupation of space remains gendered. Responding to such patriarchal ideology, the ‘Slut Walk’ was founded by four women in Toronto. At the time of writing, satellite Slut Walks have been proposed in Canada, the USA, Australia, New Zealand, Europe, South Africa and Mexico. See 5http://www. slutwalktoronto. com/4 [accessed 1 September 2011]. release oneself from the relations of everyday life. While both discourses tend to presume a universal walker, whose experience is uninflected by gender, explicitly and implicitly the walker is typically male. Rousseau’s late-eighteenth-century assertion that he could only meditate when walking is much cited as a founding moment in the history of walking understood as a cultural act, as a means in itself.7 It is not walking, per se, that enables Rousseau’s deep contemplation but the sense of freedom engendered by walking alone. Walking serves to erase ‘everything that makes me feel my dependence, [. . .] everything that recalls me to my situation’.8 The specificity of the body that is able to walk alone in the eighteenth century is worth remarking. Henry David Thoreau, writing a century later, figures the walker as a crusader and errant knight, traversing the wild; as such, the domesticated walk is critiqued: ‘When we walk we naturally go to the fields and woods; what would become of us if we walked in a garden or mall?’9 In his treatise, the independent walker is explicitly coded as male: If you are ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and friends, and never see them again; if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free man; then you are ready for a walk.10 This might be dismissed as belonging to nineteenth-century chauvinism, and yet contemporary artists acknowledge a debt to such past walkers. For instance, Wrights & Sites cite Thoreau’s words in their ‘Manifesto for a New Walking Culture’11 with a modicum of approval. This is despite the fact that all members of this mixed gendered group are frequently involved in walking with children, partners and friends. Wrights & Sites also take a bearing from the avant-garde tradition of the twentieth century, citing in the same Manifesto Andre´ Breton’s command to ‘Leave everything’ – including Dada, wife, mistress, children and ‘easy life’.12 While their citation of manifesto-within-manifesto offers multiple viewpoints by which to engage such statements, something of this longing to be ‘a free man’ appears to remain. Though Thoreau and Breton are not expected to be taken literally, their words are associated with a political freedom that is desirable. This construction of walking as an act of heroic resistance to norms reappears in the postmodern figure of the rhizomatic nomad, pitted 7 See Solnit, Wanderlust, p. 14; and Joseph A. Amato, On Foot: A History of Walking (New York: New York University Press, 2004), pp. 110–11. 8 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Confessions (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1953 [1782]), p. 382. 9 Henry David Thoreau, ‘Walking’, in Waldo R. Browne (ed.), Joys of the Road: A Little Anthology in Praise of Walking (Chicago: Browne’s Bookstore, 1951), pp. 56–75 (p. 64); originally published in Atlantic Monthly, June 1862. 10 Thoreau, ‘Walking’, pp. 57–58. 11 Wrights & Sites, ‘Manifesto for a New Walking Culture: Dealing with the City’, Performance Research, 11 (2006), 115–122. Also available at 5http://www.misguide.com/ws/ documents/dealing. html4 [accessed 26 May 2011]. Wrights & Sites, founded in 1997, is a group of four artist-researchers (Stephen Hodge, Simon Persighetti, Phil Smith and Cathy Turner) committed to producing experimental, siteorientated work. See 5http://www.misguide.com/4 [accessed 2 February 2012]. 12 Andre´ Breton, ‘Leave Everything’, in Dawn Ades, Dada and Surrealism Reviewed (London: Arts Council of Great Britain, 1978 [1922]), p. 166. against the State and stasis.13 As Cresswell notes, this nomad ‘is a remarkably unsocial being – unmarked by the traces of class, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, and geography’.14 Nicolas Bourriaud’s idea of the ‘radicant’ artist is close to this Deleuzian conception: such art is characterized by ‘wandering practices’ and journey-structures, refusing stable identity or location, introducing ‘precariousness into the very heart of the system of representations by means of which the powers that be manage.15 Despite Bourriaud’s claims to ‘altermodernity’, we hear echoes of Rousseau and Thoreau in his celebration of ‘a principle of nonmembership: that which is constantly moving from place to place, which weakens origins or destroys them’, where the artist journeys through a ‘new altermodern archipelago’.16 A parallel legacy is revealed in the popularization of the term ‘psychogeography’, which is testament to a continuing debt to the practices of the anarchic Situationist International (SI), founded in Paris in the late 1950s, who shared with the Romantics the same notions of ‘adventure’, ‘newness’ and ‘freedom’. The artist, set apart from the crowd, aims to shock us out of our commonplace perceptions into a revaluation of the everyday, reality itself. Of all the movements engaged in reflexive walking practice, the SI would seem to hold out the most promise for an awareness of embodied experiences of space, the very term ‘psychogeography’ alluding to the subjective combined with the scientific. However, situationist renderings of space, though complex, seem to fix it, as if space exists separate to its occupations. For example, founder Guy Debord asked that those committed to one SI tactic, the dérive, ‘drop [. . .] their relations [. . .] and let themselves be drawn by the attractions of the terrain and the encounters they find there’.17 There is a presumption that ‘letting-go’ engenders access to some pure space. And yet, how can one abandon one’s relations, if the concept of ‘relations’ extends to the diffuse, culturally inscribed relations that exist between all people – and indeed the relations through which space is constructed? That relations (albeit multiple and shifting) are attached to bodies and travel with them, affecting space, is made blatant in the experiences of SI member Abdelhafid Khatib. In the summer of 1958, whilst attempting to produce a psychogeographical report for the SI on the Les Halles area, Khatib was twice arrested for breaking the curfew imposed on Algerian residents (which prohibited them from being outside after 7.30pm).18 Such incidents rather question Simon Sadler’s proposition that Bernstein and Khatib 13 Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari are key critics here. See Deleuze and Guattari, Nomadology: The War Machine (New York: Semiotext(e), 1986) and A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1987). 14 Cresswell, On the Move, p. 53. 15 See Nicolas Bourriaud, The Radicant, trans. James Gussen and Lili Porten (New York: Lukas and Sternberg 2009), pp. 94, 99. It would be possible to extend this discussion by looking at Bourriaud’s notion of ‘relational art’ and its aspirations, as well as Grant Kester’s related concept of ‘dialogic’ practices (see Conversation Pieces: Community and Communication in Modern Art (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004)). Such an analysis deserves more space, however, and a thorough discussion is beyond the scope of this article, though see our comments below. 16 Ibid., p.185. 17 Guy Debord, ‘Theorie de la derive’, Internationale Situationniste, #2 (Paris, December 1958) ed. and trans. by Ken Knabb in Situationalist International Anthology, (2nd Edition, 2006) pp. 62–66 available to download at 5www. bopsecrets.org/SI/2. derive.htm4 [accessed 30 November 2010]. 18 Stewart Home, The Assault on Culture: Utopian Currents from Lettrisme to Class War (Stirling: A.K. Press, 1991), p. 34. could use the psychogeographic drift to ‘reclaim the night’ and momentarily defy ‘the white patriarchy of urban-space time’.19 Iain Sinclair, associated with the recent resurgence of psychogeography, describes his own discovery of walking as ‘a means of editing a city of free-floating fragments’. Rather than being directly influenced by the Situationists, he comments that he recognized that he had been a ‘disenfranchised psychogeographer’ all along. He characterizes himself as stalking ‘a defining urban narrative’, and this idea of the walk as cinematographic narrative of images became ‘a model for future projects’.20 Sinclair’s vision of psychogeography again echoes the need for detachment and proposes the possibility of being able to read the city as a text, looking ‘down on the glittering Thames’, without much concern for the specificity of one’s own body and cultural position. Psychogeography’s pitching of the individual against a monumentalized and static space is an opposition echoed in the often-quoted writings of philosopher Michel de Certeau. His suggestion that the city is a language to be spoken by the walker is resonant in relation to Sinclair’s notions of editing and narrating a city.21 Doreen Massey, however, rejects this notion of space, understanding it instead as a ‘sphere of relations’. She thus calls for a ‘relational politics of the spatial’, concerned with the multiple ‘engagements’ with which space ‘challenges us’ and which emphasizes our implication in the construction of spatial relationships.22 Following Massey, we might suggest that the detachment implicit in Romanticism, Naturalism and avant-garde practices (and after them, contemporary psychogeography) refuses to recognize or take any responsibility for its implication in the construction of asymmetrical spatial power relations.23 The historic and contemporary landscapes of psychogeographical practices are mostly devoid of women.24 The fiction produced by one of the few female situationist members, Miche`le Bernstein, while unreliable as a historical source,25 offers a rare insight into her imaginative response to the situationist derive. In Toutes les Chevaux du Roi (All the King’s Horses) the character Geneviève (based on Bernstein), is the long-term partner of Gilles (based on Debord).26 In describing her attempts to walk alone in Nice, Geneviève comments on the unwelcome attention she attracts as a woman alone, finding it all ‘rather sad and discouraging’.27 Bernstein evokes the way that the solitary female walker may be made painfully aware of her own body as spectacle. She does not experience the city as ‘a free man’. Perhaps, however, her experience of having her own identity reflected back to her by the city makes her acutely aware of the constitution of space as a constant, ongoing activity in which bodies are active and implicated. Geneviève also suggests that hers is a more circumscribed Paris than that of her partner: ‘Alone [. . .] the streets [. . .] always lead me to 19 Simon Sadler, The Situationist City (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999), p. 81. 20 Iain Sinclair, ‘An Introduction to Lights Out for the Territory’, Telegraph, 1 February 2010, 5http://www. telegraph.co.uk/ expat/expatlife/ 7140533/LightsOut-for-theTerritory.html4 [accessed 27 May 2011]. 21 Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984). 22 Doreen Massey, For Space (London: Sage, 2005), p. 147. 23 Ibid., p. 103. 24 See Coverley, Psychogeography. 25 Bernstein’s writing in Tous les Chevaux du Roi is unreliable because of its fictional nature; its status as an historical record of Situationist activities is therefore unclear. However, it is evidently based on Bernstein’s personal situation and Situationist practices. 26 Bernstein was married to Debord. 27 Michele Bernstein, Tous les Chevaux du Roi (Buchet-Chastel, 1960; trans. John Kelsey as All the King’s Horses (Paris: Semiotext(e), 2008]), p. 65. the same parts of the city [. . .]. For me, the Left Bank consists of a few cafe´ tables.’28 Accepting the excitement of a night walk that might ‘reinvent Paris’, she does not suggest that her own, more constrained perspective might itself prove revealing, an idea that we propose remains a further possibility. Walking As A Woman . . . In her fiction, Bernstein reveals something of what it is to walk as a woman in 1960s Paris.29 She locates her gendered self within the landscape – her experience as a woman standing in stark contrast to the masculinist presumptions so often iterated within the historical and contemporary explications of walking art. These presumptions, alongside a noticeable invisibility of women in publications about walking art, prompted our exploration of the work of female artists. The space available here does not permit a deep analysis of individual performances – though that is certainly a task our initial findings suggest is necessary. Rather, in the remainder of this article we seek to introduce the various ways in which this work offers possibilities for – and suggests the necessity of – revising and widening the discourses attached to walking, challenging critical orthodoxies. If our original intention was to bring women’s work into the frame of reference, pointers within the work indicate that the frame itself might be productively unsettled. The spectacular reception that Bernstein encountered as a walking woman remains reflected in more contemporary experiences, suggesting the need for further research on the ‘reception’ of walking bodies. Two of the women artists we interviewed, Simone Kenyon and Tamara Ashley, walked the long-distance Northern England route, the Pennine Way, in 2007. Framing their walk as a durational art project, for the 429 kilometres traversed over 31 days they attempted to stay attuned to the way the changing landscape made their (trained, dancers’) bodies feel; and to the fact that they walked as a duo.30 The artists’ intention was to walk the path as dancers, noting relationships between space and movement and each other. Notably, certain acts of spectatorial inscription brought other relations into the foreground, making Ashley and Kenyon at times acutely conscious of their gender – of walking as women. Interpellated by the occasionally hostile male walker/spectator as lesbians (intended as an insult), Ashley and Kenyon were exposed to – and in their reflections revealed – the persistence of certain ideological assumptions about appropriate places for women to walk, alongside appropriate types of walking for women. For this reason, we would propose that women’s ‘heroic walking’ – walking that takes place on long- durational and geographical scale – is performative, claiming equal right for women to traverse the ‘wild’, the open spaces. However, the ‘heroic’ attributes might also resonate doubly here, since the 28 Ibid., p. 37. 29 Cited in Elizabeth Wilson, The Sphinx in the City (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), p. 52. 30 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). Tamara Ashley and Simone Kenyon are dancers committed to creating work that engages with aspects of ecology and environment. They have created solo pieces and collaborative performances. At time of writing, Ashley is Artistic Director of DanceDigital whilst Kenyon is a producer with Battersea Arts Centre. The Pennine Way walk was blogged: http:// ashleykenyonwalk. blogspot.com [accessed 15 July 2011]. An illustrated book was subsequently published, offering a poetic and diaristic reflection of their experiences – The Pennine Way: The Legs That Make Us (London A Brief Magnetics Publication, 2007). The dancers presented a performative account of their walk at RADAR, Loughborough University (‘Roam: A Weekend of Walking’), 15–17 March 2008. perceived risks of the ‘wild’ are gendered; part of the assumed threat for women is generated by still-dominant cultural perceptions of the implicit threat of men; this is the ‘wild man’ who, unable to control his sexual urges, preys on (vulnerable) women.31 Ashley and Kenyon’s work prompts us to ask the difficult question of whether women who walk in the ‘wild’ are considered especially heroic; difficult, because an affirmative answer reiterates cultural presumptions about gender (in opposition to the ‘wild man’ is the vulnerable, victimized and incapable woman). The differently gendered presumptions attached to the wild are explicit in the experience of writer Linda Cracknell. During 2007, supported by a Creative Scotland Award, Cracknell undertook a dozen walks to gather material for a writing project, completing a variety of excursions which included a 200 mile Scottish drover’s road and a seven day hike on the Mozarabic trail in south-eastern Spain.32 Cracknell recalls a phrase she heard repeatedly throughout her project: ‘God, you must be so brave.’ Significantly, she did not hear this when she climbed an Alp – the only walk that, in her opinion, exposed her to real, objective danger.33 On this walk, though, she was accompanied by two men. Rather than suggesting a greater scale of heroism for the female walker, it may well be more useful politically to draw attention to the many women who do undertake walking on this scale and emerge unscathed. This might generate reassurance that the wild is neither more nor less dangerous to women than it is to men, which in turn may serve to rewrite the inscriptions of space and gender, as well as presumed walking competencies. Walking Women, Troubling Scales We must, however, go beyond simply asserting that women, too, walk in difficult and remote places and consider whether their work troubles our conventional understanding of ‘heroic’ walking. Though recognizing the political imperative of acknowledging women artists’ presence in the ‘wild’ (women have always been as attracted to ‘risk’ or ‘adventure’ as men), at the same time we wish to resist simply adding women to a landscape from which they have been absented. To do so would leave other norms unchallenged. In exploring the work made, and in listening to artists’ reflections upon it, it is evident that values of scale are problematized rather than simply inverted; the mobility and relationality of scales are exposed. For example, though Ashley and Kenyon have walked the Pennine Way, they also point out that on the long durational journey, walking becomes underscored as a repetitive and familiar action – simply one foot after another. The next move is defined. As they state, the long-distance path provided them with a long-term purpose and focus, a choreographic or action-score that guided and pulled them along each day. In this way, Ashley and Kenyon represent the epic and heroic as in-step and co-incidental with the habitual and the known. 31 As Rebecca Solnit writes, ‘Having met so many predators, I learned to think like prey’, Wanderlust, p. 168. 32 Linda Cracknell is the author of collections of stories including Life Drawing (Glasgow: 11/9, 2000), edited anthologies (A Wilder Vein (Ullapool: Two Ravens Press, 2009)), and radio plays (including The Lamp, R4, December 2011). Her walks from 2007 are informing a series being published in Cracknell’s pocket book imprint, ‘best foot books’ which includes Whiter than White (2009), The Beat of Heart Stones (2010) and Following Our Fathers (2012). See http://www. lindacracknell.com [accessed 2 February 2012] and http:// walkingandwriting. blogspot.com [accessed 25 May 2011]. 33 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). Similarly, though Cracknell completed a number of long distance walks, she also walked the everyday paths of a Kenyan village, and the Birks of Aberfeldy – a short daily walk behind her home. Contrasting with the narratives of discovery that are attached to the new and unfamiliar, she reflects that this walk is ‘like the process of revision’.34 It is through rewalking, like rewriting, that original stories emerge. Each of Cracknell’s walks has an equally valuable story to tell no matter their status as familiar or unfamiliar, or their scale of distance covered. Further, irrespective of where Cracknell is walking, her attention is drawn to the details of the micro-landscape nestling close by; for example, encountering a rock with scratch marks on it she imagined it as a vast landscape unto itself. Such microscopic attention makes the smallest landscape gigantic. Attending to detail in this way again equalizes walking practices as the focus is the nearby – not the distant horizon (an open space to be conquered). Wherever one is walking, one is right here, on this foot of land. Artist Elspeth Owen’s walking events similarly trouble assumptions of scale. Undertaking long- distance, long-duration projects, Owen typically walks for hundreds of miles throughout the UK, rarely knowing, in advance, where she is going. This unpredictability is built into the structure of her works. In Looselink (2005), for example, she invited ten people – all but the first a stranger to her – to present her with a message to be hand-delivered to another person. The recipient of that message would then be invited to give her another message to deliver to another person, and so on. In this way, Owen criss-crossed Britain, walking from her home in Cambridgeshire, to Newcastle, to South Wales, to Norfolk, and finishing some three months later in Cornwall. Her walking served to create a network of eleven people.35 Whilst Owen is undeniably engaging with the epic, she simultaneously challenges notions of the heroic, solitary walker by inserting a gesture of intimacy into her work, becoming a ‘link’ between people. Her inordinately personal touch reduces the epic to a local scale – one human to one human: one sender, one messenger, one recipient. This simple gesture serves to remind us that, irrespective of distances between, we are connected to each other. But here lies the paradox of her work too, because it is the distances between, the effort required to cover them, that lends her work its impact, making the gesture of delivery profoundly committed rather than banal. The small scale gesture (the detail) depends on, is entangled with, the large scale action (the monumental).36 It would be disingenuous not to admit to a sense of admiration and awe in the face of Owen’s practice, even if that comes dangerously close to patronizing; Owen is in her seventies. Resisting this idea of heroism, however, she is adamant that her walking is not in any way related to endurance or suffering. She willingly accepts the kindness of strangers when offered (spare rooms and hospitality) and admits to carrying a large golfing umbrella tucked into her rucksack (useful for shelter, to scare cattle, and as a walking stick). There seems an everyday pragmatism to Owen’s practice that deflates overblown concepts of the heroic – the single walker pitched against the enormity of the open lands – rescaling it in the process. Owen is simply going for a walk. 34 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). 35 Though an established ceramicist, Elspeth Owen also embraces time-based, live practices. Since 2005, under the guise of a persona, ‘Material Woman’, Owen has completed a number of long-distance, durational walks: Looselink (2005), Orbit (2007), Grandmother’s Footsteps (2009) and In the Dark (2009). See www. elspethowen.net [accessed 1 May 2012]. 36 See Rebecca Schneider, ‘Patricide and the Passerby’, in D. J. Hopkins, Shelley Orr and Kim Solga (eds), Performance and the City (Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), pp. 51–70. Women Walking . . . ‘The Familiar And Forgotten’ Whilst artists such as Kenyon, Ashley, Cracknell and Owen simultaneously engage and trouble conceptions of the ‘heroic’, other artists consciously locate their practice in their local vicinity, but here too they problematize categories. In spite of a notable cultural shift towards valuing the local (largely prompted by environmental sensitivity and appeals to sustainability), the ‘local’ remains tainted with notions of the parochial (a place of borders and boredom), marked by the same cultural conceptions that enabled Thoreau to frame his ‘wilderness’ walks as more valuable than walks around a landscaped garden. Perceptions of ‘local’ and ‘wild’ seem related to rhetoric of scale. Susan Stewart notes in her study of the miniature and the gigantic that the miniature is overcoded as the ‘cultural’, whilst the gigantic is overcoded as the ‘natural’: ‘Whereas the miniature represents closure, interiority, the domestic, and the overly cultural, the gigantic represents infinity, exteriority, the public, and the overly natural’.37 Such codings, like those attached to mobility (mobile/immobile, active/passive), are ideologically gendered and whilst both scales are equally overcoded, they are differentially valued. The small scale comes to represent the constraints of culture, rather than its achievements, while the large scale aligns public man with the unmediated vibrancy of the natural world. The devaluing of the ‘local’ is strikingly evident in Debord’s ‘Theory of the Dérive’, where he quotes a study of Paris by Chombart de Lauwe. De Lauwe illustrates the ‘narrowness of the real Paris in which each individual lives’ by systematically plotting the movements of a student over the course of a year. As Debord represents it: ‘Her itinerary forms a small triangle with no significant deviations, the three apexes of which are the School of Political Sciences, her residence and that of her piano teacher.’38 Debord goes on to profess ‘outrage at the fact that anyone’s life can be so pathetically limited’, a limitation to be overcome by the development of the dérive.39 The limits of Debord’s own perspective are apparent within the work of many contemporary artists who value the local and habitual, while other work makes evident the ways in which specific roles and bodies shape the geographies of our lives. For example, partners Dan Belasco Rogers and Sophia New of plan b, based in Berlin, have both recorded their every journey on GPS since 2007 (Belasco Rogers had done so since 2003).40 The resulting project, You, Me and Everywhere We Go,41 a visual exhibition of these recordings, offers unique data concerning not only their habitual, everyday walking practices (the repeated routes appear as thicker markings on the printed GPS recordings), but the differences between their movements while collaborating as artists, partners and parents. Though the broad picture appears similar to the outsider, there are moments of telling disjunction, 37 Susan Stewart, On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection (Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 1993), p. 70. 38 Debord, ‘Theory of the Derive’ unpaginated. 39 Ibid. 40 Daniel Belasco Rogers and Sophia New have been performing together under the name plan b since 2001. Residing in Berlin, they make solo and individual works, across a range of forms, including video installation, drawings, and performance. Since 2003, Belasco Rogers has been recording his outside journeys with a GPS (The Drawing of My Life). In 2007, New began to record her movements. See http:// planbperformance/net[accessed 21 May 2011]. 41 Exhibition, Peacock Visual Arts, Aberdeen (2008). as when Rogers sets out alone for Japan, leaving New at home with their small daughter: ‘Not only was I seeing something extraordinary without you and missing you both like an amputated limb, the jet lag had made me extremely emotional.’ New, on her part, recalls: I was very aware of the lines I was making on the first walks with Ruby, as she led me ever so slowly on a twisty turny journey by the canal in Kreuzberg. She was not going from A to B but exploring the world from moment to moment, side tracked by small stones, acorns, bottle tops and dogs. My GPS made a lot of points that day and distance was condensed into a dance of back and forth rather than from here to there.42 Rather than celebrating the heroic trajectory, plan b’s reflections here suggest the loneliness of global travel, set against the fascination of a child’s first walks through her locality, where the small, uncertain body leads her mother in a walk that resists cutting across the territory but twists, turns, redoubles, side-tracks and dances in its exploration of minutiae. A similar comparison is suggested in Wrights & Sites’ split-screen video-recording that accompanied their performance-lecture, ‘Simultaneous Drift: 4 walks, 4 routes, 4 screens’.43 In the video, the three male members of Wrights & Sites are seen on the streets of Exeter, Bristol and London respectively; walks characterized by spaces of sterility and frustration, as sites in the process of redevelopment are frequently barred, blocked or monitored. Against these three experiences, Turner is seen attempting to drift inside the house with her baby daughter: I had imagined it as a sort of celebration of the domestic: You can drift in the house; I will drift in the house [. . .] and actually when I looked at [the video recording], it’s quite sad [. . .] I hadn’t realized that the extent of my ambivalence is very obvious [. . .] you can see it. Because I was feeling slightly kind of trapped and I was trying to sort of celebrate it, but also you can see there is also a frustration there.44 Turner both transgresses the usual rules of the house (dressed for the outdoors; pushing the buggy upstairs; attempting to pitch a tent in the bathroom) and yet experiences frustration. On the other hand, the other walkers experience the frustrations of the public sphere. In these examples, plan b and Wrights & Sites deliberately set the local/domestic and wide- ranging/public side by side. Other artists have specifically turned their attention to the apparently local and small scale. For instance, the London based triumvirate, walkwalkwalk (Clare Qualmann, Gail Burton and Serena Korda), consciously de´tourne Debord’s expression of outrage by specifically mapping their own daily routes to define a triangle: ‘rather than diverging from it we decided we would explore relationships within it’.45 The trio organized their first night walk around this triangle of the East End of London in 2005, and have continued to mount these participatory, public walks twice a year, often coinciding with midsummer and midwinter nights. The walks are free, and walkers range in ages from toddlers to senior citizens. Subtitling the work ‘An Archaeology of the 42 42. Rogers and New, 5http://www. planbperformance. net/meandyou.htm [accessed 6 January 2010]. 43 43. Wrights & Sites, performance-lecture performed at Arnolfini, Bristol as part of Situations’ Material City programme on 11 October 2006. Documented at http://www.misguide.com/ws/ documents/situations. Html [accessed 30 May 2011]. 44 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). 45 Qualmann, unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). Familiar and Forgotten’,46 and acknowledging the precedence of Dada and Iain Sinclair, the artists recognize the value of their local, habitual and everyday practice, seeing it as filled with immanent potential. Since all places are in a perpetual state of flux and reconstruction, physical as well as cultural, they are also, to some extent, new. The East End, a site of urban regeneration coinciding with the 2012 Olympics, has experienced seismic shifts. walkwalkwalk literally map these material changes by producing bespoke maps for each event, marking the change of space through time. However, their walks connect not only with details of material changes in the fabric of the environment but with spectral selves. The local is scored through with autobiographical traces, place and identity mutually informing. As Gail Burton comments, I am constantly crossing my path, as everybody is, and so it reconnects me with how I felt at different times, when I did that, and what was happening then, and what I saw and what I am seeing now and it is a whole web of my history and other people’s.47 This vision of the walk as part of a web, rather than as a single trajectory, suits a walking philosophy that values the familiar, local, temporal and socio-cultural, as well as the unknown, immediate, solitary, wild – and indeed, finds them entangled with one another. Such entanglement and its potential is also revealed in the work of Emma Bush, whose Village Walk (2008), based in her own village, Harbertonford, in Devon, was notable for the way it opened up unexpected spaces and connections within this village environment.48 Walking as a focus for this work emerged out of Bush’s desire to connect with place. The research process for Village Walk was slow, extended over months and involved repeatedly walking the route with elders from the village, and alone. The final walk linked a series of the elders’ autobiographical stories. Each of these revealed an unexpected, hidden relationship to space. For instance, Pam’s story told of a period of agoraphobia, in which she took up landscape painting, based on photographs her husband brought to her. Eventually, her desire to see the places she had painted brought her out of the house once more. In our interview, Bush expressed an interest in ‘spatiousness’, a quality that she associated with giving space, paying attention, opening up. The walk introduced us to the imagined excursions of the agoraphobic, to the Samurai ‘past life’ of an elderly woman and allowed us to glimpse, through a window, a father dancing with his daughter. Such unexpected perspectives allowed us to become aware of the multiple spaces within spaces that a village affords. This sense of the entanglement of expansive and local, familiar and unknown prompts us to recognize that we cannot assume comfort and safety within the local and familiar. Indeed, Bush admitted to her timidity in talking to people and the putting up of poster invitations around the village as something that felt ‘really subversive, really uncomfortable’.49 Misha Myers’ Way from Home (from 2002), created for refugees living in Myers’ city of Plymouth, reminds us of the always contextual nature of risk. Myers constructed a framework for walking, with the work actually being 46 www. walkwalkwalk.org.uk [accessed 5 September 2011]. 47 Unpublished interview with Heddon (2009). 48 Emma Bush is a member of propeller (along with Neil Callaghan, Augusto Corrieri, Pete Harrison and Timothy Vize-Martin). Founded in 2003 and based in Harbertonford, propeller’s work is focused on explorations of place and social ecologies, and is committed to collaboration, dialogue and exchange. They utilize a variety of performance modes (including walks and performative lectures). See http:// propellernews. blogspot. com/?zx¼ d6aad53070 ae114c4 [accessed 2 February 2012]. 49 Unpublished interview with Turner (2009). made by collaboration between a single refugee and a single Plymouth resident. Refugees were invited to map a route from the place they considered home to a special place they often visited. They used these maps to then walk the city of Plymouth (their new ‘home’), accompanied by a city resident, transposing one set of landmarks onto another.50 Myers has come to realize that such a seemingly simple formulation is not empty of risk, adventure or hazard to everybody. In particular, women refugees are frequently unable or unwilling to participate in a walking partnership, finding it easier to participate in group walks among women of their own cultural group.51 Myers’ and Bush’s work serves to instruct us that rather than presuming a safety in the ‘local’, we might usefully acknowledge and consider the value of risk attached to differently embodied experiences of place, to intimacy, to working in one’s own back yard, to finding oneself in someone else’s everyday. Walking With . . . In addition to the complex revisionings of scale encountered in these examples we are struck by the fact that, contra their walking-artist predecessors, the work seems actively to solicit, indeed build relations rather than escape them (relations with strangers, relations with others walking the Pennine Way, relations with refugees, relations with those in the locale . . .). Owen’s strategic use of strangers to provide her with unpredictable direction certainly sets her route alongside her avant- garde predecessors, but her path also deviates by its conscious setting up of relations and of her embeddedness within these. Furthering and underlining the importance of creating relations, Owen linked Looselink to a more recent, long distance walk, Grandmother’s Footsteps (2009). For this, the artist crossed fifteen counties in England, travelling from the end of May to mid-July, hand delivering messages from first time grandparents to other first time grandparents. She began her journey by collecting a message from the couple to whom she had delivered the last message in Looselink. Grandmother’s Footsteps thus both cemented old relations and created new ones. It also afforded a meditation on becoming and performing a literal family relation – that of the grandparent – giving it cultural value in turn. The risk of representing insular family relations is avoided by the network of grandparents connected through Owen’s footsteps. The evidence of relationship-building in these works might lead us to conclude that women’s walking is predicated on relationships to a significantly greater degree than that of their male colleagues, and yet such an idea must be treated with caution, given the danger of essentializing and the complexity and range of contemporary practice. The idea of walking as a convivial practice has recently been reflected upon by Misha Myers, who identifies it in the work of Graeme Miller, PLATFORM (in this instance in work directed by John Jordan and James Marriot) and Tim Brennan. Myers is right in her assumption that conviviality is not necessarily a gendered propensity.52 While it may be easier to place men within histories and conventions of epic walking, discovery, and colonization and to place women within conventions of the companion, the domestic, the vulnerable and socially dependent traveller, both men and women are engaged in both sites and actions. And yet, if these convivial walks indicate a wider cultural shift towards relational or dialogical aesthetics, 50 See Misha Myers and Dan Harris, ‘Way from Home’, Performance Research, 9 (Summer 2004), 90–91; and DVD supplement. 51 Unpublished interview with Turner (2009). 52 As Myers’ article proposes, there is a certain ‘conviviality’ among many performance works by men. In addition to the works mentioned there, the walking practices of Lone Twin and Mike Pearson, for example, often involve engaging with people. by no means exclusive to women, their preponderance draws attention to a need to consider what we mean by ‘relationship’ and ‘dialogue’, rather than using these terms generically. As art critic Claire Bishop has advised, in response to the apparent increase in the field of ‘relational work’, ‘if relational art produces human relations, then the next logical question to ask is what types of relations are being produced, for whom, and why’.53 We might, for example, and just for starters, place the work of Elspeth Owen beside that of male artists’ Lone Twin and their repeated refrain ‘Walk with me, Walk with me . . .’, that occurs within the framework of works structured around heroic endeavour.54 While their meeting with local inhabitants certainly provides welcome incidents, it is not the impulse for movement. Meanwhile, the walking practices of Bush, Owen and Myers encourage us to consider the ‘relational politics of the spatial’, as the artists engage and examine spatial relations, including their own position within those relationships. In contrast to Thoreau’s appeal to the ‘ideal walker’, in the work of these women artists we repeatedly encountered an embracing of ‘obligations’ rather than their abandonment. This suggests, at the very least, the necessity of rethinking the relation of walking to relationships. Further, a willingness to acknowledge and exploit entanglement in community and coalition often locates the artist as mediator for communication between people and places, begging the question of whether this role is one reason these walkers are less visible? It is evident that in setting up convivial events, these artists are not the flâneurs, nor yet the Situationists, within, yet separate from the ambulating crowd. They consider the crowd as their fellow walkers and companions. Some also recognized freedom in companionship – walking in a group, as walkwalkwalk does, opens up night time spaces that may otherwise be considered off-limits (certainly to many individual walkers). While many of our female walkers employ a rhetoric that, like Michel de Certeau’s (and before him, Benjamin’s) suggests the political force of attention to detail, there is also consistent awareness of the ways in which walking itself is framed, compromised and directed by what Rebecca Schneider refers to as ‘monumentality’, the fixity of a patriarchal culture.55 Walking might be a way of taking issue with constraints – with cultural assumptions about who can walk where, in what way, and with what value – but such constraints are never entirely absent. However uncompromising the walker, she is aware of the ways in which her body is complicit in maintaining the monumental, whether through an internalized fear of transgressing boundaries, whether through domestic constraints that keep her ‘local’, whether through the coding that makes her own body attract unwelcome attention or whether through cultural norms that constrain or alienate her geography. Many of our interviewees acknowledge anxiety as something that infiltrates their practices, either through the suggestions of others, or through their own internalization of perceived dangers. Bush, for example, explains that personal anxieties are a factor in her choice of location and route: ‘I’m not that comfortable in walking in places that I don’t know, on my own’.56 Kenyon and Owen, meanwhile, both admit that part of their motivation for walking is to resist being debilitated by cautiousness and 53 Claire Bishop, ‘Antagonism and Relational Aesthetics’, October, 110 (2004), 51–79 (p. 65). For ‘relational aesthetics’, see Nicolas Bourriaud, Relational Aesthetics, trans. by John Howe (Paris: Presses du Re´el, 2002). 54 Lone Twin are the duo Greg Whelan and Gary Winters, who began collaborating in 1997. ‘Walk With Me Walk With Me Will Somebody Please Walk With Me’ was the title of Lone Twin’s 2002 performance lecture, which drew on their repeated use of walking in their work. In one piece, for example, they walked for eighteen hours back and forth across a bridge spanning the Glømma river in Norway, with people choosing to join them. 55 Schneider, ‘Patricide and the Passerby’, pp. 52-56. 56 Unpublished interview with Turner (2009). fear. Despite the political optimism of these women, theirs tends towards a practice that does not offer wholesale alternatives or absolute freedoms (not even from representation and recuperation), since it observes the tensions within spatial practice and within subjectivity – our simultaneous resistance to and entanglement within macro structures. We do not claim that the problematizing of binary scales and the values attached to them, or the use of walking as a practice of relations, of social making, are features exclusive to the work of women artists. But we do propose that they are recurrent within the practices we have researched, and they are not recurrent or even much in evidence in the existing critical evaluation of walking art. What this work prompts, then, and what we have attempted to begin here, is the construction of new frames of reference that allow for different engagements with walking art, and for different types of walks to be critically approached. Our research on women walking artists draws attention to a set of possibilities that have not been sufficiently analysed or acknowledged, wherever they occur – the political potential of a walking that mobilizes social relationships, without aspiring to an idealized notion of the free man, or free-footed nomad, without the abstract freedom of the epic task, and without prioritizing or opposing distance and dislocation over locality and rootedness. Such walking troubles the values we continue to attach to singularity and to spatio-temporal scale, confirming that the former is illusory and the latter entirely relative. 
work_pcsm6sv2rvh5vhsgwc3u4h3awa	----	untitled u n i v e r s i t y o f c o p e n h a g e n Roland Boer, In the Vale of Tears. On Marxism and Theology V. Pallesen, Carsten Published in: Critical Research on Religion DOI: 10.1177/2050303215593153 Publication date: 2015 Document version Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Citation for published version (APA): Pallesen, C. (2015). Roland Boer, In the Vale of Tears. On Marxism and Theology V. Critical Research on Religion, Vol.3(2), 217-221. https://doi.org/10.1177/2050303215593153 Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1177/2050303215593153 https://doi.org/10.1177/2050303215593153 Book Reviews Roland Boer, In the Vale of Tears. On Marxism and Theology V. Historical Materialism Book Series 52, Leiden: Boston, Brill 2014, 167.00$/ 129.00E, hbk, ISBN 978-90-04-25232-5, 337 pp. Reviewed by Carsten Pallesen, University of Copenhagen, Denmark In the Vale of Tears is the fifth and concluding volume of the project The Criticism of Heaven and Earth: On Marxism and Theology. The first volume appeared in 2007. The author Roland Boer is professor of literature at Renmin (People’s) University of China, Beijing, and research professor at the University of Newcastle, Australia. The series on Marxism and theology undertakes a reading of Marxist philosophers from the perspective of their critical or affirmative engagement with biblical and theological traditions. Roland Boer reads and comments on an immense amount of material in the archives of Marxist thinkers and relates his findings to contemporary theological debates over politics and religion. The first three books cover twenty-four Marxist theorists from Rosa Luxemburg to Antonio Negri while the fourth volume is engaged with Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. Roland Boer’s primary field of academic expertise is biblical studies and theology and he aligns his project with nineteenth century German biblical criticism. The title of the book refers to Marx’s statement: ‘‘The criticism of religion is therefore in embryo the criticism of the vale of tears, the halo of which is religion’’ (154–155). Boer’s ambition is to raise the level of today’s political and theological debate to a dialectical standard similar to that which Marx found in contemporary German biblical criticism. In the Vale of Tears is structured around a number of core topics: atheism, myth, history, Kairos, ethics, idols, secularism, transcendence, and death. The first part, ‘‘Atheism,’’ addresses the debate over the academic status of theology versus religious studies. Theology and Marxism are often viewed as normative and ideologically biased disciplines that should be relegated from the public sphere of academic sciences. Proponents of ‘‘new atheism’’ like Daniel Dennett and Richard Dawkins, who emerged around 2005, perceive religion as a primary source of evil and distortion and a sign of mental degeneration. The target of this critique is forms of theism that are just as undialectical as the naturalistic evolutionary criteria that the new atheism adopts. According to Boer, this debate fails to live up to the critical potential of theology as well as to Christian atheism in the Marxist perspective (35). New atheism and the scientific criteria of religious studies lack the tools to distinguish between protest atheism and an atheism ‘‘of the status quo,’’ between religious protest and religion of ideological submission to the given (63–67). In The Holy Family (1845), Marx dismisses Bruno Bauer’s atheistic program as the last stage of theism, ‘‘the negative recognition of God’’ (50). Boer advocates a ‘‘materializing theology’’ instead of the ahistorical naturalism embraced by the proponents of ‘‘new atheism’’ but also as an alter- native to postmodern ‘‘atheology’’ (38). A primary inspiration of Boer’s Christian 2015, Vol. 3(2) 217–230 ! The Author(s) 2015 Reprints and permissions: sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav DOI: 10.1177/2050303215593153 crr.sagepub.com at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/ communism, Ernst Bloch, phrased the chiasm ‘‘only an atheist can be a good Christian; only a Christian can be a good atheist’’ (49). Boer’s uncovering of theological roots of the Marxist Left moves from Marx to G.W.F. Hegel and to the Reformers where he sides with Jean Calvin and Thomas Müntzer, while he is more reluctant with Martin Luther. In recent works such as Jean-Luc Nancy’s deconstruction of Christianity (2008: 143) and Giorgio Agamben’s (2005: 99–103) Hegelian reading of St Paul, the relation between Luther, Hegel, and Marx has become increasingly clear as a significant transformation of biblical faith and Christian atheism. In Hegel’s Philosophy of Religion, Christian atheism is the ‘‘organ point,’’ the speculative Good Friday, where the representation of agony is read as the agony of repre- sentation in the interpretation of the Passion of Christ. Boer’s project participates in this ‘‘theological reversal’’ as an independent voice and offers valuable historical and systematic background for contemporary theological and Marxist thinking. In three subsequent chapters on Myth, Ambivalence, and History, In the Vale of Tears engages in a discussion of utopia, between myth and history in Karl Kautsky and Ernst Bloch, and reflects iconoclastic approaches in Th. W. Adorno and Roland Barthes. Myth is a deeply ambivalent category suspected to be a repressive inscription of anthropology in an eternal cosmic order. However, inspired by Bloch, Boer sketches a reading of the Torah, the books from Genesis to Joshua, as a poli-gonic counter myth, i.e. a narrative of the emergence of political order in a community of liberated slaves (71–75). Boer addresses the relevance of the second commandment (You should not make any graven image of God) in the political iconoclasm of Adorno who is one of the weightiest impulses in the whole project (86–89). Against an undialectical political iconoclasm, Boer rehabilitates Bloch, Adorno, and other Marxist utopians who resume the mythical religious discourse to encourage revolutionary action. Myth, hence, revolts against weak logos and rehabilitates the event and the eschato- logical narrative of the moment, the kairos or rather a-kairos when the kingdom of God breaks into this world and makes everything new (233). This section recalls the topic of eschatology and grace in a critical examination of Walter Benjamin and Agamben and discusses the status of the event in Antony Negri, Slavoj Žižek and Alain Badiou as a secularized political counter of the Pauline notion of grace. In Chapter Six, ‘‘Ethics as Immorality,’’ Boer addresses the postmodern turn to eth- ics and alterity in Judith Butler, Terry Eagleton, and Michel Foucault in a critical examin- ation inspired by Badiou’s critique of Lévinasian ethics of alterity. Boer perceives ethical subjectivity and alterity as regressions to the most bourgeois form of self-repression. The ethical category of other and otherness is ironized in an eloquent page (260). A similar but less polemical critique is targeted against any theology (or politics) of love like in Marx’ Christian predecessor, Wilhelm Weitling (138) and against the invocation of love of neighbor in Eagleton’s combination of Marxism, Lacanian psychoanalysis, and theology (261). In Chapter Seven, ‘‘Idols, Marx on Fetishism,’’ Boer calls for a fresh reading of the Marxian dialectics between idol and fetishism. This section is where the dialectical tension of Boer’s project is most profound and fertile for contemporary debate. While the critique of idols and idolatry is an approach adopted by many figures from the prophet Isaiah to Marx and Latin American Liberation theologians, the shift from idol to fetish is Marx’ decisive breakthrough in the criticism of capitalism (313). In this move, Boer perceives a political and theological potential (289) that has been lost in the Marxism of Latin American Liberation theology from the seventies (310–313). In Adorno’s utopian iconoclasm and Boer’s own Calvinist stance, the Marxian analyses are taken further (309; 314–320). 218 Critical Research on Religion 3(2) at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/ Theology is suspended in the gap between myth and history. The dialectical questioning goes in both directions, when it questions the blind spots of both Marxism and theology. Materializing theology is the name chosen for a dialectical understanding of theism/atheism (48–49). Despite all his sympathies, Boer de-materializes Friedrich Engel’s (and by implica- tion Thomas Müntzer’s) crass undialectical materialism stating that religion is nothing but an ideological overcoat (169). Boer’s sensitivity for marginalized utopian or Christian communist positions such as the Protestant socialist Diggers and Levellers in 17th century England, Thomas Müntzer and the revolt of the German peasants in 1525, and modern Marxist Liberation Theology in Latin America makes his analysis persuasive and provoking. On Boer’s reading, the Marxist per- spective of the global capitalist world is foreshadowed in the early Christian community depicted in The Acts of the Apostles as a relinquishing of private property and redistribution of all goods (Acts 2: 44–45) (112). These references are inspired by thinkers such as Ernst Bloch, Walter Benjamin, and Th.W. Adorno and a host of other less well-known writers that are given a voice in Boer’s project. He presents not only their radical ideas but also inspiring biographical fragments of some of these figures. The book gives a wide range of historical accounts of the relation of political power, economics, and religious responses in the theo- logical tradition from the earliest biblical times to the history of the church as well as the heretics. The Chapter on History (171–206) offers a historical materialist argument for the thesis that early Christianity should first of all be understood as a political movement and explains why it produces a myth of Christian communism (171). In Marx, Lenin, and Engels, however, the biblical and religious aspirations are more problematic as sources of revolutionary action. Marx and Engels reject such religious uto- pianism as bourgeois ideology in the French movement of Christian Communism inspired by Saint-Simon. In the section, ‘‘Old Timber and Lovers,’’ Boer depicts his method of writing and thinking with heterogeneous material as an art of combining and constructing bookshelves, furniture, and useful products from discarded items and found objects (2–5). From the prophet Isaiah chapter 44, Boer quotes the passages where the prophet scorns the blacksmith and the carpenter who use their craft to make images and sculptures of God (290). Isaiah, like Marx, distinguishes between unalienated work and its products and the alienation of this work when the carpenter makes an idol and worships the work of his hands. This points to a Puritan motive in Boer’s analyses that is reminiscent of literary heroes of liberalism (and even of the Tea Party movement) – figures such as Henry David Thoreau or Robinson Crusoe. Marx would probably have dismissed this motive as nostalgia for simple living. According to Marx, the religious socialist stance nourishes a regressive longing for a primordial lost communism of consumption that will never reach a modern developed state of a ‘‘communism of production’’ at which mature Marxist theory aims. On Marx’ account, capitalism and its technological achievements are indis- pensable preconditions for the communist end. Yet, according to Boer, Marxist critical theory seems to live from a disowned religious and humanistic conviction that motivates revolutionary engagement. Boer lingers between this religious mythical impulse and the genuinely scientific claims of Marx’ economic theory. The role of state bureaucracy and state power is downplayed in Boer’s Marxist focus on economics on the one hand and utopian anticipation on the other. Marx seems to imply that the question of political power and the state in his predecessors Hegel, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, or Thomas Hobbes, will be surmounted as soon as economic alienation and fetishism of commodities are overcome. Book Reviews 219 at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/ The appeal to religious utopianism underestimates the challenges that modern state bur- eaucracy and democratic politics should be able to meet in terms of institutional structures and systems of redistribution. Political theology tends to go with either the sublimated Messianism of Walter Benjamin or the authoritarian theology of the state as described by Carl Schmitt. However, in his account of Paul’s political theology in the Letter to the Romans, Jacob Taubes strongly states the absolute necessity to distinguish between the worldly political and the spiritual and divine which is lacking in Benjamin as well as in Schmitt. ‘‘You see now what I want from Schmitt—I want to show him that the separation of powers between worldly and spiritual is absolutely necessary’’ (Taubes, 2004: 103). In a certain respect, Marx sides with Paul and Taubes on the question of religious utopian politics, but Marx dismisses the Pauline recognition of the (Roman) state, the katechon (Thessalonians II, Chap. 2, v.6) as an absolutely indispensable deferral of the reign of anarchy and terror. This conclusion is not drawn in Roland Boer’s work, but the ambiva- lence and tensions are worked out. Boer lingers between a utopian Christian communism and Marx’ denunciation of the latter to the benefit of rational and scientific economic ana- lyses of the capitalist system and its contradictions. The residual romantic anthropology from Rousseau and Ludwig Feuerbach makes Marx’ own appeal to a human rationality vulnerable. ‘‘Ambivalence,’’ the title of the third section, lingers between a strictly historical materi- alist dialectic of Marx and Engels and a visionary, mythical, literary, and biblical approach to the utopian community. The drama of the project is an internal debate between Christian communism and Christian atheism on the one hand and an atheistic non-Christian ‘‘scien- tific’’ communism (Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin) on the other. This tension is fleshed out in Marx’ relation to his early predecessor, the layman Wilhelm Weitling for whom Boer has a soft spot (135–138). Weitling argued for a violent and direct overthrow of the state and the immediate establishment of communism on the model of the first Christians in the New Testament. In 1846, Marx rejected all that as ‘‘sentimental, back-ward looking rubbish’’ (136). A modern communism would need a full development of capitalism and bourgeois democracy if it were to be solid. The development of these modern structures is an unfinished project. But Boer does not like compromising and every sort of Hegelian mediation is sus- pected to be social-democratic or worse forms of betrayal. Yet it seems that only some form of a Hegelian analysis of modernity will prevent the Marxist and the Christian communist stance from sliding into sectarian violence. The era of Stalin revealed a specific alienation of power, an inherent ambiguity that pertains to the rationality of the political regardless whether the economic system is capitalist or communist. This point was made by Paul Ricoeur in an article in 1957 that became a linchpin for the debate over politics and the political traced by Oliver Marchart (Marchart, 2007; Ricoeur, 2007: 247–270). The Pauline kathecon (Agamben, 2005: 111–112; Taubes, 2004: 103) reminds us of a political realism that the enthusiastic utopian understanding of civil society, market, and religion tend to neglect in a certain liberal tradition that Marx in some respects prolongs. Hegel did not ignore the potential self-destructive powers of the market and of religion, and therefore he tried to give a philosophical, non-theological account of the modern secular state as an independent counter power to the forces of civil society. Boer has dedicated his exegetical and theological skills to the now completed series of commentaries on Marxism and theology. The genre of commentary on canonical texts is the common way of working consistently with complex linguistic, historical, and sys- tematic questions. In the Vale of Tears, Boer sums up some of the findings from the 220 Critical Research on Religion 3(2) at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/ previous volumes. The final volume, however, is presented as an autonomous piece of work where the author to a larger extent distances himself from the texts and develops his own views and arguments in a thematic approach. Scripture should be the ‘‘bad conscience of the church’’ as Boer phrases his protest Protestantism (82). A similar self-critical relation is a result of Boer’s account of Marxism and its many internal tensions. Marxists and theologians will find something to learn about each other, and readers who do not consider themselves as members of these groups will discover a neglected dimension of modern intellectual and political history, which is more relevant than ever. References Agamben G (2005) The Time that Remains. A Commentary on the Letter to the Romans. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Marchart O (2007) Post-Foundational Political Thought. Political Difference in Nancy, Lefort, Badiou and Laclau. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Nancy JL (2008) Dis-Enclosure. The Deconstruction of Christianity. New York: Fordham University Press. Ricoeur P (2007) History and Truth. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Taubes J (2004) The Political Theology of Paul. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Author biography Carsten Pallesen, Doctor of Theology, is Associate Professor of Ethics and Philosophy of Religion at the Department of Systematic Theology at the Faculty of Theology, University of Copenhagen, Denmark. His primary fields of study are hermeneutics and philosophy of religion in Paul Ricoeur, Søren Kierkegaard, and G.W.F. Hegel. Matt Tomlinson, Ritual Textuality: Pattern and Motion in Performance, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014, (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-19-934114-6, xii þ 169pp. Reviewed by Paul-François Tremlett, The Open University In a previous review of mine about Hilary B. P. Bagshaw’s Religion in the Thought of Mikhail Bakhtin: Reason and Faith (2013) I argued that Bagshaw had offered a rather one-sided account of Bakhtin’s oeuvre and drastically misconstrued the notion of ‘‘dialogism’’ and its value for the study of religions. Serendipitously, the next book in the scattered and rather disorderly pile on my desk is interested, with Bakhtin, in language in motion and perform- ance or, in Bakhtin’s terms, in ‘‘dialogue’’ (3, 8–10, 92–93, 103, 111). More precisely, Matt Tomlinson’s interests are in speech and speech patterns and their capacities for illocutionary and perlocutionary affect. In the preface he states that his main ethnographic research method is ‘‘to record and analyse speech’’ concentrating particularly on ‘‘textual patterns’’ (ix). Elsewhere, he summarizes his approach as one concerned with ‘‘understand people’s expectations of ritual effectiveness,’’ paying close attention ‘‘to the distinct patterns people create as they articulate signs and texts in performance’’ (1). Tomlinson specifies four such Book Reviews 221 at Copenhagen University Library on June 13, 2016crr.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://crr.sagepub.com/ 
work_pfenuyfn6zcu5gan4z4bnl27ia	----	It’s Never Too Late to Learn Ronald G. Driggers Downloaded From: https://www.spiedigitallibrary.org/journals/Optical-Engineering on 05 Apr 2021 Terms of Use: https://www.spiedigitallibrary.org/terms-of-use It’s Never Too Late to Learn – It’s never too late to fall in love. Sandy Wilson – It’s never too late to start over, never too late to be happy. Jane Fonda – It’s never too late to be what you might have been. George Eliot – It’s never too late to give up our prejudices. Henry David Thoreau One thing for sure, it’s never too late to learn or to get an edu- cation. It’s certainly never too late to pursue a doctorate. I had an experience with this when my roommate and I were going through the engineering doctoral program. His mother was about 55 at the time, and she signed up for a doctoral program in business. I was in a rush to finish, but my roommate joined the Navy and flew jets for a few years in the middle of his pro- gram. His mother not only finished her business degree, but also obtained a tenure track-position at Ole Miss and retired as an associate professor of business a number of years later. Over the past 30 years, I have had great fun with my friend that his mom kicked his butt in school. Although, I have to admit, my friend ended up being very successful in both the Navy and as a high-level engineer with many research and development successes. In the mid to late 1990s, I went to work for Rich Vollmerhausen, a well-known infrared physicist, to investigate the performance of infrared imagers. It was one of the greatest 5 years of my life as I learned from Rich, and we published around 100 papers, a few of them groundbreaking. Rich had done more significant research than any of the PhDs I had ever known. We both learned a great deal and enjoyed the research that included theory, field experimentation, and laboratory measurements. After a long successful career in government, Rich retired and consulted for a few years. One day, he decided he was going to go get a PhD, and in short order, he was accepted at the University of Delaware. In his 60s, he moved to Newark and completed comprehensive examinations, conducted a research disserta- tion, defended his research, and became Dr. Vollmerhausen. I have always been proud of Rich, but nothing makes me more proud than to see someone like Rich pursue a program with the attitude of “when” they become Dr. Vollmerhausen, not “if,” as many of us younger people in a program experienced. I am now proud to call Dr. Vollmerhausen my business partner. My girlfriend, Juliet, who currently works at the White House in the area of counter proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, has had a career of 25 years in government in both the State Department and the intelligence community. She has a master’s degree in international studies from Georgetown and is very accomplished. She just recently decided to enroll in the University of Central Florida’s doctoral program for international security studies, and in the fall she will be a full-time student. I can tell she is a little nervous about going back to school, but I can also tell you she is really excited about it. University of Central Florida is very fortunate to be getting someone with her experience and knowledge on the subject, and it should make the program stronger for the other students. Juliet is still young, but she is not the typical age of doctoral students who went through school continu- ously. It is only a matter of short time that she will be called Dr. Smith, and she will be onto her next adventure. I strongly encourage anyone who wishes to go back to school to do so. Education not only makes your life better, but also improves the lives of the younger students around you. Having someone around with experience helps the others learn in a more robust way. Rich will tell you it is not easy, but it is rewarding. Ronald G. Driggers Editor in Chief Optical Engineering 030101-1 March 2014 • Vol. 53(3) Editorial Downloaded From: https://www.spiedigitallibrary.org/journals/Optical-Engineering on 05 Apr 2021 Terms of Use: https://www.spiedigitallibrary.org/terms-of-use 
work_pfsw2z2ibzaubdktrk6atf3leu	----	A Transcendental Education Transcendental Learning: The Educational Legacy of Alcott, Emerson, Fuller, Peabody and Thoreau We shall one day learn to supersede politics by education. What we call our root-and-branch reforms of slavery, war, gambling, intemperance, is only medicating the symptoms. We must begin higher up, namely, in Education. -Emerson In antebellum America, a group of individuals living mostly in Concord Massachusetts, have had a continuing influence on our lives. Daniel Walker Howe in his Pulitzer Prize winning history of the antebellum period in America, What Hath God Wrought, writes about the “extraordinary outburst of genius” which was comparable to fifth century Athens or sixteenth century Florence. He (2007) also writes of their continuing impact: The writings of the Transcendentalists affirm some of the best qualities characteristic of American civilization: self-reliance, willingness to question authority, a quest for spiritual nourishment. Their writings, even today, urge us to independent reflection in the face of fads, conformity, blind partisanship, and mindless consumerism. (p.626) It is somewhat ironic that a movement that focused on the individual could impact social and political movements including the independence of India and the civil rights movement in the United States. In Blessed Unrest Paul Hawken argues that 1 Emerson’s ideas formed a seed that grew through the work of Thoreau, Gandhi and Martin Luther King. Hawken writes that when Emerson came to France in 1832, he was moved by his visits to the Jardin des Plantes and the Cabinet of Natural History in Paris. Walking in the Jardin des Plantes and seeing how animals and nature were connected led Emerson to his insight of how life was deeply interconnected. He wrote later, “Nature is intricate, overlapped, interweaved, and endless.” (2003, p. 433) Hawken (2007) writes, “It was Emerson’s first encounter with the web of life.” (p.73) This insight led Emerson to write his essay Nature which became one of the key works in Transcendentalism. Emerson “planted seeds that would develop into what were, and continue to be, two disparate concepts that animate our daily existence: how we treat nature and how we treat one another-the foundations of environmental and social justice.” (p.73) Thoreau picked up these two strands which bore fruit in Walden a book that continues to inspire the environmental movement and Civil Disobedience which Gandhi read in 1906. When Gandhi was first arrested in South Africa in 1908, he took Thoreau’s writings with him so he “could find arguments in favor of our fight.” (p.79) It was Thoreau’s integration of ideas and practice that appealed to Gandhi. For Gandhi, Thoreau was someone who “taught nothing he was not prepared to practice himself.” (Gandhi, p. 113) This was something that Gandhi took to heart and when asked once about giving some words of wisdom he said that “my life is my message.” In 1956 during the Montgomery bus boycott a colleague gave Martin Luther King three books: Gandhi’s Autobiography, Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience, and Richard Gregg’s The Power of Non Violence. When the boycott was finished and King was asked what books influenced him the most he mentioned all three of these works. Today the 2 Dalai Lama and Aung San Suu Kyi in Burma continue to echo the original message of Emerson and Thoreau with their non-violent ethic. As Paul Hawken (2007) has so ably documented, this vision has continued today particularly through the non-violence ethic but also through what he refers to as the “movement without a name”. This is a movement that includes perhaps two million grass roots groups around the world working for constructive change. The core ethic that unites these groups is rooted in the ethic of non-violence and a sense of the sacred. In education, this movement includes a diverse group including Waldorf, Montessori, Reggio Emilia schools, home schooling, democratic schools, and variety of alternative approaches to education. These educators tend to embrace a vision of educating the whole child and reject the mechanistic models that currently dominate the educational scene. In Toronto, for example, a group of parents, community members, and teachers have come together to initiate a school for the whole child within the Toronto District School Board (www.wholechildschool.ca) that started in September 2009. (Miller, 2010) This school is now called Equinox Holistic Alternative School and incorporates some of the features of Transcendental Learning. Transcendental Learning The Transcendentalists were interested in education but unlike the work I have just discussed, we have ignored their vision of learning. It is high time that we looked more closely at their view of teaching and learning. Alcott and Peabody devoted their lives to teaching and learning but Emerson, Fuller, and Thoreau also taught and shared many thoughts on education. The thesis of this paper is that they left an important legacy 3 http://www.wholechildschool.ca/ that can help us move beyond today’s narrow view of education that focuses on preparing students so that they can compete in the global economy. What we have today is education that centers on job creation and high stakes testing that is part of a corporate view of schooling. Emerson’s (1966) critique of education still holds today. He wrote about what we fail to give students. We do not give them a training as if we believed in their noble nature. We scarce educate their bodies. We do not train the eye and the hand. We exercise their understandings to the apprehension and comparison of some facts, to a skill in numbers in words; we aim to make accountants, attorneys, engineers, but not to make able, earnest, great-hearted men. (p.211) For the past 25 years educational reform has focused on testing as the way to improve student achievement. No Child Left Behind has been the culminating legislation of this movement in the United States. Education systems have reinforced fragmentation rather than connectedness. They have become part of a world where there is corporate corruption, deep distrust of politicians and the political process, environmental destruction, and an empty lifestyle based on materialism and consumption. The obsession with test results rather than a sensible approach to accountability has only led to deeper and more pervasive forms of fragmentation and alienation. In 2011 we learned of wide spread cheating and false reporting in the Atlanta schools. 4 In contrast to the current vision schooling, the Transcendentalists offer an inspiring vision of education that focuses on wholeness and wisdom. Its aim, as Emerson states, is to produce “great-hearted” individuals. It does not deny the spiritual and provides a language and approach to spirituality that is inclusive. The Transcendentalists offer a redemptive vision of education that includes: -educating the whole child-body, mind, and soul, -happiness as a goal of education, -educating students so they see the interconnectedness in nature, -recognizing the inner wisdom of the child as something to be honored and nurtured, - a blueprint for environmental education through the work of Thoreau, -an inspiring vision for educating women of all ages through the work of Fuller, -an experimental approach to pedagogy that continually seeks for more effective ways of educating children, -a recognition of the importance of the presence of teacher and encouraging teachers to be aware and conscious of their own behavior. - a vision of multicultural and bilingual education through the work of Elizabeth Peabody. The Transcendentalists challenge us to provide an education that inspires or, in Emerson’s words, sets “the hearts of youth on flame”. Transcendental education recognizes what Thoreau (2002) said that “ Surely joy is the condition of life.” (p.5) Transcendental learning engages the child fully; of course, not every moment in a Transcendental classroom is an epiphany but ultimately students look forward to coming to schools that employ the principles outlined by the Transcendentalists. 5 TRANCENDENTAL EDUCATORS I have chosen to describe the work of the following five individuals because they all taught at one time and held a view of education that was essentially holistic. Ralph Waldo Emerson Ralph Waldo Emerson was the intellectual leader of the Transcendentalists and mentor to the others described in this book. His lectures and essays inspired many individuals connected with Transcendentalism. Buell comments that for the Transcendentalists it was more important to “inspire than explain.” (p. xxiii) Emerson did not lay out a systematic philosophy but wrote and spoke in a manner that moved the reader and the listener. James Russell Lowell wrote “I have heard some great speakers and some accomplished orators, but never any that so moved and persuaded me as he.” (Cited in McAleer, p. 493) Many of Emerson’s ideas resonate with a holistic perspective. He wrote (1990), “Nothing is quite beautiful alone, nothing but is beautiful in the whole. A single object is only so far beautiful as it suggests this universal grace.” (p.26) Henry David Thoreau Henry David Thoreau lived in Concord and would stay in Emerson’s home while Emerson was away lecturing. Thoreau was the earthy face of Transcendentalism. He loved nature and could be viewed as the father of the American environmental movement 6 with his book Walden as one of its seminal texts. Thoreau was also a teacher; he and his brother, John, started and ran their own school that incorporated principles of holistic learning. Margaret Fuller Margaret Fuller can be viewed not only as one the foremost Transcendentalists but as one of the most important women in 19th Century America. Her book, Woman in the Nineteenth Century, explored the intellectual and social position of women and argued against women’s second class status. She also was the first editor of the journal of Transcendentalism, The Dial. Fuller was also an elementary school teacher but is most known for the “Conversations” that she ran for women in Boston. She led discussions with women that covered a wide range of topics that were designed to intellectually engage the women who participated. Howe (2007) writes that “From our standpoint in twenty-first century, the Transcendentalist who looks the most “modern” is Margaret Fuller. Versatile and passionate, she made her impact felt on journalism, feminism, criticism (literary, music, and art) and revolution.” (p. 621) I would add education as well to this list. Bronson Alcott Bronson Alcott was interested in education throughout his life. He founded the Temple School in Boston where he engaged the students in discussions and inquiry that differed radically from the recitation and drill approach so common in most schools at that time. Alcott believed children held an inner wisdom that could be drawn out through 7 Socratic questioning. Elizabeth Peabody Like Bronson Alcott, Elizabeth Peabody devoted her life to education. Bruce Ronda (1999) in his biography of Peabody states that “education was her great calling and her grand passion.” (p.7) She taught in several schools and helped Alcott in the Temple School, which she wrote about in Record of a School. Her crowning achievement was being an advocate for kindergarten. Influenced by the work of Freidrich Froebel, Peabody argued that emphasis in kindergarten should be on play rather than academic work United States. She also developed vision of bilingual education with her work with native Americans. Gruenewald (2002) in an article on “Teaching and Learning with Thoreau” writes: I believe that the troubled profession of teaching could benefit greatly from taking seriously the kind of dissent, experimentation, and holistic living-in-place that Thoreau’s legacy embodies. We may need him today more than ever before. So let us consider the ways in which we spend our lives, and let that reflection shape the kind of education we make possible for ourselves, and our students. (p.539) I would argue that not just Thoreau but the Transcendentalists discussed in this paper deserve a more detailed exploration of their views on education. In our day of factory-like models of schooling and it would be wise to reflect and re-imagine education 8 from their ideas. This could help us today develop a broader view of education that focuses on the development of whole human beings that can think, feel and act. REFERENCES Buell, L. (2006). “Introduction” in The American transcendentalists: Essential writings. L. Buell, (ed.) New York: Penguin. pp. xi-xxiii. Emerson, R. (1966). Emerson on education: Selections. H.M. Jones (Ed.) New York: Teachers College Press. Emerson, R.W. (2003) Selected writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson. New York: Signet Gruenewald, D.A. (2002). Teaching and learning with Thoreau, The Harvard Educational Review. 72, 515-539. Hawken, P. (2007). Blessed Unrest: How the largest movement in the world came into 9 being and why non one saw it coming. New York: Viking. Howe, D.W. (2007). What hath God wrought: The transformation of America, 1815- 1848. New York: Oxford. McAleer, J.J. (1984). Ralph Waldo Emerson: Days of Encounter. Boston: Little, Brown. Ronda, B. A. (1999) Elizabeth Palmer Peabody: A reformer on her own terms. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Thoreau, H. D. (2002) The essays of Henry D. Thoreau. L. Hyde (Ed.) New York: North Point Press. 10 
work_ppehauixvbcmxjutoucjfzmb3y	----	pf40chap01 NEW DIRECTIONS FOR PHILANTHROPIC FUNDRAISING, NO. 40, SUMMER 2003 © WILEY PERIODICALS, INC. 5 The definition and analysis of capacity building in this chapter provides a foundation for under- standing how capacity-building expectations and practices are fulfilled by organizations represented in the rest of this volume. The authors also address organizational change through their discussion of catalytic mechanisms. 1 Capacity building: A primer David J. Kinsey, J. Russell Raker III WHAT DOES IT MEAN to build capacity? Dozens of organizations say they are doing it, droves of CEOs and board members are attend- ing seminars to learn how, and hundreds of consultants are offer- ing to reveal the secrets of capacity building at the next board retreat. But what is it? Fortunately, dictionary definitions of capacity are quite broad— perhaps even ambiguous. This diversity of definitions helps to make the case that capacity and capacity building are complex, multi- faceted concepts that embrace an organization’s mission, history, style, commitment, organizational architecture, leadership, and more. The liberality and diversity of the definitions, however, con- tinue to beg the questions, “What is capacity building?” “How might it apply to my organization?” and “How does it work?” 6 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS Conceptual foundations of capacity building Although the process of capacity building can take many forms, can be applied to many types and sizes of organizations, and can be implemented in an endless variety of ways, its conceptual founda- tions are always present. Validate mission A question commonly posed to governing boards by board offi- cers, constituents, community leaders, and parent organizations is, “How well is the organization fulfilling its mission?” The capacity- building process begins by posing a much deeper, and often more troublesome, question: “Are we pursuing the right mission?” Does the organization fill a real need? Could another organization do the job better? Is the organization moving forward with a clear sense of purpose or simply continuing to exist through bureaucratic momen- tum? Particularly when the organization has a long history, was begun by an organizational champion, or supports a large workforce, all sorts of pressures may prevent this question from emerging. Reconsider the vision Vision statements, often regarded as “pie in the sky” by adminis- trators and directors, are not often revisited once the board and staff have completed the task of constructing the first one. If the vision statement was, and perhaps still is, regarded as obligatory and fanciful—and therefore meaningless—it will not do much to encourage organizational growth and development. Vision state- ments may not always be within the immediate grasp of the orga- nization to achieve, but they must at least be feasible, realistic, and possible, at least at some point in the foreseeable future. Reaffirm values Values do not often get the attention they deserve in the mission- vision-values triad. If the values read like pabulum tastes (bland—to everybody but babies), they are probably not worth much. When board members confront important issues, do the value statements make an appearance? If not, they may be absent, weak, or forgotten. 7CAPACITY BUILDING: A PRIMER If the values do not pop up when tough decisions are on the table, it is likely that they no longer reflect the thinking of the leadership. Develop resources It is almost always true that resources do not simply materialize. Most often, they must be developed. That is, the board must iden- tify all possible sources, evaluate the potential of each source, set strategies for capture, and then do the necessary work to ensure that the resources become available to the organization. There must be alignment between sources and strategies. If the organization will be depending on philanthropy for a large share of its operating rev- enue, does the board express a willingness to be engaged in fundrais- ing? Do they expect the staff to raise funds without their assistance? Are the projected revenues realistic when considering the time allo- cation, experience, and the relationship with constituencies? Are government sources dependable over the long term? Are parent organizations willing to maintain or even increase their financial commitments? Answers to questions such as these will determine to what extent increases in organizational capacity are reasonable. Set strategies Capacity building demands experience in thinking and working strategically. If the organization has not been engaged in annual strategic planning, the unfamiliar process of enlarging capacity could create an organizational collapse. If the fellow who cuts the grass focuses on the lawn just ahead of the mower, the cut is crooked and the job is performed inefficiently. Keep your eye on a distant point and the mower swath is straight. Strategic planning is just like that. The shortsighted organization wastes time and energy by working with no plan or a day-to-day “plan.” Ensure productivity Frequently monitoring performance and analyzing and correcting deviations is fundamental to capacity building. Faulty assumptions, environmental changes, and other unexpected barriers to planned performance must be dealt with quickly and decisively. Let a prob- lem languish for a bit, and the error may be unrecoverable. It is not 8 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS a sin to encounter obstacles to performance; not devising a timely alternative plan is. How the mission is defined and how mission fulfillment is deter- mined influence the possible outcomes when these fundamentals are applied to the process of organizational governance. For a few organizations, the process will reveal obsolete or faulty missions or expose a halfhearted board commitment that may contribute to extinguishing the organization. Most organizations, however, will discover that the capacity-building process reveals new possibili- ties, stimulates renewed leadership commitment at both the staff and board levels, and expands the universe of potential resources. A few organizations (probably a very few) will be inspired to reinvent their organizations. For these organizations, the effect can be thoroughly transforming, and the transformation will take place in both the organizational structure and in many members of the board and staff. The McKinsey Capacity Building Assessment Grid (McKinsey & Company for Venture Philanthropy Partners, 2001) provides an eloquent framework for an in-depth, thorough evaluation. The matrix can subsequently be the basis for acting on the opportuni- ties that the assessment initiative revealed. For the group of organizations whose boards make the judgment that their organization should define the standard by which that type of organization is measured, yet more initiatives may come into play. Some of these will always be manifested in organizations that are thriving, growing, validating mission, and staying on mis- sion. To thrive, however, the level of commitment on the part of board, volunteer leadership, and staff must be very high. Once begun, the process can continue for as long as the organization wishes to identify as a high-performing organization. The monster called BHAG In their research for Built to Last (2002), Porras and Collins iden- tify the “monster” many organizations fear most and avoid at all costs: the BHAG (Big Hairy Audacious Goal). Their description 9CAPACITY BUILDING: A PRIMER of a BHAG includes three defining characteristics: it has a long time frame (ten to thirty years or more); it is clear, compelling, and easy to grasp; and it connects to the core values and purpose of the organization. Examples of BHAGs are Starbucks’ goal of becom- ing the world’s best recognized brand name, Sony’s 1950s BHAG to change the world’s opinion about the quality of Japanese-made goods, and Nike’s effort to eclipse its competitor, Adidas. The BHAG is unique, say the authors, in that it is able to blend continuity with change. Employing it requires a bold approach. One powerful way of doing that, they assert, is to employ what they call catalytic mechanisms—engines for change. Catalytic mechanisms: Engines for change The nature of catalytic mechanisms, says Jim Collins (1999), is illustrated at the conclusion of Walden (1992), in which Henry David Thoreau writes, “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be: Now put the foundations under them” (p. 82). Collins goes on to describe BHAGs as a “company’s wildest dreams” and catalytic mechanisms as their foundations. “Build them both,” he advises (p. 82). Collins (1999) identifies five characteristics of a catalytic mech- anism. Our brief review of these characteristics and some examples of how they are articulated in organizations will provide a helpful introduction to them: • A catalytic mechanism produces desired results in unpredictable ways. Traditionally designed management systems tend to strengthen bureaucracies. Bureaucratic systems can be productive, but they are always lim- ited by predictability and conformity. Organizations excel when people are allowed to do unexpected things—to show initiative and creativity and to “throw away the script.” • A catalytic mechanism distributes power for the benefit of the over- all system, often to the great discomfort of those who traditionally hold power. 10 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS Catalytic mechanisms force the right things to happen, even when those in leadership (power) benefit from another outcome. The impact of this characteristic, says Collins (1999), is that “it subverts the default, knee-jerk tendency of bureaucracies to choose inaction over action, status quo over change, and idiotic rules over common sense.” Distributing leadership power is largely unfamiliar in most organizations, but when this happens, “vast reservoirs of energy and competence flow” (p. 76). • A catalytic mechanism has teeth. The process of creating and implementing catalytic mechanisms carries a number of built-in properties that push the organization toward mission fulfillment. When catalytic mechanisms are func- tioning, nonproductivity is literally squeezed out. Productivity is rewarded on both an individual and a team basis, and there are strong incentives not to let the team down. • A catalytic mechanism ejects viruses. Collins (1999) asserts that the old adage that “people are your most important asset” is wrong. The right persons, that is, those who share the core values and naturally express the character and atti- tude of the organization, are its best assets. Finding those individ- uals, and creating catalytic mechanisms that so strongly reflect core values that those who do not share them will not be hired or will leave, is the real challenge. • A catalytic mechanism produces an ongoing effect. Collins (1999) is careful to contrast catalytic mechanisms with a close relative, the catalytic event. Speeches, rallies, and campaigns— all can be useful, but if their effect is short term, they are merely catalytic events. Staffs have become immune to programs that are built around buzzwords and fads. If there is a probability that a change initiative cannot produce high productivity over a period of years, it does not qualify as a catalytic mechanism. Catalytic mechanisms can exist in multiples, should evolve over time, and are best created with broad employee input. Because they have transformational potential, organizations should develop and implement them with serious thought and extreme care. 11CAPACITY BUILDING: A PRIMER Quality: Capacity building’s yardstick Whether it is a shirt, a bell pepper, an automobile, or a service, we all want quality. Most of us believe that we can define quality, but depending on what the organization is, what the product or service is, or what our expectations are, the definitions can be quite differ- ent. Good construction, freshness, flavor, durability, dependability, style, customer delight: all these and dozens more relate in one way or another to what we call quality. If the combination of these fac- tors also comes with low price, we are even happier (witness the popularity of off-price retailers T. J. Maxx, Marshalls, Ross, and the “wholesale club” retailers Costco and Sam’s Club). For organizations that wish to build capacity, concerns about quality are among the most important considerations. In some organizations, quality improvement opportunities come knocking. For Florida’s children’s services agency, a current quality improve- ment opportunity is to find dozens of children the system has lost. But most organizations’ own perceptions about their quality, and the perceptions of clients or the public, will be considerably less dramatic. Nevertheless, in the long run, they may be just as impor- tant in that they may have a profound effect on the organization’s future through a catastrophic failure or a slowly building collection of client dissatisfactions. The organ transplant debacle at Duke University Hospital in which the young recipient died is a sad but powerful example of a catastrophic outcome in the absence of a simple, glaringly obvious verification of donor-recipient blood type matching. Until the 1980s, quality management was rare in all except product-driven organizations, and even there the scope of what should be considered in the “quality” column was limited. The work of Joseph M. Juran, founder of the Juran Institute, led to the concept of Total Quality Management and created a formal approach to defining, managing, and improving quality in a range of settings, from manufacturing to service organizations to educa- tional and health care institutions. The idea that doing a thing well could be substituted for culling out the substandard—that is, 12 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS achieving built-in quality—is a better approach that is easy to accept but harder to achieve and maintain. The Juran Institute, among others with a similar focus, offers progressively more sophisticated training in quality management for CEOs and board leaders committed to building organizational capacity and effectiveness. For executives who wish to lead their organizations through a capacity-building transformation, this type of training is an imperative. Integration and collaboration When a youngster whom I know formed her first sentence, it was, “I can do it myself.” Her early predisposition for fierce indepen- dence persisted as she went into the first grade and will no doubt be an asset to her as she moves through the grade levels and some- day enters a career field. Especially for youngsters with these traits, lessons about teamwork and the benefit of collaboration must begin in the early grades. Many institutions—perhaps even most institutions—however, have not gotten the message that there is strength in being out- wardly focused. Self-reliance can easily become egotism; “main- taining values” can turn into isolationism; an obsessive pursuit of “excellence” can eventually create an elitist organization. Orga- nizations interested in building capacity will need to find ways to engage others in partnerships. Transforming an organization is difficult, if not impossible, to achieve without collaboration and integration. Becoming and staying a high-performing organization Doing all that we have already outlined here will automatically include the essential ingredient for success as a high-performing organization—listening. This element of capacity building cannot 13CAPACITY BUILDING: A PRIMER be emphasized enough. The answers to many critical questions that the organization needs to know are frequently overlooked. Boards often despise the idea that staff members’ experience and training could be valuable; it would not occur to managers in many organi- zations to solicit an opinion from the rank and file; and seeking opinions from constituents or the public might reveal that the orga- nization lacks adequately prepared leadership. It almost seems silly to see these admissions in print, yet they are too common in many organizations today, even leading ones. The bottom line Organizations that wish to engage in the process of capacity build- ing and transformation—those that decide to experience the per- sonal and corporate satisfaction of building and achieving the status of a high-performing organization—will find that there are many pathways leading to that destination. It may seem paradoxical to suggest it, but organizations moving toward that goal will proba- bly use many of those pathways. The directors, staff, and others will not march along in perfect cadence on a single path. The talents, time, experience, education, and degree of commitment to the mis- sion, vision, and values of the organization on the part of those who would undertake the journey will bring diversity to the effort, along with some wrong turns, conflict, and dropouts. Organizations whose leadership chooses to work toward supe- rior performance must realize that both reward and risk will emerge in the process. Management staffs that have difficulty coping with anything less than perfection in the capacity-building process will face many disappointments along the way. Individuals whose need for validation and approval extends much beyond the satisfaction of leading an organization that is delivering maximum benefit to its constituents should think twice before triggering the capacity- building process. 14 CAPACITY BUILDING FOR NONPROFITS References Collins, J. C. “Turning Goals into Results: The Power of Catalytic Mecha- nisms.” Harvard Business Review, July-Aug. 1999, pp. 71–82. Collins, J. C., and Porras, J. I. Built to Last: Successful Habits of Visionary Com- panies. New York: HarperCollins, 2002. McKinsey & Company for Venture Philanthropy Partners. Effective Capacity Building in Nonprofit Organizations. [http://vppartners.org/learning/reports/ capacity/capacity.html]. 2001. Thoreau, H. D. Walden. Boston: Charles E. Tuttle Co., 1992. DAVID J. KINSEY is an advancement officer at Loma Linda University and Medical Center in southern California. J. RUSSELL RAKER III is an advancement officer at Loma Linda Univer- sity and Medical Center in southern California. 
work_ptfphkepobfn5cquxfjitjtelm	----	area(15)_794.fm Area (2008) 40.2, 265 – 277 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 Blackwell Publishing Ltd Gathering in Thoreau’s backyard: nontimber forest product harvesting as practice Paul Robbins*, Marla Emery** and Jennifer L Rice* *University of Arizona, Department of Geography and Regional Development, Tucson, AZ 85721, USA Email: robbins@email.arizona.edu **US Forest Service, Northern Research Station, South Burlington, VT 05403, USA Revised manuscript received 6 November 2007 Understanding of the gathering of nontimber forest products (NTFPs) in woodlands has focused heavily on politics surrounding public lands and harvester communities. Yet forest gathering may be far more universal. This paper reports the results of a survey of residents in New England, querying whether people gather wild things and for what purposes. The results suggest that gathering in New England, and elsewhere in the developed world, is not restricted to a unique type of community or economy, but instead is a form of practice. Those analytical approaches to NTFPs that seek to produce ‘alternatives’ to the dominant economy may therefore ironically work to reinforce a capitalocentric view of daily life. Key words: New England, nontimber forest products, alternative economy, natural resource management, usufruct, land policy Introduction It is increasingly apparent that forests are more than trees. The recognition that forest materials, other than timber, are extracted from forests has led to a belated shift in the attention of managers and scholars. That such harvesting is widespread and includes gathering in places as far-ranging as temperate United States (Richards and Creasy 1996), tropical Ecuador (Svenning and Macia 2002), Amazonia (Hecht and Cockburn 1989), Canada (Duchesne and Wetzel 2002) and arid India (Robbins 2001) has come to be viewed as non-remarkable. Nontimber forest product (NTFP) research is now an academic and policy regime in its own right, fuelling a rethinking of the uses, diversity and function of forested lands. Challenging the tree- centred and industrially-oriented management regimes of forestry professionals, gatherers of mushrooms, fuelwood, medicinal bark and other biotic products have become progressively more prominent (Emery et al. 2004). But the motivation and political and economic implications of all this gathering remains unclear. What is the position and role of gathering wild things on and within the wider population and economy? How do NTFPs matter to the larger polity, if at all? In Great Britain, interest in NTFPs grows in part out of interest in the potential for supplemental income for rural communities, coupled with con- cerns about the ecological sustainability of forestry. Thus, uses of native plants and fungi have been catalogued and assessed in Scotland (Dyke and Newton 1999; Dyke 2001; Milliken and Bridgewater 2001 2004), Wales (Wong and Dickinson 2003), and England (Sanderson and Prendergast 2002). An emerging secondary emphasis stresses the social values, ethics, benefits and policy of gathering NTFPs (Emery et al. 2006b; Dyke 2006). In the United States, investigations and characteri- sations of NTFP harvesting have focused predominantly on the conflicts that emerge where large numbers of harvesters enter and use public lands to harvest 266 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 economically valuable goods. This has meant a focus on large public land areas, especially in the West, upon populations in these regions that gather products on a large scale, and upon well- organised trade networks. These communities fre- quently find themselves at odds with conventional forest management regimes that stress industrial production systems, specifically large tree felling (Hirt 1994). In short, in the United States, a picture is forming of nontimber forestry as being defined by communities of harvesters, participating in an alternative economy , engendering conflicts between state and individual uses and values, and between global industry and local needs, especially in the Pacific Northwest. As valuable as such work has been, far less is known about the gathering of forest materials more generally. Specifically, NTFP research has not yet examined harvesting as an activity amongst larger populations, especially the highly urbanised popula- tions of the United States north and east, where people live further from vast public lands. As a result, key questions remain unanswered. Does NTFP gathering exclusively or predominantly take the form of ‘product’ gathering for economic use and exchange, rather than personal, religious or social purposes? At what rate does it occur in the larger population? And what is the demographic profile of gatherers in general, relative to non-gatherers? Behind these questions lie more fundamental ones. To understand the way we together negotiate the nature/society interface, itself increasingly understood to be an imaginary modern boundary (Latour 2004), examining environmentally-related behaviours of post- industrial people becomes essential. This paper reports the results of a random-sample, general-population survey of residents throughout the New England states of Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine, querying whether people gather wild plants from the environment around them and for what purposes. Rather than studying harvester communities, therefore, or using a case study approach to a specific context, the study seeks to answer the questions described above by assessing the rate, demographics and purposes of harvesting. The study builds on and complements previous sur- veys, which suggest that significant proportions of many populations gather NTFPs. Studies in Scotland (Emery et al. 2006b; Hislop et al. 2006) and across Great Britain (Forestry Commission 2005) have reported gathering of NTFPs at rates between 23 per cent and 27 per cent of the total population, including a range of socioeconomic and employ- ment groups, and a vast majority (~83%) reporting collection for strictly personal use. A number of previous surveys in the United States have included questions about informal harvesting of berries and mushrooms (Cordell et al. 2004), wild foods (Palmer 2000) and other products (Palmer 1998), on both public and private lands (Butler et al. 2005). A recent nationwide survey revealed that some 14 per cent of lawn owners consume wild plants (e.g. dandelions) from their own lawns (Robbins and Sharp 2003; Robbins 2007). These results suggest that participation in gathering activities is common to many populations outside of the more active interest communities associated with economically valuable NTFPs, spanning popu- lations from urban to rural. However, the rate of participation and socio-demographic characteristics of gathering within the larger US population remain obscure. This study, funded by the US Forest Service to help understand diverse forest constituencies, provides the first attempt to survey the general popu- lation of a region in the United States about their harvest and use of all types of nontimber materials. We refer to these plant parts and fungi throughout the work as ‘nontimber forest products’ (as com- monly used among Anglophone researchers and policymakers), but also use the term ‘plant materials’ (following Turner 1998), which we feel removes stress on the economic connotation of ‘products’ and so more adequately accommodates the actual range of gathering practices. The next section reviews the body of research on nontimber forest product gathering in the United States, stressing the way efforts of previous research have been directed at revealing alternatives to industrial timber economies. In the third section, we review our methodology, describing its inherent strengths and limitations. Part four reports the results, which suggest that participation in the gathering of nontimber materials by the general population of New England is not uncommon. Furthermore, while some differences are evident, the demographics of gatherers are similar to the population in many regards. Finally, only a tiny fraction of the total number of harvesters participate (as harvesters) in anything that might be described as an organised economy. These results, we suggest in our discussion, raise questions about how researchers and managers think about gathering and ‘alternative economies’ Nontimber forest product harvesting 267 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 more generally. Drawing on the work of Michel de Certeau (1988), we argue that gathering is not a unique type of community or economy, but instead a form of practice . So too, we argue that traditional analytical approaches to NTFPs, though extremely valuable, may ironically work to reinforce a capitalo- centric view of daily life (following Gibson-Graham 1996), specifically because they seek to produce ‘alternatives’ to the dominant economy. In the process, they may overlook the non-capitalisms that are so much a part of life all around us. Characterising US nontimber forest product harvesting The genealogy of US NTFP literature can be traced to a moment when conflict in the Pacific North- west (the states of Washington, Oregon, northern California and Idaho) dominated national forest policy, constructing it as a contest between regional economy and ecology. During the 1990s, increas- ingly visible harvester communities in commercial NTFP industries pressed for access to forests (Schlosser and Blatner 1995; Hansis 1996; Richards 1997). Grounded in this context, the US NTFP literature has been driven by the hopes and fears inspired by commodification of plant materials and fungi. Although some research is ongoing elsewhere in the United States (Emery 1998; Jahnige 1999; Chamberlain et al. 2002; Emery et al. 2003 2006a), a majority of the literature and national policy on NTFPs is a direct response to late twentieth-century developments in the Pacific Northwest (Love and Jones 2001; Carroll et al. 2003). Public lands constitute 31 026 000 acres, or approximately 60 per cent of the 51 612 000 acres of forests in the Pacific Northwest (Smith et al. 2001), and are a key source of NTFPs in the region. The US Forest Service and Bureau of Land Manage- ment, which manage 22 352 000 and 3 365 000 acres, respectively, began to concern themselves with commercial NTFP harvesting in the early 1990s. Echoing developments in international con- servation a decade earlier, NTFPs appeared to offer the prospect of reconciling two goals that seemed pitted against each other in the prevailing crisis – forest conservation and rural development (Hagen et al. 1996; Crook and Clapp 1998; Hagen and Fight 1999; Love and Jones 2001; Emery 2002). As environmental opposition to logging increased, NTFPs seemed to represent a sustainable livelihood for com- munities whose economies traditionally depended on extractive forestry (Thomas and Schumann 1993; Wetzel et al. 2006). NTFPs also represented a management challenge. As federal policy shifted from production-oriented sustained yield management to science-driven ecosystem management (Love and Jones 2001), the dearth of scientific literature on NTFPs was seen as an impediment to sound policy. Forest Service scientists, buttressed by academic scholars, began to undertake studies of the ecologies and economies of commercial fungi (Molina et al. 1993; Liegel et al. 1998), medicinals (Vance 1995) and floral greens (Blatner and Alexander 1998; Freed 2001; Lynch and McLain 2003). These studies often emphasised tensions between gatherers and land managers (Wang et al. 1996; McLain 2000) and conflicts between gatherers along lines of residence and ethnicity (Richards and Creasy 1996). Whether serving a public agency client or taking an openly critical approach (and more than a few studies have attempted to do both), this literature has been over- whelmingly focused on public lands in the region. In keeping with rural development themes, NTFP commodities and gatherer economies have been the substantive focus for nearly all of this research. Motivated by environmental justice concerns (McLain 2002) and responding to the paradigm crisis in temperate forestry (Love and Jones 2001), researchers have been concerned with rendering visible the economic contributions of NTFPs. The- ories of livelihood and the informal economy have been mobilised to establish the legitimacy of pro- ductive activities outside the scope of traditional forest economics (Emery 1998 1999; Alexander et al. 2002), using detailed ethnographic case studies to emphasise the importance of NTFPs to household incomes (Emery 1998; Hinrichs 1998). Several researchers have noted that economic calculations are inadequate to capture the full range of values that NTFPs play in gatherers’ lives (Dick 1996; Emery 1998; Hinrichs 1998; Carroll et al. 2003). However, the relative attention to NTFP commodities versus that accorded to nonmarket uses suggests that exchange values have a privileged standing in the literature. Defining gatherer communities and defending their rights of access to NTFPs has been another common effort. Identification and categorisation of gatherers, while recognised as a strategy of state dis- cipline (McLain 2000), has been used to challenge public forest management, create solidarity between actors and influence management deliberations 268 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 (Brown and Marin-Hernandez 2000; McLain and Jones 2001). Avoiding a strict place-based approach for labelling gatherers (in part owing to their mobility, see McLain and Jones 1997), classification systems largely have been structured along the axes of gatherer economies and ethnicities ( Jones and Lynch 2002; Carroll et al. 2003). In sum, US NTFP literature, like all scholarship, is a reflection of the conditions under which it was produced: in this case, political struggles in the management of public forestlands in the Pacific Northwest in the late 1980s and early 1990s. In the process, the literature usefully focused on commercial NTFP economies and autonomous NTFP communities . The predominance of a literature grounded in the forestry crisis has left both theory and policy imprinted by this very particular moment (Love and Jones 2001). In focusing on commercial NTFP ‘movements’ in the Pacific Northwest, whole other ecologies and cultures may be overlooked. From both a theoretical and policy standpoint there is a need to widen the conceptual scope for understanding how people use forests. What proportion of the larger population draws upon materials from woodlands? Who are they and do they differ from the general population in their places of residence, ethnicities or income? And what is NTFP gathering like in places far from federal forests? Method For purposes of this study, we define the population of interest to be all residents of Maine, Massa- chusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont, a region that includes the Concord, Massachusetts home of Henry David Thoreau – that paramount and emblematic transcendental philosopher credited with some of the earliest articulations of American environmentalist ideals (Merchant 1989). To investigate gathering in this broader population, the authors surveyed New England residents in December 2004. This region was selected specifically because it is home to dense urban populations and has a minimum of public lands. The sample was intended to represent a profile of New Englanders generally, rather than forest user groups specifically. The technique selected was a random-digit dial telephone survey. This assures access to those with unlisted telephone numbers and allows full spatial randomness. The survey was conducted by the Scripps Survey Research Center at Ohio University, using standard techniques for scientific and political polling (Hauck and Cox 1974). Non-responses and partially completed surveys were not counted and were eliminated from subsequent analyses. Surveys were administered by telephone inter- viewers using a fixed script. The questions and range of responses covered probable forest materials and uses in New England discovered through pre- vious ethnographic research (Emery et al. 2003). The survey instrument was pre-tested to determine the comprehensibility of questions and revised to make its language more precise. The survey began with a recruitment script describing the purposes of the study as being to determine people’s use and enjoyment of forested lands in New England. Following recruitment, survey participants were asked whether they had gathered anything from forested areas during the previous five years. Those answering affirmatively were also asked whether they had done so during the past 12 months. Information was then collected from respondents regarding how often materials were gathered, the type of item gathered and the use of item(s) gathered. The concentration on questions regarding materials, frequency of gathering and usage, rather than amounts of materials, is based on the investigators’ previous experience and studies suggesting limited ability of respondents to accurately estimate quantities, in contrast to more reliable recall of types of materials and frequency of activities. Table 1 provides the possible responses for type and use of nontimber forest products. This was followed by a demographic query for all survey participants, whether they gather materials or not. All surveys were conducted in English. We define gatherers as those responding affirma- tively to the question ‘during the last five years, have you collected any tree or plant materials around woodlands; for example, mushrooms, berries, cones, or moss?’ Our previous ethnographic experience with New Englanders from both urban and rural areas suggests that the terms used here (e.g. wood- lands) are widely understood, though some variability in interpretation is inevitable. Our interpretation of affirmative respondents as ‘gatherers’ refers specific- ally to the behaviour (or practice, as per below) in a material sense, rather than self-identification as a type of person (Emery et al. 2003). The survey had a total n of 1650 participants who completed full surveys. The demographics of that survey population were compared to the census demographics of the New England states in question to determine the degree to which the total respondent Nontimber forest product harvesting 269 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 population was a reliable sample of the New England population. Table 2 provides the demographic characteristics for the 1650 survey participants in comparison to 2000 census data for the entire population of Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont. The results suggest that the total survey population is a good, though not perfect, sample of the larger population; participants in our survey were more likely to be female and tend to have higher education levels than the population of the survey area. The key limitations of the survey technique are rooted in the structured biases of non-respondents. Given the screening question, non-respondents are less likely to be forest visitors. Thus, the results may be slightly biased towards over-counting gatherers. Table 1 Survey choices for type and uses of NTFP item gathered Types of items Examples provided by surveyor Uses of items Edibles Berries, Fiddleheads, Maple Sap Personal and family use Medicinal and dietary supplements Ginseng, St John’s Wort, Willow Bark Gifts or trade Decorative floral or craft products Boughs, Birch Bark Used it to make something to sell Cultural or religious products Sweetgrass, Woodland Sage, Sauna Switches Sold it as is ‘Other’ or ‘no choice’ ‘Other’ or ‘no choice’ Note: Positive respondents were allowed to provide more than one response for both ‘type’ of item collected and ‘uses of items’ Table 2 Summary of respondents and general populationa General population (NH, VT, ME, MA) All respondents in survey Sex Male 48.4% 39.2% Female 51.6% 60.8% Educationb Elem/High School 43.9% 30.2% College 43.9% 40.0% Graduate School 12.2% 16.1% Refuse n/a 13.7% Racec Non-white 11.5% 7.3% White/Caucasian 88.5% 89.5% Other n/a 3.2% Total n 9 468 633 1 650 a Survey data regarding income was collected using ordinal categories (such as $25 000 to $40 000), which cannot be compared with 2000 census data for income (which is provided as an actual median value, such as $44 516). Furthermore, there is no comparable census characteristic for the ‘city size’ variable which was collected in this survey. Age was not compared because survey respondents must be old enough to answer the phone and participate in the survey, while census data provides age information for the entire population b Education data for NH, VT, ME, MA was calculated based on 2000 census variables for educational attainment in the population 25 years and older. Categories were aggregated so that individuals that completed some high school up to high school graduation are included in the ‘Elem/High School’ category, while all individuals that have at least some college, an associates degree, or Bachelor’s degree are included in the category ‘College’ c ‘Non-white’ survey responses consist of: Alaskan, Native American, Asian, Black, Hispanic, Pacific Islander 270 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 Conversely, because non-English speakers have elsewhere been shown to be more likely to gather, the results may be slightly biased towards under- counting gatherers. Further limitations include an inability to perfectly distinguish forest gatherers who collect large quantities of materials versus those who collect small quantities. Thus, a positive response could include practices from picking and eating a single handful of berries to the harvest of buckets of berries over a single collection event. Who gathers? The results of the survey begin to dispute the characterisation of gatherers as part of a culturally and economically unique community by showing that the incidence of participation in NTFP har- vesting is by no means uncommon. Furthermore, the demographic characteristics of NTFP gatherers in the northeastern United States are broadly similar to those of the general population in New England. Rates of participation in gathering Of the 1650 total survey respondents, 434 respondents provided a positive response to the question, ‘during the last five years, have you collected any tree or plant materials around woodlands; for example, mushrooms, berries, cones, or moss?’ Our study reveals, therefore, that more than one-quarter (26.3%) of the population in Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont can be considered gatherers. Further, nearly one- fifth (17.9%) of people had gathered NTFPs during the previous 12 months. Thus, we can segment our positive respondents into two mutually exclusive groups as occasional gatherers , or those people who answered ‘yes’ to gathering in the past 5 years, but ‘no’ to collecting in the past 12 months, and recent gatherers , those that answered ‘yes’ to harvesting in the past 5 years and ‘yes’ to gathering in the past 12 months. From these data, we can imply that of the 26.3 per cent of the population that gathers, a majority (17.9% of the overall population) perhaps harvest NTFPs regularly, while a smaller portion (8.5%) gather NTFPs less frequently (Table 3). This level of participation contrasts with that of many commonly recognised land-based outdoor activities. Table 4 shows results from the National Survey on Recreation and the Environment (Cordell et al. 2004) relative to our survey results. Gathering is more common than most sports and, more tellingly, more common than traditionally-defined ‘wilderness’ activities, including rock and mountain climbing, backpacking and caving. In keeping with the main argument of this paper, we hasten to add that in making this comparison we do not mean to classify gathering as a strictly recreational activity or to suggest it is ubiquitous, but the results do suggest an activity more common than many other outdoor practices. Demographic characteristics of gatherers Demographic information from our survey shows that gatherers are by no means a homogenous group Table 3 Per cent of general population that harvests NTFPs During the past 5 years During the past 12 months Have gathered 26.3 17.8 Have not gathered 73.7 83.1 Note: By nature of the survey questions, people that have collected in the past 12 months are a subset of the group which has collected in the past five years Table 4 Rate of participation in outdoor activities in last 12 months as percentage of population Activity Ratea NTFP collection 17.8 Golfing 16.7 Primitive camping 16.0 Basketball outdoors 14.0 Hunting 11.4 Tennis outdoors 10.5 Volleyball outdoors 10.4 Backpacking 10.3 Softball 10.0 Horseback riding 9.6 Football 8.1 Soccer outdoors 7.5 Baseball 6.4 Mountain climbing 6.3 Rock climbing 4.3 Caving 4.2 a NTFP collection as percentage of New England population, based on survey described above. All others as percentage of national population, based on National Survey on Recreation and the Environment, average for years 1999–2002 (Cordell et al. 2004) Nontimber forest product harvesting 271 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 (Table 5), although a comparison with 2000 census data for the four states in our sample area shows that survey respondents (gatherers and non-gatherers alike) are not a perfect reflection of the general population. Respondents have higher levels of educational attainment than those in the region as a whole and NTFP gatherers appear to be still better educated. Twenty-six per cent of NTFP gatherers have attended graduate school, compared to only 12.2 per cent of the general population of Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont and 18.7 per cent of the total survey population. In addition, amongst those who responded to the question about income, gatherers reported higher values, with the greatest difference in those earning less than $25 000 per year (20.2% for all res- pondents and 14.1% for gatherers). More people who gather NTFPs identify themselves as White/ Caucasian than the general population of New England or the entire survey population (94.0% of gatherers are White/Caucasian, while 88.5% of the general population of Massachusetts, Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont and 89.5% of the entire survey population are White/Caucasian). The total of ‘non-white’ and ‘other’ in our sample is nearly comparable, however, to the non-white census figure, suggesting this is neither a disproportionately white or minority practice. However, given the high number of respondents who declined to provide information on their education and race, the sample must be considered conservative in its estimation of participation by less formally educated and non- white populations. A higher proportion of NTFP gatherers are rural residents as compared to the entire survey population, but a majority of NTFP gatherers are urbanites (55.6%). These results show that, notwithstanding some divergence from the general population, NTFP gatherers come from diverse backgrounds, including wealthier and poorer populations, white and non- white populations, a variety of education levels, and both rural and urban areas. This broad participa- tion in the practice of NTFP gathering is distinct from many other uses of nature, which tend to be dominantly the province of more affluent white males (Interagency National Survey Consortium 2002). Indeed, socioeconomic characteristics are poor predictors of those who collect materials from Table 5 Demographic characteristics of the general population, survey population and NTFP gatherers Census data (MA, ME, NH, VT) All respondents in survey Have collected in the past 5 years Educationa Elem/High School 43.9% 35.0% 26.0% College 43.9% 46.3% 48.0% Graduate School 12.2% 18.7% 26.0% Race Non-white 11.5% 7.3% 4.2% White/Caucasian 88.5% 89.5% 94.0% Other n/a 3.2% 1.8% Incomeb $47 949** Less than $25 000 20.2% 14.1% $25 000 to $60 000 39.0% 41.6% More than $60 000 40.7% 44.3% City size City 67.8% 55.6% Rural area 32.2% 44.4% Notes: Age and sex are not compared because we have identified a skew toward women and older populations in the methods section a Education and income percentages were calculated excluding those respondents who answered ‘refuse’ b Median income levels for MA, ME, NH and VT, respectively, are: $50 502, $37 240, $49 467, $40 856. Average median HH income (weighted by state population) is $47 949 272 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 woodlands and those who do not. This is not a distinct demographic group, but is typical in many regards, crossing class, gender and race lines. What do we gather? In addition to examining exactly who gathers NTFPs, we are also interested in identifying what types of NTFPs are being gathered and how people use them. Based on previous research, we employed a four category classification for the survey: edible, medicinal/dietary supplement, decorative/craft and cultural/religious. We found that the majority of NTFP gatherers harvest edible items (61.5%) and decorative/floral items (58.8%). Table 6 shows, however, that all categories of NTFPs are gathered with some frequency and that no one type of product is particularly unusual to harvest. Furthermore, the results show that NTFP gatherers are overwhelmingly harvesting items for their own use (88%), and only occasionally use the items for gifts, trade or to sell. Only a tiny fraction of harvested materials enter the formal economy. The use of NTFP items provided in Table 6 indicates that NTFP gathering in New England is primarily a nonmarket activity. The items that NTFP gatherers harvest possess value that rarely is realised on the market, and the gatherer’s relationship with nature is not necessarily mediated through the buying and selling of natural products. Instead, people in New England enter their surroundings to directly interact with and utilise found materials without mediation by the capitalist economy or its informal alternatives. Discussion: a practice and not a type of people In sum, people from a range of socio-economic backgrounds are entering environments around them to gather products for their own purposes, directly using and consuming plants. These gatherers operate well off the path of the formal economy, indeed even the ‘alternative’ economy of farmers’ markets and craft fairs. In the absence of significant federal lands in the New England region, moreover, this body of gatherers is harvesting from private lands, roadsides, city parks and other areas. Our findings hold with those reported in other contexts (Emery et al. 2006b) and we suspect that they are indicative of general rates of gathering in the postindustrial world. Simply put, wild plants are normal parts of many people’s lives. Why has this set of practices largely been ignored in the critical literature on the topic? In part, of course, the problem is methodological. Previous research has sought out case studies of conflict and investigation into the character of alternative ‘networks’ and ‘economies’. This focus necessarily excludes surveys of the diffuse population of casual harvesters. Such research has been a politically useful and analytically necessary step since most such work has sought to help validate NTFP harvesting (Duchesne and Wetzel 2002). Investigation of that end of the problem also helps to explore more general ques- tions about the nature of federal land management and the phenomenon of agency capture in the face of industrial power. Such important work necessar- ily depends on the classic tropes typically used to narrate the North American economy, however: pri- vate ‘economies’ and local ‘communities’ versus state and industrial power. As a result, gathering by the broader population is largely overlooked, especially where it is non- commercial and carried out in places with lower federal presence. The implications of this silence are threefold. First, the relationship of contemporary consumers with nature is somewhat different than the ‘alienated’ consumer picture offered in critical analysis. Such litera- ture tends to associate contemporary ‘environmental’ Table 6 Type and use of NTFP item gathered Type of item gathered Edibles Decorative floral or craft products Cultural/religious needs Medicinal/dietary supplements Other/no choice 61.5% 58.8% 16.4% 7.8% 12.9% Use of NTFPs gathered Personal and family use Gifts or trade To make something I sold Sold it the ways it was when picked Other/don’t remember 88.0% 5.3% 2.1% 1.2% 3.5% Note: Respondents could provide more than one answer to the question, meaning that percentages of NTFP collectors that collect each type of item add up to over 100% Nontimber forest product harvesting 273 Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 activities as, in the words of Neil Smith (1996, 42– 3), ‘steeped in bourgeois modernism’ which replicates ‘the uncritical and unreflected treatment of nature as social sanitarium, space of recuperation, Thoreauvian anti-social retreat’. These romances, critics suggest, further mask the way subjects in capitalism are actually forced to reconsume alienated nature through commodities marketed back to them by corporations and commercial outlets (following Price 1995). While this view of consumption activities is by no means uncontested, critical approaches to ‘daily’ environmental behaviours continue to focus on market-mediated environmental experience (Bryant and Goodman 2004). Yet here we observe interactions with wild plants, put to a range of uses, all outside the market, and none mediated by other formal economic actors. Almost all of these uses, it can be argued further, are intimate ones, whether the harvesting of aesthetic items or the harvesting of things for personal dietary, religious or medicinal needs. People are surrepti- tiously and personally involved in something very different from capitalist nature. For many, nature ‘out there’ seems connected to daily practice ‘in here’ in a relatively unproblematic way. Secondly, this suggests that the gathering of NTFPs is not carried out by a ‘type of people’ by any means. While it is certainly true that important gatherer groups exist, the vast majority of gatherers are likely disassociated individuals coming from a wide range of socio-economic circumstances. Harvesting might therefore be better looked upon as a type of practice. Simply because this practice is part of many people’s daily lives, however, does not mean that harvesting is politically neutral. As Michel de Certeau (1988, 37) has observed, such practices constitute tactics , actions within, and not on the fringes of, the larger society and polity, which actively remake people’s experiences in the face of hegemonic efforts to control, partition and define such behaviours and experiences. Such tactics are spatially and categorically diffuse. They muddy the distinctions between the taken-for- granted divisions of public and private, nature and society, which commonly dominate and define modern life. This is in contrast to the officially sanctioned spatial partitions of the modern world: ‘a break between a place appropriated as one’s own and its other’ (de Certeau 1988, 36). Where powerful agents have attempted to rationalise and delimit natural and social spaces (e.g. forests versus cities), the casual daily use of wild plants subverts any such clean partitions. This is especially true if we con- sider the potentially vast sources of these NTFPs in backyards, parks, state forests, private lands, fallow fields, etc. Wild and domestic spaces are crossed along with a potentially large number of property configurations. In this sense, not only has the carving of the world into modern categories been a strategic approach of capital and the state, it may have been reinforced ironically, if inadvertently, by the very critical literature that espouses an alternative. For while NTFP advocacy does indeed do progressive political work by rallying producer communities and legitimising access to environmental goods and services, it has re-inscribed these spatially strategic binaries, precisely by advocating ‘alternative’ extractive economies. That is, critical work has depended heavily upon the notion not only that extractive timber-based forestry represents an environmental logic of capital, but that NTFP harvesting is a coherent, community-based, resisting, ‘alternative’ economy. As Gibson-Graham has argued, however, this insistence that local discourses, behaviours and practices that don’t ‘fit’ must always be imagined relative to capital actually reinforces the power of hegemonic actors. The goal of political economy, therefore, is to subvert this tendency and ‘explain how global capitalism . . . gives rise to heterogeneity and diversity’ (Gibson-Graham 1996, 43). Attention to the harvesting ‘community’ and its ‘economy’, in this case, has hidden the somewhat common and equally complex practice of gathering by average people. It has also narrowly constrained the more organised harvester population by characterising it as an ‘economy’, but always one situated ‘as ultim- ately the same as, a complement to, the opposite of, or contained within capitalism’ (Community Economies Project 2005). Such a formulation is distracting, since assimilation of daily life is always incomplete, despite the strategies that profess the ubiquity of capitalist experience. As de Certeau et al. (1998, 251) notes, popular practices of ordinary life, like informal harvesting, are characterised by their word-of-mouth ‘orality’, their ‘operational’ quality for practitioners, and their ‘ordinary’, as opposed to mass, culture. Flying beneath the radar, these elude simple incor- poration and become the practices through which people interpret and negotiate the world. This raises as many empirical and theoretical questions, however, as it resolves. Simply because 274 Robbins et al. Area Vol. 40 No. 2, pp. 265– 277, 2008 ISSN 0004-0894 © The Authors. Journal compilation © Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2008 materials are harvested by both highly educated and less educated people, by the wealthy and the poor, does not mean that the marginal utility of those goods is equal to all. To whom are which species important and why? So too, simply because gathering is occurring out- side of federal lands, we continue to know little about the specific spatial pattern of harvesting and its distribution across differing forms of property and environmental contexts. What lands are these and what are the economic and ecological statuses of these areas? Our results also raise questions for federal forest managers who are tasked by statute (P.L. 106 –113, §339(a))1 to parse out commercial from personal harvesting so that they can collect fees for the former while providing for the latter. Almost certainly, a sizable proportion of people who visit federally managed woodlands gather some plant material or fungi and the vast majority of them are not engaged in any sort of commercial activity. Further, commercial and noncommercial activities co-occur in space, time and, sometimes, in the person of a single gatherer. Can policies designed to manage large-scale commodity extraction be applied to these diverse practices? At what scale of harvesting is it desirable, or even possible, to require gatherers and gathering to conform to the logic of formal economics? Many federal lands provide space where intimate con- nections between people and nature are broadly available. Is it important that federal lands continue to provide such spaces? If so, what policies support that goal? Even with these many unanswered questions, this survey provides a glimpse of the people who draw wild products from the woods – they are a lot like the rest of us. Furthermore, they are participating in interactions with non-human nature that are not determined solely by their role in a capitalist economy, and which do not simply represent the reconsump- tion of alienated nature by a class-specific subject. Turning Smith’s critique of bourgeois environment- alism on its head then, the retreat into Thoreau’s woods, evidenced in woodland harvesting, here in Thoreau’s own backyard, even amongst a large middle-class, is not apparently capitalised or marketised in any way. These practices may constitute the tip of an iceberg, much as Gibson-Graham (2006) has suggested for the other economies of daily life. As people weave a world of human/non-human practices as part of their daily lives, they subvert the partitions of the world mapped by powerful actors, including corporations. Every acorn harvested for the mantle is one not purchased at the mall. None of this is to argue that communities of market-oriented harvesters, operating in more formal networks and economies, should not be the subject of research and advocacy attention, nor that the hegemonic power of traditional extractive industries does not represent a critical challenge for reform. Nor is this to argue that economic interaction with the environment undertaken by such groups is in and of itself ‘alienating’. As Richard White has argued compellingly, the tendency to disparage nature as it is experienced through labour is regrettably typical of some environmentalism (White 1996). Rather, we have suggested that the assumption that non- producers, those broad sections of the population who do not work for a living in forests, are not necessarily relegated to a passive role of simply consuming nature at the mall, as has been asserted elsewhere. The pressing research task is to explore the uncatalogued engagements of diverse populations, who are constantly re-imagining and remaking the socio-environments around them, in the face of very real hegemonic forces that might have them do otherwise. Note 1 U.S. Laws, Statutes, etc.; Public Law 106-113, div. B, Sec. 1000(a)(3) [title III, Sec. 339]. Pilot Program of Charges and Fees for Harvest of Forest Botanical Products. Act. of Nov. 29, 1999. Page 113 Stat. 1535, 1501A-119-200; 16 U.S.C. 528. 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work_pur5jbafzfcgzfzjdnod27dhye	----	Environment and Ecology Research 3(5): 119-124, 2015 http://www.hrpub.org DOI: 10.13189/eer.2015.030501 Botanical Poetry as a Means of Promoting Humankind’s Well-being and Revaluing a Desert Ecosystem Diana Woodcock School of the Arts, Virginia Commonwealth University in Qatar, Qatar Copyright © 2015 by authors, all rights reserved. Authors agree that this article remains permanently open access under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License 4.0 International License Abstract This paper features an overview of my research project, as well as some of the poems from my work-in-progress, The Desert’s Botanical Bounty: Poems from the Heart of the Arabian Desert, a collection of poetry promoting a greater appreciation of and commitment to protecting not only the unique environment of the Arabian Peninsula, but other equally endangered ecosystems around the world. My goal is to emphasize that when we abuse the land, we contribute to an increase in poverty and a deterioration of health of our fellow human beings. Keywords Poverty, Ecology, Theology, Environment 1. Introduction Qatar’s biosphere, like that of many other countries today, is in crisis due to the country’s radical economic expansion as it supplies oil and gas to the world and prepares to host the 2022 World Cup. Because of this, and in anticipation of the opening of Qatar’s UNESCO-sponsored Quranic Botanic Garden (the purpose of which is to maintain for scientific and educational purposes a living collection of Qatar’s 270-plus indigenous plants and to showcase the ones mentioned more than once in the Quran), I have been preparing a poetry manuscript that features the ecology and flora of this tiny country jutting out into the Arabian Gulf. Having lived for ten years now in this oil-rich land at the edge of the Arabian Desert, I have become increasingly interested in local and global conservation issues, and in how these issues impact the most impoverished members of society. The Arabic concept of hema, loosely translated as the nomadic sense of respect and protection of the environment, is neglected as the country is being overdeveloped. Qatar has gone from being one of the poorest countries to being one of the richest in the world due to the discovery of oil. Previously, it was dominated by nomadic and semi-nomadic people dependent on fishing, pearling, camel breeding and dhow construction. Now numbered among the world’s wealthiest, the Qatari people rely on an expatriate workforce made up of the poorest members of India, Pakistan, the Philippines and other impoverished nations to toil in inhospitable conditions to build their roads, hotels, houses, shopping centers, etc. Since 2004, I have gone out into Qatar’s desert on a regular basis to observe and record Qatar’s flora. Currently a PhD candidate (Creative Writing) at Lancaster University, I have chosen two major questions to drive my research: Why have such devout Muslims strayed so far from the environmental ethic of the Quran? And what can poetry and botanical gardens accomplish that a scientific treatise or textbook cannot? The interdisciplinary aspects of my research include botany, cultural studies, and Islamic studies. These, coupled with field visits, observation, and interviews with the nine Qatar Foundation and UNESCO employees assigned to the Quranic Botanic Garden and members of the multidisciplinary scientific team developing and implementing the plans for the garden—specialists in Islam, Islamic art, botany, and the environment—inform the poems I will share with you today -- poems from my work-in-progress, The Desert’s Botanical Bounty: Poems from the Heart of the Arabian Desert, a collection of poetry promoting a greater appreciation of and commitment to protecting not only the unique environment of the Arabian Peninsula, but other equally endangered ecosystems around the world. My goal is to emphasize, through the medium of poetry, that when we abuse the land, we contribute to an increase in poverty and a deterioration of health of our fellow human beings. Qatar’s degraded environment is causing physical and psychological problems for some of the world’s wealthiest people, as well as for the county’s expatriate workers—70.9% of the total population— mostly coming from impoverished countries [1]. Botanical gardens are recognized now for their increasing social importance in connecting people to their communities and in educating them to issues of sustainable development and biodiversity conservation. The proposed UNESCO-sponsored Quranic Botanic Garden may play a key role in transforming Doha and helping residents revalue the ecosystem they inhabit. When I first submitted my proposal for this conference, I wondered how I was going to make a case for botanical 120 Botanical Poetry as a Means of Promoting Humankind’s Well-being and Revaluing a Desert Ecosystem gardens having a place in this discussion. Fortunately, I have just come from a 3-day International Forum of the Qur’anic Botanic Garden, Islamic Perspectives on Ecosystem Management, in which participants shared many examples of how botanical gardens are making contributions to poverty reduction and ecological justice. One such example came from Her Highness Princess Basma bint Ali, founder of the Royal Botanical Gardens of Jordan. She shared highlights from one of their key projects, a community-based rangeland rehabilitation project, the purpose of which is to tackle the issues of habitat loss and food security in Jordan. Since the project began in 2007, it has doubled the salaries and improved the health of the livestock herding families of the region [2]. It was emphasized by several keynote speakers that poverty is indeed an environmental issue, and that as the role of botanical gardens has evolved in the past 40 years so that now conservation is a key component of it, surely botanical gardens will continue to aid in poverty reduction and ecological justice. The poems in my proposed collection, just like the proposed Quranic Botanic Garden, will build on the strong links between cultural heritage and biological diversity conservation while providing an educational, scientific and cultural network promoting research and botanical studies on the Arabian Peninsula. As author Kamal El Batanouny has pointed out, Qatar’s young people know nothing about Qatar’s native plants [3]. My book will help educate through poetry, which continues to be well respected in the Arab culture. The goal of my book project is in sync with the goal of the botanic garden project: to make a major contribution to environmental conservation, scientific research, and education revolving around Qatar’s indigenous plants and the ones mentioned more than once in the Quran. My book will contribute to a greater appreciation of and commitment to protecting the unique environment of the Arabian Peninsula, as well as promoting Gulf Arabs’ well-being. Hopefully, The Desert’s Botanical Bounty: Poems from the Heart of the Arabian Desert will be published in time to be displayed at the opening (slated for 2016) of Qatar’s globally unique botanic garden. It is my intention that The Desert’s Botanical Bounty: Poems from the Heart of the Arabian Desert will live up to one particular aspect of my university’s vision statement, which is that research and discovery should advance knowledge, inspire creativity, and improve health. Through these poems, I am attempting to connect people to their land and inspire them to protect that environment from further pollution and misuse. My project, through creative expression, will advance knowledge of how Qatar’s natural world and human health are connected. Following are a few of the poems from this work in progress. The first one is dedicated to the man who so graciously has escorted my colleagues and me out into the desert on numerous occasions to search for endemic plants of the region. For Ali Sharif, Wildflower Expert A yellow dwarf radiates photons onto Earth, and impeccably tailored flowers unfold their petals like the oppressed unfurling flags in protest against hunger and poverty, but mostly against desperation. Magnanimous wildflowers, theirs the most unsordid act of the day. Don’t interrupt. Let them have their say, after which you may well decide silence is the only appropriate reply. Quranic Botanic Garden Inauguration Day, September 2008 A sidra sapling is planted at the proposed site. Around it will grow three hundred species of local flora, the Quran’s ninety, the Hadith’s fifty—mustard, saffron, pumpkin, henna, pomegranate to name a few. A garden designed like a traditional quadripartite— four quarters, water canals, a central fountain— spread over twenty-four hectares knowledge from the Holy Book’s one hundred and fifty verses depicting divine flora. What a sight to see—such diverse heads in concert: botanists and phytochemists, engineers and architects, Muslim scholars all agreeing on grapes, figs, date palms, pomegranates just at the eleventh hour of habitat loss, oil spills, inadequate livestock management. Plan well, dear experts: wadis, baadiya, rodats, oases, sunken flower-beds, gulistans, bustans, plants from the coast, the hills and gravel plains, sandy terrain, aquatic habitats (Inland Sea and wadis). Don’t forget the salt-tolerant halophytes. Grace this modern metropolis with a space for reverie, for desert mind to hear a unified botanical voice rising out of primordial sand. Don’t dawdle. Be quick and firm before one more specia is lost. Lead us into plant presence—not one of us as clever as the cactus with its spikes and prickles, the acacia with its knack for attracting fine waterborne sediments—wisely folding its petals by midday. Place before us a date palm just as its fruit is ripening, beckoning to the passage migrants. Don’t delay. Environment and Ecology Research 3(5): 119-124, 2015 121 Build for us today a Quranic Botanic Garden. Let the sidra sapling grow up strong and straight— a sacred Lote tree—to lead us into holy presence. But simultaneously, let us protect the wild— the camel thorn for starters, for those sure-footed ships of the desert to graze. My goal with these next few poems is to begin articulating for the reader the Islamic environmental ethic and view of the cosmic order. They provide a backdrop for readers unfamiliar with desert ecology. With “Islam and Ecology,” I attempt to underscore the Islamic belief in the sacredness of all of nature and the Muslim’s responsibility to care for the earth. The essence of Islamic teaching is that the entire universe is Allah’s creation. This is what I am trying to capture in the short lines of this poem. The word ‘Islam’ has the dual meaning of submission and peace, and I am suggesting that by turning “our faces sunflower-like/ to the blaze every single hour/ of our fleeting earthly sojourn/ in perfect unity and praise,” we will be submitting and thus living in peace. Islam and Ecology The seven heavens and the earth and all therein declare His glory: there is not a thing but celebrates His praise . . . -- Qur’an 17:44 The problem begins with separation of science from the sacred, religion from the secular; with denial nature comes from a higher, holier realm. Once the gist of vicegerency is misconstrued, nature’s screwed. Only one way will save it— relive its sacredness, bear witness to these truths: nature depicts like an icon the Creator—reflects Paradise, memories kept in the soul’s depths; divine grace, barakak, flows through arteries of the natural and cosmic world order. At every chance we must— above all at dawn and dusk— make the fields and forests, desert flats and mountain peaks, sky and sea our libraries; inquire of the crows what all they know; follow the shooting star to places near and far; pace the shoreline sandpiper- like, seeking sustenance; turn our faces sunflower-like to the blaze every single hour of our fleeting earthly sojourn in perfect unity and praise. In “Yet in August,” I introduce some of the plants mentioned in the Quran and continue the theme of praise and the Islamic conviction that the Creator can be known through observation of His creation. With “dormant seeds waiting for winter rains,” I sustain the emphasis on the theme of submission. Islam, being a very practical world view, has adopted principles and directives that give pragmatic shape to its concepts and values. Its environmental ethic is no exception. This poem is an attempt to suggest that we must care for the “barren waste” as well as the cultivated. Yet in August Torn between the trellised and untrellised, I praise plants from the Holy Qur’an, cultivated fruit trees – date palm, pomegranate, olive, fig, ginger, grape, Christ’s thorn (sidra tree); plants from the Hadith and Sunna – Camel’s hay, citron, orfot and True senna. Praise plants that bring me face to face with creation, resurrection. Yes, praise beet and kust. Praise annuals – the cultivated: onion, leek, and garlic; mustard and sesame; safflower and wheat; rice and barley; lentil and Black cumin. Praise creepers and climbers: melons; pumpkins; gourds. Praise wild perennial herbs: ‘heart of the desert’ ones like Bitter gourd; aquatic ones – wild ginger, cust root, sweet flag, Narrow-leaved cattail, saffron. Praise cultivated perennial herbs: aloe, sweet basil. Praise desert shrubs: Toothbrush tree and Salt tree; cultivated shrubs Henna and Katam. Praise wild desert trees: acacia, Umbrella thorn, tamarisk. Praise tropical/subtropical trees: camphor, kamala, banana. August gardens overflowing, shamal winds blowing over the arid desert landscape. Mirages like mirrors. 122 Botanical Poetry as a Means of Promoting Humankind’s Well-being and Revaluing a Desert Ecosystem Heat rising like incense from the desert’s heart. Dormant seeds waiting for winter rains. Beyond the tended garden, not a hint of green. Austere grace of a barren waste. One Crested lark cries out against stark reality. But oh the sound one dormant seed can make splitting open hard-packed ground, exposing parched earth’s intimacies. Yet in August, redemptive winter rains seeming most improbable. This next poem zeroes in on one species. By comparing human beings to the acacia (Broken are we, out of sync with the universe/ while the acacia has not strayed one millimeter/ from the sacred way), I am suggesting we have much to learn from nature and its faithfulness to its purpose. As I allude to how we are destroying His handiwork, I am emphasizing the Islamic directive to protect all that Allah has created. Acacia Eating ice cream and candy, I give thanks for the acacia – for its Gum arabic. In the desert, I come into the shade of one and praise its slanted, flat top. Admire its wisdom: small leaves for conserving water; thorns and prickles keeping grazers at bay; the heartwood’s deposits of metabolic wastes serving as preservatives – making it unpalatable to abrasive insects, resistant to invasive fungi. Sole wood used to construct the tabernacle and all its features. Chosen by Noah for the ark, by boat builders in ancient Egypt and modern Sudan. It shall be the reward for Heaven’s people.* Broken are we, out of sync with the universe while the acacia’s not strayed one millimeter from the sacred way. Listen how the Persian nightingale still sings plaintively dawn and dusk from its crown. A haunt from the beginning till now for Little owl Athene noctua, Crested lark, Southern Grey shrike, White wagtail alike. The acacia’s austere stamina resonates with the hermit’s solitude and silence. Some say acacia’s no match for Scotch fir. Still, I much prefer it in its solitary stand against grains of sand. For a moment, in its presence, poisonous fumes hovering on the horizon (oil flares) fade to an illusion. *Qu’ran/Sura 56:27-33) My goal with “Citrullus Colocynthis” is to bring the reader up close and personal with one amazing plant. I tried to present its history and significance without getting too long-winded, choosing the prose form to allow me a bit more narrative freedom. Citrullus Colocynthis All day clouds hung over the desert. Wind blew as if to brew a great storm of hard long rain. But once again, nothing came of them. Beside a wadi, I waited—endured hunger and heat, slept among bitter apples: collocynth thriving on sandy loam, its perennial root sending forth scabrid vine-like stems. Solitary yellow flowers bloomed in the leaves’ axils. Lemon-sized gourd-like fruit was filling up with soft white poisonous pulp in which flat ovate seeds would eventually please birds of passage who’d come to disperse them. Unable to resist, I tore one from the ground to transplant in my garden. But its delicate microscopical leaf structure caused it to wither within an hour. Clouds still hanging low, wind continuing to blow, I recalled how its fruit flourished profusely between Palestine’s mountains and the Mediterranean’s eastern shore, Gaza to Mt. Carmel—soil and climate all-sufficient for its growth. I took note: Leave things where they grow. Wild gourd of the Old Testament*—earth gall, exceeding bitterness—and yet, its nutty-flavored seeds taken from their poisonous enclosure, innocuous. In hard soil, widespread. Desert Bedouins grind and make a bread. Precious food source of one Central Saharan tribe—Tibboo Resade—seeds tramped on to remove the last traces of bitter pulp, cleaned by winnowing, mixed with ashes from camels’ dung, placed on a smooth stone and rubbed with another to crush the testa, kernels sifted, boiled in water, dried in the sun, then mixed with desiccated powdered dates until finally palatable, nutritive. This is how we live: tearing through the toxic enclosure to what can sustain us. *II Kings 4:38-40 In the next poem, I use the directive voice to suggest the tasks the reader must do – listen and notice – if she is to participate in one herb’s existence and thereby thrive in the desert herself. Desert Ecology 38: Umbel Family Here’s the secret to thriving in this desert: taking part in the life of lady’s-lace – glabrous herb sprouting in cultivated land. Listen Environment and Ecology Research 3(5): 119-124, 2015 123 intently till you hear the lower leaves of each bishop’s-weed withering at anthesis. Though you be heavy, notice how each fruiting umbel opens as if in flight. And though darkness appears to reign, how each one— long-peduncled—reflects one ray of mysterious, glorious light. Desert Ecology 47: Plantaginaceae The sparingly-hairy herb ispaghula flourishing on fine deposits in depressions. The densely silky-hairy herb wedaina in sandy southern habitats. Buck’s-horn plantain— pinnatifid with acute lobes forming basal rosettes on hard compact alluvial soil. The lancelike ribwort, leaves tapering to a petiole. So may my soul rise up out of harsh aridity into the silence unclaimed by the world, starburst of earth’s truth, quantum leap into the space between depression and sky, safe from malathion, far from manicured lawns. May it catch fire from the bee that is just now honing in on one corolla, heaven under its feet. Desert Ecology 48: Compositae The Compositae live as if my desert garden is heaven, possessing powers and magic, knowing how to sustain themselves through drought, will remain when I have ceased rambling about. I sit still as a Buddha, observe how the flowers crowd into heads on a common receptacle. I make just one of them my companion, meander with it along the middle path between world’s reality and vacuity, note its brief flowering—rays and discs— day by day the sun harsher, note how the filaments are free, the anthers united, how some leaves are armed with thistles, others are not: aster-like Aaronsohnia, sagebrush, yellow sea daisy, white thistle with its leathery leaves, field marigold, Carduncellus (perennial thistle), knapweed (cobwebby herb), mum, with its naked receptacle, chicory with milky sap, the erect eclipta. Transplanted from their natural dominion: depressions with fine-textured sediments, gravelly soil, alfalfa fields, borders of irrigation canals. Their cross to bear: lash of sand, scarcity of rain. No fountain, no watermill. Persistent shamal. And yet, what jubilance—nearly sequestered from industrial pollution. What dignity—every spring blossoming stunningly, what fragile joy distracting from the yellow-tinged horizon. Dazzling, humbling, silencing me as each one hints of forever. Desert Ecology 57: Cyperaceae When I grow weary traveling this Milky Way all alone, panic setting in, I go out to maritime sand or inland gravelly soil, meander scarab beetle-like among sedges, praising how they dress themselves in compound inflorescences, how they perfume ever so subtly but sweetly the desert air while masking fumes from the distant oil flare: Cyperus effusus among ruins of a forgotten fishing/pearling village; smooth flatsedge lavishing its graces on marshy places; tuberous bulrush filling in margins where water spills—runners of its creeping rhizomes dilated in woody tubers. Perennial herbs assuaging my rage touched off by the latest tragedy— earthquake on the remote Tibetan plateau, children trapped in collapsed schools while purple nutsedge sends its long slender stolens bearing black tubers and leaf rosettes along the moist ground. Sacredness of every day. Graceful, lilting sisters softening this harsh desert no human hands built, these sedges the only mosques in sight, their prostrate rhizomes kissing the ground, their flowers in dense heads or glumes the only gold domes to dominate this airy space. Back in the city, in the cold sterility of MegaMart, my eyes smart as I consider whether I could live on the trigonous nut of Cyperus conglomerates—spare myself this weekly trip. Among Cyperaceae, 124 Botanical Poetry as a Means of Promoting Humankind’s Well-being and Revaluing a Desert Ecosystem dance and throw away my original plan? How could I ever again live separated from sedges and the song of the desert lark, urging each creeping rhizome on? This final poem was inspired by Anima Christi: Desert Ecology 46: Broomrape Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads. ~ Henry David Thoreau Cistanche tubulosa, sanctify me. Your fleshy stem covered with oblong-lanceolate scales, save me. Your ovoid fruit, fill me with love. Your thick, dense spike, strengthen me. Your calyx with acute scarious-margined lobes, empower me. Robust, perennial root parasite, hear me: Within your littoral salt marshes, hide me. May I never be separated from you. Protect me by your yellow, blue, purple flowers from evil’s power. Call me, dear Desert hyacinth, at my death’s hour. Acknowledgements “Acacia” -- Desert Ecology: Lessons and Visions (chapbook), Finishing Line Press, 2014. “Citrullus Colocynthis” -- Ellipsis . . . Literature & Art, 2010 (Vol. 46); Tamed by the Desert (a chapbook), Finishing Line Press, 2013. “Desert Ecology 38: Umbel Family (Umbelliferae)” -- Nimrod International Journal, Spring 2011;Conservation and Sustainable Use of Wild Plant Diversity, Orthodox Academy of Crete Publications, 2011; Tamed by the Desert (a chapbook), Finishing Line Press, 2013. “Desert Ecology 46: Orobanchaceae (Broomrape)” -- Conservation and Sustainable Use of Wild Plant Diversity, Orthodox Academy of Crete Publications, 2011; Desert Ecology: Lessons and Visions (chapbook), 2014. “Desert Ecology 47: Plantaginaceae” -- Avocet, Fall 2010; Tamed by the Desert (a chapbook), Finishing Line Press, 2013. “Desert Ecology 57: Cyperaceae”-- Off the Coast, Winter, 2012; Tamed by the Desert (a chapbook), Finishing Line Press, 2013. “For Ali Sharif, Wildflower Expert” -- Conservation and Sustainable Use of Wild Plant Diversity, Orthodox Academy of Crete Publications, 2011; Desert Ecology: Lessons and Visions (chapbook), Finishing Line Press, 2014. REFERENCES [1] Online available from http://www.finaccord.com/press-release_2014_global-expatr iates_-size-segmentation-and-forecast-for-the-worldwide-ma rket.htm [2] Online available from http://royalbotanicgarden.org/page/community-based-rangel and-rehabilitation [3] Online available from http://www.qf.org.qa/app/media/1034 
work_pw3w6wmjx5hurmgy7kin3dvgdu	----	Moushira SUELEM ROMANTISCHE TOPOI IN CHRISTIAN KRACHTS ROMAN „IMPERIUM“1 These und Vorgehensweise Christian Krachts Roman "Imperium" erregte gleich nach seinem Erscheinen im Jahr 2012 großes Aufsehen in Deutschland. Von einigen Kritikern, insbesondere von Georg Diez, wurde er scharf abgelehnt und als demokratiefeindliches Machwerk gebrandmarkt, das von seinem Autor in ein pseudo-romantisches Gewand gehüllt worden sei. Ich möchte untersuchen, ob man an diesen Vorwurf der „Pseudo- Romantik“ festhalten sollte oder sich Mittel finden lassen, ihn zu destruieren. Dabei gehe ich von der These aus, dass es sich tatsächlich um ein romantisches bzw. neu-romantisches Werk handelt. Um die These zu stützen werde ich meine Aufmerksamkeit auf einen Topos richten, den ich für aussagekräftig halte: die Kindheit. Ich werde untersuchen, ob in Krachts Roman "Imperium" von Kindern die Rede ist, und wenn ja, wie sie gezeichnet und dargestellt werden. Auf diese Weise hoffe ich genug Material zu Tage zu fördern, um die gestellte Frage beantworten zu können. Biographisches Christian Kracht wurde am 29. Dezember 1966 in Saanen im Kanton Bern in der Schweiz geboren. Sein Vater war Verlagsmanager und viele Jahre Generalbevollmächtigter des Axel Springer-Konzerns. Christian Kracht wuchs im Berner Oberland auf. Mit elf Jahren verließ er die Schweiz, "verlor die Mundart und auch das Gefühl hier (in der Schweiz) ganz daheim zu sein." (Siehe Interview mit der Badischen Zeitung vom 04.08.2014) 1 Ich möchte hiermit kurz darauf hinweisen, dass dieser Artikel als Ergebnis meines durch Alexander von Humboldt-Stiftung gewährten Forschungsaufenthalts im Sommer 2018 zustande gekommen ist. 356 Moushira SUELEM Von da an wächst er in den USA auf, in Kanada, Deutschland und Südfrankreich. Er besuchte verschiedene internationale Internate, darunter die Elite-Schule Schloss-Salem und die Lakefield College-School in Lakefield, Ontario. Nach dem College-Abschluss 1989 am Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville, New York, arbeitete er zunächst als Volontär und später als Redakteur beim deutschen Lifestyle-Magazin "Tempo" in Hamburg. Die Zeitungsmacher orientierten sich an den Zeitgeistmagazinen „twen“, „New York Magazine“, „Vanity Fair“ und „Actuel“. Mitte der 1990er Jahre wurde Christian Kracht Indien-Korrespondent beim "Spiegel" in Neu-Delhi (als Nachfolger von Tiziano Teranzi). Zudem veröffentlichte er Reiseberichte (vor allem in der "Welt am Sonntag"), arbeitete als Kolumnist für die „FAZ“, und gab, gemeinsam mit dem Schriftsteller Eckhart Nickel, in Kathmandu die Zeitschrift "Der Freund" heraus. Mehrere Jahre lebte er auch in der ehemaligen jugoslawischen Botschaft in Bangkok. Christian Kracht lebt mit seiner Frau, der Regisseurin Frauke Finsterwalder, in Italien und Afrika. Im Mai 2018 hielt Kracht eine Reihe von Poetikvorlesungen an der Goethe Universität Frankfurt. Romane 1995 erschien sein erster Roman »Faserland«, der kontroverse Diskussionen auslöste. Es ist die Geschichte der Irrfahrt eines jungen Ästheten durch die Warenwelt Deutschlands. „Faserland“ wurde als Schlüsselwerk der deutschsprachigen Pop-Literatur bezeichnet und in Verbindung gebracht mit den Romanen "Unter Null" und "Einfach unwiderstehlich" von Bret Easton Ellis. Das ist aber eine oberflächliche Zuordnung. Kracht selber sagte, dass er mit der Bezeichnung Pop-Literatur nichts anfangen könne. „Ich hab keine Ahnung, was das sein soll: Popliteratur." (Interview, zusammen mit Benjamin von Stuckrad-Barre, in der Zeit, „Wir tragen Größe 46“, Nr. 37/1999) Er betrachtet sich eher als Autor eines modernen Bildungsromans. Die Anspielungen auf Thomas Mann, Goethe und Klopstock scheinen ihm Recht zu geben. 357 ROMANTISCHE TOPOI IN CHRISTIAN KRACHTS ROMAN „IMPERIUM“ Im September 2001 erschien der 2. Roman "1979". Hier entwirft er eine ganz eigene Welt von seltsamen Wesen, die sich im Teheran der Revolutionszeit bewegen und in einem chinesischen Arbeitslager enden. Der Roman mit seinen kantigen, knappen Sätzen erinnert bisweilen an Friedrich Glauser, Ernst Jünger und Peter Handke. Kracht erhielt für ihn internationale Anerkennung. 2008 folgte der 3. Roman "Ich werde hier sein im Sonnenschein und im Schatten". Hier entwirft er ein Schauer-Panorama. Er schildert eine fiktive Schweiz, in der Lenin 1917 eine Revolution durchgeführt hat. Seitdem ist die Schweiz eine kommunistische Diktatur: die SSR, die Schweizer Sowjet Republik. Die Jahreszeiten sind abgeschafft, der Erzähler stapft durch die Ruinenlandschaft von Neu-Bern, dem Labyrinth gewordenen Ebenbild des SSR-Systems. «Ich bin an diesem Ort. Verloren», sagt die Stimme des Dichters. Ähnlich wie in „Faserland“ geht es um eine Reise ans Ende des Ich. Die Romanfigur ist von Auslösungssehnsucht getrieben. Sie leidet an der gegenwärtigen Welt und fühlt sich von deren Hässlichkeit beleidigt. Das ist kein seltener Topos in der literarischen Moderne und Postmoderne. Man findet ihn zum Beispiel in Brett Easton Ellis „American Psycho“. Krachts Roman wurde im September 2009 mit dem „Phantastik-Preis der Stadt Wetzlar“ ausgezeichnet. 2012 folgte der 4. Roman "Imperium", der großes Aufsehen erregte: „Die deutsche Literatur hat wieder einmal ein veritables event, einen Skandal vielleicht.“ (Siehe: Manfred Clemenz: Literatur und „demokratischer Diskurs“ in L.I.S.A.- Das wissenschaftliche Portal der Gerda Henkel Stiftung, vom 29. 01.2012) Von einigen wurde er scharf abgelehnt, so zum Beispiel von dem Spiegel-Kritiker Georg Diez, der schrieb, Kracht bewege sich „sehr bewusst außerhalb des demokratischen Diskurses“. An seinem Roman „Imperium“ „könne man sehen, wie antimodernes, demokratie-feindliches, totalitäres Denken seinen Weg findet hinein in den Mainstream.“ (Siehe: Georg Diez: Die Methode Kracht in: Der SPIEGEL 7/2012 - 13. Februar 2012) 358 Moushira SUELEM Von anderen wurde er enthusiastisch begrüßt, so zum Beispiel von dem Kritiker der Rheinischen Post, Lothar Schröder: „Man sollte, nein, man muss Kracht … feiern“. Den Vorwurf von Diez nannte er „irrwitzig, intelektuell beschämend und ungerecht“. (Siehe: Lothar Schröder in Rheinische Post vom 16.02.2012). Der Germanist Martin Lüdke nannte „Imperium“ einen „wirklich wunderbaren Roman“ (Siehe: Martin Lüdke: „Faustkultur.de vom 15.02.2012). Die Kritikerin der „FAZ“, Felicitas von Lovenberg, sprach von dem „Versuch, eine literarische Neuerscheinung durch eine ganz und gar unliterarische Lesart zu vernichten.“ (Siehe: Felicitas von Lovenberg: Kein Skandal um Christian Kracht, FAZ, 15. Februar 2012). Der Soziologe Manfred Clemenz konstatiert bei Diez' Kritik ein falsches Literaturverständnis. (Siehe: Manfred Clemenz: Literatur und „demokratischer Diskurs“ in L.I.S.A.- Das wissenschaftliche Portal der Gerda Henkel Stiftung, vom 29. 01.2012) Auch die Schriftstellerin Elfriede Jelinek und die Schriftsteller Daniel Kehlmann und Uwe Timm verteidigten Krachts Roman gegen die Vorwürfe von Diez. Im November 2012 wurde der Roman mit dem Wilhelm-Raabe- Literaturpreis der Stadt Braunschweig ausgezeichnet. In der Jury-Begründung hieß es, die Geschichte der deutschen Kolonien zu Kaiserzeiten sei "noch nie so farbig schillernd, so böse komisch, phantastisch realistisch, pathologisch weltbeglückend, so schräg verzerrt" wie von Kracht erzählt worden. Krachts Werke wurden in zahlreiche Sprachen übersetzt. Imperium „Imperium“ ist eine deutsche Südseeballade. Held des Romans ist der Nürnberger August Engelhardt, der zu Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts, mit einer kleinen Erbschaft ausgestattet, dem "Sirenenruf des Paradieses" (S. 20) folgend, sich in die Südsee einschiffte, um in Papua-Neuguinea, das damals vorübergehend Deutsch-Neuguinea hieß, ein Fleckchen Land zu kaufen, wo er ungestört der Sonne, dem Freikörperkult und der Kokosnuss huldigen konnte. 359 ROMANTISCHE TOPOI IN CHRISTIAN KRACHTS ROMAN „IMPERIUM“ August Engelhardt ist eine zarte Seele, man könnte ihn einen Ritter der Kokosnuss nennen oder einen gnostischen Sonnenanbeter. Er ist eine derart kuriose Figur, dass man ihn erfinden müsste, wenn es ihn nicht tatsächlich gegeben hätte. 2011 erschien mit Marc Buhls "Das Paradies des August Engelhardt" bereits ein erster, vielfach gelobter Roman über den Nudisten und Kokovoren, der 1902 auf der Insel Kabakon unter Palmen seinen Sonnenorden ausrief. Falls Kracht sich über diesen Nebenbuhler geärgert haben sollte, so ist davon nichts zu spüren. Im Gegenteil: So entspannt, so lustvoll wie in "Imperium" schrieb der Autor noch nie. Es liegt eine gewisse Heiterkeit über diesem Buch, das eine farbenprächtige, mitunter tragische Groteske von Verblendung, Fanatismus, Einsamkeit und unfreiwilligem Deutschsein in der Fremde erzählt. Die Heiterkeit speist sich aus der demonstrativen literarischen Freiheit, die Kracht sich von biographischen Fakten nimmt und aus der historischen Distanz eines allwissenden Erzählers, der mit dem Exoten Engelhardt den Irrsinn der ganzen deutschen Südsee-Episode und der ihr nachfolgenden Tragödie in den Blick nehmen will, wie er uns mitteilt: "So wird nun stellvertretend die Geschichte nur eines Deutschen erzählt werden, eines Romantikers, der wie so viele dieser Spezies verhinderter Künstler war, und wenn dabei manchmal Parallelen zu einem späteren deutschen Romantiker und Vegetarier ins Bewusstsein dringen, der vielleicht lieber bei seiner Staffelei geblieben wäre, so ist dies durchaus beabsichtigt und sinnigerweise, Verzeihung, in nuce auch kohärent." (S. 18, 19) Dabei ergreift Krachts Robinsonade Partei für den Paradiesvogel Engelhardt, der seinem Jünger, dem 13-jährigen Eingeborenen Makeli, Romane vorliest (vor allem Charles Dickens "Große Erwartungen" S. 75), viel Zeit damit verbringt, seinen Fußnägeln beim Wachsen zuzusehen und unter der sengenden Sonne und dem Einfluss der Kokosnussdiät immer mehr regrediert. Schließlich lutscht er wieder am Daumen, bis ihm dieser aufgrund einer Leprainfektion abfällt und in einer Kokos-schale als Leckerbissen aufgehoben wird. Doch nicht Verrohung oder Überleben um jeden Preis ist Krachts Thema, sondern Vereinsamung und Entfremdung. Schön wird es nicht. Wenn August Engelhardt auf seiner Reise nicht verhöhnt, verachtet oder verprügelt wird, dann wird er bestohlen, betrogen und belogen. Kaum in seinem Paradies angekommen, wird er übers Ohr gehauen, 360 Moushira SUELEM und bald geht es mit ihm bergab. Dann kommt der Erste Weltkrieg. Die Menschen, denen Engelhardt in seinem Leben begegnet war, ertrinken auf hoher See oder werden standrechtlich erschossen. Nach Kriegsende finden US-Marines den uralten Engelhardt in einer Erdhöhle. Später macht Hollywood daraus einen Film, der zeigt, wie die Vorhut des siegreichen Imperiums einen verrückten Deutschen findet. So schnurrt alles in einer Endlosschleife zusammen. Der Roman schließt mit der ersten Szene des Films, der wiederum die erste Szene des Buches wiederholt: Die Schiffsglocke läutet zu Mittag, ein malayischer Boy schreitet sanftmütig und leise das Oberdeck ab, um die Passagiere mit behutsamen Schulterdruck aufzuwecken, die gleich nach dem üppigen Frühstück eingeschlafen waren. (S. 11 und S. 242) Man könnte den Roman auch einen Reigen nennen. Bedeutsam an dem Roman "Imperium" ist auch das Atmosphärische: Deutsches 19. Jahrhundert (Büchners "Lenz", Kellers "Grüner Heinrich") gemischt mit Mark Twain ("Naked people have little or no influence on society" (S. 7), Henry David Thoreau, Alfred Tennyson und Charles Dickens. Und die Art und Weise wie Kracht erzählt ist seinem großen Vorbild Erich Kästner nachempfunden: "August Engelhardt wird nun weit im Norden wiedergesehen, Berlinwärts reisend, er hat sich von Gustaf Nagel in inniger Verbundenheit am Münchner Hauptbahnhof getrennt, beide haben jeweils die Unterarme des Gegenübers ergriffen." (S. 83) August Engelhardt ist, allen Widerständen zum Trotz, auf seiner Insel ein Glückskind, zumindest für kurze Zeit. Mit seiner Kleidung streifte er alle gesellschaftlichen Ängste ab, und durch Selbstgenügsamkeit erlangte er Freiheit. Anfangs bekam er sein neues Leben ganz gut in den Griff: "Seine Bücherkisten, die vollzählig und von den feuchten Widrigkeiten der zahlreichen Überfahrten unbeschadet geblieben waren, wurden von den Segelkanus an den Strand gebracht, endlich ausgepackt und seine ihm hochheiligen Bücher zuerst längs den Wänden seines Häuschens gestapelt und anschließend, nach und nach, einem genauen alphanumerischen System folgend, in eigens dafür konstruierte modern anmutende Regale eingeordnet. Engelhardt, dem die Bewohner Kabakons also nachsagten, er besitze das, was sie mana nannten (und das wir Europäer mitunter einfach als masel kennen) war für kurze Zeit ganz simpel und einfach glücklich." (S. 122) 361 ROMANTISCHE TOPOI IN CHRISTIAN KRACHTS ROMAN „IMPERIUM“ Wer immer glücklich sein möchte, muss sich oft verändern, heißt es bei Konfuzius. August Engelhardt ist aber ein Mensch, der sich nicht mehr verändern möchte, weil er glaubt, in seinem neuen Leben eine feste Form gefunden zu haben. Und so bleibt es nicht aus, und man kann es als Leser beobachten, dass es mit seinem Glück und seinem Leben abwärts geht. In kästnerischer Schreibmanier heißt es bei Christian Kracht: "Die ersten dunklen Wolken jedoch waren schon im Anmarsch, und zwar zügig, wie wir nun sehen werden." (S. 122) Zeitsprünge Indem Kracht ständig vor- und zurückspult, zeigt er uns Engelhardt, diesen deutschen Ur-Romantiker, wie er sich etwa an „jenem unendlich melancholischen, einhundert Kilometer langen, sonnenbeschienenen Dünenstrand“, der Kurischen Nehrung, noch etwas verlegen seiner Kleidung entledigt, „sich fragend, ob vielleicht hier des Deutschen Seele herstamme“. (S. 84) Beinahe begegnet er dem Sommerfrischlerpaar Thomas und Katia Mann. Der „Simplicissimus“-Redakteur wird am nächsten Tag Anzeige gegen den vagabundierenden Nudisten erstatten. Zuvor ist er beinahe Hermann Hesse begegnet. Das war im Boboli- Garten zu Florenz, wo er sich „zur Rast auf einer steinernen Bank niedergelassen“ hatte, „wohlig die Füße von sich gestreckt“. (S. 62) Engelhardt wirkt wie eine ätherische Erscheinung, in Europa noch stärker als auf dem Schiff (der „Prinz Waldemar“) oder an seinem Zielort Herbertshöhe in Neupommern und seinem Sonnenreich, der Insel Kabakon. Romantik Nun war schon ein paarmal von „Romantik“ die Rede. August Engelhardt wurde als „Ur-Romantiker“ bezeichnet. Seine Suche nach dem Glück erinnert tatsächlich an die Suche der Romantiker nach der blauen Blume, die für Sehnsucht und Liebe und für das metaphysische Streben nach dem Unendlichen steht. 362 Moushira SUELEM Überhaupt ist die Romantik durch das Motiv des „Suchens“ gekennzeichnet. Die „Suchenden“ unterscheiden sich von den Bildungsphilistern, die vorgeben, das Wesentliche bereits zu besitzen. Wenn Kritiker dem Roman von Christian Kracht die romantischen Bezüge absprechen, tun sie so, als gäbe es bei ihm kein Motiv des „Suchens“. Sie unterstellen ihm, nichts zu suchen, sondern etwas zu haben, nämlich eine antidemokratische Ideologie. Der Kritiker Georg Diez hat romantischen Bezüge im Roman von Kracht am lautesten in Abrede gestellt .Er nennt die Aussteiger-Saga im „Imperium“ pseudo-romantisch. Er glaubt nicht, dass Christian Kracht nach der blauen Blume oder überhaupt nach irgendetwas sucht. Vielmehr er davon, dass Kracht in einem „arischen Arkadien“ gelandet sei und behauptet, das „Imperium“ sei von „einer rassistischen Weltsicht“ (S. 102) durchdrungen. Die romantischen Bezüge dienten nur dazu, „den Kern seines Schreibens und Denkens zu kaschieren“. (Diez S. 102) Diez wirft Kracht vor, ein antimoderner Ästhetizist zu sein, den man in eine Reihe stellen müsse mit Joris-Karl Huysmans, Ezra Pound und Ferdinand Celine. (S. 102) Untersuchungsziel und -methode Ich möchte untersuchen, ob es in Krachts Roman „Imperium“ romantische Bezüge gibt, die sich nicht einfach als pseudo-romantisch abqualifizieren lassen. Dabei werde ich mich nicht auf den Plot oder das Hauptgeschehen des Romans konzentrieren, sondern auf Nebenumstände, die von den Rezensenten und Kritikern unbeachtet blieben. Ein sicheres Kennzeichen für Romantik ist die Betrachtung und Einstufung von Kindern. In vorromantischen Zeiten, vom Altertum bis weit ins 18. Jahrhundert hinein, hatte man eine negative Auffassung von Kindern. Im Sinne von Aristoteles betrachtete man sie als defizitäre, vernunftlose Wesen. (Siehe: Susanne Leiste: Studien zur Darstellung des Kindes und der bildenden Kunst des ausgehenden Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit, Dissertation, Erlangen 1985) Die Romantiker betrachteten die Kindheit nicht länger als unterentwickelte Vorstufe des Erwachsenseins, sondern begriffen sie als etwas 363 ROMANTISCHE TOPOI IN CHRISTIAN KRACHTS ROMAN „IMPERIUM“ Spezifisches und Eigenes. In der Romantik entsteht eine neue mystische Auffassung vom Kind als einem „heiligen“ Wesen, das mit dem Göttlichen noch unmittelbar verbunden ist. Das Innere des Menschen wird als göttlicher Kern gedeutet. Von hier ausgehend wird angenommen, daß die Kinder eine höhere und vollkommenere Weltsicht haben. Erwachsene sollten zum kindlichen Menschen aufschauen. Die Frage nach der Erziehung erübrigt sich an dieser Stelle, denn „wie könnte er, der Erwachsene, sich da eine eingreifende Erziehung anmaßen?“ Im Gegenteil, hier versteht sich der Erwachsene als der Empfangende, dient ihm das Kind doch als Mittler zum Unendlichen. Bei aller Verehrung der Kindheit geht es den Romantikern aber nicht um das reale Kind an sich, sondern um eine Annäherung an eine „Zweite Kindheit“ als höchste Daseinsform. In diesem endgültigen Stadium der Menschheitsgeschichte soll auch der Erwachsene wieder unmittelbar mit dem Unendlichen verbunden sein. (Zitate siehe: Hans-Heino Ewers: Romantik. Vorgeschichte und Voraussetzungen. Stuttgart 1990, S. 99-115) Diese Sichtweise taucht auch an vielen Stellen von Christian Krachts Roman „Imperium“ auf. Auch bei ihm gerät die Kindheit zum Gegenentwurf der Welt. Kindheit wird– und das ist ein klares Kennzeichen für Romantik – als höhere Daseinsform verstanden, der die Erwachsenen nachstreben sollten. Beispiele der Darstellung von Kindern im Roman „Imperium“ Ich möchte nun zeigen, wie Christian Kracht in seinem Roman "Imperium" Kinder darstellt und wie ihm die Kindheit zum Gegenentwurf der Welt wird. Hier einige Stellen aus dem Roman: 1. "Manchmal, so war es ihm als Kind erschienen, existierte noch eine Welt neben dieser Welt, in der sich alles auf wunderliche, aber durchaus nachvollziehbare und stringente Weise anders entwickelt hatte..." (S. 122) Hier wird gesagt, dass es neben der Welt der Erwachsenen, die durch Rationalismus und Verstandeskälte kennzeichnet ist, noch eine Welt der Kinder gibt, in der sich alles auf wunderliche Weise entwickelt. 364 Moushira SUELEM Eine Rückbesinnung auf die Kindheit wird angemahnt, und man fühlt sich an eine Textstelle aus Johann Wolfgang Goethes „Die Leiden des jungen Werthers“ erinnert, in der es heißt: „Ich gestehe Dir gerne, denn ich weiß, was Du mir hierauf sagen möchtest, daß diejenigen die Glücklichsten sind, die gleich den Kindern in den Tag hineinleben…“ (Siehe: Johann Wolfgang Goethe: „Die Leiden des jungen Werthers“ von 1774, S. 16 (22. Mai)) 2. „Ab und zu lief er hinab zum Ufer und schöpfte sich beidhändig Meerwasser auf die brennenden Schultern. Dann liefen kleine Kinder mit, die nackend und kreischend und feixend sich vor ihm in die Fluten warfen und Engelhardt lachte mit ihnen.“ (S. 68) Hier wird dargestellt, dass Kinder unschuldige, naturverbundene Wesen sind die sich im Spiel vergnügen. August Engelhardt fühlt sich ihnen verwandt. Es gelingt ihm, mit den Kindern zu lachen. 3. „Deutlich sah er die dahintickende Uhr, seine inzwischen konstruierte Bastliege und das darüber mit einem Kokostau befestigte Moskitonetz, schon fiel er in die Zeit hinab, bis sich vor seinen Augen, erst schemenhaft, dann ganz und gar deutlich scharf gestochen, nicht nur die kanariengelb und violett gestrichenen Wände seiner Kinderstube manifestierten, sondern die wohlriechende Erscheinung seiner Mutter, die sich mit besorgt herausgeschobener Zungenspitze über ihn beugte und seine heiße Stirn mit einem geeisten Baumwolllappen bearbeitete. Seine Mutter war nicht nur zu sehen, sondern auch tatsächlich zu empfinden, als sei sie nicht längst tot, sondern im höchsten Maße präsent und unendlich – die grenzenlose Liebe, die er für sie fühlte, war in der Tat eine kosmische, eine göttliche Wahrnehmung …“ (S. 96) Hier taucht eine Erinnerung der Romanfigur August Engelhardt an die eigene Kindheit auf. Er erinnert sich, von der Mutter umsorgt, geschützt und geliebt worden zu sein. Durch die Erinnerung wird ihm die Mutter, die längst gestorben ist, wieder präsent. Die Zeit ist wie aufgehoben. Engelhardt fühlt sich in die Kindheit zurückversetzt. Es ist eine kosmische, eine göttliche Wahrnehmung. Zugleich fühlt man sich an das Motiv der „guten Mutter“ aus den „Kinder- und Hausmärchen“ erinnert, die von den Gebrüdern Grimm in der Epoche der Romantik gesammelt und publiziert wurden. 365 ROMANTISCHE TOPOI IN CHRISTIAN KRACHTS ROMAN „IMPERIUM“ 4. Auf Seite 115 des Romans erfährt man, dass August Engelhardt sich „bereits in der Kindheit“ … „sorgsam aufgebaute Schutzmauern den Menschen gegenüber“ zugelegte (S. 115). Dennoch wurde er von brutalen Erwachsenen aus seinem Schutzbezirk vertrieben: Die Marotte am Daumen zu lutschen, war ihm (Engelhardt) „unter schweren Prügeln ausgetrieben worden“ … und er hatte sie (auf seiner Insel Kabakon) für sich selbst wiederentdeckt, als probates Hilfsmittel einer nur ihm bekannten Meditationstechnik. In einem Hohlraum des Selbst versinkend, erlaubte ihm das Saugen am Daumen, die Umwelt beinahe lückenlos auszublenden, ja, sich derart in sich selbst zurückzuziehen, dass jegliche an den Gestaden des Bewusstseins anbrandende Irritation von ihm abgehalten wurde wie eine gefräßige Motte durch ein besonders fein gewebtes Mückennetz. „ (S. 133) Hier wird dargestellt, dass Kinder ein natürliches Mittel finden, sich selbst zu beruhigen: sie saugen am Daumen. August Engelhardt hat auf seiner einsamen Insel Kabakon dieses Mittel aus Kindertagen wieder neu für sich entdeckt. Es wird ihm zur Meditationstechnik. In einem Hohlraum seines Selbst versinkend kann er sich vorübergehend vor der Welt schützen, die ihm nachstellt wie eine gefräßige Motte. Auch ins eigene Bewusstsein haben sich Gegenstände der Welt eingenistet, die ihn bedrücken und ängstigen. Und auch diese Bewusstseins-Gegenstände werden durch die Meditationstechnik aufgelöst. 5. „Pandora springt von Bord und läuft schnurstracks barfuß Richtung Gouverneursresidenz… auf halben Wege bleibt sie stehen und bückt sich um Blumen zu pflücken, und einige Insulanerkinder kommen schüchtern hinzu. Aus der Ferne sieht es aus, als würden sie innig miteinander spielen; Pandora vergisst darüber, weswegen sie an Land gegangen ist.“ (S. 201) An dieser Stelle wird ausgedrückt, dass Kinder nicht an den Dingen anhaften. Pandora, ein junges, zwölf oder vierzehnjähriges Mädchen das sich in Sydney als blinder Passagier an Bord geschlichen hat, hat in Herbertshöhe 366 Moushira SUELEM das Schiff von Kapitän Slütter verlassen, um zur Gouverneursresidenz zu laufen. Sie geht aber nicht geradewegs oder linear auf das Ziel zu wie ein Erwachsener. Zuerst wird sie von den Blumen abgelenkt, die sie zu pflücken beginnt, dann von den Insulanerkindern, mit denen sie in ein Spiel geraten wird. 6. „Im Vorbeigehen lächelt er (Kapitän Slütter) Pandora an, die sich zu den eingeborenen Kindern auf die Wiese gesetzt hat, und als sie nicht zurücklächelt, ja noch nicht einmal zu ihm aufschaut, schließt er die Augen und geht weiter.“ (S. 202) Hier wird dargestellt, dass sich Pandora auch an Menschen nicht fest anhaftet. Kapitän Slütter hatte viel für sie getan, hatte sie väterlich beschützt. Dennoch fühlt sich Pandora nicht gezwungen, sich immer auf ihren Wohltäter zu fixieren. Nach Art der Kinder kommt sie schnell mit anderen Kindern in Kontakt, wendet sich ihnen zu, spielt mit ihnen und löst sich spielend von Kapitän Slütter. Kapitäin Slütter, weiß darum. Er weiß, dass er mit den Mitteln der Erwachsenen das Kind nicht dauerhaft für sich einnehmen kann. Er schließt die Augen und geht weiter. In der Phantasie wird er Pandora sein eigen nennen können, in der Wirklichkeit nicht. Diese Passage mündet in eine philosophische Betrachtung über Zeit und Gegenwart: „Die vorherrschende Ansicht, die Zeit sei ein unaufhaltsamer Strom, in dem alles seinen präzisen Anfang habe und seinen klar definierten Verlauf, hat sich auch in Slütters Denken festgesetzt; dabei ist es, wie ihm in manchen luziden Momenten gewahr wird, eher so, dass das Ende sehr wohl feststeht, nicht aber das immerwährende Präsens, welches einen dorthin zu führen weiß. Das perfide, unfassbare Jetzt mäandert … aus allen Ecken und Enden und fließt unkontrollierbar wie ein Gas in sämtliche Richtungen des Daseins, dabei die unwiderrufliche Einzigartigkeit jedes seiner Augenblicke außer Acht lassend…“ (S. 203) Kinder wissen um die unwiderrufliche Einzigartigkeit jedes Augenblicks. Und ihr Spiel ist nichts anderes als die Hingabe an diesen Augenblick. Und von Augenblick zu Augenblick erfahren sie „das immerwährende Präsens“, von dem sich die Erwachsenen ausgeschlossen haben. 367 ROMANTISCHE TOPOI IN CHRISTIAN KRACHTS ROMAN „IMPERIUM“ 7. „Das Mädchen Pandora verhält sich natürlich nicht so, wie Slütter es gerne gehabt hätte, als hätte er sie einfrieren können in die ewig andauernde Gegenwart, unveränderlich bis ans Ende aller Zeiten…“ (S. 226) Hier klingt an, dass die Erwachsenen aus dem „immerwährenden Präsens“ herausgefallen sind. Verzweifelt versuchen sie mit untauglichen Mitteln der Gegenwart Dauer zu verleihen. Sie sind vom Wunsch getrieben, alles, was ihnen wertvoll erscheint, in eine feste Form zu gießen. Kinder haben diesen Wunsch nicht oder selten. Sie wandeln sich dauernd. Und wenn man sie betrachtet fühlt man sich an den Ausspruch des Konfuzius erinnert: „Wer immer glücklich sein möchte, muss sich oft verändern.“ In unserem Kontext wird Konfuzius zum Romantiker. Erwachsene hingegen haben sich fixiert auf das Vertraute und Nützliche. Das macht sie erfolgreich in der Beherrschung der Dinge. Mit dem Erfolg aber wurde die Unmittelbarkeit zerstört. Und so leben die meisten erwachsenen Menschen nicht mehr in der Gegenwart. Sie sind immer zu spät, und die wunderbare Heiterkeit, die die Seelen der Kinder eingenommen hat, fehlt ihnen. Im Roman „Imperium“ wird dies durch Böklins Gemälde „Die Toteninsel“ symbolisiert, das, hinter Glas im Mahagonirahmen, im Privatgelehrtenzimmer des Gouverneurs Hahl befindet (S. 211) 8. Zum Abschluss möchte ich noch eine Textstelle anführen, die zum Ausdruck bringt, dass es August Engelhardt am Ende gelingt, „ebenfalls zum Kind, zum Rex Solus“ zu werden. (S. 229) „Vegetabil und einfach, ohne sich an etwas erinnern zu können, ohne Voraussicht, lebt er allein im Präsens, ab und zu Besuch erhaltend, redet er wirr, die Menschen fahren wieder ab und lachen über ihn, schließlich wird er zur Attraktion für Südseereisende, man besucht ihn, wie man ein wildes Tier im Zoo besucht.“ (S. 229) 368 Moushira SUELEM Hier ist nicht der Ort, den Bezug zu Vladimir Nabokovs Roman- Fragment „Solus Rex“ herauszuarbeiten. Ich möchte nur soviel sagen, daß beide Helden, Nabokovs Sineussow und Krachts Engelhardt, am Ende völlig einsame, autarke Figuren sind, schwarze Könige, die in einer eigene, abgeschotteten Realität leben. Fazit Ich glaube, es ist mir gelungen zu zeigen, dass es sich bei Christian Krachts Roman „Imperium“ nicht um ein pseudo-romantisches Machwerk handelt, wie der Kritiker Georg Diez behauptet hat. Tatsächlich ist es ein Werk in dem viele romantische Topoi anzutreffen sind. Ich habe mich auf den Topos „Kindheit“ bzw. „Kinder“ konzentriert und gezeigt, wie Kinder im Roman wahrgenommen, dargestellt und verklärt wurden. Wie in der Romantik wurde das Leben der Kinder als eigene, höherwertige Daseinsweise behandelt. Diese göttliche Daseinsweise immerwährender Gegenwart ist auch für Erwachsene anziehend und erreichbar, freilich um den Preis, sich in der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft zu isolieren. Dass Kinder nicht wissen, warum sie etwas wollen, glauben viele, dass aber auch Erwachsene, gleich Kindern, auf diesem Erdboden herumtaumeln, ohne zu wissen, woher sie kommen, wohin sie gehen und was der morgige Tag für sie bringen wird und sich dabei ausschließlich von Kokosnüssen ernähren, hat Christian Kracht in seinem „Imperium“ vorgeführt. Man könnte seinen Roman neo-romantisch nennen. 369 ROMANTISCHE TOPOI IN CHRISTIAN KRACHTS ROMAN „IMPERIUM“ Literaturliste Christian Kracht: "Imperium", Verlag Kiepenheuer & Witsch, Köln 2012 Christian Kracht: "Faserland", Verlag Kiepenheuer & Witsch, Köln 1995 Christian Kracht: "1979", Fischer Verlag, 2010 Christian Kracht: "Ich werde hier sein im Sonnenschein und im Schatten", Verlag Kiepenheuer & Witsch, Köln, 2008 Christian Kracht und Benjamin Stuckrad-Barre: "Wir tragen Größe 46", in: Die Zeit, Nr. 37/1999 Marc Buhls: "Das Paradies des August Engelhardt", Eichborn Verlag, Frankfurt am Main, 2011 Manfred Clemenz: "Literatur und demokratischer Diskurs“, in L.I.S.A. - Das wissenschaftliche Portal der Gerda Henkel Stiftung, 29. 01.2012 Georg Diez: "Die Methode Kracht", in: Der SPIEGEL 7/2012 (13. Februar 2012) Lothar Schröder: "Imperium" – der große Roman von Christian Kracht, in Rheinische Post vom 16.02.2012 Felicitas von Lovenberg: "Kein Skandal um Christian Kracht", FAZ, 15. Februar 2012). Martin Lüdke: Faustkultur.de vom 15.02.2012 Susanne Leiste: "Studien zur Darstellung des Kindes und der bildenden Kunst des ausgehenden Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit", Dissertation, Erlangen 1985 Hans-Heino Ewers: "Romantik. Vorgeschichte und Voraussetzungen...", Stuttgart 1990, S. 99-115 Vladimir Nabokov: „Solus Rex“, in: Erzählungen 2, Rowohlt Verlag 1989 Johann Wolfgang Goethe: "Die Leiden des jungen Werthers", Weygandsche Buchhandlung, Leipzig, 1774 
work_q46swgdbwjaihmffghhbip7yna	----	Thoreau’s country: a historical–ecological perspective on conservation in the New England landscape David R. Foster* Harvard Forest, Harvard University, Petersham, MA, USA Abstract Our wood-lots, of course, have a history, and we may often recover it for a hundred years back, though we do not...Yet if we attended more to the history of our lots we should manage them more wisely. H.D. Thoreau. 16 October 1860. Henry Thoreau, the great New England writer, thinker and naturalist, devoted his �career� to observing, describing and interpreting (in some 2 million words in more than three dozen journal volumes) the natural and cultural characteristics of his nineteenth century landscape. Through these writings we not only learn a great deal about our land and its ancestry but we receive an impassioned, although balanced reverence for both the wild and cultural sides of nature. Thoreau also presents a means of interpreting landscapes based on keen observation, a strong awareness of natural history, and a recognition that insights to modern nature often lie in its past [Foster, D.R. (1999) Thoreau’s country. Journey through a transformed landscape. Harvard University Press, Cambridge]. This paper argues that we take Thoreau’s words and approach to conservation to heart and admonishes that we appreciate the historical processes driving long-term ecological changes as we attempt to conserve and restore the vegetation, wildlife and landscape of regions including New England. Over the past four centuries much of the eastern USA has been transformed by human activity as the heavily forested area was settled, cut, cleared and farmed through the mid-nineteenth century and then largely abandoned in haphazard fashion from active use and allowed to reforest naturally [Cronon, W. (1983) Changes in the land Indians, colonists and the ecology of New England. Hill and Wang, New York; Whitney, G.G. (1994) From coastal wilderness to fruited plain. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge; Foster, D.R. & O’Keefe, J.F. (2000) New England forests through time: insights from the Harvard forest dioramas. Harvard Forest and Harvard University Press, Petersham and Cambridge; Hall, B. et al. (2002) Journal of Biogeog- raphy, 29, 1319–1335]. Rather remarkably, the present landscape of New England supports many more natural attributes and processes than at any time since before the American Revolution. As a consequence of its history the region’s considerable variation in vegetation, wildlife and appearance is largely explained by the history of human use [Bellemare, J. et al. (2002) Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1401–1420; Gerhardt, F. & Foster, D.R. (2002) Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1421–1437; Hall, B. et al. (2002) Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1319–1335; Eberhardt, R. et al. (2003) Ecological Applications (in press)]. Thus, although the region supports a diverse range of species, plant and animal assemblages, and landscapes, successful conservation strategies need to be based on a broad-scale approach that appreciates regional variation in natural and cultural history as well as current conditions [Foster, D.R. & Motzkin, G. (1998) Northeastern Naturalist, 5, 111; Motzkin, G. & Foster, D.R. (2002) Journal of Bio- geography, 29, 1569–1589]. This approach must also work effectively with the general lack of regional planning and regulation and the predominant role of private ownership and control in New England [Berlik, M.M. et al. (2002) Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1557–1568]. *Correspondence: Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA 01366, USA. E-mail: drfoster@fas.harvard.edu Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd When a geographical–historical perspective is adopted for this region, three major, and in many ways quite dissimilar, directions for conservation emerge that are consistent with the region’s history and environmental variation, are being actively pursued by conser- vation organizations and agencies, and might be effectively coordinated on a broad scale today. These directions, as articulated by diverse organizations include: (1) wilderness preservation and the restoration and the conservation of wide-ranging species and broad- scale ecological processes; (2) maintenance of cultural, predominantly agriculturally derived, landscapes; and (3) increased, environmentally sound harvesting and utilization of local forest resources. Individually, when applied in appropriate landscape contexts, each of these approaches can exert positive benefits on biodiversity, environmental processes and quality of life. When applied collectively in a coordinated geographical fashion that acknowledges and accommodates regional variation resulting from physical, biological, cultural and historical factors, these three directions in land management may provide a broad template for proactive conservation that generates local to global benefits. This paper examines each of these three conservation directions in relation to the region’s history and current ecological condition, attempts to articulate the environ- mental rationale that supports these activities, and then presents an initial approach at positioning each across this varied region. Keywords Conservation, history, New England, wildlands, reserves, cultural landscape, biodiver- sity, regional planning, sustainability, restoration, harvesting. I N T R O D U C T I O N Thoreau’s approach to and legacy of historical ecology As he roamed and studied the nineteenth century countryside, Henry David Thoreau came to recognize that much of what he sought to explain in nature was conditioned by its history, which oftentimes included human activity (Foster, 1999). The woods surrounding Walden Pond and most other New Eng- land forests of Thoreau’s day were woodlots shaped initially by Indian activity and natural processes, and subsequently transformed by the heavier European hand of grazing, re- peated logging, fire and clearing (Raup, 1966; Cronon, 1983; Hall et al., 2002). As he worked to interpret these stand and landscape patterns, Thoreau investigated vegetation histories, seeking to reconstruct the range of plants and animals sup- ported on specific sites through time and to decipher the en- vironmental, biological and historical forces that had shaped them. His daily course of observation, enquiry and writing led Thoreau to develop a remarkable repertoire of historical–ec- ological skills, from dendroecology and archaeology to pa- laeoecology and environmental history. It also gave him a keen eye for disentangling the complex history of process be- hind botanical form and ecological pattern (Foster, 1999). Application of these skills over a lifetime of observation con- vinced Thoreau that an understanding of nature’s history, including cultural history, was essential for ecological inter- pretation and formed a critical basis for anticipating and managing future changes in nature. Based on this historical perspective, and his deep knowledge of species and habitats, Thoreau forged a series of remarkable ecological insights and offered management and conservation recommendations that span a much broader range of objectives than is usually attributed to an individual often perceived and characterized as a single-dimensioned preser- vationist of wild nature. For while Thoreau extolled the virtue of old-growth forests, speculated on their unique attributes, and argued for the protection of the few extensive woodlands remaining in his landscape, he also recognized the critical role that farmers played in creating and maintaining the varied meadowlands, pastures, hedgerows, and grazed woodlands that supported the diverse plant, insect and bird fauna that he appreciated. In a similar vein, he applied his knowledge of woodland history and tree biology to make countless, gener- ally unsolicited recommendations for improving forest man- agement and harvesting techniques (Foster, 1999). Today’s Henry David Thoreau’s place in and sense of history have particular relevance for New England and the eastern USA. The mid-nineteenth century spanning Thor- eau’s lifetime (1817–62) represents a defining era and turn- ing point for the region’s landscape (Fig. 1; Cronon, 1983; Merchant, 1989; Whitney, 1994; Irland, 1999; Foster & O’Keefe, 2000; Hall et al., 2002). Across the region, exclu- ding northern Maine, this period marked the peak of in- tensive agricultural activity and broad-scale deforestation that has left an enduring imprint on subsequent natural environments (Fig. 1; Russell, 1982; Foster et al., 1998, 2003; Motzkin et al., 1999b). Since Thoreau’s day agricul- ture has shifted to the mid-western and western USA, the rural population of New England has relocated to mill towns, cities and then suburbs where it continues to grow at a rapid pace, and people have stopped living from the land and instead rely on imported goods and natural resources (Raup, 1966; Berlik et al., 2002). Consequently, the land- scape of hayfields, pasture, meadow, and woodlots described � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 1538 D. R. Foster in Thoreau’s journals reverted first to shrubland and then young forest, and has gradually emerged as an expansive and maturing forest landscape. Agricultural land is increasingly scarce and is concentrated either in broad river valleys or localized rural areas where it continues to be threatened by housing and industrial development or abandonment from active use (Hall et al., 2002). In contrast, in northern New England the balance of human activity tipped in the opposite direction after 1850 as the wild Maine Woods that Thoreau visited repeatedly for its rawness and insights into natural process became the centre of broad-scale onslaught by pri- vate and industrial logging activity that continues to this day (Lansky, 1992; Irland, 1999). As a consequence of this lengthy history of human use nearly every part of the New England landscape is shaped by its cultural past as much as, and in most cases much more than, its history of natural disturbance or environmental change (Motzkin et al., 1996, 2002a,b; Fuller et al., 1998; Bellemare et al., 2002; Gerhardt & Foster, 2002; Motzkin et al. 2002; Parshall & Foster 2002). Each forest has a sin- gular, although oftentimes complex history as woodlot, pasture, or tilled field that shapes the modern vegetation in distinct ways (Motzkin et al., 1999b). The remaining grasslands, shrublands and heathlands in this wooded and developed land are largely the legacy of intensive and often environmentally abusive land use, including deforestation, burning, cultivation or intensive grazing (Dunwiddie, 1989; Foster & Motzkin, 1999; Motzkin & Foster, 2002). At a site to landscape scale the modern presence and distributional pattern of plant species is a major legacy of this history (Foster et al., 2003). Consequently, in order to interpret vegetation structure, composition and function, and to an- ticipate or manage for future changes, knowledge of land use and vegetation history must be incorporated into every study, analysis or plan. Thoreau not only provides an approach for conservation and management based on his- tory, but his detailed daily journal observations on land-use practices, vegetation and wildlife, capture essential infor- mation for modern conservationists and ecologists as they seek to interpret and manage the New England landscape (Cronon, 1983; Foster, 1999) (Figs 2 & 3). Modern conservation in New England: opportunity and imperative From a conservation perspective, regional history has placed the modern New England landscape at a critical and opportune juncture (Leahy et al., 1996; Steel, 1999; Bio- Map, 2001). Forest area has reached a historic maximum but is beginning to decline as a result of development; many forests are older, wilder and more natural than any time in the last 200 years (Irland, 1999); and native wildlife, from bears and beaver to moose, fisher and ravens have increased rapidly. These conditions signal the potential for preserving and promoting extensive wildlands and restoring many formerly extirpated species (Klyza, 2001; Sayen, 2001; Foster et al., 2002a,c). In contrast, as agriculture continues to decline the open-land plants and animals that thrived in Thoreau’s day have become much less common, may be threatened with extirpation, and are oftentimes conservation priorities (Leahy et al., 1996; Barbour et al., 1998; Askins, 2000). Undeveloped land is increasingly threatened and fragmented by industrial and residential activities and con- tinues to decline rapidly, especially in southern states [Fig. 4; Irland, 1999; The Trustees of Reservations (TTOR), 1999]. A prosperous and environmentally conscious population is financially and emotionally supportive of conservation, and land prices are relatively low, especially in northern and rural areas (Allen, 1999; Bateson & Smith, 2001). However, recent analyses suggest that current conservation activity (e.g. of land protection and forest harvesting) forms a hap- hazard and relatively ineffective spatial pattern because of a lack of coordination among organizations and public agen- cies and the absence of a coherent regional framework for planning (Golodetz & Foster, 1996; Berlik et al., 2002; D.B. Kittredge, unpublished data). Clearly the time is propitious to develop New England’s conservation future. Intriguingly, New England currently supports at least three distinct conservation movements. On first glimpse these may appear incongruous and incompatible, for they include: (1) a movement to restore vast areas of wilderness, to re-introduce large mammals and natural processes, and to forge a broad and connected network of wildlands (Klyza, 2001); (2) efforts to maintain species, habitats and attributes of Henry Thoreau’s cultural landscape, including assem- blages from heathlands, grasslands, shrublands and early successional forests (Dunwiddie & Sferra, 1991; Foster Figure 1 Throughout much of the New England landscape original wooded areas were converted to pasture and cultivated lands through the mid- or late-nineteenth century when agriculture declined, industrial activity (and population growth, dark solid line) increased, and forests re-established through natural succession (cf. Hall et al., 2002). This figure depicts the land cover and popu- lation changes for a fifty-town area of central Massachusetts (Golodetz & Foster, 1996). Patterns of intensive nineteenth century land use continue to shape many forest characteristics and processes and can be interpreted through retrospective and historical studies. One insightful perspective on these activities as well as the long-term changes in the landscape is provided by the 2-million word journal of Henry David Thoreau, who devoted his life (1817–62) to des- cribing and interpreting the culturally dominated countryside of New England. Modified from Foster et al. (1998) and Foster (1999). � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 Thoreau’s country: an historical–ecological perspective on conservation 1539 & Motzkin, 1998; Dunwiddie, 1999; Motzkin & Foster, 2002); and (3) a call for increased management of New England’s forests in order to provide a greater share of the region’s natural resources from local sources, reduce the global impact of New England’s affluent lifestyle and maintain species dependent on historic patterns of logging (Berlik et al., 2002; Foster & Motzkin, 1998; DeGraaf & Yamasaki, 2001; Donahue, 2001). On close inspection each of these directions in conservation link closely to and are quite compatible with the historic changes in the land itself. In order to move towards a historically based and geo- graphically coherent approach to conservation in New England this paper: (1) provides a brief overview of these three major conservation directions and their relationship to the changes in the land; (2) offers an initial attempt at mel- ding these disparate activities into a regional approach to conservation based on this landscape history and variation; and (3) identifies some of the constraints on restoration and conservation in a cultural landscape like New England. T H R E E D I R E C T I O N S F O R C O N S E R V A T I O N I N N E W E N G L A N D Wildlands and wilderness restoration The extent and intensity of agricultural land-use activity has declined over the past century and a half and many parts of the New England landscape have become wilder and more strongly dominated by natural processes (McLachlan et al., 2000). Forest area increased dramatically through the mid- twentieth century and, with forest growth exceeding har- vests (a fact still true for most of the eastern USA except northern Maine and portions of the southeast; Irland, 1999), a vast expanse of maturing forest covers much of the land. The countless stonewalls, ancient cart roads and woodland paths, and abandoned railroad beds that traverse this for- ested countryside bear testimony to the history of use and change, but only begin to convey the enormity of the envi- ronmental recovery that has occurred (Dunwiddie, 1989; Figure 2 Historical changes in land use and land cover across the eastern USA have led to a broad-scale transformation of the extensive agricultural landscapes of the nineteenth century to widespread forests today, as depicted in two views of the Swift River Valley in Petersham, Massachusetts in the 1880s (top) and 1990s (bottom). As a con- sequence of these changes plant and animal assemblages characteristic of open habitats have shown a sharp decline and are often- times uncommon or even endangered, whereas woodland species and forest pro- cesses have increased. Extensive woodlands across the region provide opportunity for the restoration of wildlands and forest ecosystem processes as well as increased production of wood resources. In the autumn landscape scene depicted here (bottom) forests domin- ated by white pine (green) have established extensively across old agricultural fields, whereas areas that have been continuously in forest through the colonial period are dom- inated by broadleaf species including oaks, red maple and birches. Photographs from the Harvard Forest archives and D.R. Foster. � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 1540 D. R. Foster McKibben, 1995; DeGraaf & Miller, 1996; Hall et al., 2002). Pond shores and stream banks that were trampled and eroded by livestock or gouged by log drives have stabilized and revegetated, grassy lowland meadows shorn annually for centuries have reverted to shrub wetlands, alder thickets and forested floodplains, and endless rocky pastures have gradually transformed into red maple swales or hillside stands of white pine, paper birch, oaks and maples (Robin- son, 1976; Dunwiddie, 1989; Foster, 1999). After a century or more of recovery, forests with a lengthy history of intense logging or other land use may share many structural and compositional traits with mature or even old-growth forests and may bear little to no visible evidence of these historical transformations (Patterson & Foster, 1990; McLachlan et al., 2000). In concert with the resurgence of forest habitat and the change in human attitudes, native wildlife has recovered, albeit unevenly and incompletely (DeGraaf & Miller, 1996; Foster et al., 2002c). Through expansion from small populations in nineteenth century refugia, immigration from adjoining regions and intentional re-introductions, a great diversity of woodland and interior mammals, birds and other species now occur in this newly reforested landscape (Foss, 1992; Trombulak, 2001). This resurgence of naturalness, accompanied by popular interest in the environment has stimulated broad-based interest in the restoration and preservation of wildlands and old-growth landscapes (Davis, 1996; Klyza, 2001). Indeed, the historical recovery and current condition of the land make the preservation of extensive wild areas or even the development of an interconnected reserve system a reason- able and attainable goal in many parts of the region. In addition, low land prices in many rural areas make the pre- servation of large forest tracts feasible for private individuals Figure 3 Physical and land-cover characteristics of the modern New England region, including political boundaries, physiographic regions, forest vegetation types, forest cover, agricultural land and developed land. Forest vegetation from Westveld et al. (1956) and land cover from Vogelmann et al. (2001). � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 Thoreau’s country: an historical–ecological perspective on conservation 1541 or public entities. Efforts to support this goal are diverse but span all the New England states and involve many organi- zations. In the south, for example, the Massachusetts Au- dubon Society (MAS) has initiated legislation to protect scattered old-growth forests and extensive buffer areas on public lands. Along with regional groups like RESTORE: The North Woods, MAS has called for a halt to most forest harvesting in the 70,000-acre Quabbin Reservation in the western part of the state in order to promote old-growth characteristics across this largest tract of public land in southern New England (R. Hubley and K. DeBoer, pers. comm.). The private Sweetwater Trust, based in Boston, actively supports the protection of large forest tracts as �forever wild� throughout the region and is developing a comprehensive map of truly �protected� (i.e. protected from harvesting as well as development) lands in order to guide this activity (Bateson & Smith, 2001). Across the eastern USA there is increasing effort to iden- tify, protect and study the remaining old-growth and virgin forest areas (Davis, 1996; Orwig et al., 2001; Motzkin et al., 2002). In addition, there has been a shift in focus among mainstream conservation organizations from the simple protecting of individual �hotspots of diversity� to the identi- fication and protection of extensive matrix landscapes that support natural processes (Anderson, 1999). �Wilderness areas� (this term is used with the full understanding that essentially all areas have been affected by human activities, directly or indirectly) or similarly designated lands have been created on portions of the region’s federal and state lands. The preservationist movement’s most ambitious goal centres on the so-called Northern Forest that stretches from northern New York state through Vermont and New Hampshire to northern Maine and for which there are var- ious calls for the establishment of extensive reserves along Figure 4 Private ownership and a lack of stringent land-use zoning or regional plan- ning in the eastern USA leads to the common scene of residential or industrial development fragmenting (top) agricultural land (note barn and silos in upper left) and (bottom) forests. Photographs by D.R. Foster. � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 1542 D. R. Foster with the restoration of populations of large predators, espe- cially wolves, but including lynx, marten, and even cougar (RESTORE, 2000; Klyza, 2001; Sayen, 2001). Among core areas for such proposed reserves are extensive old-growth and second-growth areas in the Adirondacks State Preserve (NY), the Green and White Mountain National Forests (VT, NH, ME), and Baxter State Park (ME), along with smaller state forests and parks. Reserves, including a national park proposed by RESTORE, might also be created from exten- sive industrial forestlands where intensive harvesting, short- sighted management, and recent sales of large tracts have created great environmental, economic and public concern (Lansky, 1992; Dobbs & Ober, 1996; Irland, 1999; Rolde, 2001). The relatively low value of much of this land for near- term timber harvest and the high turnover in ownership yields great opportunity for the purchase and restoration of future old growth. The move towards wilderness preservation and restor- ation has been especially well received by portions of the region’s large suburban population that has been nurtured on the American ethic of wilderness and is currently sus- tained by an economy based on imported natural resources (Irland, 1999; Berlik et al., 2002). Rural populations, often more closely connected to the land and natural resource production exhibit a more ambivalent reaction and numer- ous conflicting visions for this region exist. The means to establishing extensive wildlands include federal purchase, public and private acquisition of conservation restrictions (deed restrictions on development or other activities) of large contiguous blocks and modification of current management plans for national and state lands. Restoring and conserving New England’s cultural landscape Despite media attention on old-growth forests, large mam- mals and interior forest birds that are associated with intact forest areas and preserves, the plant and animal species that are declining most rapidly across the north-eastern USA do not reside in deep woods but depend on grasslands, shrub- lands and other early successional habitats (Leahy et al., 1996; Askins, 1993, 1997, 2000; DeGraaf & Yamasaki, 2001; Litvaitis, 2001; Motzkin & Foster, 2002). As aban- doned pastures, hay fields and lowland meadows have be- come wooded and as coppice scrublands and woodlots have grown into mature forests over the past 150 years, there has been a steady long-term decline in open-land plant and animal species (Foster, 1999; Foster et al., 2002c). The species involved are varied, but range from small mammals (e.g. eastern cottontail) and reptiles and amphibians (e.g. bog turtle, smooth green snake, leopard frog) to vascular plants (e.g. Shrubby cinquefoil, Potentilla fruticosa). How- ever, the most pervasive and apparent declines have occurred in birds (e.g. bobolink, meadowlark, woodcock, whippoor- will) and insects (e.g. regal frittilary, great spangled frittilary, some tiger beetles and dung beetles). Species including the Upland sandpiper, grasshopper sparrow and savanna spar- row are now restricted to a handful of scattered locations and highly reduced populations, and some occur on state or even federal lists of protected, threatened or endangered species (Jones & Vickery, 1995, 1997). As a consequence, protection for these species and restoration of their habitats have emerged as top priorities for conservation organiza- tions (e.g. Leahy et al., 1996; Steel, 1999; Norment, 2002; TNC, 2002a, b), and for state wildlife and conservation agencies (Barbour et al., 1998). The changing status of most of these species over the past century is best understood as a direct consequence of the effects of land-use and land-cover change on habitat availability (Dunwiddie, 1989; Vickery & Dunwiddie, 1997; Budd, 2000; Litvaitis, 2001; Foster et al., 2002c). For example, in the late nineteenth century shrubby cinquefoil, currently an uncommon species was widespread and abun- dant across Massachusetts. Its aggressive and rapid spread across wet pastures and meadows led to its historic des- cription as a �noxious weed� and prompted farmers and agricultural societies to share information on its control (Motzkin et al., 2003). In related fashion, blue lupine, an uncommon herb currently prized for its colourful appear- ance and role in sustaining the rare Karner blue butterfly, carpeted sandy agricultural lands such as North Haven Sand Plain in southern Connecticut in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (N. Barnes, pers. comm.). Today, the wet meadows are wooded or drained; cities, factories, gravel pits and trees occupy the sand plains, and cinquefoil and lupine are restricted to small populations. As we read through Henry Thoreau’s journals the enormity of the his- torical changes emerge; his daily jottings are filled with descriptions of meadowlarks, bobolinks, whippoorwills and bitterns roaming hay fields, pastures and lowland meadows, along with the cattle and phalanxes of farmers who mowed and maintained them (Foster, 1999). Many techniques are currently employed to retain or restore the open habitats that these species require and to counteract the natural tendency of succession towards a forested (and inhospitable) condition (Jones & Vickery, 1995; Budd, 2000). Whether acknowledging it or not these approaches largely seek to reproduce the earlier effects of countless farmers and their domesticated animals and to maintain cultural elements of the historical New England landscape (cf. Birks et al., 1988, 1996; Dunwiddie, 1989). In its Biodiversity Initiative, the Massachusetts Division of Fisheries and Wildlife may have the largest such programme in New England for it employs timber cutting, brush cutting with an immense tracked vehicle (the �Brontosaurus�), and mowing to create and expand complexes of grassland, shrubland and thickets (J. Scanlon, pers. comm.). A similarly ambitious programme of mechanical treatment is underway on the Nantucket moors by MAS in conjunction with the Nantucket Conservation Society (E. Steinauer, pers. comm.). The moors, like many coastal heathlands and grasslands world-wide, are the product of forest clearance, soil disturbance and intensive sheep grazing (Gimingham, 1972; Dunwiddie, 1989; Tiffney, 1992; Foster et al., 2002b). With elimination of the sheep, which once excee- ded 15,000 animals on the island, the moors have grown � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 Thoreau’s country: an historical–ecological perspective on conservation 1543 increasingly rank as shrubs, scrub oak and pitch pine have expanded prodigiously (Dunwiddie, 1989). Attempting to reverse the deterioration of open-land habitat, the conser- vation groups are mowing many hundreds of acres, produ- cing patches of young growth dominated by actively sprouting herbs and shrubs. Controlled burning has been employed on adjacent areas. Meanwhile, a proposal to es- tablish a small sheep flock is based on the notion that grazing is historically consistent and is the management treatment that is most likely to produce a diverse and heterogeneous grassland and heathland habitat (W. Tiffney, E. Steinauer, pers. comm.). Fire is increasingly employed in the maintenance of open, cultural landscapes, motivated in large part by historical documents (including Thoreau’s journals; Foster, 1999) which indicate that brush burning as well as accidental fires were common during the Colonial period (Cronon, 1983; Patterson & Backman, 1988; Whitney, 1994). The fire crew of The Nature Conservancy (TNC) burns historically mowed, grazed and burned areas in an attempt to restrict woody growth and promote openlands (TNC, 2002a,b). A hallmark project is Katama Plains on Martha’s Vineyard, a series of historically plowed and mowed fields that support a high diversity of herbs and grassland birds and insects. Elsewhere on New England’s coastal landscapes TNC crews burn scrub oak and oak woodlands to maintain the low sprouting vegetation that resulted from over 200 years of repeated burning, cutting and grazing (Foster & Motzkin, 1999; Foster et al., 2002b). Motivations for the maintenance and restoration of open and early successional vegetation are diverse. In many settings conservation of these habitats is based on aesthetic and nos- talgic considerations as landowners and managers attempt to sustain an attractive, although increasingly scarce landscape that forms a cherished part of New England’s heritage and cultural memory. This desire to maintain a semi-natural countryside parallels the widespread appreciation for cultural landscapes in Britain and north-western Europe (Birks et al., 1988; Peterken, 1977; Rackham, 2000, 2001). It also has direct links to Henry Thoreau’s poetic appreciation of the pervasive human element in his agrarian landscape (Gleason, 1917; Allen, 1936; Buell, 1995; Foster, 1999). For many conservationists protection of open-land habitats is tied to the fundamental desire to maintain biological diversity, especially that represented by uncommon species and assemblages (cf. Jones & Vickery, 1997; BioMap, 2001). Although many uncommon species in New England occur more abundantly elsewhere, a number of the open-land spe- cies are globally rare and thus the effort to protect habitats in this region takes on heightened importance (Askins, 2000). In other cases loss of habitat across the broader range of a species’ distribution has made marginal habitats in New England more valuable. For example, the historical destruction of mid- western prairies threatens some grassland species that occur on remnant successional land in the east. Ironically, in New England hotspots for grassland species, which include exten- sive areas of short grass, are increasingly provided through the careful management of completely artificial habitats such as military bases, air fields or land fills (Leahy et al., 1996; Jones & Vickery, 1997; Vickery & Dunwiddie, 1997; Askins, 2000). In a period of declining agricultural activity and agrarian landscapes a new and albeit less romantic human landscape is providing important habitat. Importantly, restoration of successional habitat through burning is also motivated from a variant on the wildland ethic. Specifically, many groups promote the notion that extensive areas of grassland, shrubland, young forest and savannas prevailed before European settlement and were maintained by natural disturbance (e.g. wind and wildlife, especially beaver) and Indian activity including horticulture, village clearing and purposeful burning (cf. Patterson & Sassaman, 1988; Askins, 2000). However, in New England there is scant historical or palaeoecological evidence to support the notion of extensive openlands (cf. Foster et al., 2002b; Motzkin & Foster, 2002; Parshall et al., 2003). Indeed, most evidence suggests that open upland habitats, especially the heathlands and grasslands that support diverse species and assemblages, were almost exclusively the product of European land-use practices (Motzkin & Foster, 2002). Nonetheless, understanding the long-term changes in fire and human activity associated with the development and the changing abundance of these habitats provide conservation- ists with the tools necessary to maintain or restore them. The environmental argument for increased forest management One bridge between the desire to restore wildlands and the interest in conserving cultural and early successional land- scapes is the argument for an increase in responsible and sustainable forestry. One important fact to bear in mind is that landowners in New England have great latitude in the treatment of their land and no governmental compulsion to operate under a long-term or regional plan or to manage for specific habitats. As a consequence, long-term protection of productive forestlands is frequently uncertain and the pat- tern, intensity, and environmental soundness of timber har- vesting are often haphazard and highly variable (Berlik et al., 2002). The result is that forest growth exceeds har- vests across the region and low intensity harvesting is dis- persed across the region, interfering with the development of extensive wildlands (Fig. 5). The call for increased forest management and harvesting is a response to this history and is based on diverse arguments that harvesting is economically feasible; societally desirable to improve woodlands that have arisen through a history of neglect and abuse; essential for generating specific wildlife habitats; and desirable from a global environmental per- spective (Irland, 1999; Foster & O’Keefe, 2000; Donohue, 2001; Berlik et al., 2002). Although timber harvesting has been a traditional land-use activity over past centuries, the calls for increased harvesting are fairly consistent in their insistence that the actual practices involved should be more intensive, but also should be conceived, supervised and regulated more effectively. Unfortunately, too much of the current logging is short-sighted and essentially unmanaged � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 1544 D. R. Foster and therefore is poorly planned in terms of spatial patterns, future conditions or long-term goals. The organizations and agencies involved in promoting increased environmentally-sound harvesting are remarkably diverse, ranging from small land trusts and community organizations (e.g. Mount Grace Conservation Land Trust; Golodetz & Foster, 1996; Donahue, 2001), regional and national conservation organizations (e.g. Vermont Land Trust, New England Forestry Foundation, The Nature Conservancy, Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests), municipal, state and federal agencies to private industry groups (Irland, 1999). For example, major efforts at developing environmentally sound harvesting regimes based on natural disturbance regimes have emerged recently from academic, industrial and conservation organizations. Other efforts link harvesting practices directly to the habitat requirements of individual wildlife species, especially game animals (DeGraaf & Yamasaki, 2001). One important development has been efforts to establish permanent con- servation protection (i.e. legally binding conservation restrictions) on forestlands in order to ensure that these areas may be kept in active management and contribute to the broader goal of controlling development and land conver- sion (K. Ross, pers. comm.) Nonetheless, there remains major public mistrust and general antipathy towards timber harvesting, especially in suburban regions (Donahue, 2001). In part to counter this public sentiment, a recent en- vironmental argument for logging has been forwarded. This argument cites the fact that the second-growth forests of New England could supply a meaningful percentage of local consumption on a sustainable basis (perhaps as much as 50% if combined with effective conservation and re- cycling) and argues that to do so would ease the environ- mental pressure on more fragile and natural landscapes elsewhere in the world that are currently exporting prod- ucts to the USA (Berlik et al., 2002). Local wood produc- tion from an environmentally conscious region like New England, where it would be subject to public scrutiny should ensure better oversight and longer-term objectives. Local management also provides incentives for landowners to retain and improve their land holdings over time thereby thwarting the tendency to develop, sell or harvest for immediate gain. Local harvesting might even promote conservation of resources by the consumptive New England population by drawing a clear connection between resource production and consumption. The increased use and focus on the value and attributes of the region’s forests might also become part of an initiative to reconnect the New England population with the land and to promote local, town-based conservation (Donahue, 2001). A R E G I O N A L C O N S E R V A T I O N P L A N F O R N E W E N G L A N D Challenges and opportunities The challenges to effective conservation in New England are formidable: the population is growing and utilizing prodi- gious quantities of (largely imported) resources; conversion of woods, fields and farms to industrial and residential use is proceeding rapidly; indiscriminate harvesting activities are damaging the remaining forestlands; regional thinking and planning are uncommon, leading to uncoordinated and counterproductive activity; vast quantities of forestland lie in a kaleidoscope pattern of thousands of small non-industrial private ownerships; and emerging patterns of conservation activity are generally haphazard and less effective than they might be (Steel, 1999). However, there are many auspicious characteristics of the current situation (Figs 6 & 7): there is strong public interest in the environment and substantial public and private resources to support initiatives; interesting broad-scale thinking and conservation planning is emerging; satellite and GIS technology facilitate management and con- servation at regional scales and across ownerships and polit- ical boundaries; the current base of conservation land provides Figure 5 Forest area (grey) and harvesting pattern (black) in the state of Massachusetts over the period 1997–2001. One conse- quence of management decisions being made by tens of thousands of landowners is a haphazard and highly disorganized pattern of selective cutting. Regionally, harvesting is most intense in rural areas with low popula- tion densities. An alternative approach might involve a regional scheme leading to a pattern of broad reserves and large areas of focused timber harvesting. Unpublished data from the Massachusetts Department of Environmental Management collected by J. Burk and ar- chived electronically at the Harvard Forest. � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 Thoreau’s country: an historical–ecological perspective on conservation 1545 Figure 6 Expansive forested areas present diverse opportunities for the development of large reserves and the restoration of natural forest processes, structures and species across New England. Proposals for such wildland development range from populated southern areas (top – Quabbin Reservoir watershed in Massachusetts) to extremely remote Nor- thern Forest lands in Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont (bottom – the Northeast King- dom of Vermont). Photographs by D.R. Foster. Figure 7 Remaining agricultural land in New England is focused in areas such as the Connecticut River Valley in Massachusetts where it provides a striking contrast to the adjacent wooded uplands rising in the dis- tance. Photograph by D.R. Foster. � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 1546 D. R. Foster a strong starting point; and the abundance and availability of quality lands provides considerable opportunity for action. In many ways preservation and restoration in the eastern USA is immensely easier than in the temperate landscapes of Britain and Europe. New England is currently 60–90% forested; much of the forestland outside the industrial north is in a condition that would be considered �excellent� and might warrant special protection in many European coun- tries (G. Peterken, K. Kirby, pers. comm.). The diversity of native species is great, few species have been driven extinct, current wildlife assemblages include many large mammals and birds, and although there are problems with introduced species, there are no taxa comparable with the introduced deer or immense monocultures of Sitka spruce, Douglas fir and lodgepole pine that have a strong impact on ecological conditions across broad portions of the English and Scottish landscape. The period of intensive land use in New England has also been comparatively brief and simple by European standards. Thus historical–ecological sources can provide informative insights into the changes and processes that have shaped these landscapes and their plant and animal popu- lations since pre-settlement times (Oliver & Stephens, 1977; Foster & Zebryk, 1993; Fuller et al., 1998; cf. McLachlan et al., 2000; Motzkin et al., 2002). These studies indicate that a substantial percent of the New England landscape remains in �primary� forest (British �ancient woods�): areas that were cut or burned but never cleared, plowed or intensively grazed (Foster et al., 1998; Hall et al., 2002). Importantly, these areas retain much of their native floras and thus have and may continue to serve as large reservoirs for the restoration of natural landscapes (Motzkin et al., 1996, 1999a,b; Foster & Motzkin, 1999; Bellemare et al., 2002; Gerhardt & Foster, 2002). Mean- while, New England’s cultural history has produced a delightful array of agrarian landscapes and corresponding traditions including meadows, pastures, arable lands, heathlands, and scrublands that diversify the landscape ecologically and visually (Figs 8 & 9). Agriculture is gener- ally small scale and relatively low intensity due to the small size and topographic unevenness of most holdings. Conse- quently, landscape eutrophication and loadings of herbicide and pesticide that present problems in many parts of Europe are generally minor issues. In secondary woodlands across the region the relicts of the agrarian past – stonewalls, an- cient fence-line trees, woodland paths and dirt roads, and abandoned mill ponds, dams and cellar holes – add an in- triguing historic and cultural element to the natural growth of trees, shrubs and herbs (Wessels, 1999; Foster & O’Keefe, 2000). Weaving conservation directions geographically and historically The real challenge looming for conservationists in New England is how to weave a coherent and comprehensive approach that integrates the diverse landscape histories, modern characteristics and cultural attitudes in this hetero- geneous region. How do we reconcile the cultural, the wild and the semi-natural elements of the land, the very different rates of ecological change in different systems and their environmental drivers, and the urge for preservation and restoration, with environmentally and socially responsible natural resource management? Sketched below is an admit- tedly simplistic and broad-brush outline that is intended to initiate a discussion that recognizes, embraces, and begins to incorporate the very different directions for conservation discussed in the text. The approach is historical, ecological and geographical. And, it includes people, the land and the past, with an eye towards the future. The approach begins with recognition of the interaction between history and environmental conditions in shaping current ecological conditions and trajectories. It then iden- tifies regions supporting and amenable to the three very different objectives and management regimes discussed above: the restoration and maintenance of wild semi-nat- ural, resource-management and cultural landscapes. It ar- gues for placing each of these regimes in the land based on landscape history and current condition and then closes with a strong plea for pursuing these objectives through a com- prehensive plan based on science, historical research, clear objectives and long-term measurement and re-assessment (cf. Sutherland & Hill, 1995; Foster et al., 2002b). Natural landscapes and broad-scale ecological processes Across much of northern New England and extending south through the White and Green Mountains into western and central Massachusetts and western Connecticut lie extensive forestlands that are thinly populated and oftentimes held in large public and private ownerships. Much of this area has been heavily logged or even farmed historically, but it includes expanses of primary forest, wetlands and water bodies. Although some of these areas, notably in the Berk- shire, Taconic and Green Mountains, are recognized for their diverse woodland flora, most of the region supports fairly common and low-diversity assemblages of plants. As a result of its historical, ecological and socioeconomic setting, this region is well-suited to the maintenance and restoration of broad-scale ecological processes and species that require extensive and unbroken areas of natural landscapes (cf. Golodetz & Foster, 1996; Anderson, 1999). Within this region it appears desirable and quite feasible to couple two complementary management approaches: the protection of truly wild and unmanaged lands in extensive core reserve areas, surrounded by substantial forested tracts under long-term, environmentally sound management for timber products. Logically, the wild preserves should focus on regions of lowest human population, continuous forest, and primary and old-growth woodlands. These might prin- cipally embrace large portions of the Northern Forest (cf. Dobbs & Ober, 1996), including the Adirondacks of New York, Green Mountains and North-east Kingdom of Ver- mont, White Mountains of New Hampshire and adjoining Maine and large portions of the Maine Woods. Select areas in the south could also be so designated. A recent proposal to develop core areas with the structural and biological char- acteristics of old-growth forests within a matrix of managed � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 Thoreau’s country: an historical–ecological perspective on conservation 1547 Figure 8 Extremely important habitat for uncommon species and diverse plant and insect assemblages is provided by coastal grasslands, heathlands and shrublands such as the (top) central moors of Nantucket (middle) Katama Plains of Martha’s Vine- yard, and (bottom) Wellfleet Massachusetts Audubon Sanctuary on Cape Cod. These lands were deforested and subsequently grazed intensively by sheep and oftentimes plowed for pasture improvement before abandonment. Consequently, over the long- term active management is required to pre- vent the encroachment of woody vegetation including ericaceous shrubs, scrub and tree oaks, and pitch pine. Photographs by D.R. Foster. � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 1548 D. R. Foster forest on the Quabbin Reservoir Watershed in Massachu- setts provides such an example in a more densely populated setting. These core areas would be established to incorporate (but not be restricted to) areas of primary woodland (i.e. land continually in forest) in an attempt to promote natural conditions with intact species assemblages (B. Spencer, pers. comm.). Large forested areas supporting long-term management would surround these cores, providing both a buffer and a bridge to adjacent semi-natural forests and cultural land- scapes. The managed forests would provide many benefits. As extensive wooded regions they would extend many of the attributes of the wildland cores in terms of wildlife habitat, ecological process, scenery and recreation. As a substantial source of reliable and sustainable natural resources they would diminish New England’s emphasis on imports and lessen the region’s burden on other forest areas (including old-growth forests) world-wide. A forest-based economy that included finished products as well as raw materials could sustain rural communities and lifestyles, maintain or even increase society’s connectedness to the land, and lead to a stronger conservation ethic (see below). As many of New England’s forests have been high-graded and poorly man- aged historically, initiating effective long-term management could improve forest habitat diversity, productivity and appearance. However, in order to develop this approach effectively there is a need for strong coordinated effort on the acquisition of extensive, continuous forest areas across this region, development of conservation restrictions on broad areas of managed lands, and coordination of management plans. The emphasis on coordination across ownership, political boundaries and current management patterns clearly looms as the major challenge in promoting a long- term coherent plan for these regions. Figure 9 Examples of transient vegetation structures in the New England landscape include (top) red cedar (Juniperus virginiana) in an abandoned field and (bottom) open- grown and wind-shaped oaks on the Menemsha Hills of Martha’s Vineyard. Through succession the old-field vegetation will become forested and the cedars will be replaced by more shade tolerant hardwood species. New trees growing in the shelter of the forest of highly contorted stems will develop straight growth forms. Photographs by D.R. Foster. � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 Thoreau’s country: an historical–ecological perspective on conservation 1549 Semi-natural Woodlands in New England’s Backyard Across much of southern New England in both suburban and rural areas, a range of forests from fairly large expanses to backyard woodlots are fragmented by the residential, industrial and agricultural activities of a dense human pop- ulation. Although these woodlands are unsuited to support broad-scale ecological processes or wide-ranging large mammals they do harbour an extensive array of forest types, woodland flora and fauna, and native habitat, which in turn provide a diverse range of ecological, societal and economic benefits (Donahue, 2001). From the ecological side are bio- diversity and ecosystem services including clean water and air and a healthy environment. For a dense population there are recreational and amenity benefits in close proximity to work and home. These areas can also serve as important centres for environmental education that link the sur- rounding population to its natural and cultural heritage. Finally, long-term management of these semi-natural woodlands offers an environmentally responsible means of yielding substantial additional resources while reinforcing the connections among people, their land, its husbandry and resource consumption. Thus, areas that are less suitable for supporting broad-scale ecological process could provide many essential environmental benefits by becoming the foci of management and resource production. Protection of these areas from development is an essen- tial first step that can also serve as an important buffer against the sprawl of residential, suburban and industrial development. Management, although currently limited by the fragmented structure and diverse ownership pattern of these areas could be undertaken in a coordinated or com- munity basis (Donohue, 2001). Many communities cur- rently own town forests, watershed lands, and other open spaces and these could be expanded on and actively man- aged in conjunction with private lands while enhancing their role in education and local connectedness (Donahue, 2001). The cultural landscape – our Agrarian legacy Scattered throughout New England and especially in the broad valleys of the Connecticut River and Lake Champlain, in the rural uplands of the region, and along the coastal area of the Cape and Islands lies a remarkable array of active or abandoned agricultural landscapes that harbour a diverse and declining set of habitats and assemblages of plants and animals. The strong imprint of human activity on these areas accentuates their importance by adding an intriguing ele- ment of New England cultural history to their biologically unique quality. Most of the landscapes and parcels are small and two processes threaten essentially all of them – devel- opment and succession. More positively, few of the un- common plants and animals of these areas require vast expanses. Thus, the potential exists to restore many of these landscapes and to maintain many populations on a fairly local scale. In the coastal region, e.g. Cape Cod, Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard, Elizabeth Islands and Block Island, extensive parcels are currently protected and little potential exists for major expansion because of exorbitant land prices and finely dissected ownership patterns. However, consolidation of existing holdings and key small parcels could protect more continuous larger tracts. Elsewhere, especially in the agri- cultural regions of New England there remains great potential and need to protect land through acquisition or conservation restrictions because of the weak land-use reg- ulations and zoning in most regions. Beyond restrictions, there is a need to assess agricultural and related land-use practices, as the tendency towards modernization and intensification of farming practices is just as damaging to many habitats as is the abandonment of the land and sub- sequent forest succession. Importantly, the resurgence of wildlife in some of these regions may present an additional concern in terms of overgrazing by deer or moose. In the absence of effective predation or hunting and with excellent available habitat, these populations will pose a major threat to forest regeneration and herb species diversity. In both coastal and rural agricultural areas major impediments to effective conservation include inadequate historical–ecological information and the lack of long-term management and planning. In contrast to many wooded areas where management is more of an opportunity than a necessity, in the cultural landscapes of grassland, heathland, shrubland and young forest the retention of the vegetation and its value as habitat is completely dependent on active management. Recognition of this fact relies on the incor- poration of the type of historical–ecological enquiry advo- cated and pursued by Henry Thoreau. Results from such enquiry leads to an appreciation of the historical practices, including mowing, grazing, plowing, planting, repeated cutting or burning that created and sustained the landscape through time (Foster et al., 2002b; Motzkin & Foster, 2002). In some cases such studies indicate that the vegetation or its specific structures are completely transient and are impossible to sustain or restore on the same spot. This would be true of some successional communities such as white pine forests or particular physiognomic types, like the contorted oaks of Menemsha on Martha’s Vineyard, which were produced through succession in an open, wind-blown land- scape as opposed to the heavily forested conditions that prevail today. In other cases it may become immediately apparent which agricultural practices were important; at that point the management question becomes one of retaining or re-introducing these, attempting to simulate them with other means (e.g. using mowers as opposed to grazing animals), or allowing the vegetation to change. In any case this research and subsequent decisions and planning become part of a framework for conservation. A long-term framework for conservation and management Given the wide range of historical conditions of the land and the diverse interests of conservationists there can be no simple and objective decision-making process in identifying the goals for restoration or management. Defining objec- tives, whether they are to mimic pre-European conditions, � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 1550 D. R. Foster promote natural processes, restore elements of Henry Thoreau’s nineteenth century landscape, retain existing habitats, or encourage new assemblages of organisms, will always be a subjective enterprise. However, there is a framework for restoration that combines historical study and long-term measurement and planning that can assist in the decision-making process, help in conveying goals and encourage the assessment of results and completion of objectives. It consists of five steps. 1. Conduct extensive historical and ecological studies on the landscape, habitat and organisms of interest. This research may be archaeological, palaeoecological, den- drochronological, pedological, historical, sociological or other depending on the ecosystem and landscape and available resources (Birks et al., 1988; Foster & Motzkin, 1999; Hall et al., 2002). These studies will help to define the past conditions of the land including the range of past plant and animal assemblages; identify some of the critical processes controlling these dynamics and the formation of present conditions; assess the rate of current and future change; and define some of the limits of management or restoration (Foster et al., 1996; Foster & Motzkin, 1998). Importantly, a historical–ecological perspective may provide useful guidance in identifying appropriate management tools for restoration as well as key variables for assessment (Motzkin et al., 1996, 1999a, 2002). Included in this assessment should be a thorough consultation of literature on analogous com- munities and conservation activities world-wide. This is particularly critical in the area of cultural landscape res- toration where, for example, European expertise far outshines that in American (e.g. Peterken, 1977, 1996; Birks et al., 1988; Rackham, 2000, 2001). 2. Define explicit goals and rationale. Based on historical and ecological studies, geographical considerations and articulated management objectives clearly define specific goals for the proposed management and restoration, whether this is focused towards populations, species assemblages, habitat structure and appearance, ecological process or landscape pattern. Equally important, they clearly explain the rationale underlying these long-term objectives. Are goals based on historical condition, aesthetic interests, production concerns, recreational opportunity, or other factors? Together the goals and rationale will provide a clear explanation of the activity to the larger community and future managers, and will allow the development of a robust framework for asses- sing progress. 3. Develop an objective, scientific framework for measuring management impacts and progress towards goals. Man- agement and restoration without an appropriate scientific monitoring protocol are irresponsible. A good pro- gramme of measurement will enable assessment of results and progress towards goals; will provide an effective base for communicating the activity to other land managers, scientists and local constituencies; and, in the long-term, it will yield invaluable scientific data. Such a protocol should mimic that of any large-scale scientific experiment or manipulation, including measurement of pertinent eco- logical variables in advance of management to determine baseline conditions, and regular measurement beyond the management period. Measurements should be made on true controls (similar unmanaged areas) and on managed areas and should be based on a statistically appropriate design. Measurements should be made on key variables that are commensurate with the goals. 4. Ensure the long-term integrity of the restoration activity and measurements. Landscape conditions develop over long periods of time and management regimes necessarily need to be long-term, as should be the measurements that accompany them. Therefore, restoration or other con- servation activities should not be undertaken without the prospect for sustained, ongoing interest and financial support. Many restoration activities are intensive con- sumers of time and money and their novelty may wear thin before objectives can be met or maintained. Conse- quently, part of the decision-making process and goal- setting activity should hinge on sustainability of active involvement. 5. Reassess and revisit the entire project frequently over time. At appropriate intervals, results from the long-term measurements should be used to assess progress and to amend goals or management regimes. None of the land- scapes that we seek to conserve in New England is static, as environmental conditions, human activities and nat- ural disturbance regimes have changed through time. Although management regimes should be focused on long-term results it would be foolhardy to anticipate that they will not change or be modified through time. Challenges and limitations to restoration and conservation in New England From studies of community and landscape history, experi- ence with ongoing restoration and conservation activities, and the considerable research and expertise of our European colleagues, we can outline some of the realities of ecological systems and New England landscape history that will pro- vide challenges and constraints on our future conservation activities. Probably the single greatest impediment is social and psychological: acceptance of the fact that most of our most precious habitats and highest conservation priorities are in some ways artefacts of the cultural activity of Henry Thoreau’s contemporaries. Although adjustment to this reality may be difficult for a population geared largely towards wilderness values, it is essential if a range of species and landscape attributes are to be conserved effectively. It also provides a strong argument for the active support by conservationists and the environmental community for maintenance and expansion of a wide range of land-use activities, including agriculture and logging in a region where these have been declining steadily. The landscape, individual habitats, and species popula- tions in this region have undergone continual changes over � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 Thoreau’s country: an historical–ecological perspective on conservation 1551 time in the pre-European and especially the historical period. This ongoing change results from disturbance, environmen- tal shifts, and changing human culture and activities and it presents conservationists with many challenges and restric- tions: 1. It is impossible to retain or return exactly to historical conditions. 2. There is a wide range of conditions to chose from at any ecological scale (population to landscape) and all of them are transient. There is no single, ideal state for restoration for any given site or area. 3. Future change is inevitable. As a consequence of ongoing recovery from past human activity and disturbance, and future changes in wildlife, the environment, and introduced organisms, all protected areas will continue to change. Finally, some habitats, plant and animal assemblages, and vegetation structures may simply be difficult or impossible to maintain or restore. This results from the fact that many assemblages are successional and transient entities that were produced by unique sequences of historical events. Examples would include old-field red cedar, pitch pine or white pine forests and coastal oak woodlands filled with wind-swept and contorted trees. Although the sequence of events that gave rise to these may be replicated on an array of sites, it is impossible to maintain these assemblages in place as the growth of the plants and vegetation has changed the envi- ronment that allowed their formation. The mid-nineteenth century, essentially the period span- ning Henry Thoreau’s lifetime, represents a critical reference period for much of New England. This period of most ex- tensive deforestation and intensive agricultural land use represents an ecological bottleneck through which the landscape has passed. Consequently, determining the land- scape pattern and land-use history at and since that time provides essential information for all conservationists. When I walk in the fields of Concord and meditate on the destiny of this prosperous slip of the Saxon family, the unexhausted energies of this new country, I forget that this which is now Concord was once Musketaquid, and that the American race has had its destiny also. Everywhere in the fields, in the corn and grain land, the earth is strewn with the relics of a race which has van- ished as completely as if trodden in with the earth. I find it good to remember the eternity behind me as well as the eternity before. Henry D. Thoreau 19 March 1842. A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S The views expressed in this paper and the supporting evi- dence for the discussion have benefited from the assistance and input of many people: members of the Bergen confer- ence on cultural landscapes (Birks et al., 1988), the Harvard Forest lab group, S. Barry, J. Bellemare, D. Bernardos, J. Burk, B. Colburn, B. Donahue, P. Dunwiddie, H. Foster, E. Gould, B. Hall, R. Hubley, K. Kirby, D. Kittredge, J. McLachlan, G. Motzkin, J. O’Keefe, D. Orwig, T. Parshall, G. Peterken, B. Patterson, H. Raup, K. Ross, J. Sayen, B. Spencer, T. Spies, F. Swanson, and H.E. Wright. This research has been supported by The Nature Conservancy, A.W. Mellon Foundation, Commonwealth of Massachusetts Biodiversity programme, and the National Science Founda- tion and is a contribution of the Harvard Forest Long-Term Ecological Research programme. R E F E R E N C E S Allen, F.H. (ed.) 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B I O S K E T C H David Foster is a plant ecologist and palaeoecologist who combines historical and modern approaches to interpret and conserve natural and cultural landscapes. � 2002 Blackwell Science Ltd, Journal of Biogeography, 29, 1537–1555 Thoreau’s country: an historical–ecological perspective on conservation 1555 
work_q6fpvbjg5bagjptlstxyw5w5gy	----	rpc_n3_2010_completo.indb 62© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad. Una aproximación al pensamiento ético-político de M. Ghandi Nonviolence, civil disobedience and exemplarity. An ApproAch to GhAndi’s ethicAl And politicAl thouGht Alicia María de Mingo Rodríguez Recepción: 10/05/2010 Aceptación: 19/05/2010 Universidad de Sevilla «El hombre no-violento no anuncia que algo nuevo vaya a suceder en el futuro; anuncia, por el contrario, que algo nuevo está ya sucediendo ahora. O, mejor aún, que él hace que suceda» Berrigan, 1979: 178 Resumen: Este artículo intenta mostrar la íntima conexión entre el espíritu que anima la noviolen- cia en Mahatma Gandhi y la modalidad de práctica de dicha noviolencia que representa la desobediencia civil. No sólo se aborda aquella noviolencia y esta desobediencia en sus rasgos básicos, destacándose la perplejidad que suscita la noviolencia en su asimetría e irreprocidad (respecto al acto agresivo), sino que expresamente se intenta articularlas de cara a pensar la relevancia de ambos conceptos para una educación y filosofía para la paz. Es por ello por lo que se hace imprescindible traer a primer plano la importancia del compromiso, la responsabilidad y el sacrificio que comporta la noviolencia, a fin de que se los pueda hacer trascender socialmente bajo la modalidad (decisiva en una cultura de paz) de ejemplaridad y autoridad, muy relevantes para que la noviolencia gane prestigio social real (y no un prestigio utópico). Palabras-clave: Gandhi, Noviolencia, Desobediencia civil, cultura de paz, sacrificio, ejemplaridad, autoridad. Abstract: This work attempts to show the intimate tie existing between the spirit of Mahatma Gandhi’s nonviolence and the practice of nonviolence as civil disobedience. We are going not only to deal that nonviolence and this civil disobedience in their basic fea- tures, highlighting the perplexity raised by nonviolence in its asymmetry and irreci- procity (with regard to the aggressive act), but expressly we try to articulate a view in order to think the relevance of both concepts for education and philosophy for peace. It is for this reason for what it is essential to bring to the fore the importance of com- mitment, responsibility and sacrifice that entails nonviolence, so that it could make them come out socially in the form (crucial in a culture of peace) of exemplarity and authority, highly relevant in order that nonviolence gains a real social prestige (and not a utopian prestige). Keywords: Gandhi, Nonviolence, Civil Disobedience, Culture of Peace, Sacrifice, Exemplarity, Authority. 63© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 1. Este hombre piensa, y no es peligroso. Como se recordará, aquel título de uno de los opúsculos más conocidos de Immanuel Kant (me refiero a La paz perpetua) no era, como nos confiesa el propio autor, sino la inscripción satírica que un hostelero holandés había puesto en la puerta de su casa, debajo de una pintura que representaba un cementerio. Kant, al respecto, se preguntaba hacia 1795 si estaría «dedicada a todos los “hombres” en general, o especialmente a los gobernantes, nunca hartos de guerra, o bien quizá sólo a los filósofos, entretenidos en soñar el dulce sueño de la paz» (Kant, 1979: 89). Una pregunta no poco extraña, en la medida en que no siempre fue común a los filósofos, desde luego, ese “dulce sueño de la paz”. No dejaría de ser un lugar común recordar cómo desde el comienzo del filosofar, ya en los fragmentos de Heráclito, lejos de admitirse ese sueño, se afirmaba que Polemos es el padre de todas las cosas1. Pero también es cierto que la inteligencia del filósofo se inclina con frecuencia no del lado de lo real –en el sentido del típico “realista”-, sino que más bien, guiado por el resto casi ineludible de platonismo implícito en sus gestos de pensamiento, se inclina del lado del Ideal, oponiendo éticamente el Deber al Ser o al acontecer, desde la confianza profunda en el cielo estrellado sobre la cabeza y la ley moral en el corazón. Frente al cielo estrellado de la Paz –y por utilizar el símil que brinda la caída de Tales cuando contemplaba el cielo-, el hoyo en que cae el filósofo que sueña el dulce sueño de la paz sería como el triunfo del dolor y la muerte en los innumerables (pasados y desgraciadamente porvenir) campos de guerras y batallas, y en la violencia cotidiana. En todo caso, seguramente en su introducción a La paz perpetua, Kant pretendía ante todo proponer una especie de, digámoslo así, “aviso” para que, dada la (presunta) ingenuidad e inoperancia del gesto filosófico, el político dejase espacio de holgura a la reflexión, procurando que quedase a salvo la libertad de pensamiento. Kant se escuda y excusa en la presunta inocencia e inocuidad de un “intelectual” filósofo. En último término, ¿quién temería al filósofo? En todo caso, al final de su opúsculo, Kant pide que los políticos convoquen y consulten a los filósofos, que cuenten con ellos porque -pese a su ingenuidad- tal vez pudiesen brindarles buenos consejos. Y que no recurriesen únicamente a los juristas, de los que Kant dice que tienen una irresistible inclinación, muy propia de su empleo, a aplicar las leyes vigentes, «sin investigar si estas leyes no serían acaso susceptibles de algún perfeccionamiento» (Kant, 1979: 130). En fin, habría resultado fascinante un encuentro entre el “ingenuo e inoperante” filósofo (Kant) y aquel mediocre abogado hindú que a finales del S. XIX estudia Derecho en Londres y, tras varias experiencias profesionales desafortunadas, marcha a Sudáfrica, donde -si se me permite decirlo así- le espera un giro radical en su “destino”. Aparte de jurista, le interesa el mundo de las ideas –especialmente las ideas de hombres como Tolstoi o Thoreau, que preconizaban la desobediencia civil. Gandhi no era filósofo, y aunque nadie lo hubiera adivinado por su aspecto, lo cierto es que estaba a punto de decidir: a) no inclinarse ante las leyes vigentes; b) pensar que las leyes son susceptibles de perfeccionamiento; y c) no ser ni ingenuo, ni inoperante. En suma, había decidido no parecerse a aquel esterotipo de jurista que manejaba Kant. En Sudáfrica estaba a punto de dar una lección, y no sólo a los policías que reprimieron su protesta por tener que portar un visado especial –ahora me refiero a ello. Iba a dar una lección que también iba a ser la del poder de las ideas, tan peligrosas que no sólo iban finalmente a costarle la vida, sino que iban a poner en cuestión a todo un Imperio. 1 . Aunque Polemos no podría concentrarse sobre todo en la violencia. Se trata más bien del conflicto, de la lucha o de la pugna (entre contrarios). 64© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 Habría sido necesario que el (aparentemente) ingenuo e inoperante filósofo al que se refiere Kant se tornase Agente, o Activista. Y que fuese al servicio de la Paz como pudiera seguirse defendiendo la oportunidad de pensar y actuar. Quizás la Paz necesita que pen- semos, o que nos eduquemos y nos eduquen en pensar que, después de todo, lo esencial no fuese situar el problema en la pregunta acerca de si el amasijo instintivo humano impediría cualquier ensoñación de la paz, porque fuésemos constitutiva e irremediable- mente agresivos, o en si, de otro modo, por algún medio de manipulación biogenética pudiésemos “transformar” la agresividad humana bajo la forma de “normas” para el parque humano (Sloterdijk, 2000; Bobbio, 1992: 82-86)2. Este realismo y pesimismo no suscitarían demasiadas –ni muy creativas- ideas. Para nosotros, por el contrario, creo que más bien se trata, de cara a la cuestión de la paz posible, de la autopoiesis que define a la cultura, a la educación y a la formación (Bildung) de los individuos y los pueblos, es decir, a esos “mapas de ideas” en atención a los cuales somos los humanos capaces de construir una casa (a diferencia de como un castor construye la suya en el río) o diseñar un aparato de refrigeración (Geertz, 1989: 187-192). De ser así, no habría realmente ideas inocentes respecto a este asunto de la paz, que mientras se plantee como problema, en realidad jamás dejará de suscitar –sería casi imposible que así fuese- el aliento que llamamos “utópico”, porque se reconocerá fácilmente que pocos deseos habrán recorri- do la historia y las culturas con más frecuencia e intensidad que el de la Paz: firmar la paz, preservarla, dárnosla, pensarla… o, en definitiva, hacer las paces (Martínezm 2001, 2005). De esa autopoiesis a que me refería hace un momento se inferiría que la cultura para la paz no es separable de una educación para la paz3. Lo que en ella se anuncia no sé si es “peligroso”, pero sí al menos es temible para muchas instancias de poder, allá donde se las encuentre, pues la noviolencia reserva muchas sorpresas a quien sólo confiase en armas y puños. Y ahora sí que estaríamos bien predispuestos para poder comprender lo que Daniel Berrigan dijo de Gandhi, a saber: 2. «Este hombre está desarmado y es peligroso» (Berrigan, 1974: 180). …más peligroso de lo que podría habérsele ocurrido a cualquiera que no concibiese más paz que la que pudiese instaurar o defender “el Poder”. Se equivoca quien confunde, con apresuramiento, noviolencia con paz, sin más. En realidad, digámoslo ya, la noviolencia no equivale inmediata y llanamente a la paz, sino a una dinámica que tiene por límite, diríamos que casi ideal o regulativo, el mínimo recurso posible a la violencia, y en primer lugar y sobre todo, a la violencia física, habiéndose desplegado esa idea de noviolencia en un contexto, como aquel en el que Gandhi vivió, de conflicto básicamente político. La noviolencia4 no rehuye el conflicto, al que pretende elucidar por una vía de no agresión. Y, por otra parte, si no equivale a paz, la noviolencia a que nos referimos aquí tampoco se identifica con pasividad alguna (Bobbio, 1992: 77-78)5. Casi en ningún teórico de la noviolencia es así, y menos, si cabe, en Gandhi, como ya veremos. Sí debiéramos señalar, antes de proseguir, que si noviolencia no equivale a paz ni a pasividad (luego insistiré más en ello), tampoco equivale simplemente -y con ello pienso en la “diferencia específica” quizás principal que individúa la noviolencia como Ahimsa, expresamente en el pensamiento de Gandhi- a una mera “estrategia”, sino a lo que podríamos estimar como una “actitud espiritual” irreductible a cualquier concepción “pragmática” o “polí- tica”, si por política se deja entender un comportamiento, razonamiento o estrategia 2 . Para referirse al pacifismo finalista, Bobbio ofrece dos interpretaciones de la natura- leza humana que sustenta- rían, a su vez, dos tipos de razones motivantes de la gue- rra: como consecuencia de un mal moral, o bien, como consecuencia explicable en términos médico-psicológicos y sociológicos; en este último caso, la solución sería una terapia o vacuna. 3 . Resulta tremendamente estimulante y esperanzador el modo en que han proliferado los institutos, asociaciones y, en general, estudios e investi- gaciones sobre la no-violencia -o, si se prefiere: noviolencia (Cf. López, 2004b, 783-795)- en los últimos años. En nuestro país ha destacado el Instituto de la paz y los conflictos, con sede en la Universidad de Gra- nada, o la Asociación Española de Investigación para la paz, así como la Cátedra de la Unesco de Filosofía para la Paz, con sede en la Universidad Jaume I de Castellón. Sorprende la abundancia y calidad de los estudios sobre la Paz y otras cuestiones a ella vinculadas que se han desplegado espe- cialmente en nuestro país. Para verificar la enorme consistencia de este área de estudios basta- ría consultar la Enciclopedia de paz y conflictos, dirigida por Dr. López (2004a). 4 . Para una justificación de escribir “Noviolencia” sin guión de separación, vid. López, 2004b: 784. 5 . El autor López insiste en que la noviolencia no se con- funde, en absoluto, con debili- dad, apatía o miedo, y que no es precisamente un arma de los débiles (López, 2000: 329). En otro lugar (López, 2004: 496) recuerda cómo Gandhi distin- gue, pertinentemente, entre tres tipos de noviolencia: la del cobarde (vid. nuestra nota 16), la del débil y la del fuerte. Es imprescindible no olvidar que la noviolencia no se deduce de debilidad alguna, a fin de desactivar, entre otras posibles críticas, la tópica crítica nietzs- cheana que vislumbra en acti- tudes básicamente “cristianas” o similares (en general, en 65© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 no supeditado al fondo moral y espiritual del obrar. Lo extraordinario del pensamiento de Mahatma Gandhi procede de la confluencia que en él se produce entre Oriente y Occidente, entre Hinduismo y Cristianismo, pero también entre Academia, Vida pública y Activismo político. La situación descriptiva de partida, básicamente intuitiva, podría ser, por ejemplo, la siguiente6. Ante la injusticia provocada por la exigencia de que todo ciudadano no blanco, aun siendo súbdito británico, debiese llevar consigo un visado especial en la Sudáfrica del Imperio Británico, allá por el año 1893, y después de haber sido arrojado por la fuerza de su vagón de tren de primera clase por ser “negro”, pese a tener pagado su correspondiente billete, el joven abogado Gandhi decide poner los medios para enmendar dicha situación de injusticia7. En un acto público, no violento, consciente y político, contrario a la ley imperante, cometido con el propósito de ocasionar un cambio en la ley o en los programas de gobierno, Gandhi, acompañado de algunos hindúes más, y, por supuesto, ante la mirada de la policía, atenta primero, luego escandalizada, después iracunda y finalmente espantada y sorprendida, decide una quema pública de tales visados, sin que pueda evitar ser físicamente agredido por los agentes. La expectativa de agresividad, en la que podría esperarse que interviniesen puños, palos o pistolas, se torna en una situación en la cual lo que prima es el contexto genuinamente comunicativo, sus- ceptible de ser abordado (en términos de “sorpresa”, “interrogación”, etc.) desde lo que Vicent Martínez ha llamado el “giro epistemológico” en la “filosofía para hacer las paces” (Martínez, 2001): los agresores no podrían por menos que tornarse “reflexivos” respecto a su acto de violencia física, quedando “emplazados” ante la inquietante posibilidad de atisbar que el “conflicto” pudiera resolverse de otro modo. Como ha reconocido Mas, «ante situaciones conflictivas donde el poder se reconoce desequilibrado (una parte es más débil que la otra), la noviolencia se propone como un elemento que aspira a reequilibrar la situación, frenar la espiral, proponiendo acciones que promuevan el “empowerment”, el “empoderamiento”, la adquisición de poder por parte de la parte más débil» (Mas, 2004: 386). De este modo, estaríamos en la antesala de acceder a los rasgos básicos de la noviolencia (López, 2004b: 786-789). Lo que se ha de retener del anterior breve relato no es la anécdota sino, sobre todo –si se nos permite decirlo así-, la sorprendida mirada de la policía ante la reacción del propio Gandhi en el sentido de no-devolver la agresión. Lo decisivo, la estrategia misma, consiste en ir contracorriente de la primitiva inercia de la reciprocidad (en el fondo, una “versión” de la ley física “de acción y reacción”), que sin duda ha encontrado en el mundo humano la expresión, muy conocida, del ojo por ojo, diente por diente. Ante la no-devolución de la agresión, queda en algún sentido “desar- mado” el agresor, en la medida en que la incertidumbre es ya una suerte de desarme. La táctica de Gandhi es, pues, la de conducir el conflicto a una zona, inquietante y muy tensa, de asimetría e irreciprocidad. Él mismo nos lo expresó con suficiente claridad: «La noviolencia no consiste en “abstenerse de todo combate real contra la maldad”. Por el con- trario, veo en la noviolencia una forma de lucha más enérgica y más auténtica que la simple ley del talión, que acaba multiplicando por dos la maldad. Contra todo lo que es inmoral, pienso recurrir a armas morales y espirituales. No deseo embotar el filo del arma que me presenta el tirano, utilizando un tajo más cortante todavía que el suyo; procuraré apagar la mecha del conflicto sin ofrecer ninguna resistencia de orden físico. Mi adversario tiene que quedar sujeto por la fuerza del alma. Al principio quedará desconcertado; luego tendrá que admitir que esta resistencia espiritual es invencible. Si se pone de acuerdo, en vez de sentirse humillado, saldrá torno al amor y la caridad) un caso encubierto de debilidad decadente. 6 . No en vano, así comienza la narración de Gandhi, el film de Attenborough basado en la obra de John Briley, en 1982. La colaboración entre director y guionista volvió a dar fruto en 1987 con Cry Freedom (Grita libertad en nuestro país). Si la configuración epocal de las mentalidades colectivas se deja rastrear con eficacia, en muchas ocasiones, atendien- do a los grandes medios de comunicación y, en concreto, a la industria cinematográfica, sin duda es del todo sintomáti- ca esta década de los ochenta, con los dos filmes del calibre de estos citados, muy ética- mente comprometidos, y con gran éxito de crítica y público. El fin de la guerra fría se pro- duce a finales de la década de los años 80 y es, justamente, al principio de esa década, desde que Juan Pablo II toma- ra el pontificado (1978), cuan- do comienza el activismo del sindicato polaco “Solidaridad”. 7 . Puede consultarse Pontara, 2004: 493-498. 66© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 de ese combate más noble que antes. Podría objetarse que es ésta una solución ideal. Estoy totalmente de acuerdo» (Gandhi, 1975: 137). 3. Ahimsa. La noviolencia como convicción. Se podría pensar que, no en vano, quien esto sostiene es un hábil profesional de la abogacía que utiliza diestramente una sibilina estrategia para extraer algún rendimiento político, aprovechando con acierto incluso los materiales culturales y religiosos que encuentra en su entorno. Tal sospecha resulta absolutamente defraudada conforme se va desplegando su proceder y se atiende a las razones con que avala su modo de pensar y obrar. Se descubriría, entonces, que la propuesta de Ahimsa defendida por Gandhi hunde sus raíces, indudablemente, en una espiritualidad y una religiosidad sin las cuales no se habría introducido en los senderos prácticos con semejante convicción8 (y de nuevo cobra vigencia, al menos en cierto modo, el giro epistemológico). Es su pasión por la verdad la que –si hemos de creer sus propias palabras- guía todo su esfuerzo, conduciéndole a identificar la verdad como absoluto con Dios, en la que podría ser su única o al menos su máxima afirmación metafísica, de la que se desprende toda una concepción del mundo y del hombre. En tal sentido, la verdad no habría de ser entendida, para Gandhi, como una abstracción, sino que debería ser identificada con la vida, que nos sobrepasa y no comprendemos, al tiempo que es también nuestra propia vida y la de los seres que nos rodean, siendo el hombre, como manifestación suprema de la vida, responsable de ella. Puede entenderse, entonces, que se apela a un hombre que se debe al Absoluto, pero no de modo pasivo, sino radicalmente activo, en tanto que es libre y responsable, y al que esta metafísica va a impulsar a una moral resumible en la noviolencia entendida como Ahimsa, palabra extraída del Gita, libro sagrado hindú. Ahimsa como respeto a la vida, pero todavía más profundamente, como amor universal, rasgo en el que coincidiría con la perspectiva cristiana a los ojos de Gandhi. Con sus propias palabras: «En un sentido positivo, la ahimsa significa un máximo de amor, una caridad perfecta. Si soy noviolento, tengo que amar a mi enemigo […]. La ahimsa, para ser eficaz, exige la intrepidez y el respeto a la verdad. En efecto, no se puede temer ni asustar al que se ama. De todos los dones que se nos han hecho, el de la vida es sin duda el más precioso. El que hace el sacrificio de ese don, desarma toda hostilidad. Abre el camino a la comprensión mutua de los adversarios y a un arreglo honroso del conflicto. Nadie puede hacer de verdad una entrega de ese tesoro, sin verse libre de todo miedo. Es imposible ser a la vez cobarde y novio lento. La ahimsa es sinónimo de valentía ejemplar» (Gandhi, 1975: 136-137). Valentía –así pues- para exponer la propia integridad física e incluso entregar la vida, y, más próximamente, valentía para renunciar al egoísmo que buscase nuestro propio provecho y la inmediata e irrespetuosa destrucción del enemigo; la búsqueda del bien del enemigo, tanto como del propio bien, se traduce en una renuncia a la injusticia. La lucha por la justicia sin desfallecimiento y sin desánimo ante eventuales objetivos no logrados tomará el nombre de Satyagraha –firmeza en la verdad- dando nombre al movimiento gandhiano. No comprenderíamos adecuadamente el pensamiento de Gandhi si no consideramos que, al igual que no utilizó la religión con fines exclusivamente políticos, tampoco confundió política y religión, puesto que esta última apela a la intimidad humana y exige una respuesta personal. Ahora bien, al considerar Gandhi al hombre como unidad, estima que su modo de proceder, también político, brota de su enraizamiento religioso, del mismo modo que su religiosidad debe tener expresión práctica (noviolencia). 8 . Para un desarrollo de las ideas con que a continuación caracterizaremos el pensa- miento de Gandhi, cfr. Fraga, 2000: 27 y ss. Sobre la impor- tancia de la convicción, vid López, 2000: 329. 67© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 4. La desobediencia civil. Decía al comienzo del epígrafe 2 que la noviolencia no se identifica simplemente, en absoluto, con la paz, ni con la debilidad o la pasividad. No debe, pues, desorientarnos ni confundirnos la negación (“no-”) en el término “noviolencia”. No se trata de inactividad alguna –ni de, como suele decirse hoy, “pasotismo”. Para Gandhi, «la noviolencia no tiene nada de pasivo. Por el contrario, es la fuerza más activa del mundo… Es la ley suprema. No he encontrado ninguna situación que me haya desconcertado por completo en términos de noviolencia. Siempre ha llegado a tiempo algún remedio» (Gandhi, 1975: 142). De ahí que sea en este sentido en el que Gandhi rechace a veces la expresión “resistencia pasiva”, que utilizó en algunas ocasiones, en tanto que parece negar la acción, además de inducir a error pareciendo atribuir la noviolencia a débiles o a cobardes (Gandhi, 1975: 147). Para verificar que la noviolencia no es pasiva puede recurrirse al caso, estudiado en el marco general del derecho a la resistencia, de la desobediencia civil, que hizo cosechar a Gandhi su primer “éxito” en Sudáfrica. La expresión procede básicamente de Henry David Thoreau, cuando en 1849 publica su Civil Disobedience (Thoreau, 1994). Thoreau se negó a pagar los impuestos a un Estado que, además de esclavista, los empleaba para hacer una guerra injusta contra México (Casado da Rocha, 2001: 39). Se ha de notar –y ello es tremendamente importante- que el calificativo de “civil” se aplica porque quien practica la desobediencia no cree transgredir los deberes que impone la ciudadanía, sino más bien se ve obligado a desobedecer para continuar siendo un buen ciudadano (Bobbio, 1997: 117). Pues bien, para Gandhi «la desobediencia, para que sea civil, tiene que ser sincera, respetuosa, mesurada y exenta de todo recelo. Tiene que apoyarse en principios muy sólidos, no verse nunca sometida a caprichos y, sobre todo, no dejar que la dicte nunca el odio o el rencor» (Gandhi, 1975: 144)9. No en vano, que la noviolencia gandhiana como Ahimsa no es meramente una estrategia pragmática se comprenderá mejor al considerar que la posibilidad del sacrificio constituye un refuerzo extremadamente valioso del gesto político, razonado, de la desobediencia civil10. Y un refuerzo exterior tanto a la estricta argumentación y razonamiento que debe apoyar al desobediente, como a cualquier convicción que se resolviese, en última instancia, en veleidad psicológica o en mera estrategia instrumental. En realidad, cuando se describió sumariamente (en el epígrafe 2) aquella protesta pro- movida por Gandhi en Sudáfrica, a raíz de ser expulsado del tren, lo hicimos siguiendo literalmente la definición rawlsiana de la desobediencia civil. En efecto, para Rawls dicha desobediencia constituye un «acto público, no violento, consciente y político, contrario a la ley, cometido con el propósito de ocasionar un cambio en la ley o en los programas de gobierno» (Rawls, 1979: 405). Por más que podría llevarse a cabo un “recorrido” minucioso de esta caracterización, a la que les remitimos pero que no podemos repro- ducir aquí12, ya que en este contexto resultaría imposible una penetración exhaustiva en el concepto de desobediencia civil, sí nos gustaría señalar, para situarnos en disposición de comprender lo que diferencia la Ahimsa gandhiana de la mera noviolencia13, que la definición que acabamos de recordar no agota completamente la caracterización de la misma llevada a cabo por el propio Rawls. De la definición anterior no se ha explicitado 1º) el rasgo de aceptación del marco constitucional, lo que aparta a la desobediencia civil de la desobediencia que pudieramos considerar “revolucionaria”, y 2º) el rasgo en virtud del cual se ha de aceptar el castigo o represión que pueda derivarse del gesto de 9 . No creo que Malem con- siga probar que en realidad Gandhi no fue un defensor de la desobediencia civil (Malem, 1988: 84-92). En todo caso, habría una desobediencia civil con específicos rasgos gand- hianos. 10 . «La resistencia pasiva es un método que permite defender todo derecho que se encuentre amenazado, hacien- do recaer sobre sí mismo los sufrimientos que se pueden derivar. Pasa lo contrario con la resistencia armada. Cuando me niego a hacer una cosa que repugna a mi conciencia, apelo a las fuerzas del alma. Supongamos que el gobierno implanta una ley que me toca en alguno de mis intereses. Si recurro a la violencia para hacer abrogar la ley, empleo lo que puede llamarse la fuerza del cuerpo. Por el contrario, si no obedezco a la ley a costa de incurrir en las sanciones previs- tas, utilizo la fuerza del alma; y esto supone un sacrificio para mí mismo» (Gandhi, 1975: 131- 132). 11 . Cfr. Rawls, 1979: 404-409, así como García, 2001: 29-31. 12 . Cfr. la distinción de Bobbio (1992: 75-78 y 82-86) entre la noviolencia como momento del pacifismo instrumental y el “espiritualismo” del pacifismo finalista, en la que también creemos puede situarse la propuesta gandhiana, y que presentaría una búsqueda más profunda de la causa y solución del problema que plantea la violencia. 13 . Casado da Rocha cita a Randle, 1998: 67. 68© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 desobediencia. No: en efecto, la desobediencia civil no es nada “divertida”, si se nos permite decirlo así, ni siquiera tiene aureola alguna de romanticismo o malditismo (en tanto no se la podría vincular al delito común) (García, 2001). Es muy importante este segundo rasgo añadido a la definición rawlsiana de la desobediencia civil, que quizás Rawls debería haber incluido en la definición misma. En este sentido, parece oportuno recordar las palabras de Gandhi, con las que afirma que «No soy un visionario. Pretendo ser un idealista que tiene sentido de la realidad. La religión de la noviolencia no está reservada únicamente a los rishis y a los santos. Está destinada a todo el mundo. La noviolencia es la ley de nuestra especie por la misma razón que la violencia es la ley de los brutos […]. La dignidad humana exige que el hombre se refiera a una ley superior, que haga vibrar la fuerza del espíritu. He procurado que tenga nuevamente vigencia en mi país la antigua ley del sacrificio de sí mismo. Pues el Satyagraha y sus dos prolongaciones, la no-colaboración y la resistencia civil, no son más que palabras nuevas para traducir las ideas de sufrimiento y de renuncia […]. Para ser eficaz, la noviolencia exige una voluntad decidida de aceptar el sufrimiento. No se trata ni mucho menos de una sumisión servil a la voluntad del tirano, sino de oponerse con toda el alma a sus abusos. Al respetar esta ley de nuestro ser, un solo individuo puede llegar a desafiar todo el poder de un imperio basado en la injusticia y, dejando a salvo su honor, su religión y su alma, conseguirá quebrantar los cimientos de ese imperio o promover su regeneración» (Gandhi, 1975: 152-153). Si, como dijimos, la noviolencia rompe la inercia de la reciprocidad en la devolución de la agresión, ahora también se puede comprobar que la publicidad del gesto de des- obediencia y la aceptación de la pena impuesta a la transgresión es la contrarréplica perfecta al “tirar la piedra y esconder la mano”, propio de un gesto político o práctico de escasísimo prestigio moral. El “reforzamiento” de la aceptación de la responsabilidad es una prueba de autenticidad e implica un sacrificio, una suerte de heroísmo en las antípodas del conformismo, y es en este punto en el que, nos parece, la desobediencia civil entra de lleno no simplemente en una capacidad para denunciar y razonar, sino en una actitud espiritual que requiere de una fortísima convicción moral o, por decirlo de otro modo, hace referencia a un gesto de “pensar por sí mismo” que también resulta común a la objeción de conciencia (de la que encontramos un buen ejemplo, muy peda- gógico, en Antígona). Si bien la justificación de la desobediencia civil no se confunde con un acto íntimo de conciencia psicológica, la fuerza que requiere el paso de la desobediencia “en la teoría” a la práctica exige un fuerte convencimiento, ser fiel –lo decía el propio Gandhi- a “la voz de la conciencia”. Es indudable que con ello se entronca, pues, con una de las más venerables tradiciones de la lucidez occidental. Y ello porque la desobediencia civil exige, en el horizonte de la noviolencia, asumir la soledad de la rebelión (incluso aunque no se trate de un individuo, sino de un grupo). El pensar por uno mismo, primera máxima del sensus communis logicus kantiano (Kant, 1981: 199-200), que alude explícitamente a una razón “nunca pasiva”, no se desenvuelve en el vacío de la mera posibilidad, sino, como lo formula el propio Kant, en un atreverse (el término alemán es habe Mut, equivalente al conocido sapere aude: de “audeo”, osar, atreverse), es decir, en un osar, en un arrojo especial, se lo llame salida de la minoría de edad o de otro modo, y siempre apuntando a un trascendimiento de los límites de la conciencia propia. En el caso de Gandhi, ya ha sido dicho antes, a lo que se apunta es a la verdad y a la justicia, por cuanto una ley injusta, ilegítima –promulgada por alguien sin poder para ello- o no válida –anticonsti- 69© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 tucional (Bobbio, 1997: 117)- habría de mover a la desobediencia civil para combatirla. De este modo, la principal fuente de justificación de la desobediencia civil sería «la idea, religiosa en origen y posteriormente laicizada en la doctrina del derecho natural, de una ley moral que obliga a los hombres en cuanto hombres, y que, como tal, obliga indepen- dientemente de toda coacción, es decir, en conciencia; y se distingue de la ley de la autoridad pública, que obliga sólo exteriormente y si lo hace en conciencia es sólo en la medida en que se adecua a la ley moral. Aún hoy, los grandes movimientos de desobediencia civil, desde Gandhi a Martin Luther King, han tenido una fuerte impronta religiosa. En cierta ocasión, Gandhi se dirigió de este modo a un tribunal que lo juzgaba por un acto de desobediencia civil: “Me atrevo a hacer esta declaración no ciertamente por eludir el castigo que deberá imponérseme, sino para demostrar que he desobedecido el orden que se me ha impuesto no por falta de respeto a la autoridad legítima, sino para obedecer a la ley más elevada de nuestro ser: la voz de la conciencia”» (Bobbio, 1997: 124-125). A juicio de Bobbio, la otra fuente histórica es la iusnaturalista, que declara la primacía del individuo frente al Estado, con derechos originarios e inalienables, y cuyo mayor teórico (específicamente del derecho a la resistencia) sería John Locke. Veríamos que el horizonte último de la desobediencia civil nos puede remitir a la defensa de los derechos humanos y a la escucha de la voz de las minorías. Por esta razón, la desobediencia civil es un mecanismo dinamizador, nada despreciable, y se diría que casi imprescindible, de una democracia no adocenada en el conformismo acomodaticio o el simple voto de la mayoría -que quizás la condenarían al estatuto de democracia meramente formal (Mingo, 2003). Estamos de acuerdo en afirmar, pues, que «si la política la entendemos como la formación discursiva de la vo luntad común, entonces la representación sólo tiene sentido como una cuestión técnica, como un mecanismo para suplir la imposibilidad fác tica de la participación igual y efectiva en la toma de decisiones [...]. Pero esto no significa que podamos hacer dejadez, como nos recordaba Rousseau, de nuestra autonomía, de nuestra capacidad para conducir nuestra propia vida individual y colectiva. Significa más bien que de bemos buscar una conexión interna entre el sistema representativo y el «todos» característico de la democracia. Es decir, abrir nuevas vías de participación que complementen a las jurídicamente institucionaliza das. No podemos reducir lo político al poder administrativo, al estado. Debemos conceptualizar el papel que desempeñan y pueden desempeñar la sociedad civil y la opinión pública, como canales de participación, en esta formación democrática de la voluntad colectiva» (García, 2001: 27). 5. Noviolencia y prudencia. Volviendo a una afirmación anterior, recordemos que lo que tiene de provocativa la noviolencia es su transgresión de la simetría en la reciprocidad típica de agresor-agredido. La réplica del agredido que asume la noviolencia sería “desmesurada”, en la estricta medida en que contraviniese la expectativa del agresor, al que obligaría a una violencia creciente, hasta culminar en la muerte, o a cambiar de actitud y tornarse reflexivo. Esta sería una de las críticas que la propuesta gandhiana puede recibir, en tanto que en vez de conseguir una disminución de la violencia, se provocase su acrecentamiento vertigi- noso. Así, algunos autores como Rawls matizan que este tipo de estrategia puede tener vigencia en una sociedad “casi” justa, podríamos decir, democrática (Rawls, 404). En el caso concreto de Gandhi, se diría que tuvo la “suerte” de toparse con un enemigo civilizado. El “enemigo” fue, tanto en el caso de Sudáfrica como en el de la India, el Imperio inglés. Aquella disimetría que utiliza como arma el pacifista desobediente civil requiere de la esperanza en un resquicio de justicia, razonabilidad y vergüenza -e incluso compasión- en quien detenta el poder. 70© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 Podrá discutirse ampliamente, así pues, si la práctica de esa asimetría e irreciprocidad es efectiva en situaciones extremas de violencia (por ejemplo, pensemos en el campo de exterminio nazi o, imaginémoslo, en el contexto de las masacres genocidas entre hutus y tutsis en Ruanda, en 1994). En 1939, Buber preguntó a Gandhi, cuando éste sugirió que los judios practicasen la resistencia no violenta contra los nazis, si era consciente de lo que significaba el campo de concentración. Le decía Buber que «cabe combatir la irracionalidad de ciertos seres humanos con una actitud efectiva de novi- olencia porque siempre queda un hálito de espe ranza de que, paulatinamente, entren en razón; pero uno no puede en frentarse mansamente a una diabólica apisonadora que lo barre todo a su paso. Hay ciertas situaciones en las que del saryagraha de la fuerza espiritual no emana un satyagraha de la potencia de la verdad. La pala bra “mártir” significa testigo, pero si no existen hombres ¿quién va a dar testimonio?» (Casado da Rocha, 2001: 49). En tal sentido, por ejemplo, George Orwell, que reconoció la nobleza y valentía de la actitud de Gandhi –en tanto no rehuía enfrentarse al mal y a la injusticia- aunque la consideraba inhumana, creía, sin embargo, que Gandhi no llegó a comprender la naturaleza del totalitarismo porque su experiencia negociadora se limitó al gobierno británico; en su opinión, la suerte de la satyagraha en la Rusia de Stalin o en la Alemania de Hitler habría sido bastante diferente. Aunque también existe el contraejemplo de la resistencia danesa contra los nazis, que tuvo éxito utilizando la desobediencia civil y la resistencia no violenta (Casado da Rocha, 2001: 50)14. Además, con la amenaza de la guerra nuclear reconoce que la estrategia gandhiana adquiriría un nuevo valor. En todo caso, y para no confundir prudencia con actitudes pusilánimes, además de ratificar la no-debilidad de la noviolencia –que ya habíamos comentando-, Gandhi no oculta su abominación de la cobardía. E incluso desmonta esa asociación de conceptos con afirmaciones que nos hacen pensar sobre las circunstancias en las que la adhesión a la noviolencia nos propondría difíciles dilemas, afirmaciones como, por ejemplo, la siguiente: «no tengo ningún reparo en decir que, cuando sólo es posible elegir entre la cobardía y la violencia, hay que decidirse por la solución violenta» (Gandhi, 1975: 151). Resulta claro que Gandhi está refiriéndose a circunstancias en las que se tratase de obrar a favor de otro y sólo cupiese decidir entre defenderse o huir. Desde su perspectiva, habría que optar por no abandonar al débil a su suerte, so pretexto de una presunta actitud de noviolencia -probablemente se estaría recurriendo a una excusa para ocultar la propia cobardía. Gandhi recuerda cómo en cierta ocasión «los hombres de una aldea cerca de Bettia me dijeron que habían emprendido la huída mientras que la policía saqueaba sus casas y molestaba a sus mujeres. Cuando añadieron que habían obrado de ese modo porque yo les había aconsejado que no fueran violentos, experimenté tanta vergüenza que no tuve más remedio que bajar la cabeza. Tuve que demostrarles que no era aquel el sentido de la noviolencia. Hubiera preferido ver cómo se situaban de escudo entre los más fuertes que proferían sus amenazas y los más débiles a los que tenían que proteger. Sin el menor espíritu de venganza, deberían haber tomado sobre sí mismos los sufrimientos del combate, dispuestos a hacerse matar, sin huir jamás ante el huracán. Había cierto coraje en la defensa por la espada de los bienes, del honor y de la religión. Todavía habría sido más noble asegurar su defensa sin devolver mal por mal. Pero era indigno, anormal y deshonroso abandonar el puesto y, por salvar la piel, dejarlo todo en manos de los malhechores. A los que saben morir sé muy bien cómo hay que enseñarles el camino de la ahimsa. Pero me parece imposible hacerlo con los que tienen miedo a la muerte» (Gandhi, 1975: 148). Por lo demás, si bien es cierto, tal y como acabamos de mostrar, que Gandhi abomi- naba de la violencia pero rechazaba por completo la cobardía –lo que, llegado el caso, 14 . Sobre paz religiosa, paz ética y paz política, cfr. Panikkar, 2002: 55 y ss. 71© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 incluso justificaría el uso de la violencia -, del mismo modo habría que recordar que en su propuesta de desobediencia civil llegaría hasta el extremo de dar la vida. Lo que valora el que supedita la puesta en práctica de la noviolencia a un entorno mínimamente civilizado es la eficacia de dicha práctica con respecto a su éxito masivo, lo que, en el caso de Gandhi, no desdice la radicalidad del compromiso, no supeditado al criterio pragmático del éxito. 6. La exigencia de ejemplaridad y autoridad. Quizás en las antípodas de la noviolencia se encuentra la guerra preventiva, versión grandilocuente de aquel dicho según el cual la mejor defensa es un buen ataque. Sin embargo, el universo de Gandhi dista años-luz de semejante punto de vista. Aunque no se aceptara el espíritu y el compromiso moral, restaría aún la estrategia y la oportunidad política. Gandhi fue un maestro en ambas instancias, independientemente de cualquier perspectiva de éxito (Gandhi, 1975: 131), aunque éste a la postre se alcance –como así ocurrió en más de un sentido. De la ética-política de Gandhi podría decirse lo que decía Kant en el Apéndice a La paz perpetua: «La política dice: “sed astutos como la serpiente”. La moral añade esta condición limitativa: “y cándidos, como la inocente paloma”. Si ambos consejos no pudiesen entrar en un mismo precepto, existiría realmente una oposición entre la política y la moral; pero si ambos deben ir unidos absolutamente, será absurdo el concepto de la oposición, y la cuestión de cómo se ha de resolver el conflicto no podrá ni plantearse siquiera como problema» (Kant, 1979: 134)15. No dudemos, en todo caso, que en Gandhi el estratega político se debió inequívoca- mente, y en todo momento, al hombre espiritual, y que de no ser por el aliento de éste, aquél, el político, no habría pasado de la propuesta de una eficaz táctica (me refiero a la desobediencia civil), en lugar de una Gran Praxis. En efecto, para Gandhi, a quien no gustaba el término “desobediencia civil”, se trataba, nada más y nada menos, que de la satyagraha (firmeza en la verdad), y no fue un ingenuo, ni un utopista en el vacío (fue entre los propios hindúes entre quienes la doctrina de la ahimsa encontró a veces fuertes resistencias). No olvidemos, en fin, que como dijo Einstein de Walter Rathenau, «no tiene mérito ser idealista cuando se vive en Babia; lo tiene, en cambio, viviendo en la Tierra y conociendo su hedor» (cit. por Fernández Buey 2004: 66). Gandhi demostró, con una profundidad admirable, la compatibilidad entre rebelión y respeto (Soler, 2004). Y lo pagó con su vida, como Jesucristo o Luther King. Pero es a partir de este alto precio –no sólo por él, pero quizás ante todo por él- por lo que reluce aquello por lo que, en éstos como en otros casos, decíamos que su profundidad fue admirable. Si es cierto que «la admiración de la virtud ya es en sí misma una virtud», como decía Fernando Savater –y nos lo recordaba Aurelio Arteta en su ensayo sobre La virtud en la mirada16-, al convertirnos Gandhi en sus admiradores consiguió, al menos, que asomara en nosotros un pequeño destello de virtud. La admiración nos propone una senda no suficientemente recorrida en la actualidad. Vivimos desbordados por el espectáculo de la violencia, en muchos niveles: desde las guerras hasta los videojuegos violentos, pasando por la violencia de género, sin olvidar la agresividad cotidiana. Y no están de moda, pre- cisamente, ni un sentido profundo de una interioridad moral que alentase convicciones morales profundas, ni la voluntad, ni la disciplina, ni la ejemplaridad pública. Uno de los mayores problemas con que nos encontramos en la actualidad radica en la sensación 15 . «Admirar equivale a alumbrar una virtud, tanto la ajena de que se trate como la propia y peculiar de admirar» (Arteta, 2002: 288). Arteta cita a Savater (1986: 69), y continúa Arteta: «Y como tal, en definitiva, ella misma admi- rable. Admirar lo admirable también es digno de ser admirado. ¿También? Para ser coherentes, y si la admiración sigue siendo la potencia misma de todas las virtudes, habría que decir mejor: es lo primero que hay que admirar en el sujeto moral. Lo mismo el excelente, a fin de perseve- rar en serlo, que el aspirante a la excelencia son admirables ante todo en su condición de admiradores. Unos admirables admiradores» (Arteta, 2002: 288). 16 . Los textos citados por Arteta proceden de Russell, 1996: 62-65. 72© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 de vacío vital, traducida en una falta de ilusión y hastío, probablemente provocada por un encauzamiento erróneo de las metas vitales a alcanzar, de los valores que sirven de parámetros a tales metas, y que lleva aparejado además una enorme falta de modelos a los que admirar hasta el punto de imitarles, en tanto que los que se proponen como modelos para el seguimiento de las masas adolecen de falta de profundidad -no pasan de ser fenómenos de moda con la intención de ser fácilmente sustituibles y con la expectativa, en quienes los promueven, de producir un rendimiento económico- y, por consiguiente, para su propia finalidad deben adormecer lo máximo posible el espíritu crítico. Con este diagnóstico apresurado no pretendemos resolver uno de los mayores retos a que nos enfrentamos en la actualidad, pero sí nos parece adecuado como punto de partida para abordar tal problema, en el que la preocupación por la educación en general, y por la educación moral en concreto, encuentra sin duda uno de sus puntos principales y más conflictivos. Así, deberíamos prestar atención a Bertrand Russell, tal y como nos sugiere Arteta, cuando se refería a la enseñanza de la excelencia a los jóvenes del siguiente modo: «En otras palabras, el afán del maestro del carácter moral será imbuir en los jóvenes el propósito de “no rebajar nunca la altura de sus expectativas; infundir en ellos un amor apasionado por la excelencia y por las cosas que la determinan”. La consigna educativa no se hace esperar: “Muy especialmente, la admiración -el más puro y noble de los placeres- y la admiración apasionada, debe ser estimulada por todos los medios posibles”. ¿Habrá algo más que añadir?» (Arteta, 2002: 323-324). Esta preocupación por el ambiente social y su relación con el problema de la ejemplari- dad, en tanto propuesta de figuras admirables que inciten a su seguimiento e imitación a todos los niveles, ha encontrado también eco en los últimos años en autores como Gomá, para quien se ha de admitir el proponer modelos «no con la pretensión de que esos modelos cancelen por ellos mismos –merced a su armonía de valores- todos los conflictos sociales, sino con la de que dichos conflictos sean definitiva- mente conciliados mediante la generalización entre todos los ciudadanos de aquella “actitud ejemplar al servicio de la polis”. Los ejemplos públicos no son la solución, sino el modelo de solución susceptible de repetición por la “mayoría” que la “polis” por ese motivo convierte en espectáculo» (Gomá, 2004: 381). Y continúa reconociendo la importancia de que el hombre público predique con el ejemplo, llamando la atención sobre la diferencia entre el discurso moral y el discurso de la ciencia y de la técnica: a este último simplemente se le exige claridad y coherencia en sus conceptos, sin plantear mayores requerimientos morales al transmisor de esos contenidos para su credibilidad, mientras que en el caso del discurso moral no basta con su evidencia teórica para que sean adoptados. La verdad moral «debe acompañarse del testimonio personal para ser aceptable» (Gomá, 2004: 382), hasta el punto de que cualquier contradicción entre teoría y praxis en este ámbito lo desacredita; y no nos referimos únicamente al descrédito del transmisor oral de esos valores, sino al descrédito del propio ámbito moral. Entonces, ¿qué significa predicar con el ejemplo? «Quien es ejemplo de lo que predica tiene auctoritas. Se le reconoce autoridad moral a quien prueba con su comportamiento la verdad de su proposición sobre valores. En cambio, si se advierte una contradicción en alguien entre lo que dice y lo que hace, prevalece siempre esto segundo, de modo que la acción real impugna la pretensión de validez del aserto o proposición, y no viceversa […] Si desapareciera de nuestro mundo el ejemplo de virtud, no podría volverse a traer ni con ayuda de todos los libros escritos por los más eximios moralistas. El valor del amor y el antivalor del odio se perciben y se comprenden en los ejemplos concretos experi- 73© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 mentados de amor y odio, y ante ellos la explicación verbal suena a huera sofística. La edu- cación sentimental del hombre se alimenta de los ejemplos concretos de valores y antivalores experimentados en su vida, y no en el discurso moral ni el sermón. En suma, predicar con el ejemplo significa que el ejemplo predica, es decir, que es el único capaz de hablar a la conciencia y al corazón con toda la elocuencia, aunque sea un ejemplo silencioso, y ante él la voz más ardiente del más inflamado predicador puede llegar a ser muda» (Gomá, 2004: 383). Por eso quien, como Gandhi, no sólo predica la noviolencia, sino que la ejercita, y si, además, como sucede respecto a la desobediencia civil, asume la responsabilidad y, en su caso, el ser “castigado” por el poder, está planteando un caso extraordinario de ejemplo moral con autoridad: el convincente sujeto moral de la noviolencia. Y además nos sitúa ante una verdad difícil de rebatir17. De este modo, se encuentra aquí uno de los baluartes que respondería a los desafíos de la educación en el siglo XXI, y que no puede postergarse porque no constituya una tarea fácil y rápida, de resultados inmediatos: la educación siempre ha sido una labor a largo plazo. En este sentido, Mario López nos recuerda que «tanto porque son actos fundamentados en comportamientos éticos y racionales, así como porque requieren de una importante disciplina y autocontrol, la noviolencia suele ser un proceso individual y colectivo muy interiorizado, al que se llega tras un largo debate interno y social, y no por un transcurso espontáneo o más o menos natural. Debate (formación, apre- ndizaje, experimentación, etc.) al que suele ayudar a decantarse, especialmente para muchos ciudadanos, si existe un fuerte liderazgo, un modelo a seguir, unas personas que hacen de influenciadores o facilitadores […], los cuales, unos u otros, pueden marcar el camino ante las dudas y vacilaciones. Pero, al contrario que la violencia, no vale sólo su capacidad mimética, sino un aprendizaje y un entrenamiento previo que, históricamente considerado, nunca ha resultado infranqueable allí donde se ha pretendido utilizar» (López Martínez, 2000: 330). Esa siempre costosa tarea educativa puede encontrar sendas que la orienten, aunque no vayan a simplificarla, tal y como estamos apuntando con las siguientes palabras de Durkheim: «Aunque no haga falta seguramente perder de vista la necesidad de disciplinar la energía moral, no obstante, el educador debe aplicarse sobre todo a despertarla, a desarrollarla (...). Por consiguiente, en las condiciones presentes, hay que dedicarse a despertar sobre todo la fe en un ideal común (...). Ante todo, tenemos que hacernos un alma» (Durkheim, 1992: 87)18. Ningún colofón más adecuado para nuestro trabajo que la petición a hacernos un alma –y ahora comenzamos a comprender que hacernos un alma no podría ser separado del hacernos las paces (Martínez, 2001)-, teniendo en cuenta que Mahatma, tal y como sus seguidores comenzaron a llamar a Gandhi, significa alma grande. 17 . De cualquier modo, es completamente cierto que la paz, su educación y su filosofía requieren imperio- samente de la esperanza y del optimismo. No un optimismo iluso, sino lúcido. Como bien reconoce Mario López, «cabe pensar que, la noviolencia seguirá teniendo un gran poder cultural y social en las próximas décadas. Su capacidad para desen- mascarar las más diversas formas de violencia, para resaltar las injusticias y para levantar simpatías han estado demostradas como realidades históricas. Asimismo, para todas las formas y expresiones del pacifismo, la noviolencia ha supuesto una renovación teórica, metodológica y epis- temológica muy considerable. También, ha permitido legar una importante contribución a la permanente construcción de la ciudadanía, no sólo a la teorización, sino muy singu- larmente a su ejercicio. Igual- mente ha mantenido viva la teoría política más elemental sobre los cimientos en los que se sostiene todo poder, arrinconada por el realismo maquiavélico y hobbesiano, sin caer en falsos idealismos o utopismos, ha vuelvo a poner en su sitio a los teóricos que antaño u hogaño han hablado del empoderamiento de los ciudadanos frente a las tiranías y malos gobiernos» (López, 2000: 339-340). 18 . Citado por Arteta, 2002: 324. 74© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 Bibliografía • Arteta, A. (2002) La virtud en la mirada. Ensayo sobre la admiración moral, Valencia, Pre-textos. • Berrigan, E. (1979) Conciencia, ley y desobediencia civil, Salamanca, Sígueme. • Bobbio, N. (1992) El problema de la guerra y las vías de la paz, Barcelona, Gedisa. • Bobbio, N. (1997) El tercero ausente, Madrid, Cátedra. • Casado Da Rocha, A. (2001) «Henry Thoreau y compañía. De la teoría a la praxis», en Etxeberria, X. (2001) Enfoques de la desobediencia civil, Bilbao, Universidad de Deusto. • Durkheim, E. (1992) L´éducation morale, Paris, PUF. • Etxeberria, X. (2001) Enfoques de la desobediencia civil, Bilbao, Universidad de Deusto. • Fernández Buey, F. (2004) «Sobre el pacifismo de Albert Einstein», en Prat, E. (ed.) (2004): Pensamiento pacifista, Barcelona, Icaria. • Fraga, A. (2000) El pensamiento político de Gandhi, Valencia, Ahimsa. • Gandhi, M. K. (1975) Todos los hombres son hermanos, Madrid, Sígueme. • García Marzá, D. (2001) «Naturaleza y justificación de la desobediencia civil», en Etxeberria, X. (ed.) (2001) Enfoques de la desobediencia civil, Bilbao, Universidad de Deusto. • Geertz, C. (1989) La interpretación de las culturas, Barcelona, Gedisa. • Gomá, J. (2004) Imitación y experiencia, Valencia, Pre-textos. • Kant, I. (1979) La paz perpetua, en el vol. Lo bello y lo sublime, La paz perpetua, Madrid, Espasa-Calpe. • Kant, I. (1981) Crítica del Juicio, Madrid, Espasa-Calpe. • López Martínez, M. (2000) «La sociedad civil por la paz», en Muñoz, F.A. y López Martínez, M. (2000) Historia de la paz: tiempos, espacios y actores, Granada, Instituto de la Paz y los Conflictos y Universidad de Granada. • López Martínez, M. (dir.) (2004a) Enciclopedia de paz y conflictos, Instituto de la Paz y los Conflictos y Universidad de Granada, Granada. • López Martínez, M. (2004b) «Noviolencia», en López Martínez, M (2004a) Enci- clopedia de paz y conflictos, Granada, Instituto de la Paz y los Conflictos y Universidad de Granada. • Malem Seña, J.F. (1988) Concepto y justificación de la desobediencia civil, Barcelona, Ariel. • Martínez Guzmán, V. (2001) Filosofía para hacer las paces, Barcelona, Icaria. • Martínez Guzmán, V. (2005) Podemos hacer las paces. Reflexiones éticas tras el 11-S y el 11-M, Bilbao, Desclée de Brouwer. 75© Instituto de la paz y los conflictos 2010 Noviolencia, desobediencia civil y ejemplaridad is sn : 1 98 8- 72 21 n ú m er o 3 a ñ o 2 01 0 • Mas Solé, M. (2004) «Educar en la noviolencia», en López Martínez, M. (dir.) (2004a) Enciclopedia de paz y conflictos, Instituto de la Paz y los Conflictos y Universi- dad de Granada, Granada. • Mingo Rodríguez, A. Mª. de (2003) «Una jornada de reflexión. Consideraciones sobre la minoría de la mayoría de edad y la cultura democrática», en Castro y otros (eds.), A propósito de Kant. Estudios conmemorativos en el bicentenario de su muerte, Sevilla, Innovación Editorial Lagares. • Muñoz, F.A. y López Martínez, M. (2000) Historia de la paz: tiempos, espacios y acto- res, Granada, Instituto de la Paz y los Conflictos y Universidad de Granada. • Panikkar, R. (2002) Paz y desarme cultural, Madrid, Espasa-Calpe. • Pontara, G., (2004) «Gandhismo», en López Martínez, M. (dir.) (2004a) Enciclope- dia de paz y conflictos, Instituto de la Paz y los Conflictos y Universidad de Granada, Granada. • Prat, E. (ed.) (2004) Pensamiento pacifista, Barcelona, Icaria. • Randle, M. (1998) Resistencia civil. La ciudadanía ante las arbitrariedades de los gobier- nos, Barcelona, Paidós. • Rawls, J. (1979) Teoría de la justicia, Madrid, FCE. • Russell, B. (1996) El credo del hombre libre y otros ensayos, Madrid, Cátedra. • Savater, F. (1986) El contenido de la felicidad, Madrid, El País-Aguilar. • Sloterdijk, P. (2000) Normas para el parque humano, Madrid, Siruela. • Soler Ricart, A. (2004) «Gandhi y la no violencia», en Prat, E. (ed.) (2004) Pensa- miento pacifista, Barcelona, Icaria. • Thoreau, H.D. (1994) Desobediencia civil y otros escritos, Madrid, Tecnos. Alicia María de Mingo Rodríguez fue becaria de investigación de la Univer- sidad de Sevilla (1988-1991) y premio extraordinario de doctorado por una Tesis, presentada en 1999, sobre el tema de la Filosofía de la Naturaleza en el Kant crítico, en sus conexiones con la Ciencia newtoniana. Es autora de dos libros: Materia y experiencia. La filosofía de la Naturaleza en Kant-1786 (1999) y Percepción y juicio. Juicios de percepción y juicios de experiencia en Kant (2003), así como de numerosos artículos en publicaciones especia- lizadas. En los últimos años se ha aproximado con vivo interés al área de temas de la Filosofía moral y política, con especial atención a las exigencias ideales de una sociedad y cultura democráticas: pluralismo, intercultura- lidad, esperanza, reflexión, sensus communis, paz, desobediencia civil, etc. Correo electrónico: amingo@us.es 
work_qbb6dnwo4zfktia7gm4oe5l3ba	----	R A I S RESEARCH ASSOCIATION for INTERDISCIPLINARY STUDIESOCTOBER 2017 37 Juxtaposition of Eastern Management Styles and practices with Modern Management System and Concepts Nidhi Kaushal Research Scholar Department of Applied Science and Eng.at I.I.T. Roorkee, India nidhi.k3333@gmail.com Sanjit Mishra PhD, Associate Professor Department of Applied Science and Eng.at I.I.T. Roorkee, India sanjitmishra2001@yahoo.com ABSTRACT: This paper presents an analysis of the Indian management concepts in view of the changing world order while establishing their inter relatedness with the theories and practices developed in the West. Being followed by the leaders and entrepreneurs of the country right since the Vedic ages, the ancient Indians had developed their own management systems with the help of which they successfully carried out their business affairs. It is the hypothesis that the practices thus cultured and the concepts thus evolved, are relevant across the boundaries of time and space, and shall be immensely helpful for the organizations of the west as well. In this paper they have examined the organizational and other managerial skills in the works of spiritual- social reformers and other political leaders from India. The Indian perspective on management is based on the Purushartha (a key concept and denotes the four proper aims of a human life). It was the base model of management in ancient time which has been followed by management thinkers and leaders of India. KEY WORDS: Culture, Entrepreneur, Ethics, Globalization, Leadership, Management, Organization. Proceedings of the RAIS Conferece I 16-17 OCTOBER, 2017 38 1. Introduction According to Ravichandran (2009), ‘Management learning in India is predominately a derivative of western management thought and practice. Occasionally, management schools draw some inferences from Indian epics, shastras and practices. It may be worthwhile to notice that management itself as a discipline has evolved from fundamental disciplines of philosophy, psychology, economics, accounting, computer science, mathematics, statistics and industrial engineering. The modern management education in India emphasizes on performance and very little on purpose. It equips the young men and women to generate wealth and does not provide them the capacity to enjoy and share this wealth. It projects the use of the information technology as an enabler to improve efficiency but not as a supporting tool in resolving large complex social issues. It motivates individuals to accomplish their objectives with or without regard to means. As a rule, management education has completely detached itself from the under managed sectors. A handful of management institutions in this country are trying to realign the management education by using a multidimensional approach. The first dimension of this would focus on the individuals. The second dimension (of this education) would focus on the standard tools and techniques of management education. The third dimension would connect the individual to the society by compassion, entrepreneurship and social sensitivity.’ According to Devarajan (2013), ‘Art and science of management can be related to Hindu mythology - the connectivity between “Belief ” and “Business” and mythology is as much objective and pragmatic as the principles in management. Belief is the basis from which “sprouts every human enterprise, and every culture. But every belief is irrational and hence, a myth. Therefore, the study of stories, symbols, and rituals to decode the beliefs that they communicate is called mythology.” We used the term Business Sutra in Hindu mythology. The word Sutra means an aphorism – a terse statement.’ ‘The leader is a heroic individual described by Kishore (2010) of some sort who summons his followers to accomplish great things. There is a tendency to glorify leadership as an achievement or a sort of reward for one’s performance in a specific sphere of life. In other words, an individual with a greater degree of selflessness is the ideal candidate to be a leader of other human beings. A leader whose foundation is the idea of selflessness manifests this in many forms in his relationship with followers like 1. Freedom – The first ideal of such an enlightened leader would be ‘freedom’. A selfless leader would allow other individuals to operate with a high degree of freedom while providing an outline of what needs to be accomplished. A selfless 39 Kaushal & MIshRa: Juxtaposition of Eastern Management styles and practices leader, on the other hand, will demonstrate a lesser tendency to control simply due to the absence of any desire in him to stamp his individual personality on everything that his team produces. 2. Follower evolution centrality − A selfless leader would be constantly conscious of the specific evolutionary state of his follower, and would constantly try to raise him to higher levels of selflessness.’ 1.1 The outlook of management in Indian Literature According to Chatterji (2016), ‘Since ancient times in India, the Purusharthas has served as the road map for leading a successful and a peaceful life. They form the primary aims of the human life. The four guiding principles that are together known as Purusharthas are Dharma, Arhta, Kama and Moksha. The Purusharthas assume different meaning in different context, are non-translatable and subsume several words in one. One should pursue the right desires and perform the right actions which come under the framework of dharma. So moksha provides the vision for one’s life and Dharma provides the precise guidelines for one’s thoughts and actions and hence Moksha and Dharma are the important principles for leadership. The desire (Kama) to attain wealth and material wellbeing (Artha) is best when pursued in the framework of Dharma and Moksha. Purusharthas defined in terms of ethical leadership is given below: Dharma = Ethics Artha = Profit/ Material well being Kama= Desire/ Ambition Moksha = Inclusivity/ Freedom from Limited identities A proper balance among these Purushathas is required for successful leadership. So ethical leadership not only includes adhering to moral values but also develop a sense of inclusivity towards society and the environment. While ethics and moral values may bring objectivity to leadership, Moksha defined in this context, brings in the missing subjective components like happiness, contentment, agreeableness, and inclusivity, which are vital to ethical leadership. Sthairym is the quality that indicates resoluteness or perseverance. Swami Dayand Saraswati in his book value of value says, “When it comes to applying effort towards a goal, most of us find ourselves to be ‘aarambha surah’ that is ‘heroes in the beginning. We are the lions at first but then enthusiasm wanes.” It is in fact natural for a fledging Proceedings of the RAIS Conferece I 16-17 OCTOBER, 2017 40 manager to start off a mental bearing oriented to act ethically. Sthairym is the quality that can sustain and nurture this very orientation there by one in to an ethical leader.’ 1.2 Application of the Purusharthas According to Chatterji (2016), ‘Application of the Purusharthas means having dharma as the foundation for the pursuit of the Artha and Kama while keeping Moksha as the vision. In other words ones’s thoughts and actions should have ethics and responsibility as the foundation and not just materialistic goals. In an organizational setting, the way to accelerate it is through the iterative process of Sarvana (listening), Manana (Contemplation) and Nidhidhyasna (integration and practice). Sarvana can happen through the education and training process wherein the individual get systematically exposed to the literature expounding the Indian principles. Manana happens when a leader engages in thinking, discussing and reefing his understanding of the principles. Nidhidhyasana is the actual application of these principles in a live setting, fine tune based on the experiences.’ 2. The role of Purusharthas described in Bhagwad Gita and its implication in ethical leadership John Maxwell, author of “The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership” defines leadership as “influence, nothing more, nothing less”. He goes on to say: “He who thinks he leads but has no-one following him, is simply taking a walk.” This is a functional definition of leadership, one that basically says that a leader is someone who has followers. Leadership has been described by leadership educator Todd Duncan as “a total commitment to purpose, accompanied by the determination to carry it out.” This is a characteristic definition that describes the personal qualities of a leader. Bhagavad Gita describes these fundamental universal principles – as the underlying framework of the universe that reflects the purpose of the universal architect. Leaders who align their practices with these principles will be effective leaders. Leaders who align their goals and the goals of the organizations they steward with these principles will be authentic leaders – leaders who are empowered to create a better world. Leadership is absolutely crucial. Bhagavad Gita contains the timeless principles that will empower leaders to be effective and authentic leaders. According to Ravindra (2015), ‘There are four primary leadership roles as per the Bhagavad Gita: 41 Kaushal & MIshRa: Juxtaposition of Eastern Management styles and practices Lessons of Leadership from Bhagwad Gita Strategic Leadership Team-building Leadership Directive Leadership Operational Leadership Figure1. Leadership roles according to Bhagwad Gita 2.1 Lessons of Gita for modern manager defined by Nadkarni (2016) is as follows: 1. ‘When faced with a choice what is perishable or momentary and what is enduring or lasting, choose the lasting and fight for the lasting. 2. Have a higher purpose in life. Enjoy your life but don’t get bogged down to momentary sensual pleasures. Don’t aim at quick success through tempting. Through your work, contribute to the protection or welfare of the people, for that makes your life meaningful. 3. Consciously aim at moderation and make it a habit. Neither extreme abstinence nor indulgence is good for success; they can instead be self- destructive. 4. Mind is fickle, tempted too easily and can divert you from your higher aims. Proper management of mind is a key teaching of Gita as it leads to success and happiness in life. 5. Manage your anger as it can cloud your reasoning, lead to confusion and can divert you from your path. Try to keep it calm, cool and composed. Steady and focused mind is great asset. 6. Be focussed on your, but take all aspects of the problem at hand. Proceedings of the RAIS Conferece I 16-17 OCTOBER, 2017 42 7. Don’t lose opportunities of fighting for a good cause, if you have the aptitude of a fighter. Cowardice is worse than defeat. 8. Learn to adjust to change in circumstances even if adverse and try to innovate by adopting novel ideas, just as you discard old worn out cloths and wear new ones. Be enterprising. 9. Depend upon what is wise without being narrowly selfish. Be cautious that even knowledge or information may be at times masked by ignorance or misinformation, resulting in confusion and misleading you. 10. Nothing inferior in work. All works and their fruits are offered to God.’ According to Shrivastava (2016),’No work of Indian literature has ever been revered as much as the sacred Bhagavada Gita; which not only continues to inspire Indians even today, but also remains admirable even to this day in the western countries. Over the years, these words of wisdom from within Bhagavada Gita has offered humans some respite from restlessness, complications and unhappiness; helping them sail into the light of calmness. The practical teachings mentioned in Bhagavada Gita has a message for every human; in fact, it is believed that an individual can seek answers to almost every question about Universe, his/her Past, Present and Future, in this holy book. The famous personalities of the world inspired by Bhagwad Gita are Mahatma Gandhi, Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, Albert Einstein, Annie Besant, Hermann Hesse, Dr. Albert Schweitzer, Carl Jung, Aldous Huxley, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Rudolph Steiner, Henry David Thoreau and Sunita Williams.’ 3. Bhagwad Gita as a source of inspiration According to Sen (2005), ‘ Krishna’s moral position has also been eloquently endorsed by many philosophical and literary commentators across the world, such as Christopher Isherwood and T.S.Eliot. This admiration for Gita, and for Krishna‘s arguments in particularly, has been a lasting phenomenon in parts of European culture. It was spectacularly praised by Wilhelmvon Humboldt as the most beautiful, perhaps the only true philosophical song existing in any known language.’ We are analyzing the leadership and management skills of Indian leaders in context of Indian perspective of management. It is an attempt to enrich the management studies from eastern or Indian approach of management. Leaders such that, Mahatma Gandhi, Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, Bal Gangadhar Tilak, Sir Aurobindo are prominent personalities of India who lived their life according to lessons of Gita. They always 43 Kaushal & MIshRa: Juxtaposition of Eastern Management styles and practices inspired, motivated and strengthen themselves through reading Gita. According to Hindu (2014), ‘Many of the most prominent freedom fighters were inspired by the Bhagavad Gita. Many even went to the gallows and were executed with the Gita in their hands. The Swadeshi movement of Bengal in 1905 began with a gathering of 50,000 people on the streets on the streets of Calcutta, each with the Gita in their hands. The crowds proceeded to the Kali Temple where they vowed to boycott British goods and drive the British from their lands. We have exemplified famous Indian leader and drawing inferences of leadership and management from them. 3.1 Mahatma Gandhi a Non-Violent leader “A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history.” - Mahatma Gandhi According to Rao, (n.d.), ‘Mahatma Gandhi exemplifies leadership and managerial capabilities in the most myriad and trying situations. One can take various lessons in Self-Management, Leadership, Emotional Intelligence, Negotiation, Strategy, Economics, Communication, Rural Development, Social Inclusion, Education, Entrepreneurship, Women Empowerment, Law, Ethics and Corporate Governance from his work and methods. Self-management and a constant strife towards improvement was the hallmark of Mahatma Gandhi’s thoughts and practices. Mahatma Gandhi definition of Leadership –“I suppose leadership at one time meant muscles; but today it means getting along with people.” 3.1 The prominence of Bhagwad Gita in the life of Mahatma Gandhi ‘Inspirations described by Byles (n.d.) both mould and give direction to life. Sources of Inspiration could be personal and impersonal. As for personal as well as impersonal sources of Inspiration, M. Gandhi himself has said! “Three moderns have left a deep impress on my life and captivated me. Raychandbhai by his living contact; Tolstoy by his book,” The Kingdom of God is within you; and Ruskin by his ‘Unto This Last’. Besides these three personalities, Gopal Krishna Gokhale and the Gita and the Bible were lifelong sources of inspiration for Gandhi. Gandhi read the Gita for the first time in England, i.e. Sir Edwin Arnold’s “The song Celestial”, and it made a deep impression on his mind and Gandhi regarded the Gita par excellence for the knowledge of Truth and it afforded him invaluable help in his moments of gloom. The Gita became Gandhi’s lifelong companion and guide, especially the last eighteen verses of the second chapter of the Gita. Gandhi derived the Gospel of selfless action Proceedings of the RAIS Conferece I 16-17 OCTOBER, 2017 44 or duty from the Gita. His commentary on the Gita reflects his life and mission. Gandhi said that “no one is competent to offer Satyagraha unless he has a living faith in God”. And the Bhagavad-Gita, to which he would always turn for inspiration, is the allegorical description, not of a Satyagraha campaign, but of the quest of the human soul for union with the Supreme or God. Further, in the eyes of the Gita the outward work that Gandhi did in liberating India and raising the depressed classes, is of no more importance than the work of a humble scavenger, while Gandhi himself ceaselessly reiterated that no work is superior or inferior. It was this quest for God that determined Gandhi’s every action. And let us remember that when he said Truth is God, Truth did not mean only devotion to material facts. Far more important for him was devotion to the Inner Light that the rishis of India and the authors of the Upanishads told of and experienced. It is that all work; say both the Gita and Gandhi must be offered to the Lord, or the Supreme, as a sacrifice, something to be made holy because it is done as a service to all. When the universe was created, simultaneously the law of sacrifice, the opposite of creation, was brought into being, for the universe is composed of pairs of opposites. Gandhi says that “Sacrifice means exerting one for the benefit of others, in a word, service. Look upon all creatures as Gods.” That is to say, we must sacrifice ourselves for all, giving our work freely and asking nothing in return.’ The Tamil work Thirukurral, written by Thiruvalluvar has numerous couplets on the qualities of a leader like, ‘A person worth to be called as a king/leader who never deviates from the path of dharma, who wipes injustice from his kingdom and whose military order is never discredited.’ Hence, it is imperative that the leader cultivate the right attitudes governed by the right values to be a fit role model (Chatterji 2016).’ So the ideas and practices in the ancient Indian or eastern texts have quite distinct role in the western management concepts. Conclusion There is a great wisdom in primeval works of writings because they were written to empower the people and act as archetypes for civilization of all kinds. The code of conducts, written centuries ago contained amply source of learning for every discipline of the studies and modern theories just a new form of them. The contemporary management styles and practices developed are assimilation of ancient texts from the east. They provide insight to the leaders, managers as well as to the organizations for ethical and smooth running of the business operations and their personal life. The study of leaders who got insight through them strengthens this fact. This great, 45 Kaushal & MIshRa: Juxtaposition of Eastern Management styles and practices rich and effective writings like Bhagwad Gita inspired and always motivate modern managers and proved that our long established literature is a powerful foundation for standards of life and management. References Byles, Marie Beuzeville. “Gandhi Through the Eyes of the Gita.” mkgandhi. n.d. http://www. mkgandhi.org/articles/Marie%20Byles.htm (accessed July 4, 2017). Chatterji, Madhumita, Laszlo Zsolnai. 2016. Ethical Leadership: Indian and European Spiritual Approaches. Berlin, Germany: Springer. Devarajan, R. “The word Sutra means an aphorism – a terse statement.” Thehindu. 06 May 2013. http://www.thehindu.com/books/books-reviews/an-indian-view-of-management/ article4689764.ece (accessed July 4, 2017). Hindu History. “The Gita and the Freedom of India.” Hinduhistory. 25 January 2014. http:// www.hinduhistory.info/the-gita-and-the-freedom-of-india/ (accessed July 04, 2017). Kishore, Mohit. “Selfless leadership – An Indian perspective.” Thehindubusinessline. 12 July 2010. http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/todays-paper/selfless-leadership-an- indian-perspective/article1015759.ece (accessed July 04, 2017). Nadkarni, M. V. 2016. The Bhagavad-Gita for the Modern Reader: History, interpretations and philosophy. Abingdon, United Kingdom: Routledge. Ravichandran, N. “A perspective on management education in India.” Financialexpress. 12 Octo- ber 2009. http://www.financialexpress.com/archive/a-perspective-on-management-ed- ucation-in-india/527793/ (accessed July 4, 2017). Ravindra, NV. “Bhagavad Gita And Its Influence On Leadership.” Thehansindia. 29 April 2015. http://www.thehansindia.com/posts/index/Life-Style/2015-04-29/Bhagavad-Gita- and-its-influence-on-Leadership/147597 (accessed July 04, July). Sen, Amartya. 2005. The Argumentative Indian. London, England: Penguin. Shrivastava, Shruti. “Legendary people from around the world who were inspired by Bhagavad Gita and they are not Indians.” Speakingtree. 27 June 2016. http://www.speakingtree. in/allslides/non-indians-isnpired-by-bhagavada-gita/famous-people-inspired-by- bhagavad-gita-430991 (accessed July 04, 2017). 
work_qcbht6yjxngtzpnsqrxx4koudy	----	DOI 10.1378/chest.08-2730 2009;136;578-582Chest Marc A. Shampo and Edward C. Rosenow III A History of Tuberculosis on Stamps http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/content/136/2/578.full.html services can be found online on the World Wide Web at: The online version of this article, along with updated information and ISSN:0012-3692 )http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/site/misc/reprints.xhtml( written permission of the copyright holder. this article or PDF may be reproduced or distributed without the prior Dundee Road, Northbrook, IL 60062. All rights reserved. No part of Copyright2009by the American College of Chest Physicians, 3300 Physicians. It has been published monthly since 1935. is the official journal of the American College of ChestChest © 2009 American College of Chest Physicians by guest on October 15, 2011chestjournal.chestpubs.orgDownloaded from http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/content/136/2/578.full.html http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/site/misc/reprints.xhtml http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/ A History of Tuberculosis on Stamps Marc A. Shampo, PhD; and Edward C. Rosenow, III, MD, Master FCCP Tuberculosis, only a few decades ago, was believed to be under control and decreasing in incidence, in both developed and developing countries. A number of scientists and physicians have contributed to the understanding of tuberculosis and have been honored on postage stamps by several countries around the world. This article contains brief histories of these individuals and depictions of the postage stamps commemorating them for their contributions to the better understanding of the disease. (CHEST 2009; 136:578 –582) T uberculosis, a disease caused by several speciesof mycobacteria, has afflicted humankind for many thousands of years. It is a worldwide disease and in many countries is a major cause of death.1 After declining in incidence for a number of years, it has begun to increase in frequency, especially in developing and underdeveloped countries. This is primarily because of the AIDS epidemic. Ninety percent of the cases of tuberculosis diagnosed are pulmonary tuberculosis caused by Mycobacterium tuberculosis. The modern treatment of tuberculosis has been complicated both by resistance to drug therapy and by intermingling of the disease with HIV. Many famous persons have been victims of tuber- culosis, as follows: English poets John Keats (1795– 1821) and Percy Shelley (1792–1822); American writers Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862) and Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882); French poet Alfred de Musset (1810 –1857); French novelist Honoré de Balzac (1799 –1849); English novelists the Brontë sisters (Charlotte, 1816 –1855; Emily, 1818 –1848; and Anne, 1820 –1849); Scottish novelist Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 –1894); British administrator-financier Cecil Rhodes (1853–1902); Italian violin virtuoso Nicolò Paganini (1782–1840); and Polish composer Frederic Chopin (1810 –1849). In the first half of the 20th century, many pulmo- nologists entered their profession because they themselves had tuberculosis. One of the original pulmonary journals was Tubercle. The following eight historical figures associated with tuberculosis have had stamps issued in their honor: René Laënnec, Jean Antoine Villemin, Rob- ert Koch, Carlo Forlanini, Léon C. A. Calmette, Jean-Marie Camille Guérin, Selman A. Waksman, and Edward Trudeau. The only one issued by the United States was for Trudeau. In many countries but not all, for a stamp to be issued, the individual must be deceased (in the United States one excep- tion is a living president after his term of office). The approval goes through a citizens’ advisory commit- tee. The whole process can become very political. In many smaller countries the sale of postage stamps is their sole source of income. As a result many differ- ent stamps are printed. René Laënnec René Laënnec made a number of important con- tributions to the diagnosis of various diseases. In 1816, he invented the stethoscope, which made possible the early and more accurate identification of diseases of the chest. Laënnec was born on February 12, 1781, in Quimper, Brittany, in northwestern France. He received his MD degree from the École de Santé in Paris in 1804, after which he established Manuscript received November 19, 2008; revision accepted April 6, 2009. Affiliation: From the Division of Pulmonary and Critical Care Medicine, Mayo Clinic School of Medicine, Rochester, MN. © 2009 American College of Chest Physicians. Reproduction of this article is prohibited without written permission from the American College of Chest Physicians (www.chestjournal.org/site/ misc/reprints.xhtml). Correspondence to: Edward C. Rosenow, III, MD, Mayo Clinic, Pulmonary Department, Mayo Clinic, E 18 B, Rochester, MN 55905-0001; e-mail: rosenow.edward@mayo.edu DOI: 10.1378/chest.08-2730 CHEST Special Feature 578 Special Feature © 2009 American College of Chest Physicians by guest on October 15, 2011chestjournal.chestpubs.orgDownloaded from http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/ a successful private practice in Paris and also held a succession of positions at the leading medical insti- tutions in France. For 3 years after he invented the stethoscope, Laënnec gathered data on diseases and conditions of the chest and correlated them with findings at autopsy. He published these findings in 1819 in his classic book De l’Auscultation Médiate. In this book, Laënnec described his new method of diagnosis by use of the stethoscope and provided details on the sounds of the heart and lungs in various afflictions, such as edema, tuberculosis, and pneumonia. Dur- ing his lifetime, Laënnec had symptoms of pulmo- nary tuberculosis and probably had asthma. He died of pulmonary tuberculosis in Kerlouarnec, France, on August 3, 1826, when he was only 45 years old. In 1952, France honored him on a stamp2 (Please note that it is not necessary to go back to the catalog year the stamp was issued; the stamp will be in the current year catalog. Five to seven volumes are published every year at approx- imately $100 per volume. Most libraries carry these.) [Fig 1]. Jean Antoine Villemin Jean Antoine Villemin, a French physician, proved in 1867 that tuberculosis was an infectious disease, transmitted by contact from humans to animals and from one animal to another. His most important work, Studies on Tuberculosis, published in 1868, described his careful experiments in which he proved that sputum from a tubercular patient, fluid from tubercular cavities, and material from a scrof- ulous gland, when injected subcutaneously, pro- duced tubercular lesions in rabbits. Villemin was born on January 28, 1827, in Prey, Vosges, in northeastern France. Starting in 1849, he studied at Bruyères and at the military medical school in Strasbourg, qualifying as an army physician in 1853. In 1853, he went to Val-de-Grâce, the military medical school in Paris, for further study, receiving his MD degree in 1863. In the same year, he was appointed professor at Val-de-Grâce, where he remained until his retirement. While at Val-de-Grâce he observed that healthy young men from the country often developed tuberculosis while living in the close quarters of military barracks. Aware that glanders, a disease similar to tuberculosis, is transmitted in horses by inoculation, he began the study of tuberculosis. Villemin died in Paris on October 6, 1892, and was honored on a stamp3 issued by France in 1951 (Fig 2). Robert Koch The foremost figure in the field of tuberculosis studies is Robert Koch. In 1905, Koch received the Nobel Prize in Physiology and Medicine for his discovery of the causes of tuberculosis and cholera. He was born on December 11, 1843, in Clausthal, near Hannover, in north central Germany. After receiving his medical degree from the University of Göttingen in 1866, he practiced in a number of small towns and villages in Germany. In 1880, Koch was appointed to the Imperial Health Office in Berlin, and in 1882 he announced the discovery of the tubercle bacillus. In 1885, Koch was appointed professor of hygiene at the University of Berlin and director of the new Berlin Hygiene Institute. In 1890, he introduced tuberculin, a solu- tion containing growth products of the bacillus, as a cure for tuberculosis, provoking worldwide excite- Figure 2. Jean Antoine Villemin (1827–1892). Figure 1. René Laënnec (1782–1826). www.chestjournal.org CHEST / 136 / 2 / AUGUST, 2009 579 © 2009 American College of Chest Physicians by guest on October 15, 2011chestjournal.chestpubs.orgDownloaded from http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/ ment. Although tuberculin proved harmful, it came to be used as an indicator of previous exposure to the tubercle bacillus (tuberculin test). Effective manage- ment of tuberculosis was not achieved until antibi- otic drugs became available many years later. Koch died of heart failure on May 27, 1910, in Baden- Baden, Germany. He was honored on a stamp4 issued by Germany in 1944 to commemorate the centenary of his birth (Fig 3). Carlo Forlanini Carlo Forlanini, Italian medical scholar and edu- cator, is credited with providing the first definitive treatment of pulmonary tuberculosis: artificial pneu- mothorax. This novel approach (collapsing the af- fected lung and the cavity within it) introduced a new era in treatment, although it was much opposed at the time. Forlanini reported his results in 1906, after 12 years of experience with the method. It is still used occasionally, with some refinements. Forlanini was born on June 11, 1847, in Milan. He received his MD degree from the University of Pavia in Italy in 1870. In the wake of the discoveries made by Robert Koch, Forlanini became interested in the pathology of diseases of the lungs, particularly pul- monary tuberculosis. He began his research in 1882, when he first postulated his theory of pulmonary therapy. From 1882 to 1906, he introduced many modifications and refinements in an effort to im- prove the efficiency of artificial pneumothorax. During the last years of is life, Forlanini served as a professor of medicine at the University of Pavia. He died on May 26, 1918, in Nervi, a small seaport on the Gulf of Genoa in Italy. In 1953, Belgium honored him on a stamp,5 the surtax of which was used for antituberculosis research (Fig 4). Léon C. A. Calmette Léon C. A. Calmette, codeveloper of the antitu- berculosis vaccine Bacillus Calmette-Guérin with Jean-Marie Camille Guérin, was born in Nice on July 12, 1863, and received his MD degree from L’École Médécine Navale de Brest. In 1865, he obtained his doctorate from the University of Paris. During his lifetime, he served as a physician in many different parts of the world (Gabon, Newfoundland, Hong Kong, and Saigon). He returned to France to be- come head of the Pasteur Institute at Lille, where he established the first tuberculosis dispensary in Eu- rope, and thereafter he devoted his life to the study of tuberculosis. While using a virulent bovine strain of the tubercle bacillus, Calmette found, after 13 years of study, that the strain was nonvirulent but still tuberculinogenic enough to incite antibodies. The resulting vaccine, introduced in 1921, was called Bacillus Calmette-Guérin. In 1922, he authorized the use of Bacillus-Calmette-Guérin in infants with tuberculous parents, and by 1924 the vaccine was being distributed generally. Several new vaccines are currently being developed. The first recombinant antituberculosis vaccine entered clinical trials in the United States in 2004. Figure 3. Robert Koch (1843–1910). Figure 4. Carlo Forlanini (1847–1918). 580 Special Feature © 2009 American College of Chest Physicians by guest on October 15, 2011chestjournal.chestpubs.orgDownloaded from http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/ Calmette died of infectious hepatitis, cardiac col- lapse, and acute peritonitis on October 29, 1933. He was honored on a stamp6 issued in 1948 by his native France (Fig 5). Jean-Marie Camille Guérin The other contributor to the vaccine was Jean-Marie Camille Guérin, a veterinarian surgeon who was born in Poitiers, France, on December 22, 1872. In 1892, Guérin enrolled at L’École Nationale Vétérinaire d’Alfort, from which he graduated as a veterinary surgeon in 1896. He worked with Calmette from 1908 to 1921, and together they produced the successful vaccine. In 1917, Calmette was named assistant direc- tor of the Pasteur Institute in Paris, and he appointed Guérin head of Services de la Tuberculose at Lille. Guérin died on June 9, 1961, and was honored on a stamp7 issued by Monaco in 1996 (Fig 6). Selman A. Waksman Selman A. Waksman in 1944 introduced the anti- biotic streptomycin, the first effective drug treat- ment for tuberculosis, for which he was awarded the 1952 Nobel Prize for Physiology and Medicine. Waksman was born on July 22, 1888, in Priluka in the Ukraine. In 1910, he immigrated to the United States, and he obtained a bachelor’s degree in agri- culture from Rutgers University in New Jersey in 1915. In 1918, he obtained a PhD degree in bio- chemistry from the University of California and returned to Rutgers as a microbiologist at the New Jersey State Agricultural Experiment Station. Early in 1943, with one of his graduate students, Waksman developed streptomycin, a material found to be active against many Gram-negative organisms, in- cluding the causative agent of tuberculosis. Waksman retired from active research in 1958. He died in 1973 and was honored on a stamp8 issued by Gambia in 1989 (Fig 7). Edward Livingston Trudeau Edward Livingston Trudeau was honored on a stamp9 issued by the United States in 2008 for Figure 5. Léon C. A. Calmette (1863–1933). Figure 7. Selman A. Waksman (1888 –1973). Figure 8. Edward Livingston Trudeau (1848 –1915).Figure 6. Jean-Marie Camille Guérin (1872–1961). www.chestjournal.org CHEST / 136 / 2 / AUGUST, 2009 581 © 2009 American College of Chest Physicians by guest on October 15, 2011chestjournal.chestpubs.orgDownloaded from http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/ establishing the first successful sanitorium in the United States for the open-air treatment of tubercu- losis (Fig 8). Although the main treatment for pa- tients with tuberculosis now is hospitalization with drugs and possibly surgery, until 1945 these patients were often treated by placement in a sanitorium on the theory that exposure to open air was beneficial. Trudeau was born in 1848 in New York City into a family of physicians. When he was in his late teens, his elder brother contracted tuberculosis, and Ed- ward nursed him. He was deeply affected by the death of his brother 3 months later. When he was 20 years old (1868), Trudeau en- rolled in the College of Physicians and Surgeons at Columbia College (now Columbia University), where he completed his medical training in 1871. In 1873, Trudeau was himself diagnosed with tuber- culosis. He went to the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York and subsequently regained his health. In 1876, he went to Saranac Lake (New York) and established a successful medical prac- tice there. In 1882, after reading about the successful treatment of tuberculosis with the “rest cure” in cold, clear mountain air, Trudeau founded the Adirondack Cot- tage Sanatorium. It was reported that the British novelist Robert Louis Stevenson, suffering from tuber- culosis, spent several months at this sanitorium. After a fire destroyed his laboratory at the sanito- rium, in 1894, Trudeau organized the Saranac Labora- tory for the study of tuberculosis. He died in 1915. Acknowledgments Author contributions: Dr. Shampo supplied the stamps and data and contributed to the writing of the manuscript. Dr. Rosenow wrote and revised the manuscript. Both authors con- tributed to idea conception. Financial/nonfinancial disclosures: The authors have no con- flicts of interest to declare. References 1 Dormandy, T. The white death: a history of tuberculosis. New York, NY: University Press, 2000; 433 2 Scott Postage Stamp Catalog No. 685. Sidney, OH: Scott Publishing Co, 1952 3 Scott Postage Stamp Catalog No. 656. Sidney, OH: Scott Publishing Co, 1951 4 Scott Postage Stamp Catalog No. B251. Sidney, OH: Scott Publishing Co, 1944 5 Scott Postage Stamp Catalog No. B552. Sidney, OH: Scott Publish- ing Co, 1953 6 Scott Postage Stamp Catalog No. B232. Sidney, OH: Scott Publishing Co, 1948 7 Scott Postage Stamp Catalog No. 2012. Sidney, OH: Scott Publishing Co, 1996 8 Scott Postage Stamp Catalog No. 910. Sidney, OH: Scott Publishing Co, 1989 9 Scott Postage Stamp Catalog No. 3432A. Sidney, OH: Scott Publishing Co, 2008 582 Special Feature © 2009 American College of Chest Physicians by guest on October 15, 2011chestjournal.chestpubs.orgDownloaded from http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/ DOI 10.1378/chest.08-2730 2009;136; 578-582Chest Marc A. Shampo and Edward C. Rosenow III A History of Tuberculosis on Stamps October 15, 2011This information is current as of http://chestjournal.chestpubs.org/content/136/2/578.full.html Updated Information and services can be found at: Updated Information & Services http://www.chestpubs.org/site/misc/reprints.xhtml found online at: Information about reproducing this article in parts (figures, tables) or in its entirety can be Permissions & Licensing http://www.chestpubs.org/site/misc/reprints.xhtml Information about ordering reprints can be found online: Reprints "Services" link to the right of the online article. 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work_qgrdkwlrabcpfdfvsgjsxpbwpe	----	Shoup, Donald. The High Cost of Free Parking. Chicago: APA Planners Press, 2004 All Rights Reserved © Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine, 2006 Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 20:59 Urban History Review Revue d'histoire urbaine Shoup, Donald. The High Cost of Free Parking. Chicago: APA Planners Press, 2004 John Zacharias Volume 34, numéro 2, spring 2006 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1016016ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1016016ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine ISSN 0703-0428 (imprimé) 1918-5138 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer ce compte rendu Zacharias, J. (2006). Compte rendu de [Shoup, Donald. The High Cost of Free Parking. Chicago: APA Planners Press, 2004]. Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine, 34(2), 60–61. https://doi.org/10.7202/1016016ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/uhr/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1016016ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1016016ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/uhr/2006-v34-n2-uhr0608/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/uhr/ Book Reviews / Comptes rendus decade of research should be added to an already rich analy- sis. However, it would be interesting to learn how consumer advocates reconciled the rhetoric of envy and acquisitiveness to the economic deprivations of the 1930s. Hopefully, this ques- tion will be taken up in future studies of consumer culture. By combining the history of emotion with consumerism, Susan J. Matt establishes a unique conceptual framework for under- standing modern consumerism, perhaps pointing the way to comparative transnational studies of consumer behaviour. In conclusion, Keeping Up with the Joneses is an engaging and fascinating study that asks readers to reflect on the long and complex relationship between spending, personal desire, and the economic benefits of consumer envy. Now, are you sure that you need that new computer? Anne Clendinning Nipissing University Shoup, Donald. The High Cost of Free Parking. Chicago: APA Planners Press, 2004. This massive volume of 733 pages provides the evidence that parking requirements in planning legislation or as advocated in industry standards are very costly, unnecessary, and even counter-productive. First on the firing line is the Institute of Transportation Engineers because of their industry-standard guidelines and surveys of transportation generation from various land uses. Their guidelines fill a planning resource void even though, as Shoup exhaustively demonstrates, they are founded largely on minuscule samples of suburban environments. Central cities are absent from the surveys, as are innovative suburban examples. Next up are municipal planners copying each other's guidelines, ignoring international experience, and pretending there is science behind the requirements. Finally, Shoup points out that American municipalities are actually supporting free parking by insisting on over-supply. He even hints that such over-supply of free parking fuels profligate car use, making it dif- ficult to support public and non-motorized transportation. While evidence might be lacking for that particular claim, however logi- cal it might seem, the author spends many pages investigating the hidden financial costs of parking provision. Parking provi- sions are routinely rolled into the development budget because they are a fundamental requirement in the earliest stages of the project. As a consequence, their real cost is often under-esti- mated, if it is estimated at all. In any event, rarely do charges cover the costs of provision, so that cost recovery is achieved by hiding the costs in higher prices for everything else. The "eve- rything else" that Shoup looks at includes housing, downtown development, road infrastructure, goods, and services. The dem- onstration is supported by case studies with real financial data and hypothetical cases worked out in detail, for those who might be skeptical about the strongly stated claims of the author and the very high estimated costs associated with parking provisions. This volume undoubtedly represents many years of careful study and documentation. Its primary message that planners should not require parking provisions at all would be a fairly dreary one, if it were not lightened by some interesting, even amusing analogies. The steady doses of required parking in our cities are likened to routine medical administration of lead, or to bloodletting. The unclear methods for arriving at the standards routinely applied by cities and their uneven application across cities are likened to blind faith in myth. If it is largely true that parking requirements are not the fruit of analysis, it might be an exaggeration to suggest all parking demand estimations are equally flawed. Parking demand studies routinely appear in environmental impact assessments, for which clear procedures are available. Because the public environment as a whole is more complex than a project, clear approaches for estimating global parking levels in a city have not emerged, which would have provided a parking standard for an individual project. It is also argued by some urban planners advocating a normative approach that parking standards should be set to harmonize with broad environmental goals, with those goals defined at the scale of the city. Shoup does not explore these angles on plan- ning for parking, perhaps because they do not fit well with his theory that the most successful approach is to micro-manage control and financial benefit at the local level. This work is a good example of a movement to introduce more market mechanisms in urban development and downplay the governmental role in urban planning. The withdrawal of local government from public housing was an earlier spectacular example, and the involvement of local government as a facili- tator in privately initiated commercial development is another. Underlying this move toward self-regulation or private man- agement of urban development is the belief that public goods, managed by public bodies, tend to be mismanaged. Garrett Hardin, in his well-known 1968 article "The Tragedy of the Commons," outlined the problem of a heterogeneous society attempting to define common values in support of public goods. Indifference to the issues and the predominance of person- ally held values are offered as explanations for the failure of public management at the scale of the city. Shoup proposes that public parking be managed and controlled by local area societies who would decide on allocations of parking and cost, as well as re-allocation to public projects. By implication, the full costing of curb parking would raise its price and then do the same for off-street parking. Higher prices for parking result in shorter duration parking. In this way, he believes that effec- tive costing would tighten the supply. Private developers would elect to build less parking or pay in-lieu fees. If the demand is in fact stronger than was anticipated by the project developers, then that demand would spill over into street parking, raising its price. Although deliberately understated throughout the book, the implication is that market pricing would drive a substantial portion of trips into alternate modes of transportation. The book, in making a clear and supported statement about the effects of government-required parking provisions, points to an interesting debate about the role of local government. Making 60 Urban History Review /Revue d'histoire urbaine Vol. XXXIV, No. 2 (Spring 2006printemps) Book Reviews / Comptes rendus "foreigners" pay a differential fee for parking in another's neigh- bourhood also implies a level of control and definition for local areas that has not so far been a notable feature of our cities. Our city governments have mostly been broadly based regimes of control with weak local structures. The distribution of benefits from such a profitable resource as paid parking also raises interesting questions. The expected use of revenue to enhance the local public environment will produce pockets of substantial financial clout. Others might argue that the negative effects of local parking should be contextualized within the whole driving trip that also delivers negative effects to other areas, for which no income is available. The allocation of such revenue to local needs does, however, have the merit of actually working as a sys- tem. The question here is whether this is a good societal model. The book is full of useful material with which planners should familiarize themselves, in the event that our society does not completely abandon municipal control over parking. The capital cost estimation methods are clear and understandable, and should be a part of planning practice in any event. Those who would like to see a more balanced transportation system with a greater emphasis on non-motorized and public modes of transportation could use some of Professor Shoup's arguments. The book is a great parting shot in the timely debate on the role of city governments in supplying infrastructure for private transportation. John Zacharias Concordia University Hallowell, Gerald, ed. The Oxford Companion to Canadian History. Don Mills: Oxford University Press, 2004. Pp. 748. $79.95. The Oxford Companion to Canadian History represents the col- laborative work of more than five hundred scholars under the guidance of editor Gerald Hallowell, formerly of the University of Toronto Press. The Companion is in many respects an extensive, comprehensive read, and as a result it is destined to become a requisite text for scholars and students of Canadian history. Those of us interested in learning more about Canadian history will find The Companion to be an invaluable source for refer- ence information on a variety of subjects. Undergraduate students seeking background information or a general starting point for their work will find this text to be immeasurably useful. However, some necessary precau- tions must be given some consideration. As with any text that attempts to be comprehensive or encapsulate its subject in its entirety, The Companion invariably leaves some glaring omis- sions. This is not to suggest that it fails or is in anyway unsuc- cessful—on the contrary, its contributors and its editor should be applauded for their achievements in producing this fine work. However, some areas of Canadian history seem overem- phasized, while other topics and events are not given the treat- ment they deserve or in some cases fail to be mentioned at all. One of the more puzzling elements within the text is its quasi- interdisciplinary approach to history with regard to the arts and in particular music and dance. For example, there are entries on teacher and composer John Weizweig, contralto Portia White, and soprano Emma Albani, whereas there are no entries (or mention) of either Sir John Colbome or Sir Francis Bond Head, both of whom were lieutenant governors of Upper Canada during the tumultuous period of the Rebellions of 1837-38. In addition, the entry on the history of dance receives treatment of nearly one and a half pages. In comparison, Confederation merits just one half page. Leading Maritime politician Sir Samuel Leonard Tilley, a strong advocate for Confederation and the politician responsible for New Brunswick's decision to enter Confederation in 1867, receives just a brief mention. Other politicians instrumental in the deal for Confederation are also overlooked. This pattern continues throughout the text. The Companion also includes entries on a variety of topics such as academic freedom, lighthouses, art galleries, Timothy Findley's The Wars, and Franz Boas. While each of these entries is in some sense deserving, it is hard to argue for their inclusion when the Somalia Affair, Mitchell Sharpe and the Sharpe Principles, Fort George, Charles Dickens, the French and Indian Wars, and the Plains of Abraham are not represented as entries. The Companion provides us with extensive examples of explorers, scientists, and travellers, but is quite selective in this proc- ess. There is no mention of Thackeray, Henry David Thoreau, Isabella Bishop, Harriet Martineau, or John Goldie. Goldie's early nineteenth-century work on horticulture in Niagara cre- ated unprecedented levels of scientific interest in Canada and should have been included, given the text's emphasis on sci- ence and in particular scientific contributions and discoveries that were made in Canada and/or were made by Canadians. Besides science and the arts, other themes are also well represented in the text including education, urban history, and women's history. There are numerous entries pertaining to indi- vidual urban centres such as Montreal, Toronto, and St. John's. Perhaps the most interesting entries in this regard are those that highlight smaller urban centres such as Thunder Bay—which seems to have been included more so for its declining eco- nomic fortunes than as a leading urban centre. There are also useful entries on both the suburbs and urbanization. In this context, it could be pointed out that The Companion makes no mention of historiography or of urban history as a field or as subfield of social history. In fact there is no discussion or defini- tion of cultural history or social history in a Canadian context in the text either. This is not beyond the scope of the project, since Jan Noel's entry on femmes favorisées? does an excellent job of discussing and outlining the rise of scholarship on Canadian women in conjunction with the feminist movement. Perhaps the most disturbing element of this text is the inclu- sion of at least two references to the Montreal Massacre that 61 Urban History Review /Revue d'histoire urbaine Vol. XXXIV, No. 2 (Spring 2006printemps) 
work_qkl3tpm3cbbxfc6ngbp3qftym4	----	Mahatma Gandhi: A hold upon others This article was downloaded by: [University College London], [Mr Narinder N Kapur] On: 16 February 2013, At: 05:49 Publisher: Routledge Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number: 1072954 Registered office: Mortimer House, 37-41 Mortimer Street, London W1T 3JH, UK Creativity Research Journal Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/hcrj20 Mahatma Gandhi: A hold upon others Howard Gardner a a Harvard Graduate School of Education, Harvard University, 323 Longfellow Hall, 13 Appian Way, Cambridge, MA, 02138 Version of record first published: 02 Nov 2009. To cite this article: Howard Gardner (1993): Mahatma Gandhi: A hold upon others, Creativity Research Journal, 6:1-2, 29-44 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10400419309534464 PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTICLE Full terms and conditions of use: http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions This article may be used for research, teaching, and private study purposes. Any substantial or systematic reproduction, redistribution, reselling, loan, sub-licensing, systematic supply, or distribution in any form to anyone is expressly forbidden. The publisher does not give any warranty express or implied or make any representation that the contents will be complete or accurate or up to date. The accuracy of any instructions, formulae, and drug doses should be independently verified with primary sources. The publisher shall not be liable for any loss, actions, claims, proceedings, demand, or costs or damages whatsoever or howsoever caused arising directly or indirectly in connection with or arising out of the use of this material. http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/hcrj20 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10400419309534464 http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions Creativity Research Journal Volume 6 (1 & 2) 29-44 (1993) Mahatma Gandhi: A Hold Upon Others Howard Gardner* Harvard Graduate School of Education ABSTRACT: Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948) is the exemplar par excellence in our time of creativity in the moral domain. Through the invention and application of the subtle prin- ciples of satyagraha (nonviolent resistance to injustice) Gandhi led the Indian people to liberation from the British empire. Gandhi had learned much from the American, Henry David Thoreau; in his turn, he became a model for the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. For this special issue of the Creativity Research Journal we include excerpts from Howard E. Gardner's chapter on Gandhi, part of his next book, Creating Minds (Gardner, 1993). For our present excerpts we have chosen to emphasize three facets: Gandhi's early life, the principles of Satyagraha, and some of Gardner's thought on the relation between creativity and mo- rality. —Editors "Action is my domain"—M. Gandhi The tension between the ruling Britons (the raj) and the Indian populations came to a head in 1857. Indian soldiers in the Bengal army of the British East India Company led a bloody revolt, which eventually involved a large section of India and resulted in the takeover of Delhi and the temporary installa- tion of a native emperor. At great financial and human costs, the British eventually put down the "Sepoy Revolt." Thereafter, the British East India Company was replaced by the Queen of England—now the Empress of India—and by a succession of administering Viceroys. Following these wrenching hostil- ities, stirrings of Indian nationalism emerged, talk of a democratic India increased, and some efforts were undertaken to encourage Home Rule. Still, throughout the nineteenth and well into the twentieth century, it was assumed that Britain would continue to rule India indefinitely; that a single determined Indian could lead his fellow citizens to independence was unthinkable. Mohandas K. Gandhi—The Moralistic Child Two hundred and fifty years after the British began to control India, and a mere decade after the Sepoy Rebellion, Mohandas K. Gandhi was born in 1869 at Porbandar on the Arabian Sea. His family came into the Visya caste, a middling stratum of Indian society engaged hi trade and agriculture. Gandhi's family had been prominent at the provincial level: Six generations had been Copyright 1993 Howard Gardner. The complete text, from which this extract was taken, appears in Gardner (1993). That text includes a list of all sources drawn on in this treatment of Gandhi. Of special importance for the passages cited here are the standard bio- graphical works by Brown (1989), Erikson (1969), Fischer (1950), and Payne (1990). Correspondence and requests for reprints should be sent to Howard Gardner, Project Zero, Harvard Graduate School of Education, Harvard University, 323 Longfellow Hall, 13 Appian Way, Cambridge, MA. 02138. Creativity Research Journal 29 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 H. Gardner home ministers or prime ministers on the Kathiawar peninsula. The society within which Gandhi grew up was quite conserva- tive in religious and political matters; Gan- dhi himself felt it most improbable that he would ever assume a national leadership position, insofar as his family came from a small town and had available limited materi- al and social resources. (Most of our other creators would have described their back- grounds in similar terms). However, Gandhi's parents appear to have been unusu- al Hindus, open to a range of religious behaviors and beliefs. The Senior Gandhis set a high moral tone. Mohandas' mother was dutiful and saintly. She fasted regularly and selflessly and displayed much courage. "To keep two or three consecutive fasts was nothing to her" (Fischer, 1983, p. 61). Mohandas' father was stern and sometimes ill-tempered but admirable in his ability to adjudicate legal matters and to help out with domestic responsibilities. Once when young Mohandas confessed that he had stolen a golden chip from his brother's amulet, Gandhi's father took the guilt upon himself: Rather than punishing his wayward child, the father cried. This example of an injured individual who refrained from lashing out at others made a deep impression on the younger Gandhi. As a child, Gandhi was puny, inclined to solitude, and reluctant to engage in sports. Not a particularly good student, he found school unappealing. He once described himself as follows: "I am an average man with less than average ability. I admit that I am not sharp intellectually. But I don't mind. There is a limit to the development of the intellect but none to that of the heart" (Nanda, 1985, p. 133). From an early age Mohandas displayed a notable interest in issues related to right and wrong. When playing games, he naturally gravitated to the role of the peacemaker. At school, when asked to fake an answer in order to help protect his teacher from a public embarrass- ment, the young boy refused to participate in this scheme. Instead, he sought a position of moral authority vis-a-vis his parents and other elders. Perhaps impressed by his evident talents in this area, his parents al- lowed him to serve as a moral arbiter even in realms where they might have been ex- pected to assert their authority. There are certain domains of experience in which precocity or prodigiousness can be readily recognized. Provided that the society provides opportunities for the advancement of young children, one is not surprised to learn of a child of 5 or 10 who is notably outstanding in numerical or mathematical power, in musical performance, in playing chess, or in displaying mechanical or spatial prowess. When it comes to an understand- ing of other persons, and an ability to deal effectively with them, however, the markers are elusive. Limitations in size, power, emotional breadth and subtlety, worldly experience, and knowledge of motivation all serve to limit the capacity of the young child to appear precocious in the social, political, religious, or ethical realms. That said, it is not unlikely that certain children are particularly attracted to issues which involve relations among other individ- uals; and that certain children may emerge early as preoccupied with issues of morality. Still, there is something a bit ludicrous (from a Western perspective) in the prospect of an 8- or 12-year-old positioning himself so as to be able to handle squabbles or to give advice to elders. For whatever reasons Gan- dhi seemed to have been such a child; fortu- nately for him, his family gave him a lot of latitude in probing parental reactions and in developing his own responses to the social and ethical problems which arose each day. 30 Creativity Research Journal D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 Mahatma Gandhi Thus Gandhi had repeated opportunities to "test himself' as a moral agent. Individuals who eventually become religious, social, or political leaders often seem to be highly censorious of themselves. In Freudian terms they have powerful super- egos. Experiences which might have been forgotten or considered trivial by others take on a weighty significance. Such disparate figures as Augustine, Luther, Rousseau, and Lincoln have perseverated on their youthful foibles and have sought to atone for them even decades later. In Gandhi's case, he was strongly affected by a youthful friend- ship with a Hindu youth named Sheikh Mehtab, who convinced him to violate Hin- du principles and eat meat. The two boys also stole money to buy cigarettes and felt such guilt over this act that they contemplat- ed suicide. Gandhi was also mortified that he had gone to a brothel, even though he had been rendered speechless and immobile and had made no advances to the woman who had been provided for him. From his more worldly stance, the British essayist George Orwell attempted to put these youth- ful peccadillos in perspective—"a few ciga- rettes, a few mouthfuls of meat, a few annas pilfered in childhood from the maid-servant, two visits to a brothel (on each case, he got away "without doing anything" [Nanda, 1985, p. 9]), one narrowly escaped lapse with his landlady in Plymouth, one outburst of temper—that is about the whole collec- tion." Growing up in a society in which mar- riages were arranged during childhood, Gandhi wed Kasturbhai at the age of 13. The marriage was hi some ways an appropri- ate one—Gandhi's wife proved to be almost as tough and stubborn as her husband—and it lasted for over half a century. But Gan- dhi, still quite immature, resented many aspects of this forced alliance in what he later called "the cruel custom of child mar- riage" (Nanda, 1985, p. 9). Apparently in possession of a strong sexual urge, Gandhi desired his young wife and yet felt guilty about his lustful thoughts and deeds. These feelings were fanned enormously when Gan- dhi, who had been at the bedside of his dying father, retired to have sexual relations with his pregnant bride, only to learn shortly thereafter that his father had died. Gandhi never forgave himself for this act of filial disloyalty and considered the subsequent abortion of bis first child as a suitable pun- ishment for his misdeed. An indifferent and mostly unenthusiastic student, already married and with increasing family responsibilities, Gandhi might well have sunk into oblivion. Barely successful in passing an entrance examination, Gandhi was admitted to a small inexpensive college in Bhavnagar in 1888. A family friend Mavji Dave convinced Gandhi that it made much more sense for him to travel to Eng- land to become a barrister-at-law. Accepting this advice and leaving behind his wife and first surviving son Harilal, Gandhi embarked on a journey which was to alter his life. A Cascade of Life Options By electing to study in England, Gandhi immediately cut himself off from certain life options. As far as many members of his caste were concerned, Gandhi had chosen to follow a forbidden course. He was admon- ished by the headman of his community: "In the opinion of the caste, your proposal to go to England is not proper. Our religion forbids voyages abroad. We have also heard that it is not possible to live there without compromising our religion. One is obliged to eat and drink with Europeans" (Fischer, 1983, pp. 20-21). When Gandhi sought to defend his decision, the headman responded decisively: "This boy shall be treated as an outcaste from today. Whoever helps him or Creativity Research Journal 31 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 H. Gardner goes to see him off at the dock shall be punishable with a fine of one rupee four annas" (Fischer, 1983, pp. 20-21). Whatever the psychic costs of travelling to England, of deliberately choosing a mar- ginal path, the experience opened Gandhi up to a far greater set of options than would have been conceivable in provincial India. Like T. S. Eliot visiting Europe, or Picasso travelling to Paris, the young traveller soon attained a more distanced view of his home base. Initially he was attracted to some of the surface features of the new world. He bought expensive clothing, dressed like a dandy, complete with a chimney pot hat and an evening suit, and installed a large mirror in front of which he spent minutes each day arranging his tie and parting his hair in the approved fashion of the day. In an effort to gain entry to desirable social circles, Gandhi also studied several languages, including French, and took dancing, locution and violin lessons. The attraction to a life as a dandy proved relatively shortlived: Fascination with a whole gaggle of new ideas was more endur- ing. Gandhi read widely in Christianity, as well as in Hinduism. He learned about emerging ideological movements, such as theosophy and pacifism. He joined organi- zations like the Vegetarian Society; indeed, as Mehta (1976) noted Gandhi seemed to have developed an early taste for eccentrici- ties of all kinds. He carried out all manner of experiments in eating, dieting, exercising, and otherwise maintaining his health. He kept careful records of everything that he did and all the money he spent, in the process becoming a well-organized young man. Though he was already quite abstemious (partly out of financial necessity), he permit- ted himself a trip to Paris to see the Great Exposition of 1889. The three years that Gandhi spent abroad in Europe had the paradoxical effect of underscoring the parochialness of his back- ground, on the one hand, while confirming his Indian identity on the other. He was learning about European practices, behaviors, and legal systems, not so that he could "pass for" an Englishman, as he might initially have wished, but rather so that he could one day stand on equal terms with individuals from all over the world. In this respect he was like Martha Graham, who also defined much of her subsequent creative activity in opposition to the formidable but foreign models she had encountered as a youth travelling in Europe. Biographer Louis Fischer offered his opinion that there is little resemblance be- tween the "mediocre, unimpressive, handi- capped, floundering M. K. Gandhi, attorney at law, who left England in 1891 and the Mahatma leader of millions" (1950, p. 28). And indeed, except for an incident in which Gandhi defended Dr. Allinson of the Vege- tarian Society against attempts to expel him, there are few overt signs of political courage and leadership. However, this characterization misses an important dimension of Gandhi's British experience. In his sojourn abroad, Gandhi took advantage of the situation to absorb enormous amounts of written materials as well as generous dollops of "lived" experi- ence. Familiar with only a small part of one country, and a tiny sample of the world's religious ideas upon his arrival in England, he departed as someone relatively at home in a Center of European civilization, who had read widely, been exposed to a wide if motley array of current views, and had managed to break bread and hold his own in conversation with individuals drawn from all over the world. Such experiences made it possible for him to deal with the spectrum of individuals whom he would subsequently encounter, and to understand in an intuitive way the English leaders with whom he 32 Creativity Research Journal D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 Mahatma Gandhi eventually had to negotiate. In this relative cosmopolitanism, he resembled Chinese leaders like Zhou Enlai and Deng Xiaoping, and a Soviet leader like V. I. Lenin who had spent time in Western Europe; and he dif- fered instructively from Mao Zedong and Josef Stalin, who had never ventured beyond their homelands. In 1891 Gandhi returned home to India, only to be informed upon his arrival that his mother had died almost immediately after learning that her son had passed the bar. Shortly thereafter, he met a young Indian named Raychandbai (later called Rajchandra by Gandhi) whose worldly success, spotless character, religious knowledge, philosophical thirsting, and capacity for self-reflection impressed Gandhi greatly—"No one else has ever made on me the impression that Ray- chandbai did" (Fischer, 1950, p. 39) Gandhi was later to comment. The time spent with the mentoring figure Rajchandra convinced Gandhi to remain a Hindu and to pursue a life of good works in his profession. Nonetheless, unsuccessful efforts at litigation, an unfortunate effort at influence- peddling on behalf of a family member, and some advice from a British official convinced Mohandas that he had no future hi India and that he ought to seek his fortunes elsewhere in the British Empire—specifically in South Africa. When an opportunity arose to travel to Durban to provide advice about a law suit, Gandhi hesitated little before accepting it and once again abandoning his growing family. One can see at work here an important facet of Gandhi's personali- ty—when opportunity knocked, no matter at what distance and cost to self and family, he seized it. Maturing in South Africa Gandhi arrived in South Africa as a young, inexperienced lawyer, hoping to establish his competence and some measure of worldly achievement before returning to his native land. He was in fact successful in his first legal encounter, thereby reconfirming an earlier Impression that compromise and reconciliation could be more effective than an exploitation of the weakness of one's adversary. A series of unexpected events soon intervened, and Gandhi was to spend most of the next two decades engaged in political struggles hi this distant land. A defining event occurred when, after a week hi Durban, Natal, Gandhi decided to take a train to Pretoria in the Transvaal. In Maritzburg, Natal, a white man entered the compartment hi which he was seated and refused to spend the night hi the same space as dark-skinned Gandhi. The conductor ordered Gandhi to a third class compartment, but Gandhi refused to submit to this direc- tive. Gandhi was removed from the tram and forced to spend the night freezing hi a railway station. During the remainder of the trip to the Transvaal, Gandhi continued to insist that he be allowed to travel first-class on a tram and a stagecoach and to stay hi a first-class hotel. Unsuccessful hi his protes- tations, he became increasingly angered by this mistreatment. Gandhi decided then and there that the position of Indians within South Africa was unacceptable; and within a short interval he had organized a meeting of all the Indians hi Pretoria to discuss then- untenable position. In later years Gandhi traced the origins of his political mission hi life to the night that he spent shivering hi the railway station at Maritzburg. As he recalled, I thus made an intimate study of the hard condi- tions of the Indian settlers, not only by reading and hearing about it, but by personal experience. I saw that South Africa was no country for a self-respect- ing Indian and my mind became more and more occupied with the question as to how this state of Creativity Research Journal 33 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 H. Gardner thing(s) might be improved. (Brown, 1989, p. 57, (parentheses in original) The position of Indians in South Africa was nebulous at this time. Once slavery had been abolished in the Empire in 1833, there was no longer a supply of cheap labor avail- able in South Africa. Indians had been recruited to fill this void and had proved successful. The Indians often outperformed European businessmen, a fact that alienated the British and Dutch powerholders who worried about becoming a minority in "their" own country. Chiefly intent on mak- ing money, so that they could support their families and ultimately return home, the Indian population did not concentrate much of their energies on achieving political rights or recognition. Though technically consid- ered citizens equal in status to those of European descent, in effect they came to be treated as "coolies," a form of labor to be exploited and disdained. They were de- scribed in statute books as "semi-barbarous Asiatics," not allowed to walk on footpaths or to remain out at night without a permit. The Indians residing in South Africa represented a microcosm of the range of political, religious, and social groups that inhabited the Indian subcontinent. Most of them would have been inclined to ignore or forget mistreatment of the sort encountered by Gandhi on his trip from Natal to the Transvaal. Gandhi could not. He felt per- sonally humiliated; the moralistically-in- clined young child, now abetted by firsthand knowledge of the "civilities" of English life and by newly acquired skills of the court- room, sprung into action. At the initial meeting, he impressed upon Pretoria's Indi- ans that they were a mistreated minority; their only hope for improving their political lot would be to band together and thereafter to set and follow the highest possible stan- dards of conduct. The first meeting with Pretorian Indians was followed by a swarm of organizing activities as a result of which certain modest victories were gained. For example, the Indians were granted the right to travel first or second class, if they were "properly dressed." Though Gandhi had thought that he would be returning home to India within the year, he was soon convinced that he must remain in his new residence. This change of plans was occasioned by his discovery that the South African government planned in effect to disenfranchise all Indian citizens. For the next 20 years Gandhi engaged in an almost ceaseless round of activities, all designed to improve the condition of Indians in South Africa. The issues on which he struggled included the government's efforts to deprive Indians of the right to vote, to restrict immigration from the subcontinent, to make Indians register, be finger printed, and pay taxes on indentured labor. The lines of authority were widely dispersed in South Africa. This state-of-affairs meant that Gandhi had many options on how to pro- ceed, but it also implied that a victory at one level might soon be undercut by a contrary decision at another level or in another arena. For instance, Gandhi attained some conces- sions from the British Viceroy Lord Elgin, only to have them abrogated in the wake of a governmental reorganization that permitted the state of Transvaal to enact whichever procedures it liked. As much as possible Gandhi proceeded through peaceful and legal means—writing petitions, holding meetings, launching orga- nizations, arguing cases with exemplary care, looking for legal loopholes and means. He travelled back-and-forth to England and to India to secure support for what he was doing. He was initially a novice in each of these activities; where he could not find a master on whom to model himself, he sought to improve his performance through self- 34 Creativity Research Journal D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 Mahatma Gandhi study and self-observation. In this process Gandhi learned about diverse political realms and discovered a remarkable capacity to rely on himself when necessary. While he was not always loved, he was widely respected for the dogged yet calm way in which he pursued his ends. Not infrequently, Gandhi placed himself at risk. In 1897 he was beaten almost into unconsciousness and virtually lynched by a white mob on the streets of Durban. Char- acteristically, he felt sorry for the ignorant individuals who had attacked him and did not press charges. In 1908 he was sent to jail for the first time. The conditions there were quite primitive, and Gandhi felt deso- late because all familiar supports had been removed; for the first time since he had become politically active, he was not able to attend meetings, negotiate with supporters, or plan future confrontations. Yet he refused to sacrifice his principles. Indeed, far from intimidating Gandhi, these encounters with harsh and sometimes unyielding reality strengthened the resolve of the maturing barrister. Once extraordinarily shy, he became an increasingly accomplished public speaker. He formed a number organi- zations which allowed him to practice his emerging leadership skills. He became a persuasive writer and contributed to many periodicals both in South Africa and abroad, must notably Indian Opinion, which was published in English and in Gujurati. He learned how to raise funds for his political efforts. In ever widening circles he was respected as a man of honor and as a person who could get things done, in a way that minimized ill-will. According to Hindu teaching, the period of early adulthood is a tune when a man is very much in the center of activity. Gandhi was certainly a prototypical Indian house- holder in this sense. He was sufficiently successful as a lawyer in that he could live well, raise his children comfortably, and assemble a large and skilled staff. (Signifi- cantly, he did not take fees for his public interest work). He lived a highly organized life, timed almost to the minute, and kept scrupulous track of all the activities which took place under his aegis. He belonged to many organizations, ranging from the Natal Indian Congress and the Indian Educational Association to the Esoteric Christian Union and the London Vegetarian Society. By the middle of the first decade of the century, it might have seemed as if every- thing had come together for Gandhi, the once lackluster young attorney with few prospects. And indeed, one might easily envisage a scenario whereby the now suc- cessful but still young Indian would either have rested on his laurels in South Africa or returned home triumphantly to India, to build up his law practice further or to assume a supporting role in politics as had his forefa- thers. Gandhi did not feel a sense of accom- plishment, however. If anything, he felt frustrated and in the deepest sense unful- filled. He lamented the fact that others did not follow his personal example and blamed this state-of-affairs on the fact that he did not sufficiently exemplify his own life's principles. Hindu practice features a role contrasted to the engaged householder—that of the withdrawn religious ascetic or Vanaprastha. Gandhi seemed to have felt that this portion of his persona was underde- veloped. Around 1905 he began to read a different vein of literature, especially the more spiritually-oriented writings of the English social theorist John Ruskin and the Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy. And soon enough, this activist was seeking opportuni- ties to translate his evolving philosophical and religious views into daily practice. Abandoning a busy home and profession- al life in Johannesburg, Gandhi first moved Creativity Research Journal 35 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 H. Gardner with his family to Phoenix House in Durban. Gandhi sought consciously to simplify his life. He performed daily exercises and began to prepare his own food. He immersed himself in issues of health and medical care, even delivering his last children. Then in 1910 he founded Tolstoy Farm, an 1,100 acre development 20 miles from Johannes- burg. At Tolstoy Farm all 70 or so inhabitants, representing different religions and drawn from many regions of India, were expected to live as members of a joint family, in an ascetic, cooperative, and morally exemplary fashion. Placing himself in charge of spiri- tual and intellectual education of the young- sters, Gandhi promoted a Gujurati rather than a European model of education. When two boys engaged in sodomy, Gandhi hit upon a solution which felt right to him—he himself undertook a fast. When a young boy and girl slept together, he cut off the girl's hair and again fasted. He formed alliances with Sonya Schleslin and Henry L. S. Polak, two gifted idealistic individuals who would sacrifice an independent existence in order to help Gandhi realize his ideals in living. And he took vows of self-control or brahmachar- ya, according to which he must relieve him- self of all possessions, remain poor, and refrain from sexual involvement. "It became my conviction," he later recalled "that pro- creation and the consequent care of children were inconsistent with public service" (Fischer, 1983, p. 69). This shift to the life of a spiritual leader is perhaps less strange for an Indian than for a Western man of affairs, since innumerable models of such a retreat from the external world can be found within Hindu culture. Nonetheless, it calls for some kind of expla- nation. My own view is that Gandhi did not feel that he could proceed as a moral agent, attempting to achieve a better position for his people, unless he himself had attained and come to embody some kind of moral authority. We have seen this desire to as- sume the role of adjudicator or moral leader, proceeding from a position of strength and moral purity, dating back to the years of his early childhood. Only by leading an exem- plary life, and by attempting to influence those around him to do the same, did Gandhi feel like he had attained the necessary de- gree of spiritual purity; and only when such purity had been achieved did he believe that he had the moral authority to make demands on others within the public arena. As he made these crucial decisions about how to lead his life, Gandhi was forging a number of bargains—with his people, his God, himself. In effect, he was publicly renouncing many of the pleasures of life, and assuming the existence of an ascetic, in order to model for others the highest stan- dards of conduct. We have seen that, in their own ways, each of our creators has entered into some sort of a covenant in order to be in a position to pursue the work that is central. While a creator engaged in isolated work can make such a covenant in a private fashion, an individual whose work inheres in affecting the behavior of others may have to realize his Faustian bargain in a distinctly public manner. Part of Gandhi's personality pulled him to an ascetic life, removed from the centers of power, but he also experienced extremely potent attractions toward political involve- ment and protest. In 1909 he wrote "Indian Home Rule" {Hind Swaraj) a political tract in which he provided a vigorous (virtually violent) defense of nonviolent protest; pro- tested against a machine-centered civiliza- tion; criticized the advent of a European secular society whether in Britain or India; and called for a life of simplicity, traditional values, and abstinence that was to be carried on in small villages. As he put it, "The true remedy lies, in my humble opinion, in 36 Creativity Research Journal D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 Mahatma Gandhi England's discarding modern civilization which is ensouled by this spirit of selfish- ness and materialism which is purposeless, vain, and...a negation of the spirit of Chris- tianity" (Fischer, 1983, p. 118). During the final years of his South Afri- can stint, Gandhi became more confronta- tional. In the first of a series of potent symbolic actions, he publicly burned his registration certificate, and he led a series of protest marches in which 5,000 individuals functioned as an army of peace. Gandhi sought to fill the jails with his countrymen in order to expose the anti-Indian nature of the laws, including one especially nefarious statute according to which Indian marriages were considered to be illegitimate. For the first time a protest came to include women. Gandhi was arrested several times and sent to jail. When Indians heard about these indignities towards the leading figure of their community, many of them went on strike. The methods on which Gandhi was working at this time ultimately came together in his practices of satyagraha, a genuinely new form of protest which he was to perfect during his first years back in India. Gandhi's activities in South Africa made headlines in England and in India. Through regular statements to the press and through the judicious timing of cables, Gandhi in- sured that all of those who should know were kept cognizant of the mistreatment of Indians in South Africa. Pressures mounted for some solution to a situation which was seen by many as unfair and by nearly all as acutely embarrassing for the government. Though holding no official portfolio, Gandhi was able to work toward a settlement with General Jan Christian Smuts, head of South African government. All Indian marriages were recognized as legitimate, and various taxes and indignities were canceled. On the surface the relations between Smuts and Gandhi were cordial and on more than one occasion Smuts indicated his respect for the Indian political leader. But when Gandhi left to return home to India for the last time in 1914, Smuts declared, "The saint has left our shores, I hope forever" (Fischer, 1950, p. 117). Gandhi had achieved some success aiding his countrymen in South Africa but probably his greatest accomplishments were personal. During his two decades away from home, he had evolved from a shy and ineffectual barrister to a political force to be reckoned with. Alternating his focus be- tween actions in the public arena and private spiritual growth, he was always fully en- gaged. He developed philosophical positions and then proceeded to live them. His exper- iments were carried out partly inside his own head but partly in consort with other individ- uals, whom he attempted to engage in his several missions. Gandhi studied and learned from each of these organizing activities, be they successes or failures, and made use of lessons during the succeeding encounters. Scientific creators like Einstein worked primarily with the organization of concepts; artists like Stravinsky or Picasso were en- gaged with conception, execution, and revi- sion of works. For a man like Gandhi, a political creator, the core of his creative work inhered in his capacity to mobilize other human beings in the service of a wider goal. His personal actions—often under- taken at great personal risk—were his medi- um of expression, as well as his strongest ally in his endeavors. India—Learning the Lay of the Land Although he had spent his childhood in India and had returned home regularly, Gandhi was a virtual stranger to the land that he reached in 1914, on the eve of the first world war. By the age of 45, he had spent most of his last 28 years away. He himself Creativity Research Journal 37 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 H. Gardner was known in political circles because of his well-publicized protests in South Africa, and the dominant Congress Party had actually offered him a leadership position. Wherever he went, people flocked to see him and to receive his darshan or blessing. His closest friend and political ally was a leading Con- gress Party official named Gopal Krishna Gokhale who, in a gesture touched with ambivalence, had extracted from the recently returned Gandhi a promise that he would not speak publicly for a year. This political respite gave Gandhi an opportunity to travel widely throughout India (third class railway coach, by choice, of course), to familiarize himself with the conditions in the country, and to evaluate the courses of action he might follow in what years remained and in the light of whatever opportunities were to present themselves. A peculiar coincidence complicated Gandhi's first years back in India. On the one hand he knew in the back of his mind that he wanted to use some of the methods of protest developed in South Africa in order to better the conditions in India. As Gandhi put it, "I wanted to acquaint India with the method I had tried in South Africa and I desired to test in India the extent to which its application might be possible. So my companions and I selected the name "Satya- graha Ashram" as conveying both our goal and our method of service" (Fischer, 1983, p. 125). At the same time, however, Britain was at war against the Axis Powers, and Gandhi felt as a matter of principle that Indians should be loyal to their government of record. Thus Gandhi desisted from en- gaging in any kind of civil disobedience against Britain during the period of the war. For some, this decision to suspend a struggle was taken as a sign of weakness. Still, the war forced Britain to give India some politi- cal concessions and to delegate some pow- ers, steps both necessary and appropriate at a time when over one million Indians were fighting under the Union Jack and over 100,000 were to lose their lives. In the case of political and ideological innovators like Gandhi, it is possible to point to dozens, if not hundreds of moments, when their creed has been articulated and their principal practices have solidified. We have already encountered a number of such defin- ing moments, beginning with Gandhi's moralistic encounters during childhood, his defense of the hapless Dr. Allinson at the Vegetarian Society, and extending to the night at the train station in Maritzburg, the first protest meetings in Durban, the kernels of the idea of satyagraha, the first fasts at Tolstoy Farm, and the jailings and public marches during the last years hi South Afri- ca. We can also point to early events upon Gandhi's return to India, such as civil dis- obedience conducted with peasants in Champaran, nestled at the foot of the Hima- layas. In this particular instance Gandhi called attention to an unfair practice whereby peasants had been legally compelled to dedicate 15% of their land to producing indigo for their landlord. In the course of this proceeding Gandhi came to realize, "I had to disobey the British law because I was acting in obedience with a higher law, with the voice of my conscience. This was my first act of civil disobedience against the British" (Fischer, 1983, p. 140). Gandhi himself contributed to this im- pression of a long series of "experiments with truth," each of which might be deemed an additional stone placed upon the emerg- ing edifice of satyagraha. And indeed, in the case of individuals who are conducting their experiments in the public arena, where events necessarily consume much tune and have an uncertain course, it is to be expected that the ultimate shape of practices will emerge only from many tentative and partial 38 Creativity Research Journal D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 Mahatma Gandhi attempts undertaken over the years. In this sense, their creative growth appears more gradual, less epochal, than that of creative individuals who traffic exclusively in the world of concepts, or in the production of discrete artistic works. All this said, I agree with the psychoana- lyst Erik Erikson that events which occurred in Ahmedabad in West Central India in 1918 occupied a special centrality in the formation of the Mahatma. It is worth taking a close look at the particulars of what Erikson dubbed "The Event"; we can then step back in the following section to consider more broadly the nature of Gandhi's achievement and understanding. On the surface The Event was a labor dispute in an area often dubbed "The Man- chester of India." During a time of inflation, high profits, and high taxes, textile workers at the mills of the Sarabhai family and of other nearby millowners felt that they were not receiving adequate compensation for their work. There was anger, unrest, and an ardent desire to correct this sensed inequity. At the urging of local authorities (but proba- bly as well with a strongly held intuitive sense that he could make a difference here), Gandhi intervened and helped to forge an agreement that was considered satisfactory both to the laborers and to the management. The Event was notable in a number of respects. The first unusual feature was the identity of the millowners. The Sarabhais were a distinguished Indian family who had carried out many good works and were in fact serving as hosts to Gandhi during his residence at an ahsram—a kind of reborn Phoenix farm—in this locale. The mill own- er, Ambalal Sarabhai, led the millowners, while his sister Anasuya was sympathetic to the strikers and a strong supporter of Gandhi and his methods. As biographer Robert Payne described the confrontation, "For Anasuyabehn Sarabhai it was a question of profits; for Gandhi it was a question of testing the resources of Satyagraha" (Payne, 1990, p. 324). A second distinguishing feature was the nature of a strike that was ultimately under- taken when early attempts at arbitration failed and when the millowners began to employ strike breakers. Gandhi asked the workers to take a pledge to undertake no violence, no molesting of nonstrikers, and no begging; they consented to remain firm and to earn bread by other means during the course of the strike. For two weeks the strikers showed exemplary courage and self- restraint: They attended daily meetings where Gandhi, seated under a spreading banyan tree, exhorted them to remain faithful to their pledge. But then they showed signs of weakening, and Gandhi began to fear that the laborer's resolve and restraint would not hold. The third unexpected feature was the turn taken by the protest. Instead of continuing the strike, with its risks of escalating de- mands or of unacceptable violence, Gandhi decided to fast. Having analyzed the situa- tion carefully, Gandhi thought that he had arrived at a solution that was truly fair to both sides, as well as patterns of behavior which each antagonist should follow. To underscore the strength of his conviction, he elected to put his own being, his own life on the line: "In my opinion I would have been untrue to my maker and the cause I was espousing if I had acted otherwise...I felt that it was a sacred moment for me, my faith was on the anvil, and I had no hesitation to rising and declaring to the men that a breach of their vow so solemnly taken was unendur- able by me and that I would not take any food until they had the 35 per cent increase given or until they had fallen. A meeting that was up to now unlike the former meet- ings totally unresponsive, woke up as if by magic" (Erikson, 1969, p. 51). The actual Creativity Research Journal 39 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 H. Gardner decision to fast had come unannounced: "The words came to my lips," (Mehta, 1976, p. 137) Gandhi reported. Gandhi rejected the strikers' interests in fasting alongside him, preferring to have them adhere to the pledge that they had already taken. It was his first fast for a public, as opposed to a private cause. And it revealed to Gandhi the simplicity, drama, and potency of a new weapon. The final remarkable feature was the outcome of the dispute. At first the mill- owners were infuriated by the strike: In Gandhi's version they "received my words coldly and even flung keen, delicate bits of sarcasm at me, as indeed they had a perfect right to do" (Bondurant, 1958, p. 71). After three days of the fast, the millowners set about to discover some means of settlement. The millowners had insisted that they would give no more than a 20% increase in pay while the millhands were holding out for a 35% increase. Gandhi craved a solution in which each party would feel that it had achieved moral legitimacy. And so he hammered out an agreement in which the millhands received 35% increase one day (thus satisfying their own analysis of the situation), an increase of 20% the next day (thus satisfying the analysis of the mill- owners), and then a perpetual increase of 27 1/2% (the arithmetical compromise). With the settlement reached, the millhands re- turned to work. And more satisfyingly, a method of arbitration which lasted for de- cades was put into place shortly thereafter. From this seemingly accidental concate- nation of events, both Gandhi and India achieved much. As biographer Judith Brown put it, [Gandhi's] Ahmedabad campaign demonstrated not only the viability of satyagraha in a further type of conflict but also many of the characteristics of his campaigns which were to recur wherever he had some real control—the search for a peaceful solu- tion at the outset, the sacred pledge as the heart of the struggle, strict discipline and self improvement among the participants, effective publicity, genera- tion of an ambience of moral authority and pres- sure, and finally a compromise solution to save the face of all concerned. (Brown, 1989, p. 121) If we identify the Ahmedabad event as a pivotal one hi the development of the Ma- hatma, the question arises about the kind of support that Gandhi needed to carry it out successfully. From our earlier examinations of creative breakthroughs, we should be on the lookout for a single individual (like Georges Braque) or a small group (like Einstein's Olympiad), to provide the affec- tive support as well as a cognitive sensitivity to what is being undertaken. To the extent that the creator is working out a new lan- guage, it is important that these sustainers share in the decoding process and help the creator to see that what he is attempting to express can make sense to others, as well as to himself. From one perspective, Gandhi's experi- ences at Ahmedabad may appear remote from those of Eliot in writing The Waste Land, or of Freud as he worked out the details of The Project or interpreted his own dreams. I do not wish to diminish the dif- ferences. What, for Freud or Eliot, was a largely private activity, one occurring over a relatively constrained period of time, was a distinctly public activity for Gandhi, one which had much stronger links to earlier (and to later) protests. Yet at a deeper level, there may well be strong affinities between the two kinds of experiences. By his own testimony, Gandhi felt that he was working out the principles of a new language, or even a new axiomatic system, during the period when satyagraha coalesced. It may well have been necessary for him to have a supportive family-like environment in which to accomplish this feat. Here is where the Sarabhai family becomes crucial. Gandhi was not dealing 40 Creativity Research Journal D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 Mahatma Gandhi with a remote or impersonal combatant; rather he was dealing with members of a family, with one of whose members he was closely allied, while he found himself tempo- rarily at loggerheads with another member of that same family. As virtual family mem- bers, these individuals could "read one another" in the same way that a mother and child can readily interpret one another's sounds and gestures; and Gandhi had assur- ances that his "language" was understood by friend and by adversary. From one perspec- tive, Gandhi may look like the creator who invented himself; but from another perspec- tive, he benefitted from the most family-like support system during the moments of his most daring and decisive breakthrough. Satyagraha An individual of Gandhi's complexity and subtlety cannot be reduced to a unique philosophical message or a single political or religious practice. Even his own attempt falls short—"What I want to achieve—what I have been striving and pining to achieve these thirty years—is self-realization, to see God face to face, to attain Moksha (roughly oneness with God)...All I do by way of speaking and writing and all my ventures in the political field, are directed to this same end" (Fischer, 1983, p. 24). (This expres- sion resonated astonishingly with Einstein's desire to know God's thoughts). Yet situat- ed at the center of Gandhi's being was the practice of satyagraha, which he developed and refined over a period of several decades. As much as Einstein is forever yoked with relativity, Freud with the unconscious, or Picasso with Cubism, to that same extent is Gandhi the master of satyagraha. Gandhi first spoke explicitly of satya- graha in South Africa. He employed the phrase to express the force, the power, which Indians had mobilized over the years in order to call attention to the injustices in- flicted upon them and to bring about a more humane and equitable set of relations among the "players" in the region. According to Gandhi the term sadagraha (firmness in a good cause) became converted into satya- graha as follows: I liked the word (sadagraha) but it did not fully represent the whole idea I wished to connote. I therefore corrected it to "Satyagraha." Truth (Satya) implies love and firmness (Agraha) engenders and therefore serves as a synonym for force. I thus began to call the Indian movement "satyagraha," that is to say, the Force which is born of Truth and Love or nonviolence and gave up the use of the phrase "passive resistance". (Bondurant, 1958, p. 8) Satyagraha assumed the existence of a community in which two or more parties found themselves in disagreement or opposi- tion. Instead of confronting another through violence, pain, or the threat of such harmful encounters, a proponent of satyagraha mobi- lized the reasons and conscience of one's opponent by inviting suffering on oneself. The satyagraha hoped thereby to convert the opponent and make him a willing ally. As Gandhi saw it, satyagraha was a form of purification. The claims of the body were considered less important than the assertions of the spirit. The satyagrahi demonstrated his sincerity and thereby undercut the ratio- nalized defenses of the opponent. Self-in- flicted suffering dramatized the plight of the satyagrahi and sought to convince the oppo- nent of the legitimacy of the satyagrahi's case. "No matter how badly they suffered, the Satyagrahis never used physical force" (Fischer, 1983, p. 90). Gandhi succinctly expressed the difference between traditional confrontations and those governed by satyagraha: "If by using violence I force the government to repeal the law, I am employ- ing what may be termed body-force. If I do Creativity Research Journal 41 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 H. Gardner not obey the law and accept the penalty for its breach, I use soul force. It involves sacrifice of s e l f (Fischer, 1983, p. 17). Ideally, the satyagrahi displayed a belief hi himself rather than a coercion of the oppo- nent, but Gandhi acknowledged the coercive element latent hi a nonviolent protest. If there was only one satyagrahi with absolute faith, Gandhi believed that person could change the course of history. A satyagrahi generally had a particular goal; he may have compromised in the achievement of that goal so long as funda- mental principles were not undermined. But the struggle also had wider political signifi- cance: It was used to educate all members of the community and to encourage decision making and government by consensual means. The fundamental aspects of satyagraha were not original with Gandhi; indeed they go back not only to his own mentors, To- lstoy and Thoreau, but to religious leaders like Christ, and to philosophers like Socra- tes. What Gandhi contributed was a detailed working out of the scenarios by which satyagraha could work, at least hi the Indian- British contexts with which he was familiar. Commencing with the core ideas of "turning the other cheek" and "loving one's opponent" Gandhi amplified the features necessary if a satyagraha were to achieve its political effects while confirming all partici- pants hi the process at the same time. He sought to encompass different kinds of satyagrahas, ranging from protests about taxes to behavior hi jail. He identified the conditions under which satyagraha made sense: a situation of complexity where a return to "first principle" can be clarifying and helpful; and an issue where one's oppo- nent is vulnerable and where there is wide- spread moral agreement that something is amiss. He specified the crucial ingredients of self-discipline, self-control, and self-puri- fication—as well as loyalty and obedience to the leader. An individual must have under- stood his own motive for getting involved hi a satyagraha and his obligations to others involved hi the encounter. Gandhi explained, "A satyagrahi differs from the generality of men hi...that, if he submits to a restriction, he submits voluntarily, not because he is afraid of punishment, but because he thinks such submission is essential to the common weal" (Fischer, 1983, p. 85). Gandhi under- scored the need to be sensitive to one's own opponent's needs and to even come to his aid when he lost his freedom to be an auton- omous counterplayer. The objective evil must never be collapsed with the persona of the individual associated with the injurious practice. The satyagraha process began with ef- forts to persuade through discussion and reason. Early stages allowed accommoda- tion and compromise. Should such efforts at conciliation break down (as they did hi Ahmedabad, for example), one evolved to persuasion through suffering (e.g., through fasting); at that tune one tried to dramatize the issues at stake and to gain the attention of the wider community; the hope was to be able to return once more to a process of discussion. If persuasion by reasoning or suffering remained of no avail, the satya- graha may have resorted to nonviolent coer- cion, characterized by techniques such as noncooperation or civil disobedience. The risk there, of course was that nonviolence may give way to violence, or that the two parties may become so estranged that any emerging agreement would be difficult to maintain hi the long run. In a compel- ling figure of speech, Gandhi described the delicacy of this process: The rope dancer, balancing himself upon a rope suspended at a height of 20 feet, must concentrate his attention upon the rope and the least little error...means death for him...[A] satyagrahi has to 42 Creativity Research Journal D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 Mahatma Gandhi be, if possible, even more singleminded. (Fischer, 1983, pp. 108-109) Gandhi noted the limitations of satya- graha. It cannot be adopted in every situa- tion. Some situations lacked the moral clari- ty; some lacked the disciplined actors or followers; and all too many lacked an oppo- nent with a sense of fair-play: Satyagraha, Gandhi noted wistfully, did not work with tyrants. The coercive elements latent in satyagraha must be used sensitively, or else one risked destroying the opponent or ren- dering subsequent encounters dysfunctional. Despite these limitations, Gandhi had perfected a method of enormous precision and power, one which had incalculable consequences within the Indian scene during the first half of this century and one which may yet exert even greater influence in the world community—if there be persons who can adopt it and use it with conviction. Gandhi declared, 1 have the unquenchable faith that, of all the coun- tries in the world, India is the one country which can learn the art of nonviolence...that...if the test were applied even now, there would be found, perhaps, thousands of men and women who would be willing to die without harboring malice against their persecutors. (Fischer, 1983, p. 327) How, in a study of human creativeness, should we think of satyagraha? It is mis- leading to view it simply as a set of inter- locking concepts, equally misleading to think of it solely as a body of established practic- es. What distinguishes satyagraha, and makes it an impressive human accomplish- ment, is precisely the fact that it represents a philosophy-in-practice. Through his analy- sis of human interests, and his experiments with forms of interaction, both conducted over a period of several decades, Gandhi arrived at a process which was as precise in its way as a ballet that has been choreo- graphed and performed, or a mathematical expression that has been formulated and tested. Each of the features at a given his- torical moment, and each of the features as it evolves over the course of the interaction, must be carefully enacted and monitored; but, in contrast to a stylized ballet or a worked-out equation, there can be no algo- rithm for a successful outcome (and the stakes are correspondingly high). Rather, on the basis of the underlying principles and the spontaneous actions and reactions of the participants, the next step of the course must be planned and executed. In some ways, including ones which I have touched above, Gandhi seemed anoma- lous in the company of great creators. Some students of creativity would question wheth- er political innovation ought to be consid- ered in the same terms as the creation of a scientific theory or a piece of music; and those who might accept Gandhi conditional- ly, could legitimately point out the many disparities between the manipulations of symbols involved in creating new mathemat- ics or poems, and the relations to other human beings which lie at the heart of Gandhi's contribution. Moreover, even in the terms of my own study (Gardner, 1993), Gandhi emerges as quite different from scientists and artists: For instance, it proves more difficult to pick out a single pivotal creative moment in his career; the distinction between domain and field is not as immedi- ately helpful; and the kinds of mentors who suggest themselves turn out to be uncharac- teristically remote from the individual cre- ator. Even the fact that Gandhi is the only creator who was not raised in the West complicates our analysis and our compari- sons. Yet, on the balance, it seems evident that my study is enriched, rather than compromised, by the inclusion of Gandhi. On so many dimensions, Gandhi was a Creativity Research Journal 43 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 H. Gardner prototypically creative master. He was prototypical in his precocity in his chosen (moral) domain; his obsessive search for opportunities and his capacity to exploit them; his studied marginality; his oscillation between attachments to the many and the need for isolation; his essential selfishness; his Faustian ascetism; and the persistence of many childlike features in his philosophy and in his person. Perhaps most important- ly, the personal experiences surrounding the strike and fast at Ahmedabad can easily be mapped onto the notions of cognitive-and- affective support, and the working out of a new language, which have emerged as the core of my analysis of a creative breakthrough. REFERENCES Bondurant, J. (1958). Conquest of violence: The Gandhian philosophy of conflict. Berkeley: Univer- sity of California Press. Brown, J. M. (1989). Gandhi: Prisoner of hope. New Haven: Yale University Press. Erikson, E. H. (1969). Gandhi's truth. New York: Norton. Fischer, L. (1950). The life of Mahatma Gandhi. New York: Harpers. Fischer, L; (Ed.). (1983). The essential Gandhi. New York: Vintage. Gardner, H. (1993). Creating minds. New York: Basic Books. Mehta, V. (1976). Mahatma Gandhi and his apostles. New York: Viking. Nanda, B. R. (1985). Gandhi and his critics. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Payne, R. (1990). The life and death of Mahatma Gandhi. New York: Dutton. 44 Creativity Research Journal D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y C ol le ge L on do n] , [ M r N ar in de r N K ap ur ] at 0 5: 49 1 6 F eb ru ar y 20 13 
work_qmbit4g7tndb7hwmebkkm6xvcq	----	The Ethics of Technology: From Thinking Big to Small—and Big Again ORIGINAL PAPER The Ethics of Technology: From Thinking Big to Small—and Big Again Carl Mitcham1,2 Received: 25 June 2020 / Accepted: 7 July 2020 / Published online: 23 July 2020 � Springer Nature B.V. 2020 Abstract The trajectory of critical ethical reflection on technology has been from big issues (eighteenth century arguments for social revolution responding to the evils of the industrial revolution) to small ones (particular issues associated with the practices of engineers). It is time again to think in large-scale terms. Keywords Ethics of technology � Engineering � Philosophy of technology � Socialism Let us jump back to 1603, the year of the death of Queen Elizabeth the first. William Shakespeare was at the peak of his creative genius as tragic dramaturge, having just produced Hamlet and on the verge of writing Othello, King Lear, and Macbeth. James VI of Scotland ascended the throne as James I of England and Ireland, and would sponsor the ‘‘King James’’ translation of the Bible. It was a period of unparalleled English aesthetic achievement. England was not isolated in this cultural flourishing. In the Netherlands it was the middle of the Eighty Years’ War and beginning of the Dutch Golden Age; Rembrandt van Rijn would be born six years later. In Spain, Cervantes was nearing the end of his life; in France, Molière was approaching the beginning of his. Having served in minor positions under Elizabeth, Francis Bacon (1858), age 42, was elevated by the new monarch; he was immediately knighted and in fifteen years became Lord Chancellor. To that point his life had spanned not just the greatest period of English language creativity to date but simmering religious strife on the island and, on the continent, from the Peasants’ War (which began in Germany in 1524) forward, one religious conflict after another, all predicated on some fine point & Carl Mitcham cmitcham@mines.edu 1 International Professor of Philosophy of Technology, Renmin University of China, Beijing 100872, China 2 Professor Emeritus, Humanities, Arts, and Social Sciences, Colorado School of Mines, Golden, CO 80401, USA 123 Axiomathes (2020) 30:589–596 https://doi.org/10.1007/s10516-020-09505-8(0123456789().,-volV)(0123456789().,-volV) http://orcid.org/0000-0003-4199-5940 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s10516-020-09505-8&amp;domain=pdf https://doi.org/10.1007/s10516-020-09505-8 of doctrinal disagreement. Catholics were killing Protestants, Protestants were killing Catholics, Catholics were killing Catholics, and Protestants were killing Protestants. The internecine warfare would produce at least 10 million deaths across a population considerably under 100 million, before it was moderated in 1648 by the Peace of Westphalia. At Westphalia the exhausted parties agreed that enough was enough, accepted the equal legitimacy of different Christian traditions across national borders, and recognized the sovereignty of nations to make their own choices. It was in this Janus-faced context of creativity and fanaticism that Lord Chancellor Bacon in 1620 (during a period in which Thomas Hobbes was serving as his secretary) published Novum Organum and sought to turn minds from theologically nit-picking based mutual slaughter to a grander and more beneficial ethical vision. Printing, gunpowder and the compass: These three have changed the whole face and state of things throughout the world; the first in literature, the second in warfare, the third in navigation; whence have followed innumerable changes, in so much that no empire, no sect, no star seems to have exerted greater power and influence in human affairs than these mechanical discoveries. (Novum Organum I, 129, adapted Spedding trans.) Over the next two hundred years this nascent pro-technology ethics—which strived to shift attention away from conquering others to save their eternal souls toward a collective conquest of nature for the material benefit of our mortal lives—blossomed into the Enlightenment technological project. Following in the footsteps of Niccolò Machiavelli, Bacon’s paradoxical effort to raise the mind to lower standards in human affairs succeeded in accord with his wildest expectations. Bacon’s observation and associated argument, with its effort to redirect moral energy away from reflection mired in small-scale confessional religious casuistry toward large-scale concern for this-worldly human power and wealth, became the distinctive foundation for the ethics of modern technology. It served as the core justification for both the Royal Society (founded in 1660) and the Institution of Civil Engineers (from 1818). The Royal Society can be read as a Baconian response to a post-Baconian outbreak of theological political fanaticism within England that led to the beheading of King Charles I and animated two decades of civil war. When the crown was restored to Charles II in 1660, among his first acts was to formally charter the Royal Society to ‘‘encourage philosophical studies, especially those which by actual experiments attempt … to shape out a new philosophy’’. The goal was ‘‘to extend not only the boundaries of the [British] Empire, but also the very arts and sciences’’ by promoting ‘‘the sciences of natural things and of useful arts’’ so that they ‘‘may shine conspicuously amongst our people.’’ ‘‘At length’’, proclaimed the King, ‘‘the whole world [should] recognize us … as the universal lover and patron of every kind of truth.’’ Truth in biblical religion was in the process of being supplemented with (eventually to be superseded by) truth in natural philosophy and its utilities for power and improvement. 123 590 Axiomathes (2020) 30:589–596 According to Thomas Sprat’s early History of the Royal Society, its inspiration was ‘‘one great Man, who had the true Imagination of the whole extent of this Enterprise, as it is now set on foot; and that is, the Lord Bacon.’’ Sprat would have preferred, he wrote, ‘‘there should have been no other Preface to the History of the Royal Society’’ than Bacon’s own works (Sprat 1667, p. 35). Shortly after its founding the Institution of Civil Engineers (ICE) sought to emulate the Royal Society. When in 1828 it applied for a royal charter, King George IV requested a definition of this new thing called ‘‘engineering.’’ For precisely what was he to grant a royal approval? ICE President Thomas Telford, the most famous engineer of the realm, tasked a younger colleague, Thomas Tredgold, with drafting a summary statement. The resultant short essay, ‘‘Description of a Civil [meaning non-military] Engineer,’’ opened as follows: Civil Engineering is the art of directing the great Sources of Power in Nature for the use and convenience of man; being that practical application of the most important principles of natural Philosophy [that is, science] which has in a considerable degree realized the anticipations of [Francis] Bacon, and changed the aspect and state of affairs in the whole world [note the echo of Bacon’s claim about printing, gunpowder, and the compass]. The most important object of Civil Engineering is to improve the means of production and of traffic in States, both for external and internal Trade. (See Mitcham 2020, p. 368) The first sentence of this short white paper, with its appeal to the value of human ‘‘use and convenience’’ (a principle grounded in the moral theory of David Hume), was then incorporated into the Royal Charter—and has ever since served in some form as the standard definition of English-speaking engineering. Transforming material culture by means of quantitative productivity in physical goods and trade is what marks engineering off from, for instance, scientific knowledge production and the architectural design of domestic or civic space. The ICE constituted a social institutionalization of Bacon’s lowering of the standards in the name of this-worldly achievement. Over the course of the next century this grand but simple ethical vision—which became the core morality of the Industrial Revolution—was progressively subject to Romantic and socialist challenges: what have been called the cultural and political criticisms of science, engineering, and technology. The cultural criticism is succinctly illustrated by the poet William Blake’s petition: ‘‘May God us keep From Single vision & Newton’s sleep’’ (Letter to Thomas Butt, 22 November 1802). Reality is greater than what is revealed by modern science. As he also wrote in ‘‘Mock On, Mock On, Voltaire, Rousseau’’ (from Blake’s 1804 Notebook): The Atoms of Democritus And the Newton’s Particles of Light Are sands upon the Red Sea shore, Where Israel’s tents do shine so bright. This is more than a strictly epistemological criticism. The domination of scientific reason deforms culture and thereby human achievement. 123 Axiomathes (2020) 30:589–596 591 A political criticism emerged in association with that elaboration of Hume’s moral theory into the doctrine of utilitarianism. Although Napoleon’s defeat in 1815 ushered in a long-nineteenth century peace between European states, civil strife continued domestically: over the condition of the industrialized working class and about the distribution of goods mass produced by industrially engineered technology. In England, philosophers such as Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill were more than professors of ethics. Utilitarian theory developed as a way to reform law and the state. Mill himself served for a short period as a Member of Parliament. The stop-and-go democratization of the techno-lifeworld over the course of the 1800 s and into the twentieth century was repeatedly galvanized by what many academic philosophers today might well term big, sloppy ideas. Indeed, in an effort to escape such sloppiness, the turn of the century witnessed attempts in the English-speaking world to professionalize ethics with an increasingly narrow and restrained focus. G.E. Moore’s Principia Ethica (1903) can serve as a case in point. Its opening words, in the analytical table of contents, read as follows: In order to define Ethics, we must discover what is both common and peculiar to all undoubted ethical judgements; ... this is not that they are concerned with human conduct, but that they are concerned with a certain predicate ‘‘good,’’ and its converse ‘‘bad,’’ which may be applied both to conduct and to other things. (Moore 1903, p. xiii) Compare that with the opening, a hundred years prior, of Jeremy Bentham’s An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (1781): Nature has placed mankind under the governance of two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure.... The principle of utility recognizes this subjection, and assumes it for the foundation of that system, the object of which is to rear the fabric of felicity by the hands of reason and of law. (chapter 1, paragraph 1) Moore is concerned about ‘‘the difficulties and disagreements [in ethics], of which its history is full’’ and seeks to respond with conceptual clarifications. Bentham, having studied the law, is disgusted and wants to reform it. Bentham ushered in more than century of ethically stimulated social reform: He argued for making prisons more humane, expanding the democratic franchise, free education, safer working conditions, guaranteed employment, a minimum wage, sickness benefits, and retirement insurance. He worked to pass child labor and public health laws. He collaborated with the utopian socialist Robert Owen to defend the social construction of New Lanark. He opposed not just slavery, well before its abolition in Britain in 1833, but the whole of colonialism. Bentham’s meliorist ethics of technology was radicalized by the soon-to-be resident alien Karl Marx, whose declaration that the purpose of philosophy ‘‘is not just to interpret the world but to change it’’ is often quoted. In rallying the working class to revolutionary, global action, Marx and Friedrich Engels recognized the need to simplify their interpretation of the science, technology, society relationship in order to cast it in big-picture terms: The Communist Manifesto (1848). The American pragmatist John Dewey (1927), also sought large-scale reforms in 123 592 Axiomathes (2020) 30:589–596 education and government precisely to address the disharmonies and injustices introduced by capitalist technology, but never presented his argument in pamphlet format. Dewey just kept writing and writing, saying the same thing over and over again, with little rhetorical flair—and having no more than marginal influence. Although feted as America’s greatest philosopher, he never had the impact of a Ralph Waldo Emerson or Henry David Thoreau. Both Marx and Dewey argued that modern technology introduced into the human lifeworld challenges that called for political as well as conceptual and personal responses. For Marx, power needed to shift from the minority capitalist class, which, like any class, would always view the use of technology through the lens of its own self-interest, into the hands of a majority class whose interests were more expansive and thus more just. Justice required that industrial production be governed not just by those who profited from it but by all those affected by technology, especially those suffering its negative impacts. Marx and later Marxists found it difficult to imagine this taking place without social disruption—but, in their efforts at revolution, sponsored sufferings of unimaginable proportions. Humans could be mobilized to slaughter others in the name of future this worldly benefits as well eternal salvation. For Dewey, meliorism was preferable to revolution. The separations or mediations that technological power introduces into human perception and action call for the gradual transformation of society into a kind of democratically guided technocracy. Take the quotidian case of drinking water. For thousands of years people had usually been able to identify water that was safe to drink on the basis of non- instrumented perception: If water from a stream appeared clear, smelled OK, and a small sample tasted good, it was usually safe to drink. If it did not meet these criteria, one could always look for another source. But in industrial cities, where water is often contaminated by chemicals that cannot be seen, smelled, or tasted, and there are no alternatives to the tap, governments must establish technical agencies to provide and monitor water systems. The process of the socially constructing water systems took place gradually over a hundred year period. This was not a construction process that could work well by revolution. Additionally, since we are all dependent on engineers and scientists, we need to develop sufficient technoscientific literacy to appreciate, provide secondary level oversight, and understand the need to pay taxes necessary to support the infrastructure, its operation, management, and maintenance. This process of cultivating the relevant technoscientific literacy begins in primary school when we are taken on field trips to visit water treatment plants and meet its managers. In the mid-twentieth century this democratic socialist ethics of science, engineering, and technology in the form of regulatory and meliorist programs was undermined on three interrelated fronts. First, we became increasingly aware of unintended consequences of technolog- ical actions—even actions that were undertaken by virtuous experts, with the right intentions, that produced some good consequences. There were often also negative side effects or second-order consequences. We needed a new kind of agency to do technology assessment—which paradoxically and unintentionally introduced 123 Axiomathes (2020) 30:589–596 593 potentials for public mistrust of the abilities of experts to accurately predict the results of their work. Second, we became aware that socialism was not enough. There was a non- human environment to consider. This gave rise of the second wave environmental movement and establishment of environmental protection agencies. Here the work of public spirited scientists such as Rachel Carson (1962) served as major catalysts. But Carson was also charged with masking her personal appreciation for the environment in scientific claims that had negative health and economic conse- quences for others. Indeed, third, we became aware that the managers of technical agencies— including technology assessment and environmental protection agencies—tended to form a ‘‘new class’’ that often promoted its own self-interests. This became the big neo-liberal argument for outsourcing government regulation and replacing planned with emergent orders through market forces and other libertarian forms of interaction: in Friedrich von Hayek’s (1969) phrase, as ‘‘the result of human action but not of human design.’’ Spontaneous order was to be preferred over consciously designed order on both economic and moral grounds. Recent rhetoric associated with the concept of the Anthropocene as an emergent new global order in climate can be strangely comforting to the neoliberal mind. In an effort to negotiate these three overlapping challenges, and in association with increasing academic professionalization, the ethics of technology retreated to prioritizing small problems over big ones. In the last quarter of the twentieth century, the ethics of technology moved to abandon any broad claims to talk about Technology (with a capital T) in favor of a much more narrowed focus. The ethics of technology became environmental ethics, biomedical ethics, computer ethics, information ethics, engineering ethics, research ethics, nanoethics, neuroethics, and more. In each of these technological regionalizations there were further micro- issues of risk, safety, privacy, participation, and more. There were some good reasons for this. Some cultural and political criticisms of technology had indeed become exaggerated artifacts of rhetoric, which critics castigated as substantialist or essentialist theories lacking any practical purchase on the real world of engineering and its technologies. Cultural elites and technical experts have struggled with growing gaps between the few and the many, not just in economic terms of the rich versus the poor. The perennial philosophical inclination to return ‘‘back to the things themselves’’ sponsored the birth of case studies and more than one empirical turn (Kroes and Meijers 2000; Achterhuis 2001). Risk benefit analyses were safer than big dangers talk. The frustrating inability to make big changes has probably also been a factor that suggested there might be more hope for small ones—even smaller than those for which a proponent of piecemeal social engineering such as Dewey had argued. And yet big problems remain—and are getting bigger. In the ethics of science, engineering, and technology we must contend with a paradox of the impotence of small efforts. Rationally, we would expect small efforts to be more likely to be effective than big ones, when in fact this is not always the case. Sometimes it is big efforts and big ideas—and not just rhetorical ones, which is what academic philosophers often pursue, in their own efforts to stand out in a crowded academic 123 594 Axiomathes (2020) 30:589–596 marketplace. The paradox echoes an economic cliché: Large corporations easily become mired in small ideas that produce little real innovation. They become focused on branding. Small start-ups regularly replace established corporations, precisely because of their new big ideas. Recall that it was big ideas such as those popularized from Martin Heidegger’s ‘‘The Question Concerning Technology’’ (1954) and Jacques Ellul’s The Techno- logical Society (1954, 1964) or Herbert Marcuse’s One-Dimensional Man (1964) and Lewis Mumford’s The Myth of the Machine (1967/1970) that strengthened protests against nuclear weapons and the Vietnam War. In the ethics and politics complex, more nuanced ideas and arguments are often weak in their consequences; simplistic ideas may sometimes get results. My own argument here is a big one, lacks many nuances, and might well be described as philosophically sloppy. Nevertheless, I would defend it as deserving consideration, especially as we contemplate a future mutation of the human condition involving. • Continuing nuclear proliferations; • Population growth and consumption intensification, which together gobble up resources and flood the planet with consumer goods and wastes; • Progressive biodiversity losses coupled with genetic engineering and the nanoscale design of materials, processes, and products; • Geological scale transformations of the atmosphere, oceans, and landscape; • An infosphere awash in artificial intelligence and big data; and • The emergence of DIY abilities in regard to chemical, biological, and informational weapons — to offer a no more than six random samples. The clock on the cover of the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists now (January 23, 2020) stands at 100 s to midnight, closer than it has been since before the first US- USSR suspension of atmospheric nuclear testing in 1959, in fact closer than at any point since its creation in 1947. The bottleneck of possibility through which we must pass into the future seems only and ever to narrow. In the words of the Bulletin’s press release: Humanity continues to face two simultaneous existential dangers—nuclear war and climate change—that are compounded by a threat multiplier, cyber- enabled information warfare, that undercuts society’s ability to respond. The international security situation is dire, not just because these threats exist, but because world leaders have allowed the international political infrastructure for managing them to erode. And this was before the covid-19 pandemic outbreak. Is it possible that we are not listening to the Kassandra’s among us such as Gunther Anders (1982) and Jean- Pierre Dupuy (2013) out of fear regarding the changes we would be called upon to contemplate? Are we not letting the little fear trump a bigger one? To conclude: The ethics of technology has a big picture historical heritage that deserves to be recognized if not recovered. The ethical stance that in the sixteenth 123 Axiomathes (2020) 30:589–596 595 century sponsored the rise of modern technology did not shy from making bold claims in ways that engaged political power and contributed to world-historical transformations. Such was equally the case in the nineteenth century when industrial technology presented the social order with injustices small and large; classic socialism included an ethics of technology writ large as did mid-20th environmen- talism. Now in the early twenty-first century science, engineering, and technology are bringing forth an unprecedented, multidimensional mutation of the human condition. Faced with an iceberg of issues, we must not let ourselves be accused of being content with rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Given the icy mass below the surface, it may well be that we can do little more than admit frankly that we are in uncharted waters, that catastrophe awaits us. But we should be looking over the edge into the darkness rather than keeping company with the stewards of a fraught if not doomed voyage. Lucidity with regard to our ignorance and its dangers is preferable to averting our eyes. This is the case, no matter what happens. On a ship bound for the abyss, looking into the abyss may still bring some small measure of enlightening consolation from philosophy. If we don’t think big, it will be left to non-philosophers to do so. Philosophers must unite to throw off their chains and reclaim not just their own interests but those of their non-philosopher companions in the terrestrial cosmopolis. References Achterhuis H, (ed) (2001) American philosophy of technology: the empirical turn. Trans. Robert P. Crease. Indiana University Press, Bloomington, IN Anders G (1982) Hiroshima ist überall. Beck, Munich Bacon F (1858) Novum Organum. 1620. English trans. In: Spedding J, Ellis RL, Heath DD (eds) The collected works of francis bacon, vol 4. Longmans, London Carson R (1962) Silent spring. Houghton Mifflin, Boston Dewey J (1927) The public and its problems. Holt, New York Dupuy J-P (2013) The mark of the sacred. Trans. M. B. Debevoise. Stanford University Press, Stanford, CA Ellul J (1954) La Technique ou l’enjeu du siècle. Armand Colin. American version Paris, The Technological Society, trans. John Wilkerson, Random House, New York (1964) Heidegger M (1954) Die Frage nach der Technik. In: Vorträge und Aufsätze, Neske, Pfullingen, pp 13–44 Hayek F (1969) The result of human action but not of human design. In: Studies in philosophy, politics and economics, Routledge, London, pp 69–105 Kroes P, Meijers A (eds) (2000) the empirical turn in the philosophy of technology. research in philosophy and technology, vol 20. Elsevier, Oxford Marcuse H (1964) One-dimensional man. Beacon Press, Boston Mitcham C (2020) Steps toward a philosophy of engineering: historico-philosophical and critical essays. Rowman and Littlefield International, London Moore GE (1903) Principia ethica. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Mumford L (1967/1970) The myth of the machine, vol. 1: technics and human development; vol. 2: The Pentagon of Power. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Sprat T (1667) The history of the royal society of London, for the improving of natural knowledge. Royal Society, London Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. 123 596 Axiomathes (2020) 30:589–596 The Ethics of Technology: From Thinking Big to Small---and Big Again Abstract References 
work_qnh5expzvvf35aumftfzc5vtim	----	SURVEY OF TESTS IN ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE SURVEY OF TESTS I N ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE ROBERT L A D 0 U n i v e r s i t y of Michigan I. Introduction This survey summarizes a larger report on tests in Eng- lish as a foreign language prepared for NAFSA (National A s - sociation of Foreign Student Advisers). Those dealing with foreign students have long felt the need for information about the students' control of English before and after they come to the United States. The present survey describes and evaluates tests now available and summarizes general problems not yet solved in the field. The need to determine how much English a student knows before he leaves his country has been felt by those who must pass on their application for study in the United States. Only with such information can a reasonable plan of study be made f o r him. If he does not know English well he must either study it in his country o r plan to attend a school in the United States that offers special work in English. There is also need for t e s t s to place the students at their proper level in their Eng- lish classes, and to measure their progress, o r to diagnose their difficulties. This variety of needs h a s resulted in a variety of tests, and accordingly the evaluation of each w i l l indicate what it does o r does not do. The only consistent re- quirement that every test must meet is that of measuring the student's control of the English language with as little inter- ference as possible from other factors. The tests reviewed in the survey a r e (1) the Educational Testing Service Examination f o r Foreign Students, (2) various tests from the English Language Institute of the University of Michigan, (3) a vocabulary test from the English Language In- stitute at Queens College, (4) the Inter-American Tests, (5) several tests from the Investigation of the Teaching of a Second Language, (6) the U. S. Department of State English 51 ROBERT LAD0 Proficiency Examination, and (7) the Villareal test for Spanish- speaking students. The next section presents a review and evaluation of each test individually. 11. Reviews of Present Tests (1) EDUCATIONAL TESTING SERVICE: ENGLISH EXAMINATION FOR FOREIGN STUDENTS The English Examination for Foreign Students is designed to give educational institutions information about q e student's knowledge of English before he is admitted. The Educational Testing Service provides the materials to the admitting insti- tution at a charge of two dollars per student, and s c o r e s the objective parts of the test. In a circular of December, 1949, the Service announced that it w a s suspending the administra- tion of the Examination overseas because of prevailing politi- cal and currency conditions abroad. The examination is divided into five sections as follows: (A) Reading Comprehension, (B) Aural Comprehension, (C) Pronunciation, (D) Scientific Vocabulary, and (E) Nonver- bal Reasoning. The entire test, except a composition part which the Service does not score, is of the multiple-choice, objective type. Section A, Reading Comprehension. This section has thirty-five vocabulary items that give a word and require the student to identify its opposite from a number of choices. For example, HOT 1-fine 2-big 3-cold 4-blue It also has ten items in which the student chooses the word that best completes a given sentence. For example, The color of milk is 1-green 2-red 3-white 4-blue flventy items force the student to choose between a correct and an incorrect grammatical form. For exapple, - - He 1 not coming. 2-does 5 2 SURVEY OF TESTS IN ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE And twenty five items check comprehension of seven short reading passages. For example, Yesterday w e took an automobile ride and saw some very beautiful scenery. At this time of the year, au- tumn, the leaves begin to turn yellow and red, and the new freshness in the a i r , after the heat of summer, makes a person really feel that he is alive. A. The ride which the speaker tells about 1-is one that he hopes to take 2-is one that he took the day before 3-is one that he can scarcely remember 4-is a beautiful dream B. The scenery which is described is 1-the kind which makes one feel sad 2-the most beautiful in the world 3-not worth seeing 4-delightful Section B, Aural Comprehension. The aim of this section is to test understanding of spoken English. The student listens to sixteen short passages recorded on phonograph records and has to answer 50 multiple-choice items on them. The passages and the items a r e of the same type as those used in reading comprehension. The passages increase in length and difficulty from approximately 33 words for one of the shortest to some 241 words for the longest and last. This is perhaps the weakest section of the Examination for a number of reasons. First, it is a wholesale transfer of a reading technique into aural comprehension disregarding the differences involved. Sentence types, sentence length and sentence sequences as well as vocabulary a r e not equal in reading and in spoken material. The passages do not repre- sent lectures as usually given by college professors much less conversational material. Also, the task of having to listen to 200 o r more words, and then work through sixteen o r more choices may be very valuable in reading comprehension where 53 ROBERT L A D 0 one can recheck what was read, but in aural comprehension it lays too much emphasis on memory. Second, the subject of various passages and the continuity of the several items for each passage in some cases provide clues to the answers and decreasethe validity of the scores as a measure of aural comprehension. Familiarity with subjects like Henry David Thoreau, the historical incident of the United States with the Tripoli pirates, the movement of people f r o m the f a r m s to the cities, the present rivalry between the air- lines and the railroads, etc., is bound to reflect itself in the s c o r e s even though it may not be at all related to aural com- prehension. Finally, the need to use records and a phonograph compli- cates the problem of giving the test abroad where it is most needed. The Educational Testing Service cannot be blamed for this difficulty, since it w a s the opinion of the advisory commit- tee on the planning of the test that a section on aural compre- hension be included because of the great importance of this skill. Section C, Pronunciation. Thirty of the pronunciation items are pairs of words. The student must decide whether o r not they rhyme. For example, 1. send - lend 2. friend - fiend In the remaining thirty items the student checks the number of the syllable that receives loudest stress in a word. For ex- ample, 1 2 accept AC CEPT Sections D and E, Scientific Vocabulary and Nonverbal Reasoning a r e rather w e l l done along standard lines. The Scientific Vocabulary section is to be disregarded for non- science majors and it is not really essential for science majors because the student’s previous grades in science a r e also good indicators of future success. Admitting colleges have access to the student’s records. Furthermore, scientific vocabulary 54 SURVEY OF TESTS IN ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE tends to be largely cognate and as a result knowledge of it in the native language transfers easily to the foreign language. In general the English Examination for Foreign Students of the Educational Testing Service represents a considerable amount of work and expense. Norms based on several hundred s c o r e s a r e available. Its two practical drawbacks a r e the length and difficulty of administration and its cost per student. From a technical standpoint one is forced to say that it has not made use of recent advances in linguistic science o r al- lowed for the implications of its findings. (2) ENGLISH LANGUAGE INSTITUTE, UNIVERSITY O F MICHIGAN These t e s t s measure achievement in connection with the teaching of English as a foreign language. Two of them, how- ever, can be used to determine a student’s mastery of Eng- lish before he leaves h i s native land. They are the Examina- tion in Structure and the Test of Aural Comprehension. Pass- ing mention w i l l be made of other tests also. Examination in Structure. This test has three equivalent f o r m s of 150 items each. The items are of various types: multiple-choice, completion with the aid of a list, completion, re-arrangement of elements, conversion of one pattern to an- other, and adjustment of a given form to a given pattern. The student is allowed 60 minutes to finish the test. It can be scored objectively by an untrained person with the use of a scoring key . The reliability of this test is .97.1 Norms based on s c o r e s of 357 students toward the end of their intensive train- ing in English a r e available. lReliability refers to how dependable the s c o r e s a r e , i.e., how nearly the s a m e s c o r e s the students would get if they took the test again. Complete ur perfect reliability would be 1.00. The procedure used is one called the chance-half method; the test is split into two halves by obtaining separate s c o r e s f o r the odd-numbered and the even-numbered items. This method gives the reliability of half the t e s t , and since the full test is m o r e reliable than half of it, an empirical formula known as the Spearman- Brown formula is used to estimate the reliability of the full test from that of half of it. .97 is the reliability of the complete test. 55 ROBERT LAD0 Test of Aural Comprehension. This test also has three equivalent forms labeled A, B, and C. The student indicates his understanding of short passages of spoken English by checking multiple-choice items. The passages range in length f r o m three to forty-seven words, and they sample specific matters of the sound system, the structure system and the words of English in actual operation. The choices on the first part of the test are s e t s of three pictures one of which matches what the examiner reads. In the second part the choices a r e of the standard type in the f o r m of phrases in English. The vafidity of the test rests in part on the fact that the items check specific matters of English vocabulary, pronunci- ation and structure in actual utterances. Further evidence of its validity was obtained by correlating s c o r e s on the test with the composite opinion of eight teachers of the English Language Institute who had been in daily contact with the stu- dents in c l a s s and at meals for a Deriod of six weeks. The correlation w a s .80. The reliabilityof this sixty item test is .88.2 The test has sufficient range to test both advanced and elementary students. Of 300 students whose s c o r e s were tab- ulated no one made a perfect score, and the distribution of s c o r e s approaches a normal curve. Because it is an aural test it is subject to the difficulties noted above f o r another aural test. We must have a mechan- ical record and play-back equipment at the examination center abroad. This difficulty is considerably reduced by the fact that the present test can be read by any educated native speaker of English without serious loss of reliability. Each item depends on a specific matter of vocabulary, structure o r pronunciation which w i l l not be seriously affected by personal differences in the dialect of the examiner. For example, the problem involved in understanding the difference between “milk chocolate” and ‘chocolate milk” w i l l be substantially the same regardless of personal dialect. The test presents this problem as follows: The examiner reads: ‘The boy likes milk chocolate.” khance-half method corrected by Spearman-Brown formula. 56 SURVEY OF TESTS IN ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE The student selects one of the following choices: In spite of the value of its features f o r p l a c e m e n t , progress data, and diagnosis, the Test of Aural Compre- hension does not fill theneed for a more practical test to be used abroad before the student leaves f o r t h e United States. Even though norecords o r play- back equipment a r e essentially needed, t h e examiner is forced to give full attention to the ad- ministration of the A BiE B w test during the entire process, and it is doubtful that consular offices are willing o r able to detach their personnel from regular duties for such periods of time. The scoring is, of course, no problem since the test is completely objective and the examiner simply uses a punched stencil to score it. Norms based on s c o r e s of 300 students toward the end of their intensive work are available. Progress norms based on an eight-week intensive course are also available on t h e E t of Aural Comprehension and on the Examination in Structure. Test of Pronunciation for Japanese Students. This is an objective, paper-and-pencil test of pronunciation based on a scientific linguistic description of the sound system of English compared with the sound system of Japanese. Even though the technique does not test what the student actually says but rather what h e thinks he says, it shows promise of being suf- ficiently effective to warrant its use. It has a great practical advantage: any untrained person can give it and score it, and I 57 ROBERT LAD0 it does not require the attention of the examiner except to hand the booklet to the student and to pick it up when the student has finished. Test of Aural Perception for Latin American Students, and Test of Aural Perception for Japanese Students. These tests measure the student’s ability to hear accurately the significant sounds and sound contrasts of English. They a r e based on linguistic comparisons of the native language of the students with the sound system o€ English. They do not depend on the association of a symbol with a particular sound as is usually the case in such tests. These tests are useful primarily to pronunciation teachers and to those who include pronunciation in their regular classes. They are not intended for use in de- termining a student’s control of English for acceptance pur- poses. ( 3 ) ENGLISH LANGUAGE INSTITUTE, QUEENS COLLEGE Vocabulary Test. I have examined two experimental forms of a vocabulary test being developed at Queens College. They are labeled Form XA2 and Form XB2. Each form consists of seventy-five items giving a word in a short sentence and five other words from which the student must choose the one that means the same. For example, The man is very tall. A. short B . broad C. high D. tiny E. fat - This test is interesting because it gives the word being tested in a context. No norms are yet available. (4) INTER-AMERICAN TESTS The Inter-American Tests were developed under the di- rection of Prafessor H. T. Manuel to provide comparable measures in English and Spanish. A general ability test is also part of the s e r i e s . The language t e s t s have A and B forms parallel in content and similar in difficulty. 58 SURVEY OF TESTS I N ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE Inter-American Tests of Language. There a r e four tests in this series: (1) Reading, (2) Language Usage, (3) Vocabu- lary and Interpretation in the Natural Sciences, and (4) Vocab- ulary and Interpretation in the Social Studies. The Reading Test is available for three different levels: a primary test, an intermediate one, and an advanced test. A l l three have sections on vocabulary and paragraph reading comprehension. The vocabulary section is of the standard type which requires the student to identify the synonym o r antonym of a given word. The reading comprehension section is of the paragraph type with multiple-choice items to check understanding of the paragraph. The Language Usage Test, intended for the higher grades, has a section on active vocabulary and one on expression. The active vocabulary section uses an ingenious device to test re- call of words-- hence the name Kactive vocabulary.” The student is not given complete words in the choices but only the initial letter and the number of letters in the word. In indicating h i s choice it is assumed that the student recalls the word with the clues given. The section on expression is also of the multiple- choice type. The student selects the expression that he con-, s i d e r s best among those given. The tests on Vocabulary and Interpretation in the Natural Sciences and in the Social Studies have sections on vocabulary and paragraph comprehension in those general fields of study. These tests have been published by the Educations Testing Service after their use in connection with a report on educa- tion in Puerto Rico. They were carefully prepared and widely administered there. The reading test is as strong as any now available. There w a s no attempt to measure aural-oral skills in these tests. (5) THE INVESTIGATION O F THE TEACHING OF A SECONDLANGUAGE The Investigation of the Teaching of a Second Language carried on under a grant from the Rockefeller Foundation to the University of Chicago made available a number of tests in English as a foreign language. We w i l l mention here the tests 59 ROBERT LAD0 on Elementary Structure, Reading Comprehension, Aural Comprehension, and Writing and Structure. 3 Elementary Structure Test. This test differs from the others in that it is pitched at a very elementary level. It deals with the elements of English as usually found in a first year course abroad. A s c o r e of 90% may be interpreted as indicat- ing a good grounding for further English study in the United States. Reading Comprehension Test. This test is made up of passages of approximately 250 words for reading comprehen- sion. The materials were slightly simplified below the level at which college students a r e asked to read their work. The topics of the passages are those likely to be found in non- technical articles on current affairs and American life, and were drawn from two books andtwo magazine articles. Norms based on s c o r e s of 250 students a r e available.4 Aural Comprehension Test. The test being reviewed w a s copyrighted in 1945. The examiner’s part is recorded onhigh- fidelity records. The student listens to the record andanswers 44 multiple-choice questions having three choices each. The student simply circles the letter of the choice which is correct according to the passage. There are four long passages in the test and they last from four to five minutes each, o r two and a half to three pages each of double spaced typing. The topics of the passages a r e “Ways of Judging a Social System,” “How Children A r e Reared in America,” “Gossip in a Small Town,” and “The Baxter Family (H. H. Davies).” The last passage is a dialogue recorded by two voices. The instructions are “Listen carefully to each passage, and take notes if you wish on the blank paper provided; but do - not attempt to look at the exercises in the test booklet during the reading of any passage.” When each passage has been presented, the student answers from nine to thirteen multiple- choice questions from memory o r from his notes. 3General reference is made to Chapter VII, pp. 247-78 of An Investigation of Second-Language Teaching by F . B. Agard and H. B . Dunkel, Ginn and Com- pany, 1948. %bid., pp. 256-8. 60 SURVEY OF TESTS I N ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE A serious weakness has been discovered in this test. I took the answer sheet without having seen o r heard the pas- sa4es and proceeded to answer the questions which presum- ably were testing their comprehension. In multiple-choice items containing three choices each one would expect to guess about a third of them correctly. The scores on the four pas- sages, however, were actually 80%, 54%, 78%, and 58%. These high s c o r e s confirmed my strong suspicion that familimity with the a r e a s of the passages would weigh heavily on the answers, thus invalidating the test as a measure of aural com- prehension. In the last passage, the dialogue, in which there could be little transfer from previous knowledge except per- haps for insight into the way people behave, the continuity of the story made obvious some of the answers. The reliability of the Aural Comprehension Test is given as .81, and norms based on scores of 1 1 2 students are avail- able.5 Writing and Structure Test. This test is divided into two parts, the first part is a writing test and the second part a structure test. In the writing test the student reads a brief anecdote and then writes, without access to the text, the an- swers to ten simple questions on the story. He also has to write five sentences describing his family, and five sentences telling how he spent the preceding Sunday. The great problem in using this kind of test is that of scoring it. No objective measure of its reliability is given but even if personnel can be trained to s c o r e it with any degree of uniformity, we cannot hope to train personnel in the field to s c o r e it. Norms based on scores of 197 students a r e avail- able. 6 The structure part of this test is in multiple-choice form. It has ninety-five items. The student is required to select the c o r r e c t word o r phrase out of the three offered. These items form part of a continuous narrative, the description by a for- eign student of his a r r i v a l in the United States. The structure part is reported to be highly reliable and a better predictor of %bid., pp. 260-278. h i d . , p. 265. 61 ROBERT L A D 0 writing ability than the writing section itself.? The reliability of the structure part is given as .96.8 Norms based on the s c o r e s of 197 foreign students nearing completion of thpir special English work a r e available.9 (6) U. S. DEPARTMENT O F STATE, ENGLISH PROFICIENCY EXAMINATION The purpose of the English Proficiency Examination is to test the control of English by the foreign student before he leaves his country. A team of two persons is needed to give the test, one a native speaker of English, the other a native speaker of the language of the student. It takes about one hour to give the examination, exclusive of the personal interview part. The test is divided into four parts. The first consists of eighty true-false statements which are read aloud to the stu- dent. Each statement is read twice, and the student makes his response by checking either “True” or “False” on his an- swer sheet. Each statement deals with facts that are known to the student s o that his problem is only to understand the lan- guage itself. The second part of the examination also t e s t s aural com- prehension, this time of two anecdotes read aloud to the dent. Each anecdote is read twice in a natural style as the true-false statements, and the student writes short swers to ten questions asked oralIy after each anecdote. 7Ibid., p. 264. * b i d . , p. 278. 9Ibid.. D. 265. stu- w i t h an- The ,. 1oThis description is based ’on a copy of the examination and of the instruc- tions for i t s administration supplied by the U. S. Department of State. The request f o r a copy was addressed to Dr. F. J. Colligan, Chief, Division of Exchange of Persons, and was answered by Miss Marita Houlihan, Training P r o g r a m s Branch of that Division. I am also indebted in this section to Mrs. Margaret E m m m s , my associate in the Sub-committee on Evaluation of the English Section of NAFSA. Her description of the test is available in her booklet entitled Orientation and English Instruction f o r Students from Other Lands, Bulktin 1950, No. 8 , Fed- eral Security Agency, pp. 2-3.’ 62 SURVEY OF TESTS IN ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE answers are to be graded according to whether o r not they show that the anecdotes and the questions were understood. In the third part t h e student writes a short composition on a subject familiar to him, and in the last part he is interviewed to determine his ability to speak English. The grading of the test is admittedly the most difficult problem in i t s use. There is no problem, however, in grading the true-false section. The difficulties begin with the short written answers to the questions about the anecdotes, they in- c r e a s e with the written composition, and they a r e probably greatest in grading the interview to determine the student’s ability to speak English. Even though the test does not require a mechanical r e - cording, the problem of individual variation among examiners is still unsolved. In the true-false statements this variation is probably not significant, but in the anecdotes it might well be. Memory also might be too heavy a factor in the anecdotes, since answering ten o r a l questions which constitute problems in themselves requires a somewhat severe memory strain. The fact that the test requires the full attention of two persons increases the difficulty of its administration abroad. And finally, the subjective nature of much of the scoring r e - quires trained personnel at the testing centers abroad. No norms are yet available on this examination. The De- partment of State considers it still in the experimental stage. (‘7) VILLAREAL TEST OF AURAL COMPREHENSION FOR NATIVE SPEAKERS OF SPANISH The first full volume devoted entirely to the measuring of aural comprehension by Spanish-speaking students is a dis- sertation by J e s s e J. Villareal. He developed two equivalent forms of a test of aural comprehension consisting each of ten selections and five dialogues, a total of fifteen passages. These passages are recorded on phonograph records. The students listen to the passages and indicate their responses by means of seventy-five multiple-choice answers having five choices each. The questions and choices on the answer sheets a r e in Spanish for the Spanish-speaking students and in Eng- lish also. 63 ROBERT LAD0 The reliability as reported by i t s author is .80. The V a l - idity 1 1 is based on the criteria of preparation of the test items and on correlations of test scores with ratings by “qualified observers” and by the students themselves. The correlation of test scores w i t h ratings by qualified observers w a s .78 and with ratings by the students themselves, .31. The usual objection to the use of large passages for a u r a l comprehension is in order with this test. The average length of the passages is 249 words; the first passage has 488 words; memory more than a u r a l comprehension must often be the deciding factor in giving the right answer. This test w a s not easy even for 104 native speakers of English who made s c o r e s between 164 and 207 out of a possible 212. Apparently none of the native speakers made a perfect score. 111. Summary Evaluation None of the above t e s t s fully meets the need for a linguis- tically valid English examination that may be administered abroad by untrained personnel who are busy with other duties. Those t e s t s that come close to sound construction require the full attention of the examiner for varying lengths of time, o r they require the use of records and phonographs that may o r may not be available. Since considerable time and money have been spent on the preparation of these tests without attaining the desired goals, it s e e m s appropriate to look at the difficul- ties in the hope of finding a practical solution. Following a r e some of the major obstacles and their possible solutions. 1. Perhaps the greatest obstacle to progress in these tests is the lack of a clear understanding of what English lan- guage is. A s a result the approach to test making, except in the case of vocabulary, is a haphazard, almost mystic attempt to capture in a paragraph o r a story what a foreign student ll“Validity”refers to whether or not a testmeasures what it claims tomeas- we--aural comprehension in this ease. A test of intelligence, for example, would not be a ”valid” test in aural comprehension. A test is said to be valid according to the criteria of preparation when the items were constructed for the purpose of measuring in this case aural comprehension. This claim must be self-evident or it must be supported by adequate proof. 64 SURVEY OF TESTS IN ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE has to know to attend our colleges. To overcome this diffi- culty w e must first realize that what we need to test is how w e l l the student uses and reacts to the meaningful signals that constitute the English language. The matter of how good a student he is, o r how w e l l he is going to do in engineering mechanics, for example, can be determined by his previous academic work in his own language; for that purpose he sub- mits his academic records to the admitting institution. Once we concentrate on testing his control of the signals of the lan- guage itself w e w i l l make progress provided also that we base our t e s t s on a scientific linguistic analysis of English. 2. Failure to make distinctions in the linguistic problems found by the various groups of foreign students is a weakness of many of the above tests, and yet the task of preparing sep- arate tests for all language backgrounds is so enormous that we may never hope to have such tests except for a limited f e w languages. A practical solution to this problem may be that of keeping separate norms for the various national groups of students that take the tests. 3. A final roadblock to progress on a practical test for foreign students has been and is the need to test at least one aural skill, aural comprehension, which requires the use of records and phonographs. We do not have enough information on the correlation of aural comprehension with other language skills that can be measured more easily than aural compre- hension. There is some hope that substitutions can be made without serious loss of validity. 1. 2. IV. BIBLIOGRAPHY OF TESTS DESCRIBED Educational Testing Service, P. 0. Box 592, Princeton, New Jersey. English Language Institute, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Michigan. Examination in Structure. (Norms) Forms A, B, and C. Test of Aural Comprehension. (Norms) Forms A, B, Test of Pronunciation for Japanese Students. English Examination for Foreign Students. (Norms) .- and C. 65 ROBERT LAD0 Test of A u r a l Perception for Japanese Students. 3. English Language Institute, Queens College, New York. Vocabulary Test. 4. Inter-American Tests, Educational Testing Service o r Professor H. T. Manuel, University of Texas, Austin 12, Texas. General Ability Test. (Norms) Primary, Intermediate, Reading Tests. (Norms) Forms A and B. Primary, Language Usage. (Norms) Forms A and B. Vocabulary and Interpretation in the Natural Sciences. Vocabulary and Interpretation in the Social Studies. 5. The Investigation of the Teaching of a Second Language, Advanced. Intermediate, Advanced. (Norms) Forms A and B. (Norms) Forms A and B. The University of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois. Elementary Structure Test, (Norms) Writing and Structure Test. Structure Test. (Norms) Writing Test. (Norms) Reading Comprehension Test. (Norms) Aural Comprehension. (Norms) 6. U. S. Department of State. Write to Dr. Francis J. Colli- gan, Chief, Division of Exchange of Persons, Dept. of State, Washington 25, D. C. The English Proficiency Examination. 7. Villareal Test. Professor Jesse J. Villareal, University of Texas. Austin 12. Texas. Test of Aural Comprehension for Native Speakers of Spanish. 66 
work_qpbqsydxdnhkxfc433i44d7icy	----	annesley This article was published as: James Annesley. Market Corrections: Jonathan Franzen and the "Novel of Globalization". Journal of Modern Literature 2006, 29(2), 111-128 No part of this article may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or distributed, in any form, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photographic, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Indiana University Press. For educational re- use, please contact the Copyright Clearance Center (508-744-3350). For all other permissions, please visit Indiana University Press' permissions page, see http://iupjournals.org/permissions.html 2 nd February 2005 Market corrections: Jonathan Franzen and the “novel of globalization” James Annesley Dept of English Kingston University Kingston-upon-Thames Surrey England KT1 2EE James@annesley.fsnet.co.uk 2 Market corrections: Jonathan Franzen and the “novel of globalization” Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections (2001) makes a very deliberate attempt to locate its account of the Lambert family within defined social and economic contexts. There is the shift in American economic fortunes at the end of the twentieth century affected by the market correction alluded to in the novel’s title. There are internet technologies and the force of the operating system developed by the all- conquering “W___ Corporation” (not M for Microsoft on, one assumes, legal advice, but W for Windows instead). There is the transformation of post-Soviet states, particularly Lithuania, and the impact of new economy money on old economy infrastructure (“What survived of Midpac’s trunk lines had been sold off to enable the company to concentrate on prison-building, prison management, gourmet coffee, financial services; a new 144 strand fiber-optic cable system lay buried in the railroad’s old right-of-way”). 1 There are observations on the ever-greater refinements of consumer society and an exploration into the potential of new and more powerful pharmaceuticals. Reflecting Franzen’s stated commitment to the “social novel” and his belief in fiction’s “cultural authority”, The Corrections (2001) thus connects the private with the public and individual psychologies with material realities. 2 Franzen does more, however, than simply project his characters onto a backdrop drawn from general views of contemporary society. Offering precise descriptions of a world shaped by international politics, new technologies, consumer economics and the free market, he sets out instead to link his portrait of the Lambert family with a vision of globalization’s complex combination of forces. The familial and the domestic are thus known in relation to broader panoramas of global change. It is this approach that that encourages Susanne Rohr to read The Corrections as “a new form to the genre of the novel: the novel of globalization.” 3 Franzen’s desire to write a “social novel” has required, it seems, an engagement with the contexts and conditions of a globalizing world. The result is a novel so heavily embroidered with patterns and themes linked to global economics, consumerism and international politics that Rohr’s position appears both convincing and 1 Jonathan Franzen, The Corrections (London: Fourth Estate, 2002), p.177. 2 Jonathan Franzen, “Perchance to dream: in the age of images, a reason to write novels’, Harper’s (April 1996), Vol.292.1751, pp.35-54, p.37; Jonathan Franzen, “The reader in exile”, in How to be Alone: Essays (London: Fourth Estate, 2002), pp.164-178, p.178. 3 Susanne Rohr, “‘The tyranny of the probable’ – crackpot realism and Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections”, Amerikastudien/American Studies (2004), Vol.49.1., pp.91-105, p.103. 3 un-contentious. Such a view is not, however, as unproblematic as it seems. The suggestion that The Corrections is a “novel of globalization” raises a whole host of questions about not only the ways in which Franzen’s fiction is read and understood, but, on an even more fundamental level, the meaning of the term globalization itself. By its very nature, the idea of globalization seems to defy easy definitions. Providing an explanatory context for phenomena as diverse as tourism, climate change, Jihadi terrorism, the power of international brands, mass migrations, the spread of the English language and the rise of trans-national media conglomerates, and understood as the product of intricately inter-related changes in the organisation of social, political and economic spheres that are in turn linked to technological developments, the danger is that globalization will find itself offering both a theory of everything and an explanation of nothing. Used in some contexts as the foundation for complex readings of the meaning of modernity in the contemporary period (Anthony Giddens and Arjun Appadurai) and/or imperialism (Nestor Garcia Canclini, Leslie Sklair, Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri), and in others as a simple shorthand for a culture that can be characterised by cliched images of a child wearing a Chicago Bulls T-Shirt in a remote corner of the Amazon, there is little doubt that globalization is a concept that is porous, unstable and potentially overstretched. Despite these concerns, it is still possible to identify a consensus. Though many have contested his conclusions, few would argue with, for example, the way Giddens frames the debate by suggesting that Globalisation can […] be defined as the intensification of world wide social relations which link distant localities in such a way that local happenings are shaped by events occurring many miles away and vice versa. This is a dialectical process because most local happenings may move in an obverse direction from the very distanciated relations that shape them. 4 The globalization thesis thus argues that a combination of “engines” or “drivers” linked to technology, economics and politics are creating a world that either is, or appears to be, ever smaller and more homogeneous. 5 Growth in patterns of investment that cross national 4 Anthony Giddens, The Consequences of Modernity (Cambridge: Polity, 1990), p.64. 5 David Held, Global Covenant: The Social Democratic Alternative to the Washington Consensus (Cambridge: Polity, 2004), p.3/4. 4 boundaries and a related reduction in the power and influence of the nation state produces, according to these accounts, a globalized market that in turn provides the fuel for the creation of increasingly internationalised forms of culture. It is these forms of culture that have become central to understandings of globalization’s processes, processes that are, as commentators like Appadurai and Roland Robertson have emphasised, grounded not just in economic and infrastructural changes, but in transformations that affect the cultural representation and social perception of the world. Beyond this point the debate becomes much more fractured. Arguments about, for example, the relative importance of different causal factors compete with discussions of the effects of particular changes and questions about the extent to which these changes can be said to have taken place at all. From all of these clashing perspectives it is, however, possible to draw one conclusion, namely, that the term globalization refers not to a stable, defined reality, but to a complex debate about social, political and economic processes in the contemporary period. With this in mind, the attempt to read The Corrections as a “novel of globalization” involves not a simple process of measuring the accuracy of its representation of the realities of globalization, but an analysis of the ways in which it engages with the globalization debate. Appadurai’s emphasis on “the imagination as a social process” is thus fundamental to the analysis of the “novel of globalization”. 6 As Thomas Peyser explains in his reading of Don DeLillo’s White Noise (1985), “we need […] to think about novels … depicting a globalized world not simply because we can show that art is ‘grounded’ in social circumstances, but because novels themselves may have a crucial role to play in the very process of globalization.” 7 The extent to which The Corrections can be read as a “novel of globalization” thus depends, not on the suggestion that the text can be said to reflect known conditions, but on an analysis of the extent to which it adds to knowledge about and understanding of the discourses and debates around globalization. In general terms, The Corrections offers a critical image of contemporary social and economic conditions. Malign, inhuman and corrupting, globalization is seen as a destructive force. With Chip the focus for many of his insights, Franzen includes comment upon the comic 6 Arjun Appadurai, Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), p.31. 7 Thomas Peyser, “Globalization in America: the case of Don DeLillo’s White Noise”, Clio (1996), Vol.25.3, pp.255–71, p.256. 5 excesses of a Grand Street food emporium (“The Nightmare of Consumption”) which offers “Everything – for a price!” and the disastrous impact of capitalist enterprise on the life of Lithuania’s citizenry. 8 Working for Gitanas’ “Free Market Party” and practicing wire fraud on American investors, Chip’s experiences in Lithuania teach him that “the more patently satirical the promises, the lustier the influx of American capital.” 9 This is a time in which the market holds absolute sway, a world in which, as Franzen observes of the penniless Chip, “without money he was hardly a man.” 10 In these and many other similar episodes, Franzen conjures a dark, satirical portrait of the impact of consumerism and economic liberalism across the globe. These straightforwardly critical perspectives are supported by a sense of the networks and circuits of complicity and responsibility that characterise contemporary society. This complexity is exemplified by the relationships different characters have with The W___ Corporation. Having shown Chip pillorying their advertising in his class on “The Consuming Narrative”, the novel then describes Billy Passafaro’s violent, politically-motivated assault on Rick Flamburg, the W___ Corporation’s “corporate-image vice president”, an attack prompted by the corporation’s donation of free desktops and operating systems to all of Philadelphia’s schools in return for the “exclusive right to employ for promotional and advertising purposes all classroom activities within the school district.”. 11 This situation is complicated by the fact that Billy’s sister, Robin, finds herself married to Brian, a man who has sold a piece of music software to the W___ Corporation for $19,500,000.00. 12 With this money, Brian is able to finance the launch of a new restaurant, The Generator. Employing Denise Lambert as his head chef, he both enhances her professional status and furnishes her with a salary large enough for her to provide financial support for Chip, her now unemployed brother, the man who once mocked the W___ Corporation in the seminars he ran at his Connecticut College. A similar circuit of associations surrounds the role of the Axon Corporation in the novel. Alfred’s patent is bought by Axon and used in the Corecktall Process, a treatment that may, the Lamberts believe, cure his growing mental disorder. These relationships are complicated by Gary’s intervention. Believing that Axon are paying too little for his father’s patent, he tries to stall the sale and raise the price. Part of his bargaining involves an attempt to have his father included in clinical testing for the Corecktall Process as a form of recompense for 8 Franzen, The Corrections, p.107. 9 Ibid., p.505. 10 Ibid., p.121. 11 Ibid., p.45; p.396; p.397. 12 Ibid., p.401. 6 what he sees as the miserly price they are offering for his patent, a suggestion that he tries to sell to Axon on the basis that it offers a marketable human interest story. While conducting these negotiations, Gary is also using the information he has gained about Axon’s prospects as justification for a series of heavy investment in their stock. “To Gary the fact that the company had bothered to buy his father’s patent at such an early stage on Corecktall’s development was sign of great corporate confidence. He saw an opportunity here to make some money and avenge Axon’s screwing of his father and more generally, be bold where Alfred had been timid.” 13 In the end, however, not only is Alfred both forced to accept $5,000.00 for his patent and identified as an unsuitable candidate for the free clinical trial of the Corecktall Process, but Gary’s heavy investment in Axon proves unsuccessful as the stock slumps in the market slide. The search for a cure Alfred’s mental disorder, or the desire to finally see the rest of his family compensated for the domestic costs incurred as a result of his dedication to chemistry is denied, and even Gary’s pursuit of financial gain comes to nothing as the market adjusts. In this part of the novel, the search for corrections leads nowhere. In terms that owe a debt to the intricacies that characterise the fiction of Thomas Pynchon and Don DeLillo, The Corrections thus uses these complex sets of inter-relationships to create a portrait of the all-pervasive and pernicious influence of the modern corporation. Reaching into all areas of contemporary life and capable of integrating and co-opting in subtle and often unseen ways, these corporations operate in terms that seem to shadow the kinds of arguments that Naomi Klein offers in No Logo, a book that suggests “logos, by the force of ubiquity, have become the closest thing we have to an international language […] [a] select group of corporate Goliaths […] have gathered to form our de facto global government.” 14 These are views shared by many of Klein’s fellow critics of contemporary capitalism. George Monbiot, for example, argues that “the world’s biggest companies have chosen a new route to growth: consolidation. By engineering a single, ‘homogenized’, global market in which they can sell the same product under the same conditions anywhere on earth.” 15 Clearly Franzen’s representations of corporations and his sense of their power to assimilate and control can be connected with this reading of contemporary social conditions. Like Klein and Monbiot, The Corrections 13 Ibid., p.217. 14 Naomi Klein, No Logo: Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies (London: HarperCollins, 1999), p.xx/xxi. 15 George Monbiot, Captive State: the Corporate Takeover of Britain (London: Macmillan, 2000), p.9. 7 presents a world increasingly colonised and co-opted by the power of commerce. The novel’s critique of corporations can be linked to its tendency to represent relationships between individual psychology and economics in terms that suggest that even these areas of personal experience are increasingly finding themselves coordinated and controlled. The moods and attitudes of many of his characters are often described in terms that rely on financial metaphors. After spending the night with one of his students, for example, Franzen describes Chip’s awakening as follows: “In a matter of seconds, like a market inundated by a wave of panic selling, he was plunged into consciousness.” 16 In Gary’s case, Franzen’s fiscal language focuses on his mounting depression and his relationship with Caroline. Looking to cheer himself up, Gary heads for the liquor cabinet, thinking, “What this stagnating economy needs, thought Federal Reserve Board Chairman, Gary R. Lambert, is a massive infusion of Bombay Sapphire Gin.” 17 Franzen uses the same kind of approach to describe his marriage, observing of their dispute over Christmas with Gary’s parents in the Midwest, that “the till of their marriage no longer contained sufficient funds of love and goodwill to cover the emotional costs that going to St. Jude entailed for Caroline.” 18 Enid’s guardianship of the failing of Albert also prompts Franzen towards metaphors of boom and bust. Sitting at a dinner party with friends so preoccupied by the condition of their stock portfolios that one of them, Joe, calls “three different brokers from the restaurant”, Franzen suggests that Enid “was the same way with Alfred; painfully attuned to every hopeful upswing, forever fearful of a crash.” 19 The cumulative effect of these observations, and of the many similar moments in the text, is to reinforce Franzen’s sense of the inter-relationships between private life and wider social and economic forces. In these details, the individual’s sense of self reads like a balance sheet. So powerful, it seems, are the forces of global coordination and incorporation that even the interior world of the individual is subject to the logic of the market. Similar perspectives on the influence of the corporation and on the relationship between commerce and private lives inform Franzen’s work in his earlier novels The 27 th City (1988) and Strong Motion (1992). Set in St. Louis, Franzen’s hometown, The 27 th City pits Martin Probst, an honest and upstanding real estate developer, against the forces of corporate and political corruption that are taking hold in 16 Franzen, The Corrections, p.66. 17 Ibid., p.186. 18 Ibid., p.222. 19 Ibid., p.544. 8 city hall. Led by a new police chief, S. Jammu, a woman hired on the strength of her work as a Bombay police official, the conspiracy, rooted in an awkward mixture of capitalist greed and socialist politics, starts to threaten both the body politic and the lives of St. Louis’s citizenry. Focusing on these events, The 27 th City, Franzen’s first novel, thus offers a critical exploration of the effects “free enterprise” and privatisation on the public sphere and introduces concerns that prefigure those developed in The Corrections. 20 The fact that the novel links these themes to a plot that trades on the social and economic relationships between the United States and India strengthens this parallel and offers early evidence of Franzen’s interest in globalization. This preoccupation with corruption and corporate power is even more obviously articulated in Strong Motion. Jack Kernaghan’s work with the chemical company Sweeting-Aldren and the intricacies of his $22,000,000 legacy link the different strands of Strong Motion together. Kernaghan’s will allows Franzen to establish the connections between plate-tectonics, environmentalism, Louis’ relationship with Renée and the tensions within the Holland family. In terms that prefigure the function of the W___ Corporation, Axon and Orfic Midland in The Corrections, Franzen establishes the money generated by Sweeting-Aldren as the axis around which the rest of the events in the novel revolve. Underneath the strong motions felt by all of the novel’s different characters (whether love, the shaking of the earth, or the turbulence of family life) is the irresistible gravitational force of the corporation’s stock. Using the will as a Dickensian device thus not only gives Franzen a way of bringing these different themes together, but also creates a structure in which economic realities are seen to shape and determine all areas of social experience. It is through the novel’s reading of the impact of the profit motive on the environment, and indeed the fundamental geological fabric of the planet itself, that these positions find their most potent evocation. Finding their fullest evocation in Bob Holland’s epic account of the environmental destruction of America, this reading of the relationship between nature and business becomes the touchstone for the novel’s critique of capitalism. Like Herman Melville and Henry David Thoreau before him, Holland, a professor of history, sees the rapid consumption of America’s astonishing abundance by European settlers “for the sake of short-term profit or convenience” as the sign of the malignant influence of commerce. 21 With his radical eco-consciousness fuelled by a rigorously 20 Jonathan Franzen, The 27 th City (1988) (London: Macmillan, 1991), p.13. 21 Jonathan Franzen, Strong Motion (New York: Picador USA, 1992), p.380. 9 materialist reading of economic history, Holland analyses the individual’s relationship with the environment in the following terms: It takes a long time to build a house from nothing; it takes a lot of calories to transport yourself from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh. Even if you’re not rich, you’re living in the red. Indebted to Malaysian textile workers and Korean circuit assemblers […] Indebted to a bank, indebted to the earth from which you’ve withdrawn oil and coal and natural gas that no one can ever put back […] Indebted to the grandchildren who’ll be paying for your conveniences when you’re dead; who’ll be living six to a room […] and knowing, like you don’t how long it takes to get from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh when you’re living in the black. 22 Once again it is the metaphors of profit and loss, “red” and “black”, that inform this reading of the relationship between the priorities of business and the condition of the environment, an approach that enables Holland to establish chains of responsibility that connect contemporary conditions back to the first contacts between Europe and America. Having made an effort to restore his own garden to a pristine wilderness state by planting white pine trees on the lawn and encouraging it to “regress into the Illinois prairie that had predated … the arrival of the Europeans”, the feeling is that Franzen is using humour to distance himself from Holland’s critique of American capitalism. There is, however, a more general impression that despite the hyperbolic nature of Holland’s attitudes and behaviour, Franzen is deeply sympathetic with his view of the world. In the long description of Sweeting-Aldren’s corporate malfeasance that follows Bob Holland’s eco-history of American capitalism, a section in which Franzen’s writing has a wide-ranging energy and force that is missing from other parts of the novel, Strong Motion both echoes Professor Holland’s approach and mirrors his arguments by describing how Sweeting-Aldren’s willingness to privilege profit over public duty sacrifices the safety not just of Boston, but of, perhaps rather implausibly, the geological fabric of the whole planet. Franzen writes: 22 Ibid., p.382. Franzen’s acknowledgements note the debt he owes to William Cronon’s book Changes in the Land (1983). See, for example, William Cronon, Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England (New York: Hill and Wang, 1984), p.170: “The transition to capitalism alienated the products of the land as much as the products of human labor, and so transformed natural communities as profoundly as it did human ones. By integrating New England eco-systems into an ultimately global capitalist economy, colonists and Indians together began a dynamic process of ecological change that had in no way ended by 1800.” 10 Sweeting-Aldren’s M Line […] was operating at capacity, the U.S. armed forces having discovered hundreds of thousands of square miles of South-east Asian jungle in urgent need of defoliation. It took the rest of the industry four years to catch up with demand, and in the interim Sweeting-Aldren never saw earnings growth of less than 35 percent annually. 23 Identifying the connections that link Sweeting-Aldren’s malpractice with processes of environmental destruction so severe that they lead in the end to shifts in the earth’s mantel, Franzen thus creates a vision of a sweeping apocalypse that has its origins in human greed. The 71 deaths and 1,300 injuries that result from the earthquake caused by their illegal waste management practices are thus signs of the failure both of this particular company and of American business itself. Capitalism, Strong Motion suggests, is a malign force with incalculable destructive power. These views, developed in The 27 th City, vigorously articulated in Strong Motion and central to the vision of contemporary society constructed in The Corrections, also have a powerful presence in many of Franzen’s essays and articles. In “Scavenging”, for example, he celebrates his stubborn reliance on what he calls a “whole dysfunctional family of obsolete machines” and builds this point into a broader critique of the processes of built-in obsolescence that drive consumption. 24 Connected with these priorities are the ideas raised in “I’ll be doing more of the same”, an essay in which Franzen offers an explicit critique of technology and modern society and asks, “Who wants to look to the future when every laptop-toting junior exec is looking to it and angling for his share of the profit? What self-respecting artist in Germany in 1935 was interested in celebrating the really fascinating changes that were sweeping German culture?” 25 Gesturing towards what he identifies as a kind of corporate-sponsored techno-fascism, he locates himself in direct opposition to these processes. Shadowing the themes developed in his novels, Franzen thus develops his contempt for consumption and his critique of the social realities created by a globalizing consumer culture. Such positions are not, however, without their contradictions. As far, for example, as “Scavenging” is concerned, the enthusiasm for older 23 Franzen, Strong Motion, p.393/394. 24 Jonathan Franzen, “Scavenging”, Tolstoy’s Dictaphone: Technology and the Muse, Ed. Sven Birkerts (Saint Paul: Graywolf Press, 1996), pp.3-15, p.4. 25 Jonathan Franzen, “I’ll be doing more of the same”, The Review of Contemporary Fiction (1996), Vol.16.1, pp.35-38, p.38. 11 forms of technology may seem like an assault on consumer capitalism but is in the end the expression of a desire that is actually continuous with the forces of consumerism. Not only is Franzen still reliant on machines, but in choosing a form of conspicuous abstinence he actually reaffirms one of consumer society’s central principles - that identity is a function of the ownership of specific products. Underlining the power of choice and echoing the belief that goods provide a route to self-definition, Franzen thus finds himself strengthening the foundations upon which consumer society rests even as he is trying to attack them. Further evidence of Franzen’s contradictory relationship with consumer society and the market can be found in the controversy generated by his response to an invitation to join Oprah Winfrey’s Book Club. Having initially accepted her offer and begun to participate in the making of the show, Franzen made a series of disparaging remarks about Winfrey’s role in the American literary scene that led to the withdrawal of her invitation. 26 The focus of Franzen’s criticisms lay in a belief that Winfrey tended to sponsor books that were not sufficiently high-brow (and thus implying that his association with her would dilute the putative seriousness of his own novel), and that his participation would involve a form of corporate co-option that would compromise the efficacy of his social message. What makes Franzen’s objections so interesting is the wholly contradictory nature of his attitude, an attitude that offers revealing insight into both his own understanding of his place the literary marketplace and his wider reading of consumer society as a whole. The most obviously inconsistent note sounded in his response to Winfrey can be heard in the tension between Franzen’s own sense of himself as a writer of serious Literature and the easy readability of the folksy family saga he has produced, a novel that would seem to make an ideal addition to the tales of love, loss, struggle and redemption so often favoured by Oprah’s Book Club. Despite the author’s claims, The Corrections is not a complex or aesthetically innovative work of literature, but a fairly conventional novel that features a whole range of stock characters and situations (like, for example, the Christmas reunion, a college professor’s illicit liaison with a student, 26 Franzen’s own account of these experiences can be found in his essay “Meet me in St. Louis”, How to be Alone, pp.258-274, p.272: “I’ll experience the bodily discomfort I felt when we were turning my father’s oak tree into schmaltz, and I’ll complain about the Book Club logo […] I conflate ‘high modern’ and ‘art fiction’ and use the term ‘high art’ to describe the importance of Proust and Kafka and Faulkner to my writing. I’ll get into trouble for this too. Winfrey will disinvite me from her show because I seem ‘conflicted’. I’ll be reviled from coast to coast by outraged populists.” 12 gangsterism in the former Soviet Union and the mid-life despair a wealthy corporation man). The “easy journalism” of Franzen’s straightforward prose is equally unchallenging. 27 There is little experimentation and nothing in the ways in which it cuts between descriptions of moments from the lives of each of its five central characters that would be out of place in any mass-market paperback or even a TV mini series. In this context, Franzen’s sense of his own elite status as a creator of literature betrays a strange lack of insight into the nature of his own work. 28 These anxieties can be connected with Franzen’s enduring anxiety about the relationship between art and commerce. Turning away from the financial rewards that would have followed an appearance on Winfrey’s show, Franzen chooses to identify himself as a romantic artist, rather than a worker or a producer. The problem is, however, as Thomas Edwards suggests: He thinks he’s protesting the contamination of serious art by commerciality: surely the seal of her club, if added to the jacket of The Corrections, would constitute an advertisement for her TV show and what he calls the ‘corporate ownership standing behind it’. But corporate ownership already stands behind any commercially published book, high or low, and no publisher withholds its own name from the jacket; Franzen’s publisher is in fact a division of an international conglomerate. 29 Unable to recognise the nature of the commercial relationship he has with Verlagsgruppe Georg von Holtzbrinck, owners of a controlling stake in Franzen’s publishers, Farrar Straus and Giroux, and determined to identify his novel as a form of culture that is somehow resistant to commerce, his response to Winfrey’s invitation is thus confused. It is, in these terms, easy to see why James Wood suggests that “Franzen partly has himself to blame for the idiocy of his coverage.” 30 This “idiocy” seems to have its origins in Franzen’s belief in a distinction between literature and other forms of contemporary culture that rests upon a conviction that the novel is superior because it stands outside the market. He writes: 27 James Wood, The Irresponsible Self: On Laughter and the novel (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2004), p.201. 28 Cf., Christopher Ribbat, “Handling the media, surviving The Corrections: Jonathan Franzen and the fate of the author”, Amerikastudien/American Studies (2002), Vol.47.4, pp.555-566. 29 Thomas Edwards, “Oprah’s Choice”, Raritan (2002), Vol.21.4, pp.75-86, p.77. 30 Wood, The Irresponsible Self, p.197. 13 The consumer economy loves a product that sells at a premium, wears out quickly or is susceptible to regular improvement. And offers with each improvement some marginal gain in usefulness. To an economy like this, news that stays news is not merely an inferior product; it’s an antithetical product. A classic work of literature is inexpensive, infinitely reusable, and worst of all, unimprovable. 31 Not only does Franzen see the novel as a kind of non-product, he adds to this suggestion with the argument that reading is a leisure activity that is itself both somehow incompatible with the processes of consumption and at the same time constantly threatened by the “rising waters” of a consumer society that has “flooded the basements and kitchens of that hard core of readers on which we writers placed our last desperate hopes, and the culture’s oily pools are gliding slickly across the bedroom floor, rising up around the bed.” 32 Dangerous and corrosive, Franzen thus portrays consumer culture as a broken sewer polluting the minds of delicate readers. Based, in part on the flawed assumption that fiction from an earlier age was somehow untouched by market forces, it is his opinion that the modern period is characterised by a uniquely invasive form of commercial co-option, more invasive, it seems than the commercial pressures that saw pages of advertisements included alongside the text of the first serial edition of a novel like, for example, Charles Dicken’s Little Dorrit (1855-1857). 33 Motivated by an ingrained contempt for the market and consumer culture, particularly the poisonous “gas” produced by television, Franzen’s views are thus dependent upon value judgements and the naïve sense that the novel is not a commodity. Unable to recognise the place his fiction has in the globalized terrains of the contemporary media and refusing to accept that, as a writer, he is both contributing to the production of media texts and benefiting from their dissemination and consumption, Franzen displays a strange lack of awareness. The very fact that the controversy generated by his dealings with Winfrey provoked a brief flurry of media interest that promoted his book in ways that prossibly equalled (if not eclipsed) the publicity that would have been created had he actually appeared on Oprah’s Book Club adds an additionally ironic dimension to his position. Creating a marketable context for his work and prompting specific forms of reception, the events surrounding the publication of The Corrections thus seem to 31 Franzen, “Perchance to dream”, p.39. 32 Franzen, “Scavenging”, p.9. 33 Cf. Charles Dicken, Little Dorrit (London: Bradbury and Evans, 1855- 1857), Vols 1–19. 14 provide an explicit demonstration of both the depth of the author’s relationship with globalized forms of the contemporary media and the extent to which these structures shape and condition the kinds of responses that greet his or her work. In this context, despite being a media figure and a man who works in the production of forms of international media, it seems particularly strange that only Franzen himself seems unable to grasp the implications this brush with notoriety raises for understandings of fiction’s relationship with publishing, the media and globalization. Though interesting in themselves, it is the ways in which these attitudes can be seen to spill over into Franzen’s fiction in terms that compromise the “social reportage” offered in his novels that makes them even more significant. 34 The process of identifying the inconsistencies that dog both Franzen’s essays and his public profile thus becomes the starting point for a more critical analysis of the representation of consumer culture and globalization in his fiction. As the following discussion will suggest, the presence of these contradictions in The Corrections weakens its portrait of contemporary society, restricts its “social” ambitions and raises questions about the extent to which it can be read as a “novel of globalization”. Franzen’s desire to create a text that traces the ways in which the contexts of globalizing consumer society inform all areas of social life finds its most obvious expression in the different uses of his title. Like “strong motion”, a phrase with a wide variety of different meanings in Franzen’s earlier novel (including the movement of tectonic plates, the power of money and the force of emotional and sexual attraction), the idea of “the corrections” can be interpreted in a large number of different ways. Not only does the phrase link together many of the novel’s major concerns (the dream of healing mental illness through the use of the Corecktall Process, transformations and developments made by different members of the Lambert family [particularly Edith] and, most significantly as far as this discussion is concerned, “the market correction” at the end of the 20 th Century), it also applies to a whole host of other details in the text. 35 The “correction” Chip imagines he needs to make to his film script, the correctional process that will see the execution of Khellye Withers for the murder of Sylvia Roth’s daughter (a story prefigured in the young Gary’s Popsicle stick model of the electric chair and the presence of a facility belonging to the Connecticut State Department of Corrections across the river from Chip’s 34 Franzen, ‘Perchance to dream’, p.42. 35 Franzen, The Corrections, p.216; p.653; p.647. 15 college), and the sense that Denise offers her parents “a last opportunity to learn from one’s mistakes and make corrections”, all serve to complicate and deepen the reader’s understanding of the meaning of Franzen’s title. 36 Creating these relationships, Franzen thus creates an organisational framework for his action, a structure that seems to suggest that everything involves a correction of one form or another. Networks and linkages of different forces operating outside the apprehension and control of individual members of the Lambert family, are these patterns of associations suggest, seen to give shape and direction to their lives. The result is a novel that uses these patterns of coordination and inter-relationship to gesture towards the existence of defined and defining networks of material relations, patterns that can in turn be aligned with the kind of homogenising and coordinating structures that are, for many commentators, characteristic of globalization. Corrections operating on a global scale are thus seen to determine the local experience of individuals. In this respect Franzen’s approach seems to shadow the reading Anthony Giddens offers when, as earlier parts of this discussion have suggested, he identifies globalization as “the intensification of world wide social relations which link distant localities in such a way that local happenings are shaped by events occurring many miles away and vice versa”. Linking “distant localities” (like St. Jude and Vilnius) and suggesting that “local happenings” (particularly the domestic events in the Lambert family) are “shaped” by larger forces (technological change and the market correction), there is clear a sense that Franzen’s structure and the ways in which he uses the word “correction” can be related to accounts of the globalization thesis offered by a commentator like Giddens. Exposing the complex processes of incorporation that define contemporary experience and the determining power of the world market, the relationships Franzen creates are thus interpreted as part of his wider desire to produce a social novel and, by implication, to engage with the conditions of globalization. The concern is, however, that Franzen’s design is too dense, weighty and convoluted to achieve its goals. This is the point James Wood makes when he criticises the “tentacular ambition” of this attempt “to pin down an entire writhing culture”, a critique that raises important questions about the nature of Franzen’s social novel. 37 Suggesting that its grand social, political and economic themes sit awkwardly alongside the human story of Alfred and his family, Wood is unconvinced that the Lamberts’ “inner corrections are akin to the 36 Ibid., p.119; p.347; p.315; p.323. 37 Wood, The Irresponsible Self, p.201. 16 economy’s, or to the society’s”. 38 Probing at the heart of Franzen’s overarching scheme, he argues that the framework is too insubstantial to sustain its global ambitions. Instead of a fully convincing account of an increasingly integrated social realm defined by different forms of correction, Franzen offers play on words, a pun too flimsy for the task in hand. Related to this position is Wood’s suggestion that a “novel that ‘engages with the culture’ is one that tells the culture things that culture already knows.” 39 Arguing that such a project produces a kind of circularity and implying that the social novel offers what is in effect an inferior expression of ideas that are more properly understood through approaches based in the discourses of, for example, sociology, politics and economics, Wood concludes that The Corrections sails “a glass-bottomed boat” through contemporary America. 40 Damning as these comments are, the most concerning thing for Franzen is not the ferocity of Wood’s criticism, but the fact that The Corrections seems to deserve such a response. Featuring satirical observations on such frequently pilloried aspects of contemporary life as the overpriced health-food emporium, the liquidation of old economy assets in the service of new economy ambitions (like, for example, the building of an up-scale restaurant in a disused coal-fired generating station) and a software company intent on dominating the world’s computers with its inferior operating system, it is easy to see why Wood feels that Franzen has not extended himself in the search for examples of either the absurdities of contemporary consumerism or the activities of corporations. 41 Tending towards causal commentaries, Franzen’s approach thus seems, as Wood suggests, shallow and inclined towards simple restatements of commonplace opinions. Beyond the insight generated by these criticism, Wood’s argument is also interesting for the ways in which it creates an additional level of debate by moving from a critique of the hollow circularity of Franzen’s sociology into a broader commentary on what he regards as the failure of the “social novel” as a whole, a type of fiction that is, as he puts it, “weak” because it privileges the “sociality of art” over the “autonomy of art”. In his terms, the desire to “create something permanent” from modern culture is doomed because that culture “is itself ephemeral.” 42 Though Wood is right to suggest that Franzen’s novel stretches the idea of correction too far, his critique of the “sociality of art” and his desire to see Franzen’s “social news” switched off 38 Ibid., p.205. 39 Ibid., p.206/207. 40 Ibid., 201. 41 Franzen, The Corrections, p.107; p.177. 42 Wood, The Irresponsible Self, p.199; p.196. 17 altogether is much more problematic. 43 Not only does it betray an awkwardly ideological refusal to engage with the social dimensions of particular forms of aesthetic production, but, in terms that have a more relevance to the specifics of this discussion, it suggests that the search for a novel that is able to offer an adequate engagement with the conditions and contexts of globalization is futile. Clearly some of the difficulties identified by Wood could have been resolved had Franzen able to produce a more convincing blend of the private with the public. In these terms, it is not the “social novel” that is at fault per se, but this particular social novel, a novel that fails because it represents society in thin and unsophisticated terms. His wider questions about the validity of the social novel as whole are, however, much less easily addressed. Identifying a strict division between the aesthetic and the social, Wood thus condemns Franzen’s belief in the social novel. Despite the finality of Wood’s position and the sense that these his views stand in irreconcilable opposition to Franzen’s social objectives, there is a way of taking this debate forward and using these conflicting perspectives to help refine the understanding of the “novel of globalization”. The irony is that this approach depends not on further discussion of the conflict between these incompatible points of view, but upon a reading that identifies the existence of the similarities that unite Wood’s argument with Franzen’s point of view. These points of comparison can be brought into focus by looking in more detail at the nature of the relationships between The Corrections and the social contexts of globalization. In pursuing the “social novel” Franzen links his account of the experiences of the five members of the Lambert family with a strong sense of the relationships that lead from social realities to individual experiences. This approach is informed by a sense of determinism. Private lives are tied to social change, with the stock market providing a dominant and defining correction. The result is a homological novel that sees capital, technology, politics and industry as parts of a base upon which the superstructures of individual lives are built. 44 43 Ibid., p.209. 44 Lucien Goldmann’s essays from the 1960s provide the key statement on the meaning of “homology”. See, for example, Lucien Goldman, Towards a Sociology of the Novel (1964), Trans. Alan Sheridan (London: Tavistock, 1977), p.7: “The novel form seems to me, in effect, to be the transposition on the literary plane of everyday life in the individualistic society created by market production. There is a rigorous homology between the literary form of the novel […] and the everyday relation between man and commodities in general, and by extension between men and other men, in a market society.” These 18 Globalization is thus represented as an irreducible reality that the novel is powerless to either interrogate or resist. The consequence is a text in which the characters are, in a phrase borrowed from James Wolcott’s reading of DeLillo’s Underworld, “stuck in whatever national mood is prevailing at that moment, like lost souls to flypaper.” 45 A character like Chip, for example, becomes a token who finds himself pushed back and forth by commercial forces he can neither fathom nor control. Franzen’s attempt to use contemporary economic conditions to help not only define his novel’s context, but also as a focus for its moments of authorial comment and as a template for the organisation of its narrative, thus reads more like a novel about globalization than one of globalization. The central problem for Franzen is that in adopting this approach he portrays globalization as a defining and definitive reality. In the same way that he refuses to recognise the novel’s place within consumer society, preferring to see it as an autonomous entity that reflects the realities of social experience from a position outside the market, he closes off the possibility that his characters (and indeed his own writing) may have a dialectical relationship with the conditions of globalization. This belief in the autonomy of fiction, a belief that, ironically, he shares with James Wood, means that he, like Wood, is unable to appreciate that the novel is a social form (produced by an individual in a specific context and published into a literary marketplace) that participates in the construction of society even as it might set out to represent and reflect that society. It is the defiantly undialectical quality of this approach that is its chief weakness. Sharing Wood’s idealistic belief in the autonomy of art and imagining that the novel can offer a mirror to social realities, there is no sense that aesthetics and society might be connected through complex inter-relationships and dependencies. The fact that Franzen should maintain this approach even as he is engaged in an attempt to write a “social novel” not only provides further evidence of his naivety, but also suggests that he is a long way from producing an adequate and effective “novel of globalization”. The result is a novel that offers a static and over-determined vision of forms of social organisation that operate from the top-down. positions have been widely criticised for their vulgar Marxism. See, for example, Terry Eagleton, Marxism and Literary Criticism (London: Methuen, 1976), pp.33-34. See also: Fredric Jameson, Marxism and Form: Twentieth-Century Dialectical Theories of Literature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), p.375. The use of the term in this context suggests that, like Goldmann, Franzen’s approach exhibits reductive tendencies. 45 James Wolcott, “Blasts from the past”, The New Criterion (1997), Vol.16.4, pp.65-70, p.68. 19 If these criticisms are damaging enough for any novel with social ambitions, then they are even more serious for a text looking to engage with globalization. Dependent upon a complex series of fluid exchanges between the top and the bottom, the local and the global, the private and the public, globalization is, as the discussion of Giddens’ definition has already suggested, a “dialectical process”. In this light, the rigid and deterministic nature of Franzen’s scheme appears uniquely unsuited to the task of representing these concerns. Though, he can, for example, echo the kinds of arguments offered by commentators like Naomi Klein and George Monbiot, he is not able to probe the limits of their perspectives, or ask questions about the validity and utility of the kinds of approaches to globalization proposed in their work. Unable to engage with globalization’s complex dialectics, The Corrections can, as a result, only offer a two-dimensional reflection of familiar versions of the globalization debate. The difficulty for Franzen, however, is that the problems with his approach are not simply confined to weaknesses with its representation of social experience. Of greater concern is a sense that his fiction seems to work in terms that actually strengthen the ideological and conceptual foundations of globalizing consumer capitalism itself, a suggestion that can be developed by pausing to consider Roland Robertson’s reading of globalization. Robertson’s argument is that “globalization as a concept refers both to the compression of the world and the intensification of consciousness of the world as a whole.” 46 His reading thus identifies a relationship between discourses on globalization and the mechanisms of globalization. Shadowing Appadurai’s sense of the role of the imagination in the social processes of globalization, the implication is that the willingness to identify globalization as an unquestionable condition of contemporary life must, in these terms, be regarded as a process that participates in the facilitation, reproduction and expansion of globalization’s coordinating processes. Franzen’s view of globalization thus merits criticism not simply because it is static and deterministic, but because its vision reinforces deterministic, coordinating processes. With its characters stripped of agency and its reading of globalization tending towards a mute reflection of what it sees as the defined and defining realities of the contemporary world, the concern is that this vision feeds a wider social perception that the processes of globalization are hegemonic and incontestable. If Canclini is right that “globalizing politics arrive at consent, in part, because they excite the imagination of millions of persons promising that two 46 Roland Robertson, Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture (London: Sage, 1992), p.8. 20 plus two which until now made four can be extended to five or six”, then the account of globalization offered in The Corrections can be seen to contribute to these processes of affirmation. 47 Problematic not simply because of its narrow determinism and its undialectical reading of globalizing consumer society (and its equally undialectical reading of the relationship between aesthetics and society), but because its vision actually works to reproduce and stabilise a certain version of the globalization debate, The Corrections thus seems to lack the “cultural authority” needed to make it an effective “social novel”. Its failure does, however, offer some insight into the kind of qualities a “novel of globalization” would require. One obvious pre-requisite is a portrait of globalizing consumer society that is alive to the complexities of the dialectical forces that link top with bottom and local with global. This general requirement can be related to a need for a subtle sense that the novel has, in Peyser’s words, “a crucial role to play in the very processes of globalization”. Such an appreciation would not only foster an awareness of the relationships that connect the imagination with social processes, but a recognition that globalization is not a brute reality that can measured and reflected, but a network of competing powers, discourses and debates that are subject to the influence of dialogue and discussion. Instead of following these paths, however, Franzen chooses a narrower route. Though this approach allows him to generate satirical comment, it is in the end unable to offer anything in the way of a corrective to or even critical insight into the expansion and reproduction of internationalised forms of capital. Despite these concerns, the ways in which Franzen brings his novel to a close suggests the stirrings of an attempt to qualify and moderate the deterministic dimensions of the main body of the text. Though the novel has made great play of its idea of “the correction” and has led the reader to expect dramatic realignments that effect both the private and the public sphere, the actual conclusion is much more subtle. Of his economic context, for example, Franzen writes: The correction, when it finally came, was not an overnight bursting of a bubble, but a much more gentle letdown, a year-long leakage of value from key financial markets, a contraction too gradual to generate headlines and too predictable to seriously hurt anybody but fools and the working poor.” 48 47 Nestor García Canclini, La Globalización Imaginada (Buenos Aires: Paidós, 1999) [My translation], p.31/32. 48 Franzen, The Corrections, p.647. 21 Unlike the dramatic elections that dominate the conclusion to The 27 th City, or the earthquake that not only provides Strong Motion with a spectacular ending, but also offers Franzen one final chance to make a striking restatement of the novel’s key theme, The Corrections ends on a quieter note. Alfred dies, but there are no astonishing changes or reversals. Instead of the expected crash, the novel closes with slower and more gradual changes taking effect. Franzen’s conclusion reads: All of her [Enid’s] corrections had been for naught. He was as stubborn as the day she’d met him. And yet when he was dead, and when she’d pressed her lips to his forehead and walked out with Denise and Gary into the warm spring night, she felt that nothing could kill her hope now. She was seventy-five and she was going to make some changes in her life. 49 In making it clear that the search for a dramatic correction has “been for naught”, this ending thus qualifies the narrow determinism and tight sense of causality that has informed so many of the preceding pages. In these final moves, as if sensing he has overplayed his hand, Franzen allows the novel to unravel its rigid scheme and correct itself. This process of qualification and readjustment, that works both in terms of Enid’s ambitions and with regard to the novel’s strict overarching scheme, is significant because it suggests that Franzen is turning away from determinism and homology and recognising that these approaches offer both inadequate understandings of social life and unconvincing models for the writing of fiction. Balancing this conclusion against the ideas that inform the main body of the text can, as a result, be used to shape a real insight into the relationship between fiction and globalization. Though much of the Corrections cannot be interpreted as an example of what a “novel of globalization” is, this sense of the weaknesses with Franzen’s approach can be combined with a reading of these concluding moments in ways that generate a sense of what it might be. When Franzen’s conclusion eschews determinism and inclines towards a more subtle reading of private lives and social experience, he gestures towards a more complex and dialectical sense of the relationships between the literary text and material conditions. The conclusion is that if Franzen can pursue the implications raised in his ending, he may yet muster the “cultural authority” needed to write a “social novel” that offers an effective engagement with globalization. 49 Ibid., p.653. 22 (8,400) 
work_qpizf2pf2rhzpltq4qz2k6kwju	----	SEPT 09 abt I.indd A main reason for using the history of science in classroom instruc- tion is its utility in promoting students’ understanding of the nature of science (hereafter NOS). As indicated in such documents as the National Science Education Standards, it is important to help students develop their understanding of NOS so that they will become more critical consumers of the very scientific knowledge that increasingly impacts their daily lives (National Research Council, 1996). Science education research draws attention to the importance of having students explicitly and reflectively consider NOS tenets during instruction (Howe & Rudge, 2005; Khisfhe & Abd-El- Khalick, 2002). Explicit learning means that through some aspect of instruction, one or more of the relevant NOS tenets are directly targeted for students to evaluate. Reflective learning underscores that students must be challenged to develop their own conceptual understanding of the NOS tenets, in contrast to the alternative (didactic) approach in which a teacher “tells” students how the NOS tenet applies to a given situation. Another important consideration for NOS instruction is the degree to which it is imbedded in a context (Clough, 2006). On one end of the spectrum, there are decontextual approaches which involve exposing students to various “black box” activities (Lederman & Abd-El-Khalick, 1998) and having them explicitly/ reflectively examine relevant NOS tenets. These can be very power- ful introductions to NOS, but as Clough (2006) points out, when students only learn such tenets in a decontextual approach, they may leave instruction with a dualistic conception of NOS – believ- ing that what occurs in “real science” is distinct from that learned during the decontextual activity. Using history of science in instruction is a potential contex- tual approach for students to explicitly and reflectively learn NOS tenets, and science education literature contains numerous exam- ples of its use in this regard (e.g., Howe, 2007; Monk & Osborne, 1997; Khisfhe & Abd-El-Khalick, 2002; Solomon, Duveen, Scot & McCarthy, 1992). Indeed, these studies provide empirical efficacy (albeit modest) that the instrumental use of history of science can help students develop more informed NOS conceptions. While these studies effectively present varied ways that history has been used in this regard, they do not provide sufficient detail for teachers to replicate their approaches (how to go about identify- ing and connecting relevant aspects of the history of sci- ence to the important NOS tenets). This article provides a method for teachers who intend to use one or more epi- sodes from the history of science to help their students explic- itly and reflectively learn more informed NOS conceptions. The method facilitates: 1. how to identify relevant NOS tenets exemplified in the epi- sode. 2. how to design classroom problems that have students explicitly and reflectively consider NOS using the historical episode. An example of this approach is given using the work of Henry David Thoreau and introductory concepts of ecological forest suc- cession. Though several of the specific elements of the Thoreau lessons are discussed in the next sections, for the sake of space, only the salient features are highlighted. Readers are certainly encouraged to download supplemental materials from the author, which include the lesson plans and a detailed discussion of how to go about researching episodes from the history of science for use in the classroom. These can be found at http://www.assumption. edu/users/emhowe/Thoreau.html. The Nature of Science Essentially, NOS deals with understanding the unique aspects of scientific knowledge or scientific ways of knowing. Stakeholders in science education largely agree that there are fundamental tenets about NOS that students should be learning in the classroom (McComas, 2005). A partial list of these tenets underscores that: • Science demands and relies on empirical evidence. • Knowledge production in science shares common methods and shared habits of mind, norms, logical thinking, and methods (such as careful observation and data recording, truthfulness in reporting, etc.). – Experiments are not the only route to knowledge. – Explanations in science (hypotheses and theories) pro- vide a means for prediction. – Science uses both inductive reasoning and hypothetico- deductive testing. – However, there is no one-step scientific method by which all science is done. • Scientific knowledge is tentative, durable, and self-correct- ing (meaning that science cannot definitively prove any- thing, but scientific conclusions are still valuable and long- lasting because of the way in which they are developed). • Science has a subjective component (theory-laden charac- ter). • Science has a creative component. • There are historical, cultural, and social influences on the practice of science. A R T I C L E Henry David Thoreau, Forest Succession & The Nature of Science: A Method for Curriculum Development E R I C M . H O W E ... it is important to help students develop their understanding of the nature of science so that they will become more critical con- sumers of the very scientific knowledge that increasingly impacts their daily lives. THE AMERICAN BIOLOGY TEACHER CURRICULUM DEVELOPMENT 397 Howe, E. 2009. Henry David Thoreau, Forest Succession & The Nature of Science. The American Biology Teacher 71(9):397-404. With permission from the National Association of Biology Teachers. 398 THE AMERICAN BIOLOGY TEACHER VOLUME 71, NO. 7, SEPTEMBER 2009 Phase I: Researching Henry David Thoreau & Forest Succession For my introductory college biology course, I was particularly interested in having students learn about fundamental community ecology concepts (e.g., competition, resources, biotic and abiotic factors, dispersion, succession) with reference to the topic of forest succession. I was also interested in having students develop their understanding of aspects of NOS through the use of any history of scientific work on ecological succession. My first “phase” of research involved my having to identify an episode in the history of science (in this case, the work of Henry David Thoreau) and my having to learn enough of the general and specific philosophical details of the historical “story” and its actors to understand how I might use the episode in the classroom. This phase is detailed in the supplemental downloadable materials for those interested in doing historical research. From this research, the following “picture” began to emerge: Henry David Thoreau maintained an acute interest in natural history of his native countryside in central New England through- out his relatively brief life. Part of his passion for natural history stemmed from his affinity for the transcendental movement and the romantic philosophies – whose followers believed in the impor- tance of countering the increasing exploitation of the environment. They held central beliefs that nature was capable of renewal and revitalization and that living organisms (of which humans played only a part) were bound together in an almost spiritual and meta- physical interrelationship (Bowler & Morus, 2005; Worster, 1994). In addition, Thoreau’s burgeoning interest in the systematic study of nature stemmed from his evident commitment to a mechanistic philosophy – a philosophy linked closely to the methods developed from the Scientific Revolution (Whitford, 1950, 1951). Well before Thoreau’s time, the work of Newton, Descarte, Gallileo, Kepler, and others in the physical sciences during the 16th and 17th centuries collectively created what has come to be known as the mechanistic philosophy for studying the physical realm, namely that all physical entities (including living organisms) were analogous to machines, and as such, scientists should explain their behavior strictly in terms of mechanical interactions among their parts. This contrasts with previous understandings of the natural world, which often made reference to mystical or metaphysical considerations to account for natural phenomena. Thoreau’s writings reveal that his interest in natural history was motivated by two ironically conflicting philosophical commit- ments. His holistic feelings about nature reflected the ideals of the Romantic Movement: He was passionately committed to environ- mental conservation because he witnessed firsthand the reduction of forests and environment in and around his native home, and he was inspired by early holistic writers of nature (e.g., Gilbert White of Selbourne, England). His writings reveal a holistic worldview which seeks to understand how everything in nature interacts almost purposefully to produce a harmonious and self-sustaining whole. Yet his scientific observations drew from his interest in the mechanistic philosophy and inductive approaches to studying nature. Here, his writings support his interest in the systematic observational analysis of the interrelationships of living things. This is reflected in the amount of time he spent observing and recording the life history of various plants (termed phenology) in and around central Massachusetts. This work he placed in a series of Journals from the period of approximately 1845 to 1860. The Whitford articles and Thoreau’s writings (1906a, 1993) revealed that Thoreau was particularly interested in studying a curious problem related to the succession of wood (forest) lots. Because he was well known in his community as a naturalist, Thoreau’s advice on various issues was periodically sought, and it is apparent from his writings that he was often called upon by local farmers to resolve how tree species replaced one another in certain forest stands. I subsequently refer to this as the “Farmers’ Problem.” The “Farmers’ Problem” In the mid 19th century a significant proportion of manufac- tured goods were made from wood and, because of this, forestry (forest management) had become an important industry in New England. Farmers were vitally interested in understanding how to properly raise, cultivate, harvest, and, most importantly, maintain forest stands. Around the time of the 1850s, farmers in Concord, Massachusetts, kept asking why, when they cut off a stand of lum- ber in a particular lot of forest, it would often “come back” as an entirely different species of tree. For example, cut hardwood (e.g., oak) in a woodlot would be replaced by pitch pine (e.g., white pine), and when farmers cut a pine stand, the same ground came up later as hardwood. Whitford (1950) gives a nice summary of several of the prevail- ing explanations that Thoreau’s contemporaries held to account for the emergence of new tree species (Table 1), including the belief that new species were the result of divine intervention, having arisen from special creation or spontaneous generation. Table 1 presents a summary of the various explanations, including Thoreau’s ultimate claim that tree succession in the Farmers’ Problem resulted pri- marily from differential seed dispersal, germination, and seedling survival. The table also summarizes the evidence presented in the Whitford article and from Thoreau’s own writings (1906a) which either support or refute the various explanations to account for the replacement of tree species in the Farmers’ Problem. What is particularly noteworthy of Thoreau’s approach to the problem is his use of a careful systematic method to understand how new species could arise. He gathered data on the various species of deciduous and coniferous trees that existed in relation to the sites of succession. He studied the methods (and rates) of seed dispersal, the germination of seeds, the conditional survival of seedlings, and the habitats and foraging characteristics of vari- ous woodland birds and rodents. From this corpus of data, he was able to propose his provisional theory to account for the Farmers’ Problem (owing to differences in seed dispersal and germination), and he was also able to refute many of the prevailing explanations that relied upon faith or tenuous conjecture. Phase II: Identifying Germane NOS Tenets Though decontextual lists of NOS similar to that presented ear- lier in this article are certainly important for drawing attention to the multifaceted character of NOS, they alone are not conducive for teachers who want to develop curriculum that infuses NOS instruction into the lessons. This is because the tenets as given do not explicitly help teachers link the conceptual material that they intend to use in the classroom with the relevant aspects of NOS. For this reason, teachers would benefit from thinking about potential NOS instruction not in terms of tenets, but in terms of NOS guiding questions (Clough, 2006b; Howe, 2007). Specific to the work of Thoreau, I used many of these guiding NOS questions when I considered how Thoreau and his contemporaries sought to solve the Farmers’ Problem, particularly the explanations they pro- posed and the evidence they relied upon or methods they used to bear upon the problem. Using guiding NOS questions in this way Howe, E. 2009. Henry David Thoreau, Forest Succession & The Nature of Science. The American Biology Teacher 71(9):397-404. With permission from the National Association of Biology Teachers. was also very helpful when I made the transition to thinking about ways of promoting students to explicitly consider NOS tenets in connection with their examining the conceptual problems. I used many of the specific questions (Table 2) during my curriculum development, but I altered them below to a form more conducive for students to use as NOS probes to consider during instruction (discussed in the next section). NOS Tenet: Empirical Nature of Science – Scientists Gather Data Through Their Sensory Observations/ Input • Is Thoreau’s approach scientific? Why or why not? • What actions (or methods) did Thoreau use that you feel char- acterize him as scientific? Are there any that do not? Part of what embodies a scien- tific approach is that it relies on empirically-derived data. Thoreau made specific observations of the behavior of various tree species (their lifecycles) and the behavior of various forest inhabitants (e.g., rodents, squirrels). Using specific data, Thoreau deduced that the most fruitful explanation was that the mechanism for tree succession related to the reproductive meth- ods of seed dispersal, germination, and competition for resources. Thoreau also believed in Linnaeus’ claims of organismal hierarchies, which in today’s interpretive lens is seen as metaphysical. This hierarchy proclaimed that some organisms by their very essence were superordinal to others – more advanced as ordained by creation. Evidence from Thoreau’s writings suggests that he believed that some species of trees (e.g., oaks) were the final species (now referred to as climax) in a stand of forest because they were destined to be so according to the hierarchical framework. NOS Tenet: Science vs. Pseudoscience • What distinguishes Thoreau’s explanation to account for the Farmers’ Problem from the (then) widely-held belief that trees arose spontaneously? The belief that new tree species could arise spontaneously aligned with a divine interpretation of life. Here, species were seen as created by God and placed upon the dominion Table 1. Explanations of the Farmers’ Problem Tree species succeed (or arise) because: Explanation Evidence in Support or Against Spontaneous Generation (The Divine Creation of Replacement Species) • This was believed by many of Thoreau’s contemporaries. • Aligned with a belief in divine creation of species. • Thoreau explicitly indicates in his writing (Journals) that he sees no evidence to sup- port this. • Thoreau points out how non-native trees in New England could not simply “arise” from nowhere but rather must have been brought to America from the outside. Seeds Lie in Ground For Many Years and Await Favorable Conditions for Germination • Thoreau gathered acorns of oaks and placed them in a drawer for six months. Subsequent germination was poor. • For oaks, he either had to accept that seeds could lie dormant in the ground or come up with another explanation for their distribution. Stump Sprouts Around Recently-Cut Trees Must Produce New Growth • This would not explain succession of one species to or by another. • Thoreau points out that sprout regeneration actually makes for a weaker tree. Seed Dispersal and Germination (Thoreau’s Explanation) • Thoreau drew an analogy to pine and maple seeds in relation to their being carried on the wind. • He made extensive observations of the behavior of squirrels and their foraging for nuts, noting the tendency of squirrels to take the heavy nuts of oaks great distances. • Thoreau observed oak seedlings in mature pine forests and noted that they were seemingly shade tolerant as seedlings. THE AMERICAN BIOLOGY TEACHER CURRICULUM DEVELOPMENT 399 Howe, E. 2009. Henry David Thoreau, Forest Succession & The Nature of Science. The American Biology Teacher 71(9):397-404. With permission from the National Association of Biology Teachers. of the Earth. The succession of an existing tree species by an entirely new species could be explained by this, how- ever, the explanation is not scientific. It is based upon mani- fest faith in the work of a creator and as such not subject to potential refutation. Thoreau’s explanation (a hypothesis or provisional theory) allowed him the capability of making accurate predictions of how succession might proceed in various woodlots depending on the existing species of flora and fauna, and as such, his explanation would be subject to potential tests to refute it. NOS Tenet: Scientists Are Partially & Unavoidably Subjective in Their Work (and the Development of Theories) – The Theory-Laden NOS • Might Thoreau’s prior philosophical orientation have influ- enced how he “interpreted” the Farmers’ Problem? Thoreau embraced the mechanistic philosophy for develop- ing explanations in science. He did not believe in scientific explanations necessarily tied to higher powers or the mani- fest work of a creator. In fact, Thoreau’s writings support that he believed in the transmutation of species. Following a mechanistic perspective, Thoreau believed that natural explanations had causes that were attributable to individual actions that could be identified and isolated. NOS Tenet: Scientists Use Creativity To Develop Hypotheses/Theories • What aspects of Thoreau’s work on the Farmers’ Problem would you regard as “creative”? Why? • Do you think contemporary scientists use similar creative pro- cesses? Thoreau must have had creative insights to examine and assimilate the observations he made in order to link the distribution of seeds by squirrels (etc.) to the reproductive benefit gained by the trees. It also took creativity to link that squirrels collect and transport seeds as food with the corollary that trees use this process as a beneficial disper- sion. Finally, Thoreau was creative in drawing an analogy between crop rotation that farmers normally do with the natural process of seed dispersal and renewal (succession). Phase III: Designing Instruction To Have Students Explicitly & Reflectively Consider NOS Using the Historical Episode The ultimate goal is to design curriculum that has students examine the problems encountered by past scientists in a way that promotes making important connections to the relevant NOS aspects. Table 2. Guiding NOS Questions NOS Tenet Guiding Questions • Science demands/relies on empirical evidence. • In what ways did past scientist(s) engage in the collection of data? • Did they conduct observational analyses? Controlled experiments? Thought experiments? • Were any explanations proposed that lacked empirical evidence? • Knowledge production in science shares similar methods. • How did the scientists draw from larger generalizations (laws and/or theories) to inform their empirical work? • How did their individual data collection lead toward developing their own generaliza- tions? • How did the scientists’ explanations provide predictive capability? • Scientific knowledge is tentative, durable, and self-correcting. • Did the scientist’s explanation(s) replace or supplant any existing ones? Were there alterna- tive theories to account for the available data? • Were any explanations (or methods used to derive them) found to be in error? • What caused the replacement of one theory for another? New data? A new perspective on existing data? • Did technology play a role in bringing about new data? • Science has a subjective element (theory-laden character). • If there were alternative theories, what differences in backgrounds of the scientists may help us to understand why they proposed different explanations? Did they have access to the same (or similar) data? • Were there differences in their educational or philosophical training/grounding? • Science has a creative element. • How did the scientist(s) achieve his/her insights? • Did he/she draw from other experiences (non-scientific) or creative endeavors? • There are historical, cultural, and social influ- ences on the practice of science. • How was the scientist’s work influenced by the culture in which he/she operated? • What ramification may his/her conclusions have on sociological or political policy? • Did any issues of ethics or values come into play with the historical episode? • Science and technology impact each other, but they are not the same. • In what way was technology influential in helping the scientist collect data in support of his/her work? Was technology a necessary component? • Did the work of the scientist bring about technological changes or revolutions? THE AMERICAN BIOLOGY TEACHER CURRICULUM DEVELOPMENT 401 Howe, E. 2009. Henry David Thoreau, Forest Succession & The Nature of Science. The American Biology Teacher 71(9):397-404. With permission from the National Association of Biology Teachers. Designing Background Information That students may lack sufficient background information is certainly an important consideration when designing the lessons. This may inhibit their ability to critically evaluate the context of the problem that will form the basis for their examination at some point during the lesson. Because of this, teachers need to think carefully how to preface the problem with enough historical detail to best prepare students for the lesson. Sufficient background information can take many forms. Sometimes, in order for students to make sense of a problem subsequently given to them, they need sufficient prerequisite conceptual knowledge (i.e., specific biology or physics concepts). In other cases, students will primarily need enough background detail of the interests of a particular scientist, the philosophical leanings of that scientist, and information about any history of ideas, etc. that provides a context for the problem. This is certainly the case with the Thoreau example. For the Thoreau lessons, I began the first day of instruction by briefly (15 minutes) giving students a summary of Thoreau’s interests in natural history, his commitment to the empirical meth- ods derived from the Scientific Revolution, and the influence of his Romantic perspectives on his understanding of nature. During the subsequent lesson, students were invited to read transcripts from Thoreau and his contemporaries, much in the spirit of a case-study approach so that they could interpret the evidence and conclu- sions made by the actual scientists of the period. The selection of these transcripts came as a result of the initial phase of curriculum development. Designing the Problem of Interest Designing the central problem is of course one of the more critical and time-consuming aspects of the curriculum develop- ment, and teachers must use their ingenuity to take aspects of the work they conducted in the first phase of research and modify it for their own pedagogical purposes. Some episodes from the history of science (i.e., the problems that are identified and the evidence that is used to solve them) avail themselves to having students look at data. Sometimes the data can be taken directly from the history of research and modified slightly for ease of use in the classroom (e.g., Howe, 2007). Other times, the teacher will need to think about the conceptual issues raised in the problem (i.e., the explanations and the evidence) and invent a contrived scenario representative of the issues raised in the problem. This was the case with the Thoreau episode. Here, I took the information that emerged from the histori- cal research (encapsulated in Table 1) and invented a problem for students to consider (Appendix A – The Farmers’ Problem). Once students have been given the appropriate background information, the teacher can then provide them with the central problem to consider (Appendix A). The emphasis during instruc- tion is to put students in an active role, whereby in small groups they are encouraged to consider the problem/evidence given to them and come up with one or more explanations to account for the evidence. In the Thoreau case, student groups are encouraged to specify between the evidence they are given, the inferences they make from the evidence, any questions they have, and any proposed explanations they develop. Their ideas are placed on the board for comparative purposes during the whole class session that follows. Group work is then followed with whole class discussions where the various explanations are shared among members and the teacher can have students comment on the merit of each other’s answers. Moreover, the teacher can offer additional explanations in those instances where students did not develop one. Connecting to NOS Recall that the second phase of the method for developing curriculum involves identifying relevant NOS tenets using guiding questions that help link the specific work of the scientist(s) to the larger NOS morals (Table 2). The guiding questions used during this process are particularly useful for having students try to con- nect the work they are doing in examining the scientific problem, their own explanations to account for it, and the explanations proposed by the various scientists themselves. At some point in this process, the teacher can provide student groups NOS probes for them to consider. As exemplified in the Thoreau lessons following the initial class, students were asked to read through an article written by Thoreau (1906a) in which he presents his specific argument to explain the succession of forest trees (essentially his account of the Farmers’ Problem). Students were also provided an excerpt from another article where Thoreau makes additional observations related to tree succession (Thoreau, 1906b) and they were given excerpts from other naturalists who proposed alternative explana- tions. Students were challenged to identify the various explanations (and evidence for/against) that Thoreau himself discusses. At the same time, students were given NOS probing questions to consider while they were reading the historical pieces. These NOS probes were taken directly from the second phase of NOS research that I had done where I had identified any germane NOS tenets. The idea was to have students consider the NOS questions in concert with the problem they had attempted to solve during class and with the readings that captured Thoreau’s argument to the problem. In the subsequent class (Day 2), students were invited to share Thoreau’s perspective, and this information was placed on the board next to what the students had proposed from the previous class. During a whole-class discussion, students were challenged to critically evaluate the various explanations, and they were invited to reflect upon the NOS questions given to them. In this way, NOS was a planned instructional event (explicit), and because students were put in the position of their having to consider the NOS prob- ing questions in concert with the work they did to interpret the problem, they were challenged to reflectively link NOS to a specific (i.e., scientifically meaningful) context. Summary: Advantages of This Method The preceding method describes how to integrate explicit/reflective NOS instruction using problem-based lesson(s) developed from episodes in the history of science. The advantages of this approach draw support from several areas within science education and cog- nitive science research. First, the method assumes as its basis that science is essen- tially a problem-solving endeavor. Therefore, to the extent possible, lessons that hope to expose students to learning “about science” should be done in a manner consistent with how scientists operate. It is for this reason that the method stresses to teachers that they use certain guiding questions to flush out the significant problems of interest, the evidence that the scientists used to develop explana- tions to account for the problems, and the disparities (if applicable) in explanations that were proposed. Correspondingly, placing a curricular emphasis on explanations and evidence aligns with what science educators point out as fundamental processes in science (Duschl, 1990), and it avails itself to having students develop criti- cal reasoning in argumentation (Monk & Osborne, 1997). Second, the method links NOS instruction to what is a con- text-rich learning experience with the history of science. The advan- 402 THE AMERICAN BIOLOGY TEACHER VOLUME 71, NO. 7, SEPTEMBER 2009 Howe, E. 2009. Henry David Thoreau, Forest Succession & The Nature of Science. The American Biology Teacher 71(9):397-404. With permission from the National Association of Biology Teachers. N A B T ORGANIZATIONAL M E M B E R S Thank You... NABT salutes the following organizations for their support: Bishop Miege High School, KS Cadillac High School, MI Carlynton Jr. /Sr. High School, PA Carmel Senior High School, IN Chicago Horticultural Society, IL Encyclopedia of Life, MA Episcopal High School, FL Iowa Academy of Science, IA Jim Thorpe High School, PA Johnson County Community College, KS Lincoln High School, CA Lutheran High School, CA Northland College, WI Overlake School, WA Padua Franciscan High School, OH Polytech Prep Day School, NY Powhatan High School, VA Presentation High School, CA Punahou School, HI University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences, AR Interested in becoming an Organizational Member? Call NABT at (800) 406-0775. tage of this as discussed by Clough (2006b) is that when students learn NOS within a contextual framework, they are less likely to exit instruction with dualistic thinking of NOS tenets. Put another way, when NOS instruction is not linked to context (e.g., when NOS is taught only using “black box” activities), students are more inclined to consider NOS as something that only applies in terms of the decontextual activity and not with respect to the practice of real science. Finally, the method draws from research (Howe & Rudge, 2005; Khishfe & Abd-El-Khalick, 2002) that demonstrates the importance and efficacy of promoting students to both explicitly and reflectively learn fundamental NOS tenets. Here, the central argument is that NOS tenets should be viewed as cognitive con- structs and as such are things that students must meaningfully learn on their own, with the instructor helping to scaffold their concept learning. Thus, instruction must provide opportunities for students to build upon their existing conceptions of science. In this method, the reflective element of NOS probes and subsequent small group and whole-class discussions emphasizes qua the con- structivist philosophy the cognitive learning of NOS. My introductory biology course is designed primarily for preservice elementary and secondary education students. Over successive units, students are repeatedly challenged via open-ended problems and classroom discussions to develop their own concep- tual understanding of fundamental biological concepts. My role as an instructor is to introduce the problems that students examine, help model problem-solving strategies, and initiate/direct discus- sion about aspects that concern either the conceptual topics or more generally when some part of students’ work raises important connections to NOS. I have implemented the Thoreau lessons in my ecology unit over three successive semesters, and I have been impressed with how students have approached the readings and the manner in which they discussed connections to NOS. Furthermore, in my ecology unit exam, I presented students with decontextual ques- tions about NOS and invited them to reflect about their under- standing. A substantial number of students not only gave fairly informed conceptions of NOS but, perhaps more noteworthy, they supported their answers with specific aspects of the Thoreau case. Admittedly, I am cautious not to overly extrapolate the effect of one brief intervention on students’ tenacious views of NOS, but still my anecdotal experience/evidence is encouraging, and the method does align with theoretical approaches for how we should teach contextualized NOS concepts. Readers interested in a more empirical analysis of the effect of a similar method of instruction using a case-study approach to understanding sickle-cell anemia are encouraged to take a look at the article in The American Biology Teacher (Howe, 2007) or otherwise (Howe & Rudge, 2005). Acknowledgment The author greatly acknowledges the feedback from two anony- mous reviewers on an earlier version of the manuscript. THE AMERICAN BIOLOGY TEACHER CURRICULUM DEVELOPMENT 403 References Bowler, P. & Morus, I. (2005). Making Modern Science: A Historical Survey. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Clough, M.F. (2006). Learners’ responses to the demands of conceptual change: Considerations for effective nature of science instruction. Science Education, 15, 463-94. Clough, M.P. (2006b). Teaching the nature of science to secondary and post-sec- ondary students: Questions rather than tenets. The Pantaneto Forum, 25. Available online at: http://www.pantaneto.co.uk/issue25/clough.htm Duschl, R. (1990). Restructuring Science Education: The Importance of Theories and Their Development. New York City, NY: Teachers College Press. Howe, E.M. (2007). Addressing nature of science core tenets with history of science: An example with sickle-cell anemia and malaria. The American Biology Teacher, 69(8), 467-72. Howe, E.M. & Rudge, D.W. (2005). Recapitulating the history of sickle-cell ane- mia research: Improving students’ NOS views explicitly and reflectively. Science & Education, 14(3), 423-41. continued Howe, E. 2009. Henry David Thoreau, Forest Succession & The Nature of Science. The American Biology Teacher 71(9):397-404. With permission from the National Association of Biology Teachers. North Forest B: Oak Forest C: PineOld Field: (Grass, Goldenrod) Forest A: Maple (30%) Pine (40%) Pin Cherry (20%) Blackberry (10%) (All scattered) Pine Oak Maple Goldenrod Cherry Appendix A. The Farmers’ Problem To the right is a hypothetical diagram of a farmer’s field that is sur- rounded on three sides by different forest stands. Below the diagram are illustrations of the species of trees (and their seeds/cones where applicable) and the annual goldenrod. Assume that each of the forests (A, B & C) are at least 40 years old. It is also safe to assume that there are no other mature species of trees in each of the forests other than those given under the for- est headings. Each forest does contain occasional seedling trees (approximately 6 to 18 inches tall) of various species, and each of the forests contains stumps from the cuttings of many years past. The farmer decides to harvest his pine field (Field C). This is accomplished by literally sawing the mature trees (largely the entire forest) by cutting them at the base, thereby leaving stumps behind from which new sprouts may possibly grow (a practice that was com- monly done to start tree growth). Many years pass, and the farmer (or perhaps his/her children) notice that what was once a pine forest in Field C has now become principally an oak forest. Farmers with other similar plots also notice that in those instances where oak fields were harvested for lumber (like the origi- nal Field B), they were eventually replaced by pine trees. Using the information below in the table and the diagram and illustrations to the right, I want you to come up with various explana- tions to account for the farmers’ observations. (Where did the oak trees that took over the harvested field [C] come from?). You may decide that much of the information in this table is not useful for now. You may also decide that you need more information for one or more of your explana- tions. That is fine – make note of any questions that you may have. Consider as many explanations as you can, even those that may seem unusual. Also: How might some- one from the 19th century, who believes in the divine creation of life, explain what is occurring in the fields? Species Avg. Height Growth Rate Avg. Age When Capable of Reproducing Seed Dispersal Optimal Seedling Light Conditions Adult Shade Tolerance Life Expectancy (Years) Oak 80’ Slow 10 years Acorns (Heavy) – Drop & Critter Low Light Moderate 80 - 100 Pine 60’ Slow 10 years Cones (Seeds) Wind Mod. Light Moderate 50 - 60 404 THE AMERICAN BIOLOGY TEACHER VOLUME 71, NO. 7, SEPTEMBER 2009 Khishfe, R. & Abd-El-Khalick, F. (2002). Influence of explicit and reflective versus implicit inquiry-oriented instruction on sixth graders’ views of nature of sci- ence. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 39(7), 551-78. Lederman, N. & Abd-El-Khalick, F. (1998). Avoiding de-natured science: activities that promote understandings of the nature of science. In: W.F. McComas (Ed.), The Nature of Science in Science Education: Rationales and Strategies (pp. 83- 126). Boston, MA: Kluwer. McComas, W.F. (April, 2005). Seeking NOS standards: What consensus exists in popu- lar books on the nature of science? Paper presented at the annual Conference of the National Association of Research in Science Teaching, Dallas, TX. Monk, M. & Osborne, J. (1997). Placing the history and philosophy of science on the curriculum: A Model for the development of pedagogy. Science Education, 81, 405-24. National Research Council. (1996). National Science Education Standards. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. Solomon, J., Duveen, J., Scot, L. & McCarthy, S. (1992). Teaching about the nature of science through history: Action research in the classroom. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 29(4), 409-421. Thoreau, H.D. (1906a). The Succession of Forest Trees, 185-200. Boston, MA & New York City, NY: Excursions. Thoreau, H.D. (1906b). Journal, the Writings of Henry David Thoreau (Walden, Ed.), Vol. 14, p. 71. Thoreau, H.D. (1993). Faith in a Seed. B. Dean (Ed.). Washington DC: Island Press, Shearwater Books. Whitford, K. (1950). Thoreau and the woodlots of concord. The New England Quarterly, 291-306. Whitford, K. (1951). Thoreau: Pioneer ecologist and conservationalist. Scientific Monthly, 73, 291-29. Worster, D. (1994). Nature’s Economy: A History of Ecological ideas, 2nd Edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. B IO ERIC M. HOWE is Assistant Professor of Science Education, Assumption College, Worcester, MA 01609; e-mail: emhowe@assumption.edu. Howe, E. 2009. Henry David Thoreau, Forest Succession & The Nature of Science. The American Biology Teacher 71(9):397-404. With permission from the National Association of Biology Teachers. 
work_qq64t2ay5ng2nhu5zhmuw5kbqu	----	On order and disorder during the COVID‐19 pandemic British Journal of Social Psychology (2020), 59, 694–702 © 2020 The Authors. British Journal of Social Psychology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of British Psychological Society www.wileyonlinelibrary.com Special Section Paper On order and disorder during the COVID-19 pandemic Stephen Reicher 1* and Clifford Stott2 1 School of Psychology and Neuroscience, University of St. Andrews, UK 2 School of Psychology, University of Keele, UK In this paper, we analyse the conditions under which the COVID-19 pandemic will lead either to social order (adherence to measures put in place by authorities to control the pandemic) or to social disorder (resistance to such measures and the emergence of open conflict). Using examples from different countries (principally the United Kingdom, the United States, and France), we first isolate three factors which determine whether people accept or reject control measures. These are the historical context of state-public relations, the nature of leadership during the pandemic and procedural justice in the development and operation of these measures. Second, we analyse the way the crisis is policed and how forms of policing determine whether dissent will escalate into open conflict. We conclude by considering the prospects for order/disorder as the pandemic unfolds. What are the effects of hard times on human behaviour? There are two diametrically opposed answers to this question. On the one hand, a large and growing literature on responses to crises, emergencies, and disasters shows how – in contrast to the traditional image of panic – people characteristically act in a controlled manner, they help and support each other, even at considerable risk to themselves, and this mutual aid extends even to strangers (Drury, 2018). Underlying this is a sense of shared identity which arises out of a common fate and which results in empathy and solidarity for one’s fellows. In short, hard times can create social cohesion and invoke widespread compassion (Drury & Alfadhli, 2019). On the other hand, the historical record shows that some of the most extreme forms of social division and human hatred arise out of the psychology of hard times. Sometimes, this division is within the population as people become fearful and vent their fury on those identified as scapegoats (Staub, 1989). This is particularly true of pandemics and plagues. During the Black Death, for instance, some 2,000 Jews were burnt in Strasbourg on St. Valentine’s Day 1349 (Cohn, 2007). However, in this paper we focus on a different form of division – that between authorities and their public. Tensions, conflicts, and widespread rioting can often occur as limits on everyday activity are imposed as infection takes hold This is an open access article under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits use, distribution and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. *Correspondence should be addressed to Stephen Reicher, School of Psychology & Neuroscience, University of St. Andrews, St. Andrews, Fife KY16 9JP, UK (email: sdr@st-andrews.ac.uk). DOI:10.1111/bjso.12398 694 https://orcid.org/0000-0002-3449-0082 https://orcid.org/0000-0002-3449-0082 https://orcid.org/0000-0002-3449-0082 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-5399-3294 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-5399-3294 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-5399-3294 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ mailto: http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1111%2Fbjso.12398&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2020-07-01 (Slack, 1985). For instance, Snowden, (1995) documents how, during the 1910 cholera epidemic in Italy, restrictions on burials led to attacks on health workers and the police. In general terms, then, we need to understand what determines whether a pandemic leads to greater social cohesion or greater social conflict? The question is equally pertinent when it comes to the current pandemic. We have seen high levels of adherence to lockdown measures and a remarkable flowering of mutual aid groups – in Britain alone more than 4,000 groups involving some 3 million people (Butler, 2020). We have also seen discord and overt conflict between the public and authorities – in France, Italy, Brazil, and the United States, for example. So what determines why and when cohesion gives way to conflict, social order to social disorder? The origins of order Let us turn first to the question of ‘order’. More specifically, we focus here on whether the public accept without dissent the things that governments demand of them. In the context of COVID-19, why do people tolerate restrictions on their everyday lives, such as lockdown? The question of why people obey authorities is one of the most famous in the history of psychology. It is exemplified by the popularity and notoriety of Milgram’s Yale Obedience studies (Milgram, 1974). Yet, Milgram’s work is more influential as a demonstration of how far some people will go in obeying an authority figure than as an explanation of this phenomenon. Indeed, Milgram’s ‘agentic state’ account of obedience is little more than tautology – suggesting that we obey authority because we enter a state where we focus uniquely on obeying authority and hence automatically obey orders. Our recent re-analyses suggest a very different story. Obedient participants, we argue, should be understood as ‘engaged followers’ (Reicher & Haslam, 2019; Reicher et al., 2012). Far from being passive in the presence of an authority, they make an active ideological choice to work with the experimenter to advance the scientific enterprise – something they see as a noble cause. Moreover, we suggest this does not happen by accident. It is a result of active ‘identity leadership’ by the experimenter (Haslam et al., 2019) who actively seeks to bring about such shared identification between himself and the participant in the cause of science. This conclusion chimes with that from the work of Tyler and colleagues onwhypeople obey the law (Tyler, 1990) – the so-called ‘group engagement’ model (Tyler & Blader, 2003). They show that adherence depends upon whether people see themselves and authorities – particularly the police – as part of a common in-group. They too focus on the antecedents of such shared identity, but the emphasis is less on leadership than on procedural justice in the interactions between authorities and their publics. It is by giving people voice, by treating them fairly and with respect, that a sense of being part of a common group is created. This in turn legitimates laws and regulations and increases adherence to them (Bradford, Murphy & Jackson, 2014). More recent research suggests that the potency of procedural justice lies not simply in creating an in-group relationship between authorities and citizens but in establishing the authorities as prototypical in-group members acting for and serving the interests of the group(Radburn&Stott,2019;Radburn,Stott,Bradford&Robinson,2018;Stottetal.,2012). This work puts flesh on John Turner’s suggestion that the procedural justice framework ‘points to a whole range of other factors relevant to identification with authorities and acceptance of their control as an ingroup norm (e.g. the ideology and goals of group members, the social comparative context, their history of success or failure for Order and disorder during the COVID-19 pandemic 695 the group, the degree to which the authorities are perceived as more or less prototypical of the relevant identity)’ (2005, p. 11). Echoing Turner, we suggest that, in addition to leadership and procedural justice, historical and structural context is a third antecedent of shared in-group identity and hence of adherence to authority. Let us now briefly consider the significance of these three factors in the COVID-19 pandemic. We use, as an example, the United Kingdom – where levels of adherence to restrictions have been consistently high. Clearly, given that we are still in the midst of the pandemic and do not yet have the luxury of prolonged reflection or comprehensive data, our argument is more illustrative than definitive. But still, it is worth considering whether we can make sense of what we know thus far. First, regarding historical context, Britain has a long tradition of treating state intervention as progressive and in the interests of the general population – which even if not a consistent reality, serves as a potent national myth (Rollings, 1996). Politically, this is expressed in the idea that policing is not an imposition from the centre but rooted in local consent (Channing, 2015). Economically, it is encapsulated in the idea of welfarism (Page & Silburn, 1999). Institutionally, it is exemplified by the NHS, invoked as a centrepiece in Danny Boyle’s pageant of Britishness for the opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics and currently occupying an almost deified status. Additionally, there are also powerful historical myths of state and society joining as one in times of national crisis as exemplified in the notion of a ‘Blitz spirit’ and of the King and Queen remaining in London to share the plight of the people during WW2 (Calder, 1992). These historical myths are potent sources for the ways contemporary social realities are broadly understood, and social relations are defined in the present. But they are not so much determining cultural presences as rhetorical resources that can be drawn upon – and indeed need to be actively invoked – if they are to influence our understanding of COVID-19, our relationship to authority during the pandemic and our responses to their policies. This takes us to the second antecedent of shared identity: leadership. There are already many controversies about the leadership of the UK Government during this crisis and no doubt they will grow in time: did they tarry too long in declaring lockdown and have they shown sufficient diligence in developing testing and in securing protective equipment for frontline workers? Nonetheless, Government ministers and Government information services have, increasingly over time, framed the crisis in inclusive national terms – a ‘we’ thing that incorporates government and people in common cause 1 . And indeed the Queen, in her address to the nation on 5th April, invoked the myth of a ‘Blitz spirit’ to ground her calls for national solidarity, notably by finishing with a reference to Vera Lynn’s most famous of all WW2 songs: ‘we will meet again’. But the rhetoric of ‘togetherness’ is of little use and may indeed be undermined when it is not matched by practices which make it possible for us to come together. Otherwise, the words will be seen as hypocrisy and will only serve to undermine a sense of equity and trust in authority. At this point, we are back in the territory of procedural justice – the third antecedent of identification with authority – albeit with a critical twist. That is, it is important that fairness is not just a matter of rhetoric and the process by which regulations are introduced but that it extends to the ways in which those regulations impact on people in practice (Armaline, Sanchez & Correia, 2014; Epp, Maynard-Moody & Haider-Markel, 2014). 1 Note, this was written in early May before the ‘Cummings’ affair – in which a top government advisor was seen to break lockdown rules without repercussions – led to a strong sense of alienation from the Government. 696 Stephen Reicher and Clifford Stott Once again, there is already criticism of Government support to enable everyone to observe lockdown as too little and too late. And again, there will be more. There is little doubt that the poor and precarious are less able to stay at home, even if they are as motivated as the rich and secure to do so (Atchison et al., 2020). The evidence is clear that the poor (and BAME people) are getting infected and dying at far higher rates than the affluent (Pidd, Barr & Mohdin, 2020). But first, the United Kingdom does have a range of welfare provisions including free universal health care. Second, even if insufficient, nonetheless unprecedented financial measures have been implemented to help people to stay off work during the pandemic: a boost in welfare payments, a state guarantee to replace 80% of lost wages and of lost income for the self-employed. This has been high enough to secure high levels of trust in Government and support for lockdown even amongst those suffering from it (Duffy & Allington, 2020). Enough, for now at least (as we write at the start of May), to secure the social order. The roots of disorder Let us turn next to the question of ‘disorder’ and more specifically to protests against government social distancing measures and to anti-authority rioting in the context of the pandemic. If a facilitative historical context, inclusive leadership, and the legitimacy of authority (cf. Bottoms & Tankebe, 2017) are critical to creating shared identity and maintaining social order, what happens when these factors are absent? Let us answer that question primarily by reference to the USA where (unlike in the United Kingdom) there have been multiple protests against lockdown – but additionally by addressing the unrest that has occurred in various other countries such as Italy, Brazil, and France. The caveats we expressed concerning our analysis of the UK case obviously apply here as well. As before, we shall start with the historical relationship between state and people. Gary Wills starts his history of this relationship in the United States with a famous quotation: ‘Henry David Thoreau put in extreme form what many Americans want to believe: “I heartily accept the motto: ‘the government is best which governs least’”’ (2002, p.15). The country, after all, was born in a revolution against what was seen as an alien and tyrannical state, and this attitude of suspicion remained attached to any state power. To this day, the right to bear arms (as articulated in the 2nd amendment to the constitution) is seen by many as a necessary counterbalance to such tyranny. In this context, any and all state intervention has the potential to be rejected as unacceptable and anti-American. Once again, however, these beliefs do not exert a spontaneous influence. They have to be invoked, applied to the current context, and used to mobilize people against anti- pandemic measures such as lockdown. Anti-state leadership is critical and, remarkably, it was provided by the right-wing populist Head of State, US President Donald Trump. He directly referenced the anti-state principles on which ‘this country’ was built in order to criticize anti-pandemic measures. He praised protestors against lockdown as ‘responsi- ble’, and he tweeted ‘Liberate Minnesota!’ followed by ‘Liberate Michigan’ and then ‘Liberate Virginia and save your great 2nd Amendment. It is under siege!’ (Embury-Dennis, 2020). Finally, the huge structural inequalities in the United States, the fact that less than half of poorer workers get any sick pay, that 28.6 million people have no health cover, and that 40% of Americans could not find $400 to cover an emergency (Vesoulis, 2020), combined with the fact 26 million Americans became unemployed in March and April 2020 Order and disorder during the COVID-19 pandemic 697 (Santhanam, 2020), have led to great hardship in the period of lockdown. This creates a context in which a sizeable pool of people is amenable to being mobilized by anti- lockdown leadership. In the poor South, for instance, 38% of people support Trump on the pandemic over their own State governors (Santhanam, 2020). While, as yet, there are no systematic analyses of those who are protesting, anecdotal reports – along with scrutiny of the chants and the placards displayed in protests – suggest a combination of ‘liberty’ and ‘hardship’ concerns – a leadership and organization rooted in traditional anti- state conservatism gaining some traction amongst those alienated from the authorities by economic suffering. As Stocpol puts it: ‘we’ve got a. . . combination of top-down influence from high-dollar organizations and some genuine energy at the grassroots level’ (cited in Illing, 2020). In suggesting that all three factors – anti-state historical context, anti-state leadership, and inequity – contribute to the emergence of disorder, we do not suggest they are all equivalent or all necessary for protest to emerge. Thus, events in America show how history and leadership can facilitate the emergence of an understanding that pandemic measures are unfair and unjust – an illegitimate imposition by an alien authority that is acting against us rather than for and with us. However, events elsewhere – we shall focus particularly on France – show that such an understanding can arise directly from government measures that are experienced as inequitable and the ways that those who then challenge these measures are treated by the police. Policing and the proximal dynamics of conflict The lockdown in France took effect on 17 March 2020. This was in the context of the long- standing ‘Yellow Vest’ movement. As Jetten et al. (2020) show, a sense of popular alienation from a state out of touch with the sufferings of ordinary people intertwined with the notoriously aggressive heavy handedness of French policing to drive the movement towards violent protest and sustain these protests across time and location. These features were then reproduced within the lockdown itself. As elsewhere, the lockdown exacerbated inequalities of class and ‘race’, making it particularly difficult for poor ethnic minority members to adhere to the regulations and stay at home (Willsher & Harrap, 2020). The state responded with heavy-handed repression. Anyone leaving their home has been required to carry a time-stamped certificate that has to be produced on demand. Infringement carries penalties of heavy fines or even up to six-year imprisonment for the crime of ‘endangerment’. By 1st April, just sixteen days after the control measures were introduced, the French police had already carried out 5.8 million controls and issued 359,000 fines (Statista, 2020) compared to less than 10,000 across the one month following the imposition of control measures in the United Kingdom. (NPCC, 2020). Just one week into lockdown, French media began to report that the police were experiencing difficulties in enforcing such repressive measures especially in the poorer and ethnically mixed Paris suburbs (Keiger, 2020), themselves historically areas of anti- police sentiment and rioting (Body-Gendrot, 2017). Then, early in the morning of 19th April, in the Paris suburb of Villeneuve-la-Garenne, a local man of Arab decent riding a motorcycle was injured when he collided with the open door of an unmarked police car. The incident was immediately interpreted by many as just another example of police brutality and rioting developed across the next four days, spreading into four suburbs across Paris and with additional incidents reported across France (Willsher, 2020). 698 Stephen Reicher and Clifford Stott What we see here is a classic pattern of crowd violence. A background of structural inequalities leading to alienation from authority, a pattern of antagonistic interactions with the police such that they become the concrete face of the ‘other’, a specific incident which is understood to exemplify the illegitimacy of the police, and then a spread of violence to other sites where locals share such a view of the police (Ball et al, 2019; Drury et al, 2020; Reicher & Stott, 2011, 2020; Stott et al, 2018). The critical point is to understand how the distal determinants of conflict (which lie in the interaction of general structural inequalities and specific policies such as lockdown) interact with the proximal determinants (which lie in indiscriminate and repressive forms of policing, and in the spiral of negative interactions with particular sectors of the public that are initiated by such repression). It is only by developing such an understanding of how disorder occurs that we can learn how to preserve public order. Conclusion We began this paper by asking what determines whether a pandemic brings people together with authorities so as to maintain order or else pushes them apart and creates disorder. Our answer has been at two levels. On the one hand, we must look at the combination of historical context and contemporary leadership which determine whether people will mobilize around perceived inequities to challenge authority and disregard the regulations they seek to impose. On the other hand, we have pointed to the specific role of policing – specifically repressive policing – in escalating dissent into open violence. Both are key domains for further investigation. Nonetheless, even if the details of our analysis are necessarily provisional at this stage of events, it is clear that disorder is a complex phenomenon which requires a combination of structural, political, and interactional factors to occur. Consequently, lack of disorder might tell us that not all is bad, but it does not tell us that all is well either. Nor does it allow us to be complacent. That is certainly true of the situation in the United Kingdom. As we have indicated, there are major structural inequalities which are reflected in the disproportionate death rates of poor and BAME people. Equally the leadership and the political response to the pandemic may have done just enough to preserve cohesion, but there are more and more voices expressing concerns about the inefficiencies and inequities of current Government policies – and these may grow as the situation develops. Finally, the policing response may have largely concentrated on the three Es of Engaging, Explaining, and Encouraging the public to adhere to government measures (such as lockdown) before reverting to the fourth E – enforcement (NPCC, 2020a). But the pattern has not been consistent across the country. All in all, we cannot rest on our laurels. Unless we are clearly seen to do more in the longer term to make a priority of addressing the structural inequalities; unless more steps are taken to make it possible for those in precarious positions to cope with lockdown and other measures; unless the focus of the police and other agencies is more firmly focussed on enabling rather than enforcing coherence, then the precious and fragile social consensus that we have enjoyed thus far could always give way to social conflict. Author contributions Stephen Reicher, PhD (Conceptualization; Writing – original draft) Clifford Stott (Conceptualization; Writing – review & editing). Order and disorder during the COVID-19 pandemic 699 Conflicts of interest All authors declare no conflict of interest. Data availability statement No data available. References Armaline, W. T., Vera Sanchez, C. G., & Correia, M. (2014). ‘The biggest gang in Oakland’: Re- thinking police legitimacy. 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work_qrsjz7lugrg6pohawdy5j5s7nq	----	untitled How the Turtle Forms its Shell: A Paracrine Hypothesis of Carapace Formation JUDITH CEBRA-THOMAS1, FRASER TAN1, SEETA SISTLA1, EILEEN ESTES1, GUNES BENDER1, CHRISTINE KIM2, PAUL RICCIO1, AND SCOTT F. GILBERT1� 1Department of Biology, Swarthmore College, 500 College Avenue, Swarthmore, Pennsylvania 19081 2Department of Biology, Bryn Mawr College, North Merion Avenue, Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania 19010 ABSTRACT We propose a two-step model for the evolutionary origin of the turtle shell. We show here that the carapacial ridge (CR) is critical for the entry of the ribs into the dorsal dermis. Moreover, we demonstrate that the maintenance of the CR and its ability to attract the migrating rib precursor cells depend upon fibroblast growth factor (FGF) signaling. Inhibitors of FGF allow the CR to degenerate, with the consequent migration of ribs along the ventral body wall. Beads containing FGF10 can rearrange rib migration in the chick, suggesting that the CR FGF10 plays an important role in attracting the rib rudiments. The co-ordinated growth of the carapacial plate and the ribs may be a positive feedback loop (similar to that of the limbs) caused by the induction of Fgf8 in the distal tips of the ribs by the FGF10-secreting mesenchyme of the CR. Once in the dermis, the ribs undergo endochrondral ossification. We provide evidence that the ribs act as signaling centers for the dermal ossification and that this ossification is due to bone morphogenetic proteins secreted by the rib. Thus, once the ribs are within the dermis, the ossification of the dermis is not difficult to achieve. This relatively rapid means of carapace formation would allow for the appearance of turtles in the fossil record without obvious intermediates. J. Exp. Zool. (Mol. Dev. Evol.) 304B:558– 569, 2005. r 2005 Wiley-Liss, Inc. The turtle shell is an evolutionarily novel adaptation that functions in numerous ways. In different species, the shell provides physical protection, a shelter for aestivation or hibernation, fat storage, calcium storage, and ionic buffering. However, although the turtle shell is an apomor- phy (new structure) that distinguishes the Chelo- nian clade from all others, the elements constructing the shell are not new. Unlike the origins of chordates (wherein the notochord cells and podocytes evolved) or the origin of vertebrates (wherein the neural crest cell and osteocyte types were first seen), the origin of the turtle shell is an example of heterotopy (sensu Hall, ’99), wherein pre-existing tissue types develop in new places. The innovation of the turtle shell does not involve the evolution of new tissue types, but how the developmental instructions for making certain tissues become used in new places. The shell is composed of two main parts: the dorsal carapace and the ventral plastron. Between them, on the lateral sides, is a bridge. The shell is not merely a box of dermal bone covering a pre- existing reptilian body plan. Rather, the turtle body has become extensively modified. Turtles lack true lumbar vertebrae, and their thoracic vertebrae (together with the sacrum and first caudal vertebra) become part of the carapace. The dorsal portion of the vertebrae fuses with the midline of the shell, while the costal processes that give rise to the ribs grow dorsolaterally into the dermis, instead of moving ventrolaterally. Thus in turtles, the dermis expands under the influence of the ribs to form the rudiment of the carapace, and the ribs later become part of the shell. Unlike any Published online 20 June 2005 in Wiley InterScience (www. interscience.wiley.com). DOI: 10.1002/jez.b.21059. Received 10 December 2004; Accepted 2 May 2005 Grant sponsor: National Science Foundation; Grant number: IBN- 0079341 and IBN-0316025; Grant sponsor: Faculty Research Grants from Swarthmore College; Grant sponsor: HHMI Grant to Swarth- more College for Undergraduate Student Research. �Correspondence to: Scott F. Gilbert, Department of Biology, Swarthmore College, 500 College Avenue, Swarthmore, PA 19081. E-mail: sgilber1@swarthmore.edu r 2005 WILEY-LISS, INC. JOURNAL OF EXPERIMENTAL ZOOLOGY (MOL DEV EVOL) 304B:558–569 (2005) other vertebrate, the limb girdles of the turtles develop within the ribs rather than outside them (Rieppel, 2001; Ruckes, ’29; Zangerl, ’69; Yntema, ’70). Zangerl (’69) denoted three modes of carapace development. The ‘‘thecal shell’’ mode, used by hard-shelled turtle species, is characterized by costal bones that develop in the dermis (immedi- ately dorsal to the ribs) and extend to the marginal bones at the lateral edges of the carapace. In contrast, the Trionychidae lack marginal bones, and their costal bones are much abbreviated. This allows the upper dermal region to form the characteristic ‘‘soft shell’’ morphology to give the shell greater flexibility. Later in life, these turtles often acquire bony ossicles in the dorsal regions of the dermis, more distant from the ribs. Finally, members of the marine genus Dermochelys do not form any costal bones, generating instead thou- sands of punctate ossicles in its dermis. This allows for its more streamlined ‘‘leatherback’’ carapace. This report will focus on the costal bones that form the major part of the turtle’s dorsal shield in the typical hard-shelled turtles. The carapacial ridge The turtle egg is laid at the mid-gastrula stage. While these early stages of turtle embryology have not been extensively studied, turtle gastrula- tion and somite formation are similar to those of the chick (Pasteels, ’37, ’57; Ewert, ’85; Burke, 2004). The first sign that the organism is to become a turtle rather than some other tetrapod occurs at Yntema stage 14 (stages for Chelydra Yntema, ’68; stage 14 is approximately equivalent to Hamburger–Hamilton chick stage 24). At this stage, there are the first signs of ridges on the lateral surfaces of the embryo, dorsal to the limb buds (Ruckes, ’29). At first, these ridges are seen between the two limb buds, and only later do the ridges extend anteriorly and posteriorly. This structure has been named the carapacial ridge (CR) (Burke, ’89a, b, ’91) and will eventually form the outer edge of the carapace. The CR is formed by a thickening of the ectoderm and is underlain by a condensed somite-derived mesenchyme (Nagashima et al., 2005). This is a typical config- uration for an epithelial–mesenchymal interaction, and the distributions of fibronectin and N-CAM in the CR are similar to their locations in other inductive sites such as the early limb bud or feather primordia (Burke, ’89a, ’91). Rucke’s (’29) observations of turtle embryos described two important factors in the develop- ment of the shell. First, there is an accelerated lateral growth of the dorsal dermis of the trunk compared to growth in the dorso-ventral plane. Second, there is an apparent ‘‘ensnarement’’ of the growing ribs by the CR. The involvement of the ribs with the carapacial dermis results in their growth in a predominantly lateral direction. The limb girdles develop in typical tetrapod fashion, but because of the growth trajectory of the ribs, the pectoral girdle becomes ventral to and in- cluded within the axial elements. Yntema (’70) performed a series of somite extirpation experiments on snapping turtles, con- firming a somitic origin for the ribs and dermis of the carapace. Post-otic somite pairs 12 through 21 are involved in forming the carapace in Chelydra. A causal role for the CR in rib placement was studied experimentally by Burke (’91). Surgical methods were used to (a) remove the CR or (b) prevent CR formation. In the first set of experi- ments, in those cases where the CR did not regenerate, the rib at the level of the surgery did not grow in its normal trajectory but migrated instead toward a neighboring region that did have a CR. In the second set of experiments, tantalum foil barriers between the somite and the lateral plate mesoderm prevented CR formation. This procedure had extreme results and surviving embryos showed disruption of the body wall as entire regions of the dermal carapace failed to form. The ribs associated with these missing regions interdigitated with the bones of the plastron. Thus, the lateral development of the turtle ribs appears to be directed by the CR, and in the absence of the CR, these ribs grow ventrally and enter the lateral plate, like the ribs of non- chelonian vertebrates. Loredo et al. (2001) were the first to analyze the CR with molecular probes and found Trachemys fgf10 expression in the mesenchyme condensed beneath the CR. While they were able to detect fgf8 expression in the apical ectodermal ridge of the limb bud, they were unable to see fgf8 expression in the vicinity of the CR. Vincent et al. (2003) found the turtle homologue of msx1 being expressed in the mesenchyme of the Emys CR. This furthered the notion that the CR was made through mesenchymal/epithelial interac- tions similar to those that generate the limb bud. By using RT-PCR, Kuraku et al. (2005) found turtle orthologs of Sp5 and Wnt targets APDCC-1 and LEF-1 in the CR mesenchyme and ectoderm TURTLE CARAPACE DEVELOPMENT 559 of the Chinese softshell turtle Pelodiscus. They also found CRABP-1 expressed in the CR ecto- derm; but they could not detect the expression of either of the previously reported genes, msx-1 or fgf10, in the CR mesenchyme of this species. Species differences might be important in these patterns because the costal bones of Pelodiscus might form in different ways (Zangerl, ’69) and the pattern of fgf10 distribution in the limbs of Pelodiscus differed from the expression pattern seen in the limbs of Trachemys. Costal bones The character and homology of the bony elements of the turtle shell have a long history of controversy enjoined by some of the great 19th- century morphologists. Cuvier (1800) and Geof- froy Saint-Hilaire (1818) agreed that the carapace merely represented the expansions of the ribs and vertebral spines. Carus (1834) was perhaps the first to suggest that the carapace contained both the endo- and the exoskeletal (dermal) tissue. He proposed that the endoskeletal vertebrae, ribs, and sternum were overlain by dermal ossifica- tions. Rathke (1848), in an extensive monograph on turtle development, confirmed the dual nature of the carapace and Owen (1849) also correctly recognized the presence of both dermal and endochondral bone in the carapace. Gegenbaur (1859) considered the ribs to be greatly expanded transverse processes of the vertebrae, overlain with dermal ossifications. The controversy concerning the origin of the carapacial bones continued to the end of the 20th century. Goette (1899) made more detailed histo- logical studies of the carapace and proposed that the dermal carapace bones formed as outgrowths of the periosteal collar around the ribs and vertebrae. The studies of Kälin (’45) and Vallèn (’42) confirmed Goette and showed the cartilagi- nous ribs lying between two layers of the stratum compactum in the thick dermis of the carapace. These layers unite between the ribs, and costal ossification is initiated within the double layer of stratum compactum. Kälin (’45) thought that discrete dermal ossifications later associated with the ribs and spinous processes. This view that the costal bones were derived from osteoderms (cuta- neous bones) that secondarily fused with the ribs and vertebrae was the predominant view among paleontologists (Romer, ’56; Sukhanov, ’64; Car- roll, ’88; Laurin and Reisz, ’95), and it gave rise to the model of evolution wherein the turtle carapace arose by the fusion of osteoderms from ancestral Pareiassaurs (Lee, ’96, ’97). Suzuki (’63) noted that in Trachemys, the cartilaginous matrix of the ribs degenerates within the periosteum and the ribs appear to induce the ossification of the surrounding dermal cells. Cherepanov (’97) similarly argued that osteo- derms did not form in the carapace and proposed that the costal bones originated as expansions of the ribs and neural region of the vertebrae. The observations of Gilbert et al. (2001) supported Suzuki’s (’63) description of ossification of the costal bones. Ossification of these elements was seen to be initiated as spicules of bone extend- ing from the intramembranous, periosteal collar and surrounding the rib cartilages. The spicules develop into the typical reticulated pattern of trabeculae, and the ribs themselves grow by apical apposition, invested in a dense ‘‘periosteo- chondrogenetic’’ membrane. These observations indicate that the ribs act as initiation centers for the dermal ossification of costal bones. The ossifying regions of the dermis extend towards one another to eventually fuse. The data reported in the present report confirm and extend these observations and permit us to frame a hypothesis to explain the rapid origin of the turtle carapace. We have been looking at how the carapace of the turtle forms in the hard-shelled red-eared slider, Trachemys scripta. While the data presented here have enabled us to propose a model for carapace formation, the research is still in a relatively early stage. We envision two major stages in the formation of the costal bones that form the bony plates of the carapace. In the first stage, the rib precursor cells enter the dermis rather than migrating ventrally to form a rib cage (Fig. 1A and B). Our data indicate that fibroblast growth factor (FGF) signaling in the dorsolateral dermis maintains the CR on each side of the turtle embryo and that FGF signaling from the CR alters rib precursor migration such that the ribs grow dorsolaterally into the dermis (rather than forming a rib cage). In the second process, the developing ribs secrete bone morphogenetic pro- teins (BMPs) that induce the costal bones that form the plate of the carapace. Our studies suggest that BMPs produced during the normal endochon- dral ossification of the rib (Fig. 1C) induce intramembranous bone formation in the dermis surrounding it. The BMP signal is then propa- gated by the developing bones. This wave of ossification proceeds from each rib until the J. CEBRA-THOMAS ET AL.560 ossified dermal regions meet and form the sutures apposing the costal bones of the carapace. MATERIALS AND METHODS Whole-mount in situ hybridization T. scripta eggs were purchased from the Kliebert Turtle and Alligator Farm (Hammond, LA). Embryos were dissected free of extraembryonic membranes, fixed overnight in cold 4% parafor- maldehyde in phosphate-buffered saline (PBS), washed, dehydrated with methanol, and subjected to whole-mount in situ hybridization as described (Riddle et al., ’93) with a digoxygenin-labeled RNA probe for turtle Fgf8 (Loredo et al., 2001). Polyvinyl alcohol was added to the detection solution to enhance the color reaction (Barth and Ivarie, ’94). Turtle explant cultures Two-week T. scripta eggs (Greenbaum stage 15) were disinfected by soaking them in 10% bleach, followed by sterile dH2O and finally 70% ethanol. This stage was chosen because the somatic derivatives have become specified but the ribs have not migrated out to any appreciable degree. Fgf signaling is important for the specification of the sclerotome (Huang et al., 2003), and we wanted to be beyond that stage. Embryos were dissected into sterile PBS and the extraembryonic membranes were removed. Embryos were trans- ferred to Hanks balanced salt solution (HBSS, Sigma) with 50 mg/ml gentamycin (Gibco) and 2.5 mg/ml fungizone amphotericin B (Gibco). The heads were removed and embryos were opened along the ventral midline. The heart, digestive tube, and mesonephros were removed. The eviscerated trunk explants were cultured ventral-side down on Transwell-Clear filters (Costar) on top of Dulbecco’s modified Eagles medium (DMEM, Sigma) supplemented with 2% fetal calf serum (FCS, Mediatech), 50 mg/ml gentamycin, 2.5 mg/ml fungazone, and 67 U/ml nystatin (Sigma). For inhibition of FGF signaling, explants were treated with 10 mM SU5402 (SU- GEN Corp.) in culture media with 0.3% dimethyl sulfoxide, while control explants were treated with culture media containing 0.3% dimethyl sulfoxide alone. Explants were cultured at 301C with 5% CO2 for 3 days, and photographed using an Olympus DP-12 digital camera and SZX12 stereo- microscope. Explants were fixed in 4% parafor- maldehyde and embedded in paraffin. Ten- micrometer sections were rehydrated and stained with 2 mg/ml Hoechst 33258 (Sigma). Fig. 1. Rib involvement in carapace formation. (A) Stage 16/17 embryo of red-eared slider turtle, Trachemys scripta. The drawing was rendered from life by Auguste Sonrel for Louis Agassiz’ 1857 volume Contributions to the Natural History of the United States. III. The Embryology of the Turtle. The turtle itself may have been one of those collected by Agassiz’ friend Henry David Thoreau, from Walden Pond. (B) Cross-section of a T. scripta embryo at approximately the same stage, showing the rib (arrow) moving through the myotome to the CR (arrowhead). (C) Hall stain of a 90-day T. scripta hatchling showing regions of endochondral bone formation and the initial induction of costal bones. The cartilage is stained blue, the bone is stained red, and the costal bones can be seen forming around the proximal portion of the ribs. (B) and (C) are taken from Gilbert et al. (2001). TURTLE CARAPACE DEVELOPMENT 561 Treatment of chick trunk explants with FGF10 beads Day 5 chick embryos (stage 26, Hamburger and Hamilton, ’51) were dissected into HBSS with 50 mg/ml gentamycin. The head and ventral organs were removed, and the dorsal trunk explants were cultured on Transwell-clear nucleo- pore membranes DMEM supplemented with 2% FCS and 50 mg/ml gentamycin as described above. Heparin-acrylic beads (Sigma) were manually fractionated, rinsed 3 times with PBS, and soaked with 0.25 mg recombinant human FGF10 (Re- search Diagnostics, Inc.) as described by Weaver et al. (2000). FGF10-coated beads were washed with PBS and transferred to a small slit in one flank adjacent to the somites. Control embryos were exposed to washed heparin-acrylic beads. Explants were cultured at 371C with 5% CO2 for 6 days, photographed as above, fixed, stained with 0.1% Alcian Green 2GX (Sigma) in acidic alcohol, dehydrated, cleared in methyl salicylate, and rephotographed. Analysis of bone formation and BMP2 expression in the carapace Immunohistochemistry with antibodies to PS1 (a gift of Dr. Carl-Henrik Heldin, Ludwig Institute for Cancer Research, Sweden) and Hall’s stain for cartilage and bone were performed on paraffin sections of hatchling turtle carapace as previously described (Clark et al., 2001). For RNA isolation, the carapace of a 14-day old T. scripta hatchling was dissected away from internal tissues and incubated in 2% (w/v) trypsin (Type II, Sigma) in PBS at room temperature for 50 min (modified from Jiang et al., ’99). The epidermal scutes were removed manually and the ribs were dissected away from the surrounding dermal tissue. The ribs and dermis were homogenized in TRIZOL (Sigma) and RNA was isolated according to the manufacturer’s recommendations. cDNA was pre- pared with Superscript III M-MLV reverse tran- scriptase using an oligo(dT) primer (Invitrogen). Polymerase chain reaction was performed using primers derived from the turtle bmp2 sequence published by E. LeClaire (accession AY327846) with an annealing temperature of 601C. The sequences were gagctcccagaagcaagtgg (tbmp2F) and ggcaccatatcctggtggg (tbmp2R). Primers for the housekeeping gene GAPDH (George- Weinstein et al., ’96) were used to control for cDNA quality. RESULTS AND DISCUSSION Evidence that Fgf signals maintain the carapacial ridge and direct the migration of the rib precursor cells The first sign that an organism is to become a turtle rather than some other reptile is the appearance of the CR at Yntema stage 14/ Greenbaum stage 15 (equivalent to Hamburger– Hamilton chick stage 24) (Yntema, ’68; Green- baum, 2002). Given the similarity of structure of the CR to the limb bud (Burke, ’89b), Loredo et al. (2001) searched for fgf8 and fgf10 expression in the CR. These are the two paracrine factors thought to be responsible for the formation and expansion of the limb bud (see Ohuchi et al., ’99; Lewandowski et al., 2000). While in situ hybridi- zation with cloned turtle probes showed that fgf10 was expressed in the condensed mesenchyme directly beneath the CR ectoderm (Fig. 2B), no fgf8 expression in the CR was observed. We can now report that turtle fgf8 expression is seen in the immediate vicinity of the CR. This fgf gene is not expressed in the CR itself; rather, turtle fgf8 is expressed in the distal tip of the rib as it enters the CR (Fig. 2A). If the positive feedback between the rib and the CR is similar to that between the mesoderm and apical ectodermal ridge of the amniote limb, then the mutual induction between Fig. 2. Expression of fg8 and fgf10 as the ribs enter the CR. (A) Whole-mount in situ hybridization showing fgf8 expression in the distal tip of the ribs (arrow) as they enter the CR. (B) Section in situ hybridization of fgf10 expression in the carapacial ridge mesoderm. The rib can be seen entering the CR. (B) is taken from Loredo et al. (2001). J. CEBRA-THOMAS ET AL.562 these two Fgfs could serve as the mechanism by which the growth of the rib and the carapace is co- ordinated. Such a positive feedback loop is mediated through the translocation of b-catenin into the nucleus of the apical ridge ectoderm (Kawasaki et al., 2001), and such a nuclear translocation of b-catenin has recently been shown in the Pelodiscus CR ectoderm (Kuraku et al., 2005). We are also investigating the possibility that other FGFs (such as those found in the apical ectodermal ridge) may also be important in CR initiation or outgrowth. FGF signaling is critical for CR maintenance and rib ensnarement To determine if Fgf signaling is required for the formation of the CR and the ensnarement of the ribs into the dermis, we cultured embryonic turtle dorsi in an inhibitor of Fgf signaling. Turtle embryos staged at Yntema 14/Greenburg 15 were isolated after repeated washing of the eggs in ethanol and bleach. The embryos had developed mature somites and early CR (Fig. 3A and B). The head and viscera were removed and the embryo explants were cultured on nucleopore membranes for 3 days at 301C. When cultured in control medium, the CR was maintained, the ribs entered the CR, and the CR became elevated above the rest of the dorsum in all cases (21/21, Fig. 3C). When such embryonic explants were grown in medium that also included 10 mM SU5402, an inhibitor of Fgf signaling (Mohammadi et al., ’97; Mandler and Neubuser, 2001), the CR degenerated, and the ribs proceeded to grow out towards the flanks, as they would in most amniotes (in 20/20 cases, Fig. 3D). Transverse sections through control explants show a well-developed CR above a region of densely packed mesenchyme (Figs. 3E & G). In contrast, sections through SU5402-treated ex- plants show that the CR region has largely reverted to simple epithelium and is underlain with sparse mesenchyme (Figs. 3F and H). The question then became whether the effect of Fgf was two-fold (i.e., involved in both the formation/maintenance of the CR and in the migration of the rib precursors) or indirect (i.e., involved in forming the CR, while the CR uses some other mechanism to ensnare the ribs). While it is obvious that the Fgf inhibitor caused the CR to degenerate (Fig. 3D), the direct effect of Fgf signaling on the rib ensnarement had to be tested some other way. To this end, we cultured 5-day chick dorsi (HH 26) in the same manner as our control turtle explants. We implanted FGF10- coated beads or control (saline) beads into the dermis between the somite and the lateral plate and cultured for the explants for 6 days. In all cases (11/11), the ribs on the side of the FGF10- coated beads had migrated to the beads and had stopped there (Fig. 4B and C). The FGF10-coated beads appeared to have ensnared the ribs. In the embryos implanted with the control beads, each set of ribs ignored the beads (6/6), proceeding outward towards the flanks (Fig. 4A). It therefore appears that FGFs are involved in both maintain- ing the CR and altering the migration of the rib precursor cells. Formation of the carapacial costal bones: evidence for BMP signaling The rib precursor cells enter the dermis of the shell a short distance from their origin in the vertebrae, and they grow laterally within the carapacial dermis (Ruckes, ’29; Burke, ’89a, b; Gilbert et al., 2001). Initially the ribs are cartila- ginous, but they undergo normal endrochondral ossification to become bone. As endochondral ossification ensues, the ribs appear to become the organizing centers for the costal bones that make the plate of the carapace (Figs. 1C, 5A). There is a 1:1 correspondence between the ribs and the costal bones of the carapace (Zangerl, ’69; Gilbert et al., 2001). The costal bones form around the ribs by intramembranous ossification (Kälin, ’45; Burke, ’91; Gilbert et al., 2001). Thus, the carapace is a composite of endochondral axial skeleton (from the ribs) plus intramembranous dermal bone. The costal bones begin to form as the Fig. 3. Fgf signaling is critical for rib entry into the CR. (A) Trachemys scripta embryo at stage 15. (B) Dorsal explant of stage 15 T. scripta embryo on a nucleopore membrane in preparation for culture. The CR is elevated and can be seen running along both flanks (arrow). (C) T. scripta dorsum taken at stage 15 and cultured for 3 days. The CRs (arrow) have been maintained and are elevated above the dorsal surface. The rib primordia have entered into them. The apical ectodermal ridge can also be seen on the limb bud (arrowhead). (D) T. scripta embryo from (B) cultured for 3 days in medium containing 10 mM SU5402. The CRs have degenerated, and the ribs have not entered the dermis, but have extended along the flank as they do in other vertebrates. (E) Section through control explant stained with the nuclear dye Hoechst 33258 showing a fully developed CR (arrow). (F) Section through an SU5402-treated explant showing that the CR region has reverted to simple epithelium. (G, H) Higher-magnification view of the CR region from (E) and (F). TURTLE CARAPACE DEVELOPMENT 563 J. CEBRA-THOMAS ET AL.564 ribs become encased in a thin tube of bone, and trabeculae extend from this bony casing (Fig. 5B). Later, spicules form between the rib and the epidermis, forming a pattern reminiscent of the formation of the mandible around Meckel’s carti- lage (Suzuki, ’63; see Tyler and Hall, ’76; Takahashi et al., ’91; Fig. 5A). The most intense area of costal bone formation is initially located at the proximal region of the ribs, where the ribs had first entered the dermis. One clue as to how the ribs might induce the intramembranous ossification of dermis into bone comes from the secretion of paracrine factors during the endochondral ossification of the ribs (Vortkamp et al., ’96). Indian hedgehog (Ihh) secreted by the ribs’ prehypertrophic cartilage induces BMPs in the perichondrium. Pathi et al. (’99) demonstrated that in chick limbs, perichon- drial BMP 2, 4, 5, and 7 are induced by endogenous and ectopic Ihh, and Wu et al. (2001) demonstrated the induction of BMP2/4 by Ihh in chick jaw tissue. Both Ihh and BMPs are known to induce bone formation in surrounding competent cells (Barlow and Francis-West, ’97; Ekanayake and Hall, ’97; Nakamura et al., ’99; Pathi et al., ’99; Wang et al., ’99). The competence of dermal cells to respond to BMPs by producing intramembranous bone has been demonstrated in adult dermal and periosteal tissues. Indeed, the aberrant expression of BMP4 in dermal tissues is thought to be the cause of the fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva, a disease wherein connective tissue is converted into bone by BMPs ectopically secreted by lymphoid cells (Shafritz et al., ’96; Gannon et al., ’97; Lanchoney et al., ’98). The conversion of periosteal cells into bone by purified BMP has also been used in tissue engineering (Franceschi et al., 2000; Rutherford et al., 2002). Conversely, ectopic bone formation can also occur in the human dermis as a result of deficiencies in the BMP antagonist, Noggin (Lucotte et al., ’99; Marcelino et al., 2001; Brown et al., 2002). This ability to induce bone in adult tissues is an important consideration, since the turtle forms most of its costal bones after it has hatched. Using Alcian blue and Alizarin red (Hall Stain), we have confirmed Suzuki’s PAS-Schiff data and have shown the formation of the costal bones around the hypertrophic cartilage of the ribs (Figs. 5A and B). Furthermore, we have coupled this with immunohistological staining for the presence of the phosphorylated (activated) form of Smad1, a transcription factor activated by Fig. 4. FGF10 can redirect rib outgrowth in chicken embryo. Dorsal explants of 5 d chick embryos (HH26) were placed in organ culture for 6 days. Either FGF10-soaked or control beads (�) were placed dorsally on one side of the embryos, and compared with the unoperated side. (A) In those chick explants with the saline-coated beads, the nascent ribs (arrows) developed normally. (B) In those explants with the FGF10-coated beads, the ribs developed normally on the unoperated side. On the operated side, the somitic rib-forming cells grew towards the beads and did not progress past them. (C) Alcian green staining shows the fusion of the condensing chondrocytes near the FGF10 beads and the extension of the ribs on the opposite side. TURTLE CARAPACE DEVELOPMENT 565 Fig. 5. Formation of the costal bones. (A) Cross section of the carapace of a 106-day T. scripta turtle showing a rib near its site of entry in the dermis. The bone originally forms on the epidermal side, reminiscent of mandibular bone. Hall stain makes the cartilage blue and the bone red. (B) Section through a more posterior region of the carapace stained with Hall stain. The rib cartilage (blue) is surrounded with bone (red) extending out as trabeculae. (C) Serial section showing the same rib stained with PS1 antibody to localize regions of BMP signaling. Nuclear expression of phosphorylated Smad1 (brown) is seen in the periosteum of the bone and in the immediately adjacent dermal cells. (D) Higher magnification of region boxed in (C). (E) Section through a third, more posterior rib that is just initiating bone formation showing the extent of staining with the PS1 antibody. (F) Negative control antibody staining to a serial section of the same rib. (G) cDNA prepared from 14-day T. scripta hatchling dermis (lanes 2 and 5) and ribs (lanes 3 and 6) was subjected to RT-PCR analysis using primers for BMP2 (lanes 1–3) and GAPDH (lanes 4–6). Lanes 1 and 4 contain no added cDNA. J. CEBRA-THOMAS ET AL.566 BMPs (Kurata et al., 2001; Faure et al., 2002). The dermal cells around the rib show a high degree of staining, as evidenced by their black nuclei and brown cytoplasm (Figs. 5C–E). While the rib and its perichondrium remain unstained, there is intense staining in the periosteum and in the cells adjacent to it. Moreover, a high level of staining is observed in the cells that are in the area destined to become bone. Such staining for phosphorylated Smad1 was not seen in controls where the primary antibody was absent (Fig. 5F). Thus, it appears that BMP signaling from the rib during endochondral ossification is able to induce intramembranous ossification in the der- mal cells surrounding them. Moreover, as the cells ossify, they appear to transmit the BMP signal to the cells surrounding them, thereby continuing a cascade through which BMP would be produced by the dermal cells as they ossify. To confirm this, we separated ribs and dermis from 14-day T. scripta hatchlings, prepared cDNA, and carried out RT- PCR with primers for Trachemys bmp2 (Fig. 5G). Bmp2 transcripts were represented in the cDNA from both the dermis (lane 2) and ribs (lane 3). CONCLUSION Our present study suggests a two-step mechan- ism for the production of the costal bones that make the plate of the turtle carapace. First, FGF signaling is responsible for the maintenance, and possibly the initiation, of the CR and for the ensnarement of the ribs into the dermis. We have shown fgf10 expression in the CR mesenchyme and fgf8 expression in the distal tip of the ribs entering the mesenchyme. Moreover, by inhibiting FGF signaling, we observed the degeneration of the CR and the migration of the turtle ribs. This supports the conclusions of Burke (’91) that the CR might be providing chemotactic factors needed for the continued lateral growth of the ribs. The second step is a BMP-dependent stage wherein the dermal cells respond to BMPs and perhaps other bone-forming proteins elaborated by the ribs as these ribs undergo endochondral ossification. We had previously shown (Gilbert et al., 2001) that the rib is the organizing center for each costal bone. Our present study shows that the dermal cells surrounding the rib are responding to BMPs and that the location of BMP reception presages bone formation around the ribs. We have also shown that both the ribs and the surrounding dermis express bmp2 transcripts, as expected if a signaling cascade was initiated by the ribs. Such a mechanism could explain the rapid rise of turtles in the fossil record. The order Chelonia emerges abruptly in the late Triassic with the fossil species Proganochelys (Gaffney, ’90; Rieppel and Reisz, ’99). This reptile had the characteristic derived trunk morphology now associated with turtles. Thus, the distinctive morphology of the turtle appears to have arisen suddenly. We can propose a hypothesis that may explain at least part of how this might happen. The key innovation is to getting the ribs into the dermis. Once there, variation in the population might enable some individuals to use this heterotopic placement of ribs to form a shell. If they could form a positive feedback loop between the rib and the CR (e.g., through Fgf10 and Fgf8), they could co-ordinate rib and carapace growth. When the ribs undergo normal endochodral ossification, the BMPs would induce the costal bones that form the plate of the carapace. (This may involve overpowering natural inhibitors of BMPs that are secreted by the dermis.) This mechanism, wherein the displace- ment of a tissue allows it to induce structures at new locations, has been proposed by Brylski and Hall (’88) to account for the rapid emergence of the fur-lined cheek pouches of pocket gophers. 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work_qdqzg6yrtje5nh23vbs6vmasnq	----	IR-UWB RFID Circuits and Systems Kin Keung Lee Department of Informatics University of Oslo September 9, 2014 © Kin Keung Lee, 2014 Series of dissertations submitted to the Faculty of Mathematics and Natural Sciences, University of Oslo No. 1580 ISSN 1501-7710 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission. Cover: Hanne Baadsgaard Utigard. Printed in Norway: AIT Oslo AS. Produced in co-operation with Akademika Publishing. The thesis is produced by Akademika Publishing merely in connection with the thesis defence. Kindly direct all inquiries regarding the thesis to the copyright holder or the unit which grants the doctorate. Abstract Radio-frequency identification ( RFID) technology has been applied extensively in logistic and supply chain applications. Long-range passive RFID systems offer higher reliability and flexibility compared to conventional bar-code systems. However, limitations such as sensi- tivity to multipath fading and diffraction grating exist due to the narrowband technologies used. Also, industries show interest in embedding precise localization ability in such systems which is difficult to achieve using narrowband communications. After the Federal Communications Commission released an ultra-wide bandwidth ( 3.1–10.6 GHz) for unlicensed use in 2002, impulse-radio ( IR) ultra-wideband ( UWB) com- munications have drawn lots of attention from both academia and industry. The large band- width ( in other words short pulse duration) not only improves the communication quality compared to the narrowband counterparts, but also provides an excellent localization ability. This makes IR-UWB technology a potential candidate for next generation long-range passive RFID systems. The main goal of this work is to apply UWB technology to advance the current long- range passive RFID system performance. A novel passive IR-UWB RFID system has been proposed. The potential advantages are long tag reading range with localization ability, in- sensitivity to surrounding environments and high security. A wireless-powered IR-UWB transmitter for the proposed system has been successfully demonstrated in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. Together with the coherent IR-UWB receiver implemented by the author’s research group, implementations of the proposed RFID system become possible. Moreover, the power consumption and other specifications of individual components have to be considered also in order to maximize the system performance. Research has been conducted on several functional blocks including IR-UWB pulse generator, clock generator and reference circuit. Novel topologies and solutions have been proposed and verified. Ex- perimental results have proven competitive performance compared to other published state- of-the-art counterparts. v “A scientific man ought to have no wishes, no affections, a mere heart of stone.” — Charles Robert Darwin Acknowledgments There are many people who have made my Ph.D. journey enjoyable and enriching. First, I would like to express my deepest gratitude to my thesis advisor, Prof. Tor Sverre Lande, for his excellent supervision and professional guidance. His scientific expertise, visions and enthusiasm are impressive. The journey would not be completed without his encouragement. I am grateful to my thesis co-advisor, Prof. Philipp Dominik Häfliger, for invaluable help and countless constructive feedbacks. I gratefully appreciate the friendship, support and encouragement from both past and present members of the Nanoelectronics group: Prof. Oddvar Søråsen, Prof. Dag T. Wis- land, Prof. Snorre Aunet, Prof. Svein-Erik Hamran, Prof. Yngvar Berg, Ali Zaher, Amir Hasanbegovic, Dr. Farshad Moradi, Hans Kristian Otnes Berge, Håkon Andre Hjortland, Dr. Jan Erik Ramstad, Dr. Juan Antonio Leñero Bardallo, Dr. Jørgen Andreas Michaelsen, Kristian Gjertsen Kjelgard, Leif Elias Bakken, Malihe Zarre Dooghabadi, Olav Stanly Kyr- vestad, Dr. Shanthi Sudalaiyandi, Srinivasa Reddy Kuppireddi, Thanh Trung Nguyen, Dr. Tuan Anh Vu, Dr. Tuan Vu Cao, Dr. Øivind Naess, Øystein Bjørndal. Special thanks to Olav and Kristian for their input on chip fabrication and measurements, I would not be able to demonstrate my research ideas without them. Also, thanks to all my office-mates, Ali, Amir, Hans, Jørgen and Srinivasa, they are great people to bounce ideas off of. My heartfelt thanks also go to my ex-colleagues in Novelda AS, Aage Kalsæg, Alf Olsen, Claus Limbodal, Elizabeth Wisland, Khanh Quoc Dang , Kjetil Meisal, Kristian Granhaug, Marius Mossum, Mats Risopatron Knutsen, Nikolaj Andersen, Olav Liseth, Dr. Stig Støa and Åsmund Rinde, for their friendship and encouragement. I am grateful to Dr. Olive Murphy of Analog Devices, Dr. Per Torstein Røine of Texas Instruments, and Prof. Kyrre Harald Glette for being the evaluation committee members. A special thank to Prof. Henrik Sjöland of Lund University for encouraging me to pursue my Ph.D. study. The chip fabrication and conference traveling were funded in part by the Norwegian Re- search Council through the Norwegian Ph.D. Network on Nanotechnology for Microsys- tems under Contract 190086/S10. Finally, I thank my family and my girlfriend Iris for their unconditional love, support and encouragement throughout these years. I would not have completed this dissertation without them. vii “Assume a virtue if you have it not.” — William Shakespeare Contents Abstract v Acknowledgments vii Contents ix List of Acronyms xi List of Figures xiii 1 Introduction 1 1.1 Motivations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 1.2 A Brief Overview of Long-Range RFID Systems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 1.2.1 Passive, Active and Semi-Passive RFID Systems . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 1.2.2 System-Level Specifications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 1.2.2.1 Reading Range . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 1.2.2.2 Operating Frequency . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 1.2.3 Internet-of-Things and Other Applications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 1.3 An Introduction to UWB Technology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 1.3.1 A Brief History of UWB Technology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 1.3.2 FCC Regulations on UWB Communications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 1.3.2.1 Definitions of UWB Signals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 1.3.2.2 Emission Energy and Spectrum Mask Regulations . . . . . . 8 1.3.3 Advantages of UWB Communications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 1.4 Dissertation Outline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 ix 2 Work Descriptions 13 2.1 IR-UWB RFID Systems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 2.1.1 Background . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 2.1.2 Related Work and Contributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 2.2 IR-UWB PGs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 2.2.1 Background . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 2.2.2 Related Work and Contributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 2.3 Clock Generators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 2.3.1 Background . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 2.3.2 Related Work and Contributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 2.4 Reference Circuits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 2.4.1 Background . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 2.4.2 Related Work and Contributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 3 Summary and Future Work 21 3.1 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 3.2 Recommendations for Future Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Bibliography 23 A Technical Paper Collection 33 A.1 Paper-I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 A.2 Paper-II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 A.3 Paper-III . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 A.4 Paper-IV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 A.5 Paper-V . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 A.6 Paper-VI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 A.7 Paper-VII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 x List of Acronyms AoA Angle-of-Arrival BGR BandGap Reference circuits BJT Bipolar Junction Transistor BPSK Bi-Phase Shift Key BW BandWidth CMOS Complementary Metal-Oxide-Semiconductor CDMA Code-Division Multiple Access DC Direct-Currernt DL Delay-Line EIRP Equivalent Isotropically Radiated Power ETSI European Telecommunications Standards Institute ERP Effective Radiated Power FB Fractional Bandwidth FCC Federal Communication Commission FoM Figure-of-Merit HFWG High-Frequency Waveform Generator ILD Injection-Locking frequency Divider ISM Industrial Scientific and Medical IR Impulse Radio OOK On-Off-Key PD Propagation Delay PG Pulse Generator ppm parts per million PRF Pulse Repetition Frequency QF Quality Factor RF Radio-Frequency RFID Radio-Frequency IDentification RTL Real Time Localization RX Receiver MEMS Micro-Electro-Mechanical System MPC Multi-Pulse Combination NB NarrowBand SNR Signal-to-Noise Ratio SRD Short-Range Device xi TC Temperature Coefficient TSMC Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company TX Transmitter UHF Ultra-High-Frequency USD United States Dollar UWB Ultra-WideBand XO CRYStal Oscillator xii List of Figures 1.1 RFID market projection from 2010 to 2014 ( modified from [3] ). . . . . . . . 1 1.2 An exampled long-range passive RFID system. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 1.3 Possible RFID operating frequency ranges together with the frequency bands occupied by other radio systems ( modified from [15] ). . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 1.4 A illustration of several FCC regulation parameters. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 1.5 FCC part 15 indoor and outdoor masks. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 3.1 An idea of piecewise-linear curvature-compensation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 xiii “Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe.” — Albert Einstein Chapter 1 Introduction 1.1 Motivations Radio-frequency identification ( RFID) has been recognized as one of the most important ra- dio innovations in the 21st century and permeates our daily life everywhere [1]. The research of RFID technology has started in 1948, but did not draw too much attention. Recently, the RFID market has experienced a tremendous growth due to improved system performance contributed by the rapid developments in integrated circuit and radio technologies [2]. A RFID market projection from 2012 to 2014 is shown in Figure 1.1. In total, around 5.9 billion tags ( 23% growth from 2012) were sold and the whole RFID market was worth 7.9 billion United States Dollar ( USD, 13% growth from 2012) in 2013. It is expected that the 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 0 2012 2013 2014 Active RFID/RTL systems Passive RFID services, networks and softwares Passive RFID interrogators Passive RFID tags Year U S D ol la r (B ill io n) Figure 1.1: RFID market projection from 2010 to 2014 ( modified from [3] ). 1 Tag Tag Tag Tag Tag Tag Tag Readers RFID Tags Host Computer Obstacles Diffraction Multipath Line-of- sight Figure 1.2: An exampled long-range passive RFID system. RFID market will rise to 30.2 billion USD in 2024 [3], which is a huge potential market and receives significant interest from the industry. Logistic and supply chain are the major areas of implementation for RFID technology. For example long-range passive ( wireless-powered) RFID systems ( with a reading range of around ten meters) have been adopted on item-tracking in large spaces like warehouses be- cause they offer higher reliability and flexibility compared to the conventional bar-code sys- tems with low cost ( a tag can cost less than 0.1 USD nowadays). Such systems usually contain a host computer, readers and tags, which is briefly illustrated in Figure 1.2 [4]. The readers transfer energy and read/write data from/to the tags. The host computer controls and col- lects data from the readers depending on the targeted applications. Although long-range passive RFID systems have been widely used in recent years, limi- tations are still significant because they are based on narrowband ( NB) communication tech- nologies. One of the main problems is the sensitivity to the surrounding environment since NB radios are prone to multi-path fading, diffraction grating and jamming [5]. Also, if the tags use the same frequency for energy-harvesting and communication, they may interfere with other tags and/or readers when they are too close to each others [6]. Another consider- ation is security ( eavesdropping), data en-/decryption may not be possible due to the limited energy available on the tag side. In addition, there is interest from the industry on embedding real time localization ( RTL) functions to such systems [7], however it is difficult to perform precise localization using the NB technologies [8]. 2 After the Federal Communication Commission ( FCC) of the United States released a large bandwidth ( BW) for unlicensed uses in 2002 [9], impulse-radio ( IR) ultra-wideband ( UWB) communication has become an active research topic and provides many advantages, including high data rate and precise localization ability, over the NB counterparts. As a result, there are attempts ( for example [7,10–12] ) on applying the UWB technology to passive RFID applications. However, most of the purposed solutions have limited reading range ( less than one meter) because of the limited energy available on the tag side and weak emission power limited by FCC. The main goal of this work is to apply the UWB technology to advance the current long-range passive RFID technology. A novel passive IR-UWB RFID system has been pro- posed. The potential advantages are long tag reading range ( several meters) with localization ability, insensitivity to surrounding environments and high security. A wireless-powered IR-UWB transmitter ( TX) for the proposed system has been successfully demonstrated in a Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company ( TSMC) 90 nm complementary metal- oxide-semiconductor (CMOS) process [13]. Together with the coherent IR-UWB receiver ( RX) proposed in [14], implementations of the proposed RFID system becomes possible. Moreover, the power consumption and other specifications of individual components have to be considered also in order to maximize the system performance. Novel circuit solutions are proposed and analyzed. Experimental results have showed competitive performance com- pared to other published state-of-the-art counterparts. 1.2 A Brief Overview of Long-Range RFID Systems 1.2.1 Passive, Active and Semi-Passive RFID Systems The RFID systems nowadays can be divided into three main categories by the powering schemes for the tags [15, 16], brief descriptions and their operations are listed as follows: 1. Passive RFID systems are the most commonly used type nowadays because no battery is required on the tag side which makes them low-cost and small-size. The signals ( may include clock signal) and energy are sent from the reader with a distance up to around ten meters, for example [17] and [18]. Backscatter or load modulation is usually used for communications and channel separation is usually done by time-division multiple access [15]. 2. Active RFID systems are essentially full radio transceiver systems and the tags are battery- powered. The battery gives the possibility of embedding more functionalities and building up more reliable and longer-range ( can reach 100 meters [19] ) communica- tions. The trade-offs are increased product cost and size for the tags. Another consider- ation is maintenance [2,20], battery-replacement may not be easy for some applications like in-wall and harsh-environment monitoring. This increases the maintenance cost and degrades the flexibility of such tags. 3 3. Semi-passive RFID systems are a balance between systems 1 and 2. The tags contain a battery for supplying energy to the digital control circuits only. This eliminates the need for energy-harvesting, thus the reading distance is enhanced compared to the passive solutions. Meanwhile, backscatter modulation is utilized for communication, this eliminates the power-demanding radio-frequency ( RF) signal transmissions and, hence, increases the battery life compared to the active solutions. 1.2.2 System-Level Specifications 1.2.2.1 Reading Range One of the most important specifications of the RFID systems is the reading range between the tags and the readers. For long-range electromagnetic-coupling RFID systems1, the reading range depends on several parameters and the relationship can be briefly shown by using the well-known Friis transmission equation [21]: PR PT = GRGT ( λ 4πR )2 ( 1.1) where PR and PT are the power available at the receiving antenna input and the output power at the transmitting antenna respectively. GR and GT are the antenna gains of the receiving and transmitting antennas respectively, λ is the signal wavelength, and R is the distance between the antennas. Two assumptions are made here. First, the antennas are sufficiently far away from each other and operate in far-field regions. In other words, the distance between them is larger than 2D 2 λ , where D is the largest dimension of either antenna. Second, only the free space path loss is considered. It can be seen from ( 1.1), assuming the same RX sensitivity, the reading range can be increased by: 1. increasing the emission power PT . Note that the maximum emission power depends on the signal frequency and regulations of different country. 2. increasing the antenna gains GT and GR which depend on the topology and is propor- tional to the antenna size. 3. reducing signal frequency, in order words increasing λ. The available frequency bands depend on regulations of different country. Also, the antenna size is proportional to λ assuming the same gain. 1Short-range RFID systems usually utilize inductive- and capacitive-coupling for energy transfer and data transmissions. 4 80 H, dBµA/m/10 m BC, LW-/MW-Navigation SW (Com., BC, Mobile, Marine...) Non-ITU ITU, not fully deployed FM Radio, Mobile Radio, TV Microwave Link, SAT-TV 100−135 kHz 13.56 MHz 2.45 GHz (< 30 MHz) ERP, mW (> 30 MHz) 60 250 2540 20 0.01 30000 VLF 0.1 3000 LF 1 300 MF 10 30 HF 100 3 VHF 1000 0.3 UHF 10000 0.03 SHF 100000 0.003 EHF f: λ: MHz m 6.78 433 868 915 2450 5800 MHz 24 GHz13.56 27.125 40.66 Figure 1.3: Possible RFID operating frequency ranges together with the frequency bands occupied by other radio systems ( modified from [15] ). 1.2.2.2 Operating Frequency One of the very first considerations on RFID system designs is the choice of the operating frequency. In addition to the worldwide available industrial scientific and medical ( ISM) bands 6.78 MHz, 13.56 MHz, 27.125 MHz, 40.68 MHz, 433 MHz, 2.4 GHz, 5.8 GHz and 24.125 GHz [15], different countries or regions have released additional frequency bands which can be used for RFID applications [15]. Most of them are located at around 900 MHz, for example the ISM band ( 902–928 MHz) released by FCC, the short-range device ( SRD, 868–870 MHz) and RFID ( 865–868 MHz) bands released by the European Telecommunica- tions Standards Institute ( ETSI). For simplicity, the frequency range 865–956 MHz will be referred to as “900 MHz ultra-high-frequency ( UHF) band” in this dissertation. Figure 1.3 depicts the possible operating frequency bands up to 24 GHz for RFID systems together with the frequency bands occupied by other radio systems [15]. The ISM bands provide the pos- sibility of implementing RFID systems which can be used globally, however the interference from other radio devices operating on the same ISM band can be problematic. The maximum emission power heavily depends on the countries and frequency bands. Two remarkable frequency bands are the 900 MHz UHF and 2.4 GHz ISM bands which provides significantly higher emission power than the other bands. In the 900 MHz UHF band, the available powers are 4 W effective isotropically radiated power ( EIRP) and 2 W ef- fective radiated power ( ERP)2 in the United States and most European countries respectively. In the 2.4 GHz ISM band, maximum 4 W ERP/EIRP is allowed to radiate in these countries. In many other countries, regulations are either similar to those of FCC or ETSI [15, 22, 23]. From ( 1.1), it can be found that longer wavelengths (λ) result in lower propagation losses, 2For purposes of comparison, 2 W ERP is equivalent to 3.2 W EIRP [22]. 5 hence longer reading range can be obtained with a trade-off of larger antenna size. On the other hand, the penetration3 and diffraction4 abilities are relatively worse for shorter wave- lengths. As a balance between different parameters discussed, the 900 MHz UHF band is widely adopted for long-range passive RFID systems [23]. Some commercial examples can be found in [17] and [18]. The 2.4 GHz ISM band is also preferred because of its worldwide- availability and smaller antenna size. Nevertheless the severe interferences from other radio devices may cause more complicated communication protocols and relatively large power consumption. As a result, it is more commonly used for active RFID systems. 1.2.3 Internet-of-Things and Other Applications In the future, every single object, no matter in virtual or physical form, could have their unique identifier and communicate with other objects in an internet-like environment, the co-called internet-of-things ( IoT). The concept has been addressed widely in recent years [25–27] and it is believed that 30 billion devices will be wirelessly connected to the IoT by 2020 [28]. It is expected that long-range passive RFID systems will take an important role for such applications. By embedding different kinds of sensor [29] to the passive RFID tags, useful data can be transmitted with simple circuitries and low-cost wireless solutions. Some successful examples can be found in [30–32]. Nevertheless the IoT technology development is still in early stages and related implementations are not covered in this work. Another well-developed area is the road-toll and vehicle identification systems which tra- ditionally require lots of manpower and resources to maintain. The 5.8 GHz ISM band is mainly utilized by these applications and some countries even allow extra emission energy compared to other radio systems [15]. In addition, interest has been shown on applying long-range passive RFID tags to track moveable items and persons such as airport baggage handling and patient tracking in hospitals [7]. 1.3 An Introduction to UWB Technology 1.3.1 A Brief History of UWB Technology UWB communication is considered as a new technology, indeed it has been invented over a century. The first successful electromagnetic wave experiment done by Heinrich Hertz in 1886 was pulse-based, so was the first radio prototype introduced by Guglielmo Marconi in 1895 [33]. The development of UWB technology continued until NB TXs with amplitude modulation became flexible in about 1915. One of the main reasons for this change was the creation of the continuous-wave oscillator, which followed the invention of the vacuum 3The characteristic depth of penetration is inversely proportional to √ ω and given as δ = √ 2 ωµσ , where ω is the signal angular frequency, µ and σ are the permeability and conductivity of the material respectively [21]. 4The diffraction effect can be explained by Huygens-Fresnel principle [24]. However, this involves intensive mathematics and is not discussed in this dissertation. 6 triode, by Alexander Meissner in 1913 [34]. After this, UWB technology was forgotten for more than four decades. In the early 1960s, sampling oscilloscopes which required sub-nano-second baseband pulses were investigated and aided the development of the UWB field. UWB technology started to be applied on radar applications in the late 1960s [35]. Since the late 1990s, UWB technology has become more commercialized, companies such as Time Domain [36] were formed around the idea of consumer UWB radios [37, 38]. The year 2002 was a milestone of UWB technology, FCC issued a ruling that UWB technology could be used for some applications including imaging and vehicular radar. An extremely wide bandwidth ( 3.1–10.6 GHz) was released for unlicensed uses on most applications [9]. Since then, UWB technology has drawn lots of attention from both academic and industry. Notice that the term UWB was first introduced around 1989 by the Department of Defense of the United States [37]. UWB radios nowadays can be divided into two forms in literature, orthogonal frequency- division multiplexing and IR. The former one divides the large UWB band into several sub- bands in order to use the BW more efficiently, the latter one intends to generate very short duration impulses. IR radios provide several advantages over the NB counterparts and are fo- cused in this work. The term IR-UWB is adopted in this dissertation to differentiate between these two forms and signify a number of synonymous terms like carrier-free, time domain, and nonsinusoidal. 1.3.2 FCC Regulations on UWB Communications After FCC issued their rules on UWB devices, different countries started to enforce their own standards and regulations [39]. In this work, we mainly focus on utilizing the UWB band ( 3.1–10.6 GHz) released by FCC since it provides the largest usable BW and, hence, greatest research interest. 1.3.2.1 Definitions of UWB Signals The following parameters are defined according to [9]. 1. UWB bandwidth (BW−10dB ) is the frequency band bounded by the points that are 10 dB below the peak of the power spectrum. The peak frequency is designated to fP , the upper boundary is designated fH and the lower boundary is designated fL. This also means BW−10dB = fH −fL ( 1.2) 2. Center frequency (fC ) is the average of fH and fL, that is, fC = fH + fL 2 ( 1.3) 7 ‒10dB fHfL fP fC= f (Hz) M ag ni tu de (d B ) fL+fH 2 Figure 1.4: A illustration of several FCC regulation parameters. 3. Fractional bandwidth ( FB) is defined as FB = BW−10dB fC = 2 fH −fL fH + fL ( 1.4) The situation is depicted in Figure 1.4. According to the FCC part 15 regulation [9], trans- mitted UWB signals need to have a FB equal to or greater than 0.2 or have a BW−10dB equal to or greater than 500 MHz, regardless of the FB. 1.3.2.2 Emission Energy and Spectrum Mask Regulations FCC limits the transmitted energy of UWB devices at different frequencies so as to avoid interference with already existing NB radio systems, this can be summarized by the spectral masks depicted in Figure 1.5. The average EIRP of transmitted UWB signals is limited to be –41.3 dBm/MHz within the UWB band and even lower outside this band. Moreover, the peak power contained within a 50 MHz BW centered on fP has to be smaller than or equal to 0 dBm EIRP, which is not shown in Figure 1.5. 1.3.3 Advantages of UWB Communications The ultra-wide BW not only provides higher date rate, but also the possibility of reducing system power consumption. It can be proved by considering Shannon’s capacity equation C = BW log2 ( 1 + PS PN ) ( 1.5) where C is the maximum channel capacity, PS and PN are the signal and noise powers re- spectively. Note that the channel capacity grows linearly with BW, but only logarithmically with PS. This also implies for the same channel capacity, we can reduce PS non-linearly and 8 0 2 4 6 8 10 12 -80 -70 -60 -50 -40 Po w er S pe ct ra l D en si ty ( dB m /M Hz ) Frequency (GHz) FCC part 15 indoor mask FCC part 15 outdoor mask0.96 1.61 1.99 3.1 10.6 Figure 1.5: FCC part 15 indoor and outdoor masks. significantly by increasing BW. Furthermore, IR-UWB TXs generate very short-duration impulses which may not require upconversion [38] and clock-less IR-UWB RXs have been reported [14, 40]. IR-UWB radio systems without frequency-conversion are now possible, the circuit complexity, power consumption and chip area can be reduced compared to the conventional NB counterparts. Another advantage is the excellent localization ability contributed by the extremely short pulse width [8, 41], centimeter localization resolution has been demonstrated in [14, 42, 43]. In addition, the noise-like nature of UWB signals make them difficult for unintended users to detect and robust to eavesdropping [5]. The high temporal resolution of UWB signals results in low fading margins, implying robustness against multipath. The multipath components can also provide an excellent en- ergy capturing capability, for example rake RXs can be implemented to lock into multi- path echoes, collect energy and, hence, improve performance. Also some innovative ap- proaches such as location fingerprinting based on the shape of channel impulse responses can be used [44]. Moreover, UWB signals are relatively insensitive to diffraction grating as they span a very wide frequency range. Nevertheless, the UWB band overlaps the frequency bands occupied by other NB radio systems with much higher power levels ( for example 802.11a), attention should be paid to the interference issues [5]. 9 1.4 Dissertation Outline The main goal of this work is to apply the IR-UWB technology to advance the current long- range passive RFID system performance. A novel passive IR-UWB RFID system is proposed. This work focuses on the designs and implementations of the TX and related circuits. In the meantime research on RX circuit design has been conducted in the author’s research group, with some results published in [14, 38]. In addition, research has been conducted on individ- ual components like IR-UWB pulse generator ( PG), reference circuit and clock generator for improved performance, especially the power consumption. Reduced power consumption of individual components can improve the sensitivity and supply noise problem of the TX. This dissertation is written on the basis of a collection of papers. Seven papers are in- cluded and listed as follows: [I] K. K. Lee, M. Z. Dooghabadi, H. A. Hjortland, Ø. Næss, and T. S. Lande, “A novel 6.5 pJ/pulse impulse radio pulse generator for RFID tags,” in Proc. IEEE Asia Pacific Conference on Circuits and Systems, Dec 2010, pp. 184–187. [II] K. K. Lee, M. Z. Dooghabadi, H. A. Hjortland, Ø. Næss, and T. S. Lande, “A 5.2 pJ/pulse impulse radio pulse generator in 90 nm CMOS,” in Proc. IEEE Interna- tional Symposium on Circuits and Systems, May 2011, pp. 1299–1302. [III] K. K. Lee, H. A. Hjortland, and T. S. Lande, “IR-UWB technology on next gen- eration RFID systems,” in Proc. NORCHIP, Nov 2011, DOI: 10.1109/NORCHP. 2011.6126697. [IV] K. K. Lee and T. S. Lande, “Analysis and design of sub-µW bandgap references in nano-meter CMOS”, in Proc. IEEE International Midwest Symposium on Circuits and Systems, Aug 2013, pp. 93–96. [V] K. K. Lee, T. S. Lande, and P. D. Häfliger, “A sub-µW bandgap reference circuit with an inherent curvature-compensation property,” IEEE Transactions on Circuits and Systems I: Regular Papers, to be published, DOI: 10.1109/TCSI.2014.2340553. [VI] K. K. Lee and T. S. Lande, “A wireless-powered IR-UWB transmitter for long-range passive RFID tags in 90 nm CMOS,” IEEE Transactions on Circuits and Systems II: Express Briefs, to be published, DOI: 10.1109/TCSII.2014.2350292. [VII] K. K. Lee and T. S. Lande, “A 2.8–7.5 pJ/pulse highly-flexible impulse-radio ultra- wideband pulse-generator,” preparing for publication. 10 The following papers are published during the Ph.D. period and contain overlapping, complementing, and additional material, but are not considered part of this dissertation. [VIII] K. K. Lee, C. Bryant, M. Törmänen, and H. Sjöland, “A 65-nm CMOS ultra- low-power LC quadrature VCO,” in Proc. NORCHIP, Nov 2009, DOI: 10.1109/ NORCHP.2009.5397805. [IX] K. K. Lee, C. Bryant, M. Törmänen, and H. Sjöland, “Design and analysis of an ultra-low-power LC quadrature VCO,” Analog Integrated Circuits and Signal Pro- cessing, vol. 67, no. 1, pp. 49–60, Apr 2011. [X] K. K. Lee, Ø. Næss, and T. S. Lande, “A 3.9 pJ/pulse differential IR-UWB pulse generator in 90 nm CMOS,” in Proc. Asia Pacific Conference on Postgraduate Research in Microelectronics and Electronics, Oct 2011, pp. 115–118. [XI] K. K. Lee and T. S. Lande, “Co-design of antenna, matching network and voltage rectifier in state-of-the-art CMOS,” in Proc. IEEE International Midwest Symposium on Circuits and Systems, Aug 2012, pp. 49–52. [XII] K. K. Lee, K. Granhaug, and N. Andersen, “A study of low-power crystal oscillator design,” in Proc. NORCHIP, Nov 2013, DOI: 10.1109/NORCHIP.2013.6702036. [XIII] M. Z. Dooghabadi, H. A. Hjortland, Ø. Næss, K. K. Lee, and T. S. Lande, “An IR- UWB transmitter for ranging systems”, IEEE Transactions on Circuits and Systems II: Express Briefs, vol: 60, no: 11, pp. 721–725, Nov 2013. This dissertation is organized as follows: Chapter 2 describes the work done by the au- thor in the papers [I–VII] and provides background of the related work in literature. Chapter 3 concludes with a brief summary of the work and a discussion of future research directions. The technical papers are enclosed in the appendix section. 11 “Solitude is painful when one is young, but delightful when one is more mature.” — Albert Einstein “I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.” — Henry David Thoreau Chapter 2 Work Descriptions This chapter is a guideline for reading papers [I–VII]. The papers can be divided into four main topics: IR-UWB RFID systems, IR-UWB PGs, clock generators and reference circuits. They will be discussed individually in each subsection. Research background and main con- tributions by the author are presented. 2.1 IR-UWB RFID Systems 2.1.1 Background Active IR-UWB RFID systems ( including battery-powered IR-UWB transceivers) have been developed and showed very promising results ( for example [45–50] ). In [45], a commu- nication distance of 200 meters with a maximum error of 15 cm has been achieved. The localization error has even been shown to be as low as 1 cm in [43]. Nevertheless active RFID tags ( or the transceiver modules) and batteries are rather expensive ( >10 USD) for logistic and supply chain applications. As a balance between the battery lifetime and sys- tem performance, a semi-passive IR-UWB RFID system has been proposed in [7] and [51]. The communication is performed by UWB backscattering modulations with a UHF signal ( around 900 MHz) wake up. Nevertheless active and semi-passive solutions require battery replacement which makes them not suitable for some applications. Passive IR-UWB RFID systems ( or wireless-powered IR-UWB transceivers) have been re- ported in [10–12, 52–55]. One of the main challenges of wireless-powered IR-UWB radio sys- tems [10–12,52] is to harvest enough energy for data transmissions. The energy-consumption of state-of-the-art IR-UWB PGs is in the order of 10 pJ/pulse [56–60], which corresponds to 100 µW with a 10 MHz pulse repetition frequency ( PRF), and the efficiency of state-of-the- art far-field RF voltage rectifiers is around 20–30% [61–64]. If we assume that the rectifier efficiency is 25% and an ideal matching network is added such that its insertion loss and the reflection loss can be eliminated, the system minimum input power is 400 µW (≈–4 dBm) which corresponds a wireless energy transmission distance of approximately three meters by 13 using ( 1.1) ( Friis transmission equation) with 900 MHz 4 W EIRP radiation and 0 dB gain transmitting/receiving antennas. The power consumption from the other functional blocks and other nonidealities further decrease the distance to less than one meter [10, 52]. To increase the energy transmission distance, a multi-mode operation scheme has been adopted in [11, 12, 31] with a potential trade-off of more complicated hand-shake protocols. The idea is to introduce an energy-harvesting mode, only a voltage sensor and related circuits are enabled to minimize the system power consumption ( in the order of µW) during this pe- riod. A storage capacitor is charged up and other circuits are enabled when enough energy is harvested. An energy transmission distance of 15.7 meters has been reported in [12]. Never- theless the communication distance of wireless-powered RFID systems is still unsatisfied due to the limited energy available and, hence, weak emission power on the TX side [11, 12]. No- tice that the storing energy is given as 1 2 CSV 2 DD, where VDD and CS are the supply voltage and capacitance of the storage capacitor respectively. The storing energy could be increased by using a larger storage capacitor, however this also increases the leakage current and charging time. The long charging time may degrade the system capacity performance. In [11, 12, 31], CS ranges from 4 to 211 nF, the storing energy is still limited. Very interesting chip-less IR-UWB solutions1 ( without integrated circuits) have been pro- posed [32, 53–55, 67] to further reduce the production cost. The idea is to connect a UWB antenna to different transmission line networks, the backscattered pulses are varied corre- spondingly and can be used for identifications. The trade-offs are relatively shorter reading range [55] and limited functionalities due to the lack of energy sources on the tags. 2.1.2 Related Work and Contributions Published wireless-powered IR-UWB tags in literature [10–12, 52] offer limited reading range due to the reasons aforementioned. To improve this, the multi-mode operation scheme is adopted and the tag data is transmitted repeatedly, this introduces higher processing gain and averages out the noise. As a result, the signal-to-noise ratio ( SNR) and, hence, reading range are increased. Nevertheless the hand-shake protocols become complicated when there are large number of tags and amount of data in the system. This may increase the tag circuit complexity and energy consumption. To solve this, a long-range passive IR-UWB RFID system using a uni-directional communication scheme has been proposed in [III] and slightly modified in [VI]. The channel separation is given by the system asynchronous code-division multiple access (CDMA) and inherent ALOHA properties. Every tag requires different time to harvest energy due to process variation, component mismatch and distance to the readers, transmissions will be sufficiently distributed for acceptable interference, even with a large number of tags in operation. A wireless-powered CDMA IR-UWB TX for the proposed RFID system has been pre- sented in [VI]. The TX is wireless-powered by a 900 MHz UHF signal and starts transmis- sions of symbols containing 128-b PN codes when enough energy is harvested. On-off-key 1Chipless RFID solutions are used on NB RFID systems also, more details can be found in [65] and [66]. 14 (OOK) modulation is adopted because of the simple structure and low energy consumption of OOK PGs, although bi-phase shift key ( BPSK) modulation could provide better commu- nication quality [68]. System co-designs of different building blocks are proposed to improve tags performance without additional power consumption overhead. A proof-of-concept pro- totype has been successfully implemented in the TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. Together with elaborate RX design ( an exampled structure can be found in [14] ), the proposed RFID system can provide precise RTL ability. Only localization techniques which do not require synchronization between readers and tags can be used to locate the tags. The angle-of-arrival ( AoA) approach is chosen as an example. Considering a reader containing an antenna array with known geometry, the AoA is estimated from the differences in arrival times for the tag transmitted signal at each of the antennas. As a result, a radial line can be formed from the reader to the tag. Precise localization can be performed by using multiple readers and inter- secting the resultant radial lines. Other localization techniques and trade-offs can be found in [37, 68, 69]. 2.2 IR-UWB PGs 2.2.1 Background One of the most important components inside IR-UWB TXs is the PG. It is usually the most power-demanding component and the communication distance is greatly related to its emission energy. At the same time the emitted signal has to meet the spectrum regulation of different country to avoid interfering with other radio systems. The basic idea of most published IR-UWB PGs is to use a high-frequency waveform generator ( HFWG), which can be an oscillator, phase-locked loop or delay-line ( DL), and shape its output signal to generate the desired envelope by mainly three approaches: spectrum mixing [46, 47, 49, 56, 70–72], filtering [11, 57, 58, 73–75] or multi-pulse combination ( MPC) [59, 60, 76–79]. The spectrum mixing approach consists of a local oscillator and a mixer like conventional NB TXs, the high-frequency oscillator output is then mixed with the envelope shape [46, 47, 49, 70]. The power consumption and area are relatively large because more components are needed compared to the other two approaches. Moreover, the leakage from the oscillator to the antenna could be problematic. However, it is the one of the very few PG topologies that can generate high-quality BPSK IR-UWB signals. The mixing function could also be performed by switching the oscillator on and off [56, 71, 72], this eliminates the need of the mixer with a drawback of disability of generating BPSK signals. For the filtering approach, the HFWG output signal is coupled to and filtered by a pulse shaping filter so that the resultant signal can meet the spectrum mask regulations. In ad- ditional to the circuit simplicity, another advantage is that the output parasitic capacitance, which is usually the dominating one inside the PG, can be used as part of the filter and tuned- out by inductors inside the filter. In other words, the capacitive and switching losses could be reduced. However, the filtered out-of-band energy is wasted and on-chip spiral inductors 15 are area-demanding. MPC IR-UWB PGs usually utilize DLs as the HFWG. Based on the propagation delay ( PD) of the DL and output drivers with different strength, Gaussian-approximate waveforms can be obtained. The MPC approach is shown to be very energy-efficient ( 2.5 pJ/pulse has been reported in [59] ) and small-size because it contains mainly digital gates. Nevertheless most of the MPC IR-UWB PGs operate at the lower frequencies of the UWB band, this is because the capacitive and switching losses due to the output parasitic capacitance increase with frequency. Also, it is not easy to control the envelope and center frequency accurately due to process variations, filtering and/or calibration may be required. Note that for some MPC IR-UWB PGs [59, 76–78], the direct-currernt ( DC) output voltage of output drivers is biased by the transistor leakage current which is usually not accurately modeled, this may increase the design difficulty. 2.2.2 Related Work and Contributions In [I], a low-power DL-based MPC OOK IR-UWB PG structure ( will be referred to as PG-I) which utilizes loose-triangular waveforms to construct a Gaussian envelope has been pro- posed. An acceptable spectral filling is achieved with simple circuit solutions. PG-I has been successfully implemented in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process in [II]. Because it contains mainly digital gates, low energy consumption and chip area are obtained. A resistive divider is used to bias the DC output voltage instead of the leakage current solution adopted in [59] and [76], this can control the variation of the DC output voltage better. However, the energy consumption increases when the PRF decreases because of the static current drawn by the resistive divider. To solve this, a dynamic pre-charge scheme which turns on the resistive divider a short time before transmissions has been proposed in [II]. PG-I has been adopted in an IR-UWB TX for ranging systems presented in [XIII] and [14]. The presented TX could also be applied to active and semi-passive IR-UWB RFID systems. Note that there are dif- ferences between the post-layout simulation results in [I] and measurement results in [II], this is because the envelope and center frequency of the PG output signal are sensitive to the PD variation of the DL. Other possible reasons are the inaccuracies of the layout parasitic component extraction tools and the transistor models provided by the vendor. Another DL-based MPC OOK IR-UWB PG structure ( will be referred to as PG-II) has been proposed in [VI]. It uses an on-chip spiral inductor to tune out the output parasitic capacitance, the driving requirement and, hence, the transistor size of the output drivers are reduced. In other words, the capacitive and switching losses are also reduced which makes PG-II energy-efficient. Also, energy is concentrated at around the resonating frequency of the LC tank because of the its bandpass property, this makes PG-II less sensitive to the mismatch and temperature variation. The inductor connects the PG output to the supply voltage at low frequencies which provides electrostatic discharge protection. PG-II has been used in the wireless-powered IR-UWB TX presented in [VI]. Because of the TX multi-mode operations and limited number of pad counts, some im- portant specifications of PG-II have not been measured in [VI]. In [VII], an improved version 16 of PG-II with higher flexibility ( will be referred to as PG-III) has been proposed. In addition, detailed measurement results, qualitative frequency-domain and transient analyses are pre- sented. A new figure-of-merit ( FoM) has been proposed to compare different IR-UWB PGs in a more precise way. Both PG-I and PG-III show competitive performance compared to other published state-of-the-art IR-UWB PGs [VII]. 2.3 Clock Generators 2.3.1 Background Crystal oscillators ( XO) are used extensively in modern radio systems. It can generate very precise and stable reference clock signals because of the extremely high quality factor (QF, in the order of 100,000) of the crystal resonators [80, 81]. Normal XOs can provide frequency stability in the order of 10 parts per million ( ppm) over a wide temperature range, this can even be improved to 0.05 ppm with analog temperature compensation [82]. However, the maximum fundamental oscillating frequency is up to around 30 MHz only [83]. Micro- electro-mechanical systems ( MEMS) resonators have been proposed [84] and the maximum fundamental oscillating frequency is increased to the GHz range with a trade-off of lower QF ( in the order of 1,000) [82, 85]. The smaller size of the MEMS resonators [86, 87] also enables the possibility of embedding the whole front-end in a single package ( the so-called system-in-package solution) for improved performance. Note that the oscillator power con- sumption is inversely proportional to the resonator QF, on the other hand the start-up time is exponentially proportional to the resonator QF [XII]. The long start-up time may limit the usability of crystal/MEMS oscillators on IR-UWB TXs which are usually turned on and off from time to time. Ring oscillators are possible candidates for passive RFID systems [88] because of their simplicity and energy efficiency. However, the output frequency varies with temperature, this may limit the system operating temperature range. Temperature-compensated ring os- cillators have been proposed to reduce the frequency variation ( can be less than 1% over a temperature range of 100◦C [89–91] ) with slightly increased complexity. Nevertheless the output frequency error due to process variations can be as large as ±20%, post digital signal processing [92] and/or trimming may be required. Very accurate chip-rate is usually required for CDMA systems. A possible low-power solution for wireless-powered radio systems is to lock to the input RF signals with simple circuitries. A clock recovery solution using a digital frequency-locked loop has been proposed in [93] for Electronic Product Code2 generation-2 RFID tags [94]. Injection-locking solutions have been proposed in [11, 30, 95–98]. They provide lower circuit complexity, faster start- up time ( including locking time) and, thus, better energy efficiency compared to the clock recovery solution. However, for most injection-locking frequency dividers ( ILD) for RFID applications, the injection input generates a resistive load to the antenna which induces losses 2Electronic Product Code provides well-accepted RFID standards and data structures. 17 and degrades the system sensitivity. 2.3.2 Related Work and Contributions The injection-locking approach is adopted for the proposed IR-UWB RFID system because of the high energy-efficiency advantage. If the targeted output frequency is close to the ILD free-running oscillating frequency, the start-up time ( including lock time) can be very short ( a few clock cycles according to simulations). A novel ILD co-designed with RF voltage rec- tifier has been proposed in [VI]. It is based on the structure proposed in [99]. Unlike other ILDs for RFID applications [11, 30, 95], the DC voltage of the injection input is biased by either resistors or diode-connected transistors which generate resistive loads to the antenna and degrade the sensitivity, the proposed ILD co-designs with the RF voltage rectifier and introduces only a small capacitive load to the antenna. As a result, this reduces the resistive loss and the system sensitivity is improved. The proposed ILD has been successfully imple- mented in the TSMC 90 nm CMOS process and adopted in the wireless-powered IR-UWB TX presented in [VI]. 2.4 Reference Circuits 2.4.1 Background Bandgap reference circuits ( BGR) generate precise reference signals which are insensitive to process, voltage and temperature variations, and have been used for decades because of their reliability. However, very low power consumption ( sub-µW or even lower) is needed for the wireless-powered applications [30, 100], large resistance is needed in order to achieve this. This can increase the chip area substansiously. As a result, only a few sub-µW BGRs can be found in literature [30,101,102]. Some research has been conducted on CMOS-only reference circuits which generate the output voltage based on CMOS transistor threshold voltage [103– 105] or its difference [106, 107]. Nevertheless, design trade-offs such as sensitivity to process variations, precision and flexibility have to be considered also. The minimum width of resistors scales down with the continuing aggressive development of CMOS technology. Mega-ohm resistors can now be realized with a reasonable area in state-of-the-art CMOS processes, hence sub-µW BGR power consumption is now possible. For example the high-resistance poly resistor without salicide in the TSMC 90 nm CMOS process, its resistivity can be as large as 0.16 MΩ per 100 µm2 and would increase even more favorably with more modern technology nodes. The resistor area is now less dominating, and becomes comparable to other components for BGR design. Another important BGR design parameter is the temperature coefficient ( TC). For CMOS BGRs, this non-ideality is mainly due to the high-order temperature dependence of bipolar junction transistor ( BJT) base-emitter voltage [108–110]. Different temperature compensa- tion techniques have been developed [111–122], most of them require additional components 18 and power consumption. A remarkable exception is [121], the BGR high-order temperature dependence is compensated by incorporating two different types of resistor whose first-order TCs are of opposite sign. Nevertheless intensive trimming may be needed to match the resistor ratios because the resistors are with different types. More curvature-compensation techniques and related discussion can be found in [123]. 2.4.2 Related Work and Contributions An analysis of ultra-low-power BGR designs in nm CMOS processes has been presented in [IV]. Three different widely-used BGR topologies have been studied. One of them ( will be referred to as BGR-I) is very interesting with limited results reported. To get more insight, BGR-I has been implemented in the TSMC 90 nm CMOS process and verified. BGR-I has been used in the wireless-powered IR-UWB TX presented in [VI]. A detailed discussion between resistor-based BGRs and CMOS-only reference circuits and different design considerations of ultra-low-power BGRs in nm CMOS processes have been presented in [V]. In addition, a new current-mode BGR topology with an inherent curvature- compensation property ( will be referred to as BGR-II) has been presented. The proposed curvature-compensation technique utilizes the exponential behavior of sub-threshold CMOS transistors to compensate the BJT base-emitter voltage high-order temperature dependence and improves the TC performance. The proposed curvature-compensation technique is sim- ple and requires no additional current consumption. Also, BGR-II is capable of generating sub-1-V output voltage and has the lowest theoretical minimum current consumption among published current-mode BGRs. BGR-II has been successfully demonstrated in the TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. 19 “Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.” — Corrie ten Boom Chapter 3 Summary and Future Work 3.1 Summary A novel long-range passive IR-UWB RFID system intended to advance the current RFID technology has been proposed in [III] and [VI]. The potential advantages are a long reading range with localization ability, insensitivity to surrounding environments and high security. In [VI], a wireless-powered CDMA IR-UWB TX intended for the proposed RFID system has been implemented in the TSMC 90 nm CMOS process and presented. Moreover, novel IR-UWB PG ( PG-II), ILD and co-design schemes have been proposed to improve the TX performance with minimal power consumption overheads. The proposed RFID tag provides sufficient bandwidth for potential resolution in the centimeter range. Notice that the reader side has not been implemented due to the limited resources and time, demonstrations of the system performance require experimental verifications. Although high-precision long- range localizations have been demonstrated in [42], interference and practical limitations will probably limit localization performance in real scenarios. In addition, several functional blocks for low-power IR-UWB radio systems have been proposed and analyzed. A OOK IR-UWB PG ( PG-I) has been proposed in [I] and demon- strated in [II]. It is energy-efficient and small-size because it contains mainly digital gate. PG-I has been adopted in an IR-UWB TX for ranging systems presented in [XIII]. In [VII], a low-power highly-flexible IR-UWB PG ( PG-III, which is an improved version of PG-II) has been presented. The output power, PW and center frequency are controllable. Quali- tative frequency-domain and transient analyses have been presented. A new FoM has been proposed to compare different IR-UWB PGs in a more precise way. Both PG-I and PG-III show competitive performance compared to other published state-of-the-art IR-UWB PGs as shown in [VII]. In [IV], an analysis of ultra-low-power BGR designs in nm CMOS processes has been presented, a BGR topology with limited results reported in literature ( BGR-I) has been fab- ricated to get more insight. A detailed discussion between resistor-based BGRs and CMOS- only reference circuits and different design considerations of ultra-low-power BGRs in state- of-the-art nm CMOS processes have been presented in [V]. Also, a sub-µW BGR with an 21 Temperature C ur re nt ICC=I1st+INL INL I1st Figure 3.1: An idea of piecewise-linear curvature-compensation. inherent curvature-compensation property ( BGR-II) has been proposed and shown compet- itive results with other state-of-the-art voltage reference circuits. 3.2 Recommendations for Future Work Full System Demonstrations Although individual IR-UWB TX and RX for the proposed RFID system have been pro- posed in this work and [14] respectively, the full system has not been demonstrated yet because of the reasons aforementioned. Additional reader and control circuits are required. Furthermore, localization techniques like AoA and time-difference-of-arrival [37, 68, 69, 124] and control algorithms are required for RTL applications. Additional research on signal pro- cessings is needed for optimizing the system performance. Implementations of BGR-II with piecewise-linear curvature-compensation and/or trim- ming. 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Internal or personal use is permitted, but republication/redistribution requires IEEE permis- sion. 33 A Novel 6.5 pJ/Pulse Impulse Radio Pulse Generator for RFID Tags Kin Keung Lee, Malihe Zarre Dooghabadi, Håkon A. Hjortland, Øivind Næss and Tor Sverre “Bassen” Lande Department of Informatics, University of Oslo, N-0316 Oslo, Norway E-mail: kklee@ifi.uio.no Abstract—A novel impulse radio (IR) ultra wideband (UWB) pulse generator (PG) intended for RFID tags is presented. A new pulse-shaping approach suited for CMOS implementation is proposed. The power consumption and chip area are reduced compared to the conventional higher order Gaussian PGs. The proposed PG uses digital gates for timing achieving good power efficiency and, meanwhile, acceptable spectral filling. The circuit is scalable both in bandwidth and center frequency. The PG is designed in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS technology. Post-layout simulations show a worst-case power consumption from a 1.2 V supply to be 6.5 pJ/pulse for a 100 MHz pulse repetition fre- quency (PRF). The chip area is 0.00079 mm2 (38.2 µm×20.8 µm) for the PG core. Index Terms—IR, UWB, RFID, CMOS, Pulse generator I. INTRODUCTION Viable communication solutions have been pursued actively after the Federal Communication Commission (FCC) released a large UWB spectral mask (i.e. 3.1–10.6 GHz) for unlicensed use. Most available UWB technology is based on multi-band (OFDM) solutions for proper UWB spectral filling. Today we still do not find widespread use of UWB solutions. Another immature technology is RFID tags. Most RFID tags nowadays are using narrowband technology and powered by a battery (or inductive coupling for short-range commu- nication). The battery increases the production cost and the tag size significantly. One noticeable exception is a single- chip RFID tag solution from Tagent [1] with on-chip energy- harvesting circuits and a 6.7 GHz UWB transmitter. The power-harvesting technology is using a 5.8 GHz carrier and limited to one meter distance indicating power-limitations in the tag. As a first step towards green (no battery) RFID tags, we are exploring a simple and very power-efficient IR-UWB PG, which is often the most power-comsuming component of the transmitter, suitable for implementation in standard digital technology (CMOS). Unlike narrowband counterparts, IR-UWB PGs do not require precise carrier generators and the wideband transmission does not require accurate inter-pulse timing. In this paper, a new pulse-shaping approach which requires only digital gates is proposed. The proposed pulse generator uses only digital gates for timing achieving good power efficiency and acceptable spectral filling. The circuit is scalable both in bandwidth (BW−10dB) and center frequency (fcenter) and is well suited for nanometer CMOS technology. The PG performs very well, especially in term of power consumption and chip area, and is competitive to other recently published UWB PGs [2]–[5]. Post-layout simulations show a worst-case power consumption to be 6.5 pJ/pulse for a 100 MHz PRF. In these extremely power-limited applications, leakage current must also be accounted for, hence the gate area should be kept small. II. PULSE-SHAPE GENERATION Higher order Gaussian pulse-shapes are widely used in IR- UWB PGs to minimize the sideband interference, however, it is hard to generate higher order Gaussian pulses in standard CMOS processes with simple circuit solutions. A piecewise Gaussian approximation (PGA) approach was proposed in [6] and a promising low-power (5.6 pJ/pulse) IR-UWB PG using a similar approach was reported in [2]. The weakness is the circuit complexity, the number of generator stages and output drivers are proportional to the order of the Gaussian function. Only one output driver is used during each phase, the un-used output drivers add output capacitance and, hence, increase the power consumption. Also, in order to adopt to international spectral regulations (band group 6, i.e. 7.7–8.7 GHz, is the only band available worldwide [7]), a high-order Gaussian derivative (15-th) is required, but not feasible due to increased parasitic capacitance. Instead of generating higher order Gaussian waveforms, we are proposing to use several simple pulses to construct a first order Gaussian envelope. BW−10dB is then determined by the envelope width and fcenter is determined by the frequency of the generated pulses. The somehow crude generated pulses will not add significant sideband interference as long as the pulse frequency is significantly higher than the envelope frequency. The idea is depicted in Fig. 1. The amplitudes of 5 GHz triangular and sine waveforms are shaped to make a Gaussian envelope with α = 0.6 ns. The frequency spectra are shown in Fig. 1c. Loose-triangular pulses are selected because they can be generated easily in CMOS processes by charging and dis- charging a parasitic capacitor. It is difficult to model loose- triangular waveforms in mathematical simulators, however, its frequency spectrum should be somehow in between the spectra shown in Fig. 1c. fcenter may be limited to be 5 GHz in this paper because of the technology limitations. We are expecting 34 0 0.2 0.4 0.6 0.8 1 1.2 −0.5 −0.4 −0.3 −0.2 −0.1 0 0.1 0.2 0.3 0.4 0.5 A m pl itu de ( V ) Time (ns) 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 −180 −160 −140 −120 −100 −80 −60 −40 P ow er S pe ct ra l D en si ty ( dB m /M H z) Frequency (GHz) (a) (b) (c) 0 0.2 0.4 0.6 0.8 1 1.2 −0.5 −0.4 −0.3 −0.2 −0.1 0 0.1 0.2 0.3 0.4 0.5 A m pl itu de ( V ) Time (ns) Fig. 1. (a and b) Proposed pulse-shape generation approaches (c) Dashed: Frequency spectrum of (a); Solid: Frequency spectrum of (b); Dotted: FCC mask. it can be pushed to higher frequencies, hence better spectral utilization can be achieved with faster CMOS technology. The main advantage of this approach is its simplicity and technology scalability combined with power efficiency. III. CIRCUIT IMPLEMENTATION Because the gate count is proportional to the number of triangular pulses generated, the weak pulses at the beginning and at the end of the pulse-sequence are omitted in order to simplify the circuit and minimize the power consumption. The resulting waveform and spectrum is shown in Fig. 2. The fcenter is 4.8 GHz with a BW−10dB of 3 GHz. Some low- frequency sidebands are observed. However, simulations show that the mismatch between the charging and discharging time is the main reason for low-frequency sidebands and omission of the weak pulses will not have a significant impact on the sidebands. The low-frequency sidebands may be reduced by adding high-pass filters, or even just exploring the antenna band-pass property. The schematic of the proposed PG is depicted in Fig. 3. The structure is similar to the PGA-PG in [2], but the idea is different. The proposed PG contains only simple digital gates and does not have any Gaussian pulse generators. The one-shot circuit is triggered by a falling edge and creates a fixed-width pulse, τ, for each input edge. Pulse stretchers [8] are added to adjust the width of the pulses in order to minimize the sideband energy. High threshold transistors are used for the delay line to minimize the leakage current. As mentioned, in PGA-PGs, only one output driver is on in a single phase, the un-used output drivers add undesired output capacitance and degrade the circuit performance. In the proposed PG, only loose-triangular waveforms are generated, this makes it possible to share the output drivers like the timing diagram shown in Fig. 3. One or more output drivers with different strength are combined for desired charging and discharging strength, which is a very important feature for generating multi-cycles IR-UWB pulses. The firing control logic is required for correct firing sequence. We can see that the PG contains only digital gates for timing exploring inherent gate-delays, which is very beneficial for modern CMOS technology. IV. LAYOUT The layout is shown in Fig. 4. Since the PG contains only digital gates, we use only 0.00079 mm2 silicon area. The delay line is one of the critical components in the PG and must be designed carefully for minimal mismatch. Using multiple fingers devices and sharing the drain connections may reduce the parasitic drain-capacitance. However, this may give a very long diffusion and the “Length of Diffusion” effect [9] may degrade the delay line speed. Power distribution must also be balanced and decoupled locally since gates are rail referred. Just minor drops in power supply can affect inverter delays significantly. V. POST-LAYOUT SIMULATION RESULTS The PG testbench is shown in Fig. 5. The 100 fF and 10 µF capacitors are the pad parasitic capacitor and coupling capacitor respectively. The 1 nH inductor accounts for the bond-wire parasitic inductance. The antenna is modeled as a 50 Ω resistive load. CL is the loading capacitance due to the off-chip components (package, PCB and so on). Fig. 6 shows the frequency spectra of the PG output (observed at VANT ) with different CL at the typical design corner. With 1 pF CL, the peak is –41.9 dBm/MHz at around 4.3 GHz. The fcenter is lower than the predicted because of the unexpected large parasitic capacitance of the delay line. The BW−10dB is 2.9 GHz, which is very close to the predicted value. When CL increases, the amplitude of triangular pulses 0 0.5 1 −0.4 −0.2 0 0.2 0.4 A m pl itu de ( V ) Time (ns) 0 2 4 6 8 10 12 −100 −90 −80 −70 −60 −50 −40 P ow er S pe ct ra l D en si ty ( dB m /M H z) Frequency (GHz) (a) (b) Fig. 2. (a) Adopted pulse-shape, (b) Solid: Its frequency spectrum; Dashed: FCC mask. 35 τ One-Shot VOUT VIN τ A B D C 11.6kΩ 11.6kΩ Firing Control Pulse Stretchers1) M is a real # ≥ 1 2) t2 > t1 t1 Wp/Lp=Wn/(M·Ln) Wn/Ln t2 τ τ τ τ τ τ A B C D VIN VOUT Fig. 3. Proposed PG. decreases, which also decreases the peak of the spectra, the PG can meet the FCC requirements when CL is larger than 1.5 pF assuming a high-pass filter added. With faster CMOS technology, we can push fcenter to higher frequencies and achieve better spectral utilization Fig. 7 shows a transient simulation with 2 pF CL at the typical design corner. The pulse width (τOUT ) is about 688 ps, One-Shot Circuits & Delay Line Firing Control Circuits & Pulse Stretchers Buffers Output Drivers 20.8μm 38 .2 μm Biasing Resistors Fig. 4. PG layout. VIN VOUTPG 50ΩCL 1nH 100fF 10µF 100MHz VANT Fig. 5. PG testbench. and 820 ps for the worst case (i.e. the slow design corner). The ringing is caused by the bond-wire inductance. The power consumption from a 1.2 V supply is 6.3 pJ/pulse for a 100 MHz PRF, and 6.5 pJ/pulse for the worst case. It can be seen in Fig. 7 that the maximum PRF can be larger than 200 MHz. The frequency spectra of the PG output (observed at VANT ) with 2 pF CL at different design corners are depicted in Fig. 8. A summary of the simulation results and a comparison to recently published IR-UWB PGs [2]–[5] are shown in Table I. The simulations show that the designed PG performs very well, especially in terms of power dissipation and area, and is competitive to the state-of-the-art IR-UWB PGs. VI. CONCLUSION A new pulse-shaping approach and a novel IR-UWB PG for a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process suitable for RFID tags have been presented. A power-efficient pulse generation is achieved by output driver re-use and simple combinatorial gates. Post- layout simulations show the worst-case power consumption 0 2 4 6 8 10 12 −90 −85 −80 −75 −70 −65 −60 −55 −50 −45 −40 Frequency (GHz) P ow er S pe ct ra l D en si ty ( dB m /M H z) With 1pF loading With 2pF loading With 5pF loading FCC Mask Fig. 6. Frequency spectra of the PG output with different CL. 36 Fig. 7. Transient simulation result P: Fast, N: Fast P: Typ, N: Typ 0 2 4 6 8 10 12 −90 −85 −80 −75 −70 −65 −60 −55 −50 −45 −40 Frequency (GHz) P ow er S pe ct ra l D en si ty ( dB m /M H z) P: Slow, N: Slow P: Fast, N: Slow P: Slow, N: Fast FCC Mask Fig. 8. Frequency spectra of the PG output at different design corners. from a 1.2 V supply is 6.5 pJ/pulse for a 100 MHz PRF, which is suitable for ultra low-power applications. The PG contains mainly digital gates, which is very beneifical from nano-meter CMOS technology. We are expecting this TABLE I SUMMARY OF SIMULATION RESULTS, AND COMPARSIONS TO OTHER PUBLISHED UWB-IR PGS. Design Tech. (CMOS) fcenter (GHz) BW-10dB (GHz) τOUT (ns) Power Diss. (pJ/Pulse) Area (mm2) This work 90 nm 4.3 2.94 0.69 6.5 0.00079 [2] 130 nm ~3.1 N/A 0.75 5.6 0.02 [3] 90 nm 4.05* 0.55 3 47 0.08 [4] 180 nm 4.05 1.4 1.75 825 0.4 [5] 90 nm 3.5–10 0.5 17 40 0.066 * Two other fcenter (i.e. 3.45 GHz and 4.65 GHz) can be selected. IR-UWB PG to be suitable for RFID tags with on-chip power-harvesting. ACKNOWLEDGMENT The authors would like to thank Novelda AS for their useful suggestions on IR-UWB PG design. REFERENCES [1] [Online]. Available: http://www.tagent.com/ [2] X. Wang et al., “FCC-EIRP-aware UWB pulse generator design ap- proach,” in IEEE International Conference on Ultra-Wideband, Sep 2009, pp. 592–596. [3] D. D. Wentzloff and A. P. Chandrakasan, “A 47pJ/pulse 3.1-to-5GHz all- digital UWB transmitter in 90nm CMOS,” in Digest of Technical Papers, IEEE International Solid-State Circuits Conference, Feb 2007, pp. 118– 119 and 591. [4] T. Norimatsu et al., “A UWB-IR transmitter with digitally controlled pulse generator,” IEEE Journal of Solid-State Circuits, vol. 42, no. 6, pp. 1300–1309, Jun 2007. [5] J. Ryckaert et al., “A 0.65-to-1.4nJ/burst 3-to-10 GHz UWB all-digital TX in 90nm CMOS for IEEE 802.15.4a,” IEEE Journal of Solid-State Circuits, vol. 42, no. 12, pp. 2860–2869, Dec 2007. [6] H. Hie et al., “A varying pulse width 5th-derivative Gaussian pulse generator for UWB transceivers in CMOS,” in IEEE Radio and Wireless Symposium, Jan 2008, pp. 171–174. [7] WiMedia Alliance, “Worldwide regulatory status – Jan 2009.” [8] H. A. Hjortland and T. S. Lande, “CTBV integrated impulse radio design for biomedical applications,” IEEE Transactions on Biomedical Circuits and Systems, vol. 3, no. 2, pp. 79–88, Apr 2009. [9] P. G. Drennan, M. L. Kniffin, and D. R. Locascio, “Implications of proximity effects for analog design,” in IEEE Custom Integrated Circuits Conference, Sep 2006, pp. 169–176. 37 “Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify.” “As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness.” — Henry David Thoreau A.2 Paper-II K. K. Lee, M. Z. Dooghabadi, H. A. Hjortland, Ø. Næss and T. S. Lande, “A 5.2 pJ/pulse impulse radio pulse generator in 90 nm CMOS,” in Proc. IEEE International Symposium on Circuits and Systems, May 2011, pp. 1299–1302. Copyright © 2011 IEEE. Reprinted with permission. Internal or personal use is permitted, but republication/redistribution requires IEEE permis- sion. 39 A 5.2 pJ/Pulse Impulse Radio Pulse Generator in 90 nm CMOS Kin Keung Lee, Malihe Zarre Dooghabadi, Håkon A. Hjortland, Øivind Næss and Tor Sverre “Bassen” Lande Department of Informatics, University of Oslo, N-0316 Oslo, Norway E-mail: kklee@ifi.uio.no Abstract—A low-power impulse radio (IR) ultra wideband (UWB) pulse generator (PG) is presented. It uses digital gate- delay for timing achieving good power efficiency and acceptable spectral filling. The circuit is scalable in both bandwidth and center frequency. Both energy consumption and chip area are reduced compared to most conventional higher order Gaussian PGs. The PG is realized in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. Measurements show the energy consumption from a 1.2 V to be 5.2 pJ/pulse for a 200 MHz pulse repetition frequency (PRF). The core area is 0.0015 mm2 (38 µm × 40 µm). Lastly, a dynamic pre-charge (DPC) scheme is proposed to eliminate the stand-by current and make the PG favorable for low-data-rate applica- tions. Index Terms—IR, UWB, RFID, CMOS, pulse generator I. INTRODUCTION Since the Federal Communication Commission (FCC) re- leased a large spectral mask (i.e. 3.1–10.6 GHz) for unlicensed use [1], UWB technology has been an attractive field of research. The huge spectral mask not only gives the benefit of higher date rate, but also reduced power consumption of transmitting circuits by using IR technology. One potential application is RFID tags. Conventional passive RFID tags util- itize load or backscatter modulations which limits the number of channels. By using power-efficient IR-UWB technology, it is possible to apply different multiple access schemes (for example CDMA) on no-battery, energy-harvesting RFID tags. One of the most challenging tasks is to design low-power IR-UWB PG which is usually the most power-consuming component in the UWB transmitters. A novel pulse-shape generation approach was proposed in [2], but no real prototype and measurement results were presented. In this paper, a low-power IR-UWB PG based on [2] was realized in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. It uses digital gate-delay for timing, achieving good power efficiency and acceptable spectral filling. The circuit is scalable in both bandwidth and center frequency. Both energy consumption and chip area are reduced compared to most conventional higher order Gaussian PGs. Measurements show the energy consumption from a 1.2 V supply to be 5.2 pJ/pulse for a 200 MHz PRF. The core area is 0.0015 mm2 (38 µm×40 µm). The PG performs very well, especially in terms of energy consumption and chip area, and is competitive to other recently published UWB PGs [3]–[6]. One drawback is that the output DC voltage is biased by a resistive divider. A DPC scheme is proposed to eliminate the stand-by current due to the resistive divider and make the PG favorable for low-data-rate applications. II. PULSE-SHAPE GENERATION Higher order Gaussian pulse-shapes are widely used in IR- UWB PGs to minimize the sideband interference, however, it is hard to generate higher order Gaussian pulses in standard CMOS processes with simple circuit solutions. A piecewise Gaussian approximation (PGA) approach was proposed in [7] and a very low-power (5.6 pJ/pulse) IR-UWB PG using a 0 0.5 1 1.5 ���� ���� ���� ���� 0 0.1 ��� ��� ��� A m pl itu de ( V ) Time (ns) 0 0.5 1 1.5 ���� ���� ���� ���� 0 0.1 ��� ��� ��� A m pl itu de ( V ) Time (ns) 0 1 � � � 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 �� � �� � ���� ���� ���� � � � � ��� P ow er S pe ct ra l D en si ty (d B m /M H z) Frequency (GHz) (a) (b) (c) Fig. 1. (a & b) Pulse-shape generation approach. (c) Dotted: power spectrum of (a); Solid: power spectrum of (b); Dashed: FCC mask. 0 0.5 1 1.5 ���� ���� ���� ���� 0 0.1 ��� ��� ��� A m pl itu de ( V ) Time (ns) 0 � � 6 8 10 ���� � � � � ��� ��� � � ��� P ow er S pe ct ra l D en si ty ( dB m /M H z) Frequency (GHz) (a) (b) Fig. 2. (a) Adopted pulse-shape. (b) Solid: Its power spectrum; Dashed: FCC mask. 40 A B C D VIN VOUT τ τ τ τ τ τ τ One-shot VOUT VIN τ A B D C Firing Control Pulse Stretchers 1) M is a real # ≥ 1 2) t2 > t1 t1 Wp/Lp=Wn/(M·Ln) Wn/Ln t2 VIN_DELAY (a) (c)(b) Fig. 3. (a) Designed PG. (b) Pulse stretcher. (c) Timing diagram. similar approach was reported in [3]. The weakness is the circuit complexity, the number of generator stages and output drivers are proportional to the order of the Gaussian function. Only one output driver is used during each phase, the unused output drivers add output capacitance and, hence, increase the power consumption. Also, in order to adopt international spectral regulations (band group 6, i.e. 7.7–8.7 GHz, is the only band available worldwide [8]), a high-order Gaussian derivative (15-th) is required, but not feasible due to the increased parasitic capacitance. Instead of generating higher order Gaussian waveforms, we use several simple pulses to construct a first order Gaussian envelope. The bandwidth (BW−10dB) is then determined by the envelope width and the center frequency (fcenter) is deter- mined by the frequency of the generated pulses. The somehow crude generated pulses do not add significant sideband inter- ference as long as the pulse frequency is significantly higher than the envelope frequency. The idea is depicted in Fig. 1. The amplitudes of 4.3 GHz triangular and sine waveforms are shaped to make a Gaussian envelope with α = 0.8 ns. The power spectra are shown in Fig. 1c. Loose-triangular pulses are selected in this paper because they can be generated easily in CMOS processes by charging and discharging a parasitic capacitor. It is difficult to model loose triangular waveforms in mathematical simulators, how- ever, its power spectrum should be somehow in between those shown in Fig. 1c. fcenter may be limited to be 4–5 GHz in this paper because of the technology limitations. We are expecting it can be pushed to higher frequencies, hence better spectral utilization can be achieved with faster CMOS technology. The main advantage of this approach is its simplicity and technology scalability combined with power efficiency. III. CIRCUIT IMPLEMENTATION Because the gate count is proportional to the number of triangular pulses generated, the weak pulses at the beginning and at the end of the pulse-sequence are omitted in order to simplify the circuit and minimize the power consumption. The resulting waveform and power spectrum is shown in Fig. 2. The fcenter is 4.2 GHz with a BW−10dB of 2.3 GHz. Some low-frequency sidebands are observed. However, simulations show that the mismatch between the charging and discharging time is the main reason for low-frequency sidebands and omission of the weak pulses does not have a significant impact on the sidebands. The low-frequency sidebands may be reduced by adding high-pass filters, or even just exploring the antenna band-pass property. The schematic of the PG is depicted in Fig. 3a. The structure is similar to the PGA-PG in [3], but the idea is different. The designed PG contains only simple digital gates and does not have any Gaussian pulse generators. The one-shot circuit is triggered by a falling edge and creates a fixed-width pulse τ. 41 30 μm 40 μ m PG Pads Fig. 4. (Left) Circuit Layout. (Right) Die photo. Pulse stretchers [9] (schematic shown in Fig. 3b) are added to adjust the width of the pulses in order to minimize the sideband energy. High threshold transistors are used for the delay line to minimize the leakage current. As mentioned, in PGA-PGs, only one output driver is on in a single phase, the unused output drivers add undesired output capacitance and degrade the circuit performance. In the designed PG, only loose-triangular waveforms are generated, this makes it possible to share the output drivers like the timing diagram shown in Fig. 3c. One or more output drivers with different strength are combined for desired charging and (a) 955 ps 414 mV (b) Fig. 5. (a) Output waveform for a 200 MHz PRF and (b) its zoom-in. Att 5 dB * * RBW 1 MHz VBW 30 kHz SWT 370 msRef -35 dBm Start 0 Hz Stop 11 GHz1.1 GHz/ -95 -90 -85 -80 -75 -70 -65 -60 -55 -50 -45 -40 -35 1 Marker 1 [T1 ] -41.45 dBm 4.036858974 GHz FCC MASK Fig. 6. Measured power spectrum. discharging strength, which is a very important feature for generating multi-cycles IR-UWB pulses. The firing control logic is required for correct firing sequence. The last pull- up is due to the output resistive divider. We can see that the PG contains only digital gates for timing, exploring inherent gate-delays. IV. EXPERIMENTAL RESULTS The PG is realized in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. A die photo is shown in Fig. 4. Since the PG contains mainly digital logics, we achieve a small silicon area of 0.0015 mm2. The die is packaged in a 48-leads QFN package. Fig. 5 shows the output waveforms for a 200 MHz PRF. The pulse width (τout) is 955 ps and the peak-to-peak voltage is 414 mV, the ringing is due to the bondwire inductance. TABLE I MEASURED ENERGY CONSUMPTION AT DIFFERENT PRF. PRF (MHz) Energy Cons. (pJ/Pulse) 1 67.5 5 17.3 10 11.2 20 8.1 40 6.5 100 5.6 150 5.4 200 5.2 TABLE II SIMULATED ENERGY CONSUMPTION WITH/WITHOUT DPC SCHEME AT DIFFERENT PRF. PRF (MHz) Energy Cons. (pJ/Pulse) w/ DPC w/o DPC 0.5 5.4 129.1 1 5.3 66.9 5 5.2 17.2 10 5.2 11.0 20 5.2 7.9 50 5.1 6.0 42 VIN VOUT PG (w/o DC-Bias) Even # of Inverters VIN VOUT VSW 10ns VIN VOUT VSW VIN_DELAY Fig. 7. DPC scheme. Its power spectrum is depicted in Fig. 6. fcenter is 4 GHz approximately and BW−10dB is around 1.9 GHz (i.e. 2.89–4.81 GHz), which are very close to our expected values. With faster CMOS processes, we can push fcenter to higher frequencies and achieve better spectral utilization. Table I shows the measured energy consumption at different PRF. When the PRF is 200 MHz, the PG shows the lowest en- ergy consumption of 5.2 pJ/pulse for a 1.2 V supply. However, the energy consumption increases when the PRF decreases. It is because the resistive divider is used to bias the output DC voltage and drives static current. This makes it difficult to apply the designed PG on low-data-rate applications. V. DYNAMIC PRE-CHARGE To eliminate the stand-by current consumption, a DPC scheme is proposed. The proposed circuit is shown in Fig. 7, the biasing resistors are connected to the output a short time before the pulse is transmitted and disconnected immediately after the radiation. The resistors and, hence, the time constant of pre-charging should be set reasonably large, otherwise the antenna may radiate unwanted EM energy during pre-charging. Table II shows the pre-layout simulation results on the PG energy consumption with/without DPC. We can see that the stand-by energy consumption is greatly reduced with the DPC scheme and this makes the PG suitable for low-data-rate applications. The only stand-by component is now the leakage current. Thanks to the new efficient pulse-shape generation approach, we use only a very small silicon area and the leakage current is insignificant1 compared to the total energy consumption. VI. CONCLUSION A low-power IR-UWB PG has been presented. It has been realized in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. It makes use of 1The leakage current is usually proportional to the transistor width. For digital circuits, minimum length is commonly used, which means the total leakage current is proportional to the silicon area. TABLE III SUMMARY OF MEASUREMENT RESULTS, AND COMPARSION TO OTHER PUBLISHED IR-UWB PGS. Design Tech. (CMOS) fcenter (GHz) BW-10dB (GHz) out (ns) Ener gy Cons. (pJ /Pulse) Ar ea (mm 2 ) This work 90 nm 4 1.92 0.96 5.2 0.0015 [3] 130 nm ~3.1 N/A 0.75 5.6 0.02 [4] 90 nm 4.05* 0.55 3 47 0.08 [5] 130 nm N/A 6.8 0.46 38.4 0.54 [6] 180 nm ~8 3.9 0.6 14 0.11 * Two other fcenter (i.e. 3.45 GHz and 4.65 GHz) can be selected. a new pulse-shape generation algorithm which is suitable for CMOS implementation. Measurements confirm the energy consumption from a 1.2 V supply to be 5.2 pJ/pulse for a 200 MHz PRF. The core area is 0.0015 mm2 (38 µm×40 µm). Also, a DPC scheme has been proposed to eliminate the stand-by current and makes the PG suitable for low-data-rate applications. A summary of the measurement results and comparison to some recently published IR-UWB PGs [3]–[6] are given in Table III. We can see that the PG performs very well, especially in term of energy consumption and chip area, and is competitive to other state-of-the-art IR-UWB PGs. ACKNOWLEDGMENT The authors would like to thank Novelda AS for their useful suggestions on IR-UWB PG design. REFERENCES [1] Federal Communication Commission, Revision of Part 15 of the Commis- sion’s Rules Regarding Ultra-Wideband Transmission Systems, adopted Feb. 2002, released Apr. 2002. [2] K. K. Lee, M. Z. Dooghabadi, H. A. Hjortland, Ø. Næss, and T. S. Lande, “A novel 6.5 pJ/pulse impulse radio pulse generator for RFID tags,” in Proc. Asia Pacific Conference on Circuits and Systems, Dec 2010, pp. 184–187. [3] X. Wang et al., “FCC-EIRP-aware UWB pulse generator design ap- proach,” in Proc. IEEE International Conference on Ultra-Wideband, Sep 2009, pp. 592–596. [4] D. D. Wentzloff and A. P. Chandrakasan, “A 47pJ/pulse 3.1-to-5GHz all- digital UWB transmitter in 90nm CMOS,” in Digest of Technical Papers, IEEE International Solid-State Circuits Conference, Feb 2007, pp. 118– 119 & 591. [5] S. Bourdel et al., “A 9-pJ/pulse 1.42-Vpp OOK CMOS UWB pulse generator for the 3.1–10.6-GHz FCC band,” IEEE Transactions on Microwave Theory and Techniques, vol. 58, no. 1, pp. 65–73, Jan 2010. [6] S. Sim, D.-W. Kim, and S. Hong, “A CMOS UWB pulse generator for 6– 10 GHz applications,” IEEE Microwave and Wireless Components Letters, vol. 19, no. 22, pp. 83–85, Feb 2009. [7] H. Hie et al., “A varying pulse width 5th-derivative Gaussian pulse generator for UWB transceivers in CMOS,” in Proc. IEEE Radio and Wireless Symposium, Jan 2008, pp. 171–174. [8] WiMedia Alliance, “Worldwide regulatory status – Jan 2009.” [9] H. A. Hjortland and T. S. Lande, “CTBV integrated impulse radio design for biomedical applications,” IEEE Transactions on Biomedical Circuits and Systems, vol. 3, no. 2, pp. 79–88, Apr 2009. 43 “The smallest seed of faith is better than the largest fruit of happiness.” — Henry David Thoreau A.3 Paper-III K. K. Lee, H. A. Hjortland and T. S. Lande, “IR-UWB technology on next generation RFID systems,” in Proc. NORCHIP, Nov 2011, DOI: 10.1109/NORCHP.2011.6126697. Copyright © 2011 IEEE. Reprinted with permission. Internal or personal use is permitted, but republication/redistribution requires IEEE permis- sion. 45 IR-UWB Technology on Next Generation RFID Systems Kin Keung Lee, Håkon A. Hjortland, and Tor Sverre “Bassen” Lande Department of Informatics, University of Oslo, N-0316 Oslo, Norway E-mail: kklee@ifi.uio.no Abstract—Radio-frequency identification (RFID) systems are widely used in our daily life. Although several proposed solutions are in production, limitations are still significant. In this paper, the current RFID technology is reviewed and major shortcomings are discussed. Our expected features on next generation RFID systems are described. Finally, we propose an impulse-radio (IR) ultra-wideband (UWB) RFID system and present how to improve the performance by using IR-UWB technology. Index Terms—IR, UWB, RFID, CMOS, Continuous-Time Binary Value (CTBV) I. INTRODUCTION RFID has been recognized as one of the most important technologies in the 21st century and permeates our daily life everywhere. One of the most challenging tasks is design RFID tags1 with satisfying functions and, at the same time, low-cost. RFID tags nowadays can be divided into three main catalogs [1]: a) Passive RFID tags: are the most commonly used type nowadays because there is no battery inside the tag which makes them low cost and small. The signal and energy are sent from the reader by EM/inductive coupling with a distance up to several meters. Load modulation is usually used for communication and channel separation is done by TDMA. One problem is that the tags are using the same frequency for power-harvesting and communication. When a tag is too close to the other tags, they will interfere with each other and the performance will be degraded [2]. b) Active RFID tags: are essentially radio transceivers and contain a battery. The battery gives the possibility of building up more reliable communication, however it increases the cost and product size. Also, they use narrowband technology to communicate with the reader, which is influenced by multi- path fading. c) Semi-passive RFID tags: are a mix of a) and b). They use load modulation for communication and contain a battery for supplying energy to the digital control circuits. This provides a stable power source and eliminates the needs of power- harvesting, hence the communication distance is increased. Again, the battery increases the cost and product size. Moreover, all these three types of RFID tags are using narrowband technology which is difficult to provide precise 1Some RFID tags in the market embed sensor and memory circuits to increase user satisfactory, which is a bit overlapping with the wireless sensor network area. In this paper, the RFID tags mean those are used for purely identification purposes. localization. We can see that the limitations on the current RFID tags are still significant. For the next generation RFID tags, we are expecting they can achieve the following features: • Low cost — small die size, no battery. • Accurate localization without substantial cost. • High flexibility — small size, reasonable number of channels (tags) and communication distance. • Insensitive to the surrounding environment. In this paper, we propose an IR-UWB RFID system with a uni-direction communication scheme and present how this system achieves the features mentioned above in section II. In section III, the required circuits are discussed. Section IV concludes the paper. II. PROPOSED IR-UWB RFID SYSTEM Since the Federal Communication Commission (FCC) re- leased a large spectral mask (i.e. 3.1–10.6 GHz) for unlicensed uses [3], UWB technology has been an attractive field of research. The huge spectral mask not only gives the benefit of higher date rate, but also reduced power consumption of transmitting circuits by using IR technology. The short pulse width (high bandwidth) and the impulse na- ture of IR-UWB signals enable the possibility of implementing accurate localization [4], several UWB localization approaches were presented in [5]. Moreover, IR-UWB systems are re- sistant to severe multi-path fading and jamming [6] and this increases the quality of communication2. Some applications requires high security, the noise-like nature of UWB signals makes it difficult for unintended users to detect. Because of these advantages, we expect the performance of RFID systems can be improved by using IR-UWB technology. A simplified block diagram of the proposed RFID systems is shown in Fig. 1. To eliminate the interference problems between the tags and minimize the tags circuit complexity, the proposed IR-UWB RFID system utilizes uni-directional com- munication — the reader transmits UHF signals for energy- harvesting purposes only (without any data), the tags start sending out their unique ID when they harvest enough energy. The channel separation is done by using CDMA and an “inherent ALOHA” property of the system. 2This is especially important for energy-limiting circuits like RFID tags because we do not have enough energy budget to implement advanced communication protocols. 46 UWB PGPN-Sequence Generator RFID Tag chip rate = 13.5 ns Energy Harvester & PMU Clock Generation Unit UWB Antenna UHF Antenna UWB Antenna UHF Antenna UHF Power Transmitter RFID Reader Coherent UWB Receiver Fig. 1. The proposed IR-UWB RFID system. A. Operations of the Propose IR-UWB RFID Systems The operations are briefly described below and more infor- mation about the required circuits is given in the next section. • The reader sends out UHF signal. • The tags harvest energy and generate a clock signal using the UHF signal. A critical design parameter is the chip rate used for symbol encoding. • Every tag is assigned with a symbol (its unique ID) which consists of n-bits pseudonoise (PN) code (a small n of 8 is used in this example for simplicity). Details of code design and channel separation are presented in the next sub-section. The chip rate is set to around 13.5 ns (depends on the UHF signal frequency approximately 860–960 MHz) to avoid inter-chip-interference3. When the tag harvests enough energy, the tag sends out its symbol through the on-off key IR-UWB pulse generator (PG) and the UWB antenna. • The coherent UWB RAKE receiver inside the reader detects and checks the received symbol. • Repeat the above steps a certain number of times to get higher processing gain4. • The localization requires several receivers and the local- ization accuracy is improved by the number of receivers. B. Channel Seperation and Code Design In the current RFID systems, TDMA is usually adopted and this requires a fully synchronous communication between the tags and the reader. Nevertheless, for UWB systems, the signals are usually transmitted repeatedly (can be a few ten thousand times) to get enough processing gain. If there are a large number of tags, it will be difficult to apply TDMA on such busy systems. 3We adopt the IEEE UWB LOS channel model in [7] with a rms delay spread of 5.28 ns. 4For UWB systems, the emission energy is very small (for example, FCC UWB part 15 regulation limits the emission energy to be –41.3 dBm/MHz). The data are usually sent repeatedly to get higher processing gain (i.e. increasing the signal-to-noise ratio by averaging out the noise), hence the communication distance is increased. Some UWB radars [8] using this approach was reported to achieve a max detection distance of 60 m. Instead, an uni-directional asynchronous CDMA (A- CDMA) communication scheme is utilized in our design5. The tags keep transmitting whenever they harvest enough energy and are identified using A-CDMA. This eliminates the synchronization between the tags and the reader and we can establish a reliable communication if the tags and the reader have the consensus on the chip size. Every tag is assigned with a symbol, which is constructed using 64-b large set Kasami codes. This gives a max of 520 (i.e. 2(log2 n/2) · (2log2 n + 1)) channels with a max cross-correlation function (CCF) of 16-b [9]. When the reader receives the signals, it compares the received symbol and stored symbols of all tags. If the matching level is higher than a pre-set threshold value (let’s say 2× of CCF, i.e. 32-b), we can assume the tag is detected. Moreover, the proposed system has an inherent ALOHA property — every tag needs different time to harvest energy due to process variation, component mismatch and distance to the reader etc., the transmission slot of the tags tends to be random, which acts like an ALOHA system. As long as the transmission duty cycle is small6, the probability of collision is greatly reduced. Also, since all the tags keep transmitting for a certain number of times, even a few transmissions have severe interference, this can be compensated by digital signal processing. For some applications like logistics, more channels are preferred. This can be done by: • Increasing the length of the symbol. Nevertheless, this increases circuit complexity and energy consumption. • Changing the code family. For example, if very large Kasami code is used, the max number of channels be- comes 2(log2 n/2) · (2log2 n + 1)2 [9]. However, the CCF 5One of the final goals is to design RFID tags harvesting energy from the environment, not from the reader (for example, light, temperature, human movement etc. Unfortunately, to the best of the authors’ knowledge, such kind of energy harvesting approaches with stable performance are still not available). Synchronization between the tags and the readers becomes difficult. This is another reason why the uni-directional A-CDMA is adopted. 6The transmission duty cycle is defined as the ratio of the transmission time to the energy-harvesting time. In this case, the transmission time is 64 · 13.5 ns = 864 ns and the energy-harvesting time is usually with the order of 10 ms. 47 UHF Signal 860 ‒ 960 MHz ILD Divided-by-3 Digital Divider Divided-by-2 Digital Divider Divided-by-2 CLKChip ~13.5 ns Fig. 2. The clock generation unit. (l og 2n )- bi ts A cc um u la to r CLKChip C LK C hi p n log2n D n-to-1 Multipluexer n- bits PN Code (Generated off -chip by fuse-programming ) CLKChip To PG (Edge- triggered) Fig. 3. The PN sequence generator. also increases and we need to decrease the transmission duty cycle to maintain the same collision rate. III. CIRCUIT DESIGN A. Circuits Inside the Tags The tags consist of a clock generation unit, an energy harvester, a power management unit (PMU), an IR-UWB PG and some digital circuits, see Fig. 1. 1) Clock generation unit: The clock generation unit con- tains an injection-locking frequency divider (ILD) and digital dividual-by-2 frequency dividers, the block diagram is shown in Fig. 2. Several clock generation approaches for conventional RFID tags are discussed in [10]. The ILD approach is chosen in this paper because it is reported to be one of the most precise without trimming (remember that our system requires an accurate chip rate). Although it is a bit power-consuming (the lowest of 7 µW was reported in [11]), the most energy- demanding component in our system is still the IR-UWB PG. 2) IR-UWB PG: Delay-line based IR-UWB PGs are widely used since they do not need precise high-frequency carrier generators and, thus, can be very low-power. We proposed a new PG structure in [12] and a PG using this structure shows an energy consumption of 5.2 pJ/pulse [13]. One concern is the delay line speed (hence the spectrum center frequency of the PG output) varies under PVT variations, this can be remedied by using continuous-time binary value (CTBV)7 receivers which will be discussed later in this section. 3) Digital circuits: The digital circuits include mainly digital control circuits (which are not discussed here) and a PN sequence generator. Its block diagram is shown in Fig. 3. The PN code of individual tag is assigned by fuse-programming off-chip and shifted-out every chip-cycle. 7CTBV is a signal-processing domain proposed in [14]. Multi-stage diode rectifier CS VDD VDDH VDD,ref U H F A nt en n a Control circuit ... Voltage Limiter LDO Fig. 4. The power management unite. 4) Energy harvester and PMU: The simplified block di- agram is shown in Fig. 4. The structure is similar to the ones used in conventional RFID systems and contains a multi- stage diode rectifier, a low-dropout voltage regulator (LDO) and a voltage limiter [15]. However, because of the power- demanding UWB PG, we need to modify the structure so as to harvest more energy. During energy-harvesting, a control circuit is required to turn off the LDO until VDDH is higher than a certain level so that the loading current is minimized. More charge, hence more energy, will accumulate in the storing capacitor CS as long as the harvesting energy is higher than the total energy consumption of the control circuit and leakage. Similar idea was used in [16] and it shows a possibility of sending >1k IR-UWB pulses after an energy- harvesting time of a few 10 ms. The voltage limiter limits VDDH to prevent oxide breakdown. 5) Power budget breakdown: The worst-case total energy consumption of the PG is 5.2 pJ/b · 64-b = 333 pJ and assume the other circuits and leakage consumes 20% energy of the PG, the total energy consumption of the whole tag (ET ag) is then 400 pJ during a single transmission phase. Assume the dropout voltage is 200 mV, VDD is 1.2 V and the LDO is turned on when VDDH > 2.5 V then off when VDDH drops to 1.4 V. If the VDDH decreases linearly with time, the loss due to the LDO is: ELoss,LDO = ET ag VDD · ( VDDH − VDD ) = 250 pJ (1) As a result, the total energy consumption for the transmis- sions is around 650 pJ. Then the size of the CS can be found as: ET ag + ELoss,LDO = 1 2 CS ( VDDH − VDD )2 CS ≈ 2.3 nF (2) which would be possibly integrated on-chip. B. Circuits Inside the Readers The reader mainly consists of a high-output-power UHF signal generator (which is not discussed here) and a coherent UWB receiver. The coherent UWB receivers is adopted here because it gives better localization ability, for example an coherent receiver was used in [17] and the achieved resolution was shown to be 4.3 mm. 48 VTH 0 0 0 0 01 1 1 CT UWB Symbol Detectors 2ns Pulse Extender Single-bit GHz Quantizer LNA Fig. 5. An example coherent UWB receiver. An coherent CTBV UWB RAKE receiver proposed in [18] is used as an example here, its simplified block diagram is shown in Fig. 5. First the LNA amplifies the received signal, the signal is then quantized by the single-bit quantizer and the resultant CTBV signal is time-extended (let’s say 2 ns). Finally the CTBV symbol detector, which contains no clock, compares the received symbol with the stored symbol. The clock-less structure eliminates the clocking circuits, this reduces the circuit complexity and makes it power- efficient. As mentioned above, the delay-line IR-UWB PGs are usually sensitive to PVT variations, the CTBV receiver uses time-domain processing and is insensitive to the frequency variation as long as the PG signal is within the passband of the UWB antenna and the LNA. IV. CONCLUSION The ubiquity of RFID systems in everyday life is increasing rapidly, however, limitations are still significant. We have listed some expected features for next generation RFID systems and presented how to improve the RFID system using IR-UWB technology. A IR-UWB RFID system has been proposed and the required circuits have been discussed to prove the system workable. To summarize, compared to conventional RFID counterparts, the proposed system has the advantages of accurate localization, insensitivity to the surrounding environment and high security. REFERENCES [1] K. Finkenzeller, RFID Handbook 2nd Edition. John Wiley & Sons, 2003. [2] Discussions during the RFID Hand-On Workshop, University of Cali- fornia, Los Angeles, 29 Sep 2010. [3] Federal Communication Commission, Revision of Part 15 of the Commission’s Rules Regarding Ultra-Wideband Transmission Systems, adopted Feb 2002, released Apr 2002. [4] S. Gezici et al., “Localization via ultra-wideband radios,” IEEE Signal Processing Magazine, vol. 22, no. 4, pp. 70–84, Jul 2005. [5] H. Wymeersch, J. Lien, and M. Z. Win, “Cooperative localization in wireless networks,” Proc. of the IEEE, vol. 97, no. 2, pp. 427–450, Feb 2009. [6] H. Arslan, Z. N. Chen, and M.-G. D. Benedetto, Ultra Wideband Wireless Communication. John Wiley & Sons, 2006. [7] J. R. Foerser, M. Pendergrass, and A. Molisch, “A channel model for ultrawideband indoor communication,” in Proc. International Sympo- sium on Wireless Personal Multimedia Communications, Oct 2003. [8] Novelda NVA6xxx family. [Online]. Available: http://www.novelda.no/content/radar-ics [9] A. F. Molisch, Wireless Communications 2nd Edition. Wiley-IEEE, 2011. [10] C. F. Chan et al., “Low-power continuously-calibrated clock recovery circuit for UHF RFID EPC Class-1 Generation-2 transponders,” IEEE Journal of Solid-State Circuits, vol. 45, no. 3, pp. 587–599, Mar 2010. [11] L. L. K. Leung and H. C. Luong, “A 7-µW clock generator in 0.18- µm CMOS for passive UHF RFID EPC G2 Tags,” in Proc. European Solid State Circuits Conference, Sep 2007, pp. 412–415. [12] K. K. Lee, M. Z. Dooghabadi, H. A. Hjortland, Ø. Næss, and T. S. Lande, “A novel 6.5 pJ/pulse impulse radio pulse generator for RFID tags,” in Proc. IEEE Asia Pacific Conference on Circuits and Systems, Dec 2010, pp. 184–187. [13] ——, “A 5.2 pJ/pulse impulse radio pulse generator in 90 nm CMOS,” in Proc. IEEE International Symposium on Circuits and Systems, May 2011, pp. 1299–1302. [14] H. A. Hjortland and T. S. Lande, “CTBV integrated impulse radio design for biomedical applications,” IEEE Transactions on Biomedical Circuits and Systems, vol. 3, no. 2, pp. 79–88, Apr 2009. [15] R. Barnett, S. Lazar, and J. Liu, “A RF to DC voltage conversion model for multi-stage rectifiers in UHF RFID transponders,” IEEE Journal of Solid-State Circuits, vol. 44, no. 2, pp. 354–370, Feb 2009. [16] M. Baghaei-Nejad et al., “A remote-powered RFID tag with 10Mb/s UWB uplink and –18.5dBm sensitivity UHF downlink in 0.18µm CMOS,” in IEEE International Solid-State Circuits Conference, Dig. Tech. Papers, Feb 2009, pp. 198–199 & 199a. [17] H. A. Hjortland, D. T. Wisland, T. S. Lande, C. Limbodal, and K. Meisal, “Thresholded samplers for UWB impulse radar,” in Proc. IEEE International Symposium on Circuits and Systems, May 2007, pp. 1210–1213. [18] S. Sudalaiyandi et al., “Power-efficient CTBV symbol detector for UWB applications,” in Proc. IEEE International Conference on Ultra Wideband, Sep 2010, pp. 1–4. 49 “It is only when we forget all our learning that we begin to know.” “It is never too late to give up our prejudices.” — Henry David Thoreau A.4 Paper-IV K. K. Lee and T. S. Lande, “Analysis and design of sub-µW bandgap references in nano-meter CMOS”, in Proc. IEEE International Midwest Symposium on Circuits and Systems, Aug 2013, pp. 93–96. Copyright © 2013 IEEE. Reprinted with permission. Internal or personal use is permitted, but republication/redistribution requires IEEE permis- sion. 51 Analysis and Design of Sub-µW Bandgap References in Nano-Meter CMOS Kin Keung Lee and Tor Sverre “Bassen” Lande Department of Informatics, University of Oslo, N-0316 Oslo, Norway E-mail: kklee@ifi.uio.no Abstract—Analysis and design of nano-watt (nW) bandgap references (BGR) in nano-meter (nm) CMOS are presented. Three different BGR topologies are studied and design trade-offs are discussed. Based on the analysis results, a BGR is fabricated in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. A special feature is that it can generate proportional to absolute temperature (PTAT) and complementary to absolute temperature (CTAT) current individually which enables more possibility of system co-design. Measurements show temperature coefficient and line sensitivity without trimming are 47.1 ppm/◦C and 0.8 %/V respectively. The power consumption of the BGR core with a 1.2 V supply is 315 nW at room temperature. The core area is 0.026 mm2. Index Terms—Bandgap references, nano-meter CMOS, wire- less sensor networks, low-power I. INTRODUCTION Wireless sensor networks (WSN) have been an active re- search topic in recent years. For such applications, the system power consumption has to be minimized in order to increase the battery life, or even enables wireless powering, thus the maintenance cost and product size can be reduced. Also, the system has to be insensitive to the temperature and voltage variations because the operating environment may not be well- controlled. One important component is voltage (or current) reference generator for biasing other circuits. BGRs have been used for decades because of their reliability. However most BGRs contain resistors and large amount of resistance is needed to reduce the power consumption to the order of sub-µW, this may increase the chip area substansiously. As a result, some research [1] [2] has been conducted on CMOS-only voltage references, the trade-off is the relatively large error due to process variation [1]. Thanks to the continuing aggressive scaling of CMOS technology, highly-compact resistors can be achieved in the state-of-the-art CMOS processes (for example a 7.9 MΩ resistance with a area of only 4340 µm2 is achieved using a 90 nm CMOS process in this paper). The resistor area is now not dominating, and becomes comparable to the other required components (i.e. BJT and MOS transistors). This makes BGR to be a potential candidate for such applications. In this paper, three different kinds of CMOS BGRs are studied and compared in different aspects including power consumption, area, functionality and flexibility etc. A nW CMOS BGR for WSN applications is realized in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process and its performance is competitive compared to other state-of-the-art CMOS references. II. DIFFERENT KINDS OF BGR A. BGR Structure #1 Fig. 1 shows one of the very widely-used BGRs and it will be referred to as BGR-1. For vertical BJTs in normal CMOS processes, the emitter current is given by [3] IE = ISe VBE n · VT (1) where IS is the saturation current, VT is the thermal voltage and n is the emission coefficient. We assume the base current is small and the voltage drop across the base resistance is ignorable. Because the emitter area of Q2 is N times that of Q1 (i.e. IS2 = N ·IS1), we can write IO = n ·VT R1 ln ( IC1 IC2 · IS2 IS1 ) ≈ n ·VT ln(N) R1 (2) Hence, VO = VEB3 + n · ln(N) R2 R1 ·VT (3) By sizing N and the ratio between R1 and R2, such that M = n · ln(N)R2 R1 = ∣∣∣∣∣∣∣∣∣ ≈–1.6 mV/◦C︷ ︸︸ ︷ ∂VBE/∂T ∂VT /∂T︸ ︷︷ ︸ ≈85 µV/◦C ∣∣∣∣∣∣∣∣∣ (4) VO will be, to the first order, temperature independent. It is fixed to be around 1.2 V due to the silicon energy bandgap [4]. The total amount of resistance is a good indicator to compare the area of different structures. Assume all the PMOS current mirrors have the same size, RT otal = nVT · ln(N) IO ( 1 + M n · ln(N) ) = Ra(1 + K) (5) BGR-1 is simple and small in area compared to other BGR topologies, which will be shown later. The major problem of BGR-1 is the minimum supply voltage (VDD), it has to be large than 1.2 V + VDS3. This limits its usability in state-of- the-art nm CMOS processes which are targeted to operate at low VDD in order to minimize the power consumption. Also, multiple reference voltage may be needed for large systems. For BGR-1, voltage buffer is needed in order to do this, this increases the power consumption and complexity. 52 B. BGR Structure #2 In order to lower the minimum VDD, Banba et al. [5] proposed the structure (will be referred to as BGR-2) shown in Fig. 2. The amplifier introduces a low-frequency pole, hence CC may be needed for stabilization purposes [3]. The amplifier inputs are forced to have the same voltage and if we ignore the amplifier offset, similar to (1), IP T AT can be found as IP T AT ≈ n ·VT ln(N) R1 (6) Notices R2 = R3 and R2 generates an ICT AT as ICT AT = VEB1 R2 (7) Thus, VO = n · ln(N) R4 R1 VT + R4 R2 VEB1 (8) And the total amount of resistance is given as: RT otal = R1(1 + 2K) + VO IO = L ·Ra(1 + 2K) + VO IO (9) where L = IO IP T AT > 1 (10) Notice that VO can be varied by changing the ratio of R4/R1 and R4/R2 and the minimum VDD is now given as VEB1 +VDS1 (around 800–900 mV). In addition, BGR-2 also provides the possibility of generating temperature independent current reference and multiple reference voltage (by replacing R4 with multiple resistors with desired values in series) easily. The trade-offs are the area and power consumption due the amplifier and CC , the total amount of resistance is also larger than other BGR topologies for the same power consumption. Moreover, the amplifier offset will contribute to VO and introduces another PTAT parameter, this increases the design difficulty. C. BGR Structure #3 In nm CMOS processes, deep N-well layer is normally available, which enables the usage of NPN BJTs with mod- erate quality. Yin et al. [6] proposed a structure using NPN BJTs (will be referred to as BGR-3), the schematic is shown M5 M1 M2 M3 M4 Q1 Q2 Q3 R1 R2 ×N×1 ×1 VO IO IOIO Fig. 1. A widely-used BGR (BGR-1). M1 M2 M3 Q1 Q2 R1R2 R3 R4 VO ×1 ×N ICTAT IPTAT CC M4 I O Fig. 2. BGR proposed by Banba et al. (BGR-2). M1 M2 M3 M5 IPTAT M6 Q1 Q2 R1R2 R3 VO ×1 ×N I CTAT M7 M8 M4 I O Fig. 3. BGR proposed by Yin et al. (BGR-3). Q1 NPN BJTsPNP BJTs Fig. 4. Layout of PNP and NPN BJTs (only diffusion shown). in Fig. 3. Assume the base current is small and ignorable, we can obtain IP T AT ≈ n ·VT ln(N) R1 (11) and ICT AT ≈ VBE1 R2 (12) As a result, VO = n · ln(N) R3 R1 VT + R3 R2 VBE1 (13) And the total amount of resistance can be found as: RT otal = R1(1 + K) + VO IO = L ·Ra(1 + K) + VO IO (14) 53 I PTAT M1 M2 M3 M4 M5 M6 M7 M9 M8 M10 M11 R1 R2 I CTAT M12 M13 M14 Long L Start-up Q1Q2 ×1×N Fig. 5. Designed BGR. TABLE I A COMPARISON BETWEEN THE THREE DIFFERENT BGRS. BGR-1 BGR-2 BGR-3 Sub-1.2V VDD No Yes Yes Multiple output No Yes Yes references possible Area + – – – Power consumption + – + Design difficulty + + – + System co-design – – + Temperature-insensitive No Yes Yes current reference available Extra masks No No Maybe Similar to BGR-2, BGR-3 can achieve multiple current and voltage references, variable output voltage and sub-1.2V VDD (minimum VDD ≈ VBE1 + VDS2 + VGS6). However, it is comparatively simpler and easier to design. It also has a very interesting feature, by sizing output current mirrors (M4 and M8 in Fig. 3) individually, we can control the slope of the IO vs. temperature curve. Such behavior provides more possibilities for system co-design, for example we can compensate the circuit temperature variation by controlling their bias current properly. Such idea was applied to design temperature compensated circuits and temperature sensors etc [6]. The major disadvantage of BGR-3 is the large area due to the NPN BJTs. Unlike the other two BGRs, the collector inputs of Q1 and Q2 are not connected together, this increases the area significantly (can up to 30 % for the same emitter size, the situation is illustrated in Fig. 4). Also, due to the thickness of the deep N-well, the minimum size of NPN BJTs and spacing between them are much larger compared to the PNP BJTs case, which potentially increases the area. Notice that the deep N- well layer may require extra masks and increase fabrication cost. BGR 220 µm 120 µm NPN BJTs and Dummies PMOS Current Mirrors M11 S tart-U p Resistors (a) (b) Fig. 6. a) Chip photo and b) BGR layout. D. Comparsion Between Three Structures Table I summarizes the pros and cons of the three different structures. BGR-1 has the smallest area and is easy to design, but worst flexibility. BGR-3 shows a good performance in most areas except potential extra masks needed. BGR-2 is a compromise between these two structures. III. EXPERIMENTAL RESULTS BGR-1 and -2 have been widely reported and discussed, however limited experimental results have been reported for BGR-3 [6]. A BGR-3 is designed to get more insight, it is realized in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. Its schematic is shown in 5. Cascode current mirrors with large transistors are used to minimize mismatch. The IP T AT and ICT AT are outputted and measured off-chip. 0 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 C ur re nt (n A ) Temperature (°C) ‒1.40 nA/°C 1.4 3 nA/°C0 Fig. 7. IP T AT (o) and ICT AT (*). 54 0 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 88.6 88.7 88.8 88.9 89 89.1 89.2 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 P ow er C on s. (n W ) I O (n A ) Temperature (°C) Fig. 8. Bandgap current output (solid) and power consumption (dashed). 1.05 1.1 1.15 1.2 1.25 1.3 1.35 1.4 88.85 88.9 88.95 89 89.05 89.1 89.15 VDD (V) I O (n A ) Fig. 9. Bandgap current output vs. VDD. A chip photo and the layout are shown in Fig. 6, the core area is 0.026 mm2. The measured IP T AT and ICT AT are shown in Fig. 7. From 0 to 70 ◦C, the changes of IP T AT and ICT AT are 1.403 nA/◦C and –1.40 nA/◦C approximately. Fig. 8 shows the bandgap current output and power consumption of the BGR core including start-up circuit vs. temperature. The temperature variation without trimming is 47.1 ppm/◦C. At room temperature, the power consumption with a 1.2 V VDD is 315 nW and post-layout simulations show the start-up circuit consumes approximately 36 nW. The bandgap current output vs. VDD at room temperature is shown in Fig. 9. The BGR starts to function properly when VDD ≥ 1.05 V and shows a line sensitivity of 0.72 nA/V (0.8 %/V). A TABLE II A COMPARISON WITH OTHER PUBLISHED CMOS REFERENCES. This [7] [8] [1]a work Technology 90 nm 0.35 µm 90 nm 0.35 µm CMOS CMOS CMOS CMOS Min. VDD (V) 1.05 2.5 0.6 0.9 Power consump. (µW) 0.315 95 450 0.036 Temp. range (◦C) 0 to 70 –50 to 150 0 to 100 0 to 80 Temp. Coeff. (ppm/◦C) 47.1 13.7 263 10 Line sensitivity (%/V) 0.8 0.039 3 0.27 Area (mm2) 0.026 0.1019 N/A 0.045 a Non-bandgap voltage reference. comparison with other published CMOS references is shown in Table II. IV. CONCLUSION Three different kinds of nm CMOS BGRs have been studied and compared. Based on the analysis results, a BGR has been realized in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. The designed BGR shows a competitive performance, especially in term of area and power consumption. This proves the possibility of implementing low-power, small-area BGRs in nm CMOS processes for WSN applications. ACKNOWLEDGMENT The authors would like to thank Kristian G. Kjelgård, Olav S. Kyrvestad, Khang Q. Dang and Kristian Granhaug for technical support and discussions. REFERENCES [1] G. D. Vita and G. Iannaccone, “A sub-1-V, 10 ppm/◦C, nanopower voltage reference generator,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 42, no. 7, pp. 1536–1542, May 2009. [2] M. Seok, G. Kim, D. Blaauw, and D. Sylvester, “A portable 2-transistor picowatt temperature-compensated voltage reference operating at 0.5 V,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 47, no. 10, pp. 2534–2545, Oct 2012. [3] R. J. Baker, CMOS Circuit Design, Layout, and Simulation, 3rd ed. IEEE-Wiley, 2010. [4] K. N. Leung, ELEC304 lecture notes, fall 2003, The Hong Kong Univ. of Sci. and Tech. [5] H. Banba et al., “A CMOS bandgap reference circuit with sub-1-V operation,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 34, no. 5, pp. 670–674, May 1999. [6] J. Yin et al., “A system-on-Chip EPC Gen-2 passive UHF RFID tag with embedded temperature sensor,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 45, no. 11, pp. 2404–2420, Nov 2010. [7] C. M. Andreou, S. Koudounas, and J. Georgiou, “A novel wide- temperature-range, 3.9 ppm/◦C CMOS bandgap reference circuit,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 47, no. 2, pp. 574–581, Feb 2012. [8] P. Kinget, C. Vezyrtzis, E. Chiang, B. Hung, and T. L. Li, “Voltage ref- erences for ultra-low supply voltages,” in Proc. IEEE Custom Integrated Circuits Conference, Sep 2008, pp. 715–720. 55 “Not only must we be good, but we must also be good for something.” — Henry David Thoreau A.5 Paper-V K. K. Lee, T. S. Lande, and P. D. Häfliger, “A sub-µW bandgap reference circuit with an inherent curvature-compensation property,” IEEE Transactions on Circuits and Systems I: Reg- ular Papers, to be published, DOI: 10.1109/TCSI.2014.2340553. Copyright © 2014 IEEE. Reprinted with permission. Internal or personal use is permitted, but republication/redistribution requires IEEE permis- sion. 57 A Sub-µW Bandgap Reference Circuit with an Inherent Curvature-Compensation Property Kin Keung Lee, Tor Sverre Lande, Fellow, IEEE, and Philipp Dominik Häfliger, Senior Member, IEEE Abstract—A new current-mode bandgap reference circuit (BGR) which is capable of generating sub-1-V output voltage is presented. It has not only the lowest theoretical minimum current consumption among published current-mode BGRs, but also additional advantages of an inherent curvature- compensation function and not requiring NPN BJTs. The curvature-compensation is achieved by utilizing the exponential behavior of sub-threshold CMOS transistors to compensate the BJT base-emitter voltage high-order temperature dependence. By taking advantages of the continuing development of CMOS technology, sub-µW power consumption is achieved with a reasonable core area. Related design considerations and challenges are discussed and analyzed. The proposed BGR is realized in a TSMC 90 nm process. Measurement results shows a temperature coefficient without trimming as low as 10.1 ppm/◦C over a temperature range of 70◦C because of the proposed curvature-compensation technique. The average value is 32.6 ppm/◦C which could be improved by trimming resistor ratios. The average power consumption at room temperature is 576 nW, with a core area of only 0.028 mm2. Index Terms—Bandgap reference, nano-meter (nm), CMOS, low-power, curvature-compensation, nano-watt (nW), wireless sensor network I. INTRODUCTION B ANDGAP reference circuits (BGR) generate precise ref-erence signals which are insensitive to process, voltage and temperature variations and have been used for decades because of their reliability. One of the major BGR design parameters is temperature coefficient (TC). For CMOS BGRs, this non-ideality is mainly due to the high-order temperature dependence of BJT base-emitter voltage (VBE). Different curvature-compensation techniques have been developed, for example [1]–[9] etc. In [1] and [2], a non-linear current, which is generated by using an extra BJT, is applied to compen- sate the high-order temperature dependence. Piecewise-linear curvature-compensation technique has been proposed in [3] and adopted in [4]–[7], a CMOS non-linear current source is turned on and added to the output when the operating temperature is higher than a pre-determined value. As a Manuscript received March 25, 2014; revised May 8 2014; accepted June 27 2014. Date of publication To be added; date of current version To be added. This work was funded in part by the Norwegian Research Council through the Norwegian Ph.D. Network on Nanotechnology for Microsystems (contract no: 190086/S10). This paper was recommended by Associate Editor M. Seok. The authors are with the Department of Informatics, University of Oslo, N-0316 Oslo, Norway (e-mail: kklee@ifi.uio.no). Color versions of one or more of the figures in this paper are available online at http://ieeexplore.ieee.org. Digital Object Identifier To be added result, the second-order behavior is corrected and the TC performance is improved by extending the temperature range. In [8], two current-mode BGRs, one of them using PNP BJTs and the other one using NPN BJTs, are constructed. Because they have similar temperature dependence, a second- order curvature-compensation can be achieved by subtracting their output current with a proper scale. Most curvature- compensation techniques require additional components and power consumption. A remarkable exception is [9], the BGR high-order temperature dependence is compensated by incor- porating two different types of resistor whose first-order TCs are of opposite sign. Nevertheless intensive trimming may be needed to match the resistor ratios because the resistors are with different types. More curvature-compensation techniques and related discussion can be found in [10]. Another consideration is the power consumption. Sub-µW, or even lower, power consumption is targeted for power- aware applications such as medical devices and wireless sensor networks [11]–[14]. However only a few sub-µW BGRs can be found in literature [13]–[16]. This is because most BGRs contain resistors for voltage-to-current (V-to-I) conversion and/or vice versa, large resistance is needed in order to achieve such power consumption level. This can increase the chip area substansiously. As a result, some research [17]–[19] has been conducted on non-bandgap CMOS-only reference circuits which generate the output voltage based on MOS transistor threshold voltage (VT H ). The trade-off is a relatively large output error due to process variations [17], for example a coefficient of variation of 4 % is measured in [18] which is worse than that for BGRs (around 1 % in [14] and [20]). This is because the VT H variation over process corners can be as large as ±15 %, while the bandgap voltage variation is usually within ±1 %. Trimming could be used to improve this error, but is undesirable due to increased area, cost and testing time. The minimum width of resistors scales down with the con- tinuing aggressive development of CMOS technology. Mega- ohm resistors can be realized with a reasonable area in state- of-the-art CMOS processes, hence sub-µW BGR power con- sumption is now achievable. For example the high-resistance poly resistor without salicide in the 90 nm CMOS process used in this work, its resistivity can be as large as 0.16 MΩ per 100 µm2 and would increase even more favorably with more modern technology nodes. The drawbacks are the need of an extra salicide-blocking mask and, hence, increased fabrication cost. The resistor area is now less dominating, and becomes comparable to other components for BGR design. In this work, a new current-mode BGR topology with an inherent curvature-compensation property is proposed. By 58 M5 M1 M2 M3 M4 Q1 Q2 Q3 R1 R2 ×N×1 ×1 VO IPTAT IPTAT Fig. 1. A conventional voltage-mode BGR. M1 M2 M3 Q1 Q2 R1R2 R3 R4 VO ×1 ×N CC M4 IPTAT ICTAT IO Fig. 2. The current-mode BGR proposed by Banba et al. taking advantages of technology scaling, high-precision, low- power and small-area BGRs become flexible in modern nm CMOS technology. While MOS transistors do not benefit much in analog circuit design from the scaling, non-idealities such as short channel effects and gate leakage become even more problematic. BGR design in nm CMOS technology is studied. A proof-of-concept prototype is realized in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process and shows good results. This paper is organized as follows. Challenges and design issues of implementing BGRs in modern nm CMOS processes are discussed in Section II. Section III analyzes the proposed BGR and curvature-compensation technique. Verifications of the proposed BGR and discussion are presented in Section IV. Section V concludes the paper. II. BGR DESIGN IN NM CMOS PROCESSES A. Basic BGR topologies Fig. 1 shows a widely-used BGR structure. It can be shown that VO = VEB1 + n ln(N) R2 R1 ·VT (1) where n is the diode non-ideal factor, N is the ratio between Q1 and Q2, VT is the thermal voltage kT q , k is Boltzmann constant, T is the absolute temperature, and q is the elemen- tary charge of an electron. VT is a proportional-to-absolute- temperature (PTAT) parameter with TC of approximately 85 µV/◦C, on the contrary VEB (or VBE for NPN BJTs) is a complementary-to-absolute-temperature (CTAT) parameter with TC of approximately –1.6 mV/◦C [21]. If we ignore high- order effects, VO can be set to be first-order temperature- independent by sizing N and the ratio between R1 and R2 such that M = n ln(N) R2 R1 = ∣∣∣∣∣ ∆VEB ∆T ∆VT ∆T ∣∣∣∣∣ = ∣∣∣∣ –1.6 mV/◦C 85 µV/◦C ∣∣∣∣ ≈ 19 (2) The output voltage is fixed to be approximately 1.2 V due to the silicon bandgap voltage, this limits the usability of this BGR in modern nm CMOS processes which are targeted to operate at low supply voltage. To achieve sub-1-V output voltage, current-mode BGRs can be used [1]–[8] [13] [22]. Most of them are based on the structure proposed by Banba et al. [22]. The schematic is shown in Fig. 2. The idea is to convert both VEB and VT into current form and sum them with a proper scale. VO is then given as VO = R4 R2 VEB1 + nln(N) R4 R1 VT (3) The drawbacks are the additional components required and larger resistance for the V-to-I conversions. Current-mode BGRs also have the benefits of generating temperature in- sensitive reference current and multiple reference voltage (by replacing the output resistor with voltage dividers with the same total resistance) which may be required for large system designs [13]. One interesting variant is proposed in [5] and [13], the PTAT and CTAT current are generated independently. By scaling and summing them properly, reference current with desired TC can be generated and applied to design temperature-compensated circuits and temperature sensors [13]. B. Uses of NPN BJTs In deep sub-µm CMOS processes, deep N-well layer is normally available. This enables the design of vertical NPN BJTs with moderate current gain (β > 4). Note that β is a PTAT parameter and can vary for 30 % due to process variations, the design may be more complicated if β is not large enough to ignore its effect. Some examples of CMOS BGRs using NPN BJTs can be found in [6] and [13]. However, unlike the BGRs shown in Fig. 1 and 2, the collector inputs of the NPN BJTs are not connected together in those structures, which potentially requires more area. Furthermore, because of the thickness of the deep N-well, the minimum size and spacing of NPN BJTs are usually larger than those of PNP BJTs for the same emitter area [15]. C. Line sensitivity Line sensitivity is a very important BGR design parameter, it measures the sensitivity of the output voltage (or current) to the supply voltage and indicates the low-frequency power supply rejection ratio (PSRR). It is mainly limited by the finite output resistance of current mirrors, hence very long transistors [18] or advanced current mirror structures [19] [20] are required for high-performance reference circuits. The situation is even worse in nm CMOS processes because of the halo implant, which is commonly introduced in modern CMOS technology to reduce drain-induced barrier lowering effect for short channel length CMOS transistors. However it causes a severe degradation of the output resistance for longer channel lengths [23]. Regarding the current mirror structures, normal cascode, regulated cascode [20] and gain-boosted [5] [22] topologies 59 are widely used. The first two structures increase the headroom overhead and the latter one can only be applied to current mirrors with two branches. D. Process variations One very important feature of the BGRs shown in Fig. 1 and 2 is that, to the first order, their output voltage relies only on relative size ratios between components (resistors and BJTs), but not their absolute values. Hence very good matching (mismatch can be as small as 0.1 %) can be achieved by careful layout and the size constraints are reduced significantly. However, equations (1) and (3) do not account for the tran- sistor mismatch of the current mirrors. The current mismatch for transistors in strong inversion is usually modeled as [24] σ2δID ID = ( gm ID )2 A2VTH WL + A2K WL (4) where AVTH and AK are the proportionality constants of the threshold voltage and mobility respectively, W and L are the transistor width and length respectively1. The first term is usually dominating. Small gm ID (i.e. large overdrive voltage) is preferred, but it is difficult in nm CMOS design due to the limited headroom. Large transistors would be used instead, with a trade-off of poor high-frequency PSRR due to large parasitic capacitance. Moreover, this may cause gate leakage depending on the gate oxide thickness (tox). We do not see significant gate leakage effect in the 90 nm CMOS process used in this work. However it has been reported in [26] that if tox ≤ 1.7 nm, the gate leakage current density can be larger than 1 mA/cm2 even with small gate-source voltage (< 250 mV). There may exist a trade-off between the gate leakage and transistor matching for such processes. III. PROPOSED BANDGAP REFERENCE CIRCUIT In this section, the proposed BGR and curvature- compensation technique are verified. So far, we assume the CTAT source VEB is only first-order temperature-dependent which is not true in reality. Including the higher-order effect, VEB can be written as [5] [27] VEB(T) = VBG(TR) − T TR [VEB(TR) −VBG(TR)] + (η − ζ)VT ln TR T (5) where VBG is the bandgap voltage of silicon extrapolated to 0 K, TR is the reference temperature, η is a temperature con- stant depends on the technology with the most representative value 3.54, and ζ is the order of temperature dependence of collector current. The higher-order temperature dependence limits TC of first-order BGRs to be around 15 ppm/◦C over a temperature range of 70◦C (see Appendix I), curvature- compensation is required in order to achieve a better TC. 1Notice that the mismatch model is more complicated for sub-threshold transistors [25] and it is difficult to apply for hand calculations, hence it is not discussed in this work. M4 M1 M2 M3 Q1 Q2 R1 R2 ×N×1 IPTATM6 M8 M7 VO R3 M5 ICTAT I1 I2 I0 Fig. 3. The proposed BGR. The basic concept of the proposed curvature compensation- technique is to generate a nonlinear voltage VNL with high- order temperature dependence of approximately −VT (η − 1) ln TR T by utilizing the exponential behavior of sub-threshold CMOS transistors, meanwhile the high-order temperature de- pendence of VBE is VT (η−1) ln TRT as shown later. VNL and VBE are summed in current form to perform the curvature- compensation. Similar solutions have been proposed in [1] and [2], however the proposed BGR has lower circuit complexity and current consumption. The idea is shown in Fig. 3 and the following conditions are assumed to be valid: • All the NMOS transistors operate in the sub-threshold region and are saturated (VDS � VT ). Their drain current is then given by ID ≈ µCoxV 2T W L exp ( VGS −VT H mVT ) (6) where µ is the electron mobility, Cox is the oxide capacitance per unit area, VGS is the transistor gate- source voltage, and m is the transistor sub-threshold slope parameter. • The PTAT current (I1) is first-order temperature- dependent and its higher-order temperature dependence can be ignored. Hence ζ = 1 and I1 can be written as I1 = k ·n ln(N) R1q T (7) • The high-order temperature dependence of the CTAT cur- rent (I2), which is generated from VEB1, is compensated. More details of the temperature compensation will be shown later in this section. Thus I2 is also first-order temperature-dependent. • I0 = I1 + I2 and I0 is constant at all temperature, in other words ∆I1 ∆T = −∆I2 ∆T . • I1 and I2 intersect at TR. At T = TR, I1(TR) = I2(TR) = k ·n ln(N) R1q TR (8) Hence I0 can be expressed as I0 = 2 ·I1(TR) = 2k ·n ln(N) R1q TR (9) The situation is illustrated in Fig. 4. • Short-channel effects of the MOS transistors and temperature-dependence of the resistors are negligible. 60 Temperature C u rr en t TR I1 I2 I0 2kTR∙n ln ( N ) R q kTR∙nln ( N ) R q 1 1 Fig. 4. IP T AT (I1), ICT AT (I2), and curvature-compensated current output (I0). It can be observed that VEB1 + VGS3 = VGS5 + I2R2 (10) Assume all NMOS transistors have the same size and VT H , we have I2 = 1 R2 VEB1 + 1 R2 VNL︷ ︸︸ ︷( mVT ln I1 I2 ) (11) = 1 R2    VBG(TR) − First-order terms︷ ︸︸ ︷ T TR [VEB(TR) −VBG(TR)] + Higher-order terms︷ ︸︸ ︷ VT [ (η − 1) ln TR T −m ln I2 I1 ]    (12) By using Talyor series, if x ≈ 1, ln(x) ≈ x− 1. This implies if both I1 I2 and TR T are approximately equal to one within a certain range of temperature, the higher-order terms can be written as: I2,HO = VT R2 [ −m ln I2 I1 + (η − 1) ln TR T ] (13) ≈ VT R2 [ −m ( I2 I1 − 1 ) + (η − 1) ( TR T − 1 )] (14) = VT R2 [ −mI0 − I1 I1 + (η − 1)TR T + 1 −η + m ] (15) Substitute (7) and (9) into (15), I2,HO = VT R2 [ −m2TR −T T + (η − 1)TR T + 1 −η + m ] (16) = VT R2 [ (η − 1 − 2m)TR T − (η − 1 − 2m) ] (17) m normally ranges from 1.1 to 1.5, the higher-order terms are now compensated and become almost zero. As a result, I2 ≈ 1 R2 { VBG(TR) − T TR [VEB(TR) −VBG(TR)] } (18) Thus VO can be found as VO = R3(I1 + I2) (19) = R3 R2 { VBG(TR) − T TR [VEB(TR) −VBG(TR)] + R2 R1 k ·n ln(N) q T } (20) And the first-order temperature-dependence can be cancelled out by setting R2 R1 to R2 R1 = q [VEB(TR) −VBG(TR)] k ·n ln(N)TR (21) and VO becomes VO = R3 R2 ·VBG(TR) (22) The proposed curvature-compensation technique is simple and requires no additional current consumption. To the best of the authors’ knowledge, the BGR topology used in [13] and [15] has the lowest theoretical minimum current consumption among all current-mode BGRs and is given as Imin = 3 ·IP T AT + 2 ·ICT AT = n ln(N) RP T AT ( 3VT + 2 VEB M ) (23) where RP T AT is the resistor used in the PTAT current gener- ator (for example R1 in Fig. 1, 2 and 3). The proposed BGR achieves the same figure but with an additional curvature- compensation function and without using NPN BJTs. So far we assume the short-channel effects of the MOS transistors and temperature-dependence of the resistors are negligible, however this is not valid in reality. The transistors short-channel effects may cause mismatches between current mirror branches which induce output offsets and degrade TC performance. The temperature-dependence of R3 introduces another PTAT/CTAT parameter which needs to be compen- sated by adjusting the TC of I0. As a result, I0 is not temperature independent as assumed, instead it has a similar temperature dependence (but of opposite sign) as R3. The first- order TC of the high-resistance poly resistor used in this work is approximately –0.02 % (200 ppm/◦C). IV. VERIFICATIONS A. Post-layout simulation results The proposed BGR is designed in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process and the schematic including start-up circuit is shown in Fig. 5. The supply voltage is 1.2 V. Assume a current mirror with 100 nA output, in order to achieve a line sensitivity of 0.1 %/V, an output resistance of 10 GΩ ( 1 V0.1 %·100 nA ) is required. Advanced current mirror structures are needed to achieve such large output resistance. Normal cascode, instead of gain-boosted, PMOS current mirrors are adopted because the current mirror containing M1–M6 has more than two branches, the trade-off is larger required voltage headroom which may reduce the operating temperature range. This is because VEB and VT H become too large at low temperature. Using thick-gate transistors can enable larger supply voltage 61 M12 M2 M4 M11 Q1 Q2 R1 ×8×1 M7 M5 M9 VO R3 M3M1 M13 M8 M10 M6 IPTAT ICTAT M16 M14 Large L M15 Start-up CC R2 A B MA1 VIN-VIN+ VOUT VG,M3 MA2 MA3 MA4 MA5 (a) (b) Components Parameters M1−M6, M11−M13 W/L = 15µm/10µm M7−M10 W/L = 20µm/10µm MA1−MA3 W/L = 7.5µm/10µm MA4, MA5 W/L = 4µm/10µm CC (Thick-gate) W/L = 60µm/20µm Q1 Q2 Emitter area = 8×25µm R1 680kΩ R2 6.12MΩ R3 4.08MΩ (c) Emitter area = 25µm 2 2 Fig. 5. (a) The designed BGR, (b) OTA and (c) component parameters. -20 0 20 40 60 80 100 727 728 729 730 731 732 733 V ( m V ) Temperature ( O oC) TDproposed TD1st,ideal Fig. 6. TDproposed and TD1st,ideal. and, hence, wider operating temperature range, however such kind of transistors is usually not well-modeled and their larger VT H increases the required supply voltage. To further improve the line sensitivity performance, an operational transconduc- tance amplifier (OTA) is added to make the voltage at nodes A and B to be approximately the same. A compensation capacitor CC of approximately 5 pF is added to improve the stability with a trade-off of longer start-up time. The NMOS transistors are put inside a deep N-well with their own substrate connected to their source, this improves the matching between their VT H . All the transistors are with low-VT H type and operating in sub-threshold region to minimize the required voltage headroom. Fig. 6 depicts the post-layout simulated temperature de- pendence of the proposed BGR at the typical design cor- ner (TDproposed) and the temperature dependence of an ideal first-order BGR with the theoretical minimum second-order nonlinearity modeled by using (27) (TD1st,ideal). The pro- posed BGR achieves an excellent TC of 5.5 ppm/◦C over the commercial temperature range (0 to 70◦C) and outer- performs the ideal first-order BGR because of the proposed -20 0 20 40 60 80 100 -2.1 -2 -1.9 -1.8 -1.7 -1.6 -1.5 ΔVR2 ΔT ΔVEB1 ΔT Temperature (oC) D er iv at iv es to T em p. (m V / C ) o Fig. 7. ∆VR2 ∆T and ∆VEB1 ∆T . curvature-compensation technique. The TC performance out- side this temperature range degrades due to the limited voltage headroom and the fact that the Taylor series assumption we made in Section III and the curvature-compensation do not hold anymore. The curvature-compensation effect can also be proved by comparing ∆VR2 ∆T (where VR2 = ICT AT R2) and ∆VEB1 ∆T , with the post-layout simulation results at the typical design corner shown in Fig. 7. From 0 to 70◦C, ∆VEB1 ∆T drops around 4 %, while ∆VR2 ∆T varies around 0.6 % only. The post-layout simulated noise density without any decoupling capacitor at 100 Hz is 680 nV/ √ Hz. To analyze the BGR sensitivity to process variations and mismatches, 100 runs of post-layout Monte Carlo simulations are performed and the results are shown in Fig. 8. Fig. 8a depicts ∆VR2 ∆T versus temperature. ∆VR2 ∆T increases at low temperature for some runs because of the limited voltage head- room. The TC performance over the commercial temperature range is shown in Fig. 8b. 42 out of 100 runs achieve a TC of less than 15.1 ppm/◦C and the minimum is 4.4 ppm/◦C. The mean is 25.3 ppm/◦C. The TC performance over a temperature range of 100◦C (0 to 100◦C) is shown in Fig. 8c. The mean 62 0 20 40 60 80 100 -1.8 -1.75 -1.7 -1.65 -1.6 Temperature (oC) Δ V R 2 (m V / /Δ T o C ) 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90 100 110 120 0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 TC (ppm/ oC) C ou nt s 40 80 120 160 200 240 280 0 10 20 30 40 50 60 TC (ppm/oC) C ou nt s 0.715 0.72 0.725 0.73 0.735 0.74 0.745 0 5 10 15 20 VO (V) C ou nt s (a) (b) (c) (d) Mean = 45.1 ppm/ oC Mean = 25.3 ppm/ oC Mean = 730mV SD = 6.3mV 270 Fig. 8. Monte Carlo simulation results. (a) ∆VR2 ∆T , (b) TC (0 to 70◦C), (c) TC (0 to 100◦C), and (d) VO. Fig. 9. (Left) A chip microphoto. (Right) The BGR layout: A: Start-up circuit; B: CMOS transistors; C: OTA; D: CC ; E: Resistors; F: BJTs and dummies. is 45.1 ppm/◦C, the degradation is due to the reasons men- tioned above. Note that the TC performance is not Gaussian distributed, hence it is not meaningful to calculate its standard deviation (SD). Fig. 8d depicts VO at room temperature, the mean and SD are 730 mV and 6.3 mV respectively which corresponds a coefficient of variation (= SDmean ) of 0.86 %. B. Experimental results A proof-of-concept prototype is fabricated and packaged in a JLCC64 package. A chip microphoto and the BGR layout are shown in Fig. 9. The core area is 0.028 mm2. Five sample chips are measured without trimming and the results are presented in Table I and Fig. 10, the mean of VO TABLE I MEASURED TEMPERATURE COEFFICIENT AND OUTPUT VOLTAGE OF FIVE SAMPLE CHIPS. Sample TC (10 to 80◦C) TC (0 to 100 C) VO at 30 C (ppm/ C) (ppm/ C) (mV) I 15.8 43.5 712 II 10.1 45.3 725 III 43.5 55.8 729 IV 38.5 60.7 714 V 55 60.2 734 Mean (mV) 32.6 53.1 723 SD (mV) N/A N/A 9.4 ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ at 30◦C is 723 mV with a coefficient of variation of 1.3 %. Sample II has the best overall performance. It achieves a TC of 10.1 ppm/◦C over a temperature range of 70◦C (10 to 80◦C), which is lower than the theoretical minimum TC of first- order BGRs (15.1 ppm/◦C) and proves the proposed curvature- compensation technique. We assume the variation to the targeted temperature range (0 to 70◦C) is due to the process data mismatch. The average TC over the whole measured temperature range (0 to 100◦C) is 53.1 ppm/◦C which is still competitive to other sub-µW BGRs [14]–[16]. The average power consumption (including start-up circuit) with a 1.2 V supply at room temperature is 576 nW and the worst-case is 640 nW at 100◦C. Fig. 11 depicts the measured and post-layout simulated PSRRs, the line sensitivity which is indicated by the measured low-frequency PSRR is approximately 0.3 %/V. MOS transis- 63 A COMPARISON BETWEEN THE DESIGNED BGR AND OTHER PUBLISHED STATE-OF-THE-ART REFERENCE CIRCUITS. Sub-µW BGRs Curvature-compensated BGRs Non-BG reference circuits This Work [14] [15] [2] [6] [9] [17] [18] [28] Curvature-compensated Yes No No Yes Yes Yes No No No Technology 90 nm 0.18 µm 90 nm 0.8 µm 0.13 µm 0.6 µm 0.35 µm 0.18 µm 0.13 µmCMOS CMOS CMOS BiCMOS CMOS CMOS CMOS CMOS CMOS Min. supply voltage (V) 1.15 0.7 1.05 1 0.9 2 0.9 0.45 0.5 Power consumption (µW) 0.58 0.053 0.32 92 3.9 46 0.036 0.0032 0.0000022 Temp. range (◦C) 10 to 80 0 to 100 –40 to 120 0 to 70 0 to 80 –50 to 150 0 to 100 0 to 80 0 to 125 –20 to 80 TC (ppm/ C) Best 10.1 43.5 N/A 47.1 7.5 5.69 5.3 10 39 16.9Average 32.6 53.1 114 N/A N/A N/A N/A N/A 142 62 Output voltage (V) 0.72 0.55 N/Aa 0.54 0.62 1.14 0.67 0.26 0.17 Line sensitivity (%/V) 0.3 ≈0.16b 0.7 0.021 0.01 0.13 0.27 0.44 0.03 Area (mm2 ) 0.028 0.025 0.026 3 0.1 0.057 0.045 0.043 0.001 Coefficient of 0.86 (simulated) 1.05 N/A N/A 0.11 N/A 3.1 3.9 0.74variation (%) 1.3 (measured) Trimming No No No Yes Yes Yes No No No a Current reference of 90 nA output. b ◦ Multiple reference signals No YesYes Yes Yes No No NoNo Estimated from the low-frequency PSRR. TABLE II 0 20 40 60 80 100 705 710 715 720 725 730 735 740 Temperature(oC) V O (m V ) Sample I II III IV V Fig. 10. Measured temperature dependence of all samples. 101 102 103 104 -55 -50 -45 -40 -35 -30 -25 -20 Frequency (Hz) P S R R (d B ) Measured Post-layout simulated w/o loading cap Fig. 11. Measured and post-layout simulated PSRRs. tor output resistance is usually difficult to model precisely, this explains the 6 dB (2×) difference between the measured and post-layout simulated low-frequency PSRRs. The measured PSRR decreases at high frequency because of the parasitic capacitance of the package, bondwires and PCB etc. The characteristic of VO versus supply voltage is shown in Fig. 12. The BGR starts to function properly when the supply voltage is higher than 1.15 V. 0.5 0.7 0.9 1.1 1.3 0 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 900 V O (m V ) 0 oC Room temp. 100 oC 0.3 Supply Voltage (V) Fig. 12. Measured characteristics of VO versus supply voltage. The measured start-up time with a 10 pF probe loading is approximately 270 µs. Nevertheless the output parasitic components cannot be modeled accurately, hence the start-up behavior is not fully characterized. Instead, the start-up time is simulated with a 5 pF loading added and found to be 78 µs. Both PSRR and noise performance can be improved by adding decoupling capacitors with a trade-off of slower start-up. C. Discussion Table II shows a comparison between the designed BGR and other published state-of-the-art reference circuits. The area of the designed BGR is one of the smallest. It may not be a fair comparison since other designs may be using older CMOS technologies, however it proves the designed BGR takes advantages from the continuing development of CMOS technology and the possibility of implementing high- performance, low-power and small-area BGRs in modern nm CMOS processes. The relatively large line sensitivity is expected as a result of the lower transistor output resistance in nm CMOS processes as aforementioned. Both TC and coefficient of variation could be improved by trimming the resistor ratios [2] [6] with a trade-off of higher testing cost. 64 Compared to other sub-µW BGRs, the proposed BGR has the best TC performance. Although the BGRs in [14] and [16] are small-size and low-power because of their resistor- less feature, they require relatively large number of transis- tors which may degrade the noise performance and cause a longer start-up time (6 ms is reported in [14]). The BGR in [15] uses NPN BJTs which is not preferred as the reasons mentioned in Section II.B. The designed BGR has the lowest power consumption compared to other curvature-compensated BGRs. The BGR in [6] utilizes the piecewise-linear curvature- compensation technique to extend the operating temperature range and improve the TC performance, similar techniques and/or trimming could be applied to the proposed BGR for improved performance. Compared to the VT H -based CMOS-only reference circuits in [17] and [18], the designed BGR shows a better coefficient of variation. Although they have very small power consump- tion, the ±3σ output error due to process variations can be >18 % which limits their usability without trimming. A very interesting structure has been proposed in [28], it contains only two NMOS transistors with different VT H and the output voltage is generated based on the VT H difference. As a result, it is relatively less sensitive to process variations and pico-watt power consumption and small core area are achieved. However native transistor which is usually not accurately modeled is required, this may increase the design difficulty. For both VT H - and ∆VT H -based reference circuits, their output voltage relies on less fundamental parameters (for example, VT H and µ etc.), relatively worse TC performance is expected [28]. Multiple reference voltage and/or current are usually re- quired for large system designs. Unlike current-mode BGRs, CMOS-only reference circuits (including both bandgap and non-bandgap types) usually generate single reference volt- age. Additional components (for example buffers, resistors and voltage dividers etc.), area and power consumption are required in order to do this. V. CONCLUSION A new sub-µW current-mode BGR has been presented. It has an inherent curvature-compensation property, together with the lowest theoretical minimum current consumption among published current-mode BGRs. A proof-of-concept prototype has been successfully implemented in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process and shows competitive results, espe- cially in terms of TC and power consumption. The measured TC without trimming is as low as 10.1 ppm/◦C over a tem- perature range of 70◦C, which is lower than the theoretical minimum TC of first-order BGRs and proves the proposed curvature-compensation technique. The average TC over an extended temperature range of 100◦C is measured to be 53.1 ppm/◦C which is competitive to other published sub-µW BGRs. The measured average power consumption at room temper- ature is 576 nW, with a small core area of 0.028 mm2. The mean of the measured output voltage at 30◦C is 723 mV with a coefficient of variation of 1.3 %, which is good enough for many applications without trimming. Implementations of high- precision, low-power and small-area BGRs in state-of-the-art CMOS technology are proved to be possible. To the best of the authors’ knowledge, the designed BGR is the only sub-µW curvature-compensated BGR that can be found in literature. CMOS-only reference circuits may provide lower power consumption. Nevertheless, design trade-offs such as sensitiv- ity to process variations, precision and flexibility etc. have to be considered as discussed. Thus, it remains an open question whether resistor-based BGRs or CMOS-only reference circuits will deliver ultimate performance, especially in modern nm CMOS processes. ACKNOWLEDGMENT The authors would like to thank Olav S. Kyrvestad, Jørgen A. Michaelsen, Novelda AS and Prof. Alex K. N. Leung for technical discussion and/or support. APPENDIX I The theoretical minimum TC of the conventional BGR (TCmin,conv), which is shown in Fig. 1, over a certain temperature range (from TL to TH ) is analyzed as follows. Consider only the first- and second-order TCs of VEB1 and assume all other higher-order effects are ignorable, VEB1 can be expressed as VEB1 = VBG(TR) + a1T + a2T 2 (24) where a1 and a2 are the first- and second-order TCs respec- tively. Hence VO is given as VO = VBG(TR) + a1T + a2T 2 + n ln(N) R2 R1 ·VT (25) Because the conventional topology is first-order temperature- compensated, VO becomes VO = VBG(TR) + a2T 2 (26) The best BGR TC can be obtained when TR is set to the middle of the targeted temperature range, in other words TR = TL + ∆T 2 , where ∆T = TH −TL. Then we can write TCmin,conv as TCmin,conv = |∆VO,min| (∆T)VBG(TR) = |a2| ( ∆T 2 )2 (∆T)VBG(TR) (27) From Fig. 7, it can be observed that a2 ≈ –1 µV/◦C when T ≥ 0◦C. As a result, for the CMOS process used in this work, TCmin,conv over temperature ranges of 70◦C and 100◦C are approximately 15.1 ppm/◦C and 21 ppm/◦C respectively. Similar analysis can be applied to other first-order BGRs and same results can be obtained. REFERENCES [1] M. Gunawan, G. Meijer, J. Fonderie, and H. Huijsing, “A curvature- corrected low-voltage bandgap reference,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 28, no. 6, pp. 667–670, June 1993. [2] P. Malcovati, F. Maloberti, C. Fiocchi, and M. 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Kim, D. Blaauw, and D. Sylvester, “A portable 2-transistor picowatt temperature-compensated voltage reference operating at 0.5 V,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 47, no. 10, pp. 2534–2545, Oct 2012. 66 A.6 Paper-VI K. K. Lee and T. S. Lande, “A wireless-powered IR-UWB transmitter for long-range passive RFID tags in 90 nm CMOS,” IEEE Transactions on Circuits and Systems II: Express Briefs, to be published, DOI: 10.1109/TCSII.2014.2350292. Copyright © 2014 IEEE. Reprinted with permission. Internal or personal use is permitted, but republication/redistribution requires IEEE permis- sion. 67 A Wireless-Powered IR-UWB Transmitter for Long-Range Passive RFID Tags in 90 nm CMOS Kin Keung Lee and Tor Sverre Lande, Fellow, IEEE Abstract—An impulse-radio ultra-wideband (IR-UWB) trans- mitter (TX) intended for long-range passive radio-frequency identification tags is presented. It is wirelessly powered by an ultra-high-frequency (UHF) signal. A 128-b pseudo-noise code is transmitted when enough energy is harvested. A new on- off-keying multi-cycle energy-efficient IR-UWB pulse generator (PG) is proposed, a co-design with power management circuits is introduced to improve the system supply noise performance. A novel injection-locking divider co-designed with RF voltage rectifier is proposed to eliminate the injection input resistive load which exists in some designs, otherwise the input sensitivity would be degraded. A proof-of-concept prototype is fabricated in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. Measurements show the TX input sensitivity to be approximately –17.5 dBm with a 900 MHz UHF input. The measured PG output swing is 195 mVp-p with a –10-dB bandwidth of approximately 3.4 GHz. Index Terms—Transmitter, RFID tag, UWB, pulse generator, injection locking frequency divider, wireless-powered, co-design I. INTRODUCTION A FTER the Federal Communication Commission (FCC)released ultra-wideband (UWB) band for unlicensed uses, impulse-radio (IR) communication has been an active research topic. Compared to narrowband (NB) RF technolo- gies, its pulsed nature makes it possible to construct energy- efficient transmitters (TX) and insensitive to fading. The large bandwidth (BW) provides higher data rate and good localization ability. Due to these advantages, research [1]–[4] has been conducted to apply IR-UWB technology for radio- frequency identification (RFID) applications which mainly rely on NB technologies nowadays. Different types of IR- UWB RFID tags and trade-offs can be found in [4]. Tags without battery (wireless-powered or chipless) are preferred because of the cost and product size considerations. Although wireless-powered IR-UWB tags have a higher cost than the chipless counterparts, they provides longer reading range and the possibility of embedding sensors and related circuits. Battery-powered IR-UWB transceivers have been developed and showed very promising results. In [5], a large output- swing (6.4 Vp-p) pulse generator (PG) and a communica- tion distance of 200 m has been demonstrated. Nevertheless wireless-powered IR-UWB tags in [1], [2] and [3] offer limited reading range (<1 m) due to the limited energy available and, Manuscript received May 15, 2014; revised July 5, 2014; accepted August 12, 2014. Date of publication To be added; date of current version September 9, 2014. This work was supported in part by the Norwegian Research Council through the Norwegian Ph.D. Network on Nanotechnology for Microsystems (contract no: 190086/S10). This brief was recommended by Associate Editor J. Kim. The authors are with the Department of Informatics, University of Oslo, N-0316 Oslo, Norway (e-mail: kklee@ifi.uio.no). Digital Object Identifier 10.1109/TCSII.2014.2350292. hence, weak emission power on the tag side. To improve this, the data can be transmitted repeatedly, this introduces higher processing gain and averages out the noise, hence the signal-to-noise ratio (SNR) and reading range are increased. Note that the hand-shake protocols become complicated when there are large number of tags and amount of data in the system. This may increase the tag circuit complexity and energy consumption, hence the reading range is reduced. To solve this, a long-range passive UWB RFID system using a uni-directional communication scheme has been proposed in [6]. A wireless-powered IR-UWB TX for RFID tags in this system is implemented and presented in this work. IR-UWB technology makes the tags insensitive to fading and provides good localization ability. The uni-directional communication scheme eliminates the hand-shake protocols and pushes the circuit complexity to the reader side. Also novel IR-UWB PG and injection-locking frequency divider (ILD) structures are proposed for improved TX performance. II. CIRCUIT DESIGN A. Top system A block diagram of the RFID system is shown in Fig. 1, the TX contains four main blocks: power management unit (PMU), symbol generator, clock extractor and IR-UWB PG. The TX is operated in two modes: (1) Energy-harvesting mode: The TX harvests energy from an ultra-high-frequency (UHF) signal (around 900 MHz) sent from the reader. The energy is stored inside a 100 nF off-chip storing capacitor. Only the PMU is on during this period to minimize the power consumption and improve the input sensitivity, all the other blocks are in stand-by mode and draw leakage current only. (2) Transmission mode: When the stored energy is higher than a pre-determined threshold by monitoring the supply voltage, the TX sends out its own symbols containing 128-b length pseudo-noise (PN) codes. The clock signal is extracted from the UHF signal by using an ILD. The capacitor is discharged after transmission and the TX returns to energy- harvesting mode. More complex power-management schemes UWB PGSymbol Generator This work chip rate = 17.8ns PMU Clock Extractor UWB antenna UHF Power Sender Reader Coherent UWB Receiver Sensor & Readout (Optional ) ASK Demodulator (Optional)RFID Tag ASK Modulator (Optional ) UWB antenna UHF antenna UHF antenna Fig. 1. Block diagram of the proposed RFID system. 68 Voltage Rectifier BGR LDO Voltage Sensor EN_RFID VDDH VDDL (0.9V) IBIAS,X VDDH VINJ VIN M1 M2 M3 M4 M5 M6 D2 D1 (a) (b) CC1 CC2 CC3 CL 1 CL2 CL3 M1 M2 M3 M4 M5 R1 R2 M6 EN_RFID (c) VDDH M7 (e) M1 M3 M5 M6 M7 R1 R2 Q1Q2 ×1×N IBIAS,X VBIAS,X VDDH VDDH VDDH VDDH M2 M4 … Multiple voltage and current references VBIAS,X VDDH VDDH VDDH 100nF storing cap VBIAS,LDO IBIAS,LDO VDDH VDDL (d) M1 M2 M3 C1 … Fig. 2. (a) PMU, (b) voltage rectifier, (c) voltage sensor, (d) LDO, and (e) BGR. Starved Inverter τ τDIVC DO M1 VCTRL DOUT VPG DI VC DO DIN PG Unit Cell τ IN A (a) LT RANT VANT CT VC DI DO (b) CC VDDH VDDL IN A VPG VDD VDD –VP τ (c) 1/fo Fig. 3. (a) PG unit cell, (b) starved inverter, and (c) related operation. and additional control circuits could be used to avoid the capacitor discharging, however this may increase the power consumption of the PMU and degrade the sensitivity. The coherent UWB rake receiver (an example structure can be found in [7]) inside the reader continuously monitors incoming signals and compares them with the stored sym- bols using cross-correlation. The operations are repeated until sufficient SNR is achieved to detect the tags and the reader stops the energy supply. The channel separation is given by the system asynchronous code-division multiple access and inherent ALOHA properties [6]. Every tag needs different time to harvest energy due to process variation, component mismatch and distance to the reader etc., transmissions will be sufficiently distributed for acceptable interference, even with a large number of tags in operation. Similar to other IR-UWB RFID systems [2] [3], amplitude- shift key (ASK) demodulator and modulator could be added to the system optionally to establish a bi-directional commu- nication and add more functionalities. The trade-offs are more complicated hand-shake protocols, increased circuit complex- ity and reduced reading range. B. PMU Fig. 2a shows a block diagram of the PMU. The voltage rectifier harvests energy from an UHF antenna and stores the energy inside the storing capacitor. The voltage sensor monitors the rectifier output voltage (VDDH) and wakes up remaining circuits when VDDH is higher than a loosely- controlled threshold (≈ 1.4 V). The ILD and delay-line inside the PG require stable and well-controlled supply voltage and reference current/voltage, which are achieved by using the bandgap reference (BGR) and low-dropout regulator (LDO). The schematic of the voltage rectifier is shown in Fig. 2b, it is based on a 3-stage Dickson multiplier and constructed by native NMOS transistors with threshold voltage of around 200 mV. The diodes at the input limit the maximum input voltage and prevent the chip breaking down when too much energy is harvested. The voltage sensor is shown in Fig. 2c. The gate voltage of M6 is pulled up by R1 until VDDH is high enough for the PMOS transistors to be on (i.e. VDDH ≥ 5 ·VT HP ≈ 1.4 V, where VT HP is the threshold voltage of PMOS transistors). In order to provide fast transition, the voltage change is amplified by a common-source amplifier consisting of M6 and R2. EN RFID is then switched to ‘1’, the TX enters transmission mode and all other blocks are enabled. Meanwhile, M7 is turned on and this generates a hysteresis width of one VT HP . The schematics of the LDO and BGR are shown in Fig. 2d and 2e respectively, a second supply voltage (VDDL) of approximately 0.9 V is generated to supply the clock extractor, symbol generator and the delay-line inside the PG. The BGR presented in [8] is used, with a line sensitivity of 0.8 %/V and a temperature coefficient of 47.1 ppm/◦C over a temperature range of 70◦C. C. IR-UWB PG The PG is usually the most energy-consuming component inside IR-UWB TXs and the tag reading range is proportional to its transmitted power. Moreover it needs to deliver large power to the antenna and the pulsed nature generates large high-frequency noise on the supply. It is challenging to design LDO for such high-power pulsed system. A new on-off-keying (OOK) PG structure is proposed to solve these problems. The unit cell is shown in Fig. 3a. It works like a class- E RF power-amplifier with an a pulsed input and a similar approach has been adopted in [3]. The propagation delay (PD, with a length of τ) of a starved inverter (the schematic is shown in Fig. 3b) is used to generate a pulse with a width of approximately τ at node A and M1 is turned on. This pulls down the output voltage (VP G) to VDD −VP and injects energy into an RLC tank consisting of the UWB antenna resistance RANT , an on-chip inductor LT and a capacitance CT which includes tuning and parasitic capacitors. CC is an off-chip coupling capacitor for measurement purposes only. The injected energy circulates back and forth inside the tank with its resonant frequency fo = (2π √ LT CT ) −1 as shown in Fig. 3c. Due to the RANT , the signal decays as: VP G = VDD− VP exp ( − fo QT t ) sin (2πfot), where QT is quality factor (QF) of the tank and given as QT = RANT ωoLT = ωoCT RANT . The signal dies out in approximately QT cycles. One feature of the proposed PG is that the pulse width is scalable by adding more unit cells. If more unit cells are cascaded in series, more-cycle and higher-energy outputs can be generated. Two unit cells are cascaded with fo and QT set to approximately 5 GHz and 2 respectively (the choices of fo 69 PG_EN VBIAS,PG DIN VCTRL DOUT PG Unit Cell 1 VPG A DIN VCTRL DOUT PG Unit Cell 2 VPG LT RANT VANT CCCT A VPG1 B VPG2 2τ2τ VANT = VPG1+ VPG2 (a) (b) = 1/fo VDDH B PG_EN Fig. 4. (a) Proposed IR-UWB PG and (b) its operation. 0 0.5 1 1.5-200 -100 0 100 200 Vo lta ge (m V ) Time (ns) T=-20 Co T=70 Co 0 5 10-90 -80 -70 -60 -50 -40 Frequency (GHz) Po w er S pe ct ra l D en si ty (d Bm /M Hz ) FCC part 15 mask τ=100ns 0 5 10-100 -80 -60 -40 Frequency (GHz) FCC part 15 mask T=-20 Co T=70 Co Po w er S pe ct ra l D en si ty (d Bm /M Hz ) 0 5 10-90 -80 -70 -60 -50 -40 Frequency (GHz) Po w er S pe ct ra l D en si ty (d Bm /M Hz ) Q =2 Q =10 FCC part 15 mask (a) (b) (c) (d) τ=105ns (+5%) τ=95ns (-5%) f =5GHz for all caseso T T Fig. 5. (a) Simulated power spectra with different mismatches between 2τ & f−1o , (b) simulated PG output waveforms and (c) corresponding power spectra at different temperature and (d) simulated power spectra with different QT . VINJ Vo M1 M2 M3 M4 M5 M6 M7 M8 M9 IBIAS,ILD EN_RFID EN_RFID EN_RFID EN_RFID (b) ILD EN_RFID CLK Q D Q D Q D (a) VDDL VDDL VDDL Stand-by mode when EN_RFID is ‘0’ Fig. 6. (a) Clock extractor and (b) ILD. and QT will be discussed later) in this design as shown in Fig. 4a, the idea is depicted in Fig. 4b. Note that the waveforms VP Gi (VP G1 and VP G2, which are highlighted in grey color) represent the output signals contributed by the i-th unit cell, they are shown for illustration proposes and do not exist actually in the system. To minimize the influence from the supply voltage and process variations, VDDL is set to 0.9 V and VBIAS,P G is set adequately by trimming the BGR resistor ratios such that the unit cell PD and the period of the resonant signals are approximately the same (i.e. 2τ ≈ 1 fo ), the output signals from all unit cells are in phase and added together. Fig. 5a shows the system-level simulated power spectra with ±5% mismatches between 2τ and 1 fo , around ±2% variation on peak frequency and ±2.5% variation on BW are observed. Note that energy is concentrated at around fo because of the tank bandpass property, this makes the PG less sensitive to the mismatch and temperature variation. Post-layout simulated PG waveforms and power spectra with 5 MHz pulse repetition frequency (PRF) at different temperatures are shown in Fig. 5b and 5c respectively. There are some design trade-offs here. First, high signal frequencies (>6 GHz, which also imply higher fo) would be less sensitive to the interference from existing radio systems like 802.11a. Nevertheless lower signal frequencies result lower propagation losses and circuit energy consumption. Since long reading range is one of the main goals of this work, the PG is targeted to operate at lower frequencies of the FCC mask. Attention should be paid to the interference issues for example using 802.11g instead of 802.11a for the radios nearby. Second, a narrow tank BW (large QT ) provides larger attenuation on the low-frequency sidebands and makes the PG output fit the FCC mask better, however it may filter out the in-band energy and reduce the energy efficiency. Fig. 5d depicts the situation, increasing QT from 2 to 10 reduces the low-frequency sideband energy by 13.8 dB with a trade- off of smaller in-band energy. In addition, the data rate and localization ability improve with increased BW and QT has to be much smaller than the QF of other components so as to prevent insertion losses due to the parasitic components. The QF of on-chip spiral inductors is normally around 10–20. As a trade-off, QT is set to approximately 2 in the designed PG. The output parasitic capacitance which is usually domi- nating inside the system is tuned out by LT , the driving requirement and, hence, the transistors size of the output driver are reduced. In other words, the capacitive and switching losses are also reduced which makes the designed PG energy- efficient. Another advantage is that LT connects the PG output to the VDDH at DC which provides electrostatic discharge protection. The output driver drives a large instantaneous power to the antenna and is the main cause of the high-frequency supply noise. Supplying the output driver through the LDO is not a good idea because the high-frequency noise would couple to other circuits through the LDO. Also, LDOs which have fast- response to handle the impulse noise (i.e. good load regulation) would be power-demanding. Notice that the output driver of the proposed PG does not require a well-defined supply voltage, the DC variation only changes the emission power and it may be compensated by adjusting the processing gain. Post-layout simulations show the peak energy decreases for 0.7 dB when the supply voltage drops from 1.4 V to 1.1 V. As a result, the output driver is supplied by VDDH with the large storing capacitor providing good supply noise rejection. D. Clock extractor It is important that the reader and tags have the same chip rate for reliable symbol detection. Crystal oscillator or phase-locked loop could be used to generate precise clock signals, however long start-up time and, hence, large energy consumption are required due to the large QF of the crystal resonator. Instead ILD is adopted in this work because of high energy-efficiency. If the targeted output frequency is close to the ILD free-running oscillating frequency, the start-up time (including lock time) can be very short (a few clock cycles according to simulations). The trade-off is the relatively poor jitter performance. A block diagram of the clock extractor is shown Fig 6a. It consists of a divide-by-2 (/2) ILD and three /2 digital dividers, giving a division ratio of 16 in total. The ILD is based on the structure proposed in [9], the schematic is shown in Fig. 6b. A novel co-design between the ILD and voltage rectifier is 70 Q Q D TG & DFFs SR Unit Cell 1 TO KEN GCLKE1 GCLKD0 TIN GCLKE1 GCLKD0 SR Unit Cell 2 TIN GCLKE2 GCLKD1 TO UT GCLKE2 GCLKD1 TO UT GCLKE3 GCLKD2 SR Unit Cell 32 TIN GCLKE32 GCLKD31 TOUT GCLKD32 G CLK 32 CLK EN CLK EN CLK EN PN_O UT EN_RFID CLK Q Q D Q Q S R PG_EN ... PN_O UT PN _O UT EN_RFID VDDH DISCHARGE Q Q D Q Q D Q Q D Q Q D Q Q S R GCLKD0 CLK TOKENClock Gate TG Q Q D PN4(k-1) Q Q D Q Q D Q Q DQ Q S R GCLKEk GCLKDk CLK GCLKDk-1 GCLKEk+1 GCLKk PN_OUTTIN TOUT (a) (b) (c) GCLKE1 VDDL PN4( k- 1)+1 PN4( k-1)+2 PN4( k-1)+3 Clock Gate EN EN EN EN_RFID EN EN EN Fig. 7. (a) The symbol generator, (b) TG, and (c) SR unit cell. Fig. 8. Chip microphotograph. Fig. 9. Measured hysteresis behavior. proposed. Unlike the ILDs for RFID tags in [3] and [10], the DC voltage of the injection input is biased by either resistors or diode-connected transistors which generate resistive loads to the antenna and degrade the sensitivity, the designed ILD draws the injection signal from the node VINJ of the rectifier (see Fig. 2b) and introduces only a small capacitive load to the antenna. The DC voltage of VINJ is approximately 240 mV (≈V DDH 6 since the rectifier contains six diode-connected NMOS transistors) which is approximately the same as the threshold voltage of M7. As a result, M7 is switched on and off with the frequency of the injecting signal (fINJ ) and the output frequency is locked to fINJ 2 . Detailed analysis can be found in [9]. The digital dividers are implemented using true- single-phase-clock type D-flip-flops (DFF) providing small- area and low-power advantages. E. Symbol generator The structure of the symbol generator is illustrated in Fig. 7a. Each symbol is composed of a 128-b PN code which is assumed to be hard-coded. The token generator (TG) generates a token bit of one clock cycle width. The token bit is passed along a 128-b shift register (SR) and multiplexes out one bit of the PN code in sequence every cycle. The PG is enabled if the outputted signal (PG EN) is ‘1’. Clock-gating is used to minimize the power consumption, the clock signal is delivered to maximum six DFFs only. The schematics of the TG and SR unit cell is shown in Fig. 7b and 7c respectively, the DFFs following the TG provides time for the clock signal start-up. One cycle after shifting out the whole PN code, DISCHARGE goes to ‘1’ and VDDH is discharged until it reaches approximately 1.4 V−VT HP , then EN RFID is disabled by the voltage sensor and the TX returns to energy- harvesting mode. The operations are repeated until the reader stops the energy supply (the UHF signal). III. EXPERIMENTAL RESULTS A proof-of-concept prototype is implemented in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process and a chip microphotograph is shown in Fig. 8. The chip area including pads is 0.75 mm2. The UHF input signal frequency is 900 MHz. The tag starts to function properly when the input power is higher than –17.5 dBm, this would correspond a reading range of 12.6 m by using Friis transmission equation with 4 W EIRP radiation and 0 dB gain transmitting/receiving antenna. The measured max- imum power consumption including leakage during energy- harvesting mode is 1.8 µW. The charging and transmission times are approximately 13 ms and 2.5 µs respectively. The hysteresis behavior is measured and shown in Fig. 9. When VDDH is higher than 1.41 V approximately, EN RFID goes high and the TX starts transmitting. VDDH is then discharged after transmissions and the TX returns to energy-harvesting mode again when VDDH drops to 1.15 V approximately. The detailed operation is depicted in Fig. 10a, both EN RFID and CLK are outputted off-chip by output buffers with separated power supplies for testing purposes. The recti- fier input and PG output are probed on chip. When EN RFID goes high (notice that the slow rising edge is due to weak driving ability of the output buffer), the clock extractor starts up and the PG starts to transmit after the clock signal is settled. The PN code is set to ‘10100110’×16 for demonstration and shifted out to trigger the PG. A zoom-in version of the clock signal is shown in Fig. 10b. The swing is attenuated because the probe impedance decreases beyond 1 MHz and loads the output buffer, we assume the clock signal on-chip is still rail-to-rail. The cycle- to-cycle jitter is measured after the clock signal settled and shown in Fig. 10c, the peak-to-peak value and the standard deviation are 260 ps and 44 ps respectively. This jitter may be tolerated provided that processing gain is utilized [7]. The measured locking range (LR) with the minimium input power (–17.5 dBm) is approximately 260 MHz (800–1060 MHz). Simulations show that the LR reduces for 13% when the DC voltage of VINJ decreases for 10%. A zoom-in version of the PG output when VDDH = 1.41 V is shown in Fig. 10d, the output swing and pulse width with a 50 Ω loading are 195 mVp-p and 578 ps respectively. The corresponding power spectrum with 10 MHz PRF is shown in Fig. 10e, the –10-dB BW is 3.4 GHz (3.5–6.9 GHz) and the peak is –60.4 dBm/MHz. Adding highpass filters can reduce the low-frequency sideband energy and allow larger peak energy, the trade-offs are increased cost and energy 71 Fig. 10. (a) Measured transmission operation, (b) a zoom-in version of CLK, (c) a zoom-in version of VANT , (d) a histogram of the measured cycle-to-cycle jitter, and (e) measured power spectrum of the PG output. consumption. It is difficult to measure the power consumption during transmission mode due to the multi-mode operation and small duty-cycle. Assume balanced PN code with equal number of ‘0’ and ‘1’, the post-layout simulated TX energy consumption during transmission is 7.2 pJ/b and around 76 % of this (5.5 pJ/b) is due to the IR-UWB PG. The post-layout simulated average power consumption of different blocks during transmission is shown in Table I. Table II summarizes the design performance and compares it with other related works. The designed TX shows a compet- itive performance especially with respect to PG performance and energy consumption. Note that the design in [2] shows a very low energy consumption because of the lower PG transmitted energy, however not enough data (center frequency and –10-dB BW) is provided to make a fairer comparison. IV. CONCLUSION A wireless-powered IR-UWB TX intended for long-range passive RFID tags has been presented. Combining IR-UWB technology with long symbols provides large number of tags with acceptable interference. Precise localization is feasible with elaborate receiver design [7]. A proof-of-concept proto- type has been successfully implemented in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. The measured power consumption during energy-harvesting mode is only 1.8 µW, which results a good input sensitivity of –17.5 dBm. Combined with processing gain, long-range sensing can be provided. The proposed ILD co-designed with the RF voltage rectifier generates only a capacitive load to the antenna, hence the clock signal is locked to the targeted frequency even with such low input power. A new multi-cycle energy-efficient IR-UWB PG has been proposed, co-designing with PMU provides good supply noise management. A relatively large PG output swing of 195 mVp-p is achieved even with a low TX energy consumption of 7.2 pJ/b. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The authors would like to thank K. G. Kjelgård, O. S. Kyrvestad, Prof. P. D. Häfliger, A. Zahar, A. Hasanbegovic and Novelda AS for technical discussion and support. TABLE I SIMULATED AVERAGE POWER CONSUMPTION OF DIFFERENT BLOCKS DURING TRANSMISSION. PG Clock Symb. LDO (incl. Others extrac. gen. dropout loss) Power cons. (µW) 309 18 28 51 0.8 POST-LAYOUT TABLE II A COMPARISON WITH OTHER WIRELESS-POWERED IR-UWB TXS. [1] [2] [3] This work CMOS nodes (nm) 130 180 180 90 Modulation OOK BPSK OOK OOK UHF input sensitiviy (dBm) 14 –19.4 –18.5 –17.5 PG output swing (mVp-p) 110 50 220b 195 PG center freq. (GHz) 7.9 N/A N/A 5.2 PG –10-dB BW (GHz) 0.53 N/A N/A 3.4 Energy consumption (pJ/b) 58a 1.66 N/Ac 7.2 (sim.) Chip area (mm2 ) 4 4.5 4.5 0.75 a Energy consumption of the IR-UWB TX only. b Single decayed sine-wave output, the total output power is lower than the proposed TX. c With only the PG energy consumption of 9.2 pJ/b reported. REFERENCES [1] M. Pelissier et al., “A 112 Mb/s full duplex remotely-powered impulse- UWB RFID transceiver for wireless NV-memory applications,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 46, no. 4, pp. 916–927, Apr 2011. [2] S. Radiom et al., “Far-field on-chip antennas monolithically integrated in a wireless-powered 5.8 GHz downlink/UWB uplink RFID tag in 0.18- µm standard CMOS,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 45, no. 9, pp. 1746–1758, Sep 2010. [3] M. Baghaei-Nejad et al., “A remote-powered RFID tag with 10Mb/s UWB uplink and –18.5dBm sensitivity UHF downlink in 0.18µm CMOS,” in IEEE ISSCC Dig. Tech. Papers, Feb 2009, pp. 198–199. [4] Y. Shen, C. L. Law, S. Hu, and J. Xia, “IR-UWB-based chipless RFID system,” Ann. Telecommun., vol. 68, no. 7–8, pp. 375–383, Aug 2013. [5] J. Xia, C. L. Law, Y. Zhou, and K. S. Koh, “3–5 GHz UWB impulse radio transmitter and receiver MMIC optimized for long range precision wireless sensor networks,” IEEE Trans. Microw. Theory Tech., vol. 58, no. 12, pp. 4040–4051, Dec 2010. [6] K. K. Lee, H. A. Hjortland, and T. S. Lande, “IR-UWB technology on next generation RFID systems,” in proc. NORCHIP, Nov 2011, pp. 1–4. [7] S. Sudalaiyandi, H. A. Hjortland, and T. S. Lande, “A continuous-time IR-UWB RAKE receiver for coherent symbol detection,” Analog Integr. Circuits Sig. Process., vol. 77, no. 1, pp. 17–27, Oct 2013. [8] K. K. Lee and T. S. Lande, “Analysis and design of sub-µW bandgap references in nano-meter CMOS,” in Proc. IEEE Int. Midwest Sym. Circuits Syst., Aug 2013, pp. 49–52. [9] K. Yamamoto and M. Fujishima, “A 44-µW 4.3-GHz injection-locked frequency divider with 2.3-GHz locking range,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits., vol. 40, no. 3, pp. 671–677, Mar 2005. [10] J. Yin et al., “A system-on-Chip EPC Gen-2 passive UHF RFID tag with embedded temperature sensor,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 45, no. 11, pp. 2404–2420, Nov 2010. 72 A.7 Paper-VII K. K. Lee and T. S. Lande, “A 2.8–7.5 pJ/pulse highly-flexible impulse-radio ultra-wideband pulse-generator,” preparing for publication. 73 A 2.8–7.5 pJ/Pulse Highly-Flexible Impulse-Radio Ultra-Wideband Pulse-Generator Kin Keung Lee and Tor Sverre Lande Department of Informatics, University of Oslo, N-0316 Oslo, Norway E-mail: kklee@ifi.uio.no Abstract—A low-power on-off-keying impulse-radio (IR) ultra-wideband (UWB) pulse generator (PG) intended for wireless-powered IR-UWB radio applications is presented. The proposed PG has high flexibility, the center frequency, output power and pulse-width (PW) are controllable depending on channel conditions and data rates. Qualitative frequency-domain and transient analyses are presented. A new figure-of-merit (FoM) is proposed such that a more precise comparison between different PGs can be made. The PG is successfully implemented in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process, measurements show the energy consumption and FoM to be 2.8–7.5 pJ/pulse and 1.6–2.6% respectively. The output swing and PW are 277–329 mVp-p and 509–1088 ps respectively. The core area is 0.092 mm2. Index Terms—Impulse-radio (IR), ultra-wideband (UWB), CMOS, pulse generator, low-power, wireless-powered I. INTRODUCTION Since the Federal Communication Commission (FCC) re- leased a large spectral mask (i.e. 3.1–10.6 GHz) for unlicensed uses, ultra-wideband (UWB) technology has been an active research field. The wide spectral mask not only enables higher date rate, but also precise localization ability and constructing energy-efficient transmitters (TX) by using impulse-radio (IR) technology. Implementations of high-performance wireless- powered IR-UWB TXs become possible even in standard CMOS processes. Pulse generator (PG) is usually the most energy-demanding component in such wireless systems. Large energy dissipation will reduce the TX sensitivity and increase the difficulty of power management circuits design. In most wireless-powered IR-UWB TXs [1]–[3], the PG energy dissi- pation is less than 10 pJ/pulse. In addition, the PG efficiency is also important to provide reasonable emitted energy and, hence, good communication distance. The basic idea of most published IR-UWB PGs is to use a high-frequency waveform generator (HFWG), which can be an oscillator, phase-locked loop or delay-line (DL) etc., and shape the output signal to generate the desired envelope by mainly three approaches: filtering [4], spectrum mixing [5], [6] or multi-pulse combination (MPC) [7], [8]. For the filtering approach, the HFWG output signal is coupled to and filtered by a pulse shaping filter so that the resultant signal can meet the spectrum regulations. In additional to the circuit simplicity, another advantage is that the output parasitic capacitance, which is usually the dominating one inside the PG, can be used as part of the filter and tuned-out by inductors inside the filter. In other words, the capacitive and switching losses could be reduced. However, the filtered energy may be wasted and on-chip spiral inductors are area-demanding. The spectrum mixing approach consists of a local oscillator (LO) and a mixer like conventional narrowband TXs, the high-frequency LO output is then mixed with the envelope shape. The power consumption and area are relatively large because more components are needed compared to the other two approaches. Moreover, the leakage from LO to the antenna could be problematic. However, a definite advantage is the ability to generate high-quality bi-phase shift key (BPSK) IR- UWB signals. The mixing function could also be performed by switching the oscillator on and off (will be referred to as switching oscillator, SO, approach) [9]. This eliminates the mixer and LO leakage, but reduces control of emitted pulse shape. The SO approach is reported to be energy efficient because of its simplicity. Nevertheless the low antenna resistance loads the tank and reduces its quality factor (QF), large bias current is needed to start-up the oscillation and obtain a large output swing [9]. This makes the SO approach less suitable for wireless-powered IR-UWB radios. MPC IR-UWB PGs usually utilize DLs as the HFWG. Based on the propagation delay (PD) of the DL and output drivers with different strength, Gaussian-approximate wave- forms can be obtained. The MPC approach is shown to be very energy-efficient (5.2 pJ/pulse has been reported in [7]) and small-size because it contains mainly digital gates. Nev- ertheless most of the MPC IR-UWB PGs operate at the low UWB band, this is because the capacitive and switching losses due to the output parasitic capacitance increase with frequency. Also, it is not easy to control the envelope accurately due to process variations, filtering and/or calibration may be required. A low-power DL-based MPC on-off-keying (OOK) IR- UWB PG is presented in this paper. It uses an on-chip spiral inductor to tune out the output parasitic capacitance, the driving requirement and, hence, the transistor size of the output drivers are reduced. In other words, the capacitive and switching losses are also reduced which makes the proposed PG energy-efficient. Moreover, the center frequency (fC ), output power and pulse-width (PW) are adjustable depending on channel conditions and data rates. A similar structure has been adopted in [1], however limited analysis and results have been presented. The proposed PG is realized in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process and shows good measurement results. 74 VT,1st VT,2nd IINJ IINJ VT =VT ,1st+VT ,2nd LTCT RANT (50Ω) VT 1/fSW AI Fig. 1. (a) Proposed system of the PG and (b) its timing waveforms. IINJ Square wave Rectangular function ... N-Cycle 1/fSW ... N/fSW = × Fig. 2. Timining waveforms related to IINJ . 0 5 10 -90 -80 -70 -60 -50 -40 P S D (d B m /M H z) Frequency (GHz) Q =2,N=5 Q =5,N=5 T T FCC part 15 mask 0 5 10 -90 -80 -70 -60 -50 -40 P S D (d B m /M H z) Frequency (GHz) Q =2,N=2 Q =5,N=2 T T FCC part 15 mask (a) (b) Fig. 3. System-level simulated PSD with different QT . (a) N=2 and (b) N=5. II. IR-UWB SIGNAL GENERATION The basic idea of the proposed PG is to inject energy into an RLC tank which consists of the antenna resistance (RANT ) periodically as shown in Fig. 1a. The tank resonant frequency (fo) and quality factor (QT ) are given as: fo = 1 2π √ LT CT (1) QT = RANT ωoLT = ωoCT RANT (2) Assume N energy pulses with 50% duty-cycle are injected to the tank by turning on and off the switch periodically with a frequency of fSW , every single injected energy pulse circulates back and forth inside the tank with fo. Due to the RANT , the i-th resonanting pulse decays as: VR,i-th = VP exp ( − fo QT t ) sin (2πfot) (3) The signal dies out in approximately QT cycle. If fSW and fo are the same, the resonanting pulses will be in-phase and added together. As a result, a higher-energy and longer-PW IR-UWB signal can be obtained. An example with QT =2 and N=2 is shown in Fig. 1b. It is difficult to determine the output signal amplitude be- cause of the system nonlinearities. Nevertheless it is important to estimate the system frequency response so that the FCC part 15 mask requirements can be met. A qualitative frequency domain analysis is performed. The waveform of the injected current (IINJ ) can be modeled as a square wave with a frequency of fSW multiplying with a rectangular function with a width of N fSW as shown in Fig. 2. As a result, the resultant frequency spectrum can be expressed as IINJ (f) = Square wave︷ ︸︸ ︷ 4AI π ∞∑ k=1 δ(2π(2k − 1)fSW ) 2k − 1 ∗ Rectangular function︷ ︸︸ ︷ N fSW sinc ( Nf fSW ) (4) where AI is the amplitude of the injected current. Because the higher-order components of the square wave (the first term) are always out of the UWB band (for example, if fSW = 4 GHz, the higher-order components will be ≥ 12 GHz), only the fundamental component is considered and IINJ becomes IINJ (f) = 4N ·AI πfSW [ δ(2πfSW ) ∗ sinc ( Nf fSW )] (5) Its bandwidth (BW) is determined by the sinc function and the –10-dB BW (BW−10dB) of I2INJ is found to be ≈ fSW N . IINJ is then filtered by the RLC tank. One important parameter is QT , large QT provides narrower BW and reduces the sideband energy of IINJ . Nevertheless the in-band energy may also be filtered-out and the energy efficiency is reduced. Also QT has to be much smaller than the inductor QF (QL) so as to prevent insertion losses (IL) which is given as IL = 1 1 + QT QL (6) The QF of on-chip spiral inductors is normally around 10–20. Because the energy efficiency is of the most important in this work and the low-frequency (LF) sideband can be filtered-out by adding high-pass filter (HPF) or/and exploring the antenna bandpass property, small QT is preferred to minimize the IL. Notice that the data rate and localization ability also improve with increased BW (small QT ) [1]. A rule of thumb is to set BW−10dB of I2INJ to be smaller than or equal to the –3-dB BW of the RLC tank such that the tank provides only insignificant attenuation. In other words, fSW N ≤ fo QT ⇒ N ≥ QT (7) An example is shown in Fig. 3, which shows system-level simulation results with fo=fSW =5 GHz and different combi- nations of QT and N. The peak power spectral densities (PSD) are normalized to –41.3 dBm/MHz for better comparisons. In Fig. 3a, N is set to 2. Increasing QT from 2 to 5 can reduce the LF sideband energy for 7.5 dB, but reduce BW−10dB for 32% (from 3.1 GHz to 2.1 GHz). If N is increased to 5 as shown in Fig. 3b, increasing QT from 2 to 5 only reduces BW−10dB for 14% (from 1.4 GHz to 1.2 GHz). Notice that increasing N can provide higher attenuation to the sideband energy because of the narrower BW of the sinc function, the trade-off is that the BW of the mainlobe is also reduced. 75 IN VCTRL DIN VCTRL DOUT PG unit cell 1 VPG A LOC RANT VANT CCCL (a) DIN VCTRL DOUT PG unit cell 2 VPG DIN VCTRL DOUT VPG IN A VPG1 B VPG2 C VPG3 1/fSW VANT = VPG1+VPG2+ VPG3+VPG4 1/fo= PG unit cell 3 B C DIN VCTRL DOUT VPG PG unit cell 4 D EN EN EN EN D VPG4 PW_EXT CT LF_EN (c) M1 VCTRL DOUT VPG DI VC DO DIN PG unit cell 1/2fSW A (b) DI VC DO EN Starved Inverter Starved Inverter VC DI DO Fig. 4. (a) The proposed PG, (b) the PG unit cell and (c) the PG operation. 0 5 10 -90 -80 -70 -60 -50 -40 P S D (d B m /M H z) Frequency (GHz) f =5GHzSW f =5.5GHzSW f =4.5GHzSW FCC part 15 mask Fig. 5. Power spectra with different mismatches between fo and fSW (fo=5 GHz). III. PROPOSED IR-UWB PG The schematic of the proposed IR-UWB PG is shown in Fig. 4a. LF EN=‘0’ and PW EXT=‘1’ are assumed at this moment, the setting will be explained later. Instead of using a single switch driven by an oscillator as shown in Fig. 1a, several switches are cascaded and turned on and off in sequence with a frequency of approximately fSW by using a DL. Energy is then injected to an RLC tank consisting of RANT , an on-chip inductor LOC , a tuning capacitor (CT ) and loading and parasitic capacitors (CL), with a small QT of two because of the energy efficiency consideration. The DL approach is adopted because DLs are usually simpler and more energy-efficient than oscillators. The PG is constructed by cascading four unit cells. The schematic of unit cell is shown in Fig. 4b. The PD (with a length of approximately 1 2fSW ) of a starved inverter is used to generate an impulse with a width of approximately 1 2fSW at node A and M1 is turned on. This pulls down the output voltage and injects energy into the tank. Due to the RANT , the signal decays as indicated from (3). If fSW is approximately equal to fo by setting the control voltage of the starved inverter (VC ), the output signals from all unit cells are in phase and added together. As a result, a higher-energy and longer- PW UWB pulse can be generated. The idea is depicted in Fig. 4c. Note that the waveforms VP Gi (VP G1–VP G4, which are highlighted in grey color) represent the output signals contributed by the i-th unit cell, they are shown for illustration purposes and do not exist actually in the system. One drawback of DL-based MPC PG is that fC and BW are sensitive to the PD variation of the DL. The proposed PG Fig. 6. A Chip microphotograph. is relatively less sensitive to this variation because the tank bandpass property concentrates the output energy at fo. Fig. 5 shows the system-level simulated power spectra with ±5% mismatches between fSW and fo. Around ±3% variation on fC and ±4% variation on BW−10dB are observed. Larger QT can make the PG less sensitive to the PD variation, with trade- offs as aforementioned. The output parasitic capacitance which is usually domi- nating inside the system is tuned out by LOC , the driving requirement and, hence, the transistors size of the output driver are reduced. In other words, the capacitive and switching losses are also reduced which makes the designed PG energy- efficient. LOC connects the PG output to the positive supply rail at DC which provides electrostatic discharge protection. Another advantage of the proposed PG is its high flexibility. The PW is scalable by adding more unit cells. If more unit cells are cascaded in series, smaller BW and higher-energy outputs can be generated. In addition, the output energy, fC and BW−10dB (hence also PW) can be adjusted depending on channel conditions. If the radios nearby are using similar operating frequency, fC can be reduced by decreasing VCT RL and setting LF EN to ‘1’ to connect CT . More frequency steps can be obtained by replacing CT with a switched- capacitor array. If the interference from other radios becomes less significant, some unit cells can be disabled by setting their EN input to ‘0’. The energy consumption can then be reduced. In the designed PG, either two or four unit cells are enabled by switching PW EXT. IV. EXPERIMENTAL RESULTS A proof-of-concept prototype is implemented in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. A chip microphotograph is shown in Fig. 6. The core area excluding pads is 0.092 mm2. The 76 0 0.5 1 1.5 -200 -150 -100 -50 0 50 100 150 Time (ns) V A NT (m V) 282mV 1088ps Setting 2 0 0.5 1 1.5 -200 -150 -100 -50 0 50 100 150 Time (ns) V A NT (m V) 329mV 834ps 0 0.5 1 1.5 -200 -150 -100 -50 0 50 100 150 Time (ns) V A NT (m V) 264mV 655ps 0 0.5 1 1.5 -200 -150 -100 -50 0 50 100 150 Time (ns) V A NT (m V) 277mV 509ps Setting 1 Setting 3 Setting 4 Fig. 7. Timining waveforms of the PG output. CLRWR Ref -30 dBm Att 0 dB* *1 RM 1.1 GHz/Start 0 Hz Stop 11 GHz * * RBW 1 MHz VBW 3 MHz SWT 65 ms -90 -85 -80 -75 -70 -65 -60 -55 -50 -45 -40 -35 -30 1 Marker 1 [T1 ] -44.68 dBm 5.693910256 GHz 2 Marker 2 [T1 ] -54.91 dBm 4.669871795 GHz 3 Marker 3 [T1 ] -55.20 dBm 6.698717949 GHz CLRWR Ref -30 dBm Att 0 dB* *RBW 1 MHz SWT 65 ms Center 5.5 GHz Span 11 GHz1.1 GHz/ * *1 RM VBW 3 MHz -90 -85 -80 -75 -70 -65 -60 -55 -50 -45 -40 -35 -30 1 Marker 1 [T1 ] -42.96 dBm 4.177884615 GHz 2 Marker 2 [T1 ] 3.314102564 GHz 3 Marker 3 [T1 ] -54.11 dBm 4.812500000 GHz -53.16 dBm CLRWR Ref -30 dBm Att 0 dB* *RBW 1 MHz SWT 65 ms Center 5.5 GHz Span 11 GHz1.1 GHz/ * *1 RM VBW 3 MHz -90 -85 -80 -75 -70 -65 -60 -55 -50 -45 -40 -35 -30 1 Marker 1 [T1 ] -49.14 dBm 5.693910256 GHz 2 Marker 2 [T1 ] -59.36 dBm 3.701923077 GHz 3 Marker 3 [T1 ] -58.90 dBm 7.121794872 GHz C 1 CLRWR Ref -30 dBm Att 0 dB* *RBW 1 MHz SWT 65 ms Center 5.5 GHz Span 11 GHz1.1 GHz/ * *1 RM VBW 3 MHz -90 -85 -80 -75 -70 -65 -60 -55 -50 -45 -40 -35 -30 1 Marker 1 [T1 ] -48.45 dBm 4.177884615 GHz 2 Marker 2 [T1 ] -58.29 dBm 2.679487179 GHz 3 Marker 3 [T1 ] -58.50 dBm 5.288461538 GHz FCC MASK FCC MASK FCC MASK FCC MASK Setting 2Setting 1 Setting 4Setting 3 Fig. 8. Power spectra of the PG output. supply voltage is 1.2 V. The PG output is probed on-chip and connected to a 50 Ω load. Four different settings are tested: 1) LF EN=‘0’ and PW EXT=‘1’: All unit cells are enabled (N=4) with high fC . 2) LF EN=‘1’ and PW EXT=‘1’: All unit cells are enabled (N=4) with low fC . 3) LF EN=‘0’ and PW EXT=‘0’: Two unit cells are en- abled (N=2) with high fC . 4) LF EN=‘1’ and PW EXT=‘0’: Two unit cells are en- abled (N=2) with low fC . VCT RL is changed accordingly when LF EN=‘1’. The re- sultant timing waveforms and power spectra with 80 MHz pulse repetition rate (PRF) are shown in Fig. 7 and Fig. 8 respectively. fC can be adjusted from 4 GHz to 5.6 GHz, a larger peak energy and a narrower BW can be achieved by adding more unit cells (i.e. larger N). The LF components (<900 MHz) are due to the ringing caused by the bondwires of the voltage supplies, these components can be removed by adding decoupling capacitors. The proposed PG achieves a LF sidelobe (<2 GHz) energy reduction of 15–20 dB. Some LF sidelobes violate the FCC part 15 mask at such high PRF, we assume they will be removed by adding HPF or simply exploring the antenna bandpass property. The PG performance is summarized and compared with other published state-of-the-art IR-UWB PGs in Table I. The PG energy efficiency is commonly used to compare different PG performance [9], [10] and given as: η = V 2P -P 8RL PW EC (8) where VP -P is the peak-to-peak voltage, RL is the load resistance and EC is the energy consumption per pulse. Nevertheless it is difficult to define the PW precisely because of the ringing caused by the bondwires. Also, eq. (8) assumes the PG output is a sinewave burst and ignores the pulse shape. To improve this, a new figure-of-merit (FoM) is proposed and given as FoM = V 2P -P 8RL · 1 BW−10dB EC (9) Modern spectrum analyzers can measure signal BWs precisely and BW−10dB can partly represents the pulse shape, hence a 77 TABLE I A SUMMARY OF THE PROPOSED IR-UWB PG AND A COMPARISON WITH OTHER PUBLISHED IR-UWB PGS [9] [10] [7] [4] [3] [8] [5] This work Setting 1 2 3 4 Technology 180 nm CMOS 2 µm HBT 90 nm CMOS 180 nm CMOS 180 nm CMOS 180 nm CMOS 130 nm CMOS 90 nm CMOS Modulation OOK OOK OOK OOK OOK OOK BPSK OOK EC (pJ/pulse) 118 790 5.2 28 9.2 20 51.5 5.2 7.5 2.8 4 VP-P (V) 4.9a 6.2 0.41 0.67 0.22 0.26 0.19 0.33 0.28 0.28 0.26 PW (ns) 1 ≈1b 0.96 0.5 0.7 1 0.5 0.83 1.1 0.51 0.66 BW‒10-dB (GHz) 2 1.8 1.9 4 ≈3.2b 2 ≈3.8b 2 1.5 3.4 2.6 fC (GHz) 4.3 4.1 4 8 ≈3.9b 4 ≈8.3b 5.6 4.1 5.4 4 η (%) 25.4 10.4 7.9 2 1 0.1 0.01 4.3 2.9 3.5 2.9 FoM (%) 12.7 6.8 4.3 1 0.4 0.4 0.05 2.6 1.7 2.1 1.6 Area (mm2) 0.19 1 0.0015 0.11 N/A 0.08 N/A 0.09 a ferential output with a 100 Ω load. b Estimated from the figures. a Dif PERFORMANCE more precise comparison can be made. The proposed PG is one of the few candidates that can achieve EC of smaller than 10 pJ/pulse. Competitive FoM and η are measured, FoM ranges from 1.6% to 2.6% and η ranges from 2.9% to 4.3%. In [7], a DL-based MPC PG with EC =5.2 pJ/pulse and FoM=4.3% has been reported. Neverthe- less it is relatively more sensitive to the PD variation of the DL as aforementioned. A BPSK PG using spectrum mixing approach has been reported in [5]. The BPSK modulations may improve the system performance, however, a very low FoM of 0.05% has been reported because the PG structure is similiar to conventional narrowband TXs. In [9], a SO topology with a very high FoM of 12.7% has been demonstrated. However, the measured EC is 118 pJ/pulse, we assume the large EC is due to the fact that large current (peak current of 70 mA) is needed to start-up the low-QF LC oscillator and maximize the output swing (and hence η). In [10], an impulse-forming approach has been proposed and a FoM of 6.8% has been reported. The idea is similar to distributing amplifier, an impulse is inputted to an off-chip tapped DL network which consists of transmission lines and bondwire inductors. The impulse and its replicas are then delayed, scaled and combined at the PG output. The large FoM is because of the usage of HBT transistors which provides higher power capacity and high speed. However, this PG is not suitable for wireless-powered IR-UWB radios because of its large EC of 790 pJ/pulse and large area due to the pad and bondwire inductors. Also, the HBT process fabrication is more expensive compared to the CMOS counterparts. V. CONCLUSION A low-power energy-efficient OOK IR-UWB PG intended for wireless-powered IR-UWB radio applications has been presented. The output power, fC and PW are controllable depending on channel conditions and data rates. Qualitative frequency-domain and transient analyses have been presented and matched with the measurement results. A new FoM has been proposed to compare different PGs in a more precise way. A proof-of-concept prototype has been successfully implemented in a TSMC 90 nm CMOS process. The core area is 0.092 mm2. Measurements show the energy consumption and FoM to be 2.8–7.5 pJ/pulse and 1.6–2.6% respectively, which is competitive to most published IR-UWB PGs and proves the proposed PG suitable for wireless-powered radios. The output swing is 277–329 mVp-p. PW and fC ranges 509–1088 ps and 4–5.6 GHz respectively, which provides free- doms to optimize the system performance. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The authors would like to thank K. G. Kjelgård, O. S. Kyrvestad, Prof. P. D. Häfliger and Novelda AS for technical discussion and support. This work was supported in part by the Norwegian Research Council through the Norwegian Ph.D. Network on Nanotechnology for Microsystems (contract no: 190086/S10). REFERENCES [1] K. K. Lee and T. S. Lande, “A wireless-powered IR-UWB transmitter for long-range passive RFID tags in 90 nm CMOS,” IEEE Trans. Circuits Syst. II: Exp. Briefs, in press, DOI: 10.1109/TCSII.2014.2350292. [2] S. Radiom et al., “Far-field on-chip antennas monolithically integrated in a wireless-powered 5.8 GHz downlink/UWB uplink RFID tag in 0.18- µm standard CMOS,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 45, no. 9, pp. 1746–1758, Sep 2010. [3] M. Baghaei-Nejad et al., “A remote-powered RFID tag with 10Mb/s UWB uplink and –18.5dBm sensitivity UHF downlink in 0.18µm CMOS,” in IEEE ISSCC Dig. Tech. Papers, Feb 2009, pp. 198–199. [4] S. Sim, D.-W. Kim, and S. Hong, “A CMOS UWB pulse generator for 6–10 GHz applications,” IEEE Microw. Wireless Compon. Lett., vol. 19, no. 2, pp. 83–85, Feb 2009. [5] L. Zhou et al., “A 2-Gb/s 130-nm CMOS RF-correlation-based IR-UWB transceiver front-end,” IEEE Trans. Microw. Theory Tech., vol. 59, no. 4, pp. 1117–1130, Jan 2011. [6] J. Ryckaert et al., “A 0.65-to-1.4nJ/burst 3-to-10 GHz UWB all-digital TX in 90nm CMOS for IEEE 802.15.4a,” IEEE J. Solid-State Circuits, vol. 42, no. 12, pp. 2860–2869, Dec 2007. [7] K. K. Lee, M. Z. Dooghabadi, H. A. Hjortland, Ø. Næss, and T. S. Lande, “A 5.2 pJ/pulse impulse radio pulse generator in 90 nm CMOS,” in Proc. IEEE Int. Symp. on Circuits Syst., May 2011, pp. 1299–1302. [8] M. J. Zhao, B. Li, and Z. H. Wu, “20-pJ/pulse 250 Mbps low-complexity CMOS UWB transmitter for 3–5 GHz applications,” IEEE Microw. Wireless Compon. Lett., vol. 23, no. 3, pp. 158–160, Mar 2013. [9] S. X. Diao, Y. J. Zheng, and C. H. Heng, “A CMOS ultra low-power and highly efficient UWB-IR transmitter for WPAN applications,” IEEE Trans. Circuits Syst. II, Exp. Briefs, vol. 56, no. 3, pp. 200–204, Mar 2009. [10] J. Xia, C. L. Law, Y. Zhou, and K. S. Koh, “3–5 GHz UWB impulse radio transmitter and receiver MMIC optimized for long range precision wireless sensor networks,” IEEE Trans. Microw. Theory Tech., vol. 58, no. 12, pp. 4040–4051, Dec 2010. 78 
work_qt2ioduj2bax3f3zoajjzer76e	----	Draft WIP: adg: Social Responsibility Journal: November2008 Electronic copy available at: http://ssrn.com/abstract=1502082 Governing the Socially Responsible Corporation A Gandhian Perspective Bala N Balasubramanian Abstract There is increasing evidence of migration towards an integrated model of governance which is sensitive to the needs of the society even as it emphasizes the imperatives of shareholder wealth creation, its accounting and reporting, and equitable distribution. While much of this transformation is usually credited to initiatives from the developed markets of the west, there is in fact a large measure of such wisdom and counsel available in the Indian tradition, and Gandhi has been among its foremost exponents and interlocutors in modern times. Gandhian concepts of trusteeship, truth, non-violence, and satyagraha or truth-force are in perfect sync with, but go much farther than, the modern expectations of corporate stewardship that stands for caring for other peoples’ money and resources entrusted to the care of corporate directors and executive management, transparency and accountability, eschewing physical and emotional violence at the work place as well as against natural and environmental resources, and for upright and conscientious behavior on the part of directors in doing what they are convinced to be in the best interest of all shareholders and other stakeholders. If corporations would seriously consider adapting and living up to these principles in their governance structures and systems, there would indeed be little need for punitive regulation on the part of the State. © 2009 N Balasubramanian Electronic copy available at: http://ssrn.com/abstract=1502082 Page 2 of 26 Governing the Socially Responsible Corporation A Gandhian Perspective ___________________________________________________________ Bala N Balasubramanian* There is increasing evidence of migration towards an integrated model of governance which is sensitive to the needs of the society even as it emphasizes the imperatives of shareholder wealth creation, its accounting and reporting, and equitable distribution. While much of this transformation is usually credited to initiatives from the developed markets of the west, there is in fact a large measure of such wisdom and counsel available in the Indian tradition, and Gandhi has been among its foremost exponents and interlocutors in modern times. Gandhian concepts of trusteeship, truth, non-violence, and satyagraha or truth-force are in perfect sync with, but go much farther than, the modern expectations of corporate stewardship that stands for caring for other peoples’ money and resources entrusted to the care of corporate directors and executive management, transparency and accountability, eschewing physical and emotional violence at the work place as well as against natural and environmental resources, and for upright and conscientious behavior on the part of directors in doing what they are convinced to be in the best interest of all shareholders and other stakeholders. If corporations would seriously consider adapting and living up to these principles in their governance structures and systems, there would indeed be little need for punitive regulation on the part of the State. This paper is organized as follows: Section I reviews the changing scene relating to corporate stewardship around the world; Section II summarises some of the key Gandhian concepts relating to responsibility; and Section III explores the concordance and imperatives of these principles to corporate governance of socially responsible businesses to achieve their goals and realize their potential truly in the service of the societies they seek to serve. _____________________________________________________________ * Visiting Professor, Indian Institute of Management Bangalore and Chair of its Centre for Corporate Governance and Citizenship. The author thanks Professors Chiranjib Sen and Jose PD, for their helpful discussions and valuable comments on earlier drafts of this paper. Page 3 of 26 I Foundations of Corporate Stewardship Who owns the corporation? The obvious commonplace response to this question would simply be the shareholders. To get a clearer picture, however, one would have to explore the underlying basis of ownership that involves the notion of property, which itself in a traditional sense covered real or tangible property derived essentially from land and rights flowing therefrom, personal or portable by the person who had rights of control over its possession, usage and exploitation, and intangibles where a claim against others for any infringement would be sustainable (Berle and Means, 1932). The corporate format of business introduces an intermediary between property of all these three kinds and the investor who puts in his risk capital, and this is the corporation itself, an entity created by a sleight of legal fiction, endowed with an identity of its own albeit through the medium of human interaction, with perpetual existence, that can sue or be sued, and exercise control, both in fact and in law, over ownership of its assets and responsible for its liabilities. Shareholders in such entities ‘own’ a derivative instrument labeled a ‘share’ in the capital of the corporation which entitles them to vote on certain major decisions and more importantly, represents a kind of property which can be owned, sold or otherwise disposed of as the owner desires; but under no circumstances does the share entitle a shareholder or shareowner to claim as his own property a proportionate slice of the assets of the company which strictly remain its property. The only persons who, acting on behalf of the company, can exercise its ownership rights are the board of directors and under their authorization, the executive management of the company. The directors, on whom this authority and responsibility have been conferred by members of the corporation, either through the initial charter documents or by periodical resolutions, are thus in the position of fiduciaries or trustees for the beneficiaries on whose behalf and in whose interest they are charged with the responsibility of carrying on, to the best of their ability and in good faith, the operations of the company on a sustainable ongoing basis. There has been a raging debate as to whether the board and the directors are only accountable exclusively to the shareholders or to a broader set of other stakeholders as well. Since Bowen (1953) raised the question, “What responsibilities to society can business people be reasonably expected to assume?” and illustrative of the general response, Nobel laureate Milton Friedman (1962, p. 133) had averred that the “… one and only … responsibility of business *was] to use its resources and engage in activities designed to increase its profits, so long as it stays within the rules of the game, which is to say, engages in open and free competition without deception or fraud.” there has been, in recent decades, Page 4 of 26 considerable mellowing down in the corporate approach to stakeholder recognition. In a perceptive observation, an OECD Advisory Group chaired by Millstein (1998, p. 67) had captured the essence of the emerging balanced thinking in the following words: “Companies do not act independently from the societies in which they operate. Accordingly, corporate actions must be compatible with societal objectives concerning social cohesion, individual welfare and equal opportunities for all. Attending to legitimate social concerns should, in the long run, benefit all parties, including investors. At times, however, there may be trade-offs between short-term social costs and the long-term benefits to society of having a healthy, competitive private sector. Societal needs that transcend the responsive ability of the private sector should be met by specific public policy measures, rather than by impeding improvements in corporate governance and capital allocation.” In similar strain a Committee, chaired by Hampel (1998, i.16, 1.18) in the UK had commented: “A company must develop relationships relevant to its success. These will depend on the nature of the company's business; but they will include those with employees, customers, suppliers, credit providers, local communities and governments. It is management's responsibility to develop policies which address these matters; in doing so they must have regard to the overriding objective of preserving and enhancing the shareholders' investment over time. … “As regards stakeholders, different types of companies will have different relationships, and directors can meet their legal duties to shareholders, and can pursue the objective of long-term shareholder value successfully, only by developing and sustaining these stakeholder relationships. We believe that shareholders recognize that it is in their best interests for companies to do this and-increasingly-to have regard to broader public acceptability of their conduct.” The Business Roundtable, the US association of chief executive officers of leading corporations (reportedly with a combined workforce of 10 million employees in the US alone, and aggregating some $3.5 trillion in revenues) is a little more cautious in its position. In its 2005 document pp. 31, 33, 34), the BRT commented that while "Corporations are often said to have obligations to stockholders and to other constituencies, including employees, the communities in which they do business, and government, but these obligations are best viewed as part of the paramount duty to optimize long-term shareholder value", they had “obligations to be good citizens of the local, national and international communities in which they do business,” And again, Page 5 of 26 “*A] corporation should be a good citizen and contribute to the communities in which it operates, by making charitable contributions and by encouraging its directors, managers, and employees to form relationships with those communities. A corporation [should] also be active in promoting awareness of health, safety and environmental issues, including any issues that relate to the specific types of business in which the corporation is engaged." The Business Round Table thus viewed responsibility to stakeholders as a business imperative in the process of creating value for shareholders. The Berlin Thesis on Corporate Governance 1 is more prescriptive. Article 8 of this document postulates, "[T]he company management must sensibly balance out the interests of the various stakeholders of the company," and added: "Among those with an interest in the public corporation are principally the owners (stockholders) but also the employees, the customers, the loan creditors and suppliers as well as the public at large. Within the scope of these reference groups, particular significance must be attached to the stockholders as providers of risk capital. The prominent position of the stockholders certainly does not mean an ill-balanced commitment by the company's management to a strict, short-term maximization of the shareholder value, as measured against the quoted price. On the contrary, the company management must sensibly balance out the aims of the various reference groups for reasons of economics, because ultimately all stakeholders in each case make their contributions to the success of the company". Reflecting this growing appreciation of societal expectations of corporations, the OECD Principles of Corporate Governance (2004, IV, p. 21) postulate: “The corporate governance framework should recognise the rights of stakeholders established by law or through mutual agreements and encourage active co-operation between corporations and stakeholders in creating wealth, jobs, and the sustainability of financially sound enterprises.” Indian thought had of course long before reconciled the imperatives of societal contentedness and satisfaction with the stability and prosperity of the kingdom. Illustratively, Kautilya, the eighth century B.C. political strategist, had counseled his emperor Vikramaditya, “In the happiness of his subjects lies his *king’s+ happiness; in their welfare, his welfare” (Rangarajan, 1992). Gandhi, Father of the Indian nation and its political independence from British rule in mid-twentieth century, propagated both by precept and practice a set of citizenship ideals (to which we return in the next section) which can be applied to corporate as much as to individual behavior. The Indian position on corporate responsibility towards stakeholders also fully supports the perceived needs to balance shareholder and stakeholder interests. The SEBI guidelines 2 expressly provide for stakeholder interests to be addressed even while Page 6 of 26 pursuing a company's principal objective of maximizing shareholder wealth on a long term basis. This dispensation not only provides an opportunity to, but perhaps also casts an obligation upon, the Board and its members to address issues bearing upon societal expectations. Could all these approaches herald the beginning of an integrated corporate governance model that seeks to straddle the competing claims of shareholder primacy and stakeholder stridency? Certainly, it would appear to be the most balanced approach to corporate governance in recent decades. There is indeed striking evidence that successful corporations have almost always practised these precepts without perhaps labeling them with such clarity. General Electric, consistently a world leader in terms of market capitalization and corporate performance, is an impressive case in point. Monks and Minow (1996, p.50) quote its long-time CEO Ralph Cordiner calling its top management a trustee responsible for managing the enterprise “in the best balanced interest of shareholders, customers, employees, suppliers, and plant community cities”. Decades later, topping the Fortune 500 listings again in 2007 both within the US and worldwide, GE’s Citizenship Report (2007, p.7) quoted its chairman Jeff Immelt, with regard to its approach to stakeholder engagement: “As we expand in developed and emerging markets, we will be continually challenged to ensure that we invest in a sustainable and intelligent way that leverages our financial, technical and intellectual resources to the benefit of our investors, employees and communities. “To some, this may seem incongruous for a public company like GE whose primary mission is to make money and deliver value to investors. We don’t agree. … Our early experience with ecomagination has shown us that we can develop products to address these [environmental and other] challenges and make money in doing so. “Our corporate citizenship must be aligned with our business goals in order to drive future growth and better understand and mitigate these [environmental] risks. This alignment also helps us deliver on our promises while answering the needs of society.” The number of companies worldwide publishing Sustainability (or other equivalent) Reports bearing up on their impact and initiatives with regard to societal and environmental issues (besides the purely financial performance reporting) has grown substantially in recent years, providing further evidence of recognition of the relevance and imperatives of corporate responsibility to the society in which they operate. In India, illustratively, the Value Statement of the Tata Group (which has been ranked number one in the 2008 BT Sustainable Development Index for India) sets out its purpose as improving “the quality of life of the communities we serve. We do this through leadership in sectors of national economic significance to which the Group brings a unique set of capabilities. … “ 3 The five-year vision of Wipro Corporation (1999), again among the top in terms of market capitalisation, puts “its people first”, and had a Page 7 of 26 whopping 78% of its employees affirming the company to be the best organisation for them to be in. Its compatriot Infosys Technologies thrives on its objective of making thousands of its employees millionaires through the company’s stock sharing programmes, while retaining a top slot in the capital market and attracting international investors. 4 The tobacco and hospitality major, ITC’s avowed mission is “*T+o enhance the wealth generating capability of the enterprise in a globalizing environment, delivering superior and sustainable value;” its chairman, Y C Deveshwar, speaking at the annual general meeting of the shareholders in 2000, articulated ITC’s belief that “creation of shareholder value provides the only basis for sustainable contribution to the superordinate goal of creating national value.” Speaking to his shareholders in 2007, Deveshwar continued in the same strain, referring to the heartening spectacle of being a “witness to a growing corporate consciousness to ensure that the future generations are more secure,” and assuring them of the company’s “commitment to creating enduring value will continue to inspire us as we strive to achieve even greater success in the future.” 5 Thus, there seems to be a measure of growing appreciation at least among leadership companies around the world that their board’s role was to steer a middle course that while protecting and enhancing shareholders’ wealth would also ensure that the real stakeholders’ aspirations are factored in. In recent times, it has also become abundantly evident that corporations in pursuit of their profits can ill afford to ignore their impact on the other two dimensions of their interface with the environment and the society in which they operate. Having said that though, it should also be recognized that corporations in general have still a long way to go before these concepts could be deemed as generally accepted as a matter of course. Even those that have made some progress in this direction have further to go before they can truly command the trust and respect of the society at large. There are numerous instances of corporate expropriations of the natural resources in the geographies they operate in. 6 Executive compensation and separation packages for top managers continue unabated, 7 even when their corporations were hurtling down towards disaster. 8 India too has a surprisingly large population of highly paid corporate executives relative to the country’s overall wage levels (Hiral Sheth, et al, 2008, pp. 58-98).The number of high profile banks that suffered in the aftermath of the sub-prime mortgage triggered financial meltdown would indeed lead to questions of whether their boards and directors did exercise the necessary levels of care and caution that as trustees of other peoples’ monies they were required to, as other institutions that were more circumspect with regard to what have since been referred to as toxic assets appear to have been spared similar pains Causey, 2008,p. 50). Taken together, all these are symptomatic of a general state of indifference to certain values and morals, many of which Gandhi stressed as the cornerstone of good, responsible human behavior in a civilized society. We now turn to a brief review of some key tenets that Gandhi espoused, principles that go beyond rule-based regulatory prescriptions. Page 8 of 26 II Gandhi and Social Responsibility Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi (1869 – 1948), a legend in his lifetime, was referred to as the Mahatma or the Great Soul. He did indeed richly deserve this sobriquet not only for his achievements in the political sphere (great and unparalleled as they were) but also because of his legacy of ethical thought and societal responsibility. His bust was put up next to the podium in the general Assembly Hall of the United Nations in 2007 as a tribute to the apostle on the Second International Day of Non-violence. It was apparently the first time in the entire history of the United Nations an image of any leader had been displayed in the General Assembly Hall. As an Indian educated in the United Kingdom and politically baptized by fire in South Africa before his monumental Indian independence movement, who took to the path less travelled in terms of personal and political behaviour, do his copious writings, speeches and practices offer any scope for learning to the corporate world? Not surprisingly, most of his philosophical approaches, some of them bordering on the religious, although primarily evolved in the political domain, are indeed adaptable and extendable to the world of profit making corporations around the world. Following is a selection of some key concepts Gandhi advocated and lived by. Trusteeship Gandhi‟s overarching principle concerning wealth and wealth creation was one of trusteeship. A working description of a „trustee‟ is an individual or corporate entity placed in a position of looking after the resources of another for his or her or its benefit. The Oxford English Dictionary (1933, XII, p.433) defines the word as “one to whom property is entrusted to be administered for the benefit of another” and “one who is held responsible for the preservation and administration of anything.” Little has changed since then: in our own times, Webster‟s Dictionary (2007, p153) defines a trustee as “a person to whom another‟s property or the management of another‟s property is entrusted.” Gandhi‟s thoughts on trusteeship are to be found dispersed in his speeches and writings over the years, not codified as a compact theoretical document. but nevertheless their thematic consistency is striking. He had no problems with people and businesses creating wealth and working for profit. In an individual context, wealth may be the result of earning and saving, or inheritance: in either case, Gandhi did not look down upon the wealthy (and in fact counted many among his friends and close associates), so long as the accumulation or accretion was through what he called “pure” means. This approach indeed is in tune with a scriptural edict that lists Artha or material profit as one of the Page 9 of 26 four life objectives of individuals so long as it is earned with due regard to Dharma or the righteous means ordained. Gandhi, accordingly, was rigidly concerned with the means of making money, that they should be fair and ethical, a prescription even Milton Friedman (1962, p. 133) had subscribed to in his oft-quoted statement that the “… one and only … responsibility of business [is] to use its resources and engage in activities designed to increase its profits, so long as it stays within the rules of the game, which is to say, engages in open and free competition without deception or fraud.” (emphasis supplied) Unfortunately though, business in general whether carried on in personal capacity or a corporate format has always attracted unsavoury connotations. Ethical business is considered as an oxymoron, an inherent contradiction in terms. Upadhyaya (1976, p. 72-3), for example, cites from the Oxford English Dictionary (1933, XII, p.433) defining management as “[T]he application of skill [or] care in the manipulation, use, treatment, or control (of things or persons) or in the conduct (of an enterprise, operation, etc.)“ The term, alternatively, is also9 defined as “[T]he use of contrivance, prudence or ingenuity for effecting some purpose; often in unfavourable sense, implying deceit or trickery.” While the so-called professional management in modern times has gained a measure of respectability and rectitude (notwithstanding the periodical misdemeanours of such professional managers and professionally managed corporations), similar credit, as a general rule, is unavailable to the other categories of managerial personnel and management systems, although, as with all generalizations, there will always be notable exceptions in either category. And Gandhi was not alone in conceding and even advocating that wealth could be acquired by honest or pure means: illustratively, John Ruskin (1860, p.190), whose writings greatly influenced Gandhi, relates the story of a Jewish merchant of great fortune centuries before the Christian era through trading on the Gold Coast whose maxims for wealth acquisition, held in great respect, demonstrated that “it is possible for a very practical and acquisitive tradesman to hold through a not unsuccessful career, that principle of distinction between well-gotten and ill-gotten wealth.” In our own times we have been witness to commercially successful individuals and corporations with a reputation for clean trading and business practices. Page 10 of 26 Having legitimately made (or inherited) the money, Gandhi felt that beyond what was required for maintaining oneself and one‟s immediate family in line with their societal norms, the rest should be considered held in trust for society. How should these societal norms be determined? Gandhi‟s prescription was quite severe and in some ways rather idealistic. Adherence to his standards was not entirely feasible and he was aware of it but nevertheless postulated his expectations as a kind of normative standard to be striven for. He asked the rich class to reduce its needs to a basic minimum consistent with what the average citizen of the country could afford. He argued against overly conspicuous consumption and expenditure on wedding feasts and celebrations on grounds of their being immoral in the context of a large part of the country‟s population suffering from starvation and malnutrition. He asked the landlords and princes to work and earn their living and not depend up on their inherited or unearned wealth and incomes. The message of living in tune with the rest of the society was indeed well made but there were naturally few converts to this philosophy. Gandhi presumably was happy with the signaling effect of his exhortations even if there were only some limited movement towards containing rather than eliminating extravagance in the midst of the abject poverty that surrounded these islands of prosperity. The principal ground for trusteeship concept was that such wealth came from societal constituents and (beyond modest personal needs) truly belonged to them, and hence should be kept in trust, prudently and productively used for the benefit of society. Many modern day philanthropists, among them Bill Gates and Warren Buffett in recent times, seem to share a similar view. This principle can easily be extended to corporations as well. While they should optimize profits for their shareholders after addressing their other stakeholder interests, they need to put all the surpluses to productive use to create more wealth, and hold them in trust for their shareholders until they are distributed to them. They could also engage in corporate philanthropy for the advancement of their reputation and on causes that would advance their business interests, with the concurrence of their shareholders and after due consultative and approval processes within the corporation. It would be instructive to note that the principal shareholders in Tata Sons, the multi- billion-dollars worth unlisted parent company of the Tata group in India and elsewhere, are a clutch of charitable trusts whose wealth and income running into several billion dollars were defrayed to support societal welfare projects; two-thirds of every rupee earned by Tata Sons, thus goes to charity.(Gopalakrishnan, 2008). Page 11 of 26 Truth To Gandhi, an unswerving adherence to truth, defined as the concordance of impressions or opinions with unadulterated facts, was, in Kant‟s terminology, a categorical imperative. There were no ifs and buts in the Gandhian lexicon where truth was concerned. Religiously inclined as he was, Gandhi believed in the Hindu scriptural edict Satyam Vada, meaning Speak the Truth. Truth in Sanskrit is Satya, itself derived from the root Sat meaning ‘that which is’; interestingly, the Oxford English Dictionary (XII, p.435) also defines truth as “That which is true, real or actual (in a general or abstract sense)” and in religious usage as “spiritual reality as the subject of revelation or object of faith.” Gandhi‟s view was that “truth resides in every human heart, and one has to search for it there, and be guided by truth as one sees it.” From this also developed the concept of listening to the inner voice or the message of the conscience as a guide for action decisions. Raghavan Iyer (1973, pp.152-154) believed that “The Gandhian apotheosis of Satya is conceptually more in accord with the views of the ancient Greeks and of the Stoics than with the Cartesian conception of truth, but it is in practice closer to modern existentialist rather than classical notions of truth in so far as it stresses action rather than thought. … For him … truth is nothing less than the splendor of reality and nature, but when it is perceived and seized, it must be acted upon.” Truth as the basis of legitimate or well informed action has also been alluded to by Frankfurt (2006, p. 15) who noted that “any society that manages to be even minimally functional must have … a robust appreciation of the endlessly protean utility of truth.” We should also note the two broad levels of truth that Gandhi visualised: the Absolute Truth and Relative Truth. The former related to the perfect Truth which was impossible to realize within the mortal frame of individuals and could only be visualised through one‟s imagination. At a practical level, though, every individual has to follow truth according to his lights; if there is a mistake it would be set right automatically since no one can lose his bearings for long. This directive leads us to a situation where there can be different perceptions of truth in the minds of different individuals. No matter, Gandhi counsels, and compares different truths to the countless and apparently different leaves of the same tree, which after all in one and the same for everybody. (Raghavan Iyer, 1991, pp.232-233) In the context of truth, we need also to briefly refer to when an untruth prevails over truth as a better choice. There is scriptural support to the Page 12 of 26 view that at times and in certain circumstances an untruth may be a lesser evil than the consequences of truth itself. For example, Badrinath (2006, pp. 188,189) quotes from The Mahabharata, the great Indian epic, “To save others from being killed is a most exalted dharma. If by speaking a lie, a life is protected, then speak the lie, and protect that life.” And again, “Where the result of speaking a lie is good, akin to speaking the truth, and where speaking the truth will bring great harm, akin to speaking a le, there one must not speak the truth. There one had better speak a lie.” The Kantian view would not permit this flexibility: “By a lie I do wrong to men in general... it always injures another; if not another individual, yet mankind generally, since it vitiates the course of justice.” (Raghavan Iyer, 1973, pp.229-30) Gandhi chose a middle course. He was clear that “one must never tell a lie, but one may refuse to tell people what they want to know when they are likely to put the information to evil purpose. .. Truth must be told at any cost. But one is not always bound to disclose facts”10 (Raghavan Iyer, 1973, p.230) In practice this approach may entail some tight rope walking and under certain circumstances such as when under oath in a court of law or under mandate through legislation, when one may have to tell not only just the truth and nothing but the truth but also the “whole truth.” But the Gandhi‟s basic counsel in this matter is always to tell the truth and never a lie, with the caveat that all known facts need not be disclosed if the person believes doing so may, in the process, hurt the life and property of another, or otherwise lead to major undesirable consequences.. Non-violence or ahimsa Ahimsa means non-injury and of course includes non-killing; in a wider connotation, it would also reflect abstaining, in thought, word and action, from causing injury or violation to any living being. And, from there it will indeed be a small step forward to include violence against nature and its bounties as well, although he did not specifically cover environmental violence in his canvas. His adherence and propagation of non-violence was probably bases initially on a religious platform (both Hinduism and Jainism strongly advocated ahimsa) but his firmer conviction and fine tuning of the concept was greatly influenced by Tolstoy‟s The Kingdom of God is Within You., which was an exhortation favouring the Christian concept of non-resistance. Gandhi made huge political capital out of this concept in the Indian freedom struggle against the British, honing his practices on the experience he gained in South Africa earlier. Page 13 of 26 Another important aspect of Gandhian ahimsa needs highlighting. His concept of violence was not limited to physical violence alone but covered other forms of violence as well, for example, psychological or traumatic violence involved in instances of gender-based or work-place harassment and discrimination as well as acquiescence either by active support or tacit inaction in the face of such violence. To him, the creed of ahimsa is applicable under all circumstances and can admit of no exceptions.(Tendulkar, 1951-54, V, pp.153-54) Satyagraha or Truth Force Satyagraha was a missile or mechanism that Gandhi employed to devastating effect. The expression literally translates to truth force or the active application of the moral strength of truth to highlight a desired objective. The key ingredients were genuine concern and conviction as to the truth or fairness of an issue in general interest without any personal bias, and a strong adherence to its redressal through non-violent means. The important element in Satyagraha is the emphasis on the issue rather than the personae responsible for it, very similar to the distinction between a sin that was to be atoned, and the sinner that ought not to be hated. This part of Gandhian philosophy was based on a conviction that the State (or ‘the establishment”) was a soulless machine, given to more than minimal violence to impose its will on those who dared to dissent, with the officials or bureaucracy generally inclined to presume forceful coercion as a legitimate weapon of its sovereignty, a situation that people espousing their right to basic freedom ought to resist. This position accords well with the views of several other scholars and philosophers through the ages who even while approvingly visualizing the need for a governing authority for the protection and welfare of its citizens, had anticipated the potential abuse of such powers of the State and prescribed countervailing mechanisms and institutions for safeguarding the liberty and freedom of the governed (Lewis, 2003). Similar injunctions of kingly governance and countervailing institutions to preempt abuse of such powers have been documented in Indian scriptural tradition, illustratively in The Mahabharata Page 14 of 26 (Badrinath, 2006) and elsewhere. Resistance to unfair governance could be either violent or non-violent in nature; Gandhi preferred the non-violent route as the most preferred alternative based on his firm belief that people were capable of developing their moral capacities to an extent that State excesses in intervention and regulation could be contained. (Raghavan Iyer, 1973). The distinguishing characteristic of Gandhian satyagraha was its non-malicious dissent, or civil disobedience as he styled it after Thoreau (in contra-distinction to Tolstoy’s passive Resistance) where the ‘establishment’ as represented by the State was defied in terms of disobeying a laid down rule of law but, concurrently, without offering any resistance by force or otherwise to any punitive actions that may follow. “As the Satyagrahi, who are not allowed to use violence in advancing their cause (the idea being that the adversary, too, is sincere since what seems truth to one person may seem untruth to another, while violence never carries conviction,) they must rely solely on the love-force that radiates from their faith and on their willingness to accept suffering and sacrifice joyously, freely.” (Romain Rolland, 2002, PP.49-50). Two important criteria relating to satyagraha need special mention: first, the cause must be just, in tune with Dharma or the norms of conduct and behavior ordained by tradition and one’s own faith even if it was against the temporal laws of the State; second, it should only be directed against the impugned ‘unjust’ law, law with no trace of hatred or disaffection towards the people enforcing it (since they believe they were right in what they were doing). Elsewhere Gandhi presses home the point about the non-malicious nature of the movement: “Satyagraha is gentle, it never wounds. It must not be the result of anger or malice. It is never fussy, never impatient, never vociferous. It is the direct opposite of compulsion. It was conceived as a complete substitute for violence.” (Eknath Easwaran, 1997, p.54). Page 15 of 26 These then are some, and by no means an exhaustive listing, of the key Gandhian tenets that may well accord with the best practices that one associates with good corporate governance and stewardship. The following section explores this concordance and reviews their application in practice. III Gandhian Thought and Corporate Responsibility Modern day commercial corporations, as noted earlier, are a legal contrivance for pooling financial and other resources of people to be put to use in carrying on designated business objectives with the ultimate objective of earning a profit for their risk-bearing shareholders. Having thus been incorporated, corporations also bear a strong resemblance to social and political networks of willing and resourceful people coming together for productive purpose, albeit for private gain. The shareholders, especially those not in operational control, part with their monies of their own free volition to invest in the equity of the corporation; in this sense they do bear a striking similarity to the citizens of a country foregoing part of their individual freedom to join in with other like-minded people into a political entity to safeguard their common interests with greater certainty than if they were on their own, Like the citizens, shareholders do vest in their boards of directors the power to use their monies as they deem appropriate in overall interest of all the shareholders, and let themselves be ‘ruled’ (to the limited extent of applying their invested monies towards common benefit) by the directors and their executives. The directors on their part, not unlike the kings or rulers of the State, have their fiduciary obligations to the shareholders and the corporation –again similar to the rulers’ responsibilities to their citizens and the country- of administering their estates with due care, loyalty and diligence (Balasubramanian, 2005). 11 In both cases, there are countervailing provisions for abuse-prevention-or-mitigation, both by law and internal agreements and accepted best practices. The employees bring in their skills and expertise; the community provides them with their sanction to operate and serve the needs of the society. Modern corporations are so large and powerful that they truly resemble nation states in their complexity, impact and operation. With such power comes also the potential danger of abuse and it is in that background that we explore the application of Gandhian principles to corporate governance. Page 16 of 26 The Gandhian concept of Sarvodaya or Welfare for all was the end-result of all his teachings that were but instruments in achieving this objective. Corporate Stewardship, in its application to a sub-set of society, also strives to promote the equitable welfare of all its constituents. Exhibit I brings out the interacting relationship between the two systems with reference to corporations. Exhibit I somewhere here Page 17 of 26 Exhibit I Sarvodaya & Stewardship Gandhian concept of trusteeship sits in eminently well with the governance concepts of fiduciary capitalism and stakeholder responsibility, as well as of corporations having to discharge trusteeship obligations in respect of the natural environment and other earth resources. The corporate board‟s stewardship role in governing the corporation in the interests of its shareholders was succinctly articulated in the Canadian Guidelines (TSE,1994) as comprising of the adoption of a strategic planning process, risk management, appointment, training and monitoring senior management, laying down an effective communications policy, and ensuring the integrity of corporate internal control and management information systems. To these must be added an overarching responsibility of setting, communicating, and monitoring the value systems in the corporation within which such corporate objectives are to be achieved and its affairs conducted. All these are key ingredients in the proper discharge of the board‟s fiduciary duties to the shareholders of protecting their interests, and being accountable Page 18 of 26 to them for the proper application and enhancement of the monies that they have entrusted to their care. Illustratively, Directors and Officers, as trustees, may not indulge in deception, self-dealing or tunneling, poaching into created wealth or wealth-creating opportunities the fruits of which truly belong to the shareholders have to be truthful in their accounting and financial and other reporting to the shareholders and the outside world, in their dealings and communications with customers and other stakeholders, as well as in their communications within the organization to employees and managers. The will involve incorporating sound principles of transparency in accounting, reporting and communication, whether to internal constituents or to external stakeholders including shareholders and investors. Truth in this sense also applies to fair dealings with internal and external constituencies including customers, vendors, employees, civil society and the government, in short to a corporation‟s entire relevant stakeholder population. Truth is also at the root of all disclosures required to be made by directors and others in respect of transactions with the company in which they have a personal or other interest, and can be easily linked to the fiduciary duties of loyalty to the company and its shareholders. Even when the financials of the corporation are certified by independent auditors as representing a true and fair view of its affairs, or when the CEO and CFO certifications of their company‟s financials, one can see the imperatives of validated truth that form the core elements of good trusteeship and governance. Truth is so fundamental to trust that leads to reputation that corporations can hardly afford to take it lightly. may not violate the rights of their employees (one would include also those employed on their behalf by other outsourcing contractors) or other stakeholders. Besides, it can also be extended to include violence against non-humans was not excluded from the ambit of his coverage, as in the case a cruelty to animals as well as impairment of the environment through operations involved in the business processes and products and services and where such violations were unavoidable in the business process, seek concurrence from the affected with transparent disclosures and reparatory measures Page 19 of 26 have the responsibility, in board deliberations, to express their views on decision matters, and where overruled by a majority, insist on their dissent being recorded. Board independence is not necessarily a question of numbers, even a single director may be able to convince others on matters where he or she holds a strong unbiased selfless view must follow the laid down Dharma or legal or regulatory domain through compliance in letter and spirit is a key attribute of governance. must comply with the laws of the land in respect of their operations (and where possible improve upon them, especially if home country practices are superior to host country requirements) Fortunately, directors are not expected to be supermen and women in their role; the ends of justice would be met if they are demonstrably diligent, loyal, and careful in their application to their jobs; Gandhi would have been less forgiving in his demands of the trustees to an extent that often his standards may have appeared far too difficult, if not altogether impossible, to strictly comply. (Exhibit II somewhere here) Page 20 of 26 Exhibit II Some Do’s and Don’ts for Gandhian Corporations and Directors Do care for the interests of all shareholders and strive utmost to create wealth for them through legitimate means; be loyal to their interests to the exclusion of any undisclosed or unauthorized personal gain Do not indulge in deception, self-dealing or tunneling, poaching into created wealth or wealth-creating opportunities the fruits of which truly belong to the shareholders Do be truthful in accounting and financial and other reporting, communications within the organization to employees and managers. communications with customers and other stakeholders Do be fair in dealings with internal and external constituencies including customers, vendors, employees, civil society and the government Do promptly and fully disclose any actual or potential conflict of interest in respect of transactions with the company in which there is personal or other interest, Do not violate the rights of employees (including contracted and outsourced employees) and preempt workplace harassment and safety breaches Do not tolerate cruelty to animals and other non-humans; if unavoidable in the nature of business, do institute the most caring treatment to ensure least pain Do not tolerate any damage to or impairment of the environment; if unavoidable in the nature of operations, do seek concurrence from the affected with transparent disclosures and reparatory measures Do comply with the laws of the land in respect of operations and where feasible improve upon them, especially if home country practices are superior to host country requirements) Do express views on decision matters based upon personal conviction (inner voice) at board and other meetings, and if overruled by a majority, insist on dissent being recorded Page 21 of 26 Would Gandhian Corporate Governance Pay? Does good governance in this Gandhian frame (similar but much more rigorous than most international stewardship expectations) pay? There certainly Is a strong business case for Gandhism (much as Gandhi himself disliked this label) in corporate governance. As noted earlier, leadership companies around the world – and in India- have incorporated many of these tenets (with varying degrees of rigour) in their governance frameworks, often long before legislators and regulators had stepped in. Are they the leaders because they follow good governance practices or do they follow them because they are leaders? The debate can go on but there is no denying that one good thing leads to the other, and often good practices seem to grow on each other’s back! While on this, a related issue that has been and even now is, raised may be addressed. Are these principles of praiseworthy and preferred behavior not more appropriately be applicable to individual men and women rather than to inanimate entities like corporations? In other words, could artificial creatures like corporations be credited with having a conscience or soul which are essential prerequisites such behavior? Fortunately, It was Henry David Thoreau who wrote more than a century and half ago that while corporations are truly enough said not to have a conscience, those of conscientious men could be taken as corporations with a conscience. After all, corporations as inanimate entities created by a sleight of law have to act and express themselves through their human representatives, and it is those men and women who in fact provide leadership for all corporate initiatives, good or bad. There is often some skepticism on good governance principles and practices especially in the context of many corporations around the world that are not reputed to follow such preferred practices, still managing to be at the top of the pack and receive approbation from the shareholders and the media. One could only speculate how much better and how much higher Page 22 of 26 their reputation and therefore their performance would have been if only, besides their excellent financial bottom lines, their governance frameworks had also been more attuned to truth, transparency, trusteeship and welfare for all. Governance is critical to corporations as it is to nations. Sooner or later, often sooner than later, the society weeds out the undesirables, untrustworthy, unworthy, and the untruthful. If any evidence is required, one would only have to see the churn in the Fortune 500 companies in the last three decades and see how many of the earlier Greats continue their position in later years. The financial distress of several United States Corporations and Banks in the last quarter of 2008 is a gruesome reminder that the day of reckoning does indeed arrive for the unprincipled, unethical, incompetent, indifferent, and the overly greedy. India has had its share similar bail outs at the expense of the common citizen and tax payer. 12 Martin Luther King, Jr once said: “Gandhi was inevitable. If humanity is to progress, Gandhi is inescapable. He lived, thought and acted, inspired by the vision of humanity evolving toward a world of peace and harmony. We may ignore Gandhi at our own risk.” Likewise, Gandhian thoughts and philosophy appear to be the inevitable prescription for a corporate sector that is struggling to regain its credibility and win the trust of the societies in which they function. Corporations aspiring to reach or retain their top billings in the world of corporate business could do worse than by taking this counsel seriously and on their own initiative introduce and internalize these wholesome principles in spirit before they are inflicted by mandate. It is not just they look good for business, but indeed they are as has been proved by so many successful companies. Corporations may therefore like to adopt, adapt, and benefit from, these guidelines based on real life experiences and experiments of a man about whom Albert Einstein wrote, “Generations to come will scarcely believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon this earth.” __________________________________________ Page 23 of 26 References Balasubramanian, N, (2005), Corporate Governance in India: Some Traditional and Scriptural Perspectives, The Chartered Secretary, March Berle, Adolf and Gardiner Means, (1933), The Modern Corporation and Private Property, Macmillan Berlin Initiative Group on German Code of Corporate Governance, German Code of Corporate Governance, (June 2000), www.gccg.de Bowen, H R, (1953), Social Responsibilities of the Businessman, Harper & Row, p. xi, cited in What’s Wrong with Corporate Social Responsibility?, Corporate Watch Report 2006 British Telecom, (2008), BT Sustainable Development Index for India, November. Source: ttp://www.byplc.com/Societyandenvironment/Betterworldforbusiness/BTSustainableDevelopmentIndex/BTIndia0 8.pdf Causey ,Dawn, (2008), The Worth of Good Governance, Community Banker, August, citing a March 2008 research study by The Senior Supervisors Group of Regulators from the US and Europe Chaturvedi, Badrinath, (2006), The Mahabharata: An Inquiry in the Human Condition, Orient Longman, , ,; original source – Karna Parva, 69:23 and 32 Economic Policy Institute, (2006), The State of the Working America 2006-2007 Frankfurt, Harry G, (2006), On Truth, Borzoi Books, Random HouseRuskin, John, (1860). Unto this Last, Penguin Classics Edition, 2002 Friedman, Milton, (1962), Monopoly and Social Responsibility in Capitalism and Freedom, University of Chicago Press General Electric, (2007), Investing in a Sustainable Future: Citizenship Report, June Gopalakrishnan, R, (2008), Corporate Trusteeship in Practice: The Tata Experience, Edited Transcript of a video-talk delivered at a Gandhi, Governance and the Corporation Colloquium sponsored jointly by the Indian Institute of Management Bangalore Centre for Corporate Governance and Citizenship and the Indian Institute of Advanced Study Shimla on 2 October 2008 at Bangalore. Quoted with kind permission Hampel, Ronnie, et al, (1998), Final Report of the Hampel Committee on Corporate Governance, Sponsored by the London Stock Exchange, the Confederation of British Industry, the Institute of Directors, the Consultative committee of Accountancy Bodies, the national Association of Pension Funds, and the Association of British Insurers; Financial Reporting Council in the United Kingdom http://www.gccg.de/ Page 24 of 26 Iyer, Raghavan N, (1973), The Moral and Political Thought of Mahatma Gandhi, Oxford University Press, 2007 Fifth Indian impression Iyer, Raghavan N, (1991), The Essential Writings of Mahatma Gandhi, (ed)2007 Seventeenth Impression, Oxford University Press, pp. 232-3, extracted from a Gandhi letter of July 22, 1930, Lewis, Jon E, (2003), (ed) The New Rights of Man, Constable and Robbins; Illustratively, The Second Treatise on Government, John Locke, (1690), pp. 282-301; The Social Contract, Jean Jacques Rousseau, (1762), pp. 302-309; The Rights of Man, Thomas Paine, (1792), pp. 355-359; On Liberty, John Stuart Mill, (1859), pp. 391-399; Millstein, Ira M, et al, (1998) Corporate Governance: Improving Competitiveness and Access to Capital in Global markets, A Report to the OECD by the Advisory Group on Corporate Governance, Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development, Paris Monks, Robert A G and Nell Minow (1996), Watching the Watchers: Corporate Governance for the 21 st Century, Blackwell, Rolland, Romain, (1924), Mahatma Gandhi, Rupa & Co , Indian edition 2002, , Third impression 2007 Securities and Exchange Board of India, (2000), Report of the Kumar Mangalam Birla Committee on Corporate Governance OECD Principles of Corporate Governance,(2004), Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, Paris. Principle IV, p. 21 Oxford English Dictionary, (1933), 1970 reprint, Oxford University Press, Vol XI, Rangarajan, L N, (1992), The Arthashastra, (edited and translated), Penguin India, based on the authoritative work Kautilya Arthasastra, R P Kangle, (in three parts respectively in 1960, 1963 & 1965), University of Bombay Sheth, Hiral, Delshad Irani and Ambarish Diwanji, (2008), The Crowd at the top of the ladder, Business India, November 30 Tendulkar, D G, (1951-54), Mahatma: Life of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, V K Jhaveri and D G Tendulkar, Vol. 5, Easwaran, Eknath, (1997), Gandhi The Man, Jaico Publishing, quoting from the original Harijan, April 1933 The Business Roundtable, (2005) Principles of Corporate Governance, The Toronto Stock Exchange, (1994) Where Were the Directors? Guidelines for Improved Corporate Governance in CanadaWebster’s New World College dictionary, New Millennium Edition, (2007), Wiley (India) Tolstoy, Count Leo, (1905), The Kingdom of God is Within You, J M Dent & Co; Upadhyaya, R B, (1976), Social Responsibility of Business and the Trusteeship Theory of Mahatma Gandhi, Sterling Publishers, p. 72-73 Wipro Corporate Overview 1999 Page 25 of 26 Notes 1 German Code of Corporate Governance,(June 2000), Berlin Initiative Group on German Code of Corporate Governance. www.gccg.de 2 Report of the Kumar Mangalam Birla Committee on Corporate Governance, (2000), The Securities and Exchange Board of India 3 Sourced from the company web site 4 And keeping its shareholders delighted, as well. After a record 2590% dividend payout for the year ended March 31, 2004, delighted shareholders at the company’s annual general meeting in Bangalore reportedly equated Infosys with Lord Balaji or Venkateswara of the famous religious shrine at Tirupathi in the southern state of Andhra Pradesh, in terms of revenues earned! Infosys is lord of the shareholders, The Economic Times on Sunday, June 13, 2004 5 Chairman’s speeches at the Annual General Meetings of shareholders, sourced from company web site 6 Coca Cola’s alleged mismanagement in the use of natural ground water resources in some of their bottling operations in India is a case in point: Coca-Cola's Latest Scam - Water Neutrality, Amit Srivastava, November 25, 2008 – Source - http://www.indiaresource.org/campaigns/coke/2008/neutrality.html 7 A study by the pro-labour Economic Policy Institute in the US estimated that in 2005, US CEOs (of sample companies) on average earned 262 times (300 in 2000) more than the workers, The EPI Snapshot June 27, 2006, previewing their publication The State of Working America, 2006-2007 8 Illustratively, Some Chieftains Took Money off Table, Mark Maremont, John Hechinger and Maurice Tamman, (2008), The Wall Street Journal, November 21-23, pp. 1, 16-18 9 Oxford English Dictionary, (1933), 1970 reprint, Oxford University Press, Vol XI, p. 433 10 In a corporate context, this may be the justification for the conservative practice of allowing banks to build secret reserves or even avoiding or delaying bank bankruptcies to mitigate the contagion effects of such realities, if allowed to surface prematurely! http://www.gccg.de/ http://www.indiaresource.org/campaigns/coke/2008/neutrality.html Page 26 of 26 11 A veritable checklist and commentary are available in The Mahabharata, Santi Parva which details the essential features of Raj Dharma or royal responsibilities and duties. 12 The State owned Unit Trust of India that had to be bailed out twice in the late nineteen nineties and at the turn of the century, is a case in point 
work_rablxvuftrb4pphsrjcmypgpne	----	[PDF] When Less is More. | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1093/jnci/djw240 Corpus ID: 5914383When Less is More. @article{Castle2017WhenLI, title={When Less is More.}, author={P. Castle}, journal={Journal of the National Cancer Institute}, year={2017}, volume={109 2}, pages={1-3} } P. Castle Published 2017 Medicine Journal of the National Cancer Institute minimum level. Sometimes more really is more, and less really is less. But often, less is more. If all this piece does is open up the question of whether less is more —if all it does is remind the reader that this is a question, and that our answers to it have important repercussions— then it will have served its purpose. Many ethicists in the ancient tradition argued that human lives could be improved through decreasing our economic activity: consuming less food, avoiding ostentatious building… Expand View on PubMed academic.oup.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 5 Citations View All Topics from this paper Flatulence benefit 5 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Mitochondrial Modulation by Dichloroacetate Reduces Toxicity of Aberrant Glial Cells and Gliosis in the SOD1G93A Rat Model of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis Laura Martínez-Palma, E. Miquel, Valentina Lagos-Rodríguez, L. Barbeito, A. Cassina, P. Cassina Medicine Neurotherapeutics 2018 8 PDF Save Alert Research Feed SK channel-mediated metabolic escape to glycolysis inhibits ferroptosis and supports stress resistance in C. elegans Inge E Krabbendam, B. Honrath, +14 authors A. Dolga Chemistry, Medicine Cell Death & Disease 2020 2 PDF Save Alert Research Feed PDK1 promotes ovarian cancer metastasis by modulating tumor-mesothelial adhesion, invasion, and angiogenesis via α5β1 integrin and JNK/IL-8 signaling M. Siu, Y. Jiang, +5 authors K. K. Chan Medicine Oncogenesis 2020 3 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Molecular interaction studies on ellagic acid for its anticancer potential targeting pyruvate dehydrogenase kinase 3 R. Dahiya, Taj Mohammad, +4 authors M. Hassan Chemistry 2019 11 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Fused isoselenazolium salts suppress breast cancer cell growth by dramatic increase in pyruvate-dependent mitochondrial ROS production M. Makrecka-Kuka, Pavels Dimitrijevs, I. Domracheva, K. Jaudzems, M. Dambrova, P. Arsenyan Chemistry, Medicine Scientific reports 2020 PDF Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 38 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Diversity of life M. Taylor Geography Nature 1994 1,359 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The Economic Way of Thinking Paul T. Heyne Economics 1973 98 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Predictors of patient comfort and adherence with less frequent cervical cancer screening. K. MacLaughlin, K. Angstman, P. Flynn, Jessica Schmitt, A. Weaver, L. T. Shuster Medicine Quality in primary care 2011 20 Save Alert Research Feed Risk Assessment to Guide the Prevention of Cervical Cancer P. Castle, M. Sideri, J. Jeronimo, D. Solomon, M. Schiffman Medicine Journal of lower genital tract disease 2008 19 Save Alert Research Feed Ecology, Community and Lifestyle: Outline of an Ecosophy A. Naess, D. Rothenberg Sociology 1989 199 Save Alert Research Feed Risk estimation for the next generation of prevention programmes for cervical cancer. H. Katki, S. Wacholder, D. Solomon, P. Castle, M. Schiffman Medicine The Lancet. Oncology 2009 43 Save Alert Research Feed Optimal Cervical Cancer Screening in Women Vaccinated Against Human Papillomavirus J. Kim, E. Burger, S. Sy, Nicole G Campos Medicine Journal of the National Cancer Institute 2017 22 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Natural history of cervical neoplasia and risk of invasive cancer in women with cervical intraepithelial neoplasia 3: a retrospective cohort study. M. McCredie, K. Sharples, +4 authors D. C. Skegg Medicine The Lancet. Oncology 2008 809 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Use of 9-Valent Human Papillomavirus (HPV) Vaccine: Updated HPV Vaccination Recommendations of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices Emiko Petrosky, J. Bocchini, +5 authors L. Markowitz Medicine MMWR. Morbidity and mortality weekly report 2015 739 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Cervical cancer screening with both human papillomavirus and Papanicolaou testing vs Papanicolaou testing alone: what screening intervals are physicians recommending? M. Saraiya, Z. Berkowitz, K. Yabroff, L. Wideroff, S. Kobrin, V. Benard Medicine Archives of internal medicine 2010 116 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 ... Related Papers Abstract Topics 5 Citations 38 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. 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work_rbav7jlqevepjlyprrcfrnpfta	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
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Many time garbage disposals are destined to fail because of an improper installation, lack of maintenance, or poor quality components are used to build the system. Some times, home builders will take the short-cut on the disposal because it is an easy component to buy cheap. Common garbage disposal problems: If your garbage disposal causes your drain to clog make sure to turn off the power to your disposal first before you take the trap apart. Then, use a plumbers snake to clear the clog from your drain and put the trap back together. After that you will want to run water at a fast rate to ensure that the clog is fixed, and water is flowing through your disposal and drain line with no interruption. You need to find this information and details at the online search engines. The disposal of the water and drainage is the best with choosing the correct drainage. There is no interruption available to the people. The services are cheap for the people to have desired results. You need to collect information about it. Jamming: There are quite a few common items that will jam your disposal such as bones, corn husks, vegetables, glass, or metals will cause a jam. If you don’t have a reverse function on your equipment, look under the disposal for a small hole in the bottom under the motor and insert a tool allen wrench to unscrew it. Be sure you have the power turned OFF before you unscrew the piece. Take apart the disposal and clean the jammed materials. You can use the handle from your toilet plunger or broom to move the plate in the disposal back and forth. If you are able to move it, you can probably turn the unit back on. Other problems: – No Power? Check the red reset button on the bottom of the disposal, if it’s popped out, push back in. – Leaking from bottom? Sounds like you need to replace a gasket or pipe.Check to see if the ring near the sink flange is loose. If it’s leaking directly from the disposal, you may need to call a plumber to repair it or replace it. – Smelly? It is very common for a disposal to smell. We usually tell people to give it a good clean by filling the sink with water and pour a generous amount of soap and turn it on for a minute or two. Then let the stream of water pelt directly on the disposal blades. if this doesn’t help, you may need to call in for maintenance. Garbage disposal maintenance: These usually require little maintenance and the only thing you need to do it keep the blades sharp and clean it out every so often. Sharpen the blades by grinding up a large amount of ice with a cup of vinegar once every few weeks. Grindin skins of citrus fruits works well for the odor. Continue reading Advertisement Why Is It Advisable To Use Digital Marketing As A Mode Of Expanding The Business? 2 weeks ago Read Time: 4 minutes by Kyong As we all know, once you have started a new business, then to expand it, you have to consider specific marketing tools that helps in taking the company to heights. In traditional time tv was one of the best modes that were used by the people. But with advancement in technology, now people from all over the world have started using digital marketing as this is a more advanced form of advertisement.  You can target more audience at an affordable rate if we talk about any kind of business that it has their primary focus on the digital advertising as this has become the primary method of attracting the attention of the general public as this is considered as the most convenient mode.  These days the entire world is based on digital content. People from all over the world are using digital marketing due to the many benefits that it offers to its users. One of the best benefits is that the advertising screen has made it possible to increase sales. We will discuss in detail some of such services that they provide. Advantages of digital marketing There is no doubt in the fact that digital marketing is the most cost-effective way of advertisement that is used by people these days. This is a facility that includes search engine results, a website that is popular, social media and networking. Any person with a computer or a laptop can easily advertise globally with just a few clicks. But there are some other benefits also that it holds about which we will now discuss: Lower cost As cost plays a vital role in any business, this is the main component that will have a direct effect on the profit-sharing ratio of a company. If we talk about digital marketing, then it can reach to a more targeted audience than any other advertisement mode can; the only thing you have to keep in mind is that you do the marketing after the proper planning so that there is no doubt. Multiple things can be uploaded at a single time If we talk about the advertising screen, then it has made it possible for us to upload various items at a particular time. This will help increase the interest of the people, and also they will start liking the products of the business, as a result of which sales of the company gets increased. Global reach With just a tiny amount of investment, the website of digital marketing gives you the flexibility to find new markets from all over the world. The only motto is to find the targeted audience no matter from which part of they belong to. The rate of conversation is improved In case of other modes, the buyer has just to stand up and either visit the store for the purchase or they have to make the call and wait, but this is not the case with digital marketing, this provides the option to their users that they can just immediately visit the website as everything is online and make the purchases. Targeted specific customers You can just get to know about what is the demand of the public, as a result of which you will get to know about the targeted audience. You can focus on those particular ads that are as per the demand of the customers as it will help in attracting a large number of population. You can use the exact keyword as per your business so that people can easily search for it. Easy to maintain As these are online so you have the option to connect everything with the social media that gives the facility to their users to connect to Facebook and Instagram. As these social networking sites are popular these days so you can create a good amount of reputation and also it is easy to engage with. advertising screen is easy to maintain and also relatively easy to use than any other mode of marketing. Easier to test different demographics When you are planning to start with a new business, and you want that your company has a good place in the market, then you are required to do a complete analysis of the industry so that you can accordingly work on its expansion. Usually, a business does product testing, sampling of their product, but n the other hand, if they do the digital marketing, they will notice a considerable profit ratio. Easy to track As in this mode of marketing, everything is online, so it becomes quite easy for the user to measure the results with the help of different tools. If you have organised a campaign, then you can manage the results f your campaign quite easily. You will be able to get the detailed information as to how the customers are reacting to your website and how you can increase the targeted audience. More responsive If we talk about another mode of advertising, then they are affecting the environment in one or the other way. Still, on the other hand, if we speak about advertising screen that is digital marketing, then it is not affecting the environment in any of way. As we all know these days people love o spend time on the internet in their free time so this is the mode that will help you increase your sales to a great extent with the help of digital advertising the response of the people become spontaneous. Sum up These are some of the benefits of using digital marketing that are helping the people in increasing the sales of the business to a great extent. Just make sure that you use an advertising screen if you wish to take your business to the heights; not only this, you have to also keep in mind that the what is the demand of the targeted audience so that you can take the step accordingly for their welfare. Continue reading Religion and Culture What Are The Surprising Things That We Can Gain By Going To Shincheonji Church? 3 weeks ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong Are you one of the religious kinds? Even if you are not, then this is the place that you should be. Many people get stressed out, and then they don’t know what to do. But at this time, what is the place that can provide them with the peace they need? To search and find this kind of vibes and aura, people go to church. But this time, we are not just talking about the normal ones. Today we are getting into the ocean of the knowledge about Shincheonji church and how someone can become a better person by going to this place.  Don’t push yourself so hard! Check the info here, and you would know all about it then! It helps in connecting to God! Sometimes we are at a place that gives us chills and makes us get scared. At that time, we can only use our intelligence and see how to get out of that place. But to be able to get calm down, we have to do something. There is nothing better than praying to God and trying to get the hope that you can do it. By going to a church, we can get to connect with God and then help get the hope that is needed.  It can be a social help too Many people struggle to find people who are like them and want to have the same things from life. So when it comes to a church, they can get to make friends from some different communities, and it can help make friends. It is a great thing, and that is what some people are looking forward to the experience. It can connect different people and learn ethics from each other without any problem and get to know a lot of things. One can learn to give out gratitude Often, we are in a situation when everything seems so negative, and it is not possible to make good memories out of it. But now that we know that this place that we know by the name of Shincheonji church, they never talk about the devil’s work. So with the help of such a thing, everyone can get to know the aspects and give the proper knowledge of what is good or bad. We all need to behave according to the things that we learn. And it is a church and the different activities that they are related to, that gives out the information to the people about various aspects.  Ultimately, it is not always about just the place or people there. People who go to a place while thinking that they will surely get peace of mind there can get to experience a lot of good things at that place. So a church is a place that can give out positivity, and if a lot of people are at the same place with the same thoughts, that can add up to the aura of the place. With this, people can get to experience a lot of good things too.  Continue reading Guide Health and Fitness Weight loss Healthy Diet And Natural Heritage Fat Loss Foods 3 weeks ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong Natural Fat Loss Foods Healthy Eating Healthy eating natural food is a really important step towards better health, more energy and lose your excess body fat. Look around at your local whole foods for processed foods. And we wonder why obesity rates in this country is out of control. Well I think that it is time to take control. Throw away the debris back into a healthy diet, natural diet and fat reduction is your goal. If you want more information, then you can click at gobiofit.com site for the purchasing of the supplements. A natural diet is provided to the people to have a fit and healthy body. There is reduction in the fat according to the needs to have a pleasant experience. Eating fat loss natural food, you can reach your target weight and feel and look better. Believe it or not, there are many, food is a natural fat burner. You can see some of them, like celery and apples have been heard. This type of food to consume more energy than the actual amount of calories they contain to digest. Sun burn more calories if you eat them on land. These are called negative calorie foods. Here are some more examples of natural fat burning foods – some of them are negative calorie foods, and some of them are simply a natural healthy diet AIDS, body fat and release processes faster and more efficient: grapefruit, tangerines, apricots, oranges, strawberries, watermelon, tomatoes, cabbage , radish, lettuce, cabbage, chives, parsnips, turnips, cauliflower, cucumbers, shallots, carrots, spinach, onion, zucchini, kohlrabi, spring onions and Hot Chili Peppers. And despite the widespread belief, a lot of coconuts from the populations of the world are used to weight problems, skin conditions and hair treatment. Coconut oil, both for themselves and their fat burner. Another great thing about negative calorie fat loss of natural food because it is in the list above that they are actually using other sources of calories the body to be digested. They had to eat a calorie burner definitely be included in any fat loss plan. Keep in mind that when the body’s carbohydrate energy to run, the next village is looking for energy, your fat. This is the way to the elimination of excess fat in the body and thus types of negative calorie foods can help you fat loss and maintain weight, so you’ll arrive at some point. To achieve the best and healthiest types due to their natural fat burning foods, eat a healthy alternative to other proteins, carbohydrates, whole grain products, and those that contain lots of fiber. It is easier for them to eat a calorie burn foods at first, but you can easily get tired of them if they eat too much. Try to choose one or two days to replace the meal or snack. Although the fat-burning diet includes the lost, the only such food would be the choices when it comes to big nose, or even parts of their meal. After all, the food is fat loss not only to eat, what you are or not. Another important element is to prevent the drop in the pound, and regular activity. This does not mean that you log in the gym or go jogging every day, the hour is. Strict action should be something you can integrate in their lives that they are something you expect. Continue reading Buying guide Guide internet Shopping and Product Reviews Shopping Online 5 Things A Person Should Consider While Shopping Online! 3 weeks ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong Have you ever done online shopping? Most people will say yes! Nowadays, people are aware of all the things that are going online and are moving towards those things. People are getting advanced; many websites such as https://popcornclothing.com offer you the best deals on clothes. But there are some people who may not have the idea that how to purchase it, like they know how to order the product, but there are many more things that a person should consider. Those who do not have any idea about that can check out the tips and tricks in this article. Things to consider… Here are few things that a person should consider if they are buying clothes online because buying is not the only task. There are many more things that you need to do before placing an order. Some of those tips and tricks are mentioned in the following points- Know your size and measurements-  If you are buying online clothes and do not have an idea about your size, you will not be able to get the perfect dress. You may end up ordering the wrong one, and then you have to return it or exchange it, which may cause so much stress. So it is important to consider that you should check out for the measurements and your size so as to get the right dress for yourself. Check out the reviews-  While buying clothes online, the first thing that you need to consider is to choose a reliable platform. If you are not selecting a reliable website, then you may not get a good quality product. You can check out the reviews of the website or the product you are purchasing, and then you will know whether this will be suitable for you or not! Look out for the material-  This is the main thing you need to consider; when you choose the product, there is a column that tells you the material you are buying. You can learn about the material you are buying, and if you are comfortable with that, only you should buy it. Try finding free shipping-  There are many websites online that may offer you a free shipping charge, which means you do not have to pay any shipping charges. You can find one website which may offer you this benefit, and you can enjoy that if you are buying the products for more than a certain amount. Learn about the return policy-  While buying the products online, you are not sure whether what type of material you will receive, and you are also not sure about the size of the clothes you are buying./ So it is important to read the terms and condition of the return policy so that you can return it if you did not like the product. Final words It may be clear from the above points that if you are buying the clothes online, you need to consider some points that will benefit a person. If they follow these points, then you may get a better idea of buying clothes. Continue reading Guide Safety Security Cctv Drain Survey Birmingham 1 month ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong How much notice do you want? We simply require 48 hours discover this is from the time completed booking form sadly we cannot give definite time we can just give morning or afternoon time slot. Yes we offers a full all-inclusive CCTV Drain Camera Survey Service that is affordable and cost effective with no call out costs or any concealed additional cost plus we Ensure a Fixed Price. Do you need accessibility to the inside of the property? No we usually don’t want access to the inside of your property as long as there’s accessibility to the manholes outside the property for surveying, Drain24/7 also can carry out a CCTV Drain Camera Survey with no one at home because all our vehicles are completely equipped with water and electrics to allow our engineers to carry out the drain survey. I need a report fast — we understand every minute counts when buying a new house or selling one so we can offer you or your mortgage provider or a structural surveyor using a homebuyer drainage report at short notice we can also e-mail the report to you personally. I am thinking of buying a brand new Property? Buying a new house is the biggest investment you are likely to make in your lifetime be certain you understand the condition of the complete drainage system before you sign. “Make sure to assess” or it could prices you more Do not get caught out with pricey drain repair statement just avoid this by having a Pre-Purchase Homebuyers Drain Camera Survey today, Mortgage suppliers are increasingly insisting on a pre-purchase drain inspection before offering a mortgage to new home owner. Do you know the gains? What do I get for my cash? Peace of mine understanding if any problems are discovered before you exchange Negotiate with the seller on the price for the repairs before you exchange CCTV installer report within 3 working day by e-mail A verbal report of any issues discovered can be given at the time of inspection. If there are any repairs uncovered in the Pre-Purchase Homebuyers drainage report it could be possible for you to negotiate the price of the repairs off the purchase price. Drains may be invisible but they should be regarded as a member of the overall purchase assessment particularly if you contemplating buying a new house. What do your inspection report come with? Our reports have a full written report, color photos, description of defects, depths location, and measurements, plus recommendation along with a quotation for the repairs and DVD evidence. Many folks buying a new house assume that when they instruct a surveyor to carry out a full homebuyer or a building survey to check the condition of the property they automatically assume that this wills covers the drains. However, this really is not the case the surveyor just lifts the drain covers to scrutinize the condition of the manhole but he cannot be particular of the status. If the surveyor guesses damaged to drainage system he’ll then instruct you to get a qualified paket cctv murah installer inspection company like us who have the specialist CCTV drain camera survey equipment necessary to carry out a pre-purchase CCTV installer or homebuyer drain survey. It’s worth bearing in mind that should you don’t contemplate having a pre-purchase drain survey carry out and just buy the house anyway and if any problems are found after you get the property you may have great difficulty in discovering an insurance company that will pay for the curative work of any pre-existing drainage problems so simply avoid this by having a Pre-Purchase Drain Survey. Do you have public liability insurance? Yes we have a 5 million pounds public liability insurance cover. Just how do i pay? Our bill section will send you an invoice after the survey was completed you have 5 days to pay your invoice by Internet banking. Do you charge VAT? All prices advertised are all inclusive of VAT and have been discounted by 20% off our regular price. All survey inspection reports are sent via e-mail in a PDF format there’s a link within the PDF file which allows you to see the DVD signs PDF are easy to download and save you can see this quite fast and you can print the documentation easy (you can request a copy to be sent by post. Continue reading Guide Safety Tempered Glass Tempered Glass- Safety Comes First 1 month ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong What is the first thing that comes to mind when hear about glass? There are many things that spring to mind like a glass of wine, window pane glass in house, glass on vehicles and many others. What is it with glass that makes it so ubiquitous in many conversations? One can go on and on about this topic but in this article, we shall focus on kaca tempered glass as it is so popular when it comes to selecting window pane and other glass cases in the house. Now glass is a delicate object that has to be handled carefully because if you are careless with it then it can cause serious injury to you and since it is important for the house window or anything else, then it can very well break into shards and they alone are enough to give you an injury that lasts for a long time. Brief Definition Tempered glass is basically safety glass by definition that is made by giving it a chemical treatment where the process takes place through thermal heating so that it is stronger than normal glass. It is nearly impossible to tell both types of glass apart but Kaca is quite different because even though it is identical to any normal glass pane but you can see the difference when you start using it for windowing. Thermal heating is a difficult process that has to be done carefully by the experts otherwise it can go horribly wrong because when you are heating it at nearly 750 to 800 degree Celsius, you can understand how dangerous it can be if caution is not exercised. However, it is important for the glass to be heated at that high a temperature so that it softens up a bit and the cooling takes place at a steady pace with some texture changes. This helps in increasing the strength and pressure surrounding the glass where you can feel the softness in texture after the cooling effect is done where you can feel that it has become quite a force to reckon with. The resistance to impact, changing temperature and extreme pressure are some important positive effects that you can witness for Kaca tempered glass in a big way, which has given it overwhelming popularity in the long run. Safety’s Sake People often wonder why it is called safety glass and it is because it is tempered through the process mentioned above and in case of an accident that can happen due to breaking or collision then it can break into smaller crystal shards through which corn kernels cannot accelerate. This process will help considerably lower the risk of injury that can happen due to the smaller crumbs and this is the reason why big buildings and skyscrapers use tempered glass for their windows. Even vehicles use tempered glass as they know that it will be strong for them to manage things out for a longer period so all the people that might read this piece can very well give it a try. Continue reading Drug Test How To Pass A Urine Drug Test 1 month ago Read Time: 4 minutes by Kyong Okay, so you’ve most likely ended up here because you have to pass a urine drug test from one of the credible confirm kits. Whether you’re trying to THC detox or pass from some other drug, we have the answer. I’m going to detail all of the possible solutions that you can use to solve your big urine drug test issue. There are literally only two ways to beat a urine drug test. Dilution or substitution. It all depends on your situation. If you’ve just used it, you have to substitute your urine. Simple as that. If you have used any longer than 5 days ago, even if you used marijuana, it’s possible to detox! I’ve done it before just using detox drinks that diluted the hell out of my dirty urine but made it look clean. So 5 days is the measurement, maybe a little more if you are a larger person. Use your best discretion but substitution is the safest route, though harder to pull off. To get products that you’ll need for either detoxing or substituting, visit TestClear. They have everything you’ll need at the best prices…. Method 1: Substitution This is my favorite method for passing a urine drug test. Substitution means taking someone else’s urine (either manufactured or from a friend or family member) and replacing it with your own. The method that you should use for doing substitution depends on what type of test you have. If you’re doing a test for employment, substitution is going to be pretty easy. If you’re doing a test for the long arm of the law, it might be a bit more difficult. Let’s go over both steps. For both types of tests, whether for employment or legal reasons, you need to get cheap, REAL HUMAN URINE from TestClear. They are literally the only place online to buy real human urine, and they offer it at a good price to boot. Check out their product if you’re serious about substitution: Real Powdered Urine Substitution For Employment Drug Tests Obtain urine from an outside source. Try this brand (the one mentioned above) if you want to buy synthetic urine. It’s real human urine like you cannot find anywhere else. You can use either a friend or buy it online from TestClear. Don’t trust any other brand. Use a funnel to get the urine to be substituted into a condom. Tie it off. Buy some hand warmers. Put on a pair of basketball shorts beneath your jeans or shorts (depending on the season so you don’t draw suspicion). Stuff the condom full of urine into your underwear. This works whether you’re a boy or girl. Your crotch is the warmest area of the body so it, along with the activated handwarmer, will keep it at the right temperature for the test. Grab a safety pin or thumbtack or something. When you get there, you’ll be led to a bathroom and they will let you in and shut the door. It’s now time to do work. Take out the condom, poke a hole in it with whatever sticky thing you grabbed, and aim it into the cup. Once the cup is full to the proper height, throw the condom and everything into the toilet and flush it. This will dispose of it and you won’t smell like urine. But you might if you get the urine all over yourself, so be careful! That’s about it! For Legal Drug Tests This one is quite a bit harder. You’re going to have to be extremely sneaky and practice sleight of hand. I would recommend this buying urine from TestClear and the “Urinator” from TestClear.com as well. The urinator is awesome and allows you to sneakily use the powdered urine even if someone is watching you as you go. So here’s what you do: About 2 hours before your test get the TestClear urine loaded into the Urinator. Wait for the urinator to automatically heat the urine to the correct temperature. Practice using the little hose that comes with it to shoot the synthetic urine into your toilet. Practice really makes perfect here. But obviously don’t use all your urine When you get to the place just get ready to casually take out the hose on the opposite side of where the attendant is watching you from. They will most likely stop watching you after you whip out your ______. That’s just what I’ve seen. Once they stop watching, squeeze the bag and hold the cup under the hose. Let it fill to the amount they need to test and you’re good! It’s imperative to be incredibly sneaky. You do NOT want to get busted doing this. And it’s also highly important to use TestClear Human Urine. Testing agencies are changing the way they do things and most synthetic urines on the market are getting flagged, and that’s a probation violation! Even Quick Fix has been getting flagged by labs in multiple states! The right temperature, real human urine, and good sleight of hand. That’s what’s required here. So make sure you do all of these things. That’s basically everything there is to know about substitution! It’s the most trustworthy way to pass a urine drug test as long as you are using clean, human urine from TestClear as well as the awesome Urinator device. Method 2: Diluting This is another trusty way to kind of hide your drug levels. What you do is you drink a detox drink. That’s all you need to do. It does a few things. It makes you pee. A lot. It makes your urine look yellow, which is very important because normally if you dilute it is clear and they’ll make you re-drop. They also contain creatine, which the testers test for before testing your urine to make sure it’s legitimate urine. If you just dilute normally the creatine levels will be too low. So yeah, the detox drinks really have everything you need to dilute and not get caught…plus they’re pretty cheap. For example, this detox drink is only $20 from TestClear and it’s one of the best Continue reading Health and Fitness Personal Care Are You Looking For A Spa Treatment? Know Which One Will Be The Best For You 2 months ago Read Time: 4 minutes by Kyong Taking the best care of skin and body is among the most crucial activities today as with the changing environment and the time, your skin, hairs and the overall appearance and health is getting affected. Vsisitu8inbfg a spa to get the best service in today’s trend and it is much needed to take out some “ME” time from the busy daily schedules.  Generally, there are two categories of spa: regular spa and med spa, both of these have their advantages, but the medical spas are new and have gained enormous popularity. Regular or day spa is old, and people have been visiting there since a long time, the professionals at these spas provide the body and mind relaxing massage, nutrient-enriched scrubs and even too.  These along with improving the health of the skin, enhances mental health also. Medical spas’ thought was appreciated enough that they are now a big part of people’s lives. These spas have proper medical procedures of operation.  As you visit a dermatologist for any skin related issue, these medical spas offer skin treatments by adopting the processes that are in accordance with the medicinal field. The people operating have specialized degrees with the complete coursework and the practice in their technical area. Since the medical spas offer the treatments that suit a person’s skin perfectly and the professionals have expertise with the degree, med spas should be the choice while visiting a spa. Advantages of opting for a med spa People are a fan of the med spas operating worldwide, and this fan base attributes to the various reason of popularity, and you can read some of them in the below section. You get more relaxation When you know that the person giving the relaxation massage is a specialist in the field and knows which cream or oil will better suit your skin, then getting that message and the whole spa experience would be a lot more relaxing than getting a regular spa.  The environment that The Youth Fountain Freehold med spa offers is extremely calm as these spas take it to another level keeping the comfort of the customer in mind. This feeling has a psychological impact on a person knowing that they can trust the spa for every product, and the people with highly se4nsnitive skin prefer these spas the most. Modern technology The medical spas offer laser removal treatment, so the technology for that treatment is such that it does not harm the skin with laser light. While getting the laser treatment for hair removal, the fundamental concern is that it harms the person’s skin.  But if you choose to visit a good enough and highly reputed spa center, you can be free from all such stress and concentrate on the treatment experience. With a high budget, these centers have all the required technology and equipment as they are in touch with the modern medicinal field. Useful to treat the chronic diseases The chronic disease is those which affect the particular body part for a long time. If you face any such skin-related issue, you can visit the med spa as this is the perfect solution for any such problem as the skin-related chronic issue, even if the person faces insomnia and finds it difficult to sleep.  Still, the massage center to the medical treatment also offers immense relaxation to the mind and body, which aids in sleeping quickly and better. These spas understand the exact root of the issue and then eliminate it by providing the respective treatment. Heal in your comfort zone The medical spa offers the comfort and the facility to heal; you can just recover by relaxing in a comfortable chair, which is not possible in the regular spas that are not highly organized.  Due to the busy schedule in the office or at home, people cannot cope with the physical and mental health issues while being in the work environment; the end spas offer an escape from these highly rush around areas to help people heal from the problems fastly. Get anti-aging treatment The medical spas, since they use medicinal technology without implementing the harsh chemicals, provide the treatment that prevents skin aging. You might have seen advertisements of various anti-aging creams, but visiting a med spa will be more beneficial because the consultant can look at the skin and try to provide it the treatment that is precisely for your skin. You cannot find these treatments b at the regular spas.  Meeting and getting a spa from the med spas will offer a wide change in the skin texture and appearance. Getting the spa at regular intervals can nourish the skin with proper oil, which makes your skin look young, healthy, and plump. But do remember that you should only visit a physician who has gained the license of running the spa business and has got certification from the government recognized institute. You can meet the staff and see whether they have the proper knowledge of the products and the treatment procedures as this is an important part of your search for a good medical spa. Today, medical spas have become a good friend as the experts know the skin and issues related to it. These spas can pick up the problem in the skin and body and then work to treat it. Regular spas offer massages and other facilities, but if you wish to get the treatment that exactly suits your skin, then med spa is the best option. Continue reading Personal Care Everything About Podiatry And Reasons To Visit A Podiatrist 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong Podiatry is a branch of medicine that is devoted to the study, diagnosis, and treatment of the feet, ankles, and other lower parts of the legs. A person practising podiatry is called a podiatrist. They treat injuries and even complications due to current health issues such as diabetes. Podiatrists do not go to traditional medical schools even though they fall under the doctor category. They have their own schools and certified associations. Podiatrists are capable of doing surgery, resetting broken bones, prescribing drugs, and ordering X-rays or lab tests. They usually work with other specialists when a patient undergoes problems related to their legs. Podiatrists have been licensed in most countries. One of the most popular groups is the Essex Union Podiatrists.  Podiatrists treat people with the following conditions related to the feet:  Sprains and fractures  Hammertoes and bunions  Diabetes  Nail disorders  Arthritis  Heel pain  Growing pains  Morton’s neuroma  Following are some reasons why a person might need a podiatrist:  They have started running regularly– Runners are mostly prone to aches and pains such as shin splints. A podiatrist can analyze the body and feet in order to be able to flag potential problems and suggest remedies to avoid them. They may also recommend the best sports shoe for the client’s foot.  They feel joint pain in their ankles or feet– Arthritis has become one of the most common problems today. If the joints in a person’s feet are red, swollen, stiff, or tender, it would be best for them to visit a podiatrist. Arthritis changes the way the function and leads to disability. A podiatrist may suggest treatments that can help avoid this condition.  They have diabetes– A person suffering from diabetes is more prone to problems related to the feet such as dry skin or serious infections. They should get their feet examined by a podiatrist at least once a year. Having a podiatrist in the healthcare team may lower the risk of amputation due to the disease by 50%.  Their activities are limited due to heel pain– Heel pain can be caused due to various reasons such as bony growth on the heel or inflammation of the tendons connected to the heel. A person suffering from persistent heel pain should visit a podiatrist who will take an X-ray and try to interpret the problem.  They have a painful bunion– A bunion is a bump at the base of the big toe, which occurs when the bone or joint of the big toe is not in place. If not treated, bunions will only get worse. Visiting a podiatrist will help since they will give suggestions on the necessary treatments. Sometimes, surgery may also be an option.  They suspect a sprain or fracture– A person having such suspicions should immediately visit a podiatrist. They are experts at treating sprains and fractures. They can diagnose the injury and suggest treatments. Swelling, redness, trouble walking, and increasing pain are major signs that a person may need to visit a podiatrist.  Sum up Visiting the podiatrist during the aforementioned cases would be the best thing to do. A person can contact the Essex Union Podiatrists easily if they are in need of help or suggestions. It is important to take care of the feet and other lower parts of the legs since walking is needed for everyone. It is also a measure to take care of one’s health by regular check-ups and avoidance of diseases. It is a boon to the people of those countries where the practice of podiatry has been accepted and licensed.  Continue reading Guide Health Health and Fitness Medical Physical Therapy Treatment Physical Therapy Treatment For Chronic Low Back Pain: Suggested Exercises 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong Efficient exercises for treatment Certain exercises are specifically meant for treating the problems of backache, often caused due to unknown reasons and are chronic. These physiotherapeutic treatments are well capable of relieving pain and inducing back flexibility to the patients. The therapists usually suggest the exercises in proportions that would not harm your body adversely. Here are some of the common exercises that are suggested by Americare. Bridges The posture needs you to lay on your back and placing your arms parallel to each other and legs folded by the knees and feet pressed to the ground. With the help of which, you push your lower body up while inhaling comfortably and taking care of your arms still laying straight. You hold the posture and the breathing for a few minutes, and then you relax, coming back to your normal position as you exhale out. Knee to chest This stretching requires you to lay straight on the ground and fold one of your legs by knee and inhale as you pull it towards your chest with the help of your hands, hold on to the posture and release as you exhale. This is to be repeated with the other leg while inhaling comfortably and relaxing as you let the leg down straight on the floor. Press-up back This posture requires you to lie on the floor, chest towards the ground. Place your palm parallel to your chest, and make sure both of the palms must be at exactly the opposite sides of each other. You start with pushing your upper body upwards and lower body down. You breathe in a complete half-cycle in the process hold the posture and the breath and make sure your elbows are straight. Relax to the normal posture. Bird dog This stretching requires you to be positioned on your knees and palm on the floor, then you start with stretching out one leg and opposite arm backward and forwards respectively while you breathe in comfortably. You hold on to the posture for a while in your comfort zone then you exhale as you relax, and then you go for the next round with the other side of your arm and leg. Partial crunches This one requires you to lie on the floor straight, bent legs by knees, and cross arms at the chest or the back of your neck. Pull up the body forward with the help of your arm, and tighten your stomach muscles as you perform the process. You breathe in while you pull up and breathe out as you relax your body to the original position. And many more These few of the postures are the ones that you can perform without even needing to stand. You just relax and let your body acquire enough flexibility to fight the underlying health problems. The best things about these exercises are that you are much benefited without needing to go through surgery. Americare is one of the biggest advisors that can provide you appropriate physiotherapist care. What more are you waiting for? Get enrolled now! Continue reading Guide Home Improvement Powered Weed Eater – What Are The Benefits of Using It? 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong You might have heard about the weed eaters that help people to clean their gardens by cutting the extra weed from their way. It helps the people provide a great look of their garden and an outer zone of the home and allow them to have a clean environment. There are different types of weed eaters, and they have powered weed eaters and cordless weed eaters. In today’s time, period battery-powered weed eaters are in high demand due to which cordless ones are replacing. Many people don’t know much about powered weed eaters but still want to opt for it due to its good performance and major benefits. It is essential for people to learn about the best aspects of powered weed eaters so that they can grab the best advantages from them. Once people understand the importance of powered weed eaters, they can easily grab them and get the best weed eater to clean their gardens. For more details, you can consider this page to help you learn about the best and the major advantages of using a powered weed eater. It will also help you enhance your current knowledge about these eaters and opt for the best one. Light-Weight  First and the best advantage of using a powered weed eater is that it is light-weighted and helps people have a great weed cutting experience. These weed eaters include a Lithium-ion battery, which helps make it light-weighted and helps people feel free while cutting the weed. Many other features help to contribute to its light-weight factor; it contains a lack of an internal combustion engine, and the aluminum material is sometimes in its shaft. No Air Pollution Another best advantage of considering powered weed eater is that it people to be safe from creating air pollution. It is powered based not gas-based, which releases no gas that can pollute the air, making it more preferable. Air pollution is hazardous, and people tend to feel bad when they feel pollution around them, so it is better to use this weed eater to be environment-friendly and safe for your health. The machine based on a battery usually has a minimal carbon footprint that makes it less polluted. Ease of Use The people who are new to the weed eating concept, it would be great if they will consider using powered-based eaters. It will help them to face no troubles while using it as it includes a cordless trimmer feature that helps to cut the wed automatically. Once you are done with fixing the battery, then it will help you to cut the weed with proper ease and helps you to be relaxed while doing so. In such weed eaters, you only need to press a button and carry out the extra material from your surroundings. Weed eating machines play a major role and help you greatly impact your gardens and the area around your homes. Once you understand the above info, it will help you learn about the powered weed eater’s major advantages and motivate you to opt for the best one. Continue reading Buying guide Guide Personal Care Shavers Trimmers Everything You Need To Know About Braun Series 9 Shavers And Trimmers 2 months ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong If you are someone who has really good beard growth, you must be aware that it is difficult to find a good shaver. You can switch from product to product, brands to brands, and you still won’t find the one that works best for you. This leads to a lot of frustration, and you feel like you should cut off your beard. But that’s not a smart move. Because admit it, the beard adds more glory to your face and gives you a really attractive look. So, then the question that arises is that, how do I buy the best shaver? What are the most affordable options available in the market? And how can I choose the best of them? If you are also searching for answers to these questions, m then this article will help you with everything you need to find out about a good shaver. Braun Series 9 review While there are many products in the market when it comes to shavers, Braun 9 remains the top-selling brand of all time. This is because of a lot of reasons. Firstly because of its high and self-cleaning Technology. Secondly, its long-lasting battery life. And lastly because of other such additional technological features. Introduction Are you someone who loves keeping a well-groomed beard look but razor bumps, nicks, and cuts annoys you? You want to improve your shaving experience, and then the Braun 9 series shavers are the ultimate rescue option. Why? Let me explain in detail. Body Design and Outer appearance The head of the trimmer consists of the following five parts: Two OptiFoil shavers (they contain skin guards for added protection) A lift-and-cut trimmer A direct-and-cut trimmer A protective skin guard Titanium covering The Braun 9 series shavers are completely waterproof. This eliminates the risk of using them comfortably in the shower. Additionally, it has no risk of getting damaged because of coming in contact with water or shaving cream. The body is covered with a Titanium layer that makes it hygienic and prevents it from undergoing rusting. Moreover, it is highly hygienic and gives it an overall attractive look. Travel lock The shaver’s structure also contains a special travel lock function that stops it from switching on automatically when kept inside your bag during the time of travel. This saves the battery life and saves you from the added embarrassment of the vibrating noise that may come from your language unknowingly. Technological features As I have already mentioned earlier, the Braun 9 series trimmers have many special technologically advanced features. Some of them are: Amazing battery life: It has a runtime of up to 60 minutes. And that is more than enough for making a trim. It has a battery life indicator that will tell you when the battery is about to get over. You can charge it after that to use it further. Self-cleaning feature: When you are taking care of your body, hygiene is the most important thing. Therefore, what could be better than buying a trimmer that does its job with complete hygiene? Likewise, along with the previously mentioned Titanium coating, it also contains a small cleaning brush that adds to its hygiene. Despite being a reusable blade, these added features make it different from other market products. Particularly talking about the 9370cc model, the package comes with a cleaning cartridge and a stand. Clean and charge stand has a solution that is specially formulated to clean and oil the blades. Both of these work in combination to provide you perfect cleanliness after you have used the shaver. In addition to all this, the stand also contains an LED indicator that will help you know the amount of the cleaning solution available for use. If it is less, you can replace it easily by using this indicator. In conclusion, the Braun 9 series has a great variety and range of electrical shavers that can help you get any beard or beardless look with complete convenience and comfort. You get all these features for a price of near $300 and is the best option to consider if you use a shaver daily. Hope it helps! Continue reading Shopping and Product Reviews What to Look for in a Citrus Juicer 2 months ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong Serious chefs understand the importance of freshly squeezed citrus juice. It can be used in marinades and vinaigrettes, as well as cookies, tarts, and sorbets. But where do you get the juice? I found that I unconsciously obey a “quartercup rule” when it comes to juicing. If I just need a quarter of a cup, I squeeze the fruit by hand; if I need more, I depend on technology. I looked at some of the most commonly used products for extracting citrus juice. Although a citrus juicer may cost anything from $500 to $3,000 (check the Frontgate catalog if you don’t believe me), I’ve restricted my search to machines that cost $125 or less—in most cases, far less. Try a hand-held reamer for full power. A handle is fixed to a ridged cone with a tapered tip on hand-held reamers. To remove the juice, press the tip into the flesh of a halved citrus fruit and twist. Norman van Aken, the chef and coowner of Norman’s in Miami, suggests using a reamer to see if you’re breaking into the rind. If the juicer cuts into the flesh, it releases potent oils that give the juice a more tangy—some may say bitter—flavor. Reamers are inexpensive (less than $10), convenient to store, and clean. With a saucer and a strainer, you’ve got yourself a classic Citrus Juicers. This is the same juicer that your grandmother had. To extract the juice, the citrus half is pressed onto the cone and turned by hand. When Sunkist introduced its “Drink an Orange” campaign in 1916, it popularized this kitchen gadget. The company started manufacturing its own line of glass reamers as part of its promotion. These reamer-saucers are now available in a variety of materials, including plastic, ceramic, glass, and metal, and have become a popular kitchen collectible. I like a small metal one that fits in a drawer and can withstand a beating (unfortunately, it’s too small for a grapefruit). Metal hand presses are, well, easy. I recalled Zarela Martinez, the chef-owner of Zarela’s in New York City, telling me how these are among her favorite kitchen tools when I saw them in a Williams-Sonoma catalog. There’s a smaller green one for limes and a bigger yellow one for lemons, as you would imagine. I fell in love with the green press as I squeezed limes. In the perforated cap, position half of a lime, cut side down. Squeeze the cone onto the lime’s skin side by pressing the handles together. As the press inverts the lime, every drop of juice is squeezed out with a satisfying. PDQ, countertop presses have a lot of psi. A citrus half is subjected to hundreds of pounds of downward pressure thanks to smooth rack-and-pinion gearing operated by a lever or handle. Most of these presses, including the OrangeX and the Chef’s Juicer, which both cost about $100, stand reasonably tall and are ideally suited to kitchens with plenty of counter space. The Mighty OJ, by Metrokane, is the only short one I’ve come across. It stands about eight inches tall, has a charming rounded shape, and is available in a variety of colors for about $50. (When purchasing juicers, shop around: prices for the same model vary greatly between catalogs, discount stores, and the Internet.) What I like best about all of these countertop juicers is that you can juice a lot of fruit easily without having to listen to an irritating electric motor whirr. They will, however, break the fruit if you go too far with the handle, and they do take some effort. I could feel my triceps burning after juicing a cup of lemon juice with the OrangeX. And risk lurks: the heavy top on both the Mighty OJ and the OrangeX will fall on your fingers if you leave it up; I’ve experienced this when cleaning the Mighty OJ, and it hurts. I’d consider the Chef’s Juicer for that purpose alone, as it has a spring-action handle with a swing-back mechanism that prevents the press from dropping on careless fingers. Electric juicers are the quickest and most comfortable to use. If you drink a lot of juice, an electric juicer may be the way to go. All of the electric models I tested work in exactly the same way: you press a citrus half into a reamer, but instead of turning the fruit yourself, the reamer turns automatically. Continue reading Guide Health and Fitness Plastic Surgery Treatment What Are The Things Know Plastic Surgery? 2 months ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong Things you need to know about plastic surgery are in the category below plastic sergery is a very dangerous surgery! Dr. Masri runs his cosmetic surgery practice in Dearborn to have the effective results in reduction of the weight and fat. The results are available according to the requirements of the people. There is no performance of dangerous surgery for the people or patient. Choose a topic Wound healing Bed position Medicines Thrombosis prophylaxis Alcohol consumption Daily activities Contact with surgeon Specific protective measures Plastic surgery is becoming increasingly popular. An increasing number of people dare to say goodbye to their physical deficiencies with the aid of a surgical scalpel. Choosing a qualified and experienced physician is one of the most important factors that determine success. It is very important to understand that your cooperation is essential for the best result and a long lasting effect of the operation. To help you Wound healing Typically surgical glands are covered with sterile wound dressings. They reduce the risk of wound infections and improve conditions for healing. If the surgeon does not recommend it, you can leave the original bandages for up to 5 days. It is highly recommended to clean the hands with soap and water before removing the bandage. Do not try to touch the wound with your fingers as you must keep the surgical wound clean and dry. Consult your doctor if any signs of infection occur. In addition, there are factors that complicate healing. These include diabetes, a weakened immune system and, of course, smoking. Smoking leads to decreased blood flow to the wound, formation of blood clots and an increased risk of infections. You should not smoke at least 2 weeks after surgery. Bed position The upper part of the body should be slightly raised on the first postoperative day. This position helps to reduce swelling and prevents seams from being subjected to excessive tension. You can use special pillows or place 3 or 4 standard pillows under your head and back. Drugs Doctors usually prescribe painkillers, antibiotics, sleep tablets and other medicines after a plastic operation. Like all medicines, they affect various organ systems. To prevent damage to your liver, stomach, or other organs, do not drink alcohol while taking the prescribed medication. Some drugs, which are usually prescribed after a plastic operation, can lead to constipation. This can be a serious problem, especially after operations such as tummy tuck, since the abdominal wall remains weak for a while. In this case, use laxatives. Venous thrombosis prophylaxis Venous thromboses are possible postoperative risks. They are dangerous because a blood clot forming in a vein can interfere with blood flow and lead to life-threatening diseases such as pulmonary embolism. To avoid this complication, you should get out of bed more often after the first day. Also, you should stimulate your venous blood circulation by moving your legs often. In addition, breathing exercises are recommended to improve pulmonary function. Alcohol consumption There are several reasons why alcohol should be avoided after plastic surgery. In addition to the above-mentioned drug interactions, alcohol tends to increase the risk of postoperative bleeding due to the blood thinning effect. In addition, alcohol dries the skin and increases swelling. This effect is most pronounced after rhinoplasty. You should avoid alcohol consumption for approximately 2 weeks or at least while taking prescription medications. Return to normal activities The recovery phase after a cosmetic surgery depends on the type of surgery and varies from person to person. However, you should not shower for 3 days after surgery. It is recommended to shower instead of bathing. In addition, you should avoid exposure to sunlight for up to 3 months after the operation (or use sunscreen with a minimum light protection factor of 15 or higher) because sunlight can lead to burns or increased pigmentation of the scars. Furthermore, active sports should be avoided for about 2 months after surgery. Continue reading Guide Health Health and Fitness Lifestyle Medical Medical Spa Treatment Important Things To Know Before Going To A Doctor Operated Medical Spa 2 months ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong Medical spas have become more common throughout the years, and they have also become popular. Also known as medi-spas and med spas, medical spas is a combination of a medicinal clinic and a normal spa. It combines both of the two to create a unique experience that offers the experience of a relaxing spa, while still providing the competence and experience of doctors and physicians. In this article, we will guide you about the important things to know before going to a medical spa, such as New Medical Spa USA. Without further ado, let’s start: The difference between medical spas and normal spas The greatest variation when it comes to normal spas and traditional spas is the kinds of treatments and procedures that they offer. Medical treatments that are not available in normal spas can be carried out on medical spa. As opposed to normal spas, doctors run or at least monitor the daily operations of medical spas. Although not all treatments are conducted by a licensed physician (especially if your treatment is a very basic one), the presence of doctors is still required. Difference between various medical spas In the point above, we have discussed the difference between medical spas and normal spas. Take note that medical spas can also differ from each other. Their first difference is in terms of design and aesthetic. There are medical spas that are very similar to normal spas, while some medical spas are more clinical or hospital looking in nature. Another difference is in the medical treatments offered. Different medical spas offer medical treatments that vary from each other. This point will be further discussed below. Treatment options provided Even though the selection of medical procedures will be different based on the specific medical spa that you went to, you can expect some similarities on basic services. For example, most medical spas offer acne treatment, anti skin aging treatment, removal of hair, and other basic aesthetic choices. Similar to a standard spa, deluxe treatment options such as therapeutic massage, facial treatments, salt glows, etc are also offered by most medical spas. That is where their similarities end however. Medical spas in addition offer a lot more professional treatment options which are generally found only on dedicated dermatologies and plastic surgery practitioners, such as laser and light treatment, injecting Botox, Juvederm, and Restalyne, as well as using chemicals as peels. Medical spas also provide treatment dedicated to acne breakouts, hyperpigmentation, scarring reduction, as well as a general skin improvement. Who should you expect at a medical spa In this section, we will go through the different persons you should expect to see in a medical spa. The one who essentially conducts your procedure is determined by the procedure that you choose. The doctor or physician in charge of the medical spa oversees every procedure that they conduct, while estheticians handle more of the cosmetic and anti aging treatments. Therefore, if you came to the spa for a basic skin care routine mentioned above, you should expect an esthetician to assist you. The scope of an estheticians work includes wraps, body massages, scrubs, and other similar treatment. Additionally, they can also conduct anti acne procedures, chemical peels, as well as microdermabrasion. Even though every city has different rules when it comes to medical spas, it is the general rule that virtually all procedures that are medical in nature should be conducted by a doctor or a physician. If you came to a medical spa for injectables, major chemical peels, and laser treatments, you should expect a doctor or physician to conduct the procedure. Continue reading Back pain What Is Back Pain Surgery – Know about the back pain surgery  2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong The backbone or spine is the bony skeletal structure which encloses and protects the spinal cord. It plays a very important role in maintaining the structural framework of the human body for it connects the upper and lower bodies. In addition, it also plays a very important part since it protects one of the major structures of the nervous system which is the spinal cord. Progressive Spine treatment is the best and effective method available to the individuals. There is protection to the nervous system for the people. Complete information is available to the people for the treatment. The learning about it is necessary to have effective results.  Anatomically positioned between the upper and lower body, the spine is subjected to a constant amount of physical stress which can lead to injuries of the tendons, muscles, and soft tissues of the back. Compression of the sensitive nerve roots that stretches at the back can also lead to pain problems of the back. The physical structure of the overlapping elements of the spine alone can generate pain which may radiate to different locations on the back. There is a variety of treatment available in the medical world today. The most common treatment for chronic back pain is back pain surgery. The surgery is done by professionals called neurosurgeons. They are medical professionals who specialize in the prevention, diagnosis, treatment, and rehabilitation of problems which concerns the parts of the nervous system. Spine surgery is usually associated with benefits and its accompanying risks. The main benefit of undergoing this type of surgery is alleviation of pain and the restoration of the overall condition of the spine. The surgery usually allows the person the ability to go back from work without having to go through the pain again. It also improves the overall physical fitness of the person and enhances the physical activity that he or she will be able to handle on a daily basis. Of course, going back into full physical fitness from the surgery will take some time and is oftentimes coupled with rehabilitation. Most of the patients who undergo back surgery do not encounter any complications during or after surgery. However, all surgeries come with accompanying risks. Hemorrhage or internal bleeding is one of the major complications that come with surgeries. It is a very serious complication and extreme caution should be observed while doing surgery in order to avoid conditions that may lead to internal bleeding. Another common risk associated with surgeries is the risk of infection. Since surgeries involves the introduction of foreign objects to the internal parts of the human body, the possibility of contacting bacteria and other forms of microorganisms may lead to infection. This is why health care professionals observed strict sterilization techniques to avoid the occurrence of such. Lastly, a very common complication that is associated with back pain surgery is the possibility of nerve damage from the procedure. The spine, as discussed earlier, encloses the spinal cord which is one of the main parts of the nervous system. It is composed of a bundle of nerves that carries all information to and from the brain. Damage to these nerves may result to complete loss of body function, paralysis, pain, weakness, and loss of control of the organs of the body. Continue reading Guide Health Health and Fitness Medical Spa What a Medical Spa Can Do for You? 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong In recent years, medical spas have become more popular for both men & women. Medical spas, also called med spas or medi spas, are a true hybrid between the traditional day spas and medical clinics. The medical spas are committed to infuse the advantages of two major aspects – a relaxing spa experience and the expertise you get at a doctor’s office. At a medical spa, an individual gets the opportunity to relax both their mind and body for the good. Have you ever been to a medical spa before? Do you have an idea what such a spa can do for you? If not, then let’s find that out here. What does a Medical Spa offer? Medical spas have come up because of an unique blend between medicine and aesthetics. These spas try to offer a wonderfully relaxed and calming atmosphere to their clients where they have access to world-class medical care and treatment facilities as well. Medical spas are by reputed doctors and physicians. When you visit a medical spa, there will be many services available on their menu. This may include botox injections, fine line reduction, anti-wrinkle treatment, CoolSculpting, etc. All of these cosmetic therapies and treatment are usually meant to enhance the individual’s appearance and overall makeover. Some of the medical spas also offer laser hair removal, vein and stretch mark reduction, etc. Many of the med spas these days are presided over by top dermatologists who help the visitors to get better knowledge regarding the treatments. Majority of the treatment facilities offered by the medical spas are minimally invasive and that is why they are a lot easier to tackle. What is The Need For a Medical Spa? A lot of people would want to know why a medical spa is so important in today’s time? Well, there are several reasons for it. The first and foremost is because of the fact that med spas are the best place where you can get a clear and honest treatment service for any cosmetic or skin related issues that you have. These treatment centers are world-class. They are equipped with the best equipment and tools that help you to experience the best treatment. Stress and anxiety are rising issues among the youth of this generation. Medical spas can help an individual to come and relax. They are able to rejuvenate themselves at a med spa and give their mind the necessary peace and comfort. Medical spas can help a person deal with these two serious issues of a person’s life really well. When you visit a traditional spa, you will see that massages and facials are usually done with the help of trained experts, right? But, in a med spa, you will be treated with the help of modern and advanced technology which helps to deliver better results. You will always have a better outcome when compared to traditional spas. Some of the medical spas even offer skin and mental health consultation to their clients. Search the web and look for a reliable medical spa like Nexx medical spa and visit them now! Continue reading Health Foot Ulcers Recorded With The ICD-10 Foot Ulcer Coding System 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong A foot ulcer is a serious issue related to diabetics. A person has diabetes when the sugar concentration in their blood increases. It results in low blood pressure and reduces the function of the white blood cell. The foot ulcer is caused due to neuropathic and vascular complications. It is an aftereffect of being diabetic. The treatment follows several diagnoses and are recorded under codes, often termed as ICD-10 foot ulcer coding. What are the different kinds of diabetic foot ulcers? Ulcers get identified by their appearance and location. Therefore, the different kinds of diabetic foot ulcers are: Neuropathic ulcers- It occurs as an outcome of peripheral neuropathy. Neuroischemic ulcers develop when the diabetic patient has both ischemia and peripheral neuropathy due to peripheral artery disease. Ischemic ulcers- The ischemic ulcers occur when there is a presence of peripheral artery disease without any interference of peripheral neuropathy. What are the signs and symptoms? Diabetic foot ulcers often develop on the feet’s soles. Exactly on the location where the skin is facing constant pressure by the blood vessels. Sometimes these ulcers might develop under the calluses and go undetected. However, the most common sign of foot ulcers is drainage. You may find strains on the socks or inside of your shoes. Besides, these are some of the symptoms and signs one should look out for: Thickened skin surrounding the location of the ulcer. Chills felt in the body or fever during the advanced stages of diabetic foot ulcers. Discharge oozing out from the wound smelling foul. Feeling pain or firmness when you touch the wound. Warmth, swelling and discolouration around the wound. What is the treatment? The treatment solely focuses on speeding up the healing process and reducing the growth of infection. These include the following: Optimal glucose control- The sugar level in your blood to be strictly controlled. It is generally the first step of treating a diabetic patient. Debridement- It involves the removal of the dead tissue and skin surrounding the foot ulcer. At first, the wound is cleared then the thickened skin or the calluses are removed. Off-loading- The patients are asked to wear specific foot gears and other supporting accessories. It is done to relieve the foot from the pressure of the ulcerated areas. Dressing- The ulcers or the wound are then handled carefully and often kept covered with bandages. This dressing keeps the germs away. It protects that wound from getting infected. Medication- After the wound is looked after by the doctor, the patients get prescribed medication. They need to take it seriously according to the right timing. What are the ICD-10 codes? Hospitals or doctors use the ICD-10 foot ulcer coding system to keep the record of their patients. They associate each code with each type of ulcers. It is an easy process to remember and keep documentation. When you have diabetes, you can develop a foot ulcer. It is always better to keep your blood sugar level under control and go for monthly check-ups. Continue reading Health and Fitness Excess Fat Burners Perform 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong Extra fat Burners are dietary products that aid your excess weight reduction by burning body fat while programs like BackTo30 helps you with workouts. Body fat burners are not only for folks who wish to shed a pound or two but as well for system builders to lower body extra fat and that way expose their developed muscles under the fat covering their bodies. The advantages which you could anticipate from taking these items are issues like improved vitality amounts, an improved metabolic process as well as suppressed appetite. All those seem like pretty very good positive aspects – just what any of you dieters require, but I hear you say – will excess fat burners work, and when they do will there be without adverse negative effects. Do Fat Burners Function? Well, it’s tough to say generally do they perform. It’s occasionally quite tough to seek out a verifiable clinical analysis or check about any bodyweight reduction or dietary supplement to verify that they genuinely operate. Even so, it isn’t going to imply that you will find not some supplements that are really efficient in carrying out what they may be promising to complete. Are They Risk-free to use? Comparable to other very good goods body fat burning capsules as well have some disadvantages. As a consequence of that, you just have to pick wise amongst different kinds while in the market place. You should be informed about a single verified indisputable fact that some fat burning capsules could include ephedrine which is addictive. It could result in you quite a few unwanted effects ranging from headaches, nervousness, or dry mouth to much more dangerous negative effects like highly increased heart price, abnormal heartbeat, or seizures, which in extreme cases could possibly be together with the fatal penalties. Of course, you can uncover extra fat-burning tablets that don’t incorporate ephedrine, so you need to lookup for these. Excess fat burners are usually extremely pricey. You could also discover some less costly dietary supplements, but from my personal adverse experience, it could be greater to not consider these. Low-cost body fat burners cannot be so successful. Besides, it could possibly be risky for one’s health because it is sometimes stuffed with unproven and probably dangerous elements. So please make sure you inform yourself about a specific extra fat burner prior to utilizing it. Today, the diet program pills sector is very aggressive and typically guarantees wonders, and that means you need to be a good deal far more careful when purchasing fat burners. I suggest you research for dietary supplements that can be produced under Meals and Drug Administration (FDA) rigorous terms. Among such is Phen375, which can be a combination of synthetic chemical substances and also have been produced in foods FDA permitted and certified labs. Continue reading Marketing Skin care Marketing Tips: How To Market The Botox To The Target Audience? 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong When it comes to women, looking good stands to be one of the biggest objectives. After a certain age, every woman wants to look young and devoid of wrinkles and crow’s feet. This has opened a huge market if Botox. It non-surgical and hardly requires any post-procedure resting period. Botox helps in removing the stress lines, wrinkles, and loose skin by stretching the skin. No doubt, this procedure has a huge market, as baby boomers, generation X, and late millennials are diving into it.  But the biggest challenge that many clinics and companies like revitalizing you MD are facing is how to reach their audience properly. Here are some marketing tips that will be useful. Position the Botox properly One of the things that many tend to fear is that people might see using Botox as one’s vanity. It may seem like if one is using Botox, they are getting old and have certain things that need to be fixed. It puts a negative idea in the head of the women and society in general.  But, if one positions Botox in the market as any other cosmetic product that is used to look better and not hide any flaws, it may change the way women look at it. One should think of marketing Botox as hair dye or lipsticks. It is not to better anything, but to only bring a change that will make one happier. Using the internet Now next thing that one should take seriously is using the internet for the benefit. Today internet is the biggest platform that one can find to reach one’s audience. Women these days search everything, from cosmetic types to surgeries to doctors and their reviews.  One can use the internet to reach their audience through various media like; social media platforms, content marketing, and even digital ads. One can create educational content that will grab the eyeballs of future customers.  One can use the internet to educate the audience and then market the product to the very same audience.  Cross marketing techniques Lastly, one can take their marketing campaign a notch up by using cross-platform marketing. Cross-platform marketing is when one can find a related industry that can provide potential customers from their customer base. Botox is popular among women, and the industries which women quite hoard become a great place for marketing.  For example, one can engage with the gyms to provide their member with Botox-related discounts. Wherever the target audience of revitalizing your MD comes and goes the most becomes a great place to promote Botox products.  Botox is not something that one should promote as a product of hiding flaws. Still, as something that will bring forward one’s better features, one can reach more audiences using proper marketing strategies and can help them understand the benefits of Botox and its after-effects. Remember that educating the audience properly and honestly will help make them more interested in the product. Hiding information will make the target customer wary of the procedure that will lead to lower sales growth.  Continue reading Health Marketing Establish Your Medical Practice Marketing Strategy 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong A daunting and sometimes outright confounding undertaking is to bring together creative medical marketing campaigns for medical practices. It can seem treacherous with what seems like infinite marketing and advertisement channel choices and sometimes conflicting data online on what is the best fit to navigate these waters. The last thing you want to do is end up making a wrong decision and wasting time, money, and precious assets on finding out that the initiative was a waste of time and unsuccessful in improving the practice. Here are medical marketing techniques for doctors to assist with your preparation. Think of your goals Think of your goals as your ultimate needs and understand how to get what you want through your plan. Don’t overthink your goals, and don’t set too many goals, or any of them cannot be accomplished. Know your competition Although this may seem a simple issue, this has been radically changed by telehealth like PracticeBloom. Telehealth rivals from other areas or national brands are now likely to go after the same patients, and you can no longer compete against just the doctors and practices in your field. In addition, if you have extended lines of operation, such as orthopedics and pain management, you really compete in many categories for certain medical specialties. Know Your Patient Ensure that you have a good vision of and construct the marketing for your ideal patients. Document it so that the teams and partners can develop alignment. The particular illnesses that your ideal patients have, the medications they will require, and what types of insurance they have are examples. This is especially important for your paid advertisement campaigns to recognize and concentrate on your content development efforts to have an effect on SEO. You don’t want all of your resources to be wasted on the wrong patients. Invest in Social Media Marketing on social media is an integral part of great approaches for medical marketing which can help you share content and meet your ideal customer base. Doctors’ social media marketing is a major contributor to generating sales to your website and search engine results for your medical or dental practice. Social networking can help reach a wider audience with medical marketing campaigns and can be used as a vital tool for generating leads. To track your efforts and adjust the social media marketing campaigns for your dental practice, use the available analytics tools that social media platforms offer. Know Your Content As well as the issues you address, the material you develop for your practice should be specifically linked to your ideal patient concept. In general, all content for a medical practice will fall into a couple of categories: educational content such as symptoms and care study, and decision-making content such as the practice details.  Create an active content marketing strategy Medical marketing for physicians depends on a strong marketing plan for healthcare content. Content marketing increases the total traffic on the internet, increases organic search, strengthens brand recognition, and places you in your specialty as a thought leader. Continue reading Guide Health Water Natural Spring Water for Good Health 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong People focus on the taste and comfort when many people think about drinking spring water. Although these are vital aspects of drinking bottled water, residents of Perth would also want to recognize that there are valuable health benefits that can also be enjoyed. Spring water is rich in minerals, which is significant when you realize that about two-thirds of the water is in the human body. For purification, toxin removal, this natural resource is important, and it allows any organ (including your brain that is 75 percent water) to work as it should. It is important for a healthy mind and body, and it is what humans have been eating for centuries, to have access to pure, safe, and mineral-rich drinking water should never be considered an expensive privilege. Spring water, as a drink, strikes out from the market by its purity and mineral composition. When it moves around and through the rock underground, these minerals and other trace elements are naturally introduced to the water. In natural spring water, there are four main helpful minerals usually encountered, namely calcium, potassium, sodium, and magnesium. These minerals are present in just the right quantities in spring water to keep a fit and balanced human body. Several studies have shown that drinking water containing the right concentrations of these minerals will help avoid a wide range of health problems. So, you can really help to improve your health and immune system when you choose to drink natural, locally sourced spring water. Since before the beginning of time, spring water has been around and its natural mineral content can offer unmatched health benefits. In contrast with municipal tap or bottled water, which have their corresponding amounts of chlorine, antibacterial chemicals, and pharmaceuticals, spring water is naturally rich in minerals and stands on its own, although the big plastic industry has gone to great lengths to refute these facts. Many experts think that the best type of drinking water available for consumption is naturally sourced spring water. Natural spring water is highly pure, pollution-free, naturally occurring drinking water, and contains many essential minerals at the correct level of concentration for the body. The geothermal gradient of spring water varies, but studies show that its higher mineral content can help us meet the recommended daily intake (RDI) of some nutrients, such as magnesium, potassium, calcium and sodium, particularly in cases where a balanced diet does not meet the nutrient requirements. Justifiably, the safety of drinking water has been of utmost concern lately, especially with water catastrophes such as the Flint, Michigan crisis. You want to make sure that the water you and your family eat is not only high in nutrients, but also free of toxins, pathogenic bacteria, and harmful microbes. By looking at the company like Diamond Rock Spring Water  you want to order from, it’s vital to guarantee that you get high-quality spring water. In its disclosure of water sourcing locations and how they handle their goods, the bottled water industry is purposely ambiguous. Continue reading Guide Health Lifestyle Personal Care Skin care Treatment 7 Killer Ways To Prevent Stretch Marks Formation 2 months ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong We all dread those annoying silvery lines and yet we are often told that there is nothing much we can do about it. It’s genetic and the only way to treat is to go for a Stretch Marks Removal Treatment in Abu Dhabi. But getting such a treatment often gets very expensive. But isn’t there something that we can do to prevent the formation of much marks? Well, there are a plenty of home remedies but to be honest with you, they don’t really work. But, there is still a good news, there are plenty of cheap, easy and effective ways that can help you prevent the formation of stretch marks. Yes, so without further ado, let’s jump right into the prevention tips: Ethos Spa Laser Center is offering many ways to remove marks and acne from the face. The formation of good face is possible. The killing of the acne and forms is possible to have the desired results. You can know about them to have the desired results. Gelatin Gelatin is your best friend when it comes to preventing the formation of stretch marks. It will improve the elasticity of your skin. Start incorporating more and more gelatin in your diet. You can also apply gelatin directly onto your skin. A good way is to apply massage gelatin on your stomach, thighs, hips and breasts in the shower. Massage it into your skin for two to three minutes and then wash off. It is surely a great step to avoid the formation of ugly silvery lines. Hydration Hydration is the key to a well-moisturized body and a well-moisturized body will surely prevent stretch marks. When you are pregnant, your blood volume increases and you build a huge water sack for your baby which allows him to stay inside your body comfortably. Drinking 8 to 12 glasses of water a day is more than enough to make your body feel hydrated from within. So, if you don’t want to spend tons of money on stretch marks removal treatment in Abu Dhabi, this is an important step. Coconut Oil Coconut oil is one of the best oils that can be used on the surface of your skin. During pregnancy, make a habit of massaging coconut oil onto your skin, every time you shower. You can also use some of the natural recipes for making a body butter out of coconut oil. All you need is some solidified coconut oil and a whipping utensil. Start whipping coconut oil and do it continuously for about 5 minutes. It will turn into the most amazing body butter. Vitamin C Vitamin C is essential for the collagen and cartilage production in our body. It is also well known for reducing free radical damage. The best way to include more vitamin C in your diet is by choosing natural sources over pills. A hot water with lemon works as a great anti-oxidant and surely fulfills your vitamin C requirement. If you are not a fan of drinking lemon and hate the citrusy taste, getting a pill is a great alternative as well. Also, you can grab a bottle of pure orange extract and mix in with your body butter, prior to applying it to your skin. Oil Treatments The best oils for your skin are olive oil, Vitamin E oil, Essential oils, coconut oil and castor oil. They hydrate your skin naturally and you can use them easily during pregnancy without the fear of applying chemicals on your body. So, oil it up girl. If you warm up the oil prior to massaging your skin, it will feel amazing. This can certainly help you with stretch marks removal treatment in Abu Dhabi. Zinc Zinc deficiency is one of the key reasons behind the development of stretch marks. It is better for your overall wellbeing and for your skin as well. Incorporating a zinc pill in your diet will immensely help in avoiding the development of stretch marks and will save you tons of money on future Stretch Marks Removal in Abu Dhabi. Calcarea Fluorica + Silicea Calcarea Fluorica and Silicea help immensely with the bone development and restore the elasticity of the skin. It prevents stretch marks, prevents hemorrhoids and varicose veins. It is by far the most effective tip to prevent the formation of stretch marks. Continue reading Business Computer and Technology CRM Finance Guide internet Marketing Money Online Customer Relations Management- Software Implementation Process 2 months ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong What is the most important factor that contributes to the success of a business? Well, to begin with, there isn’t necessarily a single factor that comes to mind as business is much more than gathering all the resources, raw materials, capital and set up a stall or building to start things out. No, it doesn’t work that way because you need to have a plan of action ready well in advance before implementing the process that we shall get into but one needs to know what is the core basis of any business becoming successful. If you want to become a successful businessman, you need to be aware about Customer Relations Management, better known by its acronym CRM, where the main interaction between the owners, clients and customers has to be in a synchronized phase in order to achieve success. Smart Investment CRM Software has been doing the rounds for a long time with some important twists and turns but there are certain points of note that have to be kept in mind where you need to compile a list of data in the system from numerous communication channels that includes the official website of the company, emails, live chats, virtual conferencing, etc. to name a few. Due to the competition being so huge from all sides, every business organization has to be alert and up to date regarding what their rivals are doing because there are more enemies than friends in this profession. While some people would not agree, youngsters that are new to the trade are not investing smartly into the project that they are about to start, which is why their business barely lasts a few months. In order to get a smart investment sense, you need to know what CRM software is and how to implement is as that would help in increasing your customer base and global competition would be equal at a certain level. Sales strategies are excellent prospects for increasing your enterprise standing and always look for CRM for getting the necessary tools required for protecting data because when you involve sensitive info, it becomes difficult for certain people to place their trust on CRM and whether it is a smart investment scheme. Doing the Needful CRM will help you create a better organization because what happens is that spreadsheets, sticky notes, files and paper have become outdated but through CRM, you can get a virtual database where everything is digital and therefore, safe and secure Mobile phones play a huge role in establishing a strong connection with business clients in a literal sense and Commence Corporation is a leading CRM software in this game where you sales persons maintain contact with one another to discuss breakthroughs and further plan of action Legacy system has become outdated as well which is why customer data is at a huge risk so when a sales employee leaves the company, his information is in danger of getting leaked and misused but CRM implementation means that the data will be secure Continue reading Back pain Back Pain Is More Prevalent Among Tall People 2 months ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong Back discomfort is a common phenomenon within the general population, but this is more common among high people. A study of 17-year-old Israeli military recruits from 1998 to 2009, published in Health & Science Today, found that will males over 6 feet high were 44% more likely in order to experience endure from lower back pain , including pain, whereas females over 5 feet 7 inches had been 22% more prone to experience back discomfort than shorter females. Amr Hosny is the professional person to get the desired results. There is a reduction in the pain according to the requirements of the people. A professional help is available to the people for the reduction in pain. The results are available according to the requirements of the people. There are usually some things you can’t modify, and your height is a single of these. Being tall does not really mean that you are condemned to back pain, however. We must first identify the systems of pain, then proceed in order to find possible solutions. Body Structure The method by which height can cause back again pain is two-pronged. The initial prong of height-related back discomfort involves your body structure itself. Tall people are especially susceptible in order to disc degeneration, and there are many associated with possible reasons for this. Taller people likely have taller vertebral discs than an average-sized individual. A study by Natarajan ainsi que al published in the September 1999 issue of Spine verified that tall disc height will be associated with greater rate associated with failure. When a disc along with average area and further height will be loaded, it experiences extra tension. If a tall disc bulges, its bulge is going to be bigger compared to a disc of average elevation; this leads to increased danger of nerve impingement in the particular form of sciatica. Another achievable cause of back pain within tall people is the range involving the arm hinge and the particular lower back. The arm works as a lever on the particular body. The closer the joint (shoulder/armpit) is to your middle of gravity, the less stress will be put on your vertebral discs when lifting objects. In tall people, who may have a better distance between the hinge as well as the center of gravity, more stress is placed on the backbone, particularly around the lower back. If you are tall, it is very important strengthen your spinal discs with solid muscles. A solid core will assist you to take pressure off your dvds. It would be wise in order to invest in a lumbar cushioning to give added support in order to your spine while sitting. It is also vital that you avoid raising very heavy objects, and in order to practice proper body mechanics whenever lifting (for example, lifting along with a straight back). Postural Dysfunction and Strains When you’re a high person in a small globe, you find yourself bending plus reaching frequently. From doorways in order to chairs, most things are not really created for you. Ergonomics and correct biomechanics are the keys in order to avoiding repetitive strain injuries. For a tall person, an ergonomic desk chair is really a necessity, not the luxury. The seat and adjustable rate mortgage rest heights of the ergonomic seat are adjustable. Some have pre-installed lumbar cushions; make certain these are usually adjustable as well. Whatever your work, your work station should end up being tailored for your height. You might need a taller desk or even work surface to prevent constant twisting. To limit the deleterious results of constant bending and achieving, you must train your entire body to go with maximum efficiency plus without dysfunction. When bending in order to reach an object, bend on the hips rather than on the back. This maintains your own natural lumbar curve and requires pressure off spinal discs. When ducking beneath a low entry, bend your knees or sides and keep your back plus neck straight rather than slanting your neck sideways. These plus other simple maneuvers could avoid height-related muscle strain, joint malfunction and disc degeneration. If a person require a more structured method of correct body mechanics, consider learning the Alexander Technique. This plan focuses on efficient movement that will places body structures under the particular least quantity of stress possible. The Alexander Technique can be attacked at home or having a skilled instructor. See http://www.alexandertechnique.com/ to find out more. While you can’t change your elevation, you might have the power to restrict its effects on the wellness of your back. The method you move and the areas you work in can end up being altered to avoid or resolve back again pain. Continue reading Dieting Fat loss Guide Health Health and Fitness Lifestyle Weight loss Workout 5 Reasons Why You Dont Lose Weight 2 months ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong Figuring out the top 5 reasons why you don’t lose weight is something that you must do when you’re feeling frustrated with your current progress. If you feel like you’ve been dieting forever yet are not seeing the results you were hoping for, it’s time to take a serious look at what might be going on. New Jersey Center for CoolSculpting is sharing some reasons for the using of the best medicine for reducing fat and minimizing weight. The information about the progress is available to the people to have effective results. The losing of the weight is possible. What gives? Why aren’t you making progress despite putting in so much effort? By coming to realize the top 5 reasons why you don’t lose weight, you can quickly assess the situation, determine the problem, and then put an action plan in place to change how you’re doing things so your outcome is that which you desire. Let’s have a look at the top 5 reasons why you don’t lose weight. You Aren’t Tracking Your Calories The very first reason why you might not be losing weight despite putting in such a high amount of effort is because you simply aren’t tracking your calories. Remember, to lose weight you simply must burn off more calories than you consume. There really is no way around this factor, it’s an absolute necessity. But, if you aren’t tracking how many calories you’re consuming, how will you ever know if you’re actually eating fewer than you burn? You won’t and that’s the reason you may not be seeing success. Start counting your calories for a few days to get a better idea of where you sit. Then assess that and see if some changes need to be made. You Aren’t Working Out Hard Enough Second, the next of our 5 reasons why you don’t lose weight is because you aren’t working out hard enough. Be honest with yourself here. When was the last time you exercised hard enough to really break a good sweat and be breathing so hard that you had to stop to rest? If you are honest, most people will find that it’s been a while. Remember, when it comes to maximum fat loss from your workout program, intensity will be key. It always wins out over volume so start making your workouts shorter but more intense. If you do this, you should see a difference in your results. You’re Eating Too Few Calories Moving on, another big reason why some people don’t lose weight is because they’re actually eating too few calories. If you don’t eat enough, a strange thing happens and your body will begin to conserve fuel as it thinks it’s starving. When this happens your metabolism slows and all fat loss comes to a screeching halt. To overcome this problem, assess your calorie intake and if you’re consuming fewer than ten calories per pound of body weight, increase this up slightly. Most people are amazed what a higher calorie intake will do to promote fat loss. It’s exactly opposite of what you may have thought would happen. You Aren’t Being Patient Next, also assess how long you’ve been on the plan for. Some people expect weight loss to happen overnight and simply aren’t being patient enough with themselves. Give any program you’re on at least 2 weeks of hard work before you become discouraged and think that it’s not working. Sometimes a little time is all that’s necessary. You Aren’t Consuming Enough Protein Finally, the last reason why you might not be losing weight is because you just aren’t consuming enough protein. Protein is going to be key for success because this is the nutrient that will maintain you lean muscle mass. If you aren’t eating enough, not only will your metabolism be running slower, but you may begin to lose your strength as well. Aim to get one gram per pound of lean mass each and every day. If you do this, you will see results because of it. So there you have five big reasons why you might not be losing weight. Have a good look over your plan and see if any of these are factoring into the picture for you. Continue reading Computer and Technology Guide Internet and Businesses Online Marketing Online Marketing Affiliate Marketing Hints On How Do We Recognize A Scam 11 hours ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong Many of us need new jobs with new opportunities. We are possibly irritated with what we’re carrying out at the short time and request new challenges, or be vexed the place we’re at the short time working and desperately wish a change. Many of us would similar to to run the own businesses. The liberty and sovereignty that this brings, responding only to you and working if you wish is an incredibly attractive thing. Nevertheless, the fact of this materializing is slim to nothing in many people’s cases. Most of us do not have the funds compulsory to start a tiny business. Others are scared off by the luck situation involved. Your solid income will expected be vanished together with the fact that scarcely ninety % of all new businesses flop inside of the initial year. Online marketing is a way around the risk and start up costs. Internet online associate marketing prices nothing to hitch and the luck is minimal. You paid according to what you create and never in reply to how the firm is performing. There are a lot of wonderful associate programs for you to obtain entangled with, yet as with something a needs to be cautious.  Its is always a great option to hire an brand consultant. Sadly, at this time you stay in an age of internet and craving fraud. Numerous folks cleared considerable sums of money on these home-based business scams. Unfortunately, the world of internet online associate marketing just isn’t explanation against this. While it’s unattainable to record any prevision an particular ought to take, there are a few indicators that people can look for. These do not at all times meant that the firm is fake but they should be seemed in to carefully. Many peace themselves in to a false clarity of safety on the theme of internet online associate marketing programs. They unequivocally feel that, there is no such thing as a cost to them money intelligent so they do not have anything to loose. Nevertheless, this isn’t true. You could obtain divided with no money being mislaid however you could remove loads of your successive many appreciated commodity, that being time. You’re going to contingency work very oppressive to erect up your internet associate marketing craving so you will wish to be legitimate. It is most appropriate to unquestionably inquire the firm for testimonials. Don’t rely on the ones that they contention on their website. Anyone may have created these. Ask for names and addresses of people you could meeting to find out how the module worked for them. You can too essay seeking out on your prime finding engine. By seeking beneath scams or the firm identify, you’ll have an glorious luck of digging up any mud that is there. Learn the testimonials carefully. Should you uncover a number of bad reviews, this shouldn’t put you off. Sometimes people just will not be lower out for certain programs. If there’s more great than bad then problems are probably okay. You may as well use these testimonials for recommendation on what to do and what to not do. In box you have problems finding information then this ought to be a warning. Good associate applications may have been turn for a few time and will have a watch record. Resist the enticement to come together up since the offer waste to be hot. If it is a great module it’ll still be there in 6 months time. If the services or products is value having, there’ll still be loads of distinction to make out of it. The captivate of working the own companies attracts many. However, the reality of what is entangled stops many of us progressing than you obtain started. Affiliate marketing online is a way to give you the results you wish with out the financial risk. There are countless great online marketing packages in life today. Nevertheless, there are in addition many companies that might be fraudulent. When determining who to go with, assessment for testimonials. Use the internet to puncture up the dirt. Examine the corporate’s guard record. No follow inform at all may be as unwell as a deleterious record. Beware of new companies. If they are cost it they will still be there in a number of months time. Organization promoting is a plan of action that depends on an organization of wholesalers to grow a business. It commonly includes utilizing three fundamental kinds of orderly systems to bring in cash: lead age, selecting, and building and the executives. There are numerous kinds of organization promoting, including single-level, two-level, and staggered. Continue reading Guide Health Health and Fitness Supplements Testosterone What Do You Need To Know More About Testosterone Boosters? 5 days ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong In the modern age, individuals are struggling a lot to earn a livelihood and to beat their rival, which results in the decline of their testosterone; this problem is happening with the males. The males have been the most crucial human for their family, friends or loved ones, and the males work a lot because they have plenty of responsibilities on their shoulders. Because of that, their testosterone level is not good as earlier, so for individuals’ welfare, the experts have developed many testosterone boosters, which they can use to boost their testosterone level, which will be better for their health. So, if you are the one who is struggling through the same obstacle, then you should introduce a testosterone booster in your life. Apart from that, there are many testosterone boosters available for us in the market, still, among them, there is a booster that is spreading its roots more profoundly, and that booster is known as prime male testosterone south africa. It is the most helpful supplement for individuals who are struggling through the bad testosterone level, as this supplement has uncountable benefits, which will be described in the upcoming paragraphs. Have a look at the benefits of the testosterone booster:- It will improve the muscle mass and bones The first and foremost benefit of the above-mentioned testosterone booster is that it will help you to improve your muscle mass and bones. As mentioned above, the males hustle a lot to earn a livelihood, and because of that hustling, they cannot have a proper and useful diet. That is why they have become the victim of weak bones and muscle mass, and this product has come as a blessing for males, who have weak bones and muscle mass. This product has the most valuable and practical ingredients, which will provide sufficient protein to a human body, and which will take the bones to an unexpected level positively. It will improve your skin The other benefit of this product is that it will improve your skin’s quality, as it is a fact that males have to be in a situation where they have to face dust and dirt. Apart from that, the weak testosterone level can ruin our skin’s quality because it is a sign that our body is not getting a sufficient amount of protein by which we can remain fit for a long time. So, it cannot be denied that the prime male testosterone south Africa, will be an ideal product for individuals who are going through the bad phase of their skin. As it will easily increase your testosterone level, and the quality of your skin will be improved easily and effectively, therefore do not waste your time and money on any product to improve your skin, choose the product mentioned above and reach your desire precisely. The final verdict At last, we are here with the closure in which we can say that prime male testosterone South Africa is the most useful product for individuals who want to boost their testosterone level. Continue reading Health and Fitness The Real Truth About Interval Training And How It Can Help You 6 days ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong There are some pros who will try to tell you that one way of doing intervals is better than other ways: they aren’t being accurate. You see, all the studies have shown that interval style workouts are what do the best versus fat, but no one has really compared the different styles against each other. All this shows is that you can decide upon the kind of interval that suits you best. In essence, the principle of the interval is what provides for fat loss, not your preference for doing it. The RFT will provide correct information about the fat and weight loss. It will suit with the personality of the individuals. The meeting of the needs and requirements is possible. There is no requirement of training for the individuals. You can compare the products and choose the best one.  If you’re running distances, intervals of two or more minutes are helpful in building performance, but for losing flab, you’ll do half minute intervals. You can use a cardio machine for intervals if you’d like: work intensely for half a minute and then recover for a minute at a slow rate. Narrower interval periods would be hard to do on machinery because of the time it takes to adjust speed. So I am contradicting what some Internet gurus say when they tell you that one interval is better than another, but I have proven them wrong. In fact I will change the types of intervals I’m doini from time to time. If you’ve gotten used to doing the half-minute iterations over the past months, change to a longer one minute period to get results again. When you make this kind of change, your body will change in response. I think that the exercise bike is a good choice to make for intervals so that you can change easily from intensity to recovery. Of course, you should also stretch the tightest muscular groupings at the end of every workout. Make sure you workout with your intervals several times during a seven day period. Periodically change the timing of your intensity and recovery periods to keep your body guessing. In fact, you can change every day, rotating among different timing combinations. Continue reading Bodybuilding Bodybuilding Nutrition Bulk Up Or Lean Down Diets You Do The Math 7 days ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong Everybody knows that bodybuilding nutrition is a big part of this kind of sport but most of us still wonder are testosterone boosters steroids which makes us hesitant to invest in supplements that are actually beneficial for us. How else can you get all that bulk or all that toned-down muscles? Going to the gym every day is only one aspect. Bodybuilding nutrition is almost as important as bodybuilding itself! So how do you make good on your bodybuilding nutrition? Ensuring that you’re on a proper bodybuilding nutrition plan is one. If your goal is to gain mass, then your bodybuilding nutrition plan should be about eating more. And if your goal is to lean down a bit on body fat, then your bodybuilding nutrition strategy should be about discipline. Below are sample bodybuilding nutrition plans that you could adopt if you want to bulk up those muscles or tone them down for a sleeker look. Bulk Up or Lean Down Bodybuilding Nutrition Plan Protein Proteins are the muscle-builders of the body so having a lot of them in your body ensures faster muscle growth and development. It is also an interesting point to note that muscle growth speeds up your metabolism and makes fat burn faster. Thus, in a proper bodybuilding nutrition plan, protein should be at the top of your list. Meat, poultry, fish, and milk products are the best source of high-quality protein. Chicken especially is a favorite among bodybuilding nutritionists. But if you want to hit the 1.5 – 2.0 g/lb. of body weight, which is the recommended dietary allowance for gainers, turning to protein supplements might be a good idea too. And for those who want to tone down, 0.7 – 1.0 g/lb. of body weight is recommended in their bodybuilding nutrition plan. Carbohydrates As you lift weights, you’re going to need energy and carbohydrates are the best energy source for your body’s metabolism. Carbohydrates can be found in oats, rice, whole wheat bread, noodles, etc. The recommended dietary allowance for bodybuilding nutritionists would be around 2.0 – 2.5 g/lb. of body weight a day if you’re looking to bulk up. If you want to lean down, however, 1.0 – 1.5 g/lb. of body weight, a day is advised. Calories If gaining mass is the goal, then a good amount of calories, about 5,000 is what you need. If you want to cut down on your weight, however, being calorie deficient is the best way. Consume 1500 – 2000 calories a day for your bodybuilding nutrition and an additional 30 – 40 minutes of cardio or aerobic training to your regimen. Meal consistency Well, for a successful bodybuilding nutrition plan, eating consistently is almost as important as the food itself. For gainers, 6-7 medium-sized meals should have you in the size you want in no time. For those who want to cut down, having your body accustomed to 6-7 small meals is a great choice. Continue reading Health and Fitness The Life Fitness 9500 Treadmill Getting Your Body In Shape 7 days ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong Every fitness trainer manufacturer will endeavor to add a catchy phrase or line that will best describe their products. In this regard, Life Fitness 9500 Treadmill was called by its maker as the next generation fitness machine. You may want to know more about why this is so. You may certainly want to see if this is related to the wide array of features you can see in the product. Healthy people should gather details on leanbean where to buy to have a safe and secure experience. The next generation can get effective results in getting a healthy and good body. There is a wide choice available related to the products. Learning about the features is essential to have effective results.  The description given to the Life Fitness 9500 Treadmill is deemed fit knowing that the brand owner packed this exercise equipment with unique features. First, you will recognize that the product has its trademark known as the Smart Stop – one employed when you want to end your workout via the treadmill belt. You should also thank it because it guarantees no hassles in terms of storage. What Else is Packed in the Life Fitness 9500 Treadmill? The 9500 Treadmill has a speed range set in between one to ten miles per hour. When speaking of workout space, you can make use of the 58-inch by 18-inch area in the equipment. This makes the product so compact yet so cozy to work out on. Its motor system runs using 2.0 hp and with the aid of alternating current. This machine may only come in a shipping weight of around 350 pounds but you will admire it once you find out that it can handle a maximum load of 400 pounds. You will also find a 36-inch long side rail in the equipment. It also has pivoting legs that can make it more of a floor saver. Equipped with a Manager’s Menu, it will be reasonably easy for you to customize your exercise programs. This feature forms part of the Quick Start technology. Wrapping things up, you will also be delighted by the cooling mechanism included in this machine. A Look at Technical Specs of the Life Fitness 9500 Treadmill This machine is 70 by 34 by 50 inches (length by width by height). The speed you run or walk using the machine can be adjusted using .1 increments for the .5 to 12 miles per hour settings. When incline is regarded, you can set the range in between zero to fifteen percent. These technical specifications in the equipment make it even more of a desirable workout partner. The Life Fitness 9500 Treadmill is indeed a next generation fitness partner. You will surely love all great finds packed within this product. The truth is that you can use the same set of features if you want to search for the product through both online and offline venues. There is no reason for you not to push through with the purchase. The 9500 Treadmill is always one workout equipment to beat. Continue reading Accessories Here Are 5 Things You May Consider When Going For A Laptop Bag 1 week ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong A classic laptop briefcase is a much-needed accessory that’s both visual & practical advantages. After you have made a significant investment in buying a laptop, it is essential to do everything to safeguard it and promote longevity. Wondering about a bag as insurance for the computer will enable you to surely appreciate the significance of buying a lappy bag that’s sturdy, protective, and long-lasting. Before buying the laptop bag, there’re a few things one may consider. Laptop bags generally come in a huge range of designs to accommodate a range of needs.  Thus, how does one go about opting for the lappy bag that’s right for you? Well, here are a few factors you’d think about when you go on to buy: Size matters may sound obvious; however, a bag sure needs to fit the laptop. When a laptop bag does not specify, what makes the laptops work for, it is a nice idea to measure the lappy and match it to that size of a bag to make sure you are making that right choice. Preferably, have your laptop alongside you when you buy the bag to see if that fits well simply.  Pleasure or work? When you solely utilize your lappy for work, you will likely require something practical and resilient that can be carried to right from work with efficiency. When you catch a means of public transport, a bag may require extra stuffing when one gets knocked about on a bus or a train through peak hour.  Extra storage Your bag must have separate compartments and pockets for other accessories, with the likes of USBs, cords, notebooks, batteries, and the mouse. It’ll protect the laptop from scratches and bumps, alongside protecting the other stuff from being destroyed via the laptop’s weight.  Ensure that bag is of good quality A piece of Durable fabric is must to have. The laptop is anything you use every day, and a bag is there for your laptop to protect the computer. It would help if you made sure a piece of fabric is durable and lightweight. Quality zip is essential for keeping the laptop safely secured in a bag. You wish them to last for some years, as the broken zippers will make the bag useless. Padding Additional padding is there on a bag itself, particularly a shoulder strap, which is ideal. Thus, that both your spine and the laptop are protected. A few laptops are pretty heavy, and one does not want a bag to cut into the shoulder when you are carrying it simply. One needs to consider several factors when opting for a laptop bag, including practicality, aesthetic style, and whether it is right for one’s computer. Ensure it is one that you go on to enjoy carrying and does the pit’s job perfectly! To know further, you may look over the web and gather more info. Continue reading Health and Fitness Tinnitus Help For A Better Life 1 week ago Read Time: 4 minutes by Kyong At this time, you’ll get to select a Sim” where you will select the Sim who’s best at fishing. Decide that for this 1 day you are not going to gamble. When you get to college, it is not going to be all enjoyable, you know. If it is still can’t locate the menu, call the restaurant. Remember to read the aforementioned methods and apply them and you’ll cook the very best BBQ Ribs you could possibly eat. Eating at buffets is not the same challenge. Additionally, it is a substantial life change. Whether you’re in a relationship, it’s as critical to exercise your brain as it’s your body. If you’re unhappy with your life for Reverse My Tinnitus virtually any reason in any way. In case you are a perfect husband, that will assist your wife to be a perfect wife. Don’t forget, it’s not hard to please a woman if you don’t like giving. If you believe this person may be the one, then you’ve got to forego the past hurts and trust this new man or woman. Nothing will go your way in case you don’t understand how to speak with girls and don’t find out how to ask girls out. If you believe in all that is nice and wonderful in your everyday living then you are going to be happier. When you truly feel financially secure, your life is going to be better. Tinnitus Help For a Better Life – What Is It? You neglect to inform the technician as you don’t think your medications impact the eyes. A cup of green tea every day, coupled with fresh vegetables and fruits, can make sure that you remain healthy and avoid diabetes, stroke, and maybe even heart issues. When it comes to nutrient levels, well, it seems to be an event of `swings and roundabouts, 1 milk may have more than 1 nutrient and not as much of another, whilst exactly the same situation could be reversed on the next nutrient. Besides all this, you do need supplements that help you with your metabolism as well as nutrition requirements. Click on What is sonus complete and see what this amazing supplement is all about along with all the relevant details. To start with, the 3 strategies to eat better introduces the significance of healthful eating habits. Terrible posture whilst working can result in the curvature of your spine, snowballing into many other complications. The previous day I opted for ibuprofen instead of morphine. These self-improvement tips can help you move forward and quit backsliding. In case you are facing these problems then sexual enhancement products will be able to help you to escape them. Work out how much time it will take you to receive ready each day and set your alarm accordingly. That way it won’t look like such a boring job or chore. Easy, non-sexual strategies can get the job done as well. Additionally, it is critical to pinpoint their communication abilities. Establish A Support process for A security Net A support process is possibly the most essential ingredient in reclaiming yourself back and in developing a life you would like. Adjusting your attitudes means transforming your thoughts. To get ready for this area of the exam, it’s essential you know what’s wrong when you have an issue. You must, naturally, like the notion of taking this route. The previous thing I must say is to remember to relish playing. Schedule your day in an incredibly structured way so that you do not own a lot of spare moments. A new characteristic of the game is known as the Simoleon Sprout” and every four hours your Sim has an opportunity to win more money! Look at developing a code-word that you can use with your buddy you could quickly say or text to allow them to know you’re in trouble. In reality, what really produces an excellent pianist, is when their playing is full of emotion instead of just notes on a page being played. The Fight Against Tinnitus Help For a Better Life If you can’t locate the menu in the telephone book, check online. In case you haven’t utilized it in a calendar year also don’t have any strategy to do so then remove it! Additionally, do not permit yourself access to ATMs or charge cards. If you prefer to do away with debt, then it’s much better to seek the help of skilled debt consolidation experts. On account of the present economic times, you need to be useful at handling money. Whenever you do not have the sum to spend, you don’t spend it. Should youn’t have confidence in yourself, it’s going to be hard to succeed in anything. Regardless of the situation, if it’s really over, you must come across a means to take care of heartbreak and continue on with your daily life. Just changing this 1 facet of your daily life, albeit a powerful 1, will turn you into a happy and relaxed person, guaranteed. A woman would like to feel that she’s the focus of your attention. It’s something that might come naturally to a couple of men. Both women and men have this. Continue reading Health and Fitness Training For Intense Health And Fitness 1 week ago Read Time: 3 minutes by Kyong A lot of people consider developing muscles as abandoning daily life outside the fitness center and dedicating time at the gym such as a monk in a monastery. Possibly the only way to chisel the body into a popular muscle physique is by toiling 60 minutes by 60 minutes across the rusty iron day time in, trip, and 12 months in, year out. This need not be so. Although perseverance is truly needed, excessive physical fitness requirements a single to be a servant in the steel dumbbells. Total-entire body workouts can make one particular advancement and it easily suits one’s plan. If one is getting excited about attaining severe fitness but finds it tough to support on to just one workout schedule, this is practical. Moreover, there are several test rx 360 reviews indicating how effective this supplement is when it comes to weight loss in a short span of time.  Genuine complete-system workouts carried out by sports athletes with an aim at heart results in optimum muscle contraction using large weights, can make space for full recuperation so one could really expand and continue to teach difficult plus it also prevents burnout which happens to be unavoidable on account of excessive education. So if the initial one is completely ready for severe fitness, this is all there is to know about complete figure out: A whole-entire body workout is a time saver. The greatest plus about obtaining the entire body trained at the same time might be experiencing to attend a fitness center less often; perhaps close to 2-3 times for each and every seven days could be adequate. One is the fact one does not need to invest several times of strenuous exercising in the gym for each and every session; 1 only usually spends 1 hour at the gym for every session an additional advantage of exercising the entire body all at. So that’s just three to four several hours per week at the gym correct? With total-system workouts, it is focused on the quality of physical exercise one does for treatment and never the amount, nor even the amount of time you allot for each period. Full-body exercise raises the heart for intense health and fitness. You must allow two to four sets for every body portion into the 60 minutes treatment. Loaded with doing exercises, every one hour or so period then receives the coronary heart and the rest of the cardiovascular system moving and up to speed very quickly. Now experiencing pumped up, following find out what rules does one need to comply with when participating in total-body workouts: Training begins only once every two or three times. This really is so simple, isn’t it? There is time spared while in relaxation days so that you can engage in some cardiovascular physical exercise periods instead of depending on aerobic exercises a single normally does at the conclusion of each and every exercise program which after all, are certainly not very efficient. It is exactly what is excellent about this. Hefty lifting is really advised. Unlike popular notion, specifically amid sports athletes. It is not necessarily true that it is excellent to have caught on instruction softly than a single actually could so as to conserve power for the other body parts which will arrive later on within the regimen. What is real is the fact a single cannot achieve optimal advancement if one is just not coaching heavily, no matter what program that person is performing. A single exercise only per muscle. This is very an easy task to follow and is also equally important. Performing basic exercises which are also strong means there is no need to accomplish another diverse exercise for that entire body component. Keep work out quick. Resistance training influences the natural hormones in the entire body associated with bodybuilding. Intensive doing exercises improve the testosterone levels and extended workouts improve the ones from catabolic cortisol. 60 a few minutes of employment out enables you for the greatest of each world.   Continue reading Health and Fitness Daily Fat Loss For A Week 1 week ago Read Time: 2 minutes by Kyong Those of you who think that a program to manage weight has to do with daily aerobic routines, you’re sadly mistaken. Conventional aerobic exercise isn’t going to move you toward your goals at all. By changing your routine to one that combines resistance, intervals, and a sensible diet, you’ll find that you can make serious progress toward your weight and health goals.  You don’t have to spend hours at the gym every day. With the approach I’m giving you, you can get fit in far less time. What’s even better is that you’re actually going to see the change in your body. You’ll find with this three-tiered approach that you’ll be able to shape your body into a beautiful one. You will build muscle, lose fat and get the look you’ve always wanted. It’s time for others to envy you so you can stop envying others. An important part of this effort is avoiding muscle loss and using the best diet pills for women 2020. This is important because emphasizing weight loss only can reduce muscle together with fat I have a week-long series of hinds that are going to help you get focused on the things that are most important in your program. We will go through this on a day-by-day basis. Day One: Begin your week with strengthening work and intervals. Push yourself to higher levels of achievement and intensity. The beginning of the week is perfect for that. Try to lift an extra five or ten lbs when you press. You could make yourself do an extra chin-up or two or a variety of other things. Just exceed your limits and you’ll feel good about yourself because you’ve expanded your possibilities. Day Two: Choose something fun that you can do for a half-hour or so. Make it something outside that is out of your ordinary routine. Go for a walk at lunch, hike a trail, go for a bike ride… anything but cardio. Day Three: Get back to strengthening workouts and intervals at mid-week. Increase your interval duration to forty secs from thirty, or to seventy-five from sixty. Allow an extra half minute for recuperation. Continue reading Posts navigation 1 … 13 Next About Author Kyong Baldwin is a news writer covering politics, education, culture, science and technology. She is also the author of Friday Casting. Read More Social Links Popular Posts Garbage Disposal Repair Replace – Check The Repair Replace Why Is It Advisable To Use Digital Marketing As A Mode Of Expanding The Business? 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work_rg7l3god7zcwznazji3ezhq4lm	----	Simplify, simplify EDITORIAL Simplify, simplify JAMES H. MORRISSEY* and DAVID LILLICRAP† *Departments of Biological Chemistry & Internal Medicine, University of Michigan Medical School, Ann Arbor, MI, USA; and †Department of Pathology & Molecular Medicine, Queen’s University, Kingston, ON, Canada To cite this article: Morrissey JH, Lillicrap D. Simplify, simplify. J Thromb Haemost 2019; 17: 711. More than 150 years ago, Henry David Thoreau famously wrote: “Our life is frittered away by detail. . . Simplify, simplify.” We often think of those words when submitting papers to scientific journals. When we both started doing scientific research, submitting a paper to a journal was actually quite simple. One typed up the paper and placed it, together with a cover letter, in an envelope and mailed it to the editorial office. Nowadays, almost all scientific journals have gone over to “convenient” web- based submission forms that collect a myriad of detailed data about the study, the manuscript, each of the authors, the funding agencies that supported the study, and much more. The upshot is that submitting a single paper to a journal can take hours of work, and the nature of the information requested by the journals makes it difficult if not impossible for researchers to delegate this process to others. Many journals—including the Journal of Throm- bosis and Haemostasis—decline the majority of submitted papers without outside review. On top of that, journals typically have quite picky formatting requirements for manuscripts, such that researchers spend substantial amounts of time formatting their paper to submit to a journal, and then re-formatting it for another journal when the first one doesn’t want it, and so on. Given that the average rejection rate of journals is about 62% for the approximately 2.5 million articles published each year, Khan et al. estimated that researchers are spending at least 1.5 million person-hours each year just reformatting papers for resubmission 1 . And this doesn’t count the time that authors spend entering all the detailed, required information into journals’ web sites. It is perhaps not surprising that there is a growing movement asking scientific journals to go over to “for- mat-free” submissions policies 1 . The philosophy behind this movement is that, since most papers are declined without outside review, it shouldn’t be necessary for authors to meticulously format their paper for a specific journal just to have its scientific content evaluated. We have embraced this idea, and our new editorial policy is that—provided all the required parts of a manuscript are present and readable—authors do not have to format their paper or references specifically for our journal when first submitting an article to us. If the editorial decision is to request revisions, we then ask the authors to format their paper for JTH (since the majority of revised submis- sions are ultimately accepted for publication). In addition, we have spent some time reviewing our journal’s submis- sion process, and have tried to greatly reduce the amount of information we require authors to enter into our web site when first submitting a manuscript. Against this backdrop of working to simplify and streamline the submission process, we are also considering the idea of requiring every author to have an ORCID and to enter that unique identifier when submitting papers—a policy which some publishers are already implementing 2 . Ultimately, this may streamline the sub- mission process (since the ORCID site should have the author’s latest address and contact information). And ORCIDs have the added benefit of essentially eliminating ambiguity if an author has a common name. On the other hand, requiring ORCIDs does create more work (at least initially, if not all authors have registered for one yet). For this reason, we have decided to make ORCIDs optional now, but are considering making it mandatory in the future. If authors have strong opinions about our journal requiring ORCIDs—or suggestions for further streamlining the submission process—we welcome hearing from you. References 1 Khan A, Montenegro-Montero A, Mathelier A. Put science first and formatting later. EMBO Rep 2018; 19. 2 ORCID Open Letter – Publishers. https://orcid.org/content/requir ing-orcid-publication-workflows-open-letter © 2019 International Society on Thrombosis and Haemostasis Journal of Thrombosis and Haemostasis, 17: 711 DOI: 10.1111/jth.14436 https://orcid.org/content/requiring-orcid-publication-workflows-open-letter https://orcid.org/content/requiring-orcid-publication-workflows-open-letter 
work_rghlydmuhfaifcx4oxzhwkie4a	----	The Oxymoron of American Pastoralism Gordon M. Sayre Arizona Quarterly: A Journal of American Literature, Culture, and Theory, Volume 69, Number 4, Winter 2013, pp. 1-23 (Article) Published by University of Arizona DOI: 10.1353/arq.2013.0028 For additional information about this article Access provided by University of Oregon (20 Dec 2013 15:20 GMT) http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/arq/summary/v069/69.4.sayre.html http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/arq/summary/v069/69.4.sayre.html The Oxymoron of American Pastoralism Pa s t o r a l i s m h a s b e e n va r i o u s l y d e f i n e d i n American literary studies. In European literature the pastoral per- sisted as a distinct genre and self-conscious literary tradition from Theocritus and Virgil through the eighteenth century. Major eigh- teenth- and nineteenth-century American authors alluded to this tra- dition, but they could not really lay claim to it, for as this essay will argue, the European pastoral was inapplicable to the American setting, both socially and ecologically: socially because although early Anglo- America was by no means a classless society, the distinction between landowners and shepherds was scarcely relevant in the young United States; and ecologically because the pastoral way of life, defined as a sub- sistence based upon herds of livestock, was not indigenous to America. Leo Marx’s landmark The Machine in the Garden employed the concept of pastoral to explain the primitivist and agrarian strain in American thought in the face of modern industrial technologies. In his introduction Marx wrote of how “the shepherd . . . seeks a resolution of the conflict between the opposed worlds of nature and art” (22). But the shepherd, who “is often the poet in disguise,” does not, at least in America, herd sheep. In Marx’s formulation American pastoralism is an ideology that has mediated conflicting desires for technological progress and bucolic retreat, “a desire, in the face of the growing power and complexity of organized society, to disengage from the dominant culture and to seek out the basis for a simpler, more satisfying mode of life in a realm ‘closer,’ as we say, to nature” (“Pastoralism” 54). Those lines from a 1986 article updating his renowned 1964 book, as well as a new afterword to a 2000 reprint of it, emphasized the political valence Arizona Quarterly Volume 69, Number 4, Winter 2013 Copyright © 2013 by Arizona Board of Regents issn 0004-1610 gordon m. sayre 2 Gordon M. Sayre of pastoralism, now also defined as “a left-leaning ideology not based on a progressive world view” (“Pastoralism” 66). Other influential Ameri- canists and eco-critics have revised Leo Marx’s work. Lawrence Buell affirmed that pastoralism “portrays a less complex state of existence than the writer’s own” (4) and tried to refute assumptions that the pas- toral has been a reactionary or hegemonic force in American cultural politics. In an important early contribution to ecological literary stud- ies, Glen Love argued that “wild nature has replaced the traditional middle state of the garden,” and that “wilderness has radicalized the pastoral experience” (203). In opening his 1996 book What Is Pastoral? Paul Alpers wrote that he was moved to undertake his project by irritation with two tendencies in the previous scholarship: “the first is the view that pastoral is moti- vated by naive idyllicism; the second is the way modern studies tend to use ‘pastoral’ with ungoverned inclusiveness” (ix). His response was to argue that “we will have a far truer idea of pastoral if we take its rep- resentative anecdote [invoking Kenneth Burke’s term] to be herdsmen and their lives, rather than landscape or idealized nature” (22). Alpers insisted that shepherds and the shepherding history of the Mediterra- nean world were essential to the genre. Marx, Buell, and Love, as well as scholars of the European pastoral tradition, have all committed the indiscretions that irritated Alpers. Leo Marx acknowledged that “in its root meaning ‘pastoralism’ refers to the ways of herdsmen, and today anthropologists and historians invoke that literary sense of the word to describe the way of life of peoples who usually do not practice agri- culture, who tend to be nomadic, and whose basic economic activity is animal husbandry. But that straightforward descriptive usage is rarely invoked by anyone except the scholarly experts who study premodern cultures.” To update this archaic definition he extended the pastoralist label to anyone “with a similar, as it were, shepherdlike view of life” (“Pastoralism” 42). Other scholars such as David Halperin and Louise Westling, however, have traced the origins of pastoral back to the earli- est extant writings concerning the conflict between nomadic pastoral- ists and settled agriculturalists, the Sumerian and Akkadian literature set down in clay tablets 4000–5000 years ago. As Halperin declared, “The quest for pastoral origins can now legitimately be pushed back in time as far as the invention of literature itself ” (87). These origins are quite different, however, in the American context, where the earliest Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 3 indigenous writing, among the Mayans, could not engage pastoralism’s conflicts with farming and hunting. Among anthropologists, pastoralism is defined according to the relationships between humans, animals, and the land. In societies that rely on gathering and hunting for their food, neither land nor wild ani- mals can be claimed as the property of any one individual. An area where berries or wild rice grow may be claimed by a tribe or band, but not by a single person, and only after a hunter has killed his game does the carcass become his to distribute as he wishes. The products of hunt- ing are shared widely in order to even out the varying success of the hunters. In agricultural societies, on the other hand, both land and animals generally are claimed as the property of individual farmers. A pastoral society pursues a middle ground between these two strategies, and observes a distinction between moveable and real property. Pasture land is held in common if it is owned at all, but the livestock that form herds are the property of an individual, a family, or a small band, and the offspring of females in that herd belong to the same herd. This principle admits of many variations across the world’s many climates and many species of herd animals. Pastoralists may be more or less nomadic, and may use their animals for products such as pelts, leather, wool, horn, bone, etc., as well as for food in the form of meat (carnivorous pastoral- ism, including many boreal reindeer peoples) or blood and milk (milch pastoralism, the Nuer of Sudan being a well-known instance).1 In pre-Columbian North America, however, there were no pas- toralist societies because no livestock species formed the basis for a nomadic pastoralism, whether milch or carnivorous. Dogs, beavers or other species were sometimes tamed or domesticated to follow and per- form tasks for their owners, and were occasionally eaten, but did not serve as a staple food, and did not inspire humans to migrate season- ally alongside them.2 Some Native American peoples kept domestic turkeys, but in most of North America the turkey remained a game bird for hunting.3 The pastoral subsistence strategy did not even occur among the huge caribou herds roaming the arctic and boreal sub-arctic of Alaska and Canada. Eurasian reindeer did become herd property for some peoples there, but the same species, known as caribou in North America, did not. “The pastoral ideal has been used to define the meaning of America ever since the age of discovery, and has not yet lost its hold upon the 4 Gordon M. Sayre native imagination” (3) is the opening sentence of The Machine in the Garden. A decade later Annette Kolodny wrote of how “an irrefutable fact of history (the European discovery of America) touched every word written about the New World with the possibility that the ideally beau- tiful and bountiful terrain might be lifted forever out of the canon of pastoral convention and invested with the reality of daily experience” (5–6). The “pastoral” in these lines refers to the dreams that explorers nurtured of a life of ease in nature, free from burdensome labor, hungry privation, or political oppression. But because America in the “age of discovery” had no shepherds, it did not have pastoralism by the strict definition, and the “pastoral ideal” could only be imposed upon it by force of arms, will, or imagination. By a cruel irony, it may have been the absence of any indigenous pastoralism in America that made it possible for Europeans to impose their pastoral fantasies on the American landscape. In his 1998 best- seller Guns, Germs, and Steel Jared Diamond brought wide awareness to the idea that because Native Americans did not live in close proximity to domestic animals, they failed to develop immunity to diseases, most importantly smallpox, that ravaged their populations during the Euro- pean invasion. The microbiological pathogens that cause “lethal crowd epidemics” such as typhus, measles, tuberculosis, or more recently HIV and Lyme disease, develop and spread by being passed back and forth between dense populations of humans and of cattle, deer, rats, mon- keys, or other animals. Any species living in symbiosis with sedentary human populations can be a disease vector, but the pastoral species such as cattle have been the most common such co-hosts because until the modern urban era it was these animals with whom humans lived most intimately. Diamond poses the question of “why the New World appar- ently ended up with no lethal crowd epidemics at all” (212), and con- cludes that “only five animals of any sort became domesticated in the Americas: the turkey in Mexico and the U.S. Southwest, the llama/ alpaca and the guinea pig in the Andes, the Muscovy duck in tropical South America, and the dog throughout the Americas” (213).4 Liter- ary and environmental scholars have examined the powerful symbolic impact of Europeans’ unwitting germ warfare during the invasion of America. Stephen Greenblatt’s famous essay “Invisible Bullets” dis- cussed Thomas Harriot’s observation in his Brief and True Report on the New Found Land of Virginia that “within a few days after our departure Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 5 from every such town, the people began to die very fast” (qtd. in Green- blatt 35). More recently, Cristobal Silva has studied how “epidemics shaped the meaning of the English migration [to New England] as well as its success” (253). Edward Johnson’s Wonder-Working Providence (1653), for example, observed how native mortality aided colonizers’ agriculture: “Their Disease being a sore Consumption, sweeping away whole Families, but chiefly young Men and Children, the very seeds of increase . . . by this meanes Christ . . . not only made roome for his people to plant; but also tamed the hard and cruell hearts of these bar- barous Indians” (17, qtd. in Silva 252).5 As Francis Jennings argued more than thirty years ago, the trope of America as a “virgin land,” so fundamental to theories of Ameri- can frontier pastoralism from Henry Nash Smith to Annette Kolodny, is false; European colonists attacked and displaced a bountiful native population inhabiting what should properly be called a “widowed land” (15–31). Epidemics had already killed a large portion of the population before the Mayflower arrived at Plymouth Rock, but colonists on that ship, such as Edward Winslow, were aware of how they benefited from that mortality. A variation of Jennings’s critique has been articulated by many literary eco-critics and environmental historians, notably Wil- liam Cronon, who in the last two decades have come to question the myth of wilderness as a land unaltered by human presence. While there is no space here to analyze in detail the relationship between Ameri- can colonialism and wilderness, my point is that this entire complex of American landscape ideologies—the virgin land, the wilderness, and the settlers’ pastoral “middle landscape”—all rely upon the fact that indigenous American peoples practiced an agricultural and/or a hunter- gatherer subsistence, but not a nomadic pastoralism. Anglo-American authors of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, after all, did not write of the great equestrian cultures of the Plains Indians, nor the Indians employed or enslaved to herd sheep by encomenderos in New Spain. I describe in what follows several consequences of the oxymoron of American pastoralism, consequences that range from economics, to politics, to law, to historiography, to American painting of the early nineteenth century. First, is it highly significant that not only were there no pastoral shepherds in Native North America, there were none established by the early English colonizers. Seventeenth-century English settlers did 6 Gordon M. Sayre not wish to create a pastoral sheep-herding economy in New England or Virginia, as some Spaniards had in Peru and New Spain. As Tim Sweet has observed, “despite their assumption of the New World’s potential to produce everything of the Old World, the promoters [authors of early promotional tracts in English] never suggest wool as a colonial product” (20–21). Wool production in England had grown since the mid-fifteenth-century, as landlords enclosed common lands and dispossessed cottagers in order to expand pasture and add to their flocks. But “in the second half of the sixteenth century . . . the cloth trade experienced a depression” (21). The wealthy English landown- ers and merchants who financed colonizing voyages, whether as inde- pendent investors or as a company with royal patronage, did not want to further depress the prices of their wool exports. Colonial investors and promoters instead emphasized luxury goods (dyewoods, feathers, and pelts for hat felt) or novel plantation crops (sugar, indigo, tobacco, rubber, coffee). Native Americans were regarded not as potential shep- herds for colonizers’ sheep, but instead as consumers of wool clothing and blankets produced in Europe. Richard Hakluyt promised “an ample vent in time to come of the Woollen clothes of England, especially those of the coursest sorts” (qtd. in Sweet 21). In colonial New France native peoples who for centuries had worn clothes made from the pelts of beaver, muskrat, and other animals were enticed to trade these pelts for European goods including wool blankets and coats (Sayre 147–54). One can also draw an instructive contrast between the seventeenth- century colonial American economy and nineteenth-century Australia and New Zealand. In the later period England was the world’s leading industrial textile producer and therefore a wool importer, not a wool exporter as it had been three centuries earlier. Australia and New Zea- land became and remain huge producers of wool, lamb and beef.6 By the nineteenth century the United States also differed profoundly from seventeenth-century New England; a cattle boom grew alongside a myth of the cowboy as a figure of pastoral simplicity and virtue, driving herds of cattle across an open range. Film and popular literature have perpetuated the cowboy myth, but few Americans are aware of how barbed wire, industrial capitalism, and the erosion and degradation of grasslands punctured the cattle boom shortly after it began in the 1880s. Colonial Anglo-American promotional tracts were forthright about the economic opportunities of the colonies, but the legal theories used Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 7 to justify this colonization were more oblique. Among the English legal tracts asserting the nation’s right to claim lands in America in the face of challenges from native peoples and from competing Spanish, Dutch or French colonists, John Locke’s Second Treatise on Government was extremely influential. Many scholars have quoted Locke’s line, “Thus in the beginning all the world was America,” (§ 49). As Barbara Arneil has observed, Locke’s key principle of property rights, as based on the labor that an individual exerts to appropriate resources from nature, echoes the writing of Mas- sachusetts Bay colony leader John Winthrop a half-century earlier: “Men accounted nothing their own but that which they had appropriated by their own industry” (General Considerations for Planting in New England, qtd. in Arneil 136). Locke offers as one example of this appropriation the primitive gatherer: “He that is nourished by the acorns he picked up under an oak, or the apples he gathered from the trees in the wood” (§ 26). The only specifi- cally American example Locke uses, however, is of hunting: “Thus the law of reason makes the deer that Indian’s who hath killed it: ’tis allowed to be his goods who hath bestowed his labour upon it, though before it was the common right of everyone” (§ 30). Locke invoked precisely the distinction anthropologists use to distinguish the hunter/gatherer from the pastoral subsistence regime. In his seminal chapter, “On Property,” Locke mentions nomadic pastoralism only once—by invoking Abraham, Esau, Cain and Abel of the biblical Genesis. In “Abraham’s time, they wandered with their flocks and their herds, which was their substance, freely up and down; and that Abraham did, in a country where he was a stranger” (§ 38). It would have been difficult for Locke to deny the biblical patriarchs the right to graze their flocks where they pleased, and fortunately the question did not arise with regard to the Americans. The line “in the beginning all the world was America” appears in the context of Locke’s argument about spoilage, the concept that without markets and without any form of money such as imperishable gold and silver, the primitive American has no reason and therefore no right “to enlarge his possessions beyond the use of his family” (§ 48). The “primitive American” is a hunter-gatherer with no domesti- cated beasts of burden to carry his surplus, or to embody wealth on the hoof. The ensuing lines offer as a hypothetical case a man with “ten thou- sand or a hundred thousand acres of excellent land, ready cultivated and well-stocked too with cattle, in the middle of the inland parts of America, where he had no hopes of commerce with other parts of the world, to draw money to him by the sale of the product. It would not be worth the enclosing, and we should see him give up again to the wild common of nature whatever was more than would supply the conveniences of 8 Gordon M. Sayre life” (§ 48). The reference to cattle reveals that this is a speculative, counter-factual example. The man cannot be an American Indian and cannot be an English colonist either, for at that time none could or would settle in an area removed from trade with the home country. In addition to its clever use of America, Locke’s theory of property also (in)famously asserts the right to claim property through “enclo- sure,” a word that already by the time he was writing carried a powerful political resonance in England. All through the early modern period, upper-class gentry were appropriating or enclosing land that for gen- erations had been held in common by local farmers who grazed their household livestock and sometimes also planted gardens on it. As Ray- mond Williams observed, “the drive for more pasture, in the growth of the wool trade, led to major enclosures” (39). In Thomas More’s Utopia, Raphael Hythloday vividly described the effects of enclosure on England around 1500: “the nobles and gentlemen, not to mention the saintly abbots . . . enclos[e] all the land they can for pasture, and leaving none for cultivation . . . . Result—hundreds of farmers are evicted . . . . After all, it only takes one shepherd or cowherd to graze animals over an area that would need any amount of labour to make it fit for corn production” (46–47). Decades later, these dispossessed farmers became candidates for emigration to America. It is important in this context to observe a fundamental distinction between nomadic pastoralism, where humans follow their livestock across open range, at least during some seasons of the year, and ranch- ing, in which the owners of livestock rely on fences or natural features to confine animals who are domesticated in name only, as they are not known individually and may only rarely be observed by their owners. Locke’s “enclosure” may refer only to surveying rather than to fence or hedge building (Arneil asserts this interpretation), but either way his tract invokes America, the Bible and the State of Nature for ideological support of English landowners, asserting that “the provisions serving to the support of human life produced by one acre of enclosed and culti- vated land are (to speak much within compass) ten times greater than those which are yielded by an acre of land, of an equal richness, lying waste in common” (§ 37). The transition from pastoral to agricultural cultivation of land is justified by an appeal to the common welfare of the society, even as the thrust of Locke’s argument is to assert the rights of elite private property owners over the commons and the commoners. Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 9 Those reading the passage with English history and landscape in mind might protest that the common-holders and their livelihoods are being dispossessed, but those reading it with America in mind could not raise this objection. If an Indian hunter does not own a deer or bison until he kills it, he also cannot claim as his own, in common or in severalty, the land upon which the deer or bison browsed or grazed. In the European pastoral tradition, both visual and literary, the central figure of the shepherd represented a fantasy of peaceful lei- sure amid bountiful nature, a pastoral Arcadia, a mythical past in the Golden Age or State of Nature, prior to the corrupting influence of wealth and status. Locke’s theory of property only obliquely implies that shepherds in the pastoral form of subsistence partake of this state of nature by holding land in common, and Locke does not wish to admit that it was enclosure, not money, which destroyed this Arcadia. Yet the iconography of the pastoral in landscape painting could nonethe- less depict shepherds in specific local landscapes and thus evoke the Golden Age as a contemporary reality. When America’s first great land- scape painter, Thomas Cole, confronted the common prejudice that “American Scenery . . . being destitute of those vestiges of antiquity, whose associations so strongly affect the mind . . . may not be com- pared with European scenery,” and proposed that “we have many a spot as umbrageous as Vallombrosa, and as picturesque as the solitudes of Vaucluse; but Milton and Petrarch have not hallowed them by their footsteps and immortal verse” (7, 16), he did not explicitly acknowl- edge the problem that one of the picturesque vestiges absent from the American landscape, and missing from American literature, was the indigenous pastoral shepherd himself. Cole’s signature works included specific naturalistic landscapes such as The Clove and Kaaterskill Falls in the Catskills and The View from Mount Holyoke on the Connecticut River, but also allegorical series such as “The Voyage of Life” and “The Course of Empire.” The latter is a series of five large canvases (39.25 by 69.25 inches) now held at the New York Historical Society, enti- tled The Savage State, The Arcadian State, The Consummation of Empire, Destruction, and Desolation. Given The Arcadian State, the series cannot be interpreted as depicting an American landscape. Both the herd of sheep and the Stonehenge-like temple in the mid-ground signify that this can only be a European scene. An American version might depict instead a burial mound and a field of maize, but it could not continue 10 Gordon M. Sayre to the Consummation of Empire because America did not yet have such enormous classical architecture (although many large public edifices were being constructed in this style), and because expansionist Ameri- cans did not believe their empire had yet reached its climax. And if The Arcadian State cannot be in America, our continent must be shunted back to “Savage State.” The stormy skies and gnarled trees of this first painting in the series match the characteristic sublime style of Cole’s other famous American scenes, including Falls of Kaaterskill, Schroon Mountain and View from Mount Holyoke. In the latter painting, often referred to as The Oxbow, the left-hand side depicts a stormy mountain- ous wilderness, and the right-hand side a series of peaceful farm fields, many with hayricks. The View from Mount Holyoke neatly captures how the American landscape was changing from forest to field agriculture, without passing through pastoralism.7 In The Machine in the Garden, Leo Marx turned to a painting by another Hudson River School artist, George Innes’s The Lackawanna Valley, to articulate his theory of an American pastoralism without shepherds. Innes was commissioned by the Lackawanna Railroad to produce a painting of the company’s products, and although at first he was resistant, he created a pleasing composition, “a striking representa- tion of the idea that machine technology is a proper part of the land- scape” (220). Copses of woods, train tracks, and recently-cleared fields scattered with tree stumps form a gentle series of intersecting curves, with the railroad’s roundhouse and a church steeple in the background. A man or boy in the foreground sits watching the scene, about whom Marx comments: “He holds no crook, but he contemplates the sight in the serene posture of the good shepherd looking out across Arca- dia” (221). This assertion is contrived. There are no livestock in the picture, and the cleared fields will likely soon be planted in row crops. Marx’s real point about the painting is that it portrays a peaceful and nearly instantaneous transition from wilderness forests to agricultural fields to industrial commerce. In the absence of a pastoral state, these three are the stages of American progress. Marx uses the term “pastoral” to describe the myth that the qualities associated with shepherds in the European pastoral tradition, such as simplicity, leisure, and emotional purity, can in America be possessed by people who do not herd flocks but instead are caught up in a breakneck rush toward modernity. The pastoral in anthropology referred to the middle state between nomadic Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 11 hunter-gatherers and sedentary agriculturalists, but in American Stud- ies has come to signify instead a middle state between rural simplicity and urban modernity.8 Cole’s “Course of Empire” can be interpreted as a work of Romantic neo-Classicism, the painter’s effort to prove that he had been to Europe and absorbed the edifying lessons of Rome’s splendor and decline. It can also be read as a speculative history and anthropology. The title is not “a course of an empire” but “The Course of Empire,” and the titles of the five scenes are therefore stages that every empire will pass through. From the eighteenth through the mid-nineteenth centuries stadial his- toriography, or anthropological theories of the stages of social progress, became increasingly influential in western thought.9 The episteme was so pervasive that it is impossible to acknowledge all its manifestations from Hegel and Darwin to Marx and Freud. For the purposes of this essay I will refer to the Four-Stage Theory and discuss its articulation by Adam Smith: “There are four distinct states which mankind pass thro:—1st, the Age of Hunters; 2dly, the age of Shepherds; 3dly, the Age of Agriculture; and 4thly, the Age of Commerce” (14).10 In a cri- tique of Smith’s theory, Christian Marouby has observed that “the late eighteenth-century triumph of the notion of a universal human prog- ress—at once anthropological and economic—may well be one of the most important long-term intellectual consequences of the discovery of the Americas” (85). Marouby examines the catalog of Smith’s library and traces his citations in The Wealth of Nations and earlier writings to demonstrate how Smith relied on proto-ethnographic accounts of American Indians, such as the works of François-Xavier Charlevoix and Joseph-François Lafitau, and yet persistently misrepresented the evidence in these texts when it failed to support his stage theory. In his Lectures on Jurisprudence Smith declared that “in almost all countries the age of shepherds preceded that of agriculture . . . the whole of the savage nations which subsist by flocks have no notion of cultivating the ground.” He used the accounts of Native Americans he read as an exception to prove his rule: “The only instance that has the appearance of an objection to this rule is the state of the North American Indians. They, tho they have not conception of flocks and herds, have never- theless some notion of agriculture. Their women plant a few stalks of corn at the back of their huts” (15). Like many New England colonists, Smith was slow to recognize Native American agriculture. 12 Gordon M. Sayre The most influential American theorist of the stages of social prog- ress was Lewis Henry Morgan.11 In Ancient Society (1877), Morgan laid out a typology of Savagery, Barbarism, and Civilization, each subdivided into Lower, Middle, and Upper stages and correlated to the theory of kinship systems he had published in Systems of Consanguinity and Affin- ity (1871). Morgan brought stadial anthropology into the industrial age by tying each advance to a specific technological breakthrough: the use of fire, the bow and arrow, pottery, the smelting of iron ore, and the invention of a phonetic alphabet. For the middle status of Barbarism, however, Morgan was forced to break out of this determinist sequence. In the eastern hemisphere, this stage was inaugurated by the domestica- tion of animals, while in the western hemisphere, it was the cultivation of maize by irrigation. Morgan’s earlier study of the Iroquois made him aware of the agricultural skills of American Indians, but he nonethe- less articulated a racist stage theory in which these people had strayed off course: “The absence of animals adapted to domestication in the Western Hemisphere, excepting the llama, and the specific differences in the cereals of the two hemispheres exercised an important influence upon the relative advancement of the inhabitants. . . . It is at least supposable that the Aryan and Semitic families owe their pre-eminent endowments to the great scale upon which, as far back as our knowl- edge extends, they have identified themselves with the maintenance in numbers of the domestic animals.” This “new mode of life, the pastoral” (25) in turn inspired the cultivation of grains in the fertile crescent, as the “oldest traditions” (26) of western literature tell us. Much like Jared Diamond, Lewis Henry Morgan saw the absence of pastoral herding in the Americas as a key factor in the European colonial conquest. In the late twentieth century anthropologists reached a consensus that the theories of stadial history are deeply flawed. As ethnographic studies of indigenous peoples were carried out in regions unknown to Smith and Morgan, such as New Guinea, the Australian Outback, the Arctic, and the Amazon basin, the great diversity of human sub- sistence strategies defied any neat categorization. And as economic anthropologists began to calculate the caloric values of various food sources and measure the time spent accumulating them, it became clear that in nearly all primitive societies the gathering of fruits, nuts and roots (accomplished mainly by women) exceeded the proportion of Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 13 meat from hunting (performed mostly by men). Finally, archaeologi- cal findings pushed back the apparent origin of agriculture in China, New Guinea and the Euphrates valley to 6000–8000 years ago, roughly the same time as the first evidence of the domestication of sheep and goats and prior to the oldest literary evidence. Moreover, as anthro- pologist Tim Ingold argues, it is almost impossible to determine from its archaeological remains whether a goat or sheep was hunted or culled from a domestic herd. It is also hard to tell if seeds of wheat or barley were gathered or cultivated (83–84; 133–43). Hence anthropologists now propose that pastoral herding developed at around the same time as agriculture, and that the two were not successive but complementary subsistence strategies which together slowly displaced hunting societ- ies from the most favored land. In some places, such as pre-Colum- bian Peru, all three coexisted in ecological symbiosis (250–59; Mann 64–74). They coexist also today, of course, or at least did until recently. But in the intellectual climate of the young United States the ide- ology of progress and the Four-Stage theory (though not known by that name) persisted even as its four stages had to be reduced to three due to the absence of indigenous pastoralists. The consequences for Native Americans were and continue to be deleterious. The influence of Locke and other stage theorists on American founding fathers including Thomas Jefferson led them to articulate a policy of assimilation that called for transforming the “savage” Indian hunters directly into farm- ers. There’s no space nor need here to enumerate the harm of this policy before and since the Dawes Allotment Act of 1887 (which might be called the Enclosure Act of the United States). And although it has not been widely recognized, one appeal of this policy was that it seemed to avoid the politics of enclosure as it had played out in England. Dispos- session of Indian lands was not enclosure if the Indians had not held the land in common according to the practices well established among herders in England and elsewhere and recognized by Locke, and the principle of collective ownership even of reservation lands was scarcely acknowledged until the reforms of John Collier in the 1930s reversed key provisions of the Dawes Act. Contemporary anthropologists have come to question stage theo- ries, just as post-modern thought generally has challenged other such teleological master narratives, but the concept of American pastoralism continues to rely on progressive stage theory insofar as it tries to reverse 14 Gordon M. Sayre its direction. Another of Leo Marx’s definitions asserts that “pastoral is the literary mode par excellence for recording man’s ambivalent response to rapid social change” (“Technology and Classic American Literature,” qtd. in Halperin 86). Pastoralism is the desire to regress toward a simpler way of life, and in Europe this meant regressing from the industrial or agricultural modes of subsistence toward the pastoral mode. But in America it often meant instead a regression from agricul- ture to a hunter/gatherer’s subsistence. To backslide from civilized agri- culture, or from the yeoman farmer ideal, was to become not a peaceful herder, but a hunter like the native Indians. The prospect was deeply ambivalent, heavily overdetermined, and the germ of some of Amer- ican literature’s greatest mythic heroes, including Daniel Boone and James Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking. I’d like to offer here brief discussions of Cooper’s The Pioneers and of two texts from the canon of American pastoral nature writing, by J. Hector St. John de Crèvecœur and by Henry David Thoreau. The twelfth and last of Crèvecœur’s Letters from an American Farmer, “Distresses of a Frontier Man,” departs from the more idealist rural sketches in many of the first eleven letters, yet as the lament of a farmer dispossessed from his land by war, it nonetheless qualifies as a pastoral in the Virgilian tradition. Fleeing threats of attack during the American Revolution, the Frontier Man declares that he will take refuge in a village of Indians, although the specific tribe and location are not given. His plan fits the definition of pastoral middle landscape: “I will revert into a state approaching nearer to that of nature . . . and at the same time sufficiently remote from the brutality of unconnected nature” (211). The Frontier Man may not be the same Farmer James who introduces himself in the first few letters, but like James he has a family, and he believes that pastoral regression poses a danger to them because their new way of life will not be pastoralist, anthropologically speaking: “My youngest children shall learn to swim and to shoot with the bow . . . the rest of us must hunt with the hunter. I have been for sev- eral years an expert marksman. But I dread lest the imperceptible charm of Indian education may seize my younger children and give them such a propensity to that mode of life as may preclude their returning to the manners and customs of their parents” (219). The Frontier Man fears the hunting life and wants to maintain his family’s farming identity. His ensuing lines suggest that he would be pleased with a pastoral subsis- Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 15 tence if only it were available: “as we keep ourselves busy in tilling the earth, there is no fear of any of us becoming wild; it is the chase and the food it procures, that have this strange effect. Excuse a simile—those hogs which range in the woods, and to whom grain is given once a week, preserve their former degree of tameness; but if, on the contrary, they are reduced to live on ground nuts, and on what they can get, they soon become wild and fierce” (220). The hog is the American pastoral- ist manqué, an invasive species that quickly went feral, and resisted any fences that frontier settlers could build.12 Among early American novels, none engages the issues of property rights, subsistence strategies, and ecological change as profoundly as James Fenimore Cooper’s The Pioneers. The legal and moral confronta- tion between Leatherstocking and Marmaduke Temple is fundamentally shaped by the absence of pastoralism in the region around Lake Otsego. Leatherstocking, in contrast to Crèvecœur’s Frontier Man, boasts of his sharpshooting skills and asserts the hunter’s right to property in terms consistent with Locke’s Second Treatise: “it’s wicked to be shooting into flocks in this wastey manner: and none do it, who know how to knock over a single bird. If a body has a craving for pigeon’s flesh, why! it’s made the same as all other creater’s for man’s eating, but not to kill twenty and eat one” (247). The “wastey manner” of slaughtering excessive numbers of passenger pigeons or fish violates Locke’s principle prohibit- ing the spoilage of perishable common resources. But Leatherstocking cannot articulate (or even imagine) a pastoral system of subsistence where he could claim ownership over herds of animals and over their future offspring. His reaction to the method of fishing with seines is to invoke a distinction between perishable and imperishable property: “If they had fur, like a beaver, or you could tan their hides, like a buck, something might be said in favour of taking them by the thousands with your nets; but as God made them for man’s food, and for no other disarnable reason, I call it sinful and wasty to catch more than can be eat” (265–66). Beavers and deer, the staples of the pelt trade in North America, were always hunted, never farmed or herded, until modern times. If only Leatherstocking or John Mohegan could claim property over the fish in the lake or the deer in the forests before the animals were hooked or shot, his claims against Marmaduke Temple might be much stronger. The absence of pastoralism also contributes to Leatherstock- ing’s famous asexual status, for he cannot employ his family members to 16 Gordon M. Sayre guard his flock and wean new lambs or kids, nor pass along the increase of his herds to his children. Pastoral subsistence and livestock property is the excluded middle in the novel’s various contests between the values of the commons and of capitalist progress. The woodchopper Billy Kirby fills the role of a simple pastoral shepherd, who relieves his labors with a song to the tune of “Yankee Doodle” (224–25), but he herds only maple trees. The novel’s climactic courtroom scene begins with the accusation that Natty Bumppo has killed a deer out of season. The deer was swim- ming in Lake Otsego, and Natty at first tried to spear it like a fish, before finally lassoing the antlers and slitting its throat. The famous hunter employs the skills of the western cowboy, America’s mythical nomadic pastoralist, in an absurdly incongrous setting. Lake Otsego is a common “pasture,” but its fish cannot be domesticated, and the only alterna- tive to Locke’s proto-capitalist theory of primitive accumulation is the notion of feudal dominion asserted by Marmaduke “duke” Temple, who claims dominion over all the fish so that he might distribute them to his grateful subjects. The “middle landscape” of pastoralism is excluded both in the legal and the anthropological senses of the word. Thoreau’s Walden may be the best-recognized American Pastoral text, a benchmark for scholars in literature and environment, and an inspiration for countless imitators withdrawing from modern society to live in cabins in the woods. The book is not only an idyll of regression, however, but also a disquisition on subsistence strategies, particularly in the opening chapter, “Economy.” Like other speculative anthropolo- gists, Thoreau examines humans’ basic needs for “Food, Shelter, Cloth- ing and Fuel” (8) and wishes to explore the limits of those needs: “It would be some advantage to live a primitive and frontier life, though in the midst of an outward civilization, if only to learn what are the gross necessaries of life” (7). Unlike the Frontier Man’s regression, however, Thoreau’s was entirely voluntary, and although in “Higher Laws” he insists that a mature man “if he has the seeds of a better life in him . . . leaves the gun and fish-pole behind” (142), other passages suggest that Thoreau enthusiastically sought out the primitive habits which Crèvecœur’s Frontier Man feared. Each of the first two chapters of Walden opens with contemptuous remarks about Concord’s farmers, and “The Bean-Field” episode continues with a satire of contemporary agricultural improvement tracts (see Gross). Thoreau preferred the techniques of Native American agriculture, without any animal hus- Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 17 bandry, to modern methods: “I am wont to think that men are not so much the keepers of herds as herds are the keepers of men, the former are so much the freer. . . . Certainly no nation that lived simply in all respects, that is, no nation of philosophers, would commit so great a blunder as to use the labor of animals” (38). Throughout Walden oxen and other livestock are implements for cultivation, not the basis for a nomadic pastoralism. Thoreau was ambivalent about returning to the most primitive way of life, declaring in the subjunctive mood, “if I were to live in a wilderness I should again be tempted to become a fisher and hunter in earnest” (143), but he did not see the possibility of taking up a shepherd’s existence. In the discussion of the railroad in “Sounds,” a passage important for Leo Marx’s discussion of Walden, the industrial threat to the pastoral lies in the fact that livestock are now shipped to market by rail, rather than being driven as a herd, the closest that New England farmers ever got to becoming pastoral nomads. As he listens to the railroad Thoreau muses, “So is your pastoral life whirled past and away” (83), but, as Marx maintains, Thoreau’s response was not to attempt to save or re-create pastoral simplicity in the face of the railroad or of technological progress in general: “The need for defense against the forces of history does not tempt Thoreau to a nostalgic embrace of the ‘pastoral life’ that is being whirled away” (Machine 255). Pastoralism is foundational to ecological literary criticism not simply because it is a key trope of American exploration and nature writing, but also because it encapsulates the dilemma faced by environmental- ists in industrial societies who need to simplify their lives and reduce their consumption of resources, but want to do so without giving up the pleasures and advantages of modern life. On the horns of this dilemma the pastoral ideal appears to be an idle (or idyll) fantasy. As Scott Hess has written, “pastoral has never called for an actual return to the chal- lenges of earning a subsistence from the natural world” (73), and the postmodern pastoral’s preferred genre is advertising, “promising a life of perfect leisure and secular happiness without effort” (78). Hess calls for a “sustainable pastoral” but defines it only in general terms with a call “to action and participation, rather than to quiescence and escapism” (95). In the post-industrial twenty-first century, however, I believe Amer- ican pastoralism has begun to shift away from a general discourse about technology and progress, and return to matters of animal husbandry. Many American consumers have become disgusted with the pollution 18 Gordon M. Sayre and cruelty of industrial pork, chicken, and beef production and are paying premium prices to eat “cage-free” poultry and grass-fed or “grass- finished” beef. These are pastoral ideals about the proper relationships between humans, animals, and the land whose impact can be measured in dollars. Michael Pollan’s 2006 bestseller The Omnivore’s Dilemma as well as his New York Times Magazine articles on the poultry and meat- packing industry helped to incite consumers to demand a return to tra- ditional methods of animal husbandry. Pollan’s portrait of Joel Salatin and his Polyface Farm in Virginia reads as a post-modern pastoral idyll, detailing the rich taste of his chicken and eggs, the innovative yet low- tech method of his mobile coops or “chicken tractors,” as well as Sala- tin’s puritan Christianity and environmental stewardship (232–57). If a new consumerist pastoralism inspires Americans to shut down confined animal feeding operations (or CAFOs) and pay higher prices for meat from animals raised outdoors, the country will be much health- ier, but it still won’t change the fact that America lacks any indigenous pastoral society based on sheep, goats, or cattle. But at least one intel- lectual, Jim Corbett, has articulated a vision of modern nomadic pas- toralism in America. In Goatwalking, this iconoclastic Quaker convert and founder of the Sanctuary movement for aid to Central American refugees describes his technique for nomadic subsistence in arid lands by living among, and feeding upon, his small herd of goats. Consistent with earlier visions of pastoral idyll, Corbett rejects the moral value of hard work: “Free-range pastoralists simply take what nature provides. Good farmers must be hard workers; good herders must be alert observers” (7). But he also acknowledges that his goatwalking lifestyle is more that of a hermit than the leader of a political movement: “nomadic pastoralism was a cultural dead end that often led to damaged land with reduced productivity” (22) and “pastoral nomadism could no longer provide the base for armed resistance to an industrial power” (76). Nonetheless, Corbett takes a step toward a sustainable and post-industrial Ameri- can pastoralism, one that acknowledges the legacy of stadial anthropol- ogy, the latest research in archaeology and prehistory, and an intimate knowledge of herd animals. Literary and cultural studies can still con- tribute to a pastoralism that is politically and ethically persuasive, but they will need to recognize the differences between an idealization of rural farming life and an idealization of primitive hunting and gathering subsistence, and between cowboy ranching and nomadic pastoralism. Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 19 Most important, perhaps, this new sustainable pastoralism will need to reengage in a critique of technology and consumer capitalism that takes account of the new mystifications of relationships between consumers and producers, humans, animals, and the land. University of Oregon notes This essay arose out of a graduate seminar “Pastoralism in America: Nature, Subsistence, Leisure, Labor,” which I developed during a University of Oregon sab- batical in 2007. The writing was largely undertaken during a scholar-in-residence fellowship at the H. J. Andrews Experimental Forest, a unit of the U.S. Forest Ser- vice and Oregon State University, in Blue River, Oregon, in September 2008. 1. On the Nuer, see Evans-Pritchard. For a nuanced definition of nomadic pastoralism, see Ingold 224–27. 2. A notable exception has recently come to light from the research of archae- ologists on the Northwest Coast of Canada. Indigenous peoples raised dogs for their wool, confining them on small islands (Prof. Madonna Moss, University of Oregon, personal communication). 3. Mann cites evidence that hunters actually tried to reduce turkey popula- tions because they competed with humans for nut forage (356). 4. Diamond restricts his survey of domesticated species to mammals that weigh more than a hundred pounds as adults, which results in a census of 148 candidate species worldwide (162–66) of which only twenty-four were native to the Ameri- cas, and only one, the llama/alpaca, was domesticated. On Inca pastoralism in the Andes, see Brotherston. The Andeans did not ride these animals, because they are too small to carry a grown man, and they did not hitch them to a plow, since pota- toes were their staple crop and their irrigated terraces are ill suited to plowing. But they did of course use them for wool, and textiles were the focus of their societies’ greatest technological achievements. 5. A rare dissent to the thesis of “virgin soil epidemics” is Jones’ “Virgin Soils Revisited.” As a medical doctor, Jones points out that “no one is immunologically defenseless, and authors who make claims of no immunity probably do not mean them this literally” (727). Like Silva, he observes that “modern theories of immu- nological determinism have striking similarities to Puritan theories of providence” (714), but he also attributes the appeal of this theory in recent years to an image of “American Indians as a pristine population ruined by diseased Europeans” (713). 6. The pattern is consistent with a worldwide shift in neo-colonial capitalism. Today staple agricultural commodities such as maize, soybeans, cotton, sugar, and wheat are heavily subsidized in the U.S. and Europe, and much of the processed products are sold (or manufactured, in the case of clothing) in third-world former colonies. The central role of wool in the industrial revolution of the nineteenth 20 Gordon M. Sayre century has declined. 7. The hayrick, log cabin, mill and plowman are picturesque symbols for pasto- ral painters, but are not equivalent to the shepherd. As Barrell explains in his study of the English painting of rural life in the later eighteenth century: “the ploughman is the original of the working countryman; we never see him portrayed at rest, as we do the shepherd or even the haymaker—he ploughs a straight furrow towards an ever-receding horizon. . . . The figures of the shepherd and shepherdess, on the other hand, particularly in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, cannot be too easily identified as country folk, but are images of the courtier’s ideal of rural life, that combine his aspiration for a simpler life than that lived in courts, and his actual freedom from the need to make any effort to survive” (50–51). This is not to say that Hudson River School artists never painted idyllic scenes of shep- herds. Asher Durand’s The Beeches (1845) is one, but it does not depict a specific place in America. In many other paintings, a log cabin serves as an icon of domestic peace and of the transition between wilderness and farm. Conversely, the portrayal of railroads by Hudson River School landscape painters is analyzed by Wallach as “visual demonstration of the possibility of harmony between man, nature, and material progress.” This art historian argues that Cole himself dissented from this consensus of “pastoral accomodation,” that he was an anti-pastoralist and that the railroad “epitomized much that he feared and loathed in the contemporary world” (338). 8. Another instance of the book’s forced application of bucolic language occurs in these lines on Crèvecoeur’s Letters from an American Farmer: “Instead of Arcadia, we have the wild yet potentially bucolic terrain of the North American continent; instead of the shepherd, the independent, democratic husbandman with his plau- sible ‘rural scheme’; instead of the language of a decadent pastoral poetry, the exu- berant idiom, verging toward the colloquial, of the farmer” (114). 9. The earliest source of stadial history in the Mediterranean tradition is Hes- iod’s Works and Days. This epic poem of the eighth century bce anticipated nine- teenth-century archaeological work that identified stages of human history with the materials from which they made tools: stone age, bronze age, iron age. However, Hesiod’s stages are retrogressive rather than progressive; the golden age is followed by a silver age, then bronze and iron. 10. The term “four-stage theory” is adopted by Meek, but the stages themselves were very widespread. 11. For some modern scholars Morgan’s importance is due to the impact his work had on Karl Marx, who copied out hundreds of pages from Ancient Society into his notebooks (see Krader). 12. Cronon described the role of hogs in early colonial New England: “in contrast to most other English animals, they were generally able to hold their own against wolves and bears, so that they could be turned out into the woods for months at a time to fend for themselves almost as wild animals. They required Oxymoron of American Pastoralism 21 almost no attention until the fall slaughter, which—much as deer had been hunted by Indians—they could be recaptured, butchered, and used for winter meat supplies. . . . What most distinguished a hog or a cow from the deer hunted by Indians was the fact that the colonists’ animal was owned” (Changes 129). Anderson’s research shows that as the Native Americans of New England began to keep their own herds, they often chose pigs, and the hogs’ roaming aggressiveness and fertility led to con- flicts with English farmers and destroyed any sense of a porcine pastoral. works cited Alpers, Paul. What Is Pastoral? Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996. Anderson, Virginia DeJohn. Creatures of Empire: How Domestic Animals Trans- formed Early America. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. Arneil, Barbara. John Locke and America: The Defence of English Colonialism. Oxford: Clarendon, 1996. Barrell, John. The Dark Side of the Landscape: The Rural Poor in English Painting 1730–1840. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980. Brotherston, Gordon. “Andean Pastoralism and Inca Ideology.” The Walking Larder: Patterns of Domestication, Pastoralism, and Production. Ed. Juliet Clutton-Brock. London: Unwin-Hyman, 1989. 240–55. Buell, Lawrence. “American Pastoral Ideology Reappraised.” American Literary His- tory 1 (1989): 1–29. Cole, Thomas. The Course of Empire: The Arcadian or Pastoral State. 1836. Oil on Canvas. New-York Historical Society Museum & Library. 25 Sept. 2013. <http://www.nyhistory.org/node/55917> ———. “Essay on American Scenery.” The Collected Essays and Prose Sketches. Ed. Marshall Tymn. St. Paul: John Colet, 1980. 3–19. Cooper, James Fenimore. The Pioneers; or The Sources of the Susquehanna. Albany: SUNY Press, 1980. Corbett, Jim. Goatwalking. New York: Viking, 1991. Cronon, William. Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England. New York: Hill and Wang, 1983. _____. “The Trouble with Wilderness; or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature.” Uncommon Ground: Toward Reinventing Nature. Ed. William Cronon. New York: Norton, 1995. 69–90. Crèvecœur, J. Hector St. John de. Letters from the American Farmer and Sketches of Eighteenth-Century America. Ed. Albert E. Stone. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1981. Diamond, Jared. Guns, Germs and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies. New York: Norton, 1998. Evans-Pritchard, Edward Evan. The Nuer: A Description of the Modes of Livelihood and Political Institutions of a Nilotic People. Oxford: Clarendon, 1940. Greenblatt, Stephen. Shakespearean Negotiations: The Circulation of Social Energy in Renaissance England. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988. 22 Gordon M. Sayre Gross, Robert A. “The Great Bean Field Hoax: Thoreau and the Agricultural Reformers.” The Virginia Quarterly Review 61 (1985): 483–97. Halperin, David. Before Pastoral: Theocritus and the Ancient Tradition of Bucolic Poetry. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983. Hess, Scott. “Postmodern Pastoral, Advertising, and the Masque of Technol- ogy.” ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 11.1 (2004): 71–100. Ingold, Tim. Hunters, Pastoralists, and Ranchers: Reindeer Economies and Their Trans- formations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980. Inness, George. The Lackawanna Valley. c.1856. Oil on Canvas. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D C. 25 Sept. 2013. <http://www.nga.gov/content/ngaweb/ Collection/art-object-page.30776.html> Jennings, Francis. The Invasion of America: Indians, Colonialism, and Cant of Con- quest. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1975. Johnson, Edward. Wonder-Working Providence of Sions Saviour in New England. Delmar, NY: Scholars’ Facsimiles, 1974. Jones, David S. “Virgin Soils Revisited.” The William and Mary Quarterly 3rd ser. 60 (2003): 703–42. Kolodny, Annette. The Lay of the Land: Metaphor as Experience in American Life and Letters. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1975. Krader, Lawrence, ed. The Ethnological Notebooks of Karl Marx. Assen, NL: Van Gorcum, 1972. Locke, John. The Second Treatise of Government. Political Writings of John Locke. Ed. David Wootton. New York: Mentor, 1993. 261–387. 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work_rgw3ovsl3fbtpnxpspceyuj5ea	----	Seeing in Eternal Return: Hermeneutical Perspectives on Karma and Rebirth religions Article Seeing in Eternal Return: Hermeneutical Perspectives on Karma and Rebirth Jonathan Edelmann Department of Religion, University of Florida, Gainesville, FL 32601, USA; jonathanedelmann@ufl.edu Received: 15 September 2017; Accepted: 14 November 2017; Published: 16 November 2017 Abstract: This article is a reflection on a conception of death, that of karma and rebirth, and its value in interpreting one’s life. I have thought about this conception in two ways. The first is that I can see the circumstances of my life as the result of causes of which I was the agent, and the second is that I can see my life and the relationships in my life as part of a much larger narrative that began before this life. Through an examination of Vaishnava and Advaita theology, Nyāya philosophy, and some Puranic and Epic texts, I argue for an interpretation of karma and rebirth as a rational system that allows one to see relationships as involving many layers of complexity. Keywords: rebirth; Rāmānuja; Gaud. ı̄ya Vais. n. ava; eschatology; karma; sam. sāra; hermeneutics; Indian philosophy; Uddyotakara (Nyāya); pratyābhijña; Advaita (Sureśvara) Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains. Henry David Thoreau, from Walden, “Where I lived, and what I lived for” Fare you well, fare you wellI love you more than words can tell Words by Robert Hunter, music by the Grateful Dead, “Broke-down Palace” 1. Introduction This article is a reflection on a conception of death, that of karma and rebirth, and its value in interpreting one’s life. I have thought about this conception in two ways. The first is that I can see the circumstances of my life as the result of causes of which I was the agent, and the second is that I can see my life and the relationships in my life as part of a much larger narrative that began before this life. My approach here is not argumentative; this article is not an attempt to assert the superiority or validity of one view over another. It is hermeneutical and interpretive; I reflect on what it means to see the events one’s life through a many life theistic model. Simply put, what does belief in rebirth matter to this life? The two quotations above are the sorts of ideas about death that were imprinted in my mind in my mid-teens; both express the fleeting nature of life and inspired me to think about what death means for life. In my late-teens and thereafter I began to study and reflect on Indian religious traditions, even performing the ritual, meditative, and ethical practices in my own life. I became especially aware of the “many lives theism” of the Gaud. ı̄ya Vais. n. ava tradition and other related traditions. The “many life theism” of Gaud. ı̄ya Vais. n. avism and other many life scenarios of the Indian traditions offered Religions 2017, 8, 250; doi:10.3390/rel8110250 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel8110250 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2017, 8, 250 2 of 13 alternatives to the more familiar “one life theism”1 and various forms of “physicalism,”2 had access to as a young adult. The term “many life theism,” as I use it here, is the view that there is karma (a “law” of action and reaction that governs or controls sentient beings) and sam. sāra (repeated birth and death with no beginning, anādi, but with an end, called moks. a), all of which is overseen by God. Karma, then, is the determining power in life into which freewill might insert and assert itself in some way, and sam. sāra characterizes the soul’s movement in the process of living over the course of unlimited embodied instantiations. While not all Indian religions are theistic, I explore a theistic models of karma-sam. sāra, one sustained by God in some manner, and one in which a real or eternal self is the experiencer of the various embodied existences. I make some attempts to distinguish this from single or one life theism (especially as found in the Abrahamic religions) and Buddhism (a karma-sam. sāra model with no God and no unchanging or eternal soul, anātman), and I acknowledge the more metaphysically reduced model of scientific reductionism (that consciousness is produced from the body and brain, an organism that is the result of a purely material process of evolution). The introduction of these new ideas from the Indian traditions were a significant hermeneutical break with the conventional ideas with which I had grown up, a break that is significant enough to deserve a focused and critical reflection. This particular article was inspired by the questioning of Professor Francis X. Clooney, SJ, which led to a series of panels at the Dharma Academy of North America and the American Academy of Religion in 2015 and 2016. I have thought about rebirth scenarios Indologically, and philosophically and theologically. For me questions about death immediately led to questions about how I should live knowing that I shall die, about why we find ourselves in existence at all, or the cause of the brute fact of our existence, and why our individual life is the way it is and not some other way. The study of philosophical and theological texts has continued to enrich and refine the ways that I address these issues in my personal quest to make sense of the mystery of being. 2. Seeing One’s Life as the Result of Causes from a Previous Life The argument of this section is that the theistic karma-sam. sāra view can be interpreted as a rational system in the sense that the individual’s will (kratu), which I understand as an agent’s (kartr. ) desire (kāma) that has become a resolution or a decision to act in a particular way, is the cause of effect’s in an individual’s life. Effects are one’s dispositions (vāsanās), socio-economic circumstance (varn. a, which we might, interestingly, think about as a form of class or even “caste”), as well as all the personal attributes of the body such as intelligence, physical strength, attractiveness, length of life (which we might think about as phenotype and the underlying genotype). The defining feature of the karma-sam. sāra model I wish to highlight here is that the effects are produced by causes (the “will”) and that the cause-effect relationship is pre-determined, universal, and for the most part inviolable. These are the conditions that would make karma-sam. sāra “rational.” It may or may not be rational to believe in rebirth,3 but many sought to present a logically coherent picture of why a person has particular circumstances based on cause-effect reasoning. Karma-sam. sāra, then, is an explanatory model that 1 These terms, many life theism and one life theism, are from Filice (2006). While recognizing the diversity of Abrahamic theologies, I would call them “one life theism,” i.e., that the soul is born and dies once, after which an eternal destination is assigned. There is purgatory, particularly in the Roman Catholic tradition and to a more limited degree in the Church of England, a temporary place of venial-sin-expiation, espoused by Clement of Alexandria, Thomas Aquinas, the Council of Trent and the Tractarians (Cross and Livingstone 1974, sv. purgatory). While not argued here, I think the concept of purgatory is different from the karma-sam. sāra-many-life model discussed below because purgatory is a one time event, whereas rebirths are many. There is evidence that Christian authors new of a rebirth systems, probably from Plato, early on, but it was rejected, e.g., in Augustine’s City of God, Book X, Chapter 30, ff.; he argues against reincarnation and the co-eternality of soul with God. Tertullian also argued against rebirth (Edwards 2001, chp. 14). 2 Briefly, physicalism is the view that consciousness fully depends on the brain; for discussion and evaluation from a Vais. n. ava point of view see (Edelmann 2012, pp. 61–92). 3 In addition to Filice (2006), op. cit., who argued for the philosophical consistency of many life over one life theism, the vast body of work by Ian Stevenson (1997) and his students attempts to ground rebirth in scientific terms using the methods of contemporary science. See (Edelmann and Bernet 2007) for discussion and evaluation. Religions 2017, 8, 250 3 of 13 eschews chance as an explanation as to why a being’s particular effects are attached to his life and not some other. Before I examine Sanskrit classical sources, let me begin with two different, but noteworthy, 20th century thinkers who argued that rebirth is a rational model. Bimal Krishna Matilal (1985, pp. 363, 366), a philosopher, wrote in an examination of karma: “The present comes out of the past and the shape of the future depends upon what we do in the present [. . . ] The law of karma is a principle of moral causation. This principle of moral causation is an extension of the principle of causation in the field of physical or natural science to the field of ethics and moral responsibility.” He goes on to say that the karma theory, “refuses to admit that the world is arbitrary and that there is anything called chance or caprice.” His point is that there is a rational connection between an agent’s moral choices in the past and the condition in which he presently lives, and that this form of causal relation is like the physical sciences, i.e., governed by cause-effect laws. Ian Stevenson (1997, p. 5), a parapsychologis, was led to think about this issue as follow: During the last century medical research has increased our knowledge of some of the proximate physical causes of birth defects . . . But causing them in which persons? Why is one person born with a birth defect when another—his twin brother perhaps—is not?” He goes on to say that those who hold a conventional medical or scientific view can examine physical causes, but they “cannot—without violating their principles—ask about more ultimate causes, such as why a particular person, as opposed to a particular body, has a congenital malformation” (ibid., italics in original). Reincarnation tells us why a particular good or bad situation in life belongs to a particular person; it explains not just the cause of the effect, but why an effect is located on a specific agent. 2.1. Karma-Sam. sāra Explains the Circumstances The early Vedic tradition centralized the human will or intention (kratu) as the determinative force and it is from the will, a cause, that effects, the circumstances, are produced. While the Veda Sam. hitās are generally seen to have not said anything about karma-sam. sāra, the Śatapatha-brāhman. a (10.6.3.1) says: Let one meditate on the truth that is brahma! Now this person here is indeed made of will. According to his will, when he departs from this world, he becomes of similar will in the next world beyond.4 For the Śatapatha-brāhman. a it is undoubtedly a sacrificial context in which this will would have been exercised and the results of the exercising of this will would have also been understood in a cosmology defined by the Vedic ritual, but it makes a lot of sense that the will would be seen as so important since the sacrificer, in this context, by choosing to a particular ritual, is shaping his future. The view that one’s will could determine one’s future was articulated in the Br. hadāran. yaka-upanis. ad (4.4.3, cf. Chāndogya-upanis. ad 3.14.1), using much the same terminology as the Śatapatha, but in a more general context than ritual. It likens the death experience to reaching out or stepping toward another body (anyam ākramam ākramya), just as a caterpillar moves from the tip of one blade of grass to another.5 4 satyam. brahmety upāsı̄ta | atha khalu kratu-mayo ’yam. purus. ah. sa yāvat kratur asmāl lokāt praityevam. kratur hāmum. lokam. pretyābhisambhavati (Kane 1962, p. 1535). Kane clearly based his translation on Eggeling (1897, p. 400), yet the latter translates kratu as “understanding, or will, purpose,” and he notes a very similar passage as the Śatapatha’s in the Chāndogya-upanis. ad (3.14.1), along with Śaṅkara’s commentary, which seems to justify this translation. The context for the Chāndogya is a discussion on how one should meditate on brahman. Śaṅkara writes: “How should one meditate? One should set to a will. A resolution or will is an intentional cognitive episode that is fixed, like ‘it shall be so,’ which is unwavering; by this means one should meditate (on brahman)” (Jha 1942, p. 151). katham upāsı̄ta | kratum. kurvı̄ta kratur niścayo ’dhyavasāya evam eva nānyathety avicalah. pratyayastam. kratum. kurvı̄topāsı̄tetyanena vyavahitena sambandhah. . Sanskrit text from: http://gretil.sub.uni-goettingen.de/gretil/1_sanskr/1_veda/4_upa/chupsb_u.htm. 5 When introducing the analogy of a craftsman (perhaps a weaver or goldsmith) who creates an artifact out of the old material that is newer and more beautiful (navataram. kalyān. ataram. ), the Upanis. ad introduces an implicit progressiveness to the process, but later accounts are not as optimistic (ibid., 4.4.4). http://gretil.sub.uni-goettingen.de/gretil/1_sanskr/1_veda/4_upa/chupsb_u.htm Religions 2017, 8, 250 4 of 13 The clincher for a karma-sam. sāra view is in 4.4.5: “If one acts good (sādhu), one becomes good; if one acts negatively (pāpa), one becomes negative. One becomes something positive (pun. ya) by positive action, something bad by bad action.” The Upanis. ad goes on to say that as one desires (kāma), one then forms a resolve or will (kratu), from which one then acts in particular ways, and that action determines one’s future (Olivelle 1999, pp. 120–24). Śaṅkara notes something very important here, i.e., that “desire is the root or foundation of rebirth” (kāmo mūlam. sam. sārasya, comments Br. hadāran. yaka 5.4.7, see (Kane 1962, p. 1548)). This model looks to the future, providing a chain-linked explanation—i.e., from desire, to will, to action, and finally, to result—but one only needs to reason back (into an infinite past6) to conclude that one’s present situation is the result of the same chain-linked explanation.7 The manner in which this will manifests is explained in, for example, the Mānava-dharma-śāstra (or Manu-smr. ti) (12.3) 8 as well as Vātsyāyana’s commentary (bhās. ya) on the Nyāya-sūtra (1.1.2–3), both of which say action can be of body, speech, and mind. For Vātsyāyana the adharma, or inappropriate and demerit accruing activity of the body is killing, of the speech is lying, and of the mind is malevolence, whereas the dharma of the body is charity, of the speech is truth-telling, and of the mind is compassion. Thus, in each of these three ways the will is expressed and the activities of each would produce good or bad results; there is, then, an attention to ethical considerations if for no other reason to create a better future for one’s self. And yet the Upanis. ads, as well as Yoga and Puranic Hinduism, will come to reject the sufficiency of “good” (i.e., pun. ya, dharma, etc.), as discussed below. The genius of the Yoga tradition was its ability to locate the individual will in a larger karmic cosmological and psychological context. It attempts to explain our habits and dispositions by karma-sam. sāra. For example, Vācaspatimiśra I (c.mid-9th century) in his Tattva-vaiśāradı̄ (a sub-commentary on the Vyāsa-bhās. ya attributed to Vyāsa) on Yoga-sūtra 1.24 begins by saying that good and bad actions ripens (vipāka) into good and bad results, e.g., into the length and quality of one’s life. He goes on to say: “Pre-dispositions” (āśaya) to action refer to those deep impulses (vāsanā) that are commensurate with “ripenings” and that reside in the deep recesses of ordinary awareness. For no behavior typical of a young elephant is conducive towards experience suitable to a young elephant so long as that action does not manifest the type of becoming brought about by the experience of a young elephant in a preceding rebirth. Therefore, the unfolding experience of a young elephant is in conformity with the “ripening” from a (previously existing) young elephant (Larson Forthcoming).9 I understand Vācaspati as saying that our present is a constructed result of the our past, that our habits of mind and body, which lead to actions, and which are a fundamental part of our becoming in this world, must be seen in the context of a larger narrative, a story about cause and effect, from a previous life, and by extension that this story was also the continuation of a story that preceded it, and so forth back into eternity. Thus, just as the details of the quality of my life are explained in terms 6 The Vedānta-sūtra (2.1.35 ff.) and the commentaries will say that the process of karma-sam. sāra must have had no beginning to avoid partiality on the part of God. 7 Madhva, the Dvaitva theologian, would seem to undermine this rationalistic interpretation in his interpretation of this part of the Br. hadāran. yaka in saying that “all beings are always under the direct will of the Lord. The desires of a being have their origin in the desires of Vis. n. u, so the beings act in obedience to the desires of Vis. n. u” (Vasu and Bhattacharya 1916, p. 538). Thus our desires would not be our own, nor, then, our fate. B.N.K. Sharma, however, interprets Madhva as saying here that Vis. n. u “causes Jı̄vas [souls] to do things according to His will in conformity with their deserts. The Lord being possessed of such a nature, the Jı̄va does what the Lord implies him to do in keeping with his deserts. Hence they say the Jı̄va follows the Lords will (Kāmayamānah. ) (Sharma 1988, p. 160).” 8 śubhāśubha-phalam. karma mano-vāg-deha-sam. bhavam | karmajā gatayo nr̄n. ām uttamādhama-madhyamāh. || (Mandlik 1886, p. 1478). Karma has a result that is pure or impure; they are created by the body, words, and mind. People proceed to a [position] that is middle, terrible, or great from karma. 9 vipākānugun. ā vāsanās tāś cittabhūmāv āśerata ity āśayāh. | na hi karabhajātinirvartakam. karma prāgbhavı̄yakarabhabhogabhāvitām. bhāvanām. na yāvad abhivyanakti tāvat karabhocitāya bhogāya kalpate | tasmād bhavati karabhajātyanubhavajanmā bhāvanā karabhavipākānugun. eti | Translation based on Larson, and Sanskrit text from SARIT: http://sarit.indology.info/exist/apps/sarit-pm/works/. http://sarit.indology.info/exist/apps/sarit-pm/works/ Religions 2017, 8, 250 5 of 13 of cause-effect, so are the particulars of my impulses, but they are themselves constructed by actions of the past. Does Vācaspatimiśra give one a fuller sense of the “will” (kratu) than in the Upans. ads, it now being seen as a construction from karma-sam. sāra? Should we thus consider our individual will not as an autonomous entity, but as something that is itself a “karmic effect,” a feature of our cognitive and psychological life, just as the body is also a “karmic effect”? These are in some sense classical questions in philosophy about freewill. Some Hindu traditions restrict agency to a conventional (vyāvahārika) level of reality, one that needs transcendence, and which is ultimately not real. Sthaneshwar Timalsina (2014, p. 207) has argued that Śaṅkara negotiated between the Advaita theologies of earlier figures like Gaud. apādā (c.600 AD) and Bhartr.prapañca (c.550 AD) by saying that freewill and agency operate, in a mediated fashion, within the convention reality (vyāvahārika), but not within the unconditioned level of being that is the unqualified brahman. In Advaita theologies there is not only rejection of agency at the ultimate ontology, but even in a poetic and symbolic sense. For example, in his Nais. karmya-siddhi (1.41–44) Sureśvara (c.740 AD) of the early Advaita tradition presents a particularly dramatic critique of agency. The person whose mind is covered by ignorance (avidyā) is bitten (das. t. a) by the teeth of scriptural injunctions to perform action in the Veda, thinking them the causes of his qualification to be the agent of such action. As such he goes up to the level of a god (deva) or down to a lower region (nāraka) by following or not following the rules, or he becomes a human by mixing good and bad, but in all cases he is avaśa, “not free.” One is pushed around, “like an empty gourd is violently knocked around with fierce and chaotic fury when in the midst of the ocean.”10 Sureśvara presents a startling and unsettling existential rejection of agency. The embodied self (jı̄va) is helplessly subjected to unwanted pain due to the overwhelming forces of nature, an experience everyone can identify with, even if one does not accept the larger karma-sam. sāra model or nondualistic theology. Sureśvara does problematize a rationalistic interpretation of karma-sam. sāra since the gourd, even if it could desire, is hardly the cause of action, and we can sympathize with a feeling that we are not always in control of our lives; even our desires might seem well beyond our control at times. Vais. n. avas do accept agency as an inherent feature of the self, 11 even if that agency is a complex and multifaceted concept, one that is often constrained or limited by the material circumstances in which the self is placed, and even if they might agree with the troubled existential picture painted by Sureśvara, and. Nevertheless, much work is still needed to think about how freewill would or could be exercised on the karma-sam. sāra model. 2.2. Explaining Experience The karma-sam. sāra model also attempts to explain in rational terms why a person experiences the world the way he does. To use a term from Western philosophy, for Nyāya experience is “theory-laden,” but the theory that lades or filters the raw sense data fed into the senses must be constructed in a previous life. The Nyāya-sūtra (3.1.18) argues for the existence of rebirth to justify the eternality of the soul by an examination of experience: There is the appropriate experience of joy, fear, and sorrow in a new-born because of a connection with memory [produced from] repeated experience in a previous [life].12 The commentary (vārttika) of Uddyotakara (c.mid-6th century) is particularly helpful in this regard: When a child is first born, the senses, (on their own), are unable to comprehend (adhigama) sense objects, [and yet] it is seen that a new born child experiences joy, fear, and sorrow, 10 can. d. otpañjalaka-śvasana-vegābhihatāmbhodhi-madhyavarti-śus. kālābuvat (Balasubramanian 2016, p. 107). 11 For Vais. n. ava theological concepts of freewill, agency, and self, see the chapters on Rāmānuja, Madhva and Jı̄va by Martin Ganeri, David Buchta, and Satyanarayana Dasa and Jonathan Edelmann, respectively, in Dasti and Bryant (2014). 12 pūrvābhyasta-smr.ty-anubandhāj jātasya hars. a-bhaya-śoka-sampratipattam. Religions 2017, 8, 250 6 of 13 which is inferable from smiling, trembling, and crying. These arise from an uninterrupted connection with memory, and there is no uninterrupted memory without a previous body. Birth is a connection with feeling, intellect, senses, and body, which is formed as a whole. Joy is the experience of happiness or pleasure upon obtaining what one had hoped for as the intended object. Fear is the experience of the inability to avoid that which one hopes to avoid as it is about to occur. Lamentation or sorrow is when one is separated from a desired object, and one hopes, but is unable, to obtain it. The word sampratipattih. refers to the proper experience of them [joy, etc.]. Repetition is the occurrence of many direct experiential episodes of an object.13 The word “comprehend” (adhigama) seems to be key in Uddyotakara’s argument, for if infants do not comprehend objects, that is, if they were passive screens, or “tabula rasas,” again a term in Western philosophy, upon which stimuli were projected, then they would not have the correct responses to stimuli, or perhaps none at all. Since, for an infant, there is no previous experience to build on, for Nyāya we need to posit a previous birth to make sense of their proper responses to stimuli, e.g., the prick of a needle or the taste of the mother’s milk. Let me first say a bit more about what comprehension might mean before exploring why past life experience is needed for an infant. The Nyāya-kośa (Jhalakı̄kar 1928, qv. adhigama) provides these definitions of comprehend (adhigamah. ) (translations my own): 1. jñāna or cognition, 2. prāpti or apprehension, 3. svı̄kārah. (vāca-) or words that have been understood. Comprehension is thus a cognitive state, one in which there is a particular type of apprehension, and one with a linguistic component. The Nyāya school holds that intentional action—laughing because of joy, crying because of pain, etc.—requires some sort theoretical construct about what is desirable and undesirable. Yet this construct, which results in the experience of joy, etc. is inferable from laughing, etc., and it requires knowledge derived from past experiences, about which one has formed opinions, and that since an infant has joy, etc., the construct must have been created in a previous life. Thus, for Nyāya, previous lives are also necessary for us to make sense of our present life. Rebirth rationalizes not only the circumstances of my life, but the reasons why I interpret my life as I do. While not discussed here, one could extend the Nyāya model to suggest that the way I interpret my experiences today is also the result of repeated interactions with particular objects. I conclude this analysis of karma in saying that no school of Hindu thought of which I am aware affirms the reality the person as a physical and mental being. For Nyāya the “I” that is the person who is joyful is merely an abstract and subtle locus of being. The “I” is not the person that is carried over into the next life, but it is a subject that provides the conditions for the person. Describing the Nyāya thinker Udayana (c.10th century), Chakravathi Ram-Prasad (2011, p. 325) writes, “The Nyāya ātman [self] provides no personal identity but provides the condition through which a formal consciousness unifies the psychophysical complex that makes the person.” It must be different than the body and mind because it persists through their changes. This leads into important questions about what exactly is the “I” that would reincarnate, but I shall reflect on that below. 13 jātah. khalv-ayam. kumsārako vis. ayādhigamāsamarthes. u indriyes. u hars. a-bhaya-śokān pratipadyamāno dr.s. t.ah. smita-kampa-ruditānumeyān te ca smr.ty-anubandhād utpadyante | smr.ty-anubandhaś ca nāntaren. a pūrva-śarı̄ram iti | tatra janma nikāya-viśis. t.ābhih. śarı̄rendraya-buddhi-vedanābhih. sambandhah. | abhipreta-vis. aya-prārthanā-prātau sukhānuvabho hars. ah. | anis. t.a-vis. aya-sādhanopanipāte taj-jihāsorhānāśakyatā bhayam | is. t.a-vis. aya-viyoge sati tat-prāpty-aśakya-prārthanā śokah. | tad-anubhavah. sampratipattih. | eka-vis. ayāneka-vijñānotpādo ’bhyāsah. (Nyaya-Tarkatirtha and Takatirtha 2003, p. 741). For translation and discussion see Dasti and Phillips (2017). Religions 2017, 8, 250 7 of 13 2.3. Rationality and Theism One might object that many life theism cannot be rational as I have defined it above since theism suggests that God is in control of one’s life and thus the effects that one experiences. This would negate self-responsibility and negate the efficacy of the will that would create good or bad karma. There may be theistic models in which this is true—I had alluded to this in Madhva’s commentary on Br. hadāran. yaka 5.4.7—but here I examine the theism of Rāmānuja (early 12th century), especially his commentary on Vedānta-sūtra 2.1.34. Therein he argues God is merely the arbiter, or the distributor of a soul’s own karmic deserts. The Vedānta-sūtra characterize God’s manner of creating the world as one of distributing the karma of the souls in the world: There is no partiality or cruelty (in brahman) because he is dependent (on karma when making the world), as seen [in the śruti].14 There seems to be an allusion to what we might call the problem of evil in Western philosophies; there is an attempt here to show why God is not malicious despite being all-powerful and despite the world being a mixture of pain and pleasure. Rebirth is needed for Rāmānuja to maintain that God is all-powerful and all good. Rāmānuja writes in his Śrı̄-bhās. ya commentary: If the manifestation of the world—a diverse mixture of conscious and unconscious things—did belong to the supreme being [Vis. n. u, Nārāyan. a, Vāsudeva, etc.], who is different from objects in this world that are conscious or unconscious, and all else because of being connected to a paradoxical (acintya) power, who existed before the manifest world, who is one and also impartite, [if all that is true] then one would be led to the unwanted conclusion of a created world made of superior, mediocre, and inferior things, consisting in plants, men, animals and gods; [in such a case] since [Vis. n. u] would be the cause of extremely fearful suffering, there would be the unavoidable conclusion of [Vis. n. u] being cruel.15 Here Rāmānuja wants to emphasize the impartite nature of Vis. n. u as opposed to the hierarchical and partite nature of the world. How to account for this difference? And given the hierarchical nature of the world, if Vis. n. u were responsible for it, he would be cruel. To avoid this conclusion, Rāmānuja replies, The creation or manifestation of this unequal world is dependent upon the karma of the living beings (ks. etra-jña), i.e., the gods, humans, etc., who are being created. 16 For Rāmānuja God is the creator, but he makes the world according to the karma of the living beings in the world. From this one can conclude that since I performed actions in the past of which I am now experiencing, I alone am accountable for my present situation and I alone am responsible for my future. Thus, there can be the sort of rational cause-effect relation on the karma-sam. sāra model, even in a theistic context. 2.4. Hermeneutical Reflection When thinking about the rationality of karma, one of the first questions I would have is how exacting is karma? If I get punched in the face by a stranger on the street, is it because I punched a stranger on the street in a past life, or are there just risks and rewards associated with the karma 14 vais. amya-nairghr.n. ye na sāpeks. atvāt tathā hi darśayati || (Vedānta-sūtra 2.1.34). 15 yadyapi parama-purus. asya sakaletara-cid-acid-vastu-vilaks. an. asya acintya-śakti-yogāt prāk-sr.s. t.er ekasya niravayasyāpi vicitra-cid-acin-miśra-jagat-sr.s. t.ih. sam. bhāvyet tathāpi deva-tiryaṅ-manus. ya-sthāvarātmanā utkr.s. t.a-madhyamāpakr.s. t.a-sr.s. t.yā paks. a-pātah. prasajyeta | atighora-duh. kha-yoga-karan. āt nairghr.n. yam. cāvarjanı̄yam iti | (Karmarkar 1962, pp. 640–41, para. 292). 16 sr.jyamāna-devādi-ks. etrajña-karma-sāpeks. atvāt vis. ama-sr.s. t.eh. | (ibid.). Religions 2017, 8, 250 8 of 13 of walking on streets, and the details—getting punched or bumping into an old friend—are left to chance? If I decide to move to a particular place, am I then subject to the general conditions—e.g., storms, violence from other human beings or wildlife, etc.—independent of my personal karma, or was it my personal karma that impelled me (through my vāsanās and other residues from past lives) that compelled me to move to a particular place? Likewise, is the karma of being a human being with a particular race, gender, etc. subject to karmic deserts that are generally related to that race, etc.? In other words, does being a white man have its own karmic desserts that are not specifically created by the soul that inhabits the body? These questions, which I have not found clear answers to in Sanskrit literature, get to the core of what “rationality” might mean in this context, that is, whether the connection between cause and effect is specific or general. To frame the question in the familiar “seed” analogy: do specific karmic seeds, or causes, produce specific fruits or effects, or should we think about karmic seeds, causes, as group-able into general categories that produce effects that are also group-able into general categories? Perhaps one type of seed produces one type of effect, but within each type there is a lot of variation. I do not know of specific answers to these general questions. Perhaps they are best answered through stories. Having said that, when I have used the ideas above to make sense of my life the result is a radical sense of self-responsibility (e.g., “I did this to myself”) and self-empowerment (e.g., “I can remake myself as I like”), coming with this the sense that I do in fact deserve the good and the bad that happens to me and I can in fact change my future irrespective of the particular material circumstances in which I find myself. There is a type of radical libertarianism associated with karma theory to think about it in the landscape of American politics, but one with a greatly expanded notion of self since it says that I made my life as it is, even the events that occurred before I had agency (e.g., as an infant) and I can remake my life as I want it; even God is not directly and immediately involved in this, but God acts the distributor of karmic results and the sustainer of existence in which karma operates. Moral choices can reduce, then, to questions about what kind of being I want to be within the karmic world, and the abandonment of all karma, for example by seeking liberation or devotion (bhakti), as the case may be, are about not wanting to be anything that the world of karma has to offer. But sticking to a discussion about how to understand karma within the world (and even if you seek liberation of devotion you still have to decide what kind of being you want to be who seeks those ends while you are in the world of karma), it opens up a lot of questions as to how particular events—e.g., loss of a loved one, an illness, the attainment of a fortune, etc.—were caused by events in the past, events that I, under normal states of mind, have no awareness of. If I am in a painful accident, I do not know that this was caused by some choice I made in the past. Therefore, there is something very theoretical in the form of explanation it provides. The notion of self-responsibility is therefore the result of a cosmological theory, not something I derive from my direct and immediate experience, but as an explanation it does explain “scientifically” (i.e., cause-effect reasoning) my phenomenological experience. Taking for granted that I would not do something that would cause me pain, or I would only do something that would cause me pain if I thought it was worth the bad effect (e.g., I know eating sugary cakes is bad for my health, but sometimes it is worth it), thinking about karma is something of a negotiation with myself about what I’m willing to suffer in order to enjoy. Maybe killing the spiders in my bathroom is worth a little bad karma so I can enjoy an spider-free shower? This itself gets into questions about what really is good and bad karma, or how much something will cost, so to speak. The Sanskrit literature on this subject is vast, but is all of it to be taken seriously? And if not, then how does one decide what is good and bad? One is immediately thrust into the ethical and meta-ethical theory, and there is a sense in which solipsistic questions about what I want to construct out of karma are deeply dissatisfying, whereas moral questions about how to benefit others through action are more satisfying. Religions 2017, 8, 250 9 of 13 One of my first professors of philosophy, Peter Angeles, argued that there is a cold rationality to the karma-sam. sāra theory because if I deserve my circumstances in life, so do others, even the poor, sick, oppressed, etc. Rationality can replace compassion. Matilal (1985, p. 368) notes, “But it is highly interesting to see that the law of karma which was originally formulated to oppose fatalism and encourage free will became later on a plea for fatalism.” And fatalism, he notes, can underpin a ridge social structure like that of the “caste system.” Does believing that a baby born with a terrible disease because of past actions mean I feel less compassion for it? Possibly, but there are other ways to interpret it too, but this might go beyond my scope here. But it also means that karma theory is not moral theory, but an explanatory and interpretive model, and that we need to still consider how to prevent suffering in the world in spite of the rationality of karma. 3. Complex View of One’s Self and Others In this section I argue that karma-sam. sāra opens a complexity in how one can think about one’s self and others. There is a temporal nature to this complexity. I can see my present and of others as multilayered, and the future of myself and others are unexpected. One of the things that gives life terror and bliss is the unexpectedness of the future, but karma adds another layer to that unexpectedness, and it adds a way of interpreting it as the rational outcome of the past and present. 3.1. Unforeseeable-Ness The karma-sam. sāra model says there is an infinitely long story that explains how I got here today, and that many of the details of that story—for example the choices I made, the experiences I had, the feelings I felt—are just starting to show their effects, that some will show their effects later in this life, and others in a future life. It is as if I completely forgot that I bought a lottery ticket last week and I’m about to get the positive results, or that I forgot that I took a drug which is beginning to change my mind and body, or that I forgot I had planted a fruit tree long ago and it is about to bear a fruit I can enjoy. There is, then, a multilayered-ness to my material being. To develop this point, I will introduce some familiar terms from the Vedānta-sūtra (e.g., 4.1.13–15): Karmic residues are of three kinds. (1) There are those residues that were determined at birth to work themselves out during the present life (the one just ending)—these residues are called prārābdhakarman. (2) There are those residues that were produced by acts performed either in this life or in a previous one, but which remain latent during this present life—called sañcitakarman. (3) Then there are the results of acts performed during this very lifetime, which will mature in some subsequent lifetime in the normal course of events. This kind of karma is called sañcı̄yamāna or āgamin karman (Potter 1981, p. 23; cf. Rambachan 2006, p. 106; Buchta 2016, p. 34). Much of the discussion in the Vedānta-sūtra and the commentaries thereon is about how to get free from all forms of karma, what the causes of that freedom are, and what occurs after freedom, but the more interesting phenomenological and hermeneutical question is what does this view of karma say to my present condition, especially (2), the latent karma I have yet to experience? The complexity I wish to highlight here is that one’s prārābdha-karma, one’s presently experienced karma, may place one in either a very good situation (wealth, social prestige, beauty, intelligence, fame, power, etc.) or very bad situation (the opposite), and yet one’s sañcita-karma, “latent karma,” does not necessarily demand one’s future will be the same as one’s present, for the present karma and the latent karma might be very different. Because one has un-manifest karma, like a seed un-sprouted, there is an unexpectedness to one’s life: one simply does not know what kinds of seeds one planted in the past that are yet to grow. There is a sense, then, that this solves the problem of “why good things happen to bad people,” even if that solution is coldly rational. I say this because one could be experiencing the results good karma now, but bad karma, that is latent, suddenly develops an unexpected Religions 2017, 8, 250 10 of 13 way. Bruce Reichenbach (1990, p. 24) notes, “Both sides [theistic and non-theistic Hindus] want to understand why it is that a person experiences pain and pleasure, fortune and misfortune in ways that seem unconnected with the moral quality of their present actions[.]” Good people can also be bad people, and bad people can be good; the ugly can be beautiful, and the beautiful, ugly—all this because there is a deep history to us. We might be good now, but experience the ripening of karmic results that are bad. 3.2. Morality as beyond Good and Evil The complexity of the karma-sam. sāra model is that is also requires going beyond good and bad moral behavior. Hindu theologians mainly focus on entirety of the karma-samsāra system, that is, the ignorance that underlies the production of karma, arguing that even good karma is bad, and that good and bad must be gone beyond. For example, when discussing fire sacrifices, the Chāndogya-upanis. ad (5.24.3) argues, sarve pāpmānah. pradūyante, that knowledge of brahman removes all bad actions (pāpa). The Śrı̄vais. n. ava theologian Vedānta Deśika, an inheritor of Rāmānuja’s theology, discussed this passage. While talking about the contemplation (upāsanā) of brahman, Vedānta Deśika says in his Tattva-muktā-kalāpa (2.55) that the plural of “bad actions” (pāpmānah. ) in the Chāndogya indicates that even good action (pun. ya) must be removed. S. M Srinivasa Chari (Srinivasa 2004, p. 303), a scholar of Śrı̄vais. n. ava theology, summarizes Vedānta Deśika’s view: “Since even pun. ya [or a “good act”] is an obstacle for moks. a [or liberation from sam. sāra], it has also to be got rid of [ . . . ] Even dharma [right action] becomes adharma [wrong action] from the standpoint of an aspirant for moks. a [liberation].” This is not to say that good and bad have no meaning or that they are the same, but that good karma is an effect, one that the self would then be required to experience, and because one is required to experience it, one is bound by it. Imagine, if you will, that one plants a mango tree, a fruit that is delicious or good, but the condition is that one must also eat all the fruits it produces until it dies. This would be binding. Many life theism opens spaces for thinking about the good “beyond good and bad,” even if it is not clear what that might be (the obvious reference to Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzche (1844–1900) is itself beyond the scope of this article). Part of the difficulty, then, involves knowing what actions, if any, are beyond the good and evil of karma—this seems to be a central issue in all of the native Indian religions. 3.3. Extended Picture of Relationships and Recognition (Pratyābhijña) Just as many life theism invites me to see myself in a larger narrative, it invites me to see relationships that define my life in larger narrative too. When my children were born, for example, there was this forceful thought as I gazed upon their faces for the first time: had I known this soul before? If so, what was the nature of that relationship? There are many friends and family relationships that seem so deep I wonder if they too had a beginning before my present life. On a karma-sam. sāra model it would not only be possible, but even likely, that many of the people in my life—parents and extended family, friends, teachers, co-workers, etc.—would be people with whom I had interacted in the past. Many Indian epic (e.g., Mahābhārata, Purān. as, Rāmāyan. a, Jātaka, etc.), as well as parapsychological studies of reincarnation by Ian Stevenson, etc., depict a world in which the circle of relationships in a person’s life are filled with people from a past life. One of the more gory stories is in the Mahābhārata (3.127). King Somaka had one hundred wives, but bore only one son. After an incident with an insect bite, Somaka realize that the boy could die at any time, leaving him sonless. His family priest describes a ritual that generate one hundred sons: Religions 2017, 8, 250 11 of 13 The family priest said: King Somaka, you should sacrifice [the body] of your son Jantu by the extension of my will (kratu), and thereafter you will quickly gain one hundred glorious sons.17 The sacrificed is described as involving the offering of bodily membranes, like skin and fat (vapā) into the fire, and that the wives should smell the smoke of it, which would thus produce the sons, one of which will be Jantu reborn. The women protest, but the sacrifice happens nevertheless, and Jantu is reborn in the same family. When the priest and king die they go to hell, a temporary place of suffering for this gory sacrifice, which was based on their (kratu) one might add, yet the king offers to share the priest’s demerit, and they are both quickly released from hell. The story is outrageous, but it shows an entanglement of over lifetimes.18 Even the relationships between the God Kr.s. n. a and his earthly parents is the result of a set of interwoven past lives. The Bhāgavata-purān. a says Devakı̄ and Vasudeva, who were Pr.śni and Sutapā (10.3.34 ff.) in previous lives, had performed yogic austerities for many lives before becoming the “parents” of Kr.s. n. a. This, however, can be contrasted with the Joseph and Mary, the parents of Jesus. In Luke, we are told where Mary and Joseph are from, that Mary is a virgin to be married to Joseph, presumably that they are Jewish, and that Mary is visited by the angel Gabriel because she was “favored by God,” but, at least from Luke (1:26 ff.), and my research here is limited, we do not know why it was Mary and Joseph in particular were the “parents” of the God Jesus; their relationship with Christ began in their lifetime, whereas Kr.s. n. a’s relationship with his parents extended far into the distant past. In returning to the moment when a parent looks upon a child for the first time, or likewise when two people who later become friends or lovers first meet, in a karma-sam. sāra model we might look at these interactions as recognition (pratyabhijñā) rather than a first introduction. “Recognition” is a technical term in Nyāya and Kashmir Śaivism, developed, for example, by the Śaiva theology Utpaladeva (c.925–975 AD); it involves an experience of an object (anubhava) when there is a memory of that object (smr. ti), or the remembrance of one’s self as Śiva. In Nyāya, for example Annambhat.t.a’s Tarka-sam. graha, it has a more general sense of a perception of an object when one has a memory of that same object and then one recognizes the object as the same from one’s memory, e.g., this is that person (Sastri 1951, p. 110). A fight with a parent, co-worker or friend might just be a dual that has played out before, and love at first sight might just be an old flame re-stoked, bringing with it the passions of the past. Seeing one’s child at birth or the “first” pr meeting of a “new” friend, or “new” lover could very well be a “recognition” (pratyabhijñā) of a pre-existing relationship that was dormant. There is a lot of unexpectedness, then, when meeting new people on a karma-sam. sāra model. 3.4. Hermeneutical Reflection One of the great enigmas of human history that has always fascinated me is that great men and women often have great flaws, and infamous men and women often have great qualities. On a karma theory, one can look at a person’s present life, and one’s own, in a much wider time slice, one that allows one to see good, bad, and mixed reactions all present in different phases of maturation in a single individual. It provides a theoretical model for understanding, whether correctly or not, why saints are sometimes sinners, and sinners sometimes saints. It also addresses the important question as why bad things happen to good people, and why good things happen to bad people. On the karma theory, we are witnessing the maturation of different causes, some of which have matured fully and some of which are just starting to present themselves. 17 yajasva jantunā rājam. s tvam. mayā vitate kratau |tatah. putra-śatam. śrı̄mad bhavis. yaty aciren. a te || (Mahābhārata 3.127.19). Based on Kisari Mohan Ganguli’s edition, not the critical edition: http://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/m03/m03128.htm, http://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/mbs/mbs03127.htm. 18 The relationship between Bhı̄s. ma and Śikhan. d. in in the Mahābhārata also has a multilife entanglement. The demonic brothers Hiran. yaks. a and Hiran. yakaśipu in the Bhāgavata-purān. a are reborn three times together, having been kicked out of heaven. http://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/m03/m03128.htm http://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/mbs/mbs03127.htm Religions 2017, 8, 250 12 of 13 4. Conclusions I have emphasized the rationality and the eternal narrative of rebirth, and I have tried to express how these interpretations are rooted in classical Hindu texts, philosophies and theologies. Aside from providing a rational explanation and a multilayered perspective on human life, when I sat down to write this article I had found that there were many other ways that karma-sam. sāra might shape one’s interpretation of this life. I have tried to develop just two, but there are more. From a physicalist point of view the fact that the death of this body means the death of my personhood, my memories, and my awareness is either very comforting since life is seen as suffering, or terrifying since life is seen as good. In a rebirth narrative there is no such relief as in physicalism, but most Indian traditions see moks. a, liberation, as a type of ending of the narrative aspect of one’s life, a destruction of the person but not the self. In the case of the Gaud. ı̄ya Vais. n. ava tradition, there is the destruction of the human person, but there is also the development of a new person, with a narrative and personality that exists in eternal relation Kr.s. n. a. Thus in response to the question “what does belief in rebirth matter to this life?,” in addition to what was said above, it will always be a challenge that karma-sam. sāra as it is construed in Hindu theologies makes little or no space for the eternality of my personhood as it is constructed by the processes of karma-sam. sāra, even if it does provide a rational way for interpreting life’s events. Much of what we do is to try to find meaning value and purpose in the space between birth and death and it is perhaps here that thinking of one’s life as a rational development of one’s own actions is most relevant. It provides a real sense of autonomy and self-responsibility; it orders an otherwise caprice and chaotic universe, wherein one seems to be tossed around like a gourd on the ocean, to borrow from Sureśvara, by saying that my life is in fact the result of my choices, even if they are choices I have no memory of making. 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Journal of Consciousness Studies 14: 92–101. Edwards, Paul. 2001. Reincarnation: A Critical Examination. New York: Prometheus Books. Eggeling, Julius. 1897. The Satapatha-Brâhmana According to the Text of the Mâdhyandina School, Part IV. Oxford: The Clarendon Press. Filice, Carlo. 2006. The moral case for reincarnation. Religious Studies 42: 45–61. [CrossRef] Jha, Ganganatha. 1942. The Chāndogyopanis. ad: A Treatise on Vedānta Philosophy Translated into English with the Commentary of Śaṅkara. Delhi: Chaukhamba Sanskrit Pratishthan. Jhalakı̄kar Bhı̄mācārya, ed. 1928. Nyāyakośa. Poona: The Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Kane, Pandurang Vaman. 1962. History of the Dharmaśāstra: Ancient and Medieval Religoius and Civil Law in India, Volume V, Part II. Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Karmarkar, R. D. 1962. Śrı̄bhās. ya [Commentary on the Vedānta-sūtra] of Rāmānuja. Poona: University of Poona Sanskrit and Prakrit Series. Larson, Gerald. Forthcoming. Classical Yoga Philosophy and the Legacy of Sām. khya. Translation of Yoga Sūtra of Patañjali, Vyāsa Bhās. ya of Vyāsa, and Tattvavaiśāradı̄ of Vācaspati Miśra. Buckinghamshire: Brill. http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/jhs/hiw002 http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0034412505007961 Religions 2017, 8, 250 13 of 13 Mandlik, Vishvanātha Nārāyan. 1886. Mānavadharmaśāstra, with Commentaries of Mdhātithi, Sarvajñanārāyan. a, Kūllūka, Rāghavānanda, Nandana, and Rāmacandra. Bombay: Ganpat Krishnajis Press. Matilal, Bimal Krishna. 1985. Transmigration and the Moral Enigma of Karma. In Logic, Language, and Reality: Indian Philosophy and Contemporary Issues, 3rd ed. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Nyaya-Tarkatirtha, Taranatha, and Amarendramohna Takatirtha. 2003. Nyāyadarśanam, with [Commentaries on the Nyāya-sūtra] Vātsyāyana’s Bhās. ya, Uddyotkara’s Vārttika, Vācaspati Miśra’s Tātparyat. ı̄kā, Viśvanātha’s Vr. tti. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharalal. Olivelle, Patrick. 1999. 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This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09552367.2011.597929 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction Seeing One’s Life as the Result of Causes from a Previous Life Karma-Saṃsāra Explains the Circumstances Explaining Experience Rationality and Theism Hermeneutical Reflection Complex View of One’s Self and Others Unforeseeable-Ness Morality as beyond Good and Evil Extended Picture of Relationships and Recognition (Pratyābhijña) Hermeneutical Reflection Conclusions 
work_rju2igam6nebzk2sbo2h3fv5ya	----	Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Guimarães, Paulo Eduardo. “Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 12, 2020, pp. 1–9. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.6 RESEARCH Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Paulo Eduardo Guimarães Évora University, Department of History, PT peg@uevora.pt The thought and works of Henry D. Thoreau have been interpreted in the reactive context of industrialization and the values underpinning it. The late diffusion of his ideas in Portugal seems to correspond with the modernization process, marked by the limited and belated indus- trialization that accompanies this awareness of environmental problems. This essay clarifies this interpretation and presents a picture of the early environmental consequences of economic development in Portugal by identifying a set of environmental conflicts that occurred in dif- ferent contexts since the middle of the nineteenth century. Those conflicts where related to large-scale mining, metallurgical and chemical industries, practices of overfishing, commercial farming and the privatization of common land. Direct action in the form of sabotage, property invasions, and riots were frequent forms that accompanied parliamentary activity and recourse to the courts right up to the end of the republican period. Archival research have consistently shown that these conflicts were reactive and motivated immediately by the damage caused by pollution to health and incomes and which also involved the destruction of collective goods or the appropriation of community resources. This historical approach seeks, therefore, to identify the patterns of collective action in defence of the environment in Portugal. Keywords: Civil Disobedience; Environmental Conflicts; Environmental Luddism; (Portugal, 19th to 20th century) O pensamento e obra de Henry D. Thoreau têm sido interpretados no contexto reactivo à industrialização e aos valores que a sustentam. A difusão tardia do seu pensamento em Portu- gal parece corresponder ao seu processo de modernização, marcado por uma industrialização limitada e tardia que acompanha a tomada de consciência pelos problemas ambientais. Este ensaio matiza esta interpretação e apresenta o quadro das consequências ambientais do seu desenvolvimento económico, através da identificação de conflitos ambientais desde meados do século XIX. Esses conflitos relacionaram-se com a grande mineração, as indústrias metalúrgicas e químicas, com práticas de pesca predatória, a agricultura comercial e a privatização de bens comunitários. A acção directa através da sabotagem, da invasão de propriedade e do motim constituíram formas frequentes que acompanharam a actuação parlamentar e o recurso aos tribunais até ao final do período republicano. A investigação em arquivos mostrou, de forma persistente, que estes conflitos foram de natureza reactiva e tiveram como motivação ime- diata os danos na saúde e nos rendimentos resultantes da poluição, e que envolveram tam- bém a destruição de bens colectivos ou a apropriação de recursos comunitários. Esta abord- agem histórica procura assim identificar padrões de acção colectiva em defesa do ambiente em Portugal. Palavras-chave: Desobediência civil; Conflitos ambientais; Ludismo ambiental; (Portugal, séculos XIX e XX) https://doi.org/10.5334/as.6 mailto:peg@uevora.pt Guimarães: Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Art. 12, page 2 of 9 Introduction In 1845, Henry David Thoreau withdrew from society to live on the banks of Walden Pond, two kilometres from Concord, an industrial town with a population of around 2,000 according to the 1850 US census. There he immersed himself in a spiritual experience, living in communion with nature while developing a radical critique of the emerging industrialisation and its supporting culture. From this experience, which lasted until 1847 (interrupted by his imprisonment in 1846 for refusing to pay local taxes), he published Resist- ance to Civil Government (Civil Disobedience) in 1849 and Walden: or, Life in the Woods in 1854. Regarded as a pioneer of North American conservationism, efforts to understand the context in which his critique appeared have focused on the conflicts that developed between industrialists and farmers in Boston dur- ing the 18th century concerning the use of resources and construction of dams, and the emergence of a new consciousness that reduced the individual’s relationship with nature to its mercantile utility (Steinberg 1–30; Newman). Thoreau’s critical narrative thus underwent an essential change in the relationship between man and nature inscribed in capitalist industrialisation, which was based on idolising the right to private property (right of appropriation and of subsequent use, abuse and alienation by the individual) and free- dom of initiative (Carlton, Reginald et al.) The affirmation of the possibilities of spiritual discovery and enlightenment by living in nature to be found in Thoreau and the Transcendentalists (1836–1860) would have been inseparable from the cultural change preceding and accompanying the first stage of industriali- sation (Jamieson et al. 51–74). From this perspective, transcendentalism and new forms of appreciation in language, through aesthetics and literature, would be no more than a reaction to the hegemonic cultural attitude that was essential for the expansion of industrial capitalism (Rees, pp. 74 ff.). Nothing could be further from the Portuguese experience and its cultural references than Thoreau’s texts. Portugal was mostly represented, both in foreign tourist guides and by the elites in political discourses, as being separate from modern industrial civilization. For instance, on the eve of the Republican Revolution of October 1910, one Irish woman fleeing financial problems with her husband, discovered a shadow para- dise in Portugal, a place where the cost of living was low (Sale 1911). It was their Walden, or so she called it, a place of refuge from the civilization they left behind and where they experienced the ecstatic beauty of “natural” landscapes and humanized environments that evoked thoughts, far from the harsh reality of the life they lived. It is significant that Civil Disobedience, published by Estúdios Cor in 1972, was the only work of Thoreau to be published in Portugal before the 1974 Carnation Revolution.1 This late introduction to Thoreau marked the entry of Portuguese social movements into the Age of Environmentalism, expressed in the anti-nuclear movement and symbolised by protests against the construction of a nuclear power station at Ferrel, near Peniche.2 Indeed, the debate among the Portuguese elites since the end of the nineteenth cen- tury had stressed Portugal’s agrarian vocation, of a country in which industrialisation remained limited. More than a dilemma of the choice between agrarianism and industrialism, we are faced with a positively pro- moted fate, as expressed by Eça de Queiroz in The City and the Mountains. It is interesting to note that it was at the end of the 19th century that trekking and vegetarianism began to be taken up and that the Portuguese figure closest to Thoreau in his critical evocation of the landscape and nature appeared. Jaime Magalhães Lima (1859–1936) lived in Aveiro and was a student of the Russian anarchist Leo Tolstoy (1828–1910). The purpose of this text is to find possible contacts between rapidly changing Portuguese contexts and the industrial universe of which Thoreau was so critical. It is not so much the identification of possible influences in his thinking that is at stake as the revelation of popular behaviour in reaction to environ- mental changes brought about by mercantile ambitions and the newly institutionalised relationship with the “natural environment”. In sum, this text highlights, in the Portuguese case, the conflictual context of modern industrial development about the environment. Emerging struggles for environmental justice involved both the weakest sections of society and some sectors of the political and economic elites. While some environmental conflicts affecting Portuguese agriculture and fisheries during the second half of the 1 The second reprint, by Antigone, dates from 1987, which also published A Plea for Captain Brown. It should be noted that a collection of texts was published in Rio de Janeiro in 1964, Walden in 1968, and, in São Paulo, Civil Disobedience and other Essays. 2 Luddism (a British movement from 1811–13 in which weavers destroyed power looms) is associated with the critique of emerging industrial civilisation and the ideology of progress (see Cardonna and the “classic” article By Hobsbawm). By analogy, we call it environmentalist Luddism, with all kinds of direct action aimed at halting activities altering the environment and that have changed as the main motivation for this behaviour. An example of this is the destruction of the foundations of the nuclear power plant at Ferrel after April 1974. The contributions of Soromenho-Marques, Guimarães & Chaves, 2016, 19–63 and the recent article by Barca and Delicado on the anti-nuclear movement in Portugal have concern environmental struggle in Portugal since the 1970s. Guimarães: Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Art. 12, page 3 of 9 19th century have been identified, our attention focuses on the mining sector and, mainly, in the pyrites and cassiterite mining industries. Regional contexts: mining and the environment In the case of pyrites, the country’s geology dictated that two of the more economically and socially progres- sive areas at that time, Alentejo and Beira Litoral, were also where the most technically advanced mining and industrial holdings integrated into the global economy were located. Republicanism had gained a secure footing within the agrarian and commercial bourgeoisie who, while not having a direct share in its profits, suffered the environmental burden and gave a voice in parliament to the people’s complaints against the damage being caused by pollution from the mines. The pyrites were harnessed to extract copper, lead and other metals. Sulphur became increasingly important to 19th-century industry: first because of the demand from factories employing the Leblanc-Solvay process, then with the appearance of superphosphates and copper sulphates used in agriculture. The metallurgical process first developed at the end of the 18th century and used by most mining operations in the south of the country combined roasting ores in furnaces with leaching. The roasted cores were then placed in water to obtain copper-rich concentrates (wet method). Once extracted, the ore was crushed then ground and sent for primary metallurgical treatment in facilities close to the mines. During the first phase, the ore was burned in furnaces, releasing sulphurous gases that precipitated in neighbouring areas, burning the vegeta- tion or causing acid rain.3 In the second phase, tanks full of acidic water were regularly emptied into the water network. The discharge of extremely damaging acidic water and gases into the environment caused direct damage across wide areas, harming peasants, rural workers, farmers, fishermen and landowners. In addition to galena, in Aveiro, the pyrites contained arsenic, the atmospheric release of which added a further burden onto the region’s peasants. In the Alentejo, the discharge of acidic waters affected the region’s main rivers (Sado and Guadiana) and the reservoirs from which the farmers took the water – which was always scarce in the summer – for themselves and their livestock. In the western part of the Iberian Pyrite Belt, the recognised deposits are sometimes highly developed, but the content of copper and other metals is generally low. Given the transportation costs and the depreciation of these ores in the British market, the expansion of this activity after the Regeneration period depended on treating the pyrites locally. The economic viability of these mines relies on the scale of the operations and the ability of companies to develop technically adequate solutions to produce metal concentrates (cement). This made the use of closed furnaces economically unviable, leading to pyrites being burned in open fur- naces (telleras). As a result, most of the sulphur was released into the air, forming a deadly acid mist covering hundreds of kilometres.4 This procedure was mainly used up until the 1880s in the southern mines: Caveira (Grândola), Juliana (Beja), Algares and São João (Aljustrel) and São Domingos (Mértola). However, most of these mines closed around that time, and the companies went out of business. The hydrometallurgy process was developed in São Domingos at this time. While this dispensed with the need to burn ore, it required large quantities of water that was then released into the Chança river, a tributary of the Guadiana.5 Just as smoke-free alloys were being developed in the United Kingdom, and the first effective anti-pollution measures were being introduced, in Portugal there was an increase in the treatment of these poor ores in producing areas that were left to support the greater environmental damage caused by the process. The Braçal mine in Aveiro district began operations in the 1840s, treating the galena with German fur- naces and technology for the export of lead, silver and copper. During the 1860s, the metallurgy workshop began receiving ores from other mines in the region. These establishments received state protection. In addition to the mining concessions, the rights to use common goods and their extension to nearby activities, these companies also received tax exemptions on imported equipment and a very favourable fiscal regime. The mines were visited by royals, and their owners received honours and titles. Significantly, the metallurgy workshop at Braçal was named after King Fernando, while the manager and mining capitalist James Mason and his son, also James, who succeeded him, were granted noble titles. The former also received the Order of Agricultural, Industrial and Commercial Merit created during the Regeneration period. 3 See Juan D. Pérez’s article with the author of this text for more about ore pollution (Pérez Cebada, Juan D. and Paulo E. Guimarães. 2017). 4 The history of the Rio Tinto mine, one of the largest in Europe, in the Spanish province of Huelva, near the Portuguese border, is the most paradigmatic example of environmentally-aggressive development in this period. See Harvey 148 ff. 5 See João Garcia and Guimarães 2001 141–160. Guimarães: Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Art. 12, page 4 of 9 An expansion of the industry to extract cassiterite, an ore found in large quantities on land, riverbeds and alluvial soils, took place at the start of the 20th century with the use of dredgers. This signalled the end of the production of tin, which had been freely obtained and traded. The use of dredgers also destroyed the land and contaminated fluvial soil.6 Interpretations and meaning The expansion of pyrites extraction gave rise to environmental struggles around the world, including Japan (Martinez-Alier 153–170). These conflicts were reduced to problems with pollution and until recently have been neglected in the historiography and social sciences, but which are now being included as examples of “rural protest” or “environmentalism of the poor” (González et al., pp. 48–77; Martinez-Alier, 1995). We believe several facts have made this type of struggle historically important. First, they result from the contra- dictions inherent to the expansion of industrial capitalism: the system of regulating disputes between social groups over the use of natural resources destined to be normalised via institutions and the law ceased to be effective at a certain point: it led to the mobilisation of repressive forces and proved incapable of preventing the outbreak of open struggle. Within the liberal framework, the monetary compensation offered via judicial routes did not prevent the appearance of collective protests, clearly demonstrating the unequal power relationship and the limits and contradictions inherent to the mercantile concept of life and its economic theories of value. The hypothesis supporting the idea of “environmentalism of the poor” lies in the fact the groups least suscepti- ble to these compensation mechanisms, and which did not have a contemporary ecological consciousness or discourse, were more determined in their opposition to the industrialisation of nature. Just as the expan- sion of industry led to labour struggles because of differences between the interests of capital and labour and the mediation of their relationship by the market, social conflicts also resulted from the commercialisa- tion of nature and transfer of environmental costs from business to society. The “environmentalism of the poor” and “rural protests” often involved other actors and transcended the changes to the public order driven by conflicts of interests and problems of pollution. During the period studied, peasants, rural labourers and fishing communities were particularly vulnerable to the damage caused by mining activities that directly threatened their means of subsistence and radically altered their livelihoods and communities. In addition to the loss of income, environmental damage affected soil fertility and access to and the quality of water that, were they to be fully compensated, would jeopardise the profit- ability or viability of these operations. Access to justice and the ability of the affected groups to be heard was practically non-existent with technicians, scientists and state employees generally ruling for the mining operations. While landowners and farmers (agricultural businessmen) could negotiate compensation from the mine owners, they were willing to engage in direct action – or “environmental Luddism” (which at the time was a criminal offence “attack on property”). The persistence of struggles and environmental degra- dation led to the intervention of trained mediators who gave a political voice to victims in the name of environmental justice. As Pedro Silva shows in his study of dredging in the Guarda region, interest in these struggles is not because they were forms of “rural protest” but instead because they were ways to mobilise various actors in a complex web of events and solidarity relationships. Environmental struggles cannot be reduced to just problems with pollution or environmental manage- ment deficiencies – although these could be the immediate cause of the struggles for environmental jus- tice. They are included in processes of irreversible social and environmental change. The hydrometallurgy ore extraction processes involved the construction of vast reservoirs and the appropriation of soil and water- courses, giving rise to a process of environmental expropriation that directly impacted the livelihoods of rural communities. In the Aveiro region, the miner was generally a someone recruited from within the region; in the south, however, the mines mainly attracted people from the Alentejo and Algarve, creating such a demand for labour and animals that there were not enough left to work the land. The environ- mental changes caused by profound changes to the technology used in mining had an unexpected impact at the São Domingos mine where the adoption of hydrometallurgy resulted in outbreaks of malaria that were a serious public health problem for years after. Environmental struggles were marked by social and environmental changes that could be identified on a micro scale over a more extended period resulting from global processes (integration of the “location” into the global economy). 6 See Pedro Silva on the conflicts around the dredging in the mining industry. Guimarães: Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Art. 12, page 5 of 9 There are many sides to the struggle for environmental justice, with the cultural and ideological aspects translating into the appearance of techno-scientific “experts” as the main authorities in the decision-making process, along with contempt for common knowledge, long before they were recognised by political sociol- ogy (Brint 129–148).7 These struggles deserve our attention because of the change in the “bottom-up” rheto- ric in the legitimation strategies pursued by businesses and the emerging ideologies shaping modern social life. Here we are thinking of the separation of public and private health into distinct fields of knowledge and regulation and in the appearance of the techno-scientific political discourse (Pérez Cebada 45–68; 77–83). Finally, unlike disputes between groups for access to resources, obtaining income from their exploitation and reparations or options around different incompatible uses important to history and political science, or the management of resources, environmental struggle before the “Ecology Age” is interesting because of the insights it offers towards a historical narrative on the creation of global unsustainability. From this perspective, we must identify reactive forms of collective action resulting from mining and industrial activities in Portugal that were repressed by the authorities in the years between the Regeneration period and the New State in the name of upholding public order. Types of environmental justice struggle We identified nine cases in the districts of Aveiro, Beja and Guarda with higher production levels, more workers and more technically advanced machinery (Table 1) in mines operated by British, Luso-Belgian, German and American companies. The types of direct action identified by the authorities were: (1) invasion of the mining camp by people from the surrounding areas, almost always nocturnally (São João do Deserto 1855; Braçal 1862; São Domingos 1875); (2) rioting (unauthorised gathering of protesters), frequently involving (3) verbal and physical aggres- sion; and (4) the collective destruction of machinery and tools (environmental Luddism) in a furtive and (5) selective manner (sabotage). While these last actions were intended to stop or slow production, it is difficult to ascertain the motivation: was the fire that destroyed the windmill at São Domingos shortly after it was installed in 1875 labour- or environment-related? Was it intended to protect the jobs of those who operated the smaller mills, as was the case with the acts of sabotage on the railway probably triggered by mule drivers in 1863? Or was it intended to affect the environmental costs of increasing extraction? Similarly, in 1880, a few years after the Caveira mine near Grândola opened, a fire broke out in the galleries and burned for two years, closing the mine until the start of the 20th century – was it set deliberately? To this extent, then, our list should be read cautiously. 7 See “The Sado valley: Industrialisation delayed” in Guimarães (2001). Table 1: Markers in the struggle for environmental justice in Portuguese mines (galenas, pyrites and cassiterites), 1855–1926. Date Mining operation County Marker 8 August 1855 São João do Deserto Aljustrel Break-in, physical and moral attack 15 August 1862 Braçal Sever do Vouga Environmental Luddism August 1866? Braçal, Palhal and Telhadela Sever do Vouga, Albergaria Environmental Luddism (frustrated) 1875 São Domingos Mértola Camp break-in, destruction of ore and of burning of windmill 1884–7. São Domingos Mértola Protest, Luddism 20 May 1917 Talhadas Sever do Vouga Environmental Luddism April 1922 Aljustrel Aljustrel Destruction of railway 28 June 1924 Vale do Gaia Guarda Environmental Luddism 26 July 1926 Freguesia da Pega Guarda Riot, attacks Source: Laboratório Nacional de Energia e Geologia (LNEG), Archive, Processos de concessões mineiras, série POL. (pollution). Guimarães: Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Art. 12, page 6 of 9 The struggles identified emerged in a context very different from earlier anthropogenic changes. The Iberian mines were worked intensively in ancient times, and the red acidic rivers gave 19th-century prospec- tors clues to the presence of interesting veins. In São João do Deserto, Aljustrel, these acidic waters were used to treat common skin ailments and fevers. The riot of July 1855 took place at night when a group of people invading the mining camp and attacked workers and the British manager. This followed the inad- vertent rupture of an underground watercourse supplying the spa caused during the opening of a new gallery. This incident demonstrated society’s readiness to accommodate older and more environmentally- disruptive mining operations. Freire de Andrade, an amateur archaeologist and mining engineer with the Luso-Belgian company operating at Aljustrel in the 1950s, appeared before the authorities and attempted to justify the discharge of acid waters and minimise its importance by reminding them the “purple river” was anthropogenic in origin. At Braçal (Sever do Vouga), the underlying conflict caused by metallurgical activities resulted in a riot in which the camp was attacked, and machines and buildings destroyed on 15 August 1862. Locals blamed “the vineyard sickness” and soil sterilisation on the burning of ores, an argument attributed to their ignorance. The mine owner subsequently received state compensation. The expansion of metallurgy activities to other mines in the region (Malhada and Coval da Mó) in the years that followed resulted in legal action and the intervention of deputies in parliament, with the company forced to provide farmers with lime to com- pensate the reduction in soil fertility. The working of two mines on the outskirts of Aljustrel – São João and Algares – led the Companhia de Mineração Transtagana to make substantial investments from 1870. The burning of ores at Algares was abandoned after 1875 due to the pollution it caused, with the company purchasing land some distance away and building a connecting railway. The British owners of the mine at São Domingos started burning ore in 1868 but soon stopped, afraid of the reaction of their neighbours who had raided the mining camp on at least one occasion to put out burning furnaces (Guimarães, 141–160). The discovery and development of hydrometallurgy led the company to purchase several properties and resort to a series of expropriations that continued right up to the start of the 20th century. Throughout this period the company increased the size of its private militia. The underlying conflict that dragged on until the end of the First Republic was expressed in complaints published in the regional press, petitions to the authorities, legal actions and puni- tive damages against the company. Tensions reappear periodically with the discharge of acidic water into the river Chança, a tributary of the Guadiana, which had a significant impact on the river and the fisheries at Vila Real de Santo António.8 Representations and outbreaks of malaria in 1878 forced the state to intervene, and Mason & Barry was forced to take several measures, including planting eucalyptus trees. The new forests around the dams mark these mining landscapes. The reopening of the mines at Aljustrel in 1898 caused the reappearance of tensions in the Sado valley, including complaints to the authorities five years later and debates in parliament in 1912 about mining pollution and its impact on agriculture. On 20 May 1917, people from the Vouga valley, in Beira Litoral, destroyed barrels of ore and railway material on the quay at Águeda, set fire to the warehouse and threat- ened to attack the Talhadas mines. In April 1922 saboteurs derailed an ore train following the renewed expansion of the Societe Anonyme Belge des Mines d›Aljustrel. There were popular actions in Pêga (Guarda) in June 1924 and July 1926, including the destruction of ore, riots and attacks on employees of the American company operating the tin mines (Silva). Values and Civilisation Behind the anti-mining movement was a system of values rejecting the idea of nature as merchandise. It is only by accident that we hear the voices from below in the old mining districts. Here the interpretation of technicians and administrators about “pollution” prevailed. However, we can find approximations to Thoreau in other records. A survey of the texts collected as “traditional Portuguese literature” to offer an insight into the relations with the humanised environment show it is marked by very strong affectivity. Nature is represented as a threat to humans, a place arousing fear (like the forest) or as a space offering valuable lessons requiring protection. According to Ana Guimarães, “one can even speak of an art of living well rooted in nature, with and as nature” (38). Briefly, “traditional texts show a human being who is not the central of nature, who does not live on earth but lives with the earth; a condominium human being on earth” (40). 8 See João Garcia and “O Chança and Guadiana” in Guimarães (1989). Guimarães: Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Art. 12, page 7 of 9 However, some of the affective traits identified in “popular tales” on the representation of humanised nature can also be found in the interventions of deputies defending the people in the 19th-century and republican parliaments (Guimarães, 161). Pedro Silva examined letters and petitions sent to the authorities in the immediate aftermath of the 1974 Carnation Revolution. The economically-based argument (loss of soil fertility and resources required for agriculture, regional impoverishment) was associated with the environmental enhancement created by the labour of men as a family and community heritage and with the demonisation of the destructive technology represented by the dredger (302). Here there are very pow- erful points of contact with emerging values in anti-mining texts published in the region’s newspapers in the early 1920s. In both cases there is an extreme emphasis on an aesthetic aspect, with the described as “an authentic garden” (1978), “the wooded slopes make this one of the most beautiful, most fertile and richest valleys in Portugal”, “olive trees are the essence of the village”, etc. Conclusions This text has sought contextual approximations to the universe of Thoreau, marked by early industriali- sation and the values of capitalism, through the struggle for environmental justice in mining areas. We identify some common features in these struggles. First, the social groups likely to be involved in Luddite activities (and the sources are not always accurate in identifying them) included peasants, rural workers, farmers and fishermen who opposed the actions of mine owners and their local agents. They were motivated by the destruction of crops, loss of soil fertility and the pollution of rivers and the sea. Second, the impact of contemporary mining in the Alentejo extended to the two main rivers, the Sado and the Guadiana. In the coastal north, the Mau and Vouga rivers were also affected, while in the Guarda district, the Mondego and Gaia valleys suffered more localised impact (Silva 291–311). Third, the struggles for environmental justice took place over a “long” period, in some cases carrying on through the Regeneration period, the Republic and the New State, with some even extending to the democratic period. Forms of direct action, such as riots, sabotage (of tools and equipment), destruction of machinery, equipment and stored production (Luddism) were the exception. These violent eruptions almost always signalled events that had taken place over a period of heightened tension. During this period, we find forms of legal struggle, such as the mobilisation of public opinion through the local or regional press, petitions to local authorities and the intervention of parliamentary deputies. In the end, peaceful means for resolving disputes, such as recourse to the courts, payment of compensation and expropriation for public use (by mining companies) were insufficient to stop such activities. The preven- tive mobilisation of the armed forces and the militarisation of these locations became necessary to ensure public peace. Another trait of these conflicts before the Ecological Era is that they were reactive, developing during the period of industrial expansion and motivated by reductions in income due to the loss “environmental services” and of hunger and health due to pollution. Far from pursuing “radical” goals, mediators sought to negotiate, repair and minimise outsourced company costs rather than eliminate the material source of the problem. In this context, the strategies used in defence of mercantile action included the mobilisation of specialists (engineers, scientists, physicians), influencing the government and elites (who shared the ideol- ogy of progress and civilisation) and, when necessary, expropriation for public use and use of the armed forces. Finally, returning to Thoreau’s critical universe, these struggles for environmental justice preceded and/or accompanied key moments of change in the “framework” of pre-existing communities that were absorbed, to a greater or lesser extent, as mining and industrial labour, eventually agonising over emigration, ageing and desertification. It was during this evolutionary stage that Pedro Silva was able to capture the voices of those whose voices did not reach the mine archives, referring in the end to an aesthetic discourse on a humanised landscape. At stake for the people of the village of Gaia during their tenacious struggle against the “demonic” dredger, was “the defence of our gardens” (Silva 303). Competing Interests This study was conducted at the Research Center in Political Science (UID/CPO/0758/2019), University of Évora, and was supported by the Portuguese Foundation for Science and Technology and the Portuguese Ministry of Education and Science through national funds. This text was based on the paper presented at the Colloquium on Civil Resistance, Agreement with Nature, commemorating the Bicentenary of H. D. Thoreau, held in the National Library of Portugal on April 26, 2017. The author has no competing interests to declare. Guimarães: Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Art. 12, page 8 of 9 References Barca, Stefania and Ana Delicado. “Anti-Nuclear Mobilisation and Environmentalism in Europe: A View from Portugal (1976–1986).” Environment and History, No. 22, issue 4, 2016, pp. 497–520. DOI: https://doi. org/10.3197/096734016X14727286515736 Brint, Steven. In an Age of Experts: The Changing Roles of Professionals in Politics and Public Life. 2 ed. Princeton UP, 1996. Carlton, Reginald et al., eds. A Study Guide for Henry David Thoreau’s “Walden”. Cengage Learning, 2001. Garcia, João. A Navegação do Baixo Guadiana Durante o Ciclo do Minério (1857–1917). FLUP, 1996. 2 vols. Doctoral thesis in human geography. González de Molina et al. “Peasant Protest as Environmental Protest. Some Cases from the 18th to the 20th Century.” Global Environment, No. 4, 2009, pp. 48–77. DOI: https://doi.org/10.3197/ge.2009.020403 Guimarães, Paulo E. Indústria, mineiros e sindicatos: universos operários do Baixo Alentejo dos finais do século XIX à primeira metade do século XX. Estudos e documentos ICS, Instituto de Ciências Sociais, 1989. Guimarães, Paulo E. Indústria e conflito no meio rural: Os mineiros alentejanos (1858–1938). Cidehus; Colibri, 2001. DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/books.cidehus.119 Guimarães, Paulo E. “Os Conflitos Ambientalistas nas Minas Portuguesas (1850–1930)”. In Bruno Monteiro and Joana Dias Pereira (eds), De Pé Sobre a Terra: Estudos Sobre a Indústria, o Trabalho e o Movimento Operário em Portugal. 1st ed. Instituto de História Contemporânea, 2013, pp. 135–177. Guimarães, Paulo E. “Conflitos Ambientais e Progresso Técnico na Indústria Mineira em Portugal (1858–1938)”. CEM/Cultura, Espaço & Memória, No. 7, 2016, pp. 141–160. Guimarães, Paulo E. and Francisco R. Chaves. “Os Conflitos ambientais em Portugal (1974–2015): uma breve retrospectiva.” In Paulo E. Guimarães e J. D. Perez, Conflitos Ambientais na Indústria Mineira e Metalúrgica: o passado e o presente. CICP/CETEM, 2016, pp. 19–63. Harvey, Charles E. The Rio Tinto Company. An Economic History of a Leading International Mining Concern, 1873–1954. Alison Hodge, 1981. Hobsbawm, Eric J. “The Machine Breakers.” Past & Present, No. 1, Feb. 1952, pp. 57–70. DOI: https://doi. org/10.1093/past/1.1.57 Martinez-Alier, Joan. El ecologismo de los pobres. Conflictos ambientales y lenguajes de valoración. Icaria, 1995. Martinez-Alier, Joan. “Mining conflicts, environmental justice, and valuation.” Journal of Hazardous Materials, No. 86, 2001, pp. 153–170. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/S0304-3894(01)00252-7 Newman, Lance. Our Common Dwelling: Henry Thoreau, Transcendentalism, and the Class Politics of Nature. Palgrave MacMillan, 2005. Pérez Cebada, Juan D. “Minería del cobre y contaminación atmasférica. 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Cambridge UP, 1991. https://doi.org/10.3197/096734016X14727286515736 https://doi.org/10.3197/096734016X14727286515736 https://doi.org/10.3197/ge.2009.020403 https://doi.org/10.4000/books.cidehus.119 https://doi.org/10.1093/past/1.1.57 https://doi.org/10.1093/past/1.1.57 https://doi.org/10.1016/S0304-3894(01)00252-7 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ecolecon.2015.12.001 Guimarães: Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period Art. 12, page 9 of 9 How to cite this article: Guimarães, Paulo Eduardo. “Far from Thoreau? The struggle for environmental justice in Portugal during the first Liberal period”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 12, 2020, pp. 1–9. DOI: https://doi. org/10.5334/as.6 Submitted: 26 September 2019 Accepted: 26 September 2019 Published: 29 January 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://doi.org/10.5334/as.6 https://doi.org/10.5334/as.6 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Introduction Regional contexts: mining and the environment Interpretations and meaning Types of environmental justice struggle Values and Civilisation Conclusions Competing Interests References Table 1 
work_rjwv5pc2r5gpxdsf6cbgjtpvza	----	Girish Luthra.pmd Military Innovation: Hurdles, Bumps and Jumps 563 Military Innovation: Hurdles, Bumps and Jumps Girish Luthra Abstract Military innovation is peculiar and distinctive, and has no direct parallels. The military environment itself, with focus on hierachy, discipline and tradition makes innovation a daunting challenge. The process is further influenced by civil-military relations and metrics used for measuring effectiveness of innovative efforts. Factors influencing the process of military innovation vary when examining innovation at the policy and strategy level, at the doctrinal level, during peacetime and under conditions of war. A deeper examination of the process is also essential since innovation is a prerequisite for any revolution, and thus has a direct bearing on the ongoing debate about RMA. There is no single source to which success or failure to innovate can be attributed. Innovation in the military is more a cultural than functional issue, and mere exaltation is unlikely to make a military more innovative. It is the creation of a carefully nurtured environment and a suitable framework based on empowerment, adequate risk-acceptance and creation of suitable career paths that can spur innovation. — * — If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. — Henry David Thoreau Militaries the world over have historically recognised the importance of innovation, yet some have succeeded more than others. Indeed, many military defeats have been a direct consequence of lack of innovation. Innovation is also the most dominating theme when examining the vexed question of why weaker nations win wars; and why stronger nations retain or relinquish a decisive edge. Moving in a pre-conceived manner with an Strategic Analysis, Vol. 27, No.4, Oct-Dec 2003 © Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses Revised paper received on December 4, 2003 564 Strategic Analysis/Oct-Dec 2003 attitude ‘don’t fix it if it ain’t broken’ can only lead to complacency and spell doom sooner or later. The Indian Vedic literature emphasised military dynamism1, and by implication, military innovation. But despite the emphasis throughout the history of warfare, it is generally recognised that military innovation is more complex and challenging; and though there are many similarities with success stories in the civilian world, the two essentially belong to different realms. Failure, partial success and resounding success at attempts to innovate make any number of case studies feasible, but there appears to be a general consensus on the following aspects of military innovation: • Discipline and hierarchical structure generally imply hindrance to new ideas. • Quality of new ideas thrown up and implemented indicates organisational nimbleness. • Nimbleness is essential for a strong military. • A strong military must facilitate constant innovation. • Facilitating and sustaining military innovation implies connecting the real and the abstract in an unfriendly environment. The general logic related to military innovation is, therefore, circular. But despite serious impediments, militaries have launched numerous successful innovations, many of which became the forerunners of revolutions. Understanding the nature of the environment and the processes to achieve more ‘jumps’ than ‘bumps’ is vital for every military. The Challenge of Military Innovation H i e r a r c h y Flat hierarchies are an anathema to the military culture that essentially supports a pyramid like structural organisation. The fact that some militaries have become leaner in comparison to their counterparts many centuries ago has not resulted in any major readjustment of the hierarchical structure. Over the years, the structure has been found to be very useful for achieving efficiency and effectiveness at the operational level. Levels of Command relate well to the Levels of War, and exercise of command through established hierarchical structure has facilitated application and practice of some extraordinary military leadership. Military Innovation: Hurdles, Bumps and Jumps 565 The impact of such a structure on the process of innovation is, however, less than benign. Emphasis on delegation of authority and responsibility mitigates adverse effects to some extent, but is a poor substitute for empowerment. Layers of oversight limit the space available to individuals who may feel overwhelmed by the sheer weight of hierarchy. The structure can trap many ideas in never-ending journeys up and down the ladder. Good ideas can get killed or unduly delayed at any rung of this ladder. Further, stiff bureaucracies usually do not encourage young men and women to be innovative, and they may even be punished for going out of bounds, challenging the status quo, and taking risks.2 Younger people may be seen as mere executioners and may be denied any say in forward thinking. To be sure, bad ideas should be and must be killed but a hierarchical structure disables many potential innovations even before they are considered for prototyping, experimentation or conceptualisation. Discipline Discipline is a key lubricant for the military machine and enables planning and execution in a structured manner. But many virtues of an informal environment, which can co-exist with good discipline, tend to be overlooked in single-minded pursuit of discipline. By itself, discipline is not a constraining force for innovation, but can be used very effectively by those who seek to block any moves towards new and radical, but productive ideas. Innovators can be portrayed as breaching disciplinary framework, as perceived by the majority. Discipline favours alignment whereas innovation requires diversity and variety. Achievement of an appropriate balance between continuity (discipline and alignment) and rapid improvement of the competitive advantage (innovation) is a major challenge for every military. T r a d i t i o n Military cultures are heavily steeped in tradition, leading to a peculiar way of war for every country. Civil organisations including corporate houses too have traditional biases, but these do not go way back into history and they offer lesser resistance to change. In the military, a non-traditional approach challenging some basic assumptions, is bound to meet a wall of resistance. Conventional wisdom holds a powerful sway, forcing conduct of business as per established norms. When used for its emotional appeal, tradition can dampen efforts for creative solutions. Those who wish to 566 Strategic Analysis/Oct-Dec 2003 propose new ways stand the risk of being isolated, and many prefer caution and conformity to raising uncomfortable questions about traditional biases. Obsession with protocol is often attributed to tradition in a military, which adds to barriers to innovation created by the hierarchical structure. The dividing line between professional disagreements and dissent is increasingly blurred by such an approach, and concerns to avoid hurting sensitivities can assume unduly higher emphasis. Career Progression Performance within defined boundaries and norms relates well with career progression in the military. Excessive control and influence on the careers of subordinates can encourage a risk-averse culture. Since organisational risk-taking is strongly linked to individual risk-taking, facilitating innovation without putting careers on the block is a major challenge for any military. Since a hierarchical system allows a smaller percentage of personnel to rise, many perceive themselves to be in perpetual competition and seek recognition for ideas and short-term wins. This can lead to a tendency to play down good ideas from others. The competition may not be restricted to peers, and many a time, subordinates with good ideas may seem threatening. Jockeying for recognition can lead to such proposals being kept dormant. Metrics Measures of effectiveness for military innovations vary between the ends of the scale and do not always lend themselves well to established analytical tools. In the absence of market and economic indicators, the formulation of such measures itself becomes a key determinant of success or failure of any innovation. For some innovations, metrics cannot be effectively gauged in times of peace. Even during a war, a clear determination may not be possible until the impact is clearly understood and appreciated, which may be well after the war is over. Measurement metrics also tends to focus on linearity, whereas many innovations are non-linear in nature. Periodic progress reports need to show tangible results for ensuring organisational commitment, and incrementalism has greater acceptability. Military Innovation: Hurdles, Bumps and Jumps 567 Civil-Military Relations Military innovation is not a single domain phenomenon, and is influenced heavily by many external factors. The predominant influence is that of civil-military relations and interface. Views differ on the extent of impact on externally sponsored military innovation, but civilian support to many military innovations is critical regardless of the source of origin or trigger. Divergence in contextual frameworks, approach and methodology can create numerous impediments in the initiation and subsequent pursuance of new ideas. Military bureaucracies (both uniformed and civil) also derive power from claims, true or false, of having ‘correct information.’ Restrictions thus imposed on information-sharing bring in attendant difficulties for the process of innovation, particularly when in the present-day environment, there is a plethora of information. Innovation at Policy and Strategy Level At the policy and strategy level, the broad context and environment get defined within which opportunities for the pursuit of innovation can be exploited. Strategic expertise among the civil-military elite, continuous assessment of the emerging environment, resources and technological pursuits, all impinge on innovations at this level. The usefulness of ‘checks and balances’ as against their constraining influence on innovative thinking, requires constant re-evaluation. Since uncertainty is ever present while developing any military strategy, enunciation and communication of the overall thrust leads to innovation in special areas related to doctrine or capability. Development of tactical aviation in the Second World War, despite a heavy constraining influence imposed by the concept of strategic bombing, was primarily due to re-evaluation in Britain of the context in which air power was to be used. A mismatch between policy and strategy was recognised, and the senior leadership was keen to provide a framework in which new concepts could be evolved and employed. As Gary Hamel has noted, the role of top leadership is to design the context rather than invent the content.3 An organisational climate that facilitates a deeper understanding of strategic alternatives is more important than the process of strategy development itself. In an environment conducive to innovation, the process of strategy development is bound to take shape with increased participation and commitment. 568 Strategic Analysis/Oct-Dec 2003 Changes in perceptions at the policy level can open up new opportunities for innovation. A change in perception does not alter facts but can alter its impact. Innovation is both conceptual and perceptual,4 and its nature depends upon the higher-level guidance. Strategic calculations related to national security and the depth of endeavour associated with such calculations can form the basis for doing new things or doing things in a radically different manner. Such calculations need to be specific to a country’s security environment rather than being based on strategic assessments and processes that are driven by an entirely different environment. While the degree of success can be judged only by strategic measures of effectiveness, a clear direction brought about by the policy- makers can facilitate innovation in certain regimes and areas. In a study titled ‘Military Innovation in the Interwar Period,’ the authors have found a clear relationship between strategic net assessment and innovation. The study has noted that: The strategic evolution of the inter-war period — from flirtation with collective security in the 1920s to the hostile coalitions of 1939 — influenced military innovation, perhaps more than any other factor….When Adolf Hitler pushed the Third Reich towards war, he placed primary emphasis upon the land forces of the Wehrmacht; when Franklin Roosevelt and the Congress collaborated to modernise and enlarge the US armed forces, they invested in the navy and in army aviation…fog and friction may have shrouded the international politics of the potential belligerents, but those politics did define strategic planning and force structure.5 In the Cold War period, the asymmetry generated by the atom bomb was largely reduced among the Superpowers by the end of the 1970s. A nuclear stalemate prompted a new spurt in innovation in conventional wars, leading to many new doctrines and new types of equipment that paved the way for a new revolution in military affairs. While strategic calculations determine the direction, the process of innovation can gain momentum only through organisational facilitation. A new vision may well remain dormant for years if steps are not initiated to encourage and experiment with ideas that have the potential to translate that vision into reality. Nobody wants a miscalculation at the strategic level, and examination of competing concepts may need to be more rigorous. But curtailing the development of such concepts for examination, Military Innovation: Hurdles, Bumps and Jumps 569 merely because the status quo offers a path of least risk, is to ensure the decline of a military due to lack of innovation. Doctrinal Innovation Doctrinal innovation has more to do with the way militaries plan and prepare for peacetime missions as well as for combat. While external influences are relatively limited in doctrine development, the fact that increased autonomy is available for providing internal triggers may not necessarily imply a greater level of innovation. It is true that many major innovations may come in small doses, but it is important to keep in mind the distinction between innovation and reform. Cosmetic changes are easier to execute at the operational level, and a new concept of operations can be a real hard sell, particularly in peacetime. Doctrinal innovation deals primarily with the way militaries seek to fight the likely future wars and involves identification of new tasks or a significant alteration in the way existing tasks are undertaken. It redefines accepted offence-defence relationships in terms of posture, exercises and conduct of actual battle. The old military adage of ‘preparing for the last war’ essentially underscores the importance of innovation in doctrine development. Asymmetries need to be converted in one’s favour to frustrate an adversary’s designs. Once again organisational facilitation holds the key in taking the process of doctrinal innovation forward. Major innovations are unlikely to come about if apprehensions prevail in attempting new methods during concept definition, evaluation, wargaming and exercises. How a military handles failure while experimenting new concepts determines to a large extent the overall space in which innovation can proceed. Carrier-borne aviation has been one of the major doctrinal innovations of the last century. Among the major world powers of post-First World War, only the United States and Japan capitalised the potential of naval aviation fully. It is true that Britain, the maritime superpower at that time, had a different strategic focus and therefore did not see naval aviation in the same light as the Americans and the Japanese. But it is also true that this innovation, which became central to the war in the Pacific, came about largely through organisational facilitation. In the United States, the navy created a culture of relationship between fleet exercises, professional military education and wargaming at the Naval War College, Newport.6 The British, on the other hand, could not exploit their early lead in carrier aviation 570 Strategic Analysis/Oct-Dec 2003 since they lacked similarly structured processes for evaluation of concepts related to carrier-based aviation. Militaries with good synergy among all levels of warfare (strategic, operational and tactical), in the organisational dimension, are better positioned to initiate and pursue doctrinal innovations. Development of Operational Art as a discipline became a necessity when complexities of modern warfare required an excellent linkage between strategic and tactical levels. A robust linkage leads to better comprehension of doctrinal inadequacies, particularly for future warfare, which in turn spurs new concepts and ideas for the method of its conduct. Success or failure of many new doctrinal concepts has often been due to limitations in the interface between these levels of warfare. The best route to strategic success can be evaluated through mechanisms like enlightened experimentation, simulations, gaming and qualitative assessments of the security environment. These mechanisms cannot be assumed as ‘given’ and a concerted effort is required to create and nurture them in order to take doctrinal innovation beyond rhetoric. Mere introduction of new equipment is not innovation, although it opens up some new options due to specific enhancement of capabilities. Innovations can flourish in the process of doctrine development if a military is able to provide an appropriate framework and focus. The German success in conceptualising and later operationalising armoured warfare in clear doctrinal statements, was a direct result of mechanisms that were in place for evolving such concepts. The German Army’s Die Truppenfuhrung provided a framework for thinking about the future battles. As a consequence, armoured warfare could be integrated into fighting mobile and decentralised battles.7 Doctrine development is usually more evolutionary in nature and individual services tend to claim some form of exclusive ownership of the process. Once a doctrine is promulgated, support and advocacy are expected from all members of the organisation. In a way, promulgation of doctrine can therefore stifle innovation. It seeks to freeze new ideas whereas innovation is just the opposite.8 Very often, doctrine becomes dogma, particularly when it has led to victory in war.9 Constant re-evaluation of accepted doctrines, no matter how recent, can keep the process of innovation moving forward. Militaries that can balance advocacy and implementation of doctrines with new ideas that challenge the same Military Innovation: Hurdles, Bumps and Jumps 571 doctrines can achieve a higher degree of doctrinal innovation. Peacetime Innovation Since time is not a constraining factor, peacetime innovations can focus on strategic, doctrinal as well as technological innovations. Capturing good ideas, imagining new uses for old ideas and putting promising concepts to test can create an ongoing cycle that seeks to enhance curiosity and can capitalise on its results.10 A very high degree of intellectual rigour in the likely nature of future wars and consequent theory of victory can keep this cycle in motion. Since speculation about future wars can only stand the test in a war itself, an absence of real-world experience imposes an additional burden on the organisation to trigger and maintain such rigour and experimentation. Low-intensity conflicts and terrorism are, however, threats and challenges that need innovative solutions in periods of ‘uneasy peace’, irrespective of whether or not an official war has been declared. Long periods of peace can bring in considerable complacency, which alongwith diminished political and public support makes innovation increasingly difficult. Further, there is a significant impact of the probability of next war and its likely nature. France in the late 18th century, Prussia in the mid 19th century and allied as well as axis powers between 1919 and 1939 could innovate in their respective ways since a fragile peace existed during those periods. It is true that the degree of innovation achieved was different in each case, but the general impact of inevitability of war was to promote innovation rather than stall it. During peacetime, a key determinant of the level and pace of innovative efforts is, however, the environment and culture of innovation. A quest for better solutions can be sustained only if failed attempts are seen in a positive light. Fear of failure or inadequate confidence in likely responses to new proposals ensures premature termination of many potential innovations even before they are born. If a military is able to draw a distinction between project risk and career risk, the environment for innovation is far less threatening. Budgetary support is an important element in sustaining peacetime innovations but is not essential. Many innovations have been achieved at comparatively low costs and through suitable redirection of resources. Suitable utilisation of human resources through appropriate facilitation has been more important than mere provision of finances. There is no 572 Strategic Analysis/Oct-Dec 2003 direct relationship between budgetary support and innovation, and bringing innovations to fruition has been often achieved under tight fiscal constraints.11 Military innovations during times of peace impact events far beyond the contours of ‘conduct of war,’ and significantly shape the foreign and security policies of states. The nature of peacetime competition among countries is also influenced by the type and quantum of benefits that are absorbed by states as an outcome of such innovations. In a study about systemic effects and diffusion of military innovation, it has been highlighted that whether and how states emulate new innovations depends on the compatibility between the innovation and the organisation, society, and culture. It adds that the practice of emulation of capabilities and strategies of countries with successful innovations fits well with the neo-realist theory of competition.12 How uniform or uneven is such diffusion can be examined from different theoretical perspectives but the importance of achieving and sustaining a lead in international affairs through military innovation is well established. Governments and military societies that recognise the potential of military innovation in times of peace and create a suitable climate for the same, are able to stay ahead, irrespective of the level and speed of diffusion. Peacetime innovation is highly dependent upon a military organisation’s ability to identify and support potential innovators. A number of innovations require considerable work outside the ‘accepted’ work profile, and can thus be seen as non-rewarding, leading to limited enthusiasm for participation. Innovators are also prone to challenge of a different kind from those who find them threatening and thus lead resistance through regular questions about relevance of the effort underway. Subordinates can be encouraged to think about and propose changes, and can be convinced that joining innovative efforts will not blight careers.13 Protection and encouragement of such individuals as well as creation of rewarding career paths are essential for peacetime innovation to flourish. Induction of new warfare technologies in peacetime is another important facet of military innovation. A move from ‘technology imitation’ to ‘technology innovation’ requires an organisational culture that recognises limitations of management in terms of innovation. Such innovation can be in sustaining technologies or disruptive technologies. An innovator faces a hard choice between sustaining technologies that are relatively easier but Military Innovation: Hurdles, Bumps and Jumps 573 competitively less important, and disruptive technologies that face uncertainty, but offer first-mover advantages.14 Militaries that do not invest adequately in disruptive technologies remain imitators by choice and end up playing the ‘catching-up’ game. Wartime Innovation As Carl Von Clausewitz noted, war is in the realm of danger, exertion, uncertainty and chance, where the enquiring mind is more likely to display the qualities associated with military genius.15 Management of the unexpected often requires that new or substantially changed methods and techniques be used. Such an environment increases the prospects for innovation. Since time may not be available for evaluation and experimentation, these innovations face higher risk of failure with unacceptable costs. A military that is used to slower decision-making processes in peacetime may find it hard to implement innovations in a relatively compressed time-frame. As modern wars have tended to be of shorter duration, decisiveness in the face of uncertainty forms the basic measure of comparison of the abilities of different militaries to innovate in wartime. Military leadership, often associated with boldness, has been the main driver of many innovations during wars. The environment for leadership to blossom is, however, a result of organisational endeavours in peacetime. Good ideas can also get blocked in wartime in a military that does not develop the art of capitalising on proposals in peacetime. War is the testbed of all forms of military innovation. Unlike the civil sector, militaries are not forced out of business due to lack of innovation but face a stark choice of victory or defeat during war. Brigadier J. Nazareth has analysed numerous historical examples of application of innovative methods in warfare.16 These include use of resources (starting with elephants, horses, fire, water etc.), use of sciences (from Greek fires to submarines) and use of methods (deception, surprise, tactics used for capture of impregnable forts in India, etc.). The case studies highlight the common theme of search for innovative solutions, and a move away from set-pattern methods. While the strong need to innovate to ensure a decisive victory, the weak must innovate to deny victory to the opponent or to achieve victory despite inferiority. Innovation to increase effectiveness in wartime involves rapid adaptation of technological changes with operational and organisational transformation.17 574 Strategic Analysis/Oct-Dec 2003 A distinction needs to be made between two related issues in the context of wartime innovation. The first deals with its occurrence while the second is about its implementation. Occurrence may be because of necessity, driven by a lack of success, though failure alone is not responsible for innovation, as some militaries have faced successive defeats in the absence of innovation. However, if a suitable environment is available, innovation has a better chance of occurring when the going is not good. Implementation of any innovation is equally hard since there is inadequate time for development of related doctrines and concepts of operations. Amphibious landings at Galipoli by the British in 1915 were prompted by a lack of success in France and Belgium, but the implementation of some innovative methods in these landings faced many operational and logistical challenges. Further, the environment required for initiation of innovation in wartime and its implementation, is different. While free exchange of new ideas is required for finding innovative solutions, their speedy execution requires centralised enforcement. Stephen Peter Rosen argues that, hierarchical organisations provide a greater impact of innovation in wartime. The trade-offs between a loose organisation that allows freer exchange of ideas, and a tight one that makes things happen faster, seem to favour organisational tightness in terms of amenability to wartime innovation.18 Yet, if the balance shifts unduly towards tightness, it could simply prevent wartime innovation, with the military continuing to implement doctrines developed towards meeting missions envisaged in peacetime. The challenge of redefining missions in wartime, which goes far beyond adapting operations to intelligence inputs, becomes harder to surmount. Since most wartime innovations are based on existing technologies rather than those on the horizon, a very high degree of interface between the fighting forces, industry and decision-makers in the Government is essential for timely implementation. Procedural bottlenecks and detailed reviews are of little help, and bold leadership at the operational level has to be matched by decisive direction at the strategic level. The industry too can make a significant contribution in wartime innovation by understanding operational necessities and suggesting solutions through suitable adaptation of technologies. Conclusion Military innovation is complex and daunting, and there are numerous paradoxes in the military profession that make innovation sound like a Military Innovation: Hurdles, Bumps and Jumps 575 pipe dream. Yet many militaries have succeeded in promoting the same. There is no single source to which this success can be attributed, but its non-existence is almost guaranteed in the absence of a framework that spurs innovation. Military innovation is not just a functional issue, but is as much dependent on development of an appropriate culture. Innovation has relevance at all levels of war and therefore requires a wider participation. It differs substantively from efficiency and is based on conceptual exploration followed by enlightened experimentation. Failure of an experiment does not necessarily imply failure of an individual(s). It is hard to ensure an innovative military by mere exaltation or orders, and good ideas have to be imparted mobility. A carefully nurtured environment for innovation is essential and can pay rich dividends in peacetime as well as wartime. Strategy and doctrine development are bound to be more robust and adaptive under such conditions. It is true that people make the difference, but military organisations can substantially facilitate a process in which innovative people can flourish. Within the hierarchical structure, militaries need to create adequate empowerment that allows release of dormant creativity. It is possible for innovation and disciplined execution to co-exist, provided a suitable framework is created and nurtured. While innovation cannot be institutionalised, a deliberately facilitated environment can ensure that it is initiated, sustained and rewarded. As has been the case in the history of warfare, a rich culture of military innovation will continue to be a major driver of military success in future wars. References/End Notes 1 Mukherjee, T.B., Inter-State Relations in Ancient India. In Bharat Karnad, Nuclear Weapons and Indian Security. 2002. Macmillan India Limited; New Delhi. p. 30. 2 Kotter, John P., Leading Change. 1996. Harvard Business School Press; Boston. p. 166. For more details on common errors to execute change and stages in creating major change, see Chapters 1 and 2 of the book. 3 Hamel, Gary, Leading the Revolution. 2000. Harvard Business School Press; Boston. p. 244. In Chapter 8, the author also describes ten design rules for innovation, highlighting the role of top management to operationalize them for creating a deeply innovative organisation. 576 Strategic Analysis/Oct-Dec 2003 4 Drucker, Peter F., The Discipline of Innovation. Harvard Business Review. November-December 1998. 155-156. 5 Millet, Allan R., Patterns of Military Innovation in the Interwar Period. In Wiiliamson Murray and Allan R. Millet Eds., Military Innovation in the Interwar Period. 1996. Cambridge University Press; Cambridge. p. 342. 6 Murray, Williamson, and Allan R. Millet, Innovation: Past and Future. In Williamson Murray and Allan R. Millet, no. 5, p. 316. 7 Ibid., p. 315. The author also argues that since German officers took doctrine and doctrinal manuals seriously, they could comprehend the larger picture of combined arms. 8 Hayes, Bradd C., and Douglas V. Smith Eds., The Politics of Naval Innovation. 1994. Naval War College Press; Newport. p. 103. 9 Nazareth, J., Creative Thinking in Warfare. 1987. Lancer International; New Delhi. p. 48. 10 Hargadon, Andrew and Robert I. Sutton, Building an Innovation Factory. Harvard Business Review. May-June 2000. 159-163. 11 Rosen, Stephen Peter, Winning the Next War: Innovation and the Modern Military. 1991. Cornell University Press. p. 252. 12 Goldman, Emily O. and Richard B. Enders, Systemic Effects of Military Innovation and Diffusion. November 14, 2002. University of California, at http//jciss.Iinl.gov/syst.html. 13 Wilson, James Q., Bureaucracy: What Government Agencies Do and Why They Do It. 1989. Basic Books Inc. p. 231. 14 Christiansen, Clayton, The Innovator’s Dilemma. 1996. Harvard Business School Press; Boston. p. 21. 15 Clausewitz, Carl Von, On War (Edited and translated by Michael Howard and Peter Paret). 1984. Princeton University Press; New Jersey. Book 1, Chapter 3, 104-112 16 Nazareth, J., no, 9. pp. 216-245. 17 Kak, Kapil, Revolution in Military Affairs: An Appraisal. Strategic Analysis. April 2000, p. 5-16. Captain Girish Luthra is currently serving as Director Net Assessment in Headquarters, Integrated Defence Staff, New Delhi. A Navig ation and Direction specialist, he has held many command and staff appointments. He is an alumnus of the Defence Services Staff College, Wellington, India and the Naval War College, Newport, USA. 
work_rkpxsv4mojgilhsvyqi6z4od4q	----	pone.0008878 1..5 Favorable Climate Change Response Explains Non-Native Species' Success in Thoreau's Woods The Harvard community has made this article openly available. Please share how this access benefits you. Your story matters Citation Willis, Charles G., Brad R. Ruhfel, Richard B. Primack, Abraham J. Miller-Rushing, Jonathan B. Losos, and Charles C. Davis. 2010. Favorable Climate Change Response Explains Non-Native Species' Success in Thoreau's Woods. PLoS ONE 5(1): e8878. Published Version doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0008878 Citable link http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:4457593 Terms of Use This article was downloaded from Harvard University’s DASH repository, and is made available under the terms and conditions applicable to Open Access Policy Articles, as set forth at http:// nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of- use#OAP http://osc.hul.harvard.edu/dash/open-access-feedback?handle=&title=Favorable%20Climate%20Change%20Response%20Explains%20Non-Native%20Species'%20Success%20in%20Thoreau's%20Woods&community=1/1&collection=1/2&owningCollection1/2&harvardAuthors=c83c00a672cfb4c4f0741bb88ee7360e&departmentOrganismic%20and%20Evolutionary%20Biology http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:4457593 http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#OAP http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#OAP http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#OAP Favorable Climate Change Response Explains Non-Native Species’ Success in Thoreau’s Woods Charles G. Willis1,2, Brad R. Ruhfel1, Richard B. Primack3, Abraham J. Miller-Rushing4,5, Jonathan B. Losos6, Charles C. Davis1* 1 Department of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology, Harvard University Herbaria, Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States of America, 2 Department of Biology, Duke University, Durham, North Carolina, United States of America, 3 Department of Biology, Boston University, Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America, 4 USA National Phenology Network, Tucson, Arizona, United States of America, 5 The Wildlife Society, Bethesda, Maryland, United States of America, 6 Department of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology, Museum of Comparative Zoology, Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States of America Abstract Invasive species have tremendous detrimental ecological and economic impacts. Climate change may exacerbate species invasions across communities if non-native species are better able to respond to climate changes than native species. Recent evidence indicates that species that respond to climate change by adjusting their phenology (i.e., the timing of seasonal activities, such as flowering) have historically increased in abundance. The extent to which non-native species success is similarly linked to a favorable climate change response, however, remains untested. We analyzed a dataset initiated by the conservationist Henry David Thoreau that documents the long-term phenological response of native and non-native plant species over the last 150 years from Concord, Massachusetts (USA). Our results demonstrate that non- native species, and invasive species in particular, have been far better able to respond to recent climate change by adjusting their flowering time. This demonstrates that climate change has likely played, and may continue to play, an important role in facilitating non-native species naturalization and invasion at the community level. Citation: Willis CG, Ruhfel BR, Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ, Losos JB, et al. (2010) Favorable Climate Change Response Explains Non-Native Species’ Success in Thoreau’s Woods. PLoS ONE 5(1): e8878. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0008878 Editor: Jerome Chave, Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, France Received December 3, 2009; Accepted December 15, 2009; Published January 26, 2010 Copyright: � 2010 Willis et al. This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. Funding: C.C.D. and R.B.P. were supported by National Science Foundation Grants Assembling the Tree of Life (AToL) EF 04-31242 and Division of Environmental Biology (DEB) 0413458/0842749, respectively. The funders had no role in study design, data collection and analysis, decision to publish, or preparation of the manuscript. Competing Interests: The authors have declared that no competing interests exist. * E-mail: cdavis@oeb.harvard.edu Introduction Invasive species have significant negative effects on biodiversity, ecosystem function, agricultural productivity, and human health [1]. In the United States alone the estimated annual cost of invasive species exceeds $120 billion [2]. It has been hypothesized that climate change will exacerbate the impacts of non-native species naturalization and subsequent invasion across communities [3,4,5,6]. One important way in which non-native species could respond to climate change is by adjusting their phenology (i.e., the timing of seasonal activities, such as flowering time, leaf out time, germination and migration) [7,8]. Along these lines, the ability of species to appropriately adjust their phenology to climate change has been shown to have a significant impact on species success [9,10,11]. The extent to which phenological response is also linked to non-native species success, however, has not been examined, despite its potential relevance to conservation and management efforts in the face of continued climate change. Here, we take advantage of a unique historical dataset from Concord, Massachusetts (USA) [12] to elucidate the role of climate change in shaping the patterns of non-native plant species’ naturalization and invasion (see Material and Methods). Concord has experienced significant climate change in the last 150 years, during which time the mean annual temperature has increased 2.4uC [12]. The Concord dataset was initiated in 1851 by the American naturalist and conservationist Henry David Thoreau and continued by later observers, including the authors of this paper [12]. This dataset permits the calculation of two important phenological response traits: i) the ability of species to track seasonal temperature variation measured as the correlation between first flowering day and annual spring temperature from 1888–1902 (herein referred to as flowering time tracking) and ii) the change in mean first flowering day over two periods: 1851–2006 and 1900–2006 (herein referred to as flowering time shift, see Material and Methods). We distinguished between native and non-native species using the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) PLANTS Database [13]. We further distinguished non-native non-invasive and non-native invasive (i.e., herein referred to as invasive) species using the Invasive Plant Atlas of New England [14] (for complete definitions of non-native species status see Material and Methods). To account for other factors that could also explain non-native species success, we examined several additional ecologically important traits that have been implicated in non-native species’ naturalization and invasion [15], including: habit, plant height at maturity, leaf mass per area, flower diameter, pollination syndrome, and seed weight. We tested for significant differences in these traits between: i.) natives and non-natives, ii.) natives and non-native non-invasives, iii.) natives and invasives, and iv.) non-native non-invasives and PLoS ONE | www.plosone.org 1 January 2010 | Volume 5 | Issue 1 | e8878 invasives. These comparisons were tested using generalized estimating equations (GEE) implemented in the R based package APE [16,17]. GEE allow phylogenetic distance matrices to be incorporated into a general linear model framework so as to account for phylogenetic bias and permits the simultaneous analysis of multiple categorical and continuous traits as covariates in the same model [17]. Results and Discussion Our results indicate that non-native species differ dramatically from natives in their ability to respond to climate change (Fig. 1, Table 1, Table S1). Non-natives are significantly better able to track seasonal temperatures than native species (Fig. 1A, Table 1). In particular, invasives track seasonal temperature variation better than natives and non-native non-invasives, although the difference between invasives and non-native non-invasives is not significant. Invasives have also significantly shifted their flowering time over the last 100 years to be 11 days earlier than natives and 9 days earlier than non-native non-invasives (Fig. 1B; results are also similar for the 1851–2006 time interval, see Table 1). Concordant with these phenological results, non-native and particularly invasive species have significantly increased in abundance since 1900 relative to the native flora (Table 1). Finally, aside from having slightly larger flowers than natives, which is likely due to the fact that many non-natives are escaped ornamentals [18], non- native species showed no appreciable difference in the other traits we examined (Table 1). These results provide the strongest link to date between climate change and non-native species’ naturalization and subsequent invasion at the community level. While the evolutionary and ecological mechanisms for these results require further investiga- tion, our results nevertheless highlight the utility of phenological response as an important tool for assessing the likelihood of future naturalizations and subsequent invasions by non-native species. Specifically, these results indicate that information on flowering time tracking may allow us to determine if a non-native species is more likely to become naturalized in its introduced range. In addition, the likelihood that a non-native species will become invasive will benefit most from data on species flowering time shift. For example, in Concord, mayweed chamomile (Anthemis cotula L.) has greatly shifted its flowering time 23 days earlier since 1900. While mayweed chamomile has yet to be classified as an invasive in Massachusetts, our results from above suggest that it has a high potential of becoming invasive with continued climate change. In summary, our study indicates that non-native species possess a common set of phenological traits that have likely facilitated their success in the face of recent climate change. As climate change accelerates, non-native species’ ability to respond favorably will likely exacerbate the ecological and economic problems that result from their success. Moreover, because climate change affects large geographical regions in a similar manner, its impact on non-native species naturalization and invasion could be more pervasive than other global change factors that act more regionally (e.g., increasing nitrification, habitat disturbance, and underground microbial species compo- sition) [5,6]. To what extent non-native species have exhibited similar climate change responses in other communities, however, is limited by the rarity of long-term community datasets that document species’ phenological responses [19]. Future efforts should be focused on expanding the documentation of species’ phenological response data through direct observation of phenology [19,20], historical records [21], observations of pollinators [22], experimental manipulation [23], quantitative genetic techniques [24] and comparative studies [10,25,26]. These data will likely be essential for assessing and managing the future impacts of invasive species in the face of continued climate change. Materials and Methods Study Site Concord, Massachusetts, USA (42u279380 N; 71u209540 W) is a township encompassing ,67 km2. Although the town has undergone extensive development since the time of Henry David Thoreau (,1850), ,60% of Concord remains undeveloped or has been well protected through the efforts of numerous national, state, local, private parks, and land-trusts [27]. Species’ Native/Non-Native Status Species’ native and non-native status was obtained from the USDA PLANTS Database [13] for the 587 species included in our analyses. Species were scored as ‘native’ if they occurred in the continental United States or Canada at the time of Columbus (ca. 1492) and ‘non-native’ if they arrived from other regions since that time. Thirty-one species that were coded ambiguously by the USDA as ‘native and probably introduced’ were not included. When these species were coded as either ‘non-native’ or ‘native’ the results were not qualitatively different than those presented here. All non-native Figure 1. Bar graphs depicting phylogenetically corrected mean differences between species groups for two climate change response traits: the correlation coefficient between first flowering day and annual spring temperature for the time period of 1888– 1902 (A; i.e., flowering time tracking), and the shift in mean first flowering day during the period exhibiting the most dramatic increase in mean annual temperature, from 1900–2006 (B; i.e., flowering time shift). Trait differences significantly greater than zero are indicated with an asterisk (p#0.05). Error bars indicate standard errors. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0008878.g001 Non-Native Species Success PLoS ONE | www.plosone.org 2 January 2010 | Volume 5 | Issue 1 | e8878 species were considered ‘naturalized’ because they are thought to be established members of the Concord flora [27]. Non-native species were further categorized as ‘non-native non- invasive’ and ‘invasive’ using the Invasive Plant Atlas of New England (IPANE) [14]. IPANE defines a non-native species as ‘invasive’ if it meets all of the following criteria: 1) the species is or has the potential to become naturalized in New England, 2) the species is or has the potential to establish in minimally managed habitats, 3) the species does or has the potential to disperse rapidly and widely, 4) the species does or has the potential to establish large populations in minimally managed habitats, and 5) the species is classified as invasive in other areas outside of its native range. Importantly, our analyses, which include data on change in abundance [10], independently corroborate IPANE’s scoring of invasive species status. Invasive species, as classified by IPANE, have significantly increased in abundance in Concord relative to native and non-native non-invasive species over the past 100 years (Table S1). Ecological Trait Data Ecological trait data was collected from multiple sources. Shift in mean first flowering day (1851–2006, 1900–2006), the correlation between flowering time and inter-annual temperature variation from 1888–1902 (i.e., flowering time tracking), and change in abundance were all calculated directly from observations of the Concord community [10,12]. Flowering time tracking was calculated as the correlation between first flowering day and mean monthly temperature in January, April, and May. This aggregate temperature was determined to be the best predictor flowering day in Concord [28,29]. We also obtained several additional ecologically relevant traits that have been implicated in non-native species success, including: leaf mass per area [30], plant height at maturity [13], seed weight [31], habit [32], flower diameter [32,33], and pollination syndrome [32,33]. Habit was coded as a binary trait (herbaceous vs. woody) using the Manual of the Vascular Plants of Northeastern United States and Adjacent Canada [32]. Pollination syndrome was coded as a binary trait (i.e., wind vs. insect pollinated) using refs [32,33,34]. Binary traits were treated as continuous in our correlation analyses and results should be interpreted as relative proportions. Leaf mass per area, plant height, seed weight, and flower diameter were log-transformed when necessary to meet the assumptions of normality. This study focuses on the ability of species to adjust their flowering phenology in response to climate change, an ability that has been shown to have important implications for species success [10]. Although poorly understood, a species’ ability to succeed might be linked with flowering time shifting if its fitness was directly dependent on when it flowered. For example, species that are unable to appropriately adjust their flowering time in response to climate change could suffer from a sudden lack of pollinators [22,35]. Alternatively, species’ fitness could be indirectly depen- dent on flowering time. For instance, changes in flowering time are generally correlated with the timing of leaf out, a character that is often linked to competitive ability and physiological adaptation [36,37,38]. A species that starts its growing cycle earlier in warmer years could have a competitive advantage in terms of nutrient acquisition and light availability. As a result, they may be more likely to complete their life cycle under favorable conditions (e.g., before the onset of warm and dry weather during the middle to late summer). Furthermore, a species that is able to leaf out earlier in warmer years could potentially shade out co-occurring species that are not responsive to temperature. Similarly, a species that puts out its leaves later in cold years might avoid late frosts that could damage its leaves. Trait Correlations Standard trait correlations may be biased by species relatedness [39]. To account for evolutionary history in assessing trait Table 1. Trait correlations with non-native status. Non-native vs. Native Invasive vs. Native Non-native non-invasive vs. Native Invasive vs. Non-native non-invasive traits n1 n2 n3 b-coefficient b-coefficient b-coefficient b-coefficient Change in abundance (1900–2006) 260 69 15 1.2660.10*** 2.3960.20*** 1.0360.73*** 1.5660.30*** Flower diameter 372 129 34 0.0760.02** 0.0260.04 0.0860.02*** 20.0660.04 Flowering time shift (1851–2006) 245 52 8 23.1161.01** 9.9862.64*** 24.1261.00*** 10.8963.74** Flowering time shift (1900–2006) 245 65 11 0.6060.84 11.0462.04*** 20.7060.87 9.0763.25* Flowering time tracking 126 25 5 20.1160.03*** 20.1860.07** 20.1060.03*** 20.1160.07 Habit (herb v. woody) 256 97 23 0.00460.01 0.0160.02 0.00360.01 0.0160.01 Height at maturity 336 80 16 20.0260.03 0.0860.07 20.0360.03 0.0960.06 Leaf mass per area 53 39 11 0.0160.03 0.0160.03 0.0760.05 0.0260.04 Seed weight 275 123 31 0.1060.05{ 0.0360.10 0.1160.06* 20.0760.09 Syndrome (insect v wind) 385 136 35 20.0160.01 0.00260.02 20.0160.01 0.00260.02 Non-native Status 385 136 35 – – – – Invasive Status 385 136 35 – – – – Trait correlations between groups were tested using general estimator equations (GEE). Results shown here are robust to branch length estimates and phylogenetic uncertainty (see also Table S1). b-coefficients describe the direction and magnitude of the difference between groups. For example, a b-coefficient of -0.11 for flowering time tracking indicates that non-natives have a significantly greater negative correlation between flowering time and seasonal temperature variation than natives. Standard error of b-coefficients provided. n = sample size of 1) natives, 2) non-native non-invasives and 3) invasives. { P,0.07; * P,0.05; ** P,0.01, *** P,0.001. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0008878.t001 Non-Native Species Success PLoS ONE | www.plosone.org 3 January 2010 | Volume 5 | Issue 1 | e8878 correlations, we used the generalized estimating equations as implemented in APE [16,17]. GEE incorporates a phylogenetic distance matrix into the framework of a general linear model and permits the inclusion of multiple categorical and continuous traits as covariates in the same model [17]. This is similar to normal general linear regression in that the b-coefficient describes the direction and magnitude of the difference between groups (e.g., the directional difference in shift response between native and non- native species). Our conclusions are drawn here from the results obtained from GEE analysis (Table S1), but correlation results were similar when using phylogenetic independent contrasts as implemented in the ‘aotf’ module in Phylocom [40]. Phylogeny Construction We constructed an initial composite phylogeny of the Concord flora using Phylomatic [41] and further resolved relationships above the generic level based on the literature. For complete details of our construction of the phylogeny see Willis et al. [10]. Divergence time estimates were calculated using the ‘bladj’ function in Phylocom [40] based on Wikström et al. [42]. Sensitivity Analysis Phylogenetic correlations can be biased by branch length estimates and phylogenetic resolution. We tested the sensitivity of our results to branch length estimates by setting all branch lengths equal to one. We tested the sensitivity of our results to phylogenetic uncertainty by performing our analyses on a set of 50 phylogenies where all polytomies, above and below the generic level, were randomly resolved using the ‘multi2di’ function in APE and ages were re-estimated using the ‘bladj’ function in Phylocom. Regression results were robust to both of these sensitivity analyses (Table S1). Multivariate Analyses Including Abundance Data Flowering time shift results remained similar when change in abundance [43] was included as an independent variable in the models we analyzed (flowering time shift 1851–2006: Non-native vs Native, b = 23.61, SE = 1.02, t = 23.54, p = 0.0007; Invasive vs Native, b = 8.28, SE = 2.67, t = 3.10, p = 0.0029; Non-native non- invasive vs Native, b = 24.51, SE = 1.01, t = 24.48, p,.0001; Invasive vs Non-native non-invasive b = 11.30, SE = 3.81, t = 2.96, p = 0.0090; flowering time shift 1900–2006: Non-native vs Native, b = 20.10, SE = 0.84, t = 20.12, p = 0.9015; Invasive vs Native, b = 9.50, SE = 2.05, t = 4.64, p,.0001; Non-native, non-invasive vs Native, b = -1.26, SE = 0.87, t = 21.46, p = 0.1498; Invasive vs Non-native, non-invasive, b = 7.99, SE = 3.23, t = 2.47, p = 0.0216). Supporting Information Table S1 Statistical tests of trait correlations. Found at: doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0008878.s001 (0.34 MB DOC) Acknowledgments We thank W. Anderson, J. Cavender-Bares, E. Edwards, A. Ellison, L. Ellwood, A. Knoll, C. Marshall, B. O’Meara, R. Rubio de Casas, and C. Rushworth for helpful comments. Author Contributions Conceived and designed the experiments: CGW CD. Performed the experiments: CGW BRR RP AJMR JBL CD. Analyzed the data: CGW. Contributed reagents/materials/analysis tools: CD. Wrote the paper: CGW CD. Helped to revise the manuscript: RP AJMR JBL. References 1. Mack RN, Simberloff D, Lonsdale WM, Evans H, Clout M, et al. (2000) Biotic invasions: causes, epidemiology, global consequences, and control. Ecol App 10: 689–710. 2. Pimentel D, Zuniga R, Morrison D (2005) Update on the environmental and economic costs associated with alien-invasive species in the United States. Ecol Econ 52: 273–288. 3. Dukes JS, Mooney HA (1999) Does global change increase the success of biological invaders? Trends Ecol Evol 14: 135–139. 4. Simberloff D (2000) Global climate change and introduced species in United States forests. Sci Total Environ 262: 253–261. 5. Thuiller W, Richardson DM, Midgley GF (2007) Will climate change promote alien invasions? In: Nentwig W, ed. Biological Invasions. Berlin: Springer-Verlag. pp 197–211. 6. Vilá M, Corbin JD, Dukes JS, Pino J, Smith SD (2007) Linking plant invasions to global environmental change. In: Canadell J, Pataki D, Pitelka L, eds. Terrestrial Ecosystems in a Changing World. New York: Springer-Verlag. pp 93–102. 7. Parmesan C (2006) Ecological and evolutionary responses to recent climate change. Annu Rev Ecol Evol Syst 37: 637–669. 8. Cleland EE, Chuine I, Menzel A, Mooney HA, Schwartz MD (2007) Shifting phenology in response to global change. Trends Ecol Evol 22: 357–365. 9. Stenseth NC, Mysterud A (2002) Climate, changing phenology, and other life history and traits: nonlinearity and match-mismatch to the environment. Proc Nat Acad Sci USA 99: 13379–13381. 10. Willis CG, Ruhfel B, Primack BR, Miller-Rushing AJ, Davis CC (2008) Phylogenetic patterns of species loss in Thoreau’s woods are driven by climate change. Proc Nat Acad Sci USA 105: 17029–17033. 11. Møller A, Rubolini D, Lehikoinen E (2008) Populations of migratory bird species that did not show a phenological response to climate change are declining. Proc Nat Acad Sci USA 105: 16195–16200. 12. Miller-Rushing AJ, Primack RB (2008) Global warming and flowering times in Thoreau’s concord: a community perspective. Ecology 89: 332–341. 13. USDA, NRCS;The PLANTS Database. National Plant Data Center, Baton Rouge, LA 70874-4490 USA. http://plants.usda.gov. 14. Mehrhoff LJ, Silander JA, Leicht SA, Mosher ES, Tabak NM (2003) IPANE: Invasive Plant Atlas of New England. Department of Ecology & Evolutionary Biology, University of Connecticut, Storrs, CT, USA. http:// www.ipane.org. 15. Pyšek P, Richardson DM (2007) Traits associated with invasiveness in alien plants: where do we stand? In: Nentwing W, ed. Biological invasions. Berlin: Springer-Verlag. pp 97–125. 16. Bolker B, Claude J, Cuong HS, Desper R, Benoit Durand B, et al. (2007) APE: Analyses of Phylogenetics and Evolution. v. 2.1-3. http://ape.mpl.ird.fr/. 17. Paradis E, Claude J (2002) Analysis of comparative data using generalized estimating equations. J Theor Biol 218: 175–185. 18. Mack RN, Erneberg M (2002) The United States naturalized flora: largely the product of deliberate introductions. Ann Mo Bot Gard 89: 176–189. 19. Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ (2009) The role of botanical gardens in climate change research. New Phyt 182: 303–313. 20. USA National Phenology Network. http://www.usanpn.org. 21. Miller-Rushing AJ, Primack RB, Primack D, Mukunda S (2006) Photographs and herbarium specimens as tools to document phenological changes in response to global warming. Am J Bot 93: 1667–1674. 22. Memmott J, Craze PG, Nickolas MW, Price MV (2007) Global warming and the disruption of plant–pollinator interactions. Ecol Lett 10: 710–717. 23. Arft AM, Walker MD, Gurevitch J, Alatalo JM, Bret-Harte MS, et al. (1999) Responses of tundra plants to experimental warming: meta-analysis of the international tundra experiment. Ecol Mono 69: 491–511. 24. Visser ME (2008) Keeping up with a warming world; assessing the rate of adaptation to climate change. P Roy Soc Lond B Bio 275: 649–659. 25. Strauss SY, Webb CO, Salamin N (2006) Exotic taxa less related to native species are more invasive. Proc Nat Acad Sci USA 103: 5841–5845. 26. Cadotte MW, Hamilton MA, Murray BR (2009) Phylogenetic relatedness and plant invader success across two spatial scales. Divers Distrib 15: 481–488. 27. Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ, Dharaneeswaran K (2009) Changes in the flora of Thoreau’s Concord. Bio Con 142: 500–508. 28. Fitter AH, Fitter RSR (2002) Rapid changes in flowering time in British plants. Science 296: 1689–1691. 29. Sparks TH, Jeffree EP, Jeffree CE (2000) An examination of the relationship between flowering times and temperature at the national scale using long-term phenological records from the UK. Int J Biometeorol 44: 82–87. 30. Reich PB, Wright IJ, Lusk CH (2007) Predicting leaf physiology from simple plant and climate attributes: a global GLOPNET analysis. Ecol App 17: 1982–1988. 31. Flynn S, Turner RM, Stuppy WH (2006) Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. Seed Information Database. http://www.kew.org/data/sid. Non-Native Species Success PLoS ONE | www.plosone.org 4 January 2010 | Volume 5 | Issue 1 | e8878 32. Gleason HA, Cronquist A (1991) Manual of the Vascular Plants of Northeastern United States and Adjacent Canada. New York: New York Botanical Garden Press Department. 33. Clements S, Gracie C (2006) Wildflowers in the Field and Forest: A Field Guide to the Northeastern United States. New York: Oxford University Press. 34. Faegri K, Van der Pijl L (1978) Principles of Pollination Ecology: Elsevier. 35. Bierzychudek P (1981) Pollinator limitation of plant reproductive effort. Am Nat 117: 838–840. 36. Knight KS, Kurylo JS, Endress AG, Stewart JR, Reich PB (2007) Ecology and ecosystem impacts of common buckthorn (Rhamnus cathartica): a review. Biol Invasions 9: 925–937. 37. Sola AJ, Ehrlen J (2007) Vegetative phenology constrains the onset of flowering in the perennial herb Lathyrus vernus. J Ecol 95: 208–216. 38. Xu C-Y, Griffin KL, Schuster WSF (2007) Leaf phenology and seasonal variation of photosynthesis of invasive Berberis thunbergii (Japanese barberry) and two co-occurring native understory shrubs in a northeastern United States deciduous forest. Oecologia 154: 11–21. 39. Felsenstein J (1985) Phylogenies and the comparative method Am Nat 125: 1–15. 40. Webb CO, Ackerly DD, Kembel SW (2008) Phylocom: software for the analysis of phylogenetic community structure and trait evolution. Phylocom. v. 3.41. http://www.phylodiversity.net/phylocom/. 41. Webb CO, Donoghue MJ (2005) Phylomatic: tree assembly for applied phylogenetics. Mol Ecol Notes 5: 181–183. 42. Wikström N, Savolainen V, Chase MW (2001) Evolution of the angiosperms: calibrating the family tree. P Roy Soc Lond B Bio 268: 2211–2220. 43. Miller-Rushing AJ, Inouye DW, Primack RB (2008) How well do first flowering dates measure plant responses to climate change? The effects of population size and sampling frequency. J Ecol 96: 1289–1296. Non-Native Species Success PLoS ONE | www.plosone.org 5 January 2010 | Volume 5 | Issue 1 | e8878 
work_rnnvrpu7pjam3jkicmtdec2l3m	----	Miranda, 20 | 2020 Miranda Revue pluridisciplinaire du monde anglophone / Multidisciplinary peer-reviewed journal on the English- speaking world  20 | 2020 Staging American Nights Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la nuit aux Amériques David Bousquet, Nathalie Galland, Candice Lemaire, Marine Paquereau et Judite Rodrigues Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/24086 DOI : 10.4000/miranda.24086 ISSN : 2108-6559 Éditeur Université Toulouse - Jean Jaurès Référence électronique David Bousquet, Nathalie Galland, Candice Lemaire, Marine Paquereau et Judite Rodrigues, « Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la nuit aux Amériques », Miranda [En ligne], 20 | 2020, mis en ligne le 02 avril 2020, consulté le 16 février 2021. URL : http:// journals.openedition.org/miranda/24086 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/miranda.24086 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 16 février 2021. Miranda is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/24086 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la nuit aux Amériques David Bousquet, Nathalie Galland, Candice Lemaire, Marine Paquereau et Judite Rodrigues 1 Aux rêveurs noctambules de tout temps, aux « dériveurs »1 nocturnes, la nuit est réservoir de symboles, éveil d’un monde intérieur, souvenirs et obsessions intimes, révélation de l’inconscient, autre jubilation dionysiaque. Rêve d’encre aussi, veille des créateurs dans la nuit théophanique quand mystique de la nature et mystique intime s’y lovent : c’est la nuit obscure de St-Jean de la Croix, ténèbres de l’âme abandonnée, et la Sainte pénombre des pré-romantiques et romantiques allemands (Goëthe, Hölderlin, Novalis…) qui porte au sublime. Désirée, désirante, dialectique en clair-obscur, la nuit se lie à l’empreinte lumineuse, éclat crépusculaire des nuances pourpres2 et arcs-en-ciel noirs de Jean Paul, ainsi qu’à la lumière artificielle : flash, néon, filtration ou halo, éclairage des projecteurs prolongeant celui des astres. On la perçoit mais elle nous absorbe et parfois nous regarde, tel l’inquiétant jardín de ojos d’Octavio Paz. 2 « Choc noir »3 qui perturbe les processus rationnels et bouleverse la perception, elle défait toute certitude, toute clôture, invite à l’effraction de l’ouvert, à la violence de l’informe. Cette nuit engouffre à son tour chaque partie du monde, dans le ballet circulatoire des astres, lissant dans l’obscur la référentialité. La nuit aux Amériques, aussi, est-elle d’abord substance enveloppante4, qui invite d’autres constellations de l’imagination en venant infléchir le visible et liquider les frontières. 3 À la fois toile de sce◌́nographies immersives et puissance d’ombres traversées, ces nuits américaines sont ici explorées dans la diversité des enjeux, des esthétiques et des langues qui les portent. Issus du colloque international Staging American Nights, Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la nuit aux Amériques organisé en mars 2019 par les axes « Intime » et « Image et critique » du Centre Interlangues (Texte-Image- Langage) — EA 4182 de l’Université de Bourgogne, dans le cadre du cycle Staging Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la... Miranda, 20 | 2020 1 America, les neuf articles réunis ici disent le propre de la nuit dans les œuvres poétiques et picturales d’artistes américains (anglophones et hispanophones) d’aujourd’hui. 4 À partir d’une perspective multilingue et transdisciplinaire, ces travaux explorent ainsi les territoires et imaginaires de la nuit, tout un régime nocturne d’images et de mots qui se déclinent comme art(s) de l’obscur en prise avec les représentations de l’intimité. Ces textes qui prolongent les travaux critiques du séminaire « L’intime », aspirent au- delà à contribuer à la connaissance d’une socio-poétique de la nuit non circonscrite à l’envers du jour mais ouverte aux multiples « leçons de la nocturnité ». 5 C’est parce qu’une définition astronomique s’avère insuffisante à dire la richesse, la complexité de la nuit et ses effets et irradiations, que le concept de « nocturnité » s’impose aujourd’hui dans les travaux critiques. Le terme dit d’abord l’intense qualité du nocturne5, mais s’applique aussi à l’ensemble des éléments qui peuvent se produire de jour et dont les caractéristiques relèvent de la nuit6. 6 Si la nuit a toujours constitué une source d’inspiration pour l’art, elle fait pourtant encore office de terra incognita aux confins de la vacuité mais « vivante et vorace »7, objet polymorphe et dérivant, semblant résister à l’attention théorique diverse voire éclatée qui lui est consacrée. Du chaos antique dont elle émerge et ses représentations cosmogoniques ancestrales8, à l’explosion lumineuse du tournant de la Modernité et le noctambulisme festif d’un nouveau « mode d’être à la ville »9, elle interroge sans cesse notre condition et notre manière d’habiter l’espace. Aussi, se trouve-t-elle toujours au cœur des débats scientifiques, sociopolitiques et écologiques10 d’aujourd’hui qui en saisissent les normes éthiques, l’imaginaire des lieux et des temporalités, l’ontologie des êtres qui l’habitent, ses intrusions dans le jour, ou à l’inverse la nocturnisation d’activités urbaines vers la nuit blanche, les formes de réappropriation sociale du nocturne, le remodelage des centres urbains et autres fabriques de la nuit, valeurs esthétiques, bougé tremblé du monde, ombres, figures… De ces nouvelles configurations et problématiques, l’espace américain ne fait pas l’économie. La nuit aux Amériques est aussi ouvroir de formes et de sens. Quelques voix continentales, poétiques, rythmiques, musicales, du jazz des premières heures du Harlem Renaissance à la scène théâtrale contemporaine, mais aussi des images, des regards, de la pellicule aimantée par la nuit, montrent ici l’actualité des préoccupations artistiques et culturelles pour les expressions nocturnes, le « chromatisme nuital », « invu »11, luisance et profondeur en divers points du continent. 7 Dans la nuit, « noir de l’invisible lieu »12, les plis intimes se réinventent. La nuit est d’abord un « mode d’accès privilégié à l’intériorité du sujet »13, quête du noir14 dans la découpe de la chambre, qui permet repli sur soi, « temps stupéfié » de douloureuses ténèbres (on pensera avec Dominique Rabaté au Roubaud endeuillé de Quelque chose noir15) ou réconfortante clôture d’un monde. Mais l’intime se consume autrement en puissance de l’éros et du fantasme : « plaisirs du ventre »16, intimité des substances alors, lieu du toucher et émerveillement des corps. L’élan du geste créateur, profondément singulier, au plus près de soi fait ainsi affleurer les failles grinçantes du sensible aux heures crépusculaires, la liminalité d’intermondes et autres entre-deux. La nuit s’écoute, (se) dévoile, bouscule. 8 Qu’elle soit intime ou bien cosmique, touchant aux antipodes du tout proche et du lointain infini, la nuit rassemble, étirée et profonde, les formes du faire artistique et culturel. Et cette vertu souvent présente à l’œuvre d’art n’a de cesse de faire naviguer et dialoguer des traditions culturelles, des poétiques, des dispositifs et autres gestes Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la... Miranda, 20 | 2020 2 plastiques d’un univers à l’autre. Comme toile immatérielle, elle diffuse, infuse partout, invite aux passerelles, au divers, aux flux polysémiques. On ne sera pas surpris, aussi, de voir surgir au détour d’un vers, dans l’embrasure de la nuit de Mexico, celle des Night Windows d’Hopper, de voir jouer sur fond nocturne des palimpsestes cinéphiles, d’entendre dans la rythmique du Red Power les accents du Harlem Renaissance. La nuit avant tout est libertaire, circulatoire, sonore. C’est l’argument bien connu de Bachelard citant Lawrence pour qui « l’oreille révèle des transcendances tout au-delà de ce qu’on peut toucher et voir […]. L’oreille peut entendre plus profondément que les yeux ne peuvent voir. L’oreille est alors le sens de la nuit »17. L’obscur, amplification du bruit, résonance, « dynamisation paroxystique de toute agitation. La noirceur, c’est l’activité même, et toute une infinité de mouvements est déclenchée par l’illimitation des ténèbres »18. 9 Que fait dès lors la nuit à l’œuvre ? À quelles nouvelles architectures de la sensation convie-t-elle ? Et que dit la nuit des espaces américains, mégapoles cosmopolites endormies et désertes, routes crépusculaires traçant vers l’ouest, rumeurs des villes, signe des luttes dans la révolution des astres ? Que dit-elle encore des corps rebelles et insurgés, corps nomades aimants, mémoriels, furtifs ? Comme mode nouveau de la sensibilité et de la présence au monde, qu’imprègne la nuit dans l’objet et le geste poétique, pictural ou filmique ? Quelles métamorphoses, quels échos, quels vertiges produit-elle ? Quels mondes fait-elle se lever ? 10 À la sécrétion du noir et ce qu’il diffuse d’obscurité, répond la création d’esthétiques de la nuit, la possibilité d’une « esthétique noire »19 porteuse du sentiment nocturne… Que fait alors l’œuvre à la nuit ? Quelles sont ces fabriques du nocturne américain ? Quelles constructions, quelles théâtralisations pour ces ordres de la nuit ? Depuis la page ou l’image picturale ou filmique, comment et pourquoi faire nuit ? 11 Ouvrir des fenêtres sur l’obscur, embrasures vers la profondeur, au-dedans et au- dehors… C’est la réponse inaugurale que propose Alain Montandon aux questionnements de la nuit. Dans une exploration large portée par la perspective comparatiste qui réunit ici littérature, peinture, cinéma et musique, il s’attache à la « duplicité » de la nuit, tour à tour harmonieuse, maternelle, profonde, aux confins de l’abîme pourtant, suspendue dans le vide et l’absence, incommunicable. À partir d’une re ́flexion sur l’intimite ́ au fil du romantisme et sur la subjectivite ́ exacerbée des nuits citadines mortifères et aliénantes de l’époque industrielle, il s’attache notamment à L’arbre de nuit, une nouvelle de Truman Capote, ainsi qu’au motif singulier de la fene ̂tre et à ses nombreux traitements dans le croisement des arts. Rectangle de nuit ouvert sur l’impénétrable : là, le travail d’Edward Hopper est incontournable, qui porte à leurs limites intimité et identité. 12 L’oreille toutefois est aussi à la nuit. Et le rectangle du poème matière nocturne, espace de circulation et de porosité d’images faites pour être dites ou chantées, circulation de sens et sensations, matière vibrante des sons. Une nuit pour l’oreille, connective et syncrétique, capable de fondre mots, rythmes, lignes musicales distinctes : c’est cette fenêtre sur la nuit américaine de la poésie jazz qu’entrebâille Audrey Goodman. En explorant ses lieux d’émergence et en analysant les acceptions de l’obscurité qui lui sont liées, les connexions profondes et peut-être inattendues entre les traditions musicales des artistes afro-américains et amérindiens se révèlent. Alors que la musique populaire est depuis longtemps reconnue comme essentielle au mouvement Black Power et à ses écrivains, le jazz sert aussi de mode de pensée décoloniale aux auteurs du Red Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la... Miranda, 20 | 2020 3 Power. Des poèmes fondateurs de Langston Hughes aux compositions plus récentes de Yosef Komunyakaa et Joy Harjo, Audrey Goodman montre comment le jazz traverse les frontières ethno-culturelles porté par la puissance symbolique et politique de la nuit, comment se réinvente ainsi le lien entre texte poétique et performance orale. Dans le tissu de la nuit, la poésie jazz ouvre de nouveaux espaces de résistance active, transformant l’enveloppe nocturne en matière du politique. 13 Comme le fond d’obscurité propre à cette politique du poème, il est d’autres promesses nocturnes où se théâtralise le politique : se tenir dans la nuit en attente de l’inflammation de l’aube, tenir la nuit, y résister. Dans ces plis intimes sont libres de germer les luttes au service de l’histoire sociale et politique américaine, des gestes qui mêlent art et résistance, nuit et « esprit de révolte »20. 14 Ainsi en va-t-il du musical nocturne Caroline, or Change (2004), du dramaturge Tony Kushner, sur une musique de la compositrice Jeanine Tesori, que propose d’analyser Anouk Bottero. La pièce, qui s’inscrit dans le contexte de la lutte pour les droits civiques des noirs dans la Louisiane de 1963, met en scène Caroline, domestique noire au service d’une riche famille juive, et ses interactions avec Noah, l’enfant de la famille. La polysémie du titre (Change) joue sur la superposition sémantique mêlant l’anecdote (les pièces de monnaie) à l’idéologie (l’émancipation des Noirs) et distribue ces axes sémantiques dans divers espaces scéniques, favorisant « l’avènement d’un entre-deux spatial et temporel ». Souvent placées sous la figure tutélaire de la lune, « sorte de chœur antique sur fond de blues et de Motown », les scènes nocturnes font entrer en collision la temporalité individuelle des personnages et celle, implacable, des événements politiques et historiques qui ont façonné l’Amérique d’aujourd’hui. 15 Irréductibles à une simple toile de fond, ces productions mettent en scène la nuit comme matière épiphanique, diffraction de lumière noire où se révèlent enjeux politiques, travers et valeurs de la société américaine contemporaine, où se questionne inévitablement aussi la vitalité du rêve américain. C’est précisément le cas des nouvelles nocturnes de Raymond Carver, où l’auteur s’attache à déconstruire les cliche ́s géne ́ralement associés au confort de l’intimite ́ nocturne et du lit conjugal. Marine Paquereau montre ici combien l’insomnie qui frappe certains de ses personnages les renvoie au contraire à leur comple ̀te solitude ainsi qu’à leur condition de mortels. La nuit blanche carvérienne aux jeux de lumières irréelles et autres effets visuels de nuit américaine, se fait ainsi métaphore de l’angoisse de personnages souvent peu expansifs, qui veulent leur part de l’American dream mais se retrouvent pris au pie ̀ge d’un cauchemar existentiel. 16 Avec la série Moonlighting en revanche, c’est le segment nocturne du rêve qui est exploré. Sous l’éclairage lunaire se décline une série de fantasmes où les protagonistes érotisent à l’envi leur relation, jouant à être soi ou multipliant les avatars dans des situations parfois burlesques. Essentielle à l’histoire de la photographie comme du cinéma, la nuit est bien le matériau des métamorphoses et transfigurations. Shannon Wells-Lassagne s’attache ici précisément à la déconstruction de séquences de rêves qui donnent lieu à innovation, qu’elle soit esthétique, narrative, ou bien générique lorsque David et Maddie se retrouvent projetés dans des séquences de comédie musicale ou de film noir où ils sont libres de devenir le couple que la série ne cesse d’éluder. Moonlighting offre ainsi la performance de réalisation du fantasme, codée par le jeu de différents genres et styles, et jouant avec les attentes du spectateur. Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la... Miranda, 20 | 2020 4 17 De la tradition platonicienne à Emerson ou Thoreau, en passant par la Divine Comédie, le topos de la nuit se saisit par l’opposition nycthémérale. À l’image du couple antagonique que forment rêve et cauchemar, les deux segments du cycle déploient d’une part les sombres ténèbres où règnent obscurité et sommeil, de l’autre l’éclat, l’éveil, la lumière du jour qui dit la proximité du divin. Knight of Cups de Terrence Malick semble assumer cette tradition en réinventant une nuit urbaine contemporaine. Dans le film, et plus largement dans toute la trilogie dont celui-ci constitue le troisième volet, la ville est lieu de perdition, d’exil, d’exode ou◌̀ en l’absence de la nature s’évanouit le sens du divin et de l’ordre du monde. Là tout plonge dans l’obscur. Guilain Chaussard s’attache ici à une se ́quence particulie ̀re du film où, sur fond de La Mort d’Âse du compositeur romantique Edvard Grieg, le héros déambule parmi une sombre fore ̂t de buildings sous des e ́clairages e ́lectriques, qui rappellent en les singeant les espaces verdoyants et la lumière verticale de la nature. Le dispositif reconstruit ainsi le symbolisme d’une nuit et d’un monde modernes qui n’excluent plus la lumière mais la révèlent, l’exhortent, renversant le regard et faisant ainsi de la sortie symbolique de la nuit, un véritable mouvement intérieur. 18 Si le film en mode nocturne déploie dispositifs d’ombre, longs travellings d’obscur, renversements ou rêverie, il le doit avant tout au directeur de la photographie. « Qui pour se rappeler que c’est moins Stanley Kubrick que John Alcott qui permit aux sce ̀nes de nuit de Barry Lyndon (1975) de n’e ̂tre e ́clairées qu’à la bougie ? », interroge Jocelyn Dupont. Et c’est précisément l’un des enjeux de l’étude à laquelle il se consacre : dévoiler mécanique technique, élan esthétique, l’élaboration d’une plastique de la nuit singulière tout en extrayant le directeur de la photographie de l’étrange contagion du noir qui souvent l’efface. À travers des variations sur le paradigme cinématographique de la nuit américaine, c’est le travail du roumain Mihail Malamaire, directeur de la photographie de trois longs-métrages récents de l’emblématique re ́alisateur Francis Ford Coppola — Youth Without Youth (2007), Tetro (2009) et Twixt (2011) — qui est présenté ici. Entre écoulement et séquençages, effets d’effroi en « chiaroscuro ou ̀ fluctuent liminalite ́ et indirection », explorations chromatiques du bleu profond, et autres fabriques de l’obscur, les inquiétantes étrangetés du noir de Malamaire rendent à la nuit sa condition hypnotique. 19 À la solitude du corps tendu vers la lumière depuis l’espace nocturne qui force à la métaphysique, à la divagation ombreuse aux confins du réel, s’agrège ailleurs l’intensité de la présence physique, tactile, sensuelle de la nuit amoureuse. L’un erre dans la ville américaine chez Malick, puis s’en extrait, ou bien dans la forêt insituée de Malamaire ; deux au contraire plongent ensemble dans l’obscur, et s’y ensauvagent chez Segovia. Hypnose de la peau alors, la nuit. C’est la diversité du régime nocturne de l’image poétique que prolonge cette dernière section critique. 20 À la faveur de la nuit, les corps amants se donnent tout entier à la bouche de l’ombre. C’est précisément cette caresse nocturne qu’interroge Judite Rodriguès-Balbuena en explorant les Sonnets votifs du poète hispano-mexicain Tomás Segovia, pièces poétiques « entre ciel et chair », à la mécanique parfaite autant qu’à l’érotique sulfureuse. Par un flamboyant déploiement de l’éros nocturne, c’est le pouvoir cosmogénétique de la nuit qui se dit, tout entier lié à la caresse, à l’étreinte, à la saisie « sangsuelle », contact désirant qui enjoint et rejoint l’obscurité de l’être désiré. L’intimité semble s’épaissir entre les corps, nouée par « l’anxiété de l’alter ». La langue des poèmes chorégraphie, là, des ébats sans ambages : langue à la fois nue et riche, défaite de toute pudeur Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la... Miranda, 20 | 2020 5 bourgeoise, sans autres oripeaux que désir et plaisir partagés, vers une voluptueuse communion d’outrenuit. Le sonnet dans cette occasion fait de son propre corset rythmique l’espace d’une réinvention libertaire du jouir. 21 Mais il est d’autres désirs de nuit. Comme source, comme traversée du corps vers la langue, outrenoir encore : « matérialité sourde et violente, et tout à la fois “’immatière”’ changeante et vibrante »21. Chez Fabio Morábito, dont on saisira la proximité avec Tomás Segovia—proximité de poète nomade au moins—les poèmes semblent cernés de nuit, pris dans une matière ombreuse propice à l’inflammation poétique, mais toujours bordée d’abîme. S’il y a infusion du noir, c’est que les vers s’originent singulièrement dans l’épaisseur nocturne : encre, rumeurs, silence, solitude, halos d’ailleurs lointains, regards voyeurs ou palpitations intimes d’un bilinguisme labile, sensibilité où s’éveille le geste lyrique. Nathalie Galland convie ainsi à la découverte d’une double nuit à l’œuvre chez le poète italo-mexicain : nuit de l’écriture comme temporalité du geste créateur et nuit d’une langue qui se débat avec sa part d’obscurité. La tension cosmopolite dessine bien à son tour, dans le retournement d’une voix sans cesse reconquise à l’étrangeté, une nouvelle poétique d’outrenuit : la fabrique d’un « poème- effaçonnement », aux résonances acousmatiques qui font se lever, entre deux langues— l’espagnol, l’italien—, tout un monde de nuit. NOTES 1. Alain Montandon, Promenades nocturnes (Paris : L’Harmattan, 2009, 8) 2. « Vert et violet ‘’couleurs d’abîme’’, essence même de la nuit et des ténèbres » pour Gilbert Durand, Les Structures anthropologiques de l’imaginaire (Paris : Dunod, 1992 [1969], 252) 3. Gilbert Durand (97) 4. « La nuit n’est pas un objet devant moi, elle m’enveloppe, elle péne ̀tre par tous mes sens, elle suffoque mes souvenirs, elle efface presque mon identité personnelle […] elle est une profondeur pure sans plans, sans surfaces, sans distance d’elle à moi. », écrit Merleau-Ponty dans Phénome◌́nologie de la perception (Paris : Gallimard, 1945, 328) 5. Chez Valère Novarina par exemple : « LE VEILLEUR. Où en est la nuit? / L’AUTRE VEILLEUR. Loin. Totale. Profonde. Pas encore dans /sa pleine nocturnité. » L’Acte inconnu (Paris : POL, 2007, 11) 6. Depuis une dizaine d’années, le séminaire de recherche « Anthropologie de la nuit », (du Laboratoire d’ethnologie et de sociologie comparative - LESC-CNRS, Nanterre) interroge la « nocturnité » comme espace de captation multisensorielle et polysémique, rappelant que la nuit sociale (entendue comme l’ensemble des pratiques, dispositifs, attitudes, comportements sociaux propres à toutes les sociétés, mais aussi comme l’expression de tensions et conflits de la nuit urbaine, inhibitions, violences et insécurités, périphéries des non-droits) est irréductible à la nuit solaire. http://lesc-cnrs.fr/agenda/445/oublier-le-jour,-jacques-galinier-et-aurore-monod- becquelin?lang=fr (consulté le 28 mars 2020) 7. Gilbert Durand (99) 8. « Cette imagination des ténèbres néfastes semble être une donnée première, doublant l’imagination de la lumière et du jour. Les ténèbres nocturnes constituent le premier symbole du Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la... Miranda, 20 | 2020 6 http://lesc-cnrs.fr/agenda/445/oublier-le-jour,-jacques-galinier-et-aurore-monod-becquelin?lang=fr http://lesc-cnrs.fr/agenda/445/oublier-le-jour,-jacques-galinier-et-aurore-monod-becquelin?lang=fr temps. Survivance dans nos fêtes nocturnes (St-Jean, Noël et Pâques) des premiers calendriers nocturnes… La nuit noire apparaît donc comme la première substance du temps. Kala (temps) / Kali (noir, sombre), notre ère séculaire Kali-Yuga (l’âge des ténèbres). C’est également pourquoi la nuit est sacralisée. La Nyx hellénique comme la Nôtt scandinave, traînées dans un char par des coursiers sombres, ne sont pas de vaines allégories mais de redoutables réalités mythiques », Durand (98-99) 9. Samuel Challéat, https://media.afastronomie.fr/Protectionduciel/Fichiers/Intervention- CHALLEAT.pdf (consulté le 28 mars 2020) 10. Pour exemples, Luc Gwiazdzinski : La Ville 24 heures sur 24. Regards croisés sur la société en continu (Paris : Editions de l’Aube, 2003); La nuit, dernière frontière de la ville (Paris : Editions de l’Aube, 2005) ; ou encore Nuits d’Europe. Pour des villes accessibles et hospitalières (Belfort : UTBM, 2007). Challéat S., « Sauver la nuit ». Empreinte lumineuse, urbanisme et gouvernance des territoires. Thèse de doctorat de géographie. Université de Bourgogne : 2010 ; Mallet S., « Paysage-lumière et environnement urbain nocturne » in Espaces et Sociétés, n° 14, 2011 (35-52). Challéat S., Lapostolle D., Benos R., « Consider the darkness. From an environmental and sociotechnical controversy to innovation in urban lighting » in Journal of Urban Research, n°11, 2015, http://articulo.revues.org/ 3064 (consulté le 28 mars 2020) 11. Baldine St Girons, « Acte pictural et acte poétique : la nuit entre Delacroix et Baudelaire », Montandon (109) 12. Alain Badiou. Le noir. Éclats d’une non-couleur (Paris : Autrement, 2015, 17) 13. Badiou (111) 14. Gaston Bachelard : « Les grands rêveurs du noir voudront même découvrir [...] ‘’le noir dans la noirceur’’, ce noir aigre qui travaille sous la noirceur émoussée, ce noir de la substance produisant sa couleur d’abîme. Ainsi le poète moderne retrouve l’ancienne rêverie du noir des alchimistes qui cherchaient le noir plus noir que le noir: ‘’Nigrum nigrius nigro’’ » (35-36) 15. Jacques Roubaud, Quelque chose noir (Paris : Gallimard, 1986) : « Quand je me réveille il fait noir : toujours. / Dans les centaines de matins noirs je me suis réfugié. /C’est le noir qui est devenu réel. / […] Quelque chose noir qui se referme. et se boucle. une déposition pure, inaccomplie. » (76) 16. Gilbert Durand (98) 17. Gaston Bachelard, La Terre et les rêveries du repos. Essai sur les images de l’intimité. (Paris : José Corti, [1948] 2004, 194) 18. Gilbert Durand (99) 19. L’expression est d’Isabel Capeloa Gil, « Le voyeur dans la nuit. L’esthétique noire chez Edgar Allan Poe », in Alain Montandon (61) 20. Michaël Fœssel. La Nuit. Vivre sans témoin (Paris : Autrement, 2017), et l’émission qui lui est consacrée : https://www.franceculture.fr/emissions/les-chemins-de-la-philosophie/la-nuit- vivre-sans-temoin-de-michael-foessel (consulté le 28 mars 2020) 21. Cité par Benos R., Challéat S., « “Outrenuit” : penser les ressources environnementales nocturnes avec Pierre Soulages », Carnets du Collectif RENOIR – Ressources Environnementales Nocturnes, tOurisme, territoIRes [carnet de recherche], 30 juillet 2014 in https:// renoir.hypotheses.org/655 (consulté le 28 mars 2020). Voir aussi Pierre Soulages. Outrenoir, Entretiens avec Françoise Jaunin (Lausanne : La Bibliothèque des Arts, 2012) Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la... Miranda, 20 | 2020 7 http://articulo http://articulo http://articulo http://revues.org/3064 http://revues.org/3064 http://revues.org/3064 http://revues.org/3064 https://www.franceculture.fr/emissions/les-chemins-de-la-philosophie/la-nuit-vivre-sans-temoin-de-michael-foessel https://www.franceculture.fr/emissions/les-chemins-de-la-philosophie/la-nuit-vivre-sans-temoin-de-michael-foessel INDEX Mots-clés : nuit, intime, mise en scène, Amériques, espace, images Keywords : night, intimacy, staging, Americas, space, images AUTEURS DAVID BOUSQUET Maître de conférences Université de Bourgogne Franche-Comté EA 4182, Centre Interlangues TIL David.Bousquet@u-bourgogne.fr NATHALIE GALLAND Maître de conférences Université de Bourgogne Franche-Comté EA 4182, Centre Interlangues TIL nathalieboudon@hotmail.com CANDICE LEMAIRE Maître de conférences Université de Bourgogne Franche-Comté EA 4182, Centre Interlangues TIL Candice.Lemaire@u-bourgogne.fr MARINE PAQUEREAU Professeur agrégée Université de Bourgogne-Franche-Comté EA 4182, Centre Interlangues TIL Marine.Paquereau@u-bourgogne.fr JUDITE RODRIGUES Maître de conférences Université de Bourgogne Franche-Comté EA 4182, Centre Interlangues TIL Judite.Rodrigues-Balbuena@u-bourgogne.fr Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la... Miranda, 20 | 2020 8 Staging American Nights : Représentations de l’intime et mises en scène de la nuit aux Amériques 
work_rpqi6dxu7zc77k2xi5oxando7y	----	90 Considerati un genere classico della letteratura giapponese, i rac- conti di romitaggio o inja bungaku, rappresentano un genere e un tema trasversale nella cultura tradizionale nipponica. Lasciare la città (o meglio la mobile capitale del Giappone: dapprima Nara poi Heiankyō e Kamakura; poi nuovamente Kyōtō e infine Edo/Tokio) con i suoi quotidiani affanni e le sue lotte di potere. Fuggire da quella vita che può divenire una gabbia di conformismi raggelati, vani, elegantemente vuoti ed i cui codici sono destinati ad un’ine- vitabile decadenza e corruzione. Andare via, lontano dai disastri; dai frequenti incendi, dai terremoti; dai tifoni e dalla violenza delle guerre civili. Tutti fenomeni amplificati dall’abitare nella città centro dell’impero; la grande ‘casa’ collettiva che distrae ed impedisce di essere consapevoli della fugacità delle cose, della loro imperma- nenza, della natura imperfetta e finita della condizione umana. Ritirarsi da tutto questo per trovare consolazione nella profondità di sé stessi o nella propria arte e -se uomini di fede- nell’illumina- zione e nella promessa di salvezza promessa dai seguaci della Terra Pura, verso il Paradiso d’Occidente di Amida Buddha1. Mutuata dalla tradizione cinese dell’isolamento ‘etico’ di matrice confuciana e dal parallelo insegnamento taoista del vivere asse- condando il flusso naturale degli eventi, poi transitato in forma sincretica in Giappone con l’introduzione del Buddhismo Chàn, matrice di quello Zen2, il voltare le spalle al mondo è dunque un topos costante nella cultura sino-giapponese. Costume non esclu- sivo di mistici o di poeti, giacché col termine inja si denotano anche figure di altri irregolari, quali erranti giocatori d’azzardo, falliti, persi- no fuorilegge yakuza o principi splendenti, come il protagonista del Genji Monogatari3. C’è però un caso -peraltro famosissimo- in cui Firenze Architettura (2, 2016), pp. 90-97 ISSN 1826-0772 (print) | ISSN 2035-4444 (online) © The Author(s) 2016. This is an open access article distribuited under the terms of the Creative Commons License CC BY-SA 4.0 Firenze University Press DOI 10.13128/FiAr-20309 - www.fupress.com/fa/ Di case, cabanes ed eremi On houses, cabins and hermitages Andrea Volpe Considered a classical genre of Japanese literature, the accounts of reclusion, or inja no bungaku, represent a transverse topic in tradi- tional Japanese culture. Leaving the city (the moving capital of Japan, that is: first Nara, then Heiankyō and Kamakura; then Kyōtō again and finally Edo in the Meiji era) with its everyday troubles and power struggles. To flee from a life that can become a cage of frozen and vain conformity, elegantly empty and whose codes are destined to an inevitable decay and corruption. Going away, far from disaster; from the frequent fires, the earthquakes; from typhoons and the violence of civil war. All of which amplified when living in the city that is also the capital of the Empire; the great ‘collective’ house that distracts and prevents from being aware of the fleeting nature of things, of their impermanence, of the imperfect and finite nature of the human condition. To retire from all this in order to find consolation in the depths of oneself or one’s own art, and – for men of faith – in the enlighten- ment and the promise of salvation offered by the doctrine of the Pure Land, the Western Paradise of Buddha Amitābha1. Evolved from the Chinese tradition of ‘ethical’ isolation of Confucian origin and from the parallel Taoist teachings about living according to the natural flow of events, which finally arrived in Japan syncretically with the introduction of Ch’an Buddhism, the ultimate source of Zen2, turning one’s back to the world is thus a constant topos in Sino-Jap- anese culture. A tradition that is not exclusive of mystics and poets, since the term inja includes other types of characters such as wan- dering gamblers, vagabonds, yakuza outlaws, or splendid princes such as the hero of Genji Monogatari3. There is. However, a famous case in which this distancing oneself from the world corresponds to Yoshifumi Nakamura Caught between the memories of a 13th century Japanese classical literary genre on reclusion, suggestions from life in the woods as described by Thoreau in ‘Walden’, references to the Cabanon, Aalto, Asplund and traditional tea-houses, Yoshifumi Nakamura’s work turns the small scale into the poetical factor through which to measure the immeasurability of nature. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/legalcode 91 Luna House, Luna Hut Kobe, Prefettura di Hyogo 2012 Progetto: Yoshifumi Nakamura/Lemminghouse Commitenza: privata Fotografie: © Hideya Amemiya 92 a questo allontanarsi dalle lordure del mondo corrisponde la defini- zione e la costruzione di uno spazio abitativo minimo, di una fragile cella da cui poter contemplare il corpo-natura del Buddha4. “Qui, a sessant’anni, quand’è vicina a dissolversi questa mia vita di rugiada, mi sono costruito un altro rifugio, foglia dell’ultima stagione [...]. Di ampiezza è appena un hōjō, d’altezza non più di sette shaku. Non ho ancora stabilito se starò qui per sempre, quindi non l’ho costruita affidandomi a criteri particolari nella scel- ta del terreno. Poste le fondamenta, l’ho coperta con un semplice tetto di paglia e ho sistemato le connessure con semplici uncini di ferro. Così se qualcosa non mi andasse più a genio, potrei trasportarla altrove con facilità. E quale sarebbe la noia di un tra- sferimento? Per caricare tutto basterebbero appena due carri, e pagato chi li conduca, non occorrerebbe altra spesa”5. Monaco, poeta, musico ed infine eremita, Kamo no Chōmei si distacca dal fluttuante mondo di Kyoto probabilmente più per un orgoglioso moto di delusione, dovuto ad una mancata promozione sociale, che per seguire sinceramente la Via verso l’Illuminazione. La sua origine cortese, che lo rende edotto dei giochi letterari e poetici delle classi più raffinate a cui ambiva di appartenere, non risulta però incompatibile con la sua nuova identità di novizio ritiratosi sulle alture del monte Hino vicino a Toyama con il nuovo nome di Ren’in. Più letterato che santo, Chōmei/Ren’in persegue dunque una personale ascesi fuggendo dal mondo, certo, ma non per questo condannandosi ad un errabondo vagare. Non essendo un no- made, Chōmei in primo luogo si costruisce quella fragile dimora, quella piccola casa mobile pensata per abitare il paesaggio. Da the construction of a minimal dwelling space, that of a fragile cell from which to contemplate the body-nature of the Buddha4. “Here, at the age of sixty, when this life of dew of mine is about to dissolve, I have built for myself another shelter, leaf of the last season [...]. It is the size of only one hōjō, and not more than seven shaku high. I have not decided yet whether I will be here for ever, so I did not build it following specific criteria regarding where to place it. I set the foundations, covered it with a simple straw roof, and joined the commissures with simple iron hooks. In that way if something was not right I could easily transport it somewhere else. And what would be the problem with transporting it? All I would need is two carts, and there would be no other expense besides paying the driver”5. Monk, poet, musician and finally hermit, Kamo no Chōmei distanced himself from the fluctuating world of Kyoto probably more as a result of pride, due to a delusion regarding social promotion, than to sin- cerely follow the Way of Enlightenment. His courtesan origin, which made him well-versed in the literary and poetic games of the most refined social circles, to which he wished to belong, is not, however, incompatible with his new identity as a hermit in retreat on the heights of mount Hino, near Toyama, under the new name of Ren’in. More a man of letters than a saint, Chōmei/Ren’in follows a personal form of asceticism, distancing himself from the world, yet not con- demning himself to a life of wandering. Not being a nomad, Chōmei builds that fragile dwelling, that small moveable house conceived for living the landscape. From this limited and secluded space, equal to a Jo squared, that is more or less nine square metres, and seven shaku high, which is a little over two metres, he contemplates the universe and receives in exchange the gaze, describing it, writing about it. 93 questo spazio limitato, raccolto, pari ad uno Jo quadrato, circa nove metri quadri, e alto sette shaku, ovvero poco più di due me- tri, egli contempla l’universo ricevendone in cambio lo sguardo, descrivendolo, scrivendone. “Ci si ritira dal mondo unicamente per perdersi nel mondo. [...] In questo accostarsi-allontanarsi si attua un processo che assume le movenze del dimorare, in cui, anzi, l’abitare si fa gesto. [...] Il pro- cesso di spoliazione della dimora non è in Chōmei, immiserimen- to ma piuttosto alleggerimento che arricchisce, conducendolo alla sua essenza, ciò che, pure riduce”6. Alleggerimento, o meglio economia, uno dei concetti chiave di un altro libro; scritto secoli dopo, a migliaia di chilometri di distanza, in un altro paese, in un contesto culturale diverso e che racconta un’analoga esperienza di rinascita nella natura, attuata ancora una volta mediante la costruzione di un’architettura; piccola, minima, archetipica, che finisce per coincidere col mondo in virtù dell’estremo contrasto fra diversi rapporti di scala. “Era una capanna ariosa e senza intonaco, adatta a ricevere un dio viaggiante, e dove una dea avrebbe potuto far strascicare la sua veste. I venti che sfioravano l’abitazione erano gli stessi che spazzavano le montagne, trasportando i frammenti, le parti celesti, della musica terrestre. Il vento del mattino soffia per sempre, il poema della creazione è ininterrotto, ma poche sono le orecchie che l’ascoltano. Ovunque l’Olimpo non è che l’esterno della ter- ra”7. Più breve e non definitiva come quella di Chōmei, la fuga dal mondo di due anni, due mesi e due giorni che Henry David Thoreau compie dal 1845 al 1847 abitando nella minuscola casa nei boschi di Walden, diviene al pari dell’Hojoki l’altro riferimento “One retires from the world only to be lost in the world. [...] In this nearing and distancing a process takes place which assumes the pulse of dwelling in which, actually, inhabiting becomes a gesture. [...] The process of emptying of the dwelling is not, in Chōmei’s case, a question of impoverishment, but rather a lightness that enriches, by leading toward its essence, what it is in fact reducing”6. Lightening, or economy, is one of the key concepts of another book; written centuries later, thousands of kilometres away, in another country, in a different cultural context, and which narrates a similar experience of rebirth through nature, enacted once again through the construction of an architectural structure; small, minimal, ar- chetypal, which ends by coinciding with the world in virtue of the extreme contrast between the various scale ratios. “This was an airy and unplastered cabin, fit to entertain a travelling god, and where a goddess might trail her garments. The winds which passed over my dwelling were such as sweep over the ridges of mountains, bearing the broken strains, or celestial parts only, of terrestrial music. The morning wind forever blows, the poem of creation is uninterupted; but few are the ears that hear it. Olympus is but the outside of the earth everywhere”7. Henry David Thoreau’s escape from society, shorter than that of Chōmei, and not defini- tive (it lasted two years, two months and two days, from 1845 to 1847), in which he lived in the small house in the woods in Walden, is, together with the Hojoki, the conceptual reference in the work of Yoshifumi Nakamura (1948), architect of houses built with the ancient knowledge of proven masters. Tailor-made dwellings for a different sort of hermits, tired of the frenzy of Japanese cities, who have themselves become inja, inhabitants not of avant-garde p. 91 Luna House e Luna Hut, planimetria generale Luna Hut, il piccolo osservatorio lunare costruito nella prefettura di Hyogo Ecco come Yoshifumi Nakamura descrive come ha sviluppato il suo interesse per i piccoli spazi p. 92 Particolari e dettagli dell’alcova ‘asplundiana’ di Luna House. Sull’architrave del camino un hommage al Cyrano di Rostand Il soggiorno/osservatorio di Luna House. Sulla sinistra l’ingresso all’alcova p. 93 Luna House, il fronte a monte e l’ingresso p. 94 Luna House, pianta La ‘salle de bain’ che si apre sulla vista della valle p. 95 La stanza in stile giapponese della casa p. 96 La citazione del ‘Cyrano de Bergerac’ di Rostand come tema concettuale del piccolo osservatorio lunare Luna Hut, pianta, sezioni e assonometria con vino francese p. 97 Luna Hut, dettaglio del velario interno che diffonde la luce artificiale Fotografie per gentile concessione di Hideya Amemiya © Hideya Amemiya 2013 95 concettuale del lavoro di Yoshifumi Nakamura (1948), architetto di case costruite con antica sapienza d provetto sarto. Case-abito pensate su misura per altri eremiti, oramai stanchi della frenesia delle città nipponiche. Anch’essi divenuti inja, abitanti non certo di avanguardistiche ville, calate come oggetti stranianti dalle metro- poli in boschi lontani, ma di intimi spazi di case normali, o meglio di cabanes; scevre da ogni volgarità, arricchite al contrario da una solida, artigiana, qualità poetica. Passione per i piccoli spazi abitativi che come Nakamura ama ricordare si sviluppa fin dall’età di sei anni; dalle prime esperienze di costruzione di nascondigli (utilizzando il piano di lavoro della macchina da cucire a pedale Singer della madre come tetto di un improbabile architettura i cui lati, chiusi da fogli di giornale, davano forma al luogo perfetto e se- greto per ascoltare alla radio la propria trasmissione preferita) sino alle case sugli alberi costruite nel giardino della casa dei genitori a Chiba. Passione che coltiva nel corso degli studi visitando il Ca- banon di L.C., la piccola sauna di Alvar Aalto, il cottage di George Bernard Shaw, le case degli Shaker e la capanna di Thoreau, la casa del poeta-scultore Kotaro Takamura, quella del poeta- architetto Michizō Tachihara e la Porziuncola di San Francesco ad Assisi. Architetture che descrivono una personale costellazione di senso fornendo una risposta chiara alla domanda che l’architet- tura di piccola scala di Nakamura sembra costantemente porre: Cosa vuol dire abitare? E come si dimora? Questioni basiche ed invariabili del nostro mestiere, come basiche, invariabili e raffinate sono le risposte fornite ogni volta dal lavoro dell’architetto giappo- nese. Scrittore di libri in cui raccoglie memorie di viaggio e disegni dei rilievi dal vero di spazi, architetture e dettagli costruttivi; quasi villas, descended upon far-away woods like lost objects from the metropolis, but of the intimate spaces of normal houses, or cabins; devoid of any vulgarity and enriched, on the contrary, with a solid, artisan and poetic quality. Passion for small dwelling spaces which, as Nakamura likes to recall, developed in him since the time he was six years old; from the first experiences building hiding places (using the top of his mother’s Singer pedal sewing machine as a roof for an improbable architecture whose sides were closed-in by newspapers, turning it into the perfect and secret place for listening to his favourite programme on the radio), to the tree-houses built in the garden of his parents’ house in Chiba. A passion that he further cultivated through the years, visiting Le Corbusier’s Cabanon, Al- var Aalto’s small sauna, George Bernard Shaw’s cottage, Shaker houses, Thoreau’s cabin, the home of the poet-sculptor Kotaro Takamura, that of the poet-architect Michizō Tachihara and Saint Francis of Assisi’s Porziuncola. Architectures which describe a personal constellation of meaning while providing a clear answer to the questions that Nakamura’s small scale architecture seems to be constantly posing: what does dwelling mean? How does one dwell? Basic and invariable questions for our profession, as invariable and refined as the answers given every single time by the Japanese ar- chitect. Writer of books in which he gathers memories from voyages and drawings of real-life spaces, architectures and built details; they are almost handbooks which provide a precise interpretation of his work, which has been presented in Japan in successful exhibitions8 and personally experienced at the Lemm House, his – obviously small – house on the mountains of Nagano, where he realised his personal Utopia of an essential life in sustainable balance with na- 96 dei manuali che forniscono una chiave di lettura precisa del suo lavoro, presentato in Giappone in mostre di successo8 e perso- nalmente sperimentato nella Lemm House, la sua -ovviamente piccola- casa sulle montagne di Nagano, dove si è realizzata la personale utopia di un vivere essenziale in sostenibile equilibrio con la natura, mediante un’architettura indipendente da ogni fornitura di energia di rete esterna. Gesto ancora più significativo dopo il grande terremoto del 2011 che, colpendo il Tohoku, ha dimostrato la pericolosità di un’economia basata sull’energia nu- cleare. Ma sarebbe un errore ridurre tutto il lavoro di Nakamura al solo aspetto ecologico. L’ex allievo di Junzo Yoshimura, provetto falegname, dal 1999 Professore al Department of Architecture and Architectural Engineering della Nihon University, in realtà costruisce come un liutaio abitazioni dove risuona la poesia della vita. Case disegnate a mano, come la Luna House, col suo minu- scolo padiglione dedicato alla contemplazione del nostro pallido satellite o il piccolo padiglione termale Nonoyu, episodi che si riallacciano inevitabilmente alla grande architettura tradizionale nipponica. Un’architettura fatta “della sostanza delle nuvole” per usare la straordinaria definizione di Lafcadio Hearn9. Un’architet- tura che alla brevità e sintesi di una poesia haiku fa corrispondere inevitabilmente la profondità dell’indicibile. 1 Cfr. Kamo no Chōmei, Ricordi di un Eremo, Marsilio, Venezia, 1991, ed in particolar modo l’introduzione di Francesca Fraccaro sul contesto storico in cui si inquadra l’opera del poeta: “Per i seguaci delle dottrine della Terra Pura la salvezza stava in un aldilà -il Paradiso d’Occidente- cui solo l’abbandono sincero ad Amida nell’atti- ture, through an architecture which is free of any need from outside energy. A gesture that is even more meaningful in view of the great earthquake of 2011 which hit Tohoku and has revealed the danger of an economy based on nuclear energy. It would be a mistake, however, to reduce Nakamura’s work only to its environmental aspect. The ex-student of Junzo Yoshimura, master carpenter, and since 1999 Professor at the Department of Architecture and Architectural Engineering of Nihon University, in fact builds dwell- ings in which the poetry of life resonates, much like a luthier builds his instruments. Hand-drawn houses, like the Luna House, with its tiny pavilion devoted to the contemplation of our pale satellite, or the small Nonoyu thermal pavilion, all examples that relate to Japanese traditional architecture. An architecture made of the “substance of the clouds”, to quote Lafcadio Hearn’s9 extraordinary definition. An architecture which, with the brief synthesis of haiku poetry, inevitably reflects the depths of the ineffable. Translation by Luis Gatt 1 See Kamo no Chōmei, Ricordi di un Eremo, Marsilio, Venezia, 1991, and especially the introduction by Francesca Fraccaro on the historical context in which the work of the poet is situated: “For the followers of the doctrine of the Pure Land salvation was in an- other realm – the Western Paradise – to which only a sincere devotion to Amithaba at the moment of death could lead. If bliss was not conceded in this land, however, the distanc- ing from civilian life would at least permit an approximation to it through the communion with a world perceived as sacred: nature. The cult of certain natural elements, trees, wa- terfalls, rocks and especially mountains, seen as the abode of local divinities had existed in Japan since the most ancient times, and it is in relation to this that the first Japanese hermits, or yamabushi (“those who live in the mountains”), made their first appearances (as a result of that combination between Shintoism, Taoism and esoteric Buddhism that took shape in the form of the shūgendō ascetic movement).”, pp. 26-27. 97 mo della morte avrebbe potuto condurre. Se la conquista della beatitudine non era concessa su questa terra tuttavia, l’allontanamento dalla vita civile avrebbe dovuto almeno permettere di avvicinarsi un poco attraverso la comunione con il mondo da sempre avvertito come sacro: la natura. Il culto di particolari elementi del mondo na- turale, alberi, cascate, rocce e soprattutto montagne visti come sedi delle divinità au- toctone aveva avuto vita in Giappone sin dai tempi più remoti, ed è anche in rapporto a esso che più tardi fecero la loro comparsa (in seno a quella fusione tra shintoismo, taoismo e buddhismo esoterico che fu il movimento ascetico shūgendō) i primi ere- miti nipponici, o yamabushi (“coloro che giacciono sui monti”)”, pp. 26-27. 2 Cfr. Kakuzo Okakura, Lo Zen e la cerimonia del tè, Feltrinelli, Milano, 2006 [1997], e più precisamente il capitolo su “Taoismo e Zen”. 3 Considerato una delle più importanti opere della letteratura giapponese ‘La storia di Genji, Principe splendente’ di Murasaki Shikibu (sec. XI) non solo descrive la raffinata vita alla corte imperiale d’epoca Heian attraverso le vicende del prinicipe Genji ma è considerato uno dei primi romanzi psicologici mai scritti. L’episodio dell’esilio volontario a Suma diviene famoso in questo contesto relativo al mito dell’allontanamento dalla capitale in quanto “esperienza privilegiata nella formazione del vero gentiluomo, non solo quale perfetto padrone delle forme esteriori, ma come individuo capace di sentimenti eletti”, cfr. Fraccaro, op. cit., p. 37. 4“Il periodo di transizione dall’antichità al medioevo segnò comunque la riproposi- zione in generale del mondo della natura come dimensione salvifica per eccellenza. L’idea era che la natura costituisse di per sé un tramite privilegiato alla percezione del Buddha universale essendone manifestazione diretta o corpo simbolo”, Franca Fraccaro, ivi, pp. 29-30. 5 Kamo no Chōmei, ivi, pp. 68-69. 6 Ugo Rosa, Hojoki. Existenzminimum, sull’abitare al tramonto, in «Casabella», N°676, Anno LXIV, Marzo 2000, p. 77. 7 Henry David Thoreau, Walden Vita nel bosco, (ed. orig. Walden, or Life in the Woods, 1854), Feltrinelli, Milano, 2012, p. 107. 8 “Come on-a-my hut”, TOTO Gallery MA, Tokyo, Aprile-Giugno 2013 poi al 21st Century Museum of Conteporary Art, Kanazawa, Aprile-Agosto 2014. 9 Considerato uno dei più importanti divulgatori della cultura giapponese in Occi- dente, Hearn scrittore irlandese di origine greca, si trasferì in Giappone nel 1890. Preso il nome di Yakumo Koizumi, a seguito del suo matrimonio, pubblicherà nu- merosi libri fra i quali il più celebre rimane Shadowings (1900) ovvero nell’edizione italiana Ombre giapponesi, Theoria, Roma-Napoli, 1992. 2 See Kakuzo Okakura, Lo Zen e la cerimonia del tè, Feltrinelli, Milano, 2006 [1997], and specifically the chapter on “Taoism and Zen”. 3 Considered one of the most important works of Japanese literature, ‘The Tale of Genji’, by Murasaki Shikibu (11th century) does not only describe the refined life of the Imperial Court during the Heain period, through the adventures of prince Genji, but is also considered one of the first ‘psychological’ novels ever written. The episode regard- ing Genji’s voluntary exile in Suma is relevant in the context of the myth of leaving the capital as an “important experience in the formative and spiritual education of a true gentleman, not only as a perfect master of external forms, but as an individual capable of high sentiments”, see Fraccaro, op. cit., p. 37. 4“The period of transition from antiquity to the middle ages signalled, however, the return in general terms of the idea of the world of nature as redemptive par excellence. The idea that nature constitutes in itself a perfect medium for perceiving the universal Buddha, of which it is a direct manifestation or symbolic body”, Franca Fraccaro, ibid, pp. 29-30. 5 Kamo no Chōmei, ibid, pp. 68-69. 6 Ugo Rosa, Hojoki. Existenzminimum, sull’abitare al tramonto, in «Casabella», N°676, Year LXIV, March 2000, p. 77. 7 Henry David Thoreau, Walden Vita nel bosco, (ed. orig. Walden, or Life in the Woods, 1854), Feltrinelli, Milano, 2012, p. 107. 8 “Come on-a-my hut”, TOTO Gallery MA, Tokyo, April-June 2013 then at the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa, April-August 2014. 9 Considered one of the most important publicisers of Japanese culture in the West, Hearn was an Irish-Greek writer who moved to Japan in 1890, and who after his marriage took the name of Yakumo Koizumi. He published several books, among which the most famous is Shadowings (1900), edited in Italy as Ombre giapponesi, Theoria, Rome-Naples, 1992. 
work_rprhqacle5aqfd2ijreo2xgyiy	----	© Histoire sociale / Social History, vol. XLIX, no 99 (Juin / June 2016) Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature: An American Transcendentalist on and off the Coast of Labrador, 1864 J. I. LITTLE* In 1865 a series of Atlantic Monthly articles written by the Transcendentalist minister David Atwood Wasson described the voyage to Labrador organized by American landscape painter William Bradford. Bradford was inspired by the success of fellow Hudson River school artist Frederic Edwin Church’s monumental painting, The Icebergs (1861), and Wasson’s role was to generate publicity for what would be Bradford’s own “great picture,” Sealers Crushed by Icebergs. Wasson produced many colourful descriptions of the icebergs encountered on the voyage, but he also depicted the Labrador shorescape as the planet earth at the dawn of time and the Inuit of Hopedale as unevolved, pre-adamic man. This article suggests that Wasson’s racism and rejection of the benign, mystical Nature of first-generation Transcendentalists Thoreau and Emerson reflects the rise of evolutionary theory and the cultural impact of the American Civil War. En 1865, l’Atlantic Monthly décrivait, dans une série d’articles parus sous la plume du ministre transcendentaliste David Atwood Wasson, le voyage au Labrador organisé par William Bradford, un peintre de paysages américain. Ce dernier était inspiré par le succès de The Icebergs (1861), peinture monumentale d’un confrère de l’école de l’Hudson, l’artiste Frederic Edwin Church, et Wasson avait pour rôle de susciter de la publicité autour de ce qui allait être la propre « grande œuvre picturale » de Bradford, Sealers Crushed by Icebergs. Wasson a produit de nombreuses descriptions pittoresques des icebergs rencontrés en cours de route, mais il a aussi dépeint le paysage côtier du Labrador comme s’il s’agissait de la Terre au début des temps et l’Inuit de Hopedale comme s’il était une race non évolué, antérieur à Adam. Le présent article laisse entendre que le racisme de Wasson et son rejet de la Nature mystique et bénigne des transcendantalistes de la première génération, Thoreau et Emerson, reflètent la montée de la théorie de l’évolution et l’impact culturel de la Guerre civile américaine. * Jack Little is professor emeritus in the Department of History at Simon Fraser University. The author thanks Tina Adcock for her advice and Alice Huang and Liam O’Flaherty for their research assistance. He acknowledges the financial support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. 244 Histoire sociale / Social History FAMOUSLY described by Jacques Cartier as the land that God gave to Cain, the rugged and isolated north Atlantic coast has never been a major attraction for scenery-loving travellers or tourists. It played an important role in the New England fishery, however, and during the later nineteenth century Labrador and Newfoundland became what literary historian Patrick O’Flaherty refers to as “an imaginative outpost of the eastern United States,” recreated by American authors as “an image of their own vanishing frontier.”1 Lacking the usual nationalist rallying points, such as a royal family, a national church, and memorialized sites of important events, Americans had turned to the landscape as the source of their national character. Furthermore, it was the sublime—characterized by qualities of wildness, grandeur, and overwhelming power—that most distinguished their country from the more domesticated Europe.2 Even though Labrador did not lie within the United States, then, it is not surprising that American adventurers were drawn to its rugged inhospitable landscape. What attracted two well-known artists during the Civil War era, however, were the icebergs carried southward by the Labrador Current during the spring and summer, for the massive blocks of floating ice held a natural appeal to Americans who were accustomed to viewing the mountains, waterfalls, and canyons of their own country as icons of its greatness.3 With their fantastical shapes, icebergs were mobile and ephemeral counterparts, in many respects, to the unusual rock formations that served as natural substitutes for architectural ruins in nationalistic publications such as Picturesque America.4 They also combined Emmanuel Kant’s geometrical sublime with his dynamic sublime, yet their most important feature for the landscape painters of that era was neither their awe-inspiring size nor their shifting shapes, but the opportunity they provided to capture light in nature, an opportunity that presented not only an aesthetic challenge but a spiritual one as well.5 Americans were not the first or only observers to be enthralled by the shapes and colours of icebergs. As early as 1819 the Scottish explorer John Ross described the first iceberg his ship encountered in search of the Northwest Passage as being shaped like “a white lion and horse rampant, which the quick fancy of the sailors, in their harmless fondness for omens, naturally enough shaped into the lion and unicorn of the King’s arms, and they were delighted accordingly with the good luck it seemed to augur.” Ross also wrote, “It is hardly possible to imagine any 1 Patrick O’Flaherty, The Rock Observed: Studies in the Literature of Newfoundland (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1979), pp. 83-85. On the New England fishery off the coast of Labrador, see Bill Rompkey, The Story of Labrador (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2003), pp. 27-28. 2 David E. Nye, American Technological Sublime (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1994), pp. 1, 24. 3 Ibid., pp. 24-25, 32, 43. 4 Picturesque America was published as two volumes in 1872 and 1874. See Sue Rainey, Creating Picturesque America: Monument to the Natural and Cultural Landscape (Nashville and London: Vanderbilt University Press, 1994), pp. 93-94, 113-115, 229, 232-238, 247. For the link between wilderness and nineteenth- century American nationalism more generally, see Roderick Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1967; 2001), chap. 4. 5 Russell A. Potter, Arctic Spectacles: The Frozen North in Visual Culture, 1818-1875 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007), p. 180; Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams: Imagination and Desire in a Northern Landscape (Toronto: Bantam Books, 1987), pp. 219-220. On Kant’s two basic manifestations of the sublime, see Nye, American Technological Sublime, pp. 7-8. 245Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature thing more exquisite than the variety of tints which these icebergs display: by night as well as day they glitter with a vividness of colour beyond the power of art to represent.”6 It was, however, American explorer Elisha Kent Kane’s well- publicized search for the lost Franklin expedition that drew the widely travelled landscape artist Frederic Edwin Church to the northern Labrador coast in the summer of 1859.7 As explained by Thomas Cole, founder of the Hudson River school and Church’s instructor, the “scenes of solitude” to be found in sublime landscapes inspired contemplation of “eternal things” because they were the undefiled handiwork of the divine creator.8 In keeping with the scale of Labrador’s coastal landscape, Church focussed on producing a single “great picture,” the ten- by-six-foot The Icebergs, which has helped to solidify his reputation as the finest American landscape painter of the nineteenth century.9 While explorers such as Kane published their own journals as well as embarking on promotional speaking tours to raise funds, Church invited Louis Legrand Noble—Episcopalian minister and author of Cole’s biography10—to provide the publicity for his painting. It was not coincidental, then, that the unveiling of The Icebergs in 1861 was quickly followed by the publication of Noble’s After Icebergs With a Painter: Summer Voyage to Labrador and Around Newfoundland (see Figure 1).11 Less well known today, is the series of articles titled “Icebergs and Esquimaux” written by the Transcendentalist clergyman, David Atwood Wasson.12 This series 6 John Ross, A Voyage of Discovery, Made Under the Orders of the Admiralty (London: John Murray, 1819), vol. 1, p. 30 (Internet Archives); “Ross, Sir John,” Dictionary of Canadian Biography Online. See also the descriptions by the Scottish amateur scientist and folklorist John Francis Campbell, who likened an iceberg he encountered in Hamilton Inlet in 1864 to “a giant bust of the Duke of Wellington, 50 feet high.” J. F. Campbell, A Short American Tramp in the Fall of 1864 (Edinburgh: Edmonston and Douglas, 1865), p. 90 (Internet Archives); “John Francis Campbell, F.G.S., etc. (Iain Ileach), of Islay,” The Geological Magazine, 1885, pp. 191-192, journals.cambridge.org/article_S0016756800151891 (accessed November 9, 2014). 7 Kane is said to have been the most famous man in the United States by the time he died as a young man in 1857. See Potter, Arctic Spectacles, p. 4, chap. 5; Gerald L. Carr, In Search of the Promised Land: Paintings by Frederic Edwin Church (New York: Berry-Hill Galleries, n.d.), pp. 36, 80. 8 Quoted in John Gatta, Making Nature Sacred: Literature, Religion, and Environment in America from the Puritans to the Present (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), p. 4. 9 Gerald L. Carr, Frederic Edwin Church: Romantic Landscapes and Seascapes (New York: Adelson Galleries, 2007), p. 11; Theodore Stebbens, Jr., Close Observation: Selected Oil Sketches by Frederic E. Church (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1978), p. 3. The Icebergs was purchased after its 1863 London showing by railway entrepreneur Sir Edward Watkin and subsequently vanished from public sight until it was donated to the Dallas Museum of Art in 1979 (Carr, In Search of the Promised Land, pp. 80-83; Lopez, Arctic Dreams, p. 221). On the initial critical response, see David Carew Huntington, “Frederic Edwin Church, 1826-1900: Painter of the Adamic New World Myth” (PhD dissertation, Yale University, 1960), pp. 129-135. 10 “Virtual American Biographies,” http://famousamericans.net/louislegrandnoble/ (accessed June 30, 2014). 11 Louis L. Noble, After Icebergs With a Painter: A Summer Voyage to Labrador and Around Newfoundland (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1861). 12 Wasson had been installed as minister of the Congregationalist Church and Society in Groveland, Massachusetts, in 1851, but then broke away to form an independent religious society in the same town. He assumed charge of another independent congregation in Worcester, Massachusetts, in 1856, moving to the old Thoreau house in Concord several years later, then on to Medford in 1860, and to Worcester in 1861. Wasson was invited to serve the Boston congregation of the very popular and influential Theodore Parker after the latter died in 1865. See Charles H. Foster, ed., Beyond Concord: Selected Writings of David Atwood Wasson (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1965), pp. 9-16; W. Creighton Peden, An Intellectual Biography of David Atwood Wasson (1828-1887): An American Transcendentalist Thinker (Lewiston, ME: Edwin Mellen Press, 2008), pp. 23-32, 49; Philip F. Gura, American Transcendentalism: http://famousamericans.net/louislegrandnoble/ 246 Histoire sociale / Social History appeared in the prestigious Atlantic Monthly in 1864 and 1865, and therefore reached an influential national and international audience.13 Not only do these articles illustrate the impact of Darwinism and the Civil War on the second generation of Transcendentalists and on the perception of Aboriginal peoples, they also reveal how Americans’ nationalistic fascination with the sublime landscape could become an aesthetically colonializing force. Like Noble, Wasson had been invited to become what Simon Schama refers to as a painter in prose14 by joining an iceberg-painting expedition to the coast of Labrador. In this case the artist in charge was William Bradford, a less successful member than Church of the Hudson River school. Bradford was quite likely motivated by the celebrity of Church’s painting even though the Civil War had, by this time, broken the nation’s Arctic fever.15 As its title suggests, Bradford’s Sealers Crushed by Icebergs (see Figure 2) would depict a hostile northern environment and owe as much to German painter Caspar David Friedrich’s bleak The Sea of Ice (Das Eismeer), also called The Wreck of Hope (1824), as it did to Church’s A History (New York: Hill and Wang, 2007), pp. 280-283. 13 On the Atlantic Monthly, see Gura, American Transcendentalism, pp. 267-268. 14 Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory (Toronto: Random House, 1995), p. 7. 15 Michael F. Robinson, The Coldest Crucible: Arctic Exploration and American Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), p. 63; John J. Wilmerding, “The Many Views of Frederic Edwin Church” in Treasures from Olana: Landscapes by Frederic Edwin Church (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2005), p. 16. Noble’s After Icebergs was on board Bradford’s ship in 1864. Bradford visited the coast of Labrador every year but one between 1861 and 1867. He extended his range to Greenland in 1869, subsequently publishing The Arctic Regions, Illustrated With Photographs Taken on an Art Expedition to Greenland (republished in 2013 by David R. Godine, Boston, in association with the New Bedford Whaling Museum). See Richard C. Kugler, William Bradford: Sailing Ships and Arctic Seas (New Bedford and Seattle: New Bedford Whaling Museum in association with University of Washington Press, 2003), pp. 14, 16, 21-28; Constance Martin, “Bradford, William,” Dictionary of Canadian Biography Online; and Potter, Arctic Spectacles, chap. 10. Figure 1: The Icebergs by Frederic Edwin Church (1861). Oil on canvas, 64.5 x 112.5 inches. Source: Dallas Museum of Art, gift of Norma and Lamar Hunt, acc. 1979.28 247Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature luminescent The Icebergs, with its broken cruciform mast in the foreground as the only reminder of life’s fragility in the North.16 Like Church and Noble, Bradford and Wasson would both focus on the colours imbedded in the icebergs, but the pessimistic view of Nature that emerged from Bradford’s “great picture” and Wasson’s articles would reflect, as well, the experience and knowledge they gained about the dangers posed by shifting ice floes, not to mention the growing awareness during this Civil War era of the Darwinian struggle for existence in a hostile environment. That pessimistic perspective would also inform Wasson’s depictions of the Inuit, whom he described as representing an evolutionary dead end and as therefore lacking the innate capacity for spiritual enlightenment that Transcendentalists believed was a basic characteristic of humanity. Referred to by the famous Harvard psychologist and philosopher William James as “one of the great instructors of mankind,” David Atwood Wasson wrote chiefly about socio-political and religio-philosophic matters, and “Icebergs and Esquimaux” is his only published travel narrative.17 As a Transcendentalist, 16 Bradford worked on his Sealers Crushed by Icebergs from 1864 to 1866. It established his career by selling for $12,000 several months after it was first exhibited to the fee-paying public in Boston and New York, and after 300 chromolithographs were sold at $50 each. It failed, however, to achieve the fame of Church’s Great Picture. See Linda Shanahan, “William Bradford’s Sealers Crushed by Icebergs and the Green Bay Spring,” Newfoundland Quarterly, vol. 107, no. 2 (Fall 2014), pp. 25-27. The chromolithograph of Church’s The Icebergs is reproduced in Carr, In Search of the Promised Land, p. 159. Bradford’s Sealers Crushed by Icebergs is reproduced in Kugler, William Bradford, p. 121. 17 Quoted in Gura, American Transcendentalism, p. 283. In addition, Wasson was a literary critic and a minor poet. See the introduction to Foster, ed., Beyond Concord. Mott refers to Wasson as “one of the ablest essayists” of the 1860s, but Austin claims that he was “a minor writer” for the Atlantic Monthly, “except in quantity.” See Frank Luther Mott, A History of American Magazines, vol. 3: 1865-1885 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1938), p. 302; James C. Austin, Fields of the Atlantic Monthly: Letters to Figure 2: Sealers Crushed by Icebergs by William Bradford (1866). Oil on canvas, 72.5 x 120.5 inches. Source: Courtesy of New Bedford Whaling Museum, acc. 1972.33 248 Histoire sociale / Social History Wasson was one of an influential group of intellectuals who had moved beyond Unitarianism’s rejection of New England’s original Calvinism to embrace a new religious expression derived from Germany’s philosophical idealism.18 The two pioneer figures, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, taught that because God was “immanent and active” within the human soul, mankind had the potential to transcend the material condition and attain a reality higher than the physical. Furthermore, a close connection with Nature offered a heightened opportunity to tap into one’s inner divinity.19 The fact remains, however, that neither Emerson nor Thoreau had the remote wilderness in mind,20 and there is little in Wasson’s travel narrative that evokes a more mystical connection to Nature than one would find in the increasingly domesticated sublime convention of his era, including the romantic descriptions by Church’s religiously conservative travelling companion, Louis Noble.21 Wasson, in fact, held a more traditional view of Nature than did the first generation of Transcendentalists. He ridiculed the assumption that Nature was benevolent, arguing instead that it was either cruel or indifferent because it dictated that any species unable to survive would be inexorably swept from the earth. As for the idea that “natural man” was inherently good, Wasson argued instead that man was only potentially divine, though, as we shall see, he would not go even that far in describing the Inuit he met on the coast of Labrador.22 To Wasson the far North was Nature at its most elemental, wilderness in the true sense of the term, and the Labrador coast represented “that period in Nature when her powers were all Titanic, untamed,—playing their wild game, with hills for toss-coppers and seas for soap-bubbles.”23 This was a sharp contrast, he added, to the “The Wild” Thoreau claimed to have discovered at Walden Pond. In his journal entry of August 30, 1856, Thoreau had written: “It is in vain to dream of a wildness distant from ourselves. There is none such. It is the bog in our brains and bowels, the primitive vigor of Nature in us, that inspires that dream. I shall never find in the wilds of Labrador any greater wildness than in some recess of an Editor, 1861-1870 (San Marino, CA: The Huntington Library, 1953), pp. 251, 258. For a bibliography of Wasson’s publications, see Foster, Beyond Concord, pp. 314-329. 18 Perry Miller, ed., The American Transcendentalists: Their Prose and Poetry (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1957), p. ix. 19 On what he refers to as the “correspondence” between the natural and the spiritual in Thoreau’s writing, see Lawrence Buell, The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), pp. 128-129, 263-264. 20 Emerson claimed that one’s sacred connection to Nature could take place anywhere, including a village green, and Thoreau’s experience of the “savage and dreary” wilderness of northern Maine in the late 1840s led him to prefer a middle ground. See Gatta, Making Nature Sacred, pp. 92-93; Nash, Wilderness, pp. 85-86, 90-95; Leo Marx, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1964, reprint 1972), p. 246. 21 According to Potter (Arctic Spectacles, p. 184), Noble was “one of the first to trace in ice the apocalyptic overtones of these icy masses of shattered creation.” In Noble’s own less dramatic words, however, icebergs were “crystalline vessels” that “like all the larger structures of nature... are freighted with God’s power and glory, and must be reverently and thoughtfully studied, to ‘see into the life of them’” (After Icebergs, p. 110). 22 Robert Spence, “D. A. Wasson, Forgotten Transcendentalist,” American Literature, vol. 27, no. 1 (March 1955), pp. 33-34. 23 D. A. Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux,” The Atlantic Monthly, vol. 15, issue 91 (May 1865), p. 566. 249Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature Concord, i.e. than I import into it.”24 Wasson was not convinced. “Talk of finding it in a ten-acre swamp!” he scoffed. “Why, man, you are just from a cornfield, the echoes of your sister’s piano are still in your ears, and you called at a post-office for a letter as you came! Verdure and mild heaven are above; clunking frogs and plants that keep company with man are beneath. But in the North Nature herself is wild.” Wasson added that the desert and the sea were untameable, but the North was still more so because “Commerce is but a surf on its shores.” Its wildness, therefore, “goes to the very heart of things, immeasurable, immitigable, infinite; deaf and blind to all but itself and its own, it prevails, it is, and it is all.”25 In short, where Thoreau studied morning frosts and frozen ponds seeking analogues in ice crystals to “reticulated leaves, feathered wings, [and] the harmonies of the universe,”26 Wasson would look at ice on a much larger scale, and not only ice but the inhabitants of the northern coastline as well. Wasson’s romantic descriptions of the icebergs were as much an exercise in aesthetic colonialism as were the paintings of Church and Bradford, but the writer’s racialist descriptions of the indigenous northern inhabitants were a more concrete expression of the colonializing gaze. Furthermore, this gaze was shared at the time by students of anthropology who viewed Labrador as “a kind of Pompeii of the New World” with its indigenous inhabitants living—in the words of a later American explorer—“in a state far more primitive than in any other part of the continent of North America.”27 To help fund his expedition, which he claimed cost him $4,000, Bradford invited paying passengers to join him.28 The charge was $250, at least in one case,29 so it is not surprising that the twelve who signed up were a rather genteel group, entirely male in composition, and nearly all from Massachusetts. No doubt they would have considered themselves to be travellers rather than ordinary tourists, for according to Wasson they included a lawyer, a judge, a retired navy surgeon, an Episcopal clergyman, a teacher of geology and natural history, an ornithologist, a retired army lieutenant who had been a Greenland voyager, a “Greek and Latin scholar who was rich as Croesus,” and a photographer who was in Bradford’s employ.30 This unnamed photographer was William H. Pierce, who produced many images of arctic ice as well as what may be the earliest surviving photographs of Labrador (see Figure 3).31 Reflecting the fact that scientists were 24 Quoted in Schama, Landscape and Memory, p. vii. 25 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux,” The Atlantic Monthly, vol. 14, issue 86 (December 1864), p. 728. 26 See Eric G. Wilson, The Spiritual History of Ice: Romanticism, Science, and the Imagination (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), p. 5. 27 Henry G. Bryant, A Journey to the Grand Falls of Labrador (Philadelphia: Geographical Club, 1892), p. 42, quoted in O’Flaherty, The Rock Observed, p. 103. 28 Bradford also stated that he needed to acquire skeletons—whether of humans or animals is not clear – to offset his costs. Centre for Newfoundland Studies, Memorial University Libraries, FF1041 W55 2003, Rare, Journal of Algernon Willis, July 1[sic – the journal begins on June 2] to September 5, 1864: A Voyage to Labrador, as transcribed by his great-grandaughter, Penelope Pendleton Beye [hereafter, Journal of Algernon Willis], August 16, 1864; Potter, Arctic Spectacles, p. 191. 29 Journal of Algernon Willis, June 3, 1864. 30 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (December 1864), pp. 730-731; Kugler, William Bradford, p. 15. 31 Kugler, William Bradford, p. 15; William Bradford, Photographs of Arctic Ice, photograph album held by the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division. 250 Histoire sociale / Social History then considered indispensable to Arctic exploratory expeditions, the only member of the group named by Wasson was the young geologist Alpheus Spring Packard, whose The Labrador Coast would describe the same cruise during what was reportedly the coldest summer in 40 years.32 The professional activities of Pierce and Packard aside, the main diversion of the passengers, once on land, was fishing, hunting, and gathering wild birds’ eggs. The names of these other passengers are known only due to the relatively recent discovery of an unpublished journal written by a 30-year-old fellow passenger named Algernon Willis, who spent more time assisting Pierce with his photographs than he did fishing or hunting.33 Willis is not on Wasson’s list, probably because his 32 Robinson, The Coldest Crucible, pp. 4-6. Packard had first visited Labrador as a Bowdoin College student who joined the Williams College expedition organized by Professor P.A. Chadbourne in the summer of 1860. See Alpheus Spring Packard, The Labrador Coast: A Journal of Two Summer Cruises to the Region (New York: N. D. C. Hodges, 1891), chap. 4 and 5. According to Arthur Silver, Farm-Cottage, Camp and Canoe in Maritime Canada (London: George Routledge & Sons; Toronto: The Musson Book Co., 1908), “parties of eager students” from Yale and Harvard were still chartering fishing schooners during the early twentieth century to cruise along the Labrador coast “combining in agreeable proportions the pursuit of science, sport, and travel” (p. 186). 33 Willis recorded in his journal that he turned 31 on July 28. His first page identifies Benjamin P. Mann as the son of Horace Mann, the prominent politician and education reformer, and Copley Amory as nephew of the famous painter, John Singleton Copley. Figure 3: Labrador Fishing Station, albumen print by William H. Pierce (1864). In album Photographs of Arctic Ice. Source: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, LC-USZ62-10281. 251Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature profession of travelling shoe salesman was not considered sufficiently prestigious to mention in the Atlantic Monthly articles, but his daily journal entries provide a more intimate account than does Wasson of life aboard the cramped vessel during the seemingly endless days that it was boxed in by sea ice or stranded by lack of wind. Not mentioned in Wasson’s articles, for example, are the scandalous behaviour of the Episcopal clergyman while on his frequent drunken sprees, the unappetizing meals served by the highly unhygienic “great greasy Scotchman” who had been employed as cook, or the increasingly vociferous demands of a number of passengers to return home before Bradford had the opportunity to fulfil the purpose of his expedition.34 The first Labrador landfall of the chartered 136-foot schooner Benjamin S. Wright was on June 14 at Sleupe Harbour. Willis’s only comment was “There are deep snow banks lying among the rocks within stones [sic] throw of our vessel,”35 but Wasson described the scene as “bleak, bare, and hard,” with “not a tree, not a shrub, not a grass-blade” to be seen.36 He added that the sloping shoreline of “gray, unbroken rock” dipping under the sea “like a shore of sand” was more “completely ‘master of the situation’” than even “the mightiest cliff,” “[g]rand, enduring, and awful” as it might be. The scars on a cliff’s face and the fragments at its feet provided evidence “of what it endures,” but “this scarless grey rock, thrusting its hand in a matter-of-course way under the sea, and seeming to hold it as in a cup, suggested a quality so comfortably immitigable that one’s eyes grew cold in looking at it.”37 Resorting repeatedly to the word “grey” to describe the sky, the sea, the surrounding islands, and the remaining snow, Wasson wrote that one felt “as if all the ruddy and verdurous juices had died in the veins of the world, ... that Existence was dead, and that we stood looking on its corpse, which even in death could never decay.”38 If this description challenged Thoreau’s sense of the material world as sacred, Wasson’s next instalment went still further by echoing Melville’s critique of idyllic naturalism in his novel Moby Dick (1851).39 Described in gory detail, as recounted to Wasson by the ship’s captain, is the vicious and cruel attack on a huge right-whale by a large pod of “killer” cetaceans—presumably orcas—“hungry as famine, fierce as plague, dainty as a Roman epicure, yet omnivorous as time.” The “epicure” reference refers to the attackers’ focus on their victim’s giant tongue, which Wasson was told weighed a ton and a half: They fly with inconceivable fury at their victim, aiming chiefly at the lip, tearing great mouthfuls away, which they instantly reject while darting for another. The bleeding and bellowing monster goes down like a boulder from a cliff, shoots up 34 The quote is from Journal of Algernon Willis, June 23, 1864. 35 Journal of Algernon Willis, June 12, 1864. 36 Settlements had begun to be established along the southern Labrador coastline in the latter half of the eighteenth century. See Sean T. Cadigan, Newfoundland and Labrador: A History (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009), pp. 66-67, 99, 135-136. 37 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (December 1864), p. 733. 38 Ibid., p. 734. 39 See Gatta, Making Nature Sacred, pp. 73, 116-125. 252 Histoire sociale / Social History like a shell from a mortar, beats the sea about him all into crimson spray with his tail; but plunge, leap, foam as he may, the finny pirates flesh their teeth in him still, still are fresh in pursuit, until at length, to end one torment by submitting to another, the helpless giant opens his mouth, and permits these sea-devils to devour the quivering morsel they covet.40 A similar Darwinian perspective is reflected in Sir Edwin Landseer’s popular painting, Man Proposes, God Disposes, first exhibited the same year as the Bradford expedition, for it alluded to the tragic fate of the Franklin expedition by focusing on two polar bears chewing on the ribs of dead men in an arctic shipwreck.41 Bradford’s Sealers Crushed by Icebergs also depicts a hostile Nature, as already noted, but, like Church, he is said to have captured on canvas “a sensitive perception of the unique light, strange forms, and surprising colours of the Arctic regions.”42 This oscillation between the dark and tragic sublime and the colourful picturesque can also be found in Wasson’s writing, for, in contrast to his description of the bleak shoreline, he described the moon’s reflection on the water as being of “intensest gold verging upon orange, edged with an exquisite, delicate tint of scarlet.” He also alluded to the “brilliant” phosphorescence below the water’s surface, as well as the colours of the “blushing” dawn.43 As the ship came upon a massive ice field in the sunshine, Wasson wrote, the effect was “unlike anything known in more southern climates,” for the day “warmed like summer and braced like winter.” Rather than the flat cakes that he had expected, there were simulated “cliffs, basaltic columns, frozen down, arabesques, fretted traceries, sculptured urns, arches supporting broad tables or sloping roofs, lifted pinnacles, boulders, honey-combs, slanting strata of rock, gigantic birds, mastodons, maned lions, couching or rampant—a fantasy of forms, and, between all, the shining, shining sea.” While these imaginative associations may have evoked the sublime insofar as they inspired a sense of awe,44 the colours suggest the picturesque, for they include “glistening white flecked with stars,” “aërial purple,” and “emerald intensity of green.”45 Impressive as the 20 miles of shore ice was, Wasson claimed that it was dwarfed by the almost unbroken floe-ice which, during that unusually cold 40 Wasson further describes the killer cetacean as “a blue-fish on a big scale,” “about fifteen feet in length,” with a blunt nose and a large fin “some five feet long on the back, and eight or ten feet in length,” “sloping away to a point, like the jib of ship” (“Ice and Esquimaux” [January 1865], p. 44). See also Packard, The Labrador Coast, p. 113. 41 Diana Donald, “The Arctic Fantasies of Edwin Landseer and Briton Riviere: Polar Bears, Wilderness and Notions of the Sublime” in Nigel Llewellyn and Christine Riding, eds., The Art of the Sublime, January 2013, https://www.tate.org.uk/art/research-publications/the-sublime/diana-donald-the-arctic-fantasies-of- edwin-landseer-and-briton-riviere-polar-bears-r1136829 (retrieved July 2, 2014). 42 Martin, “Bradford, William.” 43 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux,” The Atlantic Monthly, vol. 15, issue 87 (January 1865), pp. 40-41. 44 I. S. MacLaren notes that “landscape enthusiasts” indulged in associationism because their sensitivity was demonstrated by the ability “to derive a plethora of sensations – emotional and intellectual – from the contemplation of a scene.” See MacLaren’s “The Aesthetic Map of the North, 1845-1859,” Arctic, vol. 38, no. 2 (June 1985), p. 93. 45 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (January 1865), pp. 41-42. Willis, similarly, mentioned the “brilliant” colours and the many “shapes and forms resembling man’s heads, animals, birds, vases, urns and everything” (Journal of Algernon Willis, June 20, 1864). 253Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature summer, was calculated to be more than a thousand miles in length and about a hundred miles in breadth.46 This much-anticipated floe having finally been reached on the twenty-first day of the voyage, Wasson rhapsodized about the intensity of the blue, claiming, “This incomparable hue appears wherever deep shadow is interposed between the eye and any intense, shining white.” Beyond the “cerulean and sapphire glory” shining from the two caves excavated by the sea were “the deep blue waters of York Bay,” and further still “rose the purple gneiss hills” of the headland, “flecked with party [sic]-colored moss.” Rowing the next day to the mouth of one of the ice-caverns, Wasson and Bradford found that the blue grew “deeper, intenser, more luminous, more awful in beauty, the farther inward, till in the depths it became not only a shrine to worship at, but a presence to bow and be silent before!” There is no hint, here, of a cold indifferent Nature; instead, it is one of the rare moments when Wasson steers toward the transcendent, adding, “It is said that angels sing and move in joy before the Eternal; but there I learned that silence is their only voice, and stillness their ecstatic motion!”47 The main goal of the 500-mile Labrador cruise, however, was to view icebergs, which the ship first approached on June 30. Needless to say, Wasson spared no adjective in describing the “noble berg,” including colours such as “infinitely delicate luminous green” and a blue “looking like lapis-lazuli.” His focus was principally on texture and shape, however, referring to a surface like “the finest statuary marble,” as well as like porcelain that would be “the despair of China.” The “sculpturesque and architectural design” with “an intensely polished surface” was “surmounted by an elaborate level cornice, and above this the marble lace again.”48 In short, this was not Thoreau’s mystical Nature, but Nature civilized as a classical Greek or Roman ruin.49 Furthermore, the constant references to colour once again conform more closely to the picturesque than to the sublime. Paradoxically, the description of the same iceberg by the more prosaic Algernon Willis strikes a stronger religious chord: “I never gazed upon anything in nature with such wonder and admiration. I was awe struck. Its immense towering bulk glistening in a purity I never conceived of in this bright light, certainly inspired my religious nature more than I can tell.”50 Boxed into a small harbour by floe-ice during the following two weeks (see Figure 4), the passengers aboard the Benjamin Wright met a crew of fishermen who told stories about the summer of 1862 when more than 30 sealing vessels had to be abandoned in the pack ice of Green Bay. Further inspiring Bradford’s “great picture,” with its image of flames and thick black smoke rising skyward from an icebound vessel, many of these ships had been set ablaze to prevent them from 46 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (January 1865), p. 42. 47 Ibid., p. 45. 48 Ibid., p. 46. 49 The same classical reference is evoked by the broken twin pillars of the theosophist Lawren Harris’s Icebergs, Davis Strait (1930). According to the poet and critic Eli Mandel, these pillars “form a gigantic gateway to an undreamed of place,” and “an arch that could, completed, once and for all unify all shattered things, restore peace to a shattered world.” See Eli Mandel, “The Inward, Northward Journey of Lawren Harris,” artscanada (October/November 1978), pp. 22, 24. 50 Journal of Algernon Willis, July 1, 1864. 254 Histoire sociale / Social History drifting into the navigation lanes or being salvaged by others (thereby cancelling the insurance claims) once the ice had relaxed its grip.51 In the meantime, the restless and bored American tourists were entertained by the July 4 celebration, with its 48-gun salute, oration by one of the passengers, sermon by Wasson, and banquet with champagne, blackberry wine, and whiskey punch. In addition, the firing of rockets and roman candles, as well as the burning of Bengal lights on the ice cakes, moved Willis to observe that “the effect was wonderful reminding one of fairy scenes.”52 Wasson, on the other hand, focussed on the ice floes, writing, “Yard-wide spaces of emerald, amethyst, sapphire, yellow-green beryl, and rose- tinted crystal, grew as familiar to the eye as paving-blocks to the dwellers in cities.”53 51 Packard briefly recounted the story in his journal, and it also appeared in the broadside accompanying Bradford’s painting during its exhibition in 1866. Both accounts mistakenly date the event to 1863 rather than 1862. Nor do they mention the burning of ships, but there were detailed descriptions in the Newfoundland press at that time. Packard states that 20 to 30 ships were lost, but the press set the number at approximately 38, with 24 set on fire. See Shanahan, “William Bradford’s Sealers,” pp. 22-23, 25. 52 Journal of Algernon Willis, July 4, 1864. 53 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (January 1865), p. 47. Figure 4: The Schooner Trapped Two Weeks in Ice, Square Island Harbor, albumen print by William H. Pierce (1864). In album Photographs of Arctic Ice. Source: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, LC- USZ62-4441. 255Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature When the second iceberg of the voyage came into view, Wasson’s gaze shifted back to what he referred to as the “Northern architectural,” describing it as “two immense Gothic churches, ... each with a tower in front.”54 Despite warnings about the dangers of disintegrating or over-turning icebergs, Wasson was determined to have a closer look from his small skiff. Urged by the Episcopal clergyman, who had joined him at the last minute, and braving a heavy swell, Wasson even pushed into a small opening in the ice, “gazing upward and upward at the towering awfulness and magnificence of edifice, myself frozen in admiration.”55 This description is one of only two in Wasson’s travel journal that might be said to sacralise the Labrador landscape, or rather ice-scape, but the experience of being frozen in admiration apparently did not lead to any deeper transcendental sensation.56 In fact, Louis Noble’s lengthy After Icebergs had effectively exhausted the descriptive vocabulary of the sublime with images such as domed mosque, Parthenon of the sea, gothic cathedral, huge man of war, marble mausoleum, and moving Alps of ice.57 Religious conformist though he was, Noble’s response to the icebergs was actually a more spiritual one than that of Wasson, though spiritual in the conventional Christian sense of viewing the natural world not as inherently sacred but as evidence of design by a beneficent creator.58 If ice represented elemental Nature, as far as Wasson was concerned, so too did the indigenous inhabitants of the Labrador coast. Indeed, he argued that they were “original and pre-Adamite man,” adding that he meant it “not as a piece of rhetorical smartness, but in gravest characterization.”59 The idea that human beings had inhabited the earth prior to Adam was not a new one, for it had originated with tenth-century Islam and begun to appear in Christianity in the fourteenth century.60 The “heresy” was strengthened by the “discovery” of new cultures in America, compelling Pope Julius II to decree in 1512 that American Indians were descended from Adam.61 Attempts were made in subsequent centuries to reconcile pre-adamism with Christianity, but by the 1840s American ethnologists were rejecting the monogenetic theory that racial difference was the result of adaptation to different environments.62 Wasson claimed that to him it was an open question as 54 Ibid., p. 48. In a contemporary vein, Barry Lopez describes the icebergs he encountered as “monolithic; their walls, towering and abrupt, suggested Potala Palace at Lhasa in Tibet, a mountainous architecture of ascetic contemplation.” He also argues that travellers compared icebergs to cathedrals because they both represent a passion for light (Arctic Dreams, pp. 184, 222). 55 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (January 1865), pp. 48-49; Journal of Algernon Willis, July 15, 1864. 56 On sacralisation of the landscape, see Gatta, Making Nature Sacred, pp. 6, 10. 57 Noble, After Icebergs, pp. 28, 57, 85, 86, 113, 171. 58 See, for example, Noble, After Icebergs, pp. 110, 113, 127, and 177. See also William Closson James, Locations of the Sacred: Essays on Religion, Literature, and Canadian Culture (Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1998), pp. 61-62. 59 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux,” vol. 15, issue 90 (April 1865), p. 438. 60 Michael Barkun, Religion and the Racist Right: The Origins of the Christian Identity Movement (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1994), p. 152. 61 David N. Livingstone, Adam’s Ancestors: Race, Religion, and the Politics of Human Origins (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2008), pp. 16-24. 62 Ibid., pp. 173-175; Reginald Horsman, “Scientific Racism and the American Indian in the Mid-Nineteenth Century,” American Quarterly, vol. 27, no. 2 (May 1975), pp. 152-168; Robert E. Bieder, Science Encounters the Indian, 1820-1880: The Early Years of American Ethnology (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1986), pp. 99-100. According to Michael Banton, it was only at the end of the 256 Histoire sociale / Social History to whether the Inuit had become “children of the icy North” by slow modification or—as the famous biologist and geologist Louis Agassiz claimed—they had originated “just as they are.”63 He was certain, nonetheless, that they had stopped evolving “at the point where human history begins.” In short, “They belong not to spiritual or human, but to outward and physical Nature.”64 Rather ironically—given Wasson’s militant abolitionism65—the polygenesis theory was used to defend slavery. In fact, one of the leading members of the American School of Ethnology, Samuel George Morton, had promoted polygenesis by postulating a racial hierarchy based on cranial measurements with Caucasians at the top, Native Americans in the middle, and Africans at the bottom.66 As for the Inuit, whom Morton saw as a separate race from the other North American Natives, his Crania Americana (1839) pronounced that they were “crafty, sensual, ungrateful, obstinate and unfeeling, and much of their affection for their children can be traced to purely selfish motives.... Their mental facilities from infancy to old age, present a continued childhood.... In gluttony, selfishness and ingratitude, they are perhaps unequalled by any other nation of people.”67 In addition, explorer Dr. John Rae’s 1853 report that the Inuit had informed him of the doomed Franklin expedition’s cannibalism had led to a strong backlash against the people who had been “England’s favourite natives.” Charles Dickens had led the attack against what he referred to as “the gross handful of uncivilised people,” arguing that their story was a malevolent projection onto the explorers of habits natural to themselves.68 Having no sense of nationalist identification with the controversy over Franklin’s fate, Wasson was free to profess a degree of admiration for the “Esquimaux,” eighteenth century that some writers began to use “race” as denoting “a class of creatures with common characteristics, making it synonymous with either species or subspecies in modern classifications.” See Banton, “Historical and Contemporary Modes or Racialization” in Karim Murji and John Solomos, eds., Racialization: Studies in Theory and Practice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), p. 53. 63 After Agassiz emigrated to the United States in 1846, he provided race theory with the aura of scientific authority. See Horsman, “Scientific Racism,” p. 159; Bieder, Science Encounters, pp. 91-92, 216. Franz Boas, who in 1883 and 1884 became the first scholar to engage in prolonged fieldwork with the Inuit, would reject the theory of cultural evolution, becoming associated instead with the school of thought known as historical particularism. John L. Steckley, White Lies About the Inuit (Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press, 2008), pp. 32-34. 64 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (April 1865), p. 448. 65 Wasson associated closely with the supporters of John Brown. See Foster, Beyond Concord, pp. 14-15; Gura, American Transcendentalism, pp. 258-263. Wasson’s letter to William Lloyd Garrison in 1860 is summarized in Peden, An Intellectual Biography, pp. 54-55. 66 Livingston, Adam’s Ancestors, pp. 173-175, 179-180; Barkun, Religion, pp. 152-153; Horsman, “Scientific Racism,” pp. 155-158; Bieder, Science Encounters, pp. 89-91. Horsman (p. 160) states that although “it has been contended in the case of the Negro that the arguments of the American School of ethnologists were rejected in both North and South, concerning Indians they achieved considerable acceptability.” As pre- adamism disappeared from scientific discourse, it became associated with attempts to reconcile theology with science, and, increasingly, with anti-Semitism and other forms of racial bigotry. See Livingston, Adam’s Ancestors, chap. 7 and 8; Barkun, Religion, pp. 154-172 and chap. 9. 67 Quoted in Livingston, Adam’s Ancestors, pp. 177-178. On the place of the Inuit in the classification of human skulls, see also Francis Spufford, I May Be Some Time: Ice and the English Imagination (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997), pp. 225-226. The 1842 edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica claimed that the domestic economy of the Greenland Inuit was “uniformly filthy, and disgusting in the extreme.” Quoted in Spufford, I May Be Some Time, p. 200. 68 Spufford, I May Be Some Time, pp. 123-126, 196-198. 257Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature whom he described as primeval man. Cut off from civilization as well as from “the chief bounties of Nature,” Wasson wrote, “He has done all for himself: he has developed his own arts, adjusted himself by his own wit to the Nature which surrounds him. Heir to no Rome, Greece, Persia, India, he stands there in the sole strength of his native resources, rich only in the traditionary accomplishments of his own race.”69 There is a strong echo, here, of the Noble Savage myth embraced by Thoreau, who was fascinated by Native Americans.70 Furthermore, Transcendentalists professed that all persons share in a common nature, that grace is the birthright of all.71 Wasson, however, dehumanized the Inuit. “Inseparable from the extreme North, the sea-shore and the seal,” the “Esquimaux,” according to Wasson’s rather shocking description, was himself “a seal come to feet and hands, and preying upon his more primitive kindred. The cetacean of the land, he is localized, like animals,—not universal, like civilized man. He is no inhabitant of the globe as a whole, but is contained within special poles.”72 The chief distinction between pre-adamite and adamite man, Wasson argued, was that the former simply responded to “outward Nature, to physical necessities,” but the latter had begun—presumably with Adam or his near descendants—“to create necessities and supplies out of his own spirit,—to build architectures on foundations and out of materials that exist only in virtue of his own spiritual activity,—to live by bread which grows, not out of the soil, but out of the soul.” Echoing the Victorian fascination with what was assumed to be the early beginnings of the human species (and the Inuit were the people most studied to this end),73 Wasson claimed that a journey to the North was not only a journey across space, but also “over ages, epochs, unknown periods of time, ... into the obscure existence that antedates history.” Once one had arrived there, “Palestine and Greece, Moses and Homer” were “but a wild dream! Expel the impossible fancy from your mind! Go, spear a seal, and be a reasonable being!”74 To Wasson, then, the Inuit effectively represented a dead end as far as evolution was concerned. The Inuit Wasson encountered were living at the German-speaking Moravian mission at Hopedale, where Bradford’s Labrador expedition ended.75 Wasson 69 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (April 1865), p. 437. 70 Robert F. Sayre states that Thoreau studied “‘the Indian’ as the ideal solitary figure that was the white Americans’ symbol of the wilderness and history.” See Sayre, Thoreau and the American Indian (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1977), p. x. 71 Peden, An Intellectual Biography, pp. 71-73, 327; Gura, American Transcendentalism, p. 18. 72 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (April 1865), p. 438. On the use of animal metaphors to describe the Tlingits of Alaska, see Robert Campbell, In Darkest Alaska: Travel and Empire Along the Inside Passage (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007), pp. 147-148. See also the dehumanizing descriptions of the Montagnais by American travel writer Charles H. Farnham, as discussed in J. I. Little, “Travels in a Cold and Rugged Land: C. H. Farnham’s Quebec Essays in Harper’s Magazine, 1883-89,” Journal of Canadian Studies, vol. 47, no. 2 (Spring 2013), pp. 232-234. 73 Spufford, I May Be Some Time, pp. 210-235. 74 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (April 1865), p. 438. 75 The original aim had been to sail as far as the opening of Hudson’s Strait, but “ice and storm” delayed progress by a month. Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux,” vol. 15, issue 90 (April 1865), p. 439. The Moravians had established their first Labrador mission at Nain in 1771. Hopedale followed in 1782. See Cadigan, Newfoundland and Labrador, pp. 67-69, 100; Hopedale Mission National Historic Site of Canada, Canada’s Historic Places website, www.historicplaces.ca/en/rep-reg/place-lieu.aspx?id=11597 (accessed http://www.historicplaces.ca/en/rep-reg/place-lieu.aspx?id=11597 258 Histoire sociale / Social History conceded that these Inuit were outwardly beginning to borrow from civilization, but, being “unable radically to change,” they were growing “inwardly poorer and weaker” due to those influences. Because civilization was forcing upon the Inuit “a rivalry to which he is unequal,” Wasson concluded, “it wrests the seal from his grasp, thins it out of his waters; and he and his correlative die away together.”76 There was no need for Wasson to have read Origin of Species, which had been published in 1859, in order to express this view, for it had become commonplace in the United States by the 1840s.77 Describing the scene in rather nightmarish terms, Wasson wrote that the Inuit’s “squat and squalid huts ... with their grovelling toward the earth ..., seemed rather dens than houses.” The surrounding ground was “all trodden into mud,” and nearby “a dead dog lies rotting; children lounge listlessly, and babies toddle through the slutch about it. Here and there a full- grown Esquimaux, in greasy and uncouth garb, loiters, doing nothing, looking nothing.”78 (In Pierce’s staged photographs, on the other hand, the women and children are well dressed and the physical surroundings are quite tidy—see, for example, Figures 5 and 6). Some of the girls, Wasson admitted, “are really pretty,” but “always in a lumpish, domestic-animal style.” Their hands and feet were “singularly small,” and their fingers “nicely-tapered,” but “[t]ake hold of the hand, and you are struck with its cetacean feel. It is not flabby, but has a peculiar blubber-like, elastic compressibility, and seems not quite of human warmth.”79 Only in relation to the kayak did Wasson describe the Inuit as evolved in any way, for this ingenious vessel was “a seal-skin Oxford or Cambridge, wherein he takes his degree as master of the primeval arts. Here he acquires not only physical June 19, 2014). 76 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (April 1865), p. 439. 77 Horsman, “Scientific Racism,” pp. 153-154. 78 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (April 1865), p. 441-442. 79 Ibid., p. 443. Figure 5: Esquimaux at the Moravian Mission, Hopedale, Labrador. Albumen print by William H. Pierce (1864). In album Photographs of Labrador. Source: Courtesy and © of Komatik Press 259Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature strength and quickness, but self-possession also, mental agility, the instant use of his wits,—here becomes, in fine, a cultivated man.”80 Wasson also claimed admiringly that there was probably “no race of men on earth whose ordinary avocations present so constantly the alternative of rarest skill on the one hand, or instant destruction on the other.” That skill simply reflected the Inuit’s close link to Nature, however, for kayak and rower appeared as “one creature,” its “motion graceful as a flying bird.”81 Far from criticizing the Inuit sense of morality, Wasson was impressed by their honesty. While Noble claimed that the Anglican Inuit of Fox Harbour “compare well with Christians anywhere,”82 however, Wasson concluded that the religion of the Hopedale convert was essentially “a matter of personal relation between him and the missionaries. He goes to church as a dog follows his master,—expecting a bone and hoping for a pat in return.” Wasson also wrote that pre-adamite man could not be truly religious because “religion implies ideas, in the blood at least, if not in the brain, as imagination, if not as thought; and ideas are to him wanting, are impossible.” Furthermore, because of their docility, there was no chance that the Inuit would evolve: 80 Ibid., p. 445. Dr. John Rae was the first British explorer to advocate the adoption of Inuit technology, and – in 1865 – to describe their inventions as products of “scientific skill,” but in that respect he was considerably ahead of his time (Spufford, I May Be Some Time, p. 195). 81 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (April 1865), pp. 445-446. Spufford suggests that the northern counterpart of Edward Said’s Orientalism might be titled Borealism, “and it would have much to say about animal imagery” (I May Be Some Time, p. 229). 82 Noble, After Icebergs, p. 194. Bradford, similarly, praised the results of the Christian missionaries among the Inuit of Greenland in The Arctic Regions, pp. 149-150. Figure 6: Skin Tent, Kayak and Sod-Roof Houses at Hopedale. Albumen print by William H. Pierce (1864). In album Photographs of Labrador. Source: Courtesy and © of Komatik Press 260 Histoire sociale / Social History Had they been happy, had they been unhappy, I had hoped for them. They were neither; they were contented. A half-animal, African exuberance, token of a spirit obscure indeed, but rich and effervescent, would open for them a future. One sign of dim inward struggle and pain, as if the spirit resented his imprisonment, would do the same. Both were wanting. They ruminate; life is the cud they chew. In short, as pre-adamite man, the Inuit belonged “not to spiritual or human, but to outward and physical Nature,” and, because civilization affected them only by “mechanical modification” and not “by vital refreshment and renewal,” they had no future.83 For evidence, Wasson pointed to the large number of local Inuit deaths—24 out of approximately 200 inhabitants in March alone. The cause, he suggested, was in part “[t]he long winter of suffocation in their wooden dens, which lack the ventilation of the igloo that their untaught wit had devised.” More fundamentally, however, “the hands of the great horologe of time have hunted around the dial, till they have found the hour of doom for this primeval race.”84 David Wasson’s journalistic mission was aimed at attracting the attention of middle-class American readers who wished to turn their minds from their country’s war and bloodshed to a cultured appreciation of the natural world.85 He admitted that—unlike explorers such as Kane, Parry, and Franklin, who looked on “the very face” of the “Arctic Czar”—he and his fellow passengers wished only “to see the skirts of his robe, blown southward by summer-seeking winds.”86 Nor, despite Wasson’s being a self-confessed Transcendentalist, was his Labrador a sacred space, to use Mircea Eliade’s term, but rather one in which people struggled against Nature for basic survival.87 The same essential message was reflected in the single iceberg painting of his patron, William Bradford, despite its inspiration by the transcendental painting of Edwin Church. Although he was fascinated by the Inuit’s survival capabilities, Wasson argued that such a society was ultimately doomed. As a firm believer in the Manifest Destiny of the United States, he had claimed in one of his earliest essays that, in wresting the land from the Aboriginals who were merely “robbers in the domain of nature,” Americans had become “God’s curators for a mighty continent.” Indeed, they represented “a new man,—not merely a migrated European” but a Teutonic blend that had produced the “Anglo-American.”88 In making this statement, Wasson was clearly inspired by Emerson’s adamic myth, which envisioned the 83 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (April 1865), p. 447. 84 Ibid., p. 448. 85 On the growing popularity of the fictive travel movement in the later nineteenth century United States, see Kristin L. Hoganson, Consumers’ Imperium: The Global Production of American Domesticity, 1865-1920 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007), chap. 4. 86 Wasson, “Ice and Esquimaux” (December 1864), pp. 729-730. 87 On Eliade’s classic formulation of sacred space, see Gatta, Making Nature Sacred, pp. 129-130. 88 Quoted in Spence, “D. A. Wasson,” pp. 35-36. See also Peden, “An Intellectual Biography,” p. 84. These new Americans were able to grasp simple universal truths more effectively than were members of other cultures because they did not imprison themselves within symbols, creeds, and customs that limited free speech and free thought (Peden, An Intellectual Biography, p. 42). In Horsman’s words, “Manifest Destiny was not simply a question of land hunger or of ports on the Pacific; it involved a belief in the destiny of a superior Anglo-Saxon race” (“Scientific Racism,” p. 164). 261 virgin continent as the setting for the second beginning of history.89 From this perspective, it was logical to conclude that what predated the Pilgrim settlers in North America was pre-history and that, figuratively at least, the Aboriginals were pre-adamite peoples.90 A recent study claims that Wasson “cultivated a mystical sense of unity everywhere revealed in the universe that links him to the young Emerson,”91 but he clearly had a restrictive view concerning what it meant to be religious. In fact, Wasson argued, the closer one was tied to Nature the less one was capable of introspective contemplation and, therefore, of spirituality.92 Nor was Wasson’s assessment of the Inuit particularly unique or controversial.93 Elisha Kent Kane, for example, had expressed much the same attitude towards those who had saved the lives of himself and his crew, for he claimed that they were so close to humanity’s natural state that they could not be judged by the standards of adult behaviour.94 Even though Kane’s fellow American explorer, Charles Hall, argued that the Inuit were reliable informants, he failed to challenge the prevailing view that they “represented a last bastion of savagery as yet untouched by the forces of civilization.”95 Americans were not alone in this view, for it was echoed by Scottish geologist John Francis Campbell who encountered Labrador Inuit the same year that Wasson did. In Campbell’s pseudo-scientific view, “Lapps and Esquimaux who feed on fish, are some-what fish-like; and the last grow up within natural fat great coats like seals of the glacial period in which they live.”96 Wasson’s fellow passenger, the scientist A. S. Packard, was an exception in this respect, for he did not claim that the Inuit were incapable of adapting to the modern world. The education of those at Hopedale may not have been “so thorough-going as not to leave external traces at least of their savage antecedents,” Packard wrote, but he also posed the rhetorical question, “may this not be said of all of us?” After all, “only a few generations ago our ancestors were in a state of semi-barbarism, and the Anglo-Saxon race can date back to the Neolithic Celts and bronze-using Aryan barbarians.” The Inuit of the Labrador coast had, 89 See R. W. B. Lewis, The American Adam: Innocence, Tragedy and Tradition in the Nineteenth Century (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1955). In his biography of Frederic Church, David Huntington claims that the artist’s landscapes reflect this myth, with its assumption that in America “man” would recover his primal innocence and be reconciled with Nature and God (“Frederic Edwin Church,” pp. iii, 274-275). For Huntington’s analysis of Church’s The Icebergs, see pp. 323-325. 90 As Anne McClintock notes, this was a standard colonialist trope, for “colonized people ... do not inhabit history proper but exist in a permanently anterior time within the geographic space of the modern empire as anachronistic humans, atavistic, irrational, bereft of human agency.” See McClintock, Imperial Leather: Race, Gender and Sexuality in the Colonial Context (New York and London: Routledge, 1995), p. 30. Even Thoreau, who romanticized Native Americans, also believed that – as hunters incapable of becoming farmers – they were doomed to extinction (Sayre, Thoreau, pp. 21-27). 91 Gura, American Transcendentalism, p. 280. 92 Thoreau himself described his Walden Pond neighbour, a French-Canadian wood chopper, as “animal- man” rather than “spiritual man” (Wilson, The Spiritual History, pp. 64-65). 93 Peden refers to him as a “public intellectual” rather than an original thinker (An Intellectual Biography, p. 327). 94 Robinson, The Coldest Crucible, pp. 46-47. 95 Ibid., pp. 68-75. On Mark Twain’s derogatory story, “The Esquimau Maiden’s Romance,” published in 1870, see Helen L. Harris, “Mark Twain’s Response to the Native American,” American Literature, vol. 46, no. 4 (1975), pp. 500-501. 96 Campbell, A Short American Tramp, p. 104. Seeing Icebergs and Inuit as Elemental Nature 262 Histoire sociale / Social History in fact, made rapid progress, according to Packard, for they were “a well-bred, kindly, intelligent, scrupulously honest folk, whereas their ancestors before the establishment of the Moravian missionaries on this coast were treacherous, crafty, and murderous.”97 Furthermore, to a disinterested lay observer such as Algernon Willis, the Inuit were simply fellow humans, albeit culturally backward ones. Willis’s first impressions of the families at Hopedale were that they were “all very fat many quite good looking. All smell strong of fish and oil. All the houses very dirty. The Women are dressed many of them like men with seal skin pants with a waddling gait, some of them with long hair, carry their babies on their backs are lively, jolly and friendly.”98 Willis further observed, “The Esquimaux are honest in every respect, yet they are shrewd and know how to trade.” Bradford forbade the trading of rum, but Willis and the other passengers exchanged hard tack, tobacco, and old items of clothing for seal skins, fur-lined boots, bear skulls, leather bags, duck eggs, and carved objects such as miniature kayaks. They also acquired several dogs that frequently fought amongst themselves on the return journey.99 Willis’s unpublished journal shines a revealing light back on Wasson, who endured constant pain because of an old injury. For example, Willis recorded that one night, because Wasson alone was unable to sleep through the row, he became “determined we all should suffer with him and he would not allow any of us to sleep as he screamed and jumped out of his berth and rang the dinner bell as loud as he could.” The more cool-headed Willis could only conclude: “He seems to be nearly worn out and prostrated so that he shows a very irritable and unchristian disposition for a man in his position. I think this voyage will show to a disadvantage when he gives its story in the Atlantic Monthly.”100 As it turned out, Wasson’s articles did not mention the quarrelsome dogs, and he was more generous to his mostly unnamed fellow travellers than some of them might have expected or deserved. His was clearly a colonializing gaze, however, insofar as it domesticated the icebergs, focussing on their shapes and colours while ignoring the danger they represented to sailors, and relegated the Inuit to an inferior branch of humanity. Iceberg tourism was slow to develop along the fog-bound Atlantic coastline, but even though Wasson’s pre-Adamite fantasy may not have gained much purchase in a literal sense, a century later the Inuit were still being referred to as a Stone Age people.101 97 Packard, The Labrador Coast, pp. 199-200. Rather ironically, Packard also recounted how he had stolen two Inuit skeletons that he had happened across on one of his rambles at Hopedale (pp. 207-208). 98 Journal of Algernon Willis, July 30, 1864. 99 Ibid., August 1, 3, and 14, 1864. Bradford also acquired a porcupine that would die of starvation (August 16, 1864). 100 Journal of Algernon Willis, August 12, 1864. 101 See Joan Sangster, “Constructing the ‘Eskimo’ Wife: White Women’s Travel Writing, Colonialism, and the Canadian North, 1940-1960” in Joan Sangster, ed., Through Feminist Eyes: Essays of Canadian Women’s History (Edmonton: University of Alberta Press, 2011), pp. 336-337. 
work_rq7ncvto6vgjzm3te4pdd72zcy	----	Chai – Eighteen Quotations for TBF Chai – Eighteen Quotations for TBF Lowell A. Goldsmith Thomas B. Fitzpatrick inspired a generation of researchers in the field of skin and its relation to and interaction with light. A learned and experienced scientist and teacher, his influence, especially his landmark textbook Fitzpatrick’s Dermatology in General Medicine, will remain a living testimony to his dedication to skin science. This memorial issue is comprised of invited remembrance articles as well as original articles selected from author-initiated submis- sions accepted for publication after standard submission and peer review. We selected papers reporting studies in Dr Fitzpatrick’s fields of particular interest – melanoma, light, and lasers – as well as articles by researchers who trained under him at Harvard. We are grateful to those authors who agreed to delay publication of their work in order for their article to appear in this special issue, as well as to those who contributed tribute articles remembering Dr. Fitzpa- trick. Known to be ready with a quotation for all occasions, it is fitting to open this issue with a collection of 18 quotations that honor the many aspects of Dr Fitzpatrick’s professional life. ‘‘Chai’’ – the Hebrew number 18 – is also the word for ‘‘life’’. Light And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. Genesis I:3 Where the Statue stood Of Newton, with his Prism and silent Face The marble index of a Mind for ever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone. William Wordsworth (1771–1850) A learned parson, rusting in his cell at Oxford or Cambridge, will reason admirably well on the nature of man, will profoundly analyze the head, the heart, the reason, the will, the passions, the sentiments, and all those subdivisions of we know not what; and yet, unfortunately, he knows nothing of manyHe views man as he does colors in Sir Isaac Newton’s prism, where only the capital ones are seen; but an experienced dyer knows all their various shades and gradations, together with the result of their several mixtures. Philip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl Chesterfield (1694–1773) Skin yit is not the color of the skin that makes the man or the woman, but the principle formed in the soul. Brilliant wit will shine, come from whence it will; and genius and talent will not hide the brightness of its luster. Maria Stewart (1803–1879) A tanned skin is something more than respectable, and perhaps olive is a fitter color than white for a man, – a denizen of the woods. ‘‘The pale white man!’’ I do not wonder that the African pitied him. Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862) Surely the day will come when color means nothing more than skin tone, when religion is seen uniquely as a way to speak one’s soul; when birth places have the weight of a throw of the dice and all men are born free, when understanding breeds love and brotherhood. Josephine Baker (1906–1975) I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. Martin Luther King, Jr. (1929–1968) And the priest shall look on the plague in the skin of the flesh: and when the hair in the plague is turned white, and the plague in sight be deeper than the skin of his flesh, it is a plague of leprosy: and the priest shall look on him, and pronounce him unclean. If the bright spot be white in the skin of his flesh, and in sight be not deeper than the skin, and the hair thereof be not turned white; then the priest shall shut up him that hath the plague seven days. Leviticus XIII:3 Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots? Then may ye also do good, that are accustomed to do evil. Jeremiah XIII:23 Science Whatever universe a professor believes in must at any rate be a universe that lends itself to lengthy discourse. A universe definable in two sentences is something for which the professorial intellect has no use. No faith in anything of that cheap kind! William James (1842–1910) The discovery of truth is prevented more effectively, not by the false appearance things present and which mislead into Copyright r 2004 by The Society for Investigative Dermatology, Inc. vii error, not directly by weakness of the reasoning powers, but by preconceived opinion, by prejudice. Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860) Seeing then that the truth consisteth in the right ordering of names in our affirmations, a man that seeketh precise truth had need to remember what every name he uses stands for, and to place it accordingly, or else he will find himself entangled in words, as a bird in lime twigs, the more he struggles, the more belimed. Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679) Teaching Teaching is an instinctual art, mindful of potential, craving of realizations, a pausing, seamless process. A. Bartlett Giamatti (1938–1989) A teacher for a day is a father for a lifetime. Chinese proverb I’m not a teacher: only a fellow-traveler of whom you asked the way. I pointed ahead – ahead of myself as well as you. George Bernard Shaw (1856–1950) Writing Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man. Francis Bacon (1561–1626) A Poet, Naturalist, and Historian, Who left scarcely any style of writing untouched, And touched nothing that he did not adorn. Samuel Johnson (1709–1784) And moreover, because the preacher was wise, he still taught the people knowledge; yea, he gave good heed, and sought out, and set in order many proverbs. The preacher sought to find out acceptable words: and that which was written was upright even words of truth. And further, by these, my son, be admonished; of making many books there is no end: and much study is a weariness of the flesh. Ecclesiastes XII:9 DOI: 10.1111/j.1523-1747.2003.22245.x Attendees of the Fitzpatrick Symposium, Boston, September 12–14, 1982, with permission from the archives of the Department of Dermatology, Harvard Medical School and Massachusetts General Hospital. viii GOLDSMITH THE JOURNAL OF INVESTIGATIVE DERMATOLOGY 
work_rqxfcg7sb5a2dbuvu7kvvk4d24	----	Sociology and Anthropology 3(2): 136-143, 2015 http://www.hrpub.org DOI: 10.13189/sa.2015.030208 Towards a Philosophy of Sustainability: The Gandhian Way Archana Barua Indiana Institute of Technology, India Copyright © 2015 Horizon Research Publishing All rights reserved. Abstract “The sheer proliferation of definitions of sustainable development is evidence of its contestability; for example, in Blueprint for a Green Economy, David Pearce, Anil Markandya and Edward Barbier (1989, pp.173-85) provide a 'gallery' of over 40 definitions.”1For the scope of this article ,I will begin with the most widely used definition, taken from the Brundtland Report, that ‘sustainable development is development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs' (WCED, 1987).2While the concept of needs demands that 'overriding priority' should be given to the essential needs of the world's poor, both North and South, poverty and the unequal distribution of resources are identified as major causes of environmental degradation: 'Sustainable development requires meeting the basic needs of all and extending to all the opportunity to satisfy their aspirations for a better life' (WCED, 1987, p. 44). 3 Keywords Gandhian, Philosophy of Sustainability 1. Introduction “The sheer proliferation of definitions of sustainable development is evidence of its contestability; for example, in Blueprint for a Green Economy, David Pearce, Anil Markandya and Edward Barbier (1989, pp.173-85) provide a 'gallery' of over 40 definitions.”1For the scope of this article ,I will begin with the most widely used definition, taken from the Brundtland Report, that ‘sustainable development is development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs' (WCED, 1987).2While the concept of needs demands that 'overriding priority' should be given to the essential needs of the world's poor, both North and South, poverty and the unequal distribution of resources are identified as major causes of environmental degradation: 'Sustainable development requires meeting the basic needs of all and extending to all the opportunity to satisfy their aspirations for a better life' (WCED, 1987, p. 44). “3 Understanding sustainable development as a policy paradigm that could successfully shift the terms of debate from traditional environmentalism and its prime focus on environment protection, to the idea of sustainability that trades off social, economic and environmental priorities, development is now seen as a process of transformation that combines economic growth with broader social and cultural changes. In this background ,this article makes an attempt at addressing some issues related to development at large , and to sustainable development in particular , with special emphasis on the Gandhian philosophical position on the need for safeguarding a moral and a humane dimension of development. 2. Development, Sustainable Development, and a Divided World Against the backdrop of a divided world where with just over 6 billion people ,some 1.1 billion have no access to drinking water ,2 billion have no electricity,2.4 billion live without proper sanitation , as many as 4 billion live without sound waste water disposal system, one can realize the deeper significance of one of Mahatma Gandhi’s favourite aphorisms , that ‘there is enough in this world for every man’s need ,but not for every man’s greed.’ To quote Gandhi: ‘Economics that hurt the moral wellbeing of an individual or a nation are immoral and sinful. Economic pursuits that commit one country to prey upon another are grossly immoral.’ Gandhi is the first advocate of the thesis of sustainable development.“Nature produces enough for our wants and if everyone took enough for himself and nothing more; there would be no pauperism and consumerism “,”4 which is to him another name for ‘economic slavery ‘. Advocating the thesis of sustainable development, Gandhi once posed the question ‘how much a person can consume’, or ‘how much a person should consume’, when our greeds are unlimited but nature’s resources have a limit. Prior to Gandhi, Aristotle introduced the concept of welfare ethics in all areas including business and economy, since the very ‘character of the economy is a life conductive and life Sociology and Anthropology 3(2): 136-143, 2015 137 serving one.’ “This is a view inspired by Protagoras, according to which the purpose of the economy is to cater to authentic human needs, to enable humans to develop their full capabilities”. 5 In “Nichomachean Ethics” ,Aristotle highlighted material benefits that wealth can bestow on us as a means to an end : ‘wealth is evidently not the good we are seeking; for it is merely useful and for the sake of something else’(Aristotle trans by Ross). Wealth is conducive to something else, and this something else is there, because we can make a choice between what is desirable to us and what is not so desirable. Choice implies responsibility and it is a basic postulate of morality. Both Adam Smith and Karl Marx were concerned with human freedom, so are many modern day economists including the Nobel Laureate Amartya Sen. What this alternate model of development that accommodated sustainability into the growth model aimed at becomes relevant when we re-visit the growth model of developments and re-examine some of its contents and discontents. The article makes use of phenomenological methodology in this regard that explores hidden layers of meaning in which social agents and actors are key participants in the construction of meaning in particular. Environment is always related to some specific perspectives and it can not aim at one homogeneous meaning that is applicable to one and all irrespective of situated differences of human agents in terms of culture, language or privileged or underprivileged positions in society. The article looks forward to a meaningful discourse on environment and sustainable development understanding meaning as a meaningful realm of dialogue and discourse. Working towards having new meanings phenomenological approach focuses on exploring how human beings experience the phenomenon, i.e. how they it; describe it; make sense of it. phenomenology is the exploration and description of phenomena, where phenomena are the things or experiences as human beings experience them. Phenomenology is a science of beginnings that demands a thorough, in-depth study of the phenomenon, which must be seen and described as clearly as possible. Accurate description is not a phenomenological end, however, but a means by which the phenomenologist locates the phenomenon's deeper, more generalizable patterns, structures, and meanings.H. Spiegelberg, The Phenomenological Movement, p. 2. 3. Development as Growth and its Contents/Discounts Economic growth model of development also assessed development in terms of our purchasing and consuming capacities, and that way, Globalization became another profitable monopoly of a small group of privileged global elite .To quote Jean-Pierre Lehmann: “This perception is in fact quite accurate on two counts. First, it is the case that in the early 21st century, some 20 percent of the world’s population consumes 85 percent of the world’s goods and services. Second, it is also the case that globalization has spawned a global elite who tend to be totally on the same page whether in Shanhai,Mumbai, Cape Town ,São Paulo ,Paris or Chicago ,but are seen as distant and aloof by their own more local compatriots. Goldman Sachs may be the epitome of what authors John Micklethwait and Adrian Woolridge in their excellent book “A Future Perfect : The Challenge and Hidden Promise of Globalization, “ have referred to as the emerging “cosmocracy “ : Goldman Sachs Man and Goldman Sachs woman are a universal species who speak the same language ,dine in the same restaurants ,drink the same wines, read the same papers ,and are totally on the same cultural page ,irrespective of their ethnic origins (Micklethwait and woolridge 20000).Even among the well-to-do ,therefore ,there is growing cleavage between those who see the great potential gains of globalization (the Goldman Sachs tribe) and those who see their privileges and positions eroding or who live in despair of ever improving their lot.(Guha 2006) ” 6 John Kenneth Galbraith in his the Affluent Society , termed 1950’s America ,the “affluent society “so dedicated to affluence that the possession and consumption of material goods was its exclusive standard of individual and collective achievement. “ 7Galbraith quotes Anthropologist Geoffrey Gorcer’s remarks that in modern America “any device or regulation which interfered ,or can be conceived as interfering, with [the] supply of more and better things is resisted with unreasoning horror ,as the religious resist blasphemy ,or the warlike pacifism” (Guha 2006). 8 While speaking to his fellow Americans that “we have not yet learned the difference between yield and loot .We do not like to be economic realists.,“9 Berkeley geographer Carl Sauer ,shares Gandhian concern for an a-moral and ,what Gandhiji would condemn as the satanic mode of development, ‘when happiness of the one is defined in terms of the suffering of the other’. Table 1. The USA’s share of World consumption of Key Materials (figures in million tons ) (1) Material (2) World Production (3) US consumption (4)* 3 as % of 2 Minerals Wood Products Metals Synthetics All materials 7,641 724 1,196 252 9,813 2,410 170 132 131 2.843 31.54 23.48 11.03 51.98 28.97 *The USA’s population is approximately 4.42 percent of total world population . Souce : Computed from State of the world 1999 ( New York: Worldwatch Institute and W.W.Norton,1999): ( Guha 2006 , p.225). 4. The Environment in Question: Who is to be Blamed? There are two ways of looking at environmental concerns. For the poor, it is they who are now bearing the burden of a rapid growth model and the consumerist pattern of the developed Nations. Since the Commonly used indicators for progress, the measurement of GDP Index of development do 138 Towards a Philosophy of Sustainability: The Gandhian Way not take the depletion of natural resources or the pollution of the nature and environment into account ,the external cost of resource use and pollution are not being internalized. As a result, society as a whole is carrying the burden as well as the costsass with that burden. To make things worse, the burden is shared unequally across the globe: people in poor country often carrying large share of the burden than those in richer countries. A good example is the impact of climate change, which in the form of droughts and extreme weather events is already affecting developing nations to a much greater extent than developed countries, although much of the problem is being caused by consumption and lifestyle patterns in industrialized Nations. Simultaneously, poorer developing Nations often lack the means to adapt to climate changes. On top of it economic development and the creation and accumulation of wealth model still rely on the exploitation of natural resources. The air pollution from factories is caused as toxic fumes are emitted into air. In 1984 Bhupal disaster released toxic gas from an American owned chemical plant killing more than 2000 people and it left more than 2 lakhs injured. In 1965 the lead concentration in the Greenland ice was 400 times higher than the level in 800 B.C. Besides, Acid rains , depletion of Ozone layer ,the Green house effect, water pollution, land pollution , deforestation ,pesticide pollution, noise, nuclear and ocean pollution are also associated with man caused disasters along with many others of its kind. It is recorded that almost 625 billion dollars would be needed annually for the action plan to control pollution. United States spends 50 billion dollar per year for pollution control which would be 2 percent of the G.N.P. It is obvious that only the strongest economics will be able to maintain the level of domestic environmental protection and protect their domestic industry despite the fact that they are not the real culprits of this crime. “The north gains cheap access to cheap raw materials and hinders access to markets for processed products from those countries ; it imposes a system of world trade organization that favors the strong ;it makes use of large areas of land in the south ,tolerating soil degradation, damage to regional eco systems ,and disruption of local self-reliance ;it exports toxic waste ;it claims patent rights to utilization of biodiversity in tropical regions etc. “ 10 “ The economically weak South is besieged by GATT which, encourages shifting of factors of production from food crops to environmentally less friendly cash crops for export ,discourages restrictions on food export even in times of domestic food shortages and is silent on permitting countries to protect themselves against ‘eco dumping.”11 The struggles against environmental injustice are growing, and the name EJ is now used more frequently outside the USA. Thus, in Mozambique there is a very active group with the name of Justiça Ambiental (a member of Friends of the Earth International). In Brazil there has been a Network of Environmental Justice since 2001,formed by EJOs, unions, indigenous groups and university researchers. Over the years, the US Environmental Justice movement helped reframe environmental concerns from an environmental justice perspective that seeks to redefine environment as a safe place to live, work, learn, as a safe place to live, work, learn with special focus on deprived ones and the marginal communities and their vulnerability. The environmental justice movement has demonstrated that pollution’s effects often fall disproportionately on the health and communities of people of color, low-income populations, and Indigenous populations. It is thus not surprising that the causes and effects of global climate change are also unequally distributed that needs to be addressed urgently and also with humanitarian as well as moral concern , an area that is sought to be addressed in this article with its emphasis on Gandhian approach to sustainability and development . 5. Environment Politics and the Conflict of Interests It is said that :‘Sustainable development, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder; it therefore promises something for everyone’. Economist Lester Thurow believes that environment movement is being supported mainly by upper middle class people who have gained economic security and now want to improve the quality of their lives further by reducing environmental pollutants. Environment protection in the North came to be viewed as a part of the great growth model of development when nature too was seen as one of the precious goods that satisfies man’s taste for a altogether different quality of life which also satisfies man’s urge for ‘a sense of beauty and solitude’, ‘a sense of the sacred’, as well. The popular support for the protection of wilderness in the North reflected this taste for solitude at the heart of a machine world. This taste is also the gift of technology and development to some extent as the virgin wild nature is also made accessible to human admirers only because the car opened up the wild to all. “Thus in a curious paradox, the car “the most modern creation of industry “, becomes the vehicle of anti-industrial impulses ,taking one to distant adventures , to “ homely little towns ,enchanting fairytale forests, far from stale routine ,functional ugliness or the dictates of the clock. “12 For others , exploding numbers seem at fault with environment degradation, countries such as India and specially Bangladesh were commonly blamed. In his book The population Bomb Paul Ehrlich , describes his emotional experience of population explosion when he had this particular experience in one stinking night in Delhi a couple of years ago :” As we crawled through the city ,we entered a crowded slum area. The streets seemed alive with people. People eating, people washing, people sleeping. People visiting, people arguing and screaming. People thrusting their hands through the taxi window, begging .People defecating and urinating .People clinging to buses .People herding animals. People, people, people.” 13 Not surprisingly the activists of these countries were quick to take offence blaming the consumer pattern of the developed Nations like the USA which is notorious for Sociology and Anthropology 3(2): 136-143, 2015 139 consuming a far greater proportion of the world’s resources. It was observed that the real population problem is in America where the birth of one child has the same impact on the global environment as the birth of, say, 70 indian children .Guha finally comments:” A Bangladsehi made this case whenever he could ,in the United Nations and elsewhere. But after a visit to an American supermarket, he was obliged to modify his argument, claiming instead that the birth of an American dog or cat was the equivalent, ecologically speaking ,of the birth of a dozen Bangladeshi children.” 14 Guha comments : “My view is that the clearest connection between democracy at home and imperialism abroad is provided by the American consumer economy ,its apparently insatiable greed for resources of other lands .Contrary to what Wenell Berry thought ,wilderness at home continued to be protected only because the ecological footprint of the American consumer grew, grew and grew .The freebooting instincts of the pioneer ,which were once set loose on the lands of the wild west that were formally part of the nation ,now found play in lands and waters East, South ,and North regardless of whether these belonged to America. To cite only the most obvious example, the USA imports well over 50 pc of the oil it consumes .” 15 In between these two ways of looking at who is to be blamed for environment disaster, the ‘Brundtland Report ‘ on our common future , reflects a shift in thinking about the environmental issues including sustainability. It sought to accommodate both sustainability and development by bringing environmental concerns of the developing and the developed under one common banner. Although closer in spirit, in the Gandhian model of sustainable development, the village remains the unit of production and distribution. Advocating ‘simple living and high thinking’, Gandhi prioritizes the cultural and the spiritual life style, usually associated with village and peasantry, in which the small is the beautiful. Others like J.C. Kumarappa soon followed Gandhi to show support and solidarity in this village-centric and predominantly agrarian and deeply humanistic economic model of sustainable development. Describing him as the “single most important influence on the environmental movement”,Ramchandra Guha says that it was left to J. C. Kumarappa and Mira Behn to build an ecological programme along Gandhian lines with exclusive focus on environmental problems of the rural areas. Gandhi’s voice of environmentalism was not the lone voice at the turn of the twentieth century. Rabindranath Tagore represented nature in his poems and works. Shantiniketan, the institution that he founded, was another example of nature-friendly study and living .While he did not emphasize the notion of self-sufficient village republics ,Tagore questioned the value of state power and, in fact, of nationhood itself for the life of a people. “He shared with other Bengali thinkers of the nineteenth century the notion that society rather than the state was the central focus of Indian life. Like Gandhi, he too was extremely suspicious of centralized state power. Only, he went further to reject the need for nationhood which raised barriers between man and man and led to vicious conflict. The fact that the idea was alien to India was for him a plus point. His agenda for national reconstruction, like Gandhi’s, emphasized the rural unit rather than the grand edifice of the state.16 On the whole, the Gandhian model of sarvodaya has built in mechanism for ‘growth of justice’ and minimization of wants as against the giant multinational corporations’(MNC) setting guidelines for maximization of wants that keep alluring people to a life of mass consuming and a consumerist way of life. 6. The Gandhian Way to Sustainable Development and its Beyond Environment and sustainability remained debatable issues especially from the Third World perspective as well. Greatly inspired by Gandhian philosophy of deeper interrelationship between man, nature and environment, different forms of environmental movements, cropped up. Drawing heavily on the teachings of Gandhi, inventor of the concept of deep ecology Arne Næss, along with others like E F Schumacher, shared common ideas with Gandhi that science and technology has its limitations and intuition is a source of knowledge that provides the missing gap. Deep ecological elements are prevalent in Gandhi’s environmental philosophy as well. Gandhi, believed that nature could exist without humans, a prospect that fascinated and frightened him, which eventually prompted him to focus on the relation between human beings and the environment. “I need no inspiration other than Nature’s. She has never failed me as yet. She mystifies me, bewilders me, sends me to ecstasies.”17 The Gandhian Way : ‘balancing between needs and greed’ 140 Towards a Philosophy of Sustainability: The Gandhian Way However Gandhian position on environmentalism is more akin to human centric shallow ecology than bio centric deep ecology. The basic difference between deep and shallow ecology is that the latter takes an anthropocentric (human-centred) view of the world, whereas deep ecology is eco-centric, placing equal value on non-human organisms and, indeed, physical features. If we go by the ideas generated by the environmental movement in India, which is strongly influenced by Gandhi, these are also human welfare centric besides accommodating larger interest of all life into its fold. The strength of human ecology, and also of Gandhian philosophy, lies in its ability to see human beings and their environment as mutually interlinked, as part of an integrated whole. Unlike in the West, almost all the Indian environmental movements also paved way for sustainable development in a Gandhian way. These reflected worries and apprehensions of the ecosystem people who share natural and spiritual bond with nature, and for these tribes, fisher folk, other underprivileged section of the society, forest preservation or river preservation became synonymous with a movement for safeguarding their own local, ethnic and marginal identity that faces threat of extinction along with the forest,river ,and the mother earth ,who sustains them all. Following the footsteps of Mahatma Gandhi, leaders like J.C. Kumarappa, contemporary Gandhian environmentalists like , Baba Amte, Medha Patkar and Sundarlal Bahuguna among others ,could see cities as corrupting and polluting , both morally as well as ecologically. In its extreme form this may lead to some kind of demarcation between the two: cities versus villages, sustainability versus development, and so on. Staunchly Gandhian in its ideology, the Narmada Bachao Andolan , is committed to holding on non-violence even in the face of extreme provocation. Among its prominent leaders, Gandhian reformers like Baba Amte, Medha Patkar , and others creatively sought out ways to breakdown and reconnect the local/global. Set up in 1986 under the leadership of Medha Patkar, NBA emerged as a social movement consisting of tribal people, Adivasis, farmers, environmentalists and human rights activists against the Sardar Sarovar Dam being built across the Narmada river, Gujrat, India . Critiquing the social and environmental impact of large development projects specially on the life of the tribals , and looking toward a new environmentally sustainable water policy , it also raises issues related to human rights and justice, alternative development policies, environmental issues related to big dams in general and the Narmada project in particular. “A fundamental question that the NBA has raised has been about the financial costs incurred by the State on huge development projects such as the SSP and the social costs incurred by ordinary people for the sake of a privileged few. Inherent in these questions have been the role of the state as it unequivocally alters the lives and livelihoods of lakhs of people through its persistent and seemingly blind facilitation of this unequal cost-benefit balance.”18Some others of environmental movements of its kind namely like the Krihsnk Mukti Sangram ,led by Akhil Gogoi in Assam , are protests against big dams that will cause harm to ecosystem, local people and their river related trades and the folk culture and their sense of identity. Nature and environment are thus seen as social and cultural constructs. Contemporary environmental writers such as Vandana Shiva, Anil Agarwal, Madhav Gadgil and Ramachandra Guha , among others, have acknowledged their debt to Gandhi’s ideas. Gandhi drew on a number of Western thinkers from John Ruskin to Henry David Thoreau , to name a few, who, although were not against the modernist project, romantically cherished the pre-industrial order. All these shades and layers of his deeper self-realization have inspired different kinds of Environmental Movements particularly in India. Inspired by Gandhian ideals , the founder of the Chipco movement Chandi Prasad Bhatt, was of the rare progressive minds. He claimed that their movement was not against science and technology as such , but against misuse of science when nature is used for profit motive alone. Born in the Alakananda valley, the Chipco movement with its main aim of fostering of love for trees in the hearts of humans, later moved eastward to Kumaon to protest against commercial forestry. In the late Seventies the adivasis protested vigorously against the conversion of their sal forests to teak plantations, a scheme intended to benefit urban consumers, timber merchants and the forest department. Its pet slogan “sal for Jharkhand ‘, sagwan for bihar’ “,showed its concern for felling down sal trees shorea robusta , which is of highly prized firewood for local community and replacing it with teak wood plantation for the benefit of commercial purpose. The protesters who uprooted the teak saplings suggested that sal means Jharkhand, sagwan (teak) means Bihar. It was a symbolic move against deforestation. It asked for re-cosonstruction than de-construction,for preservation and for a cautious and sustainable use of the forest and of nature . Preventing a group of labourers ,who were sent by a distant Dehradun based contractor to fell down Sal trees from the forest as these tress were auctioned off to him, the leader of the Himachal Mahila Mandal Gaura Devi ,along with other female members of the panchayat, rushed to meet them and to plead them not to fell down trees. This is how this simple housewife and village woman explained to them why they care for the forest and for the trees and why everyone else should develop love for trees: “Brothers, these forests are like our maternal home [maika]..We get herbs ,fuel, fruits and vegetables from them. Cutting the forests will result in floods. Our field will be washed away. Please have your food and come with us to our village. When our men come back we will collectively take a decision’.18 The Chipco movement shows an way to environment protection : “these forests are like our maternal home [maika]” In his documentation of the socio-cultural uniqueness of Indian conservation movements, Ramchandra Guha pays glowing tribute to these moral and spiritual Gandhian leaders Sociology and Anthropology 3(2): 136-143, 2015 141 like Gaura Devi , Medha Patkar , who take on a dishonest bureaucracy and swear by the community's commitment to nature .Guha pays tribute to the "subaltern social ecology" of Chandi Prasad Bhatt, another Chipko pioneer, and the scholarly Madhav Gadgil , for his democratizing influence on environmental thought and biodiversity conservation. All these leaders followed the footsteps of Gandhi in some form or other. 7. Growth , Development and Sustainable Development : The Gandhian Way and Beyond Deeply Committed to a spiritual and a moral philosophy of life , Gandhi pays homage to the age old traditions that keep room for harmonious growth of one and all. Its basic motto is ‘live and let others live.’ With more emphasis on ‘tyaga’ than on ‘bhoga’, Gandhi advocates a philosophy of ‘bhoga’ with a sense of ‘tyaga’.One has to live a life with minimizing one’s needs and in the Gandhian scheme peasant and the simple virtues of the village and peasantry are prioritized. Gandhi would have preferred if the peasant wants to remain a peasant. It was more in line with his philosophy of prioritizing the spiritual and moral dimension of life than the wealth centric and profit oriented industrialization and corporate lifestyle. For Gandhi, industrialization and profit generation were at odds with moral progress. He said: “The incessant search for material comforts and their multiplication is an evil. I make bold to say that the Europeans will have to remodel their outlook, if they are not to perish under the weight of the comforts to which they are becoming slaves.” Further, with a prophetic vision, Gandhi warned: “A time is coming when those who are in mad rush today of multiplying their wants, will retrace their steps and say; what have we done?” 19 If we go by the contemporary trends for the ecosystem people, here the role model is that of an ideal ambivalent who can aspire to buy anything, including pollution less air and water. The majority will welcome the statement that ,' Growth has no set limit in terms of population or resource use beyond which lies ecological disaster' (WCED, 1987, p. 45).” Indeed, Brundtland demands a revival of growth in developing countries to help alleviate poverty and provide for basic needs, although it seeks a more 'eco-friendly' type of growth that is 'less material- and energy-intensive and more equitable in its impact' (WCED, 1987, p. 52). “20 It is obvious that less developed countries will want to become developed ,and unlike Gandhi, and a handful of Gandhians, majority will follow a path of comfort ,luxury and better opportunities in life. Ramachandra Guha tries to show the trends of consumer choice in terms of simple hierarchies of fuel, housing, and transportation(Guha 2006 ,p.244): Hierarchies of Resource Consumption Fuel used Mode of housing Mode of transport Grass Wood, Dung Coal,Kerosine Gas Electricity Cave Thatched hut Wooden house Stone house Cement house Feet Bullock cart Bicycle Motor scooter Car “To go down any of these lists is to move toward a more efficient and generally a safer mode of consumption. Why would one abjure cheap and safe cooking fuel, for example, or quick and reliable transport, or stable houses that can outlive the monsoon?”, Guha wonders. “To prefer gas to dung for your stove, a car to a bullock-cart for your mobility, and a wood home to a straw hut for your family is to move toward greater comfort, well-being and freedom. These are choices that, despite specious talk of cultural difference, are desired by all and ought to be made available to all. “21 Ramchandra Guha comments: “In 2002 the demand for cars in China `increased by 56 pc ,in 2003 by 75 pc . In 2004 the Chinese state news agency Xinhua proclaimed that “China has begun to enter the age of mass car consumption .This is great historic advance .” 22 8. Conclusions Even if we go beyond Gandhi, how far we can go? Again and again the familiar Gandhian voice intervenes and keeps posing new challenges before us. When we are optimist of meeting all our needs by the road of development, Gandhi quietly reminds us : “It took Britain half the resources of the planet to achieve this prosperity. How many planets will a country like India require!”23 Ramachandra Guha asks this typical Gandhian question: “Can the world as a whole achieve American levels of car ownership? “24 Guha continues: “A question never asked by ecologists ,or by the economist ,is this –can the world as a 142 Towards a Philosophy of Sustainability: The Gandhian Way whole achieve American levels of car ownership ? Can there be a world with 4 billion cars, a china with 700 million cars, an India with 600 million cars? Where will the oil and gas to run them come from ? I take the car here as merely indexical of a certain style of consumption .For with its use also come demands for other resources ,for other goods .In China and India now, as in Africa of the 1950s ,with the wish to possess more elegant cars has come the desire for more exotic food, more erotic clothing ,more elaborate entertainment .” 25 Gandhi remains the first and foremost advocate of the thesis of sustainable development for all times to come. Introducing the humane dimension of sustainable development , Nobel Laureate Amartya Sen ,seeks to restore the much forgotten dimension of human dignity into the scope of development by his innovative idea of ‘development as freedom’. Development is valued not only in terms of economic growth and high income or high consumption rate but it depends on the extent to which people have the opportunity to achieve outcomes they value. Some non-income variables that persons value are such important matters as the freedom to live long ,to live in peaceful and crime free communities etc value most are not linked with economic prosperity. Thus, both the process aspect and the opportunity aspect of freedom require us to go well beyond the traditional view of development in terms of “the growth of output perhead.”26 Gandhian concern for minimizing wants and reducing greed is also reflected in some recent innovative measures taken by advocates of green development, welfare development, sustainable development etc. A retreat of the rich from over consumption is thus a necessary first step toward allowing space for improvement of the lives of an increasing number of people. Spanish economist Juan Martinez –alier suggests an way out :“ In the poor countries of Asia and Africa , firewood and animal dung are often the only source of cooking fuel. These are inefficient and polluting ,and their collection involves much drudgery. The provision of oil or LPG to the cooking stoves of the Niagerian or Nepali peasant woman would greatly improve the quality of their lifves . This could be very easily done, says Martinez –alier ,if one very moderately taxed the rich…” . He continues :”The solution is simple-namely ,that oil consumption in the rich countries should be taxed ,while the use of LPG or kerosene for fuel in poor countries be subsidized .” 27 This would allow the poor to ascend one small step up the hierarchies of resource consumption with a very little sacrifice from the rich. Recently among the developed nations Germany is showing real interest in reorienting economy and society to a more sustainable path by extended treatment of overconsumption. The targets set by the Wüppertal Institute for a “Sustainable Germany“ and for retreat of the rich from overconsumption, includes strategies including “ elimination of subsidies to chemical farming ,the levying of ecological taxes (on gasoline ,for example),and the move toward slower and fuel efficient cars while shifting the movement of goods from road to rail.“ 28 The following table is an illustration of some such policies adopted of late : Mixing moral ends with material means Environmental Indicator Target set for the year 2010 Energy Energy consumption (overall ) at least −30% Fossil fuels − 25 % Nuclear power − 100% Renewables +3 to 5 % per year Energy efficiency +3 to 5 % per year Materials Non –renewable raw materials − 25 Material productivity + 4 to 6 % per year Substance released Carbon dioxide −35 % Sulphur dioxide − 80 to 90 % Nitrogen oxides − 80 % by 2005 Ammonia − 80 to 90 % Volatile organic compounds − 80 % by 2005 Synthetic nitrogen fertilizers − 100% Agricultural biocides − 100% Soil erosion − 80 to 90 % Land Use Agriculture extensive conversion to organic farming methods Forestry extensive conversion to ecologically adapted silviculture *Source: Sachs,Loske and Linz ,et al., Greening the North : ( Cited in Guha 2006 ,p.247) Gandhi’s crusade was not against growth and development , nor against science and technology as such. It was a crusade against the misuse of science and technology that leads to unsustainable and inhumane and unfair mode of development. If development wears a humane face and is welfare- centric, this is the way Gandhi would have liked it to proceed .This would be a new avtar of Gandhian brand of sustainable development in some form. From a Gandhian perspective, the present environmental mess, ranging from deforestation, soil and biodiversity loss, to pollution and climate change, is not a disease but only a symptom. A good doctor treats the disease and not the symptom. The disease is the very concept and patterns of growth and development that are being followed everywhere. If the perspective changes the disease is diagonosed by a good doctor. “In conclusion, we can say that Gandhi’s environmentalism fitted in with his overall vision for India and the world that sought to extract from nature what is absolutely necessary for human sustenance. His ideas on environment are intimately linked with all his ideas relating to the polity, economy, health and development. His asceticism and simple living, a rural- centered civilization based on village autonomy and self-reliance, handicrafts and craft- centered education with emphasis on manual labor ,and absence of exploitative relationships, are infused with elements of an ecological vision (Jones 2000) . Even his approach to gender he did not attempt to break the connection with nature. “29 Louis Fischer has rightly asserted :“If man is to survive and flower in freedom ,truth and decency ,the reminder of the 20th century and what lies beyond must belong not to Lenin Sociology and Anthropology 3(2): 136-143, 2015 143 or Trotosky ,not to Marx or Mao ,or Ho or Che ,but to Mahatma Gnadhi” . 30 REFERENCES [1] David Pearce, Anil Markandya and Edward Barbier (1989, pp.173-85). Blueprint for a Green Economy,(London: Earthscan Publications Ltd., 1989), pp.173-85. [2] WCED( 1987). Our Common Future (First ed.).(Oxford : Oxford University Press), p.44 [3] ibid. p. 44 [4] Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi; Ministry of Information and Broadcasting Government of India. Publications Division(.1958-1982.).The Colected Works of Mahatma Gandhi (Dehli : The Publications Division, Ministry of Information and Broadcasting Government of India). [5] Pirson , Michael [ET AL] , (2009 ).“Introduction : humanism in business “ ,in HUMANISM IN BUSINESS / EDITED BY HEIKO SPITZECK ... [ET AL.]. (Cambridge : Cambridge University Press) , P..3- [6] Lehmann , Jean-Pierre (2009).”Globalization and the power of individuals” ,in HUMANISM IN BUSINESS / EDITED BY HEIKO SPITZECK ... [ET AL.]. (Cambridge : Cambridge University Press). ,p 349 [7] Galbraith , John Kenneth(1958). The Affluent society (Boston :Houghton Mifflin ). p.221 [8] .ibid. [9] Sauer, Carl (1938)."Theme of Plant and Animal Destruction in Economic History" , in idem, Land and Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1963). (Quoted in Guha,Ramachandra p.222.) [10] Wolfgang Sachs et al.,(1998). Greening the North: A Post-Industrial Blueprint for Ecology and Equity (London: Zed Books). [11] Aditi kapoor (994) : The Times of India ,Patna ,10th august [12] Sachs ,Wolfgang, (.1992) For Love of the Automobile : Looking back into the History of our desires (Berkeley : University of California Press ),pp.150-1 [13] Ehrlich,Paul(1969),The Population Bomb (New York:Ballantine books ),p.15 [14] Satyajit Singh, (1994).” Environment, class and State in India:A Per on Sustainable Irrigatio ,unpublished phd dissertation ,dept of political science , DU. ( quoted in Guha, Ramachandra (2006). How Much Should A Person Consume?( Permanent Black :The University of California Press,Berkeley), p .225. [15] Guha, Ramachandra (2006). How Much Should A Person Consume ?( Permanent Black :The University of California Press,Berkeley ),,p.227 [16] Tagore, Rabindranath (1975: 2nd edition, 3rd reprint ).” Atmashakti” (Strength of One’s Own), in Rabindra- -rachnabali, vol. 3 (Viswa-bharati, Calcutta,),pp. 555 [17] Quoted in Moolakkattu, John S., “Gandhi as a Human Ecologist “, in Journal of Human Ecology, 29 (3) :151-158 (2010) .online :www.krepublishers.com/.../JHE-29-3-151-10 -2065-Moolakkattu-J-S.(accessed July 2010) [18] Gaura Devi : Ek Ma Ki Yad in Uttara mahila Pattrika ,vol 2 ,no.1., 1991, supplemented by interviews with chandi Prasad bhatt ,gopeswar ,june 1982, (quoted in Guha, Ramachandra (2006). How Much Should A Person Consume ?( Permanent Black :The University of California Press,Berkeley)., pp. 60-61. [19] Quoted in Moolakkattu, John S., “Gandhi as a Human Ecologist “, in Journal of Human Ecology, 29 (3) :151-158 (2010) .online www.krepublishers.com/.../JHE-29-3-151-10- 2065-Moolakkattu-J-S. .(accessed July 2010) [20] WCED( 1987). Our Common Future (First ed.).Oxford : Oxford University Press.pp. 52-53. [21] Guha, Ramachandra (2006). How Much Should A Person Consume ?( Permanent Black :The University of California Press,Berkeley),p.247. [22] ” Special report :Cars in China “,in The Economist ,June 4 2005(Quoted in Guha, Ramachandra (2006). How Much Should A Person Consume ?( Permanent Black :The University of California Press,Berkeley). [23] Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi (CWMG) 1967.New Delhi: Publications Division, Government of India. [24] Guha ,Ramachandra(2006). How Much Should A Person Consume ? (Permanent Black :The University of California Press,Berkeley),pp.237 [25] Guha, Ramachandra (2006). How Much Should A Person Consume ?( Permanent Black :The University of California Press,Berkeley).,p 237. [26] Sen,Amartya (2009). (“Development as freedom :individual freedom as a social commitment “,in HUMANISM IN BUSINESS / EDITED BY HEIKO SPITZECK ... [ET AL.]. (Cambridge : Cambridge University Press).,pp. 156-175. [27] Juan Martinez –alier ,(1977).”Poverty and the Environment “,in Ramachandra Guha and Juan Martinez –alier, Varieties of Environmentalism:Esseys North and South(London:Earth scan ). [28] Quoted in Guha, Ramachandra (2006). How Much Should A Person Consume ?( Permanent Black :The Univ of California Press,Berkeley ).pp.248-49. [29] Quoted in Moolakkattu, John S., “Gandhi as a Human Ecologist “, in Journal of Human Ecology, 29 (3) :151-158 (2010) .online www.krepublishers.com/.../JHE-29-3-151-10- 2065-Moolakkattu-J-S. 9(accessed July 2010). [30] Fischer, Louis. Gandhi: His Life and Message to the World. New York: Penguin, 1982. 
work_rv6eojvzjndvbnfqpdqzwp4xwe	----	AMS volume 22 issue 1 Cover and Back matter CAMBRIDGE STUDIES IN AMERICAN LITERATURE AND CULTURE Scenes of Nature, Signs of Men Essays in 19th and 20th Century American Literature TONY TANNER This book is about the relationship of the American writer to the land and language — to the 'scene' and the 'sign', to the natural landscape and the inscriptions imposed upon it by man. Tony Tanner considers in his study the work of writers such as Henry Adams, Mark Twain, and Henry James, as well as the work of contemporary writers such as Thomas Pynchon, John Barth, Donald Barthelme, and William Gass. 288 pp. 0 521 3231S 5 £25.00 net William Faulkner The Art of Stylization LOTHAR HONNIGHAUSEN This highly illustrated and attractive book is the first comprehensive study of Faulkner's early graphic work. Professor Honnighausen sets his art nouveau illustrations in their precise historical background, and shows how the painstaking efforts of the young poet, calligrapher, and illustrator foreshadow the verbal art of his great poetic novels. 228 pp. 0 521 33280 X £27.50 net The American Historical Romance GEORGE DEKKER This book traces the tradition of the American historical novel from its origins in the early nineteenth century to the eve or World War II. Professor Dekker examines the theory of the genre and the specific contexts of historical romance, and provides new readings of major texts by writers such as James Fenimore Cooper, Edith Wharton and Sir Walter Scott. 384pp. 0 521 33282 6 £30.00 net Now in paperback The Dance of the Intellect Studies in the Poetry of the Pound Tradition MARJORIE PERLOFF Focusing on the poetry of Swinburne, Yeats, Stevens, Joyce, Williams, Cage and Pound, Marjorie Perloff examines a new strain in postmodernist poetry which F.zra Pound termed 'Logopoeia - the dance of the intellect among words'. Throughout her analysis, the author traces a new direction in post-modernist poetry to Pound, whose legacy is present throughout this volume. 240pp. 0 521 34756 4 Paperback£9.95 net Now in paperback Ideology and Classic American Literature Edited by SACVAN BERCOVITCH and MYRA JEHLEN This volume of essays brings together some of the best work by Americanists concerned with the problem of ideology and its bearing upon American literature and culture. '... a very impressive and challenging collection of essays which has to be required reading for Americanists'. The Times Literary Supplement 464 pp. 0 521 27309 9 £12.50 net • • • Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 2RU, England. (i)terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:09, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 https://www.cambridge.org/core CAMBRIDGE STUDIES IN AMERICAN LITERATURE AND CULTURE The Poetry of Marianne Moore A Study in Voice and Value MARGARET HOLLEY This book traces the growth of Marianne Moore's poetic talent throughout her sixty- year career as one of the finest American poets. It discusses the full range of her poems and explains what is distinctive about them at each stage of her life. It thus reveals the surprising and refreshing depth and diversity of Moore's poetry. 240 pp. 0 521 33284 2 £27.50 net American Realism and American Drama: 1880-1940 BRENDA MURPHY In this book Professor Murphy places the theory and practice of American realism in a dramatic and theatrical context. She traces the evolution of dramatic theory from the early 1890's to World War I and examines the uniquely American innovations in the realistic drama that occurred between the first and second world wars. 246pp. 0 521 32711 3 £25.00net Cross Examinations of Law and Literature Cooper, Hawthorne, Stowe and Melville BROOK THOMAS This book describes the unique relationship that existed between law and literature in America in the nineteenth century, each commenting on and reacting against each other as the nation expanded. Professor Thomas unites law and literature through an examination of prominent legal figures and themes, famous court decisions, and important social issues in antebellum America. 312 pp. 0 521 33081 5 £27.50 net Notable backlist titles in this series Writing the South: Ideas of an American Region RICHARD GRAY Winner of the C. Hugh Holman Award of the Society for the Study of Southern Literature, for the most distinguished book in southern Literature published in 1986. 387 pp. 0 521 30687 6 £30.00 net The Sacred Game ALBERT J. VON FRANK Finalist in the John Hope Franklin Award of the American Studies Association. 196 pp. 0 521 30159 9 £25.00 net • • Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 2RU, England. (ii)terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:09, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 https://www.cambridge.org/core THE AMERICAN NOVEL A series of introductory critical guides to the great works of American fiction. Announcing three new titles in the series: New Essays o n Light in August Edited by MICHAEL MILLGATE Light in August is one of William Faulkner's most important, most challenging and most widely studied novels. In a series of essays specially written for this volume, five distinguished critics offer a range of approaches to the novel. Each of the essays has been written clearly and directly, so as to enhance understanding and appreciation of Light in August itself and of Faulkner's work as a whole. 160 pp. 0 521 30814 3 Hard covers £20.00 net 0 521 31332 5 Paperback £6.95 net New Essays on Tflie Sun Also Rises Edited by LINDA WAGNER-MARTIN The Sun Also Rises was Hemingway's first novel, and is now widely considered to be the most important of his longer works of fiction. Written in an accessible style by prominent scholars, this collection of essays provides helpful and valuable reading for new readers and Hemingway specialists alike. 144 pp. 0 521 30204 8 Hard covers £20.00 net 0 521 31787 8 Paperback £6.95 net New Essays o n The American Edited by MARTHA BANTA The American was written in the very year that Henry James committed himself to making his way as an author outside America. It thus formed part of the brief that James had drawn up both for and against his countrymen. This collection of original essays casts new light on this and other major aspects of the novel. 192 pp. 0 521 30730 9 Hard covers £20.00 net 0 521 31449 6 Paperback £6.95 net Also available in this series: New Essays o n Moby- New Essays o n The Dick Great Gatsby Edited by RICHARD BRODHEAD Edited by MATTHEW J. BRUCCOLI 0 521 30205 6 Hard covers £20.00 net 0 521 26589 4 Hard cavers £20.00 net 0 521 31788 6 Paperback £6.95 net 0 521 31963 3 Paperback £6.95 net New Essays o n The New Essays o n Red Badge of Adventures of Courage Huckleberry Finn Edited by LEE CLARK MITCHELL Edited by LOUIS J. BUDD 0 521 30456 3 Hard covets £20.00 net 0 521 26729 3 Hard covers £20.00 net 0 521 31512 3 Paperback£6.95net 0 521 31836 X Paperback£6.95net New Essays o n Uncle New Essays o n The Tom's Cabin Scarlet Letter Edited by ERIC SUNDQUIST Edited by MICHAEL J. COLACURCIO 0 521 30203 X Hard covers £20.00 net ° \21 26676 I H*"1 c o v f » *20.00 net 0 521 31786 X Paperback£6.95net ° 5 2 / 3/9JW 6 Paperback£6.95net Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 2RU, England (iii)terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:09, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 https://www.cambridge.org/core Five new titles in: "The texts and general presentations are superb . . . The publication of these volumes represents ah opportunity which anyone or any institution remotely interested in American literature would be foolish if not positively remiss to miss.' The Times Higher Education Supplement * The Library of America collects the works of America's greatest authors in a uniform series of attractive hardcover volumes. * Each volume comprises several works by a single writer, all in authoritative, unabridged texts. * A chronology of the author's life and career and helpful notes for the student and general reader are included in each volume. EDITH WHARTON Novels (The House of Mirth, The Reef, The Custom of the Country, The Age of Innocence) 0 521 30889 5 HENRY DAVID THOREAU A Week on Concord and Merrimack Rivers, Walden, The Maine Woods, Cape Cod 0 521 30093 2 HENRY ADAMS History of the United States During the Administration of Jefferson and Maddison (in two volumes) Volume 1 0 521 32483 1 Volume 2 0 521 32484 X FRANK NORRIS Novels and Essays (Vandover and the Brute, McTeague, The Octopus, Essays) 0 521 32485 8 W. E. B. DUBOIS Writings (Suppression of the African Slave-Trade, The Souls of Black Folk, Dusk of Dawn, Essays) 0 521 32482 3 All volumes c. 1000 - 1500 pp. £30.00 net Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 2RU, England (iv)terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:09, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 https://www.cambridge.org/core CAMBRIDGE T. S. Eliot and Indie Traditions A Study in Poetry and Belief CLEO McNELLY KEARNS In this book Dr Kearns traces the background to the allusions to Indie philosophy and religion which appeared in several of T. S. Eliot's poems. The religious and poetic implications of Eliot's study of Indie philosophy are discussed, and the book shows how his reading of the classics of the Indie tradition served as a catalyst for some of his most important work. 304pp. 0 521 32439 4 £25.00 net Love in America Gender and Self-Development FRANCESCA M. CANCIAN Unlike 'traditional' forms of marriage, in which love is seen as the feminine responsibility and self-development the male concern, the author shows that for many American couples love and self-development are not now in conflict but reinforce each other. 224pp. 0 521 34202 3 £20.00 net Avenues to Adulthood The Origins of the High School and Social Mobility in an American Suburb REED UEDA Through an intensive study of a Boston's pace-setting high school, Professor Ueda answers key questions about the American high school: the reasons for modernisation at the turn of the twentieth century, the kinds of opportunities it offered, and the way in which it became a focus of civic life that reshaped the American sense of community and generation. 200pp. 0 521 32770 9 £25.00 net 'To Serve Well and Faithfully' Labour and Indentured Servants in Pennsylvania, 1682-1800 SHARON V. SALINGER Professor Salinger examines the role of servants and slaves in the shaping of Pennsylvania society, illuminating the lives of servants in bondage and freedom. She traces the growth of unfree labour which by the mid-eighteenth century became a predominantly urban institution. 204pp. 0 521 33442 X £25.00 net The Hidden Balance Religion and the Social Theories of Charles Chauncy and Jonathan Mayhew JOHN CORRIGAN Boston Congregationalist ministers Charles Chauncy and Jonathan Mayhew were among the most influential social and religious thinkers in Boston in the mid-eighteenth century. This study argues, against the interpretations of some previous historians, that they produced a complex but coherent body of ideas, organised closely and self- consciously around the principle of'balance'. 178pp. 0 521 32777 6 £25.00 net • • I Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 2RU, England. (v)terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:09, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 https://www.cambridge.org/core CAMBRIDGE Coining Over Migration and Communication Between England and New England in the Seventeenth Century DAVID CRESSY This book discusses the English migration to New England in the seventeenth century and shows the importance of English connections in the lives of American colonists. David Cressy reviews the information available to prospective migrants, the decisions they had to reach, and the actions necessary before they could settle in America. In treating early America from a British pcrsepctive, Professor Cressy provides us with many new insights into the seventeenth century. 356 pp. 0 521 32951 5 Hard covers £27.50 net 0 521 33850 6 Paperback £9.95 net Foundations of Representative Government in Maryland, 1632-1715 DAVID W.JORDAN Professor Jordan traces the establishment and development of the legislative assembly and the changing attitudes about its proper place in the government of Maryland. He examines the social and economic developments which were influential and provides biographical profiles of the members of the legislature. 304 pp. 521 32941 8 £25.00 net Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Merchant Seamen, Pirates, and the Anglo-American Maritime World, 1700-1750 MARCUS REDIKER 'Good books have been written before on the history of seafaring and on the climactic years of piracy ... Rediker has written another good one ... What distinguishes Rediker's work is his unwavering and unsentimental focus on the seaman's labour and experience.' E. P. Thompson, The Guardian 337pp. 0 521 30342 7 £22.50 net The Democratic Dilemma Religion, Reform, and the Social Order in the Connecticut River Valley of Vermont, 1791-1850 RANDOLPH A. ROTH The pioneers of Vermont launched the most radical democratic revolution of the era. This book argues that Vermonters, seeing themselves as custodians of America's spiritual and political heritage, faced a dilemma: how to reconcile their commitment to competition, toleration, and popular sovereignty with their desire to defend an orderly and pious life. 416pp. 0 521 30183 1 £30.00 net The Fall of the House of Labor The Workplace, the State, and American Labor Activism, 1865-1925 DAVID MONTGOMERY David Montgomery studies the changing ways in which American industrial workers mobilised concerted action in their own interests and examines the codes of conduct developed by different types of workers and the connections between their activity at work, their national origins and neighbourhood life. 508pp. 0 521 22579 5 £27.50 net • H Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 2RU, England (vi) terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:09, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 https://www.cambridge.org/core CAMBRIDGE Now in paperback 'Agrarians' and 'Aristocrats' Party Political Ideology in the United States, 1837-1846 JOHN ASHWORTH 'With enviable assurance and clarity of mind, (Ashworth) efficiently analyses the political ideologies of the two major parties of the Jacksonian era, and in so doing exposes the shortcomings of most recent interpretations of Jacksonian democracy.' Journal of American Studies 335 pp. 0 52133567 1 Paperback £9.95 net Reformers and War American Progressive Publicists and the First World War JOHN A. THOMPSON This thoroughly researched account focuses on those writers and journals most prominently associated with the American 'progressive movement' and examines their response to the First World War and the effect of the war on their thinking. 312 pp. 0 521 25289 X £25.00 net Woodrow Wilson and the American Diplomatic Tradition The Treaty Fight in Perspective LLOYD E. AMBROSIUS Focusing on Wilson's contribution to the creation of the League of Nations and the subsequent Senate fight over the Versailles Treaty, the author examines Wilson's failure to translate his ideals for American involvement in international affairs into reality. 344 pp. 0 521 33453 5 £27.50 net Now in paperback Labor's War at Home The CIO in World War II NELSON LICHTENSTEIN 'Lichtenstein has compiled a splendid, well-researched book, written in an engaging and confident style. He effectively analyses the search for labour stability during the war and, most important, what the implications were for trades unionism in the United Statesafter 1945.' The Economic History Review 332 pp. 0 521 33573 6 Paperback £9.95 net The Marshall Plan America, Britain, and the Reconstruction of Western Europe, 1947-1952 MICHAEL J. HOGAN This book presents the fullest account yet written of America's programme to assist Europe after World War II. In this major reinterpretation, Professor Hogan shows that, through the Marshall Plan, American officials hoped to refashion Western Europe into a smaller version of the integrated single-market and mixed capitalist economy that existed in the United States. 496pp. 0 521 25140 0 £27.50net Studies in Economic History and Policy: The United States in the 20th Century Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 2RU, England, (vii)terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:09, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 https://www.cambridge.org/core CAMBRIDGE Sheffield Steel and America A Century of Commercial and Technological Interdependence 1830-1930 GEOFFREY TWEEDALE A systematic investigation of the Sheffield steel industry, its allied trades and their commercial and technological relationship with the United States. It is unique both for providing a comprehensive economic history of this branch of the steel industry for this period and for its comparative study of special steelmaking in Sheffield and the United States. 320 pp. 0 521 33458 6 £30.00 net The Great Depression Delayed Recovery and Economic Change in America, 1929-1939 MICHAEL A. BERNSTEIN Presenting a powerful new interpretation of the depression of the 1930s, Professor Bernstein argues that it arose from a radical shift in the industrial composition of investment and consumer demands, and not just cyclical variation. His views have bearings on our understanding of New Deal policies. 280 pp. 0 521 34048 9 £27.50 net Studies in Economic History and Policy: The United States in the 20tb Century Now in paperback Energy Policy in America Since 1945 A Study of Business-Government Relations RICHARD H. K. VIETOR 'Vietor does more than narrate the course of American energy policies. He is also concerned with shifting patterns of government-business relations ... This is an impressive book which makes a major contribution to the subject.' Business History Review 382 pp. 0 521 33572 8 Paperback £10.95 net Studies in Economic History and Policy: The United States in the 20th Century Now in paperback Monetary Politics The Federal Reserve and the Politics of Monetary Policy JOHN T. WOOLLEY This is the first book to describe and analyse the relationships between the Federal Reserve and the President, Congress, bankers, and economists. '... essential reading for anyone who wants to understand monetary policy making in the United States in its full institutional context.' The Banker 282 pp 0 521 31247 7 Paperback £9.50 net United States Taxes and Tax Policy DAVID G. DAVIES This book supplements and complements the theoretical material on taxes found in public finance texts using a combination of institutional, theoretical and empirical information to provide insight into the behaviour of individuals in both the private and public sectors. 352 pp. 0 521 30169 6 £32.50 net Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 2RU, England. (viii)terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:09, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021875800032977 https://www.cambridge.org/core CAMBRIDGE Congress: Structure and Policy Edited by MATHEW D. McCUBBINS and TERRY SULLIVAN Focusing on congressional behaviour from an institutional perspective, this comprehensive review of current research includes studies on, among other areas, elections and campaigning, controlling bureaucracy, committees and committee assignments, budgeting, reform and presidential influence. 576 pp. 0 521 33169 2 Hard covers £40.00 net 0 521 33750 X Paperback£15.00net Political Economy of Institutions and Decisions Disabled Policy America's Programs for the Handicapped A Twentieth Century Fund Report EDWARD D . BERKOW1TZ Based on careful archival research and interviews with policymakers, this book combines history and analysis of current policy to expose the contradictions in America's disability policy and suggest means of remedying them. 272 pp. 0 521 34014 4 £27.50 net Beauty, Health and Permanence Environmental Politics in the United States, 1955-1985 SAMUEL P. HAYS This book considers a wide range of environmental issues which have been debated since the mid 1950s, showing how they have resulted from the changes in values in American society since World War II. The book explores political controversy to show the working of political institutions and to establish their relationship to social change. 648 pp. 0 521 32428 9 £30.00 net Studies in Environment and History Capital Punishment and the American Agenda FRANKLIN E. ZIMRING a n d G O R D O N HAWKINS This, the first political study of capital punishment in the United States, reexamines the whole subject in the light of the social, political, and moral conditions of the United States in the 1980s, and redefines the central political and legal issues. 210 pp. 0 521 33033 5 £20.00 net Now in paperback The United States and Africa A History PETER DUIGNAN a n d L. H. GANN From the early part of the seventeenth century, North America and Africa have maintained many contacts. 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work_rvux54ri4rdrlliq4d6li57vym	----	Ecological Consequences of Artificial Night Light- ing.—Catherine Rich and Travis Longcore [editors]. 2006. Island Press, Washington, DC. 458 pp.,. ISBN 1-55963-129-5 (paper), 1-55963-128-7 (cloth). $29.95 (paper), $65.00 (cloth). Humans, especially those of us living in developed countries, tend to take for granted artificial night lighting, be it street, building, park, spot, vanity, pilot-warning, recreational, safety, or other lighting. Furthermore, one can only be struck by the rapid increase in artificial night lighting documented by nighttime satellite photographs of planet Earth over the past three or so decades. Most obvious today are the beams and halos of light radiating from population centers in North and South America, Europe, Russia, Southeast and East Asia, and coastal areas in Australia. Las Vegas, Nevada, is a ‘‘shining’’ example of our opulence and blatant wastefulness. What may not be so obvious to the casual observer, or for that matter to the scientific community, are the impacts of artificial night lighting on myriad species of fish, wildlife, and plants. With the publication of Ecological Consequences of Artificial Night Lighting, that has all changed. Organisms evolved and adapted to pre–industrial revolution patterns of predictable periods of light and darkness that varied seasonally in temperate and arctic latitudes. With an increasing human popula- tion, refinements in power transmission grids and electrical distribution capacities—especially in wealthy, developed countries—and our unfortunate habit of being incredibly energy inefficient, we now use artificial night light for many purposes. Not unexpectedly, as the use of artificial lights exploded, ‘‘high profile’’ examples of affected species surfaced, most notably sea turtle hatchlings and migratory songbirds. This book was developed to provide state- of-the-art reviews and cutting-edge scientific infor- mation to address the problem of ‘‘ecological light pollution,’’ which is now being documented as a disruptor of ecosystems (Longcore and Rich 2004), with particular reference to the impacts on the flora and fauna within affected systems. The text also provides management recommendations and discusses our knowledge, or lack thereof, of the impacts of artificial night lighting on plants and animals. As a federal wildlife biologist involved in the conservation and management of migratory birds, the material provides me—and hopefully many others—with important tools to help understand the ecological impacts of artificial lighting and to help best manage lights for the protection of all affected species. For anyone interested in or involved with artificial lighting research or policy-making, this book is a must-read. Whether you’re a researcher looking to perform follow-up studies, a state, provincial, federal, or international official trying to address specific management challenges dealing with lighting, an industry representative trying to discern lighting impacts of your company’s actions, a conservationist looking to address lighting impacts, or an interested stakeholder simply trying to get informed about the issue, this volume is clearly priority reading. The book is well organized, well referenced, and easy to read. The volume is divided into six parts, each with multiple chapters, 17 in all. Some of the chapters are tastefully introduced with vignettes (e.g., by Alexander von Humboldt and Henry David Thoreau) or with personal experiences (e.g., by Bernd Heinrich and Carl Safina). The book is organized into taxonomic groupings, with chapters providing reviews of impacts on mammals, birds, reptiles and amphibians, fishes, invertebrates, and plants. Taxo- nomic groupings are further partitioned into suites of species including land mammals; landbirds, seabirds, and a chapter specifically on the European Black- tailed Godwit (Limosa limosa); sea turtles, geckos, anoles, anurans, and salamanders; fish; insects, moths, and fireflies; zooplankton and stream macro- invertebrates; and plants. Most chapters provide a detailed reference list with citations. Virtually all 226 BOOK REVIEWS chapters contain helpful graphs, charts, diagrams, and photographs that help validate the case studies documenting lighting impacts. The final chapter by Catherine Rich and Travis Longcore synthesizes the current state of knowledge about lighting impacts, documented and suspected ecological consequences, and provides suggestions for future research and management. Chapter 4 by Sidney Gauthreaux and Carroll Belser on the effects of artificial night lighting on migrating birds is an intriguing and informative read for anyone particularly interested in and concerned about this issue. This chapter includes the publication of original research by the authors on tall, lighted communication towers in Georgia and South Car- olina. Their study, and replicated research at communication towers in Michigan, is helping the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) determine best management lighting practices for tall, lighted structures. For example, the USFWS estimates that lighting from communication towers attracts migrat- ing birds, killing at least 4–5 million birds per year in the United States (Manville 2005). In Chapter 5, William Montevecchi examines the influences of artificial light on marine birds and provides a succinct review of direct and indirect influences of lighting, including suggestions for deterrence, avoidance, and mitigation. Chapter 6 by Johannes de Molenaar, Maria Sanders, and Dick Jonkers reviews the impacts of road lighting on grassland birds, including the European Black-tailed Godwit. This chapter also includes original research conducted by the authors, concluding small but statistically significant impacts of road lighting on godwits. The study ultimately provided guidance for road lighting policy imple- mented by the Netherlands government. In Part I, Chapter 2 by Paul Beier on terrestrial mammals and Chapter 3 by Jens Rydell on bats are both likely of interest to readers of The Condor. These chapters review such issues as the anatomy and physiology of mammalian vision, the influence of moonlight, mammalian circadian rhythms, foraging disruption and the increased risk of predation, disruption of biological clocks, street lighting and mammalian road kills, street lighting and insect prey attraction, disruption of dispersal, and research needs. Catherine Rich and Travis Longcore, both of whom I have had the opportunity to work with, have an incredible passion for conservation, illustrated by their concerted efforts to integrate cutting-edge science into this book. The book represents the culmination of a 2002 conference on the overall topic of artificial night lighting, as well as other chapters written later by other experts. This book provides anyone interested in the impacts of artificial night lighting with a wide variety of critical scientific knowledge, current research efforts and discoveries, data gaps, mitigation tools, and management recom- mendations. It should be a primary source for anyone dealing with work related to lights and their impacts on living organisms. It’s on my primary source reading list.—ALBERT M. MANVILLE II, Di- vision of Migratory Bird Management, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, 4401 N. Fairfax Dr. MBSP-4107, Arlington, VA 22203. E-mail: Albert_Manville@ fws.gov LITERATURE CITED LONGCORE, T., AND C. RICH. 2004. Ecological light pollution. Frontiers in Ecology and the Envi- ronment 2:191–198. MANVILLE, A. M., II. 2005. Bird strikes and electrocutions at power lines, communication towers, and wind turbines: state of the art and state of the science—next steps toward mitiga- tion, p. 1051–1064. In C. J. Ralph and T. D. Rich [EDS.], Bird conservation implementation in the Americas: proceedings of the 3rd international Partners in Flight conference 2002. USDA Forest Service General Technical Report GTR- PSW-191. BOOK REVIEWS 227 
work_rwrgteqtezbelcvhozqjsiwfg4	----	Reformation Leads to Self-Reliance: The Protestantism of Transcendentalism religions Article Reformation Leads to Self-Reliance: The Protestantism of Transcendentalism Rachel B. Griffis Department of Language and Literature, Sterling College, 125 W Cooper Ave, Sterling, KS 67579, USA; rachel.griffis@sterling.edu; Tel.: +1-620-278-4326 Academic Editor: Christopher Metress Received: 27 December 2016; Accepted: 14 February 2017; Published: 21 February 2017 Abstract: This article examines connections between the Protestant Reformation and American literature and argues that Protestantism’s best expression exists in contemporary iterations of self-reliance. The first part focuses on William Ellery Channing’s and Ralph Waldo Emerson’s literary criticism of John Milton, a poet who represents the Protestant ideals these writers combine with American principles to develop the literary tradition. The second part discusses the trajectory of American literature in the nineteenth century and extends this discussion to current assumptions regarding teaching and learning. Keywords: Protestantism; transcendentalism; self-reliance; Milton; Channing; Emerson In 1775 when the British conservative Edmund Burke commented on revolutionary and religious zeal in America, he drew attention to the unique relationship between the Protestant Reformation and the identity of America, the site for what he called “the protestantism of the Protestant religion” ([1], p. 71). When the American transcendentalist literary movement emerged in the next century, the writers of this period also drew upon the Protestant Reformation to express the tenets of their own age. American literary critic and Catholic convert Orestes Brownson’s aptly titled article “Protestantism ends in Transcendentalism” (1846) describes transcendentalism as “nothing but the fundamental principle of the Protestant reformation itself” ([2], p. 115). Similarly, Ralph Waldo Emerson, the quintessential transcendentalist, suggests the Protestant Reformation produced Calvinism, which “rushes to be Unitarianism, as Unitarianism rushes to be pure Theism” ([3], p. 117). Like Burke, Brownson and Emerson locate America as a place where the Reformation manifested itself, although they point to the movements of the nineteenth century, and not the founding of the country, as the furthest reaches of Protestant thought. Historians, theologians, and literary scholars have long noted the complementary relationship between Protestantism and nineteenth century print culture in America. However, scholars have tended to discuss this relationship in terms of the eventual secularization of American culture rather than to consider literature as a significant medium for the continuation and development of American Protestantism, which may be most visible today in the cultural virtues of self-reliance.1 This article will demonstrate the importance of teaching nineteenth American literature as a powerful agent for Protestantism as well as connect this century’s literary and religious developments to current assumptions about learning and education. In the first part, I will suggest that the role many 1 For example, Brad S. Gregory, whom I will reference in the body of the article, connects Protestantism to secularization when he argues that “the expansion of rights inaugurated by the right to religious liberty would eventually include the right to religious unbelief and the right to live in ways antithetical to Christian morality” ([4], p. 188). While I agree with Gregory that Protestantism set in motion the option of unbelief, my article focuses on the ways in which the culture of self-reliance, wrought from individual rights, is itself an expression of Protestantism and evidence of religiosity in America. Religions 2017, 8, 30; doi:10.3390/rel8020030 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2017, 8, 30 2 of 10 writers, specifically William Ellery Channing and Ralph Waldo Emerson, expected literature to play in American life is indicative of Protestantism’s legacy in the United States. By examining Channing’s and Emerson’s criticism on John Milton, this section will highlight how they idealized literature as the conduit for the values and concepts of individualism, freedom, and self-government. The second part traces the role of literature in the moral lives of Americans through trends in the latter half of the nineteenth century and concludes with a discussion of education in light of the Reformation through an aspect of Protestantism that inspired many American writers: what Brownson describes as “the right of private judgment” ([2], p. 125).2 Overall, I hope to show that the development of the American literary tradition reflects the far-reaching effects of the sixteenth century European Reformation, which distantly yet significantly inspired the literature of the United States to function as a moral voice in the lives of the people. 1. Protestantism Gives Way to Transcendentalism: Milton, Channing, and Emerson In the first few decades of the nineteenth century, American writers became increasingly concerned with developing a literary tradition that was uniquely American and equal to England’s. In 1815, Walter Channing lamented the absence of “a literature of our own” as he speculates whether, our venerable fathers, when they deserted their own country, bring with them a thread of that literary tissue, so varied, so rich, and so beautiful, which had been the result of the dignified and delightful labour of England through so many ages of its history? Have we, their descendants, united our industry to theirs? ([5], pp. 35–36) Channing’s desire for a specifically “American” literature demonstrates his concern that the nation’s writers produce works exemplifying the lives and values of American people in a way that equals, if not rivals, creative works by the British. In 1820, the British writer Sydney Smith fanned the fires when he taunted Americans regarding their literature. “In the four quarters of the globe,” he writes, “who reads an American book? Or goes to an American play? Or looks at an American picture or statue?” ([6], p. 79). The nation’s writers in the first half of the nineteenth century responded to remarks such as Channing’s and Smith’s by building a national literature, of which the transcendentalists were a vital part. The transcendentalists’ vision for a national literature was inspired by their moral, Protestant-inflected ideals as much as their patriotism, an important point for teachers and students of the Reformation and the American literary tradition. F.O. Matthiessen acknowledges the moral undertones of this literary movement when he writes, “the transcendent theory of art is a theory of knowledge and religion as well” ([7], p. 31). More pointedly, Perry Miller asserts “that the Transcendental movement is most accurately to be defined as a religious demonstration,” and, “Neither Emerson nor Thoreau conceived of himself as an artist, but each of them came close—perilously close perhaps—to imagining himself a prophet” ([8], pp. 8–9). As Matthiessen’s and Miller’s comments show, many of the transcendentalists studied today by undergraduates and included in anthologies believed their objectives were religious ones and that they furthered the efforts of the sixteenth century reformers. For example, Margaret Fuller, hoping to renew what she calls the Protestants’ “great principle,” writes to support what she understands as the reformers’ original mission: “respect for the right of private judgment and the decision of conscience in the individual” ([9], p. 93). The novelist Catharine Maria Sedgwick celebrates “the great principle achieved and fixed by the Protestant battle—the right of private judgment” as she berates the Calvinists for obstructing this principle ([10], 2 Many other nineteenth century authors used this phrase to refer to the accomplishments of the Protestant Reformation, including Catharine Maria Sedgwick and Margaret Fuller, who will be cited in this article. Religions 2017, 8, 30 3 of 10 p. 338).3 The Unitarian minister William Ellery Channing, the older brother of Walter, calls for the continuation of the Reformation in his promotion of Unitarianism because “a Papal dominion is perpetuated in the Protestant church” ([12], p. 101). These statements, which express the common goals of the European reformers and the transcendentalists, demonstrate how many American writers in the nineteenth century viewed themselves as stewards of Protestantism in the New World and not necessarily apostates who sought to liberate others from religion. They were instead seeking the fulfillment of freedom promised by the Reformation.4 Emerson, perhaps the most studied and influential of the transcendentalists, writes about movements such as the Protestant Reformation and the American Revolution as steps in the path to self-reliance, the ultimate form of human freedom. He suggests that Protestantism progresses into such movements as “Calvinism into Old and New schools; Quakerism into Old and New,” as a result of one “key” phenomenon: “the mind had become aware of itself” ([3], pp. 325–26). Emerson goes on to describe and celebrate the progress of human culture toward his self-reliant ideals: Men grew reflective and intellectual. There was a new consciousness. The former generations acted under the belief that a shining social prosperity was the beatitude of man, and sacrificed uniformly the citizen to the State. The modern mind believed that the nation existed for the individual, for the guardianship and education of every man. This idea, roughly written in revolutions and national movements, in the mind of the philosopher had far more precision; the individual is the world. ([3], p. 326) The sixteenth century European Reformers and the eighteenth century American Revolutionaries, Emerson suggests, had conceived of new religions and nations while unwittingly grasping at the realization of the individual, to which the transcendentalists gave release with works like “Self-Reliance” (1841) and Walden (1854). In answering the call for a national literary tradition and furthering the work of the Protestant Reformation, Emerson argues that both government and religion should serve the individual, whom he proclaims, “is the world” ([3], p. 326). Or, as Henry David Thoreau states, “Now that the republic—the res-publica—has been settled, it is time to look after the res-privata—the private state” ([14], p. 174). The Protestant Reformation and the founding of the United States were, in the transcendentalists’ view, events that would culminate in their own movement. As Thoreau writes, they then turned to “the private state” to advance inner freedom, as they believed Americans needed to be liberated from tradition and authority, and that literature was a particularly well-suited medium for their message of freedom ([14], p. 174).5 Emerson and Channing both produced essays in the 1820s and 1830s that reveal the influence of Protestantism in the American literary tradition, and these works help students to understand better the ideas expressed in more familiar transcendentalist texts such as “Self-Reliance” and Walden. In his “Remarks on National Literature” (1830), Channing conveys aspirations for a literature that accomplishes work nearly indistinguishable from that of religion and the clergy. He hopes literature can “produc[e] superior men,” and he states, “We want a literature, in which genius will pay supreme, if not undivided homage, to truth and virtue” and which “will give place to a wise moral judgment; which will breathe reverence for the mind, and elevating thoughts of God” ([12], pp. 168, 185). Moreover, Channing’s vision that the nation’s literature “will pay supreme, if not undivided” attention 3 Catharine Maria Sedgwick also positively refers to Burke’s description of religion in America in The Linwoods (1835), a reference that indicates American writers’ interest in promoting the principles of Protestantism in literature and culture ([11], p. 41). 4 Alexis de Tocqueville, a French writer who visited America in the 1830s, affirms how the Americans understand their Protestant heritage. He writes that Americans, “after having shaken off the authority of the pope, acknowledged no other religious supremacy: they brought with them into the New World a form of Christianity, which I cannot better describe, than by styling it a democratic and republican religion” ([13], p. 245). 5 It is important to note that the transcendentalists’ preoccupation with freedom did not exclude the question of slavery, though they held that inner liberty was the highest form of freedom. They were indeed aware of the contradictions in American thought that allowed the Declaration of Independence and the institution of slavery to co-exist. Religions 2017, 8, 30 4 of 10 to a morality that results in “reverence for the mind” along with “elevating thoughts of God” reveals the particularly Protestant declensions of religion in nineteenth century America, which focused on elevating both humanity and God ([12], p. 185). Channing’s and Emerson’s literary criticism also provides further insights into the transcendentalists’ expectations for literature. Their admiration for John Milton, the British, Puritan poet of Paradise Lost (1667), specifically expresses how they envision a literature that celebrates their Protestant ideals and values, including individualism, freedom, self-government, and the elevation of humanity.6 As Brad S. Gregory explains, Milton is a “radical Protestant” who “simply spelled out what was implicit in Luther, Calvin, and every other sixteenth-century Protestant reformer,” an explanation that sheds light on the transcendentalists’ regard for this poet and their decision to draw upon him as they created their literary movement ([4], p. 215). Respectively written in 1826 and 1838, Channing’s and Emerson’s essays on Milton depict the poet as a progressive Protestant with ideas that anticipate and resemble the transcendentalists’ views in nineteenth century America. Channing’s essay on Milton emphasizes the poet’s commitment to freedom by highlighting the ways in which the poet interacts with civic and religious issues, a commitment he argues is motivated by Milton’s elevation of freedom of the mind. Channing states, Freedom, in all its forms, and branches, was dear to him, but especially freedom of thought and speech, of conscience and worship, freedom to seek, profess, and propagate truth [ . . . ] The tyranny which he hated most was that which broke the intellectual and moral power of the community. The worst feature of the institutions which he assailed was, that they fettered the mind. ([16], p. 508) Writing against the institutional “fetter[ing] of the mind,” and the inhibition of people’s “moral” and “intellectual” “power[s],” Channing emphasizes the incorporeal aspects of freedom with his references to “thought” and “conscience” ([16], p. 508). Like Channing, Emerson considers Milton “an apostle of freedom,” especially highlighting him as an individualist ([17], p. 271). For example, writes Emerson, “he is never lost in a party. His private opinions and conscience always distinguish him” ([17], p. 270). Emerson also praises Milton’s rejection of spiritual authority by his absence from church, noting, “The most devout man of his time, he frequented no church” ([17], p. 273). Emerson admires Milton for his spiritual autonomy, for the independence of heart and mind to eschew church authority and to take responsibility for his own spirituality, tendencies Emerson himself also possessed.7 Milton’s role as “an apostle of freedom” also gives both Emerson and Channing a way to express their high view of human nature, a view they believed had its roots in the Protestant cause, but had been obstructed by Calvinism in America ([17], p. 271). For example, as he writes about Milton’s elevation of humanity, Channing suggests that Milton’s contribution to theology is an emphasis on the human aspects of God. He argues that Milton “is more disposed than Christians in general to conceive of the Supreme Being under the forms and affections of human nature,” adding, “He thought, not so much what man is, as of what he might become” ([16], pp. 511, 509). Emerson, similarly, counts among Milton’s great achievements his resolve “to raise the idea of Man in the minds of his contemporaries and of posterity” ([17], p. 254). Taking his characteristic shots at Calvinism, Emerson also praises Milton for Paradise Lost, a work he interprets as glorifying the first man. Writing unabashedly about the glories of this first man, Emerson suggests, allows the poet to “reascend to the height from which 6 Milton was very popular among Americans in both the eighteenth and nineteenth century. Twenty-eight editions of Milton’s poetry were published by American printers between 1787 and 1815 (Sensabaugh [15], p. 17). 7 The Milton presented in this article is as Channing and Emerson interpret him, and I am interested in that interpretation for what it reveals about Channing and Emerson. Many Miltonists indeed read the poet as more Puritan than transcendentalist. For example, regarding Paradise Lost, Stanley Fish has argued in Surprised by Sin that Milton tricks the reader into indulging his or her disorderly sympathies, wherein “he places himself in a compromising situation,” which is that “He has taken his eyes from its proper object—the glory of God and the state of his own soul” ([18], p. 12). In doing so, Milton reinforces the concept of original sin, a concept which Channing and Emerson found repugnant and wanted to minimize in their reading of Milton. Religions 2017, 8, 30 5 of 10 our nature is supposed to have descended,” a position the transcendentalists believed Americans encumbered with Calvinism had forgotten or perhaps deliberately ignored ([17], p. 274).8 Channing’s and Emerson’s aspirations for American literature in their essays point to the Protestant roots of their ideas and how morality was promoted through literature in the nineteenth century. Furthermore, connecting the Reformation and transcendentalism shows that the Protestants’ contentions and causes, such as their distrust of authority and their elevation of the individual, lead to the kind of thinking eventually articulated by Emerson. Like Milton, Emerson expresses such radically Protestant sentiments in “Self-Reliance” as “To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men,–that is genius” ([19], p. 29). In agreement with Burke’s and Brownson’s statements which began this article, Gregory’s theological genealogy suggests that the United States was the place where “formally [ . . . ] individuals, their rights secured by the state, would choose their own goods as they chose their own beliefs” ([4], p. 217). This assertion effectively articulates in political terms what Emerson claims for the inner lives of individual Americans. Joe B. Fulton more directly establishes a lineage between the reformers and transcendentalists when he writes that “New England’s new theological and literary movement [was] the logical outcome of Luther nailing his ninety-five theses to the church door in Wittenberg and Calvin penning his Institutes while exiled in Switzerland” ([20], pp. 404–5). These genealogies point to the possibility that literature was not only the medium through which Americans received the cultural virtues of self-reliance, but also the most effective conduit for the growth of Protestantism, from which self-reliance originates. 2. American Literature’s Moral Purpose: Individual Interpretation and Learning Protestantism continued to influence American literature in the movements that followed transcendentalism, a lineage particularly evident in the ways literature participated in the moral lives of Americans during and after the Civil War. In his call for a national literary tradition, Channing states that poetry takes on salvific proportions, a role that will become more evident as the nineteenth century progresses. Poetry, Channing writes, “the divinest of all arts,” “has the same tendency and aim with Christianity: that is, to spiritualize our nature” ([16], p. 498). Miller explains such statements as a result of the “precommitment” of the transcendentalists “to making literature a substitute for religion” ([8], p. 14). One of the results of poetry having “the same tendency and aim with Christianity,” as Channing puts it, is that literature becomes a source for moral questions and answers and the nation’s writers become the clergy ([16], p. 498). For example, a character in one of William Dean Howells’s novels, The Rise of Silas Lapham (1884–1885), asks a minister at a dinner party if he is “envious” of the power of novels in people’s lives ([21], p. 175). Similarly, in one of Mark Twain’s sketches, he writes, nine-tenths of all kindness and forbearance and Christian charity and generosity in the hearts of the American people to-day, got there by being filtered down from their fountain-head, the gospel of Christ, through dramas and tragedies and comedies on the stage, and through the despised novel [ . . . ] and NOT from the drowsy pulpit! ([22], p. 53) These developments in American literature point to the deepening moral imperatives of the nation’s writers in the nineteenth century and the waning authority of the very sources of oppression Emerson had warned his readers about, such as the church and tradition. In my classroom, I ask my students to identify Protestant and Emersonian sentiments in works from and after the Civil War period not only to help them make connections between sixteenth century Europe and American literature but also to encourage them eventually to recognize the prevalence of Emersonian Protestantism in contemporary culture. 8 Given Milton’s association with Calvinism, a branch of Christianity the transcendentalists eschewed, Emerson and Channing thus worked to curtail this tradition’s impact on Milton’s thinking. Channing, for example, writes, “Swayed as Milton was by the age in which he lived, his spirit could not be subdued to the heart-withering faith of the Genevan school” ([16], p. 517). Religions 2017, 8, 30 6 of 10 Other historical and cultural phenomena in the nineteenth century contributed to the elevation of literature in the moral lives of Americans, and several are useful for helping students to trace the links between the Reformation and American literature and culture. Two are worth mentioning here for their relationship to reading and learning: Protestant print culture and skepticism regarding the authority of the Bible. Protestant print culture, with its emphasis on individual Bible reading and the narrative testimonies of believers, promoted the dissemination of morals through literary texts. David S. Reynolds suggests that clergy adapted their work according to the literary market, “knowing they had to compete with novels for the public’s attention,” thus creating their own publications ([23], p. 15). In The Word in the World (2004), Candy Gunther Brown studies evangelical print culture specifically, showing how literature was a fundamental aspect of this branch of Protestantism. Although many of the writers Brown highlights would not endorse the cynical attitudes of Howells and Twain regarding the role of clergy and sermons in the Christian life, her research nevertheless shows that literature was essential to the success of evangelicalism. She explains, “Readers and writers made progress in a spiritual journey through textual practices, giving and receiving encouragement from other readers and writers, by placing themselves within the story of the church’s communal pilgrimage” ([24], p. 11). Although these evangelical communities did not follow, at least directly, Emerson’s enjoinder, “Nothing can bring you peace but yourself,” they expressed self-reliant ideals in their high view of literature’s ability to augment the individual’s moral life ([19], p. 52). They also had similar, non-aesthetic goals. As Brown asserts, “Usefulness, rather than genre or form, was the primary characteristic that marked texts as evangelical” ([24], p. 7). Moreover, as Channing’s and Emerson’s criticism of Milton indicates, evangelical print culture was preoccupied with conveying certain ideas rather than developing pristine literary forms.9 Additionally, the authority of the Bible strenuously came under question during the Civil War, a conflict this holy book failed to solve. Mark A. Noll argues that this conflict “revealed a significant theological crisis,” which perhaps suggests how and why, for many Americans, literature replaced the sermon as the conduit for morals ([27], p. 6). Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1854), for example, depicts the opposing views of Bible-readers in relation to slavery while employing the sentimental formula to show her readers which interpretation is most moral. Furthermore, in her concluding remarks, she describes the Protestant, self-reliant way an American can grow in morality and thus function as a responsible and compassionate member of a community. She famously states, “every individual can judge,” and “they can see to it that they feel right” ([28], p. 624). Stowe’s vision for advancing a moral view of slavery and human rights assumes, as Gregory points out, that people “would choose their own goods as they chose their own beliefs,” and so she undertook a persuasive writing project that would convict individuals through their feelings to support the abolition of slavery ([4], p. 217). Outsold only by the Bible in the nineteenth century, Uncle Tom’s Cabin reveals, perhaps unwittingly, that Scripture was not reliable for answering the slavery question. Instead, this novel suggests that individual sentiments, albeit Christian inflected ones, would restore order and morality in the country, a suggestion that points to the effects of the Protestant Reformation on the development of American literature. As Gregory suggests, From the outset of the Reformation to the present day, the insistence on sola scriptura and its adjuncts has produced and continues to yield an open-ended range of incompatible interpretations of the Bible, with centrifugal social and wide-ranging substantive implications for morality. ([4], p. 205) 9 As Anne C. Rose points out, “the Transcendentalists began their careers as reformers of religious philosophy,” and as a result, the literature tends to have a moral purpose over an aesthetic one ([25], p. 39). A focus on content over form is a characteristic of the transcendentalists, and this focus is evident in their criticism of Milton, which emphasizes “the ethical and didactic excellences in Milton” while overlooking “a technical examination of the stylistic features” (Pettigrew [26], p. 58). Religions 2017, 8, 30 7 of 10 The American literary tradition, though making no claims to function as the sacred word of God, encourages the self-reliant protesters and descendants from the sixteenth century to interrogate texts, to arrive at their own interpretations and thus their own beliefs. Gregory’s observation regarding the “adjuncts” of “sola scriptura” is evident in Emerson’s statement at the outset of “Self-Reliance” quoted above: “To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men,–that is genius” (Gregory [4], p. 205; Emerson [19], p. 29). The elevation of believing for oneself and thinking for oneself are concepts to which the Reformation gave rise, concepts which Emerson expressed explicitly, and which American education often takes for granted. It is cliché among educators to state that one’s goals for a particular course are for students “to think for themselves,” as such goals are assumed. In Why Read? (2004), Professor Mark Edmundson expresses the heritage of Emersonian self-reliance in the academy when he argues that students must decide for themselves which goods they will pursue on their intellectual journeys “through encounters of the best that has been known and thought” ([29], p. 86). He continues, We all have promise in us; it is up to education to reveal that promise, and to help it unfold. The power that is in you, says Emerson, is new in nature. And the best way to release that power is to let students confront viable versions of experience and take their choices. ([29], p. 86) David Foster Wallace also articulates these educational principles in his famous commencement address when he asserts, “‘Learning how to think’ really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think” ([30], p. 53). Edmundson’s and Wallace’s lofty expressions are what Brownson describes pejoratively as the natural consequences of “the right of private judgment,” though Edmundson’s vision in which students seriously consider “the best that has been known and thought” and “take their choices” is entirely sincere (Brownson [2], p. 125; Edmundson [29], p. 86). On the other hand, what Brownson perhaps anticipates in his critique of Protestantism and transcendentalism is that American students will resist learning because of the Emersonian platitudes they have internalized, often without having read Emerson himself. Emerson’s statements—“imitation is suicide,” “Trust thyself,” and “Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist”—inform many students’ perspectives on education ([19], pp. 29–31). Or, they echo Thoreau, who criticizes formal schooling and suggests that students “should not play life, or study it merely, while the community supports them at this expensive game, but earnestly live it from beginning to end” ([31], p. 38). As Edmundson concedes, students often protect themselves from learning that requires them to “reveal and risk [themselves],” only tolerating the kind of knowledge that “allow[s] [them] to keep [their] cool” ([29], p. 13). They choose the least demanding goods which require minimal change and growth. Alluding to the transcendentalists’ ideals, R.R. Reno explains Edmundson’s concession by drawing attention to the shortcomings of current and prevalent American assumptions about education. For Reno, learners lack a disposition of “docility,” or, “the capacity to be guided or led” ([32], p. 98). More pointedly, he states, neither students nor teachers are disposed to accept the instruction of the wise, whose voices continue to live in the great books of the past. We will not allow ourselves to be taught about spiritual, moral, and political realities. We are indocile to tradition. ([32], p. 100) Reno’s observation that students and teachers alike are “indocile to tradition” recalls the individualism of the transcendentalists, which they inherited from the Protestants who empowered the individual with the right of private judgment. This indocility is why Brownson, according to Carl F. Krummel, believed that Catholicism would “[balance] the democratic tendency with respect for authority” ([33], p. 24). Religions 2017, 8, 30 8 of 10 Gregory’s account of the Protestant perspective on authority, specifically that “in the end one was one’s own sovereign authority, answerable only to God,” is also an apt description of the transcendentalists’ views which persist in the “indocility” that has become commonplace in contemporary American culture ([4], p. 215). In Brownson’s words, “Protestantism, then, necessarily lays down the principle, that each and every man is in himself the exact measure of truth and goodness,—the very fundamental proposition of transcendentalism” ([2], p. 127). Gregory argues that this high view of the individual and the subsequent impoverished view of authority “undermined the importance of counsel that shaped one’s moral formation in a moral community” ([4], p. 215). Its current impact on educational communities is that the virtue of docility, as Reno notes, is neither practiced nor recognized. The great literary critic R.W.B. Lewis also makes the connection between transcendentalism and extreme individualism when he aptly suggests, in The American Adam (1955) that “The dismissal of the past has been only too effective: America, since the age of Emerson, has been persistently a one-generation culture” ([34], p. 9). Teaching students who have internalized Emerson thus presents its own challenges, as few of us have the audacity of Stanley Hauerwas, who, as one student reports, dismantles Emersonian assumptions by announcing in his classroom, “I don’t want you to think for yourselves. I want you to think like me” ([35], p. 26). Furthermore, as Edmundson and Wallace demonstrate, the American ideal for Protestant-inflected, democratic education has worthwhile and moral ends. Edmundson argues that American education has the potential to influence students to become “wiser, more vital, kinder, sadder, more thoughtful, more worth the admiration of their children [ . . . ] because they are free to become who they aspire to be after their own peculiar fashions” ([29], p. 142). On the other hand, Gregory’s argument about the Reformation questions whether liberating students, in Edmundson’s words, “to become who they aspire to be after their own peculiar fashions” can possibly produce the virtuous results Edmundson lists because of the radical individualism it encourages ([29], p. 142). Alasdair MacIntyre, in After Virtue (1981), a project similar to Gregory’s, suggests more directly that Edmundson’s aspirations are impossible given the “grave disorder” of “the language of morality” in our culture ([36], p. 2). Gregory’s and MacIntyre’s critiques of post-Reformation culture demonstrate how many educators are indeed working against cultural assumptions regarding the individual and the purpose of learning, assumptions wrought from Protestantism and self-reliance. For such teachers, both Protestant and Catholic, it may be helpful to consider seriously not only Brownson’s assertion that “transcendentalism is the strict logical termination of Protestantism,” but the history of transcendentalism, which is recognized as the first major literary movement in the United States ([2], p. 127). In this history, Miller states that transcendentalism itself was “no longer visible” by 1850, concluding that “it had won its point” when “America adopted it and made it orthodox” ([8], pp. 13–14). Given how deeply Americans internalized its principles, the school of transcendentalism was, according to Miller, no longer needed. As many educators today will affirm, students tend to step into our classrooms with “Trust thyself” at their fingertips and with internal barriers fully constructed against docility ([19], p. 30). If, as the nation’s writers have suggested, transcendentalism is the progression and outgrowth of the Reformation, educators should consider the possibility that Protestantism is indeed most alive in self-reliance. Emersonian perspectives on teaching, learning, and the individual are therefore religious issues educators must engage as such in order to communicate with their students about the moral traditions to which they may be indocile. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References 1. Edmund Burke. Burke’s Politics: Selected Writings and Speeches of Edmund Burke on Reform, Revolution, and War. Edited by Ross J. S. Hoffman and Paul Levack. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1949. 2. Orestes Brownson. The Works of Orestes A. Brownson. Edited by Henry F. Brownson. Detroit: Thorndike Nourse Publisher, 1884, vol. VI. Religions 2017, 8, 30 9 of 10 3. Ralph Waldo Emerson. The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1883, vol. X. 4. Brad S. Gregory. The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society. Cambridge: Belknap Press, 2012. 5. Walter Channing. “Reflections on the Literary Delinquency of America.” North American Review 2 (1815): 33–43. 6. Sydney Smith. “Statistical Annals of the United States of America.” Edinburgh Review 33 (1820): 69–80. 7. Francis Otto Matthiessen. American Renaissance: Art and Expression in the Age of Emerson and Whitman. New York: Oxford University Press, 1941. 8. Perry Miller. The Transcendentalists: An Anthology. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1950. 9. Margaret Fuller. Margaret Fuller, Critic: Writings from the New-York Tribune 1844–1846. Edited by Judith Mattson Bean and Joel Myerson. New York: Columbia University Press, 2000. 10. Catharine Maria Sedgwick. The Life and Letters of Catharine M. Sedgwick. Edited by Mary E. Dewey. New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers, 1871. 11. Catharine Maria Sedgwick. The Linwoods, or, “Sixty Years Since” in America. Edited by Maria Karafilis. Hanover: University Press of New England, 2002. 12. William Ellery Channing. Selected Writings. Edited by David Robinson. New York: Paulist Press, 1985. 13. Alexis de Tocqueville. Democracy in America. Translated by Henry Reeve. Edited by Isaac Kramnick. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2007. 14. Henry David Thoreau. Reform Papers. Edited by Wendell Glick. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973. 15. George F. Sensabaugh. Milton in Early America. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1964. 16. William Ellery Channing. The Works of William E. Channing. Boston: American Unitarian Association, 1901. 17. Ralph Waldo Emerson. The Conduct of Life and Natural History of Intellect and Other Papers. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1929. 18. Stanley Fish. Surprised by Sin: The Reader in Paradise Lost, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997. 19. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Essays: First and Second Series. New York: Library of America, 1991. 20. Joe B. Fulton. “Reason for a Renaissance: The Rhetoric of Reformation and Rebirth in the Age of Transcendentalism.” The New England Quarterly 80 (2007): 383–407. [CrossRef] 21. William Dean Howells. The Rise of Silas Lapham. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1982. 22. Mark Twain. What is Man? and Other Philosophical Writings. Edited by Paul Baender. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973. 23. David S. Reynolds. Beneath the American Renaissance: The Subversive Imagination in the Age of Emerson and Melville. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988. 24. Candy Gunther Brown. The Word in the World: Evangelical Writing, Publishing, and Reading in America, 1789–1880. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2004. 25. Anne C. Rose. Transcendentalism as a Social Movement, 1830–1850. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981. 26. Richard C. Pettigrew. “Emerson and Milton.” American Literature 3 (1930): 45–59. [CrossRef] 27. Mark A. Noll. The Civil War as a Theological Crisis. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006. 28. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Uncle Tom’s Cabin, or, Life Among the Lowly. Edited by Ann Douglas. New York: Penguin Books, 1981. 29. Mark Edmundson. Why Read? New York: Bloomsbury, 2004. 30. David Foster Wallace. This is Water: Some Thoughts, Delivered on a Significant Occasion, about Living a Compassionate Life. New York: Little, Brown and Co., 2009. 31. Henry David Thoreau. Walden, Civil Disobedience, and Other Writings. Edited by William Rossi. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2008. 32. Russell Ronald Reno. Fighting the Noonday Devil and Other Essays Personal and Theological. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2011. 33. Carl F. Krummel. “Catholicism, Americanism, Democracy, and Orestes Brownson.” American Quarterly 6 (1954): 19–31. 34. Richard Warrington Baldwin Lewis. The American Adam: Innocence, Tragedy, and Tradition in the Nineteenth Century. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1955. http://dx.doi.org/10.1162/tneq.2007.80.3.383 http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/2919954 Religions 2017, 8, 30 10 of 10 35. William Cavanaugh. “Stan the Man: A Thoroughly Biased Account of a Completely Unobjective Person.” In The Hauerwas Reader. Edited by John Berkman and Michael Cartwright. Durham: Duke University Press, 2001, pp. 17–32. 36. Alasdair MacIntyre. After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, 3rd ed. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007. © 2017 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Protestantism Gives Way to Transcendentalism: Milton, Channing, and Emerson American Literature’s Moral Purpose: Individual Interpretation and Learning 
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work_saw5aj5h4nhmlmkfndtnopbv7u	----	European journal of American studies , Reviews 2011-1 European journal of American studies Reviews 2011-1 The Literary Utopias of Cultural Communities, 1790-1910. Eds. Marguérite Corporaal and Evert Jan van Leeuwen. Elisa Bordin Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/8861 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference Elisa Bordin, « The Literary Utopias of Cultural Communities, 1790-1910. Eds. Marguérite Corporaal and Evert Jan van Leeuwen. », European journal of American studies [Online], Reviews 2011-1, document 5, Online since 09 February 2011, connection on 01 May 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ ejas/8861 This text was automatically generated on 1 May 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/8861 The Literary Utopias of Cultural Communities, 1790-1910. Eds. Marguérite Corporaal and Evert Jan van Leeuwen. Elisa Bordin REFERENCES Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi, 2010. Pp. 278. ISBN: 978-90-420-2999-6 (hbk). 1 “Utopia,” from the combination of the Greek diminutive plural of topos, that is “place,” and the pun between the two prefixes ou, “non-,” and eu, “good,” is a term that is not-so- often used in the twenty-first century. It rather reminds us of bygone centuries, when scientists, philosophers, publishers or writers had time to dream and discuss of possible societies, and were not forced to face the disillusionments of a post-modern and a post- industrial society in which scholars are more and more required to produce useful knowledge, a paraphrase to indicate the kind of knowledge applicable to obtain monetary outcomes. Marguérite Corporal and Evert Jan Van Leeuwen’s volume seems to testify the obsolescence of such a term, since the different authors’ contributions cover a period that starts in the 1790s and ends in the beginning of the twentieth century, as to indicate that utopian visions are not likely in a world devastated by two world wars and 9/11. That is indeed the opinion expressed by Peter van de Kamp in the “Afterward”; quoting from John Gray’s Black Mass: Apocalyptic Religion and the Death of Utopia (2008), van de Kamp concludes that “any utopian belief in progress hinges on millenarianism, with its misplaced trust in a kathartic [sic] apocalypse and its subsequent new dawn” (260), bringing the volume to a discouraging close that is not in tune with the previous essays, a conclusion that makes the reader reflect whether our society can really go beyond The Literary Utopias of Cultural Communities, 1790-1910. Eds. Marguérite Corp... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2011-1 | 2011 1 positions of ideological delusion. The final contribution does seem abrupt, since the volume —fourteen articles and a foreword which are the result of a conference held in Leiden in 2006— evokes in positive or at least neutral terms many utopian thinkers such as Mary Wollstonecraft, Henry David Thoreau or William Morris. 2 Covering more than one hundred years, the long nineteenth century, the volume crosses continents, addressing utopian thinking in Great Britain and in the United States, showing the deep intellectual relation and exchange between the two countries. It even reaches the Far East, illustrating in Debasish Chattopadhyay’s “Nonsense Club and Monday Club: The Cultural Utopias of Sukumar Ray” the application of utopian reasoning in India at the turn of the century, or in Kimberly Engber’s “At Home, in Japan: The New World Literature of Isabella Bird and Winnifred Eaton” how the process that leads to utopia starts from a different experience of one’s self, an act deeply influenced by the contact with the Other and the development of productive imagination. In this challenging essay, Engber sees Japan as “the discursive setting for self-invention,” (224) since violating boundaries of individual and communal identities is, according to Engber, the first step towards utopia given that “when individual identity is detached from community then imagining a new and different community may become possible” (226). In this way Engber links voyages of discovery and literary utopias, showing that “the ability to imagine other worlds may begin with the experience of seeing oneself through other’s eyes” (230). 3 Five of the fourteen essays are devoted to utopian thinking in the United States, and they are of particular interest to students and scholars of American studies, since cultural communities “that expressed their utopian ideals in an attempt to bring about changes and reform, and the realization of a better world” (1) are strictly linked to the meaning of “America,” that is that act of cultural imagination that brought the Pilgrims to build that “city upon a hill” and the subsequent declaration’s statement of the right to the “pursuit of happiness.” The link between utopian ideas and the definition of the United States is revealed by the first essay of this cluster, Marylin Michaud’s “A Turn to the Past: Republicanism and Brook Farm,” in which the author presents the utopian experiment of Brook Farm as a regress towards forms of agrarianism that the republic’s fathers, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, had pinpointed as the guiding principle for a harmonious state. Building on the ideas of the French socialist reformer Charles Fourier, the community proves that well in the nineteenth century —Brook Farm was founded in 1841 — the debate about the nature of the United States was still active, and that “the economic and social liberalism of the post-revolutionary era” (69) was not welcomed universally; rather, the agrarian ideal espoused by the Brook Farm community indicates a “willing to sacrifice […] private interests in favour of the public good” (70), a point of discussion about the character of the United States that is seldom remembered after the undisputed domination of free-capitalism came into being. Richard Francis further expands the discourse on Brook Farm and implements it by building a relationship between Ripley’s community, Alcott’s Fruitlands and Thoreau’s Walden Pond, whereas in her “Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Minority Report on Transcedentalism” Teresa Requena Pelegrí discusses Hawthorne’s position with regard to the Transcendentalist community of Concord, his disillusionment after his stay with the Brook Farm community, as expressed in The Blithedale Romance (1852), and his anti-utopian reform stories such as “The Minister Black Veil” (1836) and “Rappaccini’s Daughter.” “Thoreau’s Individualistic Utopia” is the title of Daniel Ogden’s contribution, in which he confronts Henry David The Literary Utopias of Cultural Communities, 1790-1910. Eds. Marguérite Corp... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2011-1 | 2011 2 Thoreau’s pursuit of utopia in an individualistic manner but highly political fashion. Ogden concentrates on both “Resistance to Civil Government” (1849) and Walden (1854) and, in contrast to Hannah Arendt’s view of Thoreau’s use of conscience Ogden asserts Thoreau’s highly political aim, as his connection to abolitionists, free-thinkers and his involvement with the underground railroad proves, thus proving that isolation and Utopia are not two opposed terms. 4 Roger Ebbatson’s essay “ F0A2The Great Earth Speaking F0A2: Richard Jefferies and the Trascendetalists” adds onto the problem between community and isolation discussing the work of the English nature-writer Richard Jefferies at the light of American Transcendentalists, especially Emerson’s idea of nature, and in contrast to “the materialism and teleology of the Victorian doctrine of progress” (131). This contribution joins the group of articles that focus on the relation between utopian communities in Britain and the United States. In “ F0A2The sexual difference F0A2: Gender, Politeness, and Conversation in Late-Eighteenth-Century New York City and in Charles Brockden Brown’s Alcuin (1798)” Bryan Waterman scrutinizes “The Friendly Club” of New York, a club highly influenced by the British Jacobins, in particular by Mary Wollstonecraft. Notwithstanding the club welcomed feminist arguments, Waterman acknowledges how the circulation of opinions between sexes was inhibited by codes of polite communication, a fact that is evident for a discrepancy between “club members’ embrace of Wollstonecraft feminism and their unwritten and perhaps unconscious homosocial constitution” (24). While Charles Brockden Brown, one of the club members, expressed the hope for a revolution in gender norms in his Alcuin; or the Rights of Women (1798), actually this revolutionary wish remained partial also among free-thinkers, due to the high pressure to maintain social conventions, above all when it came to relationship and dialogue between the sexes. The same transnational impulse for utopian ideals is presented by Evert Jan Van Leeuwen in his “Godwin, Bulwer and Poe: Intellectual Elitism and the Utopian Impulse of Popular Fiction,” in which Van Leeuwen pinpoints two common traits shared by these intellectuals: “their strong belief in the superiority of their own intellects over that of their fellow authors,” a fact that prevented them from involvement with any utopian community, but at the same time “their strong feeling that it was their duty to write in order to educate” (47), the latter being a feature that characterized many utopian thinkers who paid particular importance to education, a key factor toward independence of the individual mind and hence toward social progress. What distinguishes the three writers of the title is their belief in popular fiction as a way to disseminate their utopian visions, and the use of sensational, gothic and crime fiction to communicate their philosophy. 5 The next four essays, C.C. Barfoot’s “In the Churchyard and Under Full Moon: The Radical Publisher and His Clients and Guests,” Florence Boos’ “The Ideal of Everyday Life in William Morris’ News from Nowhere,” Valeria Tinkler-Villani’s “Thoughts Towards the Nature of Creativity in Literary and Cultural Communities: The Germ and Its Fruition,” and Wim Tigges’ “A Feminist Mirage of the New Life: Utopian Elements in The Story of an African Farm” cluster around discussion about utopian thinking in Britain. Barfoot examines the figure of Joseph Johnson, a publisher, editor and bookseller of the 18th c. London around whom people such as Mary Wollstonecraft, William Godwin, William Blake, Dissenters, freethinkers and people of the Lunar Society gathered. He “signaled the arrival of a world in which booksellers and publishers were not just conduits for the printed word but patrons, inspirers, commissioners of words in print that might seek to The Literary Utopias of Cultural Communities, 1790-1910. Eds. Marguérite Corp... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2011-1 | 2011 3 change the world” (22), a category that the author believes existed also in the twentieth century like in the case of Leonard and Virginia Woolf’s Hogarth Press, Faber and Faber, or the feminist Virago Press. Florence Boos investigates News from Nowhere (1891) by poet, designer, translator and social activist William Morris. The book appeared periodically in the Socialist League’s Commonweal, and Boos studies how Morris’ ideals are still resonant in twentieth-century Socialists and Marxists such as Louis Althusser, Michel Foucault and Henri Lefebvre, above all indicating how Morris’ ideals of pleasure in labour, nature as a regulative ideal, architecture as a record of memory and human endeavor and the ideal of simplicity all anticipate twentieth-century Marxist thought. Valeria Tinkler-Villani considers Pre-Raphaelites as well, in particular the magazine The Germ, and traces a continuity between the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and Bloomsbury, primarily taking into consideration Hogarth Press. Olive Schreiner’s The Story of an African Farm (1883) is analyzed by Wim Tigges from a gender perspective, and this article pairs with Marguérite Corporaal’s “Towards a Feminist Collectivism” about the American Utopia Herland (1915) by Charlotte Perkins Gilman and the writer’s role in Bellamy’s Nationalist Movement. 6 All in all, this volume shows that utopian thinking is strictly linked to ideas such as social equality and feminism, an approach which first found spaces for development in the different gender dynamics that existed in utopian communities, as the publication of Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792) by Mr. Johnson confirms. In the “Afterward,” van de Kamp rightly affirms that the book might “pertain to recent interpretations of contemporary world politics” (259), in need of reconstruction after decades of political despair. The book would then become a form of historical memory particularly attractive for the newer generations. Even though van de Kamp reminds us that utopia often verges towards dystopia, the historical memory of different possibilities with regard to political issues reminds us that our democracies are not an absolute identity, but are the fruit of negotiations that took place two centuries ago, and that what prevailed was contained within a much broader discussion on utopian communities. In a western world in which identity politics have shown that marginalization can exist also within democracies, remembering different experiments of government may be a useful exercise, and this book offers an important historical memory, “the product of a literary conceit—a trope that manifests a mental process” (254) that it is our duty to remember, rather than forget, given the perfectible nature of our democracies. Afterall, utopias exist “by virtue of the counterfactual hypothetical,” and for this reason they “can never exist” (255). AUTHOR ELISA BORDIN University of Verona, Italy The Literary Utopias of Cultural Communities, 1790-1910. Eds. Marguérite Corp... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2011-1 | 2011 4 The Literary Utopias of Cultural Communities, 1790-1910. Eds. Marguérite Corporaal and Evert Jan van Leeuwen. 
work_sgt5zwdk65aqzikq6xfk5fbyei	----	Miranda, 19 | 2019 Miranda Revue pluridisciplinaire du monde anglophone / Multidisciplinary peer-reviewed journal on the English- speaking world  19 | 2019 Rethinking Laughter in Contemporary Anglophone Theatre Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau. Mathieu Duplay Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/21418 DOI : 10.4000/miranda.21418 ISSN : 2108-6559 Éditeur Université Toulouse - Jean Jaurès Édition imprimée Date de publication : 7 octobre 2019 Référence électronique Mathieu Duplay, « Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau. », Miranda [En ligne], 19 | 2019, mis en ligne le 14 octobre 2019, consulté le 16 février 2021. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/21418 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/miranda. 21418 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 16 février 2021. Miranda is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/21418 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau. Mathieu Duplay RÉFÉRENCE Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau. Lyon : ENS Éditions, 2019. For many years, I was self-appointed inspector of snow storms and rain storms, and did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then of forest paths and all across-lot routes, keeping them open, 1 écrit Thoreau dans un célèbre passage de Walden. Dans L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau, Julien Nègre prend au pied de la lettre cette déclaration apparemment modeste (322), profession de foi d’un écrivain- cartographe qui, on le sait, exerça le métier d’arpenteur depuis le milieu des années 1840 jusqu’aux mois qui précédèrent son décès en 1862. Extravagant, le projet d’une « carte de Thoreau » (29) n’est pourtant pas nouveau. L’ouvrage classique de Michel Granger, Narcisse à Walden (1991), souligne déjà que l’écrivain, à l’instar des autres auteurs de la Renaissance américaine, se méfie du « cadastre aux lignes géométriques, à angle droit et à égale distance » ; Granger fait écho sur ce point aux analyses de Pierre- Yves Pétillon (La Grand-route. Espace et écriture en Amérique, 1979). Julien Nègre reprend leurs conclusions, dont il fait le point de départ de sa propre réflexion. Son excellent ouvrage s’inscrit ainsi dans le droit fil d’une longue et riche tradition critique qui, de part et d’autre de l’Atlantique, fait des figures américaines de la spatialité, et plus encore de leurs matérialisations graphiques, la clef d’une interrogation sur les relations entre le langage et le monde sensible. Le travail de Philippe Jaworski sur Melville opposait déjà l’Empire clos, quadrillé, soumis à l’autorité d’un regard scrutateur, et le Désert où les nomades se frayent un chemin imprévisible au fil d’une interminable Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Miranda, 19 | 2019 1 errance (Melville. Le désert et l’empire, 1986) ; on la retrouve dans les écrits que Gilles Deleuze, lecteur de Jaworski, consacra à la littérature américaine dans les dernières années de sa vie (Critique et Clinique, 1993). Plus récemment, l’essor de l’écocritique à la suite de Lawrence Buell (The Environmental Imagination, 1995) et le « tournant spatial » pris au début des années 2000 dans le sillage de Bertrand Westphal ont renouvelé la réflexion sur les rapports entre les mots et le monde, substituant à la traditionnelle opposition entre « nature » et « culture » une vision multipolaire des lieux et des espaces d’écriture : susceptible d’être parcourue en mille directions contraires, la carte permet d’inventer des trajets non linéaires et fait office d’antidote aux grands récits du progrès et de la conquête (25). Le livre de Julien Nègre se présente ainsi, à un certain niveau, comme une élégante synthèse de quarante ans de conversation critique, en même temps qu’il montre à quel point l’œuvre de Thoreau continue de nourrir un débat dont l’urgence n’a fait que s’accroître, tant sous l’effet des dynamiques internes aux disciplines concernées qu’à l’approche d’une crise écologique majeure dont l’ampleur inédite questionne toutes nos catégories de pensée. 2 Cela dit, on ne saurait minimiser l’apport spécifique de Julien Nègre, qui a le grand mérite de renouveler une réflexion dont il situe fort bien les tenants et les aboutissants, mais dont il perçoit aussi quelques-uns des impensés. Dans ses formulations classiques, la question de la cartographie chez Thoreau reste liée à celle de la subjectivité ; la carte est appréhendée soit comme une figure du moi, soit comme l’obstacle auquel le « je » de l’écrivain s’affronte à mesure qu’il tente de reconfigurer le monde à la mesure de ses aspirations. Certains critiques se représentent l’espace comme un miroir où le moi découvre ses propres traits ; de ce mode de pensée, l’extraordinaire illustration que Julien Nègre emprunte à l’édition Princeton des œuvres de Thoreau (1970) offre une excellente métaphore visuelle : le visage de l’auteur s’y superpose à la carte des environs de Concord, comme s’il n’y avait pas de différence réelle entre sa personnalité et le territoire qu’il décrit. D’autres, à l’instar de Pétillon et Granger, décrivent la révolte de Thoreau contre le « cadastre » qui assigne à résidence, et retracent les efforts qu’il déploie afin de lui substituer « une carte nouvelle et subjective » (21). Pour les uns comme pour les autres, le sujet écrivant reste seul maître à bord et le tracé cartographique fait office d’instrument au service de l’exploration de soi, y compris lorsque l’ego passe au second plan et que l’écriture se met en quête de nouvelles manières de dire et d’habiter le monde. Or Julien Nègre fait très justement remarquer que les débats actuels sur l’expérience littéraire de l’espace invitent à s’affranchir de cette dichotomie qui, envers et contre tout, fait le jeu d’un anthropocentrisme dont notre époque perçoit de mieux en mieux les dangers. Surtout, ces deux discours ont en commun de faire de la carte un usage métaphorique et d’y voir la figure d’autre chose, du moi qui s’y dissimule pour mieux s’y dévoiler ou bien, à l’inverse, des différents modes d’arraisonnement autoritaire auxquels la subjectivité s’efforce d’échapper. C’est faire fi de ce que la carte signifie d’abord pour quiconque a longtemps exercé la profession d’arpenteur, à l’instar de Thoreau : il est peut-être temps, suggère Nègre, de littéraliser la métaphore cartographique afin de placer la lettre de l’écriture, et non pas le « je » de l’écrivain, au centre du débat critique. L’heure est venue, dit-il, de chercher « à voir comment la très grande affinité de Thoreau avec la pratique cartographique donne un tour particulier à la langue » (25). 3 On perçoit ici ce qui caractérise le mieux le travail de Julien Nègre, à la fois nourri par une réflexion épistémologique aux sources très diverses et tourné in fine vers l’écriture. Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Miranda, 19 | 2019 2 C’est bien le Thoreau écrivain qu’il étudie dans son livre, non le penseur avec qui Stanley Cavell dialogue en philosophe ; dès lors, on n’est guère surpris de le voir étudier des écrits à visée argumentative tels que Resistance to Civil Government (mieux connu sous l’intitulé de Civil Disobedience) à l’aune d’un travail sur les mots : « Le texte de Thoreau n’est pas le simple réceptacle de sa réflexion politique. Il est le lieu où, à travers le geste d’écriture lui-même, cette pensée se façonne et s’élabore » (201). Ce texte, Julien Nègre l’aborde au fil d’une réflexion marquée par une forte interdisciplinarité, mais pour en revenir toujours, par des voies plus ou moins directes, à une réflexion sur la littérature, qu’il définit (sans le dire) d’une manière tout à fait traditionnelle, tant comme pratique d’expression que comme discipline académique. Julien Nègre a beau déclarer, à très juste titre, que « le travail de l’écrivain n’est pas distinct de celui du penseur politique » (201), c’est bien un « tournant textuel » qu’il opère : « c’est dans et par l’écriture que la réflexion politique a lieu », poursuit-il aussitôt, manière d’affirmer des priorités très claires tout en reconnaissant qu’il s’agit surtout, au bout du compte, de jeter un regard différent sur un objet multiple et multivalent dont il entend mieux saisir les particularités, sans en laisser aucune de côté. 4 Il y a là l’une des principales qualités de ce très beau livre qui propose un parcours de lecture d’une grande richesse au sein d’une œuvre foisonnante, et la nécessité où l’auteur s’est trouvé de citer Thoreau en traduction n’empêche pas son travail d’illustrer de manière éclatante l’extrême utilité d’une réflexion sur la textualité dont la critique américaine a trop tendance à se désintéresser. La leçon porte d’autant mieux que c’est bien la totalité du corpus, de Walden à Wild Fruits sans oublier Cape Cod ou The Maine Woods, que Julien Nègre est amené à parcourir : on peut donc relire tout Thoreau de la manière qu’il propose, ce qui, en soi, confirme la validité de ses hypothèses. L’excellence de ses analyses est telle que cet ouvrage, assurément, fera date, et aucun spécialiste de Thoreau ne pourra désormais faire l’économie de sa lecture. À un autre niveau, et sans le dire, le livre de Julien Nègre se présente comme la défense et l’illustration très convaincantes d’une approche critique « à la française » ; il a, sur ce point, quelque chose d’exemplaire, et l’on peut y trouver de quoi nourrir un débat tout à fait opportun sur la place de la textualité dans les études littéraires, en France et à l’étranger. Enfin, l’élégance avec laquelle Julien Nègre conduit de bout en bout une réflexion subtile et exigeante sans jamais quitter le texte des yeux mérite de servir de modèle à bien des doctorants, quel que soit leur sujet de recherche : ils y trouveront la preuve de ce dont est capable une méthodologie pleinement maîtrisée quand elle est mise au service d’une pensée originale et éclairée par une solide érudition. 5 Bien sûr, comme toute contribution forte à la recherche, le livre de Julien Nègre amène son lecteur à s’interroger à son tour sur les problématiques qu’il aborde ; et si l’on ne saurait mettre en cause la pertinence des choix qu’il opère, parfois de manière implicite – le résultat, on l’a dit, valide pleinement ses hypothèses : by their fruits ye shall know them – il n’en reste pas moins qu’un chercheur équipé d’un outillage théorique différent peut avoir envie d’engager le dialogue avec lui sur un certain nombre de points : dès lors qu’il y a choix, plusieurs éventualités méritent d’être envisagées, et ce n’est pas disqualifier les décisions prises par l’auteur que de se souvenir qu’elles n’étaient pas les seules possibles. Pour le présent lecteur, le principal sujet de débat concerne le statut du littéraire et son devenir en dehors des frontières de ce qui, par convention, relève de la « littérature ». Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Miranda, 19 | 2019 3 6 Tout part d’un problème de définition. « De quoi la carte est-elle le nom ? » demande Julien Nègre dès l’introduction de son livre (25) – question très pertinente à laquelle il apporte une réponse en quatre temps : dotée d’une fonction référentielle, la carte « pointe vers un dehors » de nature spatiale (35) ; elle « donne à voir l’espace » par des moyens graphiques (36) ; elle matérialise un savoir qu’elle projette sur un support (37) ; et elle se présente comme « une étape dans une opération heuristique de constitution d’un savoir sur l’espace » (38). Implicitement, ce discours ébauche une réflexion sur l’écriture, élabore un paradigme cartographique qui permet de saisir en quoi Thoreau écrivain fait œuvre d’arpenteur, de quelle manière son œuvre participe d’un projet analogue (et pourtant subtilement différent, car la carte n’est pas un objet textuel même si elle s’offre, elle aussi, au regard d’un lecteur). 7 Ce qui, en l’occurrence, jette les bases de tout l’édifice argumentatif si patiemment construit par Julien Nègre dans les chapitres qui suivent, c’est la place accordée au hors-texte. Employer le vocabulaire linguistique de la référentialité pour parler du travail cartographique, c’est déjà le traiter comme une modalité de l’expression verbale ; c’est accorder aux mots un privilège d’autant moins susceptible de prêter à débat que cette opération s’effectue dans le silence de l’implicite. Or qui dit référentialité dit référent ; et celui-ci, on le sait depuis Benveniste, est en quelque sorte le parent pauvre de la sémiotique saussurienne, l’hypothèse théorique dont le chercheur a besoin pour compléter ses analyses, mais aussi le point aveugle d’un discours qui finalement ne s’intéresse qu’au signifiant et au signifié, les deux visages du signe. Appliqué au cas particulier de Thoreau, ce raisonnement suggère qu’en fin de compte l’espace extérieur importe peu : seul compte l’espace de l’écriture, et s’il faut admettre l’existence d’un hors-texte spatial, c’est uniquement pour que le vocable de « cartographie » ait un sens, non pour mettre en évidence l’attraction qu’il exerce sur un matériau verbal dont on pressent pourtant qu’il n’est pas tout, si fascinant soit-il. 8 Pour le redire comme Julien Nègre, « c’est dans et par l’écriture […] que la réflexion a lieu » ; et Julien Nègre de citer Thoreau qui note en 1856 dans son journal : « mon travail, c’est d’écrire » (323). Certes ; mais peut-on juger dès lors que le débat est clos ? Pris au pied de la lettre, le mot de Thoreau a quelque chose de provocateur sous la plume d’un arpenteur de profession, que les riverains et la municipalité sollicitaient volontiers pour trancher leurs conflits de voisinage ; mais si l’on peut présumer qu’il entend ainsi distinguer ses activités alimentaires de son « vrai » travail qui, précise Julien Nègre, n’est « pas de faire des cartes » (323), alors il reste à expliquer en quoi l’usage qui est fait de cette citation n’a pas pour effet de renvoyer la cartographie à son statut traditionnel de métaphore, c’est-à-dire précisément à ce dont il s’agissait initialement de se méfier. À cette question, on est tenté de répondre que, stricto sensu, Thoreau ne dit pas toute la vérité : écrivain, il est aussi cartographe, ses ouvrages en témoignent ; la carte de Walden Pond insérée dans Walden n’est ni un paratexte ni un hors-texte, mais une percée ou une échappée qui permet au texte de communiquer avec son dehors graphique ou spatial, et en vertu de laquelle les mots rencontrent une réalité autre qui, à première vue, relève jusqu’à un certain point d’une sémiotique, mais en aucun cas d’une linguistique. Autrement dit, Thoreau ne clôt pas le débat par une déclaration à l’emporte-pièce dont la visée est polémique ; au contraire, il pose une question que Julien Nègre a décidé pour l’heure de ne pas entendre – ses priorités sont ailleurs, il n’y a rien là qu’on soit en droit de lui reprocher – mais qui pourrait, par la suite, retenir son attention ou celle d’autres chercheurs. Que reste-t-il de l’écriture Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Miranda, 19 | 2019 4 quand elle s’aventure au-delà des frontières de son domaine traditionnel, et en quoi la carte continue-t-elle de se présenter comme un objet « littéraire » alors même qu’elle n’est pas littérature, si tant est que celle-ci se reconnaisse à son matériau verbal ? En quoi Thoreau fait-il œuvre d’écrivain – mieux que jamais, peut-être – quand il cartographie, mais que justement il n’écrit pas ? « Écrire, c’est aussi devenir autre chose qu’écrivain. À ceux qui lui demandent en quoi consiste l’écriture, Virginia Woolf répond : qui vous parle d’écrire ? L’écrivain n’en parle pas, soucieux d’autre chose. »1 9 Puisque c’est en l’occurrence la notion de carte qui pose question, on observera que le terme de mapping – employé par Julien Nègre au début de son livre (38) – peut renvoyer en anglais à une autre conceptualité, cette fois de nature mathématique (et non plus linguistique). En topologie, le mot mapping désigne une opération géométrique, la projection d’un espace sur un autre qui peut présenter un nombre de dimensions différent ; ainsi, dans le cas qui occupe Thoreau, la carte résulte de la projection d’un tracé tridimensionnel (voire quadridimensionnel, si l’on tient compte de la temporalité historique ou géologique à laquelle Thoreau se montre très sensible) sur un support en deux dimensions. Si une telle approche peut présenter un intérêt dans ce contexte, c’est notamment parce qu’elle rend superflu le recours aux notions de représentation et de référentialité : ainsi défini, le transfert cartographique ne relève pas d’une appréhension sémiotique de l’espace, mais résulte d’un processus dont l’espace lui- même est le siège, et il n’y a pas de différence de nature entre la carte et son objet, qui ne se laissent penser ni l’un ni l’autre dans les termes d’une opposition entre les « signes » (ou les « mots ») et leur « référent » extra-verbal. On pourrait formuler l’hypothèse que le texte-carte fonctionne ainsi, chez Thoreau, à l’instar d’un diagramme qui procède à la redistribution dynamique des repères spatio-temporels au sein d’un continuum où la frontière entre le langage et son dehors n’a pas de pertinence particulière ; et il y aurait assurément là de quoi permettre de penser les relations entre la carte d’état-major et sa contrepartie textuelle autrement que de manière métaphorique. 10 Encore une fois, il n’est pas question de regretter que Julien Nègre n’aborde pas la question de cette manière : ses choix ne sont pas contestables, et son argumentation parfaitement cohérente s’inscrit de façon tout à fait bienvenue dans un cadre conceptuel dont la solidité n’est pas en doute. Au contraire, ces remarques ont pour but de rendre hommage à un travail qui atteint pleinement son but puisqu’il laisse deviner des prolongements possibles qui, sans lui, seraient sans doute demeurés inaperçus. Il le doit entre autres aux qualités de rédaction et de mise en forme qui font de sa lecture un grand moment de plaisir intellectuel. Julien Nègre sait argumenter, il sait écrire, sans préciosité ni effets de manche, et son raisonnement convainc d’autant mieux que jamais l’auteur ne cède à la tentation de « faire des phrases » : chez lui, l’élégance est synonyme de sobriété. L’excellence du travail éditorial dont son ouvrage a bénéficié doit également être soulignée ; la mise en page est soignée, le texte est totalement exempt de coquilles et les magnifiques illustrations, dont plusieurs sont en couleurs, apportent un complément indispensable à l’analyse en même temps qu’elles font de ce travail critique la digne contrepartie des textes étudiés : ce livre se regarde autant qu’il se lit, tout comme certains ouvrages de Thoreau, et ce discret mimétisme n’est pas le moindre de ses charmes. 11 Intitulé « Thoreau, écrivain-cartographe », le chapitre 1 débute par des considérations historiques. Nègre fait le point sur l’état de la réflexion critique et théorique en matière Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Miranda, 19 | 2019 5 de cartes, mais aussi sur le « moment clé de l’histoire de la cartographie » (41) que furent les années 1840 et 1850, alors que le continent américain faisait pour la première fois l’objet d’explorations systématiques sous l’impulsion des discours idéologiques sur la Destinée Manifeste de la jeune nation : projet politique, l’entreprise cartographique illustre aussi la prégnance d’un désir d’exhaustivité scientifique dont l’origine se situe sans doute chez Humboldt. Arpenteur de métier, Thoreau travaille à une tout autre échelle, puisqu’il s’intéresse surtout à la petite bourgade de Concord, Massachusetts, et à ses environs immédiats. Méfiant vis-à-vis des cartes qu’il sait nécessairement incomplètes et biaisées, il n’y renonce pas pour autant, mais cherche à se les approprier de diverses manières ; il les copie, les annote, les manipule et « fait carte » à son tour, sans jamais cesser de jeter un regard critique sur les réalisations existantes, mais sans renoncer non plus au projet d’exploration et de connaissance qui leur a permis d’exister. Cette même logique se laisse discerner dans son écriture, ennemie des clichés, méfiante à l’égard des idées reçues et d’autant plus attentive au réel dans son infinie multiplicité. 12 Le chapitre 2, « Premiers textes : les plis et les failles de la surface », examine les écrits des années 1840, depuis les premiers essais jusqu’à A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers (1849). À cette époque, écrit Julien Nègre, l’activité cartographique de Thoreau est encore limitée, mais le paradigme de la carte n’en est pas moins présent dans ses ouvrages qui tous, d’une manière ou d’une autre, interrogent la logique en vertu de laquelle un espace cartographié est ipso facto identifié comme un espace connu. Une nouvelle économie de la connaissance se met en place sous la plume d’un auteur qui n’ignore rien du travail mené par les naturalistes, les géologues et les historiens, mais qui s’aperçoit que leur science demeure inopérante quand un observateur dénué de préjugés la confronte à l’étrangeté du monde : « le plus difficile […] est d’arriver à ‘voir’ ce qui est là sous nos yeux et qu’on ne perçoit pas », et l’inconnu se love « au sein même de l’espace arpenté » (71). 13 Le chapitre 3, « Ecrire au bord du monde », aborde trois ouvrages majeurs : Walden, The Maine Woods et Cape Cod. Le paradigme cartographique est particulièrement présent dans ces textes qui chacun s’intéressent à une spatialité particulière ; il s’y trouve mobilisé d’une manière ambiguë, puisque Thoreau tente à la fois de décrire des lieux et de « placer au premier plan les zones et les phénomènes qui résistent à la formalisation » (110). Outil de détection, l’écriture aide à saisir l’insaisissable et met en évidence le rôle décisif du sujet percevant, seul capable d’unifier l’infinie diversité du monde sensible. L’enjeu est particulièrement fort dans le cas de The Maine Woods, où Thoreau explore une région encore mal connue et imparfaitement cartographiée à l’époque où il écrit. Cela dit, il n’est pas moindre dans Cape Cod où le narrateur constate avec satisfaction que les cartes sont exactes tout en prenant plaisir à découvrir ce qu’elles sont incapables de restituer. Aux surprises que réserve l’expérience directe de l’espace dans son étrangeté correspondent les « zones de turbulence » que Thoreau fait naître dans la langue anglaise, comme en témoignent les célèbres passages de Walden où il joue sur des étymologies imaginaires. 14 Le chapitre 4, « Perambulations politiques », s’intéresse aux écrits polémiques de Thoreau et tente de saisir la manière dont ils s’articulent avec ses autres ouvrages. Julien Nègre observe que les questions politiques sont posées à partir d’enjeux spatiaux, par exemple dans Civil Disobedience où l’antithèse entre le Sud esclavagiste et le Nord prétendument « libre », ou bien entre le bourg et la prison, structure le propos de bout Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Miranda, 19 | 2019 6 en bout. De même, Walking prend pour point de départ la pratique juridico-politique de la perambulation, qui consiste à parcourir les limites administratives du village afin de vérifier l’intégrité des bornes qui les matérialisent sur le terrain. C’est ce qui permet à Thoreau de décrire la marche à la fois comme un « positionnement politique » et comme un « geste de dissensus » (238), lorsque le marcheur invente des manières non conventionnelles d’occuper l’espace. 15 Enfin, le chapitre 5, « Hors du village », étudie les textes tardifs où Thoreau se livre, selon des modalités complexes et pour des raisons demeurées en partie mystérieuses, à l’examen attentif de son environnement immédiat. Les données quantifiables s’y mêlent sans cesse aux observations subjectives, à telle enseigne que le texte « devient lui-même une cartographie nouvelle » (267). En quelques pages de conclusion, sobrement intitulées « Lire Thoreau », Julien Nègre observe que ce travail n’est pas sans conséquence pour le lecteur, qui ne peut pas prétendre à une position de neutralité ni se cantonner dans une neutralité détachée : « lire Thoreau avec les cartes », c’est participer à son travail de « redistribution des espaces et des temps » (328) ; le lire « délibérément », c’est « occuper le temps d’une façon différente, et dessiner, pour soi- même, une carte nouvelle » (329). To read deliberately : ces mots résument en effet le projet de lecture de Julien Nègre, en même temps qu’ils soulignent sa pertinence et signalent sa fidélité au propos explicite de Thoreau. Le contrat est parfaitement rempli, constate-t-on en refermant ce beau livre, et il ne reste plus qu’à emboîter le pas à son auteur, « arpenteur vagabond » dont la rigueur et l’exemplaire patience donnent envie de s’adonner avec lui aux joies de la cartographie littéraire. NOTES 1. Deleuze, Gilles. Critique et Clinique. Paris : Éditions de Minuit, 1993. (17). INDEX Keywords : Thoreau, maps, cartography, writing, space Mots-clés : Thoreau, carte, cartographie, écriture, spatialité Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Miranda, 19 | 2019 7 AUTEURS MATHIEU DUPLAY Professeur de littérature américaine Université Paris Diderot – Paris 7 (Université de Paris) mduplay@club-internet.fr Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de H... Miranda, 19 | 2019 8 mailto:mduplay@club-internet.fr Julien Nègre. L’Arpenteur vagabond. Cartes et cartographies dans l’œuvre de Henry David Thoreau. 
work_sh7ypf7m3fbldcqku3gsvra4vu	----	1 This is a pre-publication version of an article published in a special issue of the Journal for Cultural Research entitled ‘Critical Distance’. It is being made available publicly in line with the publisher’s ‘Green Open Access’ policy. For the authoritative text, please see the published version. Neil Badmington, Cardiff University Badmington@Cardiff.ac.uk Typescript submitted for publication on 8 July 2015 2 TT hh ee BB oott hh ee rr ss oomm ee DD ee tt aa ii ll ss ooff tt hh ee WW oorr ll dd :: RRii cc hh aa rr dd BByy rr dd ,, LL iitt ttll ee AAmm ee rr ii cc aa ,, aa nndd tt hh ee PPrr oobb ll ee mm ooff RR ee tt rr ee aa tt Neil Badmington ‘I had ceased to inhabit not just the great world but the present moment. The impulse to be in it and of it I had long since killed.’ Philip Roth, Exit Ghost (2007, p. 1). II In rare moments of calm, I am writing a book about retreat. To be more specific, I am writing about writing about retreat – narratives in which those who have chosen to withdraw from what is often called ‘civilisation’ recount their experiences, tell of their struggles to get away from it all.1 I am interested in what those accounts reveal about the act of retreating, about craving and crafting critical distance, and about the relationship between withdrawal and the written word. As Randall Roorda asks, in Dramas of Solitude: [W]hat is the good of narrating the retreat to others? What can it mean to turn away from other people, to evade all sign of them for purposes that exclude them by design, then turn back toward them in writing, reporting upon, accounting for, even recommending to them the condition of their absence? (Roorda, 1998, p. xiii) A frequent motif in such accounts has come to fascinate me: the interruption of the story of retreat by traces of civilisation. That which has been rejected, cast away, returns. Distance, discovered, dwindles. Retreat retreats. I want in what follows to analyse an extreme, unsettling, and above all interrupted account of withdrawal: Admiral Richard E. Byrd’s description of a period spent in isolation in the Antarctic wilderness in 1934. The book in which Byrd tells his tale is called Alone, but there are, I will argue, two notable ways in which Byrd never quite manages to be alone. First, his icy solitude melts repeatedly in the face of intrusions from the modern world to 3 which he has apparently turned his back. Second, his written words connect with other tales of retreat, such as Henry David Thoreau’s Walden. There is chattering on and across the ice: Alone’s voice is not a lone voice. Byrd’s remarkable achievements have been discussed as key events in the history of Antarctic exploration and as early mass- media spectacles; I will touch in time upon some of this fine scholarship. I want, however, to light out for a terra nova, to set up camp elsewhere. Treating Byrd’s tale as a text, as something woven and signifying wildly against itself, and as a vivid exemplar of the modern retreat narrative, I wish draw out onto the open ice the underlying tensions of the genre and the act of withdrawing from civilisation. II II There is a sense in which the story begins on the night of 26 May 1926. Richard Byrd claimed just to have completed the first return flight by air to the North Pole, and he was celebrating at Spitsbergen with, among others, his great rival Roald Amundsen. ‘Well, Byrd’, said the apparently defeated Amundsen as the night drew to a close, ‘what shall it be now?’. ‘The South Pole’, replied Byrd (Byrd, 1930, p. 24).2 He eventually set sail for Antarctica in October 1928 and, in January 1929, with a crew of around eighty men, established a base on the Ross Ice Shelf, near the Bay of Whales, not far from Framheim, the encampment used by Amundsen during his exploration of the South Pole nearly two decades earlier (Griffiths, 2007, p. 123). The colony lay about three-quarters of a mile from the water’s edge and was called ‘a city on a raft’ by Byrd, because of its being located not on land but on a floating ice barrier (Byrd, 2003, p. 24). As Michael Bryson explains, in his excellent essay on Byrd: Up to the point where the expedition was disembarking and unloading supplies onto the Barrier surface, press releases had referred to the landing site as Framheim. Byrd, at someone else’s suggestion, chose the name Little America to replace the old name and to imbue the expedition with an American stamp that 4 he hoped would endear him to his benefactors at home. (Bryson, 1996, p. 456 n.4) Indeed, Byrd’s own account of the trip refers initially to ‘Framheim’ when relating the arrival at the Bay of Whales (Byrd, 1930, pp. 86, 88, 89), but then identifies the key moment at which ‘Little America, the most southern American community, was formally colonized’ (p. 94).3 The name swells with paternalism and empire: Little America is the child to be shaped and raised by the men, and what was forged in the northern hemisphere by the frontier spirit can be repeated here on the awaiting ice. In November 1929, the admiral and three of his team set off in a plane for the geographic South Pole. As they passed over the site, Byrd opened a trapdoor in the aircraft and, in another colonialist gesture, released an American flag which was weighed down with a stone from the grave of Floyd Bennett, Byrd’s companion from the North Pole flight of 1926. (The plane in which Byrd and his men flew to the South Pole was actually named the Floyd Bennett.) Eighteen years after Amundsen had conquered the South Pole by land, Byrd had become the first person to reach it by air. He and his crew remained at Little America until February 1930, when they partly dismantled the base and returned home. Byrd’s lengthy account of the groundbreaking expedition was published under the title Little America in 1930, and the book repeatedly describes the adventure as a form of critical retreat from civilisation. As Byrd puts it at one point: In a word, we are trying to get away from the false standards by which men live under more civilized conditions. The Antarctic is a new world for all of us which requires its own standards, and these are materially different from those set up in civilization, whereby we venerate prestige, influence and associated characteristics and ignore the inconspicuous, but equally valid properties. (Byrd, 1930, p. 193)4 But also running through Little America is a sense that the retreat was not quite radical enough, that the critical distance was insufficient, for Byrd records the inability of the members of the crew ever to escape from each other: 5 Bitter cold and incessant storms keep all but the hardiest men indoors a greater part of the time; and even they do not care to venture very far. Consequently, men are thrown into the utmost intimacy for months on end, within the narrow restricting walls of their shacks; and the time inevitably comes when all the topics in the world have been sucked dry of interest; when one man’s voice becomes irritating to the ears of another; when the most trivial points of disagreement become fraught with impassioned meaning. When that point is reached, there comes trouble. (Byrd, 1930, p. 158) He continues, some time later in the book: Escape, in the wider meaning of the word, is impossible. Except for a quick, freezing walk the four walls limit one’s world; and everything that one does, or says, or even thinks, is of importance to one’s fellows. They are measuring you constantly, some openly, others secretly... (Byrd, 1930, p. 197) As he concluded, in a chapter entitled ‘Civilization Does Not Matter’, ‘We had the privacy of gold fish and elbow room of sardines’ (Byrd, 1930, p. 208). But that was 1928-9. Byrd led a second expedition to the Ross Ice Shelf in 1933-4, explicitly to carry out further scientific work. As before, he came with a crew. As before, a base named Little America was established, partly by reclaiming and restoring the buildings from the first expedition, and partly by expanding the settlement (Byrd, 1935, p. 113).5 As before, Byrd published a long account of the trip, this time entitled Discovery (Byrd, 1935). And as before, the written narrative of the expedition repeatedly differentiated life on the Ross Ice Barrier from life in civilisation.6 The second trip to Antarctica differed from the first in a dramatic way, however: having overseen the reestablishment of Little America, Byrd chose to break away from his colleagues when, in March 1934, he retreated alone for four-and-a-half months to a small shack known as Bolling Advance Weather Base – Advance Base, for short – which was 123 statute miles from Little America in the direction of the South Pole.7 The building, which measured just 9 feet by 13 feet by 8 feet, was buried beneath the ice. All that 6 remained above ground were an anemometer pole, a radio antenna mounted on two long bamboo poles, and a small shelter for thermometers and a barograph.8 Advance Base was the first inland station ever to be occupied in Antarctica (Byrd, 2003, p. 3). Byrd kept a diary that he called ‘very detailed and voluminous’ (2003, p. x) during his time in isolation, but when the account of the wider second Antarctic expedition was published as Discovery in 1935, Byrd’s narration broke off after describing the establishment of Advance Base, and the story of the wider expedition passed for nearly eighty pages to a colleague called C. J. V. Murphy, who explained to readers how he and the other men at Little America gradually realised that Byrd was in trouble in the shack, as carbon monoxide fumes brought him close to death.9 When Byrd’s narration resumed in Discovery, he wrote casually that it was ‘hardly necessary’ for him to add to what his colleague had just written about the terrible period in Advance Base and the realisation among the Little Americans that a rescue party needed to be sent (Byrd, 1935, p. 248). But Byrd did add to the account provided by Murphy in Discovery, for in 1938 he published a separate volume on his period of isolation. He called it Alone. ‘This book’, he wrote in the preface: is the account of a personal experience – so personal that for four years I could not bring myself to write it. It is different from anything else I have ever written. My other books have been factual, impersonal narratives of my expeditions and flights. This book, on the other hand, is the story of an experience which was in considerable part subjective. [...] I did not see how I could write about Advance Base and still escape making an unseemly show of my feelings. [...] I doubted that I could approach it with the proper detachment. [...] Nevertheless [...] this book represents the simple truth about myself and my affairs during that time. (Byrd, 2003, pp. ix-x) In Discovery, Byrd had explained his decision to withdraw to Advance Base in terms of meteorological research, and he claimed that these plans went back as far as 1929 (Byrd, 1935, p. 155). But he also wrote there about a desire to retreat from Little America for the sake of ‘the experience’ (p. 162). In Alone, three years later, this 7 second explanation becomes more prominent, more probed, more pressing. Near the beginning of the book, for example, Byrd writes, in lines that recall Thoreau’s desire to ‘live deep and suck out all the marrow of life’ (Thoreau, 2004, p. 91): I really wanted to go for the experience’s sake. So the motive was in part personal. Aside from the meteorological and auroral work, I had no important purposes. There was nothing of that sort. Nothing whatever, except one man’s desire to know that kind of experience to the full, to be by himself for a while and to taste peace and quiet and solitude long enough to find out how good they really are. (Byrd, 2003, pp. 3-4) He then adds to his explanation with lines which, again recalling Thoreau, articulate an anxiety about modernity: It was all that simple. And it is something, I believe, that people beset by the complexities of modern life will understand instinctively. We are caught up in the winds that blow every which way. And in the hullabaloo the thinking man is driven to ponder where he is being blown and to long desperately for some quiet place where he can reason undisturbed and take inventory. (p. 4) What Byrd sought, in other words, was ‘more than just privacy in the geographical sense’ (Byrd, 2003, p. 7). He wanted, he writes, yet again echoing Walden, ‘to sink roots into some replenishing philosophy [...] and, for maybe seven months, remote from all but the simplest distractions, [...] to live exactly as I chose, obedient to no necessities but those imposed by wind and night and cold, and to no man’s laws but my own’ (p. 7).10 That, at least, was the plan. In the event, because of his poisoning by carbon monoxide, Byrd was able to occupy Advance Base for no more than four-and-a-half months. What strikes me about the delayed account of that retreat is the way in which – poisoning aside – the text relates the failure or interruption of withdrawal: what Byrd called ‘the bothersome details of the world’ (2003, p. 125) consistently bothered him during his time in the 8 cabin. In his distant solitude, Byrd was touched on a daily basis by modernity, by civilisation. II II II The trouble was there from the beginning. Advance Base – the cabin itself – had been made in a Boston loft and was then dismantled so that it could be brought on the expedition in convenient sections. Alone relates the reassembly of the remote dwelling beneath the ice and then the moment at which, their work done, Byrd’s colleagues leave and head back to Little America on their tractors: I watched until the noise died out; until the receding specks had dropped for good behind a roll in the Barrier; until only the vanishing exhalations of the vapor remained. With that the things of the world shrank to nothing. (2003, p. 51) Byrd is alone. His companions are not even distant specks. Retreat appears to have occurred – and retreat does not get much more remote and removed than this. And yet, the withdrawal is interrupted immediately by ‘the things of the world’. When his colleagues have disappeared from view, Byrd begins to tidy the shack. ‘The main responsibility’, he writes, ‘[...] was the meteorological instruments, which, so far, were running smoothly. Every hour I took time out to inspect them, a practice I wanted to become a habit. Already I was regarding them with the warm, covert look reserved for good companions’ (2003, p. 52). While these new ‘companions’ are not human, they are marks of modernity, physical manifestations of the civilisation from which Byrd has sought to withdraw. They are more than just ‘things of the world’; they are things of the modern world. And they are, in Byrd’s own formulation, meant to become a ‘habit’. In measuring the weather, furthermore, these sophisticated technological devices introduce a measure of the outside, the distant, within the remote walls of the shack. As Michael Bryson has pointed out (1996, p. 444), Byrd was unable to experience the 9 polar landscape, to commune with nature extensively during his time at Advance Base. Although the cabin in the wilderness recalls Thoreau’s experiment at Walden Pond, Byrd’s experience is significantly different: Thoreau can reject civilisation and embrace nature because the Concord climate permits it, but Byrd ‘must to a great extent reject nature along with civilization, and construct a viable, microcosmic world out of his tiny habitat. [...] Unlike Thoreau, who can live off the land, Byrd can only live within and despite the land, drawing from his carefully supplied stores’ (Bryson, 1996, p. 444). The quest for an ‘outside’ – a space beyond modern civilisation – ends with Byrd effectively trapped inside; when he does venture out on his short ‘daily walks’ (Byrd, 2003, p. 114), he risks disorientation and death.11 His relationship to the surrounding environment, therefore, becomes one of scientific cataloguing, technological scrutiny, through the instruments which sit above the surface of the ice (and which could sit above the surface of the ice precisely because they were not human): Meteorological and auroral observations occupied a substantial part of the day. The following meteorological records were made: a continuous mechanical registration of barometric pressure, temperature, wind direction and velocity; twice daily readings of maximum and minimum thermometers in the instrument shelter topside and twice daily visual observations of the barometer. The four instruments themselves exacted constant attention. In addition, I stood four or five auroral watches daily whenever the sky was clear enough for such displays. The intensity, structural form and direction of the aurora were noted, for subsequent comparison with the observations of observers who watched simultaneously at Little America. So I never had reason to complain of nothing to do. (Byrd, 1935, pp. 168-9) When I read these lines, I do not see retreat or critical distance from civilisation; I recall, rather, Chaplin’s Modern Times (1936), which was released in cinemas between Byrd’s stay in Advance Base and its subsequent inscription in Alone, and which placed the twitching human body at the service of machinery which must not be neglected. A ‘substantial part of the day’, to use Byrd’s phrase, is 10 overseen, shaped, by an array of demanding devices.12 Life in the shack is lived beneath machinery, in every sense of the phrase, which means that there is a fundamental tension in Byrd’s project: he wants to be ‘outside’, to escape both Little America and ‘Big’ America, and yet his life at Advance Base advances American civilisation on more than one front. Just as a clock keeps watch over Chaplin’s film, the technology at Advance Base preserves the standard of time, keeps Byrd synchronised with civilisation while he is in his cabin. Alone records initially how, not long into the period of isolation, Byrd’s relationship with time itself began to change.13 At one point, the book reproduces his diary entry from 31 March, which is prompted in part by Byrd’s discovery that he has forgotten to bring his clock with him to the shack: It’s been a deuce of a job to wake up without an alarm clock. And this is puzzling, because I’ve always been able to fix in my mind the time at which I should awaken, and wake up at that time, almost to the minute. I was born with that gift, and it has stood me in good stead when I dash around the country on lecture tours, leaping from hotels to trains on split- second schedules. But now the gift has simply vanished, perhaps because I am putting too much pressure on it. At night, in the sleeping bag, I whisper to myself: Seven-thirty. Seven-thirty. That’s the time you must get up. Seven-thirty. But I’ve been missing it cleanly – yesterday by nearly an hour, and this morning by half an hour. (2003, pp. 61-2)14 But help is at hand. On 12 April, the same journal records the way in which the correct time is relayed to Byrd with care and precision during a radio conversation with Little America: Dyer gave me a time tick, which he had picked up from either the U.S. Naval Observatory or Greenwich, I’ve forgotten which. ‘When I say “now,”’ Dyer warned, ‘it will be 10:53 o’clock. You have thirty-five seconds to go ... Twenty seconds ... Ten seconds ... Now.’ One chronometer, I found, was running 2 minutes, 10 seconds fast, the other 31 seconds fast, the third was 1 minute 20 seconds slow. I noted the facts 11 in my records. I must know the exact time in order to synchronize my observations with those at Little America. After that I carefully wound all three chronometers. (Byrd, 2003, pp. 99-100; see also Byrd, 1935, p. 257)15 Although the explorer has travelled far from civilisation, precise, measured time is preserved and nourished by the modern phenomenon of the airborne time signal.16 Not only are the various time-keeping devices reset, moreover: Byrd even measures how inaccurate their measurement had become, how far they had wandered from the standard. Modern time for modern times. As this incident reveals, Advance Base, for all its terrifying remoteness, was linked to Little America by radio. What Alone describes, in fact, is regular, planned connection between Byrd and his colleagues, who often used the airwaves to relay news from civilisation to their leader. It is here, I think, that Byrd’s retreat is most interrupted, most marked by traces of the world that has apparently been rejected. Radio is often mentioned in all three accounts of Antarctic exploration written by Byrd, and what can be heard in the background of those texts is a strange ambivalence towards the technology, a kind of recurrent interference. This ambivalence – an oscillation between embrace and regret – went back as far as Byrd’s first Antarctic trip of 1929. Technology played a key role in that expedition – Tom Griffiths (2007, p. 123) and Robert N. Matuozzi (2002) have both identified this as one of its key distinguishing features – and radio was the primary technological innovation. Douglas Mawson and Ernest Shackleton had used radio to some extent during their earlier voyages around the continent, but Byrd, as Michael Bryson has pointed out (1996, p. 456), significantly extended its employment. So central was wireless technology to the first expedition, in fact, that the radio department at the base commanded most of the power generated, which led to the imposition of a strict limit on the number of electric lights elsewhere in the camp (Byrd, 1930, p. 156). This drain on resources was perhaps because the New York Times and the St. Louis Dispatch, financial backers of the expedition, had ‘agreed to furnish the expedition with the most modern radio equipment available, at considerable expense to themselves’ (Matuozzi, 2002, p. 224). The raising of the radio towers was what Byrd called ‘a romantic accomplishment of itself’ (Byrd, 1930, p. 12 158), and Little America soon offers a clear celebration of the place modern technology in the first expedition: It gives one a strange sense of power to realize that within these bare walls, hung with cumbersome winter clothing, is a force that puts us within one-eighth of a second of New York City. And that outside, in the aircraft, is a second power that can carry us easily and at great speed over this formidable Continent. (Byrd, 1930, p. 163) But while radio is a ‘blessing’ (Byrd, 1930, p. 301), it is also a burden, a curse: The radio beyond doubt has ended the isolation of this ice cap. As a practical thing, its help is priceless. But I can see where it is going to destroy all peace of mind, which is half the attraction of the polar regions. (Byrd, 1930, p. 91) This ambivalence became even more apparent during the second Antarctic trip of 1933-4. Above all, the link between the reborn Little America and civilisation was a full, formal, material part of proceedings, for the expedition was funded in part by a lucrative deal with CBS and General Foods which led to groundbreaking live broadcasts from the encampment into eager American homes.17 These popular instalments, Stephen D. Perry explains (2014, pp. 81-2), were to the 1930s what the television broadcasts of the Apollo moon missions were to the 1960s and 1970s, and they aired at 10pm on 59 CBS stations between 15 November 1933 and 6 February 1935, either on Saturdays (during the first half of the expedition) or Wednesdays (from May 1934 onwards). C. J. V. Murphy, Perry reports (2014, p. 92), was in the habit of ending early episodes by saying, ‘We now return you to civilisation’. The regular, public contact between Little America and ‘Big’ America was no mere afterthought: the entire expedition relied for its very existence and survival upon commercial sponsorship, upon modern capitalism. When Byrd describes the preparations for the voyage in the early pages of Discovery, he writes: 13 We had, therefore, a sound plan, excellent objectives and a personnel trained in Antarctic field methods; all we lacked was money. And in the years of Our Lord 1932-1933, it will be recalled by men not necessarily with long gray beards way down to here, money was rather hard to get. A sense of doom and discouragement was withering the spirit of the country; and even rich men felt themselves so overpoweringly beset that I could not bring myself to ask former benefactors, with one or two exceptions, to come to our help. (Byrd, 1935, p. 9) But, he adds, ‘[w]e also had another asset – a story to sell’ (p. 10), and the rights to tell that story were sold to CBS. ‘We are forever indebted for such generous support’, Byrd concludes. ‘The money from the broadcasts kept life breathing in the expedition when the pulse had all but stopped’ (p. 11).18 But the chilling price of this life, of course, is the death of pure and absolute retreat from modernity. Retreat breathes, but with the civilised lungs of capital. There is an embedded contradiction: Byrd can break free only if he agrees to remain attached. The radio waves travelled from civilisation to Little America as well: ‘Petersen each day copied and distributed news flimsies from the world radio press’, Byrd reported (1935, pp. 192-3).19 As C. J. V. Murphy put it in summary, in his contribution to Discovery: The sounds of the outer world were always there to hear [in the new Little America]. Dyer had only to throw a switch to bring into the shacks the note of Big Ben striking the hour in London and sending tiny shivers down your back with its world-filling authority of empire; or else, with a simple turn, evoke out of the same atmosphere the sounds of our crooning countrymen weeping expensively into the curded milk of love. (Byrd, 1935, p. 194) The place of modern technology in Byrd’s exploration of Antarctica is beyond doubt and has been discussed widely (Griffiths, 2007; Bryson, 1996; Matuozzi, 2002, for example). What is of primary concern to me here is not the technological achievement itself – remarkable though it is – but, rather, the 14 manner in which technological incorporation and innovation established a rich, regular, and reversible connection between civilisation, Little America, and the remote Advance Base. Retreat is interrupted – from beyond, from outside, from home, from afar. With this in mind, I want now to tune in a little more precisely to Byrd’s account, in order to listen at length to how radio interferes with retreat. Several days after bidding farewell to his colleagues and taking up residence at Advance Base, Byrd established radio contact with Little America for the first time.20 He describes himself at this point as ‘[e]xcited’, adding that ‘if any contingency truly disturbed me, it was the chance of losing radio contact with Little America. Not on my account, but on the expedition’s account more generally’ (2003, p. 65). Two weeks later, however, his tone is different, ambivalent: It’s really comforting to talk this way with Little America, and yet in my heart I wish very much that I didn’t have to have the radio. It connects me with places where speeches are made and with the importunities of the outer world. (2003, p. 87) But the curiosity about ‘the outer world’ was evidently strong, for, on 6 May, Byrd used the radio to ask his colleagues about the state of the American stock market. This, he writes, ‘was a ghastly mistake’: I can in no earthly way alter the situation. Worry, therefore, is needless. Before leaving [home] I had invested my own funds – carefully, I thought – in the hope of making a little money and thus reducing the expedition’s debt. This additional loss, on top of ever- mounting operating expenses, may be disastrous. Well, I don’t need money here. The wisest course is to close off my mind to the bothersome details of the world. (2003, p. 125) What Alone shows, though, is the way in which that closing-off is never accomplished: ‘the bothersome details of the world’ are broadcast regularly into Advance Base through the radio equipment, sometimes on specific request. Whether Byrd embraces or doubts the technology, the connection between Advance Base 15 and Little America, and Little America and the United States, cuts through the period of retreat and its subsequent inscription in the pages of book. The way in which radio linked the isolated Byrd to the wider world becomes even more apparent in the book’s account of how, in May 1934, an attempt was made to celebrate Byrd’s achievement back in the United States: I was informed that on Saturday Little America was broadcasting a special program to the Chicago World Fair; would I mind adding my greetings? Certainly not. It was agreed that I should spell out in code, ‘Greetings from the bottom of the world’, which message was to be picked up and relayed by Little America’s more powerful transmitter. I reduced the message to dots and dashes and practiced religiously. When Saturday came, Charlie Murphy broke the news, just before the broadcast, that New York now wanted me to spell, ‘Antarctic greetings’, instead. ‘I’m given to understand’, he said sententiously, ‘they intend to translate the damn thing into fireworks.’ (Byrd, 2003, pp. 158-9) As on the occasion of the very first broadcast between Advance Base and Little America, Byrd records a sense of thrill when describing the imminent link-up: As excited as an actor making his debut, I sat at Advance Base listening to the broadcast from Little America; and, when somebody said, ‘We shall now attempt to make contact with Admiral Byrd’, I reached for the key and worked it furiously. But it went for naught. Dyer reported a few minutes after that he had heard it clearly, but Chicago hadn’t heard anything. ‘No doubt the fireworks went off anyway’, he observed dryly. (2003, p. 159) Even though this particular media event falls flat, the eager attempt to send greetings ‘from the bottom of the world’ to Chicago, from Little America to ‘Big’ America, from the wilderness to civilisation, marks again the failure of complete separation and pure retreat. 16 Byrd likens himself here to an actor; what he does not say is that his drama is the dying of distance. II VV What strikes me about Alone is, to borrow a distinction from Jacques Derrida, the gap between what the text declares and what it describes (Derrida, 1976, pp. 217-8). The title of the text connotes privation and critical distance from civilisation, and Byrd refers to his being ‘cut off from human beings’ (2003, p. 183). This is the book’s declaration. Its description of life at Advance Base, however, is rather different, for Alone records repeatedly how Byrd was in regular, welcome contact with human beings, both directly (when in radio conversation with Little America) and indirectly (when receiving news of the stock market via his colleagues in the main base, for instance). When that connection with others fails, as it does towards the end of the stay at Advance Base, the author records a sense of terror: ‘This is bad, very bad, I said to myself; I’d sooner lose an arm than have anything go wrong with [the radio generator] […] Bent over with weariness and despair, I concluded finally that my world was falling to pieces’ (Byrd, 2003, p. 233). As he lies near death and awaiting rescue in temperatures of around 80 degrees below zero, moreover, Byrd relates how his focus falls upon his link with Little America: Everything that remained of me was centered upon the radio. I kept up the weather data, made the observations, and wound the clocks; but all this was automatic. Whatever else that was truly alive and reasoning was devoted toward keeping the channel of communication open, not merely on my account, but on account of the men bound for Advance Base. From the beginning I had loathed the radio; now I hated it with a hate that transcended reason. Each day it left me helpless for hours. If I had smashed it with a hammer, as I was more than once tempted to do, I might not have suffered nearly so much. (2003, p. 268) 17 Byrd attempts to explain his not destroying the radio in altruistic terms – ‘But there was a moral aspect which restrained me. […] [A]s long as men were proposing to grope in the darkness between me and Little America, there could be no letup’ (2003, p.268) – but this does not alter the fundamental fact that his retreat was punctured and punctuated consistently by contact with the outside world, with civilisation. This wireless contact is even described twice as a kind of ‘meeting’ (2003, pp. 281, 287). What Alone broadcasts, in other words, like Byrd’s two other accounts of Antarctic exploration, is radio’s disruptive duality: it is necessary for survival and it saves Byrd’s life in the end, but its invasive presence marks the return of the modern, mechanical world from which the Little Americans have withdrawn. Writing of his time as a geologist on the first Byrd expedition to the Antarctic, Lawrence McKinley Gould claimed in summary that ‘individual isolation was about the most unattainable thing’ in the encampment (Gould, 1931, p. 31). Alone, against all odds, tells a strikingly similar story. Out in the bleak Antarctic wilderness, in a tiny subterranean cabin, waves are welcomed into retreat. Byrd was never quite alone. VV This would appear to be true in a wider sense, too. The more I explore narratives of withdrawal, and the more I write about writing about retreat, the more I feel that the long and varied story of withdrawal from the world is at once the story of being interrupted. Byrd’s disruptions, as disruptions, are typical, nothing new. There is across time a tendency, to put things in a somewhat Derridean manner (1976, p. 34), for the outside to erupt within the inside, within the apparently distant and different, within the shack, the cabin, the cave, the woods, the desert. The precise form of that outside is historically specific, of course, but its bare bothering endures. Peter France’s history of hermits offers some delightful examples from the remote and pre-modern past, from a moment and a climate far removed from that of Richard Byrd. The early Desert Fathers, he notes, sometimes became so famous, such objects of fascination, that their precious retreat was disturbed by ‘invasions of the curious’ (France, 1996, p. xi) and they were 18 forced to find innovative ways to address the problem. Abbas Simon, for example, when he heard that a nobleman was coming to visit him, went outside and began pruning a palm tree. The nobleman arrived with a group of people and shouted, ‘Old man, where is the anchorite?’, to which Simon replied, ‘There’s no anchorite here’. The group went away (France, 1996, p. 28). Meanwhile, Saint Antony of Kiev, who is not to be confused with the more famous Saint Antony of Egypt, was forced to dig another cave in an even more remote location in Russia to escape those who kept pestering him for advice (France, 1996, p. 54). Henry David Thoreau built a cabin instead of digging a cave, but, like the Desert Fathers, he also faced interruptions during his time in retreat, although not most significantly from people: he tells his readers quite clearly that his plan was never to avoid social contact. The common misperception of Thoreau as an isolated anchorite was perhaps the fault of Ralph Waldo Emerson. In his published eulogy for Thoreau, which was based on a funeral address given in May 1862, he described his friend as a hermit (Emerson, 1883-93, p. 426), even though Walden contains a chapter entitled ‘Visitors’, a statement that its author was ‘naturally no hermit’ (Thoreau, 2004, p. 140), and the announcement that ‘I had more visitors while I lived in the woods than at any other period of my life’ (pp. 143-4).21 The chapter entitled ‘The Village’, meanwhile, features the following statement: Every day or two I strolled to the village to hear some of the gossip which is incessantly going on there, circulating either from mouth to mouth, or from newspaper to newspaper, and which, taken in homoeopathic doses, was really as refreshing in its way as the rustle of leaves and the peeping of frogs. As I walked in the woods to see the birds and squirrels, so I walked in the village to see the men and boys; instead of the wind among the pines I heard the carts rattle. In one direction from my house there was a colony of muskrats in the river meadows; under the grove of elms and buttonwoods in the other horizon was a village of busy men, as curious to me as if they had been prairie dogs, each sitting at the mouth of its burrow, or running over to a neighbor's to gossip. I went there frequently to observe their habits. (p. 167) 19 As Stanley Cavell puts it, in his book on Walden, Thoreau was by no means invisible in the woods: he was, rather, ‘a visible saint’ (Cavell, 1992, p. 11). What Thoreau did seek to avoid, however, were the sights and sounds of modernity, or what, like Byrd, he repeatedly called ‘civilization’ (Thoreau, 2004, pp. 30, 31, 34, 35, for example); this anti-modernity is one of the qualities which sets Thoreau apart from the pre-modern Desert Fathers and brings him closer instead to Byrd’s Antarctica – a closeness which turns uncanny when it is recalled that Walden Pond was actually formed ‘when the last glacier to cover New England slowly melted away’ (Department of Conservation and Recreation, Commonwealth of Massachusetts, 2007, p. 1).22 The cabin was to be an escape from ‘the chopping sea of civilized life’ (Thoreau, 2004, p. 91) where Thoreau could live differently and deliberately, in tune and touch with nature instead of modernity and its machinery. What he calls a ‘tonic of wildness’ (p. 317) is needed to correct the way of the world, to restore a connection with authentic human existence, to forge an alternative to those mechanical ‘lives of quiet desperation’ (p. 8). But what Walden actually inscribes, to my mind, is a series of moments at which ‘the chopping sea of civilized life’ seeps into the space to which Thoreau has withdrawn. The lives of quiet desperation turn out to be desperately noisy. Walden is a book of interruptions. Leo Marx recognised this many years ago in The Machine in the Garden, where he considered how, in the formulation of the pastoral ideal, American writers from Hawthorne to Hemingway have turned their attention to ‘the machine’s sudden appearance in the landscape’ (1964, p. 16) as a ‘counterforce’ to ‘an idyllic vision’ (p. 25). The most notable invasion of machinery in Walden, Marx points out, is the arrival of a train in the serene landscape, just when Thoreau is sitting still in solitude and reverie.23 All at once there is movement, noise, modernity: At first the sound is scarcely audible. Thoreau casually mentions it at the end of a long sentence in which he describes a series of sights and sounds: hawks circling the clearing, a tantivity of wild pigeons, a mink stealing out of the marsh, the sedge bending under the weight of reed-birds, and then, as if belonging to the very tissue of nature: ‘and for the last half-hour I have heard the rattle of the railroad cars, now dying away 20 and then reviving like the beat of a partridge, conveying travellers from Boston to the country.’ It would have been very difficult to contrive a quieter entrance, which may seem curious in view of the fact that Thoreau then devotes nine long paragraphs to the subject. (Marx, 1964, pp. 249-50) In Marx’s account, this interruption is part of the development of the pastoral ideal: the appearance of the train as a counterforce in the idyll belongs to Walden’s gradual movement towards disclosing ‘a way of coping with the forces represented by the encroaching machine power’ (Marx, 1964, p. 260). With time comes balance, healing, ‘a figurative restoration of the form and unity severed by the mechanized forces of history’ (p. 262). Or, to put things differently by returning to the discussion of Virgil and Hawthorne with which Marx begins his book, ‘the conflict aroused by the counterforce is mitigated’ (p. 31). The dramatic interruption occurs, then, but it reveals the beginnings of a shift, an ambivalence towards technology. The train is a noisy counterforce, but Walden eventually, for Marx, moves towards mitigation. That is the heart, the spirit, of the pastoral ideal. This means that Marx’s brilliant, persuasive book is ultimately uninterested in the interruptions as interruptions. Because The Machine in the Garden sees these moments as necessary points on the path to mitigation, it tends to leave them aside as interruptions once it has moved on to the higher level of healing and incorporation. (The ghost of Hegel can haunt more than one Marx, it seems.) The interruptions to Thoreau’s retreat, that is to say, are passing events on a journey to somewhere else. I would want to stress the interruptions as interruptions, however, because there is a sense in which Walden describes in detail a phenomenon which affects many modern narratives of retreat, such as Richard Byrd’s Alone; Richard Proenneke’s accounts of building a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness in the late 1960s and retreating there in solitude, only to find his days marked by signs of technological modernity (Proenneke 1999, 2012); Everett Ruess’s dispatches from the deserts of the American West in the 1930s (Rusho, 2007), in which civilisation is dismissed but then quietly embraced, particularly in the form of the postal system; or, from 1968, Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire, in which the desire ‘to evade for a while the clamor and filth and confusion of the cultural apparatus’ (Abbey, 1990, p. 6) is described 21 alongside consistent contact with American culture, notably in the form of radio.24 When Thoreau describes the surfacing of ‘civilized life’ within the woods, when he relates modernity’s marking of the day, he is describing a difficulty faced often by those who retreat: leaving a way of life behind is never easy, never pure, for the simple reason that traces of what has been abandoned tend to invade the experience and the environment of withdrawal. Flight finds itself up against the rejected; distance becomes a distant dream. It would be possible, perhaps, to survey all of these interruptions and explain them away as inevitable occurrences. Casting off a culture is not straightforward: you can flee, but it catches up, catches you out. I do not think, however, that it is sufficient simply to shrug and say that interruptions happen. I want, rather, to know why such resurfacings occur again and again, often in dramatic ways, in written accounts of retreat. Why detail the interruptions? Why do they happen at the level of the signifier, in the record? Why do they come through in the ink, make it through from life to writing? My turn to the term ‘signifier’ offers a clue to the direction of my conclusion. Ferdinand de Saussure proposed in the Course in General Linguistics that meaning depends upon difference (Saussure 1974), and Jacques Derrida, in his radical rereading of Saussure in the late 1960s, reformulated matters to suggest that meaning depends upon the trace of otherness (Derrida 1973, 1976). If a signifier becomes meaningful only by being different from other signifiers, then every signifier bears the necessary trace of other signifiers. ‘Without a retention in the minimal unit of temporal experience’, Derrida concludes, ‘without a trace retaining the other as other in the same, no difference would do its work and no meaning would appear’ (1976, p. 62). In the light of these propositions, it seems to me that retreat, if it is to signify, must be a retreat from something – civilisation, in the case of Byrd, Thoreau, Proenneke, Ruess, Abbey, and many others like them across the decades. Without that something, without the initial, troublesome presence of civilisation, retreat has no real meaning, no real significance. (The verb ‘to retreat’ can technically be intransitive, then, but this is deceptive.) Retreat depends for its meaning upon a difference between states, places, conditions, ways of living. The significance of Richard Byrd’s period at Advance Base, to return to my primary example, relies upon its not being life in the United States: Little America is Little America because it is not ‘Big’ America; 22 wilderness is wilderness because it is not civilisation. Retreat depends upon difference. This necessary contrast resonates in Byrd’s account in the form of interruptions, which are uttered traces of otherness, summoned reminders of elsewhere. ‘The distancing has to be symbolized in some way’, as Roland Barthes puts it in his discussion of anachoresis (Barthes, 2013, p. 25), and Byrd’s interruptions are, I would argue, an attempt to symbolise such critical distancing. When Byrd reports hearing from ‘Big’ America, he gives significance to Little America. And when he reports hearing from Little America or ‘Big’ America while he is alone in his frozen cabin, he makes his retreat meaningful. The outside is required to live inside and to write the experience. This strikes a fatal blow to any hope, any belief, that retreat can be pure, utter, complete. (My phrasing here is not accidental: etymologically, a retreat can be a blow executed by the pulling back of a weapon.) Shifting the focus away from Byrd’s Antarctic writings as simple slices of history or early episodes in the history of mass-media spectacles opens up a new vista, a new continent of significance. Reading instead for the contradictory moments at which Byrd’s accounts skate away from themselves allows for the unfolding of a new understanding of withdrawal with wider implications for related tales of critical distance. Retreat retreats, retreats from itself. Withdrawal depends upon and secretes the trace of what has been left behind; it must mark itself as a withdrawal from something. The bothersome details of the world are recorded because they have a founding function; retreat is therefore impure and undone at its heart. Richard Byrd, far from home in a tiny cabin beneath the Antarctic ice, needed civilisation to know and write retreat. For their help, comments and advice, I am grateful to Clare Birchall, Susan Castillo, Ann Heilmann, Tomek Mossakowski, Richard Vine, and Damian Walford Davies. 23 RREE FF EE RREE NN CC EE LL II SS TT Abbey, E. (1990). Desert solitaire: A season in the wilderness. New York, NY: Touchstone. Barthes, R. (2013). How to live together: Novelistic simulations of some everyday spaces. Trans. by K. Briggs. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Bryson, M. (1996). Antarctic interfaces: science, human subjectivity, and the case of Richard E. Byrd. Science as Culture 5, 431-58. Byrd, R. E. (1930). Little America: Aerial exploration in the Antarctic: The flight to the South Pole. New York, NY and London: G.P. Putnam. Byrd, R. E. (1935). Discovery: The story of the second Byrd Antarctic expedition. New York, NY and London: G.P. Putnam. Byrd, R. E. (2003). Alone. Washington, DC: Island Press/Shearwater Books. Cavell, S. (1992). The senses of Walden: An expanded edition. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Department of Conservation and Recreation, Commonwealth of Massachusetts. (2007). Walden Pond State Reservation. Boston, MA: Department of Conservation and Recreation, Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Derrida, J. (1973). Differance. In J. Derrida, ‘Speech and phenomena’ and other essays on Husserl’s theory of signs (pp. 129-60). Trans. by D. B. Allison. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Derrida, J. (1976). Of grammatology. Trans. by G. C. Spivak. Baltimore, MD and London: Johns Hopkins University Press. Emerson, R. W. (1883-93). Thoreau. In R. W. Emerson, Emerson’s Complete Works (vol. 10, pp. 419-52). London: Waverley. 24 France, P. (1996). Hermits: The insights of solitude. New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press. Gould, L. M. (1931) Cold: The record of an Antarctic sledge journey. New York: Brewer, Warren and Putnam. Griffiths, T. (2007). Slicing the silence: Voyaging to Antarctica. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press. Howarth, W. (1983). The book of Concord: Thoreau’s life as a writer. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Mann, T. (1999). The magic mountain. Trans. by H. T. Lowe- Porter. London: Vintage. Marx, L. (1964). The machine in the garden: Technology and the pastoral ideal in America. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Matuozzi, R. N. (2002). Richard Byrd, polar exploration, and the media. The Virginia Magazine of History and Biography, 110 (2), 209-36. McIlroy, J. A. (1993). The history of the Greenwich time signal from 1924 to the present day. Engineering Science and Education Journal, December, 281-8. Modern Times (1936). Directed by Charlie Chaplin. Released by United Artists. Murphy, C. J. V. (1928). Struggle: The life and exploits of Commander Richard E. Byrd. New York, NY: Frederick A. Stokes. Perry, S. D. (2014). CBS’s long distance radio experiment: Broadcasting the Byrd expedition from Little America. Journal of Radio & Audio Media, 21 (1), 80-95. Proenneke, R. (1999). One man’s wilderness: An Alaskan odyssey. Ed. by S. Keith. Portland, OR: Alaska Northwest Books. 25 Proenneke, R. (2012). More readings from one man’s wilderness: The journals of Richard L. Proenneke. Ed. by John Branson. New York, NY: Skyhorse Publishing. Roorda, R. (1998). Dramas of solitude: Narratives of retreat in American nature writing. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Rose, L. A. (2008). Explorer: The life of Richard Byrd. Columbia, MO and London: University of Missouri Press. Roth, P. (2007). Exit ghost. London: Jonathan Cape. Rusho, W. L. (2007). Everett Ruess: A vagabond for beauty. Salt Lake City, UT: Gibbs Smith. Salt, H. S. (1968). Life of Henry David Thoreau. New York: Haskell House. Saussure, F. de. (1974). Course in General Linguistics. Ed. by C. Bally, A. Sechehaye, and A. Reidlinger. Trans. by W. Baskin. London: Fontana. Thoreau, H. D. (2004). Walden. Princeton, NJ and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Walford Davies, D. (2012). Cartographies of culture: New geographies of Welsh writing in English. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Wilson, E. G. (2003). The spiritual history of ice: Romanticism, science, and the imagination. New York and Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. 26 NN OO TT EE SS 1 I will enlist the term ‘civilisation’ often in this essay to describe the condition from which Richard Byrd and others sought to withdraw. My use of the term – their term – should not be taken as an endorsement of its connotations. 2 Byrd’s claim to have beaten Amundsen in the race to fly over the North Pole in May 1926 has been contested on many occasions, and I have no interest in taking sides here. For an overview of the controversy, see Rose, 2008, pp. 123-43. 3 For more on Byrd as a coloniser of the ice, see Griffiths, 2007, p. 123 and Bryson, 1996, p. 437. For a map of Byrd’s base, see the insert between pp. 232 and 233 of Byrd, 1930. 4 For further notable references to Little America’s difference and distance from civilisation, see Byrd, 1930, pp. 20, 101, 148, 192, and 221. See also the whole of Chapter 10 of the book: ‘Civilization Does Not Matter’. 5 For a detailed summary of the differences between what the men called old Little America and new Little America, see Byrd, 1935, pp. 182ff. For an account of the size of the second Little America, see p. 113 of the same text. 6 See, for example, Byrd, 1935, pp. 21, 97, 126, 163, and 249. 7 Like ‘Little America’, the name ‘Advance Base’ evokes the colonialism of the American frontier. Indeed, a caption beneath one of the photographs in Byrd’s account of his second voyage to Antarctica refers to (the new) Little America as a ‘frontier settlement’. See the top image on the unpaginated photographic plate immediately before p. 121 of Byrd, 1935. 8 All of the information about the location and construction of Advance Base in this paragraph is taken from Byrd, 1935, p. 167. For a photograph of all that remained above ground, see the unpaginated plate immediately before p. 153 of the same text. 9 Murphy was well placed to pick up the narrative: he had already published the first book-length celebration of Byrd (Murphy, 1928) and, according to Lisle Rose (2008, p. 290), ‘helped Byrd crank out Little America in four months’ in 1930. 27 10 While this plan to retreat from modernity into the remote wilderness might not, in seeking such separation and dissociation, appear immediately to be a form of critical distance (in that critique involves enlisted judgement, not a refusal to engage), I read in the references to ‘people beset by the complexities of modern life’ and being ‘caught up in the winds that blow every which way’ an implicit understanding of Advance Base as a critical distancing. 11 I am thinking in particular here of the terrifying incident (Byrd, 2003, pp. 116-18) in which Byrd ‘decide[s] to take a longer walk than usual’ (p. 116) outside on the ice, becomes lost, and fears that he will never find his way back to Advance Base. 12 Edward Abbey’s later account of a far warmer retreat, Desert solitaire: A season in the wilderness, also contains an account of checking the weather station during a period of withdrawal from modern life (Abbey, 1990, p. 38). 13 Once again, Edward Abbey describes a very similar experience in Desert solitaire (Abbey, 1990, p. 11). The phenomenon is not confined to non-fiction, either: Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, for example, provides a memorable counterpart in the realm of fiction when it describes Hans Castorp’s adjustment to life, to a new sense of time, in the remote sanatorium (Mann, 1999). 14 The importance of the alarm clock at Advance Base is also described in Discovery, where the reproduction of a diary entry from the day on which Byrd watched his colleagues leave (28 March) offers a possible explanation for the absence of the object from the retreat: ‘Boxes, loose clothing, books, and odds and ends past counting are strewn about. I haven’t the faintest idea where anything is. I’ve searched conscientiously for the alarm clock and the cook book, and the suspicion is growing that I left them at Little America. It would be an ironic joke if, in the pretentious planning for every contingency, we forgot these most commonplace and vital necessities’ (Byrd, 1935, p. 166). 15 This corrective signal was, I presume, also used to set the wrist watch that Byrd mentions keeping with him in the shack (2003, pp. 58, 108, 156, 168, 173, 234, 252). 16 The Greenwich Time Signal had been transmitted for the first time just a decade earlier (McIlroy, 1993). 17 For more on the CBS broadcasts, including a fascinating reconstruction of their lost content, see Perry 2014. In his archival 28 account of Byrd’s first two Antarctic trips and the earlier flight to the North Pole, Robert N. Matuozzi (2002) has argued persuasively that the mass media actually shaped Byrd’s adventures, rather than merely reporting them. Matuozzi also discusses the involvement of Paramount film crews at Little America during the first and second expeditions – a phenomenon which I will not discuss here because my concern is radio broadcasting. 18 CBS and General Foods were not the only commercial enterprises to support the second Byrd expedition to Antarctica. For details of other donors, see Chapter 1 of Byrd, 1935. 19 Tom Griffiths (2007, pp. 123-4) points out that the 1929 expedition also involved broadcasts in both directions and that news of Byrd’s historic flight to the South Pole was relayed immediately to crowds in New York’s Times Square (p. 127). 20 While Little America was able to broadcast speech to Byrd, he was able to send only Morse code in response. He claims in Alone that his knowledge of Morse code was slight (2003, p. 65). 21 Might Emerson have been thinking, when he described Thoreau as a hermit, of an article published in the Liberator on 4 November 1859, in which Thoreau was described as ‘the hermit of Concord’ (quoted in Salt, 1968, p. 140)? This common perception of Thoreau’s life at Walden has been corrected by, among others, Salt, 1968, pp. 75 and 77, and Howarth, 1983, p. 36. 22 Walden, in fact, as Eric G. Wilson has pointed out, is fascinated with ice (Wilson, 2003, pp. 50-68), but Thoreau makes no reference to the frozen provenance of the lake. Damian Walford Davies’s engaging ‘hydrographic’ reading of Wordsworth’s ‘Tintern Abbey’ (Walford Davies, 2012, pp. 20-42) has persuaded me that what I will tentatively call a ‘glaciographic’ analysis of Byrd’s Alone remains to be sculpted. I do not have the space here to let this possibility crystallise, so I shall leave it, for now at least, on ice. 23 Edward Abbey’s Desert solitaire effectively rewrites this scene with a jeep instead of a train (Abbey, 1990, pp. 42-3). 24 I do not have space here to discuss Proenneke, Ruess, or Abbey in any kind of detail, but I plan to consider them at length, and Thoreau much more extensively, in the book of which this essay is a fragment. 
work_shi5l2sianfuplbzpif45fqyie	----	Onl_Er_nph_12647 1..10 Drivers of leaf-out phenology and their implications for species invasions: insights from Thoreau’s Concord Caroline Polgar, Amanda Gallinat and Richard B. Primack Department of Biology, Boston University, Boston, MA 02215, USA Author for correspondence: Richard B. Primack Tel: +1 617 353 2454 Email: primack@bu.edu Received: 9 September 2013 Accepted: 7 November 2013 New Phytologist (2013) doi: 10.1111/nph.12647 Key words: chilling requirements, Concord, Henry David Thoreau, invasive species, leaf out, Massachusetts, native species, phenology. Summary � To elucidate climate-driven changes in leaf-out phenology and their implications for species invasions, we observed and experimentally manipulated leaf out of invasive and native woody plants in Concord, MA, USA. � Using observations collectedby HenryDavidThoreau (1852–1860) andour own observations (2009–2013), we analyzed changes in leaf-out timing and sensitivity to temperature for 43 woody plant species. We experimentally tested winter chilling requirements of 50 species by exposing cut branches to warm indoor temperatures (22°C) during the winter and spring of 2013. � Woody species are now leafing out an average of 18 d earlier than they did in the 1850s, and are advancing at a rate of 5 � 1 d °C�1. Functional groups differ significantly in the duration of chilling they require to leaf out: invasive shrubs generally have weaker chilling requirements than native shrubs and leaf out faster in the laboratory and earlier in the field; native trees have the strongest chilling requirements. � Our results suggest that invasive shrub species will continue to have a competitive advantage as the climate warms, because native plants are slower to respond to warming spring temperatures and, in the future, may not meet their chilling requirements. Introduction The connection between plant phenology and temperature is well established for temperate ecosystems; spring plant phenophases, such as leaf out and flowering, generally occur earlier in warmer years (Cleland et al., 2007; Polgar & Primack, 2011). Across temperate regions of the world, woody species are advancing their timing of leaf out at an average rate of 4.6 d °C�1 in response to warming annual temperatures (Wolkovich et al., 2012). However, the response of leafing out to warming is species specific (Lechowicz, 1984; Cleland et al., 2007), and the magnitude of the response of individual species to temperature can affect species composition at the community level. Weak responses to temper- ature in flowering are linked to native species declines (Willis et al., 2008) and strong responses are linked to increases in abundance of non-native species (Hulme, 2011). Strong responses of leafing out to increased temperature may increase the growing season length of a species and its ability to compete for local resources in spring (Fridley, 2012). As spring temperatures have reached record highs, flowering and leaf-out dates continue to advance in many temperate areas (Wolkovich et al., 2012; Ault et al., 2013; Ellwood et al., 2013). Leaf-out models that consider only heat sums, the accumulation of warm temperatures (or thermal units) that force bud burst, predict continued advances in leaf-out dates as winter and spring temperatures warm (Vitasse et al., 2009). However, before the accumulation of heat sums, temperate plants must accumulate a specific number of chilling units for the release from dormancy, referred to as the chilling requirement (Falusi & Calamassi, 1990; Faust et al., 1997). As winter and spring temperatures continue to warm, the fulfillment of chilling requirements may be delayed or may go unmet for many species, possibly delaying spring onset or causing abnormal leaf-out events, such as extremely late bud burst or incomplete leaf development (McCreary et al., 1990; Morin et al., 2009; Fu et al., 2012). In these situations, plants may need additional warming to overcome the unmet winter chilling requirement. In fact, delays in spring leafing out attributed to incomplete winter chilling have already been reported in some regions, such as the southeastern USA and the Tibetan Plateau (Zhang et al., 2007; Yu et al., 2010; Cook et al., 2012). Chilling requirements are believed to serve as a way to protect plants from leafing out too early in the spring in response to brief warm spells, when they would still be vulnerable to freezing events after the warm spell had passed (Gu et al., 2008; Korner & Basler, 2010; Basler & Korner, 2012). Winter chilling, spring warming and photoperiod have all been identified as requirements necessary forspring leafout.Althoughseveralstudiessuggest thatchillingand warming have a stronger effect than photoperiod on leaf-out phenology, their relative importance and differences among species remain largely unknown (Vitasse et al., 2009; Polgar & Primack, 2011; Laube et al., 2013; Vitasse & Basler, 2013). � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trust New Phytologist (2013) 1 www.newphytologist.com Research Invasive species often leaf out earlier than native species (Xu et al., 2007), a difference that suggests that invasive species may have weaker winter chilling requirements or stronger responses to spring warming. If, in general, invasive species have significantly weaker winter chilling requirements or stronger responses to spring warming than native species, there is a risk that invasive species will gain an additional competitive advantage as the climate continues to warm. Differences in response rates of invasive vs native woody plants may have important implications for the future of temperate forests, altering species composition, ecosystem functions and feedbacks to the climate system. In this study, we investigated the sensitivity of spring leaf-out phenology to temperature and the relative chilling requirements for a variety of woody species in Concord and nearby areas of Massachusetts, USA. Species included native trees and shrubs, non- native invasive shrubs and vines. We experimentally determined the duration of chilling required by each species before leaf out and explored differences between native and invasive species. To study sensitivity to spring and winter temperatures in the field, we used observational leaf-out data from Concord from two time periods, 1853–1860 and 2009–2013. We investigated the following questions. How have first leaf-out dates changed from the 1850s to the present? Do native trees, native shrubs and non-native invasive shrubs differ in the duration of chilling they require before leafing out? How do winter chilling requirements affect the timing of leaf out in the field and the phenological response of plants to warmer spring temperatures? The answers to these questions will ultimately help ecologists predict which woody species will benefit most and how the temperate forest community will change as temperatures continue to warm as a result of climate change. Materials and Methods Observational field study ThefieldstudywasconductedinConcord,MA,northeasternUSA, for three reasons. First, this temperate forest ecosystem has four distinct seasons, and pronounced winters with multiple days below freezing and potential freezes into late spring. Second, the weather in this region of the USA is highly variable both among and within years. Third, we have extensive prior knowledge of the effects of climate change on the flowering phenology and abundance of plant species over the past 150 yr in this location (Miller-Rushing & Primack, 2008; Willis et al., 2008, 2010; Primack et al., 2009; Primack & Miller-Rushing, 2012; Ellwood et al., 2013). We obtained historical records of first leaf dates (FLDs) for woody plant species in Concord, MA, USA, recorded by the environmental writer and philosopher Henry David Thoreau from the Morgan Library in New York City. These observations were made from 1852 to 1860, with the most complete observations made in the springs of 1854, 1855 and 1860. From this list, we selected the 43 deciduous species that were still present in Concord and for which there were > 2 yr of leaf-out data from the 1800s (Table 1, Supporting Information Table S2). Thoreau’s observa- tions of flowering times have already been extensively studied and compared with modern observations (Primack & Miller-Rushing, 2012; Ellwood et al., 2013), but this is the first scientific use of his leaf-out observations. Thoreau did not describe his field methods for recording leaf-out dates. However, Thoreau’s detailed descrip- tions in his journals of the small size of the young leaves and his frequent journal entries suggest that his methodology was similar to ours. We also know that Thoreau was recording the first flowering date anywhere within Concord, and so it seems likely that he was recording the first leaf-out date of particular tree species anywhere in Concord, rather than focusing on specific individuals or plots of land, again just as we did. In any case, because of the extremely fast process of leaf flush in Massachusetts, even variations of Thoreau’s method would almost certainly yield similar, if not identical, values to our methods. To obtain the current FLDs of these same 43 species, we visited Concord twice a week throughout March, April and May of 2009– 2013,andrecorded thefirsttimeeachofthestudyspecieswasinleaf (Tables 1, S2). We considered a species to have leafed out when at least three branches on one individual plant anywhere in Concord had at least one fully unfolded leaf, the definition used by Project Budburst (www.budburst.org), and similar to that used by the USA National Phenology Network (www.usanpn.org). We obtained air temperatures from the Blue Hill Meteorological Observatory in Milton, MA (data available from the National Climatic Data Center, www.ncdc.noaa.gov), a site 33 km southeast of Concord, where temperatures are highly correlated with those in Concord (Miller-Rushing & Primack, 2008). Of the 43 species, 23 had complete data for the years 1854, 1855, 1860 and 2009–2013. In 2013, we recorded the FLDs in the field for an additional 13 species from Concord, and also from Newton (22 km southwest of Concord) and the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University (34 km southwest of Concord; Table 1). Laboratory chilling study In 2013, we collected dormant twigs of 50 species of woody plants, including trees, shrubs and vines. The species collected included 36 ofthe43speciesfrom theobservationalfield studyinConcord,plus four additional native species and 10 additional invasive species (Table 1). We collected most twigs from the wild in Newton and Concord, MA. In some cases, plant species were too rare locally for us to collect twigs from wild individuals; in those cases, we collected twigs from plants growing at the Arnold Arboretum (Table 1). We collected twigs on 8–11 January, 14–20 February, 20–24 March and 18–20 April, 2013. In Table S1, we provide the chilling days and thermal units that plants had accumulated in the field before these collection dates. In the first collection period, we collected 48 species. In February, we did not collect the nine species that leafed out in fewer than 21 d after being collected in January. However, in February, we began collecting two additional species, witch hazel (Hamamelis virginiana) and spicebush (Lindera benzoin), that we had not collected in January. We collected a totalof41species inFebruary. InMarch,wecollected all50species. In April, we collected only those species that took longer than 40 d to leaf out in the laboratory after the March collection – we wanted to confirm that they would be able to leaf out under laboratory conditions when collected as twigs. We collected 20 twigs from New Phytologist (2013) � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trustwww.newphytologist.com Research New Phytologist2 each of the selected species at each collection time. For wild species, we collected the 20 twigs of each species from at least five individuals. For species collected at the Arnold Arboretum, we were only able to collect from one or two individuals per species. In the analysis described below, we used the twigs to generate a single leaf-out date for each species in each treatment, and did not treat them as replicates. We brought the twigs into a laboratory at Boston University, where we re-cut the base of each one and placed them into containers with 500 ml of tap water. The twigs of each species were Table 1 Species used in the study listed with their functional group, chilling requirement, days to leaf out after twig collection in March 2013, date of leaf out in the field in 2013 and collection site – Newton (N), Arnold Arboretum (A) and Concord (C) Common name Scientific name Functional group Chilling requirement Days to leaf out in March Date of leaf out in 2013 Collection site Japanese barberry Berberis thunbergii Invasive shrub Minimal 8 9 April N European barberry1 Berberis vulgaris Invasive shrub Minimal 16 16 April A Bittersweet Celastrus orbiculatus Invasive vine Minimal 22 2 May N Silverling Eleagnus umbellata Invasive shrub Minimal 9 14 April A Compact privet Ligustrum compactum Invasive shrub Minimal 9 9 April A Ibota privet Ligustrum ibota Invasive shrub Minimal 9 14 April A Late honeysuckle Lonicera maackii Invasive shrub Minimal 9 9 April A Subsessilis honeysuckle Lonicera subsessilis Invasive shrub Minimal 9 14 April A Multiflora rose Rosa multiflora Invasive shrub Minimal 8 9 April N American elder1 Sambucus canadensis Native shrub Minimal 9 16 April A Apple1 Malus domestica Non-native tree Minimal 8 9 April N Winged euonymus Euonymus alatus Invasive shrub Mild 15 24 April A Black chokeberry1 Aronia arbutifolia Native shrub Mild 9 16 April A Buttonbush1 Cephalanthus occidentalis Native shrub Mild 16 10 May N Sweet fern1,2 Comptonia peregrina Native shrub Mild 15 27 April N Silky dogwood1 Cornus amomum Native shrub Mild 15 24 April N Hazelnut1 Corylus americana Native shrub Mild 13 24 April C Sheep’s laurel1,2 Kalmia angustifolia Native shrub Mild 22 27 April N Bayberry1 Myrica pensylvanica Native shrub Mild 16 10 May A Meadow sweet1 Spiraea latifolia Native shrub Mild 9 16 April A Early low-bush blueberry1 Vaccinium angustifolium Native shrub Mild 16 16 April A Arrowwood1 Viburnum recognitum Native shrub Mild 13 21 April C Grape1 Vitis aestivalis Native vine Mild 15 2 May N Paper birch1 Betula papyrifera Native tree Mild 9 24 April A Gray birch1 Betula populifolia Native tree Mild 15 27 April N American ash1,2 Fraxinus americana Native tree Mild 33 2 May A Buckthorn Rhamnus frangula Invasive shrub Moderate 15 27 April N Wild alder1,2 Alnus serrulata Native shrub Moderate 20 18 April C Coast pepperbush1,2 Clethra alnifolia Native shrub Moderate 15 27 April N Huckleberry1 Gaylussacia baccata Native shrub Moderate 15 2 May N Witch hazel Hamamelis virginiana Native shrub Moderate 15 27 April C Mountain laurel1,2 Kalmia latifolia Native shrub Moderate 33 7 May A Staghorn sumac Rhus typhina Native shrub Moderate 15 2 May N Highbush blueberry1 Vaccinium corymbosum Native shrub Moderate 8 24 April N Late low-bush blueberry1 Vaccinium pallidum Native shrub Moderate 22 21 April N Red maple1,2 Acer rubrum Native tree Moderate 15 21 April N Black birch1 Betula lenta Native tree Moderate 22 27 April N Pignut hickory1,2 Carya glabra Native tree Moderate 16 2 May A Bigtooth aspen1,2 Populus grandidentata Native tree Moderate 32 2 May N Black cherry1,2 Prunus serotina Native tree Moderate 16 16 April A White oak1,2 Quercus alba Native tree Moderate 22 2 May N Red oak1,2 Quercus rubra Native tree Moderate 15 27 April N American elm1,2 Ulmus americana Native tree Moderate 23 24 April A Spicebush2 Lindera benzoin Native shrub Strong 42 2 May C Greenbriar1,2 Smilax rotundifolia Native vine Strong 42 10 May N Silver maple1,2 Acer saccharinum Native tree Strong 43 2 May A Sugar maple1,2 Acer saccharum Native tree Strong 43 27 April A American beech1,2 Fagus grandifolia Native tree Strong 42 27 April N Black gum1,2 Nyssa sylvatica Native tree Strong 42 10 May N Sassafras2 Sassafras albidum Native tree Strong 40 7 May C 1Species that both we and Thoreau monitored in Concord. 2Species that did not leaf out within 40 d after the January collection. � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trust New Phytologist (2013) www.newphytologist.com New Phytologist Research 3 evenly split into two groups of 10, and each group was randomly placed in one of two light banks fitted with plant grow lights (Sylvania 20 W T12 Florescent Bulb, Gro-Lux Wide Spectrum Phosphor; Osram Sylvania Ltd, Danvers, MA, USA). Plants in both light banks were exposed to 14 h of daylight, typical of mid- April in eastern Massachusetts, to standardize photoperiod throughout the experiment and to ensure that it was not a factor in leaf-out timing. The laboratory was maintained at a constant temperature of 22°C, a temperature selected to ensure rapid accumulation of thermal units and to be easily repeated by other researchers. Because the laboratory was well ventilated, the bulbs did not appreciably affect plant temperature. We evaluated twigs once each week for leaf out. We considered a twig to have leafed out when at least one leaf on the stem was fully unfolded and the top surface of the leaf was visible. We considered a species to have leafed out when over half of the live twigs in one of the two light banks had leafed out. In general, species leafed out at the same time in each of the two light banks and all of the twigs in a light bank leafed out at about the same time. Occasionally, twigs of certain species wilted or stopped developing; however, this occurred rarely and only after they had met our definition of having leafed out, and so these species were still included in all analyses. Each week, we re-cut the base of each stem to expose fresh tissue and maintain the ability of the twigs to take up water. We changed the water in each container weekly and washed the twigs to remove any mold growing on the stem. Weekly twig evaluations and washing continued for 4–6 wk following each collection date, after which we discarded the remaining twigs. We calculated the time between collection and leaf-out dates for each species after each collection period. During the winter of 2011–2012, we carried out a pilot study to examine the feasibility of using cuttings from wild plants to test chilling requirements, aswellasphotoperiodrequirements.During the pilot study, we used the same methodology as the 2013 main chilling study with the following exceptions. The pilot study included only 17 species, many of which were included in the main study (Table S2), and we collected twigs in November in addition to January–April.We exposed 10twigs of each species to one of two light treatments: ambient day length or extended day length (14 h : 10 h, day : night).WeidentifiedFLD asthedate onwhich at least one leaf on one twig was unfolded. American beech (Fagus grandifolia) was the only species for which photoperiod had an effect on leaf out. Thus, we did not test photoperiod requirements in the main study and focused only on chilling requirements. Analysis All analyses were performed using JMP Pro 10 statistical software (SAS Institute Inc., Cary, NC, USA) and an a value cut-off for significance of 0.05. Our statistical analyses are based primarily on direct measurements, such as the dates of collection, the number of days to leaf out and the average spring temperatures, rather than degree-daymodels,althoughthetwoarehighlycorrelated(Archetti et al., 2013; Ellwood et al., 2013). We report chilling days and thermal units of warming in Table S1 for twig collection dates; we found that thermal units that had accumulated by the date of leaf out in the field were strongly correlated with dates of leaf out in 2013 (r = 0.97; P < 0.0001). Field study For the 23 species for which we had complete data for the years 1854, 1855 and 1860, and 2009–2013, we used a two- wayANOVA tocomparethedifferences inFLD amongspeciesand between time periods (Thoreau’s years vs recent years). For each of the 43 species for which we had multiple years of observations, we used simple linear regression to test the relationship between FLD for each year with the mean March and April temperature for that year. We considered the slope of this relationship to be the ‘sensitivity to temperature’. We then used linear regression to test the relationship between sensitivity to temperature and the mean FLD from 2009 to 2013 to determine whether sensitivity to temperatureisrelatedtotherelative timeduringthespringinwhich a species typically leafs out (early or late in the season). Laboratory chilling study We assigned each species to one of four categories of chilling requirement: minimal, mild, moderate or strong. These groupings were based on the differences between the number of days it took for a species to leaf out after being collected and brought into the laboratory (Table 2). For each collection date, we calculated the number of chilling days that had occurred before that date – chilling days were equal to the number of days after 1 November on which the mean temperature was below 5°C (Murray et al., 1989). In 2013, species in the minimal chilling requirement category required fewer than 49 winter chilling days before they were competent to leaf out, species in the mild category required fewer than 83 winter chilling days, species in the moderate category required fewer than 114 winter chilling days and species in the strong category required 114 or more chilling days before they became competent to leaf out (Table S1). For the pilot study of 2011–2012, winter temperatures were milder, and so species accumulated fewer chilling days in the field before they were collected. We used Spearman rank correlations in analyses for some of our categoricaldataandfordatathatwerenotnormallydistributed.For example, we used Spearman rank correlations to determine the strength of correlation between chilling categories assigned in the pilot study of 2011–2012 and the main study in 2013 for overlapping study species. Connecting field observations and chilling results Based on their ecological characteristics, we assigned 46 of the 50 species used in the chilling study to a functional group category: invasive shrub (10 species), native shrub (20 species) or native tree (16 species) (Table 1). To characterize invasive shrubs, we used the current (as of August 2013) Invasive Plant Atlas of New England (IPANE) list (www.eddmaps.org/ipane). Although they are not on the IPANE invasive plant list, we classified two Ligustrum species (L. compac- tum and L. ibota) and one Lonicera species (L. subsessilis) as invasive, because of relatedness and morphological similarity to the many invasive species in the same genera. Four species did not fit into the three main functional group categories, and were omitted from the functional group analyses – two native vines, grape (Vitis aestivalus) New Phytologist (2013) � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trustwww.newphytologist.com Research New Phytologist4 and greenbriar (Smilax rotundifolia), the invasive non-native vine bittersweet (Celastrus orbiculatus) and the non-native apple tree (Malus domestica). We used one-way ANOVA to test for the effects of functional groups on leaf-out time in March in the laboratory and FLD in the field. We followed this test with a multiple range test, Tukey’s honestly significant difference test, to determine which particular functional groups were different from each other. In order to separate the effects of functional group and chilling requirement category on days to leaf out in March and FLD in the field, we used two-way ANOVA to test for relationships of chilling categories and functional groups on the variables of days to leaf out in March, field FLD and sensitivity to temperature. Results Field study Woody plants in Concord are leafing out significantly earlier now (2009–2013) than they were in Thoreau’s years (1854–1855, 1860). In a two-way ANOVA, there was a significant difference in FLD among species (P < 0.001), as well as between time periods (P < 0.001). For the 23 species for which we have complete data for years 1854, 1855, 1860 and 2009–2013, the mean FLD in Thoreau’s years was May 8 � 7 d (� SD), whereas the mean leaf out in recent years was April 20 � 7 d, a difference of 18 d. All species are leafing out earlier now than in Thoreau’s time (P < 0.001; Fig. 1). In 2013, there were 31 d between the FLD of the earliest and latest of the 23 species (Table 1). We found a significant correlation between order of FLD in the two time periods, meaning that the species tended to leaf out in the same sequence in both time periods (r = 0.76; P < 0.001; Fig. 1). Warmer late-winter and early-spring temperatures in March and April were associated with earlier FLDs. Winter temperature in January and February had no apparent effect on FLD, presumably because there were always sufficient chilling days in Concord by the time of spring leaf out. The mean March and April air temperature for Thoreau’s years (1854, 1855, 1860) was 2.8°C; the mean for these years is representative of the mid-1800s overall, as the mean March and April temperature for the years 1845–1865 was 2.9°C Table 2 Definitions of categories of chilling requirements in our pilot experiment and main experiment Chilling requirement Pilot experiment Main experiment Minimal Days to first leaf after November collection ≤ double the days to first leaf after March collection1 Days to first leaf after January collection within 10 d of days to first leaf after March collection Mild Days to first leaf after January collection ≤ double the days to first leaf after March collection1 Days to first leaf after February collection within 10 d of days to first leaf after March collection Moderate Days to first leaf after February collection ≤ double days to first leaf after March collection First leaf < 40 d after March collection Strong Days to first leaf after February collection more than double days to leaf out after March collection First leaf > 40 d after March collection 1Also includes species that leafed out within 1 wk of collection in the pilot study for the November and January collections. Fig. 1 Mean first leaf dates (FLDs) of individual species for recent years regressed against the mean FLDs for Thoreau’s years. The data included in this figure are those for which we have complete data for the years 1854, 1855, 1860 and 2009–2013. The relationship between the two variables is highly significant (slope = 0.69; R2 = 0.62; P < 0.001). All of the study species are leafing earlier in our years than they did in Thoreau’s years. The red line shows the line along which the points would fall if first leaf dates had not changed; the black line is the regression line through the points. � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trust New Phytologist (2013) www.newphytologist.com New Phytologist Research 5 (Fig. S1). The mean March and April temperature for 2009–2013 was 5.1°C (Fig. S1). There was a significant negative relationship between mean March and April temperature and FLD for all study species (Table S3). Among the study species, the sensitivity of FLD to temperature ranged from �2.8 � 7.3 d °C�1 for silver maple (Acer saccharinum) to �7.1 � 15.2 d °C�1 for late lowbush blueberry (Vaccinium angustifolium). The mean response to temperature was �5.0 � 1.0 d °C�1; that is, for each 1°C warm- ing, plants leafed out c. 5 d earlier on average. We also found a significant relationship between sensitivity to temperature and mean FLD; species that were most sensitive to spring temperatures tended to leaf out earlier in the spring (P = 0.038). Laboratory chilling study Inthepilotstudy,16ofthe17species tookthesame numberofdays toleafout in each of thetwo day length treatments, indicating alack of photoperiod response. For the American beech, twigs collected in November, January and February and placed in the ambient day length treatment never leafed out in the laboratory, presumably because this species had strong winter chilling and photoperiod requirements. However, beech twigs collected at the same time and kept under extended day conditions did leaf out after more than a month. For samples collected on 9 March 2012, the last date of collection in the pilot study, twigs leafed out after 28 d in the extended day length treatment and after 32 d in the ambient day length treatment. There was a significant difference among species and among collection periods in the number of days it took for leaf out to occur for both the pilot study in 2011–2012 (Table S2) and the main study (Table 1, Fig. 2), as determined by ANOVA (P < 0.001 in all cases). In each case, the number of days required to leaf out declined with successive collection dates (Fig. 2). Overall, winter chilling requirement categories in the main study were minimal for 11 species, mild for 15 species, moderate for 17 species and strong for seven species (Table 1). A Spearman rank correlation showed a significant correlation between the winter chilling requirement categories as determined in the pilot study and the main study (r = 0.75; P = 0.001) despite changes in method- ology between the 2 yr. For example, in both studies, multiflora rose (Rosa multiflora) and privet (Ligustrum compactum) were in the minimal chilling requirement category, whereas American beech and spicebush were in the strong chilling requirement category. Although the results of the pilot and main study were correlated, there was some variation that may be attributed to the change in definitions of the chilling requirement categories. Functional groups (e.g. invasive shrubs, native shrubs and native trees) largely fell into different chilling categories, with invasive shrubs requiring mostly minimal winter chilling and native trees having moderate or strong winter chilling requirements (Fig. 3; Table 1). Native shrubs largely had mild and moderate chilling requirements. Species with minimal chilling requirements included eight invasive shrubs, one non-native tree (apple), one invasive vine (bittersweet) and one native shrub (American elder, Sambucus canadensis). Species with mild chilling requirements included primarily native shrubs. Species with moderate chilling requirements included a mix of trees and native shrubs, although the group also included one invasive shrub (buckthorn, Rhamnus frangula). Species with strong chilling requirements were all native trees, except for one native shrub (spicebush) (Table 1). Because a majority of species had met their winter chilling requirements by March, we used the number of days required to leaf out following March collectionas a metric for species responsiveness to spring warming as measured in the laboratory. Using one-way ANOVA, functional groups had significantly different times to leaf out in March (P < 0.001), with native trees leafing out significantly later (27 d) than invasive shrubs (11 d) and native shrubs (17 d) (Table 3; Fig. 2). Two-way ANOVA showed a significantdifference among chilling requirement categories in the number of days to leaf out (P < 0.001), but no significant difference among functional groups (P = 0.34), indicating that invasive species leaf out quickly largely as a result of their minimal and mild chilling requirements. Species with minimal chilling requirements were the fastest to leaf out in March (mean = 11 � 4 d), whereas species with moderate chilling requirements were the slowest (mean = 19 � 6 d), with species with mild chilling requirements in between (mean = 15 � 6 d). Species with strong chilling requirements that had not met their winter chilling requirements by March (as indicated by requiring > 40 d to leaf out in the laboratory) were excluded from this analysis; these species included American beech, silver maple, sugarmaple(Acersaccharum),spicebush,blackgum(Nyssasylvatica), sassafras (Sassafras alba) and greenbriar (Smilax rotundifolia). Connecting field observations and chilling results One-way ANOVA indicated that functional groups differed significantly (P < 0.001) in their FLDs in the field – invasive shrubs leafed out significantly earlier (mean = April 15) than native shrubs (26 April) and native trees (28 April; Table 3). Two-way ANOVA indicated a significant association between FLD in the fieldin2013andchillingrequirementcategoryasdeterminedinthe laboratory (P = 0.005), but not with functional group (P = 0.87). The species with minimal chilling requirements, as determined in the laboratory, were the first to leaf out in the field, whereas species with moderate and strong chilling requirements leafed out later (Fig. 4). The lack of a significant effect of functional group in the two-wayANOVAsuggeststhattheassociation offunctionalgroups with FLDs is through their correlation with chilling categories. Spearman rank correlation indicated that the order in which the 50 species leafed out in March in the laboratory was strongly related to the order in which they leafed out in the field in 2013 (r = 0.64; P < 0.001; Table 1), indicating that clipped twigs serve as a valid proxy for leaf-out phenology of wild plants. Apple, Japanese barberry (Berberis thunbergii) and multiflora rose all took 8 d – the fewest days of any species – to leaf out in the laboratory after the March collection,and shared theearliest leaf-out date inthefield on 9 April. Sassafras, greenbriar and black gum, however, took at least 40 d to leaf out in the laboratory after the March collection and leafed out in the field between 6 and 9 May in 2013, among the latest dates of any species in our study (Table 1). The sequence of leaf out across species was largely the same in the field in 2013 as it was in the laboratory after January collection New Phytologist (2013) � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trustwww.newphytologist.com Research New Phytologist6 (Spearman rank correlation r = 0.66; P < 0.001). This suggests that an extremely warm winter and early spring would not substantially affect the sequence in which species leaf out. The exceptions were black cherry (Prunus serotina) and wild alder (Alnus serrulata), which took > 40 d to leaf out in the laboratory after being collected in January, but which leafed out relatively early in the field (16 and 18 April, respectively). Bayberry (Myrica pensylvanica) and buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis) were also exceptions and leafed out in 30 and 31 d after January collection, but did not leaf out in the field until relatively late, both on 10 May. For the subset of 43 species monitored by Henry David Thoreau and for which we have sensitivity to temperature in the field as calculated using field observations from the 1850s and the present, neither chilling requirement category nor functional group explained the sensitivity to temperature (two-way ANOVA; P = 0.61; Table S3). However, this dataset excludes all of the invasive species, with the exception of European barberry (Berberis vulgaris), because Thoreau did not monitor the leafing out times of these species. Discussion Changes in timing of leaf out Our study is unusual in exploring links between changing leaf-out times in the field and winter chilling requirements using laboratory studies. The most significant results are as follows: all of the species examined are leafing out earlier now than they did 160 yr ago because of warmer spring temperatures; non-native invasive species leaf out earlier in the spring and have weaker winter chilling requirements than native trees and shrubs; and the leaf-out dates of invasive shrubs will probably continue to advance faster than those of native trees and shrubs as winter chilling is reduced and spring temperatures continue to warm. B . t hu R . m ul V . c or A . m el B . p ap E . u m b L. c om L. ib o L. m aa L. s ub S. c an S. la t C . a m e V . r ec A . r ub B . p op C . a ln C . p er C . a m o E . a la G . b ac H . v ir Q . r ub R . f ra R . t yp B . v ul C . g la C . o cc M . p en P . s er V . a ng A . s er B . l en K . a ng Q . a lb V . p al U . a m e P . g ra F . a m e K . l at S. a lb F . g ra L. b en N . s yl A . s ac 1 A . s ac 2 T he rm u ni ts to M ar la b le af o ut Order of March lab leaf out 0 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 B. thu R. mul V. cor A. mel B. pap E. umb L. com L. ibo L. maa L. sub S. can S. lat C. ame V. rec B. pop C. amo G. bac H. vir R. fra R. typ B. vul C. occ M. pen V. ang B. len V. pal T he rm u ni ts to J an la b le af o ut Order of March lab leaf out 0 50 100 150 200 250 300 B . t hu R . m ul V . c or A . m el B . p ap C . a lt E . u m b L. c om L. ib o L. m aa L. s ub S. c an S. la t C . a m e V . r ec A . r ub B . p op C . a ln C . p er C . a m o G . b ac H . v ir Q . r ub R . f ra R . t yp B . v ul C . g la C . o cc M . p en P . s er V . a ng A . s er B . l en K . a ng Q . a lb V . p al P . t re R . c an U . a m e P . g ra F . a m e K . l at S. a lb F . g ra L. b en N . s yl A . s ac 1 A . s ac 2 M . g al R . v er T he rm u ni ts to le af ou t i n fi el d Order of March lab leaf out 0 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 (a) (b) (c) Fig. 2 The number of thermal units of warming to which the twigs of a species had been exposed on the day on which they leafed out in 2013, for (a) the twigs collectedin Januaryof the laboratoryexperiment, (b) thetwigscollected inMarch of the laboratoryexperiment and (c) the plantsgrowingoutside(see Table 1). Along the x-axis, species are listed in the order in which the twigs collected in March leafed out in the laboratory for the first time. For species that leafed out for the first time on the same day, the rankings were assigned alphabetically. The abbreviations stand for the first letter of the genus and first three letters of the species; A. sac1 is Acer saccharinum and A. sac2 is Acer saccharum. For (a), thermal units are calculated as 22°C times the number of days in the experimental conditions. For (b), the thermal units are 22°C times the number of days in the experimental conditions plus 13, the thermal units experienced outside before collection. For (c), thermal units are based on weather records collected at the Blue Hills Meteorological Observatory (data from ncdc.noaa.gov). It should be noted that the y-axis ranges from 0 to 800 for (a) and (b), and from 0 to 300 for (c). Thermal units were calculated in order to put the field and experimental data on comparable scales; however, it is important to note that thermal units were calculated differently for the field and laboratory study, and the plants in each study probablyexperienced thermal units differently (e.g. becauseday and night temperatures did not differ in the experimental set-up,plants in the laboratory probably experienced more thermal units than they could developmentally use). Functional group: blue diamonds, invasive shrub; red squares, native shrub; green triangles, native tree. � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trust New Phytologist (2013) www.newphytologist.com New Phytologist Research 7 In particular, we found that 23 woody species in Concord, MA are now leafing out an average of 18 d earlier than they did in Henry David Thoreau’s time (c. 1850s) and that these changes are related to warmer spring temperatures. On average, these species leafed out 5 d earlier for each 1°C warming in spring (March–April) temperatures. This response is very similar to the sensitivity of �4.6 d°C�1 (annual temperature) found in a meta-analysis of temperate plants around the world (Wolkovich et al., 2012). It appears that the temperature sensitivity of leaf-out phenology is somewhat greater than the sensitivity of flowering phenology in Concord, MA, which was �3.3 d °C�1 (Miller-Rushing & Primack, 2008). Similar to flowering phenology, however, we found that species that leaf early in the season show a stronger response to temperature than those that leaf later in the growing season. In the future, this difference in responsiveness may contribute to a larger difference in leaf-out timing between early and late leafing species. Interspecific variation and implications for future forests The speed of leaf out in the laboratory seemed to depend on two factors: whether the chilling requirement had been met before clipping; and the time needed for the plant to put out leaves in response to warm conditions. In both years of the winter chilling experiment, invasive shrubs showed the weakest chilling require- ments, whereas native trees showed the strongest chilling requirements, with native shrubs intermediate (Fig. 3). The time needed for plants to put out leaves after they had met their chilling requirements in March varied, with invasive shrubs leafing out fastest and native shrubs and trees taking longer. In both of these capacities – chilling requirements and speed of putting out leaves once the chilling requirement is met (calculated as both days and heat sums) – invasive shrubs, which already tend to leaf out early in the season relative to natives, are poised to respond to warming temperatures and shortening of the chilling season in the wild faster than native shrubs and trees. They are well positioned to take advantage of newly emerging temporal niches early in the growing season before native canopy trees leaf out (Richardson & Rejmanek, 2011; Fridley, 2012). Trees and shrubs from more southern locations, which might have lower chilling requirements, may also be able to enter this new early- season niche. The role of chilling Although the results of our experiments revealed that most of the species examined have winter chilling requirements which, if not met, can delay the timing of leaf out, our field observations suggest that chilling (or lack thereof) has not yet affected leaf-out dates in wild-growing plants in Concord, MA. The lack of effect in the field is evidence that, in the current climate, all or most of these species are still meeting their chilling requirement in Massachusetts, and the effects of winter chilling will only be seen with additional winter warming. Even during the record warm winter of 2011–2012, when there were only half as many chilling days as 2013, plants apparently still received enough chilling to respond to the warm Fig. 3 Proportion of total species in each functional group with minimal, mild, moderate and strong winter chilling requirements. Functional groups are invasive shrubs (n = 10), native shrubs (n = 20) and native trees (n = 16). Table 3 Meandaystoleafoutin Marchand2013firstleaf-outdate(FLD)for each functional group Functional group Days to leaf out (� SD) 2013 FLD (� SD) Invasive shrubs 10.7 � 3.2 (b) April 15 � 6.4 d (a) Native shrubs 16.9 � 8.2 (b) April 27 � 8.8 d (b) Native trees 26.8 � 12.3 (a) April 28 � 8.2 d (b) Values given are the number of days taken by species in each functional group to leaf out in the laboratory, and the mean first leaf date in the field in 2013. Functional groups include invasive shrubs (n = 10), native shrubs (n = 20) and native trees (n = 16). Within columns, groups that share a letter (a or b) are not significantly different (P > 0.05) as determined by Tukey’s honestly significant difference test. Minimal Mild Moderate Strong 05/14 05/10 05/06 05/02 04/28 04/24 04/20 04/16 04/12 04/08 M ea n FL D (m on th /d ay /y ea r) Chilling requirement Fig. 4 First leaf-out dates (FLDs) of species in each chilling requirement category. Chilling requirements include minimal (11), mild (15), moderate (17)andstrong(7).Central linesaremeanFLDs,boxboundariesarequartiles and boundaries beyond boxes indicate the range of FLDs. The outlier in the minimal chilling category is the invasive vine bittersweet (Celastrus orbiculatus). New Phytologist (2013) � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trustwww.newphytologist.com Research New Phytologist8 spring and leaf out early. Abundant early season warmth may have compensated for species that did not meet their full chilling requirements. Observations in the southeastern USA have shown delays in leaf out linked to insufficient winter chilling (Zhang et al., 2007). Our evidence suggests eventual delays will probably occur further north with more warming. Photoperiod had little or no effect on leaf-out phenology. American beech was the only species in which we detected a weak photoperiod requirement on leafing out during the pilot study, as shown in earlier studies (Heide, 1993b). Laube et al. (2013) also found that photoperiod has a minor effect on leaf out compared with chilling time. Our results suggest that photoperiod require- ments will play only a minor role in plant leaf-out responses to a warming climate in southern New England; however; further experimental work is needed to determine the precise relationship between photoperiod and leaf out in North America. Methodological considerations There may be some concern that the method of cutting twigs from plants growing outside and exposing them to warm laboratory conditions does not result in realistic experimental conditions. However, this method is increasingly being used to investigate leafing out requirements (Heide, 1993a; Ghelardini et al., 2010; Laube et al., 2013). The best indication that cut twigs in the laboratory serve as an accurate proxy for trees leafing out in the field is that the order of leaf out following March collection was strongly correlatedwith the order ofleafout inthe springof 2013. The order of leaf out in January was also strongly correlated with the order of leaf out in the field, indicating that the order of leaf out remains largelythesameregardlessofthelengthofchilling.Itisalsotruethat not all twigs and species responded well to the twig cutting process. For example, red maple (Acer rubrum), grape and the two Lonicera species used in the main study did initially leaf out, but the leaves either wilted or did not develop further. However, the great majorityoftwigsinourexperimentleafedoutnormallyandshowed no signs of ill health. Researchers using this method need to take precautions to ensure the health and responsiveness of the twigs. Future work The combination of using observational and historical data from the field and experimental data represents an unusual, but useful way to examine some of the complex factors affecting the leaf-out response of plants to temperature, how the timing of leaf out has changed over time and the physiological factors behind these responses. Our study also demonstrates that the experimental method of using cut twigs can be employed to effectively examine the leaf-out requirements of entire communities of woody species. We suggest that comparable surveys of plant communities from other locations and surveys of widespread species across latitudinal gradients could provide further ecological and evolutionary insights into the leaf-out process during this period of climate change. Acknowledgements We would like to thank Abe Miller-Rushing, Pamela Templer, Michael Dosmann, Jenica Allen, Ines Ibanez, John Silander, Libby Ellwood and three anonymous reviewers for comments on the paper. Thanks to Chris Perriello, Jean Polgar, Emma Polgar, Libby Ellwood, Caitlin McDonough MacKenzie, Sang Don Lee, Julianne Richards, Viet Le, Corbin Kuntze, Nicole Chabaneix, Michelle McInnis, Rika Fuchino, Peter Everill, Jessica Susser and Meg Boeni for help with laboratory work and fieldwork. We also thank the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University and other landowners for allowing us to collect twigs. Funding for the project came from National Science Foundation (NSF) grant DEB- 0842749. References Archetti M, Richardson AD, O‘Keefe J, Delpierre N. 2013. Predicting climate change impacts on the amount and duration of autumn colors in a New England forest. PloS ONE 8: e57373. Ault TR, Henebry GM, de Beurs KM, Schwartz MD, Betancourt JL, Moore D. 2013. The false spring of 2012, earliest in North American Record. Eos Transactions American Geophysical Union 94: 181–182. Basler D, Korner C. 2012. Photoperiod sensitivity of bud burst in 14 temperate forest tree species. Agricultural and Forest Meteorology 165: 73–81. Cleland EE, Chuine I, Menzel A, Mooney HA, Schwartz MD. 2007. Shifting plant phenology in response to global change. Trends in Ecology & Evolution 22: 357–365. Cook BI, Wolkovich EM, Parmesan C. 2012. Divergent responses to spring and winter warming drive community level flowering trends. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, USA 109: 9000–9005. Ellwood E, Temple SA, Primack RB, Bradley NL, Davis CC. 2013. Record-breaking early flowering in the eastern United States. PLoS ONE 8: e53788. Falusi M, Calamassi R. 1990. Bud dormancy in beech (Fagus sylvatica L.). Effect of chilling and photoperiod on dormancy release of beech seedlings. Tree Physiology 6: 429–438. Faust M, Erez A, Rowland LJ, Wang SY, Norman HA. 1997. Bud dormancy in perennial fruit trees: Physiological basis for dormancy induction, maintenance, and release. Hortscience 32: 623–629. Fridley JD. 2012. Extended leaf phenology and the autumn niche in deciduous forest invasions. Nature 485: 359–362. Fu YSH, Campioli M, Van Oijen M, Deckmyn G, Janssens IA. 2012. Bayesian comparison of six different temperature-based budburst models for four temperate tree species. Ecological Modelling 230: 92–100. Ghelardini L, Santini A, Black-Samuelsson S, Myking T, Falusi M. 2010. Bud dormancy release in elm (Ulmus spp.) clones – a case study of photoperiod and temperature responses. Tree Physiology 30: 264–274. Gu L, Hanson PJ, Mac Post W, Kaiser DP, Yang B, Nemani R, Pallardy SG, Meyers T. 2008. The 2007 eastern US spring freezes: increased cold damage in a warming world? BioScience 58: 253–262. Heide OM. 1993a. Daylength and thermal time responses of budburst during dormancy release in some northern deciduous trees. Physiologia Plantarum 88: 531–540. Heide OM. 1993b. Dormancy release in beech buds (Fagus sylvatica) requires both chilling and long days. Physiologia Plantarum 89: 187–191. Hulme PE. 2011. Contrasting impacts of climate-driven flowering phenology on changes in alien and native plant species distributions. New Phytologist 189: 272–281. Korner C, Basler D. 2010. Phenology under global warming. Science 327: 1461–1462. � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trust New Phytologist (2013) www.newphytologist.com New Phytologist Research 9 Laube J, Sparks TH, Estrella N, Hofler J, Ankerst DP, Menzel A. 2013. Chilling outweighs photoperiod in preventing precocious spring development. Global Change Biology 20: 170–182. Lechowicz MJ. 1984. Why do temperate deciduous trees leaf out at different times – adaptations and ecology of forest communities. American Naturalist 124: 821–842. McCreary DD, Lavender DP, Hermann RK. 1990. Predicted global warming and Douglas-fir chilling requirements. Annales des Sciences Forestieres 47: 325–330. Miller-Rushing AJ, Primack RB. 2008. Global warming and flowering times in Thoreau’s concord: a community perspective. Ecology 89: 332–341. Morin X, Lechowicz MJ, Augspurger C, O’ Keefe J, Viner D, Chuine I. 2009. Leaf phenology in 22 North American tree species during the 21st century. Global Change Biology 15: 961–975. Murray MB, Cannell MGR, Smith RI. 1989. Date of budburst of 15 tree species in Britain following climatic warming. Journal of Applied Ecology 26: 693–700. Polgar CA, Primack RB. 2011. Leaf-out phenology of temperate woody plants: from trees to ecosystems. New Phytologist 191: 926–941. Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ. 2012. Uncovering, collecting, and analyzing records to investigate the ecological impacts of climate change: a template from Thoreau’s Concord. BioScience 62: 170–181. Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ, Dharaneeswaran K. 2009. Changes in the flora of Thoreau’s Concord. Biological Conservation 142: 500–508. Richardson AD, Rejmanek M. 2011. Trees and shrubs as invasive alien species – a global review. Diversity and Distributions 17: 788–809. Vitasse Y, Basler D. 2013. What role for photoperiod in the bud burst phenology of European beech. European Journal of Forest Research 132: 1–8. Vitasse Y, Delzon S, Dufrene E, Pontailler JY, Louvet JM, Kremer A, Michalet R. 2009. Leaf phenology sensitivity to temperature in European trees: do within-species populations exhibit similar responses? Agricultural and Forest Meteorology 149: 735–744. Willis CG, Ruhfel B, Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ, Davis CC. 2008. Phylogenetic patterns of species loss in Thoreau’s woods are driven by climate change. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, USA 105: 17029– 17033. Willis CG, Ruhfel BR, Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ, Losos JB, Davis CC. 2010. Favorable climate change response explains non-native species’ success in Thoreau’s woods. PLoS ONE 5: e8878. Wolkovich EM, Cook BI, Allen JM, Crimmins TM, Betancourt JL, Travers SE, Pau S, Regetz J, Davies TJ, Kraft NJB et al. 2012. Warming experiments underpredict plant phenological responses to climate change. Nature 485: 494–497. Xu C, Griffin KL, Schuster WSF. 2007. Leaf phenology and seasonal variation of photosynthesis of invasive Berberis thunbergii (Japanese barberry) and two co-occurring native understory shrubs in a northeastern United States deciduous forest. Oecologia 154: 11–21. Yu H, Luedeling E, Xu J. 2010. Winter and spring warming result in delayed spring phenology on the Tibetan Plateau. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, USA 107: 22151–22156. Zhang XY, Tarpley D, Sullivan JT. 2007. Diverse responses of vegetation phenology to a warming climate. Geophysical Research Letters 34: L19405. Supporting Information Additional supporting information may be found in the online version of this article. Fig. S1 Mean combined spring (March and April) temperatures in Massachusetts for the years 1852–2013. Table S1 Collection dates for twigs in the 2011–2012 pilot study and the 2013 main study, together with chilling units and thermal units that had occurred up to the day of collection, and the day length Table S2 Days to first leaf out for study species for each collection period under the natural day treatment and chilling categories for the first year pilot laboratory study Table S3 Results of simple linear regressions measuring the response of leaf-out timing to mean March and April temperature for the field study in Concord, MA, USA Please note: Wiley Blackwell are not responsible for the content or functionality of any supporting information supplied by the authors. Any queries (other than missing material) should be directed to the New Phytologist Central Office. New Phytologist (2013) � 2013 The Authors New Phytologist � 2013 New Phytologist Trustwww.newphytologist.com Research New Phytologist10 
work_sipz7v4ifzfshkliiylmvnqeau	----	The Grid: A Journey Through the Heart of Our Electrified World The Grid: A Journey Through the Heart of Our Electrified World Timothy J. Brennan Citation: Physics Today 61, 2, 62 (2008); doi: 10.1063/1.2883913 View online: https://doi.org/10.1063/1.2883913 View Table of Contents: https://physicstoday.scitation.org/toc/pto/61/2 Published by the American Institute of Physics ARTICLES YOU MAY BE INTERESTED IN An Introduction to Quantum Computing; Introduction to Quantum Information Science Physics Today 61, 61 (2008); https://doi.org/10.1063/1.2883912 https://physicstoday.scitation.org/action/clickThrough?utm_medium=Article Download&utm_campaign=MCL_JAD_0620&loc=pt/pdf&pubId=40000052&placeholderId=101032&productId=101078&id=101460&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.madcitylabs.com%3Futm_source%3DAIP%20Physics%20Today https://physicstoday.scitation.org/author/Brennan%2C+Timothy+J /loi/pto https://doi.org/10.1063/1.2883913 https://physicstoday.scitation.org/toc/pto/61/2 https://physicstoday.scitation.org/publisher/ https://physicstoday.scitation.org/doi/10.1063/1.2883912 https://doi.org/10.1063/1.2883912 62 February 2008 Physics Today www.physicstoday.org what a computer could do and what resources would be needed to do it seemed to be largely independent of its physical construction. The connection between informa- tion and physics, thermody- namics in particular, has been developed during the past 50 years or so. A famous ex- ample of that relation was dis- covered by Rolf Landauer, who in 1961 showed that erasing, or otherwise irre- versibly losing, a bit of information in a computer must dissipate at least kT ln2 of energy. That idea, now called Landauer’s principle, was succinctly summarized in his declaration that “information is physical,” which has become a mantra in the fields of quantum information science and quantum computing. (See Landauer’s article in PHYSICS TODAY, May 1991, page 23.) We now know that a computer that exploits the unique features of quantum mechanics can solve some problems more efficiently than any classical computer, a result that firmly links com- puter and information science to physics. Quantum informa- tion science, broadly defined, has expanded enormously over the past two decades, and numerous books on the subject at all levels have appeared, including Phillip Kaye, Raymond Laflamme, and Michele Mosca’s An Introduction to Quantum Computing and Vlatko Vedral’s Introduc- tion to Quantum Information Science. An Introduction to Quantum Comput- ing covers a small subset of the topics in Michael Nielsen and Isaac Chuang’s Quantum Computation and Quantum In- formation (Cambridge U. Press, 2000), which has become a standard text in the field. That tome, still relevant eight years after its publication, is probably too unwieldy for most undergraduates looking for an introduction to the field. In contrast, Kaye, Laflamme, and Mosca’s book is very accessible. LaFlamme and Mosca are on the faculty of the Institute for Quantum Computing at the Univer- sity of Waterloo in Canada and are well- known researchers in quantum infor- mation science; Kaye is a doctoral student at the university. Based on a course taught by the authors, the text is tightly focused on quantum computing and carefully leads the reader through Deutsch’s, Shor’s, and Grover’s algo- rithms, among others. Coupled with the authors’ careful exposition is a cadre of exercises, integrated into the text, that forms an important pedagogical aid. A series of exercises pre- sented early in the book, for example, guide the reader to the existence of a universal set of quantum gates. For better or worse, in some places im- portant results are simply de- clared as theorems without proof. The authors do an excellent job breaking up Shor’s factor- ing algorithm into pieces that students can easily digest. They take the ap- proach—not original, but deftly pre- sented—of reducing the order-finding problem at the heart of factoring to the problem of finding the eigenvalues of a unitary operator, delegating much of the work to the reader through exercises. The book contains a chapter on quantum complexity that is more formal than the rest of the text and may not appeal to some readers. However, readers who skip or skim that chapter will have little trouble digesting the remain- der of the text. Vedral’s Introduction to Quantum Information Science is billed as a graduate text but is not really—it contains no ex- ercises. Distilled from a series of lectures by Vedral, a profes- sor of quantum information science at the University of Leeds in the UK, it is a bit un- even, both in the selection of topics and style of presentation. Sometimes more space is given to the algebra of a simple example than to a fairly abstract proof. Most of the book focuses on quantify- ing quantum entanglement, the author’s primary current research field, and quantum information by using entropic measures. That approach pervades his treatment of quantum computing, meas- urement, and error correction. Formal results are sometimes followed by clear discussions of analogies to thermody- namics. Error correction, for example, is cast in terms of swapping quantum states and entropy into environmental degrees of freedom. The book is a good, technical read, with many pithy or whimsical foot- notes sprinkled throughout. Unfortu- nately, Vedral’s text contains numerous typographical errors and notational am- biguities. Most are merely distracting, but some may lead to real confusion. In contrast, the few errors I found in Kaye, Laflamme, and Mosca’s text are almost entirely inconsequential. Both An Introduction to Quantum Computing and Introduction to Quantum Information Science would benefit from a stronger adherence to Landauer’s dic- tum. If information is physical, discus- sions of quantum information need to be coupled with concrete examples of physical implementations. Although the fundamental results of quantum information science depend on the logi- cal structure of quantum mechanics— unitary evolution in Hilbert space and, perhaps, the projection postulate—and not on any specific qubit implementa- tion, neglecting experimental realiza- tions is unwise. A novice reading Kaye, Laflamme, and Mosca’s book, for ex- ample, might reasonably reach the con- clusion that if there is a universal set of gates, clearly delineated quantum algo- rithms, and error-correcting codes on paper, then a large-scale quantum com- puter should be just around the corner. The reader should at least be given a glimpse of the challenges involved in making a robust controlled-NOT gate or performing a complete Bell-state meas- urement; both are primitives on the quantum information theorist’s palette but are challenging to perform in the lab. The closest these books come to dis- cussing experiments are brief mentions of idealized Mach–Zehnder interferom- eters. Remarkably, because of an algebra mistake, Vedral gets that example wrong—the photon exits the wrong way from the symmetric interferometer. There is another, deeper reason ex- periments in this field deserve more at- tention. If researchers fail to construct a large-scale quantum computer, it may be because of some practical limi- tation, or it may be the sign of some- thing more interesting. A spectacular, albeit speculative, possibility is that we find quantum mechanics breaks down, and there emerge some fundamentally new laws of physics and, by extension, of information. Jonathan R. Friedman Amherst College Amherst, Massachusetts The Grid A Journey Through the Heart of Our Electrified World Phillip F. Schewe Joseph Henry Press, Washington, DC, 2007. $27.95 (311 pp.). ISBN 978-0-309-10260-5 Electricity uniquely combines three at- tributes: It is crucial, even for minimally developed societies; fragile, in that pro- hibitive storage costs require produc- tion to equal use by the minute; and interconnected, because failure of one supplier to meet demand can black out half a continent. In The Grid: A Journey Through the Heart of Our Electrified World, Phillip Schewe, chief science writer at the American Institute of February 2008 Physics Today 63 Physics, admirably and accessibly por- trays each of those attributes. Special- ists and general au- diences should find the book entertain- ing, despite its oc- casionally distract- ing literary devices and flourishes. After some introduction, Schewe’s tale begins in 1882 with the first grid, powered by Thomas Edison’s DC gen- erator at the Pearl Street station in New York City’s lower Manhattan. Edison’s company eventually lost out to George Westinghouse’s AC system, which could transmit power over longer dis- tances by relying on transformers and the AC generators and motors designed by Edison’s former employee, Nikola Tesla. The story fascinatingly turns to another former Edison employee, the now largely forgotten Samuel Insull, who created the regulated utility sys- tem that dominated the 20th century. Schewe describes the growth of the grid in Vladimir Lenin’s Russia and in Franklin Roosevelt’s US, with particular focus on the Tennessee Valley Author- ity. Ironically, in attempting to contrast the developments in Russia and the US, he shows the unintended similarities between centrally planned power and publicly regulated and funded utilities. The most dramatic story comes next: the 1965 Northeast blackout. To tell the tale, Schewe melds stories from the streets of New York City and the utility control rooms. The power failure forced industry and government to pay atten- tion to reliability, just as fuel prices started rising, environmental issues gained traction, and competition began intruding into Insull’s regulated monop- oly legacy. The 2001 California energy debacle of rolling blackouts and utility bankruptcies is briefly covered; unfortu- nately, the author focuses more on Enron Corp rather than on California’s idiosyn- cratic regulatory policy as the culprit. Schewe then turns to alternatives to giant, fossil-fuel plants, with a fair look at the benefits and problems of solar, wind, and nuclear power. After describing a fascinating transformer-repair field trip with Idaho Power, one of the high points in the book, the author concludes with observations on electrification in devel- oping countries and on the similarities between the Apollo moon landings and the massive “Big Allis” generator that provides power to New York City as large-scale technological missions. If readers drawn to The Grid want to learn more about whether competition has led to improved performance or just higher prices or about global warm- ing and conservation tips, they will likely be disappointed. Technical and policy experts may want more detail: For example, nowhere in the book can readers find an intuitive explanation of “reactive power.” However, those shortcomings ironically illuminate the book’s strength—the focus on what it takes to get this amazing, pervasive sys- tem to work at all. One important minor flaw, likely from a tight publication budget, is the absence of graphics. The text lacks even the standard “generator transmission distribution user” diagram provided in almost every other book about electric- ity. A map and timeline of the 1965 blackout would help keep the story straight, and power-pool maps would show how grids go beyond boundaries of not just individual power companies but also states and countries. Photo- graphs would also help attract a gen- eral audience. I confess to wondering what this Insull looked like. The author may be more to blame for the book’s peculiar organization. We don’t find out how the grid works until See www.pt.ims.ca/16297-19 APS Show—Booth #605, 607 64 February 2008 Physics Today www.physicstoday.org the penultimate chapter, and the reader won’t learn about kilowatt-hours, the unit of energy most homeowners actu- ally buy every month, until the final chapter. Insull falls from grace in chap- ter 3, but we don’t learn what happens to him until the end of chapter 4. Florid musings on the downside of technology are liberally dropped throughout the text graced with selected quotes from Henry Adams and Henry David Thoreau. Conservation is important, es- pecially in the midst of global warming, but the book would be stronger if that topic were left to the end rather than in- serted here and there. Schewe’s baroque flourishes, Walden- esque contemplation, and nonlinear or- ganization suggest that he doubts that readers share his fascination, and mine, with electricity. The assumption is un- derstandable. When I tell acquaintances that I work on electricity economics, “boredom squared” is in their eyes. And I bet when Schewe told fellow din- ner-party guests that he was working on a book on electricity, it probably took milliseconds for someone to interrupt with “Anyone seen a good movie lately?” Much of The Grid might offer promising material for Hollywood pro- ducers. I hope Schewe, also a dramatist, is working on screenplays for the 1965 New York City blackout miniseries and the Insull biopic. Those stories would be worth seeing. Timothy J. Brennan University of Maryland Baltimore County Catonsville Iridescences The Physical Colors of Insects Serge Berthier (translated from French by Capucine Lafait) Springer, New York, 2007. $139.00 (160 pp.). ISBN 978-0-387-34119-4 Serge Berthier’s Iridescences: The Physical Colors of Insects is purported to be a “new, improved, and substantially modified version” of his Les couleurs des papillons ou l’impérative beauté: Propriétés optiques des ailes de papillons, or The Col- ors of Butterflies or Imperative Beauty: Op- tical Properties of the Wings of Butterflies (Springer, 2000). Berthier is a professor of physics at the University of Paris Diderot–7 and researches biological structures, colors, and biomimetics at Pierre and Marie Curie University. The one positive aspect of Iridescences, orig- inally published in French in 2003, is that it does have wonderful color photographs that show some amazing detail of the structure and morphology of the orders Coleoptera, which in- cludes beetles, weevils, and fireflies, and Lepidoptera, which includes but- terflies and moths. Berthier’s book could have been a very nice piece of work if it had been proofread to correct the plethora of er- rors in grammar, history, and references to figures. For example, on page 3 in the first chapter, the author refers to “Lord Raleigh”—yes, with the last name mis- spelled the same way each time the physicist is mentioned—as fourth baron, who was at Imperial College London, which is correct. However, when most physicists see the name “Lord Rayleigh,” they think of the more famous Rayleigh, John William Strutt, who was third baron and taught at Cam- bridge University. Berthier is actually referring to Robert J. Strutt, Lord Rayleigh’s eldest son who inherited the title after his father died in 1919. In chapter 2, Berthier takes readers through plausible ar- guments about the myriad of color variations found in in- sects, and in chapters 3 and 4 he focuses on the different characteristic lengths of scales of insect wings in both Coleoptera and Lepidoptera. He then discusses in chapter 5 how pigmentation and struc- ture are responsible for most color vari- ation. He introduces equation 5-1, which shows how to get an interference reflection minimum from a thin layer, yet there is no figure or explanation as to where the equation comes from; un- less the reader is already familiar with thin-film interference theory, the equa- tion will mean nothing. Another repeated annoyance is that the descriptions and labels of figures are written in a mixture of French and English. The labels in figure 11.3 are en- tirely written in French while the figure caption is written in English. In chapter 13, the author introduces the trichro- matic coordinates R, G, B but then in equation 13-3 uses normalized r, v, b co- ordinates. One has to assume that the v stands for “vert,” the French word for “green.” In addition, many of the fig- ures are poorly done. For instance, figure 6.3, which shows the Fresnel re- flection coefficient, has no scale for the ordinate. It should also be noted that the Fresnel formulas are not presented until chapter 7. Also, in chapter 6, the author introduces the Kramers–Kronig relations, equation 6-7, that are incor- rect as presented. In chapter 7, “1-Dimensional Struc- tures: Interferences,” Berthier attrib- utes the laws of reflection and refrac- tion to both Willebrord Snel van Royen and René Descartes. However, back in figure 6.2 the law of refraction is called Descartes’ law, and on page 90 in chapter 8, “2-Dimensional Structures: Interferences and Diffraction,” Berthier refers to it as “Snell’s law.” But the law of refraction was actually first discov- ered by Thomas Harriot in 1602, though that was not known until 1959. Chapter 9, “3-Dimensional Structures: Crystalline Diffraction,” deals with periodicity in three dimensions. Berthier introduces the Bragg relation, equation 9-1, as 2d sinθ = kλ, in which he uses k to represent an integer, an- other hassle because we are used to seeing k as the wave number. In the sentence above the equation, he refers to Φ as the angle to be used in the equation, which contains θ, not Φ. That equation and the accompany- ing figure 9.1 give no clue as to why constructive interfer- ence occurs. The author then goes on to introduce a two- dimensional Fourier trans- form in equation 9-2, again with no explanation. In Chapter 10, “Amorphous Struc- tures: Scattering,” Berthier discusses the concept of larger-size particle scat- tering within the framework developed by Gustav Mie in 1908. The author later gives credit for the first development to Ludwig Lorenz; however, although Lorenz developed the theory in 1890, he only published his research in Danish. Most people today give credit to both men and refer to the Lorenz–Mie the- ory. Berthier then ties the theory to the scattering structures found in certain butterflies, which allows readers to understand the insects’ color variation. Chapter 11 treats selective absorption and some of the chemistry necessary to explain it. I found chapter 12, on thermoregu- lation and spectral selectivity in butter- flies, quite informative; it explained how essential heat transfer is to the sur- vival of those marvelous insects. In the final chapter, 13, “Vision and Colorime- try,” the author uses trichromatic coor- dinates to explain insect vision. He briefly discusses the perception of po- larized light by insects but does not mention the enormous amount of work already published on the subject. In short, if you are looking for a book that offers some understanding of the relationship between the basic laws of physics and the coloring of insects, Iridescences leaves much to be desired. On the other hand, if you want to see some wonderful photographs that show the intricate and delicate struc- 
work_sjpzoajgv5gtrab2cp3ivp3uky	----	Turkish Studies Language / Literature Volume 13/28, Fall 2018, p. 1115-1117 DOI: 10.7827/TurkishStudies.14755 ISSN: 1308-2140 Skopje/MACEDONIA-Ankara/TURKEY Book Review / Kitap Kritiği A r t i c l e I n f o / M a k a l e B i l g i s i  Received/Geliş: Aralık 2018 Accepted/Kabul: Aralık 2018 UFUK ÖZDAĞ, ÇEVRECİ ELEŞTİRİYE GİRİŞ, DOĞA KÜLTÜR EDEBİYAT. ANKARA: ÜRÜN YAYINLARI. 2014. 174 S. ISBN: 978-605-4938-30-8 Koray ÜSTÜN* Edebiyat ile doğal çevre arasındaki ilişkiye odaklanarak yazınsal düzlemde çevre duyarlılığının izdüşümlerini takip eden Çevreci Eleştiri (eco- criticism), edebiyat aracılığıyla ekolojik okuryazarlık bilincini oluşturmayı hedeflemektedir. Şehirleşme ve tüketimin önlenemez hızı karşısında doğal çevrenin korunması gerekliliğinin ve insan kadar diğer canlıların da hakları olduğunun altını çizen bu yaklaşımın en kapsamlı tanımını, “Doğa yazını eserlerinin akla gelebilecek her türlü bilimsel yaklaşımla incelenmesi ya da her türlü edebi eserde [ilk bakışta insanın dışındaki doğayla ilgili görünmeyenler de dahil] ekolojik sezdirimlerin ve insan-doğa ilişkinin tetkiki” (Özdağ-Alpaslan 2010: 642) cümleleriyle Scott Slovic yapmıştır. Bu tanımdan da anlaşılacağı üzere çevreci eleştiri, yazınsal üretim süreçlerinde doğa farkındalığı oluşturmak ve metin aracılığıyla okurda bir çevre bilinci kazandırma amacını taşımaktadır. 1970’lerden itibaren Batı dünyasında kuramsallaşmaya başlayan ve tarihsel gelişim içerisinde çeşitli dönüşüm ve gelişmelerle günümüze uzanan edebiyata çevreci bakış, Türk edebiyatında1 kuramsal alt yapının tam yerleşememesinden ötürü iki binli yıllara dek * Dr. Öğr. Üyesi, Hacettepe Üni. Edebiyat Fakültesi Türk Dili ve Edebiyatı Bölümü, E-posta: korayustun@hacettepe.edu.tr 1 Çevreci eleştirinin Türk edebiyatındaki uygulamaları için bkz. Özdağ; Gökalp Alpaslan 2010. http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies. https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1033-5966 1116 Koray ÜSTÜN Turkish Studies Volume 13/28, Fall 2018 tematik sınırlarda kalmıştır. Bu bağlamda Hacettepe Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Amerikan Kültürü ve Edebiyatı bölümü öğretim üyesi Prof.Dr. Ufuk Özdağ tarafından kaleme alınan Çevreci Eleştiriye Giriş, Doğa Kültür Edebiyat başlıklı çalışmanın çevreci eleştiri alanında kuramsal bir boşluğu doldurmaya yönelik önemli bir girişim olduğunu söylenebilir. Çalışma; önsöz, giriş ve sonucun dışında dört bölümden oluşmaktadır. Önsözde Özdağ, doğal çevre farkındalığı bağlamında okuru harekete geçirecek yazınsal kitapların doğanın dilini anlama noktasındaki önemine değinerek yeryüzünün kurtulması için yörelerin flora ve faunalarını, çevre tarihlerini ve ekolojik süreçlerini anlatan eserlere ihtiyaç olduğunu ifade etmiş; “yabancılaştığımız doğayı yeniden görebilmek, doğanın seslerini duyabilmek, doğadaki süreçleri algılayabilmek, doğal alanlardan geriye kalan ne varsa koruma altına alabilmek, kırsal ve kentsel alanları da tahrip edilmiş bölgeleri onarabilmek adına temel yazınsal amaçlar belirleyerek ömürlerini doğanın kalemi olmaya adamak (s.4)” amacıyla üreten yazarların metinlerinin doğru anlaşıldığı takdirde doğa ile kopan bağımızın yeniden kurulacağını dile getirmiştir. Çalışmanın girişinde iklim değişikliklerinin tüm yaşamı tehdit ettiği 21. yüzyılda doğal ve kentsel yaşam alanlarında günden güne artan tehdidin görmezden gelinmemesi gerektiğine işaret edilerek çevreci eleştirinin doğduğu Amerikan yazınının öncü isimlerinden John Muir’in düşüncelerinden hareketle çevre farkındalığının doğuşuna ilişkin tarihsel arka plana yer verilmiştir. ‘Çevreci Eleştiriye Giriş’ başlığını taşıyan birinci bölümde, Amerikan toplumunda ortaya çıkan çevre farkındalığının bir sonucu olarak doğan çevreci eleştirinin sosyo-kültürel arka planına yer verilmiş; doğa bilincinin teorik bir yaklaşıma nasıl dönüştüğüne değinilerek kuramın temel dayanakları sıralanmıştır. Özdağ; doksanlarda başlayan doğanın merkezde olduğu kurgusal metinleri inceleyen çalışmaların, çevreci eleştirinin birinci dalgası; 2000’lerde kentsel alanların, yapılandırılmış çevrenin ve metropollerin ele alındığı eserlerin ise anlayışın ikinci dalgası olduğunu ifade etmiş ve günümüzde üçüncü dalgayı doğuracak tartışmaların sürdüğünü eklemiştir. Çevreci anlayışın tarihsel gelişiminin ve kuramsallaşma sürecinin aktarıldığı bu bölüm, toplumsal hareketliliklerin yaşamın her alanına ne denli büyük bir etki yarattığını göstermesi bakımından dikkate değerdir. Bu bölümde çevreci eleştirinin yazınsal ve teorik arka planının inşasında yer alan Henry David Thoreau, Lawrence Buell, Aldo Leopold gibi isimlerin tanıtılmasıyla anlayışın hangi zeminde ve hangi şartlarda doğduğu da somutlaştırılmış; öncü isimlerin ardından Cheryll Glotfelty, David Mazel, Peter Barry, Karla Armbruster, Kathleen R. Allace, Joni Adamson gibi teorisyenlerin yapıtlarından hareketle çevreci eleştiri anlayışının ölçütlerine yer verilmiştir. ‘Birinci Dalga Çevreci Eleştiri: Doğa Yazını ve Hikmet Birand’, çalışmanın ikinci bölümüdür. Bu bölümde Buell’in birinci dalga çevreci eleştiri üzerine yaptığı tanımlamadan hareketle bilim ve sanatı harmanlayan bir üslupla doğa tarihini, biyoçeşitliliği, flora ve faunayı aktaran Hikmet Birand’ın 1957’de yayımlanan Anadolu Manzaraları adlı eseri incelenmiştir. Birinci dalga çevreci eleştirinin önemli temsilcilerinin ve eserlerinin sıralanmasının ardından Türk edebiyatında çevre duyarlılığının izlerini taşıyan Sait Faik, Halikarnas Balıkçısı, Yaman Koray, Yaşar Kemal, Fakir Baykurt ve Zülfü Livaneli’nin eserlerine değinen Özdağ, Birand’ın kaleme aldığı eserin tür ve içerik bakımından farkını ifade ederek Nasuh Mahruki, Mustafa Sarı, Sargun Tont, Cemal Saydam gibi isimlerin şiirsel bir üslupla kaleme aldıkları gözlem anlatılarının Türk doğa yazınının farklı bir alanını oluşturan önemli metinler olduğunu ortaya koymuştur. Birand’ın kişisel ve mesleki yaşamında doğanın yerinin vurgulanmasının ardından kaleme aldığı eserlerden hareketle yazarın, okuyucuyu doğada fiziksel bir deneyime çağırarak doğa farkındalığı yaratmayı amaçladığını ifade eden Özdağ, Anadolu Manzaraları’nı okuma deneyiminin Anadolu’yu yeniden keşfetme deneyimine dönüştüğünü (s.61) söylemektedir. Çalışma içerisinde eser; ekolojik sürecin aktarımı, doğadaki yaşam içgüdüsünün somutlaştırılması, insan dışı canlıların duygu ve düşüncelerle insanlara doğada eşlik etmesi ve doğrudan doğayı korumaya yönelik eylem planlarının Ufuk Özdağ, Çevreci Eleştiriye Giriş, Doğa Kültür Edebiyat. Ankara: Ürün Yayınları… 1117 Turkish Studies Volume 13/28, Fall 2018 sıralanması bakımından ele alınmıştır. Özdağ, Birand’ı kimi zaman doğa tarihi bilgisini, kimi zaman doğaya kişisel yaklaşımlarını, kimi zaman da doğaya felsefi yorumlarını aktarmasından dolayı Türk doğa yazınının öncü isimleri arasına dâhil etmiştir. Bu bölümün sonunda Anadolu Manzaraları içerisinde yer alan ‘Kırkikindiler’ adlı parça, kısa bir değerlendirme yazısıyla birlikte verilmiştir. Çalışmanın üçüncü bölümü, ‘İkinci Dalga Çevreci Eleştiri: Kurgusal Yazın ve Yaşar Kemal’ başlığını taşımaktadır. Özdağ bu bölümde çevreci eleştirinin ikinci dalgasının daha çok kurgusal eserlerde çevre temlerine, çevresel adalet konularına ve yapılandırılmış çevreye odaklandığını kuramsal alıntılarla aktarmış ve Yaşar Kemal’in 1978’te basılan Deniz Küstü adlı romanını bu bağlamda incelemiştir. Yaşar Kemal edebiyatının önemli bir izleğini oluşturan doğa ve canlıların kısaca ele alınmasının ardından Aldo Leopold’un görüşleriyle Yaşar Kemal’in düşünceleri arasındaki koşutlukların altı çizilmiştir. Romanda konu edinilen yunus avcılığının yarattığı ekosistem bozukluğu odağında doğa ve insan birliğini inceleyen Özdağ, Yaşar Kemal’in bu romanıyla okura ilham vererek çevre koruma bağlamında bireysel tepkilerin doğumuna katkı sağladığını ifade etmiş ve birey bazındaki tepkilerin büyüyerek siyasi ve hukuki mekanizmaları işletecek bir farkındalığa dönüşeceğini savunmuştur. ‘Çevreci Eleştirinin Geleceğine Doğru’ başlıklı dördüncü ve son bölümde ise içinde bulunduğumuz çevre krizi çağında toplumsal bilincin daha da kuvvetlenmesi gerektiği vurgulanarak ülkemizin yabanıl alanlarının ve yaban hayatının korunması ile çeşitli tahrip olmuş alanların geri kazanılmasını sağlayacak yazıların çevreci eleştirmenlerimizce incelenmesi önerisinde bulunulmuştur. Bu bağlamda yazar, Aldo Leopold’un, turnaların yaşamını olumsuz yönde etkileyen bir bataklık kurutulma olayını şiirsel bir üslupla aktardığı “Marshland Elegy (Sulak Alana Ağıt)” başlıklı yazısından hareketle Amik Ovasının kurutulmasına değinmiş ve “çevreci eleştirmen amik ovasını geri getirebilir mi?” sorusunu sormuştur. Bu kritik soru aslında çalışmanın özeti gibidir. Fen bilimleri tarafından tespit edilen ve üzerine birtakım çözüm önerileri sunulan her problemin ancak kültür ve yazın aracılığıyla topluma yaslandığı noktada çözümleneceği gerçeği, çevre ve edebiyat bağını daha da kuvvetlendirmektedir. Bu nedenle Özdağ’ın bu hassasiyeti de dikkate değerdir. Tarih boyunca toplumlar, farklı coğrafyalarda farklı etnik yapılarla iç içe olmuş; zamanla alfabe, günlük yaşam, yönetim biçimi vb. pek çok noktada değişim göstermiştir. Bu geniş zaman aralığında değişmeyen tek şey ise insanın varlığını sürdürebilmesi için doğaya muhtaç olduğu gerçeği olmuştur. Bu gerçeğe karşı farkındalık yaratmak ve bu farkındalığı kavratmak bağlamında Çevreci Eleştiriye Giriş Doğa Kültür Edebiyat adlı çalışma Türk kültür ve edebiyatı için çok önemli bir girişimdir. Prof. Dr. Ufuk Özdağ, Amerikan kültürü ve edebiyatı sahasında doğan bir disiplini Türk kültürü ve edebiyatına, Türkçe yazın aracılığıyla dâhil ederek Batı’daki çevreci eleştiri adımlarını Türk yazınından örneklerle somutlaştırmış ve böylelikle hem doğa farkındalığı hem de edebiyat eleştirisi açısından dikkate değer bir katkıda bulunmuştur. KAYNAKÇA Özdağ, U. ve Alpaslan, G.G. (2010). Türkiyat Araştırmalarında Yeni Bir Alan: Çevreci Eleştiri, Ü. Çelik Şavk (Ed.) 3. Uluslararası Türkiyat Araştırmaları Sempozyumu Bildirileri: 25-27 Mayıs 2010. (ss. 641-651) Ankara: Hacettepe Üniversitesi Türkiyat Araştırmaları Enstitüsü. 
work_skhhji2cqvchngn2j2ppwllqma	----	MuSiC Pioneers of sound Two books chart the laboratory origins of avant-garde electronic music, finds Marc Weidenbaum. After decades of sonic experimenta-tion, two maverick institutions met their ends within years of each other. In 1992, US composer John Cage, a prolific pioneer of electronic music, passed away four weeks shy of turning 80. And in 1998, the BBC Radiophonic Workshop closed down after 40 years of developing high-tech sounds. Two books — Kenneth Silverman’s biography of Cage, Begin Again, and Louis Niebur’s account of the Radiophonic Workshop, Special Sound — describe the technical innovations of these institutions and suggest that they were victims of their own notoriety. Created in 1958, the BBC Radiophonic Workshop produced electronic sounds for radio and television franchises, including landmark science-fiction series such as Quatermass, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and, most enduringly, the signa- ture tune for Doctor Who. Founded with advanced electronics equipment but a mod- est budget, the studio’s edge was its ability to tinker within its means. It released some of its experiments to the public in pamphlets that included instructions and wiring diagrams. Eventually, electronics became so affordable that freelance composers undercut BBC economics. Alien noises, manipulated recordings and synthesized instrumenta- tion were replicated throughout pop culture, diminishing the workshop’s individuality. The Radiophonic studio had a lab-coat reputation from the start. The small team innovated instinctively, adopting new tech- nologies such as voltage-controlled wave- form synthesis; adapting existing ones such as the turntable; and developing new sounds and approaches to enlivening narratives with audio. It owed its existence not to the BBC music department, which baulked at electronics, but to the drama and features departments, which supported the creation of a team to expand the sonic palette of their productions. The name radiophonic was chosen over another term, electrophonic, which was deemed to be too closely associ- ated with brain research. Born in Los Angeles in 1912, John Cage learned to tinker from his father, a serial inventor of everything from submarines to an ‘Invisible Ray Vision System’. From an early age, Cage was a good orator and had a media- genic quality. Once he left home, his life took on a Zelig-like fluidity: boarding with art col- lector Peggy Guggenheim, befriending author John Steinbeck and studying with composer Arnold Schoenberg. In his later life, Silver- man writes, Cage was so celebrated that the festivities probably contributed to his death. His birthday milestones involved exhausting global galas that curtailed his composing. Written for ensembles large and small, many of Cage’s compositions invoked chance and interactivity. He championed percussion as an instrument in Western music and devel- oped the ‘happening’ (the event as art) and the ‘prepared piano’ (in which objects rattle on its strings). Today, Cage is best known for the silent piece less than five minutes long that contains no notes: 4’33” was first played in 1952 and was inspired by his experience in an anechoic chamber. His technological experimentation was advanced for its time — Cage’s early 1950s tape-splicing techniques, for example, did not reach their full potential until hip-hop samplers adopted them in the late 1970s and 1980s. Many scientists were among Cage’s close associates. Johan Wilhelm ‘Billy’ Klüver, a Bell Laboratories physicist, worked with him to invent a photoelectric system that allowed dancers to trigger sounds. Bell Labs employee Max Mathews — later of Stanford University, and after whom the widely used electronic music software Max/MSP was affectionately named — built Cage a 50-channel mixing board for Leonard Bernstein’s performance of his Atlas Eclipti- calis. And Lejaren Hiller, a former DuPont chemist, helped Cage to become computer literate in 1967, allowing him to accomplish long-envisioned projects that he had previ- ously deemed too complex to achieve. Begin Again — the title of which reflects the continual refreshment of Cage’s ideas through his conversations with these many players — is more descriptive than critical. Silverman argues for the intensity of thought and emotion captured i n C age’s b o dy of work. Known for his philosophical mus- ings on nature (he was an avid mycologist), as Delia Derbyshire, among other electronic-music pioneers, started out in the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. B B C P h O TO L iB r a r y Nature.com An interview with Tod Machover, the man behind Guitar Hero: go.nature.com/34hf6n Special Sound: The Creation and Legacy of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop LOUiS nieBUr Oxford University Press: 2010. 272 pp. $27.95, £17.99 Begin Again: A Biography of John Cage KenneTh SiLverman Knopf: 2010. 496 pp. $40, £27.95 2 9 6 | N A T U R E | V O L 4 6 9 | 2 0 J A N U A R y 2 0 1 1 BOOKS & ARTSCOMMENT © 2011 Macmillan Publishers Limited. All rights reserved EthiCS The good life Pascal Boyer assesses what science has to say about morals. Philosopher David Hume wrote in the eighteenth century that one cannot derive an ‘ought’ from an ‘is’. In The Moral Landscape, journalist Sam Harris counters this view, arguing that science can shed light on why we hold moral values and also say which values are valid. In doing so, he eloquently counters the jaded pessimists who think that science has little to say about happiness. His thesis is compelling, but he underplays the extent to which our decisions are rooted in intuition, preferring to portray decision-making as a calculated maximiza- tion of our well-being. The psychology of morality is a rapidly growing field. Investigations of brain proc- esses involved in moral intuitions, feelings and judgements reveal a suite of sophisticated mental capacities, fine-tuned by natural selec- tion, that orchestrate our reactions to other people’s behaviours and to our own. In dis- tributing resources, for example, people are sensitive to differences in need and merit as well as welfare. In most circumstances, people experience moral judgements as gut feelings, produced by largely unconscious processes. Our moral reasoning is thus an awkward attempt to rationalize these intuitive feelings. This nuanced scientific perspective is far from the hackneyed picture of virtue being a culturally derived imprint, imposed for the benefit of society on an instinctive beast. It shows how moral sentiment may have played a part in our evolution, conferring fitness advantages on ethically inclined individuals. But Harris goes further, arguing that humans can intuitively distinguish ‘the good life’ — which maximizes individual well-being — from less-optimal alternatives. Moral courses of action, he suggests, are those that lead us closer to this positive ideal. Scientific research addresses morality by explaining how our actions contribute to our well-being. Harris runs against the intellectual grain in stating that moral choices can be set on an objective scale — those that increase well- being versus those that do not — and that societies are capable of moral progress, such as outlawing slavery or torture. Both views oppose the prevailing position of moral rela- tivism, which supposes that the suffering is justifiable if it fits some local custom. Harris punctures such incoherent philosophy easily. If morals are fluid, what should be our yard- stick of valid choices? Religion is ruled out. Harris’s brand of consequentialism — the ends justify the means, so what is good is what max- imizes well-being — excludes transcendent sources. Because there is a quantifiable out- come, we do not need a deity to know whether our choice had good or bad consequences. Harris points out that most of the choices that are spread in the name of religion, such as proscribed killings, stem from intuition and not from the doc- trine followed. Moral intuition and scientific findings are the main bases for making moral decisions. But science and intuition are not always reliable. The case against mugging people is easy to make, by quantifying suffering and benefit and the net result on the level of well- being. But an issue such as abortion is more difficult: our feelings are grounded in our intuition about whether a fetus is a person. Our idea of personhood has evolved as an approximation that is sufficient in our social interactions. Such ideas typically founder on limiting cases — we simply cannot know whether a brain-dead individual or an unborn fetus is a person or not. Harris sees such conundrums as difficult, unsolved scientific puzzles that we should pursue. A moral optimist, Harris suggests that people can be persuaded to abandon harm- ful behaviours, such as the stoning of adul- terers. Here, social scientists may feel that he rides roughshod over some solid findings of moral psychology. Consequentialism is not the heuristic of most humans. Experiments show that assessments of well-being are of less importance in moral decision-making than a gut feeling that actions are wrong or right. For example, beyond its genetic risks, people maintain that sibling incest is wrong, even in cases where no children result. To be persuaded that some actions are immoral because they diminish well-being, people need to accept that welfare is the most relevant criterion of morality, which may require a special education. This and many other difficulties stand in the way of Harris’s moral reforms, but they are all reasons to read his lucid, deep and uncompromising essay. ■ Pascal Boyer is Henry Luce Professor of Individual and Collective Memory at Washington University, St Louis, USA. The Moral Landscape: How Science Can Determine Human Values Sam harriS The Free Press: 2010. 304 pp. $26.99 well as on chance, technology and other subjects, Cage became both a public intel- lectual and a celebrity. The BBC Radiophonic Workshop also regularly replenished its perspective — by rotating its personnel. At first, this was a deliberate strategy by BBC managers. Electronic audio was so unfamiliar when the studio formed in 1958 that managers felt engineers could only work on sound effects “for a limited amount of time before succumbing to mental instabil- ity”. Niebur reveals the bureaucracy and political manoeuvrings inherent in the government-funded behemoth that is the BBC. Later, many studio hands left for better-paid jobs at private companies — among them such seminal individuals in the history of electronic music as Delia Derbyshire and Daphne Oram, the latter of whom went on to influence film and opera and develop new instruments. There are parallels between the two books. The Radiophonic faithfully served the BBC, and Cage composed reams of music for his lover Merce Cunningham’s dance company. Both institutions pio- neered tape loops and other techniques, and each associated closely with natu- ralists — Cage idolized philo- sopher Henry David Thoreau, and the Radio- phon i c te am wrote ardently f o r w i l d l i f e broadcaster David Atten- borough. Both performed for a global audience, yet their paths rarely crossed. Differences emerge in their philoso- phies. Cage was intellectually highbrow, but the Radiophonic members were chartered populists. Cage loomed large in European universities and cultural insti- tutions in Germany, France and Italy. The Radiophonic, although equally inventive, defined itself by remaining opposed to such academic forces. It avoided ideo- logical battles about the political nature of the orchestra or about musical struc- tures such as 12-tone serialism, in which Cage participated. The Radiophonic was, Niebur says, “the first studio in the world to make electronic music accessible to ordinary people”. Its legacy lives on in the latest return to our screens of Doctor Who — featuring yet another rendition of that indelible theme tune. ■ Marc Weidenbaum is a writer based in San Francisco, California, and blogs at http://disquiet.com. e-mail: marc@disquiet.com “Managers felt engineers could only work on sound effects ‘for a limited amount of time before succumbing to mental instability’.” 2 0 J A N U A R y 2 0 1 1 | V O L 4 6 9 | N A T U R E | 2 9 7 BOOKS & ARTS COMMENT © 2011 Macmillan Publishers Limited. All rights reserved Music: Pioneers of sound 
work_snkh3jwjgjbpvka5on76dwlvsa	----	00_Editorial Board.pmd Relevance of Spirituality on Employee Health and Attitudes Pintu Mahakul Department of Business Administration, Berhampur University, Bhanja Bihar, Berhampur-760007, Odisha, INDIA Email: pintumahakul68@yahoo.com Abstract Spirituality is a path through which people recognize their own identity and know about the super power of the universe. This is not only an alleged immaterial reality but also a deep feeling of super truth behind us and universe. At this modern time health complication becomes major issue. Climate change and natural forces affect human life externally while for employees; organizational burdens affect a lot from internal affairs. In many cases it is seen that people remain ill both mentally and physically due to various known and unknown causes. Unhealthy condition keeps a person in sorrow and pain. Unnecessary pressure creates depression, hypertension and many mental hazards. Both physical and mental illness do not allow a person to work perfectly. In many cases an employee falls in problems in workplace due to unpleasant attitudes produced. Health and attitudes are dependent with each other. One healthy person expresses healthy attitudes. Attitudes are dependent on thoughts generated in mind. Due to temptation of environment sometimes negative forces come in and generate negative thoughts lead to harmful attitudes. But Spirituality pours impact on generating positive thoughts. A Person recognizes his self properly and awakens his conscience due to spiritual awareness. Truly spirituality plays a major role on health and attitudes. This paper contains Introduction, objectives, literature review, Importance, discussion and conclusion. At last references are included. This paper will become beneficial to many employees, scholars, students and others as we hope. Keywords: Spirituality, health, attitudes, consciousness and performance Introduction The vedic verse says, “ Subham karoti kalyaanam aarogyam dhana sampada, Shatru-budhhi-vinaasaaya dipa-jyotir-namostute.” It means, “we salute the light of the lamp who does bring auspicious fortune, happiness and prosperity, good health and abundance of wealth and as well as destroys the intellect of enemy. We obediently honour and bow our head in front of such a lamp of light.” Not only the Hindus but also the other major religions of the world light the lamp during worship. The light is the symbol of the soul that resides inside the body and lamp symbolises the body with soul. Again the offering of the lamp is made for God. From the visible Inernational Journal of Social Science Volume, 3 no. 1, 19-27: March 2014 DOI Number:10.5958/j.2321-5771.3.1.002 Mahakul 20 point of view it is clear that only we worship with a lamp. But in true sense although we remain in the world, we spiritually knowingly or unknowingly remember God. Praying in this verse we need happiness, fortune, prosperity, wealth, and many more without enemy in our lives. These things are attained only by the soul by the help of a material body. It is possible to get above things along with good health when we remain in soul consciousness. Reminding this John says, “Beloved, I pray that all may go well with you and that you may be in good health, as it goes well with your soul.”(3 John 1:2, the Holy Bible, English Standard Version) Apostle John, here species that with well state of soul the body remains in well state. Mental behaviour and status affect the human health. Again good health and mental status are dependent each other. If mentality is affected then the marks are seen on the body. If the body gets injury, or disease, the mind remains in a sorrowful and painful state. The soul expresses his ambiguities on the body during ill condition. John expects that only good health is the key for better work attitudes, as the attitudes of one human individual depend on the mind. Mind remains fresh on the path of spirituality. So he prays for his beloved workers for well going for all. In workplace employee’s health plays a major role. Due to good health an employee behaves and works properly. So it is clear that directly or indirectly sound health makes an employee fit for work. God has given the rights of management to human beings and humans are trustees of various natural resources but not the real owners as the Bible specifies. The real owner of the universe, heavens and earth is only the Supreme Almighty the creator. We can know the mysteries of this only by the medium of spirituality and how spirituality balances the nature and human life can be well analysed. So at first we should understand about the term, “Spirituality” and its commitment for human rights, climate, community health and other creatures. William Wordsworth defines spirituality as a path of journey of life where a soul travels as lonely as cloud and as like a beauteous evening realizes the importance of time becomes calm and free from sorrows, pain and other bondages. Henry David Thoreau says that the body is outward wearing of mind given by the nature and that also changes in every hour and repairs on damage to it even with the change in vain. It is natural and no difference is there. Till some uncalled ray of peace that illumes in most minds is nothing but surely spirituality. Wallace Stevens defines spirituality as a book for life to guide to become calm and quit forever to alive. Robert Frost defines spirituality as the essence of happy and pleasurable living which reserves love for God above and influences an individual to work according to his will. Nirmala (Daniel Erway) defines spirituality as a path of truth, silence, love, judgement, and surrender to perfection for God which makes fearless at any critical circumstance. World health organization (WHO) defines that health is a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity. National Aboriginal Health Strategy (NAHS) 1989 of Australian Government, Relevance of Spirituality on Employee Health and Attitudes 21 department of Health and Aging has given the definition of health which is adopted by National Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organization (NACCHO) of Australia in its constitution on 9, March 2006. This defines health as not just the physical well-being of an individual but refers to the social, emotional and cultural well-being of the whole community in which each individual is able to achieve their full potential as a human being thereby bringing about the total well-being of their community. Some scientists argue that health is not a complete phenomenon but a continuation. So health cannot be isolated from disease. While world rotates on its own axis brings day and night due to fall of sun-shine in one side and shadow of its own in another side. For example while there is a day in India there is a night exactly at the same time in United States of America and vice versa. This is a phenomenon of dialectical materialism. The same world is perceived from opposite angels at the same time and affects human life and human rights. However condition of climate and change affects directly or indirectly to the entire world. Generally community means a mass of people habituated in living in a particular geographical area and having certain equal and common interest, rights, responsibilities and duties. Employees work in organization in mass. When we talk about them community comes in mind. Employee health also is included in community health. When we talk about health status of employees it refers to community health. The holy bible defines community health as a science of service oriented faith of universal brotherhood which move in peace , love and where interests of others are given priority (James 2: 14-17), people do not harden their hearts and hands for each other and poor people but really soften, help each other and share God’s knowledge and resources (Deuteronomy 15: 7-11) so that people feel to give life to their flesh and fruit of the spirit like love , joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and self control are achieved easily. (Galatians 5:22-23). Nepali doctor cum medical scientist Rajkumar Dhaugoda (2011) defines health in a different way and argues on not accepting the old and traditional definitions. He defines health as the relative dynamically balanced state of optimum level of dialectic materialistic thought and practice in relation to idealistic thought of an individual and relative reciprocal association of intracellular level of anti stress factors in the body of an individual. He argues that health is not complete and permanent. This is a continued dynamic process. Further he claims that health is related to global environment, opposite to disease and related to immunity as a human right, matter of social justice and psycho-social-economical-political mirror. While normally people go to office in day time in India there people take rest due to night. While people work there in day time, in India people take rest at night. American public health expert cum bacteriologist Professor Charles-Edward Amory Winslow ( 1877- 1957) defines community health as science and art of preventing diseases, prolonging life, promoting health and efficiency through organized community, effort for the sanitation of the environment, control of communicable diseases, the education of persons in personal hygiene, the organization of medical and nursing services for early diagnosis and preventive treatment of diseases and the development of the Mahakul 22 social machinery to ensure everyone a standard of living adequate for the maintenance of health, so organizing these benefits as to enable every citizen to realize his birth right of health and longevity. Likewise many authors have given their own opinions about community health. Purpose of the study Evaluating the status of health and work attitudes it is essential to know that how mind plays role over body. What are the factors that affect employees during their work in workplace? Why is spirituality relevant topic here? How does and why does spirituality keep importance in employee work attitudes? Like these many questions grind the minds of many people day to day. Let us fix these questions in our minds and take these as purpose of the study here. So we can proceed ahead with broad visions to know and analyse about this aspect of relevance of spirituality. Literature Review Time influences the act on world. So world rotates around its own axis as well as around sun. World is only the life sustaining planet in our universe. Birth and death both are regulated by time. While a creature does born in this world holds a specific time period in between birth and death. Many American doctors like Doctor Raymond Moody and Carol Bowman have conducted many case studies on near death experience and rebirth among newborn babies, children and persons who remember previous life’s experiences and documented in books as true aspect of natural life cycle. Man is not out of this cycle. Human soul, the conscious energy when enters in to the material body in mother’s womb starts struggling a lot to save his body from injury, diseases and other complications till he does born with it called birth and leaving of the body called death. Inside mother’s womb the health and attitudes of the foetus are regulated by mother. But after birth the baby comes in contact of environment and grows in a society. So, external environment and people around influence him simultaneously. Soul, the spiritual being now with a body called human being tends to forget his spiritual identity and drives him in a material purpose of life. As he thinks himself as a matter of playing, so he suffers a lot and gets pain and sorrows. Due to the bondage of his actions he acquires diseases and injuries in life. The same individual acts as either employee or employer. One employee spends a major part of his life time in workplace. Here his mental health as well as physical health is affected by his performances and influences of his associates. Tensions, depressions, anxiety and many more psychic problems are seen in many employees. However employees working in steel industry, cement factories, fertilizer industry etc. may suffer both physically by diseases and injuries and mentally by mentioned above. It is seen in history that only healthy employees have worked effectively in offices. Directly or indirectly attitudes are dependent on health. Many authors describe attitudes as behaviours of multi-dimensions. A healthy employee expresses healthy behaviours. So working in office becomes smooth with others. The Vishwa Hindu Parishad of America finds in research that about 90% of problems arise in Relevance of Spirituality on Employee Health and Attitudes 23 the workplace are due to improper attitudes. A person with negative and improper attitudes creates situations full of unpleasant affairs. Due to such condition an employee becomes violent, does murmur, remains angry or sad or cause harm to others. We should face these obstacles very calmly. Only healthy attitudes allow us to grow. When we keep our consciousness more aware towards spirituality we get courage to handle such situations very calmly. In this aspect time influences us. Famous English poet William Wordsworth asks, “Is the shadow of the running sand, dial stick or ticking sound of the clock? Is this year, months, centuries? Actually these are all the measures of time but truly not the time. He defines time as the life of soul. He has truly said a big truth as only soul has the consciousness of time. Life on earth is regulated by sun rays which specify the flow of time by morning, evening, midnight and morning. We can assume sun rise and sunset as natural sticks of clock. Basing on this ancient Indians have developed sun watch. Without having a watch we cannot sustain for a while. Even today many of rural people determine time by observing fall of sun rays on water pot or ponds or, rivers and reservoirs. Birds and animals too follow the same process. Always we should perform our actions in soul consciousness. We are the controller of our bodies and the planet. Time is the regulator of us and always we should walk with time as it does not wait for anybody. Importance of the study Various factors affect the health and attitudes of employees. Many suffer in the workplace. Increasing rate of stress, depression, hypertension and many other mental and physical health complications are seen among them now-a-days. Such conditions affect not only their working mood but also productivity. Employees in metros even do not get proper time to take their food. It is seen that some take food horribly and some take food in running condition. In many offices of busy and developed countries employees take their food in front of computers while working. Grasping such nutrition too affects the mental state of an employee. We are more than a body. So our nutrition not only feeds the body but also feeds the soul through its secret energy. Thus it affects the attitudes of them. There is influence of changing climate on human civilizations. Food grains are dependent on weather. The energy they store is brought up during the process of photosynthesis of plants. Sun rays play major role while chlorophyll molecules start food processing for both plants and animals. So climate influences the process. In the Gita God says, “Food grains are the fundamental life sustaining energy for creatures. They sustain while cloud gives water. Cloud is formed from oblation performed. Oblation is again related to human activities in nature and their duties. Thus it forms a cycle. Because food grains are the products of various types of crops which require rain water to grow and rain water falls down from cloud. Further proper food materials are the resources and sources of energy for unique health. Without them the civilizations cannot exist. So the study requires understanding of life, body and relationship of nature and climate with them. Attitudes are directly proportional to the mental or physical status of Mahakul 24 health. As we are conscious spiritual being it is necessary to study about the role of spirituality on health and attitudes. Relationship of mind, body, nature and climate Eternal self luminous conscious energy is soul. Soul is having three units like mind, intellect and impressions. Mind drives the body and thought process. Intellect decides and gives judgement about any action or reaction. Impressions are the memories of past experiences which a soul carries life after life during birth. New impressions are acquired throughout a life time. Soul is the driver of the body. Body is made of skeleton, cells and tissues. Mainly it is the mass of carbohydrates, fats, proteins, vitamins, minerals, cavities and water with some other biological ingredients which have come from the nature. Nature is made of lakes, streams, rivers, lands, sky, plants, animals and mountains etc. Climate changes and brings seasons on earth normally. But abnormal change of climate adversely affects the human life bringing hurricane, flood, earthquake etc. Climate again forces nature to adjust with it. Body is made of nature now forcefully accepts the change. Soul; the driver now suffers a lot. It affects health as well as attitudes. Understanding of components of health and attitudes from the Vedic Verse Subham (Auspicious):- Mainly favourable thoughts of mind which are invisible and favourable or conductive actions which are visible in eyes are coming under the term auspicious. Employees say favourable when they get information of getting increased salary. Organizations say favourable when they get information about their employees are ready to work mindfully and in unity. Mainly positive thoughts favour all a lot. Thoughts are created in mind. Employees set their minds according to their respective thoughts. Karoti kalyaanam (Does welfare):- An auspicious thought only form mind’s action as per the judgement of intellect towards, health, fortune of him or of group or society and societal reformation for well being of the self and all. This is nothing but welfare. So a person becomes statuary producer, gives social efforts to design and promote both physical and material well being of people. In organizations employees do welfare of both organization and common people by their productivity. Aarogyam (Cure):- Curing from mental illness and physical illness depends on the status of mind and trust. During physical illness although we take medicine to recover without positive thoughts and support of social welfare we remain mentally weak. But auspicious thought does welfare as well as recovers from illness. So we attain good health. Dhana Sampada (Abundance of Wealth):- Acquiring or having large quantity of wealth depends on employee’s labour and performance. But only a healthy employee with positive thoughts can gain wealth gradually by hard works in a true and righteous way. So after auspicious thought, welfare and good health, wealth comes automatically with performing the duties properly. Relevance of Spirituality on Employee Health and Attitudes 25 Shatru-budhhi-Vinaashaaya (Destroyer of intellect of enemy):- Nobody likes enemy in life to bring obstacles in the way. Positive thoughts sharpen the intellect and mind. So judgement comes properly and decision making under risk and uncertainty becomes smooth and valuable. People having positive thoughts, welfare and good health become wealthy and wise. They use their wealth in gaining knowledge and social welfare as well as for the development of the self. So intellect of enemy and bad visions of others do not fall on them. If at all these fall, they easily break. Dipa-Jyotir (of the Lamp):- We do the glory of the lamp. In true sense we do the glory of body with soul due to having auspicious moments, welfare, good health and not having for enemy. So we offer our prayer in the form of a lamp with light to have always positive attitudes. Light represents the luminous capacity of soul, which is bright eternal entity. Nomostute (Obediently honour):- As we get all these things on spiritual awakening we obediently honour the life giving energy in the form of light. While attitudes develop up to a successful state, a soul understands the flow of spirituality on him and becomes calm and quiet in his workplace. As the thread of the lamp burns, becomes ash but shows light to others by sacrificing a lot, so we honour a lot. Results and Discussion Attitudes are expressed as behaviours. These are very much mental in nature as they silently form in mind before action. These are based on the thoughts generated either by positive or negative vibrations. Positive vibrations form positive attitudes. Mental illness is dependent on negative attitudes. Physical injuries also bring sorrows and pain in life that affect mentality of employees and make them week. It hampers productivity as well employee performance inside organization. Human soul is spiritual in nature. Knowingly or unknowingly a soul does search for supernatural happiness. Nobody likes pain and sorrows in life. But these things we cannot avoid in our life time. Due to the temptation of environment people receive many types of situations in daily life which make them puzzle. Their personal attitudes and attitudes acquired or received from others as influential factors put them in complicated condition. But spirituality releases their bondages by speaking about the truth of life. So after knowing this they do not become worried or anxious about pressures they get in workplace rather they work with pleasure always with positive attitudes and remain healthy. Conclusion It is truly said that health is wealth. Employees with better health perform well. After knowing the role of spirituality they become more aware about their consciousness and do awake conscience. Due to this their personality traits become more valuable. Their attitudes become positive and they become able to take instant decisions during risk and uncertainty in the workplace. They maintain unity and Mahakul 26 integrity during work period instead of diversity. The performance of employees becomes excellent and productive. After having this study now let us define, “spiritual health as the essence of invisible feeling of Almighty’s commitment in each and every moment of life, through which we can walk on righteousness to attain peace, love and prosperity with respect to climate justice for community in soul consciousness to attain excellence, mental and physical development and rights with self realization and realization of supreme authority for transformation.” Now let us define spiritual attitude as a product of spiritual health which is expressed in the workplace as a favourable, worthy, peaceful and pleasant aspect of life. References Andrews, Ross L. “(a) In God in nature alone. (b) Wild Peace ( All Spirit) Available at http:/ /www.allspirit.co.uk/ross-I-andrews.html Chopra, Deepak. “The Seven Spiritual of success: A pocket Guide to fulfilling your dreams.” (Faber, December 2008.) PP 55-97 ISBN 8189988043 Dension, Dr. Jim. “Is God green? Climate change and the scriptures.” Available at http:// www.godissues.org/pdf/Climate_change_and_the_Scriptures.pdf Dhaugoda, Rajkumar. Dr. Rajkumar Dhaugoda. “Latest new definition of Health.”(Slide share, June 22, 2011.) Available at http://www.slideshare.net/princerkd/scientific-latest-new- definition-of-healthdrrajkumar-dhaugoda#btnNext Frost,Robert.”A Prayer in Spring.”Available at http://www.allspirit.co.uk/frostsprinh.html Jewell, Albert, “Nourishing the inner being: A spirituality model.” From the book of Albert Jewell (Editor). “Aging, Spirituality and Wellbeing.” (London, Jessica Kingsley Pub- lishers ltd. 2004) Kapoor, Gopika. “Spiritual relationship: from the first day to D-day.” (Hay House India, August 2013) pp 217-231. ISBN 978-9381431856 Karren, Keith J. Smeeth, Lee. Gordon, Kathryn J. Frandsen, Kathryn J. “Mind-Body, Health:The effects of Attitudes,Emotions, and relationship.” (Benjamin Cummings, 5th edition, 2013) pp 55-67, 417-511. ISBN 0321883454 Kriyananda, Swami. “Conversation with Yogananda.” (Ananda Sangha, January 2012) ISBN 8189430505 Lama, Dalai. “My Spiritual Autobiography.” (Rider ,2012) pp15-27 McCartthy, D.D. & P.K. Seidelman, P.K. “TIME: From Earth Rotation to Atomic Physics.” (Weinheim: Wiley-VCH. 2009). pp.88–89 Moody, Raymond. “Life after Life.” (Harper Collins, 2011) pp 13-91. ISBN 006196798X Myss, Caroline. “Anatomy of the Spirit: The seven stages of power and healing.”(Harmony, 1st Edition, 1997) pp 291-299. ISBN 0609800140 NACCHO’s constitution, ( 9 March 2006) definition of Health, available at http:// www.naccho.org.au/aboriginal-health/definitions/ Nirmala. “Living from the heart.” Available at http://endless-satsang.com/ Prochaska, James O. Norcross, John. DiClementa, Carlo. “Changing for good: Arevolutionary six stage program for overcoming bad habits and moving your life positively for- ward.” (William Marrow, Reprint edition, April 2007)pp 87-167. ISBN 978- 0380725724 Saraswati, Swami Dayananda. “Prayers.” (Vishwa Hindu Parishad of America, 2004) pp 2-8, 15-17, 29-31 “Spiritual Nutrition: Feeding the body nourishing the spirit.” (The Living Centre-Eco Spiri- tual EducationSanctury.) Available at www.thelivingcentre.com/cms/spirit/spiritual- nutrition-feeding-the-body-nourishing-the-spirit Relevance of Spirituality on Employee Health and Attitudes 27 Stevens, Wallace. “The House was Quiet and the world was calm.” (All spirit) Available at http://www.allspirit.co.uk/calm.html Thomas Nelson. “The Holy Bible: 1611 edition-King James Version.” ( Thomas Nelson, June 1,1982) ISBN 0840700415 Thoreau, Henry David. “(a). the Inward Morning. (b)The summer Rain. (c) Friendship. ( All Spirit) Available at http://www.allspirit.co.uk/thoerau.html Tolle, Eckhart. “The Power of now: A guide to Spiritual Enlightenment.” (New World Li- brary, 1st Edition, 2004)pp 59-81 ISBN 1577314808 Winslow, Charles-Edward Amory. Williamson, Pauline Brooks. “The laws of health and how to teach them.” (Charles E Merrill Company, 1926) Wordsworth, William. “I wandered Lonely as a cloud.”Available at http://www.allspirit.co.uk/ wordsworth.html World Health Organization, “WHO definition of health.” WHO,7. 9. 1948 Available at http:/ /www.who.int/about/definition/en/print.html. 
work_sopm7qdrlrbkjftfecuf3olduy	----	Schwartz.PM Teaching Environmental History: Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present Robert M. Schwartz Mount Holyoke College THE ECOLOGIST’S WEB OF LIFE serves as the guiding principle for teaching and learning in my course on environmental history.1 Hence, our main task is to work at figuring out how everything we study is connected. From an imagined center of the web we move outward to explore two main areas of environmental history in the western European past: 1) the varied and shifting conceptions of nature, primarily since the Middle Ages, and 2) environmental change created by human endeavor and new technology. Our example of environmental change is the case of industrializing Britain and the impact of railways on the human and physical environments of England and Wales. In pursuing European conceptions of nature we move along two dimensions (Worster 1985; Merchant 1980). The imperialist or mechanistic view regards nature as a system of resources to be managed and exploited for human benefit; standing apart from the natural world, humans can exercise dominion over it. In striking contrast, the organic or holistic conception holds that humans are part of nature, one component of a complex whole. Rather than dominion over nature, organicism reflects a central concern with what today we call ecological balance, a prudent concern to maintain a desirable coexistence among humans, other organisms, and the inorganic components of the environment. The History Teacher Volume 39 Number 3 May 2006 © Robert M. Schwartz 2 Robert M. Schwartz In following both ideas and practice, the course asks students to think historically. Against the idea of history as a chronological sequence of events and dates—an idea students bring to the classroom—I ask stu- dents to learn five elements of good historical thinking. These comprise an understanding of 1) historical change and continuity, 2) the differ- ences in outlook and assumptions held by people in the past as compared to us today, 3) the way the world looked to the people under study, 4) the variety of ways historians approach and interpret the past, and 5) the ways in which the past affects the present (and future). Thus, like the course, the chart that follows attempts to integrate both content and method, joining aspects of past environmental thought and practice with ways of analyzing them historically. In tabular summary, our agenda looks like this: Conceptions of Nature Practice Imperialist / Mechanist Organic Ancient World Western Europe: Renaissance & 16th century 17th Century 18th Century 19th Century 20th Century Legalism of the Qin Empire (221 BC-207 BC) Christian anthropo-centrism: man the lord of all creation Mechanist Natural Philosophy: Galileo, Francis Bacon, Descartes, Hobbes, Newton, Leibniz Enlightenment—the belief in a science of society; French materialists (e.g. Holbach); French Physiocrats; Adam Smith in Britain Victor Frankenstein as scientist; the ethos of industrial capitalism Chinese Confucianism Indian Hinduism Greek holism: Pythagoras, Plato, & Aristotle Neo-Platonism, Vitalism, & Naturalism Christian stewardship—man responsible for the welfare of God’s creation Enlightenment—the secular virtue of compassion toward animals; nature as a source of moral & aesthetic inspiration; Rousseau; the naturalism of French landscape painters Romanticism: Wordsworth; Mary Shelley; Darwin The Nazi religion of nature; the Gaia hypothesis; modern environmentalism Qin Empire under the first emperor, Qin Shi Huangdi Greece Rome Urbanization and early industrialization British industrialization: an extended case study of the effect of new technology on the human and physical environment 3Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 3 Lessons of the Ancient World To begin the journey, we pull on seven league boots to stride across time and space in the Ancient World, the better to understand how to tease out change from continuity—the new from the déjà vu—when we move into early modern Europe. Our guide here is J. Donald Hughes. His provocative book, An Environmental History of the World, provides classical benchmarks in environmental practice and ideas. A member of the declentionist school of environmental history, he tells the recurring story of ecological crisis through the ages. His accounts of ancient cities in Mesopotamia and the Sumerian example of Uruk—now in today’s Iraq—illustrate the rise and fall of urban settlements that drew increas- ingly upon rural hinterlands to support population growth and increased production. In Uruk, the flourishing production of textiles, ceramics, and, later, copper and bronze metallurgy, required great supplies of wood for fuel, leading to deforestation, soil erosion, the salinization of ground water, ecological crisis, and socio-political failure. With variations, this is the pattern Hughes presents for the Nile Valley of ancient Egypt, the cities of Tikal in the Mayan Empire, Xiam in third-century (B.C.) China, classical Athens, and Imperial Rome as well as Renaissance Florence. Against these stories of rise and fall, he describes two notable exceptions: in the Pacific, the prudent Polynesians of Tahiti, Hawaii, and aboriginal New Zealand; and in South America, the successful Incans who managed their land exceptionally well until they were overcome by Spanish invad- ers led by Francisco Pizzaro (1476-1541). Here were two societies that maintained for long periods a balance between population and natural resources. If antiquity provides ample cautionary tales, it nevertheless created a set of philosophical and ethical ideas that formed real and potential cultural constraints against the degradation of nature. In Hinduism for example, Hughes notes, that the belief in the “oneness” of nature and humanity, the reverence for cows and other animals, and the unequal access to resources embedded in the caste system, all served to encourage conservation (Hughes, 53-55). Against the imperial legalism of the Qin emperor, and the consequent over-exploitation of natural resources to expand imperial power, stood the sturdy ethics of Confucian tradition espousing conservation and harmony between humans and nature (68- 73). In classical Greece, even though ecological stress and failure oc- curred, Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle referred to “oneness” in describ- ing the cosmos as an organic whole, a largely living system in which humans and animals were both a part (54-55). 4 Robert M. Schwartz Continuity and Change in Early Modern Europe Equipped with this background, we leap into early modern Europe and work our way forward deliberately, examining a succession of historical moments in environmental thought and practice. In Carolyn Merchant’s treatment of organic thinking in the Renaissance, students encounter an intellectual world at once strange and familiar. Strange are Pico della Mirandola’s notions of “world soul,” “world spirit,” and “world matter,” Paracelsus’s animistic unity of vital spirit and matter, and Giambattista della Porta’s belief that the whole world is a living creature of male and female essences that unite by reason of their natural love. Familiar is the underlying theme of organic unity, the shared inheritance of the ancient, organic cosmologies of Hinduism, Confucianism, and the Greek thought of Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle. Examining the strange and the familiar in Renaissance organicism takes us to the heart of the matter for historians, the study of historical change and continuity. Two books inform our investigation: Carolyn Merchant’s Death of Nature and Keith Thomas’s Man and Natural World (1983). In her provocative work, Merchant argues that organic views of nature—in full bloom during the late Middle Ages and Renais- sance—were displaced in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries by two potent forces: the rise of capitalism and modern, mechanistic science. As the tools and empowering beliefs of the new science were married to the profit motive of emerging capitalism, the result was a stronger will and greater capacity to exploit natural resources to a degree never seen before. Looking back from today, Merchant sees this not as a moment of great human creativity but as a turning point with tragic consequences,which we see today in ubiquitous environmental crisis. Although many students are surprised by the argument, they are—as Merchant intended—challenged by her socialist-feminist approach and find her interpretation of Francis Bacon, Descartes, Hobbes, Newton, and Leibniz—five mechanistic thinkers—to be rather compelling or at least intriguing. Class discussions heat up. Differing Historical Interpretations Assessing arguments and making interpretations, staple delights of intellectual life, are discomforting novelties for many undergraduates. To help them along, we next study Keith Thomas’s Man and Natural World. Having found The Death of Nature rather persuasive, students need another perspective on change in early modern Europe to recognize the critical importance of evidence and interpretation in historical thinking 5Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 5 and writing. Thomas serves well as tutor and exemplar, for his interpreta- tion of environmental thinking could scarcely be more different than Merchant’s. In reading his book, students feel the ground shifting under foot as the historical world takes on very different features. It was during the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, he argues, that human feelings of superiority over the natural world reached a peak and then diminished in the two centuries that followed—the reverse of what Merchant described. From Elizabethan pulpits and religious tracts the belief resounded that God, having placed humans at the top of the chain of being, had made the natural world for human use. In sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, such beliefs were reflected in everyday practices deemed normal: the indifferent and cruel treatment of animals. That this historic belief and practice offend our sensibilities is a measure of the cultural distance our civilization has traveled since then. The past in many respects, is a foreign country. Then Thomas leads us forward in time, recounting a more comforting story of improvement and progress. A first step in that direction came in the late seventeenth century when theologians and writers reinterpreted Biblical texts to construct and preach the principle of Christian steward- ship. Just as God put humans at the summit of this earthly world, so He charged mankind with caring for all His creation, as the good shepherd cares for his flock. Cruelty to animals was therefore sinful. By the mid-eighteenth-century, a new secular ethic formed from Benthamite utilitarianism, and the ideal of human compassion extended moral status to animals and carried its adherents into the realm of modern sensibility. Troubled by the grim aspects of urbanization, writers and readers found renewed pleasure and solace in the natural world of open countryside, craggy waterfalls, and charming meadows. At the same time, the middle classes were drawn to embracing the secular sentiment of compassion as the essence of virtue. They also absorbed the utilitarian principle that reducing pain in the world was their utmost moral obliga- tion. It followed that animals, clearly sensate beings and not just insen- sible brutes, ought to be treated humanely. Although not without restraint or dilemma, Thomas concludes that progress was underway as this modern sensibility toward animals and nature emerged. Assessing Merchant and Thomas A paper assignment comes next. This requires a comparative assess- ment of Merchant and Thomas, so it gets students thinking hard about argument, evidence, and evaluation. To help them prepare I suggest they consider two alternatives: “retrospective” and “prospective” historical 6 Robert M. Schwartz thinking. Merchant’s Death of Nature is retrospective in this sense: she is centrally concerned with finding and recounting the origins of our con- temporary environmental crisis. Looking back, she sets out to discover when and how our current troubles began. Thomas, too, has his eye on the present as he leads us to see how and when the sensibility underlying modern environmentalism came into being. But if both authors are in some ways concerned with “origins,” how do they differ? To arrive at an answer, I describe “prospective” historical thinking. The task is to imag- ine how the world appeared to the people of the European past whom we are studying. How did the natural world look to Galileo (1564 -1642), Francis Bacon (1561-1626), or Descartes (1596-1650)? One hundred fifty years later, how did it appear to a middle-class observer who was exploring the wildlife in the English county of Kent? However much my philosopher colleagues may shudder at what they regard as an epistemo- logical fantasy, such questions are the stock-in-trade of good historians. Empathy focuses the imagination and helps energize and extend imagina- tion and moral sensibilities to people and places beyond our own immedi- ate experience. To reach a prospective understanding of the past requires imagination and practice. We have to try to walk a mile in the shoes of Paracelsus, Francis Bacon, René Descartes, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, or Mary Shelley—to name a few. With my preferences now out in the open, I hasten to remind students that retrospective historical thinking is useful as well. An interest in discovering how the present came about helps historians frame good questions. What historical developments did contribute to current envi- ronmental problems and thinking? Similarly, the framing of historical questions in the light of current theory is another way of opening the past to fruitful investigation. With Merchant, the blending of a socialist- feminist theoretical stance with a concern to get at the root cause of environmental degradation makes for stimulating reading to be sure. It is an account of the coincident emergence of capitalist exploitation of natural resources and the strengthened belief in the human capacity to understand and control nature. Because any approach has its pitfalls, the challenge—I continue—is to recognize and weigh each one that we encounter. Retrospective accounts, for example, carry the risk of making anachronistic judgments and, more generally, of reading the present into the past. Consider the case of Francis Bacon, the greater promoter of inductive science. Merchant’s portrait of him is severe. Singling him out for harsh treatment, she finds in his writings language that nowadays bespeaks “anti-feminist” assump- tions and attitudes. In making his case for the new science he drew on the traditional association of nature as female and argued by analogy that just 7Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 7 as it was necessary to bring disorderly women under control during a turbulent time, so it was important to harness the forces of nature. Like women, nature hid her secrets; like men, according to Bacon, science could penetrate the hidden secrets and achieve dominion over nature. In response to this feminist reading, what else could one say? Bacon, after all, was a promoter; he wrote to persuade. What came to mind when he sat down to write? Who was he writing for? Of what did he want to convince them? In England around 1600, what did important people think of natural philosophy—that is, what we call science? Did Bacon believe that natural philosophers received the respect and rewards worthy of their learning and talent? Consider one of Bacon’s contemporaries, the poet John Donne (1572- 1631). What can we make of these lines in his poem of 1611-12, An Anatomie of the World: The First Anniversary?2 This man, so great, that all that is, is his. Oh what a trifle, and poor thing he is. … And the new Philosophy calls all in doubt, The Element of fire is quite put out; The Sun is lost, and th’earth, and no man’s wit Can well direct him where to look for it. And freely men confess that this world’s spent, When in the Planets, and the Firmament They seek so many new; they see that this Is crumbled out again to his Atomies. ’Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone; All just supply, and all Relation. Donne, it seems, was not so easily persuaded by Bacon or anyone else that the “new Philosophy” was beneficial for mankind—far from it. Donne, moreover, was not a lone poetic voice rhyming in the wilderness. Among the educated classes, some shared his metaphysical angst while others regarded Copernican cosmology and the new philosophy skepti- cally. Others were simply indifferent. In the first decade of the seven- teenth century, Bacon and others of like mind were few and far between. As for those belonging to the Establishment of the day, religion and politics mattered, not science. Theologians, men of the cloth, and men of law numbered among the worthy; “scribblers” like Bacon did not. As Roslynn Haynes reminds us, Bacon took up the pen to persuade the Establishment that their hostility or indifference to science was mistaken. (Haynes 1994). To meet this rhetorical challenge, Bacon chose language and flourishes to win over his intended readers. To be persuasive, he appealed both to their patriarchal prejudices and to their desire to appear 8 Robert M. Schwartz as the patrons of society’s improvement. Attracting patrons for science, and prestige for its practitioners, were Bacon’s conscious aims. By placing Bacon in historical context, this alternate view brings us back to a prospective understanding of the past, the attempt to understand the thoughts and deeds of past men and women in terms of their assump- tions, beliefs, and outlooks—not ours. With that in mind, we can ask whether and how well historians communicate an empathetic apprecia- tion of the past. How well do they convey what was different or distinc- tive about the past? What point of view do they bring to the proceedings? Several examples must suffice to make the point. The first one returns us to Keith Thomas and his discussion of Elizabethan England. Recoiling from the descriptions of animal cruelty and their religious justifications, students may be tempted to see further evidence of our superiority over a benighted past. But wait a minute, I say. Given the violence of two world wars and genocides in addition, how can we be so smug or confident? Imagine a time when animals were thought to feel no pain. No less than the great philosopher, René Descartes, held that animals were soulless brutes lacking sensate feelings. As my promptings proceed, our prospective appreciation of difference and change continues. Having followed the transition from Christian stew- ardship to the emergence after 1740 of secular humanism, the granting of moral status to animals, and the utilitarian injunction to reduce their suffering in the world in England, we shift to France. In Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712- 1778), students discover someone more interesting than the author of the Social Contract, a work some have endured but not enjoyed. In excerpts from the New Héloise (1761) and The Reveries of the Solitary Walker (1776- 78, pub. 1782), they discover a different Rousseau: the eloquent advocate for Nature, the botanist and solitary hiker who found inner peace and creative ideas in reveries inspired by gazing at clouds passing in the blue sky overhead. With Rousseau and the Enlightenment, we discuss the elevation of Nature and “the natural” to the lofty position of moral standard and guiding inspiration. We make connections between the organic cosmologies of the Renaissance and Rousseau’s eighteenth-century ideal of harmony between man and nature. Undermined by corrupt institutions and narrowly rationalist science, that harmony, he argued, could nonetheless be restored when reason and naturally good sentiments worked in tandem, the head and the heart. To see how a Rousseauian revaluation of nature was expressed in other ways and by other people of the era, we read parts of D. G. Charleton’s New Images of Nature in France (1984). To engage his argument about the growing “naturalism” evident in French landscape painting, I present slides ranging from Nicolas Poussin (Et in Arcadia Ego, c 1640) to Hubert Robert (Waterfall Near Roncilione, c. 1780). This 9Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 9 helps bring Charlton’s argument alive and introduces the use of visual images as historical documents in our study of environmental thinking and practice. The gardens at the Palace of Versailles reinforces the point about the growing embrace of natural landscapes by comparing the geometric regularity of its seventeenth-century esplanades and fountains with the constructed “natural” beauty of the late eighteenth-century “hamlet,” with its pond, cottage, wild flowers, and random planting: an up-to-date Arcadia for a royal shepherdess and her attendants. At the end of my lecture, a few works by the English landscape painter, John Constable (1776-1837), illustrate how the “natural” harmony of well constructed landscapes was reaching a new intensity in England as well. [See <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/pastoral/pastoral. html> and <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist151f05/lec- tures/Lecture6_Enlightenment.htm>.] In the eighteenth century, mechanism had its strong advocates as well. Inspired by the scientific achievements of Newton, confidence in establish- ing a science of society and discovering social laws was in ascendance. In France, for example, the Physiocrats proposed laws governing agrarian development. In Scotland, Adam Smith (1723-1790) expressed a similar vision of social science but articulated a different theory of economic development in his Wealth of Nations (1776). Underneath the chaotic inter- play of everyday activity was the natural regularity of human passions and interests, an invisible hand that generated wealth and public good through competition and the division of labor—provided that constraints on natural interests by governmental control were removed. In short, laissez-faire capitalism was the natural route to national wealth. Beauty, thought Smith, resided in the underlying order of economic laws.3 Romantic writers and poets disagreed. As Rousseau before them, they saw in nature not resources to be exploited by selfish human interests but aesthetic beauty and a much needed source of moral inspiration. To see this, we discuss Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey” and, time permitting, selections from Dorothy Wordsworth’s Grasmere Journal. In comparing Smith to the Wordsworths, I take the devil’s advocate position, typically defending hard-headed Smith against the sentimental Wordsworths. Mechanism versus Romantic Organicism in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein Lest male viewpoints dominate, we turn next to Mary Shelley’s great novel to witness the struggle between scientific hubris and nature’s moral guidance. By this point students are well prepared to read Shelley with fresh eyes, for they have become familiar with some of the intellectual 10 Robert M. Schwartz landmarks that Mary Shelley inserted into Frankenstein. The alchemical quest of Cornelius Agrippa (1486-1535) that so preoccupied Victor Frankenstein can be recalled from Merchant’s discussion of Renaissance alchemy, natural magic, and Paracelsus. As we read the novel, students note echoes from other previous readings as well. New and interesting for them is the struggle in Victor’s mind and heart between Bacon and Rousseau, between Promethean science and the harmony of humanity and nature that Rousseau eloquently espoused. Evident, too, is the new fascination of Shelley’s generation with wild nature and the sublime. Previously encountered in Charlton’s chapter 3 on “Wild Sublimity,” these sentiments were powerfully expressed in Shelley’s descriptions of glorious mountains and storms in the Alps. Victor’s tragic experiment vindicates the visions of Rousseau and Wordsworth. By separating him- self from the pleasures and virtuous feelings bestowed by verdant fields, spring flowers, and “the charms of nature,” Victor loses his moral bal- ance, forgets family and friends, and passes into the darkness of single- minded ambition and hubris. Only later does Victor realize his terrible error. The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in one pursuit. It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields bestow a more plentiful harvest or the vines yield a more luxuriant vintage, but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature. And the same feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also to forget those friends who were so many miles absent…but I could not tear my thoughts from my employment, loathsome in itself, but which had taken an irresistible hold of my imagination. I wished, as it were, to procrastinate all that related to my feelings of affection until the great object, which swallowed up every habit of my nature, should be completed. (Shelley 1818, 42) Environmental Change: Industrialization, Railways, and Landscape in Victorian Britain In part two of the course we go from the sublime valleys and moun- tains of Switzerland, we move to Britain to study industrialization, the rise of the steam-powered railway system, and their impact on the physi- cal and human environment. In shifting subjects, we continue to follow the contest between mechanistic and organic views of nature, finding the continuing debate in the advocates and critics of capitalist industrializa- tion. In The Philosophy of Manufactures (1835), Andrew Ure celebrated the progress he saw in industrializing Lancashire, suggesting how work- 11Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 11 ing people—not just factory owners—were benefiting from the great changes underway. Steam-engines furnish the means not only of their support but of their multiplication. They create a vast demand for fuel; and, while they lend their powerful arms to drain the pits and to raise the coals, they call into employment multitudes of miners, engineers, ship-builders, and sailors, and cause the construction of canals and railways: and, while they enable these rich fields of industry to be cultivated to the utmost, they leave thousands of fine arable fields free for the production of food to man, which must have been otherwise allotted to the food of horses…. Lancashire is the fertile and well-laboured soil in which the seed of factory knowledge will bring forth fruit one hundred fold….4 Traveling to see industrializing Manchester for himself, Alexis de Tocqueville captured with his typical astuteness the contrast of new wealth and technical advance with poverty and environmental degrada- tion. (See note 4.) “A sort of black smoke covers the city. The sun seen through it is a disc without rays. Walking the streets he hears the “the crunching wheels of machinery, the shriek of steam from boilers, the regular beat of the looms, the heavy rumble of carts, those are the noises from which you can never escape in the somber half-light of these streets, He also hears “the gay shouts of people amusing themselves, or music heralding a holiday.” All in all, the contradictions amazed him: From this foul drain the greatest stream of human industry flows out to fertilize the whole world. From this filthy sewer pure gold flows. Here humanity attains its most complete development and its most brutish; here civilization makes its miracles, and civilized man is turned back almost into a savage. Ure’s picture of progress and Tocqueville’s evocation of awe and ambivalence found visual expression in J. M. W. Turner’s 1844 painting Rain, Steam, and Speed: The Great Western Railway [http://www.j-m-w- turner.co.uk/artist/turner-rain-steam.htm]. The juxtaposition of the loco- motive rushing toward the viewer in a haze of speed and mist, with a sail boat motionless in the river below, communicates the fascination and unease that the early railway age inspired. Turner’s painting anticipated the iconic status that the locomotive and railway achieved as the symbols of the machine age, the engines of progress, and anxiety. This ambivalence waned as the decades move on. As railways became a nearly ubiquitous feature in the everyday landscape, the fascination with the power of steam-driven trains spread. Claude Monet’s 1877 painting of the St. Lazare railway station in Paris (“Gare St. Lazare”) 12 Robert M. Schwartz serves as a notable artistic example that pays homage to the steam locomotive. More broadly, lesser known prints and paintings of railways and industrial landscapes prove equally revealing when we put good questions to these historical sources. What can we say about an artist’s intended meaning? About the assumptions revealed in the images and composition? What objects are included in this painting? Which are in the foreground; which, in the background? What did the foregrounding intend to convey? What about color? What about the smoke rising from Monet’s locomotives? Or from those factory chimneys? And so it goes as we work toward prospective understandings and check the anachronistic assumption that any industrial smoke was regarded in the past as pollu- tion. In many images, we learn that smoke signified power and progress, not soot and pollution. [See http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/ ind_rev/images/images-ind-era.html] From cultural history we move to historical social science. To connect ideas with environmental practice we take up tools of the historical geographer to explore change over time and space. Our principle tool is Geographic Information Systems, which combines computer-assisted cartography, geo-referenced data, and spatial analysis. Here I introduce the basics of GIS to students with no previous experience with the technology. In weekly labs they acquire and sharpen their GIS skills in exercises that lead to a major paper. In addition to analytical mapping, preparation for the paper assign- ment comes from lectures and readings. For the environmental effects of British industrialization, we read James Winter’s stimulating account, Secure from Rash Assault: Sustaining the Victorian Environment (1999). Winter asks that we re-think the belief that industrialization was an unrelieved assault on the human and physical environment. Looking back from the vast ecological changes of the twentieth century, he argues that the scale of environmental damage was more limited and more modest than is generally thought. His chapters on the sustenance of agriculture and forest are convincing; those on railway construction, mining, and the ecological demands of mushrooming cities raise ques- tions about his general argument, making the book an excellent choice for teaching. As for railways, Wolfgang Schivelbusch’s The Railway Journey (1980) is an excellent point of departure. In contrast to the retrospective argument by Winter, Schivelbusch proceeds prospectively, helping us to grasp the changing perceptions and experiences of contem- poraries encountering the new world of railway travel and railway speed. In addition, we learn how cityscapes were reshaped to accommodate railway stations and train tracks. The reshaping of Paris is the paradig- matic example. Other works in historical geography and railway history, 13Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 13 together with primary sources ranging from worker autobiographies to data from the decennial census reports, complete the reading (see Refer- ences and Bibliography). Railways dominated the cultural and social landscape of Victorian Britain. They hastened the geographic restructuring of industrial and agrarian production, stimulated new forms of commerce and consump- tion, and accelerated cultural change. Rapid rail transport served to shrink space, connect remote areas to a central network, and extend the reach and speed of postal service, newspapers, and communications generally. It also marked the landscapes of country and town through the construction of rail lines and stations. In very different architectural styles, the great London stations of King’s Cross and St. Pancreas cel- ebrated the railway revolution. They also reorganized city space by pushing aside vast sections of poor neighborhoods, creating in and around them new hotels and shopping districts, and restructuring horse-drawn and tramway traffic to get increasing numbers of travelers to and from their rail platforms. In the early years of the railway era, contemporaries were awestruck by the experience of speeding through the landscape at twentyfive miles per hours, two or three times faster than the swiftest horse drawn coach. Writing of his first train journey in 1830, the Reverend Edward Stanley recalled the elation he and his companions felt. No words can convey an adequate notion of the magnificence ( cannot use a smaller word ) of our progress. At first it was comparatively slow; but soon we felt that we were GOING, and then it was that every person to whom the conveyance was new, must have been sensible that the adapta- tion of locomotive power was establishing a fresh era in the state of society…. The most intense curiosity and excitement prevailed…and…enormous masses of densely packed people lined the road, shouting and waving hats and handkerchiefs as we flew by them. What with the sight and sound of these cheering multitudes and the tremendous velocity with which we were borne past them, my spirits rose to true champagne height. [http:// www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/ind_rev/voices/stanley.html, from Blackwoods Magazine, November 1830] As the years passed and the rail system spread rapidly across the land- scape, many Victorians saw in the railroad the reflected image of the technical and moral progress they so cherished. Samuel Smiles is a notable example. A self-educated man, his many books celebrated the feats of civil and mechanical engineers, and the Victorian virtues their 14 Robert M. Schwartz stories embodied. Writing in 1859, he described the railway locomotive, one of their great feats, as nothing less than a moral force for good. The iron rail proved a magicians’ road. The locomotive gave a new celerity to time. It virtually reduced England to a sixth of its size. It brought the country nearer to the town and the town to the country…. It energized punctuality, discipline, and attention; and proved a moral teacher by the influence of example. (Smiles 1859, 78.) Not everyone shared such sentiments. Others thought some of the changes ushered in by the iron roads and soot-belching locomotives to be menacing. One troubled voice belonged to the great poet, William Wordsworth (1780-1850), who marshaled verse to protect nature. A year after being named Poet Laureate of England, he campaigned to stop the opening of a rail line from Kendall to Windermere, at the heart his beloved Lakes District. Dreading the inevitable influx of careless tourists and locomotive noise and soot, he denounced the scheme in a sonnet published in London’s The Morning Post, on October 16, 1844. Is then no nook of English ground secure From rash assault? Schemes of retirement sown In youth, and ’mid the busy world kept pure As when their earliest flowers of hope were blown, Must perish;—how can they this blight endure? And must he too the ruthless change bemoan Who scorns a false utilitarian lure ‘Mid his paternal fields at random thrown? Baffle the threat, bright Scene, from Orresthead Given to the pausing traveler’s rapturous glance: Plead for thy peace, thou beautiful romance Of nature; and, if human hearts be dead, Speak, passing winds; ye torrents, with your strong And constant voice, protest against the wrong. 5 As with the coming of the industrial age generally, so with the railway, Victorians reacted strongly to the transformation of their society and environment as it took place around them. But no matter how elegant the protest, the growth of the rail system only quickened its pace. The locomotive, powered by capitalism and skilled engineering, proved virtu- ally unstoppable. Bacon would have cheered. Taking up the cudgels where Wordsworth left off, John Ruskin (1819- 1900) denounced the onslaught of rail construction in the countryside. The new railways “slashed like a knife though the delicate tissues of a settled rural civilization. They left their scars on park and copse; they 15Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 15 raised high walls of earth across the meadows….Your railroad mounds, vaster than the walls of Babylon, they brutally amputated every hill on their way” (Cited in Barnum 1950, 25). One likely object of Ruskin’s jeremiad was the London to Birmingham rail line. Completed in 1837-38 by the engineer Robert Stephenson, it carved its way through some one- hundred miles of valleys and hills, pushing aside untold tons of earth here, tunneling there, and raising huge embankments elsewhere—in all, creating the scars on park and copse that Ruskin so deplored. Nonethe- less, the public hailed Stephenson’s achievement as fitting testimony to British engineering genius and “the cutting edge” of railway technology. To make sense of opposing views, those of railway enthusiasts versus those of opponents such as Ruskin, we take a virtual journey to visualize Stephenson’s accomplishment in three dimensions. In the later 1830s locomotives were novel and powerful but only powerful enough to pull a train of wagons across level ground. In Stephenson’s plans for the London to Birmingham line, that meant limiting the average grade to one foot of rise for every three-hundred feet of length. With an army of strong backs, horses, hand tools, and wagons, Stephenson completed excava- tions, embankments, and tunnels of unprecedented scale in order to build a relatively level route through one-hundred miles of valleys and hills. To bring this epic feat alive, I use GIS and a digital terrain model, together with maps, graphs, and contemporary images. Map 1 shows the route of the London to Birmingham line on a three dimensional model of the terrain. The accompanying graph displays a profile of the natural eleva- tions through which the rail bed had to be cut. At Tring, there was a huge cutting, two and one-half miles long and up to forty feet deep; at Wolverhampton, an equally imposing embankment led to a second cut- ting at Blisworth that was one and one-half miles long and up to sixty feet deep. Finally at Kilsby a long tunnel served to flatten out the roadway from Crick to Rugby.6 The illustrator J.C. Bourne recorded these marvels in his Drawings of the London & Birmingham Railway (1838). Published within months of the railway’s opening, and the handsome prints in this book attests to the popular enthusiasm for what was seen as an heroic achievement. 16 Robert M. Schwartz Im ag e 1 W ol ve rt on E m ba nk m en t on L on do n to B ir m in gh am L in e (J .C . B ou rn e, 1 83 7) 17Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 17 Im ag e 2 C ut ti ng a t B li sw or th o n th e L on do n- B ir m in gh am l in e (J .C . B ou rn e, 1 83 7) 18 Robert M. Schwartz Image 3 The Kilsby Tunnel under Construction, (J.C. Bourne 1837). 19Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 19 By the 1860s and 1870s, as locomotives became more powerful and railway technology improved, rail lines were able to pass through the landscape with a lighter footprint than before. Trains were now able to steam over and through the valleys, up grades that were unachievable in the “heroic age” of rail. Rather than flattening the landscape, railways could now negotiate rugged terrain and pushed further into remote and topographically challenging areas of the country. To show this, I turn to the example of central Wales, where rail construction, absent there until the late 1850s began to conquer some of the hills and mountains of the region as a comparison of Map 2 and Map 3 makes clear. Financed largely to bring wealthy tourists to the seaside resorts on the Welsh coast, the new lines also helped incorporate agrarian regions into the expanding national market and rail network. For the rest of this unit, we shift to a different but related problem, one more readily addressed by students. We ask, where and to what extent railways altered the human landscape in rural England and Wales by facilitating out migration from rural areas? Although it seems reasonable to think that railways would have hastened the rural exodus already underway, I remind my students that a different hypothesis is equally possible, namely that the coming of railways into rural areas stimulated commerce and employment that served to stem the pace of rural out migration. So a first question we investigate is when, where, and to what degree out migration was accelerated or retarded. Next we ask, when, where, and to what degree did rail transport and migration patterns correspond? Students work in small groups focused on different regions of England and Wales using GIS data from my research on the density of rail transport and the level of net migration in small administrative units (census registration districts). After constructing maps showing geo- graphic distributions of relevant data for the 1850s, the 1870s, and the 1890s, they work at detecting patterns, over space and time, of change in rail transport and net migration, asking to what extent patterns coincided or differed. When the research on their regions is near completion, we then com- pare of the work of different groups to highlight regional differences and variations. We also discuss the limits of GIS and the need to qualify points and conclusions. The term “prove” is out of bounds. “Suggests,” “likely indicates,” “plausible estimate,” and the like are the coin of our realm. While the question of railways and migration must be addressed in some way in the papers I require at the end of this unit, the students are encouraged to make the topic their own. Consequently, the topics treated range from the geography of opposition to rail construction, to railways 20 Robert M. Schwartz and tourism (migration into Brighton, Blackpool, etc.), to relationships between railways, mining, and migration, to the gradual invasion of the Lake District by railways and the struggles by Wordsworth, Ruskin, and others to delay and resist it.1 I’ve been very pleased with the results. Some papers are stronger than others, of course, but each has shown an impressive grasp of the GIS methods and the basics of interpreting spatial patterns across time. Papers of very high quality I post on the web so future students can read and learn from them. Returning to Discourse: Darwin, the Nazi Religion of Nature, and Gaia The third unit of the course studies Darwin and the Darwinian legacy in two very different twentieth-century interpretations of nature-society relations: the disturbing use of natural selection in the Nazi religion of nature, and the scientific extension of it within the Gaia hypothesis. Readings on Darwin and Gaia include chapters from Peter Marshall’s history of ecological thought, Nature’s Web, An Exploration of Ecologi- cal Thinking (1992). On Nazi thought, we read chapters from Robert Pois’s National Socialism and the Religion of Nature ( 1986) and Luc Ferry’s critique of deep ecology, The New Ecological Order (1994). We learn that Darwin would not have understood our categories “organic” and “mechanistic,” for he engaged in science without the least thought of the disciplinary identities we possess today. And because he wrote for his fellow scientists, few beyond that small circle understood him at the time, and the cosmological implications that others would assign to his theory scarcely concerned him.2 He shared with the organic/ holistic tradition the belief that humans were indeed one part of nature. Embedded in the web of life, they stood neither above nor apart from nature as Descartes believed, nor near the top of a linear Chain of Being as Plato, Aristotle, and their followers—pagan and Christian alike— believed. In place of linear hierarchy, Darwin proposed the Tree of Life, with successive branches suggesting the organic process of evolution. In contrast to Rousseau, Darwin thought that natural harmony was essen- tially an illusion. Natural selection meant that only the organisms best adapted to their environment survived. Successful adaptation came through competition among organisms that were interdependent. Cooperation meant little except mutual dependence in the competition for existence. A master at induction, Darwin was in that sense an heir of Francis Bacon. In describing the methods that led him slowly and painstakingly to the Origin of Species (1859) and the Descent of Man (1871), the great thinker likened his mind to a machine. “My mind seems to have become a kind of 21Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 21 machine for grinding general laws out of large collections of facts” (Marshall, p. 320). In sum, Darwin used mechanistic thinking to substan- tiate the organic conception of nature: humans were a part of nature, one branch on the Tree of Life. Looking back to Keith Thomas’s Man and Nature, Darwin’s achievement represented the scientific demonstration of what Thomas saw in the eighteenth century: “the dethronement of man” from an unchallenged position at the summit of life. The distorted version of the Darwin’s theory that Adolph Hitler ab- sorbed in anti-Semitic Vienna took its force perhaps from the subtitle of The Origin of Species:…the Preservation of Favored Races in the Struggle for Life. According to Hitler, it was essential to recognize the power of nature over humans and thus the weakness of man, subject as he was to the pitiless force of natural laws in the struggle for existence. In that struggle the most “natural” peoples would survive. In Germany, the leaders of the National Socialist Party, believing they knew the inner truths of science, would replace the false dualisms of modernity—nature and culture, material and spiritual, matter and soul—with the “oneness” of the German people (volk) with nature. Properly led, authentic Germans would recover the unity that previously existed in the bond of the Nordic farmer with his holy soil. Jews, Hitler asserted, stood apart from nature, an unnatural race that threatened the authenticity of the German volk (Pois, chapters 3 and 5). After Hitler came to power, this “reverence” for nature came into political force through the passage of three laws—ones that contemporary ecologists and environmentalists might well applaud if their source were unknown. The first (1933) provided for the protection of animals, the second (1934) severely restricted the right to hunt, and the third (1935) enacted sweeping protection of nature (Ferry, 91). Pois and Ferry argue that the Nazi religion of nature was not an aberration or an anomaly in Western civilization. Rather, it was linked to a long tradition rejecting a linear ladder of being—the hierarchy of the divine/God over man over nature/earth (Pois, 56-58)—in favor of an egalitarian naturalism of the kind espoused by Renaissance thinkers like Paracelsus (1493-1851) and Giordano Bruno (1548-1600). Moreover, it embraced an organic/holistic conception of nature found in pre-modern cosmology and the romantic longing for a harmonious connection with nature—lines of thought that the class had previously studied and that they could be nudged to recall. All this usefully raises perplexing questions for the class. Was the Nazi religion of nature part of a tradition that included Renaissance Naturalism and the reverence for Nature expressed so artfully by Rousseau, Wordsworth, and Mary Shelley? Was it related to the seemingly positive decline of anthropocentric thought after 1740 that Keith Thomas has 22 Robert M. Schwartz described? What did it borrow accurately from Darwin and what did it misrepresent and distort? Was it a harbinger of the contemporary move- ment called “deep ecology”? As we wrestled with these questions, I suggested that drawing a straight line from Rousseau to Hitler would be a mistake, an unexamined over-simplification that makes for bad historical thinking by failing to look rigorously into historical complexity. I re- minded students that Rousseau’s reverence for nature was connected with his defense of popular sovereignty and democracy, whereas obvi- ously Hitler’s had managed to make an apparently similar view of nature legitimize his dictatorial powers as the all-knowing leader/Fuhrer. In short, our look at the Nazi religion of nature served as a good tonic for end-of-term lethargy and : a challenge to re-think the various branches of romantic views of nature. Finally we considered the Gaia hypothesis and other recent ecological arguments, assessing them in historical perspective. This served as an effective review and conclusion for the course. In holding that the whole earth is a living system, the Gaia hypothesis embraces essential elements of the cosmological animism and unity we found in ancient conceptions of nature and their re-statements in the Renaissance. On the other hand, Gaia is decidedly modern. The theory incorporates Darwinian natural selection and ecological science to argue that the earthly system will continue to evolve forms of life best suited to any changing environment. James Lovelock tells us that, in a system of mutual dependence and natural selection, life will continue with or without humans. In this way our theme of change and continuity in the relations of humans and their environments again reemerges to prompt a needed recapitulation of key parts of the course. A final conversation in class recalled the narratives of decline we have studied and sets these worrisome stories against a more hopeful prospect found in Donald Worster’s essay on “The Wealth of Nature” (1993). He brings to mind Merchant’s argument about the death of nature but offers his own account of the mechanism of Adam Smith and the environmental degradation inherent in modern capitalism. Asked to read this some students say “Oh, this is so grim and troubling,” To the rescue, one could say, comes the promising realism in William Cronon’s controversial essay, “The Trouble with Wilderness: or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature” (1996). While he argues that trying to protect nature by conserv- ing “wilderness”—a shifting product of human imagination—is a fool’s errand, he suggests that the earth can be saved by stewarding the environ- ment around us. Re-mediation is a task both real and open to our efforts.. Like Voltaire’s Candide, Cronon’s is a hopeful summons to “cultivate our own garden.” 23Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 23 Conclusion: Looking Forward. In the classroom as on the farm, fruitful cultivation does not mean plowing the same furrows and sewing the same seeds year after year. Experimenting with new varieties, rearranging parcels, and incorporating innovations keeps our garden healthy, and so too should our courses develop fresh and stimulating materials both for students and for our- selves. Although studies in American environmental history continues to out pace those about Europe, there is no shortage of books and articles to be tried in place of those I’ve described. For this purpose, I offer online bibliographies and discussion lists as a convenient helping hand (see References and Bibliography). Next year, a rejuvenation of sorts in my course will come from substituting Carolyn Merchant’s new book, Rein- venting Eden (2004), for her older Death of Nature. This more histori- cally comprehensive account of organic and mechanistic views of nature brings the contest into the present and suggests steps toward a more hopeful ecological future. Two recent studies and my own research will make it possible for me to add to my couarse: one on Germany using David Balckbourn’s declentionist narrative of political hubris and eco- logical failure in Central Europe [The Conquest of Nature: Water, Land- scape and the Making of Modern Germany (2006)], and another on France using Tmara Whited’s intriguing study of state efforts at re- forestation and peasant resistance against it during the late 19th century. The extension of my own research into the environmental effects of railway expansion in France will also allow me to move my introduction to historical GIS across the Channel and eventually develop it for com- parison of Britain and France. Other comparative possibilities beckon from the shores, forests, and Great Plains of North America. Given my own research into railways as agents of environmental change, William Cronon’s Nature’s Metropolis (1991) is especially tempting because it examines the transforming role of railroads in linking Chicago with a vast hinterland of animal and plant resources. Next year we will add Henry David Thoreau , thus adding American’s romantic ecologist to our study of his European predeces- sors—Rousseau, the Wordsworths, Shelley. The recent publication of David Foster’s fine selections from Thoreau’s Journals [Thoreau’s County (1999)] will make available a unparalleled recording of landscape trans- formation in the mid-nineteenth century. And so it goes in this course’s organic evolution, mixing something new with things tried-and-true. 24 Robert M. Schwartz Notes 1. I want to thank the two anonymous reviewers of the manuscript; their helpful suggestions did much to improve the article. 2. From the full poem given at <http://darkwing.uoregon.edu/~rbear/donne1.html>, February 18, 2006. 3. See Adam Smith, “The Principles which lead and direct Philosophical Enqui- ries, illustrated by the history of Astronomy,” c. 1750; “Of the Beauty which the Appearance of Utility bestows upon all the Productions of Art, and of the extensive Influence of this Species of Beauty,” in The Theory of Moral Sentiments, 1759; selections produced in Alasdair Claire, ed., Nature and Industrialization (Oxford: Oxford Univer- sity Press in association with The Open University Press, 1977), pp. 295-300. 4. Excerpts from Ure and from Alexis de Tocqueville’s description of Manchester in his Journey’s to England and Ireland (1835) are taken from the anthology by Alasdair Claire, Ibid., pp. 67-72 and 117-19 respectively. 5. The copy I consulted is kept at the Public Record Office (National Archives of Britain) at Kew in Surrey. 6. Jack Simmons and Gordon. Biddle, The Oxford Companion to British Railway History From 1603 to the 1990s. (Oxford ; New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 135, 426. 7. Examples of student lab reports and research papers can be viewed on the following web sites: <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist256/student_work/ student_abstracts.htm> and <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist256/ essays.html>. 8. I owe these ideas to Stan Rachootin, my colleague in evolutionary biology and a specialist on Darwin. Note on Maps Comparing maps 2 and 3 shows how new rail lines constructed during the period 1855 to 1876 reached into and over the rugged terrain of central Wales. The color-coding of lines to represent the average slope of terrain covered is the same as in Map 3, with blue representing minimal slopes and red, maximum grades. Where possible, railway builders always preferred routes that passed through lowland valleys, but several lines across central Wales climbed into the highlands and usually without the huge excavations that the London-Birmingham line required some two or three decades earlier, thanks to more power locomotives, the use of steel (as opposed to iron) rails, and other technological advances. 25Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 25 Map 1 The London to Birmingham Rail Line (1837-38) 26 Robert M. Schwartz Map 2 Rail Lines in Wales up to 1855 27Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 27 Map 3 Rail Lines Constructed from 1855 to 1876 Pass through the Welsh Highlands 28 Robert M. Schwartz References and Bibliography Barman, Christian A. Early British Railways. Harmondsworth, England: Penguin Books; 1950. Blackbourn, David. The Conquest of Nature: Water, Landscape and the Making of Modern Germany. New York: W.W. Norton, 2006. Bourne, J.C. Drawings of the London & Birmingham Railway. London, 1838. Charlton, D. G. New Images of the Natural in France. A Study in European Cultural History, 175—1800. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Glacken, Clarence, Traces on the Rhodian Shore: Nature and Culture in Western Thought From Ancient Times to the Endo of the Nineteenth Century. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967. Claire, Alasdair, ed. Nature and Industrialization. Oxford: Oxford University Press in association with The Open University Press, 1977. Cronon, William. “The Trouble with Wilderness: or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature.” In William Cronon, ed., Uncommon Ground. Rethinking the Human Place in Nature, pp. 69-90. New York: W.W. Norton, 1996. ____________. Nature’s Metropolis. Chicago and the Great West. New York: W.W. Norton, 1991. Crosby, Alfred W., Ecological Imperialism: The Biological Expansion of Europe, 900- 1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986) Foster, David R. Thoreau’s Country. Journey through a Transformed Landscape. Cam- bridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. Gregory, Ian; Bennett, C., Gilham, V.L. and Southall, H.R. 2002. "The Great Britain Historical GIS Project: From Maps to Changing Human Geography." Cartographic Journal 39, pp. 37-49. Grove, Richard, Green Imperialism: Colonial Expansion, Tropical Island Edens and the Origins of Environmentalism, 1600-1860. Cambridge University Press, 1995. Haynes, R. D. From Faust to Strangelove. Representations of the Scientist in Western Literature. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press; 1994. Hughes, J. Donald. An Environmental History of the World. London & New York: Routledge, 2001. Ferry, Luc. The New Ecological Order. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995. Lawton, Richard, and Pooley, Colin G. Britain, 1740-1950: an Historical Geography. London: Edward Arnold, 1992. Marshall, Peter. Nature’s Web. An Exploration of Ecological Thinking. London and New York: Simon and Schuster, 1992. Merchant, Carolyn. The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology, and the Scientific Revolution. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1980. _____. Reinventing Eden. The Fate of Nature in Western Culture. New York and London: Routledge, 2004. Pois, Robert A. National Socialism and the Religion of Nature. London: Croom Helm; 1986. Pooley, Colin G, and Jean Turnbull. Migration and Mobility in Britain since the Eigh- teenth Century. London: UCL Press, 1998. Schivelbusch, Wolfgang. The Railway Journey. The Industrialization of Time and Space in the 19th Century. Berkeley: The University of California Press, 1986. Schwartz, Robert M. “Railways and Rural Development in England and Wales, 1850- 1914.” In Christian Sorrel, ed., Frontères, contacts, échanges: Hommages à André Palluel. Chambéry : Presses de l’Université de Savoy,: 241-259. (Draft copy available 29Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present 29 at <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/rail/>. Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft. Frankenstein. The 1818 Text, Contexts, Nineteenth-Cen- tury Responses, and Modern criticism. Edited by J. Paul Hunter. New York: W.W. Norton, Critical Editions, 1996. Jack Simmons, The Railway in Town and Country, 1830-1914. London: David and Charles, 1986. Smiles, Samuel. Self Help; With Illustrations of Conduct and Perseverances (London, 1859). Thomas, Keith. Man and the Natural World: a History of Modern Sensibility. New York: Pantheon Books, 1983. Whited, Tamara L. Forests and Peasant Politics in Modern France. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000. Winter, James. Secure from Rash Assault. Sustaining the Victorian Environment. Berke- ley: University of California Press, 1999. Wordsworth, William. Guide to the Lakes. 5th ed. (1835). Edited by Ernest De Selincourt. London: Henry Frowde; 1906. _____, “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798.” In The Norton Anthology of English Litera- ture, 2nd edition. Vol. 2: 96-99. Edited by M.H. Abrams et al. New York: W. W. Norton, 1968. Wordsworth, Dorothy. The Grasmere and Alfoxden Journals. Edited by Pamela Woof. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Worster, Donald. Nature's Economy. A History of Ecological Ideas. 2nd ed. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press; 1985. _____. “The Wealth of Nature.” In The Wealth of Nature, pp. 203-243. New York: Oxford University Press; 1993. Images Blisworth Cutting. <http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/RAblisworth.htm>, Novem- ber 16, 2004. Kilsby Tunnel. <http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/RAkilsby.htm>, November 16, 2004. Wolverton Embankment. <http://www.makingthemodernworld.org.uk/stories/ the_age_of_the_engineer/01.ST.04/img/IM.0366_zl.jpg>, November 16, 2004. Course-Related Web Sites History and Literature: A Cultural History of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, 1500-1850 <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist257s02/home.htm> <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist257s02/welcome.htm> Interpreting Nature: Environmental Thinking and Practice in Europe, 1500 to the Present <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist256/> 30 Robert M. Schwartz Seminar on Environmental History: Nature and Industrialization in Great Britain, 1780- 1914, with an introduction to historical GIS <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist361/index.htm> <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/rail/intro_hist_gis.htm> <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/ind_rev/> <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/rail/> Selection of Student Papers and Lab reports <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/ind_rev/research/research.html> <http://www.mtholyoke.edu/courses/rschwart/hist256/student_work/student_ abstracts.htm> On-line Resources <http://www.h-net.org/~environ/ Discussion list for environmental history, H-Environ- ment> <http://www.eh-resources.org/ Environmental History Resources with basic bibliogra- phy> <http://adm-websrv3b.sdu.dk/ European Society for Environmental History> <http://www.lib.duke.edu/forest/Research/biblio.html Environmental History Bibliogra- phy> 
work_stgnd2hjf5ettmzqcp3txffbl4	----	Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 77 Recensioni Una bandiera rovesciata sigriD rausiNg (eD.), AmericAn Wild, graNta, the MagaziNe of New writiNg / 128, suMMer 2014, pp. 252. Il termine Wild, che dà il titolo a questa recente raccolta di Granta, è altamente evocativo anche per un lettore non americano, o non americanista. Basti pen- sare a “The West Wild Show”, che portò il leggendario Buffalo Bill in Euro- pa; oppure alla canzone “Born to Be Wild” (Steppenwolf 1968) che fu il pez- zo più importante della colonna sonora dell’altrettanto leggendario film Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper 1969); oppure, alla canzone di Lou Reed “Walk on the Wild Side” (1972); oppure, ancora, al film Into the Wild di Sean Penn (2007) tratto dal libro omonimo di Jon Krakauer; o ancora, più semplicemente, all’a- cronimo del WWF, l’associazione che si impegna proteggere la “wild life” del pianeta, cioè la natura e gli animali. Ma bisogna forse essere americani, o almeno studiosi della cultura ameri- cana, per comprendere appieno la scelta, effettuata dalla curatrice del presente volume collettaneo, di dedicare un intero numero di Granta a questo concetto, wild, che è insieme aggettivo, simbolo e nome. Wild è legato a un’altra parola, wilderness, che rappresenta tutto ciò che è selvaggio, vale a dire non addome- sticato, non ricondotto o riconducibile nei binari ed entro le regole della “ci- viltà”: un termine usato in epoca puritana (coloniale) per indicare i luoghi pe- ricolosi infestati da demoni, indigeni e belve feroci, e in epoca più recente per identificare il patrimonio di parchi naturali degli USA. Forse per tutte queste ragioni la curatrice non avrebbe dovuto aspettarsi, come invece confessa di aver fatto all’inizio, contributi che si riferissero alla wilderness in modo metaforico: infatti, come lei stessa ammette, “this is Ame- rica, a genuinely wild land” (p. 8) – e quindi le storie che compongono questo affascinante mosaico americano rappresentano un viaggio autentico nei luoghi http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 78 selvaggi di questo Paese, e incontri autentici con persone e situazioni altrettan- to wild – diverse, inconsuete, non convenzionali. I racconti sono molto diversi tra loro, per stile, ambientazione, personag- gi, temi: ma tutti sono ricollegabili a questo nome/aggettivo/simbolo – wild – che viene declinato in ogni sfumatura possibile di significato. Sia che l’azione sia ambientata in una baracca del Colorado (“Thing with feathers that perch- es in the soul” di Anthony Doerr), o in una riserva Crow (“Exotics” di Callan Wink); sia che si parli di discriminazione razziale (“A Confession” di Jess Row) o di disastro ecologico (“Chasing wolves in the American West” di Adam Nicolson); sia che si descriva la tristezza dei colori del tramonto (“Beyond Sun- set” di Mary Ruefle) o che si inventino favole moderne come “The Mast Year” di Diane Cook o “Mirage” di Claire Vaye Watkins; e perfino quando il wild si domesticizza nel dialogo fra due gatti (“self-portrait” di Martin Amis), appa- re chiaro che il legame profondo tra tutti questi racconti è il caleidoscopio di emozioni e sentimenti che ricollega gli autori e i loro personaggi all’alma mater – come la chiamava Crevecoeur due secoli fa – americana. C’è poi un sotto-testo letterario che percorre tutta la raccolta, annodando idealmente le storie intorno alla citazione da Emily Dickinson (Hope, cioè la spe- ranza, è quella “Thing with feathers that perches in the soul”, p. 14) e all’omag- gio thoroviano “A Meeting of Minds with Henry David Thoreau” di Andrew Motion. Dickinson (la più grande poetessa americana di tutti i tempi) e Thoreau (legato al movimento Trascendentalista) sono due pilastri dell’Ottocento ame- ricano: la prima senza mai uscire di casa per tutta la sua vita, il secondo andan- do a vivere volontariamente e in solitudine in una capanna sul lago di Walden, rappresentano entrambi una scelta esistenziale radicale, eterodossa, quasi ereti- ca, dove il wild è più legato all’ambito introspettivo, a una condizione dell’ani- ma, piuttosto che a un preciso luogo geografico. Thoreau, fra l’altro, è citato an- che in “Krapp Hour” di Anne Caron, che porta sulla pagina i dialoghi di un talk show, insieme a Jack Kerouac (il celebre autore del romanzo On the Road, 1957) e ai suoi amici della cosiddetta beat generation Cassady, Ginsberg e Burroughs, a ragione definiti “the greatest American writers since the Transcendentalists” (p. 181). Non solo: “Krapp Hour”, pur senza nominarlo esplicitamente, si ricollega a molte poesie e racconti di Delmore Schwartz, un autore ebreo americano atti- vo dagli anni ’30 agli anni ’60 di cui Carson riprende, fra l’altro, l’uso del dialogo strutturato a botta-e-risposta e l’utilizzo del termine “Ghost” a indicare sia il fan- tasma, sia lo Spirito Santo (“Holy Ghost”, che si ricollega però anche alla simbo- lica ripetizione di “Holy” nella lungo poema di Ginsberg Howl, 1955). Come si può vedere, questo libro si presenta anche come una rivisitazione di alcune tra le tappe principali nella storia della letteratura americana. E c’è naturalmente l’altra faccia del wild, o la sua faccia più oscura, come la denuncia del duro lavoro femminile alla ‘catena di montaggio’ della pulizia Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 79 del pesce in “River so close” di Melinda Moustakis, dove il dramma di donne che faticano sedici ore al giorno in condizioni disumane ai limiti della soprav- vivenza si può riassumere nell’interrogativo quotidiano: “Sleep or shower?” – “Dormo o mi faccio la doccia?”, p. 55). Per finire, completano il volume numerose fotografie, la più bella delle quali, e che a mio parere avrebbe dovuto essere usata come foto di copertina, appartiene alla sezione intitolata “Mitakuye Oyasin” (Aaron Huey): è quella che ritrae un accampamento di nativi americani membri di un gruppo di resi- stenza nel South Dakota. Accanto a un tepee si vedono alcune persone, un’au- tomobile, e poi ancora una bandiera americana: solo dopo qualche istante di perplessità si nota che è montata al contrario, come simbolo di sfida al potere degli invasori. Alessandra Calanchi Testimonianze multiculturali nel Regno Unito sergio guerra, Figli dellA diAsporA: romAnzo e multiculturAlità nellA grAn BretAgnA contemporAneA (1950-2014), faNo, aras eDizioNi, 2014, pp. 265 Scrivo questa recensione due giorni dopo l’attentato parigino a Charlie Hebdo e avverto tutta l’attualità del libro di Sergio Guerra che ho appena letto: Figli della diaspora: Romanzo e multiculturalità nella Gran Bretagna contemporanea (1950-2014). Concepito come un manuale rivolto in primo luogo agli studen- ti universitari, ma capace di coinvolgere un più ampio pubblico, il libro si pro- pone di mappare la letteratura Black British e British Asian, quindi i romanzi prodotti in Gran Bretagna a partire dal secondo dopoguerra in seguito alle dia- spore originatesi nelle ex-colonie di Caraibi, Africa e Asia. È un campo di ricerca che di recente ha visto una fioritura di studi, anche in Italia, come mostra Black Arts in Britain: Literary, Visual, Performative (2011), un volume miscellaneo – curato da Annalisa Oboe e Francesca Giommi – che allarga l’indagine critica all’ambito culturale. Del nesso imprescindibile tra let- teratura e cultura è d’altronde ben consapevole lo stesso Guerra, che ha al suo attivo un’antologia intitolata Introduzione agli Studi Culturali Britannici (2002). Figli della diaspora è chiaramente frutto di un percorso di ricerca intra- preso dall’autore da molti anni e sviluppatosi attraverso l’esperienza didatti- ca, il confronto sul campo con la trasmissione del sapere. È questo il punto di Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 80 forza del libro, che esamina un fenomeno ampio nella sua complessità, con la volontà di avvicinare a questa complessità chi non dispone ancora degli stru- menti necessari – di tipo metodologico, storico, letterario – per comprenderla. Trovo il volume utilissimo sul piano dell’insegnamento proprio perché mira a costruire le competenze del lettore attraverso un percorso molto nitido: un capitolo iniziale che delinea la storia dell’immigrazione in Gran Bretagna, nel suo rapporto con la storia dell’Impero e con lo sviluppo di ideologie razzi- ste, ma anche con l’abolizionismo, ricordandoci che la presenza di neri e asia- tici in Gran Bretagna – anche in veste di autori – è radicata ben più in profon- dità di quanto si potrebbe a tutta prima pensare. Mi limiterò a citare la prima slave narrative pubblicata in inglese: A Narrative of the Most remarkable Par- ticulars in the Life of James Albert Ukawsaw Gronniosaw, an African Prince, As related by himself (1772), che ripercorre la vita dell’autore dalla cattura in Afri- ca alla schiavitù e alla libertà, ma anche alla povertà sperimentata in territorio inglese. Gronniosaw è uno dei tanti scrittori che il volume ricorda nell’intento di restituire ai Black British e British Asian il ruolo che hanno avuto nello svi- luppo della cultura britannica, nel corso dei secoli e in particolare in seguito al- le ondate migratorie del Novecento. Il secondo capitolo muove dall’approccio storico a quello teorico, nell’in- tento di delineare alcuni concetti chiave per la comprensione dei fenomeni dia- sporici e del multiculturalismo. Vengono qui esplorati termini come ‘Home’, Cross-cultural adaptation, Differenze generazionali, Ibridità, Blackness e British- ness, Post-ethnic e post-racial, Transnazionalismo e cosmopolitismo, Multicultu- ralismo. Questa galassia concettuale rende il senso dei problemi che il fenome- no letterario Black British / British Asian pone e del bagaglio teorico che è sta- to sviluppato in anni recenti attraverso lo studio delle dinamiche diasporiche. Segue un terzo capitolo – nuovamente di taglio storico – in cui l’autore si confronta nello specifico con le culture Black British e Black Asian, raccon- tate nel loro sviluppo dalla data simbolica del 1948, anno del Nationality Act e dell’arrivo in Gran Bretagna della Empire Windrush, la prima nave di migranti caraibici. Centrale è qui il conflitto politico e sociale: l’atteggiamento dei parti- ti conservatori al governo, il razzismo della polizia, la violenza degli skinhead, i riot che si sviluppano a più riprese nei quartieri poveri di Londra e di altre cit- tà. Non mancano però tentativi di ‘incontro’, come lo sviluppo della Common- wealth Literature, materia di studio la cui nascita è sancita nel 1964 da un con- vegno all’Università di Leeds. La società britannica prende contatto con la presenza Black British e Black Asian attraverso un processo duplice, di ostilità e ospitalità, di rifiuto e riconoscimento. La presenza dei black si fa sentire in modo via via più incisi- vo sulla scena musicale, letteraria, del cinema, della fotografia, ma anche per le strade di Londra, come mostra il successo del carnevale di Notting Hill. Il fe- Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 81 nomeno è complesso e l’autore ripercorre i vettori contrastanti di cui si com- pone questo campo di forze, che porta al rimodellamento dell’identità britan- nica in senso più ampio e sfaccettato. Segue un’ampia sezione centrale in cui Figli della diaspora – fedele all’i- dea cardine di mappatura – esplora la biografia e la produzione di numero- si autori caraibici, africani, asiatici, tracciando una serie di schede che nell’era di internet potrebbero parere superflue e che sono tuttavia giustificate dal ta- glio didattico. Internet è sì uno strumento prezioso, per chi sa cosa cercare, ma Guerra vuole appunto ‘formare’, anche attraverso la costruzione di un reper- torio di autori i cui profili sono presentati in modo conciso ma incisivo, sem- pre con spirito critico. La volontà di sistematizzare presiede anche alla sezione successiva, in cui vengono esplorati generi, stili e linguaggi della letteratura Black British e Bri- tish Asian. Solo al termine di questo lungo percorso introduttivo e formati- vo, l’autore esercita il suo affondo critico. I cinque case studies che seguono esplorano autori come Hanif Kureishi, Timothy Mo, Meera Syal, Hari Kunzru, per concludersi con una più ampia riflessione su “La rappresentazione dei musulmani nella letteratura diasporico-britannica contemporanea”. Queste pagine ci riportano all’attualità di Figli della diaspora, dove Guer- ra ricorda come dagli anni Ottanta “controversie e dibattiti riguardanti i musulmani sono fioriti nell’arena pubblica intorno a temi come la libertà di espressione, il multiculturalismo o il terrorismo” (229). Inutile dire che i re- centi fatti di Parigi hanno riportato questi temi al centro del dibattito politico e culturale. E se è con commozione e tristezza che ho appreso delle morti dei disegnatori di Charlie Hebdo e delle altre vittime – tra cui ricordo il poliziotto musulmano Ahmed Merabet – al contempo è con fiducia e speranza in un fu- turo migliore che ho ascoltato, sui media italiani, francesi, britannici, servizi e interviste da cui traspare la ferma volontà di non lasciare che il terrorismo po- larizzi opinioni e identità, frenando quel processo di dialogo e integrazione nel rispetto delle differenze che caratterizza l’Europa di oggi. Con queste riflessioni sul presente concludo la lettura di un volume che si propone una missione alta, fondante per la società: quella di formare i giovani, evitando i tecnicismi di un discorso scientifico inaccessibile ai più e cercando viceversa di costruire una consapevolezza culturale, sociale, politica partendo dalle fondamenta. Quello di Guerra è un atteggiamento didattico pragmatico e diretto che come insegnante condivido, anche nella scelta di un uso spiglia- to della lingua vicino ai lettori più giovani. Grazie all’autore per questo libro, che molti studenti leggeranno con profitto e che spero contribuirà a fare di lo- ro migliori cittadini nell’Europa di domani. Maurizio Ascari Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 82 Dedicato alle donne innamorate giaNfraNca Balestra (a cura Di), Women in love. ritrAtti di donne in letterAturA, arteMiDe, roMa, 2014, pp. 276. È raro che un volume collettaneo, per giunta scritto in onore di una colle- ga-docente in procinto di andare in pensione, riservi al lettore tanti spunti di interesse e tante piacevoli sorprese come questo di cui ho scelto di parlare (a cui si affianca un volume “gemello” che si intitola Women in Translation. Donne in traduzione, a cura di Carla Francellini, stesso editore stesso anno). Personalmente, ammetto di conoscere e apprezzare sia la curatrice, Gianfranca Balestra, sia la destinataria, Giovanna Mochi, ma, oggettivamente, questo volu- me è piacevolissimo e gradevolissimo a prescindere. A partire dal titolo infat- ti – un evidente omaggio a D.H. Lawrence – il volume è caratterizzato da un grande amore per la Letteratura (con la L maiuscola) prima ancora che dall’in- teresse per il campo specifico di cui vuole occuparsi (le donne innamorate nel- la letteratura) e questo aggancia subito l’attenzione in un gioco di affetti, di ci- tazioni, di rimemorazioni che è ben noto a chi ami, appunto, non solo le varie letterature nazionali ma la Letteratura tout court. Nelle pagine di questo libro – alla stesura del quale hanno partecipa- to noti e meno noti studiosi e studiose di letteratura inglese, angloamericana, portoghese, russa, latina, tedesca, francese, ispanoamericana e italiana, non- ché di filologia, discipline dello spettacolo e letteratura comparata – si ritrova quell’ampio respiro che spesso manca agli studi di settore, quell’orizzonte ve- ramente internazionale, erudito e interdisciplinare che collega, come grazie a una rete invisibile, Shakespeare a Genette, Virginia Woolf a Ines de Castro, la femme fatale alla musa ispiratrice. Ora oggetto del racconto ora soggetto del narrare, la donna è sempre e comunque protagonista assoluta del volume, nei contributi degli studiosi come in quelli delle studiose, nei saggi sul medioevo come in quelli sul postmoderno o sul mondo antico. Gianfranca Balestra, che è americanista e ha scritto ampiamente su Edith Wharton, Alice Munro e Margaret Atwood, apre la sua bella “Introduzione” citando Emily Dickinson (e subito dopo Rimbaud) e portando dunque il letto- re nel territorio della poesia; da qui si passerà alla narrativa, per poi approda- re alla riscrittura, alla traduzione, alla messa in scena. Tanti modi e tante forme per parlare di donne innamorate, di donne e desiderio romantico, di corpo e di scrittura. Senza dimenticare, accanto alle grandi protagoniste della scena lette- raria già ricordate, i nomi di autrici meno note che, nel parere della curatrice, meritano di essere (ri)scoperte. Il libro, che segue una struttura in ordine cronologico, si compone di cin- que sezioni. La prima si intitola “Modelli classici e medioevali. Riscritture” e Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 83 comprende, tra gli altri, un saggio sulla figura di Brunilde e uno su quella di Ele- na, due tra i personaggi femminili più noti rispettivamente della letteratura me- dievale e del mito classico, rivisitati in modo tale che ne percepiamo la scottante modernità. La seconda parte, “La messa in scena dell’amore”, riunisce saggi de- dicati soprattutto al teatro shakespeariano e alla commedia, mentre la successi- va, intitolata “Amori modernisti”, affronta diversi romanzi e romanzieri (fra cui James Joyce e Virginia Woolf) e uno dei più celebri processi a libri, quello a L’a- mante di Lady Chatterley. La quarta sezione, “Donne che scrivono d’amore”, si muove tra narrativa francese, inglese, messicana e canadese, mentre la quinta e ultima parte, “Women in love?” include scrittrici poco note e avvolte nel mistero che vengono presentate con lo sguardo indagatore del detective, tanto da giustifi- care il punto interrogativo presente nel titolo come sintomo di una quest che sim- bolicamente chiude il volume aprendosi all’opportunità di nuove letture critiche. Convenzioni e stereotipi, gelosia e frustrazione, passato e presente si mi- scelano nel giusto equilibrio con rigore accademico e cognizione di causa nel- le pagine di questo volume, che me ne ha riportati alla mente altri che negli ul- timi anni del secolo scorso hanno profondamente segnato la mia crescita pro- fessionale – da Voci e silenzi: la re-visione al femminile nella poesia di lingua in- glese a cura di Vita Fortunati e Gabriella Morisco (1993) a Passaggi: letterature comparate al femminile a cura di Liana Borghi (1998) e En travesti: figurazio- ni del femminile nella letteratura inglese di Ornella De Zordo (1999) – accan- to ai quali questo volume trova uno spazio naturale, apportando nuove idee e prospettive, forse meno radicali che in passato (per esempio, includendo uno sguardo maschile), ma ugualmente lucide, colte e appassionate. Se dovessi trovare per forza una mancanza in questo volume, che riten- go comunque straordinario sotto tutti i punti di vista, direi che avrebbe potu- to (dovuto?) trovarvi spazio anche una piccola sezione sul lato “oscuro” dell’a- more, cioè su quella lunga teoria di equivoci, fraintendimenti, mascheramenti che nel corso della storia hanno fatto passare per amore ciò che in realtà amo- re non era, e che sono ampiamente documentati nei racconti di matrimoni for- zati, rapimenti, reclusione, accusa di pazzia, abuso e violenza fisica e psicolo- gica tra le mura domestiche, insomma tutto ciò che oggi va sotto il brutto (ma giustificato) nome di femmicidio, e che la Letteratura, di fatto, ha registrato da sempre. In realtà casi come quelli sopra citati spuntano frequentemente qua e là nei saggi, ma senza essere problematizzati più di tanto. Credo tuttavia che la scelta effettuata, cioè di mettere in secondo piano ciò che, appunto, amore non è, sia stata in realtà quella giusta: per far capire al lettore e alla lettrice fino a che punto si possa usare la parola amore, nella vita come nella Letteratura; e oltre quale punto, invece, non la si possa (debba) più usare. Alessandra Calanchi Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 84 Un vertiginoso excursus sul “secolo americano” luca giaNNelli, neW York conFidentiAl. AvAnguArdiA, modernità e intellettuAli in AmericA, dAllA scuolA di chicAgo AllA pop Art, circolo prouDhoN historica eDizioNi, 2014, pp. 271. prefazioNe Di steNio soliNas. Questo libro è esattamente quello che non è un testo accademico di tipo spe- cialistico. Non perché gli manchi il rigore scientifico, per carità: ma per la sua appassionata ricerca di una all inclusiveness che ne tradisce subito la (non)ap- partenenza. Difatti Luca Giannelli non è un americanista d.o.c.g., bensì un ar- chitetto che di professione fa il giornalista; per l’esattezza, è nientemeno che il caporedattore al TG de La7. E il suo libro (fin dal titolo) è organizzato come un intrigante dossier: cosicché noi lettori, già nelle prime pagine – anzi, fin dal- la copertina, in cui ci inseriamo giocoforza unendo il nostro sguardo a quello dei passanti che osservano il Guggenheim, ripresi di spalle – siamo sollecitati a curiosare tra le mille informazioni da cui verremo travolti, sempre più convin- ti che valga la pena proseguire la lettura, sempre più consapevoli di avere tra le mani un prezioso puzzle della modernità americana e desiderosi di posseder- ne, alla fine, un quadro non solo completo, ma coerente. Il progetto, diciamolo pure, è ambizioso e deliziosamente naif al tempo stesso. Stipare in meno di 250 pagine (il resto è un’ottima bibliografia; pecca- to manchi un indice dei nomi) tutto ciò che promette il sottotitolo sarebbe già di per sé una bella impresa; ma a Giannelli non basta ancora. E lo capiamo già dal risvolto di copertina, da quella prima riga truffaldina che parla di Ham- mett (purtroppo con lo spelling sbagliato: si chiamava Dashiell, non Dashell, ma è un refuso di cui di certo non è responsabile l’autore) e della nota meta- fora del vaso di cristallo. Lo capiamo anche dalla quarta di copertina, che pre- senta una serie di “indizi” che assomigliano a un quiz di letteratura o cultura anglo americana: una scelta davvero intelligente, rivolta sia agli specialisti, ai quali il “quiz” risulta facile ma intrigante, sia agli absolute beiginners, sicura- mente attratti dall’opportunità di imparare tutto sugli USA in modo divertente e, appunto, anti-accademico. Anche la Prefazione di Stenio Solinas (altro giornalista) parte da una cap- tatio benevolentiae a cui non posso restare indifferente: si apre infatti con un doveroso omaggio all’antologia Americana curata d Elio Vittorini nel lontano 1941, e in particolare all’Introduzione di Emilio Cecchi, elogiata per aver col- to, già alla metà del secolo scorso, l’egemonia culturale degli USA. Quello che Solinas non dice, vuoi per dimenticanza, vuoi per scelta, è che in realtà a quel tempo leggere autori americani significava non tanto accettare una sudditanza di tipo coloniale (o meglio, non ancora), quanto “respirare” una cultura “altra” Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 85 dribblando la censura fascista e il paraocchi nazionalista; provare a diventare internazionali, insomma. Così come non coglie, a mio avviso, un altro punto fondamentale della cultura americana: non sono convinta, come lui asserisce, che “l’imperialismo americano … non deriva da un disegno”; al contrario, cre- do che il “disegno” ci sia e abbia radici molto antiche, che affondano nel cove- nant dei Padri Pellegrini e nel moral duty dei Padri Fondatori, nell’immagine della city upon the hill (che, contrariamente a quanto pensa Giannelli, ha ben poco a che vedere con “quel suo paradossale surrogato che è il suburbio”) e nella teoria del Destino Manifesto. Ma, naturalmente, posso sbagliarmi. Il libro di Giannelli, come scrive giustamente Solinas, è costruito su un gioco di rimandi tra architettura, arte, cinematografia e – aggiungo io – lettera- tura. È un volume denso e strutturato, come avverte Giannelli nella Premessa, come un film: anzi, come un film americano, o ancor meglio, come un western o un poliziesco (altrove, Giannelli utilizza un po’ impropriamente i termini giallo e noir come sinonimi, ma lo perdoniamo) “ambientato nella wilderness metropolitana di New York”. Un film con tantissimi personaggi, “tutti colpe- voli e innocenti, tutti diversamente Americani”; un film al quale manca, però, il tipico Hollywood ending, il lieto fine: non perché la fine sia drammatica, ma perché il finale è aperto, ovvero la storia, logicamente, non può concludersi. E si scusa coi lettori per la sua “pretesa di guardare alle cose americane con occhi europei”, una colpa di cui in realtà non ha a mio avviso alcun bisogno di scu- sarsi, visto che ha illustri precedenti sia nel campo della critica sia, per conti- nuare la metafora, nel campo del cinema – basti pensare che alcuni tra i miglio- ri film sull’America li hanno fatti registi stranieri: vedasi Fritz Lang (Metrop- olis), Michelangelo Antonioni (Zabriskie Point), Wim Wenders (Paris, Texas, The Million Dollar Hotel, Land of Plenty), Sam Mendes (American Beauty). Ma arriviamo ai contenuti veri e propri. Sempre partendo da metafo- re (nel primo capitolo, quella del Mount Rushmore dà l’avvio “cinematogra- fico” – tramite Hitchcok, naturalmente – al discorso sul Canone della moder- nità american), Giannelli inizia il suo excursus con due numi tutelari: Jackson Pollock e Frank Lloyd Wright. Padre dell’astrattismo il primo, dell’architettu- ra organica il secondo, ben rappresentano nella loro diversità l’arte america- na moderna da cui prenderà poi forma “un articolato pantheon da esportazio- ne” – Duchamp, l’action painting, la pop art, la fotografia, Rothko e Hopper – e che si muoverà prevalentemente in senso contrario a quello della Frontiera ottocentesca descritta da F.J. Turner, ovvero da Ovest verso Est. Sarà un’arte sempre più rivolta alle masse, che dialogherà col cinema e inseguirà i gusti del pubblico, e che influenzerà anche l’Italia in due modi: da un lato, sollecitan- do critiche agli aspetti orribili della società dei consumi da parte dell’ “intelli- ghentsia seriosa che in Italia ha gestito le faccende culturali praticamente fino all’inizio degli anni Ottanta” (su questo punto mi permetterei, in altra sede, di Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 86 avanzare qualche obiezione) o viceversa accettandoli in nome dell’anticomuni- smo e della “libertà democratica” (mi perdoni Giannelli: io avrei detto “pseu- do-democrazia liberista”). Tessendo paragoni fra Emerson e Thoreau (ieri) e Oliver Stone e Michael Moore (oggi), e inframmezzando Pearl Harbor a Obama, la Partisan Review a Midnight Cowboy, la formula “Art for Art’s Sake” alla Fiera di New York del 1939 “Building the World of Tomorrow”, il Boston Tea Party e il vaudeville, “The American Sex Revolution” e la Guerra di Mondi, Giannelli percorre in modo acrobatico, erudito, accattivante, argutamente interdi sciplinare non solo la storia dei movimenti artistici, ma tutta la storia americana, il suo cinema, la sua narrativa, il suo pensiero critico, che mostra di conoscere a menadito. E pa- re quasi soffrire di una sorta di horror vacui della scrittura, per cui ogni pagina è una mappa del tesoro da leggere e rileggere più volte, una miniera da cui estrar- re – ai vari livelli – informazioni, suggestioni, riflessioni. Rivelando grande mae- stria, la sua oratoria si muove su due e più binari: da un lato dando informazio- ni precise (impariamo per esempio che Wright compare tra i “filocomunisti” du- rante il maccartismo), dall’altro ponendo domande (“chi è, infine, Andy Warhol? Il campione della ‘simulazione autentica’, il ‘genio del marketing’, l’ ‘artista filo- sofo’ … o invece il realista innocente …?”), e ancora cercando di definire chi sia l’“Americano puro” e cosa sia la bellezza, e ancora dedicando spazio alle donne (Georgia O’Keeffe, Mary Cassat, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney e Juliana Force, ecc.), e ancora citando le scoperte freudiane e le teorie di Gurdjeff, e altro ancora. Insomma. Un libro intenso, ricco, documentato, che vale senz’altro la pe- na leggere perché ci apre una finestra sul mondo dell’arte e al contempo la fa dialogare con tutti gli altri aspetti della società americana e ci fa riflettere an- che sul nostro presente. Alessandra Calanchi Il piccolo cerchio aNNa KathariNe greeN, lo studio circolAre, Neropress eDizoNi, roMa, 2014, pp. 274. Gironzolando all’ultimo Salone del Libro di Torino mi sono imbattuto in un poliziesco dalla copertina rigorosamente gialla e dal disegno accattivante: The Circular Study di Anna Katharine Green, pubblicato e tradotto di recente an- che in Italia con il fedelissimo titolo di Lo Studio Circolare. Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 87 Anna Katharine Green (1846-1935), per chi non lo sapesse, è stata una poetessa e prolifica giallista americana, con una quarantina di libri all’attivo, nonché “amica di penna” del filosofo Ralph Waldo Emerson. La cosa che sor- prende di più, però, è che questa donna, rimasta nell’oblio maschilista per molti anni – poiché esordì come scrittrice in un’epoca in cui nessuna donna veniva accettata come scrittrice tout-court, né tantomeno come scrittrice di ro- manzi polizieschi, territorio squisitamente virile – ha diversi punti di contat- to con un più celebre e acclamato collega d’oltreoceano: Arthur Conan Doyle. Vediamo quali sono. In primo luogo, così come accaduto al medico scozzese, la Green si av- venturò nella crime fiction in seguito a un fallimento: non le era infatti riuscito di affermarsi come poetessa. Con un po’ di ardimento ci si potrebbe doman- dare se la sua delusione non fosse la stessa che Conan Doyle avrebbe prova- to qualche anno più tardi nel vedere il suo ambulatorio perennemente vuoto e senza l’ombra di un paziente. Sì, ho detto qualche anno più tardi, perché il pri- mo romanzo della trilogia che vede protagonista un’inedita coppia investigatri- ce formata da un uomo e una donna, il detective Gryce – un Lestrade alla so- glia della pensione e con molta meno spocchia – e la magnifica dilettante Ame- lia Butterworth, The Leavenworth Case, è del 1878, anno in cui Watson termi- na gli studi per poi andare in Afghanistan; ma Conan Doyle pubblicherà il suo primo romanzo, A Study in Scarlet, solo nel 1887. Amelia Butterworth è una simpatica zitella, un’arguta vecchietta che an- ticipa i tratti di una Miss Marple meno convinta di se stessa. Quando uscì, The Leavenworth Case riscosse un buon successo di pubblico e critica, ma lo stes- so non si può dire per l’autrice, perché nessuno credeva che una donna potes- se aver scritto una storia così misteriosamente perfetta, e tutti pensavano che Anna Katharine Green fosse soltanto un George Sand al contrario, un nome de plume dietro cui si celava una diabolica mente maschile. La capacità di osser- vazione di Miss Butterworth le è in seguito valsa il titolo di “the female rival of Sherlock Holmes”, quando Sherlock Holmes è stato rivelato al mondo. Ame- lia Butterworth è certamente la prima donna detective nella storia della narra- tiva poliziesca, e ha una mente all’altezza di quella del fumatore di Baker Stre- et. Una specie di Irene Adler nella terza età e senza quella malia da femme fa- tal così fuorviante. Se Edgar Allan Poe è stato giustamente definito “il padre del racconto poliziesco”, Anna Katharine Green ne è certamente la madre e, Wilkie Collins permettendo, s’inserisce tra Poe e Conan Doyle come il trait d’union tra l’inventore e il fecondatore del genere. Venendo a The Circular Study, al lettore sherlockiano più attento non possono sfuggire diverse analogie con A Study in Scarlet. Il romanzo della Gre- en, terzo e ultimo della trilogia, fu pubblicato nel 1900, dopo A Study in Scarlet e The Sign of the Four, e sembra averne riverberato gli echi narrativi, sia per la Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 88 struttura suddivisa in due parti o “libri” sia per i temi trattati: vendette e anti- chi rancori mai sopiti. Se in A Study in Scarlet l’antefatto si svolge tra i mormo- ni dello Utah nel 1876, in The Circular Study l’antefatto ha luogo tra i quacche- ri della Pennsylvania poco dopo la fine della guerra di secessione; se in A Stu- dy in Scarlet il movente del delitto è passionale e vuol vendicare un matrimo- nio “che non s’aveva da fare”, in The Circular Study l’odio attraversa il tempo per vendicare un matrimonio “che s’aveva da fare” e mai venne fatto; se nel ro- manzo di Doyle Jefferson Hope, l’assassino, viaggia dagli Stati Uniti fino all’In- ghilterra per punire il colpevole impunito, Enoch J. Drebber, nel romanzo di Green il vendicatore designato compie il percorso inverso, dall’Europa verso l’America. Fin qui le somiglianze. Ma ciò che sorprende il lettore non sherlockia- no sono perlopiù le differenze rispetto a Conan Doyle, e qui Green dimostra di essere abile e originalissima narratrice. Tanto per cominciare, “uno studio” diventa “lo studio”, e non uno studio qualsiasi, ma un “microcosmo perfet- to” dalla forma circolare: nulla, infatti, può essere più perfetto di un cerchio, la forma divina per eccellenza, così come appare in un’illustrazione biblica di William Blake. E in fondo, lo studio circolare è il mondo creato da Felix Adams già Cadwalader, un uomo che si sente Dio in quella sua bizzarra stan- zetta, arredata con le “tante belle cose di cattivissimo gusto” e dove la luce na- turale penetra a stento da due finestre nascoste alla vista; non c’è più un solo colore, il colore scarlatto di Lauriston Gardens, ma tanti colori che si danno il cambio: non più una sola prospettiva, ma tante prospettive, e uno spaesamen- to originato da una modernità che invade l’antico. Non siamo nell’ottocentesca periferia di Londra, ma in un elegante quartiere di New York, con le automo- bili che passano accanto alle carrozze, il telefono che rimpiazza, ove possibi- le, i telegrammi, e la corrente elettrica fa la sua comparsa nelle case dei ricchi; in questo caso, è una corrente elettrica che Adams ha diabolica mente piegato alle sue fantasie, costruendosi un complicato marchingegno che regola l’emis- sione della luce multicolore di un faretto, una “diavoleria”, stando alle parole di Gryce, che in seguito si scoprirà essere un “codice” che serve ad Adams per impartire istruzioni al maggiordomo – ebbene sì, l’immancabile maggiordomo di ogni giallo angloamericano – che è sordomuto e che, assistendo poi al delit- to, cerca di mimarlo alla polizia con una pantomima dagli effetti tragicomici. Il tutto condito dalla presenza di un pappagallo che continua a ripetere, alter- nandoli, due nomi di donna: “Evelyn…Eva!”. Vendetta tremenda vendetta, abbiamo detto. Tremenda sì, ma un’altra vendetta, non quella che si sarebbe dovuta consumare. A differenza di quanto accade in A Study in Scarlet, nel romanzo di Green la vendetta non si compie, o meglio, si ritorce contro uno dei vendicatori. Si potrebbe parlare di una trinità blasfema: il padre, Amos Cadwalader, emigrato scozzese che sul letto di mor- Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 89 te giura odio eterno e vendetta verso John Pointdexter, un vecchio amico (pro- prio come lo erano Ferrier e Drebber nel romanzo di Conan Doyle), divenu- to acerrimo nemico dopo aver concupito e disonorato sua figlia Evelyn, mor- ta di tubercolosi; il figlio, Felix, che per volontà del padre cambia cognome da Cadwalader in Adams, e che dovrà essere l’architetto terreno della vendetta; e poi lo spirito santo, Thomas Adams, giovanotto di bei modi e di bell’aspetto cresciuto a Parigi, colto e raffinato, da usare come Don Giovanni per colpire Pointdexter biblicamente: non ucciderlo, ma farlo morire dentro, disonoran- do sua figlia Eva, che è nata lo stesso giorno di Evelyn, anche se molti anni do- po. Occhio per occhio, dente per dente. L’immaginario biblico e religioso per- vade tutta la storia e i nomi dei protagonisti ne sono la conferma: Amos, uno degli antichi profeti; Eva, non una donna, ma la prima donna; Thomas, ovve- ro Tommaso, quell’apostolo che avrebbe creduto solo quando avrebbe messo il dito nella piaga. E Thomas Adams è un San Tommaso post litteram, un apo- stolo profano che non crede finché non vede: gli viene infatti detto che Eva, la donna sulla quale dovrà abbattersi, per suo amoroso tramite, la vendetta dei Cadwalader, è bruttissima; ma quando invece la vede scopre che è bellissima e se ne innamora perdutamente, dimenti candosi la sua missione. Un altro leitmotiv della storia è il tema del doppio. The Circular Study, ol- tre a essere un classico “locked room mystery”, è anche un gioco di specchi tra un’identità e l’altra: il pappagallo che bercia “Eva” ed “Evelyn” (ripetendo, ov- viamente, ciò che ha sentito ripetere da Felix Adams) è in realtà una “spia” del- la sovrapposizione iconica e concettuale tra le due fanciulle della storia: al di là dell’assonante vicinanza tra i due nomi, Eva-Evelyn, c’è un’impressio nante somiglianza fisica tra le due giovani donne, somiglianza fisica che diviene co- munanza di spiriti allorché Thomas incontra per la prima volta Eva quando lei va a depositare dei fiori sulla tomba di Evelyn. Stessa faccia, stessa anima. Ma il doppio non si esaurisce con il gioco Evelyn-Eva, diluendosi nell’opposizio- ne tra padre naturale e padre adottivo: Amos Cadwalader e John Pointdexter sono rispettivamente il padre naturale e il padre adottivo di Evelyn, Felix e Thomas, poiché Amos, non potendoli mantenere, li aveva fatti crescere da Pointdexter, che non aveva prole. E quando Thomas, anziché far morire di cre- pacuore Eva, la sposa contro la volontà testamentale del padre e del fratello maggiore, è colpevole d’incesto, perché sposa la figlia del suo padre adottivo. Ma Green sa osare, non ha troppo pudore, e getta anche Felix nei tor- menti amorosi: anche lui, infatti, s’innamora di Eva Pointdexter, ed è questo che compromette per sempre la vendetta dei Cadwalader. I sentimenti contra- stanti, nella seconda parte del romanzo, sono narrati secondo uno schema epi- stolare con il quale si evidenzia il contrasto tra ciò che Thomas pensa e ciò che invece scrive al fratello maggiore, e in seguito tra ciò che Thomas ed Eva pen- sano di Felix e ciò che Felix pensa di Eva. Recensioni Linguæ & – 1/2015 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 90 Anna Katherine Green sa mescolare gli “elementi maschili” dei detta- gli polizieschi (lo studio circolare che si sigilla ermeticamente con una lastra di metallo, i “cinque piccoli lustrini” che consentono di identificare Eva e che stanno a metà strada tra i “cinque semi d’arancio” di Conan Doyle e i “dieci piccoli indiani” di Agatha Christie) con l’elemento femminile dell’amore. Love is a woman. In questo caso, non una donna, ma “la donna”, the woman, Eva, la prima donna creata da Dio. Felix Adams (Adamo translitterato) s’innamora di Eva. Lui, che non ha mai amato una donna in vita sua. Un po’ come il no- stro Sherlock s’invaghisce inaspettatamente di Irene Adler, the woman. In en- trambi i casi innamoramenti fatali: sconfitta investigativa per Sherlock Holmes e morte per Felix Adams, ucciso per mano della stessa Eva, rea confessa alla fi- ne del libro primo del romanzo. Il mistero non è dunque solo nel chi, ma anche nel perché e nel come. Eros e Thanatos. Amore e morte nell’inquietante studio- lo dalla luce cangiante. The Circular Study è anche una mise en abyme, un titolo che tematizza il racconto. La struttura narrativa è circolare: la storia si apre infatti nello stu- dio circolare e poi, dopo le peripezie attraverso il tempo e lo spazio, ritorna al- lo studio circolare per il grande e tragico finale: un aut aut tra morte e disono- re, un po’ come il gioco delle due pillole in A Study in Scarlet. Io la definirei un “piccolo cerchio” che fa pendant con il grande cerchio di William Blake in God as an Architect; un piccolo cerchio che non ha un punto tracciato prima degli altri, ma che passa e ripassa tra Green e Conan Doyle; un piccolo cerchio fini- to che vuol essere uno dei tanti piccoli cerchi finiti che riempiono il grande cer- chio infinito della letteratura. In quanto alla traduzione, pur con qualche inciampo e alcune frasi un po’ appesantite e farraginose – forse per via di una volontà traduttiva source-orien- ted, oltremodo rispettosa delle strutture sintattiche di un testo scritto in ingle- se ottocentesco – si può dire che è abbastanza scorrevole e più che accettabile. Luca Sartori 
work_stzmnkctf5hgtdwt2qrdexzxzi	----	Student Voices, Global Echoes: Service-Learning and the Gifted This article was downloaded by: [University of Calgary] On: 09 January 2012, At: 15:42 Publisher: Routledge Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number: 1072954 Registered office: Mortimer House, 37-41 Mortimer Street, London W1T 3JH, UK Roeper Review Publication details, including instructions for authors and subscription information: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/uror20 Student Voices, Global Echoes: Service-Learning and the Gifted Alice W. Terry Available online: 25 Apr 2008 To cite this article: Alice W. Terry (2008): Student Voices, Global Echoes: Service-Learning and the Gifted, Roeper Review, 30:1, 45-51 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/02783190701836452 PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR ARTICLE Full terms and conditions of use: http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions This article may be used for research, teaching, and private study purposes. Any substantial or systematic reproduction, redistribution, reselling, loan, sub-licensing, systematic supply, or distribution in any form to anyone is expressly forbidden. The publisher does not give any warranty express or implied or make any representation that the contents will be complete or accurate or up to date. The accuracy of any instructions, formulae, and drug doses should be independently verified with primary sources. The publisher shall not be liable for any loss, actions, claims, proceedings, demand, or costs or damages whatsoever or howsoever caused arising directly or indirectly in connection with or arising out of the use of this material. http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/uror20 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/02783190701836452 http://www.tandfonline.com/page/terms-and-conditions Roeper Review, 30:45–51, 2008 Copyright © The Roeper Institute ISSN: 0278-3193 print / 1940-865X online DOI: 10.1080/02783190701836452 UROR Student Voices, Global Echoes: Service-Learning and the Gifted Service-Learning and the Gifted Alice W. Terry Implementing service-learning programs in schools for our gifted may help nurture the development of more highly moral people. Service-learning, a method by which students learn and develop through curriculum integration and active participation in thoughtfully organized service experiences that address needs in their community, has three levels: com- munity service, community exploration, and community action. Community action, most appropriate for gifted youth, involves a high degree of service that produces a broad com- munity impact and the highest degree of learning. This article discusses case studies of four gifted, middle-grade students who participated in community action service-learning projects that positively impacted both the community and the students. Could service-learning be helpful in creating more people like Thoreau and Gandhi by developing co-cognitive traits in gifted youth? A group of gifted sixth graders, the RIPPLES Gang, and their teacher sat around the table where they first had dis- cussed the plan to revitalize their town a year earlier. By now a discount drugstore chain had looked at the city coun- cil’s survey and decided to open a store in the small, rural Georgia town. A supermarket chain also was coming. Two historic buildings the students researched and fought to restore were being renovated. ‘What have you learned from all this?’ their teacher asked. ‘That you have to care enough to do something,’ replied Julinna. (Henderson, 1987, p. 46) The RIPPLES Gang received a Public Service Award from the Department of the Interior for their service-learn- ing project and their outstanding efforts to revitalize their town. On September 26, 1986, the RIPPLES Gang and their teacher walked onto the stage of a large auditorium in Washington, DC, before 300 spectators. Donald P. Hodel, Secretary of the Interior, read a procla- mation: ‘This group of perceptive, energetic young peo- ple proved the educational system can make a dynamic contribution to the preservation movement and inspire the teamwork necessary to promote change. For their cre- ativity, ingenuity, and perseverance…the RIPPLES and their inspiring instructor, Alice Terry, are granted the Public Service Award of the Department of the Interior’. When the applause and standing ovation came, so did Alice Terry’s tears. Surrounded by her students, she knew that everyone can make a difference. Kids too. We only have to try. (Henderson, 1987, p. 46) Renzulli (2002) asked what causes some people to use their intellectual, motivational, and creative assets in ways that make a positive difference in the world, whereas others with similar traits become involved in more self-serving enterprises. What can we, as a society, do to produce more individuals like Henry David Thoreau, Mahatma Gandhi, Rachel Carson, and Martin Luther King? Implementing service-learning programs in schools for our gifted students is one method that might help. THE HISTORY OF SERVICE IN AMERICA Service-learning’s roots can be traced to community ser- vice, a concept that is not new to America. People helping other people is a tradition in America. Generations of Americans have answered the call to service both at home and overseas. They have offered their time, their resources, and, most importantly, their compassion (Kinsley, 1992). In the formative years when America was primarily an agrarian society, people helping each other was an integral part of the social fabric. Barn building was a social event in the community with everyone helping with the barn raising and enjoying it immensely. Young people were aware of their roles and learned very early to contribute to their community. Received 4 January 2007; accepted 4 June 2007. Address correspondence to Alice W. Terry, Kennesaw State University, 1000 Chastain Road, Kennesaw, GA 30144. E-mail: aterry@kennesaw.edu D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of C al ga ry ] at 1 5: 42 0 9 Ja nu ar y 20 12 46 A. W. TERRY In the early 1900s, William James promoted the idea of national service through a nonmilitary, government-sponsored program in which all young men would be conscripted into ser- vice to work in foundries, fishing fleets, and coal mines. In 1933, Franklin D. Roosevelt instituted the Civilian Conserva- tion Corps (CCC) in order to pull the country out of the Great Depression. Over 3 million unemployed young men served their country building bridges, national parks, and buildings throughout America until 1942 (Wade, 1997). Throughout the 1930s, progressives such as John Dewey promoted schools that incorporated the values of social reform and emphasized social and cooperative activities. Connecting schools to community service also was encour- aged by William Kilpatrick in the waning years of World War II when he suggested that learning take place in settings outside classroom walls and involve efforts to meet real community needs (Conrad & Hedin, 1991). Connecting schools to community service is widely known today as service-learning: a method by which stu- dents learn and develop through curriculum integration and active participation in thoughtfully organized service expe- riences that address needs in their community. Providing structured time for students to think, talk, or write about what they did and observed during a service activity, service-learning also provides opportunities for participants to use newly acquired skills and knowledge in real-life situ- ations in their own communities. These activities enhance teaching in school by extending student learning into the community and helping to foster a sense of caring for others (Alliance for Service Learning in Education Reform, 1993). In November 1990, President George H. Bush signed the first service-learning legislation into law. This legislation, the National and Community Service Act of 1990, created the Commission on National and Community Service. In 1993, President Bill Clinton championed the National and Community Service Trust Act that created the Corporation for National and Community Service. Service-learning has received prominence in the national educational agenda in recent years. Supported by liberals and conservatives alike, service-learning has generated and continues to generate much interest and support. According to Madeline Kunin, former deputy secretary of the U.S. Department of Education, service-learning can resurrect idealism, compassion, and altruism. She stated, “We cannot survive as a nation unless we hold onto these qualities and teach them to our children” (Fiske, n.d., p. 38). Idealism, compassion, and altruism are all qualities needed in our gifted leaders of tomorrow. DEVELOPMENT OF CO-COGNITIVE TRAITS IN THE GIFTED Silverman (1994) found that the higher the child’s IQ, the earlier moral concerns develop. Terman found that emotional stability, social adjustment, and moral characteristics are intermingled with advanced cognition (cited in Silverman). According to Nelson (1989), Dabrowski’s Theory of Posi- tive Disintegration reinforced this line of thought. Dabrowski examined human personality as it expressed itself in eminent individuals and the developmental process from what is to what ought to be. He labeled behaviors as ranking from egocentric at one end of a continuum to altru- istic at the reverse end. According to Dabrowski, develop- mental potential is the underlying principle that provides continuity between his postulated five levels. He observed that the most creative and gifted individuals exhibited higher levels of empathy, sensitivity, moral responsibility, self-reflection, and autonomy of thought than the general population (cited in Nelson). Dabrowski viewed the five dimensions of the TPD as forms of psychic overexcitability, adding that overexcitabil- ities (OEs) contribute to psychological development (Piechowski, 1986). According to Piechowski, Dabrowski emphasized intellectual, emotional, and imaginational OEs, viewing them as necessary for personal growth that is char- acterized by moral questioning, existential concerns, and self-judgment. In this development, a person works on inner psychic transformation and makes extensive efforts to over- come his or her lower propensities and, instead, follow ide- als. The greater the strength of the OEs, the greater the developmental potential for living an ethical and compas- sionate life. The more intense and sustained the effort toward development, the more it produces highly moral individuals and spiritual leaders. This begs the question in education: With the appropriate stimulus, might it be possi- ble to instill the moral qualities of idealism, compassion, and altruism in gifted youth? CONSIDERATIONS IN THE EDUCATION OF GIFTED STUDENTS What should be taken into consideration when planning programs for gifted students? According to Roeper (1992), an environment in which young children are kept from developing feelings of being on the outside or being sepa- rated from the world should be established. She proposed that we create an environment that preserves the uniqueness of young children while “accepting their integration into the larger global ambience, just as the heart is a distinct organ within the body” (p. 52). She recognized that both societal attitudes and the educational process create a separation between children and their world. Cooperation, she stressed, is needed in order for children to be fully integrated into the community. “Only if we can bring about the change in atti- tude will we save our globe and create the safe world our children are entitled to inherit” (Roeper, 1992, p. 93). According to Passow (1995), not only do schools need to design and implement learning opportunities within the D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of C al ga ry ] at 1 5: 42 0 9 Ja nu ar y 20 12 SERVICE-LEARNING AND THE GIFTED 47 classroom, but they also should identify learning resources and opportunities in the community that can be integrated into the classroom. He pointed out that school seldom pro- vides gifted students with opportunities beyond the class- room. Passow (1989) promoted curricula with strong affective and process components that complement cogni- tive components. He saw this as necessary in helping gifted adolescents become more sensitive to community problems and needs. According to Renzulli (2002), gifted young people need opportunities, resources, and encouragement for firsthand investigative or creative experiences within their self- selected areas of interest. He postulated that strategies used to develop giftedness in young people should give as much attention to the co-cognitive conditions of development (such as optimism, courage, romance with a topic, sensitivity to human concerns, physical/mental energy, and vision/sense of destiny) as we currently give to cognitive development. How can we help to sensitize gifted students to problems in their communities, in society, in the world? How do we guide gifted youth toward higher levels of moral develop- ment and self-actualization? How can we help gifted youth reach Dabrowski’s Level IV, Organized Multilevel Disinte- gration, so that they can attain self-actualization? We need to offer them opportunities to exhibit high levels of respon- sibility, authenticity, reflective judgment, empathy for oth- ers, autonomy of thought and action, self-awareness, and other characteristics of self-actualization (Nelson, 1989). Advanced levels of service-learning have been shown to provide gifted students with opportunities to exhibit high levels of creativity, responsibility, reflective judgment, self- awareness, empathy for others, and autonomy of thought and action, in addition to other characteristics of self- actualization. Not only does service-learning have the capa- bility of helping the gifted reach their creative potential as they seek creative solutions to society’s ever-increasing challenges, it also has been shown to be an effective, differ- entiated curriculum for instruction with the gifted, and to help gifted students stretch toward self-actualization (Terry, 2001, 2003). CLASSIFICATIONS OF SERVICE LEARNING There are three levels of service-learning: community service, community exploration, and community action. The initial degree of involvement is community service. Par- ticipating primarily in volunteerism, the students at this level of development perceive issues that are individual rather than societal (see Figure 1). Community service ser- vice-learning, although tied to the school curriculum and involving a high degree of service, produces a lesser degree of learning. Activities at this level include working with senior citizens or in daycare centers, tutoring, and picking up litter on highways. The next level of service-learning is community explora- tion. At this level, students go out into the community or elements of the community come into the school, and infor- mation from the real world is shared and explored. In com- munity exploration, students explore, research, and connect a selected classroom topic to a similar issue in their commu- nity, and then apply the acquired knowledge in a resourceful manner. Community exploration also can include activities such as internships, outdoor/environmental education pro- grams, and other types of experiential education (Terry & Bohnenberger, 2004). The highest level of service-learning, and the one most appropriate for gifted students, community action, involves students not only becoming aware of, exploring, and becom- ing engaged in their community but also involves positive community impact. Students become empowered to make a real difference in the world. They analyze the area of com- munity concern, generate new ideas, and implement a plan of action to address the area of concern. In the process, the students develop complex problem solving skills, advanced communication skills, the ability to connect knowledge across the disciplines, and the perseverance to overcome obstacles (Terry & Bohnenberger, 2003). Activities can include civic reform, such as legislative initiatives and health and human services; professional services, such as historic nominations and grant writing; and community enhance- ment, such as cultural and aesthetic ventures and environ- mental improvements. Community action involves a high degree of service, producing a broader community impact and the highest degree of learning (Terry & Bohnenberger, 2004), making it ideal for involvement by gifted students (see Figure 1). CASE STUDIES The following case studies involved gifted middle-grade students who participated in community action service- learning projects that positively impacted both the commu- nity and the students. They were reported previously in earlier studies and are used here as illustrations of the poten- tial impact of high levels of service-learning on gifted ado- lescents. Listen closely to the student voices, and hear the global echoes. The SWaMP Project Starting out as a simple recycling venture, the service- learning project conducted by the SWaMP Kids (1994) lasted for 3 years and created very dramatic results in the community. The students ultimately ended up writing a 750-page, state-approved Solid Waste Management Plan for their county. Because of their work, the county landfill that was scheduled for closure remained open—a circumstance, that saved the county and its residents both trouble and D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of C al ga ry ] at 1 5: 42 0 9 Ja nu ar y 20 12 48 A. W. TERRY money. The group received a Presidential Environmental Youth Award, and several of the students were guests on the Phil Donahue Show, which highlighted children who have a made a difference. Kat. Kat was the facilitator, the leader, of the SWaMP project. Sometimes there were problems between the other SWaMP Kids and Kat that created tension and frustration. The others kids would become very frus- trated—with Kat! Kat is a highly gifted individual who skipped two grade levels in school; she is, however, not a patient person. What did Kat learn from her participation in service-learning? According to Kat, she learned about teamwork. She learned, not necessarily to like everyone on the team, but to tolerate her teammates. As Kat expressed, FIGURE 1 K–12 development service-learning typology. LL ee vv ee ll ss oo ff CCooggnniittiioonn Piaget’s Stage 4: Formal Operational Bloom’s Taxonomy Synthesis & Evaluation Piaget’s Stage 4: Formal Operational Bloom’s Taxonomy: Analysis Piaget’s Stage 3: Concrete Operational Bloom’s Taxonomy: Application Piaget’s Stage 3: Concrete Operational Bloom’s Taxonomy: Knowledge & Comprehension Learning Arrows: Service Circles: Side Arrows: Thermometer: LLeevveellss ooff RReefflleeccttiioonn Develop mental Developmental Considerations for Reflection— Piaget’s Stage 3: Concrete Operational Bloom’s Taxonomy: Analysis Piaget’s Stage 3: Concrete Operational Bloom’s Taxonomy: Application Piaget’s Stage 3: Concrete Operational directional arrows signifying the degree of learning–increasing as it moves toward the pinnacle illustrate the extent of direct service to the community by the student symbolize the flow of interaction between the community and the school a continuum depicting the degree of the combined service and learning experience Bloom’s Taxonomy: © 1998 Bohnenberger, J. E., & Terry, A.W. Community-Action: Interaction between school and community flows in both directions Community-Exploration: Interaction between the school and community can go in either Community-Service: Interaction between school and community goes one way—from the producing greater impact in the community and greater empowerment in the students. Community-Action involves the highest degree of service, which can have far-reaching outcomes in the community and the highest degree of learning. school to community. Community-Service involves a high degree of service to the community with a lesser degree of learning. producing greater impact in the community and greater empowerment in the students. Community-Action involves the highest degree of service, which can have far-reaching outcomes in the community and the highest degree of learning. D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of C al ga ry ] at 1 5: 42 0 9 Ja nu ar y 20 12 SERVICE-LEARNING AND THE GIFTED 49 I used to just blow up at people…I guess we were working in such close quarters that, you know, if somebody that you didn’t like was there, they were going to breathe on you at some point. You were going to have to put up with it. (Terry, 2001, p. 126–127) A strong leader with somewhat bossy tendencies, Kat learned the invaluable lesson of patience and respect for viewpoints and learning styles that differed from her own (Terry, 2001). Oftentimes with highly gifted, strong-willed children like Kat, putting them in cooperative groups to do classwork is not effective in teaching the skills and value of coopera- tion and collaboration. With their strong personalities, they often take over a group and dictate what is to be done and how it will be done. In a class activity, the group members usually concede and do as they are directed by bossy class- mates like Kat because they have learned that it is easier. They have also learned that students like Kat will get them a good grade if they just do as they are told. High-level service-learning projects usually last months, and some like the one in which Kat was involved, can last years. In this level of service-learning, it is essential that students cooperate and collaborate in order to accomplish their goals. Initially this can cause uncomfortable classroom confrontations (Terry, 2001); ultimately, most students grow while learning the invaluable skills and importance of cooperation and collaboration. How can we survive on this planet if we don’t prepare our most able minds to cooperate and collaborate—to truly respect one another? Students develop a sense of community through service- learning. They get an early glimpse of what the real world is like while developing a personal interest in their community. Kat’s remarks below give us insight into what service-learning ultimately can mean to gifted students who are involved. I think we got an early glimpse of what a career is really like because…we had a personal interest in what we were writ- ing.…I think that that in itself made us all realize that we were doing something kind of ahead of our time, yet we were doing a good job at it. And, for me, it was, like, hey, this is what having a job’s really like. And for us I think it was like having a job that you love and you have a personal interest in. And, as seventh graders, I mean, none of our friends had any clue, you know? I look back on that, and they were still listen- ing to New Kids on the Block and starting to dye their hair, and we’re trying to save Franklin County and . . . we really got an early glimpse. (cited in Terry, 2001, p. 133) Kat continued to advocate for the environment long after the SWaMP project ended. Several years after the conclu- sion of the SWaMP project, Kat went head to head with Fieldale Farms Corporation, a large poultry company. She was instrumental in preventing a dumping site for poultry by-product sludge from locating in her community. She also helped another group of citizens near her college fight a regional landfill development plan because of environmen- tal concerns (Bohnenberger & Terry, 2002). Through her participation in service-learning, Kat learned how to solve problems and cooperate and collaborate with others, and she used these skills to positively impact her community. Harwood’s Helpers Imagine being able to distinguish a Corinthian column from an Ionic or Doric Column at the age of 12. With the motto “Helping Harwood is our concern,” 28 students at Harwood County Middle School took their town by storm. Calling themselves the Harwood’s Helpers, these seventh-grade gifted students became experts on the history and architec- ture of their small town, and then they took their expertise to the streets (Joiner, 1999). Their service-learning project involved partnering with the city of Harwood to encourage people to frequent the downtown area in order to build up business and to encourage an appreciation of the historical structures of the downtown area. Aaron. A small, wiry, fast-talking member of Har- wood’s Helpers, Aaron was selected for a research study as a disconfirming participant of this service-learning project. Though not officially diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (AD/HD), Aaron exhibited character- istics of AD/HD. Home-schooled through fourth grade, Aaron’s mother expressed that had he been in school, he probably would have been on Ritalin as early as kindergar- ten. The freedom of the service-learning class definitely appealed to this energetic, young boy. According to his mother, it also was a very maturing experience in which he developed a deep level of understanding and strong feelings towards his community. As she stated, “I think, having done his research on it and participated in the different things, that he has gone to another level.…It’s not just all that’s right here on this plane; there are other planes to look at” (Terry, 2001, p. 136). Ms. Smith, Aaron’s teacher, was surprised with how pos- itive Aaron was about the service-learning experience in the interviews. The field notes are reflective of Aaron’s pres- ence in the classroom. [Ms. Smith] begins talking to group—one boy [Aaron] asks, “When are we doing reading? This is a reading class, huh?” Ms. [Smith]: You know this is a reading-skills class, but we don’t do that specifically. [Aaron] starts singing out loud, being disruptive. Ms. [Smith]: [Aaron], stop that! And [Aaron] responds, “I’m just singing!” [Aaron] is not listening—sitting with knee in desk—begins humming again. (Terry, 2003, pp. 303–304) In the interviews, Aaron lit up and expressed some pro- found understandings. When asked about the service-learning D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of C al ga ry ] at 1 5: 42 0 9 Ja nu ar y 20 12 50 A. W. TERRY class, he explained that it was a different type of learning. Instead of traditional classroom learning, he described it as mind-expanding. As he offered, “We weren’t just doing numbers…or trying to find adverbs or anything. It was just really an open-minded thing” (Terry, 2003, p. 302). What Aaron perceived about the community was almost tangible. He began to discern new meaning in the term com- munity and to value involvement in the community, both seeing the town’s history and taking pride in it. Aaron expressed that he saw the history of the place, which, in turn, gave him a different view of the town. His mother expressed that participation in the project made Harwood more real and personal to Aaron who learned that “it’s [the community] not just going to fix itself” (Terry, 2003, p. 303). Aaron, in a philosophical, beyond-his-years manner, stated, I thought a community would be fine by itself and then after getting into this, it’s like, I didn’t realize how much it really needs.…Our history is there. If our monuments aren’t being preserved, they’re just going to eventually rot away, and this is a part of our history. (Terry, p. 303) According to Aaron, they did not “just learn what’s out there…by just looking to see a building, but to see what it is, what its history is” (Terry, 2001, p. 152). Considering that Aaron was selected as a disconfirming participant in a study, this is quite profound. This very active, gifted adoles- cent was perceived as not tuning into anything in a class- room; yet he was. Apparently, this seemingly off-task student was very tuned into his service-learning project and his community. Latoya and Bryan. The Harwood’s Helpers’ service- learning project was experienced differently by the African American students. Latoya recognized that she had experi- enced the project differently. Recognizing that she was the only African American girl in the class, she stated that at first she didn’t have any friends due to her shyness. After engaging in service-learning, she claimed that she was closer to the students in the class and, as she stated, “I think our experiences are the same now.…We’re all pretty, uh, equal now” (Terry, 2003, p. 304). Latoya had been in the gifted program with most of the predominantly White stu- dents since third grade. It would seem, however, that she never felt equal until her involvement in the Harwood’s Helpers’ service-learning project. Whether it was due to her feeling inadequate or shy, or the existence of prejudice and discrimination in the predominately White classroom cul- ture, it seems that service-learning was instrumental in ame- liorating the situation for Latoya, resulting in feelings of equality. Bryan, also African American, shared a similar experi- ence to Latoya’s—an experience that seemed pivotal in his life as far as establishing deeper relationships with his fellow Helpers. In his characteristically warm demeanor, he stated, “But, you know, they [Harwood’s Helpers] treated you equal like your brothers and sisters would. That’s why, one of the reasons I like being in the Harwood’s Helpers, cause [sic] of the respect you get from the other members” (Terry, 2003, p. 304). Bryan and Latoya were the only students who used the word equal during the interviews. They also were the only African American students interviewed. These African American students indicated that their involvement in the predominantly White community of the downtown area was important. Latoya, who said she had never attended a Christmas parade in the community before her participation in the project, expressed that she enjoyed her participation in the community. She had never been to parades and other community activities before her service- learning experience; in fact, she stated that she always had considered those things boring until she became involved in the Harwood’s Helpers’ project. She stated that she thought it was going to change “the way I want to live when I get to be an adult” (Terry, 2003, p. 304). Because of her service-learning experience, Latoya wants to live in the city, a place she has never considered living in before, a place mainly occupied by Whites in this rural Georgia town. This raises an important issue about the value of service-learning to communities. Listening to the voices of these young, gifted African Americans begs the question: Could working with others toward a goal in the community help to bridge the chasm that continues to exist between races and ethnicities throughout America and even the world? DISCUSSION According to Passow (1989), we enhance our gifted stu- dents’ knowledge without helping them to think about the morality of that knowledge. Since gifted children have the potential for greater and more profound social, moral, and ethical abilities, it seems logical that in order to educate them properly, we must offer them opportunities in their educational experience to develop socially, morally, and ethically. Higher levels of service-learning can provide such opportunities. Not only do the students learn during their participation in service-learning, but they also experience serving their communities, making a real difference in the world. By sensitizing gifted and talented youth to be con- cerned about problems in their communities, might they devote themselves to developing their specialized gifts and talents toward solving the serious problems facing our world (Terry & Bohnenberger, 2003)? Through service-learning, gifted youth have the opportu- nity for both moral development and an opportunity to develop a passion for their communities. By having a pas- sion for their communities, it should follow that youth will D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of C al ga ry ] at 1 5: 42 0 9 Ja nu ar y 20 12 SERVICE-LEARNING AND THE GIFTED 51 develop com-passion themselves (Bohnenberger & Terry, 2002). By sensitizing youth to be concerned about problems in their communities, it is hoped they might better develop their co-cognitive abilities and devote themselves to using their specialized talents toward solving the serious problems facing both their communities and the world (Terry & Bohnenberger, 2003). When three of the SWaMP Kids, Kat being one, appeared on the Donahue Show, Donahue expressed won- derment that a group of teens could prevent the closure of the local landfill. He stated, Think about this! These are teenagers.…Imagine the con- sciousness now, the awareness at age 14. They’ll have it all their lives. These folks are not going to pollute; they’re not going to waste. They’re going to recycle, and they’re going to make a better world, not only for us, but for themselves and their children as well! (cited in Wheeler, 1994) And isn’t that what we as a society need for and from our gifted youth? For them to help bring about a better world for us, for themselves, for their children? Imagine the con- sciousness. Imagine the world if we could offer our gifted youth experiences so they could develop the skills of problem solving, cooperation, and collaboration; so they could make their community, their world, a better place in which to live. And imagine more gifted youth like Aaron who see their community for the first time. Just imagine… REFERENCES Alliance for Service Learning in Education Reform. (1993). Standards of quality and excellence for school-based service learning. Washington, DC: Council of Chief State School Officers. Bohnenberger, J. E., & Terry, A. W. (2002). Community problem solving works for middle level students. Middle School Journal, 34(1), 5–12. Conrad, D., & Hedin, D. (1991). School-based community service: What we know from research and theory. Phi Delta Kappan, 72, 743–749. Fiske, E. B. (n.d). Learning in deed: The power of service-learning for American schools. National Commission on Service-Learning. Retrieved December 24, 2006, from http://www.wkkf.org/pubs/PhilVol/ Pub3680.pdf Henderson, B. (1987, September). The kids who saved a dying town. Reader’s Digest, 131(785), 42–46. Joiner, K. (1999, Fall). Walking through history…. Serving to Learn, 1(2), 1–9. Kinsley, C. (1992). A case study: The integration of community service learning into the curriculum by an interdisciplinary team of teachers at an urban middle school (Doctoral dissertation, University of Massachusetts, 1992). Dissertation Abstracts International, 53(10A), 3435. Nelson, K. C. (1989). Dabrowski’s theory of positive disintegration. Advanced Development Journal, 1, 1–14. Passow, A. H. (1989). Educating gifted persons who are caring and con- cerned. Gifted Education International, 6(1), 5–7. Passow, A. H. (1995). Families and communities: Essential resources for nurturing giftedness and talent. Gifted Education International, 10(2), 52–55. Piechowski, M. M. (1986). The concept of developmental potential, Roeper Review, 8, 190–197. Renzulli, J. S. (2002). Expanding the conception of giftedness to include co- cognitive traits and to promote social capital. Phi Delta Kappan, 84, 33–58. Roeper, A. (1992). Global awareness and the young child. Roeper Review, 15, 52–53. Silverman, L. K. (1994). The moral sensitivity of gifted children and the evolution of society. Roeper Review, 17, 110–116. SwaMP Kids. (1994). Amazing stories. Retrieved September 24, 2007, from http://www.actionfornature.org/amaze-swampkids.html Terry, A. W. (2001). A case study of community action service learning on young, gifted adolescents and their community (Doctoral dissertation, University of Georgia, 2000). Dissertation Abstracts International, 61(08), 3058. Terry, A. W. (2003). Effects of service learning on young, gifted adoles- cents and their community. Gifted Child Quarterly, 47, 295–308. Terry, A. W., & Bohnenberger, J. E. (2003). Service-learning: Fostering a cycle of caring in our gifted youth. The Journal of Secondary Gifted Education, 15, 23–32. Terry, A. W., & Bohnenberger, J. E. (2004). Blueprint for incorporating service learning: A basic developmental, K–12 service learning typol- ogy. Journal of Experiential Education, 27(1), 15–31. Wade, R. C. (Ed.). (1997). Community service learning: A guide to includ- ing service in the public school curriculum. Albany: State University of New York. Wheeler, A. (Producer). (1994, July 22). The Donahue Show [television broadcast]. New York: National Broadcasting Company. AUTHOR BIO Alice W. Terry is an associate professor of social studies education in the Department of Secondary and Middle Grades Education at Kennesaw State University, Kennesaw, GA. She is a 2004–2005 John Glenn Scholar in Service- Learning. She spent over 20 years teaching gifted students in K–12 public schools facilitating many outstanding service-learning projects, including some that were featured in Readers Digest, Parade Magazine, Teen Magazine, and USA Today as well as on The Donahue Show. She has co-authored books and articles on service-learning with Jann E. Bohnenberger. E-mail: aterry@kennesaw.edu D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of C al ga ry ] at 1 5: 42 0 9 Ja nu ar y 20 12 
work_svheyzvghrcxdaldf625tcgxpa	----	Atenea 519-final.indd Atenea 519 I Sem. 201999 CAMINAR, EN EL PENSAMIENTO ECOLÓGICO DE LUIS OYARZÚN* THE NARRATIVE OF WALKING IN LUIS OYARZÚN’S ECOLOGICAL THOUGHT ARNALDO DONOSO ACEITUNO** Resumen: El objeto de estudio de este artículo es la escritura íntima y ensayística de Luis Oyarzún (1920-1972). Su objetivo es ofrecer criterios de análisis para probar que lo que denomino “narrativa del caminar” es fundamental en la confi guración del pen- samiento ecológico del autor. El corpus proviene, fundamentalmente, del Diario íntimo (1995) y de uno de sus ensayos póstumos, Defensa de la Tierra (1973). Palabras clave: Luis Oyarzún, narrativa del caminar, naturaleza, pensamiento eco- lógico. Abstract: Th is article analyzes the intimate essay genre cultivated by Luis Oyarzún (1920-1972). Th e purpose of this study is to off er an analytic framework with which to demonstrate the importance of what I term “the narrative of walking” within the author’s ecological thought. Th e principal works examined in this study are the Diario íntimo (1995) and one of his posthumous essays, Defensa de la Tierra (1973). Keywords: Luis Oyarzún, narrative of walking, nature, ecological thought. Recibido: 16.05.18. Aceptado: 01.04.19. Pieza clave en la confi guración del panorama cultural e intelectual chileno de la segunda mitad del siglo XX, Luis Oyarzún Peña (1920- 1972) escribió en varios géneros; sin embargo, no hay poemario, novela o ensayo suyo que haya captado tanto la atención de la academia como ISSN 0716-1840 pp. 99-115 * Este trabajo cuenta con el patrocinio del programa de Becas de Doctorado Nacional de la Comi- sión Nacional de Investigación Científi ca y Tecnológica (CONICYT) y de la Facultad de Educación de la Universidad Adventista de Chile. ** Doctor © en Literatura Latinoamericana, Programa de Doctorado en Literatura Latinoamerica- na, Universidad de Concepción. Correo electrónico: arnaldodonoso@udec.cl. 100Atenea 519I Sem. 2019 sus escritos íntimos. En el caso que nos ocupa, el diario, ese documento relegado a la periferia del circuito de producción literaria, se ha movido hacia el centro. Quizá la principal razón de este fenómeno sea que el diario de Oyarzún registra casi toda su actividad reflexiva y creativa. Se trata, en efecto, parafraseando a Ricardo Piglia (2001), de un “laboratorio de la es- critura” (p. 51) en el que se originó la mayor parte de sus proyectos. Desde esa perspectiva, el diario de Oyarzún se acerca a una noción de escritura llevada al límite. Si bien el autor no siguió obsesivamente la disciplina del calendario (Blanchot, 1967, p. 207), sí llevó un journal por más de treinta años, acumulando más o menos mil páginas manuscritas y mecanografia- das (Morales, 1995, pp. 11, 21). Me interesa un problema específico del heterogéneo mosaico temático de la escritura de Oyarzún: su reflexión ecológica. El siglo XX nos mostró, prematuramente, la barbarie humana a gran escala. Oyarzún fue un poco más allá en la imagen del desastre: la idea de la desaparición del mundo a causa de una crisis o catástrofe ecológica fue un tema recurrente en sus escritos íntimos. Derivó, inclusive, en un libro de ensayos publicado por sus amigos en forma póstuma, Defensa de la Tierra (1973), preparado por el au- tor en 1970 a partir de fragmentos del diario. Lo anterior revela el sistemá- tico interés de Oyarzún por lo que llamaba “el tema ecológico” (cit. Harris, Schütte y Zegers, 2005, p. 8), en el contexto de las primeras comprensiones y proyecciones globales de la crisis ambiental –esto es, a mediados del siglo XX. En lo fundamental, el marco de esta preocupación se relaciona con una profunda crítica a la modernidad como modelo histórico, en especial a los límites del desarrollo tecnocientífico, que decanta en una reflexión sobre el futuro humano y de la vida en el planeta; con la convicción ética de que la humanidad depende de su entorno y que, por ello, debe extender el imperativo categórico de la responsabilidad hacia lo no-humano; con una afectividad por lo salvaje, proveniente de una concepción neoplatónica que asocia lo bueno y lo bello al sentimiento de la naturaleza (Oyarzún, 1995, p. 124; Hozven, 2010, p. 164); con un acercamiento religioso y fraternal hacia los seres y materias con los que compartimos el mundo; con la predilección por la experiencia material del afuera o el “cuerpo a cuerpo con el mundo” (Le Breton, 2014, p. 17), cuyo índice más notable es la afición de Oyarzún por las caminatas y excursiones; con la reivindicación del saber acerca de los ecosistemas y las especies, sobre todo botánicas, que compromete una forma de habitar el mundo; y con una reformulación del rol y capacidad de acción de las humanidades en el contexto de la crisis medioambiental. En resumen, la persistencia de lo ecológico me sugiere que aquello que la Atenea 519 I Sem. 2019101 crítica ha descrito como pasión o fascinación por el mundo natural1 se en- cuentra subordinado a ese marco o formación discursiva que denomino pensamiento ecológico (Donoso, 2016). Uno de los rasgos singulares del pensamiento ecológico de Luis Oyar- zún se encuentra tras la afición del autor por las caminatas y las excursiones (Alone, 1974)2. Para Leonidas Morales (1995), la actitud de Oyarzún no corresponde a la de “un académico sedentario”, sino a la de un hombre que cede a “la compulsión de los desplazamientos” y a “la avidez por los impre- vistos estímulos del mundo circundante” (p. 10). No fue, por lo tanto, un diarista de escritorio ni un escritor doméstico. Literalmente, sin metáfora posmoderna de por medio, el lugar de enunciación del diario de Oyarzún está “en constante desplazamiento” (Morales, 2009, p. 145). ¿Es su diario, por esta condición móvil, más que íntimo un diario de viaje, si un diario íntimo, como explica Morales, es “por excelencia sedentario”, pues, quien lo escribe lo hace desde “un punto de estabilidad... dentro de la movilidad de la vida cotidiana”, mientras que un diario de viaje se “escribe desde fuera del domicilio... en lugares marcados por su condición transitoria, pasajera”, recortando “un tramo excepcional en la continuidad de su vida” (p. 144)? Por supuesto, no deja de ser ni lo uno ni lo otro. Su diario quiebra la regla de los subgéneros, pues Oyarzún escribe sin pensar demasiado en ellos, con la frescura del niño que borronea desde “la aventura el cuerpo” (Morales, 2001, p. 93): Mi cuerpo recordaba tantos otros lugares lluviosos y oscuros que he visto en el sur, donde la primavera y el verano son más espléndidos que en cualquier otra parte. Recuerdo una mañana cerca de Ancud. Salimos temprano... y caminamos por la costa, a esa hora poblada de innumera- bles aves marinas de una blancura azulada. (Oyarzún, 1995, p. 29) 1 Entre otros, Millas (1973), Morales (1995, 2001, 2009), Pérez-Villalón (1999), Sánchez (2005), Ha- rris, Schutte y Zegers (2005), Grau (2008), Hozven (2010), Valdés (2011), Amaro (2013), Bonzi (2014), Cordua (2015) y Pinedo (2017). 2 El 17 de febrero de 1974, El Mercurio publica una reseña de Alone sobre Defensa de la Tierra. La obra de Oyarzún, según el crítico, es múltiple y desconcertante. En ella, la “pasión de ver”, que Millas (1973) identifica como el núcleo de la escritura oyarzuniana, se aplica a la naturaleza hasta dar con los caminos de la filosofía. De acuerdo con Alone, la vocación de excursionista de Oyarzún, curiosa en un intelectual de primer orden como él, le permitió traducir la realidad en prosa, poesía, pensamientos trascendentales y atisbos científicos. En Defensa de la Tierra, concluye Alone, vida y pensamiento, arte e inquietud “empalman con la tragedia contemporánea, con esta civilización y esta cultura que tocan su límite, cuyo saber y poder las devoran, girando... rumbo al caos” (p. 3). 102Atenea 519I Sem. 2019 Lo visto, en reposo o en movimiento, marca en el cuerpo un mapa de sensaciones que componen, a su vez, el cuerpo de la escritura. Parece ser que solo en el “cuerpo a cuerpo con el mundo” Oyarzún fija una imagen indeleble de las cosas. Desde Jorge Millas hasta Roberto Hozven la crítica ha hecho hincapié en “la pasión de ver” de Oyarzún, que es sin duda una de las claves para leerlo –“[la] salud me viene por la luz, por el acto físico de ver” (Oyarzún, 1995, p. 107)–, pero, poco se ha dicho que para ver bien se necesita de una cercanía o lejanía apropiada. Para ver bien, es imprescin- dible acercarnos por nuestros propios medios a las cosas. Para ver bien y entender lo que vemos, se necesita caminar. “La tierra se nos hace familiar cuando la recorremos a pie. Son los pies el órgano natural de la locomoción humana y solo ellos pueden darnos un conocimiento real de los caminos, las gentes, los animales, los árbo- les”, apunta Oyarzún en Mudanzas del tiempo (1962, p. 17); y en el diario: “Experimento la necesidad de caminar, de ser tonificado por el aire frío” (1995, p. 102). Caminar es “una experiencia corporal total que no escapa a ninguno de los sentidos”, que nos permite redescubrir “la espesura sen- sible del mundo” (Le Breton, 2014, pp. 44-47) y que engendra un ritmo de pensar que configura una especie de paisaje interno que entra en relación con el paisaje externo (Solnit, 2015, p. 20). La reflexión acerca del vínculo entre pensamiento y marcha posee una larga data en la historia de la cultu- ra occidental: sofistas, peripatéticos y estoicos, mitificados y tergiversados durante los siglos XVIII y XIX por el romanticismo rousseauniano, son los precursores del pensar caminando. De Hegel, Kant, Hobbes, Rousseau, Nietzsche, Wittgenstein, y otros, se dice que caminaron bastante, mientras que a nosotros, caminantes comunes, el caminar nos vuelve a la “filosofía primera” (Le Breton, 2014, p. 96), es decir, a las preguntas fundamentales sobre la condición humana. Propongo, en definitiva, que la reflexión eco- lógica de Oyarzún comienza por los pies, por el caminar como experiencia corporal, filosófica, espiritual, estética y política. Consideremos, desde la perspectiva expuesta, la primera anotación del diario. Esta data del 28 de octubre de 1949, cinco días después de la llegada de Oyarzún a Londres, donde estudiaría Estética e Historia del Arte por alrededor de un año. En la entrada, el autor relata un paseo vespertino por uno de los parques emblemáticos de la ciudad: vagué por Hyde Park... A pesar del sol, había una bruma que entriste- cía la superficie de la gran laguna, dándole un carácter de semi salvaje, como de gran abandono, que me recordó el lago Lanalhue, cuyas ori- llas recorría una mañana nebulosa hace 4 años... Hyde Park me pareció Atenea 519 I Sem. 2019103 como esos lagos del sur de mi país y adecuado como ellos para abrirse de una vez, en los bellos días, como una flor que ha esperado paciente- mente largo tiempo. Mi cuerpo recordaba tantos otros lugares... (1995, p. 29) Líneas arriba cité parte de esta entrada. Es fascinante el efecto que el contacto con las cosas provoca en el sujeto: la imagen de una brumosa la- guna de apariencia salvaje dispara recuerdos de una remota caminata que, sin embargo, días más tarde, le hará extrañar tierras americanas. “En cier- tos instantes”, reflexiona, “uno suspira por hallarse otra vez en nuestros li- bres espacios, en nuestras costas virginales”, para oler su “perfume salvaje” y oír la “crepitación de la materia que se funde en torno nuestro” (p. 29). Oyarzún piensa que quizás el peso de la historia, la densidad humana o la falta de vitalidad en el paisaje –demasiado “pálido y peinado”, demasiado “doméstico”–, provoca “en el hombre un estado de atonía” que se traduce en un “escepticismo práctico, en una falta completa de entusiasmo y en una pérdida del sentido estimulante del futuro” (p. 47). A mediados de julio, Oyarzún encuentra en la aldea de Burley, Hamp- shire, un paisaje que le recuerda los campos de Santa Cruz que recorrió en su juventud. Vuelve a sentir la espontánea afinidad por lo “casi salvaje”: Recorriendo estas campiñas, saboreo el placer de la lentitud, del viaje en contacto íntimo con las pequeñas hierbas, con la tierra húmeda o seca, con las piedras que mis pies rozan o pisan y que mis ojos ven individua- lizadas con toda la precisión de la cercanía familiar. Hay también una tierra viva, a veces casi salvaje... Pero los grandes caminos interrumpen la armonía de la naturaleza. A ratos me siento deliciosamente vacío, sin peso interior, sin imágenes, en un atolondramiento del alma que deja todo su sitio a la dulce fatiga de mi cuerpo. (pp. 52-53) En la misma dirección, el 5 de septiembre, Oyarzún describirá “la tarde más perfecta” vista en Inglaterra. Para ello ha debido soltar amarras, en- tregarse sin reservas y vivir el desapego que nos exigen las largas caminata (Gros, 2015, pp. 12-17). “Ahora me puedo considerar un vagabundo com- pleto, pues ya no tengo casa” (1995, p. 58), señala antes de partir a Holm- bury St. Mary. Tras atravesar los bosques de Leigh Hill, escribe con todos los sentidos abiertos al evento de la vida: “Ha sido la tarde más perfecta que he visto en Inglaterra. La luz, aunque pálida, era de una pureza tal que brillaba inmóvil y sin embargo como estremecida, a lo largo de cada rayo de sol” (p. 59). Tras terminar sus estudios, Oyarzún tarda dos meses en llegar a Chi- 104Atenea 519I Sem. 2019 le. De regreso, hace escalas en España, Estados Unidos, Puerto Rico, San- to Domingo, Haití y Jamaica, y pasa de la fascinación al fastidio urbano, otra de las hebras de su pensamiento ecológico. Cito una entrada escrita en Nueva York, el 15 de octubre de 1950: “Mi contacto con esta ciudad me ha hecho ver con más claridad mi tendencia al mundo natural” (Oyarzún 1995, p. 61), confiesa en la línea de Henry David Thoreau (1999)3. “La exis- tencia de estas grandes ciudades me parece condenada, desequilibrada, fea, y aquí más aún que en Londres”. Califica a Nueva York como “el frenesí de utilitarismo”. La “inevitable cuadriculación de los movimientos bajo la or- den de luces rojas y verdes” le disgusta y califica los vertiginosos taxis que cruzan las calles como una muestra de “claro salvajismo” (p. 62). No solo se trata de Nueva York o de Londres. Las grandes ciudades de Latinoamérica, como Santiago o Buenos Aires, le provocan la misma impresión: De vuelta en Santiago sufro más acremente la asfixiante plenitud urbana de esta ciudad... Nubes de humo de hornos incineradores barren el te- cho plano de los edificios... No hay a mi alrededor naturaleza, ni árboles, ni pájaros, ni flores. Peor que yo viven los cientos de miles de habitantes de esta lamentable ciudad. (p. 134)4 La segunda entrada significativa del periodo está fechada el 24 de octu- bre en Río Piedras, Puerto Rico. Oyarzún constata los problemas ecológi- cos del país, producto del proceso de colonización de las Antillas. Haciendo un alto en sus compromisos académicos5, da un paseo por las afueras de Río Piedras hacia una granja llamada La Garrapata. Camina bajo el sol en búsqueda de la “efervescencia lujuriosa del trópico”, pero no la encuentra. “No hay grandes árboles ni abundan las flores. El verdor lo dan sólo arbus- tos y pastos. Hay, en cambio demasiadas carreteras de asfalto, camiones y automóviles. Casi no existe aquí paisaje. Existe sólo actividad humana” (p. 66), apunta con decepción en el diario. Colonos españoles y estadouniden- ses arrasaron llanos, valles y bosques para cultivar caña. Como consecuen- 3 Thoreau (1817-1862) es autor de “Walking” (1862), uno de los más elocuentes ensayos sobre el caminar. Los planteamientos de “Walking” proceden, en su mayoría, de apuntes del diario de su autor, hechos alrededor de 1850. 4 En mayo de 1953, amplía sus ideas sobre la vida en las grandes ciudades: “Si viviera en una aldea o en un bosque, me sentiría solidario de todo acontecimiento… en estas ciudades enormes la carne dormita e impera y la gente hacinada se aísla en sus huecos de hierro, en torrecillas de humo, sin la mediación de una naturaleza viva que nos haga humanos” (1995, p. 188). 5 Oyarzún llega al país antillano invitado por Jorge Millas, con el objeto de dar una serie de confe- rencias “sobre la naturaleza en la literatura hispanoamericana” (1995, p. 67) en la sede respectiva de la Universidad de Puerto Rico. Atenea 519 I Sem. 2019105 cia, señala en el mismo lugar, “murieron las plantas trepadoras de enormes flores y los arbustos coloreados”. Mientras en los países del primer mundo abundan los bosques, praderas y flores, “todos ellos más o menos artificia- les en su origen, pero naturales otra vez, desde que se les deja libertad para crecer de nuevo”, los países del tercer mundo, “países nuevos” o de “explo- tación en masa”, tienen un rasgo que los une: la desaparición de sus paisajes primitivos (p. 66). Así, en “el continente de la naturaleza, uno puede vivir toda una triste vida metido en una sucia ciudad sin árboles” (p. 217). Es obvio que el tópico de las cavilaciones de Oyarzún es la ecología po- lítica de las ciudades. Estas no serían modelos de cultura, bienestar y civi- lización. La pregunta es ¿debe la cultura, como expresión de los más altos valores humanos, dar un giro al cuidado de lo no-humano? Oyarzún cree que sí. En pocos hombres, afirma, es posible reconocer esa “piedad hacia las cosas de [la] que habla Gabriel Marcel” (1995, p. 123). La “piedad hacia las cosas”–con Mistral dirá “ternura por las cosas” (1995, p. 252)– se relaciona con la inclusión de lo no-humano en nuestra esfera de existencia: En algunos hombres, la conciencia del bien está ligada al sentimiento de la naturaleza. No descubro en ninguna parte tan excelentemente mi bondad como al respirar el aire yodado del mar, al atardecer de un bello día dedicado a la lectura y a los ejercicios físicos, y aun se restaura en mí el goce de la más pura inocencia cuando, en favor de esa respiración de salud, puedo percibir mi parentesco con los pájaros, los peces, las plantas. (p. 124) Desde las categorías de la ecocrítica, Lawrence Buell (1995) postula que la principal estrategia discursiva de los textos literarios ecológicos es una pulsión básica que adelgaza, fragmenta o borra el yo. Estas relaciones son examinadas por Buell a través del concepto de “estética de la renuncia”: los sujetos textuales, o bien renuncian humildemente a su ego, en una especie de épica de “sencillez voluntaria”, o bien dejan atrás su autonomía respecto del entorno, tendiendo a una “disciplinada extrospección” (pp. 144, 178). Esto, que podríamos denominar “vaciamiento del sujeto”, y que, como vi- mos, Oyarzún siente luego de una larga, lenta y fatigosa caminata, consti- tuye un doble movimiento en que el cuerpo es vivido en plenitud y en el que el afuera erosiona la subjetividad, como se aprecia en esta entrada de fines de febrero de 1953. Aquí el sujeto se vacía de lo superfluo y retiene lo elemental, alcanzando, de ese modo, el goce de ser en unidad con el cielo, la tierra, los animales, las piedras y las hierbas: 106Atenea 519I Sem. 2019 Perezosamente caminé 12 kms. esta tarde, desde Puerto Natales hasta Estancia Nueva... Vencido por la fatiga, me senté en una piedra, poco antes de llegar a las deseadas casas de la Estancia, y por unos instantes pude sentir la unión paradisíaca con el cielo, con la tierra torturada por el viento y con un zorzal que se detuvo sobre un poste, confundiendo el dorado plumaje de su pecho con el dorado de las hierbas del suelo... Fue esta tarde un rapto de dicha. (1995, p. 178) David Le Breton (2014) señala que el precio a pagar por el goce tran- quilo, la sensorialidad y la potencia de pensar que nos ofrece la marcha no urbana es la intensa actividad que compromete el caminar. No es solo una cuestión motora, sino también una cuestión de voluntad y coraje ante las adversidades e incertidumbres de las rutas y el clima, de respiración y resis- tencia muscular, de fatiga y, a veces, de hambre y sed al final de la jornada (p. 42). El premio es una invaluable lección de humildad. Al caminar expe- rimentamos la eternidad vibrante de lo que se mueve a una velocidad geo- lógica. Frente a la montaña o caminando entre grandes árboles o rocas, dice Frédéric Gros (2015), se piensa: “están ahí. Están ahí, no me han esperado, están ahí desde siempre. Se me han adelantado indefinidamente, y seguirán estando ahí mucho tiempo después de yo” (p. 90). Tal lección de humildad hace que nos desprendamos de nuestras máscaras. “Mediante sus grandes sacudidas, la Naturaleza nos despierta... de la pesadilla del hombre” (p. 92). Como Barthes (2016)6, Oyarzún asocia la dimensión estética del cami- nar a los paseos de infancia, a la producción de un alma infantil. Caminar “permite recuperar el puro sentimiento de ser, redescubrir la simple alegría de existir... que constituye la esencia de la infancia” (Gros, 2015, p. 91). Cuando se camina con la libertad del niño, cada paseo es distinto, cada ca- mino contiene un universo de posibilidades de mundos. Cualquier mirada objetiva o cualquier generalidad se triza ante la percepción de la miríada de multiplicidades que ofrece el afuera (cf. Gros, 2015, pp. 169-162). En Oyarzún, a veces, este arrobamiento infantil difumina la capacidad de evo- cación del lenguaje: “Ayer fuimos a pie hasta la aldea de San Isidro, en un paseo tan lleno de halago de los sentidos, que no podría describir nada de él ahora” (1995, p. 158). Lo que nunca se difumina es la inmediata experiencia poética que surge del camino. En su rugosa transparencia, la poesía de lo material se adelanta a cualquier epíteto, a cualquier figura, a cualquier ima- gen. Por ello, el recurso de la personificación aparece en las narrativas del 6 “Yo entro en esas regiones de la realidad a mi manera”, escribió Barthes (2016), “es decir, con mi cuerpo; y mi cuerpo es mi infancia, tal como la historia la hizo” (p. 16). Atenea 519 I Sem. 2019107 caminar como una estrategia para intentar acercarnos a la alteridad radical de lo no-humano. Lo no-humano ofrece a Oyarzún una serie de gestos. Su evocación le permite alcanzar un delicado lirismo: “¿Hay un gesto más ingenuo en la naturaleza, más primitivo en su candor que las huellas de una bandada de pájaros en la arena húmeda?” (1995, p. 124), se pregunta tras una caminata por la playa El Horcón; mientras que en Copacabana, los primeros días de julio de 1955, escribe: “Cuántos gestos tiene una ola, cuántas maneras de mirar, cuántas maneras de ser mirada” (p. 233). En mi concepto, la gestualidad de lo no-humano en los textos ecológicos des- pliega una ontología animista, en el sentido que da al concepto Philippe Descola (2011): en este tipo ontológico, humanos y no-humanos poseen una interioridad que emana de la naturaleza. Así, en razón de esa esencia común, humanos y no-humanos están llamados a llevar una existencia so- cial, pues la humanidad es la condición del sistema animista (pp. 89-90). En conexión con esta idea, cito una entrada del diario fechada del 13 de diciembre de 1955: El trato diario con los poderes vivientes de la naturaleza es indispensa- ble para el enriquecimiento armonioso de la vida. No hay salud sin él. El aumento de la población del globo hará necesario un gran perfeccio- namiento en las técnicas de restauración y creación de la tierra. ¿Cómo vivir sin la tierra y sus criaturas, sin el mar y el aire poblados por una vida sujeta a ritmo como la respiración y la circulación de la sangre? Sobre la riqueza multiforme y dispersa de la vida, el espíritu no parece sino voluntad de orden. (1995, p. 239, cursivas en el original) El énfasis sobre la “voluntad de orden” hace aplicable al pensamiento ecológico de Oyarzún las consideraciones de Descola respecto del animis- mo. En este, la naturaleza está especificada o englobada por la cultura (2011, p. 91). Es interesante observar cómo, en la línea de Mistral (Ostria, 2013), Oyarzún insiste sobre la idea de un orden espiritual que emerge cuando se producen agenciamientos entre lo humano y lo no-humano. Ejemplifico con una anotación de mayo de 1957, escrita luego de una larga caminata por el Cañón del Colorado: No puedo sentirme en orden sino en contacto con la naturaleza. De ella recojo mis fuerzas y solo ella me pone sobre mis pies. Acabo de cami- nar dos horas por un sendero, a la orilla del Gran Cañón. La lluvia y la niebla habían ahuyentado a los turistas. Caminé solo bajo los pinos de Oregón que goteaban sobre mi cabeza, solo y feliz. El corazón se me en- ferma en los interiores calefaccionados en exceso, un verdadero azote en 108Atenea 519I Sem. 2019 este país, pero allí, a paso firme, palpitaba de acuerdo con mis pulmones que respiraban el aire húmedo, entre esas rocas fantasmales suspendidas sobre los precipicios. Pude alguna vez ver hasta el fondo y esos cam- bios súbitos de aire eran semejantes a iluminaciones espirituales... Cada monte aquí se ha transformado en templo. (1995, p. 262) En Oyarzún, el animismo no excluye el conocimiento científico. Por el contrario, observo una poética que yuxtapone dos discursos ontológicos: el animismo y el naturalismo. Siguiendo a Descola, el naturalismo presupone la continuidad material de los cuerpos, la discontinuidad que es posible trazar entre lo humano y lo no-humano, y los elementos que diferencian aquello que es cultura de aquello que es puramente naturaleza (2011, pp. 93-94). Hay un interesante corpus de anotaciones del Diario íntimo y de Defensa de la Tierra que obran con este ensamblaje discursivo. Me refie- ro a los relatos de excursiones de observación, descubrimiento, búsqueda, descripción y catalogación de plantas, flores y árboles, en las que asoma el interés y la preocupación de Oyarzún por la flora chilena. En otro lugar (Donoso, 2014) he denominado “itinerarios botánicos” a este excepcional registro que aproxima a Oyarzún al espíritu de los naturalistas de los siglos XVIII y XIX7. “Todo viaje es una travesía de nombres” (Le Breton, 2014, p. 96). Quien comprende esto de mejor manera es el caminante que escribe su viaje, pues se encuentra siempre entre dos tiempos que corren paralelos y operan uno sobre el otro: el de la sensación y el de la memoria (p. 133; cf. Gros, 2015, pp. 26-27, 104). El que va a pie siempre va en busca de nombres, se interro- ga sobre los caminos, los poblados, las playas, los bosques, los cerros, los ríos, las plantas y flores, los animales; pero, lamentablemente, “el destino de todo ser humano es conocer poco más de un puñado del infinito número de nombres que existen” (Le Breton, 2014, pp. 92-93). Examinemos, a este respecto, una entrada del 26 de febrero de 1950. Oyarzún intenta describir el paisaje de Highgate que ve desde su ventana. Se esfuerza, pero no logra reconocer los árboles que ve: “Una de las cosas que me hacen sentirme ex- tranjero es no conocer el nombre de los árboles y de las flores” (1995, p. 33). Vuelve sobre lo mismo un año después, en El Horcón: “Uno de los signos 7 Darwin, Humboldt, Thoulet y Philippi son citados en el diario. Philippi fue la principal fuente de los conocimientos botánicos de Oyarzún. “Hojeé mi vieja botánica de Philippi compañera inseparable de excursiones”, declara en uno de los apartados de Defensa de la Tierra (1973, p. 73; ver, también, 1995, pp. 482, 512). Atenea 519 I Sem. 2019109 de nuestra mala barbarie”, escribe Oyarzún, “es no conocer los nombres precisos de las cosas. Esto significa que este mundo nuestro es pobre, que no nos interesan todas las cosas y las variedades de las cosas” (p. 89). A partir de febrero de 1951 se aprecia un creciente interés del autor por identificar de forma precisa las especies botánicas que observa en sus ca- minatas y describir sus relaciones ecosistémicas. Intenta, de a poco, vadear su ignorancia botánica, pero habla de flores sin nombre: “una pequeña flor de tres pétalos de espuma, tres pétalos de cera jade y seis estambres dora- dos, la más delicada que he visto, un parpadeo de inocencia en este mundo infinito... R. y yo nos dedicamos a recoger flores silvestres... ¡Qué lástima no conocer el nombre de todas!”, anota el 20 de septiembre (p. 107). Evoca solo lugares comunes –la “ternura por las cosas” en su faceta más superfi- cial8. Líneas más adelante, describe por primera vez una especie endémica. No se consigna el lugar del registro, pero creo que es en las cercanías de El Horcón, por la distribución geográfica de la que Oyarzún denomina “tupa morbosa” (Lobelia polyphylla): al borde del precipicio, se ocultaba la flor azul de Novalis que encontra- mos hace años en Algarrobo: una estrella blanca de cinco puntas en el fondo de una campánula turquesa. En los bordes más áridos de la colina crece la arvejilla salvaje cuyas hojas son de un verde gris perla que forma la más exquisita armonía con el lila de delicadas rayas violetas de sus pétalos... La tupa morbosa empieza a abrir sus umbelas eróticas, que pasan bruscamente de lo fálico a lo venusino. Su jugo es fétido como el del palqui. (pp. 107-108) Estos sorpresivos hallazgos exigen a Oyarzún confrontar sus observa- ciones de campo con la literatura científica. En una entrada del 7 de abril de 1953 narra una caminata de dos días entre Vichuquén y Querelema, lo- calidad costera de la Región del Maule y del secano costero de la Región de O’Higgins, respectivamente. Junto con un compañero, identificado con las iniciales A.B. o A., indistintamente, parte de Vichuquén con dos sacos de 8 Hay una variante lúdica de la “pasión de los nombres” (Grau, 2008). En 1953 el autor registra: “Era el día glorioso de ese camino de montañas, inundado por las flores fugaces de noviembre: cal- ceolarias delicadísimas, de tono amarillo limón; canelos floridos, humerianas mórbidas, oyarzunianas excelsas, huillis enormes, principillos, falsos capachitos” (1995, pp. 198-199; cursivas mías). Interesante es la entrada del 14 de diciembre, cuando Oyarzún determina el nombre científico de la “humeriana mórbida”: “suele ser llamada ‘azucena del campo’ –según le dijo a R. una anciana de Caleu– o ‘pata de vaca’. V. M. Baeza en su libro Los nombres vulgares de las plantas silvestres de Chile, la identifica como Chloreaspeciosa” (p. 201). 110Atenea 519I Sem. 2019 dormir y medio kilo de queso: “Atravesamos primero los bosques del vivero forestal de las dunas, formado por grandes pinos y eucaliptos que han ven- cido la arena. La atmósfera del día nublado transportaba aromas vegetales” (p. 181). Las dunas formaban una “inmensidad lila, plácida de mirar”, pero, fatigosa para los pies de los caminantes, sobre todo si se tiene en cuenta que aún se encontraban lejos de algún poblado: “Pasadas las dunas, entramos en un caminillo polvoriento, rojizo, bordeado de zarzamoras y boldos par- duscos. Sudábamos copiosamente bajo nuestra carga, sintiendo el placer de la soledad y del esfuerzo. Nos rodeaban campos de aspecto árido, muy pobres” (p. 182). Luego de bañarse en una pequeña laguna, los compañeros temen per- derse y solicitan hospedaje en una casa ubicada en el bajo de un monte. A la mañana siguiente, desayunan con sus anfitriones y salen camino a Boyeru- ca, dejando atrás el lago Vichuquén y la Laguna Dulce. Vadean la laguna de Boyeruca y el estero de Alcántara. Después, enfilan por un difícil camino de arena y llegan a Bucalemu. Al atardecer, Oyarzún y A. B. llegan a las colinas arboladas de Quelecura “después de 8 horas de marcha durante el día” (p. 182). En esas colinas los compañeros hacen un alto para observar las matas de chagual (Puya venusta). En esta entrada, Oyarzún hace una detallada descripción de sus flores, como consta en el fragmento siguiente: Por el camino de bajada, abundaban los chaguales que formaban setos y que mostraban ahora unas flores que nos dejaron deslumbrados sobre sépalos cubiertos de un polvillo rosa como desprendido de azucenas, una corola de numerosos pétalos carnosos cuyos tonos van desde el co- ral al naranja, con estambres amarillos. La flor ocupa el centro bordeada de hojas espinudas y resulta increíble esa carne delicada, voluptuosa, entre tan zarpados rayos. A. se oponía a que yo cortara una o dos que quise traer, envuelta en un pañuelo, porque no deseaba destruir esas vidas. Ignorancia botánica... (p. 183) Atento a las condiciones materiales de las especies endémicas del país, uno de los temas que más preocupó a Oyarzún fue el de los incendios fo- restales. En enero de 1961, en Tolhuaca, descubre “la belleza de la araucaria silvestre que trepa hasta las cumbres rocosas y se recorta sobre el cielo” al tiempo que contrasta la hermosura de los imponentes árboles con los ras- tros del bosque quemado: “También fue quemada aquí la selva primitiva, pero estos gigantes se salvaron gracias a la altura de las copas y la corteza dura, casi metálica” (p. 327). En esta entrada, como las de casi todo el mes, además de demostrar el profundo conocimiento botánico que ha ido ad- quiriendo –“a orillas de la laguna de Malleco, estoy viendo un tropaleum- Atenea 519 I Sem. 2019111 speciosum formado de grandes flores escarlata”–, Oyarzún reflexiona sobre la cuestión ecológica no solo como un problema estratégico o económico, sino, además, como un problema sociológico, político, moral y estético. “El chileno proyecta su feísmo de población callampa a la naturaleza y por eso no le cuesta arruinar su hermosura... no mira el paisaje ni tiene la capaci- dad de verlo en perspectiva, que exige una condición mental superior, la facultad de desprendimiento estético y moral” (1995, pp. 328-329). De este modo, la defensa del patrimonio biológico puede convertirse también en la del patrimonio biocultural, como se aprecia en la siguiente entrada escrita en Montegrande, el 20 de febrero de 1965: “La tumba de Gabriela [Mistral] está rodeada de montañas desnudas... Detrás del sepulcro crecen unos eu- caliptos que nada tienen que ver con el paisaje ni con el lugar... En cambio, están bien aquí el algarrobo, el espino y el quisco” (p. 461). Mención aparte merecen las especies que subsisten en el desierto. Oyar- zún efectuó cuatro viajes al norte de Chile, en 1959, 1961, 1964 y 1967. Apunto dos. En 1959, Oyarzún se interna a pie en la Quebrada de la Chim- ba, ubicada en el desierto costero cerca de Antofagasta. El lugar posee una formación vegetal única gracias a su microclima: “Ayer recogí brazadas de alstroemerias lilas en la Quebrada de la Chimba. Apenas cae un poco de lluvia o se espesa la camanchaca brotan las flores: verbenas rosadas, manza- nillas minúsculas, flores blancas de largos estambres morados”, escribe el 24 de noviembre en Copiapó (1995, p. 321). Por su parte, en Defensa de la Tie- rra, bajo el título de “Ramajes del desierto”, se recogen las anotaciones del 17 y 18 de julio de 1964, hechas en Antofagasta y Arica, respectivamente. Fundamentalmente, estas se refieren a la adaptación del tamarugo (Prosopis tamarugo) a las áridas mesetas nortinas: El desierto se esconde bajo los tamarugos polvorientos. Habría que ca- nonizar a este árbol heroico, que crece sin agua en los arenales, saciando su sed en las napas más profundas y atreviéndose a levantar su fina alza- dura entre los terrones removidos del salitre. Es el árbol de la resistencia a la adversidad. (1973, p. 35) Insisto, por último, sobre la inquietud botánica de Oyarzún para glosar una excursión que efectuó junto al botánico Carlos Muñoz Pizarro, el pin- tor Mario Toral y el fotógrafo polaco Bob Borowicz, al sector de La Vacada, en Huelquén, comuna de Paine9. El relato de la caminata se encuentra en las 9 La relación con Muñoz y Toral es interesante. Defensa de la Tierra fue publicado con ilustraciones del botánico y un diseño de cubierta del pintor. 112Atenea 519I Sem. 2019 notas del 2 y 3 de abril de 1965 del diario y fue reescrito, parcialmente, en la sección “Entre árboles” de Defensa de la Tierra. “Empiezo este nuevo cua- derno, regalo de Efraín Barquero”, escribe Oyarzún en el diario, “en plena excursión fotográfica y botánica... Los árboles del día son peumos, quillayes y lingues. Dios y los hombres quieran preservarlos, Amén, como a objetos sagrados” (1995, p. 470). Y en la reescritura del texto se lee: Los grandes árboles chilenos que sobreviven en las quebradas de la zona central... son los guardianes de las aguas, protectores de los hombres, animales y plantas. Bajo su sombra crecen los helechos y cantan los pá- jaros..., son ídolos silvestres que alimentan el alma de la tierra... Algo tendré que hacer para salvarlos, aunque no sea sino cantar su ruina. ¿Quién nos devolverá los viejos árboles perdidos? (Oyarzún, 1973, p. 39) El grupo avanza hacia el sur, al Parque Nacional Palmas de Cocalán, en la comuna de Las Cabras, Región de O’Higgins, para visitar la población endémica de palmas más austral del mundo, muchas de ellas milenarias, protegidas por su frágil estado y lento crecimiento. Oyarzún las compara a “toscos gigantes” que resisten estoicamente la explotación humana: Son las Palmas (Jubaeachilensis o spectabilis), que Darwin consideró monstruosas, las más feas de las plantas por la deformidad del tronco... Se sabe que vive cientos de años y que puede crecer aun en terrenos muy secos y áridos (sic). Produce no solo miel sino coquitos que todavía se exportan, crin vegetal, bastones, cartones con la fibra de sus troncos secos. Con paciencia y previsión, bien podría repoblar de árboles los ce- rros áridos de la cordillera de la costa... ¿Tendrán todas que ser abatidas también un día? El huracán no puede con ellas. Pero esas palmas ama- das de nuestra vieja tierra, que Gabriela Mistral llamaba las cuelludas, ¿habrán de morir antes que nosotros, víctimas de nuestro amor por el desierto? (pp. 41-43) Descomponer el estrato del viaje, línea mayor con la que dialoga este trabajo, observar su trama y seguir solo una hebra, la delgada senda que se dibuja con el cuerpo entero inmerso en el contacto con las cosas, lentamen- te, paso a paso, nos permite situar el pensamiento ecológico de Oyarzún en sintonía con la reflexión contemporánea sobre el caminar. Le Breton recuerda que, en 1950, Barthes planteaba sagazmente que “todo ensueño, toda imagen ideal, toda promoción social, suprime en primer lugar las piernas; ya sea a través del retrato o del automóvil” (cit. Le Breton, 2014, p. Atenea 519 I Sem. 2019113 19). El orden urbano ha hecho que, progresivamente, el cuerpo en tránsito de la modernidad, incorpóreo, sentado e inmóvil, sea percibido como una anomalía (p. 18). El cuerpo “choca con la modernidad”, pues, en general, los diseños urbanos limitan nuestra visión del mundo, nuestro campo de acción sobre la realidad, nuestra consistencia psíquica, actuar político y el conocimiento de las cosas. Usando una metáfora geológica, el choque del cuerpo con la modernidad “erosiona el yo” (p. 19). De allí que caminar sea un gesto de “deliberada resistencia a la neutralización técnica del cuerpo que distingue a las sociedades modernas” (pp. 135-136), bandera de sujetos y subjetividades que no temen enfrentarse a la “desnudez del mundo” ni a llevar un ritmo a contramano de una sociedad seducida por la velocidad. Andar es una forma de resistir la erosión no solo de la mente y el cuerpo, sino también del paisaje, de la naturaleza y de las ciudades (Solnit, 2015, p. 29). ¿Cuánto le debe el pensamiento ecológico de Oyarzún a sus caminatas y excursiones? Parece claro a esta altura que el caminar representó para él una profunda experiencia material, espiritual, intelectual y estética que siem- pre alcanza el mismo punto: una afectividad por el afuera, un sentimiento de bienestar y serenidad cuando se encuentra rodeado por la naturaleza salvaje, un placer estético ligado a su contemplación y una reflexión ética sobre las condiciones del entorno, las especies y el lugar del ser humano en el futuro del planeta. Las narrativas del caminar son fundamentales en el pensamiento ecológico de Luis Oyarzún. De las caminatas deriva el trabajo de campo, la acuciosa observación del paisaje, el entorno, las materias y las especies que en él habitan, y, por qué no, el diálogo con lo no-humano (Io- vino y Oppermann, 2014). Como Sócrates, Rousseau, Kierkegaard, Word- sworth, Nietzsche o Thoreau, Oyarzún fue un entusiasta caminante. Para Oyarzún, caminar y escribir fueron prácticas que se conectan con lo que Foucault (1999) llamó “cuidado de sí”, cuyos principios morales provienen de la filosofía antigua. Lo mismo podría decirse, en el contexto del pensa- miento postestructuralista, de la noción de la literatura como una “empresa de salud”, descrita por Deleuze (1996). No es raro, entonces, que, ante el progresivo desvanecimiento de los valores humanistas, Oyarzún se refugie en aquellas prácticas que los hombres de acción y los “planificadores del de- sarrollo” (1973, p. 16) consideran de otro tiempo, inútiles o de escaso o nulo valor, como la caminata, la escritura o el diálogo con lo no-humano, robus- tos dispositivos de resistencia contra el avance del filisteísmo y la ideología del progreso. 114Atenea 519I Sem. 2019 REFERENCIAS Alone (17 de febrero de 1974). Crónica literaria: Defensa de la tierra de Luis Oyarzún. El Mercurio, p. 3. Amaro, L. (2013). La reescritura de La infancia en Los días ocultos de Luis Oyarzún. Aisthesis, 54, 303-318. Barthes, R. (2016). Incidentes. Buenos Aires: La Marca Editora. Blanchot, M. (1967). El libro que vendrá. Caracas: Monte Ávila. Bonzi, P. (2014). Tiempo inmemorial y trascendencia en el Diario íntimo de Luis Oyarzún. Mapocho: Revista de Humanidades, 75, 13-22. Buell, L. (1995). The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Cordua, C. (2015). Prólogo: Edición 2015. En L. Oyarzún, Defensa de la Tierra (pp. 9-12). Santiago: Biblioteca Nacional de Chile. Deleuze, G. (1996). Crítica y clínica. Barcelona: Anagrama. Descola, P. (2011). Más allá de la naturaleza y de la cultura. En L. Montenegro (Ed.), Cultura y naturaleza: Aproximaciones a propósito del bicentenario de la independencia de Colombia (pp. 75-96). Bogotá: Jardín Botánico de Bo- gotá José Celestino Mutis. Donoso, A. (2014, enero). Itinerarios botánicos de Luis Oyarzún: Diario ín- timo (1995) y Defensa de la Tierra (1973). Ponencia presentada en el VII Congreso Internacional e Interdisciplinario en homenaje a Alexander von Humboldt, Claudio Gay e Ignacio Domeyko, Humboldt State University, Universidad de Chile y Pontificia Universidad Católica de Chile, Santiago. Donoso, A. (2016). Key Issues in the Ecological Thought of Luis Oyarzún. ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment, 23(1), 149-161. Foucault, M. (1999). La escritura de sí. En Estética, ética y hermenéutica (pp. 289-306). Barcelona: Paidós. Grau, O. (2008). Tiempo y escritura: El diario y los escritos autobiográficos de Luis Oyarzún. Santiago: Universitaria. Gros, F. (2015). Andar, una filosofía. Santiago: Taurus. Harris, T., Schütte, D. y Zegers, P. (2005). Prólogo. En L. Oyarzún, Taken for a Ride: Escritura de paso (pp. 7-9). Santiago: RIL Editores. Hozven, R. (2010). Escritura de alta tensión: Desafío de Luis Oyarzún. Santiago: Catalonia. Iovino, S. y Oppermann, S. (2014). Material Ecocriticism. Bloomington/India- napolis: Indiana University Press. Le Breton, D. (2014). Elogio del caminar. Madrid: Siruela. Millas, J. (1973). Prólogo: Luis Oyarzún o la pasión de ver. En L. Oyarzún, De- fensa de la Tierra (pp. ix-xxv). Santiago: Universitaria. Morales, L. (1995). “Prólogo”. En L. Oyarzún, Diario íntimo (pp. 7-26). Santia- go: Universidad de Chile. Morales, L. (2001). La escritura del lado: Géneros referenciales. Santiago: Cuarto Propio. Atenea 519 I Sem. 2019115 Morales, L. (2009). Luis Oyarzún: El diario íntimo como diario de viaje. Mo- dernidad y cultura cotidiana chilena. Anales de Literatura Chilena, 11, 141- 159. Ostria, M. (2013). El “cosmos exaltado” de Ternura. Atenea, 508, 187-196. Oyarzún, L. (1962). Mudanzas del tiempo. Santiago: Luis Rivano Editor. Oyarzún, L. (1973). Defensa de la Tierra. Santiago: Universitaria. Oyarzún, L. (1995). Diario íntimo. Santiago: Universidad de Chile. Pérez Villalón, F. (1999). El Diario íntimo de Luis Oyarzún: Una lectura. Revis- ta Chilena de Literatura, 55, 103-128. Piglia, R. (2001). Crítica y ficción. Barcelona: Anagrama. Pinedo, J. (2017). “Este es mi país y deberé cargar con el muerto”: Imágenes de la identidad nacional en los ensayos de Luis Oyarzún. Universum, 32(1), 231-254. Sánchez, C. (2005). Escenas del cuerpo escindido: Ensayos cruzados de filosofía, literatura y arte. Santiago: ARCIS / Cuarto Propio. Solnit, R. (2015). Wanderlust: Una historia del caminar. Santiago: Hueders. Thoreau, H. D. (1999). Pasear. Palma de Mallorca: José J. de Olañeta Editor. Valdés, C. (2011). Luis Oyarzún: Pensamiento y forma. Valdivia: Universidad Austral de Chile. 
work_t2hkylnahbfcbnqvo4siqyqch4	----	Wordsworth in American Literary Culture (review) Wordsworth in American Literary Culture (review) Fiona Robertson Romanticism, Volume 12, Number 1, 2006, pp. 63-65 (Review) Published by Edinburgh University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/rom.2006.0007 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/199847 https://doi.org/10.1353/rom.2006.0007 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/199847 to Cobbett’s Weekly Political Register, Wooler’s Black Dwarf, the Northern Star and less well known Chartist papers, and the periodicals of social progress of the 1840s and 1850s. He concentrates of necessity on periodical literature and popular fiction, to the exclusion of poetry and melodrama, while acknowledging that a comprehensive history of popular literature must include the latter categories. One of the most valuable aspects of his study is the scrutiny of little known texts: More’s popular tracts, ‘The Death of Mr. Fantom’ and ‘The Delegate’, both written in 1817, Harriet Martineau’s ‘The Rioters’, Thomas Martin Wheeler’s famous novel about Chartism Sunshine and Shadow (1849–50), plus issues of Lloyd’s and Reynolds’ popular titles. Individual tales are deftly summarized, and carefully chosen illustrations reinforce the vital connections between image and text in all of these mass circulation publications. Realist fiction by women provides a common thread throughout the book, from Edgeworth’s Popular Tales and More’s tracts, through Harriet Martineau’s serialized fiction, to the ‘seamstress’ narratives of Elizabeth Stone, Eliza Meteyard (‘Silverpen’) and Camilla Toulmin. Haywood is at his least convincing in his attempt to retrieve Hannah More from what he sees as the wrong-headedness of critics like Marilyn Butler, Kathryn Sutherland, and Anne Mellor who present her, very convincingly, as a counter-revolutionary ‘feminist’. He is blinkered too, in his treatment of Harriet Martineau, presenting her as remorselessly and patronizingly making the case for political economy to her inferiors, while failing to acknowledge her own brand of compassionate feminism and the breadth and variety of her journalism. Haywood’s most important contribution to the study of popular literature is to link the period of radical print culture, the 1790 through to the 1830s, to the commercialism of the 1840s and 1850s, and to point up the continuities. The unstamped ‘war’ of the thirties paved the way for the Chartist literature of the forties, and the commercial triumphs of Edward Lloyd and Reynolds. The key was the heady mixture of politics and fiction, which Reynolds and the earlier Chartists had learned from the unstamped press. The mass readership of the 1840s and the 1850s were not divided along class lines, as has sometimes been suggested. Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine, Douglas Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine, Howitt’s Journal, and Eliza Cook’s Journal, despite variations in price, were competing for the same readers as Lloyd’s and Reynolds’ publications. They were all, as Haywood points out, courting the ‘respectable artisan reader’ as well as his or her middle-class counterpart. Equally, Household Words, established in 1850 and priced at 2d, was targeting a wide social spectrum of artisan as well as middle-class readers, as were the temperance publications of John Cassell, with whom Haywood ends his account. Haywood’s prose is not easy, and the links between chapters and sections occasionally show the signs of earlier publication as articles. Nevertheless this well- researched book makes us better able to recognize a continuum from the radical press of the late eighteenth century through the unstamped papers of the 1830s to the Chartist press of the forties, and the family magazines of the 1850s. Joanne Shattock University of Leicester Joel Pace and Matthew Scott (eds), Wordsworth in American Literary Culture, with a foreword by Stephen Gill (Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), pp. xix + 247. £45 hardback. 1 4039 0133 3. The defined point of origin of the eleven essays in this collection is Stephen Gill’s remark in Wordsworth and the Victorians that ‘the book waiting to be written’ is on Wordsworth in America. Like Wordsworth under sentence of The Recluse, however, the contributors here have taken their own distinctive paths towards, or around, that grand project. Many important links and persuasive readings emerge over the course of the volume, as well as many intriguing evocations of Wordworth: Theodore Parker’s ‘dear old poetical Betty’; Thoreau’s embodiment of ‘a simple pathos and feminine gentleness’; the champion of ‘the real language of men’ supporting Owen Wister’s 1895 essay ‘The Evolution of the Cow-Puncher’. For many American writers, Wordsworth seems to have served as a substitute for the image of nature offered in some of his own poems: restorative, sustaining, nutritional (William James’s father describes him ‘feeding upon’ Wordsworth). In many ways, however, the most significant questions the collection raises are about scholarly methodology. Two sets of ideas are central: the viability of Bloom-derived models of influence, and the more recent approaches offered in studies of ‘Transatlantic Romanticism’. In their introduction, Joel Pace and Matthew Scott begin to ‘worry’ (their elision) the intersections of Reviews 63 Jonathan Simpson muse these ideas, before providing summaries of the eleven essays. Although Pace’s and Scott’s later essays clearly have in view the metanarrative of the work as a whole, a return to the ideas raised in their introduction would have been welcome at the volume’s close. The main part of the collection opens with contributions by two prominent scholars of transatlantic exchange, Susan Manning and Richard Gravil. In ‘“Grounds for Comparison”: The Place of Style in Transatlantic Romanticism’, Manning argues that transatlanticism is perfectly placed to promote ‘a wider stylistics of comparison based in “thinking across”’ (p. 28), an endeavour which involves a rethinking of traditional ‘vertical’ and hierarchical models of influence. Her identification of ‘a rhizomatic transitive organism which maps a lateral undergrowth of connection’ (p. 35) is an exciting start, but not one which the volume as a whole entirely follows through. Several essays share Manning’s interest in the methodology of influence and in the larger implications of ‘thinking across’. Matthew Scott’s closing essay, for example, addresses the possibility that literature might not speak, across or otherwise. Others are more attentive to the different model of transatlanticism suggested by Stephen Gill’s foreword: that is, to the Wordsworth created by American editors and interpreters. Richard Gravil’s essay, ‘The Wordsworthian Metamorphosis of Natty Bumppo’, combines Gill’s attention to context with Manning’s emphasis on change. The dynamics of Gravil’s essay prove in practice that Wordsworth’s influence is seen most clearly as it changes within the work of another writer, but Gravil’s ease with the complexity of transatlantic Romanticism also draws attention to one difficulty affecting the collection as a whole. Gravil writes at different points of ‘a consciously Wordsworthian or Bryantesque stance towards nature’ (p. 46) and of an ‘Edgeworthian or Wordsworthian character’ in Catherine Sedgwick’s work, and complicates Wordsworthianism with reminders of Byron, Blake, Burke, and Cowper. The difficulties of isolating Wordsworth from the impact of his British contemporaries, both followers and antagonists, are faced by other essays, though not always explicitly. Bruce Graver’s ‘Discord at Pennacook: Whittier and the Problem of American Picturesque’, for example, usefully extends our knowledge of poems in the 1843 volume Lays of my Home and ‘The Bridal of Pennacook’, dwelling on elements of the picturesque, the elegiac, and the historical; but what Graver calls ‘Wordsworthian’ seems, to me at least, just as strongly marked by echoes of Scott’s, Hemans’s, Cowper’s, and Campbell’s poetry; more precisely, in the case of ‘The Bridal of Pennacook’, by the frame narrative of Scott’s The Bridal of Triermain and the reworkings of Hemans in Lydia Sigourney’s poems. As Joel Pace emphasizes in ‘Transatlantic Gothic and Race: Wordsworth, Hawthorne, Poe, Chopin, Cable and Chesnutt’, America’s Wordsworths are created by many different communities of interpreters, by ‘many choirs of voices’ rather than by Bloomian ‘duets’. ‘Tintern Abbey’, ‘Michael’, and The Prelude lead him to the ruined structures of plot and character in Poe and Hawthorne, ruins linked to the play of race and hybridity in American Gothic. ‘Contextualizing a study of the call and response between Wordsworth and Poe as well as that of Wordsworth and Hawthorne attempts to place dialogue among these authors in the context of the (many) (trans)national conversation(s) in which their writing participated’ (pp. 93–4). Pace’s suggestions are furthered by the more precisely focussed work of Adam Potkay’s ‘Wordsworth, Henry Reed and Bishop Doane: High-Church Romanticism on the Delaware’, which delineates the different ‘Wordsworths’ beloved of different American communities. For his friends George Washington Doane and Henry Reed, Wordsworth’s career was ‘perfectly integrated, and integrally High Church’ (p. 102). In ‘Henry David Thoreau as Wordsworthian Poet’, Lance Newman likewise emphasizes the different shape of Wordsworth’s career as viewed from across the Atlantic, showing that ‘many of New England’s bourgeois radicals in the 1830s felt that the turn to nature was a turn to the people’ (p. 123). Essays in the second half of the collection have to deal with more elusive forms of influence, and do so in contrasting ways. Karen Karbiener’s approach in ‘Intimations of Imitation: Wordsworth, Whitman and the Emergence of Leaves of Grass’ is to work with small but resonant detail, principally the use of ‘We Are Seven’ in Whitman’s story ‘The Child at the Tomb’ (1846) and the 1844 sketch ‘My Boys and Girls’. Richard E. Brantley details his method in ‘The Wordsworthian Cast of Dickinson’s Romantic Heritage’as follows: ‘As I fill in some of the background to her 1789 poems, and as I develop readings, I name or allude to Wordsworth in each one of my paragraphs’ (p. 161). The aim is capture mood and association, to establish ‘just how Dickinson the Romantic stands on the broadly experiential common ground between sensationalist epistemology and 64 Romanticism testimonial heart-religion. She stands there quietly, yet sturdily, with no rigidity.’ (p. 174). This is indeed a form of influence ‘Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart’. A different approach again is adopted in Elizabeth Fay’s ‘Wordsworth, Bostonian Chivalry and the Uses of Art’, which argues that Lyrical Ballads was ‘one of the most influential publications supporting the medieval aesthetic and its implicit ethical system’ (p. 177). Fay persuasively sets up Wordsworth’s courtly advances on and development of the reader’s social conscience and ‘honour’, a readerly contract compelling the reader ‘to uphold and preserve, carrying everywhere relationship and love’ (p. 188). This high social purpose is then carried forward to Edwin Austin Abbey’s murals for the Boston Public Library, an associative move which raises more questions than it answers about the diffusion of Wordsworthian contracts in the course of nineteenth- century America. That Wordsworth’s individually and socially curative role was consolidated by the end of the century is confirmed by James A. Butler’s ‘Home (at Grasmere and ‘On the Range’): Wordsworth and Owen Wister’s The Virginian’, which finds ‘Romantic values’ at the heart of modern American myth. Wister’s move west was a cure for neurasthenia, a modern ‘American’ disorder which Butler links to Wordsworth’s experiences. Wordsworth is again a therapist in the final essay, Matthew Scott’s ‘An Ethics of Wonder and the Cure of Poetry: Wordsworth, William James and the American Reader’. Scott uses Don McCullin’s photographs of killings in Beirut in 1976 and Susan Sontag’s 2003 Regarding the Pain of Others to set up reflections on wonder, distance, and the limits of sympathy. Scott’s essay can be read as an indirect response to Susan Manning’s. It raises the problem of intellectual and affective remoteness, in which Wordsworth’s poems are both close to ‘us’ and marked by a ‘feeling of immovability’ (p. 221). Despite this implicit responsiveness, however, Wordsworth in American Literary Culture stands more in need of a Postscript than a Preface. Several contributors emphasize the importance of received ideas about Wordsworth’s life rather than, or in conjunction with, readings of his poetry, an element of misprision alien to the Bloomian model of the text, though constantly invited in to that model by Bloom’s emphasis on ‘strong poets’ rather than ‘strong poems’. To what extent does America’s ‘Wordsworth’ challenge Bloom? Or is that challenge already incorporated in Bloom’s work; or, indeed, in American literary history as an independent subject, always wary of influence as an intellectual model? Reading this collection straight through, one notices that certain poems seem to have been especially important in the construction and consumption of America’s Wordsworth – ‘We Are Seven’, ‘The world is too much with us’, ‘Ode: Intimations of Immortality’, ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’. The same lines from ‘Tintern Abbey’ direct Susan Manning’s and Richard Gravil’s investigations. Some closing comments might have made more of these special resonances: did American readers construct a significantly different Wordsworthian canon? Or is modern criticism particularly attuned to these Wordsworthianisms in American writing? On a more practical note, there are signs of editorial haste – contradictory citations of the same works in different essays, missed words, and an intermittent suppression of the definite article which at least made me reflect on how expressive it is in Wordsworth’s own writing. Despite these minor flaws, this is an interesting, varied, forward-looking collection which will fulfil the editors’ hope that it should ‘offer points of contact, contestation, intersection and departure’ for subsequent studies. Fiona Robertson University of Central England Geraint H. Jenkins (ed.), A Rattleskull Genius: The Many Faces of Iolo Morganwg (Iolo Morganwg and the Romantic Tradition in Wales) (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2005), pp. xviii + 516. £45 hardback. 0 7083 1971 8. A Rattleskull Genius is not merely an immensely long and carefully articulated collection of essays on Iolo Morganwg but announces itself as the precursor of an entire series devoted to that remarkable stonemason, agricultural consultant, self-proclaimed heir to Wales’s bardic tradition, autodidact, artisan poet and scholarly forger of both the poems and the consciousness of his nation. The collection is made somewhat more wieldy and reviewable than a set of twenty-two disparate essays might otherwise be, by its helpful division into four sections. After a thorough introduction, which previews the volume’s territory in a helpfully discursive fashion, Part 1, ‘Contexts’, contains two essays situating the hero vis-à-vis Wales and Central European forgery. Branwen Jarvis describes Iolo as playing the parts of ‘both Macpherson and Dr Johnson’ in his own version of the Ossian scandal, and relates Iolo’s work both to Reviews 65 
work_t3wotzy4mzeshpwj4d7okokssm	----	Senses of Echo Lake: Michael Palmer, Stanley Cavell, and the Moods of an American Philosophical Tradition humanities Article Senses of Echo Lake: Michael Palmer, Stanley Cavell, and the Moods of an American Philosophical Tradition Richard Deming Department of English, Yale University, New Haven, CT 06520, USA; richard.deming@yale.edu Received: 11 April 2019; Accepted: 15 May 2019; Published: 19 May 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: This essay explores a philosophical tradition that Stanley Cavell has traced out and which he emphasizes as being American inasmuch as it is arises out of the thinking of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. It then investigates how the poems of the avant-garde poet Michael Palmer link with, overlap with, this strain of American philosophy in terms of how it enacts an understanding of what we might call “philosophical mood,” on outlook based on the navigation of representation, generative self-consciousness, and doubt that amounts to a form of epistemology. The essay does not trace the influence—direct or otherwise of Cavell and his arguments for philosophy on the poems, despite a biographical connection between Cavell and Palmer, his former student. Instead it brings out the way that one might fruitfully locate Palmer’s work within an American literary/philosophical continuum. The article shows how that context opens up the work to a range of important existential and ethical implications. I endeavor to show that Notes for Echo Lake, Palmer’s most important collection, locates itself, its language, within such a frame so as to provide a place for readerly encounters with the limitations of language. These encounters then are presented as an opportunity for a deeper understanding of subjectivity and for attuning oneself to the role that active reading and interpretation might play in moral perfectionism. Keywords: Ethics; Stanley Cavell; Michael Palmer; poetry; American philosophy; Ralph Waldo Emerson; poetics; language poetry; moral perfectionism These days, we may be beyond a pro forma gesture justifying or rationalizing why it is that we might bring the weight of philosophy and its concerns to bear on the practice of reading poetry. In poetry, from the German, British, and American Romantics forward to the Modernists, and in philosophy, from Hegel to Heidegger to Simon Critchley, the models that give us precedent for locating the interdisciplinary dialogues of poetry and philosophy are legion. With this in mind, although it may be a generalization, it is not too much a claim to begin to say that poetry and philosophy, whatever else they might be, are both enactments of a preoccupation with how the mind fashions an ordering of the world by which one can come to perceive a life—one’s own life, the lives of others—lived among particularities. Poets and philosophers who go beyond boundaries of discourse in order to engage the parallel nature of these approaches seek ultimately to get at the foundations upon which these preoccupations rest. This is not to say all poetry and all philosophy can be brought productively into dialogue with one another, of course. Nonetheless, bringing philosophy to bear on the reading of certain poets seems unavoidable for a variety of reasons—from the methodological to the thematic. In fact, in the case of discussing the work of Michael Palmer, one of the most influential avant-garde poets of the past fifty years, philosophy and philosophers are referenced commonly enough in the poems themselves (quite often through epigraphs and other tropes and devices) that the possibilities for philosophical interventions are perhaps more than a valuable approach for engaging the work; they Humanities 2019, 8, 98; doi:10.3390/h8020098 www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/2076-0787/8/2/98?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/h8020098 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities Humanities 2019, 8, 98 2 of 12 are quite explicitly evoked. Palmer does, after all, open the first poem included in Notes for Echo Lake, one of the most important collections of poetry published in the 1980s, a book that interrogates the very nature of the connection between language and subjectivity, with an epigraph from Bruno Schulz’s Street of Crocodiles that insists “An outlook based upon philosophy became obligatory.”1 At the very least, this proclamation suggests the epistemological conditions with which the poems establish themselves. I want to consider this claim seriously in terms of what it means for Palmer’s poetics, however, and I want to think of “outlook” and “obligation” as keywords because he places the epigraph so prominently at the beginning of the collection’s first poem.2 Very often Palmer’s work is read in terms of its formal complexity and how it reworks lyric tradition. However, this epigraph announces the poem’s desire to be taken as a form of thinking that by its very nature acknowledges the literary text as a contact point between subjectivities—where one being’s understanding of the limits of language encounters another’s. It is a claim that the poems themselves must reckon with, even as it articulates the perspective from which the poems speak. What is an outlook based on philosophy? How does that shape perception? Also, what makes this obligatory? To what or to whom is one obliged? If Palmer’s epigraph announces the collection’s investment in philosophy, it becomes important to know what tradition of philosophy it may be drawing upon in order to construct its perspective. “Outlook” and “obligation” are two words that both resonate with a particular philosophical inheritance that Stanley Cavell traced out over the course of his career insofar as “an outlook based upon philosophy” describes what we might otherwise call a philosophical mood, and such a mood is at the center of Cavell’s particular interest in Ralph Waldo Emerson, whom he takes to be a philosopher of moods (Cavell 1977). An outlook is one’s subjectivity traveling outwards and projecting itself onto everything, falling upon anywhere one’s gaze alights. We could read the word outlook nearly literally as suggesting that one’s vision moves outward. As Emerson writes in “Experience,” “Thus inevitably does the universe wear our color, and every object fall successively into the subject itself. The subject exists, the subject enlarges; all things sooner or later fall into place.”3 In this way, “outlook” informs not only a writing practice that is the transposing of an experience of the world back into language, but a reading practice as well. In looking at writing, in the act of reading—if what we mean by reading is an attention coupled with active interpretation—we are then discovering our own subjectivity by means of encountering and grappling with someone else’s attempts at articulating their own subjective experience. That experience of the ethics of reading is at the heart of Emerson’s thinking and is the battery for any tradition that begins with him. Cavell emphasizes such an inheritance as being American inasmuch as it is Emersonian, with the term itself not signifying any specifically nationalistic bearing. For Cavell, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau stand as the initiating figures for what it might mean to write philosophy in a mode that recognizes its debt to the past while simultaneously seeking to locate its authority in something besides a mere fealty to prior modes of thinking and their modes. What makes this American is simply—though not merely—the conditions that made such a question possible. Standing in the still early days of its existence, America needed to distinguish American thought and culture from Europe as well as from past intellectual traditions so as to be responsive to the “newness” of America and to its specific conditions.4 America was birthed from revolution, and this sense of the sovereignty of the individual and a need to question imposed authority—to push against any authority 1 (Palmer 1981) The line is taken from Schulz’s story, “The Comet.” (Schulz 1977). 2 Schulz’s sentence is originally written in Polish, and it would make sense for one to be reluctant to put weight on the words in their translated version, yet since Palmer uses the English version without having in mind the Polish, we are free to think about the implications of the words in English. 3 “Experience,” p. 489. For the sake of convenience, all citations of Emerson are to be found in (Emerson 1983). 4 Of course, it hardly needs to be said that there were people living in North America when it was colonized and that there was a diversity of cultures present that were not Eurocentric. Still, The United States became a political entity in the 1770s, and that overwhelmed what was already present. To distinguish a country as a distinct nation is one thing, to determine its culture is another, especially as culture is one way a people shows itself to itself. Emerson’s call was for thinkers, scholars, artists, and writers to produce a culture by which America could represent itself to itself, as well as to others. Humanities 2019, 8, 98 3 of 12 that had not earned consent—is a necessary part of how it understands itself philosophically, and how it comes to understand what philosophy might contribute to culture. As Emerson writes in “The American Scholar,” “Our day of dependence, our long apprenticeship to the learning of other lands, draws to a close. The millions, that around us are rushing into life, cannot always be fed on the sere remains of foreign harvests” (Emerson 1983, p. 53). With that in mind, “American“ in this context is not a descriptor of nationality so much as it identifies an originating condition calling for creative (as opposed to reactionary) thinking that actively distinguishes itself from the past by (1) not simply adhering to an ideological system that valorizes the past and tradition; and (2) investing in the belief that philosophical truths are not fixed, but remain in the process of being discovered (as Emerson writes, “the quality of the imagination is to flow, and not to freeze”) (Emerson 1983, p. 463). These aspects can, then, be broadly available, regardless of one’s location or nationality.5 Emerson focused on the intrinsic genius of every person as the source of legitimate insight into the qualities of Being itself. He writes in the deservedly famous opening to “Self-Reliance”: A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. (Emerson 1983, p. 259) It is a bold statement to say that a work of art’s greatness is measured by how it facilitates a consciousness of our own alienated thoughts. Moreover, the thoughts are both familiar, as they are our own, as well as strange, since we encounter them in another’s context. Literally, the “great work of art” brings us to think again (to re-cognize) the very thoughts that we have exiled from ourselves. Art then is an aid for perceiving the movement of our own insights. The writing in essays by Emerson and by Thoreau—in its artfulness, in its idiosyncrasies—is a form of philosophy that seeks, therefore, to determine an expansive and expanding vocabulary for philosophy drawn from one’s own experience rather than merely depending on redeployed, familiar habits of thought that conform to received conventions of discourse. Paradoxically, it eschews the objective—a framework which Emerson takes to be an illusion, if not a delusion—in order to find the universal. From this perspective, Cavell might describe Emerson’s writing as not just a form of philosophy but as a reform of the possibilities of philosophy, of how we might imagine philosophy could act and sound. In his being essayistic, impressionistic, and in his literary attention to style as evincing thought, Emerson undertakes a kind of writing that is attuned to its very processes of thinking and expression. In the very ways that Emerson and, by extension, Thoreau break with the conventions of philosophical writing—at least the conventions of academic, professional philosophical writing—they enact philosophical thinking. This resistance to conventions is what Emerson calls “self-reliance” and what Cavell will describe as Emerson’s “aversive thinking.” In its resistance to the demands of society for conformity of expression, Cavell argues, Emerson’s writing expresses his self-consciousness, his thinking as an imperative to an incessant conversion or reconfiguration of society’s incessant demands for his consent—his conforming himself—to its doings; and at the same time to mean that his writing must accordingly be the object of aversion to society’s consciousness, to what it might read in him.6 In “The American Scholar,” Emerson insists that to gain a consciousness of self and subjectivity, and in that way lay claim to such things, to assert responsibility for our own agency, we must first forgo an unquestioning dependency on past knowledge (“the sere remains”) as that breeds repetition rather than creation, fosters reiteration rather than imagination. Instead, writes Emerson, 5 The fullest account of Cavell’s thinking of this can be found in his essay “Finding as Founding” in (Stanley Cavell 1981). 6 “Aversive Thinking: Emersonian Representations in Heidegger and Nietzsche,” (Cavell 1990). Humanities 2019, 8, 98 4 of 12 Whatever talents may be, if the man create not, the pure efflux of the Deity is not his; cinders and smoke there may be, but not yet flame. There are creative manners, there are creative actions, and creative words; manners, actions, words, that is, indicative of no custom or authority, but springing spontaneous from the mind’s own sense of good and fair. (Emerson 1983, p. 58) Cavell reads such insistences “to create” as a call to stop turning away from one’s own inspiration, away from one’s own intuition, in order to discover or recover one’s relationship to the ordinary and the everyday, “something which for Emerson,” writes Cavell, “is the same matter of salvation in the intellectual life as it is in the religious life” (Cavell 1977, p. 148). Experience, Emerson argues, then becomes the arbiter for what it means to know. “So much only of life as I know by experience,” Emerson writes, and then adds that experience “is the raw material out of which the intellect molds her splendid products. A strange process too, this by which experience is converted into thought, as a mulberry-leaf is converted into satin” (Emerson 1983, p. 60). That is, the stuff of one’s life is the grounds, the conditions for philosophy to take root. Ultimately, I would argue, this describes an “outlook of philosophy” that is “obligatory” to the extent that it we have an obligation to ourselves to know ourselves. With this context in place, I want to look at the possibility that Palmer’s poems link with, and overlap with, American philosophy—at least the kind found within a Cavellian key—regarding its interest in what we might otherwise call “mood” or “outlook.” In saying this, however, I am not citing influence—direct or otherwise—of a certain strain of philosophy on the poems, but will bring out the way that we might read and locate Palmer’s work within an American literary/philosophical continuum and indicate how reading the work within that context matters in regards to how that opens up the work to a range of important existential and experiential implications by suggesting that subjectivity—even one’s own—is a text ever being written and ever being read. Such a move has a great deal to do with what it means to say that an outlook based on philosophy has become obligatory and what that has to do with poetry. My placing Cavell and Palmer in conversation is not happenstance.7 Beyond their shared elective affinities, Palmer was at one time Cavell’s student. Within the context of this forum on literature and ethics, it is most likely not necessary to introduce Stanley Cavell, a contemporary philosopher whose importance and influence has continued to deepen over the last two decades; it is, however, useful to give some context for Palmer. Born in New York City in 1943, Palmer was educated at Harvard and Columbia. The author of numerous books of poetry including Codes Appearing: Poems 1979–1988 (2001); The Promises of Glass (2000); The Lion Bridge: Selected Poems 1972–1995 (1998); At Passages (1996); and Sun (1988), Palmer is undoubtedly one of the most important experimental poets of his generation with Notes for Echo Lake, published in 1981, being one of his most influential collections. Although critics often place Palmer alongside the Language poets of the 1970s and 80s, a group of experimental writers including Charles Bernstein, Bruce Andrews, Lyn Hejinian, and Ron Silliman (just to name a few), who often drew on elements of Russian formalism and Marxism to create a form of counter-lyric poetry. Although linked to these writers due to social connections, particularly in San Francisco, one of the hubs of radical poetics in the U. S., Palmer is perhaps more accurately described as an inheritor of the poetics of the New American poets of the 1950s and 1960s, such as Robert Duncan, Robert Creeley, and George Oppen. Throughout his career, Palmer has been less invested in the polemics 7 It is important to note that Palmer is not the only poet whose work has been shaped by an encounter with Cavell’s philosophy. Poets from John Hollander to Susan Howe and Ann Lauterbach have acknowledged their interest in how Cavell’s philosophical interventions have been generative in terms of thinking about language and the ways that it describes the possibilities for an ethics of reading. Charles Bernstein has frequently acknowledged Cavell as his mentor, their close relationship having begun with Bernstein’s own undergraduate days at Harvard in the 1970s. It is well beyond the scope of this essay, but there does seem to be a need for a sustained investigation into the ways that Cavell’s thinking—directly and indirectly—has impacted American poetry over the last few decades. Humanities 2019, 8, 98 5 of 12 of Marxist literary theory than other Language writers have been, and he rarely treats poetry as the means of opening up the possibilities of ideological critique in the ways that such contemporaries as Bruce Andrews or Ron Silliman might. Palmer himself will cite Duncan and Creeley as direct mentors and acknowledges his presence at the 1963 Poetry Vancouver Conference, a landmark gathering of such figures as Charles Olson, Creeley, Allen Ginsberg, Denise Levertov and others of what would be called New American Poetry as a pivotal moment for him in terms of his exposure to the possibilities of a radical poetics that remained committed to aesthetic experience.8 In an interview in 2006, Palmer described the arc of his work as, moving a little bit away from radical syntax into the mysteries of ordinary language, in the philosophical if not every day sense. It probably looks less unusual on the page. And I’ve been interested in the infinite, ingathering potential of the lyrical phrase—not confession, but the voicing of selves that make up the poetic self, from Greek lyrics to the Italians, to modern poets like Mandelstam. (Bullock 2006) Arguably, however, Palmer’s sense of the lyric as being primarily the representation of subjectivity finding itself through language is consistent throughout his career and is what differentiates him from many of the Language writers who sought instead to decolonize language and “denaturalize” conceptions of poetic voice and authenticity by laying bear the mechanisms of ideology that are encoded within traditions of the lyric. Although he shares with other Language poets an interest in disjunction, fragmentation, and formal complexity, the underlying impulses are quite distinct.9 This interest in the “mysteries of ordinary language” is one of the ideas that ties Palmer to Cavell, a foremost figure in Ordinary language philosophy. In 1965, Cavell served as one of the readers for Palmer’s senior project at Harvard College, a long paper analyzing the work of the proto-surrealist French author Raymond Roussel. In many ways, Palmer ’s early association with Cavell was pragmatic and somewhat ad hoc: Harvard at that time had the policy that faculty could choose, from a pool, which undergraduate projects they could and would be willing to advise. In effect, Cavell was late to choose and took on Palmer ’s project by default. That initial relationship between Cavell and Palmer was more a practical arrangement than the product of ongoing tutelage or mentoring. Indeed, although Palmer had occasionally joined the philosophy tables Cavell ran in those days, he never actually contributed, preferring to be what these days we would call a “lurker.” That is to say, until the senior project, the two had never actually had a substantive conversation. After working together on the senior project, a friendship did take root and Palmer would be a regular reader of Cavell’s work as it began appearing in the 1970s and onward. Although the connection between this particular philosophical poet and this poetic philosopher is almost definitively anecdotal, it does provide an interesting entry point, if not justification, for thinking about the ways that Palmer ’s poetry, specifically Notes for Echo Lake, might be read through the lens of Cavell’s work on the intersection of language and ethics that starts appearing in 1970 and becomes so crucial in the 1980s. The connection between Palmer’s Notes for Echo Lake and Cavell’s philosophical work of the time is especially compelling if we also consider that Notes for Echo Lake came out the same year (1981) and with the same press (North Point) that published the expanded version of the seminal Senses of Walden, Cavell’s philosophical reading of Henry David Thoreau. Cavell first wrote Senses of Walden in 1970, just a few years after he had worked with Palmer at Harvard. The reprinted version appeared with the addition of two important essays about Ralph Waldo Emerson and the book is Cavell’s first sustained attempt at discovering through these two 19th century writers the ways that America began to express 8 “New American Poetry” is a loose descriptor that is shaped by the Donald Allen anthology of that name published in 1963, a collection that sought to establish a context for various strains of post-war avant-garde poetry in the U.S. 9 Of course, Language poetry was not a monolithic school or movement so much as it was a network of elective affinities, and so any number of exceptions and counterexamples can be offered in describing what might constitute the basic constellation of poetics that held these figures together in conversation. It is Palmer’s interest in expanding notions of lyric subjectivity rather than the dismantling of it that sets him apart. Humanities 2019, 8, 98 6 of 12 itself philosophically in a mode that was distinct from a European body of thought that stretched back centuries.10 There is also another perhaps less obvious triangulation between Thoreau’s Walden and Notes for Echo Lake in terms of narrative sequencing in the way that Palmer collapses a longer period of time into a single year, just as Thoreau had done in his own book. In a talk from 1982, Palmer states, “At some point in working on Notes for Echo Lake I realized that the ‘notes’ themselves should number twelve and that the larger period, so-to-speak, of the book would be a year, an entirely metaphoric year since the book is drawn from work extending over about three years.”11 This time of relative seclusion as the condition for writing a book is not limited to Palmer and Thoreau. Cavell wrote both Senses of Walden and The World Viewed, his landmark study of film as a form of philosophy, during a year he spent as a fellow at Wesleyan University’s Humanities Center, withdrawing from Cambridge, MA, to the somewhat quieter village of Middletown, CT. In essence, Cavell had no commitments that year and worked all day at a kitchen table, free from the usual distractions of teaching and departmental toiling. Let us call these moments of overlapping biographical resemblances resonances, or perhaps echoes, occurring between Thoreau, Emerson, Cavell, and Palmer. Yet, these texts signal a shared sense of how a specific place becomes generative in terms of its serving as a meditative space, which in part establishes the conditions for a philosophical outlook that takes on an ethical dimension. “A writer in meditation is literally a human being awaiting expression,” Cavell notes in his reflection on Thoreau’s withdrawal to Walden, the pond itself, and that author’s withdrawal into Walden, the text he is writing (Cavell 1977, p. 59). In “Notes for Echo Lake 3,” Palmer, commenting on a kind of silence from a “he” who remains undefined, writes, “In silence he would mark time listening for whispered words” (Palmer 1981, p. 17). The “he” perhaps remains unnamed and undefined—a pronoun in search of a noun—because he is listening. The formation of an identity comes after that, when the listening is turned outward and becomes expression. As Emerson writes in “The Poet,” “The man is only half himself, the other half is his expression” (Emerson 1983, p. 448). Palmer complicates this conception of subjectivity even further, “And I as it is, I as the one but less than one in it” (Palmer 1981, p. 15). The words of one’s experience, whispered from the interior, are what await expression, and the articulation of that experience, by such means made available to others, is a way that one manifests one’s subjectivity. The idea that we must express to come to some sort of wholeness is compelling, and we might come to wonder about how that expression might be received. As Thoreau writes in Walden, “I, on my side, require of every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what he has heard of other men’s lives; some such account as he would send to his kindred from a distant land; for if he has lived sincerely, it must have been in a distant land to me” (Thoreau 1992). The acknowledgement of one’s own subjectivity becomes the means by which others—by comparison and through contrast—can come to recognize their own. With that, however, comes the risk of not being heard. A “Sign that empties itself at each instance of meaning, and how else to reinvent attention,” writes Palmer in “Notes for Echo Lake 1” (Palmer 1981, p. 5). Is it the emptying out of one’s self—the expression—that creates the possibilities for one’s own attention to others? Or is it that the emptied sign calls for another’s attention? The untethered referent “he” of Palmer’s line, “In silence he would mark time listening for whispered words” is not the only challenge in reading the work. The poems of Notes for Echo Lake are often largely comprised of paratactic statements, fragmented sentences, and free-floating aphorisms. Take this passage from “Notes for Echo Lake 3” as representative: 10 In the preface to Senses of Walden, Cavell will explain that in turning to Thoreau he hoped to find a moment before the radical split between the English and German traditions of philosophy “began to shun one another” so as to find the means to “reenact an old exchange between these traditions,” p. xiv. 11 “Period [senses of duration],” in (Palmer 1983). Humanities 2019, 8, 98 7 of 12 The letters of the words of our legs and arms. What he had seen or thought he’d seen, within the eye, voices overheard rising and falling. And if each conversation has no end, then composition is a placing beside or with and is endless, broken threads of cloud driven from the west of the afternoon wind.12 In some ways, this passage is recognizable in regards to its vocabulary—the words themselves are common enough—yet in grammatical terms, the words don’t easily knit together to indicate the expected sequencing of either an argument or a developing narrative. Nevertheless, it feels meaningful, perhaps because of that fact of its being between straightforward legibility and obscurity. Such a situation demands interpretation, and we begin by interrogating the language itself—that is, how the words mean. This is true not only of texts, but of life, yet a it is a poem whose very existence, pace Modernism, is predicated on the belief that activating the polysemous nature of language is a necessary condition for representing the world’s complexity of meaning. Called to such effort, “[when] the mind is braced by labor and invention,” writes Emerson, “the page of whatever book we read becomes luminous with manifold allusion. Every sentence is doubly significant, and the sense of our author is as broad as the world” (Emerson 1983, p. 59). In “Notes for Echo Lake 11,” Palmer writes in a variation on Emerson’s theme, “Words listen to the words until you hear them,” which itself is a way of describing the self-conscious process of interpreting, as we use our understanding of words as the means of trying and sounding the depths of the words whose meanings are unknown though the words themselves be familiar. Without the guidance of a clarifying or determining apparatus of a larger narrative to offer context, within the sentences we start to see the poem commenting on itself. Turning to the passage from Palmer that I cited earlier, we might begin, say, in reading “the letters of the words of our legs and arms” by noting that legs and arms are part of our body language and their position communicates desire or fear or openness or distrust—or all these at once. “Eye” is a homophone with “I,” which is where our acts of perception take place. Conversations are not necessarily composed; they occur and develop and so do not have a proper ending. In the end of Palmer’s prose poem, we find a single sentence: “In the poem he learns to turn and turn, and prose always seems a sentence long” (Palmer 1981, p. 17). The line plays with the notion of verse and also “conversation,” indicating their shared etymology in the Latin word for “to turn.” That is, “if no conversation has an end,” it too will continue to turn and turn. The line itself being itself a sentence, points back to itself, precisely because of the fact that although it looks like prose, it does not behave like prose. The self-reflexivity does not necessarily lead to an endless loop, but rather gets us to think about the very nuances of the word and how we determine the meaningfulness of their conversation. This process never ends if we never come to certainty but keeps turning and turning. Cavell might see this as a manifestation of an Emersonian moral perfectionism.13 That is, since we never reach an end, there is an openness that remains open. Such openness remains important if legibility and interpretation is counted as part of how we determine the nature of the world and our relationship to it. In Palmer’s “The Comet,” the opening poem of Notes for Echo Lake, the world is represented as a textual space to be read: “That year the end of winter stood under a sign. All days were red in the margin/ writ large against the ochre rooftops . . . .” (Palmer 1981, p. 1). In the homophonic slippage of “red” the color and “read” as the past tense of “to read,” Palmer also calls to mind the ways that, conventionally, textual corrections are made in the margins with red ink while at the same time that pun foregrounds the word as a signifier—the lexical “a,” a visible but unheard difference, that might set us up for a misreading, substituting “red” for “read.” Which sounding of the word is the mistake and which is the correction? In a later poem in the collection, Palmer offers a sentence that is in the form of a question but does not actually end with 12 (Palmer 1981, p. 12) Cavell offers an interesting discussion of “being next to” or neighboring or “nextness” in regards to one’s sense of nature, landscape (neighbors), and ourselves when we grow self-conscious in (Cavell 1977, pp. 104–10). 13 The fullest discussion of Cavell’s understanding of Emersonian moral perfectionism is to be found in Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome, beginning with the extensive introduction. Humanities 2019, 8, 98 8 of 12 a question mark: “Or was the question in the letters themselves, in how by chance the words were spelled.” Palmer seems to be underlining the arbitrary nature of the structure of words and what the telling difference comes to when small differences are brought to the fore. It has a skeptical force: “how do I know which red (or read) you mean”? Arguably, it is because of the ever-present uncertainty of communication and incomplete expression built out of language that never escapes inexactitude that the impetus for conversation continues and never really ends. Earlier I was suggesting that the meditative space of Echo Lake or Walden, or perhaps Middletown, CT, are places that are important for the ways that they create meditation from which flows expression. I say that place is important, and yet Notes for Echo Lake begins with an epigraph from Augustine that troubles that claim: “Place there is none; we go forward and backward, and there is no place” (Palmer 1981, n. p.). Might that be an argument against the specificity of place? It is hard to read it in any other way. Yet in the context of Augustine’s confessions, these lines indicate that there is no outside, no division of one place from another place, except subjectively. Or as we see in the first poem, a prose poem, of Palmer’s “Echo Lake” series, “If one lives in it. ‘Local’ and ‘specific’ and so on finally seeming much less interesting than the particular wherever that may locate” (Palmer 1981, p. 4). We note that “particular” in being particular also always reminds us of its being part of something larger. By extension, this applies to one’s subjectivity in regards to its situation. “I am dependent on everything,” says the speaker of Palmer’s “Notes for Echo Lake 11” and if we are reading the poems as being also a meditation on writing, then this is not simply an expression of the self but is also a description of grammatical construction (Palmer 1981, p. 69). In other words, the personal pronoun, that which is named by “I” is such, as such, only in relationship to the things and people around it. As Cavell writes, “language is everywhere we find ourselves,” which I take to mean that we find ourselves, the selves that we are, in language through language. This brings again to mind, “Words listen to the words until you hear them.” Allow me to linger a bit more over Palmer ’s quoting Augustine since it raises the question of what debt the epigraph creates between where it is cited (Palmer ’s book of poems) and the source text. How much, for instance, of a transcendental sentiment or tendency is imported with those lines and then grafted onto the poems that follow? Or perhaps we might ask this another way: Is Palmer’s book of poems then a form of spiritual meditation, a genre both signaled and activated by its opening citation, which is drawn from just such a text? If Notes for Echo Lake is indeed such a meditation, and the citation seeks to place it within that tradition, then what follows that epigraph—that is to say, the poems themselves—offers a different version of what one means when one says “spirit” as well as meditation, a form of inquiry that is not religious, yet no less deeply felt. The same can be said of Walden. Inasmuch as Augustine’s confessions move between philosophy, theology, and biography—between rhetoric and narrative—so too do Palmer ’s poems, through this engagement with relationships based on, built out of language—which is to say all relationships. I raise the possibility of the poems being a form of meditation because the problem of the epigraph and the relationship between texts remain connected to the idea of how a poet inherits a tradition, crafts a genealogy—how he or she wishes to be heard and to whom he or she is addressing such acts of language. These issues have other implications as well, because the unsettled space between poetry and argument-based claims might be a space for a certain kind of philosophy, or at least what we might call “thinking,” and even the emphasis that the poems are “notes” suggests that the work acknowledges at every moment that it is writing, that the notes are the mechanisms of language that point to their incompleteness. Being caught between those modes of the philosophical and the literary might call for an “outlook based on philosophy.” When I say that these are modes, I do not merely mean they are forms of writing, but rather are the kinds of thinking that attend, that are enacted through the writing itself. In this way, Palmer’s work is not a form of philosophy, but it is an activity of language that by way of its difficulties acknowledges that philosophy and ethics underwrite all interpretive processes. The poems share with Emerson a certain resistance to conformity that requires the reader fall back on his/her/their Humanities 2019, 8, 98 9 of 12 own experiences with words and how they mean in order to find some shared sense of language, some glimpse into what we do and do not share as common experience. So what are we to make of (make out of) the thinking of Notes for Echo Lake? From the beginning, we see a title that indicates that there is a form of address (the notes are intended for, addressed to Echo Lake). Or is it best to read the work as something else if we take the other meaning of “notes”? I also take this as the first step in seeing the poems as being about the act of writing, the attempt to bring experience back into language, and therefore to make language itself an experience of itself. Behind the title, we might hear Wittgenstein’s description of Philosophical Investigations as “sketches of landscapes” (Landschaftskizzen).14 That is, we would take it that the poems are notes, drafts, sketches that point towards representation, and specifically the representation of something coming to be, an expression of futurity—as if to say the poems are notes that will represent what is to come, in this case, a “new yet unapproachable” Echo Lake.15 Both readings of the title are possible. In the first place, the poems then are the address that pushes back to the origin of the words, lines, and sentences. The address, in other words, reveals the addresser’s sense of language and ethics—the sense of how to approach the addressee in language is enacted by, expressed by the language and the particulars of its use. Address creates a relationship and the language reveals the architecture, the poetics—the ebb and flow of ethical responses, the shuttling of perceived debts and obligations between the addresser and the addressee. “Who did he talk to/Did she trust what she saw/Who does the talking/Whose words formed awkward curves,” Palmer ’s propositional, interrogative lines both ask and posit in “Notes for Echo Lake 4” (Palmer 1981, p. 22). In this case, the complex syntax at work in Palmer’s poems reveals that the addressee is not easily described as a “voice” or a “speaker,” if we are to imagine those tropes conjured by these terms as stable, consistent, and continuous figures. But why is it we would be apt to assume that a “voice”—any voice—is that consistent, that stable? We might say that the speaker is not the origin of a word—that is, a word’s meaning does not derive specifically or at least not wholly from the person saying it. Rather, the voice provides a location, a context for the words. It arranges without defining, or that definition is never settled as it comes to test the terms of its arrangement at each moment. In his essay “Autobiography, Memory and Mechanisms of Concealment,” Palmer includes a long discussion of Augustine, and offers the reading that insists, “Augustine investigates both the subject-object relationship in discourse and the structural relationships that constitute the linguistic sign in order to reveal what he is doing, to confess the nature of his activity” (Palmer 2008). In other words, with other words, according to Palmer, Augustine’s self-interrogation confesses that all language is mediated. Yes, one wants to say, but what is part of that mediation? What necessitates negotiation and interrogation, self or otherwise? This is the question of whether or not we can communicate that revelation to the Other. “The relationship between signifier and signified must be reconstituted at each moment of the act of telling, in a constant state of uncertainty,” writes Palmer.16 That state of uncertainty is what we might call skepticism. If we need to constantly restate and rediscover how our words mean, then we always have to find the means and conditions for what we say so that others might hear or acknowledge what we have to say. I have not forgotten that my rationale for wanting to place Palmer’s work in dialogue with Cavell arises not simply because of some personal history they shared or because I necessarily want to foreground some regional element of these poems by Palmer, a poet who is usually read in a consciously—even self-consciously—cosmopolitan and international context. My emphasis on that 14 Wittgenstein calls his remarks “eine Menge von Landschaftskizzen” [“a set of landscape-sketches”] in the preface of his book. (Wittgenstein 2001). 15 I am alluding to both Cavell’s book This New Yet Unapproachable America as well as a passage from Emerson’s essay “Experience”: “I feel a new heart beating with the love of the new beauty. I am ready to die out of nature, and be born again into this new yet unapproachable America I have found in the West.” (Emerson 1983, p. 485). 16 Ibid., p. 276. Humanities 2019, 8, 98 10 of 12 element of “America” that is “American thought” is shot through with a double need of determining the ground by which one makes claims (for others or for ourselves) and of doubting the grounds for those claims at the same time. Cavell describes the situation this way: Any American writer, any American, is apt to respond to [America’s declaring its independence] in one way or another; to the knowledge that America exists only in its discovery and its discovery was always an accident; and to the obsession with freedom, and with building new structures and forming new human beings with new minds to inhabit them; and to the presentiment that this unparalleled opportunity has been lost forever. (Cavell 1977, pp. 8–9) He will go on to say that Thoreau’s writing—and by the extension all American writers of the tradition I have been sketching out—“must admit this pressure and at every moment resolutely withstand it,” adding further that it “must live, if it can, pressed between history and heaven.” With “admit” we see Cavell saying that the pressure must be allowed into the work, but also that pressure must be confessed. Thus, the state of uncertainty that Palmer describes in Augustine, that he clearly enacts in the ambivalences of the syntax of Notes for Echo Lake (with “Words that come in smoke and go,” Palmer says in “Notes for Echo Lake 3”), may also amount to the pathos that Cavell describes as something inherent in American philosophy that comes to us from Emerson and Thoreau and then gets absorbed and redistributed back through Nietzsche and Heidegger, among others (Palmer 1981, p. 17). Although Palmer himself may again and again invoke European thinkers and philosophers—just as Thoreau or Emerson do as well—he does so to create his notes for Echo Lake, the poems that will add up to an experience of (but not be reducible to) a specific place in America, as if to indicate that Echo Lake still is left unfounded even if we know where to find it. This need to discover where one is—“Where do we find ourselves?” Emerson asks at the beginning of his essay “Experience”—suggests that we can never simply be where we are, since to name it is to begin to place ourselves outside of the experience. This also seems to be evoked in the reference to Augustine. Now that I have highlighted the problems of language and identity that Palmer wrestles with in his poems, let me place the conversation in another frame that has to do with skepticism. I turn to Cavell’s essay “Finding as Founding,” one of his most crucial readings of Emerson, for a passage that seems to echo the claims of Palmer’s I cited just a moment ago. Cavell writes, The feeling as if we have to penetrate phenomena is evidently produced by a feeling of some barrier to or resistance in phenomena (as if the conditions of a thing’s appearance were limitations in approaching it; as if skepticism accurately registered the world’s withdrawal from us, say it’s shrinking) as if language has difficulty in reaching phenomena, let alone grasping them. (Stanley Cavell 1981, p. 88) Cavell is responding to a moment in Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations: “we feel as if we had to penetrate phenomena.”17 This acknowledgment of language’s difficulty is threaded through Notes for Echo Lake and is in part enacted by the ways that the poem’s language is at times so difficult to understand. In a passage that seems colored by Cavell’s comments, Palmer writes in the poem “Seven Lines of Equal Length”: The simple past has weight but where are the fountains you spoke of 17 (Wittgenstein 2001, p. e36.) Cavell is using Anscombe’s translation, which translates “Erscheinungen” as “phenomena”. It also can be translated as “appearances,” which seems relevant given the references to eyes and eyesight throughout Notes for Echo Lake. Furthermore, in this section, Wittgenstein himself cites Augustine: “Thus Augustine calls to mind the different statements that are made about the duration, past, present, or future, of events. (These are of course not philosophical statements about time, the past, the present, and the future.)”. Humanities 2019, 8, 98 11 of 12 she wonders in perfect innocence and the flowering trees and what is the word that stands for these things he asks her between the branches. (Palmer 1981, p. 43.) That compulsion to use language to get beyond language is what we might call a will to know, though in reality, through our efforts, we draw near not the phenomena themselves but the kinds of statements we make about phenomena. The compulsion to name a thing exactly—and we feel it often enough in moments of great pleasure, joy, grief, and horror—might be a Romantic one, granted, but it would be a problem insofar as it is inadequate and unsatisfying, to halt just there, to stop in stupefaction, gobsmacked, as it were. There is a further step one can take in the face of the compulsion, the endlessly frustrated will to know, the awe that this is a version of skepticism. For instance, this is how Emerson describes this sense of a prevailing somewhat unanswerable skepticism around language: “I know that the world I converse with in the city and in the farms, is not the world I think. I observe that difference, and shall observe it. One day, I shall know the value and law of this discrepance” (Emerson 1983, pp. 491–92). We see here a sense of that next step. Emerson does not drive towards resolving the discrepancy between word and thing, language and experience, but towards knowing the value of that gap and what the endless deferral offers us, which is at last a reason to keep trying. In the self-reflexivity and self-consciousness of Palmer’s poems, we see reflected the conditions by which poetry both offers a possibility—what we might call hope—of connection and address to the Other even while it exposes to doubt that same possibility that we can ever reach the Other. With that doubt in mind, we can see Palmer’s participation in that “reformation of philosophy” that Cavell describes. It does not stand outside of that struggle but manifests it. One limitation of philosophical discourse is that in its insistence on its own logicality, it seeks to be objectivity. Palmer’s poetry does not describe the obligation of a philosophical outlook, but establishes the conditions by which we note ourselves seeking out a way of understanding our own frustrations with language, what causes these frustrations, and how we might navigate them. I almost hesitate, though I suppose that is itself a hesitation, to say that what we hold in common is that doubt. This might be, then, what philosophy can learn from poetry. That which holds us apart is what binds us fast. It seems that this connection built on shared distance has something to do with the obligation of having an outlook based on philosophy. As I posited it earlier, to what and to whom are we obligated? Ourselves? Others? In essence, then, if we often ask how philosophy flows into poetry, we might just as well ask how poetry and literature flow into philosophy? Poetry, particularly Palmer’s, does not offer an argument or a consistent worldview, but it does enact the difficulties of interpretation that happen at the most local and specific level. Rather than ignoring or overlooking skepticism and the failures of expression, poetry foregrounds these conditions as the very medium of daily life and poetry’s difficulties are amplified versions of the problems that are shot through the language we use to represent everyday life to others as well as to ourselves. We return, then, to the obligation of a “philosophical outlook,” which Palmer’s book positions as a call for acknowledging how we attune ourselves to the demands of language. Within the frame of such an essay, I should perhaps offer, given the compactness of the context, something specific, a clear, portable, reading; however, I am arriving at perhaps even more questions, certainly more ambitious questions than I began with. To a certain degree, that seems most apt, given that Palmer’s poems are themselves “notes.” Call this a reader’s notes, then: noting what I read, reading how I note. At the outset of Senses of Walden, Cavell asks, “what hope is there in a book about a book”? (Cavell 1977, p. xiii.). His question is related to seeing how one philosophical text is prompted by another, and that, largely, is something I see having happened in Notes for Echo Lake—it is a book of prompted articulations and prompting provocations in its deployments of fragments and aphorisms; it is a book of poems about writing and reading in the largest sense, that is, the negotiating of the Humanities 2019, 8, 98 12 of 12 ways that we negotiate meaning. What Cavell’s philosophy tells us about language is parallel to what Palmer’s poetry tells us about language: words are an unsettledness that seeks to ground itself in experience. In the processes of discovering our acts of interpretation, the warp and hew of how we read, in fits and spurts, it is not simply the words, but how we hang them together with a kind of hope of drawing the attention of the Other through what is recognizable as well as what is opaque that creates a conversation about how we recognize the Other or how, imperfectly, we recognize ourselves through the Other—through that which returns via an echo of our soundings, or what Emerson states as the fact that “In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this.” We recognize ourselves by way of that unfamiliarity, that intimate strangeness. Notes for Echo Lake locates itself, its language, the same way we might be called to read it in a series of echoes and locations. What we read is the proximity and distance of texts and words. The poems provide a place for our encounters with our limitations of language as readers, as language workers, a space built from our continued hope against that impossibility of knowing and saying exactly, in persisting against that again-and-again face of failure that measures the shape and sound of what it means to be human at this time and in this place. Funding: This research received no external funding. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References Bullock, Ken. 2006. Arts: Michael Palmer and Douglas Blazek Read at Moe’s. The Berkeley Daily Planet, April 7. Available online: http://www.berkeleydailyplanet.com/issue/2006-04-07/article/23854 (accessed on 18 May 2019). Cavell, Stanley. 1977. The Senses of Walden: An Expanded Edition. San Francisco: North Point Press, p. 151. Stanley Cavell. 1981. This New Yet Unapproachable America. Albuquerque: Living Batch Press. Cavell, Stanley. 1990. Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome. Chicago: Univerist of Chicago Press, p. 37. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 1983. Essays and Lectures. Edited by Joel Porte. New York: Library of America. Palmer, Michael. 1981. Notes for Echo Lake. San Francisco: North Point Press, p. 1. Palmer, Michael, ed. 1983. Code of Signals: Recent Writings on Poetics. Berkley: North Atlantic Books, p. 262. Palmer, Michael. 2008. Active Boundaries: Selected Essays and Talks. New York: New Directions, p. 276. Schulz, Bruno. 1977. The Street of Crocodiles. Translated by Celina Wieniewska. New York: Penguin, p. 143. Thoreau, Henry David. 1992. Walden and Other Writings. Edited by Brooks Atkinson. New York: Modern Library, p. 3. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 2001. Philosophical Investigations, 3rd ed. Translated by G. E. M. Anscombe. With the German Text. London: Blackwell. © 2019 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://www.berkeleydailyplanet.com/issue/2006-04-07/article/23854 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. References 
work_t5t5b45nejd3zbhcldbyz4qzsa	----	Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 59 Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Homam Altabaa 1,* , and Adham Hamawiya 1 1 Department of Fundamental and Inter-Disciplinary Studies, Kulliyyah of Islamic Revealed Knowledge and Human Sciences, International Islamic University Malaysia, 50728 Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia * Corresponding Author: drhomam@iium.edu.my; htabaa@gmail.com ARTICLE INFO ABSTRACT Publication Info: Literature Review How to cite: Altabaa, H., & Hamawiya, A. (2019). Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context. Society, 7(2), 59-70. DOI : 10.33019/society.v7i2.85 Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society This is an open access article. License: Attribution- NonCommercial-ShareAlike (CC BY-NC-SA) Received: July 25, 2019; Accepted: November 17, 2019; Published: December 3, 2019; Émigré writers such as Kahlil Gibran and Mikhail Naimy proved that it is possible to transcend their historical limitations to become leading literary figures. An examination of the historical context of these writers is important for a rich understanding of their works. The themes addressed in such literary works are better appreciated within their cultural environment, and not as objects detached from their times, author and readers1. It can be rightfully argued that such works cannot be fully appreciated without delving into the intricacies of the political ideologies and economic crises of previous centuries. This article does not aim to perform such an undertaking, regardless of its literary merit; however, it presents an overview of the historical context surrounding the Émigré literary movement as a product of two cultures bridged by immigration at the turn of the 20th century. This is based on the belief that a profound critical engagement with Émigré works is better achieved with an examination of their historical and literary background. Thus, this article serves as a foundation for profound literary analyses of Émigré works. Keywords: Culture and Creativity; Émigré writers; Émigré Literature; Kahlil Gibran; Literary History 1 Payne, 2005: 3-4, on the importance of a historical context. Society, 7 (2), 59-70, 2019 P-ISSN: 2338-6932 | E-ISSN: 2597-4874 https://society.fisip.ubb.ac.id https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 mailto:drhomam@iium.edu.my mailto:htabaa@gmail.com https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 https://society.fisip.ubb.ac.id/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1012-0287 https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8099-4006 https://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.33019/society.v7i2.85&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2019-12-31 Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 60 1. Introduction Émigré writers such as Kahlil Gibran and Mikhail Naimy were part a great literary movement that flourished in the Americas. The relationship between their works and historical context is undoubtedly a subject worthy of historical-literary analysis. Émigré creativity was characterized by aspects of the two cultures that hosted it. It is important to present a historical overview of the climate of political turmoil, economic misfortune, and social upheaval that engulfed Lebanon before the birth and during the life of Émigré literature. This is contrasted to the boom witnessed in the United States after Reconstruction (1865–1877), inviting great waves of migration from Ottoman Syria that included various writers. Émigré writers represent the intertwining of two cultures and perhaps the most significant event in their lives was immigrating from Lebanon to the United States of America. The immigration of these writers to the New World was part of a great migratory movement around the world in general and a relatively considerable one from Ottoman Syria in particular. This paper addresses the most important historical aspects in the period before and during the life of prominent émigré writers. 2. The Historical Context in the Levant The historical roots of this immigration date back to the middle of the 19th century in a climate of political instability, economic uncertainty, and social tension.2 Prior to that defining period, what is known today as Lebanon was part of the Ottoman Empire, which was on a steady rise since the conquest of Constantinople by Mehmed the Conqueror in 1453. Lebanon and the Levant in general fell to the Ottomans under the rule of Selim I upon his sweeping victory in the battle of Marj Dābiq in 1516 against the Mamluk Sultanate. The Ottomans ruled by dividing the lands in vast vilayets3 such as the vilayets of Aleppo and Baghdad. Due to the sectarian demographical structure of Lebanon with its Maronites, Druzes, Shites, Sunnis, etc., the Ottomans acknowledged its existing local feudal lords who maintained their partial de facto autonomy, such as the great Fakhr ’Al-Dīn II, who ruled vast lands in Lebanon and Syria. In general, the Ottomans did not try to impose their culture or language on the people of the region, and the society maintained its existing structure and relations. Thus, religion rather than race remained as the key factor in social unity. Non-Muslims maintained their civic freedom and usually followed their religious leaders in such affairs.4 Due to the complexity of the political order of the day, corruption was rampant at all levels of government, starting from the feudal lords, up to the vali5 and the upper echelons of central government in certain periods. The region witnessed relatively weak economy and culture, with high taxes and widespread poverty and illiteracy. Contact with post-Renaissance Europe mainly took place through merchants, banks, and companies that had extensive presence in the region largely due to the export of sericulture. Additionally, Catholic and Protestant missionary schools and colleges were on the rise, and a special Maronite seminary was established in Rome to train monks who would go back to prominent positions within the Maronite church. Beirut flourished as an international trade port for the whole region, and later as the point of departure for thousands of immigrants. Telegraph 2 Issawi, 1992: 13-31. 3 Vilayets and sanjaks were administrative divisions, provinces and districts, of the Ottoman Empire. 4 Hitti, 1951: 668 5 Governor of a vilayet; an administrative division or province. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 61 lines reached Beirut in 1863, which enabled the blossoming newspaper industry to cover global events on a daily basis, enabling constant contact with the West.6 Earlier in the 19th century, the region witnessed marked prosperity, especially when compared to other regions in Syria, under the leadership of the local prince Bashīr Shihāb II. The Maronite prince also allowed the church to increase its influence, especially with its direct contact with Rome and Paris, at the helm of the social and economic structures.7 The successors of this prince were not as effective, which negatively affected the people of the region. Various other factors including sectarian instability, heavy taxes, and foreign intervention also had a negative effect on Lebanon. Ibrahim Pasha’s conquest of Damascus in 1832 led to instability across the region, before he was forced to retreat in 1841. Additionally, the Tanzimat policy8 of Sultan Mahmud, adversely affected the people of Lebanon. The Druze minority was dissatisfied with the division of Mount Lebanon into two districts under two kaymakams9 and their lack of political and economic privileges. All of these factors led in 1860 to a civil war that resulted in the massacre of 11000 Maronites and the displacement of 100,000.10 The conflict extended to Damascus where hundreds of Christians were murdered.11 To quell the clashes, Napoleon III sent 6000 French troops, saving the Maronite majority. The Maronites were not as organized as the Druze minority, who were backed by the English and Ottomans, and thus suffered more losses. In the Reglement Organique of 1861, Mount Lebanon’s autonomy was recognized by the Sublime Porte, with the protection of France, Britain, Austria, Prussia, and Russia. The kaymakams system of 1841 became a Mutasarrifate governed by a Mutasarrif who was by law a catholic non-Arab Ottoman appointed by the Sultan,12 and assisted by an Administrative Council of 12 elected members, eventually seven of whom were Christians. With foreign protection and autonomy, the Mutasarrifate witnessed great prosperity with development in silk production and modern artisan work, in addition to trade, financial services, and road building.13 In short, the Maronite military defeat turned into political gain, and later economic gain, with the new government system.14 This agreement officially ended the old system, and power was divided between the Mutasarrif and the Church that controlled more than one third of the lands. However, this economic upturn did not affect all Maronite villagers and peasants. The ―persistence of large landed holdings and the church waqfs‖ coupled with rapid population growth became important push factors for immigration to the West.15 In general, the economic, social, and political climate witnessed some improvements, with calls for decentralization, officialization of Arabic, and reform of military service becoming more pronounced in Beirut. However, the First World War (1914-1918) and the Arab Revolt (1916-1918) ushered in some of the darkest years in the history of the region, especially with the 6 Hourani, 1992: 4. 7 Hitti, 1959: 213-227. 8 Started in 1839 and ended 1876. It aimed to modernize the administration of the empire and secure it against nationalist movements. 9 A Kaza, or district, was ruled by a kaymakam. 10 Issawi, 1992: 21. 11 Mishaqa, 1988: 30. 12 Abu Khalil, 1998: 177. 13 Naff, 1993: 29. 14 Traboulsi, 2007: 42-43. 15 Traboulsi, 2007: 45-47. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 62 appointment of Ahmed Djemal Pasha as governor in 1915. Conscription, war bonds, expropriation of agricultural produce, drop in trade, epidemics, and famine made Beirut and Mount Lebanon suffer in despair. Around 100,000 of their inhabitants perished in these years.16 The defeat of the Ottomans resulted in the French Mandate for Syria and Lebanon (1920-1940s), a period of military occupation, and political and economic instability that gave birth to the modern Lebanese Republic. 3. The Historical Context in the United States of America A defining event in 19th century America was the Civil War in the 1860s, the culmination of a tumultuous period that witnessed the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln and the abolition of slavery through the 13th Amendment to the US Constitution. Gibran reached the American shores at the end of the century to a country defined by immigration and war, but transformed by industrial progress. Politically, the Progressive movement was gaining control of the scene with its activism for eradicating political corruption and corporate monopoly, while advocating pure democracy that stresses citizen initiatives and referenda, as compared to constitutional or representative democracy. Immigration in the 19th century was marked by the rise of Nativism, which is antagonism towards new immigrants by native-born citizens. However, the arrival of immigrants continued to increase with the arrival of millions seeking refuge from want and persecution in Europe. Historical data reveal that almost 50 million Third Wave immigrants entered the United States in the decades preceding and succeeding Gibran’s arrival.17 The enormity of the number of immigrants is clarified by the actual number of residents in the US around that time. According to the Twelfth United States Census, conducted by the Census Office in 1900, the population was approximately 76 million, compared to 62 million in the 1890 Census.18 Economically, the United States witnessed great progress over the second half of the century, with periodic shocks and depressions such as the Panic of 1893. The railroad industry, with funding from booming Wall Street, provided numerous employment opportunities and spurred growth in the metal industry and later in inter-state commerce. With extensive rail coverage, thousands of locomotives facilitated access to arable lands and made transporting their produce to the national market possible, which, coupled with mechanization, played a major role in the progress of agriculture. In the last two decades of the century, American gross national product nearly doubled, with growth in all areas of the economy. Manufacturing led the expansion with an increase of almost 200%, compared to around 25% growth in agriculture.19 These forward strides would not have been feasible had it not been for the leaps achieved in technology and innovation. The end of the century witnessed the wide use of electric generators and lights, in addition to innovations and improvements in telecommunication and engineering, with names such as Edison, Westinghouse, Ford, and others leading the technical-industrial race. With rising skyscrapers, new corporations changed the image of a nation and employed millions of its workers. All of these developments, with the advent of the petroleum industry, culminated in the crowning of the relatively young republic as the world’s greatest industrial power at the 16 Traboulsi, 2007: 70-72. 17 Mauk & Oakland, 2005: 57. 18 U.S. Census Bureau, U.S. Department of Commerce, 2014. 19 Murrin et al., 2011: 499. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 63 beginning of the 20th century.20 The might of the United States was confirmed by victory in the First World War which intensified its role on the international economic and political arenas. 4. Immigration at the Turn of the Century Immigration has been an integral part of the human experience. Whether voluntary emigration or involuntary migration, the phenomenon has affected millions of people in the past two centuries, boosted by opportunities in the New World and advancements in travel facilities. There are numerous operative push and pull factors at play behind worldwide immigration in the 19th century, such as famine, drought, slavery, war, oppression, and work. The world witnessed more than 150 million cases of documented immigration in the 19th century and early 20th century, mostly in steerages of ships.21 As for the United States, it is a country defined by immigration, described by John F. Kennedy as a nation of immigrants.22 The formative years of immigration to the Americas began in the 16th century with the very first European settlements. Immigration in the 19th century was dominated by Europeans as well, as the rising number of Asian arrivals was stemmed with the Exclusion Act of 1882.23 The great wave of immigration, from the middle of the 19th century to the beginning of the 20th century, helped increase the population of the country from less than 20 million to more than 100 million.24 The flow of immigrants was interrupted by the Civil War, but poverty and population growth in the old world pushed the numbers to greater heights after the war subsided. To accommodate the influx, Ellis Island was set up in 1892 as the gateway for millions to anticipated prosperity and, in many cases, a new national belonging. The arriving masses were motley of races and religions ranging from Catholic Irish to Druze Arabs. The term New Immigrants was used to denote those arriving after 1880, as they were less homogenous than the predominantly Protestant Western Europeans of the previous decades. New Immigrants formed the majority of inhabitants in several Northeastern towns. Immigration from Ottoman Levant is an important historical phenomenon as it had affected thousands of families, especially in Mount Lebanon. The act itself was a complex process, but that did not deter entire families from fulfilling their aspirations. Immigration picked up momentum after the conclusion of the 1860 Druze–Maronite conflict and the establishment of Mount Lebanon Mutasarrifate. Thus, between 1860 and 1900, around 120,000 people left the Levant, mostly Christians from the Mount. This is a staggering number given that the population of Lebanon stood at a quarter of a million in 1895.25 The Sublime Porte took half-hearted measures to limit the number of departing Lebanese, mostly to safeguard the international reputation of the state as modern, with a strong economy and robust minority rights policy.26 These measures failed as there were various factors that facilitated this mass migration, such as the growth of Beirut as the main port in the region, educational reform largely due to missionary schools, contact with Europeans and Americans, and the use of steamships,27 in addition to syndicates profiting from people smuggling. Regardless of 20 Murrin et al., 2011: 524. 21 McKeown, 2004: 156. 22 Kennedy, 2008. 23 Daniels, 2001: 9. 24 Ward, 2001: 285. 25 Issawi, 1992: 23 - 31. 26 Akarli, 1992: 100. 27 Rowe, 2008: 93. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 64 outcomes, immigrants from the Levant to the Americas were overwhelmingly sojourners, who had travelled of their own accord to achieve certain ambitions of high income and return28 with savings and success stories. Fortunately, their immigrant experience in the United States was generally positive, with most starting out as peddlers29 based in larger cities of the East Coast such as New York and Boston. To conclude, the difficult political, economic and social circumstances in the Levant formed a push factor that led many families and individuals to immigrate in search of a better life. On the other hand, the climate of freedom and prosperity in the United States became a pull factor that attracted these immigrants to the ports of the American East Coast. 5. Arabic Literary Context The Levant has been a cradle of human civilization; home to the early alphabet, the Judeo- Christian tradition, and the rise of Islamic culture. However, this unique place in the intellectual history of the world was hard to uphold with the decline of the Ottoman Empire. Hence, the 18th century was largely representative of intellectual infertility in the region. The succeeding intellectual and literary production of the 19th century was either an extension of old traditions or a reaction to the contact with the West. The cross-fertilization between the traditional, perceived as unscientific and static, and the modern, perceived as scientific and dynamic, characterized most of scholarly and literary discourse of the period. In literature, Arabic literature has been mostly an autonomous continuum with minor foreign influences characterized by great reverence for its poetry. This began to change in the 19th century, with the arrival of new forms such as journalism and drama, and new concepts such as Romanticism. Although cultural espousal is a gradual and multifaceted process, its catalyst can be traced back to the French Campaign in Egypt and Syria (1798–1801), which was Napoleon Bonaparte's ill-fated attempt to extend French influence and undermine British India. The campaign was distinguished by the swift and comprehensive defeat it inflicted on the Ottomans, and by the inclusion of various scientists and scholars among its members. The shock generated by Western omnipotence after the conclusion of the Napoleonic expedition led rulers to send educational missions to study in Europe, establish modern schools, found translation centers, and support the spread of newspapers and magazines. In Syria, Christian missionaries, Protestant and Jesuits, established numerous Western-style schools, whose graduates played a principal role on the intellectual and literary scene of the period both in Syria and Egypt. In prose, the spread of journalism facilitated the blooming of simple Arabic prose, removed from the embellished rhythmic writing of previous centuries, and capable of objectively conveying scientific truths and social commentary.30 Limited numbers of Arabic presses were available in Aleppo and Beirut as early as the 1700s, but the proliferation of presses, and with them translation and newspapers, became a hallmark of the 19th century. Thus, with the development of printing and journalism, and the spread of translated novels, the stage was set for a steady evolution of prose. Arabic literary prose flourished with a mixture of tradition and modernity, as in the writings of ’Aḥmad Fāris Shidyāq, ’Al-Bustānī, and Francis Marrāsh. The mature Arabic novel was only to be realized in the 20th century, with Muḥammad Ḥusayn Haykal (1888 - 1956) as a key transitional figure. 28 Abdelhady, 2014: 19. 29 Khater, 2001: 75. 30 Badawi, 1997: 8. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 65 In poetry, the advent of Neoclassicism and Romanticism is more evident than in prose. Neoclassicism, as the name indicates, was a return to the lofty poetic language and standards of the classic past, while expressing the outlook and addressing the concerns of contemporary times. Key figures of Arabic Neoclassicism included Nāṣīf ’Al-Yāzijī, who co-translated the Bible, Maḥmūd Sāmī ’Al-Bārūdī, and ’Aḥmad Shawqī.31 The wide critical and popular acclaim received by neoclassical poets breathed a new life into Arabic poetry and revived trust and interest in literature. This paved the way for Romantic poetry to evolve and blossom naturally in the footsteps of a changing society. The target readership, with the advent of magazines, newspapers, schools and colleges, shifted from elite intelligentsia and rulers to the incipient young urban middleclass. This shift in readership marshaled a shift towards Romanticism. The distinguishing features of Romantic poetry were the high level of personal expression, intensity of emotions voiced, and the relative freedom in the choice of diction and rhythm. These features, in great part, were inspired by European Romantic poets. The best representative of Romanticism in Arabic poetry could be Khalīl Muṭrān (1872 – 1949) who was born in Lebanon and settled in Egypt. In general, division between tradition and modernity characterized the cultural and literary discourse of the period. Europe was seen as the model to be emulated given its military and scientific ascendency since the Renaissance, but it was at the same time the enemy that occupied Egypt subjugated Arabia and the Maghreb, and threatened the Caliph. Tradition was suspected in the imbalance of development against Europe to be incongruent with progress. Modernization, which was synonymous with Westernization, was imposed on tradition and was not gradually reached out of it, and hence the dichotomy between modernity and tradition existed. In general, the period can be described a period of progress and renewal of Arabic literary themes and forms after decades of stagnation. 6. American Literary Context At the dawn of American colonies in the new world, culture was characterized by dependence on European heritage and by being localized in each region with little intellectual interaction. A national culture, chiefly marked by Christianity, capitalism, and democracy, began to truly form with the conclusion of the Civil War and the ensuing sense of unity. However, three dominant regional cultures were evident in the West, South, and North. Eventually, the North became culturally dominant with concepts such as individualism, social Darwinism, pragmatism, and progressivism.32 The 19th century ushered an intensification of American literature and the rise of many of its towering figures such as Washington Irving, James Fenimore Cooper, William Cullen Bryant, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Edgar Allan Poe. These writers paved the way for Romanticism to enter and occupy a prominent literary position in American literature and to also earn wide recognition across the Atlantic. This is true of Edgar Allan Poe, whose works were translated by the great French poet, Charles Baudelaire. Poe also pioneered the genre of detective short story and was an important figure in forging American gothic writing and literary criticism. The most celebrated intellectual movement of the 19th century in the United States was Transcendentalism, whose high priest was Ralph Waldo Emerson. The movement was instrumental in the formation of uniquely American letters.33 It was an idealist movement that 31 Somekh, 1997: 43. 32 Crunden, 1994: 128. 33 Goetzmann, 2009: 208. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 66 developed in New England in the 1830s, influenced by European Romanticism and the philosophy of Immanuel Kant. It emphasized the manifestation of God in nature, individualism, and intuition. It detested the control of religion over society, stressing instead individual freedom and the divine nature of a human being. Emerson, as a citizen of the world, sought to redefine man, God, and nature in order to change society and its conception of reality.34 His most influential ideas came in the form of essays such as Nature, Self-Reliance, The Over-Soul, The Poet, and Experience. Notably, Emerson, the Sage of Concord, called for America to cease its cultural and literary reliance on Europe, calling for its intellectual independence. 35 The influence of this movement, and especially of its leader, on the history of American thought was summarized by eminent critic, Harold Bloom, who wrote that ―after Emerson, every strong American writer and thinker has been an Emersonian or an anti-Emersonian but not indifferent to him. This is because he became the Mind of America.‖36 Another influential Transcendentalist writer is Henry David Thoreau, whose lasting legacy is Walden: Or Life in the Woods, a guidebook of modest life in nature. It narrates a personal experiment of seclusion for self-reliance and spiritual awareness. Another famous work by Thoreau is Resistance to Civil Government (Civil Disobedience), which calls for civil disobedience when an authoritarian state forces the individual to act against his morality. The influence of the movement extended to Walt Whitman whose seminal book, Leaves of Grass, is one of the most famous poetry collection in American literary history with poems such as Song of Myself, revolving about freedom, celebrating the human body and American root democracy.37 If transcendentalism was the avant-garde of romanticism in the United States, the same is true of naturalism in the context of realism. The latter began to gain momentum with the conclusion of the Civil War due to the dominance of a stable rational and scientific culture. Emphasizing characterization, daily lives, and social observations, the movement gained popularity with the works of Mark Twain and Henry James. Owing much of its features to European roots, the naturalist trend came to dominance in the wake of realism, stressing social determinism through a scientifically accurate depiction of life with a special focus on its oppressed and gruesome sides. Among the significant naturalist authors were Stephen Crane and Frank Norris.38 Following the fast-paced industrialization and urbanization at the turn of the century, modernism was to dominate the literary scene augmented by the ideas of some great Continental thinkers such as Sigmund Freud, Charles Darwin, and Friedrich Nietzsche. The First World War strengthened the hold of modernism with a sense of desperation mixed with alienation and anxiety,39 heralding the names of T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, and F. Scott Fitzgerald as the leading figures on the literary stage of the times. 7. Arabic Émigré Literature The émigré movement is a result of the contact between Arab writers and the American literary environment. A defining literary phenomenon in the history of Arabic literature, it was largely established by Christian Levantine writers in the Americas during the early decades of 34 Goetzmann, 2009: 185. 35 Crunden, 1994: 89. 36 Harold Bloom, 2008: 11. 37 Gray, 2011: 212. 38 Quinn, 2006: 355. 39 Lauter, 2010: 377-378. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 67 the 20th century. Émigré literature was influenced by the American culture of freedom and individualism, European Romanticism and nationalism, the deteriorating conditions of Arab peoples, and the ’Al-Nahḍah movement.40 Thus, Arabic émigré works explore and address subjective and emotional themes with a depth that was previously uncommon in Arabic literature. The spiritual aspects, with a stress on nature as the primary source of good, are also defining and unique features of émigré works. Such works are also concerned with the social problems of immigrants at the turn of the century and the political and economic ills of the Syrian homeland. The originality of these works, with their simple and innovative styles, has been a milestone in the history of Arabic literature. The first modern Arabic literary group, the Pen League, was a product of the émigré literary movement. The Pen League was established in New York in April, 1920, with a strong drive from Abdul Masih Haddad, the founder of ’Al-Sā’iḥ newspaper. Kahlil Gibran was elected president and Mikhail Naimy secretary, with an elite membership that included Nasib Arida, Abdul Masih Haddad, Elia Abu Madi, and Ameen Rihani. This League gave a far reaching resonance to the voice of the group and enhanced its ability to achieve its literary goals. In the words of Naimy in the preamble to its by-law, the League was ―aiming to transport our literature from stagnation to life, from imitation to creation… The tendency to keep our language and literature within the narrow bounds of aping the ancients in form and in substance is a most pernicious tendency… our life, our deeds, our circumstances are far different from theirs. We must be true to ourselves.‖41 The émigré movement benefited from the Arabic press in the United States. Thus, Arab- American newspapers popularized the creative works and critical views of émigré writers, and enabled them to reach Cairo, Beirut, and Damascus. The first Arabic newspaper in the US was Kawkab America in 1892, followed by ’Al-Hudā and Mir’āt ’Al-Gharb in 1898 and 1899. Other papers included ’Al-Bayān, ’Al-Majallah ’Al-‘arabiyah, ’Al-Funūn, and scores more, mostly in New York. One of the leading émigré writers greatly influenced by Gibran was Mikhail Naimy who was born in 1889. Naimy’s first source of influence was Russian literature as he studied at Russian schools before travelling to the Ukraine from 1906 to 1911 as a student. He then moved to the United States and successfully launched his literary career. As a critic, his 1923 collection ’Al-Ghirbāl, had a lasting impact on the literary scene of the period, calling for a greater stylistic and syntactic freedom to express subjective emotions, instead of the complex and rigid systems of traditional Arabic. He also stressed that the role of art is to convey a message from the heart, without artificial embellishments. His poem ’Akhī (My Brother) is a lucid testimony to the doctrine he preached with its subjective voice and whispered tone. Without rhetorical pretensions, the poem approached a traditional subject matter, war, in a novel way.42 The most gifted poet of the émigré movement in the United States was Elia Abu Madi who was born in Lebanon in 1889. He left for Egypt at a young age, and there published his first collection of poetry, before emigrating to the USA in 1911. His true success as a poet came after moving to New York and joining the Pen League with the publication of his second and third collections. Abu Madi excelled in the expression of personal bitterness in a modern world and the solace he found in individualism and nature. He ushered into Arabic literature an 40’Al-Nahḍah (renaissance) refers to the historical intellectual reform and modernization of Arab culture, centering in Egypt.’Al-Khafājī, Qiṣat ’Al-’Adab ’Al-Mahjarī, 1986: 125-147. 41 Naimy, 1974: 155-156. 42 Ostle, 1997: 99-100. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 68 atmosphere of vagueness and perplexity that was avant-garde. His most famous works include, al-Ṭalāsim, expressing agnosticism and anguish in a style that departs from traditional Arabic qaṣīdah.43 8. Conclusions The émigré movement presented Arabic literature with its finest Romantic output, an achievement that echoed across the Arab world despite the geographical distance of its origin. Ostle admired the vitality and position of this movement as it changed the course of Arabic literary expression with focus on themes such as ―the duality of body and soul, the poet- prophet of grandiose isolation or simply bewildered subjective malaise... With their preference for short simple metres and stanzaic forms, and their willingness to experiment with lines of irregular length, they paved the way for the formal revolutions that were to occur.‖44 As discussed above, the historical context in the Levant and the Arab world in general, before and during the life of Gibran and other émigré writers, was largely characterized by hardship. The Ottoman Empire was sick at that period, which reflected negatively on Greater Syria. In contrast, the United States was fast developing towards unprecedented prosperity. This led to a wave of immigration, which included a number of writers and their families, from the Levant to the American east coast. For example, the young Gibran, under the protective wing of his mother, left the quite life of the Mount village to the hustle and bustle of Boston and New York. The Arab cultural scene during the same period was chiefly characterized by a clash between tradition and modernity, fueled to a great extent by direct interaction with the West. In literature, émigré writers were on the side of modernizers, calling for a new spirit of subjective literature with less focus on classic forms. These writers came to a cosmopolitan culture and a booming literary environment, which helped to nurture and polish their talents. It can be argued that this environment fundamentally shaped their outlook on modernizing culture and literary innovation. The two major recommendations that can be gleaned from the above discussions revolve around the role of interaction between a writer and their culture. First, to fully appreciate literary creativity, critics and readers need to be aware of the culture of the writer and how both culture and writer affect each other. Second, to develop and cultivate a writer’s creative literary abilities, it can be advantageous to gain new experiences and insights outside one’s familiar environment into diverse cultures with dissimilar worldviews. 9. Acknowledgement The authors wish to thank the IIUM Flagship Research Initiative Grant Scheme (IIUM Flagship), IRF19-018-0018 awarded by International Islamic University Malaysia for the financial support and facilities for making this study a success. References ’Al-Khafājī, M. (1986). Qiṣat ’Al-’Adab ’Al-Mahjarī. Beirut: Dār ’Al-Kitāb ’Al-Lubnānī. Abdelhady, D. (2014). ―The Sociopolitical History of Arabs in the United States: Assimilation, Ethnicity, and Global Citizenship‖, in Biopsychosocial Perspectives on Arab Americans: 43 R.C. Ostle, 1997: 101-105. 44 R.C. Ostle, 1997: 109. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 69 Culture, Development, and Health, edited by Sylvia Nassar-McMillan, Kristine Ajrouch, and Julie Hakim-Larson, 17-43. New York: Springer. AbuKhalil, A. (1998). Historical Dictionary of Lebanon. London: Scarecrow Press. Akarli, E. (1992). ―Ottoman Attitudes towards Lebanese Emigration, 1885—1910‖ in The Lebanese in the World: A Century of Emigration, edited by Albert Hourani and Nadim Shehadi, London: I.B. Tauris,. Badawi, M. (1997). ―Introduction: The Background‖, in The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature: Modern Arabic Literature, edited by M. M. Badawi, 1-35. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bloom, H. (2008). Bloom’s Classic Critical Views: Ralph Waldo Emerson. New York: Infobase Publishing. Crunden, R. (1994). A Brief History of American Culture. New York: Paragon House. Daniels, R. (2001). American Immigration: A Student Companion. Oxford: Oxford University Press Goetzman, W. (2009). Beyond the Revolution: A History of American Thought from Paine to Pragmatism. New York: Basic Books. Gray, R. (2011). A History of American Literature. Malden, Massachusetts: Wiley-Blackwell. Hitti, P. (1951). History of Syria. London: Macmillan and Co,. Hitti, P. (1959). A Short History of Syria. New York: Macmillan. Hourani, A. (1992). ―Introduction‖ in The Lebanese in the World: A Century of Emigration, edited by Albert Hourani and Nadim Shehadi. London: I.B. Tauris. Issawi, C. (1997). ―The Historical Background of Lebanese Emigration, 1800-1914‖ in The Lebanese in the World: A Century of Emigration, edited by Albert Hourani and Nadim Shehadi, London: I.B. Tauris. Murrin, J. M., Johnson, P. E., McPherson, J. M., Fahs, A., & Gerstle, G. (2011). Liberty, Equality, Power: A History of the American People. Boston: Wadsworth. Kennedy, J. (2008). A Nation of Immigrants. New York: HarperCollins. Khater, A. (2001). Inventing Home: Emigration, Gender, and the Middle Class in Lebanon, 1870-1920. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lauter, P. (2010). A Companion to American Literature and Culture. Malden, Massachusetts: Wiley- Blackwell, 2010. Mauk, D., & Oakland, J. (2005). American Civilization: An Introduction. London: Routledge. McKeown, A. (2004). ―Global Migration 1846–1940.‖ Journal of World History 15 ( 2), 155-189. Mishaqa, M. (1988). Murder, Mayhem, Pillage, and Plunder: The History of the Lebanon in the 18th and 19th Centuries .New York: State University of New York Press. Naff, A. (1993). Becoming American: The Early Arab Immigrant Experience. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Naimy, M. (1974). Kahlil Gibran: His Life and his Works. Beirut: Naufal Publishers, 1974. Ostle, R. C. (1997). ―The Romantic Poets‖, in The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature: Modern Arabic Literature, edited by M. M. Badawi, 82-131. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Payne, M. (2005). The Greenblatt Reader ed. Oxford: Blackwell. Quinn, E. (2006) A Dictionary of Literary and Thematic Terms. New York: Checkmark Books. Rowe, A. (2008). ―A Trace of Arabic in Granite: Lebanese Migration to the Green Mountains, 1890–1940‖, Vermont History 76 ( 2), 91–129. Somekh, S. (1997). ―The Neo-Classical Arabic Poets‖, in The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature: Modern Arabic Literature, edited by M.M. Badawi, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ Émigré Creativity in a Historical Context Copyright © 2019. Owned by Author(s), published by Society. This is an open-access article under CC-BY-NC-SA license. https://doi.org/10.33019/society.v7i2.85 70 Traboulsi, F. (2007). A History of Modern Lebanon. London: Pluto Press. U.S Department of Commerce. U.S. Census Bureau. (2014). 1900 Overview. Retrieved from http://www.census.gov/history/www/through_the_decades/overview/1900.html Ward, D. (2001). ―Population Growth, Migration, and Urbanization 1860-1920‖, in North America: The Historical Geography of a Changing Continent, edited by Thomas F. McIlwraith and Edward K. Muller, 285-305. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. __________________________________ About The Authors 1. Homam Altabaa (Ph.D.) is an Assistant Professor at Department of Fundamental and Inter- Disciplinary Studies, Kulliyyah of Islamic Revealed Knowledge and Human Sciences, International Islamic University Malaysia. His doctoral thesis investigated the mystical elements in the works of Kahli Gibran, and he has published several articles on the works of Kahlil Gibran. E-Mail: drhomam@iium.edu.my; htabaa@gmail.com. 2. Adham Hamawiya (Ph.D.) Assistant Professor of Arabic Linguistic Studies at Department of Fundamental and Inter-Disciplinary Studies, Kulliyyah of Islamic Revealed Knowledge and Human Sciences, International Islamic University Malaysia. His research area covers various aspects of Arabic language and literature. E-Mail: adhamawiya@iium.edu.my. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ http://www.census.gov/history/www/through_the_decades/overview/1900.html mailto:drhomam@iium.edu.my mailto:htabaa@gmail.com mailto:adhamawiya@iium.edu.my 1. Introduction 2. The Historical Context in the Levant 3. The Historical Context in the United States of America 4. Immigration at the Turn of the Century 5. Arabic Literary Context 6. American Literary Context 7. Arabic Émigré Literature 8. Conclusions 9. Acknowledgement References 
work_t6purvl6yzho5ale5qux2hg7vy	----	Science Magazine P H O T O : C R E D IT G O E S H E R E A S S H O W N ; C R E D IT G O E S H E R E A S S H O W N INSIGHTS PERSPECTIVES ESSAY Humboldt for the Anthropocene Humboldt’s fusion of science and humanism can address contemporary challenges By Stephen T. Jackson T he ecology and environment of moun- tains are closely associated with Alex- ander von Humboldt, born in Prussia 250 years ago this month. His 1807 environmental profile of Chimborazo (1), the highest peak in the equatorial Andes, is iconic (2, 3). He later aligned it with similar mountain profiles to show the envi- ronmental and ecological parallels between elevation and latitude (4). Although moun- tains, climate, and vegetation were central themes in Humboldt’s thinking for six de- cades (1, 5–7), his scientific contributions and intellectual vision extended far beyond those relationships, spanning nearly all the natural sciences and extending deeply into the social sciences and humanities. Indeed, virtually every part of the Earth, environmental, and geographic sciences stands on foundations established or inspired by Humboldt. Humboldt’s contributions owed much to his skillful navigation between the opposing poles of breadth and depth, between minute particulars and far-reaching patterns, and be- tween general theory and brute-force observa- tion. His grounding in the physical, chemical, mathematical, and astronomical sciences imparted an appreciation for universal laws. But his wide-ranging curiosity, keen obser- vational abilities, and early experience as a botanist and geologist led Humboldt to rec- ognize that the world is diverse and complex, and that the details and deviations are im- portant, both intellectually and aesthetically. Humboldt’s insight that spatially and tem- porally referenced observations—whether of species occurrences, air temperature, ocean salinity, or strength and direction of Earth’s magnetic field—could be aggregated to iden- tify regional to global patterns (which in turn would reveal relationships and mechanisms) is now a core principle of the Earth and en- vironmental sciences (1–3, 8). Humboldt rec- ognized that theories to explain Earth and its inhabitants, including humans, would necessarily be laden with contingencies arising from spatial irregularities, historical events, and complex interactions, but he was confident that broad principles were, ulti- mately, attainable. Much of Humboldt’s understanding de- rived directly from systematic measurements sciencemag.org S C I E N C E1 0 74 13 SEP TEMBER 2019 • VOL 365 ISSUE 6458 Published by AAAS o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/ S C I E N C E sciencemag.org IM A G E : (O P P O S IT E P A G E ) J U L IU S S C H R A D E R / M E T R O P O L IT A N M U S E U M O F A R T , G IF T O F H . O . H A V E M E Y E R , 1 8 8 9 and observations made during his travels in Europe, his voyage to the New World with French botanist Aimé Bonpland (1799–1804), and his trip across Siberia to the Altai Moun- tains (1829). However, he also relied heav- ily on a global network of collaborators and correspondents to expand his observational capacities. His scientific works were built on information obtained from hundreds of sci- entific and scholarly correspondents, and he mined data from accounts and anecdotes of travelers, traders, diplomats, sailors, soldiers, and priests. He also made extensive use of indigenous and local knowledge (5, 8–10). Humboldt recognized that such phenomena as weather, climate, ocean circulation, earth- quakes, volcanism, and geomagnetism could be understood only through systematic mon- itoring, and he used his collegial networks to build a distributed, global, geomagnetic observatory, the first international scientific cooperative of its kind. He also organized the first modern scientific society, which became the model for others. Humboldt was far more than a natural scientist, though. He was a pioneer- ing social scientist and, above all, a humanist. His volumes on Venezuela (9), Cuba (11), and Mexico (12) inte- grate physical, cultural, historical, and economic features. Views of the Cordilleras is an ingenious synthesis of art, anthropology, history, linguistics, geol- ogy, and geography (10). Humboldt argued that all the diverse peoples of the world were a single species, with no peoples or cultures a priori superior to or dominant over others (7). He was also a passionate and vocal op- ponent of imperialism, colonialism, and slav- ery (8, 11, 12). Humboldt’s humanistic views were radical; in his lifetime, slavery flour- ished across the Americas, and imperialism expanded under a seldom-challenged notion that the “advanced” peoples of European de- scent had a right, even a duty, to subjugate other cultures and peoples across the globe. Although Humboldt’s pursuit of scientific knowledge was driven by curiosity, ambition, and a desire to contribute to human welfare, it was part of a larger vision encompassing nature and the human mind. Throughout his work, he explored the fundamental tension between the external world of nature and the internal world of human sensations, percep- tions, and emotions (1, 5, 7). As a scientist, he assumed that the natural world is compre- hensible, despite its particularity and com- plexity. As a humanist, he recognized that our understanding of the natural world is a product of the human mind, filtered through sensations and emotions. His awareness of the diversity of nature and the essence of the mind and senses led to his own feeling of intellectual humility. He noted that, “Ex- periential sciences are never completed, the abundance of sensory perceptions can never be exhausted; no generation will ever be able to pride itself on possessing an overview of the entirety of phenomena” (13). Humboldt was fascinated by the diverse ways in which human cultures have ex- plained and engaged with the natural world, but also by the emotional reactions held in common by cultures separated widely in time and space—awe, reverence, inspira- tion, fear, and delight (7). His vision of the cosmos was a never-ending program of ap- plying the tools of science to understand nature, while simultaneously applying the practices of the humanities—art, poetry, literature, music—to appreciate nature and to deepen our understanding of it (1, 7, 8). Science is an important way to know the world, but it is one among many. Knowing of the world intellectually and aesthetically is enriching and empowering, and strength- ens our bonds with nature and humanity, and our respect for both. Aesthetics and science were inseparable in his works. The 1807 Chimborazo profile was a fusion of art and science (1), as were the subsequent botanical monographs (14) and graphic inserts [e.g., (4, 9–12)]. His most rhapsodic works for general audiences are jammed with scientific digressions and de- tails (5, 9), and his most technical works are interspersed with passages of lyrical, often passionate prose (1, 4, 11). Humboldt inspired artists, poets, and writers through the 19th century—a small sample includes Frederic Edwin Church, Herman Melville, Henry Da- vid Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, Karl Bodmer, and Walt Whitman (8, 15). Humboldt’s works led to several decades of “Humboldtian science” in the United States and elsewhere, characterized by sys- tematic exploration and mapping of ter- ritory, measurement, or description of physical, geological, biological, and often cultural phenomena, collection of materials for detailed study and institutional curation, and efforts to identify patterns and draw broad inferences (3, 8, 15). In the course of the 19th century, Humboldtian science often became a tool of empire and conquest, and his humanistic vision was largely overshad- owed. Near the century’s end, Humboldtian science disintegrated as unexplored territory diminished and the constituent sciences be- came balkanized into distinct, territorial dis- ciplines. Global-network science expanded, but largely within disciplines (e.g., oceanog- raphy, meteorology, geophysics). Since the mid–20th century, many ele- ments of Humboldt’s original vision have re- emerged, though irregularly and not without conflict. Interdisciplinarity has proliferated, driven by fundamental scientific opportu- nities and the complex and multifaceted challenges of environmental and societal change. During and since the Cold War, in- ternational scientific collaboration served as a diplomatic tool and agent of peace, and in recent decades has grown to address such global concerns as climate change, biodi- versity, and environmental sustainability. The scientific community has diversified along many dimensions, including gender, ethnicity, nationality, and culture, driven by changing societal and community values. In- digenous and local knowledge is now being explicitly valued and utilized in scientific as- sessments (16). These are all hopeful trends, as are the broadening public appreciation for science and concern over the future of nature under cli- mate change and other threats. Scientists are now involved in a debate over whether the Anthropo- cene should be recognized as a formal geo- logical epoch. The Anthropocene discussion focuses attention on a fundamentally Hum- boldtian observation: Humanity and nature are deeply intertwined. Humans have been influencing the natural world at local, re- gional, and perhaps global scales for many millennia. The changing natural world has had reciprocal influences on human welfare and activities. Nature and humanity are now locked in lopsided coevolution—that is, nature would persist in the absence of hu- manity, but humanity cannot exist without nature (16). Accelerating human impacts, together with sequential appearance of novel activities (e.g., fire, cultivation, fossil- fuel combustion, synthesis of polymers and pharmaceuticals), draw the fates of nature and humanity ever closer. Alexander von Humboldt’s vision, linking science with the broader human experience, is essential for addressing the grave environ- mental and societal challenges that we face in the Anthropocene. That vision places sci- ence in proper perspective as an imperfect but aspirational human endeavor—one that is necessary but not sufficient to foster a healthy relationship with the natural world. Southwest Climate Adaptation Science Center, US Geological Survey, and University of Arizona, Tucson, AZ, USA. Email: stjackson@usgs.gov “Knowing the world intellectually and aesthetically...strengths our bonds with nature and humanity...” Julius Schrader’s portrait (1859),“Baron Alexander von Humboldt,” shows Chimborazo and Cotopaxi in the background. 13 SEP TEMBER 2019 • VOL 365 ISSUE 6458 1 0 7 5 Published by AAAS o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/ INSIGHTS | P E R S P E C T I V E S 1 0 7 6 13 SEP TEMBER 2019 • VOL 365 ISSUE 6458 sciencemag.org S C I E N C E G R A P H IC : V . A L T O U N IA N / S C IE N C E It also emphasizes that all people have a stake in nature and in science. Humboldt was optimistic that everyone could under- stand and appreciate nature and science (5, 7), and he regularly engaged the public in his writings and lectures. These were more than pronouncements from a moun- taintop. Olympian as he was intellectually, Humboldt conversed with and learned from mine laborers, peasant farmers, subsistence hunters, seamen, and indigenous peoples wherever he encountered them. Although he was unapologetically liberal, he engaged with slaveholders, aristocrats, colonial bu- reaucrats, emperors, and kings. Humboldt’s combination of empathy, humility, confi- dence, and rigor can serve as a model for engaging the public on matters of urgent concern. Active valuing of nature can come from linking emotional responses and sen- sual experience with intellectual curiosity and scientific understanding. Extending the understanding to encompass the past, and to envision alternative futures for nature and humankind in the Anthropocene, can motivate hope and action. Rekindling Hum- boldt’s vision, and building on his legacy, can provide not only solace and inspiration, but also maps and narratives toward a bet- ter future for nature and people. j R E F E R E N C E S A N D N OT E S 1. A. von Humboldt, A. Bonpland, Essay on the Geography of Plants (Transl. S. Romanowski; Ed. S. T. Jackson) (Univ. of Chicago Press, 2009). 2. N. Morueta-Holme et al., Ann. Mo. Bot. Gard. 103, 315 (2018). 3. S. T. Jackson, Science 324, 596 (2009). 4. A. de Humboldt, De Distributione Geographica Plantarum (Libraria Græco-Latino-Germanica, Paris, 1817) [Transl. P. Holt (unpublished)]. 5. A. von Humboldt, Views of Nature (Transl. M. W. Person; Ed. S. T. Jackson, L. D. Walls) (Univ. of Chicago Press, 2014). 6. A. de Humboldt, Asie Centrale. Recherches sur les Chaines de Montagnes et la Climatologie Comparée (Gide, Paris, 1843). 7. A. von Humboldt, Cosmos: A Sketch of the Physical Description of the Universe. (Transl. E. C. Otté) (Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1997). 8. L. D. Walls, The Passage to Cosmos: Alexander von Humboldt and the Shaping of America (Univ. of Chicago Press, 2009). 9. A. von Humboldt, Personal Narrative of Travels to the Equinoctial Regions of the New Continent, During the Years 1799-1804. (Transl. H. M. Williams) (Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, London, 1818, 1819, 1821, 1826, 1829). 10. A. von Humboldt, Views of the Cordilleras and Monuments of the Indige nous Peoples of the Americas – A Critical Edition. (Transl. J. R. Poynter; Ed. V. M. Kutzinski, O. Ette) (Univ. of Chicago Press, 2012). 11. A. von Humboldt, Political Essay on the Island of Cuba: A Critical Edition (Transl. J. B. Anderson, V. M. Kutzinski, A. Becker; Ed. V. M. Kutzinski, O. Ette) (Univ. of Chicago Press, 2011). 12. A. de Humboldt, Political Essay on the Kingdom of New Spain (Transl. J. Black) (Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, London, 1814). 13. A. von Humboldt, Kosmos, vol. 1, p. 65 (J. F. Cotta’scher Verlag, Stuttgart, 1845) (passage translated by M. W. Person). 14. H. W. Lack, Alexander von Humboldt and the Botanical Exploration of the Americas (Prestel Verlag, Munich, 2009). 15. A. Sachs, The Humboldt Current: Nineteenth-Century Exploration and the Roots of American Environmentalism (Viking, 2006). 16. S. Díaz et al., Science 359, 270 (2018). AC K N OW L E D G M E N TS I am grateful to L. Dassow Walls and T. E. Lovejoy for comments and discussion. 10.1126/science.aax7212 By Tamara Davis O ne of the most fundamental and con- troversial measurements in cosmol- ogy, Hubble’s constant (H 0 ), informs scientists about how rapidly the Universe is expanding. The debate about the value of H 0 has heated up recently as increasingly precise mea- surements from different techniques are converging on different values for H 0 . This discrepancy either means that the H 0 mea- surements have systematic errors larger than astrophysicists can explain, or it re- veals something profound about the phys- ics underlying our universe. On page 1134 of this issue, Jee et al. (1) present a new way to measure H 0 , by combining information from strong gravitational lensing and the motion of stars within the lens galaxy, to calibrate supernova luminosities . In the 1920s, astrophysicists Georges Le- maître and Edwin Hubble independently discovered that the Universe is expanding by noting that the more distant a galaxy, the faster it is receding from Earth, as encapsu- lated in the Hubble-Lemaître law: velocity = H 0 × distance. The value of H 0 thus sets the current expansion rate of the Universe. To de- rive H 0 , one must know both the distance of a cosmic object and its recession velocity. Velocities can be calculated from the shift- ing of spectral lines caused by the expansion of the Universe (redshifts). However, measur- ing accurate distances has been the bane of astrophysicists. It is difficult to distinguish between a bright or large object that is far away and a faint or small one that is nearby. To overcome such difficulties, one must know the intrinsic properties of the object being measured. With a standard candle (an ob- ject of known luminosity) or standard ruler (something of known size), cosmologists can use their apparent brightness or size, respec- tively, to estimate an object’s distance. Lemaître and Hubble derived the earli- est estimates of H 0 (~500 km s−1 Mpc−1) in the late 1920s, when the distances to galax- ASTROPHYSICS An expanding controversy An independently calibrated measurement fortifies the debate around Hubble’s constant Light source Lig so Observer on EarthTime delay Light ourcerce Obser on EaTime delay Time delay + velocities = standard ruler Galaxy Multiple paths to Hubble’s constant The strong foreground lens, a galaxy, bends the path of light from a background supernova, so that light arrives at Earth by two routes of different lengths. Thus, the observer detects one image before the other. This time difference allows calculation of the lens’s mass. The velocity of stars orbiting in the lens galaxy reveals the gravitational potential. Together, these values yield the lensing system’s radius (a standard ruler). Jee et al. used this method to derive H o . Published by AAAS o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/ Humboldt for the Anthropocene Stephen T. 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work_tdhfswtsube6thrxg4lxjno3se	----	Buell- DownwardlyMobile.rtf Downwardly Mobile for Conscience's Sake: Voluntary Simplicity from Thoreau to Lily Bart The Harvard community has made this article openly available. Please share how this access benefits you. Your story matters Citation Buell, Lawrence. 2005. Downwardly mobile for conscience's sake: Voluntary simplicity from Thoreau to Lily Bart. American Literary History 17(4): 653-665. Published Version http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/alh/aji040 Citable link http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:2643650 Terms of Use This article was downloaded from Harvard University’s DASH repository, and is made available under the terms and conditions applicable to Other Posted Material, as set forth at http:// nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of- use#LAA http://osc.hul.harvard.edu/dash/open-access-feedback?handle=&title=Downwardly%20Mobile%20for%20Conscience's%20Sake:%20Voluntary%20Simplicity%20from%20Thoreau%20to%20Lily%20Bart&community=1/1&collection=1/2&owningCollection1/2&harvardAuthors=71d4cf2d1a5b62b1b109c7afac3b811f&departmentEnglish%20and%20American%20Literature%20and%20Language http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:2643650 http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA Downwardly Mobile for Conscience’s Sake: Voluntary Simplicity from Thoreau to Lily Bart @ 2005 Lawrence Buell American Literary History 17.4 (Winter 2005): 653-665 In broadest terms, this essay is about a counter-culture of self-imposed moral and economic limits, or rather cultures (plural), running through and against mainstream American liberalism from the early colonial era down to the present, at some points more strongly than others. At rare moments, it’s shown signs of becoming a dominant culture, or at least a dominant cultural imaginary: at certain points in Puritan and Quaker history, in the cult of republican virtue during the early national period, and most especially in such religiocentric communitarian movements as the Shakers and the Amish--or, for that matter, as Puritanism and Quakerism once were. All these sects, of course, were transplanted from abroad, not native born. What I am attempting to describe is not a propensity unique to the United States. Tolstoi, Gandhi, and Albert Schweitzer might all be worthier prototypes cases than any I’ll be examining here. But the formation arguably has special pertinence to U. S. culture, which is stereotypically a culture of capitalism, consumption, of plenty, and of individual upward mobility, relative to most of the rest of the world. Under such conditions the mere existence of countercultures of restraint take on a special interest. As David Shi writes in the best history of national simplicity ethics to date, the myth of the simple life “has, in a sense, served as the nation’s conscience, reminding Americans of what the founders had hoped they would be and [so] providing a vivifying counterpoint to the excesses of materialist individualism” (278). 1. Voluntary Simplicity Lives? Writing twenty years ago, Shi is unequivocally confident that “the simple life will persist both as an enduring myth and as an actual way of living” (279). Today some would disagree. Not for nothing was the Bill Clinton era called a New Gilded Age, which the George W. Bush administration, for all its attempts to distance itself from its predecessor, effectively has sought to sustain with large tax cuts for the wealthy in the face of recession. In recent years, US presidents have famously refrained from calling upon American citizens to accept restraints in their standard of living. This has not escaped notice by Americanists. In a recent article ironically titled “What Is So Bad About Being Rich?” Winfried Fluck of the Free University of Berlin contends that representations of wealth in U. S. fiction and film have become increasingly unabashed during the past two decades, indeed that the critique of “the hunger for riches” as an “adolescent wish for self-aggrandizement” that we find in (say) Howells and James “gradually loses its influence at the end of the 19th century” (61). Still, as ethos if not as majoritarian practice, voluntary simplicity continues to thrive. As Shi suggests, the dominant culture of materialism assures both its marginalization and its persistence as a voice from the margin. Indeed, voluntary simplicity does a brisk business these days. Anyone with an internet hookup and a little spare cash can subscribe in two or three clicks to Simple Living Magazine, or tune in to “The Simple Living Network” (at www.simpleliving. net) http://www.simpleliving.net)to view and order some of the many self-help manuals. These include, for example, The Simple Living Guide (1997) by Janet Luhrs (who also edits Simple Living Magazine); Duane Elgin’s Voluntary Simplicity (1981), still a popular item after almost a quarter century in print; Linda Breen Pierce’s A 12-Step Guide to Living Simply (2003); and Elaine St. James’s trilogy Simplify Your Life (1994), Inner Simplicity (1995), and Living the Simple Life (1996)--each of which takes the form of 100 micro- essays on topics like “Cut your grocery shopping time in half,” “Get rid of your lawn,” “Sell the damn boat,” “Take time to watch the sunset,” “Stop carrying a purse the size of the QE2," “Practice detaching,” “Practice dying,” “Saying no in the workplace,” “Get out of relationships that don’t support you,” and so forth. These middlebrow self-help books appeal to the sense of overload frustration in such a way as to activate an uplifting fantasy of total life change while holding out the promise that even itty-bitty changes (such as occasional sunset-watching and the smaller purse) can make your life a great deal better–and be good for the rest of the world as well. “A conscious simplicity,” Elgin reassures us, “is not self-denying but life-affirming”–“not an ‘ascetic simplicity’ [but] rather . . . an ‘aesthetic simplicity’ whereby each person considers whether his or her level and pattern of consumption fits with grace and integrity into the practical art of daily living on this planet” (150). Not so, however, the book after which this talk is titled, Downwardly Mobile for Conscience Sake (1995), edited by Dorothy Andersen. This is a collection of 10 autobiographical narratives of individuals and couples of varying ethnicities and class niches (the majority of them white and college-educated, however), all of whom have made stringently principled decisions, for various reasons, to limit their material needs and lifestyles insofar as possible. The commonest single reason is tax resistance: wanting to fly below the Internal Revenue Service’s radar so that “no more of my dollars [go] to this government whose aims and purposes are so far from my own values,” in the words of one contributor (Epling 37). The most searchingly analytical essay in Downwardly Mobile is by a dropout from the professoriat named Charles Gray, who resolved at the age of 52 to live on what he calls the World Equity Budget, his proportional share of the gross world product, which he reckons at $142/ month. This, for Gray, is what it means really to practice equality rather than just pay lip service (108). His embracement of voluntary poverty (in the spirit of Gandhism and primitive Christianity) is all the more notable for his recognition that this in itself doesn’t give a person a one-way ticket to sainthood. “The danger of practicing what you preach,” Gray realizes, “is that it can become an end in itself, a searching for personal purity or salvation” to the forgetting of the larger cause or movement (110). One recalls the insight T. S. Eliot puts in the mouth of Thomas à Becket in Murder in the Cathedral: that “the greatest treason” is “to do the right deed for the wrong reason” (196). Still, Gray holds emphatically that downscaling at the individual level is the necessary first step to substantive life change. “First change you, not the world,” as another simplicity advocate puts it (Corbett 4; emphasis added). This is philosopher Bob Corbett, an academic who, the same year Gray went on his more radical World Economic Budget regime, chose to remain in the profession but to scale back to half time, convinced that “personal simplification, downward mobility, is the PRE-REQUISITE to freedom of action toward the questions of social justice” (4). All this, however, is preamble to the main focus of my essay: episodes and figures from earlier stages of American modernization that have modeled and/or registered the force of the ethos of voluntary simplicity that persists, however diminishingly, even today. Neither Gray nor Corbett refer directly to Henry David Thoreau. But overall, Thoreau is (predictably) the canonical figure from US history most often cited by modern voluntary simplicity advocates. “The most conspicuous and persuasive exponent of simple living in the American experience,” Shi calls him (140). The website of alibi.com features a forum called “Thoreau’s Army: Local Peace Activists Share Expertise on the IRS” (“Thoreau’s Army”). On simpleliving.net’s list of recommended books, Walden (1854) pops up as the first featured item. The particular edition highlighted–the last time I visited the site–is prefaced with an essay by Joyce Carol Oates, who locates Thoreau’s appeal in its resistance to “our own gravitation toward the outer, larger, fiercely competitive world of responsibility, false courage, and ‘reputation’” (xi). 2. Thoreau and the Ambiguation of the Simplicity Ethic The spectacle of one of the most compulsively prolific writers of our time praising in such terms the most exactingly re-written classic in US literary history, which took nearly a decade to complete, is bemusing testimony to the continuing allure of his gospel “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity” (91) as the model for constructing an idealized antiself, even if not as a model for strict emulation. On the one hand, it’s a matter of record that Thoreau has helped provoke a number of simplification experiments more extreme than his own: cabins in more remote areas, withdrawal for longer periods of time, greater austerity of life-style, etc. This tradition was ushered in by his fellow Transcendentalists’ memorialization of him in extreme terms: as a “hermit and stoic,” to quote his erstwhile mentor’s famous epithets (Emerson 456), as one whose natural piety at Walden approached sainthood. 1 “A holy man within a Hermitage,” effused his otherwise irreverent friend, poet Ellery Channing (158). On the other hand, Thoreau’s example has also been invoked by a far greater number of people for whom voluntary downscaling clearly seems temporary and/or partial, not a secession from society at large. As St. James puts it in the Introduction to Simplify Your Life, the first book in her trilogy, “to paraphrase Henry David Thoreau, take advantage of the movement of the times and simplify, simplify. And enjoy” (7). It’s tempting to scoff at St. James for hijacking Thoreau by giving his simplicity ethic such a hedonistic twist. Yet it’s also the case that some such reading, even if not precisely hers, is truer to the spirit Walden than the more extreme memorializations of Thoreau as a kind of monk. He himself stresses that simplification isn’t an end in itself but a means to a richer inner life and protests that he is “naturally no hermit” (140). He stresses that his retreat was a temporary experiment; that one of his motivations for undertaking it was release from the grim dutifulness of his neighbors; that he regularly revisited town during the Walden years; that the food budget he lays out is ventured “rather from an economic than a dietic point of view” (61) and that the reader shouldn’t “venture to put my abstemiousness to the test unless he has a well-stocked larder” (61)–presumably a droll allusion to his various mealtime subsidies. The only time the Walden persona pictures himself explicitly as a “hermit” (in dialogue with his friend the “poet,” a.k.a. Channing), he comically abandons both his deep meditation and the “higher law” of vegetarianism in order to go on a fishing expedition (224). Thus he dispenses in advance with the later anchoritish claims made on his behalf–or against him, by detractors seeking to reduce him to a standoffish misfit. Of course, Thoreau also knew that even a short-term, controlled experiment of the kind he describes entails a degree of deviance and self-denial from which most people would shrink. He knew that for a Harvard graduate in the mid-nineteenth century voluntarily to abandon a conventional professional path and bivouac in the woods for more than two years would seem in the eyes of many of his townsmen seem almost as eccentric a form of retreat and self-denial as if he actually had become a monk or retreated to an igloo in the Canadian arctic. But be that as it may, throughout Walden, in the spirit of the hermit’s happily abandoned meditation at the start of “Brute Neighbors,” what especially gets stressed is the remarkable ease and pleasurable payoffs of simplification rather than the privations and indignities. On this ground Gavin Jones, the leading authority in the field of literature on the subject of U. S. poverty discourse, chides Walden for evading the problem of poverty as an endemic social dilemma by emphasizing its “cultural and spiritual” payoff. “When chosen freely as a way of life,” Jones writes, “poverty defines a state of philosophical wisdom and heightened aesthetic appreciation that focuses on the vital essence of existence. But when he encounters [a bona fide pauper] like the Irish immigrant John Field, who appears trapped in his suffering and want, Thoreau recoils in horror” and blames the victim (Jones 772-773). Whether this is too severe an assessment I shall take up later on. But first let us turn to another equivocating discourse of simplification. 3. Woman’s Fiction and the Virtues of the Simple Life In some respects akin, though not of course identical, to Thoreau’s interweave of the ascetic and the hedonistic is the motif in the paradigmatic Cinderella plot of woman’s fiction–so influentially charted by Nina Baym--of virtuous privation as a pathway to a higher gratification. Obviously the usual terms of the woman’s fiction plot at the literal level differ in some very crucial respects from the Thoreauvian plot. Woman’s fiction is about finding place within the social order, not dropping out; and its catalytic and culminating phases are very different. The heroine’s downward mobility is altogether involuntary; poverty itself is “abhorred and feared” (Baym 48); and the heroine is rewarded at the end with material wealth and security. But ethically it is shown to be a good thing for her to have been so tested, to learn to moderate her demands on life and to control her impulses. Baym argues convincingly that maturation rather than marriage is woman’s fiction’s core project: that “marriage cannot and should not be the goal toward which women direct themselves,” that “a commercial marriage is worse by far than a single life” (Baym 39). And crucial to this maturation is the acquisition of a moral autonomy that is tested and forged in a context of privation and harsh judgment by one’s reference group. Now and again classic women’s fiction even offers up some quite Thoreau-esque figures as models of satisfaction gleaned from austerity, such as Mrs. Vawse in Susan Warner’s Wide, Wide World, who (having outlived both husband and children) lives by choice, and to all appearances cheerfully, an austere and self-sufficient life in an isolated mountainy cottage that Ellen and Alice find rather scarily remote. “‘She has friends that would not permit her to earn another sixpence if they could help it,’” Alice tells Ellen, “‘but she likes better to live as she does’” (Warner 197). Surely this ancient lady’s lifestyle is not what that Ellen desires for herself, or what the novel desires for her, or what other domestic novelists desire for their heroines. But far better that even for them, these novels imply, than self-indulgent worldly materialism. So, too, for the novel that Baym treats as the inaugural example of the genre, Catharine Maria Sedgwick’s A New-England Tale (1822). If rich, benevolent, and judicious Mr. Lloyd hadn’t ever shown up, A New-England Tale implies, the protagonist Jane Elton might have lived a perfectly decent life as a low-wage single schoolteacher. Far better that than life with loose-living Edward Erskine. Well, how more precisely should we conceptualize the linkages, such as they are, between the hero of Walden and the heroines of woman’s fiction? Two motifs seem especially germane: first, a shared ideology of republican simplicity, including an ideal of domestic self-sufficiency–albeit home-making gets played through very differently in the two cases, of course–and, second, a shared resistance to invasion of one’s personhood and to moral compromise of one’s integrity. 2 This second denominator takes on extra resonance insofar as the texts of women’s fiction can be understood as covertly grasping after a greater independence than mainstream middle-class gender expectations allow their plots to display. If so, at least a dotted line if not a straight line connects figures like old Mrs. Vawse and young Jane Elton with post-domestic-fiction texts by women writers that indulge more openly the dream of self-sufficiency at the cost of standing aloof from social (including) male entanglements and material blandishments at whatever material cost. One such case is the reclusive, Emily-Dickinson-like artist-figure Alicia Raymond, in Elizabeth Stoddard’s “Collected by a Valetudinarian” (1870) a tale that reflects women writers’ increasingly self-conscious identification with an ideal of high artistic vocation as the nineteenth century unfolded. This text is singled out by Anne Boyd in Writing for Immortality (2004) as indicative of the high-canonical aspirations of (a certain) mid-to- late-century generation of US women fiction writers relative to the antebellum sentimentalists. By the terms of Stoddard’s tale, to maintain one’s artistic conscience intact necessitates retreat from the world. 3 A more ambitious and indeed more pertinent text is Sarah Orne Jewett’s A Country Doctor (1884), whose heroine Nan Prince resists her proud rich aunt’s belated but earnest pleas to abandon medicine and the single life for a comfortable urban marriage with the aunt’s protégé, a young lawyer who adores Nan. (The elder Miss Prince is an intriguing composite of the traditional roles of wicked stepmother and fairy godmother.) Nan also turns down more prestigious professional paths than the one on which she settles for conscience’s sake. “More than one appointment had been offered [her] in the city hospitals,” says the narrator, where a worldly success would have been assured (Jewett 364), but she refuses these to remain loyally in her home village with her aging guardian and mentor Dr. Leslie. Although Stoddard was the more admiring reader of Walden, A Country Doctor actually makes the better matched pair because of its more explicit critique of heteronormativity, its explicit brief for the necessity of following one’s vocation, and its fuller articulation of Nan’s choice of country village life over upscale urban life. But probably neither the would-be artist nor the would-be doctor would have been reckoned such defining images of virtuous voluntary female downscaling from the perspective of turn-of-the-century readers as the urban charity worker–a figure embodied most famously by the urban settlement house pioneer, activist, and (later) Nobel Peace Prize laureate Jane Addams. This brings me, at last, to Wharton’s House of Mirth (1905), a novel written in the midst of the two decades of social work encapsulated by Addams in her memoir Twenty Years at Hull-House (1910). 4. Conscienceful Downward Mobility in Old New York Elaine Showalter argues that House of Mirth undoes woman’s fiction by reprising the scenario of the orphaned protagonist forced into dependency on the good will of a nasty imperious aunt as a tragic naturalist plot in which the heroine goes down to defeat and death amidst a toxic culture of female relationships that are “distant, formal, competitive, even hostile” and maternity and childbirth are “banished to the margins” (Showalter 362-363). There’s much truth to this judgment of the particular niche into which Lily is born and hopes to ensconce herself, even though the sweeping claim about female culture doesn’t hold at all for the one woman of Lily’s caste who opts for an unfashionable lifestyle of do-gooding: Gerty Farish. But the omission is understandable enough, considering how both Lily and to some extent even the narrative voice itself types Gerty as a different and inferior species of being, living “‘in a horrid little place, [with] no maid, and such queer things to eat’” (Wharton 8). Such is Lily’s snide encapsulation of Gerty in Chapter 1, which groups Lily in a triad with the two characters in her set who model quite different styles of voluntary restraint: Gerty, who isn’t literally there but is dissected in absentia, and her cousin Selden, to whose apartment Lily has indiscreetly repaired. Selden and Gerty are both smitten by her in ways that differ according to the split they exemplify between the hedonistic and self- denying facets of voluntary simplicity that the Thoreau persona conflates. Selden lives a basically contented and tasteful life within his means, voyeuristically relishing exquisite objects he knows he can’t afford (like Lily) and consoling himself with the high-minded notion of his spiritual independence in his self-styled republic of the spirit, even as the novel makes clear that his drive to remain part of the world of high fashion is hardly less strong than Lily’s. Gerty, for her part, lives by choice more frugally and less tastefully than she can afford, channeling her inherent good-heartedness into helping less fortunate women, eventually including also Lily–although Gerty too remains bonded to the meretricious upper crust (“a parasite in the moral order, living on the crumbs of other tables,” the narrator rather mean-spiritedly calls her) (118)--tied there by her fund-raising efforts, her crush on Selden, and her gratitude at being admitted to elite social gatherings. Lily’s self-positioning in relation to both Selden and Gerty follows from her status as “the victim of the civilization which had produced her,” as Selden silently sums her up in the first chapter (8). Between the two styles of quasi-contrarianism Selden and Gerty represent, his sophisticated self-containment is predictably the one that attracts Lily. Gerty’s path she also recognizes to be a possible escape route from marriage with the Percy Gryces of the world; but she recoils in disgust at the prospect of commiting herself to it. (“No; she was not made for mean and shabby surroundings, for the squalid compromises of poverty. Her whole being dilated in an atmosphere of luxury” [23], she thinks early on.) Later, Lily does nonetheless fitfully try out the charity option, even to the point of starting to see the lower class “victims of fate” not just as a mass but as “bundles of feeling . . . clothed in shapes not so unlike her own” (119). But though she briefly opens herself up to Gerty and then to Nettie Struther, the working woman she once helped, it is clear all along that these worlds will never be hers–and what’s more, the novel suggests, that’s that’s just as well. The narrative voice itself satirizes both those kindly women for well- meaning denseness, with an extra swipe at Gerty for her pathetic jealousy of Selden’s attraction to Lily. As such, House of Mirth might be read as a kind of retort in advance to Jane Addams’s brief for “The Subjective Necessity of Social Settlements,” showcased in Twenty Years at Hull-House (68-76). “We have in America,” Addams writes, “a fast-growing number of cultivated young people who have no recognized outlet for their active faculties,” whose “uselessness hangs about them heavily” (71). Addams could have been talking about Lily Bart, or about Nan Prince’s well-bred but rudderless would-be fiancé in A Country Doctor. Addams’ call to such folk is essentially the call of Social Gospel progressivism to “share the lives of the poor,” to “make social service . . . express the spirit of Christ” (73). Yet such appeals the fictive world of House of Mirth has scant patience for. Although Maureen Howard rightly characterizes Gerty Farish as the kind of person who might well “have been in the audience when Jane Addams lectured, making a point of the social responsibility which must be assumed by the fortunate” (149-150), not even Gerty goes so far as to live in a settlement house. Nor are her pitches in the least degree religiously inflected. Indeed the whole idea of genteel charity workers’ identification with the poor is more satirized in House of Mirth than sympathized with. On the other hand, and by the same token, House of Mirth and Hull-House are clearly products of the Social Gospel moment: the compassionate discovery of the poor, particularly the urban poor, by the rich, particularly by the first sizeable generation of women of education in search of a worthwhile independent vocation. For one thing, there never was a writer more self-consciously adept at satirizing the self-deceptions of genteel do- gooding social workers than Addams herself (with considerably greater subtlety than Wharton, in fact), to the point that it sometimes seems that Addams takes less pleasure in reporting her team’s accomplishments than in humiliations like Tolstoi’s criticism of her absentee landlordism and expensive clothing (Addams 156-57) or the Hull-Housers’ failure to create nice “young people’s clubs” (79) for the urban poor that would compete with the allure of saloons. Throughout Addams’s autobiographical writing, the discourse of high-minded progressive reform unfolds symbiotically with a discourse of self-parody, a bit reminiscent in this respect of Transcendentalist discourse, as when Thoreau follows his screed on “Economy” with Thomas Carew’s poem on “The Pretensions of Poverty.” But regarding Wharton per se, the point I would stress especially for present purposes is that Lily Bart in her own irregular way does, in fact, choose downward mobility for conscience’s sake, even if not quite so emphatically as Addams or even Gerty did. Although Lily’s decision to forego profit from the Dorset letters was hardly disinterested given her crush on Selden, the fact that she burns her trump card instead of playing it is shown unequivocally to be a fine and noble thing. This makes for an even more striking contrast between the often compared suicide denouements of House of Mirth and Theodore Dreiser’s Sister Carrie than Wharton’s ambiguation of the question of whether Lily really wanted to make away with herself. 5. The Upshot Amy Blair’s recent article “Misreading The House of Mirth” argues that many of the novel’s contemporaneous readers insisted on identifying with idealized images of Lily that they constructed for themselves: with Lily as a “surrogate for the upwardly mobile reader” (154), a tragic example of a perfectly proper aspiration. Maybe so. But just what is the “proper aspiration” that Lily’s trajectory represents? Read through the lens of voluntary simplicity discourses, Lily emerges as the figure in the novel who comes closest to addressing–however partially and belatedly–the core social problem that Wharton insisted to at least two of her friends, including William Roscoe Thayer in a letter of 11 November 1905, was at the heart of the novel’s project, namely that “fewer responsibilities attach to money with us [Americans] than in other societies” (262). From this standpoint, House of Mirth looks not so much like the undoing of woman’s fiction as its continuation in at least two key respects, and of Thoreauvian simplicity discourse as well. First, House of Mirth also defines virtuous restraint as the basis of right conduct over against a society valuing material advancement. Virtuous self-privation trumps conscienceless affluence. Second, it distinguishes aesthetically compelling modes of material self-restraint from squalid ones. Readerly identification with Lily’s final self-denial, certainly to Selden and likely to most readers also, depends in no small measure on its refinement and dignity–and so too with Nan Prince, with Jane Elton, with Mrs. Vawse, and with Henry Thoreau. This brings me back to Gavin Jones’s critique. Can dramatization of the virtues of restraint as aesthetic appealing avoid suppressing or at least marginalizing the hard realities of poverty? I have six short reflections to offer in response. First: admittedly it can’t–at least not altogether. Jones is absolutely right about that. But second, this downside hardly delegitimates the project of dramatizing the positive virtues of antimaterialism. Which would be more likely to tolerate uncritically a culture of capitalist exploitation: an ethos of material aggrandizement, or an ethos that set a high value on personal limits and restraint? The answer seems obvious. Third, simplicity discourse often–if not always–does involve wrestling with the nightmare of real poverty. Jones himself intimates this vis-à-vis Lily Bart. Her story revolves “around poverty as [both] an ontological [and] an economic category” (779). Lily’s “old incurable dread of discomfort and poverty” (Wharton 231), permanently implanted in her by the ruin of her family fortunes during her adolescence, is basic to her psychic makeup from start to finish. This makes that final renunciation of hers more poignant and consequential: the fact that Lily knows in her bones, even if she hasn’t had before to face the prospect with such stark directness, what it means to live and die poor. I’d also be prepared to make a version of the same claim in the case of both Thoreau and woman’s fiction protagonists. Consider for example Thoreau’s combination of hauteur toward and implicit identification with his community’s marginal others, such as woodchopper Alex Thieren and bogtrotter John Field, who become de facto doubles of his own marginalized condition even as he tries to draw a line between his condition and theirs. Fourth, to make converts, voluntary simplicity discourse must depend at least partly on appeal to the pleasures as well as the rigor and nobility of downsizing. The admonition “Take up your cross and follow me,” alone, isn’t likely to do the trick for more than a very few. So fifth, and conversely, then, the resultant compromise strategy on which most calls, as well as most responses to calls, to voluntary simplicity rest–the argument that material self-restraint is a win-win proposition that promises to make you happier and benefit the world at the same time)–that strategy explains both why simplicity countercultures might persist even in a climate of hegemonic materialism and why the consciences even of those devotees who are saints compared to the average run of humanity (like Jane Addams and ex-professor Gray) can never be at peace. For these noble individuals will always be sizing up the actual practice of voluntary simplicity in awareness of how easy it is to settle for what Christian ethicist and German resistance martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer called “cheap grace,” that is the sensation or proffer of redemption that does not exact a true discipleship of “renunciation” and “self-effacement” (46-47). 4 Sixth and finally, then, as Thoreau says of economy, so I would say of voluntary simplicity discourse: this is “a subject which admits of being treated with levity, but it cannot so be disposed of” (Thoreau 29). It admits of being treated skeptically as a bourgeois mystification of individual autonomy complicit with capitalism, but the troubled conscience that gets activated to set itself against hegemonic materialism cannot and should not be so disposed of–provided, that is, that it continues to make trouble for itself as well as for its readers. Notes 1. Emerson’s qualifying amplification is no less important, however” “hermit and stoic as he was, he was really fond of sympathy, and threw himself heartily into the company of young people whom he loved” (456). 2. See Anderson for a discussion of Walden in the context of a broader argument for the centrality of domestic rhetoric in American male as well as female writing from John Winthrop through the nineteenth century (72-86). 3. See Boyd 87-90. See also Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s letter to his wife after visiting the Dickinson household: “If you had read Mrs. Stoddard’s novels you could understand a house where each member runs his or her own selves” (473). 4. For Bonhoeffer, “grace” has meaning only in an evangelical Christian context. Works Cited Addams, Jane. Twenty Years at Hull-House, with Autobiographical Notes. Ed. James Hart. Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1990. Andersen, Dorothy N., ed. Downwardly Mobile for Conscience Sake: Ten Autobiographical Sketches: Each a Personal Search for Justice, Peace, and Eco-Sanity. Eugene Oregon: Tom Paine Institute, 1995. Anderson, Douglas. A House Undivided: Domesticity and Community in American Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1990. Baym, Nina. Woman’s Fiction: A Guide to Novels by and about Women in America, 1820-1870. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1978. Blair, Amy L. “Misreading The House of Mirth.” American Literature, 76 (March 2004): 149-75. Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Cost of Discipleship. Rev. ed. Trans. R. H. Fuller and Irmgard Booth. New York: Macmillan, 1961. Boyd, Anne. Writing for Immortality: Women Writers and the Emergence of High Literary Culture in America. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004. Channing, Ellery, “Walden.” The Collected Poems of William Ellery Channing, the Younger, 1817-1901. Ed. Walter Harding. Gainesville, FL: Scholars’ Facscimiles and Reprints, 1967. 157-158 Corbett, Bob. “Downward Mobility and the Other.” 1984. Rev. 1993. http://www.webster.edu/~corbetre/ philosophy/simple/downward.html. Accessed September 15, 2004. Elgin, Duane. Voluntary Simplicity. Rev. ed. New York: Morrow, 1993. Eliot, T. S. “Murder in the Cathedral.” The Complete Poems and Plays, 1909-1950. New York: Harcourt, 1952. 173-221 Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “Thoreau.” Lectures and Biographical Sketches. 1883. Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ed. Edward W. Emerson. Boston: Houghton, 1903-4. Vol. 10: 449-85. Epling, Kathy. “It’s Easier than Wondering Whose Death My Dollars Bought.” Andersen 49-64. Fluck, Winfried. “What Is So Bad about Being Rich? The Representation of Wealth in American Culture,” Comparative American Studies, 1.1 (2003): 53-79. Howard, Maureen. “The Bachelor and the Baby: The House of Mirth.” The Cambridge Companion to Edith Wharton. Ed. Millicent Bell. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1995. Pp. 137-56. Jewett, Sarah Orne. A Country Doctor. Jewett: Novels and Stories. Ed. Michael Davitt Bell. New York: Library of America. 143-370. Jones, Gavin. “Poverty and the Limits of Literary Criticism,” American Literary History, 15 (Winter 2003): 765-92. Gray, Richard. “The World Equity Budget or Living on about $142 per Month.” Andersen 97-124. Oates, Joyce Carol. “Introduction” to Walden. Ed. J. Lyndon Shanley. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1989. ix-xviii. Shi, David. The Simple Life: Plain Living and High Thinking in American Culture. New York: Oxford UP, 1985. Showalter, Elaine. “The Death of the Lady (Novelist): Wharton’s House of Mirth,” Representations, 9 (Winter 1985): 133-49. Rpt. In Wharton 357-72. St. James, Elaine. The Simplicity Reader. New York: Hyperion, 1998. Rpt. of Simplify Your Life, Inner Simplicity, and Living the Simple Life. Thoreau, Henry David. Walden. 1854. Ed. J. Lyndon Shanley. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1971. “Thoreau’s Army: Local Peace Activists Share Expertise on the IRS.” Alibi Online 25-31 Mar. 2004. http://www.alibi.com/editorial/section_display.php?di=2004-03-25&scn=feature Accessed September 15, 2004. Warner, Susan. The Wide, Wide World. New York: Grosset and Dunlap, n.d. Wharton, Edith. The House of Mirth. Ed. Elizabeth Ammons. New York: Norton, 1990. 
work_tdwa53dbebhyxecstxvbu6kbcy	----	Oil and the Political Economy of State Capitalism Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 2212-5671 © 2012 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and/or peer-review under responsibility of the Organising Committee of ICOAE 2012 doi: 10.1016/S2212-5671(12)00044-5 International Conference On Applied Economics (ICOAE) 2012 Oil and the Political Economy of State Capitalism C.S.Sundaresana,b,c * aAuthor holds the Ford Foundation Chair at Aga Khan Rural Support Program (AKRSP-India) and based at Ahmedabad. Visiting bProfessor in the school of Rural Management at KIIT University, Bhubaneswar, India cSenior Fellow at Kerala Development Society, New Delhi. Views expressed are personal. Abstract The on-going debate over the increasing role of state in the economy has roots in economic theories. The concept of state gains a rejection out of the philosophies of natural harmony, as in the civil disobedience (Henry David Thoreau, 1849). Recently there emerged an antagonism between the state and markets given the fact that in the political economy of neo- liberal framework states make use of markets for political gains while markets tries to accumulate at the cost of well- being. The frequenting financial crises, reducing supply of vital natural resources and the inability of markets to arbitrate demand and supplies envisage a greater role for the states in both industrialized and less developed countries. In the case of oil, the failure of private oil companies to balance between the national interests and profits lead to the nationalization of oil resources. Further the politicization of oil resources led to nationalization of oil companies in much of the west- Asian producer countries. Simultaneously the recipient nations of oil too found it imperative to establish public sector oil companies to meet the strategic requirements as well as to stabilize domestic markets. Market imperfections and the scope of differential and scarcity rent make it risky for states to leave oil resources to markets. Oil therefore becomes the most powerful source of state capitalism for its potential spill over into other resource based sectors in an expansionary framework. The dominating state role in oil and other industrial sectors however is expected to face growth constrains in the long run. © 2012 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and/or peer-review under responsibility of the Organising Committee of ICOAE 2012 Key Words: State; Capitalism; Market; Oil; Politics * Corresponding author. Views expressed are personal. E-mail address: cs.sundaresan143@gmail.com. Available online at www.sciencedirect.com © 2012 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and/or peer-review under responsibility of the Organising Committee of ICOAE 2012 Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ 384 C.S.Sundaresan / Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 1. Introduction Inability to moderate the frequenting global financial crises, high debts and economic leadership constraints in the advanced industrial countries, political crisis in the European integration and consolidation of the Euro-Zone, the political stabilization constraints in the middle east and the northern Africa and the economic development tensions in many of the lower middle income and poor countries out of the economic liberalization together hints at the viability constraints of a market capitalist system in the future. What policies and reform agenda need to be prioritized for the settling of the global economy as well as the regional and national economies seeks answers for the capitalist mode of economic governance to answer. What should therefore be the core debate on the future of market capitalism? Will it sustain or should it be replaced with an alternative? There remain questions on the evolving nature of state capitalism for its scope and options in the decades ahead. Industrialization and sector-wise economic policies makes major indictors for the directions of the capitalism evolving in the world. With the demise of cold war and the crumbling of the socialist block, everyone took it for granted that the world is heading towards a full-fledged capitalist growth path with a heavier role for the private capitalists and markets. However, it has not been happening on the other hand. The states resisted easing of its powers to markets and thereby evolved strategies by which an entrepreneurial class has emerged with state patronage paving way for state capitalism- a system in which the state plays the lead role of an economic actor and uses markets for political gains. It is generally observed that this rise in State Capitalism has introduced large scale inefficiencies into the market and injected populist politics in to the economic decision making process. Ian Bremmer (2009) observed that during the cold war the decisions taken by the managers of the Soviet and Chinese command economies had little impact on western markets. But now the state officials of Abu Dhabi, Ankara, Beijing, Brasilia, Mexico, Moscow and New Delhi make economic decisions, strategic investments, regulation and state ownerships, which cut across all market places. The new champions of free market, trade and international capitalism has to prove their ideological base as well as the reasons for the failure to establish market capitalism. Historically, the private capital faced its competition from the natural alternative- the state capital. This element of state competition however, has been hidden in the race for national economic growth. For instance, the role of state capitalism was visible in Germany way back in 1870s and in the rise of Japan in the 1950s. State Capitalism can also claim its creative role in the World’s most successful big economies. Over the past 30 years, Chinese GDP has been gaining at an average rate of 9.5 percent annually and its international trade by 18 percent in volumes (The economist Jan, 12, 2012). Further the state capital is on its forward march with state companies makes up to 80 percent of the value of stock markets in China, 62 percent in Russia, and 38 percent in Brazil. At the same time it is accounted for about one third of the emerging world’s foreign direct investments between 2003 and 2010. Having said that, will state capital emerge as the dominant player in the new world order replacing the markets? In this context, it is perhaps true that the legacy of Adam Smith continue as a double edged sword – laize fair on the one side and social welfare on the other. The role of the visible and invisible hands (State and markets respectively) have been debated and experimented during the liberal phases of global economic and social growth. The classical theory believed that the economy is self regulating and is always capable of achieving the natural level of GDP growth or output as far as prices, wages and interest rates are flexible. The special importance of labor and its increasing productivity in Marx’s scheme of reasoning led to a trend in capital accumulation. He observed that the rising organic composition of capital apart from competition as the driving force in the market reality, the production and accumulation of surplus value finds its two fold character of capital production, exchange and use value. Exploitation of natural resources and its use patterns in a framework of rent seeking has been identified as one of the areas of concern for the state from a welfare maximization angle and hence the state enterprises have been the catalyst for the exploration and marketing of such resources. In this context it will be worthwhile to have a review of the perspectives of 385 C.S.Sundaresan / Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 state and its importance in the world. This paper at an analytical level attempts an investigation into the dynamics of oil industry in expanding the state capitalist initiatives and draw inferences for its scope, scale and directions. 2. Global Financial crises and state Capitalism in DCs The decade of 1970s marked a turning point in the global economy which witnessed turbulent situations prompted by fluctuating oil prices, causing spikes in the rate of inflation. Given that the ‘Keynesian’ policy model adopted in the Developed Countries (DCs) particularly in USA relied almost exclusively on the use of fiscal and monetary policy to alter total spending in the economy (and not on more micro-oriented industrial policies), the government had only two choices- either to stimulate spending to sustain growth at the expense of inflation or restrict spending to stop inflation at the cost of rising unemployment and slower growth. In the wake of the first oil shock (1973), it chose the latter course, which caused the unemployment rate to rise from 4.9% in 1973 to 8.5% in 1975. Inflation declined from 1975 through 1977, but then rose again near the decade’s end with the second oil price increase (1979). Slower growth, higher inflation, rising unemployment, falling profits and stock prices created growing discontent among the economic stakeholders. Meanwhile, social unrest was stirred by racial conflict over integration, the anti-Vietnam-war movement, the women’s movement, pro-choice struggles, student radicalism and a youth rebellion. These developments led to a political alliance between resurgent right-wing economic forces and the rapidly increasing ranks of cultural conservatives. As a result, business and other conservative forces saw a dramatic increase in their ability to raise money to elect friendly politicians, create grass-roots pressure on all political parties and spend money on an expanding right-wing ideological infrastructure of think tanks and university influence. They also used their control of the media to interpret economic and political events for the public through a conservative prism. Coates (2012) argued that the neo-liberal interpretation has mistook the causes of the financial crisis and resulting world recession, and in so doing it has captured the foreground of the current policy debate. The initial return to Keynesianism, which steadied the world economy in the wake of the crisis, was short-lived. Further—largely in response to the financial markets’ increasingly negative attitude towards high levels of sovereign debt—there was a sharp change in policy tack, from stimulus to austerity. However, as is frequently the case with markets, the negativity had self-fulfilling consequences. It translated into higher borrowing costs, which in turn made debt increasingly burdensome, further fuelling the markets’ nervousness and feeding the vicious speculative cycle. The neo-liberal, or ‘New Treasury’, view was given priority to the reduction of fiscal deficits as the route to recovery. This, it is argued, soothes the sensitive bond markets and keeps the cost of borrowing down, encouraging private productive investment whilst cutting back on such unproductive public sector spending as transport, education and health. The Keynesian versus neo-liberal policy debate continued as global growth slows and export markets are increasingly hard to find. However, there are other voices in the debate, challenging what has increasingly become the political and economic status quo. Society responds to the effects of austerity. Since austerity, by its very nature, involves a sharp contraction in public spending and services, its effects are inevitably felt first by those who depend on those services— especially if the austerity package is not balanced by significant redress to the growth of income inequality. The view of the UK Chancellor of the Exchequer, George Osborne, on austerity is that ‘we are all in this together’. This is manifestly untrue (Kitson et al., 2011). Whilst the causes of the 2011 riots that swept across many cities in the UK have been hotly debated, the contributory role of the austerity program is frequently questioned (Apps, 2011). Yet from officialdom and the mainstream media, there is a general denial that the civil unrest is in any way part of a response to the worsening social and economic conditions experienced by a growing segment of the population (Abbas and Croft, 2011). Rather, those taking part have been dismissed as the ‘federal underclass by Ken Clarke, the Secretary of State for Justice in the current Coalition government (Clarke, 2011). 386 C.S.Sundaresan / Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 In his 2011 Hicks lecture, Prof.Angus Deaton analyzed the welfare effects of the financial crises since 2008, particularly for the American people. The unemployment rate of the American economy has risen from 4.8 percent in 2008 to 10.6 percent in January 2010, causing a 4.7 percent drop in disposable personal incomes. Simultaneously the desperate right wing coalition composed of rich households, large corporations and conservative political parties advocated for the elimination of deficits through severe reduction in all government welfare spending which either supports the poor and middle class or the critical social sectors like education and health. Almost similar austerity measures were adopted by the EU governments as well. In essence, the adoption of austerity programs across the world has evolved a situation where the economies started sinking in deeper recessions or depressions raising serious doubts about the scope of austerity in overcoming economic crises. Prof. J.Crotty (2012) has established three main points on the scope and options of austerity. One, the current austerity war has historical roots and the costs of depression led to powerful political movements in the US and EU demanding an end to the uncontrolled capitalism that had caused much devastation and its replacement with new economic systems designed to meet the needs of the people. The western models of economic development evolved from these movements have variants of social democracy, democratic capitalism, regulated capitalism or a mixed economy approach. Two, the current government debt crisis is the outcome of right wing economic policies and which deteriorated economic performance and generated large budget deficits. Rising deficit creates pressure on financial markets as well as it translates potentially for the governments to act. Cut in spending on productive investments which in turn shrink the social safety net. Third, the slow growth and radical regulation of financial market goes in a vicious cycle which fails to attack the root cause of deficit crises and end up in resurgence. The fundamental question raised therefore is do austerity work in a recession situation. If no how does it avoid the burden of fiscal deficit from the future generations? The neo-liberal view is that government deficits are damaging given the fact that they impose fiscal burden on the future generations. At the same time, if governments borrow to finance the deficits, it will end up in crowding out of private investments and accelerate the interest rate which further retards the scope of investment. King et.al, 2012 observe that austerity is less effective if one view it from a historical perspective. Further the depression can be caused out of the austerity measures itself. Evidences have been that over the last 50 years in the US, fiscal expansion has repeatedly resulted in higher economic growth especially during the recessions (Taylor, et.al, 2012). The opponents of austerity argued that fiscal retrenchment only will deepen and extend the recession. Accordingly, the efforts to reduce the deficit should be postponed until the recovery is fully under way because it is only then that such efforts can succeed. This happens because the multiplier effects of additional government spending works when the economy is operating below the capacity. All these arguments and observations lead to the reasoning that the role of state is significant in managing the economy and balancing the markets and economic actors in a framework of growth driven development. 3. State and Capitalism in the LDCs The Less Developed Countries (LDCs) viewed state capitalism mainly from the Marxian ideological framework. There have however, been theoretical bases and operational paradoxes in the way Marxian perspectives were viewed. If the Marxian approach looked for abolition of state (as an institution) in the long run, majority of the organizations have been vigorously advocated the need for enhanced state role in establishing a classless society and governance. The Marxian perception of the state and its role emerged essentially from the materialistic basis of ‘relative scarcity’. This is a situation in which the productivity of labor enables a group of people to produce a surplus. When productivity reaches such a stage, the society divides into different classes and this division in turn gives rise to the state. Hence, the state is a product of the society at a certain stage of development. The state often is controlled by the economically dominant class. The highest form of state is the democratic republic in which the capitalist class exercises the powers 387 C.S.Sundaresan / Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 indirectly. The task of the working class therefore in the proletarian revolution is to seize power and to rise itself to the position of ruling class1. Once the task of equality is achieved, the state is envisaged to wither. Cooper (1983) analyzed the most dramatic development in the social structures of the third world society in the post world war II and observed the expanding role of the state. While the extent and precise form of the state’s involvement in economic, political and social activities has varied from place to place, the trend towards a more important role for the state has been seen as pervasive and the basic pattern in which this role has expanded seems to have been repeated in nation after nation. Therefore state capitalism has been generalized as a form of economic and political organization in the developing world. Academics and theoreticians thereby identified a number of characteristics of state capitalism at the empirical and descriptive levels. First of all, it is generally accepted that the origin of state capitalism lies in the weak peripheral economics with weak national bourgeoisies and disorganized popular class. Secondly state capitalism involves a nationalistic reorientation of economic resources through moderate agrarian reforms, nationalization of basic industries, centralization of finances and an expansion of social services. Thirdly, there exists a state centered interest group which is grounded in this reorientation and which attempts to dominate society through bureaucratic means. Fourthly, the societies remain capitalistic, despite the expanding role of state and fifthly, state capitalism fails to transform the society in its fundamental structure and is quiet unstable. Given the characteristics of state capitalism in a political-economy framework, Bremmer (2009) identified four major actors in the state capitalism for its origin and evolution in the contemporary world viz, National Oil Corporations, Sate Owned Enterprises, Privately owned National industry champions and the Sovereign Wealth Funds. For instance, the national oil companies (NOCs) holds the largest share of the global oil industry 2. Further, the largest oil companies (measured by their reserves) are owned by the national governments. Perhaps oil (natural resources) has become a main source of expanding the state capitalism, particularly after the two major oil shocks (1973 and 1979) which has changed much of the political-economy linkages and equations in the contemporary world capitalist system. It is therefore essential here to have an understanding of the oil industry and its evolutionary phases and the instances it led to the expansion of state capitalism. Fig.1. Leading 10 Oil Companies in the World. Source. Energy Information Administration, 2008 4. Differential rent seeking and Oil Shocks The Oil industry has lived through a successful regime of rent seeking till the early 1970s3. The Leading 10 Oil and Gas companies -2008 0 50,000 100,000 150,000 200,000 250,000 300,000 350,000 Saudi A rabian Oil Co mpany Natio nal Iranian Oil Co mpany Qatar General P etro leum Co rpo ratio n Iraq Natio nal Oil Co mpany P etro leo s de Venezuela. A bu Dhabi Natio nal Oil Co mpany Kuwait P etro leum Co rpo ratio n Nigerian Natio nal P etro leum Co rpo ratio n Natio nal Oil Co mpany So natrach (A lgeria) Com pany To ta l R es er ve s i n oi l e qu iva len t. m illi on ba rre ls 388 C.S.Sundaresan / Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 discovery of Middle East oil reserves perhaps opened the avenue for surplus profit in a differential rent seeking ambience. R.D.Wise (1999) analyzed the sequence of differential rent towards which the growth process was oriented during the first phase of oil exploration in the region, the way in which the major oil companies joined and stimulated the sector as well as the main contradictions faced by the monopoly capital. The pattern of differential rent seeking in oil industry was brought by the powerful group of international oil companies (IOCs) popularly known as the ‘seven sisters’4. Before the first oil shock of 1973, these companies controlled 85 percent of the world’s petroleum reserves. The power of these oil companies in terms of refining patents, transportation and distribution of oil products, helped them to grow in a differential rent regime. These companies faced fierce competition from one another for the slice of the global oil markets as well as to gain control over the exploration of new oil reserves. The confrontation between the private capitalists in the oil sector turned in to price wars eventually. After the First World War, this direct confrontation between the industry players ceased and a cooperative strategy evolved. This perhaps was the golden age of the big oil companies (through a cartel). The private capital in the oil sector agreed to go on a consensus for common benefits and to maximize oil revenues. Accordingly three agreements were signed among the industry players to reach the potential returns from oil resources. First, the Red-Line agreement (1928) which tied the companies not to carry out independent operations within the area of approximately corresponding to that of the former Ottoman Empire, the richest oil fields of the world. Secondly the Achnacarry agreement signed two weeks after the earlier (Red-Line) envisaged stabilizing the share of each in the world oil markets. Thirdly, the Gulf Plus system was set (1934) for fixing the prices of crude following the set principles. The Gulf Plus pricing, based on the Recardian labor theory of value assumed that differences arise in the individual cost price of primary products as a result of the differential properties of its natural conditions of production. The sector however, observed the relevance of Marxian Surplus Value. The vertical integration of the industry enabled the IOCs to generate surplus profits. The emphasis (Marxian) was on transforming surplus profits into ground rent5. The owner country’s ignorance of the real production costs of crude oil helped the companies to continue with the surplus profits and to avoid the transformation of this profit into ground rent. The big oil corporations expanded all the resources available to them and conceal the cost price and production cost of crude. Similarly the vertical structure of the industry was favorable to transfer the surplus profits generated at the primary phase to the other phases of the production process (Wise 1999). It is established in his context that though the Marxian Surplus Value is identified in the farm economies, it applies in the case of oil and other natural resources as well6. It is hence to draw that the trend in nationalizing oil was prompted by the private players. 5. Evolution of state capitalism in Oil Financial crises and market imperfections, lack of effective coping mechanisms to avert the negative economic and social impacts prompted many governments to increase its stake in the economy. For instance the global financial crisis of 2008 encouraged countries to increase the stake in private corporations or regulating the economy and its industries. Given this trend it is to believe that state capitalism began to take shape after the 1973 oil shock, when the members of the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) agreed to cut output levels in protest against the Yom Kippur war7. Almost overnight, the world's most important commodity was converted into a geopolitical weapon, giving the governments of oil- producing countries unprecedented international clout. As a political tool, OPEC's production cuts served as embargoes against specific countries like the United States and the Netherlands. As an economic phenomenon, the oil crisis reversed the pattern of capital flows, in which the oil-consuming states bought ever-larger volumes of cheap oil and in turn sold goods to the oil-producing countries at inflationary prices. The OPEC member countries viewed this crisis as an end to the political and economic inaction of the owner countries and put an end to the colonial relations in oil fields (Bremmer , 2009). The oil crisis showed oil producers that through unified action, they could both control levels of production and capture a much larger 389 C.S.Sundaresan / Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 share of the revenues generated by the major Western oil companies. This process proved easier in cases in which national governments could use domestic companies to extract and refine their own oil. This lead to the creation of national of oil companies (NOCs) with greater government control (Saudi Aramco, for example, was not fully nationalized until 1980) and eventually eclipsed their privately held Western counterparts. The oil crisis gave birth to the modern national oil corporation, a model that has since become widespread and has been applied to the natural gas sector as well. The second oil shock confirmed the countries of the need to hold the vital resources in safe hands. In many of the developing countries oil remains as one of the drivers of growth, but the economic sectors continue to be critical in managing the economy. Accordingly, the second wave of state capitalism got a boost during the 1980s, driven by the rise of governments with state-centric values and traditions. At the same time, the collapse of governments that relied on centrally planned economies for growth caused a surge in global demand for entrepreneurial opportunity and liberalized trade. That trend, in turn, sparked rapid growth and industrialization in several developing countries during the 1990s. Brazil, China, India, Mexico, Russia, and Turkey, along with countries in Southeast Asia are few instances in this respect. The developing world never had full view that privately owned production systems can foster prosperity and they always doubted the efficiency of private systems in the development space. This has been so mainly due to the mixed system of economies they followed which never supported either fully. The third phase of state capitalism started with the low levels of development delivery in the economic reform phase (neo-liberal) of less developed countries. The economic liberalization in the post cold war phase was viewed with skepticism by many. The major cause of worry was the likely inequality in distribution of income and wealth among the social stakeholders and the resultant social imbalance accordingly. The influence of left political ideologies and the state role in development being very strong among the social players, the pressure exerted on national governments to oversee growth with a human face was very high. Accordingly in many sensitive sectors, the reforms saw a gradualist approach. The private capitalists too were in a sort of hurry to reap the benefits of the liberalized economic systems, which provided the desired room for antagonist views on private capitalist’s potential to deliver development. Hence, the political and economic development in the late 1950s and 60s turned against the international oil companies (IOCs). The owner states of Oil started initiatives to reduce the monopoly of IOCs in oil and started the process of nationalization of oil (as a natural owner of resources). The recipients of oil from oil producing countries started establishing national corporations to domestically explore, import, process and distribute the oil products internally for meeting its strategic needs. 6. Political Economy of National Oil Corporations: the case of ONGC India From a political economy perspective, the origin and growth of Oil and Natural Gas Corporation (ONGC) hints at the state capitalist evolution in the Indian hydro carbon industry. In India, after independence remained powerful socialistic overtones and it was generally believed that growth and justice could hardly be achieved through non-socialistic means and accordingly the role of state in enterprises have been given a higher emphasis. The post colonial sovereign state also followed a foreign policy based on non- alignment and accordingly it was more of socialistic than capitalist - as a proverbial calf sucking two cows. Land and natural resources were the main sources of growth and development for a higher population base. It was natural therefore for the national government to declare state ownership of oil and other vital natural resources. This was justified on ground that most private investments in the oil sector would come from foreign sources which is likely to support the economic and political way forward of the country. However, a small portion in the ruling regime and outside believed that the private sector could more effectively exploit India’s oil and other natural resources. The industrial policy of 1948 considered oil in the industry category and therefore the argument was to set up a petroleum sector in the country (Kaul, 1991). The private operators had led the quest for oil in India - began in 1860s with the explorations in Assam (in the north- 390 C.S.Sundaresan / Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 eastern part of British India). The Assam railways and trading company limited (AR&T) has made the first commercial oil discovery in Digboy (1889)8. At the time of independence, India consumed 55000 barrels of oil a day with a domestic contribution of 600 barrels. The main source of oil was the Persian Gulf and Sumatra. The purchasing price of oil was determined by the oil marketing companies (OMCs). With the nationalization of Iranian Oil Company (1951), the oil supply from Anglo-Iranian oil company (AIOC) has come to a halt and the situation forced for the approval of establishing foreign owned refineries in India. Over the course of time, the drive towards national oil industry has become strong given the feeling that the country will not be able to depend on the contracts signed with the foreign companies for the supply of oil. From a political angle the crisis erupted in Brazil (1954) which lead to the suicide of president (G.Vargas) complaining that the efforts to liberate thd people of Brazil had been hampered by foreign interests added fuel to the fire8. Further in 1954 Palestine had joined the South East Asian Treaty Organization (SEATO) which caused serious concern in India’s defense systems arising out of the oil supply disruptions9. These developments forced the government to think of strategic ways in the oil industry and accordingly the cabinet (1955) approved for the setting up of the Oil and Natural Gas Directorate (ONGD) under the ministry of natural resources. Later in the same year it was declared that the public sector will dominate the exploration and production of oil and have monopoly over setting up of new refineries. he importance of minerals and oils thereby gained priority in the government programs and policies in a planned format. In the third five year plan significant allocations (Rs.5000 million) were made and it was assumed that India will become self sufficient in oil by 1965-67. Private investments were supported given the need of development aid from west and the higher costs of production internally. In a compromise approach again, the government invited international contractors to work in collaboration with ONGC. The China-India war in 1962 made India’s development support more essential and the government invited independent international oil companies (IOCs) to invest and operate in India. During the 1971 war with Pakistan, the western oil companies could not supply oil sufficiently to the Indian defense establishments (T.Madan, 2007). This followed the first international oil shock (1973-74) in which the foreign oil producers maintained oil supplies to friendly states and India could not find a place in that list. This lead to an imbalanced oil import bill of around US $ 5 billion and the inflation touching to very high levels (of around 25 percent). Coincidentally the ONGC has made its first off-shore discovery at the Bombay high. This raised the Indian oil output to 10 MT in 1977 and it was approximately around 40 percent of the domestic requirements. This prompted the government to suspend the operations of few private oil players in India. Esso, Burmah Shell and Caltex are the few instances in this context. The government of India in the meantime, has constituted an oil coordination committee as well as established an administered pricing policy. The second international oil shock (1979) prompted for more nationalization of oil sector even at the cost of a GDP shrink. India’s imports of crude oil and other petroleum products from 1970 to 1987 show a rising trend with the total outflow of foreign exchange for its deleterious development implications. The Gulf crisis (war of 1990-91 had its negative impacts on the Indian economy in terms of remittances (particularly causing slow down in kerala economy) 10 and the high petroleum prices for oil to burden the national economy. The oil prices have gone above US$ 40 a barrel and the domestic inflation has reached 13 percent. India’s balance of payments has gone into deficit arising out of the rising oil import bills. This perhaps prompted the government to open up the energy sector for private investments and in the process, ONGC has become a corporation (1993). Subsequently, the government has introduced new exploration licensing policy (NELP) towards encouraging greater private sector participation in the oil sector. Though the disinvestment program went in a big way, the government had taken a stand that it will not reduce the stake in major oil companies below 51 percent. Despite all combinations of stake holding planned by the government, the holding of stake by government in the ONGC currently stands at 74.11 percent and 8.3 percent by the foreign institutional investors while institutional investors hold less than 2 percent 11. 391 C.S.Sundaresan / Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 With the state patronage and the industry leadership, the ONGC started its expansion by holding stakes in other oil and natural gas companies in the public sector. For instance, it owned 71.62 percent stakes in Mangalore Refinery and Petrochemicals (MRPL) Ltd. It has 12.5 percent stake in petronet LNG Ltd which owns and operates the liquefied natural gas (LNG). Further, it has 23 percent stake in petronet Mangalore- Hassan-Bangalore pipeline. The ONGC Tripura power company is another Joint venture (JV) of ONGC with 20 percent stake. Also it has a 21.3 percent stake in Pawan Hans Helicopters Ltd which provides the helicopter services to its offshore facilities. From an expansion angle, the corporation has 23 percent equity stakes along with the Gujarat industrial development corporation (26 percent) is developing a multi-project Special Economic Zone (SEZ) at Dahej in costal Gujarat through an SPV-Dahej special economic zone ltd. This SEZ has now been declared as petroleum, chemical and petrochemical investment region by the government of India and operational since 2009. The other project and business initiatives of the corporation include the c2-c3-c4 extraction plant at Dahej. The partnership for growth includes an ONGC led consortium for sourcing LNG from Iran, MOU with M/s Sistema, Russia for exploring gas assets in Russia and other third world countries, MOU with ENARSA, an NOC of Argentina for E&P ventures, MOU with Bharat Petroleum Corporation Ltd, MOU with GAIL India Ltd, MOU with FMC Technologies Ltd Singapre are few in this regard. Further the Corporation has extended its domains in information technology, disaster recovery systems, health, safety, environment and clean development. 7. Concluding Discussion The role of state in the economy is historically relevant as a source of growth and stability. This is from the point of view of fostering development and justice to the people. There remains an antagonism between the state and the markets and often the states are destined to create well-functioning markets by providing legal frameworks, standards, physical infrastructure as well as an entrepreneur of last resort. Early economists were acutely aware that the national markets did not occur spontaneously, and they used modern ideas like synergies, increasing returns, and innovation theory when argued for the right kind of policies. The states are further been classified in the context of controls as renaissance state and the natural state. The starting point for renaissance economics and the modern state was out of an awareness of the sub-optimality of the present situation of mankind – steeped in the ignorance and poverty of the middle ages. All the industrialized states have passed through an obligatory passage point through a common weal. The common weal arises out of the synergies stemming from the sharing of fixed costs – resulting either from specialized tools or from specialized knowledge. The natural states perhaps miss the element of this common weal. In fact considerable tensions have been created in today’s world by the fact that any systemic efforts in the economy- and consequently to the state-are external to the core of ruling economic theory. The experience of the presently industrialized countries indicate that the need for state intervention is stronger, the poorer the country (Reinert, 1999). Given the above the oil nationalization has been viewed from the point of view of the market’s inability to balance between growth and development. From a policy perspective there are views that the state oil corporations are not likely to maintain the industry growth as well as innovations for newer reserves, which can have negative long run implications. References Apps, P, 2011. Analysis: Riots shake faith in UK austerity, stability, Reuters, 10th August Bremmer, I, 2009., State Capitalism Comes of Age: The End of the Free Market ?, Foreign Affairs, May/June. Coates, D., 2012. The first time as a tragedy, the second time as farce: The conservative recapture of America’s political narratives, Cambridge Journal of Economics, Vol.36, No.1, pp 145-153. Crotty, J., 2012. The Great Austerity War: What caused the US deficit crisis and who should pay to fix it?, Cambridge Journal of Economics, 36, pp 79-104 Deaton A., 2011. The financial crisis and the well-being of Americans, Oxford Economic Papers, November. 392 C.S.Sundaresan / Procedia Economics and Finance 1 ( 2012 ) 383 – 392 Grinder, W.E., Hagel, J. 1977., Toward a theory of State Capitalism: Ultimate Decision Making and Class Structure, Journal of Libertarian Studies, Vol.1, No.1. Flores-Macias, F., Musacchio, A., 2009, The Return of State owned Enterprises, Harward International Review, April. Haggenbarth, J.C., Epstein, G.A., 2012. Dangerous Interconnectedness: Economist’s conflicts of Interest, Ideology and Financial Crisis. Cambridge Journal of Economics, 36 pp 43-63. Jaffe, M.A, Solio, R., 2007,. The International Oil Companies, The James A. Becker III Institute for Public Policy, Rice University. King, L., Kitson, M., Konzelmann, S., Wilkinson, F., 2012. Making the Same Mistake Again-or this time different? Cambridge Journal of Economics, 36, pp 1-15. Kitson,M., Martin, R., Tyler, P. 2011. The geographies of Austerity, Cambridge Journal of Regions, Economy and Society, Vol.4, pp 289-302. Madan, T. 2007., India’s ONGC: Balancing Different roles, Different Goals. The James A. Becker III Institute for Public Poli cy, Rice University. Radice, H., 2011. The Crisis and the Global South: From Development to Capitalism. Economic and Political Weekly, November, 26. Reinert, Erik, S., 1999., The Role of the State In Economic Growth, Journal of Economic Studies, Vol.26, No.4/5. Sundaresan C.S, 2008., Declare Oil a Public Good?, The Daily Star, Dhaka, Bangladesh, July, 9 Sundaresan C.S. 2003., Oil Politics and Tensions in West Asia, The Hindu Business-Line, February 18. The Economist, 2012. The Visible Hand, Special Report: State Capitalism, January, 21 The Economist, 2011., Big Oil’s Bigger Brothers, A high oil price is great for oil companies, but it also attracts competitors, October 29. UNCTAD, 2011., World Investment Report, Non-Equity Modes of International Production and Development. Economic Times, 2012. State Run Refining Cos Scale Down Oil Imports from Iran, February, 29. www.indiainfoline.com/markets/company/fundamentals/diretors-report/oil-and-natural-gas-corpn-ltd/5000312 Notes 1. see Michel Kalecki (1964 2. The other 40 major oil companies in the world are in the government sector 3. Till the first oil shock of 1973 the private oil companies enjoyed the differential rent seeking for profit maximization in the oil industry. 4. The seven Oil companies that formed a consortium and dominated the petroleum industry from 1940s till early 1970s are Standard Oil of New Jersey (ESSO). Standard Oil of New York-currently exxonmobil, Standard Oil of California (SOCAL), Gulf Oil, Texaco- currently Chevron, Royal Dutch Shell and Anglo Persian Oil Company –currently BP 5. seethe Marxian literature 6. Differential ground rent and absolute ground rent are concepts used by Karl Marx 7 The Yom Kippur War started with a surprise Arab attack on Israel on Saturday 6th October 1973. 8 The Brazilian economy has witnessed booms and busts. Its attempt at development was hampered by high inflations and big foreign debts. Much of the arable land was controlled by handful of wealthy families while the movements of landless rural workers were demanding land re-distribution. 9 Madan.T, 2007 indicates the anecdotal evidence to suggest that this name came from the phrase shouted at workers, Dig Boy, Dig’. 10 There is about 3 million keralites work in the gulf region. The state has the highest per capita GDP of around Rs.75000. 11 In 2004, the government sold 10 percent of the corporation netting more than Rs. 2 billion. 
work_tf2n2f3ju5gt3lsy2ewdvaijne	----	163 DEEP RUSTICATION IN CANTO CI Mark Byron Arriving roughly halfway through Thrones, Canto CI is pivotal not only to this decad but to Pound’s entire project in The Cantos. The canto exhibits a fascination with the Na-Khi Chinese ethnic minority and its matriarchal social structures, modulated by glancing attention to the cultural heritage of the Mongol Yuan Dynasty. Interleaved within this complex Chinese terrain is further exploration of the Napoleonic era and the aftermath of Revolutionary ideals, and a passing glance at the lost cause of Fascist Italy. Whilst there exists some excellent, if strictly non-specialist scholarly work on the role of the Na-Khi of south-western China in this and other cantos within Thrones, the wider implications for The Cantos have yet to be fully explored. Pound’s reading of Joseph Rock’s botanical and ethnographic studies of the Na-Khi opens up some fertile biographical and historical space in which to think through Pound’s latter-day internal exile at St Elizabeths. In this canto Pound engages one of his more striking strategies with regard to cultural and political commentary: he modulates an imperial centre (Napoleon) with a periphery (the Na-Khi). The added dynamism of the Mongolian Khanate itself shifts radically from periphery to centre and back again in its rise and decline within Chinese Imperial history, in turn reflecting the rise and fall of Mussolini’s Italy. What is the reason for this strategy at this point in The Cantos beyond intellectual habit and long-standing meditation upon political power and its ephemeral agency? The following commentary on the canto explores precisely how Pound works through a poetics of exile first glimpsed in Canto XLIX, the ‘Seven Lakes’ canto, and which reaches a lyrical apogee in the Pisan Cantos. Pound draws on an American literary precedent of politically imbued exile (epitomised in the figure of Henry David Thoreau) as well as his prior investigations into Chinese poetic and artistic traditions of exile, such as that of the Tang Dynasty poet Du GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 164 Fu and the ‘Eight Views’ genre of painting which arose in the Song Dynasty. This aesthetics of exile self-consciously appropriates the figure of the literati: the exiled courtier using his time ‘fishing’ in contemplation, awaiting recall to the imperial centre. Pound drew on this trope during the 1930s and in the Pisan Cantos, but his situation in St Elizabeths was markedly different, an entrenched internal exile with little hope of any symbolic imperial recall. His use of the Na-Khi material might then suggest a different complexion to his exile, one more in the spirit of Boethian consolation than deferred ambition. This in turn colours his treatment of Napoleon and especially Talleyrand in Canto CI and elsewhere in Thrones, confirming a more circumspect fusion of prosody and political exposition. The paradiso terrestre becomes very local indeed: occupying the place of writing and reading, a temporal and temporary salve to the ‘enormous tragedy of the dream.’ CANTO CI AND ITS PLACE IN THE SERIES A detailed assessment of the way Pound marshals his sources and themes in Canto CI will benefit from a brief gloss of its context in Thrones more generally. Thrones continues the project of Rock-Drill in establishing and examining aspirations of artistic, social and political progress throughout history, as well as critically reflecting upon various threats to this discourse of perfectibility. Following from the ‘enormous tragedy of the dream’ (LXXIV/445)1 in the descent back into war in the Pisan Cantos, the postwar cantos offer a displaced glimpse of the paradiso terrestre in the knowledge of exile from the paradisal state itself. Pound stated in an interview with Donald Hall that ‘Thrones concerns the states of mind of people responsible for something more than their personal conduct.’ He compares his project with Dante’s Paradiso, where the Florentine’s thrones ‘are for the spirits of the people who have been responsible for good government,’ whilst Pound’s thrones ‘are an attempt to move out from egoism and to establish some definition of an order possible or at any rate conceivable on earth.’2 The thematic focal points in the decad include: the civilization of Byzantium; matters of 1 All quotations are taken from the fifteenth printing of The Cantos of Ezra Pound (New York: New Directions, 1996) and are cited by canto and page number in the form (canto/page). 2 Donald Hall, ‘Ezra Pound, The Art of Poetry No. 5,’ Paris Review 28 (Summer-Fall 1962), 49. BYRON – CANTO CI 165 currency and its implication in political power throughout history (Byzantium, Abd-el-Malik in the time of Emperor Justinian II, the economic publications of Alexander Del Mar); the composition and content of the Sacred Edict of Confucian conduct composed by the fourth Qing emperor Kangxi in the seventeenth century and considerably enlarged by later scholars (Pound provides his own version of the text in Cantos XCVIII and XCIX); and paraphrase and examination of the Institutions of the Laws of England by Edward Coke, a leading Elizabethan jurist and Jacobean Attorney General and Chief Justice. Amidst these landmark events and texts, Pound induces moments of exile and rustication in his allusions to Na-Khi rituals, particularly those associated with the propitiation of Heaven. This pendular motion is familiar from earlier sequences in The Cantos, but the sense of displacement and exile runs deeper, reflecting Pound’s own sense of internal exile at St Elizabeths. This dynamic is evident in the compositional structure of individual cantos and of Thrones as a whole. The allusive density and dispersed text surface of Thrones invites and resists formal propositions concerning its conceptual structure. The paradisal tendency implied in its title is embodied in fragmented glimpses of the ‘earthly paradise’ of the Na-Khi, mediated by the texts of Joseph Rock and Peter Goullart.3 Peter 3 Joseph F. Rock’s extensive contact with the Na-Khi began in 1922 when he worked for the United States Department of Agriculture and then the National Geographic society in Yunnan Province; he returned in 1927 under the auspices of Harvard University; and from 1930 to 1943 conducted his botanical and ethnographic studies without institutional patronage. During this latter time Rock translated and annotated some 700 manuscripts in both pictographic and syllabic scripts, detailing over a hundred distinct Na-Khi ceremonies, and provided synopses of over a thousand other manuscripts. Rock had prepared this work for publication in four volumes, with hundreds of photographic plates, but the entire work was lost when Japanese forces destroyed the printer’s offices in Shanghai in 1941. Rock departed Yunnan for Calcutta with his manuscript notebooks amounting to over five thousand pages of translations, but these too were lost when the S. S. Richard Hovey, the vessel on which they were to be transported to the United States, was torpedoed by a Japanese submarine and ‘twelve years of work were sent with it to the bottom of the Arabian Sea’ [Joseph F. Rock, ‘The 2Muan 1Bpö Ceremony: or the Sacrifice to Heaven as Practices by the 1Na-2Khi,’ Monumenta Serica 13 (1948), 2]. Following the Second World War Rock returned to Yunnan under the auspices of the Harvard-Yenching Institute and reconstructed part of his work, published as The Ancient Na-khi GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 166 Makin associates the deep ecology of this world—suggested in the repeated references to oak, juniper, rhododendron, lichen, ravines, streams, meadows, and so on—with Pound’s more general pursuit of exotica in The Cantos. Esoteric markers of ecological or ritual significance, such fragments as ‘Forest thru ice into emerald […] Pinus armandi’ (CI/743) are suspended from their source text.4 Such allusiveness combines with Pound’s incessant tendency to explain: ‘Hence the self-assertion against learned authority: hurling the library on to the page, challenging editorial professors. Hence also the manner of the technical note, as if jotted down by the expert in a hurry.’5 Makin discerns a cyclical balance between the various cantos of Thrones, where blocks of research are developed in two- canto segments and adumbrated with a gathering of fragments ‘shelved’ and reprised from earlier in Pound’s epic. Massimo Bacigalupo detects a ‘void’ of largely unassimilated material at the centre of Thrones, bookended by the heavily documentary Cantos XCVI-XCIX and CVII-CIX, with the moderate exception of Cantos CI and CII.6 The arrangement of text material in Thrones complements and reinforces its prosodic and bibliographic experimentation. Rock-Drill concludes with the first half of two lines of Homer, in Greek, in which Leucothea advises Odysseus to ‘get rid of paraphernalia’ and to save himself with her ‘bikini,’7 and Thrones begins by completing this citation. Canto XCVI enunciates Pound’s textual and documentary preoccupations in its subject matter and its physical arrangement on the page. Opening with a Roman numeral and two Kingdom of Southwest China, 2 vols (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1947). Pound may have been introduced to Rock’s publications by P. H. Fang, a constant visitor to St Elizabeths from 1953 who was a native of Lijiang intimately familiar with Na-Khi ceremonies and pictographic writing. Pound also knew Peter Goullart’s study of the Na-Khi, Forgotten Kingdom (London: John Murray, 1955): letters between them survive in the Ezra Pound Collection in the Beinecke Library. See Zhaoming Qian, ed., Ezra Pound’s Chinese Friends: Stories in Letters (Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 2008), 196-199. 4 Peter Makin, Pound’s Cantos (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1985), 256- 7. 5 Makin, 260. 6 Massimo Bacigalupo, The Forméd Trace: The Later Poetry of Ezra Pound (New York: Columbia UP, 1980), 336. 7 Bacigalupo, 337. BYRON – CANTO CI 167 lines in Greek, the canto shifts into the customary range of languages and scripts, where fragments and half-citations are modulated by extensive reference to its documentary sources: notably the Sacred Edict of Kangxi and the History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon. At numerous points in Thrones Pound also arranges his text space to suggest polyglot glossaries between Greek, English and Chinese, and elsewhere aligns Chinese characters with English paraphrase or gloss. The theme of currency and coinage is introduced in Canto XCVI with allusion to Abd-el-Malik defying the Roman Emperor Justinian II and striking coins bearing his own image. This theme unfolds across the ancient and medieval Mediterranean and beyond, including Offa, King of Mercia, and examples of Norse coinage. This is counterpointed with ceremonial allusion to imperial China, such as the ‘translation’ of the Sacred Edict in Cantos XCVIII and XCIX. Canto C shifts into early American history, territory familiar from Eleven New Cantos XXXI-XVI and the Adams Cantos in particular. Matters of Elizabethan diplomacy alternate with fragmented reference to Napoleonic France, nineteenth and twentieth-century geopolitics, conversations with some of Pound’s contemporaries (Jean Cocteau, George Santayana), and lists of ‘great thinkers’ and ‘state actors’ (John Scottus Eriugena, Anselm of Canterbury, Herbert of Cherbury and Charles de Rémusat), with glimpses back into Greek and Latin antiquity. This field of citation is physically punctuated with a cycling repetition of Chinese characters associated for Pound with light imagery (sunset, ‘white light’ and so on). The counterpoint between worldly political and economic influence, philosophical contemplation, and a paradisal pastoral and agrarian vision sets the scene for Canto CI, in which Napoleonic diplomacy and economy is set beside the 2Mùan 1bpö ritual of the Na-Khi people of the Chinese Himalayan Province of Yunnan. CANTO CI: A DOCUMENTARY RUSTICATION The opening lines of Canto CI alternate between two disparate cultural spheres: the Napoleonic court of Charles Maurice de Tallyrand-Périgord, his confidante Charles de Rémusat, and Charles’s mother Madame de Rémusat, on one hand; and the ceremonial rites of the Na-Khi ethnic group, on the other. The poetic orbit traced out between these unlikely twin stars describes and embodies some of the well-documented techniques of historical and GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 168 thematic assemblage evident in Thrones and in The Cantos generally. Pound’s characteristic telescoping of varied historical, thematic and aesthetic sources into ‘subject rhymes’ and ‘ideograms’ is familiar enough. But the same technique in this canto can be read as a critical evaluation of the writing position implied in it. The turn from the policies and functioning of the imperial Chinese court to an agrarian non-Han ethnic group at the borderlands of empire is a significant change of focus for Pound, implying shifting priorities of history and cultural development in the poem, and reflected in its augmented tone.8 The quietistic Confucianism of Canto XIII and the Dao- inflected rustication of Canto XLIX find their tonal counterpart here. In giving such symbolic weight to the Na-Khi, Pound suggests a turn from matters of central power per se and an exploration of alternate models for human perfectibility: the praise of those who seek to improve the world in which they find themselves, as the ethos of Thrones would have it. These alternating patterns of allusion build a kind of contrapuntal effect into the reading experience of Canto CI. What appears at first disorienting becomes a rhythmic gloss of Eastern and Western history, of political power, economy, and ceremony. Finding scarcely anyone save Monsieur de Rémusat Who could understand him (junipers, south side) M. Talleyrand spruce and fir take the North Chalais, Aubeterre, Snow-flakes at a hand’s breadth, and rain. Trees line the banks, mostly willows, Kublai, Te Te of Ch’eng, called Timur, 1247, came hither 8 The Na-Khi are thought to have settled in their ancestral region some time between the Han and Tang Dynasties, due to pressures exerted upon them by frontier policies of the dominant Han population. The Na-Khi group is closely related to the Mo-so ethnic group, and share traits of Tibetan spiritual practices, particularly those of the Bön religion. They are also distinguished by virtue of a complex pictographic writing system (some ten thousand individual manuscripts are known to exist in Western archives), and an unusually high suicide rate that became ritualised (the Har-la-llü k’ö rite) at a time coincident with the Chinese intervention of 1723. See Anthony Jackson, Na-Khi Religion: An Analytical Appraisal of the Na-Khi Ritual Texts, Religion and Society 8 (The Hague, Paris and New York: Mouton, 1979), 46-52. BYRON – CANTO CI 169 Forest thru ice into emerald in 旦 Tan (dawn, that is) larix, corayana and berberis, after 2 stages A-tun-tzu a distance of one hundred li (CI/743) Following the Plotinian intimations of transcendence in the concluding lines of Canto C, this canto begins in medias verba (with a present participle, no less, signifying a continuing state of affairs), a phrase qualifying an unrecorded thought or action. Bereft a governing verb, the reader does not know what Talleyrand has said or done in reaction to his limited lines of communication, just that he is suspended in a condition of frustrated dialogue. The next line is suspended grammatically by way of parentheses before the reader arrives at Talleyrand’s name. The reference to juniper is separated from the text immediately surrounding it, shifting the locale from Napoleonic political machinery to a bucolic topos—the deep ecology of the Na-Khi, whose ceremonial use of juniper in the 2Mùan 1bpö ritual, the propitiation of Heaven, becomes a dominant strand of the canto.9 Juniper grows on the shaded southern slopes of the Yunnan mountains, and it also functions as the central arboreal prop in the ceremony, flanked by two oak trees which are themselves flanked each by two oak sticks called ma-lo and yi-lo.10 The juniper is said to represent the deity (until the Na-Khi were subsumed into the Chinese empire, when it came to represent the Emperor) and the 9 The 2Mùan 1bpö ceremony propitiates Heaven, whilst the 2Ndaw 1bpö ceremony propitiates Earth, customarily figured as male and female respectively. Pound adverts to the centrality of these rituals within the Na- Khi cosmos in Drafts & Fragments: ‘If we did not perform 2Ndaw 1bpö / nothing is solid / without 2Mùan 1bpö / no reality’ (CXII/804). Canto CXII continues with a catalogue of ceremonial accoutrements, with juniper again at the centre: ‘Agility, that is from the juniper’ (804). For further details see Lionello Lanciotti, ‘The Na-Khi Religious Tradition and Ezra Pound,’ East and West 20.3 (1970), 375-9. 10 Joseph F. Rock, ‘The 2Muan 1Bpö Ceremony: or the Sacrifice to Heaven as Practices by the 1Na-2Khi,’ Monumenta Serica 13 (1948), 14; see also Jackson, 108. GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 170 two oaks Heaven and Earth.11 The ceremony itself lasts for several days and is performed in a deep pit or 1d’a outside of the village. A series of sacrifices are made to the oak and juniper trees and to the stones in the 1d’a: wine, chickens, rice, eggs, pig (including the distribution of its entrails and sprinkling of its blood), wheat and various flowering plants. The attentive reader will find that juniper is to figure centrally in the Na-Khi material to come, but the ecological lines of demarcation are still being drawn in this canto: the spruce and fir trees grow on the hillside that receives greater direct sunlight, the North, which might also signify the hyperborean, winter, night, and death, in direct counterpoint to the fertility cycles implied in the 2Mùan 1bpö ceremony. Alternately, Chalais and Aubeterre invoke regional strongholds of the Talleyrand family, where both towns are located in the temperate south of France, slightly north of Bordeaux in the Charente department. Chinese pastoral scenes within The Cantos comprise a well- established topos: firstly in Canto XLIX, the ‘Seven Lakes’ canto, and then at particular moments in the China Cantos (LII-LXI). The ‘Seven Lakes’ canto rehearses an ancient trope of rustication, which stems from the topos of loss and mourning, but which accrues political implications in its poetic and artistic uses in the Tang and Song Dynasties. The initial myth concerns the death of the daughters of Emperor Yao, who mourn the death of their husband, Shun (Yao’s imperial successor) near the Xiang river.12 Their tears of blood stain the local bamboo, giving rise to the originating myth of spotted bamboo. Both Yao and Shun figure prominently in Pound’s gloss of early Chinese history in Canto LIII (LII/262-4; see also LVI/302-3) and belong to the group of mythical rulers known as the Three Sovereigns and the Five Emperors in the third millennium BCE. This topos of mourning and loss is transformed by the Tang poet Du Fu in the eighth century, who adapts his descriptions of the Xiao and Xiang rivers near modern-day Changsha into a subtle narrative of political exile, where one ‘fishes’ (and paints and composes poetry) in wait for the call to return to the Imperial court. 11 Rock 1948, 18. Juniper stands were significant natural features of the Na- Khi ancestral nomadic homelands on the Tibetan plateau, and Rock speculates that the ceremony itself grew out of ancient rites performed in these sacred spaces. See Rock 1948, 8. 12 Zhaoming Qian, The Modernist Response to Chinese Art: Pound, Moore, Stevens (Charlottesville and London: U of Virginia P, 2003), 136-7. BYRON – CANTO CI 171 In the Song Dynasty, in turn, this poetic tradition was codified in painting and poetry, following the cycle painted by Song Di in the eleventh century.13 The consequent system of pastoral imagery— flocking geese, a fishing village at sunset, the smoke from a mountainside temple—is embodied in Pound’s ekphrastic lines in Canto XLIX (itself an ekphrastic adaptation of a Japanese album of calligraphy and painting given to him by his parents), which is surrounded by cantos dealing with the bustle of history, principally the fiscal progress instituted by Duke Leopold of Siena as well as the establishment of the United States. Pound was able to engender a ‘still point’ within the Fifth Decad of Cantos XLII-LI, whereby the pastoral mode is motivated by the politics of exile but which occludes it from direct view by way of the genre’s formal schema. The alternation between the milieu of Talleyrand and Rémusat, on the one hand, and the bucolic scene of fertility rites in the world of the Na-Khi, on the other, comprises a cognate expression of the pastoral form exhibited in Canto XLIX and in the Pisan Cantos.14 However, the poem soon demarcates its difference from these earlier examples—some of the most famous passages in all of The Cantos—by figuring exile and rustication not from an imperial centre, but in a sense altogether apart from it. The Na-Khi do not belong to the dominant Han ethnic group, they write using a highly developed pictographic system (and syllabary) in no way comparable to classical or simplified Chinese scripts, and from the Tang Dynasty they suffered incursions from neighbouring groups and the burdens of frontier fealty to the imperial centre. Their nomadic traditions came under intense pressure even earlier, during the Han Dynasty, and eventually yielded to an agricultural way of life, although remnant aspects of this earlier tradition remain in the Na-Khi manuscripts. Where Pound had previously deployed a topos of rustication within an imperial context (and indeed the topos is predicated on the desire for return to the Imperial court), Canto CI implies a more radical sense of estrangement and displacement. 13 Baker, Jennifer, ‘The Eight Views: From its Origin in the Xiao and Xiang Rivers to Hiroshige,’ MA Thesis (College of Arts at the University of Canterbury, New Zealand, 2010), 10. 14 Bacigalupo discerns a thread of allusion and association between the pastoral organicism of the Na-Khi and Pound’s increasing preoccupations with agrarian utopianism in Thrones, in which he cites classical Greece, medieval Provence, Napoleonic France and Mussolini’s Italy. See Bacigalupo, 401. GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 172 Pound’s intensive work in paideutics and propaganda from the mid- 1930s and through the Second World War enabled him to cultivate a poetic persona of neglected political acumen, conducive to the rustication genre, whereas the writing of Thrones during his internal exile in Saint Elizabeths Hospital in Washington, D.C. only heightens the true distance between the author and political agency, in ironic counterpoint to its geographical proximity. Thus Canto CI draws from Joseph Rock’s recently published Ancient Na-Khi Kingdom of Southwest China15 in such lines as ‘snow-flakes at a hand’s breadth, and rain,’ and ‘Forest thru ice into emerald,’ describing Rock’s firsthand experience of the mountainous terrain. This citation is intersected by glancing reference to the most significant Mongol visitants to the region in the personage of Kublai Khan (reigned 1260-1294) and Temür Öljeytü Khan, also known as Emperor Chengzong of Yuan (1294-1307), presenting a much more complex interplay of political power: the Yuan Dynasty was a Mongol imposition upon the erstwhile Han hegemony, one of several ‘barbarian’ historical incursions lamented in the China Cantos, and Pound’s appropriation of Na-Khi pastoral and ceremonial imagery installs a deep exile within the boundaries of the empire but at radical remove from its articulation of power. Pound is able to develop a paradisal aura in his use of Rock’s Na-Khi research. He glosses Rock’s botanical precision in citing ‘larix, corayana and berberis,’ a fragment of esoterica from a larger discussion of climate and species variation signifying the shift from juniper and oak to pine forests at a particular altitude near the village of I-chia-p’o.16 Rock’s personal impressions of the landscape combined with his acute observations of climate and ecology are visually punctuated in Canto CI by the return of an iconic ideogram for Pound: 旦 (tan / dan) signifying dawn. This ideogram is one that did survive the perilous journey into print in the Pisan Cantos, where in Canto LXXVII it is seen by Pound to embody in its form the object it linguistically represents (the sun on the horizon) and is given an additional, demotic signifying function of the start of day: 15 Joseph F. Rock, The Ancient Na-khi Kingdom of Southwest China, 2 vols (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1947). 16 Rock 1947, 345. BYRON – CANTO CI 173 ‘Bright dawn 旦 on the sht house’ (LXXVII/486) At this point in Pound’s project the ideogram bears an ironic silhouette of the ‘shadow of the gibbets’ in the Pisan Detention Training Center, at once functioning as a pictogram, a character, and a kind of visual gloss on the poetic text. Pound’s immediate future is captured in an ideogram of optimism (dawn, renewal), and illustrated, in the ideogram’s shape, to be entirely contingent upon the military and judicial proceedings against him (indictment by Grand Jury on the capital charge of treason). The tan / dan ideogram bears outsized resonance for Pound in The Cantos: in addition to its symbolic / visual deployment in The Pisan Cantos, it appears twice in Rock-Drill and four times in Thrones, three times in Canto XCVII alone. The first canto in Drafts & Fragments exercises discretion by omitting the Han character in revisiting the serene ecology of the Na-Khi, simply observing: ‘mountain lakes in the dawn’ (CX/798).17 The logic that governs the cycling between Napoleonic France and the detemporalised world of the Na-Khi in the opening lines of Canto CI establishes a locale for poetic expression under circumstances of severe privation. Movements across time, space and culture disorient the reader—especially as the quotations from Rock’s expeditions in Yunnan Province are unattributed, fragmentary and esoteric in terms of their textual provenance—but the combination is consistently and deliberately marked out by repetition and return. Human history and European imperial ambition are telescoped into the distance of a hundred li separating two Na-Khi villages, not so much shrinking the world as much as invoking a different ethos of its measurement. Rather than functioning as a tableau, a respite from the world of diplomacy, war and economy as Canto XLIX functions for The Fifth Decad of Cantos, the topos of East Asian rustication in the case of the Na-Khi functions 17 Sean Pryor proposes that the repetition of tan / dan and its romanised gloss in Canto XCVII can be read to function as a paideutic reminder of its presence in Canto XCI (XI/635): the earlier example concerns the ability of those ‘who are skilled in fire’ to absorb the lessons of their teachers, in this case, Pound’s poetic persona. See Sean Pryor, ‘Particularly Dangerous Feats: The Difficult Reader of the Difficult Late Cantos,’ Paideuma 36 (2007- 2009), 31. GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 174 as an index of deep displacement from an imperial centre. Following Rock’s identification of the species of pine forest on his walk between villages—‘Pinus armandi’—the canto reverts to Talleyrand and Adolphe Thiers (1797-1877), another public figure involved in policy analysis throughout France’s turbulent nineteenth century. The spheres of empire and indigenous nation converge at this point, with the seals, patents and ‘a gold belt / inlaid with flowers’ representing the gifts brought to the Na-Khi by their Mongol / Yuan and Ming overlords. These lines conform to the presiding tone of the canto (and indeed of Thrones in its entirety), which is to say without evident irony. The topos of deep rustication with which Pound figures the Na-Khi places in sharp relief the gifts and trinkets brought by their imperial visitors. Just what the Na-Khi would make of ‘chair-coolies’ and horses remains unstated, but comic absurdity frames this unheimlich picture of two worlds of vastly different dimensions coming into contact and exchange. Many critics have rightly viewed The Cantos as a great epic of reading and annotating, across languages, scripts and philosophical and cultural traditions. From Canto I the reader is provided with bibliographic data from which to engineer a path through the text’s dense network of associations: the Homeric opening of the poem is famously informed by Andreas Divus’s 1538 edition of Homer’s Odyssey, ‘In officiana Wecheli’ (I/5). The China Cantos, the Adams Cantos, citations of Malatesta, Stesichorus, Eriugena, Apollonius of Tyana, Sappho’s dialect, and of course the Na-Khi, all arrive and develop in the poem by way of Pound’s specific sources, some of them identifiably idiosyncratic. The Pisan Cantos demands a different relation between poet and source material, given the privations Pound suffered in the Pisan DTC. His access was restricted to James Legge’s Four Books of Confucius, a rudimentary Chinese-English dictionary, a US Army issue bible and M. E. Speare’s Pocket Book of Verse. The lyric intensity of these cantos is an index of this documentary privation, perhaps most strikingly emblematised in Pound’s typescript instructions to T. S. Eliot to insert Gerhart Münch’s arrangement for violin of Clément Jannequin’s Chant des oiseaux, published by Ronald Duncan before the war and intended to comprise most of Canto LXXV. The relative sparsity of source material is counterpointed by the lyric flow of the verse, and fittingly, a renewed engagement with the topos of rustication in a syncretic Italian-American-Chinese pastoral mode. During the composition of Thrones Pound is not deprived of BYRON – CANTO CI 175 bibliographic material, but suffers a relative impoverishment of lived experience for which he attempts to compensate: ‘He was deprived of new sensory experience, waves, fields tilled, men working, ‘men’s minds and their cities’ (Odyssey, 1.3); and instead flooded with all the printed matter he could wish for, from that Tower of Babel of universal information, the nearby Library of Congress.’18 The interplay between different historical and cultural spheres in Canto CI already suggest a problem to be worked through, an ambiguous speaking position. By invoking the exotic sphere of knowledge governing the Na-Khi, Pound finds the most effective expression of this ambiguity: the Na-Khi are literate but write pictographically, and radically abbreviate their ritual texts in a system of mnemonics; they embody animist practices cognate with the ‘Mediterranean sanity’ underlying Troubadour lyric and Italian Christianity; and those practices are heavily ritualised, less reliant on written forms of instruction (in direct counterpoint to The Sacred Edict of Cantos XCVIII and XCIX), and more on ceremonial memory and direct embodied experience. The canto attempts to mediate these countervailing forces, demonstrating a conceptual rift in its fabric that at once prompts and disrupts certain kinds of reading. Following the exchange of tributes and gifts between the Na-Khi and the Yuan and Ming hegemonic powers, the canto shifts this imagined focus to remembered fragments from Pound’s reading and his lived experience in St Elizabeths. Commentators lightly annotate these lines in the canto, finding little in them worth examining: George Kennan’s expertise on Siberia and his reputation as intrepid explorer giving him authority to diminish contemporary writing as ‘not scholarship’ (743); the Italian anthropologist and agriculturalist Giulio del Pelo Pardi who ‘discovered’ ancient canals (‘cunicoli’) near Rome; and the St Elizabeths resident Peabody—no relation to the industrialist family operating Peabody Coke and Coal—who was fond of the proposition to ‘unscrew the inscrutable.’19 Whilst these lines contain a greater weight of spoken material, Pound quickly seeks recourse in documentary sources, in attributing to the intellectual historian Ernest Renan the view that ‘la bêtise humaine’ (‘human stupidity’) is the best indirect evidence of the infinite. 18 Makin, 254. 19 Carroll F. Terrell, A Companion to the Cantos of Ezra Pound, 2 vols. (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: U of California P, 1984), 654. GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 176 The canto then returns to the Napoleonic era, with citations from Madame de Rémusat’s memoirs.20 This bibliographical strategy functions in concert with Joseph Rock’s Na-Khi material, despite the Na-Khi representing a world radically displaced from but hardly impervious to imperial power. Talleyrand’s complaint at the sharp fee entailed in exchanging banknotes for gold initiates a sequence of citations from Madame de Rémusat’s memoirs in which matters of finance and economy (‘Marbois and then Mollien at the Treasury’) are intermingled with matters of state (‘A constitution given to Italy’) and military action (refuting that ‘a great mind could seek glory in war’) at the height of Napoleon’s power. These allusions, drawn from the Memoirs, are readily documented, but it is the nature of allusion that demands attention: whilst these lines do not paraphrase extensive passages from source material as occurs in the China and Adams Cantos, they function in contrast to the earlier patterns of allusion in the canto, whereby reference circulates between radically divergent zones of cultural and historical activity. The idyllic draw of the Na-Khi, mediated by Rock’s research publications, is not sufficient to retain the poet’s attention, now turned to matters of international finance and its implicit relation to modern European militancy. Pound’s documentary technique is unusually reliant upon historical and ethnographic scholarship, and the fragmentary form of Thrones implies a heightened level of autodidactic research on behalf of the reader. By citing passages in the Memoirs in which academic pursuits at Jena are permitted to continue under military protection, next to another passage twenty pages on in the Memoirs in which Napoleon’s views of liberty are made plain—‘for a small privileged class’—the implication is made that imperial power runs against education’s democratic impulses.21 The resonance with Pound’s own circumstances in St Elizabeths is clear enough, with the machinery of state providing him a tenuous line to the Library of Congress. Pound then draws an immediate association with the corrupting influences of private banking— Hottenguer and Neuflize—which becomes the ‘shirt of fire’ for the 20 M. Paul de Rémusat, Memoirs of Madame de Rémusat, 1802-1808, 2 vols., trans. Cashel Hoey and John Lillie (London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle and Rivington, 1880). 21 For an account of Pound’s extended Rémusat-Talleyrand ‘ideogram,’ see Ben D. Kimpel and T. C. Duncan Eaves, ‘Ezra Pound’s Use of Sources as Illustrated by His Use of Nineteenth-Century French History,’ Modern Philology 80.1 (1982), 39-40. BYRON – CANTO CI 177 Napoleonic finance ministry. By this method of selective quotation from a single source, Pound manages to weave his private circumstances and doctrines into a portrait of social anxiety, class privilege, access to learning, and the role of private banking and public fiscal policy in the Napoleonic age. This sustained sequence of citational fragments, largely from Madame de Rémusat’s Memoirs, conforms to Pound’s documentary compositional methods, but also demonstrates an unlikely degree of prosodic regularity. Many longer lines are either punctuated by a comma (‘Xmas day of that year, Bonaparte’s maximum’) or are otherwise self-contained phrases in quotation (‘Liberty for a small privilege class’) with a cadence regulated by dactylic feet; and shorter lines are interposed for declarative force (‘non-sectarian,’ ‘a necessity’). This medial prosody—located somewhere between historical prose and lyric poetry—changes as soon as the subject matter returns to the Na-Khi. The lyric intensity compels a turn from world affairs to the immediate locus of ceremonial action: ‘under Kuanon’s eye there is oak-wood. Sengper ga-mu, / To him we burn pine with white smoke, / morning and evening’ (CI745). The dactylic echo of ‘Sengper ga-mu’ in ‘morning and evening’ produces a more concentrated effect of the rise-fall-rise pattern in each of the lines. Pound chooses his quotations from Rock judiciously, where community in nature ensures that bears are free to roam and pilfer agricultural produce. The canto then introduces subject rhymes from the geography of ancient Greece or Langue d’oc, where the ‘hills […] blue-green with juniper’ frame a stream akin to Greece’s longest river, the Achelous, and where a terrain in which ‘one man can hold the whole pass’ induces the image of Mont Ségur, stronghold of the Cathars until their fall during the Albigensian Crusade following the siege of 1242-44.22 The topographical similarity between Mont Ségur and the unnamed Yunnan hill requires a corresponding material ingenuity in the form of bamboo ropes to allow passage across rivers. Pound renders this material transformation bibliographically, by giving its name in Roman 22 Peter Liebregts detects a strong association between the mountain god Sengper ga-mu, the Bodhisattva of mercy, Kuanon (Guanyin), and Leucothea, whose veil (or ‘bikini’ as Pound would have it) saves Odysseus in Book V of the Odyssey, cited by Pound in Cantos XCI, XCV, XCVI, XCVIII, C and CXII. See Peter Liebregts, Ezra Pound and Neoplatonism (Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson UP, 2004), 355. GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 178 capital letters and as an outsized character 筰 (tso / zuo), meaning cable or rope, and then a brief note on the fact of its citation: […] at Mont Ségur the chief’s cell you can enter it sideways only, TSO 筰 is here named from the rope bridge, hemp rope? a reed rope? (CI/745) Pound’s materialist poetics embeds his sources in a number of ways: firstly the Wade-Giles transliteration of the character is consistent with his usage elsewhere; secondly, Pound’s source (Rock) provides this word in Chinese script rather than Na-Khi pictographic script, undermining the sense of autonomy and security described in the topography of and access to the chief’s cell in the first place. Lastly, the character tso / zuo can mean either rope or cable, depending upon the context in which it is used, but the reader is not given sufficient context to tell. Such ambiguities reflect the imperfect nature of Pound’s Chinese, but they also reinforce several themes at the centre of the canto, of Thrones, and of The Cantos: the relation between imperial centres and peripheries, and the forms of control attempted by the former over the latter; the power implied in the means of inscription (here, employing the Chinese script to describe a Na-Khi strategic defense); and consequently, the power of historical judgment implied in access to source materials, both those officially enshrined and those displaced or occluded for reasons of reputation or the maintenance of cultural prestige. Here Pound’s ideogram draws a thread across to Procopius’s Secret History, Eriugena’s Periphyseon, and all manner of Pound’s chosen economic texts. The canto’s preoccupation with tribal and state security in these lines briefly turns to matters of economy (the finance writer R. McNair Wilson) and of Napoleonic military valour in the Battle of Marengo of 1800 in Piedmont, with the epithet ‘KALON KAGATHON’23 provided in Roman script. The theatre of 23 Terrell glosses this contraction of the phrase καλὸς και ἀγαθός as an Homeric epithet meaning ‘noble and brave’ (657), although its appearance elsewhere in The Cantos (XXXIII and CIV) is glossed as ‘beautiful and well- born’ (130, 680). Originally a Spartan term to describe good character, especially upstanding military conduct, καλὸς κἀγαθός was later absorbed BYRON – CANTO CI 179 operations shifts from terrestrial battlefields to matters of transcendence and celestial knowledge: following a series of alchemical formulae, in which precious materials (gold, diamond) inhere in base matter to be released by the ‘red flash’ of fire, a syncretic list of proper names implies the pursuit of occluded knowledge: Apollonius of Tyana (a Neopythagorean contemporary of Christ, who also appears in Cantos XCI, XCIV and XCVII), Porphyry (a third-century disciple of Plotinus and editor of his Enneads), Anselm (‘Father of Scholasticism’ and Archbishop of Canterbury, 1093-1109), and Plotinus (the most significant Neoplatonist of late antiquity). The Plotinian view of the celestial sphere was schematic rather than eclectic, thus he divulged ‘one vision only’ instead of the ‘unicorns’ and ‘antilopes’ of other more fanciful and syncretic theories. Pound ranges through a chain of associations at this point in the canto, moving from the Plotinian zoological critique of fellow astrologers, to the animals the Ming emperor Hs’uan Tsung (Wade-Giles) or Xuande (Era name) painted in his accomplished artworks, several of which are held at the National Palace Museum in Taipei and at the Arthur M. Sackler Museum of Asian Art at Harvard University. Further fragments in this associative chain concern art—such as Sheri Martinelli’s brother ogling the works in the ‘Mellon Gallery,’ the National Gallery of Art founded by Andrew W. Mellon—culminating in the dress of the Na- Khi women, which functions both as artwork for the Western viewer and celestial referent for their wearers: With the sun and moon on her shoulders, the star-discs sewn on her coat at Li Chiang, the snow range, a wide meadow and the 2dto – 1mba’s face (exorcist’s) muy simpático by Herodotus, among others, into Athenian Greek. Plato developed the meaning most familiar to modern readers in many of his texts, that of the ‘beautiful and good,’ and in Aristotle’s Eudemian Ethics it denotes ‘admirable and good.’ See J. E. Tiles, Moral Measures: An Introduction to Ethics East and West (London: Routledge, 2000), 220 and 230. However it is worth noting that Socrates reverts to the Spartan martial usage in Plato’s Laches when discussing the characters of Thucydides and Areistides. See T. H. Irwin, ‘Common Sense and Socratic Method,’ in Method in Ancient Philosophy, ed. Jyl Gentzler (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), 37-40. GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 180 by the waters of Stone Drum, the two aces Mint grows at the foot of the Snow Range the first moon is the tiger’s, Pheasant calls out of bracken (CI/746) This disarming shift into lyric expansiveness is represented on the page in the liberal use of horizontal space and graded indentation. The ceremonial aspects of Na-Khi life such as the village named Stone Drum, the priest / exorcist, and the celestial garments, are situated within the landscape (the Snow Range reported by Rock and evident in his field photography) and equally represent aspects of that landscape in themselves. The Yunnan mint recalls the ‘Butterflies, mint, and Lesbia’s sparrows’ in Canto LXXIV, an incursion of nature into the DTC encampment that allows the ‘ego scriptor’ a moment of inward reclusion. Lyric space functions similarly to that in The Pisan Cantos, where the poet might reflect on his condition amidst the Pisan landscape: under the gray cliffs in periplum the sun dragging her stars a man on whom the sun has gone down and the wind came as hamadryas under the sun-beat (LXXIV/451) Each line concerning the Na-Khi is comprised of a grammatically complete phrase, providing integrity to the line and inducing both a pause and the impetus to continue from that pause. This ebb and flow in poetic speech maintains a sense of contingency and incompletion rather than the more definitive and declarative statements in earlier passages more obviously reliant upon citations from historical documents. In this way the spatial arrangement of these intensely lyrical lines are at variance with the historical and documentary material elsewhere in the canto. Finally the tiger and pheasant are elements in the surrounding ecology, reflecting the unity of heaven and earth in the world of the Na-Khi: they are precise counterpoints to Plotinus’s unicorns and ‘antilopes.’ Pound makes a brief but telling digression into Italian Fascist politics at this crossroads in the canto, associating the atavistic and palingenetic tendencies of the Fascist ‘New Rome’ with the deep BYRON – CANTO CI 181 ecological spirituality of the Na-Khi. He first cites Edmondo R. Rossoni, the minister for agriculture and forestry in Mussolini’s government, who endorses Silvio Gesell’s model of stamp scrip— ‘Rossoni: “così lo stato …” etcetera’ [thus the state …] (CI/746)— immediately followed by Carlo Delcroix, a Fascist radical and biographer of Mussolini who advocated alliance with Nazi Germany24—‘Delcroix: “che magnifica!” / (prescrittibile)’ (CI/746). The significance of these brief references can be more fully appreciated when it is remembered that Canto CI was first published in 1959 in Oswald Mosley’s journal The European: indeed these lines were to appear on the last page of the journal’s final number.25 Pound draws these Italian Fascist references together with the agricultural and forestry themes running through the canto (‘Elzéard has made the forest at Vergons’), the control of natural resources, and the relation of social structures to the natural world in the particularities of Na-Khi ceremony. The final lines of the canto return to the world of the Na-Khi with a sustained focus, emphasising the unity of ceremony and the natural world: The green spur, the white meadow “May their pond be full; The son have his father’s arm And good hearing; (noun graph upright; adjective sideways) “His horse’s mane flowing His body and soul are at peace.” (CI/746-7) The pastoral mode signified in the first line provides an entry point into a foreign rite: the D’a nv (‘courageous man’) rite following the death of a warrior. During this rite, the priest blesses members of the family and in particular the deceased man’s children in the hope of 24 See Matteo di Figlia, ‘The Blind Bard and the Unflagging Hierarch: Memories of War and Self-Representations in Fascist Italy,’ War and Remembrance, spec. ed. of Western Croatian History Journal 8 (2013), 13-32. 25 See Matthew Feldman, ‘Ezra Pound’s Political Faith from First to Second Generation: or, “It is 1956 Fascism”,’ in Modernism, Christianity and Apocalypse, ed. Erik Tonning, Matthew Feldman and David Addyman (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 292-3. GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 182 a propitious legacy of courage and horsemanship.26 The final lines of the canto capture the tone of the ceremony in epigram, sending the deceased into the afterlife by way of horseback. This imagery neatly combines the Tibetan Tantric influences on the Na-Khi cosmology with the familiar equine imagery associated with the Mongols, thus fusing geography and imperial interchange glossed earlier in the canto. The parenthetic gesture towards Na-Khi pictographic inscription is the first mention of this group’s written representation of their cultural heritage: according to Terrell the two pictographs represent ‘rich warrior funeral,’ with the first set sideways in the likeness of two rows of teeth and representing wealth, the second vertical and figuring the deceased, and the third taking on an equine resemblance.27 Pound is conflating different Rock texts at his disposal concerning the very complex array of Na- Khi funeral ceremonies. The gesture towards horseback also echoes the periodic Mongol and Tartar threats to the Middle Kingdom described in the China Cantos. Pound concludes Canto CI by returning to the world of the Na- Khi. By now it has exceeded its identification within the rustication topos, just as the ‘enormous tragedy of the dream’ of Mussolini’s Italy is dimming in historical memory. The reader has come into a funeral ceremony, a passage of hope and wisdom from warrior father to son in which the legacy of courage is fused with the continuity of horsemanship in the concluding elegiac lyric note. The transmission of cultural knowledge is mediated by documents and texts, most significantly in the scholarship of Joseph Rock upon which Pound draws for direct citation and allusion, as well as a description of Na-Khi pictographic writing. Finally, the rustication topos itself has transformed from one of waiting in exile in ‘the South’ for imperial recall, as in the ‘Seven Lakes’ canto, to a metaphysical rustication (thus Apollonius, Plotinus and Porphyry) whereby transmission to an afterlife is equally a return to the soil and the material practices of the culture. The Na-Khi offer Pound a last chance to glimpse his paradiso terrestre, away from empire, currency economy and international politics. This world in Yunnan Province also bears deep scars in its history of interaction with the 26 For further information see Joseph F. Rock, ‘The D’a Nv Funeral Ceremony with Special Reference to the Origin of Na-Khi Weapons,’ Anthropos 50.1-3 (1955), 1-31. 27 Terrell, 658. BYRON – CANTO CI 183 imperial centre, but it persists in its ceremonial return to the land, and the spirit world, one reflected in the other. WORKS CITED Bacigalupo, Massimo, The Forméd Trace: The Later Poetry of Ezra Pound (New York: Columbia UP, 1980) Baker, Jennifer, ‘The Eight Views: From its Origin in the Xiao and Xiang Rivers to Hiroshige’ (MA Thesis, College of Arts at the University of Canterbury, New Zealand, 2010) Feldman, Matthew, ‘Ezra Pound’s Political Faith from First to Second Generation: or, “It is 1956 Fascism”,’ in Modernism, Christianity and Apocalypse, ed. Erik Tonning, Matthew Feldman and David Addyman (Leiden: Brill, 2014), pp. 279-300 Figlia, Matteo di, ‘The Blind Bard and the Unflagging Hierarch: Memories of War and Self-Representations in Fascist Italy,’ War and Remembrance, spec. ed. of Western Croatian History Journal 8 (2013): 13-32 Goullart, Peter, Forgotten Kingdom (London: John Murray, 1955) Hall, Donald, ‘Ezra Pound, The Art of Poetry No. 5,’ Paris Review 28 (Summer-Fall 1962): 22-51 Irwin, T. H., ‘Common Sense and Socratic Method,’ in Method in Ancient Philosophy, ed. Jyl Gentzler (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), pp. 29-66 Jackson, Anthony, Na-Khi Religion: An Analytical Appraisal of the Na- Khi Ritual Texts, Religion and Society 8 (The Hague, Paris and New York: Mouton, 1979) Kimpel, Ben D., and T. C. Duncan Eaves, ‘Ezra Pound's Use of Sources as Illustrated by His Use of Nineteenth-Century French History,’ Modern Philology 80.1 (1982): 35–52 Lanciotti, Lionello, ‘The Na-Khi Religious Tradition and Ezra Pound,’ East and West 20.3 (1970): 375-79 Liebregts, Peter, Ezra Pound and Neoplatonism (Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson UP, 2004) Makin, Peter, Pound’s Cantos (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1985) GLOSSATOR 10: THRONES 184 Pound, Ezra, The Cantos, fifteenth printing (New York: New Directions, 1996) Pryor, Sean, ‘Particularly Dangerous Feats: The Difficult Reader of the Difficult Late Cantos,’ Paideuma 36 (2007-2009): 27-45 Qian, Zhaoming, The Modernist Response to Chinese Art: Pound, Moore, Stevens (Charlottesville and London: U of Virginia P, 2003) –––, ed., Ezra Pound’s Chinese Friends: Stories in Letters (Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 2008) Rémusat, M. Paul de, Memoirs of Madame de Rémusat, 1802-1808, 2 vols., trans. Cashel Hoey and John Lillie (London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle and Rivington, 1880) Rock, Joseph, ‘The 2Mùan-1pbö Ceremony, or the Sacrifice to Heaven as Practiced by the Na-Khi,’ Monumenta Serica 13 (1948): 1-160 –––, The Ancient Na-Khi Kingdom of Southwest China, 2 vols. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1948) –––, ‘The D’a Nv Funeral Ceremony with Special Reference to the Origin of Na-Khi Weapons,’ Anthropos 50.1-3 (1955): 1-31 Terrell, Carroll F., A Companion to the Cantos of Ezra Pound, 2 vols. (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: U of California P, 1984) Tiles, J. E., Moral Measures: An Introduction to Ethics East and West (London: Routledge, 2000) 
work_thzhxyvokneo7bzffumgbrkc64	----	Distributions of Invasive Arthropods across Heterogeneous Urban Landscapes in Southern California: Aridity as a Key Component of Ecological Resistance insects Article Distributions of Invasive Arthropods across Heterogeneous Urban Landscapes in Southern California: Aridity as a Key Component of Ecological Resistance Weston J. Staubus, Savanah Bird, Savannah Meadors and Wallace M. Meyer III * Department of Biology, Pomona College, Seaver Biology, 175 W Sixth Street, Claremont, CA 91711, USA; staubuw@wwu.edu (W.J.S.); srb42014@MyMail.pomona.edu (S.B.); srm12014@MyMail.Pomona.edu (S.M.) * Correspondence: wallace.meyer@pomona.edu; Tel.: +1-909-621-8577 Received: 12 December 2018; Accepted: 11 January 2019; Published: 15 January 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: Urban systems often support large numbers of non-native species, but due to the heterogeneity of urban landscapes, species are not evenly distributed. Understanding the drivers of ecological resistance in urban landscapes may help to identify habitats that are most resistant to invasion, and inform efforts to model and conserve native biodiversity. We used pitfall traps to survey non-native ground-dwelling arthropods in three adjacent, low-elevation habitat types in southern California: California sage scrub, non-native grassland, and suburban development. We found that non-native species were fewer and less widely distributed in the sage scrub and grassland habitats. Due to the proximity of our sites, differences in propagule pressure is an unlikely explanation. Instead, we suggest that the absence of water subsidies in the sage scrub and grassland habitats increases those habitats’ resistance to arthropod invasions. Comparisons to studies conducted at fragments closer to the coast provide further support for the relationship between aridity and invasibility in southern California. Our findings highlight that inland fragments are important for conserving native arthropod diversity, that models of non-native species distributions in arid and semi-arid urban systems should include aridity measures, and that reducing resource subsidies across the region is critical to mitigating spread of non-natives. Keywords: Argentine ant; arthropod; insect; invasion; isopod; myriapod; non-native; spider; suburban; urban 1. Introduction Urban systems are among the most invaded worldwide [1,2]. However, urban landscapes can be highly heterogeneous across short distances [3], as can the distribution of species within them [4–6]. Consequently, understanding coarse-scale patterns of invasion (e.g., what species are present in a metropolitan area) may not be informative to conservation practitioners working within an urban setting. Models of invasive species distribution often consider two primary factors: propagule pressure and ecological resistance [2,7]. Theoretical predictions and empirical data strongly suggest that greater propagule pressure increases the number of successful invasions [8–10]. Conversely, high ecological resistance, the cumulative influence of ecosystem properties and processes that adversely affect the establishment, growth, and spread of introduced species [11] may reduce invasion success, even at the patch scale [12]. While propagule pressure is likely to be high throughout most urban systems due to anthropogenic dispersal, ecosystem characteristics may vary substantially, causing some areas to be much more resistant to invasion [13]. Insects 2019, 10, 29; doi:10.3390/insects10010029 www.mdpi.com/journal/insects http://www.mdpi.com/journal/insects http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0001-9588-9794 http://www.mdpi.com/2075-4450/10/1/29?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/insects10010029 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/insects Insects 2019, 10, 29 2 of 7 Southern California, one of the world’s largest and most populous metropolitan areas, is interspersed with a multitude of undeveloped ‘natural area’ fragments [13–16]. At low elevations, these fragments primarily consist of native California sage scrub and non-native grasslands, both of which are well adapted to the region’s arid climate and harbor significant portions of regional biodiversity [6,14,17,18]. In contrast, most urban outdoor spaces, including yards, parks, and gardens, are irrigated to maintain aesthetically pleasing assemblages of non-native plants. Since high environmental stress and low resource availability are often correlated with lower invasibility [19,20], aridity may be a key factor influencing ecological resistance in this and other arid and semi-arid systems. To examine ecological resistance in the heterogeneous southern California urban landscape, we surveyed non-native ground-dwelling arthropods in three common low-elevation habitat types: native California sage scrub, non-native grassland, and suburban development. The patches we sampled were immediately adjacent to each other, minimizing potential differences in climate, dispersal, and propagule pressure. In addition, we compared our results to studies of ground-dwelling arthropods conducted in more coastal habitat fragments in an effort to understand how ecological resistance may differ between coastal fragments and more arid, inland fragments. Understanding the mechanisms behind ecological resistance can provide insights into how to mitigate impacts of non-native species in these semi-arid suburban/urban landscapes. 2. Materials and Methods 2.1. Study Site We conducted our study in Claremont, California, a suburb of Los Angeles situated at the eastern edge of Los Angeles County. The city is primarily residential, with interstitial parks, gardens, and other open spaces. The local climate is Mediterranean, with mild winters (with an average minimum temperature of 4 ◦C), during which almost all the annual precipitation occurs (with an average annual rainfall of 45.5 cm), followed by hot, dry summers (with an average maximum temperature of 32 ◦C). Despite the long summer drought, Claremont has been designated a Tree City by the National Arbor Day Association for 22 consecutive years, thanks in large part to widespread irrigation and horticulture on public and private properties. We centered our arthropod sampling around the Robert J. Bernard Biological Field Station (BFS), a 35 ha research station belonging to the Claremont University Consortium. California sage scrub, composed primarily of drought-tolerant shrubs (e.g., Artemisia californica, Eriodictyon trichocalyx, Eriogonum fasciculatum), covers 25 ha of the BFS. An additional 3.5 ha are non-native grassland dominated by Bromus spp. The last 5.5 ha were burned in a wildfire after sampling began. As a result, we did not include data from that area in our analyses. The fire did not impact BFS ground-dwelling arthropod communities [6,21]. We also sampled sites in the suburbs surrounding the BFS where humans directly and actively modified the landscape. To try to capture as much suburban heterogeneity as possible, we selected a diverse array of suburban locations within 30 to 1000 m of the BFS, including private residences, the Claremont Colleges, the Rancho Santa Ana Botanic Garden, and a small (~ 1 ha) administrative site at the edge of the BFS. In most cases, these sites were dominated by non-native plant species, with the notable exception of the Rancho Santa Ana Botanic Garden, which harbors only California-native plants (although its managed gardens mimic ecosystems from across the state, and therefore include numerous species not native to the Los Angeles County). In every case, the suburban sites received regular water subsidies. 2.2. Sampling We sampled terrestrial arthropod assemblages using pitfall traps at 16 sage-scrub, 8 grassland, and 16 suburban sites (see [18]). At each site, we placed three traps (3.2 cm in diameter, 25 cm deep) in an equilateral triangle with 10 m sides, except at six suburban sites, where obstacles (buildings, Insects 2019, 10, 29 3 of 7 roads, sidewalks, etc.) prevented it. We sampled during five two-week periods in 2013 and 2014 roughly corresponding with the seasons (spring 2013: 29–30 March to 11–12 April; summer 2013: 1–3 to 15–17 July; fall 2013: 28 September to 12 October; winter 2014: 14–16 to 28–30 January; and spring 2014: 12–14 to 26–28 March). We identified all arthropods to the lowest taxonomic level possible. For taxa for which good taxonomic information exists (e.g., ants, isopods, earwigs), most (>95%) individuals were identified to the species level. For other arthropod groups (e.g., beetles) many individuals were only identified to the family level and placed into morpho-species groups. 2.3. Analyses It can be difficult to determine a species’ native range, particularly for arthropods [6,22]. For example, some species we collected are considered native to the state of California, but are unlikely to be native to Claremont (e.g., tree-dwelling Camponotus species). As such, we took a conservative approach and only included species with well-documented native ranges (main sources include [23,24]) in our analyses. This conservative approach means that some non-natives were probably excluded from our analyses but ensures that no native species were included. To visualize the distribution of non-native species, we graphed the mean proportion of sites occupied across the five sampling periods for each habitat. We did the same for the mean number of individuals per pitfall trap. To test whether non-native species were consistently more widespread in a particular habitat, we ran a one-factor univariate PERMANOVA test using the average proportion of sites occupied in each habitat each season. Each PERMANOVA test used a resemblance matrix constructed using Euclidian distances in the program PRIMER_E v.6 with the PERMANOVA+ add-on [25]. We only ran PERMANOVA tests on species that were collected in at least 18 sites over the 5 seasons. We performed pair-wise comparisons using permutation-based T-tests following significant PERMANOVA tests. To test whether non-native species were more widespread in urban areas, we ran sign tests, scoring each species as a “+” if they were more widespread in suburban areas, or a “-” if they were more widespread in either the sage scrub or grassland habitat. We took two approaches to scoring a species as either a “+” or a “-”. The more conservative approach assigned species based on the outcome of the PERMANOVA tests and pair-wise comparisons, and therefore only included the species that were found in at least 18 sites. The more liberal approach scored species based on the visual assessment of graphs (i.e., whether a species appear to be more widespread in the suburban habitat than in either habitat in the BFS) and included species collected at fewer than 18 sites. The patterns in average abundance were similar to the patterns in the proportion of sites occupied and were intended only to supplement those data, so we did not run any statistical tests on those data. 3. Results Out of 253 arthropod species collected, we identified 20 (~ 8 %) that were definitively non-native (Figure 1). Nearly half were insects (9 species), with arachnids (6 species), isopods (3 species), and myriapods (2 species) comprising the rest. Eight (40 % of the non-natives: P. dilatatus, O. gracilis, M. simoni, T. barbatus, B. orientalis, C. mauritanica, E. annulipes, M. subulicola) were collected exclusively in the suburban habitat. One (C. septempunctata) was only collected in the non-native grassland. Six of the eight non-native species found at ≥18 sites occupied a greater fraction of suburban sites than BFS sites in either habitat (Figure 1). The other two widespread species were not differently distributed among habitats. Sign tests (conservative approach, p = 0.031; liberal approach, p < 0.001) showed that non-native species were more widespread in the suburban habitat than in habitats at the BFS. Patterns in abundance were similar to patterns in site occupancy. Sixteen of the 20 non-native species had higher mean abundances in suburban pitfall traps than in traps in either habitat type at the BFS (Figure S1). Insects 2019, 10, 29 4 of 7 Insects 2019, 10 FOR PEER REVIEW    4    Figure 1. Site occupancy  for each non‐native species. Bar height  is  the mean proportion of sites  occupied in each habitat type (S = Suburban; SS = Sage scrub; G = Grassland) over the five sampling  periods. Error bars show standard deviation. Pseudo‐F statistics and P‐values from PERMANOVA  tests are reported for those species that were collected in at least 18 sites over the 5 sampling periods.  Letters  on  or above  bars  indicate significantly  different means  based on  pair‐wise comparisons.  Letters next  to species names  indicate subphylum or class: C = Crustacea; M = Myriapoda; A =  Arachnida; I = Insecta.  4. Discussion  Non‐native species representing multiple arthropod taxa were less widespread and abundant in  patches of sage scrub and non‐native grassland than the suburban habitat surrounding them. Given  Figure 1. Site occupancy for each non-native species. Bar height is the mean proportion of sites occupied in each habitat type (S = Suburban; SS = Sage scrub; G = Grassland) over the five sampling periods. Error bars show standard deviation. Pseudo-F statistics and P-values from PERMANOVA tests are reported for those species that were collected in at least 18 sites over the 5 sampling periods. Letters on or above bars indicate significantly different means based on pair-wise comparisons. Letters next to species names indicate subphylum or class: C = Crustacea; M = Myriapoda; A = Arachnida; I = Insecta. 4. Discussion Non-native species representing multiple arthropod taxa were less widespread and abundant in patches of sage scrub and non-native grassland than the suburban habitat surrounding them. Given the Insects 2019, 10, 29 5 of 7 proximity of the sampling sites and lack of barriers between them, inadequate propagule pressure into the BFS is an unlikely explanation for this discrepancy. Recently established or transitory populations of non-natives in the suburban habitat are also improbable causes. Many of the non-natives we collected were first recorded in the region many decades ago (e.g., Euborellia annulipes established in 1880 [24]) and were abundant season after season at the same sites, suggesting that their populations are widespread and stable (i.e., they are not ephemeral populations associated with consistent propagule pressure). Instead, our findings suggest that characteristics of the habitats in the BFS enable them to resist invasion by non-native arthropods in the surrounding suburban habitat. Abiotic factors are the most probable drivers of ecological resistance at the BFS. The sage-scrub and non-native grassland habitats differ greatly in their plant compositions, native arthropod assemblages [18], and other biotic variables (e.g., vertebrate assemblages; WM Meyer unpublished), but are both subject to the region’s hot, dry climate. Studies of plants [2,19,20] and Argentine ants [13,26] have highlighted the role of thermal and water stress in limiting invasions. We could not find studies of the desiccation tolerances of most of the non-native insects we collected, but our findings suggest these stressors likely increase the resistance of arid habitats to a wide range of arthropod invaders, particularly those that thrive in agricultural or urban environments where water subsidies are abundant. For example, Armadillidium vulgare, an isopod with particularly poor desiccation resistance [27], was the most widespread and abundant non-native species in the suburban habitat but was very rarely collected within the BFS, and then only in the spring, when cooler, wetter conditions prevailed. Likewise, vulnerability to desiccation and thermal stress may be responsible for the limited distribution of the wall spider, Oecobius navus, in the sage-scrub and grassland habitats [28]. Aridity may also indirectly increase resistance to invasion. The almost complete exclusion of isopods from the BFS likely limits the abundance of Dysdera crocata, the woodlouse spider, which frequently preys on them [29]. Because coastal habitat fragments in the region have more moderate climates, they may be more impacted by invasive arthropods. Previous studies have found that Argentine ants penetrate deeper into less arid coastal fragments and achieve high densities, especially within 100 m of urban boundaries [13,15]. They are comparatively scarce in drier inland fragments [13], including the BFS, where they were absent from more than half of the sampling sites each season, despite all sites being within 100 m of a developed edge [18]. Perhaps as a result of reduced competition with Argentine ants [30], arid fragments support higher native ant richness [13,18]. Complete or partial exclusion of Argentine ants may also benefit native non-ant arthropods [16,31], although the extent of their impact on non-ant taxa is unclear [32]. In addition to Argentine ants, our findings suggest that coastal fragments may also be more vulnerable to other arthropod invaders. Bolger et al. [16] found that the two most abundant non-ant arthropods in 40 coastal sage scrub fragments in San Diego County were the non-native isopods A. vulgare and Porcellio laevis, which made up approximately 30% of all non-ant individuals they captured. In our study, non-native isopods accounted for more than half of the total non-ant capture in the suburban habitat but represented just 0.3% of individuals from the BFS. 5. Conclusions Understanding the role of desiccation stress in limiting invasions of insects and other arthropods provides a framework for understanding and modeling their distributions across the region, and likely in other semi-arid and arid urban centers. Previous research has shown that drier sage scrub and grassland habitat fragments resist invasion by Argentine ants better than more moderate fragments of the same size, and that reduced competition with Argentine ants results in greater native ant richness [13,18]. Our findings suggest that these arid fragments also resist invasion by many other non-native arthropods common in southern California suburbs. This may shelter native species from competition with and predation by non-natives, although such interactions are poorly understood. If so, inland habitats may be of high conservation value for arthropods. Decreasing water subsidies in open spaces around residential and commercial developments may also help mitigate the spread and impacts of arthropod invaders. However, to be effective, decreases in water subsidies would Insects 2019, 10, 29 6 of 7 likely need to be significant. For example, both A. vulgare and L. humile were highly abundant in ‘water-wise’ gardens that used mulch to retain soil moisture, indicating that this and other water retention methods create conditions favorable enough to support these species. If adopted on a regional scale, a landscaping paradigm featuring drought-tolerant native plants that require little or no water subsidies might prevent the establishment of new non-native species and limit the abundance and spread of existing ones. Supplementary Materials: The following are available online at http://www.mdpi.com/2075-4450/10/1/29/s1, Figure S1: Abundance of each non-native species. Author Contributions: Conceptualization, W.M.M. and W.J.S.; methodology, W.M.M. and W.J.S.; formal analysis, W.M.M. and W.J.S.; investigation, S.B., S.M. and W.J.S.; resources, W.M.M.; data curation, W.M.M., S.B., and S.M.; writing—original draft preparation, W.M.M. and W.J.S.; writing—review and editing, W.M.M., S.B., S.M. and W.J.S.; visualization, W.M.M. and W.J.S.; supervision, W.M.M.; project administration, W.M.M.; funding acquisition, W.M.M. Funding: This study was made possible by funding from the Henry David Thoreau Foundation, the Department of Biology at Pomona College, and the Howard Hughes Medical Institute’s 2012 Colleges Initiative (HHMI Grant #52007555). Acknowledgments: The authors are grateful to Tessa Adams, Elise Boyd, Ashish Streatfield, Kristen Park, Taylor Montgomery, Jeanette Rios, and Madeline Bossi for help setting up pitfall traps and processing trap contents. Conflicts of Interest: The authors declare no conflict of interest. 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Introduction Materials and Methods Study Site Sampling Analyses Results Discussion Conclusions References 
work_tkur44watrhxld3e2kenejrhi4	----	Evolutionary and plastic responses to climate change in terrestrial plant populations SYNTHESIS Evolutionary and plastic responses to climate change in terrestrial plant populations Steven J. Franks,1 Jennifer J. Weber1 and Sally N. Aitken2 1 Department of Biological Sciences, Fordham University, Bronx, NY, USA 2 Department of Forest and Conservation Sciences, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, BC, Canada Keywords adaptive evolution, ecological genetics, global change, phenotypic plasticity Correspondence Steven J. Franks, Department of Biological Sciences, Fordham University, Larkin Hall, 441 E. Fordham Road, Bronx, NY 10458, USA. Tel.: 718 817 3609; fax: 718 817 3645; e-mail: franks@fordham.edu Received: 17 April 2013 Accepted: 5 September 2013 doi:10.1111/eva.12112 Abstract As climate change progresses, we are observing widespread changes in pheno- types in many plant populations. Whether these phenotypic changes are directly caused by climate change, and whether they result from phenotypic plasticity or evolution, are active areas of investigation. Here, we review terrestrial plant stud- ies addressing these questions. Plastic and evolutionary responses to climate change are clearly occurring. Of the 38 studies that met our criteria for inclusion, all found plastic or evolutionary responses, with 26 studies showing both. These responses, however, may be insufficient to keep pace with climate change, as indi- cated by eight of 12 studies that examined this directly. There is also mixed evi- dence for whether evolutionary responses are adaptive, and whether they are directly caused by contemporary climatic changes. We discuss factors that will likely influence the extent of plastic and evolutionary responses, including pat- terns of environmental changes, species’ life history characteristics including gen- eration time and breeding system, and degree and direction of gene flow. Future studies with standardized methodologies, especially those that use direct approaches assessing responses to climate change over time, and sharing of data through public databases, will facilitate better predictions of the capacity for plant populations to respond to rapid climate change. Introduction There is now overwhelming evidence that climatic condi- tions are changing rapidly (IPCC 2007) and that plant pop- ulations are responding to these changes (Pe~nuelas and Filella 2001; Parmesan and Yohe 2003). For example, com- parisons of contemporary flowering times of 43 plant spe- cies in Concord, Massachusetts to those recorded by Henry David Thoreau in the mid-nineteenth century showed an advance in flowering time of an average of 7 days as this location warmed by 2.4°C during this time period (Miller- Rushing and Primack 2008). As the climate changes, plant populations may no longer be optimally adapted to new conditions (Anderson et al. 2012b; Shaw and Etterson 2012). Migration could allow some populations to track suitable conditions and thus maintain their adaptive optimum. However, this option may be limited, particularly in highly fragmented land- scapes (Jump and Pe~nuelas 2005) and for species with long generation lengths (Aitken et al. 2008). Furthermore, migration may allow a population to stay within its cli- matic envelope but cause it to be out of synch with other environmental factors such as photoperiod (Bradshaw and Holzapfel 2008; McNamara et al. 2011) or key mutualists such as pollinators (Memmott et al. 2007; Hegland et al. 2009). To avoid extinction, many plant populations may need to respond to climate change through phenotypic plasticity or adaptive evolution (Holt 1990; Hoffmann and Sgro 2011). The major questions are therefore: (i) Will plant popula- tions be able to respond to contemporary climate change, and will these responses be fast enough to prevent extinc- tion? (ii) To what extent do these responses reflect pheno- typic plasticity versus adaptive evolution? and (iii) What factors influence whether the responses are adaptive or plas- tic? Addressing these questions is crucial for understanding © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd. This is an open access article under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits use, distribution and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. 1 Evolutionary Applications ISSN 1752-4571 Evolutionary Applications and predicting how plant populations will respond to ongoing changes in climate, key knowledge for conserving both species diversity and evolutionary potential. The main goal of this article is to review the evidence for plastic and evolutionary responses of plant populations to changes in climatic conditions. We define phenotypic plas- ticity as the ability of a genotype to express a different phe- notype under different environmental conditions, and evolution as a shift in allele frequencies leading to a change in phenotype in a population (Conner and Hartl 2004). In practice, there are a number of different ways in which evo- lutionary and plastic responses to climate change can be detected (Box 1). We define adaptive evolution as an evo- lutionary change that leads to increased average fitness of individuals in a population in a given environment, with an evolutionary change not assumed to be adaptive without further evidence (Conner and Hartl 2004). We limit the scope of our review to terrestrial plants, which have long been subjects of studies on both adaptive evolution and plasticity [for reviews on other taxa, see in this issue: (Bou- tin and Lane 2014; Charmantier and Gienapp 2014; Reusch 2014; Schilthuizen and Kellermann 2014; Urban and Phil- lips 2014)]. Plants are highly amenable to these studies, because they can be transplanted, grown in common gar- dens, stored as seeds, cloned, crossed experimentally, and followed individually over time. A change in phenotype over time as climatic conditions change could be the result of either evolution or plasticity, and neither should be assumed without further evidence (Meril€a and Hendry 2014). While phenotypic shifts over time have been observed in a large number of species (Pe~nuelas and Filella 2001; Parmesan and Yohe 2003), it is not possible without additional information to determine whether these responses are due to plasticity or to evolu- tion. Plasticity and adaptive evolution are not mutually exclusive (Nicotra et al. 2010). Some traits or populations may respond through plasticity, others through evolution, and others through some combination of the two. In addi- tion, global change may induce the evolution of plasticity, with traits evolving to become more or less plastic as envi- ronmental conditions change. Evolutionary changes in plasticity can further complicate predictions of climate change responses. For example, one study showed that selection could cause the evolution of increased or decreased plasticity, depending on the environmental con- ditions (Springate et al. 2011). Both plastic and evolution- ary responses to climate change can influence population persistence, and both may or may not be adaptive (Gha- lambor et al. 2007). Furthermore, plasticity and adaptation may interact. Plasticity can hinder evolution by dampening the effects of selection, or promote evolution by allowing population persistence under changing conditions (Chevin and Lande 2010, 2011; Chevin et al. 2010, 2013; Crispo et al. 2010; Thibert-Plante and Hendry 2011; Kovach-Orr and Fussmann 2013). Thus, making precise quantitative predications about the rate and extent of plastic and evolu- tionary responses to climate changes in natural plant popu- lations is complex. In this article, we first provide an overview of the litera- ture on local adaptation to climate in plants, because the degree of local adaptation in the past to variation in cli- matic conditions can be used to help predict the capacity for genetic responses to climatic change in the future. Next, we review general patterns in studies that have examined evolutionary and plastic responses to climate change, fol- lowed by case studies highlighting several key methods. Finally, we discuss factors influencing the type and rate of climate change response, and future directions in research. Local adaptation to climate in plants To determine how plants will respond to changes in cli- mate, it is useful to draw on the extensive body of work on local adaptation to variation in climatic conditions. A cen- tral goal in ecological genetics has been to determine to what extent different phenotypes in different environments result from local adaptation, phenotypic plasticity or some combination of the two (Conner and Hartl 2004; Ghalam- bor et al. 2007). If populations are locally adapted, then they may suffer a fitness decline as climatic conditions change because these populations may not be adapted to the new conditions. Thus, even if a species occurs across a range of climatic conditions and the new climate for a given population remains within the broader climate enve- lope of that species, locally adapted populations could suf- fer fitness declines with climate change. Such a scenario has been shown in two recent studies (Etterson 2004; Kim and Donohue 2013). However, local adaptation could also pro- vide evidence of the capacity of populations to adapt to new conditions. Finding local adaptation also suggests that alleles for adaptation to new conditions may exist elsewhere in a species range. In any case, the extent of local adapta- tion to climatic conditions is highly relevant for predicting future responses to climate change. How widespread is local adaptation to climate in plants? The definitive test for local adaptation is the reciprocal transplant experiment. Two meta-analyses of reciprocal transplant studies, one including 35 studies of only plants (Leimu and Fischer 2008), and one including 50 plant and 24 nonplant studies (Hereford 2009) have both found that local adaptation is common but not universal, with 71% of studies in both analyses showing some evidence of local adaptation. Leimu and Fischer (2008) found that small populations were much less likely to show local adaptation than large populations, as would be predicted by theory (Willi et al. 2006) because drift increases in strength 2 © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd Plant responses to climate change Franks et al. relative to selection with decreasing population size. Local adaptation in plants is often attributed specifically to varia- tion in climate between populations or test environments. Of the 50 plant studies included in Hereford’s (2009) analysis, 26 specified focal or suspected environmental drivers of divergent selection between sites, and 22 of these (85%) included climatic variables or closely related surro- gates such as elevation or soil moisture. Many tree species have shown strong evidence of local adaptation to climate in provenance experiments, which are common garden experiments testing the effects of the place of seed origin (provenance) on tree survival, growth rates, and other phe- notypic traits. In a meta-analysis of provenance experi- ments for 59 tree species and 19 phenotypic traits, some of which are partial reciprocal transplants with home sites for a subset of provenances, 90% of analyses found significant population differentiation for phenotypic traits, and in most cases, this differentiation was correlated with and attributed to variation in climate (Alberto et al. 2013). Reciprocal transplant experiments and other common gardens assessed at a single point in time (synchronic stud- ies) substitute space for time when used as climate change experiments and do not directly assess the capacity for and maximum rate of rapid local adaptation to contemporary climate change (Box 1). However, they can indicate whether or not plant populations have locally adapted to climate in the past (e.g., during recolonization since the last glacial maximum), and they can provide valuable informa- tion about phenotypic plasticity if individuals from the same genetic group (populations, families or clones) are planted experimentally in multiple environments and data are collected to determine whether traits of cloned geno- types or related individuals vary across environmental con- ditions. These experiments can help to identify the specific components of climate (temperature and moisture vari- ables) that are likely drivers of divergent selection or plas- ticity, which can then be further investigated with manipulative experiments. Transplant experiments can also facilitate the identification of genetic markers associated with local adaptation to climate that would be appropriate for tracking adaptation to climate change allochronically (over time) (Wilczek et al. 2010; Fournier-Level et al. 2011). While reciprocal transplant studies primarily pro- vide opportunities to study phenotypic plasticity in a syn- chronic context, they can also provide a setting for monitoring phenotypic plasticity in long-lived individuals over time. For example, dendrochronology studies (Savva et al. 2008; McLane et al. 2011) can be used to assess varia- tion in tree rings in common garden experiments (Box 1), although ontogenetic effects of aging need to be separated from effects of temporal fluctuations in climate. These previous studies indicate that many populations are locally adapted to climatic conditions that vary over space, and that evolution in response to climatic variation has occurred in the past. We also know that phenotypic plasticity is extensive, and that plants can exhibit plastic responses to climatic variation (Nicotra et al. 2010). We now assess the current literature on plant plastic and evolu- tionary responses to ongoing rapid climate change and attempts to predict future responses to changes in climatic conditions. Literature review We searched the literature using Web of Science (Thomson Reuters, New York, NY, USA) and Google Scholar (Google, Mountain View, CA, USA) with the search terms ‘plastic- ity,’ ‘evolution,’ ‘adaptation,’ ‘selection,’ ‘climate change,’ ‘global change’ and ‘plant’. We screened the resulting pub- lications, excluding any that did not fit the criteria outlined by Meril€a and Hendry (2014). Studies in which the authors were not specifically aiming to examine evolutionary or plastic responses to climate change were not included, even if they fit the Meril€a and Hendry criteria. We included other studies we knew examined evolutionary or plastic responses to climate change in plant populations, even if these did not show up in our initial search. While any study examining the extent of local adaptation to climatic conditions or determining selection on or genetic variation for traits related to climate adaptation could potentially be used to predict potential evolutionary responses to climate change, we only included in this review those studies that could test whether evolutionary responses to contemporary climate change had actually occurred. For example, any study involving a reciprocal transplant among populations experiencing different cli- matic conditions, for example, (Clausen et al. 1940) could possibly be used, with the ‘space for time substitution approach,’ to infer potential future responses to climate changes. Such studies were not included in our quantitative review if the authors did not intend to evaluate evolution- ary or plastic responses to climate change, and it was beyond the scope of this review to include all studies show- ing any link between traits and climate. We included both field studies and experiments conducted under simulated climate change conditions (such as in controlled environ- ment chambers). Studies examining only phenotypic varia- tion or only genotypic changes were also included. There are likely some studies that would fit our criteria that were not picked up in our search, and we did not attempt to be comprehensive. However, we expect that our strategy allowed us to review a representative sample of studies directly examining evolutionary or plastic responses to cli- mate change in plant populations. We found 38 studies examining plastic or evolutionary responses to climate change in plant populations that met © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd 3 Franks et al. Plant responses to climate change our criteria (Table 1). Though modest, this is a relatively large number of studies aimed at investigating plastic and genetic responses to climate change in comparison with those included in reviews for other groups in this issue, for example, 19 studies for mammals (Boutin and Lane 2014) and 14 studies for birds (Charmantier and Gienapp 2014). While this relatively small number of studies limits our ability to draw firm conclusions, we can begin to detect some patterns and trends. The number of studies in this area is growing quickly. The earliest studies were published in 1991, and 31 of the 38 studies have been published since 2007 (Table 1). The number of studies on this topic will likely continue to increase rapidly (Parmesan 2006; Meril€a 2012). The studies included diverse taxa but were not a taxo- nomically representative sample of terrestrial plant species. There were 11 studies on Pinaceae, six on Brassicaceae, 11 other families represented in three or fewer studies, and three studies performed on multiple families (Table 1). Life form was also varied, with 20 studies of trees, 14 studies of herbaceous plants, and four studies of grasses (all Poaceae). A variety of traits were examined in these studies. Fifteen examined phenology, which is known to be strongly influ- enced by climate change (Parmesan and Yohe 2003), par- ticularly for phenological traits that are triggered by chilling or degree days. Twenty-one examined growth (e.g., biomass, leaf width, stem count); 11 measured physiologi- cal traits (e.g., drought tolerance, photosynthetic rate); seven evaluated changes in allele frequencies via genes or genetic markers; and one study assessed frequency of a chemical phenotype. Many of these studies examined more than one category of trait (Table 1). The studies also took a variety of scientific approaches (Box 1) that were outlined by Meril€a and Hendry 2014. There were 35 studies examining genetic and evolutionary change, and of these 29 studies used common gardens, 15 used comparisons to predict quantitative genetics models (Lande 1979; Lande and Arnold 1983), four used experi- mental evolution, 19 used space for time substitution (such as reciprocal transplants or sites across an altitudinal gradi- ent), seven used molecular genetic approaches, and two used a phenotypic marker that could be directly linked to an underlying gene (Table 1). There were 29 studies examining plastic responses, and of these, 26 used common gardens, 13 used field or greenhouse experiments, 14 used fine-grained population responses, and seven used individual plasticity in nature. Most studies combined multiple approaches. The most direct evidence for evolutionary or plastic responses to climate change comes from data collected over time. Many of the experimental plant studies we have included had a temporal component to elucidate genetic and plastic responses to climate change (Fig. 1). There were 26 (72%) studies that had some temporal component to their analyses (Fig. 1). Seventeen of these (65%) directly mea- sured trait changes over time, with three studies using the resurrection approach (Davis et al. 2005; Franks et al. 2008) of comparing ancestors and descendants under common conditions, 11 using controlled field or greenhouse or growth chamber experiments, one directly observing changes in phe- notypes in field studies, one combining field and controlled experiments, and one combining field observations and dendrochronology (tree ring analysis; Table 1). Ten studies used dendrochronology and/or modeling approaches to understand genetic and plastic responses to climate change. For those studies that directly measured changes in phe- notype or genotype over time, the duration of the studies varied widely. For example, nine of 10 field or greenhouse experiments (90%) lasted 3 years or less. Two experimental evolution studies were carried out for five and seven gener- ations. Studies that were considered to provide the most direct evidence for genetic and plastic responses to climate change included common gardens followed through time or direct observation of a change in allele frequency through time, (see Meril€a and Hendry (2014) for more detailed description of categories; Table 1a). Five studies provided this direct evidence, with traits measured in pop- ulations over much longer time periods than in other experimental studies included here, lasting between 7 and 36 years. Notably, dendrochronology studies can also span long periods, using the records of growth over time laid down in tree rings in long-lived woody perennials. A major objective of this review was to determine how frequently evolutionary or plastic responses to climate change occur. Evolution was examined in 35 of the studies, and at least some evidence for evolutionary response to cli- mate change was found in all 35 of these (100%; Table 1). Plasticity was examined in 29 of the studies, and all 29 of these (100%) found some evidence for plastic responses to climate change (Table 1). Thus, in almost every case where evolution or plasticity was investigated, it was found. These results indicate that both plastic and evolutionary responses to climate change can occur. However, there are important caveats. First, any study showing an evolutionary or plastic response in one trait was scored as finding that response, even if a response was not detected in another trait in that study. This could potentially overestimate posi- tive responses. However, in the majority of studies that measured multiple traits, most traits showed a genetic or plastic response (Gonzalo-Turpin and Hazard 2009; Keller et al. 2011). Second, there could be publication bias (the file drawer problem), also causing an overestimate of posi- tive responses (Møller and Jennions 2001). Third, even if evolutionary or plastic responses to climate change occurs, this does not necessarily mean that the responses would be sufficient to keep pace with the current rate of climate change. In fact, we found 12 studies that investigated this, 4 © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd Plant responses to climate change Franks et al. T a b le 1 . S u m m a ry o f st u d ie s o f te rr e st ri a l p la n ts d e si g n e d to e xa m in e p la st ic a n d /o r g e n e ti c re sp o n se s o f tr a it s d ri ve n b y cl im a te ch a n g e . Fa m ily S p e ci e s T ra it ty p e G e n e ti c P la st ic A d a p t C a u se T im e R e fe re n ce s A . S tu d ie s sh o w in g d ir e ct e vi d e n ce fo r g e n e ti c a n d /o r p la st ic ch a n g e s d u e to cl im a te ch a n g e B ra ss ic a ce a e B ra ss ic a ra p a P H , P Y Y (2 ,3 ) Y (4 )/ N (2 ,3 ) Y (1 ,2 ) Y (2 ,3 ) R S Fr a n k s e t a l. (2 0 0 7 ), Fr a n k s a n d W e is (2 0 0 8 ), Fr a n k s (2 0 1 1 ) La m ia ce a e T h ym u s vu lg a ri s P F Y (6 ) . Y (2 ) Y (1 ) FD T h o m p so n e t a l. (2 0 0 7 , 2 0 1 3 ) P o a ce a e A n d ro p o g o n g e ra rd ii P Y , G R Y (2 ,3 ,6 ) Y (2 ,3 ,4 ) Y (3 )* Y (3 ) E X A vo lio e t a l. (2 0 1 3 ), A vo lio a n d S m it h (2 0 1 3 ) P o a ce a e T ri ti cu m d ic o cc o id e s a n d H o rd e u m sp o n ta n e u m P H , A F Y (2 ,6 ) . . Y (2 ) R S N e vo e t a l. (2 0 1 2 ) P o ly g o n a ce a e P o ly g o n u m ce sp it o su m P Y , G R Y (2 ,3 ) Y (2 ,3 ) Y (1 ,2 )* Y (2 ,3 ) R S S u lt a n e t a l. (2 0 1 3 ) B . S tu d ie s sh o w in g st ro n g ly su g g e st iv e e vi d e n ce fo r g e n e ti c a n d /o r p la st ic ch a n g e s d u e to cl im a te ch a n g e B e tu la ce a e B e tu la p u b e sc e n s a n d B e tu la p e n d u la P H Y (2 ,3 ) Y (2 ) Y (2 )† Y (1 ) E X B ill in g to n a n d P e lh a m (1 9 9 1 ) B ra ss ic a ce a e A ra b id o p si s th a lia n a P H Y (2 ,4 ) Y (2 ,3 ) N (2 ) Y (2 ,3 ) E X S p ri n g a te e t a l. (2 0 1 1 ) B ra ss ic a ce a e B o e ch e ra st ri ct a P H Y (2 ,3 ) Y (2 ,4 ) Y (1 ,2 )† Y (2 ) E X , FD A n d e rs o n e t a l. (2 0 1 2 a ) B ra ss ic a ce a e B ra ss ic a ju n ce a P H , G R Y (2 ,3 ,4 ) Y (2 ,3 ) N (1 ,2 ) Y (3 ) E X P o tv in a n d T o u si g n a n t (1 9 9 6 ) B ra ss ic a ce a e E ry si m u m ca p it a tu m G R Y (2 ,5 ) Y (2 ,4 ) Y (1 )† Y (1 ) E X K im a n d D o n o h u e (2 0 1 1 ) C a ry o p h yl la ce a e C o lo b a n th u s q u it e n si s P Y , G R Y (2 ,4 ) Y (2 ,3 ) Y (1 )* . E X M o lin a M o n te n e g ro e t a l. (2 0 1 2 ) Fa g a ce a e Fa g u s sy lv a ti ca a n d Q u e rc u s p e tr a e a P H Y /N (2 ,5 ) Y (2 ,5 ) . Y (1 ) E X V it a ss e e t a l. (2 0 1 0 ) Fa g a ce a e Q u e rc u s su b e r P Y , G R Y (2 ,5 ) Y (2 ,4 ) Y (1 ) Y (2 ) E X R a m � ır e z- V a lie n te e t a l. (2 0 1 0 ) M yr ta ce a e E u ca ly p tu s g lo b u lu s P Y Y (2 ,3 ,5 ) . Y (4 ) Y (2 ) E X D u tk o w sk i a n d P o tt s (2 0 1 2 ) P o a ce a e Fe st u ca le n e n si s G R Y (2 ,5 ) Y (2 ,3 ,4 ) Y (1 ) † Y (2 ) E X Li a n co u rt e t a l. (2 0 1 2 ) R h iz o p h o ra ce a e R h iz o p h o ra m a n g le L. P Y , G R . Y (3 ,5 ) . Y (3 ) E X E lli so n a n d Fa rn sw o rt h (1 9 9 7 ) B e tu la ce a e B e tu la p e n d u la A F Y (6 ) . . Y (2 ) D O K e lly e t a l. (2 0 0 3 ) Fa g a ce a e Fa g u s sy lv a ti ca A F Y (5 ,6 ) . . Y (2 ) D O Ju m p e t a l. (2 0 0 6 ) P in a ce a e P in u s b a n k si a n a G R Y (2 ) Y (2 ,4 ) . Y (2 ) D O S a vv a e t a l. (2 0 0 8 ) P in a ce a e P in u s co n to rt a G R Y (2 ,5 ) Y (2 ,5 )‡ . Y (2 ) D O , FD M cL a n e e t a l. (2 0 1 1 ) P in a ce a e P se u d o ts u g a m e n zi e si i G R Y (2 ,3 ) Y (2 ,4 ,5 ) Y (2 ) Y (2 ) D O , M D M a rt in e z- M e ie r e t a l. (2 0 0 9 ) M u ti p le 2 7 d if fe re n t sp . A F Y (5 ,6 ) . . Y (1 ) M D A ls o s e t a l. (2 0 1 2 ) P in a ce a e A b ie s sa ch a lin e n si s G R Y (2 ,5 ) Y (2 ,5 ) Y (1 ) † Y (1 ) M D Is h iz u k a a n d G o to (2 0 1 2 ) P in a ce a e P in u s co n to rt a G R Y (2 ,3 ) Y (2 ,5 )‡ . Y (1 ) M D W a n g e t a l. (2 0 1 0 ) P in a ce a e P in u s sy lv e st ri s P H Y (2 ,3 ,5 ) Y (2 ) ‡ Y (2 ) † Y (2 ) M D S a vo la in e n e t a l. (2 0 0 4 ) P in a ce a e P in u s sy lv e st ri s P H , A F Y (2 ,5 ,6 ) Y (2 ,4 ) Y (1 ,2 ) Y (1 ) M D S a vo la in e n e t a l. (2 0 0 7 , 2 0 1 1 ) A st e ra ce a e A rt e m is ia ca lif o rn ic a P H , P Y , G R Y (2 ,3 ,5 ) Y (2 ,3 ,4 ) Y (1 ,2 ) † Y (2 ,3 ) . P ra tt a n d M o o n e y (2 0 1 3 ) B ra ss ic a ce a e B ra ss ic a ra p a P H , G R Y (2 ) Y (2 ) Y (1 ) Y (3 ) . La u a n d Le n n o n (2 0 1 2 ) Fa b a ce a e C h a m a e cr is ta fa sc ic u la ta P H , G R Y (2 ,3 ,5 ) Y (2 ,4 ) Y (1 ,2 )† Y (1 ) . E tt e rs o n a n d S h a w (2 0 0 1 ), E tt e rs o n (2 0 0 4 ) (c o n ti n u ed ) © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd 5 Franks et al. Plant responses to climate change T a b le 1 (c o n ti n u ed ) Fa m ily S p e ci e s T ra it ty p e G e n e ti c P la st ic A d a p t C a u se T im e R e fe re n ce s P h ry m a ce a e M im u lu s la ci n ia tu s G R Y (2 ,5 ) . Y /N (2 ) Y (1 ) . S e xt o n e t a l. (2 0 0 9 ) P in a ce a e P ic e a si tc h e n si s P H , G R Y (2 ,4 ,5 ) Y (2 ,3 ,4 ) Y (1 ) Y (2 ) . M im u ra a n d A it k e n (2 0 1 0 ) P in a ce a e P ic e a si tc h e n si s 9 P . g la u ca A F Y (3 ,5 ,6 ) . . . . H a m ilt o n e t a l. (2 0 1 3 ) P in a ce a e P in u s p in a st e r P Y Y (2 ,5 ) Y (2 ,4 ,5 ) . Y (2 ) . C o rc u e ra e t a l. (2 0 1 1 ) P in a ce a e P in u s sy lv e st ri s G R Y (2 ,3 ) Y (2 ,3 ) . Y (1 ) . R ic h te r e t a l. (2 0 1 2 ) P o a ce a e Fe st u ca e sk ia G R , A F Y (2 ,5 ,6 ) Y (2 ,4 ) Y (1 )* Y (2 ) . G o n za lo -T u rp in a n d H a za rd (2 0 0 9 ) S a lic a ce a e P o p u lu s b a ls a m if e ra L. P H , P Y Y (3 ,5 ) . Y (4 ) Y (2 ) . K e lle r e t a l. (2 0 1 1 ) M u lt ip le 4 d if fe re n t sp . P Y , G R . Y (3 ) . . . H e e t a l. (2 0 0 7 ) M u ti p le 5 7 d if fe re n t sp . P H . Y (3 ) . Y (1 ) . C le la n d e t a l. (2 0 1 2 ) T h e 3 8 st u d ie s in cl u d e fi ve p ro vi d in g st ro n g e vi d e n ce (A ) a n d 3 3 p ro vi d in g st ro n g ly su g g e st iv e e vi d e n ce (B ), b a se d o n th e cr it e ri a o f M e ri l€ a a n d H e n d ry (2 0 1 4 ). S h o w n a re Fa m ily a n d S p e ci e s (g e n u s a n d sp e ci e s) o f th e fo ca l p la n t, a n d T ra it ty p e (t yp e o f tr a it th a t sh o w e d a re sp o n se to cl im a te ch a n g e ): P H – p h e n o lo g y, P Y – p h ys io lo g y, P F – fr e q u e n cy o f g e n e ti ca lly co n tr o lle d p h e n o ty p e , G R – o b se rv e d re sp o n se s in so m e m e a su re o f g ro w th (e .g ., b io m a ss , st e m co u n t, le a f w id th , re p ro d u ct iv e o u tp u t) , A F – a lle le fr e q u e n ci e s o r g e n e ti c m a rk e rs . A ls o g iv e n a re in fo rm a ti o n o n G e n e ti c (e vo lu - ti o n a ry ) a n d P la st ic re sp o n se s, a n d w h e th e r th e se re sp o n se s a re A d a p ti ve a n d C a u se d b y cl im a te ch a n g e . Fo r g e n e ti c a n d p la st ic re sp o n se s, ‘Y ’ in d ic a te s th a t e vi d e n ce w a s fo u n d ; ‘N ’ in d ic a te s th a t e vi - d e n ce w a s n o t fo u n d ; ‘. ’ in d ic a te s th a t it w a s n o t in ve st ig a te d . Fo r A d a p ti ve , ‘Y ’ in d ic a te s th a t re sp o n se s in cr e a se d fi tn e ss o r w e re p re d ic te d to in cr e a se fi tn e ss in n e w cl im a ti c co n d it io n s; ‘N ’ in d ic a te s m a la d a p ti ve re sp o n se s; ‘. ’ in d ic a te s th a t a d a p ta ti o n w a s n o t in ve st ig a te s; ‘† ’ n o te s th a t a d a p ta ti o n w a s fo u n d b u t w a s n o t p re d ic te d to b e su ffi ci e n t to k e e p u p w it h cl im a te ch a n g e ; * n o te s th a t a d a p - ta ti o n w a s p re d ic te d to b e su ffi ci e n t to k e e p u p w it h cl im a te ch a n g e . Fo r C a u se , ‘Y ’ in d ic a te s th a t th e re sp o n se w a s d ir e ct ly ca u se d b y cl im a te ch a n g e ; ‘. ’ in d ic a te s th a t ca u sa lit y w a s n o t in ve st ig a te d . N u m b e rs d e n o te th e m e th o d o f in ve st ig a ti o n in vo k e d . G e n e ti c ca te g o ri e s: 2 – C o m m o n g a rd e n st u d ie s, 3 – C o m p a ri so n to m o d e l p re d ic ti o n s, 4 – E xp e ri m e n ta l e vo lu ti o n , 5 – S p a ce fo r ti m e su b st i- tu ti o n , 6 – M o le cu la r g e n e ti c a p p ro a ch e s; P la st ic ca te g o ri e s: 2 – C o m m o n g a rd e n st u d ie s, 3 – E xp e ri m e n ta l st u d ie s, 4 – Fi n e -g ra in e d p o p u la ti o n re sp o n se s, 5 – In d iv id u a l p la st ic it y in n a tu re ; A d a p t ca te g o ri e s: 1 – R e ci p ro ca l tr a n sp la n ts , 2 – P h e n o ty p ic se le ct io n e st im a te s, 3 – G e n o ty p ic se le ct io n e st im a te s, 4 – Q st -F st co m p a ri so n ; C a u se ca te g o ri e s: 1 – C o m m o n se n se , 2 – P h e n o ty p e b y e n vi - ro n m e n t in te ra ct io n s, 3 – E xp e ri m e n ta l se le ct io n /e vo lu ti o n . Fo r fu ll d e sc ri p ti o n s o f a ll ca te g o ri e s se e M e ri l€ a a n d H e n d ry (2 0 1 4 ). T im e (t yp e o f a p p ro a ch u si n g a ti m e co m p o n e n t in d a ta co lle ct io n ): R S – re su rr e ct io n st u d y, E X – fi e ld o r g re e n h o u se e xp e ri m e n t th ro u g h ti m e , FD – fi e ld o b se rv a ti o n s th ro u g h ti m e , M D – m o d e le d th ro u g h ti m e , D O – d e n d ro ch ro n o lo g y (t re e ri n g d a ta o ve r ti m e ), ‘. ’ in d i- ca te s n o te m p o ra l co m p o n e n t. * A d a p ta ti o n p re d ic te d to b e su ffi ci e n t to k e e p u p w it h cl im a te ch a n g e . † A d a p ta ti o n n o t p re d ic te d to b e su ffi ci e n t to k e e p u p w it h cl im a te ch a n g e . ‡ U se d a m o d e lin g a p p ro a ch to te st fo r p la st ic it y. 6 © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd Plant responses to climate change Franks et al. and eight concluded that the responses expected would not be sufficient given predicted rates of climatic changes (Bil- lington and Pelham 1991; Etterson 2004; Savolainen et al. 2004; Jump et al. 2006; Anderson et al. 2012a; Liancourt et al. 2012; Kim and Donohue 2013; Pratt and Mooney 2013), while four studies predicted that responses can potentially keep up with climate change (Gonzalo-Turpin and Hazard 2009; Molina Montenegro et al. 2012; Avolio et al. 2013; Sultan et al. 2013). Thus, the high apparent fre- quency of plastic or evolutionary responses should not be taken as a clear indication that populations can generally keep pace with climate change. In addition to assessing how frequently evolutionary and plastic responses occurred, we wanted to find out if these tended to be alternative or co-occurring strategies. We found 26 studies that examined both plasticity and evolu- tion, and all 26 of these (100%) showed some evidence for both plastic and evolutionary responses (Table 1). The remaining 12 studies that showed only an evolutionary or a plastic response did not investigate the other type of response. Thus, there was no evidence that a plastic response precluded an evolutionary response, or vice versa. Plasticity and evolution occur simultaneously, and these are not alternative or mutually exclusive responses. Only two studies (Wang et al. 2010; Anderson et al. 2012a) attempted to partition the amount of phenotypic change due to evolution versus plasticity, and both showed contri- butions of both plasticity and evolution. Merely finding an association between a phenotypic change and a climatic change does not necessarily show causality. In our survey, 35 of the 38 studies inferred cau- sality between climate change and evolutionary or plastic responses. However, in 12 of these studies (34%), the infer- ence was based on common sense alone. Thus, it is not always clear that changes in climate are actually the cause of observed plastic or evolutionary shifts in phenotype. Similarly, if an evolutionary change occurs, it is not neces- sarily the case that the change was adaptive. In our survey, T1 T2 Dendrochronology(D)D. Dendrochronology uses tree ring data to esponses thr method o n also invokes space fo C es thr text for more complete and other methods. A. Resurr tudies compare ancestors (derived from seeds at T1) and descendants (derived from seeds at T2; Time 1 = T1, Time 2 = T2) in a common garden, and provide direct evidence f esponses to climate change thro C. Space fo tudies such as reciprocal transplants use common gardens across exis va re indicates elev radient) over space (Site 1 = S1, Site 2 = S2). These synchronic studies can be used to di nguish pla city from local adapta - ta redict climate change responses, but do not test rates of responses. B. Field and experimental st can provide evidence for climate change re - type or allele frequencies, but these allochronic studies do not generally dis from pla city. T1 T2 Studies over time(B) T1 T2 Resurrection(A) Space for time(C) S1 S2 Box 1: Methods commonly used for studying plastic and evolutionary responses to climate change. © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd 7 Franks et al. Plant responses to climate change evidence for adaptive evolution resulting in increased mean fitness in new or predicted climates was shown in 21 stud- ies, and two studies found evidence for a lack of adaptive evolution. In at least one study (Sexton et al. 2011), adap- tation was context-dependent. Adaptation was not investi- gated in the remaining 14 studies. A relatively high proportion of studies found evidence of evolutionary changes, but clear evidence that adaptive evolutionary shifts were directly caused by climate change was somewhat less common [but see: (Franks et al. 2007; Thompson et al. 2007; Franks 2011; Avolio et al. 2013; Avolio and Smith 2013; Sultan et al. 2013; Thompson et al. 2013)]. The relative amount of phenotypic variation explained by plasticity versus genetic variation depends on the cli- matic range of populations sampled and the environments they inhabit, as well as the climatic range of test site envi- ronments and details of the experimental designs. Most studies used reciprocal transplant studies or experimental environment common gardens to assess phenotypic plastic- ity and included genotypes from different populations, families, or lines, allowing for some qualitative compari- sons of the relative effects of environment versus genotype on phenotypes. However, given the wide range of experi- mental approaches, it is difficult to develop a standard met- ric for quantitatively comparing the magnitude of plasticity versus genetic responses across studies. Within experiments, traits vary considerably in the rela- tive amounts of phenotypic variation explained by plastic- ity versus genetic group [population, family, or recombinant inbred line (RIL)]. For example, one study (Potvin and Tousignant 1996) subjected two populations of Brassica juncea to selection in environments simulating pre- and postglobal warming climates and assessed 14 traits after seven generations of selection. They found that phe- notypic responses to the simulated warming in some traits were largely the result of plasticity, while other traits mainly varied genetically, and others showed similar levels of phe- notypic variance resulting from genetic variation and plas- ticity. However, none of these responses were sufficient to adapt these populations to predicted future conditions. The authors attributed this lack of response to inbreeding depression. This quantitative review highlights some of the major trends across studies in plastic and evolutionary responses to climate change. The studies included show that plastic and evolutionary responses are occurring and are being detected through a variety of methods. These methods and results are illustrated in the following case studies. Case studies Contrasting approaches to investigating evolution We highlight here a few key studies that have advanced our understanding of evolutionary responses to climate change using a variety of approaches. They include studies using natural plant populations, constructed genetic lines, histor- ical data, previously collected seeds, phenotypic selection analysis, and genetic markers and genomics. This set of approaches is applicable to investigating not just climate change responses but contemporary evolution in general. While most studies of evolution in natural populations use wild individuals, one study (Anderson et al. 2012a) of evolutionary responses to climate change used RILs. Recombinant inbred lines have the advantage of producing a large amount of genetic and phenotypic diversity, facili- tating the estimation of selection and of additive genetic variation. The authors planted RILs of the Arabidopsis rela- tive Boechera stricta in the field and measured selection and quantitative genetic variation in these experimental popu- lations. They then combined this quantitative genetic infor- mation with historical data on flowering time of this species in this region. The investigators found that flower- ing time in this species had advanced significantly, by 0.34 days per year on average, between 1973 and 2011. This response is consistent with shifts in phenology seen in a variety of life forms in response to global warming (Parme- san and Yohe 2003; Charmantier and Gienapp 2014; Schilthuizen and Kellermann 2014; Urban and Phillips 2014). Using quantitative genetic analyses, Anderson et al. (2012a) found that strong directional selection favored earlier flowering in contemporary environments. They 2 4 6 8 10 12 14 No time Space for time Time N um be r of s tu di es Figure 1 Analysis of time component in studies examining evolutionary and plastic responses to climate change in terrestrial plants. Shown are the number of studies taking the approaches of resurrection studies (RS), field or greenhouse experiments (EX), measurements in natural populations (FD), dendrochronology studies (DO), modeling (MD), and those that did not have any synchronic temporal component (NT). Stud- ies that also used space for time substitution (allochronic) along with other approaches are shown in red (top portion of bars). Note that sev- eral studies took multiple approaches, and each time an approach was taken it is shown here, so the total tally in the figure exceeds the total number of studies in the review (n = 3 studies used multiple synchronic time components). 8 © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd Plant responses to climate change Franks et al. estimated that 20% of the phenotypic change was due to evolution. They concluded that plasticity was important in flowering timing and its shift over recent decades. Another recent study (Thompson et al. 2013) also took advantage of an existing dataset from decades earlier, in this case, on chemotypes (chemical phenotypes) of the woody perennial wild thyme (Thymus vulgaris). The differ- ent chemotypes have differential sensitivity to cold, with the phenolic chemotypes more freezing sensitive and the nonphenolic chemotypes more freezing tolerant. The phe- nolic chemotype may be more resistant to herbivory (Lin- hart and Thompson 1995). Data from 1974 indicated variation among populations along altitudinal transects in the extent of phenolic and nonphenolic chemotypes, with areas experiencing colder temperatures generally made up of nonphenolic chemotypes, and warmer areas comprised of phenolic chemotypes (Fig. 2A). The previously colder locations saw a decrease between 1965 and 2009 in the fre- quency of very cold periods (<�15°C) (Fig. 2B), as well as an increase in the proportion of individuals with freezing sensitive chemotypes (Fig. 2A). This result indicates that warming temperatures have led to evolutionary shifts in the population frequencies of freezing sensitive chemo- types. Because these chemotypes are entirely genetically determined rather than plastic, this is clearly a case of an evolutionary response to changing climatic conditions. Rather than using only pre-existing data, some studies have used previously collected seeds and compared ances- tors and descendants under common conditions to directly assess evolutionary responses to climate change through the resurrection approach (Davis et al. 2005; Franks et al. 2007, 2008). The resurrection approach was recently used to examine evolutionary responses to climate change in wild wheat (Triticum aestivum) and barley (Hordeum vulg- are) populations in Israel (Nevo et al. 2012). Plants grown from seeds collected in 1980 were compared with those grown from seeds collected in 2008. Flowering time was significantly earlier in both species in the 2008 samples than in the 1980 samples, by an average of 8.5 days in wheat and 11 days in barley. Although this study did not directly determine the cause of this phenological change, it is con- sistent with shifts in flowering time seen in many other spe- cies following global warming and increased drought (Parmesan and Yohe 2003). The Nevo et al. (2012) study also examined microsatellite (SSR) genetic markers and found substantial genetic divergence between the ancestral and descendant populations. These results confirm both phenotypic and genetic shifts following a change in cli- mate. To assess evolutionary responses in long-lived plants like forest trees, individuals do not necessarily need to be resur- rected from the past because some are still standing. One study taking advantage of this fact used dendrochronology (tree ring) data to estimate ages of Fagus sylvatica individu- als in Catalonia, Spain (Jump et al. 2006). They used amplified fragment length polymorphism scans to assess variation throughout the genome and to associate this genetic variation with climatic variation and changes over time. As temperatures increased in this area over the last half-century, the frequency of a genetic marker associated with variation in temperature declined by an average of 0.135/°C. While this result indicates an evolutionary response to selection, the authors caution that their data indicate that this response would likely not be sufficient to allow the populations to adapt to climate change through- out their range (Jump et al. 2006). Similar concerns about the capacity of plant populations to adapt to changing climatic conditions were raised in a study of Chamaecrista fasciculata (Etterson and Shaw 2001). Reciprocal transplant experiments and quantitative genetic analyses were used to assess the ability of popula- tions to respond to changes in climate. They found genetic correlations between traits opposed the direction of selec- tion for the traits, indicating that evolutionary responses would likely be constrained by genetic architecture. Study- ing a single trait would not have revealed this constraint. Based on these studies, it is clear that climate change is a potent agent of selection that can result in evolution on a short timescale. However, there are also substantial % P la nt s w it h fr ee zi ng s en si ti ve c he m ot yp e 0 20 40 60 80 100 1974 2010 (B)(A) Periods < –15° C 1965 – 1970 = 5 1992 – 2009 = 0 1971 – 1991 = 3 Figure 2 Changes over time in the frequency of freezing sensitive chemotypes of Thymus vulgaris (Lamiaceae) with climatic warming (Thompson et al. 2013). Populations along altitudinal transects in France were first surveyed in 1974 and again in 2010. The proportion of individuals with a freezing sensitive chemotype increased between 1974 (yellow bars, left) and 2010 (blue bars, right), especially in popula- tions that were initially frost tolerant (nonphenolic) or mixed (Fig. 2A). This corresponds with a marked decrease in episodes of severe frost (temperatures < �15°C) between 1965 and 2010 (Fig. 2B). Because the chemotypes are entirely genetically determined (not plastic), this provides compelling evidence of evolutionary change with changing cli- matic conditions. © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd 9 Franks et al. Plant responses to climate change constraints. It remains unclear to what degree evolution will allow plant populations to keep pace with ongoing climate change. Separating plastic and adaptive responses to climate using long-term provenance trials There is a wealth of data from long-term provenance (geo- graphic or climatic seed source origin) reciprocal trans- plant trials for forest trees (Alberto et al. 2013). Although many of these were designed and established before climate change was recognized as a major global problem, these tri- als can be analyzed retrospectively with new approaches to understand the extent of local adaptation to climate by substituting climatic variation in space for time, and to identify phenotypes that are locally adapted and the cli- matic factors they are adapted to (Box 1). A space for time approach allows genotypes to be studied over a broader range of climatic conditions than short-term temporal studies sample (Teplitsky and Millien 2014), but observa- tions at a single point in time do not permit the direct study of evolutionary responses as climate changes. Some provenance trials have been measured repeatedly over time and are planted on contrasting field sites, allowing for both of these approaches to be utilized. The Illingworth lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta) prove- nance trial in British Columbia, Canada provides a useful example of this (Rehfeldt et al. 1999, 2001). Seeds were col- lected from 120 locations across the species range and planted in 60 field sites in 1974. Data on tree growth have been collected for over three decades. Although each prove- nance was only planted at a subset of sites, it has been pos- sible to derive population reaction norms to site climatic variables (Rehfeldt et al. 1999, 2001; Wang et al. 2010). Using this experiment, researchers developed a ‘universal response function’ approach to describing phenotypic vari- ation as a multidimensional function of provenance climate and site climate (Wang et al. 2010). With this function, they were able to estimate the proportion of phenotypic variation due to site climatic conditions (phenotypic plas- ticity) versus provenance climatic conditions (genetic vari- ation reflecting adaptation). Similar to the results of Anderson et al. (2012a), genetic variation explained about 20% of the phenotypic variation, with phenotypic plasticity explaining the majority of variation in response to test site temperature. While provenance trials are usually synchronic, substi- tuting space-for-time when used to examine responses to climate change, dendrochronological analyses of the annual growth rings of trees allow for the analysis of phenotypic plasticity in response to temporal climatic variation (Box 1). The universal response function approach was applied to annual growth ring data taken from wood cores sampled from a subset of materials in the Illingworth trial for the analysis of climatic sensitivity (intraindividual plasticity) in response to annual and seasonal variation in climate (McLane et al. 2011). Average tree ring widths over the 23-year chronology showed strong interactions between mean temperature of population origins and mean temperature of test sites, reflecting local adaptation, and strong effects of site temperature and moisture, reflecting phenotypic plasticity. Annual variation in ring width (climatic sensitivity) showed significant but somewhat weaker effects of site climate and provenance climate than average ring width. Phenology Phenology of many traits in plants outside of the tropics is a function of seasonal thermal or photoperiodic cues, some of which can be modified by other environmental stresses such as drought. Seven of the studies we compiled exam- ined phenotypic plasticity in phenological traits including the timing of flowering, leafing out or bud break in spring, and bud set or leaf senescence in fall, and all found evi- dence of phenotypic plasticity (Table 1). Spring phenologi- cal traits, such as timing of bud break, first leaf emergence, and spring flowering of temperate and boreal perennials and winter annuals, are usually a function of spring degree day accumulation, following adequate winter chilling. These thermal cues will change as climates warm, and phe- notypic plasticity between environments or over time often directly reflects changes in temperature regimes. Fall phe- nological traits including bud set, leaf abscission, and development of cold hardiness in perennials are usually triggered by photoperiod and therefore not likely to pro- duce plastic responses as climates change; however, drought and other limiting environmental conditions can affect these responses. Differences in seasonal responses are well illustrated by recent studies of Arabidopsis thaliana (Springate et al. 2011). They imposed selection for earlier flowering in climatic conditions suitable for spring-annual and winter-annual life histories, in the ‘fast-cycler’ and ‘long-flowerer’ genotypes exhibiting these life history traits. Selection for early flowering in spring-annual conditions increased phenotypic plasticity, while selection for early flowering in winter-annual conditions reduced it. The available length of favorable conditions for growth will lengthen in some environments for some populations due to a longer warm, frost-free period, but shorten for others due to increased drought. In an elevational recipro- cal transplant study of two European deciduous tree spe- cies, F. sylvatica and Quercus petraea, both the timing of leaf emergence in spring, and the senescence of leaves at the end of the growing season showed greater variation due to phenotypic plasticity than genetic differences (Vitasse et al. 2010). Plasticity was high in both species, with leaf 10 © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd Plant responses to climate change Franks et al. emergence advancing by an average of 5.7 days/°C increase, and slightly faster in oak than in beech, whereas genetic dif- ferences in leaf emergence date among populations were significant in beech but not in oak. While leaf emergence dates in spring advanced linearly with temperature, reac- tion norms for leaf senescence in fall were nonlinear with the greatest longevity of leaves in intermediate thermal environments. This was likely a result of moisture deficits resulting in premature senescence at high temperatures, and resulted in a nonlinear reaction norm between temper- ature and growing season length for all populations. Factors influencing evolutionary versus plastic responses The studies compiled here demonstrate many plant popu- lations can respond to climatic changes through plasticity or evolution. However, it is difficult to predict, for a partic- ular population, whether plasticity or evolution is more important, and if these responses will be sufficient to pre- vent extinction. Being able to make such predictions is crit- ical for conservation and management as climate change continues. While theoretical expectations can inform pre- dictions of the capacity for rapid adaptation to climate change, little theory exists for phenotypic plasticity (Kopp and Hendry 2014), or for the interactions between adapta- tion and plasticity. While plasticity can be assessed experi- mentally in the ways discussed above, phenotypic buffering, producing stable phenotypes under a range of environmental conditions, may also be important (Reusch 2014). For a given population, a variety of factors influence the type and degree of climate change response. We briefly discuss several of these factors here. We also provide several predictions that can be tested in future work on responses to climate change. Climate change factors Responses to climate change are likely to be highly depen- dent on the rate, scale, and predictability of environmental changes. The more rapid the environmental change, the faster the plastic or evolutionary response would need to be to prevent population extinction (Chevin and Lande 2010; Chevin et al. 2013). Because plastic changes can occur within a generation and evolutionary changes necessarily occur across generations, one prediction is that plasticity may be a more important immediate response to very rapid environmental changes. However, if the environmental changes are rapid enough that populations are experiencing novel conditions, evolutionary responses may be more important, especially over the long term. Ecological genetic theory suggests that responses are most likely to be plastic when the environment varies in a predictable way, and there is empirical support for this idea (Alpert and Simms 2002). While global temperatures are steadily increasing, there is also growing climatic instability, so climate change could lead to either increased or decreased plasticity. Capacity for plasticity and adaptation Because the rate of adaptation is directly proportional to the degree of additive genetic variance in a population (Fisher 1958), factors influencing genetic variance are likely to be important for determining the ability of populations to adapt to climate change (Jump and Pe~nuelas 2005). Determining precisely which traits and underlying genes are most important under projected, dynamic climate sce- narios can be empirically difficult due to trade-offs among suites of traits (Etterson and Shaw 2001; Aguilar et al. 2008). Initial responses to novel selection, however, are likely to be phenotypic (Bradshaw 1965), and the capacity for plasticity in important traits (e.g., bud break and growth initiation timing in spring; flowering time; drought tolerance; growth cessation and bud formation in late sum- mer or fall) should play a major role in the early stages of population persistence (Jump and Pe~nuelas 2005). Studies that have considered the role of phenotypic plasticity in the context of climate change have found notable evidence that plasticity can aid in adaptation across a variety of species (Table 1). The occurrence and magnitude of phenotypic plasticity can vary genetically (Pigliucci 1996; DeWitt et al. 1998; de Jong and Gavrilets 2000; Schlichting and Smith 2002), and in some cases, plasticity may hinder evolution- ary responses (Crispo et al. 2010). It is therefore necessary to consider factors influencing genetic composition within and among plant populations. Furthermore, life history and generation time may influence climate change responses, as plants with more generations in a given time period and plants with less delayed reproductive maturity may be able to adapt more quickly to changing conditions. Mating systems Mating systems influence genetic variation within and among populations (Loveless and Hamrick 1984) and therefore may play an important role in the capacity for populations to adapt to novel environments. Plant popula- tions can vary widely in mating system, from obligately outcrossing to completely self-fertilizing. Increased selfing has been associated with decreased additive genetic varia- tion (Charlesworth and Charlesworth 1995; Bartkowska and Johnston 2009), and selfing populations may have smaller effective population sizes (Barrett and Kohn 1991; Charlesworth et al. 1993). In small populations, genetic drift can have a strong influence on fitness, by decreasing the efficacy of selection and increasing the chance of © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd 11 Franks et al. Plant responses to climate change fixation of deleterious alleles or extinction (Lynch and Gab- riel 1990; Lande 1994; Kopp and Hendry 2014). Outcross- ing populations, therefore, may exhibit some genetic advantages over selfing populations via high within-popu- lation genetic variation, high gene flow and limited linkage disequilibrium (Gl�emin et al. 2006; Anderson et al. 2012a). For instance, one study found a strong effect of mating sys- tem on the level of genetic variance maintained or lost in fragmented habitats (Aguilar et al. 2008). For outcrossing to occur, however, many plants depend upon insect pollin- ators and those may suffer dramatic consequences from environment-induced changes in flowering phenology that may be asynchronous with pollinator activity, as well as general declines in occurrence and abundance of some spe- cies of insect pollinators (Parmesan 2006; Memmott et al. 2007; Potts et al. 2010; Forrest and Thomson 2011). Cli- mate change may also change the dynamics and timing of wind, affecting mating success and gene flow levels and directions in outcrossing wind-pollinated species (Kremer et al. 2012). The role of mating system in the ability of populations to adapt is likely to vary based on the type of pollination vector. In populations reliant on pollinators that are also facing strong selection via climate change or other pres- sures, more selfing may prove a superior strategy. On the other hand, highly fragmented populations with increased inbreeding may suffer consequences due to a lack of genetic variation. Interestingly, a review of the literature found no correlation between mating system and local adaptation (Hereford 2010). This emphasizes that although we can draw upon these studies to frame hypotheses, it is still unclear how mating system will influence the ability of plant populations to adapt to cli- mate change. Gene flow Based on the existing theoretical and empirical literature, we predict that gene flow will often increase the ability of populations to respond to climate change, although the introduction of maladaptive alleles could hinder adaptive responses. Gene flow in most plants occurs primarily through movement of pollen and also by movement of seeds. Gene flow can increase genetic variation and reduce inbreeding within populations, particularly as ranges of species shift (Petit et al. 2003; Savolainen et al. 2011; Kre- mer et al. 2012). Furthermore, admixture between geneti- cally differentiated populations could facilitate adaptation to climate change via the introduction of locally adapted alleles (Jump and Pe~nuelas 2005; Yeaman and Jarvis 2006; Paul et al. 2011; Anderson et al. 2012a; Aitken and Whit- lock 2013). For example, a study on two species of Betula found that gene flow from populations with earlier bud burst would likely be necessary for adaptation to climate change (Billington and Pelham 1991). Gene flow among populations can also be maladaptive; for example, gene flow from large central populations to small peripheral ones is theorized to swamp local adapta- tion for marginal populations (Kirkpatrick and Barton 1997; Bridle and Vines 2007). The variable impacts of gene flow on fitness in a climate change context were shown in a recent study that used artificial crosses to mimic gene flow at the warming range limit in Mimulus laciniatus (Sexton et al. 2011). Artificial gene flow resulted in increased fitness at early life stages in the offspring of individuals from peripheral populations at the range margins, suggesting that inbreeding depression may limit adaptation and range expansion. In this example, gene flow from central to peripheral populations was maladaptive, while gene flow between edge populations increased fitness (Sexton et al. 2011). In a changing climate, asymmetrical gene flow could facilitate adaptation at the leading edge of migration by providing a source of warmer-adapted alleles (Davis and Shaw 2001; Anderson et al. 2012a). For example, an experi- mental study of the plant C. fasciculata showed that gene flow from a southern Oklahoma population into a north- ern Minnesota population had an overall positive effect (Etterson 2008). A recent review of long-distance gene flow in trees found that the positive effects of gene flow, even across large spatial scales, likely outweigh maladaptive effects (Kremer et al. 2012). However, gene flow may dis- rupt adaptation to nonclimatic abiotic or biotic environ- mental factors such as soil type or microbes (Aitken and Whitlock 2013) and may have a deleterious effect on adap- tation in rear-edge populations through swamping (Holli- day et al. 2012). For populations that are isolated or fragmented, gene flow between neighboring populations could be rare and adaptation will necessarily depend on existing phenotypic variation and adaptive potential (Lande 1988). Future directions The results of this review suggest that although interest in and research on plastic and evolutionary responses to cli- mate change is growing, we still have relatively little empiri- cal data for making species and trait-specific predictions about the likely rates and types of plant responses as cli- matic conditions continue to change. Not only are more field-based and experimental environment studies neces- sary with sufficiently large sample sizes to detect population changes over time (Kopp and Hendry 2014), but there is also an urgent need to create organized databases for syn- thetic analyses with multiple species, populations and loca- tions. The establishment of data repositories such as Dryad 12 © 2013 The Authors. Evolutionary Applications published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd Plant responses to climate change Franks et al. is an important step in this direction, and the creation of standardized formats for data on plasticity and phenotypic evolution would be highly useful. Another important future direction in the field is understanding the genetic basis of plastic and evolutionary responses to climate change (Franks and Hoffmann 2012). Understanding the genetic architecture of these responses may enhance our ability to predict the effects of climate change on natural populations. For example, we might expect that a trait controlled by a single gene of large effect and under strong selection by climate change factors is more likely to change in frequency and potentially sweep to fixation, leading to an adaptive change, than a trait controlled by a complex network of interacting genes. Studies on the genetic basis of adaptation to climate change can also provide more general insights into the molecular basis of plant responses to environmental varia- tion. Current techniques in genomics and bioinformatics are making the technical aspects of this goal more feasible for nonmodel organisms (Reusch and Wood 2007; Rokas and Abbot 2009), providing several types of information that can be used in the assessment of the genetic basis of climate change responses. First, the genes underlying key climatic traits involved in adaptation to climate are being discovered through genome wide association studies (GWAS), candidate gene approaches, and allele-environ- ment correlations. Second, polymorphisms in these genes (e.g., single-nucleotide polymorphisms) that are associated with phenotypes can be used to track allele frequency changes allochronically resulting from selection or synch- ronically through cohort studies in long-lived species. Third, phenotypic plasticity may be due in part to changes in gene expression, which are becoming easier to assess. Lastly, genomic tools to study epigenetic mechanisms such as DNA methylation are becoming more accessible for nonmodel organisms. However, as discussed above, we still lack material from good examples of evolutionary responses to climate change on which to conduct such studies. For plant studies, reciprocal transplant experi- ments with clonal material would be ideal for GWAS of climate-related traits, for tracking fitness in different envi- ronments over time, and for the study of relationships between epigenetic changes or changes in gene expression and phenotypic plasticity. Conclusions We can draw several conclusions about phenotypic and evolutionary responses to climate change in plant popula- tions. Although there are a modest number of studies to draw on, the number is growing quickly. Both plastic and evolutionary responses to climate change have been detected frequently, both can occur rapidly, and often both occur simultaneously. However, the extent of these responses may be overestimated, and the degree of response may not be sufficient to keep pace with current rates of climate change. There are relatively few studies that directly examine responses over time, that conclusively demonstrate adaptation or the causal climatic driver of the responses, or that quantitatively partition responses due to plasticity versus evolution. Additional studies designed to meet these objectives are needed to predict the response of plant populations to climate change. Despite these limita- tions, current evidence suggests that ongoing climate change is already having a substantial influence on the characteristics of terrestrial plant populations, and both plastic and evolutionary responses of these populations are being shaped by changes in climatic conditions. Just as investigating the historical occurrence and extent of local adaptation was a major scientific goal in the last and early part of this century, increasing our understanding of con- temporary plastic and evolutionary responses to climate change is now a central objective of evolutionary and eco- logical genetics. 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work_tkyned3porandbpk3yxknwkkgu	----	Consumption Markets & Culture Vol. 13, No. 3, September 2010, 235–258 ISSN 1025-3866 print/ISSN 1477-223X online © 2010 Taylor & Francis DOI: 10.1080/10253861003786975 http://www.informaworld.com 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 A brief history of frugality discourses in the United States Terrence H. Witkowski* Department of Marketing, California State University, Long Beach, California, USA Taylor and FrancisGCMC_A_479219.sgm10.1080/10253861003786975Consumption, Markets and Culture1025-3866 (print)/1477-223X (online)Original Article2010Taylor & Francis133000000September 2010TerrenceWitkowskiwitko@csulb.edu Public discourses advocating frugal consumption have had a long history in the United States. This study provides a brief account of six different periods of such anti-consumerist thought and rhetoric: colonial, antebellum, Gilded Age, early twentieth century, World War II, and late twentieth century. The final section uses history to better understand the religious, political, and societal tensions that have characterized American frugality discourses. Keywords: anti-consumption; frugality; thrift; US history In the Fall of 2002, a small group of concerned Christians calling itself “The Evangel- ical Environmental Network” launched a media campaign built around the headline “What Would Jesus Drive?” An advertisement published on their website and in Christianity Today juxtaposed an image of Jesus at prayer with a photo of freeway congestion (Figure 1). The copy attacked car pollution for the illness and death it causes – the elderly, poor, sick, and young being the most afflicted – and for its contribution to global warming. The appeal concluded as follows: Transportation is now a moral choice and an issue for Christian reflection. It’s about more than engineering – it’s about ethics. About obedience. About loving our neighbor. So what would Jesus drive? We call upon America’s automobile industry to manufacture more fuel-efficient vehicles. And we call upon Christians to drive them. Because it’s about more than vehicles – it’s about values. (WWJD 2009) This rhetoric did not explicitly accuse owners of gas-guzzlers of immorality, for not loving their neighbors as themselves; but the implication was not far below the surface. Figure 1. Print ad from “What Would Jesus Drive?” campaign.Source: WWJD 2009. Secular versions of this critique were also circulated (Armstrong and Welch 2003; Beam 2002; Huffington 2002). Trucks received the most opprobrium. The “Detroit Project” ran television ads that linked driving a sport utility vehicle with supporting terrorism (Detroit Project 2003) and the Sierra Club (2009) sponsored a website, hummerdinger.com, that parodied GM’s Hummer vehicles with corny humor such as “Enjoy technology that takes a step backwards!” and “Boy Scout buys hummer; earns Environmental Destruction badge.” Even the long-running cartoon strip, Doonesbury, added its opinion (see Figure 2). These campaigns received reasonably extensive news coverage, which soon generated heated reaction from SUV owners and conservative pundits (Kennedy 2003; McNamara 2003). A few years later, environmental activists scolded consumers for buying bottled water, and prompted initiatives in San Francisco *Email: witko@csulb.edu GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 235 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 236 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 Figure 1. Print ad from “What Would Jesus Drive?” campaign. Source: WWJD 2009. GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 236 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM Consumption Markets & Culture 237 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 and other cities banning the use of tax dollars to buy bottled water sold in plastic containers. The manufacture, distribution, and disposal of these very popular and conveniently packaged products was said to have serious environmental consequences compared with perfectly acceptable municipal water. Needless to say, the industry disputed these allegations (McGinn 2007). Figure 2. Gary Trudeau’s “Doonesbury,” 9 January 2004. These are just a few of many such episodes, stretching across three centuries of US history, where critics have preached the need for more frugal consumption. This tradi- tion is here termed a frugality discourse. Although their details vary, frugality discourses generally have advocated that consumers show more discipline and resourcefulness in their product and service acquisition, use, and reuse (Lastovicka et al. 1999). This rhetoric has called on Americans not to reject their material culture to the extent of self-inflicted deprivation, but to consume more carefully, thoughtfully, and with greater restraint. Clergy have delivered many frugality sermons using theo- logical arguments, but they have been joined by a long list of secular philosophers, writers, politicians, and even some commercial advertisers. All have chastised the wisdom and morality of excessive spending and consuming. Frugality discourses have been thus a regular counter-current against the rising tides level of American consum- erism. How the most consumer-oriented society in the world (Schor 2004) has long maintained an opposing intellectual tradition to its dominant consumerist mentality merits scrutiny. Frugality is part of a constellation of terms (e.g. boycotting, brand avoidance, consumer resistance, voluntary simplification) referring to anti-, reformist, or alterna- tive consumption patterns. Frugality thought has concentrated on different issues in different time periods. Concepts important in the early twenty-first century, such as minimizing carbon footprints and counting food miles, were unknown to previous generations. Finishing all the food on one’s plate may have been virtuous at one time, but seemed besides the point when obesity reached epidemic proportions in the United States. To complicate matters further, the often elitist rhetoric of some frugality discourses may not correspond to the meanings ordinary consumers assign to their purchasing behavior. In his ethnographic research in north London, Miller (1998) discovered that although shopping expeditions might begin with expenditure in mind, they often transform into efforts to save money, where traditional notions of restraint and sobriety are seen as more respectable than immediate gratification. And thrifty shopping itself may have hedonic value in the realization of consumer fantasies and the pursuit of the unexpected (Bardhi and Arnould 2005). Figure 2. Gary Trudeau’s “Doonesbury,” Los Angeles Times, 9 January 2004. GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 237 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 238 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 Frugality discourses embody a set of attitudes toward and ways of thinking about consumerism. Like other anti-consumption critiques, they show both continuity and change over time (Dröge et al. 1993; Schudson 1991). As a phenomenon, frugality discourses offer an important perspective on the development and character of anti- consumption thought and action within consumer cultures. Yet, surprisingly, with few exceptions (e.g. Lastovicka et al. 1999), “the consumer behavior literature is virtually silent on thrift and frugality” (Arnould 2003, 321). This paper explores frugality discourses through intellectual history, the study of the evolution of ideas within their larger societal contexts (Fullerton and Punj 2004). The primary aim is to organize what is known about frugality discourses into an informative, accessible chronological order useful as reference for anti-consumption researchers. A secondary goal is to use history to better understand the contested nature of frugality discourses. To achieve the first objective, American history is divided into six eras: colonial, antebellum, Gilded Age, early twentieth century, World War II, and late twentieth century. This periodization scheme was devised primarily for narrative convenience, like dividing a story into chapters, but also for historical reasons. For example, World War II is shorter in years than the other eras discussed, but is treated separately because it embodied an important event (WWII), a major theme (the consumer home- front), and significant turning points (1941 and 1945). All of these are accepted criteria for periodization (Hollander et al. 2005). To attain the second objective, religious, political, and social tensions in American frugality thought are analyzed from an historical perspective. Given the two objectives, the research and writing have been based largely on a review of the secondary literature. However, some primary evidence – sources created during the different eras under consideration (Witkowski and Jones 2006) – has also been consulted. Examples include period books and journals, decorating and homemaking manuals, government posters, magazine advertisements, greeting cards, and oil paintings. Anti-consumption researchers should be cognizant of when, how often, and in what ways the various issues they study have been expressed over time. Historical precedents, accepted social customs, and well-established norms are all factors that influence both consumerism as well as the myriad forms of anti-consumption behavior it has spawned. Intellectual debates over consumption also have an historical dimen- sion. Widespread skepticism over food security and the consequences of genetic modifications, for example, is part of a long tradition of gloom dating to the dire prognostications Thomas Malthus presented in 1798 in An Essay on the Principle of Populations (Belasco 2006). Moreover, ignorance of anti-consumption history risks being more than just a lost analytical opportunity. Historical amnesia may conceivably lead to serious factual errors when, for example, naïve scholars believe their topic to be something new, perhaps an emerging trend or movement, when in reality it is just one further chapter in a long-running story (Wooliscroft 2008). Frugality discourses in the colonial and early federal eras For many decades after the first English settlements of the early seventeenth century, frugal consumption was a necessity. Europeans and Africans crossed the Atlantic with few possessions and, in this pre-industrial age, it took them years to accumulate a store of material goods that could be passed on to the next generation. Settlers on the fron- tier needed to grow most of their own food, make most of their own clothing, and build their own houses and furniture. Tools and other useful objects had to be repaired GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 238 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM Consumption Markets & Culture 239 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 and re-used as long as possible. Even the wealthier merchants in the north, and planters in the south, maintained a rather plain style of living well into the 1700s (Witkowski 1989). Frugality was also a moral virtue, and to some a religious injunction. Between 1732 and 1757, Benjamin Franklin repeatedly published sayings, such as “Be indus- trious and frugal, and you will be rich” or “Beware of little expenses; a small leak will sink a great ship,” in his financially successful Poor Richard’s Almanack. Drawing from a Western Judeo-Christian tradition skeptical of excess in acquisition, Puritans and Quakers favored productive work for the benefit of society and frowned upon consuming more than necessity required (Shi 1985). But whereas the Quaker critique was utilitarian and not an attack on consumption per se, Puritans were driven by spiritual principle that the love of consuming was an evil (Dröge et al. 1993; Schudson 1991). Puritan doctrine stressed that: A man was but the steward of the possessions he accumulated. If he indulged himself in luxurious living, he would have that much less with which to support church and society. If he needlessly consumed his substance, either from carelessness or from sensuality, he failed to honor the God who furnished him with it. (Morgan 1967, 5) To forestall impious materialism, the Massachusetts and Pennsylvania colonies enacted sumptuary laws in the seventeenth century (Hollander 1984), and New England ministers preached jeremiads against worldliness well into the eighteenth century. The Great Awakening, a widespread religious revival of the 1730s, stressed the virtues of simple living, and a generation later, “Americans of the Revolutionary period in every colony and state paid tribute to the Puritan Ethic and repeated its injunctions” (Morgan 1967, 7). About 1750, a much different set of consumption values began to emerge. These were the motives of incipient consumerism, where wants continually expand and shopping in stores and buying on credit becomes more common (Slater 1997; Stearns 2001). Surviving material artefacts and written records document this change. Colo- nists began building larger and more stylish houses, using better-quality eating uten- sils, improving their manners, and, in general, becoming more refined (Breen 2004; Bushman 1992). Imports of luxury goods from the mother country increased and some colonists began to amass large debts with British middlemen (Henretta 1973). The upper classes were among the first to adopt these newer values and behaviors; but, as documented in surviving probate records (Carr and Walsh 1980), even people of more middling circumstances began to acquire small luxuries such as silver spoons. Breen (2004) contends the desire to obtain imported British goods promoted an “industrious revolution” where entire families labored to obtain additional disposable income, in effect, trading leisure time for material things. Thus, the second half of the eighteenth century marks the birth of true consumerist desire in America. American consumption became politicized in the decade before the Revolutionary War. Three times in the 1760s and 1770s, colonists organized mass boycotts of British goods in order to force Parliament to rescind objectionable taxes. Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and many other patriots urged their fellows to forego imported “super- fluities” and, instead, to be thrifty and to produce their own goods. Such views were aired at town meetings and widely disseminated via letters reprinted in colonial news- papers. This “nonimportation movement” was successful in that the many onerous taxes, such as the Stamp Act and most of the Townshend Duties, were repealed; but it took six years of fighting to finally settle the political dispute with Great Britain. In GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 239 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 240 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 effect, the American Revolution was abetted by a consumer movement stressing frugal consumption and home production (Breen 1988, 2004; Witkowski 1989). After the Revolution, support for frugality remained a strong force in American culture and politics. John Adams believed that government, in conjunction with the family, schools, community, and religion, could counterbalance excessive material- ism, whereas his great colleague, friend, and political rival, Thomas Jefferson, encour- aged for others – Jefferson himself loved his luxuries – a modest, agrarian lifestyle (Shi 1985). Both were dismayed by former patriots who discarded “republican simplicity” in favor of renewed acquisitiveness and indebtedness to foreign merchants. Consumerism was wrong when it substituted for productive work and distracted citizens from their civic duties (Dröge et al. 1993; Schudson 1991). Additional evidence from the period suggests a gendered tension between frugality and consumerism. A letter from 1787, published in a Philadelphia magazine called American Museum, described how female influence could override a farmer’s better judgment: When his second daughter prepared her trousseau, his wife insisted that the girl be furnished with store-bought goods – a calico gown, stoneware tea cups, pewter spoons, and so forth. Although the farmer protested that homespun was good enough, he gave his wife the money. Upon the marriage of the next daughter, his wife again demanded money and this time she bought silk and china. From that point on, no money could be saved because all of the profits went for market luxuries. (cited in Shammas 1982, 248) Intended as both social and gender criticism, this letter suggests that some women placed a higher priority on household luxuries than did their menfolk, and were earlier adopters of the more prestigious, store-bought items. They were, in other words, developing a propensity to consume characteristic of modern consumerist culture (Slater 1997; Witkowski 1999). Chastising women for frivolous spending continued to be a standard part of the critical repertoire until the late twentieth century (Stearns 2001). Antebellum frugality discourses By the middle of the nineteenth century, the US economy had grown considerably larger than in the Revolutionary period and was quite literally gathering steam for even faster growth in the future. Material conditions had improved for many, but far from all, Americans. Great fortunes had been made across the new nation and some centers, above all New York City, became sites for the most fashionable consumption (Milbank 2000; Peck 2000). Middle-class women were becoming increasingly active as their households’ purchasing agents and mavens of domesticity (Witkowski 1999, 2004). Although distribution was spotty and advertising remained primitive, a few bold retailers, like New York’s A.T. Stewart, were experimenting with more opulent and larger-scale merchandising formats that would soon evolve into full-fledged department stores (Benson 1986; Resseguie 1964). Frugality sermons of the antebellum period took several forms. Those preached in the 1820s and 1830s by the revivalist, Lyman Beecher, advocated a conservative, moralistic “Christian simplicity,” a throwback to the Puritan era. Reverend Beecher worried about materialism undermining the established social order (Shi 1985), whereas other ministers simply repeated the old accusation that “the parade of luxury” undermined the “more durable riches than those this world can offer” (Stearns 2001, GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 240 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM Consumption Markets & Culture 241 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 52). Harris (1981) contends that during this mid-century period, criticism of consumerism began shifting from a moralistic disapproval of the upper classes buying luxuries to a concern about working class consumers unable to restrain themselves from purchasing the increasingly alluring array of goods presented in stores. Different voices stressed a frugal domesticity. In his essays, books, and architec- ture, Andrew Jackson Downing (1842, 1850) advocated utilitarian cottages and farm- houses for the people and unostentatious, moderate homes for country gentlemen. Magazines, such as Godey’s Lady’s Book (founded in 1837), instructed middle-class women on how to tastefully furnish and manage their houses (Shi 1985). First published in 1828, and with 12 editions by 1833, Lydia Marie Child’s popular manual for homemakers, The American Frugal Housewife, was “dedicated to those who are not ashamed of economy” (Child 1833). Along with her advice for frugally perform- ing the various domestic arts, Mrs. Child railed against consumerism: There is one kind of extravagance rapidly increasing in this country, which, in its effects on our purses and our habits, is one of the worst kinds of extravagance; I mean the rage for traveling, and for public amusements. The good old home habits of our ancestors are breaking up – it will be well if our virtue and our freedom do not follow them! … A republic without industry, economy, and integrity, is Samson shorn of his locks. A luxurious and idle republic! Look at the phrase! – The words were never made to be married together; every body sees that it would be death to one of them. (Child 1833, 99) Similar sentiments were echoed in A Treatise on Domestic Economy (1841) and The Domestic Receipt Book (1846) written by Catharine Beecher, the daughter of Lyman Beecher. Perhaps the most interesting ideas came from the philosophers, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, who endorsed in their lectures and writings a more spontaneous, liberating, and romantic “transcendental simplicity” (Shi 1985). Emerson, who himself lived comfortably and genteelly, saw frugality as a means to a higher end: “Economy is a high, humane office, a sacrament, when its aim is grand; when it is the prudence of simple tastes, when it is practiced for freedom, or love, or devotion” (cited in Shi 1985, 133). Thoreau’s sojourn at Walden Pond in 1845–1847 taught him to value self-sufficiency in raising food, making clothes, and building shel- ter and furniture. High thinking was preferable to high living: “Most of the luxuries, and many of the so called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind. With respect to luxuries and comforts, the wisest have ever lived a more simple and meager life than the poor” (Thoreau 1971, 14). The audience for this supposedly uplifting philosophy may have been limited. Thoreau was not an especially frequent or popular public lecturer, and it took eight years to sell the 2000 copies of Walden’s first printing in 1854. Mid-century genre artists, who depicted the nation’s ordinary people and the vicissitudes of their everyday lives, also began commenting on the morality of buying (Witkowski 1996). This theme was explored in several paintings by Francis W. Edmonds (1806–1863), a New York banker by profession, who was also a talented artist influenced by early Dutch genre scenes (Clark 1988). The New Bonnet (1858), perhaps his most visually striking work, tells the story of a young woman raptly admiring her just delivered acquisition, while her parents, when presented the bill of sale, give a horrified reaction to their daughter’s “extravagance” (Figure 3). The relatively simple dwelling and plain dress of the older couple – not to mention the presence of a forlorn little delivery girl in the doorway – are contrasted with their GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 241 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 242 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 daughter’s more stylish appearance and buyer’s rapture. Here, frugality with things is delicately positioned as a moral opposite to consumerism. Edmond’s painting echoed long-standing concerns about unbridled female purchasing, but clearly shows some admiration for the fashionable object in hand. The work does not appear judg- mental and seems to ask viewers to draw their own conclusions about consumerism. What Edmond’s powerful visual image does accomplish, however, is to place consumerism within the confines of private, bourgeois domesticity (Slater 1997; Witkowski 2004). Figure 3. Antebellum frugality: The New Bonnet (1858). Painted by Frances W. Edmonds (1806–1863), oil on canvas, Metropolitan Museum of Art. Frugality discourses in the Gilded Age After the Civil War, the nation’s predominantly agrarian economy and rural society was transformed greatly through industrialization and urbanization. Living standards improved as incomes grew and the world of goods expanded through product innova- tion, mass production, and new forms of distribution such as department and chain stores and direct mail (Boorstin 1973; Leach 1984). Advertising of the time embodied a happy optimism and flamboyance (Laird 1998; Lears 1996) and promotional schemes became increasingly aggressive. In the 1870s, chain stores like the Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company began giving away premiums such as ceramics, Figure 3. Antebellum frugality: The New Bonnet (1858). Painted by Frances W. Edmonds (1806–1863), oil on canvas, Metropolitan Museum of Art. GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 242 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM Consumption Markets & Culture 243 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 glassware, cutlery, and kitchen gadgets (Blaszczak 2000). In the latter part of the nineteenth century, retailers defined shopping as a feminine activity and transformed crockery emporiums, tea stores, and five-and-tens into appropriate public spaces for women and girls. Department stores, in particular, were deliberately feminized for the enjoyment of women shoppers (Benson 1986) and, by the 1890s, relatively few men frequented them. F.W. Woolworth urged its suppliers to create goods with “lady lure” (Blaszczak 2000). Thus, the marketing infrastructure necessary for a modern consumer culture became increasingly manifest. The 1873 social satire, The Gilded Age, written by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner, gave this era its lasting soubriquet. Like Shakespeare’s King John, who is advised “To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,/ … Is wasteful and ridicu- lous excess,” the extravagance of the very wealthy and powerful was the signal issue (Cashman 1993). Although the buyer behavior of the middle and lower classes came under scrutiny (Horowitz 1985), leading intellectuals, such as William Dean Howells, editor of the Atlantic Monthly, E.L. Godkin, editor of The Nation, Charles Eliot Norton, editor of the North American Review, and the philosopher William James, voiced much more disgust with the crass materialism of the newly rich (Shi 1985). American plutocracy’s greatest critic, however, was Thorstein Veblen. In his Theory of the Leisure Class, Veblen (1899) wrote a scholarly, but highly influential, frugality sermon that combined wry social criticism with new insights from economics and cultural anthropology. His theory contended that consumption became grossly conspicuous in order to create invidious distinctions and to mark status. Veblen also explained how women had been transformed historically from domestic laborers to household consumers. Those men who could afford the show paraded their finely attired females in public as gaudy signs of their commercial or professional success. The more visible idleness these wives and daughters enjoyed, the greater their symbolic value. The image of well-dressed women at leisure appeared in a number of works by American painters around the turn of the century. This social pose irritated Veblen, who had a high regard for productive work. As in the antebellum period, Gilded Age writers published best-selling manuals for achieving a “simplified life.” In The Decoration of Houses, Edith Wharton and Ogden Codman, Jr. (1897) argued for a simple aesthetic and less cluttered domestic spaces. As her later novels would testify, Wharton (who came from old money) was a keen observer of the social ambitions of parvenus. The English translation (from French) of Charles Wagner’s The Simple Life (1904) made the author a celebrity in America. He reprimanded readers for their ostentation, modernity, and abandonment of family tradition. He believed in neither an atavistic renunciation of worldly goods nor in a socialistic redistribution of wealth, but rather that people in all stations needed to make an individual and personal commitment to their authentic and spiritual selves. Wagner’s ideas were popularized by the Ladies Home Journal and found a particu- larly receptive audience among “middle-class urban Americans of liberal evangelical background. Many of these people, who felt morally uncertain or guilty about their increased wealth and comfort, found simple-life philosophy appealing” (Leach 1994, 203). Ironically, Philadelphia’s John Wanamaker, one of America’s richest men and a major financial backer of mainstream, Protestant institutions, became a disciple of Wagner and preached simplicity while at the same time turning luxuries into commod- ities and necessities for sale in his ornate department stores (Leach 1994; Vanderbilt 1996). GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 243 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 244 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 Early twentieth-century frugality discourses It may not be an exaggeration to say that at least some public discussion of frugality was always taking place in the United States (Dröge et al. 1993; Schudson 1991), but certain events gave moralists new opportunities to express their concerns. World War I appears to have been such a catalyst. In 1916 and 1917, Stuart Chase published arti- cles in Good Housekeeping and the Independent showing how his personal household budget had been adversely impacted by inflation. When America entered the War in April, 1917, Chase became convinced that reducing luxuries was “not only a personal necessity but a patriotic duty to eliminate waste and extravagance” (cited in Horowitz 1985, 112). Chase went on to write The Tragedy of Waste (1925) and, with F. J. Schlink, Your Money’s Worth (1927). Chase and Schlink also founded the advocacy group, Consumer’s Research in 1929, which was the precursor organization to Consumer’s Union and its publication, Consumer’s Report. A new National Thrift Movement also emerged and remained active for many years (Blankenhorn 2006). It leaders wrote popular books and magazine articles, gave talks to civic and youth groups, and formed local Thrift Committees across the coun- try. The movement published National Thrift News, sponsored a national thrift week, and organized public service ad campaigns. The American Federation of Labor passed a resolution at its 1919 convention in support of the Thrift Movement (Wolfe 1920). In January, 1920, the entire contents of the Annals of the American Academy of Polit- ical and Social Sciences were devoted to “the new American thrift.” In his article, “The Relation of Thrift to Nation Building,” T.N. Carver of Harvard University concluded “Remember that thrift consists in buying, but in buying wisely. Urge every one, if you please, to buy and buy now, but URGE HIM TO BUY THINGS THAT WILL GIVE HIM MORE BUYING POWER NEXT YEAR AND EVERY YEAR” (Carver 1920, 8). Like other American frugality discourses, this one did not reject consumption, but instead instructed on what Blakey (1920) termed the “proper use” of goods. The Great Depression presented a serious challenge to the consumption patterns and mindset established during the booming economy and exuberant popular culture of the 1920s and previous decades (Ewen 1976; Marchand 1985). With wages down and unemployment rates averaging 17.9% between 1930 and 1940, many people were forced to greatly lower their material expectations and to scrimp wherever they could (Hill, Hirschman, and Bauman 1997). Although the 1930s saw increases in the percentage of US households with inside flush toilets and electric lighting and appli- ances, many families still lacked a modern consumer infrastructure. Thirty-three percent of all Americans had no running water in 1940, 67 percent had no central heat, 47 percent had no built-in bathing apparatus in their homes, 48 percent had no interior access to automatic or other washing machines, 48 percent had no refrigera- tor, and 33 percent cooked with wood or coal. (Green 1992, 7–8) In 1942, 58% of all US families owned at least one automobile (55% urban vs 69% farm), a percentage about the same as in 1930 (60%) and more than double the 1920 figure (26%) (Lebergott 1993). The 1930s did see continual development of mass audiences for radio, the movies, and professional sports whose stars were lionized by the mass media (Green 1992). Poor economic conditions engendered a new sentiment that condemned 1920s greed and ostentation, excessive consumer credit, waste in manufacturing, and, for GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 244 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM Consumption Markets & Culture 245 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 good measure, alleged immorality in the movies (Cross 2000). Unlike previous discourses on frugality, which tended to be disseminated by elite thinkers, this one had a more populist flavor. The Marx Brothers and Three Stooges, among other comedi- ans, loved to twit the pompous rich in their movies, while Walt Disney’s “The Grasshopper and the Ants” cartoon (1934) promoted an ethic of controlled consump- tion (Lears 1996, 237). A short-lived magazine out of New York, The Ballyhoo, skew- ered advertising and high-pressure salesmanship. In the early 1930s, with a circulation over 1.5 million, it published ad parodies (e.g., “Scramel Cigarettes”), created fake products (e.g., “Lady Pipperel Bedsheet De Luxe”), and encouraged readers to “Become a Toucher Upper!” and go out with paint to mess up outdoor posters (Klein 1999; Rorty 1934). Documentary photographers like Walker Evans, Dorothea Lange, and Margaret Bourke-White created images that contrasted boastful ad slogans (“There’s No Way Like the American Way” or “World’s Highest Standard of Living”) with the surrounding landscape of breadlines and tenements (Klein 1999). Some 1930s advertising began to echo and play upon public concerns about economizing, job security, and day-to-day survival. More and more ads emphasized price and mentioned the competition. Clenched faces and clenched fists, a visual cliché of many advertising tableaux, mirrored consumer anxieties as well as a mythic determination to somehow prevail over adversity (Marchand 1985). The advertising industry discussed the threat posed by frugality in its trade publi- cations, where writers complained about hoarders, a “buyer’s strike,” and “consumer constipation.” The gloomiest prophets worried about an impending collapse in the consumption ethic: Columbia professor Walter B. Pitkin warned in 1933 and 1934 of a potential “return to the primitive, a back-to-the-soil type of living” that would disdain progress and “the finer things.” “Millions of rising consumers” might well relinquish “what we now consider the American standard of living,” he declared. […] Hart, Schaffner and Marx tried to re-stimulate the buying instincts of men who were becoming accustomed to “skimping” on themselves, and American Telephone and Telegraph worried that people who gave up on their phones during the depression years might lose the “telephone habit.” Not only had it become the fashion to be thrifty, complained advertising writer, Roberts Updegraff, but people were beginning to get “vain, virtuous, and vulgar about it in public.” Advertising was going to have to work hard to combat this “degenerate type of social prestige,” warned Professor Pitkin. (Marchand 1985, 300–1) And it did. In the 1930s, contests attractive to the wishful thinking of struggling consumers appeared more frequently in magazine advertising than in any other decade between 1900 and 1980 (Pollay 1985). On the burgeoning new medium of radio, inventive product premium schemes were woven into soap opera plots (Lavin 1995). Cross (2000) believes these fears of consumerism’s collapse were overblown. Yes, lack of income frustrated many buying plans, but people still clung to their old habits and dreams as long as they could. Movie goers flocked to see the opulent movie musicals of Busby Berkeley and others, and many films of the era seemed fixated on the lifestyles of the very rich. World War II frugality on the consumer home front By 1941, better business conditions, helped by increases in military spending, were once again creating a buoyant economy that finally put money in consumers’ pockets. The problem was how to spend it. After Pearl Harbor, the war effort necessitated a GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 245 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 246 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 redirection of raw materials and production, which quickly led to shortages of a number of consumer goods (appliances, automobiles and tires, gasoline, some foods) and services (housing, medical). In order to mobilize the home front, the US govern- ment launched publicity campaigns that advocated being thrifty with goods and services, conserving gasoline and tires, recycling scrap metals and other materials, growing and storing food at home, obeying price and ration controls, and buying war bonds (see Figure 4). The Office of War Information coordinated the efforts of several federal agencies and conveyed these messages through the press, posters, radio, and motion pictures. Schools, libraries, companies, and volunteer groups helped this effort by disseminating posters and other messages (Witkowski 2003). Thus, frugality received official sanction during World War II. Figure 4. World War II frugality posters, 1943 (top) and 1942 (bottom); US Office of Price Administration. Commercial advertising also contained frugality appeals. Both Texaco and the American Gas Association encouraged energy-saving behaviors, while the Bell Tele- phone System urged its customers: “Please do not make Long Distance telephone calls to war-busy centers unless it is really necessary” (Life 1943a). Yet, some ads were more self-serving – Lane, a maker of cedar chests, declared: “SAVE woolens in a Lane” (Life 1943b) – and many admen were none too keen on helping the Roosevelt Administration (Fox 1984). However, threats from Congress to ban advertising for the duration frightened the industry into forming a War Advertising Council in 1942 – composed of representatives from ad agencies, the media, and business – to coordinate public service campaigns for the War effort and improve public relations with the home front (Fox 1975). Newspapers and magazines published numerous articles on frugal consumption, and private companies printed booklets on home canning and better meal planning (Ward 1994, 184–5). Scriptwriters included conservation and other war themes in popular radio comedies such as Fibber McGee and Molly (Nelson 1991). In conjunction with the waste fats salvage campaign, Walt Disney made his third wartime film, “Out of the Frying Pan into the Firing Line,” for the Conservation Division of the War Production Board (Ward 1994, 174). In the 1943 RKO movie Tender Comrade, star Ginger Rogers lambasted a woman who bragged about her hoarding skills and joined other women in denouncing a black market butcher in their neighborhood (Fyne 1994). A World War II-era birthday card owned by the author refers to food rationing and shortages. Above a cartoon drawing of a white- haired man seated at a table set with just a few items of food on his plate, the copy reads: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY We may be eatin’ less these days…” This good- natured acceptance of small deprivations is consistent with the upbeat tone of most other wartime frugality campaigns (Witkowski 2003) and with consumer recollec- tions of the period (Witkowski and Hogan 1999). Perhaps never before, and certainly never since, were frugality appeals disseminated so widely in American society by so many and with such visual imagination and intensity. Consumer response was impressive: Americans recycled 538 million pounds of waste fats, 23 million tons of paper, and 800 million pounds of tin, while planting 50 million victory gardens (Fox 1975, 54). Late twentieth-century frugality discourses A deep reservoir of demand burst open after the war and – encouraged by generous credit terms and an added promotional boost from the new medium of television – firmly established once and for all a great American propensity for buying and GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 246 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM Consumption Markets & Culture 247 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 Figure 4. World War II frugality posters, 1943 (top) and 1942 (bottom); US Office of Price Administration. GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 247 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 248 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 having things. Business, labor, and government agreed that future prosperity depended upon unrelenting mass consumption. In effect, purchasing was trans- formed into a civic responsibility: good consumers became good citizens (Cohen 2003). Large numbers of Americans dropped the ethos of frugality and re-embraced what Cross (2000), Ewen (1976), Twitchell (1999), and many other observers have contended is the deepest and most durable ideology of twentieth-century America: consumerism. The material well-being of American consumers was not something to be taken lightly, as post-war politicians have generally recognized. During the Vietnam War, the public was not asked to sacrifice financially because President Johnson believed the nation could simultaneously afford to fight communism in Southeast Asia and build a “Great Society” at home. At the beginning of the War on Terror- ism in the Fall of 2001, the Bush administration actually asked people to continue spending as usual in order to help revive a sluggish economy. President Carter’s earnest, cardigan-clad appeals for plain living, energy conservation, and lowered expectations did not help him much at the ballot box in 1980. Voters had had enough with oil shortages and stagflation and, instead, opted for Ronald Reagan’s politics of early-morning optimism. In the 1980s, and again after 2001, economic growth would be fueled by lower taxes, private spending, and record federal budget deficits. Frugal consumption in practice was somewhat difficult to find outside the working poor and poverty stricken. Americans were smitten by suburbia and mass market luxuries, a consumption style and attitude that Thomas Hine (1986) has dubbed “Populuxe.” Nevertheless, writers of the 1950s identified and criticized the excesses of post-war consumer culture. In The Affluent Society, for example, John Kenneth Galbraith (1958) complained about the manipulation of demand by business, and the over-emphasis on private consumption to the detriment of the quality of public services. In The Waste Makers, a popular muckraking journalist, Vance Packard (1960), took on seductive packaging, planned obsolescence, and the throwaway psychology of the masses. Frugality did become part of the lifestyle of some “beat” poets and artists in the 1950s (Shi 1985). Later, hippies and other highly committed adopters of the late 1960s counterculture practised alternatives to consumerism via experiments in communal living and through studied rejection of their parents’ suburban values (Reich 1970; Roszak 1969). The first Earth Day, celebrated on 21 March 1970, marked the emergence of an environmental movement in the United States that reasserted the need for a frugality ethos in order to protect the planet from pollution and other afflictions (Fritsch 1974). Since then, numerous private sector companies and non-profit organizations, like the National Recycling Coalition founded in 1978, have taken initiatives to promote recy- cling, energy reduction, and solid waste management, while state governments and public utilities have often been leaders in promoting the conservation of resources such as water and electricity. The purely environmental concerns of the early 1970s were soon joined by worries about over-dependence on foreign oil, a point brought home to American drivers by the Arab oil embargo of 1973–74 and by the Iranian revolution of 1979. In 1975, Congress enacted CAFE (Corporate Average Fuel Econ- omy) standards to boost national fuel efficiency. CAFE regulations have been highly controversial and were not seriously overhauled by Congress until December, 2007. Controlling demand through higher federal gasoline taxes has found virtually no political support in Washington. GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 248 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM Consumption Markets & Culture 249 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 During the 1990s, the “voluntary simplicity movement” became a widely dissem- inated frugality critique. Numerous newspaper and magazine articles, book-length anti-consumption guides, and a modest selection of scholarly analyses instructed readers about the meaning and practice of varying degrees of voluntary simplicity (see, e.g., Dominguez and Robin 1992; Elgin 1993; St. James 1996; Schor 1998). Anti-consumption activists held national conferences (Maniates 2002) and formed networks of local consciousness-raising groups, called “simplicity circles” (Andrews 1997; Thompson 1998). Estimates of the number of converts have varied, but the US total is probably in the millions. Simplifiers have tended to be in the middle quintile in terms of household income, and are much more educated than the average American (Maniates 2002). Unlike the working poor, who are saddled with involun- tary simplicity, simplifiers have had enough control over their economic lives to rearrange work schedules or, if need be, change jobs. For many of its proponents, voluntary simplicity has had as much to do with the time pressures and pace of life dictated by a highly competitive and marketized economy as it has with over- consumption of material things. Etzioni (1998) distinguishes between “downshifters,” who give up some consumer goods, such as new cars, but otherwise maintain a consumerist lifestyle; “strong simplifiers,” who give up significant income and, hence, some goods and services for discretionary time and leisure; and “the simple living movement,” people who adjust entire life patterns motivated by a coherently articulated philosophy. Shaw and Newholm (2002) refer to this last group as “ethical consumers” because their buyer behaviors and lifestyles are shaped by moral concerns about the environment, fair trade practices, and/or animal rights. Lastovicka (1999) and his colleagues find the frugal empirically “less susceptible to interpersonal influence, less materialistic, less compulsive in buying, and more price and value conscious” (96). Interestingly, their frugality scale was not related to their measure of ecocentricity. Since its founding in 1991 by the Media Foundation, Adbusters has actively espoused a humorously dissident ideology of frugality. Based in Vancouver, but with about two-thirds of its readers in the United States, this quarterly magazine, along with companion books, videos and a website, facilitate grassroots activities that resist the hegemony of the dominant consumerist system (Bordwell 2002; Lasn 1999; Rumbo 2002). For example, “culture jamming” creates “counter-messages that hack into a corporation’s own method of communication to send a message starkly at odds with the one that was intended” (Klein 1999, 281). Parodies of Joe Camel (a sickly “Joe Chemo”) and Absolut Vodka (a limp bottle of “Absolut Impotence”) provide a critical “perspective by incongruity” (Bordwell 2002, 247). Adbusters has tried to place (usually without success, save for a few spots on CNN) “uncommercials” or “subver- tisements” with anti-consumption messages on network television. It has also promoted an annual “TV Turnoff Week,” “World Car-Free Day,” and a “Buy Nothing Day” on the Friday after Thanksgiving, the busiest shopping day of the year in the United States (Figure 5). Adbusters has encouraged company and industry boycotts and, in the tradition of The Ballyhoo magazine in the early 1930s, has discussed guerilla tactics like defacing outdoor advertising, now known as “billboard liberation.” Figure 5. Adbusters campaign material.Source: www.adbusters.org. In a similarly subversive vein, the 2007 film, What Would Jesus Buy?, addresses tensions between Christmas as a religious holiday and Christmas as a commercial proposition. It is a documentary of the 2005 cross-country trek of the “Reverend Billy” (a character created by actor Bill Talen) and “The Church of Stop Shopping” gospel choir as these musicians and performance artists stage agitprop events at the GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 249 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 250 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 Mall of America, Wal-Mart headquarters, Disneyland, and other retail venues. This troupe thus exploits long-standing religious social types – the loquacious, big-haired preacher and rocking, gospel singers – to ridicule excessive consumption, a harbinger of the “shopocalypse.” Figure 5. Adbusters campaign material. Source: www.adbusters.org. GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 250 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM Consumption Markets & Culture 251 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 Less strident frugality appeals have appeared in more mainstream media. The PBS program, “Affluenza,” and its sequel “Escape from Affluenza,” diagnosed an “epidemic of over-consumption” and provided viewers with teaching and program guides for changing consumer behavior (Affluenza 1998). Bill Maher (2002), a humorist and television host, wrote When you Ride ALONE you Ride with Bin Laden, a book that reworked the visual style of World War II posters in order to question American consumption habits in the aftermath of 9/11. Yet, frugality has also been co- opted and commoditized. Books on voluntary simplicity apparently have succeeded commercially. Two glossy, advertising-intensive magazines launched in 2000, Simplicity and Real Simple, fostered a postmodern kind of branded simplicity where frugality becomes actualized through consumerism (Maniates 2002). Frugality meta- morphosed into hyperreal farce in late 2003 when the Fox TV “reality” show, The Simple Life, garnered high ratings by staging the travails of heiress Paris Hilton and her sidekick Nicole Richie, two shallow, pampered consumers, who had been assigned to live and work with an Altus, Arkansas farm family. A confrontation between state-of-the-art indulgence and more traditional virtues became a platform for mass entertainment sponsored by consumer products companies. Historical tensions in frugality discourses today Historical analysis can provide insights into contemporary frugality discourses. Here, we examine three contested areas in today’s frugality discourses – religion, politics, and society – in terms of their historical antecedents and long-standing tensions. Religious tensions From the seventeenth-century proponents of the Puritan and Quaker ethics to the twenty-first-century Evangelical Environmental Network, frugality discourses have had religious and morally prescriptive dimensions, where caution with material things honored God and preserved His creation. Yet, the stern vision of these jeremiads has seldom been a serious competitor to the simple pleasures of consumption. Worldly delights attracted the devotion of ordinary Americans far more than did religious asceticism. Even in colonial times, ministers may have played an ineffective role in combating the relatively low-level consumerism of the day. Droll stories were told about one itinerant preacher, the Reverend James Davenport, who in 1743 convinced true believers in New London to consign their British fineries and “Gay Cloaths” to a large bonfire of vanities. At the very last moment before the fire was lit, the semi-nude sinners had second thoughts about this path to salvation and rescued their offending garments (Breen 2004). For over 200 years, the majority of American faithful have seemed quite content to let their consumerist and religious lives coexist peacefully. By the twentieth century, the strong tradition of social criticism among Protestants had greatly dimin- ished, while Catholics and Jews focused more on assimilation than on their prophetic traditions (Leach 1994). Lears (1996, 47) maintains that the Protestant ethic of self- control could often give way to a more emotional religiosity that paved the way for an eroticization of goods. Although religious rituals (fasting, observing a Sabbath) have sometimes dictated short-term consumption sacrifices, few faiths have made such practices a total lifestyle choice like the Amish or Hare Krishnas. Maniates (2002) argues that homilies on the immorality of consumption “too often overemphasize GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 251 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 252 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 individual culpability for materialism at the cost of frank talk about the political and economic structures that manufacture desire and lock us into pattern of overconsump- tion” (209). Indeed, religion, consumption, and commerce have had a long acquaintance in the United States (Lears 1996). Because of religious fragmentation and separation from state support, churches have had to compete for parishioners and their financial back- ing. Thus, various denominations have often been marketed as vigorously and as skill- fully as any other product or service. Bruce Barton, co-founder of the BBDO advertising agency and an enthusiastic Christian, portrayed Jesus as a consummate salesman in The Man Nobody Knows: A Discovery of the Real Jesus (1926). Barton imagined Jesus in the modern world: “Jesus would be a national advertiser today. I am sure, as he was the great advertiser of his own day” (Barton 1926, 140). Twitchell (1999) observes that Barton’s religion and American advertising have the same allure. Salvation can be had through faith in the grace of God and faith in the efficacy of consumer goods, thus “melding therapeutic religiosity with an ideology of consump- tion” (Lears 1983, 31). Numerous US Protestant congregations subscribe to a theology wherein material success is something granted by God. Based in Pentecostalism, but increasingly main- line, this “prosperity gospel” has been very attractive to the lower middle classes, particularly in the rural South (Lobdell 2004a, 2004b). As Pastor Paul Crouch of the highly successful Trinity Broadcasting Network has pronounced: “When you give to God, you’re simply loaning to the Lord and He gives it right on back” (Lobdell 2004a, A36). According to a 2006 representative sample of self-reported adult Christians, 61% agreed that “God wants people to be financially prosperous” (Van Biema and Chu 2006). Moreover, religious organizations often raise funds by serving the consumerist urges of their flocks. For example, the Trinity Broadcasting Network has a “Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh Web Store” featuring thousands of different religiously-themed items (TBN 2009). Independent sellers promote everything from baseball caps to flip-flops to golf balls imprinted with Christian icons and texts. A 2006 trade show in Denver had 400 vendors, and the retail Christian market was estimated to total $4.3 billion in 2004 (Simon 2006). Linking Jesus to resource conservation may have limited resonance because so many fundamentalist Christians, the so-called “Religious Right,” have been loyal foot soldiers in a Republican Party largely indifferent to environmental issues. However, fundamentalists should not be confused with evangelical Christians, who are a more diverse group. Moderate or “freestyle” evangelicals are socially more liberal and politically in play (Waldman 2003), while a number of prominent theologians and outspoken megachurch pastors, such as Rick Warren, the author of the best-selling book, The Purpose Driven Life (2002) find the prosperity gospel laughable and potentially heretical (Van Biema and Chu 2006). Perhaps the WWJD campaign and similarly themed messages will appeal to these groups as well as to socially attuned Protestants, Catholics, Jews, Muslims, and others. The world’s major religions, as reflected in their texts and teachings, have a shared and ancient tradition of comment- ing on materialism and urging restraint in consumption (UNDP 1998). Political tensions Frugality has been used as a battle flag for political partisans. During late colonial times, if one word could represent the ideology of non-importation, “virtue” would GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 252 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM Consumption Markets & Culture 253 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 come closest. A person showed virtue by exercising self-restraint in the consumer marketplace. This was a secular characteristic that anyone – man or woman, city- dweller or farmer, richer or poorer – could possess. As long as someone was capable of purchasing British goods, then that person could demonstrate consumer virtue by giving them up. A patriotic style of dress, plain and homespun, became the most obvi- ous measure of consumer virtue and ideological commitment. Politicized fashion also had implications for social class. Previous discourses had made the consumer aspira- tions and behavior of ordinary people a moral issue. Now the wealthy, who could afford better garments, had to make the larger sacrifice (Breen 2004). For many years thereafter, frugality continued to be an important character trait of good “republican” citizenship, an ideal of plain, debt-free living praised by the found- ing fathers and their generation. Political frugality ebbed in the second half of the nineteenth century, but re-emerged during World Wars I and II, when it became a highly laudable activity that gave the home front a greater sense of participation in the war effort. Until the late twentieth century, political frugality had been determinedly secular. In his analysis of hundreds of government-sponsored posters from the 1940s, Witkowski (2003) found very few references to God and religion other than white crosses symbolizing dead soldiers. Sport utility vehicles, and especially General Motors Hummer brand, became a political lightning-rod in the new millennium (Neil 2008). Forces from the left disapproved of their sheer excess – their size makes them visually prominent and a nuisance to other drivers – and deplored their environmental consequences, whereas forces on the right defended them vociferously and, in turn, scoffed at the claims of the critics. By linking alleged over-consumption of gasoline to the support of terror- ism, the anti-SUV argument latched onto patriotism and national security as a rhetorical tactic. Whether this ploy persuaded many SUV owners, who consider themselves as pro-American as the next person, to give up their trucks in favor of more fuel-efficient, gas-electric hybrid automobiles is doubtful. However, trends that became noticeable in 2008 toward smaller sport utility vehicles based on car platforms, as well as gas-electric hybrid SUVs, indicate that the critique may have had some influence on companies and their customers. On the other hand, the market may simply have responded to rising gasoline prices and declining truck resale values. Societal tensions Frugality critiques reveal a dialectic in American consumer culture between private and public consumption. The colonial and frontier experiences, with their isolation and demand for self-reliance, fostered a brand of hyper-individualism (Potter 1954). In addition, Protestant and Enlightenment thinking favored an individual’s own soul and personal ability to reason. Rising affluence facilitated even more consumer indi- vidualism. In the United States, more and more people have chosen to live alone, drive their own cars, watch their own TVs, and eat their meals at the times most convenient for their hectic schedules (Cross 2000; Putnam 2001). This history has echoes in the modern marketplace, where Americans generally favor putting primacy on consumer sovereignty rather than on community needs and collective consumption (Galbraith 1958). The voluntary simplicity movement itself has been faulted for its focus on personal lifestyle choices and lack of collective action to reform larger political processes (Maniates 2002). GCMC_A_479219.fm Page 253 Friday, July 16, 2010 8:41 PM 254 T.H. Witkowski 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 Although frugality discourses often have reflected upon individual behavior (think about Thoreau reflecting on his solitary sojourn at Walden Pond), they also have called for collective consumption projects, such as the boycotts during the non-importation movement or the recycling and energy conservation drives initiated during World War II and rediscovered in the 1970s. Americans have made material sacrifices for the common good. History shows that these adjustments have been successful in times of crisis, but only temporarily, and that consumers inevitably have returned to their old ways as soon as they were able to do so. Americans have put a high premium on the exercise of personal freedom (Brownstein 2003), which has been equated with the free- dom to buy. The anti-SUV campaigns have drawn from ideas of individual morality and responsibility, while at the same time trying to implement collective solutions through government mandates calling for more fuel-efficient vehicles. Thus, American frugality discourses have straddled two conflicting value systems. Future directions for historical research The account and analysis presented herein will surely not be, one hopes, the last word on the history of frugality discourses in the United States. Given the massive amount of source material available, this study does not pretend to be entirely comprehensive and representative. Additional historical research might lead to revisions in the narra- tive and to conclusions about the three areas of contention. Like scientific theories, historically derived knowledge remains open to new evidence. Moreover, frugality arguments have not been the only challenge to the ideology of American consumer- ism. Efforts to protect consumers from themselves by regulating alcohol, drugs, gambling, prostitution, and other vices have had an equally long history (Hollander 1984). In the twentieth century, the consumer’s movement sought to give buyers market power over sellers through information, education, and regulation. Critiques of advertising, branding, and other so-called evils perpetrated on buyers by the marketing mix have been a cottage industry for quite some time (see, e.g., Klein 1999; Packard 1957). These alternative assessments of US consumer culture and how they have interacted with the multifaceted rhetoric of frugality should also be explored. The history of American frugality discourses also raises questions for cross- cultural anti-consumption research. How have public expressions of frugal thought evolved in other countries? 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work_trfrelqwxnfg3kkrdsqftd562a	----	Exploring youth activism on climate change: dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent Copyright © 2018 by the author(s). Published here under license by the Resilience Alliance. O'Brien, K., E. Selboe, and B. M. Hayward. 2018. Exploring youth activism on climate change: dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent. Ecology and Society 23(3):42. https://doi.org/10.5751/ES-10287-230342 Insight Exploring youth activism on climate change: dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent Karen O'Brien 1, Elin Selboe 1 and Bronwyn M. Hayward 2 ABSTRACT. The policies and decisions made today will influence climate and sustainability outcomes for the remainder of this century and beyond, and youth today have a large stake in this future. Many youth are expressing dissent toward economic, social, and environmental policies and practices that contribute to climate change in diverse ways, but clearly not all forms of climate activism have the same impact or repercussions. We have presented a typology for understanding youth dissent as expressed through climate activism. Recognizing the complex empirical reality of youth concerns about climate change, this typology has distinguished three types of activism as dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent. By drawing attention to multiple ways for youth to express their political agency both within and outside of traditional political processes, we have highlighted and analyzed the diverse ways that youth are challenging power relationships and political interests to promote climate-resilient futures. Key Words: activism; climate change; dissent; politics; sustainability; youth INTRODUCTION “Change the system, not the climate!” This statement can be seen on posters and banners in most climate change demonstrations. Few would argue that this is not important; research has made it clear that we need to transform systems to meet the challenges of climate change (Rockström et al. 2017, O’Brien 2018). Indeed, the implications of failing to transform toward a more sustainable future are profound (IPCC 2014). The stakes in meeting the 1.5° C to 2°C targets associated with the 2015 Paris Agreement are particularly high for youth, who will have to live with and manage future risks and uncertainties associated with climate change. How can young people contribute to change within a political climate that is marked by powerful interests, strong rhetoric, and weak action on climate change? This question conjures up an age-old political problem, where marginalized citizens and those living in distant places and times are materially and existentially threatened by the decisions and actions of other individuals, companies, or states. In the context of climate change, the challenge for democratic theorists, activists, and citizens is not just about how young people can be included in decision making. It is also a question of how they can dissent from prevailing norms, lifestyles, decisions, and actions that perpetuate business as usual and its far-reaching, long-lasting, and in some cases irreversible global impacts (Bohman 2007, Barry 2012, O’Loughlin and Gillespie 2012, Song 2012, Crayton 2014, IPCC 2014). Widespread expressions of anger in the face of advancing climate change have resulted in some commentators describing the current period as a new “age of dissent” (Okolosie et al. 2016). We use dissent to refer to a conscious expression of disagreement with a prevailing view, policy, practice, decision, institution, or assumption that is exacerbating climate change. Some youth work directly to address climate change through small-scale and informal community-based actions, including awareness-raising events, educational programs, and sustainability campaigns (United Nations 2009, 2013). Others are active in formal and voluntary global organizations, such as 350.org, Global Power Shift, Friends of the Earth, Gen Zero, and Climate Youth (Hayward and Selboe 2014). Still others are politically engaged in more individualized and specialized ways, such as through issue-specific activism or low-threshold and part-time activities, e.g., promoting recycling or bicycling, signing petitions on social media, or consuming “green” products and following vegetarian or vegan diets (Ødegård and Berglund 2008, Ødegård 2009a, Fenton 2010, Ward 2010, Wayne et al. 2010, Manning 2013). Many young activists concerned about climate change are expressing dissent through actions that challenge business-as- usual economic and social policies, including their emphasis on economic growth (Escobar 2015). This includes attempts to shift political and economic power away from the fossil fuel industries and carbon polluters through divestment campaigns, boycotts, and legal actions that emphasize environmental justice (Partridge 2008, United Nations 2013, Fisher 2016). With youth dissent expressed through actions ranging from symbolic acts to political mobilization, clearly not all forms of climate change activism are the same (Partridge 2008, O’Loughlin and Gillespie 2012, Stitzlein 2012, Hörschelmann 2016). However, surprisingly little attention has been given to analyzing expressions of dissent among youth and their impacts on politics and power relationships. This is a concern, for as Corner et al. (2015:530) note, “Young people do not necessarily see what they can do in response to climate change, and when perceived self- efficacy is limited, personal engagement with climate change is likely to be lower.” By focusing on the diversity of climate change activism, we address different ways that youth are challenging power relationships that are used as a means to constitute, legitimate, and normalize certain imaginaries and practices that perpetuate climate change (O’Brien and Selboe 2015a). Our focus is mainly on youth in high-emissions societies, though we recognize that young people all over the world are expressing their dissent against the status quo, often through climate justice movements (Escobar 2015). 1Department of Sociology and Human Geography, University of Oslo, Norway, 2Department of Political Science and International Relations, University of Canterbury, New Zealand https://doi.org/10.5751/ES-10287-230342 mailto:karen.obrien@sosgeo.uio.no mailto:karen.obrien@sosgeo.uio.no mailto:elin.selboe@sgeo.uio.no mailto:elin.selboe@sgeo.uio.no mailto:bronwyn.hayward@canterbury.ac.nz mailto:bronwyn.hayward@canterbury.ac.nz Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Subsequently, we consider the political impacts and repercussions of different types of dissent, including how differing forms of climate activism may be perceived and met by those with strong interests in maintaining the status quo. We use status quo to refer to the “taken-for-granted” logics, institutions, and social practices that are perpetuating an inequitable and unsustainable future for youth. These include a fossil fuel–based economy that focuses on the extraction and consumption of resources to meet real or perceived needs and short-term goals, including profits for shareholders (Klein 2014). Drawing on analyses of interviews with youth conducted and informed by literature and our research on climate change activism and political participation, we present a typology of dissent among youth. This typology refers to youth activism as dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent. Importantly, it is not based on the motivations or intentions of youth, but rather on the ways youth dissent(ers) could be seen from the perspective of those with political power. Recognizing that many young people engage simultaneously or sequentially with all three forms of dissent, whether as individuals or as members of organizations and social movements, we consider the ways that diverse acts of dissent can together contribute to climate-resilient futures that are both equitable and sustainable. YOUTH AND CLIMATE CHANGE What does climate change mean for youth today? According to the IPCC (2013), by the year 2050, a child born in 2000 is likely to experience atmospheric concentrations of CO2 of between 463 and 623 parts per million by volume (ppmv), compared with about 400 ppmv in 2016. They are likely to be living with 8.4-11.3 billion others on a planet that is 0.8°C to 2.6°C warmer, with sea levels higher by 5-32 cm compared with 1990 (IPCC 2013). The wide range of potential futures is significant, as there is a tremendous difference between temperature increases of 0.8°C and 2.6°C in terms of impacts, risks, adaptation potential, and loss and damages. The impacts of these changes will be distributed unevenly, with the greatest risks experienced by the poor and marginalized, many of whose livelihoods are threatened by climate change. However, wealthier communities will also be affected, both directly and indirectly, through changes in ecosystem functions, extreme weather events, and the social and economic consequences of climate change (IPCC 2014). The policies and decisions made today will influence outcomes over the remainder of this century and beyond, and youth today have a large stake in this future. In defining “youth,” we have adopted the United Nation’s practice and considered the term to include people between the ages of 15 and 24 years (United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs [date unknown]). In everyday life, however, there are differing views on what constitutes youth, with attitudes varying within communities and across cultures about who is considered young and what roles different age groups are expected to play (Ho et al. 2015, Fisher 2016). Seen in this light, youth represents not only an age but a developmental stage characterized by expanding capacities and broadening perspectives, alongside the personal challenges associated with moving into adulthood (Arnett Jensen and Jensen Arnett 2012). Adolescence and emerging adulthood is considered a time of life characterized by openness to diverse cultural beliefs and behaviors, as well as a “relationally based social status dependent on political and historical context” (Fisher 2016:230). Youth as a demographic category includes and conceals a diversity of beliefs, values, worldviews, and expectations about the future, as well as differing senses of agency and responsibility. Cognitive development influences the capacity of an individual to understand complex issues, and in general, youth are engaged in “an active process of increasingly organizing the relationship of the self to the environment” (Kegan 1982:113). However, many factors influence whether and how young people perceive and engage with the issue of climate change. Youth attitudes may be influenced by gender, class, social expectations, ethnicity, life course, values, and education, the same factors that influence engagement with climate change within all age groups (Leiserowitz 2006, Lorenzoni and Hulme 2009, Fisher 2016, Fløttum et al. 2016). How messages and information about climate change are framed can influence youth perceptions and responses (Corner et al. 2015). The framing of climate change as an impending environmental disaster may contribute to a sense of despair and feelings of helplessness, which can lead to disillusion, apathy, and inactivity, or a perceived lack of potential to influence sustainability outcomes (Schreiner and Sjøberg 2005, Ødegård and Berglund 2008, Ojala 2015). However, more positive framings and emotions can invoke a sense of hope, engagement, and more constructive strategies of coping (Ojala 2012a, b, 2013). Some researchers suggest that children and youths’ concern and activism about the environment is also influenced by direct exposure to climate change impacts (Strazdin and Skeat 2011). In contexts where young people have experience in securing desired change, often on unrelated issues, climate change problems may be perceived as opportunities for action and leadership (Schreiner et al. 2005, Hayward and Selboe 2014). Cultural beliefs about knowledge, for example, whether knowledge is viewed as fixed and certain or context dependent and evolving, often guide the interpretation of climate science (Fazey 2010). Next, we discuss the politics of dissent in general, before turning to youth dissent and the potential impacts of their activism on systemic change. THE POLITICS OF DISSENT When young citizens learn about and begin to address the issue of climate change, they inevitably have to grapple with some tough questions about how society collectively deals with complex global problems and the future. In engaging with climate change, young people are implicitly or explicitly entering into debates that involve dissenting from prevailing norms, beliefs, and practices, including economic and social norms like consumption, fossil energy use, and the unjust use of power in decision making. Such dissent is closely linked to issues of social injustice, poverty, and violence, as well as to environmental issues such as pollution and biodiversity loss. Dissent has a long history in political thought and environmental movements throughout the world (Guha 2000, Stitzlein 2012). In his extended tract on civil disobedience, Henry David Thoreau (1849) draws on the examples of his own resistance to laws of slavery and the Mexican-American War to illustrate the concept of purposeful expression of a view at odds with the dominant opinion, even when it seems unlikely to carry the day. Thoreau argues that rather than perpetuating an injustice, citizens should follow their own conscience by doing what is right, even if this https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ requires breaking the law. Thus, for Thoreau, citizens have a duty to dissent and to exercise “their own moral judgement” rather than to obey an unjust law or a government, which is often advancing the interests of a small group of powerful actors (Glick 2004:xiv). Historically, political dissent has often been associated with conscience and the responsibility to withhold consent and support, often nonviolently, but also with anger at dominant values and institutions of decision making (Malone-France 2012). In democracies, dissent is often expressed through formal politics, particularly through opposition politics and political activism, which can be broadly described as the contestation of the exercise of unjust or illegitimate power (Stitzlein 2012, Arneil 2015). However, dissent can also be expressed informally or “off the radar” from those with power. James Scott’s (1990) notion of “infrapolitics” captures the hidden, behind-the-scenes actions that do not openly confront power, yet are foundational expressions of dissent. Ann El Khoury (2015) describes how infrapolitical activism that is often covert, understated, and informal can corrode the status quo by generating options and alternatives that dilute the reach of the dominant ideology, without directly or openly challenging it. For example, the increasing number of teenagers choosing not to get driver’s licenses (Sivak and Schoettle 2016) may in some cases represent an infrapolitical expression of dissent that is not directly perceived or registered as a threat to power. Dissenting youth We begin our analysis of youth activism by asking whether youth today are actually dissenting. The idea of dissenting youth runs counter to a common suggestion that many young citizens are indifferent to or relatively disengaged from the issue of climate change (Feldman et al. 2010, Wray-Lake et al. 2010, Liu et al. 2014). Certainly, some responses to climate change among youth can be better described as disengagement than as dissent. Young people, like adults, may avoid thinking about climate change for any number of reasons. Reasons can include fear or grief; overconfidence in the potential for technology to solve the problem; the assumption that they will be able to adapt to negative impacts; concern about an inability to effect change; frustration with existing political processes; denial of the problem; distractions and diversion of attention to more immediate social, economic, cultural, and political issues; or disinterest or disbelief in the science of climate change (Ojala 2012a, Machin 2013, Burke 2014, Fildes et al. 2014, Liu et al. 2014, Head 2016). According to Norgaard (2011), many people may also be subjects of socially organized denial, whereby information about climate change is understood in the abstract, yet disconnected from everyday political, social, and private lives. Early studies of youth political protest about global environmental issues, peace, and civil rights often suggested that young people were predisposed to oppositional politics as a struggle to develop their identity, independent of parents or preceding generations (Erikson 1970, Iyengar 1980). More recent studies suggest that direct participation in political protest with peers has a profound, positive influence on propensity to dissent from prevailing norms (Erikson and Stoker 2011), and that the experience of participation in acts of dissent encourages greater tolerance of and respect for dissent by others (Torres 2007). However, in either case, the ability to express political dissent rather than simply frustration requires a mature level of social consciousness, moral reasoning, and insight into the situation that an individual or community is experiencing (Schlitz et al. 2010). In this sense, expression of any form of political dissent requires support, including education, to enable young people to reflect critically. It also requires courage, particularly in situations where public opinion is highly polarized and where dissenters may be vulnerable to the scrutiny or criticism of others, or risk being attacked, repressed, or criminalized (Hayes et al. 2006, Taft and Gordon 2013, Hörschelmann 2016). There has been long-standing contention that participation in politics and engagement with environmental issues such as climate change are the preserve or outcome of well-resourced, educated, and “postmaterialist” youth (Ingelhart 1997, Ødegård and Berglund 2008). In a North American context, Wray-Lake and Hart (2012) speculate that more educated youth, especially those with greater access to resources, are exposed to more novel and effective opportunities to engage in politics and influence policy outcomes. However, Wray-Lake and Hart (2012) add nuance to this, arguing that social inequalities compound the lack of institutional support for civic participation during childhood and adolescence. Research suggests that increasingly unequal access to education, unstable employment, and high housing costs can have a complex effect on depressing civic engagement (Flanagan and Levine 2010, Wray-Lake and Hart 2012, Honwana 2013). In an African context, some research finds that a combination of education, aspiration, and frustration at lack of opportunities for social mobility can increase the likelihood of young people engaging in protest (Resnick and Casale 2011). Disengagement may in some cases be a response to exclusion from decision-making processes at multiple levels or an expression of frustration about political arrangements that might give voice but have little real impact and power (Ødegård 2009b, Taft and Gordon 2013). In relation to climate change, some youth may feel excluded from meaningful participation in current debates and decisions, and others may resist situations where their contributions are reduced to tokenism or “decoration” at events or forums (Hart 2008, Checkoway 2011, Taft and Gordon 2013). Such invited and managed forms of participation and citizenship do not acknowledge youth as autonomous political actors or recognize their engagement in the many alternative political arenas where they arrive at their own meanings of community, participation, and responsibility (Coleman 2010). Nonengagement with climate change might on occasion represent an active decision to express dissent from prevailing unjust norms, policy processes, or political institutions that youth regard as illegitimate. For example, youth from ethnic minorities or low- income communities who are experiencing diminishing prospects for effective participation in formal political processes may actively withdraw and resist engaging with national institutions that they regard with suspicion and instead seek to create alternative local forums to create a meaningful sense of belonging and agency (O’Loughlin and Gillespie 2012). However, Scoones et al. (2018) found that in many countries, state-sponsored youth organizations in rural areas aim to channel and “tame” youth aspirations in ways that suppress autonomous political mobilization. https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Describing young people as merely apathetic or indifferent to climate change can reflect a failure to take their voices seriously and to comprehend the complex situation facing new generations, including the myriad of political responses now emerging (Weller 2007). The consequence of experiencing exclusion or reduced possibility for real influence in the invited spaces of formal politics may thus encourage youth who want to make a difference to begin to critique power and express this critique through other forms of dissent (O’Loughlin and Gillespie 2012, Taft and Gordon 2013, Hörschelmann and El Refaie 2014). It has been argued for some time that “the younger generation, in particular, may be at the forefront of those who have adapted to the newer forms of political expression, mobilization and engagement” (Norris 2003:2). New forms of dissent may include spontaneous public gatherings for discussion and expression of dissatisfaction, such as the loosely coordinated urban social movements of “indignation” in Spain, Nuit DeBout (“Night Standing”) in France, or civic “occupations” in the United States (Hayward 2012). There are also forms of dissent that are less visible or obvious, expressed through subcultures of resistance over time (Stitzlein 2012). Although social media can facilitate surveillance and encourage self-censorship (Bauman and Lyon 2013), it can also be an important arena for climate change activism, contributing to information distribution, logistical support, participation fora, and “e-movements,” all of which can also play a role in radical politics (Earl et al. 2010, Olsson and Dahlgren 2010, Collin 2015, Neumayer and Svensson 2016). DISSENT: DUTIFUL, DISRUPTIVE, AND DANGEROUS We present a typology that captures the diverse ways that youth are expressing dissent against a status quo that is contributing to dangerous climate change. The typology draws on both research and an extensive review of the literature on youth activism and political theory, based largely on Western notions of engagement and activism. This work was part of a research collaboration about youth responses to climate change carried out in Norway between 2011 and 2017 through the Voices of the Future project. This research involved literature reviews and in-depth qualitative interviews, focus groups, and discussions and feedback from young people about climate change activism (Hayward and Selboe 2014, Hayward et al. 2015, Selboe and Sæther 2018). In developing the typology, we explicitly recognize youth as political agents who may be engaging in activism in a diversity of ways. In other words, youth are neither in a state of “becoming” future citizens nor training to be participants in the sphere of formal politics; they are citizens with agency. The typology identifies three interrelated ways of dissenting from the policies, systems, and relationships that contribute to climate change: dutiful dissent, disruptive dissent, and dangerous dissent. It is important to stress that the three types of dissent are not mutually exclusive, nor are they descriptions of how youth see or judge their own actions. Instead, they capture the different ways that youth activism engages with political power and is likely to contribute to desired changes in the status quo. We recognize that the expression of dissent is fluid and evolving, and that some youth and movements may engage with all types of dissent, either sequentially or simultaneously. Indeed, all forms of dissent play important and complementary roles in youth activism on climate change, and we do not advocate one type over another. The three modes of dissent can be considered ideal types. For us, ideal does not mean perfect or statistically averaged; it refers to theoretically derived ideas, constructions, or mental images: An ideal type is formed by the one-sided accentuation of one or more point of view and by the synthesis of a great many diffuse, discrete, more or less present and occasionally absent concrete individual phenomena, which are arranged according to those one-sidedly emphasized viewpoint into a unified analytical construct. (Weber, in Shils and Finch 1997:90) The three ideal types presented are thus abstractions, or selections of elements that depict only certain characteristics of youth dissent and activism on climate change. Such analytical constructs are useful to simplify, synthesize, and make sense of the diversity, obscurity, and seeming chaos of the social world. Similar to the typology developed by Checkoway and Aldana (2013) to describe youth civic engagement with socially just diverse democracy, our typology recognizes that each form of dissent has its own orientation to power. Like Checkoway and Aldana (2013), we recognize the importance of new epistemologies and new forms of civic engagement to build capacity for the future. Subsequently, we begin by describing what we mean by dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent, providing some examples of each and discussing their strengths and limitations. Dutiful dissent Dutiful dissent represents cases in which young people’s concerns are voiced within existing or newly created institutional spaces. Dissent is often expressed through “joining” activities that support existing and emerging institutions and social norms to express resistance to dominant practices, such as fossil fuel production and consumerism. Through participation in established cultural practices, political institutions, and decision- making processes, young people may engage and interact with technical, managerial, and political elites. Dutiful dissent includes climate activism in political parties and processes, as well as in nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) that support a variety of approaches and actions for reducing greenhouse gases emissions or facilitating adaptation. These may focus on urban planning, green transport, adaptation and sustainable development projects, or national policies to support international climate agreements. Dutiful actions work through existing political and economic institutions in ways that strengthen and uphold their legitimacy, but they can also draw on existing social norms and rules to challenge unfair or unjust institutionalized practices. Through dutiful dissent, youth activists work within existing systems to express their discontent with business as usual and to promote alternative responses to climate change. This type of dissent represents resistance to the status quo, yet it also adheres to the “script” of current institutions, hegemonic powers, and economic systems. Rather than challenge existing political decision processes, it remains dutiful to their logic and existence. For example, one young Norwegian activist acknowledged that the environmental movement in Norway has become professionalized and bureaucratic but explained that engaging with the formal political system, for instance, through writing proposals and participating in official hearings, is necessary if you want to change something (Selboe et al. 2014). https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Climate activism through membership in mainstream environmental and political organizations is the most common expression of dutiful dissent. However, young people’s sense of agency, i.e., their ability to imagine and effect change, and their actions, i.e., what behaviors they engage with as citizens, may also be expressed as dissent through traditional loyalties (Bennett 2008). For example, young citizens may be encouraged to seek alternatives to prevailing ideals or practices through their religious convictions. Within this context, Pope Francis’s call to address climate change could be interpreted as an appeal for dutiful dissent: Young people demand change. They wonder how anyone can claim to be building a better future without thinking of the environmental crisis and the sufferings of the excluded. I urgently appeal, then, for a new dialogue about how we are shaping the future of our planet. We need a conversation which includes everyone, since the environmental challenge we are undergoing, and its human roots, concern and affect us all. (Francis [pope] 2015:12) There are, however, significant risks and limitations to dutiful dissent. One risk is that climate change and other environmental issues end up as merely pollution problems to be regulated and managed, for example, through energy policies, green technologies, “smart” cities, and climate capitalism (Newell and Paterson 2010). A dutiful approach seldom disrupts the underlying causes of climate change, including the economic and development paradigms or models that are responsible for the climate change in the first place (Hayward 2012, Pelling et al. 2012, Klein 2014, Eriksen et al. 2015, O’Brien and Selboe 2015b). Furthermore, although such actions may reflect or foster an important sense of responsibility for others, deeper structural issues and political power imbalances are seldom challenged through dutiful dissent. By its very nature, dutiful dissent may promote a depoliticized or postpolitical response to climate change that frames it in consensual and technocratic terms (Swyngedouw 2010a, b, 2013, Kenis and Lievens 2014). Politics and participation, as well as citizenship education, can be promoted and directed toward consent, cohesion, and loyalty, rather than contestation and dissent (Taft and Gordon 2013, Crossouard and Dunne 2015, Hörschelmann 2016). To be clear, dutiful dissent expressed though youth activism on climate change should not be confused with pandering to the status quo. Young people engaged in dutiful dissent are committed to change and recognize the importance and power of exploiting windows of opportunity within current structures and systems. Indeed, dutiful dissent plays an important and constructive role in ensuring that conversations about climate change are visible and that responses are prioritized and enacted through policies and practices. Dutiful actions like community gardening can also create new public spaces that provide a forum for discussions and alliances of solidarity with marginalized members of the local community, potentially encouraging collective agency and promoting progressive political activities (Crossan et al. 2016). Dutiful dissent can provide young people with important skills and insights on the current political, economic, and institutional landscape that may inspire or motivate engagement with other types of dissent, including more disruptive modes. Disruptive dissent Disruptive dissent can be considered a type of activism that arises when young citizens concerned about climate change question and seek to modify or change existing political and economic structures, which include norms, rules, regulations, and institutions. Disruptive actions explicitly challenge power relationships, as well as the actors and political authorities who maintain them, often through direct protests and collective organization. They may involve starting or joining petition campaigns or boycotts, disrupting international climate meetings to draw attention to hypocrisy and exclusion of important voices, or protesting key concerns through political marches or rallies. Disruptive dissent raises awareness about the underlying political, economic, and social drivers of climate change, and it draws attention to the justice and equity dimensions, acknowledging vulnerability to multiple and interacting global processes and recognizing the systemic nature of the problems and their solutions (Leichenko and O’Brien 2008, Klein 2014). Disruptive dissent is sometimes expressed through official organizations and NGOs that are considered “radical” or “alternative,” but it is an essential feature of most social movements, expressed when “traditional norms no longer succeed in providing a satisfactory structure for behaviour” and when an individual finds him or herself forced to challenge the prevailing social order through various forms of nonconformity (Della Porta and Diani 2006:13). Disruptive dissenters usually report that they are more interested in critiquing, challenging, and changing the system than working dutifully within it. Climate activists engaged with disruptive dissent are thus mobilizing against the systems and institutions they perceive as maintaining unsustainable and unjust policies and practices. This involves questioning not only the “script” of hegemonic powers and institutions, but also the actors who perpetuate them in their own interest. Through critique and action, disruptive dissent can create new spaces for alternative political voices and actors and “unveil” the underlying power dynamics and interests behind what might seem as neutral, unavoidable, or common-sense arrangements and policies (O’Brien and Selboe 2015b). Collective action against the production and distribution of fossil fuels is a good example of disruptive dissent. This includes campaigns for universities to divest from fossil fuels, such as the Divestment Student Network (http://www.studentsdivest.org/). It is also exemplified in the “Break Free from Fossil Fuels” campaign, which describes itself as “Unwavering resistance. Fierce solidarity. Courage by the gigaton” (https://breakfree2016. org/). Although open to people of all ages, this initiative provides a platform for youth to engage in dissent that adheres to strategic values such as peaceful direct action, escalating levels of risk and pressure, mass participation, and global action. Actions include blockading and shutting down several branches of a bank in New Zealand that had $13.5 billion invested in fossil fuels; protesting oil drilling in the Yasuni National Park in Ecuador by planting trees at the future site of an oil refinery; and dropping banners from machinery unloading coal in West Java, Indonesia, thereby bringing the coal terminal to a standstill for several hours (https:// breakfree2016.org/). https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ http://www.studentsdivest.org/ https://breakfree2016.org/ https://breakfree2016.org/ https://breakfree2016.org/ https://breakfree2016.org/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Visible critiques and symbolic acts of dissent can trigger awareness and social reflection, generate debate, open spaces for new actors and issues, and create momentum for social change. By introducing new concepts, ideas, methods, or tactics for achieving desired change, disruptive dissent can represent an important strategy with far-reaching impacts. However, the alternative forms of citizenship and participation expressed by youth are typically resisted, rejected, or ignored by the political elite and establishment (Weller 2007, Selboe 2010, Taft and Gordon 2013). This approach also introduces risks, particularly the risk of being co-opted by prevailing agents and institutions that constrain the autonomy of youth, especially within the context of globalization and neoliberal reforms (Hayward 2012). In fact, when disruptive dissent truly threatens key economic interests or postpolitical formal politics, it may lead to silencing, exclusion, repression, or criminalization (Taft and Gordon 2013, Hörschelmann 2016). In some cases, individual rights may be curtailed through antiprotest laws or by invoking counterterrorism laws to keep people quiet. Politicizing climate change through a critique of the status quo can open up spaces for new actors, but it may also contribute to an antagonistic and polarizing discourse that can limit mobilization and inhibit new visions and alternatives for the future (Kenis and Lievens 2014, O’Brien and Selboe 2015b). This was the case of the political movement Climate Justice Action (CJA) and its struggle to challenge the postpolitical and consensual debate on climate change. The CJA created spaces for formerly unheard voices, but the capacity and outreach of the movement intensified a we/them distinction and was limited by lack of an elaborate perspective on alternatives (Kenis and Mathijs 2014). Although disruptive dissent draws attention to power structures and represents a force operating “against power,” the failure to offer viable alternatives represents a major challenge. In some cases, those who are interested in social change eventually work with those in power and express their dissent in a more dutiful manner. In other cases, disruptive dissent may provide a platform for solidarity while youth pursue change through other means, including what we refer to subsequently as dangerous dissent. Dangerous dissent Dangerous dissent involves a type of political activism that defies business as usual by initiating, developing, and actualizing alternatives that inspire and sustain long-term transformations. This includes a wide spectrum of actions, ideas, discourses, practices, tactics, alliances, and technologies. Dangerous dissent refers to the degree of threat that these alternatives present to established power elites and investments over the medium and long term. Like disruptive dissent, it does not recognize existing institutions and power relationships as fixed or given. What makes this type of dissent dangerous is that it generates new and alternative systems, new ways of doing things, new types of economic relationships, and new ways of organizing society. The “danger” also lies in the way that youth are claiming, taking back, or generating their own power and strengthening their personal and political agency, or simply questioning what to others appears to be inevitable, such as a fossil fuel–based economy, hyperconsumption, and increasing social inequality. Although dangerous dissent is not always recognized as climate change activism, it can be a powerful move to undermine influential interests and transform social norms that are complicit in maintaining current systems of unsustainable growth, high greenhouse gas emissions, and deep social injustice. Dangerous dissent challenges existing paradigms or ways of understanding the relationship between climate change and social change. As Jeanes (2006:133) notes, some of the most dangerous new thinking embodies “the courage to resist the ‘realization’ of current creative practices in favour of the actualization of the new (previously unknown) ways of thinking.” In relation to climate change, dangerous dissent is perhaps most powerfully expressed through the postdevelopment and anticonsumerist philosophies of degrowth movements and the climate justice and just transition movements (Demaria et al. 2013, Schlosberg and Collins 2014, Escobar 2015). Degrowth movements are dangerous in that they challenge a basic tenet of capitalism, instead advocating for downscaling of production and consumption and a greater focus on care, solidarity, and cooperation. Aljets and Ebinger (2016:6) describe how some young people in Germany’s degrowth movement are dissenting from unsustainable development pathways: To us, the topic of sufficiency and the question of how everyone can have enough appears to be one of the central interfaces between the German degrowth movement and the youth environmental movement. Young environmental activists place great emphasis on personal sufficiency, and demonstrate as far as possible how sufficiency can be implemented in everyday life. They question the prevailing logic of forever-higher-faster-further-more, and derive great pleasure from energy saving, climate control, sharing, gifting, and rejecting packaging. They are pioneers of a consistently ecological and sustainable lifestyle, and demand that this be made accessible to others as well. They have recognised that the lifestyle in industrialised countries can only be achieved at the expense of the environment, nature and people in the Global South, and that their generation’s environmental footprint will fall on the shoulders of the following generation. Some actions may be dangerous without involving an open critique of the systems and structures that contribute to and perpetuate climate change. Dangerous dissent may be expressed in subversive ways that can inspire action over time, akin to what was referred to previously as infraglobalization or “subterranean” practices of everyday politics that inform and prefigure significant new social movements (Scott 1990, El Khoury 2015). In this process, new visions and powerful narratives emerge from a different view of what the system and the future might look like, and responses are no longer focused on one specific claim, e.g., reducing carbon emissions. Instead, they offer plausible alternative orientations, practices, and social arrangements for prosustainable change. It is most often expressed through propositional rather than oppositional actions, where “the aim in propositional praxis is to transmute resistance strategies towards substantive acts of creation, to make resistance secondary to the more enduring goal of building processes and structures that embody the fought-for ideals” (El Khoury 2015:109). The propositional praxis of youth activism can be particularly https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ dangerous to those in power and to those with vested interests in maintaining systems that undermine sustainability. Dangerous dissent describes actions and strategies of youth that have the potential to fundamentally change the goals, priorities, and assumptions of the “given” world. Dangerous dissent against transborder policies and environmental governance in the U.S.- Mexico border region, for example, is expressed through the Sonoran Desert Narrative Network, which emerged from a meeting of the Next Generation Sonoran Desert Researchers as a means to create a new shared narrative, an alternative discourse, and the potential for grounded policy change through ecological democracy (Lejano et al. 2013, Ingram et al. 2015). Through three case studies, Lejano et al. (2013:177) reflect on how narrative networks can “enable people to present organized challenges to mainstream power relationships and conventional environmental behavior.” The seeds of dangerous dissent often germinate when young people’s values and worldviews diverge from those holding power, and they flourish when young activists learn how to sustain these new values and actions, gaining not only a sense of self transcendence that can support activism in the face of repeated disappointment, the pressures of student debt, or active resistance from powerful interests, but also new solidarities with other groups that enrich and reenergize the process of effecting desired change (Hayward 2017). Indeed, socially conscious young people are increasingly seeking options that they consider to be more meaningful and that contribute to a better world, to the detriment of traditional sectors, including investment banks and established news organizations. According to a Gallup (2016) study, although millennials in the United States want a purposeful job and a life with active community and social ties, many report feeling less emotionally and behaviorally connected to their job and organization. This disengagement has repercussions for the economy. A New York Times article by Sidney Ember (2016) describes the difficulties faced by the advertising industry in recruiting young talent: A lot is at stake: If agencies cannot recruit and retain top young talent, the craft of traditional advertising—an important part of culture for better or worse—could disappear. “We have to fill the pipeline with young talent,” said Tony Weisman, chief executive in North America for the agency DigitasLBi. If agencies fail to recruit and keep top young employees, he said, “We’re going to become archaic.” Dangerous dissent does not have to be strategic, but it often involves a clear vision of new and desired futures (Satell and Popovic 2017). It may emerge as part of social activism, but it goes beyond the critiques associated with disruptive dissent. For example, alternative market relationships, such as direct farmer- to-consumer exchanges, can evolve to become a form of dangerous dissent. In this case, these new relationships can pose challenges to food distributors and supermarket chains. Bringing together new, seemingly unrelated actors and issues and experimenting with economic models that prioritize human relationships or with plant-based diets that respect the rights of animals while decreasing greenhouse gas emissions can be a powerful way to elicit change. Dangerous dissent thus forms the seedbed for new forms of solidarity (Bauman 2013). However, one of the possible drawbacks to dangerous dissent is that it may pose no immediate threat to dominant systems. To some extent, dangerous dissent can be tolerated. For example, alternative communities such as transition towns may not actually challenge dominant power relations and may in fact help maintain them if the movement remains the preserve of middle-class and young elite communities (Smith 2011, Feola and Nunes 2014). In some cases, novel forms of social organization, such as the sharing economy, may not be as progressive as they seem. One criticism of the sharing economy is that venture capital and for-profit platforms have too frequently co-opted what began as a progressive, socially transformative idea (Schor 2014). Creativity and innovation have indeed become modern mantras that support capitalism (Jeanes 2006), and together with arts and literature, they may be part of what Amitav Ghosh (2016) refers to as a form of collusion with “the great derangement.” Art practices that refuse to be co-opted by capitalism, such as creating noncommercial art in public spaces to share new ideas about climate change or injustice, may provide some latent examples of dangerous dissent. Dangerous dissent is not merely about withdrawal from the system, subversion, or practices that stay “under the radar.” Nor is not to be confused with the dangerous methods sometimes used to display dissent, such as violent riots of rage and extreme or fundamentalist attacks. As Barber (2003:126) argues, a “mob is not a citizenry, if an action is to be political it must ensue from forethought and deliberation, from free and conscious choice.” Dangerous dissent is instead about creating alternatives that in the long run can threaten vested interests and the status quo in unconventional ways. As we discuss subsequently, a combination of dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent may be necessary to support social transformations as an effective response to climate change. DISCUSSION The clock is ticking, and the future for young people today will be largely decided by generations that will be gone before the most severe impacts of climate change are felt. Dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent represent three complementary and mutually reinforcing pathways for youth to express dissent, agency, and influence over their future. Table 1 summarizes some of the distinguishing factors among the three types, as well as the risks associated with each of them, as discussed previously. The point of this typology is not to advocate for one type of dissent over another, but rather to draw attention to the ways that the three types actively work together as expressions of dissent through climate change activism among youth. Indeed, most successful social movements, such as the civil rights, women’s rights, and LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) rights movements, involved all three types of dissent, each of which contributed to reclaiming, reframing, and transforming previously stigmatized accounts of group membership. The degrowth movement, presented previously as an example of dangerous dissent, illustrates the way that multiple types of dissent can support each other. It was launched as a challenge to continuous economic growth, with the goal of realizing a voluntary societal shrinking of production and consumption consistent with social and ecological sustainability. Demaria et al. (2013) draw attention to the diversity of ideas, strategies, and https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Table 1. Summary of three types of dissent and their distinguishing factors. Type of Climate Change Activism Dutiful Dissent Disruptive Dissent Dangerous Dissent Orientation to prevailing power relationships Works within existing systems and power structures to effect policy change Contests prevailing social norms and policy practices to redirect policy and change outcomes Creates and (re-)generates new and alternative systems, subverting existing power structures by mobilizing citizens around new norms and values Approach Reformist Oppositional Propositional Example of activism Helping university to develop an ethical investment policy Protesting outside a local bank to get them to divest from petroleum industries Setting up an alternative local currency that does not rely on existing financial institutions Strengths Provides insights into how current institutions and systems function Offers direct access to those holding power Builds legitimacy and authority within existing system Increases awareness and engagement Highlights justice and equity dimensions Focuses on underlying causes of climate change Opens spaces for new actors and voices Bypasses existing systems and can potentially undermine them Demonstrates viability of alternatives Tends to be “off the radar” from those threatened by alternatives Risks Co-optation; enrollment in the reward system of current structures; danger of normalizing the status quo Polarization; promotion of antagonisms rather than alternatives Creation of “parallel systems” that are progressive but do not challenge status quo or that risk being co-opted to reproduce business as usual actors involved in the degrowth movement. By identifying, naming, and valuing different socio-environmental futures and proposing radical change through alternative meanings and ways of doing things, the movement can indeed be considered a powerful example of dangerous dissent. However, elements of disruptive dissent are also visible in the movement’s oppositional activism, as well as in the critique of the hegemony of economic growth. At the same time, there are also reformist strategies within the degrowth movement; dutiful dissent can be expressed by working for social transformation within existing institutions or by calling for their preservation and reform, e.g., defending democratic institutions while supporting the development of a more participatory democracy (Demaria et al. 2013). According to Demaria et al. (2013), it is precisely the innovative and coherent combination of heterogeneous concerns, demands, means, and actors within the movements that keep them dynamic and innovative. Contradictions and conflicts may create tensions within the degrowth movement, but when they are recognized and valued, they contribute to the movement’s continuous evolution. An awareness of the different modes of dissent and their strengths, limits, and implications for climate activism among youth is critical. Education plays an important role in empowering youth with the knowledge and skills to engage effectively with climate change (Westheimer and Khane 2004, Westheimer 2008). Youth education on climate change often focuses on providing information about the climate system and the impacts and consequences of climate change for society. Education for dissent and action on climate change requires critical thinking, including reflection on individual and collective attitudes and approaches to power, as well as greater attention to issues of social and environmental justice. Critical thinking is essential to challenging the assumptions and interests that maintain business as usual and for developing strategies and actions that directly confront those with vested interests in systems and structures that perpetuate climate change and social inequality (Mitchell 2007). Hytten (2016) argues that studying and participating in civic activism, social movements, collective mobilization, and resistance can provide valuable resources for deepening democracy. We suggest that through direct experiences with dutiful, disruptive, or dangerous dissent, youth may gain important insights into social change, systems change, citizenship, and democracy that many education systems are currently failing to provide (Hayward 2012). CONCLUSION Our goal has been to draw attention to the complex relationships of power that young activists are frequently required to navigate and to the varieties and likely consequences of diverse expressions of dissent. The typology we presented supports critical reflection on the effectiveness of diverse strategies of youth dissent, and as philosopher Hannah Arendt discussed in The Human Condition (Arendt and Canovan 1998:5), it encourages us “to think about what we are doing.” If the goal is to change the system, not the climate, it may be necessary to do more than just educate young people about climate change and encourage youth activism. Instead, it may be time to recognize the many facets, forms, spaces, and expressions of youth dissent. Despite diverse expressions, all forms of political dissent suggest a belief or presumption of agency, that is, the ability of individuals to imagine a different future and a sense of purposeful expression of opinions or actions that are at variance with dominant or commonly held beliefs. By drawing attention to multiple ways for youth to express their agency both within and outside of traditional political processes, we highlight the ways that they are challenging the interests and power relationships that are perpetuating an unsustainable future. However, not all forms of dissent and climate activism are equally challenging to the status quo, and not all forms of dissent can be interpreted in a positive light. Indeed, dissent can be manufactured as a result of failed expectations and frustration with the lack of alternatives or as a result of a lack of voice and access to democratic processes (Herman and Chomsky 2008). If there are no constructive outlets for dissent, there is a risk of moving toward withdrawal, inaction, or angry violence. Within the context of climate change, such https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ Ecology and Society 23(3): 42 https://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol23/iss3/art42/ anger may be directed against other marginalized people, such as migrants fleeing violent conflict, economic impoverishment, and environmental degradation. As we have emphasized, the lines between dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent are fluid rather than fixed. Rather than representing “boxes” or “categories” for classifying discrete actions, these ideal types can help us to understand and analyze the complexity of youth activism on climate change. The typology may be equally relevant to “adult” expressions of dissent. It may be particularly interesting to investigate whether the lines between “youth” and “adult” are becoming blurred as young people take greater responsibility for their future, while many adults behave as children, protecting their toys and games as the climate continues to warm. However, more empirical research is needed in different geographic and social contexts to identify how different modes of dissent are both evolving and challenging existing cultural, social, economic, and political systems, while also creating viable alternatives. There is no doubt that the visions and values of young people have to be seen, heard, prioritized, and realized through climate change activism. We argue that young people will be better placed to reclaim, reframe, and transform their future in a changing climate through critical reflection and a combination of dutiful, disruptive, and dangerous dissent. 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work_ttsl557nora4xhhwdelsq4aazy	----	10.11648.j.ajad.20170201.14 American Journal of Art and Design 2017; 2(1): 24-29 http://www.sciencepublishinggroup.com/j/ajad doi: 10.11648/j.ajad.20170201.14 Thoreau’s Ecocriticism: An Improved Means to Unimproved Ends Vipin K. Sharma Department of English, English Language Center, Jazan University, Jazan, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia Email address: To cite this article: Vipin K. Sharma. Thoreau’s Ecocriticism: An Improved Means to Unimproved Ends. American Journal of Art and Design. Vol. 2, No. 1, 2017, pp. 24-29. doi: 10.11648/j.ajad.20170201.14 Received: December 28, 2016; Accepted: February 14, 2017; Published: March 6, 2017 Abstract: The point of this paper is to foster an awareness of the varied uses to which scholars are putting the term ‘ecocriticism’ in varied perspectives today. Thoreau’s Walden is such indisputable literary monument on environmental literature to explore, upkeep and strengthen interest in establishing pragmatic relationship between the human and natural worlds. Thoreau lived simply without “modern improvements” which he called “improved means to unimproved ends.” This displays how one places oneself in the nature world, understands nature, and the environmental aspects to cast-off materialism. Thoreau rejects what is profane and superficial but pleads nature as the storehouse of sincerity and impartiality. He proves that society creates loneliness and fear, which can be dispelled by content with Nature. A man is never alone if he is aware of his non-human relationships. The paper perhaps is a seminal attempt to make some evolution toward fostering and legitimizing the sweats of ecocritics in ecocriticism (across) milieu. It sufficiently accounts for the personal connection and sense of responsibility towards self, society, literary studies and nature. Thoreau’s Walden elevates the concept of ecocriticism further to have interdisciplinary impact beyond prejudice to create a ‘universal discipline’ to discuss, innovate and create healthy literature-environment anthology to live in for progenies. This convinces intellectuals to pursue an interest in ecology while enduring literary professionals. Thoreau’s belief in nature sets new tenets that address the major ecological concerns to see it ‘greening’ to prevent ‘The Endangered Earth- a virulent veracity’ tomorrow. Keywords: Ecocriticsm, Nature, Environment, Society, Walden 1. Introduction We live in a dynamic world, defacto, undergoing inevitable major changes (technical); fast moving materialistic life sparing no place for human values (social); global warming- an era of environmental obliteration (environmental), and literary studies still in an age of constant flux. Besides, the outright absence of human touch with the natural world and the self-centeredness approach potentially created a space and contributed to environmental catastrophe. Foresee the colossus threat to our lives, ethics, values, and nature; the immediate glimpse and a unique approach to lessen the aforesaid problems and global environmental crises, which struck in mind to contribute essentially is the concept of ecocriticism. The point of this paper is to foster an awareness of the varied uses to which scholars are putting the term in varied perspectives today. Besides, the paper will inspire ecocritics (and would-be) to create new discernments and new critical paths in the ecocritical realm and opens new avenues to introspect how their perception and knowledge on ecocriticism lead to future advances and developments in the realms of scholarship and pedagogy. The succeeding paragraphs will include literature review on the concept of ecocriticism, Thoreau’s stout philosophy of simple life in nature through his indisputable literary and monumental work Walden preparing the concrete ground for ecocriticism with some constructive suggestions in the end. The scholar strongly feels that ecocriticism is a vital organ of academic disciplines and has a broader perspective to flourish in the global warming context today and ecocritics (and would-be) surely contribute to lessen the ecological problems by creating awareness among masses through their delightful works. (Sharma 2016:68) This would certainly bring the academics to the point of being cognizant of the outside world. American Journal of Art and Design 2017; 2(1): 24-29 25 2. Literature Review Eco-criticism deals with the self, society (human and culture) and the world (human and non-human) encapsulating the basic needs, glitches, and environmental predicaments. Ecocriticism was first coined by William Rueckert in his article ‘an ecological poetics’ articulated in his essay “Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism” in 1978 but gained momentum in the late 1990s. At the outset, there is little agreement on the basic principles, ethics and approaches for environmental related issues, even on the definition of, ecocriticism, which has developed considerably since its inception. The scholars initially did not pay much attention but later it flourished leaps and bounds becoming a buzz word today in all sphere of academics. The East and the West have been working toward greater understanding for centuries – with serious shortsighted errors. But in study on ecocriticism and literature, national boundaries can evaporate before the light of understanding. (Sharma 2016: 62) Federick O Waage propounded the term ‘ecocriticism’ while editing “Teaching Environmental Literature: materials, Methods, Resources” in 1985 that was aimed to foster ‘a greater presence of environmental concern and awareness in literary disciplines’. Later critics like Garrard, Glen Love, Cheryll Glotfelty, and others contributed alternative understandings of the concept and opine that ecocriticism is the critical and pedagogical broadening of literary studies to include texts that deal with the nonhuman world and our relationship to it. William Rueckert in his essay, “Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism,” defines ecocriticism as “the application of ecology and ecological concepts to the study of literature, because ecology (as a science, as a discipline, as the basis for human vision) has the greatest relevance to the present and future of the world” (1996:107). In this context, the possible relations between literature and nature are examined in terms of ecological concepts. The study is further enlightened and stretched through the works of Mike Kowalewski (literary studies), Donald Worster (history), Neil Evernden (environmental studies) who used and adhered to different approaches, methodologies, and disciplines necessary to accomplish the studies. The ultra-modern living resulting from innovations, globalization, materialism and erosion of human values contributed immensely to develop the concept of ecocriticism. Bates reinforced allied with core issues of present-day Green politics in England: “the greenhouse effect and the depletion of the ozone layer, the destruction of the tropical rainforest, the pollution of the sea, and, more locally, the concreting of England’s green and pleasant land”. The major developments spread out significantly in the nineteenth century literature where Wordsworth (early nineteenth century) Emerson, Thoreau, William Cullen Bryant, James Kirke Paulding, James Fenimore Cooper, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Whitman characterized nature to their best. Thoreau lived by the cove of Walden in order to be able to read the changing moods and whims of Nature. Like Wordsworth, he was thrilled in the face of the freshness and charms of natural scenes, sight, and sounds. Walden Pond has become almost a symbol of permanence and eternity in art, in the same way as Yeats’ Byzantium. John Burroughs and John Muir were mainly the two great American naturalists, whose early work was influenced by Whitman, particularly the essays collected in Wake-Robin (1871) and Birds and Poets. (1877). Mostly, the scholars undertook works on American and British literature from the last two centuries. Emerson’s nature and Thoreau’s Walden are perhaps considered the significant works of nature and ecology concerned. (Sharma 2016: 61) Young’s referred Gandhian tradition that emphasis the relation between non-western ecological resistance movements and feminism transforming it in subaltern women’s interests, exposing the masculinist perspective of those Gandhian cooperatives. Consequently, Young gave primary references from India and Africa: the Chipko (Himalayan) anti-deforestation movement in the 1970s, perhaps the best-known example of a modern peasant uprising organized around eco-socialist principles; the Narmada Bachao Andolan (Save the Narmada Movement)’s continuing struggle against the damming of the Narmada river in north-west India and its consequent displacement of hundreds of thousands of local Adivasis (Indigenous people), a cause which has been given worldwide – if not always welcome – publicity in the writings of Arundhati Roy; and the Greenbelt Movement in Kenya, initiated by the feminist-activist Wangari Maathai in response to local women’s concerns about the degradation of their environment. (Young: 100–08) The concept entails to widen up its scope beyond literature and approaches to empower all other disciplines to undertake dauntic task exploring the links that deal with the individual, society, and nature unswervingly contributing global warming and environmental concerns. The genuine works of ecocritics will possibly have more political, social and environmental implications ahead. The sagacious adoption, analysis, criticism and execution of the concept of ecococriticim would certainly move across other disciplines to reach grassroots become worldly. It indeed needs a diversity of ecocritical and ecological approaches through literary studies setting tenets that address the major ecological concerns to see it ‘greening’ to prevent ‘The Endangered Earth- a virulent veracity’ tomorrow. (Glotfelty, 1996: xvi) Ecocriticism is an interdisciplinary concept that implies the study of literature and environment. It is also referred to as “green criticism”, “green (cultural) studies”, “ecopoetics” and “environmental literary criticism”. Bate (1991) opines that ecopoetry isn’t quite the same thing as “Green” or “nature” poetry; rather, it directly or indirectly engages with an ecopoetical philosophy that registers the impossible attempt to heal the divide between nature and consciousness by reconciling instrumental and immanent apprehensions of the earth. Bate clearly finds a comprehensive definition of ecopoetry in The Song of the Earth. Raymond Williams on 26 Vipin K. Sharma: Thoreau’s Ecocriticism: An Improved Means to Unimproved Ends the uses and abuses of “Nature” in the history of the western environmental movement call “Nature” “the most difficult word in the language” (Keywords 219), and the discourse of Romanticism hardly helps things, oscillating as it does between material (immanent) and spiritual (transcendent) understandings of the word. Camilo Gornides underscored the pragmatic concerns of ecocriticism in defining, “The field of enquiry that analyses and promotes works of art which raise moral questions about human interactions with nature, while also motivating audiences to live within a limit that will be binding over generations.” (2006:16) Ben De Bruyn (2010) discusses Cormac McCarthy's The Road (2006), its evocation of a post-apocalyptic ecology and memory and further shed light on various enigmatic aspects of the novel, including the unspecified cause of the disaster and the future fate of nature and culture. Bruyn shows how much McCarthy’s bleak and dead landscape in ‘The Road’ is obliged to nature engrained in our cultural memory and consequently, sets an example of the role of responsibility, language and vision in the relationships humans have with nature connecting memory and environment. All these texts express the ambivalence of the contemporary situation in which nature is either idealized or lamented; present or irretrievably lost. The term ecocriticism may be novice but the field of its study goes back to centuries where eminent writers have written enormous about environment in their works. (Sharma 2016: 63) Therefore, given the brief explanation on ecocriticism, the scholar has chosen the major work of Henry David Thoreau, a pioneer of American literature who contributed immensely even before the term ecocriticism devised. The personal connection and sense of responsibility towards self, society, literary studies (reading books) and nature has been beautifully described by Thoreau in his historic work Walden which is examined and explored in the light of ecocriticism in the succeeding paragraphs. The works of the nineteenth-century American philosopher, poet, and naturalist Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) set a platform for ecocriticism that studies relationships between physical world- individuals, society, culture and the nature world. It would further try to answer Umberto Eco’s question ‘where does the truth of ecology lie’. Dana (1999:577). 3. Thoreau’s Walden Henry David Thoreau’s Walden is one monument on environmental literature to explore and strengthen interest in establishing pragmatic relationship between the human and natural worlds. Henry's devoted love of life at the Pond and in Concord township, his intense religious feeling for nature, his protest at the waste of life through misdirection by the code of the mercantile system, his feeling for his friends, his interest in men - all this and more enter into Walden. Thus, Hudson regards Walden as “The one golden book in any century of best books.” Thoreau’s attention was to live close Nature, much too away from the artificial American Society. In “Where I Lived and What I Lived for”, the second chapter of Walden, he explains that he went to live alone in the woods in a hut which he had himself built by the Walden Pond. He wanted to live simply without “modern improvements” which he called “improved means to unimproved ends.” Sharma (2012:151) He wanted to reduce to minimum needs of living providing for his own necessary needs of ‘economy’. He wanted to live according to his principle; “The cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life, which is required to be exchanged for it.” This displays and substantiates how one places oneself in the nature world, understands nature, and the environmental aspects to cast-off materialism. In Nature he wished to live free to enjoy tranquility of his own soul, which he wanted to express by writing his experiences. Worster acknowledged these views of Thoreau when he noted that Nature’s Economy is usually the only history of ecology cited by ecocritics. When first Thoreau took up his abode in the woods he began to spend his days and nights there. It was the 4th July, 1845, the Independence Day of America. The only house he had been the owner of, was a tent which he used occasionally when making excursions in the summer. The Harivansh says: “An abode without birds is like a meat without seasoning.” Thomas (1986:56-57) Such was his abode where he enjoyed the company of the birds. Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make his life, simple and full of innocence with Nature herself. He got up early and bathed in the pond. Bathing was a kind of religious cleansing exercise and one of the best things, which he did. The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awaking hour. Thoreau says that “he went to woods because he wished to live freely to face essential facts of life.” (Ibid:60) He did not wish to live, what was not life as living is so clear. He wanted to live deep and suck out all marrow of life. Thoreau wanted to live as ‘meanly’ as ants do live. He wanted to live the life of an honest man in full simplicity – that simplicity in which only one meal is sufficient instead of three and ordinary dishes are eaten with the meals. He says “God himself culminates in the present moment and will never be more divine in the laps of Nature.” (Ibid:65) ‘Sounds’ depicts a typical day of sounds, from early morning, through the afternoon, with its freight train, to the evening, and night, with its famous owls and frogs. This serves as a formal introduction to life at Walden Pond. It concluded with the discussion of the cock- crow, and thus returns to the theme of morning, which makes men “unspeakably healthy, wealthy, and wise.” (Ibid:86) Thoreau’s “Solitude” and “Visitors” concentrate on communication. Thoreau rejects here what is profane and superficial. Nature is the storehouse of sincerity and impartiality, he pleads. Society creates loneliness and fear, which can be dispelled by content with Nature. A man is never alone if he is aware of his non-human relationships. “The value of man is not in his skin, that we should touch him.” Solitude gives man a chance to draw closer to Nature, the living reality: “Solitude is an affirmation of trust in the American Journal of Art and Design 2017; 2(1): 24-29 27 indescribable innocence awl beneficence of nature.” It is against this scale that social relations can be judged. Real distance is that when we fail to communicate with another. Scheese (1994) endorses as Thoreau once wrote, there can be no history but natural history--if one believes that by ‘nature’ we mean the human as well as non-human world. In “Visitors” Thoreau underlines the importance of ecocritics and intellectuals as visitors to his Walden Pond. He hails simple fisherman and hunters, poets and philosophers who come to woods for “freedom” of the soul. He says: I had more cheering visitors than the last. Children come a berring, railroad men taking a Sunday morning walk in clean shirts, fishermen and hunters, poets and philosophers, in short, all honest pilgrims, who came out to the woods for freedom’s sake, and really left the village behind, I was ready to greet with, “Welcome, Englishmen! Welcome Englishmen!” for I had had communication with that race.” Thomas (1986:103) Thoreau opined that the chapters “The Bean Fields” and “The Village,” do not represent a further exploration of what is wild or unknown. As beans are only another kind of weed, “They attached me to earth, and so I got strength like Antaeus.” (Ibid:104) The cultivation beans remind man of the prodigality, magnanimity, and impartiality of nature – the soundest basis for our trust and freedom from anxiety. Planted grain symbolizes hoe the hope of feeding mankind. “The Village” emphasizes not society, but getting lost from it, its roads and land-marks. When Thoreau was put into jail for not paying tax and on recognizing the authority, he says: “Wherever a man goes, men will pursue and paw him with their dirty institutions and, if they can constrain him to belong to their desperate odd-fellow society.” Thoreau while challenging and advising says: “You who govern public affairs, what need have you to employ punishments? Love virtue and the people will be virtuous. The virtues of a superior man are like the wind; the virtues of a common man are like the grass; the grass, when the wind passes over it, bends.” Matthiessen says: “From “The Bean Field” as the sphere of his main occupation, he moves on, in “The Village”, to his strolls for gossip, which, ‘taken in homeopathic doses, was really as refreshing in its way as the rustle of leaves and the peeping of frogs.’ (Ibid:307-308) “The Ponds”, which identifies Walden Pond as the vital centre: “It is earth's eye; looking into the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.” Here Nature is examined in a broader perspective. The facts in Nature provide the ultimate foundations of all human enterprises. Thoreau himself, the Pond is “a gem of the first water which Concords wears in her coronet.” (Ibid:120)Thus, the Walden Pond represents a state of unchanging perfection comparable to Blake's Jerusalem, Keats' Grecian Urn, and Yeats’ Byzantium. The Pond forms the central, key image in Walden. It gives us a window to look into the world of Nature. It reminds us of the seasonal renewal from the muddy, mundane, to the pure, solitary life, a life cleansed by regular change and reflecting heaven. The colour of Walden Pond is Thoreau's personal frontier between the natural and the divine. “Walden is blue at one time and green at another, even from the same point of view lying between the earth and the heavens; it partakes of the colour of both.” Walden, is thus, green like the earth and blue like the sky. Thoreau’s expressed link with the Pond as: “It is continually receiving new life and motion from the sky.” The “rise and fall of Walden at long intervals,” serves to purify the shore regularly. It takes away the shrubby growth on the bank since the last rise -“pitchpines, birches, alders, aspens, and others -- and falling again, leaves an unobstructed shore.” Thoreau means to say that man’s spirit, which is sometimes overpowered with material wants, finally “emerges triumphant by rejecting the infringement of the material.” In fact, we may read Walden as notes towards a philosophy of human happiness. Sharma (2012:160) Thoreau in ‘House-Warming’ advocates equality and ecological balance by adopting the same methods to warm himself in winter as some other animals “even the wildest animals love comfort and warmth as well as men; and they survive only because they are so careful to secure them.” Civilization means only improved methods. Thoreau in ‘Spring’ gives an invitation to enter a new season of hope and self-exploration: The first sparrow of spring! The year beginning with younger hope than ever! The faint silvery warblings heard over the partially bare and moist fields from the bluebird, the song sparrow, and the red-wing, as if the last flakes of winter tinkled as they fell! What at such a time are histories, chronologies, traditions, and written Revelations? The brooks sing carols and glees to spring.” (Ibid:205) For Thoreau, spring comes as a symbol of bright prospects, hopes, and of eternity: So our human life but dies down to its root, and still puts forth its green blade to eternity. Thoreau awaken all scholars to rise to the occasion unitedly put up a brave front to accommodate all disciplines favoring and recognizing ecocriticism as a separate entity to be taught all over the world. He mentioned in the last chapter of Walden “Conclusion”, which reiterates the theme of reawakened spiritual life - the flooding river of our lives. “The life in us is like the water in the river. It may rise this year higher than man has ever known it, and flood the parched uplands; even this may be the eventful year, which will drawl but all our muskrats.” And then, “The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.” The researcher, therefore, tried to answer Umberto Eco’s question justifying that the truth of ecology lies in the simple living of human beings in nature beyond the pursuits of materialism like Thoreau’s life in ‘Walden’ that would be dealt in literary works under the flagship of ecocriticism. 4. Conclusion The scholar through Thoreau’s Walden has perhaps made a seminal attempt to make some evolution toward fostering and legitimizing the sweats of ecocritics in ecocriticism milieu. 28 Vipin K. Sharma: Thoreau’s Ecocriticism: An Improved Means to Unimproved Ends Thoreau’s Walden as an environmental literature establishes pragmatic relationship between the human and natural worlds where Thoreau lived simply without “modern improvements” which he called “improved means to unimproved ends.” This displays how one places oneself in the nature world, understands nature, and the environmental aspects to cast-off materialism. Thoreau rejects what is profane and superficial but pleads nature as the storehouse of sincerity and impartiality. Sharma (2012:156) He proves that society creates loneliness and fear, which can be dispelled by content with Nature. A man is never alone if he is aware of his non- human relationships. It sufficiently accounts for the personal connection and sense of responsibility towards self, society, literary studies and nature. Thoreau’s Walden elevates the concept of ecocriticism further to have interdisciplinary impact beyond prejudice to create a ‘universal discipline’ to discuss, innovate and create healthy literature-environment anthology to live in for progenies. Besides, the paper further explored and opens boulevards and vistas to researchers to introspect how their perception and knowledge on ecocriticism lead to future advances and developments in the realms of ecological and literary studies, scholarship and pedagogy. The sagacious adoption, analysis, criticism and execution of the concept of ecococriticim would certainly move across other disciplines to reach grassroots become worldly. It finally aspires other envisioned intellectuals to unite to put groundbreaking labors to promulgate the conception of ecocriticism while strengthening apparent connection between the literature and the environment. This convinces intellectuals to pursue an interest in ecology while remaining literary professionals. Thoreau’s belief in nature sets new tenets that address the major ecological concerns to see it ‘greening’ to prevent ‘The Endangered Earth- a virulent veracity’ tomorrow. References [1] Astrid Bracke & Marguérite Corporaal (2010) Ecocriticism and English Studies: An Introduction. English Studies, 91:7, 709-712. [2] Barry, Peter. 2009. Ecocriticism. Beginning Theory: An Introduction to Literary Theory. Manchester: Manchester UP. [3] Bate, Jonathan. Romantic Ecology: Wordsworth and the Environmental Tradition. London: Routledge, 1991. [4] Bruyn, Ben De. 2010. Borrowed Time, Borrowed World and Borrowed Eyes: Care, Ruin and Vision in McCarthy's The Road and Harrison's Ecocriticism. Journal English Studies, Vol 91(7), 776-789. [5] http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0013838X.2010.518045 [6] Buell, Lawrence. 1995. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture. England: Harvard University Press. [7] Buell, Lawrence. The Future of Environmental Criticism: Environmental Crisis and Literary Imagination. Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 2005. [8] Buell, Frederick. From Apocalypse to Way of Life: Environmental Crisis in the American Century. New York: Routledge, 2003. [9] Canby, Henry Seidel. 1939. Thoreau. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and Company. [10] Channing, William Ellery. 1873. Thoreau: The Poet- Naturalist. Boston. [11] Compton-Rickett, Arthur. 1999. A History of English Literature. London: Thomas Nelson & Sons Ltd. Coupe, Lawrence. 1991 (ed.). The Green Studies Reader: From Romanticism to Ecocriticism. London: Routledge. [12] Dana Phillips. 1999. Ecocriticism, Literary Theory, and the Truth of Ecology. New Literary History, Vol. 30, No. 3, Ecocriticism (1999). The Johns Hopkins University Press pp. 577-602. [13] Estok, Simon C. 2001. “A Report Card on Ecocriticism. Ecocriticism: An Analysis of ‘Home’ and ‘Power’ in King Lear.” AUMLA, 96. [14] Farooq, Chandra. 2012. Ecocriticism: Relevance of William Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey” and “The World is too Much with Us.” Journal of Literature, Culture and Media Studies Vol. IV, 112-123. [15] Federick O Waage, ed., Teaching Environmental Literature: materials, Methods, Resources. New York: MLA, 1985, VIII. [16] Fisher, J. and three others. 1995 (eds.). “American Scholar”, American Literature of the Nineteenth Century: An Anthology. William ND: Eurasia. [17] Glotfelty, Cheryll and Harold Fromm. 1996 (eds.). The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens and London: University of Georgia. [18] Gomides, Camilo. 2006. “Putting New Definition of Ecocriticism to the Test: the Case of the Burning Season, a film (mal) Adaptation.” ISLE, 13(1). [19] McCarthy, Cormac. The Road. Basingstoke: Picador, 2006. [20] Owen Thomas. 1986 (ed.). Henry David Thoreau, Walden and Civil Disobedience. ND: Prentice Hall of India, pp. 1-243. [21] Rueckert, William (1996) “Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism,” in Glotfelty and Fromm (1996): 105-123. [22] Sanborn F. B. 1902. The Service, ed. Boston. Sayre Robert F. 1985 (ed.). Thoreau: A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, Walden, Maine Woods, Cap Cod, the Portable Thoreau. New York: The Library of America. [23] Scheese Don. Some Principles of Ecocriticism in Defining Ecocritical Theory and Practice Sixteen Position Papers. Western Literature Association Meeting Salt Lake City, Utah-- 6 October 1994. [24] Sharma, Vipin K. 2016. Quintessence of Ecocriticim in Emerson’s Works. Ad Litteram: An English Journal of International Literati, 01: 60-69. [25] Sharma, Vipin K. 2012. The impact of Oriental Thought on the Mind and Art of Emerson and Thoreau, the Pioneers of American Literature: A Critical Study. An Unpublished doctoral thesis. 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work_tuz6bayblre4flcwzjrnwrnzve	----	Desobediência Civil em Estrada de Palha: um western português alentejano Antónia Lima, Maria. “Desobediência Civil em Estrada de Palha: um western português alentejano”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 10, 2020, pp. 1–8. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.4 RESEARCH Desobediência Civil em Estrada de Palha: um western português alentejano Maria Antónia Lima Centro de Estudos Anglísticos da Universidade de Lisboa, Universidade de Évora, PT lima.antonia@gmail.com Num tempo de muitas corrupções e conformismos generalizados, surge um realizador, Rodrigo Areias, capaz de projectar no grande ecrã o desencanto do sentimento colectivo de nada se poder mudar num país em que a lei do mais forte impera. Neste cenário, o apelo ético e político do conceito de desobediência civil de Henry David Thoreau impõe-se mais do que nunca justificando, assim, totalmente a produção de um filme como Estrada de Palha (2012). Se o realizador português procurou indicar, nesta sua obra, a urgência de actos de desobediên- cia civil na sociedade portuguesa actual, produzindo um western português influenciado pela filosofia política de Thoreau em Resistance to Civil Government (1849), o presente ensaio terá necessariamente de reflectir sobre esta influência e sobre vários aspectos da actualidade dos pensamentos deste autor americano, identificando-lhe interessantes paralelismos com Alberto Carneiro, a personagem central cinematograficamente criada. Concebendo o seu filme como um western alentejano, de que não estão ausentes referências a Ford, Leone, Jarmusch, Jodorowsky e Canijo, Rodrigo Areias conseguiu nele contrastar a violência com o bucolismo, a desobediência com a passividade, o conflito com a paz, conciliando o inconciliável e criando fortes equivalentes imagéticos do conceito ético de resistên- cia passiva de Thoreau. Este estudo propõe-se, assim, abordar a evocação, neste filme, do imaginário do western americano e dos seus códigos distintivos, observando o processo da sua desconstrução numa identidade portuguesa e da sua conciliação com a imaginação subversiva do Transcendentalismo Americano, onde Thoreau se integra. Adequado à representação de um ambiente político-social instável, o western será, sem dúvida, um dos géneros que melhor repre- senta sistemas sociais em crise, onde actos de resistência passiva mais serão colocados à prova pelo seu directo confronto com abusos de poder e com legitimações constantes da usurpação e corrupção. Em sintonia com o seu realizador, defender-se-á neste ensaio que  Estrada de Palha se tornou mais interessante por ser um western assumidamente português que desen- volve uma via estética e ética de consciencialização política da realidade nacional actual, sem se tornar num cliché do género, nem tão pouco num filme de vincada ideologia programática. Palavras-chave: Henry David Thoreau; Desobediência Civil; Western; Estrada de Palha; Rodrigo Areias At a time of widespread corruption and conformity, a director, Rodrigo Areias, emerges to project onto the big screen the disenchantment of a collective feeling that nothing can change in a country where the law of the jungle rules. In this scenario, the ethical and political appeal of Henry David Thoreau’s concept of civil disobedience is more compelling than ever, thus fully justifying the production of a film such as Estrada de Palha (Straw Road) (2012). If in his work, the Portuguese director sought to show the urgency of civil disobedience acts in present- day Portuguese society, producing a western influenced by the political philosophy of Thoreau in  Resistance to Civil Government (1849), this essay will necessarily have to reflect upon this influence and the various aspects of the timeliness of the American author’s thoughts, while identifying interesting parallels with Alberto Carneiro, the main cinematographically created character of the film. https://doi.org/10.5334/as.4 mailto:lima.antonia@gmail.com Antónia Lima: Desobediência Civil em Estrada de PalhaArt. 10, page 2 of 8 Conceiving his film as a western set in Alentejo, which does not lack references to Ford, Leone, Jarmusch, Jodorowsky or Canijo, Rodrigo Areias was able to contrast violence with bucolicism, disobedience with passivity and conflict with peace, reconciling that which is irreconcilable, and creating strong imaginary equivalents to Thoreau’s ethical concept of passive resistance. As a result, this study proposes to address how this film evokes the American western imagina- tion and its distinctive codes, observing the process of its deconstruction into a Portuguese identity and its reconciliation with the subversive imagination of American Transcendentalism which Thoreau integrates. Suitable for representing an unstable sociopolitical environment, the western is undoubtedly one of the genres that best represents social systems in crisis, where acts of passive resistance will be most tested by their direct confrontation with the misuse of power, including a constant legitimation of usurpation and corruption. In line with its director, this essay will argue that Estrada de Palha has become more interesting because it is an admit- tedly Portuguese western that develops aesthetic and ethical means of political awareness based on current national reality, being neither a cliché of the genre nor a film with a strong ideological agenda. Keywords: Henry David Thoreau; Civil Disobedience; Western; Estrada de Palha; Rodrigo Areias “It costs me less in every sense to incur the penalty of disobedience to the State than it would to obey. I should feel as if I were worth less in that case.” Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience (1849)1 “Seja como for, incorrer no castigo, por desobedecer ao Estado, custa menos do que obedecer-lhe. Obedecer é como confessar que nada valho.” Henry David Thoreau, Desobediência Civil (1849)2 Introdução Num tempo de muitas corrupções e conformismos generalizados, surge um realizador, Rodrigo Areias, capaz de projectar no grande ecrã o desencanto do sentimento colectivo de nada se poder mudar num país em que a lei do mais forte impera. Neste cenário, o apelo ético e político do conceito de Desobediência Civil de Henry David Thoreau impõe-se mais do que nunca justificando, assim, totalmente a produção de um filme como Estrada de Palha (2012). Nesta obra alude-se de forma explícita aos trajectos que os pastores transumantes percorriam em Portugal com os seus rebanhos. “Estrada de Palha” seria o nome dado à parte mais perigosa do percurso. Esta narra- tiva cinematográfica aborda a história de um homem que, após ter vivido longe do seu país durante mais de uma década, volta à sua aldeia para vingar a morte do irmão. Inspirado na convocação à resistência civil dos escritos de Henry David Thoreau, Alberto Carneiro, a personagem central, traduz Civil Disobedience (1849) para português. Ao longo desta obra repete-se a ideia recorrente de que a acção se passa num país onde nada muda. Onde a corrupção e a exploração dos mais fracos são encaradas com normalidade, os representantes do Estado prendem e matam impunemente, o que leva Alberto a tentar combater esta tirania salvando o que resta da sua dignidade e da sua família. Rodado entre a serra da Estrela e o Alto Alentejo, além de conter uma série de planos feitos na Lapónia, Estrada de Palha desenvolve-se “respeitando o trajecto da transumância do gado serrano, um dos principais motores económicos da Península Ibérica durante mais de cinco séculos”, explicou o realizador, quando o filme passou no festival de Vila do Conde. É de salientar que esta obra cinematográfica foi bastante bem recebida pela crítica nacional tendo igualmente obtido grande projecção internacional, nomeadamente na Finlândia, onde Estrada de Palha passou no Midnight Sun Film Festival (e recebeu elogios de Aki Kaurismäki), participando também no festival checo de Karlovy Vary, onde fez parte da competição. Daí que Rodrigo Areias tenha observado: “As pessoas ainda não se aperceberam da responsabilidade que o cinema português hoje tem na divulgação da nossa cultura e da nossa imagem a nível internacional.”3 1 Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience, p. 125. 2 Henry David Thoreau, Desobediência Civil, citação de excerto do texto traduzido no filme Estrada de Palha de Rodrigo Areias. 3 Rodrigo Areias in Entrevista de Jorge Mourinha. “Não haverá Sangue”. Ipsilon, Público, 26 Julho, 2012. www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/ culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043. Acedido a 30 de Outubro de 2018. https://www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043 https://www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043 Antónia Lima: Desobediência Civil em Estrada de Palha Art. 10, page 3 of 8 Defendendo a ética de resistência civil de Henri David Thoreau (1817–1872) e citando recorrentemente excertos traduzidos de Civil Disobedience (1849), este filme de Areias desenvolve uma via estética de consciencialização política da realidade nacional actual, sem se tornar num filme de vincada ideologia programática. Baseado na actualidade portuguesa, procura perspectivá-la através de um ponto de vista reflexivo e filosófico alicerçado nos pensamentos libertários de Thoreau, que alertavam para o divórcio entre a política e os direitos do cidadão, argumentando que os indivíduos tinham o direito e o dever de se recusarem a ser instrumentos da injustiça governamental: The mass of men serve the state thus, not as men mainly, but as machines, with their bodies. (…) But when the friction comes to have its machine, and oppression and robbery are organized, I say, let us not have such a machine any longer. (Thoreau 112–113) Estrada de Palha – Um Western Português Alentejano Sendo um western muito peculiar, uma das características mais interessantes deste filme é que Rodrigo Areias conseguiu nele contrastar a violência com o bucolismo, a desobediência com a passividade, o con- flito com a paz, conciliando o inconciliável e criando fortes equivalentes imagéticos do conceito ético de resistência passiva de Thoreau. Adequado à representação de um ambiente político-social instável, o western será, sem dúvida, um dos géneros que melhor representa sistemas sociais em crise onde actos de resistência passiva mais serão colocados à prova pelo seu directo confronto com abusos de poder e com legitimações constantes de actos de usurpação e corrupção, razões pelas quais este género terá muito provavelmente sido escolhido por Rodrigo Areias. Concebido como um western alentejano, ou um “western rojão”, segundo o seu realizador, que assume as suas raízes minhotas, este filme teria necessariamente de evocar o imaginário do western americano e os seus códigos distintivos, procedendo à sua desconstrução numa identidade portuguesa. Recorrendo a este processo, estabelece um variado número de alusões ao género, sem com isso desejar parodiá-lo. O uso da acção, a iminente presença da violência e o percurso para atingir uma ética de conduta para os que afrontam a lei associam-se a um ambiente político-social instável, onde, à semelhança do que sucede no western americano, impera a lei do mais forte, e, por consequência a legitimação da usurpação e corrupção. Contudo, a intenção se afirmar como uma produção nacional mantém-se, tendo Rodrigo Areias esclarecido: A minha intenção era que o filme tivesse uma construção de género e uma desconstrução portuguesa. Era esse o ponto de partida. Não queria fazer forçosamente um filme histórico. Todos os anti-clímaxes que se vão construindo partem de estereótipos do western. Vai haver um duelo? OK, não vai ser nem à americana nem à inglesa, mas uma mistura dos dois. Começa com a história da morte do irmão? Tu não sabes verdadeiramente se ele encontra os assassinos do seu irmão ou não, não fica explícito… A minha ideia era sempre partir desse cliché do western, para depois o des- montar e tornar numa coisa mais portuguesa. E não apenas portuguesa, pois há muito universo de BD a entrar de repente por aquelas personagens. O Lucky Luke ou o Blueberry fazem parte da nossa geração, há um lado muito europeu de revisitar essa realidade americana. Para mim, era sempre mais interessante ser uma coisa assumidamente portuguesa, em vez de filmar uma coisa em Itália ou no sul de Espanha a fingir que era a América.4 Como Western português, Estrada de Palha procura a justificação dos seus pressupostos estético-éticos orientando-se por pensamentos de Thoreau e também por certas considerações de André Bazin, segundo as quais se defende: Onde a moral individual é precária, só a lei pode impor a ordem do bem e o bem da ordem. Mas a lei é tanto mais injusta quanto pretende garantir uma moral social ignorante dos méritos individuais dos que constituem a sociedade. (238) Convém sublinhar que esta obra cinematográfica não se detém na defesa inútil de falsas demagogias e ideais anarquistas, mas antes se preocupa com a necessidade de uma moral, identificada por Bazin, como uma das características-chave do western. 4 Rodrigo Areias in Entrevista de Jorge Mourinha. “Não haverá Sangue”. Ipsilon, Público, 26 Julho, 2012. www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/ culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043. Acedido a 30 de Outubro de 2018. https://www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043 https://www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043 Antónia Lima: Desobediência Civil em Estrada de PalhaArt. 10, page 4 of 8 Encontramos, assim, notórias influências dos filmes de John Ford, o grande mestre do género, que sempre demonstrou grande preocupação com o valor da integridade humana. Como na obra de Ford, também nesta realização de Rodrigo Areias encontramos os grandes temas do bem e do mal, que se confrontam perante uma ética da visão do realizador, bem expressa em imagens organizadas com um equivalente sentido esté- tico que a presença da luz amplifica. Aliás, em entrevistas dadas pelo realizador americano, este sempre destacou a importância da fotografia, que considerava essencial para um bom filme, pois via o cinema como um meio em que todo o potencial dramático se impõe através da sua comunicação plástica, a que sub- jaz uma visão não-dogmática da realidade e do comportamento humano. Numa entrevista aos Cahiers du Cinéma, John Ford chegou a revelar esta sua preocupação: “Não penso ter conscientemente vestido os meus heróis de branco e os meus maus de negro. A virtude não triunfa sempre, nem na vida nem no western. Algumas vezes triunfa e, cá no fundo, acho isso bem” (120). Para realizar Estrada de Palha, Rodrigo Areias desenvolveu um grande trabalho de pesquisa que o obrigou a revisitar toda a obra de John Ford, mas também os western spaghetti de Sergio Leone, o Homem Morto (1995) de Jim Jarmusch, o El Topo (1970) de Alejandro Jodorowsky. O seu objectivo ficou totalmente esclare- cido para o público, quando referiu que desejava manter o filme como uma construção de género, mas simultaneamente proceder a uma desconstrução portuguesa. Trata-se, então, de um ensaio sobre o western e o seu grande alcance filosófico e existencial, revelando a sua eficácia estética contemporânea. Apresentado num contexto geográfico e social muito afastado dos pressupostos deste género, Estrada de Palha adquire uma originalidade particularmente inesperada e em diálogo directo com Alentejo sem Lei de João Canijo, uma mini-série de televisão portuguesa, de apenas três episódios, passada no Alentejo durante a guerra civil de 1828–1834, na qual miguelistas lutavam contra os liberais, numa região em que também a força era a lei. Estrada de Palha possui uma forte mensagem política bem explícita e actual nos dias de hoje, ao conferir urgência, em tempos conturbados como os nossos, ao convívio com os pensamentos éticos e libertários de Thoreau, o grande defensor de práticas pacifistas através do método de resistência passiva. Um cowboy justiceiro e intelectual, tão hábil com rebanhos como com a natureza humana, surge persistentemente acompanhado por um texto que anda a traduzir de um livro eloquente e profético: Desobediência Civil (1849) de Henry David Thoreau. Ao longo do filme, surgem vários fragmentos deste seu texto, defend- endo-se a desobediência civil individual como forma de oposição ao estado/governo/poder. Lembrando técnicas de cinema mudo, os pensamentos de Thoreau surgem intercalados nas várias cenas do filme, não as traduzindo directamente, mas acrescentando-lhes comentários reflexivos e filosóficos. A sua eloquên- cia torna-se tanto mais expressiva quanto maior é o contraste da ética que transmitem com a realidade da acção determinada pelo confronto com a prepotência e arrogância do poder, dramatizadas por um déspota capitão Bacelo (Nuno Melo), que impõe a sua autoridade sem qualquer tipo de regras e apenas beneficiando os seus interesses pessoais. Estrada de Palha ultrapassa, assim, a sua mera condição de filme de género para se tornar numa especulação filosófica sobre o sentimento trágico do destino humano e a sua fragilidade perante sistemas ditatoriais, além de ser quase um tratado existencial sobre muitos aspec- tos da errância e até do nomadismo. Capaz de se confrontar com os cenários mais agrestes e desolados da Lapónia, representados no filme por grandes e sublimes planos gélidos filmados na Noruega, o protago- nista, justiceiro e resistente, desenvolve uma longa e romântica demanda solitária, semelhante ao trajecto dos pastores que viajam para sul pela Estrada de Palha, enfrentando todos os perigos. Após este duro ritual de passagem por experiências difíceis em locais solitários, que lhe permitiram a meditação e sagacidade de um eremita ou monge budista, Alberto Carneiro, está pronto para se confrontar mais eficazmente contra a brutalidade e a injustiça do poder. Paralelismos e Afinidades entre H. D. Thoreau e Alberto Carneiro Para melhor comprovar a actualidade dos pensamentos de Thoreau e justificar a sua aplicação prática, existem no filme alguns paralelismos entre os seus motivos político-filosóficos e os de Alberto Carneiro, a personagem central deste filme de Rodrigo Areias, para quem o pensador americano representa o melhor líder intelectual com quem estabelece várias afinidades. Se Thoreau era crítico relativamente ao pagamento de impostos na América do seu tempo, sendo um abolicionista preocupado com a dignidade do indivíduo acima de tudo, Alberto, o protagonista, é também preso por não querer ser roubado pelo Estado. No filme, Alberto torna-se inimigo do capitão Bacelo devido a uma portagem exigida por este que o pastor se recusa a pagar. Tanto Thoreau como Alberto são incondescendentes relativamente a ilegalidades praticadas por um Estado que assim demonstra não estar a exercer a sua função correctamente. Caminhantes solitários e libertários, ambos vivem sozinhos em comunhão com a Natureza e defendem a sua integridade individual, confrontando a corrupção do Estado e promovendo atitudes de resistência passiva, não apelando, por isso, ao duelo físico com a autoridade. As sublimes imagens iniciais do filme, que Antónia Lima: Desobediência Civil em Estrada de Palha Art. 10, page 5 of 8 apresentam Alberto como eremita, vivendo em profundo isolamento nas montanhas gélidas da Lapónia, poderiam facilmente corresponder à situação de extrema solidão vivida por Thoreau na sua cabana junto do lago Walden, em Concord, onde procurava essa “sweet solitude my spitit seemed so early to require” (Bode 5) e que o convidava aos mais nobres pensamentos, que deixou registados em Walden; or Life in the Woods (1854). Embora alguns dos seus biógrafos tenham preferido apresentá-lo como alguém mais equilibrado, tendo sublinhado a sua natureza social, a verdade é que Thoreau era, na sua essência, um homem sozinho, um loner. Convém lembrar que, no filme de Areias, Alberto, enquanto pastor itinerante, deambula por locais inabitados e inóspitos, acabando por desaparecer, calmamente, como faz durante todo o filme, para se isolar e dedicar-se a uma vida de reflexão, algo profundamente romântico e até evocativo da obra Os Devaneios de um Caminhante Solitário (1782) de Jean Jacques Rosseau. Perseguindo igualmente os seus profundos desejos de vida privada, também Thoreau sempre tentou evi- tar qualquer invasão da sua privacidade, que a todo o custo precisava de manter para caminhar, pensar e escrever. Só assim conseguiu desenvolver o grande poder de reflexão expresso nos seus textos, tendo num dos diários confessado: “tonight my flute awakes the echoes over this very water … Even I have at length helped to cloth that fabulous landscape of my imagination” (Ibid.). Uma fabulosa paisagem da imagi- nação será também algo que se mantém comum a este pensador americano e a Alberto Carneiro, pois ambos possuem uma sensibilidade poética que os une numa relação transcendental com a Natureza, esse enorme símbolo do espírito humano segundo R. W. Emerson, o grande orientador filosófico e espiritual do Transcendentalismo Americano e grande mestre de Thoreau. A Natureza seria, então, o local ideal para fazer surgir o melhor do indivíduo, possibilitando-lhe atingir e aperfeiçoar a sua identidade e voz poética. Solidão e privacidade seriam, assim, os ingredientes essenciais ao desenvolvimento e evolução de um poeta que respeitasse a sua independência de espírito e o valor da introspecção e intuição humanas. E, embora o poeta estivesse isolado dos seus contemporâneos, como bem observou Emerson no seu ensaio, The Poet, ele seria representativo do homem completo e dele se exigia que celebrasse valores universais conducentes à liberdade individual, pois além de se acreditar poderem os poetas ser deuses libertadores (“the poets are thus liberating gods”), também se defendia que a expressão poética conferia poderes muito especiais: “the use of symbols has a certain power of emancipation and exhilaration for all men” (Emerson 276). Não existe, assim, qualquer dúvida que Thoreau desejava ser poeta, não significando que tencionava tornar-se um esteta lânguido e sentimental, mas antes um representante de uma humanidade moderna, situando-se próximo do visionário e do profeta. De acordo com a sua con- cepção, o poeta ideal seria mais nobre do que o cientista e superior ao filósofo partilhando características de ambos: The collector of facts must possess a perfect physical organization; the philosopher, a perfect intelectual organization. But in the true poet they are so fairly but mysteriously balanced, that we can see the results of both, and generalize even the widest deductions of philosophy. (Thoreau 20) Assim, todos os pensamentos e reflexões apresentados em Civil Disobedience não estão desprovidos de sentido poético, o que confere às causas aí defendidas um maior impacto no alcance das mensagens éticas e políticas transmitidas. Rodrigo Areias soube transpor magistralmente para o seu filme esta ética poética de Thoreau que foi profundamente integrada na personalidade de Alberto Carneiro, nome aliás ressonante de uma herança pessoana que nos interpela pelo jogo irónico associativo que estabelece com o heterónimo Alberto Caeiro, esse guardador de rebanhos que, na verdade, guardava pensamentos, fixando em poesia a realidade mais pura e autêntica da Natureza. O conhecido desejo de total simplicidade existencial próprio deste heterónimo, para quem a sensação seria a única realidade com a qual se relacionava da forma mais objectiva e natural possível, identifica-se com a preferência de Alberto Carneiro e do próprio Thoreau em viver uma vida simples. A famosa cabana deste último em Walden era, por exemplo, constituída apenas por um quarto sem fechadura na porta nem cortina na janela, o que para si seria o suficiente, já que era seu desejo seguir as orientações de Thomas Carlyle, que aconselhavam a reduzir as necessidades ao essencial: “reduce your wants and live a simple life” (Bode 21). Daí que os textos produzidos pelos transcendentalistas americanos produzissem, no seu conjunto, uma imagem estereotipada de um movimento que acreditava numa América pastoral e idílica, mas que não deixava de transportar uma profunda crítica social aos efeitos negativos da industrialização, como bem nos lembra Perry Miller em The Transcendentalist: The picture of the movement as a charming idyll in a pastoral America became, by the end of the century, the stereotype. It has been perpetuated to our own day by writers whose dread of an indus- trialized and mechanized civilization bred a nostalgia for simplicity and rural quietude. (Miller 14) Antónia Lima: Desobediência Civil em Estrada de PalhaArt. 10, page 6 of 8 Não será demais lembrar que esta atitude ascética de Thoreau demarcava-se totalmente das tendências socioculturais dominantes na época, determinadas pelo materialismo americano, que já incentivava o consumo e a acumulação de propriedade privada, a que o filme de Areias também alude, colocando o centro da intriga cinematográfica na apropriação ilegal de rebanhos de ovelhas. Além disso, a imagem do rebanho tem sido frequentemente utilizada por este realizador português, inclusive em anúncios televi- sivos de sua autoria, o que revela um profundo interesse pelo alcance crítico e humorístico desta metá- fora imagética que se adequa de forma particularmente pertinente à realidade socio-política nacional determinada por um conformismo ancestral imutável. Sabe-se como igualmente o próprio Thoreau se insurgiu sempre contra este estado de coisas, pois desde cedo se apercebeu que, no seu tempo, as pessoas em Concord e noutros locais do mundo viviam escravizadas não só pela fome, mas também pelo apego à propriedade privada e à conformidade social. Indignado pelo facto de grande parte dos homens levarem uma vida de desespero silencioso sem nada fazerem contra isso, este autor americano chegou um dia a denunciar esta extrema passividade, dirigindo-se até aos próprios abolicionistas, dizendo-lhes : “Ye are all slaves” (Bode 25). Defendendo acima de tudo a dignidade e liberdade individuais e criticando a prepotência de todo o autoritarismo corrupto, Estrada de Palha de Rodrigo Areias encontrou decerto, nas ideias centrais do pen- samento de Thoreau, os melhores argumentos para justificar a defesa de uma causa comum apresentada em obras produzidas em diferentes épocas. Por isso a personalidade de Alberto Carneiro se aproxima tanto de Thoreau e das suas causas. Partindo de referências éticas exemplares do pensador americano, as acções de Alberto podem também tornar-se num exemplo de conduta para a cena social e política nacional, onde cada indivíduo deveria exercer o seu poder de julgar por si próprio, única forma de garantir a independência. Se Alberto age sozinho e de acordo com os seus próprios princípios, tudo acaba por se resumir, como em Civil Disobedience, a uma questão de consciência e não de mero desejo de poder ou de acumulação de benefícios, possuídos pela autoridade, a que se resiste passivamente denunciando os seus excessos criminosos e malévolos. Na ausência deste sentido ético, parece estar a razão de todos os males passados, presentes e futuros, podendo isto minar qualquer sistema social e político que facilmente se desorienta pela perda dos seus mais essenciais valores, como bem Thoreau previra nas suas reflexões sobre desobediência civil: “Others – as most legislators, politicians, lawyers, ministers, and office-holders – serve the state chiefly with their heads; and, as they rarely make any moral distinctions, they are as likely to serve the devil, without intending it, as God” (Thoreau 112). É, assim, natural que estes pensamentos tornem solitários quem os produz, pois será sempre alguém que se recusa a ser moldável pelo poder: “a wise man will only be useful as a man, and will not submit to be ‘clay’ ” (Ibid. 133). Um homem sábio será também alguém que se recusa a ser mais uma peça na engrenagem de uma máquina reprodutora de actos corruptos que parecem imparáveis e repetíveis no tempo, a não ser que indivíduos de consciência independente e libertária lhes resistam com a determinação de um Gandhi, como parece ser a intenção de Alberto Carneiro em Estrada de Palha. Mais uma vez as palavras de Thoreau, em Civil Disobedience, são a este respeito premonitórias: “There will never be a really free and enlightened State until the State comes to recognize the individual as a higher and independent power, from which all its own power and author- ity are derived and treats him accordingly” (Ibid. 113). Entende-se, assim, que a intervenção revolucionária de confronto com o poder tirano e corrupto do estado, por parte da personagem Alberto Carneiro, encontre fundamentação teórica, ética e política em vários pensamentos de Thoreau extraídos do seu ensaio sobre desobediência civil. A apropriação dos escritos deste pensador do séc. XIX, por um realizador do séc. XXI, para criar o seu filme, projecta nessa identificação da personagem central um mecanismo de autorreferencialidade, pois Areias e Alberto possuem o mesmo fascínio pela filosofia de Thoreau e pelo apelo à não violência do seu método pacifista de resistência pas- siva. Assim se justifica a grande modernidade e actualidade da visão crítica deste autor americano, cuja imaginação subversiva sempre fez parte da geração de transcendentalistas americanos a que pertencia, e que David Reynolds bem identifica na sua obra Beneath the American Renaissance – the subversive imagina- tion in the age of Emerson and Melville, onde se destaca a relevância da rebelião destes escritores contra o poder cultural dominante: “The view of the major writers as alienated rebels has become deeply ingrained in our view of American literature. It has become common to view high literature as an isolated act of rebel- lion or subversion against a dominant culture” (6). Ao traduzir Civil Disobedience para português, Alberto Carneiro traduz este espírito de rebelião necessário à urgente mudança de mentalidades ainda hoje sentida no cenário sócio-político nacional comprovando, assim, que o seu conhecimento, adquirido em profundo isolamento asceta, lhe proporcionou uma grande consciência das reais condições históricas e sociais do seu país, como aliás também aconteceu com a experiência eremita de Thoreau em Walden. Antónia Lima: Desobediência Civil em Estrada de Palha Art. 10, page 7 of 8 Conclusões Finais Estimulando uma discussão política, mas não panfletária, a utilização cinematográfica do célebre texto, Desobediência Civil de Thoreau, confere rigor ao alcance da mensagem ideológica que transmite e que se projecta em Estrada de Palha. As citações do pensador americano, entre algumas sequências, fazem com que a palavra atinja uma dimensão ética e universal, tão forte como o poder das imagens que indirectamente comentam: “Percebi que o Estado era deficiente mental. Como uma viúva agarrada às suas pratas, incapaz de distinguir amigos e inimigos. Foi então que lhe perdi o pouco respeito que tinha e passei a ter pena dele”.5 Esta resistência desobediente torna-se, então, uma forma de contrariar a desistência fomentando uma activa participação na mudança. De realçar a surpreendente actualidade deste filme, que, ao inspirar-se em Thoreau, comprova serem os seus pensamentos profundamente actuais. O seu famoso aforismo, “o melhor governo é aquele que menos governa” (“that government is best which governs least”) (Thoreau 109), aplica-se a esta narrativa cinematográfica localizada num país onde a prepotência da autoridade é encarada com normalidade, per- mitindo-se que os representantes do Estado prendam e matem impunemente. Ao tentar combater-se esta tirania, cai-se no desânimo de concluir ser este um país onde nada muda… A capacidade do conteúdo temático de Estrada de Palha de se projectar no espaço contemporâneo é, assim, enorme, tornando possível uma interessante e original identificação entre ficção e realidade actual. Esta obra cinematográfica dialoga profundamente com a nossa contemporaneidade por representar um exercício imaginário que possibilita uma importante reflexão sobre a disseminação e normalização de práti- cas legais para exercer permanentes ilegalidades que se estendem a todo o território nacional tal como acontece na actualidade. Tanto na narrativa fílmica, como na vida do cidadão comum actual, abundam situ- ações de excessos fiscais, taxas, impostos, que o realizador, enquanto membro do rebanho, pressente como definitivos, confessando a sua apreensão relativamente ao cenário da sociedade portuguesa: De repente a democracia são sempre os outros, a culpa é sempre de outra pessoa que votou naqueles tipos. O lado amorfo com que a malta vê isto assusta-me muito. E do meu ponto de vista é óbvio que isto nunca vai mudar.6 Contudo, Alberto Carneiro, o cowboy resiliente e rebelde, não se separa de Desobediência Civil, que trans- porta como um texto sagrado que interiorizou nos seus pensamentos e acções com a esperança de con- seguir um “governo melhor”. Estrada de Palha apela, assim, ao poder de identificação do espectador com um fora-da-lei possuidor de mais princípios e valores dos que estão dentro da lei, aproximando-o de uma personagem desobediente através da qual poderá reencontrar a sua identidade e liberdade, tanto individual como colectiva. Como bem observou o realizador, durante o visionamento deste filme será impossível não pensar numa relação com um país onde é comum haver cinquenta por cento de abstenção em actos eleito- rais. Assim se justifica que exista no filme alguém que se interroga sobre “que sentido faz viver aqui se isto nunca vai mudar”, tornando-se algo cada vez mais pertinente no momento actual. Consequentemente, o uso da câmara de filmar intervém numa reflexão ética sobre o presente português e a consequente descrença num futuro mais promissor. Se, através deste filme, o seu realizador nos transmite o realismo da mensagem pessimista, que persiste em afirmar que o contexto político-social “nunca vai mudar”, o público sentir-se-á interpelado acerca da existência de uma possível saída para um estado de inércia e desesperança em relação à crescente descrença geral na democracia já partilhada por Thoreau em Civil Disobedience: when the power is once in the hands of the people, a majority are permitted, and for a long period continue, to rule is not because they are most likely to be in the right, nor because this seems fairest to the minority, but because they are most likely to be in the right, nor because this seems fairest to the minority, but because they are physically the strongest. But a government in which the majority rule in all cases cannot be based on justice, even as far as men understand it. (Thoreau 111) Neste sentido, Estrada de Palha apresenta uma matriz cinematográfica que nos pode orientar num muito salutar debate sobre atitudes e formas de resistência que levem a combater o medo e o conformismo, grandes responsáveis pelos hábitos e costumes de rebanho obediente em que vivemos, e que os pen- 5 Citação traduzida da obra de Thoreau no filme Estrada de Palha de Rodrigo Areias. 6 Rodrigo Areias in Entrevista de Jorge Mourinha. “Não haverá Sangue”. Ipsilon, Público, 26 Julho, 2012. www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/ culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043 Acedido a 30 de Outubro de 2018. https://www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043 https://www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043 Antónia Lima: Desobediência Civil em Estrada de PalhaArt. 10, page 8 of 8 samentos de Thoreau tinham já antecipado, em sintonia, aliás, com os de alguns autores mais centrais do transcendentalismo americano, como bem observou Perry Miller: “(…) this literature be read as funda- mentally an expression of a religious radicalism in revolt against a rational conservatism (…) becomes (…) a protest of the human spirit against emotional starvation” (8). Tudo isto nos permitirá concluir que esta obra cinematográfica de Rodrigo Areias, ao dialogar com um dos maiores representantes da Renascença Americana, fará eco deste protesto contra o conservadorismo racional, combatendo os perigos de uma ari- dez emocional generalizada. Imbuído deste espírito de rebelião e acompanhado da melhor filosofia política de Thoreau, este realizador português conseguiu provar que filmar pode transformar-se numa proposta artística de desobediência. Filmar é, também, desobedecer. Conflitos de interesse A autora não tem conflito de interesses a declarar. Referências Bazin, André. O que é o Cinema. Horizonte, 1992. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. Nature and Selected Essays. Penguin, 2003. Miller, Perry. The Transcendentalists. Harvard UP, 1978. Mourinha, Jorge. “Não haverá Sangue”. Ipsilon, Público, 26 Julho, 2012. www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/ culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043. Acedido a 30 de Outubro de 2018. Reynolds, David S. Beneath the American Renaissance – The Subversive Imagination in the Age of Emerson and Melville. Harvard UP, 1988. Thoreau, Henry David. Civil Disobedience. Ed. Carl Bode. The Portable Thoreau. Penguin, 1982. Filmografia El Topo. Real. Alejandro Jodorowsky. ABKCO Films, 1970. Estrada de Palha. Real. Rodrigo Areias. Bando à parte e Oktober Film, 2012. Homem Morto. Real. Jim Jarmusch. Miramaxx, 1995. How to cite this article: Antónia Lima, Maria. “Desobediência Civil em Estrada de Palha: um western português alentejano”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 17, issue 1, art. 10, 2020, pp. 1–8. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.4 Submitted: 26 September 2019 Accepted: 26 September 2019 Published: 29 January 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043 https://www.publico.pt/2012/06/28/culturaipsilon/noticia/nao-havera-sangue-307043 https://doi.org/10.5334/as.4 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Introdução Estrada de Palha - Um Western Português Alentejano Paralelismos e Afinidades entre H. D. Thoreau e Alberto Carneiro Conclusões Finais Conflitos de interesse Referências Filmografia 
work_tvvfnppnwbh5je62vzxr3sdw2m	----	Thoreau, Muir, and Jane Doe: Different Types of Private Forest Owners Need Different Kinds of Forest Management Andrew O. Finley, Department of Forest Resources, University of Minnesota, St. Paul, MN 55108; and David B. Kittredge Jr., Department of Natural Resources Conservation, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, MA 01003, and Harvard Forest, Harvard Univer- sity, Petersham, MA 01366. ABSTRACT: We present a three-phase segmentation analysis designed to highlight the heterogeneity of forest ownership values and attitudes toward government control, privacy, and environmental protection held by a sample of Massachusetts private forest owners. This case study explores private forest owner characteristics that are associated with enrollment into Massachusetts' Chapter 61 current-use forest property tax program, which requires a professionally prepared lO-year forest management plan. We suggest the key to increasing landowner participation in forest management programs is to (1) recognize this heterogeneity of the target population, and (2) tailor the program to meet segment specific needs and desires. North. J. Appl. For. 23(1):27-34. Key Words: private forest owners, segmentation analysis, attitudes, forest management. The northeastern United States, where private forest dom- inates the landscape, relies heavily on an intact, healthy, and resilient forest ecosystem. These private forests produce numerous social benefits including clean water and air, biodiversity, lumber/wood fiber, wildlife for consumptive and nonconsumptive uses, recreation, and a scenic backdrop for a rural tourism industry. Recognizing the value of pri- vate forests, several local, state, and federal agencies have designed programs to encourage private forest (PF) owners to practice forest stewardship. Forest stewardship can be defined as the judicious management of forest resources to ensure their sustainable health and productivity for future generations. Despite the development of these programs, it is increas- ingly difficult to ensure stewardship practices across the private forest landscape. An increasing PF owner popula- tion challenges efforts to secure a sustainable and ecologi- cally sound forest landscape because of parcelization, frag- mentation, and land use change (Birch 1996; Sampson and DeCoster 2000). The effectiveness of forest management programs is challenged in this developing landscape, since they provide few economically compelling alternatives to landowners faced with the option to sell their property for subdivision and eventual land use change. NOTE: Andrew O. Finley can be reached at (612) 624-1714; afinley@gis.umn.edu. Copyright @ 2006 by the Society of Amer- ican Foresters. Reprinted from Northern Journal of Applied Forestry, Vol. 23, No. We present findings of a recent PF owner study that uncovers patterns in values associated with forestland own- ership. Based on unique value orientations identified in the PF owner sample, we propose that the state's current-use property tax program (Chapter 61) could enjoy greater success if it better reflected PF owners' values. Case Study Although it is generally perceived as a center of metro- politan development, Massachusetts is roughly 62 percent forested. Seventy-eight percent of this forest landscape is controlled by 235,000 PF owners (Alerich 2000). The for- ested landscape controlled by thousands of private individ- uals provides a myriad of market-based commodities and other invaluable benefits to the state's 6.3 million citizens. Considering the pressure from Massachusetts' rapidly ex- panding urban populations, the state has a recognized the need to protect forests for their social and ecological ser- vices. To this end, the state legislature passed Chapter 61 in 1989, which provides a 95 percent reduction in the assessed value of the property resulting in a corresponding savings in property taxes. The aim of Chapter 61 is to simultaneously encourage forest stewardship and keep the private forest in active timber management. Enrollment in the Chapter 61 program requires a professionally prepared lO-year forest management plan that identifies landowner forestland ob- jectives (e.g., improving wildlife habitat, property esthetics, 27NJAF 23(1) 2006 Not for further reproduction.1, March 2006. or timber resource) and active management for those for- estland objectives. An explicit requirement of Chapter 61 is that enrolled forestland be managed to produce timber. Local towns receive an 8% severance tax from the land- owner when timber is sold. Also, once enrolled, the property cannot be withdrawn without paying a foregone back-tax penalty. Chapter 61 does not require the landowner to open their property to public access. Despite the liberal tax re- duction benefit, it is estimated that only 17% of eligible acres and 19% of eligible owners participate (unpublished data). Methods The Survey The data used in this case study were drawn from a survey distributed in the spring of 2000. The original study was designed to measure PF owners' attitudes toward eco- system management activities implemented on their forest- land (White 2001). In addition to questions concerning landownership, the survey elicited responses from landown- ers on attitudes toward a variety of themes or issues about the environment, government, and ownership decisions. The survey was mailed to 1,500 PF owners in 20 randomly selected towns in Massachusetts. The development and dis- tribution of the survey followed Dillman's (2000) Total Design Method. In an attempt to exclude those PF owners in predominately urban centers, all Metropolitan Statistical Areas and Consolidated Metropolitan Statistical Areas as defined by the United States Census were excluded. Cape Cod and all towns east of Interstate 495 (which rings the greater Boston metropolitan area) were also excluded be- cause PF owners in this area experience different environ- mental and developmental pressures related to the coastal environment. Approximately 75 PF owners in each of the sampled towns were randomly selected to receive the mail- back survey. The survey had a response rate of 47.2 percent (n = 708), and 139 observations were dropped from the analysis due to missing values. Segmentation Approach The three-phase analytical strategy defines and describes PF owner segments based on measured values and attitudes. Table 1. Rotated PC loadings, total variance explained by retained PCs, and Cronbach's Alpha for each PC. Items Reasons for owning forestland . "' ;.,., ., " ,', Income from timber n' '" 0,05 -0.07. it 0.Q7 0.57 0.61 Income from agriculture 0.04 0.13" 0.14 0.58 To pass on to my children 0.12 0.09 0.72 0.14 0.80 To preserve family and tradition 0.23 0.22 0.73 0.17 Personal recreation 0.27 0.64 0.13 0.03 0.79 6 As a place to live 0.18 0.65 0.13 0.05 7 To enjoy the scenery 0.32 0.74 0.11 -0.01 9 To protect land from development 0.66 0.27 0.26 0.08 0.82 10 To provide wildlife habitat 0.71 0.28 0.10 0.04 II To protect the environment 0.72 0.25 0.12 0.05 12 To have privacy Retained as unique variable 13 To leave land unmanaged, letting Retained as unique variable nature take its course Variance explained 1.83 1.74 1.21 0.84 1 2 3 4 5 28 NJAF 23(1) 2006 Three distinct segments of respondents were defined, based on their responses to 13 Likert scale survey items. Using a 5-point Likert scale, each item measured reasons for owning forestland (with potential responses ranging from "not at all important" to "extremely important"). First, principal com- ponents analysis (PCA) was used to reduce the dimension- ality of the survey item data set and render a parsimonious set of composite variables. Second, a cluster analysis (CA) extracted three distinct respondent segments based on the composite variables and retained original survey items. Third, a multiple discriminant analysis (MDA) identified those clustering variables that best exemplify segment dif- ferences. In addition to these three multivariate analyses, univariate tests on supplementary survey items were used to further profile the derived PF owner segments. Analysis Phase 1: Data Reduction Using Principal Components Analysis In this case study, 13 items were used from the original survey (Table I). These items measure respondents' reasons for forestland ownership. High simple correlations among several of these items warranted a data reduction procedure (Stevens 1986). PeA was performed on the 569 responses and 13 survey items. Table I displays the PC loadings and variance explained by the first four PCs. A PC loading represents the univariate correlation between the survey item and PC. These loadings are used to define and name each PC. Hair et a1. (1998) suggest that in samples greater than 50, absolute PC loadings greater than 0.50 indicate strong variable to PC association. This criterion was used here for defining each PC. However, Item 12 (To have privacy) and Item 13 (To leave land unmanaged, letting nature take its course) were not incorporated into a PC and left to stand alone in the analysis. Emerging research sug- gests different PF owners hold unique definitions for the word privacy (Rickenbach et a1. 1998); therefore, we were interested in observing the behavior of Item 12 as a unique variable. Item 13 did not adequately load on any of the four PCs, and was therefore also left as a unique variable. Rotated principal component loadings PC 1 PC2 PC3 PC4 Cronbach's Alpha Based on associated item themes, we assign the follow- ing names to the different PCs: PC 1 environmental protec- tion; PC 2 contemplative enjoyment; PC 3 family legacy; PC 4 utilitarian consumptive uses. As a measure of scale reli- ability, Cronbach's Alpha was calculated for each PC (Cronbach 1951). Because PC 4 does not meet Nunnally's (1978) suggested Cronbach Alpha minimum of 0.70, cau- tion will be used when interpreting results related to the utilitarian consumptive uses PC. Using PCA, the original 13 survey items were effectively reduced to four composite variables, and two original items (Item 12 and Item 13). PC scores serve as data observations for the new composite variables. To share a common scale with derived composite variables, Items 12 and 13 were standardized (mean = 0, variance = 1). In the second phase of the analysis, CA defines distinct respondent segments based on this reduced set of variables. Phase 2: Segment Formation Using Cluster Analysis Previous PF owner studies have effectively described commonly held reasons for landownership and attitudes concerning forest resource use (e.g., Birch 1996, Ricken- bach et al. 1998). However, they have not described the heterogeneity of these values and attitudes among survey respondents. CA is a multivariate technique that can orga- nize survey respondents into discrete segments, such that within-segment similarity is maximized and among-seg- ment similarity is minimized according to respondentS' scores on survey items. The CA technique used in this analysis produces statistically significant and discrete seg- ments of PF owners who exhibit common reasons for landownership. The k-means clustering algorithm was used to assign respondents to exclusive segments based on their response to the six clustering variables derived from the PCA. To arrive at an appropriate number of respondent segments (i.e., clusters), two-, three-, and four-cluster solutions were explored. Results from the final phase of this analysis sug- gested that the three-cluster solution was most easily inter- preted, and therefore, will serve as the basis for further analysis. Table 2. Summary of discriminant analysis and variables' contribution to segment separation. Standardized coefficients Discriminant loadings Univariate F Partial F Discriminant variables OF I . DF 2 OF 1 OF 2 Ratio Frob. Ratio Prob. PC 1 "", 0.269 -0379 0.621'LO.212 101.99 <0.01 22.76 ,<0.01 Environmental protection PC 2 0.173 0.677 0.628 0.46 II 144.31 Contemplative enjoyment -0.099 0.536 0.086 0.400 25.44 -0.007 0.296 -0.016 0.392 23.02 U87 0.227 0.953 0.212 361.72 0.334 -0.923 0.485 -0.646 147.96 Phase 3: Describing Segment Differences Using Discriminat Analysis CA defined three segments of respondents based on their scores. on six clustering variables. The third phase of the analysis describes the unique signature or profile of these respondent segments. In this analysis, MDA was used to determine which of the six clustering variables were most influential in assigning respondents to segments. This infor- mation is important because it highlights those landowner- ship values common and unique among segments. Both discriminant functions are highly significant (P < 0.01) based on an approximate F-value (see Hair et at. 1998 for approximate F-value calculations). Table 2 lists each of the discriminating variables and associated standardized canonical coefficients. To aid in interpretation, the MDA results are illustrated with a biplot (Figure 1), which depicts discriminating vari- ables as vectors and segment centroids as point symbols. The length of the vector is proportional to its discriminating power; longer vectors have greater discriminating power. The angle of the vector relates this power to the canonical axis; stated differently, the more aligned a vector is with the canonical axis the more the discriminating power is associ- ated with that axis. Furthermore, the direction of the vector mirrors the original low to high Likert scale; the variable or PC vector arrow points toward segments that scored high, and away from segments that scored low (Hair et al. 1987). Examining the discriminant loadings (Table 2) and the biplot (Figure 1), we determined that the first function (i.e., the x axis) describes a gradient dominated by the value placed in privacy. This gradient generally separates segment three from segments one and two. The second function (i.e., the y axis) describes the difference between segment one and two. Specifically, this gradient is dominated by the recognition of ownership for contemplative enjoyment ver- sus the value in ownership to preserve nature. We recognize that these value scales are not mutually exclusive (rather complimentary) and probably in most cases exist together in a landowner's set of ownership values. Our analysis sug- gests, however, that one set of values presides over the other <0.01 <0.01 <0.01 <0.01 <0.01 43.26 38.51 11.05 125.65 111.13 <0.01 <0.01 <0.01 <0.01 <0.01 NJAF 23(1) 2006 29 ... Segment 3 (Jane doe) Figure 1. deviations. Biplot of important discriminant variables (vectors) and segment centroids (~ between the segments. Specifically, landowners in segment 2 hold strong values of environmental protection, whereas landowners in segment I place higher priority on privacy and nonconsumptive uses such as recreation and scenery. Although statistically significant, the composite vari- ables offamily legacy and utilitarian uses exhibit much less influence in distinguishing between landowner segments, as indicated by the univariate F scores (Table 2). Since these are not strongly distinguishing factors, the implication is that these concepts are held more or less commonly among segments and for this reason their vectors were not included in the biplot. Segments Our analysis has identified three statistically unique seg- ments of the sampled landowner population in Massachu- setts. These segments are basis on attitudes toward environ- mental protection, privacy, and appreciative values of forests. , Henry David Thoreau is the figure we've chosen to exemplify landowners in this first segment. Like Tho- reau, these landowners highly value privacy and the Analysis of variance for survey items that measure segment specific ownership and demographic charac-Table 3. teristics. ---------- Item Henry David Thoreau (Segment 1) John Muir (Segment 2) Jane Doe (Segment 3) dJ. Frob. Forest area (acres) Respondent age (years) n GLM and Tukey's Studentized Range Test. Superscript letters attached to variable's mean denote mean separation a = 0.05, variable's standard deviation shown in parentheses. 30 NJAF 23(1) 2006 Environmental protection (PC 1) Preserve nature (Item 13) Segment 2. (John Muir) . Axes measured in units ofsymbols) standard contemplative values or benefits of forest, such as scenery, personal recreation, and a pleasing residential setting. Although their land may not have a pond, these landowners view their property as providing important "Walden"-like qualities or benefits. Like Thoreau, however, these owners are not necessarily opposed to utilizing the forest for wood products (Foster 1999), but their highest priorities are more appreciative or non- consumptive benefits. Approximately 67% of survey respondents are members of the Thoreau segment, and their average age is 58 years (Table 3). The average property size of Henry David Thoreau is 70 acres. Understandably, since they place a high priority on appreciative values such as scenery, 83% of Thoreau owners reside on their property, and only 17% live elsewhere (Table 4). In terms of future development, the vast majority of Thoreau owners (85%) have no such intentions for the next ten years (Table 5). John Muir is the historical figure we use to exemplify the second segment within the sampled landowners. Like Muir, these landowners place the highest priority . APF owner segments 69.55ab (105.67) 54.11a (60.73) 1O2.00b (167.54) 58.12a (12.64) 59.60ab (13.12) 63.46b (11.66) 2; 5660.02 2; 5660.01 Table 4. Cross-tabulation by segment for the item that measures absentee ownership. PF owner segments Frequency column Henry David Thoreau ,.' John Muir Jane Doe percent (Segment 1) (Segment 2) ;. (Segment 3) .,;; , Total Absentee 62 16.67 2923.39 3667.92 127 Non-absentee 310 83.33 9576.61 1732.08 422 Full table X- = 68.55; d.f. = 2; P < 0.01; missing values = 20. Table 5. Cross-tabulation by segment for the item that measures plans to develop property or sell for development within the next 10 years. Table 5. within the next 10 years. Henry David Thoreau Frequency column percent (Segment 1) '" No plans to development or sale 292 84.64 ' ..-v' Plans to develop or sell for development 53 15.36 Frequency column percent 'ull table K = 25.40; d.£. = 2; P < 0.01; missing values = 47. on nature, environmental quality, and protection. Im- portantly, they are in strong agreement with the Likert scale statement that they should "leave land unman- aged, letting nature take its course." An estimated 23% of respondents are members of the Muir segment, and their average age is 60 years. The mean size of Muir properties is 54 acres. Like the Thoreau, a high pro- portion of Muir owners live on their property (77%; Table 4) and a slightly higher percentage (87.5%) hav~ no plans to develop in the next 10 years (Table 5). Jane Doe is the third persona that we have identified in this segmentation analysis. We know the least about landowners in this segment (hence the anonymous name), as they appear to be indifferent to the factors that were otherwise found to be strong identifying characteristics. Unlike Thoreau and Muir, Jane Doe places little important emphasis on either environmen- tal protection or privacy and other contemplative values of forest ownership. This relatively unknown, anony- mous Jane Doe segment represents only 10% of re- spondents. Jane Doe's average age is 63 years (Table 3), which is significantly older than the Thoreauvians. Doe's average parcel size is 102 ac, which is also significantly larger than Muir's woods. Unlike Thoreau and Muir, most Jane Doe owners reside elsewhere, and not on their property (68%), which could in part ex- plain their apparent indifference to environ~ental pro- tection, privacy, and other contemplative values (Table 4). Also in contrast to Muir and Thoreau, 43% of Jane Doe owners do indeed have plans to sell or develop in the next 10 years (Table 5). This may be related in part . Table 6. Cross-tabulation by segment for the item that measures enrollment in Chapter 61. PF owner segments )}£f!~:hI'~i ';,1, . ,i,. ," , ". . Henry David Thoreau John Muir :'/.<r; Jane Doe Frequency column percent (Segment I) (Segment 2) .,-. (Segment 3) Total Not enrolled 22460.87 9472.31 41 73.21 359 Enrolled 144 39.13 3627.69,:. 1526.79 195 Full table X'- = 7.44; df. = 2; P = 0.02; missing values = 15. PF owner segments Jane Doe (Segment 3) John Muir (Segment 2) Total 432 90 11287.50 16 12.50 2857.14 2142.86 to their older age and the fact that they identify neither with environmental protection sentiments, nor privacy and contemplative reasons for owning woodland. Chapter 61 Enrollment Based on the best existing estimates of the number of forest owners who own greater than 10 acres and are thus eligible to enroll land in Chapter 61 (Birch 1996), 17% of eligible acres and 19% of eligible owners participate (un- published data). Overall, 54% of our respondents participate in Chapter 61 (Table 6). Participation breaks down differ- ently among our segments, however. Henry David Thoreau and his members are most likely to enroll their land. Over 39% of Thoreau respondents cite Chapter 61 involvement. Recall Thoreau is not philosophically opposed to timber harvest, nor devoted to environmental protection, and places a greater emphasis on scenery, privacy, and other amenity qualities. A smaller percentage of Muir owners participate (28%), potentially due to the thought that timber harvesting (a necessary activity for all Chapter 61 lands) is detrimental to their highest ownership goal of nature protection. Jane Doe likewise is relatively disinterested in Chapter 61 (27% of Doe respondents), due perhaps more to general indiffer- ence, a possible detachment from their land since they are more likely to be absentee owners, or greater age and possible distrust of government programs in general. Indeed, Jane Doe indifference to or disinterest in gov- ernment influences on private forest ownerships is further illustrated in Table 7. Jane Doe respondents show signifi- cantly less agreement with statements about government regulatory roles in protecting water quality, rare species, or NJAF 23(1) 2006 31 Table 7. Analysis of variance for survey items that measure segment specific agreement with statement about government control on PF. Government should have the right to PF owner segments forest to- '~;1::,,': Henry David Thoreau (Segment 1) John Muir (Segment 2) Jane Doe (Segment 3) dJ. Prob. Protect water quality 3.550 3.89" 3.14C 2; 566 < 0.01 (1.24) (1.12) (1.33) Protect threatened or endangered species 3.18b 3.650 2.63c 2; 566 < 0.01 (1.24) (1.18) (1.26) Preserve the beauty of the forest 2.81b 3.360 2.32c 2; 566 < 0.01 (1.20) (1.30) (1.13) Maintain healthy forests 3.03b 3.490 2.57c 2; 566 < 0.01 (1.21) (1.23) (1.22) n 381 132 56 Scale items I = strongly disagree-5 = Strongly agree. GLM and Tukey's Studentized Range Test. Letters attached to variable's man denote mean separation a = 0.05, variable's standard deviation shown in parentheses. maintaining forest health or esthetics, compared with Muir and Thoreau. In fact, although Doe may express neutrality about government's role in protecting water quality, she is in moderate disagreement with statements about govern- ment's role in protecting these other attributes of forestland. Not surprisingly, Muir respondents show the most agree- ment with these statements, and Thoreau followers fall somewhere (and significantly) in between. Discussion We recognize that the aim of Chapter 61 is to simulta- neously encourage forest stewardship and keep the pnvate forest in active timber management. Given the current rel- atively low participation rate, we believe the program can be improved and made more attractive to .owners if it is mod- ified to be more in line with values that we have identified. Higher participation in Chapter 61 might result in a more effective way to secure an intact, ecologically healthy forest landscape, capable of meeting more domestic demand for timber (e.g., Berlik et al. 2002 identify that annual statewide harvest of wood represents only 3% of total annual con- sumption of wood products). We believe that realizing these benefits first entails recognizing the heterogeneity of values and beliefs within the state's PF owner population. Once the specific needs and wants of PF owners are understood, a program should address the barriers specific to each segment. This case study highlighted some segment-specific bar- riers to achieving the objectives of Chapter 61. For example, John Muir members are devoted to letting nature take its course, and protecting the environment. We believe that a program that requires timber management is almost a guar- antee for failure, since harvesting is most likely perceived by Muirs as in conflict with their central philosophy of landownership. Indeed, it is surprising that as many as 28% of Muir respondents are enrolled in Chapter 61. Perhaps this subset of Muirs represents people who have been convinced that environmental protection is not necessarily incompati- ble with forest management and the production of timber, through existing outreach efforts like the Forest Steward- ship program, or Coverts Program (Snyder and Broderick 1992). 32 NJAF 23(1) 2006 Thoreau members, although potentially receptive to the objectives of Chapter 61, hold contemplative and appreciate values most importantly, as well as their privacy. Although a greater percentage of survey respondents in the Thoreau "Family" are enrolled in Chapter 61 (and overall, Thoreaus represent 67% of our respondents), participation suffers. Perhaps Thoreaus are not convinced they need a lO-year forest management plan for their land to realize their desired benefits, and they question whether a management plan will enhance scenery, recreation, and privacy. Is the effort of finding a forester, having a 10-year plan prepared, and dealing with a government program justified by marginally greater appreciative benefits? Indeed, in Massachusetts since 1990, as much as 75% of the cost of management plan preparation has been underwritten by the Forest Steward- ship Program (a national program of the USDA Forest Service, resulting from the 1990 Farm Bill; Wilkins 2000). Even this financial incentive has not resulted in meaningful numbers of Thoreaus (or Muirs or Does) seeing the mar- ginal benefits and adopting forest management planning. Furthermore, Thoreaus place high importance on privacy, and possibly perceive that it is somehow compromised by participation in a public program. Would they need to permit public access? Jane Doe and her kind represent a different type of challenge. They own the larger parcels making the prospect of forest management more attractive. Their attitudes to- ward government programs, absentee ownership, and like- lihood of development in the future suggest that they are unlikely Chapter 61 participants in its current form, or in any modified version. Fortunately, Jane Doe represents only 10% of landowners in our sample. We believe land owned by people like Jane is potentially locked into an economi- cally dictated trajectory of parcelization and land use change. Jane has neither a Muir environmental protection philosophy, nor places a strong importance on other appre- ciative values of the forest like her neighbor Thoreau. Lack- ing these, it is not surprising that she expresses a higher likelihood of selling or developing in the future. Our segmentation analysis helps explain some confusing observed landowner behavior in Massachusetts. Previous landowner attitude surveys have identified that as a group, most landowners place a very low priority on timber harvest and rate objectives such as wildlife, recreation, and scenery as much more important goals for their land (MacConneJl and Archey 1982, Rickenbach et al. 1998, Alexander 1986). Indeed, Birch (1996) and others (e.g., Kingsley 1976) iden- tify similar attitudes with owners throughout the northeast. Practicing foresters have long known, however, that in spite of these professed attitudes against harvesting, landowners still have timber cut from their land. Indeed, Kittredge et al. (2003) document that 64% of all harvesting (by area) in a 19-town region of central Massachusetts between 1984 and 2001 is on nonindustrial private forest land, and this own- ership category represents 60% of the forest land base. Likewise, on a statewide basis between 1997 and 2001,84% of harvested acres (as well as 78% of all harvested timber, and 83% of timber sales by number) occurred on nonindus- trial private lands, which collectively represent 78% of all forestland in the state (unpublished data). If owners were so disinterested in harvest (as attitudinal survey results sug- gest), then we would expect a much smaller percentage of total harvest to come from these ownerships. This is a good example of the potential gap between professed attitudes and observed behaviors of forest owners (e.g., Egan and Jones 1993, Jones et al. 1995). Our segmentation results suggest that the majority of owners (67%) are Thoreaus, who are not necessarily op- posed to harvest and do not identify strongly with lettiI$ nature take its course or environmental protection. Jane Doe's segment represents another 10% of the sample who likewise do not identify strongly with environmental pro- tection. Landowners like Thoreau may be more likely to have harvests on their land, as long as they can be convinced that their core values of esthetics and privacy are not com- promised. Jane Doe landowners are probably not opposed to harvest as long as it does not interfere with their ability to sell or develop the land. Indeed, Jane may be interested in harvest as a precursor to subsequent sale, subdivision, or development. Jane and her type also own larger properties that would be more attractive to the buyers of stand3ng timber. It really is only the Muirs with their professed nature ethic who would be disinclined to harvest, and a subset of them participate in Chapter 61 currently and apparently do not perceive harvesting as incompatible with their beliefs. Thus, a closer look at the landowner population, through segmentation, helps explain this perceived gap between the "average" attitudes of the whole, and the observed behavior. How could Chapter 61 be modified to improve the rate of participation? We believe the program needs to be suffi- ciently flexible to accommodate the different perspectives of Jane, Henry, and John. Obviously, the requirement to harvest timber is a deterrent to the majority of Muirs. Relaxation of this requirement would improve the likeli- hood that members of this segment would enroll their land. We estimate that the Thoreau segment and their attitudes dominate the PF owner population in Massachusetts. This group remains unconvinced that their passive or apprecia- tive enjoyment of the land and their privacy can be en- hanced by a professionally prepared lO-year forest manage- ment plan. Did Thoreau need a plan to enjoy Walden? Relaxation of this standard would probably result in greater participation by Thoreaus. Skeptics might say that if a lO-year plan and commitment (defined by the threat of back taxes and interest as a penalty for withdrawal) are not required, then people would enroll and withdraw from the program too frequently. As long as greater public benefits (e.g., water, biodiversity, scenery) are provided for a given year, why should not the benefits of reduced property taxes be conveyed for their provision in that year? Or perhaps the benefits of Chapter 61 participation could be graduated, so that participation for one year was rewarded by a tax reduc- tion of a certain percentage, but a greater level of commit- ment (longer time frame, management plan) would be re- warded by a greater tax benefit. Lastly, it may not be possible to modify Chapter 61 to have greater appeal for Jane Doe. Her disinterest in government programs may represent too great an obstacle. On the other hand, a more flexible program in terms of time commitment, penalty for withdrawal, and management plan requirements may be sufficient to overcome the barriers for at least some mem- bers of this segment. We believe these segmentation results also provide guid- ance about outreach programming. Clearly the majority of landowners place priority on scenery, esthetics, and privacy. Educational programming for this segment needs to focus on these desires, instead of typical landowner workshops that dwell on management plan development and the pro- motion of other tree farming concepts. It is not a coinci- dence, for example, that a handbook on how to maintain forest esthetics while timber harvesting, developed by the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests (Jones 1993), has sold more than 30,000 copies in 10 years, and represents the second most popular publication produced and distributed by the Natural Resource, Agriculture, and Engineering Service, out of over 150 publications (Geoff Jones, personal communication, spring, 1993). Similarly, programming designed for Muirs, to feature nature and environmental protection, would find a receptive audience. Indeed, the Coverts Program in Massachusetts and other northeastern states, with a focus on wildlife habitat, has been popularly received by many (Snyder and Broderick 1992). We achieved a reasonably good response rate on the original survey (47%), and consequently did not feel the need to conduct a survey of nonrespondents to check for bias. It is possible, however, that such a bias does exist in our data. For example, a disproportionate amount of respon- dents could be Muirs or Thoreaus, thereby giving a mis- leading impression of the extent to which landowners are like Jane Doe. The fact that Doe represented only 10% of respondents makes one wonder whether or not this small proportion is representative, or if Jane Doe and others in this segment were simply less inclined to respond to the survey. As a result, caution should be used in extrapolating these relative proportions to the greater landowner population. Our results show the significant power of taking a seg- mentation approach to better understanding PF owners. We NJAF 23(1) 2006 33 believe there are direct applications of this knowledge, in tenus of improving existing management and educational programs. While the results we present are from a survey of Massachusetts owners, we believe the approach has wider and significant application in other northeast states with landscapes similarly dominated by this type of ownership. Results from other analyses may indicate that there are not Muirs in Minnesota, or Thoreaus in Pennsylvania, but we believe there is value to taking a closer look at this most important ownership category of our nation's forest re- sources, and using results to design more effective programs. Literature Cited ALERICH, C.L. 2000. Forest statistics for Massachusetts: 1985 and 1998. USDA For. Servo Res. Bull. NE-148. 104 p. ALEXANDER, L. 1986. Nonindustrial private forest landowner relations to wildlife in New England. PhD dissertation, Yale University, New Haven, CT. 213 p. BERLIK. M.M.. D.B. KITTREDGE. AND D.R. FOSTER. 2002. The illusion of preservation: A global environmental argument for the local production of natural resources. J Biogeography 29:1557-1568. BIRCH, T.W. 1996. Private forest-land owners of the northern United States, 1994. USDA For. Servo Res. Bull. NE-136. 293 p. CRONBACH, LJ. 1951. Coefficient alpha and the internal structure of tests. Psychometrika. 16:97-334. DILLMAN, D.A. 2000. Mail and internet surveys: The tailored design method. 2nd ed. John Wiley & Sons, New York, NY. 400 p. EGAN, A., AND S. JONES. 1993. Do landowner practices reflect beliefs? Implications of an extension-research partnership. J. For. 91(10):39-45. FOSTER, D.R. 1999. Thoreau's country through a transfonned landscape. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA. 270 p. ~ 34 NJAF 23(1) 2006 HAIR, J.F., RE. ANDERSON, AND RL TATHAM. 1987. Multivariate data analysis. 2nd ed. Macmillan, New York, NY. 449 p. HAIR, J.F., RE. ANDERSON, RL TATHAM, AND W.C. BLACK. 1998. Multivariate data analysis. 5th Ed. Prentice Hall, Upper Saddle River, NJ. 730 p. JONES, G. 1993. A guide to logging aesthetics. Practical tips for loggers, foresters, and landowners. Natural Resource, Agriculture, and Engineering Service, Cooperative Extension, Ithaca, NY. 28 p. JONES, S.B., A.E. LULOFF, AND J.e. FiNLEY. 1995. Another look at NIPFs: Facing our myths. J. For. 93(9):41-44. KiNGSLEY, N.P. 1976. The forest-land owners of southern New England. USDA For. Servo Res. Bull. NE-41. 27 p. KITTREDGE, D.H., A.D. FiNLEY, AND D.R FOSTER. 2003. Timber harvesting as ongoing disturbance in a landscape of diverse ownership. For. Bcol. Manage. 180(2003):425-442. MAcCONNELL, W.P., AND W.E. ARCHEY. 1982. Forest landowner characteristics and attitudes in Berkshire County, Massachusetts. Massachusetts Agricultural Experiment Station Res. Bull. No. 679. 52 p. NUNNALLY, J.C. 1978. Psychometric theory. 2nd Ed. McGraw-Hill, New York, NY. 701 p. RICKENBACH, M.G., D.H. KITTREDGE, D. DENNIS, AND T. STEVENS. 1998. Ecosystem management: Capturing the concept for woodland owners. J. For. 96(4):18-24. SAMPSON, N., AND L DECOSTER. 2000. Forest fragmentation: Implications for sustainable private forests. J. For. 98(3):4-8. SNYDER, LB., AND S.H. BRODERICK. 1992. Communicating with woodland owners. J. For. 90(3):33-37. STEVENS, J. 1986. Applied multivariate statistics for the social sciences. Hillsdale, NJ. 515 p. WHITE, S.C. 2001. Massachusetts NIPF owner's attitudes and preferences towards ecosystem management: A reluctance to participate. MSc thesis. The University of Massachusetts, Amherst. 147 p. WILKINS, B.L 2000. Forest Stewardship Program. Northeast Area, State & Private Forestry status report. USDA For. Servo Newtown Square, FA. 19 p. 
work_u42tlkurfrhhjliz3knvocmjym	----	37 DOI: 10.22559/folklor.409 folklor/edebiyat, cilt:24, sayı:96, 2018/4 Fikret Demirağ’ın Şiirlerine Ekoeleştirel Bakış An Ecocritical Approach to Fikret Demirağ’s Poetry Mihrican Aylanç* “Olsun; doğayı geliştiren araçlar da doğanın kendi yarattığı araçlardır ancak; doğaya katkıda bunduğunu söylediğiniz sanat da doğanın kendi yarattığı bir sanattır…Doğayı onaran, daha doğrusu, değiştiren bir sanattır bu; ama sanatın kendisi doğadır.” W. shakespeare Öz Doğanın yaşam hakkının dile getirilmeye başlanmasıyla gelişen doğa edebiyatı, doğa unsurları merkezinde çevreye karşı farkındalık oluşturmayı amaç edinmiştir. Ekoeleştiri, doğa ve kültür karşıtlığını yok ederek, çevresel adalet konularına eğilmiş, insanı tüm gezegene karşı sorumluluk almaya yöneltmiştir. İnsanlık tarihinin önemli merkezlerinden biri olan Akdeniz’de doğal güzellik ve kaynakların odağındaki Kıbrıs’ta yaratılan edebi eserlerde bir taraftan Akdenizlilik/ adalılık kimliği üzerindeki gelişim seyredilirken, diğer taraftan da doğa duyarlılığıyla örülmüş çevreci bir eğilim belirmiştir. Modern Kıbrıs Türk şiirinde önemli bir yere sahip olan Fikret Demirağ; doğanın sesini duymak, yansıtmak, toplumsal ve evrensel sorunları doğanın diliyle aktarmak, doğayı ve insanların * Yrd.Doç.Dr., Uluslararası Kıbrıs Üniversitesi, FEF. Türk Dili ve Ed. Bölümü. maylanc@ciu.edu.tr folklor / edebiyat 38 doğal yaşam alanlarını koruma altına alabilmek, kırsal ve kentsel alanlarda tahrip edilmiş bölgeleri onarabilmek gibi amaçlarla şiirler kaleme almıştır. Bu çalışmada Fikret Demirağ’ın şiirleri ekoeleştirel bir yaklaşımla incelenerek doğa ve şair, doğa ve kökler, savaş ve nükleer tehdit, çevre kirliliği, vb. alt başlıklarda betimsel içerik analizine tabi tutulmaktadır. Anahtar sözcükler: Fikret Demirağ, ekoeleştiri, doğa, çevre, ekoşiir Abstract The nature of literature which has been developed has begun to be expressed by the right to life of nature has taken an aim to create awareness by centralizing the nature in the poems. Ecocritic has eradicated the opposition of nature and culture, bent on environmental justice issues and has led the readers to take responsibility for the entire planet through a socialist environmentalist critique. One of the most important centers of human history, Cyprus, which is located in the Mediterranean with its natural beauty and resources, has Mediterranean/ islander literary on the one hand, also shows a natural tendency in the local and universal context. Fikret Demirağ has had an important place in Turkish Cypriot poetry since 1974, as he was the nature’s voice being the pen of nature that is for purposes to hear and reflect the voice of nature, to convey social and universal problems in the language of nature, to protect nature and natural habitats of people, to repair damaged areas in rural and urban areas. In this study, Fikret Demirağ’s poems are analyzed considering an eco-critical approach and the poems are subjected to descriptive content analysis in nature and poet, nature and roots, urbanization and destruction of nature, environmental pollution, war and nuclear threat and such other subheadings. Keywords: Fikret Demirağ, ecocritic, nature, environment, ecopoem Giriş Dünyada ekosistemler içinde yaşayan tüm canlılarla, toprak, su ve havanın birbirleriyle bağlantılı olduğuna dayanan bütünsel evren görüşünü benimseyen ekoeleştirel yaklaşımlar, insanın bu sistemdeki yerini ve doğayla ilişkisini irdeler. İnsanın doğayı ham madde ve güç kaynağı olarak tüketerek evrende hâkimiyet kurma çabalarının yarattığı tahribatların yerküreye olumsuz etkileri, uzun süredir tartışılan bir konudur. İnsan faaliyetleriyle yok olan ormanlar, kuruyan nehirler, kirlenen su kaynakları ve hava, doğadaki biyolojik zenginliğin yitimi, iklim değişiklikleri, toprak erozyonu, zehirli atıklar, asit yağmurlarının yanı sıra nükleer yıkımların canlı yaşamını tehdit ettiği bilinmektedir. Bu yıkım karşısında doğayla barışma adına yürütülen çevresel düzenlemeler, çevreci çalışma ve uygulamalar, iyileştirmeye yönelik teknolojik girişimler de sürdürülmektedir. Doğa ve insanlığın doğal dünyayla ilişkisine odaklanan ekoloji, bitkisel ve hayvansal çeşitlilikle bir bütünlük arz eden biyosferin dengesinin korunmasını amaç edinir. Ekosistemde farklılık içinde birlik, kendiliğindenlik ve tamamlayıcılık olarak folklor / edebiyat 39 ifade bulan bir bütünlük içinde ortaya çıkan ekolojik kavramlar, yalnızca ‘sanatsal bilim’ ya da ‘bilimsel sanat’tan çıkan bir yargıyı değil, tarihsel süreçte yeni bir toplumsal ve evrensel bağlama yerleştirilen duyarlılığı da yansıtır. Çevreci yaklaşımlarla ilgili bilimsel tartışmalar çerçevesinde insanların yalnız doğa güçlerini yatıştırmak ve onları manipüle etmeye çalışmakla kalmadıkları; iklimde değişim yaratarak ve genetik müdahalelerle hayvanların çoğalmasına, endüstriyel verimliliğin arttırılmasına yardımcı olarak üretime dönük bir tamamlayıcılığın parçası olduklarını savunan görüşler de ortaya atılır (Bookchin, 2013, s. 57-66). 1870’li yıllarda John Muir, ilk kez doğanın yaşam hakkını savunup insanın çevreye karşı sorumluluk taşıdığını dile getirir (Özdağ, 2014, s. 7). Büyük oranda hızlı nüfus artışı ve kâr ihtirasından kaynaklanan çarpık kentleşmenin doğa dengelerinin deformasyonuna yol açması karşısında 1960’larda başlatılmış olan ve kökü 17. Yüzyıldaki insan merkezli mekanik dünya kuramlarına dayanan çevreci görüş ve eylemler, zamanla yöntembilimsel disiplinlerin ortaya çıkmasını sağlamıştır. Bu bağlamda çevre sorunlarının edebiyat ürünleri üzerindeki konumlarını inceleyen bir disiplin olan “Ekokritik” (çevreci eleştiri), önce ABD ve sonra Avrupa olmak üzere giderek tüm dünyada saygın bir yaygınlığa ulaşmıştır. Edebiyatta da gelecek kaygısı ve sorumluluğunu duyumsayan pek çok sanatçı, eserlerinde çevresel sorunlara ve çevre korumacılığına önem vermiştir. Edebiyatın pek çok bilim dalı ve sanat alanıyla olan ortaklığı, 20. yüzyıldan itibaren ekolojiyi de gündeme getirmiş; bir yandan sanatçıların çevresel izlekleri ön planlara alması izlenirken diğer yandan eleştirmenlerin çevre ağırlıklı eleştiri yöntemleri yaygınlık kazanmıştır. The Ecocriticism Reader (Çevreci Eleştiri Elkitabı) adlı el kitabının giriş kısmını yazan ve dünyanın “çevre ve edebiyat” alanındaki öncülerinden olduğu kabul edilen Prof. Cheryll Glodfelty, 20. Yüzyıldaki evrensel açıdan öncelik taşıyan ırk, cinsiyet ve sınıfsal sorunların yanı sıra yeryüzünün sağlığına önem verilmesi gerektiğine ilk kez dikkat çekmiştir (Glodfelty, 1966, s. 25-68). Özellikle 21. Yüzyılda teknoloji, makineleşme ve şehirleşmenin önem kazanması, doğanın ikinci plana itilmesine yol açması, insanın çevreye ve doğa şiirine karşı tutumunu da değiştirir. Doğanın romantik akımın düalist anlayışından farklı olarak ayrı bir saygınlık ve değer kazanması için insan ve doğa ilişkilerini yeniden yorumlayan ekoşiirin doğuşu da gerçekleşmiş olur. Böylelikle ekoşiir; insan ve insan ötesi doğa ilişkilerini sürdürülebilir çevre anlayışı çerçevesinde yeniden kurma, insan ve doğa arasındaki dengeyi bulma ihtiyacına odaklanır (Kalmnach, 2012, s.2). Ekolojik duyarlılıktaki sanatçılar, doğal yaşamla sosyal yaşam arasındaki bağlantıları ve bu bağlantıların hem pozitif hem de negatif sonuçlarını inceler. İnsanların ve insan ötesi canlıların birbirleriyle, çevreyle olan ilişkilerinde belirleyici rol oynayan doğal ve sosyal sistemlerin biyolojik, iklimsel, ekonomik, kimyasal, politik olarak iç içe geçmiş ilişkiler ağını resmeder (Ergin ve Dolcerocca, 2016, s.305). Lynn Keller’e göre (2012, 610; 2015) çevre odaklı şiiri -ekoşiiri- öncelikle doğa şiiri olarak kabul etmek gerekir. Nitekim günümüzdeki edebî üretimler bu konuda ikna edici bir argüman oluşturmaktadır. Doğacı bir bakışla çevreci sanatsal ürünleri inceleyen ekokritiğin folklor / edebiyat 40 felsefi çıkış noktasında; doğanın dengesi korunmaya çalışılırken, insan ve toplumun mutluluğunu ve tüm canlıların var olma haklarını gözetme; doğal çevrimin bozulmasını önleme çabaları önde gelir. Özellikle gelişmekte olan ülkelerin hemen hepsinde doğanın vahşi bir biçimde tahrip edilmesiyle toprak, insan ve hayvanlara yöneltilen korkunç saldırı, kapitalist düzenin renkli reklam ve ajitasyon dünyasında “çağdaşlık ve gelişmişlik” olarak sunulurken küresel ısınma, su kaynaklarının tahribi, mevsim dengelerinin kaosu, doğal enerji kaynaklarının yitimi, düzensiz sanayileşmenin yarattığı çevre kirliliği vb. rahatlıkla göz ardı edilebilmiştir (Coupe, 2000, s. 33-45-88). Doğa edebiyatı, çevre bilimi ve etik konularını ön plana çıkararak insan merkezli mekanik dünyaya karşı ilk adımları atan filozof Aldo Leopold’dan sonra insan ve çevre merkezci etik değerler ekseninde oluşan doğa edebiyatının öncüleri olarak 19. yüzyıldan Gilbert White, Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Mory Austin, Edward Abhey vd. Avrupalı ve Amerikalı yazarları görmekteyiz (Özdağ, 2005: 176). Edebiyat alanındaki ilk çevresel eleştirinin William Ruckert’in Literature and Ecology adlı eseriyle başlatıldığı yaygın bir kanıdır (Ruckert, 105-123). Edebi ürünler ve felsefi yorumlardan sonra akademik bağlamda örgütsel çevreci eleştiri -1992 yılında ABD-Nevada’daki Edebiyat ve Çevre Çalışmaları Derneği (ASLE)’nin kurulmasıyla- Amerikan üniversitelerinde işlevsel bir yapıya ulaşır. O tarihlerden günümüze kadar ekokritisizm; çevre bilinci yaratma, çevre problemlerini kültürel ve politik merkezlere taşıma ve edebiyat-kültür çalışmalarının ekolojik temelli yeni kültür değerlerine göre kritik edilmesi aşamalarına ulaşır (Özdağ, 2014, s. 61-62). Edebiyatımızda çevre çalışmalarının geniş ölçekli ilk örneği Hacettepe Üniversitesi ve Ankara Üniversitesi tarafından ortaklaşa düzenlenen ve 4-6 Kasım 2009 tarihleri arasında Antalya’da gerçekleştirilen “The Future of Ecocriticism: New Horizons” (Ekoeleştirinin Geleceği: Yeni Ufuklar) başlıklı sempozyum olmuştur (Özdağ ve Gökalp Alpaslan, G., 2011). Ekoeleştirmenlere göre ekosistemdeki tüm canlılar birer bireydir ve her bireyin kimliğini diğer canlılarla olan ilişkisi şekillendirir. Neil Evernden’in de ifade ettiği gibi “herşey birbiriyle bağlantılıdır, birinde bir değişim diğerini derinden etkiler” (Özdağ, 2014, s.93). Bu hassas ve karmaşık ilişkiler ağında dengeleri bozan tek canlı insan olsa da ürettiği metinler aracılığıyla buna çözüm arayan da yine insandır. Edebiyat bu yüzden doğaya yaklaşımlarımızda belirleyici bir rol oynar. Bu bağlamda ekoeleştiri temelde ekolojinin birinci yasası olan ve her şeyin her şeyle bağlantılı olduğunu belirten bütünsel evren görüşüne dayanır. Gezegendeki ekosistemler içinde yaşayan tüm canlılar, toprak, su, hava birbirleriyle bağlantılı olduğuna göre insanın bu sistemdeki yeri ve doğadaki konumunun başta olumsuz etkileri olmak üzere edebiyat bağlamında incelenmesi ekoeleştirinin ilgi alanındadır. Edebiyatçılar ürettikleri eserler aracılığıyla doğanın insanın hizmetine sunulmuş sınırsız bir kazanç, güç kaynağı veya yalnızca güzellikleriyle hizmet veren bir dinlenme ortamı, eğlence aracı olmadığının ayırdına varabilir. Disiplinlerarası çalışmanın sağladığı çok boyutlu yaklaşımlara sahip olan ekoeleştirinin en önemli temel prensiplerinden biri de insan ve insan olmayan tüm toplulukların birbirleriyle olan ilişkilerini “anthropocentric,” (insan merkezci) olmayan folklor / edebiyat 41 bir bakış açısıyla incelemektir. “Ekoeleştiri insanın tüm canlıların aleyhine olacak şekilde geliştirdiği davranış ve düşünce kalıplarını yıkmaya çalışır” (Oppermann, 2009; Garrard, 2016). Ekoeleştirinin gelişmesinde büyük payı olan Derin Ekoloji hareketinin öncüsü Norveçli eko-filozof Arne Naess’in self-realization (benlik farkındalığına varma) kavramı da ekolojik edebiyat araştırmalarında yerini almıştır. Naess’ e göre ekolojik benliği gelişmiş insan tüm önyargılardan ve ben merkezcilikten arınmış bir kimlikle yaşamını dengeli biçimde sürdüren insandır. Scott Slovic, bunu sağlamak ve yaygınlaştırmak için ekoeleştirmenler ve diğer çevre bilimlerindeki araştırmacıların çevreyle yakın temasta bulunmalarının gerekliliğine işaret eder (Oppermann, 2009, 30). Doğa ve kültür arasındaki diyalektik yapının etkileşimli dönüşümüne işaret eden Eaglton’ın da ifade ettiği gibi doğa kültür üretir, kültür de doğayı değiştirir. Kültürellik ise anlamlandırıcı pratiklere dayanır (Eaglton, 2011). Kültür birikimlerinin oluşumunda çevre koşullarına bağlı olarak şekillenen edebiyatın önemli bir işlevi vardır. Ekoeleştirinin edebî metinlerin incelenmesinde, farklı edebî tür ve metinlere, hatta gündelik yaşamın farklı pratiklerinin yorumlanmasında kullanılması ise bu işleve katkıda bulunmaktadır (Arıkan, 2011, s. 49). Doğanın sesini duymak, doğadaki süreçleri algılayabilmek, doğal alanların koruma altına alınması için mücadele etmek, kırsal ve kentsel alanlarda tahrip edilmiş bölgeleri onarabilmek adına söz söylemek gibi amaçlarla ömürlerini doğanın kalemi olmaya adayan çevreci yazarların eserlerinin incelenmesi sürdürülebilir çevre anlayışı ve inancını kuvvetlendireceği gibi toplumsal ve evrensel kültüre de hizmet edecektir. 1. Fikret Demirağ’ın ekoşiirlerinde doğa ve çevre duyarlılığı Akdeniz’de doğal güzelliklerle bezeli bir ada olan Kıbrıs’ta yeşeren edebiyatın yüzünü doğaya çevirmesi, doğadan beslenmesi kaçınılmaz olmuştur.1 Buradaki edebiyat her ne kadar etnik-politik bir söylem üretiminde işlevsellik kazanmış olsa da bu işlevini doğanın sesine dönüşerek dışa vurmaya yönelmiştir. Çevreye karşı duyarlılıkla dünyaya uzanarak ekolojik okumalara açık hâle gelmiştir. Modern Kıbrıs Türk şiirinin önemli temsilcileri Osman Türkay ve Taner Baybars’ın şiir dilinde bu ekolojik ortamın özbenlik alımlaması ve aktarımına dönüşmesi, doğa imgelerinin uzaya açılımlarının seyredilmesi rastlantısal değildir. Gürgenç Korkmazel’in doğaya yaklaşımı ise başlı başına incelenmesi gereken bir alandır. Fikret Demirağ’ın yanı sıra Zeki Ali, Tamer Öncül ve Mehmet Kansu’nun adanın kültürel çeşitlilik eksenindeki tarihini resmeden doğa ve çevre izlekli şiirleri de bu coğrafyada yaşama uğraşı veren insanlığın doğadan yükselen sesi olmuştur. Bu sesin Fikret Demirağ’la gittikçe derinleşerek doğanın evrendeki tüm canlıların yaşam alanı olduğu, insanın bunu idrâk ettiği ve doğayla bütünleştiği noktada özünü de kavramayı başarabildiği nosyonuna dönüştüğü gözlemlenir. Bu bağlamda Fikret Demirağ’ın kimlik söylemi ekseninde Akdenizliliğe vurgu yapan şiirleri dünyanın ekolojik bütüncüllüğünden yola folklor / edebiyat 42 çıkan, dolayısıyla dünyadaki canlı yaşamını tehdit eden unsurlarla mücadele içeren doğacı bir söylemi de içerir. 1.1. Şair, şiir ve doğa Fikret Demirağ’ın 1960 yılında Ali İhsan Tezel’le birlikte yayımladıkları ilk kitabı Tutku’da doğa, duyguların ardında gizlenen romantik bir unsur olarak hissedilir. 1963’te yayımlanan Açar Yörüngeler Çiçeği adlı dördüncü kitapta ekolojik bir çevre olarak yer almaya başlar. “En güzeli ağaçlar onlar bizden onlar ölmez hah hah ha” (Demirağ, 1963, s. 5) dizesinin yer aldığı Yorgun Yaşama Karanfilleri adlı şiiri ve Brigitte Bar- dot için yazdığı Elektronik Vişne Gök adlı şiirinde zihninde yer etmeye başlayan doğa ve çevre bilincinin yansımalarının yoğun olarak duyulduğu; “götür beni uzaysal deniz otlarına elektronik beynimin kumsallarına” (Demirağ, 1963, s. 6) dizesi, onun ekoşi- irlerinin ilk işareti olur. Fikret Demirağ, doğayı geleneksel olarak toprak, hava, su ve ateşin yeşerttiği bir yaşam alanı olarak alımlar. Şiirinin doğacıl yapısını örmeye toprağa yaratıcı ve besleyici unsur olarak yaklaşmakla başlar. Onun yaşamı boyunca kendini şair olarak değil de doğanın sesini yansıtan ozan/kır ozanı olarak görüşü, bu düşünceyi kuv- vetlendirir. Demirağ, Ozansın şiirinde; “Israrlı bir yağmur gibi yağansın/ dölyatağından çıktığın anne toprağa, / ‘şiir tohumu’nu yüreğinde saklayansın./…Uçan tarlakuşusun. Açan limon çiçeği./Yüreğin her gün yeniden sürüp ektiğin toprak./Sulardan, havalar- dan yankısın…/Yüreğinin gönüllü askerisin. Zeytinliklerin/ şarkıcısı.” (Demirağ, 1996, s. 31) dizeleriyle insanı doğayla bütünleştirir. Farklı şiirlerinde de ekolojik bir tutumla insandan ziyade çeşitliliğe dayalı bütüncüllüğüyle doğayı ön plana alır. Doğa merkezli benzetme ve kişileştirmelere dayalı imge ve imajlar kullanır. Örneğin Yaşamın Akar- sularıdır Ozanlar şiirinde şairi yaşamın akarsularına benzetmesi; Demirağ’ın doğadaki renk, koku, tat ve müzikal yapıyı algılama biçimini yansıtması, evreni de çokluk sevgi ekseninde dönen dolayımda yeniden doğa üzerinden şekillendirmesi olarak okunabilir. Hayat’a Akan Bir Suyun Peşisıra şiirinde; “Nerde bir su sesi duysam peşisıra giderim/ tohumun ekildiği tarları bulmak için,/ ya da tane tutmuş bir şiir zeytinine,/ suya inmiş bir muflona rastlarım diye./ Peşisıra gittiğim, bir umudun sesi belki de.” (Demirağ, 1996, s. 34) dizeleriyle doğada yaşama umudu kovalayan bir şaire tanık oluruz. Bu nedenle Demirağ şiirinin söylem düzlemi doğayı kuşanarak kutsallaştırılmış yaşam odaklı bir gelişim arz eder. Şiir Yaşamla Kutsanmıştır adlı şiiri doğaya verdiği bu öneme kanıt niteliğindedir: “Buğday yaşamla kutsanmıştır, / yüreğim, zeytinler, şarkı ve şiir./yurdum, sevgimin sesini duy, /sevgini çalan yüreğimin sesini; /ben bu yüreğimin lir sesiyle/acının tortusunu dibe çöktürüp/insana umudumu su yüzünde bırakırım./şiirim umudun akarsu sesidir; /yurdum, yüreğime bıraktığın tohum /…-İnsan bir umudun sesi değilse, nedir?/ yıldızlar dolu uzay, avuçladığım toprak,/ ellerimde gezinen ilkyaz böcekleri,/kaya yırtık- larından fışkırıp duran/ kar sular, dağ çiçekleri” (Demirağ, 2018, s. 57). Denizin Serin Koynunda şiirinde de; “Gövdemde yumuşacık, yasemin bir okşanma/ ve kulaklarım- da suyun basıncı/ dışarının hayhuyu, karmaşası yerine/ Doğayla dolaysız ilişkideyim/ (kumlarda kaldı ‘elbiselerim’!)” (Demirağ, 2018/4, s. 410) ifadeleriyle şiiri tabiattın do- folklor / edebiyat 43 ğal akışındaki yalınlığa bırakır. Bir Şiir Mutlaka Bulur Dünyadaki Yerini şiirinde; “Bir şiir mutlaka bulur dünyadaki yerini/eğer yaşamı kucaklayan bir şiirse/…Ya dönerken turna katarları güneyden/Ya giderken turna katarları güneye/Ya bir kırlangıç bırakır- ken yuvasına yumurtalarını/Anaokullu çocuk yüzlerine benzeyen badem çiçekleri/Nasıl bulursa açacakları ilkyaz dallarını” (Demirağ 1986-a, s. 66) dizelerinde görülen doğa imajları onun dünyayı alımlama, anlamlandırma ve bunu aktarmada doğa unsurlarına verdiği önemi yansıtır. Şiirinin dünyaya yaşam veren diğer nimetlerin adına olduğunu da vurgular Adına adlı şiirinde ve “Narın Adına./İncirin, üzümün ve zeytinin./Hepsini halk- edenlerin/ Güzel adına.” (Demirağ, 1984, s. 13) konuşur. Yeni Bir Kimlik Arayışında şiirinde de: “Kanından gelmiyorsa yazdığının şorultusu/ ne yürek inanır ne toprak,/ ne de bir yaprak kımıldanır ‘beni söylüyor’ diye;/ bir buzdağı gibi geçer uzaktan/yazdığın yapay, kimliksiz ‘şiir’./Doğmayan ölmez ki, ağaçlara sor:/ Hem bir ilahidir hem dağ şarkısı…” ( Demirağ, 2018/7, s. 63) dizelerinde “toprak” ve “ağaca” can verici, dönüştü- rücü bir el ve buna şahitlik eden kutsal yaratıcı değerler olarak yaklaşır. Batan Işığın Şiiri (Demirağ, 1999, s. 83) adlı metinde kendisini ötücü bir kuş olarak tanımlar. Ötmesini, yaşam umudu taşımasını da suların akış şarıltısını duyabilmesine bağlar. Şiir Kuşu adlı şiirinde fabrikalaşma ve savaşlarla tahrip edilen doğadan, bu nedenle ağıta dönüşen bir ölüm şarkısından söz eder. Topluca Çıldırılan Bir Çağda Sanrı ve Sayıklamalar şiirinde yer alan; “Hayat’ın ‘yeşil noktalar’ı küçülüyor giderek/ -Çal gitarcı, Yağmur Ormanları Ağıdı’nı! (Demirağ, 2018/7, s.184) ifadeleriyle çemberinden çıkamadığı bu doğa tahri- batı felaketini önlemenin türlü yollarını aradığını belli eder. Demirağ’ın şiirlerinde doğanın sesinin bu denli yaygın işitilmesinin altında çocukluk ve ilk gençliğini doğayla yakın temasta bulunabildiği Lefke’de geçirmesi yatmaktadır. Bu nedenle dağ, deniz, toprak, tohum, portakal, badem, zeytin, yasemin, kuşlar vd. doğa unsurları Demirağ şiirinin damarlarında akar durur. Onun; “Bütün hayatım ve sevdala- rım/ portakal kokar!” (Demirağ, 2018/7, s. 93) dizeleri de bunu kısaca ama derinden özetler. Yaşamının ilerleyen evrelerinde doğanın sesini işitemediği kentlerden çocuk- luğuna, çocukluğunu geçirdiği doğaya kaçışı kovalaması ve şiirlerinde sıklıkla bunu dile getirmesi de onun doğanın kendisi olan özbenliğine doğayla dolaysız etkileşim içinde olabileceği bir ortamda ulaşabileceğini idrâk etmişliği olarak yorumlanabilir. Çocukluğumun Küllerini Eşelemeye Gittim şiirinde yer alan; “Bilge zeytin ağaçları, zer- daliler, incirlerden sorar. /Canavar kente döndüm bir parçamı bırakıp orda!/Gitmiştim çocukluğumun küllerini eşelemeye/ ve anladım kendimi eşeleyerek döndüğümü geriye” (Demirağ 1984,s. 81) dizeleri şairin özünü çocukluğunun geçtiği topraklarda bulduğu- nu dolaysızca vurgular. Kirletilmiş Zaman Şarkıları adlı şiirinde Demirağ, insanın ve insanlığın doğadan uzaklaştıkça, modern teknoloji ve sanayinin tekeline girince kirlen- diğini, yaşam damarlarının tıkandığını dile getirir: “Yağmurlu, bulanık bir hafta sonu;/ evin imparatoru: Televizyon!/...Titreşimler yüklü bir Zaman bu;/yarı Dünya bir kasette çığlık atıyor/(mide barsak beyin böbrek çıldırmış):/-doldurmuşlar doyumsuzluklarını bantlara!-John Travolta ve Coca Cola!/ John Travolta ve Coca Cola!/Nerdeyse koku- sunu duyacağız ekranda bir portakalın!/Çiçeklerin motoruna su veriyorum!/Bir yandan folklor / edebiyat 44 da fısıldıyor doğanın görünmez ağzı;/ -Ta – şıl – la – şı – yo - rum… /Gidip biz de kuzu kuzu ıslanalım mı/ sinsi, ahmakıslatan bir reklam yağmurunda,/ahlakkirleten bir reklam yağmurunda?/(Herkesin yanılgısı, yangını kendine mi?)/(İçimde ağlayan kim?)/ Kirletilmiş, kirletilmiş, kirletilmiş bir Zaman bu;/bencilik adacıkları, tekillik tabelaları,/ sevgisizlik endüstrisi ve fabrikasyon!/ Her türlü çarpıklığa ışınlıyorlar bizi!/ Aşklar bile formüle bağlanmıştır, /başarılar, mutluluklar, ölümler-/ (İşitiyor musun, formüle gelmez yüreğim?) ( Demirağ 2018/4, 394-404). 20. yüzyılın insanı doğadan koparan, kendi ev- reninde boğan zihniyetine doğanın çiçekleriyle savaş açan Demirağ, Kim Selam Verir Çiçek Açmış Bir Dal Görse? ve Demir Papatya şiirlerini yazar. Burada; “dün yerde demirden bir papatya buldum/aldım kokladım kokmuyor/okşadım duymuyor, konuştum ses vermiyor/yirminci yüzyıldan yere düşürüldüğü belli dedim/bir makine-adam’ın yüre- ğinden düştüğü belli./o naylon, o metal dünyayı görmeyeyim/çocuklarımı telefonda mı okşayacağım/karımın sesini ve ağzını telefonda mı öpeceğim/plastik ağaçlar, papatyalar arasında mı dolaşacağım?/o naylon, o metal dünyayı görmeyeyim!/antenlerin, roket- lerin, tv’lerin beynine/uçakların, elektronik beyinlerin beynine/birer asıl papatya yer- leştirmeyi bilelim/tıkabasa şarkıyla dolduralım/bütün çirkin silahları, makinaları,/önce de insanın yüreğine gül yerleştirelim.” (Demirağ 2018/1, s.111) dizeleriyle çağın insanı yalnız doğadan değil diğer insanlar ve insanlığın erdemli değerlerinden uzaklaştırdığın- dan yakınır. Doğayla bütünleşerek yeşerttiği zihninin ve bedeninin çevre tahribatıyla betonlaştırılmasına tepkisini 1980’li yılların sonuna doğru yazdığı Gençliğim Geçti şii- rinde protest bir söylemle vurgular; “-Ey betoncular! hiç düşündünüz mü, üstüne beton çektiğiniz tarlayı nasıl sürüp ekecek hayat? Toprak kendi içinde bir uğultuya dönüşüp kendi nükleer bombasıyla kendini havaya uçurduğu zaman, hepimizin hayatı da havaya uçmayacak mı? Ya da ne yüzle bakacağız, ‘tohum’ betonu çatlatıp inatla sunduğu zaman yeni filizlerini?”(Demirağ, 2018/4, s. 327-28) ifadeleriyle topraktan baş gösterecek olan tohumun savunucusu olur. İlerleyen dönemlerde yazdığı şiirlerde de doğanın ve insanın yaşam hakkının savunuculuğunu devam ettirir. 1.2. Doğa, aşk ve kökler Kıbrıs Türk şiirinin önde gelen lirik şairleri arasında bulunan Demirağ’a göre aşk, en saf ve doğal haliyle ancak doğadan koparılmadan yaşanır. Doğanın evladı olan insan; sular, dağlar, gökyüzü, ağaçlar, kuşlar, çiçeklerle çevrelenen ortamda kaçınılmaz olarak aşka tutulur. Bu insan doğası gereği yaşanan duyuşsal ve tinsel yolculuğun zihni idrâkı, insanın yüzünü yine doğaya yöneltir. Bu nedenle doğanın aşk olgusunun aktarılmasında vasıta olarak kullanılışı yaygındır. Ne var ki Demirağ şiirlerinde doğadaki döngüsel bü- tünselliğin akışında olduğunu sezinleyen şiir öznesiyle, doğayı nesneleştiren bir yargıdan değil doğayla özleşen bir algıdan da hareket etmiştir. Örneğin Şiirin Vaktine Mezmur adlı şiirinde: “Bir şiir akarken damarlarında vaktin…/ toprağın üstüne su gibi sızan/ aralı bir lirin sevda şarkısıyım/ otlar kımıldanırken ovasında şafağın/ ben yukarda parlak sabah yıldızıyım” (Demirağ, 1996, s. 19) mekânı süreye yahut yaşamı sürece dönüştüren zamanın farkında olarak doğayla bütünleşir. Sevdiğim Kadına, Karıma Yaz Şiiri’nde folklor / edebiyat 45 ise erikler, zeytinler vs.den oluşan doğa nimetlerinin diliyle konuşur: “Erikler, zeytinler altında/ cevizler, zerdaliler altında/gölgesi altında serin bir aşkın/şırıltıyla akan bir su kıyısında/ yakıcı bir öğle üstü/ kestiren bir adamın üstündeki/ kaba bir ağaç gölgesisin bana. (Demirağ,1984, s. 92). Zamanı şiirinde: “Kutsal Kitap diliyledir/ Tohumu ekmenin zamanı vardır/ yağmurun ve güneşin zamanı,/ bir zamanı rüzgarın ve aşkın/ hüznün ve gurbetin bir zamanı,/ bir zamanı tan ağartısının, göklerin kırlangıç çığlıklarını/ getir- mesinin bir zamanı,/ toprağın ıslak kokmasının/ rüzgarla konuşmasının bir zamanı/ ama asla ertelenemezdir/ sevginin ve umudun zamanı” (Demirağ, 1986-a, s. 63) dizelerinde aşkın yarattığı duygulanımları anlatmak için doğaya başvurur. Bunun ötesinde aşkın kar- şı konulmaz yasalarını, bitki ve hayvanlar familyasının doğal ekosistemik yapısını işa- ret ederek anlatmayı bilinçli olarak tercih eder. Ötme Keklik Ölürüm kitabında yer alan şiirleri aşkı doğasal bir unsur olarak yaşayan bir delikanlının tanıklıkları olur. Su Sustu şiirinin yanı sıra Dağıl Git Benden şiirinde doğanın kendisi, sesi, rengi ve kokusuna bürünür. Aşkın gelip geçici heves halini de yine su, kuş, gökyüzü gibi doğa unsurlarıyla örer: “…/İçinde kuşlar kaynaşan bir alacakaranlığım,/Üstüme bütün gözlerinle, pro- jektörlerinle gel/Bir suyun üstüne eğilir gibi eğil./…/hastayım, iyi değilim, dallarımdan yapraklar döküldü,/ şehirli-neonlu yapraklar döküldü,/iyi değilim, git./başka yöne akan sularla git./binlerce kuşa bölün, üstümden dağıl./dağıl, yer aç, gökyüzü aç, daha dağıl, daha dağıl (Demirağ,1972, s. 21). Demirağ, şiirinin eleştirel odaklarında uzay çağının insanı dünyaya yabancılaştıran, aşkı da sathi ve sanallaştıran anlayış yer almaktadır. O, adada Aphrodite ve Dionysos kültürüyle yoğrulmuş aşkın, bu nedenle büyük ölçüde, yalın ve dolaysız tensel haz olarak algılandığından yakınmıştır. Adasının ve toplumunun köklerine yaptığı tarihi ve mitolojik yolculuklarla tanınan Demirağ, kendi köklerini de ihmal etmemiştir. Anne ve babasını dizelerinde çeşitli bi- çimlerde ölümsüzleştirme eğilimi sergilediği gibi onlarla vedasını da -ölümleri sonra- sında- dizelerle gerçekleştirmiştir. 1994 yılında yayımladığı Sırrı Dökülmüş Kök Ayna kitabında yer alan Bir Baba Yüzü ve Öbür Yüzler İçin şiirinde: “Babam, cevheri alınmış bir ‘Maden Yatağı’ olarak, taş ve toprakla doldurularak mı gömüldü? Annem, onsuz, kökleri toprağına ve toprağı köklerine yanıt vermeyen narin bir ‘Lefke Ağacı’ mı şimdi?” (Demirağ, 2018/4, s. 317) diyerek kökensel yahut ontolojik bütünleşmesini de toprakla noktalar: “…Bir tek meyve verecek yaşlı ağacın/ bir tek zeytinin, bir tek üzümün hayatını savunmalıyım,/ bir tek tane verecek o buğday başağının./ Nefret ve bencilliğin dağ yı- ğınından/ o tek Sevgi tanesini bulup çıkarmalıyım;/ her karışını hak etmek için/ bir gün gömüleceğim bu toprağın.” (Demirağ, 2018/4, s. 100) dizelerini yazar. 2. Doğanın ölümüne doğru: Savaş ve nükleer tahribat Şiirlerinde barıştan yana tavrını açıkça dile getiren Fikret Demirağ, savaşın insan ve doğaya verdiği zararları yazın yaşamı boyunca tekrarlar. Adada ve dünyada savaşların devam eden yıkıcı süreçler olarak insanların ve toplumların varlığını tehdit etmesi gele- cek nesiller için endişe duyan Demirağ’ı sürekli olarak tetiklemiştir. İlk dönem kitapları arasında bulunan Umut ve Dehşet Çağından Şiirler’i (1978) Demirağ, bu dürtülerle ya- folklor / edebiyat 46 zar. Burada nötron bombası üzerine kaleme aldığı önsöz niteliğindeki yazıda ve Nötron Bombası şiirinde nükleer sistemlerle girişilen doğa tahribatına karşı protest bir tavırla başkaldırır. Kör edici alev toplarının okyanusları, kara parçalarını, insanlığı, canlı cansız tüm varlıkları bir anda yok edebilecek yıkıcı gücüne karşı bir duruş sergiler. Onun sa- vaşın yıkımlarını anlattığı bu şiirinde doğanın yaşam tohumları çiçekler gibi insanların geleceği olan çocuklar öne çıkar. Saflık ve masumiyet kavramlarına göndermelerle ölüm korkusunu anlattığı Ölümün Gözlerini Üstünde Duyan Çocuk adlı şiirinde; “Yeryüzünün bütün çocukları, bütün insanları,/ yapıları, ağaçları, güzel emekleri, şarkıları,/yeryü- zünün bütün eşyaları ve yaşamları/bir gün tıpkı Hiroşima’dakiler gibi buhar olup uça- caklar diye çok korkuyorum” diyerek savaşla erken yaşta tanıştırılan suçsuz çocukların korkularını insanlık adına kuşanır (Demirağ, 1978, s.17). Milyonlarca Çocuğun Göz- leri şiirinde; “…Karanlıkta milyonlarca, milyonlarca yıldız/ Gibi parlamakta yeryüzü çocuklarının gözleri./ Bombalar denenmekte, daha korkunç bombalar, Korku çiçekleri gibi yeryüzü çocuklarının gözleri…/ Yeryüzünde milyonlarca çocuk gözü bakmakta!...” dizeleriyle nükleer dehşetin korku ve öfke çığlıklarını dillendirir (Demirağ, 1978, s. 21- 22). Vietnam’da yaşanan savaş trajedisini de konu alan şiirler yazar. Örneğin Vietnam Çocukları Korosu adlı şiirinde; “Üstümüzde ölüm dökerken bombardıman uçakları/daha küçüğüz, şarkı söylüyoruz, duyun bizi/ uçan kuşlar, açan çiçekler olun birden havada!” (a.g.e., s. 24) dizelerinde insan eliyle gelen ölüme, yaşamı imleyen kuşlar ve çiçekler- le –doğayla– karşı çıkar. Savaşlar, sömürüler, açlık ve zulümler, hastalıklar, ihtilaller, reformlar, soygunlar, grevler, direnişler, uyanışlar, dünyayı aleve çevirirken uzay araçla- rının her gün uzaklarda yine yıkım getirecek güç kaynakları araştırmasını Merih’e Varış (Demirağ, 1978, s. 27) adlı şiirinde eleştirir. 1976 yılında Beyrut’ta kan akarken, Çat’ta, Bangladeş’te, Hindistan’da, Etiyopya’da, Afganistan’da açlık savaşlarıyla mücadele de- vam ederken insanlığın Merih’e varış haberlerine isyan eder. Angola’da özgürlük savaşı yaşanırken, Rodezya’da ırkçılık kol gezerken, Güney Afrika’da diktatörler kırbaç şak- latırken, halk Güney Amerika’da insanlık onuruna ayaklanırken, yarı sömürülü Porte- kiz ve İspanya’da yankılanan uzaya yükseliş haberlerini insanlık tarihinin ironisi olarak okur. Hüznün Müziğiyle adlı şiirinde; “ Bir ‘kelaynak’ daha ölüyor, sonra biri daha-/… Göz göre göre sağır vicdanların huzurunda/ Hayat Ölüm’le evlendiriliyor” (Demirağ, 2018/7; s.178) diyerek insanları sorumluluk almaya davet eder. Doğal yaşam ekosistemleri ve bu çevrede topluluklar halinde yaşayan insanın tehdit altındaki geleceği için kaygılanan Demirağ, kaygılarının derinliğini sık sık “ana” imajı ile dışa vurur. İronik bir dille 20. Yüzyıl için 1981 yılında yazdığı Ayrıntıların Şiiri’nde insanın doğal yaşamdan kopuşunun yarattığı drama, dünyadaki ekolojik dengeleri sarsan unsurların sebep ve sonuçlarına odaklanır. Böylelikle nostaljik alanda kalan “geçmiş”in karşısına tüm yıkıcılığıyla dikiliveren “an/çağ” ve karanlıkta sallanan bir “gelecek” ten söz eder: “Anam yakar söndürür elektrikleri,/uzak coğrafyalardan geçer antilop- lar,/Uzay Mekiği ikinci yolculuğundan döner,/…Portakallar, limonlar irermekte dallar- da,/irermekte dallarında savaş korkuları da;/kongreler, konferanslar birbiri ardısıra,/ Awacs’lar, güdümlü füzeler birbiri ardısıra,/demeçler, savaş çığlıkları birbiri ardısıra,/ folklor / edebiyat 47 ve saleeeep!bağırıyor gece bira adam soğukta./…Anam yakar söndürür elektrikleri,/bir ot bir otun yanında boy gösterir,/boy gösterir bir füze bir füzenin yanında,/..Anam yakar söndürür elektrikleri,/Watt’ı, Edison’u duymayan anam./Anam aydınlık, güzel günler düşlüyor,/nasıl’ını, ne zaman’ı bilmeyen anam./… Bu şiir bir gün günışığına çıkabilir mi?/ Nar ağacından yapraklar yağıyor betona/… Anam yakar söndürür elektrikleri,/ yaşam yakar söndürür elektriklerini,/ daha çoook dökülür betonlara yapraklar.” (Demi- rağ, 984, s. 35-39) dizeleriyle insanlık çelişkilerinin, insanların savaş ve doğa tahribatına dönük yanılgılarının altını çizer. Savaşa yenik düşen bir ada olarak Kıbrıs’ta istikrarlı doğal yaşam sitemlerinin ku- rulamamış olması, savaşın çağlar boyunca devam eden bir süreç halini almış bulunma- sı, burada yaşayan şairlerin bu olguya gözlerini kapamasını da engellemiştir. Demirağ, adada savaşa bir nihayet verilmesi konusunda en çok edebî uğraş vermiş şairdir denebi- lir. Adıyla Yaralı adlı kitabında yaslı, acılı yurdunun, toprağının sesi olarak sözcüklere bürünen şair, Oku! adlı ilk şiirde: “Büyük bir kent gibi kaynaşıyor yüzün…/ Oku topra- ğı, acıyı, yaşamı, suyu” (Demirağ, 1986-a, s. 10 ) diyerek özünde insanın düşünce ve sezgileriyle ulaşacağı bu kutsal tek ve biricik ortak noktaya; “yaşama” işaret eder. Pek çok şiirinde olduğu gibi Kanayan Bir Akdenizli İçin Şarkı şiirinde Akdeniz’de bulunan adanın ve adalıların kanlı tarihinin trajedisini zeytin ve su imgeleriyle yansıtır. Bu ne- denle şiiri kendi ifadesiyle “omurgası kırık bir şarkı”yı tınlar (Demirağ, 1984). Zeytinler Adası Barışsız Memleketim, Yüzünün Bir Yarısı Zeytin Ağacı Kirli Bir Rüzgâr Yaralısı Öbür Yarısı, Küçük Bir Zeytin Ağacıydı vs. şiirlerinde toplumunun politik çıkmazlarını ve gelecek kaygılarını “zeytin” imajıyla ele alır. Zeytin Ağacı adlı şiirlerinde yaşam hak- kı olduğu halde savaşların yıkımına uğrayan zeytinler için benliğinde yükselen suçluluk duygusuyla mücadeleye tutuşur: “Rüzgârda hışırdayan zeytin ağacı/ sanki şarkı söylü- yor bana,/ben ki tüfeğim daha dün/ namlusuna kadar kan içindeydi/ ne söyleyebilirim ki ona?”. Bir Çocukluğu Yeniden şiirinde; “Zeytinlerin serin, kaba gölgelerinde/ bir göv- deye sırt verip/ çocukluğunu büyüten su seslerini/ uzun uzun/ dinlemeyi unutma…” (De- mirağ, 1984,s. 49) ). Sessiz Konuşmaların Acıklı Yorumu şiirinde ise: “Her sabah kokusu yolumu keser, bir damlacık, /“Kokla beni!” der dalında yeni açan limon çiçeği; /“Beni koklamakla yurdunu da koklamış olacaksın.” /“Kulak ver!” der altından geçtiğim zeytin ağacı;/“Yaprak hışırtılarımda dinlemiş olacaksın zamanı.” /“Okşa beni!” der bir yaz kavunu, “kokla sarı kokumu.” / Bilir, onu okşamakla yurdumu da okşamış olacağımı, / ve kokusunda toprağın anne kokusunu duyacağımı.”… ve serin, ince yaz suları der gibi: “Kulak ver bize!”/ Kandan geçmiş bir adamı delirtmek istiyorlar yani, /acıdan çıldırtmak, savaş görmüş adamı!/ Utançtan öldürmek istiyorlar, sanki anlamadım mı!” dizeleri de onun engellenemeyen savaş dolayısıyla tahrip edilen doğa için hissettiği suç- luluk duygusunu dile getirdiği örneklerdir. Bu yönde kaleme aldığı Uzun Gurbetlerden Dönen Yaşlı Akdenizlinin Son Şarkısı; “Portakallar Ve Zeytinler/ Karışsın Diye Gözleri- me,/ Yasemin Kokuları Gövdeme Sokulsun/ Da Cesedim Öyle Çürüsün/ Gövdem Laden Ve Fesleğen / Kanım Yaz Akşamları Koksun,/Tüfek Çatırtısız Bir Göğün/Altında Ölme- ye Yoruldum.” (Demirağ, 2018/4: 294) ve Bir Pazar Günü Doğu Akdenizli Bir Kentte folklor / edebiyat 48 Hüzünlü Olarak Söylenen ‘Lorca’tik Şarkı şiirindeki; “Gövdem Dağlara Çıkarken İner Zeytinler Ovaya / Yüreğim Dağlara Çıkar, Gövdem Rüzgârı Yararken; …/Umut Dağ Kokuları Gibi Yüreğimi Sardığında /Benzin, Katran ve Mürekkep Kokuları Arasında/ Şarkımı Söylerim Tüfeklere ve Borsalara Karşı” (Demirağ, 2018/7: 261) dizelerinde do- ğacı tavrını yineler, etraftan yükselen felaket alarmlarını şarkılarla susturma, bastırma yoluna gider. 3. Çevre kirliliği Çevre; yerküredeki canlı ve cansız tüm etkenlerin ortaklığında örülen değerler bütü- nü, bu bütünü etkileyen dış koşulların-durumların toplamını oluşturan organizma ve bu- güne kadar yaratılan uygarlıklar olarak tanımlanmaktadır (Karabıçak ve Armağan, 2004: 207; Keleş ve Hamamcı, 2002: 95; Uluğ, 2007: 2). Doğanın doğal dengelerini olumsuz etkileyen insan faktörü kaynaklı etmenler, çevre kirliliğine paralel olarak bu ortak de- ğerler bütününün yaşamını tehdit etmektedir. Çevre bilimi ve sağlığı araştırmalarında ortaya konan verilerde hava, su kaynakları ve toprakta gözlemlenen kirliliğin endüstriyel atıklar, kimyasal faktörler vs. kaynaklı olarak gerçekleştiği bilinen bulgulardır. Çevre ve insan sağlığını tehdit eden unsurların tespitinin yanı sıra ortadan kaldırılmasına yönelik yürütülen bilimsel faaliyetlere ek olarak çeşitli kurumsal ve sivil hareketlerle sanatsal üretimler de gözlemlenmekte, çevre dostu çalışma ve uygulamalar dünya gündemde yer almaya devam etmektedir. Dünyamızdaki canlı yaşamının sürdürülebilirliğinin yanı sıra çevrede bulunan kay- nakların üretim ve tüketiminde gelecek kuşakların da hakkının gözetilmesi gerekliliği ve bu kaynakların korunup geliştirilmesi düşüncesine yönelik eğilimler yaygınlık kazan- maktadır (WCED 1987; World Commission, 1987, s. 89). Tarihsel, doğal, toplumsal çevrelere karşı bilinçli bir duyarlılık edinilmesi, bu çevre- lerle ilgilenilmesi ve bunların gözetilmesi; doğal kaynakların insan için vazgeçilmezli- ğinin ve yok olmadan kullanma gereğinin kavranması; çevresel sorunlara özellikle sivil toplum örgütleri aracılığı ile tepki konulması ve çözülmesi için çaba sarf edilmesi şek- linde tanımlanan çevre bilincinin (Keleş, 1997) bireyler ve toplumlar tarafından benim- senebilmesi adına yürütülen edebî çabalar da giderek önem kazanmaktadır. Kıbrıs’ta çevre bilincine yönelik üniversitelerde Çevre Bilimi ve Eğitimi program- larının yanı sıra çeşitli kurum ve sivil toplum örgütlerinin işbirliğinde faaliyetler yürü- ten çevre platformları bu konunun güncelliğine işaret etmektedir. Çevreyle ilgili olarak yapılan araştırma sonuçları (Akış, 2000) Kıbrıs’ta da kirliliğin ciddi boyutlara ulaştığını ortaya koymaktadır. Fikret Demirağ, çevre bilinci ve duyarlılığının da göstergesi olarak 1974 sonrasında kaleme aldığı şiirlerinde çevre kirliliğinin yarattığı doğa tahribatlarına yer verir. İnsanla- rın modernlik ve gelişmişlik kisvesi altında çevreye verdiği zararları konu edinir. Örne- ğin Kirlenmenin Yaralı ‘Lirizm’i’ adlı şiirinde doğrudan çevre kirliğinden yakınır. İnsan kaynaklı bu kirlenmenin ortadan kaldırılabilmesi için ‘elma’ imgesi ve ‘yeniden doğuş’ folklor / edebiyat 49 imajıyla insanlığı yeniden yaratma dürtüsü içine girer: “…Yağmur mu sinsi bir zehir mi üstümüze durmadan yağan,/bir çürüme kokuşma mı buğulanan bu yeni zamandan?/… Bana bir elma verin, “Adem’le Havva”dan çoğalan,/ binlerce çocuk gülüşü havalan- dırayım elmadan.” (Demirağ 2018/4; s.109). Havası Kirli Doğası Yarı Ölü Bir Yeryüzü Çocuğunun Şiiri’nde de 20. yüzyıl çocukları adına dokuz yaşındaki bir kız çocuğunu konuşturur. Onun ağzından her geçen gün biraz daha ölüme itilen dünya için kurtuluş diler. Hüznün Müziği dizi şiirlerinde yine çarpık kentleşme ve çevre kirliliği nedeniyle yaşam damarları kurumaya başlayan dünyayı ve tükenmekte olan hayat ışığını konu edinir: “Eşiğinde duruyorum: DÜNYA/her sabah biraz daha acıklı bir/kötü kullanılmak- tan yıpranmış ‘şiir’./Mantar gibi yükselirken zamane burçları,/Bütün iyi burçları/çök- mekte olan/ Bir HAYAT;/ Yaşadığımız günlerin kiri aksın diye üstümüzden/ ne yapsak, nere gitsek?/ Kuş ötüşlü bir yürekle hatırlanan bir çocukluğa kaçmak/ bir seçenek mi? / Bir düş-ada için ‘boşluk’ta kanat çırpmak?/ Ya da kara bir müzikte kaybolmak?/ (Sen ki kirlenen ve kirleten’sin,/ ‘kendinden’ nereye, nasıl kaçarsın??” (Demirağ 2018/7, s. 183). Kirleten, bu nedenle kirli bir varlığa dönüşen insana karşı öfkeyle dolan Demirağ, çevrenin doğal yaşamına müdahale eden insanın, bu suçtan ve hayati sorumluluğundan kaçamayacağını söze döker. Toplumsal meselelere yaklaşımı ile toplumcu gerçekçi şairler arasında değerlendi- rilebilecek olan Demirağ’ın yaşamın doğal dengelerinin korunması noktasında toplum- da farkındalık ve duyarlılık yaratma yolundaki yoğun çabaları bilinen gerçeklerdendir. Ne var ki o, bu uğraş içerisinde zaman zaman umudunu yitirmiş ve toplum eleştiri- sine de yönelmek durumunda kalmıştır. Onun sosyolojik analizlerinden biri de çevre kirliliğinin ekolojik dengeyi bozması ve dünya sağlığını ciddi boyutlarda etkilemesine rağmen toplumun en büyük eğlence ve yaşam kaynağına dönüşmüş bulunan ve özünde de hava kirliliğine ve orman yangınlarına yol açan “mangal” tutkusundan vazgeçme- miş bulunması üzerine yazdığı “Mangalıma Dokunmayın, Yakarım!”adlı şiiridir. Şii- rin bir bölümü şu şekildedir: “…Hiçbir şey artık! Hiçbir şey!/...Hayat: Üstümüze ge- len plastik döküntülü deniz./Pazar. Nerde olursa olsun. Pazar;/tekrarlaya tekrarlaya eskittiğimiz/dön baba dön ufuksuz Pazar./ Plastik döküntüler belki kendimiz./Düşyurt- suz, kumsalsızCarettaCaretta’lar!/ Dünya dönüyor da dönmüyor da,/Hayat akıyor da akmıyor da;/ne kaldı ki aksın ya da dursun/‘kendimiz’den başka?/Kimseye bırakmadık açgözlülüğü!/Bir tek ‘çürüme’ kaldı sonunda,/her şey çürüyüp gitti de;/rahatlayıp man- galımızın başına çöktük./Ruhlarımız kebap. Pis pis tüterek dumanlarımız./Mangalımıza dokunmayın, kıyameti koparırız!/ VE BAŞIMIZ SAĞOLSUN!” (Demirağ 2018/4; s.384). Burada Demirağ, çevreye zarar veren plastik madde kullanımının yaygınlaşmasının top- rakta, suda vs. yarattığı kirlilik ve zehirlenmelere tepki göstermeyen halkı, yine hal- kın arasından yükselen sesiyle protesto eder. İnsanlar, kendileriyle birlikte doğadaki on binlerce canlının yaşamını tehlikeye atmaktadırlar. Bunlardan en trajik olanlarından biri Kıbrıs’ın da simgesi haline gelmiş bulunan Caretta Carettalardır. Dünyada sınırlı kumsallara yumurtalarını bırakan, Kıbrıs’a da her yıl üreme döneminde ulaşan Caret- ta Carettaların elde kalan son doğal kumsallarının koruma altına alınabilmesinin tüm folklor / edebiyat 50 halkın bilinçlenmesine bağlı olduğunun vurgusunu yapan Demirağ, bu konuda toplumda çaresizce gözlemlediği duyarsızlığı “mangal” parodisi ile eleştirir. Demirağ’a göre insan bencilliği, ben merkezciliğiyle aslında kendini de büyük oranda öldürmüştür ve öldür- meye devam etmektedir. Sonuç Doğa, şairler için yaşam alanı olmanın ötesinde insanın evreni ve kendini anlamaya, algılamaya götüren biricik kaynaktır. İnsan bu özü doğru okuduğu sürece hem bu kaynağı hem de kendi varlığını koruyabilir. Doğada yarattığı sürdürülebilir çevrede bireysel, toplumsal ve evrensel anlamda kültür pratikleri yaratarak yaşamı da anlamlandırabilir. Doğayla temas kurarak ekolojik benliğini duyabilmiş, ben merkezcilikten arınarak doğadaki yerini kavramış bir Kıbrıslı şair olarak Fikret Demirağ, yazdığı ekoşiirlerle kültürel belleğimize doğa sezgisi ve çevre duyarlılığı gibi önemli bir değeri kodlamıştır. Kendi ferdi macerasının yanında toplumunun ve çağının ekolojik meselelerini gündeminden düşürmemiştir. Ekonomik, sosyal ve politik olgularla iç içe geçen ekolojik yaşam pratiklerinin yorumcusu olmakla da kalmamış, insan eliyle ölüme sürüklenen doğanın yardım bekleyen sesi olmaya çabalamıştır. Doğanın sesini duymuş, doğadaki süreçleri algılayıp anlamlandırmış, doğal yaşamın önemini kavramış, doğal alanların koruma altına alınması için şiir yoluyla mücadele etmiştir. Demirağ’ın şiirlerinde insandan ve doğadan umudunu kesmek istememekte direnmesi, tek bir buğday, zeytin tanesinin yaşam hakkının savunuculuğunu üstlenmesi onun ekoşairler arasında gösterilmesi için yeterli bir argümandır. Demirağ, doğada yaşamını paylaştığı her canlıya saygı duymuş, insanlığı da bu çevresel etik değerlere bağlılığa davet etmiştir. Aynı zamanda adasının üzerinde olup biten toplumsal süreçleri yıkım üzerinden değil, bütüncül bir evrensel yaşam anlayışı üzerinden okumayı ve okutmayı amaçlamıştır. Dünyanın farklı köşelerinde fışkıran otların gökyüzüne uzanan yeşerme heyecanını duyabilmiş, şiirlerinde bunu dile getirmiş, dünyada canlı yaşamını tehdit eden betonlaşma, fabrikasyon, çevre kirliliği, savaş ve nükleer tehdit vs. karşısında canlıların yaşam hakkını sözcüklerle savunmuştur. Bu özellikleriyle, doğa ve çevreyi sadece romantik etkilenimler bağlamında değil, sürdürülebilir bir çevre ve gelecek yaratma amaç ve çabalarıyla dizelerine taşıyan Fikret Demirağ, Kıbrıs Türk şiirinde öncü bir konuma sahiptir. Notlar 1 Türk edebiyatında oldukça yeni bir tartışma zemini olan ekoşiirin üreticileri olarak Elif Sofya, Anita Sezgener, Naze Nejla Yerlikaya, Güven Turan, Nazmi Ağıl, Süreyya Berfe, Gürgenç Korkmazel, Turgay Fișekçi ve Hüseyin Kıran gibi şairler anılmakta, bu şairlerin ekolojik sorunlara değinmekle yetinmeyip aynı zamanda dil ve ekoloji arasındaki ilişkiyi irdelemekte ve deneysel anlatım teknikleri keşfetmekte oldukları vurgulanmaktadır (Ergin ve Dolcerocca, 2016). folklor / edebiyat 51 Kaynaklar Akış, S. (2000.) Kıbrıs’ta çevre bilinci. Doğuş Üniversitesi Dergisi, S.1(1), s. 7-17. Arıkan, A. (2011). Edebî metin çözümlemesi ve ekoeleştiri, Mediterranean Journal Of Hu- manities, S. 1/1,s.43-51. Bookchin, M. (2013). Ekolojik bir topluma doğru. İstanbul: Sümer. Coupe, L. (2000). The green studies reader: From romanticism to ecocriticism. London, Rout- ledge. Demirağ, F. (1960). Tutku, Ankara: Ayyıldız. Demirağ, F. ( 963). Açar yörüngeler çiçeği, Lefkoşa: Devrim. Demirağ, F. ( 972). Ötme keklik ölürüm, Ankara: Dost. Demirağ, F. (1978). Umut ve dehşet çağından şiirler, Lefkoşa: Halkın Sesi. Demirağ, F. (1984). Akdenizli şiirler ve aşk sözleri, Lefkoşa: İleri. Demirağ, F. (1986-a). Adıyla yaralı, İstanbul: Su. Demirağ, F. (1986-b). Rüzgârda ozan türküleri. İstanbul: Yaylacık. Demirağ, F. (1996). Şiirin vaktine mezmur, Lefkoşa: Işık. Demirağ, F. (1999). Alfa ve omega, İstanbul: Yön. Demirağ , F. (2002). Bir Tanrı müziği sessizlikte, Lefkoşa: Işık. Demirağ, F. (2018/1). Toplu şiirler 1. Ankara: LAÜ Yayını. Demirağ, F. (2018/2) . Toplu şiirler 2. Ankara: LAÜ Yayını. Demirağ, F. (2018/4). Toplu şiirler 4. Ankara: LAÜ Yayını. Demirağ, F. (2018/5). Toplu şiirler 5. Ankara: LAÜ Yayını. Demirağ, F. (2018/6). Toplu şiirler 6. Ankara: LAÜ Yayını. Demirağ, F. (2018/7). Toplu şiirler 7. Ankara: LAÜ Yayını. Eaglton, T. (2011). Kültür yorumları. İstanbul: Ayrıntı. Ergin, M., Dolcarocca, Ö.N. (2006). Edebiyata ekoeleştirel yaklaşımlar: Ekoşiir ve Elif Sof- ya. SEFAD, S. 36, s. 297-314. Garrard, G. (2016). Ekoeleştiri. Kolektif kitap. Glotfelty, (1996). The Ecocriticism reader: Landmarks in literaryecology paperback. At- hens-London. U. of Georgia P. Kalmbach, C. (2012). Nature in words ecopoetry: The new nature poetry. Central Michigan University. Karabıçak, M. ve R. Armağan (2004). Çevre sorunlarının ortaya çıkış süreci, çevre yöneti- minin temelleri ve ekonomik etkileri. Süleyman Demirel Üniversitesi İktisadi ve İdari Bilimler Fakültesi Dergisi, S. 9 (2), s. 203-228. Keleş, R. (1997). Çevre, yurttaş, sorumluluk, İnsan, çevre, toplum, 2. Baskı, İstanbul:İmge. Keller, L. (2012). Green reading: Modern and contemporary poetry and environmental cri- ticism in C. Nelson (ed.) Oxford Handbook of Modern and Contemporary American Poetry, ed New York: Oxford University Press, s. 602-623. Özdağ, U. ve Gökalp Alpaslan, G. G. ( 2011) Türkiyat araştırmalarında yeni bir alan: Çevreci eleştiri. 3. Uluslararası Türkiyat Araştırmaları Sempozyumu Bildiriler Kitabı 2. Cilt. (ed. Ülkü Çelik Şavk). Ankara: Hacettepe Üniversitesi.s. 641-653. Özdağ, U. (2014). Çevreci eleştiriye giriş. Ankara: Ürün. folklor / edebiyat 52 Rueckert, W. (1996). ”Literaturean ecology” Ecocriticism reader: Landmarks in literary eco- logy. Eds. Cheryll Glotfelty and Harold Fromm. Athens: Georgia UP,. 105-123. Uluğ, E. (Der.) (1997). “Çevre kirlenmesinin boyutları”, İnsan, Çevre, Toplum, (Yay. Haz. R. Keleş), İmge. WCED (1987). World commission on environment and development, ourcommonfuture: The brundtland report. Oxford: Oxford University. Elektronik kaynaklar Keller, Lynn (2015) ‘a. rawlings: Ecopoetic Intersubjectivity’, Jacket2, at <http://jacket2.org/ article/arawlings-ecopoetic-intersubjectivity>. (Erişim tarihi: 10.03. 2018) Oppermann Serpil (2009) Ekoeleştiri, http://www.pen.org.tr. /files/GrreenPEN%20 Ekoeleş- tiri %20Prof.%20Dr.%20Serpil%20oppermann.pdf (Erişim Tarihi: 20.02.2018). 
work_u4roc4buozf4nin7zcxx5v7qsu	----	Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015, p. 137-154 DOI Number: http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.8578 ISSN: 1308-2140, ANKARA-TURKEY BİREY-DOĞA İLİŞKİSİ TEMELİNDE KENDİSİ OL(AMA)MA: MUSTAFA KUTLU ÖYKÜLERİNİ EKOELEŞTİREL OKUMAK Betül BAYRAKTAR** ÖZET Sanayi Devrimi’nden sonra her geçen gün gelişen teknoloji, çevre sorunlarını beraberinde getirir. İnsanın çevreye olumsuz müdahalesinin artması ozon tabakasının incelmesi, çevre kirliliği, hava kirliliği ve su kirliliğine sebep olur. Ayrıca toprağa ve dolayısıyla toprakta yetişen şeylerin alanına müdahale edilmesi geri dönüşü olmayan sorunlara yol açar. Söz konusu problem ele alınıp, çevre duyarlılığı oluşturmak üzere bazı platformlar kurulur. Bu bağlamda insanı bilinçlendirmede edebi eserlerden de faydalanmaya başlanılır. Sanatkârlar eserlerinde doğaya ait unsurlara yer vererek, bunların arka planında doğanın korunması gerektiğini anlatır. 1980 sonrası Türk öykücülüğünde Mustafa Kutlu, birey-toprak ilişkisinin sağlam olması halinde bireyin kendisi olarak kaldığını ancak bu ilişkinin bozulması sonucunda bireyin yabancılaşmasının kaçınılmaz olduğunu anlatır. Taşradan İstanbul’a göç etmiş Kutlu’ya göre kaybedilen değerler doğadan uzaklaşmanın sonucudur. Kutlu’nun toprak ve doğa ile ilgili düşünceleri Türk düşünce tarihinin önemli simalarından Nurettin Topçu fikir dünyasının ardılı şeklindedir. Öyküleri ise söz konusu düşüncenin sanatkâr bir üslupla anlatımıdır. Mustafa Kutlu’nun 1979 ile 2015 arası 23 öykü kitabı yayımlanır. Öykülerinde doğa bilinci yoğun bir şekilde görülür ve işlevsel açıdan bireyin varoluşu doğayla olan ilişkisine bağlanır. Bu çalışmada doğa; bireyin kendisi olması/ yabancılaşması açısından irdelendi. Çevreci eleştirinin ne olduğu, kimler tarafından çalışmalar yapıldığı ve eleştirinin tarihsel sürecine değinildikten sonra edebiyattaki yaklaşımları incelendi. Ardından toprak, su, ruh-ı kâinat ve yabancılaşanlar/kendisi kalanlar başlıkları altında Kutlu öyküleri tahlil edildi. Anahtar Kelimeler: Eko Eleştiri, Mustafa Kutlu, Öykü, Yabancılaşma, Kendisi Olma.  Bu makale Crosscheck sistemi tarafından taranmış ve bu sistem sonuçlarına göre orijinal bir makale olduğu tespit edilmiştir. ** Arş. Gör. Karadeniz Teknik Üniversitesi Türk Dili ve Edebiyatı Bölümü, El-mek: bbagci@ktu.edu.tr http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.8578 138 Betül BAYRAKTAR Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 BEING (OR NOT BEING) ONESELF ON THE BASIS OF INDIVIDUAL-NATURE RELATIONSHIP: ECOCRITICALLY READING THE STORIES OF MUSTAFA KUTLU ABSTRACT Human beings’ intervention to the environment increases with the technological developments brought by The Industrial Revolution. Thus, human beings causes negative effects such as thinning of the ozone layer, the environment, air and water pollution. Also, being involved in the ecological cycle of soil and those grown in the soil leads to irreversible problems. In this regard, some platforms are founded to create environmental awareness. On the other hand, it is started to benefit from literary work for creating awareness. In this context artisans tells the need of nature protection by giving the elements of nature in their works’ background. After 1980, Mustafa Kutlu in Turkish short story tells that in case of being strong of relationship between individual and soil, individual remains oneself but in result of deterioration of the relationship, individual’s alienation is inevitable. According to Kutlu who migrated from countryside to İstanbul, loss values are the result of departing from nature. Kutlu’s thoughts about the soil and nature are consecutive as Nurettin Topçu who is the one of important personalities of the history of Turkish thought. His stories are artisans style expression of this thought. Kutlu’s 23 short stories have been published from 1979 to 2015. In his stories consciousness of nature is seen intensively and individual’s existence is functionally connected to its relationship with nature. In this study nature is semtinized in terms of individual’s being oneself/alienation. It is mentioned what eco criticism is, who studies on it. After refering to it’s historical process, in this regard approach in literature was examined. Then Kutlu’s stories were analyzed under the headings of soil, water, universe’s soul and alienating/remain oneself. STRUCTURED ABSTRACT Science and technology cause irremediable destructions for nature day by day. Some platformes are established to stop this negative externalities. Rachel Carson’s Silent Sprint (1962) is the first study in this field. The damage of technology are mentioned in this study. Through this efforts, DDT (Dikloro Difenil Trikloroethan: Insect Killer) was forbidden in 1971. Furthermore, the notion of deep-echology was mooted by Arne Naess in 1972 in “The Future of Third World Conference-Bucharest”. His article’s name is “The Shallow and The Deep, Long-Range Ecology Movement: A Summary”. Accordingly, human must acknowledge that he is a part of nature and he is not versus of nature. Eco-criticism’s representatives are Aldo Leopold, John Muir, Edward Abbey, Henry David Thoreau and Terry Tempest William. The first representative of Ecocriticism is William Ruekert who uses the notion of eco-criticism. According to eco-criticism, everything in nature Birey-Doğa İlişkisi Temelinde Kendisi Ol(ama)ma: Mustafa Kutlu Öykülerini… 139 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 is interconnected. Thus everything should be acknowledged as an individual. In order to terminate the destruction of nature, there are studies in literature like the other arts. The narrations creates nature awareness for human beings. After a while literature’s function starts to become widespread. Thereby eco-criticism is referred with literature which reflects the energy of nature to the readers. The studies in which Turkish literature was used as a material, texts were evaluated in the context of eco-crtiticism. The relationship between individual and nature took part in this articles and large nature description therewithal. The highlighted point of this study is: There are some existential sources as water, soil, air in the world. The survival of the human beings depends on subsistence with these sources. If human beings interferes these sources negatively, they will run out of this sources. So that, human beings will become estranged to theirselves, nature and the other people. However, if human beings live in harmony with these sources and not violate the border, they can remain oneselves. This emphasis in this study is described with Mustafa Kutlu’s short stories. Mustafa Kutlu was born in 1947 in Erzincan. He leads his life intertwined with nature. This togetherness reflects on his narrations. Living in the virgin nature enables him to open his painting gallery in the high school years. He graduates from Ataturk University Turkish Language and Literature Department. His thesis was “The Plastic Components in Sait Faik”. After then the writer who immigrates to İstanbul, demonstrates his interest in painting in Hareket Journal’s cap patterns. When he starts storytelling, his addiction of nature is clearly visible. According to Heidegger’s statement “oblivion of the asset”, after modernity human beings forget theirselves and the world, This oblivion can be described “mother-escape agency” as M. Bilgin Saydam’s statement in Deli Dumrul’un Bilinci. In Kutlu’s short stories, modernity for human beings appears itself in the form of moving away from nature and being alienate oneself in mother-escape agency. However if the subliminal that represents nature, is consistent with the conscious that represents psyche, individual will be compatible. Human beings who forget its existential sources appears as alienated characters in short story. Moving away from nature is the reason of the other alienation kinds. Countryside is open-space in Kutlu’s short stories. Human beings are intertwined with nature who is teemful, nourisher and defensor as a mother. It is witnessed that seasons pass, trees fructify and the sound of birds, sheeps and cows here. It is caught a scent of soil and its products. Briefly human beings live and feel nature with its all senses. Memory place for individual to remain oneself and connect to its past, is countryside. According to Kutlu, trying to protect nature for himself is out of the question. Human beings shouldn’t feel theirselves a separate asset from nature and live as a part of nature. Kutlu says; “Five of us are here. Soil, water, air, fire and us” (Kutlu, 2011b: 23). In this regard, ecocriticism has several extent in Kutlu’s short stories. His short stories are examined under the headings of soil, water, universe’s spirit, person who is alienated/remained oneself. Deterioration of soil, water and universe’s sprit is doomsday. Human beings cause a loss in nature after modernity. This problem and 140 Betül BAYRAKTAR Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 a verse from the Quran are gathered up in Bu Böyledir. There is a pastiche to Tekvir Sura1. The inevitable doomsday comes for human beings who consume available sources. Firstly soil’s bosom is drilled, than water’s way is cut, so the spirit of universe is destroyed. The soil who procreator and nourisher resembles venter archetypally. Being alone with soil remembers human beings who they are. Human beings become peaceful and clean theirselves from suspicion. There is a wide nature description in countryside where human being remains oneself in Kutlu’s stories. However there is an alienation because of moving away from soil in the town. Hafız Yaşar foresees this situation in Bu Böyledir when the countryside belongs its own road. He says the soil is not like a real soil. According to him human being who doesn’t look after a tree as a tree, will not behave humanely to anyone. Water is source of creation. According to the Turkish belief, The God gives the water to Turkish in order to keep living. The water from town is compared with the water from countryside in Kutlu’s short story named “Murit”. The sheik who lives in town, wants Akpınar’s water from his follower who lives in countryside. There are lots of denaturalizing factors in town so the water which should be clear and pure, is spoiled. Though there are some connotation in Akpınar’s name that it is pure and clear. According to the ancient Turkish belief, universe’s spirit is an idea that all living creatures have a spirit in nature. Nature is alive, it feels and it is aware of something in Kutlu’s stories. When the follower says goodbye to his village, he also says goodbye to all of the living creatures in “Murit”. He meets his wife, friend, cowboy, dog and trees. The birds and the wolves see him off. He also entrusts them to God. But when the follower comes town, there are different things in nature. Alienation has influenced all living creatures. While all the living creatures are accompanied with the follower’s feeling in countryside where the existential sources are available, everything is different in the town in which deterioration takes place. The sun which is source of heat and shine, gets dark and freezes. The follower fondles a leaf of a tree. But it is dost-choked. It almost groans from difficulty in breathing. It starts to tell about the air pollution to him. After then the follower greets to a cat but it doesn’t give any answer. However after a while the mood that the follower takes into the town is expands. Concrete is splitted and the soil smells good. So human beings’ behaviour changes positively. Human beings haven’t any registration in a jail, finance, police and brothel in the times when human beings live with nature (Kutlu, 2011b: 22). This time is period when human beings smile and cry really. When human beings move away from the nature, the other living creatures become alienate as human beings. Because of dirty environment, there is no fish in the sea to hunt for seagull. So it eats litter and hunts dove in a way contrary to its nature. Human beings’ life depends on using effectively of natural resources. At the same time, human beings should not forget that these 1 “When the sun is wrapped up (in darkness); and when the stars fall, dispersing; and when the mountains are removed; and when full-term-she-camels are neglected; and when the wild beasts are gathered; and when the seas are filled with flame; and when the souls are paired; and when the girl (who was) buried alive is asked for what sin she was killed; and when the pages are made public; and when the sky is stripped away; and when Hellfire is set ablaze; and when Paradise ise brought near; a soul will (then) know what it has brought it (with)” (The Sura of Tekvir: 1-14). Birey-Doğa İlişkisi Temelinde Kendisi Ol(ama)ma: Mustafa Kutlu Öykülerini… 141 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 resources enable their existence. Development of consciousness depends on moving away from the place where it is born. However this secession shouldn’t be completely break. Because human beings provide its energy from these resources. Human being who wants to be individual through the father-act, must have mother-act and must cling to its resources. Only in this way, human being manages to be itself. Key Words: Eco Criticism, Mustafa Kutlu, Story, Alienation, Remain Oneself. 1.Ekoeleştiri İnsanlık tarihinde üzerine düşünülen şey toplum ve koşullara göre değişkenlik gösterir. İlk dönemlerde düşünce, varlığın ilk maddesinin ne olduğu ile ilgilidir. Bu bağlamda doğa felsefesi M.Ö. 6. yüzyıldan beri insanların doğayı metafizik sistemlerle açıklamaya çalışmasıdır. Amacı varlığı oluşturan ilk maddeyi bulup insanı, doğayı ve evreni ona göre izah etmektir (Çüçen, 2011: 1). Doğa felsefesi yerini zamanla başka düşüncelere bırakır. Bunun hem felsefi hem politik sebepleri mevcuttur. İlk maddenin ne olduğunun tartışılması esnasında çok farklı bazen de çelişik ifadelere yer verilmesi bu konu hakkında düşünmekten vazgeçilmesinin ilk nedenidir. Diğer nedeni ise politik olup Yunan demokrasinin değişmesidir. Tüccarlar iktidar sahibi olup kalıcılıklarını devam ettirmek üzere kendilerine “politik bilgi aktaracak yeni bir felsefeciler zümresine ihtiyaç duy[arlar]” (Cevizci, 2009: 31). Nitekim Sokrates, Platon ve Aristo ile problem artık ilk maddenin bulunması üzerine değil, insan, toplum ve devlet hakkındadır. Ortaçağa gelindiğinde ise felsefe tamamen değişir ve Tanrı merkezli olmaya başlar. Bu dönemde akıl Hristiyan vahyinin hizmetine koşulur (Cevizci, 2009: 179). Zamana göre değişen düşünce sistemleri nihayet Rönesans’ta Stoacı düşünüş ile doğayla ilgili düşünmeye ve bilim dünyasında hareketlenmeye sebep olur. İnsanlık tarihinin ilk kez üzerine düşündüğü doğa tekrar gündeme gelir. Fakat bu sefer düşünce şekli değişir: “Doğanın hizmetkârı ve yorumcusu olan insanoğlu, deney ve düşünme yoluyla doğa düzeninin sırlarını anladığı ölçüde eylemde bulunabilir ve bilgi edinebilir. Doğaya egemen olmanın koşulu ona boyun eğdirmektir” (Çüçen, 2011: 2). “Evrenin merkezi (…) bilen, hâkim, akılsal ve duygusal özne” (Eliuz, 2012: 1014) olan insanın doğaya tahakküm etmesi bir süre sonra ona zarar verme ve yok edip tüketmesine kadar varır. Modern toplumlar ellerindeki teknoloji silahını doğanın kalbine yöneltir. Çevrenin tahribatı, nüfus artışı, sanayileşme, nükleer çalışmalar, savaşlar, küresel ısınma, ozon tabakasının delinmesi, kimyevi ilaçların su, hava ve toprağı kirletmesi dünyayı yaşanılmaz bir yere çevirir. Bu durum bazı kesimlerin farkındalığını uyandırır. Çevre bilincinin tüm insanlara yayılması ve doğanın yıpratılmasına engel olmak için çalışmalar yapılır. Çevrenin bilinçsizce yok edilmesi ve ekolojik sistemin bozulmasına karşı olarak ilk kez 1972’de Bükreş’te Arne Naesss tarafından “Üçüncü Dünyanın Geleceği Konferansı”nda Derin Ekoloji kavramı ortaya atılır. Bu görüşe göre insan doğaya karşı bir tutum sergilemekten kaçınmalı ve onun bir parçası olduğunu kabul etmelidir. Başlıca temsilcileri Aldo Leopold, John Muir, Edward Abbey, Henry David Thoreau ve Terry Tempest William olan ekoeleştirinin birebir bu terimi kullanan ilk temsilcisi ise William Ruckert’tır. Ekoeleştiride “doğadaki her şeyin birbirine bağımlılığı” ilkesinden yola çıkılarak her canlı, birey olarak kabul edilip, bu bireyin kimliğinin ve karakterinin diğer canlılarla olan ilişkisi ile şekillenip ortaya çıktığı görüşü savunulmaktadır (Evernden’den aktaran Bulut, 2007: 3). Bunu yaparken fizik, kimya, biyoloji gibi temel bilim dallarıyla sosyal bilimlerin sentezinden yararlanılıp yeni bir doğa algısı oluşturulur. Ekoeleştiri kavramı ortaya atılmadan önce de çevre duyarlığı görülür. Biyolog Rachel Carson modern çevreciliğin başlangıcı olan Sessiz Bahar adlı eserini yayımlar (1962). Bu, 142 Betül BAYRAKTAR Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 teknolojinin çevreye verdiği zararlardan söz eden ilk eser olur. Carson, eserinde daha çok verim almak üzere tarımda ilaç kullanımının canlılara geri dönüşü olmayan zararlar verdiğini ifade eder. Söz konusu kimyasalların anne sütünde hatta henüz doğmamış bir bebeğin vücudunda bulunduğunu belirten eser büyük bir yankı uyandırır ve neticede DDT (Dikloro Difenil Trikloroethan: Böcek Öldürücü) 1971’de yasaklanır. Ekoeleştiri’nin beslendiği görüşler, Derin Ekoloji, Ekofeminizm, Toplumsal Ekoloji ve Ekopsikolojidir. Derin ekolojiye göre insan merkezli yaklaşımdan kurtulup bütüncül bir algı ile doğa merkezci anlayış savunulur. Ekofeminizme göre ataerkil sistemin altında ezilen kadın gibi doğa da yine onun tarafından ezilmektedir. Toplumsal Ekolojiye göre doğa sürekli değişim içinde olup toplumsal olana doğru evrilmektedir. Ekopsikolojide ise modern dünyada insan çok çalışır ve kendine dinlenecek bir zaman bulamaz. Böylece doğadan uzaklaşır ve bir süre sonra da yabancılaşmaya başlar. 2.Edebiyat ve Ekoeleştiri Doğanın tahrip olmasına diğer bilim dallarında olduğu gibi sanat ve edebiyat camiasında da sessiz kalınmaz. Şiir, öykü, roman ve tiyatrolarda insanlarda eksik kalan doğa bilinci oluşturulmaya çalışılır. Bu eserlerde yalnız doğa tasvirleri görüldüğü gibi insan doğa ilişkilerine de yer verilir. Bir süre sonra edebiyatın bu işlevi yaygınlık kazanmaya başlar ve neticede ekoeleştiri edebiyat ile birlikte anılır. Ekoeleştiriyi William Ruekert “ekolojinin prensiplerinin edebiyata uyarlanması” (Ruekert’tan aktaran Bulut 2007: 2) şeklinde ifade ederken, Cheryll Glotfelty “edebiyat ve fiziksel çevre arasındaki ilişkinin incelenmesi" olarak açıklar (Bulut, 2007: 2). Dolayısıyla bir süre sonra ekoeleştiri denince edebiyat akla gelir. Ekolojinin temel prensibi her şeyin birbirine bağımlı olmasıdır. İnsan ve doğayı da birlikte düşünen W. Ruekert, insanın doğayı yok etmesini intihar eylemi olarak addeder. Bu intiharın önüne geçmek için edebiyattan yararlanmak gerekir zira edebiyat doğadaki enerjinin okura yansıtılmasını sağlar. Neticede yazar doğadan aldığı enerjiyi eseri aracılığıyla okura aktarır. Böylece insan doğa ilişkisi kuvvetlendirilmiş olur. Postmodern anlatım tekniklerinden metinlerarasılık ekoeleştiride sıkça kullanılan bir tekniktir. Michael Branch bunu şöyle açıklar: “Yazınsal metin aslında bir ekosisteme benzer; parçalarının birbiriyle olan ilişkileri sonucu oluşturulan fonksiyonel bir bütündür. Her bir metin diğer metinlerle ve anlamlarla olan karşılıklı etkileşimine göre tanımlanır” (Branch’tan aktaran Bulut, 1994: 4,5). Bu bağlamda edebiyat dünyası ekosisteme benzetilir. Metinler de bu sistemin parçalardır. Nasıl ki bir ekosistem kendini oluşturan parçalarla varlığını devam ettiriyorsa, edebiyat da söz konusu parçaların birlikteliği ile var olur. Ekoeleştirinin postmodernite ile ortak olan bir diğer yönü ise insan öznesinin yıkılmasıdır. Kendisini modernitede ‘efendi’ gören bireyin hâkimiyeti postmodernizmde olduğu gibi ekoeleştiride de sona erer: “İnsan öznesine tanınan sonsuz imtiyazın” (Head’den aktaran Bulut, 2007: 5) kaldırılması hem ekoeleştiride hem de postmodernitede görülen önemli bir özelliktir. Bunun yansımalarını sanat eserlerinde takip etmek mümkündür. Çevreci bir eserin bazı özellikleri vardır. Bu eserlerde çevre arka plan olmaktan çıkar. Doğa, varlığı canlı bir tasvirle sunularak işlevsel bir mekâna dönüşür. Ayrıca bu tür eserlerde birey, toplum ve evren bazında, insanın tarihi ve doğanın tarihi iç içedir. Zira “[i]nsanın menfaati yasal olan yegâne menfaat değildir” (Özdağ ve Alpaslan, 2010: 642). Ayrıca ekoeleştiriye uygun metnin bir diğer özelliği, insanın çevreye karşı sorumluluk bilincini gösteriyor olmasıdır. Birey-Doğa İlişkisi Temelinde Kendisi Ol(ama)ma: Mustafa Kutlu Öykülerini… 143 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 3. Mustafa Kutlu Öykücülüğü ve Ekoeleştiri Mustafa Kutlu 1947’de Erzincan’da doğar ve burada doğa ile iç içe bir hayat yaşar. Büyük şehrin hengâmesinden uzak, doğanın tüm çıplaklığıyla kendini gösterdiği, bireyin toprakla olan münasebetinin devam ettiği bu yerde, Kutlu’nun ileride yazacağı öyküler için de hayal dünyası şekillenir. Doğa hadiselerine tüm duyuları ile şahit olan bir çocuktur: “Bakir tabiat ortasında yalnız bir çocuk. Komşuları yakındaki Cebesoy İstasyonu’nun lojmanlarında oturan demiryolculardır. Bu ev, bu istasyon, asker dolu trenler, biraz öteden geçen Fırat, karanlık geceler, kar, gecenin sessizliğinde yankılanan tren düdükleri ve kurt ulumaları” (Ayvazoğlu: 1996, 165). Hatta bu yaşam biçimiyle eserlerini bütünleştiren yazar, lise yıllarında doğa resimlerinin ağırlıkta olduğu bir resim sergisi açar. Daha sonra Erzurum Atatürk Üniversitesi Türk Dili ve Edebiyatı Bölümü’nde lisans eğitimini tamamlar. Eğitiminin son aşaması olan bitirme çalışması kapsamında “Sait Faik’te Plastik Unsurlar” adlı eseri ortaya koyar. Bu eserde yazar doğaya olan hassasiyetini resim ve edebiyat sanatını bütünleştirerek ifade eder. Daha sonra İstanbul’a giden yazar burada doğadan uzak kalışının ve doğaya özleminin izlerini Hareket Dergisi’nin kapaklarında gösterir. Dergiyi, öykülerinden önce kapak tasarımları süsler. 19879den itibaren Dergâh Yayınları’nda da öyküleri yayımlanmaya başlar. Postmodern anlatım tekniklerinden yararlanan yazara göre bireyin doğaya yabancılaşması moderniteden sonra olur. Çevreye yabancılaşan birey ise unutkandır: “İnsan bilimde ilerledikçe, Heidegger’in deyimiyle ‘varlığın unutuluşu’ hali içinde hem kendini hem dünyayı unutur” (Kundera, 2009: 16). Unutkanlık öykülerde bireyin kendisini oluşturan değerlerden, geleneklerden uzaklaşması şeklinde tezahür eder. Nitekim “[d]oğadan yabancılaşma hızla her tür yabancılaşmanın en tehlikeli haline gelmektedir” (Swain, 2013: 72). Kutlu da öykülerinde yabancılaşma temasını bu zemin üzerine oturtur. Köy/kasaba doğayla iç içe, kent merkezi ise ondan kopuk yaşamlar sunar. Bu mekânlar genel özellikleri ile Kutlu öykülerinde tasvir edilir. Köy sıcak ve samimidir. İnsanlar burada geleneksel değerlerini korur. Zaman yekparedir. Öykülerde karakterler ağaçların her çeşidi–incir, ayva, elma, iğde, ceviz vb.- çiçeklerin bin bir türlüsü –gelincik, papatya, gül, lale, zambak, menekşe, şebboy vb.- ile beraberdir. Kuşların –doğan, serçe vb.- cıvıltısını duyar, hayvanların pek çok çeşidini –eşek, inek, kuzu, koyun- bir arada görme şansı yakalar. Derelerden gelen suların şırıltısı ona sükûnet ve huzur verir. Yazın sıcağında ağaçların dallarında ağustos böcekleri karakterlere eşlik eder. Modernitenin uğramadığı köy ve kasaba bu şekilde tasvir edilirken, kent merkezi doğadan uzak, yüksek binaların yer aldığı, egzoz ve motor gürültülerinin, fabrika dumanlarının yoğunlaştığı ve atıklarının çevreyi kirlettiği bir mekândır. Bireyin kendisi kalması ve yabancılaşmasının köy kent üzerinden anlatıldığı öykülere ekoeleştirel bakıldığında da köy açık mekân iken kent kapalı mekândır. Bireyin kendisi olarak kalabildiği, geçmişle bağlantısını kurabildiği bellek mekânı köy/kasabadır, bu bağın kopuşu ile çözülme yaşadığı yer ise kenttir: “Kişinin kendini çevreleyen şeyler dünyasında yitip gitmemesi için onun, tarihselliğini sağlayan bellek mekânlarına tutunması ve orada kurduğu kendilik bilinci ile hem uzamsal boyutta dünya ile hem de zamansal boyutta geçmişiyle bağlantıya geçmesi kaçınılmaz bir gerekliliktir. Bu bağlamda bellek mekânları, mitik kahraman Antheus’un toprağı gibi, kendisiyle temasa geçildiğinde ölen’i dirilten bir tinsel varoluş mekânıdır” (Korkmaz, 2008: 31). Kutlu öykülerinde söz konusu tinsel varoluş mekânları köy ve kasabalar iken, yabancılaşmanın mekânı kenttir. Doğayı eserlerinin zeminine yerleştiren yazara göre çevreciler samimiyetsizdir. Çevre problemlerini dile getirip, harekete geçmeyen bu kişiler ekoeleştiriye yapılan eleştirilerden birinde olduğu gibi sadece kendilerini düşünürler. Plancılar yeşil alanları yeşile boyuyorlar, çevreciler oturdukları modern teknolojinin koltuklarında mayışarak dumansız yakıt, zararsız 144 Betül BAYRAKTAR Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 deterjan istiyorlar. Onların bütün korkusu alışkanı oldukları yalancı cennete bir gün gelip elveda diyeceklerdir (Kutlu, 2011b: 26). İnsanın sadece kendisi için doğayı kurtarmaya çalışması Kutlu’ya göre söz konusu olamaz. Ona göre insan kendini doğadan ayrı bir varlık olarak görmemeli doğanın bir parçası olarak yaşamalıdır. “Beşimiz bir aradayız. Toprak, su, hava, ateş ve biz” (Kutlu, 2011b: 23) derken kastettiği de budur. Bu bağlamda öykülerinde ekoeleştirinin çeşitli boyutları görülür. Öyküler toprak, su, ruh-ı kâinat, yabancılaşanlar/ kendisi olarak kalanlar başlıkları altında incelenir. Toprak, su ve ruh-ı kâinatın bozulması kıyamettir. İnsan doğaya verdiği zararla hem kendisinin hem doğanın kıyametini hazırlamış olur. Bu Böyledir’de sanayileşme sonrası doğadan kopuş, Kuran-ı Kerim ile metinlerarası bir düzlemde buluşturularak kıyamet sahnesi tasvir edilir. Söz konusu tasvirde, Kutlu öykülerinde yer alan doğanın boyutlarını –toprak, su, ruh-ı kâinat- da takip etmek mümkündür: Buldozerlerin dişleri toprağa saplandığı zaman. Motor gürültülerinin yavru kuşları yuvalarından ürküttüğü zaman. Ağaçların devrildiği, kayaların demir matkaplarla delindiği, suların önünün kesildiği zaman. O durgun göl kenarında, kamışlıkta akşam balıkların ve su kuşlarının, rüzgârın ve titreyen çimenlerin, kertenkelenin, sincabın ve tarla kuşunun birlikte söylediği ilahi ansızın kesildiği zaman… (Kutlu, 2012c: 36). Kuran-ı Kerim’de Tekvir Suresi’nin ilk ondört ayetine 2 atıf yapılarak kurulan cümlelerde toprağın bağrı modern aletlerle delinir. Topraktan uzaklaşan insan için bu bir son’dur. Modernite denen kıyamet, önce insanın toprakla olan rabıtasını keser. Geçmişle gelecek arasında bir köprü olan, yıllar geçtikçe kökleri daha çok salınan ağaçlar devrilir; geleceği simgeleyen, şefkate, kültürel kodlara muhtaç yavru kuşlar motor sesinden ürker. Varoluşun kaynağı olan ve bu yüzden saygı duyulması gereken suyun ise önü kesilir. Tüm bu değişiklikler ruh-ı kâinatı da etkiler. Burada doğanın da insan gibi hissedişi söz konusudur. Kıyametin kopması karşısında balıklar ve su kuşları, rüzgâr ve çimenler, kertenkele, sincap ve tarlakuşu ortak bir duyuş ve hissiyata sahiptir. Toprak Mitlerde ve dinlerde insanın yaratılışı çoğunlukla topraktan olur. İnsan öldüğünde de toprağa gömülerek var olduğu yere geri döner. “Fenomonolojik açıdan toprak, insanın kendisi, dünyadaki yüzüdür” (Şahin, 2013: 107). Toprakla münasebeti bu denli iç içe olan insan bir de ondan faydalanır. Zira toprak aynı zamanda bereketin sembolüdür. Toprakta biten sebze ve meyveler insanın beslenmesi içindir. İnsan toprağın verimli olduğu yerde yurt tutar: “Arketipsel olarak toprak insanın anne rahminde yurt tutmasına benzer” (Fordham’dan aktaran Şahin, 2013: 67, 68). Doğurur ve onu besler. “Şüphe yok ki, bizi güneşe kavuşturan hayat topraktan fışkırdı; topraktan yaratıldık. Anamız toprağa bağlılığımız, kucağında son uykuya dalacağımız zamana kadar sürecek; ayağımız onun üstünden kesilmeyecek. Kalbini, anasından doğduğu gibi koruyabilen insan, toprağından ayrılmayan insandır… Toprak sanki kendi benliğimizdir. Ondan uzaklaşan insan kendi benliğini de kaybediyor. Toprağa yaklaştıkça, gerçek ve ölümsüz varlığa kavuştuğumuzu hissediyoruz, şüphe ile ölüm azabından kurtuluyoruz” (Topçu, 2012: 187). 2 Güneş dürüldüğü zaman, yıldızlar bulanıp söndüğü zaman, dağlar yürütüldüğü zaman, gebe develer Salı verildiği zaman, yaban hayatı yaşayan tüm canlılar toplandığı zaman, denizler kaynatıldığı zaman, ruhlar eşleştirildiği zaman, diri diri gömülen kız çocuğunun hangi günahtan ötürü öldürüldüğü sorulduğu zaman, amel defterleri açıldığı zaman, gökyüzü sıyrılıp koparıldığı zaman, cehennem alevlendirildiği zaman, cennet yaklaştırıldığı zaman, herkes önceden hazırlayıp getirdiği şeyleri bilecektir (Kuran-ı Kerim, 2012: 672). Birey-Doğa İlişkisi Temelinde Kendisi Ol(ama)ma: Mustafa Kutlu Öykülerini… 145 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 “Kök salma mekânı olan toprak” (Yılmaz, 2012: 173) ile doğanın anlatıldığı Kutlu öykülerinde kendisi olmak ve yabancılaşmak bireyin çevreyle olan ilişkisi bağlamında köy-kent çatışması üzerinden anlatılır. Köy ve kasabalarda birey, doğa bozulmamış olduğundan, doğa ile iç içe hareket ettiğinden kendisi olarak kalmayı başarır. Kent merkezinde ise hem doğadan kopma hem de sanayileşmeyle doğayı kirletme bireyin yabancılaşmasına neden olur. Öyküler sayesinde insanın doğaya ve kendisine bakması istenir: “Öykülerdeki ‘tabiata gel’ çağrısı bir anlamda modernizmin çocuklarına ‘kendine gel’ çağrısıdır. Kitaba, tanrıya dön uyarısıdır” (Tosun, 2001: 137). Zira toprakla haşır neşir olan insan kendini tanır, nereden geldiğini unutmaz. Böylece doğa ve diğer insanlarla olan ilişkisi de uyum içinde olur. Kutlu’nun fikirlerinden etkilendiği Nurettin Topçu toprağa yakın olan, hem kendisi hem çevresiyle barışık insanı şöyle açıklar: “Toprağa gömülü gerçek varlığı bulmak için toprağı kazmağa lüzum yok; ona yaklaşmak, onunla baş başa kalmak bize yetiyor. Toprak şerden, düşmandan ve şüphelerden kurtarıyor. Ruh yaralarına şifa getiriyor; yalnızlıktan kurtarıp bütüne kavuşturuyor. Kalbi ile yaşayan her insanın vatanı topraktır (Topçu, 2012: 187). İnsan toprağa yani doğaya yakın olduğu ölçüde kendisine yakındır. Ondan uzaklaştığı anda diğer tüm ilişkilerinde de bozukluk görülür: “Topraktan uzaklaşan insanın ilk işi, yine topraktan çıkardığı demire yaklaşmak oldu. İlkin demiri kılıç yaptı; başka insanların kafasını kesti. Sonra sabanına bağladı; toprağın bağrını eşti. Daha sonra demirden yaptığı aletlerle kurduğu şehirleri yerleştirdi. Burada toprak sevgisi yerini demirin hırsına bıraktı” (Topçu, 2012: 188). Söz konusu demir hırsı bireyin yabancılaşması ile sonuçlanır. Kutlu’nun öykü serüveninde doğadan kopuk hiçbir metni yoktur. Modernizm eleştirisi olan öykülerde bireyin toprakla olan münasebeti onun kaderini belirler. Kutlu’nun köye bakışı köydeki değerler paradigması ile yakından alakalıdır. Ona göre köy, insanın toprakla hem-hâl olduğu, kendi yaşam alanını doğaya uyumlu olarak kendisinin belirlediği ve topraktan geldiğini hatırladığı yerdir. Dolayısıyla insan burada hem kendini tanır hem de kendini yaratanını bilir. Nitekim üç katmandan oluşan öykülerinin ilk iki katmanı olay örgüsü ve toplumsal bir mesele iken en alt katmanında tasavvuf vardır ve tema ne olursa olsun, tasavvuf her metnin zemininde yer alır: “Beyhude Ömrüm’ün üç unsuru vardır. Birisi benim içimdeki tabiat aşkıdır. İkinci arka planda Türkiye’deki toplumsal değişme, köylerin boşalması ve üçüncü olarak bütün yazdıklarımda bulunan tasavvufî bir şey vardır” (Yazıcı, 2002’den aktaran Coşkun, 2010: 368). Tasavvufi açıdan insana bakan Kutlu, onun toprak ile olan münasebeti derecesinde kendisi kalabildiğini anlatır. Doğanın geniş yer kapladığı öykülerden Rüzgârlı Pazar’da dört sayfa boyunca iğde tasviri yapılır. İğde kokusunu duyan anlatıcı bu kokudan yola çıkarak tasvire girişse de bir süre sonra bunu ehline bırakır: İğdenin dalları yerdedir, çünkü bozkırın kıraç göğsüne kök salarak ayakta durmayı öğrenmiş bir Hudâ-yı nâbit’tir: Nazlanmaz tahammül eder, yüksek sesle konuşmaz fısıldaşır, cezbetmez yalnızlığı bilir, muaşakadan anlamaz dikeni çelik gibidir; üstelik derler ki gölgesi yılan yatağıdır. Onun tek mevsimi vardır: Mayısı Hazirana bağlayan haneberduş bozkır keşişlemelerinin yaylaları usul usul ısıttığı demlerde, açık yeşili gümüşleyen yapraklarının arasında uçuk sarı açan küçük çiçekleriyle cümle nebatata hükümran olur (Kutlu, 2012b: 8). Kent merkezinde doğadan uzaklaşan insan kırsalda karşılaştığı bir ağacı tanıyamaz. Köy/kasabada ise ağacın türü, tüm özellikleri ile malumdur. İğde ağacının tasvirinin yapıldığı bu bölümde insanda farkındalık uyandırmaya çalışılır. Doğanın tüm özelliklerinin tek tek anlatılması hala biz’den biri olduğunun unutulmaması içindir. 146 Betül BAYRAKTAR Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 Kutlu öykülerinde canlı doğa tasvirleri geniş yer kaplar. Köy ve kasabada, modernitenin el değmediği mekân olarak, doğal hadiseler tüm güzelliğiyle görülür: Önce buzlar eridi. Sonra tepelerin güneye bakan yamaçlarındaki kar yer yer kalktı. Kardelenler çıktı. Ardından çiğdem, sümbül, nevruz. Güneş yeryüzünü ısıttıkça ısıttı. Toprak buğulandı. Tomurcuklar şişti, patladı. Çayırlar dizi geçti bele vurdu. Papatya, gelincik, kır çiçeği sardı her yanı. Yeryüzü yeşile kesti (Kutlu, 2014: 199). Nur’da başkişi olan Nur’un kendini arayış yolculuğunda son durağı olan Karaman’da doğaya ait tüm unsurlar insanla birliktedir. Toprağın betonla kapatılmadığı bu mekânda toprağa bağlı olarak tüm doğal aktiviteler gerçekleşir. Karların erimesi sonrası kardelenlerin açması gibi. Ardından diğer çiçekler açar. Isı ve ışık kaynağı olan güneş ise tüm ihtişamıyla görülür ve hayat verici özelliği ile toprakla birleşip tomurcukların açmasına vesile olur. Beyhude Ömrüm’ün başkişisi Yadigâr bahçe kurmak ideali taşır. Burada geniş meyve bahçeleri tasviri yapılır. Meyveler olması gerektiği gibidir. Şehir yerindekinin tersine organiktir. Meyveler, ağaç dallarından kopup direkt başkişiye ulaştığı için asıllarını korurlar. İnsan da toprağa yakın olduğu nispetle kendisi olarak kalmayı başarır. Göz alabildiğine bahçeler, bağlar. Bir yeşil deniz canım, bildiğin ağaç denizi. Elmalar, armutlar, efendi kütür kütür yeşil erik. Yanakları kızarmış ballı şeftaliler. Hele üzüm, hele üzüm. Allah’ın bir hikmeti canım. Salkımı olduğu gibi ağzıma sokuyorum, geriye bir çöp çıkıyor (Kutlu, 2012a: 12). İnsanın kendisine yabancılaştığı an ise Bu Böyledir’de modernizme red cephesi açan Hafız Yaşar diliyle aktarılır. Hafız kasabaya gelen yolun modern yaşamı da beraberinde getireceğini bilir ve şunları söyler: Sanıyorum toprak, bundan böyle toprak olmaktan çıkacak. Ağaca ağaç gibi bakmayan, toprağa toprak diyerek basmayan, adama da adam gibi muameleyi bırakacak (Kutlu, 2012c: 39). Öykülerin özü niteliğini taşıyan bu kısımda insanın insan gibi yaşayıp davranması, toprakla birlikte varolmasına bağlıdır. Ne zaman ki insan onunla olan bağını koparır işte o zaman yabancılaşma başlar. Su “İnsanın doğduğu memleket bir uzam olmaktan çok bir maddedir, bir granittir ya da bir topraktır, bir rüzgardır ya da bir kuraklık, bir sudur ya da bir ışık. Onda maddeleştiririz hayallerimizi; düşümüz onunla doğru tözüne kavuşur, temel rengimizi ona sorarız” (Bachelard, 2006: 15) Kainatın varoluşu pek çok yaradılış mitinde suya dayanır. Su materia prima/ilk maddedir. Bu yüzden hayat verici ve kutsaldır. Nitekim kadim Türk inancına göre su Tanrı’nın hediyesidir. Tanrı Türk’e yer-su’yu varlığını sürdürmesi için verir: “Türk Tanrısı, Türk’ün mukaddes (ıduk) yeri ve suyu, şöyle etmiş: Türk milleti yok olmasın diye! Millet (budun) olsun diye” (Ögel, 2014: Birey-Doğa İlişkisi Temelinde Kendisi Ol(ama)ma: Mustafa Kutlu Öykülerini… 147 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 417). Dolayısıyla su Türkler için vatandır. Su varsa tüm canlılara hayat-bahştır yoksa kuraklık ve ölümler kaçınılmaz olur. Su ve türevleri pek çok anlatıda bir imge olarak kullanılır. Kutlu’nun Zafer Yahut Hiç adlı öyküsünde çevreye verilen zararlar ve çarpık kentleşmenin sonuçlarına su merkezli olarak değinilir. Her geçen gün “pay kapılan İstanbul”un henüz el değmemiş yerlerinde, insanların birbirini tanıyıp selam verdiği, çok katlı konutların inşa edilmediği, mahalle hayatının devam ettiği Tepeköy’e bir fabrika kurulur. Ancak bu fabrikanın atıkları çevre duyarlılığı olmadan atıldığı için çevreye zarar verir. Bir vadiye dökülen atıklar bulaşıcı hastalıklara sebep olur. Pislik ve koku etrafı kaplar. Dereye bulaşan pislikler şöyle tasvir edilir: Bu nasıl su böyle. Simsiyah. Üzerinde yer yer deterjan kimyasal köpükleri. Bir kuş kalıntısı, bir köpek leşi, kâğıtlar, paçavralar, çöpler. Tam bir lağım (Kutlu, 2011a: 21). Berrak, saf ve temiz olması gereken su fabrika atıklarından dolayı siyaha döner, aslından uzaklaşır. Yüzeyinde kimyevi maddeler vardır. Temizleyici ve arındırıcı olan su böylece kendine yabancılaşır ve asıl özelliğinden kopar. Öyle ki tuvalet atıklarının karıştığı lağıma benzetilir. Çevre tahribinin olduğu bu ortamda yaşayan bitki ve hayvanlara zarar vermekle kalmaz. Söz konusu zarar insanoğlunun kendisine geri döner ve salgın hastalıklar artar. Sır’daki “Mürit” adlı öyküde suyun köy ve şehirdeki halleri karşılaştırılır. Şehir yerinde olan şeyh köyde yaşayan müridinin rüyasına girer ve ondan Akpınar’ın suyunu ister. Müridine şehirdeki suyun çirkinliğinden söz eder: Ne olmalı olmalı da, şuracıkta Akpınar’ın suyundan su sızdıran bir toprak testi olmalıydı gurban. Bu şehir yerlerinin suyu su olmaktan çıkmıştır. Çıkmak ne demek, düpedüz şişeye girip acı ilaç kesilmiştir. Vay ki Akpınar (Kutlu, 2012d: 69). Daha Akpınar’ın isminde suyun berraklığı ve temizliği çağrıştırılır. “Su arılığın bütün imgelerini içinde topla[masına]” (Bachelard, 2006: 22) rağmen kentteki su bozulmuş, kirlenmiştir. Aslında bu bölümde kentin, içindeki her şeyi bozduğu; köyde ise eşyanın ve insanın aslına yakışacak bir şekilde varoluşunu sürdürdüğü imlenir. Nitekim öykünün sonunda şeyhin etrafını saran siyasi ve medyacılar yüzünden mürit testiyi şeyhine ulaştıramaz ve bundan sonra onun için de dua etmeye başlar. Müridin bindiği otobüsteki bir fon karakter kent hayatından bazı güncel haberler verir. Söz konusu siyaset, diyanet, devlet projeleri hakkında müridin ne düşündüğünü sorar. O ise sadece tebessüm eder ve Akpınar’ın suyundan verir. Bu su adamı başka yerlere götürür: Kabak kafalı adam kana kana içti. Adam suyu içince nedense çocukluk günlerini hatırladı. Başını camdan yana döndürdü, akıp giden görüntülere daldı. Ölen babasını, eski mahalledeki evlerini, dut ağaçlarını, uçurtma uçurduğu çayırları hayal etti. Adamın içine bir hasrettir çöktü. Gazeteden havadislerden falan uzaklaştı. Temiz bir sofra örtüsü, bir tahta kaşık, tepeden tırnağa çiçek açmış bir badem ağacı düşündü, sonra bir Yunus ilahisinin içinde gezinmeye başladı (Kutlu, 2012d: 72). Gazete haberleriyle kafası doluyken, Akpınar’ın suyunu içince mazisini hatırlayan adam çocukluk günlerine döner. Varoluşun kaynağı olan suyun etkisiyle belleği canlanır. Babasını- atasını, nereden geldiğini hatırlar. Çocukluğunu geçirdiği, ilk düşlerini barındırdığı evi, oradaki dut 148 Betül BAYRAKTAR Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 ağacını ve çocukluğunu doyasıya yaşadığı günlerine döner. Zira su bütün sırları bilir (Bachelard, 2006: 15). Sırların sırrı olan bir Yunus ilahisini hisseder. Ruh-ı Kâinat Doğa duyarlılığı ile yazılmış eserlerde doğa aktif rol oynar ve bir hissiyatı vardır. Bu açıdan hiçbir şey yapamayan, duyamayan bir nesne olmaktan çıkar ve kurgunun aktif bir ögesi haline gelir. İnsanla beraber yaşayan bir canlıdır: “Tabiatta insan ruhuna benzer bir ruh, bir ruh-ı kâinat” (Kaplan 1981’dan aktaran Çalışkan, 2002: 195) vardır. Nitekim Türk mitolojisinde doğadaki ruhlar oldukça etkilidir. Yer ruhları ve su ruhları olduğu gibi nesnelere ait ruhlar da vardır. Alahçın Ana adındaki ruh orta dünyanın en saygın ruhudur. Bu ruh yaşanan yeri korur ve doğanın canlanmasını sağlar. Adeta bir çevreci gibi doğaya ait her şeyin iyi olmasını ister. Öyle ki diğer canlılar doğaya zarar verdiğinde çok üzülüp ağlar (Küçük, 2013: 118). Mitler insanlığın rüyası olduğuna göre sonraki çağlarda tavırlar da buna göre şekillenir. Kâinatın da bir ruhu olduğu düşüncesi çevreci eleştiri ışığında yazılmış edebi eserlerde de kendisini gösterir. Çevreci eleştiri doğa-insan ilişkisini karşılıklı ilişkiler bağlamında kurar. Dolayısıyla anlatılarda doğanın zihnine de yer verilir. Böylece doğaya yapılanlar etkilenenin zihni ve dili ile aktarıldığı için ahlaki bir nitelik de gösterir. Kutlu da öykülerinde söz konusu doğa zihnini yansıtır. Bu kimi zaman kurt, kuş, kedi, kimi zaman da ağaç, çiçek ve güneş olur: “Öykülerde, dilsiz sandığımız, hissetmez, duymaz sandığımız bitkilerin, nesnelerin, hayvanların da tıpkı insanlar gibi duyduğunu, üzüldüğünü, sevindiğini, giderek bir ruhları olduklarını görürüz. Onların tabiatta, insanların yanında bir dekor, bir ayrıntı olmaktan öte, insanlarla aynı haklara ve benzer fonksiyonlara sahip bir‚ kahraman olduklarına ve insanlara aynı kaderi yaşadıklarına şahit oluruz” (Tosun, 2004: 62). Bu da yazarın çocukluğunda doğa ile iç içe ve baş başa oluşundan kaynaklanır. Sır’da “Mürit” adlı öyküde kent merkezinde yaşayan bir şeyh mana âleminde köydeki müridinden Akpınar’ın suyunu istediğinde Mürit testisini doldurup köyden çıkmaya hazırlandığı sırada köydeki tüm canlılarla vedalaşır: Eviyle evdeşiyle, konuyla komşuyla, köyün iti çobanıyla, ağacı harmanıyla, hâsılı her bir şeyiyle tek tek görüştü. İçinden kabarıp taşan sevinç yazıya yabana dağıldı. Kurtlar kuşlar ardından el ettiler. O da her birini ayrı ayrı Yaradan’a ısmarladı (Kutlu, 2012d: 70). Öyküde insan ve doğa birliktedir. Biri diğerine üstünlük taslamaz bu yüzden mürit köye veda ederken köpek, ağaç, harmanla da vedalaşır. Kurtlar ve kuşlar bile müridin arkasından el sallarlar. Böylece müridin sevincine tüm doğa eşlik etmiş olur. O da canlıların bu iştirakine onları Allah’a ısmarlayarak cevap verir. Mürit şehre geldiğinde ise farklı bir atmosferle karşılaşır. Köyden çıktığından itibaren bereketle kuşatılmış yerlerin tersine kentte farklı bir hava hâkimdir. Hava köydeki gibi açık değil, dumanlıdır, güneşte ise o canlılık ve parlaklığından eser kalmaz: Bu defa müridi birbirine yapışmış koca koca binalar karşıladı. Sel gibi akıp giden arabalar, şehrin üzerine asılmış kara bir duman karşıladı. Meyus oldu mürit. Başını kaldırıp güneşe baktı. Güneş dahi ondan meyus idi, kara dumanın ardında donup kalmış idi (Kutlu, 2012d: 73, 74). Dört unsurdan biri olan hava kent merkezinde bozulmuştur. Kentte hava kara bir duman şeklinde tasvir edilir. Zira fabrika bacalarından çıkan duman, egzoz dumanları vb. havayı kirletir. Birey-Doğa İlişkisi Temelinde Kendisi Ol(ama)ma: Mustafa Kutlu Öykülerini… 149 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 Yeryüzündeki duman güneşi etkilemez ancak güneşin dünya tarafından görünümünü değiştirir. Öyküde güneş kişileştirilir ve dumandan dolayı meyus olduğu söylenir. Köyde ağaç ve hayvanlarla konuşabilen mürit burada doğaya ait tüm unsurların bozulduğunu görür. Ağaç, ağaç gibi değildir. Kedi ise selamını almaz. Bu durum ölçünün kaçırılıp düzenin değişmesine yorulur. Geçip giderken oracıkta büzülüp kalmış olan bir ağacın yaprağını okşadı. Eli toza bulandı. Yaprak nefes darlığı çekiyormuş gibi inledi. Ona çevre kirliliğinden falan bahsetmeye başladı. Sonra bir kedi ile karşılaştı. Kediye selam verdi mürit. Hayvan oralı değildi, burnunun dikine gidiyordu. Galiba ipin ucu kaçmıştı buralarda (Kutlu, 2012d: 74). Kent merkezindeki ağaç doğadan koparılır ve kara dumanlarla örtülür. Dolayısıyla yaprakları tozludur. Hava kirliliği o kadar yüksektir ki, yaprak nefes darlığı çekiyormuş gibi inler. Yaprak bu duruma aşinadır ve köyden gelen müridin şaşkınlığını fark etmişçesine ona hava kirliliğinden söz eder. Mürit daha sonra bir kedi ile karşılaşır. Köyde yaptığı gibi kediye selam verir. Fakat o duymazdan gelir. Anlatıcının ifadesiyle oralı bile değildir. Havanın, güneşin, ağacın ve kedinin bozulduğunu gören mürit burada düzenin farklı olduğunu anlar. Ancak bir süre sonra müridin gelişi kentte doğaya ait unsurların canlanmasına vesile olur. Böylece kaybedilmiş değerler yeniden yaşanmaya başlar: O varınca sokakların kat kat binaları katlarından soyundular. Ağaçlar silkinip uykudan uyandılar. Çiçekler açılıp gerçekten kokmaya başladılar. Betonlar asfaltlar yarılıp kara toprak mis gibi ortaya çıktı. Arabalar, eşyalar hâkimiyetini kaybetti. Lokantalar iki kap yemek çıkarmaya başladı. İnsanlar birbiri ile sarılıp helalleşti. Zenginler ellerini ceplerine atıp sadaka vermeye başladılar. Görülmedik işler oldu (Kutlu, 2012d: 75). Yabancılaşan ağaç, çiçek, toprak ve hava köyden gelen müridin etkisiyle değişim yaşar ve aslına döner. Doğaya ait unsurların canlanması ise kentte kaybedilen değerlerin hatırlanmasına vesile olur. Muhtaç insanlar düşünülür. Dargınlar sarılıp helalleşir. Kutlu’nun eserlerinde toprak ve doğa kendisiyle iç içe yaşayan insana farklı bir varlık algısı kazandırdığı (Coşkun, 2010: 369) için köy ve kasabada geleneksel değerleri koruyup sürdürmek daha ziyade mümkündür. Öyküde köyden gelen müridin kentteki havayı değiştirmesi anlatılır. Değerlere bağlılık ya da yozlaşmayı kapsayan insan yaşayışlarının, mekânlara göre değişkenlik göstermesi kaçınılmazdır. Yazar verdiği bir röportajda metropol olan İstanbul’da yaşayışı ile köy/kasabadan kopuşunu şöyle anlatır: “Bir kış on on beş tuval boyadım. Bahara doğru hep aynı resmi yaptığım çıktı ortaya. Bozkırda tarlalar. Buğday başaklarının sarısı, sürülü toprağın kahverengi, yoncalıkların yeşili, tek tük ahlat ağaçları. Yumuşak tepeler ve berrak-güneşli bir gökyüzü. Nedir bu? Şehirde sıkışıp kalmış, kendine bir nefes, bir rüzgâr, bir ufuk arayan sürekli bir köy evi bahçesinde domates yetiştirme hayalleri kuran zavallı benin şuuraltı” (Barbarosoğlu, 2001: 25). Her iki mekânın birey üzerindeki etkileri başka başkadır. Kent, içinde bulunan nesneler birliği ile belli bir atmosfere sahiptir. Bu atmosfer köyden göç eden yazarın ve nicelerinin ruhunun sıkışmasına sebep olur. Ancak köy/kasaba öyle değildir. Kutlu’nun da ifade ettiği üzere “bir nefes, bir rüzgâr, bir ufuk” ile farklı bir ruha sahiptir. Bu, yaşayan doğanın insanla beraber duyuşu ve hissedişidir. 150 Betül BAYRAKTAR Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 Yabancılaşanlar ve Kendisi Olarak Kalanlar Yabancılaşma Almanca Entrfemdung kelimesinin karşılığıdır. Kendisinden uzaklaşıp olumsuz anlamda bir dönüşüm yaşamak anlamına gelen kelimeyi Umberto Eco şöyle açıklar: “[B]aşka bir şey adına kendinden geçme, dışsal bir güce kendini bırakma, kendi dışında bir şeyde başkası olma; dolayısıyla, üzerinde bir etki yapılabilmesi için bir eyleyen (agent) olmaktan çıkma” (Eco, 1992: 162-163). Marx’a göre yabancılaşmanın çeşitli boyutları vardır: Çalışma Sürecine Yabancılaşma, Üründen Yabancılaşma, Meta Fetişizmi, Diğerlerinden Yabancılaşma, Kendinden Yabancılaşma, Doğaya Yabancılaşma. Esasen tüm bunların sebebi ise doğaya yabancılaşmadır. Kutlu’nun öykülerinde de bireyin yabancılaşması doğaya yabancılaşmasına bağlanır. Arkakapak Yazıları’ndaki “İçimizden Geçen Irmak” öyküsünde çağın getirisi olan teknolojinin insanı kendine ve çevresine yabancılaştırdığı ele alınır. Modern dünyadaki günlük yaşam pratiklerinin olmadığı günlere özlem duyulur: Etrafta ne motor sesi, ne parfüm kokusu duyuluyordu. Gökdelenlerin gölgesi gönlümüzü karartmamıştı. Çevremizde ne çit, ne duvar, ne de ekonomik ambargolar vardı” (Kutlu, 2011b: 21,22). Doğada kuş cıvıltısı ve derelerin şırıltısı duyulurken modernleşmenin uğradığı yerlerde motor sesi ve parfüm kokusu duyulmaya başlar. Çiçeklerin kokusunun yerini modernitenin ürettiği yapay parfümler alır. Tek ya da en fazla iki katlı evler yerini yüksek binalar ve gökdelenlere bırakır. Geniş ufuklar ve çayırlar ise modernitenin mekâna koyduğu sınırlardan olan çit ve duvarlar ile daralır. Bunlar, doğadan uzaktır ve insanın gönlünü karartıcı olması şeklinde tasvir edilir. Zira modernizm aklı ön plana çıkarır ve ‘gönül’ ile temsil edilen değerlerden uzaklaşılır. Doğadan uzaklaşma neticesinde bireyin yozlaşıp yabancılaştığı ifade edilir: Hastanede ve hapisanede, maliyede, poliste ve genelevde kaydımız yoktu. Buna mukabil gerçekten gülebiliyor, hakikaten ağlayabiliyorduk (Kutlu, 2011b: 22). Burada doğa ile iç içe yaşayan bireylerin kentte yaşayanlara göre daha sağlıklı olduğu söylenir. Ayrıca bu kişiler yozlaşmadıkları, kimsenin hakkına tecavüz etmedikleri için polis, hapishane, genelev ve kapital’le bir işleri olmadıkları için maliyede de kayıtları yoktur. Kendi değerlerini korumuş ve kendisi olarak kalmayı başarmış bireylerdir. Doğanın bir parçası olan, doğayla özdeşleşen insanlar şöyle nitelenir: Görgüsüzdük. Çalı çırpının, börtü böceğin, yağmurun ve kaplumbağanın dilinden anlıyorduk (22). Beşimiz bir aradayız. Toprak, su, hava, ateş ve biz (Kutlu, 2011b: 23). Dört unsura “biz” eklenerek beşimiz ifadesinin kullanılması insanoğlunun bir zamanlar bu unsurlarla iç içe yaşadığını anlatır. Toprak, su, hava, ateş ve insan bir zamanlar bir aradadır. O dönemler insan modern söylemle “görgüsüz”dür. Doğa ile iç içe yaşadığından börtü böcek, yağmur ve kaplumbağanın dilinden anlar. Hangi dönemde hangi böceklerin nerede ne için konaklayıp, yuva yaptığını bilir. Onlara saygı duyar. Gökyüzünün aldığı renkten biraz sonra yağacak olan yağmurun cinsini söyler. Tüm bunlar modern öncesi dönemde yaşanır. Doğanın kendisi olmak hususunda bireye yardımcı olması Beyhude Ömrüm öyküsünde anlatılır. Başkişi Yadigâr köyde yaşar ve bahçe kurmak için çabalar. Islak Kaya’yı patlatır ve su çıkarır. Buradan çıkan suyla etrafı çevirip çeşitli meyve ağaçları diker. Karakterin öykünün başından itibaren hedefi budur. Öykünün sonunda ise kendi yaptığı bu bahçede ölür. Aslında Birey-Doğa İlişkisi Temelinde Kendisi Ol(ama)ma: Mustafa Kutlu Öykülerini… 151 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 burada bahçe ile imlenen bireyin kendi hayatını kurmasıdır. Bahçede toprakla uğraşarak, ekip biçerek insan kendisini inşa eder. Bahçe imgesi ile kurulan öyküde doğa tasvirleri oldukça canlıdır. Çevrenin bilinçsizce tahrip edilmesi sonucunda kendisine ve doğaya yabancılaşan sadece insan olmaz. Kutlu’ya göre bu tahrip hayvanların da yabancılaşmasına sebep olur. Arkakapak Yazıları’nda “Güvercin Avlayan Martı” öyküsünde söz konusu yabancılaşma anlatılır. Martının, avladığı güvercine eziyet etmesi “tabiatın kanunu” ve “Adetullah” dışında bir iş olarak görülür. Bunun sebebi ise insandır. Dört unsura verilen zarar, doğada yaşayan canlıların fıtratını değiştirir. Martının güvercine yaptığı eziyetin sorumlusu insandır. Doğanın var olan dengesi, hava ve denizler kirletilip, ağaçlar kesilerek ve toprağın betonla kapatılması suretiyle bozulur. Denizi deniz olmaktan çıkardık. Ağaçları tıraş ettik, balıkların kökünü kuruttuk. Havayı mazotla doldurduk. Toprağı dejenere ettik. Bir yerden şöyle kazara çıkmış bir yeşil çimen ucu görsek, hep birlikte oraya hücum ederek ezdik onu, mahvettik (Kutlu, 2011b: 15). Böylesine bozulmuş bir doğada yaşayan martı ise denizlerde balık kalmadığı için plastik, kâğıt vb. yer. Kendi varoluşuna aykırı şekilde beslenen martı dolayısıyla yabancılaşıp farklı davranışlar sergiler. Bu kuşlar çöp yiyor azizim çöp… Marmara’da balık mı kaldı ki yesin fukaralar. Plastik yiyorlar, kâğıt yiyorlar, leş yiyorlar… O görkemli çöp yığınlarının üzerine bulut gibi iniyorlar. Sokak aralarında dolaşıyorlar, çöp bidonlarını karıştırıyorlar, gak, gak ötüyorlar… (Kutlu, 2011b: 15). Çevreye verdiği zararla insan sadece kendisi değil doğadaki canlıların da bozulmasına sebep olur. Nitekim Türk Edebiyatında önemli bir yere sahip olan Dede Korkut öykülerinde doğanın sınırlarının ihlali, şekli doğru düzgün bir şeye benzemeyen Tepegöz’ü yaratmıştır (Korkmaz, 2009: 65). Varoluşsal kaynaklara müdahale etmenin neticesinde ortaya çıkan bu durumdan insan sorumludur: “Doğanın nesneler belleğini pratik yarar için tahrip eden insanoğlu, farkında olmadan kendi geleceğini de yok etmiş olur” (Korkmaz, 2008: 46). Parçalarının birbiriyle etkileşim içinde olduğu ekosistem zincirinde küçük bir bozulma sistemin tamamını tehdit eder. Sonuç İnsanoğlu moderniteden sonra doğa ile olan bağını keser. Çevreye verilen zararlar, hem ekosistemi bozar hem de kendisine madde ve mana planında geri döner. İnsan doğaya sapladığı hançeri aslında kendi kalbine saplayarak yabancılaşmasını hazırlar. Dolayısıyla kendi varoluş kaynaklarını da tüketmiş olur. Söz konusu tükeniş çevre bilincinde olanlar tarafından dile getirilir ve bu alanda pek çok çalışma yapılır. Dünyanın farklı coğrafyalarında, toplumda çevre bilinci uyandırmak üzere konferanslar düzenlenip daha temiz, daha canlı bir doğa için görüşler öne sürülür. Diğer sanat dallarında olduğu gibi edebiyat da bu hususta gereğini yapar. Edebi eserlerde doğa nesne konumundan çıkar. Canlı doğa tasvirlerinin olduğu bu eserlerde doğa tüm unsurlarıyla etkin bir rol oynar. Türk edebiyatında şiir, tiyatro, roman ve öykülerde bu duyuş ve hissedişi örneklendirmek mümkündür. Türk öyküsünde Mustafa Kutlu’nun eserleri bireyin doğayla olan ilişkisi çerçevesinde gelişir. Yazara göre köy ve kasabalar toprağa yakınlığı hasebiyle bireyin kendisi olarak kalabildiği yerlerdir. Kent ise dört unsurdan uzaklaşıldığı için yabancılaşmanın merkezidir. Köy ve kent içerisinde barındırdıkları ile tasvir edilir. Köyde doğa tüm çıplaklığı ile genişçe yer alırken kent fabrika dumanları ile dolu, çarpık kentleşmeler ve salgın hastalıkların yaşandığı bir yerdir. Yazarın esas olarak toprağı almasının sebebi ise topraktan gelen insanın bu vasıtayla kendisini tanımasıdır. 152 Betül BAYRAKTAR Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 Yazar “kendini bilen Rabbini bilir” ifadesince toprağı aynı zamanda tasavvufi bir sembol olarak kullanır. Su, toprak, ruh-ı kâinat ve yabancılaşanlar/kendisi olarak kalanlar başlıkları altında incelenen öykülerde esas temel bu unsurların diyalektiği üzerine kuruludur. Varoluşun kaynağı olan su mekâna göre ya aslı gibi kalır, bereketlidir, arındırır, varoluşun özüne götürür ya da kirlenmiş, bozulmuştur. Tüm kâinatı bir anne gibi doyuran toprak köy ve kasabada korunur, ekilip, biçilir, çeşitli sebze ve meyveler yetiştirilir bireyin kendisini tanımasına olanak sağlar. Kentte ise üzeri beton ve asfaltla kaplıdır. Öykülerde dikkat edilen bir diğer husus da doğanın bir ruha sahip olduğudur. Köy ve kasabada doğa, bireylerle uyum içinde iken kentte insanın verdiği zararlardan rahatsız olduğu ve buna bağlı olarak his ve tavır değiştirdiği görülür. Son başlıkta ise geçmiş ile bugün modernite açısından karşılaştırılır ve geleneksel dönemde bireyin değerlere sahip çıktığı modern dönemde ise çevreye yaptığı tahribat ile bu tahribatın kendisi ve hayvanlar üzerindeki izdüşümüne yer verilir. Kutlu’nun öyküleri insana çağrı niteliği taşır. Bu çağrı doğadan, geleneksel hayattan kopuşu yaşayan insana kendine dönüş içindir. 4 unsurla barışık olan insan su, toprak, hava ve ateşin tinselliğini de yaşarken modern birey bu imgelerin asıllarından uzak kalarak bunların çağrışımlarına dolayısıyla kendisine de yabancı kalır. Bu bağlamda yazarın öykülerinde doğa bilinci, insanın kendisi olarak kalması ya da yabancılaşması temelli olarak anlatılır. ÜLKÜ DEĞER ARA DEĞER KARŞIT DEĞER KAVRAM Kendisi olma Yabancılaşma SİMGE Köy/kasaba Toprak, çiçek Su, hava, güneş, ağaç, ruh-ı kainat Kent Beton, demir, asfalt, kedi, martı Tablo 1: Tematik Tablo (KORA Şeması) KAYNAKÇA AYVAZOĞLU, Beşir (1996), Defterimde Kırk Suret, İstanbul: Kapı Yayınları. BACHELARD, Gaston (2006), Su ve Düşler, İstanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları. BARBAROSOĞLU K, Fatma (2001), Röportaj, Kemal Aykut, Nusret Özcan (Ed.), Mustafa Kutlu Kitabı, 1.baskı içinde 22-32, İstanbul: Nehir Yayınları. BULUT, Dilek (2007), Çevre ve Edebiyat: Yeni Bir Yazın Kuramı Olarak Ekoeleştiri. http://www.littera.hacettepe.edu.tr/TURKCE/17_cilt/dilek.htm [Erişim Tarihi: 11.03.2015] CEVİZCİ, Ahmet (2009), Felsefe Tarihi, İstanbul: Say Yayınları. COŞKUN, Sezai (2010), Mustafa Kutlu’nun Hikâyelerinde Köy-Kent Meselesi, Turkish Studies- International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 5/2 Spring 2010, p. 363-409, ISSN: 1308-2140, www.turkishstudies.net, DOI Number: http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.1121 ANKARA-TURKEY. ÇALIŞKAN, Adem (2002), “Cenab Şahabettin’in Bir Münacatı ve Tahlili”, Din Bilimleri Akademik Araştırma Dergisi. S.2.195-206. http://www.littera.hacettepe.edu.tr/TURKCE/17_cilt/dilek.htm http://www.turkishstudies.net/ http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.1121 Birey-Doğa İlişkisi Temelinde Kendisi Ol(ama)ma: Mustafa Kutlu Öykülerini… 153 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 ÇÜÇEN, Abdülkadir, Derin Ekoloji. http://blog.aku.edu.tr/ometin/files/2011/12/derinekoloji.pdf [Erişim Tarihi:11.03.2015] 2011. ECO, Umberto (1992), Açık Yapıt, Çev. Yakup Şahan, 1.Basım, İstanbul: Kabalcı Yayınevi. ELİUZ, Ülkü, GÖKCAN TÜRKDOĞAN, Melike (2012), “Eski Bir Hikâyenin Yeniden Doğuşu: Kara Kitap’taki İzlek ve İmgelemin Metinlerarasılık Bağlamında İncelenmesi”. Turkish Studies-International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 7/1 Spring 2012, p.1013-1025, ISSN: 1308-2140, www.turkishstudies.net, DOI Number: http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.3189 ANKARA-TURKEY. KORKMAZ, Ramazan (2008), Aytmatov Anlatılarında Ötekileşme Sorunu ve Dönüş İzlekleri, 2.baskı, Ankara: Grafiker Yayınları. KORKMAZ, Ramazan (2009), “Sınırları İhlal Edilen Doğanın İntikamı: Tepegöz”. Turkish Studies- International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 4/8 Fall 2009, p.65-78, ISSN: 1308-2140, www.turkishstudies.net, DOI Number: http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.938 KUNDERA, Milan (2009), Roman Sanatı Çev. Aysel Bora 3.Basım, İstanbul: Can Yayınları. KURAN-I KERİM MEALİ (2012), Hilal Altuntaş, Muzaffer Şahin (haz.), Ankara: Diyanet İşleri Başkanlığı. 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ŞAHİN, Veysel (2013), “Kültürel Bellek Mekânı Olarak Türküler”, Kültürümüzde Türkü Sempozyumu Bildirileri, Sivas: Es Ofset Matbaası, 103-113. TOPÇU, Nurettin (2012), Kültür ve Medeniyet, Ezel Erverdi-İsmail Kara (Ed.), İstanbul: Dergâh Yayınları. http://blog.aku.edu.tr/ometin/files/2011/12/derinekoloji.pdf http://www.turkishstudies.net/ http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.3189 http://www.turkishstudies.net/ http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.938 154 Betül BAYRAKTAR Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 10/12 Summer 2015 TOSUN, Necip (2001), “Mustafa Kutlu’nun Hikâyelerinde İki Temel Öge” Kemal Aykut, Nusret Özcan (Ed.), Mustafa Kutlu Kitabı, 1.baskı içinde 136-156, İstanbul: Nehir Yayınları. TOSUN, Necip (2004), Türk Öykücülüğünde Mustafa Kutlu, İstanbul: Dergâh Yayınları. YILMAZ, Ebru Burcu (2012), “Cengiz Aytmatov’un Toprak Ana Romanında Toprağın Dili”. Emine Gürsoy Naskali, Hilal Oytun Altun (Ed.) Kültürümüzde Toprak. Yıl:4 S:1. 172- 182. Citation Information/Kaynakça Bilgisi BAYRAKTAR, B., (2015). “Birey-Doğa İlişkisi Temelinde Kendisi Ol(ama)ma: Mustafa Kutlu Öykülerini Ekoeleştirel Okumak / Being (Or Not Being) Oneself On The Basis Of Individual-Nature Relationship: Ecocritically Reading The Stories Of Mustafa Kutlu”, TURKISH STUDIES -International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic-, ISSN: 1308-2140, (Prof. Dr. Şefik Yaşar Armağanı), Volume 10/12 Summer 2015, ANKARA/TURKEY, www.turkishstudies.net, DOI Number: http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.8578, p. 137-154. 
work_u6dj7id6tfdz3pmr2ublsld374	----	Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=vchn20 Download by: [University of Minnesota Libraries, Twin Cities] Date: 24 January 2016, At: 18:06 Change: The Magazine of Higher Learning ISSN: 0009-1383 (Print) 1939-9146 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/vchn20 Constructive Controversy: The Educative Power of Intellectual Conflict David W. Johnson , Roger T. Johnson & Karl A. Smith To cite this article: David W. Johnson , Roger T. Johnson & Karl A. Smith (2000) Constructive Controversy: The Educative Power of Intellectual Conflict , Change: The Magazine of Higher Learning, 32:1, 28-37, DOI: 10.1080/00091380009602706 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00091380009602706 Published online: 25 Mar 2010. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 175 View related articles Citing articles: 31 View citing articles http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=vchn20 http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/vchn20 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/00091380009602706 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00091380009602706 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=vchn20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=vchn20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/00091380009602706 http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/00091380009602706 http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/citedby/10.1080/00091380009602706#tabModule http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/citedby/10.1080/00091380009602706#tabModule The Educative Power of Intellectual Conflict B Y D A V I D W. J O H N S O N . R O G E R T. J O H N S O N . & K A R L A . S M I T H D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 CI-IANGF! J A N U A R Y ~ E B R U A R Y 2000 ear the end of the 12th cen- tury, the Anasazi built a city on the Colorado Plateau that we call Mesa Verde. Con- structed on a cliff, Mesa N Verde is a remarkably beau- tiful city of single- and multi-storied pueblo dwellings that, even today, is one of the most impressive sights in North America. Around 1295, after the Anasazi had lived in it for al- most 100 years, the city was abruptly aban- doned. In a three- to four-year period, the Anasazi walked away and never came back. Why? No one knows. Many classes are to students what Mesa Verde was to the Anasazi. Students enroll in a course, pay the tuition, and spend their time attending class sessions, completing assign- ments, and passing tests. But when the course is over, so is their interest and time with the subject. They walk away and, intellectually, never come back. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your students got so involved in the subject you teach that they sparkled with energy, became deeply in- volved in the issues you raised, rushed to the library to get more information and resources, continued rehearsing their arguments over lunch and at night, sought out experts in the field to consult, and impatiently waited for the next class session to begin? What if they con- tinued that interest in what you are teaching in successive semesters and years? How do you get students that involved in your subject‘? An essential and often overlooked part of the an- swer is, “Stir up conflict.’’ Conflict gains attention and holds interest. All drama, for example, hinges on conflict. When playwrights want to gain an audience’s attention-stir their interest and emotional in- volvement-they create a conflict. A general rule for television shows is that if a conflict doesn’t emerge in the first 30 seconds, view- ers will change the channel. conflict is not created within the first three pages of the book, the book will not be suc- cessful. There should be a general rule of teaching stating that if an instructor does not create an intellectual conflict within the first few minutes of class, students won’t intellec- A general rule of modern novels is that if a David W. Johnson i s professor of educational psy- chology, Roger T. Johnson is professor of educa- tion, and Karl A . Smith is the Morse-Alumni Distinguished Professor, civil engineering, at the Universiv of Minnesota. ?S D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 tually engage with the lesson, and their atten- tion may drift off to other things. By passing up conflict, instructors miss out on valuable opportunities to involve students and enhance their learning. An important strategy for all teachers, then, becomes the constructive use of controversy. When one student’s ideas, information, conclusions, theories, or opinions are incom- miss Oil villuclhk patible with those of another, and the two seek to reach an agreement, then constructive controversy exists. When the students seek agreement, but each holds different informa- tion and conclusions, their interaction is char- acterized by both cooperation and conflict. Controversies are resolved by engaging in what Aristotle called “deliberate discourse” (that is, the discussion of the advantages and disadvantages of proposed actions) aimed at achieving novel solutions (that is, “creative problem-solving”). rally, it may be enhanced by the ways teachers structure it in academic situations. Construc- tive controversy is an instructional procedure that combines cooperative learning (in which students work together in small groups to de- velop a report on an assigned topic, for exam- ple) with structured intellectual conflict (in which students argue the pro and con posi- tions on an issue in order to stimulate problem- solving and reasoned judgment). The controversy procedure (which may be used with any issue for which pro and con po- sitions can be developed) may be differentiat- ed from a “controversial issue,’’ which is one for which society has not found consensus, and that is considered so significant that each proposed way of dealing with it has ardent supporters and adamant opponents. iiivolve stiidwts iiiid rrahriiice their While the controversy process occurs natu- WHAT CONTROVERSY LOOKS LIKE IN THE CLASSROOM Have you learned lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside f o r you? Have you not learned great lessons from those who braced themselves against you, and disputed the passage with you? -Walt Whitman, 1860 Which had the greatest influence on the decline and fall of the Roman Empire: a) the deterioration of the economy after Augustus defined the boundaries of the Roman Empire, thereby limiting Rome’s ability to pay its armies, orb) the lack of economic opportuni- ty for the average citizen (who was very poor) because wealth became centered in the hands 30 of a few people and most jobs were performed by slaves? To examine this issue, students can do one of three things: listen to a lecture about it, discuss it in a group, or engage in a con- structive controversy. From the instructor’s standpoint, the options are to format a class session as recitation, group discussion, or controversy. (See Table 1 .) In the traditional whole class “recitation format,” the instructor asks a student a ques- tion, listens to the student response, evaluates the response (“good,” “correct,” “not quite,” “that’s interesting”), asks another student a question, and repeats the pattern. Most ques- tions are factual, closed-ended, and have “correct” answers. This format assumes that students are there to master a body of knowl- edge that reflects accumulated wisdom. An emphasis is placed on a compliant class in which students will be asked sequentially to respond or recite. In the “group discussion format,” the in- structor assigns students to small groups, gives them a question to discuss, and facili- tates (and moderates) as students exchange ideas, explain and elaborate their views, ques- tion and respond to each other, and jointly derive an answer. The questions tend to be open-ended and require higher-level cogni- tive reasoning to answer; the answers are open to interpretation. Knowledge is assumed to be dynamic and socially constructed. The instructor monitors the groups to facilitate discussion and obtain a “window” into stu- dents’ minds by listening to their explana- tions. At its best, this format is cooperative learning (see the July/August 1998 Chunge); at its worst, it is traditional discussion groups. In the “constructive controversy format,” the instructor assigns students to groups of four, divides each group into two pairs, states the issue, and then assigns the task of writing a group report andor passing a test (given to each member) on the issue in question. The cooperative goal is for each student to reach a deep understanding and “best reasoned judgment” of the issue. One pair is given the assignment of developing and advocating the best case possible for the pro position, while the other pair does the same for the con posi- tion. The instructor supervises as the pairs research the issue, construct a persuasive ar- gument for each position, and refute the op- posing position while rebutting attacks on their own. After this, the pairs reverse per- spectives. They then seek an agreement that synthesizes both positions and represents stu- dents’ best reasoned judgment. Knowledge is assumed to be dynamic, socially constructed, and best learned through applying and trans- CHANGE * JANUARY~FEEIRUARY 2000 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 TABLE I. CHARACTERISTICS OF VARIOUS %ACHING FORMATS Recitation Group Discussion Controversy Coverage Instructor Students Assumptions About Static, reflects accumulated Dynamic, socially constructed Knowledge wisdom Student Role Recite knowledge of Give thorough explanations of facts, information understanding and implications Instructor Role Ask closed-ended Pose open-ended questions, structure group discussions, questions, listen to and evaluate responses monitor, facilitate forming it into intellectual arguments and syntheses, The instructor monitors the groups to facilitate discussion and obtain a “window” into students‘ minds by listening to their ar- guments, refutations, rebuttals, and perspec- tive reversals. We use constructive controversy in all of our classes. Any topic can be presented as a controversy so long as at least two sides can be identified. Of the three formats, construc- tive controversy is the least well known, but it has a clear theory, has been validated in nu- merous research studies, and has been opera- tionalized into a practical procedure that faculty can use. constructive controversy. In step one, each pair prepares the best possible case for its as- signed position by a) researching the position and learning all relevant information; b) orga- nizing the information into a persuasive argu- ment that contains a thesis statement or claim (“Civil disobedience is a constructive neces- sity to maintain the integrity and fidelity of a democracy”), the rationale supporting the thesis (“It provides a, b, and c”), and a logical conclusion that is the same as the thesis (“llere- fore, civil disobedience is a constructive ne- cessity to maintain the integrity and fidelity of a democracy”); and c) planning how to ad- vocate the assigned position effectively to en- sure it receives a fair and complete hearing. In step two, students present their best case for their assigned position to the other two group members. They need to be forceful, persuasive, and convincing advocates. Ideal- ly, more than one medium is used. Students are to listen carefully to and learn the oppos- ing position, taking notes and clarifying any- thing they do not understand. free discussion of the issue, arguing forcefully and persuasively for their position (presenting as many facts as they can to support their point of view). They critically analyze the opposing position (its evidence and reasoning), ask for data to support assertions, and refute the oppos- ing position by pointing out inadequacies in the information and reasoning. While doing so, stu- dents thoroughly learn the opposing position and give it a “trial by fre.” Finally, students re- but attacks on their position. In step four, students reverse perspectives and present the best case possible for the op- posing position. In presenting the opposing n example of a constructive contro- versy may help. In presenting a unit on civil disobedience, an American history professor notes that in case after case- in the civil rights and antiwar move- ments, for example-individuals wrestled with the issue of breaking the law (and indeed broke the law) to redress a social injustice. In the past few years, however, prominent public figures have felt justified in breaking laws for individual or political reasons. A starting question, therefore, could be, “Is civil disobe- dience in a democracy constructive or de- structive?” To engage this question fully, students are drawn into extended reading for the necessary background knowledge and ex- amples; they read and ponder, too, common texts, such as the Declaration of Indepen- dence, Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience, Lincoln’s speech at Cooper Union, and Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Letterfrona Birmingham Jail. Students proceed through five steps of C H A N G E J A N U A R Y I F E B R U A R Y 2000 A In step three, students engage in an open and Students Dynamic, socially constructed, applied and transformed Transform knowledge into argument, critically analyze positions, view issue from different perspectives, synthesize Pose open-ended questions with defined sides, structure controversy, monitor, facilitate 3 1 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 position sincerely and forcefully, students may use their notes and add new facts. All students strive to understand both perspec- tives of the issue simultaneously. In step five, students drop all advocacy and strive to find a synthesis on which they can all agree by summarizing the best evidence and reasoning from both sides and integrating it into a joint position that is new and unique. The four students write a group report on their synthesis, including the supporting evidence and rationale. They then individually take a test on both positions, process how well the group functioned, and celebrate the group’s success and the hard work of each member. WHY I s INTELLECTUAL CONFLICT AVOIDED? Conflict is to student learning what the in- ternal combustion engine is to the automo- bile. The internal combustion engine unites fuel and air with a spark to create the energy for movement and acceleration. Just as the fuel and air are inert without the spark, so are ideas without the spark of controversy. Con- flict provides the motivation that energizes students to seek out new information and study harder and longer. By structuring con- structive controversy in a lesson, instructors can grab students’ attention and energize them to learn at levels beyond what they ever intended when they signed up for the course. Far from being a standard instructional procedure in most college classes, however, intellectual conflict is the exception, not the rule. Why? Some instructors avoid creating controversies because they fear losing control of the classroom, and thus losing their own sense of being a good instructor. Others are concerned about their lack of training for con- ducting academic controversies. Instructors 32 may avoid the approach because the student involvement and interest can result in animat- ed and somewhat noisy discussion; this con- trasts with the view that a good instructor has a well-ordered-that is, quiet-class. Instructors who do engage students in aca- demic controversy on a consistent basis have succeeded in overcoming such obstacles (as we discuss below). But one more obstacle re- mains: concerns about coverage. Over-concern with covering the content of a course is based on two problematic assumptions. First, it as- sumes a body of relatively static knowledge reflecting the accumulated wisdom of experts that must be transferred from the instructor to the students. This conception of knowledge contrasts with the constructivist view (which we share), that individuals develop and shape their own knowledge. Second, it assumes that students must have a full and solid grasp of all the facts first, before they can engage in criti- cal inquiry; the job of the course is to cover the former, with the inquiry left for later. Of course, the inquiry part seldom ever occurs later, just as the facts-crammed into short- term memory, accumulated without context or use-will evaporate later, too. When, how- ever, a course is built around central ques- tions of enduring significance, deeper forms of content learning take root and persist. How CONTROVERSY WORKS Conflict is the gadfly of thought. It stirs us to observation and memory. It instigates inven- tion. It shocks us out of sheep-like passivity, and sets us at noting and contriving ... conflict is a “sine qua non” of reflection and ingenuity. -John Dewey In 1859, Horace Greeley and Henry David Thoreau had a discussion about John Brown’s exploits at Harper’s Ferry. “No matter how well intended John Brown was,” Greeley said, “his methods were com- pletely unacceptable. The man broke the law! Terrorism for a good cause is still terrorism. It does not follow that because slavery is wrong, John Brown’s actions were right. No matter how opposed to slavery one is, one cannot condone what John Brown did.” “Now Horace,” Thoreau replied, “you are missing the whole point. It does not matter whether John Brown broke the law or not. It only matters what he symbolizes. And he symbolizes eternal justice, glory, and devo- tion to principle. We should pay homage to the ideals John Brown represents, not get caught in a mundane discussion of legalities.” Thomas Jefferson would have applauded this exchange; he had a deep faith in the value CHANGE JANUARY~FEEIRUARY zoo0 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 CHART I. THE PROCESS OF CONTROVERSY Categorizing. organizing, ’ and deriving conclusions from present information and experiences achievement and retention; Reconceptualization: accuracy of perspective-taking; incorporation of opponents’ information and Positive attitudes: decision topic and controversy Epistemic curiosity: active search for more information and understanding opposing positions Souri,e: Johnson, D.W., and R. Johnson, Creative Controversy: Intellectual Challenge in the Classroom, Edina, M N : Interaction Book Company, 1995. Reprinted by permission. and productiveness of conflict. In the 20th century, a number of theorists have pointed out the value of conflict, including Piaget, Kohlberg, Berlyne, Bruner, and Hoffman. Much of what they have had to say is sub- sumed in the following process, represented by Chart I . When students are presented with a prob- lem or decision, they make an initial conclu- sion based on the information at hand, their limited experiences, and their specific per- spective. They often have a high degree of confidence in such conclusions and, conse- quently, freeze the epistemic process. When required to present their conclusions and rationale to others with different positions, however, students engage in cognitive re- hearsal, use higher-level reasoning strategies, and deepen their understanding of their posi- tions. When listening to the conclusions and CHANGE JANUARYIFEBRUARY 2000 reasoning of classmates, students become less certain still about the correctness of their views. As a state of conceptual conflict or dise- quilibrium develops, they unfreeze their epis- temic process. Students then become curious; they search for a) more information and new experiences (increased specific content) and b) a more adequate cognitive perspective and rea- soning process (increased validity) in hopes of resolving the uncertainty. This motivation to learn more is called “epistemic curiosity.” Finally, students derive a new, reconceptu- alized, and reorganized conclusion by accom- modating the perspective and reasoning of others and by adapting their own perspective and reasoning. They create novel solutions and decisions that are qualitatively better than their initial conclusion. Burke (Reflection on the Revolution in France) Perhaps it is this process that Edmund 33 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 had in mind when he said, “He that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper.” How STUDENTS BENEFIT Over the past 30 years, we have conducted a systematic series of research studies to dis- cover the consequences of controversy. In our research, we compared constructive contro- versy with debate (in which students present different positions and a judge determines who presented best), concurrence-seeking (in which students inhibit discussion to avoid any disagreement and compromise quickly to reach a consensus), and individualistic learn- ing (in which students work independently with their own set of materials at their own pace) (see Table 2). Our first concern, of course, was the quali- ty and quantity of learning, decision-making, and problem-solving. What we found is that the intellectual challenge inherent in con- structive controversy results in the use of higher-level reasoning strategies, the devel- opment of more complex and coherent con- ceptual structures, and more critical thinking. All this leads to greater subject learning, more accurate retention, higher-quality decisions, and sounder, more creative solutions to com- plex problems (for which different points of view can plausibly be developed). In a meta-analysis of the available re- search, we found that controversy produced higher achievement than did concurrence- seeking (ES = 0.68), debate (ES = 0.40), or individualistic learning (ES = 0.87). In con- troversy classrooms, students tended to use higher-level reasoning strategies more fre- quently than participants in classes using concurrence-seeking (ES = 0.62), debate ( E S = 1 . 3 3 , or individualistic efforts ( E S = 0.90). 34 One of the most rewarding aspects of watching students engaged in a constructive controversy is observing the creativity of their thought. In a human relations class, for exam- ple, when one person assumes the position that affirmative action programs are no longer constructive and another person argues that affirmation action programs are more necessary than ever, what results is a thorough examina- tion of both points of view and a number of creative solutions to the problem of equaliz,- ing the playing field for everyone. Compared to concurrence-seeking, debate, and individu- alistic learning, controversy increases the number, range, and quality of ideas. No mat- ter how many times we facilitate a controversy, students still surprise us with new solutions and novel conclusions. ies, for example, we found that students in- volved in controversy read more library materials, reviewed more classroom materi- als, more frequently watched an optional movie, and more frequently requested infor- mation from others. Students engaged in a controversy tend to be more motivated to learn more about the issue and come to the best reasoned judgment possible than do par- ticipants engaged in concurrence-seeking (ES = 0.75), debate (ES = 0.45), or individualis- tic efforts (ES = 0.71). Students involved in a controversy tend to search for a) more information and new expe- riences (increased specific content) and b) a more adequate cognitive perspective and rea- soning process (increased validity) i n hopes of resolving their uncertainty. There is also a more active interest in learning others’ posi- tions and developing an understanding and appreciation of diverse points of view. Another of our favorite outcomes resulting from participation in a constructive controver- sy is greater sophistication in thinking about an issue. Being sophisticated means that one can see the world, events, and issues from a variety of perspectives. Students participating in a con- troversy a) learn the opposing perspective more accurately and completely and b) in- crease their perspective-taking skills more than do students participating in concurrence-seek- ing, debates, or individualistic learning. They also experience greater attitude and position change. The combination of perspective-tak- ing accuracy and attitude change results in a broader, more complex view of the issue. A common misperception is that conflict will create divisiveness, hostility, and ill will among participants. Controversy entails dis- agreement, argumentation, and rebuttal, which could create difficulties in establishing CHANGE J A N U A R Y ~ F E B R U A R Y 2 c ) o o Controversy arouses curiosity. In our stud- D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 TABLE 2. META-ANALYSIS OF STUDIES COMPARING CONSTRUCTIVE CONTROVERSY W I T H OTHER TEACHING FORMATS (AVERAGE EFFECT SIZE) Dependent .. Variable Mean sd n Quality of Decision-MakinglAchievement Controversy / Concurrence-Seeking 0.68 0.41 15 Controversy I Debate 0.40 0.43 6 Controversy / Individualistic Efforts 0.87 0.47 19 Cognitive Reasoning Controversy I Concurrence-Seeking 0.62 0.44 2 Controversy I Debate 1.35 0.00 1 Controversy / Individualistic Efforts 0.90 0.48 15 . - . - - . _ _ Perspective-Taking Controversy / Concurrence-Seeking 0.91 0.28 9 Controversy /Debate 0.22 0.42 2 Controversy / Individualistic Efforts 0.86 0.00 1 Motivation Controversy / Concurrence-Seeking 0.75 0.46 12 Controversy / Debate 0.45 0.44 5 Controversy / Individualistic Efforts 0.7 1 0.21 4 ~ ~~ ~~~ Attitudes Controversy I Concurrence-Seeking 0.58 0.29 5 Controversy / Debate 0.8 1 0.00 1 Controversy / Individualistic Efforts 0.64 0.00 1 ~ ~- Interpersonal Attraction Controversy / Concurrence-Seeking 0.24 0.44 8 Controversy / Debate 0.72 0.25 6 Controversy / Individualistic Efforts 0.81 0.11 3 Debate / Individualistic Efforts 0.46 0.13 2 Social Support Controversy / Concurrence-Seeking 0.32 0.44 8 Controversy I Debate 0.92 0.42 6 Controversy / Individualistic Efforts 1.52 0.29 3 Debate / Individualistic Efforts 0.85 0.01 2 Self-Esteem - .____ ~- controversy f Concurrence-Seeking 0.39 0.15 4 Controversy / Debate 0.5 1 0.09 2 Controversy I Individualistic Efforts 0.85 0.04 3 Debate / Individualistic Efforts 0.45 0.17 2 Note: For a more complete analysis, see Johnson, D.W., and R. Johnson, Creative Controversy: Intellec- ruul Challenge in the Classroom, Edina, MN: Interaction Book Company, 1995. ~ ~~ C H A N G E * J A N U A R Y / F E B R U A R Y 2000 35 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 C o r r strrr c‘tiw 36 good relationships. constructive controversy, however, has been found to promote greater liking among participants than either concur- rence-seeking (ES = 0.24), debate (ES = 0.72), or individualistic efforts (ES = 0.81). Debate tends to promote greater interpersonal attrac- tion among participants than do individualis- tic efforts (ES = 0.46). In addition, constructive controversy tends to promote greater social support among par- ticipants than does concurrence-seeking (ES = 0.32), debate (ES = 0.92), or individu- alistic efforts (ES = 1 S2). Debate tends to promote greater social support among partici- pants than do individualistic efforts (ES = 0.85). When students like each other, and feel greater personal and academic support from each other, they tend to achieve at a higher level and value being part of the class. Not only do students who participate in a controversy like each other better, they also like themselves better. Constructive controversy tends to promote higher self-esteem than does concurrence-seeking (ES = 0.39), debate (ES = 0.51), or individualistic efforts (ES = 0.85). De- bate tends to promote higher self-esteem than does individualistic learning (ES = 0.45). Finally, our research indicates that students participating in a controversy had more posi- tive attitudes toward the class and the instruc- tional experience than did students engaged in concurrence-seeking discussions, debate, or individualistic learning. Engaging in a contro- versy can be fun, enjoyable, and exciting. As Samuel Johnson once stated, “I dogmatize and am contradicted, and in this conflict of opinions and sentiments I find delight.” KEY ELEMENTS Although controversies can operate in highly beneficial ways, they will not do so au- tomatically. The conditions under which con- troversy results in positive consequences include the context within which the contro- versy takes place and the level of participants’ social skills. There are two possible contexts for contro- versy: cooperative and competitive. Our re- search demonstrates that in a cooperative context, controversy induces more complete and accurate understanding of the opponent’s position (and feelings) and greater utilization of others’ information. More importantly, there is more open- minded listening to the opposing positions, greater motivation to hear more about the opponent’s arguments, and a more frequent seeking out of individuals with opposing opinions to test the validity of ideas. It is no surprise, therefore, that in a cooperative con- text participants feel more comfortable in dis- cussing opposing positions and create new positions that include both their own and the opponent’s perspectives. In competitive contexts, by contrast, con- troversy tends to promote closed-minded rejection of the opponent’s ideas and of the opponent as a person. For controversies to be managed construc- tively, participants need collaborative and conflict-management skills. Our research has focused on two skills. The first is disagreeing with another’s ideas while confirming his or her personal compe- tence. Disagreeing with others while implying that they are incompetent tends to increase their commitment to their own ideas and their rejection of their opponent’s information and reasoning. Disagreeing with others while si- multaneously confirming their personal com- petence, however, results in greater liking of the opponent, a less critical view of his or her ideas, greater interest in learning more about those ideas, and more willingness to incorpo- rate them into their own analysis of the problem. The second skill is perspective-taking, More information-both personal and imper- sonal-is disclosed and is comprehended more accurately when participants engage in perspective-taking behaviors such as para- phrasing. Engaging in a controversy tends to promote greater understanding and retention of others’ perspectives, which facilitates cre- ative, high-quality problem-solving and pro- motes liking for the opponents. itive context among unskilled individuals who make personal attacks and have an ego- centric view of the issue, it is not construc- tive. Constructive controversy requires that cooperation dominate the context and that i n - dividuals have the skills to use the controver- sy procedure effectively. At the very least, individuals must be able to criticize another person’s ideas while confirming his or her competence and worth, and to see the issue from all perspectives. When controversy takes place in a compet- ADDITIONAL BENEFITS The use of constructive controversy has important benefits beyond its effects on achievement, reasoning, relationships, and attitudes. Constructive controversy teaches students basic academic competencies that differentiate a college graduate from someone who has not attended college. These compe- tencies include the ability to research an issue and create a coherent summary of what is known, structure an intellectual argument, give a persuasive and convincing presentation CHANGE JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2000 D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 of one’s views, critically analyze positions, give a well-conceptualized and thoughtful refutation of opposing positions (based on challenging their information and logic), give a well-conceptualized rebuttal of others’ refu- tations of one’s position, view an issue from a variety of perspectives, and synthesize diverse positions. These competencies are also basic citizen- ship skills in a democracy. Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and the other Founding Fa- thers believed that free and open discussion- not the social rank within which a person was born-should serve as the basis of influence within society. This free and open discussion was to be characterized by conflict among ideas and opinions, open-minded considera- tion of all points of view, and changing one’s mind in order to find the best action to take for the good of the country as a whole. Jefferson noted, “Differences of opinion lead to inquiry, and inquiry to truth.” Madison described political discourse as a) including open-minded consideration of other points of view (“much is gained by a yielding and ac- commodating spirit”) and b) keeping conclu- sions tentative by realizing that one’s current knowledge is not the whole truth (no citizen is “obligated to retain his opinions any longer than he is satisfied of their propriety and truth”). Even today, we proclaim that it is the ability of citizens to make thoughtful, reasoned judgments that lies at the heart of democracy. We know of no better way to teach such abilities directly than through the steps outlined in this article. LEAVING AN IMPRINT How you ride a horse leaves an imprint that can be detected by a skilled trainer. Some indicators are fairly obvious. If the horse has well-developed muscles underneath its neck, then the rider habitually pulled back on the reins. If the horse has well-developed muscles on the top of its neck, then the rider held the reins loosely and moved the horse forward with his or her seat and legs. More subtle im- prints can be detected only when the trainer rides the horse. By the way the horse moves, a good trainer can tell who was the last person to ride it. The methods we use to teach leave an im- print on students. From the way students act at the beginning of a class, we can tell a great deal about the professors who taught them previously. Whether your students sit pas- sively and are interested only in what will be on the test, or volunteer their conclusions and engage in spirited disagreement, you know a great deal about who taught them before. C H A N G E *JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2000 What impact would you like to leave on your students? For each of us, this is a very personal question that gets to the heart of why we became professors in the first place. How we teach does leave an imprint. If we fre- quently use recitation, students are imprinted with a pattern of listening carefully, waiting to be called on, and giving factual answers that the professor likes. If we frequently use group discussion, students are imprinted with a pattern of active participation, jointly consid- ering higher-level questions, exchanging ideas, and utilizing each other’s thinking. If we frequently use constructive controversy, students are imprinted with a pattern of intel- lectual inquiry that includes building coher- ent intellectual arguments, giving persuasive presentations, critically analyzing and chal- lenging others’ positions, rebutting others’ challenges, seeing issues from a variety of perspectives, and seeking reasoned judg- ments. Of the three formats, constructive contro- versy may be the most complex to use, but it is the most promising in its results. For more information about this topic, the authors refer readers to two of their other works: Johnson, D.W., R. Johnson, and K. Smith. Academic Controversy: Enriching College Instruction Through Intellectual Conflict, ASHE-ERIC Higher Education Re- port, Vol. 25, No. 3, Washington, DC: The George Washington University, Graduate School of Education and Human Develop- ment, 1997. Controversy: Intellectual Challenge in the Classroom, Edina, MN: Interaction Book Johnson, D.W., andR. Johnson. Creative Company, 1995. la D ow nl oa de d by [ U ni ve rs it y of M in ne so ta L ib ra ri es , T w in C it ie s] a t 18 :0 6 24 J an ua ry 2 01 6 
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work_uawt2q5bqneedevbfuacjgh4m4	----	Review American prophecy: Race and redemption in American political culture George Shulman University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 2008, xvii+315 pp., $25.00 ISBN: 978-0816630752 Contemporary Political Theory (2015) 14, e1–e4. doi:10.1057/cpt.2013.47; published online 21 October 2014 George Shulman’s American Prophecy: Race and Redemption in American Political Culture is a beautiful work of political theory, political theology and American studies. Through a critical analysis of biblical and contemporary prophetic traditions, Shulman reworks the sometimes suffocating terms of prophetic discourse in order to address and redeem suffering engendered by racial domination in the United States. American Prophecy performs what it describes: it is a work of prophecy in ways that Shulman does not acknowledge, and it displays the same tensions in and limits of prophetic thinking that he illuminates. Shulman’s prophetic voice is at times uncomfortably close to the ones that he resists. Sometimes he appears to foreclose rather than invite engagement with others, and so occludes the democratic possibilities he wants to open up. I think this occlusion is a symptom of Shulman’s own, tense relationship with prophecy: he is a reluctant prophet. For Shulman redemption means, first, purification in order to expunge the stains of racial domination; and second, meaning-making in order to render historical suffering intelligible and so lamentable and bearable. Both practices hold promise (of return, renewal and the reconstitution of a broken community) and danger (purification can be exclusionary and genocidal; historical closure can silence suffering voices, while deafening us to their persistent urgency). Redemption is tied to prophecy, because prophets are those who guide us toward redemption. Shulman offers us two versions of the prophetic voice, one that he resists and one that he wants to take up. The prophetic voice that Shulman resists is represented by the American evangelical right: a cramped, stingy and exclusionary voice that reinforces, rather than resists, domination. Returning to the Hebrew bible as a neglected source for political theory, Shulman reworks prophecy in the name of social justice. He argues that prophecy is an office, a calling (p. 4). Prophets call for their audiences to make ‘fateful collective decisions’. First, they are ‘messengers who announce truths their audiences are invested in denying’. They expose and challenge © 2015 Macmillan Publishers Ltd. 1470-8914 Contemporary Political Theory Vol. 14, 1, e1–e4 www.palgrave-journals.com/cpt/ http://dx.doi.org/10.1057/cpt.2013.47 http://www.palgrave-journals.com/cpt our willful blindness. Second, prophets bear witness, they ‘testify to what they see and stand against it’. Third, they are ‘watchmen who forewarn’. Finally, prophets are ‘singers’. Through poetry, they ‘ask and answer the question, what is the meaning of our suffering’ (pp. 4–5). Prophecy deploys three primary forms: theodicy, jeremiad and lamentation. Theodicy explains suffering as God’s punishment for human evil, especially injustice and idolatry (pp. 6–7); redemption comes through doing just deeds and returning to God. A jeremiad is a narrative of ‘decline from origins’ that stakes the fate of a community upon a decision that can endanger or redeem it; redemption here means ‘deliverance from sin’ (p. 8). A lamentation, finally, depicts suffering and dramatizes loss (pp. 10–11); redemption sustains ‘a people in the face of traumatic dispossession’. To exemplify these forms and illustrate his argument about the link between prophecy and social justice, Shulman stages lovingly detailed conversations between four thinkers in the American prophetic tradition: Henry David Thoreau, Martin Luther King, Jr, James Baldwin and Toni Morrison. He shows how they rework prophecy as a way of resisting racial domination, and – much more clearly in Thoreau and King – how that reworking is limited by their own internal tensions and resistances. Shulman displays a special affection for Baldwin and especially Morrison, whom he partly credits with inspiring the book. While he is unfailingly careful in all of his readings, his interpretations of Baldwin and Morrison seem more generous, the tensions he uncovers both weaker and more productive than those he finds in Thoreau and King. A strand of ambiguity runs through Shulman’s argument, always signaled by the qualifier ‘partly’. For example, in his discussion of Baldwin’s reflections on black- ness, he writes: ‘Partly, blackness is linked to death’; ‘partly’, he quotes Baldwin, ‘there is a sense in which it can be said that my black flesh is the flesh that Saint Paul wanted to have mortified’; and ‘partly, a liberal culture idolizes self-mastery as sovereignty’ as against ‘the chaos and insanity lodged in racialized others’ (p. 145). Shulman suggests that the three claims are linked by Baldwin’s understanding of blackness as a figure of disavowed finitude while whiteness is emblematic of fantasized sovereignty, but the precise relationships between these claims remain unclear: Is death the end of mortification, or is the pain of mortification its own end, with death either the gift of the arbitrarily powerful or an accident that undermines their exercise of power? Must that which is chaotic be killed? Maimed through mortification? Is mortification intended to produce a docile subject upon whose back self-mastery can be assured? Shulman’s ‘partly’ does not help us answer these questions, which seem crucial for understanding black suffering and the possibilities of its redemption. What is the source of these ambiguities? Might it stem from Shulmanʼs ambivalence about declaring himself more firmly? Shulman’s book is prophetic in a way that he does not recognize, and maybe does not want to. This is why I call him a Review e2 © 2015 Macmillan Publishers Ltd. 1470-8914 Contemporary Political Theory Vol. 14, 1, e1–e4 reluctant prophet. First, like a prophet, he responded to a call: ‘To face race in America is to be compelled toward prophecy’. In addition, he ‘conceived a book about “prophetic narrative” because [he] was so profoundly affected by Toni Morrison’s novel Beloved’. Morrison called to him, as Thoreau, King, Baldwin and Morrison were likewise called. Shulman announces, or insists upon, the truth of race and racial domination that liberal political theory and institutions are invested in denying. He bears witness and stands with Thoreau, King, Baldwin and Morrison as witnesses to the suffering of black and other racial minorities in the United States. Indeed, by summoning those thinkers to bear witness with him, by calling upon them, he names, hails and authorizes them as prophets. Shulman is also a watchman who forewarns: he invokes ‘the value and danger of prophecy as a language in and for politics’, and says that ‘we must not pass by or ignore this story, but nor can we simply bequeath it to others unchanged’ (p. xvii). Finally, Shulman’s is a poetic work. Not only is it poetic in the literal sense that it is made, but it is also inspired by poetry – of Ginsberg, of Simon and Garfunkel and others. Shulman also employs the narrative forms that he associates with prophecy: theodicy, jeremiad and lamentation. He deploys these forms in secularized terms, in the tradition of post-Nietzschean political theology. His secular theodicy consists in an account of the source of the evil of racial domination. In Sartrean terms, self- and other-injuring desires for mastery bespeak a human desire to be God. Shulman’s jeremiad takes a different form from the theological ones he traces in the bible and in contemporary evangelical thought. He rightly does not depict a decline from a previous state of racial harmony to one of racial domination; but his account of the stakes for political theory of thinking prophetically is itself a jeremiad. Shulman finds rich resources for political theory in the Hebrew bible, laments (the second narrative form of prophecy) its absence from canonical political theory and calls for its reinclusion; in this way he joins earlier thinkers like Leo Strauss and Hannah Arendt, who likewise lamented the turn in political thought away from early sources – for them primarily (though not only) ancient Greece and Rome. Indeed, Shulman claims that ‘[t]o turn to American politics is to recover in its wholeness [to redeem] a biblical prophecy’ (p. 13, my emphasis). Why does Shulman occlude the prophetic dimensions of the book? One possibility is that he is more anxious about the risks of prophetic thinking than his argument suggests, even though he acknowledges those risks openly. Perhaps they constitute a truth that he is ‘invested in denying’. Shulmanʼs anxiety is implicit in the equivocations I noted earlier. There are also moments when Shulman’s defense of prophecy undermines its own best insights. Despite his call for a more democratic and inclusive prophetic politics, he seems uncharitable to contemporary evangelical versions of prophecy that, he says, justify exclusion (p. x). For example, he makes no mention of Christian love, which teaches us to hate the sin but love the sinner. Perhaps from his point of view this is a love unworthy of the name. But Shulman never tells us precisely what is wrong with this corrective, redemptive love, and how Review e3© 2015 Macmillan Publishers Ltd. 1470-8914 Contemporary Political Theory Vol. 14, 1, e1–e4 it differs from the corrective, redemptive love we find in, say, Beloved. Shulman’s own turn to love suggests an affinity with evangelical prophecy, but his silence about it suggests a disavowal of that affinity. He confesses that he writes ‘more generously about’ Thoreau, King, Baldwin and Morrison than about the biblical prophets and claims that ‘biblical attacks on idolatry seem to discredit a pluralism I value’ (p. xii). But isn’t his lack of generosity toward conservative prophecy itself a form of exclusion, a closing down of conversation that discredits his claim to appreciate pluralism? American Prophecy is an extraordinary and important contribution to political theory. In beautiful, passionate prose, and in conversation with a wonderful cast of characters, Shulman turns to biblical sources for political theory and reworks prophecy in the name of social justice. The tensions I find in Shulman’s argument do not bespeak a failing on his part; rather, they expose and dramatize the tensions of prophetic thinking in contemporary America, between our desires for redemption and the risks of exclusion and deafness to the claims of others that are written into the very grammar of prophecy. Shulman has done us an invaluable service in helping us to better understand the times in which we live. Acknowledgements I wish to thank Jack Turner for very helpful comments on an early draft of this review. Jade Schiff Oberlin OH 44704, USA Review e4 © 2015 Macmillan Publishers Ltd. 1470-8914 Contemporary Political Theory Vol. 14, 1, e1–e4 American prophecy: Race and redemption in American political culture Acknowledgements 
work_upd6klm6zvc7fck7a7svstowku	----	IJYT-2007 Press (interior).pdf INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF YOGA THERAPY – No. 17 (2007) 35 Abstract Yoga has been gaining acceptance in America. This acceptance rests, in large part, on the increase in medical research on Yoga. Despite the benefits of this research, the biomedical approach is often held accountable for America’s de-emphasis on the rich, spiritual dimensions of Yoga. This article reviews the academic literature of the 1800s-1970s to show that America’s focus on Yoga’s health benefits is not new, but has been a part of the ongoing debate on how Yoga should be regarded. Introduction In the last 25 years, there has been a growing interest in research on the medical benefits of Yoga. This research has been invaluable to the acceptance of Yoga in a wide range of settings. However, some individuals hold the relatively recent emphasis on medical research accountable for the de- emphasis on the essential spiritual dimensions of Yoga. This article presents an alternative perspective: that the current focus on biomedical and therapeutic applications of Yoga is not a recent development. It is the expected outcome of America’s long-standing dilemma about how to view Yoga. This article follows Yoga’s presence in academic circles and public discourse from the 1800s through the 1970s in an attempt to answer the question, “How did an ancient East Indian practice of transcending the physical body transform into a significant method to improve the body’s health?” After all, Hatha Yoga is the only branch of Yoga that gives primacy to the body. What about Bhakti Yoga, Jnana Yoga, Tantric Yoga, Karma Yoga, and Raja Yoga? It is tempting to think that the burgeoning interest in biomedical research on Yoga rests solely on Western fascination with the physical body. A review of Yoga’s history in the United States shows something else: the emphasis on Yoga as a practice for im- proving physical health is a way to make sense of and accept a tradition that in many ways runs counter to our essentially Judeo-Christian culture. This position was not only the product of academic thinking; it was encouraged by many vocal practicing Yogis, including teachers from India. Yoga in the 1800s: With Intimacy Comes Controversy Yoga was developed on the Indian sub-continent as a system for increasing physical and mental clarity so as to transcend our limited concepts of self. It is a diverse disci- pline that offers numerous techniques to explore the human experience: physical postures (âsanas), breathing practices (prânâyâma), ethical disciplines (yâmas and niyâmas), chanting, concentration techniques, and meditation. In the 1800s, Yoga made its way from the rigorous shores of East India to the rigors of American higher education. As the two cultures met, issues of identity, religious fidelity, language, social class, and authenticity materialized. Scholars who began the study of India’s spiritual traditions were often left questioning their own religious beliefs and long-held philo- sophical assumptions. Academic Embrace of the Bhagavad Gita One of the first significant English translations of a Hindu text in which Yoga is discussed is Charles Wilkins’ The Yoga Tradition How Did We Get Here? A History of Yoga in America, 1800-1970 Laura Douglass, MA Lesley University (Cambridge, MA) and Hindu University, College of Yoga Sciences (Orlando, FL) YOGA IN AMERICA36 Bhagvat-Geeta.1 With this translation, Sanskrit began to be associated with the intellectual elite in Europe and America. Wilkins, Sir William Jones, and Henry Colebrook trans- formed the study of Sanskrit and East India into a serious hobby for influential intellectual circles. Events sponsored were for limited audiences and required a formal invitation and black-tie dress.2-5 Yoga’s embrace by the elite initiated the process of viewing Yoga as something “worth knowing.” Wilkins’s Bhagvat-Geeta arrived on American shores in 1845, 60 years after its initial publication in England. New England poet and essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson sorely lamented its late arrival.6,7 As one of the founders of Transcendentalism in America, Emerson’s enthusiastic and public embrace of Wilkins’ Bhagvat-Geeta inspired serious inquiry into the texts of Hinduism and Yoga. Emerson, like other intellectual elite of his time, embraced Yoga philosoph- ically. It was his noteworthy student, Henry David Thoreau, who first moved from “knowing about” to “practicing” the discipline of Yoga.8 Thoreaua, author of Walden and Civil Disobedience, stated in a letter to a friend, “Depend upon it that rude and careless as I am, I would fain practice the yoga faithfully…to some extent, and at rare intervals, even I am a yogin.”9(p412) Intimacy and Conflict: Yoga and Christianity Thoreau’s Yoga practice was a challenge to the aca- demic community of a relatively new and predominately Christian nation. American scholars were “tolerant” of and interested in Asian religions, but contemplative prac- tices smacked of infidelity to Christianity. Christians (then and now) genuinely struggled with how their interest in Eastern spiritual practices aligned with their religious ideal of one path to God. While other scholars of East Asia (e.g., Muller, Wilkins, and Colebrook) were sensitive to Christian anxieties, Thoreau ignored them. Thoreau’s ac- tions contradicted the Christian notion of one path to God.10 He blatantly stated that he practiced Yoga, and ea- gerly proclaimed that the Yogic system of understanding the mind was equal to and, at times, superior to Western models. Thoreau’s practice of Yoga led to questions that its academic study alone did not: Does the study and prac- tice of Yoga lead individuals away from Christianity? Can one respect religious pluralism while maintaining one’s Christian faith? The tension between Christianity and Yoga was given profound expression in the works of German-born scholar Max Muller, who was dubbed the “founder of the science of religion” and played a pivotal role in shaping Euro- American Religious Studies during the 1800s.11 Muller’s interpretations of Vedic texts were undoubtedly influential; his popular scholarship, widely read in America through- out the 1800-1900s, alternated between awe and revulsion toward the ancient Hindu scriptures.12 It is difficult to in- terpret his comments regarding the Rg Veda, “hidden in this rubbish are precious stones.”12(p29) Was he writing to appease a Christian audience who had difficulty embracing religious pluralism? Or did he really mean the text was useless de- spite a few well-chosen phrases? Muller’s negative depiction of Hinduism was so disturbing to Hindus in India that his Hibbert Lectures was boycotted; there were rumors that it had been printed with the blood of India’s sacred cows.13 Whether or not Muller’s intentions were racist continues to be a subject of debate.12,14 However, it is probable that this early, negative depiction of Hinduism within academia played a role in the way Yoga has become so strongly di- vorced from its Hindu roots in America. Hindus in the United States and abroad were deeply affected by Christian scholars’ negative attention to the sub- ject of Yoga and Hinduism.b;15,16 Some Hindus converted to Christianity. Others began to re-think and re-position the way religion was situated in their personal and cultural lives. For example, sectarian beliefs were downplayed, and there was a de-emphasis on multiple deities. Sacred texts like the Bhagavad-Gita were emphasized for their practical, uplifting message that readily appealed to the “modern” individual’s struggle. Vivekananda and Changing the Discourse on Yoga By the late 1800s, attempts to reduce tension between religious systems became the work of Yoga practitioners, not academics. In particular, Swami Vivekananda assumed this role. Vivekananda (1863-1902) was as well educated in Western philosophies as in the meditation traditions of his native India. As one of the chief disciples of Ramakrishna with a Western education, Vivekananda was pivotal to shar- ing the wisdom of Yoga with an international audience. a. For a thorough discussion of Yoga and Thoreau, refer to the follow- ing resources: Machane F. Walden and Yoga. The New England Quarterly. 1964;37(33):322-342 and Stein WB. The Hindu matrix of Walden: the king’s son. Comparative Literature. 1970;22(4):303-318. b. Bengali novelist Bankim Chandra Chatterjee (1838-1894) was also vocal regarding the way in which Hinduism and Yoga was depicted as a static religion. His work should be included in the MIA (missing in America) literature review. INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF YOGA THERAPY – No. 17 (2007) 37 Vivekananda is frequently portrayed as “the” individual who first introduced Yoga to American discourse.17,18 This is a slight exaggeration, but perhaps is warranted because of the great popularity of his speech at the World Parliament of Religions in Chicago in 1893. His handsome physique, charisma, charm, and mastery of the subject of Yoga were exactly what American intellectuals outside of academia were looking for. He played on the American fascination with the exotic, for example by wearing silk turbans for his lectures—while alleviating many Americans’ fears about re- ligious fidelity. Vivekananda’s success, in part, rested on his unique ability to diffuse tension regarding Yoga’s association with infidelity to Christianity. Framing Yoga as a system that would lead to greater physical health, Vivekananda lib- erated the practice of Yoga from the popular conception that it was a practice primarily for Hindu men (which, of course, it had been). He spoke of Yoga as something ac- cessible to all, and of central value to anyone concerned with health and freedom.19 Understanding Yoga as a sys- tem of health served several purposes: 1) It diffused tension around fidelity to Christianity, 2) It made Yoga a subject accessible to Americans, and 3) It began America’s interest in the health benefits of Yoga that would eventually lead to the abundance of research on Yoga’s medical benefits in the 21st century. Vivekananda’s popularity did not extend to academic circles. He was criticized by academics for his re-interpreta- tion of Yoga. He blended everything from Nyaya, Mimamsa, Christianity, and Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland within a single lecture.20-22 Criticism of ambiguity and blending of East Indian spiritual traditions was nothing new. Thoreau had also been greatly disparaged for his “…wild juxtaposi- tion on incongruous cultural forms as much an assault on aesthetic judgment as on religious fidelity.”9(p404) Academics saw (and in some ways continue to see) Yoga as something static, with clearly defined boundaries of study that are best understood in the context of the specific historical period in which they emerged. This perspective offered invaluable insights, but failed to address the public’s desire to see the study of Yoga as compatible with American religious and intellectual life. While academics criticized practicing Yogis for incon- sistencies and odd juxtapositions, practicing Yogis accused academics of being dry, abstract, and expounding ideas that were not applicable to daily life.c Vivekananda, while highly educated, was not an academic. He stated, “No theories ever made men higher. No amount of books can help us to be- come purer. The only power is in realization, and that lies in ourselves and comes from thinking.”18(p262) Taking the power of knowing out of the hands of academic authority is an oft- repeated axiom of Yoga (and one that gained momentum in the American Yoga community in the 1950s). Vivekananda’s approach of cultural inclusivity was further developed in William Flagg’s 1898 book Yoga for Transformation,23 which offered a chapter each on Egyptian Yoga, Mohammedan Yoga, Christian Yoga, The Roman Stoics as Yogis, Hindu Yoga, and Chinese Yoga. Flagg as- suaged Christian readers’ fears by arguing that there were many different methods to achieve spiritual unity—all of which could be enhanced through the practices of Yoga. His book’s message paralleled Vivekananda’s: Yoga is a discipline to free humanity from its mental constraints and an avenue toward greater physical health. By the end of the 1800s, the choice on how to view Yoga was fairly straightforward: 1) Yoga is a discipline that upsets one’s allegiance to the religion of one’s birth, or 2) Yoga is a system that brings greater physical and mental health. American students of Yoga undoubtedly chose to describe and think of Yoga as a method for improving physical and mental health. This choice made the issue of religious affili- ation irrelevant. It was also a choice espoused by influential Yogis such as Vivekananda. Yoga in America from 1900-1940: Magical or Practical? From the 1900s to the 1940s, Yoga was pulled between contrasting points of view. Academic literature in this time period emphasized Yoga as a discipline heavily linked to magic and the occult, while popular literature of this pe- riod positioned Yoga as an eclectic practice concerned with physical health. Scholars began to understand the psycho- logical themes in Yoga; simultaneously, this psychology was portrayed as substantially inferior to Western analysis. The movement toward and away from Yoga continued: while Yoga offered new ways to think about the human experi- ence, it was also worrisome because it challenged long-held assumptions. c. That Yoga is not an academic subject is heavily promoted by many practicing Yogis of the early 1900s. The most widely published is Yogi Ramacharaka: Ramacharaka Y. A Series of Lessons in Raja Yoga. Chicago: The Yogi Publication Society; 1906; Ramacharaka Y. Hatha Yoga or The Yogi Philosophy of Physical Well-Being. Chicago: Yogi Publicaton Society; 1904; and Ramacharaka Y. Advanced Course in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism. London: Fowler & Co. LTD.; 1905. YOGA IN AMERICA38 Magic, Kundalini, and Yoga as “Other” For academia in the early 1900s, Yoga was distinctly magical, mystical, and “other.”24-27 Academics de-empha- sized Yoga’s attention to mental obstacles and ethics; instead they chose to focus on its supernatural elements. This choice may have been influenced by the scholars’ choice to study the classical texts of Yoga, with little consideration to the contemporary context and views of Hindus and contempo- rary practicing Yogis. In E.W. Hopkins’ 1901 article “Yoga Techniques in the Great Epic,” published in the Journal of the American Oriental Society, he analyzed the ancient scriptures of Yoga and stressed its exotic and mystical nature. He succinctly stated, “The exercise of Yoga imparts magical powers.”28(p336) The burgeoning interest in Kundalini Yoga throughout the 1920s and 1930s provides another example of how the mystical nature of Yoga was emphasized in America.29,30 Kundalini, a dormant spiritual energy that can be accessed through specific practices of Yoga, is frequently associated with mystical powers. Carl Jung’s The Psychology of Kundalini Yoga, published in 1932, was very influential in bringing this esoteric subject to the forefront of academic thought.31 Attempts to Integrate Western and Eastern Psychology Carl Jung was one of the first well-known Western scholars to seriously examine the psychology inherent in Yogic practices. Jung attempted to make descriptions of Yoga more familiar by drawing comparisons between the West and the East. For example, he made statements like, “Christianity also is based on the suksma [subtle internal en- ergy] aspect.”31(p67) Whether such statements clarified or cre- ated greater confusion and division for Christians struggling to understand Yoga is difficult to know. Work like Jung’s, which attempted to create bridges between these world- views, often raised more questions than it answered. These attempts often failed because they imported Yoga practices into a therapeutic model that was at odds with the original intentions of Yoga. For example, Jung believed that the aim of his work as a psychologist was to “cure souls,” not just the personality.32 Yoga, however, is based on the assumption that our souls (if we can even use this word) are pure, unaffected by our mental distress. While Jung’s work spurred interest in the intersection of Yoga and psychology, many of these early depictions hinged on a Yoga that was illogical and offered little more than a naïve understanding of psychology.33,34 Despite being well-informed and well-meaning, some aca- demics may have accidentally reinforced doubts about Yoga’s ability to offer insight into the human condition. Yoga as Practical Outside of academia, intellectuals were embracing Yoga as a practical discipline with renewed vigor. In 1948, Ernest E. Wood published Practical Yoga, stating, “…I am now promoting the subject of Yoga here [in America], knowing that it is as well adapted to modern life as to the simpler life of ancient India, and believing that it can make the individ- ual stronger and freer and help to promote social harmony and material progress.”35(p23) This kind of unbridled enthu- siasm pervaded the popular literature on Yoga throughout the 1930s and into the 1950s.d;36,37 While these publica- tions popularized the physical practices of Yoga, they also gave great attention to the underlying philosophical system of Samkhya-Yoga. This attention to the philosophical and methodological details of Yoga in the popular literature would lose momentum in the 1960s, and all but cease by the year 2000. By the end of the 1940s, the choice of how to view Yoga was complicated. Was Yoga magical and mystical, or a means to improve health? Without an answer to this ques- tion, those from a Judeo-Christian background had diffi- culty resolving how they should view Yoga. If Yoga could be set up as a practical discipline, this might offer a solution to the tension involving conflicting spiritual points of view. This period in history seemed to be setting the stage for the modern emphasis on Yoga as a discipline for physical and psychological health. “Yoga as practical” untangles the indi- vidual’s practice of Yoga from the debate around its impact on identity. Viewing Yoga through this lens offers almost immediate respite from seeing Yoga as something mystical and exotic—this is something that Hindu practitioners and Yogis alike will emphasize in the literature of the 1950s. Yoga in America in the 1950s Eastern writers began to think of Westerners as part of their audience,38 offering critiques of American interpreta- tions of Yoga in academic journals.39-41 American academ- ics reacted to this by shifting their focus to how Yoga was being practiced within their own society. Americans began using Eastern texts to gain insight into their own Judeo- d. This enthusiasm was no doubt influenced by current, positive interpre- tations of Yogic texts that were circulating in academic circles. INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF YOGA THERAPY – No. 17 (2007) 39 Christian traditions.42,43 The idea of “East” and “West” as monolithic and inseparable categories was beginning to break down. What emerged was a dynamic conversation about the ways in which both cultures mutually benefited from and were challenged by the intimate exchange; this exchange was seen as potential to fuel a deeper understand- ing of the human experience. The interplay between cultures and religious ide- ologies was vigorously explored in the 1958 East-West Philosophers Conference, which met in Honolulu, Hawaii. The Vice President of the East-West Philosophical Society, Radhakrishnan, avowed, “There is no reason to believe that there are fundamental differences between East and West; human beings are everywhere human and their deepest val- ues are similar.”38(p216) Everyone did not share this optimistic view. A conference participant stated, “While no bridges between ideas have yet been built, at least canoes have been fashioned to get from shore to shore.”38 The metaphor of the canoe implies an undertaking that is unsteady at best. Canoes require calm waters and seem an unsteady vessel in which to go from American to Indian shores. During the 1950s, American academics were interested in breaking down obstacles to the study of Yoga. For ex- ample, scholar David White encouraged the layperson, without Sanskrit knowledge, to embrace the “wisdom of the East”44 that was now available in English translations. He encouraged personal exploration to fully grasp what was being conveyed in the texts. White stated, “If one begins by reading the most careful and scholarly translations, he is likely to meet with a dull awkwardness well calculated to convince him that the ‘Wisdom of the Orient’ is much exaggerated.” 44(p247) It was not only Westerners who were breaking down barriers to the study of Yoga. This movement was greatly aided by the circulation of English books on Yoga writ- ten in the voices of its own practitioners: Paramahansa Yogananda,45 Krishnamurti,46 Swami Sivananda,47-51 and Sri Aurobindo.52-55 These East Indian teachers of Yoga were dis- tinctly bi-cultural. They had all been trained and influenced by Western schools and were therefore able to speak directly to the concerns of many Euro-Americans. As Westerners began to seriously study Yoga with these individuals, mis- perceptions of Yoga were broken, and a new generation of American Yoga teachers was born. The bi-cultural individuals (of Eastern and Western origin) who began teaching Yoga in America increased the tension between academic and popular perceptions of Yoga. As Vivekananda had done earlier in the century, these in- dividuals began to question the validity of academic, intel- lectual knowledge. Krishnamurti stated, “The mind escapes into knowledge, into theories, hopes, imagination; and this very knowledge is a hindrance…To know is to be ignorant; not to know is the beginning of wisdom.”56(p207) With more Americans studying Yoga in India, and Indian practitioners of Yoga discouraging “mere” academic study, the stage was being set for a focus on personal and cultural exploration in the 1960s and 1970s. Yoga in America in the 1960s and 1970s: Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll? Tension between those who practiced Yoga and those who taught about Yoga in academia turned to fierce po- larization as Yoga increasingly became associated with sex, drugs, and, yes, even rock and roll. Teachers like Swami Satchidananda and the Maharishi influenced pop stars from Carol King to the Beatles. The popularization of Yoga brought the discipline into mainstream publications and the media. The intersection between popular culture and academic interest contributed to an intense period of aca- demic mayhem in which Yoga moved from a traditional as- sociation with monasticism to an unlikely association with orgies. This American adaptation of Yoga in the 1960s and 1970s shocked some East Indian academics.57 In contrast, some East Indian Yoga teachers saw the youth culture’s de- sire to break free of tradition as a confusing but hopeful era in which a new generation was struggling to embrace new ways of being. Yoga’s Intersection with Drug Culture The movement of Yoga and Eastern consciousness stud- ies from academia to the youth culture is best told in the story of two infamous Harvard psychologists: Dr. Richard Alpert and Dr. Timothy Leary. Both individuals became cul- tural icons known as much for their positive view of drugs as for their involvement with Eastern forms of consciousness.e Leary designed several studies in which he and Alpert ad- ministered LSD to over 300 professors, graduate students, writers, philosophers, and clergymen. The ethical nature of these studies was questioned, as was Alpert’s and Leary’s own use of hallucinogenic drugs. As they became associated with the burgeoning drug culture that began to swirl around Harvard, their dismissal seemed inevitable.58,59 Alpert left e. The reader is referred to the documentary film Fierce Grace for a touch- ing testament to the power of Dass’ life and work. YOGA IN AMERICA40 America to study Buddhist meditation in India. He returned as the practicing Yogi, Ram Dass. Dass helped revolution- ize and publicize new ideas on consciousness with his illus- trated text Be Here Now.60 Students traveled long distances to hear him teach about Yoga, while academics shrank at the thought of American students (and professors!) leaving rationality behind. Dass’s colleague Leary urged the youth of America to “Turn on, tune in, drop out.” Their simultaneous interest in altered states of consciousness and Eastern states of con- sciousness (primarily Yoga) led to Yoga’s gradual association with the blooming drug culture of the 1960s and 1970s. The relationship between Yoga and drugs in America was consummated when Yoga teacher Swami Satchidanada opened the famous music festival “Woodstock” in New York. Woodstock was as well known for its “bad acid” (LSD) as it was for its music. Researchers studying drug use in American youth culture confirmed the relationship between drugs and Yoga. One researcher stated, “Most [LSD cults]…share an interest in various forms of Eastern mysticism, especially Yoga and Zen Buddhism, and interpret the LSD experience as a confirmation of Eastern metaphysics.”61(p319) In an ar- ticle on “deviant behavior,” researchers Clark and Tifft list Yoga, along with alcohol and drugs, as a method of inducing indifference and lack of interest in society.62 Yoga as Recovery of Wholeness By the 1970s, the association of Yoga with sexuality influenced both academics and popular culture. Academic work addressed topics ranging from male sexuality63-66 and the vibrant nature of female energy known as sakti67 to eth- nographies of female saints.68 Embracing sexuality was seen as part of the recovery of our wholeness, and Yoga was a part of this process.69-71 Poet Allen Ginsberg expressed this idea: “It’s an important human experience to relate to your- self and others as a hunk of meat sometimes. That’s one way of losing ego, one holy divine Yoga of losing ego: getting involved in an orgy and being reduced to an anonymous piece of meat, coming and recognizing your own orgiastic anonymity.” 72(p397) Ginsberg’s association of Yoga with a divine, anonymous orgy is an odd juxtaposition of ideas that seems to associate sexual gratification with liberation. Perhaps it more correct to view Yoga in the 1970s as part of a multifaceted package designed to open the doors of perception. The academic literature of the 1970s explored the idea of personal liberation in other ways. There was an academic interest in focusing on Yogis who had found inner freedom despite external systems of oppression, including Sai Baba,73 Muktananada,74 Anandamayi Ma,68 and Sri Aurobindo.75-77 The Yogic concept of the untouched pure spiritual aspect of humanity, or atman, was taken up as a subject with re- newed vigor.29,30 The idea that Yoga might somehow lead us to a more perfect sense of Self was explored. By the end of the 1970s, the focus on the freedom of the Self was trans- formed into what might better be called “self-improvement.” Yoga was positioned as a complement to Western forms of psychology,76,78 a tool to assist in psychological release,79 and a way to stimulate creativity.80 Linking the Past with the Present The image of Yoga as a practical discipline for greater health and vitality gradually led to scholars turning their at- tention to Yoga’s relationship with the body in the 1990s.81-84 This interest has evolved into the current focus on the medi- cal and psychological benefits of Yoga. Courses on Yoga are offered to psychology, nursing, and medical students. Yoga is increasingly viewed as practical, and seems to be increasing- ly spoken of in medical terms. Although this approach has its costs, there are specific benefits to viewing Yoga through the biomedical lens. Yoga’s link with medical benefits solves a whole host of issues that have plagued Yoga’s reputation in America since the early 1800s. No longer does the Yoga practitioner need to concern him- or herself with issues of religious fidelity, occultism, magic, or association with drugs and sex. While these associations may be unique to the his- tory of Yoga in America, they are real concerns that color the way Yoga is viewed. The biomedical approach to Yoga helps cut through these concerns, making Yoga accessible to a wide range of individuals throughout America. A biomedical approach builds on the idea of Yoga as practical, but it does something else: it lends a marginalized practice authenticity and authority. The medical model is America’s gatekeeper. It has sanctioned our culture’s use of practices that emerge from East Indian mystical traditions. It is relatively easy for Americans to understand that a seated forward bend, paschimottânâsana, balances the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system. It is substantially more difficult to understand that naddhi suddhi balances ida and pingala nadi. Both descriptions are jargon-laden, but the latter challenges our identity in both subtle and overt ways. Sanskrit terms are not only unfamiliar; they also INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF YOGA THERAPY – No. 17 (2007) 41 ask us to understand Yoga’s subtle anatomy which challeng- es fundamental and agreed-upon American conceptions of the body. One of the gifts of studying Yoga is that it gives voice to the subtle aspects of the human experience. I am not deny- ing that many of these subtle aspects cannot be conveyed through biomedical language. However, I am introducing the possibility that Yoga can be as challenging to issues of identity and religious fidelity today as it was in the 1800s. Viewing Yoga as a practical adjunct to our physical well- being appears to be a method of dealing with the complex issues of religious and cultural pluralism that arise when a largely Judeo-Christian culture adopts East Indian practices associated with Hinduism. Whether or not we agree with reframing Yoga in bio- medical language is, practically speaking, irrelevant. It is happening. Accepting Yoga as a practical discipline with specific medical benefits has been a long road. Was it the academic focus on mysticism and the exotic that inspired a return to viewing Yoga as practical? Or was it the popular- ized versions of Yoga as practical that were disseminated by East Indian practitioners of Yoga themselves? This article has reviewed some of the important ways the interplay between academic and popular conceptions of Yoga have gotten us to our current destination. We need to acknowledge how different perspectives contribute to a deeper understanding of Yoga in America. Without these many voices, Yoga’s multifaceted nature may be lost to those who are seeking greater wholeness. Yoga is simply too complex to be dealt with using the knowledge and methodology of a single discipline. A discipline that places more emphasis on quantitative “rigor” in research may offer insight into how Yoga works, but an approach that emphasizes the philosophical or ethical dimensions of Yoga may offer important insights into the human condi- tion. Dialogue between these approaches can remedy the intellectually isolating effects of excessive specialization. How Yoga teachers and therapists approach issues of identity, authenticity, and authority is significant. We are in a unique position to craft new ways of speaking across differences. We must ask: Are we ready to communicate across disciplines? For that matter, are we ready to critically engage with scholars of other faiths, and people of diverse traditions? What will it take to find a truly cross-cultural environment in which intense intellectual debate and the evolving Yoga tradition are nourished? These are the ques- tions that Yoga therapy’s presence in America asks. These are not new questions; they have been with us since the 1800s. We may, however, have new answers. References 1. Wilkins C. The Bhagvat-Geeta (1785; reprint, Scholars’ Facsimiles and Reprints, 1959). 2. Hall F, Jones W. Thirteen unedited letters from Sir William Jones to Mr. (afterwards Sir) Charles Wilkins. Journal of the American Oriental Society. 1872;10:110-117. 3. Powell LF. Sir William Jones and the Club. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. 1946;11(4):818-822. 4. Bloomfield M. [Untitled]. The American Historical Review. 1899; 5(2):347-349. 5.. Address to the Royal Geographical Society of London. Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of London. 1838;8:xxxvii-lxi. 6. Riepe D. Emerson and Indian philosophy. 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Clark JP, Tifft LL. Polygraph and interview validation of self-reported deviant behavior. American Sociological Review. 1966;31(4):516-523. 63. O’Flaherty WD. Asceticism and sexuality in the mythology of Siva. Part 1. History of Religions. 1969;8(4):300-337. 64. Zigmund-Cerbu A. The Sadangayoga. History of Religions. 1963;3(1):128-134. 65. O’Flaherty WD. Asceticism and sexuality in the mythology of Siva. Part 2. History of Religions. 1969;9(1):1-41. 66. Rexroth K, Pondrom CN. An interview with Kenneth Rexroth. Contemporary Literature. 1969;10(3):313-331. 67. Deutsch ES. Sakti in medieval Hindu sculpture. Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism. 1965;24(1):81-89. 68. Lipski A. Some aspects of the life and teachings of the East Bengal Saint Anandamayi Ma. History of Religions. 1969;9(1):59-77. 69. Pearce RH. Theory as ideology; or, the perils of pluralism. Pacific Coast Philology. 1979;14:59-67. 70. Schiff M. Neo-transcendentalism in the new left counter-culture: a vision of the future looking back. Comparative Studies in Society and History. 1973;15(2):130-142. 71. Spates JL. Counterculture and dominant culture values: a cross-na- tional analysis of the underground press and dominant culture magazines. American Sociological Review. 1976;41(5):868-883. 72. Ginsberg A. Gay sunshine interview. College English. 1974;36(3):392- 400. 73. White CSJ. The Sai Baba movement: approaches to the study of India saints. Journal of Asian Studies. 1972;31(4):863-878. 74. White CSJ. Swami Muktananda and the enlightenment through sakti-pat. History of Religions. 1974;13(4):306-322. 75. McDermott RA. The experiential basis of Sri Aurobindo’s integral yoga. Philosophy East and West. 1972;22(1):15-23. 76. Chaudhuri H. The philosophy and yoga of Sri Aurobindo. Philosophy East and West. 1972;22(1):5-14. 77. Johnson DL. The task of relevance: Aurobindo’s synthesis of religion and politics. Philosophy East and West. 1973;23(4):507-515. 78. Coward H. Mysticism in the analytical psychology of Carl Jung and the yoga psychology of Patanjali: a comparative study. Philosophy East and West. 1979;29(3):323-336. 79. Upadhya O. On making drawings while practising Rajneesh’s Dhyana yoga. Leonardo. 1976;9(4):308-310. 80. Wegner WH. The creative circle: Stanislavski and yoga. Educational Theatre Journal. 1976;28(1):85-89. 81. Alter JS. The “sannyasi” and the Indian wrestler: the anatomy of a relationship. American Ethnologist. 1992;19(2):317-336. 82. White DG. The Alchemical Body: Siddha Tradition in Medieval India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press;1996. 83. Rani NJ, Rao PVK. Body awareness and yoga training. Perceptual & Motor Skills. 1994;79(3):1103. 84. Morris K. Meditating on yogic science. Lancet. 1998; 351(9108):1038. Direct correspondence to Laura Douglass at Laura Douglass at sevika@ yogapsychology.org.” 
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work_uvfyf5fkrbf75eekutvwjaowcm	----	Gun Violence and the Meaning of American Schools 371 GUN VIOLENCE AND THE MEANING OF AMERICAN SCHOOLS Bryan R. Warnick Department of Educational Studies The Ohio State University Sang Hyun Kim Department of Education Chosun University Shannon Robinson Department of Educational Studies The Ohio State University Abstract. In the United States, targeted school shootings have become a distinct genre of violence. In this essay, Bryan Warnick, Sang Hyun Kim, and Shannon Robinson examine the social meanings that exist in American society that might contribute to this phenomenon, focusing on the question: “Why are schools conceptualized as appropriate places to enact this form of gun violence?” The authors analyze the social meaning of American schooling by using empirical data, everyday observations, films, and poetry, and then connect these points of meaning to stories of individual school shooters. Through this analysis, three aspects of school stand out. First, schools are places of both real and symbolic violence, where force and power often rule the day. Second, schools are places connected to expectations of hope and refuge, friendship and romance, and when these expectations are not met, bitter resentment flows against schools. Third, suburban schools are seen as places of expressive individualism, which, in rare cases, is manifest in terms of “expressive violence.” Together, these points of meaning can make schools, for some youth, seem like appropriate places to express violent intentions. The essay concludes by speculating about how this analysis can be applied to prevent school shootings. On February 27, 2012, seventeen-year-old Thomas “T. J.” Lane entered Chardon High School in Chardon, Ohio, with a Ruger MK III .22 caliber handgun. He fired ten shots at a group of students sitting at a cafeteria table, killing three students. T. J. has never explained why he took a gun to the lunchroom that day. He has never explained why the idea of perpetrating violence in a school intrigued him and tempted him. Whatever the reason, this incident was one of the latest episodes in the tragic history of “targeted school shootings.” These are shootings “where the school was deliberately selected as the location for the attack and was not simply a random site of opportunity.”1 These shootings involve a student or former student as the shooter, with the target being current students or teach- ers. Examples include the shootings at West Paducah, Kentucky (1997); Jonesboro, Arkansas (1998); Springfield, Oregon (1998); Littleton, Colorado (1999); Red Lake, 1. Bryan Vossekuil, Robert A. Fein, Marisa Reddy, Randy Borum, and William Modzeleski, The Final Report and Findings of the Safe School Initiative: Implications for the Prevention of School Attacks in the United States (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 2002), 9. EDUCATIONAL THEORY Volume 65 Number 4 2015 © 2015 Board of Trustees University of Illinois 372 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 65 Number 4 2015 Minnesota (2005); Blacksburg, Virginia (2007); Newtown, Connecticut (2012); and, more recently, Marysville, Washington (2014). In this article, we try to better understand the phenomenon of targeted school shootings. We approach this topic with some reluctance. The exaggeration of chaos and school violence is often a vehicle that detractors of public schools use to reinforce their claim that public education or progressive education has failed.2 For those of us that care about public education, it is wise not to exaggerate or overemphasize school shootings. In reality, overt violence has been declining steadily in schools since the 1990s3 (yet, as we will see, symbolic violence and forms of “microviolence” are another matter). Another reason for this reluctance has to do with our doubts about whether a philosophical response to this sort of suffering is appropriate. When the Sandy Hook school shootings occurred in 2012, we authors were all deeply saddened and troubled. Some of us had children who were six or seven years old, about the age of the children who had died. We felt the urge to “do something,” and we turned to philosophy of education because that is what we have been trained to do. But when kids have died — particularly when children have been killed by other children — the abstracting task of philosophy, the making of broad connections and abstract generalizations, seems to do violence to the individuality of each story. The only way we have found to partially alleviate the unease of approaching school shooting philosophically is to immerse ourselves in the tragic stories surrounding school shootings — to learn about, and remember, the individual narratives. As we read about these stories, we found it difficult to find many compelling generalizations. Most of the shooters were white males in rural or suburban 2. One commentator, for example, overemphasizing the presence of violence in schools, writes, “[t]his retrogression toward anarchy has occurred during the reign of ‘progressive’ education.” See Glenn Wolceshyn, “Socializing Students for Anarchy,” Los Angeles Times, February 17, 1997, http://articles.latimes.com/1997-02-18/local/me-29990_1_social-harmony. 3. Rachel Dinkes, Emily Forrest Cataldi, Grace Kena, and Katrina Baum, Indicators of School Crime and Safety: 2006 (Washington, DC: U.S. Departments of Education and Justice, 2006), 10. BRYAN R. WARNICK is Associate Professor of Philosophy of Education in the Department of Educational Studies at The Ohio State University, Ramseyer Hall, Building 090, 29 W. Woodruff Ave., Columbus, OH 43210; e-mail <warnick.11@osu.edu>. His primary areas of scholarship focus on questions related to ethical and political aspects of education, learning theory, and educational technology. SANG HYUN KIM is Assistant Professor of Philosophy of Education in the Department of Education at Chosun University, 309 Pilmun-daero, Dong-gu, Gwangju, Korea, 501 – 759; e-mail <utsdohko@chosun.ac.kr>. His primary areas of scholarship are ethics and education, the history of American educational ideas, and authority and freedom in education. SHANNON ROBINSON is a Doctoral Student in Philosophy of Education in the Department of Educational Studies at The Ohio State University, Ramseyer Hall, 29 W. Woodruff Ave., Columbus, OH 43210; e-mail <robinson.1837@buckeyemail.osu.edu>. Her primary interests are social justice, liberal education, ethics, and educational policy. Warnick, Kim, and Robinson Gun Violence and the Meaning of American Schools 373 contexts, and most were socially troubled in some way. Beyond that, what impressed us at first was how little the perpetrators seemed to have in common. Some of them were bullied, whereas others were bullies. Some came from obvi- ously dysfunctional homes, whereas others had seemingly very concerned and engaged parents. Some had identifiable mental illness, whereas others had no such diagnosis. Some had particular quarrels with certain people within the school, whereas others wanted to make an expressive statement about who they were, not caring much about who they killed. Some of them seemed remorseful after the shooting, shaken by what they had done; others have spent their time in prison as quasi-celebrities, reveling in their fame and status. This lack of generalizations across the stories is sometimes even apparent within an individual story itself. For example, the state attorney’s report on the Sandy Hook shooting is a collection of inconsistent descriptions of the shooter, Adam Lanza. There is no clear vision of who he was, what he had experienced in his life, or why he did what he did. The report concludes: The obvious question … is: “Why did the shooter murder twenty-seven people, including twenty children?” Unfortunately, that question may never be answered conclusively, despite the collection of extensive background information on the shooter through a multitude of interviews and other sources. The evidence clearly shows that the shooter planned his actions, including the taking of his own life, but there is no clear indication why he did so, or why he targeted Sandy Hook Elementary School.4 The same thing could be said about the phenomenon of school shootings in general. The only factors that initially seem to draw these events together are (1) easy access to powerful firearms, and (2) a troubled student who interprets a school as an appropriate place to use them. We want to focus on the second question of interpretation: Why are schools interpreted as appropriate places for violence? One can imagine many venues in which such violence could be possible, many venues in which kids congregate, many venues in which a troubled youth could wreak the desired havoc. Why don’t we have a genre of violence targeting youth soccer games, for example, or shopping malls? It is true that students spend a lot of time in schools, but this by itself does not explain why schools are chosen to be places of violence. Our task is to try to explain why schools are specifically chosen for this particular genre of violence. To answer this question, the “exegetical question of school shootings,” we must investigate the meaning of American schooling. In what follows, we first explore how schools as institutions and spaces are understood and imagined in American society. We analyze the social “meaning” of school by using empirical data, everyday observations, films, and poetry. We explore both experiential 4. Stephen J. Sedensky III, Report of the State’s Attorney for the Judicial District of Dan- bury on the Shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School and 36 Yogananda Street, Newtown, Connecticut on December 14, 2012 (November 25, 2013), http://www.ct.gov/ csao/lib/csao/Sandy_Hook_Final_Report.pdf, from 3. 374 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 65 Number 4 2015 meanings (the ideas students construct about schools from their lived interaction with schools) as well as aspirational meanings (the ideas that exist in the larger culture about what schools should be). We then connect these meanings to the stories of individual school shooters. We argue that there are at least three possible points of meaning that contribute to schools being interpreted as places appropriate for violence. First, schools are places of both real and symbolic violence, where force and power often rule the day. Second, schools are places connected to our highest expectations of hope and refuge, friendship and romance, and when these expectations are not met, bitter resentment flows against schools. Third, suburban schools are seen as places of expressive individualism, which, in rare cases, is manifest in terms of “expressive violence” — violence meant to send a message about the identity of the shooter. Together, these points of meaning create a view of schools suggesting that schools are appropriate places to express violent emotions. Microaggression and Symbolic Violence The first answer to the exegetical question of school violence was proposed by Sam Rocha, Ben Johnson, and Bryan Warnick in a previous article in Educational Theory.5 There, it was speculated that schools are considered appropriate places for shootings because schools are, in some fundamental sense, already places filled with coercion and force. Bullying is an obvious example. The most recent survey from the National Center for Education Statistics, Indicators of School Crime and Safety, reports that 28 percent of twelve- to eighteen-year-old students indicated being bullied at school during the school year.6 The percentage seems to climb as the children get younger, with 37 percent of sixth graders indicating that they have been bullied at school. Twenty-three percent of schools reported that bullying occurs in their schools on a daily or weekly basis. The stories linking bullying to school shootings are well-known and need not be rehearsed here. Many school shooters did indeed face intense, humiliating, and heartbreaking bullying. It makes sense that students who are bullied perceive schools as a place of violence. It is not simply that students are bullied, however, and then become violently angry at their victimizers. The existence of bullying also changes how students interpret the meaning of the school environment. Even those that were not bullied themselves can see that bullying occurs, and this sends a message that schools are appropriate places for force and intimidation. There is more contributing to the interpretation of schools as places appropri- ate for violence. There are the omnipresent “microaggressions,” which are brief, everyday exchanges that (often unintentionally) send a message of dominance and 5. Bryan R. Warnick, Benjamin A. Johnson, and Samuel Rocha, “Tragedy and the Meaning of School Shootings,” Educational Theory 60, no. 3 (2010): 371 – 90. 6. National Center for Education Statistics, “Indicators of School Crime and Safety, 2013” (June 2014), retrieved from http://nces.ed.gov/programs/crimeindicators/crimeindicators2013/key.asp. Warnick, Kim, and Robinson Gun Violence and the Meaning of American Schools 375 denigration.7 Microaggression often occurs as teachers and educators use shame and humiliation in the classroom. Paul Zimmer addresses this type of violence in his poem, “Zimmer’s Head Thudding against the Blackboard,” where basketball is used as a metaphor for the violence: At the blackboard I had missed Five number problems in a row, And was about to foul a sixth, When the old, exasperated nun Began to pound my head against My six mistakes. Zimmer begins to cry, whereupon he is then thrown back into his seat. At that point, he swears to be a poet one day and to “curse her yellow teeth with this [poem].”8 Experiences of intentional and unintentional humiliation, shame, and degradation are not uncommon in schools. Educators can exercise power against students in ways that send the message that schools are places dominated by the use of force. It is important to keep in mind not only the explicit acts of violence, or the humiliation and shame that they cause, but also the violence that can occur in the day-to-day practice of schools. Of course, force and coercion are present in many social contexts. Schools are unique, however, in that attendance in legally compulsory. Schools are also different from other contexts in terms of the overall amount and intensity of coercion. Students are forced to do examinations, test preparation, and classroom exercises. They are forced to sit in certain assigned seats, forced to speak or to remain silent, forced to run or to not run, forced to use the bathroom or to “hold it,” depending on the time. Coercion even extends beyond school hours as students are forced to do homework and out-of-class projects. Some trends in educational reform — for example, the increasingly strict surveillance and control advocated by some educational reformers — only serve to increase the presence of coercion. If we define violence as an exertion of force to change the environment, then schools are fundamentally places of violence.9 Looking back over the stories of school shootings, it is easy to find ample evidence that school-related coercion and control played a role in the lives of school shooters. Andrew Golden shot five people, partly as a reaction against the disciplining actions of his teachers. Peter Langman claims that “the primary 7. Usually, this term has been invoked in racial contexts, where a dominant culture sends messages of inferiority to a minority group. See Derald Wing Sue, Microaggressions in Everyday Life: Race, Gender, and Sexual Orientation (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley, 2010). 8. Paul Zimmer, “Zimmer’s Head Thudding against the Blackboard,” in Learning by Heart: Contempo- rary American Poetry about School, ed. Maggie Anderson and David Hassler (Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1999), 21. 9. In their contribution to this issue, “Sense, Nonsense, and Violence: Levinas and the Internal Logic of School Shootings,” Gabriel Keehn and Deron Boyles offer an additional way of thinking about how this violence is expressed in schools, where commercialism in schools reduces student relationships to relations of consumers and commodity. 376 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 65 Number 4 2015 motivation [Golden] had for the attack was his anger at teachers.”10 This seems odd because Golden was seen as a well-behaved student and rarely required disciplining,11 so the discipline he received must not have been out of the ordinary in frequency or intensity. But when Mitchell Johnson was asked why the two boys attacked the school, he replied, “Andrew was mad at a teacher. He was tired of their crap.”12 The “crap” of the teachers in this case seems to be nothing more than the day-to-day practice of schooling in which teachers exercise authority and control over students. Another possible example of the day-to-day use of force in education contribut- ing to a school shooting incident is the case of Virginia Tech shooter, Seung-Hui Cho. On April 16, 2007, Seung-Hui shot and killed thirty-two individuals, profes- sors, and students, and wounded twenty-five others. He was painfully shy, a loner who rarely talked. At fourteen, he was diagnosed with “selective mutism,” which is the consistent inability to speak in selected social situations, particularly school. Those who suffer from selective mutism often have a deep-seated fear of embarrass- ment. In high school, Seung-Hui was given an exemption from oral presentations as part of an individualized education program (IEP), and with this accommodation, he successfully earned his diploma. At Virginia Tech, however, he received no such accommodations. He was repeatedly placed in situations where he was forced to talk. The situation escalated during the fall of 2005 when he was enrolled in a cre- ative writing course taught by the renowned writer Nikki Giovanni. The report from the Virginia Tech Review Panel states: [Cho] wore reflector glasses and a hat pulled down to obscure his face. Dr. Giovanni reported to the panel that she would have to take time away from teaching at the beginning of each class to ask him to please take off his hat and please take off his glasses. She would have to stand beside his desk until he complied. … Cho also was uncooperative in presenting and changing the pieces that he wrote. He would read from his desk in a voice that could not be heard.13 This behavior, together with some violent writing, prompted Giovanni to demand that Seung-Hui be removed from her class, threatening to resign if he was not removed. Seung-Hui subsequently met with the chair of the English depart- ment and another faculty member, where he was asked to withdraw from the class and participate in personal tutoring. He interpreted this (correctly) as being “kicked out” of Giovanni’s class. He reluctantly agreed, but after the conversation, he “appeared to be crying.”14 In subsequent semesters, Seung-Hui had difficult 10. Peter F. Langman, Why Kids Kill: Inside the Minds of School Shooters (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 24. 11. Jonathan Fast, Ceremonial Violence: A Psychological Explanation of School Shootings (New York: Overlook Press, 2008), 43. 12. Ibid., 47. 13. Virginia Tech Review Panel, “Mass Shootings at Virginia Tech, April 16, 2007,” retrieved from http://cdm16064.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p266901coll4/id/904, 42. 14. Ibid., 44. Warnick, Kim, and Robinson Gun Violence and the Meaning of American Schools 377 encounters with other faculty members. The professors would demand that he remove his hat, that he speak up, and that he fully participate in discussions and group projects, or that he withdraw from their courses. Some faculty members reacted to his quiet personality with contempt, one of them claiming that his quietness was an attempt to manipulate his professors in order to get out of coursework.15 There are many examples, therefore, of Seung-Hui being forced to comply with the demands of those in power. He responded with his own show of force and many people were subsequently killed. It is important to point out that nothing that happened to him seems much different from what occurs in schools and universities every day, so it hardly counts as a criticism against the faculty of Virginia Tech. It is clear that educators at all levels have the ability to force students to speak, to demand that they remove hats and sunglasses, and to control what they say and when they say it (no disturbing poetry!). Whether they are a necessary evil of education or not, such commands send the message that schools are places dominated by the use of coercion and power. This sort of symbolic violence plays a role in investing the school with certain experiential meanings. Because schools are places of force, power, and imposition, they are places where displays of force and power are deemed to be natural and appropriate. Because schools are places of symbolic violence, they are places where real violence can seem to be a logical fit. Thwarted Expectations It is too simplistic, however, to say that schools are interpreted as places appropriate for violence because of the microaggressions and coercion that are experienced in them every day. There are not only these experiential meanings of schools, but also the aspirational meanings. We think the spell that schools sometimes cast over those contemplating violence has as much to do with the highest hopes and ideals we have for schools as it does with the flaws and shortcomings of actual schools. Schools are often experienced as places of force and coercion, to be sure, but they are also seen as places where students hope to find refuge, romance, and friendship. It is not just the disappointments of life that lead to violence, then, but the fact that those disappointments are framed against a backdrop of much higher ideals. This is a psychological experience that we are probably all familiar with: the pain of a letdown is intensified when expectations are high.16 Schools are, first of all, places that we hope are geared toward the protection and nurturing of children and young people. And, in fact, many students do find a sort of refuge in schools. They find friends and mentors, teachers, administrators, 15. Ibid., 50. 16. The idea of a thwarted expectation is also manifest in Jane O’Dea, “Media and Violence: Does McLuhan Provide a Connection?,” in this issue. O’Dea argues that consumer society promises power and attributes that it cannot deliver, which results in student rage. The question remains, though, of why this rage should be directed at the school. 378 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 65 Number 4 2015 and staff who care about them. Consider, for example, Naomi Nye’s poem, “Rain.” In this poem, a teacher contemplates her supposed failure, that the only thing a student remembered from his year in her classroom was that “somebody tutched [him] / on the sholder.” The teacher holds this up to the narrator of the poem as an example of her “wasted life” — this touch, after all, was all the third grader would remember! Looking at the words that the child had written, though, the narrator sees the letters as “houses in a landscape” that the child could “go inside” and “be safe,” in spite of the rain clouds gathering outside.17 In school, the student had found at least one place of compassion and friendship in the face of what the reader imagines is a rather bleak life outside of school. The touch of a caring adult had transformed the school into a type of sanctuary. Of course, not all schools provide these experiences, perhaps far fewer after the dehumanizing educational reform efforts of recent years. Yet, it remains the case that we want schools to be these places. This aspirational vision of schools as refuge creates an expectation: In schools you will find somebody who understands and cares. This is the hope that many bruised and battered children take with them to school. When this expectation is not met, however, what seems to follow is a deep sense of betrayal, a betrayal that turns to animus directed at the school community. School becomes an appropriate place for violence because it is the site of this betrayal of high expectations. The school promised refuge, it produced ostracism; it promised caring relationships, it produced cruelty; it promised the nurturing of individual potential, it produced stifling conformity. Consider the case of Scott Pennington, a seventeen-year-old who in 1993 killed his teacher and a janitor, and took his English class hostage for fifteen minutes. Pennington’s mother was psychotic, his father physically abusive and distant. Pennington was slow to develop physically and talked with a stutter. He was teased mercilessly at school for his skinny body, thick glasses, and strange haircut. He was once seriously beaten when he accidently bumped into a student in a hallway. As an apparent beacon of hope in the story, Pennington was befriended by a caring teacher, Mrs. McDavid, a woman with a reputation for her devotion to her students. She even gave Pennington her unlisted personal telephone number. Here was the teacher, we might have hoped, that would give this battered kid refuge. Mrs. McDavid, unfortunately, began to grow increasingly concerned about Scott’s tortuous writing and self-loathing, but she did not seek help. Pennington was later devastated when Mrs. McDavid later in the year gave him a “C” for his midterm grade, ruining, he thought, his chance for a college scholarship. He begged Mrs. McDavid to change his grade and she refused, sending Pennington into a downward spiral. Mrs. McDavid later became one of the two victims of Pennington’s rampage. In this case, at least, it seems to us that it wasn’t just the violence that Pennington endured from his peers; it was that he sensed hope and 17. Naomi Shihab Nye, “Rain,” in Learning by Heart, ed. Anderson and Hassler, 21. Warnick, Kim, and Robinson Gun Violence and the Meaning of American Schools 379 sanctuary in the school under the watchful eye of a caring teacher, and this hope was thwarted.18 Expectations can be thwarted by school systems that do not live up to the idea of being a refuge, where caring adults nurture students who are hurting. Schools also set expectations when it comes to peer relationships. They are seen as places to forge meaningful peer connections and friendships, and this expectation can often lead to bitter disappointment. The disappointment of being a social outcast is intensified because the school holds out the possibility of so much more. Schools not only promise friendship, but perhaps even more prominently, they are built up as places of heterosexual romance. Think of the portrayals of schools in American television shows and movies, where romance among students is central to the plot. Consider also that American schools implement many activities that are designed to pair up romantic couples: proms, dances, queens and kings. A central meaning of American schools is that they are places to find love. Reading the stories of shootings, there are many instances of male shooters who long for female companionship and then feel rejected. Schools hold this promise of romance in a way that shopping malls and soccer fields do not; therefore, schools become the site to express disappointment and bitterness. In their book Rampage: The Social Roots of School Shootings, Katherine Newman and her coauthors describe the factors contributing to the Westside Middle School shooting near Jonesboro, Arkansas. One of the shooters, Mitchell Johnson, was driven by social frustration, anger, and fear. For example, Mitchell was “cut from the basketball team, dumped by his girlfriend.”19 Mitchell and his partner, Andrew Golden (discussed previously), sensed that they had failed the school’s tests of masculinity and were therefore destined to be outsiders to the social life of their small town. In other words, they sensed that they had lost the “status tournament of adolescence.”20 The idea that schools were places of romance resonated with Mitchell. According to Langman, Mitchell “developed two obsessions: girls and gangs.”21 Mitchell did well with girls, but his standards were very high. He tended to take his relationships with girls too seriously for his age, even discussing marriage with them. Even though Mitchell later denied it, a student reported that Mitchell had said that he was going to shoot all the girls who had broken up with him. According to a friend of Mitchell’s victims, two of the victims were girls who refused to go out with him. And a third victim, Candace, had broken up with him.22 Because school held the promise of romance and peer connection, the school was caught up in the disappointment of thwarted love and 18. Pennington’s story can be found in Fast, Ceremonial Violence, 28 – 30. 19. Katherine S. Newman, Cybelle Fox, Wendy Roth, Jal Mehta, and David Harding, Rampage: The Social Roots of School Shootings (New York: Basic Books, 2004), 151. 20. Ibid., 271. 21. Langman, Why Kids Kill, 108. 22. Ibid., 110. 380 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 65 Number 4 2015 friendship, thereby becoming the appropriate place for violence. Newman and her coauthors write, “It is not coincidence that the boys used the school as the outlet for their anger. Schools are both the location of their social failures and the center of community life, not just for students but for everyone in [American] small towns.”23 Perhaps it is Columbine shooter Dylan Klebold who best exemplifies the explosive potential of thwarted expectations. Dylan seems to have clearly felt a sense of social isolation. He wrote in his journal that he must “go to school, be scared and nervous, hoping that people can accept me.”24 He often felt that his peers did not accept him, which led to increasing bitterness. Such feelings made Dylan feel, in the words of author David Cullen, “cut off from humanity,”25 as can be seen when Dylan writes in his journal, “My existence is shit” and “I don’t fit in here.”26 Dylan did not find the friends he wanted. The school offered hopes that people would “accept him” but then did not deliver. Dylan also bought into the idea that schools were places to forge romantic connections. Indeed, Langman claims that his journal reveals a desperate fear of rejection and an obsession with finding true love, an observation echoed by Cullen.27 Unfortunately, Dylan found success at this task of finding love in school to be elusive. He writes in his journal, “I don’t know why I do wrong with people (mainly women) — it’s like they are set out to hate and scare me,” and “I know I can never have them.”28 On April 20, 1999, Dylan saw his school as the appropriate place to show his disappointment with the thwarted social promises of schooling, killing twelve students and a teacher at Columbine High School. Schools as Stages for Individual Expression The last piece of the puzzle has to do with specifically middle-class expecta- tions for the role of the school. It surprises some people that many of these targeted shootings occur in otherwise peaceful rural or suburban environments. It is there- fore possible to refine the question we are exploring here: What is it about these schools that make them seem like acceptable places for violence? In a sociological analysis of Hollywood films about high school, Robert Bulman makes the argument that these films express the values of the suburban middle class.29 The middle class has the resources to access consumer entertainment on a mass scale. Hollywood therefore responds to, and perpetuates, the value structure 23. Newman et al., Rampage, 152. 24. Quoted in David Cullen, Columbine (New York: Twelve, 2009), 174. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid., 174 – 75. 27. Langman, Why Kids Kill, 52; and Cullen, Columbine, 174 – 75. 28. Langman, Why Kids Kill, 53. 29. Robert C. Bulman, Hollywood Goes to High School: Cinema, Schools, and American Culture (New York: Worth, 2005). Warnick, Kim, and Robinson Gun Violence and the Meaning of American Schools 381 of the middle class. Bulman notices that the value structure of the high school films he surveys often depends on the setting in which the film is placed. Films set in urban environments express a set of middle-class values that is different from films set in other environments. Urban school films champion what Bulman labels “utilitarian individualism,” the view that individuals can get ahead socially and economically if they work hard and play by the rules. In urban school films, the protagonists are middle-class teachers who descend on schools to impart middle-class values to wild urban youths. Examples of these films include Stand and Deliver and Blackboard Jungle.30 Suburban films, in contrast, display a different value structure. Suburban films focus almost exclusively on the students. These films tell stories of suburban youths seeking to find and express themselves in the face of stultifying school rules, oppressive parents, uncaring teachers, and rigid social cliques — think of The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, or, more recently, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.31 Instead of utilitarian individualism, you see championed the expressive individualism of Henry David Thoreau. High school is a journey about resisting social pressure and finding the “real you.” The search for expressive individualism amid peer conformity and school authority is how the middle class understands the high school experience. One key aspect of suburban high school films is how they engage with the notion of social cliques. The various groups in suburban high schools — jocks, nerds, preppies, druggies, and so forth — often play significant roles in advancing the suburban film narrative. A common narrative theme in suburban high school films is that of students coming to find, construct, or express their own identities by resisting these social groups, or by forming friendships across different groups. This sort of reaction against social cliques frequently seems to playa role in how the shooters understand themselves. In suburban films, the student protagonists react against cliques and conformity, asserting their individuality through breaking down social walls. This same pattern can be seen in many suburban school shootings, where the violence is seen as an act of defiant self-expression (often a specifically masculine type of self-expression) against social groupings. The shooter uses violence to assert his individuality against oppressive cliques, rules, or authority figures. As Jonathan Fast writes, “adopting an identity that justifies or even glamorizes extreme violence as a way of righting the wrongs a child has endured offers an ameliorative way of thinking about previous indignities, as well as providing hope for the future.”32 30. Stand and Deliver, directed by Ramón Menéndez (Warner Brothers, 1988), and Blackboard Jungle, directed by Richard Brooks (Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1955). 31. The Breakfast Club, directed by John Hughes (Universal, 1985), Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, directed by John Hughes (Paramount, 1986), and The Perks of Being a Wallflower, directed by Stephen Chbosky (Summit, 2012). 32. Fast, Ceremonial Violence, 152 (emphasis added). Fast’s language of “adopting” an identity is a useful corrective here. It is not necessarily the case that school shooters have access to a singular, authentic 382 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 65 Number 4 2015 There is an aspect of the shooter’s personality that Fast believes can best be expressed in terms of violence. And because schools act as stages for individual expression — that is, as sites on which students can claim a new personality — they are then interpreted as appropriate places to enact violence. School shootings operate as existential statements, asserting a self in the middle of suburban conformity. The violence as expressive individualism can be seen in the publicity efforts that some school shooters undertake prior to their actions. For example, the expressive elements are evident in the Columbine shooters production of their “basement tapes;” and with Seung-Hui Cho, who “paused during his shooting in order to FedEx a press kit with photos, a DVD, and a document explaining his motives, to NBC news.”33 These students wanted people to know who they were and why they were going to start shooting. One of the clearest examples of school violence serving as a stage for expressive individualism can be found in the case of Luke Woodham, who killed two students and wounded seven others on October 1, 1997. Luke was overweight, wore thick glasses, and was often teased. He would retreat into his room to read philosophy and write poetry. He believed himself to be a unique personality, writing in his journal that “no one would think like I did.”34 He fell in with a group of friends who were interested in violence and the occult, and who goaded him into committing increasingly serious crimes and acts of aggression, including the torture and murder of his family dog. On the day of his school shooting, he also beat and stabbed his mother, eventually suffocating her to death under a pillow. After her death, he left a sort of “manifesto” to the world. In it he describes his sense of being hated and ridiculed. He describes how his own identity had become constructed around hate: “I am the hate in every man’s heart.” This identity was about to be enacted on the expressive stage of the school. He urges his readers, “Live by your own rules. … Live your life in a bold new way. For you, dear friend, are a superman.” He continues, “I am not insane. I am angry. The world shit on me for the final time. I am not spoiled or lazy, for murder is not weak and slow-witted. Murder is gutsy and daring.”35 With the shooting, Luke became the gutsy and daring superman that he believed existed inside him but that no one else seemed to recognize. The school became the place where he would show the world who he really was, where he would be true to the identity that he believed was full of hate. In a school shooting at Heath High School in West Paducah, Kentucky, fourteen-year- old Michael Carneal killed three students and injured five more on inner identity, an identity that they then outwardly express through violence. It may be that the violence constructs an identity as much as exposes a preexisting identity. The school, though, remains a stage on which one constructs an identity as much as a venue for expressing an identity. 33. Fast, Ceremonial Violence, 19. 34. Ibid., 142. 35. Ibid., 156. Warnick, Kim, and Robinson Gun Violence and the Meaning of American Schools 383 December 1, 1997. Michael came from a family of highly successful people. His father was a high-profile lawyer, his mother was a stay-at-home mom with some post-graduate education, and his sister was valedictorian of her high school class and popular among her peers.36 Michael was much less successful in his social journey than the rest of his family. In Michael’s story, we see interaction with multiple school groups as he attempts to find his place on the social ladder. He tried hard to fit in with a fringe group (the Goths) by giving them stolen goods and by bringing a gun to school. However, the group never did embrace him.37 Although he was teased sometimes at school for his strange antics, it seems that he did not shoot the people who made fun of him, but rather the people he envied. He targeted the socially and academically successful students, later acknowledging that he “envied the popularity of the students in the prayer group whom he shot.”38 Afterward, he described his reaction to the shooting, speaking of it as an expressive project: “I was feeling proud, strong, good, and more respected. I had accomplished something. I’m not the kind of kid who accomplishes anything. This is the only adventure I’ve ever had.”39 Newman and her coauthors conclude, “In his mind, [the shooting] refuted the claims that he was weak or gay and provided definitive evidence that he could be every bit the man to the kids who had thrown him into lockers. As Michael put it, ‘I thought maybe they would be scared and then no one would mess with Michael.’”40 Violence as an act of expressive individualism can also be seen in the Columbine shooters, where we see a fixation on social cliques and groups. Lang- man reports that, in his journals, Dylan Klebold did not complain about harassment or bullying, but expressed hostility toward the popular students because of their status. He wrote, “I see jocks having fun, friends, women, ALIVE,” and “I hated the happiness that they [jocks] have”; he also noted that “others’ achievements are tormentations.”41 During the shooting, Dylan and Eric Harris were said to target the “white hats,” or jocks (even though it seems no jocks were actually killed). Thus, in the Columbine shootings, we see the attempt to break free from social cliques and from suburban conformity that is characteristic of expressive individualism. We also clearly see the idea that the violence was an attempt at self-expression. Eric and Dylan carefully prepared hours of videotape, explaining to the world why they had done what they had done, reveling in their preparations. In the basement tapes, there is much discussion of the legacy they wanted to leave through their violence. They “assure each other that their murderous rampage will 36. Newman et al., Rampage, 22. 37. Ibid., 29 – 32. 38. Langman, Why Kids Kill, 150. 39. Quoted in Newman et al., Rampage, 6. 40. Ibid., 152. 41. Langman, Why Kids Kill, 53 – 54. 384 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 65 Number 4 2015 endure in the daydreams and nightmares of the public,” and they talk about “being ghosts who haunt the survivors.”42 They discuss their actions as moving them to a higher level of existence, their lives becoming “art,” their killings a “masterpiece.” Sociologist Ralph Larkin writes: [Eric Harris] seemed to be enthralled by the notoriety that they would receive. This appeared to be his major concern when talking with a journalist in a chat room about the Oklahoma City bombings. In the basement tapes, Klebold noted that people would take notice at the time and date of the videotapes they were making. He also considered what movie director could best be trusted with the script of their story; Quentin Tarantino topped their list. They also wanted the story to have a lot of “dramatic irony.”43 The Columbine shooters’ concern with individual expression is best exempli- fied by Eric, who was particularly bothered by the idea that his life, and his carnage, would be deemed “unoriginal.”44 Thus, he tried to distance what he had done from the actions of other school shooters who had preceded him: “Do not think,” he says, “we’re trying to copy anyone.”45 Columbine was to be his statement. Eric’s journals are filled with reflections about a part of himself buried deep inside that could only be expressed in terms of violence and dominance. He wrote, “My belief is that if I say something, it goes. I am the law, if you don’t like it, you die.”46 But, as Langman points out, Eric knew that his peers did not perceive him as “the law.” His position would have to be asserted by killing those who did not recognize his superiority, including boys who teased him and girls who rejected him. Eric wanted not only the school to know, but also the whole world to know, the true self that was inside. As he wrote in his journal, “HATE! I’m full of hate and I love it. … Yes I hate and I guess I want others to know it.”47 Because suburban schools are deemed places of self-expression, the school became the place were Eric expressed the hate he found within himself. Conclusion We have groped our way here toward an admittedly speculative response to the exegetical question of school shootings. We have analyzed the cultural meanings of American schools, using empirical data, everyday observations, films, and poetry, and we have tried to connect this analysis to the individual stories of school shooters. We conclude that schools are interpreted as places appropriate for violence because of the following three points of meaning: 42. Fast, Ceremonial Violence, 202. 43. Ralph W. Larkin, Comprehending Columbine (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2007), 194. 44. Langman, Why Kids Kill, 33. 45. Nancy Gibbs and Timothy Roche, “The Columbine Tapes,” Time Canada 154, no. 25 (1999): 24. 46. Quoted in Langman, Why Kids Kill, 142. 47. Quoted in Larkin, Comprehending Columbine, 135. Warnick, Kim, and Robinson Gun Violence and the Meaning of American Schools 385 1. Schools are already places of symbolic microaggression and coercion where force rules the day. Thus, they are places where the use of force seems natural and appropriate. 2. Schools are places where we invest hope in creating places of refuge, friendship, and romance. When these expectations are not met, resentment flows against schools. 3. Suburban schools are seen as places of “expressive individualism,” where students react against social cliques and find out who they really are. For students who see themselves as having a violent identity, schools become appropriate places to express this identity. Is there anything in this analysis that might provide guidance regarding how we can respond to school shootings? With respect to the first meaning involving the prevalence of force, this analysis suggests that we make schools more student-centered and less coercive. It suggests that the more tightly we try to control schools in order to make them safe, the less safe they may actually be. Metal detectors, video surveillance, and the like support the message that schools are places of domination and control, amplifying the very message that leads to violence. It may also be the case that certain educational reforms, such as intensive testing focused on externally imposed standards, send the messages of coercion and control as well, thereby contributing to the interpretation of violence. With respect to the second point of meaning, there are at least two options. First, schools could try to better live up to the expectations that are placed upon them. This would mean that schools redouble their efforts to become places of refuge where troubled students can find caring adults and form authentic human relationships. Many of the articles in this issue, in different ways, take this gentle approach to school violence, and it is a response we would also endorse. At the same time, though, if we redouble efforts to recreate schools as places of refuge, it might also serve to highlight and strengthen the very expectation that leads to bitterness and disappointment. For those students who do not find refuge in schools — and there will always be some, even with increased efforts — the distance between the now heightened expectation and their lived reality will be all the greater, perhaps contributing to increased rage directed toward the school. This suggests the second option, which would be to lower expectations for schools as places of refuge and relationships. It is difficult to contemplate what such an approach might mean, and we, at least, would be reluctant to give up the idea that schools should provide refuge and friendship. The strategy of lowering expectations makes most sense when it comes to expectations of romance. Is it really necessary, for example, for American schools to focus on pairing up heterosexual couples through dances, proms, royal courts, and so forth? Perhaps the best solution to thwarted expectations, therefore, would be one that takes a mixed approach: redoubling efforts to make schools more caring, while deemphasizing schools as places to find love. 386 E D U C A T I O N A L T H E O R Y Volume 65 Number 4 2015 Finally, with respect to the third point of meaning, the implications are even less clear. For one thing, we are not sure how to change the “cultural meaning” that American schools are stages for individual expression. For another, we are not entirely certain that we should want to try. After all, should we stop thinking of schools in terms of Thoreauvian ideals, where students can find and express their true thoughts and feelings? Perhaps, in the end, the solution is to multiply the avenues for self-expression in schools, giving students expressive tools that can be used in the place of gun violence. Allowing students many different types of opportunities and formats for speaking, writing, and creating might pull some troubled students back from the brink. 
work_uvv22r5rdjgexcujg4jknncekm	----	Microsoft Word - SR Numarul 1 2013.doc Topografii ale trecutului: structurarea şi restructurarea conştiinţei istorice româneşti prin manualele naţionale de istorie1 Mihai Stelian Rusu* Universitatea Babeş-Bolyai Abstract: Starting from the assumption that the social management of historical time is a powerful tool in the political definition of reality, this paper analyzes how the history of the Romanian people has been periodized through the course of time. The central argument states that the partitioning system used to periodize the past harbors a hidden agenda, or a particular ideological „implicature”, that can be brought to light by analyzing the temporal watersheds selected as defining moments in the history of that community. The paper analyzes the social logic of periodization operating within the Romania national history textbooks, revealing how socio-political conditions determine the temporal structuring of the past. Moreover, it shows how social change, and especially the change of the socio-political regime, leads to a revertebration of the past’s symbolic backbone. Dramatic social and political change results in reconfiguring the formal structure of the collective consciousness concerning the past, within which specific events of Romanian history acquire their meaning. In conclusion, the study shows that, although resorting to a system of periodization is indeed a cognitive prerequisite for understanding the past, the reality of the past does not come with an already-there articular structure, so that „carving the (past’s) reality at its joints”, as Plato put it, is not a possibility. Keywords: collective memory, periodization of history, Romanian history, sociology of memory, politics of memory. Cuvinte-cheie: memorie colectivă, periodizarea istoriei, istoria României, sociologia memoriei, politicile memoriei. Introducere Instabilitatea notorie a memoriei ofi- ciale pe termen lung este surprinsă magis- tral în gluma care circula clandestin în so- cietatea sovietică, potrivit căreia „nimic nu este mai impredictibil decât trecutul Rusiei” (Wertsch, 2004, 77). Construcţia şi destrucţia trecutului în funcţie de impera- tivele politice ale zilei sunt limpede detec- tabile în modificările, extirpările şi adău- girile efectuate în rescrierea succesivă a Marii Enciclopedii Sovietice, depozitara cunoaşterii oficiale a U.R.S.S. Trecutul, de- parte de a fi un simplu domeniu de studiu rezervat profesioniştilor, este un amplu re- zervor de resurse simbolice şi sursă a auto- rităţii politice. Tocmai de aceea, organi- zarea şi structurarea trecutului este o opera- ţiune decisivă a programului mult mai * Universitatea Babeş-Bolyai, Facultatea de Sociologie şi Asistenţă Socială, B-dul 21 Dec. 1989 Nr. 128, Cluj-Napoca 400604. E-mail: mihai.rusu@ubbcluj.ro; rusumihaistelian@yahoo.com. Sociologie Românească, volumul XI, Nr. 1, 2013, pp. 84-102 85 cuprinzător de „management politic al realităţii” (Howard, 1986, 25) prin care ordinea socială este menţinută şi conso- lidată. Controlul social al trecutului se dovedeşte a fi, aşadar, hotărâtor în legi- timarea prezentului. Cunoaşterea modului în care trecutul este transformat în armătura simbolică a ordinii sociale prezente des- chide calea înspre înţelegerea a ceea ce Talcott Parsons (1951, 23) a considerat a fi nodul gordian al teoriei sociale: „problema hobbesiană a ordinii” (cum este ordinea socială posibilă?). Articolul de faţă încearcă să completeze tabloul studiilor dedicate constituirii conşti- inţei istorice româneşti existente în lite- ratura de specialitate, analize care în marea lor majoritate sunt orientate tematic şi fo- calizate pe evenimente specifice. În schimb, prezentul studiu propune o abor- dare structuralistă, focalizată pe identi- ficarea logicii sociale a periodizării folo- site în structurarea trecutului românesc, din care vor fi degajate şi analizate implicaţiile ideologice ale acesteia. Istoriografia româ- nească nu a codificat trecutul naţional într- un echivalent autohton al Marii Enci- clopedii Sovietice, ale cărei ediţii succesive să ilustreze registrul schimbărilor dictate din necesităţi de ordin politic. Totuşi, ma- nualele şcolare de istorie naţională stau mărturie a gradului în care fiecare regim socio-politic a colonizat trecutul punându-l în slujba agendei politice a timpului. Stu- diul de faţă realizează o analiză de conţinut asupra unui eşantion de manuale şcolare de istorie, urmărind modul în care conştiinţa istorică românească a fost structurată, destructurată şi restructurată în ultimul secol şi jumătate. În prima parte a lucrării este desfăşurat cadrul teoretic care ghidează analiza, insistându-se asupra funcţiei ideo- logice a cunoaşterii istorice de „semnificare socială a timpului” (Zamfir, 2005, 236) prin periodizarea trecutului. Aceasta este urmată de analiza de conţinut, în care sunt cercetate în ordine cronologică sistemele de periodizare care, succesiv, au configurat şi reconfigurat conştiinţa istorică românească. Studiul contrastează diferenţele în struc- turarea trecutului survenite în istoriografia românească, începând cu Şcoala Latinistă, trecând prin concepţia critică a istorio- grafiei interbelice, apoi prin faza anti-naţio- nalistă a primei perioade comuniste, meta- morfozată ulterior într-una naţional-comu- nistă, analiza sfârşind cu modificările aduse de perioada postcomunistă. Rezultatele stu- diului coroborează asumpţiile teoretice, ilustrând cum conjunctura socio-politică determină restructurarea majoră a trecu- tului. Astfel, cunoscând condiţiile politice, trecutul îşi pierde din proverbiala lui impredictibilitate. Poetica ştiinţei sociale. Metafora ca dispozitiv euristic Metafora, ca specie a analogiei, este responsabilă de producerea unora dintre cele mai spectaculoase efecte poetice. Construcţiile estetico-literare sunt, în mare parte, dependente de metaforizare pentru livrarea mesajului şi captarea interesului publicului cititor. Însă metaforizarea nu este proprietatea exclusivă a operelor lite- rare. La rândul lor, ştiinţele sociale capi- talizează conceptual metafore şi analogii, utilizând aceste procedee literare nu ca fi- guri de stil cu efecte estetice, ci ca dispo- zitive euristice cu efecte epistemice. Fai- moase sunt „mâna invizibilă” a pieţei pentru a cărei „mână liberă” a militat atât de ardent Adam Smith, „cuşca de fier” a birocraţiei despre care a avertizat Max Weber, sau „viaţa ca scenă” prin care Erving Goffman a teatralizat metaforic so- cietatea. Dincolo de efectul incontestabil stilistic al acestor sintagme, marele lor me- rit rezidă în faptul că reuşesc să ilumineze înţelegerea unor fenomene de o înaltă complexitate printr-o parcimonie extremă de cuvinte. Introducerea unor astfel de for- mule metaforice în discursul ştiinţific este 86 Mihai Stelian Rusu, Topografii ale trecutului... justificată nu doar pe criterii estetice, ci mai ales prin prisma faptului că reprezintă instrumente conceptuale utile în facilitarea înţelegerii unor aspecte complicate ale rea- lităţii sociale prin raportarea lor analogică la aspecte familiare. Metaforele concep- tuale, spre deosebire de metaforele stilis- tice, îşi justifică existenţa nu pe criterii estetice, ci ca unelte analitice mobilizate în scopul teoretizării realităţii socioumane. Istoria, ca demers ştiinţific de cunoaş- tere a trecutului (historia rerum gestarum), a făcut şi ea obiectul unor analogii intere- sante, unele dintre cele mai sugestive fiind de ordin geodezic. John L. Gaddis (2002), de pildă, vorbeşte despre istorie ca metodă de „cartografiere a trecutului”. Recursul la metafore de inspiraţie geodezică are o înde- lungată tradiţie şi în sociologia memoriei. În fapt, însăşi primul studiu dedicat me- moriei colective, semnat de Maurice Halbwachs (1992) în 1941, s-a numit La topographie légendaire des Evangiles en Terre sainte. Etude de mémoire collective. Titluri de monografii precum The Topography of Remembrance (Jonker, 1995) sau A Topography of Memory (Engelhardt, 2002) semnalează tentaţia metaforică de a conceptualiza memoria co- lectivă ca spaţiu simbolic ce poate fi carto- grafiat sociologic. Paşii cei mai hotărâţi în sensul concretizării metaforei geodezice într-un cadru analitic coerent au fost făcuţi de Eviatar Zerubavel (1997, 1) în cartea sa intitulată Time Maps: Collective Memory and the Social Shape of the Past, în care sunt aşezate fundamentele teoretice pentru realizarea a ceea ce autorul numeşte a fi o „topografie socio-mentală a trecutului”. Obiectivul acestui program epistemic rezidă în determinarea tiparelor structurale potrivit cărora trecutul istoric este înre- gistrat, clasificat şi organizat în conştiinţa colectivă a colectivităţilor sociale. Topo- grafierea sociologică a trecutului presupune identificarea „structurilor socio-mnemonice convenţionale” (Zerubavel, 1997, 14) care funcţionează ca principii organizatoare ale memoriei colective. Lucrarea de faţă, situându-se în pre- lungirea acestui fir al tradiţiei sociologice, analizează modul în care memoria istorică românească a fost topografiată în manua- lele de istorie naţională. Asumpţia de fun- dal pe care se bazează demersul nostru ana- litic este că modul în care trecutul colectiv este periodizat, precum şi evoluţia în timp a cadrajelor temporale, are consecinţe socio- politice de prim ordin: periodizarea trecu- tului, prin stabilirea de praguri temporale de maximă încărcătură simbolică în des- făşurarea timpului istoric, reflectă valorile, idealurile şi aspiraţiile regimului curent. Trecutul, secvenţionat în deplină conso- nanţă cu imperativele agendei politice con- temporane, este astfel instrumentalizat pen- tru a consolida ordinea socială consacrată. Topografia structurală a tre- cutului: consideraţii teoretice asupra periodizării istoriei Periodizarea timpului istoric, i.e. seg- mentarea fluxului continuu al istoriei în epoci distincte prin introducerea unor borne temporale separatoare, poate fi înţeleasă ca o formă de categorizare. Ca proces cog- nitiv, categorizarea constă în decuparea mentală a realităţii în entităţi distincte şi ordonarea entităţilor rezultante în clase de obiecte similare. Categorizarea cognitivă este o operaţiune atât de bazală în funcţio- narea minţii, încât pentru unii cognitivişti devine foarte tentantă echivalarea cogniţiei cu categorizarea. Stevan Harnad (2005, 19), spre exemplu, o spune sentenţios: „A cunoaşte înseamnă a categoriza: cogniţia este categorizare”. Chiar dacă o astfel de reducţie este neîndoielnic exagerată, cu greu poate fi minimalizat rolul categorizării în procesul gândirii. Categorizarea rămâne cu certitudine o necesitate cognitivă fără de care lumea nu ar putea fi înţeleasă. Ca Sociologie Românească, volumul XI, Nr. 1, 2013, pp. 84-102 87 specie a categorizării, periodizarea timpului istoric este la fel de necesară pentru înţe- legerea trecutului: „gândirea umană nu se poate abţine de la a divide procesul istoric în perioade delimitate” (Gurevich citat de Grinin, 2007, 76). Dacă periodizarea este o formă specifică de categorizare aplicată cunoaşterii istorice, atunci aceasta moşteneşte întregul pachet de dificultăţi filosofice asociate procesului de catego- rizare. Printre acestea, cea mai formidabilă problemă rămâne cea a gradului de cores- pondenţă dintre categorii şi realitate. Filo- sofului Wilfrid Sellars (1997) [1956] îi revine meritul de a fi elaborat ceea ce a numit „mitul datului” (the myth of the given), prin care a atacat concepţia potrivit căreia sistemul de categorii în care ne orga- nizăm cunoaşterea realităţii ar corespunde felului în care este organizată realitatea per se. Realitatea nu se imprimă asupra cog- niţiei, ci cogniţia este cea care impune o structură asupra realităţii. Ca atare, reali- tatea nu este „dată” minţii. Asupra aceluiaşi punct a insistat William James (1907) cu jumătate de secol în urmă, când sublinia faptul că realitatea nu este niciodată oglin- dită în conştiinţă fără ca imaginile reflec- tate să nu fie colorate de interese, aspiraţii sau dorinţe. James afirmă că „realitatea «independentă» de gândirea umană pare a fi un lucru foarte greu de găsit. […] am putea spune că oriunde o găsim, a fost deja falsificată” (James, 1907, 248-249; subl. în original). Ca urmare, „dâra şarpelui uman este peste tot” (James, 1907, 64). Argumentaţia poate fi expandată pentru a acoperi şi categorizarea timpului istoric. Trecutul nu vine gata secţionat. Nicio periodizare nu este naturală. „Dâra şarpelui uman”, pe care William James o reperează pretutindeni, este cu siguranţă cu atât mai prezentă în organizarea trecutului istoric. Doar că în periodizarea timpului, mult mai proeminente sunt „dârele socio-politice” lăsate în urmă de acţiunea intereselor poli- tice şi a crezurilor culturale prevalente într- o anumită comunitate la un moment dat. Schema formală înăuntrul căreia este intro- dusă desfăşurarea substantivală a istoriei este eminamente determinată de acestea înainte de orice alte considerente. Pentru Henry David Thoreau (1878, 106), „timpul nu este decât cursul de apă în care obişnuiesc să pescuiesc”. Spre deo- sebire de gânditorul american, istoricii nu se mulţumesc doar să arunce plasele lor intelectuale în râul istoriei, ci resimt nevoia de a-i controla curgerea, introducându-l în canale, modificându-i matca, sau chiar regularizându-l prin construcţia de baraje. Fluxul natural, neîntrerupt al istoriei este amenajat prin munca regulatoare a istori- cilor într-o succesiune artificială de ecluze, fiecare dintre acestea desemnând o „epocă” avându-şi propriile particularităţi, denumire şi localizare pe axa liniară a timpului isto- ric. Trusa de scule aflată la dispoziţia isto- ricului conţine o paletă largă de sisteme de periodizare, putând fractura linia continuă a trecutului în funcţie de mai multe criterii. Periodizarea marxistă, pe baza modului de producţie, este o manieră de partiţionare a trecutului care continuă să aibă trecere în rândul istoricilor. O altă posibilitate este structurarea evenimenţială a trecutului, punctele de cotitură ale istoriei cel mai adesea invocate fiind triada momentelor apocaliptice ale istoriei europene reprezen- tate de prăbuşirea Imperiului roman (476 e.n.), căderea Constantinopolului (1453) şi răsturnarea „l’Ancient Régime” prin Revo- luţia franceză (1789). Ce trebuie subliniat este că fiecare tipar de structurare a tre- cutului are o anumită „implicatură” (Grice, 1975, 43) semantico-ideologică. Niciun registru de categorizare a trecutului nu este neutru sau obiectiv, fiecare având propriul său bagaj ideologic, a cărui implicatură rezidă în grilele de interpretare a istoriei pe care le furnizează. Conştiinţa societală a trecutului, crista- lizată în memoria colectivă a unei colec- tivităţi, presupune un principiu organizator, o structură de periodizare a temporalităţii. În lipsa unei astfel de structuri organiza- 88 Mihai Stelian Rusu, Topografii ale trecutului... torice, trecutul apare în conştiinţă (indivi- duală şi colectivă) ca o masă amorfă. Siste- mele de periodizare a trecutului sunt cele care îi conferă conştiinţei istorice eşafoda- jul de care are nevoie pentru a reuşi să dea sens trecutului. Ca mijloace de structurare a timpului istoric, sistemele de periodizare punctează momentele cheie, definitorii, a căror contribuţie este decisivă la evoluţia în decursul timpului a colectivităţii sociale. Consideraţii metodologice: manualul şcolar ca document social şi „textbook research” Unul dintre suporturile şi vehiculele cele mai eficiente ale memoriei colective este reprezentat de manualele şcolare de istorie naţională. Manualele de istorie, ca „documente ale consensului” societal (Fitzgerald, 1979, 20), constituie expresia textuală a memoriei colective oficializate, administrate şi perpetuate în cadrul comu- nităţii sociale. În calitate de document so- cial în conţinutul căruia se reflectă con- sensul valoric predominant al epocii în care a fost elaborat, manualul şcolar poate fi înţeles ca fiind „urma [textuală] lăsată de un fapt [interpretativ]” (Chelcea, 2001, 476). Premisa epistemică de la care pornim rezidă în ideea că înţelegerea modului de partiţionare a trecutului utilizat în manua- lele de istorie naţională este o poartă privi- legiată de acces către înţelegerea „topo- grafiei” structurale a conştiinţei istorice româneşti. Manualele de istorie naţională consti- tuie un gen narativ care prezintă toate sem- nalmentele unei „meta-povestiri” (Lyotard, 1993, 15). De regulă pătrunse adânc de spi- ritul naţionalist, manualele şcolare de isto- rie relatează o poveste grandioasă, pigmen- tată cu dramatism eroic, tragedii colective şi izbânzi înălţătoare, a marşului naţiunii prin vicisitudinile istoriei întru împlinirea destinului său prestabilit. Ca atare, nara- ţiunile naţiunii şi povestirea traseului în timp urmat de „sufletul românesc” înfruntat permanent de „teroarea istoriei” (Eliade, 1984) pot fi introduse în categoria mitoisto- riei. Însă aceste naraţiuni istorice semi- ficţionale, a căror funcţie decisivă nu este atât reprezentarea obiectivă a trecutului cât mai ales crearea solidarităţii sociale şi asi- gurarea loialităţii indivizilor faţă de „comu- nitatea terminală” a naţiunii (Emerson, 1960, 96), trebuie livrate auditoriului într-o formă schematizată. Hayden White (1973, 7) numeşte această operaţiune „emplot- ment”, prin care se referă la necesitatea de a introduce informaţia relatată într-o struc- tură narativă, astfel încât aceasta să bene- ficieze de o stare iniţială, o intrigă care să antreneze o desfăşurare a acţiunii, şi un deznodământ. Cel mai apropiat echivalent semantic pentru conceptul de „emplot- ment” pare a fi noţiunea de „regizare”; Lucian Boia (2011, 53), în schimb, preferă expresia „dramatizare”. În absenţa acestei schematizări, informaţia rămâne nestruc- turată şi lipsită de relevanţă emoţională, astfel încât scopul lor ultim, acela de a electriza sentimentele patrotice şi loialită- ţile faţă de statul-naţiune, rămâne neînde- plinit. Periodizarea istoriei este instru- mentul prin care se realizează acest „emplotment” la nivelul meta-povestirii istoriei naţionale. Introducând rupturi în continuitatea timpului istoric prin care sunt create „insule [omogene] de semnificaţie” istorică (Zerubavel, 1998, 318), periodi- zarea constituie scheletul structural al meta-naraţiunii istorice româneşti înăuntrul căruia evenimente particulare capătă sens prin raportare la întreg. Identificarea princi- piilor constitutive acestor sisteme de refe- rinţă temporală, în calitatea lor de surse de semnificare a evenimentelor trecutului, devine esenţială pentru înţelegerea modului în care o comunitate socială îşi adminis- trează propriul său trecut. Studiul recurge la ceea ce în literatura metodologică s-a fixat sub denumirea de „textbook research”. Ca ramură a metodei Sociologie Românească, volumul XI, Nr. 1, 2013, pp. 84-102 89 analizei de conţinut aplicată pe cercetarea manualelor şcolare, aceasta este tehnica prin care se realizează „inferenţe valide şi replicabile de la texte la contextele utilizării acestora” (Krippendorff, 2004, 18). Studiul de faţă realizează o „analiză verticală” (Pingel, 2010, 30), urmărind diacronic modul cum conştiinţa istorică românească a fost structurată şi restructurată prin inter- mediul sistemelor de periodizare. Întrucât analiza cuprinde manuale de istorie şcolară începând din a doua jumătate a secolului al XIX-lea până în preajma anului 2000, acest tip de analiză se apropie de abordarea nu- mită „istorie serială” (Braudel, 1980a, 91), constând în investigarea unor serii con- secutive de date privind acelaşi subiect cu scopul de a surprinde evoluţia în „durata lungă” a fenomenului cercetat. Balamalele romano-bizantine ale istoriei poporului român Convenţionalitatea inerentă a selecţiei „punctelor de sprijin” care alcătuiesc osa- tura temporală a istoriei face ca orice sis- tem de mapare a trecutului să fie posibil. În aceste condiţii, nu trebuie să ne mire de- cizia lui August Treboniu Laurian (1853) de a plasa originea istoriei poporului român tocmai în 753 î.e.n., anul mitic al înteme- ierii Romei. În concepţia corifeului Şcolii Latiniste, istoria românilor se dizolvă în istoria Romei, astfel că cele două popoare, alături de istoriile aferente, se confundă până la identitate. Laurian elaborează o schemă triptică de clasificare a trecutului poporului român, fiecărei mari perioade de- dicându-i câte un volum din cele trei care for- mează monumentala sa Istoria Romaniloru: a) de la fundarea Romei până la căderea imperiului Roman de la apus (a. R. 1- 1229); b) de la căderea imperiului Roman de la apus până la căderea Constantino- polului (a. R. 1229-2206); c) de la căderea Constantinopolului până în zilele noastre (a. R. 2206-2600). Două sunt momentele capitale în istoria poporului român imagi- nată de Laurian: originea Romei (şi implicit a poporului român) şi prăbuşirea Constan- tinopolului. Acestea două evenimente pivo- tale constituie ceea ce Thomas Cahill (1995) a numit „balamalele istoriei” (the hinges of history), sau, în cuvintele lui Kenneth L. Woodward (1998), „balamalele pe care se leagănă uşa istoriei”. Întregul sistem de cronologizare a fost recalibrat, anul 1 al istoriei poporului român devenind întemeierea Romei. Totuşi, probabil pentru a nu dezorienta cititorul, trezit aruncat într- o cu totul nouă ordine temporală, Laurian indică în paralel cu cronologia romană (a. R., „anul Romei”) şi cronologia creştină convenţională (Xp., după semnul mono- gramei lui Isus Cristos). Însă cronologia creştină este introdusă doar ca instrument secundar de orientare, evenimentele din corpusul textual fiind datate conform cro- nologiei romane. Astfel, de exemplu, Laurian plasează viaţa lui Mihai Viteazul între a. R. 2311-2354 (Xp. 1558-1601). „Implicatura” ideologică a sistemului laurian de periodizare este evidentă: ambele momente definitorii ale istoriei poporului român sunt plasate în trecutul Romei, respectiv al Bizanţului, fapt ce semnifică fără niciun dubiu hermeneutic latinitatea bizantină a poporului român. Fixând cele două centre de greutate ale istoriei româ- nilor în Roma şi Constantinopol, Laurian a realizat o „transpunere la nivel istoric a dimensiunilor genetice şi spirituale ale românilor” (Roşu, 2004, 121). Românitatea devine astfel produsul alchimiei istorice dintre romanitatea genetică şi bizantinitatea spirituală. Elementul latinist rămâne totuşi dominant, aşa cum o arată restructurarea cronologică a istoriei. Pe lângă reliefarea romanităţii, efectul simbolic al cronologiei romane este acela de a evidenţia vechimea, continuitatea şi nobilitatea originară a poporului român, caracteristici care pot fi contrastate în raport cu popoarele migra- 90 Mihai Stelian Rusu, Topografii ale trecutului... toare care au ajuns să încercuiască „insula de latinitate” românească. „Romanomania” (Kogălniceanu, 1982) [1843], atât de pregnantă în Istoria Româ- nilor din 1853, devine serios subţiată în manualul Elemente de istoria Românilor pentru clasele primare (Laurian, 1870), a cărui ediţie princeps din 1859 va cunoaşte doisprezece noi ediţii până în anul 1875 (Murgescu, 1999, 242). Două mutaţii ma- jore faţă de discursul anterior anunţă diluţia latinismului radical: a) abandonarea crono- logiei romane în favoarea mult mai con- venţionalei cronologii creştine, şi b) daco- centrismul geografic, în sensul că epopeea poporului român nu mai este localizată geografic ca avându-şi originea în Roma, ci teritoriul Daciei devine cadrul spaţial de referinţă. Laurian (1870) scrie de fapt o istorie a Daciei care începe dinainte de venirea romanilor, trece prin diferite „stări” succesive („starea Daciei sub imperatorii Bizantini”; „starea Daciei sub domni independenţi”; „starea Daciei după căderea Constantinopolului” etc.), încheindu-se cu starea Daciei sub domnia lui Carol I. Dimensiunea teritorială (dacică) ia locul dimensiunii etnice (romane) ca ax central al istoriei poporului român, însă această substituţie nu afectează semnificativ temele constitutive ale naţiunii române: vechimea şi continuitatea istorică. Dimpotrivă, insis- tenţa asupra factorului teritorial pune în lumină imobilismul geografic al poporului român. Spre deosebire de marea schemă a isto- riei româneşti avansată de August Treboniu Laurian, manualul redactat de Nicolae Iorga (1910) reprezintă exact opusul. Fără a fi fundamentat pe vreun sistem general de structurare temporală a istoriei, principiul organizator al manualului lui Iorga este durata perioadei de domnie. Astfel, în loc să avem o serie limitată de mari epoci simi- lare unor ample bazine de acumulare isto- rică, Iorga conceptualizează cursul istoriei ca o înlănţuire continuă de domnii mini- epocale. Esenţa istoriei românilor este re- dusă la un şirag nominal. Contrastul nu putea fi mai mare faţă de idealul utopic nutrit de Fernand Braudel (1980b, 10) de a scrie o „istorie anonimă”, în care scena istoriei este evacuată de intenţionalitatea indivizilor, iar reflectorul analitic se fixează în schimb asupra mecanismelor structurale cu bătaie lungă care acţionează în culise. În antiteză cu „istoria fără oameni” (formula îi aparţine lui Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie) practicată de Şcoala Analelor, unde pro- cesele subterane şi mişcările tectonice ale istoriei sunt privilegiate epistemic în detri- mentul acţiunilor indivizilor, care sunt re- trogradaţi la statutul de „insecte umane” (Burke, 1990, 41), naraţiunea lui Iorga pre- zintă o istorie nominală, intens personali- zată, în care toate evenimentele se desfă- şoară în umbra marilor protagonişti ai istoriei. Naţionalismul critic al istorio- grafiei interbelice Profesionalizarea câmpului de produ- cere a discursurilor istorice petrecută înce- pând cu intrarea în secolul XX a presupus ieşirea din paradigma istorică utilizată de cărturarii Şcolii Ardelene, ceea ce a coincis cu o infuzie de spirit critic în modul de raportare la trecutul istoric. Imperativele de ordin profesional trebuiau conciliate cu comandamentele naţionaliste. Istoriografia interbelică românească a încercat acest dificil compromis, după cum indică şi N. A. Constantinescu (1928, 3): „Sarcina de a întreţine necontenit viu sentimentul conşti- inţei naţionale, fără a ştirbi adevărul şi fără a cădea în banalitatea exaltărei patriotice – nu e prea uşoară”. Adevăr întru naţiona- lism, acesta pare a fi sloganul istoriografiei interbelice. În ciuda dificultăţii de a armo- niza aspiraţiile epistemice înspre adevăr cu menţinerea febrilităţii naţionaliste, artizanii istoriografiei interbelice au reuşit să găsească calea de mijloc între cele două. Sociologie Românească, volumul XI, Nr. 1, 2013, pp. 84-102 91 Istoria critică, în mare măsură deba- rasată de încărcătura manifest naţionalistă, este reflectată şi în periodizarea operată de N. A. Constantinescu (1928) în Istoria Românilor. Trecutul românesc este pre- zentat ca o dramă în patru acte: 1) Partea I – din cele mai vechi timpuri până la 600 d. Chr.; 2) Partea II (600-1504), interval temporal bi-epocal, întrucât cuprinde: a) Epoca de întemeiere a neamului Românesc (600-1300) şi b) Epoca de neatârnare (1300-1500); 3) Partea III (1504-1821) găzduieşte o succesiune de alte patru epoci: a) Sta- bilirea suzeranităţii turceşti; b) Epoca lui Mihai; c) Epoca lui Brâncoveanu; d) Epoca Fanarioţilor; 4) Partea IV (1821-1921), ultimul act al dramei istorice româneşti, se sfârşeşte cu a) Epoca Redeşteptării (1821-1859), conceptualizată ca preludiu pentru b) Epoca Unirii (1859-1919). Surprinzătoare este absenţa pragului 1600, anul unificării celor trei principate româneşti de către Mihai Viteazul, din structura temporală a trecutului românesc. Momentul 1600, vertebra cardinală a isto- riei româneşti în perspectiva naţionalistă, este deliberat eliminată din succesiunea de momente simbolice transformate în borne temporale. Evitând capcanele „naţionalis- mului retrospectiv” (Smith, 1998, 19) (i.e. tentaţia de a proiecta intenţii, aspiraţii şi idealuri naţionaliste într-un trecut în care ideologia naţionalismului nu apăruse încă pe scena ideilor politice), N. A. Constan- tinescu (1928) epurează „Cea dintâi Unire a tuturor Românilor” (163) de orice intenţio- nalitate naţionalistă: aceasta „nu putea să dureze”, în primul rând „fiindcă era o unire silită, din care lipsea unirea sufletească” (169). În interpretarea critică a lui Constan- tinescu, Mihai Viteazul a servit idealul naţional, dar „fără a-şi da seama” (175), acest fapt datorându-se absenţei conştiinţei unităţii naţionale în acel moment istoric. În aceeaşi tradiţie critică, de-naţionali- zantă, se înscrie şi manualul redactat de R. David (1937). În plus faţă de maniera de periodizare folosită de Constantinescu, R. David introduce un capitol suplimentar, istoria românilor fiind conceptualizată ca desfăşurându-se într-o înlănţuire de cinci epoci: 1) Epoca formării poporului român (513 î.Hr. [expediţia lui Darius I împotriva sciţilor]-1241 d.Hr. [sfârşitul domniei lui Ioan Asan al II-lea]); 2) Epoca formării statelor române (1241- 1386 [începutul domniei lui Mircea cel Bătrân]); 3) Poporul şi statele române în epoca creş- terii puterii turceşti (1386-1711 [fuga lui Dimitrie Cantemir, care semnalează începutul epocii Fanarioţilor]); 4) Poporul şi statele române în epoca descreşterii puterii turceşti (1711-1856 [Pacea de la Paris]); 5) Epoca unirii, independenţei şi întregirii (1856-1930). Din nou, momentul 1600 este absent din schema istoriei poporului român. Nu mai puţin curioasă este selectarea anului 1856, anul Păcii de la Paris care „înseamnă sfârşitul influenţei ruseşti” (David, 1937, 143), şi nu a anului 1859, anul Unirii Moldovei şi Ţării Româneşti, ca debut al perioadei contemporane. Structura trecu- tului românesc elaborată de David poate fi denominată ca tipul de periodizare relaţio- nală, întrucât istoria poporului român este înţeleasă în relaţie aproape exclusivă cu Imperiul Otoman. Axa centrală a istoriei este creşterea şi descreşterea Curţii Oto- mane, trecutul românesc fiind înţeles ca orbitând în jurul destinului Porţii. Istoria românilor este reprezentată ca funcţie a corso e ricorsi a Imperiului Otoman. Totodată, niciunul dintre momentele cheie ale istoriei românilor nu face vreo referire la istoria Transilvaniei. Ancorarea acesteia în sfera Regatului Ungariei şi a Imperiului Habsburgic, îngreunând integrarea într-o schemă unitară a istoriei românilor, a 92 Mihai Stelian Rusu, Topografii ale trecutului... favorizat minimalizarea ponderii acordată teritoriului transilvan în istoria generală a românilor. Excluderea Ardealului a devenit norma istoriografiei naţionale româneşti. După cum se va vedea în continuare, dis- cursul istoriografic vehiculat în manualele şcolare prezintă ceea ce poate fi numită o viziune regăţeană asupra istoriei românilor, istoria Transilvaniei ocupând un loc minimal în economia simbolică a trecutului românesc. Modul de raportare la acţiunea lui Mihai Viteazul poate fi luată ca un baro- metru al naţionalismului istoriografic. Din acest punct de vedere, periodizarea lui N. A. Constantinescu denotă minimumul de naţionalism în conceptualizarea istoriei poporului român, din două motive: în primul rând, pentru că evacuează sensul intrinsec naţional al „Cuceririi Ardealului şi Moldovei” (Constantinescu, 1928, 163), şi în al doilea rând, prin faptul că momentul 1600 nu face parte din armătura structurală a cronologiei trecutului românesc. Deşi majoritatea manualelor şcolare de istorie publicate în perioada dintre cele două mari războaie împărtăşesc calitatea de a fi critice cu privire la sensul naţional al unirii de la 1600, cu excepţia lui Constantinescu (1928) şi David (1937), toate celelalte alocă un statut pivotal anului 1600 în structurarea periodică a istoriei românilor. Modulând trecutul conform unei parti- turi similare structural cu cea a lui David (1937), manualul semnat de colectivul alcă- tuit din M. Petrescu, Remus Ilie şi I. Totoiu (1935, 4), precum şi Istoria românilor a lui Remus Ilie (1936), recurg la o diviziune cvintuplă a trecutului românesc: 1) Perioada veche, „care începe cu primele ştiri privitoare la pământul românesc şi merge până la 1300”; 2) Perioada formării şi organizării Princi- patelor (1300-1400); 3) Perioada luptelor pentru apărarea gra- niţelor dunărene (1400-1600); 4) Perioada decadenţei politice (1600- 1821); 5) Perioada luptelor de libertate şi unitate (1821-1919). Pragul simbolic reprezentat de anul 1600 îşi face apariţia ca moment de fractură al istoriei românilor, marcând climaxul eroismului românesc şi totodată începutul decadenţei politice pe măsură ce statele române intră din ce în ce mai adânc în zodia dominaţiei otomane, a cărei maximă expresia va fi în ceea ce R. David (1937) a numit „Culmea asupririi turceşti: Epoca Fanarioţilor”. Din nou, ponderea Transil- vaniei este neglijabilă: viziunea regăţeană este cu atât mai pregnantă cu cât la sfârşitul manualului este ataşat inventarul „Domni- lor Ţărilor Române” (Petrescu et al. 1935, 393-400), în care sunt listaţi pe două co- loane, în paralel şi în ordine cronologică, toţi conducătorii Ţării Româneşti şi ai Moldovei începând cu secolul al XIV-lea. Prin neincluderea domnilor ardeleni, autorii lasă să se înţeleagă că Transilvania nu face parte din „Ţările Române”! Principalul cri- teriu de incluziune/excluziune pare a fi etnia clasei conducătoare. Criteriul terito- rial, căruia i s-a conferit atât de multă semnificaţie în chestiunea disputată a conti- nuităţii daco-romane după retragerea aure- liană din 271 e.n., este detronat de criteriul etniei elitei politice. Istoria românilor de- vine astfel o istorie etno-politică. Istoria politică a Transilvaniei, atât de intim aso- ciată de nomenclatura conducătorilor de etnie maghiară, a fost trecută în umbră. Însă nu se poate trece cu vederea faptul că acest criteriu nu este aplicat riguros: epoca fanariotă continuă să fie reliefată în majoritatea periodizărilor istoriei românilor ca un interval definitoriu, chiar dacă simbo- lizează o perioadă negativă în evoluţia spre autonomie a poporului român. Respectarea cu stricteţe a criteriului etniei elitei politice ar prescrie eludarea importanţei epocii fanariote în devenirea poporului român, ceea ce nu se întâmplă în discursul isto- riografic gravat în manualele şcolare de istorie naţională. Sociologie Românească, volumul XI, Nr. 1, 2013, pp. 84-102 93 O altă caracteristică a discursului dez- voltat în manualele interbelice rezidă în eforturile de europenizare a istoriei româ- nilor. Aproape toate manualele publicate în anii dintre războaie conţin o declaraţie de intenţii programatice în care se insistă asupra necesităţii de a ieşi din înţelegerea autarhică a istoriei românilor, concomitent cu integrarea acesteia în istoria universală. Încă din 1928, N. A. Constantinescu de- clara în introducerea sa la Istoria Româ- nilor că a „recurs mai des la comparaţia cu faptele şi datele din istoria popoarelor vecine” (Constantinescu, 1928, 3), şi că, „spre deosebire de predecesorii mei, am căutat un alt criteriu de împărţire a ma- teriei, în tendinţa ce am urmărit de a nu lăsa expunerea evenimentelor prea mult într-o izolare nefirească de istorie universală” (4). În aceeaşi tradiţie integraţionistă, Scarlat Lambrino, Gheorghe Lazăr şi Virgiliu P. Arbore (1939, 3) pleacă de la premisa că „istoria poporului nostru nu s-a desfăşurat în mod izolat; ea se împleteşte cu istoria popoarelor vecine ţării noastre”. Conse- cinţa logică a integrării în istoria universală şi a comparării cu istoria popoarelor vecine a constat în dezvoltarea unei conştiinţe acute şi resemnate a inferiorităţii, cel mai intens prezentă în Prefaţa scrisă de D. D. Patraşcanu (1937) la Istoria Românilor pentru clasa a IV-a secundară din care vom cita in extenso: „Desigur istoria popoarelor apusene, în desfăşurarea ei, ne prezintă figuri gigantice, culturi străvechi şi evenimente mai formi- dabile decât le putem găsi în viforosul nostru trecut. […] Chiar dacă avem în ve- dere veşmântul greu şi somptuos, care îmbracă istoria popoarelor mari, încă nu trebuie să ne ruşinăm de cămeşa săracă de pe trupul nostru. Căci, pentru noi, ea este adevărata cămeşă a fericitului” (Patraşcanu, 1937, iii). Istoria românilor nu mai poate fi privită în propriul ei cadru de referinţă. Majo- ritatea manualelor interbelice elaborează pe marginea raportului naţional-universal, ra- port care de cele mai multe ori ia forma românesc-occidental. Periodizarea trecutu- lui românesc este acum precedată de perio- dizarea istoriei universale, faţă de care isto- ria românilor capătă sens. Astfel, Scarlat Lambrino, Gheorghe Lazăr şi Virgiliu P. Arbore (1939) prezintă următoarea schemă periodică a istoriei naţionale în raport cu istoria universală, reprodusă şi de Petre P. Panaitescu (1942): Tabel 1: Periodizarea istoriei universale şi a celei naţionale Epoca Istoria universală Istoria naţională Epoca antică Mileniul IV î.Chr.–476 d.Chr. 512 î.Chr.–271 d.Chr. 476–1250 271–1300 Evul mediu 1250–1453 1300–1600 Epoca modernă 1453–1789 1600–1821 Epoca contemporană 1789–până în vremea noastră 1821–până astăzi Raportarea istoriei naţionale la cea universală amplifică dimensiunea defazării sau chiar a retardului istoric acumulat de societatea şi cultura românească. Spre deo- sebire de Patraşcanu (1942), care îşi asumă în mod făţiş inferioritatea poporului român, Lambrino et al. (1939, 4) recunosc implicit decalajul atunci când afirmă că „Istoria noastră nu s-a dezvoltat la fel cu istoria popoarelor apusene, care a fixat epocele istoriei universale. Deşi este alcătuită din aceleaşi elemente caracteristice celor patru epoce ale Apusului, desfăşurarea eveni- mentelor istorice în ţinutul ocupat de nea- mul nostru s-a petrecut într-un ritm cu totul deosebit”. Ritmul „cu totul deosebit” este formula eufemistică pe care autorii o gă- sesc pentru a descrie întârzierea cronică a 94 Mihai Stelian Rusu, Topografii ale trecutului... societăţii româneşti faţă de occident. To- tuşi, chiar dacă este unanim recunoscută superioritatea civilizaţiei şi istoriei occiden- tale, mândria patriotică răbufneşte în câteva puseuri de orgoliu naţionalist. În această cheie poate fi interpretată afirmaţia făcută de Lambrino et al. (1939, 3), care după ce admit implicit caracterul inferior al istoriei româneşti, susţin totuşi că „deasemenea sunt epoci în istoria noastră, bunăoară aceea a lui Ştefan-cel-Mare, aceea a lui Mihai Viteazul şi mai recent aceea a lui Ferdinand I-iu, care fac parte deadreptul din istoria universală”. Retardul istoric atât de acut prezent în conştiinţa naţională românească nu putea fi minimalizat doar prin elevarea anumitor momente eroice ale trecutului românesc la nivelul istoriei occi- dentale. Un laitmotiv sacrificial, care să reliefeze victimizarea poporului român înspre binele Europei creştine oferea o explicaţie mult mai confortantă. Iar istorio- grafia românească a găsit raţionalizarea justificativă: statele române şi-au epuizat energiile creative în stăvilirea înaintării Islamului. Astfel, chiar dacă „n-a avut niciun plan, iar cucerirea ţinuturilor româ- neşti […] a fost determinată de o nece- sitate” (Petrescu et al., 1935, 217), „Mihai a luptat ca un erou pentru binele Europei creştine” (Constantinescu, 1928, 175). Sta- rea obiectivă de înapoiere a societăţii româ- neşti a fost compensată simbolic prin mitul sacrificiului creştin în faţa puhoiului oto- man întru salvarea Europei (Boia, 2011, 255). Conclusiv, discursul istoriografic din perioada interbelică etalează un naţionalism critic, în care excesele interpretative şi licenţele naţionaliste sunt drastic temperate. Coexistenţa unor multiple manuale şcolare de istorie naţională face ca discursul epocii să capete accente de polyglossia. În ciuda evantaiului destul de divers al discursurilor, există o serie de note comune. În primul rând, evidentă este europenizarea istoriei naţionale româneşti prin integrarea acesteia în matca istoriei occidentale. Apoi, cu câ- teva excepţii (Constantinescu, 1928; David, 1937), toate celelalte manuale afişează o ambivalenţă faţă de momentul 1600 în isto- ria românilor: chiar dacă există un consens unanim asupra faptului că acţiunea unifi- catoare a lui Mihai Viteazul nu a fost moti- vată de idealuri naţionale, „ci numai de interese politice” (Lambrino et al., 1939, 212), acest fapt nu îi împiedică pe autorii de manuale să investească retrospectiv anul 1600 ca punct cardinal al istoriei românilor. De asemenea, demnă de remarcat este ten- dinţa regăţeană a istoriografiei naţionale, i.e. scrierea unei istorii etno-politice a elitei conducătoare, ceea ce face ca istoria Transilvaniei să fie puternic marginalizată datorită faptului că a fost condusă de domni de origine etnică non-română. Istorie prin decret: sovietizarea trecutului românesc Preluarea puterii politice şi guverna- mentale de către Partidul Comunist din România (PCdR) în 1945 şi ulterior abdi- carea Regelui Mihai I în 1947 au însemnat o radicală schimbare de regim socio-politic. Imaginea trecutului, ca resursă simbolică de legitimare şi contrafort ale ordinii consacrate, nu putea rămâne nealterată. Una dintre cele mai presante preocupări ale noului regim în procesul de consolidare a puterii a fost aceea de „colonizare a tre- cutului” (Rusu, 2011), posibilă prin impu- nerea unei noi grile de interpretare a istoriei poporului român care să ranforseze noul status quo. Colonizarea comunistă a istoriei a făcut ca întreaga osatură a trecutului să fie revertebrată. Noua armătură a istoriei deveneau principiile inexorabile ale „Marxism-Leninismului” (Roller, 1952, 1, majuscule în original), singurele „cu ade- vărat ştiinţifice”, capabile să redea istoria românească „aşa cum s-a desfăşurat real- mente” (Roller, 1952, v). Publicarea în 1947 a manualului unic coordonat de Mihail Roller simbolizează Sociologie Românească, volumul XI, Nr. 1, 2013, pp. 84-102 95 expresia supremă a „istoriei prin decret” (historiae ex fiat), comandată la ordinele partidului, elaborată de membri ai parti- dului şi ratificată de conducerea partidului. Dacă discursul interbelic conceptualizează istoria poporului român ca gravitând în jurul axei reprezentate de Imperiul Otoman, manualul lui Roller păstrează aceeaşi abordare relaţională, însă substituie reperul central, care devine acum U.R.S.S. Chiar şi numele manualului, Istoria R.P.R. (1952), indică reconfigurarea identităţii nominale a statului român după formula sovietică, de- numirea consacrată a statului fiind redusă la o succesiune de litere (Boia, 2011, 123- 124). Acronimizarea identităţii nominale a statului român la R.P.R. relevă fără niciun echivoc adoptarea modelului sovietic. Ideologia internaţionalistă a comunis- mului timpuriu recomanda păstrarea anco- rării în universalitate a istoriei provinciale a poporului român. Manualul lui Roller res- pectă acest dictat internaţionalist, istoria naţională fiind încastrată în ritmurile isto- riei universale. În cel mai pur stil al mate- rialismului dialectic, istoria societăţii ome- neşti este divizată în cinci orânduiri funda- mentale, forţa motrice care asigură pro- pulsia dintr-o orânduire în alta fiind lupta de clasă. Tabel 2: Periodizarea marxistă a istoriei universale şi a celei naţionale Orânduirea socială Istoria universală Istoria naţională Orânduirea comunei primitive – Până în 106 e.n. Orânduirea sclavagistă Până în 476 e.n. 88 î.d.e.n.–271 e.n. Orânduirea feudală 476–1789 271–1821 Orânduirea capitalistă 1789–1917 1821–23 august 1944 Orânduirea socialistă 1917–prezent 23 august 1944–prezent Nicăieri infiltraţiile ideologice şi co- mandamentele politice nu au fost mai evi- dente decât în imaginea rolleriană a tre- cutului. Istoria românilor este „trasă în schema” marxistă a succesiunii orânduirilor sociale. Deşi nu este menţionată explicit, prezentă numaidecât în filosofia marxistă a istoriei se află o a şasea orânduire termi- nală, punctul terminus al istoriei, orându- irea comunistă. Două menţiuni merită reliefate: în pri- mul rând, borna temporală care divide orânduirea capitalistă („regimul burghezo- moşieresc”) de orânduirea socialistă („regi- mul de democraţie populară”) este singura datată cu maximă precizie cronologică. Data de 23 august 1944, care marchează „eliberarea ţării noastre de către glorioasa Armată Sovietică” (Roller, 1952, 11), este investită simbolic cu statutul de moment fondator al noii epoci istorice de construire a societăţii socialiste în R.P.R. „după exemplul şi cu ajutorul” U.R.S.S. În al doilea rând, evidentă este rejectarea siste- mului creştin de cronologizare. Introdu- cerea modalităţii de datare non-religioasă trebuie înţeleasă ca parte integrantă a poli- ticii mult mai ample de ateizare a societăţii româneşti. Pentru prima dată în istorio- grafia românească, după cronologia romană promovată fără succes de August Treboniu Laurian (1853), îşi face apariţia un sistem laic de cronologizare. Chiar dacă păstrează numerotaţia creştină, în care anul 1 îşi are obârşia în data tradiţională (dar eronată) a naşterii lui Isus, semnificaţia religioasă a acestei date este eliminată, după cum reiese din pasajul următor: „Astăzi se întrebuinţează sistemul de a număra anii înainte de era noastră (î.d.e.n.) şi după era noastră (e.n.). În mod convenţional, era noastră începe cu al 31- lea an de domnie al împăratului roman August (dată considerată de unii ca an de naştere a lui Isus Hristos)” (Roller, 1952, 8). 96 Mihai Stelian Rusu, Topografii ale trecutului... Reinterpretarea semnificaţiei anului 1 al istoriei ca al 31-lea an de domnie al împă- ratului August poate fi luată drept o „spă- lătură semantică” menită să elimine colora- tura creştină din cronologia convenţională. Memoriae quo ante, status quo nunc: turnura naţionalistă a comunismului matur Ca stat satelit, aflat sub ocupaţie mili- tară sovietică (trupele Armatei Roşii retră- gându-se în 1958), România manifesta o maximă sensibilitate faţă de evoluţiile po- litice de la Moscova. Schimbările din cen- trul politic moscovit erau ulterior modelate în periferia românească prin adoptarea de politici strâns corelate directivelor Kremlinului. Istoriografia nu face excepţie. Transformată în armă de propagandă poli- tică şi aliniată frontului ideologic socialist, istoria a fost mobilizată, mai mult ca nici- odată, ca sursă de legitimare şi resursă simbolică pusă în slujba partidului devenit unic. Prefigurată în teoria lui J. V. Stalin a „socialismului într-o singură ţară”, apoi din ce în ce mai manifestă în secvenţa de eve- nimente politice care s-au succedat în U.R.S.S. (moartea lui Stalin în 1953 urmată de vigurosul denunţ post-mortem al cul- tului personalităţii de către N. Hruşciov în 1956), schimbarea plăcii ideologiei sovie- tice de la internaţionalism la naţionalism s- a repercutat rapid şi asupra politicii şi istoriografiei româneşti. Ceea ce, calchiată nominal după reforma protestantă al cărui protaganist principal a fost Martin Luther, a fost numită „reforma comunistă” (Urban, 1979), a afectat inevitabil şi modul de con- ceptualizare a trecutului. Două mutaţii ma- jore sunt evidente în această reformă pe plan istoriografic: a) re-naţionalizarea tre- cutului, epurat anterior de orice semnificaţii naţionale în urma campaniei rolleriene; b) abandonarea progresivă a dogmei mar- xist-leniniste în periodizarea trecutului în funcţie de modul de producţie şi orânduirea socială. Modificările suferite de structura şi sub- stanţa istoriei româneşti nu au fost abrupte şi nici radicale, deşi efectul cumulativ al retuşurilor s-a dovedit a fi unul destul de dramatic. Două etape pot fi distinse în pre- lungul proces de prefacere post-rolleriană a trecutului românesc. Într-o primă fază, deşi factorul naţional a fost reintrodus timid în meta-naraţiunea românească, periodizarea trecutului a rămas cea marxist-leninistă. Pe tot parcursul deceniului şase şi chiar şi la începutul celui de-al şaptelea, după cum atestă manualul semnat de Dumitru Almaş et al. (1966), precum şi cel redactat de Florea Dragne et al. (1971), s-a menţinut periodizarea întocmită de Roller, care poate fi considerată de extracţie pur marxist- leninistă. Într-o fază secundă, periodizarea trecu- tului s-a făcut conform unei scheme duble, utilizându-se în paralel două coduri nomi- nale pentru desemnarea perioadelor: dog- matica formulă a orânduirilor primitivă- sclavagistă-feudală-capitalistă-socialistă, dar care este acum secondată de un sistem denominativ paralel: „epoca străveche şi veche” acoperă orânduirile comunei pri- mitive şi sclavagistă, „epoca de trecere la feudalism”, „evul mediu” ca interval echi- valent pentru orânduirea feudală, „epoca modernă” corespunzând orânduirii capita- liste, şi „epoca contemporană” reprezen- tând orânduirea socialistă (Daicoviciu et al., 1972). Astfel, anul 1972 este decisiv în desprinderea de structurarea tipic marxistă a timpului istoric românesc şi introducerea unui sistem „dublu mixt” de periodizare a trecutului, menţinut până la prăbuşirea re- gimului comunist. Tranziţia va fi încheiată doar în ediţia din 1991 (Daicoviciu et al., 1991), în care clasificarea standard mar- xistă pe bază de orânduiri este complet eli- minată, tot ceea ce rămâne fiind succesi- unea epocilor veche-medie-modernă-con- temporană. Sociologie Românească, volumul XI, Nr. 1, 2013, pp. 84-102 97 În anii ’80 se conturează noua logică naţional-comunistă de periodizare a trecu- tului românesc: 1. Istoria antică a României (sic!) (din cele mai vechi timpuri până în sec. VIII e. n.); 2. Istoria medie a României (sec. VIII–1821); 3. Istoria modernă a României (1821–1918); 3.1. Perioada formării României mo- derne (1821–1878); 3.2. Perioada făuririi statului naţional unitar (1878–1918); 4. Istoria contemporană a României (1918→); 4.1. Perioada interbelică (1918–23 august 1944); 4.2. Epoca socialismului (23 august 1944–prezent); 4.2.1. Etapa revoluţiei de eliberare socială şi naţională, anti- fascistă şi antiimperialistă (23 august 1944–30 de- cembrie 1947); 4.2.2. Etapa făuririi şi consolidării bazei tehnicomateriale a socialismului (1948–1969); 4.2.3. Etapa făuririi societăţii so- cialiste multilateral dezvol- tate şi înaintării ţării spre comunism (1969–prezent). Structura periodică a trecutului româ- nesc a fost, încă o dată, transpusă pe baze naţionaliste, în timp ce istoria românilor a fost, încă o dată, reinjectată cu „duhul naţional”. Ca urmare, schema marxistă de periodizare bazată pe moduri de producţie şi orânduirile sociale aferente a fost substi- tuită cu o structură periodică centrată pe evidenţierea evenimentelor naţionale, cum sunt revoluţia de eliberare naţională din 1821, independenţa naţională obţinută în 1878, sau crearea României Mari în 1918. Contorsiunea naţionalistă operată în ca- drul regimului comunist a provocat o reva- lorizare masivă a factorului naţional din istoria, devenită bimilenară, a statului ro- mân. Recursul la naţionalism în discursul istoriografic, după mai bine de un deceniu de propagandă inter- şi chiar anti-naţio- nalistă, reflectă capacitatea istoriei de a fi folosită ca unealtă discursivă în fasonarea memoriei colective în acord cu imperati- vele politice ale zilei. Naţionalismul a fost recuperat, radicalizat şi reinstalat ca axă centrală a conştiinţei istorice româneşti. Din acest motiv, putem vorbi despre „me- moriae quo ante”, i.e. restituirea memoriei societale antesocialistă, profund marcată de ideologia naţionalistă. În acelaşi timp, de- plasarea înspre naţionalism a fost calculată ca strategie politică de consolidare a unui regim afundat din ce în ce mai adânc în criză. Restârnirea fermentului naţionalist şi a sentimentelor patriotice (rămase încă nestinse de propaganda rolleriană) şi ampli- ficarea lor paroxistică a constituit o „terapie prin mit[o-istorie]” (Tomiţă, 2007, 12) ca reţetă ideologică de compensare a gravelor deficite economice. Reinventarea comu- nistă a soluţiei naţionaliste a fost o manevră de legitimare politică, al cărei succes s-a datorat exploatării unor sensibilităţi colec- tive larg răspândite în rândul populaţiei. Însă, chiar dacă regimul totalitar a repus memoria antebelică în drepturi, scopul urmărit a fost ranforsarea ordinii socio- politice socialiste. Avem aşadar restituirea memoriei în slujba fortificării regimului actual: memoria quo ante, status quo nunc. Postcomunism istoriografic: inerţie reziduală şi restruc- turare Colapsul regimului comunist prin revo- luţia română din 1989 urgenta reconcep- tualizarea trecutului. Totuşi, ieşirea din co- munism, atât la nivelul societăţii per ansamblu cât şi la cel al reconceptualizării istoriografice, nu avea să fie rapidă. În anii imediat postrevoluţionari, imaginea topo- grafică a trecutului românesc a suferit modificări minimale. În pofida faptului că periodizarea marxist-leninistă, pe bază de orânduiri sociale, este eliminată complet, manualul lui Daicoviciu et al. (1991) este o 98 Mihai Stelian Rusu, Topografii ale trecutului... simplă reeditare a textului din 1987, cu cosmetizările de rigoare. Deşi manualul este intitulat „Istoria românilor antică şi medievală”, autorii oferă „periodizarea istoriei antice şi medii a României” (1987, 4, subl. n.): 1) Epoca străveche – de la apariţia omului pe aceste teritorii şi până la formarea statului dac, sub conducerea lui Burebista; 2) Epoca veche (antică) – circa 80 î.e.n.– aprox. sec. VIII e.n.; 3) Epoca medie – sec. VIII e.n.–1821, Revoluţia lui Tudor Vladimirescu fiind considerată uvertura epocii moderne în istoria patriei. Dincolo de distanţările de vechea con- ceptualizare a trecutului, manualul lui Daicoviciu et al. (1991) rămâne, în esenţă, acelaşi manual din 1987, cu diferenţa că nu mai menţionează o serie de expresii ritualice, adevărate clişee ale discursului comunist: „comuna primitivă”, „orânduire socială” etc. De exemplu, ceea ce în ediţia 1987 este formulat „Epoca străveche: trăsă- turile generale ale orânduirii comunei pri- mitive” (1987, 12), în ediţia din 1991 de- vine „Epoca străveche: trăsăturile generale ale epocii străvechi” (1991, 8). Diferenţa de cele patru pagini (p. 12 vs. p. 8) rezultă dintr-o serie de epurări: eliminarea por- tretului lui Nicolae Ceauşescu de pe prima pagină (pagina de verso a potretului fiind lăsată imaculată pentru a nu perturba ima- ginea conducătorului), înlăturarea unei pagini întregi alcătuită din citate preluate din cuvântările preşedintelui, iar restul de o pagină fiind rezultatul cumulat al unor multiple eliminări punctuale. Cosmetizările superficiale aduse textului reflectă supra- vieţuirea discursului comunist în regimul postrevoluţionar, reprezentând o axă a con- tinuităţii istoriografiei comuniste care, încetul cu încetul, pe măsura îndepărtării temporale de vechiul regim, se va estompa. Manualele succesoare, care spre deose- bire de cel al lui Daicoviciu et al. (1991) au fost construite pe fundaţii noi, au preluat de la acesta sistemul „epocal-cronologic” de periodizare, acela de segmentare a timpului istoric în epoci generice (veche, modernă, contemporană). O variaţie a acestui sistem este avansată de Mihai Manea, Adrian Pascu şi Bodgan Teodorescu (1993, 10): Tabel 3: Periodizare postcomunistă a istoriei (universale, continentale şi naţionale) Planul Epoca Universal Continental Naţional Preistoria 4-3 mil. î.Hr. 1 mil. î.Hr. 1 mil. î.Hr. Protoistoria – Mil. II î.Hr. Mil. II î.Hr. Antichitatea 3200/3000 î.Hr. Sec. VIII î.Hr. 82 î.Hr. (statul dac sub Burebista) Evul Mediu Sec. III d.Hr. 476 d.Hr. 602 d.Hr. („când dispare graniţa du-năreană a Imperiului Roman Creştin”) Epoca modernă 1492 1453 1600 Contemporaneitatea 1789 1789 1918 Aceeaşi schemă este reprodusă şi de ma- nualul semnat de Liviu Lazăr şi Viorel Lupu (2000), cu diferenţa că din periodizarea aces- tora din urmă este extirpată „protoistoria”, care este asimilată intervalului preistoriei. Planul de periodizare pe care l-am nu- mit mai sus „sistemul epocal-cronologic” dezvoltat pentru prima oară în perioada comunistă de Daicoviciu et al. (1972) supravieţuieşte şi după reforma introdusă de manualele alternative. Publicat în prima generaţie de manuale alternative, textul semnat de Burlec et al. (1997) păstrează acelaşi format de clasificare a timpului Sociologie Românească, volumul XI, Nr. 1, 2013, pp. 84-102 99 istoric: epoca veche; epoca medievală; epoca modernă şi contemporană. O altă variaţie, mai elaborată, este încercată de Vulpe et al. (1999, 8), care clasifică „dura- tele timpului istoric în spaţiul românesc” pe întinderea săgeţii timpului, de la „Preistorie” (600.000 î.H.–cca 500 î.H), trecând prin „Antichitate” (cca 500 î.H.– 271 d.H.), „Epoca migraţiilor” (271 d.H.– sec. IX), „Evul Mediu” (sec. IX–1821), „Epoca Modernă” (1821–1918), ajungând în cele din urmă în „Epoca Contemporană” (1918→). Acest tipar de periodizare îşi găseşte adepţi şi în câmpul istoricilor care nu fac parte din clubul autorilor de manuale. În acest sens, Florin Constantiniu (2011) optează în lucrarea sa – necon- venţional intitulată O istorie sinceră a poporului român, dar tradiţională prin structură şi substanţă – pentru acelaşi şa- blon de partiţionare: istorie veche; istorie medievală; istorie modernă; istorie con- temporană. Continuitatea sistemului epocal-crono- logic de periodizare a trecutului românesc este acompaniată însă de o serie de modi- ficări substanţiale, prezente în majoritatea manualelor postcomuniste. În primul rând, evidentă este recreştinarea timpului istoric, posibilă ulterior încetării „prigoanei ateiste” derulate de regimul comunist. Doar Daicoviciu et al. (1991), ca expresie rezi- duală a discursului comunist, mai foloseşte sistemul laic „î.e.n.” şi „e.n.”. Fie că se recurge la formula „î.Chr.”, fie la cea de „î.Hr.” sau „î.H.”, istoria românilor este reinstalată pe coordonatele timpului reli- gios. O a doua revenire vizează reluarea sintagmei „Istoria românilor” în detrimen- tul „Istoriei României” din titlurile ma- nualelor şcolare. Apoi, din nou cu excepţia manualului lui Daicoviciu et al. (1991), care aparţine structural perioadei comuniste chiar dacă temporal a fost publicat după prăbuşirea regimului, numele autorilor tex- tului reapar pe copertele manualelor. Nu în ultimul rând, semnificativă este importanţa simbolică acordată celor două momente de unitate naţională, 1600, respectiv 1918. Prin marcarea temporală a momentelor unificatorii, fibra naţionalistă este din nou întreţesută în naraţiunea istorică româ- nească, devenind firul roşu care străbate epopeea colectivă a poporului român. În jurul anului 2000, meta-structura istoriei româneşti pare să îşi fi terminat cariera. Manualele publicate după această dată fie nu mai conţin niciun sistem de clasificare periodică a istoriei, fie aban- donează relatarea cronologică a evenimen- telor în favoarea unei structurări tematice a materiei. Renunţarea la prezentarea teleo- logică a istoriei, abandon evidenţiat prin restructurarea non-cronologică a infor- maţiei istorice, semnalează delimitarea de o filosofie evoluţionistă a istoriei, care pre- zenta contemporaneitatea ca încununarea inexorabilă a destinului istoric al „fiinţei naţionale româneşti”. Ca atare, concentraţia de naţionalism prezentă în discursul istoric suferă o diluare considerabilă. Concluzii: decuparea realităţii istorice la încheieturi? Periodizarea este, într-adevăr, după cum punctează Jerry H. Bentley (1996, 749), una dintre cele mai delicate sarcini ale ana- lizei istorice. Ceea ce nu i-a împiedicat pe aventurierii în realitatea consumată a tre- cutului să folosească periodizarea ca un instrument standard din trusa lor de scule intelectuale. Multitudinea de modalităţi de siste- matizare, ordonare şi categorizare a istoriei arată că realitatea trecutului nu poate fi „decupată la încheieturi”, din simplul motiv că aceasta pur şi simplu nu are o structură articulară care să marcheze punctele în care continuitatea temporală să fie despicată. Spectrul întins de alternative ce stau la dispoziţia istoricului relevă faptul că nu există, şi nici nu poate exista, un sistem unic de organizare categorială a trecutului. 100 Mihai Stelian Rusu, Topografii ale trecutului... Însă această constatare nu schimbă faptul că recurgerea la o formă sau alta de perio- dizare este o necesitate cognitivă. Un scurt moment autoreflexiv ilustrează din plin această necesitate: inclusiv analiza între- prinsă în rândurile de mai sus operează pe baza unei periodizări mai mult sau mai puţin explicite, compartimentând trecutul românesc în perioada naţionalismului fundamentat pe ideea romanităţii poporului român etalat de Şcoala Latinistă, perioada naţionalismului critic al istoriografiei inter- belice, intervalul temporal ocupat de faza inter-, sau chiar anti-naţionalistă a isto- riografiei rolleriene, etapa naţionalismului comunist, urmată, în fine, de perioada na- ţionalismului revigorat al postcomunismu- lui incipient, acesta din urmă pe cale de a tranzita înspre un post-naţionalism con- temporan. Desigur, este inutil de insistat asupra multitudinii de lipsuri şi limitări care afec- tează studiul de faţă. Suficient este de men- ţionat că selecţia eşantionului de manuale a fost realizată pe baza criteriului disponi- bilităţii şi a accesului, în special în privinţa manualelor vechi. Studiul nu este unul exhaustiv. Posibilitatea de consultare a tu- turor manualelor publicate în istoria învă- ţământului public românesc ar crea o ima- gine holistă, care probabil că ar reda o rea- litate ceva mai complexă decât este prezen- tată în analiza realizată. O posibilă dezvol- tare a studiului ar beneficia de lărgirea eşantionului prin includerea mai multor manuale în baza de date investigată. În ciuda acestor limite inerente, concluzia stu- diului este ferm ancorată în datele dispo- nibile, relevând faptul că modul de perio- dizare a istoriei oglindeşte fidel „spiritul timpului” (Zeitgeist) în general, şi cu deo- sebire interesele clasei sociale aflate la câr- ma politică a societăţii. Ideea axială rezul- tantă în urma acestei analize indică faptul că schema de periodizare a trecutului, pre- cum şi selecţia bornelor temporale investite ca momente de cotitură în istoria unei colectivităţi, sunt colorate de ceea ce Petru Iluţ (2009, 197) numeşte „structurile men- tale macrogrupale” prevalente în sistemul de credinţe specific comunităţii respective. Notă 1 Această lucrare a fost posibilă prin sprijinul financiar oferit prin Programul Operaţional Sectorial Dezvoltarea Resurselor Umane 2007-2013, cofinanţat prin Fondul Social European, în cadrul proiectului POSDRU/107/1.5/S/76841, cu titlul „Studii doctorale moderne: internaţionalizare şi interdisciplinaritate”. Bibliografie Almaş, D., Georgescu-Buzău, G. şi Petric, A. (1966) Istoria României. Manual pentru clasa a XI-a. Bucureşti: Didactică şi Pedagogică. Bentley, J. H. (1996) Cross-Cultural Interaction and Periodization in World History. The American Historical Review, 101, 3, 749- 770. Boia, L. 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work_uy74bztdcjdxrjlcmb6ngygcym	----	An historical perspective on forest succession and its relevance to ecosystem restoration and conservation practice in North America Forest Ecology and Management 330 (2014) 312–322 Contents lists available at ScienceDirect Forest Ecology and Management j o u r n a l h o m e p a g e : w w w . e l s e v i e r . c o m / l o c a t e / f o r e c o Tamm Review An historical perspective on forest succession and its relevance to ecosystem restoration and conservation practice in North America http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.foreco.2014.07.026 0378-1127/� 2014 Elsevier B.V. All rights reserved. ⇑ Tel.: +1 (919) 613 8052; fax: +1 (919) 684 8741. E-mail address: normc@duke.edu Norman L. Christensen Jr. ⇑ Nicholas School of the Environment, Duke University, Durham, NC 27708, USA a r t i c l e i n f o Article history: Available online 20 August 2014 Keywords: Conservation Ecological legacies Restoration Successional mechanisms Successional trajectories Successional endpoints a b s t r a c t Eugene Odum’s 1969 paper, The Strategy of Ecosystem Development, marks a watershed moment in approaches to the study of succession, ecosystem change caused by discrete disturbances. He argued that succession is unique from other kinds of change with regard to mechanisms (modification of the physical environment by the community), trajectory (orderly, directional and predictable), and endpoint (a stable climax ecosystem in which ‘‘maximum biomass and symbiotic function between organisms are main- tained per unit energy flow’’). Odum also argued that understanding successional change was central to the management of a great variety of environmental challenges. Given the important role of disturbance in these ecosystems, this is particularly true for management aimed at restoration and conservation of for- ests. Although there was considerable debate among ecologists regarding successional mechanisms, trajec- tories and endpoints in the decades preceding his exegesis, the views outlined by Odum generally prevailed. These significantly influenced answers to three central restoration and conservation questions during that era. (1) What should we restore and conserve? Climax ecosystems. (2) How should boundaries be set for restoration and conservation areas? This was not an important matter. (3) How should restoration and conservation be accomplished? Because succession would inexorably lead to the ultimate climax goal, forest ecosystems should be protected from disturbance. Over the past five decades, virtually every aspect of succession theory as presented by Odum (1969) has come into question. We now understand that there is no single unique or unifying mechanism for successional change, that successional trajectories are highly varied and rarely deterministic, and that succession has no specific endpoint. Answers to the three resto- ration and conservation questions have changed accordingly. (1) Restoration and conservation goals should include the full range of variation in species diversity and composition associated with disturbance and the succession that proceeds from it. (2) Pattern, scale and context influence patterns of both disturbance and succession, and preserve design really does matter. (3) Restoration and conservation practice must be tai- lored to the unique mechanisms and post-disturbance ecological legacies that determine the trajectory and tempo of successional change in each particular ecosystem. The search for a grand unified theory of succes- sion apart from other kinds of ecosystem change is futile. Nevertheless, the change caused by discrete dis- turbances remains an important matter for concern for restoration and conservation practitioners. � 2014 Elsevier B.V. All rights reserved. Contents 1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313 2. The paths to Odum: 1860–1969 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313 3. Land restoration and conservation: 1860–1969 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 4. The paths away from Odum: 1970 to the present . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 316 5. Restoration and conservation implications. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 319 6. Succession is dead: long live succession! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 320 Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 320 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 320 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.foreco.2014.07.026&domain=pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.foreco.2014.07.026 mailto:normc@duke.edu http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.foreco.2014.07.026 http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/journal/03781127 http://www.elsevier.com/locate/foreco N.L. Christensen Jr. / Forest Ecology and Management 330 (2014) 312–322 313 1. Introduction No single paper shaped the research agenda for my generation of ecologists interested in the dynamics of ecosystems more than Eugene Odum’s The Strategy of Ecosystem Development (Odum, 1969). Since its publication, this paper has been cited over 8000 times, several hundred times in the past year alone. Its influ- ence and durability are certainly due in part to its clear synthesis of the prevailing textbook wisdom on succession as it stood in 1969. Even more, by succinctly articulating his so-called ‘‘trends to be expected in ecosystem development’’ in a single table, Odum put up stationary targets that catalyzed hundreds of research projects on succession, just at a time when interest in this topic was ebbing. Odum defined succession simply as the change that occurred in ecosystems following a disturbance. Although he did not explicitly define disturbance, White and Pickett’s (1985) definition, ‘‘a distur- bance is any relatively discrete event in time that disrupts ecosys- tem, community or population structure and changes resources, substrate availability, or the physical environment,’’ is implicit throughout his paper. Odum argued that this process of ecosystem change is quite different from other temporal variations in ecosys- tem composition and structure, and it is uniquely defined by three features: its mechanisms, trajectory and endpoint. First, succession ‘‘results from modification of the physical environment by the community’’ or, as an earlier generation of ecologists would put it, by ‘biotic reaction.’ Second, succession is an ‘‘orderly process of community development that is reasonably directional and, therefore, predictable.’’ Odum did note that the rate of change and the specific nature of its endpoint were often determined by characteristics of the physical environment. Third, he asserted that succession ultimately ‘‘culminates in a stabilized ecosystem in which maximum biomass and symbiotic function between organ- isms are maintained per unit of available energy flow.’’ With definite purpose, Odum described this process combining the then controversial language from the applications of game the- ory to evolution with that of the emerging field of ecosystem sci- ence1. The strategy of succession was the ever increasing ‘‘control of, or homeostasis with, the physical environment in the sense of achieving maximum protection from its perturbations.’’ In short, succession is the directional process of change propelled by the actions of organisms on their environment leading to maximum homeostatic control (i.e., stability) within the constraints of the physical environment. For Odum, succession was a genuine process in its own right in the same sense as other biological processes such as the development of an organism or the evolution of species, and it could be studied as such. It is important and often overlooked that Odum dedicated over half of his paper to the relevance of succession theory to the man- agement of Earth’s ecosystems. He was certainly correct in his view that what we believe about the mechanisms, trajectory and ulti- mate endpoint of succession is central to ecosystem management policies and practice. In that regard, I focus attention here on man- agement aimed at the restoration and conservation of wildland for- est ecosystems. Successful restoration and conservation of ecosystems ulti- mately hinges on the answers to three questions. (1) What should we restore and conserve? By this, I refer to the specific categories of things, as well as the items within those categories, that we deem worthy of our attention. (2) How should we set the bound- aries for restoration and conservation areas? Here, I refer to what 1 Although the word ‘‘ecosystem’’ had been coined by Sir Arthur Tansley (1935) over three decades before, ecosystem science was in 1969 still in its adolescence; the IBP (International Biome Project) was gearing up, and the National Science Founda- tion’s Ecosystem Program would not be inaugurated for another decade (Golley, 1993). has come to be known as preserve design—where, how much and in what context should restoration and conservation efforts be dedicated? (3) How, exactly, should restoration and conserva- tion be accomplished? What actions do we need to take to ensure restoration and/or conservation success? Answers to these ques- tions—as evidenced by management practice and policy—have undergone considerable evolution over the past century. The vast majority of land designated for restoration and conser- vation management in North America was formally set aside in the century preceding Odum’s exegesis. Over that time, policies and practices were pursued with doctrinaire confidence (some would say hubris) based on certainty about the answers to the questions above. In the decades since 1969, confidence in those answers has been significantly shaken in large part due to changing views about successional mechanisms, trajectories and endpoints. In this paper I use a broad brush to paint a general history of ideas about the mechanisms, trajectory and endpoints of succes- sion that preceded Odum’s paper, and how those ideas influenced forest restoration and conservation practices. I then consider how our understanding of successional mechanisms, trajectories and endpoints has changed and the implications of those changes for current restoration and conservation practice. Odum’s paper deals with successional changes in a variety of ecosystem properties and processes, including productivity and nutrient cycles. I shall focus here on changes in plant species composition and diversity. Odum may have imagined his strategy of ecosystem development as a grand unified theory for successional change following distur- bance. With respect to mechanisms, trajectories and endpoints, I shall argue that there is nothing to distinguish succession as unique from other forms of ecosystem change that are typically not considered under the heading of succession (e.g., shifts in spe- cies composition due to climate change, invasion of nonnative spe- cies, or changes in landscape structure). Thus, there can be no grand theory of succession as such. Nevertheless, this term and its associated concepts remain valuable to restoration and conser- vation practitioners. 2. The paths to Odum: 1860–1969 In 1860, Henry David Thoreau read his paper to the Massachu- setts Middlesex Agricultural Society entitled ‘‘The Succession of Forest Trees’’ in which he considered the consequences of cutting forests of different types—those dominated by pines compared to those dominated by hardwoods—on a New England landscape that was rapidly being reshaped by human activities (Thoreau, 1860). Besides being the first published use of the word ‘‘succession’’ in connection with ecological change, this paper is notable for two other reasons. First, Thoreau’s reflections on the importance of spe- cies life histories, including seed dispersal and early seedling growth, and his recognition of the importance of landscape effects (i.e., spatial relationships) on forest succession clearly foreshadows key themes in successional research more than a century later. Sec- ond, he described succession as a phenomenon in which one forest type replaces another rather than an integrated process; that is, Thoreau used the word in much the same way one would describe any sequence of events without assigning a single mechanistic explanation or process to it. The first systematic study of ecosystem change in this country was conducted in the late 19th century by Henry Chandler Cowles. In two monographic papers, Cowles described processes that had shaped changes in the geomorphology and vegetation of the land- scape associated with the recession of Lake Michigan in what is today the Indiana Dunes National Seashore (Cowles, 1899, 1901). He called specific attention to the interactions between plant species and their environment as shaping the process of 2 Clements, too, recognized that studies of succession would ideally involve long- term studies at specific localities. In his 1916 monograph he noted that such studies require ‘‘concerted action such as is unknown at present, but there can be little question that continuous investigations of this nature will soon be organized by the great botanical institutions.’’ 314 N.L. Christensen Jr. / Forest Ecology and Management 330 (2014) 312–322 succession—he did view it as a distinct process. At any particular place and time, the community of plant species at a place modifies their environment in ways that make it more hospitable for the plant species that succeed them than for themselves. But Cowles also noted that changes in the physical environment outside the control of the biological community such as sediment accretion around streams and lakes or land subsidence also played a role in succession. Cowles insisted that succession was a complex process charac- terized by a variety of twists and turns. ‘‘Succession is not a straight-line process. Its stages may be slow or rapid, direct or tor- tuous and often they are retrogressive’’ (Cowles, 1901). We might identify a most complex and mature climax community in a partic- ular region or situation, but the process of succession did not always lead to that climax. Indeed, it might retrogress or lead to less complex vegetation communities and landforms. Furthermore, the successional process is heavily influenced by changes in the environment within which it occurs. In a phrase that most cer- tainly resonates among ecologists today, Cowles asserted that suc- cession is ‘‘a variable approaching a variable rather than a constant’’ (Cowles, 1911). Cowles’ may have been one of the first systematic studies, but it is Frederic Clements who is credited with the first synthetic theory for successional change (Clements, 1916). Clements began his 1916 monograph with an assertion: the study of succession ‘‘necessarily rests upon the assumption that the – climax formation (i.e., ecosys- tem or community) is an organic entity. As an organism the forma- tion arises, grows, matures, and dies.’’ Succession can therefore be simply defined as ‘‘the universal process of formation development.’’ Succession is a highly directional and deterministic process consti- tuting, to use Clements’ term (and he had an inordinate fondness for terminology), a sere from pioneer to climax communities. Seres, he argued are divisible into distinct seral stages, each recognizable by one or a few dominant plant species. The process might be initi- ated by a variety of different disturbance types (e.g., primary versus secondary succession) and under a variety of different conditions (e.g., hydrarch vs. xerarch seres), but seres invariably converged over time (perhaps long spans of time) to a single climax community or formation representing the most stable composition of species under the prevailing regional climate – the climatic climax (Clements, 1916, 1928, 1936). Importantly, Clements imagined that, in the absence of human influence, Earth’s ecosystems were mostly of the climax type. This was most evident in his views regarding the role of fire in nature such as expressed in an influential paper enti- tled Experimental Ecology in the Public Service (Clements, 1935). ‘‘Under primitive conditions, the great climaxes of the globe must have remained essentially intact, since fires from natural causes must have been both relatively infrequent and localized.’’ Clements had no doubt that succession is a directional process, and almost by definition, dominant species play a central role in that process. Succession is initiated by a discrete disturbance or, in Clements’ parlance, nudation which opens a site to immigration and establishment (ecesis) of new species. It is the biotic reactions of dominants – Clements’ term for their influences on their envi- ronment – that determine the variety of associated species at any stage in the process. Competition among dominants and sub- dominant species sharpens the boundaries (ecotones) between seral stages, and results in the homogeneous characteristics of each individual stage. Dominance, biotic reaction and competition are the processes that organize communities and the process of change that produces them (these processes are reviewed in detail in Pickett et al., 2009). Clements assigned great meaning to the origin of words. That ‘‘climate’’ and ‘‘climax’’ shared the same Greek root was for him strong evidence for the role of the former in determining the char- acter of the latter (Clements, 1936). Similarly, the sequence or ‘‘succession’’ of distinct seral stages was a defining characteristic of the process of succession (cf. Thoreau, 1860). This point was important enough for Clements’ contemporaries to dub situations where disturbances resulted in the direct replacement of dominant species by themselves as ‘‘autosuccessions’’ and the communities that produced them as ‘‘super climaxes’’ (e.g., Muller, 1940; Whittaker, 1953). Clements’ ideas were favorably received by many in the nascent discipline of ecology (e.g., Phillips, 1934, 1935; Nichols, 1935), but he also had vocal critics. Most notable among this latter group were William S. Cooper, Henry A. Gleason, and Arthur Tansley. A student of Cowles, Cooper is best known for extensive studies of post-glacial succession at Glacier Bay, Alaska (Cooper, 1923a, 1923b and 1923c). He was most critical of Clements’ views about the trajectory and endpoint of succession, particularly the notion of convergent change leading to a single climax community. He observed that succession in boreal forests is often retrogressive; changes in microclimate beneath the supposed climax white spruce forests often encourages their replacement by diminutive black spruce muskegs (Cooper, 1923c). For Cooper, succession is best understood in the analogy of a braided stream undergoing constant change. ‘‘Vegetation as we see it today is thus a mere cross section of this complex stream. The same is true of any point in past time. As to the future we may, from the study of present and past, prophesy a little distance onward with some degree of certainty, but more remote progress remains absolutely in the dark’’ (Cooper, 1926). Cooper defined succession simply as the pro- cess of vegetation change, therefore, ‘‘all vegetational change must of necessity be successional’’ and attributable to different mecha- nisms in different situations. Henry Gleason was critical of nearly every aspect of Clements’ theory. He was among the first ecologists to advocate quantitative sampling (Gleason, 1920), and to recognize the importance of sam- ple size and sampling technique on interpretations of vegetation distribution (Gleason, 1922, 1925). He was very aware of the lim- itations of inferring temporal change from chronsequences, sam- ples of different localities at a particular point in time (Gleason, 1917, 1926).2 Gleason’s definition of succession was considerably less inclu- sive than Coopers’ and more similar to Clements’; ‘‘succession means the replacement of one association [assemblage of species] by another.’’ However, Gleason and Cooper were in agreement regarding trajectories and mechanisms. ‘‘Different causes of suc- cession may act simultaneously but at different rates or in different directions. The actual direction of succession may be likened to a resultant of forces’’ (Gleason, 1926). In other words, there is no fundamental reason to expect succession to move in any particular direction. Gleason was especially skeptical of that most basic Clementsian tenet – ecological communities as organisms structured by the bio- tic reactions of dominant species. He proposed an individualistic concept of the plant community as an alternative to Clements’ organismic theory (Gleason, 1917, 1926, 1939). His argument was simple – the environment (climate, soils, moisture, etc.) varies con- tinuously in both time and space. The great variety of plant species vary in their abilities to grow and compete along such environmen- tal gradients in a continuous fashion. The seeds of various plant species are widely distributed so that every species has some like- lihood of arriving at a given place, and each place along the time– space continuum receives the seeds of many species. Thus, species N.L. Christensen Jr. / Forest Ecology and Management 330 (2014) 312–322 315 ought to be distributed along gradients of time or environment in an individualistic fashion. Clements’ homogeneous seral stages are, an illusion caused in part by his focus on the most obvious (dom- inant) species and on sampling that purposefully avoided situa- tions that did not meet the criterion of homogeneity—which Gleason argued constituted most of the world (Gleason, 1926, 1939). It may be valuable to classify vegetation into specific asso- ciations based on dominant species, but such classifications are necessarily arbitrary and utilitarian (i.e., not ‘‘natural’’). Even when Odum published his 1969 paper, these contrasting world views continued to divide vegetation scientists (Whittaker, 1970). Sir Arthur Tansley’s 1935 paper, The Use and Abuse of Vegeta- tional Terms and Concepts is a wonderful philippic, and few peers escaped his barbs. This paper is also famous for coining the word ecosystem. Much of the disagreement over the nature of succession hinged, he argued, on the disputants’ affections for metaphors or analogies as if they were actually synonymies. ‘‘I think Cooper is somewhat obsessed by his image of universal vegetational change as a ‘braided stream,’ just as Clements and Phillips are obsessed by their ‘complex organism’.’’ On the basic question of whether suc- cession constitutes a real process or simply a phenomenon, ‘‘I think the concept of succession involves not merely change, but the rec- ognition of a sequence of phases (admittedly continuous from one phase to another) subject to ascertainable laws, otherwise why do we employ the term succession instead of change?’’ Ecologists had yet to ascertain those laws and to do so would require understand- ing communities of organisms and their environment as whole systems, ‘‘in the sense of physics,’’ that is as ecosystems. ‘‘Though the organisms may claim our primary interest, when we are trying to think fundamentally we cannot separate them from their special environment, with which they form one physical system.’’ He went on to argue that ecosystems ‘‘develop gradually, steadily becoming more highly integrated and more delicately adjusted in equilib- rium.’’ ‘‘. . . normal autogenic succession is a progress towards greater integration and stability. The ‘‘climax’’ represents the high- est stage of integration and the nearest approach to perfect dynamic equilibrium that can be attained in a system developed under the given conditions and with the available components.’’ Explicit in Tansley’s argument is the assumption of the ‘‘universal tendency to the evolution of dynamic equilibria.’’ This sounds a great deal like Odum’s strategy of ecosystem development. Clements (1916, 1935) developed a complex classification sys- tem for successional trajectories and climaxes that deviated from his classical model, and most such deviations he attributed to human causes. At the most basic level, he differentiated between primary successions that ‘‘arise . . . upon surfaces for the first time’’ and ‘‘secondary successions that arise on denuded soils.’’ Because soil formation is generally slow, he argued that the rates of change are greatly accelerated in secondary compared to primary succes- sion. Cowles (1911) argued that this distinction ‘‘seems not to be of fundamental value, since it separates such closely related phe- nomena as those of erosion and deposition, and places together such unlike things as human agencies and the subsidence of land.’’ Cowles reservations notwithstanding, this basic distinction between successional types was and continues to be widely used by ecologists. Based on textbook case studies, Cowles dunes and Cooper’s recently glaciated terrains have become the archetypes for primary succession in general. Virtually all textbook treatments of secondary succession showcase the revegetation of abandoned agricultural fields or, simply, old fields. It could be argued that this preoccupation with old fields is an accident of history. Cooper, who was then at University of Minnesota, trained several PhD students, 3 Egler completed a masters degree with Cooper and did his doctoral work with Yale ecologist George Nichols. Nevertheless, Cooper’s influence is evident in all of his work. notably Murray F. Buell and Henry J. Oosting, and Frank E. Egler3, who took positions in ecology at prominent eastern Universities. Sharing the successional interests of their mentor, what these newly minted ecologists found in their new locations were landscapes dev- astated by nearly two centuries of land use and abuse – landscapes awash in abandoned fields, young stands of pine and beat up hard- woods. It was Oosting and his students who, in quantitative terms, not only fleshed out the details of this process, but elucidated the salient mechanisms underpinning that change. Over just a few years, old fields are dominated by a sequence of herb and grass species; these are eventually replaced by a thicket of pines. Pines subse- quently develop in even-aged stands. Because they are unable to reproduce in their own shade, they are ultimately replaced by broad-leaved hardwood trees such as oaks and hickories (Billings, 1938; Oosting, 1942; Oosting and Kramer, 1946; Keever, 1950; Bormann, 1953). This work suggested that the processes driving suc- cessional change might be more complex than, as Egler (1954) called it, ‘‘relay floristics’’, that is, one species assemblage preparing the way for the next. Indeed, Keever’s classic study of the early stages of this process demonstrated that much change was simply a conse- quence of differences in species life histories and which species arrived in what sequence (Keever, 1950). With two notable exceptions, virtually no one writing prior to 1970 was concerned about the possible influence of spatial scale or context – what we now call landscape issues—on the course of succession. The first exception was Thoreau (1860), who noted that the likelihood of a place on his New England landscape succeeding to either pine or hardwood was very much affected by the relative importance of these tree types in the vegetation surrounding that place. The other exception was Alex Watt’s 1947 paper Pattern and Process in the Plant Community, truly one of the founding papers in the field of landscape ecology. Watt called particular attention to the spatially heterogeneous—‘‘patchy’’—nature of suc- cessional change in most areas. Patterns of succession he asserted are influenced by the size and arrangement of vegetation patches on the landscape. Most of the species that occur along an entire successional sere following a major disturbance, including pio- neers, can also be found in smaller scale disturbances (In Watt’s words, the ‘‘gap phase’’) within the climax community. In land- scape jargon, Watt was arguing that successional processes are often self-similar over a wide range of spatial scales (Levin, 1992). In Watt’s view, ecosystems are undergoing constant change driven by species’ life histories and population dynamics. Further- more, that change is often cyclic. The spatial scale and relative abundance of different patch types may be influenced by major disturbances, but he conjectured that they might come into some sort of equilibrium during the process of succession. It is in this sense that succession might be seen as directional. 3. Land restoration and conservation: 1860–1969 Coinciding with this period of scientific debate and synthesis on the role of disturbance and succession in ecosystems, the founda- tions of land restoration and conservation policy and practice were being laid and the majority of land in the US where we now apply those policies and practice was formally identified and dedicated. Five events were particularly important. First, was the establishment of a system of National Parks beginning with Yellowstone in 1872.4 Although 10 parks were added over the next four decades, the role of either restoration or conservation in that system was not clearly articulated. This changed 4 It might be argued that Yosemite was actually the first such park. It was established in 1864, but its stewardship was turned over to the state of California. Unhappy with California’s management, the federal government formally reclaimed management of Yosemite as a national park in 1890. 316 N.L. Christensen Jr. / Forest Ecology and Management 330 (2014) 312–322 in 1916 (coincidentally the same year as the publication of Clements’ monograph on succession) with the passage of the National Park Ser- vice Organic Act and the creation of the National Park Service. For the first time, conservation was front and center in the Park Service’s mandate. The National Park Service ‘‘shall conserve the scenery and the natural and historic objects and the wild life therein and to pro- vide for the enjoyment of the same in such manner and by such means as will leave them unimpaired for the enjoyment of future generations.’’ The word ‘‘objects’’ in this mandate was especially important in subsequent conservation practice and policy in the parks (Sellars, 1997). Second, was passage of the Weeks Act of 1911. The National Forest System and National Forest Service were created by organic acts passed in the previous decade, but their specific mission was the provision of wood and protection of water exclusively in wes- tern forests. Recognizing the extent of abused and degraded land, particularly in the East, this act authorized the acquisition of such land. Nearly all national forests east of the Rockies owe their existence to the Weeks Act. Importantly, the mission of the Forest Service was expanded to include both restoration and conservation on its lands. Passed in the year following massive wildfires in Montana and Idaho that claimed 82 lives, the Weeks Act also mandated federal and state cooperation to protect public and private lands from fire (Shands, 1992; Steen, 1976, 1992). Third, policies to suppress all wildfires on public lands were codified in 1930 when the National Forest Service promulgated its so-called 10 AM rule for fire management – ‘‘the aim for any wildland fire shall be to obtain control by 10 AM on the day after it is first reported.’’ This mandate was subsequently applied to all federal agencies involved in land management. Up to about 1940, the actual impact of the 10 AM policy on the majority of lands was probably minimal, except in areas that were reasonably acces- sible on foot or by vehicle. This changed around 1940 with the advent of smoke chasing and smoke jumping (Pyne, 1982; Christensen, 2009). The policy of complete fire suppression was emblematic of general beliefs about succession and the impacts of human management on successional change. Furthermore, much restoration management and policy is focused on changes in American forests caused or thought to be caused by this policy. Fourth, was the establishment in 1951 of The Nature Conser- vancy dedicated to conservation of threatened species and ecosys- tems on lands, regardless of ownership (Birchard, 2005). Important in its own right, this event also catalyzed establishment numerous land conservancies dedicated to the acquisition, restoration and conservation of land across the country. Conservancy decisions regarding land acquisition as well as subsequent land management were and continue to be heavily influenced by prevailing wisdom regarding the role of disturbance and the nature of successional change. Fifth, was the passage in 1964 of the Wilderness Act, arguably the first piece of legislation focused exclusively on the preservation of nature for its own sake. This legislation created the Wilderness Preservation System representing a new category of federal land, wilderness, in which ‘‘the earth and its community of life are untram- meled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain.’’ Operationally, untrammeled meant no logging or mining, and only limited road construction. It is fair to say that most of us view ‘‘preservation of nature’’ as synonymous with this notion of wilder- ness. Lands in National Parks, National Forests, US Fish and Wildlife Refuges, and Bureau of Land Management Conservation Areas can receive formal wilderness designation by congressional action only. As of 2013, 109,512,000 acres, about 5% of US land area, are included in the US Wilderness Preservation System. In 1969, there was general consensus with regards to my three general restoration/conservation questions, and that consensus was in many ways shaped by agreement about the mechanisms, trajectories and end points of successional change described in Odum’s paper. What should we restore and conserve? The clear answer for most lands was climax ecosystems. For the National Park Service, this was most obvious in its interpretation of the natural objects in its organic act mandate. In the words of the 1963 Advisory Board on Wildlife Management in the National Parks, the Parks should represent ‘‘vignettes of primitive America’’, interpreted to mean America absent of human influence (Leopold et al., 1963). This view is echoed in the 1964 Wilderness Act’s definition of wilder- ness. For organizations such as The Nature Conservancy during this period, the emphasis on climax ecosystems was obvious in the def- inition of so-called ‘‘conservation elements’’ which boiled down to either rare species or iconic biological communities—‘‘last great places’’. Conservation during this era was seen by nearly all to be equivalent to museum curation with a focus on the preservation of ‘‘objects’’ rather than the conservation of processes upon which those objects depend. The restoration goals for the Forest Service were most often focused on specific seral stages such as even-aged forests but still emphasized endpoints such as is captured in the goal to restore a ‘‘desired future state.’’ How should we set boundaries for restoration and conserva- tion areas? Actions indicate that this was for the most part not an issue. Successional theory gave little or no consideration to possi- ble role of spatial scale or context. Although Alex Watt’s work sug- gested such a role, it also suggested that most of the biodiversity associated with successional change existed in relatively small patches within the climax community matrix. Thus, decisions regarding the size and boundaries of national parks, national for- ests and designated wilderness were taken as matters of economic and political expediency, with little or no concern about the impli- cations for restoration and conservation. How, exactly, should restoration and conservation be accom- plished? Prevailing successional theory argued that, in the absence of disturbance, natural succession would inevitably lead to that ultimate climax goal. Thus, the best strategy for conservation was protection from disturbance. There was, however, debate among land managers on this issue perhaps best exemplified in the so-called ‘‘light-burning controversy’’. Aldo Leopold, then a Forest Service employee, cited evidence for the importance of fre- quent surface fires in arid forests of the Four Corners region in pre- settlement times and of the negative consequences of the loss of fire in these forests owing to cattle grazing and active fire suppres- sion. With characteristic prescience, he argued that light burning was needed to restore healthy forest conditions (Leopold, 1924). Opposition to this position was emphatic and came from many quarters. For example, Leopold’s boss, Forest Service Chief William B. Greeley, called the concept of light burning a fallacy and pejora- tively dubbed it ‘‘Piute Forestry’’ (Greeley, 1920). Protection from burning prevailed. 4. The paths away from Odum: 1970 to the present Perhaps the best measure of the general acceptance of Odum’s classical successional model was the near absence of comment in the years immediately following its publication. Aside from a quib- ble over productivity differences during aquatic and terrestrial suc- cessions (McIntosh, 1969), there were no follow up papers or critical letters to the editor in the pages of Science magazine. It was not until the 1973 publication of a paper in the Journal of the Arnold Arboretum by William Drury and Ian Nisbett that seri- ous questions regarding Odum’s presentation were raised. They attacked Odum’s 24 trends to be expected in a sequential and methodical fashion, and argued that data to support some of Odum’s sweeping assertions were either tissue thin, contrary or N.L. Christensen Jr. / Forest Ecology and Management 330 (2014) 312–322 317 nonexistent. In a postscript at the end of their paper they cite the hostile comments of many of the reviewers of their paper as evi- dence that these classical views of succession were still alive and well in the minds of many, if not most, ecologists. Surely Drury and Nisbett must have taken some comfort in the avalanche research and criticism of classical theory over the next several dec- ades, much of it catalyzed by their paper. Why was it that ecologists held so tightly to ideas supported at best by a thin tissue of evidence? And, why all of a sudden were these ideas challenged on so many fronts? There are probably sev- eral answers to the first question, but I think the most important is simply this: the Clements–Odum model portrayed natural change as most of us would prefer changes of all kinds to be—directional, with incremental improvement leading inexorably to that best (i.e., most stable) of all possible worlds. With regard to the second ques- tion, two things are perhaps most important. First, the field of ecol- ogy was evolving with an ever more critical eye on methodology and increased emphasis on quantitative sampling and concerns about sampling bias. The potential flaws in the chronosequence approach for understanding both the nature and mechanisms of the process were becoming particularly obvious (Drury and Nisbet, 1973; Christensen and Peet, 1981; Foster and Tilman, 2000; Walker et al., 2010). Second, ecological studies begun earlier in the 20th century now provided data sets that allowed ecologists of my generation to undertake longitudinal studies; that is, to actu- ally examine successional changes at particular places over mean- ingful spans of time. Since Drury and Nisbett’s paper, ecologists have challenged every one of Odum’s assertions about the defining characteristics—mechanism, trajectory and endpoint—of succes- sion. These challenges are summarized below. Mechanism. There is no unique or unifying mechanism for succes- sional change. Connell and Slatyer (1977) suggested that succes- sional change could result from one or all of three alternative mechanisms. (1) Facilitation refers to situations in which a species or group of species modifies its environment so as to facilitate the invasion of other species. (2) Inhibition refers to situations in which early invading species usurp resources and prevent or limit the invasion of other species; succession proceeds only when pop- ulations of those early invaders decline. Tilman’s (1988) suggestion that species replacement during succession results from competi- tive effects on the ratio of potentially limiting resources is a spe- cific example of this mechanism. (3) Tolerance might be viewed as the null model in which succession proceeds largely as a conse- quence of the dispersal abilities, life histories and longevities of various species. In many ecosystems, all three of these mechanisms are important simultaneously. This is certainly the case with regard to old field succession (e.g., Keever 1950, 1983; Pickett et al., 1987; Walker and Chapin, 1987; Zanini et al., 2006; Peet et al., 2014). Furthermore, distinguishing among these mecha- nisms can be very complicated (Pickett et al., 1987). For example inhibition is generally assumed to result from competition by established species. But such competition also influences competi- tion among potential invading species, facilitating the success of some species relative to others (Peet et al., 2014). By providing habitat and food for birds and mammals, early invading trees facil- itate the dispersal and establishment of a variety of other tree spe- cies, while competitively limiting their growth (e.g., McDonnell and Stiles, 1983). None of these mechanisms is unique to succes- sion (defined as change deriving from discrete disturbance events) as compared to other forms of ecosystem change. The concept of ecological legacies represents another thread in the discussion of successional mechanisms. The historic distinction between primary and secondary succession was based on the pres- ence or absence of soil following disturbance; rates of change were much faster on sites with soil. But, as Cowles (1911) argued, this binary distinction between primary and secondary succession is overly simplistic. Successional change is initiated along complex gradients of disturbance conditions—from scratch in the case of succession on newly exposed rock to old fields where succession begins on soil stripped of its seed bank and fertile horizons, to clear cuts and postfire situations where seed banks and soil horizons are left intact, to less severe disturbances of forest canopies in the case of plant disease or ice damage. Although farmland abandonment has declined considerably on the landscapes where old field suc- cession was originally studied, it has accelerated exponentially worldwide (Cramer et al., 2008), and remains a something of a type specimen or model for successional change in general. Neverthe- less, old fields usually retain few ecological legacies, such as seed banks and soil organic matter and nutrient capital, and they often represent an extreme situation compared to most other secondary disturbance types (e.g., change following fire or logging). We now understand that ecological legacies—such as soils nutrients, woody debris, seed banks and residual vegetative growth—play a critical role in the patterns and rates of change along gradients of distur- bance intensity (Franklin et al., 2000; Foster et al., 2003; Cramer et al., 2008; Swanson et al., 2011). Trajectory. Successional trajectories are highly varied. Indeed, Walker and del Moral (2003); (Walker et al., 2010) describe 9 ‘‘common’’ trajectories of successional development. As discussed earlier, ecologists have long suggested that succession is not always directional and or always deterministic in the sense of ever increasing stability (Cowles (1901, 1911) was emphatic about this). Cooper’s braided stream metaphor might imply directionality of a sort, but hardly deterministic. Gleason explicitly rejected both directionality and determinism in his assertion that succession is the result of multiple forces. From his studies of heathlands and beech forests, Watt (1947) suggested that successional change following disturbance in many (if not all) ecosystems proceeds first through a regenerative phase characterized by rapid growth followed by a degenerative phase as individual plants senesce. Successional retrogression continues to be an important theme, particularly with regard to changes in nutrient cycles and the relative availability of nitrogen and phosphorus over very long spans of time (e.g., Vitousek, 2004; Wardle et al., 2004; Walker and Reddell, 2007; Peltzer et al., 2010). Endpoint. There is not one. Nearly all considerations of trajec- tory are inevitably tied to discussion of exactly where (or not) suc- cession is headed. Convergence, for example, has been a prominent theme in considerations of successional trajectory, but conver- gence on what? For Tansley and Odum, that what is stability. How- ever, many studies suggest that, as succession proceeds, many ecosystems actually become less stable and more prone to distur- bances such as fire, wind and ice, generating cycles of change. Such change cycles have since been documented in a wide variety of ecosystems visited by different types of disturbance. These include the pattern of ‘‘wave regeneration’’ in fir forests of the northeastern U.S. maintained by disturbance from wind and ice (Sprugel, 1976; Sprugel and Bormann, 1981), and the millennial thaw-lake cycle in the wet tundra of Alaska’s North Slope (Billings and Peterson, 1980). Indeed, Odum was well aware of such cyclic patterns of change and dubbed them ‘‘pulse stable’’. Calling attention to the homeostatic relationship between ecosystem change and the dis- turbances that stabilized such cycles, he argued that cyclic succes- sion was an exception that proved the rule. That is, as ecosystems develop following disturbance, they undergo change that makes them more prone to disturbance. In this view, disturbance cannot be seen as an externality occurring independent of the status of an ecosystem. To a greater or lesser extent it is an integral part of the process of succession. This notion of cyclic change has been especially important with regard to the role of fire in a wide variety of ecosystems. By the 1950s and 1960s, the phrase ‘‘fire cycle’’ was in wide use in the 318 N.L. Christensen Jr. / Forest Ecology and Management 330 (2014) 312–322 forest and range management literature (e.g., Weaver, 1951; Biswell, 1961; Cooper, 1960; Hanes, 1971; Heinselman, 1973). Immediately following fire in southern California chaparral, for example, communities are very diverse and productive, but rela- tively nonflammable. As succession proceeds, diversity and pro- ductivity decline, and flammable live and dead fuels accumulate. This continuously increases the probability of the next fire which initiates the next cycle of change (Christensen and Muller, 1975). Ecologists (including myself) studying fire during this period were particularly taken with the notion of pulse stability and the fire cycle, focusing much of our attention on the estimation of fire return intervals and the historic range of variation in those inter- vals through time (Kilgore, 1973; Christensen, 1981). Mutch (1970) went so far as to suggest that natural selection had favored the evolution of flammability in species in fire-prone ecosystems to ensure maintenance of fire cycles upon which they depended for successful reproduction. Although successional change is a driver for repeated episodes of disturbance in a great many ecosystems, lake sediment and tree ring data demonstrate that the historic range of variation in such episodes has been very large historically, and that few ecosystems or landscapes experience regular pulse stable cycles of change (e.g., Swetnam, 1993; Clark and Royall, 1996; Swetnam and Betancourt, 1998; Anderson et al., 2008; Jacobs and Whitlock, 2008; Whitlock et al., 2010). Indeed, Whitlock et al. (2010) suggest that the phrase ‘‘fire cycle’’ be abandoned altogether. Research in a variety of eco- systems suggests that variability in fire regimes is the norm and that it contributes significantly to the biological diversity of land- scapes at a variety of spatial scales (e.g., Turner et al., 1993; Turner and Romme, 1994; Turner, 2005; Baker, 2009). The notion of convergence is complicated even where succession is thought to be generally directional. For example, Christensen and Peet’s (1981, 1984) study of old field succession in over 200 forest stands in the North Carolina Piedmont revealed that understory plant diversity and species composition in pine forests do not con- verge in a linear fashion with increasing stand age toward the puta- tive hardwood climax. Instead, it is intermediate aged pine understories that most resemble their hardwood counterparts. They show that this more complicated trajectory is the result of demo- graphic changes associated with the development of the even-aged pine stands and their eventual transition to uneven-aged forests in which gap-phase processes are important (Peet and Christensen, 1980; Christensen and Peet, 1984; Peet et al., 2014). We live in a world of accelerating change, including changes in climate, landscape patterns and biogeographic distributions. Suc- cession is occurring in the context of that change, a ‘‘variable approaching a variable,’’ and discerning successional change pro- ceeds from discrete disturbances such as a fire or an abandoned field from other sorts of change has been the focus of much recent work. For example, old-field succession is generally thought to account for the vast majority of variation in species composition and diversity in forests on the piedmont of the southeastern U.S., but much of the change in these forests over the past four decades is unrelated to such succession. Peet and Christensen’s permanent plots were resampled 23 and 35 years after their establishment in 1977. There was considerable change in diversity and composition in all of these stands that was consistent across stand ages. Most important, this change did not correspond in any way to succes- sional changes predicted based on the 1977 samples (Taverna et al., 2005; Schwartz, 2007; Israel, 2012; Peet et al., 2014). In other words, regardless of successional status, the majority of the change in species composition and diversity on this landscape over the past three decades relatively little to do with old-field succession! Rather, it appears to have been driven by a combination of factors, including invasion of non-native species, greatly increased deer browsing, historical exclusion of fire (e.g., mesophication, Nowacki and Abrams, 2008), recent hurricanes, and climate change (Peet et al., 2014). These results notwithstanding, natural and human-caused dis- turbances are ubiquitous, and they remain important agents of change on many landscapes. In fact, many impacts of changes in climate, immigration of non-native species and changes in land- scape structure are likely to be most obvious in earliest stages of succession (dominated by early life history processes such as seed germination and seedling establishment as opposed to long-estab- lished herbs, shrubs and trees) following such disturbances. With respect to climate change, for example, the impacts of even signif- icant increases in temperature or evapotranspiration on late suc- cessional or mature forests may be small and difficult to detect, but they are likely to be quite apparent in the patterns of change in early successional communities. For example, recent studies suggest that rates change in early stages of secondary succession in many temperate forest ecosystems are increasing as a conse- quence of changes in climate, landscape change and patterns of species invasion (Wright and Fridley, 2010; Fridley and Wright, 2012). Recent work on multiple stable states, regime shifts and change thresholds focuses on post-disturbance change trajectories in shift- ing environmental contexts (e.g., Gunderson and Holling, 2002; Scheffer and Carpenter, 2003; Folke et al., 2004; Schröder et al., 2005; Brock and Carpenter, 2010). Ecosystems are often depicted as marbles rolling about on a complex terrain representing the wide range of different environmental conditions and ecosystem structures. Movement on this terrain represents change, some of which is related to succession following disturbance. Mountains and valleys represent unstable and stable configurations of envi- ronment and species composition. Non-successional changes in such factors as climate, the abundance of non-native species, or the connectivity of habitat patches constantly restructure this ter- rain, resulting in new regimes of stability and instability. The rela- tionship between such regime changes to disturbance and succession is illustrated with regard to global changes of three quite different kinds. In the Great Basin the widespread invasion of non-native cheat grass (Bromus tectorum) has increased the amount of very flammable fuel in sagebrush ecosystems. As a result, intense and frequent fires have virtually eliminated sage brush in many locations; the now-abundant cheat grass ensures the continuation of this new disturbance regime (e.g., Billings, 1990; D’Antonio and Vitousek, 1992; Valiant et al., 2007). Sea level rise in eastern North Carolina threatens to shift coastal vegetation zones such as between coastal marsh and adjacent pine forest. High evapotranspiration rates in the forest stabilize this zonation until a disturbance such as logging or fire, after which forest is no longer able to establish (Poulter et al., 2008). Warming climate in the Arctic is creating conditions favorable to large fires in boreal forest and tundra. This combination of climate change and fire is not only setting in motion new patterns of successional change, it is increasing the net flux of greenhouse gases from these ecosys- tems and, thus increasing warming (Kasischke et al., 1995; Kasischke and Turetsky, 2006; Field et al., 2007; Mack et al., 2011). Criticism of classical models of succession over the past several decades returned to Watt’s (1947) assertions about the importance of spatial and contextual relationships in successional change. Levin and Paine’s (1974) study of the dynamics of rocky intertidal communities catalyzed much of the work that followed. They showed that these dynamic landscapes are composed of a mosaic patches populated by unique communities of organisms and repre- senting different histories of disturbance and trajectories of change. Over the entire landscape, the composition or proportion of different patch types may remain about the same, but individual patches are constantly changing. Furthermore, patch size and, especially, the identity of adjacent patches play a significant role N.L. Christensen Jr. / Forest Ecology and Management 330 (2014) 312–322 319 in the dynamics of each individual patch. This patch mosaic model has been shown to be relevant for a great variety of terrestrial landscapes. Successional change within patches on such land- scapes is neither linear nor perfectly cyclic; instead it is often char- acterized by multidirectional change with multiple, relatively stable community types. Studies on a variety of landscapes show that change is influenced by the nature of surrounding patches which not only affect the immigration of species, but also the spread of disturbances like fire or human land use from one patch to another (e.g., Urban et al., 1987; Turner, 1989, 2005; Turner et al., 1998). Pickett and White, 1985 suggested a demography-based frame- work for disturbance and patch dynamics on landscapes. The course of change within any particular patch is influenced by within patch legacies and processes such as competition (e.g., Peet and Christensen, 1987), patch size (e.g., Phillips and Shure, 1990; Turner et al., 1997), the character of surrounding patches (e.g., Turner, 2005), changes in disturbance severity and patterns of spread (disturbance regimes, e.g., Gardner et al., 1992) and changes in the overall environmental context (Scheffer and Carpenter, 2003; Brock and Carpenter, 2010). The concept of minimum dynamic area–the minimum area of a landscape neces- sary to include not only all of the pieces of its mosaic, but also to stabilize its dynamics through time—has particular importance to the restoration and conservation of ecosystems in a world of change. 5. Restoration and conservation implications The evolution in our understanding of the mechanisms, trajec- tories and endpoints of succession has had significant conse- quences for ecosystem restoration and conservation practice which are discussed here with respect to the three questions posed earlier. What should we restore and conserve? Restoration and conser- vation goals and strategies should include the full range of variation in species diversity and composition associated with disturbance and the succession that proceeds from it. At scales from forest gaps to large landscape patches, much biodiversity is associated with distur- bance and the succession that proceeds from it (e.g., Turner, 2005; Swanson et al., 2011). Ecosystem restoration and conserva- tion cannot be viewed as the curation of ‘‘natural and historic objects’’ in some sort of ‘‘tree museum.’’ Instead, we must define goals in terms of the dynamics of landscapes and the disturbances and the processes that produce those dynamics. Restoration and conservation goals are often articulated in terms of ‘‘desired future condition’’ when they ought to be focused on ‘‘desired future change.’’ Restoration ‘‘targets’’ should be viewed as moving targets. This fixation on condition rather than change was reflected in Forest Service Chief William B. Greeley’s advocacy of the 10 AM rule to make U.S. forests ‘‘as fireproof as possible’’ (Greeley, 1920). He could not of course have understood that fire suppression would encourage change that would have quite the opposite effect in many western forests. But, the focus on future condition rather than change continues. Under the aegis of the 2003 Healthy Forest Restoration Act, federal land management agencies have undertaken ambitious thinning and fuel reduction programs to ‘‘return our forests and rangelands to a healthier [i.e., less fire prone] state.’’ However, little attention is being paid to the inevitable change that such fuel treatments are now facili- tating (Christensen, 2009). Unfortunately, this reorientation complicates rather than sim- plifies our decisions about appropriate restoration and conserva- tion goals. In a more deterministic world and with more confidence about our understanding of the interactions between successional change and other change agents, we could perhaps rely on current and historical patterns to frame such goals. In such a world we could set goals in terms of historic disturbance regimes or historic ranges of variation in such regimes and rely on succes- sion to produce appropriate outcomes. Although improved knowl- edge of the historic range of variation in disturbance and succession should inform our conservation goals, we cannot assume that restoring past processes will result in restoration or conservation success (Parsons et al., 1999). Managers now acknowledge the existence and importance of change thresholds, but they have few tools to quantitatively define such thresholds (Yung et al., 2010). In any case, goals cannot be stated exclusively in terms of the restoration and conservation practices we employ. Our interest should not be in restoring or preserving fire or other disturbances per se; rather we should focus on the biodiversity and key ecosys- tem processes that depend on these disturbances. Successful man- agement depends on clear articulation of specific goals for biodiversity and ecosystem processes. How should we set the boundaries for restoration and con- servation areas? Pattern, scale and context influence both distur- bance and succession, and preserve design really does matter. In this regard, managers should worry as much about the territories they do not restore or conserve as they do about the territory explicitly targeted for such management. In an ideal world, our attention would be drawn to defining minimum dynamic areas (MDA, Pickett and White, 1985) that would capture and stabilize all of the dynamics we wished to restore or conserve. We have repeat- edly learned over the past several decades that most of the land- scapes that we have set aside for restoration and conservation are far smaller than their MDAs, even under presettlement distur- bance regimes. The frequency and size of many disturbances, including fire and hurricanes, appear to be increasing in association with other human-caused change, and this is increasing MDAs in many places. Successful restoration and conservation strategies must be developed with the explicit understanding that managed territories are almost always smaller than the MDA. How, exactly, should restoration and conservation be accom- plished? Restoration and conservation policy and practice must be tailored to unique mechanisms and post-disturbance ecological lega- cies that determine the trajectory and tempo of successional change in each particular ecosystem. A half century ago, restoration and conservation management in national parks, national forests and Nature Conservancy preserves was object-oriented, and centered on protection from disturbance; restoring and maintaining natural disturbance regimes and key ecosystem processes are now the highest priorities (e.g., Birchard, 2005; Christensen, 2005, 2009; Keeley et al., 2009; Aplet and Cole, 2010). Whether disturbances are in some sense natural (such as with fire) or human caused (such as with logging), managers now pay as much attention to what is left behind—ecological legacies—as they do to what the dis- turbance removes (e.g., Foster et al., 2003; Swanson et al., 2011). Understanding the potential role of competition from early invad- ing species (i.e., inhibition), managers can intervene to accelerate successional change to restore ecosystems (e.g., Cramer et al., 2008). Recognizing that successional change is more stochastic than deterministic, and that it is occurring against a welter of glo- bal changes in climate, landscape structure and species biogeogra- phy, managers must acknowledge that policies and practices intended to simulate natural disturbance regimes or encourage ‘‘natural’’ processes of successional change can have undesirable consequences such as the loss of biodiversity or the invasion of non-native species (Chapin et al., 2010; Yung et al., 2010). More than ever, restoration and conservation management requires humility, rather than hubris. The complexity of ecosystem change, uncertainty about the future and our limited understanding of all 320 N.L. Christensen Jr. / Forest Ecology and Management 330 (2014) 312–322 of the consequences of our actions demand that management be adaptive. 6. Succession is dead: long live succession! Is succession worthy of special designation apart from change in general? Pickett et al. (2009), for example, consider succession to be synonymous with ‘‘change in either species composition or the three dimensional structure of a plant community or both.’’ Because of the history of more restrictive definitions, they suggest that the phrase ‘‘vegetation dynamics’’ be used in place of succes- sion. However, given the widely recognized importance of discrete natural and human-caused disturbances in virtually all of Earth’s ecosystems, the process of change that derives from them needs to be understood and, yes, specifically named. That name is succes- sion. This is especially important in the realms of forest restoration and conservation. Intentionally and unintentionally, restoration and conservation management has historically influenced the nat- ure, timing and severity of such disturbances. For decades, strate- gies were employed to protect forests from disturbance that, in the end, increased the likelihood and severity of those disturbances in some places and diminished them in others. Today, in the name of restoration and conservation, we strive to reintroduce and/or maintain those disturbances or their surrogates such as logging or thinning. In order to understand and evaluate the efficacy of these strategies relative to management goals, it has been and con- tinues to be important to be able to measure the change—succes- sion—they cause relative to changes caused by other agents. I and other ecologists of my generation began our careers with the certainty of simple models of succession that validated strongly held beliefs about the way the world ought to be. To para- phrase Mark Twain, often, it is not what we do not know that gets us into trouble, it is what we know for sure that just ain’t so. As we have learned more about succession in different places, initiated by different disturbances, and occurring in the context of other kinds of change, simple, deterministic, directional and widely applicable models of succession have been replaced by much more complex, stochastic, and situation-specific constructs. The mechanisms of succession following disturbance vary widely, but there is general agreement that they do not differ from mechanisms of change brought about by other agents such as shifts in climate, invasive species and landscape fragmentation. Furthermore, discrete distur- bances can produce myriad change trajectories that defy such sim- ple classifications as directional or cyclic. Although it may happen in some situations, there is certainly no evidence that post-distur- bance succession invariably progresses towards ‘‘greater integra- tion and stability’’ (Tansley, 1935) or ‘‘ever increasing control of, or homeostasis with, the physical environment in the sense of achieving maximum protection from its perturbations.’’ Absent of unique processes or sets of processes, searching for a grand unified theory or strategy of succession such as proposed by Clements and Odum is futile. These are also important lessons for those con- cerned with the restoration and conservation of forests. Succession does not invariably trend toward increasing stability—often the opposite is true. Successful management requires recognition of the complexity and unique character of succession in each ecosystem. Acknowledgements I am grateful to the faculty of the Duke University Graduate Pro- gram in Ecology for the invitation to give the 43rd Henry J. Oosting Memorial Lecture upon which much of this paper is based, and I thank Dan Binkley for encouraging me to consider this topic in par- ticular. Conversations with many colleagues and former students have influenced the ideas expressed here. I am especially grateful to Stephen Mitchell, Dan Richter, Dean Urban and two anonymous reviewers for thoughtful comments and edits on this paper. References Anderson, R.S., Allen, C.D., Toney, J.L., Jass, R.B., Bair, A.N., 2008. 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Acknowledgements References 
work_v2rltc2jarad5iluwotbbwency	----	JME310557.qxd http://jme.sagepub.com/ Education Journal of Management http://jme.sagepub.com/content/33/1/99 The online version of this article can be found at: DOI: 10.1177/1052562907310557 November 2007 2009 33: 99 originally published online 30Journal of Management Education Joy E. Beatty, Jennifer S. A. Leigh and Kathy Lund Dean Teaching Philosophies, Educational Philosophies, and Philosophy Philosophy Rediscovered : Exploring the Connections Between Published by: http://www.sagepublications.com On behalf of: OBTS Teaching Society for Management Educators can be found at:Journal of Management EducationAdditional services and information for http://jme.sagepub.com/cgi/alertsEmail Alerts: http://jme.sagepub.com/subscriptionsSubscriptions: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.navReprints: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.navPermissions: http://jme.sagepub.com/content/33/1/99.refs.htmlCitations: by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ http://jme.sagepub.com/content/33/1/99 http://www.sagepublications.com http://www.obts.org/ http://jme.sagepub.com/cgi/alerts http://jme.sagepub.com/subscriptions http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.nav http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav http://jme.sagepub.com/content/33/1/99.refs.html http://jme.sagepub.com/ Journal of Management Education Volume 33 Number 1 February 2009 99-114 © 2009 Organizational Behavior Teaching Society 10.1177/1052562907310557 http://jme.sagepub.com hosted at http://online.sagepub.com 99 Philosophy Rediscovered Exploring the Connections Between Teaching Philosophies, Educational Philosophies, and Philosophy Joy E. Beatty University of Michigan–Dearborn Jennifer S. A. Leigh Gettysburg College Kathy Lund Dean Idaho State University Teaching philosophy statements reflect our personal values, connect us to those with shared values in the larger teaching community, and inform our classroom practices. In this article, we explore the often-overlooked foundations of teach- ing philosophies, specifically philosophy and historical educational philoso- phies. We review three elements of pure philosophy and five seminal educational philosophies to help readers ground their personal philosophies in both a theoretical and historical context. We illustrate how core elements of one’s teaching philosophy can influence course design and the classroom envi- ronment. We suggest that teachers can develop greater authenticity in the class- room by deepening their understanding of their own philosophical ideas and beliefs. Keywords: teaching philosophy; educational philosophy; philosophy; per- sonal development; authenticity; foundations The connection between philosophy, philosophy of education, and the work of a teacher has not always been recognized. One of the most hopeful signs, however, in the field of education today, is the growing conviction that every teacher needs a carefully formulated and intelligently criticized philosophy Authors’ Note: The authors acknowledge helpful discussions with Thomas Hawk and con- structive feedback and support from editor Susan Herman. Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Joy E. Beatty, University of Michigan–Dearborn, 19000 Hubbard Drive FCS B-29, Dearborn, MI 48126; e-mail: jebeatty@umd.umich.edu. by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ 100 Journal of Management Education of education and that this philosophy of education must be rooted in philos- ophy itself. Van Petten Henderson, 1947, p. vii A statement of teaching philosophy is a narrative description of one’s con- ception of teaching, including the rationale for one’s teaching methods. It is seen as a place to voice holistic views of the teaching process, including one’s thoughts about the definitions and interaction between learning and teaching, perceptions of the teacher’s and student’s role, and goals and values of educa- tion (Chism, 1997-1998; Goodyear & Allchin, 1998). Many teachers are encouraged to draft their first formal teaching philosophy statement for func- tional reasons, as part of their teaching portfolio. Teaching philosophy state- ments therefore play an important role in initial job searches as well as promotion and tenure (Edgerton, Hutchings, & Quinlan, 1991; Seldin, 1997). Beyond such instrumental benefits, teaching philosophy statements are also a tool to promote teachers’ ongoing personal development. The process of reflection required to create and periodically revise a statement is as impor- tant as, and sometimes more important than, the actual content of the end- product statement because it promotes self-awareness. Good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher and one’s ability to make these present in the classroom (Palmer, 1997). Over time, our teaching styles may become overlearned and automatic, allowing us to practice them without con- scious thought (Jarvis, 1992). Engaging in a formal reflection process about our philosophy allows us to remain mindful of our beliefs (Brookfield, 1995; Schön, 1983). As Ramsey and Fitzgibbons (2005) explain, Who we are, what we believe, and what assumptions we hold about students, the material, and the world significantly affect what we do in the classroom, no matter the course content or teaching style. This recognition provides the major impetus continually to question and rethink who we are in the world and what we want our relationship with students and the subject matter to be. (p. 345) The theoretical underpinning of philosophy is often overlooked when teachers draft their personal teaching philosophies. The most common approaches to writing a teaching philosophy offer descriptive lists of ques- tions regarding one’s beliefs about students, the role of the teacher, and the outcomes of higher education (for seminal examples, see those by Chism, 1997-1998, and Goodyear & Allchin, 1998). Yet as Pratt (2005) points out, “A philosophy of teaching statement should reveal the deeper structures and values that give meaning and justification to an approach to teaching” (p. 32). by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ Any teaching philosophy may meet functional goals, but a more meaningful developmental teaching philosophy should be rigorous and well-grounded—as noted above in our opening quote from Van Petten Henderson. The opening quote was taken from a book on educational philosophies published in 1947 (notably not recent), and we included it as an aspirational goal for manage- ment educators. Our personal experiences drafting our own teaching philoso- phies and discussions with colleagues suggest there is ongoing opportunity for deeper development of one’s teaching philosophy. Van Petten Henderson’s quote offers a roadmap for developing a more rigorous and grounded teach- ing philosophy which entails grounding one’s teaching philosophy in “phi- losophy itself,” meaning the larger theoretical frameworks in general philosophy and historical educational philosophies. Following this roadmap, our inquiry in this article focuses on the “philos- ophy” part of teaching philosophy statements. Philosophy is a highly abstract concept which can seem distant and perhaps irrelevant to our daily concerns of teaching, yet we believe a greater understanding of the philosophical foun- dations of teaching philosophies offers practical benefits. Specifically, under- standing elements of philosophy and the kinds of questions pure philosophy addresses is helpful for thinking more deeply about one’s personal teaching beliefs. Understanding educational philosophies allows one to consider his or her teaching practice within the larger community of teachers, providing context and perspective. Because teachers enact their own ideas and beliefs about teaching in their daily practice, their differences in philosophical beliefs lead to differences in classroom practice. The process of explicitly naming these ideas and concepts makes visible philosophical choices that were for- merly taken for granted. Our goal in this article is to rediscover the philosophy in teaching philoso- phies, to illustrate the practical implications of teaching philosophies, and to explain why it is useful for teachers to reflect on their own teaching philoso- phies. We begin by discussing some concepts from basic philosophy, followed by a review of the major educational philosophies which highlights the con- nections with basic philosophy. We conclude with comments on the benefits of mindfully choosing and attending to one’s teaching philosophy. This theo- retical background supports a card sort exercise (see Beatty, Leigh, & Lund Dean [this issue]) designed to facilitate reflection on the educational and philo- sophical roots of personal teaching philosophies. Reclaiming the “Philosophy” in Teaching Philosophies Educators face philosophical questions about the nature of knowledge, edu- cation, schooling, and the methods by which schooling should occur: What is Beatty et al. / Philosophy Rediscovered 101 by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ real? How do I know? What is worthy and what do I value? Although these questions may not be directly addressed in the classroom, teachers’ beliefs and views on these questions form critical scaffolding for the teaching and learning experiences they create in the classroom. The field of philosophy has well-developed concepts for discussing these kinds of questions which pro- vide a critical framework for examining our teaching beliefs. In this section, we present three of them: metaphysics, epistemology, and axiology. What is real? Metaphysics examines the nature of ultimate reality. It offers views on the causes of events in the universe (cosmology), the nature of human beings (anthropology), the nature of divinity (theology), and the meaning of existence (ontology). For example, questions such as “Does order exist in the universe, or do humans create it?” “Who am I?” and “What am I?” (McKenna, 1995) are metaphysical ones. Is the world absolute and permanent, abstract and spiritual, or subjective and changing? A key learning goal in management education is to help students under- stand the perceptually based and constructed nature of “reality.” Thus, our views of metaphysics (along with those of textbook writers and curriculum committee members) will necessarily shape the content and methods of our teaching. We may convey that reality is objectively real or subjective and socially constructed; both views represent a metaphysical stance. If we con- vey the view that reality is subjective, we are enacting a metaphysics that is consistent with the educational philosophies of pragmatism, existentialism, and critical theory; in contrast, this view is at odds with the metaphysics of realism and idealism, which portray reality in more objective terms. We will discuss connections with educational philosophies in more detail later in this article. Our view of human nature, which is a metaphysical belief, shapes our view of education. Do we believe human nature has been constant throughout time and that proper knowledge is therefore timeless, or do we believe that human nature and basic problems change over time? Do we believe that people are inherently good and altruistic, or operating primarily from self-interest? The dilemma of free choice versus causality is also a metaphysical question commonly addressed in discussions of agency versus structure (McKenna, 1995). This idea might show up in our course design, for example, in the amount of order and structure teachers provide for a class and their expectations that students conform to the structure. It could show up in the causal explanations and solutions we offer about the busi- ness and social issues we discuss in class, for example, if we believe problems are caused more by social structures or individual agency. It 102 Journal of Management Education by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ could also affect our explanations of self-assessment instruments our students take, such as Rotter’s (1966) Locus of Control scale. How do I know what I know? The second philosophical concept is epis- temology, which literally means a theory or explanation of knowledge. It focuses on the origin, structure, and validity of knowledge (McKenna, 1995) or how we know what we know. Information can come from others such as parents and teachers or from personal sources such as reason and sensory experience. A seminal work by Hessong and Weeks (1991) suggests there are five ways of knowing: (a) by revelation from God; (b) by authority from an expert; (c) by the individual’s reasoning; (d) by the individual’s sensory perception; and (e) by the individual’s intuition. Note that epistemology is the most well-known term, and some writers use it to represent both meta- physical and epistemological ideas. Epistemological questions influence our teaching methods in critical ways. For example, do we teach scientific methods or use Holy texts to find knowledge? Do we encourage or discourage the use of intuition? What are our beliefs about the validity of knowledge from external authorities versus knowledge from the individual? The choices we make about our assign- ments, tests, and course design are epistemological statements. For example, research articles are based on a rational-analytic, positivist epistemology; case analyses demonstrate a greater tolerance for ambiguity and multiple sources of data; and personal reflection work which encourages the use of “I” honors an individualized epistemology. Multiple choice tests suggest there is one right answer, often the one put forth by the textbook or the teacher. Writing assignments which require application to a student’s per- sonal life imply that knowledge is more contextual and subjective. The use of teams and class discussion suggests that other people are a valid source of knowledge. One place teachers demonstrate their epistemological beliefs is in the standards of evidence they require on research assignments. Some teachers specifically require students to reference only academic articles, whereas others allow trade publications, Web searches, or the use of community- generated documents such as Wikipedia. Critics argue that Wikipedia does not count as “expert” knowledge; because content can be edited by anyone with Internet access, it lacks the formal peer review process in which recog- nized academic “experts” serve as gatekeepers to publication, protecting the dissemination of fallacies. They further argue that the process of open access devalues the notion of expertise itself (Read, 2006). This is an epistemolog- ical debate on the validity of sources of knowledge. Beatty et al. / Philosophy Rediscovered 103 by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ What are worthy as the right criteria for judgment? The third philosophi- cal concept is axiology, which addresses the nature of value, covering both ethics and aesthetics. The term is derived from the Greek word for “worthy,” and this branch focuses on how we evaluate choices. The major ethical frameworks covered in axiology are probably familiar to most management educators because they are often included in textbook sections on ethics. They are utilitarian ethics, justice ethics, virtue ethics, and care ethics. The first three frames assume rationality, universal criteria, and autonomy of the individual. In contrast, the ethic of care is contextual, nonuniversal, and relational. Our values can appear in the content materials of the course, such as the selection of cases and reading materials. Our views on morality, values, and right action, including whether and how these concepts should be taught, will shape our approach to teaching. In the classroom, we may be uncom- fortable with explicitly addressing values issues, believing our role is to present only “the facts” and allow students to create their own moral code. We may alternatively believe in offering more information and assistance in creating ethical students. Indeed, business schools are under increasing scrutiny to explicitly address the ethical training of our students. The literature on academic service learning provides an example of an axi- ological debate in management education. Some scholars such as Godfrey (1999) believe service learning is a moral project addressing social justice which helps “the private sector maintain the moral authority to set the social agenda” (p. 376), and it should be explicitly presented as such to students. Others such as Kenworthy-U’Ren (1999) advocate an “exposure-and- understanding” approach that explicitly avoids the social justice framing and allows students to reach their own value positions on service, social justice, and the role of business in society. Their debate is not about whether values should be discussed explicitly; after all, both are presenting strongly held val- ues-based positions. Rather, we suggest they are presenting contrasting value systems which reflect their personal teaching philosophies. Because their debate has been published, other management educators can reflect on and gain insight into their own values position on service learning. This example illustrates a major community benefit of making elements of one’s teaching philosophy public and open for discussion. Values also appear in aesthetics, which studies sensory experience and feel- ings aroused by these experiences. Steve Taylor (personal communication, July 18, 2006) discusses the relation to aesthetics in teaching when he writes: It is always an aesthetic choice for a teacher as to what they really value—is good critical thinking beautiful? Is being the sage on the stage and having the 104 Journal of Management Education by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ students applaud at the end of your lecture beautiful? Or is it the sublime expe- rience of having a student realize something important about themselves that does it for you? These are fundamentally values that are aesthetic differences. Teachers who value aesthetics encourage learning through a variety of sen- sual experiences, using techniques that evoke different visual, auditory, and affective experiences rather than traditional teaching methods. For example, they may incorporate art and drawing, music, and performances of skits and plays to evoke learning through sensual experiences. The three conceptual areas from philosophy presented here are challeng- ing because they are highly abstract. Thinking about these and determining one’s own stance on these questions can be difficult and is likely an ongoing developmental journey that occurs over the course of one’s career. Additional resources to spur this development are available in the education literature, which contains the established philosophies of education. How have others answered these questions over time? The traditional philosophies offer frameworks demonstrating different “answers” to the abstract metaphysical, epistemological, and axiological questions. We discuss these educational philosophies in the next section. Shared Educational Philosophies The literature on teaching philosophies suggests that they are eminently personal, a reflection of the individual teacher’s identity. However, the liter- ature overlooks the importance of shared foundations: The building blocks for these personal statements are drawn from the lexicon of basic educa- tional philosophies, which are shared among the community of teachers. Teaching philosophies are rarely discussed in our daily practice, so this “sharing” occurs implicitly. When we do discuss them, there is a tendency to resort to a convenient shorthand or set of buzzwords, as if everyone knows what “a student centered community of learners” means and shares the same definition. Yet meanings can vary widely among individual teachers. The culture of teaching practice has become, paradoxically, both more diverse and more shared. Awareness of diverse teaching and learning meth- ods is increasing as schools focus on the scholarship of teaching and learn- ing (Boyer, 1990), and an increasing number of pedagogy publications are available to disseminate teaching knowledge. Challenges to a traditional lecture model or “sage on a stage” paradigm are widespread (e.g., The Organizational Behavior Teaching Conference) and have fundamentally altered the culture Beatty et al. / Philosophy Rediscovered 105 by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ surrounding innovative and effective teaching. But as approaches to teach- ing have become more diverse, it seems the language underpinning and sus- taining them has struggled to maintain its shared communal meaning. Furthermore, normative beliefs about teaching methods vary across disci- plines (Donald, 1995; Murray & Renaud, 1995). Terms from the lexicon may be invoked without an understanding of their relationship to traditional educational philosophies and the connections with and among other terms in that lexicon. Thus, the details that come from deeper familiarity with the philosophy may be forgotten over time. To illustrate how terms become disconnected from their historical context, consider the idea of “Teaching the Whole Person” which was the theme of the Organizational Behavior Teaching Conference in 2005. In the present era, the term “whole person” begs the question: “whole” as opposed to what? Looking at the history of this concept reveals an interesting controversy in educational philosophy regarding the goals of education. The whole person concept is derived from the whole child movement and the rise of progressivism, which occurred after 1918. In that year, the National Education Association issued an influential bulletin titled Cardinal Principles of Secondary Education outlining the goals of education. It focused on “complete living” and life adjustment and offered a wide interpretation of children’s needs in education, including rational thinking and the understanding of science, health, family life, ethics, the rights and duties of democratic citizenry, and wise consumer behavior and use of leisure. It advocated social, psychological, vocational, moral, and civic goals for education, in addition to traditional cognitive ones (Ornstein & Levine, 1997, p. 424). This philosophical position does not sound all that controversial in today’s world, but at the time it was a statement against the prevailing ide- ology. Whole child was developed as a response and reaction to the “mental discipline” approach, which dominated American education from the late 1800s. The mental discipline approach argues that the mind is strengthened through mental activities. Traditional subjects such as Latin, Greek, math, and physics were valued for their cultivation of the intellect. The more dif- ficult the subject was to learn, the more valuable it was as exercise for the mind. This approach created a curriculum hierarchy focused on academics and college preparation, but the social and psychological concerns of the learner were largely ignored (Ornstein & Levine, 1997). This example illus- trates how a phrase such as “Teaching the Whole Person” has a specific his- torical meaning. Understanding its context allows us to be better informed about its contemporary usage. In a similar way to this “whole person” example, establishing connections between one’s personal teaching philosophy and traditional educational 106 Journal of Management Education by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ philosophies builds an understanding of the ancestry and lineage of one’s beliefs which we believe contributes to personal development. To explore the larger context of educational philosophies, we offer a brief overview of five major educational philosophies using the elements of philosophy presented earlier in this article (see Table 1). In chronological order, the philosophies are idealism, realism, pragmatism, existentialism, and critical theory. As used here, philosophies refer to “complete bodies of thought that present a world- view of which education is a part” (Ornstein & Levine, 1997, p. 383). They provide the foundation or “roots” for different educational theories. These descriptions are brief, offering broad classifications that emphasize distinctions between these philosophies and deemphasize the interconnect- edness inherent in these ideas. Although we have covered the major schools, there are others we have not covered such as phenomenological, hermeneu- tic, interpretive, and postmodern philosophies. We encourage readers to pur- sue a more extensive review of those educational philosophies that interest them. We recommend texts dedicated to teaching philosophies such as Blake, Smeyers, Smith, and Standish (2003) or McKenna (1995). Beatty et al. / Philosophy Rediscovered 107 Table 1 Elements of Philosophies of Education Philosophy Metaphysics Epistemology Axiology Idealism Reality is spiritual or Knowing is the Values are absolute and mental and rethinking of latent eternal unchanging ideas Realism Reality is objective, Knowing consists of Values are absolute and fixed, and is sensation and eternal based on composed of matter abstraction natural law and form Pragmatism Reality is the interaction Knowing results from Values are situational or of an individual with experience and use relative environment or of scientific method experience; always changing Existentialism Reality is subjective Knowing is to make Values should be freely personal choices chosen Critical theory Reality is politically, Knowing comes from Values are constructed in socially, and critical analysis of terms of power economically conflicts in society constructed Credit: Ornstein, Alan C. and Daniel U. Levine, Foundations of Education, Sixth Edition. Copyright 1997 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Used with permission. by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ Idealism. This philosophy is considered to be one of the oldest and can be traced back to Plato. Idealist philosophers include Descartes, Georg Hegel, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and, more recently, the 20th century work of J. Donaldson Butler and Herman H. Horne. The main concerns for idealists are primarily metaphysical, focusing on “eter- nal concepts” like truth and honor. Idealists emphasize the “reality of the mind”—that the mental and spiri- tual are real—and see the universe as an expression of a universal mind. For their epistemology, idealists believe that ideas are latent in the mind, perma- nent and orderly; ideas are absolute and both prior to and independent of experience. Therefore, idealists draw on intuition, revelation, and rational- ism to develop knowledge. Idealists believe that when individuals examine their own mind, they discover a copy of the universal mind. The goal of an education informed by idealism is to help students discover this underlying knowledge, thus providing a broad and unified perspective of the universe. Idealist axiology suggests enduring values that are unchanging and univer- sal. Ethical conduct should mirror these enduring and permanent values. Instructors who have this perspective often expose students to the classics that have endured over time, such as Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Realism. Aristotle, Plato’s pupil, founded this school of philosophy which is considered to be a reaction to idealism. Specifically, realism acknowledges the existence of the sensory world (e.g., Plato’s cave and the fire) in its own right separate from our conception of it (e.g., Plato’s privileging of the shadow). Other realist philosophers include Thomas Aquinas, Francis Bacon, John Locke, and Alfred North Whitehead. Realists’ metaphysics stress objec- tive knowledge and values that exist independent of the mind of the knower. Realists believe that every object is composed of matter which can be sensed. Their epistemology offers that knowing is based on sensory data, which the mind then abstracts and classifies, for instance in the creation of typologies. An important distinction between idealism and realism in their approach toward “truth” is that realists believe people can observe these laws from their study of reality, as opposed to their minds. The axiology of realism is the development of values based on natural laws, which are eternal and univer- sal. Like idealism, realism emphasizes eternal knowledge as guiding the education process. Teachers with realist philosophies will focus on subject- matter disciplines often in the natural and social sciences. Pragmatism. This philosophy is considered the United State’s contribution to philosophical thought. Pragmatism, also referred to as experimentalism and 108 Journal of Management Education by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ instrumentalism, grew from a frustration with older philosophical systems that focused on absolutes. In contrast, the thinking of pragmatists like Charles Peirce, William James, George Herbert Mead, and John Dewey was informed by empirical science, the rapid social and cultural changes and their associated problems in the late 19th century, and nature. In the metaphysics of pragma- tism, reality is constructed through transactional experiences where humans interact with the environment, which is constantly changing. For its episte- mology, one knows things by examining his or her experience interacting with the environment. Therefore pragmatists believe knowledge is subject to review because of the ever-changing nature of the world. The axiology of pragmatism is that values are relative and situational, and as the culture changes so do its values. Teachers with pragmatist philosophies will focus on building con- structed, participative knowledge with students. They will rely on dialogue and critical examination and will be more comfortable with ambiguity. Existentialism. The initial development of this philosophy is associated with Søren Kierkegaard and Friedrich Nietzsche and in the 20th century in the works of Karl Jaspers, Jean-Paul Sartre, Martin Heidegger, and Albert Camus. Existentialism is marked by three features. First, there is the resis- tance of its philosophers to classification as a distinct philosophical tradition. Second, these philosophers held a disdain for societal structures that robbed individuals of their humanity, such as modern industrialization in the early 20th century. Third, existential philosophers share a disregard for the remote- ness of traditional philosophy. Existentialists encourage deep personal reflec- tion on experiences of deep passion or times of heightened feeling because they believe reality is understood through these moments. Another key tenet is that individuals possess the freedom to make choices, and it is through the nature of these choices that people define themselves. The goal of education is to awaken people to this freedom to choose. In the metaphysics of existentialism, reality is existence grounded in the personal and subjective experience. For its epistemology, knowledge comes through the process of making choices; it is personal and nonscientific, created through the act of living one’s life. Similarly, in its axiology, values are those chosen by the individual; because there are no preexisting or universal values for existentialists, every choice is an act of value creation. Aesthetics play a greater role; as people explore others’ acts of making choices, they create their own standard of what is beautiful to them. Teachers with existentialist philoso- phies will reject “traditional” assignments such as research articles and multi- ple choice exams as irrelevant. They may use experiential learning techniques such as role-playing or service-learning that encourage action and affect. Beatty et al. / Philosophy Rediscovered 109 by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ Critical social theory. Like existentialism, critical theory resists tradi- tional classification. Critical theory’s ideas can be traced to the works of Marx as well as Max Horkheimer, Theodor Adorno, Antonio Gramsci, Jürgen Habermas, and the modern-day proponent Paulo Freire. The major concerns of critical theorists are critique of society, its structures, and their reproduction. Of particular interest is their belief that powerful groups con- trol societal structures and systematically impose their values on those who lack power. Its metaphysics are that reality is socially constructed through class struggle. Its epistemology rests on the study of conflict, dominance, and power in society. It explores power through deconstructing major works from the old order, and encouraging an epistemology based on one’s autobiographical experiences. Critical theorists advocate reform, and their axiology is grounded in “a strong ethical concern for the individual and a rejection of all possible excuses for hunger, domination, humiliation, injus- tices, and a longing for a better world” (Blake & Masschelein, 2003, p. 38). Teachers with critical social theory philosophies will lead students through deconstruction exercises that focus students’ attention on examining social relationships, including power, class, and motives. They might also include reflection assignments that encourage students to develop a heightened awareness of themselves in socially grounded roles and the demands placed on them therein. Although the philosophies discussed above occurred chronologically, it should be noted that the newer philosophies have not replaced the old ones; they have simply expanded the field. For example, we can find present-day “Great Books” seminars or curricula in which teachers emphasize universal truths presented in the great works of civilization, an idea consistent with the older philosophies of idealism and realism. Implications for Teacher Development and Management Education We believe that the “philosophy” part of teaching philosophies demands more attention. Our review of the pure philosophy terms of metaphysics, epistemology, and axiology establishes the philosophical roots of teaching philosophies and offers a conceptual framework to think about philosophi- cal ideas as they apply to teaching. Our review of the classic educational philosophies illustrates how these elements have been combined at differ- ent times to result in very different beliefs about and approaches to teach- ing. These educational philosophies and concepts also provide the shared but often implicit teaching lexicon. 110 Journal of Management Education by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ Developing teaching philosophies grounded in philosophy and educa- tional philosophies offers a number of benefits to our teaching practice, our personal development, and the community of management education. At the most practical level, being mindful of our values in our teaching practice can guide our decision making in course design and in coping with inevitable teaching dilemmas. Choices about assignments and projects, testing, and classroom dynamics should ideally be consistent with elements of one’s teaching philosophy. Philosophical views, examined or not, will come into play as teachers cope with cases of academic dishonesty, imploding student teams, critical classroom incidents, and negative feedback on their teaching. As teachers embark on the kind of study and reflection of their teaching philosophy that we propose in this article, they may find areas where their classroom practice is inconsistent with their espoused philosophy. When this occurs, teachers can explore this inconsistency to determine whether it is their philosophy or their classroom practice that should be revised. Addressing such inconsistencies allows the teaching philosophy statement to serve as foundation for ongoing development. Revisiting one’s teaching philosophy statement regularly then becomes a tool to create and maintain a clear and authentic identity as a teacher. Authenticity in teaching requires self-awareness, awareness of others, rela- tionships with learners, awareness of context, and a critically reflective approach to practice (Cranton & Carusetta, 2004). The development of a teaching philosophy grounded in traditional philosophy and educational philosophy contributes to value clarification, personal awareness, and con- textual understanding. It provides the ability to “critically question that which is right for us from the [teaching] literature, develop our own per- sonal style, and thereby communicate with students in a genuine way” (Cranton & Carusetta, 2004, p. 6). Being personally centered as a teacher helps us remain present to the emergent learning in each classroom, creat- ing “being moments” in which students and teachers are mutually respon- sible for learning outcomes (Ramsey & Fitzgibbons, 2005). Although we have used the term teaching philosophy in keeping with common semantics of the field, we acknowledge that this terminology over- looks a key constituency in the teaching endeavor, the learners. The philos- ophy teachers enact in the classroom is integrally connected to the students’ beliefs and behaviors. This is especially true for teachers who adopt a socially constructed view of metaphysics (such as pragmatists, existential- ists, and critical theorists). Because their worldview says that reality is cre- ated in social interactions, these teachers are likely to see themselves as Beatty et al. / Philosophy Rediscovered 111 by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ co-learners with their students. Even for teachers holding more objective metaphysical views, the beliefs and attitudes of their students are likely to influence a teacher’s teaching philosophy. For example, students who see themselves as customers and the teaching encounter as a service transaction are likely to bring different attitudes about learning than students who see themselves as junior partners (Ferris, 2002). Thus a more accurate descrip- tion of the teaching philosophy concept would be the term “teaching/learning philosophy.” Future studies should explore how students’ deeply held beliefs about the teaching/learning encounter interact with teachers’ views of the same encounter. At a community level, more thoughtful teaching philosophies can con- tribute to our larger mission in higher education in general and business edu- cation in particular. First, being aware of the heritage of one’s ideas reinforces the connection to the shared values of the teaching community that crosses all disciplinary boundaries. Second, as business education has come under increasing criticism for promoting an amoral stance (Donaldson, 2002; Ghoshal, 2005; Giacalone, 2004), having a well-grounded teaching philoso- phy is consistent with the project to make values more visible in our teach- ing. The content of the specific values we teach may vary widely, as illustrated in our earlier example about the debate in academic service learning between Godfrey and Kenworthy-U’Ren. Our argument is one for the importance of the reflection process, and of making one’s teaching philosophy public. In sharing and discussing our philosophy statements publicly, they become focal documents that link the individual to the professional community and the goals of the institution. They create a basis not only for accountability (Hutchings, 1996) but also for the development and support of institutional values. When each faculty member makes his or her teaching philosophy statement available for public discussion, it becomes possible to examine common ground and differences in philosophy across faculty in a department, college, or across institutions. These discussions must be held with safety, respect, and an attitude of open inquiry as opposed to a critical attitude that seeks to convert others to a “preferred” or “more enlightened” philosophy. Because one’s teaching phi- losophy is such a core element of one’s identity as a teacher, direct criticism of one’s teaching philosophy is akin to a direct assault on the self and will shut down any kind of learning dialogue. Still with careful framing, a shared discussion of personal teaching philosophies can help build community within our departments and universities. 112 Journal of Management Education by guest on June 19, 2011jme.sagepub.comDownloaded from http://jme.sagepub.com/ Conclusion For teaching to be considered a scholarly activity, professors should develop a conception of pedagogy that more closely matches the rigor of scholarship in the disciplines themselves (Grasha, 1996). Such rigor includes a more explicit analysis of one’s beliefs about teaching. A well-articulated teaching philosophy statement can surface assumptions and values which are easily taken for granted, offering the opportunity to examine critically the bases for those assumptions and values as well as the consideration of alternatives. A consideration of concepts from philosophy makes possible a deeper understanding of our philosophical roots. References Blake, N., & Masschelein, J. (2003). 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work_v3ljvs2frnek5bjtyzyj7l6ygy	----	A visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina: Catarina, uma virgem a leilão a n o 1 0 v o l . 1 0 n . 2 8 p . 1 3 - 3 0 MAI./ago . 2013 d o s s i ê A visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina: Catarina, uma virgem a leilão La visibilidad mediática à la formación de la celebridad femenina: Catarina, una virgen para la subasta Media visibility on the formation of female celebrity: Catarina, a virgin for auction Lígia Campos de Cerqueira Lana1 Resumo Este artigo analisa o papel da visibilidade midiática na celebri- zação de Catarina Migliorini, famosa depois de ter participado de um leilão de virgindade na internet. Os antecedentes do caso e suas ocorrências, textos de especialistas, imagens e declarações de Catarina são investigados à luz das transformações da visibilidade social feminina. Apesar de criticada pela mídia, a celebrização de Catarina deu a ver habilidades esperadas de mulheres na visibilidade midiática, como a posse de um corpo sexy, jovem, assertivo e apto a ser usado como capital. Palavras-chave: Visibilidade midiática; Celebridade; Capital de visibilidade; Celebridade feminina; Feminismo Resumen Este artículo analiza el papel de la visibilidad en la aparición de Catarina Migliorini, famosa después de poner su virginidad a subasta en el sitio Virgins Wanted. La historia del caso y sus eventos, los textos de expertos, imágenes y declaraciones de Catarina son investigados desde la perspectiva de la transformación de la visibilidad femenina. Aunque criticado por los medios, la celebridad Catarina mostró habilidades esperadas de las mujeres en la visibi- lidad, como la posesión del cuerpo sexy, joven y enérgico, capaz de ser utilizado como capital. 1 Doutora em Comunicação Social pela UFMG. Professora da Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro – UFRJ, Rio de Janeiro, RJ, Brasil; ligialana@gmail.com d o s s i ê ppg co m – espm , com unicação m ídia e consumo 14 a visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina Palabras-clave: Visibilidad mediada; Celebridad; Capital de visibilidad; Muje- res celebridad; Feminismo Abstract This article analyzes the role of media visibility in the rise of Cath- erine Migliorini’s celebrity, famous after putting her virginity up for auction on internet. The history of the case and its main events, texts written by experts, im- ages and statements of Catarina are investigated from the perspective of women’s visibility transformations. Although media critique, the celebrity Catarina dis- played expected abilities of women in media visibility, as the possession of a sexy, young and assertive body, able to be used as capital. Keywords: Media visibility; Celebrity; Capital of visibility; Woman celebrity; Feminism Data de submissão: 04/04/2013 Data de aceite: 22/05/2013 a n o 1 0 v o l . 1 0 n . 2 8 p . 1 3 - 3 0 MAI./ago . 2013 d o s s i ê lígia campos de cerqueira lana 15 Hoje em dia, qualquer pessoa pode abrir ou participar de um leilão pela internet. Itens como automóveis, telefones celulares e eletrodomésticos são diariamente negociados em sites como Mercado Livre. Objetos me- nos corriqueiros também são leiloados: em 2008, um lenço usado pela atriz Scarlett Johansson foi arrematado no eBay por US$ 5.300. Outras modalidades inusitadas de leilões oferecem pessoas anônimas como pro- dutos à venda. Na Inglaterra, um marido traído resolveu leiloar a esposa adúltera que, ao saber que estava sendo vendida, processou o compa- nheiro. Na Alemanha, um casal colocou o próprio bebê à venda; rapi- damente denunciados, os pais perderam a guarda do filho. A virgindade faz parte dessa lista insólita de leilões virtuais. Desde 2005, circulam notícias sobre mulheres que decidem colocar a virgindade à venda na internet. Em linhas gerais, as informações divulgadas pela grande mídia nesses casos tratam das motivações alegadas pelas moças para a realiza- ção dos leilões – ajudar a família, quitar dívidas ou simplesmente fazer um bom negócio. Um leilão notório foi o da norte-americana Natalie Dylan que, após a graduação em Women’s Studies, vendeu sua virginda- de para custear o mestrado na mesma área.2 A mobilização mais recente em torno de um leilão de virgindade pela internet aconteceu no final de 2012. Descrito pela mídia brasileira como um dos acontecimentos do ano, o leilão promovido pelo Virgins Wanted, criado pelo australiano Justin Sisely, vendeu em 24 de outubro a virgindade de dois jovens. Uma brasileira, Catarina Migliorini, obteve US$ 780.000 por sua virgindade; um russo, Alexander Stepanov, US$ 2.600. Ao contrário de leilões anteriores, não foram os jovens que, por conta própria, se aventuraram na internet para anunciar a venda de suas virgindades. O Virgins Wanted foi o responsável por recrutar participan- tes, organizar os lances e divulgar os resultados, aspectos que marcaram o ineditismo do leilão. O projeto foi criado no início de 2009, anunciando a procura por virgens. Caracterizado por Justin Sisely como documentário social para 2 De acordo com o texto-manifesto “Why I’m Selling My Virginity”, publicado no The Daily Beast/Newsweek. No- tícias sobre outros leilões podem ser acessadas na entrada “leilão de virgindade” do Wikipedia. d o s s i ê ppg co m – espm , com unicação m ídia e consumo 16 a visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina retratar as transformações ocorridas com as pessoas depois que perdem suas virgindades, o projeto abandonou a sua vertente de experimento- -documental quando passou a ser noticiado pela mídia massiva em se- tembro de 2012. Desde então, o Virgins Wanted vem se esforçando para aumentar a exposição do próprio projeto. Nas filmagens iniciais da equi- pe, em Bali, diversos canais de televisão e jornalistas fizeram entrevis- tas com os participantes, traçando seus perfis psicológicos, explicando o contexto do caso, as regras e curiosidades do leilão. No Facebook, as pági- nas de Justin Sisely e do Virgins Wanted têm divulgado as notícias sobre o caso em publicações como Grazia UK, ABC News, Time, New York Magazine, entre outras. Prevista para novembro de 2012, a data da rea- lização da transação foi adiada mais de uma vez. O governo australiano impediu a consumação do negócio em território nacional, o que serviu para capitalizar ainda mais atenção – os produtores anunciaram que fre- tariam um voo transcontinental para abrigar a primeira noite dos jovens. A venda de produtos pela internet lança mão da visibilidade técnica para aumentar o campo da visão de possíveis compradores, que passam a acessar à distância itens não encontrados localmente. No caso de Virgins Wanted, a visibilidade técnica cumpriu um duplo papel. Inicialmente, como em qualquer outro site de vendas, tornou o negócio disponível pa- ra o maior número de compradores; em um segundo momento, pela mo- bilização que suscitou, expandiu a abrangência visual do próprio leilão. A visibilidade alcançada pelo Virgins Wanted transformou os jovens em personagens midiáticos, alçados à categoria de celebridades por alguns momentos. Nesse momento, o leilão extrapolou as indagações ligadas à conjuntura atual da virgindade, à legislação trabalhista de profissionais do sexo ou ao tráfico de pessoas e colocou em perspectiva os regimes de visibilidade nas sociedades contemporâneas, que realizam cada vez mais a celebrização de pessoas comuns. A discrepância entre os valores que arremataram as duas virgindades indica que é Catarina Migliorini a grande celebridade do episódio. Ao receber um lance muito superior, ela foi a protagonista das reportagens na mídia. Os estatutos das virgindades feminina e masculina ajudam a explicar essa diferença. Biologicamente, a virgindade masculina não a n o 1 0 v o l . 1 0 n . 2 8 p . 1 3 - 3 0 MAI./ago . 2013 d o s s i ê lígia campos de cerqueira lana 17 pode ser demonstrada, ao contrário da feminina, que normalmente é associada à presença do hímen. Durante o leilão, um atestado médico da virgindade de Catarina Migliorini foi divulgado, o que certificaria o produto à venda. Sem atestado médico, Alexander Stepanov apareceu como rapaz tímido e com dificuldades de relacionamento, esforço nar- rativo para comprovar sua virgindade. Do ponto de vista cultural, a preservação da virgindade até o casa- mento era uma obrigação apenas para mulheres, encargo de maneira ge- ral superado no mundo ocidental após a revolução sexual dos anos 1970. Catarina Migliorini trouxe várias vezes este argumento, “o corpo é meu e faço dele o que quiser”. Isso quer dizer que ela tanto pode se manter virgem por escolha própria (e não por obrigações culturais), como tam- bém optar por vender sua virgindade pela internet. Ser comandante de seus desejos permite que Catarina use livremente seu corpo, celebrando um negócio em que o dinheiro comprará uma relação sexual. Em casas de prostituição, esse tipo de leilão é muito comum, realizado muitas vezes com menores de idade. Com isso, Catarina Migliorini adentra na seara de um papel feminino cercado de tabu: ela é a “mulher pública”,3 prostituta, frequentadora da noite e sexualmente livre. Por muito tempo, essa mulher se opôs ao “anjo do lar”,4 que se casava virgem e, devotada à família, era mantida no espaço doméstico. Apesar de a transação envolver a venda de uma relação sexual com Catarina Migliorini, ela não pode ser considerada prostituta. Ela só pôde se inscrever no leilão por ser virgem. Os cartazes para a convocação dos participantes, divulgados pela internet e afixados em locais públicos na Austrália, traziam a imagem de Virgem Maria, ressaltando a imagem da pureza dos candidatos. Em janeiro de 2013, a revista Playboy ironizou a situação, reproduzindo em seu editorial o atestado médico divulgado pelo Virgins Wanted, que atestaria a virgindade de Catarina Migliorini, 3 Nas palavras de Michelle Perrot (1998, p. 7), “a mulher – também se diz a ‘rapariga’ – pública é uma ‘criatura’, mulher comum que pertence a todos. [...] A mulher pública constitui a vergonha, a parte escondida, dissimulada, noturna, um vil objeto, território de passagem, apropriado, sem individualidade própria”. 4 Virginia Woolf (2012, p. 11-12) assim definiu o anjo do lar: “era extremamente simpática. Imensamente encanta- dora. Totalmente altruísta. Excelente nas difíceis artes do convívio familiar. Sacrificava-se todos os dias. Se almoço era frango, ela ficava com o pé; se havia ar encanado, era ali que ia se sentar”. d o s s i ê ppg co m – espm , com unicação m ídia e consumo 18 a visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina personagem de capa daquela edição. “E, para você, incrédulo, que duvi- da da virgindade da moça, publicamos neste Entre Nós uma comprova- ção assinada pelo médico australiano Nihad Jackson. É preciso acreditar nas pessoas!” (Playboy, p. 10, jan. 2013). A visibilidade midiática é a instância reguladora dessa ambígua mis- tura de representações. Catarina Migliorini conhece os elementos ne- cessários para se integrar ao espaço da mídia. O lucro de mais de um milhão de reais com a venda da virgindade e com o ensaio sensual para a Playboy mostra que ela maneja estrategicamente seu capital de visibili- dade, construindo um momento de estrelato. Ao se envolver em um pro- jeto criado pela mídia, acumulando capital sobre a sua própria imagem, Catarina Migliorini é famosa por ser famosa, conforme a definição de celebridade de Daniel Boorstin (1992), recebendo um reconhecimento manufaturado pela mídia, que é diferente do prestígio heroico. A acep- ção de fama em seu caso indica as maneiras como os regimes de visibi- lidade intervêm na construção da relevância pública dos indivíduos hoje por meio dos processos de celebrização. Nathalie Heinich (2012), ao discorrer sobre a história da visibilidade nas sociedades ocidentais, analisa a transformação dos processos de for- mação das figuras públicas depois da expansão dos sistemas midiáticos. Até o século XX, os grandes feitos, os milagres e os nomes dos indivíduos eram primeiro reconhecidos para que, em um segundo momento, lhes fossem atribuídas faces. Heinich propõe que a visibilidade midiática in- verteu esse percurso: uma face passa a ser reconhecida sem que haja ne- cessidade de um nome prévio. Não se trata assim apenas do aumento da difusão de imagens visíveis (o que de fato aconteceu ao longo do século XX), mas de uma nova lógica de reconhecimento trazida pelos regimes da visibilidade midiática. Antes consequência do mérito, a visibilidade passa a antecedê-lo, o que gera um novo dividendo para a construção das figuras públicas – a própria visibilidade, que se torna um tipo de capital usado como moeda de valor para se ganhar o reconhecimento público. No caso das mulheres, a modalidade pré-midiática de reconheci- mento, em que o nome antecedia a conquista da face, não acontecia de maneira recorrente. Os feitos considerados dignos da atribuição de a n o 1 0 v o l . 1 0 n . 2 8 p . 1 3 - 3 0 MAI./ago . 2013 d o s s i ê lígia campos de cerqueira lana 19 face eram majoritariamente masculinos: os políticos, os gênios, os he- róis, os guerreiros, os líderes religiosos, ao longo da história ocidental, são homens. Até aquele momento, mesmo que fossem reconhecidas, as mulheres desempenhavam papéis de coadjuvantes e normalmente per- tenciam às classes nobres. A partir do século XIX, o ideal da igualdade altera a fixidez de uma ordem moral que limitava a obtenção de reco- nhecimento a indivíduos e grupos específicos, conforme Virginia Woolf notou pioneiramente. Até o começo do século XIX, a mulher de renome era invariavelmente uma aristocrata. Era a grande dama que comandava, escrevia cartas e tinha influência política. Entre a imensa classe média, poucas mulheres alcançaram posições de destaque, e essa condição anódina não atraía a mesma atenção que se dava aos esplendores dos ricos e às misérias dos pobres. (WOOLF, 2012, p. 53). As mulheres comuns consolidam a chance de alcançar a nominação social no mesmo momento da inversão do percurso do reconhecimento das figuras públicas. Expostas nos displays da mídia massiva, uma in- contável variedade de mulheres, de vamps a pin-ups, marcam o século XX – deve ser improvável que alguém desconheça a imagem de Marilyn Monroe. Os Celebrity Studies, pesquisas que vêm se dedicando ao estu- do das celebridades desde os anos 1980, negligenciam as consequências dessas transformações para a formação de figuras públicas femininas. Leo Braudy (1997), por exemplo, analisa dezenas de personagens famo- sos ao longo de vinte séculos, citando raríssimas mulheres e sem exami- nar ou questionar essa desigualdade de condições. A preponderância da visualidade na formação de outra lógica de reconhecimento das figuras públicas nos últimos anos, quando mulheres passam a inscrever seus no- mes na vida social, representa o aspecto mais fundamental para a com- preensão da fama feminina. A visibilidade do caso Virgins Wanted celebrizou uma mulher co- mum. Diferente de uma heroína dotada de méritos tradicionais, que tal- vez nunca tenha existido na história narrada pelos homens, Catarina maneja seu capital de visibilidade, atualizando os sentidos dos dividen- d o s s i ê ppg co m – espm , com unicação m ídia e consumo 20 a visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina dos caros à construção de uma figura pública feminina na contempora- neidade. A maneira como ela usa estrategicamente seu corpo visível na mídia associa-se a dois temas importantes para as reflexões pós-feminis- tas: a sexualidade e a expansão da erotização na cultura. Sob o ponto de vista do-me feminism, versão sexual do Girl Power, o leilão seria um ato de empoderamento, pois a sensualidade feminina deve ser conscientemente usada para obter quaisquer aspirações. A ex- posição do corpo da mulher não a “objetifica”, pois há a politização das desigualdades pela rearticulação da identidade sexual, usada como arma de poder, muitas vezes com ironia. Catarina conhece esse argumento pro-sex e usa-o a seu favor. Como analisam Stéphanie Genz e Benjamin Brabon (2009), a versão pro-sex do feminismo deve ser criticada, pois trata como sinônimas as ideias de liberação feminina e revolução sexual. Além disso, há um backlash ideológico ao apregoar um poder oriundo de truques sexuais intrinsecamente femininos e desconectados da vida social. As ideias de “armas” e “estratégias” criam um paradigma belige- rante para a relação entre homens e mulheres. As duas perspectivas, pro-sex e sex critical, têm em comum, no entan- to, a constatação de que existe hoje uma crescente erotização da cultura, que encontra sua maior expressão na mídia. Conclusões como as de Er- ving Goffman (1979) a respeito da inferioridade de posturas femininas na publicidade nos anos 1970 mostram-se cada vez mais insuficientes para pesquisas da área. O recato e o sorriso simpático analisados por Goffman vêm sendo substituídos pela mulher assertiva, sensualizada e confiante na exibição de seu próprio corpo, construindo a feminilidade pela apresentação sensual de si. Como analisa Rosalind Gill (2007, p. 91), a sensibilidade da mulher hoje não está “mais associada com com- portamentos como recato e passividade, ou com habilidades maternas ou do lar, agora ela é definida na propaganda e em toda a mídia como a posse de um corpo jovem, forte, heterossexual e sexy.”5 A celebridade 5 “No longer associated with psychological characteristics and behaviours like demureness or passivity, or with homemaking and mothering skills, it is now defined in advertising and elsewhere in the media as the possession of a young, able-bodied, heterossexual, ‘sexy’ body.” (trad. da a.) a n o 1 0 v o l . 1 0 n . 2 8 p . 1 3 - 3 0 MAI./ago . 2013 d o s s i ê lígia campos de cerqueira lana 21 Paris Hilton, por exemplo, famosa depois da publicação de vídeos de se- xo com o namorado na internet, manejou suas imagens quase ignorando temas como o prazer sexual feminino ou o fetiche do voyeurismo. Sua fama erigiu-se pela divulgação de dicas para a criação de uma aparência sensual convincente, em que a mulher se torna “gostosa” para que sua postura corporal tenha saleability e apelo comercial. A tematização da sexualidade foi substituída pelo investimento na construção da visibilida- de, em que a mulher está inserida no mercado do corpo bem-sucedido. (GENZ; BRABON, 2009). Ao correlacionar dois assuntos polêmicos, a prostituição e o fetiche da mulher virgem, o leilão da virgindade promoveria por si só um evento controverso, passível de críticas morais aos comportamentos femininos e masculinos. O caso foi além – a visibilidade que teve celebrizou uma mulher cuja grandeza seria desprovida de atributos tradicionalmente considerados meritórios para alcançar a fama, em consonância com o percurso do reconhecimento na era dos media. A celebrização de Ca- tarina foi bastante criticada pela mídia; de toda maneira, o caso existiu, personificando um modo de funcionamento da visibilidade como capi- tal feminino. Jornais, revistas semanais e programas de televisão veicularam diver- sas matérias, reportagens e entrevistas a respeito do leilão da virgindade entre os dias 14 e 27 em outubro de 2012, quando ocorreram os lances finais. Encerrada a venda, Catarina Migliorini ainda foi capa da revista Playboy em janeiro de 2013.6 A virgem celebridade foi constantemente incitada pela mídia a falar, concedendo entrevistas, posando para fotos e prestando contas de sua participação no caso. Ao narrar sua personalidade e seus desejos, Catarina apresenta a si mesma como “jovem-menina”. Em uma de suas primeiras declarações na mídia, ela explicou: “foi por impulso que eu, menininha de 18 anos, resolvi me inscrever”. (Folha de S. Paulo, p. C8, 26 set. 2012). A jovem aventureira não planejou minuciosamente sua candidatura ao projeto, 6 A coleta empírica foi realizada no dia 18 de dezembro de 2012 em sites de publicações brasileiras de grande audi- ência. Foram encontrados cerca de 25 reportagens, artigos assinados e entrevistas. d o s s i ê ppg co m – espm , com unicação m ídia e consumo 22 a visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina sua inscrição foi feita como uma brincadeira de menina. Na mesma en- trevista, ela lembrou que o projeto seria um reality show, e não pornogra- fia. “Não é pornô, senão eu morreria de vergonha [ri].” Envergonhada, Catarina seria “uma menina muito, muito romântica”, que não conhe- ceria práticas sexuais. À Playboy, ela declarou que teria “uma boa noção teórica de como vai ser, mas nenhuma noção prática”. (Playboy, p. 184, nov. 2012). Indagada sobre o motivo de se manter virgem aos 20 anos, ela disse não se achar “anormal” por isso. A imagem da jovem-menina é complementada por sua origem so- cial, oriunda da classe média; Catarina contaria com a ajuda de seus pais que, mesmo não concordando com a venda da virgindade da filha, manteriam seu sustento. “O leilão nada tem a ver com qualquer dificul- dade financeira. Pelo contrário. A catarinense avisa que a família sempre deu tudo o que precisa (e até mais) para viver bem.” (Estadão.com.br, 24 out. 2012). A jovem não precisaria se preocupar com atribuições da vida adulta, como trabalho, salário e contas a pagar. O dinheiro do leilão não seria necessário à sua sobrevivência. No programa Superpop, a apresenta- dora Luciana Gimenez perguntou a Catarina Migliorini como estavam sendo as reações de sua família. “Meus pais, não posso dizer que são a favor, mas eles me amam e estão do meu lado.” (Rede TV, 4 out. 2012). Catarina demonstra ter afeto, apoio e a presença da família em sua vida. Ao ser entrevistada, Catarina foi muitas vezes criticada pelo leilão. Ela se defendeu em algumas ocasiões fazendo citações de escritores e filósofos, que estariam dando respaldo às suas opiniões. Ela seria leitora de “Fiódor Dostoiévski, Ernest Hemingway e Albert Camus, além dos filósofos Sócrates, Rousseau e Séneca.” (O Estado de S. Paulo, p. 23, 25 out. 2012). Na entrevista que acompanha o ensaio sensual na Playboy, ela declarou: [...] tem uma frase de um filósofo chamado [Henry David] Thoreau, que é assim: “a opinião alheia é um fraco tirano se comparado com a nossa opinião sobre nós mesmos”. Acho que quem gosta de cobrar ética e moral dos outros é porque, na verdade, não tem uma coisa nem outra. (Playboy, p. 86, jan. 2013). a n o 1 0 v o l . 1 0 n . 2 8 p . 1 3 - 3 0 MAI./ago . 2013 d o s s i ê lígia campos de cerqueira lana 23 Catarina busca demonstrar uma boa formação educacional, o que é um valor considerado positivo pelas classes médias. Ela trouxe outras respostas articuladas aos seus críticos, tendo reações irônicas a perguntas difíceis. No programa Mais Você, Ana Maria Braga perguntou a Catari- na sobre os motivos de celebrar um negócio com a virgindade, que já foi um “ponto de honra” para as mulheres. Para a apresentadora, Catarina ficaria “para sempre marcada” pelo evento. A virgem reagiu: “quem tem moral de sobra deveria leiloar também, né...” (Globo, 8 nov. 2012), en- cerrando a entrevista com autoestima elevada. Dessa maneira, a menina virgem de classe média convive lado a la- do com uma mulher madura e racional. Quando Catarina se posiciona a respeito dos procedimentos mercadológicos do leilão, a jovem aven- tureira perde espaço para a pessoa adulta. A relação sexual, cercada de regras e exames médicos, só seria realizada mediante pagamento. Ela alertou: “o dinheiro deve ser depositado na minha conta antes de qual- quer envolvimento maior. Do contrário, nada vai acontecer”. (Playboy, p. 183, nov. 2012). Neste momento, é conveniente que Catarina ressal- te o fato de ter mais de 18 anos. “Tenho 20 anos, sou responsável pelo meu corpo e não estou prejudicando ninguém.” (Folha de S. Paulo, p. C8, 26 set. 2012). Em uma entrevista para a TV Record, ela disse, sorrindo, ser “uma mercadoria” à venda e que não se incomodaria com isso, já que seria apenas por uma noite. “Mas com certeza me incomodaria ser uma mer- cadoria assim como mulher.” (TV Record, 24 out. 2012). A afirmação retoma de maneira ambígua seu perfil de jovem virgem: como é uma menina pura, que será apenas deflorada em uma única relação sexual, ela não acredita ser uma mulher explorada. O site do leilão ilustrou a condição de mercadoria de Catarina: uma tarja vermelha em que estava escrito “sold” foi inserida em cima da imagem do corpo de Catarina, o que caracterizou a venda da virgindade como uma transação comercial de um produto qualquer. Ao lado da imagem, os valores dos lances do leilão eram informados (Figura 1). Disseminando-se para além do site do projeto, a imagem foi reproduzida em programas de televisão e em vários textos impressos. d o s s i ê ppg co m – espm , com unicação m ídia e consumo 24 a visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina A revista Veja, que trouxe o acontecimento na capa da edição de 21 de novembro de 2012, também caracterizou Catarina Migliorini como mercadoria. A revista publicou uma fotografia da virgem, sem que fos- se possível visualizar seu rosto, com um código de barras inserido em seu quadril (Figura 2). Ao lado, o texto em destaque pergunta se “tudo se compra?”, associando o leilão a outros tipos de negociações, como a compra de votos de parlamentares. Em geral, nas imagens impressas, o corpo de Catarina aparece nu ou com pouca roupa, seguindo o padrão de beleza sensual da publicidade – Catarina é branca, magra, de cabelos longos e claros –, mostrada em situações de prazer, sorrindo, em praias. O ensaio na Playboy joga com o fetiche da virgindade feminina por meio de objetos como ursos de pe- lúcia, penteadeiras infantis, além da depilação completa da vagina. Nas fotos, o conteúdo trazido para sua imagem de celebridade, seu corpo sensualizado, é o mesmo da maioria das mulheres do “topo da lista” na mídia hoje – que figuram em pequeno número na lista dos mais ricos e influentes, mas predominam na lista dos mais sexy. O perfil da celebridade Catarina foi delineado também por psicólo- gos, cientistas sociais, entre outros especialistas, que apareceram em jor- nais e revistas explicando a inusitada situação. Inicialmente, as opi niões Figura 1. Imagem do site Virgins Wanted. a n o 1 0 v o l . 1 0 n . 2 8 p . 1 3 - 3 0 MAI./ago . 2013 d o s s i ê lígia campos de cerqueira lana 25 Figura 2. Capa da Veja em 21 de novembro de 2012. especializadas contribuem para a formação da celebridade Catarina pelo simples fato de terem sido publicadas, pois deram mais visibilidade e importância ao caso. Analisando os diferentes pontos de vista, foi possí- vel identificar duas grandes perspectivas de compreensão do leilão que, consequentemente, indicaram também explicações para a celebrização de Catarina. A primeira perspectiva adota a ideia de que o fetiche e o mito da virgindade são temas relevantes da sexualidade humana e, por isso, mo- tivam o interesse pelo leilão. O psicanalista Contardo Calligaris trouxe a oposição virgem/puta como atração para homens comprarem a virgin- dade a um preço tão elevado. “Muitos homens vivem divididos entre d o s s i ê ppg co m – espm , com unicação m ídia e consumo 26 a visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina dois tipos de mulher: a ‘puta’, que eles desejam, mas que não conseguem amar, e a virgem, que eles amam perdidamente, mas que eles não con- seguem desejar (ela é linda, pura e intocável, como a mãe).” Catarina foi capaz de realizar “uma fantasia poderosa: a de conseguir, enfim, re- verenciar amorosamente um corpo ilibado, mas sem renunciar a sujá-lo com seu desejo”. (Folha de S. Paulo, p. E12, 18 out. 2012). A psiquiatra Carmita Abdo e a historiadora Mary Del Priori apontaram, em matéria de O Estado de S. Paulo, que o valor elevado pela compra da virgindade de Catarina foi causado pela “raridade” de existirem mulheres virgens hoje. Já a antropóloga Débora Diniz associou o evento à pornografia que, sob o ponto de vista de algumas feministas, seria degradante para as mulheres. “O ‘leilão’ de Catarina reflete a ordem moral em que o sexo das mulheres é propriedade masculina.” (O Estado de S. Paulo, p. 155, 30 set. 2012). Por não desafiar as normas ou questionar os tabus do sexo, para Débora, o caso brincou com a moral hegemônica. Os processos históricos ligados às desigualdades de gêneros qualifi- cam a celebrização de Catarina a partir de um contexto sociocultural amplo. Na perspectiva da sexualidade, o extraordinário da imagem da virgem celebridade se converte em sinal dos tempos: a perda precoce da virgindade, a exploração financeira dos tabus do sexo, a erotização da cultura etc. Sob essa perspectiva, a sexualidade torna-se uma motivação muito mais complexa para o caso quando comparada à compreensão dos textos da mídia, que simplesmente condenam o comércio do corpo, ou aos argumentos de Catarina, que acredita não haver exploração sexual (e, sim, uma aventura juvenil). A segunda possível explicação dos especialistas diz respeito à busca pela fama e aos sistemas midiáticos, relacionando o sucesso de audiência do caso a uma “ousada” atuação individual de Catarina. Por essa segun- da perspectiva, a celebridade Catarina é produto da aspiração individual de alguém obcecado pela fama. A jornalista Nina Lemos criticou uma marca de roupas que convidou Catarina para desfilar na Semana de Moda do Rio. A virgem seria “uma espécie de Gisele Bündchen de hoje, quarta-feira, fim do mundo”, uma pessoa que chegou ao estrelato bana- lizando uma “coisa tão íntima”. (Blogs.estadao.com.br, 7 nov. 2012). O a n o 1 0 v o l . 1 0 n . 2 8 p . 1 3 - 3 0 MAI./ago . 2013 d o s s i ê lígia campos de cerqueira lana 27 editorial da Folha em 3 de dezembro de 2012 retomou um fato correlato ao acontecimento: motivada pelo Virgins Wanted, Rebeca Ribeiro, uma jovem do interior da Bahia, enfrentando condições precárias de vida, decidiu colocar à venda sua virgindade em um vídeo no Youtube. “Tanto quanto o dinheiro, a sede de um bem ainda mais escasso – a celebridade – pode justificar a comercialização do próprio corpo, no primeiro caso. Estabelecido o precedente, o espírito de imitação e a falta de perspecti- vas vêm contribuir para a segunda versão.” (Folha de S. Paulo, p. A2, 3 dez. 2012). Em O Globo, Patrícia Kogut comparou Catarina Migliorini com a personagem Morena da telenovela Salve Jorge. A heroína não se- ria inocente como a “namoradinha” do Brasil; Morena é batalhadora, podendo cometer erros. “Eis o valor: o espírito empreendedor”. Catarina Migliorini seria também empreendedora, mas “vai na contramão disso tudo. [...] além de virgem, usa métodos que fogem ao convencional para ganhar a vida”. (Globo.com, 25 out. 2012). Ao discorrer sobre a busca pela fama, os especialistas não apontam a responsabilidade do diretor Justin Sisely ou as implicações éticas e legais do Virgins Wanted e dos reality shows. Desconsidera-se que o “experimen- to” Virgins Wanted não se circunscreve a um inocente registro documen- tal do início da vida sexual de indivíduos virgens. O leilão da virgindade, por não ter sido feito autonomamente pelos dois jovens, assume a forma de exploração sexual de pessoas, o que é crime no Brasil. Na entrevista com Catarina Migliorini, Ana Maria Braga explica que Justin Sisely já investiu dinheiro no projeto e não vai receber nada pelo leilão – mas vai lucrar com o filme –, sem problematizar sua responsabilidade quanto a isso. Não sendo visto como empreendimento de produtores da mídia, mas como empreendedorismo individual de uma pessoa sem escrúpulos que quer se lançar ao estrelato, a perspectiva social desaparece. A análise especializada do lucrativo show de realidade Virgins Wanted poderia ter reverberado a reivindicação mais importante para as profissionais do sexo hoje: a regula- mentação da profissão, com a descriminalização do instituto da prostitui- ção, a criação de cooperativas e o acesso a direitos trabalhistas. Quando discutem a noção de fama, os especialistas também não ana- lisam que o desembaraço e o despudor de Catarina ao mostrar sua face d o s s i ê ppg co m – espm , com unicação m ídia e consumo 28 a visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina e seu corpo sensualizado em um caso controverso causam repercussão devido à sua origem social. Enquanto integrante da classe média, a “mo- ça de família” se exibe em um caso que lida com o tabu do sexo, usando o corpo nu e racionalmente consciente das leis de mercado, que se torna capital de visibilidade para alguém que não precisaria desenvolver esse tipo de performance para sobreviver. O dinheiro angariado e a atenção recebida são consequências de seu investimento desinibido e empreen- dedor em visibilidade. Na Folha, Catarina Migliorini comenta o que acha de dar entrevistas para “veículos do mundo inteiro” a respeito do leilão. “Ela disse ‘entender a monotonia da vida das pessoas’ e atribui a isso o grande interesse sobre ‘sua vida agitada’.” (Folha de S. Paulo, p. C6, 27 out. 2012). A rotina agitada de Catarina deve-se ao capital de visibilidade que ganhou com o leilão, diferente da maioria das pessoas interessadas em sua vida, anônimas e, portanto, desprovidas de recursos. Como aponta Nathalie Heinich, o fenômeno contemporâneo das ce- lebridades não se reduz à espetacularização de imagens midiáticas, já que essas personagens inauguram uma nova lógica de nominação social. A celebrização envolve um novo processo de reconhecimento, que pode repentinamente gerar pessoas singulares dentro de um contingente glo- bal de anonimidade. O estrelato, alcançado algumas vezes sem méritos prévios à aparição da face na mídia, pode valer mais que o dinheiro, pois, caso haja um bom investimento, a celebridade (“um bem escasso”, como explicou a Folha) tem potencialmente o poder de multiplicar o capital financeiro.7 A visibilidade midiática, mais que somente produzir faces visíveis, também acumula dividendos para as suas celebridades. O corpo como capital visível é usado por Catarina assim como por qualquer outra celebridade. Estar visível é o mérito de Catarina, fato que desloca a crítica sobre a exposição da face na mídia – que inexora- velmente ocorrerá, dado o novo percurso da nominação social – para os sentidos que animaram especificamente o seu investimento em capital de visibilidade: a anunciada aventura juvenil, o bom conhecimento das 7 Em 2007, economistas criaram o “índice Gisele Bündchen”, reunindo o ganho de capital de marcas associadas ao nome da modelo, cujos valores haviam subido mais que o dobro do índice Dow Jones. a n o 1 0 v o l . 1 0 n . 2 8 p . 1 3 - 3 0 MAI./ago . 2013 d o s s i ê lígia campos de cerqueira lana 29 regras da visibilidade, o despudor com o uso do corpo sensualizado, o preparo cultural e a juventude prolongada da classe média. No desfecho do caso, Catarina Migliorini anunciou em janeiro de 2013 que iria desistir de entregar a virgindade ao vencedor do leilão, alegando que havia recebido proposta melhor de um brasileiro e estava apaixonada. Mesmo sem embolsar os US$ 780.000, não houve prejuízo para ela ou para o Virgins Wanted, pois uma parte generosa do lucro já havia sido ganho: a celebridade foi formada. Ao desistir do leilão, Cata- rina sinalizou a aposta na possível manutenção de sua fama, buscando se redimir da condenação que sofreu. Não sendo mais a mercadoria de apenas uma noite, Catarina busca prolongar o breve momento de sua celebridade, que poderá ou não ocorrer. Caso aconteça, a consolidação da fama de Catarina Migliorini irá se associar ao histórico de desigual- dades entre homens e mulheres na experiência pública, que sempre deve ser levado em consideração na ref lexão a respeito das celebridades femininas. Referências ARAN, E. Desvirginando 2013. Playboy, São Paulo, n. 452, jan. 2013. Entre Nós, p. 10. BOORSTIN, D. The Image. A guide to pseudo-events in America. Nova York: Vintage Books, 1992. BRASILEIRA que vai leiloar virgindade abre o jogo no SuperPop. Rede TV, São Paulo, 4 out. 2012. Programa Superpop. BRAUDY, L. The Frenzy of Renown. Fame and its History. Nova York: Vintage Books, 1997. CALLIGARIS, C. Quanto vale uma virgem? Folha de S. Paulo, São Paulo, 18 out. 2012. Ilustrada, p. E12. CANCIAN, N. É só um negócio. Folha de S. Paulo, São Paulo, 26 set. 2012. Cotidiano, p. C8. CARDOSO, D. Japonês vence leilão de virgindade de jovem catarinense. Estadão.com. br, São Paulo, 24 out. 2012. Disponível em: <http://www.estadao.com.br/noticias/ geral,japones-vence-leilao-de-virgindade-de-jovem-catarinense,950234,0.htm>. Acesso em: 31 mar. 2013. CASTRO, B. Catarina Migliorini. Playboy, São Paulo, n. 450, nov. 2012. Entrevista, p. 182- 184. d o s s i ê ppg co m – espm , com unicação m ídia e consumo 30 a visibilidade midiática na celebrização feminina DINIZ, D. Procuram-se virgens. O Estado de S. Paulo, São Paulo, 30 set. 2012. Aliás, p. 155. GENZ, S.; BRABON, B. Postfeminism. Cultural Texts and Theories. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2009. GILL, R. Gender and Media. New Hampshire: Polity Press, 2007. GOFFMAN, E. Gender Advertisements. Nova York: Harvard University Press, 1979. HEINICH, N. De la Visibilité: Excellence et Singularité en régime médiatique. Paris: Edi- tions Gallimard, 2012. KOGUT, P. As novelas atuais refletem um novo padrão de heroína. Globo.com, Rio de Janei- ro, 25 out. 2012. Disponível em: <http://kogut.oglobo.globo.com/noticias-da-tv/critica/ noticia/2012/10/critica-as-novelas-atuais-refletem-um-novo-padrao-de-heroina-471891. html>. Acesso em: 31 mar. 2013. JOVEM que leiloou virgindade garante que ato ainda não foi consumado. Globo, Rio de Janeiro, 8 nov. 2012. Programa Mais Você. LEMOS, N. Socorro! Menina que leiloou a virgindade é estrela de desfile da Fashion Rio. Blogs.estadão.com.br, São Paulo, 7 nov. 2012. Disponível em: <http://blogs.estadao.com. br/nina-lemos/fim-do-mundo-menina-que-leilou-a-virgindade-e-estrela-de-desfile-da- -fashion-rio/>. Acesso em: 31 mar. 2013. LIKE a virgin? Playboy, São Paulo, n. 452, jan. 2013. Ensaios, p. 78-99. PERROT, M. Mulheres públicas. São Paulo: Editora Unesp, 1998. QUANTO vale uma virgem. Folha de S. Paulo, São Paulo, 3 dez. 2012. Opinião, p. A2. THOMÉ, C. Virgindade de jovem é vendida por R$ 1,5 mi. O Estado de S. Paulo, São Paulo, 25 out. 2012. Caderno Vida, p. 23. VIRGINDADE de brasileira é arrematada por R$ 1,5 milhão. Rede Record, São Paulo, 24 out. 2012. Programa da Tarde. WERLE, J. Empresário quer “se promover” com afirmações, diz virgem. Folha de S. Paulo, São Paulo, 27 out. 2012. Cotidiano, p. C6. WOOLF, V. Profissões para mulheres e outros artigos feministas. Porto Alegre: L&PM, 2012. 
work_v5eokrei2rdbdcxnemozlg4dwi	----	pone.0053788 1..9 Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern United States The Harvard community has made this article openly available. Please share how this access benefits you. Your story matters Citation Ellwood, Elizabeth R., Stanley A. Temple, Richard B. Primack, Nina L. Bradley, and Charles C. Davis. 2013. Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern United States. Edited by Bruno Hérault. PLoS ONE 8, no. 1: e53788. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0053788. Published Version doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0053788 Citable link http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:29362006 Terms of Use This article was downloaded from Harvard University’s DASH repository, and is made available under the terms and conditions applicable to Other Posted Material, as set forth at http:// nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of- use#LAA http://osc.hul.harvard.edu/dash/open-access-feedback?handle=&title=Record-Breaking%20Early%20Flowering%20in%20the%20Eastern%20United%20States&community=1/1&collection=1/2&owningCollection1/2&harvardAuthors=c6de39b98720683680f158fbd1398cc1&departmentOrganismic%20and%20Evolutionary%20Biology http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:29362006 http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:HUL.InstRepos:dash.current.terms-of-use#LAA Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern United States Elizabeth R. Ellwood1*, Stanley A. Temple2,3*, Richard B. Primack1*, Nina L. Bradley3{, Charles C. Davis4* 1 Department of Biology, Boston University, Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America, 2 Department of Forest and Wildlife Ecology, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wisconsin, United States of America, 3 Aldo Leopold Foundation, Baraboo, Wisconsin, United States of America, 4 Department of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology, Harvard University Herbaria, Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States of America Abstract Flowering times are well-documented indicators of the ecological effects of climate change and are linked to numerous ecosystem processes and trophic interactions. Dozens of studies have shown that flowering times for many spring- flowering plants have become earlier as a result of recent climate change, but it is uncertain if flowering times will continue to advance as temperatures rise. Here, we used long-term flowering records initiated by Henry David Thoreau in 1852 and Aldo Leopold in 1935 to investigate this question. Our analyses demonstrate that record-breaking spring temperatures in 2010 and 2012 in Massachusetts, USA, and 2012 in Wisconsin, USA, resulted in the earliest flowering times in recorded history for dozens of spring-flowering plants of the eastern United States. These dramatic advances in spring flowering were successfully predicted by historical relationships between flowering and spring temperature spanning up to 161 years of ecological change. These results demonstrate that numerous temperate plant species have yet to show obvious signs of physiological constraints on phenological advancement in the face of climate change. Citation: Ellwood ER, Temple SA, Primack RB, Bradley NL, Davis CC (2013) Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern United States. PLoS ONE 8(1): e53788. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0053788 Editor: Bruno Hérault, Cirad, France Received October 12, 2012; Accepted December 4, 2012; Published January 16, 2013 Copyright: � 2013 Ellwood et al. This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. Funding: CCD: National Science Foundation Grant Assembling the Tree of Life (AToL) EF 04-31242; RBP: National Science Foundation Grant DEB-0842749. The funders had no role in study design, data collection and analysis, decision to publish, or preparation of the manuscript. Competing Interests: The authors have declared that no competing interests exist. * E-mail: eellwood@bu.edu (ERE); satemple@wisc.edu (SAT); primack@bu.edu (RBP); cdavis@oeb.harvard.edu (CCD) { Deceased. Introduction The sensitivity of flowering times to temperature has proven valuable for investigating the impacts of climate change on plants [1]–[3]. Plant phenology appears to have largely kept pace with warmer temperatures, with numerous species flowering earlier now than in the past. However, recent years have seen record- breaking spring temperatures that are well outside the realm of historical trends [4], [5]. Although flowering dates for many responsive species have greatly advanced with warmer tempera- tures, at some point plants may no longer flower earlier in response to warming due to photoperiod constraints or unmet winter chilling requirements [6]–[8]. Extreme weather events such as those observed in the eastern United States in 2010 and 2012 provide opportunities to determine if historical phenological responses to rising temperatures are maintained under novel conditions presented by very recent climate change. Changes in plant phenology have broad implications at the ecosystem level. Flowering and leafing out times signal the start of the growing season, and altered phenology influences associated ecosystem processes such as nutrient cycling and carbon seques- tration [9], [10]. Interactions with herbivores, pollinators, and other ecological associates may be compromised and lead to ecological mismatches [11]–[15]. Also, advanced spring phenol- ogy, followed by late frost events, can damage flowers and young leaves, which has negative impacts on plant growth and fruit development [16]–[18]. Finally, warmer temperatures can also expose plants to drought, resulting in decreased reproductive success [19]. Two of the best-known American environmental writers initiated extensive phenological observations of flowering times in the eastern United States that encompass 161 years of ecological change. From 1852–1858, Henry David Thoreau, author of Walden [20], observed flowering times in Concord, Massachusetts, USA. And from 1935–1945, Aldo Leopold, author of A Sand County Almanac [21], recorded flowering times in Dane County, Wisconsin, USA and near the site of his ‘‘Shack’’ in adjacent Sauk County [4]. Several recent re-surveys at these locations [22]–[25], nearly 1500km apart, indicate that many spring-flowering plants now flower much earlier than in the past. This trend appears to be attributable to especially warmer spring (March, April, May) temperatures [25]–[27]. In 2010 and 2012 in Massachusetts [5], and 2012 in Wisconsin [4], spring temperatures were the warmest on record. These long-term datasets thus provide a rare opportunity to investigate if historical relationships between flowering times and spring temperatures apply during these record-breaking years. These observational data are especially timely because recent meta-analyses of flowering phenology [28] have documented that controlled warming experiments greatly under-predict flowering phenology when compared with their responses in natural settings. Thus, historical phenological data, such as those initiated by Thoreau and Leopold, are critical to understanding plant responses to current and future warming, and PLOS ONE | www.plosone.org 1 January 2013 | Volume 8 | Issue 1 | e53788 to test whether increasing temperatures may result in continued earlier flowering. Results and Discussion In Concord, Massachusetts, 32 spring flowering native plant species representing a broad phylogenetic diversity were chosen because they were observed in nearly all of the following 29 years: 1852–1858, 1878, 1888–1902, 2004–2006 and 2008–2012 [24] (Fig. 1a; Table 1, and phylogenetic relationships in Figures S1a and S1b). From 1852–1858, when mean spring temperature in the region was 5.5uC, mean first flowering date for these species was 15 May. By 1878–1902 their mean first flowering date had shifted five days earlier to 10 May, when mean spring temperature was 6.3uC. During the past nine years mean first flowering has shifted to 4 May, 11 days earlier than in Thoreau’s time and during a period in which mean spring temperature has risen to 8.8uC. Warming in the greater Boston area, which includes Concord, has been attributed to both global warming and the urban heat island [29]. Within the past decade, two years have been record breakers in this region: mean spring temperature in 2010 was the warmest ever recorded at 11.0uC, during which time plants had a mean flowering date of 24 April; and 2012 was the second warmest spring on record at 10.7uC, during which time plants had a mean flowering date of 25 April. In these two years, plants flowered three weeks earlier (i.e., 21 and 20 days in 2010 and 2012, respectively) than when Thoreau observed them in Concord. Numerous species in Massachusetts have shown remarkable shifts in flowering times in recent years [27], [30]. In 2010, 13 of the 32 species we analyzed had their earliest flowering date on record. In 2012, a different 14 species had their earliest recorded flowering date. Thoreau, for example, observed highbush blue- berry (Vaccinium corymbosum) flowering in mid-May (11–21 May). In 2012 this species flowered on 1 April, six weeks earlier than observed by Thoreau. Based on our linear regression analysis of these historical phenology and temperature data, plant species flower on average 3.2 days earlier for each 1uC rise in mean spring temperatures (Figure 2a, p,0.001, R 2 = 0.75). Twenty-seven of these 32 species exhibit significantly (p,0.05) earlier flowering times with spring temperatures (Table 1). Our results are robust to phylogenetic relationships: when phylogeny was incorporated into a generalized least squares analysis of phenological response to spring temperature, the results remained highly significant (P,0.01). In south-central Wisconsin, 23 phylogenetically diverse spring- flowering native plant species have been monitored in each of the following 47 years: 1935–1945 and 1977–2012 (Fig. 1b; Table 1, and phylogenetic relationships in Figures S1a and S1b). During this time, Wisconsin’s spring temperatures have warmed dramat- ically as a result of climate change [31]. During 1935–1945, when mean spring temperature was 7.5uC, the mean flowering date was 7 May. During the most recent 11-year period (2002–2012), when mean spring temperature was 9.3uC, the mean flowering date advanced by 7 days to 1 May. The mean spring temperature in 2012 was 12.2uC, the warmest on record and substantially warmer than the previous high of 11.3uC in 1977. In 2012, mean flowering was 13 April, the earliest date ever recorded, and over 3 weeks earlier (i.e., 24 days) than mean flowering in Leopold’s years. Most species in Wisconsin showed dramatic shifts in their flowering dates during this time. In 2012, 19 of the 23 species equaled or surpassed their previous earliest flowering dates. This response has been especially strong for several species. For example, Leopold recorded the first flower of woodland phlox (Phlox divaricata) between 28 April and 27 May; in 2012 it flowered on 4 April. Likewise, he recorded serviceberry (Amelanchier arborea) flowering between 10 April and 9 May; in 2012 it flowered on 25 March. Based on our analyses of these cumulative phenology and temperature data, plants in south-central Wisconsin flower on average 4.1 days earlier for each 1uC rise in mean spring temperature (Figure 2b, p,0.001, R 2 = 0.88). All 23 species exhibit significantly (p,0.05) earlier flowering times with warming spring temperatures (Table 1). As in Massachusetts, our results were robust to phylogenetic relationships (P,0.05). Given the significant relationship between mean spring temperatures and mean first flowering dates, the recent record- breaking warm springs of 2010 and 2012 in Massachusetts and 2012 in Wisconsin provide an opportunity to test whether historical relationships predict mean flowering dates during these exceptionally warm years. Based on regression analyses of pre- 2010 data (Massachusetts) and pre-2012 data (Wisconsin), the mean observed first flowering dates for the focal species during 2010 and 2012 fell within the 95% prediction intervals at each location (Figure 2) [32]. These prediction intervals [30] are estimates of the range of dates within which 2010 and 2012 observations of mean first flowering date are expected to fall, within a 95% probability. Results for individual species were also similar (Table 1). For the 32 species in Massachusetts, all but two flowered within the prediction interval for 2010. Marsh marigold [Caltha palustris] flowered earlier, and rhodora [Rhododendron canadense] flowered later than predicted. In 2012, only early saxifrage [Saxifraga virginiensis] flowered earlier than predicted. For Wisconsin, 22 of the 23 species had flowering times in 2012 that were within the 95% prediction intervals. Meadow anemone (Anemone canadensis) was the lone outlier, flowering five days earlier than the predicted interval. These results indicate that spring- flowering plants at both locations, whether analyzed as single species or averaged across all species, largely responded to record- breaking warm temperatures as predicted by their historical responses to warming spring temperatures. These results collectively demonstrate that despite record- breaking warm temperatures in the eastern United States, plants have continued to flower earlier in the face of recent dramatic climate change. While other studies have examined long-term observations with comparable rates of phenological advancement [2], [3], [33], [34], to our knowledge ours is the first to demonstrate the predictive power of such data under unprece- dented warm temperatures. In contrast to our results, there is increasing discussion in the literature [6]–[8] that flowering, leaf out, and growth could be delayed for temperate plants that have not experienced lengthened spring photoperiods or extended cool temperatures that satisfy their winter chilling requirements. A delay in phenology caused by insufficient chilling is most likely to be observed first in warm temperate latitudes where winter temperatures are barely adequate for fulfilling chilling require- ments for some species [8], [35]. Another scenario is highlighted in a recent study [7] suggesting that individual species thought to be unresponsive to spring temperature were actually responding to both an unsatisfied chilling requirement and warmer spring temperatures resulting in no net change in flowering phenology. Based on our results, there is no indication that the 47 spring flowering plants we studied are delayed in their flowering by insufficient photoperiod or winter chilling requirements. These plants continue to flower earlier apparently in direct response to increasingly warmer mean spring temperatures (R 2 values = 0.75– 0.88). Other climatic factors such as late winter temperatures or spring minimum temperatures may exert some effects, but we did not detect them here. This strongly suggests that most of these plants have not yet reached a physiological threshold. Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern US PLOS ONE | www.plosone.org 2 January 2013 | Volume 8 | Issue 1 | e53788 By extension, because flowering and leaf-out times are highly correlated for many species [36], [37], we hypothesize that yet earlier flowering times, and potentially leaf out times, will continue to be observed in the face of predicted climate change. In contrast to a number of phenological studies showing nonlinear relation- ships between phenology and temperature, due largely to unmet chilling and photoperiod requirements, our findings demonstrate the relationship to be linear and to explain most of the variation in flowering. It is possible of course, that these observations are within a fairly linear portion of a relationship that will prove to be nonlinear with future climate change [38] [39]. As temperatures continue to rise in the northeastern United States this linearity of the relationship of flowering time to temperature will be tested. Importantly, on-going ecological monitoring initiated by Thoreau and Leopold will help to clarify the complexities of this system under future change, and to illuminate plant phenological responses in experimental warming plots and under greenhouse conditions. Materials and Methods Phenological and climate data Observations of first flowering dates of species in Concord, Massachusetts, USA (42u279370N, 71u209580W) were made by Thoreau during the years 1852–1858, Hosmer for 1878 and 1888–1902, Primack, Miller-Rushing and their associates for 2003–2006, and Primack and his associates for 2008–2012 [24]. Thirty-two spring-flowering native species from a variety of habitats were chosen from a list of over 200 species because of the criterion of being observed in nearly all years. At the Massachusetts site, Amelanchier arborea and A. canadensis cannot be readily distinguished and flower at the same time; for convenience these combined observations are listed under the name A. arborea. Figure 1. Mean first flowering dates for all species. The annual mean first flowering dates and standard errors of 29 years of data are shown from Massachusetts (a) and 47 years from Wisconsin (b). Blue triangles = Thoreau and Leopold et al.; orange squares = Hosmer; red triangles = Primack et al. and Bradley et al.. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0053788.g001 Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern US PLOS ONE | www.plosone.org 3 January 2013 | Volume 8 | Issue 1 | e53788 Table 1. List of plant species monitored at each location, along with their phenological responses to temperature (for years prior to 2010 for MA and prior to 2012 for WI) and 95% prediction intervals for 2010 and 2012 for Massachusetts and 2012 for Wisconsin. Location Species n Temp. Response 95% Prediction Interval Obs. FFD Massachusetts Amelanchier arborea* 25 y = 23.24x+143 2010: 95–119 2010: 102 (Serviceberry) R 2 = 0.45*** 2012: 96–119 2012: 105 Massachusetts Anemone quinquefolia* 25 y = 21.03x+123 2010: 96–127 2010: 102 (Wood Anemone) R2 = 0.05* 2012: 97–127 2012: 105 Massachusetts Aquilegia canadensis* 25 y = 0.46x+112 2010: 97–138 2010: 105 (Wild Columbine) R 2 = 0.01 2012: 98–137 2012: 109 Massachusetts Aralia nudicaulis 24 y = 23.27x+160 2010:113–134 2010: 122 (Wild Sarsaparilla) R 2 = 0.68*** 2012: 114–135 2012: 128 Massachusetts Arenaria lateriflora 23 y = 24.92x+178 2010: 105–142 2010: 127 (Bluntleaf Sandwort) R2 = 0.43*** 2012: 107–143 2012: 123 Massachusetts Caltha palustris* 25 y = 21.69x+116 2010: 75–120 2010: 69 (Marsh Marigold) R 2 = 0.06** 2012: 76–120 2012: 92 Massachusetts Comandra umbellate 24 y = 23.26x+162 2010: 107–145 2010: 124 (Bastard Toadflax) R 2 = 0.24*** 2012: 108–145 2012: 128 Massachusetts Cornus canadensis 24 y = 23.27x+164 2010: 114–142 2010: 136 (Dwarf Dogwood) R 2 = 0.36** 2012: 116–143 2012: 138 Massachusetts Cypripedium acaule 25 y = 23.70x+165 2010: 110–138 2010: 124 (Pink Lady Slipper) R2 = 0.61*** 2012: 112–138 2012: 123 Massachusetts Fragaria virginiana* 20 y = 24.21x+152 2010: 85–127 2010: 105 (Wild Strawberry) R 2 = 0.33*** 2012: 87–128 2012: 105 Massachusetts Gaylussacia baccata 24 y = 25.82x+174 2010: 97–123 2010: 115 (Black Huckleberry) R 2 = 0.68*** 2012: 99–125 2012: 109 Massachusetts Geranium maculatum* 25 y = 21.85x+151 2010: 117–143 2010: 129 (Wild Geranium) R2 = 0.16** 2012: 118–144 2012: 128 Massachusetts Houstonia caerulea 26 y = 22.70x+127 2010: 78–117 2010: 86 (Bluet) R 2 = 0.17** 2012: 79–118 2012: 92 Massachusetts Hypoxis hirsuta 25 y = 23.31x+168 2010: 117–146 2010: 129 (Yellow Star-Grass) R 2 = 0.34*** 2012: 119–147 2012: 128 Massachusetts Krigia virginica 24 y = 24.21x+171 2010: 99–151 2010: 115 (Dwarf Dandelion) R2 = 0.22*** 2012: 101–151 2012: 109 Massachusetts Potentilla canadensis 24 y = 0.21x+116 2010: 89–148 2010: 102 (Dwarf Cinquefoil) R 2 = 0.00 2012: 90–147 2012: 105 Massachusetts Prunus pensylvanica 22 y = 22.95x+147 2010: 100–128 2010: 105 (Pin Cherry) R 2 = 0.29*** 2012: 101–129 2012: 109 Massachusetts Prunus serotina* 22 y = 22.08x+149 2010: 91–161 2010: 129 (Black Cherry) R2 = 0.04 2012: 92–161 2012: 131 Massachusetts Prunus virginiana 24 y = 24.06x+165 2010: 92–138 2010: 122 (Chokecherry) R 2 = 0.41*** 2012: 94–139 2012: 123 Massachusetts Rhododendron canadense 26 y = 24.27x+160 2010: 104–122 2010: 124 (Rhodora) R 2 = 0.72*** 2012: 106–123 2012: 123 Massachusetts Saxifraga virginiensis 26 y = 0.81x+103 2010: 92–131 2010: 102 (Early Saxifrage) R2 = 0.02 2012: 93–130 2012: 92 Massachusetts Senecio aureus 26 y = 22.36x+156 2010: 111–150 2010: 129 (Golden Ragwort) R 2 = 0.13** 2012: 112–150 2012: 123 Massachusetts Silene caroliniana 26 y = 23.85x+169 2010: 115–137 2010: 129 (Wild Pink) R 2 = 0.58*** 2012: 117–138 2012: 128 Massachusetts Smilax rotundifolia 21 y = 24.12x+183 2010: 109–166 2010: 124 (Common Greenbriar) R2 = 0.19*** 2012: 111–166 2012: 128 Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern US PLOS ONE | www.plosone.org 4 January 2013 | Volume 8 | Issue 1 | e53788 Table 1. Cont. Location Species n Temp. Response 95% Prediction Interval Obs. FFD Massachusetts Trientalis borealis 25 y = 24.43x+165 2010: 103–130 2010: 115 (Starflower) R 2 = 0.53*** 2012: 105–131 2012: 118 Massachusetts Trillium cernuum 25 y = 22.84x+155 2010: 107–142 2010: 122 (Nodding Trillium) R 2 = 0.21** 2012: 108–142 2012: 131 Massachusetts Vaccinium angustifolium 26 y = 24.41x+152 2010: 88–118 2010: 105 (Lowbush Blueberry) R2 = 0.63*** 2012: 90–119 2012: 98 Massachusetts Vaccinium corymbosum 26 y = 26.55x+170 2010: 83–113 2010: 97 (Highbush Blueberry) R 2 = 0.66*** 2012: 85–115 2012: 92 Massachusetts Viola cucullata 25 y = 23.28x+140 2010: 86–122 2010: 102 (Marsh Blue Violet) R 2 = 0.27*** 2012: 88–122 2012: 98 Massachusetts Viola fimbriatula 23 y = 22.91x+142 2010: 86–134 2010: 102 (Arrowleaf Violet) R2 = 0.13** 2012: 88–135 2012: 105 Massachusetts Viola lanceolata 24 y = 23.17x+150 2010: 100–130 2010: 120 (Lance-leaved Violet) R 2 = 0.33*** 2012: 101–130 2012: 115 Massachusetts Viola pedata* 23 y = 2.22x+110 2010: 113–157 2010: 124 (Birdfoot Violet) R 2 = 0.10 2012: 113–155 2012: 123 Wisconsin Amelanchier arborea* 47 y = 24.85x+155 84–108 84 (Serviceberry) R2 = 0.63*** Wisconsin Anemone canadensis 47 y = 24.05x+179 116–144 111 (Meadow Anemone) R 2 = 0.46*** Wisconsin Anemone patens 47 y = 23.31x+127 70–103 75 (Pasque Flower) R 2 = 0.30*** Wisconsin Anemone quinquefolia* 47 y = 24.31x+149 84–109 87 (Wood Anemone) R2 = 0.55*** Wisconsin Aquilegia canadensis* 47 y = 23.98x+162 102–125 117 (Wild Columbine) R 2 = 0.55*** Wisconsin Arabis lyrata 47 y = 23.84x+140 80–105 80 (Sand Cress) R 2 = 0.49*** Wisconsin Caltha palustris* 47 y = 22.64x+134 91–112 100 (Marsh Marigold) R2 = 0.41*** Wisconsin Dicentra cucullaria 47 y = 24.46x+140 72–100 76 (Dutchman’s Breeches) R2 = 0.52*** Wisconsin Dodecatheon meadia 47 y = 23.73x+163 110–126 122 (Shooting Star) R 2 = 0.70*** Wisconsin Fragaria virginiana* 47 y = 23.93x+154 90–123 102 (Wild Strawberry) R 2 = 0.38*** Wisconsin Geranium maculatum* 47 y = 24.52x+165 98–122 111 (Wild Geranium) R2 = 0.59*** Wisconsin Hepatica nobilis 47 y = 24.18x+132 64–98 75 (Sharp-lobed Hepatica) R 2 = 0.40*** Wisconsin Lithospermum canescens 47 y = 24.13x+161 96–126 105 (Hoary Puccoon) R 2 = 0.44*** Wisconsin Oxalis stricta 47 y = 24.23x+167 104–126 118 (Wood Sorrel) R2 = 0.62*** Wisconsin Phlox divaricata 47 y = 25.38x+167 86–116 94 (Woodland Phlox) R 2 = 0.57*** Wisconsin Phlox pilosa 47 y = 23.66x+166 106–136 128 (Prairie Phlox) R 2 = 0.38*** Wisconsin Prunus serotina* 47 y = 23.74x+167 109–134 126 (Black Cherry) R2 = 0.49*** Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern US PLOS ONE | www.plosone.org 5 January 2013 | Volume 8 | Issue 1 | e53788 This dataset includes all species that met these criteria, while non- native species, species with few observations and summer- flowering species were not included in this analysis (Table 1). These data are available on the Primack Lab website (people.- bu.edu/primack). Phenological observations were made on both public and private lands; permission was obtained for private land when necessary. No permission was needed for public lands. No destructive tissue sampling was conducted. Temperature data are from Blue Hill Meteorological Observatory in East Milton, Massachusetts and are available through NOAA National Climatic Data Center (http://www.ncdc.noaa.gov/oa/ncdc. html) [40]. Blue Hill Meteorological Observatory is located 33 km southeast of Concord, MA and temperatures between the two nearby locations are highly correlated [27]. Leopold, his family members, and his students collected phenological data from 1935–1945 at locations in Sauk and Dane Counties, Wisconsin, USA, primarily near the Leopold ‘‘Shack’’ (43u339460N, 89u399330W) and in the University of Wisconsin Arboretum (43u029480N, 89u249580W). NLB, SAT, and the staff of the Aldo Leopold Foundation collected phenological data from 1977–2012 at locations in Sauk and Dane Counties primarily near the Leopold shack and in Dunlap Hollow (43u129120N, 89u459060W). Twenty-three spring-flowering native species were chosen from a list of 176, for which observations of first flowering had been made in every year. These data are available by contacting SAT. Permits and approvals were not necessary for the private lands where observations were made in Wisconsin, or for public property of the University of Wisconsin Arboretum. None of the Wisconsin species observed in this study have protective status, and no destructive sampling was conducted. Mean spring temperatures for the south-central Wisconsin climatic region, which includes our study sites, were obtained from the Wisconsin State Climatology Office (http://www.aos.wisc.edu/,sco/clim- history/division/data/temp/WI-08-TEMP.xls). Statistical analysis and phylogenetic methods Mean annual temperatures for those months that best predict spring flowering times were used in this analysis (i.e., March, April and May). April and May are the predominant flowering months for these species, and the inclusion of March temperatures strengthened the model. Mean temperatures for this time period provided the strongest model, owing to the fact that plants are accumulating heat and beginning spring growth. While certain studies have shown that the inclusion of winter months improves the relationship between flowering and temperature [41], we did not find that to be the case with this data set. For example, the model of flowering in Concord using only mean monthly April and May temperatures provided a strong model (R 2 = 0.70), yet including May temperatures explained an even larger amount of variation (R 2 = 0.75). Adding mean February temperature weak- ened this relationship (R 2 = 0.71); using mean monthly tempera- tures from January through May weakened this relationship further (R 2 = 0.64). We performed all analyses in R 2.15.1 [42]. We calculated linear regressions (mean first flowering date for all species over time as well as mean first flowering date for each species versus mean spring temperature) for all years at both study sites, respectively. We used mean spring temperature rather than another index of spring (e.g., growing degree days) due to the ease of calculating, displaying, and explaining this variable. Also, this simple measure of spring temperature explained most of the variation in flowering times. To test the linearity of the relationship between temperature and flowering time, we analyzed the residuals of this relationship and found them to be well scattered in a random pattern. This indicates that the relationship is consistent and that flowering is not earlier or later over time other than expected relative to temperature. We also performed statistical comparisons to account for phylogenetic non-independence. Two highly resolved dated phylogenies were produced for each of the two sites to accomplish this goal (see Text S1 and Figures S1a and S1b). We did not conduct a multiple model regression test, but have previously shown in such an analysis using the Concord data that phenological response and abundance change is most strongly tied to changes in temperature [26]. All phylogenies and data Table 1. Cont. Location Species n Temp. Response 95% Prediction Interval Obs. FFD Wisconsin Rubus allegheniensis 47 y = 23.01x+169 124–140 129 (Common Blackberry) R 2 = 0.63*** Wisconsin Sanguinaria canadensis 47 y = 23.55x+129 71–100 76 (Bloodroot) R 2 = 0.40*** Wisconsin Sisyrinchium campestre 47 y = 23.83x+165 108–129 118 (Blue-eyed Grass) R2 = 0.58*** Wisconsin Tradescantia ohiensis 47 y = 23.27x+174 119–149 131 (Spiderwort) R 2 = 0.34*** Wisconsin Trillium grandiflorum 47 y = 22.58x+142 93–128 99 (Large-flowered Trillium) R 2 = 0.19*** Wisconsin Viola pedata* 47 y = 25.11x+164 91–112 101 (Birdfoot Violet) R2 = 0.70*** The samples size is the number of years used for each regression analysis. Species names follow the United States Department of Agriculture Plants Database. Species common to both locations are indicated with an asterisk after the species name. Asterisks that follow R2 values represent significance at the following levels: * = p,0.05, ** = p,0.01, *** = p,0.001. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0053788.t001 Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern US PLOS ONE | www.plosone.org 6 January 2013 | Volume 8 | Issue 1 | e53788 Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern US PLOS ONE | www.plosone.org 7 January 2013 | Volume 8 | Issue 1 | e53788 matrices are available on TreeBase. Traits at both locations did not exhibit phylogenetic conservation as determined by Blom- berg’s K in the picante package version 1.4–2 (K,1.00) [43]. This indicates that the patterns we observed are not caused by groups of related species possessing similar traits. Trait correlations as above were tested using a phylogenetic general linear model as implemented using the pgls function in the caper package version 0.5. This model includes a variance-covariance structure based on evolutionary distance to control for phylogenetic non-indepen- dence in the data [44]. To determine prediction intervals that excluded recent record- breaking warm years, we recalculated linear regressions using only pre-2010 observations (for Massachusetts) and pre-2012 observa- tions (for Wisconsin). Then, we calculated the 95% prediction intervals for mean first flowering dates for all species and flowering dates for each species for Massachusetts (separately for 2010 and 2012, using only pre-2010 observations) and Wisconsin (for 2012), based on the observed mean spring temperatures for those record- breaking warm years [32]. We then compared the observed mean first flowering dates for all species and flowering dates for each species in 2010 and 2012 (in Massachusetts) and 2012 (in Wisconsin) with those predictions. Eight species were common to both sites and allow us to compare their responses to temperature (Table 1). An analysis of covariance (ANCOVA) was used to determine if location influenced how first flowering dates varied over time and in response to temperature. We then tested whether the regression lines of the relationship between year and first flowering date were the same between the two locations. This was repeated for the relationship between temperature and first flowering date for these common species. Mean flowering times varied over years in a similar way at both locations (ANCOVA F 1, 75 = 2.6, p = 0.427). However, their responses to temperature differed between locations (ANCOVA F 1, 75 = 69.1, p,0.001). The contrasting responses to temperature may be related to multiple factors, including local adaptation to temperature and other related climate variables, or sampling issues including changes in species’ abundance at each location [45], [46]. Future observational studies and transplant experiments of these species will help us to better understand these differences. Supporting Information Figure S1 S1a. Phylogeny of Massachusetts spring-flowering plant species used in the analyses. S1b. Phylogeny of Wisconsin spring-flowering plant species used in the analyses. (TIF) Text S1 Phylogenetic analysis description and methods. (DOCX) Acknowledgments The staff of the Aldo Leopold Foundation, especially Teresa Mayer, helped collect recent phenological data in Wisconsin. Abraham Miller-Rushing, Caroline Polgar and many Boston University students helped to collect phenology data from Concord. We appreciate the suggestion of Don Waller that 2012 might be a unique year for phenology across a wide area. The following individuals provided useful comments on the manuscript: Amanda Gallinat, Wellington Huffaker, Caitlin McDonough MacKenzie, Curt Meine, Abraham Miller-Rushing, Caroline Polgar, Elizabeth Wolkovich, Benjamin Zuckerberg, the Davis lab at Harvard University, and several anonymous reviewers. The A. W. Schorger Fund of the Department of Forest and Wildlife Ecology, University of Wisconsin- Madison, covered part of the publication fees. Author Contributions Conceived and designed the experiments: ERE SAT RBP NLB CCD. Performed the experiments: SAT RBP NLB CCD. Analyzed the data: ERE SAT RBP CCD. Contributed reagents/materials/analysis tools: ERE SAT RBP CCD. Wrote the paper: ERE SAT RBP CCD. References 1. Fitter AH, Fitter RSR (2002) Rapid changes in flowering time in British plants. Science 296(5573): 1689–1691. 2. Parmesan C, Yohe G (2003) A globally coherent fingerprint of climate change impacts across natural systems. Nature 421(6918): 37–42. 3. Amano T, Smithers RJ, Sparks TH, Sutherland WJ (2010) A 250-year index of first flowering dates and its response to temperature changes. Proceedings of the Royal Society B-Biological Sciences 277(1693): 2451–2457. 4. Wisconsin State Climatology Office (2012) Available: http://www.aos.wisc.edu/ ,sco/clim-history/division/data/temp/WI-08-TEMP.xls. Accessed 2012 Dec 7. 5. NOAA National Climatic Data Center (2012) State of the Climate: National Overview for March 2012, published online April, 2012. Available: http://www. ncdc.noaa.gov/sotc/national/2012/3. Accessed 2012 Dec 7. 6. Cleland EE, Chuine I, Menzel A, Mooney HA, Schwartz MD (2007) Shifting plant phenology in response to global change. Trends Ecol Evol 22(7): 357–365. 7. Cook BI, Wolkovich EM, Parmesan C (2012) Divergent responses to spring and winter warming drive community level flowering trends. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 109(23): 9000– 9005. 8. Schwartz MD, Hanes JM (2010) Continental-scale phenology: warming and chilling. Int J Climatol 30(11): 1595–1598. 9. Piao SL, Ciais P, Friedlingstein P, Peylin P, Reichstein M, et al. (2008) Net carbon dioxide losses of northern ecosystems in response to autumn warming. Nature 451(7174): 49–U43. 10. Menzel A, Sparks TH, Estrella N, Koch E, Aasa A, et al. (2006) European phenological response to climate change matches the warming pattern. Global Change Biology 12(10): 1969–1976. 11. Parmesan C (2006) Ecological and evolutionary responses to recent climate change. Annu Rev Ecol Evol Syst 37: 637–669. 12. Post E, Forchhammer MC (2008) Climate change reduces reproductive success of an Arctic herbivore through trophic mismatch. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B-Biological Sciences 363(1501): 2369–2375. 13. Both C, van Asch M, Bijlsma RG, van den Burg AB, Visser ME (2009) Climate change and unequal phenological changes across four trophic levels: constraints or adaptations? J Anim Ecol 78(1): 73–83. Figure 2. The relationships between mean first flowering dates and mean spring (March, April and May) temperatures. Each dot represents the mean first flowering date of all sampled species for a given year in (a) Massachusetts and (b) Wisconsin. Black regression lines, and 95% prediction intervals, were estimated from pre-2010 data (Massachusetts) and pre-2012 data (Wisconsin). 2012 observed values are shown in solid red, and 2010 (Massachusetts only) in green. The 95% prediction intervals for 2010 and 2012 mean first flowering dates are indicated with vertical lines. Photographs illustrate representative species at each location. Unless specified otherwise, photographs are made available under an Attribution- Share Alike 2.0 License with date and photographer as listed. Massachusetts species: 1) serviceberry (Amelanchier canadensis), � 2011 personal collection of R. Primack, 2) marsh marigold (Caltha palustris), � 2009 walker_bc, 3) pink lady slipper (Cypripedium acaule), � 2012 Graham Hunt, 4) rhodora (Rhododendron canadense), � 2012 Andrew Block, 5) nodding trillium (Trillium cernuum), � 2008 Ed Post, and 6) highbush blueberry (Vaccinium corymbosum), � 2007 Anita363. Wisconsin species: 1) woodland phlox (Phlox divaricata), � 2009 Diane DiOhio, 2) shooting star (Dodecatheon meadia), � 2006 Frank Mayfield, 3) hoary puccoon (Lithospermum canescens), � 2006 cotinis, 4) wild geranium (Geranium maculatum), � 2009 aposematic herpetologist, 5) pasque flower (Anemone patens) � 2007 Malcom Manners, and 6) sharplobe hepatica (Hepatica nobilis) � 2009 Alan J. Hahn. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0053788.g002 Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern US PLOS ONE | www.plosone.org 8 January 2013 | Volume 8 | Issue 1 | e53788 14. Forrest JRK, Thomson JD (2011) An examination of synchrony between insect emergence and flowering in Rocky Mountain meadows. 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Thoreau HD (1854) Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Boston, MA: Ticknor and Fields. 21. Leopold A (1949) A Sand County Almanac: Oxford University Press. 22. Wright SD, Bradley NL (2008) In:Waller D, Rooney T, editors. The Vanishing Present. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. pp. 42–51. 23. Leopold A, Jones SE (1947) A phenological record for Sauk and Dane Counties, Wisconsin, 1935–1945. Ecol Monogr 17: 81–122. 24. Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ (2012) Uncovering, Collecting, and Analyzing Records to Investigate the Ecological Impacts of Climate Change: A Template from Thoreau’s Concord. Bioscience 62(2): 170–181. 25. Bradley NL, Leopold AC, Ross J, Huffaker W (1999) Phenological changes reflect climate change in Wisconsin. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 96(17): 9701–9704. 26. Willis CG, Ruhfel B, Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ, Davis CC (2008) Phylogenetic patterns of species loss in Thoreau’s woods are driven by climate change. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 105(44): 17029–17033. 27. Miller-Rushing AJ, Primack RB (2008) Global warming and flowering times in Thoreau’s Concord: A community perspective. Ecology 89(2): 332–341. 28. Wolkovich EM, Cook BI, Allen JM, Crimmins TM, Betancourt JL, et al. (2012) Warming experiments underpredict plant phenological responses to climate change. Nature 485(7399): 494–497. 29. New England Regional Assessment Group (2001) New England Regional Assessment. Durham, New Hampshire, USA : University of New Hampshire, Institute for the Study of Earth, Oceans, and Space. 30. Willis CG, Ruhfel BR, Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ, Losos JB, et al. (2010) Favorable Climate Change Response Explains Non-Native Species’ Success in Thoreau’s Woods. PLoS One 5(1): Article No.: e8878. 31. Wisconsin Initiative on Climate Change Impacts(2011) Wisconsin’s Changing Climate: Impacts and Adaptation. Madison, Wisconsin, USA. 32. Aitchison J, Dunsmore IR (1975) Statistical prediction analysis. Cambridge-New York-Melbourne: Cambridge University Press. 33. Beaubien E, Hamann A (2011) Spring flowering response to climate change between 1936 and 2006 in Alberta, Canada. Bioscience 61(7): 514–524. 34. Anderson JT, Inouye DW, McKinney AM, Colautti RI, Mitchell-Olds T (2012) Phenotypic plasticity and adaptive evolution contribute to advancing flowering phenology in response to climate change. Proceedings of the Royal Society B- Biological Sciences 279(1743): 3843–3852. 35. Polgar CA, Primack RB (2011) Leaf-out phenology of temperate woody plants: from trees to ecosystems. New Phytologist 191(4): 926–941. 36. Schwartz MD, Reiter BE (2000) Changes in North American spring. Int J Climatol 20(8): 929–932. 37. Primack RB (1987) Relationships among flowers, fruits, and seeds. Annu Rev Ecol Syst 18: 409–430. 38. Morin X, Roy J, Sonié L, Chuine I (2011) Changes in leaf phenology of three European oak species in response to experimental climate change. New Phytologist 186(4): 900–910. 39. Sparks TH, Jeffree EP, Jeffree CE (2000) An examination of the relationship between flowering times and temperature at the national scale using long-term phenological records from the UK. International Journal of Biometeorology 44(2): 82–87. 40. NOAA National Climatic Data Center (2012) Available: http://www.ncdc. noaa.gov/oa/ncdc.html. Accessed 2012 Dec 7. 41. McEwan RW, Brecha RJ, Geiger DR, John GP (2011) Flowering phenology change and climate warming in southwestern Ohio. Plant Ecology 212(1): 55– 61. 42. R Core Development Team (2008) R: A language and environment for statistical computing. R Foundation for Statistical Computing Vienna, Austria. 43. Blomberg SP, Garland T, Ives AR (2003) Testing for phylogenetic signal in comparative data: Behavioral traits are more labile. Evolution 57(4): 717–745. 44. Freckleton RP, Harvey PH, Pagel M (2002) Phylogenetic analysis and comparative data: a test and review of evidence. The American Naturalist 160(6): 712–726. 45. Doi H, Takahashi M, Katano I (2010) Genetic diversity increases regional variation in phenological dates in response to climate change. Global Change Biology 16(1): 373–379. 46. Tryjanowski P, Panek M, Sparks T (2006) Phenological response of plants to temperature varies at the same latitude: case study of dog violet and horse chestnut in England and Poland. Clim Res 32(1): 89–93. Record-Breaking Early Flowering in the Eastern US PLOS ONE | www.plosone.org 9 January 2013 | Volume 8 | Issue 1 | e53788 
work_vaunu57sbbe4danjpz3xuuhpme	----	REV GEOGRAFIA.indb 201Revista de Geografía Norte Grande, 53: 201-203 (2012) Reseñas Fabián M. Jaksic, Pablo Camus y Sergio A. Castro. Ecología y Ciencias Naturales. Historia del conocimiento del patrimonio biológico de Chile Santiago de Chile: Dirección de Bibliotecas, Archivos y Museos, 2012. 228 p. Rodrigo Torres Cañete1 1 Magíster en Geografía y Geomática. Instituto de Geografía, Pontifi cia Universidad Católica de Chile (Chile). E-mail: rjtorres@uc.cl El estudio historiográfico de una cien- cia bien puede consistir en una exposición pormenorizada de sus logros, narrados en función de situaciones, personajes y anécdo- tas atractivos, que suelen adquirir tanta cele- bridad como el avance o descubrimiento al que se refi eren. Es por esta forma tradicional de hacer historia que resulta difícil disociar a Newton y la gravedad de las manzanas, o a Fleming y la penicilina del desorden de su la- boratorio. Tratada así, la ciencia es percibida como un acervo creciente de explicaciones comprobadas que ha sido enriquecido por los buenos investigadores, pero que ha sido obs- taculizado, en su crecimiento, por quienes son recordados como defensores de teorías o prácticas erradas. Se produce así una visión maniqueísta en que el descubridor se lleva los honores, frente a estudiosos incapaces de dar con la o las explicaciones correctas. Una obra clave en la historia de la ciencia planteó, sin embargo, que esta no se desa- rrolla a través de la progresiva acumulación de descubrimientos e inventos individuales, sino que a través de procesos complejos que deben ser entendidos a la luz de las posibili- dades de cada época y de las particularidades de cada comunidad de científi cos, entre otros componentes. En consecuencia, propugnó un cambio historiográfi co adecuado a esta nueva conceptualización: se debe dar cuenta de la integridad histórica de una ciencia en su pro- pio tiempo, en vez de buscar contribuciones sucesivas a un acervo creciente. Ello implica revisar las prácticas científi cas cotidianas, lo que de suyo las humaniza, intentando des- cifrar relaciones entre discípulos y maestros, diferencias de carácter, opinión e ideas, los contextos de avance técnico y las necesida- des sociales, entre muchas otras categorías que dan tanto valor al acierto como al error. El fl amante libro de Fabián Jaksic, zoólo- go; Pablo Camus, historiador, y Sergio Castro, botánico, se inserta en esta corriente renovada y presenta una historia de la ecología y de las ciencias naturales en Chile. No es una historia natural más, sino una narración de cómo esta se ha construido a partir de ciertas disciplinas. Es una metahistoria, elaborada con profundo respeto al trabajo constante desarrollado por investigadores e instituciones abnegados y apasionados de sus respectivos objetos de estudio, y que reciben, con este libro, un homenaje que por fi n trasciende el reducido circuito académico en que sus nombres son reconocidos y admirados, al articular sus con- tribuciones con procesos históricos mayores. Esta historia no comienza desde el princi- pio, sino que desde fuera. Con el objetivo de incorporar este estudio en un contexto global, en que se conectan las Ciencias Naturales en Chile con los desarrollos internacionales, la obra se inicia con una breve perspectiva histó- rica del naturalismo y de los avances teóricos más infl uyentes para la ecología en su doble signifi cación, como ciencia y como ideología. R E V I S T A D E G E O G R A F Í A N O R T E G R A N D E202 La revisión comienza en 1869, año en que es acuñado el concepto “ecología” por el biólo- go alemán Ernst Haeckel, y que signifi có su- perar las prácticas eminentemente descriptivas que habían caracterizado a los estudios sobre la naturaleza. Luego retrocede cronológica- mente a la propuesta taxonómica de Linneo y continúa con Kosmos de Von Humboldt, los estudios botánicos de la generación de Frederic Clements y Henry Allan Gleason, la Nueva Ecología orientada a las comunidades, la noción de ecosistema y su evolución desde Tansley a Lindeman, la Teoría del Nicho de George Evelyn Hutchinson, las perspectivas demográfi cas desde Volterra y Lotka, el con- cepto de biósfera, y el entendimiento de la Tierra como un ser vivo desde los tiempos mí- ticos hasta las formulaciones de James Hutton, en 1785, y de James Lovelock, con su hipóte- sis de Gaia. Desde una perspectiva teórica, los autores suscriben la periodización propuesta por Donald Worster, quien considera que con las bombas de Hiroshima y Nagasaki surge una “era ecológica”, pues, a partir de entonces, el ser humano adquiere conciencia de su potencial de acción planetaria y de la posibilidad técnica de la destrucción total. Sin embargo, la obra también se ocupa de los ecologismos, es decir, de las perspectivas polí- ticas de la ecología, en un lapso mayor: desde el radical ensayo Walden, escrito por Henry David Thoreau en 1854, en adelante, hasta llegar a las ideas del fi lósofo noruego Arne Naess sobre la deep ecology. A partir de este sintético pero bien provis- to marco teórico, se desarrolla una historia de las Ciencias Naturales en Chile que comien- za en la época de la Conquista. Los autores se ocupan de las pocas descripciones de la naturaleza que se conservan de los siglos XVI y XVII, y profundizan en la “Crónica y relación copiosa y verdadera de los Reinos de Chile”, terminada en 1558 por Gerónimo de Bibar. Dicha obra tiene una clara inspiración geográfi ca, y presenta valiosas descripciones del territorio, anotaciones biológicas y ob- servaciones relevantes sobre la morfología y distribución de varias especies vegetales. Enseguida se despliega un necesario recuento del aporte que distintos viajeros hicieron a la historia natural del país. Bien conocidas son las expediciones de personajes tan célebres como Feuillée, Graham, Pöeppig o Darwin, entre muchos otros, por lo que los autores se preocupan especialmente de sus descrip- ciones territoriales y de sus contribuciones taxonómicas. Quien recibe más atención en este apartado, y con justos motivos, es el más célebre naturalista que haya nacido en terri- torio chileno, el abate Juan Ignacio Molina (1740-1829), aunque, en realidad, no se trata de un análisis biográfi co convencional: más bien, la obra busca entender las percepciones que han tenido, sobre su fi gura, investigadores chilenos más recientes. Ello nos permite aqui- latar su infl uencia en el desarrollo local de las Ciencias Naturales, que pudo ser escasa debi- do a que Molina desarrolló su carrera acadé- mica y científi ca en Bolonia, Italia, a causa de la Pragmática Sanción de 1767 que expulsó a los jesuitas de América. Sin embargo, los bo- tánicos y zoólogos chilenos sí reconocen en Molina a un precursor, por medio de la valo- ración de su trabajo y del asombro frente a la innegable originalidad de sus planteamientos, que trascienden el naturalismo para insertarse en la vanguardia progresista de su época. El tercer capítulo se intitula “Inserción de la naturaleza nacional en el ordenamiento científi co global”, aunque se trata, en reali- dad, de cómo se institucionalizaron las Cien- cias Naturales en el joven Chile del siglo XIX. Comienza por retomar el ya aludido viaje de Darwin por Chile y, en lo que constituye una excepción para el texto, se expone este episodio a través de una historia muy apega- da a cánones tradicionales, en que el relato se construye a partir de las impresiones del propio naturalista, y no de las huellas que este dejó en sabios chilenos de generacio- nes posteriores. A continuación se analiza in extenso la contribución de Claudio Gay a la creación de un imaginario geográfi co nacio- nal. Además de explicar su gran infl uencia en la zoología y la botánica local, se plantea cómo el sabio francés incorporó la naturaleza y la sociedad chilena en circuitos culturales y científi cos de alcance mundial. Desde aquí en adelante se desarrollan los aportes más cruciales de la obra de Jaksic, Camus y Castro, pues muestra a personajes conocidos de la historia de la ciencia nacio- nal desde nuevas perspectivas, o arroja luz sobre investigadores cuya fama estaba relicta al reducido circuito académico y profesional de los naturalistas. 203FABIÁN M. JAKSIC, PABLO CAMUS Y SERGIO A. CASTRO. ECOLOGÍA Y CIENCIAS NATURALES. HISTORIA DEL CONOCIMIENTO DEL PATRIMONIO BIOLÓGICO DE CHILE Las bases de la práctica formal de las Ciencias Naturales en Chile se asocian al nombre de Rodulfo Amando Philippi (1808- 1904), quien llegó a Chile a fines del año 1851, y a su hijo Federico. La variada docu- mentación reunida sobre estos personajes no solo permite retratar a los grandes investiga- dores, sino que también a sujetos ideológica- mente orientados y con una gran capacidad de gestionar, incluso más allá de lo institu- cional, las capacidades y financiamientos que son inherentes al desarrollo científi co. En torno a estos sabios se articuló una notable generación de investigadores y docentes tam- bién extranjeros, quienes serían los responsa- bles de educar a quienes conformarían, por primera vez, una comunidad científi ca autén- ticamente nacional. Entre ellos se destacaron Philibert Germain (1827-1913), entomólogo francés; Friedrich Johow (1841-1910) y Karl Reiche (1860-1929), botánicos alemanes; Edwyn Charles Reed (1841-1910), entomó- logo británico, y el prolífi co zoólogo francés Fernand Lataste (1847-1934), quien lideró la fundación de la Société Scientifi que du Chili, en 1891. Con ellos, se amplió enormemente el conocimiento taxonómico y metodológico de sus respectivas disciplinas. Estos profesio- nales realizaron su labor al amparo de una visión política que fomentó la investigación de la naturaleza y la enseñanza de las Cien- cias Naturales en los colegios, por lo que pudieron conformar sociedades, revistas científi cas, museos y cátedras universitarias sobre naturalismo en las principales ciudades de Chile. De todo ello se brindan numerosos antecedentes, que permiten recrear la visión y las prácticas de este grupo de vanguardia. Un tratamiento similar se da a la primera generación de naturalistas chilenos, articu- lada como una comunidad científi ca y que supo consolidar la institucionalidad heredada de los precursores extranjeros. Destacan aquí los nombres de Enrique Ernesto Gigoux, Gui- llermo Mann, Gualterio Looser, Carlos Muñoz Pizarro, Parmenio Yáñez y Nibaldo Bahamon- de. Una mención especial merece Carlos Por- ter, fundador en 1897 de la Revista Chilena de Historia Natural, quien es destacado como el científi co chileno más reconocido de fi nes del siglo XIX y principios del XX. La historia que se confi gura en este apartado es detallis- ta, bien documentada y logra retratar cómo las diferentes ramas del naturalismo eclosio- naron durante este período, adquiriendo soli- dez en su práctica y divulgación disciplinaria. En su quinto capítulo, los autores concen- tran sus esfuerzos en la evolución de las Cien- cias Ecológicas en Chile, cuyo gran impulsor fue el profesor italiano Francesco di Castri, quien instaló la ecología científi ca moderna en el país. Esta sección del texto se articula en torno a dos ejes narrativos. El primero explica cómo esta disciplina se propagó a través de las distintas universidades y centros de estudio durante la segunda mitad del siglo XX, y cómo fue encauzada a través de distintas plataformas institucionales y fi nancieras. El segundo consi- dera a la ecología, o mejor dicho al ecologis- mo, en su dimensión política, y corresponde a una breve historia de personajes, sucesos, enti- dades y confl ictos ambientales documentados para la centuria anterior, y que han preocupa- do a los naturalistas contemporáneos. El libro cierra con un anexo sobre la his- toria de la Ecología en Chile preparado por el profesor Jaime Péfaur, quien junto a Ernst Ha- jek es uno de los más destacados discípulos de Francesco di Castri. En su primera parte com- plementa el relato del capítulo precedente con una visión proyectada desde los procesos ocu- rridos al interior de la Universidad de Chile. Muchos de los aspectos aquí tratados redundan sobre temas que ya habían sido abordados, pero el carácter vivencial de los testimonios valida su inclusión. En la segunda parte de este anexo, Péfaur realiza una narración autobio- gráfi ca respecto a su propia evolución como ecólogo, y lo hace en primera persona. De esta manera, se superponen tres escalas para explicar un mismo proceso: la de una historia general de la disciplina en Chile, la de una perspectiva institucional y la de una experien- cia individual. El libro que presentan los profesores Jak- sic, Camus y Castro logra su propósito de reunir una cantidad relevante de noticias e informaciones históricas sobre las Ciencias Ecológicas en Chile, y consigue elaborar una propuesta historiográfi ca potencialmente re- plicable en otros casos de evolución discipli- naria. Son muchos los personajes, episodios e instituciones que son debidamente puestos en valor a lo largo del texto, que complemen- ta la buena calidad de su investigación con valiosas fotografías e ilustraciones, y con un relato ameno y bien estructurado. 
work_vcsv5aydfvfbxkvlrruus2rwjq	----	Appropriating Universality: The Coltranes and 1960s Spirituality Appropriating Universality: The Coltranes and 1960s Spirituality Franya J. Berkman American Studies, Volume 48, Number 1, Spring 2007, pp. 41-62 (Article) Published by Mid-American Studies Association DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/ams.0.0000 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/375250 https://doi.org/10.1353/ams.0.0000 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/375250 Appropriating Universality 41 0026-3079/2007/4801-041$2.50/0 American Studies, 48:1 (Spring 2007): 41-62 41 Appropriating Universality: The Coltranes and 1960s Spirituality Franya J. Berkman Even though many African American jazz musicians have acknowledged the role of spirituality in their creative process, jazz scholars have tended to neglect this important context. More commonly, they have situated jazz, particularly in the 1960s, within the Civil Rights Movement and have focused on issues of political oppression.1 An examination of the artists John and Alice Coltrane, however, suggests the limitation of exploring 1960s jazz solely within this po- litical framework. Their compositional titles and their extensive commentary in interviews and in liner notes from the mid-’60s onward stressed the personal and the spiritual, not the explicitly political. Of course, I do not mean to suggest that the religious and political facets of culture stand at oppositional poles. Rather, they should be viewed “as bands in a single spectrum” (Ellwood 1994:9). This is particularly true in an examination of both African American musical and political culture, where the divide between the sacred and secular has been historically nebulous. The role of the Black Protestant Church has figured prominently in scholarly discussions of African American music culture, and to some extent its impor- tance has been explored with respect to jazz.2 However, with the exception of the Nation of Islam, the influence of Eastern religious practices among black Americans has not been significantly researched nor have adequate connections been made between these spiritual pursuits and the musical innovations they inspired.3 Nevertheless, since the mid-’60s, black American artists have explored Yoga, Hinduism, various sects of Buddhism, Ahmadiya Islam, and Bahá’í. The aesthetic impact of these pursuits has been multi-dimensional and far-reaching. In 42 Franya J. Berkman their study of Asian philosophy and religion, jazz musicians have been exposed to the sounds and musical processes they have discovered in the cultures from which these traditions have emerged. One can hear this influence in musical bor- rowings, such as the use of traditional instrumentation, the reworking of melodic material from folk and classical genres, and the incorporation of indigenous improvisational and compositional techniques.4 Though less audible, Eastern spiritual traditions have also exerted a more abstract philosophical influence that has shaped jazz aesthetics, inspiring jazz musicians to dissolve formal and stylistic boundaries and produce works of great originality.5 Contextualizing the spiritual explorations of John and Alice Coltrane within American religious culture and liberation movements of the 1960s, this essay explores the way that their eclectic appropriation of Eastern spiritual concepts and their commitment to spiritual universality not only inspired musical innovation, but also provided a counter-hegemonic, political, and cultural critique. Spiritual Jazz John Coltrane (1926–1967) needs little introduction; he is widely regarded as one of the great innovators of modern jazz and the most influential saxo- phonist since Charlie Parker. There are a considerable number of John Coltrane biographies, each of which takes up, to some extent, his spiritual disposition and the importance of his religious pursuits during the sixties.6 Most biographers stress the influence of his religious upbringing—his father was a Methodist minister—and his exploration of various non-Western religions.7 Few scholars, however, have seriously considered Alice Coltrane’s musical contributions, her role as his spiritual and musical partner, or how her subsequent career as a com- poser, multi-instrumentalist, and spiritual teacher can be seen as a continuation of his legacy.8 Née Alice McLeod (Detroit, 1937–2007), Ms. Coltrane began the study of classical piano and harmony at the age of seven; as a teen, she developed her skills playing hymns, anthems, and gospel music for black congregations in De- troit, as well as bebop in Detroit’s thriving jazz clubs of the 1950s. In 1963, after playing professionally with such figures as Lucky Thompson, Johnny Griffin, and Terry Gibbs, she met and soon married John Coltrane. In 1965, she replaced McCoy Tyner as pianist in his quartet. After her husband’s death in 1967, she remained fully committed to a form of musical expression that was simultane- ously devotional and avant-garde. During her abbreviated but prolific tenure as a commercial recording artist for the Impulse and Warner Brothers labels, she continued the exploration of free rhythm, rapidly shifting modality, and flexible formal structures that she began with her husband. Alongside pieces for piano and small jazz combo reminiscent of her earlier work with John Coltrane, her LPs consisted of ethereal meditations for harp, hard-hitting improvisations on Wurlitzer organ, and compositions for orchestra and choir based on the Hindu devotional hymns known as bhajans. Appropriating Universality 43 In 1976, Alice Coltrane had a mystical experience in which she received divine instruction to renounce the world and don the orange robes of a swami, or spiritual teacher, in the Hindu tradition. Until her recent passing in January 2007, she had been the guru at Sai Anantam Ashram, a predominantly African American spiritual community in Southern California, where she and her students studied the philosophy of Vedanta, and regularly participated in services of devotional music that she presided over. This essay, then, highlights Alice Coltrane’s career and continued exploration of innovations developed alongside her husband and can be seen as a counter-narrative to the typical historical narratives of modern jazz, which tend to define her career as a mere footnote to that of her husband. Although his canonical status as jazz guru belies the fact, a reputation ce- mented by the platinum selling album A Love Supreme (1965), John Coltrane was not the first jazz musician to draw on spiritual subject matter for musical inspiration. Other famous jazz composers such as Duke Ellington and Charles Mingus had alluded to the black church much earlier in their respective works, “The Black and Tan Fantasy” and “Prayer Meeting.” In the late 1950s, this trend became increasingly popular as hard-bop players drew consistently from the gospel genre in order to differentiate and reclaim their music from that of the white “cool school.”9 By the mid-to-late 1960s, however, jazz musicians drew not only from African American spiritual traditions, but also from non-Christian, non-Western, even idiosyncratic, spiritual concepts. In some respects, such mu- sical and spiritual explorations of “the East,” of Africa, and of various cosmic realms distanced jazz from the traditional Protestant church as the locus of black ethnicity. Yet many of the same “functional dimensions” of African American sacred music persisted to use Melonee Burnim’s useful term. The new spiritual jazz continued to provide “a means of cultural affirmation, individual and col- lective expression, and spiritual sustenance” (Burnim 1988:112). Nevertheless, within the jazz community, John Coltrane’s spiritual impact was singular; he imbued modal and avant-garde jazz improvisation with spiritual significance, and, in many respects, succeeded in creating a new religion for jazz musicians based on what Ms. Coltrane described as, “the entire experience of the expressive self” (Coltrane 2001). Let me offer Alice Coltrane’s recollection of playing with her husband: Of course John Coltrane is the one who inspires everybody, if you were fortunate enough to be in his presence in those days. He would always encourage you to fully express what you had. Not half of it, because it’s not made that way, or three quarters—the entire experience of the expressive self. Truth on your instrument. That just opens so many doors, so many avenues, so many vistas, so many plateaus. You could hear your sound, music, light, coming from the ethereal, heavenly realms. When you played in octaves that you would never go—your bass area, and your contra-bass area, or your tenor 44 Franya J. Berkman area. You heard all kinds of things that would have just been left alone, never a part of your discovery or appreciation. (Coltrane, Personal Interview, 2001) It is of great significance that John Coltrane’s spiritual vision was inspired by a concept of a supreme being more universal and inclusive than the Biblical Judeo-Christian tradition of his childhood. By the early 1960s, Mr. Coltrane found strength and solace in a well-reasoned, non-sectarian view of God, which Lewis Porter calls “a kind of universal religion” (1998:211). Included in his spirituality was an array of world traditions: Zen, Zoroastrianism, the writings of Yogananda and Krishnamurti, and a commitment to daily meditation—all of which he explored with his second wife, Alice Coltrane, who became his partner in 1963 and his pianist in 1965. In the short time that Alice and John Coltrane were together (July 1963–July 1967), John Coltrane’s music changed dramatically. When the couple met back- stage at New York City’s Birdland in July of 1963—Alice was playing piano in the Terry Gibbs’s band opening for John Coltrane’s “classic quartet” featuring Mc- Coy Tyner, Elvin Jones, and Jimmy Garrison—John Coltrane’s music straddled a middle ground between the metered, modal music of the jazz mainstream and the metrical, formal, and timbral explorations of the avant-garde. By 1965 he had assembled a new group for the album Ascension and was committed almost exclusively thereafter to playing in free meter with increasingly free harmonic structure.10 When Alice Coltrane joined him on the bandstand after giving birth to his three children, he recorded six of the most unconventional and daring projects of his career: Cosmic Music (1966), Live at The Village Vanguard Again! (1966), Live in Japan (1966), Stellar Regions (1967), Expression (1967), and The Olatunji Concert (1967). During this period, the spiritual intent of his music, first revealed in the extensive liner notes of A Love Supreme in 1965 and in later “out” recordings such as Meditation (1965) and Om (1965), became increasingly explicit. In an interview in 1988, Alice Coltrane explained their pursuits as a couple during this period: “What we did was really to begin to reach out and look toward higher experiences in spiritual life and higher knowledge to be obtained in spiritual life. This is what we did. And our basic root was, of course, reading and hearing discourse, talk by spiritual leaders and teachers, as well as our own engagement in meditation” (Brandon 1988). By the early 1960s, John Coltrane’s “universal spirituality” became increas- ingly fused with his interest in world music, and he developed a multicultural theory of musical transcendence that would have a lasting impact on Alice Coltrane’s later career.11 In an interview with Nat Hentoff in 1961, Mr. Coltrane stated, “I’ve already been looking into those approaches to music—as in India in which particular scales are intended to produce specific emotional mean- ings.”12 Coltrane was particularly fascinated with the music of the sitar player Ravi Shankar, after whom he named his second son. Shankar began concertizing in the West in the early 1950s and almost single-handedly popularized Asian Appropriating Universality 45 Indian classical music in America, inspiring a great many jazz musicians of the era.13 He had also befriended Nigerian drummer Babatunde Olatunji, one of the first proponents of West African traditional music in America, with whom he would speak at great length about the correspondences between African tonal languages and drumming patterns.14 In summer 1963, the same time he met his future wife, he discussed his interest in the magical, healing properties of music in an interview with the French press (Clouzet and Delorme 1963:14). The timing was perfect for his unique synthesis. The modal jazz forms that John Coltrane pioneered with the Miles Davis sextet during the late 1950s allowed for the superimposition of non-Western music. The static harmony and tonic pedals that defined modal jazz—found on such albums as Milestones (1958) and Kind of Blue (1959)—allowed for the incorporation of music that relied on a drone or an unchanging tonal center common in Asian and African music. By the late 1960s, John Coltrane’s concept of musical transcendence became extraordinarily popular. His fans and fellow musicians came to associate his spiritual views with the compositional devices he used on the album A Love Supreme and in other recordings from this period. Mantra-like melodies, static harmony, pentatonic improvisation, dynamic ensemble interaction, and increas- ing freedom from metric constraints came to signify both a religious attitude and a new ecstatic spiritual practice in its own right. One should keep in mind, nevertheless, that John Coltrane never applied non-Western musical genres in an orthodox manner; he took aspects of these traditions and absorbed them in his own jazz-based modal structures. With their attendant transcendent or healing properties, these non-Western sources were filtered through a personal musical and spiritual philosophy of expressing “inner truth.” 1960s Spirituality The personalized, eclectic, and global nature of John Coltrane’s spirituality was consistent with the new religious culture of the 1960s. Religion scholars have observed a profound transformation in American spirituality during the era. Religious identities that had long been rooted in “social sources of denomi- nationalism,” such as class, region, race, and ethnicity, began to deteriorate as a product of greater social mobility in the postwar period.15 Prior to mid-century, communities worshiped together “in ethnic enclaves that gave religious practice a distinct geographic identity” (Wuthnow 1998:23). This earlier model was one in which “family, church, and neighborhood were closely integrated” (Ibid. 20). By the sixties this “spirituality of dwelling” gave way “to a new spirituality of seeking” in which individuals began to “increasingly negotiate among competing glimpses of the sacred” (Ibid. 3). Religious practice of the 1960s also became more “inwardly focused” (Roof 1999:66); “Search for the spiritual went beyond doctrine, creed, or reli- gion” and was concerned instead with “an inner world of truth and meaning” and “individualized authentic identity.” Philosopher Charles Taylor sees this as 46 Franya J. Berkman part of America’s “culture of authenticity,” tracing its roots to the rational and political individualism of Descartes and Rousseau, the heartfelt yearnings of the romantics, the “committed inwardness” of Protestant Christianity, and Herder’s eighteenth-century notion that people had individual “essences.” As Taylor puts it, Being true to myself means being true to my own originality, and that is something that only I can articulate and discover. In articulating it, I am also defining myself. I am realizing a potentiality that is properly my own. This is the background understanding to the modern ideal of authenticity, and to the goals of self-fulfillment or self-realization in which it is usually couched. (Taylor 1991:29) According to Taylor, this Western notion of “being true to myself” was connected to a political and spiritual “horizon of significance” during the sixties so that individual expressive acts could “offer a picture of what a better or higher life would be” and “a standard of what we ought to desire” (Ibid.). Scholars have also observed a renewed interest in Asian religions and their American cousins, “harmonial” or “metaphysical religions.” Interest in Asian Indian spiritual traditions can be traced to the Transcendentalists, influential thinkers such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, who mixed together elements from a variety of religious sources in their writing. In particular, Emerson, in “The Oversoul” (1841) and “Spiritual Laws” (1841), popularized the Indian metaphysical belief that the world, God, and human beings all par- ticipated in one substance and that beyond the illusion of matter lay the reality of the spirit. Several decades after these essays were published, Russian émigré Helena Blavatsky founded the Theosophical Society whose mission, among other things, was the study of comparative religions. Blavatsky invited Swami Vivekananda, the first Hindu monk to lecture in the United States, at the World Parliament of Religions, an extension of the 1898 Chicago World’s Fair. Also in attendance were Buddhist delegates from Sri Lanka and Japan. Perhaps because of its channels in America’s nineteenth-century elite, white society, scholars have underplayed the extent to which Asian traditions have influenced blacks in the United States. Nevertheless, there is evidence to suggest that these concepts filtered into the spiritual philosophies of several black reli- gious communities in Harlem during the 1930s. In Mystics and Messiahs: Cults and New Religions in American History, Philip Jenkins proposes links between late-nineteenth-century “harmonial” movements of New Thought and Theosophy and black religious figures such as Father Divine and Sweet Daddy Grace. He also points to the highly eclectic and “metaphysical” orientation of such groups as the Church of the Living God and Negro Masonry (Jenkins 2000:101). A more direct cultural encounter with India occurred when Reverend Howard Thurman and his wife, musician and social historian Sue Thurman, led a Christian Appropriating Universality 47 Negro Delegation to India in 1935. There they met with Mahatma Gandhi and conversed at length about religion, colonialism, and racial issues in the United States. Reverend Thurman’s subsequent writings were greatly influenced by Gandhi’s commitment to non-violence. His work, in turn, influenced Martin Luther King Jr., who was said to have carried a copy of Thurman’s Jesus and the Disinherited (1949) with him in his briefcase.16 Sue Thurman went on to lecture “on the beauties of Indian Civilization” and raised funds in these lectures so that several African American women could study at Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore’s school in West Bengal. In later years, Thurman founded a racially in- tegrated church, Church for the Fellowship of All Peoples, in San Francisco.17 During the 1960s, Americans explored Eastern spiritual traditions with new vigor, facilitated, in part, by the Asian Immigration Act of 1965, which allowed for South and East Asians to bring their daily religion to U.S. soil.18 Technologi- cal advances, post-war affluence, and media focus on foreign wars of liberation also produced a new global exchange in which “religious symbols, teachings, and practices” were easily “disembedded,” and “reembedded” into one another, resulting in “religious pluralism within the individual,” “bricolage,” and a “mix- ing of codes” (Roof 1999:73). These trends in mainstream America held true for black America as well. However, the role of religion and the presence of religious leaders in the struggle for civil rights brought a new urgency to the issue of black spirituality. To quote Gayraud Wilmore, the late 1960s was “an unprecedented era of black theological reflection” (1998:244). The question over the political efficacy of the mainstream Protestant Church was a topic of enormous debate. Proponents saw the church as the wellspring of all black institutions, and one of the richest elements in black culture and social organization (Frazier 1964; Fichter 1987). They viewed the 1960s as a renaissance in which the church could reassume its traditional func- tions of challenging the goals of white America. Critics, however, complained that the church no longer lived up to the expectations engendered in its past; and that its fragmentation and complacency had led it to abandon the black underclass which was facing ever-increasing economic and political hardship (Washington 1964; Clark 1964; Cleage 1972). These debates were contemporaneous with the rise of new forms of Afrocen- tric spirituality associated with cultural nationalism. The new forms included Ron Karenga’s Kwanzaa, an interest in Egyptology and other forms of black religion such as Santeria, and, of course, the rise of the Nation of Islam. However, the expansion and assertion of black spirituality was not solely limited to a return to African roots. For some black Americans, the new spirituality included a journey East, to Japan and India, and into the realms of meditation and yoga. This assertion of spirituality, even eclectic and Asian spirituality, was in keeping with the politics of Black Power. Though Black Power is typically as- sociated with the political concerns of African American economic development, education, and even armed self-defense, it was also concerned with defining and asserting blackness as a cultural ideal. This, in turn, required a new spiritual 48 Franya J. Berkman foundation. Members of the Black Arts Movement—the cultural arm of the Black Power Movement—wrote ardently about the need for a black spiritual culture whose politics were consistent with the revolutionary agenda of Black Nationalism. In 1969, writing on the theme of spirituality emerging in the plays of Black Arts literary figures, Larry Neal asserted: The Old Spirituality is generalized. It seeks to recognize Universal Humanity. The New Spirituality is specific. It begins by seeing the world from the concise point of view of the colonialized. Where the Old Spirituality would live with Oppression while ascribing to the oppressors an innate good- ness, the New Spirituality demands a radical shift in point of view. The colonized native, the oppressed must, of necessity, subscribe to a separate morality. One that will liberate him and his people. (1989:77) In an essay from 1968 called “The Religion of Black Power,” Vincent Harding enthusiastically proclaimed, “Allah and other gods of Africa enter into competition with Yahweh, Jesus, and Buddha. . . . It is joyously difficult but part of the affirmation of Black Power that ‘we are a spiritual people.’” That this simple, unequivocal assertion of spirituality was not necessarily bound to Africa as a cultural or geographic homeland opened the possibility of a myriad of forms that religion and spirituality could take. “We are a spiritual people” was also frequently coupled with what Gayraud Wilmore describes as “a new pride in the strange and wonderful beauty of being black and letting it all hang out” (1998:225). Cultural historian Melanie McAlister has written persuasively on the political dimensions of African Americans’ interest in non-Western religions.19 McAlister sees such spiritual explorations among black Americans as a way of forming “an alternative sacred geography” that provides “alternatives to official policy, framing transnational affiliations and claims to racial or religious authority that challenged the cultural logic of American power.” She sees these spiritual pur- suits as part of a larger project that encompasses “a re-visioning of history and geography in order to construct a moral and spiritual basis for contemporary affiliations and identities” (1999:638). As McAlister wrote: The attempt to construct a new black culture was deeply inter- twined with the search for religious alternatives to mainstream Christianity, a search that included not only Islam, but also a renewed interest in the signs and symbols of pre-Islamic and traditional African religions (such as the Yoruban religion) and the study of ancient Egypt. These influences were often mixed together, in Baraka’s thought, as elsewhere, in an eclectic, sometimes deliberately mystical, mix. (Ibid.) Appropriating Universality 49 Alice Coltrane and “Self-Realization” By the late 1960s, it appears that Alice Coltrane, like her husband, had come to question the Protestant teachings of her youth and to find the Hindu belief in reincarnation sustaining, particularly after the death of her husband. In 1971, she stated, “The Western Church has failed, especially with young people. It was set up to serve needs it’s not meeting. Ask a Swami Hindu monk or someone else from the East about life after death and you’ll get answers that are real about direct experience, about looking to God. It has helped me to go on” (quoted in Dews 1971:42). In 1970, Alice Coltrane began to attend lectures by Indian guru Swami Satchidananda on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. When Swami Satchidananda came to the United States in 1967 at age 53, he was already a well-known spiritual teacher in his own country. For nearly two decades, he had studied and served under Swami Sivananda, whose writings Alice Coltrane had read prior to meeting her guru. Swami Satchidananda had also traveled widely in India, establishing several branches of Sivananda’s Divine Life Society, an organization and network of retreat centers in operation since 1936 committed to “a world-wide revival of spirituality through publication of books, pamphlets and magazines dealing scientifically with all the aspects of Yoga and Vedanta, universal religion and philosophy, and ancient medicine” (The Divine Life So- ciety Website). At the invitation of writer and filmmaker Conrad Rooks, whom he met in 1966 in Sri Lanka, he came to New York City and was the guest of artist Peter Max. Satchidananda developed a group of American supporters and devotees, many of them artists and intellectuals, and quickly became something of a celebrity. He began lecturing weekly at the Unitarian Universalist Church on the Upper West Side and, soon after, founded the first Integral Yoga Institute at 500 West End Avenue. Satchidananda’s renown grew such that, in 1968, he was interviewed by Life Magazine for their issue “The Year of the Guru” and his lecture at Carnegie Hall drew a full house. He also opened the Woodstock Music and Peace Festival on August 19, 1969. Alice Coltrane found the Vedic concept of “Self-realization” that Swami Satchidananda expounded deeply liberating. “Self-realization” is an essential doctrine of Advaita Vedanta and one of the philosophical underpinnings of Hinduism. Advaita Vedanta is a monistic system of belief, in which the Self (Atman) is believed to be identical with the Absolute (Brahman). 20 According to Vedanta, the Absolute is without any attributes or qualities that can be specified or delimited. However, the Absolute can manifest in partial and lesser forms in a multitude of gods and images to which one might offer devotion. Although Advaita Vedanta allows for allegiance to many deities, liberation (moksha) is to be ultimately attained through knowledge of the Self, which is knowledge of the Absolute (Brahman). In an interview conducted in the 1980s with Dolores Brandon for WBAI, Alice Coltrane explained the appeal of this religious doctrine and how it differed from the institutionalized Christianity of her youth: 50 Franya J. Berkman The Eastern philosophy gives the aspirant the chance or op- portunity to develop himself. . . . Somehow, the experience that I had, and I’m not going to speak for everybody, I’m speaking for myself . . . you go there and you hear the service and you get the instructions: prayer, to be faithful, trust, ask God’s blessings. Yet, it never tells you what you can become—More Christ-like, more Christ Conscious! There are certain wonder- ful statements made by Christ, “Greater works, shall ye also do” “I and my father are one.” How is it that you can decide how this should be understood? If his word is the law then if he says “Greater works shall ye also do” let me believe that! . . . He told you about your potentiality, your higher spiritual- ity, but the church says get under that. Be less than. I’m not stating we should be more than Christ, but you know really. He says you have a higher, a greater potentiality. “I’ve fed five thousand. I want you to feed five-million!” To get self-realization. To get self-actualization, fulfillment. That’s the point. And it isn’t selfish—that term. It just means that you go to your fullest and highest potential, and not be limited by some tenets of some doctrine that says that we come here, here’s the minister, and that we pay our tithes and go home and go back to your job or business or whatever and do everything you want. (Brandon 1988) In its inclusiveness and emphasis on personal potential, the concept of Vedic self-realization that Alice Coltrane adhered to was similar to the spiritual and creative philosophy that John Coltrane developed. It can also be seen as deeply rooted in the “harmonial” traditions of the nineteenth century, and in America’s “culture of authenticity.” However, it was now connected to a traceable cultural and spiritual lineage and a set of yogic disciplines that Alice Coltrane subse- quently took up. Totality Concept In the introduction to the album Universal Consciousness (1971), the first LP that Alice Coltrane (now known by her new spiritual name Turiya) recorded after her first trip to India with Swami Satchidananda, she emphasized the importance of her pilgrimage: “Having made the journey to the East, a most important part of my Sadhana (spiritual struggle) has been completed.” Her trip to India had a dramatic impact on her spiritual evolution and her related aesthetic sensibility. Upon returning, her new creative goal surpassed that of making music in a techni- cal or artistic sense; she was now determined to express “extraordinary transonic and atmospherical power,” which could send forth “illuminating worlds of sounds Appropriating Universality 51 into the ethers of this universe.”21 As evidenced on the last group of albums she made for Impulse! and Warner Brothers, Universal Consciousness (1971); World Galaxy (1971); Lord of Lords (1972); Eternity (1975); Transcendence (1977); Radha Krsna Nama Sankirtana (1977); and Transfiguration (1978), the experience of her spiritual awakening could no longer be contained within the timbral palette of the jazz rhythm section, even at the latter’s most expressive and avant-garde extremes. She began to explore the combined potential of rhythm section, orchestral strings, tambura, harp, piano, percussion, and her newfound improvisational vehicle, the electric organ. As Alice Coltrane committed herself fully to expressing her experience of the Absolute, her compositional sensibility became increasingly daring. I believe the artistic originality that emerges in these albums, demonstrated in the analysis that follows, was directly related to the ways in which her mystical experiences had been validated by her guru and by her experiences in India. In trying to express the Absolute, in the sense of Brahman as unbounded, all encompassing, and inclusive, she was moved to reach beyond the musical boundaries of the jazz genre and fully explore others traditions and styles. After 1971, her commentary in her albums included elaborate descriptions of her belief in the stages that the soul passes through in its spiritual evolution, the nature of the outer galaxies of the universe, and conversations with the God and his various musical and spiritual emissaries. These exegeses provide a par- ticularly vivid window into her deepening mysticism and, like her music from this period draw from an increasing array of disparate sources. Figure 1: Alice Coltrane and Swami Satchidananda, Los Angeles, California, 1972. Copyright © 2008 Philip Melnick. 52 Franya J. Berkman Starting with the album Universal Consciousness (1971), Alice Coltrane began to explore what she termed “a totality concept.” In the liner notes of the title track on the album, she explained: Universal Consciousness literally means Cosmic Conscious- ness, Self-Realization, and illumination. This music tells of some of the various diverse avenues and channels through which the soul must pass before it finally reaches that exalted state of Absolute Consciousness. Once achieved, the soul becomes re-united with God and basks in the Sun of blissful union. At this point, The Creator bestows on the soul many of his Attributes, and names one a New Name. This experience and this music involve a Totality concept, which embraces cosmic thought as an emblem of Universal Sound. On the album Universal Consciousness and, arguably, throughout the rest of her recording career, I see Alice Coltrane expressing this “Totality concept” by juxtaposing an array of musical identities that might not commonly appear together: contrasting instruments, a mix of composition and improvisation, and jazz, classical, and world music sonorities. Universal Consciousness displays both the breadth and array of compositional techniques that can be found on her recordings between 1971–1978. Two works on the album, “Battle of Armaged- don” and “The Ankh of Amen Ra,” are duets for drum set and Wurlitzer organ. The music that depicts “Battle of Armageddon” is an avant-garde up-tempo free-meter duo. Resembling John Coltrane’s composition “Leo” and likewise featuring the mercurial drumming of Rashied Ali, the piece is a virtuosic romp for both players built on the repeated transposition and rhythmic variation of a single motif. “The Ankh of Amen Ra” includes a prayer to Amen-Ra, the Egyptian god of antiquity, “Amen-Ra bear us safe passage across the River Styx.” The organ theme reverts to a comparatively conventional metered pentatonic melody, which Alice Coltrane enhances with electronic effects and a driving, syncopated left hand figure. Alice Coltrane also set the Wurlitzer in other more complex environments with a small string section, harp, and rhythm section. For these organ features, she composed innovative formal structures quite unlike typical jazz and blues forms. For the track “Universal Consciousness,” she fused the sound of harp and strings and contrasted that sonority with the organ, producing an overall ABA free-meter form with her up-tempo keyboard playing sandwiched in the middle. (In this case, ABA form refers to a compositional structure based on an open- ing musical idea followed by a contrasting section and a return to the opening material.) In an otherwise dissonant environment, several precomposed violin figures provide the organizational framework for the “A section.” The first is a tremulous figure that gradually becomes longer and more complex. The second figure is a sustained unison that has the effect of neutralizing the previous agita- Appropriating Universality 53 tion, and the third is a bold, angular motive. After the second figure is stated, the strings individuate, so that each of the four violin players (LeRoy Jenkins, Julius Brand, Joan Kalisch, and John Blair) explore different musical identities such as pizzicato, arco scrubbing effects in the middle and lower registers, harmonics, and free melodic improvisation. While the strings play, Alice Coltrane comple- ments the activity with unifying arpeggios on the harp. According to her liner notes, these three tracks each display the arduousness of spiritual purification. Countering the fierceness of these tracks are three others—“Oh Allah,” “Hare Krishna” and “Sita Rama”—that portray more reflective, meditative states. In the liner notes Alice Coltrane states, “‘Oh Allah’ is a prayer for peace, unity and concord. The strings helped me to voice this plea: ‘O Mustafa Lord Allah, bring forth us all together again. We can depend on You to envelop us in Your all-embracing arms of universal harmony, tranquility and love.’” The strings play twice an evocative metered introduction at the top of their register. Then Alice Coltrane establishes a pleasant E-Dorian environment with the sweet and tremulous organ melody that she plays upon entering and the two planing chords, Em7 and F#m7, which support the organ solo. A conversation between strings and Wurlitzer ensues, backed by the rhythm section. The organ theme is, as she indicates, plaintive. “Hare Krishna” and “Sita Rama” are the most strikingly original composi- tions on the album. Both are based on traditional Indian chants. During her career as a bandleader, Alice Coltrane saw the potential of bhajans as a transcendent, avant-garde vehicle for rhythm section and orchestra. Thus, rather than simply arranging the traditional hymns, she created a new devotional genre modeled as much upon the participatory and functional aspects of the music as the origi- nal melodic material. To the best of my knowledge, no other jazz or classical composer has used Indian devotional music in this fashion. In her adaptation of “Hare Krishna,” the entire ensemble plays an opening rubato theme in unison while Rashied Ali adds a patina of cymbals and bells. The opening melody ap- pears to be an invocation and could very well match the text “Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama.” The organ enters playing a theme in E major while the ensemble sustains a drone. The trills and ornamentation of her melodic line depart from both the language of jazz and classical music. They appear to be an approximation of gamak, the ornamental figures that characterize Indian raga. The organ theme beckons an antiphonal response from the orchestra and a second unison orchestral figure emerges. Gradually, Alice Coltrane’s organ solo emerges, embracing dissonance. This entire rubato form is then repeated, like a song with various strains in which the verse comprises a free jazz environment for organ and rhythm section. “Sita Rama,” her second bhajan arrangement, is perhaps the most “Indian” of her tunes thus far considered. The strings are absent here, and the tambura and drums begin by establishing the drone. Another slowly-expanding organ improvisation emerges resembling alap, the unmetered melodic exposition of raga in Indian classical music. This is followed by a more clearly defined melody 54 Franya J. Berkman that becomes the basis of improvisation. This structure is quite typical of Indian improvisational music. However, the entire conception is literally “jazzed up” with the sound of the rhythm section and overdubbed harp arpeggios. After this sonic environment has been established, Alice Coltrane closes with an entirely new ethereal musical moment using only harp and percussion. One might argue, in a laudatory fashion, that Alice Coltrane’s musical eclecti- cism anticipated what is now a rather common post-modern trend of mixing and juxtaposing genres from vastly different historical periods and cultural traditions. However, as a devotional musician, her compositions lack the oppositional irony that one typically associates with post-modern aesthetics. Rather, I would suggest that it was her understanding of the Vedic concept of the Absolute, a notion that “the paths are many yet the destination one,” and her belief in the concept of musical self-realization that inspired her to draw from so many diverse sources in her musical composition. The Political Valence of Spiritual Jazz The 1960s are often historicized as an era in which “all over the world chains and shackles of a classical imperialist kind were thrown off in a stirring wave of ‘wars of national liberation’” (Jameson 1984:181). While such a “mythical simplification” masks the complexities of these watershed years, decolonization and third world revolution are crucial to understanding the musical and spiritual pursuits of the black jazz community during the period in question. As Frederic Jameson writes, “the sixties were a period in which all these ‘natives’ became human beings, and this internally as well as externally: those inner colonized of the first world—‘minorities,’ marginals, and women, fully as much as its external subjects and official ‘natives.’” This cultural shift has been explained by numerous scholars in a variety of ways: “the coming to self-consciousness of subject peoples,” “the emergence of new subjects of history,” “the conquest of the right to speak in a new collective voice, never before heard on the world stage—and of the concomitant dismissal of the intermediaries (liberals, first-world intellectuals) who had hitherto claimed to talk in your name” (Ibid.). Global contestation of hegemony and the political emergence of subaltern voices pro- duced an exchange of ideas across borders that influenced “First World” society in profound and lasting ways. The “continuous exchange and mutual influences between the American black movements and the various African and Caribbean ones” and cultural and intellectual exchange across other decolonized nation- states permitted a new traffic in arts, politics, and spiritual practices and offered new narratives of the past and new visions of the future (Ibid.). Drawing from the work of Pierre Bourdieu, McAlister argues that cultural productions make meaning by their “historical association with other types of meaning-making activity” (2001:8). She states, “we need to ‘explain the coin- cidence’ that brings specific cultural products into conversation with specific political discourses” (2001:7). While Alice Coltrane and John Coltrane were not Appropriating Universality 55 explicit about the transnational politics of their music or spirituality, when framed within this “global contestation of hegemony” of which Jameson writes, and this “alternative sacred geography” of the Black Arts Movement that McAlister describes, their explorations are rendered politically meaningful. One might contrarily argue that the Coltranes’ appropriation of non-West- ern spirituality constitutes what Edward Said has called, “the phenomenon of Orientalism,” whereby the East comes to represent “a place of romance, exotic beings, haunting memories and landscapes, remarkable experiences” in the Western imagination (1979:1). Like many Asian apologists, religion scholars, and spiritual enthusiasts from the West, they have “focused on philosophical doctrines (often in the guise of an ancient wisdom) . . . with little attention directed to more difficult questions of the contexts of textual production and circulation” (Lopez 1995:7). However, while Alice and John Coltrane may represent Asian spiritual doctrine in a reductive manner, the political agenda that defines Orientalism and the critical East–West distancing implicit in this relationship does not typify their involvement with Eastern spirituality. Said argues that stereotypes of Oriental cultures were used by European powers to colonize the Orient and, further, that orientalism is “shot through” with doctrines of “European superiority, various kinds of racism, imperialism and the like” (1979:8). By contrast, their musical and spiritual engagement with non-Western cultures and that of other African American artists during the 1960s were often part of a lasting engagement with the cultures themselves, and can be seen as part of a larger oppositional discourse, one that has offered a compelling critique of imperialism. The emergence and valuation of “Third World” forms of expression, whether they are political, artistic, or spiritual, provided an important backdrop to the music of the jazz avant-garde as it expanded the sources that musicians could draw from and what the music could mean in the bigger picture. The political ramifications of self-realization should also be included in this discussion. The notion of expressing an “authentic self” is intrinsic to the musical philosophy of John Coltrane, the jazz avant-garde, and, one might argue, jazz in general. John Coltrane, and later Alice, encouraged their band members to make extraordinarily personal statements. While the authenticity they sought—“the entire experience of the expressive self” and “truth on your instrument”—was intrinsic to their notion of musical and spiritual universality it also had extensive political ramifications during the 1960s as a display of personal liberation and black cultural expression. In the comprehensive reorganization of religious and political authority during the ’60s, individual, authentic, and spiritually inspired jazz music could constitute, symbolically, a form of revolutionary praxis. As Henry Louis Gates Jr. and others have argued, long after the Enlighten- ment era during which political notions of universality such as “abstract indi- vidual” and “citizen” emerged, people of African decent were not granted such status (Gates 1991:4). It was only in the mid-nineteenth century with the Aboli- tionist Movement that the concept of a black self or a black spiritual birthright began to circulate in mainstream America. To be sure, this “perilous journey 56 Franya J. Berkman from object to subject” first documented in eighteenth and nineteenth century black spiritual autobiographies and slave narratives has been laden with obstacles that have stood between the black soul/self and its place in the “absolutes” and “inalienables” of Enlightenment universality (Ibid.). In many respects, both John and Alice Coltrane’s spiritual testimonials, which are evident in their extensive liner notes and their devotional music, find strong historical antecedents in these fraught proclamations of transcendent selfhood that characterize black religious and autobiographical writings.22 As many have argued, it has been the overwhelming burden of subalterns to write themselves into the Western narrative in order to gain entrance into “the universal.” In the study of minority discourse, scholars have gone so far as to argue that the subaltern cannot speak and that “the minority subject steps into a pre-inscribed symbolic” (Palumbo-Liu 1995:193). However, as David Palumbo- Liu suggests, “In the face of this Eurocentric universal and the various imperialist projects it underwrites, the minor has attempted to assert its specific relation to the universal—it has ‘written back’ its particular version of the universal against the empire” (1995:190). I find it extremely interesting and valuable to explore how the Coltranes have appropriated the concept of universality. In so doing, they have redefined the concept to include a broad, pluralistic notion of both religion and music representative of minority discourses and minority cultural expression. To understand how the Coltranes have “written back,” it is important to distinguish their concept of spiritual and musical universality from the notion of political universality associated with Enlightenment philosophy. The two are quite different and should not be confused as each produces a different set of theoretical and actual possibilities. The appeal to universality that emerged as part of Enlightenment philosophy eradicates difference for the sake of formal equality. It also masks hierarchical relations between dominant and subordinate cultures, languages, and histories. By contrast, as a spiritual concept, the Coltrane’s notion of universality welcomes, accepts, and even produces plurality, epitomized by the statement that “the paths are many but the destination one.” Their commit- ment to spiritual universality can be seen as a counter-narrative to both notions of universality associated with Enlightenment thought and the exclusivity of monotheistic religious traditions. It has also allowed for new hybrid and global aesthetics, beautiful music, and a transnational ethical message that transcends the ethnic essentialism and identity politics that have influenced public culture, politics, and scholarship since the late 1960s. Viewing John and Alice Coltrane’s exploration of Eastern spirituality and their commitment to avant-garde jazz as a vehicle of self-realization directs atten- tion from the political rebellion of the period to its equally important counterpart, spiritual revolution. Exploring the Coltranes’ musical development in this light allows us to consider how countercultural spiritual explorations among black musicians influenced the aesthetics of avant-garde musical expression, and, in turn, reveals the exceptional fluidity of ritual practices in twentieth-century Appropriating Universality 57 American society. While the study of ritual practices has figured prominently in both ethnomusicological studies of non-Western music and in musicological works devoted to Western art music from past centuries, it has been noticeably absent in studies of post-’60s jazz and contemporary experimental music. This essay calls attention to this largely untapped area of research. There is great room for further exploration, particularly in the study of avant-garde jazz musicians whose compositions and commentary frequently refer to spiritual themes.23 Notes 1. Two dominant and opposed methodologies have generally emerged. The first method of scholarship separates the aesthetic from the political. This customarily begins with an initial nod to the Civil Rights Movement followed by a retreat into the musician’s work. The advantage of this method is that the black jazz musician, who has been over-determined as a racial and political figure through decades of criticism, acquires the status of “individual” and “genius.” The disadvantage of course, is the disavowal of revolutionary cultural shifts that were then shaping artistic production. See for example the work of Ekkehard Jost 1974, Roger Dean 1992, and John Litweiler 1993. A second scholarly tendency encodes the music with radical meaning. Here writers tend to ally musical characteristics such as free rhythm, collective improvisation, and timbral intensity with cultural nationalism and black militancy. See for instance the work of Amiri Baraka 1970, Ben Sidran 1971, and John Kofsky 1998. 2. See for instance Murray 1973, Boyer 1977, Levine 1977, and Maultsby 1992. 3. When scholars have ventured to discuss the complex relationship between sixties jazz, spirituality, and politics, the cultural legacy of the Black Church (Hersh 1996) and the involvement of jazz musicians in the Nation of Islam have figured most prominently (Weinstein 1992, Turner 1997). Scholars have also called attention to utopian and Zionist visions of life in outer space that individual artists have fashioned for their inspiration (Szwed 1997, Kelley 2002, Gilroy 2000). 4. Well-known jazz artists whose study of Indian spiritual paths have influenced or fused with their musical practice include Don Ellis, Paul Horn, and John McLaughlin. For a comprehensive overview, see Gerry Farrell’s “Indian Elements in Popular Music and Jazz” in Indian Music and the West (1997). Other jazz artists who have explored various sects of Japanese Buddhism and have acknowledged the aesthetic influence of their spiritual practice in interviews and liner notes include Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter. Yusef Lateef’s involvement with Ahmadiyya Islam and Dizzie Gillespie’s practice of Bahá’í have surfaced in interviews and in biographical sketches. 5. With the exception of Joachim-Ernst Berendt’s The World is Sound. Nada Brahma (1991) there are no major writings that specifically address the influence of non-Western spirituality on jazz of the 1960s and 1970s, although a small selection of articles have broached the subject (Monson 1998), and brief references can be found in topical studies (Budds 1990, Feather 1986). 6. The major biographies of John Coltrane each discuss his spiritual transformation of the sixties (Thomas 1975, Cole 1976, Priestly 1987, Nisenson 1993, Fraim 1996, Porter 1998). For the most comprehensive documentation of interviews and actual comments made by John Coltrane on the topic, see Lewis Porter’s John Coltrane: His Life and Music (1998). For an interdisciplinary exploration of John Coltrane’s spirituality that engages with the political ramifications of his “love ethic” and his eclectic spirituality, see James C. Hall’s “Meditations: John Coltrane and Freedom” in Mercy, Mercy Me: African-American Culture and the American Sixties (2001). 7. His first marriage to Naima Coltrane, a black American Muslim, should also be mentioned here, however, John Coltrane never embraced Islam himself. 8. With the exception of my doctoral dissertation, “Divine Songs: The Music of Alice Col- trane” (2003) there are no full length works devoted to her life and music. Lewis Porter (1998) has written briefly about Alice Coltrane’s maternal and nurturing influence on her husband, as well as their musical compatibility. For a brief, yet thorough article about Alice Coltrane’s life and musical career, see David Toop’s “Alice Coltrane: Universal Consciousness” (2002). 9. “Cool” jazz is a highly amorphous musical category. As a racialized term, it typically refers to the soft aesthetics of such white, “West Coast” players as trumpeter Chet Baker and saxophonists Stan Getz and Paul Desmond. However, the concept of “cool” is also associated with Miles Davis and his late modal approach typified on the album Kind of Blue (1958) as well as Davis’s orchestral projects in collaboration with composer-arrangers Claude Thornhill and Gill Evans. Here, I differ- entiate works that purposefully make use of the gospel idiom, a sub genre of hard-bop often called “soul jazz.” 10. Despite the diverse styles of post-1950s jazz, avant-garde musicians have been generally distinguished from the mainstream-jazz community by their explorations of free meter, free-form, and 58 Franya J. Berkman group improvisation. However, within the first and second generation of avant-garde players, such as Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, and Charles Mingus, and in the music of their disciples, variable “formative principles” have distinguished their styles (Jost 1974:9). The aesthetics of “free” music have therefore been extremely difficult to categorize as a whole. David Such explains “free” jazz as a general need to lessen restrictions on various constituent formal elements of jazz. He equates the jazz avant-garde with contemporary movements in modernist painting that have explored texture, structure, and new media (1994:28). The free-jazz community has also been associated with a post-modern creative philosophy, summarized in statements such as: “free jazz is a music without boundaries; or is genre-less, so to speak. Any process of creating, transmitting or learning music, and the assimilation of any external influence, from any geographical location, past, present, or future, is possible” (Kiroff 1997:18). 11. Sun Ra was perhaps the only other jazz musician to attempt this kind of project at the time. However, Ra’s personal eccentricities in dress and demeanor, his unconventional intergalactic orchestra, and his lack of backing in the recording industry resulted in his comparative obscurity. Coltrane visited Sun Ra several times in Chicago in the late fifties. Sun Ra claims that he was the first to inspire John Coltrane to follow this path of musical and spiritual transcendence. See, for instance, Ra’s commentary in Steve Rowland’s documentary “Tell Me How Long Trane’s Been Gone” (2001). For a comprehensive study of Sun Ra’s music and his own brand of mysticism see John Szwed’s Space Is the Place: The Lives and Times of Sun Ra (1997). 12. This quote is taken from Nat Hentoff’s liner notes to the album Live at the Village Vanguard by John Coltrane. 13. See Josh Tynan’s “India’s Master Musician” in Downbeat May 6, 1965: 14-16. 14. See Olatunji’s remarks in Steve Rowland’s radio documentary “Tell Me How Long Trane’s Been Gone” (2001). 15. H. Richard Niebuhr first articulated this manner of social organization in his classic study, The Social Sources of Denominationalism (1929). 16. See Howard Thurman’s autobiography With Head and Heart (1979). 17. In addition to these spiritual affiliations with India, black radicals who sympathized with India’s struggle for independence from British rule also forged more immediate political allegiances in the early part of twentieth century. In The Karma of Brown Folks (2000) Vijay Prashad notes that “the stamp of radical India was made popular in the black press” by such figures as W. E. B. Du Bois who, in 1929 wrote, “the people of India, like American Negroes, are demanding today things, not in the least revolutionary, but things which every civilized white man has so long taken for granted, that he wishes to refuse to believe that there are people who are denied these rights” (People, January 10, 1929). 18. Though dealing almost exclusively with Euro-American culture, several authors have taken up the issue of American interest in eastern spirituality during the sixties. See Cox 1977, Wuthnow 1978, 1998, Ellwood 1979, 1987, 1994, Tipton 1982, and Prashad 2000. 19. While McAlister’s focus is that of the Nation of Islam, her insights and observations, can be extended to other forms of non-Western spirituality. 20. Sri Shankara (788–820 CE), Hindu philosopher and writer, is responsible for establishing Advaita Vedanta as the dominant Hindu philosophical tradition. 21. This quote was taken from the liner notes of Universal Consciousness (1971). 22. For instance, in his preface to Bearing Witness: Selections from African-American Autobi- ography in the Twentieth Century (1991), Henry Louis Gates Jr. asserts, “Without the black spiritual autobiography’s reclamation of the Afro-American’s spiritual birthright, the fugitive slave narrative could not have made such a cogent case for black civil rights in the crises years between 1830 and 1865.” He further explains that even when converted to Christianity “primitives” were “still denied formal recognition of their subjectivity in Western arts and letters, in jurisprudence, and in all that signals full citizenship” (1991:4). 23. Interestingly, one sees a similar language of “Self-realization” in comments made by other experimental jazz musicians of the late sixties and early seventies as well. In his study of the Chicago-based black artists collective the AACM (The Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians), George Lewis calls attention to the centrality of this concept among members. Lewis cites saxophonist Joseph Jarman in particular, who explained, “up until the late ’sixties, we were always categorized, and it was only possible for you to self-realize certain situations. But then we began to realize that if you began to self-realize, you became a universal property, and then you must use the whole spectrum of conscious reality” (2003:110). Such commentary leads one to believe that this spiritual doctrine was pervasive in the post-Coltrane avant-garde jazz subculture and not limited to Alice Coltrane and the New York jazz scene. Appropriating Universality 59 Works Cited Baraka, Amiri [LeRoi Jones]. Blues People: Negro Music in White America. New York: William Morrow, 1963. Bednarowski, Mary Farrell. New Religions and the Theological Imagination in America. 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Gilroy, Paul. Against Race: Imagining Political Culture Beyond the Color Line. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2000. Hall, James C. Mercy, Mercy, Me: African American Culture and the American Sixties. New York: Oxford, 2001. Harding, Vincent. “The Religion of Black Power.” The Religious Situation. Ed. Donald R. Cutler. Boston: Beacon Press, 1968. 31. Hentoff, Nat. Liner notes to Live at the Village Vanguard by John Coltrane. Impulse 10. 1961. LP. Hersch, Charles. “‘Let Freedom Ring’: Free Jazz and African-American Politics.” Cultural Critique Winter (1996): 98-123. Jameson, Frederic. “Periodizing the Sixties.” The Sixties Without Apology. Eds. Sonya Sayres, et al. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1984. 178-209. Jenkins, Philip. Mystics and Messiahs: Cults and New Religions in American History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Jost, Ekkehard. Free-Jazz. New York: Da Capo, 1974. Kelley, Robin D. G. Freedom Dreams: The Black Radical Imagination. Boston: Beacon Press, 2002. Kiroff, Matthew J. “Caseworks: As Performed by Cecil Taylor and the Art En- semble of Chicago: A Musical Analysis and Sociopolitical History.” PhD diss., Cornell, 1997. Kofsky, Frank. John Coltrane and the Jazz Revolution of the 1960s. 1970. Reprint, New York: Pathfinder, 1998. Levine, Lawrence. Black Culture and Black Consciousness. New York: Oxford, 1977. Litweiler, John. The Freedom Principal: Jazz after 1958. New York: Quill, 1993. Appropriating Universality 61 Lopez, Donald S., ed. Curators of the Buddha: The Study of Buddhism under Colonialism. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1995. Marx, Gary T. “Religion: Opiate or Inspiration of Civil Rights Militancy.” The Black Church in America. Eds. Hart M. Nelsen, Raytha L.Yokley, and Anne K. Nelsen. New York: Basic Books, 1967. Maultsby, Portia K. “The Impact of Gospel Music on the Secular Music Industry.” Signifyin(g), Sanctifyin, & Slam Dunking. Ed. Gena Dagel Caponi. 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work_vevgjlofafgl7lolnwbflccxki	----	MergedFile Review: “The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt's New World” by Andrea Wulf Author: Clare Richardson Stable URL: http://www.globalhistories.com/index.php/GHSJ/article/view/60 DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.17169/GHSJ.2016.60 Source: Global Histories, Vol. 2, No. 1 (Oct. 2016), pp. 108–110 ISSN: 2366-780X Copyright © 2016 Clare Richardson License URL: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Publisher information: ‘Global Histories: A Student Journal’ is an open-access bi-annual journal founded in 2015 by students of the M.A. program Global History at Freie Universität Berlin and Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. ‘Global Histories’ is published by an editorial board of Global History students in association with the Freie Universität Berlin. Freie Universität Berlin Global Histories: A Student Journal Friedrich-Meinecke-Institut Koserstraße 20 14195 Berlin Contact information: For more information, please consult our website www.globalhistories.com or contact the editor at: admin@globalhistories.com. http://www.globalhistories.com/index.php/GHSJ/article/view/60 http://dx.doi.org/10.17169/GHSJ.2016.60 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://www.globalhistories.com/ mailto:admin@globalhistories.com 108 The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World By Andrea Wulf, London: John Murray Publishers, 2015. Pp. 496, Hardback £25.00, ISBN: 978-0-385-35066-2 REVIEWED BY CLARE RICHARDSON Clare Richardson is a Master’s candidate studying Global History at the Humboldt University of Berlin. She has a Bachelor’s degree in Politics and Spanish & Latin American Literatures and Cultures from New York University’s College of Arts and Science in New York City. She is interested in modern European history and the historical role of Berlin as a meeting point for the intersection of ideas. If you could invite one historical figure to a dinner party, who would it be? Andrea Wulf answers that question with resounding certainty in The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World. Her biography of the Prussian scientist and adventurer makes it hard not to agree that he should be at the top of anyone�s guest list� �ot because Ale�ander von Humboldt seems like great com��s guest list� �ot because Ale�ander von Humboldt seems like great com�s guest list� �ot because Ale�ander von Humboldt seems like great com- pany – his tendency to babble relentlessly and his disdain for social formalities made him an initially reluctant celebrity – but because his ideas are foundational to the way we understand the world today across several fields of study� Wulf, a design historian by training who has previously published two books on gar- dening histories, breathes life into Humboldt�s litany of discoveries, follows his death�defying travels from the peaks of the Andes to the plains of Siberia, and highlights the influence of his work on poets, writers, and scientists� Humboldt was a global thinker whose ideas were nothing short of revolution- ary for Europe in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries� Wulf repeat- edly – almost incessantly – describes how Humboldt identified previously unseen connections by researching natural features in distant lands and viewing the world as a network of forces� His widely�read books described nature as a global system at work� Rather than group plants according to traditional ta�onomy, he used their climate and location to plot zones with similar distributions of flora stretching across the earth� For e�ample, Humboldt noticed a moss species in the Andes that was similar to one in northern Germany� Another group of coastal plants led him to suggest there must have been a connection between Africa and South America at some point in time. Similarities like these helped him articulate an early understanding of tectonic plates� Humboldt warned scientists that failing to consider specimens from far reaches of the planet would be like geologists piec- ing together the world ‘according to the shape of the nearest hills around them�� (p�128) Throughout his career, Humboldt meticulously documented natural fea�meticulously documented natural fea- documented natural fea- tures, flora, and fauna across different continents, describing interconnected phe- 109 Global Histories Volume ii october 2016 Review: The Invention of Nature nomena thousands of miles away from one another� In nature he saw ‘a reflection of the whole�� (p�128) Wulf also focuses on Humboldt�s previously unrecorded connections between the economy, slavery, and colonialism� He saw the mistreatment of people to har- vest labor�intensive crops as ‘interwoven with man�s relationship to nature and the e�ploitation of natural resources�� (p�106) He became a committed abolitionist following his forays into the Americas, and loathed Americans for their practice of slavery despite admiring their revolutionary spirit� Similarly, his Political Es- say on the Kingdom of New Spain, published in several volumes from 1808 to 1811, asserted that Spanish colonialism was founded on inequality and premised on the false notion that local peoples were barbaric and unsophisticated� Instead, Humboldt insisted that the indigenous peoples were ‘as capable of scientific dis- coveries, art and craftsmanship as the Europeans.’ (p.152) In later accounts, his condemnation of Britain�s treatment of its colonies in the South Pacific paralleled his writings on Spanish colonialism in Latin America, where his work inspired Simón Bolívar and the revolutions that liberated the continent. This can be seen in the fact that the revolutionaries viewed science as an inherently transnational phe- nomenon, ‘a nation without borders� that could unite people and put independent Latin America on the same page as Europe� (p�174) Today Humboldt has been largely forgotten in �orth America – partly due to anti�German sentiment and the purging of German cultural influences following the First World War – but his name is widely known in South America as a result of his considerable influence on the continent. Humboldt was also the first to elucidate the connections between colonialism and environmental degradation� ‘Everything is interaction and reciprocal,� (p�59) Wulf quotes Humboldt as saying after he comes to understand how Spanish monks depleted future resources by over�harvesting turtle eggs on the Venezuelan coast� Humboldt noted how Spanish efforts to reduce flooding by building a dam out of trees backfired: they failed to foresee how the logging would increase soil ero- sion, making future flooding even worse� He also recorded how diverting water for local irrigation could deplete valleys further downstream� Wulf writes that ‘he debated nature, ecological issues, imperial power and politics in relation to each other�� (p�105) These ideas would shape the way we understand the world around us as a web of interconnected phenomena� Humboldt�s ‘invention of nature,� as Wulf describes his contributions in the book title, refers to the way his work in- fluenced the thinking of his predominantly European audience, shaping their con- ception of the environment as an interconnected global force� Although the primary aim of Humboldt�s numerous journeys was the collection of scientific data, he also used the opportunity to write sentimental travel accounts that captured imaginations at home in Europe� However, where Humboldt took care to meticulously record data and file precise reports, Wulf romanticizes the mundane and is at times speculative in her effort to make his scientific missions Global Histories Volume ii october 2016 110 Clare Richardson sound thrilling� As a result, the book reads more like an adventure novel than a historical biography� Despite Wulf’s gripping prose, her unwavering praise of Humboldt fails to take into account the implications of this sort of narrative. Other scholars have criticized Humboldt as an imperialist wielding scientific tools instead of a sword� Humboldt was a white Protestant man traveling primarily in parts of the Americas under Spanish colonial administration, and despite his anti-imperialist beliefs, his worldview was shaped by these circumstances� Wulf�s biography often reports Humboldt’s impressions of South America as matters of incontrovertible fact without offering such nuance� By doing so, she casts Humboldt as a hero with the righteousness of science on his side to conquer unknown lands� To be certain, his work played a pivotal role in the way nineteenth�century Eu- ropeans perceived South America� His travel narratives cast him as an adventuring hero, and they helped bring e�otic regions of the world into the public conscious- ness� Mary Louise Pratt has argued that Humboldt kindled the imaginations of his ilk, encouraging further European e�ploration and involvement in previously distant and foreboding places� The second part of Wulf�s book also loses its captivating pace as it slogs through chapters documenting the travails of the American diplomat George Perkins, writer Henry David Thoreau, naturalist John Muir, and German biologist Ernst Haeckel to show their connections to Humboldt� Some of these relationships are tenuous at best, such as Wulf’s claim that Thoreau’s Walden was a direct answer to Humboldt�s landmark 1845 work Cosmos based on the fact that Humboldt’s ‘view of nature gave Thoreau the confidence to weave together science and po- etry�� (p�250) These chapters seem unnecessary as Humboldt�s influence is well� established in the first half of the book� Humboldt’s achievements in his 89 years of life are dazzling� So too is Wulf’s ability to spin at times drab science e�periments into a tale of adventure� Al- though she overlooks the problems of glorifying the Eurocentric vision Hum- boldt brought back to his home continent, her goal from the start is admittedly to champion the scientist and his accomplishments� The man who inspired Charles Darwin, observed man�made climate change, and wooed crowds of both the elite and general public from Paris to remote parts of the Amazon now has his name plastered on natural features, plants, animals and institutions around the world – including, together with his brother Wilhelm, the Humboldt University in Berlin� The popularity of Wulf�s biography will mean that a new generation of readers will remember Humboldt as one of the greatest European thinkers of his time� 
work_vihcsnrnufb5pnvakhcdt3t6n4	----	e11:17 ETHICS IN SCIENCE AND ENVIRONMENTAL POLITICS Ethics Sci Environ Polit Vol. 11: 17–18, 2011 doi: 10.3354/esep00113 Published online April 29 J. Lemons and D. A. Brown, 2 admittedly timid schol- ars, pose the question of whether non-violent civil disobedience is now ethically justified in the case of climate change (Lemons & Brown 2011, this issue). In order to get to a position where an individual must decide on whether non-violent civil disobedience is in fact justified and necessary, what can be called an ‘I gotta do something’ moment, one must first see them- selves clearly, especially in relation to others, so as to be impelled to act. The role of higher education is paramount in developing the self-vision required for individuals to arrive at the ‘I gotta do something’ moment. This is why universities, where young people explore who they are and what they value, are hotbeds of civil disobedience. A curricular strategy built around the concept of positionality compels the self-reflection necessary for students to see themselves clearly and perhaps arrive at an ‘I gotta do something’ moment. Positionality is the practice of recognizing one’s own position — gender, social status, race, sexuality, and so forth — and its relation to other beings and things, including the planet. Positionality refers to the recogni- tion that position in life often determines one’s produc- tion of knowledge. Positionality often avoids solipsism, i.e. the tendency toward discounting, or not acknowl- edging at all, any experience other than your own. Solipsism should be avoided because it discourages seeing the conditions of others and being empathetic; solipsism encourages being aloof to injustice. If, however, we are to resolve the climate crisis and ‘swerve’, as eminent science studies scholar Donna Haraway states, ‘from the established disorder of fin- ished, deadly worlds,’ we must first be able to recog- nize the deadly conditions our existence creates (Har- away 1994, p. 66). Those of us who reside in cultures of high consumption must recognize the repercussions of a high consumption lifestyle and how our existence affects others outside our experience. We must, for example, recognize the ravages of climate change on peoples in far off lands such as Tuvalu, the Maldives, and in coastal Alaska. A curriculum based on positionality would quickly reveal that wealthier peoples are largely to blame for climate chaos because of the higher consumption that usually accompanies wealth and that those of us in positions of privilege have the duty to act first and shoulder the burden for climate action. By extension, people living a privileged life have the ethical respon- sibility to work for change. This ethical reasoning again brings us to answer the question posed by Lemons & Brown (2011): Is non-violent civil disobedi- ence ethically justified in the case of climate change? Yes, especially for those who possess the unfortunate facts about climate change and their society’s contribu- tion to the crisis, and who understand that greenhouse gas emissions anywhere threaten life everywhere. The privileged few, like Lemons and Brown, can use non-violent civil disobedience to make these facts visi- ble, create the tension necessary for these facts to be confronted, and to avoid, in the words of Martin Luther King (King 1963, p. 3), the ‘appalling silence’ and indif- ference of the majority. King (1963) recommends a 4 step process for civil dis- obedience, which is also the logical extension of a cur- riculum based on positionality: (1) Collection of facts: find out where injustice resides and expose it. (2) Nego- tiation: try to resolve tensions through dialogue. If these fail, (3) self-purification: prepare yourself for the reper- cussions of your actions — ask yourself if you can ‘ac- cept blows without retaliating’; then (4) direct action: publically present yourself in opposition to injustice. The facts on climate change were submitted long ago. The science of climate change and its dire impacts © Inter-Research 2011 · www.int-res.com*Email: jrosales@stlawu.edu COMMENT Higher education and non-violent civil disobedience Jon Rosales* Environmental Studies, St. Lawrence University, Canton, New York 13617, USA OPENPEN ACCESSCCESS Ethics Sci Environ Polit 11: 17–18, 2011 have been known to us in the climate change commu- nity since at least the 1980s. Further, beginning at the Earth Summit in 1992, governments have negotiated climate policy for 18 years. ‘Justice too long delayed is justice denied’ (King 1963, p. 2). It is time for non-vio- lent civil disobedience. As environmental philosopher Bill Vitek says, what must be done is akin to ‘yelling, “Fire!” in a crowded theater when there is, in fact, a fire.’ (Vitek 2008, p. 16). When the injustice that creates a deadly world con- tinues and is institutionalized, ‘when,’ as Henry David Thoreau says, ‘the friction comes to have its machine,’ (Thoreau 1849, p. 4) it is time to be an extremist for jus- tice. Some issues are worth the disruption and disobe- dience. Surely, we have more to lose from the ravages of climate change than what personal fate we might experience from civil disobedience. As educators we must make sure our actions and the actions of our students are based on the facts and that earnest negotiation has run its course. Then, filter out ‘pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities,’ as King (1963, p. 4) says, in order to see clearly. If then our students come to an ‘I gotta do something’ moment, they can be assured it is the right thing to do. This is how positionality can avoid solipsism. Institu- tions of higher education are the most obvious sites to employ this work. LITERATURE CITED Haraway DJ (1994) A game of cat’s cradle: science studies, feminist theory, cultural ctudies. Configurations 2:59–71 King ML Jr (1963) Letter from a Birmingham jail. African Studies Center, University of Pennsylvania, PA. Available at: www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birming- ham.html Lemons J, Brown DA (2011) Global climate change and non-violent civil disobedience. Ethics Sci Environ Polit 11: 3–12 Thoreau HD (1849) Resistance to civil government (civil dis- obedience). Classic Books, New York, NY Vitek B (2008) These revolutionary times. The Land Report 91:13–17. Available at http://people.clarkson.edu/~wvitek/ landreport.pdf 18 Editorial responsibility: Darryl Macer, Bangkok, Thailand Submitted: 30 November 2010; Accepted: February 15, 2011 Proofs received from author(s): March 31, 2011 cite2: cite3: 
work_vinqfwv7b5e5fkpyq5ikepicvq	----	Teacher Education and the Pursuit of Wisdom: A Practical Guide for Education Philosophy Courses (Sean Steel) Copyright ©, 2019 Trent Davis Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 20:59 Philosophical Inquiry in Education Teacher Education and the Pursuit of Wisdom: A Practical Guide for Education Philosophy Courses (Sean Steel) Trent Davis Volume 26, numéro 1, 2019 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1071424ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1071424ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Canadian Philosophy of Education Society ISSN 2369-8659 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer ce compte rendu Davis, T. (2019). Compte rendu de [Teacher Education and the Pursuit of Wisdom: A Practical Guide for Education Philosophy Courses (Sean Steel)]. Philosophical Inquiry in Education, 26(1), 98–101. https://doi.org/10.7202/1071424ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/pie/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1071424ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1071424ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/pie/2019-v26-n1-pie05492/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/pie/ Philosophical Inquiry in Education, Volume 26 (2019), No. 1, pp. 98–101 Review of Teacher Education and the Pursuit of Wisdom: A Practical Guide for Education Philosophy Courses by Sean Steel, New York, NY: Peter Lang, 2018 TRENT DAVIS St. Mary’s University It is not news that, for some time now, philosophy of education as a subject has been fading from the course listings in Faculties of Education across North America. The reasons for this are depressingly nestled within broader cultural trends that have undermined the perceived benefits of a liberal arts education. However, one tangible response to this unfortunate state of affairs is for philosophers of education to stay on the lookout for compelling ways of engaging their students. In the introduction to Teacher Education and the Pursuit of Wisdom: A Practical Guide for Education Philosophy Courses, Sean Steel invites teacher-candidates to see their teaching as nothing less than the pursuit of wisdom and as a “way of life” (p. 3). More specifically, he explains that they can penetrate beneath the surface of the everyday, “to see what is true, and in knowing it, to love what is” (p. 21). After extolling the benefits of the reflective practice of journaling to achieve these laudable goals, the rest of the text unfolds as a series of interpretations of selected authors and readings. In chapter one, Steel offers short sections on how the writings of Marcus Aurelius, A.G. Sertillanges, Friedrich Nietzsche, Louis L’Amour, Mohandas Gandhi, Eric Voegelin, Henry David Thoreau, Annie Dillard, and Henry Bugbee can provide inspiration. There are then longer individual chapters on Plato, Isocrates, Francis Bacon, Rene Descartes, John Locke, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, John Dewey, Maria Montessori, Jean Piaget, and Jacques Maritain. I have listed the authors Steel covers not only to give a sense of the layout of the text, but also because some of these names are certainly interesting choices not typically included in survey texts in the philosophy of education. After a conclusion that tries to sum up the book as a whole, Steel helpfully provides both a series of writing prompts and some assessment tools to help teacher- candidates begin and monitor their journaling progress. At its core, Steel’s recommended philosophical approach is deeply indebted to ancient philosophy in general, and to Plato in particular. This is evident in the recommended journaling practice, where teacher- candidates are asked to love the truth in the form of pursuing “what is” quite simply for its own sake. Their access to this truth is via a directly intuitive or almost mystical experience where through reflection and writing they can come to see things differently. Of course, this setup, basing philosophy on a metaphor of privileged vision, is only possible if a certain metaphysical structure, especially a realm of abstract entities such as Plato’s forms, is assumed to be securely in place. While I do sincerely admire Steel’s philosophical passion in terms of his commitment to this approach, it is hard to avoid the conclusion Trent Davis 99 that it simply gets the better of him here. Unfortunately, it seems to generate both a defensiveness about what he sees as real philosophy, and a hostility to whatever he deems to be fake and therefore outside it. In the introduction, for example, he makes the sweeping observation that “Mostly, nobody recognizes the genuine, original meaning of philosophy anymore, especially at universities” (p. 5). On the next page, he takes a swipe at John Dewey, whom he describes as “that great mocker of all genuine education philosophy,” and then declares that philosophy professors are “charlatans who get paid not to do anything genuinely philosophic at all” (p. 6). Steel does not elaborate upon or support these claims in any way, which makes them distractingly ad hominem. However, Steel is not finished in this vein. The very next section is entitled “On the Defunding & Persecution of Pseudo-Philosophy” and, citing Nietzsche, Steel insists that not only should departments of philosophy be defunded so they collapse, but the state needs to go after fake philosophers so that the pure or genuine articles will be left standing. This attitude is clearly beyond charming hyperbole, and unfortunately undermines the overall pedagogical aims of the text. Sadly, it becomes even more evident when we compare how Plato and Dewey are treated. In the first of the two Plato chapters (all the other chosen philosophers get just one), Steel elevates Plato’s work to the height of reverence, even as he tries to insulate him from criticism. He achieves this through a number of doubtful moves. He cautions the reader “it will be important for you to experiment with leaving behind everything you have learned, or that you have been taught previously about Plato in past courses” (p. 51). Steel is confident that he knows not only what other people have said about Plato, but that it is largely all wrong. The question, of course, then remains: how should we read Plato? Two pages later, he claims “in his Seventh Letter, Plato actually remarks (this time in his own voice) that nothing he has written has ever been serious – that every one of his dialogues is fundamentally a form of play” (p. 53). The problem with this is that, while it is true that in the Seventh Letter Plato expresses doubt as to whether the written form in general can convey philosophical truth, he also provides a substantial digression on epistemology that does seem to set out his doctrinal views in this respect. To make matters more confusing still, Steel continues a page later: “Here is a general rule I offer each of you that might offend you, but I shall say it anyway: As you read Plato (or Shakespeare, for that matter), always assume that the author is correct!” (p. 54). Even though Steel is aware of how offensive this suggestion is (because he must know the key role of critical thinking and student engagement in higher education today), he nonetheless advances it anyway. His justification comes from Leo Strauss–incidentally, one of the intellectual touchstones of the neo-conservative political movement in the United States–and his idea of “logographic necessity,” where we are supposed to accept that “every single word of Plato’s text is important” (p. 55). Yet, when it comes to Plato’s idea of recollection, we are told “Socrates isn’t asking us to believe any “doctrine” here. There is no dogma. It’s a story! But like any good story, it reveals some deep truths to us” (p. 69). So, we are apparently not meant to invest in “doctrine,” but “truths” we are still supposed to simply believe. The chapter on John Dewey is also revealing, with Steel this time playing the opposite role of diminishing the credibility of his philosophy. He writes, “I don’t want you to believe what Dewey writes about the ancients. In fact, you have my permission to ignore whatever he says about Plato or the Greeks, or about pre-modern education philosophy generally” (p. 224). Again, he provides no support for this claim, which would involve examining what Dewey actually said in this connection. Steel nonetheless does maintain that teacher-candidates should read Dewey, since “that bodes very well for your pedagogy, and it will also keep the busybodies and wolves away” (p. 224), as well as the “meddlesome” people and administrators (p. 225). I must admit I have never seen a justification for reading a philosopher’s work Philosophical Inquiry in Education 100 that was even partially rooted in keeping people “away.” Steel continues some ten plus pages later “But here I shall say something very shocking to you: Despite what all the textbooks everywhere on the planet say about him, Dewey is most assuredly not a philosopher!” (p. 236). How all those other philosophers and textbooks got Dewey so wrong remains a mystery, although Steel does offer a justification of sorts when he goes on to explain that Dewey “does not love truth; whatever he means by interest in his educational understanding, it differs most certainly from Socratic eros, which is the ancient word for a desire that is intimately and passionately devoted to finding out the truth” (p. 236). Of course, this is question-begging, and sheds no light on the substantive philosophical differences between Plato and Dewey. The chapter rounds off with Steel warning teacher-candidates to “Learn what you can from John Dewey. Obviously, he’s not all bad. But also be cautious of the poison pill that he would have you swallow in the life of a teacher” (p. 241). Supposedly, this “pill” is a concern with educational topics like growth and democracy at the expense of the contemplation of what is. In the conclusion, Steel devotes considerable space to warning how the conception and practice of philosophy he extols is not that amenable to assessment protocols currently in vogue across the Western world. He does helpfully admit, however, that in his view “genuine philosophy was always conceived as a ‘way of life’; as such, it must take the form of a spiritual practice (askesis) of searching (zetesis) that can only be divested of its religious or cultic character–whether Eastern or Western in flavour–at the peril of forfeiting the sacred heart of the activity itself” (p. 324). However, this is precisely the core premise that needed to be placed right up front and articulated, developed, and supported through argument. I so wish that Steel had tried to show us what his cherished brand of Platonism has to offer us today at this moment of the twenty-first century. This could have been achieved in two overlapping and intertwined ways. First, he could have looked at other Neo-Platonic authors, and the history of Neo-Platonism in general, to mine interesting questions and insights. Second, he could have shared and discussed samples from his own and his students’ journal entries that could then demonstrate his pedagogical suggestions in vivid and relevant ways. In the end, especially with the difficulties I mentioned earlier that philosophers of education face today, I could not recommend this text. Despite the subtitle, I do not feel it would be a very “practical” choice. In my considerable experience working in higher education, I am confident that teacher- candidates would likely be quite put off by the veneration of Plato that makes him largely immune to criticism. They also always want to examine and discuss the relationship between their educational reflection and practice and ethical and political topics like human rights, equity, and social justice in ways that Steel’s approach greatly constrains. Teaching philosophy to teacher-candidates is often hard because the scholars who do it have to keep justifying to everyone why they think it still matters. What we need today are engaging texts for teacher-candidates that can bring a diverse range of philosophical traditions and perspectives and questions to life. The better we do this, the better we can make the case to everyone willing to listen that philosophy can indeed help inform what we think is possible and important about education. Trent Davis 101 About the Author Trent Davis is Associate Professor of Education at St. Mary’s University in Calgary, Alberta. His research interests focus on the philosophy of psychotherapy, learning from literature, and the history of philosophy. 
work_vl45fdgt4bahzb3e3bmi57pkv4	----	Revista Filosofía Vol15 No1 2016 VERSION A DIAGRAMAR.indd CONTENIDO ARTÍCULOS PRESENTACIÓN 11 FILOSOFÍA POLÍTICA Y DEL DERECHO 17 UNA APROXIMACIÓN A LA FILOSOFÍA POLÍTICA DE LA CLÁUSULA DEMOCRÁTICA EN LA CONSTITUCIÓN DE 1991 19 Paulo Bernardo Arboleda Ramírez Milton César Jiménez Ramírez PRE-TEXTOS PARA LA TEORÍA DE LA JUSTICIA RAWLSIANA 47 Edward Javier Ordóñez Arístides Obando Cabezas Arturo Hernán Arenas Fernández JUSTICIA Y RESPONSABILIDAD SOCIAL. DERECHO Y DEBER HUMANOS. UNA VISIÓN DESDE EL PENSAMIENTO DE WALZER Y EJEMPLOS DE LA DESIGUALDAD EN MÉXICO 61 Rubén Mendoza Valdés Elba Margarita González Fabián FRIEDRICH HAYEK: LA TEORÍA DEL CONOCIMIENTO Y LA FUNDAMENTACIÓN GNOSEOLÓGICA DE LA CRÍTICA A LA ECONOMÍA PLANIFICADA 89 Leandro Gastón Indavera Stieben LA TENSIÓN EPISTEMOLÓGICA ENTRE LA FILOSOFÍA DEL DERECHO Y LA TEORÍA JURÍDICA. HACIA UNA TEORÍA CRÍTICA DEL DERECHO 107 Oscar Mejía Quintana EL VALOR DE LA FILOSOFÍA PARA LA FORMACIÓN UNIVERSITARIA 137 Mauricio Albarracín Javier Aguirre Román FILOSOFÍA Y LITERATURA 143 LA AUSENCIA DE PODER O LA AFIRMACIÓN DE LA POTENCIA NEUTRA DE LA LITERATURA. REFLEXIONES EN TORNO AL PENSAMIENTO LITERARIO DE BLANCHOT 145 Luis Antonio Ramírez Zuluaga QUINO: DEL MUNDO DEL CÓMIC AL MUNDO DE LA FILOSOFÍA 163 Javier Aguirre Román Nancy Liliana Villamizar Meza EXPERIENCIA CINESTÉSICA Y EXPERIENCIA INTERSUBJETIVA 189 Henry Camilo Villamizar Blanquicet FILOSOFÍA SOCIAL Y CIVILIZACIÓN TECNOLÓGICA 211 ALGUNAS NOTAS AL MARGEN PARA UNA INVESTIGACIÓN POR TRAZAR: DIMENSIÓN TECNOLÓGICA DEL PODER 213 Jimmy Ortiz Palacios INTENTIONAL ATTRIBUTION AND RATIONALITY: A CRITICAL READING OF DENNETT'S INTENTIONAL ATTRIBUTION PROGRAM 225 Edgar Eslava HISTORIA DE LA FILOSOFÍA 245 ALGUNAS VIRTUDES SOCIALES EN LA SUMA TEOLÓGICA DE TOMÁS DE AQUINO Y SU APLICACIÓN EN LA RESPONSABILIDAD SOCIAL CONTEMPORÁNEA 247 José de Jesús Herrera Ospina LA EMERGENCIA DE UNA ESCUELA FILOSÓFICA NIETZSCHEANA EN LA ESPAÑA DEL TARDOFRANQUISMO. UNA LECTURA SOCIOFILOSÓFICA 261 Francisco Vázquez García EL PENSAMIENTO SISTÉMICO Y SUS RELACIONES CON EL ÁMBITO EDUCATIVO: DEL PARADIGMA LINEAL A LA TRAMA CIRCULAR 279 Leandro Arbey Giraldo Henao PARA VOLVER A LEER 313 PARA VOLVER A LEER “RESISTANCE TO CIVIL GOVERNMENT” (1849) DE HENRY DAVID THOREAU 315 Por: Miguel Salmerón Infante “RESISTANCE TO CIVIL GOVERNEMENT” 317 Por: Henry David Thoreau ÍNDICE CRONOLÓGICO 335 CRITERIOS DE PUBLICACIÓN 351 PUBLISHING CRITERIA 357 CONSIDERACIONES éTICAS INSTITUCIONALES PARA LA PUBLICACIÓN DE ARTÍCULOS CIENTÍFICOS 363 CONTENTS ARTICLES INTRODUCTION 11 POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY AND PHILOSOPHY OF LAW 17 APPROACH TO THE POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY OF THE DEMOCRATIC CLAUSE IN THE CONSTITUTION OF 1991 19 Paulo Bernardo Arboleda Ramírez Milton César Jiménez Ramírez PRE-TEXTS FOR THE RAWLSIAN THEORY OF JUSTICE 47 Edward Javier Ordóñez Arístides Obando Cabezas Arturo Hernán Arenas Fernández SOCIAL RESPONSIBILITY AND JUSTICE. HUMAN RIGHTS AND DUTIES. A VIEW FROM THE THOUGHT OF WALZER AND EXAMPLES OF INEQUALITY IN MEXICO 61 Rubén Mendoza Valdés Elba Margarita González Fabián FRIEDRICH HAYEK: THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE AND THE EPISTEMIC FOUNDATION FOR THE CRITICISM OF PLANNED ECONOMY 89 Leandro Gastón Indavera Stieben EPISTEMOLOGICAL TENSION BETWEEN THE PHILOSOPHY OF LAW AND LEGAL THEORY. TOWARDS A CRITICAL THEORY OF LAW 107 Oscar Mejía Quintana THE PHILOSOPHY VALUE FOR UNIVERSITY EDUCATION 137 Mauricio Albarracín Javier Orlando Aguirre Román PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE 143 THE ABSENCE OF POWER OR THE AFFIRMATION OF THE NEUTRAL POWER OF THE LITERATURE. REFLECTIONS ON BLANCHOT'S LITERARY THOUGHT 145 Luis Antonio Ramírez Zuluaga QUINO: FROM THE WORLD OF THE COMIC TO THE WORLD OF PHILOSOPHY 163 Javier Aguirre Román Nancy Liliana Villamizar Meza KINESTHETIC EXPERIENCE AND INTERSUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE 189 Henry Camilo Villamizar Blanquicet SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY AND TECHNOLOGICAL CIVILIZATION 211 SOME MARGINAL NOTES FOR AN INVESTIGATION TO TRACE: TECHNOLOGICAL DIMENSION OF POWER 213 Jimmy Ortiz Palacios INTENTIONAL ATTRIBUTION AND RATIONALITY: A CRITICAL READING OF DENNETT'S INTENTIONAL ATTRIBUTION PROGRAM 225 Edgar Eslava PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY 245 SOME SOCIAL VIRTUES IN THE SUMMA THEOLOGICA OF THOMAS AQUINAS AND ITS APPLICATION IN CONTEMPORARY SOCIAL RESPONSIBILITY 247 José de Jesús Herrera Ospina THE RISE OF A NIETZSCHEAN PHILOSOPHICAL SCHOOL IN LATE-FRANCOIST SPAIN. A SOCIOPHILOSOPHICAL READING 261 Francisco Vázquez García THE SYSTEMIC THINKING AND ITS RELATIONS WITH THE EDUCATIONAL FIELD: FROM LINEAR PARADIGM TO CIRCULAR WEFT 279 Leandro Arbey Giraldo Henao FOR FURTHER READING 313 FOR FURTHER READING: “RESISTANCE TO CIVIL GOVERNMENT” (1849) BY HENRY DAVID THOREAU 315 By: Miguel Salmerón Infante “RESISTANCE TO CIVIL GOVERNEMENT” 317 By: Henry David Thoreau CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX 335 CRITERIOS DE PUBLICACIÓN 351 PUBLISHING CRITERIA 357 CONSIDERACIONES éTICAS INSTITUCIONALES PARA LA PUBLICACIÓN DE ARTÍCULOS CIENTÍFICOS 363 
work_vn6ik2rlkzgodclaawlvb43wjm	----	Translation, internationalisation and the university London Review of Education Vol. 7, No. 3, November 2009, 223–233 ISSN 1474-8460 print/ISSN 1474-8479 online © 2009 Institute of Education, University of London DOI: 10.1080/14748460903290108 http://www.informaworld.com Translation, internationalisation and the university Suzy Harris* School of Education, Froebel College, Roehampton University, London, UK Taylor and FrancisCLRE_A_429184.sgm10.1080/14748460903290108London Review of Education1474-8460 (print)/1474-8479 (online)Original Article2009Taylor & Francis73000000November 2009SuzyHarriss.harris@roehampton.ac.uk The demands and challenges posed by the global economy help explain the growing importance of the internationalisation of higher education in European, national and institutional policy arenas. The discourse of internationalisation is driven primarily by economic factors, and an emphasis on competition, standards and skills has shifted attention away from considering internationalisation in relation to the aims, values and the purpose of higher education. This paper considers the notion of translation as a way of thinking about internationalisation. Translation is normally understood in relatively simple terms – as the transfer of meaning from one language to another – and it is seen primarily as a technical matter, albeit one that sometimes raises considerable difficulties. It is argued that that there is something limited and mistaken about this way of thinking about translation. It is not only between languages that translation occurs but also within a language. The question of translation has to do with the nature of meaning, and meaning has been and must remain a central concern of higher education and the university. Keywords: translation; language; internationalisation; higher education Internationalisation and the problem of language Since the 1990s the internationalisation of higher education has become an increasingly impor- tant aspect of European and national policy, driven by economic considerations and the need to compete in the global knowledge economy. For example, a central concern of the European Union is to improve the quality of European higher education in order to successfully compete with the economies of the US, China and India. To this end the EU has concentrated its energies on increasing transparency and comparability, and on improving quality assurance mechanisms (IRDAC Report to the European Commission 1994). The Bologna Declaration (1999) can also be seen in this light with its goal of a single European Area of Higher Education as a means of increasing the international competitiveness of the European system of higher education. And, at a national level, the UK government has vigorously promoted international education under the Prime Minister’s Initiative (PMI). This initiative was launched in 1999 in a bid to establish a UK ‘brand’ of international education and to increase the recruitment of international students to HE institutions. In 2006 a second phase of PMI was introduced, this time a five-year strategy to improve the national brand abroad, to secure the position of the UK as a leader in interna- tional education, and to improve the student experience (Toyoshima 2007). The term ‘internationalisation’ is used in a variety of ways – for some it refers to external processes such as globalisation and the emergence of a competitive marketplace whilst others use the term in relation to curricular issues and the need for an intercultural and/or global dimension to the curriculum (see Knight 2004). Despite the various uses and understanding of the term there does seem to be a consensus that internationalisation, however defined, is both good and necessary for higher education. The benefits of internationalisation tend to be viewed *Email: s.harris@roehampton.ac.uk 224 S. Harris in economic terms; the economic is privileged whilst educational and cultural dimensions are not addressed (Harris 2007a, 2008a, b). This paper attempts to redress the imbalance and does so through a consideration of the notion of translation as a way of thinking about international- isation and higher education. Translation is considered first in relatively simple terms – as the transfer of meaning from one language to another – and it is seen primarily as a technical matter. This way of understanding translation is limited and does not acknowledge that translation occurs within a language as well as across languages. To say this is not merely to exploit the idea of translation in a metaphorical way. It is rather to contest the terms of the opposition within which translation is understood: of the security and stability of meaning in the supposedly pure ‘home’ language, on the one hand; and, on the other, of the vagaries and uncertainties of meaning where this home language is translated into one that is alien. If our instinctive adherence to the terms of this binary opposition can be weakened, the ways in which it is not a mere metaphor to say that translation occurs within as well as between languages will become apparent. The question of translation is then not just about how to accommodate people who speak different languages in a system of higher education but rather about the nature of meaning itself. The paper explores this more profound question of meaning which is at the heart of what higher education is about. Let us begin be examining the way that translation becomes an issue in higher education. First, developments like Bologna are responses to difference. In some ways this is just part of globalisation but in other respects it is a characteristically European response. Bologna is designed to manage difference, and it does this through endorsing standardised procedures, a form of performativity. This is not to deny difference but to imply that difference can be successfully encompassed within homogenised systems. Second, the internationalised universi- ties of Europe, and elsewhere, face a practical problem in that many students do not speak the lingua franca of the host institution. Hence, there is a need for special entrance tests and special preparatory courses designed to compensate for this linguistic deficit. The lack of command of the needed language is understood as a technical problem and these are means of addressing it. The diversity of national education systems which historically has been seen as important becomes problematic when the imperative is commensurability. I do not want to suggest that uniformity is necessarily bad or that education does not, nor should not, have any economic benefit. The argument set out here is the need to be attentive to what is absent and the restric- tive and narrow ways in which education is conceived. For example, it is striking that some 10 years ago the European Commission could state quite boldly that the aims of education need no longer be debated: the purpose of higher education is to serve the needs of the economy. This, it was implied, was self-evident; moreover, the distinction between education and training is considered redundant (European Commission White Paper 1996). In his analysis of European documents Pádraig Hogan notes the absence of moral purpose behind education policy; the main concern is about performance in a market culture and the promotion of excellence and the language used is one of competitive individualism (1998). And it is not only in education where this instrumentalist language is found. Kevin Williams (2000) considers this in relation to what he refers to as the new European project – a united and unitary ‘New Europe’ under- pinned by a particular, and narrowly conceived notion of European citizenship. Underlying the European project is a conception of human beings as self-interested consumers. The role of education is to create ‘economic agents’ who will contribute to the development of an entre- preneurial society. It is useful in the following paragraphs to look at issues to do with language in the university. The first thing to say is that language is especially complex in the university, for example, disci- plines have their own specialised forms of language and these are quite different from the London Review of Education 225 language of business or other institutions. Despite this the university is now expected to engage, collaborate and enter into partnership with business and commerce. The growing closeness of the university and its business neighbours, steered as it has been by successive governments is, not surprisingly, transforming traditional academic discourse within the university, particularly in terms of governance and management but also in relation to the curriculum. The language of performativity and marketing is pervasive, the most recent example of which is the emergence of enterprise as a core part of the business of the university. Enterprise is now an equally impor- tant income stream but it is also spreading across the university into the curriculum with modules designed to improve students’ entrepreneurial skills. For the new university this may be an attractive way to identity itself because of the very different research profiles of the old and new universities. The relationship between the university and business is of course important; there is a prac- tical and technical need for employees to possess good language skills in order to carry out their job. Employers, naturally, expect university graduates to have acquired these skills before they leave university. The danger is in privileging an acquisition of a portfolio of skills and competen- cies over an engagement with ideas and ways of thinking connected with a disciplinary tradition. The latter, historically, has been a central purpose of the university. One of the features of a mass higher education is that the student population is much broader and more international in composition, particularly so in the UK which has one of the most diverse university student populations in the world (Watson 2007). Students will come to university for various reasons and hold a range of expectations and assumptions about university life. Student and parent satisfaction is increasingly important and an area that, in a highly compet- itive market, universities cannot ignore. There is more demand on academics to make their courses more student-centred, through, for example, using online technology and more trans- parent assessment systems. One result of this is that less attention seems to be given to matters of curriculum content; it is reduced to the most effective ‘delivery’. And the use of delivery here is far removed from its Latin origins – liberare – to set free. The need for institutions to be responsive and be seen to be responsive to student needs is an aspect of proceduralism that pervades university life; there is an obsession with method where emphasis is on procedure rather than the substantive and questions of value. This proceduralism obscures aspects of language and difference that can be seen particularly clearly in relation to students for whom English is neither their first language nor the language of their previous education. There are immediate concerns around language comprehension and familiarity, for example, with academic and cultural customs when studying in a British university. Consider, for example, Chinese students who come to study in departments of social sciences or humanities. This will be the first occasion when they will be expected to read texts written in English and to write essays conforming to western academic traditions. This will require them to discuss the ideas and arguments in the texts and relate them to the context of their native country. The experience of a Chinese student in this respect is so unlike that of their Spanish or Italian counterpart because there is a lack of shared European etymology to help decipher words and phrases. Both the student and their tutor have difficulty in finding any common ground from which to begin to discuss problems of translation, interpretation and meaning. Chinese students, like their peers, must be able to use the language appropriate to their subject of study; some find academic writing easier than others irrespective of what their first language is. There are then, unquestionably, practical problems that face students whose first language is not English; universities take this seriously and spend a great deal of time and resources to supporting its students, through for example, English language centres and student support services. There is, however, a danger that discussion rests on these kinds of issues and does not 226 S. Harris move beyond these to consider other questions that are not technical and cannot be resolved easily through devising practical solutions. This is something that is not confined to internation- alisation specifically but to education more generally. In the UK, for example, much of the polit- ical debate about HE in recent years has revolved around financial concerns. Very little time has been spent discussing the point of higher education. As Richard Smith and Paul Standish point out, ‘what kind of world we need a competitive economy for’ is not talked about (2001, italics in original). As numbers of international students continue to rise, there is a danger that problems will continue to be constructed as technical that require technical solutions; this will perpetuate the tendency to think in dichotomous ways. Language tends to be seen in terms of binaries – ‘native language’ and the ‘non-native language’; ‘first language’ and ‘second language’; ‘native tongue’ and ‘foreign tongue’. The distinction between native and non-native speaker is, however, more complex than this dichotomy suggests. In the UK, for example, nearly 15% of primary school students speak a different language at home, and in several British universities a large proportion of students are effectively bi-lingual (Watson 2007). Matters to do with language are not confined to students whose native language is not English. In UK universities and those where English is the medium of study, a vast number of texts that are used on courses are translations. For example, in sociology Marx, Weber and Durkheim will most likely have been read in translation rather than the original – by teachers as well as students. Teacher educators discussing the relevance of Rousseau or Freire for schooling in contemporary society are probably unlikely to have read these in the original, unless they studied languages as undergraduates. In philosophy, students will not be expected to read texts in the original when they discuss the ideas of, for example, Plato, Aristotle, Descartes or Wittgenstein. There are two points that I wish to draw attention to from what has gone above – the first is to do with the danger that arises from globalisation, namely, the homogenisation of the theory and practice of higher education, and one critical factor in this homogenisation is language. The use of English globally implies that everyone can understand each other and that language is primarily about communication understood in a technical sense rather than about meaning. A language is generated that is full of abstract nouns – ‘internationalisation’, ‘harmonisation’, ‘qual- ity’, ‘excellence’. The second area of concern, and related to the first, is the monolingualism of liberal political discourse. In their paper Naoko Saito and Paul Standish (2008) refer to the monolingualism of political liberal discourse in which there is, they argue, a blindness to differ- ence, to what is other and to what is incommensurable. Both the homogenisation of language and the monolingualism of policy discourse are informed by performativity, a regime that demands standardisation, uniformity and commen- surability; diversity as expressed through different and diverse educational traditions, is not acknowledged. There seems to be an assumption that any problems or difficulties that emerge can be ironed out and resolved; this is based on the view that language problems are purely technical and arise from linguistic difference – not having a good enough grasp of the language or not being able to make oneself understood; if someone does not have a good grasp of language it is presumed that they need technical help to improve their language skills (Harris 2007b). One of the characteristics of performativity is that it is informed by an impoverished concept of meaning. The problem of translation is understood only as a technical one; the central ques- tion is one of better communication and delivery. This, however, has little to offer in the way of understanding and engaging with difficulty and difference and meaning. In the following section, therefore, I suggest a different way of thinking about translation that challenges this understand- ing of meaning as operating in a technical way. London Review of Education 227 Translation and transformation As noted in the previous section the language of international policy is English so there is an assumption that we can all understand each other. This international language is, however, read and understood by people who encounter it from a wide range of linguistic, cultural, and insti- tutional contexts. There are different connotations associated with terms when they are used in the international language of English; strange things can happen. Some examples may be of use here. Take for example a term I have used in this paper, performativity, which is an English translation of a term first used by Jean-François Lyotard. Among native English speakers this term has been taken up by many in education sometimes without acknowledging the origins of the term or clearly stating how their use captures the subtleties of Lyotard’s original under- standing. When this term is used, for example in Spanish contexts, the term is usually left untranslated but sometimes it appears as rendimiento. Whichever version is used, the meaning is not quite the same. There are negative connotations to the word in French and English usage that is not always as strong in Spanish. Another would be the German word Bildung, a word which has been said by some to be untranslatable. According to Maarten Simons (2006), a feature of Bildung is an attitude or duty to truth. This is not captured in the English term ‘formation’ which is often used. And a third example would be that of ‘science’. The word comes from the Latin scio – I know. In English the word has come to have a strong association with natural science and for many people would conjure an image of a scientist in a laboratory carrying out an experiment; the term scientist would not be associated with an historian or philosopher. The equivalent of the word ‘science’ in German implies something different. In German Wissenschaft means science and Geisteswissenschaft means human science; these terms imply an on-going process, ‘to capture reality as a totality in concepts’ (ibid., 37). When a German academic is using the term science in English – for example at an international confer- ence – they mean something broader than a native English speaking person. They mean knowl- edge in the round and reference to a scientist would include not just a physicist but an historian or philosopher as well. As George Steiner (1975) notes, each human language maps the world differently and differ- ent societies have different ways of cutting up the world and describing the world. This means that words cannot be simply translated. Every reading of a text is an act of translation where the reader is trying to interpret the words and meaning for herself – whether one is reading the text in its original or translated version. In the case of the latter, to translate a novel by Gabriel García Márquez, for example, word by word would not capture the imagery and rhythms of his phras- ing; nor is it a straightforward task to transpose the original Latin-American Spanish to German or Chinese. There are good and bad translations; a good translation requires an understanding of the context and view of world that informs the original text. The translated text is in some ways an interpretation of the original. There is transformation in translation; meaning is always in movement. Translation goes to the heart of meaning and in the following paragraphs we shall see how this is so. The strangeness of language can be seen in a particularly striking way in the work of translation from one language to another. Wilhelm von Humboldt makes a distinction between Fremdheit and das Fremde in relation to the translation of texts (Eco 2003). Fremdheit (which can be translated as foreignness or strangeness) on the one hand is the term he used to describe the sense a reader has when the translator seems to have chosen words that sound strange or odd, as though a mistake has been made in the translation. Das Fremde (translated as the strange or the unfamil- iar), on the other hand is the term used to describe a reader’s sense of reading something that is recognisable, that has been translated appropriately, but that they are reading the words as if for the first time – the familiar has been rendered strange or foreign. Humboldt shows that a 228 S. Harris proper understanding of language in its original form is not transparent or unproblematic. It is always strange, always open to disturb the reader. The strangeness of language is thematised in Walter Benjamin’s writing. For him the essential quality of a translation is not communication or imparting knowledge; a translation that intends to perform a transmitting function is in his eyes a bad translation. It is rather the mysterious and unfathomable (that is there in the original) that is essential to a good translation. The importance of the mysterious also suggests that translatability implies untranslatability, an idea that is central in Benjamin’s ‘The task of the translator’. The notion suggests both the impossible and the necessary; we could not live or make sense of our lives without translation of all sorts but at the same time it is impossible because it can never be absolute. There is no perfect translation. Whilst the goal of translation is ‘undeniably a final, conclusive, decisive stage of all linguistic creation’ at the same time ‘an instant and final… solution to this foreignness remains out of the reach of mankind’ (1996a, 257). This acknowledgment is central because it also suggests that it is the role of the translator rather than the translation that is central. It is the task of the translator to release in his own language that pure language which is exiled among alien tongues, to liberate the language imprisoned in a work in his re-creation of that work. For the sake of the pure language, he breaks through decayed barriers of his own language. (Ibid., 261) A translation is not an ending but a beginning, a transformation and a ‘renewal of something living – the original undergoes a change’ (256). The translator must allow her own language to be affected by the foreign language. There is always an element in the translation that refuses further translation, which is to acknowledge what is foreign, what is different, and to acknowl- edge that which is incommensurable. For Benjamin the idea of untranslatability is not something negative; there is a richness that is important to recognise and acknowledge. The impossibility of translation suggests a loss; there is no perfect translation, no complete, ultimate understanding or perfect communication. For Lovisa Bergdahl (2008) this loss ‘condemns us to never give up trying’ but this is not said in despair, it is to recognise that we are always moving towards something rather than reaching an end point; it is an orientation rather than a route. I would add that the loss is also a find in the sense that it is also a release that invites or allows a response, to acknowledge the remainder – of what cannot be pinned down or reduced to something that is familiar and rendered safe. The richness in the idea of the untranslatable is that, as Bergdahl points out, it makes absolute understanding impossible: there are limits to what we can understand of the other and of ourselves, but it is the impossibility that means that we must not give up trying. Bergdahl’s reading of Benjamin is powerful and draws attention to the ethical response that translation summons. She considers Benjamin’s position in relation to that of Habermas for whom translation is understood in terms of cooperation and negotiation and is ultimately possible. One weakness of his argument that she identifies is that there are too many assumptions that underpin it which effectively mean that there is already some kind of consensus operating. This denies the very thing that is present and contested – difference and incommensurability. For Benjamin there is a mysteriousness in the untranslatability – what is beyond the translation is the mysterious – in between the lines of the text, particu- larly so in the reading of the scriptures. It is not about communication1 – it is about a response – a response that starts with the self then reaching out; it is an ethical responsibility first and foremost that I am called to. I am singularised; I have to respond, nobody else can make a response for me. Jacques Derrida’s way of putting this is that translation is both possible and impossible. The assumption that the literal translation of language involves a translation from a ‘pure’ meaning of the native language into another language is mistaken. London Review of Education 229 Translation can… get everything across except this: the fact that there are, in one linguistic system, perhaps several languages or tongues. Sometimes – I would even say always – several tongues. There is impurity in every language. (Derrida 1982, 100) Derrida makes this point deftly in ‘What is a “relevant” translation’. The inverted commas around the word ‘relevant’ are used to draw attention to the untranslatability of the word. In any text there is a question about the source language to which the words used are to be under- stood. Words are always in the process of translation; the word, ‘carries in its body an on-going process of translation’ (2005, 425). There is also a broader point that he is making and that is the connection between the word relevant and the French verb relever which invokes a bringing to life – and this meaning of relever is heard in the French usage of relevant, whereas it is completely hidden in the English word. It is this idea of bringing to life again that is key. Following Benjamin, translation should ensure the survival of the original – survival in the sense of living on, and also of life after death. Translation and the nature of meaning The foregoing account draws heavily on poststructuralist accounts of meaning and translation. It is then intriguing to find that similar ideas were also advanced, about a century earlier, in the work of Henry David Thoreau. Consider, for example, his extraordinary and complex state- ment, in Walden: The volatile truth of our words should continually betray the inadequacy of the residual statement. Their truth is instantly translated; its literal monument alone remains. The words which express our faith and piety are not definite; yet they are significant and fragrant like frankincense to superior natures. (1986, 289, italics in the original) What does Thoreau mean by these words, and what leads him to make such a claim? Anything we say is partial, he helps us to realise, never the final word or the complete story. Words cannot be pinned down; like birds they flutter and fly away – they are translated and transformed. The best words like faith and piety do not try to say it all; they are more subtle, not mundane or ordinary. Some things cannot be said directly and need to be subtle like fragrances that linger and provoke images. He is saying also that we have a responsibility not to keep words as monuments, that what is needed is to have a sensitivity to language and this he expresses powerfully in terms of the mother tongue and father tongue: Books must be read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written. It is not enough even to be able to speak the language of that nation by which they are written, for there is memora- ble interval between the spoken and the written language, the language heard and the language read. The one is commonly transitory, a sound, a tongue, a dialect merely, almost brutish, and we learn it unconsciously, like the brutes, of our mothers. The other is the maturity and experi- ence of that; if that is our mother tongue, this is our father tongue, a reserved and select expression, too significant to be heard by the ear, which we must be born again in order to speak. (1986, 92–3) The mother tongue is the language we are born into and cannot step outside of. It is seen as natural; it is already part of language full-blown. The father tongue is a different kind of language, not as natural as the mother tongue; it sensitises us to language and how we are not in control of it fully. In calling it the father tongue Thoreau is also hinting at the spiritual and its association with God the Father and His words spoken through the prophets. The father tongue and mother tongue do not complement each other but we do need both. The responsibility not to keep words as monuments is exemplified in the father tongue whereas the mother tongue has no such responsibility. The language and culture of performativity perhaps can be seen in terms of the mother tongue - the thinking underpinning it has come to be seen as natural, 230 S. Harris common sense, taken for granted, unproblematic; words such as ‘quality’, ‘standards’ and ‘effec- tiveness’ have become mere monuments. The father tongue is what is required in an education for grownups because it offers a mature relationship to language that can challenge the common and the taken for granted – it is about uncommon schooling. Thoreau is not proposing an institutional form of schooling but rather a schooling that goes on through life, a kind of continuous learning into adulthood. We can see how the father tongue also resonates strongly with ‘higher’ education; students need to be sensitised to language and this is possible through the father tongue which is needed to disturb the unproblematic view of language. It is perhaps not without significance that in the past a person went to university to read philosophy or read chemistry. Nowadays the verb most often used, outside Oxbridge, is to ‘do’ a subject (‘I’m doing music’). We can see then that Thoreau’s concern is with the question of meaning and understanding the world. Walden is about the possibility of living and can be seen as a kind of perfectionist writ- ing. Thoreau was disappointed in America – it had not lived up to the Pilgrim Fathers’ ideas of the Promised Land. His book is not an easy read; there is ambiguity and it is difficult to read him and to work out what he means or how to interpret a particular word or phrase, but it is also difficult in that he challenges his readers. He is writing in the father tongue; we have to learn to read, but not just literally, we also have to read the world. In a chapter entitled ‘Reading’ he draws the reader’s attention to an important feature of the written word: ‘it is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips’ (94). Writing and reading are quite different from the spoken word. It is easier to be shocked or wrong-footed by the written word. Whilst this is possible when you listen to a good orator, the difference is that the orator wants to win you over rather than to shock. Thoreau and Benjamin are fascinated with the creation of the world by the word. They take us back to the scriptures and the opening words of St John’s Gospel (Jn. 1:1). ‘In the beginning was the Word; the Word was with God and the Word was God.’ This is such a profound state- ment that shows that language and meaning and the human are connected, and we cannot unravel this; we are mutually dependent on one another. It is, however, precisely because of this interconnectedness that there is volatility – we give words to the world and we receive them. In ‘On language as such and on the language of man’, Benjamin considers the way in which this is expressed in the Bible; ‘God breathes his breath into man; this is at once life and mind and language’ (1996b, 67). Benjamin uses the creation story to construct in effect a philosophy of language, in the light of which the content of a thing is not expressed through language but in language. Benjamin’s ‘through’ and ‘in’ subtly distinguish what is at stake here: the distinction serves to resist the idea of language just as a means to something, or as technical. It is, rather, constitutive of what we are as human beings. God calls into being Adam, and this creating word is also a naming word, Adam (adamah, meaning earth). The human being-in-the-world is then an expression of God’s inner substance, an expression in which the human being, world, things, are generated through language. Yet God remains incommunicable and inscrutable, and, that is, untranslatable. In ancient Hebrew, the language of the Torah, God’s name appears as YHWH; it is literally unpronounceable. For Benjamin every language, apart from divine ‘language’, which would be pure, can be thought of as a translation of all others. Language depends upon differen- tiation, and differentiation is the stuff of translation. But a divine ‘language’ would be a language without differentiation, a language seeing all at once without differentiation, and hence without identification, and hence no language at all. This impossible language nevertheless remains as a kind of ideal of perspicuity to which all too human thought aspires. Human languages can only ever be partial and different societies and cultures have different ways of making sense of the world and hence the multiplicity of languages. There will always be London Review of Education 231 difference but the problem is that we tend to accept the differences that our language gives to us as though these were fixed. The father tongue challenges this. Our own words are new objects that we bring into the world; what you give back is not what you received. Whereas the father tongue acknowledges and understands this, performativity and technicism understand only the mother tongue and everything is reduced to ‘a translatability without remainder’ (Standish 1999, 11). The idea of untranslatability in Benjamin and Derrida’s work suggests that there are limits to what we can understand of the foreign but also of ourselves. The relationship between the foreign and the native is also addressed by Stanley Cavell who has been extremely interested in Thoreau’s writing. One of the themes that run through his book, The senses of Walden, is under- standing other cultures. He wrote this at the time of the Vietnam War and was thinking not just about relations between America and Europe but about America and Asia. He is interested in the idea of the native and the foreign but not simply in terms of native speakers and foreign speakers, but in terms of how we see things as foreign in our own lives because they are differ- ent. Cavell is concerned with the more profound notion of the native and the foreign, and with the ways in which we can be anxiously preoccupied with the foreign and not question the native; this raises questions about our native culture and language and our relation to others. He offers a rich and more complex way of thinking about intercultural understanding, recognising the role of education in helping us to observe the strangeness of our lives. For a child to grow he requires family and familiarity, but for a grownup to grow he requires strange- ness and transformation, i.e., birth. (Cavell 1972, 60) Cavell’s philosophy as translation is about encountering the strange in the familiar. His is a call to discover and rediscover, continually, the strange and the familiar in our selves. It is not, he says, ‘the other that poses the first barrier to knowledge of him or her, but myself’. Language is important in rebuilding the self’s relationship to culture and to others, to our neighbour. Our relation to language is important because it is about ‘placing ourselves in the world’ (ibid.). To do this we need, as Saito and Standish (2008) have noted, a more subtle language that moves beyond the monolingualism of policy discourse and performativity; the university should be a place where this can begin. Higher education in translation As we saw earlier language is especially complex in the university and the language of performa- tivity pervades university life. Such a language is inappropriate for the work of the university because it denies the need for translation – everything is transparent and commensurable and translation is reduced to a technical problem. The discourse is persuasive but impoverished. Take for example accountability – it is conceived in terms of quality assurance systems with the result that a richer sense of accountability, of being accountable for our words and actions, of being held to account for our words and how we behave towards each other, is suppressed. This is particularly important in the university and all institutions of higher education; the father tongue is needed here otherwise it is not truly ‘higher’ education. Difficult and uncomfortable questions must always be asked and be allowed to be asked. Students, especially those in higher education, should be disturbed by what they read in the sense that taken-for-granted assumptions are chal- lenged, that they see the strange in the familiar. This requires a sensitivity and humility, and a way of thinking that is not found in the language of transparency and total quality systems that pervade policy documents and education more generally. If the previous argument holds, then the following is perhaps a key point. Often the cultural richness of the university is viewed primarily in terms of the diversity of the student population. 232 S. Harris It is important also to consider the diversity of ways of thinking about the world and our place in that world that comes to us through, for example, our engagement with the written word – the texts or canon of a subject. Texts need to be read and re-read, argued over and re-interpreted, for every generation. In so doing new ways are opened up to explore the question of how we are internationalised by an education that is higher, rather than how higher education is interna- tionalised; this is a question to be engaged with not only in a teaching context but throughout the cultural life of the university. It is also a question that draws attention to ourselves not so much as independent, fully autonomous beings, but as always in relation. In this paper the language of the internationalisation of higher education has been taken as a point of departure – an occasion for thought – from which to consider the concept of transla- tion. The internationalised university is a place where it is possible to acknowledge the richness that comes from different languages and cultures coming together – it allows moments of conversion which our cultural life needs and depends on. We have seen, however, that an understanding of translation as a merely technical matter of moving from one language to another is both limited and mistaken. The question of translation is not simply about how to accommodate linguistic diversity within a system of higher education but rather it is about the nature of meaning and this is and must remain a central concern of higher education, the univer- sity, and the wider public. Notes 1. ‘Communication’ is the term Bergdahl uses; in my translation of Benjamin the term used is ‘information’. Notes on contributor Suzy Harris is Professor of Education at Roehampton University. She is Director of the Centre for Research in Beliefs, Rights and Values in Education (BRaVE) and the Secretary of the Roehampton Branch of the Philosophy of Education Society Great Britain. She is also Editor of International Studies in Sociology of Education. Her current research is on the internationalisation of higher education in the UK and Europe, especially Spain where she has strong collaborative links. This work adopts a more philosophical approach to theorising higher education policy. References Benjamin, W. 1996a. The task of the translator. In Walter Benjamin, selected writings volume 1, 1913–1926, ed. M. Bullock, and M.W. Jennings. Harvard: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Benjamin, W. 1996b. On language as such and on the language of man. In Walter Benjamin, selected writings volume 1, 1913–1926, ed. M. Bullock, and M.W. Jennings. Harvard: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Bergdahl, L. 2008. Lost in translation – on the untranslatable and its ethical implications for religious pluralism. Paper presented at the ECER Annual Conference, 10–12 September, in Goteborg, Sweden. Cavell, S. 1972. The senses of Walden. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Derrida, J. 1982. The ear of the other. Otobiography, transference, translation. New York: Schocken Books. Derrida, J. 2005. What is a ‘relevant’ translation. In The translation studies reader, ed. L. Venuti. New York and London: Routledge. Eco, U. 2003. Mouse or rat? Translation as negotiation. London: Phoenix Press. European Commission. 1996. Teaching and learning: Towards the learning society. A White Paper on educa- tion and training. Luxembourg: Office for Official Publications of the European Communities. Harris, S. 2007a. The governance of education: How neo-liberalism is transforming policy and practice. London: Continuum Press. Harris, S. 2007b. Internationalisation and translation in the university. Paper presented at the Society for Research in Higher Education, Annual Conference, 11–13 December, in Brighton. Harris, S. 2008a. Internationalising the University, Educational Philosophy and Theory, 40(2) 346–357. London Review of Education 233 Harris, S. 2008b. La dimensión internacional de la universidad: Entre el modelo económico y el cultural. Estudios Sobre Educación 15: 87–98. Hogan, P. 1998. Europe and the world of learning: Orthodoxy and aspiration in the wake of modernity. Journal of Philosophy of Education 32, no. 3: 361–76. IRDAC. 1994. Quality and relevance: The challenge to European education. Brussels: Industrial Research and Development Advisory Committee. Knight, J. 2004. Internationalization remodelled: Definition, approaches, and rationales. Journal of Studies in International Education 8, no. 1: 5–31. Saito, N., and P. Standish. 2008. Crossing borders within: Stanley Cavell and the politics of interpretation. Unpublished paper. Simons, M. 2006. ‘Education through research’ at European universities: Notes on the orientation of academic research. Journal of Philosophy of Education 40, no. 1: 31–50. Smith, R., and P. Standish. 2001. ‘It lifted my sights’: Revaluing higher education in an age of new technol- ogy. In Taking education really seriously: Four years hard labour, ed. M. Fielding, 119–29. London: Falmer/ Routledge. Standish, P. 1999. Centre without substance: Cultural capital and The University in Ruins. Jahrbuch fur Erziehungswissenschaft 2: 83–103. Steiner, G. 1975. After Babel. Aspects of language and translation. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Thoreau, H.D. 1986. Walden. London: Penguin. Toyoshima, M. 2007. International strategies of universities in England. London Review of Education 5, no. 3: 265–80. Watson, D. 2007. Managing civic and community engagement. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Williams, K. 2000. Realism, rationalism, and the European project. In Universities remembering Europe, ed. F. Crawley, P. Smeyers, and P. Standish, 47–65. Oxford: Berghahn Books. 
work_vnumlnz3bramfb5eqz6cdzblda	----	Radio’s Home Folks, Vic and Sade: A Study in Aural Artistry By Fred E.H. Schroeder In its essence, radio of the “golden age” is pure oral production designed for pure auditory experience. Most criticism and appreciation for radio drama ignores the aural artistry and tends to be textual, sociological, historical or nostalgic in approach. Certainly each of these is valid, but the more they are intertwined with the essential sound communication, the closer we can come to understanding the total phenomenon. This interdisciplinary “anthropological” approach to the aesthetics of traditional oral literature was proposed to American folklorists in a trend- setting address by William R. Bascom a quarter-century ago,’ and although some of the factors that the folk-collector was admonished to record are irrelevant to radio drama (gestures, facial expressions, exchanges between artist and audience, etc.), others are significant. For example: What is the character of the audiences? How are they situated? Do they regard the performance as ritual, fact or entertainment? These introductory points may help to explain why I will be relating the art of the radio comedy series Vic and Sade (broadcast 1932-1946) to the arts of folk narration, and why the nature of the radio audience will help us to understand the operation of some of the oral-literary techniques in this quarter-hour daytime program whose audience was estimated to be as large as seven million listeners. The scripts of Vic and Sude were all written by one person, Paul Rhymer, and a number of these have been collected by his widow, Mary Frances Rhymer2, and published in two volumes with introductory essays by Ray Bradbury3 and Jean Shepherd.‘ Some of my references are drawn from these collections, others from undated and untitled recordings in my library. Readers are urged to acquaint themeslves both with the published scripts and with a sampling of recorded programs, because the art of Vic and Sade is inseparable from the voicee of the five talented actors who played the roles.5 I n the meantime, a brief descriptive history of the program is all the necessary background that is needed for understanding my critical remarks. Vic and Sade began with two primary characters, but very soon added a third one, a n adopted son, Rush, who was apparently Sade’s orphaned nephew. Later, Sade’s uncle, Fletcher Rush of Dixon, Illinois, joined the program; in World War 11, when the actor who played Rush was called into military service, a new boy, Russell, was substituted. Finally, in the last days of the series, it briefly became a half-hour evening show with a number of supporting characters. Essentially, however, Vie 263 264 Journal Of Popular Culture and Sade was a four-character play-Victor Gook, Sadie and Rush (or Russell) Gook, and Uncle Fletcher. My analysis of Vic and Sade takes four approaches: context, genre, technique and function. I n reality, of course, these approaches overlap and are separable only for convenience in understanding. In the most elementary analysis the main function is entertainment, the relevant genre is comedy, and the context is golden age daytime serial radio. But these simple labels lead to simplistic analyses so that we read into them the current nostalgia-cult for escapist soap opera. Certainly Vic and Sade shared the context of real soap operas, such as Young Widder Brown, Stella Dallas and Pepper Young’s Family. It shared the audience, which was largely married women, and the environment for listening, which was the home, and it shared the soap opera’s commercial sponsorship, in this case Proctor and Gamble’s products such as Ivory Flakes and Crisco. Like the soap operas, Vic and Sade was a weekday phenomenon and flourished during a period that almost perfectly coincided with the presidency of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, containing therefore the revolutionary and traumatic backdrop of the Great Depression and World War 11. Like the soap operas, Vic and Sade ignored the backdrop, and again like the soap operas it was marked by a continuing cast of characters who never listened to the radio. The context is therefore not unique. It is popular culture of a specific historical period. But it does not fall into the same genre as other members of its contextual class. First of all, it is comedy, rather than melodrama. Secondly, it is not a, serial and consequently lacks that most common characteristic of a serial, the cliff-hanger ending that sustains a continuing audience. The literary analogue for Vic and Sade is therefore the short story rather than the novel. The creative and technical demands upon the author were thus quite different from those of the author of the serials. Suspense is unnecessary, but unity is required. Non-serial drama must have a beginning, a middle and an end for each episode. The eight or nine-minute duration of day-time radio context is too long for gags or extended jokes, but far too brief for any derivation from the theatrical traditions of stage comedy such as is our inheritance from Greek Old Comedy with its sustained topicality and political satire, or Greek-Roman New Comedy, with its boy-meets-girl, boy-wins-girl in opposition to the will of the older generation. The brevity of the episodes is only one reason for this separation from stage comedy; the length of the run is another. Paul Rhymer wrote over two thousand playlets with the same four characters; a standard stageplot will not withstand the audience’s incredulity of such a long run. An unending serial plot will resist incredulity, and that is the way of the standard soap opera. A detective, legal, medical, adventure or comedy team incorporating a regular series of “guest villains,” problem cases or irritating intruders will, too, and that is the way of such long runs as Tarzan, Nick Carter, Nancy Drew, Dick Tracy, Perry Mason, Gunsmoke, I Love Lucy and Mary Tyler Moore.= The search for genre once more brings us back to the daytime serial, Radio’s Home Folks, Vic and Sade: 266 because Vic and Sade is like nearly all of the daytime serials in being current domestic drama about ordinary people. But this point of contact is only tangential, because the majority of serials’ “ordinary people” operate in a milieu of upwardly-mobile wish-fulfillment figures for trapped and frustrated ordinary women listeners. Both televsion and radio soap operas abound in doctors, lawyers, architects, artists and actors who are husbands 01 lovers, or who may even be the main female characters. These are not ordinary people. A comparison of telephone directory Yellow Page listings of those professions with the white pages will provide all the statistical proof of their rarity that we need. The exceptions to the “wish-fulfillment” cast of characters, such as Pepper Young’s Family, One Man’s Family and The Goldbergs in radio, and All In The Family and Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman in television are not exempt from the characteristic of striving for upward mobility. One Man’s Family and All in the Family, like Vic and Sade, are not serials, but neither are they daily programs. The long-running radio program One Man’s Family also shared the characteristic of not having outside or guest characters, but it was a low-keyed melodrama, not a comedy. Norman Lear’s television programs are satires of a topical nature, and in spite of all their debts to soap operas and domestic comedy, their overt satirical purpose and their specific allusions to current political, social and economic issues and fashions guarantee that they will be historical period pieces, soon requiring footnotes to explain quips about Watergate, Spiro Agnew, F’idel Castro and Johnny Carson. Obviously Vic and Sade is also a n artifact of its time. Radio drama is. Yet, aside from allusions to Mr. Gumpox’s horse and wagon (he is the garbage man), the apparent uniqueness of Rush’s going to high school (Sadie went only to elementary school), and such now-rare activities as going for a spin in the neighbor’s car (the Gooks don’t own a car), there is hardly a word to identify the dramas as stories of the 1930s. To the best of my knowledge, there are not allusions to World War 11. Vic and Sade is timeless. But it has a sense of place more specific than any serial drama or domestic comedy with which I am familiar. The city in which the Gooks live is Crooper, in central Illinois, forty miles from Peoria. (It is undoubtedly patterned after Bloomington, where Paul Rhymer attended Illinois Wesleyan University.) Cities are referred to daily. They are nearly all midwestern, some real, others fictional, like Dismal Seepage, Ohio; Drowsy Ear, Minnesota; and Yellow Jump, North Dakota. Moreover, the Gooks’s home on Virginia Avenue has a n aura of permanency. The living room easy chairs do not change their positions, the dining-room table and bureau are never replaced, the porch swing only changes with the seasons. Thus, although the geographic location is quite specific, the home and its furnishings have the same timelessness as do those of the comic-strip characters Dagwood and Blondie. Indeed, this may be the genre to which Vic and Sade belongs. Yet this still begs the question, leading us to ask what the genre of Blondie may be. Inquiring into the technique of Vic and Sade may be of some value here. Structurally the dramas are simple and have few variants. 266 J o u r n a l Of P o p u l a r C u l t u r e One, two or three of the characters are at home, and one other person enters, or there is some other outside intrusion such as a letter, a telephone call, a newspaper article or a passerby in the street or alley. There is never a scene that goes farther than the front porch, attic or cellar. All outside occurrences, even in the alley, are reported from within. There are no place or time transitions, no signals of “meanwhile” or “later.” I n short, Vie and Sade has perfect Aristotelian unities of action, place and time. But their midwestern world is immense, peopled with a large number of ordinary friends and acquaintances with exotic names and weirdly unique pasta and personalities. Rush’s friends include BlueTooth Johnson, who shares his delight in the unending series of Third-Lieutenant Clinton Stanley books (Third-Lieutenant Stanley’s exploits range from playing Yale and Harvard simultaneously to bashing a n Arab sheik with a camel wielded by the hind feet); Rotten Davis, a high-school dropout whose grandstanding acts are the talk of the town (Rotten took the blame for the collapse of a porch in the three-hundred block of Center Street, shouting his confession while frantically running about wearing a n aviator’s helmet and carrying a suitcase); Rooster Davis, who had twenty-five seats at the Bijou Theatre roped off with a sign stating that they were “Reserved for Mr. Davis,” and Smelly Clark who had his age changed from sixteen to twenty-one. Vic’s friends include especially his lodge brothers of the Sky Brothers of the Sacred Stars of the Milky Way: Robert and Slobbert Hink of Hoopestown, Y.Y. Flirch, Homer U. McDancey, H.K. Fleeber and Rishigan Fishigan of Sishigan, Michigan. Sadie’s best friend is Ruthie Stembottom, whose husband Fred is a constant irritant to Vic, and among her other acquaintances are Bertha Joiner, who went dotty from reading dime novels (and who only wore one shoe), Francis Kleek (also of Dixon) who always forgot to remove the shoehorns from his shoes, and the members of the Thimble Club, Mia’ Husher, Mis’ Razorscum, Mia’ Applerot and others. Uncle Fletcher’s not always clear memory is a teeming jungle of impossibles: Irma Flo Kessy, who was in the habit of slapping her husband‘s face in public, Henry Fedrock, who invented a n electric fingernail file and later died, Walter Hoygawper who married a woman sixteen and three-quarters years old, Charlie Keller, formerly of Sweet Esther, Wisconsin, where he was a n armed guard in the Wisconsin State Home for the Obstinate, and others. This mad roster should not cause us to forget the other realities of Vie and Sade. Its primary characters were ordinary people; their homelife was completely unnewsworthy. It was daytime radio with the same audience of housewives who listened to The Romance of Helen Trent and Ma Perkins. It was low-keyed, without shouting, bickering, slapstick or raucous studio audience. It was regional, and one nods in partial agreement with comparisons to Penrod, Winesburg, Ohio, and Dandelion Wine. Rhymer was from Illinois, the program was broadcast from Chicago, the sponsoring company was in Cincinnati. Yet for thirteen years it drew a n immense audience nationwide. We must look deeper, although the explanations already implied are certainly valid. It is non-threatening entertainment. It Radio’s Home Folks, Vic and Sade: 257 is closely related to serial domestic drama. It is middle-class, middle America i n milieu. Jean Shepherd‘s explanations for the popular appeal and the artistic quality of Vic and Sade are of two sorts. First, he identifies it with Theater of the Absurd. It is surrealistic. Shepherd is quite right about this. The surrealistic painters, the Absurd dramatists, the fantasy novelists all take familiar objede, familiar situations, familiar persons and distort them, much or little, and place them into surprising and disturbing environments and juxtapositions. But Vic and Sade neither surprises nor disturbs. It remains familiar and ordinary as neither Dali, Magritte, Beckett nor Ionesco does. And Theatre of the Absurd does not win audiences of millions of “white-pages” housewives. Shepherd also points to Paul Rhymer’s ability to write real dialogue rather than comic oneliners. Rhymer wrote “with a n absolutely true ear for the rhythms and inflections of American speech.” There is a pattern, rhythm and texture to Rhymer’s scripts, whether we read them or hear them, that coincides with the overall unity of these eight-minute interludes. The unities of time, place and action are coupled with a beginning, middle and end that is necessary for non-serial art. I n many cases, the Vic and Sade dramas end as they began: one opens with Russell reading from Third- Lieutenant Stanley, and ends with his rereading the same passage. In between, there is a style of presentation that has the same strange unity as a Chekov play-performed in the style of Orson Welles’ Mercury Players of the 1930s. I n the episode just referred to, Vic, Sade and Russell go their separate oral ways, pursuing their own thoughts. Russell reads from his book, Sade reads the social page of the paper concerning Miss Pom Pom Cordova, and Vic, drowsing in his easy chair, is awakened by Russell’s interruptions, and thereupon joins Sade’s thoughtline. Vic introduces the information that Miss Pom Pom Cordova was instrumental in helping E.W. Smith break his habit of stealing horses. Sade is skeptical of both Pom Pom and E.W. Smith, but agrees, in a dry tone, to give a going-away party for Miss Pom Pom, who is one of very, very few women ever to have been selected as honorary members of the Sacred Stars of the Milky Way. At the beginning and at the end of this episode the dialogue as performed overlaps; in the middle of the drama, there is a lucid exchange of questions and answers, but throughout there are ironic asides from Sade, and disgruntled murmurings from Russell, whose oral rendition has been ignored by his parents. The recorded performance is marred by a n obvious headcold for Bemardine Flynn, the actress who played Sade, and a few flubbed lines by Arthur Van Harvey, who played Vic, and yet it is a perfectly wrought drama, with a unified texture. The announcer’s introduction is significant too, as I will explain later. He says: “...the placid tableau argues that our friends are spending a quiet evening at home ....” This announcer, as Jean Shepherd says, is somehow part of the drama. Once again, Shepherd is right. Paul Rhymer wrote the introductions and closings (not the commercials), and they do share the same literary word choices that are part of Vic’s and Rush’s (or Russell’s) dialogues. But I wish to take the word 268 Journal Of P o p u l a r C u l t u r e The principal cast of Vic and Sade: (left to right) Billy Idelson as Rush, Bemardine Flynn as Sade and Art Van Harvey aa Vic. tableau as a transition to my next point. The tableau is one of the conventions or “laws” of folk narrative identified by the Danish philologist Axel Olrik in 1909.7 These epic laws of folk narrative have withstood the test of time, according to such modern folklorists as Alan Dundes and J a n Brunvand. A surprising number of these conventions apply to Vie and Sade. My original reason for looking into folk traditions, however, was because of the brevity of these radio dramas. The usual length of a drama (90 to 120 minutes) as wemeet it on the stage, in film and on evening television seems to derive from classical tradition. Folk drama, on the other hand, can vary from minor skits to cycles and mummeries that might last a day or more. Frankly, my search for folk drama analogues has been cursory, because I doubted that they would yield demonstrable causal antecedents or a developmental line. That is to say, I doubt that Paul Rhymer, confronted by the problem of writing a n eight-minute drama, sandwiched between two commercial messages, performed in a new medium i n which the actors were invisible and remote from the audience, pondered whether to draw upon the tradition of the mystery play, the Nigerian skit, the Elizabethan interlude or the burlesque routine. Or that he studied comic strips, Chaplin movies or Grimms’ fairy tales to learn how to write for radio. But I do not doubt that there are successful patterns and conventions of oral narrative that storytellers know, consciously, unconsciously, as the result of indoctrination and apprenticeship, and subconsciously, as a part of cultural conditioning and as a genetically-endowed deep structure of archetypes. I realize that I have mixed together the argot of several schools Radio’s Home Folks, Vic and Sade: 259 of anthropology and psychoanalysis, and I realize that I have said and rather than or or and/or. I have also deliberately used the folk-term storytellers. Paul Rhymer is a storyteller, working in a new context in which all communication is by means of voice, a n art form that had only one predecessor in the strictest sense, this being the phonograph record. Aside from the strictest sense, though, there is the immensely long tradition of story telling, Modem folklorists are now keenly aware of how gestures, facial expressions, movements and audience responses are part of the act of storytelling, but a great deal of storytelling has always had a “radio” quality around dim fires in straw huts, igloos and caves. It does not seem necessary that we must picture blind Homer, or whitesuited Mark Twain, or the African Ogotomelli as frenetically performing for their audiences like Jerry Lewis or Danny Kaye. They may have done so, but I still think it safe to speculate that there has always been a tradition of storytelling that is strictly oral-aural, with little or no dependence upon visual experience, and that verbal-entertainment radio drew upon that tradition. It may be a partial explanation of why we in radio’s golden age so often listened together in the dark. The two preceding speculative paragraphs are intended to establish some basis for a folk narrative tradition that any artist of the word can draw upon, consciously, unconsciously and subconsciously, regardless of whether the artist is or is not a member of a traditional society, and, concomitantly, that the audience will respond to these traditions with affirmation, if not always with conscious understanding. The tableau (a visuul formation) is identified by Olrik as one of the common characteristics of folk (oral) narrative. Some major participants are held, frozen as it were, in a closely grouped formation while the narrator comments. I n highly developed form, this continues in the Japanese kabuki (and of course in the woodblock prints deriving from kabuki), in the haiku poem, in European grand opera, in television drama, and, of course, in comics. In Vic and Sade, the announcer often begins with a tableau, and it is very rare to have a n episode end with action or movement. This leads me to another of Olrik’s laws, that of low-keyed, calm openings and closings. To Olrik, it was almost as if the storyteller, bard or singer felt obliged to make the exit from fantasy into reality as easy as the entrance. Vic and Sade episodes do not end on a climax, surprise or emotional upbeat. They end flat, and usually are capped by a statement from the announcer, “So ends another brief interlude in the small house half-way up on the next block.” The last phrase was repeated regularly for thirteen years. It is only one example from Vic and Sade of Olrik’s Law of Repetition. Repetition, Olrik believed, provided emphasis to the narrative, while Claude Levi-Strauss feels that repetition makes the structure of the myth apparent.8 I n either case, the significant fact is the sensory medium-sound-which is temporal and ephemeral. Spoken sound is capable of many patterns-meter, cadence, loud-and-soft, alliteration, caesura, scales and so on. Verbal repetition, however, is the only one that conveys meaning and is therefore doubly emphatic. The sound-patterning that is achieved in Vic and Sade by 260 J o u r n a l Of P o p u l a r Culture repetition is not found in regular serial dramas. It is too stylized for serious dialogue in the naturalistic mode, drawing attention to artifice and texture of composition. In comedy, or in poetic narrative, or in heroic drama, either artifice or art is proper, and the device of repetition is shared with folk narrative. Let us remember, though, that the medium is radio, and comedy or not, there is no other way of producing pattern than by sound. There are few radio programs that were really memorable. I believe that all memorable radio dramas used repetition and patterned speech. One “law” of Alex Olrik does not apply. This is his law of two characters for a scene. Very likely the reason for this “law” was that storytellers are hard-pressed to perform more than two characters a t once. Radio had no such creative limitations (except for ventriloquists) at the production end, but it was soon found that for listeners, more than four voices were a crowd. Even so, it is remarkable how many Vic and Sade dramas used only two characters. And (although here I speak from a n impression rather than from statistical study) it does appear that repetition increases with the number of characters. Thus, in Vic and Sade, two-character episodes are unpatterned dialogue; when another character is introduced, the litany begins. Paul Rhymer seems to have recognized that when more than two characters are used, the device of repetition is needed to maintain unity and to reduce noise. Olrik also describes the “law of the single strand,” that is, unity of plot, and the “law of internal logic,” according to which there is a n internal validity to the happenings, no matter how fanciful they may seem to the outer reality. This is more akin to the transformations of modern structuralism than simply to Coleridge’s “suspension of disbelief.” It is not the audience who permits the surrealism of Vic and Sade, rather, it is the structural consistency or internal logic that makes the plots valid and reasonable. Earlier in this essay I spoke of Vic and Sade Gook a s being ordinary people. Somewhat later I mentioned some of the extraordinary people and occurrences of pseudo-Bloomington, Illinois. These are in polar opposition, but they are both true. Whenever such a paradox occurs, we may well suspect that myth rather than mere folktale is what we are dealing with. Myth, in the terms of Levi-Strauss, mediates between conflicting opposites. Which brings me finally to the function of Vic and Sade. The audience for Vic and Sade was women. Housewives, in a day when Rosalind Russell characters and Rosie the Riveter were the only models for (‘career” women. Housewives, in a day when there was no escape from the tedium of housework, and the almost exclusive companionship of other housewives and children. Divorce was not a socially acceptable solution to incompatibility; working wives were frowned upon until war work after 1942; higher education or continuing education was regarded as useless luxury for women; and all this social disapproval was intensified in lower and middle income families, where inachievable escapist popular culture was the only balm. Frothy Hollywood musicals, “silver screen” gossip magazines, true romance pulps, women’s formula novels and radio serial Radio’s Home Folks, Vic and Sade: 261 melodrama offered unrealistic patterns for fantasizing. Vic and Sade did not belong to t h i s class of entertainment, but as one looks carefully into the episodes, it becomes increasingly clear that Sade is the main character. Vic and Sade is about Sade. Some information that we can learn about the character Sade includes the fact that she did not go beyond elementary school. She is not a n intellectual. Her husband and son speak in a language that she does not comprehend. Rush picks up a bookish style of discourse from Third- Lieutenant Stanley, and this contributes greatly to the oral texture of the program. Vic is a n ironist who gently but humorously satirizes the trivial boyish antics of Rush and the housewifely minor crises of Sade’s life by means of hyperbole. A passage from a script entitled “Nicer Scott Has a Ten-Dollar Bill” will illustrate. Rush’s friend “Nicer” is confronted by a moral dilemma as a result of his sudden riches: RUSH: ... They’d (his parents) put it in Nicer’s savings account down at the bank. See, that’s always been the big trouble with sizeablegifta. They’re nogood. Nicer’s got a whole slew of uncles an’ aunts ’hat send him money every Christmas .... He likes the on- that send him fifty cents up to three dollars because he gets to spend them kind of amounts without anybody interferin’. V I C An interesting slant on the financial problems of our very young. Reminds me of the days when I waa a coral-lipped baby, my soft blue eyeg an’ golden hair.... RUSE. Mom, Nicer wants metostayallnight withhim. Heneedemymoralsupport.Afterwhat’s happened he’s all unstrung. . . . Why, right this minute Nicer Scott’s sittin’ over on his front steps pale as a ghost His fingera are twitching an’ he’s turning alternately hot an’ cold. He complains of a buzzin’ in his skull an’ spots before his eyes. Chilly perspiration beads his forehead an’ a n occasional convulsive shudder racks his frame. He licks his lips with agitation an’. . . . VIC: You’re quotin’ word for word from Third-Lieutenant Clinton Stanley. Sade’s speech patterns, on the other hand, are marked by malaprops, distorted proverbs, mixed metaphors and skewed similes. “Every night of the universe,” “just as calm as your necktie,” “I’d like to have your divided attention,” “easy as rolling off a duck’s back,” “when somebody gets mamed I get as excited as a horse,” “squeeze my pennies ’ti1 the eagle howls,” “kick a home run,” and so on. But the tone and the context is never degrading to Sade. It is not like Archie Bunker’s ignorant use of language, which is designed to place his social and political pronouncements into the mouth of one to whom we will feel superi0r;g it is not like Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s original Mrs. Malaprop, or Shakespeare’s pedant Holofernes, whose solecisms are the result of intellectual pretensions. Sade is ignorant, not shallow or pompous. Her unusual speech does not stand out from the stylized, equally unusual diction of the men of her family. The language style of Vic and Sade is marked by exaggerated diction applied to realistic dialect, or in linguistic terms, the phonemic and morphemic bases are natural, while the semantic transformations are contrived. This brings me once more to the paradox of ordinary people and surrealistic exotics existing harmoniously side by side. The difference between Vic, Sade, Rush, Uncle Fletcher and their listening audience is not as it is in escapist romantic melodrama; the uniqueness does not derive from caste, class, money or poeition; rather, the fantasy of Mr. Gumpox, Chuck 262 J o u r n a l Of P o p u l a r Culture and Dotty Brainfeeble, Smelly Clark and Virgil Dejectedly of Winona, Minnesota, derives from idiosyncratic exaggerations of ordinary people. I n short, Paul Rhymer was not so much a satirist as a celebrant. Like Henry David Thoreau, who showed to us the universe in our back yards, Rhymer showed to us humanity in all its variety in our neighborhoods. Vic and Sade celebrates the infinite variety of ordinary people. Mrs. Rhymer recalls that her husband’s only reference to the burden of his work was a remark that he had written more words than Charles Dickens. Surely his statement was more than quantitative; Dickens’ characters, even the fictional Sairy Gamp’s fictional friend Mrs. Harris, have more life than all the glamorous heroes and heroines of two millenia of romantic novels. I n all the comedy of Vic and Sade there is a core of dignity. Occasionally this is allowed to rise into prominence, as in two of the scripts that have been published. In one Vic and Rush are playing cards--“Rummies,” as Sade would term it-and Vic seizes the opportunity to talk to Rush about his mother. VIC: Seems to me, Sam, I’ve noticed you’re beginning to take your mother kinda cool. By that I mean ... well, you’re apt to be a little careless in what you say to her ... i n the way you treat her. . . . Bullfkog, little kids stick pretty close to their mother’s apron strings till they’re your age. When they get around thirteen or fourteen they’re liable to let go some. That’s natural. A lad gets to be a dozen years old or so an’ he finds new interests away from home an’ gets to be a pretty busy guy. That keeps up the older he grows. After he’s twenty he’s apt to get married any time an’thenhe’s almost completely cut off from his parenta. That’s good, that’s fine, that’s the way things are. RUSH: I don’t see what.. . VIC: Let me say some more here. The upshot of what I’m tryin’ to say is, as a boy grows older his mother is gradually going out of business. A woman’s business is her family an’ she works a t it an’ enjoys it an’ sometimes makes it pay an’ sometimes doesn’t. . . . You don’t do it purposely. You’re not mean about it. But she’ll say a thing that sounds a little.. .foolish may be... an’ you’ll rib her about it. RUSH: When’d I do that? VIC: Well ... the other day Mom said something about New York City being on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. You rode over her pretty rough-shod. Laughed kinda nasty. Other examples are provided, gently, with a few comic asides, and the brief interlude ends, with profounder understanding of the “empty nest” syndrome among millions of listening women. The other script that probes deeply into the lives of women whose business is that of housewife is different and requires some introduction. Victor Gook is not by any means a n oasis of wisdom and sanity in the mad world of Vic and Sade. Like Dagwood, he has absurd enthusiasms. His “lodge” is the most obvious, but he also is subject to silly social-climbing (for example, purchasing business cards naming him to all sorts of undeserved titles), he is a n overage jock (quarreling with a neighbor about who gets to wear the catcher’s mitt in a 1 alley game of catch), and he gets inordinately irritated with Fred Stembr ttom’s idiosyncracies. One night, in bed, Sade wakes Vic to discuss this last foible: SADE: When you an’ Fred have these flare-ups, naturally the wife sticks with the husband. I Radio’s Home Folks, Vic and S d e : 263 noticed it tonight. I was peeved when Fred was laughin’ a t your work, and Ruthie waa peeved when you were makin’ fun of Fred‘s baseball players an’ his auto. We just couldn’t help it. We tried to, but it was bound to show a little. Like I said, Ruthie is my best friend. My w r y best friend. I’m with other ladies a lot, yes-Mis’ Donahue an’ Mis’ Harris an’ Mis’ Brighton an’ Mis’ Applerot- but it’s not the same. Maybe it’s because they’re alittle older t h a n I am. Maybe it’s because they’re a little brighter i n the head an’ got more education. I don’t know what it is. But I’m not the same with them as I a m with Ruthie. With Ruthie I can laugh an’ cry an’ fight an’ gossip an’ get along just marvelous. With other ladies I sort of feel like here I a m a woman that ain’t a girl a n y longer an’ got a fourteen year old boy to boot. See? VIC: Um. SADE: Ruthie an’ I get along a lot like kids get along. It’s hard for married ladies with families to have close friends where you can just take your hair down. An’ Ruthie’s the only close friend like t h a t I got. The only one I ever will have probably.. .because I’m getting along to a n age where women don’t make close friends. Sensitive people, and feminists in particular, will recognize the poignant commentary on traditional injustices in the institutions of marriage and womanhood, but these passages transcend mere social commentary. They are applicable to far more fragile and precious relationships that we must all tend, and guard, and balance and adjust. It is about friendship, the marriage of true minds of which Shakespeare writes in Sonnet #116. Love, dignity, forgiveness and restraint are the wages that we must pay to earn joyful friendship. Joy is the end of Vie and Sade; comedy, the instrument. And that is the climax of this essay. But if I am to remain true to Olrik’s laws of narration a denouement is called for. To summarize, Vie and Sade is closely related to both domestic comedy and serial drama, but its serious purpose is to aid people in coping with life’s realities rather than escaping them. It is regional literature of a particular era in America’s history but it transcends both place and time, partly because of oral technical artifice that provides delight irrespective of content or meaning, partly because it partakes of the characteristics of the category of folk narration that is designated as myth. As myth, its apparent absurdities mediate between opposites in human affairs; the ordinary and the extraordinary, the local and the universal, the passing of time and the permanence of the structure of family relationships whose transformations admit a n infinity of individuals in a n endless succession of small houses, half-way up on the next block. Notes ’William R. Bascom, “Four Functions of Folklore,” i n Alan Dundes, The Study o f Folklore (Englewood Cliff: Prentice-Hall, 1965), pp. 279-298. The article first appeared i n the Journal of American Folklore i n 1954 (67266, pp. 333349. 2Mrs. Rhymer h a s deposited the Vic and Sade papers at the State Historical Society of Wisconsin in Madison where they are available for study on a restricted baais. 3 T ~ Small House Half-Way U p in the Next Block (New York Mcgraw-Hill, 1972). 5Recordings are available at many libraries having audio collections a n d may be purchased Vic and Sade (New York: Seabury, 1976). from dealers in “old time” or “nostalgic” radio. 264 Journal Of Popular Culture 6A fuller treatment of serial techniques can be foundin my “Video Aesthetica and Serial Art,” published originally in Western Humanities Review 24:4 (Autumn, 1973), reprinted in Television: the Critical View, ed. Horace Newcomb (New York Oxford University Press, 1976), andin revised form in my Outlaw Ae8thetk8. Art8 and the Public Mind (Bowling Green: Popular Press, 1977. ’Axel Olrik “Epic Laws of Folk Literature,” in Dundes op. cit., pp. 129-141. For a contrasting view of “fine art” dramatic literature, cf. Gilbert Highet, The Classical Tradition (New York Oxford University R e a s Galaxy edition, 1957), pp. 127-131. Claude Levi-Strauss, Structural Anthropology (New York Basic Books, 1963) pp. 229-230. gAlfred F. Rosa and Paul A. Escholz, “Bunkerisms: Archie’s Suppository Remarka in All in the Family,” Journal of Popular Culture, 6 2 (Fall, 1972), pp. 270-278. Fred Schroeder is Professor of Humanities and Behavioral Science at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. He is the author of the Popular fiead Outkaw Ae8thetk8 and is currently editing two collections of articles on early popular culture andon popular culturein museums and libraries. 
work_vpnrondw5zbtdjdbewompijfdu	----	Countering “the anesthesia of destruction”: Information and Pathos in the Work of J.M.G. Le Clézio, Barry Lopez, and Vandana Shiva Scott Slovic ABSTRACT This article studies a type of numbness, a dulling of sensitivity that occurs when the human mind receives particular kinds of information concerning accidents, tragic events or large-scale calamities. It particularly explores the causes and the social and environmental results of this numbness. The latter has been called “the anesthesia of destruction” by Indian social and environmental activist Vandana Shiva, referring to the human tendency to turn off our feelings and become anesthetized by information about destruction. The research into this reaction, or lack of reaction, matters a great deal since how the information about these issues is presented to us, whether we are talking about human suffering or what is happening in the natural world, has everything to do with how we think and act in the world. The article uses Shiva’s descriptor of the feeling of indifference and numbness, “the anesthesia of destruction”, to examine stories in The Round and Other Cold Hard Facts Light Action in the Caribbean: Stories by Barry Lopez. These are literary examples from authors deeply involved in the effort to use fiction as a way of making readers think more seriously about social responsibility and the psychology of engagement. Keywords: “the anesthesia of destruction”, information, suffering, responsibility, engagement RESUMEN Este artículo investiga un cierto tipo de adormecimiento emocional, la clase de sensibilidad tibia que tiene lugar cuando la mente humana recibe alguna información particular sobre accidentes, eventos trágicos o calamidades de gran escala. Específicamente explora las causas y las consecuencias sociales y ambientales de esta parálisis emocional. Esta última ha sido denominada “la anestesia de la destrucción” por la activista social y ambiental india Vandana Shiva y se refiere a la tendencia humana de desconectar nuestras emociones, quedar anestesiados por la información sobre la destrucción. Esta investigación sobre esta reacción, o falta de reacción, es importante ya que dependiendo de cómo se presenta esta información, sea sobre el sufrimiento humano o lo que sucede en el mundo natural, la manera en que pensamos y actuamos en el mundo se verá afectada directamente. El artículo utiliza el descriptor de estos sentimientos de indiferencia e inacción, “la anestesia de la destrucción” acuñado por Shiva, para analizar algunos cuentos de The Round and Other Cold Hard Facts Light Action in the Caribbean: Stories de Barry Lopez. Estos son ejemplos literarios de autores profundamente involucrados con el esfuerzo de usar la ficción como un medio para que los lectores piensen más detenidamente sobre la responsabilidad social y el compromiso psicológico. Palabras clave: “la anestesia de la destrucción”, información, sufrimiento, responsabilidad, compromiso Esta obra está bajo una Licencia Creative Commons Atribución – No Comercial – Sin Obra Derivada 4.0 Internacional. Revista de Culturas y Literaturas Comparadas. Volumen 5 - Año 2014 Why does a certain numbness, a dulling insensitivity, occur when the human mind receives particular types of information and what are the social and environmental results of this numbness, this lack of feeling? At first glance, this might not seem to be a very “literary” question—or a question with clear social implications. But I would argue that our reaction to information is profoundly important in all social and environmental contexts, especially if these are situations that may call for engagement or action of some kind. If there is a problem, such as another person who might be injured in an accident or perhaps suffering from extreme poverty or hunger, and if we heard about this person, we may wish to help out. If the information is presented to us in certain ways, we might be more or less likely to be compelled to help. The same thing might be true in an environmental context. In the twenty-first century, we are constantly receiving information through the media about existing or potential environmental threats, ranging from global climate change to the status of certain kinds of wild animals and whether they should be protected or not. Here in Idaho, where I live, one of the major controversies is about wolves and whether they should be protected in the wild mountains in the middle of our state. But how the information about these issues is presented to us, whether we are talking about human suffering or what is happening in the natural world, has everything to do with how we think and act in the world. The topic of information, communication, and audience response is very much a literary subject. My new book Numbers and Nerves: Information, Emotion, and Meaning in a World of Data, which I have written and edited with my father Paul Slovic, a distinguished psychologist, is a collection of scholarly articles and literary essays that study how the human mind responds to quantitative information—to numbers. We are particularly interested in what psychologist Robert Jay Lifton called “psychic numbing” in his prize-winning 1968 book Death in Life—this term refers to the tendency of the human mind to shut down, to become insensitive, when confronted with large-scale phenomena. Lifton developed his concept after World War II when he visited Hiroshima, Japan, and studied the psychological effects of the atomic bomb in Hiroshima. But his concept also applies to the kind of information that all of us receive today through the news media and through other forms of communication, including literature, about what’s happening in the world. In 1995, he and Greg Mitchell wrote, “The tendency toward numbing can even extend to everyday forms of human interaction” (59). In other words, psychic numbing and its paralyzing effect on human action can occur even in ordinary situations if we are numbed by particular kinds of information—it is not a concept reserved for cataclysmic situations, such as the use of nuclear weapons. For the book Numbers and Nerves, I have also interviewed several important writers and artists to ask them questions about their use of various communication strategies in order to overcome the numbing effects of numerical information and other desensitizing modes of communication. One of the people I interviewed was the Indian social and environmental activist and author Vandana Shiva. I traveled to New Delhi, India, in 2006 to talk with her. During our interview, she stated that information about social and environmental damage is likely to result in what she called “the anesthesia of destruction,” and this phrase—“anesthesia of destruction”—really stuck with me. In other words, when we receive bad news about certain kinds of problems, we—that is, human beings—have a tendency to turn off our feelings, to be anesthetized by the information about destruction. This tendency is a survival instinct, a way of not being excessively distracted by disturbing or scary information and perhaps a way of focusing on our own immediate survival. It may once have been a useful instinct, this kind of tunnel vision that resulted from being insensitive to the suffering of others, but in the Countering “the anesthesia of destruction”: Information and Pathos in the Work of J.M.G. Le Clézio, Barry Lopez, and Vandana Shiva. Scott Slovic twenty-first century, when there are major problems occurring all over the world in both human and environmental contexts, it seems important for us to overcome our tendency to look away, to be insensitive to that which is not happening directly in front of our eyes. Along these lines, ecocritic Rob Nixon, a South African who now works in the United States at the University of Wisconsin, describes at great length the complex challenges we face in “apprehending” the slow, large-scale, and often invisible “violence” that occurs throughout the world—this is the focus of his 2011 book Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor. My 1992 book Seeking Awareness in American Nature Writing studies the psychological phenomenon of consciousness, or paying attention, as a central theme in the work of important environmental writers in the United States, such as Henry David Thoreau and Annie Dillard, showing how these and other writers focus on the habits of the human mind as well as on “nature” in the outside world. But recent ecocriticism, as in Nixon’s work, we see a focus not only on the perception, or the very imperceptibility, of natural phenomena immediately surrounding the human observer but on vast, planetary processes or on phenomena happening in distant regions of the world—a focus on “slow” phenomena that we, as individual human beings, cannot detect. Literature itself serves as a way of challenging readers’ tendency to become insensitive and inactive in the face of barely perceptible violence in our daily lives. I would like to present a few specific literary examples from authors I believe are deeply involved in the effort to use fiction as a way of making readers think more deeply about social responsibility and the psychology of engagement. One of these writers is 2008 French Nobel prize-winner in literature, J.M.G. Le Clézio; the other is prominent American fiction writer and essayist Barry Lopez, who won the National Book Award for nonfiction in 1986 for his book Arctic Dreams. It may seem a little odd to compare such different authors here, but to do this kind of comparative work—using the psychology of sensitivity and insensitivity as a link—is one of the major trends in current ecocriticism. Ecocritic Patrick D. Murphy makes a strong argument about this in his chapter titled “Refining Through Redefining Our Sensibilities: Nature-Oriented Literature as an International and Multicultural Movement,” which appeared in his book Farther Afield in the Study of Nature-Oriented Literature in 2000. Murphy sees a problem with the narrow focus on a single ethnic or national literature and suggests that ecocritics should seek to place environmental texts in “an internationally relative and comparative framework” (58). One of the reasons for this is to show how authors engage with social and environmental issues and experiences that typically transcend national borders. Another reason is to demonstrate the universal habits and processes of the human mind—in other words, psychic numbing and the effort to use literature as a means of challenging this psychological tendency is a transnational phenomenon. This is the rationale for what I’m doing with Le Clézio and Lopez. I will begin my discussion of fiction with Le Clézio’s short story collection La ronde et autres fair divers, which was published in French in 1982 and then published in English, with the title The Round and Other Cold Hard Facts, in 2002. This collection of eleven short stories begins with the title story, “The Round.” Not all of the stories are especially environmental, but a few of them are clearly about place or about how certain fictional characters understand their human identity in relation to geography. The issues of geographical identity tend to be related to the experience of exile—that is, what happens to our self-understanding when we go away from the places we once lived, either leaving voluntarily in order to pursue our lives or sometimes leaving because we are compelled to seek work in a new place, even though we did not want to leave our homes and our families. Two of the later stories in the collection, titled “Villa Aurora” Revista de Culturas y Literaturas Comparadas. Volumen 5 - Año 2014 and “The Runner,” are profoundly moving tales about emotional connection to place and the suffering that occurs as a result of exile and, in one case, even the emotional suffering that occurs when one returns to a former home and sees how it is being changed. “The Round,” the title story, establishes a psychological pattern in the book, which is relevant to what comes in the later stories. “The Round” is a story of two girls who are studying to be secretaries. It seems to be set in the southern French city of Nice, which is where the author spent part of his childhood. The two girls seem to be teenagers—old enough to have boyfriends and to be driving around the city on mopeds (small motorcycles). The girls, named Titi and Martine, are excited about joining other young boys and girls in a kind of moped gang, racing through the city streets, dodging the automobile traffic. We learn early in the story that Martine loves this particular experience. Le Clézio puts us in the mind of Martine early in the story, writing: Now that she’s off on the moped, Martine no longer feels the fear in her body. Maybe the vibrations of the moped, the smell and warmth of the gas fumes have filled up all the empty places in her. Martine really loves riding mopeds, especially on a day like today, when the sun is shining brightly and the air isn’t chilly. She loves to slip through the automobiles, her face turned up a bit sideways to avoid breathing in the wind, and go fast! (5-6) Throughout the early pages of the text, there is a repeated emphasis on some kind of fear that Martine has. Not a fear related to riding the mopeds, but a social fear— a fear and also perhaps an excitement about her interactions with the other young people. The fear seems to occur in her when she sees boys on the streets of the city. At one point, a few pages into the story, Le Clézio writes, “she understands that the world is waiting for something, that something has to happen” (5). We think it probably has something to do with Martine’s possibility of developing a relationship with the other young people mentioned earlier in the story or perhaps with one of the boys in particular. As the narrative continues, we learn that the youths have a kind of game that they engage in, a sort of dare-devil activity, where they race through the empty streets of the city toward a turnaround—what some people might call a “roundabout” or a “rotary.” This is what the title of the story, “The Round,” refers to. The narrative describes a street: “Liberty Street is empty and white, with the sun high at its peak, crushing the shadows, the deserted sidewalks, the buildings with their windows like brank eyes, the cars slipping slowly along. How can everything be so calm, so far away?” (8). Then the next paragraph describes a woman waiting for a bus: It’s all because of her, just her; the woman in the blue suit is waiting for the bus, not looking at the girls, a bit as if she were sleeping. Her face is red because she’s been walking in the sun, and the white blouse under her blue suit jacket clings to her skin. Her small eyes are set deeply in their sockets; they don’t see anything, or just barely, furtively, down at the end of the street, where the bus should be coming from. (8) Then we learn that Martin “races the engine [of her moped], and the moped lunges forward on the pavement” (9). The following paragraph seems to digress and mentions a blue moving van: Several blocks away, not far from the train station, the blue moving van is pulling slowly away, loaded with furniture and boxes. It’s an old truck that sits up high on its wheels, painted an ugly color of blue, that successive drivers have brutalized for over a million Countering “the anesthesia of destruction”: Information and Pathos in the Work of J.M.G. Le Clézio, Barry Lopez, and Vandana Shiva. Scott Slovic miles, slamming on the brakes and grinding the gears into place. (9) Le Clézio puts these elements, these actors, into motion: a woman waiting at a bus stop, two young girls racing through the seemingly empty streets on their mopeds, and an old, heavily laden truck lurching through the city, several blocks away. Titi is following Martine. There is a strange lack of emotion in describing the girls as they race through the streets toward “the round,” the turnaround point at the end of their route. It is as if the girls are the only people alive in the city. Le Clézio writes: In the new buildings, behind the windows like so many lifeless eyes, are strangers who are barely alive, hidden by the membranes of their curtains, blinded by the pearly screens of their television sets. They don’t see the cruel light or the sky; they don’t hear the sharp cry of the mopeds that sound something like screams... Inside the cells of their locked apartments, the adults don’t know what goes on outside; they don’t want to know who’s going around in the empty streets, on the frenzied mopeds. (11) There is a great emphasis here on dispassion, on an absence of emotion, on a failure of human sympathy or sensitivity. There is also a special emphasis on the parents of the girls—or just older people in general—not being aware of the activities and feelings of the young people. The girls continue racing toward the round. Titi passes Martine as they complete their race through the streets, and Martine, we learn, “feels a great emptiness deep inside of her, because now the round is finished, and she can’t have that high feeling anymore” (12). Even this emptiness, though, is at least a feeling, a kind of emotional intensity—better than no feeling at all, the numbness of the people inside the buildings, unaware of the drama playing out on the streets. A few lines later, the blue moving van “comes out of a side street, just like an animal, and its hood catches the moped [Martine’s moped] up and smashes it to the ground in a terrific crash of metal and glass” (12-13). The language of Le Clézio’s narrative is strikingly unemotional. It is clinical. The title of the book is The Round and Other Cold Hard Facts, and the find lines of the title story, in particular, are cold and hard. Here is how the author narrates the scene after the horrific accident, where the van strikes the girl on her moped: Silence settles back down on the street, in the middle of the intersection. On the pavement, behind the blue truck, Martine’s body is sprawled, flopped over on itself like a rag. There’s no pain, not yet, as she lies there looking up at the sky, eyes wide, lips trembling slightly. Instead, an unbearably intense emptiness is slowly creeping over her as dark rivulets of blood trickle from her crushed legs. Lying on the pavement not far from her arm, as if someone had stupidly forgotten it there on the ground, is the black leather bag, with its gilt metal clasp glinting murderously. (13) At first glance this might seem to have nothing to do with environmental literature or ecocriticism, but I would connect this fictional scene to Shiva’s idea of the “anesthesia of destruction”—to the psychology of the human mind’s response to violence or, rather, to the lack of response. This particular story, which uncannily combines rich narrative detail and an absence of emotional content, spurs us, as readers, to fill the emotional void with our own emotion. Narrative language inspires sympathy among readers—we simulate the action of stories in our imaginations, engaging with the actions of characters, whether fictional or real. When the narrative language is jarringly incompatible with the action of the story (as I would say is the case in this Revista de Culturas y Literaturas Comparadas. Volumen 5 - Año 2014 story by Le Clézio), we readers feel compelled to provide the missing emotion. In the case of the title story of Le Clézio’s book, there is actually a social dimension to the topic—the indifference of parents to their children and their children’s emotional needs. “The Round” also sets into motion a motif that appears in other stories later in the collection, a few of which are much more explicitly environmental—or at least geographical. Both “Villa Aurora” and “The Runner” explore the emotional meaning, the “pathos” you could say, of phenomena that may, on the surface, not seem to have clearly emotional implications. I will simply describe the overarching topics of the works and point toward what I take as their psychological ideas. “Villa Aurora” describes the process of urban development in an unnamed city in southern Europe—perhaps also the author’s hometown of Nice. Villa Aurora is the name of an estate that the first-person narrator of the story visited as a child—a place where the narrator used to enjoy nature as a young person. We learn this when the speaker says, “I loved the birds […] because they were low-flying blackbirds, hopping from tree to tree. They whistled funny, mocking tunes, perched on the topmost branches of the laurels or in the dark crowns of the araucaria [a kind of tree]” (85). The first five pages of the story or so describe the narrator’s memory of Villa Aurora as a special place for childhood encounters with nature. After establishing the speaker’s emotional attachment to this place, the story suggests that he has moved away and that this geographical distance has also resulted in a kind of rupture of his own identity. Le Clézio writes: “Where had the child in me gone? For years, he was even totally unaware of being cut off, struck with amnesia, forever banished to another world” (88). The speaker later returns, as a university student, to see this special place, but he finds that in his absence it has changed. The author writes: Things were so different. The villas had disappeared, or else they had been repainted, enlarged, transformed. In places where there had once been gardens protected by high, moss-grown walls, there now towered vast, intensely white buildings of ten, eight, twelve stories on their grease-stained parking lots. (89-90) The speaker takes on a sense of personal responsibility for allowing these changes to occur—small villas being torn down and replaced by large apartment complexes and other evidence of urban growth. He says, “I had just realized that in straying, in ceasing to keep my gaze intent upon my world, I had betrayed it, had abandoned it to its mutations. I had looked away, and meanwhile things had been able to change” (90). Obviously, when we look at things we care about in the world, we cannot necessarily forestall their change or destruction, but there is the sense in these lines of the story that attentiveness among observers might have some way, through politics or through sheer moral energy, of preventing destruction. Le Clézio’s story shows the case of a beautiful place that has been destroyed, perhaps to some extent through inattention of those who loved this place. As in “The Round,” we have in this short story an example of a kind of destruction that has occurred as a result of lack of attention among those who should have been attentive and engaged. This failure of attention, as articulated guiltily by the narrator, seems designed to instill in readers, too, a desire to be more attentive to that which we treasure in the world—places, people, and other phenomena. Jumping ahead quickly, let me now write briefly about Le Clézio’s story called “The Runner.” The title refers to someone who runs, or traffics, human beings— workers—who are brought from Eastern Europe to Western Europe to perform physical labor for very little money. The story begins by focusing on a man who collects these Countering “the anesthesia of destruction”: Information and Pathos in the Work of J.M.G. Le Clézio, Barry Lopez, and Vandana Shiva. Scott Slovic workers and transports them in the back of a truck from their home regions in impoverished areas of the East and drives them secretly, illegally, to places in the West where they can find work. Tartamella, “the runner,” is a tough, callous man, but he notices one particular worker named Milos who seems to be brooding and asks him, “What’s eating you?” (147). This means what’s wrong with you. The rest of the story explores what is bothering Milos, and it turns out that he feels a painful geographical dislocation, a loss of contact with his family and his home environment. It is so common to see workers and never to think about their inner lives and troubles. All of us must be prone to this indifference toward people who’ve been forced to leave their homes for one reason or another, but seldom do we ask, “What’s eating you?” I won’t go into great detail about the story here, but there are various passages where Milos’s invisibility is mentioned. He sees people in the West, but they don’t see him. Le Clézio writes: ...people look at his unshaven face, burnt from so much sun and cold, and his worn clothing, covered with cement dust. But he stares at them almost avidly, as if he were trying to understand what made them so distant, so indifferent, as if they didn’t belong to the same world as he. There are young women who are so beautiful, with pristine faces haloed in blond or black hair, dressed like Amazons, swinging their hips slowly, slipping over the sidewalk like fairies. But they don’t see him; they go right past without looking at him ... (166) People tend not to notice Milos or to realize the despair he feels as a nameless foreign worker. After he is paid, he resolves to make his way on foot back to his home country, and he begins the long and arduous journey. The story ends as Milos reaches the summit of a mountain while walking back toward his home. Still far away from home, he gazes in the direction of his family, his wife, and the story concludes with this sentence: Despite the icy wind coming from the snowy peaks, he lies down on the edge of the cliff, eyes wide with fatigue, and stares off into the distance, as if somewhere out there, despite the time, despite the silence, Lena’s eyes would suddenly blink open under his steady gaze. (167) The point here seems to be the illumination of the pathos, the inner emotional life, of a guest-worker, someone viewed by the people of the country in which he is working as a kind of machine, lacking in emotional depth. In this case, though, the pain of living in exile is vividly portrayed through the fictional narrative, putting pressure on us, as readers, to feel more sympathy toward wanderers and workers we may encounter in our own lives. Sympathy, attachment, and knowing how to act appropriately. These are also essential psychological aspects of the two short stories by American author Barry Lopez that I will now discuss. In three of the short stories I’m using in this paper, two of Le Clézio’s and one of those by Lopez, we see a tremendous emphasis on singularities— one girl terribly injured when her moped is struck by the truck, one guest-worker yearning for home. And in Lopez’s story “The Deaf Girl,” a single young girl brutally attacked and left for dead. In Lopez’s story, which appears in his collection Light Action in the Caribbean, published in 2000, there is a first-person narrator who is traveling alone through the American West. He is clearly an aesthete—the narrative focuses on his visual perception of the landscape, on the good meal he has eaten, on what he is reading. He is driving Revista de Culturas y Literaturas Comparadas. Volumen 5 - Año 2014 around the countryside, running some kind of vague personal errand. He stops to spend the night in a small town in the state of Montana. A young girl walks by the man’s hotel as he sits on the balcony reading a book, and she walks in a strange way, as if she is slightly off balance, probably because she is deaf. We learn that she has been injured in gang fighting and has moved with her family to this small town in order to be safe from such violence. But, strangely, a young man follows the girl when she walks to a secluded place, and he attacks her, beats her, and leaves her, expecting her to die. We do not see the attack in the narrative, which is presented mainly from the perspective of the traveler, who is simply sitting on the balcony of his hotel, reading a book. The girl survives the attack and walks back through the town, past the place where the narrator is sitting and calmly reading his book. The narrator is disturbed when he sees the injured girl walking along the road. Lopez writes: I was not surprised when I saw a small figure walking the same path the boy had walked hours before. It was a continuation of a disturbance, one initiated by the boy’s passing, and it was this that had really brought me out onto the porch. I soon saw that it was the girl, and I could tell that it was bad, the lopsided way that she advanced, sweeping a hand in front of her to locate obstruction. I sat rigid, a motionless spectator. I would pick out little detail in the dimness, but when she drew near I saw plainly the dark welt of blood congealed like paint on her face and run out across her chest in her blouse. I didn’t want to move my eyes, to deliberately examine her body, but I sensed her clothing was twisted, and one hand hung still and distorted. He had left her for dead, I thought. (65) There is a strange passiveness in this language and in the ongoing narrative. The narrator/observer is deeply disturbed, but is impotent—unable to help. The injured girl stares at the narrator as she walks past, but Lopez writes: “I stood up, gesturing at my legs. ‘I haven’t got any pants on here. I’ve got to get my pants’” (66). Clearly the narrator and we, the readers, are observing a kind of violence, or at least the aftermath of violence. The speaker in the story is powerless, though—he watches, he is fascinated, but he never leaves the porch to help the injured girl. The reader, though, feels a sense of outrage—a barely containable outrage. The absence of action on the part of the narrator is the trigger that inspires the reader’s desire to engage. I heard Lopez read this story to a group of 600 environmental activists at the 1999 Fire & Grit environmental conference organized by The Orion Society, a major American environmental organization. He clearly chose to present this story to the activists at the conference because he knew that it was a work of fiction that explores how narrative of inaction can inspire readers to care, to fill the void of the text where meaningful action should be present with our own surplus of activist zeal. Thinking back to Vandana Shiva’s notion of the anesthesia of destruction, I would suggest that Lopez’s combats such anesthesia by creating an emotional void in the story that tugs the reader’s emotions. The fact that he is also describing only a single observer, a single villain (the boy who attacks the girl), and a single victim (the deaf girl) also maximizes the reader’s emotional engagement with the narrative. Finally, let me write a few words about the title story of Lopez’s collection, which has the strange title Light Action in the Caribbean. This story describes two upper middle-class young Americans from Colorado who have so much money they imagine that they float above the earth, unsusceptible to social and natural reality. They feel they are insulated from danger because they have money. They are also, they seem to believe, insulated from the need to behave thoughtfully or responsibly. David and Libby, the young couple, travel to the Caribbean to go diving in Countering “the anesthesia of destruction”: Information and Pathos in the Work of J.M.G. Le Clézio, Barry Lopez, and Vandana Shiva. Scott Slovic the sea. Most of the story is about their superficial behavior, their material possessions, and their money. They travel from Colorado to an unnamed location in the Caribbean. They enjoy food and flowers during their vacation. They hire a local guide, named Esteban, to take them out in a boat so that they can enjoy the sea in a purely aesthetic way. Lopez writes: “The passing streamers of brightly colored damselfish, of French grunts and sergeant majors, huge stingrays rising slowly, regally, from camouflage on the sand flats, the way tiny nudibranchs glistened like flower buds on the coral heads all made her light-headed with satisfaction” (138). There is no sense of ecological awareness or of the danger of being in the open sea. The young Americans convince Esteban to take them to an area in the sea not normally visited by divers. He warns them that this is a dangerous place, but they pay him extra money to take them anyway. Again, the young couple feels that with money they can insulate themselves from any danger. Suddenly, they see a small boat racing toward their boat. Here the language of Lopez’s story becomes especially interesting. A scene of extraordinary violence is presented, but in a cold, emotionless voice that is reminiscent of Le Clézio’s language in his story “The Round.” Lopez writes: The shirtless man in madras shorts raised a .9 mm Glock and began spraying Esteban. The first bullet tore through his left triceps, the second, third, fourth, and fifth hit nothing, the sixth perforated his spleen, the seventh and eighth hit nothing, the ninth hit the console, sending electrical sparks up, the tenth went through his right palm, the next four went into the air, the fifteenth tore his left ear away, the sixteenth ricocheted off the sixth cervical vertebrae and drove down through his heart, exiting through his abdomen and lodging in his foot. The seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth went out over the water. David watched Esteban shudder and fall like an imploded vase. (142) The intended readers of this story are clearly educated Americans, perhaps people not entirely unlike the characters David and Libby, who end up being brutally attacked, killed, and robbed by the pirates who have shot their guide, Esteban. But first the American tourists are able to watch their guide being murdered, and they are able to learn, if only briefly, that the world can be a dangerous, brutal place—a Darwinian place. The brutality of this scene of destructive violence is strangely accentuated by the emotional vacancy of the language—by the clinical narrative style. There are, of course, many ways of interpreting the short story, and I would hesitate to argue that fiction or any works of literature must carry clear-cut “messages.” But it does seem to me that Lopez is saying something here about the implications of our being insensitive to our own true fragility and believing that we humans can ever be securely insulated from the dangers of the world. By using an anesthetized, clinical narrative vocabulary in this title story, it is as if Lopez has sought to spark a non-anesthetized, emotional response in his readers, not only to the fate of the fictional characters in the story, but to our own vulnerability, wherever we are in the world. Another reading that occurs to me has to do with the doubleness, even the tripleness, of the fictional characters—David, Libby, and Esteban—who are killed in Lopez’s story. As psychologists have recently proven through many experimental studies, human emotional sensitivity is much greater when we receive information about singular phenomena—one place being destroyed, one animal in trouble, one starving child, one person being attacked. As soon as that one person or place becomes two or three, we feel less concerned or engaged. We feel a fading of compassion. By the time we find ourselves trying to feel something in response to news about ten suffering people—let alone 1,000 victims or a million—we can hardly feel anything at all. This human incapacity to resonate emotionally to large-scale destruction is a tremendous Revista de Culturas y Literaturas Comparadas. Volumen 5 - Año 2014 problem as we try to determine how to respond individually and through government action to human suffering and to environmental destruction. It is simply hard to make people care about phenomena that occur on a very large scale. In my brief analysis of these short stories in the context of Vandana Shiva’s concern that writers somehow find a way to study and perhaps counter, or overcome, the anesthesia of destruction, I hope I’ve at least begun to shed light on how ecocritics—and literary scholars more generally—might look at literature in order to consider how ideas about psychology and communication can be more deeply understood, ideas that have the potential to be very important to practical issues faced by societies throughout the world. Bibliography Le Clézio, J.M.G. The Round and Other Cold Hard Facts. 1982. Trans. C. Dickson. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 2002. Print. Lifton, Robert Jay, and Greg Mitchell. “The Age of Numbing.” Technological Review (August/September 1995): 58-59. Print. Lopez, Barry. Light Action in the Caribbean: Stories. New York: Vintage, 2000. Print. Murphy, Patrick D. Farther Afield in the Study of Nature-Oriented Literature. Charlottesville: U of Virginia P, 2000. Print. Nixon, Rob. Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 2011. Print. Slovic, Scott. “Countering ‘the anesthesia of destruction’: An Interview with Vandana Shiva.” Numbers and Nerves: Information, Emotion, and Meaning in a World of Data. Ed. Scott Slovic and Paul Slovic. Corvallis: Oregon State UP, 2015. Print. ---. Seeking Awareness in American Nature Writing: Henry Thoreau, Annie Dillard, Edward Abbey, Wendell Berry, Barry Lopez. Salt Lake City: U of Utah P, 1992. Print. 
work_vsis5gk4kndmhjborznulfvi64	----	Revista Filosofía Vol15 No1 2016 VERSION A DIAGRAMAR.indd ( ) PARA VOLVER A LEER INVITACIÓN A "PARA VOLVER A LEER" “RESISTANCE TO CIVIL GOVERNEMENT” (1849) DE HENRY DAVID THOREAU La lectura de un texto americano por un europeo (y aquí no se hacen distingos entre América del Norte o del Sur) no es difícil que provoque una revitalizante y agradable sensación: la del bullir de la vida. América y la magnitud de su geografía física (sus ríos, sus montes, sus bosques) y la variedad y robustez de sus especies en su fauna y su flora se percibe tras las líneas de escritores en los que queda prendido lo sublime matemático y dinámico de la naturaleza. En la pluma de Thoreau esta presencia de lo natural en la escritura resulta mucho más evidente que en otras. Él paso dos años dos meses y dos días viviendo en una propiedad de Ralph Waldo Emerson a orillas del lago Walden buscando una vida más esencial, habitando una cabaña construida por él y sustentándose de lo que fabricaba y se procuraba. Experiencia de la que quedó testimonio en Walden o Life in the Woods (1854). Ese bullir natural también se palpa en el texto que nos ocupa, Resistance to Civil Governement. Y se percibe en la vocación práctica que traslada a sus líneas. En todo momento quiere transmitirse que el pensamiento digno de hacerse público en un escrito impreso es únicamente el que procede de la naturaleza humana, y el que intenta conformar la dimensión práctica y política a esa naturaleza. Ese propósito quiere manifestarse en el texto de Thoreau mediante una remisión a una filosofía política, la rousseauniana, a partir de la cual se valora la resolución de problemas políticos contemporáneos en los Estados Unidos que conoció el autor. Efectivamente, Rousseau abogaba por la soberanía popular. Del pueblo emana el poder y éste lo delega sobre sus representantes siempre que el contrato social que habilita esta delegación sea justo. Y he ahí el punctum dolens: la política de la Unión era claramente injusta, y esa injusticia tenía dos focos claramente identificados. El primero era la esclavitud: había Estados en la que ésta se practicaba. El segundo era la Guerra mexicano-estadounidense. Para Thoreau, esta campaña bélica no era más que una agresión colonialista a la nación latina y una infame invasión. Ambos eran hechos que demostraban palmariamente el poco interés que tenía el gobierno de la Unión por la justicia, y cómo más bien estaba preocupado por preservar los intereses de comerciantes y granjeros que o bien veían ventajas en esta situación o bien preferían en aras de la estabilidad que el statu quo no fuera modificado. Y frente a esa situación, la propuesta de Thoreau era la resistencia ciudadana. En su caso, lo que puso en marcha fue la objeción fiscal. Se negó a pagar impuestos durante seis años, por lo que fue encarcelado. Sin embargo, no se excluían otras respuestas, incluso más radicales, aquellas que implicaban derramamiento de sangre, porque, “Is there not a blood sheed when the conscience is wounded?”(Thoreau, 1849), (¿Acaso no hay derramamiento de sangre cuando se hiere a la conciencia?). Esta gota de extremismo la dejó caer el autor en honor del Capitán John Brown que fue ejecutado tras oponerse a la esclavitud por las armas y contra la legalidad vigente antes de que se produjera la Guerra de Secesión. Contra la esclavitud Thoreau no aceptaba componendas legalistas, ni moralismos vacuos e inefectivos como el de Noah Webster. Para éste la esclavitud era un pecado, pero no un pecado del Norte, sin embargo no se podía interferir legalmente en la regulación que hacía el Sur sobre esta cuestión. No en balde, la Unión era la consecuencia de la adhesión libre de unos Estados a ella, y la Constitución de esta entidad política exigía el respeto a la legislación particular de cada Estado. Esta cuestión es delicada. Al fin y al cabo la democracia consiste en la prevalencia de la voluntad de las mayorías. Sin embargo, Thoreau replica, no hay garantía alguna de que la voluntad de la mayoría se identifique sin más ni más con la justicia. Por ello Thoreau aboga por la resistencia ciudadana, para que las minorías, mediante medidas excepcionales de desobediencia a la legalidad y en pos de la justicia, se hagan oír. Para él hay un vector de creciente respeto de los derechos del ciudadano en el tránsito de la monarquía absoluta a la monarquía limitada y de ésta a la democracia. La realidad de ese proceso para él evidente, hace que se formule una pregunta. ¿No cabrá un avance mayor que la democracia para que el respeto de los derechos del hombre sea definitivo? Asunto delicado… La perspectiva iusnaturalista nos pone en el disparadero de decidir quién está llamado a delimitar qué sea esa naturaleza y en qué deben consistir las sanciones por conculcarla, lo que de hecho daría lugar a un derecho positivo, resultado de una convención establecida por y para seres humanos. Esa ley, al estar envuelta en un aura naturalista, sería mucho más difícilmente examinable, criticable y mejorable por otros seres humanos, cuya posición política y sentido de lo que es justo serían más fácilmente socavados que desde las garantías que ofrece la ley estrictamente positiva. Dr. Miguel Salmerón Infante Profesor Universidad Autónoma de Madrid Miembro del Comité Editorial Revista Filosofía UIS 
work_vtqofrxp6rhr5k4lo46j2rvf4i	----	Briefly Briefly INTERNATIONAL Rate of deforestation slowing A comprehensive survey of the status of the world’s forests has shown that deforesta- tion rates appear to be decreasing in certain countries, such as Brazil and Indonesia, but persist at a high rate in other countries. A significant reduction in the net rate of loss in forest area on a global scale is attributed to afforestation projects and natural re- generation. The Global Forest Resources Assessment estimates that the net change in forest area between 2000 and 2010 was c. -5.3 million ha year-1, an improvement on the figure of -8.3 million ha year-1 seen between 1990 and 2000. South America and Africa suffered the greatest loss of forests between 2000 and 2010, whilst forest area increased in Europe. China’s large-scale afforestation programme means that forest area in Asia underwent a net gain in forest area despite many countries in this region still undergoing heavy deforestation. Source: Global Forest Resources Assessment 2010 (2010), http://www.fao.org/forestry/fra/ fra2010/en/ CITES reject ban on tuna A proposal to place bluefin tuna on CITES Appendix 1, thus banning all trade in the species, has been rejected at the most recent CITES meeting. Monaco, which tabled the proposal, pointed to the failure of the International Commission for the Conser- vation of Atlantic Tunas, which is respon- sible for managing bluefin tuna stocks, to implement suitable measures to protect the species. Countries opposing the proposal, which included Canada and Japan among others, claimed that such a ban would have a serious effect on fishing economies. Bluefin tuna, a key component of Japanese sushi, has suffered an 85% collapse in numbers since the commencement of the industrial fishing era. Source: BBC News (2010), http://news. bbc.co.uk/1/hi/8574775.stm Some good news for Arctic species The Arctic Species Trend Index 2010 con- tains some positive news on the state of Arctic wildlife. According to the Index, which examines trends in 965 populations of 306 Arctic species since 1970, popula- tions have increased by 16% on average. However, this trend is not consistent across areas or species, with species from both the High and Sub Arctic areas declining in abundance, while Low Arctic species have increased by 46% on average during the same period. These differences may be attributable to the characteristics of the dif- ferent regions: the High Arctic species in- clude sea-ice associated species such as narwhal and polar bear, and this area has experienced large reductions in sea-ice ex- tent in recent years, while the Sub Arctic is the most accessible region to humans with the result that human impact and land-use change has been most marked in this area. Source: Arctic Species Trend Index (2010), http://asti.is/images/stories/asti%20report% 20april%2020_low%20res.pdf Take to the trees for longevity Birds and bats are known to live longer than comparable non-volant species, with evidence suggesting that flight reduces the exposure of these species to terrestrial predators, disease and environmental haz- ards. Now a study that examined a data set of mammalian longevity records has found similar results for arboreal mammals when compared to mammals that dwell on the ground. The maximum lifespans of arbo- real mammals were in fact found to be almost twice the length of terrestrial mam- mals of similar body size. Examination of the data set also indicated that species that became arboreal generally experienced in- creased longevity. These findings support the evolutionary theory of ageing, in that the reduction of extrinsic mortality rates will result in increased longevity. Source: Proceedings of the National Acad- emy of Sciences of the USA (2010), http://dx. doi.org/10.1073/pnas.0911439107 Extinction models may be right after all A real-world study of the factors driving lizards to extinction suggests that predic- tions stating that climate change may cause the extinction of one-fifth of plant and animal species by 2100 may be accurate. These predictions have attracted scepticism because they are largely based on theoret- ical models. However, evidence from 48 lizard species in Mexico found that 12% of populations had gone extinct since 1975 despite their habitat remaining intact. The populations had disappeared because in- creasing temperatures meant that the liz- ards were unable to spend as long foraging for food before having to retreat to the shade. When compared to field studies of lizard populations on four continents, these predictions from Mexico were found to be accurate. Based on this work the research- ers suggest 20% of lizard species may be extinct by 2080. Source: Science (2010), 328(5980), 894–899 and New Scientist (2010), 206(2761), 14 Forest growth increases with climate change Evidence collected from 55 temperate forest plots in the USA over the past 22 years has indicated that recent growth in these plots exceeds that expected by natural recovery. The authors of this study considered six hypotheses that could explain the acceler- ated recent growth of these forest stands, and concluded that the changes in forest growth were most likely related to a combi- nation of long-term temperature increases, longer growing seasons and changes in CO 2 fertilization. The reported increase in forest biomass in this study has important impli- cations for research into carbon storage and atmospheric carbon cycling. Source: Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the USA (2010), 107, 3611–3615 City growth affects forests Researchers have used satellite-based data for forest loss estimates between 2000 and 2005 to examine the correlation between deforestation and economic, agricultural and demographic factors in 41 countries in the humid tropics. Surprisingly, in- creases in the rural population were not positively correlated with forest loss. In- stead urban growth and exports of agricul- tural produce were found to be linked with deforestation over the time period studied. It would appear, therefore, that the movement of people to cities is related to increased deforestation in the tropics, probably be- cause of the associated rise in demand for meat and processed food from city dwellers. The study’s authors suggest that, rather than aiming to reduce deforestation among rural populations, efforts need to focus on more efficient, export-orientated agricultural production. Source: Nature Geoscience (2010), 3, 178–181, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http:// journalwatch.conservationmagazine.org/ 2010/02/07/urban-uprising/ Atrazine induces chemical castration in male frogs Atrazine, one of the world’s most com- monly used pesticides, has been found to feminize male frogs that are exposed to the ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 doi:10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core chemical as adults. Previous studies found that amphibian larval development was adversely affected by exposure but this new study indicates that the pesticide can also have detrimental effects on reproduc- tion in African clawed frogs. Ten percent of the frogs exposed to the chemical in the study developed into functional female frogs and were able to produce viable eggs after copulating with males not exposed to atrazine. As these frogs remained geneti- cally male, the larvae their eggs produced were all male, thus further affecting the frog population. Other male frogs in the study showed lower testosterone levels, lower fertility and suppressed mating behaviour. Source: Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the USA (2010), 107, 4612–4617, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http:// journalwatch.conservationmagazine.org/ 2010/03/03/he-said-she-said/ Fisheries and turtles an uneasy mix The creation of a comprehensive database of reported marine turtle bycatch for 1990– 2008 makes for depressing reading, with the global total number of turtles caught in gillnet, trawl and longline fisheries during this time estimated at 85,000. Furthermore, the authors speculate that, given low ob- servation and reporting levels of fishing effort, the true number may be higher by as many as two orders of magnitude. Despite its grim content, the global nature of this study does mean that conclusions can be drawn regarding where intervention would be most effective, however. For example, high rates of turtle bycatch and observed fishing effort for all fishing gears in the Mediterranean and eastern Pacific indicate the need for conservation action in these regions. Source: Conservation Letters (2010), http:// dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1755-263X.2010.00105.x Indigenous knowledge points to changes in weather persistence in the Arctic Since the early 1990s Inuit elders and hunters have noticed that their weather predictions, based on factors such as cloud formations and star colours, have become less reliable than in the past. Now research- ers examining a 50-year data set of weather conditions at Baker Lake, Nunavut, Canada have revealed that there has been a change in temperature persistence during the local spring over the last 15 years, which tallies with the reports of less predictable weather by Inuit. Changes in weather persistence have implications for agriculture, human health and ecosystems but an important aspect of this study is how the combination of indigenous knowledge with scientific methods can result in significant insights. Source: Global Environmental Change (2010), http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.gloenvcha.2010.02. 002, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http:// journalwatch.conservationmagazine.org/ 2010/04/09/true-north/ Mangrove menace Mangroves perform vital roles in ecosys- tems, including flood protection, providing habitat for a variety of terrestrial and marine species, and nutrient recycling. Estimates suggest that these services are worth USD 1.6 billion a year worldwide, and that almost 80% of global fish catches are dependent on mangroves, either di- rectly or indirectly. Now a survey of the 70 true mangrove species has found that 16% qualify as either Critically Endangered, Endangered or Vulnerable. The highest proportion of threatened mangroves is found along the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of Central America, where the threats facing the species include clearance for settlement, agriculture and shrimp ponds. The study’s authors point out that man- groves around the world are generally not adequately represented within protected areas, and thus advocate initiatives that allow the acquisition of privately-owned areas of coastal land, particularly those containing threatened mangrove species. Source: PLoS One (2010), http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1371/journal.pone.0010095 Killer whale split Killer whales are currently classified as a single, cosmopolitan species, although research over the past 30 years has in- dicated the presence of sympatric ecotypes that are not known to interbreed. However, genetic studies have found little evidence of diversity in the mitochondrial control region, although this may be because of the low levels of mitochondrial mutation rates seen in cetaceans as a whole. Now a new method, in which complete mitochondrial sequences are analysed, has been developed and applied to samples from killer whale populations from the North Pacific, North Atlantic and South- ern Oceans. The findings suggest that each of the ecotypes examined warrants elevation to full species status, with divergence times ranging from 150,000 to 700,000 years ago. Source: Genome Research (2010), http:// dx.doi.org/10.1101/gr.102954.109 Snakes in mystery global decline A recent analysis of 17 snake populations of eight species from the UK, France, Italy, Nigeria and Australia has shown that 11 have declined sharply over the same relatively short period of time. Although the causes of these declines are currently unknown it is suspected that they are multifaceted (such as habitat quality deterioration, prey availabil- ity), and with a common cause, such as global climate change. For reasons that are not entirely clear, some populations shrank abruptly in number around 1998. Populations shrank even in protected areas, suggesting that the progressive loss of habitat for wild animals being seen all over the world is not the only cause. The year when many of the snake declines began—1998—raises the ques- tion of whether climatic factors might be involved, as very strong El Niño conditions contributed to making it the hottest year recorded in modern times. Source: BBC News (2010), http://news. bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/8727863.stm, and Biology Letters (2010), http://dx.doi. org/10.1098/rsbl.2010.0373 Biodiversity still declining Researchers who examined 31 biodiversity indicators have found that most indicators of the state of biodiversity, which included areas such as extinction risk and popula- tion trends, showed declines. At the same time, most indicators relating to pressures on biodiversity, such as climate change impacts and invasive alien species, have increased. Although there are a few positive findings, such as an increase in extent of protected areas, overall these indicators suggest that the rate of biodiversity loss is not decreasing. This is despite the commit- ment by world leaders in 2002, through the Convention on Biological Diversity, to achieve a significant reduction in the rate of biodiversity loss by 2010. Source: Science (2010), 328, 1164–1168 EUROPE Long shadow of overfishing An analysis of previously neglected gov- ernment data has revealed that the com- mercial value of demersal fisheries in Britain, measured through changes in land- ings per unit of fishing power, has declined by 94% since 1889. Bottom-trawling has been used to catch bottom-living fish since the 14th century but the development of steam trawlers in the 1880s heralded the start of the expansion of fishing effort that has continued into the late 20th century. These findings have important manage- ment implications for fish stocks, with the European Commission’s estimates of overf- ished stocks being based on data that go back 20–40 years; these new findings sug- gest that stocks were already overfished at this point in time. Source: Nature Communications (2010), http://dx.doi.org/10.1038/ncomms1013 Briefly312 ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core Neighbours are important when it comes to organic farms Although there is much interest in agri- environment schemes as a means of pro- tecting biodiversity on farms, results of these schemes at the single-farm level are inconclusive. Researchers in Britain there- fore carried out a study that looked at farmland biodiversity in 100 km2 of farm- land that either contained high or low levels of organic cultivation. Investigation of the organisms present in fields and field edges showed that biodiversity was depen- dent on the practices of the farm in question but also on the management of neighbouring farms. To maximize effec- tiveness of agri-environment schemes for biodiversity, therefore, these schemes need to be targeted at multiple spatial scales. Source: Nature (2010), 465(7296), 270, and Ecology Letters (2010), http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1111/j.1461-0248.2010.01481.x Fishing boats influence bird movements Satellite tracking of two Mediterranean bird species has revealed that the move- ments of these species are linked to the presence of fishing trawlers. When the trawlers were at sea the birds tended to congregate in certain areas, presumably the locations of the trawlers, but in the absence of trawling activity the birds foraged over a more diffuse area. The study’s authors suggest that fishing trawlers may represent a reliable source of food for the birds, which eat the fish discarded overboard. This predictable food source may even be contributing to the birds having a higher rate of breeding success, although the authors warn that there might be a sting in the tail, as the boats often throw out benthic-dwelling fish that live in areas with accumulations of contaminants. Source: Current Biology (2010), 20, 215–222, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http:// journalwatch.conservationmagazine.org/ 2010/01/28/fly-through-restaurant/ Climate adaptation out of sync An assessment of . 25,000 rates of phe- nological change for 726 UK species has indicated that the seasonal timing of bi- ological events (such as dates of flowering, migration and insect flight periods) has advanced by an average of 0.39 days year-1. This corresponds to a period of rapid climate change during the study period, with temper- atures in the UK’s terrestrial, freshwater and marine environments increasing by 0.04– 0.05�C year-1. However, not all taxonomic groups have responded at the same rate, leading the authors to voice their concern about the possibility of trophic mismatching. In particular, secondary consumers in food chains show slower rates of phonological change than primary consumers, a pattern that is repeated across all three environments studied in this research. Source: Global Change Biology (2010), http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2486.2010. 02165.x Iberian lynx seen in Portugal for first time in 9 years For the first time since 2001 a Critically Endangered Iberian lynx has been recorded in Portugal, according to the Portuguese State Conservation Agency and Junta de Andalucia, Spain. The lynx, which was wearing a radio collar, crossed the Spanish border into the Moura/Barrancos region, where Fauna & Flora International and its partner, the League for the Protection of Nature, have been working with local land- owners for the last 5 years to protect habitat for the species. Although this lynx has now returned to Spain, it is hoped that it is the first step in the recolonization of Portugal by a species that used to occur throughout the Iberian Peninsula. Source: FFI News (2010), http://www.fauna- flora.org/news_lynx_sighting.php Radar threat for Zino’s petrel The only known breeding site of Europe’s rarest seabird, the Endangered Zino’s pe- trel, is under threat from the creation of a military radar on top of a mountain peak in Madeira. After years of indecision, and in the face of opposition from environmen- tal groups, construction on the radar began in November 2009. Pico do Areeiro is located within a Natura 2000 site desig- nated as a Special Protection Area, which means the area has the highest level of protection under EU law. Not only is the mountain used by Zino’s petrel for breed- ing, the area is also home to high-altitude flora, and is one of Madeira’s most popular tourist destinations. As part of the Envi- ronmental Impact Assessment for the site no work will be carried out during the petrel’s breeding season. Source: BirdLife International News (2010), http://www.birdlife.org/news/news/2010/02/ madeira.html Two million EU seabirds killed in a decade Fishing gear in EU waters is estimated to have killed two million seabirds in the past 10 years. It is estimated that 90,000 birds drown annually through entanglement in gill-nets in the Baltic and North Seas although the actual mortality could be twice this high. In a single Spanish longline fishery off western Ireland another 50,000 seabirds die every year on longline hooks. Many of the species affected, such as the Critically Endangered Balearic shearwater, are protected by European law and are in rapid decline. On 8 June, World Oceans Day, a 23,000-strong petition was presented in Brussels by the RSPB and BirdLife In- ternational to Maria Damanaki, European Commissioner for Maritime Affairs and Fisheries, calling for the urgent delivery of the EU’s overdue Seabird Action Plan to protect Europe’s seabirds from their fatal attraction to baited hooks and fishing nets. Source: BirdLife International News (2010), http://www.birdlife.org/news/news/2010/06/ seabird-petition.html SUB-SAHARAN AFRICA UN gives gorillas a lift UN peacekeepers have flown four Endan- gered eastern lowland gorillas out of a con- flict zone to a rehabilitation centre 200 km north of Goma in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The four young gorillas were feared to be at risk of being poached or trafficked. It was decided that air travel was best for the gorillas because ground trans- portation was deemed too difficult and traumatic. The 50-minute flight trans- ported the gorillas, along with veterinarians and other caregivers, from Goma to a vil- lage near Tanya Nature Reserve in north Kiva province. A recent report blamed militia violence in eastern DRC for has- tening the decline of the eastern lowland gorillas. Source: UN News Centre (2010), http:// www.un.org/apps/news/story.asp?Cr=monuc &Cr1=&;NewsID=34531# Frogs on the menu in West Africa Surveys in Burkino Faso, Benin and Nigeria have revealed the extent of the consump- tion of amphibians in this part of West Africa. Interviews with amphibian collec- tors, stallholders and consumers indicated a difference in the frog trade between these countries. In Burkino Faso amphibian trade was generally not a commercial ac- tivity, with people, for the most part, collecting amphibians for consumption. In northern Benin and Nigeria, however, researchers discovered an intensive, cross- border trade in amphibians that is likely to be unsustainable in the long-term. People’s responses to the interviews indicated there is already a perception that amphibian numbers have declined over the past 2 decades. Source: TRAFFIC Bulletin (2010), 22, 117– 128 Briefly 313 ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core Pirates affect research The presence of Somali pirates in the Indian Ocean is having a detrimental effect on research in the area. In the past fishing boats in the area regularly carried research- ers, who both monitored fish stocks and ocean health and ensured that fishermen complied with laws on fishing. Now re- searchers have been replaced with armed guards, and marine investigation is con- fined to ports. There is evidence that the lack of observers in the open ocean means that unsustainable fishing practices are on the increase. Of particular concern are fish- attracting devices, where bamboo rafts with netting are left to drift for days at a time. These devices attract fish such as tuna but also present a hazard to turtles and sharks. Source: New Scientist (2010), 205(2747), 6 Rhinos adapting well to life on African soil… Four of the last eight remaining Critically Endangered northern white rhinos, trans- ported from a zoo in the Czech Republic to Kenya’s Ol Pejeta Conservancy in December 2009, are settling well into their new home. Three of the rhinos were born in captivity, and the oldest male, Sudan, was caught in the wild in the 1970s. The rhinos’ behaviour has already altered since their arrival, with all four appearing more alert and conscious of their surround- ings. On their arrival in Kenya the rhinos were initially kept in small enclosures but are now starting to spend more time in larger paddocks. Eventually the four will be reintroduced into two 24-km2 breeding paddocks. Source: FFI News (2010), http://www.fauna- flora.org/news_rhinos.php …but are they actually members of the sixth rhino species? An exhaustive examination of various tax- onomic and genetic features of the north- ern and southern forms of the white rhinoceros indicates that these forms are sufficiently distinct to warrant recognition as separate species. In particular, dental morphology and cranial anatomy clearly distinguish the two forms and genetic analysis indicates the species diverged from one another . 1 million years ago. What- ever the taxonomic status of these two forms, differences in their conservation status are extreme: whereas the southern white rhino recovered from near extinction at the start of the 20th century, the north- ern white rhino is Critically Endangered. Source: PLoS One (2010), http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1371/journal.pone.0009703 You can’t change a penguin’s spots Marking seabirds is difficult and expensive and may have adverse effects on the wel- fare of the birds. Researchers have therefore come up with a way of distinguishing be- tween individuals at an African penguin colony on Robben Island, South Africa. African penguins have a unique set of spots on their chest plumage, so the researchers developed a computer system that creates a unique biometric identifier for adult penguins and compares this to a population database. Cameras set up along busy pen- guin routes found that fewer than 1 in every 10,000 matches of penguins to patterns in the database were incorrect. Furthermore, for every penguin waddling past, the cam- eras had a 13% chance of detecting a pattern to add to the database. The researchers believe that this method has the potential to identify more penguins than current levels of flipper banding at Robben Island. Source: Endangered Species Research (2010), http://dx.doi.org/10.3354/esr00267, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http://journalwatch. conservationmagazine.org/2010/04/01/on- the-spot/ Alaotra grebe is extinct The Alaotra grebe, formerly restricted to Lake Alaotra and surrounding areas in east Madagascar, has been declared extinct. The last known sighting of the bird was in 1985. It was killed off by a combination of poaching, entaglement in monofilament nylon gill-nets, and predatory fish. With small wings, the bird is thought to have been incapable of flying long distances, living a mainly sedentary lifestyle on the lake and in surrounding ponds and high- land lakes. Surveys in 1999 and 2000 found no individuals. The bird, usually found in pairs, fed almost exclusively on fish in Lake Alaotra, a large brackish lake which was once covered in dense papyrus and reeds. Source: BirdLife International News (2010), http://www.birdlife.org/news/pr/2010/05/ red-list-for-birds-2010.html SOUTH AND SOUTH-EAST ASIA Giant lizard shimmies forth Surveys in the northern forests of the Philippines have revealed the existence of a hitherto unknown species of giant lizard. The new species, which belongs to the genus Varanus, grows to nearly 2 m long and is frugivorous. Molecular phylogenetic analysis indicates that the species is closely related to Varanus olivaceus, although there are a number of different characteristics between these two species, including colour pattern and body size. Furthermore, the two species are separated by . 150 km, including three river valleys that act as barriers to the dispersal of these lizards. The researchers who discovered this new species hope it will become a flagship for the biodiverse forests of northern Luzon. Source: Biology Letters (2010), http://dx.doi. org/10.1098/rsbl.2010.0119 Documenting sacred sites and bio- cultural diversity in the Eastern Himalayas Conservationists, religious leaders and prac- titioners, academics and government agen- cies met for 3 days in Thimphu, Bhutan, to document sacred natural sites in the Eastern Himalayan region and to detail their im- portance to the conservation of the region’s bio-cultural diversity and to the documen- tation of climate change in the region. The workshop, hosted by WWF Bhutan, is part of the Living Himalayas Initiative to engage faith groups in practical conservation and to explore the threats and adaptation needs of faith communities across the Eastern Himalayan region. Source: Kuensel Newspaper (2010), http:// www.kuenselonline.com/modules.php? name5 News&file5article&sid515493, and WWF (2010), http://wwf.panda.org/? 193304/Sacred-Himalayan-sites-bring- together-religious-leaders-conservationists Partners work together to rehabilitate Critically Endangered vultures Two Critically Endangered vultures, one white-rumped and one slender-billed vul- ture, have been returned to the wild 2 weeks after being rescued by the Cambodian Vulture Conservation Project. A number of vultures were fatally poisoned following their consumption of a poisoned dog in an Important Bird Area, Western Siem Pang, in north-eastern Cambodia, but the survi- vors were taken to Phnom Tamao Zoo and Wildlife Rescue Centre where they were nursed back to health prior to their release. Vultures across Asia have suffered dra- matic declines, chiefly as a result of poi- soning by diclofenac, but Cambodia is one of the countries where vulture populations are growing, thanks to the efforts of the Cambodian Vulture Conservation Project, which is a partnership between Cambodian government ministries and international non-governmental organizations. Source: BirdLife Indochina News (2010), http://birdlifeindochina.org/cepf/Released_ two_vultures_Cambodia Briefly314 ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core New gecko found in Cambodia A new species of gecko, endemic to the Cardamom Mountains, has been named in honour of Mr Neang Thy, a Cambodian herpetologist who is the head of research for Fauna & Flora International’s Cardamom Mountains Research Group. Cnemaspis ne- angthyi is only the second member of the Cnemaspis genus to have been discovered in Cambodia, with 30 Cnemaspis geckos known from South-East Asia as a whole. These geckos are diurnal, and their cryptic colour- ation and habit of foraging on shaded surfaces means they often go unnoticed. The discovery of C. neangthyi is further evidence of the rich biodiversity harboured by the Cardamom Mountains, which in- cludes . 62 threatened animal and 17 threat- ened tree species. Source: FFI press release (2010), http:// www.fauna-flora.org/docs/Media_release- New_species_of_gecko_named_after_Fauna_ and_Flora_International_scientist.pdf Wildlife-unfriendly plantations One of the most serious threats facing biodiversity, particularly in the tropics, is the conversion of natural habitats into agricultural land. Now a study has shown that one of the supposedly wildlife-friendly techniques for growing oil palm, the re- tention of forest fragments within agricul- tural areas, is not particularly beneficial for wildlife. Surveys of the abundance and diversity of birds in oil palm plantations, forest fragments and contiguous forest in Sabah, Borneo, has found that the abun- dances of near-threatened or threatened bird species were 60 times lower in forest fragments and 200 times lower in oil palm plantations than in contiguous forest. Fur- thermore species assemblages in fragments were more similar to assemblages in planta- tions than contiguous forest. These results strongly suggest that protection of existing contiguous forest would be more effective for biodiversity conservation than efforts to improve the wildlife friendliness of oil palm plantations. Source: Conservation Letters (2010), http:// dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1755-263X.2010.00107.x World’s largest marine protected area designated An area twice as large as the UK, covering . 544,000 km2, has been designated in the Chagos archipelago. The waters of the archipelago contain some of the least dis- turbed coral reefs in the Indian Ocean and include the largest living coral structure, the Great Chagos Bank, home to . 220 coral species and . 1,000 reef fish species. The new marine protected area is a fully protected reserve, meaning that all extractive industries such as deep sea mining and in- dustrial fishing are banned. The UK’s de- cision to protect this area was made after a 4-month public consultation during which over 275,000 people sent messages of support for full protection of this area. Source: Chagos Environment Network (2010), http://protectchagos.org/blog/u-k-designates- world%E2%80%99s-largest-marine-reserve/ Orang-utan crosses rope bridge Evidence has come to light for the first time of an orang-utan crossing a rope bridge, in the Lower Kinabatangan Wildlife Sanctuary, in Sabah, Malaysian Borneo. The bridges were installed in 2003 across tributaries of the Kinabatangan to reconnect fragmented parts of the Sanctuary. The bridges were deemed necessary because the large trees that would normally ford wetlands and river tributaries have been lost through defores- tation, and because, unlike other primates, orang-utans cannot swim. The orang-utan that crossed the bridge on this occasion apparently lingered at the start of the bridge for about 20 minutes but once he com- menced the crossing he did so very fast. Although this is the first record of an orang- utan using a rope bridge other species, such as macaques, proboscis monkeys and gib- bons, have been recorded using them. Source: World Land Trust News (2010), http://www.worldlandtrust.org/news/2010/ 04/first-evidence-of-wild-orang-utan-using. htm Eastern hoolock gibbon found in Assam The Vulnerable eastern hoolock gibbon has been found for the first time in the state of Assam, by a survey team led by Dilip Chetry of the NGO Aaranyak, in three reserved forests of Sadiya subdivision. Pre- viously, Assam was known to harbour nine species of primate but now the number is 10. A total of 23 groups of eastern hoolock gibbons were sighted. The eastern hoolock gibbon also occurs in Arunachal Pradesh, in Myanmar, east of the Chindwin river, and in south-west Yunnan province of China. The study has recommended Kundi Kolia reserve forest as a potential conser- vation site for the species. Source: The Telegraph, Calcutta, India (2010), http://www.telegraphindia.com/ 1100513/jsp/northeast/story_12440629.jsp First observation of the Horton Plains slender loris in 72 years The Horton Plains slender loris, previously known only from two specimens collected in 1937 and a number of sightings from eye shine in 2002, has been examined and photographed in Sri Lanka. This loris clearly demonstrates adaptations to mon- tane forest, as previously suggested from the preserved skins of the two specimens. Confirmation of the continued existence of this loris raises concerns over its taxonomic distinctiveness, its apparent low abundance in a highly fragmented and diminishing habitat, and the actions necessary to elim- inate the threats to its survival. Source: Primate Conservation (2010), http://www.primate-sg.org/PDF/PC25_ Gamage%20et%20al_slender%20loris.pdf Ramsar designation urged for spoon-billed sandpiper site One of the most important non-breeding sites for the Critically Endangered spoon- billed sandpiper in the Inner Gulf of Thailand, Khok Kham, has taken a major step towards Ramsar designation. During 1979–1996 up to 90% of the mangroves of the area were converted to shrimp ponds but after 10 years the shrimp industry crashed. As a result, a local grassroots en- vironmental movement started in the late 1990s. The Bird Conservation Society of Thailand (BCST) supported this move- ment and now there are four local con- servation groups working in coordination with BCST on the conservation of the Inner Gulf. On World Wetlands Day 2010 local people sent a petition to Suvit Khunkitti, Thailand’s Minister of the Nature Resources and Environment, re- questing that Khok Kham be designated a Ramsar Site. Their petition was wel- comed by the Office of Natural Resources and Environmental Policy and Planning, the Ramsar Administrative Authority in Thailand. Source: BirdLife International News (2010), http://www.birdlife.org/news/news/2010/ 03/thai_ramsar.html EAST ASIA Whale meat travels from Japan to South Korea and the USA Genetic analysis of whale meat bought in sushi restaurants in Seoul and Los Angeles has revealed that the some of the meat came from fin, sei and Atlantic minke whales. These species are listed on Appendix I of CITES, prohibiting their international trade. Furthermore, genetic comparisons between the meat purchased in LA and products bought in Japan in 2007 and 2008 suggest that this meat came from a whale killed during a Japanese scientific hunt of sei whales in the North Pacific. Similarly, DNA profiles confirmed that fin whale meat sold Briefly 315 ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core in Seoul was an exact match with fin whale products first sold in Japanese markets in September 2007, making it likely that these products came from the same individual whale. This study underlines the importance of access to whale DNA registers in coun- tries with whaling programmes. Source: Biology Letters (2010), http://dx.doi. org/10.1098/rsbl.2010.0239 Illegal wildlife trade occurring across China’s borders A report by TRAFFIC about the wildlife trade in China indicates that porous boundaries between China and her neigh- bours allow trade in wildlife between these countries. The report describes the door- to-door service offered by vendors of wild- life products, including tiger bone wine, in Myanmar to customers in China. Often the remote locations of these boundaries make monitoring difficult, and in the case of the China–Myanmar border, its . 1,000-km length is also an issue. Elsewhere in the country tiger and leopard parts were found for sale, although trade in these species is becoming less visible. It is not clear whether this is because the trade is diminishing or becoming more covert. Source: The State of Wildlife Trade in China (2010), http://www.traffic.org/home/2010/3/ 16/porous-china-myanmar-border-allowing- illegal-wildlife-trade.html NORTH AMERICA Lingering effect from predators The populations of snowshoe hares in Yu- kon province, Canada, undergo a 10-year cycle of boom and bust, which is closely linked to the populations of their predators. However, researchers have been puzzling as to why hare populations are slow to recover even when predator numbers are low and food abundant. A study of hormone levels has now revealed that maternal stress hor- mone levels are related to predator density during the breeding season. These maternal hormones are transferred to their offspring, and remain with the hares into adulthood. As a consequence, offspring born during years of high predator numbers suffer re- duced reproductive output, leading to a slow recovery of the hare populations. Source: Ecology (2010), http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1890/09-1108 and Nature (2010), 464 (7289), 653 Lead poisoning exposure underestimated in condors One of the greatest threats to the recovery of the Critically Endangered California condor is lead poisoning. Lead concentra- tion levels in the remaining wild condors’ bloodstream are analysed on a biannual basis. Now new research has found that this may not be sufficient, because biannual blood sampling only reveals c. 10% of a bird’s annual lead exposure history. A better way of monitoring concentrations of lead, according to the researchers, would be to look at sequential feather sections alongside the blood samples. These feather sections provide a comprehensive history of lead exposure during the 2–4 months of feather growth. When combining this in- formation with that gleaned from the blood sample analysis researchers are able to build up a comprehensive history of lead exposure for the birds. Source: Environmental Science & Technol- ogy (2010), 44, 2639–2647 Humans eating up the food chain while fish descend A analysis of 3,092 recipes from seafood cookbooks published between 1885 and 2007 in the Seattle area have shown that during this time, recipes have moved from mainly using lower trophic level inverte- brates to using higher trophic level rock- fish. This is despite the fact that, at the same time, overfishing has resulted in more seafood originating from the lower trophic levels of food chains. The study’s authors suggest that familiarity with the social drivers of eating up the food web, as illustrated by these cookbooks, is important when it comes to sustainable management of fisheries and marine ecosystems, and in particular in designing policies to mitigate pressures on fish stocks. Source: Fish and Fisheries (2010), http:// dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-2979.2010.00355.x Benefits of MPA network revealed through monitoring Marine protected areas are one of a suite of techniques to protect marine biodiver- sity. The creation of MPA networks pre- sents difficulties in terms of monitoring these areas; in the case of the Channel Islands National Marine Sanctuary, off the Californian coast, for example, the net- work covers 488 km2, incorporating a range of biogeographical regions. Now research- ers have devised a monitoring system that evaluates the performance of MPA net- works in the light of different biogeograph- ical areas. The results indicated that, 5 years after the creation of the Sanctuary, fish species targeted by fishermen had significantly greater densities and biomass inside reserves than outside, while non- targeted fish species showed no significant difference. It remains to be seen whether fisheries around the Sanctuary will benefit from spillover from the reserves into fish- ing areas, although evidence from other reserves in southern California suggest this is likely. Source: Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the USA (2010), http:// dx.doi.org/10.1073/pnas.0908091107 Redwoods to become dry woods? Research undertaken using a variety of data sets concerning the weather at the Californian coast indicates that the fogs that are a significant source of water for California’s coastal ecosystems have re- duced in frequency by 33% since the early 20th century. The presence of fog along this coast is correlated with a number of factors, including wind speed along the north- western coast, sea surface temperatures and the broader ocean-atmosphere system in the north-east Pacific. The coastal fogs are associated in particular with the iconic Californian redwood, with previous tree- ring studies indicating that growth of en- demic pines along this coast is correlated with summer fog frequency. There is con- cern, therefore, that the reduction in fog frequency will lead to more drought stress among these trees and the other ecosystems that occur along California’s coastline. Source: Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the USA (2010), http://dx. doi.org/10.1073/pnas.0915062107 Toadally different behaviour Species with a wide distribution may be- have differently in different parts of their range, a fact that needs to be taken into account when managing the populations of threatened species. Most studies of the Canadian toad, for example, have exam- ined the species on prairies, where it is closely associated with aquatic areas. How- ever, the toad is also associated with boreal habitats, where a study that tracked 29 toads found that their use of habitats and, in particular, their long-distance terrestrial movements, differed from the movements of their conspecifics on the prairies. The study’s authors point out that applying the knowledge gleaned from the toads in the prairies to boreal-dwelling toads would not be appropriate in this situation. Source: Animal Conservation (2010), 13, 43–52 Thoreau’s data aid climate change research A data set initiated by Henry David Thor- eau in 1851 has revealed that non-native plant species, particularly those that are also invasive, are able to adapt their phe- nology to climate change at a faster rate than native plant species. The mean annual Briefly316 ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core temperature in Concord, Massachusetts, the site of the data set originally collected by Thoreau and continued by later observers, has increased by 2.4�C since 1851. Over the last 100 years, non-native invasive plant species in Concord have shifted their flowing time to be 11 days earlier than native plant species, and 9 days earlier than non-native non-invasive plants. Furthermore, there has been a significant increase in the abundance of non-native, and particularly invasive, plant species. The findings of this study suggest that non-native species share a set of pheno- logical traits that have increased their success in recent years. Source: PLoS One (2010), http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1371/journal.pone.0008878 300,000 km2 of boreal forest protected in Canada An agreement between logging companies and environmental groups will result in the protection of . 300,000 km2 of Canada’s boreal forest, as well as putting in place strict guidelines for sustainable logging in an additional 385,000 km2. In exchange for setting aside just under half the land they hold leases for across seven Canadian provinces, the 21 logging companies in- volved will have do-not-buy campaigns for their products dropped by nine environ- mental organizations. The environmental organizations, which include Greenpeace and The Nature Conservancy, will actively endorse the companies’ products. When combined with previous declarations of forest protection, the area of boreal forest protected from logging will amount to 1.6 million km2, the largest area of protected forest in the world. Source: Nature (2010), 465(7296), 279 Deforestation affects wing shape An examination of the wing shape of songbirds in eastern North America over the last 100 years has shown that the wings of several bird species associated with boreal areas have become more pointed over time, while the wings of birds living in temperate forests have become less pointed. This change coincides with the deforesta- tion of boreal habitats and the afforestation of most temperate areas in this part of the USA. Pointed wings enable birds to fly greater distances more efficiently, consis- tent with the need of boreal-dwelling song- birds to move between patches in their increasingly fragmented habitat. These findings are consistent with the habitat isolation hypothesis, whereby songbird morphology is expected to evolve in re- sponse to changes in available habitat. Source: Ecology (2010), http://dx.doi.org/ 10.1890/09-2202, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http://journalwatch. conservationmagazine.org/2010/02/04/ looking-sharp/ Roads cut swaths through mammal numbers An intensive study of road mortality of mammals in St Lawrence County, New York, found that the average observed roadkill rate was 3.8 mammals per 100 km each week, with at least 50% of mammalian species in the study area affected. The researchers point out that number of spe- cies killed is likely to be higher than this because their weekly checks could not account for carcasses scavenged between visits. Of the carcasses found during the surveys the most frequently located were porcupines, racoons, cottontails and striped skunks, whilst carnivores were killed less often than predicted, based on their frequency in the area. Extrapolating these findings across the county, the au- thors suggest that drivers in St Lawrence may be killing . 45,000 mammals per year. Source: Biodiversity and Conservation (2010), 19, 1611–1629, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http://journalwatch.conservationmagazine. org/2010/02/08/mean-streets/ Fishery has an impact on turtle size An investigation of diamondback terrapins from two areas of the USA has revealed that female turtles in Chesapeake Bay have carapaces that are c. 15% wider than females from Long Island Sound. Furthermore, museum specimens from Chesapeake Bay are also smaller than the contemporary female terrapin population. The turtle pop- ulation in the Bay appears to be subject to selective pressures from the commercial crab-fishing industry, with many turtles drowning in crab traps. Female terrapins are vulnerable to becoming caught in traps until they reach a certain size but male terrapins almost never reach this size. In addition to larger carapace sizes, research- ers also found that the population structure of the terrapins in the Bay had shifted towards younger males, and that females were reaching their maxiumum size at a younger age. Source: Conservation Biology (2010), http:// dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1523-1739.2010.01469.x, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http:// journalwatch.conservationmagazine.org/ 2010/03/20/big-mama/ Hurricane Katrina linked to baby boom in dolphins Surveys of the Mississippi Sound before and after Hurricane Katrina have revealed higher encounter rates with Atlantic bot- tlenose dolphin calves, and a higher per- centage of calves in relation to non-calves, c. 2 years after the storm. Researchers suggest the increase could be related to three main factors. Firstly, a decrease in commercial and recreational fisheries land- ings after the hurricane could have increased dolphin food availability. Secondly, the num- bers of private recreational fishing boats was also lower, meaning that dolphins were not having to expend as much energy avoiding boats and could spend more time foraging for food. Lastly, any females that lost their calves during the hurricane could become reproductively active in the following breed- ing season, so if a large number of calves perished in the storm this could account for the increase in calves seen c. 2 years later. Source: Marine Mammal Science (2010), http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2010. 00371.x Beware the enemy within Whilst most invasive species are not native to the country they invade new evidence from the native odorous house ant in North America suggests that under some circum- stances native species can take on invasive characteristics. In natural habitats colonies of the ant are small, with an average of 74 ants, one queen and a single nest. In urban environments, however, the odorous house ant can form supercolonies, contain- ing an average of 238 queens, seven nests and . 58,000 ants per nest. Colonies in semi- natural habitats were in between these two extremes, containing hundreds of ants but only one queen. The findings also suggest that the odorous house ant has outcompeted other native ant species in the urban environ- ments where it had formed supercolonies. Source: Biological Invasions (2010), http:// dx.doi.org/10.1007/s10530-010-9727-6, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http://journal watch.conservationmagazine.org/2010/03/31/ living-large/ Oil lingers for decades A study that monitored the levels of a bio- marker induced in response to crude oil exposure has found that harlequin ducks from areas affected by the Exxon Valdez oil spill in 1989 have elevated levels of this chemical compared to birds from unaf- fected areas. This suggests that, 20 years on, these ducks continue to be exposed to oil. Harlequin ducks are particularly sensi- tive to oil pollution for a number of reasons, including their diet of inverte- brates that live in or on nearshore sedi- ments and small body size. These findings also suggest that conventional assumptions about the longevity of oil in environments after a spill may be underestimated. On a more positive note, another study has Briefly 317 ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core indicated that harlequin duck survival rates during the winters of 2000–2003 did not differ between oiled and un-oiled areas, indicating that the effects of the spill on demographic rates may be lessening. Source: Environmental Toxicology and Chemistry (2010), 29, 1138–1145 CENTRAL AMERICA AND CARIBBEAN Windfarm development rejected in Puerto Rico The Planning Board of Puerto Rico has rejected a permit for an industrial wind- farm development in Karso del Sur Impor- tant Bird Area (IBA), a move applauded by Puerto Rican environmental organizations. Karso del Sur is home to 19 restricted-range species that occur on Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands, including c. 20% of the population of the Critically Endangered Puerto Rican nightjar, as well as other threatened animal species and over 700 plant species. The Karso del Sur IBA is in an area of karst limestone, and the Planning Board was concerned that the construction and operation of the windfarm would dam- age this fragile habitat. At the same time as the permit’s rejection the Environmental Impact Statement for the development is also being legally disputed. Source: BirdLife International News (2010), http://www.birdlife.org/news/news/2010/02/ pr_windfarm.html Maersk Line containers to the rescue Shipping containers donated by Maersk Line have been installed in Summit Mu- nicipal Park, in Panama, as part of ongoing efforts to protect the country’s amphibians. The refrigerated units are part of the Panama Amphibian Rescue and Conserva- tion Project’s Amphibian Rescue Centre, and will house the amphibian species most at risk of extinction from the chytrid fungus that is decimating amphibian pop- ulations worldwide. Each container pro- vides c. 28 m3 of space for the amphibians, which will first undergo a 30-day quaran- tine period before they are released into the containers. Panama is home to at least 198 amphibian species, of which 70 are catego- rized as Critically Endangered, Endangered or Data Deficient. Source: Smithsonian Tropical Research In- stitute News (2010), http://www.stri.org/ english/about_stri/headline_news/news/ article.php?id51134 El Niño may have been behind golden toad’s demise The Monteverde golden toad from Costa Rica, which became extinct in the 1980s and is seen by some as a poster child for the threats faced by amphibians, appears not to have been a victim of global warming- associated changes in weather. Instead, a new study that used stable oxygen isotope measurements from trees in the Monte- verde Cloud Forest in Costa Rica has found that changes in the weather in this area are related to variations in dry season moisture linked to El Niño Southern Oscillation events. The disappearance of the toad co- incided with a dry period caused by the 1986–1987 El Niño event, which probably caused the toads to congregate in small puddles to reproduce, assisting the spread of the deadly, and at that stage newly introduced, chytrid fungus. Source: Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the USA (2010), 107, 5036– 5040, and The Earth Institute, Columbia University (2010), http://www.earth.columbia. edu/articles/view/2646 Crackdown on hawksbill turtle trade has excellent results A survey in the Dominican Republic in 2006 found . 23,000 items made from Critically Endangered hawksbill turtles for sale as tourist souvenirs. Following a crack- down by the government however, a sub- sequent survey of the same locations in February 2010 found a mere 135 hawksbill items for sale. It is estimated that there are 8,000 nesting female hawksbill turtles worldwide, in the coastal waters of 180 countries. The widespread government ac- tion in the Dominican Republic aimed to provide an alternative to shops trading in hawksbill souvenirs, and thus encouraged trade in products such as cow horn or bone. Millions of tourists visit the Domin- ican Republic each year, with the result that many local communities depend on tourism. Source: WWF News (2010), http://www. worldwildlife.org/who/media/press/2009/ WWFPresitem11966.html Belize becomes a magnet for cruise ships The cruise industry in Belize has increased sharply over the past few years, with the number of cruise tourists in 2008 up by 1,140% compared to figures from 2001. Traditionally Belize has been viewed as a destination for ecotourism but cruises have a reputation for being unsustainable, because of their potential impacts on the marine environment, the number of tou- rists they carry and because they generally have weaker links to the local economy. Now a survey of the opinions on conser- vation issues of cruise ship tourists and tourists staying overnight in Belize has shown that the latter expressed more con- cern for the environment than cruise tou- rists. Furthermore, cruise tourists ranked safety, price and cultural expectations as more important factors than the environ- mental ethics of the cruise company when it came to their holiday choice. Source: Journal Watch Online (2010), http://journalwatch.conservationmagazine. org/2010/0423/going-overboard, and Ocean & Coastal Management (2010), 53, 234–244 SOUTH AMERICA Fires destroying Amazon rainforests are increasing An analysis of satellite-derived data on deforestation and forest fires in the Ama- zon has shown that forest fires could re- lease amounts of carbon similar to those released by deliberate deforestation. Fire occurrence rates have also increased, rather than decreased, in 59% of areas with re- duced deforestation. The rise in fires could jeopardize the success of reducing emis- sions from deforestation and forest degra- dation (REDD) schemes (see also this issue, pp. 330–357). A system to monitor fires is required and there is a need to shift land use in the Amazon to a system where fire is not used. Differences in fire frequencies across two land-use gradients revealed that fire-free land-management can reduce fire incidence by up to 69%. If sustainable fire- free land-management of deforested areas is not adopted in the REDD mechanism then the carbon savings achieved by avoid- ing deforestation may be partially negated by increased emissions from fires. Source: Science (2010), 328, 1275-1278, and BBC News (2010), http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/ hi/science_and_environment/10228989.stm Flagging up nests can save turtles Investigations along a stretch of beach in the north coast of Bahia state, Brazil, have indicated that placing flags over sea turtle nests can reduce nest predation. The beaches in question are among the most important turtle-nesting beaches in Brazil, and are used by loggerhead, hawksbill and olive ridley turtles. Since 2005/2006, how- ever, there has been a substantial increase in predation of turtle nests by crab-eating foxes, despite the use of wire mesh grids over the nest. Of the 324 nests protected by a grid and flag, only 3.95% were predated, compared to 24% of nests predated where only a grid was present. This research suggests that flags may have a role to play in turtle nest protection, although flags may Briefly318 ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core be less effective in areas without constant coastal winds. Source: Marine Turtle Newsletter (2009), 125, 1–3 Spiders, snakes and scorpions go up in smoke The world’s largest collection of snakes has been destroyed in a fire at a research centre in Sao Paolo. The 100-year old collection at the Butantan Institute contained nearly 80,000 snakes, as well as thousands of scorpions and spiders. The preserved speci- mens were used in biomedical research but were of interest to conservationists too, as the collection included rare and extinct specimens. A curator at the Institute de- scribed the collection’s destruction as ‘a loss to humanity’. The cause of the fire is not known, although it would appear that the flammable preservative used around the specimens was instrumental in spreading the flames. Source: BBC News (2010), http://news. bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/8685921.stm Parrot once thought extinct now numbers over 1,000 The yellow-eared parrot has been down- graded from Critically Endangered to En- dangered on the IUCN Red List. In 1998 Fundación ProAves rediscovered a colony of 81 yellow-eared parrots in the Andes of Colombia, after the species was thought to be extinct. Protection has allowed the colony to grow and it now numbers . 1,000. ProAves implemented several initiatives to save this parrot. In 2009 the Parrot Conser- vation Corridor was established to protect the species, with the acquisition of . 4,000 ha of habitat. A nest box programme since 2003 has provided new nest sites. Another important effort has involved the wax palm, Colombia’s national tree, which is also in danger of extinction. Because the palm provides critical habitat for the yellow-eared parrot a campaign was successfully insti- tuted to reduce the use of the wax palm for Palm Sunday celebrations by the Catholic Church in Colombia. Source: ProAves News (2010), http://www. proaves.org/article.php?id_article5865 New antpitta discovered A new species of bird, native to Colombia, has been discovered and named Fenwick’s antpitta Grallaria fenwickorum after American Bird Conservancy President George Fenwick and his family. The species was described from an individual captured, ringed, measured, photographed, sampled for DNA, and then released alive back into the wild. The individual that provided the holotype for the description was captured in the 4,582 ha Colibri del Sol Bird Reserve on the Paramo del Sol massif in the western Andes of Colombia. The new species in- habits a highly restricted area of montane cloud forest where dwarf bamboo thickets thrive on rich volcanic soils on the less humid eastern-facing slopes; a habitat that has undergone extensive clearance for pas- turelands in recent decades. The bird has been proposed as Critically Endangered under IUCN criteria. Source: American Bird Conservancy News (2010), http://www.abcbirds.org/ newsandreports/stories/100520.html Peruvian government announces new conservation areas The Peruvian Minister of the Environment, Antonia José Brack Egg, has announced his government’s approval of three new, com- munity-owned, private conservation areas, encompassing 3,415 ha on community owned lands, to protect Polylepis forest in the Vilcanota Mountains of south-east Peru, near Cusco. Polylepis is a genus of trees and shrubs that grow at or above the tree line, only in the Andes of South America. The three new private conserva- tion areas are Choquechaca, Mantanay and Sele Tecse Ayllu Lares. Several globally threatened birds are unique to this Polylepis habitat, including the Endangered ash- breasted tit-tyrant and white-browed tit- spinetail, and the Critically Endangered and highly range-restricted royal cinclodes. Currently, only about 2–3% of the original high-elevation Polylepis forest remains in all of Peru, threatening the rich and spe- cialized biota of this vanishing ecosystem. Source: American Bird Conservancy News (2010) http://www.abcbirds.org/ newsandreports/releases/100527.html PACIFIC American iguanas invade Fiji Although tentatively reported in 2000 the presence of the American or green iguana in Fiji was not confirmed until 2008, on the island of Qamea, and by 2009 the species was reported from neighbouring Laucala, Matagi and Taveuni Islands. In February 2010 the species was reportedly brought to the main island of Viti Levu from Taveuni/ Vanua Levu. This iguana is native to South America and is reported to have been brought into Fiji by a foreign national. Fiji has three native iguana species of the genus Brachylophus, two of which are endemic. The range of the Fiji banded iguana over- laps with that of the introduced American iguana, and the latter is a potential risk to the threatened native iguanas through the spread of disease. The Department of Environment has set up a task force to oversee the incursion response, and the Ministry of Primary Industries through the Department of Agriculture has estab- lished an eradication task force. Source: NatureFiji News (2010), http:// www.naturefiji.org/newsstory.php?id593 AUSTRALIA/ANTARCTICA/ NEW ZEALAND Submarine explosion of life Surveys of the deep sea Kaikoura Canyon off the coast of New Zealand have revealed a cornucopia of megabenthic invertebrates. Researchers sampling these deep waters found the biomass of the invertebrates to be 100 times greater than biomass reported from previous samples of habitats below 500 m. Further evidence from these surveys revealed that the Canyon is home to a large number of rat-tail fishes, thought to feed on the invertebrates. It is believed that at least 660 submarine canyons exist worldwide, and that c. 100 of these may be as species- rich as the Kaikoura Canyon. Source: Proceedings of the Royal Society B (2010), http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rspb.2010. 0462 Corals’ cloud sunscreen at risk of disappearance Past research has found that algae dwelling in coral tissue produce dimethyl sulphide (DMS), a gas which, on contact with air, helps clouds form over the sea. This blocks sunlight and in turn reduces the water temperature. Now new research suggests that a rise in ocean temperature of only 2�C will stop some algae producing DMS, leading to a reduction in the cloud cover over reefs. The researchers involved in this work fear that a reduction in the amount of DMS in Australia’s northern coral reefs could result in the drying-out of north Queensland’s rainforests. Source: New Scientist (2010), 205(2749), 17 A small head and cautious nature can be helpful, if you’re a death adder… The effects of the spread of invasive cane toads on native Australian wildlife is well documented. Now studies on the interac- tions in northern Australia between a naı̈ve predator, the death adder, and the newly arrived toxic toads has shown that variation in snake behaviour and morphology may at least protect some individuals. Specifi- cally, snakes that were not keen on attacking cane toads in the laboratory, and snakes with smaller heads, had much higher rates of survival in the wild than their conspecifics Briefly 319 ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core without these attributes. Given the strong pressure being exerted on the species by the cane toads since their invasion into this part of Australia, an adaptive response from the adder population is a possibility. Source: Animal Conservation (2010), 13, 53–59 …while quoll school helps educate these endemic species Poisonous cane toads are closing in on the last stronghold of the Critically Endangered northern quoll, an endemic marsupial with a suicidal tendency to eat the toads. Con- cerned by the extinction of the quoll across Northern Australia, researchers have experi- mented to see whether conditioned taste aversion might help to protect the Kimberly’s quolls. Young quolls were fed a small (and thus not fatally toxic) dead cane toad im- pregnated with a nausea-inducing chemical. Thirty-one ‘toad-smart’ quolls were then fitted with radio-collars and released, along with 31 ‘toad-naı̈ve’ quolls. Of the latter group, 29% died soon after release, following an encounter with large cane toads. However, the taste aversion training had promising results, increasing the daily survival rate of male quolls from 58 to 88%, and from 84 to 94% in female quolls. Source: Journal of Applied Ecology (2010), 47, 558–565, and Journal Watch Online (2010), http://journalwatch.conservation magazine.org/2010/04/15/a-lesson-before- dying/ Evidence for stop–start growth of coral reefs An investigation that examined cores taken from small coral reefs located in a bay on Dunk Island, off Queensland, has shown that the reefs grew at different times. The core samples indicated that the reefs un- derwent two distinct periods of growth, one between c. 6,500 and 4,500 years ago and the other over the last 1,500 years. The reefs studied have now reached the end of their natural life, as they are no longer able to grow upwards because the sea level is stable and sunlight penetration is restricted by the muddy conditions around the island. The reefs appear to be able to grow rapidly when the opportunity arises, suggesting that sea-level rise could allow these partic- ular reefs to expand once more, although the authors warn that coral bleaching and ocean acidification may hamper their abil- ity to do so in the future. Source: Planet Earth Online (2010), http:// planetearth.nerc.ac.uk/news/story.aspx?id5 672 and Geology (2010), 38, 119–122 Kiwi flight Thirty kiwi have flown (with assistance from a Hercules C130 aircraft) from Little Barrier Island to a new home on Pukaha Mount Bruce, on New Zealand’s North Island. This is the biggest ever mass- translocation of kiwi, and their arrival on Pukaha Mount Bruce has doubled the population of kiwis there. The aim of add- ing to the existing population of kiwis on Pukaha Mount Bruce is to improve the genetic diversity of the existing population, with the ultimate aim of creating a self- sustaining population of kiwi in the wild at Pukaha. The new arrivals appear to be settling in well and there are even indica- tions that two of the translocated birds have paired up. Source: Pukaha Mount Bruce News (2010), http://www.mtbruce.org.nz/new-kiwi- settling-well All internet addresses were up to date at time of writing. Note that in the HTML version of this document (at http://journals. cambridge.org) all internet links are live and can thus be used to navigate directly to the cited web sites. The Briefly section in this issue was written and compiled by Elizabeth Allen and Martin Fisher, with additional contributions from Anthony Rylands, Colin Groves, Dick Watling and Riamsara Kuyakanon Knapp. Contributions from au- thoritative published sources (including web sites) are always welcome. Please send contributions by e-mail to oryx@fauna-flora. org Briefly320 ª 2010 Fauna & Flora International, Oryx, 44(3), 311–320 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 00:59:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0030605310000608 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_vwxrodygo5hd7bpf3y4pnl6hua	----	untitled Editorial: Which words can we use related to sound and music? The intention of this issue is to analyse and explore the evolution of terminology used for sound and music. Of course listening is the best way to understand sound and music; however, when one wants to analyse or offer discourse regarding music in a symbolic way, words are necessary as well as concepts, which may involve several terms. Words are not only useful to ‘talk’ about music, but they are also important to operate within music while making it. Composers have their own personal vocabulary; teachers use adapted terms in order to transmit musical information; ana- lysts work with different high-level structuring frame- works; and performers have their own words to define sound and musical performance. When Pierre Schaeffer first started working on Musical Objects,1 he defined a series of terms to talk about sound in relation to our perception and he developed specific concepts to define the categories for sounds (typology) and the behaviour of sounds through time (morphology). This dual definition of sound events has strongly influenced musical thought and the way we deal conceptually with sound when composing or analysing music. It is less operational for musical analysis or for structuring concepts during the compositional process. Nonetheless, Schaeffer defi- nitely changed the way we understand sound and sound in music. One of the strong new features that composing with sounds brought to music is the fact that composers may deal with hundreds of thousands of different potential sounds in their work, which they have to organise and keep track of while working with repre- sentations of those sounds in order to develop a certain level of abstraction which permits them to create categories and subcategories in order to have all the sounds ‘in mind’ while composing. Inversely, when analysing or talking about music, specific words are needed to describe sound phenomena and their beha- viour as well as for exploring musical features. Many analysts and musical theorists continuously define new concepts in order to address different ways of under- standing these musical phenomena. This is why, throughout the last twenty years, we have seen different interesting attempts to build classi- fication schemes for sound, thus attempting to organise the ever-changing nature of sounds used in electro- acoustic music and in any kind of sound-technology- based music. The difficulty with classification schemes is that often their ambition is to provide a universal framework capable of analysing any kind of music. However important this approach may be, the diversity and complexity of contemporary sound-based music make these attempts difficult to apply on a large scale. The tendency today is to build specific classification schemes for a musical work or for an ensemble or stylistically related works, where common patterns permit high-level structuring and a dedicated classifi- cation framework. On the other hand, this is how composers work, building an array or network of sounds for a musical work or a series of works, an array that will change or evolve with the following work. The intention of this issue of Organised Sound was then to take a glimpse at how composers and analysts of music are using vocabulary today, how they verba- lise sound and music in order to think at a symbolic level or simply to transmit to others their thoughts and analysis of music. The harvest of chosen submissions is more than interesting: it marks some important land- marks in the needs and expectations of authors and musicians challenging important concepts. Perception is at the centre of many discussions and the strong sound analysis conceptual frameworks developed by Pierre Schaeffer and Denis Smalley (typo-morphology and spectromorphology as well as space-form) are frequently referred to as starting points for new devel- opments. A very interesting feature in this issue is the introduction of social networks as a place for naming, including how the result of shared emotional reactions relates to existing theoretical frameworks. Eric Maestri brings a highly interesting perspective on how we perceive human-made and machine-made sounds and how these sounds interact, analysing the sound agents and their semantic implications for our perception. Highly based on Pierre Schaeffer’s theory, it continues his reflection and opens the road to new 1The Treatise on Musical Objects is available in English at University of California Press: www.ucpress.edu/book.php?isbn=9780520294301 in the translation by Christine North and John Dack and an editorial team fostered by GRM and composed of Marc Battier, Leigh Landy, Daniel Teruggi and Valérie Vivancos. Organised Sound 22(3): 311–314 © Cambridge University Press, 2017. doi:10.1017/S1355771817000462 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1355771817000462 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at www.ucpress.edu/book.php?isbn=9780520294301 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/S1355771817000462&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1355771817000462 https://www.cambridge.org/core analytical and technical challenges. Maestri presents an analysis of human–machine interaction (HMI), placing it in the perspective of sound analysis and how music in the twentieth century has provided a new, rich domain for this type of interaction with regard to mixed and interactive live performances. The impor- tance of HMI is significant in current musical practice but less applied to musical analysis. This approach is closely related to the development of our capacity of perceiving non-human-made sounds and progressively integrating them in our listening experience. The human body remains at the centre of musical experi- ence however extended and transformed to create a ‘hybrid sound territory’ where humans and machines interact. This article can be related to an important project developed at the GRM at the end of the 1960s, laun- ched by Pierre Schaeffer, where the objective was to emulate typo-morphological patterns of sound through a synthesiser. The project was called SYN- TOM: ‘SYNthèse + Traité des Objets Musicaux’ (synthesis based on the TOM concepts). The idea was to identify those parameters that would represent dif- ferent variations of a concept as ‘Grain’ or ‘Allure’ and apply them to the control parameters of synthesised sound in order to progressively obtain hybrid electro- nic sounds that simulate the behaviour of human- produced sounds. The project failed at that time because of the difficulty of developing precise analogue-synthesis devices. Later an attempt was made through collaboration with EMS in Stockholm where analogue modules would be digitally controlled. The latter project failed due to the complexity of transforming perceptual concepts in voltage-control parameters. Eric Maestri stresses the perception of gestural movements and its relation to our identification of sound sources as well as the continuity between per- ception and action. He then analyses a work by Marco Stroppa, Traiettoria, from the ‘allure’ point of view. This work contains a mix between piano sounds and computer-generated electronic sounds. However ‘natural’ electronic sounds may seem, they incur a strong causal difference from piano sounds. The analysis shows how both sources may fuse into new hybrid musical situations or generate contrast between them illustrating their distance. In his article, Edward Spencer applies the spectro- morphology and space-form concepts developed by Denis Smalley to Stephen Field’s notion of acouste- mology, expanding them to the analysis of other types of music beyond electroacoustic. Words are used to describe emotion and reception by way of social net- works. It is useful and to compare them with Smalley’s terminology. Based on Smalley’s spectromorphology taxonomy, which was originally applied to electro- acoustic music, Spencer shows that this approach can be useful when dealing within non-electroacoustic contexts. The same situation can be found with the space-form taxonomy, which initially based within electroacoustic music is perfectly adapted to analyse the musical space patterns of EDM and the work of popular music producers, so that listeners can effi- ciently apply Smalley’s terms in an affective way. Spencer introduces a strong trend in today’s culture, which is to analyse ‘user’ words or how perceptual or emotional terminologies are used to describe or react to a musical event. Through the short excerpts he has worked on, he stresses the importance of this kind of approach and how subjective factors enter into the words used related to sound and music. He also places acoustemology as a useful method to both describe music and how environments such as YouTube and other social networks are rich in descriptions and reactions and represent not only the point of view of a listener but also a network of individual experiences brought together related to the same musical context. Expanding Smalley’s space-form taxonomy which has been a source of inspiration for the author, Erik Nyström proposes an original terminology related to spatial texture based on his compositional experience and his ‘naming’ of sounds and on abstract extra- musical concepts, highly pertinent from his point of view to describe spatial perception and the behaviour of sounds in space. As an inspiring example, he cites Schaeffer’s use of the category of ‘eccentric’ sounds, which defines sounds that did not ‘fit’ in previous categories! He starts with a foundational ‘dimension of motion’ and continues with an ‘ontology of motion in spatial texture’ to describe motion principles and types, thus creating a rich array of situations describing our interaction with space as creators and listeners. Peter Plessas presents us with an attempt to classify sounds based on experimental information collected among eight musically trained individuals. His approach analyses the fact that among certain com- munities there is a local, common to all, typology of sounds that emerges within a project providing what he calls a ‘latent knowledge’. He also insists on the fact that contemporary scores for mixed works give instructions on what should be done without providing information regarding how it should sound. He stres- ses the need of verbal descriptions as a communication tool within performance as well as the difficulty regarding the description of timbre. Plessas offers an interesting perspective on the evo- lution of sound description and how different ways of talking about sound have been used, taking us after that to the difficulty of defining the result of a techno- logical manipulation of a sound when the same effect can have very different results depending on how the parameters are set. He then describes the undertaken experiment and how, based on opposite pairs of 312 Daniel Teruggi https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1355771817000462 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1355771817000462 https://www.cambridge.org/core concepts (such as hesitant-confident), the participants had to place different sounds within those scales. The results demonstrate the importance of this kind of clas- sification method, originally developed by Schaeffer, which strongly simplifies the classification method. Loïc Bertrand provides us with an insight into one of the founding texts of Schaeffer: ‘Essai sur la radio et le cinéma, esthétique et technique des arts-relais’. This work opens the road of Schaeffer’s interrogations regarding media and how the recorded sound and images change the perspective of perception and the position of the listener-viewer in relation to other artistic expressions. He works on the concept of the ‘language of things’, which he defines as the fact that when sounds interact together, even with silence, they create communication amongst themselves. Schaeffer gives a particular importance to the microphone, as an object for discovering and decon- structing the sounding world, concentrating on radio and how a different relation from that in theatre is created between the voice of the speaker and the listener. Bertrand stresses the concept that the micro- phone or the camera gives us the point of view of the object itself and not the point of view of humans and how we have to become ‘friends’ with the technical objects. It is interesting that Schaeffer includes techni- cal objects as ‘Things’ tending towards a humanisation of technology and machines that were and sometimes are even today considered as alien from humanness, potentially capable of the worst feats at a time in which they have become the composer’s strongest ally. This idea can even be put in perspective regarding the strong interest in machines that arose after the Second World War when machines had proven their incredible capacity for destruction. These machines responded to human designs and the development of what was called ‘cybernetics’, which studies the prin- ciples that control interactions between living beings and complex machines, opening a new perspective of confidence in machines. When we consider that Schaeffer’s book on ‘Arts relais’ was written in 1941–42, we are more than surprised by Schaeffer’s capacity of anticipation and how these experiences (Beaune) were essential to the ideas leading to music concrète and subseqently to acousmatics. In opposition to Bertrand’s article, Ben Byrne focuses on listening, not through the act of capturing sound but as a perceptual experience. The three authors, on whom Byrne concentrates – Henry David Thoreau, John Cage and Michel Serres – are expert listeners who have questioned listening in a deep way trying to describe their impressions and reactions. Byrne proposes the important concept of ‘multiplicity’ to analyse how we should perceive sound. Cage stresses the impossibility of silence and Thoreau sound as a universal presence. Cage’s 4′33″ piece is a listening experience which he himself applied in different situations where he would remain silent exploring the silent world around. Byrne defends the initial entangling of sounds, as an opposite to écoute réduite; you need to include the existence context of sounds. He stresses Bergson’s conception that a ‘number is the synthesis of one and the many’ and applies this interesting concept to duration as one and many for the existence of sound. Is this so distant from Schaeffer’s approach as described in Bertrand? In fact Schaeffer proposes an identification process in order to recreate differentia- tion within a context. Bergson and Deleuze converge towards Michel Serres where sound is a qualitative multiplicity but also temporal and spatial, being expanded by Byrne to a large variety of elements. Sam McAuliffe broadens the discussion to impro- visation and starts with the always-pertinent question of what can or not can be considered as music and how the position of the listener towards what he hears defines a possible context. Pierre Schaeffer was one of the first to give equal importance to all sounds, including those which are commonly called ‘noises’, and to focus on ‘acousmatic listening’ changes the perception we have of sound. Based on an improvisa- tion framework created by McAuliffe, the article ana- lyses the important link between music and the sound environment and how music can relate to a place mainly when put in an écoute réduite perspective through field recording. His experience is based on Luc Ferrari’s work with the ‘almost nothing’ approach of recording environmental situations and organising them to be presented as a musical work, and the saxophonist Jim Denley who improvises within the sound environment which then becomes a part of his work. McAuliffe presents the case studies based on two locations in Melbourne, Australia and how the listening of the field recording in an acousmatic perspective creates a series of starting points and concepts that structure and organise the instrumental performance, always stressing the relation between music and the environment. Adam Collis poses a very interesting problem in which the dichotomy time/space can have an influence in music depending on whether time or space is pre- dominant in musical composition. Time predominance favours symbolic representation of sound while space predominance permits the use of other sounds including what is currently called ‘noise’. He suggests that the mathematics-based model of music comes from Pytha- goras and this has conditioned the supremacy of pitch among other components of sound. Luigi Russolo and Karlheinz Stockhausen have questioned this approach and implicitly opened music to other sounds. Stockhausen suggests that normally music is a time frame, which is filled up with sound events; an opposed Editorial 313 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1355771817000462 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1355771817000462 https://www.cambridge.org/core option is that sounds define the time frame – sounds construct time. In contemporary acousmatic creation, sounds impose a listening time frame and the kind of sound, its spectral nature, determines how time is used and developed in music. Collis presents different examples of attempts to deconstruct the time-based conception of music: John Cage’s 4′33″ where the room (or one’s own body’s) sounds create a perception of time, or Agostino Di Scipio’s environment inter- active systems. The article then concentrates on Ryoji Ikeda’s work, based on short sine impulses organised in rhythmic patterns, investigating how the listener perceives these patterns within a space frame. Patrick Valiquet’s article on Marcelle Deschênes and acousmatic education in Québec is an introduction to the way in which Pierre Schaeffer’s ideas and work have been applied within an educational environment. Marcelle Deschênes was the Canada’s original voice of Schaeffer’s ideas. Schaeffer was original in every aspect he touched, pedagogy not being the least, mainly when it dealt on learning how to listen and to compose based on what listening may provide as a new insight to emotion. Her concept of teaching the ear as an instrument is essential in her approach and Valiquet expresses clearly the importance and value of the Deschênes’s pedagogical and musical work. When it is commonly thought that it was Francis Dhomont who brought acousmatic music to Canada, Valiquet shows the importance of Deschênes’s earlier work done and dismantles the claims of acousmatic orthodoxy of the Montréal School. He analyses the musical career of Deschênes, the musical context in which she lived and the influences she received. One of her major contributions was to extend the concepts of the ‘Traité des Objets Musicaux’ to form and to the dynamic of sound through time, which was not really inherent to the concept of Schaeffer’s sound object. She took the more applicable ideas from Schaeffer’s work and applied them to the analysis and understanding of music in a very general sense. While remaining faithful to Schaeffer’s ideas and concepts, she enlarged the fields of application in which she worked from a multi- disciplinary perspective including painting and drawing. Four off-theme articles complete this volume. Yet they are related in many aspects to the problems evoked here. The important relation of music and gesture provides an interesting complement to the ‘wording’ of sound and music as well as the analysis of space and emotion and space and time in music and the importance of sound. Federico Schumacher Ratti and Claudio Fuentes Bravo discuss space–emotion in acousmatic music or the relations between spatiality/spatialisation of sound and the cognitive/affective empathic processes involved in the acousmatic experience. Based on experimental listening experiences, oriented interviews and electrodermal activity, they establish the close link that may exist between space and emotion in an acousmatic listening situation and the significative influence of space. The similar results among listeners, obtained through a rigorous methodology, suggest an interesting and original relation between their respon- ses and the existing literature. Jon Bellona working on the work The Hands com- posed by Michael Waisvisz illustrates and discusses the vocabulary of gestures developed by Waisvisz. The Hands is also the name of the digital musical instru- ment developed by Wasivisz and his team at STEIM in Amsterdam. It was one of the first interactive devices based on movement. The importance of this article is that it analyses The Hands from a musical perspective instead of a purely technical one and Bellona clearly shows the relations between the hand gestures, the body and the music. For Waiswisz the visual image of the performer was of the highest importance for the listener’s experience, reintroducing body and gestures within the electroacoustic experience. Continuing with interactivity, Anna Einarsson ana- lyses how performers experience responsive technology in a mixed work. Based on performance analysis and interviews with singers stressing the role of sensori- motor interaction with the body in musical perfor- mance. Again we find here an interesting relationship between human and the non-human sound production; however, the article aims to demonstrate how perfor- mers represent sound and how they relate to the tech- nological environment, thus opening a new perspective in the way to analyse this relationship. Finally, Riccardo Wanke analyses musical creation through an ecstatic-materialistic approach, in which sounds are integrated into a structure. He analyses how listeners develop perceptual approaches to understand the message. Composer and listener meet through sound and corporal reactions to sound itself. Wanke thus gives a very interesting analysis and personal reflexion on how we perceive music and how the composer relates to the listener. This volume clearly addresses the issues of words and concepts for sound and music as well as analysing the perceptual implications of organised sound for both composers and listeners. Daniel Teruggi (dteruggi@ina.fr) 314 Daniel Teruggi https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1355771817000462 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1355771817000462 https://www.cambridge.org/core Editorial: Which words can we use related to sound and�music? 
work_vyvczt4vbnfkzf5b3xpl5gf2de	----	Transatlantica, 2 | 2017 Transatlantica Revue d’études américaines. American Studies Journal  2 | 2017 (Hi)stories of American Women: Writings and Re- writings / Call and Answer: Dialoguing the American West in France Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World Université de Strasbourg, October 6-7, 2018 Pierre Le Duff and Cezara Bobeica Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/10290 DOI: 10.4000/transatlantica.10290 ISSN: 1765-2766 Publisher AFEA Electronic reference Pierre Le Duff and Cezara Bobeica, “Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English- Speaking World”, Transatlantica [Online], 2 | 2017, Online since 27 May 2019, connection on 22 March 2021. URL: http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/10290 ; DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/ transatlantica.10290 This text was automatically generated on 22 March 2021. Transatlantica – Revue d'études américaines est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d'Utilisation Commerciale - Pas de Modification 4.0 International. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/10290 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World Université de Strasbourg, October 6-7, 2018 Pierre Le Duff and Cezara Bobeica 1 “There are no clear borders, only merging invisible to the sight,” wrote the Serbian poet Dejan Stojanović in his 1993 collection Circling: 1978-1987. Borders, whether clear or not, whether material or conceptual, nonetheless shape, constrain, structure, and divide space, time, people, and thought. Borders are ambivalent by their very nature, as they are both points of separation and points of contact. To borrow a Wildean phrase, they are “rarely pure and never simple,” and therefore serve as an extraordinarily fruitful object of scholarly attention. 2 The interdisciplinary conference “Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World,” held in Strasbourg on the 6th and 7th of October 2018, and hosted by SEARCH (Savoirs dans l’Espace Anglophone : Représentations, Culture, Histoire), one of the English Department’s research teams at the Université de Strasbourg, truly testified to the notion’s range of implications. Via 8 panels and 3 keynote speeches from experts in fields as diverse as literature, cultural studies, art history, architecture, photography, history, geopolitics, journalism, gender studies, and science fiction, the conference questioned numerous crucial aspects of a concept that is as complex as ubiquitous. The United States held a major place in the subjects discussed, which bears witness to the particular importance of concepts such as “the border” or “the frontier” in the American episteme, as well as to the specific issues they have raised, and continue to raise in the US. 3 Geopolitical borders, firstly, lie at the heart of concerns and debates that, ironically, almost systematically cross disciplinary limits and reach deep into adjacent areas of discourse, including culture, language, economic and social questions, and sovereignty. In his talk “Warped Mirrors: Shifting Representations and Asymmetrical Constructs on the Border(s) of the American Southwest,” Jeffrey Swartwood, explored the manner in Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World Transatlantica, 2 | 2017 1 which cultural communities on both sides of the southern border(s) of the United States were integrated into the American historical narrative, most notably through the example of the different communities that inhabited the San Diego area during and after the Mexican-American war (1846-1848). Swartwood argued that these communities resist neat categorisation as either American or Mexican, and that the particular geographic and cultural context of 19th-century San Diego allowed for much more racial and cultural diversity than any other area in either country. This challenges the notion that the Mexican-American war was a conflict between two unified nation states, and provides valuable data to explain the construction of cultural identities. 4 In her talk “We Don’t Cross the Border, It’s the Border That Crosses Us,” Léna Rémy- Kovach explored the colonial effort to map an unknown geographic entity according to Eurocentric viewpoints and concerns, and its impact on two Native communities mainly, the Akwesasne Kanien'kehá:ka (Mohawk), and the Anishinaabe (Ojibwe) of the Great Lakes region. As Rémy-Kovach puts it, “this Western cartography system introduced a new geographical imaginary which ignored indigenous ways of knowing and recording space.” Instead, borders also reflected the Anglo-French conflict and the American Revolution, in which several indigenous communities participated as allies to one party or the other, and constituted an extremely efficient tool for clearing land and attributing it to settlers. Furthermore, some of these borders outlasted these historical episodes. Even today, Rémy-Kovach showed, the movement of Native American communities from one country to another is anything but unrestricted, and many communities are still the victims of various levels of discrimination. 5 In their presentation titled “Transgressing and rethinking borders in Rapid City, SD and on the Great Sioux Reservation,” Céline Planchou and Sandrine Baudry focused on the particular case of a town in South Dakota, and on the way its founding and expansion affected the pre-existing local Sioux population. Rapid City, which originated as an illegal settlement on Lakota land in the late 19th century, quickly became a contested space, among other reasons because the nearby Black Hills were ceremonial places of great spiritual value to the Lakota communities. Planchou and Baudry argued that change has been extremely slow, and that racism and discrimination still exist in Rapid City in the 21st century. Even within this theoretically unified urban space, a clear border still separates the wealthy downtown districts and those mainly inhabited by Native American minorities. Materialised by a railroad track, it stands at odds with the spiritual and cultural value that Native communities attach to the land, and even negates it. 6 In his presentation titled “‘He came a long way to see his white brothers the Cherokees and the Creeks’ : Les Indiens relocalisés à l’ouest du Mississippi comme settlers- colonisateurs des Plaines et agents de la ‘civilisation’ américaine sur une nouvelle frontière ‘entre autochtones’ (1817-1853)?,” Augustin Habran, argued that several of the so-called “Civilised Nations” among the Native American population in fact participated in the creation of an American identity in the West, largely as a coping mechanism in the context of dispossession and westward expansion. Through a form of cultural mimesis, some Native American tribes managed to reconfigure space and borders to their advantage, a strategy that would allow them to become ambassadors of the new dominant cultural identity while safeguarding aspects of their own Native culture. Habran’s paper called for a rethinking of the mapping of the early United Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World Transatlantica, 2 | 2017 2 States, and for a more nuanced approach to the traditionally dichotomous views on the ethnic and cultural borders between Native Americans and white settlers. 7 Both geographical and cultural borders were the topic of another presentation given by Professor Mohamed Yazid Bendjeddou, titled “Representations of the Frontier in Mary Rowlandson’s A Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson.” The famous autobiographical account of a Puritan woman held captive by a troop of Native American raiders in the late 17th century constitutes first-hand material to study the notion of the frontier, both in the eyes of the prisoner and in the minds of her captors. Professor Bendjeddou first examined the “physical” manifestation of the border, which held crucial importance both for the Natives and the settlers: the former saw it as a vital necessity to maintain it, the latter as the frontier to be crossed to fulfil their “Manifest Destiny” of westward conquest. But Rowlandson’s narrative, he further showed, also yields valuable information concerning the way in which the Natives were viewed in white, and especially Puritan, communities, and the way in which the notion of the Frontier was constructed on both sides. 8 Another striking example was presented by Scullion in her talk “‘There are no perfect boundaries, no natural borders except winding rivers’: Maps, Landscape and Decolonial Resistance in the work of Louise Erdrich,” a contemporary Native American writer, particularly in her 1988 novel Tracks. Scullion showed how Erdrich’s narrative makes tangible the inescapable tension between Native Americans’ concept of land and space, and the latter’s systematic and arbitrary remapping by white settlers. This is notably achieved through an ekphrastic description of a map in the novel, on which the rapid encroachment of colonial powers into Native American land is visually overwhelming and oppressive. 9 Border reconfiguration is, of course, a wide-ranging question outside the United States as well. The consequences of Brexit were explored from several perspectives too: that of Gibraltar in the presentation “‘Between a Rock and a Hard Place’: a short (and very personal) history of the Gibraltar border” by G.M. Sanchez; that of borders dividing the British Isles in the presentation “Brexit or the reconfiguration of borders” by Professor Christian Auer; and that of the Irish border in the talk “Visualising (Northern) Irish Border(s): The Contested Imagined Geographies of Murals from the Conflict to Brexit” by Caroline Lehni. 10 A more uplifting talk titled “Frontiers of Peace” was given by Valerio Vincenzo, in which he showed that today, frontiers in Europe are far closer to being points of contact than lines of separation. 11 The way in which humans perceive and represent borders is therefore as relevant as that in which borders materialise. In the area of border representation in literature and the arts, the United States was, once again, well represented at the conference. 12 As a trained surveyor, Henry David Thoreau certainly understood the implications of territory mapping, but, as Julien Nègre demonstrated in his paper “Writing without borders? Thoreau’s remapping of borders through and within language,” the American author saw a profound connection between physical and linguistic borders, and sought to explore them, sometimes simultaneously, in his writings. Thoreau’s stance was deeply subversive; in Nègre’s words, “most of his excursions into the border topos are challenges to the validity of his contemporaries’ take on borders.” Nègre used three pictorial documents as a starting point: a detail from a map of the state of Maine used by Thoreau himself during his excursions, a map of a swamp, and the outline of a leaf, Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World Transatlantica, 2 | 2017 3 both drawn by Thoreau himself. These three documents, when examined in the light of Thoreau’s writings, could serve as a map towards the most fundamental issues involved in cartography, both geographical and conceptual, such as the limits of perception, the tension between representations and reality, as well as the borders within language and meaning. In Nègre’s words again, Thoreau chooses to “inhabit the border,” so as to understand and, ultimately, transcend and subvert it. 13 Borders and limitations are a recurrent subject in literature in general, but their manifestation and treatment vary greatly from one author to the next. 14 Cartography, however, is not the only way in which borders can materialise. As Frédérique Spill demonstrated in her talk “‘One man’s tenuous hold on the earth’: the metaphor of barbed wire in Ron Rash’s writing,” barbed wire, a comparatively rudimentary way of enclosing space, can nonetheless serve as a powerful image to define and subvert the very notion of a border. Particularly through Rash’s 2004 novel One Foot in Eden, Spill showed how barbed wire could shift from a threatening limit to an invitation to trespassing, and could even become a tool of redemption while serving as an allegorical, Christ-like attribute. 15 In her presentation titled “Undermining borders in The Girl in the Tangerine Scarf,” a novel by Arab American writer Mohja Kahf, Sara Arami explored the way in which less physical and more ideological borders are used to create and maintain cultural identities among Arab communities living in the United States, and how all borders and frontiers are unsettled once the geographical limit is crossed. Arami showed that, despite all efforts of communities to enforce a dichotomous worldview in which each is clearly differentiated from the other, borders are porous, and cultures can end up overlapping. The novel, Arami argued, calls for counternarratives engaging in what she called “cartographic map-breaking,” to subvert fixed and defined borders between cultures and communities. 16 Other borders, and their transgression, may however raise far more troubling ontological and epistemological questions concerning the human nature. Stefania Iliescu explored this difficult subject in her talk titled “‘There are no horizons here’: L’effritement des frontières dans Zero K de Don DeLillo.” In this novel, wealthy and powerful individuals gather in an enclosed space called the “Convergence,” where the limits imposed on humans by nature, first and foremost among them death, are to be transcended and nullified. Iliescu argued that, in DeLillo’s work, such a project comes at a price, namely abandoning all past frameworks for thought and speech. The novel thus questions contemporary goals of crossing the final border towards “post-humanity,” as well as the consequences that such a breakthrough would entail vis-à-vis the features still deemed most essential to humanity. 17 Naturally writers from other countries have also pondered the notion of borders. The liminal space between borders, as well as the act of crossing the border, were studied from a literary perspective in the talks “James Joyce’s Rome as Inter-Imperial Zone” by Sara Ceroni, “Crossing borders in imperial India: a geocritical study of subversive transgressions in R. Kipling’s Kim and E.M. Forster’s A Passage to India” by Amandine Guyot, and “‘Everything Outside the Border is Wilderness’: Border-Crossings in Sarah Hall’s The Wolf Border” by Julia Ditter. In his talk “‘Indigeneity’, ‘Statism’ and ‘Federal Character’: The manufacture of Inter-Communal borders in the Federal Republic of Nigeria,” Joseph Egwurube provided new insights into the question of Nigerian Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World Transatlantica, 2 | 2017 4 federalism, and yet another particular situation was discussed by Pascal Zinck in his presentation “Lines of Control: Borders Without a Country.” 18 Two presentations focused more particularly on geographical, ethnical, and cultural borders in Caribbean texts: “‘Dark strangers crossing the nation’s threshold’: Reading Literal and Metaphorical borders in George Lamming and Samuel Selvon” by Silvia Gerlsbeck and “‘Whey Mi Belang’: Borders of Class, Race and Gender in Reggae Lyrics and Afro-Caribbean Oral Texts” by David Bousquet. These presentations offered new perspectives on the question of emigration from the Caribbean towards the United States. Lastly, in his talk “Akwaeke Emezi’s Freshwater (2018): or, “Ogbanjehood” as Liminal State,” Cédric Courtois explored the question of the liminal space between the self and the other in the context of Nigerian culture. 19 Two further talks reminded us that borders can exist even within seemingly unified spaces and communities, and that their transgression can be a long and arduous process. 20 In her paper “De ‘L’Ange du foyer’ à la suffragette: comment la ‘nouvelle femme’ a franchi la frontière entre sphère privée et sphère publique, Grande-Bretagne, 1854-1918,” Laurence Cristina presented a historical account of the slow but irresistible progress of women’s rights. As her–very original–starting point to investigate the significant changes that occurred during that period, she chose the date of publication of the poem “The Angel in the House” by Coventry Patmore. 21 Shirley Doulière focused on a different type of woman altogether in her talk “Victorian female explorers navigate the borders of femininity.” While women such as Mary Seacole, Isabella Bird, Mary Kingsley, and Gertrude Bell chose to pursue undertakings that were usually male territory, they still deliberately maintained a conventionally female image, thus constituting fascinating cases of navigating the border between genders. That similar questions still arise today, in the United States and elsewhere, is a testimony to their ubiquity and their importance in contemporary societies. 22 Two papers studied forests as particular liminal spaces. In her keynote address “Frontières mouvantes: les forêts anglaises entre institutions et imaginaires,” Professor Sylvie Nail covered the popular movements that arose in Britain from 2010 on after the government announced its intention to privatise large parts of the forests previously administered by the Forestry Commission. This movement highlighted the deeply ingrained cultural attachment of British people to the woodlands across cultural borders, and the various social, artistic and environmental measures that were taken to keep the forests public and open to all. 23 In her talk “The Past in the Present: The Black Forest in Victorian Periodicals as cultural border experience,” Stefanie Lethbridge examined English accounts of the Black Forest, which constantly oscillated between the pragmatic tone of tourist guides and the mythical narratives that shaped the image of the forest as backdrop to fairy tales and horror stories, thus blurring the borders between the two. 24 Though focused on the UK and not on the US, both these presentations raised questions that would be just as relevant to American studies. The close cultural rapport to nature, the idea of unexplored territory as the setting of stories bordering on the mythical, and liminal spaces between the wilderness and civilisation still fascinate artists and scholars alike, and should remain a rich source of inspiration on both sides of the Atlantic for years to come. Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World Transatlantica, 2 | 2017 5 25 Last but not least, two presentations widened the scope of the conference yet again, as they focused on the notion of border in two further types of media, namely film and television series on the one hand and contemporary art on the other. 26 Federico Italiano examined the notions of cartography, claustrophobia, and “claustrophilia” in various science-fiction films and one television series in his presentation “Between Final Frontier and Border Control: The Cartographic Imagination of Science Fiction.” He showed how the fear of imminent nuclear war and the first steps towards the conquest of space shaped American science fiction narratives from the 1950s on, as people were simultaneously–and paradoxically–drawn to the alleged safety of enclosed bunkers beneath the earth and to the infinity of space. His comparative study of the milestone films Forbidden Planet (1956), 2001 A Space Odyssey (1968), and Total Recall (1990), as well as of the basic principles behind the Star Trek narrative showed how science fiction envisions the notions of space, time, and frontier at different times, and how it oscillates between utopian and dystopian views of the same. 27 Finally, in his presentation “‘I think the major issue in art is what are the boundaries’– Allan Kaprow, Robert Smithson and the Art of Their Time,” Professor Philip Ursprung presented several works of art produced in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, most notably by American artists Allan Kaprow and Robert Smithson, in which ideas such as the border, space, contingency, but also art itself, were raised in a very original fashion. The piece “Sweet Wall” (1970), which required beholders to join in to build a wall out of bricks sealed with bread and jam, mirrored the iron curtain and the Berlin wall while subverting the very idea of a limit, as it enclosed nothing and was free standing in the middle of an open area. This, and other pieces including Smithson’s “Partially Buried Shed” and Kaprow’s “Fluids,” promote art as a mode of expression that, in Ursprung’s words, “should interact with reality and society” and help us question our views on all types of borders and limitations. INDEX Subjects: Actualité de la recherche AUTHORS PIERRE LE DUFF Université de Strasbourg CEZARA BOBEICA Université de Strasbourg Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World Transatlantica, 2 | 2017 6 Negotiating, Subverting, Reconfiguring Borders in the English-Speaking World 
work_w22nsjn3qvf6rl52ukozxngrvi	----	The ‘Greening’ of Christian Monasticism and the Future of Monastic Landscapes in North America religions Article The ‘Greening’ of Christian Monasticism and the Future of Monastic Landscapes in North America Jason M. Brown Department of Humanities, Faculty of Environment, Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, BC V6B 5K3, Canada; jason.minton.brown@gmail.com Received: 12 June 2019; Accepted: 11 July 2019; Published: 16 July 2019 ���������� ������� Abstract: Christian monasticism has an ancient land-based foundation. The desert fathers and later reform movements appealed to the land for sustenance, spiritual metaphor, and as a marker of authentic monastic identity. Contemporary Roman Catholic monastics with this history in mind, have actively engaged environmental discourse in ways that draw from their respective monastic lineages, a process sociologist Stephen Ellingson calls ‘bridging’. Though this study is of limited scope, this bridging between monastic lineages and environmental discourse could cautiously be identified with the broader phenomenon of the ‘greening’ of Christianity. Looking to the future, while the footprint of North American monastic communities is quite small, and their numbers are slowly declining, a variety of conservation-minded management schemes implemented since the 1990s by some communities suggests that the impact will remain for many decades to come. Keywords: religion and ecology; spiritual ecology; greening of religion; environmental humanities; monasticism; history of monasticism; landscape 1. Introduction When the monks of Our Lady of Guadalupe Abbey arrived at their new home in Carlton, Oregon, in 1955, they found a landscape quite different from the one their scout had purchased. All that remained of the lush Douglas fir forests were stumps and the previous owner had quite literally cut and run. Over the next several decades the monks slowly replanted the steep hillsides of their 1300-acre sanctuary nestled in the foothills of the Coastal Range. Today, the monastery boasts an 800-acre working forest with dozens of acres of restored Oregon White Oak savanna, one of the most rare and endangered ecosystems in Oregon. The monks of Guadalupe Abbey’s understanding of the land has also undergone transformation since their arrival. In the 1990s, under pressure from environmentally conscious members of their community, they hired a consulting forester who helped the monks envision and transition their forestry operation from a tree farm that maximized timber growth, to an ecosystem management approach that mimicked a natural forest while also providing timber revenue. Guadalupe Abbey is a unique place, but their turn toward more ecological approaches to stewardship and land management has been repeated many times over in the North American monastic landscape. While there was once a time when monks sought a more complete fuga mundi—fleeing from the world—The Second Vatican Council (1962–1965) brought sweeping changes to Roman Catholic clerical and liturgical life. Many monastic communities have, as a result, gradually opened to the wider world, including the insights and convictions of what would become the environmental movement. There has been since the 1970s, but mostly since the 1990s, a slow but significant ‘greening’ of many religious institutions, who have incorporated the insights of environmental discourse on their own terms (Ellingson 2016). In this essay, I will argue that contemporary Catholic monastic communities in North America have consciously ‘bridged’, to use Bruce Ellingson’s term, contemporary environmental Religions 2019, 10, 432; doi:10.3390/rel10070432 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/2077-1444/10/7/432?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel10070432 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions Religions 2019, 10, 432 2 of 12 discourse with their own monastic lineages. This trend can be cautiously identified as part of a wider ‘greening’ of Christianity, which has taken place over the last several decades. This bridging has resulted in more ecologically sustainable management practices and land tenure arrangements. So, while monasticism is generally in decline in North America, the unique monastic landscapes that these communities have lovingly cared for over many decades will persist long into the future. While this study is not exhaustive, it is based on significant ethnographic research among contemporary monastic communities in the American West and Southwest. This essay also draws from publicly available scholarly and journalistic sources in order to show a wider diversity of perspectives in the North American context. Of course, women’s monastic communities are also engaging these themes, but my work looks primarily at men’s communities.1 The ethnographic case study in this essay is drawn from my firsthand ethnographic work and is based on semi-structured walking interviews with over 50 monastics.2 2. The Land Based Context for Monasticism The purpose of the monastic life is to seek God. However, in seeking God, monastic communities have often sought some measure of separation from the busy social world. In fleeing to remote natural settings, monastics sought to be alone with God like Jesus of Nazareth who often prayed in the desert. This is not to say that historical monasticism is inherently environmentally conscious as we might think of it today, but simply to point out that monastic spirituality and institutional identity are deeply land-based. The first wave of Christian monasticism gained momentum in the 4th century CE. Behind the more well-known Saint Anthony the Great (251–356 CE), an early Desert Father, were thousands of men and women who flocked to the Syrian and Egyptian deserts to live the life of contemplative silence. The desert was a spiritual ecology that taught the monks how to pray through its vast expanses and its harsh and dangerous conditions. Saint Jerome (347–420), an early Desert Father and translator remarked that ‘the desert loves to strip bare’, and this is precisely what these early monastics were trying to do spiritually. Biblical scholar Belden Lane writes that, “In desert and mountain wilderness, people discover liminal places suggesting thresholds between where they have been and where they are going” (Lane 1998). The desert was sensed as a space on the margins between this world and the next and represented a kind of spiritual battlefield. As monasticism was institutionalized by the Roman Catholic Church and spread into Europe, monastic orders and communities continued to be founded in rural or semi-wilderness areas, both out of a desire to hold the world at a distance, and as an homage to their desert fore-parents. Saint Benedict in Italy and later reform movements such as the Cistercians3 often sought remote rural settings for their monastic communities. Monastic cloisters often included spaces for vegetable gardens, domesticated animals, orchards, a cemetery, workshops, and accommodations for guests and pilgrims. However, no single cloister could be wholly self-sufficient. As historian Christopher Brooke has documented, the monastery cellarer, charged with keeping the monastery well stocked with supplies, often had to source items such as wheat, beans, milk, butter, cheese, fish, wool, pig skin for parchment, timber, and stone for building from the surrounding countryside. Monasteries also needed access to vineyards for wine, orchards for fruit, flowers for the altar, and beeswax for candles. The monastic community was a highly 1 See (McFarland Taylor 2009). As Sara McFarland Taylor points out, women’s monastic communities are deeply engaged in bridging environmental discourse with their own monastic lineages. In fact, she points out that in some cases, they are going a step further by engaging in what Ellingson and McFarland Taylor call ‘bricolage’, the intentional mixing and combining of two distinct traditions in the creation of a third, or hybrid, tradition. 2 This essay is a revised version of a chapter in my PhD dissertation, published in 2017 at the University of British Columbia. 3 A variant of the Cistercians are now called Trappists, from the French community located in Trappé, France, now belonging to the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance (OCSO). Religions 2019, 10, 432 3 of 12 disciplined, hierarchical institution—a major social and political actor whose land-base was embedded within the feudal or manorial tenure systems that pervaded Europe during that period (Brooke 2003).4 Monastic communities were also imagined as liminal spaces between heaven and earth with the cloister garden at its center harkening back to the Garden of Eden. The cloister took on the tension between body and soul, earth and heaven, and the biblical land-based motifs of the paradise-garden and the desert-wilderness that are the setting of the messianic hopes for the Israelites. Historian of monastic architecture Megan Cassidy-Welch has written of monastic sacred space, noting that, “within the cloister, spaces of theological abstraction have been anchored to the earth” (Cassidy-Welch 2001, p. 69). The cloister garden for example was a kind of axis mundi representing the idealized Garden of Eden in and among the desert wilderness of the world. There was also a recurring sense in monastic reforms that in order to get back to the purity of the monastic movement, a community should seek out remote outposts that test the limits of comfort and safety. Historian Ellen Arnold’s study of a Carolingian-era Benedictine monastery complex called Stavelot-Malmedy shows just how important land was to the livelihoods and spiritual narratives of this monastic community. Stavelot-Malmedy was located in the forested Ardennes region of Belgium and thrived between the 7th and 9th centuries. Saint Remaclus (?–671) founded the monastery in 650 CE with a group of fellow monks. In their written history, Stavelot-Malmedy is set in a rugged wilderness. With land donated by Sigibert III, the monastic charter says, “In our forest called the Ardennes, in an empty space of solitude” the forest was a place “in which a throng of wild animals springs forth” that was “confined by mountains,” “impeded by swamp”, and whose local population was “not fully established”, and “bound up in idolatry” (Arnold 2012, p. 34). As Arnold shows in her study, the Ardennes had in fact been cultivated and occupied for many hundreds of years prior and was not excessively far removed from major transit corridors. The monastic founders’ suggestion that the area was wild and dangerous appealed to their monastic heritage of fleeing the world for the desert wilds and thus tended to exaggerate the remoteness, sparseness of the population, and presence of danger. She writes: Throughout the centuries, monks of the Ardennes developed the idea of the forest as a wild and dangerous landscape because it tied them to their religious heritage. But they had established their monasteries in a landscape that had long been full of people, and they were active participants in the regions social and agricultural structures. Thus, the monks not only had to define themselves in relation to the wild; they also had to define themselves in relation to local people and the domesticated landscape. To do this, they told stories of how the power of the saints and of God allowed the monks to transform the wilderness into a beautiful and controllable landscape. They then in turn, used this calm and pastoral view of the forest to represent rebirth, tranquility, and the fertility of both land and soul (Arnold 2012, p. 28). Land was not just an integral part of their livelihoods but bound up with the monastic sense of self, history, and spirituality within a medieval agrarian view of place and landscape. While medieval monasteries enjoyed a very large land base in Europe, the Protestant Reformation, beginning in the 16th century, and the French Revolution in the 18th century reduced Benedictine and Cistercian landholdings considerably, especially in England and France. These upheavals coincided with the broader dissolution of the feudal land systems throughout much of Europe (Horn 1973; Rippinger OSB 1990; Peters 2015). While monasticism did undergo a modest revival in the 19th century, it would never again reach the extent and influence it had during the feudal/manorial age and prior to the advent of the Mendicant orders of the late 12th and early 13th centuries. Debates about monasticism’s environmental impact on feudal landscapes are ongoing (Bartlett 1993; Oram 2008; 4 While there is no official estimate of the historical extent of monastic landholdings, some have guessed that monastic tenure encompassed at least 50% of some regions throughout Europe (Josep-Maria Mallarach, pers. Comm). Religions 2019, 10, 432 4 of 12 Alberth 2012; Arnold 2012), but what is clear is that land provided a context both for monastic subsistence and spirituality. As Mallarach and Papayannis (2007), Mallarach et al. (2012), and Mallarach et al. (2014) point out, a number of historical monasteries and hermitages in Europe have become the basis for protected areas. Moreover, many monasteries still in operation have adopted ecologically minded management practices and outlooks (Mallarach et al. 2014). For example, the Camaldoli Hermitage, which founded in 1024 by Romuald (951–1025). When Romuald arrived, he set his monks to planting trees to ensure a steady supply of wood. With a larger monastery at the base of the mountain and a cluster of hermitages up higher, Camaldoli has become an exemplary case of successful pre-modern forestry practices. It even served to inform the modern codification of the Italian Forestry Code during the 19th century (Pungetti et al. 2012). Today, the Hermitage, which is still in use, is the one of the longest continuously occupied monasteries in Europe. After World War II, it became part of the Casentine National Park, which encompasses 36,000 hectares, and is one of the largest national parks in Europe (Pungetti et al. 2012). 3. The Greening of Religion Controversy In 1967, historian of technology Lynn White, Jr. levelled a controversial critique of Christianity’s role in the environmental crisis (White 1967). White was certainly not the first to criticize Christianity or point out its penchant for ecological harm, but the publication of his piece in the journal Science gave the piece enough exposure to create a broader conversation among Western academics. White, himself a Presbyterian, claimed that through the biblical injunction to dominate the earth found in Genesis chapter one, Western Christianity had become “the most anthropocentric religion the world has ever seen,” and Western technology and science thus had followed suit (White 1967, p. 1205). Since White’s article, there have been a great many attempts to respond to White’s thesis, especially among Christians. The fields of religion and ecology, religion and nature, and spiritual ecology have sought to address the diverse ways in which religion contributes to environmental problems and solutions and to encourage a kind of ‘re-enchantment’ of the natural world (Sponsel 2012; Vaughan Lee 2013). During the late 1990s and 2000s, then professors at Harvard, Mary Evelyn Tucker and John Grim organized a series of conferences on world religions and ecology, which included hundreds of scholars and practitioners from the world religions. The proceedings from that series were later published as a series called Religions of the World and Ecology and summarized in their recent book Ecology and Religion (Grim and Tucker 2014). Sociologist Stephen Ellingson has shown that despite White and others early criticisms, the religions were late to the environmental movement. This is partly because they often chose to engage in what Ellingson calls “bridging” between religious and environmental values and discourse (Ellingson 2016). This means that religious environmental organizations, churches, or religious orders are engaging their religious traditions in light of environmental problems and finding ways to talk about them in their own idiom. Ellingson notes that while Christianity may have been late to the environmental movement, there are now almost 100 religious environmental organizations in existence today (Ellingson 2016). This is not to say that all self-identified Christians have become models of ecological sustainability, but that the language of environmentalism is finding expression in Christian categories and framings such as stewardship, sacramentalism and prophetic justice. Before I discuss the contours of monastic environmental bridging, it is important to briefly point out that not all scholars agree that there has even been any significant greening of religion in general and Christianity in particular. While there has certainly been a surge of conversations surrounding the environment in Christian circles, some scholars suggest that we have not yet seen a measurable shift in pro-environmental behaviors among religious people and particularly Christians in the United States (Clements et al. 2014; Taylor et al. 2016). Religion and nature scholar Bron Taylor even goes a step further in a recent essay, claiming that Christianity is more likely to be a hindrance to the environmental movement than a partner (Taylor 2019). Luckily, in this essay, I am not seeking to adjudicate once and for all the phenomenon of greening among all self-identified Christians or even Religions 2019, 10, 432 5 of 12 all monastic institutions. However, I do feel confident speaking of a general shift among North American Catholic men’s monastic communities toward more ecologically minded theology and land management practices, which I will now address. 4. Monasticism and Environmental Discourse Beginning in the 1960s, but especially during the 1990s, monastic communities in North America have actively engaged with environmental discourse that call for minimizing pollution, protecting wilderness, and managing agricultural lands sustainably. Trappist monk and writer Thomas Merton is something of the unofficial nature writer of the contemporary monastic tradition. Merton was a gifted poet and writer, and his writings ushered in a surge of post-WWII monastic vocations. Before his death in 1967, Merton joined the Wilderness Society and saw a strong connection between the monastic desire to seek God within and the setting of monasteries among wild and rural landscapes. When he entered Gethsemani Abbey in 1941, Merton fell in love with the hilly wooded landscape. In 1967, Merton was even permitted to move full time into a small hermitage on the Abbey property, the first of his order to do so. At the heritage, Merton wrote beautiful poetry, weather reports, and spiritual prose that masterfully described his wooded surroundings. He also began to re-imagine the role for monks in the budding environmental movement through his brief correspondences with environmental writer Rachel Carson. He wrote: If the monk is a man whose whole life is built around a deeply religious appreciation of his call to wilderness and paradise, and thereby to a special kind of kinship with God’s creatures in the new creation . . . then we might suggest that the monk, of all people, should be concerned with staying in the ‘wilderness’ and helping to keep it a true ‘wilderness and paradise.’ The monk should be anxious to preserve the wilderness in order to share it with those who need to come out from the cities and remember what it is like to be under trees and to climb mountains. (Merton 1967, p. 89) This last phrase is very much reminiscent of 19th century conservationist John Muir, who saw wilderness not as a spiritual battlefield, but a paradise, a sanctuary. What Merton is doing here is carrying forward the biblical and monastic motifs of the wilderness and the garden, the eschatological hope of the monk to return to his true nature before the fall. However, by embracing the logic of the American environmental movement, rather than converting the wilderness into a paradise through agricultural work as his monastic ancestors sought, wilderness is envisioned as paradise, a move also made by Henry David Thoreau in his essay Walden (Brown 2017). This bridging work between monastic history and spirituality on the one hand and the environmental movement on the other trickled down into monastic communities throughout North America. Coinciding with Merton’s later writings and the Vatican II council, the monastic movement in North America sought to rediscover its spiritual roots. Unsurprisingly, this also meant rediscovering monasticism’s relationship to land. Benedictine historian Joel Rippinger OSB writes that the post-Vatican II-era monastic renewal was: accompanied by the Benedictine equivalent of the experiments in communal and rustic ‘return to nature’ that were so much a part of the American counterculture of the time, and the results of this were the closure of many community buildings and a monastic diaspora of some who wanted to live in smaller communities in cabins or rustic retreats (Rippinger OSB 1990, p. 176). Just as the many monastic movements before them had done, and just as strands of America’s back-to-the-land movement were trying out, many monastic communities attempted to return to a simpler way of living, often with an emphasis on being close to the land. Religions 2019, 10, 432 6 of 12 One community that exemplified this movement was Christ in the Desert Abbey located in Abiquiu, New Mexico. The community was founded by three monks from Mount Savior Benedictine Abbey in upstate New York. The monks were inspired by the 1960s move toward greater simplicity, and a more solitary land-based, desert monasticism (Graña 2006). The monastery now boasts a completely self-reliant solar panel array, which is one of the largest in New Mexico, straw bale-insulated green buildings, water conservation infrastructure, and large vegetable gardens. Similar to many monastic communities who have an internet presence, their website embeds the contemporary value of ecological sustainability within the Benedictine vocation of contemplative prayer: “The Benedictine charism, notable for simplicity, humility, stability, and hospitality, is especially well suited to sustainable stewardship of the natural environment.”5 In the 1980s, Terrance Kardong OSB, a Benedictine monk, published an article entitled “Monks and the Land”, which celebrates the Benedictine land-based heritage and laments the rise of industrial farming and its contribution to the decline in monastic land-based industries and general stewardship practices. He also suggested that there are few monasteries left in the US that are fully managing their own land or doing so sustainably. Citing the agrarian writer Wendell Berry, Kardong called for a return to the traditional land-based Benedictine values of stability, work, and stewardship, just as reformers before him have done. He admonished, “A monastery is not nowhere but somewhere. We must take good care of that somewhere. To be a monk is not to practice an ethereal spirituality that treats place as irrelevant” (Kardong 1983, p. 144). Drawing on his monastic roots, Kardong sounds a warning that Benedictine monasticism has strayed too far from its land-based foundations and needs an agrarian revival, which in many ways paved the way for many of the changes that took place in the 1990s. Since the 1990s, many Trappist monasteries have also engaged with the contemporary environmental movement, both theologically and practically. One celebrated case involves a community of Trappist monks who actively sought out consultation in order to improve their land management practices in line with contemporary environmental discourse: Holy Cross Trappist Abbey, located in Clarke County, Virginia. In 2007, they sought the help of students and faculty at the University of Michigan’s Natural Resource Management program to conduct a thorough assessment of the community’s practices. The team published a report, which includes a detailed environmental assessment of the 1200-acre property (Buckner et al. 2010). The study begins in familiar territory, by citing foundational Benedictine values that harmonize with contemporary environmental discourse around stewardship, care, and connection to place. For example, this quotation from the 2005 Cistercian Constitution Section 27A “The brothers are to be concerned about conservation of the environment and to manage natural resources prudently” is seen as ample support for engaging in environmentally friendly management and practices. The introduction cites the Benedictine ethos of ‘Work and Prayer’, and the Cistercian admonition to be ‘lovers of the place’ as further moral impetus to be better stewards of the land. The study presents a detailed assessment of the ‘sustainability’ of eight domains: land use, energy, water, solid waste, toxics, economies, food, and buildings. Their conclusions suggested that while the monks love their land, the monastery was far from a model of ecological sustainability. They found that monoculture farming practices were degrading local water and soil quality, that cattle grazing was increasing soil erosion, and that invasive plants were threatening local biodiversity. They found a poor native-habitat-to-developed-spaces ratio and an undeveloped trail system. Energy production was inefficient, and CO2 emissions were higher than local averages. They used more water but generated less waste than the average North American. In addition, the monastery used over 100 harmful chemicals and had asbestos and lead paint in structures and mold growing in several places. The baking 5 Christ in the Desert Monastery. Available Online: https://christdesert.org/about/sustainable-stewardship/ (accessed on 12 June 2019). https://christdesert.org/about/sustainable-stewardship/ Religions 2019, 10, 432 7 of 12 of fruitcakes, one of their livelihood enterprises, generated significant carbon emissions, and their food was sourced through corporate, non-organic distributors. The community had a lot of work to do. Since the report, the community has set to work on both ensuring that the community remains on the land and that their management practices are in greater harmony with the principles of ecological sustainability. The community was recently featured in National Geographic for their efforts, which included establishing an 80-acre green cemetery, where natural burials occur, and ashes can be spread. While they have not returned to farming the land themselves, due to dwindling vocations, one of their tenants has begun farming 200 acres organically, and they have fenced off streams where cattle used to graze to reduce contamination and erosion (Bruno 2017). The community has also created a ‘conservation easement’ with a local land trust, which ensures the property will remain intact and undeveloped in perpetuity. Conservation easements, an increasingly popular tool in private conservation efforts, are essentially legally binding agreements wherein a third party purchases the rights to develop the property in perpetuity. The third party outlines what is allowable and not allowable on the land based on conservation and restoration priorities and is tasked with monitoring the easements in perpetuity. As we will see, this strategy promises to have a lasting impact on the future of monastic landscapes. Another noteworthy ‘bridging’ event occurred in 2008 at the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani, Thomas Merton’s monastery. The Abbey held a conference titled ‘Monasticism and the Environment’ (Mitchell and Skudlarek 2010). This wide-ranging interfaith conference in which Buddhist and Catholic monks participated, argued for a shift toward a “green” monasticism, whether Buddhist or Catholic, through theological and spiritual interpretation of their respective traditions and wiser use of resources and land bases. The talks each addressed some aspect of bridging between monasticism and environmental discourse, pointing to the Benedictine work ethic, the sacramental theology of Catholicism, or the examples of saints, such as Saint Francis of Assisi. 5. An Ethnographic Case Study in Land-Based Monasticism In April of 2016, I spent approximately 10 days at Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist Abbey as an ethnographic researcher. The Abbey is a Trappist monastery that was founded in 1955 by monks from Pecos, New Mexico, who had abandoned the site, because it was difficult to farm. The monastery is located is a small valley between two ridges that run north and south in the semi-arid western foothills of the Oregon Coastal Range. It is surrounded by rural properties on all sides, an increasing amount of which are devoted to wine grapes. The property is home to mule deer, bobcats, and many migratory and resident birds, and the large retreatant pond shelters carp and bullfrogs. Once they arrived, the monks continued growing grain in the bottomlands and raised sheep and cattle on the hillsides until the farm closed in the mid-1960s due to shifts in agricultural policy that made small farming untenable. They eventually sold their livestock and leased their farmland to a local farmer, putting all of their energy into other industries, such as a carpentry shop, which manufactured church pews and other furniture, and a book bindery that sourced clients from local universities. In the 1980s, the Abbey added a fruitcake bakery and, in the 1990s, a wine storage and labeling facility. The approximately 300 acres of leased farmland grew a variety of commodities such as grass seed until 2016, when the monks decided to start a contract with a leasee, who has planted the land with hazelnut—a common commodity crop in Western Oregon. Starting in 1967 with a Christmas tree operation, the monks began actively managing about 880 acres for timber production, planting mostly Douglas fir, but also experimenting with Ponderosa pine (Pinus ponderosa), Knobcone pine (Pinus attenuata), hybrid poplar (Sp. populus), and Leland cypress (Cupressus leylandii). In the 1980s, active harvesting was begun by a small crew of monks. The small monastic forestry crew planted, thinned, pruned, and harvested the trees themselves in small block cuts and replanted them in tightly spaced monocrop tree plantations. Plantings were not concerned with privileging native species, and management was designed to maximize the production of timber resources. Religions 2019, 10, 432 8 of 12 The monks of Guadalupe inherited a classically Trappist agrarian theology, which imagined human beings working cooperation with God to improve the earth through cultivation. They were proud stewards of the land and saw the forest as a kind of ‘tree-farm’ for the production of products and revenue. As the monks grew older and vocations continued to shrink throughout the 1970s, they began to reach out for help with managing their land. One landmark came in the late 1980s, when a heavy-handed clear cut near a favored picnic area angered several of the monks who were beginning to advocate a more environmental approach that was consistent with their monastic values and the need to generate some revenue from the forest. It was decided to discern a new forest management strategy and to hire a professional forester to manage the forest with the help of a small monastery forestry crew. In 1995, this forester conducted an inventory of the property and developed a management plan that would balance spiritual values and ecological health with the need to generate revenue. Since 1995, under the monks’ direction, the manager has transitioned the property to an ecosystem-based management approach, obtaining Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) certification, a third-party certification that ensures that ecological principles are used in management and harvest. In practice, this means there has been a decrease in patch cut size to no more than two acres and the increased use of commercial thinning as a harvesting technique, in order to diversify the forests’ age and structural diversity. Harvest areas leave more standing dead trees and wildlife trees and more downed trees for woody debris and has focused on clearing areas around shaded white oak and madrone trees to increase native tree species diversity and more bird habitat. In 2010, they also began aggressively managing for invasive species such as False Broom (Brachypodium sylvaticum), Scots Broom (Cytisus scoparius), and English Hawthorn (Crataegus laevigata) and have designated a small 80-acre section of forest as a future old growth forest area set aside from thinning and commercial harvest. The forest manager was also instrumental in enrolling the property into a conservation easement program funded by the Bonneville Power Administration, a hydroelectric dam company that has been legally obligated to purchase conservation easements for habitat restoration in and around the Columbia River because of the land it flooded by building their dams. After a lengthy process and assessment, the monastery entered into an agreement to keep the property undeveloped and to continue to manage the forest sustainably. In addition, the easement qualified the monastery for additional funds that were used to restore areas of Oregon White Oak (Quercus garryana) savanna on the property. According to the Oregon Conservation Strategy, Oregon White Oak savanna is an endangered ecosystem, with less than 5% of its historical range remaining. In the past, the white oak was left to be overgrown or cleared to make way for more Douglas fir and sold as firewood. The climate of the area before European settlement was adapted to White Oak, and Kalapuyan Peoples used fire to clear the area of trees to maintain open hunting grounds. Without fire, the Douglas fir trees outgrow the White oaks, eventually shading them out completely. By harvesting all the trees except the White oaks, a stand replacing fire is mimicked, and the oaks return to health and vigor, reproducing naturally. From its early agrarian roots through its industrial tree farm planting to its contemporary context as an ecological working forest, Our Lady of Guadalupe has undergone significant changes in its approach to land and forest management. For example, as we walked by a particularly straight row of Douglas fir trees, a Brother related to me a memory of the former forest manager monk: Father Romaine, when he was with us, he was one of the main planters and he walked by here once and said, ‘this is what some people contemptuously call a tree farm’, at which he took great umbrage at because he thought it was a forest. But if you look at it compared to the other parts of the forest it is kind of a tree farm. The monk I was speaking with, who had been raised with a strong environmental consciousness, felt that there was, in fact, a difference between a naturally generated forest and an intensive geometric, Religions 2019, 10, 432 9 of 12 monoculture plantation. For Father Romaine, however, steeped in the agrarian approach to forestry, where trees were essentially crops, the distinction was belittling of the work he had done to reestablish the forest from the degraded state it was in when they arrived in the 1950s. The monastery now sees itself as a kind of sanctuary to monks and visitors alike. This is because one condition of the conservation easement allows public access for quiet recreational hiking. In fact, the monastery is now one of the largest intact forest areas in Yamhill County, Oregon, which is primarily agricultural and has very few protected areas. This fact was seen as part of the monastery’s ministry to the wider world. As another monk related: To me the only purpose of a monastery is to be a sanctuary. And certainly there’s been times in history where there’s been even more need, but for us today I think there’s an intense need for sanctuary and that’s what we have to offer. Embedded in Western Oregon, which embodies a strong tension between environmentalists and loggers, the monastery has been influenced by elements of both. While it is rooted in the Trappist agrarian sensibility, the community has since enthusiastically adopted a program of ecological restoration, invasive species removal, and forest certification. The paradigm of forest management is “ecological forestry”, with an emphasis on restoring native species and endangered ecosystems and increasing the forest’s structural and age diversity—a major shift from its former days as a production-oriented tree farm. And while Trappists are known for their hard work, they now primarily see the forest as a sanctuary rather than a crop. 6. The Future of Monastic Landscapes According to the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate, in 1970, there were approximately 41,886 male members of Catholic religious communities. By 2015, that number had dropped to 17,791—that is a loss of over 500 per year (Palacios et al. 2015). It is increasingly common that the average age at a men’s monastery will be in the 70s or even 80s. However, while vocations to monastic communities are, generally speaking, declining, interest in monastic and contemplative spirituality is being explored, rediscovered, and repurposed by an ever growing and wider variety of spiritual, social, political, and environmental movements. In the spiritual realm especially, retreats and monastic spirituality are increasingly common at monasteries in North America. Thus, between the declining numbers of monks making lifelong vows to their communities and the increasing interest in their landscapes as spiritual refuges, it is not certain what the future holds for land-based monasticism in North America. As North American monasteries have declined and the economy has shifted away from agriculture, many monasteries have had to make adjustments to land tenure arrangements: selling off pieces of land, leasing farmland to neighboring operations or other schemes.6 Saint Procopius’s Abbey was a Benedictine monastic community located in rural Illinois until it became economically unviable in the 1960s. The monks originally managed some 365 acres, housing over 30 monks. The property included the farm—which raised cattle, chickens, turkeys, hogs, beehives, a peach orchard, and a large garden—a boarding school, a small college, and an orphanage (Fletcher 2015). Theologian Christine Fletcher suggests that while the monks felt a strong agrarian attachment to their land and their vocation as farmers, it was finally agreed that they had reached a threshold. The monastery decided rather than sell the land outright, they would collaborate with a developer to create a “sustainable community” called ‘Green Trails’, which would devote 40% of total land (135 acres) apart from the monastery proper, to recreation, walking trails, lakes, and park areas. The author sees this compromise as an example of the uniquely Benedictine values being applied to a difficult 6 Saint Martin’s Abbey and Mount Angel Abbey are both Benedictine monasteries who maintained self-sustaining farms until the early 1960s. They have since shifted focus to other apostolates. See (Yocom 1985; Scott 1996). Religions 2019, 10, 432 10 of 12 land-based problem and a solution that uniquely blended the monks’ attachment to the land with the pragmatic needs of a changing monastic community and a growing environmental consciousness. Fletcher writes, “The difference Benedictine stewardship makes is clearly visible in Green Trails in the large amount of common areas for people to gather, and in the mix of housing: large and small single-family units, low-rise condominiums, and high-rise apartment buildings” (Fletcher 2015, p. 190). Fletcher argues that this project was “ecologically sustainable” but within the Benedictine frame of human use and occupancy of the land: “Green Trails is an example of Benedictine stewardship of the environment in a situation when the agricultural life envisioned by Benedict could no longer be sustained” (Fletcher 2015, p. 191). In this way the monastery continues its apostolate and its formation of monks and has written its values into the landscape that now surrounds the monastery and its college; a legacy that will continue even if the monastery eventually closes. Inevitably, some monasteries have been forced to close. However, arrangements with the buyer of the property and the Catholic diocese have ensured that the monks’ footprint will survive long after they are gone. The Trappist Abbey of Our Lady of the Holy Trinity in Huntsville, Utah, was founded in 1947. The monks made a living by growing grain, raising cattle, keeping bees, and baking bread. The land, perched in a mountain valley surrounded by the Wasatch Mountains, has a beautiful rural character, boasts hundreds of trees planted by the monks, and harbors a spring that is valuable to the Huntsville water supply. In 2016, the land was officially sold to a private resident of Huntsville, who is working with a local land trust to ensure that the property is preserved through a conservation easement that will restrict development of the site in perpetuity and ensure the sustainable management of the property by future leases. A small footprint near the Abbey church will be gifted to the Roman Catholic Diocese for the construction of a parish church. The process has been facilitated by a team of Utah State University regional planning students to ensure that the land will continue to reflect the monks’ contribution to the land. This case, though unfortunate, shows how integral land is to the Benedictine/Trappist lineage and how beloved the monks were in the community, which is largely populated by Mormons (LDS) (Utah State University 2015; Shaw 2017). The conservation easement is an increasingly popular private conservation tool outside of traditionally designated protected areas. Active monastic communities, such as those discussed in this essay, have used them to gain revenue while improving their land management regimes, and even to restore habitats. Yet, as we have seen, even monasteries who did not implement conservation easements during their tenure as active monasteries have garnered support for their use once they have closed, as is the case in Utah. 7. Conclusions In this essay, I have shown that Catholic monasticism is deeply intertwined with the land. During the last 50 years or so, monasticism in North America has creatively engaged with environmental discourse in their attempts to improve land and resource management. I have argued that monastics actively bridge their own lineages with environmental discourse. This has resulted in many changes in monastic land management and an increasing awareness of environmental values. These values have, in some cases, been institutionalized through conservation easements, which permanently protect the land, even if the monastery closes in the future, which as we have seen is a very real possibility for some dwindling communities. Thus while the monastic landscape may never reach the extent of influence it once wielded in the middle ages, it is clear that land-based monastic communities will continue their influence on the land and the communities in which they have been founded for many centuries to come. Funding: This research was funded as part of my dissertation Research at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver. I received a four year International Student Fellowship from the University of British Columbia. The Ethics review of this project was conducted through the UBC Behavioral Research Ethics Board, under the project title “Dwelling in the Wilderness,” Certificate Number H14-02005. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflicts of interest. 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This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://www.standard.net/Local/2017/04/12/Huntsville-man-on-a-mission-to-preserve-monastery-open-space http://www.standard.net/Local/2017/04/12/Huntsville-man-on-a-mission-to-preserve-monastery-open-space http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/cobi.12735 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/27604414 http://www05.usu.edu/today/?id=54448 http://dx.doi.org/10.1126/science.155.3767.1203 http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/17847526 http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Introduction The Land Based Context for Monasticism The Greening of Religion Controversy Monasticism and Environmental Discourse An Ethnographic Case Study in Land-Based Monasticism The Future of Monastic Landscapes Conclusions References 
work_w2ldig3hwzhgrekpa2nqjkndbm	----	Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity in the Czech Post-Socialist Context 833 © Sociologický ústav AV ČR, v.v.i., Praha 2017 Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity in the Czech Post-Socialist Context* Lukáš kaLa, LuCie GaLčaNoVá and VojtěCh PeLikáN** Masaryk University, Brno abstract: Voluntary simplicity is usually seen as an alternative social move- ment that is responding to the current social and environmental crisis within affluent societies. Many scholars draw on Inglehart’s concept of post-mate- rialism and consider voluntary simplicity to be a way of limiting one’s con- sumption in order to free oneself and seek satisfaction in the non-material aspects of life. These scholars assume that the values associated with sim- plicity emerge out of over-saturation with consumption. This article discusses the results of research conducted among Czech households who voluntarily reduce consumption and who do so in a post-socialist context, without having first lived in affluence. Theoretically and methodologically, the article builds on the work of Hana Librová [1994, 2003; Librová et al. 2016] and is rooted in three main concepts: the concepts of post-materialism [Inglehart 1977], ‘new luxury’ [Enzensberger 1996], and the normative ethical theories of motiva- tion [Pelikán and Librová 2015]. The findings of the study call into question Inglehart’s structural assumption that non-consumption lifestyles like volun- tary simplicity only develop in affluent societies and suggest that the Czech socialist past created conditions suitable for the emergence of a non-ideolog- ical and primarily self-oriented version of voluntary simplicity. The roots of simple lifestyles may also lie in people’s dissatisfaction with the promise of modernity, a promise suggesting that it is possible to attain and lead the good life through material abundance. Prior experience with an affluent lifestyle did not play a role in the decision of participants in this study to live a non- consumption lifestyle. This study in a post-socialist country therefore has the potential to provide a deeper understanding of the motivations for choosing voluntary simplicity. keywords: voluntary simplicity, non-consumption lifestyles, theory of post- materialism, motivations for simplicity, post-socialism Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6: 833–855 https://doi.org/10.13060/00380288.2017.53.6.377 * Acknowledgements: We would like to thank Kateřina Prajznerová for the translation, Professor Hana Librová for her inspiration, and the participants in our research who were willing to share their stories. We thank also the reviewers for their careful reading of our manuscript and their insightful comments and suggestions. Financial support for this study was provided by the Czech Science Foundation for the project ‘The Environmentally Friendly Lifestyle in the March of Time’ (GA15-05552S). ** Direct all correspondence to: Lukáš Kala, Masaryk University, Joštova 218/10, 602 00 Brno, Czech Republic, e-mail: lukas.kala@gmail.com. Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6 834 introduction Over the past two decades, there has been a growing interest among social sci- entists in researching consumption or non-consumption lifestyles1 [e.g. Grigsby 2004; Cherrier 2009; Etzioni 2013]. The emergence of non-consumption forms of lifestyle is usually linked with the Inglehartian cultural shift from materialist to post-materialist values2 [e.g. Myers 2003: 47]. However, the link between lifestyle choice and materialism has not been fully investigated3 [see Craig-Lees and Hill 2002: 189]. Moreover, lifestyles based on non-material values and simplicity have been part of Western culture since at least antiquity4 [see Alexander and McLeod 2014]. As Hana Librová observes, ‘A look at history shows that the desire for simplicity and the equation of simplicity with the good life have been a constant in many traditions of thought. It is a remarkable reaction to the prevailing ten- dency of the human, and probably also the natural, world to grow in complexity and diversity’ [Librová 2008]. It is not therefore for certain that, in the context of current non-consumption practices, we can talk about a value revolution or a cultural shift. One of the frequently mentioned forms of non-consumption practices is voluntary simplicity [e.g. Zavestoski 2002; Cherrier 2009; Roux 2007]. It is often viewed as a general term for variously motivated non-materialistic lifestyles that reject high consumption and affirm ‘the simple life’ [Alexander 2011; Iwata 2006; Etzioni 1998]. Some scholars consider voluntary simplifiers to be trailblazers who 1 Despite the considerable academic interest in non-consumption attitudes and anti- consumption practices, there is little consensus about what these terms actually mean. However, some attempts to create an integrative framework have been made [see, e.g., Roux 2007]. The most reputable authors in the field [Lee et al. 2011: 1681] use the term anti- consumption to refer to the phenomenon of when consumers are against the acquisition, use, and dispossession of certain goods. For Cherrier [2009], anti-consumption means both activity and attitude. The term anti-consumption implies an act of opposition, or even ‘re- sistance’, and it is often understood as ‘an act against pervasive structures of domination of consumer culture’ [Penaloza and Price 1993: 123; Valor et al. 2017]. 2 Ronald Inglehart’s hypothesis [1977, 1990] supported by international longitudinal sur- veys represents the most significant theoretical contribution to the discussion on the change in values from materialist to post-materialist values. The explanations for this change rest on ‘the scarcity hypothesis’ and ‘the socialisation hypothesis’. Inglehart assumes that an individual’s values reflect his or her socioeconomic environment and early socialisation. He asserts that post-material values develop either because of one’s adolescent socialisa- tion in relative abundance or because of society becoming affluent. 3 However, Elgin’s [1981] groundbreaking work about the ‘quiet revolution’ of voluntary simplicity clearly builds on Inglehart’s hypotheses and it has found support in follow up studies that point out the prevailing (upper-)middle-class background of many simplifiers [e.g. Aarts 1999]. 4 The virtues of moderation and material restraint have been promoted, for example, by the Stoics, Buddhists, Christians like St Francis, and other important thinkers like John Ruskin, Henry David Thoreau, and Richard Gregg. L. Kala, L. Galčanová and V. Pelikán: Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity 835 are changing the dominant consumer culture, and they regard voluntary sim- plicity as ‘lifestyle activism’ [Hatfield 2011] within a movement of like-minded people5 [e.g. Zamwel et al. 2014]. Other scholars emphasise individual forms of the simple lifestyle in which seeking satisfaction through non-material aspects of life plays a key role [see Huneke 2005: 528; Cherrier 2009: 188]. Since the appearance of Duane Elgin’s study [1981], understanding the mo- tivations of voluntary simplifiers has become the subject of many other studies that try to find out what underlies a person’s decision to reduce consumption. More recently, scholarly attention has focused on analysing the ways in which resistant consumers interpret their behaviour. For instance, Valor’s team [2017], drawing on Arendtian and Foucauldian perspectives, has emphasised the role of the individual’s perception of power and freedom. They have shown that consumer culture need not be just in opposition to the structures of domination [see Penaloza and Price 1993: 123], but could lie also in freeing oneself by means of self-realisation in an alternative lifestyle6 [see Llamas 2016]. The participants in various research studies have reported that environmental problems are the most important factor in their choosing voluntary simplicity [e.g. Alexander and Ussher 2012: 10]. While some authors attribute the adoption of this lifestyle to ideological calls to change the system towards a more sustainable one [e.g. Zam- wel et al. 2014], others stress the individualistic aspects of choosing simplicity. For instance, Mary Grigsby [2004: 134] associates people’s rejection of the consumer- ist lifestyle with the personal responsibility of those simplifiers who do not want to be blamed for environmental degradation and who want to have more control over the impact of their lifestyle. A characteristic feature of both these ideological types of motivation is people’s reactivity towards consumer culture, a culture which is seen as driving environmental degradation and social alienation. The fact that the participants in studies dealing with voluntary simplicity have come from countries with relative material abundance has led many authors to the conclusion that the values associated with simplicity appear in connection with (over-)saturation by consumption [e.g. Aarts 1999]. Some authors assume that non-consumption attitudes have emerged due to the failure of consumer so- cieties to fulfil the basic human needs of self-expression and authenticity. These 5 So far, most authors have focused on the collective manifestations of lifestyle change, such as the counter-cultural movement [Zavestoski 2002], the consumer resistance move- ment [Penaloza and Price 1993], the slow movement [Clark 2008], the culture jammer movement [Lasn 1999], and the voluntary simplicity movement [Alexander and Ussher 2012]. Others have studied specific dimensions of consumption reduction, such as down- shifting [Schor 1999], ethical non-consumption [Shaw and Newholm 2002], and various forms of ‘consumer rebellion’ [Friedman 1999]. 6 Hélène Cherrier [2009] has presented a similar dialectical perspective according to which individuals who seek to change the system express a hero identity through political consumption and those who seek self-expression demonstrate project identity through cre- ative consumption. Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6 836 authors draw on the psychological theory of Abraham Maslow and emphasise the need to first reach a higher level of material satisfaction in order to have the ability to voluntarily choose simplicity [Zavestoski 2002: 155; Etzioni 2004: 414]. Thus earlier research studies concerned with the phenomenon of voluntary sim- plicity generally did not anticipate manifestations of it beyond ‘Western coun- tries’ [see, e.g., Alexander and Ussher 2012; Etzioni 2013]. In post-socialist coun- tries like the Czech Republic, where there had been decades of material shortage, they predicted a rise in consumerism [Etzioni 2013: 9]. Even though studies of non-consumption lifestyles have been conducted relatively rarely in post-socialist countries, the emerging phenomenon of vol- untary simplicity has been identified there as well [e.g. Burgiel et al. 2015]. The beginnings of this research on non-consumption lifestyles date back to the pe- riod of transformation from state socialism to capitalism in the early 1990s, as we can observe for instance in Librová’s longitudinal study7 in the Czech Republic. Librová’s findings call into question the assumption that non-consumption life- styles emerge in the context of the experience of material abundance and prob- lematise the broad application of Inglehart’s theory. Her research on the modest households8 of the families that she called the Colourful9 represents the most detailed study in the region and serves as the principal framework for our study, which seeks to find out whether people’s motivations to resist consumer culture necessarily depend upon their experience of life in abundance. The idea behind our research study was simple: we were interested in tack- ling the question of whether we would be able to find similar families nowadays while applying the same criteria as were applied in Librová’s original sample in 1992 (in most cases voluntarily reducing household metabolism and the non- consumption orientation), and in what would be the main characteristics of these households that were established later, under the conditions of post-revolution- 7 The longitudinal research was conducted in three waves in which Librová tried to find people who had voluntarily changed their everyday lifestyle towards less environmentally demanding practices. The first wave of the research took place in 1992. Librová carried out 44 in-depth interviews and observed 47 households with a total of 70 people, whom she video- and tape-recorded. In the second wave of the research in 2002, the sample was limit- ed to the theoretically most compelling cases (and also demographically, due to the death of some of the original respondents) of 15 families, and those were then revisited in the third wave of the research in 2015. In this third wave, additional interviews were conducted with the 21 adult children from these families; for the results, see Pelikán et al. [forthcoming]. 8 Although Librová examined lifestyles similar to voluntary simplicity [1999], she has in- troduced the new term ‘voluntary modesty’, which better describes the complex nature of such lifestyles [for the related argumentation, see Librová 2008]. 9 Librová called her participants ‘the Colourful’ not only because of the diverse ways of life they represented, but also because of their more intuitive, non-ideological approach, which was set in opposition to the environmental activist members of the green move- ment who had modified their lifestyle towards environmental friendliness intentionally [Librová 1994]. L. Kala, L. Galčanová and V. Pelikán: Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity 837 ary10 capitalism (although it is necessary to note that most of them were still pri- marily socialised during the period of state socialism). The paper’s objective is to explore an alternative mode of voluntary simplicity to the one that currently dominates in the literature [e.g. Alexander and Ussher 2012] and thus to demon- strate the limited reach and validity of the dominant theory. Theoretically our study builds on Hana Librová’s research [1994, 2003; Li- brová et al. 2016], which is based on three major concepts. Primarily, it draws on the influential concept of post-materialism [Inglehart 1977]. The second theoretical thread was inspired by the categories of new ‘luxurious’ possessions as outlined by Enzensberger [1996]. These categories of ‘new luxury’11 helped Librová define the aspects of the environmentally friendly lifestyle of the households in her sam- ple. Moreover, they enabled her to describe the people’s motivations for choosing their lifestyle as well as the benefits that it had brought them on the personal level. The third line of thought in Librová’s theoretical underpinnings elaborates more on motivations and connects the categories of ‘the good life’ with the sociological, psychological, and ethical theories of motivation (deontological, teleological and virtue ethics [Pelikán and Librová 2015; Librová and Pelikán 2016]). This article is divided into five sections. The following section lays out the context of the research, describing in detail the post-socialist context and especial- ly Hana Librová’s research. The third section outlines the methodology used. The fourth section presents our findings in regards to our respondents’ motivations for choosing their non-consumption lifestyles. The final, fifth section presents a summary of our findings and discusses the possibility of non-consumption life- styles emerging without affluence having first been reached. the research context: post-socialist conditions In his essay on the familial reasons for the fall of the Czech socialist regime, Ivo Možný [1991] pointed out the paradoxical relationship of the ‘normalisation’ peri- od of state socialism (the 1970s and the 1980s) to consumption.12 On the one hand, 10 When we refer to the revolution (hereinafter), we mean the Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia (1989): the peaceful overthrow of Czechoslovakia’s communist govern- ment that led to the economic transformation from a command economy to the free mar- ket. When we refer to post-revolution time, we mean the period after 1989. 11 These categories include having enough time and the free will to decide how to fill it; having enough space, which also means being surrounded by fewer things; peace and tranquillity; living in close proximity to nature and in a risk-free, unpolluted environment; and, last but not least, security without the need to fortify or isolate oneself. 12 Možný saw, in a Tocquevillian way, the inability of the old regime to meet the con- sumption demands and dreams that it itself created as one of the major reasons for the wide -ranging acceptance of the regime’s fall and its replacement with a capitalist system [Možný 1993]. Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6 838 the regime discursively opposed the ‘Western’ capitalist culture of abundance connected with deep social inequalities, and on the other hand, it constantly highlighted its own focus on production and the more or less equal distribution of comparable consumer goods [cf. Búriková 2004]. In any case, the scarcity of luxury and even of some basic consumer articles (such as toilet paper and other hygiene products, tropical fruit, and quality meat) became part of widely shared post-socialist narratives and oral histories [Vaněk and Mücke 2016]. The pros- pects for transforming these socialist realities into some kind of a more equal and less environmentally demanding political and economic regime (in comparison to the image of those in the West) looked promising.13 The ‘shortage economy’ supported the environmentally favourable aspects of the mainstream lifestyle at the time14 (such as food self-provisioning and a do-it-yourself culture). However, the popularity of self-provisioning could not be seen as just a coping strategy for the poor [see Jehlička et al. 2013], even though for many families the 1990s was a time of severe austerity, especially for those affected by the structural changes in the economy, and the ability to make do with little was crucial. Búriková com- pared the old and the new eras based on interviews she conducted on the subject of shopping under socialism and after: ‘Whereas under socialism [people] had money but there were not many desirable things in the shops, now [in the 1990s] they feel there is much to be bought but they cannot afford it.’ [Búriková 2004: 2] Further, economic growth and the much wider commercialisation of various spheres of life have brought about other cultural and social changes since the fall of the socialist regime15 that have improved the material quality of life of Czechs [Večerník 2009], but have widened the social gaps between some parts of society and caused disillusionment in respect to the post-revolutionary idealistic pros- pect of general affluence. The specific situation of the post-socialism period16 (like the restitution of previously nationalised private property) facilitated a certain lifestyle transfor- 13 This type of hopeful argumentation regarding the non-consumption orientation of ev- eryday socialist reality was used in academic debates about the potential for post-socialist development to follow ‘a third way’ [see Librová 1994]. Smith and Jehlička summed this up saying, ‘mainstream political discourses both within these countries and the EU have tended to see the trajectory of CEE countries as fixed—locked into a linear temporal and developmental trajectory towards a Western neo-liberal modernity’ [2007: 396]. 14 In addition, socialism stimulated the development of non-authoritarian sub-cultural movements. The various forms of resistance to socialist consumerism were performed for example by woodcrafters [Jehlička and Kurtz 2013]. 15 However, in the context of our topic, the demographic, legal, and economic changes are the most important ones [on the restitution process, see Swain 1999; on changes in repro- ductive behaviour and family structure, see Mareš and Možný 2005; on housing issues, among others, see Lux and Mikezsová 2012]. 16 The debate on post-socialist conditions and their regional specifics has resonated in academic writing in the last few decades—for instance, in the vigorous discussion on the L. Kala, L. Galčanová and V. Pelikán: Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity 839 mation in the households in Librová’s original sample. Her sociological research on modest lifestyles in the Czech Republic nevertheless supports the argument about the tendencies of the socialist path towards consumption, as the partici- pants, who were socialised during the socialist era, often rejected the lifestyle of their (urban and viewed as consumerist) parents and the narratives about their motivations for change were grounded in their admiration for the more or less idealised lifestyle of their grandparents (viewed as being closer to nature, rural, in many cases impacted by the nationalisation of private property and the collec- tivisation of agricultural land in the post-WWII period). The post-revolutionary years were also marked by the active involvement of the Colourful in local cul- tural and political life (some held positions in municipal authorities or became mayors). In Bourdieu’s terms, they possessed higher social and cultural capital (e.g. wide friendship ties or a university degree, although some of them were experienced autodidacts) and relatively low economic capital (the only exception to this being those who were restituted land and in one case a company) that was accumulated in most of the families in the course of time thanks to their low spending, the success of their small family businesses or the improvement of their position on the labour market in the context of the overall increase in sala- ries during the last two decades. For the context of our study it is important that the participants in Librová’s research expressed indifference to the increasing consumption, thus differing from the majority. Although the title of Librová’s second book, The Half-Hearted and the Hesitant: Chapters on Ecological Luxury [Librová 2003], indicates a shift in the participants’ everyday lives towards more mainstream patterns as time went by and towards the aforementioned disenchantment as well, they remained, even after 23 years, more or less faithful to their original motivations, beliefs, and life- styles [Librová et al. 2016]. Librová wrote, ‘the Czech respondents are not guided primarily by environmental intentions. More often, they are led to their lifestyle rather spontaneously by their inner, often Christian, values. Their lifestyle is cen- tred on family and social activities, and they do not enjoy shopping and travel- ling. Their self-restraint is an unintended and intuitive outcome ... the life of the Colourful Czechs does not conform to the features of the traditional society in that it is not governed by external social pressures’ [Librová 1999: 3–5]. The Co- lourful typically live in a relatively small town or a village (one-third lived in big- ger cities) and they have more children than the average Czech family. At the time of the first wave, they were willing to live on one salary, as the mothers stayed at home until the children reached school age and sometimes even engaged in home-schooling, and some downshifted in their jobs or established small, local family businesses. nature of post-socialism and, more importantly, on the meaning and usefulness of the concept of ‘post-socialism’ itself [see, e.g., Smith and Stenning 2006; Ferenčuhová 2012; Chelcea and Druţǎ 2016; Hirt et al. 2016]. Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6 840 Methodology and analytical procedure Methodologically, we reproduced the procedure used in Librová’s original study [1994]; for this reason we named our sample ‘the New Colourful’. The study had two primary purposes: (1) to investigate what motivates this new generation of Czechs to choose the non-consumption lifestyle; (2) to ascertain how people who have voluntarily reduced consumption in their households interpret specific aspects of their lifestyle. We used the snowball sampling method to obtain an initial set of suggested households, and to this set we applied further theoretical and demographic selection criteria. The final sample of the New Colourful thus constructed consists of 20 households of 36 people (17 males and 19 females). Besides fulfilling the main criteria of low household metabolism and voluntary restraint in terms of consumption, all the participants in our study established their households within the context of post-revolution capitalism in the late 1990s or at the beginning of the new millennium. An important consideration was also the stability of the household, as indicated especially by having started a family or having settled in a particular place. This selection criterion probably resulted in an emphasis on older respondents in the age composition of our sample (they range from 28 to 56 years, ⌀ 40, for more detailed information about their basic sociodemographic characteristic see Table 1)—in terms of their age, many of our oldest respondents are close to the youngest ones from the original sample of the Colourful, mainly due to the fact that patterns of starting a family and parenting practices have changed substantially in last 20 years within the second demo- graphic transition [Možný 1993; Mareš and Možný 2005; Rychtaříková 2000]. As can be seen in Table 1, our sample differs in many aspects from the gen- eral population. Even though we tried to cover various possible combinations of the basic socio-demographic characteristics in terms of education, type of resi- dence, and profession, we are aware that our sample does not include certain types of households that would definitely deserve our attention—especially sin- gle people’s households, and more people with lower education or those living in urban environments. The interviews were about 1.5 or 2 hours long and were video- and tape- recorded, and were accompanied by observations in each of the households, in- cluding photo-documentation. The topics that were covered were divided into six major clusters: the socio-demographic characteristics of the household; family issues; everydayness and daily routines (work, leisure, hobbies); the consump- tion and materiality of the household; social relations; and motivations and be- liefs (e.g. political, religious, environmental). We also paid special attention to how the respondents perceived the fact that they had been described by the in- formants as ‘voluntarily simple’ and to how they themselves saw their distinct economic behaviour. Even though the interviews were partially structured, con- siderable space was allowed for the communication partners to develop fairly comprehensive biographical narratives and to identify particular sub-topics or accents relevant specifically for their household [Elliott 2005]. L. Kala, L. Galčanová and V. Pelikán: Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity 841 table 1. Research sample characteristics—part one Family Age Education Main occupation at the time of the interview Housing type Male / Female Male Female Male Female 1 50/41 High school College Ambu- lance driver Physio- therapist Secluded wooden house (owned) 2 39/48 Univer- sity Univer- sity Doctor - radiologist Social worker Secluded wooden house (owned) 3 28/28 High school Univer- sity Fitter Materni- ty/paren- tal leave Village terraced house (rented) 4 48/39 Univer- sity Univer- sity IT – pro- grammer Materni- ty/paren- tal leave Modern solitary house in village (owned) 5 41/35 Voca- tional course High school Craftsman Materni- ty/paren- tal leave Village house (rented) 6 34/– Pri- mary school – Gardener – Solitary house in village (owned) 7 52/45 Univer- sity Univer- sity Farmer Physi- otherapist Secluded wooden house (owned) 8 46/42 – – Farmer Farmer Secluded wooden house (owned) 9 43/40 Voca- tional course Univer- sity Farmer/ painter Director of a mothers’ centre Secluded wooden house (owned) 10 33/32 Univer- sity Univer- sity Farmer/ IT – graphics Artist Secluded wooden house (owned) 11 –/42 – High school – Farmer/ Ginger- bread baker Secluded wooden house (owned) 12 38/38 Univer- sity High school Fruit grower School teacher Village house (owned) 13 37/41 Univer- sity Univer- sity Coach, ex- periential pedagogy Maternity leave/ Nutrition consultant Town, apartment (owned) Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6 842 The interviews were transcribed and analysed in several steps. As only two of the three researchers took part in each interview, we began with the collabora- tive writing of rich field notes after every visit. This phase was followed by in- dividually listening to the recordings and line-by-line reading of the transcripts. We then combined the results of the individual analysis of the major topics from the interviews with the most telling pictures of the households, and we worked together in meetings, analysing the collected information and using visualisa- tion and paper-and-pen technique to triangulate the findings from the individual readings. This way, we were able to collate the structured topics from each in- terview as well as discuss those that emerged newly in the field. Subsequently, we wrote and cross-commented memos and created the first analytical report. Family Age Education Main occupation at the time of the interview Housing type Male / Female Male Female Male Female 14 36/39 Univer- sity Univer- sity Electrical engineer Project coordina- tor NGO Town, apartment (owned) 15 38/37 Univer- sity Univer- sity Social scientist Director of alternative kindergar- ten Town, apart- ment (owned by parents) 16 35/28 Univer- sity Univer- sity Software developer School teacher Small town, house (owned) 17 38/38 Univer- sity Univer- sity Leisure instructor Leisure instructor Town, apartment (owned) 18 37/37 Univer- sity Univer- sity Leisure instructor Maternity leave/ parental leave Small town, fam- ily house (rented) 19 37/33 High school High school Removal man Maternity leave/ parental leave Cottage (owned) 20 57/54 Univer- sity Univer- sity Building construc- tion tech- nician Account- ant Small town, fam- ily house (owned) Note: Missing values represent information that was not relevant or was not provided by the participants. table 1. Research sample characteristics—part two L. Kala, L. Galčanová and V. Pelikán: Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity 843 The applied analytical technique followed the interpretive analysis inspired by grounded theory [Charmaz 2006], while also applying some procedures to in- crease the reflection in the teamwork [Barry et al. 1999]. the New Colourful: diverse ways of practicing voluntary simplicity When the New Colourful couples were making the decision about their lifestyle, the discussion about whether to live in the city or in the countryside was of cen- tral importance. For 12 of the 20 households, this discussion led to moving to the countryside. Living in the city was incompatible with their idea of the good life. When we asked about the motivations for the departure, we often received well-thought-out answers.17 We also heard stories referring to various problems caused by city life, or rather attributed to city dwelling, and to the need for free- dom which could not be fulfilled in the city. In their reasoning of why they chose the country, the respondents often mentioned the clean environment, the chil- dren’s well-being, and their desire for a ‘true’ or an ‘examined’ kind of life.18 I always remember how I didn’t want to wash my hands when we got back, so that I could keep at least something from the genuine life with me. It seemed true, tangible. How the milk spurted from the cow. … When our daughter was born, we decided that she wouldn’t spend her childhood in Prague, that’s nonsense. (Fami- ly 9, female, 40) While most of the participating families decided to move to the countryside, nearly half of the families who decided to stay in the city explained their choice using economic as well as environmental19 and family reasons. According to their statements, both of these groups focus on truly fulfilling experiences in their eve- ryday lives. Both of them believe that thanks to the choice of residence they have made, they have more space for themselves and their family. The city-based inter- viewees assert that they also get to go outdoors into nature more often this way as they do not have to take care of a house and a farm. For instance, the reasons Family 14 gave for choosing to live in a block of flats on the outskirts of Prague are 17 We identified four residential motives among the people who had moved to the coun- tryside: the distaste for life in the city, the desire to live a pleasant life, the desire to live in freedom, and the desire to return to one’s roots [Kala et al. 2016]. 18 Similar reasoning is used by the participants in counterurbanisation research in the Czech Republic [e.g. Šimon 2014: 131]. 19 In the city, there is no need to own a car, and there are lower energy costs and better access to services such as farmers’ markets, second-hand shops, or nature preschools. Phi- losopher Erazim Kohák [see Mráčková et al. 2014: 62–63] is a well-known proponent of the thought that living in a city, ideally in dense housing development, is an expression of an environmentally-friendly attitude. Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6 844 in fact similar to the reasons cited by those who decided to move to the country. The search for the best possible quality of life for the children was ultimately the most important factor: For a while we thought we would move somewhere outside the city. We kept deba- ting the pros and cons. And in the end, it was this block of flats that won. … We were more interested in devoting ourselves to family life rather than working on a house somewhere. (Family 14, female, 39) We assume that devotion to family life results in various lifestyles that are all seen by our respondents as ‘low consumption’ lifestyles. It cannot be said that our respondents have somehow given up on consumerism. It is rather that their lifestyle excludes consumerism because of other priorities. In their statements we find a mistrust of the assumption that acquiring more material goods could make their lives better. Thus the New Colourful realise, like Enzensberger [1996], that the very physical conditions of human existence (like nature, space, time, attention, silence, and safety) have become luxuries and that, in order to enjoy them, require a person to practice self-restraint in terms of consumption, career, etc. A common view among the interviewees is that their deliberate choice of consumption reduction has brought them benefits in return, such as improve- ment in various aspects of their everyday life—what Librová has called ‘ecologi- cal luxury’ [2003]. A recurrent theme in the interviews is the respondents’ conviction that a person’s quality of life is relatively more important than their job and the ability to spend money on things. Talking about this issue, one interviewee said: Other families put their money, for instance, into vacations, expensive, exotic vacati- ons. We put our money into schools, into daily life. But that is what is important to me. To scrimp and suffer all year to save for plane tickets for a two-week vacation abroad doesn’t make sense to me. We should live in the now. (Family 15, male, 38) This view was echoed by other respondents who prefer to spend more time car- ing for their children and gaining non-materialistic satisfaction, rather than rush- ing around to gain material satisfaction.20 The New Colourful, as we gathered from their statements, seek to find a balance between self-restraint and their life expectations. They claim to have no understanding of conspicuous consumption and spending money on material ‘status goods’ like expensive cars or houses. However self-stylising it may be, they stress that their focus is on a high standard’ in daily consumption. For in- 20 The way in which they speak about their investments in daily life is comparable to the downshifters’ lifestyle as described, for example, by Schor [1999]. L. Kala, L. Galčanová and V. Pelikán: Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity 845 stance, Family 16 cut down on transport costs and spends more money instead on ‘health food products’. We save quite a lot also by not having a car. It may not seem like it, but that in itself makes quite a difference. We don’t go out drinking, either. On the other hand, what we save, we then spend on shopping in health food stores where we buy more ex- pensive things. (Family 16, male, 35) His wife also appreciates being able to avoid animal ingredients in their kitchen, which has brought them the pleasure of discovering new cuisines. ‘We enjoy the possibilities that have opened up by not buying meat or cheese. We have found plenty of flavours and options for cooking.’ (Family 16, female, 28) When we consider all this together, we can assume that voluntary self-re- straint lets people fulfil their idea of a happy life. This is clearly demonstrated among the respondents by their not owning or only occasional use of a car. How- ever, there are only six totally car-free households in our sample; more often our respondents make just limited use of their car, and many of them emphasise the pleasure of other modes of transport. One commented that: ‘I find it pleasant to walk to the station in the fresh air. It would feel unnatural for me drive from home to work.’ Family 16 (female, 28) Another family, Family 8, got a car when they were renovating their house. However, due to pressure from their children, they soon got rid of it. Using this comfortable transportation meant that, as a fam- ily, they had lost the leisurely, long periods of time when they would walk home from town together through the open landscape. Thus giving up the car was not inspired by any ideology, as Family 8 (male, 46) explains, but essentially by a de- sire to live a happier life [cf. Schor 1999]. This theme of voluntary self-restraint in the area of car use came up for example in discussions of consumption reduction, in which we were particularly interested. The car is perceived as one of the driving forces of excessive consump- tion. The decision-making process concerning car use is a reflection of a con- scious discussion about what form of lifestyle one desires. A low-consumption lifestyle could be indirectly based on not owning a car, as Family 5 described to us. When people have to carry their purchases by hand, naturally the number of goods they purchase will be limited, which can also be seen as a benefit. We had just borrowed a car from my brother. We enjoyed the luxury. So I said to my- self, ‘we need to return it soon, it would be easy to get used to this.’ To go shopping and not worry that I can’t get something because it’s heavy. Not weigh my priorities, what I can put in my back-pack. (Family 5, female, 35) The New Colourful usually do not think of the limitations on some kinds of con- sumption as limitations because they have deliberately decided for self-restraint. In their households, this decision is manifested in not owning certain appliances. Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6 846 Many appliances that are otherwise quite commonly used are absent (like dryers, electric tea kettles, and microwaves). They often explained their dislike of these appliances by observing that they get the work done ‘unnaturally fast’. While the respondents generally welcome technologies that save hard labour (tractors, power saws, etc.), machines that save only time are seen by many as unnecessary. An iconic example of this is represented by attitudes towards dishwashers, which had become a topic for negotiation in most of the households that we examined. Washing dishes by hand plays an important role for the New Colourful; it is a way to relax, sometimes an opportunity to warm up one’s hands in a frugally heated house, and a chance for the kids to do meaningful work. According to many respondents’ statements, they take pleasure in washing the dishes by hand. For these reasons almost none of our respondents had purchased a dishwasher. The key to thriftiness, according to the accounts of the New Colourful, is to reflect on whether certain expenses are really necessary. Their frugality is mainly about the state of mind, as they report. In the interviews, there often appear state- ments about having enough; ‘If I don’t have it, I don’t need it’ is the motto of Family 14 (male, 36). They are aware of how uncommon their belief that they do not need more is, and they feel that they have to defend being content with the little they have: I don’t feel like I’m totally different. I may have a smaller house than most people. But I actually prefer that. It’s not that I’d feel a lesser person somehow, because I have less of something. I feel good, have enough of everything. (Family 1, female, 41) The New Colourful basically resist the culture of debt. Even if they could borrow money for immediate consumption, the feeling of being in debt would bother them. Hence, consumer loans and mortgages practically do not appear in our sample. To our surprised inquiries about how they got the money to furnish or build their homes, many answered in a manner similar to Family 2 (male, 39): When you live in such a way that you don’t want to throw away things that still work, you’ve been riding the same bike since you were fifteen because it’s still good, you don’t eat out, don’t go on expensive vacations, then what? You can put your money into housing ... In this respect the New Colourful clearly follow the old-fashioned approach of delayed consumption. As one interviewee summed it up: ‘When we need to save, we simply economise.’ (Family 19, male, 37) Thriftiness offers the New Colourful a kind of freedom21 and debt-free liv- 21 The previous study reported that some consumers crave to liberate themselves from the norms and restrictions dictated by the forces of the market, and the idea of freedom from social constraints is perceived by them as luxury [Llamas 2016]. L. Kala, L. Galčanová and V. Pelikán: Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity 847 ing. They appreciate mainly the opportunity to slow down when they need it, and the independence of their life choices in regards to leaving their job. The ab- sence of debt, the existence of savings, and their self-sufficiency allow our partici- pants to rethink their attitudes to work. Like Huneke’s [2005] respondents, one of the New Colourful said: ‘We are in the phase of life when free time is a lot more important than money.’ Without knowing the guidelines for a simpler and hap- pier life, they use the advantage of knowing how to manage with little to reduce their workload. In this context, in the interviews we again came across the New Colourful setting themselves apart from the mainstream practice: The way I do everything is I do the opposite of what others are doing. I save when others are spending, and I spend when others are saving. I’m not at all interested in some crises and other nonsense. I wait for an opportunity. There was a year when I only worked two months. Usually I work less than half a year. (Family 5, male, 43) Interviewer: Is this because you spend less, rather than making a lot? I don’t think so. You know how it is? When you want something, the more you go after it, the more it escapes you. Guys scramble to get work, to work as much as possible, but then they are cheap or can’t keep up, and then they have to spend more because they can’t keep up. It’s better to lie low and wait, until you just snap your fingers and it falls in your lap. (Family 5, male, 43) We observed a kind of luxurious self-restraint also when the interviews touched on the topic of one’s career. The New Colourful put more emphasis on having a job that is satisfying than on earnings. For example, when the wife in Family 2 (female, 48), a social worker, went back to work after parental leave, ‘money was not the motivation at all. We would have been able to live quite comfortably on one salary’, she said. They prefer meaningful work to profit and prestige. Work is more a calling than a money-making endeavour, as demonstrated by the fol- lowing statement from Family 9 (female, 40), a director of a maternity centre who sometimes works without remuneration: ‘I do what I feel I am supposed to be doing. I don’t care if I have money or not at the moment. It will work out one way or another; in the end I always have some.’ Thanks to their meaningful work, the New Colourful feel liberated from questions such as ‘What shall I do today? What should I get started on? What to do with myself?’, as was explicitly expressed by Family 7 (male, 52), who were caring for a thousand-head flock of sheep. On this issue, the wife said: ‘simple work has added value because it welds us together’. (female, 45) Our interviewees greatly appreciate the opportunity to be more with their family thanks to their self-restraint in their career [cf. Huneke 2005]. When asked about their interpretation of the origins of their lifestyle, the participants talked about the influence of their families. Sometimes, as in the case of Family 9 (female, 40), they were motivated negatively to live differently from their parents. She remembers that she ‘was always in an enclosed space” (in school, in an after-school club) and she decided to live differently in her adult- Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6 848 hood, and to ‘be present in the children’s upbringing’. However, more often the New Colourful have reproduced the modest lifestyle of their families: My parents were ‘working intelligentsia’ during communism. The work was noth- ing special. We had nothing, just a lot of books in a house that was falling on our heads. But when you grow up in these conditions, you are fine. My parents never took it as a tragedy. They always said, ‘Well, there are other things that it’s necessary to concentrate on. Property is not worth it. Let’s read or do some mental work. We will not cry about not having a car.’ ... After the revolution, my father started to do business and he was doing well. Suddenly we had one car, then another one, even better. I was already at the grammar school when our life’s journey split up quite a bit. They’ve taught me something that I am currently practicing. But they live in a completely different way; they have the property and the Audi. (Family 14, female, 39) The analysis of the interviews has shown that the New Colourful who grew up in less affluent families with higher cultural capital and a positive approach to a modest life have relatively successfully reproduced the lifestyle of their parents.22 These findings call into question Inglehart’s theory and rather support those who have criticised it, drawing on Bourdieu’s theory of habitus.23 While authors like Etzioni [2013] report over-saturation with consumption as the main motive for choosing the voluntarily simple lifestyle, most of the New Colourful, like the original Colourful [Librová 2003], based their argumentation more on aesthetic considerations or sometimes on habit. Even though the respondents’ interpreta- tions of choosing a non-consumption lifestyle24 vary, we have identified several features that they have in common. The New Colourful seek personal integrity and wnat their values and lifestyle to be in harmony, and voluntary self-restraint helps them achieve this. Therefore, they perceive certain aspects of their own sim- plicity as luxury, as something that enriches them. The New Colourful interpret their life paths as a result of a gradual transformation of their lifestyle based on their faithfulness to their values, not as a radical lifestyle transformation, like in the case of the ‘back to the land movement’ [see Elgin 1981: 20] or the ‘simplicity movement’ [see Alexander and Ussher 2012: 8]. Overall, these findings suggest 22 The other research findings of our team, regarding the relatively successful intergen- erational reproduction of the Colourful’s habitus to their children, suggest that higher cultural capital could facilitate the reproduction of a modest way of life [for more on these results, see Pelikán et al. 2017]. 23 Bourdieu understands habitus as a nonlinear process, which, while being anchored in class, also grows out of imitation and one’s personal experience, thus opposing, with re- gard to consumption, the perspective of homo oeconomicus [1984: 183]. 24 We deliberately use the term non-consumption lifestyle because our participants did not identify with the designation voluntary simplicity; however, they have the same char- acteristics. L. Kala, L. Galčanová and V. Pelikán: Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity 849 that their motivations are not teleological (in order to change the system, to help the global environment, etc.), but rather deontological (because of their values, life experience, or tradition) [cf. Pelikán and Librová 2015]. Discussion and conclusion The objective of this paper was to present an alternative mode of voluntary sim- plicity which continuously exists in the Czech post-socialist context. Although the motivations of New Colourful seem to be consistent with the motivations of other complementary research studies’ participants,25 they did not change their lifestyle while living in affluence. The empirical findings in this study problema- tise the link between a person’s lifestyle choice and materialism. The principal theoretical implication of this study is that our findings call into question Ingle- hart’s structural presupposition that non-consumerist lifestyles like voluntary simplicity develop within affluent environments. The findings of this investiga- tion complement those of earlier studies that identified aspects of lifestyle simpli- fication also within economically less affluent environments and societies [Bur- giel et al. 2015; Librová 1994; Zaritska 2015]. This research extends the existing knowledge about people’s motivations for choosing non-consumerist lifestyles. The findings reported above suggest that the voluntary self-restraint of the participants in our study has brought them diverse benefits, like having sufficient time and peace of mind, feeling safe, liv- ing in close proximity to nature, having a garden, and having access to clean water and healthy food, which could be classed as ‘ecological luxury’ [cf. Librová 2003]. Typically, the New Colourful have a tendency to go ‘back to the land’ (or at least they consider it a realistic option), and they follow more traditional ways of life (e.g. home-schooling, self-sufficiency). Taking into consideration that peo- ple pursue ‘simple lifestyles’ with or without having obtained affluence, we as- sumed that there must be another explanation. Inspired by Bauman’s critique of the post-modern version of yearning for the ‘great simplification’ and by Li- brová’s study of the cultural stereotype of simplicity26 [2008], we presuppose that the roots of simple lifestyles could also lie in a person’s dissatisfaction with the promise of modernity, a promise suggesting that it is possible to gain and lead 25 The New Colourful adopt a non-consumerist lifestyle for reasons similar, for instance, to those of Schor’s study participants—‘more time, less stress, and more balance in life’, ‘more time to spend by caring for children’, and ‘a more meaningful life’ [1999: 138]. Schor [1999] and other authors [e.g. Craig-Lees , Hill 2002] emphasise that downshifters or sim- plifiers have experienced a change in their lifestyle from over-work and over-consumption to a lifestyle based on post-materialistic values. 26 Librová [2008] proposed nine dimensions of the stereotypical view of simplicity: non-ownership, lack of power, aesthetics, thoughtful behaviour, naturalness, freedom of movement, the sedentary life/faithfulness to a place, and living lightly. Sociologický časopis/ Czech Sociological Review, 2017, Vol. 53, No. 6 850 the good life through material abundance. Therefore, it appears that the cultural prototype of free and happy peasants has been rediscovered both in the affluent West and in post-socialist countries where the ideas of modernity have been also prevalent [cf. the paradoxical relationship of state socialism to consumption in Možný [1991, 1993]. The conclusions of authors like Zavestoski [2002] and Etzioni [2004, 2013] do not seem to be completely valid; their application of Maslow’s hierarchy to the interpretation of motivations for choosing simplicity may be mis- leading or at least of limited usefulness. The New Colourful had not first attained true affluence. They decided for a non-consumption lifestyle because they real- ised that their vision of the good life could not be fulfilled through consumption. Our findings thus further support Huneke’s [2005: 544] the idea that voluntary simplicity is not reserved for affluent people, and that it can be relevant also for those whose basic needs are less well satisfied. However, this is an important issue in need of future research. The modest lifestyle of the New Colourful emerges from their specific so- cio-cultural capital, which allows them to shape their lifestyle to fit their desires, not as a reaction against the pervasive consumer-driven culture [cf. Grigsby 2004: 64; Zavestoski 2002: 151]. In line with Librová’s [1999], Huneke’s [2005: 544], and Craig-Lees and Hill’s findings [2002: 191], we believe that non-materialistic and non-consumerist values may not be the main driving factors behind people choos- ing the voluntarily simple lifestyle. Many authors describe voluntary simplicity as a countercultural movement of people ‘who are resisting high consumption lifestyles’ [Alexander and Ussher 2012: 1] and consider voluntary simplifiers to be ‘cultural change agents’ [Grigsby 2004: 86]. In contrast to such a view, the New Colourful do not see themselves as members of any movement. Moreover, they often say that, actually, they do not live simply. They are aware that it would be easier to live the mainstream way, but that ‘wouldn’t bring them joy’, as we heard many times in the interviews. They limit their consumption as part of a lifestyle trade-off. According to our findings, the New Colourful do not see their lifestyle as something deviating from culture, but rather as a true manifestation of it. They are trying to fulfil certain pre-existing cultural ideals (like living close to nature in a family house), but they are using different ways to achieve them. Our findings suggest that the Czech socialist past created conditions suit- able for the formation of a non-ideological and primarily self-oriented version of voluntary simplicity. The New Colourful, both in the city and in the countryside, seek to find a place where they can express their self-identity and ‘authentici- ty’ outside of the mainstream consumerist system [cf. Smith and Jehlička 2007]. Some of their activities just follow in the tradition of self-provisioning, barter ex- change and ‘do it yourself’ culture, which helped the generation of their parents cope while living in the socialist system of central provisioning. Their other ac- tivities, like running independent maternity centres, kindergartens and schools, respond to current social needs. Thus the New Colourful are not interested in ‘dropping out’ of society, they are creating space for safe and independent activ- L. Kala, L. Galčanová and V. Pelikán: Narratives and Practices of Voluntary Simplicity 851 ities similarly to what many people did in the period of state socialism [cf. Smith and Jehlička 2007]. The interviews revealed that a solid foundation in the form of debt-free real estate and also their know-how regarding making a living ‘outside of the system’ provide the participants in our study with a sense of security and the freedom to meet their life goals. While the original Colourful chose to follow the path of voluntary simplic- ity in the context of relatively poor socialist (or early-capitalist) Czechoslovakia, the New Colourful, for the most part, made their decision in a period of advanced capitalism. Despite this generational difference, the two samples show marked similarities, especially in the area of motives and in relation to consumerism. This combination of our findings provides some support for the conceptual prem- ise that non-consumerist (environmentally friendly, sustainable) lifestyles can be formed also in societies with relatively less material abundance. Therefore, we can assert that this particular form of Czech voluntary simplicity was not just an ephemeral phenomenon of the early 1990s. Lukáš kaLa is a sociologist working in the fields of the sociology of lifestyles and rural sociology. His research focuses mainly on the environmental aspects of lifestyles. His previous publications challenge the stereotype that the lifestyle of people who live single is environmentally unfriendly. Vojtěch PeLikán is a doctoral candidate in environmental humanities at Masaryk Uni- versity. 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work_wb4gfzezrvdvfpn34hvcoaeqfy	----	Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America ISSN 1870-0128 ISSN online 2255-3371 Carlos Eduardo Martínez Hincapié La cultura emergente de la no-violencia y la crisis de la civilización THE EMERGING CULTURE OF NON-VIOLENCE AND THE CRISIS OF CIVILIZATION Vol. 7 No. 7, 159-182 pp. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 158 158 . CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 159 159 RESUMEN La cultura que nos hegemoniza está en crisis porque algunos de los ima- ginarios que la sustentan amenazaron seriamente la vida y ello provoca la revi- sión social de los mismos, esto da paso a una nueva forma de leer e interpretar la realidad y los conflictos, a lo cual se nom- bra en este texto como la cultura emer- gente de la no-violencia. La amenaza nu- clear, la crisis ambiental y de la obediencia son algunas de las evidencias y este escrito hace algunos acerca- mientos que invitan a trabajar colectivamente para evidenciar y legitimar las nuevas formas de comprendernos como humanidad. ABSTRACT Abstract: We hegemonizes culture is in crisis because some of the imaginary that sustain life are seriously threatened and this is causing social reviewing them, giving way to a new way of reading and interpreting reality and conflict here is named as the emerging culture of non-violence. The nuclear threat, envi- ronmental crisis and obedience are some of the evidence and this La cultura emergente de la no-violencia y la crisis de la civilización THE EMERGING CULTURE OF NON-VIOLENCE AND THE CRISIS OF CIVILIZATION ENVIADO 28-6-2013 REVISADO 20-11-2013 ACEPTADO 11-22-2013 Carlos Eduardo Martínez Hincapié Centro de Pensamiento en Paz y Ciudadanía, Uniminuto, Bogotá, Colombia Palabras claves: Cultura, crisis ecológica, amenaza nuclear, crisis de la obediencia, no-violencia Key Words: Culture, ecological crisis, nuclear threat, crisis obedience nonviolence MONOGRAFÍA NO-VIOLENCIA CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 160 160 paper makes some invite approaches that work collectively to highlight and legitimize new ways to understand as humanity. 1 Introducción Nos encontramos en medio de una crisis de civilización: la cultura que nos hegemoniza cada vez tiene mayores dificultades para sos- tenerse en el alma de los seres humanos. La violencia, su columna vertebral, ha llegado a niveles en los que hemos sentido profunda vergüenza de especie, llevándonos a cuestionar su pretendida legitimidad y a develar sus múltiples disfraces. Es una crisis que se evidencia en los límites de la guerra, la crisis ecológica y el cuestionamiento de uno de sus mejores instrumen- tos de legitimación social: la obediencia irrestricta y sin cuestiona- mientos a lo que definen los poderosos. En este escrito voy a intentar analizar algunas manifestaciones de la cultura hegemónica que hoy van en contravía de la vida. Las culturas y los imaginarios que las componen nacen y se legitiman por su consonancia con la vida y, en consecuencia, cuando crecen las evidencias de que su utilización sistemática acaba por amena- zar a la vida, entran en un proceso de deslegitimación social que plantea una crisis de civilización. Crisis, porque muchas de nuestras formas de hacer y de pensar se empiezan a percibir como suicidas, sin que aún hayamos construido alternativas. Y no podemos pen- sarnos sin la cultura pues ella es el espejo que nos devuelve la rea- lidad; sin ella no seríamos capaces de leerla, entenderla ni inter- pretarla. Y la crisis es un tránsito: sabemos que muchos de los ima- ginarios que hoy guían nuestro actuar ya no se sostienen, pero nos cuesta dejar de usarlos mientras no existan otros que le den nuevo sentido a nuestras relaciones. Estos imaginarios emergentes ya se insinúan, pero deben realizar un proceso de seducción colectiva demostrando, en lógica de persistencia, su capacidad para garanti- zarnos de nuevo la supervivencia. En ello nos encontramos. De alguna manera, la cultura es una especie de contenedor en el que se vierte la realidad, determinando sus comprensiones, sus alcances y limitaciones, las interpretaciones que se hacen de la misma y sus niveles de significación. Dicho de otro modo, la cultura es una especie de cuenco, y la realidad es el líquido que se deposi- ta en él adquiriendo la forma que define aquel, haciendo que la realidad sea entendida y vista de la misma forma, con pocas posi- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 161 161 bilidades de transformación, en la medida en que dicha repetición es la que garantiza la continuidad de la vida. Cuando los cambios no logran transformar los imaginarios atávicos que definen las formas del cuenco, ellos terminan siendo leídos desde las significaciones existentes, construyendo un discurso, en apariencia distinto, pero que no llega más allá de llamar de forma diferente a lo ya existente, lo que podríamos nombrar como “eu- femismos culturales”. La mayoría de los cambios están circunscri- tos al ámbito del cuenco mismo, que está construido en un mate- rial con varios niveles de flexibilidad, pero que no deja de determi- narlos desde sus formas, “domesticándolos” al ser interpretados desde sus propios límites, pues no logran trascender el universo de las significaciones culturales. Y ello ocurre de forma repetida mien- tras exista el acuerdo colectivo -legitimación- de que la continui- dad de la vida está sujeta a la existencia de los imaginarios atávicos que la sustentan. Nos estamos dando cuenta de que el problema es del cuenco; no del contenido sino del contenedor, y no es fácil imaginar las for- mas que ha de tener este nuevo cuenco. Intuimos que ha de ser multiforme, con posibilidades de vericuetos internos y externos, con varias entradas y salidas... No es posible definir previamente la “bondad” de los cambios. Esto también es un proceso de reflexión colectiva, que se ha de dar por la consonancia entre aquellos cambios y la imprescindible protec- ción de la vida y, como dice Augusto Ángel Maya, en medio de la incertidumbre: La resiliencia cultural frente al medio es frágil. Puede de s- moronarse, porque el hombre no encuentra los medios te c- nológicos o las formas organizativas y los instrumentos te ó- ricos para superar la crisis. Lo que diferencia el peligro a c- tual de los anteriores es que est e se ha hecho planetario y se extiende a la totalidad del sistema vivo. Como en el p a- sado, la exigencia consiste en encontrar los instrumentos culturales adecuados para la supervivencia de la vida. Ello no está garantizado. La crisis ambiental consiste en que no necesariamente está garantizado el éxito. La incertidumbre es la raíz de la creatividad cultural (Á ngel Maya, 1995:3). Es necesario explicitar los cambios que, a mi forma de ver, ya se CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 162 162 están decantando, no sólo a través de nuevas formas de pensar, sino también de nuevas formas de hacer; ya están ocurriendo, pero aún sin la suficiente visibilidad social como para ser conside- rados alternativas a la cultura hegemónica. Esta lucha y este tránsito se están dando no sólo en el campo de lo público, sino que también están ocurriendo en el ámbito de lo privado, en el interior de todo tipo de estructura organizativa y, por supuesto, dentro de las personas. No pretendo hacer una reflexión teórica sobre los componentes de la crisis, sino evidenciarla a través de los hechos; mostrarla, no demostrarla, porque lo primero nos permite acercarnos a verdades abiertas, a lecturas siempre nuevas y sugerentes, mientras lo se- gundo se empeña en elaborar una nueva verdad única frente a la cual sólo hay un camino posible: plegarse a ella. 2 Las evidencias de la crisis: la amenaza de una destrucción nu- clear y la ruptura de los equilibrios ecológicos que protegen y garantizan la vida Un minuto después de la última explosión, más de la mitad de los seres humanos habrá muerto, el polvo y el humo de los con- tinentes en llamas derrotarán a la luz solar, y las tinieblas absolu- tas volverán a reinar en el mundo. Un invierno de lluvias anaran- jadas y huracanes helados invertirá el tiempo de los océanos y volteará el curso de los ríos, cuyos peces habrán muerto de sed en las aguas ardientes, y cuyos pájaros no encontrarán el cielo. Las nieves perpetuas cubrirán el desierto del Sahara, la vasta Amazonía desaparecerá de la faz del planeta destruida por el granizo, y la era del rock y de los corazones trasplantados estará de regreso a su infancia glacial. Los pocos seres humanos que sobrevivan al primer espanto, y los que hubieran tenido el privi- legio de un refugio seguro a las tres de la tarde del lunes aciago de la catástrofe magna, sólo habrán salvado la vida para morir después por el horror de sus recuerdos. La Creación habrá ter- minado. En el caos final de la humedad y las noches eternas, el único vestigio de lo que fue la vida serán las cucarachas. Desde la aparición de la vida visible en la Tierra debieron trans- currir 380 millones de años para que una mariposa aprendiera a volar, otros 180 millones de años para fabricar una rosa sin otro compromiso que el de ser hermosa, y cuatro eras geológicas pa- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 163 163 ra que los seres humanos a diferencia del bisabuelo pitecántro- po, fueran capaces de cantar mejor que los pájaros y de morirse de amor. No es nada honroso para el talento humano, en la edad de oro de la ciencia, haber concebido el modo de que un proceso milenario tan dispendioso y colosal, pueda regresar a la nada de donde vino por el arte simple de oprimir un botón. Para tratar de impedir que eso ocurra estamos aquí, sumando nuestras voces a las innumerables que claman por un mundo sin armas y una paz con justicia. Pero aún si ocurre -y más aún si ocurre-, no será del todo inútil que estemos aquí. Dentro de millones de millones de milenios después de la explosión, una salamandra triunfal que habrá vuelto a recorrer la escala completa de las especies, será quizás coronada como la mujer más hermosa de la nueva crea- ción. De nosotros depende, hombres y mujeres de ciencia, hom- bres y mujeres de las artes y las letras, hombres y mujeres de la inteligencia y la paz, de todos nosotros depende que los invita- dos a esa coronación quimérica no vayan a su fiesta con nuestros mismos terrores de hoy. Con toda modestia, pero también con toda la determinación del espíritu, propongo que hagamos ahora y aquí el compromiso de concebir y fabricar un arca de la memo- ria, capaz de sobrevivir al diluvio atómico. Una botella de náu- fragos siderales arrojada a los océanos del tiempo, para que la nueva humanidad de entonces sepa por nosotros lo que no han de contarle las cucarachas: que aquí existió la vida, que en ella prevaleció el sufrimiento y predominó la injusticia, pero que también conocimos el amor y hasta fuimos capaces de imaginar- nos la felicidad. Y que sepa y haga saber para todos los tiempos quiénes fueron los culpables de nuestro desastre, y cuán sordos se hicieron a nuestros clamores de paz para que esta fuera la mejor de las vidas posibles, y con qué inventos tan bárbaros y por qué intereses tan mezquinos la borraron del Universo (Garc- ía Márquez, 1986). Este fragmento del texto de García Márquez, llamado El cataclismo de Damocles, nos introduce de forma poética, pero no por ello menos angustiosa, en el sentimiento de crisis cada vez más com- partido por un mayor número de ciudadanos y ciudadanas, con que nos ha correspondido transitar por la vida en los últimos cien años. La amenaza nuclear 1 es sólo una dimensión de esta crisis. Los 1 En 1959, el filósofo vienés Günther Anders inicia una fluida corresponden- cia con Claude R. Eatherly, el hombre que piloteaba el avión que tiró la pri- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 164 164 frágiles equilibrios construidos en la historia del planeta, y de los que somos uno de sus resultados, están cada vez más amenazados y deteriorados, sin que alcancemos a vislumbrar si la capacidad de adaptación de las diferentes expresiones de la vida responderá a unas nuevas condiciones. Lo que más angustia produce es el saber que la intervención de los seres humanos es la responsable directa de muchas de estas rupturas. Nos hemos creído dueños del plane- ta, hemos arrinconado o desaparecido a todos nuestros depreda- dores naturales, sin entender cuánto dependíamos de ellos. Hemos supeditado la vida a intereses de poder político, militar o económico, sacralizándolos con filiaciones divinas, guerras santas o manos invisibles y, bajo su manto, hemos destruido, arrebatado, esquilmado, y sometido cuantas expresiones de vida y recursos hemos encontrado, creyendo hacer lo correcto. Y tal vez aquí está la clave de una nueva reflexión. La cultura humana se ha ido la- brando como mecanismo de sobrevivencia y, en la medida en que la hemos escindido de la vida, ella se ha convertido en la justifica- ción para atacarla, amenazarla, destruirla. Hemos creído estar haciendo lo justo y lo correcto y, sin embargo, los resultados nega- tivos son cada vez más evidentes. Para poder ver las dimensiones de la llamada “crisis civilizatoria” hemos de referirnos al siglo XX y lo que llevamos del XXI, con el fin de concatenar diferentes hechos históricos que nos permitan ob- servar los aspectos que la definen. Esta “crisis civilizatoria” hace referencia a un cuestionamiento profundo de la cultura que hasta ahora ha soportado las relaciones entre los seres humanos y de los mismos con la naturaleza, basadas en la violencia, entendida como el aprendizaje cultural a través del cual resolvemos los conflictos 2 . mera bomba atómica sobre la ciudad de Hiroshima. Ante la monstruosidad de lo sucedido, Eatherly decide hacerse pacifista y dedicar su vida contra las armas nucleares, no sin antes pasar varios años recluido en hospitales psi- quiátricos. Anders construye en su libro una reflexión sobre los límites de la propia conciencia en un mundo tecnificado que nos impide medir las verda- deras proporciones de las acciones individuales y la necesidad de llevar a cabo una labor de concienciación, utilizando para ello el caso Eatherly (An- ders, 2002). Ver también Jaspers (1996) hace en este libro una reflexión sobre la respon- sabilidad de los científicos que se ponen al servicio de gobiernos a quienes solo les interesa el predominio geopolítico. La combinación entre innovación técnica e ingenuidad política los convierte en títeres del poder. 2 Jonathan Schell nos dice hasta qué punto nos ha conducido la utilización de este aprendizaje: “Si un dios maligno hubiera convertido la sociedad humana CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 165 165 La crisis ya es innegable; lo que puede existir son dos lecturas de la misma que nos llevan a la búsqueda de distintas salidas: un mo- mento de readaptación de los patrones culturales hegemónicos, o un espacio de ruptura de los mismos o, al menos, de algunos de ellos 3 . La primera salida, que se construye sobre la idea de que la capacidad humana para innovar y avanzar tecnológicamente será capaz de resolver la crisis coyuntural, sólo ha de llevarnos a un aplazamiento temporal de la misma. La segunda, supone develar aquellos imaginarios que han de ser transformados, y trabajar en los puntos de fuga que lo posibiliten. Dos son las situaciones que evidencian con mayor profundidad el sentimiento cada vez más generalizado de inviabilidad de nuestro esquema civilizatorio: la crisis ambiental y la capacidad destructiva de la industria de la guerra. 2.1 La crisis ambiental Es el resultado del “imaginario cultural atávico” que plantea la dominación de la naturaleza por parte del ser humano, con todas sus legitimaciones antropocéntricas. Los avances tecnológicos han estado al servicio de hacer cada vez “más efectiva” esta domina- ción, acrecentada por un modelo económico que basa su creci- miento en la explotación de los recursos naturales renovables y no renovables, hasta el punto de poner incluso a los primeros, que por definición se renuevan, en la cercana posibilidad de no hacer- lo 4 . en un laboratorio infernal para explorar los extremos más radicales de la violencia, con el único límite de la extinción de la especie humana, difícilmen- te podría haber superado la historia del siglo XX” (Schell, 2005:23-24). 3 Para no caer en la construcción de un nuevo dualismo entre adaptación y ruptura, habrá que admitir que no es posible plantearse un proceso creativo sin entender que el mismo es una construcción que no se elabora en el aire, sino a partir de lo existente; que no sucede de un momento a otro, como el resultado de la imposición de una idea brillante de individuos particulares, sino como la decantación social de necesidades sentidas en ámbitos privados y públicos, que van abriéndose camino y concretándose en alternativas cultu- rales. 4 Como lo evidencia Juan Carlos Pérez: “Para llegar a tal conclusión se toman como eje las variables desarrollo sostenible y conservación de la biodiversi- dad. Los datos que arroja esta ecuación son más que preocupantes: los seres humanos estamos consumiendo un 20% más de recursos naturales de los que CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 166 166 A modo de ejemplo, es cada vez mayor la certeza de que si segui- mos incrementando la explotación pesquera, puede darse la des- aparición de especies marinas, pues el desarrollo de esta industria está llevando a pescar más rápido de lo que necesitan las propias especies para reproducirse, afectando el frágil equilibrio de la bio- diversidad y estamos entendiendo que existe una relación directa entre biodiversidad y supervivencia de la especie 5 . El cambio climático, provocado por efectos de una industrializa- ción asociada al capitalismo como sistema de producción, cuya fuente de energía fundamental ha sido la utilización de combusti- bles fósiles, es otra campanada de la crisis, sobre la que se habla mucho pero se actúa poco. Ya es habitual escuchar sobre los “fra- casos” de las cumbres que pretenden controlar la emisión de gases de efecto invernadero a la atmósfera, por las consecuencias que esto puede tener sobre el crecimiento económico de los países, y sobre la acuciosa necesidad de plantearse nuevos paradigmas del desarrollo que no dependan de un aumento progresivo en los ni- veles de consumo. Pero estas decisiones no hay quién las tome, porque se pretende que lo hagan los gobiernos de los países impli- cados y estos no están dispuestos a asumir las consecuencias de las mismas sobre las prácticas de consumo de sus ciudadanos y sobre las empresas que financian sus campañas. Como advirtió el informe científico elaborado por políticos, eco- nomistas y académicos de todo el mundo Afrontar el desafío del la Tierra puede producir. Eso significa que los altos niveles de consumo plane- tario no dan tiempo a la naturaleza para que se regenere. Otros datos que mide este estudio son las tendencias poblacionales de más de mil especies. Desde 1970 a 2000, las poblaciones de especies terrestres han descendido un 30%, mientras que las de agua dulce han sufrido una sustancial caída del 50%. La mitad de los bosques originales han desaparecido y otro 30% está degra- dado o fragmentado; las flotas industriales han acabado con el 90% de los grandes peces depredadores en sólo medio siglo” (Pérez Jiménez, 2007: 41- 42). 5 Como dice Jordi Bascompte: “La gran característica del planeta Tierra es precisamente su rica biodiversidad y es precisamente ésta la que proporciona una serie de servicios imprescindibles para que nuestra especie pueda man- tener su calidad de vida: desde la provisión de agua, a la polinización o al aprovechamiento de alimentos. Los ciudadanos ya han entendido la impor- tancia de esta característica, pero también es necesario que afrontemos que en estos momentos nos encontramos en el umbral de transición de la des- trucción de la biodiversidad. Eso significa que nos acercamos a un punto de no retorno”. Jordi Bascompte, profesor de investigación en la Estación Bio- lógica de Doñana del Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas (CSIC). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 167 167 clima, que se publicó con ocasión de la Conferencia Mundial sobre Biodiversidad en París, en el año 2005, podemos estar llegando en sólo diez años (2015) al punto del no retorno. El informe Cambio climático 2007: Evidencia científica, elaborado por más de 800 autores, revisado por 2500 científicos de 130 paí- ses, y dado a conocer en la Reunión Internacional del Panel Inter- gubernamental de Cambio Climático concluyó que “existen sufi- cientes evidencias científicas para establecer una relación entre las emisiones contaminantes del ser humano durante los pasados 250 años y los dramáticos cambios en el clima de la Tierra, los cuales son una amenaza a su civilización y al futuro de nuestro planeta” 6 . Pese a lo anterior, como ya decíamos, los dirigentes del mundo siguen apoyando unas relaciones económicas que responden a los intereses particulares de las multinacionales y de los centros finan- cieros sin tomar medidas efectivas que conduzcan a aminorar los riesgos que se ciernen sobre la vida en el Planeta. La pasividad de los centros del poder político y económico -y tal vez precisamente por ello- ha acrecentado la preocupación sobre el sistema civiliza- torio que nos sustenta, y está ya insertada en un sentimiento de humanidad. 2.2 La amenaza nuclear La segunda situación que evidencia la crisis de la sociedad humana responde al imaginario atávico que legitima la violencia como método para dominar y destruir al mal, encarnado en la figura del enemigo. La llamada “guerra fría” respondió a este imaginario profundamente simple. La percepción del enemigo ubicado en Oriente u Occidente, dependiendo del lugar de sus protagonistas, potenció a niveles inimaginables la industria de la guerra 7 , con el fin de inhibir en el enemigo cualquier intención de avanzar más allá de las fronteras establecidas al finalizar la Segunda Guerra 6 http://www.portaldelmedioambiente.com/articulos/535/468_anos_del_pet roleo_del_remedio_para_la_gota_al_calentamiento_global/ (consultada el 2- 03-11). 7 La guerra fría cambia con el uso potencial de la guerra nuclear porque ya no permite la dominación de unos sobre otros, sino la destrucción de todos, luego rompe el ejercicio para el que sirve la guerra como máxima expresión de la violencia. http://www.portaldelmedioambiente.com/articulos/535/468_anos_del_petroleo_del_remedio_para_la_gota_al_calentamiento_global/ http://www.portaldelmedioambiente.com/articulos/535/468_anos_del_petroleo_del_remedio_para_la_gota_al_calentamiento_global/ CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 168 168 Mundial 8 . E. P. Thompson, importante pacifista inglés, trabajó su tesis del Exterminismo afirmando que esta tendencia de la humanidad se mantiene y consolida en el sustento permanente de este imagina- rio del enemigo 9 . Su esfuerzo consistió en demostrar cómo esta tesis pretendía en- mascarar los intereses económicos y militares de las potencias enfrentadas, haciendo de esta competencia el impulso de sus eco- nomías y sus sociedades con base en la construcción de este ene- migo permanente y acercando, de paso, la posibilidad de la des- trucción de la vida en el planeta 10 . Detrás de la amenaza constante se legitimó la idea de un estado de la seguridad que aún hoy justifica todo tipo de acciones totalitarias y represivas a cuyo interés debe supeditarse cualquier otra res- ponsabilidad del poder 11 . 8 “La bomba atómica que destruyó Hiroshima reverberó en todos los ámbitos de la existencia humana. Situó a nuestra especie ante el riesgo de la extin- ción por su propia mano. Marcó un punto de inflexión en el equilibrio de poder entre la humanidad y la naturaleza, poniendo a la segunda en peligro a causa de la depredación humana. Cuestionó una de las bases morales de toda civilización que los esfuerzos colectivos de los seres humanos servirán para lograr una vida mejor. Pero en nuestro contexto, su consecuencia más impor- tante fue que volvió impracticable –y de manera irreversible– el sistema de guerra global” (Schell, 2005: 73). 9 “El análisis basado en la peor hipótesis posible de que el otro pueda ser un enemigo es lo que justifica la disuasión. Es natural que los Estados, en tiempo de guerra, adquieran poderes de emergencia. Lo que distingue la era de la Guerra Fría es que la hipótesis de la ´emergencia´ se construye en la rutina de la vida diaria de un Estado en tiempo de paz. Esto suple, mediante la autori- dad del Estado moderno, lo que suponía la hipótesis de Satán en la iglesia medieval” (Thompson, 1985a: 147). 10 “La Guerra fría se ha convertido en un hábito, en una adicción. Se trata, no obstante, de un hábito sostenido por intereses materiales muy importantes en ambos bloques: sus complejos militar-industriales y de investigación, sus servicios de seguridad e inteligencia y los servidores políticos de esos inter- eses. Tales intereses dirigen una gran parte de los recursos y habilidades de cada sociedad, influencian la orientación de sus economías y desarrollo so- cial, y es precisamente en interés de estos intereses por lo que aumentan cada día más esas cuotas de recursos y esa influencia” (Thompson, 1985b: 138). 11 “Es la confrontación militar de los dos bloques lo que refresca continua- mente las fuentes del totalitarismo, lo que legitima las actividades de los servicios de seguridad, lo que impone definiciones de la realidad de ideología militar, lo que define cualquier tipo de disensión como traición o como con- trarrevolucionario, lo que consolida Estados burocráticos represivos, lo que CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 169 169 La sensación de “callejón sin salida” nacida de estas situaciones requiere un análisis que trascienda la política real, que está basada en aquello que es posible hacer en unas circunstancias concretas y que adolece de miradas inmediatistas. Esta perspectiva no puede más que ser cómplice de lo que a corto plazo pareciera inevitable. Sus análisis llegan siempre a la conclusión de que cualquier plan- teamiento alternativo -como los que sugieren los ecologistas, los pacifistas, o los promotores de la no-violencia-, rondan la utopía y el romanticismo; califican de “idealismo” todo lo que no sea acep- tar que sólo es posible seguir hacia adelante, en la misma ruta, aunque ella conduzca a la humanidad y a la vida en el Planeta a su propia destrucción. Los cambios culturales suponen esfuerzos conscientes y sostenidos de mediano y largo plazo, porque pretenden transformar el pen- samiento de las personas y plantear miradas alternativas cuestio- nadoras de los modelos culturales que han sostenido a la humani- dad, así como los imaginarios que sustentan sus creencias. Y para ello es necesario ser profundamente creativos en la construcción de nuevas simbologías y/o nuevas significaciones de las existentes. Ya hay un esfuerzo sostenido en ello, aunque no exista aún el sufi- ciente reconocimiento explícito y consciente de su importancia. La cultura se constituye a partir de los símbolos que permiten leer la realidad; son ellos su mediación por excelencia. Sin embargo, los nuevos movimientos son aún muy vulnerables a una mirada inme- diatista que no permite apuestas de mediano y largo plazo, y la construcción de nuevas simbologías responde a esta dimensión en el tiempo 12 . Será importante, entonces, analizar de qué forma la realidad está cuestionando los imaginarios atávicos que sustentan la cultura hegemónica, cómo y por qué hay una crisis profunda de algunos de aquellos imaginarios que se decantaron en el proceso de seden- limita el espacio de los derechos humanos, y lo que descarta cualquier transi- ción social esperanzadora” (Thompson y Ken Coates-eds.-, 1981:20). 12 Como lo afirma Schell: “Recordemos que el uso de tan solo unas pocas decenas de las aproximadamente treinta mil armas nucleares del mundo podría matar a más personas en una única tarde inimaginable que las que murieron en las dos guerras mundiales juntas. Esta tenebrosa perspectiva nos exige que nos distanciemos de las emergencias inmediatas y nos pregunte- mos si hay otra posible vía a seguir” (Schell, 2005:27). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 170 170 tarización. De nuevo es importante recalcar que aun cuando hacemos una división de estos imaginarios, ninguno de ellos actúa solo ni es independiente del resto, pues se alimentan mutuamen- te. Por decirlo de otra forma, se obedece porque hay un poder jerarquizado que regula a través del miedo; hay un poder jerarqui- zado porque creemos en verdades únicas que, a su vez, se impo- nen a partir de construir un enemigo, que no es otra cosa que la encarnación del mal. Y el mal está llamado a ser destruido a través de la violencia que ejercen los buenos; por lo tanto, quien ejerce el poder en nombre de la verdad y del bien, tiene el derecho a usar la violencia para someter las fuerzas del mal, por lo que debe ser obedecido. La amenaza nuclear y la crisis ecológica son la punta del iceberg de la crisis civilizatoria. Su visibilidad está contribuyendo a esta sensa- ción de “estar al borde del abismo” y, de paso, a ir desenmasca- rando varios de los “imaginarios” que sustentan esta cultura hegemónica y que garantizan que las transformaciones no logren cambiar la “forma del cuenco”. Estas elaboraciones históricas y sociales se afianzaron por su de- mostrada capacidad de proteger la vida en aquellos momentos en que su continuidad se vio seriamente amenazada, y sólo pueden ser transformadas en unas circunstancias similares y en la medida en que haya un proceso de deslegitimación social por su capacidad para destruirla. La humanidad se encuentra otra vez en medio de este proceso. La realidad de los últimos cien años está cuestionando o, al menos, poniendo en entredicho los referentes culturales que nos siguen sustentando. Estamos descubriendo que la “obediencia”, como virtud por antonomasia, nos ha llevado a situaciones que nos aver- güenzan como especie; que las “fronteras” físicas e ideológicas nos han conducido a construir enemigos multiplicados a nuestro alre- dedor y hemos terminado levantando muros de discriminación allí donde hemos observado diferencias religiosas, políticas, de color de piel o de orientación sexual, por nombrar sólo algunas. Nos estamos dando cuenta de que los “unanimismos” empobrecen las culturas y amenazan la necesaria diversidad de la vida, y que detrás de la “verdad única” hemos legitimado despotismos capa- ces de cometer los peores crímenes. Cada vez tiene menos fuerza el método de construir “chivos expiatorios”, por su incapacidad para plantear soluciones y transformar los conflictos. El “miedo”, CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 171 171 como regulador social por excelencia, ha ido perdiendo terreno y, con él, la esencia de la justicia retributiva como única forma de inhibir comportamientos considerados socialmente inadecuados. El dualismo del “bien” y el “mal” y el predominio de la “fuerza físi- ca”, que han construido éticas acomodaticias a los intereses parti- culares de los más poderosos, se está desmoronando en el crisol de la vida por su capacidad para destruirla, sugiriendo la necesidad de nuevas éticas. Y la columna vertebral de la cultura sedentaria, la “violencia” en todas sus formas, ha ido perdiendo terreno no sólo al develar sus consecuencias, sino también al revelar su incapaci- dad para construir mundos mejores. Durante milenios, la obediencia ha sido una virtud social funda- mental para garantizar la continuidad de los aprendizajes colecti- vos. Es el sustento de las instituciones jerarquizadas 13 ; de hecho, el funcionamiento de estas depende del aprendizaje de la obediencia y no es gratuito que ella sea una de las características culturales que se interioriza desde la más tierna infancia. 3 La crisis de obediencia La crisis de este aprendizaje colectivo bebe en las fuentes de los cuestionamientos elaborados hace ya varios siglos por Etiénne de la Boétie en La servidumbre voluntaria, y por Henry David Thoreau en Sobre la desobediencia civil. El siglo XX ha puesto esta reflexión en el centro de la preocupación humana. La mayoría de los hechos que hoy nos avergüenzan han dependido, en buena medida, del “deber de la obediencia”, como lo llama Pontara, a partir de una identificación profunda entre quien obedece y el poder que ordena: El “súbdito” que obedece en base a tal concepción del deber de obediencia es generalmente un sujeto en el que la identificación con el poder (de turno) tiende a ser muy profunda. Es un tipo de persona dotada de ese carácter autoritario por el cual su disposi- ción a someterse y obedecer es automáticamente activada allí dónde él, o ella, ven a una persona, a un grupo o a una institu- 13 Puede parecer una redundancia porque tenemos interiorizada la idea de la estructura vertical como condición de toda organización. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 172 172 ción potente (Pontara) 14 . En la misma perspectiva, Foucault desarrolló su reflexión sobre la “microfísica del poder” y la “domesticación de los cuerpos” (Fou- cault, 1992), haciendo referencia a cómo se consigue que la gente obedezca hasta su propia muerte, o hasta matar por ello. La mi- crofísica es el lugar o el espacio donde el poder de centro no nece- sita llegar porque ya está en el propio individuo que interioriza en su conciencia el deber de obedecer. Las investigaciones sobre la personalidad autoritaria realizadas por el grupo de Theodor Adorno (Adorno, 1950) y los experimentos de Stanley Milgram (Milgram, 1974) sobre la tendencia a la obedien- cia, nos están permitiendo entender mejor los procesos que se gestan en la obediencia autoritaria. En el análisis que hace Ana Muñoz del experimento de Milgram, ella descubre cómo los individuos tienen interiorizada la obedien- cia a la autoridad por encima de sus propios criterios morales. Según Milgram, lo que sucedió fue que los sujetos entraron en lo que él llamó ´estado de agente´, caracterizado por el hecho de que el individuo se ve a sí mismo como un agente ejecutivo de una autoridad que considera legítima. Aunque la mayoría de las personas se consideran autónomas, independientes e iniciadoras de sus actos en muchas situaciones, cuando entran en una es- tructura jerárquica pueden dejar de verse de ese modo y descar- gar la responsabilidad de sus actos en la persona que tiene el rango superior o el poder. Recordemos que los individuos del experimento accedían voluntariamente a realizarlo, aunque en ningún momento les dijeron que estarían en una situación en la que tendrían que obedecer órdenes. Tampoco era necesario. La estructura social del experimento activaba con fuerza una norma social que todos hemos aprendido desde niños: ´Debes obedecer a una autoridad legítima´, entre ellos los representantes de insti- tuciones universitarias y científicas (o los profesores en los cole- gios), policías, bomberos, oficiales de mayor rango en el ejército, etc. Cuando el sujeto entra libremente en una organización so- cial jerárquica, acepta, en mayor o menor medida, que su pen- samiento y sus actos sean regulados por la ideología de su insti- tución (Muñoz, 2002: 5-6). 14 Libro en proceso de publicación (lpp), capítulo I, 22. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 173 173 Lo mismo concluyó Renato Hevia, estableciendo una relación con la reflexión de Hanna Arendt sobre la banalidad del mal. El sentido del deber, de la obediencia, y no las tendencias agresivas, son los que determinan que personas consideradas normales, trabajado- ras, profesionales, tengan comportamientos de extrema crueldad: Comparando la situación con variados elementos de la vida real, Milgram logró demostrar que un alto porcentaje de gente ´normal´ obedece a una figura de autoridad, aun cuando los efectos destructivos de su obediencia estén a la vista. Las con- clusiones que él sacó de su trabajo fueron ciertamente escalo- friantes: Una explicación que se da comúnmente es que los que aplicaron a la víctima los niveles máximos de shock son mons- truos, la franja sádica de la sociedad. Pero si se considera que ca- si los dos tercios de los participantes caían en la categoría de su- jetos ‘obedientes’, y que eran personas comunes, trabajadores, empleados y profesionales, la explicación se torna muy estreme- cedora. Después de ver a cientos de personas comunes someter- se a la autoridad en nuestros propios experimentos, no puedo sino concluir que la concepción de (Hannah) Arendt sobre la ba- nalidad del mal se aproxima a la verdad más de lo que uno se atrevería a imaginar. La gente normal que aplicó electricidad a la víctima lo hizo por un sentido de obligación -un concepto de sus deberes como sujeto- y no movido por determinadas tendencias agresivas (Hevia, 2000). Pontara nos confirma 15 que esta tendencia no es exclusiva de la cosmovisión nazi, sino de la cultura occidental y de la cultura se- dentaria, porque no es exclusiva de Occidente: la barbarie de la guerra entre China y Japón, los millones de muertos de la revolu- ción cambodiana, por nombrar sólo dos, fueron ejecutados tam- bién por individuos que obraron por obediencia y sentido del de- 15 “Mucho hace pensar que los componentes que juntos constituyen la wel- tanschauung (cosmovisión) nazi sean la expresión extrema de estructuras mentales, tesis, normas, valores presentes y cultivados durante mucho tiem- po no sólo en la cultura alemana, sino, más en general, en la cultura occiden- tal. Ni se trata de un fenómeno circunscrito al contexto específico de los doce años de dictadura hitleriana en Alemania. En determinadas condiciones, los componentes que conjuntamente constituyen el núcleo duro de la ideología nazi se pueden verificar, singularmente o todos juntos, en otros contextos” (Pontara, lpp, capítulo I, 3). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 174 174 ber. No es un problema de locura colectiva, es la expresión de es- tructuras mentales culturalmente determinadas por la obediencia irrestricta al poder. “Y si sucedió una vez, puede suceder de nuevo (...) y en cualquier parte”. (Levi, 1986: 164). Una frase similar, pero en pregunta, hace el profesor protagonista de la película La ola 16 a sus alumnos, a la que todos responden que no es posible que se repita una expe- riencia histórica como la del fascismo alemán. Este filme está ba- sado en la novela de Morthon Rhue (1981), que a su vez se inspira en un experimento realizado por un profesor de Palo Alto (Califor- nia) en 1967. Con el ánimo de enseñarles a sus alumnos lo que era la autocracia, el profesor recrea con ellos una experiencia autorita- ria, reproduciendo en una semana y con una facilidad asombrosa las consecuencias sociales que trae consigo una estructura de po- der vertical: la satisfacción social que produce delegar la autonom- ía, el gusto por los uniformes, la obediencia ciega al poder, los sentidos de pertenencia que generan las causas comunes, la des- aparición de la individualidad. La película logra jugar con los imagi- narios ocultos de quienes la ven 17 , pues se evidencian sentimientos de simpatía hacia la experiencia, que maneja un discurso de avan- zada y que podríamos definir como “políticamente correcto”, de- velando que el problema no está en las palabras sino en las estruc- turas culturales que soportan las experiencias históricas autorita- rias 18 . Es con la evidencia de los hechos sucedidos en la segunda 16 Alemania, 2008, dirigida por Dennis Gansel y protagonizada por Jürgen Vogel y Frederick Lau, con una duración de 110 minutos. 17 Las palabras de Ana Muñoz, referidas al sistema nazi, pueden perfectamen- te acompañar un análisis de esta película: “Si volvemos de nuevo al régimen nazi, nos encontramos con una estructura marcadamente jerárquica donde predomina la norma de la obediencia por encima de todo, eliminando la responsabilidad del sujeto en sus propios actos. Los uniformes que todos vestían y que lograban que todos parecieran iguales contribuía a que no se viesen como individuos autónomos e independientes, disminuyendo así la percepción de sí mismos; aspectos necesarios, como hemos visto, para que una persona se considere responsable de sus actos. El malestar psicológico que podría aparecer al principio y su tendencia a reducirlo, el castigo a la desobediencia (junto con la exaltación de la obediencia y la fidelidad al régi- men) y el racismo que se respiraba en Alemania ya antes de la llegada de los nazis al poder, logró que un gran número de personas inocentes fueran con- sideradas como seres cada vez más despreciables y merecedores de tantas atrocidades” (Muñoz, 2002: 8). 18 De nuevo la reflexión de Pontara nos pone sobre aviso con respecto a las estructuras autoritarias que acompañan cotidianamente nuestras sociedades CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 175 175 guerra mundial, con sus setenta millones de muertos, con sus campos de concentración, con las bombas atómicas sobre Hiros- hima y Nagasaki, con el dolor producido y continuado de sus so- brevivientes, que se plantea la “crisis de la obediencia”. Las reflexiones de Hanna Arendt, con ocasión del juicio al criminal de guerra Adolf Eichmann, nos invitan a introducirnos en campos que nos exigen mayor profundidad. Para Arendt fue muy impor- tante profundizar en las razones que llevaron al nazismo a cometer sus crímenes, tras descubrir que detrás de Eichmann sólo había un hombre que creía obrar bien 19 , obedeciendo las órdenes de sus superiores, como lo hicieron los que, de parte de los aliados, bom- bardearon Dresde 20 , o Hiroshima. civilizadas, que pueden repetir lecciones históricas supuestamente aprendi- das:“De hecho, mucho deja pensar que vuelva a suceder, que diversos com- ponentes esenciales del nazismo todavía estén ampliamente presentes en el mundo, tanto al norte como al sur, en occidente como en oriente. No pienso tanto aquí en los varios grupos y grupillos neonazis activos en diversos países y que se inspiran directamente en las enseñanzas de Hitler, refiriéndose más o menos abiertamente a su nombre. Pienso más bien en la difusión de modos de pensar, de concebir al hombre y al mundo en muchos sentidos similares a los propios del nazismo, en las estructuras autoritarias y opresivas no muy diferentes de las nazis aún hoy imperantes en mundo, en las formas siempre más brutales y destructivas asumidas por la violencia armada después de la caída del nazismo en Alemania y que parecen ramificarse, justamente, de la vio- lencia dominante en la Alemania de Hitler” (Pontara, lpp, capítulo I, 4). 19 Como en el caso de los participantes en el experimento de Milgram, Eich- mann era un hombre normal y hasta ejemplar: “Seis psiquiatras habían certi- ficado que Eichmann era un hombre normal… Y otro consideró que los rasgos sicológicos de Eichmann, su actitud hacia su esposa, hijos, padre y madre, hermanos, hermanas y amigos, era no sólo normal sino ejemplar. Y por últi- mo, el religioso que le visitó regularmente en la prisión… declaró que Eich- mann era un hombre con ideas muy positivas” (Arendt, 2009: 46). 20 El bombardeo de Dresde se llevó a cabo hacia el final de la segunda guerra mundial por parte de la Royal Air Force (Gran Bretaña) y la Fuerza Aérea de los Estados Unidos. Con este nombre se suele hacer referencia a los cuatro ataques aéreos consecutivos que se realizaron entre el 13 y el 15 de febrero de 1945, apenas doce semanas antes de la capitulación de la Alemania nazi. Durante los mismos, entraron en acción más de mil bombarderos pesados, que dejaron caer sobre la "Florencia del Elba" cerca de 4.000 toneladas de bombas altamente explosivas y dispositivos incendiarios, arrasando gran parte de la ciudad y desencadenando una tormenta de fuego que consumió el centro histórico de la misma. El número de víctimas varía enormemente en función de la fuente; la línea mayoritaria en la historiografía actual lo cifra entre 18.000 y 35.000 muertos, cantidad inferior a las de otros bombardeos de ciudades del Eje, como Tokio (100.000) o Hamburgo (40.000). El bombar- http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dresde http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Segunda_Guerra_Mundial http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Air_Force http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gran_Breta%C3%B1a http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuerza_A%C3%A9rea_de_los_Estados_Unidos http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/13_de_febrero http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/15_de_febrero http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/1945 http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alemania_nazi http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tormenta_de_fuego http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altstadt_(Dresde) http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Potencias_del_Eje_en_la_Segunda_Guerra_Mundial http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tokio http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operaci%C3%B3n_Gomorra CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 176 176 ¿Qué diferencia hay entre el testimonio de Eichmann, que mani- festó su disposición absoluta a obedecer, “y dejó bien sentado que hubiera matado a su propio padre si se lo hubiesen ordenado” (Arendt,2009: 41), con las declaraciones del militar británico Ro- bert Saudby, quien participó en el bombardeo sobre Dresde, cuan- do escribió que “ni él ni su superior Arthur Harris eran responsa- bles de la masacre, ya que su deber era, justamente, ´ejecutar del mejor modo posible´ las instrucciones recibidas del Ministerio de la Aeronáutica que, a su vez, lo único que hacía era transmitir las órdenes recibidas de quien, aún más arriba en la jerarquía del po- der, era el responsable último de la conducta de la guerra?” (Saundby, 1963). Estos dos testimonios nos plantean el problema moral que tiene la humanidad: Eichmann fue condenado a muerte por obedecer órdenes que supusieron la muerte de miles de inocentes. Saundby fue condecorado por la misma razón. El propio Eichmann expresó este dilema moral con sus palabras: (…) estaba obligado a obedecer las órdenes que se le daban y que había realizado hechos que son recompensados con condecora- ciones, cuando se consigue la victoria, y conducen a la horca, en el momento de la derrota. (En 1943, Goebbels había dicho: Pasa- remos a la historia como los más grandes estadistas de todos los tiempos, o como los mayores criminales) (Arendt, 2009: 40). ¿Por qué nos horrorizan de distinta forma los crímenes de los ven- cidos, que los de los vencedores? ¿Qué hace que los crímenes de los primeros sean distintos a los de los segundos? ¿Qué hace que el dolor infligido tenga poca importancia o, dicho en palabras de Arendt, que se “banalice el mal”? Hoy se llaman “daños colaterales de la guerra”. Estas preguntas conectan la reflexión con otros ima- ginarios atávicos de nuestra cultura sedentaria y hegemónica: la construcción del enemigo, las fronteras, el dualismo del bien y del mal, los chivos expiatorios, entre otros. deo de Dresde sigue siendo uno de los episodios más polémicos de la segun- da guerra mundial. En la actualidad persiste aún el debate sobre si la capital sajona era un objetivo de interés estratégico tal y como aseguran fuentes militares aliadas, o si por el contrario el bombardeo fue una represalia des- proporcionada e indiscriminada, o incluso si pudo tratarse de un crimen de guerra. http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sajonia http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aliados_(Segunda_Guerra_Mundial) file:///C:/Users/user/AppData/Local/Microsoft/Windows/Temporary%20Internet%20Files/Content.IE5/K0O7W0UI/crimen%20de%20guerra file:///C:/Users/user/AppData/Local/Microsoft/Windows/Temporary%20Internet%20Files/Content.IE5/K0O7W0UI/crimen%20de%20guerra CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 177 177 Lo que sí podemos concluir ahora es que la identidad moral, de la que habla Glover en su relato de los crímenes cometidos en el siglo XX (Glover, 2001), se ve supeditada, lamentablemente en muchos casos, a la obediencia a la autoridad y al poder establecidos. Esta obediencia, que inhibe la responsabilidad moral individual, es un aprendizaje cultural previo a cualquier sentimiento de empatía con el sufrimiento ajeno, en unas sociedades que priorizan la persona- lidad sumisa 21 . La banalización del mal no es exclusiva del siglo XX, pero los niveles de horror alcanzados en este siglo nos están exigiendo adentrarnos en sus causas, desenmascarando esas motivaciones atávicas. Los que han tenido la posibilidad de contar la historia oficial han bana- lizado los crímenes de lesa humanidad cometidos en aras de la pretendida evangelización de América, o la esclavitud de los pue- blos africanos, o los miles de desaparecidos en aras de la Razón de Estado en América Latina, o los millones de muertos en la Revolu- ción Cultural en la China de Mao, o la masacre de Tiananmen, o la de Sabra y Chatila. La lista podría ser interminable. Nos cuesta trabajo admitir que este tipo de personajes sean hijos legítimos de una sociedad que enseña a obedecer por principio; que amenaza a los niños y las niñas desobedientes con castigos celestiales (“la desobediencia es castigada”); que premia a los alumnos obedientes, a los trabajadores sumisos, a los creyentes que no dudan. Vivimos en sociedades en las que los subalternos deben obedecer las órdenes recibidas, así intuyan en ellas trazas de injusticia. No nos es fácil develar la violencia que esconde un despido injusto, si responde a la orden de un jefe, cuando se ha interiorizado desde la niñez la obediencia a los superiores como una virtud pretendida, cuando se enseña a obedecer sin cuestio- nar, depositando en los padres, el cura, el profesor, el gerente, el político o el superior militar una dosis de bondad infusa, de sabi- 21 Como lo recalca Verena Stolcke: “Arendt retrata a Eichmann como la en- carnación de la banalidad del mal. Su tesis de la banalidad del mal causa espanto, pues en lugar de tratar el holocausto como episodio aislado de irracionalidad, enjuicia a la humanidad como tal. La amenaza que personifi- caba Eichmann trascendía la singularidad política del Tercer Reich, pues sus condiciones de posibilidad residían en la propia sociedad moderna burocráti- ca de masas por la falta de empatía por el sufrimiento ajeno, que propiciaba un tipo de personalidad sumisa al orden establecido que ésta había genera- do” (Stolcke, 2004: 111). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 178 178 duría superior. Es fácil encontrar en nuestras instituciones adula- dores del poder, áulicos cuya única preocupación es demostrar su fidelidad incondicional, facilitando con ello la tentación del totali- tarismo 22 . Aún no nos atrevemos a preguntarnos con suficiente fuerza crítica cuáles son los “imaginarios culturales atávicos” que definieron nuestros aprendizajes sociales y que siguen produciendo crímenes (Martínez Hincapié, 2012); ni cuáles son las nuevas percepciones y las nuevas culturas que nos permitirían superar esta crisis (López Martínez, 2009). Como lo señala Arendt, virtudes reconocidas so- cialmente como la obediencia, el orden y las jerarquías se convir- tieron en motivaciones para el crimen, y eso, en palabras de Zyg- munt Baumannn, es un problema de nuestras sociedades, nuestra cultura y nuestra civilización 23 . A menudo este tipo de análisis es interpretado como un esfuerzo por eximir las responsabilidades individuales en los crímenes. No se trata de eso. Es indiscutible que ni la “obediencia debida”, ni las condiciones psicológicas, sociales o económicas, liberan de res- ponsabilidad, porque siempre está también presente la posibilidad 22 En palabras de Pontara: “Aquí juega un rol importante la idea, ampliamen- te aceptada en la cultura política alemana, pero ciertamente no sólo en ésta, que hay algo como una autoridad suprema y legítima de jure, es decir, perso- nas de alguna manera investidas (por Dios, la Historia, por un espíritu del mundo, por la ciencia o simplemente y brutalmente por el poder que poseen) de un derecho absoluto de mandar y exigir obediencia a quien está sujeto a sus órdenes” (Pontara, lpp, capítulo 1, 23). 23 “Arendt revela las claves estremecedoras imprescindibles de la conducta de quienes hicieron posible ´la solución final´. Ni sus ejecutores fueron mons- truos singulares, ni sus actos fueron excepcionales en la sociedad moderna. Lejos de haber sido el resultado de una larga y sistemática planificación polí- tica, consistió en realidad en una sucesión de acontecimientos en sí triviales, singularmente difusos, automatizados y terriblemente rutinarios, que obvia- ron cualquier reacción significativa de índole moral (…) Arendt desafía la concepción convencional de Eichmann como la quintaesencia diabólica del fanatismo ideológico antisemita (…) virtudes subsidiarias como la obediencia, la jerarquía y el orden se transformaron en instrumentos del crimen. Lo an- gustiante de la personalidad de Eichmann es precisamente que, al igual que muchos otros, lejos de ser un sádico, fuera inquietantemente normal (…) Como Zygmunt Baumannn concordaría más tarde: ´El holocausto no fue simple- mente un problema judío y tampoco un hecho exclusivo de la historia judía. El holocausto nació y fue ejecutado en nuestra sociedad racional moderna, en un punto álgido de nuestra civilización y en la culminación de los logros culturales humanos, y por esta razón es un problema de esa sociedad, civilización y cultura´” (Stolcke, 2004: 112). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 179 179 de la desobediencia, sobre la que habló Thoreau, como deber mo- ral; pero es imprescindible, si queremos entender lo que sucede y, principalmente, buscar alternativas, saber analizar los imaginarios culturales que están determinando los comportamientos huma- nos 24 . Particularizar un crimen como el holocausto es seguir creyendo que las condiciones que lo posibilitaron fueron excepcionales, y así seguimos sin aprender. Creemos que el muro de Berlín nada tiene que ver con el muro en Palestina, Ceuta o México; que el extermi- nio a que es sometido el pueblo Palestino no tiene ninguna rela- ción con las prácticas del holocausto; que Hitler fue un caso excep- cional. Me atrevo a afirmar que si Hitler hubiese ganado la guerra, hoy todos y todas saludaríamos con el brazo en alto, renegaríamos de los malvados aliados y pasaríamos, sin sentir vergüenza, por encima del hecho del holocausto, como hoy lo hacemos con la destrucción de Hiroshima y Nagasaki. El expresidente Bush se re- tiró a su rancho sin que nadie lo llevara a juicio por las guerras que aún persisten, los miles de muertos y los cientos de torturados. Esos hechos no nos producen suficiente vergüenza de especie co- mo para inspirar una condena internacional. Seguimos sin apren- der. Afortunadamente, tanto entonces como ahora, no ha faltado quien le tire un “zapatazo” a Bush 25 , ni grupos de personas que llevan ante los tribunales a los dirigentes de Israel, aunque eso no tenga más connotación que la fuerza del símbolo. Lo que no ter- minamos por entender es que tejer en el campo de lo simbólico es 24 “Del mismo modo, los experimentos de Milgram pueden ayudarnos a en- tender la masacre de My Lai, ordenada por mandos norteamericanos durante la guerra del Vietnam, o las torturas y desapariciones durante la dictadura chilena. E incluso una excesiva obediencia a la autoridad podría llevar a erro- res médicos, debido a que los enfermeros pueden hacer algo que saben que perjudicará a un paciente simplemente porque el médico se los ha ordenado. Algo semejante puede suceder también en un avión. En ambas situaciones es muy difícil, tanto para el enfermero como para el miembro de la tripulación, convencer a su superior de que está en un error, y la persona que sustenta la autoridad no suele permitir que sus órdenes sean cuestionadas. Según una revisión de los datos realizada en Estados Unidos, un 25% de los accidentes de avión pueden deberse a una obediencia excesiva” (Muñoz, 2002: 8). 25 Un periodista iraquí tiró sus dos zapatos contra Bush, llamándole “perro”, en diciembre de 2008, haciéndose vocero de la profunda indignación que produce la inmunidad que tienen los crímenes cometidos desde el poder. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 180 180 la única posibilidad de garantizar que las cosas puedan ser distin- tas. Hoy, miles de personas, cuando quieren rechazar actos del poder, caminan con un zapato ensartado en un palo. La detención de Pinochet en Londres fue tanto o más importante que haberlo condenado a muchos años de cárcel, porque ayudó a la humani- dad a deconstruir el símbolo que estaba montado sobre el “éxito económico” de Chile, sin importar el precio pagado. Habrá que repensar la obediencia y enseñar a discernir para que no se convierta en el sustento ciego del autoritarismo. El problema no es la obediencia, pues hay circunstancias en que sigue siendo importante, pero ha de ser una obediencia constructiva, crítica, selectiva, y nunca absoluta. Hemos de aprender a obedecer y a desobedecer, haciendo de ellas virtudes sociales que pueden y deben ser emuladas y reconocidas, según el caso. No obstante, hay que tener en cuenta que la primera ya tiene una aceptación social, un camino recorrido en la cultura que nos hegemoniza, mientras la segunda es perseguida, lo que supone que habrá que enfatizar más en esta última. 4 A modo de conclusiones La cultura que emerge de la mano de la protección de la vida, la cultura de la no-violencia, se nutre, se inspira, se va conformando con los aportes del pacifismo y su cada vez más fuerte deslegitima- ción de las guerras; con los aportes de las acciones y reflexiones de los ecologistas y medioambientalistas que están desmontando las fronteras levantadas entre los animales humanos y el resto de los seres vivos, proponiendo una nueva ética de la vida; con las re- flexiones de Thoreau y su desobediencia civil y con el radicalismo pacifista de León Tolstói; con los actos de desobediencia civil en masa convocados por Gandhi en sus luchas por la independencia de la India y la persistente desobediencia a las leyes que amnistia- ron a los asesinos de sus hijos de las madres de la plaza de Mayo; con los Indignados que cuestionan con su presencia esa pretendida autoridad de quienes aparecen como únicos depositarios del po- der, deslegitimando las adhesiones acríticas. Es la cultura de la no-violencia porque está construyendo creati- vamente nuevas formas de relaciones entre los humanos y de es- tos con la naturaleza, desnaturalizando el uso de todo tipo de vio- lencia, que es la columna vertebral de la cultura que aún nos CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 181 181 hegemoniza, pero que cada vez se sostiene menos en el imaginario colectivo. Tendremos que hacer un esfuerzo consciente para evi- denciar y visibilizar los imaginarios que están emergiendo, para darle voz y reconocimiento social a lo que aún se expresa callada- mente en medio del ruido de las balas, los golpes, las opresiones, los abusos de poder de quienes se sienten dueños de la vida, por- que su codicia o su soberbia, sus capitales o sus armas, les impiden ver que esta nueva cultura que surge de la necesidad profunda de la vida por protegerse, también terminará por salvar sus vidas y las de sus hijos. Bibliografía ADORNO Theodor W., FRENKEN-BRUNSWICK, Else, LEVINSON, SANFORD, R.N. (1950) The Authoritarian Personality, New York, Harper and Row. ANDERS, Günther (2002) Más allá de los límites de la conciencia, Barcelona, Paidós. ÁNGEL MAYA, Augusto (1995) La fragilidad ambiental de la cultu- ra, Bogotá, Editorial Universidad Nacional de Colombia, Instituto de Estudios Ambientales ( IDEA). ARENDT, Hanna (2009) Eichman en Jerusalén, Barcelona, Ediciones Debolsillo. BASCOMPTE, Jordi, 468 años del petróleo: del remedio para la gota al calentamiento global. http://www.portaldelmedioam biente.com/ articulos/535/468_anos_del_petroleo_del_re medio_para_la_gota_al_calentamiento_global/ FOUCAULT, Michel (1992) La microfísica del poder, Madrid, Edito- rial La Piqueta. GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ, Gabriel (1986) El cataclismo de Damocles, Con- ferencia de Ixtapa. México. http://www.sololiteratura. co- m/ggm/marquezcataclismo.htm GLOVER, Jonathan (2001) Humanidad e inhumanidad: Una historia moral del siglo XX, Madrid, Cátedra. HEVIA, Renato (2000) Torturar obedeciendo órdenes, Publicado en: www.asuntospublicos.org, Informe N° 32. http://www. ced.cl/ap/wp-content/uploads/2001/03/32.pdf JASPERS, Karl (1966) La bomba atómica y el futuro del hombre, Madrid, Editorial Taurus. LEVI, Primo (1986) I sommersi e i salvati, Torino, Einaudi, Torino. LÓPEZ MARTÍNEZ, Mario (2009) Política sin violencia. La no- violencia como humanización de la política, Bogotá, Uniminuto. MARTÍNEZ HINCAPIÉ, Carlos Eduardo (2012) De nuevo la vida. El http://www.portaldelmedioambiente.com/articulos/535/468_anos_del_petroleo_del_remedio_para_la_gota_al_calentamiento_global/ http://www.portaldelmedioambiente.com/articulos/535/468_anos_del_petroleo_del_remedio_para_la_gota_al_calentamiento_global/ http://www.portaldelmedioambiente.com/articulos/535/468_anos_del_petroleo_del_remedio_para_la_gota_al_calentamiento_global/ http://www.sololiteratura/ CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 182 182 poder de la No-violencia y las transformaciones culturales, Bogotá, Uniminuto. MILGRAM, Stanley (1974) Obedience to Authority, London, Tavis- tock Publications. MUÑOZ, Ana (2002) La obediencia a la autoridad, http://es. scribd.com/doc/ 6764072/La-Obediencia-a-La-Autoridad- Ana-Munoz-Analisis-de-Milgram. PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ, Juan Carlos (2007) Los hijos de Marte y la cultura del miedo, Murcia, Editora Regional de Murcia. PONTARA, Giuliano La Antibarbarie: La concepción ético política de Gandhi en el siglo XXI (libro en proceso de publicación). SAUNDBY, Robert (1963) “Prólogo”, The Destruction of Dresden, D. Irving, London, William Kimber. SCHELL, Jonathan (2005) El mundo inconquistable: Poder, no- violencia y voluntad popular, Barcelona, Círculo de Lectores. STOLCKE, Verena (2004) “Lo espantosamente nuevo: Guerra y paz en la obra de Hanna Arendt”, Pensamiento pacifista, Enric Prat (edición), Barcelona, Icaria. THOMPSON, Edward Palmer (1985a) Double Exposure, London, Merlin Press. - (1985b) The heavy dancers, London, Merlin Press. THOMPSON, Edward Palmer, COATES, Ken (edición) (1981) Human Rights and Disarmament. An Exchange of Letters Between E. P. Thompson and Vaclac Racek, London, Spokesman/CND. 
work_wbu5oyelqzde3dw2eunjeam4bq	----	Re-thinking civil disobedience | Internet Policy Review Regulation Watch Main menu Login RSS About Contact Scope Editorial board Managing board Editorial team Reviewers Contributors Why publish with us License Funding Archives Publish Aims and scope Submissions Peer review How to publish with us Manuscript template Style guide Open Access Concept Accessibility Categories Infrastructure & Standards Innovation Information & Data Intellectual Property Rights Privacy & Security Governance Volume 2, Issue 4 Re-thinking civil disobedience Theresa Züger, Alexander von Humboldt Institute for Internet and Society, Berlin, Germany, theresa.zueger@hiig.de PUBLISHED ON: 11 Nov 2013 DOI: 10.14763/2013.4.216 Abstract This article points out a struggle of today’s societies with the traditional concepts of civil disobedience and stresses the need for reevaluation of the concept of civil disobedience for policy making and public discourse. Starting with a minimal definition of civil disobedience, the article introduces Hannah Arendt’s approach for a legitimisation of civil disobedience and discusses her ideas for digital actions, which are increasingly framed as digital forms of civil disobedience. Addressing WikiLeaks as an example of digital civil disobedience, the author problematises the internal secrecy of WikiLeaks and the focus on Julian Assange as a single decision-maker. Both aspects challenge Arendt’s understanding of legitimate civil disobedience. Even though traditional criteria of civil disobedience need to be revisited in the digital age, organisations or disobedience actors might themselves in their actions be well-advised to comply with the principles they fight for. Citation & publishing information Received: September 23, 2013 Reviewed: November 5, 2013 Published: November 11, 2013 Licence: Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Germany Competing interests: The author has declared that no competing interests exist that have influenced the text. Keywords: Activism, Civil disobedience, Online civil disobedience, Hacktivism, Wikileaks, Whistle-blower, Edward Snowden, Hannah Arendt Citation: Züger, T. (2013). Re-thinking civil disobedience. Internet Policy Review, 2(4). https://doi.org/10.14763/2013.4.216 Civil disobedience is a familiar and well established phenomenon in Western societies. Currently, this concept of political action is challenged by new practices evolving on and around the internet. This brings up serious questions - not only in theory, but urges societies to take a stand and to negotiate how much dissent is necessary in a democracy. This article argues that the benefits for society implied by the application of Arendt’s thought and beyond, would not only help question traditional theory of civil disobedience, but also reflect upon new adaptations of the concept. This paper will therefore focus on the question of whether different forms of digital civil disobedience are legitimate. So as to get to grips with the complexity of this concept, we will first define civil disobedience in minimal terms. New playground for old questions Besides an extraordinary amount of previously confidential information, Edward Snowden, Chelsea (formerly Bradley) Manning and other whistleblowers provided the general public with a more general insight: societies of our time quarrel with the concept of civil disobedience. Albeit civil disobedience is a dedicated term, it is today being revisited – its forms are being adapted to new technical possibilities and to the environment of the information age. Scholars Yochai Benkler (Benkler, 2011) and Manuel Castells (Castells, 2011) rightly emphasise that internet collectives and social media platforms, such as WikiLeaks, assemble and organise arrangements of power. WikiLeaks not only modifies the processes of investigative journalism and shifts theoretical borders of public spaces towards a global audience (Cohen & Castillo, 2011), it also challenges the concept of civil disobedience at all levels: political philosophy, policy and in the mind of the public. Hannah Arendt was already reflecting on civil disobedience in 1970, studying how it could become a lively and intrinsic part of pluralistic democracies. The reality is that the disobedient are treated as plain criminals, even more if the disobedience focusses on the internet. Admittedly, civil disobedience is a social phenomena, which is not easy to handle for policy makers. To my knowledge, there is no law in any jurisdiction that directly addresses civil disobedience and there is no lawful right of citizens to practice it. The opposite is the case. Robin Celikates, a scholar of political philosophy, describes civil disobedience in a minimal definition1 as an “intentionally unlawful collective protest action, which is based on principles and aims at changing (as in preventing or enforcing) certain laws or political steps” (Celikates, 20102). Furthermore, civil disobedience pursues a communicative intention, meaning that the motivating principles should be communicated. Even though there is no right of civil disobedience, it is often argued that there is a moral right (Lefkowitz, 2007) or even a duty to oppose policies and court rulings and their enforcement under certain circumstances. Usually, the disobedient relies on the belief in a so-called prima-facie-illegality (Dreier, 1983, p. 56), meaning that something is illegal at the time of the protest but becomes lawful later on, possibly as a consequence of the protest. Snowden and Manning could be forerunners of a larger movement. How policy makers will deal with these new forms of dissent will have consequences for civil rights and the capacities of modern democracies to learn. Rationally reflecting upon their actions in a political context, is no task for policy makers alone. It is the duty of society as a whole, as civil disobedience not only addresses politicians in a particular public debate, but first of all, civil society. The legitimacy of civil disobedience is a complex question, often falling short in public discourse. The following introduction of Arendt’s concept of civil disobedience, may provide a new perspective on the question of legitimacy of civil disobedience, that hopefully can serve as an entry point for further discussion. Politics is where the people are Civil disobedience is a concept of political participation with a long tradition in direct action but also in political philosophy. Arendt describes civil disobedience developing, when a meaningful amount of citizens, but not necessarily a majority, come to the conclusion that common ways of opposition to their government don’t exist or get ignored (Arendt, 2012, p. 299). She addresses cases in which a government pursues actions or decisions that do not conform to the law or the constitution (ibid., p. 299). I argue that even though there is overarching criteria for the legitimacy of civil disobedience, it also depends on the political situation in which a society is, and the character of the deeds or tactics performed, to decide whether an action is appropriate and legitimate. There is no one-size-fits-all judgement. For Arendt, the crucial criterion for these actions is first of all the criteria of publicity. While criminals avoid the public eye, the civil disobedient longs for its attention (ibid., p.300). As well, collectiveness and the orientation on the common well being of a society are necessary criteria for the legitimacy of civil disobedience. In Arendt’s understanding, they are truly political if they serve a horizontal alliance between all citizens, which respects plurality and diverse opinions. For her, it makes a significant difference if individuals publicly state their political opinions or simply represent their personal interests (ibid., p. 308). The principles that civil disobedience relies on – in Arendt’s view – cannot solemnly derive from the personal conscience, as proposed by US-American author and philosophical thinker3 Henry David Thoreau. The conscience decides what a person is willing to live with, but this decision ultimately remains a private one. The individual conscience therefore would be too variable, demanding nothing in principle – which, for Arendt, makes it in its very nature unpolitical (Arendt, 2012, p. 289). In Arendt's view, Thoreau's action cannot be considered civil disobedience, because in her definition civil disobedience cannot be practiced by a single person and needs to be pursued in public. Only a collective and the public have the power to transform an individual’s conscious view into a political opinion. Arendt’s concept of civil disobedience also has significant differences with respect to the well known one of John Rawls, a liberal US-American philosopher. They differ in certain questions regarding the legitimacy of civil disobedience. They disagree on whether disobedience can only be legitimate when the disobedient takes on the penalty or, whether he needs to accept the political system in general (ibid, p. 285, 301; Rawls p. 403). This discussion is outside the scope of this paper, but it goes to show that civil disobedience is not a self explanatory term. Most important to distill from Arendt’s political theory is, that a democracy should offer room for dynamic and conflicts, so as to promote plurality. The truly political moment of human life for Arendt is the possibility to create new and unforeseeable beginnings. Even though the idea to integrate disobedience into a system seems like a paradox from a legal perspective, she thinks about solutions on how to institutionalise civil disobedience as a balance to the failures of legal examination, for example via “pressure groups” (Arendt, 2012, 319f). Arendt points out that civil disobedience is not a disease of modern democracies, but could well be a cure. Digitalisation of civil disobedience and the law Increasingly, the term civil disobedience is brought into play in cases of online activism. In the late 1990s, pioneers such as the Electronic Disturbance Theater or the Electrohippies practiced politically motivated DDoS attacks (Jordan & Taylor, 2004, p. 73). They self-coined their actions ‘electronic civil disobedience’. Even though digital forms of civil disobedience are historically associated with the practice of DDoS actions, there are many more possible practices. The most recognised global movements today in this field are WikiLeaks and the Anonymous movement. Even though the public discourse – at least on the internet – focuses on several practices, civil disobedience is not defined by a certain set of actions. Recently, prominent tactics have been discussed as digital forms of civil disobedience. Using the technology and infrastructure of the internet as a tool (and sometimes taking place online), they are, among other: DDoS actions (in very different technical forms) Whistleblowing Infringements of copyright law Modification of data use The idea that electronic or digital disobedience is just a ‘virtual sit-in'4 that observers of the discourse could assume, is tempting – because this analogy is rather simple to understand for the less internet-savvy citizen – but has its weaknesses. It challenges Arendt’s concept of civil disobedience, for which publicness is crucial. In online activism people are not necessarily present with their physical body, they are also not as visible – even though absolute anonymity is in fact a myth. The participants of digital civil disobedience might be trackable by executive powers but still, they remain anonymous in front of other citizens during their action. A big issue, which needs much deeper discussion is the question of publicness of these actions. If something is announced via e-mail or in a video on Youtube, does this mean it is public in a political sense? The user who requests a website and cannot reach it, will not necessarily even realise that there might be a politically-motivated reason for it. The internet’s infrastructure modified the ways in which information becomes public in new fragmented digital public spheres (Münker, 2009), which diffuses the public attention. For Arendt, a shared public space is a crucial component for any political action. But shouldn’t protest be apprehensive about the audience it is addressing and if so, how could this be realised? The internet provides its own infrastructure and therefore its own practices. Practices of civil disobedience adapt to circumstances and are defined by a complex arrangement of criteria (Celikates, forthcoming) – the same is true for digital forms, albeit in new ways (Manion & Goddrum, 2000, p. 15). This makes them per se no more or less legitimate, but requires a new evaluation and a closer look. What may seem to be merely a matter of wording about online activism, can also be framed as a struggle about the moral legitimacy of civil disobedience in certain digital forms5. Stakeholders in this discourse seem not to support a coherent judgement – they vary between ‘hero’, ‘martyrdom’ and ‘terrorism’ (Furnell & Warren, 1999) – remarkably there is very little in between. The concept of civil disobedience and how it is enacted on the internet offers a wide range of interpretations. In Europe, some tribunals struggled to judge civil disobedience taking into account dynamics of the internet6. In 2005, the EU Council raised new minimal standards for computer and internet crime-related court rulings within European member states. The implementation of these standards in the German criminal law for example, namely mentions DDoS attacks under article 303b as a case of computer sabotage. From a philosophical point of view, it is remarkable that the motivation of the party engaging in online criminal activity is legally not taken into account. On the other hand, the varying definitions and the underdeveloped public discourse about digital forms of civil disobedience does not provide policy makers with any orientation. This struggle involves questions about the understanding of democracy, including civil rights and duties. Answers to these questions have direct consequences on jurisdiction and internet policy, which in turn are constitutive of the future of digital protest and civil rights online and offline. Thinking with Arendt about WikiLeaks As stated earlier, the argument we are making is not meant to establish whether certain forms of civil disobedience are normatively good or bad. Rather, we are trying to establish the common criteria to WikiLeaks and some of Arendt's ideas. Only then will we be able to discuss grey areas. Arendt’s considerations are possibly more relevant than ever. Since 2006, WikiLeaks, a web-based whistleblower model, is one of the initiatives that effectively and profoundly confronts the public with the question of the role disobedience should play in society. Do we live in a society that appreciates and protects whistleblowers – also by making appropriate laws and policies – or do we see them as criminals that endanger stability? First, in what way could WikiLeaks possibly be considered - using the minimal definition indicated above - a form of civil disobedience? WikiLeaks7, as a media organisation functions as a transmitter for secretive information with assumed public interest, which understands itself as a group of journalists and publishers (Cohen & Castillo, 2011). Another actor in the WikiLeaks network is the whistleblower, who holds secretive information and decides to provide it to the WikiLeaks collective by uploading it anonymously via an online submission form (Fuchs, 2011)8. A globally spread public as receiver of this information, could be seen as yet another actor in this context. “WikiLeaks is engaging in political struggles, is an explicitly politically motivated project, and wants to make information public that has to do with the abuse of power” (Fuchs, 2011). Even though this might be true in general, each publication must be seen in its own context, to fully analyse its moral implications. In order to break this line of argument down to one example, this article focuses on the ‘Collateral Murder’ video, that was published in April 2010, showing the killing of civilians by the US air force. In order to cross-check our understanding, we need to go back to the minimal definition of civil disobedience: Firstly, the illegality criteria is not easy to answer. WikiLeaks, as a platform for investigative journalism, is not in itself illegal. So far, there has been no public prosecution against the practice of the WikiLeaks founder and WikiLeaks co-workers. According to the first amendment in the United States of America, such a group is generally allowed to publish secret information if it is of public interest, as in the case of the Pentagon Papers. The unlawful act of breaking a non-disclosure clause usually behooves a single individual, such as Chelsea Manning. Nevertheless, WikiLeaks, as an organisation, is unofficially accused of promoting this unlawful act. Secondly, the organisation necessary to publish the ‘Collateral Murder’ video is rooted in collective action, made up of (and dependent on) the whistleblower Manning, the WikiLeaks collective and the WikiLeaks platform. Besides this, WikiLeaks’ work depends on donations by supporters. In the months from November 2010 to January 2011, the donations added up to a peak of 800,000 Euro, which could be interpreted as an indicator of a meaningful amount of people supporting this initiative. Concerning the other necessary criteria: WikiLeaks enacts a form of intentional protest and aims to change political decisions and certain laws. The collective itself testifies to act upon principles, which can be perceived publicly, and even depend on principles, which are quite widespread, such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The communicative intent can be found in the practice of publishing via the internet, as well as via established media outlets. In my understanding, WikiLeaks’ act of publishing the ‘Collateral Murder’ video can be defined as a digital practice of civil disobedience, noting that this definition is based on the attempt of descriptive criteria and even self-descriptions by the collective and, does not yet allow for any conclusion about its legitimacy. Legitimacy of online civil disobedience In line with the most prominent of Arendt’s criteria - performing civil disobedience in public - WikiLeaks is definitely seeking public attention and, it claims to support civil interests. Taking a closer look, one has to admit that the criteria of being public, is in this case tricky. WikiLeaks addresses the public with its reports, but due to the nature of the material it works with, WikiLeaks itself is rather opaque when it comes to the way in which it is organised and how the information is processed. Traditional actions of civil disobedience appear to be way more straight-forward and transparent for the public’s eye. Do the political circumstances – the lack of transparency of government decisions – that WikiLeaks addresses, justify new handling of this criteria? Arendt stresses that the difference between criminal actions and civil disobedience is that the latter is an “open violation of the law, performed in public” (Arendt, 2012, p. 300)9. This raises the question to what extent the proceedings of civil disobedience must be transparent to the public, when secrecy is a distinctive part of the disobedient act. For Arendt, conspiracy is a completely inapplicable accusation of the civil disobedient. Does this hold true for the WikiLeaks collective, or is a WikiLeaks act like the publishing of the ‘Collateral Murder’ video in part a form of conspirational civil disobedience? Would Arendt draw the same line in the information society we live in today? Or is this something she could in her time not have thought of and, we should start to think about now? Another critical issue, which might be problematic, is that only the voice of one single person, in this case Julian Assange’s, the founder and chief spokesperson of WikiLeaks, dominates the views and decisions of the supposedly collective action. What Arendt’s concept points to is, that civil disobedience is not to be a playground for heroes. In her version, it is not personalities but a cause, that plays the lead part. It might be hard to evaluate this principle in relation to a mediated public, longing for stories and sensations. In its new digital forms and facing a mediated and fragmented public, civil disobedience confronts societies with several challenges. In my view, there are several ‘grey’ areas to think about, which cannot all be addressed here. On the level of the civil society, it provokes dispute about what types of civil disobedience are legitimate and which ones draw public support. This demands more knowledge and an assessment of new tactics and practices. The mass media still play a dominant role by selecting, interpreting and presenting cases of civil disobedience. They could become a decisive factor in influencing the future and variety of disobedient acts. In conclusion, where do we stand today in terms of civil disobedience? A number of recent public acts - of which I have provided an example - show, that civil disobedience is a very lively part of our political environment. WikiLeaks’ practice can be considered civil disobedience. The debate about the legitimacy of WikiLeaks and other forms of digital civil disobedience has just started and needs further discussion. Existing theories, including Arendt’s, encounter their limits and need to be adjusted to an increasingly digital world. On the other hand, movements such as WikiLeaks, nevertheless should comply with reasonable criteria of legitimacy, if they not only wish to stand up against non-transparent governments, but also for, in Arendt’s terms, a horizontal alliance between all citizens (Arendt, 2012, p. 308). The recent international policy reactions to online civil disobedience show that we are not looking at marginal actions or a villain's hoax. The intensity of the pursuit or the prosecution that WikiLeaks and other activists see themselves confronted with, reveals that governments fear the civil disobedient to a disconcerting extent. Footnotes 1. Celikates separates the definition from his argument about legitimacy. This definition therefore only answers the question: What is civil disobedience? and not: what is legitimate civil disobedience? I follow the same line of thought, by separating these arguments. 2. Free translation by the author. 3. Thoreau, who is often stated to be the inventor of the term ‘civil disobedience’, refused to pay his taxes to protest against slavery and the American war against Mexico and defended this idea two years later in his well known essay on "resistance to civil government.” His passionate text grounds the duty for civil disobedience in the conscience of the individual (Thoreau, 1993). 4. This analogy was first introduced by the Electronic Disturbance Theater in 1998. The idea is that a DDoS action mirrors a physical sit-in closely, because “a body was required behind each connection to the targeted sites” (Jordan & Taylor, 2004, p. 73). 5. See, for instance: Manion, Mark & Goodrum, Abby (2000): Terrorism or Civil Disobedience. Toward a Hacktivist Ethic, ACM SIGCAS Computers and Society, Vol. 30, Issue 2, pp. 14 – 19. 6. For instance in the “Lufthansa case,” two German courts, on two levels of jurisdiction, came to different conclusions. The judgment finally made, today would be valid after an amendment to an act (§303 StGB) from 2007. For more detail: Valerius, Brian (2008): Zur Strafbarkeit virtueller Sit-ins im Internet, in: Dimensionen des IT-Rechts, Eric Hilgendorf (Hg), Berlin Logos Verlag, pp. 18-41. 7. WikiLeaks is a non-profit and non-commercial whistleblowing platform. An organisation which functions through different actors and levels involved. At its core, there is a group of people who receive, select, portion, distribute and publish information on a globally accessible internet website, which is constitutive for this action to take place. 8. WikiLeaks received wide public attention, in great part due to cooperations with mass media institutions, such as The Guardian, The New York Times and Der Spiegel, which, additionally to receiving information by WikiLeaks, analysed and published it. 9. Translated by the author. References Arendt, H. (2012). In der Gegenwart: Übungen im politischen Denken II. München: Piper. In English: Arendt, H. (1972). Crises of the republic: Lying in politics, civil disobedience on violence, thoughts on politics, and revolution (Vol. 219). Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Benkler, Y. (2011). Free irresponsible press: Wikileaks and the battle over the soul of the networked fourth estate, A. Harv. CR-CLL Rev., 46, 311. Boyd, D. (2013). Whistleblowing is the new civil disobedience. Why edward snowden matters. Retrieved from http://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2013/07/19/edward-snowden-whistleblower.html Castells, M. (2009). Communication power. Oxford University Press. Celikates, R. (2010). Ziviler ungehorsam und radikale Demokratie. In T. Bedorf & K. Röttgers (Eds.), Das politische und die politik. Suhrkamp Berlin. Celikates, R. (n.d.). Ziviler ungehorsam – zwischen Gewaltfreiheit und Gewalt. In O. Flügel-Martinsen & F. Martinsen (Eds.), Politische Philosophie der Gewalt. Hart, C., & Castillo, A. (2011). WIKILEAKS: Journalism and the 21st century madiascape. Global Media Journal, 5(1). Conway, M. (2003). Hackers as terrorists? Why it doesn't compute. Computer Fraud & Security, 2003(12), 10-13. Dreier, R. (1983). Widerstandsrecht und ziviler Ungehorsam im Rechtsstaat. In P. Glotz (Ed.), Ziviler ungehorsam im rechtsstaat (pp. 54-75). Suhrkamp. Fuchs, Christian: Wikileaks: power 2.0? Surveillance 2.0? Criticism 2.0? Alternative media 2.0? A political-economic analysis, in: global media journal Vol. 5(1), see at http://www.hca.uws.edu.au/gmjau/archive/v5_2011_1/fuchs_RA.html Furnell, S. M., & Warren, M. J. (1999). Computer hacking and cyber terrorism: The real threats in the new millennium? Computers & Security, 18(1), 28-34. Retrieved from Google Scholar. Isaacs, D. (2013). Heroes of civil disobedience: Gandhi, rosa parks, aaron swartz? Retrieved from http://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/did-aaron-swartz-do-right-peter-ludlow/Content?oid=9015762 Jordan, T., & Taylor, P. A. (2004). Hacktivism and cyberwars: Rebels with a cause? Psychology Press. Lefkowitz, D. (2007). On a moral right to civil disobedience*. Ethics, 117(2), 202-233. Manion, M., & Goodrum, A. (2000). Terrorism or civil disobedience: Toward a hacktivist ethic. ACM SIGCAS Computers and Society, 30(2), 14-19. Morozov, E. (2010). In defense of ddos. Denial-of-service attacks: Just another form of civil disobedience. Retrieved from www.slate.com: http://www.slate.com/articles/technology/technology/2010/12/in_defense_of_ddos.html Münker, S. (2012). Emergenz digitaler öffentlichkeiten. Suhrkamp Verlag. Rawls, J. (1977). Eine Theorie der Gerechtigkeit. Suhrkamp Verlag. English: Rawls, J. (1972). A theory of justice. Oxford, Clarendon Press. Stone, M. (2012). Martyrdom: Anonymous hacktivist convicted for civil disobedience. Retrieved from http://www.examiner.com/article/martyrdom-anonymous-hacktivist-convicted-for-civil-disobedience Thoreau, H. D. (1993). Civil disobedience, and other essays. New York: Dover Publications. Add new comment Your name * E-mail * The content of this field is kept private and will not be shown publicly. Homepage Comment * Math question 4 + 0 = Solve this simple math problem and enter the result. E.g. for 1+3, enter 4. Download PDF Cite APA Züger, T. (2013). Re-thinking civil disobedience. Internet Policy Review, 2(4). https://doi.org/10.14763/2013.4.216 Chicago Züger, Theresa. 2013. "Re-thinking civil disobedience". Internet Policy Review 2 (4). DOI: 10.14763/2013.4.216. https://policyreview.info/articles/analysis/re-thinking-civil-disobedience. Harvard Züger, T. (2013). Re-thinking civil disobedience. Internet Policy Review,[online] 2(4). Available at: https://policyreview.info/articles/analysis/re-thinking-civil-disobedience [Accessed: 6 Apr. 2021]. MLA Züger, Theresa. "Re-thinking civil disobedience". Internet Policy Review 2.4 (2013). Web. 6 Apr. 2021. Vancouver Züger T. Re-thinking civil disobedience. 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Metrics Category Privacy & Security Keywords Activism Civil disobedience Online civil disobedience Hacktivism Wikileaks Whistle-blower Edward Snowden Hannah Arendt Actors Edward Snowden Julian Assange Wikileaks Chelsea Manning Hannah Arendt Scope World Europe Event Collateral Murder Stakeholder Governmental Civil Society Related Articles Volume 3, Issue 4 Hacktivism 1-2-3: how privacy enhancing technologies change the face of anonymous hacktivism Balázs Bodó, University of Amsterdam PUBLISHED ON: 28 Nov 2014 DOI: 10.14763/2014.4.340 Hacktivists 1.0 were Anonymous mask wearing outsiders. Subsequent generations are made up of insiders who use privacy enhancing technologies to hide their identities, to keep power under control or to disengage. KEYWORDS: Hacktivism, Privacy enhancing technologies, Anonymous Volume 5, Issue 3 The politics of surveillance policy: UK regulatory dynamics after Snowden Arne Hintz, Cardiff University Lina Dencik, Cardiff University PUBLISHED ON: 26 Sep 2016 DOI: 10.14763/2016.3.424 How has policy reacted to the post-Snowden surveillance discourse in the UK? This paper identifies eight dynamics. KEYWORDS: Edward Snowden, Blanket surveillance Whistle-blower Assembly in Europe requests protection for whistle-blowers Monika Ermert, Heise, Intellectual Property Watch, VDI-Nachrichten PUBLISHED ON: 02 Oct 2013 Whistle-blower protection and clear limits to state secrets should be the rule, the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe decided on October 2. Yet from recommendations to implementation and effective protection it is a long way to go. Internet Policy Review is an open access and peer-reviewed journal on internet regulation. 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work_wc33a25t5vfeheuuass653vk3e	----	1 23 Dao A Journal of Comparative Philosophy ISSN 1540-3009 Volume 10 Number 4 Dao (2011) 10:445-462 DOI 10.1007/s11712-011-9244-z A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi Xu Keqian 徐徐徐 1 23 Your article is protected by copyright and all rights are held exclusively by Springer Science+Business Media B.V.. This e-offprint is for personal use only and shall not be self- archived in electronic repositories. If you wish to self-archive your work, please use the accepted author’s version for posting to your own website or your institution’s repository. You may further deposit the accepted author’s version on a funder’s repository at a funder’s request, provided it is not made publicly available until 12 months after publication. A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi XU Keqian 徐克謙 Published online: 2 October 2011 # Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2011 Abstract Individualism is not only a Western tradition. In the Zhuangzi we can also identify some elements which may be appropriately attributed to “individualism.” However, due to its particular cultural and philosophical background, Zhuangzian individualism has unique characteristics, which distinguish it from the variety of other individualist thoughts that have emerged in the West. Zhuangzi has a dynamic and open view on individual “self,” considering individuals as changing and unique beings rather than fixed and interchangeable “atoms”; he sets the unlimited Dao as the ultimate source for individuals to conform to, thus releasing individual mind into a realm of infinite openness and freedom. The Zhuangzian individualism is “inward” rather than “outward,” concentrating on individual spirit rather than material interests and rights in social reality. The individualism in the Zhuangzi provides a spiritual space for the development of individuality in ancient China. It also provides an alternative understanding of individual as an existence. Keywords Individualism . Zhuangzi . Daoism 1 Introduction In Chinese academic vocabulary, “individualism” is a new term imported from the West in the modern times. Yet it has been widely used, and the discussion related to it does provide a methodological approach to the fundamental and universal issues concerning the basic relationship of human existence: the relationship between individual and society, particularity and generality, part and whole, one and many, members and body, etc. However, it has long been a controversial issue whether there is a tradition of individualism in ancient Chinese philosophy and culture. Awidely accepted inference in much research concerning traditional Chinese culture and society is that collectivism or communalism is a prominent feature of traditional Chinese culture, which requires people to give priority to the general goal and interests of their family, clan, state, or nation, while the value of independence, freedom, and integrity of individuals are Dao (2011) 10:445–462 DOI 10.1007/s11712-011-9244-z XU Keqian 徐克謙 (*) Department of Chinese, College of Liberal Arts, Nanjing Normal University, 122 Ninghai Road, Nanjing, Jiangsu Province 210097, China e-mail: xukeqian@njnu.edu.cn Author's personal copy frequently neglected or even oppressed. For instance, the famous modern Chinese scholar LIANG Shuming once pointed out: “The biggest lacuna in Chinese culture is that the individuality has never been discovered” (Liang 1949: 221). Based on his “mass noun” and “part-whole” understanding and interpretation of Chinese language, Chad Hansen believes that the conceptual structure of Chinese language is not individualistic: “both metaphysical theories and methodological (philosophy of science) theories in the Chinese tradition are nonindividuallistic” (Hansen 1985: 38). Consequently he declares that “we may justifiably generalize that there is no individualism in Chinese philosophy” (Hansen 1985: 54). Contrarily, other researchers discovered a tradition of individualism in Chinese philosophy and culture as early as pre-Qin time. Wm. T. de Bary points out that in the earlier Chinese tradition the problem of the “individual” was the subject of as much thought and discussion as in the West, so the problem of “individualism” has existed in ancient China (De Bary 1991: 2). Certain kinds of individualism or elements of individualism have been spotted by researchs on the philosophy of various times and schools in ancient China, e.g. in early Confucianism (King 1985; Xu 2005), Yangism, Later Mohism, and Zhuangzi (Graham 1985; Berling 1985; Wang 1990; Yang 2005), in the Wei-Jin Neo-Daoist movement (Yu 1985), and in Song-Ming Neo Confucianism (De Bary 1985). Research with wider coverage on the topic of individualism in early China by Erica Brindley has also recently appeared (Brindley 2010). In my opinion, individualism not only does exist in Chinese philosophy and Chinese culture, but also exhibits in different levels and forms. Whether at the level of the so- called elite culture or that of the grass root culture, the autonomy and integrity of individuals, to a certain degree and under certain conditions, have been not only recognized but sometimes even encouraged. In elite levels it is usually represented as the admiration of an independent personality of individual intellectuals. In the grass root level it often manifests as a kind of individual survival wisdom, as expressed in the common saying of “If one does not consider and do things for oneself, the person will be destroyed by the Heaven and Earth.”1 Even in mainstream Confucianism, which is considered the main resource of collectivism and communalism, there has also been a continuation of self and individual concern, which may also be called a kind of individualism, as Wm. T. de Bary has correctly observed (de Bary 1991). But the most original, distinct, and influential thought on individualism in ancient China is vividly demonstrated in the book of Zhuangzi.2 Actually, in the history of Chinese culture, the 1 This Chinese common saying (ren bu weiji tian shu di mie 人不為己天誅地滅) is usually translated into English as “Every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.” But they have different cultural backgrounds and implications. 2 It is widely accepted that not all the texts in the book of Zhuangzi were written by the man named Zhuangzi in the mid-Warring States period, despite the fact that scholars still have different opinions on what and how many parts in the book were or were not written by him. (For discussions of the textual authenticity of the Zhuangzi, see Ren 1962: 178–188; Liu 1993: 3–57; Graham 1990: 296–301; Also see Cui 1992: 67–103; Loewe 1993: 56–66.) However, the thoughts in different parts of the book of Zhuangzi still have a general consistency, and they have influenced the later generations as a whole. For the latter generations in ancient China, the thought of Zhuangzi was just the thought in the Zhuangzi. Since my paper is focusing on a possible tradition originated in the book of Zhuangzi, I use materials from most parts in the book to support my discussion, excluding only a very few fragments that have been solidly testified as not belonging to the original book at all. For convenience I sometimes use “Zhuangzi” to represent the book of Zhuangzi in this essay. 446 XU Keqian 徐克謙 Author's personal copy person Zhuangzi and his thought has often been considered an idol and symbol of individual freedom and liberty. XIAO Gongquan even believes that Zhuangzi’s thought is the most thorough individualism and the most extreme liberalism of all times and all countries (Xiao 1998: 175). However, compared with other versions of theories of individualism which appeared in different times and different places, the individualism represented in the Zhuangzi was bred under a quite different social and cultural background and based on a unique Daoist philosophy, which makes it distinguishable with special characteristics. These characteristics may explain why this type of individualism can frequently coexist and sometimes even mutually complement with Confucianism in the thought of one person without conflict. These characteristics may also explain why it has functioned differently in the Chinese social-cultural system and did not play the same role modern Western individualism has played in Western society. In this essay I will analyze the concept of individual and the representation of individualist value in the Zhuangzi, give an account of the social-cultural and philosophical background of this kind of individualism, discuss the unique character- istics which make the Zhuangzian individualism distinguished from some of the Western versions of individualism, in order to demonstrate the special contribution and influence it has given to ancient Chinese philosophy and culture. 2 The Concept of the Individual and Values of Individualism in Zhuangzi “Individualism” is “a word that has come to be used with an unusual lack of precision” (Lukes 1973: 1). It has “carried widely varying connotations in differing contexts and different times” (Lukes 1973: 26).3 However, with its characteristics of “indeterminate shape, evocative power … annunciation of historic changes,” and “incantatory use by visionaries” (Birnbaum and Leca 1990: 1), this term has been widely used in different and sometimes even contradictory theories to express certain similar values or orientations for different purposes. In his excellent analysis of the component ideas variously expressed and combined by the term “individualism,” Lukes has identified some core values of individualism, such as the intrinsic value or dignity of individual human beings, autonomy or self-direction, privacy, self development, etc., which he believes are the basic elements of the thought of equality and freedom. He also distinguishes different theories of “individualism” which have existed in the history and in different realms, such as political individualism, economic individualism, religious individualism, ethical individual- ism, and individualism in epistemology and methodology. Lukes’s research also indicates that, despite the complicated relations between the core values of individualism and those different theories of individualism, one does not have to accept all of these theories in order to uphold those values. Furthermore, he indicates that if we treat those core values of individualism seriously, we have to reject some of these existing theories of individualism (Lukes 1973). 3 For the varied and dynamic meanings of “individualism” in French, German, Italian, American, and British history of ideas and ideologies, see Lukes 1971 and Lukes 1973. A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi 447 Author's personal copy Enlightened by Lukes’s analysis of individualism, we can find that, although in the Zhuangzi there may be no systematic theories that match those Western theories of individualism, especially those theories developed in modern times, all the core values of individualism mentioned by Lukes are expressed and confirmed in the thought of the Zhuangzi, and some of Zhuangzi’s stances may even provide better or more thorough protection for those values. In this sense, therefore, we may appropriately say that there is a kind of individualism in the Zhuangzi. Although the equivalent word of “individual” in modern Chinese vocabulary, i.e., “ge ren 個人” does not appear in the Zhuangzi (nor in any other early Chinese texts), Zhuangzi did use other ancient words to express the concept of “individual,” such as “ji 己”, “du 獨”. However, according to Chad Hansen’s “mass noun” hypothesis of Chinese language and his “part-whole” understanding of Chinese conceptual structure (Hansen 1972), the relationship between a particular individual and other individuals in the Chinese language is a relation of “part and whole” rather than that of “one and many.” Therefore the concept of the individual in its Western sense seems unthinkable and thus does not exist in ancient Chinese. Hansen’s inference, together with its theoretic rationale, the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, is still open to question; but that is beyond the coverage of this essay. Here I only want to challenge Hansen with one point: if in Chinese conceptual structure an individual was only a part of the “whole” composed of other individuals, the individual would have never been complete and perfect when it was separated from that “whole.” In other words, a person who lives alone would always be incomplete and imperfect. However, this is not the case, at least in the Zhuangzi. As my analysis will indicate, Zhuangzi and similar Daoist philosophers tend to think that the perfection and completeness of an individual’s personality are more likely achieved in separation and loneliness. In other words, according to Zhuangzi, “self” can be an integrated and complete individual “one” existing independently from many others and the society, rather than an incomplete “part” of a general “whole.” In the text of the Zhuangzi the character of “du 獨” (with the meanings of “lonely,” “alone,” “sole,” “unique,” or “independent”) was frequently used to indicate an independent and integrated personality,4 or the ideal status of individual spirit, which was advocated by Zhuangzi. For instance, Zhuangzi admires a lofty man who is different from the common people, for “alone (du) he will come, alone (du) he will go. He may be called a man with uniqueness (du); a man with uniqueness (du) may be termed the noblest of all” (Zhuangzi 11: 64).5 Laozi in the book of Zhuangzi has been described as one of the men who “discarded everything behind, left all the people in the world, and were standing alone in solitude (du)” (Zhuangzi 21: 25). Zhuangzi comments on BO Yi and Shu Qi, the two ancient lofty noble men, as “delighting in their own will alone (du), not being engaged with the worldly matters; such was the ideal of these two gentlemen” (Zhuangzi 28: 86–87). He also describes himself as one who “came and went alone (du) with the spirit of Heaven and earth” (Zhuangzi 33: 65–66). All of these emphasize the uniqueness of an individual that Zhuangzi admires and values highly. This is obviously relevant to the concept of individual and individualism. 4 Wolfgang Bauer points out that the word “du” is more characteristic of a wish for independence than of a desire for isolation (Bauer 1985:159). 5 The citations of the Zhuangzi in this essay are from Guo 1982, and marked according to the Zhuangzi Yin De, no. 20 in the Harvard-Yenching Institute Sinological Index series. English translation refers to Watson 1968, Graham 1981, Mair 1994, and Wang 1999, sometimes with my own revision. 448 XU Keqian 徐克謙 Author's personal copy To put it concretely, we may observe the core values of individualism, as identified by Steven Lukes, in the book of Zhuangzi from the following aspects. First, individual freedom and liberty. The ultimate goal of the Zhuangzian philosophy is to pursue the “carefree wandering” (xiao yao you 逍遙遊) of the individual spirit without any restraints. Zhuangzi hopes that individual spirit can be rid of all the ties and bonds caused by the restrictions of social constructions such as man-made laws, institutions, rituals, moral standards, and worldly concepts. The spirits of individuals should be set free to “come and go alone with the spirit of Heaven and earth” (Zhuangzi 33: 65–66) and to “ascend to heaven and wander with the mists” (Zhuangzi 3: 61–62). In order to release the spirit and thought from all of those restrictions, he keeps criticizing and negating social constructions in reality. In the book of Zhuangzi, we find the fiercest social criticism in ancient China. In his opinion, rulers were just “benighted rulers and confused ministers” (Zhuangzi 20: 50), and legal institutions and moral standards “stand for the guard for the benefit of the big robber.” He wants to “destroy and wipe out the laws that the sage has made for the world” and “wipe out and reject (Confucian) benevolence and righteousness” (Zhuangzi 10: 1–41), since these are chains and shackles on the body and mind of individuals. Besides “xiao yao you 逍遙遊” or “carefree wandering,” Zhuangzi uses two additional terms to express his idea of freedom and liberty: “xuan jie 懸解” (Zhuangzi 3:19; 6:53), which means to release individual’s life from its current state of up-side-down hanging; and “tian fang ” (Zhuangzi 9: 7), which means to liberate the individual life and let it live in a way according to its heavenly nature. The modern Chinese word “liberation”(jie fang 解放) is a derivation from these two terms in the Zhuangzi. Second, the value and dignity of individual life, or “Zhong Sheng 重生” in Chinese. This has become one of the most important doctrines in the Daoist religion which developed afterward. For Zhuangzi, life itself is much more valuable than anything else, such as wealth, prestige, political power, etc. Although in the Zhuangzi there are some unconventional statements, such as considering death as a natural process of transformation and viewing life and death as a single cord, this can not at all be understood as depreciating the value of life and preferring death. Rather, it is a philosophy of life that tries to calmly accept death as an inevitable part of life, so birth, growing up, ageing, and death are all parts of life and should be all peacefully faced and accepted. It may also function as a psychological therapy to reduce people’s anxiety and fear of their inescapable death and better enjoy their present life. Zhuangzi never encouraged suicide; in fact, the rate of suicide in ancient China was quite likely reduced due to Zhuangzi’s philosophy of life. Therefore Zhuangzi’s opinion of viewing life and death as a single cord is not contradictory to the theory of Zhong Sheng 重生 in the Zhuangzi in particular and in the Daoist tradition in general. In Chapter 23 of Zhuangzi, a discussion by Lao Dan about the “basic rule of guarding life” (Zhuangzi 23: 34–38) has been recorded, suggesting that people should give their individual life over everything else, do their best to protect their own life, and enjoy a natural long life. In one of the famous chapters in the inner chapters of the Zhuangzi,6 he gives this advice: “You may do something good but have to be cautious away from getting any fame; you may do something bad but have to be careful in case you would get punished. Follow the middle way as your constant. By this you will be able to protect your body, maintain your life, fend your parents, and enjoy your due years” (Zhuangzi 3: 1–2). In 6 Chapter 3, titled “Yang Sheng Zhu,” was translated as “the secret of caring for life” in Watson 1968, and as “essentials for nurturing life” in Mair 1994. A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi 449 Author's personal copy Chapter 28, there are many examples of people who care about their life much more than anything else, such as the legendary ancient recluse XU You, the father and uncle of Zi Zhou, Shan Juan, and the Farmer of Stone Gate, etc. For all of these people, nothing, not political power, nor secular prestige, nor moral fame, nor material wealth, is comparable to the value of individual life. Zhuangzi commented: “Now the rulership of all under heaven is of supreme importance, yet he would not accept it for fear that it would harm his life! How much less would he let other things harm his life!” (Zhuangzi 28: 2–3). He thinks that even the biggest “instrument” such as the top political power of the empire is not worthy enough to exchange with an individual’s personal life. He criticizes that “most of the worldly men today are endangering their own body and abandoning their own life in their greed for things. Isn’t that a big sad!” (Zhuangzi 28: 28–29). Third, independence, autonomy, and privacy of individuals. Zhuangzi can be considered a guru of ancient Chinese eremitism. Of course, eremitism cannot be simply equated to individualism, but just as Wolfgang Bauer pointed out, eremitism in ancient China did share some important characteristics with individualism, and it “contributed a great deal to the evolution of typically Chinese variety of individualism” (Bauer 1985: 183). It is just in the tradition of Chinese eremitism that one may hope to find the most accessible path to understanding Chinese “individualism” (Bauer 1985: 180). A recluse or a hermit may not necessarily be an individualist if his eremitism is only for religious or mysterious reason, or if he is only compelled to live a reclusive life in order to escape persecution or threat from others. But if the eremitism is for the consideration of keeping individual independency and sticking to one’s personal ideal, and if it is someone’s unconstrained self-determination and autonomous choice, such as Henry David Thoreau’s reclusive life at Walden Pond,7 it is related to individualism. That is also the case in the Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi admires those individuals who lived an independent and autonomous life, such as Zengzi in Chapter 28, for “the Son of Heaven could not get him for his minister; the feudal lords could not get him for their friend” (Zhuangzi 28: 50–51). Zhuangzi himself preferred a reclusive life and refused to take a high official position offered to him by the King of the Chu State, responding to the King’s offer with the allegory of preferring to be a tortoise “alive and dragging its tail through the mud” rather than dead as a “sacred tortoise being wrapped with cloth and box, and enshrined in the King’s ancestral temple” (Zhuangzi 17: 81–84). It is clear that Zhuangzi’s refusal to take any official positions offered by the rulers of that time is not because by doing so his physical life might be endangered, or for some mysterious religious reason, but because he did not want to lose his independence and autonomy as a free man. If he had been banded in such a “sovereign-subject” social political relation in his time, he would certainly have to make a compromise between himself and the political authority, thus reducing his individual independence. In general, Zhuangzi believed that if you got something and at the same time were tied by the things you got, you lost your independence and autonomy. As he said: “If what you have gotten has gotten you constrained, can that still be considered as having gotten something? If so, then a pigeon or an owl being shut in a cage may also consider itself as getting something” (Zhuangzi 12: 7 I think Henry David Thoreau shares more similarities with Zhuangzi than other Western individualists. For a detailed comparation between Thoreau and Zhuangzi, see Xu 1993. 450 XU Keqian 徐克謙 Author's personal copy 99–100). In Zhuangzi’s view, politics and public affairs are just this kind of “cage.” A pigeon or an owl being shut in a cage cannot be considered as having its privacy; it can have it only when set free. Thus autonomously living a reclusive live away from politics and public life also indicates the individual privacy. Privacy, as indicated by the word itself, means a private realm opposed to the political or public realm: “The Epicureans were concerned to find the means to achieve private satisfactions and a self-sufficient, quiet life, and advocated the individual’s withdrawal from public life and politics” (Lukes 1973: 61). Even in its modern sense, privacy still means a sphere of thought and action that should be free from the interference of political and public authority. Fourth, unconstrained self-development. People are not unanimous on what should be considered as “development” for themselves. Individuals have different views of development, or simply prefer not to “develop” as most others do. One case in the Zhuangzi is the old man who prefers not to use the developed effective water taking machine called gao 槔 to irrigate his vegetable field (Zhuangzi 12: 52–54). Zhuangzi seems to believe that an individual may also have the right to not be “developed” by others. An individual may, by his own decision and choice, persist in his current state or cultivate his private life even if it is considered by others as not developed. However, if we do not understand “development” in a sense of unilinear evolution, we may find that Zhuangzi and his peers did pursue self-development in their own unique ways. Actually Zhuangzi developed himself as one of the most unique, extraordinary, and charming individuals in Chinese culture; and he has his own samples of what should be considered as a developed personality, which are visually and vividly demonstrated in the book of Zhuangzi. The book tells stories of those unique and extraordinary individuals, including the stories of Zhuangzi himself, using unique mocking and satirizing language and lavish and boundless way of speech. Zhuangzi is so uniquely characterized that no one can deny him as one of the most unconventional and extraordinary figures in ancient Chinese history and literature. He is in the book among a cluster of other eccentrics, who kept a distance from the society and common sense, adhering to their own ideals and pursuing self-development regardless of the judgment and evaluation of their contemporaries. They don’t care about praise or denouncement from others. But by this way they do develop themselves into a kind of cultural model, which have been followed and imitated by certain people in later generations. Zhuangzi has even developed his own unique literature style, unmatchable in the history of ancient Chinese literature. As commented by SIMA Qian in his biography of Zhuangzi, his writings were “vast, boundless, go-as-he-please and only to satisfy himself” (Sima 1959: 2144). In contrast with the Confucian rather rigorous attitude toward literature, which emphasizes the moral significance of writing, Zhuangzi seems to consider writing as only a language game to amuse himself. He wrote “with absurd expressions, extravagant words, and unbounded phrases” (Zhuangzi 33: 64), and he cares for neither social conventions nor moral standards. His style deeply influenced some of the later literati and artists in Chinese history and thus opened a tradition of literature which stresses free expression and demonstration of the individual character of the authors. This tradition is an important supplement to the mainstream Confucian attitude about literature. To sum up, in the Zhuangzi we find the above values, identified by Lukes as basic values of individualism. Therefore, it is not improper to call the thought in the Zhuangzi a pattern of individualism in ancient China. A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi 451 Author's personal copy 3 The Social-Cultural and Philosophical Background of Individualism in Zhuangzi The individualism in the Zhuangzi was bred in the particular social-cultural background of Pre-Qin China and emerged in the context of Pre-Qin Daoist philosophy. Therefore, while sharing with other patterns the common values of individualism, it also has its own special historic connotations and unique features. During the “Spring and Autumn” and the “Warring States” periods, along with the decline of the Zhou Dynasty and the dissolution of the ancient aristocratic system, a group of people called shi 士 arose as a new social stratum. In general the shi group cannot be considered one “class” since they were quite varied in individual social and economic status, skills, and professions. Some were the posterity or remote kinsfolk of feudal lords or high ranking noble families at the lower level of the aristocratic system. But they were also the first group of individuals from the old upper-class who lost their traditional privilege under the huge impact of social change and transformation. Others were from poor families at the bottom of society. They were the most dynamic and independent elements in the pre-Qin period.8 They also had quite different attitudes toward the political and social transformation of that time. Some of them adapted very well to the new situation, actively looking for opportunities to serve the newly arising powers; some tried engage in social and political events, in hopes of restoring the old system. Others seemed to feel quite lost and depressed, preferring to stay away from the on- going mainstream social development. It is very difficult to make a general description and simple value judgment of the thoughts and behaviors of these shi individuals, since they were so different, behaving according to their own thoughts and wills in a transforming society full of contradictions and values conflicts. From those who preferred staying away from the new trend, a special type of ancient Chinese intellectuals, who were afterwards called “recluse” or “eremites,” appeared.9 The records of this kind of people exist in many pre-Qin texts. For instance, as early as in Confucius’s Analects, we find the “Madman Jie Yu of Chu” (Analects 18.5), “The old man carrying a basket on a staff ” (Analects 18.7), and Chang Ju and Jie Ni who were “ploughing together yoked as a team” (Analects 18.6), etc. In the later texts created during the Warring States period, more anecdotes of this kind of people appeared, especially in the book of Zhuangzi itself. Despite the fact that some of these stories and their protagonists may be fictional, it is still reasonable to believe that most of these stories are artistic reflection with some origins in reality, since quite a number of these people appearing in the Zhuangzi also appeared in other contemporary literary texts. Although many of these people lived humble and shabby lives, they were not just ordinary tillers or vagrants. They were usually well-educated intellectuals with their own philosophy. Some of them might have an original noble family background, which lost its significance in the transformed society. Yet unlike other shi individuals of that time, they did not want to be engaged in worldly public affairs and therefore 8 For a general discussion of pre-Qin shi stratum and its emergency, see Yu 1987: Chapter 1. 9 For the origin of the Chinese eremitic tradition, see Vervoorn 1990. According to Vervoorn, the Chinese eremitic tradition can be traced back to the end of the “Spring and Autumn” period and became popular in the “Warring States” time. 452 XU Keqian 徐克謙 Author's personal copy refused to take any position in the court. They were a group of intellectuals who intended to estrange themselves from the newly rising political authorities in order to keep their independent spirit and individual liberty. They just wanted to pursue a free and unfettered life that could meet their own understandings of the meaning of life. Is it possible for those individuals to maintain such a life and keep their independence in ancient Chinese society? Fortunately it seems quite possible, especially in the Warring States period, when a unified and centralized monarchy was yet to come. Even in the later dynasties, when there was a central government to rule the whole territory of the empire, the emperor’s power and control was still far from reaching every inch of the land and every individual, as an old Chinese popular saying indicates: “The Heaven is high and the emperor is far away.” There is a talk between Confucius and his most favorite disciple YAN Hui, recorded in Chapter 28 of the Zhuangzi, indicating that it was possible for a shi to live an independent and yet not too impoverished life economically in that time: “Come here, Hui,” said Confucius to YAN Hui, “Your family is poor and your dwelling is lowly. Why don’t you take office?” “I’m unwilling to take office,” replied YAN Hui. “I have fifty mu of fields beyond the outer walls of the city,10 which are sufficient to provide me with biscuits and gruel. I have ten mu of fields within the outer walls of the city, which are sufficient to supply me with silk and hemp. Strumming my lute is sufficient for entertaining myself, and your doctrines which I study are sufficient for enjoying myself. I’m unwilling to take office.” (Zhuangzi 28:51–53; Mair 1994: 291) Although most of the stories in the Zhuangzi may be considered only as Zhuangzi’s fictional allegories, they still deliver information of the reality of that time. It seems that the old saying that “There is no land under Heaven which is not the King’s territory, and there is no man on the land who is not the King’s subject” is far from being the real situation.11 It is possible for a shi like YAN Hui in the above story to keep his own small piece of land and live an independent life, without being a substantial “subject” of any rulers. Further, the self-sufficient small-scale farming economy enables a man, if he is not so eager for a luxurious life, to support most basic living necessities for himself, without being involved in commercial exchange with others. This social economic background made Zhuangzi’s individualism possible, but it is quite different from the social economic background which bred modern individualism in the Western society. When industrialization and commercial expansion develop, it is almost impossible for an individual to live an isolated and self-sufficient life without exchange with others and with the society in general, and therefore, to draw a clear boundary of individual rights, interests, and property became necessary to protect individuality. As a result, the issues of free trade, individual competition, and private property are crucial in Western individualism. 10 Mu is a Chinese unit of field area. Currently, one mu is roughly equal to one sixth of an acre, but in the pre-Qin time, it might be a bit smaller. 11 This citation is a “lost poem” which is not included in the existing Book of Songs, but it was very popular and cited in many texts of the Warring State time, such as the Zuo Zhuan (Zuo’s commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals), Mencius, Xunzi, Han Feizi, Zhan Guo Ce, etc. A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi 453 Author's personal copy But the different pre-Qin background gave Zhuangzi’s individualism different characteristics, which I will discuss in the next section of this essay. Nevertheless, the individualism of Zhuangzi was a response to some basic and common conflicts between individuals and society, which were sharpened as human civilization developed. At the stage of social development of the Warring States Period, Zhuangzi was keenly aware of the inevitable conflicts between natural existence and individual liberty on the one hand and the development and construction of society on the other. Those conflicts are mainly represented in the following three aspects. First, the conflicts between individual freedom and political and legal institutions. The construction of state political system and legal institutions was an important social development in the Warring States period, and it is one of the characteristics of “civilization.” Nevertheless, political and legal constructions inevitably impose certain restrictions on and oppress individual freedom, especially in earlier ancient China when the basic contents of the “law” or “legal” system were mainly composed of reward and penalty regulations and criminal codes,12 and represented only the will and benefits of the top rulers. Zhuangzi witnessed the cruelty of the “law” or “legal” practice of his time, asking: “Since the three Dynasties, all the rulers have been bustling and fussing on the matters of rewards and punishment, how could the people be in peace and secure with their inborn nature and life?” (Zhuangzi 11: 7–8). He saw that the penalty was so frequent and stern that “in times like the present, people could barely escape penalty” (Zhuangzi 4: 88); “In the world today, the victims of the death penalty lie heaped together, the bearers of cangues tread on each other’s heels, and the sufferers of punishment are never out of each other’s sight” (Zhuangzi 11: 25–26). In Chapter 5, Zhuangzi records several stories of those who received cruel corporeal punishment, such as WANG Tai, SHENTU Jia and “Toeless Uncle Hill,” who were all mutilated by having their foot or toes cut off. They were living evidence of the cruel penalty of that time. Zhuangzi’s individualism in a sense was a response to this cruel social reality and represented a desire to release individual lives from those restrictions and oppressions. Second, besides the external penalty mentioned above, Zhuangzi also observed an “inner penalty.” That was the moral dogma imposed by Confucianism, considered by Zhuangzi as spiritual shackles on the human mind. In Zhuangzi’s view, all the moral and ethical standards advocated by Confucians are in conflict with people’s inborn nature. He compared Confucian moral concepts of ren 仁 (humaneness) and yi 義 (righteousness) as penalty of “face tattoo” and “nose lopping”: “Since Yao (a Confucian Sage King) has already tattooed you with ren and yi, and lopped off your nose with right and wrong, how will you be able to wander on your own free and untrammeled path of evolution?” (Zhuangzi 6: 83–84). In a sharp contrast with Mencius, a contemporary of Zhuangzi and a Confucian master who believed that moral good is innate in human nature, Zhuangzi believed that the Confucian moral standard stood against human nature. In a possibly fictive dialogue between Confucius and Lao Zi in Chapter 13, Confucius 12 For instance, the earliest existing record of the ancient Chinese law, Fa Jing 法經, which was designed by LI Kui 李悝, a politician and legalist scholar of Wei State in the early Warring State period, as recorded in the History of Penalty and Law in the History of Jin Dynasty (Jin Shu Xinfa Zhi 晉書刑法志), shows that the main content of the law of the Wei State is focused on how to deal with thefts and robbers and how to arrest people and put them into prison. 454 XU Keqian 徐克謙 Author's personal copy asserted that: “ren and yi are really the human nature.” But LAO Zi gave tit for tat and said that Confucius just used ren and yi to disturb human nature (Zhuangzi 13: 47–53). According to Zhuangzi, people enforced with the spiritual shackles of moral standards could no longer be able to live freely and independently by their own nature. This argument provides a theoretic weapon for those who have inclination of individualism and liberalism in the History of China to criticize the mainstream Confucian ideology officially supported by rulers of the later dynasties. Third, Zhuangzi thinks that there is also a conflict between the real significance of individual life and the popular worldly pragmatic goal for material gain and secular fame. It seems clear that this kind of pragmatic goal is a motive of social progress and development. The Warring State period was a time when most people admired pragmatic attitudes toward material benefits, and that is why the society was so dynamic and filled with vitality. However, Zhuangzi keenly observed that this worldly pragmatic fantasy may also contradict humans’ real nature and become a distortion of or restriction to individuals’ natural and free development. Thus on the one hand he criticizes Confucian ren and yi for jeopardizing human nature; on the other hand he also accuses “those people without ren tear apart the original form of their inborn nature in their greed for eminence and wealth” (Zhuangzi 8: 12). He believes that both types of people have “lost their selves in materials” (Zhuangzi 16: 21) and claims that “since the Three Dynasties, everyone in the world trade in his inborn nature for things. The petty men sacrifice their life for the sake of profit. The shi sacrifice their life for the sake of fame. The high officers sacrifice their life for the sake of their families; the sages sacrifice their life for the sake for the world. These various people do business in different ways, and are tagged with different names and titles, yet they are all the same in trading in their nature and sacrifice their lives” (Zhuangzi 8: 19–21). Therefore, in the context of “the debate among hundred schools,” Zhuangzi not only disagrees with the moral and ethic rationalism of Confucianism, but also opposes the pragmatism of Mohism, legalism, and the Political Strategists. In Zhuangzi’s view, if a man considers material gain, wealth, fame etc. as the ultimate goal and takes his life as only a means or an instrument to achieve that goal, he sacrifices his life for things, because these are all external rather than internal things, based on external standard and criteria. Therefore, to pursue the external things and meet these external standards is “to satisfy someone else’s needs rather than your own needs” (Zhuangzi 8: 32). Furthermore, we should understand Zhuangzi’s individualism against the background of general pre-Qin philosophy, especially Daoist philosophy. Pre-Qin philosophers produced “Dao” as the fundamental philosophical concept which gradually replaced the ultimate position of “Heavenly God” in the theories of some pre-Qin schools. However, the meanings of Dao were varied in the thought of different schools. The core meaning of Dao in Daoist philosophy is “zi ran 自然,” as expressed in Chapter 25 of Laozi: “the Dao follows the law of zi ran.” The word “zi ran” in Chinese is now frequently translated as the English word “nature,” but the original meaning of “zi ran” in ancient Chinese actually emphasizes the meaning of “self- initialed” or “spontaneous,” as “zi” means “self,” and “ran” means “as such.” Therefore, when Daoist philosophy declares “Dao” as the ultimate rule of everything, it does not mean that everything has to obey substantial and centralized outside authority; rather, it means that everything is following its own innate spontaneity or naturalness. In addition A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi 455 Author's personal copy to that, Daoist philosophy takes a dynamic view of everything. Things exist but nothing is unchangeable. Constant change is the only unchangeable character of the universe and of everything. This philosophical view is different from certain traditional Western metaphysical philosophy, which claims that there are things that do not change and the task of philosophy is to find those permanent, unchanging, and universal things. According to pre-Qin Chinese philosophy, constant change is a result of the ceaseless dynamic interaction between Yin and Yang. This is just the Dao itself, as expressed in the Book of Change: “A Yin and a Yang in turns is called the Dao” (Zhu 1936: 58). These philosophical conventions also determined some special characteristics of the individualism in the Zhuangzi, as we will discuss in the next section. 4 The Special Characteristics of Individualism in the Zhuangzi As discussed previously, in Zhuangzi we can find some core values of individualism, and it is not inappropriate to call it Zhuangzian individualism. However, just like all varieties of “individualism” which appear in different times and places, each with its own connotations and characteristics, due to its particular social-cultural and philosophical background as mentioned above, the Zhuangzian individualism also has its own special characteristics, which make it a unique pattern of individualism and distinguishable from some of its Western counterparts. First, Zhuangzi does not understand “individual” in a Western metaphysical way; in other words, he does not think “individual” as an abstract and permanent “Being,” like an individual “atom.” This makes it different from atomistic or abstract individualism, such as that of Thomas Hobbes. According to Chad Hansen, individuals in the Western conceptual structure are “fixed, interchangeable units” (Hansen 1985: 36). However, for Zhuangzi, individuals are neither “fixed” nor “interchangeable.” Zhuangzi has a dynamic view on individuals. Individuals do exist, but they may change their features and property during their time of existing, so an individual human being is not something similar to a “fixed” atom, nor a constant “matter-in-motion.” In Chapters 25 and 27 of the Zhuangzi, two paragraphs describe QU Boyu and Confucius respectively: as “growing up to his sixty years old, he has changed sixty times. There was nothing what he called right in the beginning had not been rejected as wrong by himself in the end. We do not know whether what he called right today was just what he considered as wrong when he was 59 years old” (Zhuangzi 25: 51–52; 27: 10–11). So QU Boyu and Confucius, as individuals, change during their lives in both body and mind; they are dynamic and living beings, rather than “fixed” atoms. While individuals are changeable, they are not interchangeable, because every individual is unique and different. In his discussion of the ethics of difference in the Zhuangzi, HUANG Yong has keenly perceived that Zhuangzi “pays attention to the differences among human beings in terms of their ideas and ideals, desires and preferences, and habits and customs, etc” (Huang 2010a: 71), and “The central idea of Zhuangzi’s ethics of difference is to respect the unique natural tendencies of different things” (Huang 2010b: 131062). A resumption of this kind of ethics of difference is that every individual is unique and different. Therefore, human individuals are not “fixed unites” that are “interchangeable” in a social mechanism. 456 XU Keqian 徐克謙 Author's personal copy They may not function in the same way and play the same role under the same situation, as indicated in Zhuangzi’s allegories: A big house beam may be used to breach a city wall, but it cannot be used to plug a small hole, which is to say the implements are different. A swift horse may gallop thousand miles a day, but for catching rats it is not as good as a weasel, which is to say their skills are different. An owl can catch fleas and discern the tip of a hair at night, but in the daytime with its eyes open it can’t even see the mountains, which is to say that natures are different. (Zhuangzi, 17:35–37) Therefore, no unified principles or norms can be applied to all of them without discrimination, as indicated in Zhuangzi: “Although the legs of a duck are too short, if we try to extend them the duck will be scared and worry. Although the legs of a crane are too long, if we try to cut them short the crane will be in horror and sadness” (Zhuangzi 8:9–10). These allegories in the Zhuangzi, as HUANG Yong pointed out, metaphorically tell us how human beings should act with each other (Huang 2010b: 1057) and be aware of the different needs, desires, and preferences of individuals. Actually, if individuals are treated as only interchangeable atoms, or just as “matter-in-motion,” it will unavoidably lead to certain general assertions on them, as well as some common principles or norms to regulate them. In terms of social politics, that will be social laws, regulations, and moral standards. This is a trend that Zhuangzi opposes. In other words, in the Zhuangzi, individuals are treated more particularly and respectively than in other theories of individualism in which individuals are understood as fixed, abstract, and interchangeable “atoms.” Second, Zhuangzi thinks that the only thing that an individual mind or the “self” has to conform to is the unlimited and indefinable Dao. This actually has the significance of releasing the individual mind into a totally free and unconstrained realm of nothingness or emptiness, thus endorsing an infinite openness to any possible development of all individuals. Erica Brindley points out that Zhuangzi advocates conformism to the Dao: “individual relationship to the Dao is characterized not by dependence on political institutions or the central figure of the sovereign, but by direct, individual access to it through one’s own person” (Brindley 2010: 55). At first look, this is quite similar to Western religious individualism, which claims that the individual’s relation to God is direct and unmediated, and an individual builds his or her own relationship with God by self- scrutiny without any intermediaries such as a church or a sect. However, Dao is not the God. The essence of Dao is only everything’s “zi ran” or spontaneousness. The spontaneity of everything works automatically and perfectly, which is Dao. Dao does not have any will or intention, as God does. There is no clear definition of Dao in the Zhuangzi, except some descriptions of its nothingness, emptiness, infiniteness, and doing nothing: “The Dao has no boundaries” (Zhuangzi 2: 55); “The great Dao cannot be named” (Zhuangzi 2: 59); “It has no action or forms” (Zhuangzi 6: 29). As Brindley has also correctly observed, Dao is not a concrete, bounded entity; it is unbounded nothingness (Brindley 2010: 58). Therefore, individuals’ conforming to Dao or being together with Dao amounts to being in a realm of the boundless and limitless nothingness, or, using Zhuangzi’s words, wandering in a “wu he you zhi xiang 無何有之鄉” or “the country of nothingness” (Zhuangzi 1: 46; 7: 9–10; 32: 21). In this “country of nothingness,” everything moves and changes spontaneously along with A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi 457 Author's personal copy the cosmos, which is Dao. Therefore, conforming to Dao does not mean conforming to an outside authority; it means to let the individual mind wander in an infinite realm and become what CHEN Guying has emphasized, the “open mind” (Chen 2009). Individuals in this realm are totally free and open, much freer than when bound with each other by common moralities or social contracts. It is just like the fish that, having once run aground, helped each other with their saliva and slime to survive; but it would be much better to let them return to their mutually disinterested original situation: “forget with each other in the rivers and lakes” (Zhuangzi 6: 22–23). It is because it conforms to Dao rather than to God or any other religious divinity that Zhuangzian individualism is not likely to be carried to the extreme and become absolutely egocentric and intolerant to others, like the Calvinists have demonstrated (Lukes 1973: 84), since conforming to Dao only means unlimited freedom and unbounded openness to the spontaneousness of every individual and unique thing. Furthermore, since there is no need for a persistent or stubborn attitude toward anything when the individual spirit is conforming to the free, open, and dynamic Dao, one will also keep an open, free, and flexible attitude toward one’s own “completed mind” (chen xin 成心) or already constructed “self.” This is what happened in the process of “fasting of the mind” and “sitting and forgetting,” in two episodes in Chapters 4 and 6, when YAN Hui, Confucius’s favorite disciple, practiced a kind of self meditation under the instruction of his Master and finally reached the advanced stage of forgetting his body and mind (Zhuangzi 4: 24–34; 6: 89–93). Nevertheless, the so called “forgetting one’s self”—for instance, at the beginning of Chapter 2, when NANGUO Ziqi says to YANCHENG Ziyou: “Now I have lost myself” (Zhuangzi 2: 3)—does not mean that the individual “self” has totally dissolved or disappeared, physically or mentally. Just as some scholars have correctly analyzed (Chen 2001; Yang 2005), there are two different “selves” in the sentence “Now I have lost myself.” The first is the original and innate self, which is as free, open, and spontaneous as the Dao itself; the other is the socially constructed self, which is fixed, closed, and constrained by his or her worldly existence. What should be forgotten and lost is the latter, not the former. Otherwise, we would not be able to understand why in other places Zhuangzi mocks and denounces those worldly people for “having lost their selves in materials” (Zhuangzi 16: 21), and “conducting for fame but having lost self” (Zhuangzi 6: 12). In general, when Zhuangzi urges an individual to conform to Dao, he actually has released the individual mind into a boundless free realm, where it will no longer be constrained by even its own socially constructed “self,” let alone any other political, social, and cultural control and restrictions. Third, Zhuangzi’s individualism is a kind of “inward individualism” rather than “outward individualism.” By “inward individualism,” I mean that Zhuangzi advocates and pursues individuality by exploring the innate and intrinsic self of individuals, rather than claiming and expanding outside interests and rights for individuals. This feature is partly due to the autarkical small-scale farming economy of his time, as I have mentioned previously, and it also makes the Zhuangzian individualism different from the economic and social-political individualism in modern Western culture, which makes great effort to draw a clear boundary of individuals’ ownership, encourages individuals to actively assert, pursue, and protect the interests and benefits supposed to belong to them from outside, and aggressively compete for individual success and achievement in social reality. Zhuangzi, in 458 XU Keqian 徐克謙 Author's personal copy contrast, cares much more about an individual’s own body and spiritual freedom, rather than the individual’s material interests, economic benefits, and political rights in the outside social reality. As Judith Berling has pointed out, Zhuangzi’s “position is call not for the rights of the individual, but for a shift of attention from social and political issues to another dimension of life” (Berling 1985: 101). In terms of economy, Zhuangzi’s individualism advocates a care-less attitude toward any material gains and profits. This is contrary to some Western economic individualists, such as John Locke and Adam Smith, who emphasize individual ownership of property and material goods. Zhuangzi thinks that in order to preserve and nourish real individual life, one should neglect material interests, as he states in Chapter 28: “he who nourishes his bodily form forgets about gain of interests” (Zhuangzi 28: 51); and “he who regards life as important will look upon material interests as insignificant” (Zhuangzi 28: 56–57). He thinks that only when you are indifferent to those outside gains and profits will you be able to preserve your true independence, as all those material goods and outside benefits are just burdens for spiritual freedom. One should not use oneself as a tool in order to gain those things. This also makes Zhuangzi’s individualism different from that of utilitarianism, represented by Western philosophers such as Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill, who take a calculating attitude toward gain and loss of interests and benefits. In politics, in contrast to the modern Western individualism in the context of political democracy, which emphasizes the individual’s participation in politics and engagement in public affairs, Zhuangzi thinks that individuals should detach themselves from political institutions and public affairs. Many of his stories dissuade people from involvement in politics. Zhuangzi himself, as well as many other Daoist masters, is only interested in the issue of how to manage his own body (zhi shen 治身) and pursue longevity of individual life, rather than the issue of how to manage the state (zhi guo 治國) and society. As recorded in Chapter 11, when the Yellow Emperor came to consult Master Guang Cheng about the Way of governing the world, Master Guang Cheng was not interested and did not teach him anything. But after the Yellow Emperor gave up his throne and came back again to consult him about the “Way of governing body,” Master Guang Cheng sat up with a start and talked with him about how to protect the individual spirit and body and enjoy long life, with the essential of “being cautious of what is within you; blocking off what is outside you” (Zhuangzi 11: 28–44). Obviously, Master GUANG Cheng’s way of governing the body is to cut off as much as possible the links between the self and society, withdrawing to one’s own self consciousness. Most of the men Zhuangzi admired were those who “lofty in principle and meticulous in conduct, delighting in their own will alone without serving in public affairs” (Zhuangzi 28: 86–87). They considered their own body much “heavier” than the state and society, and did not want to consent to the existing political authority or take political responsibility or social obligation. As a result, Zhuangzian individualism does not encourage social-economic contention or competition. This is quite different from certain versions of modern Western individualism, which take social Darwinism as their proposition, based on the belief that if everyone contends in pursuing gain and interests for themselves, the well-being of a society will improve in general, thus justifying ruthless rivalry among individuals in business and politics (Lukes 1973: 39). Here also lies a fundamental difference between Zhuangzi and Nietzsche, despite their similarities in A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi 459 Author's personal copy other aspects. Nietzsche’s “will to power” theory encourages individuals to contend and even justifies the stronger conquering the weaker. His individualism is quite outwardly expanding and aggressive, while in a general Daoist view, fighting, rivalry, and contention are all of negative significance. From the angle of state politics, the Daoist doctrine of “wu wei 無為” (doing-nothing, inactivity) means no intervention and letting people take their own course, which has a similar connotation to “laissez-faire.” But from the angle of individual personality, “wu wei” also means “bu zheng 不爭” (no rivalry, no contention), a personal merit of no contending, no rivalry with others. There is no incentive element in Zhuangzi’s thought to encourage individuals to contend for outside success and achievement. His individualism is defensive rather than aggressive, inward rather than outward. Therefore, it should be exempt from the common socialist criticism of certain Western individualism, “as arming one human being against another, making the good of each depend upon evil to others, making all who have anything to gain or lose, live in the midst of enemies” (Mill 1967: 444). 5 Conclusion We have found some values in the Zhuangzi, which can be reasonably regarded as belonging to individualism. It is Daoist individualism. The unique Daoist individu- alism represented in the Zhuangzi has a profound and deep influence on the later development of Chinese culture. However, due to its special characteristics discussed above, it has not become a fundamental resource for thinking about social, political, or economic revolution, as some versions of modern Western individualism functioned in the West. Nor has it played any role in constructing social, political, and economic institutions based on civil rights and interests and the contracts among individuals or between individuals and institutions. Nevertheless, Zhuangzian individualism does provide an ideological resource for those who want to take a disobedient attitude toward political authorities, criticize autocracy and absolutism, keep their own mind in a free realm, and protect their independent personality. This is especially obvious in the thoughts and behaviors of some literati and intellectuals. Almost all the extraordinary, unusual, and eccentric figures in the history of Chinese literature and culture, such as TAO Yuanming, JI Kan, RUAN Ji, LI Po, SU Dongpo, and GONG Zizhen, among many others, are influenced by Zhuangzi and his thought,. They find a cultural and spiritual space in Zhuangzian individualism, where they can reside with their unique personality and develop their individuality freely. At the same time, due to its “inward” feature and emphasis only on spiritual individuality, Zhuangzian individualism does not cause any major collision with Confucianism, despite its disagreement with Confucianism in many aspects. It provides an alternative value choice for those who want to temporarily or permanently withdraw from the engagement required by common cultural custom or established social standards, thus to protect their individuality. Therefore, it has been an important and indispensable complement of the mainstream cultural tradition represented by Confucianism, which comparatively put more emphasis on the collectivity of family, group, state, and nation, and the value of the social order and political authority. 460 XU Keqian 徐克謙 Author's personal copy Furthermore, Zhuangzian individualism also provides an alternative angle for us to understand human beings as individuals different from the Western metaphysical perspective: individual persons are not like fixed, interchangeable, and forever “in- divisible” physical “atoms,” individuals exists only temporarily in times, and one individual is not interchangeable with other individuals, because they are all different and unique; but it is changeable during the time of his or her existence, because the ultimate Dao is just the spontaneous change of everything. It is just this changeability that makes an individual really a free human being. 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Shanghai 上海: Shijie Shuju 世界書局. 462 XU Keqian 徐克謙 Author's personal copy Administrator 高亮 Administrator 高亮 Administrator 高亮 Administrator 回复 1 - Administrator A Different Type of Individualism in Zhuangzi Abstract Introduction The Concept of the Individual and Values of Individualism in Zhuangzi The Social-Cultural and Philosophical Background of Individualism in Zhuangzi The Special Characteristics of Individualism in the Zhuangzi Conclusion References 
work_wk6ljha5fnhbbelyzmcfxpxg4m	----	The Masters of Al Gore Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -89- THE MASTERS OF AL GORE Raul Filipe 1 , Escola Superior de Hotelaria do Estoril, Centro de Estudos de Comunicação e Cultura Public intellectuals are generally people that, in ideological terms, are far beyond "the common Man". Most often they either comment on current controversies or offer general reflections on the direction or health of society (Posner, 2003). That is exactly the case of Henry David Thoreau and John Muir, the public intellectuals whose work I intend to focus in this essay and who I see as "masters of Al Gore. Therefore the present work intends to approach the relationship which Americans develop towards Nature, analyzing Henry David Thoreau's and John Muir’s theories and their respective ideological frameworks. It also focuses on the way these theories influenced people such as Al Gore in relation to the environment. Before discussing the ideas that each of these authors defended regarding Nature, a few biographical notes will help us to locate both authors in time, allowing us also to draw a distinction between what might be their understanding of reality as people who had no contact with present day issues and problems. Obviously, my reading of both their texts and the realities they dealt with must be marked by a framework of ideas or even ideologies which at the time did not exist, or at least were not as acute as they are today. Thoreau was born in 1817 and died in 1862. He was a pioneer in defending natural resources and fighting against the abusive use of them. This fact may be observed in the works I chose for this presentation: Walden, a text written during the period when he lived on 1 Raúl Filipe is a Senior Lecturer with tenure at Escola Superior de Hotelaria e Turismo do Estoril / ESHTE (Estoril Higher Institute for Tourism and Hotel Studies) where he is currently the President of the Scientific Board and the Head of the Foreign Languages Department. He obtained his Ph.D. with a thesis on American Studies entitled “Manhattan, Capital of the World”. At ESHTE he coordinated several Courses related with Tourism (e.g. Tour Guides and Tour Operators), supervised the International Relations Office and was President of the Pedagogical Board.He is a Researcher at Centro de Estudos de Comunicação e Cultura / CECC, the Research Center for Communication and Culture in the Catholic University of Portugal, and his major fields of interest are Tourism and American Studies. Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -90- Walden Pond (published in 1854) and The Maine Woods which resulted from the trips along the rivers Concord and Merrimack in 1839 (published in 1864). John Muir, a later author, who was born in 1838 and died in 1914, was also a defender of Nature, and his theories had a much greater impact since he lived in a time when people were more concerned with Nature related issues. From this author I chose the book A Thousand-Mile Walk to the Gulf, a work which reflects his experience travelling from Indianapolis to the Gulf of Mexico, a trip started in September 1867 –actually, he planned to continue as far as the Amazon; however malaria prevented the completion of his journey, which instead ended in Florida. This work was published in 1916, two years after his death. The second book chosen was My First Summer in the Sierra (published in 1911). This volume contains the experiences he gathered while working for John Delaney as a hired shepherd in the summer of 1869. Not only during the time that Thoreau lived in Concord but also on the expeditions he made in Maine, he tried to devise paradigms which might allow him to ideologically frame the need he felt to defend Nature. In fact, when reading Thoreau, we cannot expect to find a fully articulated framework of ideas to interpret Nature. He himself did not follow a single line of thought; thus, according to each situation or context, his reading of Nature can be quite different, balancing between what we may call a clearly preservationist attitude towards Nature and a utilitarian view. Thoreau nevertheless left one question unanswered – it is our task to try to find that answer. I believe that, basically, Thoreau had two paradigms – the pioneer and the mythical hero, but neither was good enough for him to explain the way Man should deal with Nature. The idea of the mythical hero facing and trying to understand or conquer Nature is present in the use of clear references to myths: “It reminded me of the creations of the old dramatic poets, of Atlas, Vulcan, the Cyclops, and Prometheus. Such was Caucasus and the rock where Prometheus was bound. Aeschylus had no doubt visited such scenery as this. It was vast, Titanic, and such as man never inhabits” (Thoreau 1950, 271). His own journey to Nature can be regarded as an odyssey, an act of defiance to the gods. He, too, is the hero trying to conquer something, to find a paradigm where he might fit the immense Nature he could see. Mythical is after all what is “big enough” to comprehend such a thing as one, which cannot be described in plain words. Myth is the way out to interpret what Thoreau cannot accept as human – the human scale is too limited. Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -91- In Thoreau’s second paradigm, the pioneer is presented as a pure man when compared with the city dweller. He is isolated from the evils of civilization: “But the former, the pioneer, is comparatively an independent and successful man, getting his living in a way that he likes, without disturbing his human neighbors”(ibid., 169). The pioneer is then the individualistic type. He is pure when compared to the city dweller but he carries civilization in himself, being a transforming agent. His aim is to dominate Nature and take some profit out of it. Therefore, his perspective is utilitarian. The pioneer is at once regarded as a superior being because he conquers Nature (he wins the challenge), but at the same time he can no longer leave it “untouched”. Whatever was once feared and respected in Nature, after being conquered may even be despised. Fear is the feeling, which eventually keeps Man away from Nature, the guarantee of leaving Nature in an absolutely pure condition. Man is criticized when his action destroys instead of civilizing: “They rapidly run out of these immense forests all the finer, and more accessible pine timber, and then leave the bears to watch the decaying dams, not clearing nor cultivating the land, nor making roads nor building houses, but leaving it a wilderness as they found it” (ibid., 151). The mythical hero and the pioneer have, after all, something in common. Both must surmount obstacles, but each of these paradigms is supported by different ideas. The mythical hero is an image, which can be accepted on a world scale while the pioneer is purely American. The model that according to him is the nearest, the most perfect, and does not "hurt" Nature is the one that he finds in the Indian Joe Polis who travelled with him in Maine. Joe Polis is sometimes regarded as a model, since he understood and dealt with Nature in a different way (the native’s way). This means that the Indian and Thoreau, being a white man, are mentally shaped by different cultural backgrounds. The Indian’s approach, not dependent on the comforts of civilization, works as a key to a new understanding of a reciprocal advantage between Man and Nature. But even this one is not complete because it cannot be transported to the civilized World and because it is constructed only by one person and not by society and Thoreau did not live among the Indians. Botany provides him with an objective element, but it also fails because, being a science, it does not include the spiritual aspects that Thoreau recognizes in Nature. Science also has similar shortcomings. From the reading of the book, The Maine Woods, we get the idea that Thoreau sees Nature as something not human since it does not fit in any of the paradigms that he built. In this way, Thoreau’s contribution to approaching the Man/Nature relationship is basically the Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -92- statement that Nature has to be preserved in its dimension of dignity as a Whole that integrates Man. Thoreau’s contribution is more philosophical than practical. We must not forget that he lived in the 19th century, a time when Nature was considered something evil that had to be controlled and civilized by Man. It is only fair to say that people like Thoreau are the pioneers of ideas of the preservation of nature that lately have gained a more practical structure. Authors like Thoreau are indeed the philosophical references of the environmental movements of today. On the other hand, John Muir builds a coherent paradigm, but he forgets that this paradigm is only valid for those who, like him, are willing to go to Nature in a solitary act, or at least, with only a few people. The massification of John Muir’s paradigm results in its perversion. Muir sees the Universe as an All, in which each animal or species has the right to exist in itself rejecting the anthropocentric vision of Nature. He was actively involved in polemical causes in defence of the environment and was transformed into a public figure characterized by pragmatism that is, sometimes, forced to make concessions to achieve his major goal, which was the preservation of Nature in its dignity, i.e. in its aesthetic, spiritual and religious dimension. Muir is betrayed by those lacking in the capacity to appreciate and enjoy Nature the way it is. Muir could even be considered the father of ecotourism and the three expressions the latter commonly deploys: leave nothing but footsteps, take nothing but photos, bring nothing but memories. It is our opinion that those expressions are what Muir had advocated while expressed in other words. As a pragmatic man, Muir clearly defends experience as opposed to theory. In his own personal life he abandoned college, apparently with the conviction that the true source of knowledge cannot be found in books, but in Nature: “How interesting everything is! Every rock, mountain, stream, plant, lake, lawn, (...) seems to call and invite us to come and learn something of its history and relationship. But shall the poor ignorant scholar be allowed to try the lessons they offer?” (Muir 1988, 167) Muir reads nature as a religious object. Following the line of thought of the transcendentalists, Nature is conceived as a temple, God’s creation. Thus studying and admiring Nature is studying and admiring God’s work. As he puts it: “No wonder the hills and groves were God’s first Temples, and the more they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and churches, the farther off and dimmers seems the Lord himself” (ibid., 102). In fact, he criticizes those who neglect Nature. When people destroy Nature, by destroying God’s creation they are not only bringing a distance between themselves and God, but also Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -93- eliminating a path which enables them to meet Him and to undergo a process of moral, spiritual and even physical renovation. Muir synthesizes two not always easy to reconcile paradigms: religion and science. On the one hand, Muir studies Nature in a scientific perspective (he studied, for example, the glacial origins of Yosemite Valley), but on the other hand, as we have already mentioned, he always observes Nature as God’s work. Thus, science is a path to God. Both Thoreau and Muir had something in common. Being both pioneers and possessing as individuals and public intellectuals a capacity for questioning things that most people would not understand, they are, in ideological terms, far beyond "the common Man". It is easy to understand why, for instance, some fellow citizens of Muir were not able to fully comprehend the value of his botanical activity because it was not productive and profitable. Once again talking about the compromises that Muir was forced to accept, we must not forget that, at first, he had accepted the model presented by Pinchot for the management of the wilderness. Later on, Muir realized that this agreement was against his own ideas and his "rupture" with Pinchot marks the beginning of two very different attitudes towards nature: Pinchot's utilitarian preservation sustained that Nature had to be protected but "explored" and used by Man, whereas John Muir’s notion of pure preservation claimed that nature had to be preserved and some areas should be left "untouched". As we know, nowadays, it is the utilitarian attitude that was adopted in American National Parks. And it could not be otherwise, given the fact that anytime we start something for the "use and education of people", which is one of the main ideas of the National Parks policy, we must allow people to make utilitarian usage of the resources. Probably, when advocating the idea of the National Parks, John Muir had never thought that they would assume such a profitable role and be subjected to a mass phenomenon policy. We can say that American National Parks are misrepresenting the real preservationist notion of Nature and are, indeed, a good example of utilitarian preservation, as we can easily see by the many infrastructures built for the entertainment of people. The notion of Nature as something not to be touched and that only by itself would serve for the aesthetic and spiritual enlightening of Man was totally lost. We have to agree with Alfred Runte, when he writes in his book National Parks: The American Experience: It would be comforting to believe that the National Park idea originated in a big and uncompromising love of the land for its own sake. Such a circumstance - Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -94- much like the common assertion that Indians were the first ‘ecologists’ - would reassure modern environmentalists they need only recapture the spirit of the past to acquire wisdom and respect. But in fact, the National Park idea evolved to fulfill cultural rather than environmental needs. The search for a distinct National identity, more than what have come to be called ‘the rights of rocks,’ was the initial impetus behind scenic preservation. Nor did the United States overrule economic considerations in the selection of the areas to be included in the National Parks (Runte 1987, xx). This issue of preservation/use is probably due to the fact that past generations, at that time, had not been confronted with the environmental questions we have to face today but also because the dichotomy itself is fallacious, since to preserve means to isolate from all human influence. The National Parks are an example of a widespread attitude towards Nature, which consists of regarding it as an object to be observed during a certain time, followed by a quick return to the City. Probably Thoreau, though without knowing it, pointed to the way of preservation when he talked about "Inhuman Nature". In fact wilderness only exists like that; we may assume that inhuman is something that has not yet been subjected to the changing action of Man. Hence, creating reserved areas of wilderness would mean restraining the systematic and mass access of Man to those areas. All those who opted by going to the wilderness would have to submit themselves to their natural system and assume the consequences of this act. Bearing in mind what both authors have written about Nature, let us now think of the American National Parks and try to assess what we can find there, not focusing on their historical development, but briefly describing what the parks have to offer. Most parks are open all year round and receive millions of visitors, attracted by natural attractions such as valleys, waterfalls, a rich flora and hundreds of bird, fish and mammal species. Apart from enjoying uncountable natural beauties, visitors can also find several man-made attractions, for instance, visitor centers, museums and programs with lessons about the human and natural history of the park. In terms of entertainment, there are also guided tours through nature, fishing, mountaineering, horse riding and trekking. Visitors are allowed to swim and sail in several lakes and rivers, with the exception of sources of human water supply. In terms of accommodation the visitor may choose between cabins, camp grounds, hotels and caravan parking areas. A wide range of services is also available: besides the usual food & beverage Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -95- services, there are also souvenir shops, health centers, kennels, laundries, mail stations, restrooms, warehouses, transportation, and even religious services. Correspondingly, the question we ask is: do we still have wilderness in the United States of America? If we do, it is not situated in the national parks that face problems such as overcrowding and traffic congestion, which would have been unthinkable for Thoreau and Muir in their historical time. We have said that Americans may have found in the greatness of wilderness the substitute for an architectonic heritage that they did not have because the history of the United States is a recent one (but older than that of some European countries). But it is only fair to say that nowadays there are lots of examples of undeniable monumentality. In a country where a Neo-Gothic cathedral is built in the Centre of New York, there is no such need for finding in Nature what you do not have in terms of buildings. Thus, in my opinion, the historical motivations have lost their value as justification for the National Parks. We have to assume that the preservation of Nature is an ideal that demands too much from people, since man is unable to recognize in the beauty of a landscape reason strong enough to justify his trip into wilderness. We must not forget that the common man is not an expert and needs to be educated in the appreciation of wilderness. The objectives of promoting education by Nature are, today, as important as they were in the beginning. A trip to a national park must be, ideally speaking, not only an act of tourism but above all a process that involves learning and sensibility. It is very important to find a balance between public and little or no impact in the environment. Nevertheless to change all national parks into "untouchable reserves" would be to forbid access to such beautiful places and destroy the possibility of millions of people having contact with the Parks. Al Gore is drawing people’s attention to the environment but lives in a huge house, drives a big car and could not live without air-conditioning. In 2009, more than 500 business leaders polluted the environment, travelling by plane, car and other means of transportation to gather in Copenhagen, for the World Summit on Climate Change, to listen to Al Gore saying: The market signals of energy are badly misleading and wrong. We do not take into account the cost of pollution. (…) If there is no cost to be paid for the indiscriminate dumping of pollution into the earth’s atmosphere, then it should be a surprise to no one that today we will dump another 70 million tons of global Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -96- warming pollution into the thin shell of atmosphere surrounding our planet. (Murphy 2009) It is my opinion that politicians have to find a way to provide the National Parks with the necessary means so they are not dependent on the number of visitors that they receive. We could tell people, as some environmentalists do, that the best way to protect Nature is to go to a shopping centre or to a soccer game on weekends instead of heading to the mountains. This would be quite a difficult task and not the solution because no National Park would survive developers and bulldozers without visitors, it would not be successful, and we know that in the United States; even the success of a church is sometimes measured by the number of cars parked outside on days of religious service. In this historical period, when environmental questions are gaining ever more evidence, it is important that we learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. It would be very interesting to see Thoreau and Muir living in the 21 st century and realizing what we had to learn from them. It is vital to study the thought of public intellectuals like Henry David Thoreau and John Muir to understand the evolution of environmental philosophy as a cyclic and continuous line that cannot be separated from the history of mankind because, as these authors have written, in their individual mentalities and sensibilities - we are all part of a huge "All" called Nature. Bibliographical References ADAMS, Ansel. 1992. Our National Parks. Boston: Little, Brown and Company. ALBRIGHT, Horace M. 1986. The Birth of the National Park Service. Salt Lake City: Howe Brothers. BLACK, Jeremy. 1992. The Grand Tour in the Eighteenth Century. New York: St. Martin’s Press. CAMERON, Sharon. 1985. Writing Nature: Henry Thoreau’s Journal. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. CAMERON, Robert and Cameron, Gillian, Harold. Above Yosemite. San Francisco: Cameron and Company. CAVELL, Stanley. 1981. The Senses of Walden. Chicago: The University Chicago Press. COHEN, Michael P. 1984. John Muir and the American Wilderness. Wisconsin: The University of Wisconsin Press. CRONON, William. 1983. Changes in the Land. New York: Hill and Wang. Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -97- 1995. Uncommon Ground, Toward Reinventing Nature. New York: W.W. Norton & Company. DAVIDSON, Rob. 1993. Tourism. London: Pitman Publishing. D’ AMORE, J. Louis. 1992. Promoting Sustainable Tourism. Tourism Management, 3/13 (September): 258-262. ELDER, C. John. 1981. John Muir and the Literature of Wilderness. Massachusetts Review, 22/2 (Summer): 375-386. ESTES, Carol. 1996. Trading Parks Futures. National Parks, 70/9-10 (September/October): 47- 48. EVERHART, William C. 1972. The National Park Service. New York: Praeger Publishers. GOLDSTEIN, Milton. 1988. The Magnificent West: Yosemite. New York: Arch Cape Press. HARDING, Walter. 1992. The Days of Henry David Thoreau. Princeton: Princeton University Press. HOWARTH, William. 1993. More from Walden Pond. The New York Times Book Review, 2/13 (May): 12-13. KLEMM, Mary. 1992. Sustainable Tourism Management. Tourism Management, 2/13 (June): 169-180. LOWRY, William R. 1994. The Capacity for Wonder, Preserving National Parks. Washington: The Brookings Institution. LUCAS, Alec. 1954. Thoreau Field Naturalist. University of Toronto Quarterly, 23 (April): 227- 232. MELBO, Irving Robert. 1973. Our Country’s National Parks. New York: The Bobbs-Merril Company, Inc. METZGER, Charles R. 1956. Thoreau on Science. Annals of Science, 12: 206-211. MILLER, M. Sally. 1993. John Muir, Life and work. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. MOORE, Stewart and Bill Carter. 1993. Ecotourism in the 21 st Century. Tourism Management, 2/14 (February): 123-130. MUIR, John. 1988. My First Summer in the Sierra. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books. MURPHY, Karen, Democratic Examiner, May, 25, 2009, Accessed on: Jan/29/2010, http://examiner.com/x-11343-DC-Democrat-Examiner~y2009m5d25-Al-Gore- <acessed January 29, 2010>. http://examiner.com/x-11343-DC-Democrat-Examiner~y2009m5d25-Al-Gore- Gaudium Sciendi Nº 1, Março 2012 -98- NASH, Roderick Frazier. 1967. Wilderness and the American Mind. New Haven: Yale University Press. ---------1970. The American Invention of National Parks. American Quarterly, 22 (Fall): 726-735. ---------1989. The Rights of Nature. Wisconsin: The University of Wisconsin Press. PEEBLES, Robert Lawson. 1990. Landscape and Written Expression in Revolutionary America. New York: Cambridge University Press. POSNER, Richard A. 2003. Public Intellectuals: A Study of Decline, Harvard, Harvard University Press. RIDENOUR, James. 1994. The National Parks Compromised. Merrillville: ICS Books, Inc. ROBERTSON, James Oliver. 1980. American Myth American Reality. New York: Hill and Wang. RUNTE, Alfred. 1987. National Parks: The American Experience. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. ----------1990. Yosemite: The Embattled Wilderness. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. SIMONSON, Harold. 1978. "The Tempered Romanticism of John Muir". Western American Literature, 13: 227-241. TALLMADGE, John. 1991. "John Muir and the Poetics of Natural Conversion". North Dakota Quarterly, 59 (Spring): 62-79. TEATLE, Edwin. 1954. The Wilderness World of John Muir, Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company Boston. THOREAU, Henry David. 1950. The Main Woods. New York: Bramhall House. 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work_wn2rsxdiprhzhodtegxabg75bm	----	Basic Science – Research Article Med Cannabis Cannabinoids 2018;1:96–103 Experimental Endozoochory of Cannabis sativa Achenes John M. McPartland a Steve G. Naraine b a College of Medicine, University of Vermont, Burlington, VT, USA; b Department of Chemistry and Biology, Ryerson University, Toronto, ON, Canada Received: July 9, 2018 Accepted: August 1, 2018 Published online: October 8, 2018 John M. McPartland College of Medicine, University of Vermont 53 Washington Street Ext. Middlebury, VT 05753 (USA) E-Mail mcpruitt @ myfairpoint.net © 2018 The Author(s) Published by S. Karger AG, Basel E-Mail karger@karger.com www.karger.com/mca DOI: 10.1159/000492971 Keywords Cannabis sativa · Cannabis ruderalis · Evolution · Zoochory · Long-distance dispersal Abstract The mechanism by which Cannabis sativa dispersed from its center of origin remains an open question. The literature provides many hypotheses, which we review for the first time, but experiments are few. Darwin was interested in zoochory – the transport of plants by animals. He demon- strated endozoochory (transport of seeds via animal diges- tive systems) of C. sativa achenes (seeds) by carrier pigeons, but he did not quantify achene survival rates. We assessed mammalian endozoochory in a triplicate experiment: feed- ing C. sativa achenes into a simulated gastrointestinal sys- tem, a dog, and a human. The in vitro system subjected achenes to sequential digestive enzymes. Achenes were planted in potting soil and monitored for emergence under growroom conditions. The in vivo experiments added achenes to a normal morning meal (dog food or granola). Feces were collected for daily instillation into an outdoor garden and monitored for seedling emergence for 16 days. Control achenes were planted directly into soil without in- gestion. In the in vitro study, 34.7% of the digested achenes emerged as seedlings. The in vivo emergence rates were 10.3, 1.3, and 76.0% for the dog, human, and control condi- tions. The three groups differed significantly (χ2 = 1,264.93, p < 0.0001). Achene survival was greatest under in vitro con- ditions, which lacked a mastication step, compared to dog (minimal chewing) and human (maximal chewing) condi- tions. Although C. sativa lacks evolutionary traits for classic endozoochory (i.e., a fleshy fruit), it seems well adapted to this manner of seed dispersal. © 2018 The Author(s) Published by S. Karger AG, Basel Introduction Understanding the origin of medicinal plants and their ecological selection pressures may offer insights into their evolution of secondary metabolites. Cannabis and her sis- ter genus Humulus diverged 27.8 million years ago [1]. Cannabis sativa has a center of origin in Central Asia [2], or more specifically the northeastern Tibetan plateau [3]. A meta-analysis of fossil pollen studies suggests C. sativa had dispersed to Europe by 1.8 million years ago [4]. The European distribution of C. sativa expanded and con- tracted with glacial cycles, like that of many plants. Dur- This article is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License (CC BY- NC-ND) (http://www.karger.com/Services/OpenAccessLicense). Usage and distribution for commercial purposes as well as any dis- tribution of modified material requires written permission. Experimental Endozoochory of C. sativa Achenes 97Med Cannabis Cannabinoids 2018;1:96–103 DOI: 10.1159/000492971 ing interstadials (warmer, wetter periods, like our present time), C. sativa pollen was limited to “refugia” – steppe landscapes that persisted in otherwise forested Europe. Conventional wisdom states that differences between C. sativa subsp. sativa (in Europe) and C. sativa subsp. indica (in Asia) are due to human selection, and therefore they are not “natural” segregates. However, European C. sativa likely went through repeated genetic bottlenecks during interstadials, when the population shrank to small numbers during range contractions. Small populations experience genetic drift, where new genotypes arise ran- domly. Thus, differences between European and Asian C. sativa began with vicariance and genetic drift, and not human selection [3]. The species’ migration velocity during glacial cycles is suggestive of rapid biological dispersal. Biological disper- sal refers to the movement of individuals away from the population into which they were born. Dispersal has con- sequences for individual fitness, gene flow, population genetics, and species distribution. Plants rely on passive transport of diaspores (e.g., seeds), by vectors such as wind (anemochory), water (hydrochory), and animals (zoochory). Animals transport seeds via their digestive systems (endozoochory) or via seeds externally attached to their bodies (epizoochory). Ever since Darwin [5], biologists have studied the roles of zoochory in the biological dispersal of plants. Darwin focused upon long-distance dispersal (LDD) to distant oceanic islands, vectored by birds, but LDD has been de- fined to include distances as little as 100 m, with roles played by terrestrial mammals [6]. Plants adapted for en- dozoochory classically have seeds embedded in the fleshy pulp of an edible fruit or berry. The fruit provides a nu- tritional reward to the disperser. Plants with dry nuts or achenes, such as C. sativa, have been considered “unspecialized” because they lack classic adaptations for dispersal [7]. Nevertheless, Ridley [8] col- lated empirical evidence of endozoochory amongst plants with dry nuts or achenes. His examples included many agricultural weeds that passed through cattle into excreta: “we can realise at once how very many small herbaceous plants with small dry fruits and seeds in capsules are so widely spread” [8]. Seeds excreted in a germinable state explain why agricultural fields manured with cattle dung may acquire mass infestations of weed species [9]. In plants adapted for classic endozoochory, the fruit pulp often contains germination inhibitors. Animals’ di- gestive processes, both mechanical and chemical, strip away the pulp from the seeds. Thus, in classic endozooch- ory, excreted seeds often show higher percentages of ger- mination, and/or accelerated emergence, compared to noningested seeds [9, 10]. This is not the case with dry nuts or achenes, which usually show reduced germina- tion rates compared to noningested seeds [8–11]. Cannabis Dispersal Mechanisms The dispersal mechanism of C. sativa and its “unspe- cialized” achene has generated many anecdotes and ob- servations but few experimental studies. Moravcová et al. [12] included Cannabis ruderalis in an experimental study of dispersal mechanisms of 93 invasive plants. Janischevsky [13] coined C. ruderalis (along with the al- ternative rank C. sativa var. ruderalis) for the wild-type phenotype of Cannabis. Wild-type achene characteristics include a small size, a prominent abscission zone, an elongated base, a thickened pericarp, and a camouflaged and persistent perianth (achene covering). Ridley [8] observed that the small bracts of Humulus japonicus and C. sativa are not adapted for anemochory, whereas the larger, wing-like bracts of H. lupulus permit some dispersal by wind. In agreement, Moravcová et al. [12] measured the terminal velocity of seeds in a wind tunnel, and C. ruderalis achenes dropped third fastest out of 93 species. Hydrochory seems likely for a plant known colloqui- ally as “ditchweed.” Basu [14] conducted the first ecolog- ical study of ruderal C. sativa. He emphasized achene dis- persal via water, enhanced by plants colonizing riverside ditches and mounds of alluvial soil. Cappers [15] ob- served water transport of feral hemp achenes, and their subsequent deposition in riverside litter. Moravcová et al. [12] measured the time it takes for 100 seeds to sink in a beaker of water. C. ruderalis achenes took 52 h. Only 18 out of 93 species were more buoyant. The achenes of C. sativa lack classic adaptations for epizoochory, such as hooks, spines, and barbs. Morav- cová et al. [12] modeled epizoochory by testing the abil- ity of seeds to attach to the fur of wild boar (Sus scrofa). A piece of fur was pressed against 25 seeds scattered on a sheet of paper (replicated 4 times). Surprisingly, a mean of 60% of hemp achenes stuck to the fur – the species ranked 44th out of 93. Sanchis Serra et al. [16] found C. sativa achenes in the nest of an Egyptian vulture (Neoph- ron percnopterus). The achenes came from carcasses the vulture carried to the nest, perhaps via epizoochory. Janischevsky [13] observed a case of epizoochory – the fire bug, Pyrrhocoris apterus, carried achenes of C. rude- ralis. Janischevsky claimed the elongated base of wild- type achenes contained special cells “rich in oily inclu- sions,” which he characterized as an elaiosome. This term McPartland/NaraineMed Cannabis Cannabinoids 2018;1:96–10398 DOI: 10.1159/000492971 was coined by Sernander (1906) to describe fleshy and edible appendages of seeds dispersed by ants. P. apterus allegedly sucked oil out of the elaiosome, while the rest of the seed remained intact and capable of germination. In the process of feeding, the bug carried the seed “far dis- tances.” No one else has observed P. apterus feeding upon hemp achenes. Small [17] dissected a number of wild- type accessions, including plants of Russian origin, and stated: “I have not been able to perceive much basal oil cell proliferation in most achenes of wild plants.” Darwin [5] documented endozoochory vectored by carrier pigeons (Columba livia domestica) flying from France to England. He actually described diploendo- zoochory, where endozoochory spans two trophic levels: the pigeons, upon arrival in England, were preyed upon by hawks and owls. “Some hawks and owls bolt their prey whole, and after an interval of from twelve to twenty hours, disgorge pellets, including seeds capable of germi- nation. Some seeds of the oat, wheat, millet, canary, hemp, clover, and beet germinated after having been from twelve to twenty-one hours in the stomachs of different birds of prey.” The literature abounds with reports of birds feeding upon hemp achenes, dating back to 544 AD in China [re- viewed in 18]. Henry David Thoreau observed feral hemp “sprung up” from dispersal of “bird’s seed” in 1856 [19]. A report by Harry Anslinger, Commissioner of the Fed- eral Bureau of Narcotics, included a photograph of feral hemp growing in Philadelphia, “the result of bird-seed dissemination” [20]. Passeriformes (perching birds) use their beaks to crack open hemp achenes, killing the prospect of seed dispersal. Seed preference experiments with various Passeriformes highlight the desirability of C. sativa compared to other plants [21–26]. Experiments show that hemp achenes are cracked and deshelled quite efficiently [22, 23, 27]. How- ever, songbirds occasionally swallow hemp achenes whole without cracking them [24, 28–30]. Some species tempo- rarily hold hemp achenes in their beaks, and scatter- hoard the achenes in hiding places – documented obser- vationally [31–33] and in experimental studies [34, 35]. Columbiformes (pigeons and doves) also show prefer- ences for hemp achenes [36, 37]. Studies of species in two genera, Columba and Streptopelia, show they swallow hemp achenes whole [38, 39]. Seed still face a formidable barrier to survival – the gizzard – but pigeons and doves temporarily store seeds in the crop, anterior to the giz- zard. Wilson and Korovin [40] counted an astounding 793 hemp achenes in the crop of an Oriental turtledove, Streptopelia orientalis. The species is migratory and its range spans Central Asia (Russia, Kazakhstan, northern India, and China). The genera Columba and Streptopelia diverged about 30 million years ago in Central Asia [41], so they may have coevolved with C. sativa. One study quantified hemp seed survival through the avian gut. Small et al. [42] cited an unpublished typescript authored by B.J. Eaton in 1972, who studied the viability of achenes excreted in bird droppings. Eaton used the tet- razolium test, a redox indicator of metabolic activity and a marker of seed viability [43]. Bobwhite quail (Colinus virginianus) passed 1 viable seed per 700 achenes con- sumed. Game bird “doves” (Zenaida macroura) passed 1 viable seed per 12,400 achenes consumed. Less is known about mammalian endozoochory. Mammals that feed on feral or cultivated hemp seed in- clude horses, cattle, goats, deer, dik-dik, rabbits, ham- sters, field voles, rats, and mice [18]. Vavilov [44] noted that ruderal hemp thrived in soil manured by grazing cat- tle, and in gorges and ravines where the dung of wild an- imals accumulated. Giles [45] identified hemp achenes in the scat of raccoons (Procyon lotor). Gary Snyder wrote about hemp seed in horse manure, in a poem [46]. Oku- lova et al. [47] found achenes in the feces of two Russian voles, Microtus arvalis and M. levis. De Barba et al. [48] extracted Cannabis DNA from the scat of the brown bear (Ursus arctos) in northern Italy. Rodents, like birds, will cache seeds in hiding places, including hemp achenes [49, 50]. No studies have quantified hemp seed survival through the mammalian gut. We conducted a feeding experiment in triplicate to test this potential. Rather than using the tetrazolium test of seed viability, or germinating achenes in sheets of filter paper, we opted for a more functional test: sow-excreted achenes in soil, and using seedling emergence as our metric of successful endozoochory. We hypothesize that mastication is the survival-limiting step in endozoochory, so we tested achenes in an in vitro di- gestion model that lacked mastication. Then we conduct- ed two in vivo tests with variable amounts of mastication, using a human and a dog as test subjects. Materials and Methods The in vitro and in vivo parts of this study were conducted in separate jurisdictions (Vermont and Ontario), using locally per- mitted germplasm. This necessitated the use of two different dioe- cious cultivars of fiber-type hemp. The in vitro study used “FINO- LA,” obtained from a commercial vendor. The in vivo studies used an unnamed Polish landrace, gifted by The Vermont Hemp Com- pany. Achenes were visually inspected; mature-and-intact achenes were separated from chaff, green (immature) achenes, and dam- Experimental Endozoochory of C. sativa Achenes 99Med Cannabis Cannabinoids 2018;1:96–103 DOI: 10.1159/000492971 aged achenes (necrotic, cracked along their keel, or otherwise de- formed). Maturity was judged by the presence of a mottled seed coat; Haney and Kutscheid [51] determined that this correspond- ed to the development of a viable embryo, based on germination experiments. For the in vitro digestion model, 10 g mature seed were fed into a simulated gastrointestinal system (DRUID; Ryerson University, Toronto, ON, Canada). Achenes were subjected to sequential di- gestive enzymes (pancreatin, pepsin, trypsin, chymotrypsin, pep- tidase, α-amylase, and lipase), bile salts, and mucin at 38.5  ° C for 1 + 3 h (gastric + intestinal). Achenes were planted in sterile potting soil (N-P-K: 0.03%-0.03%-0.03%), 1 seed per cell in the planting tray to facilitate counting of emergent seedlings. Growroom con- ditions were kept at 20–25  ° C and a relative humidity of 50–60% during 16 h of light (250 W/m2). Emergent seedlings were counted as soon as identification was possible. Seedling emergence was monitored for 16 days. Percent emergence in 72 control achenes (not subject to in vitro digestion) was compared to 72 achenes sub- jected to full gastrointestinal digestion. For the in vivo studies, achenes were field planted. The germi- nation bed consisted of a fenced 200 ft2 area, part of a larger 2,000 ft2 raised-bed complex, in the backyard of the principle investiga- tor. The soil was a Vergennes series clay, amended with compos- ted manure 4 years earlier, and previously planted with Phaseolus vulgaris, which lacks allelopathic activity. For the control plot, 500 achenes were drilled 1.5 cm deep in an 8 × 8 cm grid – a slightly greater planting density than recommended by Columella [52]. Two subjects were fed 1,000 hemp achenes each, mixed into normal-sized rations of food. The principle investigator (male, 60 years old, 175 lbs) ate achenes mixed into generic granola breakfast cereal, chewed and swallowed normally. The canine subject (Ches- apeake Bay retriever, female, 0.9 years old, 50 lbs) ate achenes mixed into a bowl of dog food (Orijen Puppy Large Breed Grain- Free Dry Dog Food). All feces were collected in feces bags and bulked for daily 8 a.m. instillation into the germination bed for 4 days. The feces were placed in 2 L of tap water and stirred into a slurry, and the slurry was poured over a 0.5 m2 area of soil. This unnatural step was performed to facilitate the tally of emerged seedlings by spreading them over a larger area. A total of eight 0.5 m2 zones (2 subjects × 4 days) were labeled with subject names and dates of instillation in a randomized block adjacent to the control plot. Emergent seedlings were counted 8 days after instillation, and again 16 days after instillation. Field conditions prevailed (no arti- ficial irrigation, and seedlings were not removed after counting). Results In the in vitro arm of the study, 72 control achenes were planted and 42 seedlings emerged – a 58.3% emer- gence rate. Of 72 achenes subjected to full in vitro diges- tion, 25 seedlings emerged, or 34.7%. Percent emergence differed significantly between the two groups (χ2 test of independence; χ2 = 8.07, p = 0.0045). In the in vivo arm of the study, 500 control achenes were planted. After 8 days, 378 seedlings emerged (75.6%), and after 16 days the total came to 380 seedlings (76.0%). The canine subject was fed 1,000 achenes; after 8 days, 100 seedlings emerged (10.0%), and after 16 days the total rose to 103 seedlings (10.3%). All seedlings emerged from post-feeding day 1 feces; nothing emerged from feces ex- creted on post-feeding days 2–4. The human subject was fed 1,000 achenes; after 8 days, 8 seedlings emerged (0.8%), and after 16 days the total rose to 13 seedlings (1.3%). Six seedlings emerged from day 1 feces, 7 from day 2 feces, and none emerged from post-feeding days 3 and 4. Percent emergence differed significantly between the three groups (control, canine, and human, day 16; χ2 = 1,264.93, p < 0.0001). Pairwise tests of independence showed significant differences be- tween control and dog (χ2 = 650.94, p < 0.0001), between control and human (χ2 = 961.97, p < 0.0001), and between dog and human (χ2 = 77.28, p < 0.0001). To compare the in vitro and in vivo results, we ad- dressed the difference in their respective control arms. We normalized the control emergence rate to 100% and the digestion emergence rate as a percentage of the con- trol emergence rate (in vitro: 34.7% ÷ 58.3% × 100 = 59.5%; in vivo canine: 10.3% ÷ 76.0% × 100 = 13.6%; in vivo human: 1.3% ÷ 76.0% × 100 = 1.7%). Qualitatively, seedlings from canine and human feces appeared more robust than control seedlings. Four days after emergence, a thunderstorm caused ∼25% of the control seedlings to lodge, whereas none of the feces-fer- tilized seedlings fell over (Fig. 1). However, any visual dif- ferences between the test groups disappeared within 3 weeks of emergence. Discussion This study demonstrated C. sativa endozoochory vec- tored by mammals. The canine’s feces were collected up to 400 m from the feeding site, which qualifies as LDD, defined as ≥100 m [6]. Mastication appears to be the pri- mary impediment to seed survival. Seedling emergence was greatest after in vitro digestion, which lacked masti- cation. The canine subject “wolfed” her food with mini- mal chewing, compared to the human subject, with a commensurate difference in seedling emergence. Diges- tive acids and enzymes did contribute to viability loss, however. This study has several limitations. The in vitro and in vivo arms of the study, conducted in different jurisdic- tions, utilized different seed sources. The in vivo condi- tions were not entirely natural. Instead of counting emer- gence directly from fecal stools lying upon the soil sur- McPartland/NaraineMed Cannabis Cannabinoids 2018;1:96–103100 DOI: 10.1159/000492971 face, we distributed feces in a slurry across a 0.5 m2 soil area. This facilitated the counting of emergent seedlings but reduced natural seedling competition. In canine feces, a majority of intact achenes appeared on the rind of fecal stools. The mechanism that forced achenes to the external surface is unknown. It would en- hance seedling survival, however, compared to a seed ger- minating in the center of a hard, desiccated stool. Simi- larly, achenes excreted in multi-pelleted sheep feces face better conditions than achenes excreted in feces heaps produced by cattle [53]. Newly-emerged seedlings from canine and human fe- ces appeared more robust than control seedlings (Fig. 1). This observation supports Ridley [8], who proposed that nutrients in feces benefit seedlings arising from defecated seeds. An accelerated germination time has been reported in classic endozoochory [10]. We did not observe signifi- cant differences in emergence time between the controls and the treatment arms. The gut transit time of viable achenes was shorter in the dog (16 h) than in the human (24–48 h). A short tran- sit time correlates with seed survival. Cosyns et al. [11] measured mean transit times of seeds consumed by rab- bits (19 h), cows (49 h), horses (55 h), sheep (58 h), and donkeys (66 h). Rabbits, with the shortest transit time, had the highest germination success. However, a short transit time also correlates with decreased LDD – a short transit time means less distance traveled. Successful LDD depends upon many factors, but two prominent considerations are (1) the distance travelled by an animal vector and (2) the quantity of surviving seeds (quantity of consumed seeds × percent survival). Avian vectors can disperse seeds over a larger area than mammalian vectors. But large mammalian vectors (the dog and the human in this study) have the capacity to consume a larger quantity of seeds. Percent survival is also greater in mammals. In two bird species studied by Eaton [reported in 42], the mean survival rate of hemp achenes was 0.075%. Our mammalian experiments showed an 18- and 140-fold greater survival rate after passage through the human and the dog, respectively. Some researchers argue that plants with an “unspecial- ized” means of dispersal (sensu Grime et al. [7]) may be adapted to endozoochory [54, 55]. Are C. sativa achenes adapted to endozoochory? They are rich in lipids and protein, thereby providing the disperser with an attrac- tive nutritional reward. However, they are enveloped by a bract expressing Δ9-tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), whose psychoactivity may repel potential dispersers. THC may also repel dispersers by interfering with diges- tion, via antibacterial effects on the gut microflora [18]. THC is not present in abscised achenes, free of bracts and lying on the ground; these are eaten by ground-feeding birds (e.g., pigeons and doves), ungulates (deer), and ro- dents. Adaptations that favor endozoochory include a small seed size and a thick pericarp. Janzen [56] argued that herbivores feeding on foliage may accidently eat seeds “sufficiently small, tough, hard and inconspicuous to es- cape the molar mill.” Small seeds are more likely to escape Fig. 1. Visual comparison of seedlings emerging from canine feces (left) versus control seedlings (right), after a thunderstorm. Experimental Endozoochory of C. sativa Achenes 101Med Cannabis Cannabinoids 2018;1:96–103 DOI: 10.1159/000492971 mastication as well as rumination, and they have a faster gut transit time than large-seeded species. Small seeds can be ingested in larger quantities, increasing the probability of successful endozoochory. Seed size/mass inversely cor- relates with seed presence in mammalian feces [54, 55, 57–65], but not always [11, 66–68]. Seeds with a thick pericarp or testa are harder (impart- ing some protection against mastication) and more im- permeable (slowing the penetration of acids, enzymes, and bacteria). Seed coat thickness correlated with seed survival in most cases [69–72], but not all [60, 66, 68]. A small seed size and a thick pericarp are characters expressed by wild-type plants compared to domesticated landraces and cultivars. Achenes of wild-type C. sativa are smaller than domesticated varieties (2.7–3.0 mm long [44]), and they weigh as little as 2.1–2.7 mg [73]. In con- trast, the achenes in our in vitro study were 5.0 mm long and weighed 26.1 mg. Domesticated C. sativa easily es- capes cultivation and reverts to a wild-type phenotype within 50 years [17]. Small and Cronquist [74] defined the wild-type phenotype as < 3.5 mm in length. The literature suggests this size is larger than optimal for mammalian endozoochory (see Table 1 [75]). Achenes of C. sativa are hard, with a thick pericarp, a character that facilitates endozoochory. Janischevsky [13] commented on the “great strength of the pericarp” of C. ruderalis. The pericarp along the ribs was thicker than that of domesticated C. sativa varieties: “It is difficult to separate the pericarp into two identical shells such as one obtains from the fruits of the cultivated variety when they are cracked by birds” [13]. Vavilov [44] described “a greater solidity of the peri- carp in mature fruits of wild hemp,” and the “thinness of the seed coat” in domesticated varieties. Small and Cron- quist [74] attributed wild-type seed hardness to pericarp thickening along the ribs and in the basal part of the seed: “Small wild fruits have walls as thick as larger domesti- cated fruits, and therefore in proportion to the size of the fruit, are better protected” [74]. Van der Meij and Bout [76] measured the force required to crack a domesticated hemp achene, a mean of 12.16 N, approximately the weight of a 1.24-kg mass. In conclusion, endozoochory of C. sativa achenes can be vectored by mammals, with a high survival rate. Mas- tication, rather than digestive enzymes, is the survival- limiting step. C. sativa achenes express an adaption to endozoochory – a thick pericarp – but they are larger than optimal for mammalian endozoochory. The vectors used in this experiment (dog and human) evolved after the ear- ly evolutionary history of Cannabis. We plan to test mam- mals that have a longer evolutionary history in Central Asia, such as rabbits and horses. Comparing the survival rates of wild-type versus domesticated achenes will also be informative. Acknowledgements We thank Prof. Dérick Rousseau, Ryerson University, Toronto, ON, Canada, for access to DRUID. The Vermont Hemp Company gifted us with hemp seeds for the in vivo study. Kimery Levering provided statistical inferences. Statement of Ethics All procedures involving the human participant were in accor- dance with the ethical standards of the University of Vermont re- search committee, and with the 1964 Helsinki Declaration and its later amendments. For this type of study, where the human par- ticipant also designed and performed the study, informed consent is implicit. The animal research protocol was submitted to the in- Table 1. Literature specifying seed size or mass in cases of successful endozoochory in other plant species with dry nuts or achenes Disperser Seed size (length) or mass (weight) Ref. No. Cottontail rabbit 1.2- to 1.4-mm seeds more likely than larger ones (2.0–2.4 mm) to germinate 57 Brocket deer 5-mm Rubiaceae seeds passed intact 58 Sheep 0.3-mg seeds recovered at twice the rate of 2.0-mg seeds 60 Red deer 5-mm seeds rarely survived gut passage; most were smaller, i.e., 0.1–1.0 mm 61 Saki monkey Intact seeds were <2 mm 54 Cattle and sheep Seeds with a mean weight of 0.25 mg showed good dispersibility, and those >1.1 mg in weight showed poor to no dispersibility 62 White-tailed deer 3- to 7-mm seeds comprised 7% of the seeds germinated from dung; 81% were <1 mm 75 Kerama deer The mean size of the germinated seeds was 1.3 mm 71 Red deer “Large” seeds (>4 mm) comprised 0.6% of the seeds in dung; 90.8% were <2 mm 65 McPartland/NaraineMed Cannabis Cannabinoids 2018;1:96–103102 DOI: 10.1159/000492971 stitutional board (application IACUC-2017-1650) and reviewed and approved by Ruth Blauwiekel, DVM, PhD, veterinarian of the Institutional Animal Care and Use Committee, University of Ver- mont. 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Seed of six tropical pasture species fed to cattle, sheep and goats. Aust J Exp Agric 1987; 27: 239–246. 70 Gardener CJ, McIvor JG, Jansen A: Survival of seeds of tropical grassland species subjected to bovine digestion. J Appl Ecol 1993; 30: 75– 85. 71 Yamashiro A, Yamashiro T: Seed dispersal by kerama deer (Cervus nippon keramae) on Aka Island, the Ryukyu Archipelago, Japan. Bio- tropica 2006; 38: 405–413. 72 Rosas CA, Engle DM, Shaw JH, Palmer MW: Seed dispersal by bison in a tallgrass prairie. J Veg Sci 2008; 19: 769–778. 73 Vavilov NI, Bukinich DD: Konopli. Труды по прикладной ботанике, генетике и селекции 1929; 33(suppl): 380–382. 74 Small E, Cronquist A: A practical and natural taxonomy for Cannabis. Taxon 1976; 25: 405– 435. 75 Myers JA, Vellend M, Gardescu S, Marks PL: Seed dispersal by white-tailed deer: implica- tions for long-distance dispersal, invasion, and migration of plants in eastern North America. 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work_wn7mm4ex3ndzpej4bcj5tbkexy	----	Rijksuniversiteit Groningen Verkennen in onzekerheid1 Adres: Universiteit Maastricht, faculteit der Cultuur­ wetenschappen Maatschappijwetenschap en techniek (MWT) Postbus 616 6200 MD Maastricht e-mail: marjolein.vanasselt@tss.unimaas.nl 1 In leid in g De m ens beschikt over een bewustzijn van tijd, en daarmee over het vermogen tot herinneren en tot vooruitkijken. Het kijken in de toekomst heeft mensen - afgaand op de wijdverbreide en voortdu­ rende populariteit van waarzeggers, orakels, profe­ ten en astrologen - altijd gefascineerd. In toe­ komstverkenningen wordt geprobeerd op een sam enhangende wijze de onzekere en ongekende toekomst te verbeelden. Een centrale doelstelling is het op een verstandige m anier anticiperen op een toekomst die inherent onzeker is. Hier wordt toe- komstverkennen gedefinieerd als een proces waar­ in studie verricht wordt naar vooruitzichten voor de maatschappij als geheel o f voor belangrijke deelsys­ tem en daarvan, dat vooral gericht is op de integra- M arjolein van Asselt, Susan van ’t Klooster en Philip van Notten Dr. ir. M.B.A. van Asselt is onderzoeker bij de sectie Maatschappijwetenschap en Techniek van de facul­ teit der Cultuurwetenschappen van de Universiteit Maastricht en is onderzoeksleider van hetVemieuw- ingsimpulsproject Methodologie voor Toekomst­ verkenning. Zij publiceerde recent onder meer Perspectives on Uncertainty and Risk: The PRIMA approach to decision support (2000) en, met ). Rotmans, ‘ Uncertainty in integrated assessment modelling: from positivism to pluralism ’ (in: Climatic Change 2002). Drs. S.A. van 't Klooster is als onderzoeker in oplei­ ding eveneens betrokken bij het project Metho­ dologie voor Toekomstverkenning en werkzaam bij dezelfde sectie. Zij publiceerde met M. van Asselt en S. Koenis ‘ Beyond the essential contestation: Construction and deconstruction o f regional identi­ ty’ (in: Ethics, place and environment 2002). Drs. P.W.F. van Notten is als onderzoeker werkzaam bij het International Centre for Integrative Studies (ICIS) van de faculteit der Algemene Weten­ schappen van de Universiteit Maastricht. Hij publi­ ceerde onder meer: ‘ Foresight in the face o f scenario diversity’ (in: Probing the future: Developing organiza­ tional foresight in the knowledge economy 2002). tie van kennis in intern consistente toekomstbeel­ den voor de lange termijn. De ambitie die veelal aan zo’n toekomstverkenning ten grondslag ligt, is het voeden van reflectie op huidig en toekomstig handelen en /o f het faciliteren van beleids-, oor­ deels- en besluitvorming (Van Asselt 2003). In dit artikel gaat het om twee zaken. Ten eerste wordt, met een accent op de Nederlandse situatie, een beknopt overzicht geboden van de geschiede­ nis, de ontwikkelingen en de karakteristieken van het hedendaagse toekomstverkennen (paragraaf 2). Het accent op Nederland komt niet (alleen) voort uit chauvinistische overwegingen o f de ambitie om een bijdrage te leveren aan de Nederlandse praktijk van toekomstverkennen. Nederland en Nederlan­ ders zijn verhoudingsgewijs actief op het terrein b 230 m 2 0 0 3 • 3 0 • 4 mailto:marjolein.vanasselt@tss.unimaas.nl Marjolein van Asselt, Susan van 't Klooster en Philip van Notten Verkennen in onzekerheid van toekomstverkennen. Zo stonden de M ilieu­ verkenningen van het Rijksinstituut voor M ilieu­ hygiëne (RIVM) model voor de Global Environ- mental Outlook van de Verenigde Naties en de milieuverkenningen van het Europese milieu- agentschap (EEA), en wordt het RIVM in dergelijke internationale milieuverkenningen vaak een actie­ ve rol toebedeeld. Scanning the future van het Centraal Plan Bureau (CPB) werd niet alleen in Nederland, m aar ook daarbuiten veelvuldig geci­ teerd. Internationaal opererende ‘toekomstverken­ nende’ adviesbureaus als de RAND-corporation en het Global Business NetWork hebben kantoren in Nederland. Leidende figuren in de ontwikkeling van scenariomethodologie bij Shell (zoals De Geus en Van der Heijden) waren Nederlanders. Vervolgens wordt in dit artikel nagegaan voor welke specifieke vraagstukken o f problemen in toe­ komstverkenningen, voor een belangrijk deel sce- nariostudies, in methodologisch opzicht, een omgangsvorm moet worden gevonden (paragraaf 3) en welke om gangsvorm en daarbij zijn en wor­ den gehanteerd (paragraaf 4). Beargumenteerd wordt dat onzekerheid en discontinuïteit van toe­ komstige ontwikkelingen en de pluraliteit van ver­ schillende, m aar gelijkwaardige toekomstbeelden theoretisch gezien voor toekomstverkenningen belangrijke thema’s zijn die resulteren in typisch methodologische uitdagingen o f problemen. 2 Toekomstverkenningen in historisch perspectief Het systematisch verkennen van de toekomst is niet van alle tijden. Morgan (2002) beargumenteert met verwijzing naar Bury (1932) en Polak (1971) dat noch de Griekse en de Joodse cultuur, noch de m id­ deleeuwse sam enleving zich expliciet bezighielden met de toekomst. Plato’s Republiek is de bekende uitzondering op deze regel. De geschiedenis van het hedendaagse toe­ komstverkennen gaat terug tot de renaissancisti­ sche traditie van de utopische vertelling. Daarin werd expliciet geprobeerd afstand te nem en van de vertrouwde werkelijkheid om nieuwe m ogelijkhe­ den te verkennen (De Geus 19 9 6 ). In een utopi­ sche vertelling wordt een blauwdruk van een 'ideale’ toekomst geschetst. Beroemde voorbeelden zijn Utopia van Thom as More (1516), New Mlantis van Francis Bacon (1627), Walden van H enry David Thoreau (1854), Looking Backward van Edward Bellamy (1888), Walden Two van Bernard Skinner (1948) en Island van Aldous Huxley (1962). De tegenhanger van de utopische vertelling is de zoge­ naamde anti-utopie o f dystopie, zoals The Time Machine van H .G . Wells (1895), The Machine Stops van Forster (1928), Brave New World van Aldous Huxley (1932), Nineteen Eighty-Four van George Orwell (1949) en Fahrenheit 451 van Bradbury (: 953), waarin een angstaanjagend toekomstbeeld geschetst wordt. Van der Staal en Van Vught (1987) lokaliseren de ‘geboorte’ van systematische toekomstverken­ ningen, waarbij gebruikgemaakt wordt van weten­ schappelijke methoden, aan het begin van de twin­ tigste eeuw. A ls ijkpunt verwijzen ze naar het artikel ‘The discovery o f the future’ van H .G. Wells, dat nu een eeuw geleden in Nature verscheen, en waarin hij de potenties van de prille toekomstkun- de schetste om tot een volwaardige wetenschappe­ lijke discipline uit te groeien (Wells 19 0 2). In de militaire wereld werd al langer met gebruikm aking van verschillende verhalen geanti­ cipeerd op een onzekere toekomst. Dergelijke toe­ komstverhalen werden scenario’s genoemd, een begrip ontleend aan de theaterkunst dat verwijst naar de beschrijving en opeenvolging van scènes in een toneelstuk o f opera. Scenario’s zijn gedachte- experimenten waarbij de loop van mogelijke gebeurtenissen wordt doordacht en verbeeld. Aan dit type toekomstverkennen wordt dan ook met de term ‘scenario’s’ gerefereerd, bijvoorbeeld als sce- nario-planning (zie onder anderen Ringland 19 9 8 ; Van der Heijden 19 9 6 ), scenario-leaming (Fahey en Randall 19 9 8), o f scenarioaanpak (Schoonenboom 2003). V anaf het Interbellum werd het idee van sce­ nario's meer en m eer in het civiele dom ein toege­ past (Kleiner 19 9 6 ; Ringland 19 9 8 ; Van der Heijden 19 9 6 ). De geschiedenis van de scenario- analyse is vrij goed gedocumenteerd en beschre­ ven2 en het gebruik van scenario’s is inmiddels een wijdverbreide methode van toekomstverkennen. Toename van populariteit In de jaren zestig van de twintigste eeuw neemt de populariteit van m eer wetenschappelijk gefundeer­ de toekomstverkenningen verder toe.3 The year 2000 (Kahn en Wiener 1967) en de rapporten van de Club van Rome (onder anderen Meadows e.a. b 2003 • 30 • 4 m 231 Marjolein van Asselt, Susan van 't Klooster en Philip van Notten Verkennen in onzekerheid 1972) worden algem een gezien als mijlpalen in de geschiedenis van maatschappelijke toekomstver­ kenningen. Sinds de jaren zeventig en de jaren tachtig is toekomstverkennen m eer en m eer in zwang geraakt in de beleidsarena’s (Dammers 2 0 0 0 ; Schoonenboom 2003). In Nederland ver­ schenen, geordend naar sector, bijvoorbeeld: in 19 75 de scenariostudie Scenario’s ten behoeve van de verstedelijkingsnota; in 19 8 1 (in sam enwer­ king met de Universiteit Utrecht) de methodologi­ sche studie Eindrapport handleiding voor het ontwer­ pen van scenario’s in de reeks Studierapporten; en in 19 8 6 de notitie Ruimtelijke perspectieven, geprodu­ ceerd door de Rijksplanologische Dienst (RPD); in 19 7 7 De komende 25 jaar. Een toekomstverken­ ning voor Nederland door de Wetenschappelijke Raad voor het Regeringsbeleid (WRR); alsmede een evaluatierapport waarin op organisatorische, prak­ tische, theoretische en methodologische kwesties werd ingegaan; in 19 8 0 en in 19 83 rapporten aan de regering onder de noem er Beleidsgerichte toe­ komstverkenning. De W RR kreeg bij de oprichting halverwege de jaren zeventig expliciet tot taak toe­ komstverkenningen uit te voeren en ‘toekomston- derzoek binnen en buiten de overheid te verbete­ ren, te bevorderen en te coördineren’ (Koninklijk Besluit 6 november 1972); in 1985 de eerste lange-termijnverkenning van het Centraal Planbureau (CPB); in 19 9 2 het toon­ aangevende CPB-rapport Scanning the future: A long term scenario study o f the world economy 3990-2015, met Nederland in Drievoud (1992) als uitwerking van deze scenario’s op het Nederlandse schaalniveau; in 1985 de eerste Sociale en Culturele Ver­ kenningen van het Sociaal Cultureel Planbureau (SCP), die sindsdien tweejaarlijks verschijnen en waarin de leefsituatie van de bevolking wordt beschreven en actuele ontwikkelingen worden geanalyseerd voor de korte en middellange termijn; in 19 8 7 de eerste Energieverkenningen waarin de ontwikkelingen in de Nederlandse sector voor de komende 20 tot 25 jaar worden verkend, gepro­ duceerd door Energieonderzoek Centrum Nederland (ECN); in 1988 Zorgen voor Morgen, de eerste Milieu­ verkenning van het Rijksinstituut voor Volks­ gezondheid en Milieu (RIVM) waarvan de belang­ rijkste boodschap was dat het milieu in alle opzichten verslechtert, ondanks de genomen maatregelen; in 19 9 6 de Watersysteemverkenningen geprodu­ ceerd door Rijkswaterstaat, die leidden tot een hausse van toekomstverkennende studies op dit gebied (voor een overzicht, zie Van Asselt e.a. (2001b). De vraag vanuit diverse beleidssectoren en -gremia naar toekomstverkenningen is inmiddels groot (WRR 20 0 0 ). Toekomstverkenningen worden m eer en m eer op reguliere basis geproduceerd door planbureaus en planbureauachtige instituten. De M ilieuverkenning bijvoorbeeld verschijnt grof­ weg elke vier jaar. Er zijn inmiddels drie Energieverkenningen verschenen en het C PB is in sam enwerking met het RIVM , het SCP en het nieu­ we Ruim telijk Planbureau (RPB) momenteel druk bezig met het vormgeven van een nieuwe lange-ter­ m ijnverkenning als opvolger van de vermaarde dubbelstudie Scanning the Future en Nederland in DrievoudA Wetenschappelijke interesse Het bestaan van wetenschappelijke tijdschriften als het maandelijkse Futures5 (sinds 1969) en Technological Forecasting and Social Change6 (sinds 19 6 9 ), het tweemaandelijkse Foresight7 {m zijn hui­ dige vorm sinds 1998), het sociaal-wetenschappelij- ke kwartaaltijdschrift Future Research Quarterlf (sinds 1984) en het Franstalige Futuribles? laat zien dat er wereldwijd een substantiële groep weten­ schappers is die zich bezighoudt met de toekomst als onderwerp van studie, hetzij in de ontwerpende zin - onder andere scenarioanalyses op uiteenlopen­ de terreinen en ontwikkeling van methodologie - hetzij in de beschrijvende en beschouwende zin - onder andere evaluatie van de praktijk en reflectie op zin en onzin en nut en noodzaak van toekomst­ verkenning. Recent is in Nederland een aantal vermeldens­ waardige wetenschappelijke studies verschenen op het terrein van toekomstverkenningen: de mono­ grafie Ecologische utopieën van De Geus (1996), de Engelstalige monografie van Vennix (1996) over group model buildingtechnieken voor toekomstver­ kenning, de bundel ‘ De makers van de toekomst (1997) onder de redactie van Ester, Geurts en Vermeulen, het proefschrift van Dam m ers (2000), Leren van de toekomst: over de rol van scenario’s bij strategische beleidsvorming, de rapporten naar aanlei­ ding van het tweejarige project Toekomstonder- b 232 S 2 0 0 3 • 3 0 • 4 m Marjolein van Asselt, Susan van 't Klooster en Philip van Notten Verkennen in onzekerheid zoek en Strategisch Omgevingsbeleid (Stuurgroep Toekomstonderzoek en Strategisch O m gevings­ beleid 2 0 0 1 en 2 0 0 1), het kritische essay van de Wilde (2000) en het proefschrift van Dobbinga (2001), Weerbarstigheid van organisatiecultuur, een etnografische studie naar de praktijk van toekomst- verkennen bij het m inisterie van Verkeer en Waterstaat. De wetenschappelijke interesse voor toekomstverkenningen wordt nog eens onder­ streept door de leerstoelen rond dat thema aan ver­ schillende universiteiten en de verwijzing naar toe­ komstverkenningen in inaugurele redes. Voorbeelden van dergelijke inaugurele redes zijn: Beter dan Nostradamus en Campanella: Over de wetenschappelijke status van de sociaal-wetenschappe- lijke toekomstkunde door F.A. Van Vught (Universiteit Leiden, 1985), Tussen utopie en dystopie door I.J. Schoonenboom (Universiteit Wageningen, 19 9 0 ), Omkijken naar de toekomst: Lange termijn verkennin­ gen in beleidsexercities door J.L.A. Geurts (Katholieke Universiteit Brabant, 1993), De rede(n) der toekomst door P. Rademaker (Universiteit Twente, 19 9 4), Kennis: geven en nemen door J.A.M . Vennix (Katholieke Universiteit Nijm egen, 1998), De strijd om de toekomst door W.J. de Ridder (Universiteit Twente, 2003) De nieuwe mens in de toekomstige wereldmaat- schappij door B. van Steenbergen (Universiteit Nyenrode, 2003). Samengevat kan gesteld worden dat de hedendaag­ se praktijk van toekomstverkenningen in Neder­ land geworteld is in drie tradities, te weten de lite­ raire traditie van de utopische vertelling, de uit het militaire dom ein afkomstige traditie van scenario- analyse en de ‘wetenschappelijke’ traditie van onderzoek, analyse en evaluatie. Geïnstitutionaliseerde praktijk Uit het bovenstaande volgt, zoals Van der Staal en Van Vught (1988) het stellen, dat ‘onze sam enle­ ving heeft gekozen voor geïnstitutionaliseerd toe- bmstverkennen’. Dit houdt in dat er instellingen ofinstituties zijn die als sociale rol(opvatting), taak of opdracht hebben de toekomst te verkennen en dat er een toekomstverkennende praktijk is die zich in de maatschappelijke en bestuurlijke constellatie staande houdt en een continue factor van betekenis lijkt geworden. Hoppe (1980) refereerde in dat ver­ band begin jaren tachtig al aan toekomstverken- ners en planners als ‘de zesde macht’, en Van der Staal en Van Vught (1987) spraken van ‘een geïnsti­ tutionaliseerd (...) overheidsapparaat voor het ver­ kennen van de Nederlandse toekomst’ en van ‘een gespecialiseerde groep van toekomstvorsers’ (Van Vught 1985). Schoonenboom (2003) stelt dat de institutionalisering van toekomstverkenningen in Nederland van de jaren zeventig tot nu te kenschet­ sen is als een ontwikkeling ‘van guerrilla tot norm’. 3 Uitdagingen in toekomstverkennen Bij toekomstverkenningen gaat het om onderzoek naar processen en gebeurtenissen die zich nog niet gemanifesteerd hebben. Toekomstverkenners hou­ den zich bezig met de nog niet bestaande werke­ lijkheid. Toekomstverkenningen zijn daarom niet momentaan toetsbaar (Van Latesteijn en Schoonen­ boom 1997). Tegelijkertijd wordt in degelijke toekomstverkenningen veelal gepoogd een sam en­ hangend beeld te schetsen met gebruikm aking van kennis uit verschillende bronnen, en daarmee zijn ze in het algemeen nadrukkelijk multidisciplinair van karakter. Fontela (2000) vat deze problematiek van toekomstverkennen op de volgende manier samen: We know little about the past and present in a multidisciplinary way. We know that sociologi­ cal and political factors influence economic factors and vice versa. We know that technolo­ gical developments lead to innovation that modify productive structures; we know indeed that the facts that determine change are many and that our scientific knowledge o f the pro­ cesses o f change is clearly insufficient to fore­ cast but even to explore [the future (MvA)]. Uitgaand van deze kenm erken en kijkend naar zowel de praktijk van toekomstverkennen als naar beschouwingen daarover, kunnen drie vraagstuk­ ken geïdentificeerd worden die als specifieke uitda­ gingen voor toekomstverkennen beschouwd kun­ nen worden. Het gaat daarbij om onzekerheid in toekomstverkenningen, om de discontinuïteit van ontwikkelingen en om de pluraliteit van verschil­ lende toekomstbeelden. In deze paragraaf worden 2332003 • 30 • 4 m Marjolein van Asselt, Susan van 't Klooster en Philip van Notten Verkennen in onzekerheid deze vraagstukken beschreven en geduid, in de daarop volgende paragraaf wordt bezien welke methodologische om gangsvorm en daarvoor ge­ hanteerd worden. Verkennen in onzekerheid Toekomstverkenningen gaan vooral over onzeker­ heden (WRR 20 00 ). De verschijningsvorm van de toekomst en de dynamiek van de verandering zijn onbekend en vaak onkenbaar (Bovens en ’t Hart 19 9 6 ). Dror (1986) spreekt in relatie tot toekomst- verkennen over ‘slecht gedefinieerde en ondefinieer­ bare onzekerheden en onbekendheden’. Hoppe (1980) constateert dat er in de context van toe­ komstverkenningen sprake is van weinig discrim i­ nerend gebruik van het begrip onzekerheid. Schoonenboom (2003) beschrijft onzekerheid in relatie tot toekomstverkennen als het niet weten wat op ons afkomt en het niet weten wat we zouden moeten o f kunnen willen, iets wat mede veroorzaakt wordt door het niet weten van wat er op ons afkomt. Toekomstverkenningen kunnen gezien worden als een middel om onzekerheid te reduceren, hoewel onduidelijk is in hoeverre dat mogelijk is (zie Hoppe 19 8 0 en Van der Staal en Van Vught 1988). Er zijn verschillende bronnen van onzekerheid te onderscheiden (zie Figuur 1), die verbonden zijn met de variabiliteit van het systeem dat beschouwd wordt (Van Asselt 2 0 0 0 ; Van Asselt en Rotmans 2002). Het gaat daarbij in het bijzonder om variabiliteit ten gevolge van: niet-lineaire, chaotische en onvoorspel­ bare natuurlijke gebeurtenissen en processen (natuurlijke variabiliteit): ‘irrationeel’ menselijk gedrag op micro- en meso-niveau, verschillen tussen wat m ensen zeggen dat ze gaan doen en wat ze uit- eindelijk doen en afwijkingen van ‘standaard’ gedragspatronen (onvoorspelbaar menselijk gedrag); sociale, economische en culturele dynamiek en niet- lineaire, chaotische en onvoorspelbare maatschap­ pelijke gebeurtenissen en ontwikkelingen (maat­ schappelijke variabiliteit): technologische ver­ rassingen, zoals nieuwe uitvindingen en doorbraken o f onvoorziene consequenties en neveneffecten van bestaande en nieuwe technologieën; verschillen in perspectieven, paradigma’s en normen en waarden, waardoor percepties en definities verschillen en er onzekerheid omtrent waarde en waardering is (plu­ raliteit /waardendiversiteit).10 Mede vanwege variabiliteit, de eindige resources die beschikbaar zijn om te observeren en te meten en de grenzen aan het m enselijk kennen, is er sprake van beperkte kennis over het historische en huidige gedrag van het systeem waarover m en door middel van toekomstverkenningen uitspraken wil doen. Er is een onzekerheidscontinuüm dat loopt van onnauwkeurigheid, gebrek aan metingen, prakti­ sche onuitvoerbaarheid, conflicterende informatie, reduceerbare onwetendheid en onbepaalbaarheid tot inherente onwetendheid; van ‘we weten wat we niet weten’ tot ‘we zullen het nooit weten’ (Van Asselt 2 0 0 0 ; Van Asselt en Rotmans 2002). Het feit dat toekomstverkenningen gaan over processen en gebeurtenissen die zich nog niet heb­ ben voorgedaan, impliceert dat er in een toekomst verkenning rekening gehouden moet worden mei Natuurlijke variabiliteit Pluraliteit / waardediversiteit Onvoorspelbaar menselijk handelen Maatschappelijke variabiliteit Technologische verrassingen Bron: Von Asselt 2000 en Van Asselt and Rotmans 2002 nauwkeurigheid gebrek aan metingen/abservaties praktisch onuitvoerbaar conflicterende informatie reduceerbare onwetendheid onvoorspelbaarheid niet-reduceerbare onwetendheid Figuur 1: Typologie van bronnen van onzekerheid b 234 3 2003 • 30 • 4 m Marjolein van Asselt, Susan van 't Klooster en Philip van Notten Verkennen in onzekerheid de bronnen die in Figuur i worden aangeduid met structurele onzekerheid. Het genereren van kennis over de toekomst vooronderstelt kennis over heden en verleden (Van der Staal en Van Vught 1987). Het doorredeneren van relevante processen en gebeur­ tenissen, waarbij historische en actuele data wor­ den gebruikt, is vaak een hoofdonderdeel van een toekomstverkennende studie. Dat betekent dat het in toekomstverkennen ook zaak is om de bronnen van onzekerheid die in kennis over heden en verle­ den een rol (kunnen) spelen te erkennen en te adresseren. Uit het voorgaande blijkt dat in toekomstverken­ nen onzekerheidsreductie maar beperkt mogelijk is. Ondanks het intellectuele vermogen om na te den­ ken over de toekomst, ontberen toekomstverkenners ten principale en te allen tijde complete voorkennis. Voor het omgaan met onzekerheid in toekomstver­ kennen is het nodig vertrouwde routines en conven­ ties los te laten. De methodologische uitdaging is de omgang met onzekerheid over onbekende variabe­ len, met onzekerheid over hoe bekende systemen zich in de toekomst kunnen gedragen en met onze­ kerheid over hoe hedendaagse drijvende krachten in de toekomst kunnen uitwerken. De daaruit volgende uitdaging betreft de opdracht een en ander in de toe­ komstverkenning een plaats geven. Hiermee is onzekerheid geen zuiver intellectu­ eel probleem. Naast onzekerheid in de zin van beperkte kennis en onzekerheid door variabiliteit inde systemen waarin m en geïnteresseerd is, blijkt er in de praktijk nog een derde vorm van onzeker­ heid te spelen, die aangeduid kan worden als hele- mgsonzekerheid. Het betreft hier onzekerheid die te maken heeft met de verwachtingen en behoeften van de toekomstverkenners zelf, die sam enhangen met hun individuele ervaring en evaluaties over het hachelijke avontuur dat toekomstverkenning heet. Individuen die in het wetenschap-beleid-web ope­ reren, kunnen op de verschillende vormen van onzekerheid heel verschillend reageren. Dit (veran- lerende) gevoel van onzekerheid zou een factor van betekenis kunnen zijn in het sociale proces van toekomstverkennen (zie Hoppe 19 80 ). De mogelijkheid van discontinuïteit Daarnaast creëert de m ogelijkheid van discontinuï­ teit een methodologische uitdaging: trendbreuken, verrassingen, radicale omwentelingen en systeem- veranderingen zijn denkbaar en mogelijk. De geschiedenis leert dat de wereld vaak het business- as-usualpad verlaat door afwijkingen van actuele trends, standaardpatronen en dominante paradig­ m a’s; het verleden is bezaaid met accidents and con- junctures and curious juxtapositions o f events (Butterfield 19 6 5, geciteerd in Feyerabend 1975). Ook Foucault (1966) onderschrijft het belang van discontinuïteit in de maatschappelijke ontwikke­ lingsgang. Z ijn prem isse is dat systemen zich ont­ wikkelen, functioneren en veranderen op eigen kracht, onder andere door acties en tegenacties en in- en uitsluitingsprocessen (Dobbinga 20 01). Discontinuïteiten, die zich kunnen manifesteren als gebeurtenis o f als ontwikkeling in de tijd, m ar­ keren een breuk met heden en verleden. Veel wetenschappelijk onderzoek is gericht op het beschrijven en verklaren van regelmatige reek­ sen en patronen, dan wel van een specifieke niet- lineariteit. In historisch, sociaal-wetenschappelijk en ook in natuurwetenschappelijk onderzoek wordt vaak wel discontinuïteit verondersteld o f ‘gevonden’ . Vervolgens gaat wordt daar verder op ingezoomd en dan ligt de nadruk veelal op het bear­ gumenteren dat de betreffende discontinuïteit m inder verrassend, radicaal en onvoorspelbaar was dan die leek, gepercipieerd o f gepostuleerd werd. Door er heel precies naar te kijken o f door grotere tijdschaal in beschouwing te nem en, verdwijnt de discontinuïteit uit beeld en wordt de continuïteit benadrukt. Dat is niet per definitie een probleem, maar het betekent wel dat gezien de eventuele rol van abrupte verandering en discontinuïteit in shaping the world het omgaan met discontinuïteit een methodologische uitdaging is (Clark 1988). Van der Staal en Van Vught (1988) concluderen: ‘Een belangrijk methodologisch probleem blijft (...) in hoeverre er continuïteit bestaat in de aangeno­ m en ontwikkelingen die in het verleden wortelen, o f dat er trendbreuken zijn te verwachten, en ja in welke mate.’ Van Steenbergen (1996) verwijst naar deze methodologische uitdaging als de noodzaak van het ontwikkelen van een antenne om seeds o f change te detecteren. Pluraliteit van fundam enteel verschillende toekomstbeelden Omdat de toekomst onbekend en ongekend is, zijn verschillende en conflicterende toekomstbeelden b 2003 • 30 • 4 5 235 m M a rjo le in van A sselt, Susan van ’t K loo ster en P hilip van N otten Verkennen in onzekerheid legitiem. De romanschrijver Kundera merkte in zijn roman Onwetendheid het volgende op over deze pluraliteit: ‘Voorspellingen mogen ernaast zitten wat de toekomst betreft, ze vertellen wel de waar­ heid over degenen die ze uitspreken.’ Mensen en actoren zien de wereld door verschillende lenzen die andere aspecten van de realiteit zichtbaar maken. Geen van hen heeft een monopolie op de juiste interpretatie van de toekomst en geen van de perspectieven is a priori goed o f fout in termen van plausibiliteit en geloofwaardigheid. Door de onken­ baarheid van de toekomst is pluraliteit immuun voor ‘resolution and appeal to the facts’ (Schön en Rein 1994). Pluraliteit betekent dat de verschillen­ de zienswijzen niet tot elkaar kunnen worden gere­ duceerd, en dat zij niet samengesmolten kunnen worden in een enkel grand paradigm (Fisher­ Kowalski en Haberl 1993). Pluraliteit heeft dus niet per definitie te maken met een informatietekort, maar verwijst naar ver­ schillende interpretaties en het losbarsten van strijd hierover. Voor toekomstverkenners is de omgang daarmee een methodologische uitdaging. Zij moeten daarbij kiezen welke zienswijzen zij wel en welke zij niet meenemen en welke criteria zij daarbij zullen hanteren. Toekomstverkenningen zijn in zekere zin gezamenlijke verbeeldingen, die groepsgebonden zijn (Dobbinga 2001). De participanten in een toekomstverkennende studie zien de realiteit door een specifieke bril. Dat bete­ kent dat de vraag wie participeert in een specifieke toekomstverkenning ook een methodologische dimensie heeft. 4 Onzekerheid, discontinuïteit, pluraliteit in de praktijk van toekomstverkennen De vraag die nu aan de orde komt, is of en zo ja hoe in de praktijk van toekomstverkenningen deze methodologische uitdagingen worden geadresseerd. Op basis van bestaand empirisch onderzoek naar de praktijk van toekomstverken­ ning willen we inzicht krijgen in o f en hoe er in de praktijk wordt omgegaan met onzekerheid, discontinuïteit en pluraliteit. Worstelen met onzekerheid In de Milieuverkenningen 1-4 van het RIVM was geen sprake van een systematisch omgaan met onzekerheid (Van Asselt 2000; Van Asselt e.a. 2001a). Er werd hier en daar wel aandacht aan besteed, maar er was geen strategie die ‘milieu- verkenning-breed’ werd gehanteerd. Als gevolg daarvan bleek het moeilijk, zo niet onmogelijk, de informatie die in de Milieuverkenningen over onzekerheid wordt gegeven te interpreteren - vooral als gevolg van onzekerheidsuitdrukkingen als ‘er wordt aangenomen dat', ‘er is veel onzekerheid, ‘ongeveer’ en ‘waarschijnlijk’, en het spreken over kwantitatieve bandbreedtes. Ook de toekomstver­ kenners zelf gaven aan dat ze enerzijds vinden dat het interpreteren van onzekerheden een essentieel onderdeel hoort te zijn van een toekomstverken­ nende studie, maar dat anderzijds de systematische aandacht voor onzekerheid in het proces van toe­ komstverkennen en in de presentatie van de toe­ komstbeelden tekortschoot (Van Asselt 2000; Van Asselt e.a. 2001a). Deze bevinding wordt ondersteund door het onderzoek van Dobbinga (2001), die door middel van etnografisch onderzoek de praktijk van toe­ komstverkennen bij het ministerie van Verkeer en Waterstaat heeft beschreven. Zij constateert dat het ‘toestaan van onzekerheid (...) had geleid tot het verrichten van de scenariostudie’, hetgeen geïllus­ treerd kan worden met het volgende citaat uit een van de startdocumenten van dit project: We zien ons geconfronteerd met een veelheid aan belangrijke beslissingen met consequen­ ties voor de toekomst. Door het gevoel van grote onzekerheid hebben we onvoldoende notie o f die beslissingen passend zijn tegen de achtergrond van wat de toekomst ons kan brengen. Dit vergroot weer ons gevoel van onzekerheid (ministerie van Verkeer en Waterstaat 1996). Dobbinga laat zien dat in de loop van het proces meer en meer geredeneerd werd vanuit (quasi)- zekerheden en dat er steeds minder nagedacht werd over de vraag welke toekomsten mogelijk en denkbaar zouden zijn in het licht van onzekerheid. Ze gaat zelfs zo ver dat ze in haar conclusies stelt dat 'het vooronderstellen van onzekerheid' puur retoriek’ bleek te zijn. Schoonenboom (2003) con­ cludeert op basis van zijn praktijkervaring met toe­ komstverkenningen dat ‘het in de praktijk maar moeilijk blijkt hier (aan onzekerheid, MvA) handen b 236 m 2 0 0 3 • 3 0 • 4 Marjolein van Asselt, Susan van 't Klooster en Philip van Notten Verkennen in onzekerheid en voeten aan te geven’. In de uiteindelijke toe­ komstverkenningen komt volgens hem ‘verrassend weinig twijfel’ voor, en hij vindt het verwonderlijk dat toekomstverkenningen ‘zo weinig vraagstel­ lend staan tegenover de toekomst’. Uit het aangehaalde onderzoek blijkt dat het omgaan met onzekerheid bemoeilijkt wordt door tradities in het beleidsveld en binnen de weten­ schappelijke discipline(s) waaruit de toekomstver- kenners afkomstig zijn, alsmede door de attitude ten aanzien van onzekerheid zoals die leeft onder de opdrachtgever(s) en de (veronderstelde) behoefte aan zekerheid van beleidsmakers en politici. Daaren­ tegen stelt Hoppe (1980) dat de houding van de homo politicus als volgt te karakteriseren is: ‘voor hem (de politicus, MvA) biedt de toekomst (naast onze­ kerheid) ook en vooral een ruimte van ongekende mogelijkheden en beïnvloedingskansen.’ Juist de toekomstverkenners zouden dit niet erkennen. Continuïteit is de ‘norm’ Van der Staal en Van Vught ( 19 8 7 ,19 8 8 ) signaleer­ den de WRR-toekomstverkenningen het bestaan lannamen van dynam ische continuïteit in de toe­ komstige ontwikkelingen, wat impliceerde dat schoksgewijze en uitzonderlijke veranderingen’ kuiten beschouwing werden gelaten. Dat leidde tot ten zogenoemde ‘verrassingsvrije’ toekomstver­ kenning. A ls reden voor deze keuze werd destijds door de W RR aangevoerd dat de overzichtelijkheid :n de consistentie anders problematisch zouden »orden. Van der Staal en Van Vught (1987) consta­ teren dat discontinuïteiten zoals ‘sociale, biologi­ sche en natuurrampen’ om ‘methodologische rede­ nen en niet op feitelijke gronden’ in de toekomstverkenningen buiten beschouwing wer- len gelaten. Continuïteit fungeerde in de WRR- terkenningen als methodologische randvoorwaar­ de (Van der Staal en Van Vught 1988). Uit deze eerste verkenning naar het omgaan met discontinuïteit in scenariostudies blijkt dat een dergelijk evolutionair perspectief in de praktijk nog steeds domineert (zie Clark 19 8 8 ; Sleegers 2003). Hit een analyse van recente en representatieve sce- tariostudies blijkt dat zelfs als de gepresenteerde toekomstbeelden structureel afwijken van het leden de weg ernaartoe in het algem een verras­ send lineair is. De meeste toekomstverkenningen kschrijven gradueel veranderende maatschappij - en, waarin de rol van trendbreuken, verrassingen, radicale omwentelingen en systeemveranderingen zeer beperkt is. Zelfs als een abrupte gebeurtenis o f een extreme ontwikkeling wordt meegenom en in een toekomstverkenning, blijkt het moeilijk te zijn daaromheen een sound story te ontwikkelen waarin aandacht wordt besteed aan de oorzaken van dis­ continuïteit en de lange-termijneffecten die deze wel o f niet tot gevolg kan hebben. De wiskundige modellen die de toekomstver­ kenners ter beschikking staan, bieden ‘door hun trendbevestigende werking geen zicht op van de huidige situatie afwijkende ontwikkelingen’ (Van der Staal en Van Vught 1988). Fontela (2000) bevestigt dat dat in de praktijk nog steeds zo is. Hij stelt dat toekomstverkenningsmodellen gebaseerd zijn op wat hij structural inertia noemt, en daarmee van w einig nut zijn voor het exploreren van toe­ komsten waarin discontinuïteiten optreden. Morgan plaatst de voorkeur voor evolutionaire, continue toekomstbeelden in een breder cultureel- historisch perspectief. Hij spreekt over progressive images o f the future, en verwijst daarmee naar het type toekomstbeeld dat contains the idea o f continuous and perpetu- al social change that supposedly ‘progresses’, (...) does assum e that society is continually im proving (...) and does not make a break with the past o f the present. It is continuous and more o f the same; it does not incorporate the notion o f discontinuous change or funda­ mental restruction (Morgan 2002). Hij beargumenteert dat dit type toekomstverken­ ning goed past bij de principes van de bourgeois­ kapitalistische samenleving. Over de periode na de Tweede Wereldoorlog, het tijdbestek waarin toe- komstverkennen als een systematische activiteit steeds populairder werd11, zegt Morgan dat ‘this period o f time allowed the progressive (...) im age o f the future to develop and crystallize naturally’ (Morgan 20 02). Dat betekent dat het denken over de toekomst in termen van discontinuïteit een breuk met het dominante paradigma lijkt te impliceren. ‘ Monoïsme’ is troef In veel toekomstverkenningen wordt de variëteit aan denkbare toekomstbeelden niet vertaald naar b 2372003 • 30 • 4 m Marjolein van Asselt, Susan van 't Klooster en Philip van Notten Verkennen in onzekerheid een set van scenario’s, m aar wordt gekozen voor het zogenoemde 'm eest waarschijnlijke scenario’ m et een minim um - en een m axim um variant.12 Dat wil zeggen dat de scenario’s niet wezenlijk andere toekomsten beschrijven, omdat ze dezelfde set van fundamentele aannames hanteren; een aannam e is niets anders dan een bepaalde interpretatie van een onzekere variabele o f een onzekere relatie. Als plu­ raliteit daadwerkelijk in beschouwing genom en zou worden, zou dat leiden tot verschillende sets van aannam es die intern consistent zijn vanuit het perspectief dat gehanteerd wordt. Uit het em pi­ risch onderzoek naar de praktijk van de M ilieu­ verkenningen 1-4 bleek dat binnen het RIVM a pri- ori één perspectief dominant was, hetgeen aantoonbaar consequenties had voor de onderwer­ pen en de aannam es die in de toekomstverkenning in beschouwing genom en werden (Van Asselt 2 0 0 0 ; Van Asselt e.a. 20 01a). In verschillende disciplines - waaronder de organisatiekunde, de bestuurskunde en het weten­ schapsonderzoek - wordt het fenomeen group-think bestudeerd (zie bijvoorbeeld Janis 19 8 2 ; Senge 19 9 0 en ’t Hart 19 9 4). Group-think betekent dat er door sociale processen in een groep een bepaalde convergentie o f closure optreedt. Group-think is niet per definitie negatief. Dergelijke convergentiepro­ cessen worden als cruciaal beschouwd voor de pro­ ductie van kennis. In relatie tot toekomstverkennin­ gen kan group-think echter impliceren dat toekomstverkenners fundamenteel verschillende perspectieven op de toekomst niet in beschouwing nemen. Het is mogelijk dat ze alvorens het spec­ trum van toekomsten geëxploreerd te hebben, geza­ menlijk gaan geloven in bepaalde toekomsten. De ‘waarschijnlijkheid’ o f het ‘nut’ van dergelijke toe­ komsten wordt dan hoger ingeschat dan dat van toe­ komsten die buiten beschouwing zijn gelaten. Toekomstverkenner Wiberg (2003) zegt hierover: ‘whether the creation o f consensus also improves the validity (...) is an entirely different issue.’ Dobbinga (2001) schetst bijvoorbeeld hoe door group-think en een papegaaiencultuur in het pro­ ces binnen Verkeer en Waterstaat al heel vroeg de contouren van de scenario’s kwamen vast te liggen. Z e werden in het vervolg niet m eer ter discussie gesteld (zie Koot en Hogema 19 9 0 ). Een analyse van een vijftiental toekomstgerichte studies en rap­ porten op het terrein van riviermanagem ent liet zien dat al deze studies impliciet o f expliciet uitgin­ gen van dezelfde set van scenario’s; de scenario’s die waren gepresenteerd in de Watersysteem­ verkenningen. Deze werden in hoge mate gedomi­ neerd door één wereldbeeld en liet andere wereld­ beelden buiten beschouwing (Rijkswaterstaat 19 9 6 ; Van Asselt e.a. 20 01b). In dit geval lijkt er sprake te zijn van een waterwereld-brede logic oj appropriateness: de bij actoren ingesleten logica over wat in een bepaalde situatie als gepast moet worden ervaren en die pluralistisch denken beperkt (March en Olsen 19 89 ). Ook Van der Sluijs (1997) laat zien dat de inbreng van m eer experts niet noodzakelijkerwijs leidt tot een grotere variëteit van mogelijke interpretaties van belangrijke onze­ kerheden. Hij beschrijft hoe in de wereld van het klimaatonderzoek en -beleid pluraliteit begrensd werd door sociale processen. In het licht van pluraliteit in de praktijk van toe- komstverkennen is ook het werk van Galtung (2003) en Wiberg (2003) interessant. Zij evalueer­ den toekomstverkenningen uit de jaren zestig die geleid hadden tot toekomstbeelden en uitspraken over het jaar 2 0 0 0 . Galtung en Wiberg constateren dat de burgers in wat zij de periferie noemden remarkably accurate waren en dat experts - geïnstu- tionaliseerde o f professionele toekomstverkenners - remarkably wrong zaten (Galtung 2003). Galtung brengt een aantal interessante sociaal-culturele aspecten naar voren die de blik van professionele toekomstverkenners sturen. Hij stelt dat geautori­ seerde experts ervoor waken hun status door dol­ drieste toekomstbeelden in gevaar te brengen; dal dergelijke professionele toekomstverkenners dt macht kennen van voorspelling in het mobiliserei van het handelen; en dat die experts beperkt ei ‘gedisciplineerd’ zijn door de tradities van hui home-discipline (vergelijk De Wilde 20 0 0 ). Het idee van participatie van burgers en andere maatschap pelijke actoren in toekomstverkennende studies zoals bijvoorbeeld ook wordt gepropageerd doo: In ’t Veld (2001) en Kasem ir e.a. (2003), lijk daarmee in methodologisch opzicht verwant aan dt thematiek van pluraliteit. Conclusie De bovengenoemde studies naar de praktijk vai toekomstverkennen laten zien dat het omgaan met b 238 m 2003 • 30 • 4 Marjolein van Asselt, Susan van 't Klooster en Philip van Notten Verkennen in onzekerheid onzekerheid, discontinuïteit en pluraliteit metho­ dologisch gezien geen sinecure is. Uit het aange­ haalde em pirisch onderzoek blijkt dat aan het begin van een toekomstverkenningstraject vaak sprake is van goede bedoelingen. En natuurlijk realiseert m en zich dat het verkennen ‘van de toe­ komst een hachelijke ondernem ing is, waarbij vele methodologische valkuilen dreigen’ (Van der Staal en Van Vught 1988). Toekomstverkenners onder­ schrijven de stelling dat het (h) erkennen van onze­ kerheid de basis van elke toekomstverkenning is, dat de enige zekerheid is dat de toekomst anders zal zijn dan het verleden, daarmee implicerend dat structurele veranderingen en discontinuïteiten 1 Het aan dit artikel ten grondslag liggende onderzoek wordt mogelijk gemaakt door een Vernieuwingsimpulssubsidie van NWO, die in 1999 toegekend is aan Marjolein van Asselt. Wij bedanken Am Sleegers, Wieger Bakker en Bart van Steen­ bergen voor hun constructieve commentaar op een eerdere ver­ sie van dit artikel en Wiebe Bijker en Jan Rotmans die in het kader van promotiebegeleiding een bijdrage leveren aan het onderzoek naar methodologie voor toekomstverkenning. 2 Zie bijvoorbeeld Jantsch 1967, Schwartz 19 9 1, Kleiner 1996, Ringland 19 9 8 en 2 0 0 2 en Fahey en Randall 1998. 1 Zie Dobbinga 2 0 0 1; Hoppe 19 80; Van der Staal en Van Vught 1987 en Van Vught 1985. 4 Voor overzichten van beleidsgerelateerde scenariostudies die een indruk geven van de rijkheid en verscheidenheid aan toekomstverkenningen die in het laatste decennium van de vorige eeuw in West-Europa verschenen zijn, wordt verwezen naar Van Asselt e.a. 1998, Greeuw e.a. 2 000, WRR 2000, Stuurgroep Toekomstonderzoek en Strategisch Omgevingsbeleid 2 0 0 1, Ringland 19 9 8 en 2 002 en Van Otten e.a. 2003. 5 www.elsevier.com/locate/futures mogelijk en waarschijnlijk zijn, en dat het nodig is verschillende perspectieven op de toekomst mee te nemen. Dit alles wordt nodig geacht om de band­ breedte van (on)mogelijkheden te kunnen schetsen. Desalniettemin laat het em pirisch onderzoek dat tot op heden is verricht naar de praktijk van toe­ komstverkenning zien dat onzekerheid, disconti­ nuïteit en pluraliteit in de praktijk nog steeds pro­ blematische elementen in het toekomstverkennen zijn.1? De uitdaging is om deze problematiek te onderkennen en om te verkennen hoe en op welke m anier daaraan op een adequate wijze recht gedaan kan worden. 6 www.elsevier.com/locate/issn/00401625 7 www.camfordpublishing.com 8 www.wfs.org/frg.htm 9 Zie ook het populair-wetenschappelijke tijdschrift Scenario e[ Strategy Planning (www.ssplanning.com), dat stra­ tegische planners in het bedrijfsleven tot doelgroep heeft. 10 Een voorbeeld van een onzekerheid door waardediversi- teit is de ‘discount rate’ in de economie. Hammitt en Harvey (2000) laten zien dat de waarde van deze factor afhankelijk is van hoe belangrijk gelijkheid en solidariteit tussen genera­ ties wordt gevonden. Omdat deze normatieve evaluaties ver­ schillen afhankelijk van het wereldbeeld (vergelijk kapitalis­ me met antiglobalisme) is de kwantitatieve waarde van de ‘discount rate’ onzeker. 11 Zie het historische overzicht. 12 Zie Greeuw e.a. 2 000; Van Asselt e.a. 1998, Van Notten e.a. 2003. ‘ 3 Met name Dammers 2000; Dobbinga 2 0 0 1; Stuurgroep Toekomstonderzoek en Stratetgisch Omgevingsbeleid 200 0 en 2 001; Van Asselt 2000; Van Asselt e.a. 2001a; Van der Staal en Van Vught 1987 en 1988). Literatuur Asselt, M.B.A. van, 200 0 , Perspectives on Uncertainty and Risk: The P R IM A approach to decision support, Dordrecht: Kluwer Academie Publishers. Asselt, M.B.A. van, 2003, Discussienotitie Vemieuwings- impulsproject Methodologie voor toekomstverkenning, Maas­ tricht: Universiteit Maastricht, faculteit der Cultuurweten­ schappen. 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work_wnugj6km6bec5aado4tiqxv5uq	----	Cheating Ourselves: The Economics of Tax Evasion Joel Slemrod No government can announce a tax system and then rely on taxpayers’sense of duty to remit what is owed. Some dutiful people will undoubtedlypay what they owe, but many others will not. Over time the ranks of the dutiful will shrink, as they see how they are being taken advantage of by the others. Thus, paying taxes must be made a legal responsibility of citizens, with penalties attendant on noncompliance. But even in the face of those penalties, substantial tax evasion exists—and always has. The history of taxation is replete with episodes of evasion, often notable for their inventiveness. During the third century, many wealthy Romans buried their jewelry or stocks of gold coin to evade the luxury tax, and homeowners in eighteenth-century England temporarily bricked up their fireplaces to escape notice of the hearth tax collector (Webber and Wildavsky, 1986, p. 141). This essay reviews what is known about the magnitude, nature, and determi- nants of tax evasion, with an emphasis on the U.S. income tax. Alm (1999), Andreoni, Erard, and Feinstein (1998), and Slemrod and Yitzhaki (2002) offer more comprehensive recent reviews of the literature. It then places this informa- tion into a conceptual and policy context. Tax Evasion in the United States Determining the extent of evasion is not straightforward for obvious reasons. (Would you answer survey questions about tax evasion honestly?) Because tax y Joel Slemrod is the Paul W. McCracken Collegiate Professor of Business Economics and Public Policy, Professor of Economics, and Director of the Office of Tax Policy Research at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Michigan. His e-mail address is �jslemrod@umich.edu�. Journal of Economic Perspectives—Volume 21, Number 1—Winter 2007—Pages 25– 48 evasion is both personally sensitive and potentially incriminating, self-reports are vulnerable to substantial underreporting (Baumeister, 1982). Moreover, the divid- ing line between illegal tax evasion and legal tax avoidance is blurry. Under U.S. law, tax evasion refers to a case in which a person, through commission of fraud, unlawfully pays less tax than the law mandates. Tax evasion is a criminal offense under federal and state statutes, subjecting a person convicted to a prison sentence, a fine, or both. An overt act is necessary to give rise to the crime of income tax evasion; therefore, the government must show willfulness and an affirmative act intended to mislead. Some tax understatement is, however, inadvertent error, due to ignorance of or confusion about the tax law (as is some overpayment of taxes). Although the theoretical models of this issue generally refer to willful understate- ment of tax liability, empirical analyses cannot precisely identify the taxpayers’ intent and therefore cannot precisely separate the willful from the inadvertent. Nor can they, in complicated areas of the tax law, precisely distinguish the illegal from the legal. Although this review is intended to address willful tax noncompliance, the difficulty of identifying this behavior is reflected in the varying terms to which the analyses refer, such as “evasion,” “noncompliance,” “misreporting,” and “tax gap.” In what follows, when discussing empirical estimates I generally use the term that generated the estimates employed, and use the term “evasion” in discussing theoretical treatments of willful noncompliance. Tax Evasion by Sources of Income The most careful and comprehensive estimates of the extent and nature of tax noncompliance anywhere in the world have been made for the federal taxes that the U.S. Internal Revenue Service (IRS) oversees. The IRS has, beginning in 1979, periodically estimated what it calls the “tax gap,” meaning how much tax should be paid, but is not paid voluntarily in a timely way (U.S. Department of the Treasury, Internal Revenue Service, 2005b, 2005d, 2005e, 2006). These studies provide separate estimates of the failure to pay the proper amount of tax due to nonfiling; underreporting of tax due on tax returns; and nonpayment or late payment of taxes owed. The IRS comes up with its estimates by combining information from a program of random intensive audits, originally known as the Taxpayer Compliance Measurement Program (TCMP), with information obtained from ongoing enforce- ment activities and special studies about particular sources of income—for in- stance, the tips and cash earnings of informal suppliers like nannies and house- painters—that can be difficult to uncover even in an intensive audit. The Taxpayer Compliance Measurement Program data consist of line-by-line information about what the taxpayer reported and what the examiner concluded was correct. The primary purpose of the TCMP was to improve the process for selecting returns for operational audits, rather than to estimate the tax gap. The program of random audits began in 1963 and lasted until 1988; it was cancelled in 1995 in part to save money, but more importantly because of complaints in Congress that it was unfair to subject one group of taxpayers to detailed audits as a research tool to improve operations, and because of objections within the IRS to 26 Journal of Economic Perspectives diverting resources from more productive operational audits to audits of taxpayers who are less likely to be noncompliant. Until recently, IRS estimates of the tax gap have been fairly simple extrapolations based on the 1988 data and the assumption that rates of noncompliance for each tax source have not changed since 1988. A modified version of the Taxpayer Compliance Measurement Program, called the National Research Program (NRP), was recently implemented to examine individual income tax returns from the 2001 tax year. For the NRP, the IRS randomly selected about 46,000 returns for review and examination and, as with previous TCMP studies, it oversampled high-income returns as well as individual taxpayers who reported (Schedule C) sole proprietorship income. Specifically, of the 46,000 in the overall sample, 21,000 had filed a Schedule C reporting sole proprietorship income, comprising 46 percent of the sample, even though only about 6 percent of individual taxpayers actually file a Schedule C. All of these returns were given a manual review by experienced auditors, who classified the returns into three categories of action: 1) accept the return as filed based on completely corroborating information reported by third parties; 2) contact the taxpayer by correspondence to investigate up to three items on the return that could not be corroborated; or 3) conduct an in-person audit of the return. For those returns selected for in-person audits, the classifiers also determined which items were to be reviewed, with auditors granted discretion to follow up on additional items that might arouse suspicion. In contrast to the NRP, the TCMP performed line-by-line audits on all returns in the sample. To correct for the errors potentially introduced by variability in auditor judgment, the tax gap estimates based on the NRP data employed a modified version of the statistical correction procedure developed by Feinstein (1991). Because the line-by-line audits can fail to uncover substantial amounts of noncompliance, the tax gap estimates based on both the TCMP and NRP studies make significant adjustments for undetected noncompliance that rely on special studies of particular sources of income and deductions. Analyses of the National Research Program data form the basis for the first substantial updates since 1988 of the individual income tax underreporting gap. The IRS released preliminary estimates in March 2005 and updated these estimates in February 2006 (U.S. Department of the Treasury, Internal Revenue Service, 2005c, 2006). Table 1 presents the tax gap figures for 2001 based on the NRP study for the individual income tax filers and on estimates extrapolated from earlier studies for other taxes. The overall gross tax gap estimate is $345 billion, which amounts to 16.3 percent of estimated actual (paid plus unpaid) tax liability. This percentage is not much different than earlier estimates based on extrapolations from the 1988 tax gap studies (for example, U.S. Department of the Treasury, Internal Revenue Service, 1996). However, taking into account changes in meth- odology and the uncertainty of the estimating procedures, one cannot conclude that the noncompliance rate has remained steady, as opposed to trending up or down. Of the $345 billion estimate, the IRS expects to recover $55 billion, resulting Joel Slemrod 27 Table 1 Components of the 2001 U.S. Federal Tax Underreporting Gap Tax gap ($billion) Percentage of amount that should have been reported/filed/ paid/collected Gross tax gap 345 16.3 Underreporting 285 13* Individual Income Tax 197 18 Underreported nonbusiness income 56 4 Wages and salaries 10 1 Net capital gains 11 12 Taxable pension annuities, IRA distributions 4 4 Taxable interest and dividends 3 4 Other 28 n.a. Underreported business income 109 43 Nonfarm proprietor income 68 57 Partnership, S corporation, estate, and net trust income 22 18 Rent and royalty net income 13 51 Farm net income 6 72 Overreported Offsets to Income 15 4 Deductions 14 5 Exemptions 4 5 Other adjustments �3 �21 Overreported Credits 17 26 Employment Tax 54 7 Self-employment tax 39 52* FICA and unemployment taxes 15 2* Corporation Income Tax 30 17* Large (�$10 million assets) corporations 25 14* Small (�$10 million assets) corporations 5 29* Estate and Excise Taxes 4 4* Nonfiling 27 1* Individual income tax 25 2* Other 2 2* Underpayment 34 2* Individual income tax 23 2* Corporation income tax 2 1* Other 9 1* Enforced and other late payments 55 3* Net tax gap (tax not collected) 290 13.7* Source: U.S. Department of the Treasury, Internal Revenue Service (2006). Note: Only the figures for the individual income tax and the self-employment tax are based on the IRS’ National Research Program results; the rest are IRS extrapolations from earlier TCMP studies. * Calculated by the author. 28 Journal of Economic Perspectives in a “net tax gap” (the amount of tax not collected) for tax year 2001 of $290 billion, which is 13.7 percent of the tax that should have been paid. Table 1 breaks down the aggregate estimate of the 2001 tax gap into its components. About two-thirds of all underreporting of income happens on the individual income tax. For the individual income tax, understated income—as opposed to overstating of exemptions, deductions, adjustments, and credits— accounts for over 80 percent of individual underreporting of tax. Underreported business income is nearly twice as large as underreported nonbusiness income. Taxpayers who were required to file an individual tax return, but did not file in a timely manner, accounted for slightly less than 10 percent of the gap. While the individual income tax comprises about two-thirds of the estimated underreporting, the corporation income tax makes up slightly more than 10 percent, and the employment-tax tax gap makes up about one-fifth of total underreporting. The most striking and important aspect of Table 1 is the huge variation in the rate of misreporting as a percentage of actual income by type of income (or offset). Only 1 percent of wages and salaries are underreported, and 4 percent of taxable interest and dividends are misreported. (These percentages exclude underreport- ing associated with nonfiling.) Of course, wages and salaries, interest, and dividends must all be reported to the IRS by those who pay them; in addition, wages and salaries are subject to employer withholding. Self-employment business income is not subject to information reports, and its estimated noncompliance rate is sharply higher. An estimated 57 percent of nonfarm proprietor income is not reported, a total of $68 billion, which by itself accounts for more than a third of the total estimated underreporting for the individual income tax. As with prior estimates of the individual income tax underreporting gap, over half is attributable to the underreporting of business income, of which nonfarm proprietor income is the largest component. The particularly high noncompliance rate associated with self-employed in- come has been corroborated through an indirect approach pioneered by Pissarides and Weber (1989) in the United Kingdom. They show that, conditional on house- hold characteristics and recorded incomes, the self-employed spend a higher proportion of their reported income on food, and they argue that this reflects an underreporting of income, not a higher propensity to consume food. After adjust- ment for the differing variances of self-employment and employee incomes, Pissar- ides and Weber estimate that self-employed people in the United Kingdom on average underreported their income by about one-third. Feldman and Slemrod (forthcoming) applied this methodology to U.S. individual tax return data by examining whether the relationship between charitable contributions (rather than food expenditure) and income depends on the source of income. They find that, other things equal, reported positive self-employment income of $1.54 is associated with the same level of contributions as $1.00 of wage and salary income, which implies—assuming a negligible wage and salary noncompliance rate and that the self-employed are not inherently more charitable than others—a self-employment noncompliance rate of 35 percent; for positive farm net income, the implied Cheating Ourselves: The Economics of Tax Evasion 29 noncompliance rate is 74 percent. Strikingly, negative reported values for self- employment income are also associated with more contributions than reported by taxpayers with no self-employment income, suggesting that on average these re- ported losses are associated with higher true incomes. All in all, there is substantial evidence that the extent of evasion for sole proprietor income is high compared to such income sources as wages, salaries, interest, and dividends, and may be more than half of true income. Other compo- nents of taxable income for which information reports are nonexistent or of limited value, such as other nonwage income and tax credits, also have relatively high estimated misreporting rates. The IRS reports that the net misreporting rate is 53.9, 8.5, and 4.5 percent for income types subject to “little or no,” “some,” and “substantial” information reporting, respectively, and is just 1.2 percent for those amounts subject to both withholding and substantial information reporting (U.S. Department of the Treasury, Internal Revenue Service, 2006). Who Evades? One intriguing question is how the level of noncompliance, and its proportion to income, varies by income class. Somewhat surprisingly, little is known about this from the IRS tax gap studies. Christian (1994) did report, based on the 1988 TCMP study, that higher-income people evade less than those with lower incomes, relative to the size of their true income; indeed, according to this study those with adjusted gross income above $500,000 on average reported 97.1 percent of their true incomes to the IRS, compared to just 78.7 percent for those with adjusted gross income between $5,000 and $10,000. This pattern appears consistent with the old saying among tax professionals that “the poor evade and the rich avoid,” meaning that the rich tend to reduce their taxes through legal “avoidance” measures such as tax shelters, while those with lower incomes attempt more outright evasion. How- ever, the Christian study is not conclusive. These figures do not adjust for the noncompliance the TCMP auditors did not detect. TCMP audits of personal tax returns do not generally investigate corporate or partnership tax returns, so any evasion at those business levels is generally not accounted for; because high-income individuals have proportionately more business income, the relatively high rates shown in this table may overestimate the voluntary compliance of this group. The TCMP audits may not detect sophisticated tax shelters pursued mainly by high- income taxpayers, some of which are legal avoidance but others of which are probably illegal. Finally, many of those categorized as low-income in this study may have reported business losses, so that they are not people with low permanent income and may even, by dint of noncompliance, have placed themselves in the (reported) low-income category. Tax noncompliance seems related to some other observable characteristics of taxpayers. According to Andreoni, Erard, and Feinstein (1998, pp. 821–22), mar- ried filers and taxpayers younger than 65 have significantly higher average levels of noncompliance than others, and econometric studies by Clotfelter (1983) and Feinstein (1991) that control for income and marginal tax rates come to similar 30 Journal of Economic Perspectives conclusions. Baldry (1987) found evidence, in an experimental setting, that men evade more than women. There also seems to be substantial heterogeneity in tax evasion. The TCMP studies concluded that, within any group defined by income, age, or other demo- graphic category, there are some who evade, some who do not, and even some who overstate tax liability. For example, for taxpayers with reported income between $50,000 and $100,000 in 1988, 60 percent understated tax, 26 percent reported correctly, and 14 percent overstated tax (Christian, 1994, p. 39). These studies do not explore to what extent this heterogeneity is explained by different “tastes” for evasion as opposed to different opportunities to evade. I return to this issue later. Big Business and Tax Evasion Businesses play a central role in the tax system. For taxes that by statute fall on employees (and independent contractors), businesses “withhold” tax; remit the tax on behalf of the employees; and provide the IRS with information reports of these activities that can be matched against the individuals’ reports to the IRS. In addition, a prominent tax is levied on corporate business entities—the corporation income tax. As Table 1 shows, the IRS estimates noncompliance with the corpora- tion income tax in 2001 to be $30 billion, which corresponds to a noncompliance rate of 17 percent. Of this $30 billion, noncompliance by corporations with over $10 million in assets make up $25 billion. But the estimated noncompliance rate of the larger companies is lower: 14 percent, compared to 29 percent for corporations with less than $10 million of assets. This estimate has not been updated by the National Research Program. Instead, the estimates for the corporation income tax gap come from three sources, according to the U.S. General Accounting Office (1988): For small corporations the IRS used Taxpayer Compliance Measurement Program data, adjusted for underreporting unlikely to be detected by that method. For medium-sized corpo- rations, the gap was calculated by estimating, based on operational (that is, non- TCMP) audits from the mid-1980s, how much tax revenue would have been generated if the IRS examined all these corporations’ tax returns. Finally, for large corporations, because the IRS routinely examines a high percentage of these companies, examination results were used as the basis of estimates of the tax gap. The Bureau of Economic Analysis also calculates an annual measure of cor- porate tax misreporting. In 2000, its 13.8 percent estimate of the ratio of misre- porting to actual liability was close to, but slightly lower than, the extrapolated IRS estimate. Petrick (2002, p. 7) discusses the Bureau of Economic Analysis method- ology and Slemrod (2004, fn. 5) compares it to the IRS tax gap studies. Because these estimates are largely based on operational audits, and because most big corporations are routinely audited, some caveats apply to the tax gap estimates they generate. The deficiencies proposed by the examination team are not a perfect measure of actual noncompliance. Due to the complexity of the tax law, exactly what is actual tax liability—and therefore what is actual tax noncom- pliance—is often not clear. Second, any given examination is not perfect. Some Joel Slemrod 31 noncompliance may be missed, and there will also be mistakes in characterizing as noncompliance what is legitimate tax planning. For this reason, the data reflect not only the reporting behavior of the companies but also the enforcement behavior of the tax authority. Knowing that the resolution of the ultimate tax liability is often a long process of negotiation that may or may not involve the judicial system, the tax liability per the originally filed return, as well as the initial deficiency assessed by the examination team, may be partly a tactical “opening bid” that is neither party’s best estimate of the “true” tax liability. Indeed, IRS Commissioner Mark Everson (2005) testified to the President’s Advisory Panel on Tax Reform that the IRS had “a reputation for trading [penalties] away,” so that it was “always in the interest of the noncompliant taxpayer to take an aggressive position with the Service.” The proposed deficiency also does not necessarily capture the long-term effect of tax noncompliance on the present value of revenues collected, both because some of the proposed tax deficiency may involve temporary adjustments in tax liability—such as immediate expensing versus depreciation—that will have offset- ting consequences in future years, and because upward adjustments made to the taxable income of corporations with negative taxable income would not increase that year’s tax liability, but would in general increase the present value of tax liability to the extent that it reduces the expected amount of loss carryforwards. Based on an examination of previously undisclosed IRS operational audits and appeals data merged with confidential tax return data for corporations, Hanlon, Mills, and Slemrod (forthcoming) calculated that tax noncompliance of large corporations, as measured by tax deficiencies proposed by IRS auditors, amounted in the period 1983 to 1998 to approximately 13 percent of “true” tax liability, slightly lower than the IRS and Bureau of Economic Analysis estimates. All in all, 60 percent of the proposed deficiency was either agreed to by the taxpayer or upheld at a later stage. This 60 percent sustention rate is almost certainly an upper bound estimate of the rate for all companies, however, because it excludes the (generally more contested) tax return filings that had not been settled when the data set was compiled. They also found that the largest companies (those with assets greater than $5 billion) had the greatest percentage of firms with a tax deficiency (74 percent) and the highest proposed deficiency rate (14.6 percent, versus a range of 9.9 percent to 13.4 percent for the other six groups). This finding is consistent with the larger firms with more complex operations having more opportunities for tax noncom- pliance. There was also some evidence suggesting that the noncompliance rate for corporations relative to their size is “U-shaped,” with medium-sized businesses among the set of large companies having the lowest rate of noncompliance.1 1 In a study of much smaller companies, Rice (1992) did not find a similar association between firm size and tax compliance, although he concluded that managers of corporations whose profit performance is below its industry norm may utilize tax noncompliance as a strategy to cut costs. In contrast, high-profit companies may take advantage of their greater ability to underreport income without being audited. 32 Journal of Economic Perspectives On average, Hanlon, Mills, and Slemrod (forthcoming) found that private companies have higher proposed deficiency rates than public companies (17.1 percent versus 12.5 percent), which is similar to the survey results analyzed in Cloyd (1995) and Cloyd, Pratt, and Stock (1996). Privately held firms may be more aggressive in angling for lower taxes because they have fewer capital market pressures and thus can sacrifice reporting high financial accounting earnings in an attempt to reduce taxes owed. We also found a positive relationship between the amount of intangible assets a firm holds (as proxied by research and development expenses and market-to-book ratio) and its tax deficiency rate, which is consistent with the idea that these firms have greater tax planning opportunities. Finally, the percentage of annual executive compensation in the form of bonuses and the level of equity incentives from exercisable stock options are positively related to the proposed tax deficiency. How U.S. Tax Evasion Compares to Other High-Income Countries How does the magnitude and nature of tax evasion in the United States stack up against other high-income countries? The answer to that question is elusive. No other country has undertaken a broad-based analysis of tax evasion like the Tax- payer Compliance Measurement Program or the National Research Program. Australia, Canada, Sweden, and the United Kingdom have in place small-scale random audit programs for selected taxes and taxpayer groups, but detailed results of these programs are generally not published (although they presumably inform their tax agencies’ risk management assessments and resource allocation deci- sions). The Swedish Tax Agency (2004) estimated the total gap as a percentage of taxes to be 9 percent in 1997 and 8 percent in 2000. Although no official U.K. estimate has been released, an official document does speculate that “it is likely that the United Kingdom has a tax gap of a similar magnitude” to that of Sweden and the United States (O’Donnell, 2004). It is also instructive to compare estimates of U.S. income tax evasion with noncompliance rates estimated for the value-added tax, a consumption tax that, while a staple of foreign revenue systems, is not in the U.S. tax arsenal. According to a confidential study made in 2005 by the Forum on Tax Administration, a subsidiary body of the OECD’s Committee on Fiscal Affairs, only a few countries were prepared to make public their estimates of overall noncompliance, which ranged from 4.0 to 17.5 percent.2 These estimates are generally based on “top- down” exercises, which compare actual revenues from the value-added tax to a theoretical tax base and tax amount derived by examining consumption expendi- ture adjusted to account for factors that affect the base for the value-added tax 2 The 4.0 to 17.5 percent range was cited in the report of the President’s Advisory Panel on Federal Tax Reform (2005, p. 202), but the citation suggests that the numbers present an OECD-wide picture, when they in fact represent a small number of countries; nor was the OECD responsible for any of the research that led to these figures. I am grateful to Richard Highfield of the OECD for providing this information. Cheating Ourselves: The Economics of Tax Evasion 33 (for example, tax policy choices concerning goods that are exempt from the value-added tax, or which pay different rates). The United Kingdom is the most transparent with this approach. Its most recent report suggests a gap for its value-added tax in 2003–2004 and 2004 –2005 of 13.5 percent, down from an average of 15.7 percent in 2000 –2003 (HM Revenues and Customs, 2005). The U.K. reports claim to have validated their top-down estimates with “bottom-up” estimates, but the details of this procedure are not published. Earlier studies across Europe found a wide range of estimated noncompliance rates for the value-added tax (Agha and Haughton, 1996): 2 to 4 percent for revenue foregone for the United Kingdom in 1986 (Tait, 1988); 40 percent of revenue uncollected in Italy (Pedone, 1981); 6 percent for the Netherlands in 1976; and 8 percent for Belgium in 1980 (Oldman and Woods, 1983). Silvani and Brondolo (1993) report calcula- tions of the net evasion rate for the value-added tax in 19 mostly developing countries and report a median evasion rate of 31.5 percent, with New Zealand the lowest at 5.1 percent and Peru the highest at 68.2 percent. In this study, the evasion rates were “prepared by the national authorities following a standard methodology supplied by the authors, which essentially compares VAT revenue collected to the potential VAT base (times the average VAT tax rate)” (p. 1). Finally, there are voluminous cross-country estimates of the extent of what is referred to as the shadow, irregular, underground, informal, or black economy. Although the definition of the shadow economy is often not precise, it typically entails the production and distribution of services that are themselves not illegal, but become unlawful either by tax evasion or the bypassing of regulations. The underground economy is generally measured as a fraction of GDP, not tax liability, and would include business activity that is not subject to regulations, but which does not generate taxable income. It also excludes some forms of tax evasion such as the overstatement of deductions and credits, and the use of sophisticated tax shelters. In spite of these definitional differences, the underreporting of business income, particularly proprietor income that is the focus of estimates of the underground economy, comprises a significant fraction of the estimated tax gap even in the United States. The methodology for estimating the underground economy generally relies on inferring the level or trends in the underground economy from data on measurable quantities, such as currency demand, electricity consumption, or na- tional income accounts. For example, Feige (1989) estimates the size of the underground economy by assuming that most unreported economic activity takes place in cash, and that there is a “base year” when the underground economy did not exist; under these assumptions, increases in cash holdings over the base year indicate a growing underground economy. Similarly, Tanzi (1980, 1983) pioneered a methodology based on regressions explaining the ratio of currency to M2, and he interpreted the portion of this ratio explained by changes in the tax level as an indication of changes in the size of the underground economy. It is very difficult to verify the accuracy of these estimates. Even Tanzi (1999, p. F340) himself has recently said that “as long as the estimates remain as divergent as they have been, 34 Journal of Economic Perspectives they cannot provide much of a guidance for policy.” Breusch (2005) has recently presented a compelling critique of one widely used methodology for generating estimates of the underground economy. Such estimates may say more about the relative extent of the shadow economy, across time and countries, than about its absolute magnitude. According to the calculations of Mummert and Schneider (2002, Table 1) based on the currency demand approach, in 2001–2002 the United States had the smallest shadow economy (relative to official GDP) among 21 OECD countries, at 8.7 percent, only just more than half the average of 16.7 percent. Switzerland (9.4 percent) and Austria (10.6 percent) were the next lowest, while Italy (27.0 percent) and Greece (28.5 percent) were the highest. Another useful international perspective is the system of tax administration and enforcement. According to OECD (2004), of the 24 OECD countries that reported the data, in 2001 the United States had the second-lowest ratio of administrative costs to net-of-refund revenue collections, at 0.52 percent, compared to a 1.11 percent unweighted average, and the lowest ratio of full-time staff of the national revenue body to the labor force. This does not necessarily signal an inappropriately low attention to tax enforcement; it could instead reflect a more efficient use of staff and computers, as well as economies of scale. Like all but two OECD countries, the United States relies on withholding-at-source arrangements for the collection of the bulk of personal tax revenue on wage and salary income. Unlike most OECD countries, the United States does not use withholding-at- source for the collection of personal income tax on dividends or interest. Neither does it use withholding-at-source for independent personal services or royalties and rents, though many OECD countries do. The United States does maintain the most substantial program of information reporting of any OECD country. An extremely wide variety of transactions must be reported to the IRS, including interest, dividends, real estate transactions, rents, sales of securities, and wages. In 2002–2003, some 1.3 billion such reports were received (96 percent electronically) and computer-matched with taxpayer records; the program entailed some 4.3 million taxpayer contacts and resulted in additional assessments amounting to almost $5 billion. Finally, the United States is in the minority of OECD countries (nine out of 30) in requiring that individuals file tax returns. Half of the OECD countries operate a system in which most wage earners need not file due to exact, cumulative employer withholding, and in other countries the tax authority sends taxpayers a “pre-populated” tax return based on the information they receive from third parties, requiring the taxpayer only to verify that the information is correct. The Positive Theory of Tax Evasion: Models and Tests The Deterrence Model of Tax Evasion The standard framework for considering an individual’s choice of whether and how much to evade taxes is a deterrence model first formulated by Allingham and Sandmo (1972), who adapted Becker’s (1968) model of the economics of crime. In this model, taxpayers decide whether and how much to evade taxes in the same way Joel Slemrod 35 they would approach any risky decision or gamble— by maximizing expected utility—and are influenced by possible legal penalties in just the same way they are influenced by any other contingent cost. Optimal tax evasion depends on the chance of getting caught and penalized, the size of the penalty for evasion, and the individual’s degree of risk aversion. In an intriguing extension of the theory, Yitzhaki (1974) pointed out that if the penalty (and any associated nonpecuniary costs) for discovered evasion is proportional to the tax understated (rather than, as Allingham and Sandmo assumed, the income understated), then the tax rate has no effect on the terms of the tax evasion gamble. As the tax rate rises, the cost of a detected understatement of taxes rises in exact proportion to the reward from a successful understatement of taxes, so the reward-to-risk ratio is unchanged. In this situation, a higher tax rate has only an income effect and, for example, if a taxpayer’s level of (absolute) risk aversion increases as after-tax income falls, a higher tax rate will decrease tax evasion. Thirty-plus years of subsequent analysis has extended this model in a number of dimensions, including allowing an endogenous probability of detection, analyz- ing evasion jointly with the labor supply decision (thus directly addressing the shadow economy), incorporating sources of uncertainty other than the chance of audit, and addressing general equilibrium considerations. Andreoni, Erard, and Feinstein (1998) offer a comprehensive survey of the theory, and Sandmo (2005) provides a nice retrospective on tax evasion modeling. A recent literature adapts the theory of tax evasion, which for the most part concerns individual decision makers, to the tax compliance decisions made by businesses. Arguably, we would expect large public companies to act in a risk- neutral manner, rather than like the risk-averse individuals in the Allingham and Sandmo (1972) model. Furthermore, in large, publicly held corporations, deci- sions about tax compliance are not made by the shareholders directly but by their agents, like the chief financial officer or a vice president responsible for tax matters. To align the incentives of the decision makers and the shareholders, the corpora- tion should tie the agent’s compensation to observable outcomes that affect after- tax corporate profitability. Crocker and Slemrod (2005) show that this implies that, if penalties for evasion were to apply to the agent, the principal can alter its compensation contract with the agent, possibly offsetting the intended conse- quences of the IRS policy (see also Chen and Chu, 2005). The conclusion that enforcement strategies directed at the tax director and those directed at the corporation itself may impact corporate behavior differently is especially pertinent in light of the Sarbanes-Oxley rules, which create important changes in the respon- sibility for misreporting: for instance, they require that the chief executive officer sign the company’s federal income tax return. Slemrod (2004) expands on the issues related to tax noncompliance by businesses. Attempts to verify the predictions of the Allingham and Sandmo (1972) model empirically have focused on how evasion is affected by enforcement intensity and the level of tax rates. However, empirical tests have been plagued by the same measurement issues that arise in assessing the magnitude of tax noncompliance. 36 Journal of Economic Perspectives Clotfelter (1983) examines the micro data from the Taxpayer Compliance Mea- surement Program studies and finds that noncompliance is strongly positively related to the marginal tax rate; however, Feinstein (1991) finds a negative impact. As with any cross-sectional study of the impact of taxes on behavior, their approach is made difficult by the fact that the marginal tax rate is a (complicated, nonlinear) function of income, making it difficult to identify the tax rate and income effects separately without making strong functional form assumptions. (Having data from two separate years in which the tax rate as a function of income differs, as Feinstein did, mitigates this problem to some degree.) Beron, Tauchen, and Witte (1992) examined TCMP data aggregated to the 3-digit zip code level and concluded that increasing the odds of an audit significantly increased reported adjusted gross income and tax liability for some income groups, but not all. However, the district-level audit rate is not exogenous, perhaps reflecting something about the compliance characteristics of the population. The authors use the level of IRS resources relative to the number of returns as an instrument for the audit rate, arguing that the IRS has not been able to allocate its resources so as to achieve its goals, but this approach is invalid to the extent that the IRS succeeds in targeting its resources toward areas believed to be particularly noncompliant. Field experiments offer another source of evidence. Slemrod, Blumenthal, and Christian (2001) analyze the results of a randomized controlled experiment con- ducted by the State of Minnesota Department of Revenue. They found that low- and middle-income taxpayers who received a letter promising an audit reported slightly more, but statistically significantly more, income than those who did not receive such a letter, and the difference was larger for those with greater opportunities to evade. However, high-income taxpayers receiving an audit threat on average re- ported lower income. The authors speculate that sophisticated, high-income tax- payers view an audit as a negotiation, and view reported taxable income as the opening (low) bid in a negotiation that does not necessarily result in the determi- nation and penalization of all noncompliance. Perhaps the most compelling empirical support for the Allingham and Sandmo (1972) deterrence model is the cross-sectional variation in noncompliance rates across types of income and deductions, as indicated in Table 1. Line item by line item, there is a clear positive correlation between the rate of compliance and the presence of enforcement mechanisms such as information reports and em- ployer withholding. Klepper and Nagin (1989) showed compellingly that, across line items, noncompliance rates are related to proxies for the traceability, deni- ability, and ambiguity of items, which are in turn related to the probability that evasion will be detected and punished. They also find evidence of a substitution-like effect across line items, such that greater noncompliance on one item lowers the attractiveness of noncompliance on others, because increasing the latter jeopar- dizes the expected return to the former by increasing the probability of detection. Another example of the link from a lack of deterrence to tax compliance involves state use taxes, which are due on sales purchased from out-of-state vendors but consumed in the state of residence. These taxes are largely unenforceable (except Cheating Ourselves: The Economics of Tax Evasion 37 perhaps for some expensive items like cars), and noncompliance rates are in the range of 90 percent (Bruce and Fox, 2000, pg. 1380). However, there has been no compelling empirical evidence addressing how noncompliance is affected by the penalty for detected evasion, as distinct from the probability that a given act of noncompliance will be subject to punishment. The demonstrated deterrent effect of detecting (and penalizing) noncompli- ance is important because IRS enforcement activities have declined sharply in recent years. Between 1996 and 2004, the share of nonbusiness individual returns audited dropped from 1.67 percent to 0.74 percent. The share of corporate returns subject to face-to-face audits dropped from 2.62 percent to 0.71 percent, and the coverage ratio for corporations with assets over $250 million fell from 51.7 percent in fiscal year 1997 to 29.7 percent in fiscal year 2003 (U.S. Department of the Treasury, Internal Revenue Service, 2005a, Table 10). In part, the reduction in face-to-face audits may reflect a more efficient use of computerized checks as a substitute. However, the number of criminal tax cases recommended for prosecu- tion by the IRS declined by 50 percent between 1992 and 2002 (IRS data cited in Johnston, 2003). The use by the IRS of its three main weapons for collecting tax debts from recalcitrant tax evaders—levies (garnishing wages or seizing money from bank accounts), liens (taking ownership of the taxpayer’s property until a tax debt is paid), and outright seizures of property—also declined sharply. Between 1996 and 2004, the number of levies fell from 3.1 million to 2.2 million, liens fell from 750,000 to 534,000, and seizures fell from 10,449 to 440 (U.S. Department of the Treasury, Internal Revenue Service, 2005a, Table 16). Some of the decline in IRS enforcement is a temporary phenomenon—in response to the IRS Restructuring and Reform Act of 1998, the IRS had to divert resources temporarily towards its reorganization efforts—and many of the enforce- ment indicators mentioned above have started to rebound a bit. In November 2005, the IRS Commissioner announced plans to increase the number of audits it conducts in 2006, focusing more of its resources on taxpayers with incomes over $100,000 and self-employed workers who deal largely in cash (Herman and Silver- man, 2005). But some of the decline is due to a longer-term trend. For instance, between 1992 and 2002, the number of tax returns grew by 12 percent, but the number of IRS tax auditors fell by a quarter from 16,000 to 12,000 (Johnston, 2003, based on IRS data). Real operating costs actually fell between fiscal year 1993 and 2000, but have risen by slightly more than 7 percent from 2000 to 2005. During this time, both the complexity of the tax law and the sophistication of abusive tax shelters and other means of evading taxes increased notably. The decline in enforcement poses the danger that tax evasion will increase. Behavioral Models Although the Allingham and Sandmo (1972) approach has dominated the economics literature, some have argued that it misses important elements of the tax evasion decision in such a way that the model predicts a compliance rate much lower than what we actually observe. For example, Feld and Frey (2002, p. 5) assert 38 Journal of Economic Perspectives that it is “impossible to account for tax compliance in terms of expected punish- ment.” The dismissive argument goes as follows: given the average probability of audit (less than 1 percent for individual returns with no business income), the penalties typically assessed for noncompliance (typically 10 percent of the amount underpaid), and what we know about the degree of risk aversion from other contexts, noncompliance should be much, much higher than it apparently is. But this dismissive argument is not persuasive, because the low average audit coverage rate vastly understates the chances that the average dollar of unreported net income would be detected. A wage or salary earner whose employer submits the employee’s taxable income and Social Security number electronically to the Inter- nal Revenue Service, but who does not report that income on his own personal return, will be flagged for further scrutiny with a probability much closer to 100 percent than to 1 percent. Thus, the low rates of noncompliance for labor income reported in Table 1 by no means patently contradict the deterrence theory. Whether the 57 percent noncompliance rate of nonfarm sole proprietors is lower than deterrence theory predicts is less clear; Andreoni, Erard, and Feinstein (1998, pp. 821– 822) argue that it is lower. Nonetheless, considerable experimental (and anecdotal) evidence suggests that the story of tax evasion involves more than amoral cost– benefit calculation. Frey (1997) argues for the importance of differentiating between intrinsic motiva- tion, under which taxpayers comply with tax liabilities because of “civic virtue,” and extrinsic motivation, in which they pay because of threat of punishment. He suggests that increasing extrinsic motivation—say with more punitive enforcement policies—may “crowd out” intrinsic motivation by making people feel that they pay taxes because they have to, rather than because they want to. In an experimental setting, Scholz and Lubell (2001) find that the level of cooperation in certain settings declines significantly when penalties are introduced, suggesting that the increased deterrence motivation did not compensate for the changes higher pen- alties bring about in how people frame their decisions. Some laboratory experiments have found that subjects respond not only to the probabilities and stakes of a tax evasion game, but also to the context provided to them (Spicer and Becker, 1980; Alm, Jackson, and McKee, 1992). In particular, tax evasion decisions may depend on perceptions of the fairness of the tax system. If, the argument goes, perceived tax equity strengthens the social norm against evasion, then evasion becomes more costly in terms of bad conscience (if not caught) or bad reputation (if caught). Falkinger (1995) elaborates on this argu- ment, while Cowell (1990, p. 219) reports on experiments that fail to find links between perceived inequities in the tax system and noncompliance. An individual can also find unfairness in what the government uses tax revenues for—a person with some of the spirit of Henry David Thoreau may avoid taxes because that person thinks government (nontax) policy wrong (Andreoni, Erard, and Feinstein, 1998). Such individual judgments can be complex; for example, expenditures on warfare might be tolerated in a patriotic period, but rejected during another period characterized by antimilitarism (Daunton, 1998). Joel Slemrod 39 These patterns suggest that a form of reciprocal altruism may be at work—a form in which the taxpayer’s behavior depends on the behavior, motivations, and intentions not of any subset of other individuals, but of the government itself.3 Levi (1998, p. 91) argues that if citizens believe that the government will act in their interests, that its procedures are fair, and that their trust of the state and others is reciprocated, then people are more likely to become “contingent consenters” who cooperate in paying taxes even when their short-term material interest would make free-riding the individual’s best option. Some survey evidence supports this view. Torgler (2003) and Slemrod (2003) show a positive relationship across countries between survey-based attitudes toward tax evasion on the one hand and professed trust in government, and Slemrod (2003) finds that the same relationship holds across individuals within the United States and Germany. A 2002 poll in the Czech Republic indicated that a person would be more likely to evade taxes if that person believed government services were substandard (Hanousek and Palda, 2004). Of course, such survey responses may also reflect after-the-fact rationalization of noncompliant behavior. If perceptions matter for tax compliance, a natural question is to what extent tax compliance behavior can be manipulated by the government to lower the cost of raising resources. Appeals to conscience go back at least to Hammurabi’s reign in ancient Babylon, when the tax collector sent the following notice when payments were late: “Why have you not sent to Babylon the 30 lambs as your tax? Are you not ashamed of such behavior?” (as cited in Webber and Wildavsky, 1986, p. 58). Appeals to patriotism to induce citizens to pay their taxes (and, often, buy war bonds) are common in recent times; the U.S. Secretary of Treasury during World War I, William Gibbs McAdoo, referred to these campaigns as “capitalizing patri- otism.” Kang and Rockoff (2006) discuss the World War I experience, while Jones (1996) discusses fiscal propaganda during World War II. That such campaigns are successful during ordinary (nonwar) times in swaying taxpayers from their otherwise optimal compliance strategy has not been compel- lingly demonstrated. In a randomized field experiment with Minnesota taxpayers in a peacetime setting, Blumenthal, Christian, and Slemrod (2001) find no evidence that either of two written appeals to taxpayers’ consciences had a significant effect on compliance. One letter stressed the beneficial effects of tax-funded projects, while the other conveyed the message that most taxpayers were compliant. Torgler (2004), using a controlled field experiment in Switzerland, also found that moral suasion has hardly any effect on taxpayers’ compliance behavior. Survey evidence also suggests that attitudes about the acceptability of tax 3 Some have proposed substituting the expected-utility-maximization framework with an alternative framework, in the spirit of the prospect theory developed by Kahneman and Tversky (1979). For example, Dhami and al-Nowaihi (2004) argue that, compared to an Allingham and Sandmo (1972) model, such a framework (with the addition of a stigma cost for discovered evasion) can more satisfactorily explain the level of observed evasion, the non-ubiquity of evasion, and the fact that tax rates negatively affect evasion. 40 Journal of Economic Perspectives evasion vary considerably across countries. In the World Values Surveys done between 1999 and 2002, respondents were asked whether, given the chance, tax evasion is never, sometimes, or always justified, where a value of 1 corresponds to “never justifiable” and a value of 10 corresponds to “always justifiable.” The U.S. average was 2.28, just slightly below the OECD average of 2.34. These attitude measures of the World Values Survey across countries are associated, holding other factors constant, with already-discussed measures of the shadow economy and widely used survey measures of actual evasion (Torgler, 2004). The difficulties of separating out whether people pay their taxes because they feel they “ought to,” or whether they fear the penalties attendant to not doing so, is well illustrated by some evidence from a recent survey sponsored by the IRS Oversight Board (U.S. Department of the Treasury, Internal Revenue Service Oversight Board, 2006). While 96 percent of those surveyed in 2005 mostly or completely agreed that “It is every American’s civic duty to pay their fair share of taxes,” 62 percent also said that “fear of an audit” had a great deal or somewhat of an influence on whether they report and pay their taxes “honestly.” The Normative Theory of Taxation and Its Policy Implications Fairness and Incidence Concerns The normative questions raised by tax evasion are often complex, involving issues of fairness, efficiency, and how to measure social costs and benefits, so that how to apply economic reasoning to the range of relevant policy instruments is still being formulated. Tax evasion affects the distribution of the tax burden as well as the resource cost of raising taxes— bread-and-butter concerns of public econom- ics.4 If the estimated $290 billion net income tax gap could somehow be costlessly eliminated, that money could be used to finance worthy government projects, or used to finance an across-the-board cut in tax rates that would benefit compliant taxpayers. But expanding government programs could be financed in a number of other ways, such as raising tax rates or broadening the income tax base, and a tax reduction could be financed by cuts in overall spending; the real question is whether curbing evasion would improve the equity and efficiency of the public finances. Moreover, curtailing tax evasion is in fact not costless, and these costs must be considered in developing optimal policy. Good tax policy should be designed with the realities of evasion in mind. If all Americans were genetically predisposed to underpay their legal tax liability by 20 percent, at no cost to them, tax evasion wouldn’t matter at all. Government would simply readjust everyone’s “sticker price” tax liability upward so that the desired amount of tax would be collected, even after the 20 percent “discount” was taken. Each taxpayer might think that he or she is beating the system, but in fact no 4 This section draws from the lengthier treatment in Slemrod and Bakija (2004). Cheating Ourselves: The Economics of Tax Evasion 41 one gains in either relative or absolute terms compared to a world with no evasion—we are, in effect, “cheating ourselves.” Similarly, if opportunities or pre- dilections for evasion were systematically related to income, then the tax rate schedule could just be adjusted to achieve whatever degree of progressivity is deemed optimal. Of course, not everyone evades taxes by the same proportionate amount or by an amount strictly related to income, both because of differences in personal characteristics—like attitudes toward risk, the tax system, and honesty— and because of different opportunities and potential rewards for evasion. As a result, tax evasion can cause serious inequities and inefficiencies. Evasion creates horizontal inequity because equally well-off people end up with different tax burdens. Attempts to reduce tax evasion can create vertical equity concerns, as when the IRS is criticized for spending resources to reduce fraud related to the Earned Income Tax Credit, whose recipients are low-income house- holds, instead of devoting those enforcement resources to tax shelters that are pursued by high-income households. Tax evasion also imposes efficiency costs. The most obvious are the resources taxpayers expend to implement and camouflage noncompliance, and the resources the tax authority expends to address it. In addition, when the tax system is otherwise close to optimal it provides a socially inefficient incentive to engage in those activities for which it is relatively easy to evade taxes. For example, because the income from house painting can be done on a cash basis and is therefore harder for the IRS to detect, this occupation is more attractive than otherwise. Although a supply of eager and cheap housepainters undoubtedly is greeted warmly by pro- spective buyers of that service, the work of the extra people drawn to house painting, or any activity that facilitates tax evasion, would have higher value in some alternative occupation. The same argument applies to self-employment generally, as the enhanced opportunity for noncompliance inefficiently attracts people who would otherwise be employees. The opportunity for noncompliance can distort resource allocation in a variety of other ways, such as causing companies that otherwise would not find it attractive to set up a financial subsidiary, or set up operations in a tax haven, to facilitate or camouflage abusive avoidance or evasion. A tax incidence story also lurks here. The supply of eager housepainters bids down the market price of a house painting job. Thus, the amount of taxes evaded overstates the benefit of being a tax-evading housepainter. The biggest loser in this game is the scrupulously honest (or risk-averse) housepainter, who sees his or her wages bid down by the unscrupulous competition, but who dutifully pays taxes. Similarly, a tax policy instrument that facilitates evasion for all corporations (as opposed to noncorporate businesses) might attract entry, so that its effects are shifted to corporations’ customers through lower prices. The windfall gains to those companies that successfully play the tax lottery by acting aggressively probably accrue to the shareholders in their role as residual claimants, perhaps shared to some extent with the tax managers through their compensation contracts. If there are particular characteristics of corporations in certain sectors that facilitate evasion 42 Journal of Economic Perspectives or abusive avoidance, such as the presence of corporate intangibles, the apparent gains that accrue to firms in these sectors via a lower effective tax rate will be partially eroded to the extent that competitors have similar characteristics, and thus the apparent tax gains will partly benefit some other constituency, including this sector’s customers. Optimal Tax Enforcement Policy The mere presence of tax evasion does not imply a failure of policy. Just as it is not optimal to station a police officer at each street corner to eliminate robbery and jaywalking completely, it is not optimal to eliminate tax evasion (for a formal demonstration of this point, see Baldry, 1984). The recognition of tax evasion introduces a new set of policy instruments whose optimal setting is at issue; for instance, what should be the extent of audit coverage, the strategy for choosing audit targets, and the penalty imposed on detected evasion? The reality of tax evasion also invites a rethinking of standard taxation problems. With respect to penalties, it has been well known since Becker (1968) that a government concerned with maximizing the expected utility of a representative citizen will want to set the penalty for detected crimes as high as possible, so that even with a low resource cost of enforcement, the overall expected deterrent effect will be large. But this argument ignores, inter alia, the possibility of a corrupt tax administrator who abuses the system or, alternatively, harshly punishes someone who makes an honest mistake. The harsher the penalty, the more damage a corrupt administrator could inflict and, in the case of an honest mistake, the more capri- cious the system. Hence the harsher the penalty, the more detailed and cautious the prosecution process must be. In addition, with harsher penalties, courts may be more reluctant to find the taxpayer guilty of evasion, so that one practical conse- quence may be fewer penalties imposed. This argument also flies in the face of the common notion that the level of punishment should in some sense “fit” the crime. In the absence of explicitly modeling the interaction between the penalty rate and administrative costs, analytical models usually assume a ceiling on the penalty rate. Regarding how many resources to devote to enforcing the tax laws, Slemrod and Yitzhaki (1987) show that one superficially intuitive rule—increase the prob- ability of detection until the marginal increase of revenue thus generated equals the marginal resource cost of so doing—is incorrect. Although the cost of hiring more auditors, buying better computers, and the like, is a true resource cost, the revenue brought in does not represent a net gain to the economy, but rather a transfer from private (noncompliant) citizens to the government. The correct rule equates the marginal social benefit of reduced evasion (which is not well measured by the increased revenue) to the marginal resource cost. The distinction suggests that unregulated privatization of tax enforcement, in which profit-maximizing firms would maximize revenue collection net of costs, would lead to socially inefficient overspending on enforcement. Greater enforcement might also entail nonpecuniary costs, such as invasion of privacy (Slemrod, 2006). In Slemrod and Yitzhaki (1987), the social benefit is related to the reduced risk-bearing that comes Joel Slemrod 43 with reduced tax evasion; more generally, social benefits can accrue via increased efficiency; it would also tend to mitigate the inefficiencies discussed earlier. Cowell (1990, p. 136) suggests another complication: perhaps a specific social welfare discount should apply to the utility of those who are found to be guilty of tax evasion and thus “are known to be antisocial.” In sum, no one has yet compellingly translated the theoretically correct characterization of optimal enforcement into a statement about how much evasion should be tolerated. But just as an important difference exists between oil reserves and “economically recoverable” oil reserves, a parallel difference exists between tax evasion and economically (read optimally) recoverable tax evasion. The tools of efficiency analysis and optimal taxation can be extended to cover enforcement policy instruments. Ignoring distributional concerns, these tools reveal that all tax policy instruments—not just the standard instruments such as tax rates—should be utilized so as to equalize the marginal efficiency cost per dollar of revenue raised, which should in turn equal the marginal social benefit of raising revenue (Mayshar, 1991; Slemrod and Yitzhaki, 1996, 2002). Distributional consid- erations can be introduced into this framework, as well. Unfortunately, the empir- ical analysis needed to flesh out the policy implications of these rules is not far along. However, their logic suggests that, given the costs and difficulties of detect- ing noncompliance of the self-employed, the higher rates of noncompliance make at least some degree of economic sense.5 The normative theory has not yet made much progress in providing concrete policy advice regarding the key tools of tax administration, especially the role of information reporting by arms-length parties. The ability of the IRS to rely on reports by firms about wages and salaries paid to employees explains why the (optimal) noncompliance rate of labor income is so much lower than for self- employment income, for which no such information reports exist. The ability to match firm-to-firm sales is touted by advocates as a major administrative advantage of value-added taxes, and the difficulty of monitoring firm-to-consumer sales and to distinguish them from firm-to-firm sales has been noted as the Achilles heel of administering a retail sales tax. Overall, when relatively disinterested third parties can be required to provide information, as with wages and salaries, high compli- ance rates can be achieved at fairly low cost. But when only interested parties are involved, an alternative mechanism—such as in a credit-invoice value-added tax (where taxes on input purchases can be deducted only if the seller produces an invoice for taxes paid)—must be found or else compliance will be low absent costly 5 The recent theoretical and empirical attention to the elasticity of taxable income is welcome, because it recognizes that all behavioral responses— of which tax evasion is one—are symptoms of the efficiency cost of price distortions due to taxation. For useful starting points on this literature, see Feldstein (1999) on the theory, Gruber and Saez (2002) on the empirical work, and Slemrod (1998) for a critical review of both. What distinguishes traditional, “real” responses to taxation, such as labor supply, on the one hand, from evasion responses is that while, with some exceptions, economists generally accept that inalterable preferences guide the former, the evasion response is mediated by the set of enforcement policies that government chooses. 44 Journal of Economic Perspectives auditing. Formal modeling of these differences is in their infancy. Kopczuk and Slemrod (2006) have suggested a modeling strategy based on the importance of monitorable arms-length transactions among firms and between firms and employ- ees, and Gordon and Li (2005) have argued that the financial sector is a key to tax administration in developing countries. The ubiquity and importance of evasion call into question one of the canons of undergraduate public finance textbooks—that the incidence and efficiency of taxes does not in the long run depend on which side of the market the tax is levied. Once the reality of tax evasion is recognized, the incidence and efficiency of a tax system may depend critically on which side of the market remits the tax to the government and which side must report its transactions to the government. A uniform value-added tax and a uniform national retail sales tax may look identical in a world of no evasion or administrative costs, but they may have very different effects in the real world, a point noted by the President’s Advisory Panel on Federal Tax Reform (2005, pp. 191–222). Conclusions Tax evasion is widespread, always has been, and probably always will be. Variations in dutifulness and honesty can explain some of the across-individual and, perhaps, across-country heterogeneity of evasion. But the stark differences in compliance rates across taxable items that line up closely with detection rates suggest strongly that deterrence is a powerful factor in evasion decisions. The overall net noncompliance rate for all U.S. federal taxes and the individ- ual income tax seems to stand at about 14 percent. But given the current state of theory and evidence on tax evasion, it isn’t clear in what way or how much enforcement might most efficiently be increased. Although the normative theory of taxation has been extended to tax system instruments such as the intensity of enforcement, the empirical knowledge to put these rules into operation is sparse. Furthermore, theory is only beginning to address core issues such as the role of third-party reporting of information that facilitates enforcement of the taxation of wages and salaries, but helps little for self-employment income. Modeling these information flows—and the critical role played by firms—is an important item in the future research agenda. y I am grateful for insights gained from comments on a earlier draft received from Jim Alm, Brian Erard, Eric Toder, David Ulph, Shlomo Yitzhaki, the JEP editorial team, and especially for communications with Richard Highfield of the OECD and Alan Plumley of the IRS. I also am grateful for research assistance provided by Katherine Blauvelt. Cheating Ourselves: The Economics of Tax Evasion 45 References Agha, Ali, and Jonathan Haughton. 1996. “De- signing VAT Systems: Some Efficiency Consider- ations.” The Review of Economics and Statistics, May, 78(2): 303– 8. Allingham, Maurice, and Agnar Sandmo. 1972. “Income Tax Evasion: A Theoretical Anal- ysis.” Journal of Public Economics, November, 1(3– 4): 323–38. Alm, James. 1999. “Tax Compliance and Ad- ministration.” In Handbook on Taxation, ed. W. Bartley Hildreth and James A. Richardson, 741– 68. 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work_wod6qov62nd7bcbexsiup2zcki	----	Even the Rain: A Confluence of Cinematic and Historical Temporalities Fabrizio Cilento Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies, Volume 16, 2012, pp. 245-258 (Article) Published by University of Arizona DOI: 10.1353/hcs.2012.0035 For additional information about this article Access provided by University of Washington @ Seattle (19 Oct 2013 16:47 GMT) http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/hcs/summary/v016/16.cilento.html http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/hcs/summary/v016/16.cilento.html Even the Rain (Icíar Bollaín, 2010) takes a metacin-ematic approach to the story of a Mexican film crew in Bolivia shooting an historic drama on Christopher Columbus’s conquest. With the water rights riots in Bolivia as a background, Bollaín uses different cinematic styles to establish disturbing parallels between old European im- perialism, the recent waves of corporate exploitation, and on the individual scale, the exploitation of Bolivian actors for the benefit of the global film industry. The film within a film device furnishes some insights on the dynamics and pressures that crews face when developing a socially engaged film. Bollaín warns that these productions can fall into a colonialist dynamic by reproducing the imbalances between the ‘visible’ countries in the global film market, and ‘invisible’ countries whose native actors and visually appealing locations are exploited. Even the Rain blends several cinematic tenden- cies, which at times clash to create a temporal short circuit. One is the visually stunning historic drama reminiscent of Hollywood epics. Another is the documentary-style shooting of Cochabamba’s urban guerrilla crisis, in which the heritage of the 1960s new waves of Latin American cinema clearly emerges. The sequences showing the film crew shooting the historic drama on Columbus at times clash with the other temporalities, and these moments are effective in reinforcing the claim that cinema should maintain a dual role of witness Fabrizio Cilento is Assis- tant Professor of Film and Digital Media at Messiah College (PA). His scholarship focuses on films whose main characteristic lies in recon- structing historical events, mainly political crises and conspiracies. Cilento received his PhD in Comparative Lit- erature from the University of Washington in 2010. His recent article “Saviano, Gar- rone, Gomorrah: Neorealism and Noir in the Land of the Camorra” appeared in the Global Noir issue of Fast Capitalism. Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies Volume 16, 2012 Even the Rain: A Confluence of Cinematic and Historical Temporalities 246 Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies on contemporary abuses and preservation of memory. The main characters of Even the Rain, director Sebastián and executive producer Costa, find the production of their film put into question with the abrupt intrusion of anti-government protests in Cochabamba in 2000 following the sale of Bolivia’s water rights to a private multinational consortium. As Sebastián and Costa work at re-enacting the Spanish imperialistic ideals of Columbus’s age, they are chal- lenged by the native actor-activist Daniel (Juan Carlos Aduviri) to wrestle with the parallels between their film and the current water issues faced by the Bolivian people. While Sebastián refuses to take action, Costa will overcome his initial cynicism and understand that in the new millennium, water is the new gold. Differently from the documentaries Blue Gold: World Water Wars (Sam Bozzo, 2008), The Corporation (Jennifer Abbott and Mark Achbar, 2003), and even the animation Abuela Grillo (De- nis Chapon, 2009), Bollaín’s approach to the subject of water rights refrains from pedagogic approaches in favor of a more poetic and evocative narrative. Even the Rain does put in evidence that in order for water to remain a public trust, an active lo- cal government will have to collaborate with local citizens. However, this is suggested via an imaginative rather than a prescriptive attitude, using powerful storytelling and the application of conceptual histories and temporalities. Bollaín’s film emphasizes the conti- nuity of colonialism in its different forms throughout the centuries. She does this while engaging with the changing styles of regional Latin American cinema over dif- ferent periods. In other words, the history of colonialism and the history of Latin American cinema are not separate histories, but together form an articulated critique of colonialism, made possible thanks to the application of different stylistic approaches to the cinematic medium. The metacin- ematic narrative and the Cochabamba riot sequences evoke the season of sociopolitical documentaries of the 1960s and 1970s, characterized by the use of location shoot- ings, a mix of professional and non-profes- sional actors, natural lighting, hand held cameras, and a degree of improvisation in the dialogues. The intimate quality of some sequences in Even the Rain, the presence of actor Gael García Bernal, the psychological development, and the character-driven plot suggest a link to the New Waves of Latin American Cinema of the 1990s, which typi- cally offer emotionally charged narratives in realistic settings (Schroeder Rodríguez 33). The multi-layered hybrid style of Even the Rain brings Latin American Cinema into the new millennium, thanks to its extreme self-reflexivity. I explore how such self-awareness is functional for Even the Rain to locate itself ideologically in antith- esis to the frozen nostalgia of Hollywood films depicting the conquest of the Ameri- cas, particularly those made for the 500th anniversary of Columbus’s arrival. Instead, Bollaín’s rich and textured aesthetic style reflects her unique perspective as a Span- ish director working on an international co-production in Bolivia. While the film addresses the contemporary issues of the role of the local government in the Bolivian crisis, issues of infrastructure, and current assumptions about what is ethical regarding access to water, the innovative aspect of the film is in Bollaín’s vision of Latin American histories (the late 15th and early 16th cen- tury as well as the recent guerra del agua) in its evocation of Friedrich Nietzsche’s “eternal return” and the anguishing scenario a demon presents to humanity: Fabrizio Cilento 247 This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain, every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you…. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of dust! (273-74). Nietzsche’s notion of history assumes considerable importance in Bollaín’s film. Even the Rain considers the cyclical recur- rence of exploitation in the poorest Latin American nations, from colonialism to the more sophisticated neocolonialism of late capitalism; represented not only by multina- tional corporations but also in international film productions. The film’s characters are entrapped in a Nietzschean dimension for most of the film, doomed to the eternal failure of something that will always remain the same and will never change. However, if the film faces absolute nihilism, it ultimately does not fall into it. As mentioned above, Costa does not stoically accept yet another cycle of colonial invasion but begins to comprehend the native’s point of view. Even the Rain includes some visual samplings of a recent historical event, the Cochabamba riots, that needs to be re- peated, retold, and reframed in an endless hermeneutic process over a decade later, and that in turn evokes the specter of Colum- bus in an endless game of mirrors. When colonialism is replayed via the Cochabamba affair, this implies a perspective from which historical events appear without the mitigat- ing circumstances of their transitory nature. If the classic cinematic time of a historic drama can be geometrically imagined as a straight line composed of scenes chrono- logically progressing toward a climax, the narrative time of Even the Rain is circular— the story of colonialism loops like a snake devouring its own tail/tale. Even the Rain’s addictive promise is that it may reveal the motivations and the causes of colonialism, which generates the desire to re-watch and analyze the film, although the answer will always remain beyond it. Even the Rain’s complex narrative structure is based on several different lay- ers that relay the main events of the film (Santaolalla 215). Here, I construct upon those layers, moving from those that are closer to the actual Cochabamba events that form the film’s true historical background, to the fictional ones. Bollaín distinguishes between what events count as historical and truthful, and which are imaginary and mythical, or just erroneous accounts. However, is important to keep in mind that each category is not to be considered a separate box. Rather, “history is an open ended process rather than a closed science and a fatality” (White xiiii). In Even the Rain, the temporalities are deeply porous. I pay particular attention to the confluence of temporalities; those moments in which they overlap, creating short circuits through which the film most effectively faces the questions related to colonialism (what went wrong) and neocolonialism (what is wrong). The Use of TV and Radio Newsreel Even the Rain incorporates actual television footage and radio newsreel of the Coch- abamba riots in several scenes where the di- rector and producer watch and comment on the news. These raw documents establish the simultaneity between the narrative of the crew shooting the Columbus film and the 248 Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies Cochabamba riots, setting the present tense of Even the Rain around the year 2000. As the film’s characters learn about the events taking place through the actual footage, the film’s international audiences may also learn about the Bolivian water crisis at the turn of the millennium. Several years ago Bolivia sold its water system and rights to Bechtel’s subsidy Aguas de Tunari, a consortium of corporations led by International Water Limited, which resulted in a 300% rise in consumer charges. The tariffs were devastating to the people of Cochabamba, where the minimum wage was less than US $100 per month. Many people found themselves spending one-third of their income on water. Popular resistance was harsh in Cochabamba, and the guerra del agua broke out in one of the country’s largest cities, lasting for several months.1 Bolivia faced the paradox of having its people prohibited from collecting their own water (inspiration for the title of Bollaín’s film), while its politicians used the military and police forces to protect the interests of foreign investors. Water privatization came to Bolivia as a theory, on the wings of foreign coercion. The World Bank officials who pushed the plan to bring in multinational corporations proclaim that it would deliver three things that impoverished countries desperately needed—strong managers, skilled technical experts, and investment in expansion service…In Cochabamba, however, the theory didn’t work out quite the way its proponents said it would. (Shultz and Draper 39-40) During the riots, more than a hundred people were injured, many were detained, and a teenager died after being shot by the Army.2 In the end, the government reversed the privatization process and forced Bechtel out of the country. It is significant that Sebastián and Costa learn about these dramatic events via the media rather than through the locals with whom they are working. In effect, the television and radio sequences establish Sebastián and Costa as outside observers of the crisis. Their immediate concern is solely about their ability to continue shooting the film. Their lead actor, Daniel, is actively in- volved in the riots, and they worry about the possibility of his being arrested or injured by the police, as it would cause delays in their production timeline. Behind the Scenes of the Historic Columbus Drama This subplot focuses on the apparently minor character of María (Cassandra Ciangherotti), a filmmaker whose task is to shoot a “making of ” documentary about the historic Columbus drama. However, María soon reveals herself to be more perceptive than Sebastián and Costa, feeling an instinc- tive empathy toward the exploited Boliv- ians. Her character problematizes the issue of where to look. Should she focus on the film’s representation of the colonialist past and furnish insights about the upcoming cinematic work whose goal is to expose the brutality of the conquest of the Americas, which involved the massacre of Native Americans in the search for gold and other natural resources? Or rather, should she turn her lightweight digital camera toward the popular rebellion against the privatiza- tion of water in Cochabamba, displaying her engagement in the fashion of Latin American documentaries such as Battle of Chile (Patricio Guzmán, 1975-1979), and Fabrizio Cilento 249 in doing so create an “alliance between cul- tural politics and social history” (Pick 4)?3 María’s sequences are easy to distinguish from the rest of Even the Rain, since images produced by her digital camera are grainy, occasionally appearing in black and white. This seems to suggest that the lightweight, economical digital technology may revitalize the 1960s and 1970s idea of cinema as an instrument of critical and ideological aware- ness. Again, her impulse to shoot footage of the guerra del agua makes the point that it is not enough make a film denouncing the effects of colonialism in the distant past, but to also recognize that the Cochabamba riots are a repetition of that very history that has been continuing for centuries. The behind-the-scene sections of Even the Rain reveal Bollaín’s familiarity with Latin American cinematic histories. In the 1960s and 1970s Latin American directors expressed the need for a cultural decolonization both from Hollywood im- perialism (First Cinema) and European auteurist cinema (Second Cinema). In or- der to understand how Even the Rain deals with this heritage, it is worth mentioning two important manifestos. In “Towards a Third Cinema” (1971) directors Fernando Solanas and Octavio Getino stress the need for cinema to “examine the causes, to inves- tigate the ways of organizing and arming for the change,” also recognizing that “our time is one of hypothesis rather than of thesis” (56-57). This statement applies to Bollaín’s approach to issues of gold, water, and underdevelopment. There is no doubt that Even the Rain is against colonialism and neo-colonialism, thus in general agree- ment with these manifestos. However, the film also intends to generate self-awareness on how these histories have been mediated rather than to impose a political thesis or solution. Bollaín is concerned with trying to find a cinematic rhetoric capable of repre- senting different and even opposing political contexts, not as a priori principles but as a dialogical exchange. In doing so, through the use of non-chronological and elliptical temporalities, she pragmatically combines militant documentary footage with global images of television in order to deliver her anti-colonialist argument through an in- novative aesthetic. In “For an Imperfect Cinema” (1969) Cuban director Julio García Espinosa declares that ideas of quality have been contaminated by Europeanized values and that questions of taste need to be reexam- ined: “The only thing Imperfect Cinema is interested in is how an artist responds to the following question: what are you do- ing in order to overcome the barrier of the ‘cultured’ elite audience which up to now has conditioned the form of your work?” (82). Even the Rain is a moral tale about the divisions within the region and between Latin America and the Iberian Peninsula, and how to possibly overcome them. When it comes to the divisions within the region, is worth remembering that the film opens with an endless line of Bolivian actors and technicians willing to wait for hours in or- der to audition for a Mexican director. In recent years Mexico has established itself as a source of contemporary art films and as a major market for distributors. In contrast, Bolivia never had a film industry and only produces a few sporadic films every year, most of them shot with low budgets. Only in the last two decades has there been a modest but significant professionalization of the industry, possible thanks to the declin- ing costs of digital technology (Crespo).4 Thus, from a Bolivian point of view, the flourishing Mexican film industry, together with that of Argentina and Brazil, comprises 250 Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies a new sort of elite. The Bolivian actors waiting for a Mexican director is a refer- ence to the fact that some Bolivian movies, especially Juan Carlos Valdivia’s films, have relied heavily on Mexican funding and they typically have Mexican actors as part of the conditions for funding. Bollaín illuminates the gap in understanding on the part of the Spanish and Mexicans regarding other Latin American cultures. For example, when Costa and Sebastián arrive in Cochabamba, María interviews them and a revealing dia- logue takes place about the film’s historical accuracy, and its relative insignificance to the producer when it comes to the use of indigenous people in the film. M: We’re in Bolivia, it doesn’t make much sense. 7,500 feet above sea level, surrounded by mountains, and thousands of miles from the Caribbean. S: Well, Costa thinks Columbus lan- ded by parachute. C: Costa knows this place is full of starving Indians, and this means thousands of extras. None of that digital shit. I want scale, all the money up on the screen. S: So sloppy! Have you seen their faces? They’re Quechua. C: So? S: They’re from the Andes! What’s Columbus doing with Indians from the Andes? C: Look, they’re Indians. That’s what you wanted? S: No, no… C: Give me a fucking break, they’re all the same. S: [Gesture for María to stop her filming] C: You can negotiate things here. Hotels, transport, catering… whatever. M: So, it’s about money. S: Yes, it’s always money, always. In this case very little money, right? Right, you miserable cheapskate? C: If we’d filmed in English, we’d have double the money, and double the audience. Almost had the deal done till you fucked it up. S: Because Spaniards speak Spanish. What if we’d done it in English? C: We’d been fucking smart. M: So, the Spaniards speak Spanish, and the Tainos that Columbus found speak Quechua? María’s task in creating the behind the scenes documentary is to implicitly request that subjects break from self-consciousness when the digital camera is pointed at them, not worrying about how they come across. Instead, both Costa and Sebastián are uneasy when challenged by her questions. Although they are professionals in the visual culture realm, in terms of appearing on cam- era they are rank amateurs. In this and other sequences there is an evident lack of com- plicity with María, and throughout Even the Rain she is often censored and interrupted by her colleagues. When María points out how Sebastián is imposing an artificially constructed identity on the Indians, while maintaining cultural identity by shooting the film in Spanish, she implicates him of imposing a white view of Latin America on the film. Furthermore, Costa’s views were completely removed from a cultural sensibility, as he wanted to shoot the film in English, since his interests lie solely on the financial prospects of the film. These dynamics are not unusual, and after Espinosa’s essay, when an auteur such as Bollaín traverses the familiar territory of colonialism, one may question why Euro- peans, rather than Latin Americans, should make yet another film on colonialism. Fabrizio Cilento 251 There is no doubt that co-productions can easily become sites of cultural misunder- standings and generalizations rather than ethnographic expeditions of discovery. Cinematographies from different continents have at times successfully appropriated each other’s languages for their own political and economic purposes. As Mike Wayne remarks in Political Film: “We can have First and Second Cinema in the Third World and Third Cinema in the First World” (6).5 Although production practices and textual strategies vary, the divisions within the three cinemas have historically been porous, and this process of hybridization accelerated after 1989. Due to the effects of a global- ized economy, the transnationalization of culture, and political exchanges, Spanish and Portuguese producers and filmmakers often cross the Atlantic, at times recasting the tradition of Third Cinema. Even the Rain itself is a co-production of Spain, France and Mexico that establishes both a new cultural awareness and artistic standards. Its strength is in constantly interrogating how the global-local relationship is conditioning the outcome and the flow of ideas and how are the new modes of production are trans- forming national and regional subjectivities (Alvaray 55-56).6 Bollaín seems convinced that it is not necessary that only a person who belongs to a specific ethnic group can deliver a statement about that group’s his- tory and struggle. A movie is not solely an expression of the director, but inevitably in- volves the contribution of multiple figures. In this sense, María is a key figure because she constantly interrupts our identification process and, more importantly, begins to locate her gaze on the local Bolivians. Having said this, it is easier to un- derstand the quasi-obsessive self-reflexivity that characterizes Even the Rain, a pris- matic aesthetic in which the point of view and the values of Sebastián and Costa are questioned by and coexist with that of a fledgling digital documentarian. Bollaín’s work is not a straightforward defense of indigenous cultures, but a film about how arduous is to articulate such a defense. Her first demand is that Even the Rain simulta- neously keeps track of the local and global contexts, of the underground relationships that connect the different and multiply im- plicated geographical cultures. The result of this imaginary project is the rupture of the stark divisions between the three cinemas, toward a hybridized and nomadic aesthetic that may better fit both the intellectual and practical needs of the post-globalization era. The Film Crew Shooting the Historic Drama on Columbus The casting of Bernal in the role of Sebas- tián problematizes his stardom in the film as an ambitious director so absorbed by his cinematic masterpiece that he becomes blind to the second invasion of globaliza- tion that is happening in front of his eyes. Since the early 2000s Bernal has become the face of the so-called New Latin American Cinema thanks to works such as Y tu mamá también (Alfonso Cuarón, 2001), Amores Perros (Alejandro González Iñárritu, 2001) and The Crime of Father Amaro (Carlos Carrera, 2002). He also famously played a young Ernesto Che Guevara in The Motor- cycle Diaries (2004). At the same time, he appeared in Nike Football: Write the Future (Alejandro Gonzáles Iñárritu, 2010) and the Levi’s commercial French Dictionary (Ivan Zacharias, 2003). While in his youth he often criticized the US film industry for stereotyping Latin American characters, he 252 Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies has recently appeared in Hollywood roman- tic comedies such as Letters to Juliet (Gary Winick, 2010) and A Little Bit of Heaven (Nicole Kassell, 2011), The cultural politics of Bernal’s stardom, in which idealism, rebellion and commerce coexist, brings to mind Jean-Luc Godard’s formula “children of Marx and Coca Cola” (Masculin, feminin, 1966). This contradiction emerges in the film with an exchange Sebastián has with the prefect of Cochambaba, who has deals in place with the multinational capital: P: In this globalized world the Indians burn water bills and hurl rocks at the police. It’s the cult of victim versus modernity. S: I don’t want to be rude but if some one earns two dollars a day, he can’t pay a 300% increase in the price of water. At least that’s what I am told. P: How curious…that’s what I’m told you pay the extras. S: Yes, but we are on a very tight budget. P: Aren’t we all? The socially engaged Sebastián is entangled at the moment in which he agrees to work for the global industry. He is being pres- sured by his producers to adhere to the bud- get, requiring him to justify his exploitation of the local actors by rationalizing that it is for a noble cause, that is, to denounce old colonialism. Some critics such as Stephen Holden and Roger Ebert have insinuated that Bol- laín herself may have underpaid her own extras. “The movie is brave to raise the questions it does, although at the end I looked in vain for a credit saying, ‘No ex- tras were underpaid in the making of this film’” (Ebert). “Consciously or not, Even the Rain risks subverting its own good will. You can’t help but wonder to what degree its makers exploited the extras recruited to play 16th-century Indians. Inevitably Even the Rain is trapped inside its own hall of mirrors” (Holden). Such remarks beg the question of whether the metacinematic strategy of showing a crew shooting a film on Columbus, which brings within itself a high degree of self-reflexivity, may be suf- ficient to justify the ethics of the project. Or is Even the Rain entangled in the spiral of exploitation that it describes, as Ebert and Holden suggest? It would be unfair not to recognize that Bollaín is one of the few di- rectors to drop the guise of innocence and to confront us with the issue of the cinematic exploitation of regional and international production in Latin American countries. These are too often overlooked in the name of the contents movies intend to deliver. The debate reminds me of the remarks Jean Bau- drillard made in Simulacra and Simulations regarding Francis Ford Coppola’s anti-war colossal Apocalypse Now (1979), shot in the Philippines for its access to military equip- ment and cheap labor: Coppola does nothing but that: test cinema’s power of intervention, test the impact of a cinema that has become an immensurable machinery of special effects. In this sense, his film is really the extension of war through other means, the pinnacle of this failed war, and its apotheosis. The war became the film, the film becomes the war, and the two are jointed into their common hemor- rhage into technology (59). Paraphrasing Baudrillard, a pessimist may say that Bollaín points out that colonialism and neocolonialism became the object of numerous Latin American films, and that Fabrizio Cilento 253 in turn Latin American films contribute to neocolonial exploitation. However, to have effectively emphasized this dynamic is not a small achievement, especially because in doing so, Bollaín problematizes the triumphalist pan-Latin American rhetoric, whose climax, cinematically speaking, was the famous farewell monologue to Peru delivered by Bernal as Che Guevara in Mo- torcycle Diaries: We believe that...the division of America into unstable and illusory nations is a complete fiction. We are one single mestizo race from Mexico to the Magellan Straits. And so, in an attempt to free ourselves from narrow-minded provincialism, I propose a toast to Peru and to a United America. At the end of Even the Rain this idea is not denied, but reaffirmed. However, while the Mexican Sebastián remains self-absorbed, the Spanish producer Costa has a crisis of conscience and risks his own life in order to save the young daughter of the native actor Daniel. In order to express his gratitude, Daniel gives him a present, and in the final moment of the film we find out that it was a little ampulla of water, the most precious thing in Bolivia. So, the brotherhood and mutual understanding evoked by Guevara and the spirit of the speech quoted above is ultimately reinforced in this episode of transcontinental understanding. Bollaín suggests that without self-consciousness no ethical affirmation is possible.7 However, this understanding as presented in the film may be too simplistic. Costa’s change of heart happens abruptly and unexpectedly at the end of the film, and we now have a narrative of the natives reliant upon a Eu- ropean savior’s intervention to save them. Until his change of heart, Costa is the most unforgiving and exploitative character, and one would expect another, more sympa- thetic member of the crew such as María or Sebastaín to be the one to step in and help. This apparently happy ending may be an- other choice that Bollaín made to imply the continuity of colonialism through Costa. Scenes from the Historic Drama on Columbus The most visually appealing parts of the film portray the beautiful Bolivian land- scapes as the setting for the first encounter between Columbus and the Native Ameri- cans. The Columbus film in Even the Rain is a soaring epic period film that visually resembles a Hollywood style production, while its contents are deeply anti-colonialist. Around the time of the 500th anniversary of Columbus’s arrival, Hollywood directors revisited episodes of the colonialist history, exploring the first wave of globalization depicting the exploitation of American soil and the massacre of its natives (Haddu, 157). These works were typically character- ized by huge sets, casts of thousands and spectacular battle scenes, such as in Ridley Scott’s 1492: Conquest of Paradise (1992), Christopher Columbus: The Discovery (John Glen, 1992), and Michael Mann’s The Last of the Mohicans (1992), followed by the more recent and visionary work of Ter- rence Malick in The New World (2005). In these works, it is implied that directors are dealing with an event from the distant past that is completely removed from the contemporary socio-political situation. In this sense, despite the alleged realism, even the most brutal sequences of torture, rape and mass murders are just a sad spectacle, and figures such as Columbus become an 254 Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies animation coming from the pages of a dusty history book, and thus dead in advance.8 In the polished images of Hollywood films, dramatic episodes of European colonialism assume an aura of nostalgia. This nostalgic feeling goes along with Malick’s lament for the loss of the noble savage in The New World, in which America’s colonial history frames the Pocahontas-John Smith story. Interior monologues and an emphasis on animals and nature support the belief in a golden age in which natives were living according to benign values.9 The film poses questions such as: why are we born into the world and part of the world, while at the same time feeling that we have been exiled from it? Why doesn’t the world’s beauty prevent us from suffering? The first to idealize the simple life of the indigenous Americans is the Dominican friar Bartolomé de las Casas in his Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies (1552), in which he praises their simple manners and inability to tell a lie. In Even the Rain, Bollaín creates a distancing effect when she includes the Dominican friar’s character in the Columbus film, reciting his lines at a dinner for the crew in which everyone is drunk. These lines denouncing the suffering of the indigenous people are recited mechanically, and emptied of their original meaning. In effect, the crew cannot see the continuity of colonialism, and the injustices they depict in their own movie are still occurring in different forms even as they enjoy their dinner. This sequence is an example of how Bollaín creates a clash be- tween the two main temporalities of the film, distant past and present, in order to construct the argument that it is not enough to film Columbus in a negative light in antithesis to Hollywood, but it is important to make the connection that the history of colonialism continues today. Sebastián, while fully com- mitted to showing the devastating effects of colonialism as past history, closes his eye to its manifestation in the present, as toward the end of the film he pleads with Costa to move the production to a safer location away from the riots: “This confrontation will end and it will be forgotten. But our film is go- ing to last forever.” Even the Rain does not juxtapose good and evil in a Manichean way, rather it blends and confuses them, requiring an active spectatorship that asks audiences to arrive at their own position on the morality of the crew. The historic drama sequences of Even the Rain are indebted, visually speaking, not only to the Hollywood films on colonialism mentioned above, but also to the ground- breaking The Mission (Roland Joffé, 1986) and El Dorado (Carlos Saura, 1988) and La otra conquista (Salvador Carrasco, 1998). The postcolonial position of the latter films is closer to that of Bollaín, since they engage with critique of dominant historical repre- sentation and reestablish a sense of Latin American identity on screen. In addition, in several sequences they portray the ways European conquerors misbehaved. However, the film within the film expedient allows Bol- laín to unapologetically display the horrors of colonialism with an extreme self-awareness, giving her film the additional value of linking old colonialism to the present. The ethical tension of Even the Rain cli- maxes when the events portrayed in the his- toric drama sequences are shocking enough to the native non-professional actresses that they refuse to reenact them for Sebastián. In particular, they refuse to drown their babies, even if they are just dolls, since to them it is an act too brutal to be represented at all. The Bolivian women refuse to use water as an agent of death and as such form a resistance to the director’s will. In a parallel scene earlier in the film, there is a group of women fight- ing Bechtel employees and the local police Fabrizio Cilento 255 force against the appropriation of a well they had dug themselves, claiming they needed to do so in order for their children to drink. There is a clear association here between the colonialist and neo-colonialist temporalities and so the fictional drama generates a link between the film industry and corporate capitalism. While the ambitious Sebastián wishes to portray an episode of children’s mass murder in the name of historical ac- curacy, Bechtel puts children’s lives at risk via the mismanagement of a natural resource. Bollaín shows that women are the new source of cheap labor and exploitation by multinational corporations expanding in developing countries. At the same time, the Columbus film being an international co- production, and thus part of a corporate cul- ture, there is a risk that educated postcolonial directors such as Sebastián began speaking instead of disempowered indigenous groups. In turn, Bollaín is skeptical of any attempt (including her own) to portray the lives of the Bolivian women. Thus, she located the agency of change in the insurgent women themselves rather than in the engagement of non-native authoritative directors. The drowning sequence also serves to raise some questions related to the anti-colonialist films of which Even the Rain itself is an integral part. How far can an anti-colonialist film go with the violent exploitation of native bodies before becoming a cinematic spectacle itself? Has there been an escalation of violence in the depiction of colonialism? How strictly necessary is the representation of violence and how authentic are the motivations of the directors? These are all questions that are deliberately left open in the film through the ethical ambiguity of Sebastián/Bernal. The radical Mexican director tries to persuade the women by claiming he will film and document their past experiences, and his benevolent impulse to represent the indig- enous women risks appropriating their own voices. Bollaín shows that Bolivian women are hardly heard or recognized within the current global cinematic industry. Never- theless she does not deny their capacity for social change, as their resistance is able to temporarily block the entire shooting of the Columbus film. Because of them, the drown- ing sequence will never be shot, at least not in the way Sebastián imagined. In any case, it cannot be a coincidence that the historic drama sequences are a compilation of various brutalities. A critic may still wonder if Even the Rain itself is entangled in the contradiction of displaying violence with the excuse of self-awareness. This self-awareness is not a limitation, but rather a vital contradiction, and violent/ controversial images need to be shown to represent the consequences of colonialism. Sebastián pushes the violent exploitation pedal, but since we know the behind the scenes story thanks to documentarian María, we are aware that his honest depiction of co- lonialism is yet another form of exploitation, partly motivated by narcissism. The violence climaxes in the scene in which the Indians who refuse to convert are tied to crosses and burned alive. At the end of the sequence, the police arrive to arrest Daniel. At this point the film’s intertwined temporalities are fully manifested, since the leader of the insubordinate Indians in 1492 is also one of the leaders of the guerra del agua and fights the police while still wearing his film costume and makeup. The extras, also in costume, revolt against the police and help Daniel escape, recalling a scene they had enacted as part of the historic drama. María begins to film the confrontation but is im- mediately stopped by Sebastián. Thus, the historic and cinematic temporalities of the Cochabamba affair and the colonial exploi- tation operated by Columbus overlap fully 256 Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies into each other. This scene is representative of the film as a summa of the achievements of regional cinema, and at the same time a beginning toward a new global aesthetic. Bol- laín’s film is conceptually more self-conscious than ever, and more aware of the difficulties of grasping the experiences of the Bolivians in ways that may adequately reflect their present situation, and such self-consciousness of the limits of representation in the end becomes its force. Notes 1 For a detailed article based on research in the archives of the Center for Documentation and Information Bolivia see Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Wa- ter Rights, Neoliberalism, and the Revival of Social Protest in Bolivia.” See also the account of the non-profit, consumer rights advocacy group Public Citizen. “Water Privatization Case Study: Cochabamba, Bolivia” <www.citizen.org/ documents/Bolivia_(PDF).PDF>. Other useful insights come from Emanuele Lobina at the PSIRU (Public Services international Research Unit), University of Greenwich. <www.psiru.org/ reports/Cochabamba.doc>. 2 For an account based on a series of inter- views with Oscar Olivera, one of the local activists that took part to the revolution see ¡Cochabamba!: Water War in Bolivia. 3 For an historical overview of key events gen- erating a wave of documentary or documentary- like films in Latin America and a textual analysis of some of these works, see also the volume edited by Julianne Burton, The Social Documentary in Latin America. 4 In addition Aduviri, who delivers a memo- rable performance in Even the Rain as an activ- ist/indigenous chief, is an aspiring director and teacher at the Film School in Los Altos (Cabitza). 5 “The great advantage of Third Cinema is that while it is politically oppositional to domi- nant cinema (and Second Cinema), it does not seek, at the level of form and cinematic language, to reinvent cinema from scratch (it is too inter- ested in cinema to do that), nor does it adopt a position of pure opposition on the question of form (it is too interested in communication for that); instead its relation to First and Second Cinema is dialectical: i.e. it seeks to transform rather than simply reject these cinemas; it seeks to bring out their stifled potentialities, those aspects of the social world they repress or only obliquely acknowledge; Third Cinema seeks to detach what is positive, life-affirming, and critical of Cinemas One and Two and give them a more expanded, socially connected articulation” (Wayne 10). 6 For an interesting case study, see Tamara L. Falicov. “Programa Ibermedia Co-Production and the Cultural Politics of Constructing an Ibero-American Audiovisual Space.” 7 The commitment and sensibility shown toward local Bolivian communities by the real crew of Even the Rain were documented in The Cinema of Iciar Bollaín, which makes the insinuations by critics appear unfair, since they provided support for a local film school, a new water deposit and a bridge, and paid the extras $20 a day (Santaolalla 209). 8 This is evident in the opening credits of The New World, which feature historical maps, or the old master prints in Scott’s Conquest of Paradise, showing a red background followed by the super- imposed title: “500 years ago, Spain was a nation gripped by fear and superstition, ruled by the crown and a ruthless Inquisition that persecuted men for daring to dream. One man challenged this power. Driven by his sense of destiny, he crossed the sea of darkness in search of honor, gold, and the greater glory of God.” These titles reveal that what follows is a Eurocentric (it is a full hour before indigenous people appear in the film) portrayal of Columbus as an ambitious and progressive idealist. At the end of Scott’s film we see an aged Columbus looking over the sea dictat- ing the memories of the expedition to his son. 9 Malick’s work is informed by a grid of literary sources such as James Fenimore Cooper, James Jones, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and Walt Whitman, and by the philosophy of Ludwig Wittgenstein and Martin Heidegger. Fabrizio Cilento 257 Works Cited Alvaray, Luisela. “National, Regional, and Global: New Waves of Latin American Cinema.” Cinema Journal 47.3 (Winter 2007): 48-65. Print. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Coch- abamba: Water Rights, Neoliberalism, and the Revival of Social Protest in Bolivia.” Latin American Perspectives 30.3 (May, 2003): 14-36. Print. Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1994. Print. Burton, Julianne, ed. The Social Documentary in Latin America. Pittsburg: U of Pittsburg P, 1990. Print. Cabitza, Mattia. “How Bolivian Juan Carlos Aduviri Won Big Film Role.” BBC News. BBC, 02 Jan. 2011. Web. <www.bbc.co.uk/ news/world-latin-america-12276026>. Crespo, Mauricio Souza. “Crash Course on Bolivian Cinema.” ReVista - Fall 2011. Da- vid Rockfeller Center for Latin American Studies, n.d. Web. <www.drclas.harvard. edu/publications/revistaonline/fall-2011/ crash-course-bolivian-cinema>. E b e r t , R o g e r. “ Ev e n t h e R a i n .” C h i - cago Sun-Times, 24 Feb. 2011. Web. <rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs. d l l / a r t i c l e ? A I D = / 2 0 1 1 0 2 2 4 / R E - VIEWS/110229991> Even the Rain. Dir. Icíar Bollaín. Perf. Gael Gar- cía Bernal, Luis Tosar, Juan Carlos Aduviri, and Cassandra Ciangherotti. Vitagraph Films, 2010. DVD. Falicov, Tamara. “Programa Ibermedia: Co- Production and the Cultural Politics of Constructing an Ibero-American Audio- visual Space.” Spectator 27.2 (Fall 2007): 21-30. Print. García Espinosa, Julio. “For an Imperfect Cin- ema.” New Latin American Cinema: Theory, Practices and Transcontinental Practices (71-82), Vol.1. Ed. M. T. Martin. Detroit: Wayne UP, 1997. Print. Haddu, Miriam. “The Power of Looking: Politics and the Gaze in Salvador Carrasco’s La otra conquista.” Contemporary Latin American Cinema: Breaking into the Global Market. Ed. Deborah Shaw. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2007. Print. Holden, Stephen. “Discovering Columbus’s Exploitation. Even the Rain, Icíar Bol- laín’s Political Film.” The New York Times, 17 Feb. 2011. Web. <http://movies.ny- times.com/2011/02/18/movies/18even. html?_r=0>. Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Gay Science: With a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix of Songs. Trans. Walter Kaufmann. New York: Vin- tage, 1974. Print. Olivera, Oscar, and Tom Lewis. Cochabamba!: Water War in Bolivia. Cambridge, MA: South End, 2004. Print. Pick, Zuzana M. The New Latin American Cin- ema: A Continental Project. Austin: U of Texas P, 1993. Print. Santaolalla, Isabel. The Cinema of Icíar Bollaín. Manchester and New York: Manchester UP, 2012. Print. Schroeder Rodríguez, Paul. “After New Latin American Cinema.” Cinema Journal 51.2 (2012): 87-112. Print. Shultz, Jim, and Melissa Draper. Dignity and Defiance: Stories from Bolivia’s Challenge to Globalization. Berkeley: U of California P, 2008. Print. Solanas, Fernando and Octavio Gettino. “To- wards a Third Cinema.” Ed. Bill Nichols. Movies and Methods. Berkley: U of California P, 1985, 44-64. Print. Wayne, Mike. Political Film: The Dialectics of Third Cinema. London: Pluto, 2001. Print. White, Hayden. “Foreward” to Koselleck, Re- inhart. The Practice of Conceptual History. Timing History, Spacing Concepts. Stanford: Stanford UP, 2002; ix – xiv. Print. 258 Arizona Journal of Hispanic Cultural Studies Cronopio Photo by Norma Guzmán 
work_wsuog6hbvzfvlhsq2jiohrdkgu	----	Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 9 INVITED PAPER Russell B. Goodman rgoodman @ unm.edu Thinking about Animals: James, Wittgenstein, Hearne Abstract In this paper I reconsider James and Wittgenstein, not in the quest for what Wittgenstein might have learned from James, or for an answer to the question whether Wittgenstein was a pragmatist, but in an effort to see what these and other related but quite different thinkers can help us to see about animals, including ourselves. I follow Cora Diamond’s lead in discussing a late paper by Vicki Hearne entitled “A Taxonomy of Knowing: Animals Captive, Free-Ranging, and at Liberty” (1995), which draws on Wittgenstein and offers some insights that accord with pragmatist accounts of knowledge. * * * “Hear the rats in the wall, see the lizard on the fence, the fungus under foot, the lichen on the log. What do I know sympathetically, morally, of either of these worlds of life? … I am ashamed to see what a shallow village tale our so-called History is. How many times must we say Rome, and Paris, and Constantinople! What does Rome know of rat and lizard? What are Olympiads and Consulates to these neighbouring systems of being?” Ralph Waldo Emerson, “History” (1841) (Emerson 1983: 256) Introduction I once wrote a book about Wittgenstein and William James in which I argued for the following claims: 1. Wittgenstein was anxious about his closeness to pragmatism, both in his later writings about language and in his vision of http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 10 knowledge in On Certainty. There are reasons for this anxiety, and also reasons for Wittgenstein’s antipathy to pragmatism. 2. Wittgenstein respected and loved William James, an originator of pragmatism. But this was based on his reading not of the book Pragmatism but on his encounter with The Varieties of Religious Experience in 1912 and, after 1930, with The Principles of Psychology. In my book I consider the influence of Varieties on Wittgenstein’s Tractatus, and of the Principles of Psychology on Philosophical Investigations, where James is criticized but also put to work. 3. One source for Wittgenstein’s knowledge of pragmatism is the “Philosophy” chapter of Varieties, where James discusses Peirce’s pragmatic criterion of significance. Wittgenstein likely knew the harsh criticisms of James’s pragmatism put forward by Russell and Moore, and he knew something about Peirce from his colleague Frank Ramsey. 4. James was not only a pragmatist, and I laid stress on non- pragmatic themes in The Principles of Psychology that resonate with Wittgenstein’s later work: for example, James’s emphasis on description rather than explanation or theorizing; his acceptance of messiness, varieties, pluralism; and his discovery of what Wittgenstein calls the “absence of the will act.” 5. Although both philosophers discern a level of trust or acceptance in language, thought, and knowledge, James thinks that language, like science, is based on a series of discoveries by “prehistoric geniuses”; whereas for Wittgenstein, reasons eventually give out. On the other hand, Wittgenstein has a much more sophisticated and prominent notion of logic or grammar than does James, who is firmly in the British empirical tradition, especially as represented by John Stuart Mill (Goodman 2002). Since then, Cora Diamond has got me thinking about animals, and I want to take this opportunity to consider James and Wittgenstein again, not in the quest for what Wittgenstein might have learned from William James, or to consider the degree to which Wittgenstein was a pragmatist, but in an effort to see what these and other related but quite different thinkers can help us to see about animals, including ourselves. Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 11 1. James William James was an undergraduate at the Lawrence Scientific School at Harvard and graduated from the medical school there in 1869, although he never practiced medicine. He began teaching at the medical school in 1873 and eventually became a professor of psychology and then a professor of philosophy. He seems always to have been going beyond himself. Some of James’s earliest writing concerns the uses of animals in science. In an unsigned article in the Nation from 1875, the 30-year old scientist defends the practice of vivisection, i.e. cutting or dissecting living animals. The suffering of a dog, rabbit, or frog, he argues, is outweighed by the benefits for human knowledge and the possible easing of human suffering it may bring about. Could the dog only see the world “beyond the ken of his poor, benighted brain”, James writes complacently, “his sufferings are having their effect – truth, and perhaps future human ease are being bought by them” (1987a: 11). James concedes that vivisection “admits of cruelty”, and he calls for the end of bloody demonstrations on animals in medical schools. He also registers the hypocrisy of his fellow New Englanders who disrupt scientific work with their associations for the prevention of cruelty to animals, but who belong to “a community which boils millions of lobsters alive every year to add a charm to its suppers” (13). Dogs, frogs, birds, monkeys, and other animals appear in James’s first masterwork, The Principles of Psychology, published fifteen years later in 1890. James professes to follow the new scientific method of introspection, but he opens the book with several chapters on anatomy and physiology (the subjects he first taught at the Harvard Medical School) and it is in the second of these, entitled “The Functions of the Brain”, that many of James’s discussions of animals occur. James cites works by the Scottish psychologist David Ferrier, whose picture of the dog’s brain he reproduces, by Hermann Munk and Friedrich Goltz in Germany, and by the Italian Luigi Luciani in demonstrating the links between behavior and specific lesions in the brain (what he calls “localization of brain function”). He is equally interested in the http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 12 dog’s ability to compensate for such injuries, as the following characteristically lively and observant passage makes clear: When the cortical spot which is found to produce a movement of the fore-leg, in a dog, is excised … the leg in question becomes peculiarly affected. At first it seems paralyzed. Soon, however, it is used with the other legs, but badly. The animal does not bear his weight on it, allows it to rest on its dorsal surface, stands with it crossing the other leg, does not remove it if it hangs over the edge of a table, can no longer ‘give the paw’ at word of command if able to do so before the operation, does not use it for scratching the ground, or holding a bone as formerly … All these symptoms gradually decrease, so that even with a very severe brain-lesion the dog may be outwardly indistinguishable from a well dog after eight or ten weeks. Still, a slight chloroformization will reproduce the disturbances, even then. (James 1981: 43-4) James is not concerned with the dog’s inner life or with cruelty to animals. His book is about human psychology, and he considers the animals because of the ways in which they are like us – in the case at hand because specific parts of their brains control specific aspects of their behavior. James does allude in passing to our human interaction with dogs when he writes that a human being can “command” a dog to “give its paw”. We shall return to this. Animals make another appearance in the Principles, this time in an epistemological context at the end of James’s great chapter on “The Stream of Thought”. The point of James’s discussion is that all creatures register a selection from the primary chaos of impressions, each according to its kind. “Other sculptors”, he writes in one of his most fertile metaphors, “other statues from the same stone! Other minds, other worlds from the same monotonous and inexpressive chaos! My world is but one in a million alike embedded, alike real to those who may abstract them. How different must be the worlds in the consciousness of ant, cuttle- fish, or crab!” (James 1981: 277). The worlds of human beings and cuttlefish agree in some respects, James holds, but each individual has its own take on the world. “Even the trodden worm”, he writes, “contrasts his own suffering self with the whole remaining universe, though he have no clear conception of himself or of what the universe may be. He is for me a mere part of the world; for him Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 13 it is I who am the mere part” (278). Whereas in the early physiological chapters of his Psychology James is concerned with the ways the brain controls the behavior of animals, here he is interested in animals as conscious beings different from ourselves, but alike both in sculpting the world from a primary chaos, and in certain categories of that sculpting. * * * Three years after he published the Principles of Psychology, James published an anonymous letter in a French newspaper that shows a different attitude towards animals than that of the thirty-one-year old medical doctor who defended vivisection. He writes (in French, my translations here) of walking daily past a large masonry box in which a local farmer keeps his pigs. It is a sight, he writes, the memory of which obsesses him, “as the poor animals are buried alive in a kind of tomb”. The box has one opening at the top to let in air; another with a lid that is opened to throw in food. “When one imagines what the air and darkness in this tomb must be”, James writes, “and when one thinks that its inhabitants are buried all their lives, except for the moment when they are taken out to have their throats cut, one must avow that there is cruelty here, if not active, at least passive and unreflective by men governed by ignorance, routine, the refusal to think”. “What a destiny”, he continues, “for a living being for whom the air and the light are the source of well being as much as they are for us! Each time that I take a walk again in the magnificent weather we have been having, I see this species of grave where the poor beasts are entombed, and it darkens all my pleasure” (James 1987a: 141). James sees the pigs as fellow creatures who deserve their time on earth, in the light and air. He expresses no qualms, however, about eating the pigs. Animals show up in “The Moral Philosopher and the Moral Life”, first published in 1891 and included in The Will to Believe and other Essays in Popular Philosophy (1896) (the period during which James wrote his plea for the French pigs). Morality doesn’t exist, he maintains, without sentient creatures: there would be no sense in saying that one state of a world “containing only physical and chemical facts … is better than another” (James 1992: 599). James http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 14 tends to think of morality in terms of demands, which need not be those of human beings: Take any demand, however slight, which any creature, however weak may make. Ought it not, for its own sole sake, to be satisfied? If not, prove why not. The only possible kind of proof you could adduce would be the exhibition of another creature who should make a demand that ran the other way. (James 1992: 603) When he read this lecture at Harvard, a student reported, James remarked: “Gentlemen, as long as one poor cockroach feels the pangs of unrequited love, this world is not a moral world” (Richardson 2006: 309). Throughout the 1890s James gave lectures to teachers and students that were published at the end of the decade as Talks to Teachers and to Students on Some of Life’s Ideals. The penultimate essay in the volume, “On a Certain Blindness in Human Beings,” is a major statement in moral philosophy that concerns our abilities and inabilities to recognize the intensity, meaning, joy or pain of others. James offers an example from his own experience in the form of his initial inability to see the beauty of a landscape of stumps cut down by a North Carolina farmer. To James it seemed only a scene of devastation but to the farmer it expressed years of his labor and devotion. James also considers Robert Lewis Stevenson’s story “The Lantern Bearers”. Stephenson describes the engrossing joy of young boys who meet secretly “on the links” at night, “spat upon by flurries of rain, and drearily surrounded”, but nevertheless “in the heaven of a recondite pleasure, the ground of which is an ill- smelling lantern” that they conceal under their coats. To “miss the joy” of these events, Stevenson writes, is “to miss all” (James 1992: 846). In commenting, James writes that we mostly do miss “the vast world of inner life beyond us,” although poets, philosophers and lovers may soften or break through the hardness of our patterns of seeing (847). Early in his “Blindness” essay, James makes clear that his remarks apply as much to our relations to non-human animals as they do to relations among human beings. The “blindness in human beings of which this discourse will treat,” he writes, “is the Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 15 blindness with which we are all are afflicted in regard to the feelings of creatures and people different from ourselves” (841). The main example of such “creatures” is dogs, the subject of the long fourth paragraph of the essay. James writes: Take our dogs and ourselves, connected as we are by a tie more intimate than most ties in this world; and yet, outside of that tie of friendly fondness, how insensible, each of us, to all that makes life significant for the other! – we to the rapture of bones under hedges, or smells of trees and lamp-posts, they to the delights of literature and art. As you sit reading the most moving romance you ever fell upon, what sort of a judge is your fox-terrier of your behavior? With all his good will toward you, the nature of your conduct is absolutely excluded from his comprehension. To sit there like a senseless statue, when you might be taking him to walk and throwing sticks for him to catch! What queer disease is this that comes over you every day, of holding things and staring at them like that for hours together, paralyzed of motion and vacant of all conscious life? (James 1992: 841) James thinks we are mostly blind to the dogs, but not entirely so. He is able to imagine to a certain degree – somewhat like Thomas Nagel in “What is it Like to be a Bat?” – what it is like to be a dog. For example, smells are important and walks are too. So is the game of throwing sticks, something that he and the dog share. James speaks of a “friendly fondness” between human beings and dogs, but also of “a tie more intimate than most ties in this world.” Whatever we are to make of this claim, it is clear that James is interested in the dogs as conscious beings: in their blindness to us as well as ours to them, and in the validity of their ways of organizing the world. He imagines them in their state of non-understanding, failing to comprehend how we can stare at that not particularly smelly object that we call a book for hours on end. We are like the bearers of the lanterns in Stevenson’s story, but we cannot show our lanterns to the dogs. An “innavigable sea”, to use Emerson’s expression, “washes with silent waves between us” and them (Emerson: 473). Yet the dogs have their own lanterns, which James can only begin to imagine with his little dramatization of the dog’s world of bones and captivating smells. Our relation to dogs comes up again in The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902) in a footnote to James’s chapter on “Saintliness”. http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 16 James is discussing the change in one’s attitude towards humanity that sainthood may bring, an effacement of the “usual human barriers” in an extraordinary, pervasive, love. He cites the story of the Polish patriot and mystic, Towianski, who allowed a large dog to jump on him, covering him with mud. Towianski explained: “This dog, whom I am now meeting for the first time, has shown a great fellow-feeling for me, and a great joy in my recognition and acceptance of his greetings. Were I to drive him off, I would wound his feeling and do him a moral injury” (James 1987b: 258n.). This passage is particularly interesting for the ideas of “greetings” and “recognition” it contains – in this case the dog’s greetings and Towianski’s acceptance of them. What is depicted here is not just the body, behavior, or consciousness of the dog, but a deep relation between two animals, human and canine. The final Jamesean passage about animals that I wish to consider appears in a somewhat surprising place: the last chapter of Pragmatism, entitled “Pragmatism and Religion”. What James means by pragmatism can seem quite different depending on where you look. The last chapter of his book is actually continuous with its first chapter, where James announces that pragmatism “can remain religious like the rationalisms, but at the same time, like the empiricisms, it can preserve the richest intimacy with facts” (1975: 23). James’s last chapter takes up this theme and reveals pragmatism’s continuity with The Varieties of Religious Experience in seeking to secure a place for religion in a plausible account of the natural world. It is here that dogs (and now cats too) come in, as examples of forms of consciousness that partially overlap with our own. James writes: I firmly disbelieve, myself, that our human experience is the highest form of experience extant in the universe. I believe rather that we stand in much the same relation to the whole of the universe as our canine and feline pets do to the whole of human life. They inhabit our drawing rooms and libraries. They take part in scenes of whose significance they have no inkling. They are merely tangent to curves of history the beginnings and ends and forms of which pass wholly beyond their ken. But, just as many of the dog’s and cat’s ideals coincide with our ideals, and the dogs and cats have daily living proof of the fact, so we may well believe, on the proofs that religious Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 17 experience affords, that higher powers exist and are at work to save the world on ideal lines similar to our own (James 1975: 143-4). James’s main point is not about dog’s consciousness, but about possible forms of consciousness that stand to our own somewhat as ours stands to the dog’s. The universe seems to contain grades and varieties of consciousness and interest: among human beings, among the animals at large, in domains, James thinks, that we only briefly encounter in religious experience. Note that although James emphasizes our foreignness to the dogs, he also maintains that they have ideals that “coincide” with our own. As examples, I think of eating, running, playing, keeping warm. These ideals for dogs (and cats) are also ideals for us, part of the human form of life, part of the dog’s and cat’s form of life. The philosopher Moritz Schlick once maintained that play is the meaning of life (Schlick 1979: 114- 15). If that is true, then it is a meaning that we share with many animals. 2. Wittgenstein Let us now turn to a reader of James’s Principles of Psychology and Varieties of Religious Experience, Ludwig Wittgenstein. Whereas animals are absent from the Tractatus (though the propositions of natural science would presumably refer to them), the Investigations recognizes the existence of mice, dogs, cows, and a wriggling fly. The book also places the human beings among the animals, even as it considers how they differ from the others. Early in the Investigations, Wittgenstein writes: It is sometimes said: animals do not talk because they lack the mental capacity. And this means: “they do not think, and that is why they do not talk.” But – they simply do not talk. Or to put it better: they do not use language – if we except the most primitive forms of language. – Giving orders, asking questions, telling stories, having a chat, are as much a part of our natural history as walking, eating, drinking, playing (PI 25). Wittgenstein says that we are to describe rather than explain in philosophy, and that “if someone were to advance theses in philosophy, it would never be possible to debate them, because everyone would agree to them” (PI 128). We might want to http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 18 challenge Wittgenstein here, to debate his report about animals’ non-use of language in view of what we know about dolphins, bonobos, and other animals, and perhaps he might have more to say were he writing the Investigations early in the present century rather than early in the last one. But Wittgenstein does allow for “primitive forms of language” among the animals. He is not drawing a sharp line but is noticing differences. When he says that animals “do not use language”, he means that they do not give orders, ask questions, pray, or tell jokes: in short that most of the uses of language he lists in paragraph 23 of the Investigations are not things the animals do. On the other hand, walking, drinking, eating, playing, are a “part of our natural history” that we share with the other animals. It will be helpful now to recall the distinction Stanley Cavell draws between two dimensions of what Wittgenstein calls the human form of life (Cavell 1989: 41-2). The social dimension includes promising, giving orders, inaugurations, and the telling of stories, but, Cavell argues: the typical emphasis on the social eclipses the twin preoccupation of the Investigations, call this the natural, in the form of “natural reactions” (185), … or that of “the common behavior of mankind” (206). The partial eclipse of the natural makes the teaching of the Investigations much too, let me say, conventionalist…. (Cavell 1989: 41) The conventionalist interpretation of the Investigations focuses on rules and agreements, whereas the natural or biological interpretation brings the human body into prominence. As Cavell puts it: The biological or vertical sense of form of life recalls differences between the human and so-called “lower” or “higher” forms of life, between, say, poking at your food, perhaps with a fork, and pawing at it, or pecking at it. Here the romance of the hand and it apposable thumb comes into play, and of the upright posture and of the eyes set for heaven; but also the specific strength and scale of the human body and of the human senses and of the human voice. (Cavell 1989: 41-2) If Wittgenstein offers us a “vision of language”, as Cavell maintains in The Claim of Reason, it is a vision of the practices of a particular animal – with hands, a face, an “upright posture”, and Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 19 with a vast potential for what he calls grammar. As we shall see in part 3, some of that grammar involves animals. So what does Wittgenstein say about the other biological forms? As with James, dogs are a major example, appearing at five points in the Investigations – as often as St. Augustine, more often than Socrates, Frege, or James. The first of these references to dogs is at PI 250, where Wittgenstein writes: Why can’t a dog simulate pain? Is he too honest? Could one teach a dog to simulate pain? Perhaps it is possible to teach him to howl on particular occasions as if he were in pain, even when he is not. But the surroundings which are necessary for this behavior to be real simulation are missing. Dogs can be sneaky or deceptive, and that there are stories of dogs pretending to be injured and doing other clever things. So perhaps a dog can simulate pain. Would the dog then be dishonest? Wittgenstein is making a revealing little joke here, based on the incongruity of saying that dogs either are or are not honest. They do not have a form of life in which honesty is a major component in the way that for example, hiding bones and smelling lampposts are. Wittgenstein maintains that “the surroundings which are necessary for this behavior to be real simulations are missing”. What are these surroundings? Language, including the activities of questioning, asserting, reporting, rebuking – in short, the human form of life. If we consider how children learn to be honest and dishonest, we see the many potential achievements of the child that are not open to the dog, including assertion and questioning. “A child has much to learn before it can pretend”, Wittgenstein writes, and he then adds: “A dog can’t be a hypocrite, but neither can it be sincere” (PPF 363). A dog cannot learn these things. The modal expressions “can” and “can’t” in Wittgenstein’s statement manifest the necessity of the grammatical. “A dog can’t be a hypocrite” is a grammatical remark, in Wittgenstein’s sense. The passages we have just discussed concern things that dogs cannot do or be, but in another passage, Investigations 650, Wittgenstein reports our attribution of one kind of mental state to dogs, while denying that we can attribute another. He writes: “We http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 20 say a dog is afraid his master will beat him; but not: he is afraid his master will beat him tomorrow. Why not?” Again Wittgenstein reports what we say in ordinary language, where it is perfectly natural to say that the dog is afraid his master will beat him. Notice that the fear that we attribute to dogs is not based on any linguistic competence the dogs have. If they had such competence they might be able to express their fear about what will happen tomorrow, but nothing in our interactions with them suggests that they harbor such fears. Wittgenstein is tracing not only the grammar of the human form of life, but that of the dog’s form of life – or, to anticipate my discussion of Vicki Hearne in section 3, the grammar of our form of life with the dog. Wittgenstein asks a question. Why don’t we say the dog is afraid his master will beat him tomorrow, although we might say the dog is afraid his master will beat him. Shall we simply say that “this is what we do” and not to try to explain anything? I would prefer to do what Wittgenstein often does, which is to remind us how our concepts fit certain facts of nature, like the fact that infants cry, or the fact that objects don’t disappear and reappear for no reason. Our concepts follow or express our interests, Wittgenstein says, but they must fit the world we live in. We don’t say that the dog is afraid his master will beat him tomorrow because we don’t find that dogs plan for the future as we do. Dogs don’t tell stories, they don’t chat, they don’t sing (though I once had a dog who liked to moan with me). They don’t write operas or string quartets. In answer to Wittgenstein’s question “why not”? I would say that we’ve never found dogs behaving in a way that invites us to apply our concept of fearing the future to them. If we find a use for such language, then we’ll go ahead and employ it, as we do when we ascribe the fear of an imminent beating to a dog. We don’t ascribe such fears to a block of stone; or, in the animal world, to a mouse, a fly, or a lion – to name three other animals who inhabit the pages of the Investigations. Let us now turn to an animal for which deception and sincerity seem completely out of the question, the wriggling fly that appears in PI 284: Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 21 Look at a stone and imagine it having sensations. – One says to oneself: How could one so much as get the idea of ascribing a sensation to a thing? One might as well ascribe it to a number! – And now look at a wriggling fly and at once these difficulties vanish and pain seems able to get a foothold here, where before everything was, so to speak, too smooth for it. The contrast between smooth and wriggling is central to this observation. It is not just the body of the fly that enables pain to get a foothold, but its movements. Wittgenstein does not state a thesis here, he does not claim, for example, that the fly is or can be in pain. But he is pointing to something the fly shares with other animals including ourselves, but not with the block of stone. We could call this something behavior, and certainly the threat or possibility of a simple-minded behaviorism haunts the Investigations. I would rather think of it along the lines of what Cora Diamond calls “our own sense of what it is to be a living animal”, something vulnerable, that clings to life (Diamond 2008: 53). The wriggling fly, as I think of it, is intensely full of itself, but its existence can be easily brought to an end by a boy with a fly swatter, an amusement to which I dedicated myself on some otherwise boring summer afternoons. “Wriggling” is a funny word to use to describe a fly, actually. It applies more clearly to a worm or snake, which moves forward by twisting from side to side. Perhaps this fly is injured, wriggling to escape danger, but still intensely, wholly, clinging to life. Whether my responses to the image of the wriggling fly strike a chord with you or not, they are evidence for the descriptive claim that Wittgenstein makes in the second paragraph of PI 284: “Our attitude to what is alive and to what is dead is not the same. All our reactions are different”. These reactions are found in our relations to other human beings as well as to the animals. As Wittgenstein reports: “If I see someone writhing in pain with evident cause, I do not think: all the same, his feelings are hidden from me” (PPF 324). Trying to rid oneself of such reactions or to impose such skeptical thoughts, as when we try to imagine that all the people we see around us are automata, produces an “uncanny” feeling (PI 420). These feelings and reactions, as much as certain facts of nature, are woven into http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 22 our proceedings with language, and are thus appropriate subjects for someone tracing the grammar of concepts like pain, the body, and the living. * * * Let’s turn now to a sequence in the Investigations that begins with human beings and ends with a lion. Again, Wittgenstein traces the grammar or physiognomy of the human, following his own method of describing what we say in our ordinary language, but also reminding us of the context in which we say these things: We also say of some people that they are transparent to us. It is, however, important as regards this observation that one human being can be a complete enigma to another. We learn this when we come into a strange country with entirely strange traditions; and, what is more, even given a mastery of the country’s language. We do not understand the people. (And not because of not knowing what they are saying to themselves.) We cannot find our feet with them. (PPF 325) “I cannot know what is going on in him” is above all a picture. It is the convincing expression of a conviction. It does not give the reasons for the conviction. They are not readily accessible. (PPF 326) If a lion could talk, we could not understand him. (PPF 327) Paragraph 325 opens with a representative case of ordinary language philosophy, with Wittgenstein’s statement that “We say of some people that they are transparent to us”. In the second sentence of the paragraph he passes from a remark about language to one directly about our knowledge of others, or lack of it: “one human being may be a complete enigma to another”. It is important, he says, to remember the enigmatic possibilities of people when we are considering their occasional transparency. Notice the modality: one human being may be, but need not be, an enigma; and some people but not all are transparent to us. Wittgenstein provides an example of the way a whole culture of people may be enigmas to us. We cannot, as he says, “find our feet with them”. This invites us to think about what sometimes happens also, that we do find our feet with them, perhaps after living with them for a while. When we learn our way even a little in a foreign Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 23 country it’s not by peering into other people’s souls or inner stream of thought (“what they are saying to themselves”) but by understanding what to expect and how to respond in certain situations, how to show respect and what is disrespectful, what is normal and what is funny, and so on. In PPF 326 Wittgenstein counters this “peering into” picture of what it is to know others, a picture to which William James was often attracted. Now to the lion. Lions can’t talk, although they can roar. When Wittgenstein begins his sentence with the phrase: “if a lion could talk …” this presupposes that they can’t. I take “lions cannot talk” to be a grammatical remark. Why is it placed in the stream of sentences about the transparency or enigmatic nature of people and cultures? I think the lion is a kind of limiting case, another form of life in the vertical or biological sense. The lion is far more foreign than another culture or person, something like Nagel’s bat, James’s cuttle-fish, Emerson’s “neighboring system of being”. The lion, as Nagel says of the bat, is “a fundamentally alien form of life” (Nagel 1974: 438). But it is nevertheless entirely real. The final remark from the Investigations to which I call attention is this: “the human body is the best picture of the human soul”. Wittgenstein then continues: “My attitude towards him is an attitude towards a soul. I am not of the opinion that he has a soul” (PPF 4). I would like to extend all this to the other animals, and say that our attitudes towards them are attitudes towards souls. Towards animal souls, to be sure, and we are still working out what this means epistemologically and ethically. These attitudes include or make room for our denials or avoidances of these souls, and they are keyed to their bodies and motions, as with James’s dogs and Wittgenstein’s wriggling fly. If the human body is the best picture of the human soul then I also want to say that the dog’s body is the best picture of the dog soul, the dolphin’s body the best picture of the dolphin soul, and so on for lions, cats, horses, and flies. The cat’s voluptuous swishing tail, the horse’s upright ears and eager trot, the dog’s eyes seeking yours, are pictures or representations of their souls. http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 24 3. Hearne When we turn to Vicki Hearne we turn especially to dogs and horses, and to things that we do together: a subject that Wittgenstein does not consider and to which James only alludes. Hearne draws on Wittgenstein’s later philosophy, however, in her books Adam’s Task (1986), Bandit: Dossier of a Dangerous Dog (1991) and Animal Happiness (1994), and in the later essay on which I focus here: “A Taxonomy of Knowing: Animals Captive, Free-Ranging, and at Liberty”. The terms of her title, Hearne explains, “describe not so much conditions in which animals in themselves might be as conditions we are in with the animals, social and grammatical conditions and circumstances” (Hearne 1994: 442). We know animals in captivity when we encounter them in zoos or traps or fish tanks, and we observe free ranging birds in city and country, free ranging fish in river, lake, and sea. Hearne’s particular concern is with her third category, animals “at liberty”, or as she also says, “off lead”. We know animals at liberty only in their relations with human beings, especially though not exclusively in the work they do with us. As Hearne explains: “I take the expression ‘at liberty’ from circus tradition, where it refers to horses who work without physical restraints – without tack, that is. They, rather, are restrained by the perimeters and terms and grammars of cooperation, by understanding” (443). Such animals are not coerced, though they must be trained. They are like the members of a hockey team who willingly cooperate with each other for a common purpose and with a common understanding. But in the case of the circus horses, the cooperation is between species. It is social and institutional, and so a horizontal form of life; but it also spans two vertical levels, two biological forms. Another case Hearne considers, that of herding sheep, can be performed neither by the sheepherder alone nor by the sheepdog alone. “A condition for such work”, she writes, is that the dog and the human … be motivated and organized in their work by a social gravity which keeps them turning toward each other and/or mutually turning toward an object of work. … Herding dogs and search and rescue dogs, as well as hunting dogs, can be working a Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 25 mile or more from their handlers without losing track of what I am here calling a grammar. (Hearne 1994: 443, 447) Hearne invokes Wittgenstein, Cavell, Martin Buber, and Emmanuel Levinas to characterize the intimacy of relations between these animals and human beings. Blending Wittgenstein and Buber, she speaks of the “grammar of the ‘I-Thou’ and … the ‘I-it’”; and of the difference between the knowledge of the scientist and the knowledge of a person who works closely with a horse or dog. She invokes Levinas on Greeting and Cavell (from The Claim of Reason) on receptive beholding in writing: “Beholding or Greeting, is a privileged form of knowledge. It is in Beholding and Greeting, for example, that it is easiest to tell whether or not a dog is being honest” (453). I don’t know how many of you have been greeted by a dog or a horse lately, but a recent incident came immediately to mind as I read Hearne and Levinas. Last summer, descending a Colorado mountain trail, I found myself too hot to go on comfortably, so I sat down by the side of the trail. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, just to let my body cool down. A few hikers came by, then two women with a medium sized dog. I could somehow tell that the dog was inquisitive enough to check me out so I averted my eyes until the hikers passed, having no desire to make any new friends at that moment, human or canine. I then became aware of a silent presence to my left. It was of course the dog, who said nothing and didn’t touch me, but presented her little brown head for me to pat. It was surprisingly hot. Having greeted me, she took off as quietly as she had appeared. The dog was literally “off lead” and so at liberty in Hearne’s sense; she understood the concept of the walk and so returned to her human family, but she had the freedom to exercise her will and the tact to greet me respectfully. The will, Hearne writes, “finds its freedom in the world – its capacity to know the world as particularity, in meeting the forms of the world with its own forms” (455). The little Colorado dog and I knew how to greet each other, relying on our own forms and experience. In discussing Levinas on Greeting, Hearne considers another case of knowing an animal. It concerns a horse that you can’t judge in the moment of greeting, but need to work with for a while http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 26 before being able to assess its character. “[T]he greatest experts can be wrong”, she writes, “which is why the horse trainer sometimes must get in the saddle in order to find out what is going on with a particular horse and rider”. Both the greeting, and the human being’s work with dog and horse are forms of I-thou interspecies grammar. Although Hearne does not say so, the idea that we know by doing – riding a horse, working with a sheepdog – is of course a major theme in pragmatism, particularly that of John Dewey. 4. Conclusion I want to conclude by returning to James’s “Blindness” essay. Just after discussing the lantern bearer story, James quotes a passage from Josiah Royce’s The Religious Aspect of Philosophy (1885) that also bears on and uses the term blindness. “Thou has lived with thy neighbor”, Royce writes, “and has known him not, being blind”. But Royce broadens the extension of the neighbor beyond human beings: “Pain is pain, joy is joy, everywhere even as in thee. In all the songs of the forest birds; in all the cries of the wounded and dying, struggling in the captor’s power; in the boundless sea … amid all the countless hordes of savage men … everywhere from the lowest to the noblest, the same conscious, burning, willful life is found, endlessly manifold as the forms of the living creatures …” (James 1992: 847-8). James uses Royce to call attention not just to the inner life of others but to the cries of the wounded and dying. Such cries have a place in “The Moral Philosopher and the Moral Life”, where James portrays our moral systems as evolving equilibria of ideals, with “nothing final” about any of them. Each system, James holds, squelches or wounds somebody and forecloses the realization of certain ideals: “The pinch is always here. Pent in under every system of moral rules are innumerable persons whom it weighs upon, and goods which it represses; and these are always rumbling and grumbling in the background, and ready for any issue by which they may get free” (James 1992: 611). He cites slavery and judicial torture as rejected systems, and marriage as a current one that offers many benefits but also represses certain goods. Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 27 Our current systems of meat production and consumption offer many benefits but also repress certain goods, or even create more suffering. But as Wittgenstein reminds us, animals mostly don’t use language, so it is we human beings who must speak for them, if anyone is going to. Ancient Indian philosophers in the Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist traditions spoke for animals, and the nineteenth century American philosopher Henry David Thoreau, who learned much from Hinduism, recommended fishing and hunting, not only for the chance to live in nature but for the chance for a young person to directly confront death, administered by oneself. “The hare in its extremity cries like a child”, Thoreau writes in Walden (1971: 212). Hunting and fishing, he argues in the chapter entitled “Higher Laws”, are stages of education: to be tried, learned from, and left behind. Sitting inside his cabin and facing outwards from his open doorway, Thoreau finds himself […] suddenly neighbor to the birds; not by having imprisoned one, but having caged myself near them. I was not only nearer to some of those which commonly frequent the garden and the orchard, but to those smaller and more thrilling songsters of the forest which never, or rarely, serenade a villager – the wood thrush, the veery, the scarlet tanager, the field sparrow, the whip-poor-will, and many others. (Thoreau 1971: 85) Hearne gets close to those neighboring systems of being we call horses and dogs by working with them, Thoreau with those we call birds by letting them come near him. Sometimes philosophy proceeds not by solving or dissolving, but by opening up a philosophical problem, or agitating a deflected concern. I agree with Elizabeth Costello when she says that she doesn’t know what she thinks about animals. “I often wonder what thinking is”, she says, “what understanding is. Do we really understand the universe better than animals do?” (Coetzee 2003: 90). This seems to me a reasonable, productively skeptical, and realistic note on which to end this survey. http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Russell B. Goodman CC-BY 28 References Cavell, S., 1979. The Claim of Reason: Wittgenstein, Skepticism, Morality, and Tragedy. New York: Oxford University Press. Cavell, S., 1989. “Declining Decline: Wittgenstein as a Philosopher of Culture”. In: This New Yet Unapproachable America. Albuquerque, NM: Living Batch Press, pp. 29-75. Coetzee, J., 2003. Elizabeth Costello. New York: Viking Penguin. Diamond, C., 2008. “The Difficulty of Philosophy and the Difficulty of Reality”. In: Philosophy and Animal Life (eds. S. Cavell, C. Diamond, J. McDowell, I. Hacking, C Wolfe). New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 43-89. (Originally published in Partial Answers 1:2 (2003), pp. 1-26.) Emerson, R. 1983. Essays and Lectures. New York: Library of America. Goodman, R. 2002. Wittgenstein and William James. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hearne, V., 1986. Adam’s Task: Calling Animals by Name. New York: Knopf. Hearne, V., 2007 (1991). Bandit: The Heart-Warming True Story of One Dog’s Rescue from Death Row. New York: Skyhorse Publishing. Hearne, V. 1994. Animal Happiness: A Moving Exploration of Animals and Their Emotions. New York: Harper Collins. Hearne, V. 1995. “A Taxonomy of Knowing: Animals Captive, Free- Ranging, and at Liberty”. Social Research 62, no.3, pp. 441-456. James, W., 1975 (1907). Pragmatism. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. James, W., 1981 (1890). The Principles of Psychology. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. James, W., 1987a. “Vivisection”. In: Essays, Comments, and Reviews. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987, pp. 10-13. (Originally published unsigned, in the Nation 20, February, 1875.) James, W., 1987b. Writings 1902-1910. New York: Library of America. James, W., 1992. Writings 1878-1899. New York: Library of America. Levinas, E., 1998. Entre Nous: on thinking-of-the-other. New York: Columbia University Press. Nagel, Thomas 1974. “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” Philosophical Review LXXXIII, no 4, pp. 435-50. Richardson, R., 2006. William James: In the Maelstrom of American Modernism. New York: Houghton Mifflin. Schlick, M. 1979. “On the Meaning of Life” (trans. Peter Heath). In: Philosophical Papers vol. 2 (1925-36) (ed. H. Mulder and B. van de Velde-Schlick). Dordrecht: D. Reidel, pp. 112-123. (Originally published as “Vom Sinn des Lebens”. Symposion 1 (1927), pp. 331- 354.) Nordic Wittgenstein Review 5 (1) 2016 29 Thoreau, H., 1971 (1854). Walden. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Wittgenstein, L. 2009. Philosophical Investigations, trans. E. Anscombe, P. Hacker, and J. Schulte. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell [PI, PPF]. Biographical Note Russell B. Goodman received degrees in philosophy from the University of Pennsylvania, Oxford and Johns Hopkins, and is now Professor of Philosophy and Regents’ Professor Emeritus at the University of New Mexico. He is the author of American Philosophy and the Romantic Tradition (Cambridge, 1990), Wittgenstein and William James (Cambridge, 2002), and American Philosophy before Pragmatism (Oxford, 2015). http://www.nordicwittgensteinreview.com/ Abstract Introduction 1. James 2. Wittgenstein 3. Hearne 4. Conclusion References Biographical Note 
work_wtkacxno4baizpuowwkrrgoxsi	----	Transatlantica, 1 | 2003 Transatlantica Revue d’études américaines. American Studies Journal  1 | 2003 State of the Union Alain Suberchicot. Littérature Américaine et Ecologie. Paris : L’Harmattan, collection Le Monde Nord- Américain — Histoire — Culture — Société, dirigée par Pierre Lagayette, 2002, 257 p. Marc Bellot Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/738 DOI : 10.4000/transatlantica.738 ISSN : 1765-2766 Éditeur AFEA Référence électronique Marc Bellot, « Alain Suberchicot. Littérature Américaine et Ecologie. », Transatlantica [En ligne], 1 | 2003, mis en ligne le 05 avril 2006, consulté le 25 septembre 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ transatlantica/738 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/transatlantica.738 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 25 septembre 2020. Transatlantica – Revue d'études américaines est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d'Utilisation Commerciale - Pas de Modification 4.0 International. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/738 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Alain Suberchicot. Littérature Américaine et Ecologie. Paris : L’Harmattan, collection Le Monde Nord- Américain — Histoire — Culture — Société, dirigée par Pierre Lagayette, 2002, 257 p. Marc Bellot 1 Les grandes controverses écologiques qui agitent la vie politique mondiale sont toutes sous-tendues par une référence implicite ou explicite à la place de l’homme dans son environnement. La conception « écocentrique », qui postule une égalité fondamentale entre toutes les espèces vivantes s’oppose à celle « anthropocentrique » qui attribue une valeur intrinsèque aux seuls humains en ne valorisant que le côté utilitaire de la nature. Les débats houleux suscités par les tenants du mouvement de la « deep ecology » aux Etats-Unis ont toutefois mis en lumière l’existence dans ce pays d’une longue tradition des « nature writings » qui ont façonné la vie littéraire et la conscience philosophique de la nation américaine qui fut une des premières à poser, par littérature interposée, la question de la relation de l’homme à son environnement naturel. 2 C’est précisément cette longue et riche tradition littéraire américaine qu’Alain Suberchicot se propose d’examiner dans son ouvrage Littérature Américaine et Ecologie dans lequel il entreprend une analyse chronologique des œuvres majeures qui jalonnent la pensée américaine de l’environnement, depuis les philosophies de la nature héritées du transcendantalisme jusqu’aux écritures contemporaines qui tentent de penser les rôles respectifs que les espèces vivantes doivent occuper afin de préserver un environnement naturel de plus en plus fragilisé. Disons-le d’emblée, le but est atteint, et l’auteur donne à voir un large panorama intellectuel qui autorise une meilleure appréhension des filiations, influences et lignes de forces majeures dans le tressage des pensées et des écritures d’environnement en Amérique. 3 Dans sa phase de « constitution », l’idée même d’environnement remonterait aux postulats émersoniens du transcendantalisme qui théorisent la valeur « intrinsèque » de la nature dans une tension dialectique avec la conscience individuelle du sujet. C’est Henry David Thoreau qui acclimatera les théories du transcendantalisme en posant Alain Suberchicot. Littérature Américaine et Ecologie. Transatlantica, 1 | 2003 1 dans ses Journals la question de la préservation de la nature, préfigurant ainsi les écrits des tenants de la préservation du milieu naturel, John Muir, Gifford Pinchot et John Burroughs. Avec ces auteurs se constitue une authentique écriture de l’environnement qui installe dans le genre littéraire la question fondamentale de la place de l’homme dans le monde naturel. Avec John Steinbeck et Aldo Leopold, l’idée d’environnement entre, selon l’auteur, dans la phase de « consolidation », où l’écriture se fait militante, comme pour exorciser la vieille culpabilité de l’appropriation indue d’une terre par essence rebelle à un productivisme qui éloigne de plus en plus la nation du consensus social hérité du pastoralisme jeffersonien. C’est à travers les écrits d’Aldo Leopold, qui découvre l’unicité de l’écosystème dans les yeux du loup qu’il était venu exterminer, que se fait jour la notion de « conservation ethic », une démarche de type religieux qui pose le principe d’une nature intrinsèque pourtant engagée dans une opposition dialectique avec le sujet humain. Plus proche de nous, cette radicalité tend à s’amenuiser dans sa troisième phase que le lyrisme poétique de Wendell Berry illustre en s’érigeant « en une conscience qui révèle la douleur et l’inscrit dans le paysage » (164). L’écrivain recrée dans l’écriture le sublime d’une nature devant laquelle il a le devoir de s’effacer. Avec Barry Lopez refait surface le rêve d’intégration absolue du monde naturel dans une rhétorique religieuse qui postule la parité et la solidarité entre les humains et le monde naturel. L’ouvrage se clôt sur une très belle évocation de l’œuvre d’Annie Dillard qui retrouve à travers les procédés littéraires une vision inspirée — voire mystique — d’un ordre naturel sublimé dont l’homme est partie prenante. Les références à la conscience et à l’intuition intellectuelle évoquent irrésistiblement Emerson dont les écrits sont sans doute les plus à même d’expliquer cette filiation religieuse qui irrigue les écrits d’environnement américains. C’est peut- être là que se situe le seul vrai manque de ce livre ambitieux et riche, dans la relative sous-évaluation dont fait l’objet la thématique religieuse dans les théories transcendantalistes de la nature : Emerson n’écrivait-il pas « Therefore is Nature ever the ally of Religion : lends all her pomp and riches to the religious sentiment. Prophet and priest, David, Isaiah, Jesus, have drawn deeply from this source » (Nature, 1836), ou encore « The aspect of Nature is devout. Like the figure of Jesus, she stands with bended head, and hands folded upon the breast. The happiest man is he who learns from nature the lesson of worship […] the noblest ministry of nature is to stand as the apparition of God » (Ibid.) ? La loi morale émersonienne que révèle la spiritualité de la nature n’aurait-elle pas inspiré l’univers moral de Barry Lopez, la notion d’éthique de préservation de la nature d’Aldo Leopold ou de Wendell Berry, « the passive soul » de H. D. Thoreau, voire « The Gospel of Nature » de John Burroughs ? Cette relative « laïcisation » de la culture écologique américaine ne saurait cependant faire oublier la richesse et l’originalité des analyses qui feront découvrir à bon nombre de lecteurs français la quintessence de la tradition littéraire américaine des écrits d’environnement qui rappellent inlassablement que « in the tranquil landscape […] man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature » (Emerson). Alain Suberchicot. Littérature Américaine et Ecologie. Transatlantica, 1 | 2003 2 INDEX Thèmes : Recensions AUTEUR MARC BELLOT IUT de l’Oise Alain Suberchicot. Littérature Américaine et Ecologie. Transatlantica, 1 | 2003 3 Alain Suberchicot. Littérature Américaine et Ecologie. 
work_wx57h2a2yzhgxkfg7a4x32l5vm	----	Microsoft Word - pensamento plural 10.doc Resenha Ana Cristina Lubke Mendes1 FERES JÚNIOR, João & POGREBINSCHI,Thamy.Teoria Política Contem- porânea: uma Introdução. Rio de Janeiro:Elsevier, 2010. A vida em sociedade exige que se tenha opinião formada sobre várias questões. Feres Júnior e Pogrebinschi ressaltam a importância da teoria política na formação da opinião sobre questões cotidianas, co- mo o aquecimento global, demarcação de reservas indígenas e outros debates que dizem respeito à vida em sociedade. Segundo os autores do livro, o conhecimento produzido pelos estudos das instituições e nor- mas que organizam a vida em sociedade, é fundamental para esta for- mação. Eles elaboraram a obra com o objetivo de completar /preencher um espaço vazio no mercado editorial brasileiro: a falta de livros que introduzam a teoria política, principalmente no que diz respeito à teoria política contemporânea. Para cumprir a proposta, apresentaram um panorama das principais vertentes teóricas da atuali- dade por meio da análise de seus conceitos fundamentais. Para o público que se interessa pela discussão teórica do campo da política, sejam profissionais, sejam estudantes de Ciência Política, Sociologia, Direito ou de outras disciplinas afins, o livro é de grande relevância. A forma sistemática com que Feres Júnior e Pogrebinschi apresentam os argumentos básicos de questões atuais, assim como a evolução dos debates a partir da contribuição de alguns de seus princi- pais autores, colabora na compreensão de tais temas, pois permite uma reflexão ampla e bem informada sobre o universo da política. 1 Mestranda em Ciência Política (PPGCPOL - UFPel). Pensamento Plural | Pelotas [10]: 227 - 232, janeiro/junho 2012 Pensamento Plural 228 Um dado interessante é que esta obra resulta de um curso de Teoria Política. O livro foi planejado e escrito durante dois anos se- guidos (2008 e 2009), em que os autores ensinavam conjuntamente no Curso de Teoria Política 3 do IUPERJ (Instituto Universitário de Pes- quisas do Rio de Janeiro), e, segundo eles, esta prática os levou a uma constante reelaboração do material. O livro é estruturado da seguinte forma: a) no capítulo 1 é a- presentada a construção do conceito de “Teoria política” e são descri- tos os conteúdos desenvolvidos nos capítulos posteriores, bem como a justificativa do trabalho; b) o capítulo 2 traz o conceito de justiça nas abordagens de liberalismo, igualitarismo, welfarismo, libertarismo, comunitarismo, multiculturalismo, feminismo e pós-colonialismo; c) da mesma forma, nos capítulos 3 a 7, são evidenciadas as discussões referentes ao reconhecimento, à democracia, ao poder, à resistência e à desobediência, à linguagem e à comunicação; d) no final da obra en- contra-se uma abundante bibliografia organizada de acordo com os temas desenvolvidos. Inicialmente, Feres Júnior e Pogrebinschi apresentam os limites da definição de “teoria política”, quando associada a um entendimen- to/significado superficial do “político”, ligada à teoria formal empiricis- ta. Já a abordagem apresentada no livro é de cunho normativo, o que não significa necessariamente que tal teoria não tenha base empírica. Outro aspecto explorado na obra são os contatos da teoria polí- tica com outras disciplinas, como a Ciência Política, a História e a Filosofia. Segundo os autores, o que diferencia a teoria política da Ciência Política, é que esta possui uma suposta posição epistemológica de neutralidade axiológica, e a teoria política ocupa-se em discutir valores, inclusive tomando posições em torno das possibilidades de organização da sociedade. Enquanto a História faz sua teorização ao partir do particular em direção ao abstrato, a teoria política trabalha com grau mais elevado de abstrações e generalizações. Estes contatos dão origem a subdisciplinas, que ora estão inclinadas a determinada modalidade, e ora a outras mais ou menos historicistas e empiricistas. Mesmo se tratando de outro objeto, a Sociologia, a Economia e o Direito também possuem intersecções com a teoria política. Porém, a posição dos autores é de tomar a teoria política como uma área razoa- velmente autônoma. Os autores trabalham com uma divisão disciplinar epocal da modalidade de teoria política “contemporânea”, que não inclui a pola- rização ideológica entre liberais e marxistas. A metodologia utilizada Pelotas [10]: 227 - 232 janeiro / junho de 2012 229 parte dos principais conceitos (conceitos chaves) em direção às ques- tões que estes provocam. Trabalham sistematicamente com os autores identificados como centrais no debate atual. No capítulo 2 é apresentado um dos debates mais influentes da teoria política contemporânea: como conjugar o princípio de igualda- de a uma teoria liberal por meio do conceito de justiça. Este debate iniciou com a publicação de Uma teoria da justiça, de John Rawls, livro no qual o autor apresentou seu projeto de justiça liberal. Este capítulo é o mais extenso do livro, pois, além de demonstrar as propo- sições de Rawls, evidencia os debates que surgiram em decorrência destas propostas. A teoria rawlsiana trabalha com a concepção de justi- ça como equidade, chamada de “liberalismo político”, cujo objetivo é articular liberdade e igualdade. Nas seções que se seguem neste capítu- lo, os autores apresentam detalhadamente como o conceito de igual- dade e a questão da justiça distributiva se articulam com o conceito de bem-estar. Como a ideia norteadora do livro é introduzir o estudo de teorias políticas contemporâneas, são trabalhados os principais concei- tos utilizados por Rawls, tais como: a posição original, o véu da igno- rância, os princípios de justiça, justiça procedimental, o princípio da diferença, entre outros não menos importantes, que são apresentados de forma clara e objetiva, permitindo ao leitor uma visão ampla da teoria liberal. Também são identificadas três perspectivas definidoras do conceito de igualdade: igualdade complexa, elaborada por Michel Walzer; igualdade de recursos, defendida por Ronald Dworkin; e a abordagem analítica da capacidade de Amartya Sen. Nas últimas seções do capítulo 2, são discutidas as críticas feitas ao projeto de Rawls, as quais partem do libertarismo de Robert Nozick e passam para o co- munitarismo de Michael Sandel. Ao trazerem as perspectivas do multi- culturalismo, feminismo e pós-colonialismo, os autores demonstram o movimento de deslocamento da teoria liberal de foco igualitário para a abordagem que centra a discussão no conceito de diferença. Nestes últimos tópicos, os autores fazem argumentação de forma articulada, vão descrevendo as perspectivas de alguns autores como Charles Taylor e Will Kymlicka, que tratam do multiculturalismo, e também demons- tram as críticas que estes recebem, no caso, as contribuições de Homi Bhabha. Esta forma de apresentação das teorias, que estabelece as rela- ções entre as formulações e as críticas, permite que o leitor compreen- da os limites e avanços de cada teoria apresentada. O capítulo 3 trata do conceito de “reconhecimento”. Feres Jú- nior e Pogrebinschi dão prioridade às diferentes formas com que os autores contemporâneos trabalham as questões de demandas por reco- nhecimento e redistribuição. Este conceito é utilizado para analisar a Pensamento Plural 230 combinação entre sociedade multicultural e o sistema político demo- crático liberal. Os autores examinam o debate entre Axel Honneth e Nancy Fraser. Iniciam demonstrando como Honneth formulou sua teoria do reconhecimento a partir dos estudos de Hegel. Após, expõem a construção teórica de Fraser, que propõe a integração em uma única teoria das reivindicações por reconhecimento e por redistribuição. Por fim, apresentam a resposta de Honneth às críticas de Fraser. A seguir, no capítulo 4, os autores trazem a teoria democrática contemporânea, abordando os temas da representação, da participação e da deliberação. Iniciam com o conceito de representação de Hanna Pitkin, que define a representação como sendo a presença da ausência, ou seja, algo que não está presente literalmente e que é considerado presente em um sentido não literal. De acordo com o exposto por Feres Júnior e Pogrebinschi, Pitkin contribui para teoria da representa- ção ao argumentar que o conceito de representação traz em si um problema: é constituído por um paradoxo. Ao tentar redefinir o con- ceito de representação, Nadia Urbinati detecta que o problema está no déficit democrático da representação. Após esta introdução, e na se- quência do capítulo, os autores vão demonstrando o diálogo das teori- as participativas e deliberativas que buscam superar os limites da repre- sentação, trabalhando os seguintes autores: John Dewey, Benjamin Barber, Carole Pateman, Jane Mansbridge, Archon Fung. O tema central do capítulo 5 é o conceito de poder. Este capítulo encontra-se estruturado da mesma forma que os demais. Começa com uma visão progressiva da construção teórica referente à conceituação de poder. Posteriormente, os autores discorrem/colocam o debate atual sobre o tema. Apresentam a formulação teórica de Steven Lukes, com sua proposta de uma teoria do poder que seja empiricamente informada, passando a trabalhar com Hannah Arendt e Michel Foucault. Os conceitos de resistência e de desobediência são desenvolvi- dos no capítulo 6. Na introdução do capítulo, os autores demonstram a evolução da discussão sobre o direito de resistência. Começando por John Locke e seu fundamento liberal, passando para a ótica do pensa- mento contemporâneo de Henry David Thoreau, que desenvolve o conceito de desobediência civil. A seguir, Feres Júnior e Pogrebinschi analisam as quatro formas diferentes assumidas pelo direito de resitên- cia, respectivamente de Michael Walzer, Ronald Dworkin, Mangabeira Unger e Philip Pettit. No capítulo 7, último da obra, os autores apresentam os con- ceitos de linguagem e de comunicação. Seguindo a mesma lógica dos Pelotas [10]: 227 - 232 janeiro / junho de 2012 231 demais capítulos, tem-se uma exposição abrangente sobre o assunto. Primeiramente é apresentado o desenvolvimento do pensamento mo- derno até o contemporâneo. Começa pela discussão feita por George Herbert Mead a respeito do desenvolvimento da linguagem e segue com argumentos que comprovam a influência deste pensamento em obras de autores como Jurgen Habermas. Finalizando o livro de Feres Júnior e Pogrebinschi, encontra- mos as referências bibliográficas. Estas aparecem listadas de forma a facilitar o aprofundamento de estudos referentes aos temas apresenta- dos de forma sintética, porém educativa, pelos autores. Como foi demonstrado anteriormente, a organização do livro e a forma de apresentação dos capítulos busca proporcionar uma visão panorâmica a respeito de teorias políticas contemporâneas. Foram abordadas na obra as principais vertentes teóricas da a- tualidade, como o liberalismo, o igualitarismo, o comunitarismo, a teoria do reconhecimento e a teoria democrática, através da apresenta- ção analítica de seus conceitos fundamentais, quais sejam: justiça, democracia, poder, resistência, desobediência, linguagem e comunica- ção. Esta seleção de temas é relevante ao estudo das teorias políticas, pois se constitui como agenda das principais preocupações. Questões centrais estão presentes: como construir uma sociedade justa em meio a tantas desigualdades sociais e culturais? Outra questão não menos importante é: como ampliar a democracia? As teorias políticas apresen- tadas por Feres Júnior e Pogrebinschi podem ajudar na elaboração de respostas para esta problemática. Ao observar o grande número de temas tratados pelos autores, pode-se questionar a profundidade das respostas dadas às interroga- ções/perguntas/questões levantadas. Porém, como a intenção primaz era a de proporcionar uma visão panorâmica ao leitor sobre as teorias políticas contemporâneas, chegamos ao fim da análise verificando que esta intenção foi cumprida com sucesso, pois, ao trazer informações abrangentes de forma clara, com literatura bem selecionada, a obra é um ótimo recurso para a compreensão dos principais debates do cam- po da teoria política. Conclui-se que o esforço empreendido por Feres Júnior e Po- grebinschi de selecionar determinado tema, construindo cada capítulo com os argumentos básicos do tópico em questão, fazendo uma expo- sição da evolução do debate a respeito do assunto até atingir as discus- sões atuais, apresentando a contribuição dos autores considerados fundamentais para o debate, atingiu o objetivo de preencher a lacuna Pensamento Plural 232 de livros que introduzam os leitores ao estudo das teorias políticas contemporâneas, e, portanto, a utilização deste livro é ferramenta indispensável para interessados em estudá-las. Ana Cristina Lubke Mendes ana-lubke@hotmail.com Recebido em 01 set. 2012 Aprovado em 06 nov. 2012. 
work_wzk5y5hmv5amrfbqwhvsihkdii	----	MANDATING USE OF PREDICTIVE CODING IN ELECTRONIC DISCOVERY: AN ILL-ADVISED JUDICIAL INTRUSION By Tonia Hap Murphy * “But lo! Men have become the tools of their tools." --Henry David Thoreau 1 I. Introduction In twenty-first century civil litigation, discovery focuses on electronically stored information (“ESI”).2 Lawsuits may be won or lost because of incriminating electronic documents. 3 While offices are moving toward less use of paper, the amount of ESI potentially discoverable in litigation has proliferated. 4 Litigants in some cases may face the task of searching billions of electronic records for those documents that are responsive to discovery requests. 5 That makes discovery a burdensome and expensive proposition. 6 While production of documents may evoke images of young associates in dusty storerooms looking at thousands of individual paper documents stored in boxes or filing cabinets, discovery has changed with the burgeoning of ESI. Computers now do much of the work, culling from that vast body of ESI a smaller set of documents that may be responsive and relevant. For at least the past decade, most electronic discovery has been via keyword searching 7 -- a great improvement over old- fashioned manual review, but presenting its own problems. A newer generation of search technology is “predictive coding.” Despite advocates’ claims of improved accuracy and lower costs, attorneys have been slow to transition to predictive coding methods. Moreover, there has been a lack of precedent indicating that judges regard predictive coding as reliable and acceptable under the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. Adjustment to advances in technology often come slowly, but good reasons may exist to proceed cautiously here, especially in lawsuits where large amounts of money or even the existence of a corporation may be at stake. Two cases, Da Silva Moore v. Publicis Groupe 8 and Kleen Products, LLC v. Packaging Corporation of America, 9 suddenly have brought predictive coding to the forefront in the spring of 2012. In these cases, federal magistrate judges have signaled approval of predictive coding and may be ready to mandate its use, rather than keyword searching methods, over parties’ objections. A state court in Virginia also ruled in April 2012, permitting the use of predictive coding over a party’s objection. 10 These cases have attracted considerable attention, especially in law and technology blogs. 11 This paper seeks to provide a detached, deeper, scholarly analysis, to provide guidance as other courts may grapple with this novel issue. After examining in greater detail these two types of technology, the facts and rulings of Da Silva Moore and Kleen Products, and the fundamental roles of the parties and the court in discovery, this paper will argue that judicial mandates of particular technologies for electronic discovery would be misguided because the parties may have legitimate, good faith concerns that lead them to prefer keyword searching rather than predictive coding and because judges do not have sufficient reasons to depart from the traditional judicial role to intervene in such decisions. II. Technology for Electronic Discovery: Keyword Searching to Predictive Coding Keyword searches used in discovery are akin to the keyword searches used to find relevant documents on LEXIS or Westlaw. In both contexts, Boolean logic is used to refine searches by the use of connectors, such as “and,” “but not,” and “within same sentence.” Keyword searches in electronic discovery, however, are typically much more complex. In addition to Boolean logic, they may incorporate other advanced information retrieval methods. 12 The parties work together to define appropriate search protocols and may also limit the universe of ESI to be searched. 13 Largely to control costs, document review may be outsourced to attorneys on the other side of the globe. 14 Figure 1 depicts the discovery process when keyword searching is employed. 15 Keyword searching is now the most widely used method of combing ESI for relevant documents, 16 but the method is not perfect. First, parties often disagree about appropriate search terms, which may cause the court to issue sanctions for lack of good faith cooperation in the process 17 or even court involvement in crafting search terms. 18 The major difficulty, however, is that parties may craft search terms that are over- or under-inclusive, either returning large amounts of irrelevant documents or failing to capture relevant ones. 19 Appropriately inclusive results are more likely when technical experts are involved in developing search terms. 20 Courts may require the testimony of experts on how the search terms were crafted. 21 And of course, the cost of the process is a concern. * Associate Teaching Professor, Mendoza College of Business, University of Notre Dame. Figure 1. Keyword Searching Process. The next generation of technology for electronic discovery is predictive coding. 22 A Rand Institute for Civil Justice monograph describes the approach: Predictive coding . . . is a process by which the computer does the heavy lifting in deciding whether documents are relevant, responsive or privileged. . . . [The computer] automatically assign[s] a rating (or proximity score) to each document to reflect how close it is to the concepts and terms found in examples of documents attorneys have already determined to be relevant, responsive, or privileged. This assignment becomes increasingly accurate as the software continues to learn from human reviewers about what is, and what is not, of interest. This score and the self-learning function are the two key characteristics that set predictive coding apart from less robust analytical techniques. 23 Attorneys, typically senior attorneys, work to train or calibrate the predictive coding software. The process begins either with attorneys selecting a “seed set” of responsive and non-responsive documents, or reviewing and coding a random sample of documents. These initial documents are then analyzed by the predictive coding software. The software begins to make judgments on probable relevance of other documents. The attorneys review further samples produced by the software, again applying their own judgment as to relevance, responsiveness, and privilege. The process continues until the attorneys are satisfied that the software is properly calibrated. At that point, the results are said to be “optimized”: “disagreement between the software’s decisions and those of the human reviewers should be kept to a minimum.” 24 Figure 2 depicts the discovery process when predictive coding is employed. 25 Cost savings through predictive coding would be expected primarily by avoiding or at least greatly limiting final, attorney review of the computer-generated set of responsive documents. 26 Empirical data proving cost savings is scarce. 27 In assessing savings from use of predictive coding, one must account for vendor charges or licensing fees that may offset savings obtained due to fewer attorney hours. 28 Exact methods for predictive coding are proprietary and vary from one provider to another. At least three companies have patents on technology or methods. 29 Other patent applications are pending. 30 Through published patent documents, details about such companies’ particular methods are publicly available. For other companies, general information about methodologies is available, but precise details on techniques are protected as trade secrets. 31 One would expect that effectiveness may vary from one provider to another. Enthusiasm for predictive coding as a method for conducting electronic discovery runs high in some quarters, 32 but there are reasons to be cautious. First, there is a dearth of empirical evidence as to its effectiveness. 33 Limits of keyword searching may be overstated; in fact, there is overlap in the keyword searching and predictive coding approaches. 34 Additionally, as Attorneys, aided by experts, craft keyword search Search conducted Attorneys examine documents; cull nonresponsive, privileged, and confidential documents Responsive, nonprivileged documents produced Clawback of inadvertently produced privileged documents Figure 2. Predictive Coding Process. ______________________________________________________________________ prominent information retrieval scholars have noted, “audacious claims [are] now being made in the E-discovery community regarding the efficacy of certain techniques.” 35 They cite “marketing claims that seem well beyond what we are presently able to measure, and perhaps even somewhat beyond what is actually possible.” 36 Indeed, while predictive coding technology may have great promise, it has not yet been widely used in electronic discovery. 37 Observers ascribe slow adoption of predictive coding to several factors, including lack of adequate technical understanding by lawyers, 38 lack of transparency of the process, 39 and concern about accuracy of results. 40 Attorneys may also have concern about “the uncertainty of judicial acceptance” 41 and whether privilege protection may be lost for documents produced through the predictive coding process. 42 Attorneys select "seed set" of responsive and nonresponsive documents OR review and code random sample of documents Attorneys review and code additional documents produced by software Software assigns proximity score; refines template used to screen documents Attorneys review and code additional documents produced by software Software assigns proximity score; refines template used to screen documents (may be repeated multiple times) Once results optimized, documents deemed by software to be relevant and nonprivileged produced Clawback of inadvertently produced privileged documents III. Predictive Coding in the Courts: Moves to Mandate Use of that Technology Even in the early months of 2012, there were serious questions as to whether predictive coding would gain judicial acceptance. Could a party wishing to use predictive coding to cull responsive documents convince the court that the method will be sufficiently accurate in finding responsive documents? The Sedona Conference research institution opined that “if human review or even keyword searching is the benchmark for accuracy and reliability, it arguably should not be difficult to compare the new [concept searching] technology favorably . . . . The discovery standard is, after all, reasonableness, not perfection.” 43 But the idea was untested in the courts. On February 24, 2012, however, Magistrate Judge Andrew Peck of the Southern District of New York ruled in Da Silva Moore v. Publicis Groupe that predictive coding “is an acceptable way to search for relevant ESI in appropriate cases.” 44 Da Silva Moore involves five female plaintiffs suing one of the world’s largest advertising firms and its public relations subsidiary for gender and pregnancy discrimination and various other claims. 45 The plaintiffs appealed Magistrate Judge Peck’s February 24 ruling to District Judge Andrew L. Carter, Jr., arguing among other things that the predictive coding method approved by Judge Peck was unreliable and unacceptable under the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. 46 They also requested recusal of Judge Peck due to alleged appearance of partiality. 47 Noting a “highly deferential standard of review,” Judge Carter affirmed Judge Peck’s discovery ruling. 48 Judge Carter noted that while “the Plaintiffs and Judge Peck disagree about the scope of Plaintiffs’ acquiescence concerning the use of the [predictive coding] method,” 49 the plaintiffs had consented to its use, and “[a]t this stage, there is insufficient evidence to conclude that the use of the predictive coding software will deny Plaintiffs access to liberal discovery.” 50 The other federal case of current interest is Kleen Products, LLC v. Packaging Corporation of America. 51 The case, pending in the Northern District of Illinois, is a class action antitrust claim, alleging price fixing in the containerboard industry by seven separate defendants. 52 District Judge Milton I. Shadur referred discovery to Magistrate Judge Nan Nolan. In their Joint Status Conference Report of May 17, 2012, the parties state that the plaintiffs have produced 25,000 pages of documents to date, and the defendants have produced more than 3,000,000 pages of documents, including both hard copies and ESI. Both parties expect to produce further documents. 53 Among the discovery issues is whether the keyword searching technology used by the defendants satisfies the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. As stated in the defendant’s brief: Plaintiffs have not meaningfully challenged the specific ESI search methodology that Defendants implemented here. Rather, Plaintiffs challenge the use of search terms per se in this litigation. Plaintiffs argue that Defendants, notwithstanding their very substantial investment of time and resources, must abandon what they have done and instead use the methodology Plaintiffs prefer. 54 The plaintiffs in Kleen Products call the defendants’ search methodology “an antiquated Boolean keyword search” and request the judge to order the defendants to employ predictive coding. 55 After numerous days of evidentiary hearings and numerous continuances, as of May 29, 2012, there has been no ruling by Judge Nolan on the predictive coding issue. Regardless of the ultimate rulings in these pending cases, Da Silva Moore and Kleen Products show this to be an important, new issue, likely to arise in other courts 56 and deserving of thorough, unbiased, scholarly attention, which this paper attempts to provide. A starting point for analysis is a look at the traditional roles of the parties and the court in discovery. IV. Roles of the Parties and the Court in Discovery under the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure Discovery is designed to be a cooperative process, run by the parties, as represented by counsel, largely without interference by the court. 57 The American system of discovery is distinctive: Party-initiated discovery is in stark contrast to civil law countries where (although changing) it is the civilian law judge who decides what evidence is needed and proceeds to request documents and interrogate witnesses in person, summarizing the testimony in writing. In the United States, it is the lawyers who conduct pretrial discovery, albeit supervised in a general way by judges when there is active case management. 58 Two influential sources on “best practices” for electronic discovery, the Seventh Circuit Electronic Discovery Pilot Program and the Sedona Conference, characterize discovery as a cooperative, party-driven process. Principle 1.01 of the Seventh Circuit Pilot Program’s General Principles directs parties to work toward “the early resolution of disputes regarding the discovery of electronically stored information (‘ESI’) without Court intervention,” and Principle 1.02 reminds counsel that “An attorney’s zealous representation of a client is not compromised by conducting discovery in a cooperative manner.” 59 The Sedona Conference’s Resources for the Judiciary emphasize that “the Resources do not mean to imply that judges should be routinely making discovery decisions for the parties,” noting further that “Discovery is designed to be, and remains, party-driven. Active case management provides a strong framework in which the parties should develop and execute their own cooperative discovery plans.” 60 Party-directed discovery, a hallmark of the American system, is thought to yield several benefits. First, the court’s limited involvement in the process conserves judicial resources. More importantly, parties who control aspects of the litigation process are more likely to accept the court’s ultimate decision. 61 Party-directed discovery evidences respect for individual rights and opinions. 62 Additionally, it fortifies society’s confidence in the fairness of the adversary system: When litigants direct the proceedings, there is little opportunity for the judge to pursue her own agenda or to act on her own biases. Because the judge seldom takes the lead in conducting the proceedings, she is unlikely to appear to be partisan or to become embroiled in the contest. Her detachment preserves the appearance of fairness as well as fairness itself. 63 The discovery process commences under the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure when the parties “meet and confer” at a planning conference under Rule 26(f). At this conference, the parties must work together in good faith to develop a proposed discovery plan. 64 The plan shall address subjects for discovery and the timing of discovery. 65 The plan shall also address “issues about claims of privilege,” including whether the parties “agree on a procedure to assert these claims after production.” 66 The parties submit the discovery plan to the court 67 for consideration and approval at a pre-trial conference. Rule 16 governs “Pre-Trial Conferences; Scheduling; [and] Management.” A guide for judges published by the Federal Judicial Center explains its purpose: “The Rule 16 conference and order afford the court the opportunity, early in the case, to discuss and memorialize the agreements or shared understandings that the parties reach in their ‘meet and confer’ session, and to resolve disputes that may have arisen.” 68 The judge issues an appropriate order, setting deadlines for such activities as pre- trial motions and discovery, memorializing the court’s rulings on such things as the extent of discovery, and memorializing any agreement of the parties on privilege protection. 69 Rule 16 specifically notes that the order may “provide for . . . discovery of electronically stored information.” 70 Appropriate pre-trial functions for the court include “expediting disposition of the action,” 71 “establishing early and continuing control so that the case will not be protracted because of lack of management,” 72 and “discouraging wasteful pretrial activities.” 73 These functions align with the overarching goal of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, set out in Rule 1: “[These Rules] should be construed and administered to secure the just, speedy, and inexpensive determination of every actions and proceeding.” 74 Courts generally push parties to come to agreement between themselves on discovery issues. 75 Consistent with the idea that the court is there to supervise and not to take on primary responsibility for discovery, the court is advised merely to grasp “the relevant technology at a level that allows effective communication with attorneys, parties, and experts.” 76 The role of the court is to supervise the discovery process and to intervene when it is abused by the parties. 77 Abuse occurs when parties violate the letter or spirit of the Rules through gamesmanship, 78 discourtesy, 79 or inability or unwillingness to comply in an orderly fashion. 80 There is a general concern for fairness of the process. 81 Courts seek to balance the need to discover relevant, important information against the burdens of electronic discovery. Courts may be inclined to act especially when a party with fewer economic resources may be disadvantaged by the process. 82 Courts have the power under Rule 26(b) to “limit” discovery. 83 In the event of abuse, the court can exercise “more stringent control” over discovery 84 and can order sanctions. 85 Sanctions are appropriate when a party acts “in bad faith, vexatiously, wantonly, or for oppressive reasons.” 86 Certainly, judges have wide discretion to act in managing cases, 87 and amendments to the federal discovery rules since 1983 have led toward greater exercise of judicial management and judicial discretion. 88 But active case management does not mean unfettered discretion. For example, the Advisory Committee note to Rule 16 cautions: “The rule does not provide the court with authority to enter such a case-management or other order [related to privilege protections] without party agreement . . . .” 89 Much scholarly debate focuses on the benefits and challenges associated with judicial discretion and the optimal level of such discretion in managing the pre-trial process. 90 Allowing judges some discretion in managing the pre- trial process is valuable, of course, as it obviates the need for more detailed Rules and allows for flexibility to tailor discovery to the needs and situation of each particular case. 91 Excessive reliance on judicial discretion in managing discovery can be problematic for several reasons. First, it can lead to disparate treatment of similarly situated parties, 92 despite the fact that the system seeks uniform treatment from one courtroom to the next. Second, it provides opportunity for judges to pursue personal agendas. 93 Finally, discovery rulings by judges are rarely appealed. When rulings are appealed, parties must show “abuse of discretion,” which standard is rarely shown. 94 Understanding that judges may have widely varying approaches to discovery, parties may engage in forum shopping, “as litigants seek districts that contain judges whose views on discovery suit their particular needs.” 95 V. Why Courts Should Not Mandate Use of Predictive Coding The foregoing Parts of this paper described predictive coding technology, introduced current cases that bring the issue to the fore, and discussed the respective roles of the parties and the court. This Part seeks to assimilate that information to address the ultimate question: should courts mandate the use of predictive coding in electronic discovery over a party’s objection? Analysis suggests that courts should not intrude in parties’ decisions on whether to employ predictive coding in electronic discovery, for two broad reasons. The first reason relates to legitimate concerns that parties and attorneys may have about predictive coding, most notably a concern about privilege protection. The second reason relates to respect for the traditional judicial role. A. Parties and Attorneys May Have Legitimate, Good Faith Reasons to Prefer Keyword Searching Certain proffered reasons that parties and attorneys may be reluctant to adopt predictive coding— lack of transparency of the process, concern about accuracy of the results, and effect on privilege protection 96 —cannot lightly be dismissed. Keyword searching is an established, judicially recognized method. 97 Empirical data establishing the superiority of predictive coding is sparse. 98 Parties may reasonably have doubts about predictive coding. These facts suggest that parties can in good faith choose keyword searching as a method of culling relevant documents, to fulfill their obligation to produce relevant, responsive documents, and to meet the overall goal of “just, speedy, and inexpensive” discovery set by Rule 1. 99 Note that attorneys have a legal and ethical obligation to make sure that discovery is conducted properly. Rule 26(g) requires that an attorney responding to a discovery request must certify that he or she has made a “reasonable inquiry” 100 and that the response is “complete and correct.” 101 The attorney’s responsibility cannot be abrogated by judicial rulings. These obligations imply that attorneys have a level of comfort with and choice regarding methods used. They further presume party control of the process. For judges to mandate use of particular technology in which the attorney does not have confidence would put attorneys in an untenable bind, inconsistent with the spirit of the system. Parties have an obligation to avoid abusing the discovery process through such tactics as gamesmanship, discourtesy, or failure to participate in discovery in an orderly fashion. 102 But there is little indication that parties seek to employ keyword searching instead of predictive coding as a litigation tactic—to harass, delay, or impose costs on the other side. It appears, rather, that parties reasonably and in good faith disagree about the most appropriate technology to be employed. 103 In fact, if proponents’ assurances about the cost savings of predictive coding are accurate, parties choosing to employ keyword searching instead are imposing higher costs on themselves. One might debate the presence of abuse or failure to achieve “just” discovery if it could be shown that keyword searching were chosen by a producing party specifically out of a belief that the method would more likely return over- or under- inclusive results. Either extreme is a problem. Excess production imposes a burden on the requesting party, as it increases the burdens of examining the documents; under-production means that relevant and important documents may not be produced. But the empirical data, at this point, do not conclusively show that predictive coding is more accurate than keyword searching. 104 And if particular keyword searches are inadequate, the court can order that party to refine or expand the search as appropriate. 105 Those remedies are more appropriate than taking the extraordinary step of mandating use of predictive coding. Parties may also reasonably resist use of predictive coding methods due to concerns about protection of the attorney-client privilege. In cases involving discovery of ESI, regardless of the search method used, when enormous numbers of documents are produced, the inadvertent production of privileged documents is likely. 106 The Rules so recognize and provide for mechanisms to handle this problem. 107 Ideally, in their pre-trial discovery plan, the parties will address what should happen in such a case. 108 Parties may make the arrangement of their choosing, but typically will agree to a “clawback” arrangement. 109 This sort of agreement is codified in Rule 26(b)(5), which provides that if privileged information is produced in discovery, then the producing party so notifies the receiving party, who must “promptly return, sequester, or destroy the specified information and any copies that it has; [and] must not use or disclose the information until the claim is resolved.” 110 Privileged documents that are clawed back cannot be used as evidence in the case. 111 Recall that one of the major arguments for use of predictive coding is the promise of cost savings, and that cost savings through predictive coding are expected primarily because pre-production privilege review is eliminated or greatly curtailed. 112 If a party thus hopes to achieve the cost benefits of this method, that party accepts a greater risk of inadvertent production of privileged documents. Privilege protection would not be lost, due to the availability of clawbacks and the provisions of Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 26(b) and Federal Rule of Evidence 502. 113 The problem with clawback arrangements, of course, is that “the bell cannot be unrung.” 114 Even though the opponent cannot offer the privileged documents as evidence in the case, “it will have seen it, likely be unable to forget it, and be able to use the information to strategize for its case.” 115 Furthermore, clawbacks do not prevent use of the privileged materials by third parties. 116 Parties considering the use of predictive coding would do well to weigh these risks. Given these significant risks, courts should not compel parties to employ predictive coding, which method normally foregoes a final, pre-production privilege review and therefore, puts the party at a greater risk of disclosing privileged documents. The attorney-client privilege is “the oldest of privileges for confidential communications known to the common law” and serves the critical purpose of “encourag[ing] full and frank communication between attorneys and their clients and thereby promote[s] broader public interests in the observance of law and administration of justice.” 117 Federal Rule of Evidence 502 demonstrates Congress’ strong intent to protect the privilege. 118 While under Rule 502 any privileged documents could be clawed back, 119 clawback provides insufficient protection. The important policy behind protection of the attorney-client privilege outweighs the hope that use of predictive coding would provide cost savings and perhaps more accurate production of ESI. The privilege is owned by the client, “who alone may waive it.” 120 The client may rightly object to any method that contemplates foregoing a final, pre-production privilege review. 121 B. Judges Do Not Have Sufficient Reason to Intervene in Parties’ Decisions on Search Technology While Rule 26(b) explicitly grants courts the power to “limit” discovery, 122 case law shows that courts have imposed “limitations” to address proportionality problems, in cases where the requested discovery was overly burdensome or costly, given the nature of the case or the value of the information likely to be gained. 123 This is consistent with the Advisory Committee notes accompanying this Rule. 124 Orders to limit the number of interrogatories, limit the universe of ESI to be examined, or phase discovery 125 fit the plain meaning of the word “limit.” 126 Ordering a party to employ a different technology to search its own ESI would be unlike those sorts of limitations and does not go to a concern about proportionality. Such an order would not naturally be regarded as a “reduction” or “restriction” of discovery. Certainly, courts have discretion to act, apart from the specific grants of power in the Rules. 127 But courts generally have intervened in parties’ discovery activities only in the case of abuse—gamesmanship, discourtesy, or failure to participate in discovery as required. 128 As noted above, parties’ motivation to prefer keyword searching appears not to be for nefarious reasons. Absent a showing of abuse, therefore, courts should hesitate to intervene. As one scholar bluntly and correctly notes, “No matter how talented the judge, determinations about the proper use of discovery and specific tools are better left to the attorneys on the case, who are more familiar with the facts and needs of the case, and who are directly responsible to their clients.” 129 Certain judges may have a keen interest in, and deep understanding of, predictive coding. Perhaps understandably, they may wish to use their rulings to further acceptance of a nascent, promising technology. This, however, gives rise to a serious concern about disparate treatment from one court to the next as well as the possibility of forum shopping. 130 Moreover, even if predictive coding has the potential to be more effective than keyword searching and will be widely used and acclaimed in the future, is it the place of a judge to foster use of particular technology through court rulings? Parties still would have reason for concern about privilege protection. 131 Mandating particular technology still would be a departure from the long- standing tradition of party-controlled discovery. 132 Those concerns should override any incremental benefits of predictive coding over keyword searching. 133 A broader question may be whether a judge or indeed any government actor should or can effectively promote public acceptance of new technology. Government efforts to promote such technologies as electric cars and compact fluorescent light bulbs are well known. 134 The analogy is imperfect: a judge’s effort to mandate use of predictive coding in discovery because the technology is thought to be more efficient and effective differs in important ways from legislative or executive attempts to support technology because it is thought to be more environmentally friendly. 135 But the literature assessing the latter type of government efforts may offer some relevant lessons. Most obviously, that literature emphasizes the difficulty of such endeavors and the complexity of issues involved. 136 The literature also notes potential obstacles to technological change, among them “industry opposition, consumer reluctance to purchase unfamiliar new technologies, . . . [and] the rapidly changing technology landscape that may cause frequent rethinking of the optimal technology pathways.” 137 The literature notes government’s limited success in identifying the best technology. 138 Finally and most importantly, there is the following conclusion: “The consumer is the ultimate arbiter of most technological changes. If consumers are unwilling to accept or pay for a new technology, that technology is unlikely to prosper. Therefore, policies that attempt to ‘push’ a technology onto unreceptive or even uninterested consumers are particularly prone to fail.” 139 Surely a corollary of this last point is that truly effective and useful new technologies are likely to be accepted by consumers, without the need for government mandates. One scholar recommends that rather than mandating new technologies, government “should identify what are the key goals or problems it is trying to address and then not discriminate against any technologies that can help achieve those stated objectives.” 140 This approach, in essence, would align with the traditional approach of the Federal Rules—allowing parties to direct discovery, including selecting search technologies. VI. Conclusion The aim of this paper is not to denigrate technological progress. Nor is it to denigrate predictive coding—a promising method for culling relevant documents in electronic discovery. If parties have confidence in and choose to use that method, courts should accept it as a reasonable method. Rather, the aim of this paper is to provide an objective look at predictive coding and to offer a reminder of the time-tested underpinnings of the discovery process under the Federal Rules of Procedure. The system works best as a party-controlled system, with courts overseeing the process to control abuse by the parties, ruling on such things as time, place, and subject matter for discovery. While judges in recent years have taken a more aggressive approach to case management, stepping too far outside the traditional judicial role can lead to the appearance of unfairness and even charges of bias that undermine the system. This paper examined whether judges should intervene in parties’ decisions on what type of search technology to use in electronic discovery. Recent cases suggest the possibility that judges could soon mandate use of predictive coding technology over a party’s objections. This issue implicates important policy considerations that go to the heart of the American adversarial system. Such a mandate would be unwise. Parties and attorneys may be resistant to that technology for legitimate reasons, including lack of transparency of the process, questions about whether this method is more accurate than the more familiar keyword searching, and heightened risk of inadvertent disclosure of privileged materials, which can provide strategic advantages to the opponent. Moreover, such a mandate would depart from the traditional judicial role without adequate justification. Mandating use of predictive coding in electronic discovery, therefore, would be an ill-advised judicial intrusion. Judges should not issue such mandates. This is not an issue that requires a change in the Rules; it simply requires the exercise of judicial restraint. Groups such as the Sedona Conference and the Seventh Circuit Electronic Discovery Program could provide welcome leadership in advocating this sort of restraint. These groups might also encourage greater transparency regarding predictive coding products and services, development of empirical data regarding its effectiveness, and further improvement in predictive coding technology, which may lead to wider voluntary use of that technology and perhaps more “just, speedy, and inexpensive discovery.” FOOTNOTES 1 HENRY DAVID THOREAU, WALDEN 25 (W.W. Norton & Co. 1966) (1854). 2 The term “electronically stored information” is not defined in the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, although it is used there. See infra, notes 64-76. In Notes accompanying the 2006 Amendments to those Rules, the Judicial Conference Committee stated that the term “is expansive and includes any type of information that is stored electronically” and “is intended to be broad enough to cover all current types of computer-based information, and flexible enough to encompass future changes and developments.” Fed. R. Civ. P. 34(a)(1) advisory committee's note. In most companies, the vast majority of documents are created and stored electronically. On Its Way, At Last: No Longer a Joke, the “Paperless Office” Is Getting Closer, ECONOMIST, Oct. 9, 2008, at 86. 3 See, e.g., Gretchen Morgenson, Case on Mortgage Official Is Said to Be Dropped, N.Y. TIMES, Feb. 20, 2011, at A20 (reporting closure of criminal case against Countrywide Financial’s chief executive but noting that internal emails calling the company’s loans “toxic” and “poison” were likely to be pivotal in civil cases against the company); Landon Thomas, Jr., Prosecutors Build Bear Stearns Case on E-Mails, N.Y. TIMES (June 20, 2008), http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/20/business/20bear.html?pagewanted=all (describing prosecutors’ use of hedge fund executive’s internal email stating “I think we should close the funds now,” while the firm “presented a sunny picture to worried investors”); Steve Lohr, In an Antitrust Suit, a Tiny Ex-Partner Is Taking Aim at Microsoft, N.Y. TIMES (May 31, 1999), http://www.nytimes.com/1999/05/31/business/in-an-antitrust-suit-a-tiny-ex-partner-is-taking-aim-at- microsoft.html?pagewanted=all&src=pm (noting that antitrust case against Microsoft was largely built on internal emails sent by Bill Gates and other executives); Ravi Mandalia, Google Denied Exclusion of Lindholm Email from Oracle Lawsuit, ITPROPORTAL (Feb. 8, 2012), http://www.itproportal.com/2012/02/08/google-denied-exclusion-of-lindholm-email-from- oracle-lawsuit (reporting that Federal Circuit’s ruling to allow use of incriminating email was “a potentially damaging blow” in billion dollar patent lawsuit); “Smoking Gun” Emails Released in 2009 Buffalo Plane Crash, ABC NEWS (Oct. 21, 2011), http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/headlines/2011/10/smoking-gun-emails-released-in-lawsuit-over-2009-buffalo-plane-crash. 4 See JOHN F. GANTZ ET AL., INT'L DATA CORP., THE DIVERSE AND EXPLODING DIGITAL UNIVERSE: AN UPDATED FORECAST OF WORLDWIDE INFORMATION GROWTH THROUGH 2011 3 (2008) (projecting a ten-fold increase in ESI from 2006-11). Documents responsive to discovery requests may be found in such locations as servers, desktop and laptop computers at work and at employees’ homes, on cloud-based systems, on Voice over Internet protocol (VOIP) systems, on removable media such as flash drives, and on devices such as smart phones. This proliferation of technologies accounts in part for the proliferation of data and complicates the task of retrieving and evaluating ESI. See, e.g., Mia Mazza et al., In Pursuit of FRCP 1: Creative Approaches to Cutting and Shifting the Costs of Discovery of Electronically Stored Information, 13 J. RICH. J.L. & TECH. 11, ¶ 1 (2007); Douglas Oard et al., Evaluation of Information Retrieval for E-Discovery, 18 ARTIFICIAL INTELL. L. 347, 350-51 (2010). Various laws compelling retention of data also contribute to the proliferation. See, e.g., 17 C.F.R. § 210.2-06 (2003) (implementing Sarbanes-Oxley Act and requiring retention of audit-related records, including electronic records, for seven years); 45 C.F.R. § 164.530(j)(2) (implementing Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1996 and requiring retention of medical records for six years). 5 The Judicial Conference Advisory Committee, tasked with revising the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure to address electronic discovery, lists particular challenges: Electronically stored information is characterized by exponentially greater volume than hard-copy documents. Commonly cited current examples of such volume include the capacity of large organizations’ computer networks to store information in terabytes, each of which represents the equivalent of 500 million typewritten pages of plain text, and to receive 250 to 300 million e-mail messages monthly. Computer information, unlike paper, is also dynamic; merely turning a computer on or off can change the information it stores. Computers operate by overwriting and deleting information, often without the operator’s specific direction or knowledge. A third important difference is that electronically stored information, unlike words on paper, may be incomprehensible when separated from the system that created it. JUDICIAL CONFERENCE ADVISORY COMM., THE NEW E-DISCOVERY RULES 9 (2d ed. 2009), available at http://www.legalpub.com/_images/sample-pages/2009-ediscovery.pdf. 6 The costs of electronic discovery are generally borne by the producing party, but may be shifted at least in part to the requesting party when “good cause” is shown. See Hon. James C. Francis IV, Cost Shifting in E-Discovery, in MANAGING E- DISCOVERY AND ESI 591, 603-05 (Michael D. Berman et al. eds., 2011); Robert Hardaway et al., E-Discovery’s Threat to Civil Litigation: Reevaluating Rule 26 for the Digital Age, 63 RUTGERS L. REV. 521, 566-73 (2011). In addition to concerns about costs of discovery, there are issues of legal liability for improper handling of ESI, such as its improper destruction when litigation is anticipated, see Burke T. Ward et al., Recognizing the Impact of E-Discovery Amendments on Electronic Records Management, 26 INFO. RECS. MGMT. 350, 352 (2009), or improper disclosure of confidential information. See, e.g., Robert Peglar, Evidence Management Solutions for Mitigating E-Records Risk, 41 INFO. MGMT. J. 56, 57-58 (2007). Many sectors of society are dealing with challenges in connection with the growing amount of ESI. See Data, Data Everywhere, ECONOMIST, Feb. 25, 2010, at 53 (citing challenges for science, government, and the arts). Corporate emails are relevant evidence in the accounting audit process, and therefore, auditors face challenges in culling the critical emails, sometimes intended to deceive those who may later read these emails, from a large mass of information. See Roger S. Debreceny & Glen L. Gray, Data Mining of Electronic Mail and Auditing: A Research Agenda, 25 J. INFO. SYSTEMS 195 (2011) (describing data mining tools used in auditing, including keyword searching). 7 See Victor Stanley, Inc. v. Creative Pipe, Inc., 250 F.R.D. 251, 254-55, 260 n. 9 (D. Md. 2008) (describing discovery protocols); Oard et al., supra note 4, at 350-53 (2010) (describing process of discovery employing keyword searches); Sedona Conf., Best Practices Commentary on the Use of Search and Information Retrieval Methods in E-Discovery, 8 SEDONA CONF. J. 196, 200-02 (2007). 8 Da Silva Moore v. Publicis Groupe, 2012 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 23350 (S.D.N.Y. Feb. 24, 2012). 9 Kleen Prods., LLC v. Packaging Corp. of Am., Civil Case No. 1:10-cv-05711 (N.D. Ill. filed Sept. 9, 2010). 10 See Order Approving the Use of Predictive Coding for Discovery, Global Aerospace, Inc. v. Landow Aviation, L.P., Consolidated Case No. CL61040 (Loudon Cnty. April 23, 2012). The court thus approved the defendant’s use of predictive coding over the plaintiff’s objection. Basic facts about the dispute can be found in the plaintiff’s brief. See Brief in Opposition to Motion for Protective Order Regarding Electronic Documents and “Predictive Coding” at 2, Global Aerospace, Inc. v. Landow Aviation, L.P., Consolidated Case No. CL61040 (Loudon Cnty. April 16, 2012) (arguing that “There is certainly no reason that Virginia law permits such a radical departure from the standard practice of human review of documents.”). In this case, the Circuit Court for Loudoun County, Virginia, applied the Virginia Rules of Civil Procedure. This paper will focus on the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. Treatment of predictive coding under each state’s rules is beyond the scope of this paper, but to the degree that a particular state’s discovery rules are modeled on the Federal Rules, the same analysis and concerns would apply. A recent study showed that 24 of the 29 states that have ESI-specific rules emulate the federal rules. See Robert Dale Klein & Hon. Joseph F. Murphy, Jr., The States: What Are the Laboratories of Federalism Doing?, in MANAGING E-DISCOVERY AND ESI 49, 50 (Michael D. Berman et al. eds., 2011). 11 See, e.g., Matthew Nelson, Federal Judges Consider Important Issues that Could Shape the Future of Predictive Coding Technology, FORBES (Feb. 20, 2012, 1:42 p.m), http://www.forbes.com/sites/benkerschberg/2012/02/20/federal-judges- consider-important-issues-that-could-shape-the-future-of-predictive-coding-technology/; Matthew Nelson, Plaintiffs Ask Judge Nan R. Nolan to Go Out on a Limb in Kleen Products Predictive Coding Case, E-DISCOVERY 2.0 (April 13, 2012, 8:58 a.m.), http://electronicdiscovery.info/plaintiffs-ask-judge-nan-r-nolan-to-go-out-on-a-limb-in-kleen-products-predictive- coding-case-electronic-discovery/ (calling plaintiffs’ request that the judge order defendant to use predictive coding “shocking to many observers”); Michael Roach, Predictive Coding Watch: “Kleen Products” in Illinois, EDD UPDATE (April 17, 2012, 1:25 p.m.), http://www.eddupdate.com/2012/04/predictive-coding-watch-kleen-products-in-illinois.html; Judy Selby, New Horizons in Three Concurrent Cases: Predicting the Future of Predictive Coding, DISCOVERY ADVOCATE (April 25, 2012), http://www.discoveryadvocate.com/2012/04/25/new-horizons-in-three-concurrent-cases-predicting-the- future-of-predictive-coding/; Dave Walton, Technology: Da Silva Moore Sets Stage for Predictive Coding’s Advancement, INSIDE COUNSEL (April 30, 2012), http://www.insidecounsel.com/2012/04/30/da-silva-moore-sets-stage-for-predictive- codings-a. 12 See, e.g., Victor Stanley, 250 F.R.D. at 254-55 (noting that parties employed five pages of keyword search terms). Douglas Oard, Professor in the College of Information Studies at the University of Maryland, and his co-authors more precisely define the methods that may be employed in keyword searching: The term “keyword searching” . . . has been used in the IR [Information Retrieval] literature to refer to any or all of exact string matching, substring matching, Boolean search, or statistical ranked retrieval, applied to any or all of free text terms (e.g., space-delimited tokens or character n-grams), manually or automatically assigned controlled vocabulary terms, with or without augmentation by any combination of stemming, wildcards, multi-word phrase formation, proximity and/or word order restrictions, field restrictions, and/or a variety of other operators. Oard et al., supra note 4, at 359-60. 13 See, e.g., Osborne v. C.H. Robinson Co., 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 123168 (N.D. Ill. Oct. 25, 2011). For example, they may decide to search only files of certain people or to search only files developed during certain time frames. 14 See, e.g., Alexandra Hanson, Legal Outsourcing to India: So Hot Right Now!, 62 SMU L. REV. 1889 (2009) (discussing outsourcing of document review and legal research); Aaron R. Harmon, The Ethics of Legal Process Outsourcing—Is the Practice of Law a “Noble Profession or Is It Just Another Business?, 13 J. TECH. L. & POL’Y 41 (2008); Brandon Robers, Current Development, The Firm Is Flat: Ethical Implications of Legal Offshoring, 23 GEO. J. LEGAL ETHICS 700 (2010). Outsourcing may provide cost savings and efficiency, but may present challenges of confidentiality and quality control. It may also be controversial at a time when U.S. law jobs are being eliminated. E.g., Hanson, supra, at 1897-907. 15 The issue of clawback of inadvertently produced privileged documents, depicted as the last step in Figure 1, is discussed infra, text accompanying notes 107-16. 16 See, e.g., Custom Hardware Eng’g & Consulting, Inc. v. Dowell, 2012 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 146, at *6 (E.D. Mo. Jan. 3, 2012); Jason R. Baron & Michael D. Berman, Designing a “Reasonable” E-Discovery Search: A Guide for the Perplexed, in MANAGING E-DISCOVERY AND ESI 479, 482 (Michael D. Berman et al. eds., 2011) (“Automated methods of search, starting with applying more sophisticated approaches to keyword searching, are the wave of the future.”); Sedona Conf., supra note 7, at 200. Keyword searching has been shown to yield more complete and accurate production than old- fashioned, manual review of documents. See, e.g., Patrick Oot et al., Practitioners’ View: Mandating Reasonableness in a Reasonable Inquiry, 87 DENV. U. L. REV. 533, 548-52 (2010). In any event, manual searching of vast quantities of data would be impracticable. 17 See, e.g., Osborne, 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 123168, at *12. 18 See, e.g., Custom Hardware, 2012 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 146, at *8-12; Helmert v. Butterball, LLC, 2010 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 60777 (E.D. Ark. May 27, 2010); William A. Gross Constr. Assocs., Inc. v. Am. Mfrs. Mut. Ins. Co., 256 F.R.D. 134, 135 (S.D.N.Y. 2009). Whether judges are well-equipped to craft or evaluate particular search terms is questioned. See, e.g., Eurand, Inc. v. Myland Pharm, Inc., 266 F.R.D. 79, 84 (D. Del. 2010) (“Neither lawyers nor judges are generally qualified to opine that certain search terms or files are more or less likely to produce information than those keywords or data actually used or reviewed.”); Marian Riedy et al., Mediated Investigative E-Discovery, 2010 FED. CTS. L. REV. 79, 84 (2010) (“Analyzing keyword searches is a strain on judicial resources, and may also be outside the ken of judicial abilities. Courts now evaluate keyword search proposals just as they would document requests . . . .”). 19 See, e.g., Custom Hardware, 2012 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 146, at *6; Osborne, 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 123168, at *4; William A. Gross, 256 F.R.D. at 135; Baron & Berman, supra note 16, at 482. Crafting effective search terms is challenging in part because it may be difficult to capture all synonyms that express a relevant idea, and also because ESI may include many informal documents such as emails or text messages, where misspellings, slang, or acronyms are often used. David D. Cross & Sanya Sarich Kerksiek, Using Electronic Search Tools and Search Methodology Experts in E-Discovery: A Discussion of Recent Case Law and Other Authorities, in MANAGING E-DISCOVERY AND ESI 439, 443-46 (Michael D. Berman et al. eds., 2011); Lori Heilman, Comment, Federal Courts’ Reactions to Inadequate Keyword Searches: Moving Toward a Predictable and Consistent Standard for Attorneys Employing Keyword Searches, 78 U. CIN. L. REV. 1103, 1107 (2010). In contrast, crafting effective keyword searches for LEXIS or Westlaw may be an easier task, as legal opinions and law review articles are more formal in nature and may employ more standard and predictable terminology. 20 Victor Stanley, Inc. v. Creative Pipe, Inc., 250 F.R.D. 251, 262 (D. Md. 2008); Lauren Katz, Current Development, A Balancing Act: Ethical Dilemmas in Retaining E-Discovery Consultants, 22 GEO. J. LEGAL ETHICS 929 (2009) (noting that to fulfill ethical duties of diligence and competence, attorneys may need to obtain assistance of e-discovery expert). 21 See, e.g., Victor Stanley, 250 F.R.D. at 262; Equity Analytics, LLC v. Lundin, 248 F.R.D. 331, 333 (D.D.C. 2008); Cross & Kirksiek, supra note 19, at 456-60; Oard et al., supra note 4, at 351 (noting “emergence of a body of case law questioning the ad hoc, unexplained, and/or unilaterally deployed use of single keywords as search terms”); Riedy et al., supra note 18, at 84. See also Sedona Conf., supra note 7, at 212 (“Parties should expect that their choice of search methodologies will need to be explained . . . .”). 22 Predictive coding is a type of “concept searching.” Professor Oard and his co-authors describe the variety of methods that may be employed in concept searching: Controlled vocabulary indexing (manual or automatic, with or without thesauri), multi-word phrase formation (by statistical and/or linguistic means), statistical query expansion methods, knowledge representation languages and inference systems from artificial intelligence, unsupervised learning approaches (including term clustering, document clustering, and factor analytic methods such as latent semantic indexing), as well as simple stemming, wildcards, spelling correction and string similarity measures. Oard et al., supra note 4, at 360. See also Venkat Rangan, Discovery of Related Terms in a Corpus Using Reflective Random Indexing (July 28, 2011) (unpublished paper, presented at SIGIR 2011 Information Retrieval for E-Discovery Workshop, Beijing, China), available at http://www.umiacs.umd.edu/~oard/desi4/papers/rangan.pdf (describing various concept searching methods). 23 NICHOLAS M. PACE & LAURA ZAKARAS, RAND INST. FOR CIVIL JUSTICE, WHERE THE MONEY GOES: UNDERSTANDING LITIGANT EXPENDITURES FOR PRODUCING ELECTRONIC DISCOVERY 59 (2012) [hereinafter RAND REPORT]. See also Philip Cohen & Lauren Harrison, Predictive Coding Is a New Tool in the E-Discovery Toolbox, N.Y.L.J. (Mar. 19, 2012), http://www.newyorklawjournal.com/PubArticleFriendlyNY.jsp?id=1202545983136&slreturn=1 (describing predictive coding process). 24 RAND REPORT, supra note 23, at 60. “[T]he best results will be achieved if the attorneys most closely involved in the case select the seed documents and review sampled extracts . . . . Moreover, attorney judgment continues to loom large in the process after the application has completed its work, with eyes-on review required, for example, to check documents of unknown relevance and responsiveness or look for privileged communications.” Id. at 61. 25 The issue of clawback of inadvertently produced privileged documents, depicted as the last step in Figure 2, is discussed infra, text accompanying notes 107-16. 26 RAND REPORT, supra note 23, at at 60. Because attorney “review consumed at least 70 percent of the total costs of document production [in at least half of the studied cases], this single area, described by one participant in our study as the ‘black hole’ of the entire process, is an obvious target for reducing e-discovery expenditures.” RAND REPORT, supra note 23, at 41. The patent application for one predictive coding method contemplates little or no human review of the documents produced by the software: “[T]he Invention can limit, or avoid altogether, the final human review of the computer files before production. This allows for very significant cost savings by responding parties by reduction of review times with protections from waiver of rights by inadvertent disclosure of confidential privileged [sic] provided by ‘Confidentiality,’ ‘Clawback,’ and/or ‘Quickpeek’ agreements, and the terms and protection offered by newly enacted Rule 26(b)(5)(B), Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, and newly enacted Rule 502, Federal Rules of Evidence, and orders entered there-under.” Patent Application 20100205020 at [36]. The issue of privilege protection is discussed infra, text accompanying notes 107-16. 27 RAND REPORT, supra note 23, at 67 (noting difficulty of obtaining accurate information). 28 Id. 29 See Systems and Methods for Predictive Coding, U.S. Patent No. 7933859 (filed May 25, 2010) (issued April 26, 2012) (assigned to Recommind, Inc.); Identifying Related Objects Using Quantum Clustering, U.S. Patent No. 8010534 (filed Aug. 31, 2007) (issued Aug. 30, 2011) (assigned to OrcaTec, LLC); Method and Apparatus for Processing Electronically Stored Information for Electronic Discovery, U.S. Patent 8090705 (filed Sept. 15, 2008) (issued Jan. 3, 2012) (assigned to Symantec Corp.). 30 See, e.g., Predictive Coding of Documents in an Electronic Discovery System, U.S. Patent Application 20100250474 (filed March 24, 2010) (published Sept. 30, 2010); System and Method for Establishing, Managing, and Controlling the Time, Cost, and Quality of Information Retrieval and Production in Electronic Discovery, U.S. Patent Application 20100205020 (filed Feb. 9, 2009) (published Aug. 12, 2010); Identifying Related Objects Using Quantum Clustering, U.S. Patent Application 20110295856 (filed Aug. 8, 2011) (published Dec. 1, 2011); Systems and Methods for Electronic Document Review, U.S. Patent Application 20100077301 (filed Sept. 21, 2009) (published March 25, 2010). 31 See, e.g., E-mail from Herbert L Roitblat, Chief Scientist and Chief Technology Officer, OrcaTec, LLC (May 14, 2012, 10:12 a.m. EDT) (on file with author). Many companies purport to offer predictive coding services. In addition to those mentioned supra note 29, other providers include Clearwell Systems, Inc., Equivio, Ltd., Applied Discovery, Inc., and Oracle Corp., as well as law and accounting firms. See supra, note 22, for listing of various concept searching technologies that might be employed. The author takes no position on the effectiveness of any particular provider’s services or products, and certainly does not intend to denigrate any particular provider. 32 See, e.g., Joe Dysart, A New View of Review: Predictive Coding Vows to Cut E-Discovery Drudgery, ABA J. (Oct. 1, 2011), http://www.abajournal.com/magazine/article/a_new_view_of_review_predictive_coding_vows_to_cut_e- discovery_drudgery/; John Markoff, Armies of Expensive Lawyers, Replaced by Cheaper Software, N.Y. TIMES, March 5, 2011, at A1 (noting that concept searching “adds an inferential layer of analysis, mimicking the deductive powers of a human Sherlock Holmes.”); Matthew Nelson, 2012: Year of the Dragon – and Predictive Coding. Will the eDiscovery Landscape Be Forever Changed?, E-DISCOVERY BLOG (Jan. 23, 2012, 5:00 a.m.), http://www.clearwellsystems.com/e- discovery-blog/2012/01/23/year-of-the-dragon-and-ediscovery-predictive-coding/. The Conclusion of the RAND REPORT is more measured, calling predictive coding “[t]he most promising alternative available today,” but noting numerous ongoing challenges. RAND REPORT, supra note 23, at 97. 33 RAND REPORT, supra note 23, at xviii (“Because this is nascent technology, there is little research on how the accuracy of predictive coding compares with that of human review.”). Developing such studies is a daunting task, due to costs, difficulty in accessing documents and information, and other challenges. Id. at 3-4. One notable study was undertaken by TREC (Text Retrieval Conference) Legal Track in 2006-09, using tobacco litigation electronic documents released under the Tobacco Master Settlement Agreement as the test collection to compare “statistical ranked retrieval techniques” with methods based on “Boolean, proximity, and truncation operators.” See Oard et al., supra note 4, at 366-79. While the study concludes that the former techniques are promising, the authors note the need for much more empirical research. Id. at 377. See also Maura R. Grossman & Gordon V. Cormack, Technology-Assisted Review in E-Discovery Can Be More Effective and More Efficient than Exhaustive Manual Review, 17 RICH. J.L. & TECH. 11 (2011); Herbert L. Roitblat et al., Document Classification in Legal Electronic Discovery: Computer Classification vs. Manual Review, 6 J. AM. SOC. INFO. SCI. & TECH. 70 (2010) (finding superior results from unspecified “computer-aided systems” as compared with manual review of documents). Note that state of the art is no longer manual review. See supra, text accompanying note 16. Note further that these studies do not specify precisely the computer-assisted methods that were employed, which limits their usefulness. 34 See Oard et al., supra note 4, at 360. Interestingly, these authors observe that despite the widespread use of keyword searching techniques, the term “keyword searching” is “used almost exclusively in a derogatory fashion, to refer to any method which an author believes is inferior to their preferred technique,” while “‘concept searching’ is almost uniformly used with a positive connotation, in both technical and marketing literature.” Id. 35 See Oard et al., supra note 4, at 377. Judges have also noted this phenomenon. See, e.g., Equity Analytics LLC v. Lundin, 248 F.R.D. 331, 333 (D.D.C. 2008) (“[L]awyers state as facts what are actually highly debatable propositions as to the efficacy of various methods used to search electronically stored information.”). 36 Id. at 378. 37 RAND REPORT, supra note 23, at xviii (“[A]t the end of 2011, we could find no evidence in the published record that any vendor, law firm, or litigant had used predictive coding in a publicized case that named the parties and court jurisdiction.”). 38 See, e.g., R. Eric Hutz, E-Discovery: Using Predictive Coding to Manage E-Discovery Costs and Risks, INSIDECOUNSEL (Feb. 23, 2012), http://www.insidecounsel.com/2012/02/23/e-discovery-using-predictive-coding-to-manage-e-di (noting that many lawyers view predictive coding as a “black box’ process” using “complex computer algorithms . . . not easily understood or explainable by anyone other than a computer scientist”). More ominously, some have wondered whether resistance to predictive coding may stem in part from lawyers who would stand to lose revenue long derived from manual review of documents. RAND REPORT, supra note 23, at 76. 39 See Nelson, supra note 32 (“[I]t is difficult to defend a technological process that isn’t always clear . . . . In short, using black box technology that is difficult to use and understand is perceived as risky, and many attorneys have taken a wait-and- see approach because they are unwilling to be the guinea pig.”). 40 Id.; RAND REPORT, supra note 23, at 74-76 (noting a particular concern about under-inclusion—a failure to identify and produce responsive documents, especially highly technical or non-text documents); Hutz, supra note 38. See also generally Hardaway et al., supra note 6, at 551-64 (noting problems with both keyword searching and concept searching). 41 See, e.g., id. at 77-79; Cohen & Harrison, supra note 23; Hutz, supra note 38 (“There is an open question whether predictive coding is sufficiently rigorous and transparent that a court would be satisfied that its use [meets reasonableness requirements of Federal Rules of Civil Procedure].”); Nelson, supra note 32 (arguing that recent “improvements in transparency will simplify the user experience and improve accuracy which will reduce longstanding concerns about defensibility”). 42 See Hutz, supra note 38. This concern is discussed at some length, infra notes107-16 and accompanying text. 43 Sedona Conf., supra note 7, at 204. 44 Da Silva Moore v. Publicis Groupe, 2012 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 23350, at *3 (S.D.N.Y. Feb. 24, 2012). 45 Id. at *4. 46 Da Silva Moore v. Publicis Groupe, 2012 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 58742, at *3 (S.D.N.Y. April 25, 2012). 47 Id. at *2. Regarding the plaintiff’s argument on recusal, see Reply Memorandum of Law in Support of Plaintiff’s Motion for Recusal or Disqualification, Da Silva Moore v. Publicis Groupe, Civ. No. 11-cv-1279 (May 10, 2012). As evidence of alleged appearance of partiality, the plaintiffs cite, among other things, certain comments by the magistrate judge (e.g., an alleged comment by Judge Peck that defendants “must have thought they died and went to Heaven” to have him assigned to the case), id. at 1, and his participation in educational forums sponsored by various predictive coding vendors. Id. at *6-7. There has been no ruling on the recusal issue, as of May 29, 2012, but in an Order Judge Peck asserted his own impartiality and cautioned the plaintiffs to “rethink their ‘scorched earth approach to this litigation.” Order at 2, Da Silva Moore v. Publicis Groupe, Civ. No. 11-cv-1279 (April 2, 2012). These colorful allegations and exchanges have contributed to widespread coverage of this case. See supra note 11 (citing sampling of blog coverage). 48 Da Silva Moore v. Publicis Groupe, 2012 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 58742, at *5-7. 49 Id. at *5. 50 Id. at *6-7. 51 Kleen Prods., LLC v. Packaging Corp. of Am., Civil Case No. 1:10-cv-05711 (N.D. Ill. filed Sept. 9, 2010). 52 See Kleen Prods., LLC v. Packaging Corp. of Am., 775 F. Supp. 2d 1071 (N.D. Ill. 2011) (denying motion to dismiss). 53 Joint Status Conference Report No. 3 at 3, Kleen Prods., LLC v. Packaging Corp. of Am., Civil Case No. 1:10-cv-05711 (N.D. Ill. May 17, 2012). 54 Defendant’s Brief on Discovery Issues at 1, Kleen Prods., LLC v. Packaging Corp. of Am., Civil Case No. 1:10-cv-05711 (N.D. Ill. Feb. 6, 2012). 55 Plaintiff’s Statement of Position with Respect to Disputed Items at 4-5, Kleen Prods., LLC v. Packaging Corp. of Am., Civil Case No. 1:10-cv-05711 (N.D. Ill. Dec. 13, 2011). 56 As occurred in a Virginia state court in April 2012. See Order Approving the Use of Predictive Coding for Discovery, Global Aerospace, Inc. v. Landow Aviation, L.P., Consolidated Case No. CL61040 (Loudon Cnty. April 23, 2012). 57 “[F]ederal courts have recently emphasized that discovery is a party-driven process requiring efforts at cooperation of the parties between counsel before petitioning the trial court, while endeavoring to control abuses of the system.” PAUL W. GRIMM ET AL., DISCOVERY PROBLEMS AND THEIR SOLUTIONS 292 (2d ed. 2009). 58 STEPHEN N. SUBRIN & MARGARET Y.K. WOO, LITIGATING IN AMERICA: CIVIL PROCEDURE IN CONTEXT 131 (2006). These authors caution against “the specter of government intrusion,” emphasizing that the process is generally conducted by the parties themselves. Id. at 144. 59 See SEVENTH CIR. ELECTRONIC DISCOVERY COMM., PRINCIPLES RELATING TO THE DISCOVERY OF ELECTRONICALLY STORED INFORMATION (Aug. 1, 2010), available at http://www.discoverypilot.com/ (last visited May 24, 2012). 60 SEDONA CONF., COOPERATION PROCLAMATION: RESOURCES FOR THE JUDICIARY 4 (Public Comment Version, Aug. 2011), available at http://www.thesedonaconference.org (last visited May 24, 2012). For a history of the Sedona Conference, which “convenes working groups of lawyers, judges, academics, and consultants to move the law and the practices of the courts and judges forward in a reasoned way that was both practical and pragmatic,” see Hon. John M. Facciola, A History of Electronic Discovery, in MANAGING E-DISCOVERY AND ESI 13, 23 (Michael D. Berman et al. eds., 2011). 61 STEPHAN LANDSMAN, READINGS ON ADVERSARIAL JUSTICE: THE AMERICAN APPROACH TO ADJUDICATION 34 (1988). 62 Id. at 35 (“Party control has another beneficial effect as well. It affirms human individuality. It mandates respect for the opinions of each party rather than those of his attorney, of the court, or of society at large.”). 63 Id. at 34. See also generally Jordan M. Singer, Proportionality’s Cultural Foundation, 52 SANTA CLARA L. REV. 145, 162 (2012) (“We are willing to allow wide attorney discretion in conducting pretrial activities because such discretion is the best mechanism we have to promote the ultimate goals (the core values) of a predictable, efficient, and fair resolution on the merits.”). 64 Fed. R. Civ .P. 26(f)(2). Of course, the parties may not agree on every issue, and in that case, the discovery plan should note their respective positions. The parties are also obligated to discuss at this conference the possibility of settlement, issues connected with preserving potentially relevant ESI, as well as to make disclosures of types and locations of ESI that are required by Fed. R. Civ. P. 26(a)(1). Id. The Rules were amended in 2006 specifically to address the special challenges of electronic discovery, including discovery of ESI from sources not readily available and format of production. See Ronald J. Hedges, The ESI Amendments to the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure: A Rule-by-Rule Look, in MANAGING E-DISCOVERY AND ESI 31, 31-48 (Michael D. Berman et al. eds., 2011); SUBRIN & WOO, supra note 58, at 141-43. 65 Fed. R. Civ .P. 26(f)(3)(B). 66 Fed. R. Civ .P. 26(f)(3)(D). See infra notes 107-16 and accompanying text regarding clawback agreements. 67 Often a federal magistrate judge, rather than an Article III district court judge, handles pre-trial discovery issues. See Stephen S. Gensler, Judicial Case Management: Caught in the Crossfire, 60 DUKE L.J. 669, at 694-97 (2010) (discussing role of magistrate judges). 68 BARBARA J. ROTHSTEIN ET AL., MANAGING DISCOVERY OF ELECTRONIC INFORMATION: A POCKET GUIDE FOR JUDGES 5 (2007). For example, the court may rule on disputes regarding scope of discovery, the allocation of costs, the form of production, the preservation of data, and spoliation. Id. at 20-21. 69 Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(b). 70 Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(b)(3)(B)(iii). 71 Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(a)(1). 72 Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(a)(2). 73 Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(a)(3). Other listed pretrial functions are “improving the quality of the trial through more thorough preparation,” Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(a)(4), and “facilitating settlement.” Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(a)(5). The functions listed in Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(a) are not exhaustive. See Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(a) (indicating that the court may act “for such purposes as . . . .”). Common, specific pretrial matters for consideration are listed in Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(c)(2). These include such matters as considering the possibilities for summary judgment, Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(c)(2)(E), and setting deadlines for discovery. Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(c)(2)(F). The listed activities are not exclusive; other activities that go to “facilitating in other ways the just, speedy, and inexpensive disposition of the case” are also appropriate. Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(c)(2)(P). 74 Fed. R. Civ. P. 1. 75 See, e.g., Patroski v. Pressley Ridge, 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 133290, *8 (W.D. Pa. Nov. 17, 2011) (indicating that the court “does not referee discovery bouts between consenting adults”); Murray v. Geithner, 2010 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 33236, at *2 (S.D.N.Y. March 25, 2010) (“It is not the Court’s task to do [a party’s] . . . job for him by redrafting his manifestly overbroad discovery requests.”). 76 ROTHSTEIN ET AL., supra note 68, at 20. 77 See generally Paul D. Carrington, Recent Efforts to Change Discovery Rules: Do They Advance the Purposes of Discovery? 51, 60, in ROSCOE POUND INST., CONTROVERSIES SURROUNDING DISCOVERY AND ITS EFFECT ON THE COURTS (1999), available at www.roscoepound.org/images/1999ForumReport.pdf (“[C]ase management techniques should not be employed routinely in the absence of evidence that there are abuses to be prevented that cannot be controlled by other means and thus that real benefits can be secured. Judicial involvement in pretrial litigation should be the exception and not the rule.”). Carrington also notes that a move toward case management is a move away from the normal, party-driven process: “The hidden effect of case management is a transfer of power away from individual parties and their lawyers, and [because cases settle rather than going to trial] also from juries or appellate courts who would review decisions on the merits when and if rendered.” Id. 78 Parties engage in gamesmanship when they adhere to form over substance in responding to discovery requests, construing requests narrowly to avoid producing “clearly discoverable material.” See, e.g., Georgacarakos v. Wiley, 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 26900,*16-17 (D. Colo. March 16, 2011) (approving magistrate judge’s sua sponte modification of document request, noting that producing party would suffer no prejudice, and that “Constraining a Magistrate Judge’s ability to overlook matters of form and cut to the substantive heart of a discovery dispute would needlessly encourage ‘Gotcha!’-style litigation, where the slightest inaccuracy or deviation from form would allow parties to resist discovery requests”); Lane v. Page, 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 21198, *12 (D. N.M. Feb. 10, 2011) (“The Federal Rules of Civil Procedure embrace a policy of encouraging broad discovery, and exhibit little patience for gamesmanship and attempts to withhold discoverable materials and information. Such gamesmanship produces needless delay, wasting the Court’s and the parties’ time, contrary to the purpose of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure.”). 79 Patroski v. Pressley Ridge, 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 133290, *7 (W.D. Pa. Nov. 17, 2011). 80 Id. 81 See Jimena v. UBS AG Bank, Inc., 2010 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 119393, *10 (E.D. Cal. Oct. 25, 2010) (“The Rules in place, and the various discretionary sanctions available to the Court to enforce the Rules, are meant to encourage fairness and to avoid obstructionism, gamesmanship, and tactical maneuvering intended to drive up the costs of litigation and unfairly harass the other party.”). 82 See SUBRIN & WOO, supra note 58, at 144. 83 Fed. R. Civ. P. 26(b)(1). 84 Patroski, 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 133290, at *8. One scholar encapsulates the judge’s duties: “The judge will not run the discovery program but he will be there to provide guidance and to set limits of time, place, subject matter, and the like as may be appropriate.” Singer, supra note 63, at 178. For example, the court can mandate periodic status conferences and specify the form in which electronic documents must be produced. See Covad Commc’ns Co. v. Revonet, Inc., 267 F.R.D. 14 (D.D.C. 2010). The court can “limit the frequency or extent of use” of discovery methods. Cartel Asset Mgmt. v. Ocwen Fin. Corp., 2010 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 17857, at *25 (D. Colo. Feb. 8, 2010). The court can order that questions be answered via interrogatories rather than deposition. Georgacarakos v. Wiley, 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 26900, at *17 (D. Colo. March 16, 2011) (“The Court would be inclined to find that the Magistrate Judge’s decision to prefer one discovery mechanism [interrogatories versus depositions] would not be an abuse of his considerable discretion.”). The court may phase discovery. Tamburo v. Dworkin, 2010 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 121510, at *9 (N.D. Ill. Nov. 17, 2010). See also generally ROTHSTEIN ET AL., supra note 68, at 6-9, 16-19 on appropriate tools for managing discovery. 85 For example, an award of attorneys’ fees may be appropriate if a party has "acted in bad faith, vexatiously, wantonly, or for oppressive reasons." See Chambers v. NASCO, Inc., 501 U.S. 32, 45-46 (1991) (discussing inherent powers of federal courts and noting that these powers must be exercised with “restraint and discretion”). 86 Jimena, 2010 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 119393, at *10. 87 See Fed. R. Civ. P. 26(g) advisory committee’s note (1983) (“Concern about discovery abuse has led to widespread recognition that there is a need for more aggressive judicial control and supervision.”); Gensler, supra note 67, at 743 (“For nearly thirty years, the Civil Rules have looked to judicial case management as the principal means for controlling excessive cost and delay in civil cases”). 88 See SUBRIN & WOO, supra note 58, at 141-43 (noting that 2006 amendments aimed to ensure that discovery was proportionate and to avoid abuses by expanding role of judges in managing discovery); Gensler, supra note 67, at 674-85; Henry S. Noyes, Good Cause Is Bad Medicine for the New E-Discovery Rules, 21 HARV. J.L. & TECH. 49, 54-60 (2007) (citing 1983 amendments to Rule 26 allowing the court to limit “overly burdensome” or duplicative discovery and 2006 amendments that require parties to show “good cause” before seeking certain discovery) Noyes criticizes the good cause requirement as overly flexible, inviting widely varying interpretations by judges. 89 Fed. R. Civ. P. 16(b) advisory committee’s note (2006). See also BARBARA J. ROTHSTEIN ET AL., supra note 68, at 15 (Rule 16 “does not authorize the court to require the parties to enter into such an arrangement [clawback agreement], absent their agreement.” ). 90 See, e.g., Gensler, supra note 67, at 720-26 (surveying the literature); Jonathan T. Molot, An Old Judicial Role for a New Litigation Era, 113 YALE L.J. 27 (2003); Singer, supra note 63. See also JUDICIAL CONFERENCE ADVISORY COMM., supra note 5, at 22 (noting decades-long debate between those favoring “party-controlled discovery” and those favoring strengthening judges’ tools for managing and/or limiting discovery). 91 See, e.g., Gensler, supra note 67, at 723-25. 92 Molot, supra note 90, at 89; Noyes, supra note 88, at 78 (“The phenomenon of case management, encouraged by recent amendments to the Rules, hinders the ability of appellate courts to foster uniformity in the law of discovery.”); Singer, supra note 63, at 185. 93 Gensler, supra note 67, at 724 (noting “theoretical possibility that trial judges will use their discretion to promote individual substantive agendas”); Arthur R. Miller, From Conley to Twombley to Iqbal: A Double Play on the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, 60 DUKE L.J. 1, 33 (2010) (cautioning that judicial discretion “threatens to become excessive” when it may lead to unpredictability and “reliance on individual predilections”); Noyes, supra note 88, at 79 (“Unfettered judicial discretion will further open the door to inconsistent, arbitrary, and biased decision-making.”). 94 Molot, supra note 90, at 89; see also Gensler, supra note 67, at 721 (noting this issue). 95 Noyes, supra note 88, at 79. See also Miller, supra note 93, at 83 (noting that “unbridled discretion” given judges by pleading standards undermines confidence in justice system and encourages “forum and judge shopping”). 96 See supra notes 33-42 and accompanying text. 97 See supra note 16 and accompanying text. 98 See supra note 34 and accompanying text. Recall, too, that information about particular predictive coding methods may be sparse, leading to the “black box” reputation. 99 See Fed. R. Civ. P. 1. 100 Fed. R. Civ. P. 26(g)(1). 101 Fed. R. Civ. P. 26(g)(1)(A). See also Fed. R. Civ, P. 26(g) advisory committee’s note (1983) (noting that certification requirement is “consistent with the spirit and purposes” of the Rules; to wit, “If primary responsibility is to continue to rest with the litigants, they must be obliged to act responsibly and to avoid abuse.”); Katz, supra note 20, at 931-40 (regarding attorneys’ duties in discovery, including ethical duties of competence and diligence). 102 See supra notes 77-82 and accompanying text. 103 See supra Part V.A. and notes 38-42 and accompanying text, citing as possible reasons for slow adoption of predictive coding a lack of technical understanding by lawyers, lack of transparency of the process, concern about accuracy of the results, judicial acceptance, and effect on privilege protection. 104 See supra notes 33-36 and accompanying text. 105 See, e.g., Custom Hardware Eng’g & Consulting, Inc. v. Dowell, 2012 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 146 (E.D. Mo. Jan. 3, 2012) ); Osborne v. C.H. Robinson Co., 2011 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 123168 (N.D. Ill. Oct. 25, 2011). 106 See, e.g., Elizabeth King, Waving Goodbye to Waiver? Not So Fast: Inadvertent Disclosure, Waiver of the Attorney- Client Privilege, and Federal Rule of Evidence 502, 32 CAMPBELL L. REV. 467, 467-68 (2010). 107 On issues of privilege, waiver, and clawback, see generally ABA, THE ATTORNEY-CLIENT PRIVILEGE IN CIVIL LITIGATION: PROTECTING AND DEFENDING CONFIDENTIALITY 206-14 (Vincent S. Walkowiak et al. eds., 2012); John Gallagher, E-Ethics: The Ethical Dimenstions of the Electronic Discovery Amendments to the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure, 20 GEO. J. LEGAL ETHICS 613, 613-24 (2007). 108 See Fed. R. Civ. P. 26(f)(3)(D). 109 Under a clawback arrangement, the parties agree that upon the producing party’s identification of privileged documents mistakenly produced, the receiving party shall return them; the producing party’s privilege has not necessarily been waived . See Fed. R. Civ. P. 26(f) advisory committee’s note (2006). Alternatively, the parties may make a “quick peek” agreement. Under this arrangement, all documents thought to be responsive are produced without any initial privilege review. The receiving party takes a “quick peek” to determine which documents it actually wishes to use; the producing party then screens that smaller set for privilege. Id. Clawback or quick peek arrangements may be advantageous because they “can facilitate prompt and economical discovery by reducing delay before the discovering party obtains access to the documents, and by reducing the cost and burden of review by the producing party.” Id. 110 Fed. R. Civ. P. 26(b)(5)(B). 111 See Fed. R. Evid. 502. This Rule provides that disclosure of attorney-client privileged information does not act as a waiver of the privilege so long as: “(1) the disclosure is inadvertent; (2) the holder of the privilege or protection took reasonable steps to prevent disclosure; and (3) the holder promptly took reasonable steps to rectify the error, including . . . following Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 26(b)(5)(B).” A large body of case law has developed on what sorts of behavior will constitute a waiver. See David D. Cross et al., Protection From ESI Waiver under FRE 502, in MANAGING E- DISCOVERY AND ESI 387, 394-407 (Michael D. Berman et al. eds., 2011); King, supra note 106, at 470-501. Court-ordered disclosure shall not constitute a waiver, as the disclosure was not voluntary. See, e.g., Equity Analytics LLC v. Lundin, 248 F.R.D. 331, 334 (D.D.C. 2008); Hopson v. Mayor of Balt., 232 F.R.D. 228, 241 (D. Md. 2005). 112 See supra notes 24-28 and accompanying text and Figure 2. 113 Regarding the reasonableness of precautions taken to avoid production of privileged documents, the Advisory Committee specified: Depending on the circumstances, a party that uses advanced analytical applications and linguistic tools in screening for privilege and work product may be found to have taken “reasonable steps” to prevent inadvertent disclosure. … The Rule does not require the producing party to engage in a post-production review to determine whether any protected communication or information has been produced by mistake. Fed. R. Evid. 502(b) advisory committee’s note (2008). 114 Cross et al., supra note 111, at 408 (“[W]hile an adversary can be barred under FRE from using the document containing that [privileged] information, nothing—not even FRE 502—can undo the potential harm of the privileged information itself having become known to an adversary.”). 115 Jessica Wang, Comment, Nonwaiver Agreements after Federal Rule of Evidence 502: A Glance at Quick-Peek and Clawback Agreements, 56 UCLA L. REV. 1835, 1846 (2009) (suggesting that knowledge of the privileged information may lead to new witnesses, new topics for exploration, or new arguments for the receiving party, and noting that such illicit use would be difficult to detect or prove); see also Hopson, 232 F.R.D. at 241 (noting that rule excluding use as evidence “cannot undo the damage that inadvertent disclosure of privileged information causes, but it can contain it. ‘Confidentiality, once destroyed, is not susceptible of restoration, yet some measures of repair may be accomplished by preventing uses of the evidence against the holder of the privilege.’”). 116 See, e.g., Hopson, 232 F.R.D. at 235; ABA, supra note 93, at 207. 117 Upjohn Co. v. United States, 449 U.S. 383, 389 (1981). See also In re Seagate Tech., LLC, 497 F.3d 1360, 1372 (Fed. Cir. 2007). 118 See King, supra note 106, at 505. 119 See supra, notes 106-11 and accompanying text. 120 In re Seagate, 497 F.3d at 1372. 121 Parties could agree or a court could order the parties, theoretically, to employ predictive coding but also to do a final pre- production privilege review. Adding such a step, however, would eliminate the promised efficiency of predictive coding. See supra notes 26-28 and accompanying text. When adequate privilege protection would compel costly manual review, it would be an unfair burden and contrary to the Rules’ aim of efficiency to order a party opposed to predictive coding to use that method. 122 See supra notes 83-84 and accompanying text. 123 Id. 124 See Fed. R. Civ. P. 26(b)(1) advisory committee’s note (1983) (“Rule 26(b)(1) has been amended to add a sentence to deal with the problem of over-discovery. The objective is to guard against redundant or disproportionate discovery by giving the court authority to reduce the amount of discovery that may be directed to matters that are otherwise proper subjects of inquiry. The new sentence is intended to encourage judges to be more aggressive in identifying and discouraging discovery overuse.”). 125 In phased discovery, the most easily retrieved documents are produced and examined first, to aid the parties in determining whether more burdensome discovery would be worthwhile. 126 To “limit” is “to curtail or reduce in quantity or extent.” MERRIAM-WEBSTER ONLINE DICTIONARY, http://www.merriam- webster.com/dictionary/limit?show=1&t=1337905506 (last visited May 24, 2012). See also BLACK’S LAW DICTIONARY 834 (5 th ed. 1979) (to “limit” is “to abridge, confine, restrain, and restrict,” or “to fix the extent of”). 127 Robert G. Bone, Who Decides? A Critical Look at Procedural Discretion, 28 CARDOZO L. REV. 1961, 1967-74 (2007); see also supra notes 87-95 and accompanying text. 128 See supra notes 77-82 and accompanying text. 129 Singer, supra note 63, at 186. 130 See supra notes 92-95 and accompanying text. Allegations in Da Silva Moore concerning appearance of partiality my give credence to such concerns. See supra note 47. Judges must remain above the fray. See supra note 63 and accompanying text. 131 See supra notes 106-21 and accompanying text. 132 See supra notes 57-63 and accompanying text. 133 Note that the Rules do not mandate a perfect search method or the best search method, but rather only a reasonable one. See supra note 43 and accompanying text. 134 See, e.g., Gary E. Marchant, Sustainable Energy Technologies: Ten Lessons from the History of Technology Regulation, 18 WIDENER L.J. 831 (2009) (recounting legislative and executive efforts to foster use of electric cars and compact fluorescent bulbs); Stephen Bates, Digital Debacle? Lessons from the History of Technical Standards, 10 MINN. J.L. SCI. & TECH. 441 (2009) (discussing government efforts regarding compact fluorescent light bulbs and switch to digital television). 135 Among significant factual differences that limit the analogy include the differing governmental roles of judges as compared with legislators or administrators; the types of harm that improved technology is thought to prevent (less accurate or costlier discovery as compared with environmental harm); and the type of “consumer” (attorneys conducting discovery in large-scale litigation as compared with individuals buying light bulbs or cars). 136 E.g., Marchant, supra note 134, at 834-35. 137 Id. at 835. 138 Id. at 836 (“The historical record is that governments . . . have a relatively poor record in picking which future technologies will best succeed in achieving a particular objective.”); see also Bates, supra note 134, at 448 (“The ‘best’ standard can be difficult to identify.”). 139 Marchant, supra note 134, at 845. 140 Id. at 855. 
work_x54bxvbp2nhiniummcn5envy2m	----	Wilderness 2.0: what does wilderness mean to the Millennials? Kim Smith1 & Matt Kirby2 # AESS 2015 Abstract Several prominent culture critics (including Bill McKibben and Richard Louv) worry that with the emergence of anthropogenic climate change and decline of direct experi- ence with the out-of-doors, the idea of wilderness may no longer have meaning to twenty-first century Americans. Are they right? Does the wilderness tradition still speak to Millennials? To investigate this question, we organized an essay contest, inviting anyone born after 1980 to submit an essay on the meaning of wilderness. We analyze the 41 contest entries and the invited essays to determine common themes, identifying continuities and discontinuities with the inherited wilderness tradition. We conclude that the wilderness tradition remains vital and powerful, but we should expect it to evolve in new directions as social and environmental conditions change. Keywords Wilderness . Millennials . Nature writing . Wilderness politics Introduction It is nearly 25 years since Bill McKibben declared “the end of nature.” What he really meant was the end of wilderness—the idea of wilderness. In the era of climate change, he claimed, we can no longer conceive of a natural world that is free of human influence—a pristine wilderness where our spirits can awaken to authentic nature. Generations Y, Z, and beyond will never know that pristine wilderness; they will know only what humans have created. And, the outlook has only gotten worse: in 2005, Richard Louv warned us that “nature deficit disorder” was on the rise. Today’s children, he worried, spend far more time in front of screens than they spend in the woods and end up radically disconnected from the natural world. They may care about biodiversity, sustainability, and environmental jus- tice—but do they care about wilderness? This paper aims to investigate that hypothesis by posing the question, what does wilderness mean to the Millennial gener- ation? More specifically, does the idea of wilderness have relevance for Millennial generation environmentalists? Is there still a case to be made for wilderness? If so, how can we make that case1? To answer that question, we organized a national essay contest on the theme of wilderness. Using the common defi- nition of “Millennial” as individuals born between 1980 and 2000, we restricted the contest to people born after 1979.2 We also identified prominent environmental activists born after 1980 and invited them to write longer essays on our question. We then analyzed the 41 contest entries and the invited essays to determine common themes, identifying continuities and discontinuities with the inherited wilderness tradition. Our analysis concludes that the idea of wilderness still resonates for these Millennials, that certain key themes in that tradition seem to remain vital and relevant, and that the tradition is 1 The authors would like to thank Joshua Smith, Carol Rutz, Christopher Tassava, Annette Rizzo, and the Sierra Club for their help with the essay contest. We are also grateful for the comments from the peer reviewer and editorial support from Tony Rosenbaum. 2 We did not restrict entries from people born after 2000 but only received one such entry. * Kim Smith ksmith@carleton.edu Matt Kirby Matthew.Kirby@sierraclub.org 1 Environmental Studies, Carleton College, One N. College St., Northfield, MN 55057, USA 2 Sierra Club, 1536 Wynkoop St, Denver, CO 80202, USA J Environ Stud Sci DOI 10.1007/s13412-015-0250-z evolving to adapt to the new concerns and experiences of twenty-first-century Americans. Background The “American wilderness tradition” hardly needs extensive definition. We refer to the tradition ably documented by Roderick Nash in his 1967 classic, Wilderness and the American Mind. This intellectual, literary, and political tradi- tion originated in the nineteenth century and was developed and passed down by a small group of highly engaged twentieth-century wilderness advocates. Representatives in- clude such familiar figures as John Muir, Aldo Leopold, Robert Marshall, and Wallace Stegner. Also central to devel- oping the tradition were organizations such as the Sierra Club, which sponsored our essay contest. Founded in 1892 by John Muir, the Sierra Club has been integral to forming the modern conception of wilderness as well as advocating for its protec- tion. The organization was one of the earlier large-scale pres- ervation organizations in the country and counted, among its early victories, the creation of Yosemite National Park and the National Park Service itself. In the mid-twentieth century, the organization played an important role in framing the idea of wilderness as a legislative tool by helping to draft and pass the landmark Wilderness Act. In 1960, Wallace Stegner sent a copy of his now famous “Wilderness Letter” to David Brower, then Executive Director of the Sierra Club. Brower, recognizing the power of the letter, published it in a Sierra Club book, Wilderness: America’s Living Heritage. This book was pivotal in popularizing the wilderness tradition to a wider audience. Sierra Club remains the largest and possibly most influential wilderness advocacy organization in the USA, with more than two million members and supporters. What exactly is the wilderness concept that the Sierra Club and other advocates are trying to protect? As William Cronon summarizes, wilderness in this tradition is “the natural, unfall- en antithesis of an unnatural civilization that has lost its soul. It is a place of freedom in which we can recover the true selves we have lost to the corrupting influence of our artificial lives. Most of all, it is the ultimate landscape of authenticity. Combining the sacred grandeur of the sublime with the prim- itive simplicity of the frontier, it is the place where we can see the world as it really is, and so know ourselves as we really are—or ought to be” (Cronon 1996, p. 80). Of course, Cronon was describing the tradition only to critique it. The trouble with the idea of wilderness, according to Cronon, is that it sets up a romantic myth of purity that masks the all-too-real impacts that humans have even on “wild” landscapes. It encourages people to escape from social problems rather than take responsibility for them. But, he not- ed his own ambivalence; the tradition also serves as an impor- tant vehicle for expressing deep moral values regarding our relationship to the natural world. His essay famously sparked an on-going debate over the value of the wilderness tradition. But, that is not the debate that we are engaging here—at least, not directly. Both Cronon and his critics seem confident that the wilder- ness tradition, for good or ill, is a pretty robust one. Indeed, the wilderness ideal seems like one of the more enduring and powerful of American traditions. The book of Roderick Nash is now in its fourth edition, and it describes a still-vital movement led by the Baby Boom generation (usually defined as Americans born between 1946 and 1964). For Nash, the chief challenge of the wilderness tradition is its very success: How do we continue to preserve wilderness with increasing numbers of Americans flooding into the most isolated and remote areas, seeking the spiritual, aesthetic, and recreational experiences promised by Muir and others?(Nash 2001, pp. 316-344). But, the baby boomers themselves are not so sanguine about the vitality of the wilderness tradition. While every gen- eration has expressed concern about the loss of the American wilderness, the baby boomers seem to be the first to worry about the loss of the wilderness value. Will the Millennials— the post-1980 generation, growing up in the midst of the sixth great extinction, witness to anthropogenic global ecological transformation, and seemingly glued to computer screens from infancy—continue to value the experience of wilder- ness? What, indeed, does “wilderness” mean in the anthropocene? Bill McKibben raised that question in his 1990 book, The End of Nature. This was, to our knowledge, the first book to grapple with the implications of climate change for the wilder- ness tradition. McKibben argued that the change that humans have worked on the global climate system—the hole in the ozone layer, the global warming effect created by increasing levels of greenhouse gases—is eroding “our sense of nature as eternal and separate” (End of Nature 8). Anthropogenic influ- ences on the natural world are so pervasive, he worried, that it is becoming harder “to get caught up in the timeless meaning of the forest.” Traces of human presence “drive away the feeling that you are in another, separate, timeless, wild sphere.” Even the temperature and rainfall can no longer be considered the work of some separate force—“nature”—but must now be considered “in part a product of our habits, our economies, our ways of life” (McKibben 1990, p. 47). His point was not just that wilderness itself was disappearing—although that is a big part of the problem—but rather that our idea of wilderness is disappearing. Future generations, he warned, may not be able to conceive of a place outside of human intention and history. It would be several years before the term “anthropocene” would come into widespread use, but McKibben captured the unease generated by this concept: in an age of human domination of biological, chemical, and geological processes on Earth, where can the values associated with wilderness find safekeeping? J Environ Stud Sci Anthropogenic climate change is not the only factor threat- ening those wilderness values. The 2005 book of Richard Louv , Last Child in the Woods, articulates a concern that resonates broadly with American audiences. “Within the space of a few decades,” he argues, “the way children understand and experi- ence nature has changed radically…. Today, kids are aware of the global threats to the environment—but their physical con- tact, their intimacy with nature, is fading” (Louv 2005, p. 1). He sees this as a post-baby boom development, affecting Generation X (born from the mid-1960s to 1980) but more intensely the Millennials (born from 1980 to 2000). “For a new generation, nature is more abstraction than reality. Increasingly, nature is something to watch, to consume, to wear—to ignore” (Ibid., p. 2). Louv argued, and produced some empirical evidence, that this disconnection could lead to nature deficit disorder: diminished use of the senses, attention difficulties, and higher rates of physical and emotional illnesses (ibid, p. 34). Those are hard claims to substantiate, but the narrower claim has met with little dissent: Americans (and increasingly other members of industrialized societies) are spending less time outside, interacting with environments that are not predominately concrete. He attributed those changing lifestyles to economic and social trends (time poverty, work- place pressures, technological changes) rather than a decline in the value of wilderness. But, they bode ill for the wilderness tradition, which seems to require at least a small, devoted group of enthusiasts willing to go outside and play. Louv and McKibben point to a number of broad cultural and environmental factors that might shape the Millennial generation, including biodiversity loss and climate change, widening economic inequality in the USA (which plays into analysis of Louv), changes in the nature of work, increasing urbanization, and changing communications technology. All of these intersecting cultural trends may affect how and whether Millennials experience the natural world, thus raising the question: What does the wilderness tradition mean in twenty-first-century America? Is the concept of wilderness being adapted so that it remains relevant, and if so, how? Methods There has been a good deal of public opinion and psychological research on Millennials. Among the most well known is a study by Twenge et al. published in 2012. Their research describes the Millennials as more concerned than previous generations about goals related to extrinsic values (money, image, fame) than with goals related to intrinsic values (self-acceptance, af- filiation, community). In particular, Twenge et al. identified declines in community values and political activism, with the steepest declines in environmental concern and activism (Twenge et al. 2012; Pew Research Feb (2014). This kind of research has been criticized on methodological grounds; researchers question whether age or generational cohort has a strong independent effect on attitudes about the environment (Trzesniewski and Donnellan 2010; Wiernik et al. 2013; Arnett 2013). Others have found that environmental attitudes are also influenced by gender, race, and political ideology as well as generational cohort (Liu et al. 2014). However, the most careful critiques generally acknowledge that generational differences do exist, although Twenge et al. may overstate them. And, few scholars have challenged the finding that environmental activ- ism has declined among Millennials. That trend continues the long-term decline from the high levels of political concern and civic engagement characteristic of the baby boom generation. But, the recent steep decline in environmental concern is strik- ing and may provide some support for the McKibbens/Louv hypothesis—although another important factor may be the growing partisan divide and rise of an anti-environmental dis- course in political culture (that partisan trend may of course also be related to the cultural, environmental, and technological trends identified by Louv and McKibben). Whatever the causes, these public opinion and psychological studies do sug- gest that the Millennials constitute a generation with distinctive characteristics. This kind of research is an important foundation for our project, since it provides support for the view that there is a “Millennial generation” that may differ from previous gener- ations in their attitudes about the environment. But, our study differs from this kind of research in important respects. We are not attempting to understand or explain the distribution of wilderness values across the Millennial generation. Rather, we are interested in the wilderness tradition, and a tradition is not the same as public opinion or individual attitudes. We define “tradition” as a collectively held phenomenon rather than an individual characteristic. A tradition is an evolving collection of ideas and rhetorical strategies that tend to cluster together and to be associated with certain political goals. They are not static, philosophically coherent systems. Rather, they are useful assemblages of values, concepts, and linguistic and political practices that evolved within a community in order to deal with concrete problems. As they are passed down from one generation to the next, they are reworked to apply to new conditions. The carriers of the wilderness tradition have always been a small group of highly engaged individuals who (1) articulate, in particularly compelling and resonant ways, a set of values and concepts that tend to congregate together around the idea of wilderness and (2) organize action in service of those values. To understand how a tradition is evolving, we must investigate how this small group of environmental leaders and advocates is engaging with and interpreting the traditional idea of wilderness. Public opinion polls are of little value to us because polls are not well suited to investigating how a tradition is being reinterpreted; that project calls for more interpretive methods J Environ Stud Sci (as discussed below). Moreover, we do not expect the carriers of the wilderness tradition to be typical of other Millennials. While they will be responding to the same broad cultural trends affecting other Millennials, they will be different in at least one important respect: They will be unusually interested in wilderness. Like Roderick Nash, we aim to focus on people who seem to be providing intellectual leadership to the wil- derness movement. But, because the Millennials are still young (mostly under 30), they have not yet produced a sub- stantial amount of published works that we can turn to. So, we instead identified several environmental leaders born after 1980 and invited them to write essays in response to the fol- lowing prompt: It is nearly 25 years since Bill McKibben declared “the end of nature.” What he really meant was the end of wilderness—the idea of wilderness. In the era of climate change, he claimed, we can no longer conceive of a natural world that is free of human influence—a pristine wilderness where our spirits can awaken to authentic nature. Generations Y, Z, and beyond will never know that pristine wilderness; they will know only what humans have created. And, the outlook has only gotten worse: in 2005, Richard Louv warned us that nature deficit disorder was on the rise. Today’s children, he worried, spend far more time in front of screens than they spend in the woods and end up radically discon- nected from the natural world. They may care about biodiversity, sustainability, and environmental justice—but do they care about wilderness? So, we pose the question: What does wilderness mean to the Millennial generation? Does the idea of wilderness have any relevance for twenty-first-century environ- mentalists? Is there still a case to be made for wilder- ness? If so, how can we make that case? We received three completed essays (from Jessica Goad (Center for American Progress), Jacob Glass (Podesta Group), and Elizabeth Shephard (Director, LifeCity), hardly enough for in-depth analysis. But, we also gathered a more substantial body of data by organizing an essay contest. Sponsored by the Sierra Club, the contest invited anyone born after 1980 to submit an essay of no more than 750 words on the meaning of wilderness (using the same prompt as above). This method allowed individuals to nominate themselves as carriers of the wilderness tradition. The winning essay was published in Sierra Online, and some of the finalists are pub- licly available on here: https://sites.google.com/a/carleton. edu/wilderness-2-0/home (the full collection of essays is available from the authors). We received 41 contest entries. Again, we do not claim that this group is representative in any statistical sense—any more than the works of Thoreau or Muir were representative of their generation. We were most successful getting contributions from people close to us. For example, two of the invited essays and one of the contest entries come from students of Kim Smith, and two of the invited essays come from colleagues of Matt Kirby. The essay contest probably did not reach a very diverse audience in terms of race and class, although 24 of the entries did come from women (which is interesting in light of the historic underrepresentation of female voices in the wil- derness tradition). We did not collect additional demographic data on the entrants, because we wanted to make participation in the contest as easy as possible. However, we note that the contest was advertised to the Sierra Club’s 63 chapters, the Sierra Club online, and the listserve for the Association for Environmental Studies and Sciences. While the Sierra Club has taken significant strides in recent years to diversify their base, it is still predominantly White, well educated, and middle-upper class in terms of membership. The readership for Sierra Club Online magazine is 44 % college-educated, and slightly more than 50 % have annual incomes of more than $50,000 (Sierra Club Media 2015; Taylor 2014). The Association for Environmental Studies and Sciences listserve consists mostly of people teaching environmental studies at the college level. Thus, notice of the contest probably reached an audience that was predominantly middle-class, college- educated Americans. We therefore caution against assuming that this sample represents values widely shared among Millennials in general. But, we believe that the essays that we collected are sufficient for our more limited purposes: We aim to understand the var- ious ways that Millennials can draw on the wilderness tradi- tion and make it meaningful. We were looking to identify the possibilities inherent in the tradition. The body of texts that we collected reveals some of those possibilities. Our sample is therefore more like a focus group than a public opinion survey. Focus group research aims to study how people define, discuss, and contest issues. They are used to explore different perspectives on a topic rather than access representative or generalizable views about it. Therefore, par- ticipants in focus groups are usually chosen because they have a significant relationship to the topic (Tonkiss 2012, pp. 228– 244). Our study follows a similar logic of inquiry: We aim to study how highly engaged wilderness lovers define, discuss, and contest the inherited meaning of wilderness. Having collected our sample, we subjected the essays to literary analysis, in keeping with the majority of scholarship on the wilderness tradition. Unlike content analysis (a reduc- tive approach commonly used in the social sciences to analyze qualitative data), literary analysis approaches a work as an example of a genre and focuses on how the author(s) is interpreting, responding to, and extending the conventions of that genre. Literary analysis is often described as a hermeneu- tic process, in which meaning of the text as a whole is established by reference to the individual parts but the J Environ Stud Sci https://sites.google.com/a/carleton.edu/wilderness-2-0/home https://sites.google.com/a/carleton.edu/wilderness-2-0/home meaning of the individual parts must also be established by reference to the text as a whole. Interpreting the text requires not just identifying phrases or words, or even concepts, but deciphering the subtle shades of meaning that the author is creating out of creative deployment of literary devices. In short, we are not studying these writers’ opinions about wil- derness. Rather, we are studying how these writers are engag- ing with the inherited wilderness tradition: what language, ideas, and themes do they draw on? Which ones do they trans- form or discard? Are they able to find meaning in the idea of wilderness? Results Our analysis centers on the four major thematic elements that we found in the submitted and solicited essays. The most notable aspect of these themes is that they are not new or necessarily specific to the Millennial generation. While we find some differences between these contemporary essays and those of earlier wilderness advocates—differences that we will discuss in greater detail—many of the fundamental ideas about the nature and purpose of wilderness remain un- changed. We tackle these four themes individually, beginning with the one that remains the most continuous with early en- vironmental thought: beauty and solitude. The other themes can broadly be defined as (1) wilderness as an illusion (2), the dichotomy between wilderness and technology, and (3) find- ing wilderness locally (small wilderness). These last three themes, while having roots in the works of traditional nature writers, also illustrate some important complexities in and discontinuities with that tradition. Solitude and beauty This theme ran through the majority of the essays, even those that more directly challenge the received definition of wilder- ness. The writers clearly realize that areas devoid of obvious signs of human interference can hold a unique kind of moral and aesthetic value. Such places allow a person to find him or herself; they offer a place to think without the interference of a hyperkinetic world, a place to escape, and a place to find beauty and wonder. It seems that there is still something es- sential to the human experience to be found in those wild places free of signs of humanity. Essayist Elizabeth Shephard sums up this sentiment in “Finding Our Way Home” when she writes, “wilderness is a place to escape and find refuge in the harmony of nature” and “it is a place full of chaos, danger, and testing.” We test our humanity by putting ourselves in a place free from modern conveniences. Killian Sump, in reflecting on her time as wil- derness guide in the fjords of Alaska, writes, “the prospect of adventure, coupled with the beauty of wilderness, allows people to open up and learn more about the world or them- selves.” These sentiments echo those of classic American na- ture writers such as Henry David Thoreau, who wrote, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.” He wanted to “live deep and suck all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms” (Thoreau 1854, p. 135). What is the value of this escape from society? Like gener- ations before her, essayist Christina Alvarez found solace in the wild. In “Montezuma Baldcypress,” she treasures “the gush of wind against my face that dried my tears, the touch of a lily flower against my cheek when I did not have a hand to touch me and tell me that everything was going to be okay, and the feel of the earth beneath me as the world caught me when I thought everything was falling apart.” Gwendolyn Murtha in “The Gray Shenandoah” echoes that theme, explaining that wilderness offers an antidote to the loneliness of crowds—a chance to be alone instead of lonely. Those sentiments would be understood by earlier nature writers such as Barry Lopez. Lopez, a victim of sexual abuse as a child, also sought solace in nature: I know this: That when I was so compromised as a child that there was no zone of safety for me, no place was safe and especially adults weren’t safe for me, the thing that felt safe in the sense that I felt that surge towards lyricism when… I saw something outside myself, the world beyond the self… and I felt this surge of lyrical pleasure in the way the wind sounded, for example, in eucalyptus trees. I knew that I could carry that with me. I could carry it as a memory, and I could carry it as a structure to help me build a safe place in the world (Lopez 2013). Others identified the moral value of being alone in the wil- derness as a certain kind of humility. As essayist Taylor Bolinger put it in “Heart of the Formless,” “If we do not pre- serve [wilderness], if our only access to it is in boxed up and packaged form, then your youngest will never struggle up the overwhelming face of that sand hill so far from the sound of cars that there is naught but stillness and perceive that the world neither works as we believe it to nor as we would like for it to.” Meg O’Connor in “Recalculating” explained that “conserving wilderness is an act of respect to a community that is not one’s own—a community that is not always inviting, welcoming, or hospitable.” Again, we hear continuities with earlier writers like Wendell Berry: “If we are to have a culture as resilient and competent in the face of necessity as it needs to be, then it must somehow involve within itself a ceremonious generosity to- ward the wilderness of natural force and instinct. The farm must yield a place to the forest, not as a wood lot, or even as a necessary agricultural principle but as a sacred grove—a place J Environ Stud Sci where the Creation is let alone, to serve as instruction, example, refuge; a place for people to go, free of work and presumption, to let themselves alone” (Berry 2002, p. 125). But, wilderness is not only a place to test and find yourself in your solitude, but also a place to find aesthetic beauty. That value continues to resonate. Many of our writers shared the nature aesthetic of nineteenth century landscape painters such as Albert Bierstadt of the Hudson River School. Bierstadt gave us lavish, awe-inspiring paintings of the wild places in the West that captured the American imagination in the second half of the nineteenth century. This aesthetic values the sense of awe and grandeur most easily found in wild places: the power and terror one feels standing at the base of enormous waterfall or the wonder experienced by a quiet moment in the forest. As Ralph Waldo Emerson reportedly said (of giant sequoias), “The greatest wonder is that we can see these trees and not wonder more” (quoted in Thayer (1884 (1971), p. 108). These values of beauty and awe continue to inspire and clearly inform the essays. As Ben Thurau writes in “On Aesthetic Education,” “The challenge of wilderness today, as a tenet of environmentalism and as a value in our lives, is to hear again the language of beauty.” Our essayists wrote mov- ingly of “a mother wolf spider carrying her hundreds of babies on her back” and “a skilled and patient blue heron catch a large fish only to have it stolen away by a bald eagle” (Lauren DePerna, “Wild Life Support”). Essayist Nicole Crescimanno shared “the awe that bubbles and fills you up when you realize you are standing on a glacier that is also home to steaming lava coals” and the moment when “when the sun kisses the earth at 5:00 am at the most eastern point of the country,… including you on a secret that will bathe you in a warm orange, red, and yellow hued bath.” (“Escaping to Wilderness”). Chelsea Batavia succinctly captures all these meanings of wilderness in her essay “This Wild World” and, in doing so, links herself with an intellectual movement more than 200 years old: “Stand in a snowy aspen grove, immersed in space, silence, and light; feel your thoughts break in muted echoes; reach for the truth and watch it slip through your fingers, dissolving into open air. Gasp in awe, collapse in terror, bow in humility, and weep in a world indifferent to your presence. Marvel, cower, entreat, pray. Then stand, and walk on, face forward into the unknown.” Wilderness as an illusion While not as universal a theme as beauty and solitude, an important idea running through many essays was that of wil- derness as a social construct or, for some, an illusion. This theme complicates the received wilderness tradition. While many earlier nature writers recognized that wilderness was an abstract idea, that fact was not usually their focus. Rather, they focused on making the case for that wilderness idea. For example, when European Americans first visited the area that would later become Yosemite National Park, the Ahwahnechee Native Americans lived in Yosemite Valley. The area had been populated, shaped, and reshaped by human impact on the land for over 3000 years. John Muir, who would become the most famous advocate to protect the area as National Park, was very well aware of this influence. Yet, it did not discourage him from viewing the park as wild and natural and worthy of protection. He aimed to create a place that would be protected from future influence—and in doing so, he helped to create the problematic idea of wilderness as a place free of human impacts. This essay project shows that our Millennial writers struggle with that idea of the wilderness. Many are all too aware that the wilderness idea is a social construction and that far from being independent of human influence, wild landscapes are the product of complex political, eco- nomic, and technological processes. Jacob Glass’s essay on the politics surrounding the creating of the Scotchman Peaks Wilderness Area captures that reality, as does Jeff Jenkins’ essay on the technological infrastructure sur- rounding the Clark Mountain in the Mojave Wilderness: “this wilderness enclave exists in perpetuity due to con- servation efforts afforded by the surrounding technologi- cally developed landscape.” Indeed, many of the essayists are willing to challenge the received conception of wil- derness—a willingness that may reflect this generation’s weaker connection to the natural world or merely their increased awareness of the complexities of wilderness preservation. No essay better encapsulates this theme than the aptly titled “The Illusion of Wilderness” by Kate Leary. She begins with a direct challenge to Thoreau: “I went to the woods not because I wished to live deliberately, but because I wished to live imaginatively.” She went into the wild as a “dreamer fed by stories of exploration,” seeking the illusion of wilderness, “however faint.” Her essay emphasizes that wilderness as we have come to define it—a place untrammeled by humans—exists in very few places in the world, if at all: So much of the world has already been shaped and reshaped by human hands that it would be difficult to know whether any given patch is truly in a “natural” state. On some level, the idea of pristine-ness belongs to museum specimens and landscape paintings, an Eden-like world that we can’t reclaim, if indeed it ever existed. She worries that by focusing on potentially mythical pris- tine places, we risk devaluing those less-pristine landscapes. Her favorite wilderness, a scrap of second-growth woods be- hind her suburban house, was far from pristine, but “things don’t stop having value when they become chipped, flawed, scarred or stained.” She explains J Environ Stud Sci The well-used and well-worn items are often the most cherished, because they are survivors, with a vivid his- tory that is plain for the world to see. A forest that has been cut and re-grown, with its jumble of different sized trees, interspersed with brambles, bushes and straggling weeds can have a beauty all its own. Katie is not alone in this sentiment. In “Living with Wilderness,” Lara Brenner describes her childhood growing up in a city, reporting that she felt connected to nature despite never going camping or having the opportunities to explore those remote areas usually defined as wilderness. She writes that “to disregard urban nature is to deny the experiences of millions of children. Our generation’s relationship to nature is not impoverished, merely different than those that came before it.” And here, Brenner gets to the crux of the issue for some in this generation. Defining wilderness as what is “out there,” distant from human habitations, we neglect those who have no access to those distant places—as well as rendering invisible the humans who actually inhabit those “pristine” landscapes. And, to Millennials, this may present a problematic tension between preserving wilderness and serving humans. Some of our essayists questioned prioritizing wilderness preservation in the face of other, more pressing issues. Justin Welch, in “Rethinking Wilderness,” insists that “environmen- talists in the twenty-first century and beyond must look in- ward, to densely populated built environments, with the aim to make these places as efficient and sustainable as possible.” Brandon Jordan agrees “Environmentalists should hold other factors, such as economic equity, as important while discussing the state of nature with others” (“Do the Evolution”). Others, however, suggested that we simply need to adjust our idea of wilderness. Nicholas Robinson suggests in “A New Wilderness” that “there is a case to be made for… a different kind of wilderness; a new “wilderness”, accessible to everyone. …Trails and signs may soon scatter what are now untouched wilderness backcountry areas. Although no longer as wild, these places can still offer a retreat for many who have never been to a wild place, the majority of the population.” Shan Kothari argues in “Reclaiming Wilderness” that in addi- tion to large-scale, relatively pristine landscapes, “we may also think of wilderness as whatever attunes us to perceive more clearly the delicate interplay of natural processes through which living organisms have become what they are, and to understand their value.” Perhaps, the most sophisticat- ed view was offered by Elizabeth Shephard: “Reconciling our interconnectedness and not our isolation from wilderness is the task of the 21st Century. It is important for not just our survival, but for a revival of ecological health and biodiversity we seek today primarily in protected parks or on vacation. The wilderness is truly an entire global system, made of smaller subsystems that help the entire planet to stay alive.” Wilderness and technology Wilderness is traditionally defined by what it is not: it is not man-made, and it is not governed by human intentions—in short, it is not technology. The dichotomy, even hostility, be- tween wilderness and technology is a long-standing theme in wilderness writing and politics. The early stirrings of the mod- ern environmental movement began in Britain as a reaction to the Industrial Revolution. Smoke and pollution increased dra- matically with the rise in coal consumption and the creation of large-scale factories in urban and industrial areas. As a result, Britain passed the Alkali Act of 1863 to regulate gaseous hydrochloric acid, one of the first major modern environmen- tal laws in the world. Outside the urban core, wilder areas of the countryside became the refuge away from the soot and unhealthy conditions of modern industrialism. The Romantics celebrated these places, and they quickly became a national resource to be protected against encroaching indus- trial development. Similar sentiments drove the environmental movement in the USA. By 1890, the West was open for business, and set- tlement and industrial development rapidly transformed the vast western landscape. Ironically, the very development— from agriculture to railroads and dams—that was threatening the American wilderness was also making it ever more acces- sible. Preserves like Yellowstone National Park in 1872 and Yosemite National Park in 1892 were created to be accessible by means of but still untouched by modern technology. This relationship between wilderness and technology per- sists and has expanded in our contributed and solicited essays. The complexities of that relationship are explored in detail in “A Technological Wilderness” by Jeffrey Jenkins. Jenkins re- counts a journey that takes “the same route that Muir original- ly walked in 1869 when he first arrived in San Francisco and headed over Pacheco Pass towards the Sierra.” He is headed for Clark Mountain, where he hopes to escape modern society, much like Thoreau on his trek to Mt. Katahdin. But, unlike Muir and Thoreau, Jenkins travels through a highly developed landscape, “past the oil fields in the Central Valley near Bakersfield and over Tehachapi Pass where continual gusts are ideal for turbine-driven wind power.” Traveling by car, he is soon “ensnared by a wolf pack of Priuses”—“the most abundant rare earth consumer product on the market.” His route takes him past Edwards Air Force Base”—a landscape pockmarked with radar facilities and test sites”—the US Borax mine, and the Mountain Pass rare earth mine. But, even on top of Clark Mountain, he does not escape modern technology: “I pass a cell phone tower on my ascent and continue on the shared federal lands trail to walk under successive power line corridors where a helicopter hovers overhead, ostensibly inspecting.” Those signs of modernity are oddly juxtaposed to a juniper forest that “dominates the sky island ecosystem of juniper and piñon at the top; a J Environ Stud Sci remnant of Pleistocene climate.” He does find wilderness— but he finds it deeply dependent on the surrounding techno- logical infrastructure. He concludes, somewhat ironically, with a quote from Muir: “I realize the trouble in searching for a wilderness deplete of technological influence…. ‘When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.’” Jenkins’ essay highlights one of the more striking differ- ences between the older wilderness writings and the essays that we received: a chief threat to wilderness is now commu- nications technology. No matter how remote you are, you can no longer escape the trappings of modern civilization—even if those changes are not fundamentally altering the landscape. Jenkins realizes this the moment that he has gotten into offi- cially designated wilderness and his smartphone vibrates with an incoming text. What does wilderness really mean when “when frontiers are inverted, innovation is all around us and infrastructure connects the flow of materials and people”? The ubiquity of communications technology was a domi- nant theme in the essays; six of them defined wilderness as a place without cell phone service. Of course, the threat to wil- derness has always been an evolving one, different to every generation. It was the construction of large-scale dams across the American West in the mid-twentieth century that helped spawn the contemporary environmental movement. This, in turn, gave way to high-profile fights against old-growth log- ging in the 1980s–1990s. However, the threat now seems more existential: that no matter what remote corner you retreat to, soon it will still be within reach and interconnected with the world you sought to escape. While the early fights against industrialization were localized threats to specific landscapes, modern challenges are global in nature. Between climate change and your internet connection, there is no piece of the planet free of human influence. This technological interconnectedness challenges the tradi- tional definition of wilderness. Indeed, it seems that McKibben may have been right; perhaps, Millennials can no longer think of wilderness as a separate reality untouched by humankind. But, that may make preserving wilderness more important than ever. Ben Cosgrove muses in “Realer Places” that “I don’t think we’re misguided in placing such a high value on interpersonal connection or access to information, but there’s something that doesn't feel right about trading the real world for the virtual one.” He worries that Facebook and Twitter have simplified our mental landscape much like suburban development has simplified the physical landscape (noting that his smartphone is organized in flashy, satisfying gridline patterns just like a commercial strip). This hyperconnectivity “has challenged the importance of place… [I]t’s now dangerously easy for us to lose sight of where we are, and even of who we are.” But, Cosgrove sees wilderness areas as an antidote: “Our greatest defense against this ambivalence may lie in the power of wil- derness to demonstrate both the value of real places and the incompleteness of virtual ones.” In wilderness, “we wander through places that are bigger than we are, that don’t cater to us, that do what they will do no matter what we ask of them. Wilderness forces us to look at what’s really there, and so pushes back against our inclination to engage only with the things we want to see, the way we want to see them, in the flashing moment that they occur to us.” Finding wilderness locally The final theme that we found woven through a number of essays was the value of finding wilderness locally. Our authors were as concerned with small-scale wilderness—any place wild enough to immerse you in the natural world—as they were with large-scale, legally designated areas with no visible human presence on the landscape. This theme is obviously connected to the earlier “Wilderness as an illusion” theme. Once one accepts that wilderness is a social construct, one can broaden one’s definition of wilderness to encompass a greater variety of places. This willingness to find wilderness even in degraded or developed landscapes is perhaps the most striking discontinu- ity between the Millennial writers and the received tradition. As discussed above, while earlier writers sometimes recog- nized that even the wildest places had been shaped by humans, the wilderness ideal valorized places where humans were not the predominant force on the landscape. Our writers, however, seem to have internalized the concept that no place on the planet is untouched by modern society, even the most remote corners. While wilderness has not disappeared, the essayists often find it in unexpected places. Lara Brenner found “a frontier of my own to explore in the vacant lots and steel culverts of my neighborhood, and discovered there a web of ecosystems originated by humans but that had taken on a life of their own. I was inspired not by the vast, primeval forest but by the endlessly complex microcosm found in a bucketful of pond water” (Living with Wilderness). For Mike Galgay, wil- derness is “present in areas and places that retain their own characteristics and flavor apart from what man has colored them with. This can be Yosemite Valley of course, but it can also be the humble woods in my backyard that I explore and the stand of hemlock trees that grows there.” Preserving wil- derness, for him, means interacting with the land in a way that respects the wild element in the forest behind one’s house, one’s garden, or in the fire burning in the fireplace. Shan Kothari writes Naturalists in New York City may delight in the abun- dance of warblers and finches that find refuge of the green cathedral of Central Park, though it is surrounded on all sides by roads and skyscrapers. In the trail-crossed woods behind my dormitory at Michigan State Univer- sity, I learned to love the ephemeral trilliums that would J Environ Stud Sci carpet the ground and disappear within weeks. It is in these places that people can observe the patterns and cycles that govern nature, learn the rituals of the ani- mals, and begin to see them as more than just natural resources to be exploited for business. This theme fundamentally questions the dichotomy be- tween humans and wilderness and the exclusion of the human from the wild. Elizabeth Shephard in her essay “Find Our Way Home” writes that we need to “shift our definition and per- spective of ‘the wilderness’ from being something separate from ourselves, to something that is everywhere and within us.” These writers suggest that if we are truly to engage and connect people with the natural world, we must value land- scapes that are accessible—even if degraded—as much as those landscapes that are pristine but remote. Their very re- moteness makes traditional wilderness unreachable to much of the world—and if it is unreachable, how is one expected to care about it? It should be noted that these writers are not necessarily advocating for changing the legal designation of wilderness, nor are they saying that those areas do not have value. Shephard still values wilderness that allows one “to escape and find refuge in the harmony of nature.” Similarly, Ben Cosgrove writes, “In places where the impact of humans is minimal, you can find yourself alone with a cacophony of smells, images, and sounds—an overwhelming flood of infor- mation relating exclusively to the place you’re in.” These experiences are real, valuable, and worthy of protecting. But, our writers, raised with a global ethic, value experiences of nature that are available to a wider array of people. They want to expand the scope of wilderness preservation to encompass “drainage ditches and alpine streams, on sidewalks and salt flats, from skyscrapers to mountaintops” (Brenner, Living with Wilderness). Conclusion Obviously, our conclusions are limited to the small number of essays that we received Further research is needed to deter- mine whether our set of wilderness lovers is idiosyncratic or whether these themes resonate more widely among the Millennial generation. With that caveat in mind, we can draw some tentative con- clusions about the continuing vitality of the wilderness tradi- tion. Not surprisingly, our main conclusion is that worries about the death of the idea of wilderness seem to be overstated. The rhetoric of traditional wilderness politics is still powerful. Judging by the essays discussed in the “Solitude and beauty” section, the experience of wilderness holds profound experiences for those who are able to visit those places. However, these writers do believe that Millennials are increasingly disconnected from the outdoors and more connected with technology. Of course, even the earliest American nature writers worried that their own gener- ations were too enamored of and distracted by technological marvels. But, the intrusion of sophisticated technology into our lives may make this theme, if not new, at least newly urgent. Second, the Millennials who participated in our contest do not necessarily believe that a landscape has to be completely free from human influence to carry many of the traditional values of wilderness. They seem comfortable expanding the scope of lands worthy of protection to encompass smaller and more highly managed or restored landscapes. Wilderness as it is currently defined and as legally protected—“big wilder- ness”—may become less relevant to this generation than those natural places closer to home. This is not to suggest, however, that big wilderness is not also important and worthy of pro- tection. The ability to achieve solitude and a sense of humility depend, in part, on the scale of the wilderness. We merely suggest (along with William Cronon 1996) that small wilder- ness may increasingly come within the ambit of wilderness advocacy. Nor should this surprise us; after all, one of the greatest contributors to the wilderness tradition—Henry David Thoreau—is best known for his celebration of the rel- atively small wilderness of Walden Pond. Third, our writers are also eager to know how human needs can be served by or accommodated within wilderness policy. The Millennial generation is (or at least sees itself as) more focused on social justice, more tolerant, and more diverse than previous generations (Pew Research Feb (2014). This is reflected in our writers’ willingness to connect the case for wilderness preservation to other social and environmental causes. Our essays suggest that discussions of the ecosystem services provided by wilderness, the human health benefits associated with outdoor recreation and protected public land, the need to preserve biodiversity, and the role that protected lands can have in combating climate change are all potential avenues into making the case for wilderness preservation (for example, essayists Eric Edmunds and Phillip Kelly emphasize the importance of these ecosystem services (Edmunds, “Wilderness—What is it Good for?” and Kelly, Wilderness in the City)). Our writers are also interested in discussing access, especially access for underserved communities, to the- se lands. These are not entirely new themes in the tradition, but they may become newly salient as wilderness advocates have to find a place within the crowded field of environmental advocacy more generally. Making alliances with climate, en- vironmental justice, and biodiversity conservation advocates may require wilderness lovers to give greater attention to these connections. Finally, some of our writers suggested that even if they are somewhat disconnected from natural landscapes, Millennials do enjoy a sense of global connectedness—a global J Environ Stud Sci consciousness—that can be used to protect wilderness. Madelyn Hoagland-Hanson put it well in “Young in a Future Without Wilderness,” “Say what you will about our attention deficits and lack of close social ties; there is little denying that we have greater immediate access to a massive international network of people and information than ever before. Consequently, our global connectedness is, if not actually greater, then certainly more visible than it has been in the past.” For example, a large part of the youth climate movement has been focused on the rights of indigenous peoples across the world. That movement springs from a sense that those who are most affected by climate change are often the most vulner- able and least politically powerful. For some of our writers, there is a connection to be made between climate change and the loss of wild places on which many cultures still rely for subsistence living. Others simply call on us to remember, as Jasmine Wang put it, that Through the near instantaneous spread of digital infor- mation, we are exposed to the jarring contrast of privi- lege and poverty and the vast inequality of resource distribution across the globe. In the oversimplified quest to develop “third-world” societies into “first-world” so- cieties, we confuse primitive with wild and often sacri- fice both for sake of civilization. The idea of wilderness must remain relevant in order to integrate it into the vision of a first-world society. A first-world society that does not recognize its part in a delicate global ecosystem is neither developed nor sustainable nor, ultimately, hu- mane. A healthy environment and basic human rights of clean water, sanitation, food and shelter are not—and cannot be—mutually exclusive (“Life Without Boundaries”). As Wang and our other essayists demonstrate, the wilder- ness tradition remains vital and powerful, and it has the ca- pacity to evolve to accommodate the new concerns and expe- riences of twenty-first century Americans. Our small study has allowed us to chart some of the directions that we might ex- pect it to go; further research on the rhetoric of young envi- ronmental leaders could identify additional themes, tropes, and transformations that will inspire the next generation of wilderness lovers. References Arnett J (2013) The evidence for generation we and against generation me. Emerg Adulthood 1:5–10 Berry W (2002) Art of the commonplace. Counterpoint, Berkeley Cronon W (1996) The trouble with wilderness. In: Cronon W (ed) Uncommon ground. WW Norton, New York Liu X, Vedlitz A, Liu S (2014) Examining the determinants of environ- mental concern. Environ Sci Policy 39:77–94 Lopez, B (2013) In “sliver of sky,” Barry Lopez confronts childhood sexual abuse, Fresh Air, January 10, 2013. http://www.npr.org/ 2013/01/10/168964002/in-sliver-of-sky-barry-lopez-confronts- childhood-sexual-abuse Louv R (2005) Last child in the woods. Algonquin Books, Chapel Hill McKibben B (1990) The end of nature. Anchor Books, New York Nash R (2001) Wilderness and the American mind, 4th edn. Yale University Press, New Haven Pew Research (Feb. 2014) Millennials in adulthood. http://www. pewsocialtrends.org/2014/03/07/millennials-in-adulthood/ Sierra Club Media Kit (2015) http://www.sierraclub.org/sierra/media-kit Taylor, Dorceta (2014) The state of diversity in environmental organiza- tions (report prepared for Green 2.0 Working Group). http:// diversegreen.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2014/07/FullReport_ Green2.0_FINAL.pdf Thayer JB (1884) A western journey with Mr. Emerson. Kennikat Press, Port Washington Thoreau HD (1854) (1983)). Walden. Penguin Classics, New York Tonkiss F (2012) Focus groups. In Searle, C. Researching Society and Culture, 3rd ed. Sage, London Trzesniewski K, Donnellan M (2010) Rethinking ‘generation me’: a study of cohort effects from 1976-2006. Persp Psych Sci 5:58–75 Twenge J, Campbell W, Freeman E (2012) Generational differences in young adults’ life goals, concern for others, and civic orientation, 1966–2009. J Pers Soc Psych 102:1045–1062 Wiernik B, Ones S, Dilchrist S (2013) Age and environmental sustain- ability: a meta-analysis. J Manag Psych 28:826–856, Twenge, J, Overwhelming evidence for generation me: a reply to Arnett J Environ Stud Sci http://www.npr.org/2013/01/10/168964002/in-sliver-of-sky-barry-lopez-confronts-childhood-sexual-abuse http://www.npr.org/2013/01/10/168964002/in-sliver-of-sky-barry-lopez-confronts-childhood-sexual-abuse http://www.npr.org/2013/01/10/168964002/in-sliver-of-sky-barry-lopez-confronts-childhood-sexual-abuse http://www.pewsocialtrends.org/2014/03/07/millennials-in-adulthood/ http://www.pewsocialtrends.org/2014/03/07/millennials-in-adulthood/ http://www.sierraclub.org/sierra/media-kit http://diversegreen.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2014/07/FullReport_Green2.0_FINAL.pdf http://diversegreen.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2014/07/FullReport_Green2.0_FINAL.pdf http://diversegreen.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2014/07/FullReport_Green2.0_FINAL.pdf Wilderness 2.0: what does wilderness mean to the Millennials? Abstract Introduction Background Methods Results Solitude and beauty Wilderness as an illusion Wilderness and technology Finding wilderness locally Conclusion References 
work_x63z3fi5lnhzvjqay47gr3jmtm	----	IN MEMORIAM: LAWRENCE KILHAM, 1910&ndash;2000 October 2001] in Memoriam 1031 Team," in Flyways: Pioneering Waterfowl Man- agement in North America (1984, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service). In closing (p. 129), he fittingly states, "judging from my own career, I believe that wildlife biologists are among the happiest people to be found, especially if they have a wife who is also a biologist and shares their ad- ventures in the field." The Auk 118(4):1031-1033, 2001 IN MEMORIAM: LAWRENCE KILHAM, 1910-2000 JEROME A. JACKSON Whitaker Center, College of Arts and Sciences, Florida Gulf Coast University, 10501 FGCU Boulevard South, Ft. Myers, Florida 33965, USA Lawrence Kilham died at his home in Lyme, New Hampshire, on 21 September 2000. Born 10 August 1910 in Brookline, Massachusetts, Lawrence grew up in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. He graduated from Harvard Uni- versity with a bachelor's degree in history and literature in 1932, earned a rnaster's degree in biology from Harvard in 1935, and an M.D. from Harvard Medical School in 1940. While serving as an intern in Cleveland, Ohio, he met his wife, Jane, a fellow intern. Both went to Eng- land early in World War II, and Lawrence served in field hospitals under General George Patton. After leaving the Army in 1945, Lawrence returned to graduate school doing virology research and teaching epidemiology. From 1949 to 1960, he worked as a research vi- rologist. He joined the faculty at Dartmouth Medical School in 1961, where he remained un- til he retired in 1978. Lawrence Kilham was widely recognized for his research with viruses and infectious diseas- es, publishing nearly 150 articles and discover- ing a new group of viruses with single-stranded DNA. At first his interest in birds was recrea- tional, stemming from a lifelong quest for soli- tude and nature that led him to identify with Henry David Thoreau and to seek wild places. After his marriage, his wife Jane shared his quests and often illustrated his articles and books; to better learn from nature, they went their own ways in the field, coming back togeth- er every few hours to share their observations. By the early 1950s, Lawrence was serious about birds, joining both the AOU and the Wil- son Ornithological Society in 1952. It was while doing viral research in Uganda in 1954-1955, that he developed a research interest in bird be- havior. From that point on, his work with the be- havior of birds and mammals, an avocation, be- came a passion that led to more than 90 publications in the ornithological and behavior- al literature. I suspect that for him, the joy of birds relieved the pressures of teaching and lab- oratory work. For his ornithological contribu- tions, he was made an Elective Member of the AOU in 1962, and a Fellow in 1974. Truly Lawrence Kilham successfully lived two out- standing careers in science! In addition to his journal articles, he pub- lished four books relating to his studies of na- ture: Never Enough of Nature (1977, Droll Yan- kees Inc., Foster, Rhode Island); On Watching Birds (1979, Chelsea Green Publishing Com- pany, Chelsea, Vermont), reissued as A Nat- uralistk Field Guide (1981, Stackpole Books, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania); Life History Stud- ies of Woodpeckers of Eastern North America (1983, Publications of the Nuttall Ornitholog- ical Club, no. 20); and The American Crow and the Common Raven (1989, Texas A & M Uni- versity Press, College Station, Texas). For On Watching Birds he was awarded the John Bur- roughs Medal for outstanding nature writing in 1988. Although he studied a great diversity of birds, Lawrence Kilham is best known for his work with woodpeckers. Indeed, it is difficult to find a major study on the behavioral ecology of woodpeckers that was not influenced by Kil- ham's work. Much ornithological research to- day is problem oriented; some remain species oriented; his work was often individual orient- ed! His research was not couched in systematic 1032 In Memoriam [Auk, Vol. 118 LAWRENCE K•LHA M, 1910--2000 (Lawrence Kilham preparing to feed an injured Great Horned Owl in the late 1960s. Photograph courtesy of his son, Benjamin Kilham.) October 2001] In Memoriam 1033 sampling with large sample sizes, sophisticat- ed statistical analyses, and results discussed in terms of probabilities and accepted or rejected hypotheses. His was long, careful observation of the behavioral ecology of individuals unfet- tered by bird bands and the potential negative reaction to the observer who had captured them. His was the insight that can only come from living with a bird day after day--both lit- erally, such as his successful breeding of wood- peckers in captivity, and figuratively in terms of his patient, silent rendezvous with wild birds in their natural habitats on their terms. To be sure, hypothesis testing, experimenta- tion, modern statistical analyses, and computer modeling contribute much to our understand- ing of bird biology. But in our rush to "do" sci- ence, we all too often lose sight of the first step of the scientific method: to observe. Lawrence Kilham took that first step that has allowed so many others to climb higher. Although he for- mally mentored no graduate students in orni- thology, I considered him a de facto mentor and recommend his philosophy, as described in On Watching Birds, to those who wish to under- stand nature. Goethe believed that a good book can only be understood by one who has some- thing personal to contribute; in essence, Kil- ham viewed nature as a book to be read and felt that those who personally experience nature can best understand it. Observe first. Then build on those observations; with personal ex- perience, books and journal articles become more meaningful. Lawrence Kilham outlived his wife, Jane, and a son, Peter. He is survived by three sons, Ben- jamin, Michael, and Joshua, and a daughter, Phoebe. The Auk 118(4):1033-1034, 2001 IN MEMORIAM: PHILLIPS B. STREET, 1914-2000 JEROME A. JACKSON Whitaker Center, College of Arts and Sciences, Florida Gulf Coast University, 10501 FGCU Boulevard South, Ft. Myers, Florida 33965, USA Phillips B. Street died at Pocono Lake, Pre- serve, Pennsylvania, on 5 August 2000; he was born in Beverly, New Jersey, on 28 October 1914. His father, J. Fletcher Street, an architect by profession and ornithologist by avocation, encouraged his interest; Phil became en- thralled with birds at an early age. He earned a bachelor's degree in Ornithology under Ar- thur Allen from Cornell University in 1935. Lacking the funds to go on to graduate school, Phil went to work in the investment business and made that his career. He joined the U.S. Navy in 1941, served in the South Pacific during World War II, and retired from the Navy as a Commander in 1945. On leaving military service, Phil worked in investment banking, retiring in 1979 as Vice President of First Boston Corporation. He later became an investment consultant. Significant- ly, Phil put his investment expertise to work for ornithology. He had become acquainted with George Sutton while both were at Cornell, and Sutton encouraged Phil's involvement with the Wilson Ornithological Society (WOS). Phil served the WOS as Secretary from 1952 to 1955, Vice President, then as President from 1962 to 1964. Throughout his involvement with the WOS, but especially following his term as Pres- ident, Phil guided the Endowment Committee in their investments. He rarely missed a Coun- cil Meeting and the Wilson Council was always eager for his insight and guidance. Phil's efforts as an Investing Trustee contributed greatly to the growth in the Wilson endowment from un- der $40,000 in 1964 to more than $1,000,000 in 2000. Phil joined the AOU in 1946 and became an Elective Member in 1952. He also shared his investment expertise with the AOU and with the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology as an investment trustee. From 1961 to 1967, he served on the Board of Directors of the Na- tional Audubon Society. At the local level, Phil served the Delaware Valley Ornithological Club (DVOC) as Secretary (1949-1951), Vice 
work_x6jqueqbobfublwhhdkrgvvsea	----	HTTP500 内部服务器出错11 http500错误 http 500内部服务器错误，请与管理员联系。 请尝试以下操作： ·打开主页，然后查找指向您感兴趣信息的链接。 ·单击后退链接，尝试其他链接。 错误：javax.servlet.ServletException: java.lang.NumberFormatException: null 错误码：500 异常：null exception:javax.servlet.ServletException: java.lang.NumberFormatException: null cause:java.lang.NumberFormatException: null message:java.lang.NumberFormatException: null localizedMessage:java.lang.NumberFormatException: null stackTrace:javax.servlet.ServletException: java.lang.NumberFormatException: null at org.apache.struts.action.RequestProcessor.processException(RequestProcessor.java:535) at org.apache.struts.action.RequestProcessor.processActionPerform(RequestProcessor.java:433) at org.apache.struts.action.RequestProcessor.process(RequestProcessor.java:236) at org.apache.struts.action.ActionServlet.process(ActionServlet.java:1196) at org.apache.struts.action.ActionServlet.doGet(ActionServlet.java:414) at 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work_xbircvnigrf45fz7frwrmzabvy	----	���������������������������������� The “Quietude of Conscience” and the Magnetism of Sound: Listening to Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The House of the Seven Gables r e b e c c a h b e c h t o l d I N his American Notebooks, Nathaniel Hawthorne recordsa moment of stillness on a warm Concord day in 1844. Resting in a “shallow space scooped out among the woods,” he reflects on the “peculiar impressiveness” of “being made acquainted with the flight of the bird” from only the “shadow” that “flits across a sunny spot.” It “affects the mind,” he writes, “more than if the eye had actually seen it.”1 In his emphasis on the interplay between light and dark, of shadow and substance, Hawthorne’s description evokes what will become in the pref- ace to The House of the Seven Gables his definition of the “Ro- mance.” In Hawthorne’s words, the writer of the “Romance,” unlike that of the “Novel,” must “manage his atmospherical medium as to bring out or mellow the lights and deepen and enrich the shadows of the picture.” Only then can he avoid “im- pal[ing] the story with its moral.”2 Here, as Alan Trachtenberg explains, the “mode of ‘Romance’ ” becomes merely “another kind of mimesis, atmospheric, shadowed, faithful to that which flits away.”3 It is a reminder of things “unseen,” or to return 1Nathaniel Hawthorne, “American Notebooks,” The Centenary Edition of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne, ed. Claude M. Simpson (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1972), 8:245, 247. 2Nathaniel Hawthorne, The House of the Seven Gables (New York: Modern Library, 2001), 3, 4. Subsequent citations of the novel will appear in the text. 3Alan Trachtenberg, “Seeing and Believing: Hawthorne’s Reflections on the Da- guerreotype in The House of the Seven Gables,” American Literary History 9 (1996): The New England Quarterly, vol. XC, no. 1 (March 2017). C© 2017 by The New England Quarterly. All rights reserved. doi:10.1162/TNEQ a 00585. 69 70 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY to Hawthorne’s American Notebooks, of “how narrow, scanty, and meager” our “observations” are when “compared with the immensity” of what could be.4 But it is not only sunshine “glimmer[ing] through shadow” that makes visible the objects flittering just outside of Hawthorne’s field of vision.5 The “shallow space” Hawthorne inhabits also is populated by sounds that shape his perception of a world just outside his vision’s reach. Indeed, sounds do not merely occupy “a neutral environment,” as Alexander Fisher reminds us, but are responsible for “creating a sense of space for auditors.”6 In this way, the sounds surrounding Hawthorne’s private retreat—his “acoustic horizon”—provide knowledge of sites unseen.7 A bird clearly chirps somewhere “overhead,” yet its exact location remains “hidden” from Hawthorne’s search- ing eyes. So too does he gain aural awareness of the “village clock” despite its distance: its remote chimes sound “distinctly upon the ear,” carried by a breeze gently shaking the white pines around him. Even the sounds of “mowers whetting their scythes” in some far-off field find their way to Hawthorne’s pri- vate retreat. These muted “sounds of labor”—like the “tinkling of a cow-bell” whose dissonant noise, because faraway, becomes “musical” to Hawthorne’s ears—“do but increase the quiet of 460-81, at 461. Much has been made of the relationship of daguerreotypy to Hawthorne’s definition of the romance. See Cathy Davidson, “Photographs of the Dead: Sherman, Daguerre, Hawthorne,” South Atlantic Quarterly 89 (1990): 667-700; Lara Langer Cohen, “What’s Wrong with This Picture? Daguerreotypy and Magic in The House of the Seven Gables,” Arizona Quarterly 60 (2004): 39-69; and Marcy Dinius, The Camera and the Press: American Visual and Print Culture in the Age of the Daguerreotype (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012), 49-85. 4Hawthorne, “American Notebooks,” 247, 250. 5Hawthorne, “American Notebooks,” 246. 6Music, Piety, and Propaganda: The Soundscape of Counter-Reformation Bavaria (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 11. Similarly, Steven Connor describes how sound “inhabits and occupies space; and it also actively procures space for itself . . . because [it] . . . is space.” Dumbstruck: A Cultural History of Ventriloquism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 12. 7Barry Blesser and Linda-Ruth Salter define an “acoustic horizon” as “the maximum distance between a listener and a source of sound where the sonic event can still be heard.” Spaces Speak, Are you Listening? Experiencing Aural Architecture (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2007), 22. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 71 one who lies at his ease,” evoking, rather than destroying, the “sacredness of the Sabbath.”8 Echoes of a world far distant, yet perceived as if near at hand, these documented sounds become a record of Hawthorne’s au- rally expanding worldview, of “events heard, not objects seen.”9 Still, the reality they represent—the steady grind of blade against stone, the gentle amble of cattle—has already passed in the time it takes for these sounds to reach Hawthorne’s ears, let alone for him to capture them on paper. They are a spiritual haunting of what once was, of the “lostness of past time.” 10 For even in the “bottomless depths of quiet” can the memory of sound still resonate with past life. “Thank God, there are echoes of voices in my heart,” Hawthorne wrote to an absent Sophia in 1847, “else I should die of this marble silence.”11 Even more than sight, then sound captures Hawthorne’s def- inition of the “Romance,” connecting “a bygone time with the very present that is flitting away” (4). Indeed Hawthorne would later identify the historicity of sound as its primary draw,writing in Seven Gables of how sound’s “charm lay chiefly in the past”—the way in which its “brisk life” and “sunshiny exis- tence” preserved in the present the “dissonance of yore” (139- 40). Despite such statements, little consideration has been paid to Hawthorne’s use of sound and silence in The House of the Seven Gables; scholars instead tend to read Hawthorne’s 1851 novel as mainly engaged with the visual.12 These readings, while 8Hawthorne, “American Notebooks,” 246-48. 9R. Murray Schafer, The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World (Rochester: Destiny Books, 1994), 8. Schafer is attributed with coining the term “soundscape.” 10“If there are such things as natural symbols,” Jonathan Rée observes, “then sounds are surely the natural symbol of transience and the lostness of past time. They are essentially evanescent, an exact correlative of wistfulness and poignant regret.” I See a Voice: Deafness, Language and the Senses—A Philosophical History (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1999), 23-24. 11Nathaniel Hawthorne, “The Letters, 1843-1853,” The Centenary Edition of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne, ed. Thomas Woodson et al. (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1985), 16:212. 12Sean J. Kelly contends that Hawthorne “utilizes the artistic metaphor of chiaroscuro” as a “useful visual correlative for the literary romance” in “Hawthorne’s ‘Material Ghosts’: Photographic Realism and Liminal Selfhood in The House of the 72 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY persuasive, favor an ocularcentric methodology that could be usefully expanded by a study of sound. As soundscape historian Mark Smith reminds us, “There is no compelling reason why we should ‘read’ the past solely through the visual in order to gain ‘perspective.’ ”13 As recent historians of the book have shown, bibliographic culture in Hawthorne’s time extended beyond the printed word, engaging with “a variety of non-print, non-book, and non-text practices and sites.” Nineteenth-century reading habits too revealed an “increasingly sophisticated intermedial sensibility” that assumed a level of aurality/orality far differ- ent from today’s more silent modes of reading.14 For many nineteenth-century Americans, reading aloud was “a form of sociality” highly encouraged for its beneficial impact.15 As Ly- dia Maria Child explained in The Mother’s Book, “The habit of taking turns to read interesting books aloud,” along with the practice of listening to music, “has a very salutary effect for whole families” for it “tends to produce refinement of taste.”16 Hawthorne was not immune to the period’s developing inter- est in intermediality. He was particularly mindful of how tech- nological changes in book publishing affected his readership. Seven Gables.” Papers on Language and Literature 47 (2011): 228. Shawn Michelle Smith similarly turns to the novel’s “visual architectures” in American Archives: Gen- der, Race, and Class in Visual Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 8. 13Mark Smith, Listening to Nineteenth-Century America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001), 262. For other American soundscape studies, see Kala Keeling and Josh Kun, eds., Sound Clash: Listening to American Studies (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2012) and Mark M. Smith, ed., Hearing History: A Reader (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2004). 14Andrew Piper, Dreaming in Books: The Making of the Bibliographic Imagination in the Romantic Age (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 16, 185. Michael Cohen further explains how readers adopted a “diverse set of practices that include acts of quoting, reciting, memorizing, rewriting, parodying, reading collectively, reading aloud, exchanging, scrapbooking, cataloging, editing, anthologizing, and transcribing” written works. The Social Lives of Poems in Nineteenth-Century America (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015), 10. 15“Until the advent of the new forms of leisure after the First World War,” Peter Middleton explains, the “ordinary experience for almost everyone . . . included partic- ipation in groups listening to texts read aloud.” “The Contemporary Poetry Reading,” Close Listening: Poetry and the Performed Word, ed. Charles Bernstein (Oxford: Ox- ford University Press, 1998), 272-73. 16Lydia Maria Child, The Mother’s Book (Boston: Carter, Hendee, and Babcock, 1831), 155. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 73 Hawthorne wrote to his editor J. T. Fields, for instance, of his willingness to include a wooden engraving of his likeness alongside his biography, noting he “should not have the least objection . . . to be diffused over the whole habitable globe” even if this “sort of monstrosity” inevitably made him “look like . . . a block-head.”17 Still, Hawthorne resisted adding his Cephas Thompson portrait to The House of the Seven Gables, explain- ing to Fields “it appears to me an improper accompaniment to a new work.”18 Hawthorne, however, actively embraced the aural dimensions of his novel. Early in 1851, he read his manuscript aloud to Sophia whose critical ear he had come to trust. Only “after going over it in that way,” he told Fields on January 12th, would he “know better what to think of it.”19 She “speaks so near me that I cannot tell her voice from my own,” he later declared of his wife’s editorial skill.20 Making audible that which has gone too often unheard in Hawthorne scholarship thus offers insights not only into the listening practices of a nineteenth-century readership but also of Hawthorne’s own perception of his story-telling role. Indeed, Hawthorne was far from deaf to the potentialities of sound as The House of the Seven Gables attests. From the persistent ringing of Hepzibah Pyncheon’s shop bell to the unrelenting ticking of a watch, Hawthorne’s tale detailing seven genera- tions of “wrong-doing” is haunted by a vast array of auralities, all of which disclose, although in differing ways, the politics 17Hawthorne offered another assessment in a May 20, 1851 letter to Louisa Hawthorne asking “Have you seen a horrible wood engraving of me which, with as horrible a biography, has been circulating in the Magazines and newspapers?” “The Letters, 1843-1853,” 400, 433. 18Hawthorne, “The Letters, 1843-1853,” 398. 19Hawthorne, “The Letters, 1843-1853,” 382. The Hawthornes regularly engaged in the practice of reading aloud. Julian Hawthorne described both parents as “good readers; there were music, variety, and expression in every tone, and the charm of feeling that the reader was in sympathy with the reading” in Nathaniel Hawthorne and His Wife: A Biography, 2 (Boston: James R. Osgood and Company, 1885): 8-9, 376. Sophia similarly described her “husband’s voice” as the “best music,” Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Memories of Hawthorne (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1897), 143. 20Nathaniel Hawthorne, “The Letters, 1857-1864,” The Centenary Edition of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne, ed. Thomas Woodson et al. (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1987), 18:256. 74 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY of audibility emerging in the United States in the antebellum period (4). To be sure, late eighteenth-century listening prac- tices in the United States encouraged, as Kala Keeling and Josh Kun observe, “an exclusionary auditory politics of self, citizen, and Other” that “render[ed] sonically incomprehen- sible or silent the Others that freedom refused.”21 Still, the expansion of industrial markets and the resulting urban growth in Hawthorne’s lifetime drastically shifted how New Englan- ders heard the world around them, developing what Henry David Thoreau would call in 1854 “the broad, flapping Amer- ican ear.”22 It is this emerging soundscape, and the listening practices it imposes, that Hawthorne interrogates in The House of the Seven Gables, a novel that proves to be particularly in- terested in the impact of these developing auditory-acoustic structures on constructions of the self. But even as Hawthorne’s contemporaries were learning to tune out the dissonances of this new aural landscape, others were trying to tune in to the ephemeral, and often contested, audile manifestations emanating from the spectral realm. By 1848, the year Margaret and Kate Fox claimed to hear mys- terious knockings in their New York home, spirit rappings, spirit concerts, speaking in tongues, and other such aural dis- turbances were well on their way to becoming commonplace occurrences for religious enthusiasts seeking to eavesdrop on the supernatural world. It is to these spiritual soundings, in all their dissonances and discords, that Hawthorne’s The House of the Seven Gables finally turns, offering a competing, and at times corrective, aurality to the destabilizing force of the modern world, all the while recognizing sound’s relationship “to the sacral, to the ultimate concerns of existence.”23 For in 21Introduction to Sound Clash, 11. 22Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, Walden; or Life in the Woods, The Main Woods, Cape Cod (New York: The Library of America, 1985), 364. 23Walter Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (New York: Methuen, 1982), 72. While Hawthorne’s aversion to mesmerism and Spiritualist prac- tices has been well noted, nothing critical has been said of Hawthorne’s attention to the magnetic power of sound despite its portrayal in antebellum discourse as a LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 75 Hawthorne’s handling it is this “quietude of conscience” (230), and not the “ugly noise” of the modern world (99), that deserves a second listen. Early in The House of the Seven Gables, Hepzibah Pyncheon first hears what becomes her curse. Resting anxiously in the “oaken elbow-chair” that once held her dead ancestor, Colonel Pyncheon, she is “startled by the tinkling alarum—high, sharp, and irregular—of a little bell.” The bell’s ringing, however “ugly and spiteful” its “little din” may seem to Hepzibah’s aristocratic ears, merely registers her entry into “the united struggle of mankind,” or so her first customer, the daguerreotypist Hol- grave, kindly tries to tell her (38-40). Yet Hepzibah has lived a life relatively removed from the aural disturbances of the nine- teenth century’s expanding market, only eavesdropping on the town’s bustling trade—the “jingle-jangle” of the baker’s cart and the “harsh peal of a fisherman’s conch-shell”—from the comfort and security of her home. Economic necessity, though, has forced Hepzibah to join the working classes, engendering a “great life-trial” that wrecks havoc on her aural sensibilities (37). What is perhaps a relatively unobtrusive sound for those more familiar with the marketplace is, then, for Hepzibah par- ticularly unsettling. “Ring as often as it might,” the narrator writes of the shop’s bell, “the sound always smote upon her nervous system rudely and suddenly” (69). The emergence of an industrial-capitalist society in the first half of the century generated concerns over sound’s impact on everyday life. The rapid growth of cities and factories pro- duced a level of noise that contrasted sharply with the com- parative quiet of the eighteenth century’s preindustrial society. For some, these modern sounds of industry were welcomed medium capable of achieving mesmeric exchange. For Hawthorne’s interactions with mesmerism, see Taylor Stoehr, “Hawthorne and Mesmerism,” Huntington Library Quarterly 33 (1969): 33-60 and Samuel Chase Coale, Mesmerism and Hawthorne: Mediums of American Romance (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1998). 76 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY as evidence of northern economic progress, an attitude Michel Chevalier conveyed in his 1839 assessment of New England’s bustling trade. To his ears, the “noise of hammers, of spindles, of bells calling the hands to their work” common to northeast- ern factory towns merely sounded like the “peaceful hum of an industrious population.”24 Not all, however, were as in tune to the auditory intensity of urban life. Anti-noise advocates sought out ordinances to ensure the “natural and constitutional right . . . to worship God without molestation or disturbance” on the Sabbath.25 Local authorities similarly responded to noise com- plaints, proposing legislation to regulate what was considered by many to be unnecessary noise. One 1844 bill, for instance, recommended that those who “engage in any tumultuous or dis- orderly noise,” including “open profanity or indecent language,” should be “committed to the work-house.”26 Others took a less aggressive approach, merely complaining of modernity’s inva- sive aurality as Hawthorne did when he wrote resentfully of a locomotive’s “long shriek” disturbing the “slumberous peace” of his Concord morning Sabbath in 1844. Its “harsh” sound, he complained, told “of all unquietness”—of “busy men, citizens, from the hot street.”27 To this unquiet world Hawthorne turns in The House of the Seven Gables’ opening chapters when detailing the noisy auditory culture that surrounds Hepzibah’s cent-shop. Even though Hepzibah walks on “tiptoe” throughout her store, her 24Michel Chevalier, Society, Manners and Politics in the United States: Being a Series of Letters on North America (Boston: Weeks, Jordan and Company, 1839), 129. See also Smith, Listening to Nineteenth-Century America, chaps. 4, 5. 25Cited in Isaac Weiner, Religion Out Loud: Religious Sound, Public Space, and American Pluralism (New York: New York University Press, 2014), 27. 26Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States: Being the First Session of the Twenty-Eighth Congress (Washington: Blair and Rives, 1844), 1055. Such rulings were often met with resistance by tradesmen who argued that “noise was a kind of public information.” Susan Davis, Parades and Power: Street Theater in Nineteenth-Century Philadelphia (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1986), 30. 27Hawthorne, “American Notebooks,” 248-49. Hawthorne’s sound sensitivity may have been augmented by Sophia’s headaches, which were “typically tripped off by unexpected noises.” T. Walter Herbert, Dearest Beloved: The Hawthornes and the Making of the Middle-Class Family (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 38. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 77 entry into the fast-paced world of commodity consumption is anything but quiet. She unbars the door with a “most astound- ing clatter” and, fleeing from the sound, wishes instead for “her quiet grave” (36-37, 39). A series of unpleasant noises, however, follow her throughout the day. The cent-shop’s “creaking” door is “thrust open” with a “characteristic jerk and jar,” rattling the “little bell” so “spitefully” that its sound “played the very deuce with Hepzibah’s nerves.” Her ears are further assaulted by the “muttering” of an inebriated man and the sharp “rebuke” of a “fire-ruddy housewife” disappointed in the store’s wares. Their “familiar, if not rude tone” offends her “lady-like sensibilities” for it all too clearly reveals that they “considered themselves not merely her equals, but her patrons and superiors” (45, 46, 48-49). While Hepzibah comes to appreciate the “jingled” noise her hard-earned copper coins make as they drop “into the till” (72), the cent-shop’s other auralities ultimately disturb her “ideas of gentility,” making her too keenly feel her own artificial place as a lady in society (69). “I was born a lady,” she tells Holgrave, “but I consider that has past” (40-41). The cent-shop scenes thus acknowledge how the market’s democratization in the early nineteenth century reconfigured existing social relations in distinctively aural ways. Yet little critical consideration has been paid to this aural environment as scholars have privileged instead the spectatorial nature of these opening passages. As several recent critics have noted, Hepzibah’s decision to open a cent-shop in her home essen- tially invites “the market into her private life,” allowing, in Hawthorne’s words, “strange and unloving eyes” the “privilege of gazing” upon her and her shop (42).28 Of this passage Shawn Michelle Smith writes, “The familiar gaze terrifies Hepzibah Pyncheon, as it symbolically dismantles the privileges of class 28“Hepzibah’s decline from gentility forces her to open a cent-shop in her home, and by introducing the market into her private life, she becomes a target both of town gossip and the physical intrusion of the town’s people.” Milette Shamir, Inexpressible Privacy: The Interior Life of Antebellum American Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 163. Gillian Brown writes similarly of this scene in Domestic Individualism: Imagining Self in Nineteenth-Century America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 82. 78 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY hierarchy. Thus, it is . . . her subjection to public scrutiny on intimate terms that transforms Hepzibah from a lady into a plebian woman.”29 However, it is the sounds of the market- place, and not its sights, that initially inform Hepzibah of the public’s interest in her shop. In the relative quiet of the morn- ing, she “listen[s]” with “beating heart” to “the footsteps of early passengers” as they linger outside her shop, sounds that evoke a “sense of overwhelming shame” in Hepzibah as she awaits the public’s appraisal of her shop (42). This appraisal comes soon enough in a conversation Hep- zibah has the misfortune to overhear between “two laboring men” stopping before the shop door. Their “rough voices,” clearly heard through the cent-shop’s thin walls, offer an unflat- tering evaluation of her business and her trademark scowl. “For some reason or other, not very easy to analyze,” Hawthorne writes, “there had hardly been so bitter a pang in all her previ- ous misery about the matter, as what thrilled Hepzibah’s heart, on overhearing the above conversation” (42, 43). Here, Hep- zibah’s ability to identify the men as laborers by their voices alone underscores sound’s function in the modern period as an aural marker of class. But this passage also reveals the laboring classes’ emerging authority in the new global market as well, illustrating a type of “acoustic dominance” in the two men’s ap- parent disregard for who might hear them.30 Forced to listen to their “coarse laugh” and degrading remarks as they stand outside her home-turned-shop, the once-aristocratic Hepzibah can only silently feel, with a “bitter . . . pang,” the “misery” of her new position (43). 29American Archives, 27. Many have remarked on the cent-shop’s centrality to the novel as signaling the Pyncheon family’s continued reliance on an exploitative mercantilism. Paul Gilmore suggests that Hepzibah participates in “racial exploitation” when she sells, among other commodities, a Jim Crow gingerbread man. But if the cent-shop indicates Hepzibah’s complicity, however reluctant, in an economic system dependent upon the marginalization of others, he points out that it effectively reveals the “dangers of the marketplace” to her sense of self. The Genuine Article: Race, Mass Culture, and American Literary Manhood (Durham: Duke University Press, 2001), 129-31. 30Weiner defines “acoustic dominance” as “not so much a matter of drowning out all other sounds with one’s voice, but of being able to take for granted the right to do so without complaint.” Religion Out Loud, 20. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 79 Hepzibah’s silence amidst the cent-shop’s “rude” tones ul- timately suggests her own cultural alienation, her struggle to maintain her family’s longstanding tradition of economic con- trol, as well as the nineteenth century’s more general inabil- ity to regulate the urban market’s expanding soundscape in a manner palatable to middle-class taste. Read in this way, the cent-shop’s sonic environment becomes a kind of “map,” to bor- row from Jacques Attali’s cultural study of noise, that “specifies power, because it marks the rare noises that cultures, in their normalization of behavior, see fit to authorize.”31 Nowhere is sound’s function as a signal of social power more clearly expe- rienced by Hepzibah than in the shop-bell’s repetitive ringing. Its persistent clamor—variously described as an “alarum” (38), a “sharp and peevish tinkle,” a “hateful clamor,” “an ugly noise,” a “naughty little tinkle” (98, 99), and a “vulgar . . . dissonance” (19), among other epithets—infiltrates the shop’s sonic space. The bell’s “peevishly obstreperous” timing not only interrupts Hepzibah’s sense of leisure, calling her from a breakfast ta- ble luxuriously spread with “crested tea-spoons and antique china” but also reminds Hepzibah of her own commodification within the shop’s walls (69). To its ringing, the narrator writes, “[t]he maiden lady arose upon her feet, as pale as ghost at cock-crow; for she was an enslaved spirit, and this the talis- man to which she owed obedience” (38). Like the Pyncheon men who are cursed with a “habitual,” but “not altogether voluntary,” “ingurgitation” in the throat (108), so too is Hep- zibah cursed to respond in body, if not in mind, to the shop- bell’s “ugly and spiteful little din” (38). Her heart, the narrator writes, “seemed to be attached to the same steel spring” and “went through a series of sharp jerks, in unison with the sound” (44). The acoustic environment of the cent-shop, and the struc- tures of listening it imposes, thus accentuates sound’s function as a regulatory power, one that “compels silence” in those who 31Brian Massumi, trans., Noise: The Political Economy of Music (Minneapolis: Uni- versity of Minnesota Press, 1985), 19-20. 80 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY have no choice but to listen.32 Even more than Hepzibah, how- ever, her brother Clifford experiences the deafening power of silence and the social alienation it produces as an inmate of Boston’s penitentiary system. Imprisoned for thirty years for a crime he did not commit, Clifford returns to the seven-gabled house a changed man. The prison’s lack of “intellectual cul- ture,” the narrator explains, introduces a “coarseness” into his otherwise “high-wrought and delicately refined” nature (93, 94); a kind of “abortive decay” has “transformed” Clifford “into the simplest child” (189). Though the narrator comments exten- sively on the effects of Clifford’s incarceration, Hawthorne is curiously silent on the years Clifford has spent in prison, only noting that his sentence was mitigated at some point “from death to perpetual imprisonment” (21). Convicted of his uncle’s murder, Clifford’s punishment oc- curred at a moment in which the United States was changing the theories that shaped its penal system. Late eighteenth- century reformers like Benjamin Rush advocated the efficacy of rehabilitation over corporeal punishments including the death penalty. Capital punishment for even severe crimes like mur- der, Rush argued, was “contrary to the order and happiness of society . . . [as well as] contrary to divine revelation.” In its stead, Rush proposed in his 1798 Enquiry into the Consistency of the Punishment of Murder by Death a more lenient “scale of pun- ishment,” reserving solitary confinement—strict “solitude and darkness, and a total want of employment”—for convicts like Clifford imprisoned for the “first or highest degree of guilt.”33 In the 1820s, the period of Clifford’s imprisonment, the American penal system was being rebuilt following these En- lightenment reforms, including architectural renovations with 32Attali is speaking of the “monotonous and repeated noise of machines imposing silence on the workers.” Noise, 121. Maria O’Malley comments on the frequency in which Hawthorne’s “women, no matter how vibrant, eventually fall silent.” “Taking the Domestic View in Hawthorne’s Fiction,” The New England Quarterly 88 (2015): 657. 33Benjamin Rush, Essays, Literary, Moral and Philosophical (Philadelphia: Thomas and William Bradford, 1806), 165, 175. Michel Kronenwetter explains that Rush’s En- quiry was initially given as a public address. Capital Punishment: A Reference Hand- book, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Contemporary World Issues, 2001), 180. The Enquiry was later reprinted in Essays Literary, Moral and Philosophical, from which I take my citations. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 81 special cells for solitary confinement and prison directives in- corporating silence as a part of inmates’ daily schedules. Pris- oners in the New York Auburn system, the model Hawthorne may have had in mind when he wrote Seven Gables, were al- lowed to congregate in the prison’s open work areas, but were expected to labor silently.34 William Crawford’s 1834 review of penitentiaries in the United States warned, however, that even this labor model “inevitably” provided prisoners with “re- course to other modes of communication.” For this reason, he recommended strict solitary confinement as “not only an ex- emplary punishment, but a powerful agent in the reformation of morals.”35 An 1826 report by the Boston Prison Discipline Society similarly justified solitary confinement’s moral benefits, explaining that of all punishments, such isolation was “likely to lead . . . men to reflection and remorse.”36 Isolated from friends and family and kept in perpetual silence, it is no wonder that inmates would come to believe they were “literally buried from the world,” as the Auburn warden informed prisoners in 1826.37 Hawthorne would of course repeat this tomb-like imagery in Seven Gables when his own “long-buried man,” Clifford, is finally “summoned forth from his living tomb” (21). Both Hepzibah and Clifford thus come to experience, al- though in differing ways, sound’s capacity to regulate their public and private lives in a mode destructive to their 34Massachusetts State Prison was based on the Auburn system of punishment and employed a form of solitary confinement that “left the inmates alone and idle for long stretches of time” and even created a wing for “uninterrupted isolation.” Caleb Smith, The Prison and the American Imagination (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 63, 82. 35William Crawford, Report of William Crawford, Esq.: On the Penitentiaries of the United States (London: Irish University Press, 1834), 41-42. 36First Annual Report of the Board of Managers of the Prison Discipline Society, Boston, June 2, 1826 (Boston: Perkins and Marvin, 1830), 7. For a “Sybarite” like Clifford, solitude was considered a particularly effective mode of punishment, or so the authors of the Boston report claimed: “If a man has been fond of society; if his mind has been cultivated; if his sensibility is acute; solitary confinement is a terrible punishment. If, on the contrary, the man is a mere animal . . . solitary confinement is much less severe than stripes.” Compare Seven Gables, 95 to First Annual Report, 18. 37Cited in Philip F. Gura’s introduction to Buried from the World: Inside the Mas- sachusetts State Prison, 1829-1831 (Boston: Massachusetts Historical Society, 2001), xi. 82 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY self-actualization. In the self-imposed prison of the cent-shop, Hepzibah may suffer from sound’s excess, forced to listen to the dissonance and destabilizing noise of the marketplace that in turn reveals her own lack of autonomy, her silence within this sonic world. Her act of listening, however, is still gen- erative, providing at least the semblance of aural connection. Her brother on the other hand arguably has faced a worse fate. While incarcerated, he abides in sound’s absence. For thirty years Clifford has essentially lived as a mute in the “close prison-atmosphere,” denied any meaningful auditory engage- ment with the world (189). Fittingly, Clifford’s release also marks his reemergence into sound, however tentative it may be. On the night of his return to his ancestral home, Clifford’s cousin Phoebe overhears the “murmur of an unknown voice,” the sound of which was “strangely indistinct . . . less like ar- ticulate words than an unshaped sound.” “So vague was it,” the narrator clarifies, “that its impression or echo, in Phoebe’s mind, was that of unreality” (84). Clifford’s voice, at least as Phoebe hears it, captures his liminal state as someone “unshaped” by his prison experience. Like his voice Clifford is a “material ghost” (92), “an indistinct shadow” of something that resembles, but does not become, “human utterance” (85). However, his reentry into aurality, from the nothingness of silence to the “shadow,” “murmur” and “echo” of sound, does at least confirm a hesitant return to life. As Mladen Dolar explains, “complete silence is . . . like death, while the voice is the first sign of life.”38 Although not one to “converse” with others, Clifford does indulge his auditory senses upon his release, surrounding himself with sound (119).39 But finding Hepzibah’s voice too “harsh”—a 38“The Linguistics of the Voice” in The Sound Studies Reader, ed. Jonathan Sterne (New York: Routledge, 2012), 540. For studies on vocal expression in early America and the importance of orality/aurality, see Jay Fliegelman, Declaring Independence: Jefferson, Natural Language, and the Culture of Performance (Stanford: Stanford Uni- versity Press, 1993); Sandra Gustafson, Eloquence Is Power: Oratory & Performance in Early America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000); and Carolyn Eastman, A Nation of Speechifiers: Making an American Public after the Revolution (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009). 39Clifford’s rehabilitation involves a kind of sound immersion therapy increasingly encouraged by mid-nineteenth-century prison reformers. George Combe warned that a LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 83 “kind of croak . . . as if the voice had been dyed black”— Clifford instead attaches to his young cousin whose “native gush and play of her spirit” makes her “especially necessary” to his rehabilitation. “[S]eldom perfectly quiet,” Phoebe eases Clifford’s “blighted” life through sound, reading and singing to him to pass the time. “So long as Phoebe sang,” the narrator explains, “Clifford was content” (116, 119, 120). Hawthorne’s representation of sound’s therapeutic dimen- sions in these passages gestures toward what Walter Ong de- fines as the “interiorizing quality of sound and thus of voice.”40 Unlike the printed word which merely encourages a reader to enter “into his or her own private reading world,” reading aloud maintains the “unity of the audience.” In this way it connects speaker and listener through the shared experience of sound, “manifest[ing] human beings to one another as conscious inte- riors, as persons.”41 Listening to Phoebe read tells Clifford little of what was contained within the literature itself for it is not the “pictures of life” or “scenes of passions” that interests him, but rather Phoebe herself (126). “He read Phoebe,” the narrator explains, “as he would a sweet and simple story; he listened to her, as if she were a verse of household poetry, which God, in requital of his bleak and dismal lot, had permitted some angel, that most pitied him, to warble through the house” (123). To Clifford’s ears at least, Phoebe’s voice discloses sound’s connec- tion “to the ultimate concerns of existence,” offering proof of God’s recompense for Clifford’s “bleak and dismal lot” through its soothing tones.42 Yet these quiet exchanges between cousins in the end recom- mend a form of sociality far different from the pressing silence prisoner should not be kept in solitary confinement up to the “very day of his liberation,” but rather “advanced to greater and greater degrees of liberty, of self-regulation, and of social enjoyment.” “Letter from Mr. Combe to the Editor,” The Phrenological Journal and Magazine of Moral Science 16 (1843): 14-16. See also Janet Floyd, “Dislocations of the Self: Eliza Farnham at Sing Sing Prison,” Journal of American Studies 40 (2006): 311-25 at 313. 40The Presence of the Word: Some Prolegomena for Cultural and Religious History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967), 146. 41Ong, Orality and Literacy, 72. 42Ong, Orality and Literacy, 72. 84 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY of Clifford’s cell. Made sacred by her own “spiritual force,” Phoebe’s soundings effectively reshape Clifford’s world, awak- ening within him “a perception, or a sympathy” that seemed to solidify his own “place . . . in the whole sympathetic chain of human nature” (119, 122-23). When read in this way, Clifford’s imaginative translation of Phoebe’s voice into text—his desire to read her as she reads and sings aloud to him—ultimately exposes what sound, unlike sight, could offer both Hawthorne and his readership: a type of sociality that preserves, as it re- veals, “the deep interior and essentially private consciousness” of another.43 Uniting in sympathy with the sounds around her, be they the “twittering gayety of the robins in the pear-tree” or the anguished “vague moan of” her cousin, Phoebe’s voice offers a striking contrast to the ugly sounds and silences of the modern world that have controlled, and continue to control, her cousins’ lives (119). However, it is only when Clifford abandons the “unwhole- some atmosphere” (224) of his ancestral home—a “silent and impenetrable mansion” that too closely resembles Clifford’s earlier prison (250)—for the “rumble and tumult” of the train does his voice find full expression. Here, Clifford feels he has discovered “life itself” as he listens to the passengers’ “peals of laughter” (220-21). To their cries Clifford’s voice responds in turn. “For the first time in thirty years,” he tells Hepz- ibah, “my thoughts gush up and find words ready for them. I must talk, and I will” (226). For Clifford, the railroad of- fers a brief respite from the social isolation of his past life, connecting him to the lives of others in its “inevitable move- ment onward” (221). Indeed its rapid speed provides evidence, like the telegraph, of how the “world of matter has become a great nerve, vibrating thousands of miles in a breathless point of time” (227). It embodies, to borrow from Paul Gilmore’s 43As Ong explains, oral communication allows us “to participate in” another’s “in- wardness as well as our own” but in a “noninterfering” way, unlike our other senses which are more transgressive in nature, “violat[ing] the interior” of others. Presence of the Word, 122, 125, 146. When Holgrave reads aloud to Phoebe, he reinforces this model of authorship by refusing to mesmerize her out of “reverence for another’s individuality.” Hawthorne, House, 182. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 85 analysis of the “techno-utopian” discourse prominent in the era, the “very fluidity of the material and spiritual worlds.”44 In Clifford’s assessment such technology is an “almost spiri- tual medium” that only “should be consecrated to high, deep, joyful, and holy missions.” Yet he is ultimately mistaken in his assessment of the railway’s “spiritual” power (227). What Clif- ford “imagines . . . as enabling one vast interconnected realm of private intimacy,” Gilmore writes of this passage, is ultimately destroyed by “its public uses.”45 The train’s “hurried career” is, in the end, just a “dream.” Rather than lead Hepzibah and Clifford on a “holy” mission, its “whirlwind speed” instead takes them “nowhere” (219-20, 224). They disembark at a “solitary way-station” where, no longer supported by the “powerful ex- citement” of the modern world, Clifford’s verbosity returns to a “torpid and reluctant utterance” that soon subsides into si- lence. Only the “sullen wind” and Hepzibah’s fervent prayer break the quiet of the scene: “ ‘Oh God!’—ejaculated poor, gaunt Hepzibah,—then paused a moment to consider what her prayer should be—‘Oh God—our Father—are we not thy chil- dren? Have mercy on us!’ ” (228-29). Does Hepzibah’s prayer go unheard? To the devout, reli- gious practices like prayerful mediation and worship music had long “trained Christian ears” to hear spiritualized sounds, be it a call to ministry or the sound of “seraphic choirs” joining in a psalm.46 The auditory dimension to these religious en- counters advanced a definition of faith that described spiritual hearing as an internal, rather than external, sense. As William Graham remarks, such “hearing is not the external work of the ears, but the internal work of the Holy Spirit in the hu- man heart.”47 The “dissociative quality” of these conversion experiences—an “internal exchange with a voice that was within 44Aesthetic Materialism: Electricity and American Romanticism (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009), 21. 45Aesthetic Materialism, 80. 46Leigh Eric Schmidt, Hearing Things: Religion, Illusion, and the American En- lightenment (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000), 64. 47Beyond the Written Word: Oral Aspects of Scripture in the History of Religion (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 150. 86 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY but also beyond the self”—was particularly evident in prayer.48 Leigh Eric Schmidt offers, for instance, that prayer emphasizes “hearing’s capacity for . . . exchange,” a “potential participatory dynamism” whereby the “words of the speaker are conditioned by a listener and by the possibility of an answer.” In other words, in prayer, the devout (the “listening speaker”) and God (the “speaking listener”) exist in a state of “in-betweenness,” a “sort of doubling or entwining in which ‘one no longer knows who speaks and who listens.’ ”49 In Seven Gables, Hepzibah’s act of prayer evokes this duality in the dashes that Hawthorne uses to frame her plea, incorpo- rating silence, a kind of spiritual listening, into her prayer. She listens, in other words, as she speaks. In this way her pauses insist on an audience, though what or whom Hepzibah poten- tially hears remains unrecorded. Still, as Hawthorne writes, this “was no hour for disbelief” (229). In the relative quiet of the countryside, far removed from the modern world, Hepzibah’s prayer, even when posed as a question, becomes a spiritual af- firmation of the siblings’ essential divinity, their claim to God’s protection. “Are we not thy children?” she asks (229). Hawthorne turns to a similar kind of hallowed listening in the novel’s second chapter, “The Little Shop-Window.” Even though the title places emphasis on visuality and the public world of commodity consumption into which Hepzibah will soon enter, the chapter’s opening passages foreground a dif- ferent type of sensory experience, one that begins with the narrator—a “disembodied listener”—following Hepzibah about her morning ritual. Out of respect for the sanctity of a “maiden lady’s toilet,” the narrator remains politely “at the threshold of her chamber,” only eavesdropping on the sound of her move- ments within this personal space. She opens and closes an “old- fashioned bureau . . . with difficulty” and anxiously “tread[s] . . . backward and forward . . . to-and-fro, across the chamber,” movement communicated through the sound of her “footsteps” and the “rustling of stiff silks.” These sounds clearly indicate 48Schmidt, Hearing Things, 54. 49Hearing Things, 34-35. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 87 Hepzibah’s actions in a manner that may seem to mirror the public exposure Hepzibah experiences as a cent-shop huckster. In contrast to the intrusive aurality of the marketplace that comes later, Hawthorne sustains a reverential narrative silence, maintaining the semblance of privacy as Hepzibah completes her morning “devotions.” “Our story must . . . await Miss Hepz- ibah,” the narrator remarks, if she is to receive the respect she deserves (28-29). To be sure, “this narrative strategy conflates character, nar- rator and reader,” as Robert Friedman observes.50 But the pri- vatized listening it encourages also underscores how this act of eavesdropping, and the privilege it entails, requires the narra- tor to acknowledge his own role as a sympathetic sound-maker in the novel. He is essentially a “speaking listener,” to return to Schmidt’s definition of prayer’s “in-betweenness,” a ghost- like presence that narrates while quietly listening to Hepzibah’s otherwise “inaudible” prayers. For it is only through a kind of absent presence that Hepzibah is heard at all: Inaudible, consequently, were poor Miss Hepzibah’s gusty sighs. In- audible, the creaking joints of her stiffened knees, as she knelt down by the bedside. And inaudible, too, by mortal ear, but heard with all- comprehending love and pity in the farthest Heaven, that almost agony of prayer—now whispered, now a groan, now a struggling silence—wherewith she besought the Divine assistance through the day. (28) Such sounds, so intensely private and full of anguish, carry with them sympathetic force. Inaudible to all but the “farthest Heaven,” how can one but respond with similar feelings of “love and pity” to this “agony of prayer”? Here then, in Hepzibah’s moments of prayer, Hawthorne of- fers a competing aurality to the modern soundscape’s deperson- alizing force, one that confirms, rather than denies, Hepzibah and Clifford’s right to selfhood. It is an intimate, and arguably sanctified, acoustic counterpoint to the disarming sounds of 50Hawthorne’s Romances: Social Drama and the Metaphor of Geometry (New York: Routledge, 2000), 98. 88 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY the modern world. The shop-bell’s persistent ringing, the reg- ular “rumble and jar” of the railways (223), and especially the long years of solitude imposed on Clifford, these technologies of sound compel Hepzibah and Clifford’s subjugation in their insistence on the “impalpable Now” (129). For it is not just Hepzibah who, as an “enslaved spirit,” “owed obedience” to a bell’s ringing (38); Clifford too is “possess[ed]” by the locomo- tive’s signal call, responding to its “peal . . . [w]ithout question or delay” (219). Such sounds exemplify what Karin Bijsterveld defines as “intrusive sounds,” a “series of recurrent sounds” that “invade or threaten the existence of something or some- one that is vulnerable or fragile.”51 In contrast, Hepzibah’s prayer—symbolizing a different type of possession—confirms her existence as one of God’s children. It becomes, in essence, the “spiritual medium” whose “holy” mission it was to bring “tidings . . . from God” (227). In Hepzibah’s prayer, then, Hawthorne emphasizes what Seven Gables would come to define as sound’s magnetic power, its ability to open “a kind of window or door-way into the spir- itual world” (241). For Clifford, it is not just emergent tech- nologies like the telegraph and railway that embody the spiritual transcendence Hepzibah’s prayer evokes. Rather, as he tells an old gentleman on the train, “Mesmerism” too is one of the many “harbingers of a better era,” capable of establishing “an enlightening mystical and magnetic contact with a higher spir- itual reality” (226).52 “These rapping spirits, that little Phoebe told us of, the other day,” he continues, “What are these but the messengers of the spiritual world, knocking at the door of substance?” (227). At the time of Seven Gables’ publication, 51Mechanical Sound: Technology, Culture, and Public Problems of Noise in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2008), 44. 52Bret Carroll, Spiritualism in Antebellum America (Bloomington: Indiana Univer- sity Press, 1997), 108. See also Robert Fuller’s Mesmerism and the American Cure of Souls (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982). LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 89 American Spiritualism, along with the practice of animal mag- netism, certainly had been established as a movement particu- larly attuned to the sounds emanating from the spectral world.53 As early as 1841, Hawthorne had observed the prominence of Spiritualist thought, writing against the claim that mesmerism could “give insight into the mysteries of life beyond death.” In Hawthorne’s estimation sound’s magnetic potential was much harder to tap: for, as The House of the Seven Gables suggests, such hearing ultimately depended upon the listener’s ability to not mistake, or rather mishear, “the physical and material for the spiritual.”54 By the mid-nineteenth century, most Spiritualists had come to accept “that animal magnetism and, eventually and more specifically, trance states could provide access to the spirit realm.”55 Charles Poyen, for example, introduced many Amer- icans to animal magnetism and explained how Mesmer posited the existence of a “universal fluid” that connected—through “mutual influence”—“the heavenly bodies, the earth, and the animated beings.”56 Mesmerism thus “opened new avenues for understanding life’s inner-spirituality” in a manner not unlike that espoused by the more liberal Protestants in Hawthorne’s day.57 Both advocated the importance of an internalized sensory experience, a kind of second hearing, in order to achieve spir- itual transcendence.58 As mesmerist George Bush declared in 1847, “the vocal communication of angels and spirits with man 53For a study on the association of mesmerism with Spiritualism, R. Laurence Moore, In Search of White Crows: Spiritualism, Parapsychology, and American Culture (New York: Oxford University Press, 1977), 7-16. 54“The Letters, 1813-1843,” The Centenary Edition of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne, ed. Thomas Woodson et al. (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1984), 15:589. 55Ann Taves, Fits, Trances, and Visions: Experiencing Religion and Explaining Experience from Wesley to James (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 166. 56Introduction to the Report on the Magnetic Experiments Made by the Commission of the Royal Academy of Medicine (Boston: D. K. Hitchcock, 1836), lx. 57Fuller, Mesmerism, 86. 58Franz Anton Mesmer first observed in the late eighteenth century how sound was a “conductor of magnetism” capable of making the “emanations” of the magnetic fluid “more powerful.” Mesmer in fact used a piano, “sometimes [with] the sound of the voice or singing . . . added,” when practicing magnetism and claimed that sound 90 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY . . . [is] . . . heard as the speech of the inner man . . . independent of audible sounds.” This “law of spiritual acoustics,” he con- tinued, “applies directly and unequivocally to the correspond- ing peculiarities of the magnetic condition.”59 Chauncy Hare Townshend’s Facts in Mesmerism, widely read for its definitive description of Mesmer’s doctrine, came to a similar conclusion when he turned to sound as an example of how a medium can connect “mesmeric person with external objects,” describing the “conveyance of acoustic impulses” to be analogous to the diffusion of the magnetic fluid. Both processes, he explained, transmitted sensations—mesmeric or otherwise—“through ob- stacles . . . unimpeded, unimpaired.”60 These comparisons were naturally suggested by the science behind hearing, the way air and other media transmitted sound from one object to another through a series of vibratory pul- sations. In his Cyclopaedia’s entry on “Sound,” a reference work Hawthorne borrowed from the Salem Athenaeum, Abra- ham Rees explained how the “small particles” of sound “move . . . in a tremulous, undulating manner”—much like Mesmer’s fluid—through a medium like air to “the proper and immediate instruments of hearing.”61 Townshend, however, clarified that to activate these magnetic fluids, “the spirit or inner sense” “accumulated, concentrated, and conveyed” the universal fluid. Poyen, Report on Mag- netic Experiments, lxi, lix. 59Mesmer and Swedenborg: or, The Relation of the Developments of Mesmerism to the Doctrines and Disclosures of Swedenborg (New York: John Allen, 1847), 133, 135. For a discussion on the importance of Swedenborg to nineteenth-century American Spiritualists, see Schmidt, Hearing Things, 199-245. 60Facts in Mesmerism: With Reasons for a Dispassionate Inquiry Into It (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1843), 264, 266, 267, 269. 61Rees explained, “we are made aware of the existence of distance bodies” through a “vibratory impulse” that is “brought into contact with our nervous system.” This “established language of sensation,” he concluded, provided a scientific framework for understanding mesmerism. “Sound,” The Cyclopaedia: Or, Universal Dictionary of Arts, Sciences, and Literature (London, 1819), 33:375. For similar influences on Hawthorne, see Marion L. Kesselring, Hawthorne’s Reading, 1828-1850: A Transcrip- tion and Identification of Titles Recorded in the Charge-Books of the Salem Athenaeum (Folcroft: Folcroft Press, 1969), 11. For more on the science of sound in early Ameri- can discourse, see my article, “A Revolutionary Soundscape: Musical Reform and the Science of Sound in Early America, 1760–1840,” Journal of the Early Republic 35 (2015): 419-50. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 91 must first be “relieved of its ordinary preoccupation with bod- ily functions,” including the sense of hearing. Only then could the medium be “temporarily free to enjoy sensations emanat- ing from a more sublime level of reality.”62 In a mesmerized state, then, “the ear is closed and the eye is an abolished or- gan,” Townshend observed, at least to all but the “mesmerizer’s voice.”63 Andrew Jackson Davis further defined this function of a medium, or one “through whom ‘sounds’ are made,” in The Philosophy of Spiritual Intercourse (1851), writing how “in the production of true spiritual sounds, their [the mediums’] sys- tems may be regarded...as a receptacle . . . for the influx . . . of spirits.”64 According to these accounts, then, mesmerism not only ad- vocated, but in fact required mediums to submit passively to the will of another. In this way, practitioners of American spir- itualism were “unique” for their willingness “to look to spirits as a surrogate spiritual presence.” Most other American reli- gions at the time, as Bret Carroll observes, “considered the individual subject only to the authority of God and the divinely inspired conscience.”65 Not all, however, were as comfortable with the idea of mediums submitting to a “higher power” that was merely “subdivine,” be it the spirits or the mesmerizer communicating through them.66 Without denying the “real ex- istence of spiritual personalities and powers,” Francis Sitwell, for instance, denounced mesmerism as a supernatural practice akin to “witchcraft” and other “unlawful arts” in Mesmerism Considered.67 62Fuller, Mesmerism, 41. 63Facts in Mesmerism, 267. “The eye, as we have seen, yields first to the slumberous influence. Long after this organ has ceased to act, the hearing retains all its acuteness . . . but at length the ‘porches of the ear’ are closed . . . and the patient, though still alive to feeling, is dead to every sound save that of the mesmerizer’s voice” (102). For a similar description of the mesmerizing process which Hawthorne may have encountered, see “Animal Magnetism,” American Magazine of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge 3 (1837): 87. 64The Philosophy of Spiritual Intercourse (New York: Fowlers and Wells, 1851), 46. 65Spiritualism, 85, 116. 66Carroll, Spiritualism, 116. 67Mesmerism Considered (Glasgow: William Mackenzie, 1852), 5. 92 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY Of particular complaint was the trance-state, which “closed in overmastering sleep” the medium’s bodily senses and, by exten- sion, “his will . . . the highest gift of God.”68 If “in the Christian tradition, the senses were the inlets to body and soul,” then mesmerism’s suspension of sensory experience risked closing the medium off from God’s divine presence.69 Such “evils,” as Sitwell further warned, were not temporary, but lasting. “There will be a permanent spiritual influence in exercise upon the vic- tim,” he adamantly declared, “even when not in the mesmeric state or trance.” For this reason, the medium, as Sitwell noted elsewhere, was neither “a dead man, nor yet a living one . . . but a strange unnatural condition of both.”70 Hawthorne advanced a similar critique when he warned Sophia in 1841 of the danger of “magnetic miracles,” writ- ing, “Supposing that this power arises from the transfusion of one spirit into another, it seems to me that the sacredness of an individual is violated by it; there would be an intrusion into thy holy of holies.” Even with these reservations, Hawthorne did not exclude the possibility of a divine-human encounter; as he assured Sophia, he had “no want of faith in mysteries.”71 Rather, as Hawthorne wrote later of a séance he attended while traveling abroad, “I should be glad to believe in the genuineness of these spirits, if I could” but the “whole matter seems to me a sort of dreaming awake,” though “there remains, of course, a great deal for which I cannot account.” His doubt, however, that these “spiritual sources” were only “effusions emanated from earthly minds” made him worry that the Spiritualist practices claiming to contact the spirit realm only dulled an individual’s 68Sitwell further clarified, “This is the difference between possession by an evil spirit, and the gift and indwelling of the Holy Ghost. The evil spirit domineers over the man, irrespective of his consciousness and will. The Holy Ghost acts otherwise.” Mesmerism Considered, 5, 11, 12. 69Schmidt, Hearing Things, 50. 70Sitwell, Mesmerism Considered, 13; and What is Mesmerism?: And What Its Concomitants, Clairvoyance and Necromancy (London: Bosworth and Harrison, 1862), 31. What is Mesmerism? is a revision of his earlier Mesmerism Considered. 71Hawthorne, “The Letters, 1813-1843,” 588-89. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 93 ability to listen to a more “genuine” celestial voice.72 “What delusion can be more lamentable and mischievous,” he asked Sophia, “than to mistake the physical and material for the spiri- tual? What so miserable as to lose the soul’s true . . . knowledge and consciousness of heaven in the mist of an earth-born vi- sion?” Only by keeping the “imagination sane” and free from the “earthy effluence” of a magnetizer’s “corporeal system,” he advised her, could one hope to gain a proper “communion with Heaven.”73 Although he entreated Sophia to “take no part in” mes- merism’s “strange science,” Hawthorne would return to mes- merism in Seven Gables, most prominently in a story narrated by Holgrave, the novel’s current dabbler in animal mag- netism and primary daguerreotypist.74 Holgrave’s tale recounts how the grandson of Colonel Pyncheon calls upon the young Matthew Maule to “convert the mind” of his daughter, Alice, “into a kind of telescopic medium, through which Mr. Pyn- cheon and himself might obtain a glimpse into the spiritual world,” hoping that their ancestors would reveal the location of missing deeds to Pyncheon land in Maine. Even though Maule succeeds in “holding an imperfect sort of intercourse” with the spirit realm through Alice’s “spiritualized perception,” he fails to gain knowledge of the missing documents. Still, Maule re- fuses to lift the hypnotic spell that binds Alice to him, instead condemning her to a “bondage more humiliating, a thousand- fold, than that which binds its chain around the body”—a type of self-abnegation that Hawthorne warned Sophia of when he encouraged her to stay clear of mesmerism’s “magnetic mira- cles” (178, 180). Hawthorne intends that we identify daguerreotypy as a form of mesmerism by associating the Maule family’s “strange power” (163) of vision with the “mesmerizing eye of the 72Nathaniel Hawthorne, “The French and Italian Notebooks,” The Centenary Edi- tion of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne, ed. Thomas Woodson (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1980), 14:398-99. 73Hawthorne, “The Letters, 1813-1843,” 589. 74Hawthorne, “The Letters, 1813-1843,” 589. 94 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY camera.”75 Holgrave explains of daguerreotypy, “There is won- derful insight in Heaven’s broad and simple sunshine. While we give it credit only for depicting the merest surface, it actu- ally brings out the secret character with a truth that no painter would ever venture upon, even could he detect it” (80).76 But, as Holgrave informs Hepzibah earlier in the novel, this manip- ulation of light and shadow is in fact a “misuse” of “Heaven’s blessed sunshine”—language that recalls his ancestor’s own “misuse” of mesmerism as several recent scholars have noted (41). Indeed both pretend to access a kind of spiritual truth, however “imperfect” it may be, by violating the interiority of another, revealing in the process the “psychological power to dominate and control” that had so “frightened and fascinated Hawthorne.”77 While certainly persuasive, such a reading privileges an oc- ularcentric understanding of Holgrave’s tale, despite its appar- ent investment in sound. Alice’s “admiring glance” (174) may inspire Maule to use the “witchcraft of [his] eye” (163) to “in- trude” on her “holy of holies.” Even so, it is sound, a “grotesque . . . incantation,” that opens the spiritual realm to mortal inquiry (178). In Holgrave’s handling, this verbalized conjuring recalls the ancient “prophecy”—“God will give him blood to drink”— that the original Maule “uttered” against Colonel Pyncheon on the day of his execution (9). Both invoke through sound the presence of a spiritual authority that in turn refuses Colonel Pyncheon the right to speak. Even in death, Colonel Pyn- cheon’s spirit, as seen through Alice’s altered consciousness, is “choked” into silence by “his companions,” the Maules, who “pressed their hands over his mouth” in order to stop him from 75Megan Williams, Through the Negative: The Photographic Image and the Written Word in Nineteenth-Century American Literature (New York: Routledge, 2003), 30. 76Presenting “the pictures as unmediated truth,” Holgrave “assumes the role of God.” Davidson, “Photographs,” 688. It was common for American ocular theories to describe the intricate “construction of the eye” as “evidence” of the “wisdom and goodness of God,” as the American Magazine of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge reported in its November 1837 issue (56-57). See also Jonathan Crary, Techniques of the Observer: On Vision and Modernity in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1990), 48. 77Coale, Mesmerism and Hawthorne, 92. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 95 “shouting forth the secret.” As Maule informs Alice’s father, “The custody of this secret . . . makes part of your grandfather’s retribution” (178-79).78 Her father soon realizes that Alice too will become part of this “retribution” for her mesmeric trance imposes a selective deafness that prohibits her from engaging with the mortal realm. Through sound, and not sight, Alice experiences the “evil potency” of Maule’s power (175). Her “dismal shriek,” a “call for help” that “long re-echoed” in her father’s “heart,” an- nounces her reluctant submission to Maule’s psychic control.79 This “half-uttered exclamation,” as Holgrave explains, “was very faint and low; so indistinct, that there seemed but half a will to shape out the words, and too undefined a purport, to be intelligible.” Alice’s cry ultimately foretells a future devoid of any meaningful acoustic engagement with the world for, like Clifford, Alice too will be required to live in a kind of en- forced solitude as her father soon discovers: “ ‘Alice! Awake!’ cried her father . . . with terror in his voice. . . . But the sound evidently reached her not.” Not even prayer can protect Alice from Maule’s “grotesque and fantastic bidding.” Even while “worshipping at church,” as Holgrave informs Phoebe, does she remain deaf to all but Maule’s commanding voice (176, 177, 180). Her once “sweet and harp-like voice” thus made “indistinct” by the sheer force of Maule’s mesmeric power, the enchanted Alice lives only half a life, isolated from society just 78On the similarities between these two mystical speech acts, “Where the original Maule repudiated his own agency, attributing the power of restorative justice to God, his descendent is involved in the . . . assertion of a self-interested will.” Caleb Smith, The Oracle and the Curse: A Poetics of Justice from the Revolution to the Civil War (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2013), 123. As a prophet, the original Maule practices a form of self-abnegation when he becomes a “spokesman for the holy word,” as defined by David Chidester’s Word and Light: Seeing, Hearing, and Religious Discourse (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1992), 39. According to Holgrave, the younger Maule requires another to fulfill this role and thus forces Alice to repudiate her agency in order to gain access to the spirit world. 79Connor offers a useful analysis of demonic possession and the voice applicable to my reading of this scene. “The voice is central to possession as evidence of a transformation of the forms and energies of the body, far more effective than any number of mutely physical symptoms,” reasoning that “this is perhaps because the voice is always anyway fundamentally itself on the border between the body and what is not body.” Dumbstruck, 113. 96 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY as Clifford would be for thirty years. And like Clifford, Alice too will become “a material ghost,” enduring a “strange unnat- ural condition,” to return to Sitwell’s language, as someone not quite “dead . . . nor living.”80 Only on the day of her death does Alice awake from this “enchanted sleep.” On this day, with “wasted form” and “hectic cheek,” Alice returns to sound, filling “the house with music! Music, in which a strain of the heavenly choristers was echoed!” (181). Her initial “call for help” may have gone unanswered, both by her father who ignored her whispered plea and by the “Almighty Father” who elected not to intercede on her be- half (229). Still, Alice’s final performance on the harpsichord suggests an end to this spiritual silence, an ecstatic dialogue of “heavenly” and earthly sounds that grants her a kind of re- tributive justice, or so the larger narrative implies. Alice may die, but her music will live on to “haunt the House of Seven Gables.” As legend has it, these “ghostly harmonies” were “pre- lusive of a death in the family” (74, 194). The generations to come will be forced to listen, as Alice once was, to sounds from the spirit world, all-the-while aware that the “mournful” music they hear, like Alice’s “dismal shriek,” portends their imminent death (74). Even more than Maule’s “grotesque . . . incantation,” Alice’s music comes to resemble the original Maule’s “prophecy” for both are “echo[es] of a distant voice” warning of a coming death.81 Hawthorne makes this comparison clear on the day Judge Pyncheon is fated to die. That morning, Hepzibah hears “a note of music,” a “sweet, airy, and delicate, though most melancholy” sound that reminds her of the “legendary Alice” and her “spiritual fingers.” Alice’s spectral music, however, is in- terrupted by the “ringing of the shop-bell,” a “dissonance” made that much more “vulgar” by a sound that follows—“neither a 80What is Mesmerism?, 31. 81Prophetic experience “involved the descent of divine influences upon the prophet from God, the impact of the voice of God upon the relatively passive prophet.” Prophetic speech was akin to a medium’s magnetic soundings of the spiritual world but with a crucial difference: a true prophet, unlike a medium, remained untainted by the magnetizer’s “earthy effluence.” Chidester, Word and Light, 39, 40. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 97 cough nor a hem, but a kind of rumbling and reverberating spasm in somebody’s capacious depth of chest.” This “charac- teristic sound” (193-94), as Hepzibah correctly suspects, be- longs to the judge who has come to the house of the seven gables to gain knowledge, as his ancestor once did, of legal documents to “missing [Pyncheon] property.” Believing that Clifford knows the location of this “hidden wealth,” the judge demands an interview with Hepzibah’s brother, threatening to have him committed to “a public asylum”—to return him to a living tomb—if Clifford “refuse[s] . . . the information.” In the face of this threat, Hepzibah reluctantly agrees to summon Clif- ford, but not before warning the judge that God’s providence “will not let you do the thing you meditate!” (202-4). In the passages that follow, Hawthorne brings the “good and evil fortunes of the Pyncheons” to a head through a se- ries of aurally dense scenes that dramatize the supernatural manifestations that the original prophecy, the subsequent in- cantation, and Alice’s spectral music all evoke. First, Hepzibah hears “some sound” she imagines coming from the Judge, find- ing in its tone a “relenting impulse” (206). Discovering herself mistaken, yet not identifying the source of the voice, Hepz- ibah continues on to Clifford’s chamber where, in the passage just outside his door, her courage waivers, and she considers sending forth a “shriek” full of “strange agony”—a “cry of a human soul, at some dreadful crisis” that would communicate to those outside the seven gabled house her need for “rescue.” But worried that the “Judge would draw all human aid to his own behalf,” Hepzibah resists this aural urge. With no mortal friend to offer aid in her time of need, the “poor, dim-sighted Hepzibah” once again turns to “prayer” (209, 210). Though “her faith was . . . weak” and she feared that “Providence in- termeddled not in these petty wrongs,” this prayer—a spiritual call for help—receives an answer, but not from some divine voice thundering down from Heaven. What Hepzibah hears, what answers her prayer, is silence. First knocking “feebly” on her brother’s door, Hepzibah re- ceives “no reply.” Her second and third attempts are no more successful, and even her verbal call to Clifford is met with 98 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY “silence” (211). Finding Clifford in neither chamber nor gar- den, Hepzibah hastily returns to the parlor where she thrice calls for the judge to help her find her brother: “ ‘Do you hear me, Jaffrey Pyncheon?’ screamed Hepzibah” on her third at- tempt. This loud cry, still unanswered, summons the presence of her brother, who, with a face “preternaturally pale,” gestures her into the parlor. With her sight still occluded by the dark- ness of the room, Hepzibah crosses the threshold and finally discovers the reason for the judge’s silence. In her absence, the judge had “perished in the midst of . . . [his] wickedness” (214-17). There, in the “dim, thick, stifling atmosphere” of the parlor, Hepzibah, Clifford, and, at least for a little while, the narrator leave him. “Let him be quiet!” Clifford exclaims, for “What can he do better?” (215). His once “deep voice” now permanently silenced, Judge Pyn- cheon is in death subjected to a reversal of fortune that, like his ancestors before him, refuses his right to speech (102).82 Although his untimely death later is confirmed by Holgrave to be natural, still the soundscape Hawthorne initially em- ploys to frame the judge’s passing indicates another type of agency, that of a supernatural power claiming retribution for the “wickedness” of the judge’s life. From the first “mysterious notes” announcing the judge’s arrival (194) to the unidenti- fied “sound” Hepzibah hears when she leaves the judge to summon her brother, these “sourceless voices” seem to em- anate from beyond the earthly realm.83 They become the “spir- itual mediums,” to return to Clifford’s description on the train and Hepzibah’s subsequent prayer, that communicate God’s tidings. In this way, Hawthorne again accentuates sound’s func- tion as a regulatory power, although this time it is a divine 82In this way, the judge faces a fate similar to Clifford’s incarceration. The armchair in which the judge has died also resembles the “tranquilizing chair” sometimes used in American penitentiary systems as a complement to solitary confinement. Anne-Marie Cusac, Cruel and Unusual: The Culture of Punishment in America (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 48. 83Connor further notes how “religions often speak of the invisibility of the divine principle, but hardly ever of his/her inaudibility.” Dumbstruck, 24. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 99 authority and not the modern marketplace that “compels si- lence.” Nowhere is this silencing made more apparent than when the narrator finally returns to Judge Pyncheon’s corpse in the chapter entitled “Governor Pyncheon.” Here, Hawthorne offers an extended meditation on the judge’s uncharacteristic silence, observing how his “profound” sleep may suggest peace of mind—a “quietude of conscience”—but for a single sound, the “ticking of his watch” (230).84 In its repeated and rhyth- mic soundings, the judge’s timepiece creates an ostinato effect in the chapter.85 In musical parlance, an ostinato “is neither stable nor dynamic”; it “creates small-scale motion” while pre- venting “any large harmonic movement” from occurring.86 If left unabated, its static drone gives the impression of suspend- ing time—just as the judge is caught in time as the world pro- gresses around him. This stasis, however, also evokes internal continuity for the ostinato effect is not simply heard as a series of distinct tones, but rather as a “sequence of . . . successive mo- ments . . . held together in memory and anticipation”—a kind of haunting of all that has come before.87 84Mike O’Mally explains how “the clock . . . never represents the source of time. Rather, it serves only as an embodiment of . . . our ability to comprehend nature and natural laws” that, in turn, “provide clues to the mind of God and . . . to the proper management of time as God intended it.” Early American folklore for this reason identified timepieces to be a “portent of death,” a “ ‘reckoning . . . toward eternity.’ ” The watch’s ticking thus emphasizes a kind of internalized prophetic speech that reveals God’s commands. Keeping Watch: A History of American Time (New York: Viking, 1990), 15, 33. See also, Ralph Wilburn, The Prophetic Voice in Protestant Christianity (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2012), 143. 85The Harvard Dictionary of Music explains that the “ostinato differs from other devices of repetition, such as imitation and sequence . . . in that it is reiterated in the same voice and usually at the same pitch. It is this feature of ‘persistent’ repeat that accounts for the name.” Willi Apel, Harvard Dictionary of Music, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972), 634. 86Charles Rosen, Arnold Schoenberg (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 47. 87Rée, I See a Voice, 352. In his introduction to Close Listening: Poetry and the Performed Word, Charles Bernstein offers a non-musical term—i.e., a “sonic afterimage”—that could describe this ostinato effect in his discussion of reading poetry aloud: “performance readily allows for stressing . . . unstressed syllables . . . creating syncopated rhythms, which, once heard are then carried over by readers into their own reading of the text.” Even if disrupted, he further relates, this “prior pattern continues on underneath as a sort of sonic afterimage, creating a densely layered, or braided, or chordal texture” (15, use of small caps in original). 100 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY In this chapter, Hawthorne similarly brings together the novel’s various auralities, summoning a series of ghostly sounds that “sing, and sigh, and sob, and shriek” around the judge’s corpse: But listen! That puff of the breeze was louder. The wind has veered about . . . The old house creaks again, and makes a vociferous but somewhat unintelligible bellowing in its sooty throat . . . A rumbling kind of bluster roars behind the fire-board. . . . [Footsteps] tread along the entries . . . and rustle up and down the staircases, as with silks miraculously stiff . . . Would that we were not an attendant spirit here! It is too awful! (238) These sounds descend upon the haunted house of the seven gables (242) in what can only be termed a “prophetic scene”—a “scene in which the normally separated series of time past, time present, and time future is . . . concentrated into one incandes- cent moment of presence.”88 On the day the original Maule’s prophecy is realized, the chimney similarly “belch[ed] forth its kitchen smoke” (11). So too were footsteps heard when the lieutenant governor, “with . . . a tramp of his ponderous riding- boots,” tries to awaken Colonel Pyncheon from his seeming slumber. There is also “a sudden gust of wind that passed, as with a loud sigh, . . . [that] rustled the silken garments of the ladies” and a “shriek” when the Colonel’s grandson discovers his body (14-15). The audile repetition in the later “Gover- nor Pyncheon” chapter thus reinforces the cyclic nature of the Pyncheon family’s long-standing conflict, aurally revealing how the “wrong-doing of one generation lives into the successive ones” (4). Indeed the passage not only aurally recalls the day Colonel Pyncheon died, but also the spiritual soundings that followed, from the “rustling” sound of Hepzibah’s skirt as she sought strength to meet the day to the haunting “shriek” of Alice’s cry.89 88Connor, Dumbstruck, 66. 89Andrew Piper offers the term “polyphonic narrative performance” to represent a similar occurrence, or when the “act of speech [in a text] points not only to preexisting common knowledge but also to the reuse of this act of speech itself.” Dreaming in Books, 79. LISTENING TO NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 101 These sounds are thus the echoes of past wrongs, of a justice finally realized. For when the judge’s timepiece finally ceases to tick, he remains forever silent in his “tomblike seclusion” with only the sound of a “buzzing” fly—a foreboding omen of the reckoning to come—and the ringing of the “shop-bell” to break the solitude of the scene (243).90 In summoning the vestiges of the past, Hawthorne aurally interweaves past and present— connecting a “bygone time with the very present that is flit- ting away”—that promises, at least in the novel’s conclusion, a brighter future for those who remain (4). In the novel’s final passages, the narrator may acknowledge how “no great mistake . . . in our mortal sphere, is ever really set right” (269). Still, Hawthorne does aurally suggest a “higher” hope for the world beyond. Uncle Venner, passing by the house of seven gables on his way to reunite with his friends, hears a “strain of music” and “fancied that sweet Alice Pyncheon—after witnessing these deeds, this by-gone woe and this present happiness, of her kin- dred mortals—had given one farewell touch of spirit’s joy upon her harpsichord, as she floated heavenward from the House of the Seven Gables” (274). In this sounding, Hawthorne locates what his American Journals first identified as the “spiritual po- tency” of sound, an “ethereal power” capable of alleviating the jarring and destabilizing noise of the modern world: a mournful “gift of song” in which “we recognize the voice of the Creator as distinctly as in the loudest accents of His thunder” (120).91 With Alice’s music, Hawthorne’s novel comes to a close as the seven gabled house, now devoid of mortal man and ethereal spirit, falls silent. In this “solitude” Hawthorne leaves the reader to reflect on the “coming fortunes of Hepzibah, and Clifford, and the descendent of the legendary wizard, and the village- maiden.” All that is left to overhear are the final echoes of 90Hawthorne initially describes the sound of the fly in his American Notebooks as “gladsome” and “sunny” but quickly corrects his assessment, suggesting that the fly—“the most impertinent and indelicate thing in creation”—is the reincarnation of “human spirits” who have lived a “troublesome and vexatious” life (246). 91“American Notebooks,” 247. In the Seven Gables quotation, Hawthorne is refer- encing Phoebe’s “strain of music,” her “gift of song” (120); however, the novel associates Phoebe with Alice in their shared musical proclivities and potential as mediums. 102 THE NEW ENGLAND QUARTERLY Alice’s “spirit’s joy” and the “whispered . . . prophecies” that accompany her as she makes her way toward heaven. These spiritual soundings, however “slight, delicate, and evanescent” they may be, clearly speak of the “will of Providence”—but only if one takes the time to listen (274). Rebeccah Bechtold is an assistant professor of English at Wi- chita State University. 
work_xcd6cudho5afncus2g7uagegfi	----	religions Article Gertrude Stein and the Metaphysical Avant-Garde Dana Tanner-Kennedy Department of Drama, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB T6G 2R3, Canada; dana.tanner.kennedy@gmail.com Received: 16 September 2019; Accepted: 12 March 2020; Published: 25 March 2020 ���������� ������� Abstract: When American metaphysical religion appears onstage, it most often manifests in the subject matter and dramaturgies of experimental theater. In the artistic ferment of the 1960s and 1970s counterculture, theater-makers looked both to alternative dramaturgies and alternative religions to create radical works of political, social, and spiritual transformation. While the ritual experiments of European avant-garde artists like Artaud and Grotowski informed their work, American theater-makers also found inspiration in the dramas of Gertrude Stein, and many of these companies (the Living Theatre and the Wooster Group, most notably) either staged her work or claimed a direct influence (like Richard Foreman). Stein herself, though not a practitioner of metaphysical religion, spent formative years in Cambridge, Massachusetts, at Radcliffe under the tutelage of William James. Cambridge, at the turn of the twentieth century, was a hotbed of spiritualism, theosophy, alternative healing modalities, and James, in addition to running the psychology lab in which Stein studied, ran a multitude of investigations on extrasensory and paranormal phenomena. This article traces a web of associations connecting Ralph Waldo Emerson, Transcendentalism, and liberal Protestantism to Gertrude Stein and landscape dramaturgy to the midcentury avant-garde, the countercultural religious seeking of the 1960s and 1970s, and the Off-Off-Broadway movement. Keywords: American avant-garde theater; Gertrude Stein; metaphysical religion “Is life worth living? Yes, a thousand times yes when the world still holds such spirits as Prof. James”, wrote a 21-year-old Gertrude Stein in ardent acclamation of her mentor, the eminent American psychologist and philosopher William James (Ruddick 1990)1. Stein’s exuberant tribute seems to have been a response to the eponymous question James posed in one of his most famous essays, his 1895 lecture “Is Life Worth Living?”, which dwelled not on the psychological concepts that Stein, a student at Radcliffe, studied in his classrooms and laboratories (the influence of which on her experimental prose style has been well-documented by critics and scholars). Rather, it presented thoughts on James’s other chief field of experimentation and study: religion. The lecture described a relationship between the spiritual and natural worlds, defining religion as belief “that the so-called order of nature that constitutes this world’s experience is only one portion of the total Universe, and that there stretches beyond this visible world an unseen world” which gives meaning to mundane reality (James 1895, p. 15). James argued for the power of “maybe” and the necessity of religious possibility, for a leap over the abyss towards which meaninglessness tempts in favor of an assent to the sacred, a yes to belief, a heroic burst of faith in the unseen order. Whatever captivated Stein in James’s talk was not unusual in his writing. Before composing his foundational text on religion, The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902), James rehearsed many of his ideas in the lecture hall and the lab. In doing so, he inevitably exposed his students to the religious ideas that influenced his own, chief among them the works of the minister, poet, and philosopher 1 Quoted in Lisa Ruddick’s Reading Gertrude Stein: Body, Text, Gnosis. Religions 2020, 11, 152; doi:10.3390/rel11040152 www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions http://www.mdpi.com http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/rel11040152 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/religions https://www.mdpi.com/2077-1444/11/4/152?type=check_update&version=2 Religions 2020, 11, 152 2 of 14 Ralph Waldo Emerson, a key architect of Transcendentalism, a uniquely American philosophy that influenced many of the metaphysical religions to which James devoted years of research. Within these later generations of spiritual practices could be found the DNA of Emerson’s gospel of radical individualism, esoteric correspondences, continual revelation, personal spiritual discovery, Romantic nature, salutary solitude, and language’s creative force. While Stein eventually moved away from the direct influence of James, she remained steeped in his language and ideas, and traces of his religious experiments, as well as of Emerson, continued to arise in her work2. Stripping this language of its metaphysical overtones in favor of a deliberate vagueness, Stein could allude to these former meanings without directly referring to them (Poirier 1992). The result is that Gertrude Stein, despite her avowed secularism, is the foremost playwright of metaphysical America. And though Ulla Dydo, Marc Robinson, Joseph Cermatori, and Rebecca Kastleman, among others, have observed Stein’s fascination with Catholicism and saints, less attention has been paid to metaphysical religion as a dimension of Stein’s work or its ripple effect through the American avant-garde. Stein’s preoccupation with the workings of the mind, her embrace—knowingly or not—of a theory of correspondences to describe her personal metaphysics, and her attention to attention itself, to as Kate Davy put it, the “evolution of consciousness,” locate her squarely within the primary obsessions of American metaphysical religion (Davy 1978, p. 124). Stein’s use of the word “meditation” to describe her writing process reflects the larger late-nineteenth century cultural fascination with contemplative practice and “mental hygiene.” Her turn to landscapes and nature stems in part from the influence of Transcendentalist thinkers. And her elevation of the artistic masterpiece as humanity’s highest goal and achievement represents Stein’s revision of Emersonian ideals. Metaphysical resonances persist in Stein’s theories, in her plays, and in her dramaturgy, even when her work is later borrowed and remade by artists of the burgeoning American avant-garde of the 1960s and 70s. What follows here are the seeds of an intellectual genealogy of the American avant-garde with particular attention paid to Stein and the shifting religious landscapes of metaphysical religion. As Sarah Bay-Cheng suggested: “the history of the avant-garde is perhaps best evaluated as an intricate web of overlapping and conflated influences, Stein being only one of them” (Bay-Cheng 2004, p. 119). Presented here are some of the primary strands of that web, or to offer another metaphor, a constellation of ideas that suggest a larger picture rather than propose a string of direct causal relationships. Within this constellation, Stein proves to be not only a major influence on the generations of American avant-garde that follow her, but she also provides a link to an earlier generation of metaphysical thought in America. By tracing Gertrude Stein’s relationship to metaphysical religion, we can also begin to trace how theatrical alternatives to a dominant strain of realistic drama have grown up side by side with spiritual alternatives to the dominant faiths of evangelical and denominational religion. Stein’s language echoes metaphysical discourse by retaining fragments of something beyond the material, hovering between belief and unbelief, haunted, teasing, suggesting. 1. Metaphysical Religion In the ever-unfolding story of religiously-inflected theater created for secular American stages, scholarly narratives may neglect to focus on the presence of metaphysical religion. Scholars and 2 In Reading Gertrude Stein: Body, Text, Gnosis, Lisa Ruddick argues that Stein’s radical innovations encode her process of self-definition against James and the entire nineteenth century, which he represented. In Poetry and Pragmatism, an exploration of the thematic and syntactic links between Emerson and a handful of modern American writers—including Robert Frost, Wallace Stevens, and Stein—Richard Poirier, calls William James the “point of transmission” linking Emerson to the rest, and proposes that all, in spite of their “democratic impulse”, share “a recognition that language, if it is to represent the flow of individual experience, ceases to be a instrument of clarification or clarity and, instead, becomes the instrument of a saving uncertainty and vagueness”. Poirier casts Emerson as a kind of proto-postmodern, citing Emerson’s recognition that “every text is a reconstruction of some previous texts” and that language both “creates structures we can believe in” while simultaneously creating “gaps in those structures, gaps in what it only pretends to have settled”. This skepticism particularly manifests in “matters of belief”. Poirier traces this skepticism through Emerson, James, and Stein, and shows how Emerson’s progeny continually revised and reformed his ideas, each through his or her own unique genius. Religions 2020, 11, 152 3 of 14 critics often limit discussions of religion on secular stages to works that appear overtly in dialogue with a religious context: i.e., Jesus Christ Superstar, to offer an example from some of the decades mentioned here, or Lucas Hnath’s The Christians and Joshua Harmon’s Bad Jews, as examples from our more recent moment. Additionally, scholarship tends to focus on works in dialogue with various Christian traditions as well as on Judaism to a lesser degree. But as Catherine Albanese has argued, metaphysical religion represents a significant vein of spiritual practice within the story of American religion. A notable exception in this body of scholarship is Edmund Lingan’s The Occult Revival and Its Theatrical Impulses (2014), which explores drama and performance in dialogue with a variety of traditions that fall under the larger banner of the term “metaphysical”. Lingan’s American examples, however, were primarily performed within ritual contexts and utopian spiritual communities rather than for heterogeneous audiences on secular stages. By unearthing metaphysical resonances in Stein’s work and the work of her later admirers, metaphysical religion finds a more central place in the larger story of religion on professional stages. Defining metaphysical religion requires its own complicated web of associations. In her 2001 book The Republic of Mind and Spirit, Catherine Albanese offered a complimentary narrative to the evangelical and denominational stories of American religion by tracing a third strand—a “combinative” religious practice she called “metaphysical” (Albanese 2007, p. 21). In 2005, Leigh Eric Schmidt argued in Restless Souls that those who today identify as “spiritual but not religious” come from a documentable tradition dating to the nineteenth century’s shift towards religious liberalism—a shift that began ostensibly with the Transcendentalists. Both show how this non-creedal spirituality espoused religious ecumenism, inclusivity, and individual mystical access to the divine. Whether labeled “mysticism,” “metaphysical religion,” or “spirituality,” this American religious tradition is “excitedly eclectic, mystically yearning, perennially cosmopolitan” and offers a liberal, progressive, left-leaning spiritual counterweight to orthodox religions and the Christian Right (Schmidt 2005, p. 6). While Schmidt focused on the shift towards liberalism in the nineteenth century, Albanese’s story of metaphysical religion in America began in the Hermetic and vernacular magical traditions of Europe and traced its reformulation in the New World after contact with African and Indigenous traditions. She followed the word “metaphysics” from a nineteenth-century “catholicity of mind and spirit signified, especially, by an openness to Asia and an embrace of South and East Asian religious ideas and practices” through the twentieth-century shift towards “a self-styled name for Americans who understood themselves as seekers on a ‘spiritual’ path” (Albanese 2007, p. 12). Schmidt focused on the trajectory of the American religious “seeker” or “mystic,” from the Transcendentalists along the open road of Whitman through what is often referred to today as “self-care”—cultivating a calm, centered inner life within the stresses of the workaday world. Beginning with Emersonian individualism and Thoreauvian solitude, Schmidt forged a path through the search for a universal mystical religion and the burgeoning vogue for meditation. To make Stein’s metaphysical resonances legible requires a return to Albanese’s definition of metaphysical religion, which, above all, is concerned with “mind and its powers”. Albanese explains, “Mind, in short, is about consciousness and all that derives from and returns to it—with emphasis ever on the mental awareness by which humans interact with their environments.” Mind covers a range of experiences and expressions: “poetry and intuition”; so-called “psychic” activities like “clairvoyance and telepathy”; the experience of “altered states of attention such as trance and meditation”; mind even “translates to action and material transformation”. The metaphysics of mind forms a nexus between interiority and the physical world that ground metaphysical religion. In the centuries of history Albanese traverses, this concept of mind remains continually at the center, in practices as varied as mental healing, meditation, and channeling (ibid, p. 13). Albanese also points to the ways in which American metaphysical religion recapitulates the “ancient cosmological theory of correspondences between worlds” and posits an equivalence between the macrocosmic “world of divinity, Nature, or the metaphysically favored eternal or collective Mind” and the microcosmic “human (and sometimes natural) world and/or mind”. Macrocosm and Religions 2020, 11, 152 4 of 14 microcosm “could be described as made of the same stuff”, like each other “in all things except scale” (13–14). Albanese’s reconstruction of the long lineage of these correspondences shows how each proffered a unique but analogous set of terminology to describe this macro/microcosmic relationship, from Transcendentalism to Christian Science to New Age philosophy. The relationship between the macrocosm and microcosm, meditation, the observance of nature, and the workings of the mind all figured heavily into metaphysical discourses in which William James participated as well as in the general spiritual tenor of late-nineteenth century America into which Stein was born and educated. As Ulla Dydo pointed out, more knowledge of Cambridge in the 1890s would help illuminate the intellectual atmosphere of Stein’s formative years and offer new ways of thinking about her work (Dydo 2003). 2. Meditation and the Late-Nineteenth Century Metaphysical Ferment By the nineteenth century’s last decade, when the college-age Stein was engaged in her studies, Cambridge, Massachusetts had long been an epicenter of American metaphysical thought. In the decades prior to James’s tenure there, Harvard was home to the birth of Transcendentalism, which heralded a new non-doctrinal spirituality. Led, in effect, by Emerson, the Transcendentalists looked for inspiration to German Romanticism; the relatively new field of Biblical criticism, which engendered a newfound religious skepticism; and the theosophy of seventeenth-century Swedish mystic Emmanuel Swedenborg. If the previous generation “beheld God and nature face to face” and “we through their eyes”, Emerson wrote, “why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe?” (Emerson 2004a, p. 9). True to the democratic spirit of American religion, such individual revelation was available to all, and Emerson, and his friend Henry David Thoreau, sought it through solitary communion with nature. It was Emerson and the mystical writings of Swedenborg that, in turn, served as foundational ideas in William James’s work on religion (E. Taylor 2011)3. At Harvard, James’s capacious intellect produced an extensive body of work covering psychology, religion, and pragmatism, a school of philosophy he helped found. After initially veering into medicine, James sought his entire life to bring science and spirit into harmony. In the 1880s, inspired by the wellspring of new religious activity flowing around him, James sought scientific evidence for psychic and religious phenomena (ibid, p. 22–23)4. His better-known laboratory work on attention, states of consciousness, and the psycho-physical connection—the influence of which on Stein’s writing has been explored at length—unfolded alongside his work on witchcraft, trances, mesmerism, mystical encounters, and the newly fashionable practice of meditation5. James’s fascination with meditation reflected a wider trend in late-nineteenth century American religious liberalism towards mental healing, mesmerism, and silent, solitary contemplation. As Schmidt describes it: “the burst of interest in meditation involved a peculiarly American conversation among Transcendentalists, liberal Protestants, Reform Jews, Vedantists, Buddhists, and mind-cure 3 Eugene Taylor, a William James scholar and former professor of psychology at Harvard, considered “Swedenborg and Emerson” to be the “primary philosophical frame of reference for understanding James”. For his social and political context, Taylor placed James in the “American utopian socialism of the 1840s, to which James was a direct heir through Henry James, Sr. and Emerson” (E. Taylor 2011, pp. 182–83). 4 James, primed for belief by his upbringing, never desired to empirically “explain away” such phenomena but rather to redefine the psychological and religious expanses of human experience. In 1885, James built his own temple for the systematic exploration and documentation of spiritual phenomena in co-founding the American Society of Psychical Research. Overseen by Harvard luminaries, committees including Experimental Psychology, Thought-Transference, Apparitions and Hallucinations, Mediumship, and Hypnotism reveal the late-nineteenth century zeal for empiricism and the desire to scientifically investigate what was happening in metaphysical discourse (E. Taylor 2011, pp. 22–23). 5 His influences from the metaphysical community are too many to name here, but Jamesian scholarship, Eugene Taylor’s in particular, show that James readily defended vernacular metaphysics (he testified on behalf of mind-curers to the Massachusetts State House), and was himself well-versed in principles of New Thought and the therapeutic dimensions of positive thinking and meditation. Religions 2020, 11, 152 5 of 14 metaphysicians” (2005, p. 17)6. James, for his part, published his 1899 essay “The Gospel of Relaxation”, in which he recommended physical activity and mental repose as antidotes to the stresses produced by the excitable American character. The eclectic spiritual paths that came together to form this turn of the century fascination with meditation tell us that Stein’s use of the word was plucked partially from her time experimenting in the psychology lab and partially from the spiritually-charged zeitgeist in which she spent some of her early years. They also remind us that the religious eclecticism we associate with the 1960s and 1970s counterculture—a religious eclecticism we also find in American avant-garde artists influenced by Stein, such as the Living Theatre and Richard Foreman—stretches further back to the strain of metaphysics that permeated Stein’s world, thought, and the theatrical work to which we now turn. 3. Meditation and Landscape Dramaturgy Much has been written about Stein’s concept of landscape both as it manifests in her writing and how that has been translated to the stage. In her essay “Plays”, Stein described a creeping anxiety that overcame her at the theater as the narrative unfolding before her outpaced her emotional involvement. The story on stage and her inner response were out of step, causing what she termed “syncopation”, an uncomfortable feeling she then sought to remedy. She thought if she could remove narrative, remove causality, and therefore remove time from on-stage action, such feelings of syncopation would end. To do this, Stein moved away from a linearly unfolding narrative to juxtaposing images, objects, and words in space, placed as if in a landscape. Looking at natural landscapes transformed her way of imagining her writing. In an oft-quoted excerpt from Plays, Stein captures the sensation of her eyes gliding across a vista, marking one thing in relation to another: “the trees to the hills the hills to the fields the trees to each other any piece of it to any sky and then any detail to any other detail”. “And of that relation”, Stein writes, “I wanted to make a play” (Stein 1967, p. 77). Narrative and incident, the time-bound dimensions of more traditional theater, cool into static images or fragment into other “objects” placed in space. “A landscape does not move”, Stein wrote, “nothing really moves in a landscape but things are there, and I put into the play the things that were there” (ibid, p. 80). To observe the “things that were there”, Stein engaged in what she called “meditation”. Much like the mental concentration or contemplative devotion implicated in the religious sense of the word, Stein used the term meditation to indicate the “process of realizing perception”. Ulla Dydo went so far as to call this process of “becoming conscious” a “sacramental act”, As Dydo explains: “To meditate, for Stein, meant to concentrate all her attention on what she saw immediately before her” ((Dydo 1988, p. 47). Stein’s meditation was inextricably linked to the phenomenology of gazing, often at natural landscapes, and capturing what she saw in language. 6 When Americans began to encounter Asian traditions, meditation and yoga were seen as paths to mental clarity and concentration, tonics against an increasingly anxious and fast-paced culture. Vedantist Swami Vivekenanda and the Sinhalese Buddhist monk Anagarika Dharmapala, in particular, traveled widely on the American lecture circuit, promoting Hindu and Buddhist spiritual techniques for mental focus and well-being. Schmidt also locates a home-grown strand of meditation practice in the “optimistic gospel of mental healing and positive thinking” known as “New Thought” (Schmidt 2005, p. 17). Horatio Dresser, James’s friend and colleague at Harvard, and Ralph Waldo Trine, whose best-seller In Tune With the Infinite James read and quoted, were both star players in the New Thought movement, and James observed in the Varieties that the current vogue for contemplative practice stemmed not from evangelical Protestant devotional prayer but from “our mind-curers,” who had “reintroduce[d] methodical meditation into our religious life” (p. 147). Trine and another fellow New Thought devotee, Henry Wood, both recommended “a daily practice of meditation and concentration, performed in solitude and silence in a seated restful posture” to quiet a wandering mind, sharpen concentration, and draw into life the abundant “divine inflow” (p. 147). Annie Besant, a second-generation leader of the Theosophical Society, wrote extensively on meditation’s role in the quest for divine knowledge. Heavily influenced by some Buddhist and Hindu devotional practices, Besant championed mental “one-pointedness” or samadhi, a state of intense meditative focus that lead to transcendent consciousness. The difficulties of this practice are made clear in Besant’s counsel: “When the mind loses hold of its object, whether devotional or intellectual—as it will do, time after time—it must be brought back, and again directed to the object” (pp. 108–9). Religions 2020, 11, 152 6 of 14 But as Elinor Fuchs observed, it is ultimately unclear when Stein talked about plays as landscapes whether she meant a way of seeing or thing to be seen—the inner world of perception or the outer one of material reality. Fuchs wrote that Stein uses the term landscape to describe “a phenomenological spectatorship of theater, a settled-back scanning or noting” of textual or spatial patterning, “as if it were a natural scene” (Fuchs 1995, p. 94). But for Stein, this way of seeing seems to go hand in hand with actual nature imagery. In her first sense of the term landscape, Fuchs interprets Stein’s notion of landscape in two ways: it is “spatial and static instead of temporal and progressive”, i.e., a way of seeing (95). And second, it also refers to a self-contained theatrical world in which images of nature appear. Fuchs stresses the spectator’s shift towards surveying the visual field in its entirety, her attention held not by “structures arranged . . . on lines of conflict and resolution” between characters “but on multivalent spatial relationships” (107). Through this kind of attention, we find ourselves neither “transported to another world” nor do we “banish all other worlds”, but rest firmly in a timeless now akin to a shift in consciousness produced during meditation (107). Stein’s writing-as-meditation is designed to produce a meditative effect on the spectator—what Stein called the “continuous present”. Metaphysical religion on stage has always been considered the special province of the Symbolists, with Maurice Maeterlinck as the leading light. Fuchs asked if we might consider Maeterlinck’s eloquent Symbolist stage and Stein’s landscape dramaturgy as “variants of a similar modern tradition, these two static, spatial theaters with their concomitant resort to landscape” (ibid, p. 70)7. As variants of a modern tradition, Fuchs saw the immanent, static eternal of Maeterlinck and the repeated beginnings of Stein’s continual present as two time signatures “embedded” in each other. Unlike Maeterlinck, Stein never sought to stage the intersection of visible reality and the invisible spiritual world through mystical correspondences, but we might think of Stein’s continuous present as a secularized version of the immanent eternal. Stein’s method of writing-as-meditation translated to the stage the constant process of beginning again and again, which mirrors a kind of meditative practice requiring the meditator to continually bring the mind back to its object of concentration when it began to wander. For many of the nineteenth-century mystics advocating for meditation, its ultimate goal was the same as Emerson’s—uniting the human mind with the divine mind, accessing divine knowledge, and healing the human being. For Stein, as we shall see, meditation’s highest end was to settle into the continuous present of the human mind in order to produce masterpieces. Stein’s revision of Emerson and James brought together metaphysical correspondences, linguistic skepticism, meditation, movements of the mind, and contemplation of nature. In linking the religious content of Stein’s landscape plays to William James’s concept of “knowledge of acquaintance”, Rebecca Kastleman argues that the primary form of knowing presented in landscape dramaturgy “is epitomized by religion, which represents a form of knowledge that is experienced and felt but not fully available to thought” (Kastleman 2019, p. 345). She effectively shows how Stein, like many other Modernist writers, “rehabilitated religious experience as an aspect of the aesthetic” (354). Re-reading Stein through the wider context of late-nineteenth century American religious liberalism, and through Albanese’s definition of metaphysical religion in particular, Stein’s own preoccupations with the mind and mental phenomena reveal new associations. Stein’s explorations of attention, consciousness, self-consciousness, and awareness stem not just from the advent of modern psychology but also from what Eugene Taylor calls psychology’s “shadow culture” of folk healing and vernacular magical practices in the lineage that both he and Albanese trace. Stein’s most significant theoretical contributions to the theatre—her 7 Is it any wonder that Maeterlinck considered Emerson his “avowed master and greatest influence”, publishing an essay on his mysticism and writing the introduction to a French translation of his essays (Moses 1920, p. 11)? When The Treasure of the Humble, which contained Maeterlinck’s influential essay on static drama, “The Tragical in Daily Life”, was published in 1896, he was summarily hailed as the “Belgian Shakespeare” and the “European Emerson” (Frothingham 1912, p. 251). Perhaps Symbolism’s mystical language of correspondences and symbolic landscapes is as much Emersonian as Baudelairean, and American religion had a significant influence on the early European avant-garde as well as its native one. Religions 2020, 11, 152 7 of 14 notion of landscape dramaturgy and the continuous present—all reflect her preoccupation with mind and an idiosyncratic interest in nature that has roots in the metaphysical language she inherited. 4. Stein’s Revised Correspondences: Human Nature and Human Mind Gazing out at the French countryside of Bilignin, Stein’s visual field inspired in her a new way of making plays: “I found that since the landscape was the thing, a play was a thing and I went on writing plays a great many plays. The landscape at Bilignin so completely made a play that I wrote quantities of plays” (Stein 1967, p. 75). Stein’s transformation of nature into art provides another example of how Stein revised metaphysical concepts explored by Emerson. For Emerson, meditative engagement with the natural world could vault the individual into an experience of his or her own divinity. In Nature, he wrote: “Man is a god in ruins”, but “the problem of restoring to the world original and eternal beauty is solved by the redemption of the soul”. Once indivisible, man and nature now live estranged, but to awaken to this “kindred impression” between humanity and the natural world, to feel the “perpetual presence of the sublime”, one need only “go into solitude”, “look at the stars”, and partake in the “wild delight” that “every season and hour yields” (Emerson 2004a, p. 11). In a famous sequence, Emerson related his own ecstatic encounter in nature: “Standing on bare ground—my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space—all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God” (12). Emerson elsewhere described this kind of revelation through the ancient system of metaphysical correspondences linking the world and the individual human spirit as “an influx of the Divine mind into our mind”, a “shudder of awe and delight with which the individual soul always mingles with the universal soul” (Emerson 2004b, p. 193). But beyond kinship and sublime wonder, Emerson described how nature might be used to restore to man a kind of divine power through beauty and language. Beauty is generative: “The beauty of nature reforms itself in the mind”, he wrote, “and not for barren contemplation but for new creation”. Gazing at nature’s beauty inspires in the artist a desire to create beauty herself: “Thus is Art, a nature passed through the alembic of man” (Emerson 2004a, p. 20). In placing “the things that were there”, as Stein states in Plays, into theatrical space, objects in nature similarly passed through her unique consciousness and transmuted into art. In Stein’s re-formulation of Emerson, however, the purpose of transforming nature into art is not to connect the universal to individual souls through new creation, as Emerson says. What we shall see is that Stein, like many other Modernists—as Kastleman observed—secularized religious ideas, in this case replacing divinity with art as humankind’s source of transcendence. Stein further fleshed out the relationship between the mind and natural landscapes in her book The Geographical History of America. To understand her ideas, we first have to define some of her idiosyncratic terms. In Geographical History she describes her own version of correspondences between the macro and microcosmic spheres: rather than an Emersonian “influx of the Divine mind into our mind”, Stein creates a unique but analogous set of categories and details the “relation” between what she terms “Human Nature” and “Human Mind”. Human Nature, for Stein, translates to individual identity—the vicissitudes of individual existence. It is subject to time’s flow, and acts as its own audience, self-consciously observing itself. As Thornton Wilder summarized about Stein’s book: “Human Nature, in order to be sure that it exists, must employ audience and memory. Memory informs it that it was itself in the past, and audience reassures it that it is itself in the present”. Human Mind exists outside of time. Not bound by continual shifting awareness from past memory to future projections, the Human Mind, in “every moment knows what it knows when it knows it”. It rests in the present moment, and does not require an outside source of input to know itself (Burns et al. 1996, pp. 362–63). Kate Davy describes Geographical History as Stein’s philosophical system and includes with her article a chart of correspondences drawn from Stein’s text. Human Nature and Human Mind Religions 2020, 11, 152 8 of 14 are Stein’s personal version of metaphysical, cosmological correspondences, and Davy’s chart only furthers this point. Rather than positing a smaller, more limited human consciousness in relation to a divine one, Stein offered two aspects of the human, which never need open to “higher” realms. The human being herself contains both entity and identity, both a timeless mind and a time-bound nature, and Stein repeatedly asserted that “there is no relation” between human nature and the human mind. Individual human nature does not evolve towards divinity as her metaphysical counterparts suggest. Instead, Stein secularizes these metaphysical models, closing what Charles Taylor calls the immanent frame, and eliminating the conduit to other realms entirely. We might understand Stein’s vision of the mind moving entirely in a horizontal plane of existence, an endless sweep without vertical reach: “yes the flatter the land the more yes the more it has may have to do with the human mind” (Stein 1936, p. 113). And this horizontality manifests spatially in the span of the landscape stage. Geographical History also further developed Stein’s thoughts on the relationship between landscapes and national character. Her preference was for American geography because of its “flatness”. She wrote: “That is what makes land connected with the human mind only flat land a great deal of flat land is connected with the human mind and so America is connected with the human mind. I can say I say so but what I do is to write it so. Think not the way the land looks but the way it lies that is now connected with the human mind” (ibid, p. 51). America’s flatness had less to do with geography than cartography: she connected physical wandering to mental wandering, both provoked by “the straight lines on the map of the United States of America”, which “make wandering a mission” (ibid, p. 57). Whatever America’s actual geographic features, those peaks and ponds praised by Transcendentalists, Stein’s America is “a country so big that it is divided one part from the other by ruled lines and it has to be flat” (ibid, p. 59). The American landscape’s continuous horizontality, as viewed from a great distance or abstracted into the lines on a map, means that “the land has something to do with the human mind but nothing to do with human nature” (ibid, p. 81). And Stein’s aim was not just to “say so” but “to write it so”, to capture on the page this illimitable expanse, natural and mental, unbound by time and space. Stein’s true object of meditation in Geographical History revealed itself to be the nature and purpose of literary masterpieces. Why had The Illiad survived the centuries? Why do we still read Shakespeare or Jane Austen or the Bible? And moreover, what exactly makes them the enduring works that they are? She surmised, as Thornton Wilder wrote, that though such masterpieces may traffic in the sort of local details that comprise human nature, they are ultimately products of the human mind, the “principal expression” of which “is in writing and its highest achievement has been in literary masterpieces”. In his introduction to Geographical History, Wilder tells us that encountering these masterpieces, the “vast multitudes of the world who [strive] to escape from the identity-bound and the time-immersed state, recognize that such a liberation has been achieved in these works” (ibid, p. 8). Wilder ’s language here evokes a particularly metaphysical soteriology with clear hints of Buddhist and Hindu influence. In general, the purpose of meditation, according to some Buddhist and Hindu doctrines, is to release the individual from samsara, a term shared by the two religions which denotes the endless cycle of suffering and rebirth to which all embodied (read: identity-bound and time-immersed) beings are subjected. Buddhists speak of nirvana and Hindus speak of moksa, both of which are often translated as “liberation” from samsara (Keown 2004; Johnson 2009). Here Wilder invoked the thread of Asian traditions that runs through metaphysical religion, without connecting it to any specific doctrine or lineage. In Geographical History, Stein playfully revised the entire metaphysical project for a modern culture of doubt. “Human Mind” replaced “Divine Mind” as the timeless, boundless entity towards which the writer/devotee aspires. And while this is no devotional handbook, Geographical History suggests that the ultimate goal of “liberation”, of escape from the limitations of human nature, could be attained through encounters with masterpieces of literature. Through her Modernist aesthetics, Stein articulated a deeply Romantic notion of the salvific nature of art. A masterpiece is a material manifestation of the Religions 2020, 11, 152 9 of 14 human mind. Both are timeless—they “have no finishing in them”—and may on the surface engage with human nature but are ultimately removed from it (Stein 1936, p. 194). Stein borrowed these relationships from the world of metaphysical religion around her, but she changed them in fundamental ways. And she changed the form of writing to reflect its content. The emotional peaks and rhetorical valleys of Romantic writing in general could never capture Stein’s notion of American geography and its flat landscape or the horizontality of the modern social imaginary. For Stein, there is no Thoreauvean epiphany on Mount Ktaadn or a Jamesian “Walpurgisnacht experience” on Mount Marcy. There was no god of interest to Stein in heights or abysses. Stein’s perception of the American landscape’s perpetual flatness became a governing image for the timelessness and eternity of art rather than God. She recapitulates a Romantic religious upheaval in a modern register substituting the Human Mind for Emerson’s Divine Mind and the “Master-piece” as the Human Mind’s omega point. Her idiosyncratic prose style extends the experience of her Human Mind to her reader’s Human Mind, forcing, through word-by-word attention, a simple resting in the timeless flow of writing. For all its difficulty, it is a generous style that allows the reader to share Stein’s thought process through its perfect blend of form and content. When Stein turned to the theater, she sought to create in her spectators a sensation similar to reading and writing. Her dramatic landscapes aim for the same by hovering always in the continuous present, a result of her distaste for syncopation. The sensation of reading Stein’s writing and of viewing landscape dramaturgy in action both capture a kind of attention similar to the practice of meditation. In reading, the magnetic pull of her style continuously returns the eye to each word after individual word. In viewing, the eye similarly drifts from thing to thing to thing across the stage. And Stein’s work consciously places the spectator in her subject position—that is, in the subject position of the meditator. It is this desire for an individual encounter with the work of art, with the masterpiece, that places Stein the continuum of American religion, which James called a fundamentally individual encounter with the divine. The mental magic of turning the vastness of nature into art is Stein’s metaphysical operation leading to human “liberation” through literature: behold natural landscapes, transmute natural landscapes to an aestheticized vision, cultivate inner landscapes, place these inner landscapes on stage in the form of a masterpiece, and use them as vehicles for connection with the infinite (though not divine) source that is the Human Mind. The object of Stein’s reformation of Emerson is salvation by masterpiece8. In Wilder ’s introduction to Geographical History, he asks: “If then Miss Stein is writing metaphysics, why does she not state her ideas in the manner that metaphysicians generally employ?” He answers his own question, saying that in order to decouple previously used terminology from prior systems, metaphysicians must invent their own “private language”. Second, Stein is an artist, a being far more engaged with poetry than theory, and she writes in a series of “metaphysical metaphors”. Wilder’s answers situate Stein in a continuum of thinking about metaphysics, modernity, art, and God that coalesce at the end of the nineteenth and turn of the twentieth centuries. As Charles Taylor observed, the advent of modernity brought about “new conditions in which belief and unbelief uneasily coexist” (C. Taylor 2007, p. 295). Stein invented her own terminology to describe the workings of her consciousness, but her terms borrow from several centuries of American metaphysical discourse. Stein removes the metaphysician’s vertical axis connecting self and divinity (Emerson’s “Divine mind into our mind”) and turns it into an ever-expanding horizontality. She creates terms that share resonances with a belief system but strips them of belief, or at least casts a skeptical eye towards it, and renders the relationship between Human Nature and Human Mind a thoroughly humanistic one. Though Human Mind is timeless, without memory, without individual identity and appears to encompass Human Nature, it is also never associated, like its metaphysical analogues, with 8 As Albanese wrote: “Emerson was connecting human will to a higher source of will and desire, and he was arguing for the release of the self into that vastness—a thoroughly metaphysical logic that would come to characterize some late-nineteenth-century American spirituality” (Albanese 2007, p. 167). Religions 2020, 11, 152 10 of 14 transcendence. Art enters the picture as a possible recourse to divinity, or if not divinity, something deeper in the world. On the salvific nature of art, Charles Taylor shows how art, as a category, emerged in the Romantic era and served as a possible sphere for exploring and disclosing “very deep truths which in the nature of things can never be obvious, nor available to everyone, regardless of spiritual condition” (ibid, p. 356). Art was elevated to a space in which religious feeling was formerly the only occupant, and to art was bestowed the power to articulate a sense of mystery that may or may not stem from divinity. Unbelief need not lead to materialism, nor belief necessarily lead to religion. Rather, a spectrum of belief opened up—from an atheistic “mystery of anthropological depth” to religious orthodoxy, with nature, art, and the “spiritual” all offering various shades in between. Taylor credits art with filling the void left by the breakdown of received public doctrine. “Where formerly poetic language could rely on certain publicly available orders of meaning”—the Renaissance doctrine of correspondences or the Great Chain of Being, for example—“it now has to consist in a language of articulated sensibility”—that is, an idiosyncratic language issuing from the individual artist (ibid, p. 253). The Romantic period, Taylor argued, required “subtler language” to describe that which exists outside of the “pre-existing lexicon of references”, and the artist provided that new language (ibid, p. 354). By way of example, Taylor offers Rilke’s angels in the Duino Elegies: “We cannot get at them through a medieval treatise on the ranks of cherubim and seraphim, but we have to pass through this articulation of Rilke’s sensibility” (ibid, p. 353). Stein similarly creates her own quasi-metaphysical terms, as Wilder states, her own subtler language, to nod to the metaphysical tradition she inherited, and she revised it to encompass a sense of skepticism. 5. Four Saints in Three Acts Metaphysical religion, landscape, and the elevation of art all coalesce in Stein’s 1927 libretto for Four Saints in Three Acts, an opera she co-wrote with American composer Virgil Thompson. The prologue of the play, subtitled “A narrative of prepare for saints”, tracks the mind of a writer engaged in the act of writing the very opera libretto we read on the page or view in performance (Stein 2016, p. 15). Stein stages the mind in action by assigning to a chorus of saints the various subjects that cross her mind as she prepares to write. Her wandering language skips from one thought to the next until she dutifully returns to the object of her meditation: the play she is writing. From the task of preparing for saints, she moves without transition into a short digression about “what happened today, a narrative”, until she suddenly returns again to setting the scene of her opera: “Imagine four benches separately” (ibid, p. 15). Four Saints captures this continual process of thinking, disruption, and return. As Marc Robinson states, “In Four Saints, the work of prayer”, its rigorous turning and returning to God, “stands in for the work of writing, and both are distinguished for their arduousness as much as their ardor” (Robinson 2009, p. 196). In addition to saints and other images of religious piety, the play teems with nature imagery. The time that elapses across its many scenes and tableaux trace both a seasonal and mental thaw, moving from “April fools’ day” to “June and June” (Stein 2016, pp. 19, 35). As early spring melts into summer in Avila, Stein slowly discovers how “Saint Teresa half in doors and half out of doors” will have finally, halfway through the play, “begun to be in act one” (ibid, pp. 19, 24). She seems to worry how exactly to get all of the saints on stage and how to rather unsymmetrically fit four of them into only three acts: “Four saints two at a time have to have to have to have to” (ibid, p. 16). But as the world begins to burst into bloom, suddenly there is “Saint Teresa advancing” along with Stein’s own ideas (ibid, p. 21). In and amongst images of a cloistered garden, a tree, eggs, “pear trees cherry blossoms pink blossoms and late apples”, magpies and pigeons in the grass, we find “St. Teresa II in ecstasy” and a “Vision of a Heavenly Mansion”, two images associated with the real life Teresa’s euphoric devotion (ibid, pp. 23, 29). But the play does not end with Teresa’s religious apotheosis; it ends with Stein’s secularized metaphysical one. Religions 2020, 11, 152 11 of 14 Robinson’s gorgeous reading of Four Saints alongside St. Teresa of Avila’s The Interior Castle compares the authors’ individual journeys towards deep interiority: Teresa’s goal is to unite with God in that innermost secret space of the self, but Stein desires to fully unite with her own process of thought, to make her way to the Human Mind, and capture the monumental work of writing a masterpiece. To describe the religious work the piece performs, I would suggest that perhaps Stein’s saints have more in common with the sanctified loafing of Walt Whitman than with anything particularly Catholic about the rigors of Catholic mysticism. Though she writes that “saints are never idle”, their placement in the landscape of the play invite audiences, too, to loaf, to behold. If for Whitman the ecstatic gazing at American panoramas engendered mystical union with spirit, for Stein, witnessing the moment-by-moment flow of thought, the image-by-image task of writing, engendered the liberating force of art. In the “Prologue to Act IV”, Stein returns to the question that she has turned over and over earlier in the play: “How many saints are there in it” (ibid, p. 27). But now she rephrases the question: “How many acts are there in it” (ibid, p. 34). She asks both, repeatedly until the answer arises, and she announces triumphantly: “Four acts. Act Four.” And here Stein thrusts the saints into the celestial realm as she finds her way towards the play’s completion. There is “no scenery but the sky, with tumultuous clouds and a sunburst. Saints in Heaven”. This is not Bernini’s Teresa in ecstasy with the looming angel ready to pierce her breast from above, nor is it the vertical expanse conjured by the image of the heavenly mansions. Stein’s heaven here is the infinite horizontality of sky, of the Human Mind, and of the artistic masterpiece. She emphasizes this horizontality in the language as well as the mise-en-scène: “They have to be to see. To see to say. Laterally they may”. And later, in a kind of blessing: “Saint Ignatius and left and right laterally be lined”. Finally satisfied with what she has wrought, Stein declared the fourth to be the “Last act. Which is a fact” (ibid, p. 35). Here Stein created a theater of ever-unfolding expansion, vast horizontal reaches without end, plotless and therefore timeless, as the spectator watches, with total absorption, her thoughts arising onstage. Stein’s image of the celestial realm offers not a vision of an eternity to come but a taste of how transcendent realms may be accessible within the here and now—the continuous present—through gazing at worldly landscapes. Dydo writes that Stein rejected structures that were “vertical, hierarchical, and fixed. The landscape of Stein’s world is horizontal, democratic, and fluid. In it all things and all words are of equal value; nothing is more important than anything else nor are words permanently attached to things. To call hers a comic world means that nothing is sacred but that everything is sacred, from small to large, from near to far, from word to word” (Dydo 2003, p. 57). This is not just true of Stein’s world but of the larger shift away from the “vertical” and “transcendent” into the “closed” and “horizontal” “modern cosmic imaginary” Taylor described (C. Taylor 2007, p. 556). So we have seen a way of thinking about Stein’s most significant dramatic ideas that takes into account the particularly American religious background that surely helped form them. She adopted metaphysical language, but in the spirit of Emerson and James—as Richard Poirier suggested—makes that language less precise, more vague, at once permeable but more capacious, reflecting modernity’s turn towards secularism. Stein opened metaphysical systems to doubt, leaving room for postsecular choice. Though a Modernist, Stein, like her Romantic antecedents, elevated artistic masterpieces to a third space, one that was no longer religious but not entirely secular. Her work and ideas carry the deep imprint of this particular metaphysical language, and though we may not call her work overtly religious, some trace of transcendence remains. Perhaps this is what Robinson meant when he described a searching quality in Stein’s plays, a “mysticism aris[ing] from their placid surface”, a “longing for more certainty” that “gives Stein’s theater a strangely spiritual aspect” (Robinson 1994, p. 19). The progenitrix of the other American drama was formed in the same crucible as the other American religion. Religions 2020, 11, 152 12 of 14 6. Coda Stein’s work sits at a thorny, postsecular nexus between a disenchanted, bounded, modern universe and an enchanted, porous, mystical world. Her theatrical inheritors and interpreters have likewise inherited both of these sets of meanings, and when they channel Stein, they channel both the metaphysical mists and the skepticism from which her work sprung. This tension is often visible in their works. Postmodern theater-makers took up Stein’s project, further fleshing out her theories about writing in the dimensional space of the stage. The influence of Stein on the works of the Living Theatre, Richard Foreman, the Wooster Group, and others has been traced more fully elsewhere, but here I will mention a few. To return to the web of associations that tie Stein to American metaphysical religion and its roots in liberal Protestantism, it seems more than coincidental that many of these later artists who have been deeply in dialogue with Stein’s formal dimensions have also found themselves engaged with the combinative nature of American metaphysical spirituality. Alisa Solomon observed that from its midcentury emergence, experimental performance in America engaged in dialogue with religion, both within the institutions that supported it and in the content of the work itself. Institutions such as “Theater Genesis in St. Mark’s Church under rector Michael Allen; Judson Poets’ Theatre under minister Al Carmines at the Judson Memorial Church; and the Theater at St. Clements under its vicar Sidney Lanier”—key figures in the Off-Off-Broadway movement—grew out of artistic and social programming produced though liberal Protestant congregations (Solomon 2011, p. 13). Bread and Puppet, the Living Theatre, and the Performance Group were among the most visible companies that staged their call for political and spiritual transformation through experimental dramaturgies. Starting with the Beat generation of the mid-1950s, a mistrust of scientific rationality and institutional religion sparked spiritual revivals, an interest in Eastern traditions, and a fascination with eclectic forms of metaphysical religion. To engage with the religious concerns of the 1960s and 1970s counterculture, theater artists looked to prophets of their own like Antonin Artaud, whose The Theatre and Its Double was translated into English in 1958, and the experimental laboratory of Jerzy Grotowski. For other alternative dramaturgies, they also looked to Stein. Though her engagement with the sacred was far less overt than in the work of Artaud and Grotowski, Stein’s secularization of metaphysical concepts paradoxically paved the way for both sincere ritualized theatrical events that aimed to incite spiritual and political revolution (as in The Living Theatre and the Performance Group) as well as far more skeptical works that resist spiritual communion (as in the Wooster Group or Richard Foreman). The Living Theatre, like many American experimental artists, cut their teeth on Gertrude Stein. In 1951, five years after their founding, they staged Stein’s opera libretto Doctor Faustus Lights the Lights (1938) in a program of poetic dramas rarely produced in America at the time. Their most famous work, Paradise Now (1968), though not particularly Steinian, was structured according to a host of metaphysical references, including the ten sephirot, or emanations, of Kabbalah as well as the I-Ching and the chakra system. Part happening, part rite, the company lead the audience through a series of “rituals, visions, and actions” to usher in a new world through non-violent revolution (Walker 2019). As Christopher Innes wrote of the Living Theatre: “They repeatedly termed their political aim “prophesying”, described their theatre as “performing a ceremony” and its intended effect as “absolute communion”, referred to the actor as “a priest” or “shaman”, and pointed out their “concern with primitive and mystic rituals”” (Innes 1981, p. 187). This combinative spirituality, bringing together medieval Jewish mysticism, a Chinese divinatory system, and the Hindu-Buddhist centers of spiritual energy in the body directly reflects the language of American metaphysical religion. Elinor Fuchs argues for a connection between Stein’s landscape dramaturgy and the works of various postmodern theater-makers whose pieces feature “non-linear spatial structures, and are concerned not with individual character or a temporal progression but with a total state or condition” and “also draw important moments of imagery from natural landscape” (Fuchs 1995). Fuchs pivots away from connections to natural landscapes when discussing the works of Richard Foreman and Liz LeCompte, arguing instead for a concept of “mindscapes”, particularly in the case of Foreman.. Religions 2020, 11, 152 13 of 14 Richard Foreman has long decked his hermetic mindscapes with occult symbols, Hebrew letters he does not read, and Jewish prayer paraphernalia. If, as Albanese suggests, American metaphysical religion has served to democratize the occult, Foreman’s project may be said to re-consign such secrets to the shadows. Foreman presents occult signs that point back to nothing, divulging secrets in languages we no longer speak, offering esoteric mysteries into which no one can be initiated. Foreman, who directly acknowledges his debt to Stein, also described himself as a “closet religious writer” (Foreman 1992, p. 5). The Wooster Group’s engagement with American metaphysical religion is subtler, but many of their productions use technology to channel the voices of the dead. In Rumstick Road (1977), one of their earliest works, audio recordings of Spalding Gray’s deceased family members featured prominently in the technological warp and weft of this experimental memory play, which also borrowed text from Mary Baker Eddy’s writings on Christian Science. Ron Vawter’s now-famous rendering of Vershinin’s final speech in Fish Story (1994), recorded and glowing through screens present on stage, allowed the dying Vawter to remain in this world as he stepped one foot into the next. In 2007’s Hamlet, Richard Burton’s staging of Shakespeare’s play came alive in the theater again, embodied and voiced by company members performing in front of a recording of Burton’s 1965 production. Theater itself, usually consigned to that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns, was here released from its videotaped purgatory to speak again through a willing company of mediums. In Early Shaker Spirituals (2014), a “record album interpretation”, the Group channeled Shaker women who were believed to have received messages from the spirit world and captured them in song. It also bears noting, particularly with regard to Early Shaker Spirituals, that in a rediscovered chapter of Thomas Edison’s diary—recovered in 2015—Edison discussed his desire to create a phone to the afterlife. In the post-WWI Spiritualist revival, Edison sought to capture the voices of the departed through technology and detailed his scientific theory explaining how these voices might be recorded. While the Wooster Group’s technological obsessions may spring more recently from experiments with postmodern intermediality, the roots of these obsessions stretch far further back into the shadowy spaces of American religious longing. While this article has primarily focused on the religious reverberations in Stein’s work, a fuller picture of the metaphysical avant-garde would bring the spiritual resonances in Stein together with a greater exploration of the ritual performances of midcentury. It might ask why the skepticism in Stein gives way to the sincerity of communal ritual in groups like the Living Theatre and the Performance Group only to be replaced by skepticism again in Foreman and the Wooster Group. It might ask how Stein’s dramaturgy and the current occult revival come together onstage today. It might ask why Reverend Al Carmines, Off-Off-Broadway pioneer, the liberal Protestant minister at Judson Memorial Church, founder of Judson Poets’ Theater, and composer of five musicals about Gertrude Stein, articulated his own conflation of God and art this way: “If you want to know how to live, go to church. If you want to know how your life is in its deepest roots, go to the theater” (Martin 2005). Funding: This research received no external funding. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References Albanese, Catherine L. 2007. A Republic of Mind and Spirit: A Cultural History of American Metaphysical Religion. New Haven: Yale University Press, pp. 1–21. Bay-Cheng, Sarah. 2004. Mama Dada: Gertrude Stein’s Avant-Garde Theater. New York: Routledge, p. 119. Burns, Edward M., Ulla Dydo, and William Rice, eds. 1996. The Letters of Gertrude Stein and Thornton Wilder. New Haven: Yale University Press, pp. 362–63. Davy, Kate. 1978. Richard Foreman’s Ontological-Hysteric Theatre: The Influence of Gertrude Stein. Twentieth Century Literature 24: 108–26. [CrossRef] http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/441069 Religions 2020, 11, 152 14 of 14 Dydo, Ulla E. 1988. Gertrude Stein: Composition as Meditation. In Gertrude Stein and the Making of Literature. Edited by Shirley Neuman and Ira B. Nadel. Boston: Northeastern University Press, p. 47. Dydo, Ulla E. 2003. Gertrude Stein: The Language That Rises, 1923–1934. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, pp. 265–66. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 2004a. Nature. In Essays and Poems of Ralph Waldo Emerson. New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, pp. 7–49. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. 2004b. The Over-Soul. In Essays and Poems of Ralph Waldo Emerson. New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, pp. 186–201. Foreman, Richard. 1992. Unbalancing Acts: Foundations for a Theater. New York: Pantheon Books, p. 5. Frothingham, Paul Revere. 1912. The Mysticism of Maeterlinck. Harvard Theological Review 5: 251–68. [CrossRef] Fuchs, Elinor. 1995. The Death of Character: Reflections on Theater after Modernism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, pp. 92–107. Innes, Christopher. 1981. Holy Theatre: Ritual and the Avant Garde. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, p. 187. James, William. 1895. Is Life Worth Living? International Journal of Ethics 6: 1–24. Johnson, W. J., ed. 2009. Moksa. In A Dictionary of Hinduism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, Available online: http://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/acref/9780198610250.001.0001/acref-9780198610250- e-1629?rskey=Rxb5om&result=1 (accessed on 8 April 2019). Kastleman, Rebecca. 2019. An Acquaintance with Religion: Pluralizing Knowledge in Gertrude Stein’s Doctor Faustus Lights the Lights. Modern Drama 62: 338–60. [CrossRef] Keown, Damien, ed. 2004. Nirvana. In A Dictionary of Buddhism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, Available online: http://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/acref/9780198605607.001.0001/acref-9780198605607- e-1267?rskey=SLN7mT&result=1 (accessed on 8 April 2019). Martin, Douglas. 2005. Al Carmines, Experimental Theater Force, Is Dead at 69. New York Times. August 13. Available online: https://www.nytimes.com/2005/08/13/arts/al-carmines-experimental-theater-force-is-dead- at-69.html (accessed on 8 April 2019). Moses, Montrose J. 1920. Forward to Emerson and Other Essays by Maurice Maeterlinck. Translated by Montrose J. Moses. New York: Dodd, Mead and Company, pp. 9–29. Poirier, Richard. 1992. Poetry and Pragmatism. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, p. 153. Robinson, Marc. 2009. The American Play. New Haven: Yale Univeristy Press, pp. 186–99. Robinson, Marc. 1994. The Other American Drama. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, p. 197. Ruddick, Lisa Cole. 1990. Reading Gertrude Stein: Body, Text, Gnosis. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, p. 40. Schmidt, Leigh Eric. 2005. Restless Souls: The Making of American Spirituality. New York: HarperCollins, pp. 1–23. Solomon, Alisa. 2011. Introduction to The Reverend Billy Project: From Rehearsal Hall to Super Mall with the Church of Life After Shopping by Savitri D and Bill Talen. Edited by Alisa Solomon. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, pp. 3–16. Stein, Gertrude. 1936. The Geographical History of America or the Relation of Human Nature to the Human Mind. New York: Random Hous. Stein, Gertrude. 1967. Plays. In Look at Me Now and Here I Am: Writings and Lectures, 1911–1945. Edited by Patricia Meyerowitz. London: Peter Owen, pp. 58–81. Stein, Gertrude. 2016. Four Saints in Three Acts. Composed by Virgil Thompson. Perf. Boston Modern Orchestra Project. Cond. Gil Rose. Malden: BMOP Sound, CD. Taylor, Charles. 2007. A Secular Age. Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, pp. 253–556. Taylor, Eugene. 2011. William James on Consciousness Beyond the Margin. Princeton: Princeton University Press, pp. 182–83. Walker, Thomas S. 2019. History: The Living Theatre. Available online: http://www.livingtheatre.org/detailed- history (accessed on 8 April 2019). © 2020 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. 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Metaphysical Religion Meditation and the Late-Nineteenth Century Metaphysical Ferment Meditation and Landscape Dramaturgy Stein’s Revised Correspondences: Human Nature and Human Mind Four Saints in Three Acts Coda References 
work_xevwf376rjeczjxg6jsnnymmxm	----	aggliko-exofillo-16 “The Horror of Self-Reflection”: Writing, Cancer, and Terrorism in Philip Roth’s American Pastoral Christopher Gair This essay provides a re-reading of the relationship between Philip Roth’s American Pastoral (1997) and the canonical texts of the American Renaissance. It focuses on a selection of well known passages, to suggest the ways in which Roth borrows the form of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s work, the content of Herman Melville’s and the language of Walt Whitman’s. Rather than accepting the (until recently) conventional view of these artists as offering unifying definitions of a hermetically- sealed national identity, the essay reads American Pastoral as a re- enactment of the sense of crisis that permeates the work of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Hawthorne, and Melville, and argues that the conflict that Roth depicts tearing apart the post-World War II United States can be viewed as an inevitable consequence even of the more optimistic visions proffered by Whitman. Noting the manner in which Roth revisits the American Renaissance link of body and nation, the essay reads cancer as a metaphor for the condition of the nation in late-industrial America. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befal me in life,—no disgrace, no calumny, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. —Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nature” (1836) I celebrate myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. —Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself” (1855) https://doi.org/10.26262/gramma.v16i0.6437 https://doi.org/10.26262/gramma.v16i0.6437 Shadows present foreshadowing deeper shadows to come. —Herman Melville, “Benito Cereno” (1855) he 2007 publication of Exit Ghost appears to represent the final outing for Philip Roth’s master chronicler of American life, Nathan Zuckerman. Blighted not only by the incontinence and impotence that he has endured since undergoing surgery for prostate cancer, Zuckerman is now handicapped by an increasingly unreliable memory, a bitingly cruel impediment for a man whose sense of self is given meaning by the shaping of words into narrative. By 2004, when the book is staged, Zuckerman has long been living in semi-isolation in the Berkshires, in “a small house on a dirt road in the deep country” where he does not watch television, own a cell phone or a computer, and appears to have no knowledge of contemporary popular culture and little interest even in such seismic events as 9/11 (Exit Ghost 3). While there is clearly much that could be said about Exit Ghost and Roth’s vision of the role of the author in the United States in the opening decade of the twenty-first century, my interest here lies in the retrospective light the novel casts on American Pastoral (1997), an earlier meditation on the relationship between the individual and terrorism. Significantly, in Exit Ghost, Zuckerman also reminds us of why he had decided to leave the city for good: he had been the victim of a series of death threats—that is, “the danger of fatal attack” (53). As a consequence of his move, he is “taken hold of” by “the habit of solitude” (58), a Thoreauvian gesture that sees Zuckerman rarely venturing even to the local village, let alone to New York. The reason for his relocation could also be read as suggestive of the basis for Zuckerman’s interest in terrorism at the time that American Pastoral was written, and contextualises his construction of a narrative that deals with the responses of individual and nation to events that disturb complacent notions of personal and national identity. As the reference to Henry David Thoreau hints, such alignment of self and nation sees American Pastoral re-explore the classic trope of the American Renaissance, in which the (male) body and soul are equated with a United States that is represented as an equally organic entity. Several critics have called attention to the degree to which Roth alludes to and reinscribes both this and other elements of the American Renaissance in American Pastoral, I Married a Communist (1998) and The Human Stain (2000), the three millennial novels that are generally viewed as a triptych. 236 Christopher Gair T Catherine Morley, Ross Posnock, David Brauner, and Derek Parker Royal have all focussed on the manner in which these books mark a relocation of Zuckerman from his position as a self-consciously Jewish American author to a writer combining an ongoing ethnic literary identity with efforts to subscribe to a “canonical” or “national” literary genealogy. Thus, they have stressed such factors as Zuckerman’s move to the sometime home of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville in the Berkshires, his name’s (Nathan) evocation of Hawthorne, the Emersonian elements of his use of nature and the ways in which central tropes redeploy Hawthorne’s own weight-laden symbols, especially the letter “A” worn by Hester Prynne. The key difference, for almost all these scholars, and one perhaps rooted in the feeling that America has reached the end of the industrial age that was still in its infancy when Walt Whitman was celebrating himself and all around, is that this body—despite initial indications to the contrary—is in decline, and forced to encounter a series of ever-deepening physical and spiritual crises. Morley is representative, therefore, when she claims that “Roth situates his writing within this tradition but simultaneously deconstructs a national canon which has perpetuated the notion of a certain attainable and singular ‘American-ness’ ” (86). For Morley, the point is linked to another key difference, since Roth’s “suffusion of this nineteenth-century tradition with a transnational consciousness … works to challenge the idiom of nationalism” (88).1 “The Horror of Self-Reflection” 237 1. Unsurprisingly, given his extensive list of publications on nineteenth-century American literature, Ross Posnock is the one critic to avoid such over-simplification of the complexities of the American Renaissance and of Philip Roth’s response to it. He is sensitive, for example, to the ways in which Roth, in “novel after novel” echoes Herman Melville’s moral exposé of the “fantasy of purity” and to the ties between the “moral and epistemological dimensions” of Roth and Ralph Waldo Emerson’s writing (”Purity and Danger” 86–87). Although Catherine Morley offers a traditional summary of the American Renaissance in her chapter on Roth, she demonstrates more awareness of its complexities and nuances earlier in her study, assessing the degree to which recent scholars have identified transnational themes alongside criticisms (rather than endorsements) of national myths (See Morley 37–45). I am not arguing, of course, that Roth is drawn to (and drawing upon) the American Renaissance to the exclusion of other literary genealogies. Most obviously, there are debts to John Milton, Homer, Marcel Proust and to a pastoral tradition wider than its localised instancing in mid-nineteenth-century New England and New York. In addition to these much cited examples—and once more in the light of Exit Ghost’s (2007) reiteration of Zuckerman’s youthful fascination with Joseph Conrad—it is tempting to turn detective and suggest that moments of grave seriousness in American Pastoral (1997) involve playful intertextual allusions. The ill-fated, While there is no doubt that the canonical texts of the American Renaissance were often used in this manner by scholars shaping a founding American Studies paradigm at the height of the Cold War in the 1950s, the above attempts to view Roth as moving somehow beyond an American Renaissance that is defined as celebratory and unifying are highly problematic. A quick glance at some of the key themes and central texts of the mid-nineteenth century both illustrates a far more complex, fragmentary, anxious and (in a transnational sense) permeable canon and suggests the reasons why Roth should wish to proffer a reconsideration of them at the close of the millennium.2 To begin with Ralph Waldo Emerson is to see how a writer rightly seen as the midwife at the birth of a national literary tradition simultaneously doubted the possibilities of a live birth. We should remember that Emerson’s most famous early essays emerge from a sense of crisis: “Nature” (1836) begins with expressions of anxiety about contemporary abilities to see the world “face to face” and with bleak contrasts to the “original relationship to the universe” experienced in the past (Baym, ed. 1120); “The American Scholar” (1837) represents “Man … metamorphosed into a thing, into many things,” a reifying process with particularly damaging consequences for the artist, with “Man Thinking” transformed into the “bookworm” (Baym, ed. 1139, 1141); and “Self-Reliance” (1841) warns of the dangers of a society already becoming over-civilised, in which individuals are afraid to trust their own genius. While Zuckerman might initially be seen to fail one half of Emerson’s call for self-trust, since—even if he places his ideas in the world in the form of his novels—his vision emerges in the solitude of his Berkshires retreat rather than in defiance of the world of the “mob,” we should remember that his work has evidently reached beyond the “decorous and prudent” “rage of the cultivated classes” and has aroused his would be killer, the embodiment of what Emerson labels the “unintelligent brute force that lies at the bottom of society” (Baym, ed. 1167) and which will seek to hunt down and destroy the forms of hyper-developed selfhood that posit a challenge to American individualism. 238 Christopher Gair exploited terrorist, Merry Levov, has a stutter reminiscent of that equally manipulated adolescent, Stevie, the simple-minded brother of Winnie Verloc, and his disintegration as an inadvertent suicide bomber foreshadows Merry’s considerably slower loss of mind and body. 2. Alan Heimert suggests convincingly that the period 1848-51—that is, the moment when Moby-Dick (1851) and other quintessential American Renaissance texts were being composed—marked “the very months of America’s profoundest political crisis” (506). Three further examples—Hawthorne, Melville, and Whitman—serve to illustrate just what is at stake in Roth’s indebtedness to the American Renaissance. For now, I will stick to a handful of well known passages, to suggest the ways in which Roth borrows the form of Hawthorne’s work, the content of Melville’s and the language of Whitman’s. I should stress that this usage is, of course, considerably more blurred than such a straightforward division implies (and my reading here will involve some slippage between the divisions), but—given constraints of space here—it should suffice to illustrate the point. Following Hawthorne’s famous distinction in his Preface to The House of the Seven Gables (1851), it would seem prudent to regard American Pastoral (along with I Married a Communist and The Human Stain) as a “romance” rather than a “novel.” For Hawthorne, the Romance, must [as a work of art] rigidly submit itself to laws, and while it sins unpardonably so far as it may swerve aside from the truth of the human heart—has fairly a right to present that truth under circumstances, to a great extent, of the writer’s own choosing or creation. If he thinks fit, also, he may so manage his atmospherical medium as to bring out or mellow the lights and deepen or enrich the shadows of the picture. He will be wise, no doubt, to make a very moderate use of the privilege here stated, and, especially, to mingle the Marvellous rather as a slight, delicate, and evanescent flavor, than as any portion of the actual substance of the dish offered to the Public. He can hardly be said, however, to commit a literary crime, even if he disregard this caution. (Baym, ed. 1494) The tale of Swede Levov initially appears to be unpromising material for such a Romance: when Zuckerman meets him for dinner in 1995, in response to the Swede’s letter asking for help in writing a tribute to his recently deceased father, he finds it impossible to penetrate a stupefying blandness, where “all that rose to the surface was more surface” (23). Indeed, Zuckerman admits as much, stating that “the guy cannot be cracked by thinking. That’s the mystery of his mystery” (30), “I could not decide whether that blankness of his was like snow covering something or snow covering nothing” (37) and “[t]his guy is the embodiment of nothing” (39). Nevertheless, American Pastoral is a book that strives to unearth “the truth of the human heart” and one in which Zuckerman is happy to acknowledge his own enriching of the shadows of the story he narrates. “The Horror of Self-Reflection” 239 Were it not for one final point, it could well be argued that the claims for the Romance laid out by Hawthorne could equally be applied to almost all fiction genres, since most would profess to be articulating some kind of epistemological “truth.” American Pastoral, however, bears an uncanny formal resemblance to The Scarlet Letter (1850), Hawthorne’s most famous work, and the one which most obviously engages with the relationship of America’s past to its present and the role of the author-artist in (for Hawthorne) the 1640s and 1840s. Hawthorne, of course, is drawn to the tale of Hester Prynne through a combination of frustration with his life as a customs house officer (surrounded by characters as apparently depthless as the Swede), historical curiosity and moral sympathy. It is the coupling of Surveyor Pue’s brief account of the facts of Hester’s life with the “sensation … as of burning heat” (Baym, ed. 1369) that Hawthorne feels when he places the ancient letter “A” against his chest that prompts him to imagine and create his own tale. Likewise, it is the fragments of the Swede’s life revealed by his brother Jerry when he encounters Zuckerman at their class reunion—recounted across a few pages near the start of American Pastoral—that, when paired with the emotional reaction that Zuckerman feels when he dances to Johnny Mercer’s 1940s hit, “Dreams,” triggers not only the realisation that he has been entirely wrong about the Swede, but also the decision to recreate his life story through a Hawthornesque act of imagination, in which Zuckerman tries “to take the measure of a person of apparent blankness and innocence and simplicity, chart his collapse, make of him, as time wore on, the most important figure of my life” (74). Akin to Hawthorne, who establishes not only his own, personal, affinity with Hester, but also the degree to which her tale of alienation resonates with the wider experiences of artists two centuries later, Zuckerman looks to the (more recent) past as a way of explaining the American present and the author’s role within it at a moment of personal and national crisis. And, like Hawthorne, Zuckerman begins his tale with an account of how he came to inhabit the margins of American social life and how this marginalisation— for both, a step involving a combination of personal choice and enforcement by others, since Hawthorne is fired from his job and Zuckerman is threatened by a crazed reader—is the enabling condition for the creation of the fictions that follow. Finally, once Hawthorne and Zuckerman have discovered the fragments of their tales, they both become invisible, versions of Emerson’s “transparent eyeball” able to “see all” (Baym, ed. 1112), but doing nothing to remind the reader of their presence as creators of a fictional world. 240 Christopher Gair But while Hawthorne provides the formal model for American Pastoral, it is Melville who offers a fuller precursor of its themes. While Morley and Brauner suggest that the American Renaissance is characterised by the “normative nationalist paradigms of the pastoral” (Morley 87), Melville should surely be seen as the supreme example of an American author working to deconstruct these paradigms. Although, again, this is not the place to develop the point at length, we should recall that Melville’s now hyper-canonical masterpiece, Moby-Dick (1851) was conceived and written in the aftermath of revolutions across Europe, the United States’ annexation of Texas, the California gold rush, the Clay Compromise, the Fugitive Slave Law and the rapid acceleration of the American industrial revolution. This convergence of local, national and international crises is represented elliptically by Melville in a book that (despite the claims of early Americanists such as Richard Chase) refuses to provide simple models of nationhood. Instead, as befits a work by an author whose knowledge of international literatures and history is almost as impressive as Roth’s, Melville generates a transnational universe aboard the Pequod, in which the three mates and their harpooners represent the national and international intersections of American economic imperialism and a crew of “mariners, renegades and castaways” (Moby-Dick 114) from around the globe resist the nationalising efforts of the officer class.3 Melville’s response to the notion that the pastoral represents some kind of unshakable nationalist paradigm is equally sceptical. Pierre, or, the Ambiguities (1852) is the American literary text that most overtly anticipates the “counterpastoral” (American Pastoral 86) central themes of “The Horror of Self-Reflection” 241 3. Michael Paul Rogin offers the most detailed and incisive reading of Moby-Dick’s relation to the political crises of the period. In addition, he develops an argument, first suggested by Heimert, pointing out that the harpooners on the Pequod are members of the three races exploited by American sectional interests in the nineteenth century. Stubb, who speaks in the Western idiom, has an Indian for his squire; Flask, a diminutive Southerner, perches on the Negro Daggoo’s shoulders, just as the Southern economy rested on the labours of black slaves; and Starbuck, the ship’s owners’ representative, and loyal to New England codes, has a native from the Pacific isles to harpoon his whales. It was precisely this sectional, racial division of labour which promoted capitalist development and political harmony in the first half of the nineteenth century, and it was the breakdown of such a relationship that ultimately led to the American Civil War (Rogin 102–51). For a reading of Moby-Dick that anticipates the transnational turn of recent scholarship, see James, Mariners, Renegades and Castaways: Herman Melville and the World We Live In. 16 American Pastoral in its systematic deconstruction of the notion that the pastoral can ever offer a sustainable and viable model of national identity.4 Pierre’s opening chapters represent an earlier version of the world that Swede Levov attempts to establish in Old Rimrock and Pierre’s naïve, youthful oneness with the natural world foreshadows the Swede’s fantasies of Johnny Appleseed traversing the country in a narrative that transcends religious or racial grounds. But, in the same way that the forces of history intrude upon the Swede’s fantasy, Pierre is forced to confront the artificiality of the “natural” order by the discovery of Isabel, his dark- complexioned and previously unknown half-sister, in a narrative twist that would seem to allegorise the presence of miscegenation and slavery in the United States and the—for Melville, as for many other writers at the time— inexorable slide toward Civil War. Pierre’s later wanderings through a dystopian metropolis when—as a writer of what are viewed as unacceptable narratives about the cosmos—he is hounded from respectable society, also bear strong resemblance to the representations of post-industrial Newark in American Pastoral and to Roth’s own examinations of the struggles of the radical author to be heard at moments of national strife. Indeed, Geoff Ward’s suggestion that, “it is clear from the outset that whatever happens to Pierre is going to be awful,” his reminders about the “opposition between the cloying pastoral of Saddle Meadows … and the city of dreadful night to which [Pierre] travels” and, most tellingly, his observation that “Pierre is, among other things, a warning about the power of tropes to shape life” (80, 82) could all be applied directly to American Pastoral. Roth even echoes the hints of incest that characterise Pierre’s relationships with his mother and with Isabel when the Swede kisses Merry’s “stammering mouth with the passion that she had been asking him for all month long while knowing only obscurely what she was asking for” (91). Walt Whitman—at least, the Whitman of the first edition of Leaves of Grass in 1855—would seem, initially, to pose more of a problem of alignment with American Pastoral. Whereas the Melville of the 1850s is a 242 Christopher Gair 4. It is also possible to trace the presence of Edgar Allan Poe in this element of American Pastoral. To cite but one example, note the manner in which the enigmatic “The Masque of the Red Death” (1842) is reinscribed by Roth as an overt form of national nightmare, “the plague America infiltrating the Swede’s castle and there infecting everyone. The daughter who transports him out of the longed for American pastoral and into everything that is its antithesis and its enemy, the fury, the violence, and the desperation of the counterpastoral—into the indigenous American beserk” (86). figure consumed by the tragic qualities of American life and the slide toward civil conflict, Whitman represents himself as the national poet, able, as he puts it in “Song of Myself,” to traverse boundaries and “contain multitudes” within a body-state celebrated for its capacity for self- contradiction (Baym, ed. 2253). While there are certainly moments of doubt, even in the 1855 text, Leaves of Grass (and especially the poem later named “Song of Myself”) is essentially an inventory of the nation’s rich and varied resources. In contrast, there is little sense of national celebration in American Pastoral: thus, when Zuckerman tells of the Swede’s “flawlessly Americanized” appearance and adopts a Whitmanesque coupling of self and nation to suggest the Swede’s “unconscious oneness with America” (3, 20), most readers are likely to be alert—even at this early stage in the narrative— to the ironies of the descriptions. There is a similarly sweeping and—superficially, at least—progressive vision of the America of the mid-1940s in another paragraph from near the start of the novel: Roth’s listing of “auto workers, coal workers, transit workers, maritime workers, steel workers” demanding rectification of the nation’s—by now, undemocratically unequal—prosperity mirrors Whitman’s habitual enthusiastic naming of the types of American labourer; the claim that “Everything was in motion” again seems to echo the manner in which the lines of “Song of Myself” characteristically represent people in action; while the paragraph’s concluding vision of “Americans … en masse, everyone in it together” (40) borrows Whitman’s own appropriation of the French in order to reiterate both Whitman’s assertion in his 1855 Preface that a “superior breed … the gangs of kosmos and prophets en masse,” “finding their inspiration in real objects today” (Baym, ed. 2208) will construct a democratic utopia and Whitman’s stress in “Song of Myself” on the notion that “En-Masse” is a “word of the modern” (Baym, ed. 2226). And yet, Zuckerman’s idealised memories of his adolescence suggest that, even then, there was “an undercurrent of anxiety” beneath a world “bright with industriousness.” Furthermore, despite invitations to extrapolate to wider national moods, there are reminders that these are descriptions of a Jewish community retaining a “generalized mistrust of the Gentile World” (41), while the narrator, recounting this history from the perspective of half a century’s distance, is all too aware of what had been happening to Jews in Europe shortly before the scenes he describes. The parallels between Whitman’s and Roth’s approach are also evident in the depiction of the novel’s central character. For Zuckerman, there seems little doubt that the young Swede performed a heroic function for his “The Horror of Self-Reflection” 243 local community in ways that assumed epic, national proportions. Where Whitman would come to represent Abraham Lincoln as the symbol of possibility—of containing the nation’s multitudes—lamenting his assassination as a sign of the cleaving of that ideal, Zuckerman sees the Swede as “our Kennedy,” “another man of glamour exuding American meaning” and links Kennedy’s death and Levov’s “destruction” by the “sliver off the comet of the American chaos [that] had come loose and spun all the way out to Old Rimrock” (83). The Swede’s awakening to emotional turmoil, just like his later “belated discovery of what it means to be not healthy but sick, to be not strong but weak,” to be “[b]etrayed all at once by a wonderful body that had furnished him with assurance and had constituted the bulk of his assurance over others” (29) represent metonymic versions of Zuckerman’s bleak vision of the nation laid low by political corruption (Watergate), internal conflict over race, Vietnam and intergenerational battles over what—if anything—“America” should be. Where Whitman—at least, before the Civil War and Lincoln’s death—could construct an imaginary America in verse that served as symbolic compensation for the conflicts that were threatening to split the nation, Zuckerman redeploys Whitman’s alignment of the individual and the nation as a means of depicting their mutual, symbiotic state of dis-ease. Whitman’s tropes of democracy, selfhood and nation are systematically inverted by Zuckerman in a rewriting of American (literary) history that tells a story of national and personal decline and disillusion.5 While Zuckerman’s representations of Swede Levov and the American nation reformulate Whitman’s central trope, repeatedly distorting it to proffer a bleak lament for a disintegrating body-state, these are by no means the only way in which Leaves of Grass is referenced in American Pastoral. To conclude this piece, I will look at one further instance of this process, assessing the manner in which the rhythms and language of Whitman’s verse—which he sees, of course, as those of the people, and labels “the dialects of common sense” (Baym, ed. 2208)—are subsequently turned against “America” from within. I will then offer a few brief comments on the manner in which Roth modifies Whitman and Emerson’s conception of 244 Christopher Gair 5. The fact that Walt Whitman is the most optimistic of the core writers of the American Renaissance (also including Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne and Melville) famously selected by F.O. Matthiessen means that his relationship to Roth is potentially closer to the model laid out by Morley than is true for the others. As such, it is strange that she does no more than mention him briefly. the place of the author in the United States in order to accommodate the specific historical crises of national identity that he considers in American Pastoral. When the Swede visits his fugitive daughter in her hovel set amidst the “rubble, the garbage, the debris” of the streets off Newark’s McCarter Highway, he is drawn to a “series of index cards positioned just about where she once used to venerate, over her Old Rimrock bed, magazine photos of Audrey Hepburn.” The cards contain five vows of purity: I renounce all killing of living beings, whether subtile or gross, whether movable or immovable. I renounce all vices of lying speech arising from anger, or greed, or fear, or mirth. I renounce all taking of anything not given, either in a village, or a town, or a wood, either of little or much, or small or great, or living or lifeless things. I renounce all sexual pleasures, either with gods, or men, or animals. I renounce all attachments, whether little or much, small or great, living or lifeless; neither shall I myself form such attachments, nor cause others to do so, nor consent to their doing so. (239) Avoiding the temptation to update D.H. Lawrence’s comments on what Walt would have written if he had known Charlie Chaplin and apply them to Hepburn, I want to call attention to the Whitmanesque qualities of these lines. When read in sequence, the cards read like free verse and deploy a formal strategy used again and again in “Song of Myself,” through which structure is imposed by a word or phrase repeated at the opening of each line. Rather than conforming to formal meter, Whitman allows a line to run until the description of a given image or concept has been completed. He then progresses to the next line and image, reiterating the opening words of the previous passage.6 But this is just the start of the relationship: the ordering of the vows does not immediately invert Whitman’s version of the self; instead, it constructs a narrative that involves a growing sense of detachment from that vision. Thus (even where the act of renunciation is not one that Whitman would consider), the opening statement is not only phrased in the language of “Song of Myself,” with a series of sub-clauses seeking to preclude any omission or confusion, but also echoes Whitman’s own respect for all forms of life. The second and third vows, too, seem to endorse Whitman’s vision of “The Horror of Self-Reflection” 245 6. See, for example, “Song of Myself” ll. 824-30 or 1063-69 in Baym, ed. 2237, 2245. the purity of democratic practice—this is how he envisages his ideal America, in which poets have replaced presidents as shapers of thought and behaviour. Vow four is the first to upend “Song of Myself,” not only in its renunciation of the sexual pleasure that is the cornerstone of Whitman’s celebration of the body, but also in its distinctions between human beings and gods. Finally, where Leaves of Grass is built upon attachments between Americans, irrespective of class, creed or colour, Merry’s fifth vow marks an absolute rejection of such union. This final act of renunciation—in which the possibility of human cooperation in any form is repudiated—seems to mark a shift that rejects the key trope of Whitman’s verse (the self/nation binary) and posits an alternative that leads to self-annihilation and (in the improbable event that it is universally adopted) the death of the country itself. Merry’s manifesto offers one further inversion of the aims of American Renaissance (and many other) writers, in that it marks a self-conscious act of disengagement from the obligation to intervene in debates about the nation. Merry’s own intervention had, of course, been the bombing of Old Rimrock’s post office at a moment where—as Aliki Varvogli has pointed out—her stutter represented “the inability to articulate her rage against her country” (111). For Varvogli, Merry’s impediment aligns her with Zuckerman, who is impotent and incontinent following surgery for prostate cancer. Both are seen as “powerless, a fact metaphorically expressed through the ways in which their bodies fail them” (111). Neither the terrorist nor the artist is able to effect meaningful change on a nation that is now ruled in such a manner as to marginalise the voices of the people. Varvogli makes a powerful case for the link, going so far as to suggest that Merry is the true protagonist of American Pastoral. Yet, Zuckerman insists that his primary focus is the story of Swede Levov and that his narrative involves dissolving the differences between them, effectively thinking as he imagines Levov would do. Physically, their declines are virtually identical—both suffer from prostate cancer and the disease represents the fall not only of powerful men, but also of a global super- power. Where Whitman is the poet of body and soul, Roth splits these categories in two, allowing the Swede’s body (but also his imagination) and Zuckerman’s imagination (but also, of course, his body) to represent the fall of America, in which the extremes of the pastoral myth pursued by Levov and the deconstruction of that myth by the artist are swept to the margins of history. Roth wrote American Pastoral at a moment before 9/11 and at a time when terrorism still seemed to be—largely—a domestic affair. As such, it 246 Christopher Gair makes sense that he should revisit the moment of sixties radicalism as a way of exploring contemporary American life. But equally pertinent in this context is the way that he deploys a version of the American Renaissance text as illustration of how America is threatened with destruction from within. Once more the analogy between the human body and the nation is essential to this representation. Where Whitman celebrates both, however, Zuckerman’s contemplation of the medical and— implicitly—the metaphorical meanings of “cancer” as a vehicle of potential annihilation is enacted in a manner that highlights their doubling. Cancer is defined on Wordnet as “any malignant growth or tumor caused by abnormal and uncontrolled cell division; it may spread to other parts of the body through the lymphatic system or the blood stream” (Miller). The key point is that the “uncontrolled cell division” comes from within, replacing healthy cells with “abnormal” ones, which then spread to contaminate and—in the worst case—destroy the host body. This is what happens to the Swede and (although not fatally) Zuckerman. Merry Levov is also part of the American “body,” a contented child with a normal interest in animals and film stars, yet she also becomes one cell in the “abnormal” division—part of an equally hard to control “American chaos” (83)—that attacks its host in places (here, Old Rimrock) far away from its original manifestation. The supreme irony is that Merry Levov is the inevitable product of Whitman’s vision of an infinitely expandable nation—sooner or later, the body is bound to create its own malignant growth, killing the healthy cells that surround it, whether these are the actual victims of her bombs or the longer- term casualties of her actions, such as Swede Levov. Likewise, her vows of purity, while apparently offering a “renunciation” of her earlier actions, are in fact an extension of them, representing a symbolically murderous twist to Whitman’s language of democratic freedom that, as we have seen, seeks to preclude the forms of human empathy upon which Whitman’s America depends. If we read American Pastoral through the canonical texts of the American Renaissance, there is one final twist to the narrative. Merry Levov has not brought about the collapse of the country, although another form of the self-destruction of democracy is being enacted through the televised coverage of the Watergate hearings that are being beamed (again, cancerously) into almost every American home. But, amidst the “chaos,” Zuckerman ends the novel with a note of thickly veiled hope, in which the laughter of the literature professor, Marcia Umanoff, at the idea that America is “going rapidly under” is tempered by Lou Levov’s good fortune “The Horror of Self-Reflection” 247 at not losing his sight when he is attacked by Jessie Orcutt. The scene reminds us that Zuckerman—like Whitman—empathises with all his characters, even where (as with Lou and Marcia here or the Swede and Merry repeatedly) their views of the nation are diametrically opposed. In “Nature,” Emerson writes that “[i]n the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befal me in life,—no disgrace, no calumny, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair” (Baym, ed. 1112). “Disgrace and calumny” are everywhere at this moment, with Lou believing that “[d]eviancy prevailed” (422), but the stress on spared vision, far from the city and at the conclusion of a narrative in which Zuckerman himself has (after the introductory pages) become Emerson’s “transparent eyeball” (Baym, ed. 1112), being nothing, but seeing all, suggests that there is still hope. Like Emerson, who tempers his fears about the decline of America with a reason for optimism in the ability to see, Roth/Zuckerman does not conclude with the account of the old man’s death. Instead, in a book whose protagonist’s name (Seymour) offers an aural pun on Zuckerman’s understanding of the role of the author in American life, this stress on the continued power of sight (while probably not recognized as such by Lou Levov) metonymically suggests the ability of the writer to sustain his position as “transparent eyeball” claiming the ability to “see all”—and write about it. University of Glasgow United Kingdom Works Cited Baym, Nina, Gen. Ed. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W.W. Norton and Company, 2007. Brauner, David. Philip Roth. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007. Chase, Richard. The American Novel and Its Tradition. 1957. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “The American Scholar.” 1837. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. 1138–51. ---. “Nature.” 1836. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. 1110–38. ---. “Self-Reliance.” 1841. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. 1163–80. Hawthorne, Nathaniel. Preface to The House of the Seven Gables: A Romance. 1851. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. 1493–95. 248 Christopher Gair ---. The Scarlet Letter. 1850. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. 1352–1493. Heimert, Alan. “Moby-Dick and American Political Symbolism.” American Quarterly 15 (1963): 498–534. James, C.L.R. Mariners, Renegades and Castaways: Herman Melville and the World We Live In. Dartmouth: University Press of New Hampshire, 2001. Matthiessen, F.O. American Renaissance: Art and Expression in the Age of Emerson and Whitman. 1941. New York: Oxford University Press, 1968. Melville, Herman. “Benito Cereno.” 1855. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. 2405–61. ---. Moby-Dick, or, The Whale. 1851. New York: Hendricks House, 1952. ---. Pierre, or, The Ambigvities. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1852. Miller, George A. (Director). Wordnet: a Lexical Database for the English Language. <http://wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn?s=cancer>. Morley, Catherine. The Quest for Epic in Contemporary American Fiction. New York and London: Routledge, 2009. Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Masque of the Red Death.” 1842. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. 1585–89. Posnock, Ross. Philip Roth’s Hard Truth: The Art of Immaturity. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006. ---. “Purity and Danger: On Philip Roth.” Raritan 21.2 (2001): 85–101. Rogin, Michael Paul. Subversive Genealogy: The Politics and Art of Herman Melville. New York: Alfred Knopf, 1983. Roth, Philip. American Pastoral. 1997. London: Vintage, 1998. ---. Exit Ghost. London: Jonathan Cape, 2007. ---. I Married a Communist. London: Jonathan Cape, 1998. ---. The Human Stain. London: Jonathan Cape, 2000. Royal, Derek Parker. “Pastoral Dreams and National Identity in American Pastoral and I Married a Communist.” Philip Roth: New Perspectives on an American Author. Ed. Derek Parker Royal. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2005. 185–207. Varvogli, Aliki. “The Inscription of Terrorism: Philip Roth’s American Pastoral.” Philip Roth Studies 3.2 (2007): 101–13. Ward, Geoff. The Writing of America: Literature and Cultural Identity from the Puritans to the Present. Cambridge, U.K.: Polity Press, 2002. Whitman, Walt. Preface to Leaves of Grass. 1855. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. 2195–2209. ---. “Song of Myself.” 1855. The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Nina Baym. 7th ed. Vol. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. 2210–54. “The Horror of Self-Reflection” 249 
work_xfqk4fmepbe4rborsg5e3fgwtu	----	GRVA-32-2-8607.p65 UC Irvine UC Irvine Previously Published Works Title Please Destabilize Ethnography Now: Against Anthropological Showbiz-as-Usual Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/66g2b0t9 Journal Reviews in Anthropology, 32(2) ISSN 0093-8157 Author Maurer, Bill Publication Date 2003 DOI 10.1080/00988150390197686 License https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 4.0 Peer reviewed eScholarship.org Powered by the California Digital Library University of California https://escholarship.org/uc/item/66g2b0t9 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0//4.0 https://escholarship.org http://www.cdlib.org/ Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=grva20 Download by: [The UC Irvine Libraries] Date: 15 December 2015, At: 16:22 Reviews in Anthropology ISSN: 0093-8157 (Print) 1556-3014 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/grva20 Please Destabilize Ethnography Now: Against Anthropological Showbiz-as-Usual Bill Maurer To cite this article: Bill Maurer (2003) Please Destabilize Ethnography Now: Against Anthropological Showbiz-as-Usual, Reviews in Anthropology, 32:2, 159-169, DOI: 10.1080/00988150390197686 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00988150390197686 Published online: 29 Oct 2010. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 70 View related articles Citing articles: 1 View citing articles http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=grva20 http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/grva20 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/00988150390197686 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/00988150390197686 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=grva20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=grva20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/00988150390197686 http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/00988150390197686 http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/citedby/10.1080/00988150390197686#tabModule http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/citedby/10.1080/00988150390197686#tabModule 159 Reviews in Anthropology, Vol. 32, pp. 159–169 Copyright © 2003 Taylor & Francis 0093-8157/03 $12.00 + .00 10.1080/00988150390197686 Please Destabilize Ethnography Now: Against Anthropological Showbiz-as-Usual Bill Maurer Boon, James A. Verging on Extra-Vagance: Anthropology, History, Religion, Literature, Arts. . . Showbiz. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999. xxi + 361 pp. including index. $ 70.00, cloth; $ 27.95, paper. Fabian, Johannes. Anthropology with an Attitude: Critical Essays. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001. xiv + 256 pp. $ 45.00, cloth; $17.95, paper. Fox, Richard G., ed. Recapturing Anthropology: Working in the Present. Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press, 1991. viii + 248 pp. including index. $ 50.00, cloth; $ 24.95, paper. Greenhouse, Carol J., Elizabeth Mertz, and Kay B. Warren, eds. Ethnogra- phy in Unstable Places: Everyday Lives in Contexts of Dramatic Political Change. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002. 448 pp. including in- dex. $ 64.95. cloth; $ 21.95, paper. BILL MAURER is Associate Professor of Anthropology at the University of California, Irvine. His works include Recharting the Caribbean: Land, Law and Citizenship in the British Virgin Islands (University of Michigan Press, 1997), and, coedited with Alejandro Lugo, Gender Matters: Re-Reading Michelle Z. Rosaldo (University of Michigan Press, 2000). He is currently working on an anthropology of money and finance; pieces of that project appear in Public Culture, American Ethnologist, Comparative Studies in Society and History, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Economy and Society, and Environment and Planning D: Society and Space. Address correspondence to Bill Maurer, Department of Anthropology, 3151 Social Sci- ences Plaza, University of California-Irvine, Irvine, CA 92697-5100. E-mail: wmmaurer@uci.edu D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 160 B. Maurer Marcus, George E. Ethnography Through Thick and Thin. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998. x + 275 pp., including index. $ 62.50, cloth; $ 19.95, paper. Marcus, George E., ed. Critical Anthropology Now: Unexpected Contexts, Shifting Constituencies, Changing Agendas. Santa Fe, NM: School of Ameri- can Research Press, 1999. viii + 440 pp. including index. $ 60.00, cloth; $ 24.95, paper. The occasion of this review is the publication of two edited volumes that bring together a number of interrelated, open-ended questions for the prac- tice of ethnography and the modes of anthropological knowledge it has generally been held to produce. Carol Greenhouse, Elizabeth Mertz, and Kay Warren’s Ethnography in Unstable Places presents ten ethnographically situated essays, each of which unsettles the pretensions of any form of inquiry that would begin from the putative stability of social, cultural, or political forms. Each study in the volume takes up situations of intensive and often rapid political or social change; some consider wrenching con- flicts that reveal a profound originary lack at the center of contexts once presumed given—the nation-state, the locality, the political, indeed, the social itself. The sites of research range from Israel to the Philippines, Namibia, Germany, and Kent, England, among others. The volume contains a theo- retically rich introduction by Greenhouse and two generative conclusions authored by Mertz and Warren, respectively. George Marcus’s Critical An- thropology Now also presents 10 substantive essays, as well as an introduc- tory essay by Marcus. The subject matter of the chapters in this volume is less classically anthropological than the chapters in the Greenhouse, Mertz and Warren volume. Nongovernmental organizations, David Koresh of Waco, Texas fame, the Bhopal disaster, American military science, and the univer- sity press, among others, become sites for sustained anthropological reflec- tion in a manner that queries the relationship between ethnography as a methodological practice and anthropology’s claims to knowledge. Indeed, what strikes this reader upon encountering these two texts is the manner in which ethnographic practice and writing have incorporated and, in some instances, superceded the critiques of the 1980s—best repre- sented, perhaps, in James Clifford and George Marcus’s (1986) coedited volume, Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography—some- times, but not always, with interesting results. What also strikes this reader is the two volumes’ engagement with another of the texts under review, Richard Fox’s Recapturing Anthropology: Working in the Present. This essay will situate these two edited volumes in relation to Fox’s 1991 collection, as D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 Destabilize Ethnography Now 161 well as three other recent collections, by George Marcus, Johannes Fabian, and James Boon, that bring together (mostly) previously published essays from the last decade or so. Marcus, Fabian, and Boon have had different takes on the “crisis” of ethnography delineated in the 1980s, and their work has traveled in rather different circles and along sometimes widely diver- gent trajectories. As an index of this claim, I note that neither Critical An- thropology Now nor the Greenhouse, Mertz, and Warren volume makes ref- erence to the work of Fabian or Boon, while both cite Fox and Marcus. This review essay is an effort to determine why that might be the case, and what it can reveal about the current state of ethnographic practice in anthropo- logical knowledge production “after” the Writing Culture critique. Fox’s Recapturing Anthropology was the outcome of a seminar at the School of American Research in Santa Fe, New Mexico in 1989, shortly after the publication of Writing Culture (itself a product of a School of American Research seminar held in 1984). The latter, readers will remember, knocked over the apple-cart of ethnographic writing by calling attention to the tropes it used to create seamless, realist representations of its subjects and by querying the position of the anthropologist as author. Recapturing Anthro- pology presumably meant to recapture the discipline from the charge of navel-gazing or overly reflexive “postmodern” forms of analysis (often re- duced, by critics, to a form of relativism that stops knowledge production in its tracks—if you really want to resist authorial authority, you can’t make any claims whatsoever, for they would do violence to the voices and the contexts under investigation). Several of the essays in Fox’s volume have, by now, become classics: Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s “Anthropology and the Savage Slot: The Poetics and Politics of Otherness”; Lila Abu-Lughod’s “Writing Against Culture”; and Arjun Appadurai’s “Global Ethnoscapes: Notes and Queries for a Transnational Anthropology.” Rereading Recapturing more than 10 years after its initial publication, and in light of the other books under review here, I am surprised by the manner in which Fox outlines the book’s purpose. While the critique of ethnography undoubtedly shaped the seminar and the volume it produced, Fox’s introduction actually begins not from Writing Culture but from David Harvey’s (1989) The Condition of Postmodernity and the claim that the world—wherever that might be—is now fundamentally “[d]ecentered, frag- mented, compressed, flexible, refractive, postmodern” (Fox, p. 1). Fox con- tinues: “Our ‘present’ appears to be substantially different from the ‘present’ that our predecessors confronted, even just a short time ago” (Ibid.). The next two pages situate the volume in terms of the materialist anthropologies of Eric Wolf and Sidney Mintz, the colonial critique of Talal Asad’s early work, and Dell Hymes’s call for anthropology to stop looking for isolated primitives and join what he called the “modern world” (quoted by Fox, p. D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 162 B. Maurer 3). There’s that “world” again. These turns toward the ethnographic real (for want of a better term) precede Fox’s reflection on the reflexive critique of Writing Culture and set out the book’s project as one of figuring out how to do “work”—the editor’s term—in the “present”—also the editor’s term. I am struck by Fox’s determination to strike out a middle path between the presumed excesses of postmodernism and realism, and the force with which those two poles seem to have impacted anthropologists of the gen- eration represented in this book. I write, of course, with a sort of naïve hindsight, a distancing move of my own that establishes authorial authority over my object here, namely, these texts and their place in ongoing conver- sations in anthropology over the relationship between its methods, its forms of writing, and its production of knowledge. Still, that anthropologists should have been attempting to “recapture” their discipline in the late 1980s and early 1990s from the Scylla of realism and the Charybdis1 of postmodernism says something about the way anthropologists felt that their knowledge practices were running away from them during this time; a period, not coincidentally, of retrenchment in the academy, the ascendancy of “scien- tific” methods among major funders for anthropological research, the end of the Cold War, and so on. Historians of the discipline will note the pro- found impact Richard Fox would later have on the discipline, when, under his directorship at the turn of the millennium, the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research aggressively pursued precisely the kind of empirical yet theoretically informed and critical anthropological projects represented in the Marcus and Greenhouse, Mertz, and Warren volumes. At the same time, Recapturing Anthropology left anthropology with a couple of options: keep doing the same kind of fieldwork in the same kinds of places, but get reflexive about it; or start doing the same kind of field- work in new kinds of places, places that aren’t easy to see on a map, and get reflexive about that, too. The Greenhouse, Mertz, and Warren volume does the former; the Marcus volume does the latter. In the 1990s, I am not sure whether anything really happened to occasion a questioning of the form of ethnographic fieldwork itself, or the assumption that fieldwork gen- erated new knowledge about local, situated contexts (except, perhaps, in the work of figures like Marilyn Strathern). It is as if anthropologists in the 1990s were seeking a few new tools to add to an established tool kit, not throwing away that tool kit in favor of an altogether different knowledge- generation machine. Hence, Appadurai’s “ethnoscapes,” which he proposed in the Fox volume and later translated into other sorts of “scapes,” afforded the anthropologist a new optic to bring into resolution phenomena of the late modern or postmodern world—flows of finance, for example, or of media images. Is it that all anthropologists needed was a new technology for looking at things, so that they would see “things” they had previously D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 Destabilize Ethnography Now 163 missed? Obviously, my own encounter with these books leads me to ques- tion the entire empiricist frame implicit in this question. Indeed, a reading of the three single-authored collections under re- view (by Boon, Marcus, and Fabian), suggests other technologies and tool kits. I am intrigued by Marcus’s invocation of “complicity” in Ethnography Through Thick and Thin, and the manner in which the convergence or indeed isomorphism of anthropological tools and the knowledge-generat- ing techniques of those they study opens possibilities for a new kind of ethnographic sensibility. New ethnographic subjects—from finance to fas- cists, to use some of Marcus’s examples—bring such complicity to the fore. Complicity forces anthropology to examine what Marcus calls the “ideology of its distinctive method of fieldwork,” and, indeed, the “discipline’s collec- tive self-identity” (p. 126). This opens the disturbing possibility that disciplinarity is really an identity game—that what anthropologists are about is not so much discovering truths about the world as consolidating a sense of themselves as “anthropologists,” a kind of person, a social location whose raison d’etre is to produce more anthropologists. Marcus stays within the confines of the ethnographic techne, however, adding to it the now familiar implements of multisited ethnography and strategies that involve “follow- ing” various entities as they move about the global landscape—the people, the money, the metaphor, the plot, the thing, etc. (see pp. 90–95). The raison d’etre of anthropology, for Johannes Fabian, is rather akin to Walter Benjamin’s famous angel of history gaping aghast at the terror of humanity: “Anthropology emerged, less as a science of human nature than as the study of the damage done by one part of mankind to another (and thereby to all of humanity). If that has indeed been our raison d’etre during the last century or two, we are not likely to lose it in the next millennium”(Fabian, p. 204). Fabian orients his anthology of essays by ex- plicitly asking the question, “Who needs theory?” (p. 1), and provocatively suggesting that understanding the question demands attention not just to the place or role of theory in inquiry—or in solidifying power or author- ity—but the time of theory as well. As he puts it, “theory happens” (p. 5, emphases removed); it is a practice that unfolds temporally and that in its very unfolding undoes some of the conceptual oppositions that simulta- neously animate it (theory vs. method, contemplation vs. action, vision vs. confrontation; see p. 5). Much of Fabian’s critical theoretical intervention in these essays lies in his insistence on the intersubjectivity of objectivity as a temporal and situ- ated praxis. This move allows Fabian to develop the important insight found in Writing Culture, which is that the fascination with the form of the repre- sentation of knowledge removed from view of the form of the production of knowledge (p. 21)—a topic, if you have not noticed by now, that is dear D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 164 B. Maurer to the heart of your reviewer. Yet Fabian’s vision of theory is nonetheless explicitly a vision; it aims to “show” (p. 7). Fabian notes the etymological associations between theoria and the spectacle or festival (p. 6) in a sense that verges on Boon’s extravagance but does not quite approach his mind- loosening “anthoreaupology” (see below). Still, Fabian challenges anthropology to confront its own communica- tive confrontations with others that produce new knowledge without nec- essarily “reflecting” it, in the old photographic sense of objectivity, but that nonetheless can gain critical and antirelativist purchase on it. Fabian’s chal- lenge to anthropology is to unseat its objectivist and hermeneutic hubris by asking whether some of its time-honored tools are actually good for what anthropologists say they are good for—tools like transcription, interpreta- tion, understanding, or empathy—arguing ultimately for a form of negativ- ity that resists closure in the name of a “habit of distrust in positing and in positivity that goes with taking positions” (p. 100). The attitude infusing Boon’s collection of essays, Verging on Extra- Vagance, has none of the curmudgeonly negativity but partakes of the same distrust of positivity as Fabian’s. Boon’s anthology is a romp through litera- ture, anthropology, philosophy, poetry, museums, kitsch, and more, and evokes list-mania and passion for parody that this reviewer finds difficult to resist. It is an homage to Henry David Thoreau, whose words form one of the epigrams to this unusual book: “I fear lest my expression may not be extra-vagant enough, may not wander far enough beyond the narrow limits of my daily experience, so as to be adequate to the truth of which I have been convinced” (p. vii). It is also a playful reminder of the serious silliness of academic disciplinarity. The book presents itself to the reader as a rite of writing that demands an almost ritualistic reading, tending toward the ex- travagance of apparently illogical comparisons and juxtapositionings (Montaigne; the Coca Cola Museum; Balinese foreskins) in order to ap- proach “the truth” of which Boon himself is convinced. This is a text that resists easy summary and, indeed, the very purpose of which is to remind anthropology that its quest for truth modeled on the classical idea that our knowledge should somehow match up with a reality “out there” is hope- lessly simple-minded, if not outright misguided. To stay with the metaphor of the anthropological tool kit, Boon’s book is anthropological Luddism with a heavy dose of the ludic, “seriocomic” critique, as he calls it through- out the book. This brings me, at last, to the deadly seriousness of Ethnography in Unstable Places and Critical Anthropology Now. First, a word about change. The editors of each explicitly orient their books in terms of it. Marcus writes that his volume brings together scholars working “in and on US society at a time of widespread awareness of transformative change” (p. 5). Greenhouse D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 Destabilize Ethnography Now 165 writes of “the question of how people manage their lives in the midst of dramatic political change” (p.1). Both volumes were completed before 11 September, 2001, a day that many in the United States consider to have “changed everything,” in a now-too-common catchphrase. I, perversely perhaps, prefer to view the latter in terms of the Marcus and Greenhouse quotations: everyone was already caught on-guard by the proposition that everything has changed, or is changing, and is supposedly catching every- one off-guard. Change and transformation, of course, were the watchwords of critical materialist anthropology prior to the critique of ethnographic rep- resentation. I linger here only because some reviewers or hapless graduate students somewhere will doubtless write that these volumes are now more relevant because of 11 September (nota bene: each of the seven terms preceding this parenthesis belongs in scare-quotes). I would counter that these volumes would have been immediately relevant during Boas’s time and that there’s nothing unique about the present where “change”—or ter- ror—is concerned. The Marcus volume derives from yet another School of American Re- search seminar, this one in 1994, that brought together some of the original contributors to the Writing Culture project as well as professionals from other institutional locations (such as T. David Brent, an editor for a univer- sity press). As Marcus tells it, the seminar sought specifically to address the “pessimism” in the human sciences over the outcome of the self-critical turn of the 1980s (p. 6) and, interestingly, whether or not moves toward “cultural studies” could be cashed in for “intellectual capital” in other locations (ibid.). The chapters contained in the volume concern the United States, broadly conceived, and the complicities, as discussed above, that animate much of Marcus’s own research and writing. Taken strictly at the level of “ethnogra- phy,” the volume presents a rather nice account of late twentieth century “American culture,” populated by figures as outlandish as David Koresh (James Faubion’s chapter) and as mundane as a neighborhood association (Peter Dobkin Hall’s chapter) or the fortunes of a high-school class (Sherry Ortner). Americans’ fascination with science, and scientists’ reception of anthropological work (Paul Rabinow) and Americans’ fascination with fam- ily values (Judith Stacey) are signal markers on the roadways of this collec- tion of Americana. Marcus conceived of the seminar, and this volume, as posing questions and demonstrations of “emergent styles of work within the paradigm of ethnographic research that reflect a combination of the influence of the 1980s’ critiques, the conception of new spaces and topics for work, and the quite pragmatic responses to obstacles that anthropologists have encoun- tered as they try to practice traditional ethnography while addressing these new spaces and topics” (p. 7). He also conceived of them as “test[ing]. . . the D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 166 B. Maurer sense that critical reflexivity has been an insular activity” confined to certain quarters of academia. Where the volume succeeds brilliantly is in disproving this null hy- pothesis. Indeed, the ten substantive essays here show how critical reflexiv- ity has been a preoccupation of any number of institutional and personal actors, from bureaucratically-structured review boards of the National Sci- ence Foundation (discussed in Donald Brenneis’s chapter), to corporate environmental actors confronting Bhopal (discussed in Kim Fortun’s chap- ter), to those responsible for the hyperarchitectures of cyberspace (discussed and evoked in Michael M. J. Fisher’s chapter). Where it fails, except perhaps in Fisher’s chapter, is in enacting any substantively different style of research from those with which anthropolo- gists and other human scientists are already familiar. The “unexpected con- texts” of the book’s subtitle are surely here, but the “changing agendas” are captured only in the novel sites of research, not the techne of the research process itself. “Another country heard from,” Clifford Geertz wrote some- where. Synchronicity is a strange and marvelous thing. The essays in Ethnog- raphy in Unstable Places, save one, had their origin in a 1994 panel at the American Anthropological Association meetings. What can be said about this vintage of anthropology based on a comparison of this volume with Critical Anthropology Now? I find the Marcus bottle goes down smoother, yet the Greenhouse, Mertz, and Warren one is ultimately more complex. As already noted, the subject matter of Greenhouse, Mertz, and Warren’s 10 ethnographic essays is, in some sense, rather conventional for anthropol- ogy. They concern places far away from the site of anthropological knowl- edge production and the enduring and painful legacies of capitalism, colo- nialism, and political upheaval that have been made fodder for anthropological analysis at least since the 1960s if not even before. They also concern dramatic social transitions and upheavals, such as those brought about by the collapse of communism in the former Soviet Union and the transnationalization of identities and the neoliberalization of the state. At the same time, as noted by Greenhouse in the introduction, the cases presented in the substantive chapters open up the analytical domains structuring social scientific inquiry itself. Attempting to describe and explain these contexts of “dramatic political change” simultaneously effects two important theoretical moves. First, it obviates the taken-for-grantedness of the categories of the social, political, economic, and legal used in analysis by calling attention to the manner in which these categories function as “reified notions” in the contexts under investigation (p. 1). Second, by de- stabilizing the referents of these analytical categories in the same way as they have been destabilized for actors in the contexts the authors describe, D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 Destabilize Ethnography Now 167 this move resists closure both ethically and analytically. As Greenhouse incisively writes, “What does crisis teach us that we must not unlearn in more ordinary times? The answer implied by this volume is ‘very little,’ since there is so much in the current dynamics of change that makes return- ing to business as usual feel like pretending not to know” (p. 9). The unique contribution of this important volume, then, is to decenter and unground any ethnographic practice that would claim a privileged close- ness to the material, real relations on the ground that traditionally formed anthropology’s special claim to knowledge. This is not to say that the con- tributors’ essays are not grounded in rich, empirical data. Rather, it is to point out that, in the process of analysis, the distinction between data, theory, and ethical engagement seems to collapse. In conditions where society “loses any stable referent to empirical conditions, places, persons, or predictable propriety,” society itself, and its forms of analysis, “become a genre of performance, narrative, remembrance, critique, and hope” (p. 2). Whether the context is the Jewish ghettos of occupied Poland (Carroll Lewin), vagrancy law in colonial South West Africa after the end of German rule (Robert Gordon), or the transformation of the legal profession in the former East Germany following reunification (Howard De Nike), the chap- ters in this volume expose the complicity between ethnographers’ and eth- nographic subjects’ fusion of state, society, and locality as analytic and lived categories of experience. At the same time, such exposure does not carry with it any profound revelatory moment, since analysts’ and actors’ engage- ment with and understanding of the states in which they find themselves, and the multiple meanings of the term “state” itself, are always fragmentary, hybrid, and dangerous. If our ethnographies heretofore have relied on the fiction of the stabil- ity of states—political states or states of being—the contributions to this volume shatter the comfortable co-construction of ethnography and ethno- graphic object. Feminist activists in Israel (Elizabeth Faier) and women ac- tivists in a Philippines squatter settlement (Phil Parnell) are like European scientists engaged in transnational collaboration (Stacia Zabusky) and refu- gee children in Southeast Asia (James Freeman and Nguyen Dinh Hu) in that each is compelled to confront unstable states, including their own states of being, through narrative and remembrance that lack any guarantees or promises of “the reality and stability of states” (p.13). Eve Darian-Smith’s chapter on the impact of the Channel Tunnel in Kent, England; Nancy Ries’s chapter on the denaturalization of state, society, and economy in “post- socialist” Moscow, and Judy Rosenthal’s chapter on Togolese Ewe vodu possessions focus on the performative and creative possibilities afforded by such unstable states. Elizabeth Mertz and Kay Warren offer compelling conclusions, although D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 168 B. Maurer their chapters cannot be said to bring the kind of closure to this text that the term “conclusion” implies. Indeed, Mertz is specifically concerned with tak- ing social inquiry to task for its failure to “confront pain, uncertainty, lack of closure” (p. 360). She argues persuasively that critics of anthropology’s re- flexive turn who worried the discipline would lose its purchase on “reality” are misguided by the pull of state logics whose function is to “fix” social reality in time and space. Mertz notes that it is precisely “the fixing and unfixing of social realities” that becomes the important analytical and prac- tical problem. “There are numerous examples,” she writes, “of times when the insistence on particular, fixed, verifiable ‘facts’ has obscured a larger reality and, conversely, of broad-scale descriptions that, in glossing over complicated nuances and divergent viewpoints, have failed to capture im- portant truths” (p. 368). The lesson of this volume is ultimately a self-reflexive one that inter- rupts the “back to business” modality of many anthropologists tired of the debates of the 1980s and eager to get on with the “real work” in the “present” of the 1990s and early 2000s. In a sense, it is at right angles to Critical Anthropology Now, for, taken as a whole, it ungrounds its claims to knowl- edge even as it seizes upon them. Both Ethnography in Unstable Places and Critical Anthropology Now would be fine additions to graduate and upper-division undergraduate classes in contemporary anthropological theory and the anthropology of modern society. The Marcus collection would work well in courses on the anthro- pology of knowledge and science studies. The Greenhouse, Mertz, and Warren volume would make an excellent addition to any course in political and legal anthropology, the anthropology of violence and war, and the anthropology of the state. The other texts under review in this essay would all find a home in anthropological theory classes. In addition, Marcus’s Eth- nography Through Thick and Thin would make a good text for a methodol- ogy course; Fabian’s book, with its substantive focus on colonial central Africa, would work well in African area studies classes. Ethnography in Unstable Places and Critical Anthropology Now are surely books with an attitude. The question for me is the unquestioned –tude, the grammatical marker of an abstract state of being, contained within that term and the disposition it names. Grammatically speaking, –tude turns a tempo- rary and descriptive quality that demands a subject to qualify (e.g., altus, high) into an unchanging, atemporal essence that is a subject in its own right (altitudo, height). The work of disciplinarity – anthropology now, eth- nography in places—foregrounds knowledge production but leaves off pre- cisely at the moment it approaches the underlying conceptual practices warranting its relation to the ethnographic real. The only exceptions to this attitude are Greenhouse’s introduction and Mertz’s conclusion. With Boon, D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 Destabilize Ethnography Now 169 then, I leave off, “[w]earied by the relatively relativist calling to engage manifold cultures, diverse discipline, rival critiques—identifying with none, friendly toward many, wary of some” (Boon, p. 278). With Fabian, I hope I have been “polemical rather than just belligerent” (Fabian, p. 1). Please destabilize ethnography now; let’s go beyond business as usual, extrava- gantly, and with attitude. NOTES 1. In Greek mythology, Scylla and Charybdis were two monsters living on either side of a treacherous straight who would destroy ships as they attempted to pass. Scylla was a beast with six heads and vicious teeth who hid in a cliff, while Charybdis sucked ships down in a whirlpool. REFERENCES Clifford, J. and Marcus, G. (Eds.). (1986). Writing culture: The poetics and politics of ethnog- raphy. Berkeley: University of California Press. Harvey, D. (1989). The condition of postmodernity. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 D ow nl oa de d by [ T he U C I rv in e L ib ra ri es ] at 1 6: 22 1 5 D ec em be r 20 15 
work_xfy6bpxbrbdxxc34453jiwulp4	----	From soil in art towards Soil Art SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | SOIL Discuss., 1, 1–48, 2015 www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/ doi:10.5194/soild-1-1-2015 © Author(s) 2015. CC Attribution 3.0 License. This discussion paper is/has been under review for the journal SOIL. Please refer to the corresponding final paper in SOIL if available. From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller1, E. R. Landa2, A. Toland3, and G. Wessolek3 1Institut de Recherche pour le Développement (IRD), 28 rue Dr Blanchard, 30700 Uzès, France 2Department of Environmental Science and Technology, University of Maryland, College Park, MD 20742, USA 3Department of Soil Protection, Institute for Ecology, Technische Universität Berlin, Ernst Reuter Platz 1, 10587 Berlin, Germany Received: 14 August 2014 – Accepted: 15 September 2014 – Published: Correspondence to: C. Feller (christian.feller@ird.fr) Published by Copernicus Publications on behalf of the European Geosciences Union. 1 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Abstract The range of art forms and genres dealing with soil is wide and diverse, spanning many centuries and artistic traditions, from prehistoric painting and ceramics to early Renaissance works in Western literature, poetry, paintings, and sculpture, to recent developments in cinema, architecture and contemporary art. Case studies focused on5 painting, installation, and cinema are presented with the view of encouraging further exploration of art about, in, with, or featuring soil or soil conservation issues, created by artists, and occasionally scientists, educators or collaborative efforts thereof. 1 Introduction Soils are too important to be studied by soil scientists alone. We live in a world where10 disciplinary boundaries often define our work world. Within the realm of science, bound- ary crossings and territorial mergers are typically of the nearest-neighbor type: i.e., bi- ology + chemistry = biochemistry. Extensions outside of the earth sciences, to the arts and humanities, are less frequent. The last decades show, however, that the activities of the soil science community and its traditional partners were insufficient to protect15 our soils and landscapes. To encourage more holistic approaches to soil protection our community must open the doors to develop new perspectives by investigating trans- disciplinary projects. Soil and art, as well as soil and history, soil and culture, soil and economics, and soil and religion represent just a few opportunities for expanding the scope of soil research and soil protection.20 Until now, no other planet is known where life is possible. Thus our soil and atmo- sphere are unique. And consider the medium that is soil – a presence in the daily life of all of us as we tread upon and gain sustenance from the earth. This presence and reality has not escaped the view and attention of visual artists. In this contribution we aim to show how soil art helps to reveal the interconnectivity of soil, life and culture.25 2 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | 1.1 The soil vision Soil is a word whose meaning varies according to the context, even within the sci- ences. The patriotic soil (as the “soil of France”) and the agricultural soil have very little in common. Even in the environmental and geological sciences, there are often large differences between the soil (or subsoil) of the geologist, the archaeologist, the5 geotechnical engineer and the soil of the soil scientist or pedologist (in some countries pedology is another word for soil science, in others it is a distinct branch of soil sci- ence). For the non-scientific, public at large, including artists, soil is mainly the surface on which we walk. In soil science, numerous definitions for soil have been published but all agree with10 this kind of minimum definition: Soil is the volume of the very superficial layer of the planet Earth consisting of a loose material (the earth) and limited by the ground at the surface and the rock (or parent material), which it derived, at depth. The soil thickness can be from some centimeters to more than 10 m.15 Soil is organized in different layers named “horizons” and the whole of the horizons is the “soil profile” (Fig. 1). It means that Soil is not only “earth” but a “natural body” with a self organizing ability that depends upon different factors, such as climate, topography, geology, biology (including human activities), and time. Hence, earth as a material must not be equated with Soil as an organized natural body.20 The foundation of pedology with this vision of soil is attributed to the Russian scientist Vasillii Dokuchaev with the publication in 1883 of his thesis The Russian Chernozem. According to Dokuchaev, soil is a natural body and ought to be considered as the 4th natural kingdom of nature, equivalent to the mineral, animal and vegetable kingdoms. With exception of farmers, foresters and builders, the non-scientific public typically25 has had a very low awareness to soil. Their only soil vision is a soil surface vision, where that which lies below is unseen, unimagined and unconsidered. 3 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | The 3-dimensional soil vision that continues as a foundation of modern pedology could only have appeared after the work of Dokuchaev (1883) and the introduction of the soil profile concept. Every soil scientist knows how students or friends are astonished and fascinated when they discover the Soil profile (Hartemink et al., 2014). A new world appears for5 them with this organization of multi-colored horizons – a world filled with living crea- tures. This first soil vision is always emotional. As Hartemink (2014) said at the 20th World Congress of Soil Science: “The soil profile speaks to us. . . The soil profile tells us stories”. Moreover, the soil profile gives us clues to how the land had been and should be10 managed. The soil profile is in this sense a visual narrative of some of the services and functions it performs. Since the beginning of mankind soils have provided goods and services to human societies. These include: – food production, – earths for pigments, for ceramics or for building constructions,15 – earths as medicines or for religious and spiritual activities. Many of these roles involved artistic activity (see, for example, Fig. 2). The notion of soil functions, goods and services has been greatly extended since the mid-20th century with the emergence of the environmental movement and of science aimed at addressing environmental quality: the role of the soil is not only to provide20 foods and fibers but its optimal management also considers regulation of climate, mit- igation of pollution, maintenance of biodiversity, etc. It also needs to be considered in the framework of ethical, spiritual and artistic dimensions. As we will see, some artists’ works are related to a general surface vision, or more incidental depiction of the soil including the profile vision while others are more focused on environmental questions.25 4 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | 1.2 Envisioning soil The range of art forms and genres dealing with soil is wide and diverse, spanning many centuries and artistic traditions, from prehistoric painting and ceramics to early Renaissance works in Western literature, poetry, paintings, and sculpture, to recent developments in cinema, architecture and contemporary art (Landa and Feller, 2010;5 Toland and Wessolek, 2010, 2014). With the emergence of environmental awareness and activism during the second part of 20th century, individual artists became inspired by the need to manage nature in a sustainable way. Environmental art, ecological art, and land art are some of the more well-known genres that took up issues of land use, ecology and agricultural change in10 the latter half of the 20th century. With the increasing recognition of the soil as an important compartment of the ter- restrial ecosystems (since the Earth Summit held in Rio de Janeiro in 1992), and of the numerous ecosystem services that it can provide, different artists all around the world have expanded their practices to include soil (and not simply the landscape in general)15 as a subject of artistic inquiry. In this sense, we can speak of an emergence of “Soil Art.” This was first proposed by Wessolek (2002): “It is my personal concern to encourage the foundation of a new art style, perhaps named ‘Soil Art’.” and later defined by Toland and Wessolek (2010).20 For our purposes here, we define Soil Art as: artistic work about, in, or with soil or soil protection issues, that is produced by artists in a multitude of genres and media, to be understood, among other things, as artwork that may contribute to wider environmental and soil pro- tection discourses (adapted from Toland and Wessolek, 2010).25 Since the scope of this area of artistic activity is so large and diverse, it will be impossible to give examples of all artistic forms and genres in a single article. Rather 5 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | than attempt a comprehensive overview, we will offer selected examples that reflect our observations and inquiries as soil scientists with focused interests in art: – Sect. 2 (paintings) by C. Feller, with additions by A. Toland and G. Wessolek, – Sect. 3 (installation) by A. Toland and G. Wessolek, – Sect. 4 (cinema) by E. R. Landa.5 2 Paintings 2.1 Before 20th century – representation of soil in art This part mainly covers paintings in Western culture. Relations between soil and art are numerous and date to Antiquity. On one side – soil as the medium itself – soils have been used as a material for art as10 pigments (since the prehistoric wall paintings in caves) (Ugolini, 2010), pottery (clays), etc., and more recently in contemporary paintings to give special effects to the subject (Van Breemen, 2010). On the other side, soil was frequently represented in paintings, mosaics or sculptures from the Antiquity until the present, in the form of lines or sur- faces, as an element of the landscape but not as the main subject of the representa-15 tion. In many cases, it was a schematic representation, as if the artist often appeared to have consciously failed to observe the soil (Feller et al., 2010) as in Venus standing in a landscape (see: http://www.louvre.fr/oeuvre-notices/venus-debout-dans-un-paysage). However, in some exceptional cases, the depiction of the soil (as a surface or a soil profile in the paintings) is remarkable. But even in these cases, the focus is on another20 object or subject. Feller et al. (2010) distinguish three reasons to show a soil profile in paintings from Renaissance to the 18th century: 6 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://www.louvre.fr/oeuvre-notices/venus-debout-dans-un-paysage SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | 2.1.1 Soil profile for the Resurrection of the Dead In the Last Judgment by Rogier Van der Weyden (1432) (Fig. 3) the resurrection of the dead required the artist to show the soil profile. The complete painting exhibits numerous such soil profiles. Details of emergence of men and women going out of soil profiles (lower part of the painting) are so true to reality that it might be titled “Birth of a5 Pedologist”. 2.1.2 Soil profile for displaying plant roots In the paintings of the Renaissance, the representation of a ditch or a soil cut in a painting served very often as an excuse to picture roots. In the St John the Baptist by Hieronymus Bosch (1450–1516) the figure of St John leans towards a sharp vertical ex-10 posure of soil that includes a strange large root: (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._John_ the_Baptist_in_the_Wilderness). A large root also appears in The Tempest painted by Giorgione (1477/78–1510) (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tempest_(Giorgione)). These works were just some examples of paintings in which large forked roots were made evident.15 The representation of roots was not due to chance, but chosen for its symbolic value. The root presented in detail in the foreground of the St John the Baptist painted by Bosch could be from the mandragora as suggested by Marjnissen and Ruyffe- laere (1987). The mandragora root is thick, hiry and forked, in a humanoid form. The roots of mandragora genus (mandrake) were extensively used by alchemists and in20 magic rituals. (See: http://mandragore.bnf.fr/jsp/rechercheExperte.jsp, Manuscrits oc- cidentaux, cote: français 12322, fol. 180v, flore: plantain, ca. 1520–1530, Notice no 80/206). It was also a religious symbol for Christians for whom it was linked to Genesis and aspects of Christ’s life. This was the primary reason of its representation in art until the25 18th century. (For further details, see Feller et al., 2010). 7 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._John_the_Baptist_in_the_Wilderness http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._John_the_Baptist_in_the_Wilderness http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._John_the_Baptist_in_the_Wilderness http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tempest_(Giorgione) http://mandragore.bnf.fr/jsp/rechercheExperte.jsp SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | 2.1.3 Soil profile displayed by the ploughing From the 14th and during the 15th century, especially in the Très Riches Heures1 we see representations of agricultural tasks and toils. Here, the soil is depicted with a clear concern of realism and technical specificity, including the tilling of the soil. Herein is an early artistic and technical representation of what agronomists and pedologists5 describe as an agricultural profile. In addition to this example, Peter Brueghel the Elder (1525/30–1569) might be also be cited for The Fall of Icarus (Fig. 4). Icarus is the tiny figure at the bottom on the right-hand corner, with only his legs visible, while in forefront of the canvas, attention is centered on the good Flemish ploughman tilling furrows. That was the triumph of daily working life over Utopia (“falling from the sky”).10 Beside the ploughman serving as a reference for agriculture, Brueghel the Elder did not fail to symbolize other of the world’s riches – animal husbandry in the form of the sheepherder leaning on his staff, and the wealth of the sea shown in the form of a busy fisherman. It should be also noticed that forked roots are included in the agricultural profile – perhaps meant to be mandrake!15 Toward the end of the 16th century landscapes and presentations of nature in paint- ing were in some sense discovered as an independent motif. Typical representatives are Dürer, Cranach, Burgkmair, Bosch and Poussin. Incidentally, this development coin- cides with the emergence of the French model of horticulture (André Le Nôtre, Gardens of Versailles) (Wessolek, 2002). Later, in the the 19th century agricultural art developed20 a lot at and ploughed soil inspired many artists such as Rosa Bonheur (1822–1899) with the Labourage Nivernais (1849) (Fig. 5). 1The Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, or Très Riches Heures, is the most famous and possibly the best surviving example of French Gothic manuscript illumination, showing the late International Gothic phase of the style. It is a book of hours: a collection of prayers to be said at the canonical hours. It was created between ca. 1412 and 1416 for the extravagant royal biblio- phile and patron John, Duke of Berry, by the Limbourg brothers. . . The calendar images, which are the most commonly reproduced. The “calendar” images vivid representations of peasants performing agricultural work (source: Wikipedia). 8 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | 2.2 From beginning of 20th century – teaching the soil: from science to art Nowadays, in modern soil textbooks, soil profile are shown and described with pho- tographs. But the early scientific depiction of soil in painting dated from the beginning of the 20th century, either as splendid illustrations in textbooks on soil (Fig. 1) or prepared for5 educational exhibitions in amphitheaters, generally as canvases representing different types of soil (Fig. 6). One could consider that as a kind of transition from science to art. The two oil canvases (60 × 100 cm) represent soil profiles (Fig. 6). These canvases were published as illustrations in the soil science textbook of Demolon (1952, p. 86bis) and were anonymously displayed in the 1940’s for a soil science course.10 In an art exhibition on “The Earth” (2005, Uzès, France), C. Feller presented these paintings, without any technical explanation. The visitors generally found these can- vases splendid, and asked if they were painted by a contemporary artist? Nowadays, some soil scientists such as Gerd Wessolek and Alexandra Toland (Tech- nische Universität Berlin), Ken van Rees (University of Saskatchewan), and Jay Strat-15 ton Noller (Oregon State University) use artistic techniques in their teaching (Fig. 7), have included soil science students in art activities, and have invited artists to partici- pate in soil science research and teaching endeavors. Soil scientists have referenced paintings by Jacob and Salomon van Ruysdael, Paul Gauguin, Hieronymus Bosch, Pe- ter Brueghel the Elder, and Ambrogio Lorenzetti in communication on historical farming20 practices, land use, and soil geomorphologic processes (Feller et al., 2010; Hartemink, 2009; Jenny, 1968), and drawn upon various painting techniques in soil awareness- raising activities, such as the Painting with the Colors of the Earth program with Irena Racek in Austria (Szlezak, 2009), or the soil painting program at the Museu de Ciên- cias da Terra Alexis Dorofeef (Earth Science Museum) in Brazil (Muggler, 2013). Also,25 paintings by soil scientists are a way of presenting soil scientific concepts in a visual way. Figure 7 exemplarily explores formal aesthetic features (color, texture, structure, composition of horizons) to describe soil properties. Such aesthetic features are often 9 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | used in field descriptions for soil mapping but are not referred to as such. Capturing the profile in a painting is an exercise in aesthetic observation and documentation that allows the field scientist, student (or artist) to capture subtle details not possible in tabular, written form. One could mention too the following some other French soil scientists involved in5 “Soil Art” or “Earthworks” as: – Folkert Van Oort (INRA, France), using undisturbed soil material (collected from soil horizons) applied to canvas and representing natural Soil- or Geo-landscapes (see Feller et al., 2010), – Bénédicte et Louis-Marie Bresson (INRA, France) using disturbed soil material10 applied to canvas to create artificial soil profiles or landscapes, and – Dominique Schwartz (Strasbourg University, France) with his beautiful photos of soils (Fig. 8). 2.3 Soil in realism and abstraction: case studies from the 20th century Here we will give two examples of well-known painters who were instrumental in bring-15 ing soil themes to a wider audience. These two examples stem from two very different and opposed artistic traditions: European abstract painting and American regionalism, which favored realistic representation over abstraction. Art critics such as John Arthur (1989, 2000) and Lauren Della Monica (2013) have described realism in landscape painting as an ongoing tradition in American Art, sug-20 gesting that our understandings and relationships with the land are embedded in the American cultural experience, as depicted by 19th century painters such as Frederic Church and Winslow Homer and later by, for example, Georgia O’Keefe and Alex Katz. 10 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | 2.3.1 Grant Wood (USA) One of the most well-known proponents of American landscape painting is Grant DeVolson Wood (1891–1942), an American painter. He is best known for his paint- ings depicting the rural American Midwest, particularly the painting American Gothic, an iconic image of the 20th century (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grant_Wood). Arbor5 Day (1932) is well-known to soil scientists all around the world (see: http://www. wikiart.org/en/grant-wood/arbor-day-1932). Arbor Day (from the Latin arbor, mean- ing tree) is a holiday in which individuals and groups are encouraged to plant and care for trees. The first Arbor Day was held in the state of Nebraska on 10 April 1872 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arbor_Day). Its founder, J. Sterling Morton, went on to be-10 come the Secretary of Agriculture of the United States (1893–1897). But in the Grant Wood painting, the planting of the tree is not the main subject of the painting rather, it is the soilscape, with its clearly evident schematization of soil horizons. This contrast between the title and the subject is interesting. It reminds one of the Brueghel painting The Fall of Icarus where the main subject was not Icarus, who15 is quite invisible, but rather a Flemish ploughman tilling the soil. Such a painting really belongs to Soil Art, for the object of inspiration for the artist is clearly the soil and its horizons. 2.3.2 Jean Dubuffet (France) While painters of genres past used their medium to document specific land formations20 and land use practices (van Breemen, 2010; Zika, 2001; Feller et al., 2010), many con- temporary painters use soil materials more abstractly to explore the physical qualities of a given place rather than to realistically represent it. This turn towards abstract paint- ing must be understood as a backlash against established norms of visual expression dominant in the 19th century.25 With regard to the soil, the Texturology series of works by the French modernist painter Jean Dubuffet (1901–1985) is perhaps the most famous example of the “turn to- 11 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grant_Wood http://www.wikiart.org/en/grant-wood/arbor-day-1932 http://www.wikiart.org/en/grant-wood/arbor-day-1932 http://www.wikiart.org/en/grant-wood/arbor-day-1932 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arbor_Day SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | wards abstraction”. At the height of action painting and abstract expressionism most no- tably characterized by artists such as Jackson Pollock and Willem de Kooning, Dubuffet began using a plastering technique called the “Tyrolean” method in the early 1950s to create large format paintings celebrating the complexity of the soil (Alley, 1981). He discovered he could do splendid paintings using the soil of his garden. About his5 series Topographies or Texturologies or Materiologies (Fig. 9), he wrote (15 April 1958) to his friend Henri Matisse (Dubuffet, Catalogue Gianadda, 1993, p. 104): “. . . J’entends par là une nouvelle série de ‘tableaux d’assemblages’ représentant des morceaux de sols. . . ” (“. . . I mean by that a new series of paintings representing an assembling of10 pieces of soils. . . ”) Between 1950 and 1960, Dubuffet created numerous such paintings with “pedologi- cal” titles as: – Terre mon biscuit (Earth, my biscuit). April 1953. – Terre orange aux trois hommes (Earth orange with three men). May 1953.15 – Histologie du sol (Soil Histology). October 1957. – Série Texturologie (Texturology series). 1957–1958. – Mécanique du sol Texturologie (Soil Mechanics). December 1958. – Topographie honneur au sol (Topography in honnor to soil). December 1958. – Terre mère (Mother earth). December 1959–May 1960.20 Many other painters before 1970 have used soil as a material or represented soil as a background feature, but it was rare for soil for to be central and presented for itself, as with Grant Wood and Jean Dubuffet. We could mentioned Mark Rothko (1903–1970) with his Terre et Vert (1955) (Earth and Green) from the Museum Ludwig, Cologne, 12 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Germany. The painting is divided in three horizontal colored parts: red for soil, green for vegetation, blue for sky, but it belongs more as a representation of a landscape than of a soil. 2.4 Soil in contemporary painting In the latter half of the 20th century, more and more painters began considering the soil5 as a subject of inspiration and artistic creation. Two further examples are the works of as Paul Rebeyrolle and Anselm Kieffer. 2.4.1 Paul Rebeyrolle (France) Paul Rebeyrolle (1926–2005) was born in Eymoutiers (France). “He has gained recognition as one of the foremost twentieth-century French painters.10 His striking works of art, centred on violent yet noble themes up hold freedom, combat injustice, intolerance, and the enslavement of both mankind and nature; constituting an authentic testimony of our time” (http://www.espace-rebeyrolle.com/menu.htm). Paul Rebeyrolle’s famous Grands Paysages (Large Landscapes) (1978), made with soil, straw, compost, etc., show torrents of water flowing freely between earth massifs,15 capturing the eroding power and danger of natural forces (Fig. 10). Many other Rebeyrolle’s paintings are related to soil as La Souche (1999)(The tree stump) or paintings about seasons as Le Printemps (1967) (The spring). 2.4.2 Anselm Kieffer (Germany) Anselm Kieffer (1945– ) is one of the most famous artists in the world from the end of20 20th and beginning of 21st century. Until recent years, this German artist partially lived in Barjac in the south of France (Gard) in a vast domain of “garrigue” (a type of low, soft-leaved scrubland ecoregion and plant community in the Mediterranean forests, woodlands, and scrub biome) that he transformed into an huge work of art: a concrete architectural landscape with buildings and towers in ruins, a cathedral of soil and con-25 13 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://www.espace-rebeyrolle.com/menu.htm SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | crete and a network of tunnels at the landscape scale as giant earthworm galleries giving access to small houses as art chapels showing very large paintings or other art works. It seems this artist develops a special relationship with soil. Some of these paintings (as many others in different museum or private collections in the worlds) show cultivated fields, which could have caught on fire, a vision of devastation. It looks very5 dry and bare, but some of these paintings exhibit a glimmer of hope as Aperiatur Terra et Germinet Salvatorem (“Let the earth be opened and send forth a Savior”) (2005– 2006). The painting was done with oil, acrylic, emulsion, shellac and clay on canvas with colored flowers catered at the bottom evocating the new birth of life (Fig. 11). These cultivated landscapes are composed with mixed materials including soil10 but also with reinforced concrete as in the 2004 gigant art work Von den Ver- lorenen gerührt, die der Glaube nicht trug, erwachen die Trommeln im Fluss at the Sydney’s Art Gallery (Australia) (http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/ new-contemporary-galleries/featured-artists-and-works/anselm-kiefer). 3 Case studies of soil in installation art15 Installation art provides artists with unlimited media and tools with which to explore the soil as social, ecological and political subject. This is not to say that that more traditional forms such as painting and sculpture are not sufficient to capture the complexity of the soil, but that installation introduces dimensions of time, space, and sensory experience beyond traditional fields of vision. “By inviting the viewer literally to enter into the work20 of art, and by appealing not only to the sense of sight but also, on occasion, to those of hearing and smell, such works demand the spectator’s active engagement” (Grove Art Online, 2009). The prevalence of installation as a visual art form can be seen in the “emergence of soil art,” in that it gives artists new tools for exploring our relationships to the soil as medium and its functions for society. Rosenthal (2003) has categorized25 installation art into two main groups, filled-space installation, and site-specific instal- lation, to which many examples of land art and public outdoor interventions with soil 14 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/new-contemporary-galleries/featured-artists-and-works/anselm-kiefer http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/new-contemporary-galleries/featured-artists-and-works/anselm-kiefer http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/new-contemporary-galleries/featured-artists-and-works/anselm-kiefer SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | belong. Let us look, for example, at the “filled-space” type of installation art, and dif- ferentiate between two directions: (1) installation as immersive spatial experience that relies heavily on architectural design, and (2) installation as Gesamtkunstwerk,2 or an assemblage of multiple forms that symbolically, materially, or thematically relate to one another concerning the values and functions of soil in society.5 3.1 Immersive experience 3.1.1 Walter de Maria (USA) and Urs Fischer (Switzerland) To begin with the first type of installation, installation as immersive experience, we can think about the soil in terms of its unique spatial qualities. On the one hand soil is solid ground – a dense, stable, immobile field upon which to walk, stand, and build. On10 the other hand, soil is a porous zone in perpetual flux – a complex labyrinth of moist pore spaces and fractalous crevices churning with microscopic life. Regarding the first vision of the soil, we can cite two well know examples from New York, Walter de Maria’s New York Earth Room (1977, Fig. 12a) and Urs Fischer’s You (2007, Fig. 12b). For the New York Earth Room, the pioneering Land Artist, Walter de Maria, filled an entire15 Manhattan loft with soil from a Pennsylvanian farm, only to be viewed (and smelled) through a small doorway blocked off by a Plexiglas window. The installation of earth materials completely occupies the viewers’ experience, bringing the physical, visual awe of Land Art into a familiar, indoor, architectural space. “By filling a loft space in Manhattan with earth, De Maria makes a theatri-20 cal use of space. It is the space itself which is being shown, transformed by both the quantity and nature of the material. . . A sense of exclusion is expe- 2The term Gesamtkunstwerk was first introduced by the philosopher Karl Friedrich Eusebius Trahndorff in an essay from 1827 and later popularized by Richard Wagner to describe the use of multiple art forms in his Operas. 15 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | rienced by the viewer, as the space occupied by the work cannot be entered” (Kastner and Wallis, 1998). Thirty years later and only ten blocks away, Swiss artist, Urs Fischer, “installed” a formal antithesis of de Maria’s Earth Room by excavating rather than depositing about the same amount of earth from the depths of Gavin Brown’s gallery floor and inviting the5 viewer to actually enter into the work of art at his or her own risk. Here too, the viewer is overwhelmed by the earth materials that challenge the architecture of the exhibition space. The solid ground necessary for any architectural venture gives way to a new and somewhat ungrounding spatial experience. In Earth Room and You, typical conceptions of earth materials, such as ploughed fields or excavated pits for construction work, are10 brought indoors to disrupt the viewers’ normal relationship to the materials and the space they occupy, calling for deeper contemplation of and confrontation with both. 3.1.2 Philip Beesley (Canada) Another example of immersive installation soil art explores the more porous, labyrinthine qualities of the soil as spatial entity without actually moving a grain. An on-15 going research project by architects Philip Beesley, Rachel Armstrong, Hayley Isaacs, Eric Bury and Jonathan Tyrell, Hylozoic Soil (Fig. 13) is an interactive environment of tiny sensors, “groves of frond-like ‘breathing’ pores, tongues and thickets of twitching whiskers“and other mechanized components that make up what Beesley envisions as a prototypical model of “immersive architecture and synthetic ecology” (Beesley and20 Armstrong, 2011). With far more potential than the massive, inert, singly-functioning building material it is commonly treated as, the soil is seen as a responsive frame- work for myriad encounters and a physical template for social and biological evolution. Where Maria and Fischer challenge the viewer’s experience of architecture by installing soil within the familiar framework of walls and floors in Earth Room and You, Beesley25 and his partners challenge the very idea of architecture by redefining that framework of walls and floors as a system of reactive pore spaces that imitate the soil. 16 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Hylozoism refers to the Greek philosophy that life may be found in all matter. Hylozoic Soil is a multisensory kinetic installation that uses the sculptural metaphor of fertile soil to bring architecture, usually inert, to life. It simultaneously references the micro- bial aesthetics of mycorrhizal plant-root-fungi interdependence and the metaphysics of Graham Cairns-Smith’s controversial clay-life hypothesis3. Like the hyper-reactivity of5 clay particles, the delicately responsive structures of Hylozoic Soil are predetermined to evolve and change based on human (or other biological) presence. A meshed net- work of movement sensors, air filters, and flasks filled with ferrofluids sends feedback signals of light and rippling movement triggered by the smallest presence of otherness within the system (Beesley and Armstrong, 2011). It is this juxtapositioning of life as10 container and as contained that creates tension in Beesley’s work. As an installation, or architectural prototype, Hylozoic Soil succeeds in momentarily transporting human experience to the scale of a Collembola, reminiscent of multimedia exhibits that magnify the soil microcosm in natural history museums and soil educa- tional exhibitions4. But Beesley and his partners have created more than an installation15 to contemplate the complexity of the soil. They use the concept of the living soil to chal- lenge accepted notions of architecture by focusing on the fantastic universe of soil pore systems – the spaces in between – rather than the predictable boundaries of cubes and spheres that separate life (via traditional architectural structures) from the wilderness beyond. Beesley remarks,20 “In opposition to design principles of the past century that favoured opti- mal equations where maximum volume might be enclosed by the minimum 3In his controversial book, “Seven Clues to the Origin of Life”, Cairns-Smith (1985) proposed that clays were a proto-organic vehicle or template for biological replication. 4See, for example, soil pore space scale models at the Dig It! The Secrets of the Soil exhibit at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History, the Unter Welten exhibit at the Mu- seum am Schölerberg in Osnabrück, and the Unter Unseren Füßen exhibit of the Senckenberg Museum of Natural History in Görlitz. 17 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | possible surface, the structures in Hylozoic Ground prefer diffuse, deeply reticulated skins. . . ” (Beesley and Armstrong, 2011). If we think about the immense surface area of an ideal soil, with pore spaces match- ing aggregates, and sand, silt and clay fractions evenly distributed to allow for optimized flow of water, air, nutrients, and biota, we approach a new vision of architecture where5 no space is empty and no structure is stationary. A handful of loam becomes the ulti- mate installation and architectural template for life itself. 3.2 Gesamtkunstwerk 3.2.1 Claire Pentecost’s (USA) “As a term that gained currency in the 1960s to describe a construction or10 assemblage conceived for a specific interior, often for a temporary period, and distinguished from more conventional sculpture as a discrete object by its physical domination of the entire space” (Grove Art Online, 2009), installation art has become a household name in the contemporary art world. By its nature, installation art can reference and appropriate all other visual art forms,15 cherry-picking different styles, media, and techniques to condense meaning into three- dimensional spatial experience. Many artists and critics have referred to (installation art) as an expression of the concept of Gesamtkunstwerk, a total work of art, as it ap- pears to borrow from a vast spectrum of disciplines (de Oliveira, 1993). This reading of installation art as a total work of art consisting of many related parts is exemplified20 by a further example, Claire Pentecost’s acclaimed contribution to dOCUMENTA 13 in Kassel, the Soil-Erg (Fig. 14). In the rotunda of the historic Ottoneum, a theatre turned hospital turned gallery turned natural history museum, Claire Pentecost assembled a series of drawings, sculptures, worm compost, and appropriated museum pieces that all revolved around a25 central theme – the soil as post-capitalist currency and common resource that anyone 18 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | can create by learning how to compost. As part of this well-researched “Gesamtkunst- werk,” Pentecost participated in a three-month residency program at the University of Kassel’s Faculty of Organic Agricultural Sciences, offered workshops at dOCUMENTA 13 on composting, soil health, and capitalist alternatives to land-grabbing, and devel- oped a series of pillar-like vertical planters in and around the city together with designer5 and philanthropist Ben Friton of the CanYa Love Foundation. The installation at the Ot- toneum served as the visual centerpiece of Soil-Erg, visited by thousands of people over the course of the summer. Lining the walls of the Ottoneum are oversized soil coins, too big and crumbly to fit in anyone’s pockets, and forty-three drawings in earth-based pigments that reference10 the graphic style of banknotes. The series of Soil-Erg bills features images of historic figures of sustainable agriculture such as Rachel Carson, Wangari Maathai, and Van- dana Shiva, as well as influential ecological artists and writers such as Joseph Beuys and Henry David Thoreau, and a cast of non-human soil workers from snails and bees to fungal mycelium and bacteriophagic nematodes. “The center of the installation itself15 is the proposal of a new system of value based on living soil” a symbolic and very literal stack of compost pressed in the shape of gold bars, “sculptural objects from handmade soil, or compost (that) represent units of a new currency, the soil-erg (provisional name), proposed as a replacement of the petro-dollar” (Pentecost, 2012).20 Mounted on another wall of the Ottoneum like the ghost of an affluent fossil fuel past is the Richelsdorfer Mountain Cabinet from 1783, a scale model of Hessen’s ge- ologic strata once used for teaching the fundamentals of extraction. Next to the histor- ical cabinet appropriated from the natural history museum’s collection, a new cabinet squirms with worm compost produced in part by the food scraps of visiting dOCU-25 19 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | MENTA guests, offset by a list of current “land grabbing” deals between sovereign countries in Africa, Asia and South America and multinational agribusiness concerns.5 If we go back to the sheer gravity of Walter de Maria’s Earth Room, we recognize not only a playful approach to redefining architectural space, but also an underlying anti- capitalist statement intended to free art from the commodification and value control of5 the market economy – a reoccurring debate of installation art. Claire Pentecost extends such ideas about the de-commodification of art to the soil, using sculpture, drawing, writing, lecturing, photography, collaborative engineer- ing, participation, composting, gardening, and research as a Gesamtkunstwerk to not only explore but demand new systems of value for the soil.10 “Made of soil and work, the soil-erg both is and is not an abstraction. Sym- bolically, it refers to a field of value, but that value is of a special nature: soil must be produced and maintained in a context. It is completely impractical to circulate it. It is heavy, and, because of the loose structure required of good soil, it falls apart. . . The physical nature of soil the soil-erg both evokes and15 denies the possibility of coinage. If currency as we know it is the ultimate de- territorialization, the soil-erg’s value is inherently territorialized” (Pentecost, 2012). 3.3 Archives A third direction in installation art is the archive, as represented by two artists on either20 side of the planet, herman de vries and Koichi Kurita. 5Pentecost cites the following websites for her list of land-grabbing info presented in the Soil Erg installation: http://farmlandgrab.org/ and http://oaklandinstitute.org. 20 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://farmlandgrab.org/ http://oaklandinstitute.org SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | 3.3.1 herman de vries (Netherlands) One of the first and most renowned artists’ soil archives is herman de vries’ erdmuseum in Eschenau and his related from earth works.6 Initiated in 1979, the erdmuseum con- sists of 7000 soil samples from all over the world, many of which were painstakingly collected by the artist himself. All samples have been dried, pulverized, packed into5 bags, and stored in cardboard boxes marked with the date and location of the finding. These samples are further represented as earth rubbings on uniform grids on paper, the erdkatalog, which is also organized according to time and place of discovery. In a minimalist handling of material, a political overtone is imbued in the work. All samples are unique in color and origin. All have been handled equally. None have been empha-10 sized, singled out, or excluded, even samples from history-laden sites like Chernobyl or the concentration camp at Buchenwald. Mel Gooding (2006) remarks on de vries’ ability to distil the intrinsic qualities of “self-ness” from the materials he collects: “Crushed to a powder, reduced to its basic mineral ’suchness’, rubbed down with the tips of the fingers into a simple rectangle of colour, the earth itself is15 transformed not into the sayable abstraction of the word, but into a material sign of its self-ness.” The erdmuseum furthermore exhibits a scientific rigor in its execution. As de vries explains in an interview with John Grande, his methods are partly informed by experi- ences he gained in his former career as a biologist.20 “a systematic approach is one possible way artists can work. i learned this discipline from science.” de vries continues with an emphasis on interdisciplinarity: “science on its own cannot provide us with a complete understanding of the world and our life. art and science can be complementary. by fusing both,25 6Note: lowercase letters are a signature of de vries’ philosophy of objectivity. 21 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | the two main creative streams of our culture in relation to our life space can be integrated” (de vries, 2004). de vries combines scientific rigor with philosophy of nature in his artistic explorations of random objectivation (1962–1975), chance and change (1972 to present), natural relations (1982–1989), and from earth (1983– ongoing). In so doing, he also calls for a5 transdisciplinary approach to archiving the soil by integrating different ways of knowing and understanding the soil. 3.3.2 Koichi Kurita (Japan) Thirty years later, on the other side of the planet, Koichi Kurita’s Soil Library (2006) (see: http://soillog.exblog.jp/) picks up on de vries’ minimalist form and meticulous ex-10 ecution with a performance/installation work that celebrates the beauty and diversity of Japan’s soils. Koichi Kurita’s Soil Library is a comprehensive performance/installation work that celebrates the beauty and diversity of Japan’s soils. Kurita has collected over 30 000 samples from around the Japanese archipelago one handful at a time, which he uses to create giant floor installations in a slow and meditative process. Kurita has col-15 lected most of the samples himself and presents them in a uniform manner on square pieces of paper laid out in a grid formation. What makes Kurita’s work distinct is not only his performative approach to installation but his ethno-geographic approach to collecting soil. In an email from 27 August 2012, Kurita wrote: “In Japan, when we are born and given a name, we visit the Shinto shrine20 in the village and pay respect to Ubusunagami, “the god of birth soil.” Every- body has Ubusunagami. We believe we are from the soil and we go back to the soil. So I am collecting the soil from all the villages, towns, and cities, for all of the Japanese people. . . I’ve already collected 32,593 soil samples in 3,213 (out of 3,233) villages. . . Road maps are more important than ge-25 ological maps for me. I can see the names of villages, information about soil and life from a road map. If people are living there, there is soil there. 22 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://soillog.exblog.jp/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | I am interested in the soil of life, not the soil of geology. The soil becomes the material of research for geologist. . . pigment for the painter. . . money for architect. . . But the soil is life for me”. Kurita provides two insights here that are relevant for a humanities-based approach to soil protection. First, soil (as well as geologic) mapping projects could be more5 strongly tied to maps documenting demographic distribution, settlement, sprawl, trade and transportation routes, but also areas of significant cultural and religious meaning. Soil Atlases, such as those developed in the Soil Portal of the EU, show the regional distribution of soil types based on the 2006 World Reference Base for Soil Resources, enhanced with climate, vegetation, and population density data. Only marginal mention10 is given, however, to the cultural significance and local meanings of the documented soils. This omission can partly be compensated by artistic production. Through art, the rich heritage of Ubusunagami that Kurita attempts to preserve in Soil Library is emancipated from forgotten village shrines and private superstitions. The taxonomic descriptions of the soil atlas are brought to life and given new meaning. Secondly, the15 fundamental dependence of humans on the soil is weighted against the fundamental dependence of soil on human activity – “where there are people,” says Kurita, “there is soil.” In the age of the Anthropocene, where the effects of damaged soils manifest themselves in worldwide health issues, cancers, reproductive and respiratory illnesses, it is soil that is ultimately contingent on us for its health and safety. Healthy soil is an20 indicator of healthy societies (Handschumacher and Schwartz, 2010) and birth soil, Ubusunagami, is seen as an indicator of the heritage that develops from worshipping, and ideally also protecting, that which gives life and health. 4 Cinema and Soil Art In the visual arts, soil is sometimes “in your face” — it is the foreground, the medium,25 the center of attention, as in the works of the above-mentioned artists. In contrast and not unexpectedly, this is rarely the case in feature films. Nevertheless, location scouts 23 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | and directors clearly recognize that soils can form a visually striking element that adds mood and texture to the viewing experience. Some filmmakers have recognized the human connection to the soil and have used it in their storytelling. A few screenwriters and filmmakers have gone even further, and moved from the typical view of soils a static backdrop on which the action is played out, to a view of soils as a dynamic ecosystem5 feature. About a decade ago, when I partnered with Christian Feller to edit Soil and Culture, I made a conscious effort to write about an artistic medium that I love – “film” to be formal, but really for me “the movies” – and its varied depictions of soil. The survey paper for that volume, In a supporting role: Soil and the cinema (Landa, 2010) represented my10 journey to seek out and explore such films. In recent years, other films, viewed solely as a movie fan, continued to enter my newly focused consciousness, and technical films, viewed early in my career as a soil scientist, came back to mind. Within that retrospective and prospective setting that I now occupy, I am continually exposed to cinematic depictions of soils, soil processes, and soil life, and have come to appreciate15 these films in a new light. This perspective truly adds to my viewing pleasure, and I have also come to see film as a familiar and effective, common ground (literally!) for talking to non-soil scientists about the nature and properties of soil. “What have you seen lately?” is a constant question for movie fans, and I will share some thoughts from my recent viewing – some films re-visited, some new to me, all with the hope of20 creating dialog on both film as an art form, and on soil as a component. Woman in the Dunes (1964) and Dune (1984) focus on not only the dynamism of the moving sands, but also on the subsurface water of the dune as a key ecosystem feature. Soil is central to the story of planet Arrakis in Dune, the David Lynch film based upon the 1965 novel by Frank Herbert. Indeed the “planetary ecologist” who is25 the hero of the Dune saga was based upon an Oregon soil scientist (Landa 2010). A 2013 documentary Jodorowsky’s Dune, on the unsuccessful mid-1970s attempt of surrealist director Alejandro Jodorowsky’s to adapt and film Herbert‘s novel, is reviving 24 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | interest in both the Lynch film and in Herbert as a potent force in the environmental movement. The natural history of the prairie and the abundance derived from the soil is exquisitely depicted in Days of Heaven, the 1978 film by acclaimed director Terrence Malick. Characterized by rich images and sparse dialog7, this circa 1915 tale of life on5 the wheat farms of Texas (actually filmed in Alberta and Montana), includes a brief but memorable time-lapse photography sequence by cinematographer Ken Middleham8. The footage (originally shot for the 1979 documentary The Secret Life of Plants (Weber, 2007)) is accompanied by a soundtrack composed and conducted by Ennio Morricone. Images of unfurling seedlings and probing roots have a special magic for scientists10 and non-scientists alike — see, for example, the 10 January 2014 cover of Science magazine showing a lateral root emerging from the main root of a young Arabidopsis thaliana plant (http://www.sciencemag.org/content/343/6167.cover-expansion). Indeed, moving images of elongating roots seem to beg for music, a fact not unno- ticed by Auburn University plant physiologist Elizabeth (“Betty”) L. Klepper and her US15 Department of Agriculture/Agricultural Research Service colleague Morris G. Huck. Their 16 mm film, Time-lapse photography of root growth, depicting research at the Auburn rhizotron (Fig. 15) where cotton roots in soil were observed through glass pan- els while the plant tops were exposed to field conditions (Taylor, 1969; Huck et al., 7For soil scientists, an endearing and perhaps unscripted line (33:10–33:26) in Days of Heaven has a 12-year old girl, played by Linda Manz, musing in voice-over about her future, as she studies a clod of soil and lowers her ear to the earth: “I could be a mud doctor. . . Checking out the earth. . . underneath.” 8For an in-depth look at the time-lapse photography of Ken Middleham (1927– 2001), see: Filming the Invisible: The story of Ken Middleham, Cinematographer at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDElLm1hfSQ and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v= azIXfxqFVQo. Middleham was the natural history cinematographer on The Secret Life of Plants (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGl4btrsiHk), and the soundtrack to accompany his images there was composed and performed by Stevie Wonder. 25 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://www.sciencemag.org/content/343/6167.cover-expansion http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDElLm1hfSQ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azIXfxqFVQo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azIXfxqFVQo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGl4btrsiHk SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | 1970) premiered at the 11th International Botanical Congress in Seattle in the summer of 1969. The film opens with a classical musical soundtrack that appears to be a re- write of Luigi Boccherini’s “Celebrated Minuet”9 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= epJahNtJzss). Klepper wrote the film’s narration that was later recorded by a staff mem-5 ber from Auburn University Television. He recommended several possible accompany- ing music selections to the research team. Klepper and Huck selected one that had a dramatic upturn in the music at a point in the edited, final version of the film where a root growing down a pane of glass has disappeared behind the soil and suddenly reap- pears (e-mail, Klepper to Landa; 21 April 2014). The film was given new life in 199910 with its re-release on DVD by the American Society of Agronomy/Crop Science Soci- ety of America/Soil Science Society of America, and has been a popular instructional video (Kirkham, 2011). The works of Klepper/Huck in the scientific sphere, and of Middleham in the com- mercial film world, are early examples of the convergence of film with the soil and15 plant sciences. More recently soil scientist/geo-archaeologist Paul Adderley (Univer- sity of Stirling, Scotland) and composer Michael Young (University of London) have collaborated on: Exposure: Understanding Living in Extreme Environments (http: //www.ground-breaking.net/exposure.html), an installation that integrates sight and sound across scales ranging from the microscopic to the landscape scale, and that20 depicts both the physicality of soil and its role as a cultural archive of past civilizations (an experimental 12-minute video from installation is available at http://soundsrite.uws. edu.au/soundsRiteContent/volume4/YoungInfo.html). Modern rhizotron facilities, sampling devices adapted from engineering and medicine (including borescopes and laparoscopic samplers), and advanced, three-dimensional25 tomographic imaging techniques offer new opportunities for creative explorations at 9The Boccherini minuet has been used in the soundtrack of a considerable number of feature films (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0090530/), including the Coen brothers The La- dykillers (2004). 26 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epJahNtJzss https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epJahNtJzss https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epJahNtJzss http://www.ground-breaking.net/exposure.html http://www.ground-breaking.net/exposure.html http://www.ground-breaking.net/exposure.html http://soundsrite.uws.edu.au/soundsRiteContent/volume4/YoungInfo.html http://soundsrite.uws.edu.au/soundsRiteContent/volume4/YoungInfo.html http://soundsrite.uws.edu.au/soundsRiteContent/volume4/YoungInfo.html http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0090530/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | the interface of science and art, with the potential of attracting new collaborators and audiences to soil science. Ken Middleham’s talents in micro-scale motion picture photography were also put to use in the 1974 science fiction film Phase IV, where ants become a threat to human civilization. Middleham provided the insect photography – which has appropriately been5 described as “creating a sort of animal acting verisimilitude that has gone unmatched on film before or since” (Gilchist, 2012). But from a viewer’s perspective of the entire film – aptly described as “an ecological parable set within the science fiction genre” (Bass and Kirkham, 2011, p. 257), soil is primarily manifested not in the microphotography of ant activity, but on the macro-scale, in towering geometric obelisks made of soil.10 Rising from the desert floor, they are ominous, and the massive and alien occurrence of soil in these ant observation towers, and later in the film, in the form of massive solar reflectors, combined with the storyline and soundtrack, are highly effective conveyors of threat to the viewer. (Having observed much smaller, cylindrical, indurated-soil ant nests in Oregon (Landa, 1977), this image had particular resonance with me – the15 unfamiliar soil feature in that case provoking curiosity.) Phase IV director, Saul Bass (1920–1996), was a noted graphic designer whose cor- porate logos (e.g., the United Airlines “flying U” and blue/red/orange stripes) are known to all, and whose design of motion picture title sequences and advertising posters made him a sought-after talent in Hollywood – the directors with whom Bass worked included20 Otto Preminger, Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubrick, and Martin Scorsese (who wrote the Foreword to the Bass and Kirkham book). There is a strong linear character in many of the Bass graphics, and this signature style is reflected in the imagining and construction of the soil pillars for the only feature film that he directed. Bass conceptualized and designed all of the earthen manifestations of the ant civi-25 lization in the film – the tunnels, towers, reflectors, and the final chamber (email from Jennifer Bass, 6 May 2014). The film critic of London’s Sunday Times picked up on the linkage of design, imagery and mood, calling Phase IV “a film of design, of un- sentimental forces set against one another in lines, curves, angles, shining surfaces. 27 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Beautiful, but always threatening, mysterious, forbidding.” (Bass and Kirkham, 2011, p. 258). Although the story is set in Arizona, the outdoors filming was done in the Rift Valley of Kenya, and Bass had to be careful not to get a giraffe in the shot (email from Jennifer Bass, 6 May 2014). Bass’ surreal epilogue to the film (cut by Paramount Pictures and not on the presently5 available DVD) was screened for the first time in Los Angeles in 2012 (Gilchist, 2012). Available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beLpsWaUDNk, it is a stunning summa- tion that is a must-see to get the unambiguous storyline and to appreciate Bass’ artistic vision in its full realization. Marketed by Paramount as a B-horror movie, Phase IV had only a small footprint in the US, but was a hit in France (Bass and Kirkham, 2011).10 Hopefully Saul Bass’ pioneering work will receive greater attention when scholars and movie buffs gather to discuss environmental films, and future audiences will get to see the uncut version of Phase IV. As soil scientists, our view of soil in films is admittedly atypical. A case in point is the 2011 film from director Lech Majewski, The Mill and the Cross. A truly unique film15 inspired by a still image – Pieter Bruegel’s 1564 painting The Procession to Calvary de- picting Christ carrying the cross to the crucifixion in a reimagined 16th century Flemish setting – it has a scene in which a woman is buried alive. The grave has box-like, ver- tical walls. But even more visually powerful than the geometry are the color contrasts and the strong horizon boundaries in the soil exposed on the pit walls:20 – a very dark surface which grades to a somewhat lighter brown, – then a very sharp demarcation to a thick white layer. Captivated by the image, my first thoughts were: – was that the natural color in the soil pit? If yes, was the filming location specifically chosen for this look?25 – Alternatively, were computer generated imagery or other methods used to en- hance some profile color effects? 28 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beLpsWaUDNk SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | I had a series of e-mail exchanges with director Lech Majewski on these questions (e-mails Majewski to Landa: 31 December 2012; 26 February 2014). The scene was shot near Katowice, Poland on an old slag-deposit field. The choice of the pit site was just chance – the look of the soil had nothing to do with the selection of the filming location; rather, the slope was chosen to give a good view of the monks in the same5 shot. The lesson to me was clear – Not all depictions of soil, even if eye-catching for a soil scientist, are conscious acts of filmmaking. But one can dream. . . 5 Conclusions As Dokuchaev introduced a more holistic, three-dimensional vision of the soil, artists have been exploring the complex visual, cultural, and symbolic dimensions that are10 embodied in that three-dimensional soil space. As a consequence of experiences in working on soil and art topics, we conclude that: – Investigations and discussions focused on soils and landscapes can be made much more appealing and relevant to lay audiences by including artistic ap- proaches.15 – Soil science professional societies should encourage new transdisciplinary explo- rations in areas such as soil and culture, soil and religion, soil and history, etc. Only when our community becomes more broadly based will soil protection be- come more relevant for the public at large and for decision-makers. – Artists expand the realm of soil science research with visual, cultural and symbolic20 forms of inquiry, offering new ways of visualizing, interpreting and interacting with soil. – An overall aim should be to integrate human aspects, including art, in our work. Author contributions. Co-authors of this article are soil scientists but each one has her/his own interest(s) in art. Hence, Sect. 2 (paintings) was written by C. Feller with additions by A. Toland25 29 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | and G. Wessolek, Sect. 3 (installation) by A. Toland and G. Wessolek, and Sect. 4 (cinema) by E. R. Landa. Acknowledgements. For Sect. 4: Thanks to Jennifer Bass, Stephen Henry (University of Mary- land; Michelle Smith Performing Arts Library), Pat Kirkham (Bard Graduate Center; Decorative Arts, Design History, Material Culture), Betty Klepper (USDA-ARS retired), Lech Majewski, and5 Donald Manildi (University of Maryland; International Piano Archives) for their generous re- sponses to queries. References Alley, R.: Catalogue of the Tate Gallery’s Collection of Modern Art other than Works by British Artists, London: Tate Gallery and Sotheby Parke-Bernet, 1981.10 Arthur, J.: Green Woods and Crystal Waters: The American Landscape Tradition, Tulsa, OK, Philbrook Museum of Art, 2000. Bass, J. and Kirkham, P.: Saul Bass: A life in film & design, London, Laurence King Publishing, 2011. Beesley, P. and Armstrong, R.: Soil and Protoplasm – The Hylozoic Ground Project, Architec-15 tural Design, 81, 78–89, 2011. Catalogue Gianadda: Dubuffetm Exposition 4 mars – 10 juin 1993, Fondation Pierre Gianadda, Martigny, Suisse, 238 pp., 1993. Demolon, A.: Principes d’Agronomie. Tome 1. Dynamique du Sol, 5th Edn., Paris, Dunod, 520 pp., 1952.20 De Oliveira, N.: Introduction, in: Installation Art in the New Millennium. . . The Empire of the Senses, edited by: De Oliveira, N., Oxley, N., and Petry, M., 12–48, London, Thames & Hudson Ltd., 2003. De Oliveira, N., Oxley, N., and Petry, M.: On Installation, Art & Design Profile, 30, 7–11, 1993. de vries, h.: chance and change, in: Art Nature Dialogues – Interviews with Environmental25 Artists, edited by: Grande, J. K., 223–234, Albany, State University of New York Press, 2004. Della Monica, L.: Painted Landscapes: Contemporary Views, Atglen, PA, Schiffer Publishing, Ltd, 2013. 30 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Dokuchaev, V. V.: The Russian Chernozem, in: Selected Works of V. V. Dokuchaev, vol. 1, 14–419, Moscow, 1948 – Israel Program for Scientific Translations Ltd. (for USDA-NSF), S. Monson, Jerusalem, 1967, translated from Russian into English by N. Kander, 1883. Feller, C., Chapuis-Lardy, L., and Ugolini, F.: The representation of soil in the Western Art: from Genesis to Pedogenesis, Chapter 1, 3–22, in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and5 Feller, C., Springer, Dordrecht, Heidelberg, London, New York, Netherlands, 488 pp., Color Plates, 2010. Gilchrist, T.: Saul Bass’ long-lost original ending for “Phase IV” unearthed in Los Angeles; available at: http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/ saul-bass-phase-iv-original-ending-cinefamily-paramount-341449 (last access: 25 Jan-10 uary 2015), 2012. Gooding, M.: From earth, in: herman de vries – chance and change, 96–101, London, Thames and Hudson, 2006. Grove Art Online: Grove Art Online, available at: http://www.oxfordartonline.com/public/book/ oao_gao (last access: 9 September 2012), 2009.15 Handschumacher, P. and Schwartz, D.: Do Pedo-Epidemiological Systems Exist?, in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Dordrecht Heidelberg, London and New York, Springer, 355–369, 2010. Hartemink, A. E.: The depiction of soil profiles since the late 1700s, Catena, 79, 113–127, 2009.20 Hartemink, A. E., Balks, M .R., Chen, Z. S., Drohan, P., Field, D., Krasilniko, P., Lowe, D. J., Rabenhorst, M., van Rees, K., Schad, P., Schipper, L. A., Sonneveld, M., and Walter C. : The joy of teaching soil science, Geoderma, 217–218, 1–9, 2014. Huck, M. G., Klepper, B., and Taylor, H. M.: Diurnal variations in root diameter, Plant Physiol., 45, 529–530, 1970.25 Jenny, H.: The Image of Soil in Landscape Art, Old and New, Organic Matter and Soil Fertility, 947–979, 1968. Kastner, J. and Wallis, B.: Land and Environmental Art, NY, Phaidon, 1998. Kirkham, M. B.: Elevated carbon dioxide: Impacts on soil and plant water relations, Boca Raton, Florida, CRC Press, 2011.30 Kubiena, W. L.: Bestimmungsbuch und Systematik der Boden Europas, Ferdinand Enke Verlag, Stuttgart, 392 pp., 1953. 31 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/saul-bass-phase-iv-original-ending-cinefamily-paramount-341449 http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/saul-bass-phase-iv-original-ending-cinefamily-paramount-341449 http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/saul-bass-phase-iv-original-ending-cinefamily-paramount-341449 http://www.oxfordartonline.com/public/book/oao_gao http://www.oxfordartonline.com/public/book/oao_gao http://www.oxfordartonline.com/public/book/oao_gao SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Landa, E. R.: An unusual ant nest morphology for the ant Formica fusca Linne in western Oregon, Pan-Pacific Entomologist, 53, 250–252, 1977. Landa, E. R.: In a supporting role: Soil and the cinema, in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Dordrecht, Springer, 83–105, 2010. Landa, E. R. and Feller, C. (Eds): Soil and Culture, Springer, Dordrecht, Heidelberg, London,5 New York, Netherlands, 488 pp., Color Plates, 2010. Marijnissen, R. H. and Ruyffelaere, P.: Jérome Bosch. Tout l’oeuvre peint et dessiné. Fonds Mercator, Albin Michel, Paris, Anvers, 513 pp., 1987. Muggler, C. C.: Soil paints as a tool to increase soil awareness among different publics, Geo- phys. Res. Abstr., EGU2013-13986, EGU General Assembly 2013, Vienna, Austria, 2013.10 Pentecost, C.: Notes from the Underground, dOCUMENTA13: 100 Notes, 100 Thoughts, 61, Hatje Cantz, 2012. Rosenthal, M.: Understanding Installation Art – From Duchamp to Holzer, Munich, Berlin, Lon- don, New York, Prestel, 2003. Szlezak, E.: Soilart – Painting with the Colours of the Earth. Project description from the15 Amt der NÖ Landesregierung-Abteilung Landentwicklung, available at: http://www.soilart.eu/ 1-0-Home.htm (last access: 20 December 2011), 2009. Taylor, H. M.: The rhizotron at Auburn – A plant root observatory system, Auburn University, Agricultural Experiment Station Circular 171, 1969. Toland, A. and Wessolek, G.: Merging horizons – soil science and soil art, Chapter 4, 45–66,20 in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Springer, Dordrecht, Heidelberg, London, New York, Netherlands, 488 pp., Color Plates, 2010. Toland, A. and Wessolek, G.: Picturing soil: aesthetic approaches to raising soil awareness in contemporary art, Chapter 7, 83–102, in: The Soil Underfoot Infinite Possibilities for a Finite Resource, edited by: Churchman, G. J. and Landa, E. R., CRC Press, Taylor & Francis25 Group, Boca Raton, USA, 421 pp., Color Plates, 2014. Ugolini, F.: Soil colors, pigments and clays in paintings, Chapter 5, 67–82, in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Springer, Dordrecht, Heidelberg, London, New York, Netherlands, 488 pp., Color Plates, 2010. Van Breemen, N.: Transcendental aspects of soil in contemporary visual arts, Chapter 3, 37–46,30 in: Soil and Culture, edited by: Landa, E. R. and Feller, C., Springer, Dordrecht, Heidelberg, London, New York, Netherlands, 488 pp., Color Plates, 2010. 32 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://www.soilart.eu/1-0-Home.htm http://www.soilart.eu/1-0-Home.htm http://www.soilart.eu/1-0-Home.htm SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Weber, B.: Commentary track (1:01:38–1:02:05) by Billy Weber (Ed.), Criterion Collection (2007) Days of Heaven, DVD, 2007. Wessolek, G.: Art and Soil, Newsletter of the Committee on the History, Philosophy, and Soci- ology of Soil Science International Union of Soil Science and Council on the History, Philos- ophy, and Sociology of Soil Science, Soil Science Society of America, Vol. 2, 14–16, 2002.5 Zika, A.: ParTerre – Studien und Materialien zur Kulturgeschichte des gestalteten Bodens. PhD Dissertation, Fachbereich 5 der Bergischen Universität, Wuppertal, 2001. 33 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figures for article “From soil in art towards Soil Art” Authors: Feller C., Landa Edward R., Toland A., Wessolek G. Figure 01. Soil profiles and associated vegetation represented as paintings in Walter Kubiena’s textbook (1953): Bestimmungsbuch und Systematik der Böden Europas (Soils of Europa). Figure 02. Lascaux Cave, Montignac (Dordogne, France). Frieze of the Bulls, left wall. Photo N. Aujoulat©MCC/Centre national de préhistoire). These caves contain some of the best-known Upper Paleolithic art. These paintings are estimated to be about 17,300 years old. Figure 1. Soil profiles and associated vegetation represented as paintings in Walter Kubiena’s textbook (1953): Bestimmungsbuch und Systematik der Böden Europas (Soils of Europa). 34 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figures for article “From soil in art towards Soil Art” Authors: Feller C., Landa Edward R., Toland A., Wessolek G. Figure 01. Soil profiles and associated vegetation represented as paintings in Walter Kubiena’s textbook (1953): Bestimmungsbuch und Systematik der Böden Europas (Soils of Europa). Figure 02. Lascaux Cave, Montignac (Dordogne, France). Frieze of the Bulls, left wall. Photo N. Aujoulat©MCC/Centre national de préhistoire). These caves contain some of the best-known Upper Paleolithic art. These paintings are estimated to be about 17,300 years old. Figure 2. Lascaux Cave, Montignac (Dordogne, France). Frieze of the Bulls, left wall. Photo copyright N. Aujoulat, MCC/Centre national de préhistoire). These caves contain some of the best-known Upper Paleolithic art. These paintings are estimated to be about 17 300 years old. 35 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 03. Details of Le Jugement Dernier (The Last Jugement), circa 1432, Van der Weyden R., Musée Hôtel-Dieu, Hospices Civils de Beaune, Beaune, France (© Hospices de Beaune). Figure 04 La chute d’Icare (The Icarus Fall), circa 1568, Bruegel P.I., Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium (Inv. 4030). Photo: RoScan, J. Geleyns. (©Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium) Figure 3. R. Van der Weyden. Details of Le Jugement Dernier (The Last Jugement). circa 1432. Musée Hôtel-Dieu, Hospices Civils de Beaune, Beaune, France (© Hospices de Beaune). 36 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 03. Details of Le Jugement Dernier (The Last Jugement), circa 1432, Van der Weyden R., Musée Hôtel-Dieu, Hospices Civils de Beaune, Beaune, France (© Hospices de Beaune). Figure 04 La chute d’Icare (The Icarus Fall), circa 1568, Bruegel P.I., Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium (Inv. 4030). Photo: RoScan, J. Geleyns. (©Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium) Figure 4. P. I. Bruegel. La chute d’Icare (The Icarus Fall). circa 1568. Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium (Inv. 4030). Photo: RoScan, J. Geleyns (© Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels, Belgium). 37 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 05. Detail from Labourage Nivernais, 1849. Rosa Bonheur (1822-1899). Oil on canvas. Musée d’Orsay (personal photo of C. Walter). (© musée d'Orsay, Paris, RF 64, acquisition of French government in 1848, initially for Musée de Lyon). Figure 5. Rosa Bonheur (1822–1899). Detail from Labourage Nivernais. 1849. Oil on canvas. Musée d’Orsay (personal photo of C. Walter). (© musée d’Orsay, Paris, RF 64, acquisition of French government in 1848, initially for Musée de Lyon). 38 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 06. Paintings of soil profiles used by A. Demolon and colleagues for their lectures in Paris (in the 1940’s). Unknown artist. Left: “Vertisol” from region Centre (Clermont- Ferrand, France); right: “Luvisol” from region Ile de France (Versailles, France) (Private coll.). Figure 07. Soil Aesthetics Criteria, 2007. G. Wessolek. (Courtesy of the artist). Figure 6. Paintings of soil profiles used by A. Demolon and colleagues for their lectures in Paris (in the 1940’s). Unknown artist. Left: Vertisol from region Centre (Clermont-Ferrand, France); right: Luvisol from region Ile de France (Versailles, France) (private collection). 39 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 06. Paintings of soil profiles used by A. Demolon and colleagues for their lectures in Paris (in the 1940’s). Unknown artist. Left: “Vertisol” from region Centre (Clermont- Ferrand, France); right: “Luvisol” from region Ile de France (Versailles, France) (Private coll.). Figure 07. Soil Aesthetics Criteria, 2007. G. Wessolek. (Courtesy of the artist). Figure 7. G. Wessolek. Soil Aesthetics Criteria. 2007. (Courtesy of the artist). 40 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 08. Dominique Schwartz, 2012. Photographs of the series “Geo-graphismes” (Courtesy of the artist, http://www.dominiksvarc.book.fr/galeries/geo-graphismes/). Figure 09a (left). Jean Dubuffet and his Matériologies (1960). (©Archives Fondation Dubuffet, Paris,Photo Jean Weber and © Fondation Gianadda, Martigny). Figure 09b (right). Histologie du sol (1957). Private coll., Switzerland (© VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2014). Figure 8. Dominique Schwartz. Photographs of the series “Geo-graphismes”. 2012. (Courtesy of the artist, http://www.dominiksvarc.book.fr/galeries/geo-graphismes/). 41 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ http://www.dominiksvarc.book.fr/galeries/geo-graphismes/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 08. Dominique Schwartz, 2012. Photographs of the series “Geo-graphismes” (Courtesy of the artist, http://www.dominiksvarc.book.fr/galeries/geo-graphismes/). Figure 09a (left). Jean Dubuffet and his Matériologies (1960). (©Archives Fondation Dubuffet, Paris,Photo Jean Weber and © Fondation Gianadda, Martigny). Figure 09b (right). Histologie du sol (1957). Private coll., Switzerland (© VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2014). Figure 9. Jean Dubuffet and his Matériologies. 1960. (© Archives Fondation Dubuffet, Paris, Photo Jean Weber and © Fondation Gianadda, Martigny). 42 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 10. Paul Rebeyrolle in front of Les Grands Paysages (1978) (“Large Landscapes”). (Photo: Freddy Le Saux ©Espace Paul Rebeyrolle, 87120 Eymoutiers, 2014). Figure 11. Aperiatur Terra et Germinet Salvatorem,2005-2006. Anselm Kiefer. (© Anselm Kiefer, Courtesy of the artist). Figure 10. Paul Rebeyrolle in front of Les Grands Paysages. 1978. (“Large Landscapes”). (Photo copyright Freddy Le Saux, Espace Paul Rebeyrolle, 87120 Eymoutiers, 2014). 43 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 10. Paul Rebeyrolle in front of Les Grands Paysages (1978) (“Large Landscapes”). (Photo: Freddy Le Saux ©Espace Paul Rebeyrolle, 87120 Eymoutiers, 2014). Figure 11. Aperiatur Terra et Germinet Salvatorem,2005-2006. Anselm Kiefer. (© Anselm Kiefer, Courtesy of the artist). Figure 11. Anselm Kiefer. Aperiatur Terra et Germinet Salvatorem. 2005–2006. (copyright Anselm Kiefer, Courtesy of the artist and thank you to Editions du Regard). 44 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 12. (a) Left: Walter de Maria. New York Earth Room. 1977. Long-term installation at 141 Wooster Street, New York City. Photo: John Cliett. Courtesy Dia Art Foundation, New York. (b) Right: Urs Fischer. You. 2007. Excavation, gallery space, 1 : 3 scale replica of main gallery space. Dimensions variable Installation view, “you”, Gavin Brown’s enterprise, New York, 2007. Collection of The Brant Foundation, Greenwich, Connecticut (copyright Urs Fischer. Courtesy of the artist and Gavin Brown’s enterprise, New York. Photo: Ellen Page Wilson). 45 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 13. Philip Beesley et al., Hylozoic Soil (2007), Installation at the Musée des Beaux Arts, Montreal, Canada, 2007 (©PBAI, Courtesy of the artist). Figure 14. Claire Pentecost, Soil Erg, Installation at dOCUMENTA 13 (2012). (© Claire Pentecost, Courtesy of the artist, photo Jürgen Hess). Figure 13. Philip Beesley et al. Hylozoic Soil. 2007. Installation at the Musée des Beaux Arts, Montreal, Canada, 2007 (© PBAI, Courtesy of the artist). 46 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 13. Philip Beesley et al., Hylozoic Soil (2007), Installation at the Musée des Beaux Arts, Montreal, Canada, 2007 (©PBAI, Courtesy of the artist). Figure 14. Claire Pentecost, Soil Erg, Installation at dOCUMENTA 13 (2012). (© Claire Pentecost, Courtesy of the artist, photo Jürgen Hess). Figure 14. Claire Pentecost. Soil Erg. 2012. Installation at dOCUMENTA 13. (copyright Claire Pentecost, Courtesy of the artist, photo Jürgen Hess). 47 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ SOILD 1, 1–48, 2015 From soil in art towards Soil Art C. Feller et al. Title Page Abstract Introduction Conclusions References Tables Figures J I J I Back Close Full Screen / Esc Printer-friendly Version Interactive Discussion D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | D iscu ssio n P a p e r | Figure 15. Time-lapse photography set-up used by Klepper and Huck at the Auburn Rhizotron to examine root behavior behind glass panels (Courtesy of Alabama Agricultural Experiment Station). The camera support could be moved to allow photography of any part of the visible root system. The ½ inch square grid-wire mesh embedded in the glass panes provided a measuring scale and reduce shattering if the glass broke (from Taylor 1969). Figure 15. Time-lapse photography set-up used by Klepper and Huck at the Auburn Rhizotron to examine root behavior behind glass panels (Courtesy of Alabama Agricultural Experiment Station). The camera support could be moved to allow photography of any part of the visible root system. The 1/2 inch square grid-wire mesh embedded in the glass panes provided a measuring scale and reduce shattering if the glass broke (from Taylor, 1969). 48 http://www.soil-discuss.net http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-print.pdf http://www.soil-discuss.net/1/1/2015/soild-1-1-2015-discussion.html http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ Introduction The soil vision Envisioning soil Paintings Before 20th century -- representation of soil in art Soil profile for the Resurrection of the Dead Soil profile for displaying plant roots Soil profile displayed by the ploughing From beginning of 20th century -- teaching the soil: from science to art Soil in realism and abstraction: case studies from the 20th century Grant Wood (USA) Jean Dubuffet (France) Soil in contemporary painting Paul Rebeyrolle (France) Anselm Kieffer (Germany) Case studies of soil in installation art Immersive experience Walter de Maria (USA) and Urs Fischer (Switzerland) Philip Beesley (Canada) Gesamtkunstwerk Claire Pentecost's (USA) Archives herman de vries (Netherlands) Koichi Kurita (Japan) Cinema and Soil Art Conclusions 
work_xhlaqfhah5dn7k5k2ectsckgdu	----	The Environmental Historiography of the Maritime Peninsula The Environmental Historiography of the Maritime Peninsula Brian Payne Acadiensis: Journal of the History of the Atlantic Region / Revue d’histoire de la region atlantique, Volume 45, Number 1, Winter/Spring 2016, pp. 163-177 (Review) Published by University of New Brunswick, Department of History DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/aca.2016.0000 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/617957 https://doi.org/10.1353/aca.2016.0000 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/617957 REVIEW ESSAYS/NOTES CRITIQUE The Environmental Historiography of the Maritime Peninsula IN HIS 2014 PUBLICATION Second Nature: An Environmental History of New England, Richard Judd referred to the region stretching from Long Island Sound to the Gaspé Peninsula as a “landform known as the Maritime Peninsula.”1 Archaeologists use the term “maritime peninsula” to illustrate connections between pre-European-contact Native people in what is today New England and Atlantic Canada, and this is the context in which Judd used the term in his book. Earlier, in the introduction, Judd described New England as a “giant peninsula,” although without reference to Atlantic Canada (2). In the introduction to their collection of essays, Land and Sea: Environmental History in Atlantic Canada, Claire Campbell and Robert Summerby-Murray write: “For some time, environmental historians have argued against writing history within the confines of national boundaries . . . . Some scholars have suggested that we look not to nation-states but to bioregions.” Pointing to their own region, the authors note that “Atlantic Canada itself is a wonderful example of the artificial nature of political boundaries. Originally an invention of bureaucratic convenience, the region has rarely been anything approaching an organic alliance.”2 Such statements build upon a large collection of scholarly work from across disciplines that have identified New England and Atlantic Canada as a borderland – a region of shared cultural and social history and economic connections that are somewhat artificially divided by the political border separating the United States and Canada. Although this analytical framework has faded somewhat in recent years, with the most recent edited collection of essays utilizing it appearing in 2005 – Stephen Hornsby and John G. Reid’s New England and the Maritime Provinces: Connections and Comparisons3 – it still retains important methodological guidance for environmental historians. Among all sub-disciplines of history, environmental history might be the least dependent upon contemporary political borders. Yet even here most of our work still struggles to jump that border. Campbell and Summerby- Murray note the importance of balancing this approach with an appreciation for the uniqueness of locality: “Environmental historians must be true to these particular places, the distinctive features of the local” (4). By comparing local stories across a bio-region, or a borderland, the editors argue that “these common sensibilities create a regional sense of place” (4). But their regionalism is confined to Atlantic Canada. Within the essays themselves there is no breaking of international borders – only 1 Richard Judd, Second Nature: An Environmental History of New England (Amherst & Boston: University of Massachusetts Press, 2014), 21. 2 Claire Campbell and Robert Summerby-Murray, eds., Land and Sea: Environmental History in Atlantic Canada (Fredericton: Acadiensis Press, 2013), 2-3. 3 Stephen Hornsby and John G. Reid, eds., New England and the Maritime Provinces: Connections and Comparisons (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2005). Brian Payne, “The Environmental Historiography of the Maritime Peninsula,” Acadiensis XLV, no. 1 (Winter/Spring 2016): 163-177. 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 163 provincial ones – and rarely at that. Graeme Wynn notes this in his epilogue, wondering if such regionalism does not “ride roughshod over more locally rooted sensitivities and attachments to place” (236). Despite claims to stretch their studies across borders, most environmental historians of New England and Atlantic Canada remain largely confined to a politically defined place. A comprehensive review essay on the environmental history of New England and Atlantic Canada, therefore, has to draw upon the historiography of each region separately in an effort to then develop connections between scholars across the regions who themselves were very much grounded in their own largely politically identified region. It is thus necessary to compare and contrast different regional approaches to environmental history, which might then force scholarship into categories not originally envisioned by the authors. The overarching commonality of the recent (since 2010) environmental histories of New England and Atlantic Canada is the acceptance, even celebration, of the deep, multiple forms of human uses of nature. In these regions, or this region if we want to hold onto the borderland analytical framework for a bit longer, historians cannot reduce their analysis to one that contrasts first and second nature. Despite Judd’s title, two layers simply is not enough. Environmental historians of New England and Atlantic Canada deal with landscapes and seascapes that have been worked, settled upon, abandoned, reworked, and even restored. While in other regions environmental historians have suggested that the line between first and second nature is blurred, in New England and Atlantic Canada the line does not even exist. This longer and more diversified use of the same environment, what Judd refers to as the “post-pioneer” history (x), provides a complex connection between culture and nature because so many people assert competing understandings of nature. Each of these understandings affirm certain ethical groundings for their claim, which prohibit the environmental historians of New England and Atlantic Canada from crafting simple narratives of good versus bad uses of nature or the inevitable decline of the purity of the natural environment. In short, the environmental history of New England and Atlantic Canada is far more complex than a simple duality between first and second nature. This review essay will look at some of the most far-reaching works on the environmental history of New England and Atlantic Canada. There are plenty of other books published within the last five years that could have, and maybe even should have, be included in this review; but for the sake of management and length this review will focus on those books that made the biggest theoretical or methodological leaps in the field and posed the best analysis for moving the environment history of this region to the forefront of the continental conversation: Claire Campbell and Robert Summerby-Murray’s edited collection Land and Sea: Environmental History in Atlantic Canada, Richard Judd’s Second Nature: An Environmental History of New England, Christopher Pastore’s Between Land and Sea: The Atlantic Coast and the Transformation of New England, and Richard Judd and Stephen Hornsby’s edited Historical Atlas of Maine.4 Acadiensis164 4 See Christopher Pastore, Between Land and Sea: The Atlantic Coast and the Transformation of New England (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014) and Richard Judd and Stephen Hornsby, eds., Historical Atlas of Maine (Orono, ME: University of Maine Press, 2015). Other 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 164 Ironically enough, Richard Judd’s Second Nature: The Environmental History of New England largely disproves the value of understanding environments as either first or second nature. Indeed, the picture that he paints is one of far greater complexity. Instead of successive layers of environmental history, his book shows a muddled, overlapping, and intermixing of uses and understandings of the environment to the point that there is no first or second nature. Judd does not claim to provide an exhaustive history of the environment in New England, but instead hopes to set the stage for future scholarship of the region. His book provides several key analytical frameworks within which deeper analysis of any one specific topic could fit. These frameworks set the environmental history of New England as distinct from that of other North American regions while also establishing important premises for all environmental historians to consider regardless of where their subject matter might take them. As such, Second Nature does what a work by a senior scholar should do – it opens doors. It provides a much-needed guide for the next generation. Instead of definitively answering questions, it poses key analytical models within which to work out those answers. First, Judd moves beyond both the environmental determinism of early-20th- century scholarship on environment and nature as well as the cultural determinism we see in late-20th-century scholarship. Judd opens his book with a rich analysis of existing scholarship on New England by organizing it into two broad camps. On the one hand there were those who saw the uniqueness of the New England environment as determining the emerging Yankee culture of the late colonial period. On the other hand there were those who saw New England’s emerging culture of individualistic capitalism as driving the environment into exhaustion and degradation. Moving beyond the limits of New England, Judd concludes from this assessment of the field that “given these confusing changes, it is not surprising that environmental historians have so far failed to develop a generalized formula for integrating the history of nature into the history of humanity . . . . Environmental history has neither defined its own historical benchmarks nor established a model of causal relations widely accepted by historians outside the field” (11). Second, by abandoning both environmental and cultural determinism Judd is able to see New England’s environmental history as a balance between culture and nature that resulted in a “blended landscape” of farms, fields, factories, cities, and suburbs that should not be so easily dismissed as culture’s triumph over nature for better or worse. Instead, Judd argues New Englanders developed society in balance with limits imposed by nature and crafted a human landscape that accepted nature and recognized the importance of nature – a “half-wild, half-domesticated world” (94). Environmental Historiography of Maritime Peninsula 165 books that could have been included are John Cumbler’s recent Cape Cod: An Environmental History of a Fragile Ecosystem (Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 2014); Blake Harrison and Richard Judd’s A Landscape History of New England (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2013); Ellen Stroud’s Nature Next Door: Cities and Trees in the American Northeast (Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, 2105); Anthony N. Penna and Conrad Edick Wright’s Remaking Boston: An Environmental History of the City and Its Surroundings (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2009); and Matthew McKenzie’s Clearing the Coastline: The Nineteenth-Century Ecological and Cultural Transformation of Cape Cod (Lebanon, NH: University Press of New England, 2011). 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 165 Even in the epic period of industrialization in New England, the region remained intimately dependent upon nature in ways far more pronounced than other industrialized places: “Shut out of the industrializing economy, they invested in small, multiple-purpose woodworking mills and fishing vessels, spread their activities across a broad range of forest and sea products, and took advantage of their familiarity with the local environment to stay competitive in the age of giant industry” (96). Third, Judd argues that the region’s long “post-pioneer” history provides a unique culture that is not separate from nature but one of continued interaction. This is perhaps the most important analytical model established by the book – the “distinguishing feature of New England environmental history is the length, continuity, and intensity of Euro-American settlement” (11-12). Judd seems to echo Campbell and Summerby-Murray’s observation regarding Atlantic Canada when he writes that this longer period of post-pioneer history “brings to light a series of oscillations: deforestation and reforestation, depletion and renewal, settlement and abandonment, pollution and recovery” (12). As such, Judd’s work suggests, and many scholars of environmental history of New England and Atlantic Canada have elsewhere asserted, that nature remains a key force throughout the history of the region – always resurgent. It was the acceptance of the persistent power of nature that shaped New England’s culture: New Englanders “adapted and continued a way of life closely attuned to the patterns of weather, season, and resource availability” (114). Nature limited the ways in which New Englanders could use capital to completely overturn that nature, and thus New England’s culture is more rooted, Judd asserts, in smaller acquisitions of wealth from nature: “The sea and forest offered multiple opportunities that no single company could monopolize, and by taking advantage of these opportunities, New Englanders preservered in a distinctive way of life inseparable from the natural environment” (116). The fourth key analytical framework established by Judd’s work is that environmental history need not be a declension story. Instead, environmental historians should recognize the value of the humanized landscapes that New Englanders built within the confines of an active nature. There is value to the farmscape, the pasture, the woodlot, and even the more heavily built environments of mills, waterfronts, cityscapes, and suburbia. To dismiss them as culture’s triumph over nature, Judd believes, is too simplistic. Rather, environmental historians might value landscapes not based on how much first nature was lost, but the “degree to which the new humanized ecology is sustainable and affords the diversity and richness that all societies – and all natural ecosystems – require” (xi). By abandoning the declension narrative so dominant in environmental history, Judd shows us that New England’s nature never stopped adapting itself to the harm inflicted upon it by New Englanders. Judd asserts that this adapted nature should be no less celebrated and understood as the first nature that New Englanders (both Native and those of European origins) first encountered. Furthermore, New Englanders never stopped working with, and often within the confines of, that second-nature, thus producing perhaps endless layers of nature well beyond the limits of first and second nature. Nature never stopped being a resilient force. As a consequence, it was this unique humanized landscape that still embraced the limits of nature that became a core component of New England culture. As such, when it Acadiensis166 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 166 came time to preserve nature, New Englanders were concerned about cultural landscapes at the outset in contrast to westerners’ idealization of purely wild places. Judd’s abandonment of the declension narrative is really an overdue recognition by historians that New England’s early conservationists largely never bought into that declension narrative in the first place: “New England offered little in the way of true first-nature wilderness, but it contained several iconic second-nature landscapes, ranging from working woods to rolling farmland, each with a distinctive humanized but functioning ecosystem. This hybrid world of farms, woodlands, cut-over forests, and past-enshrouded fishing outports, all centuries in the making, was the focus of New England environmentalism” (241). Perhaps New England’s most unique contribution to environmentalism was the region’s efforts to not only protect the bits of remaining wild places but also to shelter the “farms, villages, and woodlands – New England’s classic second-nature landscapes – from urban sprawl and other land-use threats” (177). Aside from these four basic frameworks, one of the most rewarding aspects of Judd’s work is how effectively he incorporates other scholars’ work into his own narrative. We see this throughout the book as Judd introduces the reader to key historians, archeologists, and anthropologists. He explains their theories and research, sets their work within the context of their own discipline, and shows how these ideas have changed over time with new evidence and new analysis. By doing so, Judd’s book becomes an exceptionally useful teaching tool because he effectively utilizes historiography and shows students the process of history writing. As such, Judd’s work recognizes what Campbell and Summerby-Murray also note in Land and Sea as necessary for Atlantic Canada – multidisciplinary work. Like many collections of essays, Land and Sea is a diverse collection of largely independent parts that closely examine specific local regions. The essays are thorough investigations of localized events; yet, collectively they do conjure up some significant overall themes – themes that encourage the making of “connections between these scales of landscapes, seeking shared historical patterns in exploration, settlement, and the use of natural resources”(4). First, like Judd’s work, it is clear that these are all human landscapes rather than the often-celebrated beauty of untouched wild places. The essays reject the older dualism of culture versus nature that places humanized landscapes, or cultured places, outside of the wrongly assumed non-humanized or uncultured wilds in the same manner as Judd as “places that have been occupied and abandoned, harvested and rearranged, recorded and represented” (1). This involves the complex multiple uses of nature and a similarly careful desire to avoid a declension perspective. Although most of the histories in this volume tend to focus on the misuse of the environment via pollution, over-use, failed science, or commodification, collectively the authors offer the reader a story that is “far more complex than simply one of industrial triumph or resource exhaustion” (5). Indeed, they seek to go beyond the first and second natures explored by Judd to illuminate numerous other connections between nature and culture. For example, in their study of eastern white cedar Lanna Campbell and Colin P. Laroque note that the species is more than just a tree; it is a “piece of living natural history . . . [and] to allow naturally occurring eastern white cedar to disappear from the Nova Scotian landscape would be to allow a piece of living natural history to fall Environmental Historiography of Maritime Peninsula 167 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 167 to the way side, removing a significant cultural icon that connects us with the past” (232-3). Wilderness is the least common element of environmentalism within the region. In his essay on the history of tourism in Prince Edward Island, Edward MacDonald notes that the Island’s environmental history is distinct in Canada “not only because of its small scale but also due to its absent ‘wilderness.’ . . . There might be wilderness of a sort – woodlots and sand dunes, marshland and peat bog – but there is little that is ‘wild.’ All bore the visible marks of human intervention” (61, 63). Instead of wilderness, environmental awareness on Prince Edward Island centered on a garden imagery – “a working landscape – a landscape dotted with the figures who had created it and who now toiled to wrest a living from it. There was nothing in it to inspire awe, yet it had a subtle appeal for visitors as the Island’s first tourism marketers soon discovered” (63). This is not to say that the wilderness imagery is totally absent from the region’s environmental history. Alan MacEachern notes in his study on public reaction to the Miramichi fire of 1825 that “the elements of the tragedy were sure to captivate. Here were small communities of British settlers living on the edge of a vast wilderness, experiencing a holocaust of apparently unprecedented size and ferocity, and who, having survived, looked forward only to the loss of home, the loss of livelihood, and a cold winter” (166). Beyond MacEachern’s study, however, and perhaps Bill Parenteau and Mark J. MacLaughlin’s studies on New Brunswick forestry policy, there is virtually no wilderness in any of these essays. Instead of wilderness, the central topic, or type, of environment under investigation is connected to resource economics whether the authors examine fish, timber, agriculture, mining, mud harvesting, or other resources. While Campbell and Laroque note “natural resources are resources only because humans rely on them for their benefit” (232), such resources proved essential to the region’s economic success and cultural sense of itself. Heather L. MacLeod notes that it was the fish and timber, which were “valuable international commodities,” that received the closest scrutiny from early European investigation into the region (12). The diversity of the resources available, MacLeod further notes, “created a wide range of altered landscapes with associated ecological impact” (26). Second, once we accept that there are numerous and equal layers of use open to investigation by environmental historians, and the central importance of not wilderness but resource in that history, we inevitably realize the complexity of internal conflict over how to best use resources. Some of this conflict emerged from the inherent “borderland” aspect of the region, which reveals multiple politically identified groups competing in the same place for the same resource. Allan Dwyer notes this in his investigation into 18th-century Notre Dame Bay, Newfoundland, which he asserts was “an integrated environmental precinct – a borderland – where labourers from two European empires clashed in their quest for marketable species and where Europeans as a group interacted with the indigenous Beothuk residents of the area” (28). More commonly, however, internal conflict pitted representatives from different socio-economic classes or occupational groups rather than national affiliation. Jonathan Luedee explores the internal debate in Newfoundland over the use of cod seines and notes “most fishers in the community cautioned against such intensification of fishing effort. Investment in the capital-intensive cod-seine fishery Acadiensis168 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 168 divided fishers and produced local tensions around emerging capitalist relations” (83). Contrary to the class divide illustrated by Luedee, Joshua D. MacFadyen argues that the conflict over access to mussel mud in Prince Edward Island revolved more around occupation. MacFadyen posits that access to the valuable resource “became flashpoints for confrontation. . . . The protests that followed split farmers and fishers, neighbours who might not otherwise have put themselves in disparate camps” (100, 107). In his study of Progressive-Era forestry policy in New Brunswick, Bill Parenteau identifies the internal conflict as based neither on socio- economic class or occupation but on struggles between elite economic leaders of the community: lumber barons who controlled the woods during most of the 19th century and those who controlled the new highly capitalized and highly concentrated pulp-and-paper industry. This conflict was about much more than just economic control over resources, because “the pulp industry was considered by some local lumber barons to be a threat to their economic and, perhaps, social and political positions” (129). Similarly, Alan MacEachern’s investigation into the conflicting views of a post-fire Miramichi illustrates cultural divides between forestry and agriculture. Despite New Brunswick’s reliance on forestry, the government commission sent to the Miramichi valley following the 1825 fire argued “farming remained the proper activity of new settlers even on the marginal farmland of northeastern New Brunswick and even if the great fire had made farming a more dubious prospect than ever” (177). For MacEachern, the internal conflict was one over image and assumed cultural identity rather than the reality of work in northeastern New Brunswick. Thus, internal conflict in Atlantic Canada over resource use came in several forms. Third, by intensely focusing on these rather localized stories and the internal conflict over local resources, the Land and Sea essays illustrate the central importance of local knowledge, skills, and ability. The more intimate connections workers had with local environments provided them with an intense understanding of that environment that often superseded those from outside, whether they were corporate, government, or scientific interlopers. Many of these essays also suggest that conflict over use and understanding of the local environment was usually not an internal affair, but one generated only after the introduction of some outside force of capital or knowledge that brought in new ways of seeing and understanding that nature. Heather MacLeod notes in her essay “the experience of nature for many people was intimately connected with working the farms, forests, mines, or coastal waters for a living” (15). In his study of 19th-century naturalist Titus Smith Jr., Richard Field notes that Smith took close observations of the local inhabitants and “proselytized about the moral benefit of work and its ability to enhance character” (48). Jonathan Luedee shows how fishing labourers “developed a nuanced understanding of local cold-ocean ecosystems and the complex composition of northern cod stocks” (88). Joshua MacFadyen states “The farmers relied on their own knowledge of place to locate the best shell beds, and they hauled the mud home to their own fields and spread it over the winter snows with shovels and sleighs. . . . These efforts to understand the nature and location of estuarine resources indicate that farmers had extensive knowledge of the river bottoms” (105). Such close investigation of local ecological knowledge, or traditional ecological knowledge, Environmental Historiography of Maritime Peninsula 169 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 169 and their conflict with external forces, is not unique to the environmental history of Atlantic Canada, but it is the long and diverse use of the environment – the post- pioneer history – that allows the environmental historians of this region to more fully develop this idea as the central component of their argument. The fourth key theme to this collection is that these internal and external battles over the use of natural resources largely revolved around the extent to which the local users of the resources would accept or reject more highly commercialized or capitalized use of natural resources. The histories of these conflicts illustrate that local resource users were often able to gain capital from nature while rejecting a fuller transition to a solely commercialized understanding of the nature from which they drew their wealth. Instead, settlers looked for long-term sustainability rather than a quick profit. MacLeod illustrates that early European settlers in Nova Scotia sought out meadowlands for potential farms and pastures, and that “permanent occupation was the goal rather than a quick and seasonal exploitation of resources, as was the case for early mercantile interests in the cod fishery” (16). Luedee shows how this unfolded along class lines in his investigation of internal debates over the use of cod seines in Newfoundland and how the ultimate “development of capitalist relations of production [in Newfoundland’s inshore cod fisheries] led to the erosion of the moral economic regulation of fisheries in Newfoundland’s outports” (83). This is not to say that Luedee argues that those inshore fishermen who protested the use of seines were hardened anti-capitalists. They still sought profit, but did so in balance with the long-term sustainability of the resource. As has been articulated in Judd’s environmental history of New England, such early stewardship of resources should be understood as one of the key foundations of modern conservationism and environmentalism. Richard Field’s assessment of the limited historical investigation into 19th-century natural scientist Titus Smith, Jr., is in part due to his “strident anti- capitalist rhetoric . . . which did not endear him to the business and political interests of his day” (45). The essay notes Smith should be reconsidered as a central thinker for modern conservation because he “saw human need and purpose linked to the stewardship of nature, and during the last decades of his life combined his empirical sensibilities with his Christian beliefs to counter the two emerging giants of the 19th century – capitalism and industrialization – that together exploited the natural world for profit” (45). Finally, in his investigation into the public outrage against pesticides in New Brunswick’s forestry policy, Mark J. McLaughlin places New Brunswick’s forests into the larger story of the emergence of environmentalism in the late 20th century by recognizing the “growing ecological and environmental awareness of many New Brunswickers” (143). Other scholars in this collection, however, note that we should be careful about the celebration of the assumed folk use of nature or early grassroots campaigns that we might identify as environmentalism. Edward MacDonald claims that the tourist celebration of Prince Edward Island’s Arcadian landscape allowed tourism marketing to “ eulogize the consequence of economic stagnation as a restorative, antimodernist escape from North Americans’ urban-industrial angst” (61). Yet this celebration of antimodernism was in fact deeply capitalist as “it increasingly commodified the visitor experience in a manner that arguably trivialized the complexities of both the pastoral landscape and the culture associated with it” (62). Acadiensis170 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 170 We need to recognize this counter-thesis: the clearly industrialized use of natural resources. In his study of mussel mud digging in Prince Edward Island, MacFadyen partially rejects the often-celebrated folk use of the resource. Instead of the image of a self-sufficient yeoman looking for local fertilizer, MacFadyen argues, “in reality, mussel mud digging was also, or perhaps even primarily, a market activity, and people who went into the business of commercial mud digging were early adapters to new forms of energy and technology” (105). Parenteau also rejects the folk use of resources in his study of forest conservation in New Brunswick when he notes the importance of “a new corporate agenda for natural resource development that was related to a broad movement toward the consolidation of raw materials in the hands of large, sometimes multinational, firms” (121). Parenteau also notes that Progressive- era forest conservation policy was “skewed heavily toward those that were practical and efficient from an economic standpoint, as opposed to those that promoted sustained yield but added costs to the harvesting operations of companies” (123). The fifth key theme to this collection is that by accepting alternative, albeit still capitalist, uses of nature, the essays provide another avenue by which to rethink the traditional declension narrative of environmental history. This might be the weakest of the conclusions one can glean from the individual arguments of each essay. Campbell and Summerby-Murray state in their introduction: “Our relationship with our environment in this region . . . has been far more complex than simply one of industrial triumph or resource exhaustion” (5). Wynn returns to this idea in the epilogue by reminding us that there is now a well-established body of literature that proves that there “was no pre-modern, pre-industrial golden age in which people lived in idyllic unchanging harmony with nature” (237). Instead, research shows that early European farmers and fishers, as well as Native people, were not “proto- environmentalist” but people who had “intimate knowledge of local environments” and used that knowledge to manipulate the environment for their own ends (239, 237). Wynn further notes that the scholarship clearly articulates that “although newcomers had a marked and seemingly ever-escalating impact on the environment of the region through the 18th and 19th centuries, they were not engaged in simple, mindless plunder.” Instead, “most lived their lives in intimate engagement with the natural world.” Although historians should not ignore the environmental damage done by increased use of natural resources, Wynn argues “it is too simple, and misleading, to infer that such outcomes reflect a widespread, uncomplicated, unsophisticated, and fundamentally spendthrift set of attitudes toward nature” (242-4). The sixth major theme of the collection is that all of these chapters seek to understand the role that the history of nature and environmental use can play in shaping contemporary understanding and policy. It is placed at the forefront of the agenda when the editors close their introduction by stating “we do indeed have something to offer the national project, especially as the voice of experience, for the long histories of environmental change in the Atlantic region offer timely and urgent insights and guidance for policymakers”(5). Nearly every essay openly asserts its potential contribution to environmental policy. Heather MacLeod writes that her analysis of colonial descriptions of nature “suggests an historical basis for our present-day interactions with changing environments” (11). Allan Dwyer asserts that “viewing the entirety of the bay as a borderland with discrete and definable economic, social, and environmental challenges can help present-day observers to Environmental Historiography of Maritime Peninsula 171 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 171 distinguish the intricate contours of human ecology during a period of wrenching change” (29). And Richard Field states “Smith developed ideas about environmental sustainability, the stewardship and management of natural resources, and the improvement of agricultural practices that resound profoundly through our modern- day ecological debates” (59). Yet in almost every one of the essays this effort to find contemporary relevance is rather weak – often seeming much like an afterthought or an effort to fulfill a requirement that the authors were not wholly behind. Almost every reference to this contemporary value could have easily been deleted with no detrimental effect on the quality of the essays or their significance to our understanding of the past. Some of the essays’ relevance to contemporary policy, though, is more appropriate given their subject matter. Edward MacDonald does this well when he shows how dangerous the “artless anti-modernism” of Prince Edward Island tourism today is as it creates a “widening disjunction between tourism image and lived experience in the ‘Garden Province’” (62). Noting the overcrowding of the Island, MacDonald concludes “the most potent threat to the pastoral landscape on Prince Edward Island is not ecological but demographic” (76). Jonathan Luedee also emphasizes his essay’s relevance to policy by illustrating that the contemporary collapse of the North Atlantic cod fisheries is “not an historical aberration . . . [as] cod stock depletion caused by overexploitation likely occurred in Newfoundland’s inshore fishery as early as the mid-19th century” (82). But it is Holmes and Hollander’s essay on the redevelopment of brownfields and de-industrial landscapes of Moncton and Sydney that probably does it best largely due to the subject matter and the fact that the essay was specifically geared to “help to inform policy developments” (203). This essay’s focus on the urban environment is something no other essay tackles and, as such, it is an excellent counterweight to the dominance of resource economics as the central focus of the environmental history of Atlantic Canada. It is important to note, as Holmes and Hollander do, that these industrial, and now deindustrialized, places were, and are, important “iconic images for the communities.” As such, policymakers wrestling with important questions on what to do with these crumbling “brownfields” need to consider the “heritage of the region” and embrace “a community planning process and not just a site-planning process” (202, 217). Campbell and Summerby-Murray’s edited collection of essays stands as the sole effort in recent years to come to some understanding of the environmental history of Atlantic Canada as a region. Of the six overarching themes in this collection, the key is the first – the understanding that there is no dualism in environmental history, and particularly so for a region with such a long and diverse history of environmental use. The essays’ collective effort to understand the long and diverse layers of use in the end destroys the concept of layered use altogether. Instead, what we get from this collection is the realization that human use of the environment is ever-changing – not in a layered way, but in a much more muddled way of continued mixing, overlapping, and conflicting use and understanding of nature. Christopher Pastore applies this key understanding of the complexity of uses to an environment most often understood as timeless: the marine environment. Like many of the essays in Land and Sea, Pastore’s Between Land and Sea: The Atlantic Coast and the Transformation of New England is a case study that begins with local circumstances in an effort to build broader understandings of the exchange between Acadiensis172 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 172 culture and nature. But Pastore’s work is different because of the specific aspect of his localized study. The margin between land and sea, the ecotone of coastal environments, proves to be a rich field of investigation. Pastore states: “A deeper understanding of these littoral dynamics reveals the ways coastal cultures were often torn between two dominant epistemologies concerning the natural world. The first considered the ocean (and to some extent water in general) unchanging, eternal, and somehow exempt from human influence. The second believed that terrestrial land could be – and often must be – ‘improved.’ It was the push and pull of these two conceptions of nature that shaped coastal space” (3). Yet, the book is far less about a conflict between two environmental spaces as it is about a bridging of those spaces. In Pastore’s work the coastal zone is a place with deep connections to both the terrestrial world and the marine world, a place rich with human and natural history, and a place upon which the larger region of New England built a cultural sense of itself. In Pastore’s work we see that New England is neither marine nor terrestrial, but both. This somewhat obvious conclusion is shocking only in that historians have never so openly stated it as Pastore does. Most of Pastore’s book is rooted in the colonial era. Its best chapters deal with the wampum trade and colonial efforts to control the New England coast. In his chapter on wampum Pastore builds on past scholarship that shows how wampum gained political and financial currency with both Native and European groups, but he also adds significant insight from the methodologies of environmental history by clearly showing that both groups valued the currency because of “the watery origins of the shells from which they were made . . . [and that] wampum held value because it was mined from the edges of an ‘unknowable’ sea, a space that embraced all the mystery of the divine” (16). By associating wampum with the sea, the currency gained important cultural value for both groups and facilitated trade. Pastore goes even further when he links this currency, with all of its environmentally vested power, to the destruction of the beaver and the eco-zones that the species created. It was the proliferation of wampum that provided the currency needed for the beaver trade. By doing so, Pastore reveals the central impact that both cultural understandings of the environment and the physical reality of those environments had on colonial New England history. After a brief and interesting chapter on animal husbandry, Pastore deals with his second major contribution to the historical profession. In the middle chapters of his book Pastore illustrates how Europeans tried to rationalize the ecotone of coastal New England by transforming it from a fluid margin into a fixed edge. Pastore shows how – via cartography, lighthouses, and military power – “the coastal landscape was remade to meet the demands of an expanding Atlantic world” (164). This process was key to the transformation of the natural world: military and political power overlaid the existing intellectual and economic manipulation of the natural world to create something more completely, although not wholly, under human control. Within his discussion on the military conflict in colonial Narraganset Bay, Pastore refers to this new rationalization of the coastal ecotone as a “second nature” (173). Yet, the broader implications of his work actually call into question this two-layered approach to environmental history. As in the essays in Campbell and Summerby-Murray, Pastore documents the multi-use of the environment over a long period that results in a much more complicated environment. Environmental Historiography of Maritime Peninsula 173 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 173 Such elongated views of the past are typical among historical geographers. Early in their work, Campbell and Summerby-Murray recognize the importance of the traditional history-geography multidisciplinary approach to understand the environmental history of Atlantic Canada. Richard Judd and Stephen Hornsby’s Historical Atlas of Maine brings us back to that essential foundation. Richard Judd’s understanding of the environmental history of New England is most certainly present in nearly every plate in the atlas, and is most pronounced in part three – “Industrial Maine, 1850-1910” – which deals more directly with his previous work on the industrial use of natural resources. As influential as Judd’s ideas must have been in crafting this work, it is actually Stephen Hornsby’s name that we most often encounter throughout the work. Hornsby’s previous work on Atlantic World trade is clearly present in part one of the atlas – “From Ice Age to Borderland, 13,000 BP- 1790” – and the methodologies and analytical structure of his historical-geography background is pronounced in nearly every plate. Because of this shared faith in both text and visual depictions of data, the plates in the atlas do a superb job at conveying historical knowledge in a manner that is both scholarly and popular. The historian Judd and the geographer Hornsby, along with the assistance of the cartographer Michael Hermann, have crafted a compelling multidisciplinary depiction of a borderland state deeply rooted in its own environment and geographic location. The most important aspect of the Historical Atlas of Maine is its depiction of the state’s borderland presence between New England and Atlantic Canada, and in many ways the work links the ideas of Campbell and Summerby-Murray with those of Judd and Pastore. As Hornsby and Judd assert: “Bounded by Canada on three sides, Maine is examined in its larger international and geographic context” (xiii). Within this larger framework, the editors present three central themes carried throughout all the plates. The first highlights the continued presence of Native peoples throughout Maine’s history. Whereas many histories of New England and Atlantic Canada provide at least adequate coverage of Native history during contact and colonial eras, the Historical Atlas of Maine carries Native history throughout the entire chronology of the state. The archeology of Native sites is well depicted in the pre- contact period (plates 1-4), while the ethnohistory of Native peoples appears in a plate depicting European exploration and settlement in Maine (plate 7). Native peoples also appear in 19th-century plates on disputes and treaty negotiations (plate 23), Native mapping (plate 39), and reservations (plate 61), as well as in a 20th- century plate on Native land claims (plate 75). Although Native peoples certainly played a central role in Maine’s history, and perhaps more so than in other New England states, identifying Native peoples as one of the three key themes is ultimately too narrow. Instead, the editors may have selected a broader definition of ethnicity as a better theme to link several plates together. Although Maine remains one of the “whitest” states in the United States, more attention should have given to Irish, French, and other ethnic minorities that were so central to Maine’s history. Alongside those plates depicting Native peoples, an ethnicity theme could have included the plates on French surveyors (plate 11), Irish migration (plate 24), French settlement in the Upper Saint John River Valley (plate 27), and French Canadian immigration (plate 42) – all plates that seem outside the editors’ three identified themes. The central theme that links the plates on Native peoples – that Native culture remains resilient in Maine – could certainly have been expanded to include Acadiensis174 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 174 other ethnic or racialized groups. The popular contemporary view of Maine certainly needs more focus on the state’s ethnic diversity and, considering the editors’ stated effort to find a balance between academic scholarship and popular appeal, they should have broadened this theme beyond Native people. The second key theme the editors identify in their introduction is the importance of resource economics in the development of Maine throughout its history. This is certainly the strongest of the three themes. It is most obvious in those plates that deal directly with the state’s key resources: lumber (plates 15, 25, 31, and 50), fishing (plates 9, 33, 52, and 70), and agriculture (plates 26-27, 29-30, 53-56, and 67-68). But beyond these there is hardly a single plate that does not have some reference to resources, landscapes, or the environment. The narratives behind these plates seem to be shaped by Judd’s past work on the environmental history of Maine and New England. The central argument that links these resource-oriented plates together is that such resources provided Maine early capital and credit badly needed for the state’s development. Mills and processing plants became central economic units that exported a wealth of natural resources while bringing in investments from outside the state. As Maine modernized, however, these resources became increasingly controlled by a few wealthy groups and thus less community oriented and less sustainable. Nonetheless, the plates combine this standard history of industrialization of natural resource economies with a uniquely Maine (or, if you read Judd’s Second Nature, a uniquely New England) balance between large-scale and highly capitalized industries and more traditional and localized production. We see this most predominately in part three – “Industrial Maine, 1850-1910” – which chronicles Maine’s transition from simple resource extraction to a more diversified and modern industrial state while retaining important traditional enterprises. The third theme of the atlas is environmental awareness. Maine’s contemporary iconography as Vacationland, the great north woods, and L.L. Bean have sound historical roots. Plates throughout the entire atlas depict environmental awareness well beyond just 20th century notions of environmentalism. Plates on exploration (plate 5-6) and surveying (plates 11, 16-17) during the colonial period convey an interest beyond just claiming sovereignty over territory; there was also a desire to gain knowledge from a particular environment. Similar exploratory efforts are seen in the 19th century (plate 22), with the added influence of the burgeoning romanticism of 19th-century New England (plate 57-58). Environmentally based tourism began in the 19th century with coastal cottage retreats (plate 59) and hunting and fishing trips into Maine’s interior (plate 60). Finally, modern environmentalism emerged in the 20th century with the twin influences of recreation into assumed “wild” places (plates 72-73) and an increasing awareness of and campaign against industrial pollution (plate 74). In combination, the key lesson these plates teach us is that Maine’s environmental awareness goes well beyond Henry David Thoreau, Frederic Edwin Church, and the campaigns to protect the Allagash or to clean up the Penobscot. Environmental awareness in Maine, instead, seems to be rooted in everyday experiences of explorers, farmers, fishermen, lumbermen, quarry men, and even urban and suburban residents. These three themes may or may not be distinctive to Maine. Although certainly present in other regions of North America, the editors assert that they unfolded in unique ways in Maine and “the future development of Maine will depend greatly on Environmental Historiography of Maritime Peninsula 175 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 175 finding the right balance among interests of Native peoples, utilitarian needs of industry, and demands for environmental protection” (xiii). The changing nature of Maine’s economy, from the 17th- and 18th-century focus on mercantile commerce to the 19th-century concentration on industry, as well as the subsequent change to the 20th-century focus on service and tourism, is perhaps the most compelling narrative carried throughout the atlas. If there is a central thesis to the atlas, which the editors never identify, this would most likely be it. It is Maine’s adaptation to the changing national and international economic context that makes the state so unique. In his introduction to part three, Judd states “By 1910, Maine’s economy was a mixture of new and traditional enterprises. . . . This diversity was the basis for Maine’s prosperity: struggling traditional industries provided a labor-intensive economy that sheltered Maine’s largely rural population against the winds of modernism, while newer industries – textiles, paper, and tourism among them – smoothed the transition to the industrial age” (21). But if we take this argument, and this atlas more broadly, within the context of the works in Campbell and Summerby-Murray, Richard Judd’s other works, and Christopher Pastore’s recent publication, not to mention a dozen or so other equally insightful environmental histories on New England and Atlantic Canada, then the assertion of the uniqueness of Maine appears to be equally accurate for the entire “Maritime Peninsula” as identified by Richard Judd in Second Nature, thus suggesting a real potential for a regional approach to environmental history. So what are the final lessons from a reading of the environmental history of New England and Atlantic Canada?5 First, the regions’ long post-pioneer histories provide a more diverse collection of land and sea use. In both regions we see not one or two or three layers of use but many intermixed trends of discovery, use, abandonment, regrowth, and reuse. This multi-faceted aspect of human use of nature provides historians with the opportunity to better understand any one culture’s assumptions about nature as well as the use of nature within the context of other sets of cultural assumptions while remaining grounded in the same base landscape or seascape. The second lesson is built on the first. Because of the long and diverse chronology of use, environmental historians of New England and Atlantic Canada can more effectively, and probably more rightly, focus on the local. As such, these Acadiensis176 5 Before we get to that, though, we should not make too much of the unique approaches of these regions’ environmental historians as compared to those working on the subject from other regions in North America. At times, Judd overstates the extreme differences between New England and the rest of the continent that seems almost like a throwback to Yankee exceptionalism. Judd’s celebration of the uniqueness of New England’s cultural use of nature is very much rooted in colonial ascetics and his celebration of the rural. Thus there seems to be a temporal limit to his Yankee idealism. Furthermore, there are plenty of good environmental histories of the American South and the American West that deal with the human landscape, mixed used of natural resources, local stewardship, and ethically grounded conservationism. These histories most likely came from their own investigations independent of any New England influence on their methodologies and analysis. Nonetheless, there are some interesting themes of these eastern regions that bear consideration. The University of Georgia Press produces some excellent works on the environmental history of the American South. See, for example, Paul Sutter and Christopher J. Manganiello, Environmental History and the American South: A Reader (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2009). 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 176 histories seem to capture a sense of place more profoundly central to their arguments than what we might see in other regions that perhaps have more new arrivals and visitors in direct and immediate contact with nature. This is what Judd refers to as the “post-pioneer history” of New England, but we also see it in many of the essays in Land and Sea. This is not to say that the region’s environmental history/histories are too provincial. Clearly regionalism is an important aspect throughout these works, but all of them at least begin with connections between local, region, nation, and continent. Building from the first and the second lesson, the third key lesson of the regions’ approaches to environmental history is that they offer more opportunities to see the functioning of alternative uses other than a purely capitalistic and industrial use of natural resources. In both regions there are plenty of examples of locals seeking sustainable use of nature so as to steward both nature and community, resources, and culture, in contrast to more highly capitalized ventures launched from away or even from within. This is the result of that long and diverse use of nature – the post- pioneer phase that gave more power to a sense of belonging to and of the region and its natural environment. This is the true contribution of the region’s environmental history to the continent. BRIAN PAYNE Environmental Historiography of Maritime Peninsula 177 01106-09 Payne Review Essay_Layout 2016-05-02 11:35 AM Page 177 09 
work_xjh4v47umvazxlbvwlneicz7py	----	Abstract In the early 1970s the Gaia hypothesis of James E "Shakespeare and ecocriticism: The unexpected return of the Elizabethan World Picture" By Gabriel Egan Abstract In the early 1970s the Gaia hypothesis of James E. Lovelock and Lynn Margulis proposed that self-regulating processes of homeostasis have locked together the obviously living biosphere and the apparently dead environment so that one might usefully think of the whole Earth as a single organism. Although Lovelock and Margulis came from strictly scientific fields it is easy to see the appeal of their hypothesis for ‘alternative’ Western cultures of the New Age movement, complementary medicine, and holistic spiritualism, all of which have links with the broader anarchist and animal rights movements and with the emerging theory and practice of ecocriticism. At its best, ecocriticism builds upon post-structuralism’s rejection of the imaginary unified human subject previously dominant in literary studies to consider how Nature too is constructed as well as depicted in literary works. At the other extreme, however, ecocriticism shades off into a neo-Romantic spiritualism that merely asserts the healing power of living in the countryside or vicariously enjoying it through literature about rural idylls. This essay considers the materialist basis of the Gaia hypothesis, comparing it to ways of thinking about the world that were available to Shakespeare’s audiences and in particular its surprising parallels with the much-reviled Elizabethan World Picture described by E. M. W. Tillyard. The ways we human beings think about the world around us – our explanations for how the Earth came to be as it is – change over time. Separating us from Shakespeare’s time is a radical new way of thinking that emerged in the 17th and 18th centuries: the Enlightenment. Building on Renaissance humanism, the Enlightenment thinkers saw themselves as applying reason (rationality) to matters that had previously been dominated by superstition. Isaac Newton and Johannes Kepler had explained the motion of the planets, and the empirical philosophers Thomas Hobbes and John Locke provided materialist explanations of human society and the human mind that left little need for religion, although in fact many Enlightenment thinkers held their religious faith to be quite unlike superstition. Just one question remained beyond the reach of science: how did animals and humans come about? This last bastion fell to Charles Darwin in the mid-nineteenth century. In the late-twentieth century the Enlightenment came in for considerable criticism on a number of fronts. In philosophy (and subsequently in literary studies, which always gets its theories second-hand (1) ), the influential post-structuralism of Jacques Derrida eroded faith in the power of human reason to properly formulate, let alone solve, central problems regarding the way we think about and represent the world. As post-structuralism and its corrosive offshoot partner post-modernism rose to prominence in the 1970s and 1980s, real street politics moved away from specifically left-wing concerns, and related actions such as strikes, and increasingly focussed on environmental issues. This process accelerated after the collapse of communist states in 1989–90, and with the removal of fear of international nuclear war many people turned to the next greatest threat: worldwide environmental disaster from pollution of the atmosphere and the food chain. This latest concern has not yet had much impact on criticism of Renaissance writers such as Shakespeare, although it has become important in relation to others such as the New England Transcendentalists (especially Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson) who seem concerned to report their experiences of natural environments. The application of ecopolitics in the world of literary criticism is called ecocriticism, and the purpose of this paper is to suggest some insights that ecological thinking can usefully bring to bear upon Renaissance ways of thinking. In this I must declare a theoretical prejudice. Within the broad alliance of anarchists, animal rights activists, anti-globalizationists, ecowarriors, and New Ageists that constitutes the only active resistance to late-industrial capitalism in the Western democracies, there are quite a few superstitious people who would rather the Enlightenment had never happened. Post-modernism’s ‘incredulity towards metanarratives’, as it has been called, (2) gives a spurious intellectual veneer to anti-Rationalism, and for some dissident thinkers Big Theory, like Big Science, appears to be part of the problem rather than part of the solution. As a Marxist with ecocritical sympathies I disagree and suggest that these two critiques of the way the world is now are mutually sustaining, not 1 of 10 antithetical. * You probably will not have noticed, but the sun has been getting hotter. If you were 3.6 billion years old – that is to say, if you were born when life started on Earth – the sun’s output of energy would have increased by about 30 per cent over your lifespan, yet the Earth’s surface has remained between 10 and 20 degrees Celsius all this time. To understand why requires the Gaia hypothesis first formally presented by James E. Lovelock (3) and subsequently expanded upon by Lovelock and Lynn Margulis. (4) The Greek word (Gaia) or (Ge) means ‘Earth’, hence our English prefix geo- for earth-related nouns, and was suggested to Lovelock by William Golding when he heard Lovelock’s ideas in 1967. The essence of the Gaia hypothesis is that the Earth is a single organism comprised of the obviously alive biota (all the lifeforms we recognize) and the parts we have previously treated as inorganic, the ‘background’ environment such as the rocks, oceans, and atmosphere. It doubtless seems odd to include the inanimate rocks in any organism, but it is worth remembering that most of a tree is in fact dead material accreted over its lifetime and stored away in the trunk: only the outer bark actually ‘lives’ by the organic processes we recognize. To understand why this is a reasonable scientific (and hence materialist) way to think about the Earth, Lovelock invented a simple model of a Gaia process and called it DaisyWorld. (5) DaisyWorld is a spherical planet uniformly bathed in light from a sun, and upon DaisyWorld there happen to be seeds for two kinds of plant: white daisies and black daisies. White daisies reflect a lot of light and hence keep themselves and their surroundings cool, but they do not photosynthesize as efficiently as black daisies, which absorb a lot of light and quickly warm themselves and their surroundings. Both kinds of daisy thrive at the same ideal temperature, but initially their sun produces too little energy for either to germinate. As suns across the universe do, theirs heats up and as the surface temperature rises both kinds of plant begin to grow and to populate DaisyWorld. In this initially cold climate, the black daisies do rather better than the white ones because they are better at photosynthesis, and by natural selection DaisyWorld is covered with black daisies. A mostly black DaisyWorld reflects little light and the entire planet warms up rather more quickly that it would have were it barren. As the sun’s output continues to rise, the relative advantage of the black daisies diminishes: there is so much light that even white daisies have enough to photosynthesize efficiently and they begin to return. This is just as well because the ever-rising output of the sun is making DaisyWorld rather too hot for daisies, but of course the white, reflective daisies are less affected by this than the black, absorptive daisies are. As the temperature rises still further the black daisies die off and the white daisies come to dominate the planet’s surface, and a mostly white DaisyWorld reflects much of the sun’s energy, keeping things cool enough for life to go on. Eventually, of course, the sun’s energy is so great that not even a white daisy-cooled planet can sustain life and eventually all the daisies die. The significant thing about this scenario is that in a model where the sun got increasingly hot, the temperature on DaisyWorld remained roughly the same (near the ideal for daisies) while it supported life, because the ratio of black to white daisies shifted precisely as needed to counteract the effect of overheating. The daisies did this without any planning or design, it was merely that the ecosystem in general (comprised of the organic matter, the daisies, and the inorganic matter, the surface of DaisyWorld that they grow on) formed what is called a negative-feedback loop, regulating the planet’s surface temperature. At the extremes this regulation did not work: when it was too cold at the beginning and too hot at the end, no daisies survived. But for a significant time between these extremes, the energy from their sun rose steadily yet the surface temperature of DaisyWorld remained stable. Figure 1 illustrates how this process unfolded. If DaisyWorld were lifeless, as most planets are, its temperature would simply rise with the sun’s increasing output (dashed line). But with daisies growing on DaisyWorld, however, something remarkable happens (solid line). There is a roughly level area between the time (marked by the first dotted vertical line) when DaisyWorld became warm enough to support daisies, and the time (marked by the second dotted line) when the sun’s output became just so great that even when entirely covered in white, reflective daisies DaisyWorld became just too hot and no daisies could survive. If the sun’s output were only to vary within the boundaries of this plateau, the temperature 2 of 10 on DaisyWorld would remain roughly constant. Within that plateau, one might say that DaisyWorld is regulating its own temperature by adjusting the ratio of black to white daisies to keep things just right for life to be supported. You will accuse me of anthropomorphizing: DaisyWorld is not really ‘alive’ and so cannot regulate its own temperature in the way that biota do. This was the common view of biologists when Lovelock first proposed his Gaia hypothesis, but in the last twenty years great changes in the philosophy of science have convinced many people that the traditional distinction between ‘alive’ and ‘dead’ and between ‘individual’ and ‘others’ can be as misleading as the distinction between ‘nature’ and ‘culture’. This can best be exampled in genetics. There is a parasitic fluke (flatworm) that lives inside a certain species of snail and interferes with the snail’s hormonal system to increase the signal controlling how thick a shell the snail will grow. The snail ends up with a thicker shell than it really needs and this wasted energy lowers the infested snail’s ability to reproduce. This is of no concern to the fluke, whose ‘investment’ is in the particular snail it has infested, not its descendants. So long as this particular snail does not get killed (and for this a thick shell helps) the fluke can reproduce. Zoologists have traditionally thought of the limit of the effect of an organism’s genotype (collection of genes) to be its phenotype (body), but in this case one can truly say that the fluke carries the gene for ‘thick shells’ even though the fluke hasn’t got a shell and only borrows the one of its host. (6) Certainly, a fluke that does not carry the gene for thickening its host’s shell will lose out in the competition for survival with those that do, and so the ‘thick shell’ gene will be naturally selected. Looked at another way, one might say that since a spider’s web is as much an effect of its genes as its hairy legs – the web-making behaviour is innate not learned – the distinction between the traditional phenotype (the hairy body) and the product made by that phenotype (its web) is false. Richard Dawkins, who pointed out this error, suggested that we should take into account all the effects of genes and think about The Extended Phenotype, (7) as he called his book. Tillyardism and systems thinking Like a number of recent scientific developments such as memetics and artificial intelligence, Lovelock’s Gaia hypothesis has disturbing implications for modern critical theory, threatening to disrupt the distinctions by which we work, such as nature/culture and lifeform/environment. Shakespearians are particularly well-placed to deal with these disruptions because we work on texts from a relatively unfamiliar culture that, while it probably did not treat as indisputably true the cosmological model described in E. M. W. Tillyard’s The Elizabethan World Picture, (8) clearly contained many views about the universe that we consider mistaken. A belief in the connection between the affairs of human beings in the sublunary sphere and occurrences among the higher layers (the sky, planetary spheres, and the fiery realm) was firmly, and it seemed at the time irrevocably, ruptured in the eighteenth-century Enlightenment. We might argue about the extent to which this connection was generally believed in the Renaissance, and can blame Tillyard for promulgating a naive view of ideological cohesiveness that gave too little space to reasoned dissent from the dominant beliefs of the period. But characters in Shakespeare speak meaningfully about comets presaging disaster and the music of the spheres, and unless we think that these lines always elicited derisive laughter from the theatre audiences we have to accept that such things were within the realm of the believable. And they now are not. Or are they? One of the most noticeable cultural developments in the Western world in the past thirty years has been the rise of an anti-rationalistic, ‘alternative’ culture that embraces the New Age movement, complementary medicine, and forms of holistic spiritualism, and links these to broader anarchist and animal rights movements. For an apparently rising number of people the Enlightenment itself was an illusory detour into hyper-rationality and the sense of connectedness voiced in Elizabethan drama and poetry offers a form of spirituality that comes packaged with a rich supply of artistic works that are already central to Western culture. To illustrate my view that we should reject such co-option of Shakespeare I will use his characters’ apparent understanding of why black people are that colour. The black daisies of DaisyWorld retain heat energy that strikes them while the white ones reflect it away. Anyone who has changed from black to white clothes or vice versa on a sunny day will have noticed that black materials retain heat energy. The prevailing Renaissance conception of how black people come to be 3 of 10 black is clearly expressed by characters in Shakespeare. In The Merchant of Venice the prince of Morocco anticipates (correctly, as it turns out) that Portia is racist: MOROCCO (to Portia) Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadowed livery of the burnished sun, To whom I am a neighbour and near bred. (The Merchant of Venice 2.1.1–3) (9) His blood, he goes on to insist, is as red as anyone else’s, but the important point for my purpose is his idea that his blackness is a coating (‘shadowed livery’) caused by living in a sunny country. Desdemona’s father uses the same idea of a burnt coating that should so revolt his daughter that only Othello’s use of magic could have caused her to ‘Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom/Of such a thing as thou’ (Othello 1.2.71–2). Othello shares (or perhaps comes to share) this sense of his blackness as a coating: convinced that Desdemona is unfaithful he says ‘My name, that was as fresh/As Dian’s visage, is now begrimed and black/As mine own face’ (Othello 3.3.391–3). In the very act of denying that blackness can wash off, Aaron in Titus Andronicus imagines it not as an innate colour but a coating: Coal-black is better than another hue In that it scorns to bear another hue; For all the water in the ocean Can never turn the swan’s black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood. (Titus Andronicus 4.2.98–102) Washing the Ethiop (or blackamore) white was, of course, proverbial in Shakespeare’s time. (10) What conceptions about the world gave rise to the idea that blackness is a coating? For a white actor playing Morocco, Othello, or Aaron, the character’s sense of his blackness as a coating is, of course, literally true: excluding the unlikely possibility that a black actor worked in Shakespeare’s company (about which we would expect there to be some record), the actor would have ‘blacked up’ with a coating as preparation for the performance. The part, then, with its references to blackness as a coating, is inherently suited to a white actor in makeup and not a black actor at all, and this adds support to the argument made by the Ghanaian actor Hugh Quarshie that black people should not play Othello, or at least not without major reworking of the play. (11) An observation of the distribution of skin colours around the world would have indicated to Elizabethans that black people live in hot countries, and many things (including white skin) do darken under strong sunlight, so a reasonable assumption would have been that black people simply had really deep tans. And in a sense they do: the melanin pigment causing brownness is the same in all humans. But in this particular DaisyWorld daisies and ourselves are unalike, for we tan in the sun not in order to absorb more of the sun’s energy but as a protection from it. The heat energy of the sun would not do us much harm, but its ultraviolet light promotes errors in the copying of genetic material during cell division and can produce in us clusters of out-of-control skin cells, cancers. In countries where sunshine is strongest, humans whose melanocyte cells are especially active, producing greater amounts of the skin pigment melanin, are less likely to get skin cancers because this brown pigment absorbs ultraviolet light before it penetrates too far into the body. Such people have a competitive advantage over those with less active melanocyte cells and so over time dark skins were naturally selected, although once human populations spread around the world the advantage became less pronounced. Those living in cold northerly climates would in fact be at a relative disadvantage if they made excessive melanin – making it costs energy that was better spent 4 of 10 elsewhere in the body – and hence, over evolutionary time, people in these climates turned white. Importantly, the operations giving rise to colour differences between the races operate by Darwinian selection across a population, not on an individual, but nonetheless it is true to say that the hot sun makes black people black. It is equally true to say that the sun shining on DaisyWorld made it turn white, and so the empirical observation can be literally true even within an utterly deficient model of how the processes operate. What matters is the level at which one thinks the phenomenon is operating, for no individual turned from white to black because of the sun (tanning is in all people a marginal change) just as no daisy turned from black to white in DaisyWorld. Rather, the effect emerges when one looks to a higher level of population change. There is an instructive analogy here between the scientific view and the thinking of post-structuralists for whom binary oppositions of the kind black/white are false, human distinctions in which the supposedly opposing terms actually have much in common. The word ‘black’ comes from the Old Teutonic word ‘blækan’ meaning to scorch and the word ‘bleach’ has the same origin, because an object placed in a fire turns first black and then, after a while, white. So ‘bleaching’ (making white) and ‘blackening’, far from being natural opposites, are cognate. Our binary opposition, like so many false oppositions, has just deconstructed itself. However, where the post-structuralist view depends ultimately only on linguistics (and hence ancient experience), the apparently opposing scientific explanations (sun > black skin, sun > white DaisyWorld) are both entirely scientific. But they are scientific in a way that Enlightenment thinking, especially its concern with causes and effects, has considerable difficulty coping with. The control systems that make whole populations of people and of daisies change colour are the subject of the science of cybernetics invented by Norbert Wiener (12) and its related disciplines of ‘systems theory’ that Ludwig von Bertalanffy developed in his work on biology (13) and ‘systems dynamics’ as Jay Forrester termed it in relation to social organizations. (14) The problem with Enlightenment thinking is not its rationality, however, but its propensity to consider phenomena in isolation rather than in interaction within larger systems. On the other hand, however, one can overstate the reverse too, as Barry Commoner did with his much cited First Law of Ecology that ‘everything is connected to everything else’. (15) An analogous false dichotomy has long dogged Marxist and anti-Marxist arguments about whether everything or nothing at all can be explained by analysis of the economic base of a society, that is how production is organized. The answer, of course, lies somewhere between the extremes. Your favourite aunt catching cold might seem unrelated to the activities of big business, until you consider that her straitened financial circumstances are due to the company pension fund being raided by her former employer so that she can no longer afford to keep warm. The aspect of the Elizabethan World Picture that American New Historicist and British Cultural Materialist critics most vehemently rejected in the 1980s and 1990s was the homogeneity of thought that Tillyard seemed to insist upon. For John Drakakis, Tillyard’s work overlooked (or, more actively, suppressed) the reality that Shakespeare’s texts, like any others, are ‘sites of struggle’ rather than monovocal pronouncements. (16) Robin Headlam Wells gave a concrete example: far from simply agreeing with the ideas contained in the Homily Against Disobedience (as Tillyard would have it), the Elizabethans were decidedly ambivalent about responsible tyrannicide and personal revenge. On the one hand the Pope had absolved Catholics of their allegiance to Elizabeth, and on the other the Bond of Association allowed private citizens to avenge any harm done to her. (17) There are good reasons to accept that Tillyard overstated the singularity of Elizabethan thought, although a careful reading of The Elizabethan World Picture shows that his critics have themselves rather overstated the degree to which he claimed that singularity, as I argue in a book currently in press. (18) But no-one has thought to attack the World Picture itself, with its multiple planes of being (cosmological, earthly, social, and biological) and their alleged correspondences and analogies (the head rules the body as the king rules the state), all tied together by the unifying valences of the Great Chain of Being. Its wrongness has seemed so obvious as not to require stating, but in fact the Gaia hypothesis and work in cybernetics and systems thinking/theory could go some way towards rehabilitating aspects of it. As a single organism, Gaia comprises what we consider to be quite distinct collections of living matter (flora and fauna) and non-living matter (rocks, oceans, and the atmosphere), but on reflection the same is true of 5 of 10 each of our bodies. Your hair and the ends of your fingernails, for example, are quite dead (19) but no less a part of you for that. Treated as complex systems of control, the chemical exchanges involving the seabed, exposed rocks, and the troposphere that keep the Earth’s atmosphere in its high state of disequilibrium – so essential to life – have quite strict analogies with, and indeed dependence upon, the internal chemical exchanges of plants and animals. The hard distinction between the biota of the Earth and the ‘environment’ in which these biota live, an ‘environment’ conceived as a background or mere context, is a misleading legacy of Enlightenment thinking. To that extent, the realms of human and animal existence have valid analogies with the four planes of earth, water, air, and fire in Tillyard’s model of alleged Elizabethan thinking. We may dispense with the religious and authoritarian concomitants of the model’s hierarchical organization, and marvel at the scientific aptness of a way of thinking that so unites the macrocosmic and microcosmic levels of existence. * Ecocriticism as it is currently constituted suggests an essentially conservative political ambition: that humankind cease harming the ecosphere. In a much-quoted definition, one of the field’s founders, Cheryll Glotfelty, made an analogy with two political schools of criticism and offered examples of what ecocriticism might do: Simply put, ecocriticism is the study of the relationship between literature and the physical environment. Just as feminist criticism examines language and literature from a gender-conscious perspective, and Marxist criticism brings an awareness of modes of production and economic class to its reading of texts, ecocriticism takes an earth-centered approach to literary studies. Ecocritics and theorists ask questions like the following: How is nature represented in this sonnet? What role does the physical setting play in the plot of this novel? Are the values expressed in this play consistent with ecological wisdom? How do our metaphors of the land influence the way we treat it? How can we characterize nature writing as a genre? In addition to race, class, and gender, should place become a new critical category? . . . Despite the broad scope of inquiry and disparate levels of sophistication, all ecological criticism shares the fundamental premise that human culture is connected to the physical world, affecting it and affected by it. (20) This is at once a vague statement of principles – who could disagree with the premise that ‘human culture is connected to the physical world’? – and a specific set of enquiries (there were eight more I have elided). Obvious theoretical objections are immediately apparent, for example that ‘place’ should not be a new critical category alongside race, class, and gender because i) it is hopelessly imprecise (was this poem written upstairs or in the basement?), and ii) race-class-gender should not in any case form a critical triplet. The race-class-gender error has a respectable Shakespearean history, for example in Jonathan Dollimore and Alan Sinfield’s introduction to their anthology Political Shakespeare, which proclaimed that their new approach ‘registers its commitment to the transformation of a social order which exploits people on grounds of race, gender, and class’. (21) The problem, of course, is the patently absurd idea that capitalist society exploits on the grounds of class, here likened to the categories of race and gender. Marx would disagree about the category class, which he thought merely a convenient generalization about people’s relations to production, and the most important category simply because capitalism will necessarily cast greater numbers of people into one class, the proletariat, until that class is large enough to overthrow the bourgeoisie. Nobody wants to be poor, of course, but it is far from clear that everyone wants to be released from the categories of race and gender; if only being a woman did not entail doing more housework and earning less money than men, it would not of itself seem a condition of oppression. Likewise, those in Britain’s first overseas colony have long struggled to be free, but have tended to consider their oppression in terms 6 of 10 of the economic wealth extracted from their island rather than in the condition of simply being Irish. By likening race, gender, and class, Dollimore and Sinfield abandoned the Marxist insight that class is a unique category, not an incidental attribute by which one might be oppressed, and without this the political project diminishes to liberal reformism that treats the social order as a given and hopes only for a meritocracy in which being from the wrong race, gender, or class would be no barrier to advancement. Dollimore and Sinfield’s slip was uncharacteristic of their work and that which their anthology presented, but ecocritical founder Glotfelty’s avoidance of materialism is of a piece with essays in her anthology. These are suffused with a variety of anti-intellectualisms of which Paul Gunn Allen’s is amongst the most invidious: ‘The westerner’s bias against nonordinary states of consciousness [produced in American Indian ceremonies] is the result of an intellectual climate that has been carefully fostered in the West for centuries, that has reached its culmination in Freudian and Darwinian theories, and that only now is beginning to yield to the masses of data that contradict it.’ (22) And even those of us who marvel at the self-regulatory processes of DaisyWorld might well feel that William Rueckert is unlikely to win over the opponents of ecocriticism with such claims as ‘Green plants, for example, are among the most creative organisms on earth. They are nature’s poets. . . . Poems are green plants among us; if poets are suns, then poems are green plants among us for they clearly arrest energy on its path to entropy . . .’ (23) Ecocriticism seems to occupy a critical position something like that held by feminism 30 years ago, when ideas of breath-taking idiocy such as Shulamith Firestone’s projects for reproductive liberation via artificial placentas and limited contract households (24) jostled for space alongside (indeed, in Firestone’s case, within the same book as) serious political scholarship. Materialism, the view that the basic substance of the world is matter and that it is known primarily through and as material forms and processes, is not the opposite of spiritualism. Materialism finds its opposite in metaphysical idealism (which asserts the ideality of reality), and in epistemology the contrast is between realism (which holds that in human knowledge objects are grasped and seen as they really are, independent of the human mind) and epistemological idealism (which holds that in the knowledge process the mind can grasp only the psychic or that its objects are conditioned by their perceptibility). Spiritualism is something altogether distinct, but, like essentialism, literary theorists draw upon it to form a simple, mistaken dualism that is homologous to head/heart. By such distorted categorizing one is either headily materialist and realist or one is heartily spiritualist, idealist, and essentialist. In fact, it is entirely possible to hold opinions that have long been deemed spiritualist (such as the view that the Earth itself, rocks, sea water, and all, is singly alive) while insisting upon materialist explanations. James E. Lovelock often notes that his Gaia hypothesis has been stoutly resisted by scientists (whom one would think amenable to rational argument) and yet it fits well with ancient – and indeed specifically rural and non-scientific – ways of understanding the world. Discerning just what is and what is not causally related is a ticklish business – who would have believed twenty years ago that most stomach ulcers are caused by a bacterium? – but it is always a materialist and rationalist endeavour. It may well turn out to be true that human activity will make the Earth unfit for human habitation, but it is exceedingly unlikely that Gaia itself will die because its regulatory systems are remarkably robust and adaptive. If we are to reject any part of our Enlightenment inheritance it is the anthropocentric conviction, derived from humanism and itself bearing a vestigial religious conviction, that we humans are the sine qua non of the universe. This decentering apart, the Enlightenment’s promotion of rationality, and not post-modernism’s valourization of illogicality, is just what is required to avoid writing ourselves out of Gaia’s future. Notes 1 Shakespearean scholar David Scott Kastan offered a humorous explanation for why English Literature repeatedly seems to borrow theory from other disciplines, and indeed why it adopts each one just as the ‘home’ discipline is abandoning it: the Strand Bookstore phenomenon. Scholars of literature are, in general, underpaid and tend to frequent second-hand emporia such as the vast Strand Bookstore at the corner of Broadway and 12th Street in New York. There they find used books of scientific and cultural theory that colleagues in other, better-funded, disciplines have sold off as no longer relevant to their work. By this means discarded theories are recycled in literary studies. 7 of 10 2 J. Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge, trans. G. Bennington and B. Massumi, Theory and History of Literature 10 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1984), xxiv. 3 J. E. Lovelock, ‘Gaia as Seen Through the Atmosphere’, Atmospheric Environment 6 (1972), pp. 579–80. 4 J. E. Lovelock and L. Margulis, ‘Atmospheric Homeostasis By and for the Biosphere: The Gaia Hypothesis’. Tellus 26 (1974), pp. 2–9; J. E. Lovelock and L. Margulis, ‘Biological Modulation of the Earth’s Atmosphere’, Icarus 21 (1974), pp. 471–89. 5 J. E. Lovelock, ‘Daisy World: A Cybernetic Proof of the Gaia Hypothesis’. Coevolution Quarterly 38 (1983), pp. 66–72. 6 R. Dawkins, The Selfish Gene, 2nd edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), pp. 240–2. 7 R. Dawkins, The Extended Phenotype: The Gene as the Unit of Selection (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982). 8 E. M. W. Tillyard, The Elizabethan World Picture (London: Chatto and Windus, 1943). 9 W. Shakespeare, The Complete Works, ed. S. Wells, G. Taylor, J. Jowett, W. Montgomery. Electronic edition prepared by W. Montgomery and L. Bernard (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989). All subsequent quotations of Shakespeare are from this edition. 10 R. W. Dent, Shakespeare’s Proverbial Language: An Index (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), Appendix A, E186. 11 H. Quarshie, ‘Second Thoughts About Othello’. International Shakespeare Association Occasional Papers 7 (Chipping Campden: International Shakespeare Association, 1999). 12 N. Wiener, Cybernetics: or, Control and Communication in the Animal and the Machine (New York: John Wiley, 1948). 13 L. von Bertalanffy, ‘The Concepts of Systems in Physics and Biology’. Bulletin of the British Society for the History of Science 1 (1949), pp. 44–5; L. von Bertalanffy, General Systems Theory: Foundations, Development, Applications (London: Allen Lane, 1968). 14 J. F. Forrester, Industrial Dynamics (Cambridge MA: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press, 1961). 15 B. Commoner, ‘The Closing Circle: Nature, Man, and Technology’. In Thinking About the Environment, ed. M. A. Cahn and R. O’Brien (Armonk NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1971), pp. 161–6 (p. 165). 16 J. Drakakis, ‘Theatre, Ideology, and Institution: Shakespeare and the Roadsweepers’. In The Shakespeare Myth, ed. G. Holderness, Cultural Politics (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1988), pp. 24–41 (p. 26). 17 R. H. Wells, Shakespeare on Masculinity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 71. 18 G. Egan, Marx and Shakespeare, Oxford Shakespeare Topics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming). 19 Cosmetic products that their makers claim can ‘revitalize’ those parts of your body are, therefore, purporting to work magic. 20 C. Glotfelty, ‘Introduction: Literary Studies in an Age of Environmental Crisis’. In The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, ed. C. Glotfelty and H. Fromm (Athens GA: University of 8 of 10 Georgia Press, 1996), pp. xv–xxxvii (xviii–xix). 21 J. Dollimore and A. Sinfield, ‘Foreword: Cultural Materialism’. In Political Shakespeare: New Essays in Cultural Materialism, ed. J. Dollimore and A. Sinfield (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985), pp. vii–viii (viii). 22 P. G. Allen, ‘The Sacred Hoop: A Contemporary Perspective’. In The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, ed. C. Glotfelty and H. Fromm (Athens GA: University of Georgia Press, 1996), pp. 241–63 (p. 255). 23 W. Rueckert, ‘Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism’. In The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, ed. C. Glotfelty and H. Fromm (Athens GA: University of Georgia Press, 1996), pp. 105–23 (p. 111 repetition as in original). 24 S. Firestone, The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for Feminist Revolution (New York: Morrow, 1970), pp. 197–8l, p. 231. Bibliography Allen P. G. , ‘The Sacred Hoop: A Contemporary Perspective’. In The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, Glotfelty C. Fromm H. (Athens GA: University of Georgia Press , 1996 ), pp. 241–63. 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work_xlk7zdj3rzf3dp2sl3oq2bafl4	----	Change of Local Culture after the 25th Revolution and its Impact on Environmental Awareness Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 1877-0428 © 2012 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of the Centre for Environment- Behaviour Studies (cE-Bs), Faculty of Architecture, Planning & Surveying, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia doi: 10.1016/j.sbspro.2012.08.101 AcE-Bs 2012 Bangkok ASEAN Conference on Environment-Behaviour Studies, Bangkok, Thailand, 16-18 July 2012 Change of Local Culture after the 25th Revolution and its Impact on Environmental Awareness Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmeda* and Samah M. El-Khateeb a4Petrol Street, Lebanon Suare, Mohandseen,Giza,12411,Egypt b14zaki Rostom Street, Nasr City, Cairo, Egypt Abstract “Local Culture” has become one of the most interesting fields for many studies, as it has always been referred to in some of its phases as the main cause of social and environmental defects. This research is highlighting the impacts of the 25th revolution on both of local culture and environmental behavior during the revolution and up till now, and pointing out the different environmental attitudes those have been noticed within cities and rural areas. The research also focuses on certain phenomena concerning both natural & built environment such as the huge and uncontrolled increasing in informal buildings and building on agriculture lands which increased a lot after the revolution. © 2012 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of the Centre for Environment- Behaviour Studies (cE-Bs), Faculty of Architecture, Planning & Surveying, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia Keywords: Environmental behavior; maintaining; built environment; 25th revolution 1. Definition and related terminologies 1.1. Culture definition The word culture comes from the Latin root colere (Latin: cultura, lit. "cultivation") used to refer (to inhabit, to cultivate, or to honor), and when Culture first began to take its current usage by Europeans in eighteenth and nineteenth-century (having had earlier antecedents elsewhere), it connoted a process of cultivation or improvement, as in agriculture or horticulture (Harper, D. (2001). In language, it means the integrated pattern of human behaviour that includes thought, speech, action, and artifacts and depends * Corresponding author. Tel.: 00201224466736 E-mail address: arch.lobna@gmail.com Available online at www.sciencedirect.com © 2012 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and peer-review under responsibility of the Centre for Environment- Behaviour Studies (cE-Bs), Faculty of Architecture, Planning & Surveying, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ 998 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 upon the human capacity for learning and transmitting knowledge to succeeding generations (webster, 2010). In general, (Culture) refers to human activity; different definitions of culture reflect different theories for understanding, or criteria for valuing, human activity. Culture is traditionally the oldest human character, its significant traces separating Homo from fossils, and Man from the Animals, though new discoveries are blurring these edges in our day (Wordiq, 2012). In 1987, Sir Edward B. Tylor wrote that "culture or civilization, taken in its wide ethnographic sense, is that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, morals, law, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society" (Wordiq, 2012), while in 2002, the United Nations agency UNESCO defined it in a document states that culture is the "set of distinctive spiritual, material, intellectual and emotional features of society or a social group and that it encompasses, in addition to art and literature, lifestyles, ways of living together, value systems, traditions and beliefs" (UNESCO, 2002). While both of these two definitions are broad, yet they do not exhaust the many uses of this concept. In 1952, Alfred Kroeber and Clyde Kluckhohn compiled a list of more than 200 different definitions of culture in their book; Culture: A Critical Review of Concepts and Definitions (Kroeber & Kluckhohn, 1952). A distinction is current between the physical artifacts created by a society, its so-called material culture and everything else, the intangibles such as language, customs, etc. that are the main referent of the term "culture".( Macionis, Gerber, John & Linda ,2010). 1.2. Historical background Many people today use a conception of "culture" that developed in Europe during the 18th and early 19th centuries. This conception of culture reflected inequalities within European societies, and between European powers and their colonies around the world. It identifies "culture" with "civilization" and contrasts both with "nature ". According to this thinking, some countries are more civilized than others, and some people are more cultured than others. Ideally, this conception of culture implied the notion of cultivation: the progressive refinement of human behavior. Matthew Arnold (1822-1888) consistently uses the word this way: "... culture being a pursuit of our total perfection by means of getting to know, on all the matters which most concern us, the best which has been thought and said in the world." (Arnold, 1882). In practice, culture refers to elite goods and activities such as haute cuisine, high fashion or haute couture, museum caliber art and classical , and the word cultured to refer to people who know about, and take part in, these activities. People who use "culture" in this way tend not to use it in the plural. They believe that there are not distinct cultures, each with their own internal logic and values, but rather only a single standard of refinement to which all groups are held accountable. People lacking "culture" often seemed more "natural," and observers often defended (or criticized) elements of high culture for repressing "human nature".By the late 19th century, anthropologists had adopted and adapted this term to a broader definition of culture that they could apply to a wider variety of societies. They believed biological evolution would produce a most inclusive notion of culture, a concept that anthropologists could apply equally to non-literate and literate societies, or to nomadic and to sedentary societies. Thus, Clifford Geertz has argued that human physiology and neurology developed in conjunction with the first cultural activities (Wordiq, 1973), and Middleton (1990: 17 n.27) concluded that human "'instincts' were culturally formed." For the German sociologist Georg Simmel, culture referred to "the cultivation of individuals through the agency of external forms which have been objectified in the course of history (Levine & Donald, 1971). Today most social scientists reject the monadic conception of culture, and the opposition of culture to nature. They recognize that non-elites are as cultured as elites (and that non- Westerners are just as civilized) -- they are just cultured in a different way. Thus, social observers contrast the "high" culture of elites to "popular" or pop culture, meaning goods and activities produced for, and consumed by, non-elite people or the masses. Both high and low cultures can be viewed as subcultures. 999 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 1.3. Material culture The view of culture as a symbolic system with adaptive functions, which varies from place to place, led anthropologists to conceive of different cultures as defined by distinct patterns (or structures) of enduring, arbitrary, conventional sets of meaning, which took concrete form in a variety of artifacts such as myths and rituals, tools, the design of housing, and the planning of villages. Anthropologists thus distinguish between material culture and symbolic culture, not only because each reflects different kinds of human activity, but also because they constitute different kinds of data that require different methodologies. "Material culture" is a term used to describe the objects produced by human beings, including buildings, structures, monuments, tools, weapons, utensils, furniture, art, and indeed any physical item created by a society. As such, material culture is the main source of information about the past from which archaeologists can make inferences. A distinction is often made between those aspects of culture that appear as physical objects and those aspects that are non-material (UCL, 2002). Material and visual culture is also concerned with how people make, exchange and consume the material world, but equally with how material forms and visual images are central to the socialisation of human beings into culture. We are in vanguard of theoretical discussion in exploring perspectives such as phenomenology and objectification (UCL, 2002). 1.4. Local culture The term local culture is commonly used to characterize the experience of everyday life in specific, identifiable localities. It reflects ordinary people’s feelings of appropriateness, comfort, and correctness— attributes that define personal preferences and changing tastes. Given the strength of local cultures, it is difficult to argue that an overarching global culture actually (Encyclopædia Britannica, 2012). It refers also to a group of people in a particular place who see themselves as a collective or a community, who share experiences, customs, and traits, and who work to preserve those traits and customs in order to claim uniqueness and to distinguish themselves from others. We may understand a “local culture” to be the means by which a community built to human scale preserves itself and its place. Members of a local culture care for themselves and one another, for their land and air and water, not only by local knowledge and skill but also by restraint and virtue, by justice and mercy, and by the principles of economic cooperation (Augustana, 2000). 1.5. Environmental awareness It is a term refers to the growth and development of awareness, understanding and consciousness toward the biophysical environment and its problems, including human interactions and effects. It indicates the meaning of thinking "ecologically", or in terms of an ecological consciousness. When discussing the raising of environmental awareness and encouraging everyday citizens to do their part to preserve the planet for future generations, there is a couple of old sayings, which almost common in all cultures, which could have their interpretation on the environmental preservation process. On an international level, concern for the environment was the subject of a United Nations Conference on the Human Environment in Stockholm in 1972, attended by 114 nations. Out of this meeting developed UNEP (United Nations Environment Programme) and the follow-up United Nations Conference on Environment and Development in 1992. Other international organizations in support of environmental policies development include the Commission for Environmental Cooperation (as part of NAFTA), the European Environment Agency (EEA), and the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). 1000 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 1.6. Environmentalism Environmentalism is a movement to protect the quality and continuity of life through conservation of natural resources, prevention of pollution, and control of land use. The philosophical foundations for environmentalism in the United States were established by Thomas Jefferson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry David Thoreau. In 1864, George Perkins Marsh published Man & Nature, in which he anticipated many concepts of modern ecology, study of the relationships of organisms to their physical environment and to one another. The study of an individual organism or a single species is termed autcology; the study of groups of organisms is called synecology. 2. 25th Revolution overview (reason– participants – timeline) Revolutions are not that kind of events taking place frequently in people life at any country. In Egypt during its modern history there have been three revolutions; in 1919, in 1952 and the last is the 25th revolution which broke out during January 2011 and is continuing in many aspects till now. Egypt's revolution began on 25 January, the "Day of Revolt", when tens of thousands of marchers occupied Cairo's Tahrir Square to protest against President Hosni Mubarak and his government. (fig.1) Simultaneous protests were held in Ismailiya, Alexandria and Suez. In the following days the demonstrations became more violent. Police fired rubber bullets and water cannons to repel protesters. A curfew was enforced, the army was deployed and the internet was shut down by the government. (BBC, 2011). Contrary to known, it turns out that the Egyptian regime was neither stable nor secure. The lack of its stability is not a reflection of its weakness or lack of a resolve to oppress. It is a reflection of its inherent contradiction to the natural desire of people to practice their basic freedoms. For two months calls were made using new social media tools (mainly facebook, twitter & some web sites) for a mass demonstration on the 25th of January which was assigned a year ago as a Police National Day. Observers saw those calls as another virtual activism that would not have any real actions. Few calls in the past had resulted in very small public support and the demonstrations were limited to the familiar faces of political activists numbering in the hundreds (Fig.2). Fig. 1. Graph of Tahrir square at the center of Cairo, main host and international icon of the Egyptian revolution. Sources: The New York Times, (2011) 1001 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 Fig. 2. (a) Photo of Tahrir square during one the revolution; (b) Poster for one of the revolution events As the day progressed, the observers seemed to be correct in their skepticism. While the demonstrations were certainly larger than previous ones, numbering perhaps 15,000 in Cairo, they were nothing worrisome for the regime. They were certainly much smaller than the ones in 2003 against the Iraq War. The police force was largely tolerating and when they decided to empty Tahrir Square, where the demonstrators had camped for the night; it took them less than 5 minutes to do so. Starting Friday 28th, revolutionist decided for the first time to name Fridays as their days of gathering millions of them at Tahrir Square, which become the host and symbol of their revolution, and that particular Friday was “Friday of Rage”. Events and confrontations continued between people and police forces till the president Mubarak stepped down on 11th February 2011 (Fig.3). Major events are going till that date and up till now, putting many questions on how and when things should come to an end that meets the expectations of the people of Egypt who ask for their freedom, equity and justice. Fig. 3. Graph of the Egyptian revolution timeline; since it was breaking out till Mubarak stepped down. Sources: Word press, (2011) 1002 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 3. Environmental problems in Egypt Natural environment is everything that surrounds man such as atmosphere, land, water, biological life including man, flora, and fauna. There are many interrelations between man and environment, as man affects the environment and vice versa. As a result of man's industrial, social and entertaining activities, the environment had reached a point of deterioration, which aroused voices of many people calling for the protection of natural & environmental resources as well as maintaining the environmental balance and hindering its deterioration (El Khateeb, 2006). One of the most significant challenges facing the world today is the tension between human development and natural resources management. Also, existing land use practices lead to pollution, deforestation, habitat loss and reduction in biodiversity. Land tenure, management policy, legislation, and economic incentives are often at odd with the sustainable use of natural resources. In addition population growth, human migration, and local strife tend to augment trends that threaten the environment conditions for human survival and progress. Developing countries are considered most affected by the previous factors since most have neither the tools nor the knowledge to combat the ill effects of the much needed developmental process on the environment. In the preparations for the United Nations conference on environment and development - the Earth Summit- held in Rio de Janeiro in 1992, a number of priority environmental problems were identified for industrialized countries and other more specific problems for developing countries, at different levels of intensity. In developing countries environmental issues generally involve the loss of natural areas and the exploitation of their resources. There are attributed to various factors that along several sectors including the government, the population and the economy. Environmental problems are particularly serious in developing countries where their primary concern centers on economic growth, prevention of starvation and disease control. The environment has long been a subject of interest in Egyptian culture; ancient inscriptions such as those depicting the journeys of Queen Hatshepsut (1450BC) illustrate the wildlife expedition to the land of Punt. These, among others suggest that a form of nature protection exist in a very early stage in Egyptian history and include basic management principles which were followed through by succeeding civilizations: the ancient Greeks, Romans and Ottomans. Traditional forms of community protection also developed through the ages and still exist. A number of areas were regarded as sacred under the traditional law of the local Bedouin tribes, with the "lineage preserves". The official onset of environment protection in its modern form originated in 1990 and was the basis for most of the long reigning conservation policies. The first conservation legislation this century came into being with the creation of the Royal hunting reserve at Wadi Rishrash in 1900. Current interest by the authorities in nature conservation was initiated when a delegation attended the 1955 Unesco meeting on nature protection in Beirut. The first protected site was established at El Omayed and was acquired by the University of Alexandria in 1974. The Presidential Decree of 5 March 1980, expressed concern for environmental matters established a mechanism for identifying and protecting threatened areas and species through cooperation between provincial governors; the Academy of Scientific Research and the Ministry of Agriculture. Subsequently, Ministerial Decree No. 472 of 5 May 1982 ensured the prohibition of hunting all birds and animals in a number of sites in Sinai. Eventually the promulgation of Law No. 102/83, which was passed by the People's Assembly on 20 July 1983, provided for the legal framework upon which the government could establish protected areas throughout Egypt. The sole category referred to in the Law No. 102/83 is the natural protectorate. Article 1 defines the natural protectorate, its designation and delineation by individual Prime Ministerial decrees, under the recommendation of the Egyptian Environmental Affairs Agency (EEAA). Sub-categories covered under the Prime Ministerial decrees include scientific area, national Marine Park, conservation area, natural area and protected area. 1003 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 The EEAA is the main administrative body responsible for the enforcement of environmental protection and conservation, and was established under Decree No. 631 of 1982. In 1983 a presidential directive established EEAA offices within each of the Governorate of Egypt. In 1979, the Egyptian Wildlife Service (EWS) was established under the authority of the Ministry of Agriculture Decree No. 349, with responsibility for management of natural protectorates and wildlife research. In 1991 the Minister of Cabinet Affairs and Minister of State for Administrative Development, and the Minister in charge of Environment issued Decree No. 30 for the reorganization of the EEAA (El Khateeb, 2006). Natural environment in Egypt has become subject to many shapes of deteriorations caused by man, environmental problems is varied from high pollution due to high polluting industries to solid waste problems. The solid waste problem is one of the major problems in the Egyptian environment, and all districts suffer from it and based of the questionnaire also all districts even good standard of living areas suffer from this problem. One of the major problems in the Egyptian community is the irresponsible behavior of people towards the environment. Most of the answer of the questionnaire refers that the main environmental problems is caused from people themselves. We must say that the majority of environmental problems are caused from the lack of the environmental awareness of the local people. They didn’t study it in their schools; especially in poorer areas they look more irresponsible towards the environment. Another reason for this attitude based on the questionnaire almost 40% of the samples said that the feeling of the non-belonging to the country helped more in the segregation between people’s attitude and country. They feel that they act individually and don’t know that all this accumulate attitudes will help in more deterioration of their urban and natural environment. One of the major environmental problems that appeared in the Egyptian Environment is the the problem of the solid waste collection from neighborhoods, this problem is extremely appeared in the last few years because of the new contracts that done between the governments and the foreign companies to collect the wastes with totally ignoring the local collector (Zabaleen) that used to collect it through years. The problem was that we suddenly transferred the system from door to door service to collecting the garbage in the big bins in the streets by the individuals themselves. These caused huge problems as it didn’t respect the Egyptian behavior that used to have this service from home and couldn’t accept any other solution. This from one hand, from the other hand old garbage collections loses their job so they decide to collect from bins before the companies Lorries come. They select the recycling materials from the garbage and leave other organic and non-recyclables thrown in the streets. As an impact we now suffer from a big solid waste problem in majority of the Egyptian streets not only in cities but also in rural areas. Fig. 4. which contains picture a -b-c shows some of the solid wastes problems in cities and rural areas in Egypt. Fig. 4. (a) Solid wastes in the street in cairo city; (b) burning the wastes in the streets in Cairo streets.; (c) solid waste problem in rural areas 1004 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 4. Egyptians behavior towards the environment since the revolution 4.1. During the 25th of January Revolution The Egyptian youth played a great role on the 25th January revolution, which has ended by the president, stepped down on 11th February 2011. One of the most noticed things in this revolution that it was done by Egyptians from different backgrounds, ages, education and gender. They shared one dream; to enhance their living conditions, living in dignity and feel freedom. The revolution effect echoed everywhere, all the people got involved in a way or another in rebuilding Egypt with a motive of shaping their future differently. As we are now practicing the democracy for the first time, some Egyptians think that making demonstrations in every field or areas complaining from certain issue is the democracy, but in fact the solution of our problems won't come by that way, we need people to work together to understand their role in building their new community. As it is expected from everyone to share in building Egypt, understand the role of democracy to achieve our goals. Egyptian revolution has ignited the spirit of change and we must complete the journey, where we will live more democratic and effective. During the revolution people shared together in securing their streets and neighborhoods, they arrange themselves well and they could secure their areas very well starting from luxury areas till informal settlements. From the other hand in the square (Tahrir square) there were daily campaigns to clean and collect garbage from the protests in the square. Fig. 5. (a) Girls cleaned Tahrir Square in the revolution period; (b) Youth replanted the square in the last day of the revolution.; (c) youth shared in cleaning Tahrir Square in the revolution 1005 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 4.2. After the 25th of January Revolution After the revolution based on the observations and the questionnaire, there were two opposite behaviors towards the environment from the Egyptians, the first one was the positive spirit that spread everywhere and helped in changing the behavior of the Egyptians to the better, and the second one is the negative behavior of the Egyptians and the exploitation of the deterioration in the security and the police after the revolution. 4.2.1. Positive impacts: The revolution effect echoed everywhere, all the people got involved in a way or another in rebuilding Egypt with a motive or shaping their future differently , The unique spirit spread all over Egypt, as we heard about campaigns for cleaning streets in several neighborhoods. These campaigns continued for several weeks after the unexpected success of the revolution; where everyone one was encouraged and motivated to take part in it believing that making Egypt look better and working on the physical matters should come in parallel or even before focusing on the political long term issues. 4.2.1.1. Cleaning campaigns In Fact, This was a kind of initiate that the Egyptian streets and neighborhoods had never witnessed, yet after a few months the spirit started to slow down in a way or another. After 5 Months of the headless revolution, it was proved that a leaderless revolution is a double sided weapon, in a way it does not belong to one person and on the other hand it developed in an unorganized ways at some points. January Uprising moved many Youth to do something, and to great extent they succeeded in moving the world in return. Applying the same analogy to the cleaning initiatives, the main reason for the slowdown which took place can be summarized in not having a clear Goal and Strategy and the lack of organization and awareness lead to gradual decrease in the people’s spirit. And due to that, many other campaigns and initiatives appeared in the last month towards saving the environment and change the behavior of the Egyptians towards the environment. Fig. 6. (a);(b);(c) and (d) cleaning campaigns in Nasr City District, Cairo, Egypt in 2011 1006 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 4.2.1.2. Awareness initiatives Many awareness initiatives found their way to public in city centers, slums and even rural parts. Some aimed at bringing up the level of common knowledge of the environment, while others work to spread out the culture of recycling. Tadweer Initiative is one of this Awareness initiative that contain both the Awareness and the practice. This initiative is inspired from the revolution, its theme is ‘’Tadweer’’ or recycling which is inspired from Tahrir (the square) that witnessed the Egyptian revolution and became a symbol of freedom. ‘’Tadweer’’ is a project which first aim to raise the awareness of Egyptian citizens towards the environment by involving them in the Recycling process, the second aim is to supply green jobs to youth who will work in this project (our scope to supply more than 500 jobs for youth some of them are permanent and others are not) and third one is to make a prototype project that can implemented all over Egypt. The program includes two major concepts; the first one is the awareness campaigns and lectures for Egyptians about the concept of ‘’Tadweer’’ and the second one is the recycling process. We propose to start with youth and children as they really dream of better Egypt and we think that they will accept it and share in it. We will adopt a new concept of recycling in Egypt by involving people in the sorting phase by putting their waste in recycling kiosks and recycling bins (Tadweer, 2012). The main aim from this project is to raise the awareness of youth & children toward environment, as they believe that many of the environmental problems we are facing in our beloved country are because of the individuals’ behavior, since mainly they don’t have motivation to respect the environment and they don’t know the consequences of that. It would like to reflect the endless spirit of youth to be a part of the change, after the 25th January revolution, and the initiatives to live in a clean community through inviting them to share in this. In the first phase of this project, they will focus on this will not be the domestic wastes, but will be on users’ wastes (wastes of students in schools or universities). The domestic wastes will be a future phase of the program which is not discussed in this proposal. 4.2.2. Negative Impacts The huge and uncontrolled increasing in informal buildings and building on agriculture lands which increased a lot after the revolution is one of the major negative impacts of the revolution. Some opportunists took advantage of poor security conditions and situations of insecurity, which the country experienced after the revolution and they build illegally on agricultural land in most of the Egyptians governorates. As an impact thousands of buildings were built and we lose large area of the agriculture land. However, the farmers are betting that the executive branch and the police have become weak and unable to resist or eliminate the illegal building on agricultural land, and all Egyptians are hoping that the new president will be strong enough to stop these violations. Of course the dream of farmers is to have a not strong enough government that let them build more on agriculture land and supply them too with the infrastructure services. On the other hand revealed a government report issued by the ministries of agriculture and local development announced that the total number of building illegally on agriculture lands after the revolution reached 13821 building in all the Egyptian governorates (Atta, 2012). The report pointed out that it will coordinate with the ministries of electricity to stop supplying their services to those buildings and start to think in new solutions to solve the growth in population in rural areas by increasing the height of buildings for example. 1007 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 Fig. 7. (a); (b) Illegal building on agriculture lands that appeared in most of rural areas in Egypt after the 25 th of January Revolution (2011) 5. Survey on the change in Egyptians attitude and behavior towards environment This questionnaire took place during the beginning of the second year of revolution, or post-revolution as many refers. Samples include: commonalty – expertise: environmental experts – urban planners. 5.1. Objectives of the questionnaire: Identify the general impression among the public and professionals of the extent of a relationship between urban and the general political system of country. Identify the public opinion and specialists to the extent of the impact of the Revolution of January 25 on the urban environment in the short term and long-term. Identify the elements of influence on the urban environment. Identify the elements most affected by the urban environment according to the general political system of the country. Identify how to manage the urban development after the revolution. Identify the mental image of the expected post-revolution urban development. 5.2. Survey questions and results 5.2.1. Question 1: From your point of view that the state of urban development in Egypt Good condition. Moderate condition. 23.3% Bad condition. 76.7% 1008 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 5.2.2. Question 2: From your point of view choose the Most important problems of urban environment in Egypt (Choose the top 3 problems from your point of view) Poor condition of buildings. 19.8% Illegal building on agricultural land. 40.5% Informal areas. 74.1% Laxity in law enforcement. 65.5% The poor condition of streets. 28.4% The poor condition of the infrastructure systems (water - sewage - Electricity). 32.8% Lack of green spaces. 33.6% lack of housing units.12.9% Traffic congestion. 32.8% 5.2.3. Question 3: The Cause of the problems of urban environment due to Inadequate laws and current legislations. 12.1% Defect in laws & legisations. 43.1% Corruption of neighborhood & districts councils and local councils. 73.3% The large population increase. 23.3% Lack of commitment to the citizens of obeying laws. 44.8% 1009 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 5.2.4. Question 4: The most negative aspects of Mubarak's regime in the field of urban development Encroachment on the territory of the State Property. 30.1% Allocation of land for business men.61.2% The poor condition of infrastructure.30.1% Poor road network and street level to Egypt.35.9% Failing to build enough housing units for low-income.50.5% Direct state support to the resorts and luxury homes.49.5% 5.2.5. Question 5: Do you think that the revolution will have an impact on future urban development Yes: A positive impact.72.4% No impact.22.9% Yes: Negative impact.6.7% 5.2.6. Question 6: Most important problems of urban development that must be placed on the top priority of the new Government Poor condition of buildings. 12.5% Illegal build on the agricultural land. 39.4% Informal areas. 71.2% The inadequacy of the laws & legislations. 12.5% Laxity in the enforcements of laws .60.6% The poor condition of streets.26% The poor condition of the infrastructure systems (water - sewage - Electricity). 27.9% Lack of green spaces. 19.2% Lack of housing units. 21.2% Traffic congestion. 24% 1010 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 5.2.7. Question 7: Do you think that the political system of the country has an impact on the state of urban environment Yes - a significant impact. 83.7% Yes – moderate impact.14.4% Yes - but minor impact. 1% No - no impact 5.2.8. Question 8: Urban problems in rural and urban areas Equal. 26.5% Greater in the countryside. 26.5% Greater in the urban areas. 47.1% 1011 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 5.2.9. Question 9: Behavior of citizens is a factor in the urban environment Main factor. 78% Secondary factor.22% Has no effect. 5.2.10. Question 10: Which of these factors can contribute to solving the problems of urban environment in Egypt and make a positive change? Strict legislation in the field of urban development.38% Rigidity and seriousness in the application of existing laws. 41% Cancellation of reconciliation in the case of irregularities. 35% The establishment of new cities.30% Work of the integrated development of new areas of Egypt.67% 1012 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 5.2.11. Question 11: We can maximize the return on the revolution in the field of urban environment by Reclaim stolen lands.50% strengthen penalties for violations related to construction.47% The establishment of a specialized authority to monitor all the Egyptian land and developmental projects. 27% Direct the investments towards a local developmental project of Egypt.64% Removal of subsidies on the units and luxurious residential areas. 25% 5.2.12. Question 12: In the case there is a project to improve and develop the neighbourhood you live in, you will Participate. 86.3% Will not participate.2.9% I don’t know.10.8% 1013 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 5.2.13. Question 13: The Type of participation Awareness. 57.1% Volunteer effort (physical).64.3% Donation.27.6% 5.2.14. Question 14: The behavior of the Egyptians towards the environment changed after the revolution Yes. 7.9% Limited change.49.% No change. 34.7 I do not know. 7.9% 5.2.15. Question 15: Some believe that environmental awareness has risen in some way in the Egyptians life after the revolution, in your opinion that because of The spirit of belonging to the country. 33.7% The desire to make a change for the better.65.3% The strong lack of the role of the government. 17.9% 1014 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 5.2.16. Question 16: In your opinion what is the proof of the high level of urban environment in different neighbourhoods Cleanliness of streets. 61.9% The condition of roads and utilities.58.8% Spread of trees and green spaces. 44.3% 5.2.17. Question 17: Is it possible to distinguish between residential neighborhoods, rich and poor, according to the quality of the built environment (the streets – walkways- pavements –open areas) Yes. 9.8% No we cannot. 2% It Is no longer the measure because of the spread of garbage even in the high level and luxury neighborhoods. 38.2% 5.2.18. Question 18: Have you participated in any cleaning campaigns in a neighbourhood’s streets after the revolution Yes participated by physical effort. 30% Participated by donation. 21% I did not participate.56% 1015 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 5.2.19. Question 19: What do you think is the reason for the failure of cleaning campaigns, and garbage collection which was done directly after the revolution Lack of awareness of citizens especially non-participants in the campaign. 36% Failure to provide permanent financing and a specific body to sponsor this campaigns49% Decline in enthusiasm with the time. 53. 5.2.20. Question 20: You think that the Environmental problems in rural and urban areas (pollution - concentrations garbage on the streets - poor drainage systems and water ....) are Environmental problems in cities bigger than villages. 46% Environmental problems in the villages bigger than cities.22% Equal.32% 1016 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 5.2.21. Question 21: Do you think the cause of the irresponsible environmental behavior of some Egyptians (such as the dumping of garbage - distortion and building facades, and writing on public property - roads occupancy ....) is due to Lack of environmental awareness. 56.9% The absence of laws and tolerated in the application of existing laws. 71.6% Feeling of not belonging to the country. 30.4% 6. Conclusion and recommendations The theoretical and applied (survey) parts of these research brought out many conclusions: Each culture has to be understood as a whole, on its own terms. Also an individual's actions had to be understood in terms of his or her culture; that should be applied to both revolution as an act and actions towards environment as well. When studying communities, we can conclude that people living apart from one another develop unique cultures, but elements of different cultures can easily spread from one group of people to another. Culture is dynamic and can be taught and learned, making it a potentially rapid form of adaptation to change in physical conditions which includes both the nature and built environment. When we set out to just raise environmental awareness, what we often end up with is producing a lip service, instead, if we want that awareness to lead to some action, it helps a lot to define that action and aim for that directly. Setting a goal of motivating the local communities to take some small action to conserve their environment, and then follow up with another small goal would help giving the participant feelings of praise and gratitude, then suggest the next, more meaningful action they can take. Acknowledgments We have the great honor to present our research to our people in Egypt, to the immortal spirits of the martyrs of our 25th Revolution. May God protects our country from any harm and guides our steps towards a bright future. References Answers (2011). Material Culture. Retrived from http://www.answers.com/topic/material-culture#ixzz1tMc6preb. Arnold, M. (1882). The Christian Knowledge Society. Retrived from http://www.library.utoronto.ca/utel/nonfiction_u/arnoldm_ca/ca_all.html 1017 Lobna Abdel Aziz Ahmed and Samah M. El-Khatee / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 50 ( 2012 ) 997 – 1017 Atta, A. (2011). Digital Ahram. Retrived from http://digital.ahram.org.eg/articles.aspx?Serial=449649&eid=6313. Augustana. (2000) Local culture. Retrived from http://localculture.augustana.edu/. BBC. (2011). Egypt's revolution: Interactive map. Retrived from http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-12327995. El Khateeb, M. S. (2006). Interrelations between preserved areas and Urban Environment. Master Thesis. Egypt : Ain Shams University. Encyclopædia Britannica. (2012). Local Culture. Retrived from http://www.britannica.com/ EBchecked/topic/766184/local-culture. Harper, D. (2001). Online Etymology Dictionary. Retrived from http://www.etymonline.com. Kroeber, A. L. & Kluckhohn, C. (1952). Culture: A Critical Review of Concepts and Definitions. New York: Vintage Books. Levine, A. & Donald, D. (1971). Simmel: On individuality and social forms. Chicago :Chicago University Press. Macionis, Gerber, John, & Linda. (2010). Sociology 7th Canadian Ed. Toronto, Ontario: Pearson Canada Inc. Quizlet. (2010). Local Culture, Popular Culture, and Cultural Landscapes. Retrived from http://quizlet.com/3113884/chapter-4- local-culture-popular-culture-and-cultural-landscapes-vocab-flash-cards/. Tadweer. (2012). self-study of the initiative Tadweer Misr. Unpublished study. The new York times. 2011. 18 Days at the Center of Egypt’s Revolution . Retrived from http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2011/02/12/world/middleeast/0212-egypt-tahrir-18-days-graphic.html UCL. (2002). Material Culture. Retrived from http://www.ucl.ac.uk/anthropology/material-culture. UNESCO. (2002). UNESCO Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity. Retrived from (http://www.unesco.org/education/imld_2002/unversal_decla.shtml. Webster, M. (2010). Definition of culture. Retrived from http://www.merriam-webster.com/medical/culture. Word press. (2011). Egypt's Awakening: Timeline of Most Important Milestones of the Jan. 25th Revolution. Retrived from http://awakeningofegypt.wordpress.com/2011/03/05/270/. Wordiq (2012). Culture definitions. Retrived from http://www.wordiq.com/definition/Culture. Wordiq (1973). Clifford Geertz – Definition. Retrived from http:// www.wordiq/definition/clifford_Geertz. 
work_xlmkvpmbwbchdpehlspae47kgu	----	Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury: research, practice and finance REVIEW Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury: research, practice and finance WH Donovan1,2 1Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation, University of Texas Health Science Center-Houston, Houston, TX, USA and 2The Institute for Rehabilitation and Research, Houston, TX, USA Dating back to ancient times, mankind has been absorbed with ‘doing the right thing’, that is, behaving in ways approved by the society and the culture during the era in which they lived. This has been and still is especially true for the medical and related health-care professions. Laws and professional codes have evolved over the years that provide guidelines as to how physicians should treat patients, beginning with the one authored by Hippocrates. Only more recently, however, have laws and codes been created to cover health-care research and the advances in health-care practice that have been brought to light by that research. Although these discoveries have clearly impacted the quality of life and duration of life for people with spinal cord injury and other maladies, they have also raised questions that go beyond the science. Questions such as when, why, how and for how long should such treatments be applied often relate more to what a society and its culture will condone and the answers can differ and have differed among societies depending on the prevailing ethics and morals. Modern codes and laws have been created so that the trust people have traditionally placed in their healers will not be violated or misused as happened during wars past, especially in Nazi Germany. This paper will trace the evolution of the rules that medical researchers, practitioners and payers for treatment must now follow and explain why guiding all their efforts that honesty must prevail. Spinal Cord advance online publication, 14 September 2010; doi:10.1038/sc.2010.106 Keywords: ethics; morals; health care (research, practice, finance); abortion; euthanasia; academic integrity and spinal cord injury Introduction I am obliged to say at the outset that like most physicians, I am not an ethicist by formal education. In fact, a review of the literature on medical ethics reveals that most authors are not physicians. So I merely bring a perspective of a practicing physician, engaged in clinical research in an academic environment. Ethics has become a requisite for researchers conducting research with human (as well as animal) subjects in most universities and medical schools throughout the world. Although we now have codified ethical principles to follow in medical research and practice, there are still many areas that come down to using good judgment and common sense in applying these principles. In researching this subject, I was amazed how many theories have been advanced from ancient times to the present, many conflicting, depending on a number of factors. Although reading these diverse opinions, I was reminded of some similarities ethics shares with economics. In 1977, soon after Jimmy Carter was elected president of the United States, he decided to convene and chair a meeting of the world’s most learned economists in Washington DC in an effort to formulate a plan that would steer the country away from a financial crisis. After the first exhaustive day of meetings, Walter Cronkite (1916–2009), reporting the evening news, called on Eric Severeid (1912–1992) to comment on the proceedings. Severeid began his remarks by recalling a previous similar meeting where it soon became clear that there were only two men in the world who really had a complete, comprehensive grasp of the topic of economics. One was British and the other French. ‘What did they say?’ Cronkite asked. ‘They disagreed’ replied Severeid. If you Google the word ‘ethics’ the search engine will yield over 65 million entries. Obviously, it is a topic that has inspired many minds throughout the ages, from before Socrates (ca 469–399 BC) to the present day and demonstrates that over the millennia, mankind has been absorbed with ‘doing the right thing’.1Received 16 April 2010; revised 23 June 2010; accepted 14 July 2010 Correspondence: Professor WH Donovan, Physical Medicine and Rehabilita- tion, University of Texas Health Science Center-Houston, The Institute for Rehabilitation and Research, 1333 Moursund Avenue, Houston, TX 77030, USA. E-mail: William.Donovan@memorialhermann.org Spinal Cord (2010), 1–13 & 2010 International Spinal Cord Society All rights reserved 1362-4393/10 $32.00 www.nature.com/sc http://dx.doi.org/10.1038/sc.2010.106 mailto:William.Donovan@memorialhermann.org http://www.oregon.gov Any analysis of the works of those who have contributed to the literature on ethics is beyond the scope of this lecture. However, such philosophers include: Plato (ca 427–347 BC), Aristotle (384–322 BC), Epicurus (341–270 BC) Marcus Aurelius (121–180 AD), Augustine (354–430 AD) Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274), Francesco Petrarch (1304–1374), Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679), Rene Descartes (1596–1650), Baruch Spinoza (1630–1674), John Locke (1632–1704), David Hume (1711–1776), John Gregory (1724–1773), John Stuart Mill (1806–1873) and Immanuel Kant (1724–1804).2 In more modern times, names such as Karl Marx (1818– 1883), Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), James Joyce (1882– 1941), Louis Althusser (1918–1990) and Roland Barthes (1915–1980) among many others have written about ethics in the secular realm.2 In the spiritual realm, religions have carved moral path- ways from books that believers avow are divinely inspired: for ChristiansFthe Bible, for MuslinsFthe Koran, for JewsFthe Torah and Tenach, for HindusFthe Vedas. Other religions have their holy books as well.3 It appears that the authors of these treatises and texts are searching for answers to various questions that amount to ‘what is the right way to think and behave’ in the face of all the vicissitudes of life. The fact that there have been so many proposed theories and doctrines, often conflicting, suggests that mankind, in the pursuit of the virtuous life, has focused not only on theories and doctrines per se but used them to reach a consensus on what is and what is not acceptable behavior in the society and the culture in which the people involved live. Throughout most of history, that ‘consensus’ was imposed by a monarch or ruler of some sort, by fiat. Today, in democracies, the rules or laws are created by the people through their elected representatives. As Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826) proclaimed to George III of England (1760–1820) in the American Declaration of Independence, governments derive ‘their just powers from the consent of the governed’. As the ‘governed’ are seldom of one mind, the rules and laws in democratic governments reflect what the majority within the society believes is right or ethical and all agree to abide by those rules or seek to change them through the political process. In like manner, the medical and other health-care professions also have created their own rules of behavior as to what is and what is not ethical within their nation or society. Before I relate how we, in these professions got to where we are today, let me suggest a perhaps novel distinction between ethics and morals, and between laws and codes. Most texts define and use the words ethics and morals interchangeably, the former being derived from Greek and the latter from Latin.4Although both have as their purpose that of guiding us to act in ways that are good and to refrain from evil, I would suggest that they differ in their mutability. By that I mean ethics is tied to societal and cultural norms. Therefore, what is considered ethical in one time and place may be unethical in another. For example, among certain tribes in Asia and Africa ‘female circumcision’ or excision of the clitoris and labia minora is considered ethical while the rest of the world recoils and considers it not only unethical but mutilating. As another example, from the time of Hippocrates (ca 460–370 BC) and before, until recent years, abortion was considered unethical.5–8 Now many regard it as ethical. So to some extent what is considered ethical is a reflection of current attitudes of a majority within a society.9 Morals or morality on the other hand, I would suggest, in current parlance, is tied to a belief system. Using abortion again as an example, to believers of many faiths including Catholic, Orthodox, and Evangelical Christianity, Orthodox Judaism, Islam, Traditional Buddhism, Hinduism and others, the era or prevailing opinion do not matter; abortion remains (with narrow exceptions, for example, saving the mother’s life) immoral. Those who adhere to such belief systems believe their rules or doctrines are divinely inspired and are codified in scripture and confirmed by tradition. Therefore, their views are more refractive to change; for ‘how can God be wrong’? Laws, regardless as to how they are derived, are written rules and also direct us to behave in ‘right’ or acceptable ways. Failure to abide carries a punishment. Codes, while also written rules, generally apply to specific groups and are agreed on guidelines that apply to that group, for example, the medical profession. Punishment may or may not be attached to infractions. Both are reflections of the ethics and morals that the society or the groups have agreed to abide by. In a theocratic nation, for example, Iran, or a group like a religious order, these distinctions are blurred, but in a society governed by the ‘separation of church and state’, the ethics of the majority may differ from the morals of some individuals. In a civil society, if the latter seek to change the prevailing behaviors that the majority considers ethical, they may do so, employing tactics such as debates, essays, blogs, and so on (but never violence) in an effort to persuade the majority to change the relevant laws and/or codes. This paper will trace the evolution of the codes and laws that have impacted the medical and health-care professions and guided them in ethical ways namely, health-care research and health-care practice and comment briefly on how health care is financed. Health-care research Evolution of the codes of ethics involving research adopted by the medical profession and subsequently by other health professions includes: the Nuremberg Code, the Declaration of Helsinki, the Belmont Report and the Code of Federal Regulations (CFR). Of these, the Nuremberg Code has the unique role as being the first to clearly define in writing the ethical conduct expected of the medical profession when conducting research on human subjects and also has the richest history. Accordingly, I give it the most attention.10 The first of 12 trials of perpetrators of Nazi atrocities, the Doctors’ Trial, began in Nuremberg, 9 December 1946 as a military tribunal. Chief Counsel of war crimes, Brigadier General Telford Taylor (1908–1998) and the chief prosecutor for the medical case, James M McHaney (1919–1995), Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury WH Donovan 2 Spinal Cord thought their task would be easy, given the egregious disregard for human life shown by the Nazi doctors during their experiments. All they had to do was show that the research conducted by the doctors in Nazi concentration camps transgressed the documented rules for human experimentation followed by the medical profession at large. What made his task in fact rather difficult was that there were no such documents. The Hippocratic Oath, the 1803 Code of Medical Ethics authored by the British physician, Thomas Percival (1740–1804),11 which was inspired by the works of John Gregory and David Hume6 and the 1847 American Medical Association (AMA) Principles of Ethics,12 which incorporated much of Percival’s work,7 dealt with research only vaguely or not at all. In fact, General Taylor discovered that many physicians opposed the creation of specific rules because they felt it would hinder medical research. Nevertheless, a committee (which never met before the trial) was quickly named by Andrew C Ivy, MD (1893– 1978) one of the prosecution’s medical expert witnesses, and conclusions composed by Dr Ivy concerning the proper conduct of medical research were presented at trial.10,13 In the end, 16 of 23 defendants (20 of whom were physicians) were convicted and 7 were executed.14 At the conclusion of the trial, the three judges produced a 10-point document that became known as the Nuremberg Code.15,16 This document thoroughly repudiated the concepts of Nazi medicine that were based on the pseudoscience of eugenics, social Darwinism, ‘racial hygiene’ and other theories of Aryan supremacy that led to making the State the ‘patient’ rather than the person the patient. In other words, if the interests of the State conflicted with the interests of the individual, the State prevailed. Nearly 50% of German physicians were members of the Nazi party in 1942 and accepted the idea that involuntary sterilization, involuntary euthanasia and extermination of the ‘sub-human popula- tion’ (that is, Jews, gypsies, Slavs, homosexuals, communists, the disabled and even some intellectuals) could be used to ‘purify’ the population and the State.17,18 It should be noted, however, that such ideas of Aryan supremacy existed in many areas outside Nazi Germany at the time.19–21 As the code was not law, many investigators initially ignored it, but over the years, it served as the foundation for the regulations that medical investigators are ethically and legally bound to follow today. Its essential ingredients include: (1) ‘the voluntary consent of the human subject is essential’. No coercion, no deceit, full explanation of risks and benefits by the investigator(s); (2) the expectation of gaining useful knowledge; (3) thorough preliminary studies; (4) avoidance of unnecessary suffering or injury; (5) no expectation of death or injury; (6) risks must not exceed benefits; (7) proper facilities are required; (8) only qualified investigators allowed; (9) subject(s) can withdraw at any time; and (10) investigator must terminate the study if harm seems likely.16 These principles were written before the birth of bioethics and antedate by 20 years the doctrine of informed consent in the practice of medicine.10,22 In 1964, the World Medical Association adopted the Declaration of Helsinki that was also based on the Nuremberg Code with some modifications.23,24 It has subsequently undergone six revisions.25 The first revision introduced the concept of independent oversight commit- tees, which evolved into a system of institutional review boards in the United States and ethical review boards (committees) in other countries.26 Regulations governing institutional review boards (IRB) came into effect in the United States in 1981 as a result of the Belmont report (see below). The fourth and subsequent revisions have remained controversial and are no longer followed by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) in the United States nor by the European Union since 2000.27 Instead, they and other countries have adopted the ‘Good Clinical Practices’, an international set of quality standards provided by the International Conference on Harmonization of Technical Requirements for Registration of Pharmaceuticals for Human Use (ICH) in 2008.28 The Belmont Report, issued by the National Commission for the Protection of Human Subjects of Biomedical and Behavioral Research (1974–1978) and also known as ‘Ethical Principals and Guidelines for the Protection of Human Subjects of Research’ arose from the revelation that the Tuskegee Syphilis Study, conducted at Tuskegee University in Alabama between 1932 till 1972 when it was abruptly halted, had withheld penicillin from African-American subjects although it had been recognized as the standard treatment for syphilis since 1947.29 The Belmont Report declared three fundamental ethical principles that should be adhered to when human subjects are used in research: (a) autonomy: that is, respect for all persons, protecting them, treating them with courtesy, respecting their values and beliefs and requiring informed consent;4 (b) beneficence: maximizing benefits for the research subjects while minimizing risks to them; (c) distributive justice: ensuring that reasonable, non-exploitative and well-considered procedures are admi- nistered fairly, with equity, that is, the fair distribution of costs and benefits to potential research participants while refraining from treating different populations, for example, rich and poor, differently.6 This report remains an essential reference for IRB’s today.30 It is also a significant component of what is today the CFRs. In 1991, 15 US Federal Departments and Agencies adopted the Federal Policy for the Protection of Human Subjects also known as the Common Rule or 45 CFR 46 of the Department of Health and Human Services regulations. 45 CFR 46 or Title 45 (Public Welfare) CFR Part 46 (Protection of Human Subjects), contains the rules and guidelines that must be followed by all health researchers in the United States today. It is the culmination of all the previous work and contains additional provisions for pregnant women, human fetuses, neonates, prisoners and children that are all deemed particularly vulnerable. 45 CFR 46 also clearly specified the duties of IRB’s including the vetting and monitoring of research projects. It is now law in the United States and is required reading for all investigators in the field of human research, including especially, translational research.31,32 Recently, the International Campaign for Cure of Spinal Paralysis (ICCP), drawing on the above codes and laws, published a series of four white papers directed specifically at Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury WH Donovan 3 Spinal Cord the topic of human research aimed at reversing the damage caused by spinal cord injury (SCI). They contained the recommendations of recognized leaders in the field and addressed the subject of ethics in such research along with the principles of randomization, ‘blinding’, appropriate inclusion and exclusion criteria as well as the generally accepted principles contained in the Belmont report and the other documents listed above. On the subject of ethics they began by saying ‘a study involving risks to human subjects cannot be ethically defensible if it is not scientifically defensible.’ (I would submit that the converse is also true.) They then expanded on the ethics concerning placebo and sham controls, clear explanation of risks versus benefits, fetal and stem cell research, clinical trials in developing countries and compassionate use protocols. Finally, the articles expressed caveats to health-care providers and their patients against the lures of procedures currently offered at high prices that despite their claims have demonstrated neither safety nor efficacy in accordance with the rigorous process now accepted by the scientific community.33–36 I frequently tell my patients, if or when someone demonstrates a cure for SCI, there is no way it could be kept a secret. The fact that the claims of partial or complete reversals of SCI by entrepreneurs are not accepted by reliable investigators is caveat enough to discourage ‘medical tourism’. Health-care practice This brings us to the ethics concerned with the practice of medicine and other health-care professions. Evolution of the codes of ethics involving these professions include the Hippocratic Oath, the most recognized of many medical oaths;5,37,38 the works of John Gregory (often referred to as the founding father of modern Western medical bioethical principles) and Thomas Percival;6,7,39 the Declaration of Geneva; adoption of the principles of the Belmont Report into clinical practice, namely, respect/autonomy, benefi- cence and justice to which some have added non-malefi- cence, that is, avoidance of doing harm;40 the creation of ethics committees in hospitals and other health-care facilities and the creation of the Code of Medical Ethics by the AMA.41 Hippocrates is said to have lived between 460 and 370 BC on the island of Cos. His oath has undergone many modifications over the years.37 If Hippocrates were here today, he would likely be unable to identify the versions currently administered as anything like his own. The original version translated into English5 consists of eight brief statements: (1) I swear by Apollo, the healer, Asclepius, Hygieia and Panacea, and I take to witness all the gods, all the goddesses, to keep according to my ability and my judgment, the following Oath and agreement (that is, invoking deities for a more powerful and solemn promise). (2) To consider dear to me, as my parents, him who taught me this art; to live in common with him and, if necessary, to share my goods with him; to look upon his children as my own brothers, to teach them this art (that is, respect for mentors and teach students). (3) I will prescribe regimens for the good of my patients according to my ability and my judgment and never do harm to anyone. (that is, patient comes first; protect him/her). Note: the words ‘primum non nocere -first do no harm’, which are often incorrectly ascribed to the Hippocratic Oath, are not used. (4) I will not give a lethal drug to anyone if I am asked, nor will I advise such a plan; and similarly, I will not give a pessary to cause an abortion. (that is, euthanasia and abortion are proscribed). Note: Hippocrates recognized that there were certain cases when abortion was absolutely necessary (to save the mother’s life) and knew how to proceed.42 (5) But I will preserve the purity of my life and my arts. I will not cut for stone, even for patients in whom the disease is manifest; I will leave this operation to be performed by practitioners, specialists in this art (that is, lead a virtuous and exemplary life and know one’s limits). (6) In every house where I come I will enter only for the good of my patients, keeping myself far from all intentional ill-doing and all seduction and especially from the pleasures of love with women or with men, be they free or slaves (that is, never use one’s position to gain favors). (7) All that may come to my knowledge in the exercise of my profession or in daily commerce with men, which ought not to be spread abroad, I will keep secret and will never reveal (that is, maintain confidentiality). (8) If I keep this oath faithfully, may I enjoy my life and practice my art, respected by all men and in all times; but if I swerve from it or violate it, may the reverse be my lot (that is, rewards for good practices but punishment for bad). It is easy to see how much of this oath, now about 2500 years old, still applies today and also how some of it has changed as ethics, itself has changed over time and among different cultures. These changes were codified by the World Medical Association, an international group of the medical societies of different nations, at a meeting in Geneva, Switzerland in 1948, 1 year after the publication of the Nuremberg Code. The first document, the Geneva Declarations, updated the Hippocratic Oath to conform with modern language.43 It has been subsequently amended five times.44 It is a declaration of physicians’ dedication to the humanitarian goals of medicine. This was felt to be especially important in light of the medical crimes that had been committed in Nazi Germany where nearly 50% of all practicing physicians were members of the Nazi party.45,46 In the latest 2006 version, the subjects of euthanasia, abortion and using influence to gain favors have been removed along with references to a deity. Added are pledges to not discriminate on the basis of ‘age, disease or disability, creed, ethnic origin, gender, political affiliation, race, sexual orientation, social standing or any other factor’; also added is a pledge ‘not to use one’s medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury WH Donovan 4 Spinal Cord liberties, even under threat’. The product has been criticized as being more vague and general and straying from the Hippocratic Oath, although it contains more items; 11 compared with 8. In concept and approach, the Declaration of Geneva drew on the World Health Organization (WHO) Constitution47 and the 1948 United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights.32,48 The first recorded administration of the Hippocratic Oath in a medical school setting was at The University of Wittenberg in Germany in 1508. It became part of a graduation ceremony for the first time in 1804 in Montpel- lier, France. By 1928, only 19% of medical schools in North America included an oath as part of their commencement exercises. After World War II, this progressively increased because of the Nazi atrocities.49 By 1993, 98% of 157 medical schools in the United States and Canada administered some form of Oath but only 1 used the original Hippocratic Oath while 68 used some version of it. All of those schools using oaths contained a pledge of commitment to patients, only 43% contained a vow to be accountable for one’s actions, 14% included a prohibition against euthanasia, 11% invoked a deity, 8% prohibited abortion and only 3% prohibited sexual contact with patients, something that I daresay Hippocrates and John Gregory would have found surprising.4,7,50,51 The study has not been repeated recently. The physician of today, however, regardless of the kind of pledge, he or she does or does not make on graduation, enters a milieu wherein acceptable and unacceptable patterns of behavior are now more clearly identified. Owing to the documents cited earlier, particularly the Belmont Report that targeted medical research but apply to medical practice as well, namely autonomy, beneficence and justice, many nations have developed position papers on topics that fall within the ambit of these principles. For example, in the United Kingdom, the General Medical Council provides clear overall guidance in the form of its ‘Good Medical Practice’ statement.52 In the United States, the AMA’s Council on Ethical and Judicial Affairs (CEJA) has produced the ‘Code of Medical Ethics’.53 Documents such as these provide guidance for practi- tioners, primarily physicians practicing in these countries. The British version addresses such issues as (a) euthanasia and related topics such as complex end of life issues including relief of suffering; the so called ‘double effect’ in which a drug such as morphine may relieve pain, but suppress respiratory drive; ‘futile care’ in which prolonging life only prolongs suffering with no hope of recovery; (b) confidentiality, and related topics such as notification of authorities if a physician believes the patient is about to do harm to him/herself or another; parental notification; (c) conflicts of interest and related topics, for example, referrals, vendor relationships, business practices and truth telling. It also emphasizes the importance of ethics committees. The AMA publication goes even further, providing ethical guidance based on Council opinions and case law on many topics. In over 200 pages, it deals with seven basic principles that should govern a physician’s behavior: (1) competence and compassion, (2) honesty and patient protection, (3) patient advocacy, (4) confidentiality and patient rights, (5) physician continuing education, consultation when needed, patient education, (6) freedom for the physician to choose with whom to serve and associate and (7) community service. Within that framework, eight chapters deal with council opinions and judicial rulings on (1) social policy, including abortion, futile care, capital punishment, organ donation, euthanasia and physician-assisted suicide among others; (2) professional relations dealing with allied health professions; (3) hospital relations including contractual relations, billing for house staff and student services; (4) confidentiality, advertising and media relations including most of the areas addressed in the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act; (5) fees and charges including fee splitting, professional courtesy; (6) record keeping; (7) practice matters including consultations, con- flict of interest, gifts from industry, informed consent, termination of the doctor–patient relationship, among others and; (8) professional rights and responsibilities including ethics committees, medical testimony, caring for the poor among others. Many examples are offered with explanations as to how decisions were reached by the council or the courts. It is a very useful document for practitioners in dealing with complicated issues and for ethics committees to help guide their deliberations.53 These documents have helped answer the concerns expressed by Pellegrino in 1976 that physicians were becoming so absorbed with technology and reimbursement that humanistic values and ‘sympathy’, as described by Hume, and honesty and non-paternalistic treatment as described by Gregory and Percival, were becoming lost.6,39,54 Health-care financing The ethical considerations attached to how medical care is financed, is equally relevant for consumers and providers. Methods of payment vary throughout the world but basically are: (a) Direct payment from the patient to the provider. (b) Government payment for part or for all costs. (c) Private third-party insurance payment for part or for all costs.55 Although direct payment may be feasible for all costs if the cost is ‘affordable’, it can easily be beyond the reach of consumers as costs rise and more care is required. So, most people require help from the government or private insurance beyond a ‘deductible’ or ‘co-pay’. The principle behind health insurance, like other insur- ance is: you pay a premium you can afford for a service you hope you’ll never need so that if you ever do need it, you can have it a cost you can afford. Unlike sweepstakes, it is the unlucky ones who get to take out more than they put in, thereby avoiding financial ruin. In order to have the resources to meet the needs of the ‘unlucky ones’ with big health-care costs, there must be a sufficiently large number Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury WH Donovan 5 Spinal Cord of ‘lucky’ consumers with no or low health-care costs in order to keep premiums low enough for everyone to afford. For those locations and populations where the govern- ment pays the provider, the government can manage the required premiums or contributions by taxing the entire citizenry and by limiting what it pays providers and what treatments it will pay for. For those locations where private insurance exists or co-exists with government, premiums can also be managed by raising or lowering them, by limiting payments to providers, by refusing or discontinuing those patients deemed to be high risks of loss, by steering patients to providers who provide less care or provide care for less cost and in addition, by using capital raised from ‘good’ investments to offset the needs to raise premiums. However, this last option can work the opposite way in bad times. Ethical questions arise when private insurers, including those working as ‘intermediaries’ or essentially contracted administrators for the government, must decide to authorize or not, payment for treatments that providers say is necessary. Denial of such authorizations are common nowa- days in some countries and raise concerns when requests for new medications, durable medical equipment, quality of life enhancing treatments and even some surgical procedures are denied by insurers and their company medical advisors, often on the grounds that there is a lack of medical necessity, although these advisors are often considerable distances away from the patient and have never seen much less examined him/her or spoken with the family.56–59 It becomes necessary to recognize a dichotomy in the application of insurance. To the provider, the patient’s interests come first. To the insurer, the patient’s interests must be weighed against the company’s interests, which include other patients’ claims and profits for employees, investors and executives. In addition, providers are bound by oaths, codes and laws to put the patient’s interest first not the ‘State’s’ or the payer’s. Insurers are not. Although the government is also not thusly bound, the money ‘saved’ from the denials by private insurers follows a different path from that of governments. When providers and the public see the profits of the insurers, particularly when they are deemed excessive, go to company executives and investors instead of being used to lower premiums, cover high-risk consumers and provide authorizations for needed treatments, they cannot help but conclude there is a conflict of interest and question the ethics of those companies, particularly if their medical consultants are paid based on the number of requests they deny. I hasten to add this behavior does not proceed from all insurers but happens enough from some to raise concerns and forces the public’s attention on the thorny issue of the rationing of care. Many nations already live with the fact that despite respect for patient autonomy and beneficence, payment for some aspects of care cannot be afforded. Although difficult, this can be more readily accepted if the principle of distributive justice has been applied equally to all, avoiding unfair selectivity (‘cherry picking’) and discrimination by payers and providers.4,60,61 But on the other hand, when providers overcharge or engage in fraudulent behavior when billing the government or the insurance company, their breach of ethics is just as serious as the payer’s and may also break the law. And finally, when consumers try to persuade providers to prescribe things they don’t really need and would not purchase even if they could afford them if they had to pay for it themselves, this also raises questions about a breach of ethics on their part. It seems clear then, that honesty in regard to complaints, care and compensation would solve many issues related to ethics in health care, a point made by John Gregory over 200 years ago.39 Relation of the foregoing to SCI Among the many topics in these documents that fall within the ambit of medical ethics, I have chosen three that have special relevance nowadays to the field of SCI: (a) abortion because of the issue of the use of human embryonic stem cells in research; (b) euthanasia because of the issue of the value of life and quality of life for the disabled and elderly and; (c) academic integrity because of the hope and faith that translational research will yield fruitful results. Abortion The morality (as defined above) and efficacy of the use of human embryonic stem cells as well as the efficacy of human adult stem cells and other cells including olfactory ensheath- ing glia for SCI, remain a matter of debate. Excellent reviews of this topic concerning the scientific aspects have been published.62–64 Although most scientists would not deny that removing a fetus equates to abortion or some synonym of it, for example, termination, most have avoided the moral aspect, relegating that to ethicists and jurists. In this discussion, it is not my intent to take sides in the ‘choice versus life’ debate, but only to examine the issue in the light that science has now provided us. As one might expect, the debate over abortion did not originate with Hippocrates. Laws concerning abortion were mentioned in the Code of Hamurabi, ca 1760 BC.65 The first recorded evidence of induced abortion is from the Egyptian Ebers Papyrus in ca 1550 BC.66 Since then, from ancient times to this day, advocates have used various methods to induce expulsion of the fetus such as: physical: (strenuous exercise, massage and paddling); pharmacological agents: (abortifacients, for example, hellebore, tamsy, bithwort and myrrh); devices: (for example, pessaries) and surgical proce- dures: (for example, blood letting, dilation and curettage) to mention a few.67 Abortion remained a dangerous procedure into the early twentieth century. Of the estimated 150,000 abortions that occurred annually in the United States during the early 1900’s one in six resulted in the woman’s death.68 The risk of maternal death when weighed against the benefit expected surely had a role in the decision of many countries and regions within countries to ban it before the mid- twentieth century. The opinions of many who opposed it on moral grounds, for example, Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274)69 Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury WH Donovan 6 Spinal Cord and political grounds, for example, Susan B Anthony (1820– 1906), Elizabeth Cady Stanton (1815–1902) and Horace Greeley (1811–1872) also had a role.70 It is interesting that early women’ rights advocates were opposed to abortion while later ones have favored it. It is also interesting that Nazi Germany’s laws allowed for abortion only under tightly controlled conditions, namely if the mother was believed to carry a fetus with a hereditary disorder, as long as it was not yet ‘viable’ (generally equated with quickening) and if she gave her permission. Otherwise, it was forbidden.71 In 1939, the Journal of American Medical Association reported two German high court decisions regarding the law restricting abortions. The court ruled that the restriction even applied to Jewish women (and I quote) ‘however undesirable the birth of Jewish children might be’.72 By 1939, under Adolf Hitler (1889–1945), all vestiges of the Weimar Republic had vanished. It is hard to imagine even the high court ruling in a way opposed by the absolute dictator, a man who had no compunction at all about killing Jews who had already been born. But it indicates the generally prevailing sentiment among most nations against abortion at that time. However by 1973, the United States Supreme Court took an opposing view, ruling that a person’s right to privacy and due process under the 14th Amendment of the US Constitu- tion allowed her to abort her fetus. Although Justice Harry Blackmun (1908–1999) writing for the majority (seven to two decision), wrote a thoughtful and well-researched decision, neither he nor the other justices could have known much about the potential of DNA, let alone its future uses in forensic medicine and for purposes of establishing identity.73 Watson and Crick74 had only reported this discovery in 1953 in the scientific journal, Nature, and much more was yet to be learned about it. We know that the penetration of a human ovum by a human sperm initiates a process that will produce a mature human being unless interrupted by natural or unnatural means. Both the ovum and the sperm contain human DNA and the resulting zygote contains human DNA. Thus, once a haploid ovum has been penetrated by a haploid sperm, forming a diploid zygote, proof of its viability is provided by its cellular division; thus human DNA now has human life. Whether one is discussing a seedling, a larva or a mammalian embryo, clearly the object is in a different form from the mature one it will become, yet the DNA remains the same. Justice Blackmun based his ruling on the supposition that the fetus ‘becomes human’ at some point during gestation. Knowing what we know now about DNA, such arguments would appear sophomoric. I would submit to you that perhaps we have taken the polemic in the wrong direction and what we should be discussing is when is it ethically permissible for one or more members of a society to extinguish the life of one or more other members? Situations that would clearly not be permissible include murder while situations that would clearly be permissible include killing in self-defense. Those aside, I submit that there are four situations, the ethics of which fall within the ambit of this question namely: abortion, euthanasia (voluntary or ‘doctor assisted’), judicial executions and warfare. All involve the extinguishing of human life. I would not be surprised to learn that some people might take an advocacy position on one of the four and an opposing position on another, depending on one’s culture, education and beliefs. Or in some instances, people have decided that only if certain thresholds were exceeded, would it justify the taking of human life. For abortion, such thresholds have included: protection of the woman’ life, her physical health, her mental health, rape, fetal defects, socioeconomic factors and ‘convenience’. Views on all of them differ from nation to nationFfrom Chile and others where none justify abortion to Iceland and others where all do, further highlighting the fact that what is considered ethical cannot be applied worldwide because of the influence of cultural differences discussed above.75,76 Euthanasia The primary focus of health care has always, quite rightly, been the saving and the improving of the quality of life. Such ‘quality’ at the ‘end of life’ has recently gained more attention, difficult to discuss as it may be. The depression that follows SCI and its influence on quality of life and on the effectiveness of coping mechanisms has been well documented.77–79 Suicide has crossed the minds of some persons with SCI at some point during their lives. A recent survey by Kennedy et al.80 reported nearly 50% of those responding expressed overall dissatisfaction with life during the early post-injury period. In 1991, a study revealed suicide was 10 times more likely among those with SCI during the first 5 years post-injury but after that, the incidence was equal to the general population.81 The US National Spinal Cord Injury Statistical Center at the University of Alabama, Birmingham recently reported that among the causes of death of 9774 persons with SCI, suicide was the cause for between 3 and 4% and ranked as the eighth or tenth most common cause, depending on the way the data were analyzed.82 Yet also documented is the difference between the desire by patients to go on living and the perception of that desire by their caregivers; the former being higher.83 In the discussion that follows, the term euthanasia is used in the broadest sense, referring to end of life issues in general that patients and their families sometimes inquire about but providers are often reluctant to bring up because to many, it connotes a failure: of the patient to cope and/or the providers to provide adequately. So the topic would seem appropriate to include in a discussion on ethics. Although Hippocrates also enjoined physicians to refrain from euthanasia, it was not uncommonly performed in Greek and Roman times. The word itself, comes from the Greek ‘eu’Fgood and ‘thanatos’Fdeath, that is, dying well. Euthanasia conducted with the patient’s consent is termed voluntary euthanasia. Euthanasia without that consent is termed involuntary euthanasia. In medical circles, the latter is generally construed to mean it is conducted when another individual makes the decision for the patient when he/she is incapable of doing so and clear authority has been delegated by the patient to a specific individual to make that decision. Historically, as noted below, the term has carried other more Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury WH Donovan 7 Spinal Cord sinister connotations wherein neither the comfort of the patient nor the patient himself is the driving force.84 Euthanasia may also be passive or active, primarily based on whether an intervention to hasten death is or is not taken.84 In those locations where it is legal, it is passive voluntary euthanasia that is usually practiced, although it is generally not labeled as such, because of the connotation of the word. Beyond simply ‘letting nature take its course’, this usually entails, (a) the withholding or withdrawal of common treatments, that is, medications or surgery either because risks outweigh benefits or because of patient wishes, expressed either directly or by a living will, or (b) by the administration of treatments that have a ‘double effect’, for example, morphine given to relieve pain despite its risks of suppressing respiration. In general, this form of euthanasia does not carry a pejorative connotation and is practiced in many hospitals under the guidance of ethics committees and advanced directives especially when issues of deteriorating quality of life, insufferable pain, futility of further interven- tions and devastating co-morbidities loom large.85 The courts and ethics committees in many nations have generally approved the withholding or withdrawal of life sustaining medical treatment in which the treatment ‘serves to prolong life without reversing the underlying medical condition’.86 Under the principle of autonomy, as defined in the Belmont Report, the physician should respect the patient’s decision to such withholding of treatment as long as he/she possesses decision-making capacity. The AMA CEJA states that the same applies even if the patient is incompe- tent or unconscious if he/she has formulated an advanced directive indicating a point in which treatments such as ‘mechanical ventilation, renal dialysis, chemotherapy, antibiotics and artificial nutrition and hydration’ among others are not desired. It further states that the patient’s or the patient’s duly appointed surrogate’s wishes should always be respected except ‘(a) when there is no available family member willing to be the surrogate decision maker, (b) there is a dispute among family members and there is no decision maker designated in advance, (c) a health-care provider believes that the family’s decision is clearly not what the patient would have decided if competent and; (d) a health-care provider believes that the decision is not a decision that could reasonably be judged to be in the patient’s best interest. These situations should be referred to ethics committees for resolution before resorting to the courts’.86–87 In the United States, it was the decision rendered in the Karen Ann Quinlan (1954–1985) case that influenced much of public opinion in favor of legal protection for voluntary passive euthanasia.88 Thus, lately, the courts have generally ruled that when the patient is unconscious (for example, persistent vegetative state) or incompetent, that it is ethical to withhold life sustaining measures as was the case with Terri Schiavo (1964–2005).89 In 1997, the Philadelphia County Court issued a declaratory judgment that a conscious patient was entitled to the same right under the principle of autonomy.90 Active euthanasia on the other hand entails the use of lethal substances or forces to end life and includes the topics of physician-assisted suicide and so called ‘mercy killing’.84 In this regard, several nations, including the Netherlands and Belgium and states within Australia (Northern Territories) and the United States (Oregon and Washington) have passed laws legalizing physician-assisted suicide. In fact, the Oregon Death with Dignity Act states that active voluntary euthanasia (in the form of ‘doctor-assisted sui- cide’) as performed under the Act, ‘yis not suicide so should not affect insurance by that definition’.91–94 Most govern- ment entities, however, have relied on court rulings and the opinions of national ethics committees such as the General Medical Council in the United Kingdom and the AMA’s CEJA in the United States. For example, in Great Britain, in 1957, the court ruled in the trial of Dr John Bodkin Adams (1899–1983), that ‘causing death through the administration of lethal drugs to a patient, if the intention is solely to alleviate pain, is not considered murder, even if death is a potential, or even likely outcome’.95–96 In Switzerland, in 1937, doctor-assisted euthanasia was declared legal as long as the doctor ending the life had nothing to gain from it.97 Nevertheless, although court rulings and opinions have varied, they have generally disapproved of voluntary euthanasia in the form of doctor-assisted suicide, regarding the principle of patient autonomy to be outweighed by concerns over the lack of clarity and consensus about the ethics of it which have been viewed by the courts as a proper concern of the State where intervention to end life must be balanced by commitments to ‘first do no harm’ or non-maleficence. This issue is likely to evolve further over time.86–93 However, it is the involuntary and active form of euthanasia (ending one’s life without one’s consent) that has generated the most concern over a ‘slippery slope’ by raising the question, where in any given culture, will the line be drawn (between voluntary and involuntary euthanasia) so that once crossed, involuntary active euthanasia would be considered ethical, and who will be making the end of life decisions if not the patient or family? Just as for voluntary euthanasia, this is especially important to consider when the patient is not on life support and does not have a terminal illness, so these factors are not present but he/she does have an incurable condition.86 This concern over the ‘slippery slope’ does have historical relevance, most notably during the Nazi control of Germany’s Third Reich when voluntary euthanasia devolved into involuntary euthanasia when about 70 000 disabled people were put to death between 1939 and 1941. The Nazis justified this by saying the country, left financially crippled by World War I, could not afford to treat people with chronic physical or mental illness; instead all had to focus on staying well. This pogrom came to a halt largely as a result of the sermons and writings of the Catholic archbishop of Munich, Clemens von Galen who condemned the carnage. The text of this sermon was duplicated and copies were distributed throughout Germany and occupied territories and reached the troops fighting on the Russian front. To them, von Galen directly addressed the terrible question as to what they might expect, if wounded and permanently disabled, from a nation that took the lives of people that were no longer capable of being productive. Hitler, weighing the political Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury WH Donovan 8 Spinal Cord consequences, in a rare display of acquiescence, called the pogrom to a halt.98–99 Now, involuntary active euthanasia is illegal in all countries of the world except in the Netherlands, where it is practiced under an agreement between physicians and district attorneys that was ratified by the Dutch National Associations of Paeditricians under the Gronigen Protocol, which applies only to certain deformed newborns.100 Although events that occurred under the Nazi regime or during the Tuskegee research project could not happen again in most nations throughout the world, it is nevertheless understandable if people with chronic conditions such as SCI get a little bit nervous and carry a haunting and often silent suspicion when their leaders start talking about reducing the cost of health care and they worry that someone in power will make an unfavorable value judgment about continuing to fund the treatment they need to sustain life as well as quality of life. They worry that the issue of cost will supersede distributive justice. My patients tell me that it’s not that a person with a disability or their loved ones object to talking about end of life issues, it’s just that decisions about if, what and when treatment should be withheld or when further treatment would be futile or whether the process of dying should be ‘helped along’ or whether organs should be donated, and so on are personal, voluntary decisions and should remain so, as they are now, and should not be made by legislators or bureaucrats far removed from the persons who could be affected by that legislation. Thus, it is with some justifications that organizations such as CEJA advise caution and clear guidelines allowing for autonomy, beneficence, non-maleficence and justice if or when voluntary doctor-assisted suicide is sanctioned.86 Academic integrity This term is often used when referring to cheating by students in the classroom setting and how it can be dis- couraged. Hinman101 has emphasized the virtue of honesty to others and to one’s self. He gives the following example to his students at the outset of the course he is teaching: a student cheated undetected on all the quizzes and final exam, receiving a 98% grade. When the final marks were posted, he was shocked to see he had gotten a D. When he confronted the teacher, asking how he received the D when his marks should have earned him an A, the teacher replied ‘I know what you are saying but I lied to the provost about your grades and she gave you a D’. ‘You lied’? The student asked dumbstruck. ‘You can’t lie about my grades’. ‘Why not?’ replied the teacher. ‘You did.’ The main reason why cheating as a student should not be tolerated is that research and practice in the health sciences abjure dishonesty of any kind because of the potential harm it can bring to people’s health. Thus, dishonesty should never become a part of a professional’s or future profes- sional’s behavior. It is the behavior of the professionals, both established and aspiring that concern us here. Although many nations have taken steps to insure such honesty, I shall use those taken in the United States as examples. The Office of Research Integrity (ORI) in the US Department of Health and Human Services has published what it calls ‘points for discussion’, which addresses many issues including research misconduct, institutional respon- sibilities, conflicts of interest, the research environment, collaboration, data management and scientific journals among others.102 Unlike research subject recruitment and patient treatment for which we now have codes and laws, as noted earlier, these topics deal more with how discoveries are documented and disseminated. Yet they have just as great a ripple effect on society because societies expect that researchers will truthfully report what works, seems to work, seems to not work, and doesn’t work at all and they trust that practitioners will truthfully convey that information to their patients. However, King103 has stated that in one sense, researchers themselves should not ‘trust’ each other, meaning that all research data, including raw data, should be open to scrutiny by colleagues so that the work can be reproduced and its rigor verified. Failure to allow one’s evidence to be examined by colleagues simply encourages suspicions of research mis- conduct. The National Academy of Sciences (NAS) has aptly addressed possible reasons for research misconduct: ‘(a) funding and career pressures of the contemporary research environment; (b) inadequate institutional over- sight; (c) inappropriate forms of collaborative arrangements between academic scientists and commercial firms; (d) inadequate training in the methods and traditions of science; (e) the increasing scale and complexity of the research environment, leading to erosion of peer review, mentorship and educational processes in science and; (f) the possibility of misconduct in science is an expression of a broader social pattern of deviation from traditional norms’.104 The Scientific Research Society has stated that a common avenue to research misconduct is through statis- ticsFeither through carelessness or dishonesty, for example, ‘bending’ the data to conform to a preconceived outcome or expectation.105 The ORI points out that responsibility for maintaining honest and transparent research lies with several entities: (1) the scientists and their scientific societies should adhere to honest reporting and collegial scrutiny of their colleagues’ work. The scientists, particularly the principal investigators are, along with their institutions, responsible for the research environment in which carelessness, apathy or fraud cannot be tolerated. This applies not only to the conduct of the research but to other aspects as well such as honest time- effort reporting and full disclosure of funding sources; (2) the institutions themselves are also responsible for the research environment.102 According to the Institute of Medicine (IOM), institutions ‘need to demonstrate more active interest in assuring faithfulness to the ethics and ideals that already form the foundation of the ethics of science in the academic sector’ and ‘need personnel who think critically about the integrity and quality of the research environment and ways in which it can be improved’.106 The NAS has also advised that the institution is responsible for ‘ensuring that good Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury WH Donovan 9 Spinal Cord scientific practices are observed and that balanced reward systems appropriately recognize research quality, integrity, teaching and mentorship’.104 When an environment that encourages quality and discourages carelessness exists, formal complaints and ‘whistle blowing’ would not be encountered; (3) Both researchers and their institutions are responsible for dealing appropriately with collaborations, co-authorships and conflict of interest.102 Juliano and Oxford107 remark that the ‘entire reward and advancement process in universities focuses on individual accomplish- ments rather than collaborative effort. In this system, credit is attributed largely to the team leader and not to others. Inevitably, the result is that the researchers seek to further their individual credibility, rather than necessarily attacking scientific problems in the most efficient manner’. Although this clearly isn’t always true, the comment reflects the fact that publications are ‘academic currency’ when it comes to promotion and securing grant awards. This also relates directly to decisions as to co-authorship and the rank order of authors. The IOM has stated ‘authorship of a scientific report is a responsibility as well as a privilege. It implies that a person has contributed essentially and substantially to the study and is able and willing to defend the work publicly. This does not mean that each author participated in all parts of the study, but it does mean that all authors have familiarized themselves with the general principles of all aspects of the study’.106 Collaboration with industry, in which systems of rewards and pressures differ somewhat from academe, requires further vigilance to maintain integrity. The Association of American Universities has said, ‘research universities are concerned about financial conflict of interest (individual and institutional) because it strikes to the heart of the integrity of the institution and the public’s confidence in that integ- rity’.108 Industry, that is, manufacturers of pharmaceuticals, surgi- cal instruments, devices (implantable and non-implantable), durable medical equipment and so forth also have incentives to maintain integrity, both internalFincluding preserving their reputations and the ability to recruit meritorious scientists and to sell their products to a public that trusts them as a result of that reputation, and externalFincluding the financial loss that can result from product recalls, government imposed penalties and litigations. However, it would seem that in order for a ‘marriage’ between academic and industry investigators to be successful, each must be aware of factors beyond the science that the other must live with, namely ‘publish or perish’ on the one hand and ‘capture the market share’ on the other, and not allow these influences, particularly ‘marketing’ to researchers and practioners to stain the process or the products of discovery.109,110 In either arena, scientists have the responsibility to ensure that their data are clearly and accurately recorded and reported so that others can attempt to reproduce the data and that errors are corrected when they are recognized. Editors of scientific journals also share in these responsibilities.104 Regarding the responsibilities of scientific journals, the IOM has stated, they must be alert for ‘repetitive publications, supernumerary authorship, institutional fulfill- ment of responsibilities for disclosure and notification of research misconduct in publication, the use and misuse of pre-publication peer review and the appropriate response to suspicions or confirmations of misconduct in published works or works submitted for publication’.106 Journals also have an obligation to publish retractions of published reports that have been found erroneous by the original authors or that has been declared fraudulent by appropriate authorities at the research institutions.106 The International Committee of Medical Journal Editors (ICMJE) has now incorporated these recommendations into their Uniform Requirements for Manuscripts. Journals enrolled by the ICMJE must follow those requirements before a manuscript will be accepted for publication. The requirements also include registering the investigation with clinicaltrials.gov or similar registry before enrollment of subjects and thereby agreeing to report trials with negative results to the registry.111 The following of these requirements has now been specified by the FDA for all investigations needing FDA approval.112 In this role, scientific journals can be viewed as a final portal as scientific information passes from discovery to dissemination and thus an important part of the preserva- tion of medical ethics. As dissemination passes into practice in which scientific discoveries are applied to people who need them, it becomes the responsibility of the practitioners to use the information and products in the ways in which their safety and efficacy have been proven in accordance with the laws and codes that reflect the ethics of their communities. This becomes a major concern in which applications of discoveries are anxiously awaited and their application begins before safety and efficacy are fully known. Often this is done under the rubric of translational science in an effort to move knowledge from the bench to the bedside rapidly. Although support for that aspiration might well be universal, it has become apparent in recent times that the desire to find a cure for SCI as soon as possible has allowed some people who have little or no credibility as research scientists to proceed to offer to persons with SCI treatments that have shown no evidence that the information learned in the laboratory can now be translated to humans and worse yet, that the safety of such treatments has not yet been fully assessed. This deviation from the recommendations offered by the ICCP becomes egregious when vast sums of money are charged for the ‘treatments’. Clearly, more research is needed, both in the laboratory and at the bedside, conducted according to the ICCP Guidelines so that safe effective treatments can one day be applied for all persons with SCI.113 Conclusion The history of medical ethics dates back to even before the time of Hippocrates and although the topic has undergone changes to conform to prevailing times and cultures, it can be said that certain virtues of the human spirit have prevailed through it all: concern for the best interests of Ethics, health care and spinal cord injury WH Donovan 10 Spinal Cord clinicaltrials.gov the patient, applying the best, most efficacious and appro- priate treatment available and above all, maintaining honesty in the discovery, dissemination and application of knowledge. In the words of Henry David Thoreau (1816–1862): ‘Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth’. Conflict of interest The author declares no conflict of interest. Acknowledgements This work was supported in part by funds from grant H133N0600003 from the National Institute on Disability and Rehabilitation Research in the Office of Special Education and Rehabilitation Services in the US Department of Education. References 1 Macintyre AC. A Short History of Ethics. Routledge: London, 1998, pp 11–14. 2 Ethics UpdatesFClassic Texts in Ethics. [online] 2008 [cited 29 December 2009]. (Available from http://ethics.sandiego.edu/ resources/books/books.asp). 3 Bowker J. God a Brief History, Vol. 56. Dorling Kindersley: London, 2002 p 373. 4 Hass JF. Ethical issues in rehabilitation medicine. In: DeLisa JA (ed) Rehabilitation Medicine: Principles and Practice. Lippincott Co.: Philadelphia, 1998, pp 33–43. 5 The Hippocratic Oath. National Institutes of Health. [online] 2009 [cited 30 December 2009]. (Available from http://www. nlm.nih.gov/hmd/greek/greek_oath.html). 6 McCullough LB. Hume’s influence on John Gregory and the history of medical ethics. 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work_xlzwilfwirf2ffd7thbjdrzufy	----	Microsoft Word - JLLL-Vol.61 2019 Journal of Literature, Languages and Linguistics www.iiste.org ISSN 2422-8435 An International Peer-reviewed Journal Vol.61, 2019 68 Social, Psychological and Environmental Effects of Pollution in London from the Eyes of British Poets Aycan Gökçek Department of English Language and Literature, Ankara University, Tepealtı Mah. Sevgi Sok. 80/2 Yenimahalle Ankara/TURKEY Abstract This study aims at studying social, psychological and environmental effects of pollution in London in British Poetry within the framework of ecocriticism. Since pollution is a growing problem in London since Middle Ages, the paper will focus on how pollution problem has been reflected in British Poetry with a brief background information on the history of pollution in London. Since England is the first industrialized country, London had been the first city that faced with the environmental pollution in the modern term. This problem which threatened the environment has been the subject of literature of the period especially to the poetry which had been the voice of the society for ages. However, it is ecocriticism, a new literary movement initiated in 1990s that paved the way to the analysis of literary texts under the light of environmental aspects. For this reason, environmental pollution problem in British Poetry will be handled within the frame of ecocritical method. In conclusion, with a study on environmental pollution problem from social, psychological, environmental aspects in the poems of selected poets from seventeenth century to the contemporary period within the frame of ecocriticism, the paper aims to emphasize that as the problem of pollution gets more serious, its reflection to the poetry is equally felt more obviously in the poetry. Keywords: environmental pollution, British Poetry, ecocriticism, environment DOI: 10.7176/JLLL/61-07 Publication date:October 31st 2019 1. Introduction Environmental pollution is a negative phenomenon that came into existence with the history of humanity, is continuing today and predicted to continue in the future. This problem has been seen in all nations at all times, but what makes this paper focus on British Literature is the fact that Britain is the first industrialized country, which made it face up with this problem collectively for the first time. There is a widespread belief that the origin of environmental pollution in England goes back to Industrial Revolution, but it is actually Medieval Period which witnessed technological boom and raise of population that gave way to pollution for the first time. Medieval English Period witnessed a technological boom in Europe, population growth, mass migration and mechanization, which caused serious environmental pollution. In 13rd century, with coal that was started to be used rather than wood as a fuel, England started to face with air pollution problem. During the time of Renaissance and 17th century, the problem was worsened with the rise of the population and use of the popularization of coal (Gimpel 1997, pp. i-ii). Since then, environmental pollution has been the subject of British Literature which was mostly in verse at that time. However, until the emergence of ecocriticism towards the end of 20th century, environmental issues of literary works had not been studied thoroughly. With ecocriticism, literary and cultural works of art started to be evaluated from an environmental perspective. On the one hand, works of literature that draw attention to environmental problems were produced; on the other hand, pioneer literary works that were written before were re-examined under the light of ecocriticism (Bracke et al. 2010). Hereby, this paper focuses on the theme of environmental pollution in the selected British poems since Renaissance Period to the contemporary poetry in the scope of ecocriticism and aims to show that as the problem of pollution gets more serious, its reflection to the poetry is equally felt more obviously in the poetry. In this paper, mostly British Poems that are not very popular and not studied much are selected deliberately in order to point out to the fact not only the well-known poets, but also the poems whose names are not referred to frequently in ecocritical studies have been trying to raise an environmental awareness through their poems and paved the way for ecocriticism for centuries. The poems with the theme of pollution will be evaluated from social, psychological and environmental aspects. In this scope, the poems of William Strode, Sir John Denham, John Milton, William Morris and Seamus Heaney will be discussed. The paper aims to provide a contribution to ecocriticism by presenting the early signs of ecocriticism in British Poetry and the place of British Ecocriticism in ecocritical studies in general. 2. Environmental Pollution & Ecocriticism Although environmental problems have been the subject of literature for ages, they have not been studied thoroughly in literature since the emergence of ecocriticism towards the end of the 20th century. Although there are some pioneering works that paved the way to ecocriticism, it is mainly Rachel Carson’s novel Silent Spring Journal of Literature, Languages and Linguistics www.iiste.org ISSN 2422-8435 An International Peer-reviewed Journal Vol.61, 2019 69 that initiated ecocriticism. In “Introduction: Literary Criticism in an Age of Environmental Criticism” part of the book, The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology, ecocriticism is defined as follows: What then is ecocriticism? Simply put, ecocriticism is the study of the relationship between literature and the physical environment' Just as feminist criticism examines language and literature from a gender- conscious perspective, and Marxist criticism brings an awareness of modes of production and economic class to its reading of texts, ecocriticism takes an earth-centered approach to literary studies (Glotfelty et al. 2012 p. xviii). As this definition indicates, like other literary theories, ecocriticism has its peculiar approach to a literary text and handles the text from an environmental perspective. The field of ecocriticism was developed as a response to growing recognition of environmental crises in many parts of the world after the Second World War. It was popularized with a focus on American and English literary traditions and was inspired by nature writers such as Henry David Thoreau and environmentalists like Rachel Carson, and by scholars such as Leo Marx and Raymond Williams (Lidström 2015 p.2). While the roots of American Ecocriticism go back to American Transcendentalist writers such as Thoreau and Emerson, it is English Romantic Poets who awakened environmental awareness collectively for the first time, which made them the first British ancestors of ecocriticism (Opperman 2012 pp. 17-18). Some terms concerned with environment such as environmental ethics and environmental justice were the pioneering fields that prepared the way for ecocriticism. The ideas that support these terms which emphasizes the significance of nature and seriousness of environmental problems will be scrutinized in the poems that are studied in this paper. Ecocritical studies have increasingly developed over the past few decades into diverse fields and its sub-branches such as ecopsychology, ecological economics, ecofeminism, ecosophy, postcolonial ecocriticism have come into existence (Hochman 1997). Since this paper focuses on how pollution problem has been handled British Poems the framework of this study is ecocriticism. 3. Environmental Pollution & English Poetry In middle ages, Europe witnessed an unprecedented mechanization with the machines used for grain milling, vegetable oil extraction and etc. and significant amount of forest area was destroyed for clear-cut to build houses, water mills, bridges and fences and especially for the ovens for melting the iron. For these reasons, England had to import timbers from Scandinavia in the year 1230. In 13th century, coal started to be used as a fuel instead of wood (Gimpel 1997, pp. i-ii; 1-78). With the increase in timber prices, coal started to be used as a fuel in the industry especially in the industry of iron and in England in the middle ages, but it remained as a fuel used in merely in the industry rather than at houses and indoor places thanks to its smoke (Brimblecombe 1987, p. 29). In Renaissance period, thanks to the limited timber stocks and increase in its price, the coal with less sulphur obtained in Newcastle started to be used at houses including the houses of the nobles. For this reason, air pollution became a significant problem unable to be solved in London in Renaissance Period (Cavert 2016, p. 79). In 17th Century, Great Fire of 1666 which continued for four days and destroyed most of the historical structure of London was one of the most prominent environmental disasters. In the second half of the 17th Century, London became the centre of political, financial, cultural and social life. With its peculiar theatre, unprecedented harbours, market, coffee houses, press, cultured people, London became a metropolitan. All these made London the most crowded city of England, which gave way to water and air pollution. At that time, London became the first city that struggled with air pollution problem of the modern ages (Field 2018, pp. 1,161; Hiltner 2011, p. 10). In 18th Century, with the invention of steam engine in 1775, Industrial Revolution was given start in England and with feudal social structure of the country turned into a capitalist one in time (Ferber 2012, pp. 10-13). At that time, urban pollution increased with an industrialized economy and it was in this period that British Romantic Poets collectively struggled to call nation back to the nature with their poems. In Victorian Period in which most of the people started to work in cities in the industry, England became the most powerful country financially with abundant and cheap coal and became the first country in the world whose most of the population is living at the cities, which increased environmental pollution to a great extent (Wheeler 1995, pp. 11-12; Thorsheim 2006, pp. 1-4, 48). In 20th Century, especially with the outbreak of World War II in 1939, the production of coal in England increased and, in some regions, people tried to provide more smoke to protect cities and factories from the enemy attacks, which caused serious air pollution. It is known that in the year 1952, the smoke of the locomotives, factories and the chimneys of the crowded cities killed 4000 people in a week thanks to air pollution. This rate is higher than the number of people who lost their lives after the German bombardment of England (Thorsheim 2006, pp. 362-363-183). Recently, the environmental pollution has reached unpredictable rate in terms of both its hazards and its complicatedness because currently the main reasons of environmental pollution are ranging from traffic, carbon dioxide emission, acid rains, solid industrial wastes, disused computers, cell phones, televisions including e-wastes such as lead, hydrogarum and cadmium (Curley, 2011 pp. 11-17). Journal of Literature, Languages and Linguistics www.iiste.org ISSN 2422-8435 An International Peer-reviewed Journal Vol.61, 2019 70 The problem of pollution which was the growing problem of British nation has been reflected to British Literature as well. Since poetry handles environmental concerns in a higher level than prose, this paper focuses on the selected British Poetry. In A New Theory for American Poetry, Angus Fletcher points out to the role of poetry in rising an environmental awareness as follows: Unlike most prose discourse, poetry expresses close personal involvements, and hence pertains to the way we humans respond, on our own, to environmental matters. [...] An art like poetry that enhances the presence of the individual is bound to be central in showing how we should understand our environmental rights and obligations. The issue then is this, what is my own response to my surrounding? (Lidström 2015, p. 147) As seen, Fletcher regards poetry as not merely a reflection or representation of nature, but as a nature itself. For him, the poem itself is an ‘environmental form’ (Lidström 2015, p. 147). For this reason, this paper prefers poetry as the form to be analysed to shed light on how British Poets handled the problem of pollution in their poems in the scope of ecocriticism. Human beings had been burning fossil fuels for thousands of years, but never on the scale of 17th century London because by the beginning of this century, London experienced a new, unprecedented wave of sea coal air pollution. John Evelyn’s work Fumifugium (1661) is the first work that handles the problem of air pollution in the most comprehensive way in the history of Britain as well as the world. For this reason, it is regarded as the origin of Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring that initiated ecocriticism (Lidström 2015 pp. 96, 103). Although Fumifugium, that was written as a denunciation of London smoke, failed to reform the city, it influenced the king to check his own exposure to pollution (Cavert 2016, p. 16). In verse, William Strode’s “Chimney Sweeper’s Song” in 1635 may be regarded as one of the first literary attempts that pioneered environmental justice which is the sub-branch of ecocriticism. In the poem, Strode points out to the injustice between the poor and wealthy Londoners in terms of their exposure to the problem of pollution as follows: “The scent, the smoke, ne’er hurts me, The dust is never minded; Mine eyes are glass, men swear as I pass, Or else I had been blinded For in the midst of chimneys, I chant my lays in Vulcan’s praise, As merry as the swallows. Still up I rush. …. The boys that climb like crickets And steal my trade, I ‘ll strip them” (qtd. in Hiltner 2011 p. 108). This poem is an early example of supporting environmental justice which calls for an equal amount of exposure to pollution, environmental changes as well as suffering of resource scarcity among people without addressing their wealth and poverty (Lidström 2015, p. 85). It is because the poem makes it clear that working class performing the job of chimney sweeping suffered from the dangers such as toxic chemicals more than wealthier individuals. The chimney sweepers who are exposed to long-term creosote residue in chimney that gives way to serious health problems such as kidney and liver damage and cancer. Strode draws attention to this case with the phrases such as “The scent, the smoke, ne’er hurts/The dusk is never minded.” He also puts an emphasis on the humiliation of the chimney sweepers by others with the phrase “men swear as I pass”. In addition to being an early example of a work that demands environmental justice, Strode’s “Chimney Sweeper’s Song” shows social effects of pollution. It is because the poem points out to the fact that there is an injustice in the society which is based on the social status of people and this social status has a determining role even the amount of exposure to the pollution. This poem also shows that even the profession of the people is determined in childhood in accordance with their social status. It is because the lines “The boys that climb like crickets/And steal my trade” show that the children of the working class are already been planned to do the same job as their fathers when they grow up (Hiltner 2011, p. 109). Therefore, the poem can be regarded as a summary of the condition of the poor in 17th century as well as a signal that shows that injustice was already evident in the society at that time. In the poem “Cooper’s Hill” Sir John Denham also dealt with pollution problem. Denham points out to the environmental degradation. The speaker of the poem explains that “I see the City (London) in a thicker cloud/Of business, then of smoke” (Hiltner 2011, p. 113). After imagining himself raised well into the “aerie, secure from danger and fear” the speaker describes London: “So rais’d above the tumult and crowd I see the City in a thicker cloud Of business, then of smoke; where men like Ants Journal of Literature, Languages and Linguistics www.iiste.org ISSN 2422-8435 An International Peer-reviewed Journal Vol.61, 2019 71 Toyle to prevent imaginarie wants; Yet all in vaine, increasing with their store, Their vast desires, but make their wants the more. As food to unsound bodies, though it please The Appetite, feeds only the disease; Where with like haste, though several waies they runne: Some to undoe, and some to undone: While Luxury and wealth, like Warr and Peace, Are each other’s ruine. In tumults seek their peace, their heaven in hell, On happiness of sweet retir’d content!” (qtd. in Hiltner 2011, p. 113) Readers at the time would have immediately recognized London’s air pollution problem in Denham’s description of the city (Hiltner 2011, p. 114). He describes the city in “a thicker cloud” and as a “crowded place”. The people of the city he describes are resembled to “ants” who try to disregard their imagination and as “vaine” and insatiable individuals with their “vast desires” which “makes their wants more.” With these qualities of people, Denham points out to unsatisfactory desires of human beings that has a role in the air pollution of the city. With this poem, Denham points out the role of human beings in the appearance and worsening of the pollution problem. As seen in the line “The Appetite, feeds only the disease”, Denham implies that insatiable desires of human beings make them want more, which he defines as an activity that “feeds” their “disease”. Milton is another poet who referred to pollution problem in his poems, especially in his well-known poem Paradise Lost. Milton was almost the only popular poet who dealt with the air pollution problem of the time [10] (p. 112). In his famous poem London’s air pollution problem is felt in these lines: “As one who longs in populous City pent, Where Houses thick and Sewers annoy the Aire, Forth issuing on a Summers Morn, to breathe Among the pleasant Villages and Farmes Adjoynd, from each thing met conceaves delight, The smell of Grain, or tedded Grass, or Kine, Or Dairie” (qtd. in Hiltner 2011, p. 1132) In these lines, a “populous City” like London is compared to Hell because of its air quality, but, in contrast, the fresh air of the countryside is used as analogy to better understand the Eden of Satan [10] (p. 112). With the beginning of the industrial revolution in England, London had been the first city that faced with the environmental pollution in the modern term. Therefore, pollution problem was started to be taken as the subject of British verse more frequently and seriously. At that time, British Poets especially British Romantic Writing tried to call people back to a time in which people and nature are united to prevent environmental degradation. British poet William Morris was one of those poets who took the subject of pollution as the subject of his poems. In his poem The Earthly Paradise (1868-70), Morris called on his readers to: “Forget the spreading of the hideous towns; Think rather of the pack-horse on the down, And dream of London, white and clean, The Clear Thames, bordered by its gardens green” (qtd. in Thorsheim 2006, pp. 37, 38). With this poem, Morris tries to remind his readers the time in which London still resembled to an “earthly parade” when London had not faced with “the spreading of the hideous towns” and it was still “white and clean”. With this reminder of the past of London by making his readers envisage such a pastoral scene, the poet points out to the psychological effects on pollution on the people. He tries to emphasize how pollution effected people in a negative way by transforming “the earthly paradise” to dirty city with a polluted river (Thames) that is no longer “bordered by gardens green”. In 20th century in which pollution problem became more and more serious, British poets started to handle this problem more frequently. The Irish poet Seamus Heaney is one of them. When he is asked about his early awareness of environmental cries, Heaney replies as follows: Pollution, especially the pollution of rivers, was an obsession with the pair of them, and it was something I myself knew about from childhood. There was always a dread of allowing ‘lint water’ to get into the Moyola, since it was deadly for the fish – lint water being the water left in a flax dam after the flax had been retted. And I also remembered the sight of the first white froth floating down the Moyola after Nestlé opened their factory at Castledawson. So I was an apt pupil (Lidström 2015, p. 17). As seen, Heaney had witnessed the pollution problem, especially river pollution since his childhood. He complaint about River Moyola’s being polluted by “link water” that kills fishes. He also refers to the Nestlé factory that polluted River Moyola whose first signs of pollution the poet witnessed. The poet was so much Journal of Literature, Languages and Linguistics www.iiste.org ISSN 2422-8435 An International Peer-reviewed Journal Vol.61, 2019 72 effected by the pollution of River Moyola that he wrote a poem entitled “Moyulla” that was published in District and Circle collection (Lidström 2015, p. 18).In this poem, the poet complaints about the pollution of the river as seen in these lines: “her stones, her purls, her pebbles slicked and blurred with algae, as if her name and addressing water suffered muddying, her clear vowels a great vowel shift, Moyola to Moyulla” (qtd. in Lidström 2015, p. 18). In order to point out to the pollution of river over time and worsening of ecological conditions, poet changes the name of the river in the poem from “Moyola” to “Moyulla” with “a great vowel shift”. With this “shift” of the vowel, the poet emphasizes ecological degradation of the river and its surrounding. He also lays stress on the “blurring” and “muddying” of the river (Lidström 2015, p. 18). This poem recalls an earlier poem of Heaney “A New Song” that was published in Wintering Out. In the first stanza of “A New Song”, the poet remembers the beauty of the river and its surroundings: “the river’s long swerve, A kingfisher’s blue bolt at dusk [...] The Moyola Pleasuring beneath alder trees” (qtd. in Lidström 2015, p. 18). This pastoral and idyllic Irish scene of the The Moyola that provides pleasure “beneath alder trees” and portrayed in the first stanza is countered by the speaker’s memory of British presence in the area. However, in this earlier poem, the poet’s aim is to point out not to ecological degradation of the area, but to British presence of the area: “But now our river tongues must rise From licking native haunts To flood, with vowelling embrace” (qtd. in Lidström 2015, p. 18). While in the poem ‘Moyulla” Heaney points out to the ecological problems, this poem refers to colonialization that is a social and political problem with the degradation of Irish rural idyll (Lidström 2015, p. 8). This approach of Heaney is in the line with postcolonial ecocriticism a sub-field of ecocriticism that was proposed by ecocritic Lawrence Buell in his work The Environmental Imagination (1995). As its name suggests, postcolonial ecocriticism calls for the need to combine postcolonial theory with ecocriticism and to combine the concerns over social justice and environmental issues (Lidström 2015, p. 85). 4. Conclusion In conclusion, it is observed that the pollution problem has been always been the subject of British Poetry since 17th century onwards to the contemporary period. The analyses of the selected poems show that with its emphasis on social, cultural and environmental effects of pollution in London, British Poetry has pioneered ecocriticism by pointing out to either environmental degradation or the sub-fields of ecocriticism such as environmental justice and postcolonial ecocriticism. This paper makes it clear that although as a literary theory, ecocriticism came into existence towards the end of 20th century, the background and principles of ecocriticism had already been shaped in British Poetry from 17th century onwards. Finally, this paper shows that the pollution problem effects both human and non-human world negatively. If it continues to do so, pollution will be the main subject of the poems of the future who will have to wear a gas mask to be able to produce their poems as seen in the below picture which is planned and designed by the author of this paper: Figure 1. The Rise of Environmental Pollution & Its Reflection to British Poetry Description for the above figure. References Bracke, Astrid and Margue´rite Corporaal (2010). “Ecocriticism and English Studies: An Introduction.” English Studies. vol. 91, no. 7, Taylor & Francis. Online, Journal of Literature, Languages and Linguistics www.iiste.org ISSN 2422-8435 An International Peer-reviewed Journal Vol.61, 2019 73 <https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/0013838X.2010.518038>. pp. 709-712. Brimblecombe, Peter, (1987). The Big Smoke: A History of Air Pollution in London since Medieval Times. Routledge: USA and Canada. Cavert, William M. (2016). The Smoke of London: Energy and Environment in the Early Modern City. Cambridge UP: UK. Curley, Robert (2011). 21st Century Science: New Thinking about Pollution. Britannica Educational Publishing: New York. Ferber, Michael (2012). The Cambridge Introduction to British Romantic Poetry. Cambridge UP: New York. Field, Jacob F. (2018) London, Londoners and the Great Fire of 1666: Disaster and Recovery (Routledge Research in Early Modern History). Taylor and Francis. Kindle Edition: London and New York, 2018. Gimpel, Jean, translator. Nazım Özüaydın.;(1997) Orta Çağda Endüstri Devrimi (Medieval Machine: The Industrial Revolution in the Middle Ages) Tübitak: Ankara, Turkey. Glotfelty, Cheryl and Harold Fromm, editors (2012). The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literature Garrard, Greg.Teaching Ecocriticism and Green Cultural Studies. London. Palgrava Macmillan, pp. xviii. Hiltner, Ken (2011). What Else is Pastoral: Renaissance Literature and the Environment. Cornell UP: Ithaca and London. Hochman Jhan. “Green Cultural Studies: An Introductory Critique of an Emerging Discipline” Mosaic: An Interdisciplinary Critical Journal, vol. 30, no. 1, March 1997, JSTOR, <https://www.jstor.org/stable/44029559>. pp. 81-96. Lidström, Susanna (2015). Nature, Environment and Poetry: Ecocriticism and the Poetics of Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes. Routledge: New York, USA. Opperman, Serpil (2012). Ekoeleştiri, Çevre ve Edebiyat. Phoenix: Ankara, Turkey. Thorsheim, Peter. Inventing Pollution: Coal, Smoke and Culture in Britain since 1800. Ohio UP: USA, 2006. Wheeler, Michael (1995). Ruskin and Environment: The Storm-Cloud of Nineteenth Century. Manchester UP: Manchester and New York. 
work_xm7fdlqloraafaszslf4wk77zi	----	CRAS-38.2.-001 201..226 ‘‘The Puritans of Today’’: The Anti-WhigArgument of The Scarlet Letter Michael Ryan Abstract: This essay explores the polemical context in which Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote The Scarlet Letter. It pays particular attention to the Whig movement for moral reform in antebellum America, which sought to merge church and state. Democrats like Hawthorne took exception to this attempt to establish ‘‘moral government’’ in America. His novel argues for an ideal of personal freedom in moral matters and criticizes the Whig attempt to impose restrictive moral norms on human, especially sexual, proclivities that Democrats such as Hawthorne felt were embodiments of spirituality in nature. The novel refers obliquely to contemporary religious debates that have been ignored by scholars, such as that concerning Horace Bushnell’s God in Christ, a book whose presence in Hawthorne’s novel is palpable. Bushnell was put on trial for heresy in 1849, as Hawthorne was composing his novel. In the novel, Hawthorne enters those debates and takes the side of natural religion against the Whig ideal of moral government. Keywords: religion, politics, Whig, Democrat, morality Résumé : Le présent essai explore le contexte polémique où se situait Nathaniel Hawthorne lorsqu’il a écrit The Scarlet Letter. Il porte une attention particulière au mouvement Whig pour la réforme morale dans une Amérique antebellum qui cherchait à fusionner l’Église et l’État. Des Démocrates comme Hawthorne se sont insurgés contre cette tentative d’établir un « gouvernement moral » en Amérique. Son roman présente des arguments en faveur d’un idéal de liberté personnelle en ce qui a trait aux questions morales, et critique la tentative des Whigs d’imposer des normes morales restrictives aux tendances sexuelles des humains que des Démocrates comme Hawthorne considéraient comme le symbole de la spiritualité dans la nature. Le roman réfère obliquement à des débats religieux contemporains qui ont été ignorés par les universitaires en ce qui a trait au livre God in Christ de Horace Bushnell, un livre dont la �CanadianReviewofAmericanStudies/Revuecanadienned’e¤ tudesame¤ ricaines38, no. 2, 2008 présence est perceptible dans le roman de Hawthorne. Bushnell a fait l’objet d’un procès pour hérésie en 1849, alors même que Hawthorne écrivait son roman. Dans son roman, Hawthorne s’immisce dans ces débats et se range du côté de la religion naturelle contre l’idéal Whig d’un gouvernement moral. Mots clés : religion, politiques, Whig, Démocrate, moralité To fetter the freedom of man is not only to act the part of tyranny, but to inflict a gross wrong . . . [against] the essential equality of men. . . . Endued, as they are, with the same appetites and desires, with conscience, reason, and free will . . . sharers of the same beautiful existence, handiwork of the same God, children of a common destiny, hastening on to an eternal world, who shall . . . affix the mark which shall debar either this one or that one from the full fruition of every blessing of existence—every gift of God? —‘‘Democracy’’ (attr. John L. O’Sullivan) We all know then, what moral government is, and that men cannot exist in society without it. In that form of it called civil government, the lowest culprit in his prison knows its general nature, its principles, its end, and its absolute necessity to this end, as well as the judge who condemns him. . . . Now the object of a perfect moral governor is not merely to secure right moral action, but to secure it . . . by a peculiar influence—the influence of his authority . . . It is to bring his subject to . . . an act of obedience . . . involving . . . recognition of [the governor’s] right to rule. —Nathaniel Taylor, Lectures on the Moral Government of God (1859) Scholars of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter (1850) have paid surprisingly little attention to the ambient religious debates from which the novel draws much of the substance for its internal polemic.1 A conflict between those who would use legislation to control personal morality and those who opposed such intrusive- ness in the name of the doctrine of natural revelation is central both to the novel and to the culture wars of the era in which Hawthorne wrote. Historian Daniel Walker Howe argues that ‘‘without an understanding of the religion of the middle period, there can be no understanding of its politics’’ (‘‘Religion’’ 121), and the same might be said of a work such as The Scarlet Letter that is concerned C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 202 with moral issues. To understand it fully, we must take into consid- eration the religious debates of the era.2 The leading public intellectuals of the early nineteenth century were theologians such as Lyman Beecher, Francis Wayland, Asa Burton, Nathaniel Taylor and Horace Bushnell. Those intellectuals who were not professional theologians—Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, George Bancroft and John L. O’Sullivan—were nevertheless steeped in religious ideas, and their writings resonate with a sense of the unquestioned truth of the doctrines of natural revelation. For the orthodox Protestant theologians such as Beecher and Taylor, God was a distant being who oversaw a sin-prone humanity that needed guidance from churchmen in order to attain salvation. In Their Brothers’ Keepers: Moral Stewardship in the United States, 1800–1865, Clifford Griffin writes, ‘‘These latter-day Calvinists still argued that only the Almighty could save souls—that men by their own acts alone could not merit redemption’’ (47–8). For intellectuals such as Bancroft and O’Sullivan, in contrast, as well as for more liberal theologians such as Burton and Bushnell, God was a pres- ence in nature which guaranteed that human passion was intrinsi- cally moral and that human striving could lead to salvation. In the chapter ‘‘The Rise of Religious Liberalism,’’ in his book Churchmen and Philosophers, Bruce Kuklick notes that, at this time, [t]he issues of sovereignty, responsibility, grace, and depravity all found their critical substantive locus in the question of the will’s freedom—the most important recurring theme in the literature. . . . [N]atural theology was increasingly stressed. Newtonianism implied that knowledge of God was contained in nature. . . . For the liberals, at bottom, religion rested on the revelations to which the biblical miracles testified. Other bases for Christianity—experience, tradition, the authority of the church—were set aside. (44, 82–3) These theological differences were not merely intellectual. The two major political parties of the era, the Whigs and the Democrats, appealed to religious ideas to justify their contending positions regarding everything from moral legislation to economic policy. A major difference between anticlerical Democrats and Whig evan- gelical conservatives was in their views of the proper relation of church and state.3 The Whigs, whom Daniel Howe characterizes as Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 203 ‘‘the evangelical united front in the polling place’’ (Howe, Political Culture 18), laid claim to the Puritan theocratic legacy that author- ized public supervision of private morality. Wishing to create a ‘‘Righteous Empire’’ in the United States, in which what they called ‘‘moral government’’ would merge law and religion, Whigs sought to use legislation to bring about ‘‘moral purity and reform’’ (Kelley, Cultural Pattern 163). Modernizers, they believed in using government to promote business-friendly economic development through monopolies, charters, tariffs and publicly funded canals and roads. Having witnessed the disestablishment of the Christian churches in all the states, Whig religious conservatives turned, in mid-century, to education, especially in the Sunday School and public school movements, to ensure that Christian values and norms prevailed in America.4 Historian Ronald Formisano writes, Henry Cabot Lodge once called the Federalists ‘‘the Puritan party,’’ and he might have said the same of the Whigs. The Federal and Whig parties both expressed the ancient Puritan concern for society as a corporate whole; both attempted to use the government to provide for society’s moral and material development. (Transformation 289) Whigs found justification for their program of moral government in the reformed Calvinist theology that emerged in the early nine- teenth century. While taking into account the emphasis on free will in post-Enlightenment America, theologians such as Beecher and Taylor nevertheless held that humans were innately prone to sinful- ness. Beecher argued ‘‘that man is desperately wicked, and cannot be qualified for good membership in society without the influence of moral restraint’’ (qtd. in Bodo 153). In his famous 1828 sermon, Concio ad Clerum: A Sermon On Human Nature, Sin, and Freedom, Nathaniel Taylor preached, What then are we to understand, when it is said that mankind are depraved by nature? I answer—that such is their nature, that they will sin and only sin in all the appropriate circumstances of their being. . . . By the moral depravity of mankind I intend generally, the entire sinfulness of their moral character. (qtd. in Ahlstrom 220–2) This vision of the world justified the Whig claim that an elite of morally superior people should exercise moral government over others through the political state. Lee Benson notes that ‘‘[Whig] Horace Greeley’s New York Tribune argued that the state was a C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 204 proper instrument for the regulation of every ‘evil’ in society’’ (207). Michael Holt, in The Rise and Fall of the American Whig Party, points out that ‘‘to a far greater degree than Democrats, Whigs backed state intervention to regulate social behavior: temperance legislation, Sunday blue laws, and the creation of state-run public schools’’ (68). Democrats opposed the Whig desire to merge church and state and to use law to regulate personal behaviour. ‘‘The Puritans of today,’’ a Democratic newspaper editor wrote in 1852, ‘‘like the Puritans of 1700, conceive themselves to be better and holier than others, and entitled—by divine right as it were—to govern and control the actions and dictate the opinions of others’’ (Kelley, ‘‘Portrait’’ 79). If Whigs thought of themselves as ‘‘the party of decency and respectability, the guardians of piety, sober living, proper manners, thrift, steady habits, and book learning’’ (Kelley, Cultural Pattern 166), Democrats portrayed them as religious zealots who consti- tuted a threat to civil liberties. William Cullen Bryant held that ‘‘our civil and religious liberty exists, not in consequence, but in spite of the spirit and genius of Puritanism’’ (qtd. in Howe, Political Culture 89) In one fictional debate between a Democrat and a Whig in a pamphlet from 1854, the Democrat contends that ‘‘all legislation having any other object but the protection of rights is not only injurious to morality, but is in itself immoral and wicked’’ (qtd. in Benson, 206–7). Robert Kelley notes, regarding these debates, Central to the ideology of Anglo-American, freethinking intellectuals was a conviction that clerics must be kept out of politics, that their moral preachments were arrogance and their attempts to control the lives of others a continuing danger to freedom of thought and belief. This led many Democratic intellectuals to reject abolitionism, for it emerged out of the camp of the enemy: zealous, moralistic, church-and-state Yankeeism. (Cultural Pattern 171) If Whig political theory drew on reformed neo-Calvinist theology to justify its ideal of moral government, Democratic political theory turned instead to the theological doctrine of natural revelation. Democratic intellectuals such as O’Sullivan and Bancroft believed that nature, because infused with divinity, should be allowed to follow its own course without theocratic interference. Morality arose spontaneously from natural processes, and no legislation Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 205 and no moral discipline were needed to control passions that, because natural and therefore divinely inspired, could not be sinful. Natural revelation located divinity in everyone, without distinction of ‘‘rank,’’ an appealing idea in an era when egalitarian ideals fuelled immigrant aspirations. Bancroft writes, ‘‘The barbar- ian who roams our Western prairies has like passions and like endowments with ourselves. He bears within him the instinct of Deity, the consciousness of a spiritual nature, the love of beauty, the rule of morality’’ (414). By placing the ‘‘rule of morality’’ in nature rather than institutions or laws, Democrats sought to undermine the Whig justification for moral government by a holy elite. Democrats used similar arguments to oppose Whig pro-business economic policy. They believed that a benevolent nature, if left on its own, would make all right with the economic world.5 Whig ‘‘improvements,’’ especially banks and chartered monopolies that favoured the economic elite, did more harm than good by making people dependent on government instead of on their own natural talents. Democrats argued for a model of economic self-government that would approximate the self-regulating laws of nature that are God’s creation: ‘‘[T]he voluntary principle, the principle of Freedom, suggested to us by the analogy of the divine government of the Creator; the natural laws which will establish themselves and find their own level are the best laws’’ (‘‘Introduction’’ 7). America should place trust in ‘‘the same fundamental principle of spontane- ous action and self-regulation which produces the beautiful order of [nature]’’ (‘‘Introduction’’ 7). At the core of the theory was an ideal of self-dependent manhood: ‘‘[By] throwing men upon their own energies for success, [free trade] would accustom them to the prac- tice of self-dependence and train them to habits of perseverance and economy’’ (‘‘History’’ 305). Sexual morality was a crucial site of conflict between the contend- ing parties. In 1843 in Michigan, when Democrats ‘‘amended and loosened the laws relating to adultery and fornication which had made those sins criminal offenses,’’ Whigs characterized the change as an outrage that struck ‘‘at the foundations of our social system’’ (Formisano, Birth 124). If Whigs devoted their energies to institu- tions such as the Magdalen Society that spread moral discipline amongst prostitutes and domestic workers, Democrats were more inclined to be critical of moral institutions that discriminated along gender lines in the allocation of moral punishment. In an 1846 C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 206 essay—‘‘The Legal Wrongs of Women’’—in The Democratic Review, the anonymous writer argues, ‘‘The injustice is sufficiently flagrant which permits a man, whether single or married, to lead a licen- tious life without losing caste, while a poor girl, betrayed through her affections into guilt, almost inevitably becomes castaway through public scorn’’ (482). That this argument is central to The Scarlet Letter should alert us to how steeped the novel is in these contemporary debates. As an inhabitant of a Whig stronghold—Salem, Massachusetts— Hawthorne would have been keenly aware of the Whigs’ use of Puritanism as a justification for a strong government role in pro- moting business-friendly economic development and the moral ‘‘improvement’’ of the population. In 1849, while Hawthorne was composing The Scarlet Letter, regular advertisements for a history of the Puritans in the town’s Whig newspaper, the Salem Gazette, made explicit links between Puritanism and Whig policies. According to the advertisements, the book, a republication of William Hubbard’s General History of New England, praised ‘‘the hardy Puritan pioneers who for God, for Conscience, and for Humanity braved the perils of the ocean . . . [and] planted on this rocky shore the principles that have made us what we are.’’ Those ‘‘principles’’ sustained ‘‘the best’’ of New England, ‘‘its Manufactures, its Commerce, its Public Buildings . . . its contributions to the public and private nature of the great stack of New England industrial and productive accumulations’’ (Salem Gazette).6 As the Whigs styled themselves neo-Puritans, the Puritans, according to the Advertiser, were proto- Whigs. The Sunday School Union, a typical Whig evangelical organization, which emphasized rote learning, Puritan-style, of religious doctrine, also held its annual meeting in Salem in the summer of 1849. And the Whig governor of Massachusetts, George Briggs, made clear, with calls for public days of fasting in November of the same year, that he felt religion and government served a common purpose: ‘‘The Holy Scriptures declare, that if men will ‘acknowledge God in all their ways, he will direct their paths’ ’’ (Salem Gazette). It must have been a trying place to live for a Democrat who was ‘‘beyond the church,’’ as his sister-in-law Louisa Hawthorne put it in a letter to Sophia Peabody (qtd. in Fick 155). What this polemical context suggests is that, in 1850, a depiction of Puritans as less moral than they claimed to be or as being as prone to the very passions they condemned in others would have been an especially appealing polemical gesture for a Democrat to make. Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 207 Kelley notes that ‘‘Most Whigs believed . . . [t]he nation was right- fully to be thought of as a single moral community to be welded together in holy living, to be fashioned in the image of New England’s ‘citty on a hill’ ’’ (Cultural Pattern 163). The Scarlet Letter—I will argue—by asking how Puritans can pretend to govern others’ morality if they themselves are subject to the same natural passions as everyone else, implies a similar question regard- ing the Whigs who sought to establish moral government in America in the mid-nineteenth century. The story of The Scarlet Letter is framed by a rejection of moral government, ‘‘whatever priests or legislators ha[ve] established’’ (199). The anachronistic ‘‘legislators’’ (there were none in America in the 1640s) should have alerted readers that, when Hester points Dimmesdale the way to freedom, away from ‘‘the clerical band . . . or the church’’ (199), her gesture has a contemporary resonance. The major themes and concerns of the novel acquire an added significance when considered in this polemical context. The Custom House sketch comes to seem a meditation on the negative effect of Whig economic policies on the people’s moral health. Dimmesdale’s election-day sermon becomes more pointedly Democratic in tenor and substance, and his death, rather than seem- ing a gesture of abdication, instead takes on the air of a martyrolo- gical indictment of Whig religious institutions that, in the eyes of Democrats, fostered hypocrisy and promoted an unhealthy sense of guilt and self-punishment regarding natural inclinations. Hester ’s fate, in the polemical context, seems less a model for a vague sense of compromise with slavery than a more affirmative and positive example of non-institutional religion and of a natural piety that owes nothing to the moral guidance of orthodox churchmen. In reconsidering the novel in light of the culture war between Whigs and Democrats, I will concentrate on the Custom House chapter, the conflict between Hester, Pearl and the Puritan autho- rities, and Dimmesdale’s fate. The Scarlet Letter opens with an odd meditation on the negative moral effects of people’s economic dependence on Uncle Sam. Whig economic policy called for the government to subsidize economic development that, according to Democrats, served the interests of the Whig economic elite. In Whig hands, gov- ernment had been used to create, as Hawthorne puts it in The Life of Franklin Pierce, ‘‘commerce where it did not exist’’ (29). C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 208 Government assistance for business was also seen by Democrats as an obstacle to the free development of the talents of the industrious classes—the labourers, artisans, farmers and small businessmen who were natural Jacksonian constituencies. Commentators on the Custom House have focused on Hawthorne’s account of his Puritan ancestors and on the description of the romance aesthetic. Yet these topics occupy only a few pages of the text. The rest of the sketch is concerned with the negative moral consequences of dependence on government for one’s economic well-being. According to Rush Welter, Democrats were especially concerned with the moral effects of politics on society, and in their eyes, Whigs, by asking for government subsidies for business, were undermining the ideal of self-dependence that was the foundation of moral citizenship. Democrat Gideon Welles, in 1847, articulated this position: ‘‘One man looks to government for assistance, his neighbor relying on his own energies asks only for protection. . . . [T]heir fundamental opinions . . . distinguish between the democrat and the anti-democrat’’ (qtd. in Brock 23). In his account of life in the Custom House, Hawthorne portrays those who accept government support as having lost contact with the spirit in nature. He compares them to quadrupeds, whose ‘‘torpid,’’ ‘‘sluggish,’’ and ‘‘dependent’’ behaviour contains ‘‘a very trifling admixture of moral and spiritual ingredients’’ (14). Hawthorne notes that ‘‘the greater part of my officers were Whigs’’ (13), and he is especially severe in his evaluation of the Inspector: ‘‘He had no soul, no heart, no mind.’’ His father ‘‘had created an office for him,’’ and like the others, he suffered ‘‘moral detriment from this peculiar mode of life’’ (18). The negative consequence of having a powerful government make jobs for people by fostering economic development is that it makes people lose contact with their own ‘‘native energy,’’ ‘‘original nature,’’ and capacity for ‘‘self-support.’’ To Democrats such as Bancroft and O’Sullivan, such loss was the same as losing contact with revealed divinity in nature. For this reason, perhaps, Hawthorne compares such a dependent state of being to ‘‘a quality of enchantment like that of the Devil’s wages’’ that deprives one of one’s ‘‘soul’’ (39). In a recognizably Democratic gesture, Hawthorne characterizes Whig policies that interfere with nature as immoral. Hawthorne offers himself as an example of why government sup- port of any kind in economic life is detrimental to the ‘‘moral and Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 209 intellectual health’’ of people. Having become dependent for sup- port on the government by taking the surveyor’s job at the Custom House, Hawthorne suffers the same moral harm as his Whig co-workers. Like the Whigs, he loses contact with divinity revealed in nature: ‘‘Nature,—except it were human nature,—the nature that is developed in earth and sky, was, in one sense, hidden from me; and all the imaginative delight, wherewith it had been spiritualized, passed away out of my mind’’ (26). In this light, the account of romance aesthetics acquires a political resonance. Hawthorne twice uses the word ‘‘spiritualize’’—the same word he uses to char- acterize the alienation from nature brought about by dependence on government—to describe how romance transforms reality. When ‘‘spiritualized,’’ life’s details ‘‘seem to lose their actual substance, and become things of intellect’’ (39).That Hawthorne regains his ability to ‘‘spiritualize’’ nature once he leaves the Custom House is proof that freedom from dependence on government is morally salutary. When he puts aside ‘‘the strong arm of Uncle Sam’’ that raises and supports him, he is able to regain his ‘‘original nature, the capability of self-support,’’ and this takes the form of his exer- cising his natural talent as a writer. He regains ‘‘his soul . . . its sturdy force, its courage and constancy, its truth, its self-reliance, and all that gives the emphasis to manly character’’ (39). What is striking about the Custom House sketch is the identification of theology, politics and aesthetics. Whig economic policies are cri- ticized on Democratic theological grounds. They distance the indi- vidual from nature and from natural revelation. The romance aesthetic, by abstracting imaginatively from the facts of sense per- ception—the basis, according to orthodox neo-Puritan epistemol- ogy, of moral truth—allows access to spirit in nature.7 Exercising one’s natural talents in an economic sense, similarly ‘‘spiritualizes’’ the world. Spontaneous natural action, for Democrats, mimes divin- ity in nature. The Democratic objection to Whig economic policy is that it denies the individual the ability to achieve the moral good through self-dependence by drawing on her or his own natural (and therefore divinely inspired) talents. The novel continues this argu- ment by portraying the Whig policy of merging church and state as having a similarly immoral effect on people whose natural moral powers are extinguished by moral supervision. The ‘‘consecration’’ that is their natural impulse is reviled rather than revered. The novel opens by evoking what, in Democratic eyes, was the Whig ideal of moral government, a world in which, as C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 210 Hawthorne puts it, ‘‘religion and law were almost identical’’ (50). From the outset, Hawthorne, by using terms such as ‘‘natural dig- nity’’ and ‘‘free will,’’ characterizes Hester in terms that suggest Democratic resistance to such government. Hester fulfils the Democratic ideal of a nature at odds with restrictive moral rules and given over to the free expression of self-regulating laws. She grudgingly accepts her punishment, but her extravagant creativity in stitching the scarlet letter is suggestive of imaginative resistance. That Hester exercises her imagination to transform a stigmatic emblem into an object that embodies ‘‘spirit’’ also aligns her char- acter with Hawthorne’s theological ideal of revealed divinity in nature accessible through the imagination—‘‘artistically done, and with so much fertility and gorgeous luxuriance of fancy [that it] seemed to express the attitude of her spirit’’ (53). Perhaps the most interesting word, for my argument, that Hawthorne associates with Hester is ‘‘christianize’’: ‘‘It was the exhilarating effect—upon a prisoner just escaped from the dungeon of his own heart—of breathing the wild, free atmosphere of an unredeemed, unchristianized, lawless region’’ (201). Ronald Formisano describes the ‘‘evangelical impulse to Christianize America, that ubiquitous energy radiated by New England Protestantism to create the moral, homogeneous, commonwealth. . . . Thus, the Whig party . . . became the evangelicals’ best hope to Christianize America’’ (Transformation 61, 104). Hester is often read as embodying a general antinomianism, but a word like ‘‘unchristia- nized’’ lends her resistance a more specific historical inflection as a fictional expression of the Democratic argument that the Whig ideal of moral government was an offence to civil liberties. Given how important the Puritan legacy was to Whigs, perhaps the most interesting moment in Pearl’s characterization is when she dances on the graves of the Puritans. She is described as embodied spirit, and that for Hawthorne meant that she is aligned with the idea of revealed divinity in nature. Like nature, her spontaneous actions are inherently spiritual. Toward Dimmesdale, for example, she gives ‘‘marks of childish preference, accorded spontaneously by a spiritual instinct’’ (124). Pearl embodies the idea that natural impulses, however at odds with moral laws, cannot be crimes if divinity resides in nature: ‘‘It was as if she had been made afresh, out of new elements, and must perforce be permitted to live her own life, and be a law unto herself, without her eccentricities being reckoned to her for a crime’’ (135). The antithesis of the Whig Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 211 theological concept of innate sinfulness, she represents the idea that passionate natural behaviour should not be subject to restrictive moral laws or branded with harmful moral judgements. In her repeated calls to Dimmesdale to ‘‘be true,’’ she articulates the Democratic conviction that, as long as one is true to nature, either in the form of revealed divinity or as one’s own ‘‘original nature,’’ one cannot but be moral. It would be a mistake to suggest that the novel is an allegory in which all terms match up with the contemporary debate between Democrats and Whigs. Nevertheless, the fact that the Whigs had a positive conception of Puritan moral government, while Democrats found it alien to their own ideals, suggests that a Democratic writer ’s portrait of Puritan governors, especially, might evoke Democratic arguments against the Whigs. The governors are, in fact, described in terms that are evocative of Whig ideas and culture. Democrats accused Whigs of aspiring to create an aristoc- racy in America and of being overly loyal to English cultural models. In the Province House tales that Hawthorne published in the early issues of the Democratic Review, he uses the term ‘‘rank’’ to characterize English governors who trample on the rights of Americans. The term reappears in the novel in association with the fictional governors. He describes them, in terms that echo Democratic characterizations of Whigs, as aristocratic ‘‘men of rank’’ who are charged with ‘‘the guardianship of the public morals’’ (162; see Ashworth 34–47). The governor ’s mansion is char- acterized in terms that recall English models, and a significantly placed Chronicles of England sits on a table in the hallway. Moreover, the governor behaves toward them in a way that embo- dies the high-church Yankeeism that historians ascribe to Whigs. He asks Pearl to prove that she has submitted to church discipline by reciting the Catechism, and he threatens to deprive an unwed mother of her child.8 Roger Chillingworth is, in some respects, the double of the gover- nors. He demonstrates that their apparent distance from passion in fact conceals passions far worse than those they condemn in others. Chillingworth takes pleasure in disciplining others for their pleasures. Hawthorne is quite clear in his evaluation of the differ- ence. Hester and Dimmesdale’s passion is counted a ‘‘consecration’’ in natural religious terms, while Chillingworth, in equally religious terms, is condemned for having abused the ‘‘sanctity’’ of the human heart. This way of characterizing Chillingworth has a C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 212 contemporary resonance with Democratic arguments against Whig moral government. Democrats characterized Whig intrusiveness in others’ moral lives as a species of abuse. One Democrat writing in the Boston Globe on 22 April 1841, described Whigs as ‘‘men who can fathom all the mysteries of the human heart; who have studied all the direct and indirect ways of approaching the citadel of integ- rity, and all the means of undermining or sapping its integrity’’ (qtd. in Kohl 32).9 In the character of Chillingworth, Whig moral government is repre- sented as an assault on the theological foundations of Democratic political theory. To pursue others’ sins, as Whigs would have government do, is to pervert nature and harm natural spirituality. Given the prominent role the world ‘‘spiritualize’’ plays in the articulation of Hawthorne’s argument, it is noteworthy that Chillingworth is characterized as having ‘‘lost the spiritual view of existence’’ (119). As elsewhere in the novel, such a loss of access to spirit in nature is associated with a departure from the naturalist principles of democracy. Hawthorne uses a vocabulary that draws on Chillingworth’s name to describe the negative effect of Puritanism on Hester and Dimmesdale’s aspirations for freedom from moral supervision. The word ‘‘chill’’ occurs in the forest scene as the antithesis of natural passion, natural freedom, and by impli- cation, natural divinity: ‘‘Arthur Dimmesdale put forth his hand, chill as death, and touched the chill hand of Hester Prynne’’ (190). The word ‘‘chill’’ suggests the denial of divinely inspired natural impulses of the kind that are evident especially in Pearl and the refusal to recognize their true ‘‘worth,’’ a phrasing that recalls Hawthorne’s earlier description of spirit in nature as ‘‘the true and indestructible value.’’ ‘‘Chill,’’ in the novel’s political typology, also stands opposed to terms such as ‘‘heart’’ that Hawthorne associates with the demo- cratic multitude. He uses it on the first pages of the book in regard to divinity: ‘‘the one heart and mind of perfect sympathy’’ (3). And throughout the novel, it is used to characterize democracy. In the election sermon, Dimmesdale’s voice, for example, is described as having ‘‘blended into one great voice by the universal impulse which makes likewise one vast heart of the many’’ (250). In The Life of Franklin Pierce, he uses the same metaphor to characterize Pierce’s democratic effect on his audiences: ‘‘It was the influence of a great heart pervading the general heart, and throbbing with it in the same pulsation’’ (50). ‘‘Chill,’’ in contrast, is used to Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 213 characterize harm to democracy: ‘‘This frankness, this democracy of good feeling, had not been chilled by the society of politicians’’ (Life 18). Chillingworth’s abuse of the sanctity of the human heart is thus an offence to the natural divinity that underwrites the Democratic ideal of an egalitarian community. To exercise moral supervision over private morality is to harm democratic equality by presuming moral superiority over others. Initially a servant and a captive of moral government, Dimmesdale comes eventually to be associated with Democratic values. He moves from an acceptance of restraints on his natural, passionate self to the freely chosen revelation of his spiritual nature. As with Hawthorne himself in the Custom House, this rediscovery of ‘‘orig- inal nature’’ occurs as a recovery of a lost natural talent, a theme that evokes the Democratic economic argument against Whig governmentalism—that it suppresses the natural talents of working men in favour of what Hawthorne calls ‘‘monopolized labor’’ (7). As Hawthorne was able, finally, to write his novel, Dimmesdale is able to write his election-day sermon ‘‘with such an impulsive flow of thought and emotion, that he fancied himself inspired’’ (225). That it is ‘‘inspired’’ suggests that it draws on the same well of natural revelation that sustains Democratic values. His walk to the church is characterized in similar terms: ‘‘[H]is strength seemed not of the body. It might be spiritual, and imparted to him by angelic ministrations’’ (238). The election-day sermon is a work of Democratic Party oratory, and the election day itself is, of course, a democratic event, ‘‘the day on which the new Governor was to receive his office at the hands of the people’’ (226). Hawthorne characterizes the market place as a site of contention between popular passions and moral government in a way that echoes the contemporary cultural battles between Democrats and Whigs that often came down to conflicts between immigrant holiday customs, such as public beer drinking, and Protestant Sabbatarianism. On election day, most entertainments are outlawed, and when an illegal entertainment breaks out, ‘‘much to the disappointment of the crowd,. . . the town beadle, who had no idea of permitting the majesty of the law to be violated by such an abuse of one of its consecrated places’’ interposes (232). Dimmesdale’s sermon both evokes Democratic ideals and produces democratic effects. He speaks democratically ‘‘to the great heart C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 214 of mankind,’’ and he speaks to everyone equally: ‘‘Like all other music, it breathed passion and pathos, and emotions high or tender, in a tongue native to the human heart, wherever educated’’ (243). This egalitarian ideal, while crucial to Democrats’ vision of America’s unique destiny among nations, contradicts Whig assumptions regarding the necessary segregation of the respectable from the reprobate. Hawthorne implicitly denies such distinctions when he notes how the sermon provokes a democratic reaction: This [shout] . . . was felt to be an irrepressible outburst of the enthusiasm kindled in the auditors by that high strain of eloquence which was yet reverberating in their ears. Each felt the impulse in himself, and, in the same breath, caught it from his neighbor. . . . [E]ven that mighty well of many voices, blended into one great voice by the universal impulse which makes likewise one vast heart out of the many. (250) The ideal of equality is the principle that both Bancroft and O’Sullivan foreground as the source of America’s uniqueness. In ‘‘The Great Nation of Futurity,’’ O’Sullivan uses the word ‘‘destiny’’ to describe the country’s identification with equality, and Hawthorne assigns to Dimmesdale O’Sullivan’s word, as well as the idea with which it is associated: ‘‘[A]s he drew towards the close, a spirit as of prophecy had come upon him . . . [I]t was his mission to foretell a high and glorious destiny for the newly gathered people of the Lord’’ (249). Dimmesdale’s sermon is characterized as being almost a direct expression of divinity (‘‘spirit of prophesy’’). And it gives rise to a pre-civil sound that is akin to unmediated nature speaking. For Democrats, such expres- sions of nature always have an element of divine sanction to them. According to Andrew Jackson, in his first Inaugural Address (1828), when ‘‘the people’’ spoke, God spoke (qtd. in McLoughlin 139). But if Dimmesdale is aligned with Democratic values and especially with the idea of revealed divinity in nature, how should we read his final act of confession? It has been interpreted as an act of abdica- tion and of compromise with the Puritan moral authorities. But given the ethos of the election sermon, it would be inconsistent for Dimmesdale, who has just inspired so strong a sense of demo- cratic egalitarianism in his audience, to embrace the inegalitarian ideology of Whig moral government. It would be more in keeping with Hawthorne’s argument up to this point for his confession to Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 215 represent a rejection of the distinction between the holy and the reprobate. I have suggested that the contest between theocratic Whigs and anti-clerical Democrats hinged on the question of whether an elite of moral guardians had the right to supervise the morality of others. Yankees, one Democrat argued, referring to New England Whigs, felt ‘‘they had a presumptive right to impose their politics, their habits, manners, and dogmas on the sister states’’ (Kelley, Portrait 79). They did so because they believed divinity was not present in nature and not accessible, as liberal theology claimed, to human striving. Mark Noll, in America’s God, notes that liberal theology ‘‘amounted to an open invitation for others to postulate an auton- omy of action for the faculty of the will. . . . Against this rising tide of rights talk, the Calvinists were trying to stand firm’’ (284). Because the neo-Calvinists held that divinity was distant from human life, they felt moral government by churchmen was necessary to assist people towards ‘‘regeneration.’’10 Regarding this neo-Puritan theo- logical position, historian Bruce Kuklick writes, ’’[T]he New England Theologians assumed a great divide between God and man, and between the realms of nature and grace. Both distinctions were reflected in the persistent exploration of human responsibility for sin and God’s sovereignty over grace’’ (44). Much of Hawthorne’s argumentative labour in the latter part of the novel is occupied with dispelling this notion. His most significant move in this argument is his depiction of Dimmesdale as being able to achieve atonement on his own, without assistance or direction from his church. God, rather than be a distant being, appears instead, in the forest scene, as a spirit in nature who is available to human striving. And Hester, after rejecting the Whig ideal of moral government and of restrictive moral laws that would seek to imprint morality on her from without, finds in her own nature and in her own natural labours a more substantial morality.11 The most striking move in this part of Hawthorne’s fictional argument is Dimmesdale’s revelation of his own ‘‘sinfulness.’’ It suggests that, if the holy are no higher than the reprobates, the justification for moral government both in the seventeenth and in the nineteenth centuries loses force. The holy cannot govern the reprobates, Hawthorne argues, because they are all equally natural, passionate and ‘‘sinful.’’ Hawthorne has prepared such a reading in the course of the novel by noting of Dimmesdale, for example, that he feels ‘‘sympathies so intimate with the sinful brotherhood of mankind; C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 216 so that his heart vibrated in unison with theirs’’ (142). The point is made more polemically in Hester ’s characterization: Sometimes, the red infamy upon her breast would give a sympathetic throb, as she passed near a venerable minister or magistrate, the model of piety and justice, to whom that age of antique reverence looked up, as to a moral man in fellowship with angels. ‘What evil thing is at hand?’ would Hester say to herself. (87) Dimmesdale’s gesture in the market place suggests the possibility of spontaneous, self-achieved, and unguided atonement outside the jurisdiction of moral government. Hawthorne’s reference to ‘‘Christian nurture’’ in the novel links his thinking to that of the revisionist theologian Horace Bushnell, whose book of that title (Views of Christian Nurture) appeared in 1847.12 Bushnell’s major work, God in Christ, appeared in the spring of 1849, and it seems clear that Hawthorne read it and was aware of the controversy it generated.13 The Scarlet Letter is the only one of his works in which he makes repeated references to typology (‘‘hieroglyph,’’ ‘‘figure,’’ ‘‘symbol’’), and Bushnell’s book is famous for its first chapter, a ‘‘Preliminary Dissertation on Language,’’ that contains a lengthy discussion of Christian typology.14 Moreover, while orthodox theo- logians believed that a sense of one’s own sinfulness was necessary for salvation, Bushnell contended that the sense of having sinned impedes rather than assists redemption. He was critical of the ‘‘self- accusing spirit of sin,’’ which he felt inspired unhealthy self-pun- ishment in the form of ‘‘vigils . . . tortures . . . to ease the guilt of the mind’’ (God in Christ 212–3). It is a conception that Hawthorne seems to evoke in his portrait of Dimmesdale as someone who is ‘‘conscious that the poison of one morbid spot was infecting his heart’s entire substance’’ (140). He characterizes the scarlet letter as having a similar effect on Hester: ‘‘This morbid meddling of conscience with an immaterial matter betokened . . . something doubtful, something that might be deeply wrong, beneath’’ (84) In typically Democratic fashion, Hawthorne assigns ‘‘wrong’’ to what moral government does to people (‘‘morbid meddling’’) rather than to the natural acts that moral government brands as sinful. Dimmesdale finally sheds his self-punitive sense of sinfulness and begins moving toward a public act of atonement when Hester pledges her love for him in the forest. When Bushnell describes atonement in God in Christ, he does so in terms that resonate with Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 217 the forest scene and with crucial words such as ‘‘joy’’ and ‘‘sacred love’’ in the novel’s conclusion. Bushnell argues that a ‘‘sinner’’ cannot attain atonement alone: [T]o remove this disability, God needs to be manifested as Love. The Divine Object rejected by sin and practically annihilated as a spiritual conception, needs to be imported into sense. Then when God appears in His beauty, loving and lovely, the good, the glory, the sunlight of soul, the affections, previously dead, wake into life and joyful play. (Bushnell 212) Hester ’s avowal of love for Dimmesdale allows him to imagine freeing himself from the power of moral government. And the ensuing burst of sunshine would seem, in Bushnell’s understanding of the divine character of sunlight, to add divine sanction to the event—‘‘All at once, as with a sudden smile of heaven, forth burst the sunshine . . .’’ (203). In the final scaffold scene, Dimmesdale brings the natural principle of the forest to the very place that is most associated with moral government’s disciplinary practice of shame. He embraces the natural family that his sense of sinfulness had obliged him to aban- don. That family has been made to suffer at the hands of a moral government that would put formal rules before natural principles. The distinction is registered in the difference between the natural, if doctrinally ‘‘sinful,’’ family of Dimmesdale, Hester and Pearl and the ‘‘unnatural,’’ if doctrinally correct, one of Hester and Chillingworth. In the scaffold scene, Dimmesdale affirms the pre-eminence of the natural to the doctrinal, of the spontaneous principles of natural spirituality to the theological doctrines of the church. Natural principles are also given primacy over formal doctrine in the revelation of Dimmesdale’s spontaneously gener- ated ‘‘A.’’ The gesture of revealing the letter constitutes a rejection of the emotional economy of sin that would stigmatize natural passion and make it an occasion for shame. By publicly assuming responsibility for his actions, Dimmesdale rejects the imposition by moral government of shame, falseness and self-concealment on people who are made to feel guilt regarding natural impulses. He is finally ‘‘true,’’ to use Pearl’s term. Having achieved atonement through his own striving and through contact with divinity in nature, he bears proof, appropriately generated spontaneously on his natural body, that the ideology of moral government is flawed. By depicting atonement as attainable through free will and human C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 218 striving, Hawthorne sides with the liberal position in the religious debates of the period. Hawthorne proposes, then rejects, a Whig interpretation of Dimmesdale’s death: ‘‘It was to teach [the people], that the holiest among us has but attained so far above his fellows as to discern more clearly the Mercy which looks down, and repudiate more utterly the phantom of human merit, which would look aspiringly upward’’ (259). In few other places in the novel does Hawthorne so clearly describe the hierarchical theological assumption of Whig moral government. God is a distant being, and people cannot atone and achieve salvation on their own. They should instead submit to their governors. Hawthorne immediately questions this interpretation and calls it ‘‘stubborn.’’ It is contradicted, he writes, by ‘‘proofs, clear as the mid-day sunshine on the scarlet letter, [that] establish [Dimmesdale] a false and sin-stained creature of the dust’’ (259). This characterization of Dimmesdale as being no holier than anyone else suggests an equality comparable to that inspired by his sermon and seems more consistent with Hawthorne’s argument so far than does the suggestion that Dimmesdale compromises in the end with the Puritan authorities and with Calvinist theological assumptions. Hawthorne’s point would seem to be, rather, that even moral governors are creatures of passion, and they, as a result, cannot claim a right to supervise the moral lives of others. Indeed, the point of the final chapter would seem to be that true moral worth exists apart entirely from the institution of the church, whose instrument of moral government—the scarlet letter— eventually becomes an ironic sign of moral virtue rather than of shame. A similar irony governs the novel’s entire argument. The truly virtuous are shamed and punished, while the emblems of Whig intrusiveness in others’ moral lives are honoured. The emblem of moral government is compared to the devil, while the innocent child, whose criminal and lawless nature he would dissect, is compared to divinity itself. The irony pointed to by Democratic arguments at the time was that moral government was itself immoral, while the sins such government sought to criminalize were natural passions that, because they were natural, were imbued with divinity. In the context of this Democratic framework, the moral wrong in the novel is thus not that someone committed adultery. Indeed, at the time, Democrats were active, as in Michigan in 1843, in efforts to decriminalize the practice. Rather, the moral Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 219 wrong is the stigmatizing of natural passion by both seventeenth and nineteenth century Puritanism that betrays natural divinity and obliges people to be false about feelings that, because they are nat- ural, are spiritual. In this light of this argument, it is noticeable that the narrator’s final injunction—‘‘Be true!’’—is not a call to avoid such ‘‘sins’’ as adultery. It is, rather, a call not to be false about one’s passionate nature. For Democrats of the time, like Hawthorne, the true immorality in the novel would not have been the ‘‘sin’’ of adultery but rather the imposition of moral laws that treat passion as a crime rather than a manifestation of ‘‘spiritual nature.’’ Notes 1 Several scholars have commented on religion in Hawthorne’s work, although always in regard to religious themes rather than to the contemporary debates; see, most recently, Denis Donohue; Agnes McNeill Donohue; also Fick; Warren; Simonson. Harvey Gable discusses overlaps between the work of Horace Bushnell and Hawthorne, but he is concerned primarily with language and typology, not politics or theology. 2 See Bodo; Cole; Griffin; Bushman; Marty; Handy; Welch; Hammond; Kuklick; Stavely; Hatch; Noll. 3 See Kelley, Transatlantic; McCormick; Benson; Formisano, Birth; Kelley, Cultural Pattern; Howe, Political Culture; Formisano, Transformation; Holt. 4 Historian Louise Stevenson characterizes the Whigs as economic and social modernizers: Whiggery stood for the triumph of the cosmopolitan and national over the provincial and local, of rational order over irrational spontaneity, of school-based learning over traditional folkways and customs, and of self-control over self- expression. Whigs believed that every person had the poten- tial to become moral or good if family, school, and community nurtured the seed of goodness in his moral nature. (6) 5 See also, Welter 92, 88. Welter notes that Democratic economic theory ‘‘owed more to ‘nature’ understood as morality’’ than to laissez-faire theory. ‘‘Unlike the Whigs, they were committed to an economy of principle rather than an economy of consumption. . . . [They were] convinced that moral laws governed the economy.’’ 6 Hawthorne would have had ample contact with Whig culture and with neo-Puritanism growing up in Salem, which, along with Newburyport, was a centre of Federalist and Whig power in the state of Massachusetts; see Hartford 1–64. C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 220 7 For an account of ‘‘common sense’’ realism, see Charvat 36–9; Martin 91, 151–65. Hawthorne mocks such ‘‘common sense’’ in ‘‘The Snow Angel.’’ 8 Kelley writes, Parishioners were drilled in the specifics of doctrine, not let to apply them to the ills of the world. ‘‘Instruction in the Catechism,’’ Charles A. Briggs of Union Theological Seminary in New York City later observed, ‘‘was almost universal. . . .‘‘ The reigning mode of Biblical interpretation was sternly fundamentalist. (Transatlantic Persuasion 313) 9 This was a dimension of Whig moral government that even some Whigs criticized: ‘‘In the solemn affairs of religion, moreover, instead of looking into our own sins, we are striving to look into the hearts of others.’’ (qtd. in Kohl 32). In contrast, democracy, O’Sullivan suggests, ‘‘respects the human soul’’ (‘‘Introduction’’ 11). 10 On regeneration, see Beecher. 11 Rather than be seen in the end as an emblem of compromise, Hester should be read as resisting moral government by withdrawing from its control, pursuing a life of ‘‘Christian-style simplicity,’’ and creating a more authentic religious community of her own. Marty describes contemporary left-wing Christianity in this way: ‘‘These idol-smashers found a target in the alliance between evangelicals and other defenders of the political or economic existing order . . . They criticized the ties between clergy and men of wealth or of middle-class aspirations, in the interest of primitive Christian-style simplicity or authentic human community’’ (113). 12 The following passage seems to prefigure Hawthorne’s description of how Pearl inherits Hester’s ‘‘unquiet elements’’: [I]f we examine the relation of parent and child, we shall not fail to discover something like a law of organic connection, as regards character, subsisting between them. Such a connection as makes it easy to believe, and natural to expect that the faith of the one will be propagated in the other. Perhaps I should rather say, such a connection as induces the conviction that the character of one is actually included in that of the other, as a seed is formed in the capsule . . . And the parental life will be flowing into him all that time. (Bushnell, Views 109) For an account of Bushnell’s work, see Barnes. 13 Published in April of 1849, by mid-May, God in Christ was already generating discussion in the Boston Daily Advertiser. Moreover, stories in the orthodox press suggest that Bushnell had become an object of much lively discussion in the spring and summer of 1849. In the 30 March issue of the Boston Recorder, an anonymous reviewer writes that Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 221 ‘‘Dr. Bushnell has gone mad with panic and is for killing all the harmless and useful dogmas which venture to show themselves in the street without their muzzles on.’’ A writer in the Puritan Recorder of 8 November 1849 writes that Bushnell ‘‘has become a kind of ‘chartered libertine’ ’’ who has acquired the right to do as he likes with impunity. . . . Still, it is a most solemn consideration that somebody must be responsible for all the disturbance of the peace of the churches, this distraction of the minds and Christians from the quiet work of saving men, and the agitation and unsettlement of the faith of many in the great concerns of redemption. 14 Bushnell advocates a figural conception of language and of the world: ‘‘There is a logos in the form of things, by which they are prepared to serve as types or images of what is inmost in our souls’’ (God in Christ 23). Bushnell’s influence on Hawthorne would explain the expression of spirit in physical characteristics, such as Chillingworth’s deformity or Dimmesdale’s letter. Those events seem to exemplify Bushnell’s ideas concerning the relation between physical form and spirit: ‘‘For the body is living logos, added to the soul, to be its form, and play it forth into social understanding. . . . [S]ubjective truths often find objective representations’’ (God in Christ 23, 250); see Gura 156; Roger. Works Cited Ahlstrom, Sydney, ed. Theology in America: The Major Protestant Voices from Puritanism to Neo-Orthodoxy. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merill, 1967. Ashworth, John. ‘‘Aristocrats’’ and ‘‘Agrararians’’: Party Ideology in the United States, 1837–1846. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1987. Bancroft, George. Literary and Historical Miscellanies. New York, 1855. 408–35. Barnes, Howard. Horace Bushnell and the Virtuous Republic. Metuchen: Scarecrow, 1991. Beecher, Lyman. Views in Theology. New York, 1836. Benson, Lee. The Concept of Jacksonian Democracy. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1961. Bodo, John. The Protestant Clergy and Public Issues, 1812–1848. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1954. Brock, William R. Parties and Political Conscience: American Dilemmas 1840–1850. New York: KTO Press, 1979. C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 222 Bushman, Richard. From Puritan to Yankee: Character and the Social Order in Connecticut, 1690–1765. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1967. Bushnell, Horace. God in Christ: Three Discourses, delivered at New Haven, Cambridge, and Andover, with a Preliminary Dissertation on Language. Hartford, 1849. ———. Views of Christian Nurture. 1847. Horace Bushnell: Selected Writings on Language, Religion, and American Culture. Ed. David L. Smith. Chico: Scholars’ Press, 1984. Charvat, William. The Origins of American Critical Thought 1810–1835. Philadelphia: Pennsylvania UP, 1936. Cole, Charles. The Social Ideas of the Northern Evangelists, 1826–1860. New York: Octagon, 1966. ‘‘Democracy.’’ Attr. John L. O’Sullivan. United States and Democratic Review 27 (1840): 215–29. Donohue, Agnes McNeill. Hawthorne: Calvin’s Ironic Stepchild. Kent: Kent State UP, 1985. Donohue, Denis. ‘‘Hawthorne and Sin.’’ Christianity and Literature 2 (2003): 215–32. Fick, Leonard. The Light Beyond: A Study of Hawthorne’s Theology. Westminster: Newman Press, 1955. Formisano, Ronald. The Birth of Mass Political Parties, Michigan, 1827–1861. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1971. ———. The Transformation of Political Culture. New York: Oxford UP, 1983. Gable, Harvey. Liquid Fire: Transcendental Mysticism in the Romances of Nathaniel Hawthorne. New York: Lang, 1998. ‘‘The Great Nation of Futurity.’’ Attr. John L. O’Sullivan. United States and Democratic Review 23 (1839): 426–30. Griffin, Clifford. Their Brothers’ Keepers: Moral Stewardship in the United States, 1800–1865. New Brunswick: Rutgers UP, 1960. Gura, Philip F. The Wisdom of Words: Language, Theology, and Literature in the New England Renaissance. Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 1981. Hammond, John L. The Politics of Benevolence: Revival Religion and American Voting Behavior. Norwood: Ablex, 1979. Handy, Robert A. Christian America: Protestant Hopes and Historical Realities. New York: Oxford UP, 1971. Hartford, William F. Money, Morals, and Politics: Massachusetts in the Age of the Boston Associates. Boston: Northeastern UP, 2001. Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 223 Hatch, Nathan O. The Democratization of American Christianity. New Haven: Yale UP, 1989. Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter. Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Centenary ed. vol. 1. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 1962. ———. Life of Franklin Pierce. Boston, 1852. ‘‘The History and Moral Relations of Political Economy.’’ Attr. John L. O’Sullivan. United States and Democratic Review 34 (1840): 291–311. Holt, Michael. The Rise and Fall of the American Whig Party. New York: Oxford UP, 1999. Howe, Daniel Walker. The Political Culture of the American Whigs. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1979. ———. ‘‘Religion and Politics in the Antebellum North.’’ Religion and American Politics: From the Colonial Period to the 1980s. Ed. Mark Noll. New York: Oxford UP, 1990. ‘‘Introduction.’’ Attr. John L. O’Sullivan. United States and Democratic Review 1 (1837): 1–15. Kelley, Robert. The Cultural Pattern in American Politics. New York: Knopf, 1979. ———. ‘‘A Portrait of Democratic America in the Mid-Nineteenth Century.’’Democrats and the American Idea. Ed. Peter B. Kovler. Washington: Center for National Policy Press, 1991. ———. The Transatlantic Persuasion: The Liberal-Democratic Mind in the Age of Gladstone. New York: Knopf, 1969. Kohl, Lawrence. The Politics of Individualism: Parties and the American Character in the Jacksonian Era. New York: Oxford UP, 1989. Kuklick, Bruce. Churchmen and Philosophers from Jonathan Edwards to John Dewey. New Haven: Yale UP, 1985. ‘‘The Legal Wrongs of Women.’’ United States and Democratic Review 14 (May 1844): 477–84. Martin, Terence. The Instructed Vision: Scottish Common Sense Philosophy and the Origins of American Fiction. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1961. Marty, Martin E. Righteous Empire: The Protestant Experience in America. New York: Dial Press, 1970. McCormick, Richard. The Party Period and Public Policy. New York: Oxford UP, 1986. McLoughlin, William G. Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform: An Essay on Religion and Social Change in America, 1607–1977. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1978. C an ad ia n Re vi ew of A m er ic an St ud ie s 38 (2 00 8) 224 Noll, Mark. America’s God from Jonathan Edwards to Abraham Lincoln. New York: Oxford UP, 2002. Puritan Recorder 8 Nov. 1849. Roger, Patricia. ‘‘Taking a Perspective: Hawthorne’s Concept of Language and Nineteenth Century Language Theory.’’ Nineteenth Century Literature 4 (1997): 433–54. Salem Gazette. 19 Nov. 1849: 1. Simonson, Harold. Radical Discontinuities: American Romanticism and Christian Consciousness. Rutherford: Farleigh Dickinson UP, 1983. Stavely, Keith. Puritan Legacies: Paradise Lost and the New England Tradition, 1630–1890. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1987. Stevenson, Louise. Scholarly Means to Evangelical Ends: The New Haven Scholars and the Transformation of Higher Learning in America 1830–1890. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1986. Taylor, Nathaniel. Lectures on the Moral Government of God. New York, 1859. Warren, Austin. ‘‘The Scarlet Letter: A Literary Exercise in Moral Theology.’’ The Southern Review 1 (1965): 22–45. Welch, Claude. Protestant Thought in the Nineteenth Century. New Haven: Yale UP, 1972. Welter, Rush. The Mind of America 1820–1860. New York: Columbia UP, 1975. Revue canadienne d’e ¤tudesam e ¤ricaines 38 (2008) 225 
work_xo6d4izrnvcircmngiga7uby5m	----	European journal of American studies, 11-2 | 2016 European journal of American studies 11-2 | 2016 Summer 2016 People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American Principles John L. Purdy Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/11566 DOI: 10.4000/ejas.11566 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference John L. Purdy, « People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American Principles », European journal of American studies [Online], 11-2 | 2016, document 5, Online since 11 August 2016, connection on 20 April 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/11566 ; DOI : 10.4000/ejas.11566 This text was automatically generated on 20 April 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/11566 People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American Principles John L. Purdy 1 Contemporary discussions of issues that revisit the links between environment and socioeconomic conditions often draw upon historical comparisons. Recent financial woes, often referred to as “the Great Recession” in the media, drive comparisons with the Great Depression, the notable, seminal, global economic event of the early 1930s that had such profound formative effects upon the world, history, and our own lives by shaping a generation’s values, ideals and actions. 2 Since it had such myriad effects upon our world, the Great Depression also had an equally profound effect upon literature, where current events and issues were explored and evaluated, and, at the best of times, alternative ways of thinking and living were posited. One of the great works of U.S. literature emerged from this moment: John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. This classic is concerned about contemporary culture and community, but also the environment, which in the 1930s of the Dust Bowl had been severely damaged through the drive for short-term gain and the achievement of the “American Dream” for a few to the detriment of the many. 3 It is not the purpose of this article to revisit the broad body of literature from the 1930s and the extensive corpus of historical and critical studies that has emerged from it. Instead, it is to explore a “non-canonical” literature that offers other possibilities, and, by doing so, to raise questions for further consideration and discussion using one author’s alternative vision, which emerged from that historical era. Simply put, the readership of the 1930s in the U.S. is not the same as it is today after all the social changes that have transpired since Steinbeck published his novel, and this includes the Civil Rights movement, the “culture wars,” the environmental movement and the expansion of the American literary canon. Therefore, I would like to look at one writer from the 1930s whose work is largely unknown, but whose canon cuts across many of the issues that People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 1 consumed public discourse in the latter half of the twentieth century, including discussions of the environment. At moments of crisis like the Great Depression, there is an enhanced danger of placing an increased burden upon our natural resources and therefore ecosystems, and this impulse is, at its core, an issue of cultural values and social justice. 4 The subject of this study is the author D’Arcy McNickle. Born in 1904 in St. Ignatius, Montana, McNickle descended from cultures that have lived in North America for tens of thousands of years through “sustainable” means. A Métis (mixedblood of Cree/French and Irish descent), he lived in that rural Montana ranching and farming community until 1913, at which time he—like so many other Native children across the country—was shipped off to federal boarding school in Oregon: the Salem Indian Training School, later known as Chemawa Indian School. After finishing his three-year enrollment, he returned home for a short time to live with his mother and her second husband. In 1918, he moved with his family to Langley, Washington, where they lived for three years before returning, once more, to Montana. 5 The year of their departure is an interesting one as a barometer of the political climate of Montana in the era in which McNickle came of age. In 1918, 79 Montanans, largely from rural areas and the working class, were arrested, tried, and convicted under the state’s infamous sedition law.i Some of those imprisoned were members of the Industrial Workers of the World. All were critical of the government, three of these in print, and many were of German or Austrian descent. Since the country was at war with Germany, this reactionary law reflects that historical moment and public sentiment, but also—like so many others in the country’s history, perhaps the present included—it provides an event that brings into sharp relief the tensions between differing visions of the country and its citizens, one staunchly conservative and nationalistic and the other liberal and egalitarian. For this discussion, it also marks a moment when a government’s laws were imposed upon a marginalized population as the result of military conflict. At once citizen and not-citizen, whose first culture and language marked them as “different,” those immigrants imprisoned would, ironically enough, find much in common with the populations of Indian reservations throughout the West, or with other immigrant communities today. 6 Like the German immigrants/activists, McNickle’s family was not native to Montana. His grandfather, Isidore Plante Parenteau, moved his family from an area of Canada that had been embroiled in an armed conflict between the Métis and the Canadian government for quite some time. Variously referred to as “The Northwest Rebellion” and “The Riel Rebellion,” the fighting ended in 1885 with Louis Riel’s capture and execution, and this is when Parenteau crossed the international border into Montana where, in 1905, McNickle, his mother, and sisters were officially adopted by the Salish, if not the larger Anglo community. Refugees from war and dispossessed of the region of their birth, the family attempted to fit into their new surroundings, which were undergoing a dramatic transformation at the flute end of Manifest Destiny as the West was brought into the twentieth century and modernity was embraced. The landscape of Montana was being “settled,” with all its implications of extractive economies and radical transformations of place such as hydroelectric projects and “modern” farming practices. 7 As a result of their adoption, all four received land allotments on the reservation under the Dawes Act, often referred to as the General Allotment Act of 1887. For the purposes of this discussion, this event is of note. The Act had several purposes, including People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 2 the continued appropriation of Native lands, but also the establishment of individual property rights in communities that were, more often than not, based in a communal sense of ownership.ii In other words, at its core is the concept of private property, so fundamental to capitalist ideology (as well as the American Dream) and central to the colonized history of the West. And, as we see historically, there is often a push-pull between those who consider ownership as free license to make use of land in any way the owner wants and those who call for a long-term stewardship of place. In effect, though, the Act fragmented many Native communities, as most federal policies had previously and would again later, most notably during the 1950s and the era of “termination.”iii 8 However, the sale of his allotment provided McNickle with the funds, in 1925, to travel to Europe. Although he had completed most of his undergraduate degree in English at the University of Montana, he hoped to receive his degree from Oxford. Instead, he found himself living in France for a time. Returning to the U.S., though, McNickle settled in the east, ultimately finding employment in the Bureau of Indian Affairs under its new Commissioner, John Collier, who was appointed by Franklin Delano Roosevelt whose policies brought the country out of The Great Depression.iv It was in this milieu that McNickle published his first novel, The Surrounded. Moreover, the novel (published in 1936, three years prior to The Grapes of Wrath) is a radical departure from its earlier draft, and some of the differences underscore McNickle’s revised thinking about the politics of people and place.v 9 Finally published in 2007, thirty years after McNickle’s death, the earlier draft—The Hungry Generations—originates in the time before the Great Depression and it describes the development of a young, mixedblood Salish man as he matures into a model of respectability in the fictional community of St. Xavier, Montana: a wealthy, educated and prudent landowner.vi Archilde Leon is a model of the success story of the American Dream, which at its heart is the colonial dream: prosperity and ease for the individual through the exploitation of place and people. 10 In The Hungry Generations Max, Archilde’s father, persuades him to leave for college and thus avoid the consequences after his mother, Catherine, kills a game warden immediately after the warden has killed her son, Louis. This is how Archilde comes to be in Paris, and how he meets Claudia, the only person from these Paris days who returns to the West (and the plot), ostensibly to marry him. Like many of his generation, this expatriate explores the center of western culture of the post-WW I era, as the title suggests with its slant allusion to the Gertrude Stein term for Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce, et al., “the lost generation” of young radicals who questioned contemporary American society and social values. Unlike those notable writers, though, Archilde does not like what he finds, with one exception: Claudia. 11 The daughter of an American railroad pensioner, a pioneer who helped “open” the West for the masses, Claudia and her family are the embodiment, perhaps the stereotype, of the regional (western) American trying to acquire cosmopolitan culture, the ultimate goal for those who “settled” the West and shaped it to conform to the social land-use paradigms that immigrated from Europe.vii Much like the well-to-do of American society who traveled to the Continent to “enrich” their lives, westerners who aspired to climb the social ladder of class followed the same convention. The American novelist Henry James built a career interrogating this phenomenon, and Mark Twain by satirizing it, but People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 3 McNickle, as an indicator of his emerging perspective, attempts to deconstruct the myth of high culture, but from a distinctly western point of view. 12 Archilde resists the urge to become a member of the upper class, as it was manifested in the eastern U.S. and Europe in the era; Claudia Burness’ family is the embodiment of the convention, but it is dysfunctional. At once the result of an over- domineering mother and reluctant children, it is also one that shows the ways the West has rewritten the psyche and identities of those who have lived there. When Mrs. Burness questions Archilde’s intentions, alleging that he has some diabolical plan to harm her family by befriending her husband, he reveals a sense of kinship based in a shared valuing of the western experience: “Your husband has become interested in me because I’m from the West; ... and he seemed tickled to meet someone from the West—it was almost as if he had known me before—he was so enthusiastic” (236). It becomes obvious that she is the only family member who wants to live this American fairy tale of privilege and cultured affluence. The children, it seems, do not want to become the sophisticated artisans their mother wishes them to be. This does not mean, however, that they are immune to the mythos of Paris with its freedoms and exotic charm. It is just that they do not want to work or study while they explore the city’s potential for the individual. For Archilde, however, this mythos becomes an object of study. 13 McNickle critiques the Parisian expatriate culture: once more, the American drawn to the hub of the culture and art of the colonizers. Archilde functions much as a cultural anthropologist as he walks the streets of Paris and shadows the life of the expatriates as described in the works of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dos Passos, et al. At one point, he and Claudia, who is fully engrossed by the mythos, debate the relative merits of the city: ‘Paris is more than the capital of France—for two centuries, at least, it has been the capital of wit and learning. All the scapegraces in the world come here —and most of the brilliant minds. You’ve heard that, haven’t you?’ ‘Yes, that is what I heard when I came east. I heard nothing else, in fact.” He hesitated over his next words. “Is it so wonderful then? Is it worth sacrificing a great deal to be here?’ ‘Yes, some people will give everything—do you know what I mean by everything?—just to linger on.’ (221) 14 As one can see in this seemingly innocuous conversation, McNickle’s prose is layered, as it is throughout his canon. The linking of scapegraces and brilliant minds is of note, as is the dialogue’s revelation that Claudia has internalized the mythos of Paris wholly. 15 Archilde’s reply to her is equally telling because it appears to reverse the path of colonialism and Manifest Destiny and the concepts of wealth and ease derived from the exploitation of the environment that are embodied in them. As presented, this exchange replicates the discourse of western expansion. The lure of the West developed a similar mythos of potentiality, where rogues rubbed elbows with cultural heroes and the possibility for the dramatic reinvention of self existed in an atmosphere of freedom and relative anonymity. However, once the land had been “settled,” the attempt to construct community called for a settling of identity based upon social paradigms of the east and People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 4 Europe, including enforcement of laws and rules to protect the private ownership of lucrative resources. While this may, at first, seem a stretch, the interrogation of Manifest Destiny and the potential the West presented to those in the east is found in several places in McNickle’s canon and it is the basis of the American Dream. 16 His short story “The Hawk is Hungry” is a good example. Set in Montana in the settlement era, the story describes a visit from the protagonist’s sister, who has remained behind in Connecticut as her brother goes west to build a ranch. Through her inquisitiveness about her brother’s life, we find a fit description of the region and its “new” imported lifeways, but through their visit to the farm of fellow settlers from the east, the Brown sisters, McNickle provides his commentary on Manifest Destiny writ large. At the end of the story, the sisters’ prize chicken—the rugged individualist “Molly” who roams free and is, for the sisters, the “idea of personal integrity” (Hawk 62)—is struck and hauled away by a hawk as they helplessly watch, unable to intervene. The intention of living an idealized, romanticized lifestyle by moving to a “new” land and rewriting one’s lot is deflated in quick fashion; reality strikes home through something as mundane (but also naturally fit for its environment) as a hungry hawk feeding itself—to the detriment and chagrin of the colonizer. Here, the pastoral ease of a gentrified life cannot be realized, nor can it withstand the natural world’s systems; the Brown sisters try to make the land conform to their dreams rather than shape their expectations and understanding to the land and its ways. 17 As the brother and sister return to his ranch, she ruminates on the Brown sisters’ subsistence lifestyle and bleak prospects, and then articulates McNickle’s point: “Anne stirred one sceptic thought, however, which has stayed in my mind ever since. She said, ‘I wonder—was it worth it—if that’s the way the West was settled?’” (Hawk 64). 18 The same question drives the conversation between Claudia and Archilde in Paris: is living here worth it? What, exactly, is the “everything” that people will sacrifice to “linger on” in this intelligentsia colony? To try to answer that, Claudia takes Archilde to meet another expatriate, a well known writer who has lived in Paris for years. 19 They track Dave Marsh to a café. At first, Archilde is attracted to the man, apparently due to his size and thus commanding presence. “He was tall and stoop shouldered. Indeed, he would have been an exceedingly big man but for his shoulders, which were rounded and stooped to such an extent that he gave the impression of being a cripple” (223). Although Archilde at first warms to him, it is this first impression —“stooped” linked with “cripple”—that provides Archilde’s final judgment of the poet, but also the mythos of Paris. “He was no longer interested in Marsh” (226). And what is it that results in such a sudden reversal? In a word, decadence, but not in the usual sense. In this world, ease leads to atrophy. The poet is no longer a poet but an inconsequential hack. “[His] poem was stupid” (227). 20 It is difficult to ignore the potential allusion to Ernest Hemingway whose first novel, The Sun Also Rises, was published while McNickle lived in France, and his protagonist, Jake Barnes, lives a lifeway in Paris very similar to Marsh. And, like Marsh, he is “crippled,” in this case due to a war wound that drives much of his character; he is impotent. While People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 5 Hemingway explored the implications for American senses of masculinity, McNickle extended his critique to the milieu of the author. Marsh suffers from a self-inflicted wound; he lives a life of his own choosing, and that makes a difference for the fledgling Archilde. 21 In Europe, the western spirit is lost in this place where Americans “linger on” and even a man of stature lives with no effort or drive. “What should a man do, then, with a big body and powerful shoulders? Let them rot?” (226). This early incarnation of the character Archilde subscribes to the concept of the self-made man of the West and this concept is incongruous with the cosmopolitan lifeways to be found in the East and Europe, which have nonetheless propelled numerous events over history that have had dire consequences, the subjugation of indigenous nations, the Great Depression and Dust Bowl included. 22 While there are qualities to this first manuscript that carry the seeds of the first published version, one can see Archilde’s alignment with the popularly held ideals and values of the West of the time and thus the environmental issues that have emerged from them. Despite the potential for challenging the class structures and power differentials of the era, though, The Hungry Generations falls short. As mentioned, at the end of the novel Archilde is a successful citizen: well educated, well to do, and well worth the non-Native damsel. Although the idea that her daughter is attracted to an Indian is vexing for Mrs. Burness, Archilde waits for Claudia to arrive “back home” in Montana, underscoring McNickle’s valuing of the West over the decadence of the Old World, but also reaffirming the social structures of both. Archilde may seem to be driven by an egalitarian ideal, but it is muted by the fact that he lives within the social framework that has worked to supplant the earlier egalitarian values of his homeland and the Salish as expressed in the social structures, economic system, and cultural practices McNickle describes in his final draft. 23 The Surrounded is a very different story. While McNickle retained the plot about the killing of the game warden, which at its basis is a conflict between colonizer and colonized but also two views of land/resource use, and keeps many of the characters, he dramatically transformed them. One easy illustration is found in Archilde’s extended family, particularly the character Modeste (his uncle) and Mike and Narcisse (his nephews). In The Hungry Generations the former has a cameo appearance and the latter provide a conflict over private ownership of the ranch. In The Surrounded Modest is a central character, a respected elder who retains the crucial elements of his culture, and the nephews grow close to Archilde and begin to practice that culture. In essence, this reclaims the ancient convention of the role of uncles (Modeste and Archilde) as the mentors for the young, the next generation. The earlier draft describes the fragmentation of the family with the rise of the successful individual property owner; the first published version describes the growth of that individual into a central element of a tribal community reclaiming its culture and right to self-determination in an environment made sustainable through the practicing of ancient values. 24 It is important to reconsider that all the action of The Surrounded takes place solely in Montana. The long section in the earlier draft set in Paris is gone. The novel opens with People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 6 Archilde’s homecoming, after living in Portland, Oregon making a living as a musician and underscores Archilde’s plan: to visit home for a short while and then to go forth into the wide world and make it on his own. 25 The plan is never realized, and the complicating factors that defer it are given in subtle fashion, beginning with the very opening scene. As Archilde walks the lane to his father’s ranch, he comes to a fork in the road: one leads to his European-immigrant father’s affluent ranch house—a sign of the material change that has come to the land— and the other to his mother’s rustic cabin. There are several binaries suggested by this divergent path—modern/primitive, American/Salish, male/female and all their variations—but for the young man who is trying to find his way in the West as it transforms itself after “settlement,” it also denotes assimilation/resistance. The latter is not unique to Archilde or to the Salish themselves; it is the same dilemma that indigenous individuals and nations have faced since 1492. In clever fashion, McNickle interrogates that dilemma and then deconstructs the binaries to offer a reevaluation of the assumptions that determine the valuing of one over the other, including people/place. Archilde takes the path to his mother’s cabin. And that has made all the difference.viii 26 Archilde’s visit comes as his father, Max, anticipates his wheat harvest. As he prepares for this event, one common to the region in modern times, he shares with readers his good fortune as a settler, for he sold his timber interests in time to avoid financial ruin, and his crops will continue his prosperity, apparent in his home but also his new car. He lives the American Dream of the colonist turned settler, the modern self- made man, with one exception. He is alone. 27 Although a daughter, Agnes, tends house for him, and her sons, Mike and Narcisse, live with her, he is alone, and without an heir to his holdings. He has driven his sons away. He consoles himself in the belief that, as he tried to make them develop a good western work ethic and a sense of responsibility, and thus demonstrate their worthiness to inherit what he has built with his own hands and good sense, they appeared inherently lazy, shiftless and without morals: the recurrent stereotypes of “improvident” Natives found throughout American literature from James Fenimore Cooper and Henry David Thoreau to contemporary graphic novels such as Scalped. He tries to beat them into submission to the Euroamerican value systems he represents—the lens through which he ascribes value to the land and its people—thus driving them further and further away. As Archilde returns home, the last, Louis, has turned into a horse thief and is hiding in the mountains with a herd he hopes to sell. 28 One must remember the historical context for the release of the novel, and the lingering tensions within the region, particularly those between Native and nonnative, and conflicting views of sustainable futures for all people. Considering this tension, there are two things to note in this plot summary. First, Max represents the “modern” values that have immigrated to this region through Manifest Destiny, and that adhere in the popular perception of “America” to be found in McNickle’s audience of the time. Inherent in this is the idea of private ownership of property, as transplanted from Europe, the self- centered use of the land in ways that were also transplanted by the colonists, and the passing of ownership, following the concept of primogeniture, through the male line. Max People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 7 does not value women in the ways the Salish do; to do so would seem less than masculine and masterful in the social paradigm he represents. 29 Second, Max’s sons resist this paradigm and follow an older tradition of conducting business in this land. The two societies’ value systems are obviously in conflict and although McNickle carefully avoids declaring that Louis’ thievery is laudable, he certainly toys with two conflicting conceptions of correct behavior: Salish social mores that shaped behavior in the past, and the “law and order” the settlers now impose upon everyone. This comparison of what was with what is in a landscape transformed by the radical trauma called colonialism can be found several places in the book, and slowly—for an audience that subscribes to the idea that the change has brought prosperity and civilized society to the region—the point of view McNickle would have us consider accrues, and it is one at odds with this popular ideal. 30 For instance, in the opening of Chapter Four, McNickle describes the town of St. Xavier as belonging “to two ages” but as he compares the “Townsite” of the new immigrants to the “Indiantown” of the Salish, he makes a curious valuation, for the latter is left to its own devices: “Its lack of plan and sanitation saved it” (35; emphasis mine). He goes on to note that there is, indeed, a plan to the order of the houses, since they all center on the church, but that the new arrivals cannot perceive it. 31 Also in the opening chapters, Archilde’s mother, Catharine, thinks back to the day the priests came sixty years earlier, and looks around to find “her sons developing into creatures such as had never lived in her childhood (a son might steal horses but a mother was respected)” (22). And one of the original missionaries to the region, Father Grepilloux, has returned to the valley to die, but as he looks at the aftereffects of his ministry, he sees dissolution, chastising Max for his self-centeredness: “You lose your sons, but these people have lost a way of life, and with it their pride, their dignity, their strength.” He then shares the one thing that, in his cultural framework, may mitigate that loss: “Of course... they have God” (59). McNickle’s irony is subtle. Grepilloux dies before the resilient strength of the Salish is revealed as they reject his teachings and return to their old lifeways, with Catharine leading the way. She was the first one baptized when the priests arrived but the night before the Salish summer dance, Catharine recounts to the Salish elders a dream she’s had that calls her to renounce her baptism. The Salish reclaim a lifeway that had sustained them for millennia before the priests’ and the American’s arrival. 32 Conflicting culturally defined senses of right and wrong, law and order abound in McNickle’s canon. One example might prove illustrative here, since it deals directly with the concepts of private ownership that are explored in the novel. McNickle’s short story “Hard Riding” begins with the Indian Agent to the Salish riding hard to a meeting with their elders. He whips his horse as he does so, thus providing one sense to the title, but also reflecting Max’s behavior toward his sons in the novel as well. The agent, a patriarchal authority figure, has the goal to “ride hard” on the Salish, too, so that he can coerce them into establishing a court and appointing judges to deal with the rash of cattle thefts from the herd that threaten to derail his economic plans for the tribe. As we come People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 8 to find out, the thefts have purpose. Tribal members have taken the cattle to feed poor people in the community who are starving. 33 This communal obligation—a residual element of Salish culture despite the imposition of federal laws/policies and new ways of doing things that focus upon the individual—is fundamental; it defines the community and its core values, and it runs counter to the economic interests of the agent and the government. Responding to the power structure imposed by the government, the elders agree to establish the court, thus satisfying the letter of the request, but certainly avoiding its spirit: they appoint judges who are mentally incapable of judging and who have no stature in the community. The court exists, but it is dysfunctional. No one will listen to it.ix Their resistance is ironic. 34 Communal obligations to others and to place are found throughout the novel. In fact, at one point during its creation, McNickle wrote to Professor William Gates, whose work on the ancient civilizations of the Americas attracted him. Offering to work for Gates, McNickle assures him that he does not want to obtain materials from the effort, because he has his own study underway: “a fictionalized study of the development of an Indian boy.”x Archilde’s development is, once again, very different from that of the original draft in which he becomes the quintessential capitalist, self-centered landowner. 35 As noted, Archilde returns in time for the harvest, which takes place in the early chapters. In The Hungry Generations, this is how the book concludes, with him harvesting the wheat on the ranch he now owns after Max’s death. Harvesting is, of course, symbolic of the culmination of the western dream, the realization of profit after the hard work is done. In The Surrounded, McNickle reverses the linear process with its attendant goal. To Max’s astonishment, Archilde works with the hired hands to bring in the wheat, thus establishing him—at least for the father whose pride in a son is a new emotion—as an effective participant in the economic enterprise that “tamed” the West and brought fruit from the “barren wilderness,” as the rhetoric of the time would have it. However, the plot that follows takes Archilde further from his father’s ideal and more into the center of another American dream that predates it and ultimately resists its basic underlying assumptions: from his father’s values to those of his mother. 36 In the concluding chapters of the novel, as Archilde makes preparations for his final departure from the valley, he returns from a trip into the mountains to find his mother dying. McNickle’s description of the moment is telling: He knelt at his mother’s head.... It was a different matter now. People grew into each other, became intertwined, and life was no mere matter of existence, no mere flash of time. It was time that made the difference. The time that was consumed in moving one’s feet along the earth, in learning the smell of coming snow, in enduring hunger and fear and the loss of pride; all that made a difference. And a still greater difference was this entangling of lives. People grew together like creeping vines. The root of beginning was hard to find in the many that had come together and spread their foliage in one mass. (258) 37 This is but one articulation of the recurrent motif of tribalism in McNickle’s canon after the years of the Great Depression, here driven home by the passing of a woman who has renounced the religion that for decades had worked against her society and its inherent sense of communal ownership of land, resources, and—in this instance—souls. Moreover, People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 9 its metaphoric use of the environment underscores what, at this moment of crisis, is to be valued: people and place. 38 Unlike The Hungry Generations with its happy ending and validation of the American values of the time, The Surrounded ends with Archilde—once more in the center of his Salish extended family—fully embodying resistance to the contemporary social systems of the settlers and the governmental mechanisms that protect them and that came to the valley with the immigrants. With the local sheriff dead at his feet, Archilde raises his arms to accept the shackles the Indian Agent orders. Although he did not shoot the sheriff, he is complicit, for as his friend Elise moves to defend her man from the injustice that he will certainly experience, he senses her purpose: “He wanted to stop her. He could have reached out his hand and held her back. He stood motionless, seeming to hold his breath” (294). Despite his arrest—or perhaps because of it—Archilde becomes the symbol of a radical reclamation of a Salish identity and thereby a culture and values of an indigenous lifeway. In an era of assimilation that called for the shedding of old values of communalism and adopting the rugged American individualism of the westerner, this was not a popular message, as those jailed under the sedition law can attest. Tellingly, Archilde is silent at book’s end, while in the manuscript he walks off scene singing. 39 The book did not sell; it dropped out of print after one run; but it was resurrected in the late 1970s and has been in print ever since. In other words, it was reissued after the demise of the “melting pot” metaphor, in an era that gave rise to environmentalism, rights for people of color and women, and a generation that questioned nationalistic overreach after Vietnam. One wonders what it offers for us today. 40 McNickle published only one other novel in his lifetime: Runner in the Sun: A Story of Indian Maize. It is of significance in this discussion, even though it was written for a young audience. It is set in pre-Columbian times, and was published in the 1950s. The novel was commissioned by Henry Holt as part of a series for young adults. The fact that it was published in the year 1954, often referred to as the year of “termination” because of the federal policy that would have set aside the government’s treaty obligations with several tribes, is of significance.xi Also significant is the fact that it was written during the Cold War as Senator Joseph McCarthy conducted his communist witch hunts.xii 41 The novel describes the journey of a young man, Salt, whose travels take him from present-day New Mexico through the various ancient cultures that inhabited Mexico and Central America on a quest to find the things necessary to help his people survive a radical change in their environment that, previously, had sustained them for thousands of years. (His journey takes him into the heart of those civilizations McNickle found in the work of William Gates.) With each successive nation he visits, Salt finds cultures that are more and more materialist and as a result more militaristic and rigidly class-structured, qualities that so clearly identify 1950s America during the Cold War. Although subtly presented, McNickle’s point is clear: a society that becomes progressively obsessed with these elements of human experience is doomed for it will ultimately begin to feed upon itself and its environment. Salt rescues a young slave woman, Quail, from human sacrifice and together they return to his village bringing the things the people need for their People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 10 survival: new “blood” and a new strain of corn, but also the cautionary stories of Salt’s experiences. 42 In the twenty years since the publication of his first novel, McNickle’s vision had matured and solidified into a philosophy that had at its core a reclamation of the communal qualities of tribal communities, and their empowerment in contemporary times: their right to self-determination as independent societies inside the borders of the U.S. and sovereignty over their environment and resources. This was not a popular message—in the 1930s or the 1950s, or today—but it is a future for which he worked as an activist, as a bureaucrat, and as a writer. And his work was prophetic. 43 The year 1954 was important for the policy of termination, as mentioned above, but it was also the year that French colonial forces were surrounded and forced to surrender at Dien Bien Phu, thus escalating U.S. involvement in Vietnam, which would consume a generation of American youth (and produce Agent Orange, the deadly defoliant); within two years, Allen Ginsberg would publish “Howl,” his poem critiquing American materialism and describing the blood god Moloch consuming the youth of America, as did Vietnam. 44 The tensions felt in the country at large were also felt in the region of McNickle’s birth, and these tensions resulted in a fundamental questioning of identity and social order. The changes coming to the region and nation were, in their own way, as traumatic as the change that came with the settlers. 45 In conclusion, I would argue that McNickle was seeking a way to survive in contemporary realities—economic, political, social (including gender and racial), and environmental—and to do so he developed a strong sense of identity as a Native individual: an individual who is responsive to a larger community and the place it lives, but also an individual whose actions are driven by a firm commitment to the communal good. Through this process, he became, in a way, an ideological hybrid mediating two sometimes conflicting value systems to produce ideals that are driven by tribal imperatives within a modern, western society. 46 As a budding cultural anthropologist, he recognized that all cultures change over time. This understanding resulted in his commitment as a political activist as he worked to promote Native cultures’ inherent right to determine how to react to and/or direct that change by maintaining their communal values. In any event, his life and attempts to interrogate the events taking place in the region’s environment, but also the U.S. at large, and offer new alternatives based in ancient practices mark him as a visionary whose works certainly anticipate the canon of Native literatures as it evolved through subsequent generations in the last century. His works also foreground the ways humanity has survived over millennia on this continent despite sweeping changes, and thus they provide responses to the social changes that took place in the country as a whole within his lifetime. Perhaps, they also offer a poignant lesson for the country as it seeks the means to survive in a world at times of crisis when natural and social resources are under unprecedented stress.xiii People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 11 BIBLIOGRAPHY Aaron, Jason. Scalped. Vol. 1 Indian Country. New York: Vertigo, 2007. Print. McNickle, D’Arcy. The Hawk is Hungry and Other Stories. Birgit Hans, Ed. Tucson: U of Arizona P, 1992. Print. ---. Letter to William Gates, 25 March 1934, McNickle Papers, Newberry Library, Chicago. ---. Runner in the Sun: A Story of Indian Maize. Albuquerque: U of New Mexico P, 1987. Print. ---. The Surrounded. New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1936. Print. ---. Wind From an Enemy Sky. Albuquerque: U of New Mexico P, 1988. Print. Mickenberg, Julia L. Learning from the Left: Children’s Literature, the Cold War, and Radical Politics in the United States. New York: Oxford UP, 2006. Print. Parker, Dorothy. Singing an Indian Song: A Biography of D’Arcy McNickle. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 1992. Print. Purdy, John Lloyd. The Legacy of D’Arcy McNickle: Writer, Historian, Activist. Norman: U of Oklahoma P, 1996. Print. --- with James Ruppert. Nothing but the Truth: An Anthology of Native American Literature. Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 2000. Print. ---. Word Ways: The Novels of D’Arcy McNickle. Tucson: U of Arizona P, 1990. Print. Work, Clemens P. Darkest Before Dawn: Sedition and Free Speech in the American West. Albuquerque: U of New Mexico P, 2005. Print. NOTES i. For a full exploration of this history see Clemens P. Work’s Darkest Before Dawn: Sedition and Free Speech in the American West. ii. Under this Act, each reservation’s lands were divided into plots of a certain acreage and families from the tribal community were to sign a tribal roll to receive their allotments. Many refused, since signing the roll would be a de facto acknowledgement that the federal government has the right to dispense with tribal lands and to determine who is a tribal member. iii. This will be discussed later in the essay. iv. Interestingly, the rhetoric leveled at F.D.R. and his proposals is very similar to that against President Barak Obama’s handling of the recession plaguing the country when he took office, both of whom were branded “socialist.” v. In McNickle’s papers, one can find evidence that the original draft had at least gained some positive response from publishers. At one point, in 1934, he had a contract for a version, “Dead Grass.” However, there has been no evidence identified to suggest that the radical revisions he undertook in The Surrounded were under the direction of an editor. Instead, his diaries suggest his revisiting of the precepts woven into the original, handwritten manuscript of The Hungry Generations. People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 12 vi. It is also a phrase from Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale.” McNickle was, after all, an English literature major. vii. It is an interesting phenomenon to be found in many “boom” towns of the West, where opera houses, ladies societies, and mansions supplanted the rustic homes and meeting houses of an earlier time. In The Surrounded, this is manifested in one scene where Archilde visits his uncle, Modeste. His uncle’s place has a teepee, rustic cabin, and modern frame house in close proximity, cleverly acknowledging the change that has come, but also the contemporary theory of social evolution, including social Darwinism. One should also note that McNickle’s own father was a railroad worker. viii. While in New York, McNickle took a poetry-writing course from Robert Frost, whose poem “The Road Not Taken” carries a similar idea and poetic line. ix. This story can be found in The Hawk is Hungry. x. “Letter to William Gates,” 25 March 1934, McNickle Papers, Newberry Library, Chicago. xi. The U.S. Congress has engaged in the debate of the “Indian Problem” many times over the centuries, as well as today. In essence, the 1950s saw a renewed post-war debate that would renege on the treaties of the past by supposedly shifting funding of indigenous nations’ programs from the government. This means it wanted, in a way, to “buy out” treaties and thus avoid the obligations found in them. Several nations fell into this program initially, such as the Klamath in Oregon. Subsequently, the policies were overturned, thanks in part to the efforts of people like McNickle who lobbied intensively against them. xii. For a wonderful examination of the direction the careers of many leftist artists took at this time, see Julia Mickenberg’s Learning from the Left: Children’s Literature, the Cold War, and Radical Politics in the United States. xiii. One cannot help but wonder what the literature that comes from the current socio- economic conditions and recent historical events will look like. ABSTRACTS Today, societies have intensified their discourse about the concept of “sustainability,” a term that has expanded to consider the viability of political and economic systems once believed to be inevitable and inviolable. Of course this is not the first time we have searched for a deeper understanding of the interaction between humanity and its surroundings. By looking at the literary production of one Native American author, D’Arcy McNickle, who reached maturity in the 1930s—during the Great Depression and the rise of totalitarian governments—this article considers some implications of the author’s vision of the intersections between political power, human rights, and environmental change: the values that drive our decision-making and subsequent actions. By turning to literature, it asks us to listen to the voices of those who may offer alternative ways of understanding what has happened to our world and where we must go to promote its survival. INDEX Keywords: D’Arcy McNickle, Environment, Great Depression, Human Rights, Indian Literature, Native American People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 13 AUTHOR JOHN L. PURDY Western Washington University People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American ... European journal of American studies, Vol 11, no 2 | 2016 14 People, Place and Politics: D’Arcy McNickle’s (Re)Valuing of Native American Principles 
work_xrbfwemfqng3vkjnl3yi2e2ruy	----	Quoting "the environment:: Touchstones on Earth University of Massachusetts Amherst From the SelectedWorks of Donal Carbaugh 2007 Quoting "the environment:: Touchstones on Earth Donal Carbaugh, University of Massachusetts Amherst Available at: https://works.bepress.com/donal_carbaugh/30/ http://www.umass.edu https://works.bepress.com/donal_carbaugh/ https://works.bepress.com/donal_carbaugh/30/ RESPONSE TO COX Quoting ‘‘the Environment’’: Touchstones on Earth Donal Carbaugh This essay reflects upon the purposes of studying environmental communication by focusing on the variety of ways we quote ‘‘the environment’’ in our studies. Special attention is given to balancing the twin objectives of speaking about ‘‘the environment,’’ while also listening to what the environment says to us. In the process, we can serve a diversity of peoples, eco-parts and processes, through a language which can keep that diversity in view. How, then, can we assess movement, toward these ends? A proposal is made: We can gather Touchstones on EARTH into our studies, reminding ourselves that: Earth, ‘‘Environment,’’ is doubly quoted: Both the word and the world speak; Action is engaged in words, environments, and their peoples; Responsible research takes nature, or earth, to be the measure of the good; Time helps temper enthusiasms, and allows enduring insights to be built; Heuristic explorations as these can create insights about communication and environment, while generating better ways of dwelling on earth. Keywords: Ethnography; Nature and Culture; Relation of Words to World; Tenets for Environmental Communication Professor Cox has delivered a provocative programmatic address, and essay, concerning the theory and practice of environmental communication. The main question he raises is of perennial importance: What is the purpose of environmental communication as a field? Implicit in the question are two imperatives. We must ask such a question, and periodically, we must revisit it: Toward what ends are we working when we engage in studies of environmental communication? Professor Cox discusses instances where our quick responsiveness to environmental crises is needed. He brings to our attention enduring energy issues concerning coal, Donal Carbaugh is professor of Communication at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. The author wishes to thank Tema Milstein for discussing, reading, and reacting to an earlier draft of this essay; as well as Michelle Scollo and Eric Morgan for continuing discussions of these matters. Correspondence to: Department of Communication, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, MA 01003, USA. Email: carbaugh@comm.umass.edu ISSN 1752-4032 (print)/ISSN 1752-4040 (online) # 2007 Taylor & Francis DOI: 10.1080/17524030701334276 Environmental Communication Vol. 1, No. 1, May 2007, pp. 64 �73 oil, climate, as well as how these issues are inextricably tied to verbal interpretations of what each issue indeed is. Highlighted is the way environmental concerns revolve around shifts in terms: are we experiencing ‘‘global warming’’ or ‘‘climatic dislocation’’? Is this an ‘‘exotic species’’ or an ‘‘invasive species’’? Is this land rendered a ‘‘mountain to be preserved’’ or a ‘‘project to be developed’’? Are we currently visiting a ‘‘national park’’ or ‘‘an occupied territory’’? History, politics, and cultures are invoked in the rhetorical uses of terms, in the ways our world is verbally cast, and in the social scenes constituted through these uses, through these ways of speaking (Carbaugh, 1996; Carbaugh and Rudnick, 2006; Schultz, 2001; Weaver, 1996). In his address, Professor Cox’s comments at times both illustrate and lament a particular usage as when environmental discourse highlights specific entities (e.g., a focus on trees and species) while easily hiding what each is part and parcel of (e.g., the forest and interdependent ecocommunities). Tied into this mode of analytic rationality is what we might call a linguistic lag factor, due to a hyperfocus on some verbal part over the larger parcel on which it is dependent. Apparently, the ability to verbally interpret the larger parcel plods along well behind the rhetoric of the part* as when our terms focus on endangered species over their communities*while in the meantime there is a tragic passing of nature’s larger thresholds, as the ecosystem declines, the climate warms, the water becomes too acidic, and the like. As a result, we stand on the beach staring at a starfish, before realizing we are about to be consumed by a tsunami. The world’s waves sweep around us as we struggle to understand what hit us, trying to keep our proverbial head above the water. Investigating the terrain of environmental discourses, that is, the communication of environmental issues, entities, and integrative systems, necessitates care- ful thinking, action based in what we know about the diversity of parts and processes, through a language that can keep those issues, entities, and systems in view. What, then, can we do, toward these ends? Professor Cox’s comments insist that our research be responsible, emphasizing how the qualities of verbal communication that are intimately linked to our under- standing are thus also linked to our actions concerning ‘‘environmental crises.’’ A rhetoric of urgency is formulated, prodding us to become engaged on behalf of our planet, and thus on behalf of ourselves. Toward that end, he formulates a useful set of ‘‘tenets’’ or principles or premises that may serve as starting-points for developing such understandings, and for responsible actions. I would like to focus on these, reflecting a little bit upon each, taking them seriously, for I find the group together to be quite fertile grounds for thought. Let’s start with the first: ‘‘ ‘Environment’ imbricates material and social/symbolic resources’’ (Cox, 2007, p. 12). Reading further, Professor Cox explains that our understanding of ‘‘the natural world and environmental problems’’ is ‘‘mediated by systems of representation*by human communication’’ (p. 12). This makes good sense to me, and I want to explore in some detail specifically what this might mean. In my first reading, I was intrigued by the word, ‘‘imbricates,’’ and admittedly, wasn’t exactly sure what it meant. There, on page 1378 of my Oxford Compact Dictionary, the term was defined through metaphor, ‘‘to place so as to overlap,’’ as in Quoting ‘‘the Environment’’ 65 the layering of one tile over another. One intriguing reading of this first tenet, then, with this definition, is that ‘‘environment’’ overlaps, or is layered over ‘‘material and social/symbolic resources.’’ Given this, we might immediately wonder, what is layered over the material, and conclude, well, words, representations, or signs. We are reminded that ‘‘environment’’ is a word that adds a layer, linguistically, onto material, social/symbolic processes. The metaphor suggests, then, that ‘‘environment’’ be understood as a verbal lamination on top of, or surrounding such material, social/ symbolic process, or entities. And it is that verbal lamination that grounds, or is used to express, our meanings about the material. In a sense, then, ‘‘environment’’ as a word is laminated over the utterly real environment. Good enough. I then began puzzling considerably over the quotations around ‘‘environment’’ in this first tenet. What does this mean, environment in quotations? One possible reading of the quotations is an emphasis on the process of imbrication, as a way of reminding us that ‘‘environment’’ is a word, being quoted, drawing attention to its use. As a quoted word, this suggests that we reflect upon standard usage concerning the matters we discuss, and to what we mean when we use the word, and words like ‘‘environment.’’ Consulting Cox further about this, we find two additional points on the matter: that ‘‘environment’’ in particular involves what ‘‘we know,’’ ‘‘our ideas, beliefs, attitudes, policies, and practices involving the natural world and environmental problems’’ (p. 12). We might think of this as an anchoring of ‘‘our ideas’’ in the cultural world of taken-for-granted knowledge, as formed in the sediment of our social sayings. We find, further, that this knowledge is already ‘‘mediated by systems of representation*by human communication’’ (p. 12). We are born into an expressive system that mediates our relationship with the environment. So both our ideas about, and our expressions of, the world are implicated in the way we laminate the ‘‘environment.’’ At this point, Professor Cox adds a second example of this process that is like the word ‘‘environment.’’ It is ‘‘the very idea of wilderness.’’ He notes how this idea is indeed also ‘‘mediated through various technologies’’. In fact, he states, ‘‘ ‘wilderness’ already, inescapably is mediated’’ (p. 12, quotation marks in original). (This statement about ‘‘wilderness’’ is drawn from the call for the 2005 Conference on Communication and Environment.) So, ‘‘environment’’ and ‘‘wilderness’’ are, in a sense, ‘‘ideas,’’ encapsulated in verbal concepts, which are ‘‘already, inescapa- bly . . . mediated.’’ Through these pre-existing terms, and similar others, we are ‘‘wired’’ and drawn into what might be called a ‘‘prison-house’’ of language, rhetorical terms and tropes that stand over and between our relation with nature’s world. Given this, we find ourselves caught in a grand imbricating process, representa- tions revolving around a central signifier, ‘‘environment.’’ On this premise, we are all already subjected to a verbal layering process, principally, but not exclusively, of placing words over the world. It is those words that already exist, on top of each other, and on top of our world. Is it possible to scrape off the layers of words and get to our natural world? It seems, Cox reminds us, that there is some glimmer of hope that we can. But our footing in this matter is not quite as firm. 66 D. Carbaugh We find the first tenet has another foot, if ever so lightly and only delicately on the ground. Professor Cox guides us to Peterson, Peterson, and Grant (2004) to find this additional footing, in the ‘‘reality’’ of the rhetoric of representations like ‘‘environ- ment’’ and ‘‘wilderness.’’ Here, the term ‘‘reality’’ evidently refers to something, in some sense, beyond language? As a result, Cox’s language of the first tenet places one verbal foot in rhetorical ‘‘tropes,’’ ‘‘social constructions,’’ and ‘‘social practices,’’ and the other in ‘‘real terrains,’’ ‘‘real consequences,’’ and ‘‘biophysical processes.’’ We are reminded through the quotations around the former set*tropes, social construc- tions, social practices*that these are already humanly manufactured ideas within a linguistically mediated world. The latter set is also, apparently, of this sort, that is, terms in our language, yet somehow this latter set goes beyond the (mere?) social and verbal realm. (I will return to this dynamic between the sets of terms in a moment.) Through this dual usage, then, and treated metaphorically as an imbrication, the first tenet makes explicit the wordedness of environment or wilderness, casts this process as a layering of significations over ‘‘material, and social/symbolic processes;’’ yet also the first tenet props the door open to the real world, through ‘‘the real world.’’ With this reading in mind, let’s return for a minute to the question: What to make of those quotations? I think a more elaborate response to the question can fortify our view. As we have discussed, we can understand ‘‘environment,’’ as quoted, as a word that is, in one sense, somehow layered onto the material stuff of nature. Some may worry that this characterization wrongly assumes that the ‘‘material’’ of ‘‘reality’’ is more primary than the ‘‘words’’ used to discuss it, like ‘‘environment.’’ We might respond to them by saying: Perhaps this word-to-stuff relation is also interpretable as an imbricating process in which words and world are mutually constituted. Just as our language struggles to make sense of the natural world, so too do our senses of the natural world seek a language about that of which we are a part. Whether we proclaim a determining force in one or both directions, these readings draw attention to our word, ‘‘environment,’’ and its intimate link to nature’s world. Our interpretation here also makes the point that our words, like ‘‘environment,’’ have a formative hand in shaping our understanding and our actions regarding nature’s world. I take all of this to be good, as far as it goes. But, as much as I agree with and espouse these points myself, I also think there is a risk this view might be a bit oversocialized, or a bit overdetermined from a rhetorical view. The verbal or social ‘‘construction metaphor’’ can be overworked, all of us being wordsmiths while losing sight (and sense) of the raw materials that are the subjects in our constructions. We might sound a horn of caution by returning to the quoted environment. How so? There is, I believe, a deeper and more general interpretation possible of the quotations around environment. In this sense, attention is not drawn in the first instance to the word ‘‘environment,’’ but to a process through which the world expresses itself. In this sense, when we write, or speak, about such matters, we are indeed quoting the environment, serving as spokespersons for what it*that is, the world*has indeed already ‘‘said.’’ Heard in this way, and ironically here through Quoting ‘‘the Environment’’ 67 these words, we are drawing to our attention, not the word itself, but the natural world that it references, and the processes through which it indeed ‘‘speaks’’ about itself, and thus to us. This point is difficult to put into words, and this is why the quoted ‘‘environment’’ serves it well. We are reminded, in this deeper sense, that we are, indeed, putting into words a communicative process that is in the first instance not constructed through words, but is something that has already been ‘‘said’’ by the environment. 1 Why else do we walk beautiful beaches, or oil-soaked beaches, if not, partly at least, to hear what each says, and thus for inspiration in better ways of ‘‘speaking’’ about them? Why do we, as Henry David Thoreau, saunter through swamps, or like John Muir make our way through the wonderful storms in a wilderness valley, or watch the ouzel, if not to hear nature’s voice, beyond the constraints of civilization, telling us things our prior words could not quite capture. And struggle to capture nature’s ‘‘sayings’’ we must. Ralph Waldo Emerson reminded us that ‘‘we know more from nature than we can at will communicate’’ (Emerson, 1983, p. 23). I think we should never forget Emerson’s dictum, and thus should not forget the process from whence it came: Nature speaks, we listen, we somehow learn, we struggle to put what we have learned into words, but we are forever frustrated by the process, thus we return to nature, and forever enjoy the spiral*it’s never really a simple cycle since we learn something each time*all over again. A challenge this poses for all of us is to open our understanding to the world beyond our words, beyond our representations of it, to learn anew from it, and to be in a position better to speak about what we come to know and thus to act accordingly. This suggests further that our words not become the primary or exclusive measure of things, but that nature be so. Put differently, the medium of words must not dominate our means of communication when striving to know nature’s world. This reading of the quotations elaborates features of, and adds important emphases to our opening tenet. We are reminded that our education and understanding should never be focused solely on our words, or simply on our verbal and visual representations of nature, environment, or wilderness. Yes, the verbal representations are crucial and focal in much of what we do as environmental communication scholars and practitioners, but these are not our sole concerns. In yet other words, we must focus of course on ‘‘representations of environment,’’ but we must also focus on its presentations , in the first instance on its being in and of itself, what it has to say to us. We must not forget that our verbal imbrications are in some sense secondary translations of other natural systems of expression, from rocks and rapids to ravens. And we must become better attuned to those other expressive systems, to what each is saying to us, in its own way, and then we might learn to speak better, in our own words, on its behalf, as a result of this process. Without constant reminding of this as part of the larger process, we stand leaning heavily on our own words, and are somewhat less steady in the world we seek to understand, or the world we ‘‘stand up for’’ and care for, as Edward Abbey put it. There are several cautionary points here that bear repeating. One is the keeping of a balanced view, keeping both the world and our words about it in sight. Each is not 68 D. Carbaugh the other. We should not confuse the one for the other. We must be careful not to load the dice in favor of our own interests in the linguistic, rhetorical, socially constructed nature of things. As Professor Cox states, our ‘‘representations’’ like ‘‘environment’’ are indeed already constructed. Where, then, do we stand in order to gain a larger perspective on our ‘‘interested’’ representations? Are we somehow stuck in our own worded worlds, mired in our vested imbrications, interested party versus interested party? How do we move on? One way is to learn to listen beyond the human words, beyond the humanly manufactured systems of representation. In the process, we can consult what else is being ‘‘said,’’ through other means of expression, by the whales, waters, winds, and others which can suggest much to us as we listen. If we are willing to admit this as a part of a basic tenet, we can balance our words with what we hear in other ways in the world, opening our words to the world’s teachings, making nature the measure of what we say so not to be enslaved by our own preconstructed representations. 2 Note that the caution involves several ingredients, balancing our words with the world, our verbal with various other means of expression, and our metaphors of ‘‘construction’’ and ‘‘representation’’ with direct apprehensions of nature’s offerings, with what indeed is immediately present to us through this mode, through, what Paul Rezendes calls ‘‘direct communication.’’ 3 This then situates our first tenet with a doubly quoted, dual allegiance, to know ‘‘environment,’’ ‘‘wilderness,’’ ‘‘nature’’ and the like as words and signs that are already represented to us, and which already mediate our relation with the world; but also, to know what is being expressed to us by the world itself, through its other means of expression, beyond our familiar verbal and visual representations. Through both, communication mediates the relations between people and nature, with this inviting a larger view of environmental communication, from words to other wordless means of communication, affirming both as powerful sources of knowledge. Our allegiance can, then, stand squarely both on various social representations of the word, and on the world’s presentations of itself. 4 We can, now, trace the reverberations of this doubly quoted environment throughout the remaining tenets that Professor Cox formulates. A second reminds us that ‘‘social/symbolic representations of environment embody ‘interested’ orientations toward their object(s)’’ (p. 13). Any environmental discourse elevates some vantage for viewing above others, some perspective, position, and purpose over others. This brings into view the partial and selective nature of any environmental discourse, and heightens our sense of at least one problem: If each such discourse about the environment is indeed partial, and each indeed interested, what to do about that? Too often, each antagonizes another, asserting its own interests against the others, resulting in a war of words and a worse world. Listening to the range, and consulting the world in which each plays its role, may give a renewable place from which to speak. Responsible research and constructive action can be formulated accordingly. Let me briefly discuss an example of how this may be so. Over the past years I have been participating in a land-use controversy in western Massachusetts (Carbaugh, 1996). My initial perspective, position, and purpose in this Quoting ‘‘the Environment’’ 69 controversy was as an avowed environmentalist, tutored in the trails of the terrain, seeking to stop development in an area of natural beauty with a deep history. Over time, by exploring others’ discourses for the place, I began understanding the limits of my discourse, its partial perspective, and indeed its potentially destructive qualities in this case. Placing an ethnographic cap over my environmental hat helped me understand various counter-discourses and opposing codes in ways that were instructive and productive not only to me, but to others caught in the controversy. It also led me back to the trails, to nature’s place, consulting it for further knowledge and guidance. Eventually, I wrote about these discursive dynamics, and at one point my words were quoted by a state environmental official at a public meeting as a rationale for bringing diverse interests together in order to live better in this natural and social place. The meeting resulted in the creation of a political body of various interests who had the authority to put on paper an official integrative plan for the place. The plan permitted but limited development on it. My discussion about this research here is not solely an exercise in immodesty (I hope), but simply the illustration of a way the careful study of different and dueling environmental discourses can, with a careful consultation of places in the world, result in productively engaged actions. Given the ‘‘interested’’ nature of environmental representations, we must consult the range-in-use, and the earth, giving time to each, to know how best to proceed. Without the range in view, and without nurturing our capability of verbalizing each, we risk being simply ‘‘self-interested,’’ without an integrative stance, unable to be properly attentive to peoples and places. The risks can be considerable. As I write these words, we are at war. Something better is needed. A commitment to understanding multiple discourses, to weaving the best of them together, within places well known, can offer one small kind of hope. Professor Cox’s third tenet reminds us that ‘‘social, economic and ideological contexts both enable and inhibit the production of representations of ‘environment’’’ (p. 13). Just as species live in bioregions, so too do our discourses inhabit their own worlds. At times these are economically driven, at times ideationally driven, and so on. The distinctive histories of places, and discourses about them, need to be understood. Each has affordances; each also has limitations. As Kenneth Burke discussed in his first book, Permanence and Change , our symbolic orientations equip us with capacities, but also constrain us with incapacities (Burke, 1965). This is yet another reason to explore the variety of discourses in view, while consulting the earthly places where each finds root. Just as biodiversity is an important principle in understanding ecosystems, so too is discursive diversity important in grasping human ecocommunities. Embracing the variety, and moving with the range in view, offers a good way to proceed. The final tenet that Professor Cox formulates is this: ‘‘Dominant systems of representation of ‘environment’ influence societal deliberation and/or response to environmental signals, including signs of deterioration of human health, climate, or ecological systems’’ (p. 14). We must seek to understand what each environmental discourse brings into view, what it permits, what it prohibits. A commitment to 70 D. Carbaugh understanding a range, rather than standing with only one, helps loosen the hold of any one on the rest. This, I think, is at the heart of critical praxis. We are informed about a variety of discourses, about that which each espouses to know (i.e., natural worlds), and are thus equipped with knowledge of the range-in-use, ready to act responsibly on the ground, so to speak, of biodiscursive diversity. Based upon this reading and discussion of Professor Cox’s tenets, then, I want to supplement the tenets with a set of Touchstones that summarize some of our main points of discussion. With these, we can draw attention to environmental communication as both what we do when we communicate about the environment AND what the environment or earth is as it ‘‘speaks’’ to us. Both need to be firmly placed if we are to know from whence, and about what, we speak. I have formulated these touchstones as a mnemonic device, so it spells EARTH, and so it takes communication not just as its subject matter, but as its primary theoretical concern. Touchstones on EARTH Earth, ‘‘environment’’ and the like should be understood as doubly quoted, as both words used to say things, and as things or processes ably speaking in their own right. This grounds our views of environmental communication in a dual allegiance to words and worlds, each with voices worth hearing, worthy of deep reflection. Active is a way of characterizing communication research that is engaged in the earth, its peoples, and our communication with each. We seek to be actively responsive to our environment and its needs, to be accessible as well to it and its people. In the process, we seek to understand environmental discourses that mediate relations between people and nature, to understand the places in which they are used, to act in favor of nature, of people, and thus to honor earth, through better knowledge about it. Responsibility in environmental communication aims at the good, here using nature as the measure of what is good. Not only do our words (and other signs) give shape and meanings to the world, but so too does the world shape and give meanings to our words. Responsible research keeps both in view, drawing attention to ways we speak about the environment, while also giving voice to the earth, its diversity of peoples and natural places. Time is necessary for responsible action, and for good environmental commu- nication, research and practice. To know environments, what they say, and what people say about them requires time, and patience. This point stands uneasily beside a need for urgent action, and beside one cultivating a sense of crisis. Certainly crises there are! Yet generating deeper and enduring understandings about such matters is not an exercise in a quick fix, nor is it a formula for fast action. As through traditions of ancient wisdom, time is needed to temper the impulse to get it done now, to productively channel the emotion of urgency, to move in ways steeped in knowledge about environmental words, worlds, and ways people live in places. Based upon time- tested experiences, discipline in one’s research, applied over time, offers something a quick reaction to crises may not. While there are times when quick reaction is Quoting ‘‘the Environment’’ 71 absolutely necessary, there are also times and places when careful research can add to knowledge about communication and environment, actively engaged in the issues it studies, responsibly addressing what is of concern. While we act quickly at times, we must keep in our sights a kind of wisdom, like the late Sioux scholar Vine Deloria (1991) discussed, which has met various generational and practical tests. Heuristic explorations in environmental communication are needed, especially those which generate knowledge about communication as it mediates the relationship between people and earth’s places. Some have explored how some indigenous practices are nonverbally attentive to the world; some are emphasizing the spirited nature of environments; some draw attention to the limits of language in these processes; and so on. We need investigations that inquire how various means of communication are active in and about our worlds. These will help create better insights about communication, environment, and people, and the ways they are related; these will help nurture a variety of ways people live environmentally emplaced lives; these will offer critical perspectives for living well in places, and expressing all that that entails. And so we can gather Touchstones on EARTH into our studies, reminding ourselves that: Earth, ‘‘Environment,’’ is doubly quoted: the word and the world speak. Action is engaged in words, environments, and their peoples. Responsible research takes nature, or earth to be the measure of the good. Time helps temper enthusiasms, and allows enduring insights to be built. Heuristic explorations create insights, while generating better ways to proceed. Notes [1] I am drawing heavily here for background on various literatures including the ideas of ‘‘speaking in silence,’’ by Paul Rezendes (1999); how ‘‘the land stalks people’’ among western Apache by Keith Basso (1996); communicating nonverbally with nature by Michelle Scollo Sawyer (2004); and ‘‘listening to nature’’ among Blackfeet by D. Carbaugh and David Boromisza-Habashi (in press). [2] Wendell Berry’s (1990) essays surrounding ‘‘nature as the measure’’ in What are people for? are highly instructive here. [3] The limits of the ‘‘construction’’ metaphor are discussed in Tim Ingold’s (1992) ‘‘Culture and the perception of environment’’; see also Rezendes (1999, pp. 143 �159). [4] The tenet suggests developing our ability to utilize various means of expression beyond words and manufactured images. Nature’s systems of signification are bountiful, and in need of our attentiveness, in addition to what we have already said about them. For an interesting illustration of this point, see Scollo Sawyer (2004). For a discussion of related ideas and materials, see Carbaugh and Boromisza-Habashi (in press). References Basso, K. (1996). Wisdom sits in places . Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Berry, W. (1990). What are people for? San Francisco: North Point Press. 72 D. Carbaugh Burke, K. (1965). Permanence and change . Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill. Carbaugh, D. (1996). Situating selves: The communication of social identity in American scenes . Albany: State University of New York Press. Carbaugh, D., & Boromisza-Habashi, D. (in press). Discourse beyond language: Cultural rhetoric, revelatory insight, and nature. In C. Meyer & F. Girke (Eds.), The interplay of rhetoric and culture . Oxford: Berghahn Book Studies in Rhetoric and Culture III. Carbaugh, D., & Rudnick, L. (2006). Which place, what story: Cultural discourses at the border of the Blackfeet reservation and Glacier National Park. Great Plains Quarterly, 26 (3), 67 �84. Cox, R. (2007). Nature’s ‘‘crisis disciplines’’: Does environmental communication have an ethical duty? Environmental Communication: A Journal of Nature and Culture , 1 , 5 �20. Deloria, V. Jr. (1991). Reflection and revelation: Knowing land, places, and ourselves. In J. A. Swan (Ed.), The power of place and human environments (pp. 28 �40). Wheaton, IL: Quest Books. Emerson, R. W. (1983). Ralph Waldo Emerson essays and lectures: Nature; Addresses, and lectures/ essays . Library of America. Ingold, T. (1992). Culture and the perspection of environment. In E. Croll & D. Parkin (Eds.), Bush base: forest farm. Culture, environment, and development (pp. 39 �56). London: Routledge. Peterson, T. R., Peterson, M. J., & Grant, W. E. (2004). Social practice and biophysical process. In S. L. Senecah (Ed.), Environmental communication yearbook (Vol. 1) (pp. 15 �32). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Rezendes, P. (1999). The wild within . New York: Berkley Books. Schultz, B. (2001). Language and the natural environment. In A. Fill & P. Muhlhausler (Eds.), The ecolinguistics reader: Language, ecology, and environment (pp. 109�114). London: Continuum. Scollo Sawyer, M. (2004). Nonverbal ways of communicating with nature: A cross-case study. In S. L. Senecah (Ed.), Environmental communication yearbook (Vol. 1) (pp. 227 �249). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Weaver, B. (1996). ‘‘What to do with the mountain people?’’: The darker side of the successful campaign to establish the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. In J. Cantrill & C. Oravec (Eds.), The symbolic earth (pp. 151 �175). Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky. Quoting ‘‘the Environment’’ 73 University of Massachusetts Amherst From the SelectedWorks of Donal Carbaugh 2007 Quoting "the environment:: Touchstones on Earth doi:10.1080/17524030701334276 
work_xt4paicbtvgqnb5x56nfb7d7ua	----	[PDF] Theorising Interventions as Events in Systems | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1007/s10464-009-9229-9 Corpus ID: 17993728Theorising Interventions as Events in Systems @article{Hawe2009TheorisingIA, title={Theorising Interventions as Events in Systems}, author={P. Hawe and A. Shiell and T. Riley}, journal={American Journal of Community Psychology}, year={2009}, volume={43}, pages={267-276} } P. Hawe, A. Shiell, T. Riley Published 2009 Sociology, Medicine American Journal of Community Psychology Conventional thinking about preventive interventions focuses over simplistically on the “package” of activities and/or their educational messages. An alternative is to focus on the dynamic properties of the context into which the intervention is introduced. Schools, communities and worksites can be thought of as complex ecological systems. They can be theorised on three dimensions: (1) their constituent activity settings (e.g., clubs, festivals, assemblies, classrooms); (2) the social networks… Expand View on Springer evidencebasedpublichealth.co.uk Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 656 CitationsHighly Influential Citations 31 Background Citations 250 Methods Citations 20 Results Citations 7 View All Figures and Topics from this paper figure 1 figure 2 figure 3 figure 4 Community message Ecosystem Paper Mentions Interventional Clinical Trial Family Listening Program: Multi-Tribal Implementation and Evaluation This is a five-year R01 effectiveness trial where tribal partners are committed to assessing the Family Listening/Circle Program's effectiveness and disseminating the approach and… Expand Conditions Substance Abuse Intervention Other University of New Mexico April 2014 - March 2019 656 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Introduction to Multi-Level Community Based Culturally Situated Interventions J. Schensul, E. Trickett Psychology, Medicine American journal of community psychology 2009 69 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Community, Culture and Sustainability in Multilevel Dynamic Systems Intervention Science J. Schensul Sociology, Medicine American journal of community psychology 2009 122 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Addressing complexity in population health intervention research: the context/intervention interface L. Minary, F. Alla, L. Cambon, J. Kivits, L. Potvin Medicine Journal of Epidemiology & Community Health 2018 22 PDF Save Alert Research Feed From complex social interventions to interventions in complex social systems: Future directions and unresolved questions for intervention development and evaluation G. Moore, R. Evans, +4 authors S. Murphy Psychology, Medicine Evaluation 2019 111 Highly Influenced PDF View 6 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Reframing Coalitions as Systems Interventions: A Network Study Exploring the Contribution of a Youth Violence Prevention Coalition to Broader System Capacity Kimberly D. Bess Political Science, Medicine American journal of community psychology 2015 5 View 2 excerpts, cites methods and background Save Alert Research Feed Prevention Systems: Structure and Challenges: Europe as an Example G. Burkhart, S. Helmer Psychology 2019 Save Alert Research Feed Ecology, Wicked Problems, and the Context of Community Interventions E. Trickett Sociology, Medicine Health education & behavior : the official publication of the Society for Public Health Education 2019 1 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Unpacking complexity in public health interventions with the Actor–Network Theory Angèle Bilodeau, L. Potvin Computer Science, Medicine Health promotion international 2018 19 Highly Influenced PDF View 6 excerpts, cites results and background Save Alert Research Feed Evidence suggests a need to rethink social capital and social capital interventions. A. Shiell, P. Hawe, S. Kavanagh Sociology, Medicine Social science & medicine 2018 32 Save Alert Research Feed Transforming Social Regularities in a Multicomponent Community‐Based Intervention: A Case Study of Professionals’ Adaptability to Better Support Parents to Meet Their Children's Needs Rodrigo Quiroz Saavedra, L. Brunson, Nathalie Bigras Psychology, Medicine American journal of community psychology 2017 3 Highly Influenced PDF View 4 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... References SHOWING 1-10 OF 128 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Ecological Theory in Practice: Illustrations From a Community-Based Intervention to Promote the Health of Recent Mothers P. Hawe, T. Riley Sociology, Medicine Prevention Science 2005 24 Save Alert Research Feed Activity settings as the unit of analysis: A theoretical basis for community intervention and development C. O’Donnell, Roland G. Tharp, Kathleen Wilson Sociology 1993 106 Save Alert Research Feed A systems framework for understanding social settings Vivian Tseng, E. Seidman Medicine, Psychology American journal of community psychology 2007 285 View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Methods for exploring implementation variation and local context within a cluster randomised community intervention trial P. Hawe, A. Shiell, T. Riley, Lisa Gold Medicine Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health 2004 251 PDF View 3 excerpts, references background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Micro-social structural approaches to HIV prevention: a social ecological perspective C. Latkin, A. Knowlton Sociology, Medicine AIDS care 2005 143 View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Complex interventions: how “out of control” can a randomised controlled trial be? P. Hawe, A. Shiell, T. Riley Medicine BMJ : British Medical Journal 2004 882 PDF View 3 excerpts, references background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Use of social network analysis to map the social relationships of staff and teachers at school. P. Hawe, Laura M. Ghali Psychology, Medicine Health education research 2008 85 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Social Networks and Social Support: Implications for Natural Helper and Community Level Interventions B. Israel Sociology, Medicine Health education quarterly 1985 253 Save Alert Research Feed How to model an institution J. Mohr, H. White Sociology 2008 122 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Using system dynamics modeling to understand the impact of social change initiatives G. Hirsch, R. Levine, R. Miller Computer Science, Medicine American journal of community psychology 2007 153 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 5 ... Related Papers Abstract Figures and Topics Paper Mentions 656 Citations 128 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_xwo2fddrkfaphctzu75cs4bkkq	----	Humanities 2020, 9, 28; doi:10.3390/h9020028 www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities Article Oromo Orature: An Ecopoetic Approach, Theory and Practice (Oromia/Ethiopia, Northeast Africa) Assefa Tefera Dibaba Department of Oromo Language, Folklore, & Literature, College of Humanities, Languages, Communication, & Journalism, Addis Ababa University, Addis Ababa 1176, Ethiopia; asafadibaba@gmail.com Received: 17 January 2020; Accepted: 23 March 2020; Published: 31 March 2020 Abstract: Using available empirical data of Oromo Orature, particularly folksongs, obtained from the field through interview and observation in Oromia, central Ethiopia, in 2009 and 2010, and other sources in print, this study has two objectives to tackle. First, reflecting upon the questions of a native model of origin narratives in relation to ecology, this study examines some examples of Oromo ecopoetics to determine: (a) how ecology and creative process conspire in the production of folksongs and performance, and (b) how the veil of nature hidden in the opacity of songs is revealed through the rites of creative process and performance as the human and ecological realms intersect. When put in relation to ecology, I theorize, the ecocultural creative act and process go beyond the mundane life activities to determine the people’s use (of nature), perceptions, and implications. Second, damages to the ecology are, I posit, damages to ecoculture. Drawing on the notion of ecological archetypes, thus, the study makes an attempt to find a common ground between the idea of recurrent ecological motifs in Oromo orature and the people’s ecological identity. The findings show that the political and social attitudes the Oromo songs embody are critical of authorities and the injustices authorities inflict on peoples and the environment they live in. For the folksinger, singing folksongs is a form of life, and through performance, both the performance and the song sustain the test of time. In its language, critique, imagination, and cultural referents, Oromo Orature is a voice of the people who rely on traditional agricultural life close to nature along with facing challenges of the dominating religious, political and scientific cultures. Keywords: ecology; orature/folksong; ecoculture; creative process/act; ecopoetics; Oromo/Oromia/Ethiopia; ecological archetypes/identity; performance; indigenous practices; tradition ecology; ecology of mind “The major problems in the world are the result of the difference between how nature works and the way people think.” —Gregory Bateson 1. Introduction The main aim of the present research is to clarify the ecopoetic features of Oromo orature and its role to inform both the local ecological knowledge and the modern environmental scholarship, to initiate empowerment of the local population to take part actively in decision-making and influence policies about what affects their life and the environment in which they live. In this article, I analyze a few cultural expressions to draw out the relationship between the Oromo and the ecosystem they inhabit and depend on. The study will naturally focus on a symbolic connection between expressive Humanities 2020, 9, 28 2 of 15 cultures and ecopoetic practices to examine their relationship to the direct experience of the people, i.e., ecological identity. The Oromo are the most populous single ethno-nation in Northeast Africa and they constitute the larger portion of the inhabitants of Ethiopia (Central Statistical Agency 2010). They speak Afaan Oromoo (Oromo Language), a Cushitic branch, which is spoken in Ethiopia and Kenya and is the fourth widely spoken language in Africa after Arabic, Swahili, and Hausa (Lodhi 1993). Virginia Luling (1965) reminds us, “from the mid-sixteenth to the mid-nineteenth century the [Oromo] were dominant on their own territories; no people of other cultures were in a position to exercise compulsion over them” (Luling 1965; see also Tibebu 1995). The Oromo are agricultural communities with a culture enriched by folksongs, myths, and ecological archetypes as a result of their ecological adaptations developed over time about their traditional pattern of life and constant interaction with nature. Today, a small-scale agriculture is identified as the major cause of deforestation and environmental degradation in Oromia (Ministry of Environment 2017). Currently, the Oromo are in some debate about what constitutes the human good when things fall apart and how to endure life in adverse conditions as the political uncertainty is unfolding in Ethiopia. Thus, the Oromo engaged in a painful history of subjugation and alienation in the traditionally dominant Abyssinian Orthodox Christian culture and are attempting to redress persistent inequities and unequal historical relationships in the face of denial from Abyssinian elites. 1.1. Purpose The purpose of this study is to establish the ecopoetics of Oromo Orature as a compelling case for a transformative cultural agency and to explore the ethically challenged human-ecology relationships. Using some examples from Oromo Orature, it is argued that ecopoetics is an ecocultural creative process, an act of aesthetic force of a green discourse that extends the human-ecology nexus beyond mundane activities and use of nature to understand the local perceptions/beliefs and their implications about the human close observation of, empathic interaction and ethical relationship with nature. In the present research project, ecopoetics takes, as its focal point, the humankind responsible for the precarious state of the natural world as a result of the ongoing eco-colonialism and continuous urban expansion. To advance this cause and to decry the enduring environmental injustices intensified by insatiable material pursuit, this project made an attempt to reimagine folklore and ethnoecology scholarship (academic or public) as a way of merging socioeconomic reality with environmentalism and as a platform for providing a face for the invisible but real presence of eco-colonialism both in industrialized and developing countries. The examples discussed in this study show that by singing their dislocated memories about the degradation and eviction from their home, the Oromo made a choice to keep their environmental history and to critique the social and environmental injustices through a folkloric representation of the dire human condition and the debilitating environment, past and present. 1.2. Research Questions and Objectives The texts collected through interviews and from available sources presented here are masterpieces of those dominant spaces (secular and sacred): hills, rocks, waterholes, trees, rivers, lakes, mountains, grasses and other natural features which signify peace, permanence, abundance, strength and durability, and fertility, as embodiments of the Oromo “tradition ecology”. Those dominant places presented in Oromo Orature are associated with the activities of ancestral beings collectively known as ayyaana, who, like Lauri Honko’s “barn spirit” or the spirits summoned upon the buuta festival of the Siri epic, are supernatural entities no less ancient than the landscape itself, and believed to travel across the land and protect the physical and socio-cultural world that the Oromo inhabit. Humanities 2020, 9, 28 3 of 15 1.3. Objectives There are two objectives of the study: First, reflecting upon the questions of an indigenous model of origin narratives in relation to ecology, this study examines some examples of Oromo ecopoetics to determine: (a) how ecology and creative process conspire in the production of folksongs and performance, and (b) how the veil of nature hidden in the opacity of songs is revealed through the rites of creative process and performance as the human and ecological realms intersect. When put in relation to “tradition ecology,” I theorize, the ecocultural creative act and process go beyond the mundane life activities to determine the people’s use (of nature), perceptions, and implications. Second, damages to the ecology, I posit, are damages to ecoculture. Drawing on the notion of ecological archetypes, thus, the study makes an attempt to find a common ground between the idea of recurrent ecological motifs in Oromo Orature and the people’s ecological identity. 1.4. Research Questions The study aims to answer the inquiries of folkloric and ecocultural nature which will feature a close exploration of human-ecology relationships in Oromo Orature: What is ecopoetics? What are the implications of the social-ecosystem destruction from an ecopoetic perspective? How do those implications of damages to the Oromo ecoculture affect their Orature and the effort to determine the future of a sense of place in its present local/global dimensions? 1.5. Organization of the Study To proceed, first, a background is set to this ecologically-oriented study of Oromo Orature with a brief history of the people (Oromo) and their homeland (Oromia), objectives and research questions under the introduction section. In the literature review section, since ecopoetics sets the stage for theorizing local ecological knowledge and practices, focus is on elaborating ecopoetic perspective to ecology and folklore in general and to Oromo ecoculture and Orature, in particular. To lay a fertile ground for indigenous (Oromo) folklorists, ecopoets, and ethnoecologists, this section presents how different environmentalists have used local ecological knowledge and archetypes, and the advantage this transdisciplinary approach has to study Oromo ecocultural creativity from the ground up and in relation to the world. In the methodology section, the “interview” and “personal observation” techniques are discussed as convenient methods/tools to obtain relevant information, followed by the data presentation and analysis section where the data is relocated back to its Oromo historical, folkloric, and cultural background in Oromia, Ethiopia, to date, to answer the questions of folkloric and ecological nature. The study concludes that the Oromo Orature is a rich source of ecopoetic data to synthesize the indigenous ecological knowledge system into a meaningful analytic whole from the ground up. 2. Ecopoetic Perspective We live in the age of social and environmental crisis. Humanity is to blame for the ethically challenged relationships with the environment and for the anthropocentric damages made to Dachii/Mother Earth. The crisis demands a new way of thinking, being, and acting for humankind to unlock the possibilities and potentials passed down in cultural resources and to maintain resilient transformation in the face of rapid social changes and cultural dynamics. In what follows, I present two concepts deemed relevant and significant to the purpose of this study: Lauri Honko’s “tradition ecology” and Gregory Bateson’s “ecology of mind”. I consider Lauri Honko’s concept of “tradition ecology” as a relevant model, which views “‘the environment’ to incorporate both the natural and the cultural environment” (Kamppinen 2014, p. 17; see also Kamppinen and Harkamies 2012). “Tradition ecology” was Honko’s key theoretical model used to approach the relations of traditions to one another and to society, both in diachronic and synchronic terms. In his research topics that ranged from folk beliefs, myths and rituals, ethno-medicine, oral epics, and cultural identity, Lauri Honko used his “tradition ecology” Humanities 2020, 9, 28 4 of 15 approach as a unifying theme in both fields of folkloristics and comparative religion. For instance, around a “barn spirit,” a set of folkloric and traditional/religious activities are intertwined: to sing about, talk about, describe, narrate, be possessed and experience, embed in memories, and pass it on to succeeding generations as a cultural construct “in the process of tradition” and “cultural actions and interactions” (Kamppinen 2014, pp. 14–15). Similarly, the notion of “environmental determinism,” which explains “cultural facts by means of environmental conditions” (p. 15) exemplifies the Salale Oromo accounts of the “origin theory” of orature, folksongs in particular, which holds that the physical world and sacred places (rivers, mountains, caves, trees, groves, hilltops) are unique sites for poetic meditation and composition. It is a local ecological perspective that considers the relationship between human cultural contents and their environment as close and indispensable entities. Thus, the underlying principle of “tradition ecology” is that cultures should be studied in their contexts, which is an obvious case for the purpose of the present study to relocate an Oromo orature within the context of Oromo cultural ecology. Gregory Bateson, in his book, Steps to an Ecology of Mind (1974, 1984), applied systems theory (cybernetics) to the fields of social sciences and ecology to enable us to understand the functioning of the natural world through understanding an “ecology of mind,” which is how ideas fit together in an integrated system. By “mind/s,” Bateson meant the “new way of thinking about ideas and about those aggregates of ideas” (p. 13). Bateson’s works focused on anthropology, psychiatry, biology, and the “new epistemology,” which he says, “comes out of systems theory and ecology,” subjects that have been central to his thinking (Bateson 1987, p. 12). Mary Catherine Bateson, in her prefatory note to the 1987 edition, confirms that to express the “interface between the realm of mind and physical reality” and “the way in which mental process establishes landmarks or thresholds, meanings and definitions in the world of flux,” Bateson repeatedly quoted Heraclitus: “Into the same river no man can step twice” (Bateson 1987, p. 8). Gregory Bateson (1987), in his “The Roots of Ecological Crisis” argues that the causes of environmental degradation “lie in the combined action of (a) technological advance; (b) population increase; and (c) conventional (but wrong) ideas about the nature of man and his relation to the environment” (p. 343). The latter cause relates to the present day unethical relationship of man toward nature which, according to Bateson, dates from the Industrial Revolution (p. 345): (a) It is us against the environment. (b) It is us against other men. It is the individual (or the individual company, or the individual nation) that matters. We can have unilateral control over the environment and must strive for that control. (c) We live within an infinitely expanding “frontier.” (d) Economic determinism is common sense. (e) Technology will do it for us. Bateson adds that these ideas “appear to be false under modern ecological theory. The creature that wins against its environment destroys itself” (p. 345). In sum, one can pool the two views together as follows: (a) from Lauri Honko’s notion of “tradition ecology,” environmental determinism explains “cultural facts by means of environmental conditions,” and (b) from Gregory Bateson’s view of “ecology of mind,” economic determinism governs the relationship between humanity and the environment in which they live, the unethical relationship that dates to the Industrial Revolution. From both views, it is obvious that there is an acute need for a “new way of thinking about ideas and about those aggregates of ideas” called “mind/s” to better understand the “interface between the realm of mind and physical reality,” from the perspective of relations of traditions to one another and to society in time and place (Bateson, ibid., p. 13). It is a cultural critique, which I call ecopoetics, of this unbalanced relationship presented in this study using some expressive cultures/orature from Oromia, Ethiopia. Humanities 2020, 9, 28 5 of 15 2.1. What Is Ecopoetics? To ease some burden of methodological absurdity or theoretical incongruity, I explained the concept “ecopoetics” in my PhD thesis (Assata Tefera Dibaba 2015) as follows: I use “eco” to refer to “nature,” “natural habitat,” “land/space,” or “house/home,” and “poetics,” that is, “poesis” or “making.” Hence, “making a house,” where both human and nonhuman inhabit. In so doing, I do not necessarily focus on the “critical” over the “creative” act but I will try to balance both. To make it more explicit, here my intention is that, if ecocriticism is an unheeded impetus of a call for [ecological] actions in studies like comparative literature, let ecopoetics do the job in folkloristics. Ecocriticism is an ecological literary criticism, an ‘activist’ environmentalist praxis that studies the relationship between literature and the environment, a commitment deeper than professionalism, whereas, ecopoetics is the poetics of ecology—the relationship between humans and their environment (Estok 2009). The etymological explanation of ecopoetics shows that “it is the poetics of place… a linguistic combination of ecology and poetics which foregrounds the intertextuality and interdisciplinarity that typifies ecopoetic discourses as well as the ‘ecological imperative that in the UNIVERSE everything is connected to everything else’” (Labang 2015). An ecopoetic perspective and ethnoecological study of human-environment relation/transformation is a most pressing and practical scholarly concern at this time. Some may consider this effort of “creating visibility for vernacular worlds in a democratic public sphere” as “civic professionalism,” a “professionalism opposed to the narrowing implicit in its technical form, a professionalism designed to complement and strengthen a new civil politics” (Hufford 1999). It is our responsibility as folklorists “to help cultivate local and regional identities in places hard hit by global economic restructuring and related displacements (Hufford, ibid.). In this continuous process of ecopoetic knowledge construction, the role of the folklorist ethnoecologist is “not about the building of knowledge, but about illuminating what Foucault terms the ‘insurrection of subjugated knowledge,’” the insurrection which “is always at risk of being contained, domesticated, and marginalized by a status of folklore” (Hufford, ibid.; see Asafa Jalata 1996). This is an attempt to model ecopoetics on local epistemology to produce an engaged ethnographic knowledge (ethnomethodology), which is a form of collaborative endeavor. So, if “criticism” is an expression of “disapproval” based on perceived faults or mistakes, or the analysis and judgment of the merits and faults of ideas, beliefs or principles and practices, I bet we need “ecopoetics” both as a creative process and critical act, and as an alternative method of analysis in ecocultural creativity studies instead of “ecocriticism”—an environmentalist activist literary stance primarily focusing on written environmental literature (Adugna 2014). Although, in ecocriticism, “the phrase ‘environmental literature’ is used to describe all literary forms (oral, poetry, fiction, nonfiction, and drama) that investigate human-nature relationship,” “ecopoetics,” I suggest, is more suitable than “ecocriticism” for the art and craft of ecocreative process and critical acts we do as folklorist ethnoecologists (Slovic 1999; see also Adugna ibid., p. 27). 2.1.1. Folkloric Ecopoetics Now, folkloric ecopoetics is understood as an ecocreative human communication with the nonhuman, a meditative human connectedness to nature. This meditative communication involves prayers, composing and singing songs, telling stories, naming totems, idolizing deities and offering tree coronations, summoning and glorifying God at hilltops, sacrifices at river banks, libations in farmyards, visiting graveyards and tabooing sacred groves, symbolizing and dedicating earthlings and communicating kind relationships between humankind and nature, which is wrapped up in the notion of the Oromo Irreecha festival (Admasu Shunkuri 1998). Through this ecopoetic mediation, humans learn to struggle to find and reclaim the place they call “home”. Put within the backdrop of the Oromo worldview, the present folkloric ecopoetics is a theory and praxis of deliberate earthlings, conscious life-form close to nature in the locale contrary to or complementary with the dominant Orthodox Christian culture. Conceived as a site, perhaps not as a Humanities 2020, 9, 28 6 of 15 genre, folkloric ethnopoetics here explores the idea that consciousness and agency are distributed “out there,” amongst the “objects” of the outside world, not in here in the human “subject” (Latour 2011). The Oromo venerate those places as sublime gifts inherited from their predecessors, and at some point in history, that transcendent gift was confiscated and became a symbol of the “unknown,” what is “unforeseeable” but “possible” for generations to contemplate “waan-hafe,” i.e., “a historical loss”. 2.1.2. Local Experiences, Global Processes The term “local” in “local knowledge” or “local institution” refers to “a residual category equated with whatever is not national,” and, I should add, what is not “global” or “universal” (Jeremias et al. 2011). In ethnographic search, the “local” is a source for collecting, analyzing, and evaluating relevant data about what can be considered part of the whole. The “national” or the “global” cannot be unaffected by the “local” as the “local” provides basis for a collective action and consensus on decision-making about what affects the life of the people at the local level and the environment in which they dwell, and vice versa. So, it is fair enough to argue that local experiences of the environment are inevitably also global ones, “but our experiences of the global are often local” and “indeed, ‘have to be rooted in local perceptions and experiences’” (Gifford 2012). In his Wisdom Sits in Place, Basso brings to our attention that “constructions of reality that reflect conception of reality, the meaning of landscapes and acts of speech are personalized manifestations of a shared perspective on the human condition,” which is corollary with what Basso notes as saying, “local understandings of external realities are fashioned from local cultural materials” (Basso, 1996). When people, who know each other better have more rapport and sense of belonging at the local level, are removed from their home, their opportunities for cooperation and collective action on a self-ruling basis is shuttered, and the shared values and “ecological knowledge” is disrupted (Jalata 2012). The local institutions that include rainmakers, council of elders, traditional midwives, artisans and ritual leaders of sacred groves and tree coronations disintegrate as a result of the removal and occupation of the indigenous peoples. The roles of local institutions range from lineage organization, village-level governance, and common resource management to conflict resolution and mediation with waaqa (god), ayyaana (spirits) and dachii (mother earth) according to the safuu moral system. The 1880s’ conquest disrupted the Oromos’ potential to achieve human-environmental transformation outcomes and to practice the environmentally sustainable, economically viable and culturally acceptable natural resource management. 2.1.3. African Ecopoetics An African ecopoetics can be exemplified by verbal arts and performances as in this nature song of Zulu children (WebCite) while they stalk about [Text 1]: Walking through Africa, what do I see? I can see inyoka looking at me. Walking through Africa, what do I see? I can see ufudu looking at me. Walking through Africa, what do I see? I can see indlovu looking at me. Walking through Africa, what do I see? I can see ikhozi looking at me. The Oromo children’s rain song next is another example of a nature song I remember [Text 2]: Bokke bokkee na guddisi Oh rain nourish me to grow Wayyaa furdaa natti huwwisi Dress me thick and warm to glow. Running naked in the rain, jumping and chanting this and other rain songs is not just fun but it also ties the knot of children-nature relations tightly as it sets the children’s aspirations “to grow” and “to Humanities 2020, 9, 28 7 of 15 glow”. Rain represents fertility, which is of the utmost importance to all, and it symbolizes a regeneration of life, crops and healing plants. When the sky releases rain, most obviously it is believed, the sky god’s (waaqa) semen wets Dachi’s womb. Hence, the fecundity of Mother Earth is a prosperity and peace for the living, a life-bringing and sustaining prospect. The works of African ecopoets, particularly the environmentally conscious Nigerian poets, among others, Tanure Ojaide, Niyi Usundare, and the martyred poet from Ogoniland, Ken Saro-Wiwa (1996), vocalize the people’s reclaiming of the broken places, and the polluted socio-economic landscape in their writings (WebCite). The poets used poetry “to address as well as to bring to the knowledge of humanity this form of environmental devastation and inhumanity” (ibid.). Ken Saro-Wiwa (1996), for example, wrote the following message from prison against oil companies’ environmental destruction in his native home of Ogoniland: “The environment is man's first right. Without a safe environment, man cannot exist to claim other rights, be they political, social, or economic” (WebCite). For Ken Saro-Wiwa (1996), ecopoetics, i.e., the poetics of ecology, is not just an environmentally oriented literary criticism, or activist impulse and ambitions, but a creative act, a serious commitment deeper than mere civic professionalism. The postcolonial African ecopoetics examines the poetics of other-than-Western cultures—that of the Sub-Saharan Africa—to show how the peoples use the environment and to reveal their encounters, the historical, cultural, and personal realities which shape the environmental experience from an African perspective (Mawere 2013). The local environmental crisis is “uniquely important because local/regional activities have global consequences and so writers/critics must respond in ways that best reflect their cultural philosophies and individual perceptions of the environment” (Labang 1983). To the postcolonial local folklorist, ecopoetics is not just an aesthetic decision/strategy used to reveal how the ecological consciousness manifests itself but is part of the local folklorist’s existential worldview and ontological historicity. It is distressing that “[t]here is virtually no landscape, no ecosystem on this planet that has been untouched by human intervention, by technology and its byproducts” (Labang, ibid.; Arigo 2012). The truth is, in postcolonial context, societies have different relationships with the environment and their ontological philosophy or worldview (local epistemological veracity). It is problematic to understand the human-ecological relations, i.e., use, perceptions and beliefs, implications about how to experience, perceive, represent, and interact with environmental forces from purely Western discourses. In discussing different worldviews and significances of the environment in different cultures, Oscar Labang rightly argues, “The forest to the American is an aesthetic function or commercial value, whereas to the African it is an existential and spiritual life force” (Labang, ibid.). By Oromo ecopoetics, expressive culture shows more than the aesthetic and instrumental function of ecology, with also the spiritual. 2.1.4. Ecological Identity The childhood memories of place, perception of broken places, desecrated sites, and myths built around dominant spaces (mythscape) constitute our ecological identity (Thomasshow 1996). The local chiefs and ritual leaders in rural Africa are environmental archetypes who serve as role models for their community by their age-long practical knowledge of living close to nature. The Oromo ritual leaders and local ecological knowledge bearers are no exceptions: they impact the cultural transmission and social transformation from “below” but are marginalized from decision-making. In the USA, indigenous peoples represent about 700 distinct communities who possess detailed ecological knowledge of their homelands and are the stewards of fully 4% of the land area (Durning 1992). The classic environmentalists include, among others, Henry David Thoreau, who lived in the early 1800s contemplating nature and learning natural history in Walden Pond, John Muir who lived close to nature in the High Sierras in the late 19th century, and Rachel Carson, who challenged humanity’s faith in technological progress by merging her passion for literature and science and set the stage for the environmental movement through her canonic Silent Spring in the 1960s. The local chiefs and ritual leaders in rural Africa who transmit knowledge through ecological practices of everyday life and the environmental practitioners who lived close to nature use “ecology both as science and metaphor, lending coherence to human-nature relationships,” and constitute an Humanities 2020, 9, 28 8 of 15 ecological identity deeply informed by personal reflections (Thomasshow, ibid.). Ecopoetics examines repetitive universal forms and dynamic patterns which reveal human capacities and experiences persistent in different cultures and folklore throughout the world (e.g., common motifs in sacred ecology, nature-related belief systems, lore, and rituals). Oromo folksongs are heavy-laden by ecological archetypes. Hence, studying ecological identity is one aspect of peeling away the thick layers of disenchantment and human alienation from nature. 3. Methodology To collect relevant data from the site and to answer the research questions of folkloric and ecological nature, I used interviews, observations, and field-notes on the local ecological culture. I first began collecting Oromo folksongs in Salale on my PhD fieldtrips in 2009 and 2010 for my PhD data on Oromo folklore and resistance culture, and I was fascinated by the local indigenous culture and the people’s knowledge of place and ecology in the area. Through revisiting the data, my field-notes and sources available in print, I later realized that the Oromo people’s deep understanding of, connection with, and love for their land, land resources and environment was, and still is, immense. The mythscapes and dominant places named after ancestors, deities, historic events or the natural features a particular place displays impressed me most. However, at the time, my primary research focused on social justice, not on environmental justice per se. Interviewing the local people in Oromia, northwest of Finfinne (Addis Ababa), the capital, and recording them singing and performing were the main activities in the fieldwork. In the interviews, I asked the informants (who chose to remain anonymous) to reflect on Oromo cultural ecology, on what is sacred and secular in their domain, on indigenous ecological practices, on indigenous agricultural knowledge, on alternative ways of balancing human-ecology solidarity, and on the challenges to and limitations of indigenous ecological practices. Throughout the interview process, I obtained not only information (facts, names and dates) from the interviewees, but also insights, thoughts, attitudes, beliefs and practices relevant to cultural ecology and Orature. 4. Some Oromo Ecopoetic Practices: Data Presentation and Analysis The songs and narratives in this study mark the transition of the people’s direct experience, a self-reflexive embodiment of the ecocreative process, a transition from nature to culture and vice versa, not in the sense of the Western nature-culture duality principle but in the force of living interconnectedness that both articulate and transcend the differences (Okepewho 1992; Okpewho 2007). In what follows, I look into a human expression, and the narratives of Oromo origin theory, to set in context the Oromo perspective of inseparable human-environment nexus. Not only is the poetic persona in Oromo folksongs very often mythic but the landscape is also mythicized as a reflection of the past to create a mythscape. 4.1. Oromo Origin Narrative Next, Oromo origin stories are more my base of operations than my main subject, which is the ecopoetic study of Oromo orature. So, one environmentally directed story goes, Uume Walaabuu baate [Text 3], meaning, Uume (Creation) began at Walaabu (Baisa 1995; Deme 1998; Ehret 1976). The Oromo people largely believe this story to be the genesis of Mother Nature/Earth at Walaabu, eastern Oromia, Ethiopia. Storying an “origin” without being there may seem strange. However, Bruno Latour (Latour and Strum 1986) and Strum, in their “Human Social Origins” alert us: … there is no difference between scientific stories (falsifiable) and mythical stories (unfalsifiable); an explanation is always a story… When E.O. Wilson, Nietzsche, Freud, or Dawkins tells us how social bonds first originated, they are not describing something that happened in front of their eyes … (See also Latour 2011). According to Oromo origin theory and time concept (which is cyclical, not linear), the beginning of Life (Uuma) in Oromo worldview is in relation to “place”. Hence, by this account of environmental/spatial imagination, the ecopoetics of Oromo folksong origin relates to the Dawn of Humanities 2020, 9, 28 9 of 15 Creation (Uumaa Ganamaa) which the Oromo believe took place at Walaabu, also referred to as Fugug or Tulluu Nam-dur—the mountain of ancient humans. The place names “Haroo Walaabu,” “Fugug,” or “Tullu Nam-dur,” and “Hora Finfinne” stand out as dominant spaces in Oromo place narratives (mythscapes), mainly for four reasons: First, it is a common knowledge in Oromo oral tradition that Walaabu is the mythical homeland of the Cushitic Oromo people; second, Walaabu serves as a reference point of alternative narrative counter to the phony outside-origin-theory made up by Abyssinian and Abyssinianist chroniclers for the Oromo; third, it can be used as a text analogous to the Christian myth of the Eden in Genesis. Fourth, Finfinne is a sacred site with a special meaning and significance to the Oromo who reclaim it today as a desecrated broken place. For a similar argument about Oromo “origin theory” one may also consult Stephen Belcher’s “The Oromo of Southern Ethiopia” in his African Myths of Origin (Belcher 2005). According to this Oromo origin myth, in the beginning, one male (waaqa, sky god) descended and found footprints that ultimately led him to one female (dachi, Mother Earth) and both produced children. The story represents metaphorically the continuing archetypal mythic union between the sky god (waaqa) and earth (dachii) in Oromo worldview to sustain life. Belcher’s Oromo myth of human/social origin does not tell us where, though. The Oromo Earth Song, Dachi Nagaa Bultee (Good morning, Mother Earth), is another typical ecopoetic motif that resonates widely among the Oromo as part of a morning ritual, and this agricultural rite song embodies the close union between earth/environment and its inhabitants. Thus, what comes from culture comes from nature. In all accounts, these texts are more about the “beginning” than about “origin” because the “before-the-origin” texts are missing or nonexistent1. Hence, the question of the native through their folksongs and narratives is the same: “If this is your land, where are your stories?” (Chamberlin 2003; Steward 1955). In this study, the ecopoetics of Oromo Orature has been considered a compelling case for the transformative cultural agency to explore the ethically challenged human-ecology relationships. Ecopoetics has been presented as an ecocultural creative process, as an act of aesthetic force of discourse that extends the human-ecology nexus beyond the mundane activities and use of nature to understanding the local perceptions/beliefs and their implications about the human close observation of, empathic interaction and ethical relationship to nature. Ecopoetics takes as its focal point, I posit, the humankind responsible for the precarious state of the natural world as a result of the ongoing eco-colonialism and continuous urban expansion. To advance this cause and to decry the enduring environmental injustices intensified by insatiable material pursuit, this project made an attempt to reimagine folklore and ethnomusicology scholarship (academic or public) as a way of merging socioeconomic reality with environmentalism and as a platform for providing a face for the invisible but real presence of eco-colonialism both in industrialized and developing countries. The examples discussed in this study show that by singing their dislocated memories about the degradation and eviction from their home, the Oromo made a choice to keep their environmental history and to critique the social and environmental injustices through a folkloric representation of the dire human condition and the debilitating environment past and present. 4.2. Ecological Archetypes An archetype is understood as the universal expression of particular patterns of behavior, feeling, thinking, and acting with a compelling influence on the human psyche beyond cultures. Folksongs can serve as a repertoire to identify ecological archetypes built around nature and Mother Earth (Dachi), analyze them from an ecopoetic perspective, and describe symbols, ideas, feelings, beliefs, and images representing the collective unconscious persistent across the culture. Every culture has belief systems about human beings and the world in which they live. Aja among the Yoruba spirits is the Orisha (divine spirit), a forest spirit that protects animals and herbals, as Dryads and Oreads are Greek Nymphs or female spirits of trees and forests. Among the 1 (Cerulli 1922, p. 44) Citing Theophile Lefebure, Voyage in Abyssinia. Paris, 1845, Vol. 1, p. xv, for the mythic “Oromo Book of Knowledge” eaten by Ate-Loon, a Sacred Cow). Humanities 2020, 9, 28 10 of 15 Oromo, Afiisolo, Caatto, and Shaye-Lagaa are spirits of the forest, while Ateete, Ogliya, Adbaarii, Qoollo, Geerii, and Daache relate to home, earth and land. Yet all are some of the Macca/Sibu Oromo guardian spirits that oversee man and the place of man in relation to nature. When I interviewed the Oromo elders (Gurmu Badhaadha, Taddasa Galate, and Haile Tufo) in 2010 in Salale about the origin of Oromo folksongs, they said folksongs were composed in Oda Jila, Mogor valley, or in Haro Calanqo, in Jama gorges, or at Tullu Qaawa, near Ilu. According to my informant Taddasa Galate of Sole, Daalatti in Yaayya, this sound-world connectedness is real. He said that traditionally, songs are composed at Tulluu Qaawa where a spirit of an old lady is heard singing songs nonstop at night on the New Year. She is called Jaartii Qaawa or Jaartii Xoomi. Additionally, people offer sacrifices to learn new songs. Mabre Goofe and Gurmu share the view that Odaa Jilaa in Mogor and Holqa/Haroo Calanqoo in Jama are other sites for composing folksongs. At Holqa Calanqo, in Hidhabu Aboote, the deity called Abbaa Toochii is believed to guide the folksinger as a tutor and caretaker, and anyone who seeks the deity’s refuge (my informants, Gameessa Gojee, age, 90; Gammada Tola, age, 92, in Hidhabuu Abootee 2010). According to Gurmu, for every new year and new harvest season, traditionally, the folksinger sojourns to Mogor River, climbs the Odaa Jila, sacred tree, carefully ties himself up with cord, in case he takes a nap, and meditates Ateete, the Oromo “Muse,” covered up in the foliage for days and nights in confinement. After this ecopoetic process and creative “rites of passage,” the folksinger comes home, a place of both sacred and secular significance, for a continuous group rehearsal. It needs further study to establish this native model of origin … (my informant, Gurmuu Badhaadhaa, age 78, in Shararoo) …By the same token, Jan Vansina’s (1985) fieldwork experience about a Rwandese performer is a typical folkloric ecopoetic instance of composition of a folksong close to nature. In his own words, Vansina writes: “I have seen a poet on a hill in Rwanda mulling over his composition for hours, presumably day after day, until he felt it was perfect” (p. 12). Vansina’s example of the Rwandese oral poet (folksinger) makes a case for a complete “deliberate composition” of a song rehearsed for performance until the performer felt it “perfect”. The Oromo esoteric knowledge of human-environment relations draws on ecological archetypes: motifs about spirits of the forest and Dachi/Mother Earth. Dachii is highly regarded as sacred in this Earth song next (informant, Gurmuu, 2010) because earth is believed to mediate and appease God (Waaqa) on behalf of humanity (nama), who lives to labor between the sky-god and earth, waaqaa-lafa [Text 4]: Dachi nagaa bultee Good morning Mother Earth Dachi badhaatuu koo Symbol of affluence and wealth Sirra qonnee nyaannaa We live to plow and prosper on you Sirra horree yaafnaa To bear and rear on you Jiraa keenya in baatta You carry us alive on your back Du’aa keenya in nyaatta And our dead back in your womb Jalli kee bishaanii Where water of life flows nonstop Irri kee midhaanii! And fertility, abundance, and crop! Kun hiyyeessa hinjettu You don’t discriminate the poor Hiyyeessa abbaa cittoo The poor with a skin rash Kun sooressa hin jettu From the rich with sweet fragrance Sooressa abbaa shittoo All are equal kin and kith Ya wal qixxeessituu koo! Before your eyes, oh Mother Earth! This common Earth Worship above is a motif that resonates widely among the Oromo as part of a morning ritual in farm fields. It embodies the close union between earth and humankind, unlike the Western humanism which emphasizes innate human capability and agency as well as rationalism. Hence, it is widely believed that human beings have a responsibility for the survival Humanities 2020, 9, 28 11 of 15 and sustainability of uumaa Waaqaa, God’s creation, and creation, it is believed, does not belong to humans but to God and it takes place every new morning. This song in praise of Earth (Dachi) is a symbolic representation of a strong relationship (a song by Qeerroo 2015) the Oromo have with their land also evident in this song [Text 5]: Yaa Oromoo, ya saba guddaa garaa qulqullu oh, Oromo, the great nation on earth Qonnee nyaanna lafa hin gurgurru! Say no to land grab and yes to till it! The influence of the African traditional belief system is evident in the daily lives of the people including the agricultural rites of plowing, sowing, harvesting, funeral, birth, and wedding rituals, side by side with intense religious experience of Christianity and Islam. Morning is a sign of a good omen in the Oromo worldview about creation and fertility. It is through their direct experiences that the local people gain insight into who they are in relation to the environment in which they live. The spirit communication through human and nonhuman beings, for example, through animal or rain symbolism that the people interpret as a good or bad omen, is followed by an incantation, a song or prayer, and a ritual performance to reverse what is believed to be bad luck (Paulitschke 1894 in Sigmund Freud 1950). The Oromo local knowledge tells us that when we go out to sow the farm, there is more to the deer that crosses our path, or to the woman/girl with an empty water jar that we meet on our way to set a marriage agreement. The people believe their instinct will always advise them to heed to the spirit communication to rethink and reverse the bad luck before making a decision to take or not to take some action. There is lore of people’s resentment to various controversial policies detrimental to the people’s dependency on the environment. The creative and critical communication about harms made to the environment, and about the human-environment relationship, constitutes the ecopoetics of the everyday life of the people (Ashenafi Belay Adugna 2014). To consider a broader conceptual schema of “critical folklore studies” about human-environment relations, it presupposes understanding local ecopoetics (poetics of ecology) as a creative and critical act, as an innate human capacity for critical thought about the environment in which they dwell (Gencarella, 2009). One can make a case for two environment-oriented Oromo proverbial metaphors next [Text 6]: Illeettiin marga ofirratti hin dheeddu A rabbit does not eat and ruin the grass around its own den. and Risaan mannee ofiititti hin hagu An eagle does not poop in its own nest. In these two particular instances of social commentary, a few ecopoetic assumptions can be considered. First, by the established local social order, one should not ruin the “ecology,” i.e., the “eco,” oikos, from Greek, meaning “house” or “environment” as represented here by “den” and “nest”. Second, the two texts can be understood as a disapproval of the eco-colonialism stance. It critiques the transnational corporations and economic powers of the Global North who reserve their own resources for future generations and turn to the Global South to seek cheap raw materials and cheap labor, for resource extraction and captive markets for their products, and to damp their toxic wastes. Third, put on an ideological scale, the texts are also critical of a broken place, i.e., a place devastated by the eco-colonial apathetic anthropogenic activities of the conservationist Western environmental attitude and power structures “proved to be incompatible with the indigenous concepts of conservation and human dignity” (WebCite). 4.3. Love Songs, Ecological References It is a characteristic of modern Oromo lyrics to be rooted in the traditional, regional, and religious songs put in the wider context of the people’s ecocultural, historical, and folkloric context. Some of the songs mention a place, a person, a mountain, a river or lake, a tree or animal, Waaqa (God), or earth. In another example, a folksinger laments the historical loss of land and natural Humanities 2020, 9, 28 12 of 15 resources, a revolutionary theme he introduced to the lyric titled “Amala Kee,” (“Your Vibe”) (Galaanaa Gaaromsaa, lyricist, WebCite, 2016) [Text 7]: Salgan Haroo Abbaa Makoo The nine pools of Abba Makoo, Iddoo gabaa hin qotani. It is taboo to plow a marketplace. Dur manni keenya asoo Oh, our home used to be here gamoo itti ijaarattanii. They evicted us to erect these buildings. Nature and places represented in this song are ecological references to the ongoing land grab, eviction, rural-urban migration, urbanization and industrialization. Studies show that “Industrialization within the urban areas and conversion of different land use… has caused the rapid depletion of existing tree cover during the past 100 years” (Shikur, WebCite). The current Oromo protest is more than opposition to the annexation of land and reclaiming Finfinne; rather it builds on the decades of protracted Oromo struggle for social and environmental justice. As part of the longstanding African tradition of folk culture, Oromo oral artistry wields a remarkable influence on the contemporary life of its society, it comments on the negative social transformation, such as eviction from ancestral land, which has affected the lives of millions of rural peasants and their families in their respective environment. Most recently a lyric song titled “Maalin Jira!” meaning, “Distracted!” by the young Oromo artist, Hacaaluu Hundeessaa has gone viral on social media as it taps into the Oromo people’s feelings of alienation, deprivation and resentment (Hacaalu Hundessaa, “Maalin Jira!”/“Distracted!” WebCite). This song expresses precisely the resentment of an individual who has been harassed and removed from his ancestral home, and in effect, confused and broken by strong feelings of homesickness, melancholy, and whose mind is troubled by nostalgia and a grief of historical loss and woeful love. When the conquest of the Oromoland was occurring in the 1880s, at the very same time the destruction of the original ecology was taking place. The lines below reiterate the deep-seated resentment about the loss of those places and ecology [Text 8]: Gullalleen kan Tufaa Gullalle of Tufaa Gaara Abbichuu turii Abbichu’s mountainous land Galaan Finfinnee dha..see And Finfinne of Galan Silaa akka jaalalaa Love contains all Walirraa hin fagaannuu We never chose to grow apart, Jara t’ nu fageessee! But they pushed us to fall! The ethnonyms Gullalle, Galan, and Gaara Abbichu are toponyms used to indicate the topographic features of the lands and to represent lineages of the same name of the Tulama branch. Major Harris of the British envoy wrote, thus, his eyewitness account of the first half of the 19th century (Harris 1844): … rolling on like the mighty waves of the ocean, down poured the Amhara horse among the rich glades and rural hamlets, at the heels of the flying inhabitants—tramping underfoot the fields of the ripening corn, and sweeping before them the vast herds of cattle which grazed untended in every direction. The conquest evicted the indigenous Oromo people in and around Finfinne and degraded the environment in which they lived by burning “village after village until the air was dark with their smoke mingled with the dust raised by the impetuous rush of man and horse,” and reduced the citizens to serfs and slaves under subjugation (Harris 1844). The bitterness was subdued by fear of repression and ostracism imposed by “Jara”/“They,” the oppressors (line 6) throughout Oromo history until the nation/region-wide Oromo Protest broke out in 2014. Hence, the singer complains about the lack of unity and solidarity by alluding to his beloved Humanities 2020, 9, 28 13 of 15 whom he cannot see because of the mountain that divides them; the mountain being, metaphorically speaking, the oppressive system [Text 9]: Diiganii, gaara sana Level that mountain Gaara diigamuu hin malle Not easy to bulldoze Nu baasan adaan baane They rendered us asunder Nu addaan bahuu hin malle Division we never chose The feeling of love and desperation represented by a mountain is real and shared through the lyric which helps the ethnographer to chart the contours of rural consciousness to illuminate how place-based/ecological identities profoundly influence the people’s understanding of politics from “below”. The Oromo historical and contemporary narratives show that the people participate in the spatial and environmental dynamics in traditional ways that predate industry, which requires the ethnoecologist folklorist to rely on the social-ecological memories of the communities evicted to live in a desolate place embracing both the environmental history and environmental folklore of the places. While their history is intertwined with the history of conquest and subjugation, a continued deprivation, marginalization, land grab, eviction, pollution, and resentment in the broader sweep of history, the Oromo people show a most enduring relationship with their places and resistance to forces who disrupt the relationship (The Human Rights Watch 2016). In sum, the Oromo songs sung in farm fields, laments, love songs, hunting and historical songs, and performing ritual practices permeated the working lives of communities in the research area forming a distinctive ethnoecology that has been little examined. The songs offer valuable insights into understanding the ‘ethnoecology’ of the locale. Here, ethnoecology is understood as a “traditional set of environmental perceptions, that is, [a] cultural model of the environment and its relation to people and society” (Kottak 1999). For example, the Dachii/Mother Earth discourse approach can be well-suited to contribute to sustaining the well-being of planet earth and its habitats. The ecological archetype woven into personal memories is a rich source of ecopoetic data to synthesize the indigenous ecological knowledge system into a meaningful analytic whole. 5. CODA: Return to Ecoculture This study concludes with some ecopoetic insights into the Oromo expressive culture (Orature) that the local Oromo ecological knowledge can be tapped into, to understand better the human-ecology relationships and to achieve justice in a social-ecological system at a disarray to date. The underlying aesthetic preoccupation of ecopoetics is predicated on the ideological and aesthetic (ideo-aesthetic) commitment to reveal the materialist underpinnings of eco-colonialism, i.e., environmentally motivated global capitalism. Once again, ecopoetics is a transdisciplinary theoretical stance that grows from within the humanities and social sciences to show solidarity with people’s resistance from “below” against the predations of eco-colonialism by focusing on, among other preoccupations, exploring the dynamics of ecoculture, “tradition ecology,” and “ecology of mind,” that is, critiquing the commodification of environment; collecting and analyzing the ethnoecological data (folklore-oriented ecoculture) about the human-environment relationship, and human responsibilities and actions to save dachii, planet earth (Rappaport 1971). Given the urgency of environmental justice, historical and cultural contexts are imperative to help piece together the wider range of suffering that humanity have to live through, and the experience represented in personal narratives, folksongs, and performances stand as instances of a living witness. To do so, ecopoetics of folksongs and ecological archetypes creates a combination of transdisciplinary approaches to enrich the ecocultural texture and open up venues for an outreach in the wider research beyond humanities and social sciences. Funding: The data used in this research came in part from my fieldwork in 2009 & 2010 in Salale for my PhD project funded by Addis Ababa University, for which I remain very grateful. Humanities 2020, 9, 28 14 of 15 Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest References Adugna, Ashenafi Belay. 2014. Exploring Environmental Discourses in Oral Literature: Ecocritical Analysis of Oromo Proverbs. Journal of Languages and Culture 5: 24–35. Arigo, Christopher. n.d. Notes Toward an Ecopoetics: Revising the Postmodern Sublime... Available online: https://www.asu.edu/pipercwcenter/how2journal/vol_3_no_2/ecopoetics/essays/pdfs/arigoessay.pdf (accessed on 5 May 2019). Baisa, Lemmu. 1995. 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work_xx5o6bh6tncatkhnnr3eugvtha	----	Microsoft Word - S&F_8.doc DOSSIER  Ciro Incoronato, Dal mito dell’eterno ritorno   106 CIRO INCORONATO    DAL MITO DELL’ETERNO RITORNO ALL’APOCALITTICA EBRAICO‐CRISTIANA:  ESSERE E TEMPO ALL’ALBA E AL TRAMONTO DELL’OCCIDENTE    1. Apocalypse...  2. ...The Prequel  3. ...The old Greek fiction  4. ...Apocalypse now?      ABSTRACT:  This  paper  intends  to  analyze  the  concept  of  “Time”  that  marks  the  history  of  Western  Metaphysics  from  the  “archaic  ontology”  to  Kostas  Axelos,  a  Greek  contemporary  philosopher.  Following  an  inner  analysis  of  Western  Metaphysics,   Axelos  comes  to  a  “glossy”  sense  of  Being.  A  “glossy”  sense,  based  on  which  man  must  plunge  into  the  “becoming  river”  and  give  up  any  aspirations  to  civil  and  political  change.        La  massa  degli  uomini  vive  vite  di  quieta  disperazione.   Quella  che  viene  chiamata  rassegnazione  è  disperazione istituzionalizzata.  Henry David Thoreau, Walden      Il  motivo  per  cui  le  anime  mettono  tanto  tanto  impegno  per  poter  vedere  la  Pianura  della  Verità  è  questo:  il  Nutrimento  adatto  alla  parte  migliore  dell’anima  proviene  dal  prato che è là, e la natura dell’ala con cui  l’anima  può  volare  si  nutre  proprio  di  questo.  Platone, Fedro  S&F_n. 8_2012    107   1. Apocalypse...  Persa  in  via  quasi  definitiva  la  speranza  di  una  palingenesi  politica  in  grado  di  superare  le  intrinseche  contraddizioni  dell’iniquo  sistema  capitalistico,  troppo  spesso  disorientato  di  fronte  alle  continue  trasformazioni  di  una  tecnologia  fantascientifica,  impaurito  dall’arrivo  di  “nuovi  barbari”  che  vengono annunciati con sempre maggiore frequenza, pronto a saziare  la propria sete alla fonte di predicatori televisivi e sedicenti  maghi dai poteri paranormali, l’uomo occidentale vive ogni giorno  su di sé le contraddizioni di un presente misero e insicuro, un  presente  nel  quale  mettono  profonde  radici  messaggi  che  profetizzano,  in  maniera  differente,  la  deflagrazione  di  una  civiltà allo sbando e – non sempre ‐ la nascita, l’ennesima, di un  nuovo ordine dal caos eterno. L’attesa, a volte spasmodica, di una  “rivelazione” rigenerante o in grado di desertificare il pianeta  Terra  tramite  una  catastrofe  ecologica  abita  l’immaginario  collettivo,  dalla  cinematografia  alla  pittura,  dalla  letteratura  al  teatro.  Interrogarsi  sull’eziologia  di  questo  fenomeno  significa  chiamare  in  causa  le  strutture  portanti  della  metafisica,  scandagliarle  con  attenzione  per  farne  emergere  le  principali peculiarità.    2. ...The Prequel  La  storia  della  filosofia  occidentale,  in  qualsiasi  modo  la  si  interpreti,  risulta  strettamente  legata  alla  storia  della  ricezione dell’Essere. Sia che la si intenda, heideggerianamente,  come la storia dell’oblio dell’essere, del suo senso autentico e  originario, sia che la si intenda, seguendo, ad esempio, l’opera  di Emanuele Severino 1 , come il luogo dell’occultamento del fatto  1   È  ovvio  che  gli  autori  che  si  sono  occupati  di  questo  problema  sono  molteplici,  anche  perché,  estremizzando,  si  potrebbe  osservare  che  ogni  filosofia  presuppone  e  lavora  con  una  particolare  concezione  dell’Essere.  Il  riferimento ad Heidegger e Severino è motivato, dunque, dall’influenza che in  modi  differenti  hanno  avuto  sul  dibattito  filosofico  internazionale  negli  DOSSIER  Ciro Incoronato, Dal mito dell’eterno ritorno   108 che  l’Essere  in  quanto  immutabile  si  costituisce  come  e  in  una  dimensione  diversa  da  sé  in  quanto  diveniente,  al  centro  del  discorso filosofico vi è sempre, e non può non esservi, la vexata  quaestio  del  significato  dell’ens  qua  ens,  dell’ente  in  quanto  ente. Va, al tempo stesso, sottolineato che da sempre l’Essere ha  avuto  un  rapporto  particolare,  intimo  con  il  Tempo  e  la  Storia,  tanto che ad ogni particolare concezione dell’Essere si è sempre  accompagnata una precisa e conseguente visione del Tempo e della  Storia stessa. Questa relazione a tre Essere‐Tempo‐Storia informa  di  sé  il  percorso  che  l’uomo  ha  compiuto  sin  dall’antichità,  sicché, per affrontarlo adeguatamente, occorre partire da quelle  che  Mircea  Eliade  ne  Il  mito  dell’Eterno  Ritorno  ha  definito  ontologie  arcaiche,  cioè  ai  primi  sistematici  e  problematici  approcci alla Triade di cui sopra.  Sorvolando  sull’imponente  massa  di  dati  che  lo  storico  delle  religioni rumeno raccoglie circa le cosmogonie delle popolazioni  asiatiche,  africane  e  oceaniche,  che,  in  quanto  tali,  esulano  dalla  presente  trattazione,  si  può  osservare  che  l’obiettivo  dell’opera è quello di mettere in risalto le caratteristiche della  relazione che l’uomo delle società premoderne ha intrattenuto con  la  storia,  laddove  per  società  premoderne  ‐ o  tradizionali  ‐ si  deve intendere sia il mondo che di solito viene chiamato primitivo  sia l’insieme delle culture pregiudaiche e precristiane:   La  differenza  principale  tra  l’uomo  delle  società  arcaiche  e  tradizionali  e  l’uomo  delle  società  moderne,  fortemente  segnato  dal  giudeo‐cristianesimo,  consiste  nel  fatto  che  il  primo  si  sente  solidale  con  il  cosmo  e  con  i  ritmi  cosmici,  mentre  il  secondo  si  considera  solidale  solamente  con  la  storia.  Certamente  anche  per  l’uomo  delle  società  arcaiche  il  cosmo  ha  una  storia,  se  non  altro  perché  il  cosmo  è  la  creazione  degli  dei  e  si  ritiene  sia  stato  organizzato  da  Esseri  soprannaturali  o  eroi  mitici.  Ma  questa  storia  del  cosmo  e  della  società  umana  è  una  storia  sacra,  conservata  e  trasmessa dai miti; anzi, è una storia indefinitamente ripetibile, nel  senso  che  i  miti  servono  da  modelli  a  cerimonie  che  riattualizzano  periodicamente  gli  avvenimenti  grandiosi  accaduti  agli  inizi  del  tempo 2 .  ultimi  decenni  e  dal  fatto  che  entrambi  si  sono  cimentati  in  un  costante  confronto con i pensatori greci delle origini, sui quali si dirà qualcosa nel  prosieguo della trattazione.  2  M. Eliade, Il mito dell’Eterno Ritorno, tr. it. Borla, Roma 2010, p. 5.  S&F_n. 8_2012    109   Da ciò si deduce che per l’uomo arcaico le varie azioni della vita  quotidiana  sono  scandite  da  veri  e  propri  riti,  aventi  come  obiettivo quello di far sì che ogni attività entri a pieno titolo  in un tempo – e quindi in una storia – sacro e non profano. Il  lavoro  dei  campi,  la  celebrazione  dell’arrivo  di  una  nuova  stagione, la costruzione di una casa o di un luogo di culto, il  mangiare e il bere, la sessualità e la caccia, tutto deve essere  fatto in maniera scrupolosa seguendo un copione preciso, per così  dire,  e  avendo  come  paradigma,  come  “archetipo”,  quello  che  è  stato compiuto dagli antenati, dagli dei o da eroi mitici. Solo in  questo modo si può allontanare il terrore della storia e abitare  un  cosmo  perfetto,  rigidamente  organizzato,  caratterizzato  dal  meccanismo  temporale  dell’eterna  ripetizione.  Non  c’è  un  inizio  preciso  del  tempo,  al  massimo  si  può  parlare  di  un  “tempo  originario” che è fondamentalmente un tempo mitico, un non‐tempo,  che spande intorno a sé l’aroma dell’eternità.  L’uomo  arcaico,  insomma,  vive  in  un  cosmo  eterno,  nel  quale  il  tempo  ha  un  valore  tale  che  «viene  registrato  soltanto  biologicamente,  senza  che  gli  si  permetta  di  trasformarsi  in  “storia”, cioè senza che la sua azione corrosiva possa esercitarsi  sulla coscienza per mezzo della rivelazione della irreversibilità  degli avvenimenti» 3 . Il terrore della storia, dunque, è il terrore  dell’irreversibilità degli eventi, il terrore di un divenire che  non  può  ritornare  ad  essere:  il  tentativo  disperato  dell’uomo  arcaico di ricacciare continuamente nelle tenebre questo terribile  demone  è  la  spia  luminosa  del  fatto  che,  per  proiettarsi  nel  futuro,  egli  abbia  bisogno  della  rassicurazione  che,  anche  nel  futuro destinato all’interno di una concezione ciclica del tempo a  diventare passato, continuerà ad essere, e che il suo operare non  è fine a se stesso. Il mito dell’eterno ritorno del tempo è, per  questa  ragione,  funzionale  al  conferimento  di  un  senso  –  ma  si  3  Ibid., p. 79.  DOSSIER  Ciro Incoronato, Dal mito dell’eterno ritorno   110 potrebbe dire anche di un ordine ‐ forte all’esistenza, un senso  col  quale  l’uomo  di  quel  tempo  riesce  a  colmare  quel  vuoto  che  vede dietro e avanti a sé, che lo opprime minacciando di annegarlo  nel  nulla.  Ma,  ed  è  questo  che  interessa  particolarmente,  anche  l’uomo  arcaico  non  può  vivere  sempre  e  comunque  nel  “paradiso  degli  archetipi”,  in  una  dimensione  sacra  fatta  di  rituali  che  curano  ogni  aspetto  della  sua  quotidianità,  del  suo  “tempo”:  anch’egli,  cioè,  sebbene  in  una  forma  e  in  una  intensità  differenti rispetto all’uomo moderno, è costretto a registrare la  storia, a considerare gli eventi passati come non più presenti e  in  quanto  tali  a  vederli  come  fonte  di  inquietudine.  Ragion  per  cui anche presso le società tradizionali si avverte il bisogno di  una  periodica  rigenerazione  catartica  del  tempo,  la  necessità,  cioè,  di  scrollarsi  di  dosso  l’immane  peso  di  un  passato  ingombrante  e  ricominciare  dal  principio.  Ciò  può  avvenire  in  modalità differenti, ma il fine è sempre lo stesso: fare in modo  che  l’esistenza,  depuratasi  dal  male  tramite  sacrifici,  riti  propiziatori, possa sempre essere inscritta in un cosmo, che col  tempo  e  la  storia  profani  non  abbia  nulla  a  che  fare.  La  rigenerazione del tempo o, per meglio dire, la rivelazione di un  nuovo  tempo  comporta  una  dialettica  particolare  tra  velamento  e  svelamento,  nella  misura  in  cui,  per  portare  alla  luce  e  quindi  iniziare una nuova vita, bisogna preliminarmente ricacciare nelle  tenebre la vita corrotta, decaduta; solo dopo aver fatto ciò, solo  dopo questo processo di purificazione, si ha la rivelazione, che,  in  quanto  ri‐velazione,  è,  appunto,  un  velare  di  nuovo,  un  nascondere che solo rende possibile uno svelamento.    3. ...The old Greek fiction  Come  cambia  questa  situazione  agli  albori  del  pensiero  occidentale,  cioè  a  partire  da  quei  pensatori  erroneamente  definiti “naturalisti”? Come cambia cioè la concezione del tempo  con la nascita della filosofia, con l’emergere progressivo di un  S&F_n. 8_2012    111 nuovo  modo,  non  più  semplicemente  mitico  e  religioso  in  senso  lato, di intendere la realtà e di mettere ordine in essa? Si può  parlare, in qualche modo, di un nuovo “inizio”? Anzitutto va detto  che  si  deve  sgombrare  il  campo  da  quell’inveterato  vizio  storiografico  che  considera  la  nascita  della  filosofia  come  il  frutto del passaggio meccanico dall’universo del mito a quello del  logos.  Se  passaggio  vi  è,  esso  è  certamente  tale  che  del  cosiddetto  “universo  mitico”  restano  peculiarità  anche  in  quei  pensatori,  considerati  maggiori  come  Platone,  che,  pur  essendo  considerati i principi del logos e della logicizzazione dell’ente  nella sua totalità, conservano strutture di pensiero tipiche della  mentalità arcaica. Con Platone, difatti, e con tutti i pensatori  greci fino all’avvento del Cristianesimo, a prevalere è ancora il  mito, “il racconto”, dell’eterno ritorno, una concezione circolare  del  tempo,  che  però  si  arricchisce  di  elementi  teoretici  particolari,  vero  e  proprio  frutto  di  uno  sforzo  intenso  di  lavorìo  concettuale  su  categorie  provenienti  dalla  tradizione.  Presso  i  Greci,  come  è  noto,  fa  la  sua  comparsa  quella  parola  destinata a fecondare la tradizione filosofica successiva fino ad  oggi: la parola eìnai, essere. Tramite questo potente strumento si  gettano  le  basi  per  un  più  efficace  ordinamento  del  mondo,  che  culminerà, senza ombra di dubbio, nei grandi sistemi metafisici di  Platone e Aristotele e che ha come obiettivo principale quello di  garantire  una  maggiore  capacità  di  illuminare  la  realtà  fin  nei  suoi  anfratti  più  reconditi.  Ne  conseguirà  per  l’uomo  greco  la  possibilità  di  problematizzare  la  questione  del  tempo,  pur  tenendone  fermo,  come  si  tenterà  di  illustrare  il  carattere  essenzialmente ciclico.   Anche l’uomo greco, da buon uomo “arcaico” e “tradizionale” è più  che  riluttante  a  riconoscere  e  a  registrare  il  carattere  irreversibile degli avvenimenti, e perciò anch’egli è un abitatore  del cosmo e non della storia. Ma presso la civiltà greca, come ha  ben  messo  in  luce  la  studiosa  Paula  Philippson  in  molti  suoi  DOSSIER  Ciro Incoronato, Dal mito dell’eterno ritorno   112 testi, non vi è un solo termine per indicare il “tempo”, bensì è  possibile  individuare  ben  quattro  parole,  il  cui  significato  è  ovviamente  diverso.  Il  tempo  viene,  pertanto,  a  distinguersi  in  Aion,  Chronos,  Kairos,  Eniautos.  L’Aion  è  il  tempo  inteso  come  durata  assoluta  eternità,  come  spazio  infinito  o  infinita  estensione,  mentre  Chronos  costituisce  il  tempo  che  procede  dal  passato al futuro, un tempo rettilineo numericamente scandibile,  creato  e  destinato  un  giorno  a  venir  meno,  a  perire.  Kairos  e  Eniautos, costituiscono a loro volta, rispettivamente il momento  culminante  nell’Aion,  cioè  nell’Eterno,  e  il  tempo  inteso  come  procedere  e  ritornare  su  di  sé  degli  eventi.  In  altre  parole:  sfuma  progressivamente  tutto  quell’apparato  di  elementi  mitici  legati a rituali precisi e alla questione della “ripetizione” di  ciò  che  è  accaduto  nel  tempo  mitico  delle  origini,  ma  ciò  non  implica  che  il  fenomeno  religioso  perda  d’importanza,  anzi  costituisce  sempre  l’anima  della  comunità.  La  vera  novità  consiste,  però,  nel  fatto  che  già  a  partire  dai  cosiddetti  “presocratici”  sempre  con  maggiore  forza  si  impone  l’idea,  che  tanto  peso  in  seguito  avrà,  dell’infinito  visto  come  condizione  del  finito.  Se  in  precedenza  gli  dei  “che  sempre  sono”  costituivano la garanzia prima ed ultima del tutto del cosmo e di  conseguenza  la  condizione  necessaria  e  sufficiente  affinché  gli  uomini e il mondo fossero, a partire dai presocratici è in atto un  processo  particolare  in  virtù  del  quale  per  spiegare  l’infinità  varietà dei fenomeni mondani non si fa più riferimento in maniera  esplicita  –  o  almeno:  non  si  fa  riferimento  solo  ‐  agli  dei  olimpici,  ma  piuttosto  a  dei  concetti,  derivanti  da  un  incontro/scontro  con  la  tradizione.  Si  pensi,  in  quest’ottica,  all’àpeiron anassimandreo, che altro non è che l’universo, eterno  ed  immutabile,  all’interno  del  quale,  in  conseguenza  di  un  movimento eterno, si producono infiniti péirata, cioè un’infinità  di eventi e mondi limitati. Il rapporto sussistente tra àpeiron e  péirata è lo stesso che si è visto caratterizzare la coppia Aion‐ S&F_n. 8_2012    113 Chronos, nella quale Aion, l’eterno, è condizione di possibilità –  si  potrebbe  dire:  possibilità  di  tutte  le  possibilità  ‐  di  Chronos, tempo rettilineo e finito. Non essendo possibile seguire  passo  passo  lo  sviluppo  del  pensiero  pre‐socratico  e  di  quello  post‐socratico,  basti  qui  dire  che  questa  struttura  metafisica  caratterizzerà  non  soltanto  il  pensiero  greco,  ma  anche  quello,  mutatis  mutandis,  delle  epoche  successive.  Inoltre,  in  vari  pensatori  greci  permane  l’idea  di  una  rigenerazione  del  tempo  e  del concetto, importato dall’Oriente, della nascita e distruzione  del mondo. Questo è particolarmente evidente nella scuola stoica,  all’interno  della  quale  viene  elaborata  la  dottrina  della  “conflagrazione”: il mondo sarebbe soggetto a cicli periodici di  vita, che si concludono in un grande incendio, in un ritorno di  tutte le cose al fuoco, per iniziare di qui un nuovo ciclo di vita  che  ripeterà  esattamente  le  stesse  fasi  del  precedente.  Eterno  ritorno di tutte le cose, rigenerazione del tempo, alternarsi di  vita e morte nel cosmo immutabile: ecco gli aspetti caratteristici  delle  cosmologie  filosofiche  greche,  nelle  quali  il  termine  “apocàlupsis”  non  ha  spazio:  prima,  quindi,  dell’affermarsi  dell’apocalittica ebraico‐cristiana, il lemma greco “apocàlupsis”  non  ha  un  significato  sacro,  ma  serve  solo  per  indicare  il  rivelarsi di un qualcosa. Certo, anche presso i Greci prevale lo  schema, tipicamente arcaico, di continue “rivelazioni”, cioè di un  alternarsi di mondi, ma questo alternarsi non ha mai fine, perché,  del  resto,  non  ha  un  inizio  storicamente  databile.  Presso  le  società  arcaiche,  compresa  quella  greca,  non  si  può  far  riferimento ad un evento conclusivo della storia, sia perché non  si ha una concezione lineare del tempo sia perché la storia in se  stessa  è  sempre  temuta  e  perciò  tenuta  a  distanza,  messa  ai  margini, disconosciuta: le generazioni, per usare un’immagine cara  ai Greci, si avvicendano come le foglie degli alberi in virtù di  un movimento destinato a durare in eterno, così come eterno è il  cosmo abitato dall’uomo.  DOSSIER  Ciro Incoronato, Dal mito dell’eterno ritorno   114   4. ...Apocalypse now?  Con  la  letteratura  apocalittica  ebraico‐cristiana  lo  scenario  cambia  non  poco.  Dio,  l’Essere  sommo,  eterno,  onnipotente  e  onnisciente,  crea  il  mondo  e  nel  crearlo  crea  anche  il  tempo.  Tempo  che  non  ritorna  eternamente  secondo  lo  schema  del  mito  dell’eterno  ritorno,  ma  che  è  destinato  a  finire  con  un’“apocàlupsis”,  una  rivelazione  che  porterà  alla  luce  il  vero  senso  della  storia  e  introdurrà  l’umanità  in  una  post‐storia  eterna,  in  cui  il  tempo  non  sarà  più.  Questo  schema,  al  di  là  delle  discussioni  “settarie”  sulle  interpretazione  del  momento  apocalittico,  rappresenta  la  peculiarità  principale  di  tutte  le  filosofie  della  storia,  che  si  succedono  nell’arco  di  quasi  duemila anni di filosofia occidentale.   Da Agostino a Marx, l’idea di un éschaton risolutivo, di un fine e  di  una  fine  della  storia,  è  quasi  sempre  al  centro  di  tutte  le  costruzioni  metafisiche  e  storiolatriche,  sia  che  il  Giudizio  finale  riguardi  gli  empi  sia  che  riguardi  la  borghesia  che  deve  fronteggiare  il  Dio  che  si  fa  carne,  cioè  classe,  proletaria.  Quando, poi, in tempi recenti l’idea di un éschaton futuro è stata  criticata, lo scenario che si presentato è risultato, a dir poco,  inquietante.  Basti  pensare  al  filosofo  greco,  ma  francese  d’adozione, Kostas Axelos, che nel tentativo disperato di superare  il  marxismo  e  l’heideggerismo,  ha  gettato  le  basi  per  un  post‐ libertinismo nichilistico, nel quale l’uomo, giocattolo‐giocatore‐ posta  in  gioco  del  Gioco  del  Mondo,  cioè  dell’Essere,  non  può  sperare  nulla,  condannato  com’è  ad  un  eterno  presente,  senza  alcuna  speranza  futura  di  trasformazione.  L’etica,  argomenta  Axelos, «affonda le sue radici nelle grandi potenze, che legano il  gioco dell’uomo e il gioco del mondo, ed è intimamente legata ad  esse, comandata da esse, che, a sua volta, comanda. Tutte – magia,  miti,  religione;  poesia  ed  arte;  politica;  filosofia;  scienze  e  S&F_n. 8_2012    115 tecnica – si accompagnano ad una certa morale corrente ed usuale –  più usuale che proclamata – e prescrivono un’etica normativa» 4 .  Ogni etica, pertanto, è magica, mitica, politica; si allea con la  filosofia,  tanto  che  quest’ultima,  fin  dalla  sua  apparizione  in  Platone,  comporta  un’etica.  A  partire  da  Platone,  argomenta  Axelos,  il  mondo  è  stato  considerato  come  una  costruzione  di  ordine morale. L’etica, sorta come strettamente legata con l’onto‐ teo‐logia e la mistica, si è venuta svolgendo come etica ebraico‐ cristiana, borghese e socialista, senza mai cessare di presentarsi  come  un’etica  della  beatitudine  futura,  della  salvezza  finale,  della  massima  felicità,  «ricerca  di  un’alterità  fondamentale  al  cui  fascino  non  hanno  saputo  sottrarsi  nemmeno  pensatori  come  Hegel  con  il  suo  spirito  assoluto,  Marx  con  il  suo  comunismo  integrale, Nietzsche con il suo super‐uomo, Heidegger con la sua  verità dell’essere» 5 .  Con  la  fine  del  regno  ontoteologico,  del  predicativo  e  del  copulativo,  viene  meno  ogni  impalcatura,  ogni  posizione  e  giudizio,  che,  in  qualche  modo,  «pretendono  all’essere  e  ad  essere» 6 .  Con  la  realizzazione  della  filosofia  nell’operatività  tecnico‐scientifica,  con  il  venir  meno  delle  grandi  potenze,  si  esaurisce,  dunque,  ogni  sistematica  etica,  con  tutte  le  sue  suddivisioni e articolazioni interne:   l’etica si muoveva nel cuore della pre‐filosofia e della filosofia: la  filosofia  teorica  diceva  l’essere  e  la  filosofia  pratica  il  dover‐ essere, ed entrambe lo facevano concependo l’essere e il dover‐essere  come  condizionantisi  a  vicenda.  L’etica,  figlia  della  metafisica,  restò  legata  ed  ancorata  al  sommo  bene,  che  richiedeva  di  essere  effettivamente  realizzato.  Ma  che  ne  è  del  sommo  bene,  di  questo  impensabile  e  impraticabile,  che  ha  brillato  con  la  sua  presenza  inesplorata,  inseparabile  dalla  sua  assenza  deplorata,  in  un’era  che  tenta  tortuosamente  di  oltrepassare  il  regno  della  metafisica,  la  quale  pone  l’essere  come  presenza‐assenza  in  e  attraverso  la  rappresentazione, cioè l’idealità? 7     Non ci sono più speranze, possibilità di un futuro riscatto o di  una futura ricompensa. Si agisce senza sapere perché, inchiodati  4  K. Axelos, Per un’etica problematica, tr. it. Guida, Napoli 1974, p. 24.  5  G. Lissa, Introduzione a Per un’etica problematica, cit., p. 14.  6  K. Axelos, Per un’etica problematica, cit., p. 25.   7  Ibid., p. 30.  DOSSIER  Ciro Incoronato, Dal mito dell’eterno ritorno   116 al qui ed ora della propria finitezza, accettando l’angoscia, la  limitazione,  la  vecchiaia,  la  morte,  la  tristezza  del  mondo,  la  sua  noia.  L’uomo  deve  imparare  a  vivere  senza  pensare  di  poter  rendere  migliore  l’umanità,  giocando  un  gioco  fatto  di  accettazione  e  di  rinunzia,  di  rivendicazione  e  di  riconciliazione,  di  constatazione  e  di  contestazione,  di  rivoluzione e di riforme, un gioco che gli consenta di giocare nel  distacco e nell’indifferenza.  Lo scenario prospettato da Axelos è terribilmente tetro, e ancor  più tetra è la sua proposta etica, che, a conti fatti, invita alla  rassegnazione.   Venute  meno  le  condizioni  di  un  “apocàlupsis”,  crollate  miseramente  le  filosofie  della  storia,  l’uomo  occidentale  si  ritrova  disorientato  e  non  sa  più  neppure  porsi  la  domanda:  che  fare?  Un  senso  di  spossatezza,  da  impero  alla  fine  della  decadenza, tende ad invadere i corpi e le anime.   La  fine  forse  non  è  alla  fine  della  storia  di  cui  l’uomo  occidentale è protagonista, ma è dentro la storia che sta vivendo  e che non ha né liberazione né redenzione:   Come  racconta  magistralmente  Francis  Ford  Coppola  in  Apocalypse  now  (1979), in una situazione come la guerra del Vietnam la catastrofe non  è là da venire, non la dobbiamo né attendere né temere, perché si è  già  compiuta  interiormente  e  silenziosamente  nell’orrore  e  nella  perdita  di  qualsiasi  senso  di  cui  sono  capaci  le  azioni  umane.  La  risalita  di  quel  fiume  è  ormai  soltanto  il  vuoto  simulacro  di  citazioni  letterarie.  Non  vi  è  alcun  esito  da  raggiungere,  se  non  attraversare il caos. La catastrofe ripete sempre lo stesso ritornello  di morte, diventa allucinogena e infernale. Non ha dunque alcun senso  “ulteriore” da rivelarci. Il tempo della fine non è più vicino, è già  qui. E il settimo sigillo è aperto da tempo 8 .    Il  tempo  della  fine,  in  quanto  fine  del  tempo,  sembra  continuamente sul punto di giungere, eppure tarda. Forse l’ospite  tanto  atteso  è  già  arrivato  ma  non  viene  riconosciuto.  Ma  più  probabilmente è soltanto un fantasma che si sta evocando da un bel  po’,  che,  anziché  farci  disperare,  deve  costituire  sempre  e  soltanto  un’esortazione  continua  all’azione  e  alla  creatività,  8  T. Pievani, La fine del mondo. Guida per apocalittici perplessi, il Mulino,  Bologna 2012, p. 29.  S&F_n. 8_2012    117 unico  rimedio  contro  l’ansia  apocalittica  e  il  libertinismo  massificato.                                                      CIRO  INCORONATO  è  dottorando  di  ricerca  in  Scienze  Filosofiche  all’Università  degli Studi di Napoli Federico II      
work_xyztrcmkbnd4doy5xh4nldighe	----	Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 49 © 2017 Nikola Gjorshoski This is an open access article distributed under the CC-BY 3.0 License. Peer review method: Double-Blind Date of acceptance: March 08, 2017 Date of publication: May 05, 2017 Review article UDC 342.74:28]:342.4 Nikola Gjorshoski Law faculty, University “St. Kliment Ohridski” - Bitola, Macedonia ngjorshoski@gmail.com Abstract Modern constitutional and political concepts, in a broad sense, represent an expressed codification of the elements of value that structure the relevant society or the particular group that tries to project or channel them through the existing order. The secularism vs. Islamism dichotomy is a part of such a conceptual framework. The author elaborates and compares both ultimate constitutional and political designs, specifying them through the example of Turkey and Iran, as well as to shows the basic characteristics through the prism of their political legitimacy, the organization of power, the human rights and freedoms, as well as the possibility of political activism. The thesis that the author notes develops in the direction of a warning that the extremes contained in the constitutional provisions in the vividly ideologically divided societies can be a source of a conflict and/or can generate instability or suffocation of the pluralism in the political arena. Key words: Secularism; Islamism; Velajet-i-Faqih; Kemalism; Atli ok; Constitutional-political design INTRODUCTION The phenomenon of the secularism-Islamism dichotomy in the modern constitutional design of the contemporary Muslim societies became characteristic especially after the Islamic Revolution in Iran in 1979 and conceived after the victory of the Kemalists in Turkey in 1924. This paper is but a general conceptual illustration aimed at determining several key respects. Firstly, what constitutes the core of the secular and the Islamist constitutional postulate and what are its visible features? Secondly, what are the essential differences in the access to political and societal value components, manifested through the prism of the organization of power, human rights and freedoms and the possibility of a political action? Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 50 Lastly, yet not less ephemeral, the paper illustrates the historical genesis of the occurrence of the respective constitutional and political groups, and, thus would assume the trajectory of their impact on the social life. The political system gains its primary social category codification through the primacy of the constitutional design. Thereto, its essential determinant is its stabilization and valorization of the political value elements of the mainsail of the social fabric or a particular group. The latter domain depends largely on his consistent output. Heywood is absolutely right when he notes that although the idea of constitutionalism is closely associated with liberal tendencies, there is nothing that would prevent the undemocratic character of the constitution (Hejvud 2004, 542). Thus, if the constitutional conception is undemocratic, it ejects certain subjects in the affirmative or subordinate role, and we cannot talk about a democratic political system. This statement aims to reconfirm our next question: Are there, actually, in the constitutional political design of Turkey and Iran, provisions that affirm some at the expense of other political parties, and what generation gets through the political discourse? Can the other thesis, the one of Fareed Zakaria strengthen the “illiberal democracy” (Zakaria 1997, 27) to be plausible in our case? Can we identify a system that would be basically democratic and not open–plural, and to what extent can such a system be modeled? To which extent the existing constitutional and political systems of Turkey and Iran are willing to be open to individuals with different political and ideological platforms of the established official doctrine? The attempt of copying a constitutional political order inherent in the Western European regimes in Turkey under Mustafa Kemal Ataturk in 1924 and its acute rejection and the designing of their own “Islamic” model in Iran led by Ayatollah Khomeini in 1974 paved the way in the Muslim world for the future model of a socio-political organization and orientation. In fact, the two countries represent, to a greater or a lesser extent, an identification basis, or an initial burst and a benchmark for the countries of the Muslim provenance – though quite often degenerated and transformed into an authoritarian regime, especially after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the communist regimes and the Soviet Union. Both countries contain fairly homogeneous religious or, even, ethnic structure, and produce radically different socio-political and constitutional creeds as the basic creed of political action, domestically and internationally. This narrative would, undoubtedly, lead to a polarization of the political climate and the social existence in general. Hereafter, the author would address exactly those components. It is especially important to note that the concepts in the paper are related to the basics of the constitutional and the political design and it does not include the recent developments in Turkey, such as the attempted coup and the initiative last constitutional changes that strengthen the power of President Erdogan. Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 51 KEMALIST TURKEY: MILITANT SECULARISM AND TURKISH NATIONALISM Happy is the one who says, I am a Turk Mustafa Kemal Ataturk The transformation of Turkey as a pro-Western state with institutions such as the Western European ones began after the defeat in the First World War. A lot of factors contributed to the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the change into a secular republic. Firstly, the continuum consists of: the growth of the Young Turks movement, a series of numerous national liberation uprisings of the various ethnicities in the Empire and, finally, the defeat in the Balkan Wars, the Great War and the peace Treaties of Sevres and Lausanne. On October 29, 1923 it was proclaimed the Republic and the very same day Mustafa Kemal was elected as its first president. Schulz notes that it, in fact, was the first victory of the urban nationalists over the old regime in the modern Islamic world, and the republic came to symbolize the victory. Its ideals, such as sovereignty and share of power, fully corresponded to urban the Turkish nationalist worldview, aimed at the “European discourse” (Schulze 2000, 53). Ataturk strengthened its position by implementing a single- party system, and under the guise of pacifism expressed in the motto “Peace at home – peace in the world”, he removed all the competitive forces that would threaten his power and authority. The multiparty system established itself almost a decade after his death. Before the brief examination of the organization of the government, the central institutions and the fundamental values of the constitutional and the political order of Kemalist Turkey, several essential activities that contributed to de-islamization of the Turkish society should be pointed out: the abolition of the Sultanate, the abolition of the Madrasas, the abolition of the Caliphate, the acceptance of the Latin alphabet instead of the Arabic script, the prohibition of the fez and the turban as a social reactionary decadence, the declaration of Sunday as a holiday instead of Friday (Juma), the agrarian reform and the abolition of polygamy, as well as the legal equality accompanied by the suffrage of women etc. The series of such steps determines the roadmap towards Westernization and the exit from the traditional Orientalism. Turkey is a Parliamentary republic whose political system is largely based on the position of the Parliament and the cooperation with the bi-cephalous executive. The constitutional order has experienced three general metamorphoses; from the concentration of power in the hands of the Parliament and the unreal separation of the powers between the legislative and the executive (the 1924 Constitution), through a bi-cameral legislative – introducing a Senate as a second (upper) House and strengthening the Government's position – the Ministerial Council (Bakanlar Kurulu) and the prime Minister (Bashbakan), the creation of the Constitutional Court, the separation of the party membership and the militarist provenance of the President (the 1961 Constitution), to the final stipulation of the fundamental human rights and freedoms as an integral part of the Turkish society, as well as strengthening the powers of the President, mirroring the French Fifth Republic and the abolition of the Senate (the 1982 Constitution), (Demiri 2009, 114). The central institutions under the current Constitution have the following characteristics: first, legislative power is unicameral. The Turkish Great National Assembly (Turkiye Buyuk Millet Meclisi) counts 550 MPs with a five-year mandate that almost Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 52 always expires prematurely, due to the political preferences of the parties. The scope of authority is almost identical in all hybrid (parliamentary-presidential) modes: making and changing laws, political control of the Council of Ministers, budget approving, ratification of international agreements, decisions of war and peace, etc. Second, the executive is bi- cephalous with increased powers of the President (Cumhurbashkan) expressed through several parameters: to convoke a special session of the Assembly, the right to veto laws, to call a referendum on constitutional amendments, the appointment of the first Minister and pressing charges against legal and natural persons of disrespect for the Constitution and the laws, to appoint members of the High Education Council, rectors of universities, judges in the constitutional, military and cassation court etc, (Ahmad 2006, 1371). On the other hand, the Council of Ministers (Bakanlar Kurulu) and the Prime Minister (Bashbakan) are accountable to the Assembly for the implementation of the current domestic and foreign policy, whereupon the ministerial solidarity, apart from the individual responsibility is characteristic. Third, the courts, according to the provisions of the Constitution are independent and make decisions on the basis of the Constitution and the laws, and the Constitution in its regulations notes the State Council, the Supreme Administrative Court, the Supreme Military Administrative Court, the Supreme Military Court of Appeal and the Constitutional Court as organs of the justice system in the Republic. After the central state organs were briefly elaborated, let us view the fundamental values and principles of the political system of Kemalist Turkey. Turkish nationalism and populism (Halkchilik) The transformation of the Ottoman Empire in a secular Turkish Republic took the Turkish nationalism and the doctrines of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk as a starting point. This executed a radical shift in the identification database of the citizens and the legitimization of power. Instead of the former Islamic landmarks, nowadays, Turkish nationalism takes the role of a connective tissue of the Turkish society. Even the existing Constitution calls for Turkey to be devoted to the nationalism of Atatürk (Constitution of the Republic of Turkey, 1982, Preamble). Tamimi and Esposito suggest many political commitments that have modeled this concept. For example, the recomposing Turkish history, the elimination of much of the Ottoman past, the affirmation of the pre-Islamic perioid, the formation of the Turkish Historical Association and the Turkish Language Institution, even the mythological paradigm that Asia Minor is the homeland of Turkey, the cradle of humanity and civilization and the Turkish language the basis of all languages (Tamimi and Esposito 2000, 3). Еxtreme nationalist tendencies were stirred up through a lot of attempts the Islamic religious practices (prayer and ezan), instead of in Arabic, to be conducted in Turkish. In addition, “Altit ok”, or the doctrine of “the six arrows” that follows the Turanism (Panturcism) as a foreign policy orientation. The general motto of populism (Halkchik) was expressed in the slogan “the people against the elites”, which certainly served to strengthen the nationalist rhetoric. Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 53 National sovereignty The establishment of the Turkish Republic on the remains of the former Ottoman Empire meant a change in the legitim aspect of the Government. The former Sultan used to bear several titles that gave him political and religious position in society: Caliph (leader of Muslims), Emir al-Mumin (leader of the faithful) and Shaykh Lab Islam (regulator of religious issues) (Kulenovic 2008, 43). There is an evident religious inclination. Kemalism drastically changes this framework. Ataturk was named the immortal and the eternal leader, unrivaled in national history. The republican polity and sovereignty are exclusively and unconditionally based on the Turkish nation. The Turkish nation expresses its sovereignty through the authorized institutions that operate on constitutional principles. The sovereignty of the Turkish nation can not be transferred to any individual, group or class that is not in accordance with the Constitution (Constitution of the Republic of Turkey, article 6). Militant secularism One of the determinant specifics of the Turkish constitutional order and political system is the militant secularism. The steps taken for the de-islamization of the Turkish society were already stated. In addition, a significant moment was the de-shariazation of the Turkish legal system, as well as some points that insulated the ulema and plunged it into a marginalized position of the political life. Thus, the previous Sharia law was replaced by the dull takeover of the Swiss Civil Code, the Italian Criminal Code and the German Trade Law. In this regard, the former Sharia judges were retired and the religious schools either banned or periodically opened, however under a strict state control. Religious clothes outside the mosques were banned, religious titles suppressed, religious teaching in public schools was prohibited, all Sufi orders were declared ilegal and Zakat (religious obligation) was strictly monitored by the state and military etablishment. Moreover, the fierce form of the social and militant secularism got another dimension, a military one, through the role of the military. The military was a self-declared “guardian of the secular Republic,” the defender of the secular ideology and stability of the country (Tamimi and Esposito 2000, 3). Led by the self-set political iconography, the military itself, few times, directly or indirectly, participated in the overthrow of pro–Islamic governments (or Prime Ministers), the subject of the third part of the paper. Secularism was not founded only on the separation of religion and state, but it was contributed with hatred, bigotry, intolerance, rigidity and militancy against everything that showed even the smallest amount of religious affinities. Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 54 KHOMEINI’S IRAN: BETWEEN SHARIOCRACY AND MODIFIED THEOCRACY Islam is our full guidance Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini Unlike Turkey, which is elaborated in the previous section, the situation in Iran is reversed. Iran has transformed its own political identity distinctively from West oriented to revival Islamist. The Islamic Revolution of 1979 was preceded by numerous turbulent political events that acted as a decisive factor for the revolutionary developments. Thus, in 1941, the Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi inherited the power from his father, Reza Khan Pahlavi. After the Second World War, he started implementing numerous pro-Western modernist reformations i.e. the “White revolution”, similar to Kemalist Turkey. The emphasis was placed on language and nationalism, religious symbols, such as the Hijab, was withdrawn from the public life, with incorporation of the civil society and the Western civil legal codex (except the family law that received a modified expression through state- controlled Sharia courts). The victory of Mosaddegh on the parliamentary elections in 1951 (followed by his nationalization of the oil industry), that the Shah could not prevent; his abdication in 1953, his re-intronization and return to power with the help of his British and American allies after six days – all these events started electrifying the society in Iran (Akhavi 1980, 42). Deprivation grew linearly with the growing authoritarianism of 1961, when the Shah suspend the Parliament and eliminated the political opponents with the help of the secret police called SAVAK. The leader of the Islamic Opposition, the ayatollah Khomeini, was in exile, primarily because of his explicit political confrontation with the Shah and his acute rhetoric against the US imperialism. The 1979 revolution absorbed all social strata dissatisfied with the Shah’s regime (Islamists, secularists, Marxists, liberals, etc.), yet, still, only the Islamic provenance managed to institutionalize order, based on the Khomeini’s doctrine. From the political scene, from the administrative bodies, from the educational institutions and virtually all other social segments were eliminated anti-Islam parties, primarily secularists and liberals. Political and socio-cultural reflections were evident through the obligatory wearing of the Islamic dress, censorship of certain content in the mass media, compulsory teaching of the religious doctrines, the Islamic ideological army, education and culture. Iranian nationalism has been replaced by the construction of a Muslim nation of Iran, as an inseparable part of the overall Muslim community (Ummah). This kind of a set of policy interventions became a constitutional category (Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran, 1979, Preamble). The constitutional and political system of the Islamic Republic of Iran is a sui generis design, typical of the Persian territory, and its revolutionary and Islamic narrative – an inspiration for a series of attempts for installing an Islamic state. It is a combination of strong leadership, religious and legalistic establishment, nominal executive and consultative legislation. In addition, the most important of its features, through an institutional lens, are to be reviewed. First, the central institution in the Islamic Iranian model is the Supreme Leader (Vali Faqih) – Ayatollah (Khomeini, then Al Khamenei), who has not only ceremonial, but, also, a real political power. He is, also, a chairperson of the leadership council (valiet), composed of the most eminent experts in the Islamic law and the Shiite doctrine of the twelfth Imam. It names the head of the judiciary, six members of the Council of the Guards, Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 55 commanders of all the armed forces, leaders of the Friday Juma prayers, and the head of the national radio and television, and decides on war and peace, as well. The election of the President of the Islamic Republic must be confirmed by the Ayatollah (Demiri 2009, 264). As a result of the constellation, the Supreme Leader controls nearly all aspects of the political life. Despite the political, the Supreme Leader, also, asserts spiritual leadership of the Iranian Muslim nation, because he comes from the eminent Islamic jurists (mujtahid), exegesis experts, members of the leadership council mentioned above. Secondly, the supervisory authority is concentrated in the Assembly of Experts (Madzhma el Neza), whose task is to appoint, monitor and control the operation of the Supreme Leader, to assist him in the creation of his politics and to initiate the process of the impeachment if the Ayatollah does not perform his tasks in accordance with the Constitution. This body is elected to fixed terms of 8 years, proposed by the Council of Guardians (Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran, 1979, articles 108-111). Third, one of the most powerful political bodies in charge of controlling the legislative party nominations for the elections and all the specific policy actions is the Council of the Guardians of the Islamic Republic (Shura-e Negbahan). It is composed of 12 members (six Islamic and six civil law experts – the first appointed by the Supreme Leader, and the latter by the Parliament and proposed by the Supreme Judicial Council), with a six-year term. The Council of the Guardians of the Islamic Republic has the right to veto on virtually any domestic political, economic and foreign trade initiative. Fourth, the executive, nominal and limited by the leadership and the Council of Guardians, is composed of the President and the Council of Ministers. The President is elected in general and direct elections, with obligatory confirmation by the Parliament to fixed terms of four years, with the right to one re-election. His role as head of the executive is to implement policies in line with the Constitution and the laws, setting and recalling of ambassadors, and a chairperson of the National Security Council. His power, as well as the power of his cabinet (the Council of Ministers) is limited by the institutions that listed above. Finally, the consultative legislation – the Parliament (Majlis Shura-i Islami) consists of 270 members elected for four years. The Constitution empowers this body to enact laws (actually, consults, because the final decision is to the Council of Guardians); it, also, empowers it to ratify international treaties, to elect Ministers in the President’s cabinet and to initiate investigations on any political issue in the country (Alaedini at al, 2006, 621). As far as the judiciary is concerned, I would mention only the High Judicial Council composed of the head of the Supreme Court, the Attorney General and three members placed directly by the Supreme Leader, who at any time, may revoke. The Constitution guarantees their independence, impartiality and fairness. After the institutional design was briefly presented, now, the stress is to be put on the ideological values and the fundamental benchmarks of the Islamic Republic of Iran. God's sovereignty (Hakamia) and Modeled shariocracy What greatly reflects the Iranian Republic, at least on the ideological level, is the doctrinal divine sovereignty (hakamia). The Constitution notes that the sovereignty belongs to Allah s.a.w.t., which is legitimate, and it is a submission to His will (Constitutional principle II). Unlike popular sovereignty, according to which the expressed will of the citizens is essential for socio-economic and political action, the Iranian system is based on an a priori given philosophy and principles through a divine revelation (Quran), and all Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 56 authorities, including citizens, have a duty to implement. Authorities have merely “limited” forms of administrating, because Allah S.W.T. is sovereign of any forms of life and they are governors who need to fulfill His will. The Constitution is determined as a declaration of social, cultural, political and economic foundations of the Iranian society based on Islamic principles and norms, which reflect the genuine desire of the Islamic community (the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran, 1979, Preamble). This formulation clearly alludes to the Sharia as a legal order. However, the introduction of the republican model, alongside with the participation of citizens in the selection of holders of certain public functions (Constitutional principle I) for which there are no distinctively precise provisions in the Koran, as well as the modifying of some provisions of domestic, commercial and even criminal law, provides the opportunity, this model regime to be assessed as modeled shariocracy. Rule of eminent Islamic jurists (Velajet e Faqih) The Iranian Constitution affirms that the Islam is a comprehensive way of life, which serves as the basis of the Government and, also, regulates the legal relations of religion and society (Demiri 2009, 259). Yet, what is specific to this system is but the power of the eminent Islamic jurists (Velaet e Faqih). Since, as already mentioned, the system is based on hakamia and on the modeled shariocracy, with the authority of the Islamic experts (Faqih) and lawyers (mujtahid), a logical consequence is that, according to this worldview, the crucial guidelines for political action to be concentrated clearly in these figures. The supreme legal and religious experts (imams, Faqih) are concerned, that symbolize the fusion between the Islamic religion and politics as two mutually inseparable components. The system is still open to some level, because everyone has the right to study the Islamic law and to be Faqih. It is evident that this is a modified theocracy with Republican elements (available only for the participants of the Islamic affiliation), yet only through the prism of the European discourse, since the Islam does not recognize priesthood as an allusion to the religious establishment in Christianity. On the other hand, the practical discourse is very well perceived by Gellner, who states that in the absence of a tribal society and a support by His leadership (as the one of the Shah), the religious educated lawyers and experts can govern, tracing an egalitarian and an anti-intermediary current in the Islam (Gellner 1992, 18). Twelver doctrine (Ithna Ashariyyah) Inseparably connected to the Valiet Faqih principle of power is the official Shiite doctrine, Ithna Ashariyyah, which is overwhelmingly dominant in Iran. The doctrine recognizes twelve blood related successors (Imams) to the Prophet Muhammad, i.e. related by blood to His nephew and son-in-law Ali. The twelfth imam Muhamed al Muntazan “disappeared”, or retired from the world in 874. The return of the mysterious imam is expected in the last age of the world, when as a true believer and a leader (Mahdi), he would rule the country, establishing order, justice and a just Islamic order (Esposito 2003, 62). In this sense, Khomeioni’s doctrine Valiet Faqih composes a system of governing until the reappearance of the twelfth imam. Thus, his absence is substituted by the Islamic jurists and the Grand Ayatollah. Should the question: how the system would look like on the possible “return” of the twelfth imam be posed, Khomeini solves the dilemma by transcendenting his power in a spiritual and a symbolic way. Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 57 POLITICAL REPERCUSSIONS OF TURKISH AND IRANIAN CONSTITUTIONAL DESIGN That government is best which governs least Henry David Thoreau Secularism and Islamism as concepts of the constitutional and the political model represent a model and a condition of all spheres of the political system in the contemporary Muslim states. The repercussions resulting from such a political constituency in the design of Turkey and Iran are visible, primarily, in terms of the actions of the central institutions, the political parties, the civil society and the political culture they create as agents of the political socialization. In addition, the two most important components where such repercussions are most pronounced would be discussed. Ideological and political indoctrination Both systems are highly ideological and their consequent indoctrination is helped by two key institutions. In Turkey, it is the army and in Iran – the Council of Guardians. The ideological and the political indoctrination reflect all segments of society. Thus, in Turkey, despite the Turkish nationalism elaborated in the previous section, the image and the act of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk is clearly cultivated to the high level of sacrament. His photos are visible everywhere, and his posters, banners and similar symbols were part of every manifestation. Even the Constitution stipulates him as an eternal and an indisputable leader of Turkey, unrivaled in national history. Ayse Kadioglu notes that the political inclinators of Ataturk are related to the hatred of religion, even when sometimes the populist used religious symbols for respect (Ayse Kadioglu 1998, 11). A good example of the hypocrisy of the Turkish authorities, apart from recomposing of history, was the February 1998 law according to which the children were required first to complete eight years of secular education, and then to be allowed to attend the madrassas. The summer and the weekend study of the Quran were completely banned. Female pupils, female students and female teachers were forbidden to wear Hijab, even in Islamic schools, and such a ban existed many years before in other educational and government institutions (Tamimi and Esposito 2000, 5). The monopoly of the Turkish secularism is visible even in the work of the Islamic Community, so, in all religious ceremonies, it is insisted on putting special emphasis on the Turkish nationalism, the respect for civil law and order, as well as the governing authority. Iranian case represents the other side of the same coin. Almost no activities incompatible with the Koran and the Islamic religion were permitted. The obligation of wearing Islamic dress in public life and the so called “Cultural revolution” that aimed at Islamization of all spheres of society, including universities, grew at a fast pace. Non- Muslims were ordered to refrain from “behavior offensive to Muslims” and were excluded from all departments, except foreign languages and mathematics (Bakhash 1984, 226). The rhetoric was full of indignation, fanaticism and grotesquely shaped pacifism. The following statement of Khomeini best confirms our findings: “We want to expand Islam everywhere, but that does not mean that we will exported with bayonets [...] If governments adhere to Islamic principles we will support, if they will not, we will fight them without fear of anybody!” (Esposito 2001, 172). Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 58 What is more, the request of a death penalty of Salman Rushdie, the author of The Satanic Verses, only serves as a mobilization base for the militant Islamic structures and the affirmation of Iran's position in the region and, primarily, for the strengthening of the ideological and political indoctrination in society. Controlled and doctrinaire - limited multipartism The Turkish and the Iranian constitutional political model are but exclusive modes or systems exclusively open to entities that adhere to extremely ideological constitutional and political formations. In the first case, the limitation applies to entities that do not accept rigid secularism, while in the second, the political actors that express preferences beyond the Islamic doctrine. Such a designed framework narrows down the circle of possible participants in the political process. Until 1998, the Iranian constitutional and legal order did not recognize the existence of political parties. The Shiite religious and political paradigm perceives itself as a party (the party of Ali) and the Husein’s martyrdom in Kerbel, as well as the defeat of his forces of the army by Jezid the Caliph in 680 had a particular influence on the emerging of the Revolution in 1979. In that context, after the revolutionary transformation, a party system led by the Islamic Republican Party was established. However, the “stabilization” of the system and the attempts for the “democratization” and openness resulted in the Constitutional Amendment which approved the existence of political parties, provided they are not contrary to the Islam, the national sovereignty and the Islamic unity (Alaedini at al. 2006, 623). Such a constitutive formulation, obviously, leads to a controlled multipartism, lead by a key institution with the authority to check their loyalty to the existing order and to approve or to veto their work for the Council of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution. For example, much of the ideological opposition (royalists, Marxists) were forced into exile. First, the Iranian Resistance Movement led by Shakur Baktair of the Social Provenance was forced to act from Paris. Yet, Ayatollah Khomeini was not merely limited to the ideological competitors. Also, the eminent political and religious experts and activists, such as Ali Sharia, Bazargan, Talikani and Sherijatmadari were forced to resign, to go into exile or to be processed due to alleged involvement in the conspiracy. We should not be fooled by the intentions of the reform wing, whose representative was Khatami, also, we should not be fooled by the Iranian Green Movement lead by Hussein Mousavi to adapt and liberalize some institutions (for example, increasing the power of the Parliament). The intention to democratize the Islamic political structures was permitted, yet not the ideological opposition. No legal political structure in Iran attacks the Valette Faqih principle, otherwise it would not be granted with its existence and the run for parliamentary elections. The main Parties: the Coalition of Builders of Islamic Iran (Ahmadinejad), the Islamic Coalition Party (the Asgaroladi) and the Union of Islamic Architects (Muhammad Reza Bahor) are firmly committed to the Islamic constitutive political principles. The Turkish case is largely equivalent to the Iranian model. Kemal Ataturk’s establishment of the militant secularist order resulted, primarily, in a one party system – the Republican People's Party. The situation did not change until 1946, when, for the first time, multiparty elections were held, and the Republican People's Party was defeated and the Government took over the Democratic Party. However, the key player in the multiparty system was the military. It made a coup three times: in 1960, in 1971 and in 1980. The first Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 59 time, led by General Cemal Gursel, the Government of the first democratically elected Prime Minister – Adnan Mendeles, was removed from the administration, due to the close relations with Moscow, as well as, initially, due to the affirmation of the Islamic affiliation. After the coup, he was sentenced to death by hanging, and, later, rehabilitated. The second time, due to internal unrest, the government of Suleyman Demirel was toppled. The army headed by General Memduh Tamac intervened in the political events, arbitrarily interpreting the existing political order as unsustainable. The third time, one of the most prominent events of 1980, the 1980 coup d’état, showed the true side of the war establishment. The series of violence, the religious “awakening”, the trade unions and the strikes were, again, a reason for the military to take over the power. Yet, this time, it resulted in the establishment of a military junta, the suspension of the activities of all political parties and in the arresting of many of the political leaders. General Kenan Evren (who, later, via a referendum, was elected a President), together with the head of his cabinet, Bulent Ulus, again, ousted the re-elected Prime Minister Demirel, and they declared martial law and banned all the political and trade union organizing. The action brought to nearly half a million people (among which prominent leaders, such as Suleyman Demirel, Bulent Ecevit and Nedzhmatin Erbakan) and processed about 280 000, with about 50 death sentences. The military estimated each power according to its own ideological worldview, putting itself in the role of an undisputed guardian of the secularism, and against the conservative and Islamist currents. It was the organizer and the controller of the elections in 1983, and only 3 of 15 newly-formed parties were allowed to candidate for the elections (Ahmad 2006, 1368). Finally, in 1995, when Turkey received its first Islamist Prime Minister, Nedzhmatin Erbakan, the military forced him to resign his Memorandum and his Welfare Party (Refah) was banned. In this regard, General Cevik Bir, in April the same year, publicly announced that the Supreme priority of the military is to combat with the anti-secular Islamists (Tamimi and Esposito 2000, 5). Almost three and a half decades, the military had dominated initiatives for banning by the Constitutional Court and some political and religious organizations. Consequently, from the political life were eliminated: the National Party, the transformed National Salvation Party (both of Erbakan) and the groups “Followers of the Light” and the Sufi brotherhood (Mardin 1983, 144). The emergence of the Justice Party and the Development Party (AKP), as well as the leader Recep Tayyip Erdogan in the political ether, moved this discourse, bringing affirmation of the religion in the social life and recognizing the contribution of it in the moral construction of the individual; yet it must not be forgotten that it is essentially secularist and with Islamic inclinations. The strong traces of Kemalism limit every Islamist tendency to manifest in its original frames and force each entity to accept secularism as a priori designation in its action. Although a lot of laws and judicial processes limited the military's political involvement, AKP, accepting the Kemalism contribution, as well as banning the National worldview Islamic group (Milli Goruz), the Hismet and Fethullah Gulen movement, only managed to curb the militant secularism, (yet, still remaining within the secularist discourse) and it managed to give another dimension to the further political developments. Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 60 CONCLUSION The models discussed in the paper undoubtedly represent exceptionally strong constitutive-political benchmarks that gave dimension to the structure of the Muslim countries in the recent decades. They themselves are a framework that paves the way for further developments of the political scene in the Islamic world. Such a constellation undoubtedly raises the issues that are imposed in the introduction. Based on the elaboration, some concluding remarks can be singled out. They would capture the general image of the upcoming presentations, as well as reconfirm the thesis. Firstly, the Constitutive political design in both cases is different. The relationship between the authorities and their mutual control and balance is expressed through different structures, but it does not transcend the impression that the main impetus is the individual leader (in Turkey, until some time ago, the Prime Minister and, recently, the President, while, in Iran, the Ayatollah). The relationship between them and the pivotal element in charge of controlling the political processes (the army, or the Council of Guardians) is of great importance, so in the Turkish case, periodic cohabitation can be noticed, while in the Iranian, a permanent harmony. Secondly, it is obvious that both systems have political and ideological exaltation that gets codified through the constitutional provisions and principles. The systems are very limited for the opposite ideological movements. The institutional “filters” of the regimes that keep the sacred Kemalist-secularist or Islamist vocation were the military (though, now, with limited powers, yet, still a strong influence) and the Council of Guardians of the Revolution. The substantive differences in the two types are precisely the emphasis of some vis-à-vis other fundamental values of the system, with almost equal mechanisms of their “protection” and control. Thirdly, it is indisputable that both models have exclusionist nature and that promote one, at the expense of other ideological and political subject. The Turkish model preferred the secularists, declaratively and practically, and the Iranian – the Islamists in their genesis and programmatic orientation. In such a manner, they essentially stifle the ideological and the political pluralism, that is to say, they create an explicit ideological superiority, leaving no opportunity for value match and dialectical development as a consequence. Furthermore, since both regard the discourse opponents as idiosyncrasy and indignation. Fourth, due to these variables, it can be concluded that the absence of a different ideological opposition, through controlled and doctrine-limited multipartism, characterizes the regimes as undemocratic. An essential agent of democracy is the political pluralism, not the facade multipartism. This is not case with the restrictions for safety reasons, although they are often invoked. The political parties discharged in the past had no indication of violent seizure of power or of inciting national or religious bigotry, so their sanction would be justified. The direction of future development, i.e. pluralism of Turkey and Iran, to some extent, remains an enigma because there are no indications that they would be open to the opponent political factors. Perhaps the situation in Turkey is slightly more predictable due to Erdogan's inclination towards religion and its respect in society. However, authoritarian tendencies associated with stalling of human rights and freedoms, in particular freedom of speech and the media, would not improve the image of the Turkish political system, that is Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 61 to say, one shortage would replace another. The reformist wing in Iran, again, shows attempts to democratize the Islamic Republic, to increase openness to the West, yet it is not yet ready to accept the secular political parties in its core, or to show inclination towards freedom of choice of lifestyle or towards the liberalization of other segments of the social milieu. In this regard, the thesis of Zakaria for illiberal (i.e. judging by our framework, unpluralistic) democracy seems illusory. Economic rights and freedoms, without political and civil society, cannot be sufficient for a society to be called democratic. Benchmarks that would lead to eventual harmonization in the divided Muslim world in both cases should be based on mutual tolerance among secularists and Islamists; or as Martin Heper says: “A marriage between Islam and democracy in Turkey can be consummated if the radical secularists stop trying to impose their preferred life-style and set of values upon the Islamists, and if the latter do not undermine by word or deed he basic tenets of the secular democratic state in Turkey” (Heper 1997, 45). The very same, but in reverse, would apply for Iran, too. The attempt of their leveling and of placing them together is not impossible, although such a “marriage” requires a long and difficult period of building. Journal of Liberty and International Affairs | Vol. 3, No. 1, 2017 | eISSN 1857-9760 Published online by the Institute for Research and European Studies at www.e-jlia.com 62 REFERENCES 1. Ahmad, Feroz. 2006. “Republic of Turkey” in World Encyclopedia of Political systems and parties. Revised by Murat Cemrek. Fourth Edition. New York: Fact on file 2. Akhavi, Sharough. 1980. Religion and Politics on Contemporary Iran. Albani: SUNY Press 3. Alaedini, Pooya. at al. 2006. “Islamic Republic of Iran” In World Encyclopedia of Political systems and parties, Revised by Fred H. Lawson. Fourth Edition. New York: Fact on file 4. Bakhash, Shaul. 1984. The Reign of the Ayatollahs New York: Basic book 5. Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran, 1979 http://www.wipo.int/edocs/lexdocs/laws/en/ir/ir001en.pdf 6. Constitution of the Republic of Turkey, 1982 https://global.tbmm.gov.tr/docs/constitution_en.pdf 7. Demiri, Bejtula. 2009. Islam i politika: politickoto iskustvo na muslimanite. Skopje: Logos-А 8. Esposito, John L. 2001. Islamska pretnja - mit ili stvarnost. Translated by Ahmet Alibasic. Zivnice: Selsebil 9. Esposito, John L. 2003. Sto bi svatko trebao znati o islamu. Translated by Nevad Kahteran i Ivan Korpek, Zagreb: Religijski niz 10. Gellner, Ernest. 1992. Postmodernism, Reason and Religion. London: Routledge 11. Heper, Martin. 1997. “Islam and democracy in Turkey: Towards a Reconciliation” In Middle East Journal, Number. 5. London: Hurts & Company 12. Hejvud, Endru. 2004. Politika. Translated by Jovan Jovanovic, Beograd: Clio 13. Kadioglu, Ayse. 1998. “Republican Epistemology and Islamic Discourse in Turkey in the 1990’s” In Muslim World Vol. 84 Hartford: Hartford University Press 14. Kulenovic, Tarik. 2008. Politicki islam. Zagreb: V.B.Z 15. Mardin, Serif. 1983. “Turkey” in Islam in Political Process, Edited by James Piscatori. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 16. Schulze, Reinhard. 2000. A modern history of the Islamic world. Translated by Azizeh Azodi, London: IB Tauris Publishers 17. Tamimi, Azzam and Esposito, John L. 2000. Islam and Secularism in the Middle East. New York: New York University Press 18. Zakaria, Fareed. 1997. “The Rise of Illiberal Democracy” In Foreign Affairs Vol. 76 San Diego: Gordon Farson 
work_y3impgpl75ec7ladm7hw44izua	----	“Where I Lived Was Far off as Many”: Poems and Photographs on Bicentennial Thoreau Duarte, José, and Sara Henriques. ““Where I Lived Was Far off as Many”: Poems and Photographs on Bicentennial Thoreau”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 18, issue 1, art. 7, 2020, pp. 1–4. DOI: https://doi.org/10.5334/as.38 CREATIVE WRITING “Where I Lived Was Far off as Many”: Poems and Photographs on Bicentennial Thoreau José Duarte and Sara Henriques ULICES – University of Lisbon Centre for English Studies, PT Corresponding authors: José Duarte (joseaoduarte@gmail.com); Sara Henriques (sarapaivahenriques@gmail.com) Keywords: Erasure Poetry; Thoreau; Landscape; Nature; Photography *Where (I) consider every side of the landscape summer and winter each tree my fingers to speak the truth, to be generous a poet of invisible attractions protected by an interval between the hollow and the recollection of voyages ready to carry on like Atlas, the world on my shoulders, free and uncommitted round and round I do not propose to write an ode but to wake up. https://doi.org/10.5334/as.38 mailto:joseaoduarte@gmail.com mailto:sarapaivahenriques@gmail.com Duarte and Henriques: “Where I Lived Was Far off as Many”Art. 7, page 2 of 4 Where (II) in the morning my imagination retained the auroral character of the airy and unplastered cabin winds passed over ridges of mountains bearing music the poem of creation every where passing from hand to hand gone down the stream of time, a sort suggestive atmosphere arose I saw ghosts in every direction both air and water tinged with blue place and time changed, and I dwelt nearer to those parts of the universe where I lived was as far off as many a region viewed nightly by astronomers the day a perpetual morning What (I) I am awake and there is a dawn in me. To be awake is to be alive. I went to the woods because I know most men error upon error clout upon clout Duarte and Henriques: “Where I Lived Was Far off as Many” Art. 7, page 3 of 4 life frittered away by detail clouds and storms and quick-sands Men should live and forge days and nights Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? What (II) Sunday music and poetry resound along the streets we perceive that only great and worthy things have any permanent and absolute existence – daily life is built on purely illusory foundations let us spend one day as Nature looking another way like Ulysses Paris and London New York and Boston and Concord face to face life death eternity remains the first letter of the alphabet my hands rowing somewhere and here I will begin to mine Duarte and Henriques: “Where I Lived Was Far off as Many”Art. 7, page 4 of 4 *Poems to be read while listening to “Re:Stacks” by Bon Iver, included in the album For Emma, Forever Ago, which was inspired by Walden. These poems were written by erasing the chapter “Where I Lived, and I What Lived For” published in Walden. For that purpose, the following edition was used: A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers Walden; Or, Life in the Woods The Maine Woods Cape Cod by Henry David Thoreau. New York: Library of American, 1989. Poems by José Duarte. Photographs by Sara Paiva Henriques. Competing Interests The authors have no competing interests to declare. How to cite this article: Duarte, José, and Sara Henriques. ““Where I Lived Was Far off as Many”: Poems and Photographs on Bicentennial Thoreau”. Anglo Saxonica, No. 18, issue 1, art. 7, 2020, pp. 1–4. DOI: https://doi. org/10.5334/as.38 Submitted: 29 July 2020 Accepted: 29 July 2020 Published: 03 November 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Anglo Saxonica is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Ubiquity Press. OPEN ACCESS https://doi.org/10.5334/as.38 https://doi.org/10.5334/as.38 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ *Where (I) Where (II) What (I) What (II) Competing Interests 
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work_y4gmicgr5nc5xdbwtkovcwvm7u	----	’Hoods and the Woods: Rap Music as Environmental Literature John Carroll University From the SelectedWorks of Debra Rosenthal 2006 ’Hoods and the Woods: Rap Music as Environmental Literature This work is licensed under a Creative Commons CC_BY-NC-ND International License. Available at: https://works.bepress.com/debra-rosenthal/ 6/ http://www.jcu.edu https://works.bepress.com/debra-rosenthal/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ https://works.bepress.com/debra-rosenthal/6/ https://works.bepress.com/debra-rosenthal/6/ ’Hoods and the Woods: Rap Music as Environmental Literature D E B R A J . R O S E N T H A L M Y TITLE, WITH ITS IRREVERENT RHYME LINKING THE HIP HOP neighborhood to the green world of woods and forests, in- tends to suggest that juxtaposing rap lyrics to canonical environmental literature can extend our ecological literacy. Rap, with its bioregional emphasis on urban space and its attachment to locale, constitutes an urban environmental discourse hitherto overlooked by scholars of environmental literature. To read rap lyrics ecocritically is to position rap at the crossroads of African American literature and the predominantly white literary and critical field of environmental lit- erature. Since the major studies of environmental literature pay little or no attention to African American writers,1 inserting rap as an African American literary production into an ecocritical conversation can open new directions for discussion of the interaction between humans and their nonhuman surroundings, particularly in the city. I do not mean to suggest that rap music is a monolithic whole that describes the natural history of place;2 indeed, various artists and sub- genres narrate different regions and urban spaces: 2 Live Crew in Miami, Notorious B. I. G. in New York City, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony in Cleveland,3 Common in Chicago, The Geto Boys in Houston, Eminem in Detroit, Tupac Shakur, Ice-T, and N. W. A. in Los Angeles, etc.4 In his important study, Ride Out the Wilderness: Geography and Identity in Afro-American Literature, Melvin Dixon examines ‘‘the ways in which Afro-American writers, often considered homeless, alienated from mainstream culture, and segregated in negative environments, have used language to create alternative landscapes where black culture and identity can flourish apart from any marginal, prescribed ‘place’ ’’ (Dixon 2). Studying rap music as such a language of alternative land- scape reveals the genre’s ability to narrate a ‘‘metaphorical geography of Afro-American expression’’ (2). Thus, rap, ecologically informed and informative, constitutes an urban environmental discourse that both analyzes and comments on the built environment. Studying rap music ecocritically can offer a counterpoint to foundational views of envi- ronmental literature and raise important questions about cultivating a sense of place that both resonate with and challenge such canonical place-based figures as Henry David Thoreau and Aldo Leopold, who usually dominate environmental syllabi, literature conference panels, and scholarly publications. Since rap deemphasizes harmony and melody and instead emphasizes rhythm and rhyme, rappers, as with all poets, pay strict attention to the beat of words. Hip hop lyrics are rapped, a ‘‘form of sonic bricolage with roots in ‘toastin,’ a style of making music by speaking over records’’ (Samuels 25). As author of perhaps the most important study of rap music, Black Noise, Tricia Rose describes rap as ‘‘polyvocal con- versations’’ and ‘‘a form of rhymed storytelling accompanied by highly rhythmic, electronically based music’’ (2). Rappers often speak in the first person and ‘‘tell long, involved, and sometimes abstract stories with catchy and memorable phrases and beats . . .. Rap tales are told in elaborate and ever-changing black slang and refer to black cultural figures and rituals, mainstream film, video and television characters, and little-known black heroes’’ (3). Rap is rooted in the black oral culture of call and response and its ‘‘verbal sorcery’’ (Perkins 2) asserts pressure on the English language, changing it in dynamic ways. While the artistic quality of rap varies, as some novels and poems are better than others, the more artistic rappers lyrically engage internal rhyme, vivid imagery, personification, compelling word choice, complicated structure, and can evoke a certain tone or mood. Michael Eric Dyson holds that ‘‘[a]t their best, rappers shape the tortuous twists of urban fate into lyrical elegies’’ (177). Underscoring the verbal virtuosity of rap lyrics, Cornel West maintains that in rap ‘‘a tremendous articulateness is syncopated with the African drumbeat, the African funk’’ to produce a unique combination of ‘‘the black preacher and the black music tra- dition’’ (Stephanson 280). For these reasons and others, rap lyrics can justifiably be considered alongside works more easily recognized as environmentally oriented. Historically, African American writers have both embraced and distrusted the city. An important symbol in African American liter- ature and culture, the city at once represents black opportunity and disenfranchisement. Rap, as a genre of African American literary pro- duction and performance, presents complicated views of the city: some rap lyrics voice a boastful, celebratory attitude toward the ‘‘crown of the metropolis’’ (as articulated by Black Star in ‘‘Respiration’’). Yet the city also challenges urban youth ‘‘To Live and Die in L.A.,’’ as Tupac Shakur raps in the song of the same title. To frame a discussion of rap as both rooted in pro- and antiurban impulses in African American literature and yet coextensive with ecologically informed American literature, we can turn to several examples. In Frederick Douglass’s Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, the city stands as a refuge for slaves from the horrors of rural plantation life. In closer proximity to roaming neighbor’s eyes, slaves were whipped less often in the city than in the country, and city slaves received more food than their country counterparts. According to Douglass, few urban slave masters ‘‘are willing to incur the odium attaching to the reputation of being a cruel master; and above all things, they would not be known as not giving a slave enough to eat.’’ City life affords Douglass the opportunity to acquire basic literacy skills. In general, Douglass finds the advantages of living in Baltimore to be so superior to living at his master’s Great House Farm that he claims a ‘‘city slave is almost a freeman, compared with a slave on a plantation’’ (Douglass 58). Another slave autobiographer, Harriet Jacobs, similarly suggests that the city is more desirable than nature: when Jacobs initially flees from her master in Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, she takes refuge in a swamp where she is bitten by mosquitoes and a poisonous snake. As Ann Gelder points out, the few positive pastoral analogies in Incidents ‘‘conceal cultural violence with images of nature and culture in har- mony,’’ especially in descriptions of homely, cultivated vines around slaves’ quarters (255). Jacobs most readily tricks her slave master when, from her hideout in her grandmother’s garret, she arranges for her letters to her master to be mailed from New York City. Thus, for Jacobs, the city represents a place where she can authorize herself as free, and an imagined space into which she can project a strategic, knowing self who can battle her master in a ‘‘competition in cunning’’ (the title of one of her chapters). Both Douglass and Jacobs choose to live in northern cities when they attain freedom, a decision that Michael Bennett rightly calls part of an ‘‘anti-pastoral African American literary tradition’’ that ‘‘both draws on and calls into the question the conventions of American nature writing’’ (195, 198). While agreeing that images of the wilderness and the mountaintop, so prevalent in African American spirituals and sermons, appear as important symbols in black literary production, Bennett nonetheless points out that these topographical landmarks inhere as metaphors, not as actual desired bioregional spaces. For example, Ben- nett argues that slaves and free blacks would not agree with Henry David Thoreau’s famous dictum that ‘‘in wildness is the preservation of the world,’’ and that preachers who exhort figurative visions of moun- taintop spiritual salvation have little in common with Aldo Leopold’s famous essay ‘‘Thinking Like a Mountain’’ (Bennett 197). Robert Butler argues along similar lines: ‘‘Douglass experiences Baltimore as a kind of liberating frontier, an urban equivalent to the pastoral space which frees traditional white heroes such as Cooper’s Natty Bumppo and the persona of Whitman’s ‘Song of Myself’ ’’ (23 – 24). While Douglass and Jacobs represent the antebellum effort to escape plantations and the countryside into the comparative safety of the city, many twentieth-century African American writers likewise portray the city and urban life in positive terms. Hakutani and Butler discuss the enthusiasm toward the city expressed by W. E. B. Du Bois, James Weldon Johnson, Langston Hughes, James Baldwin, Claude Brown, Amiri Baraka, and Toni Morrison (Hakutani and Butler 9 – 17). More recently, Terry McMillan normalizes the pulsing city life of Phoenix for her four professional women characters in Waiting to Exhale. Yet many African American writers extol the virtues of nature or the pastoral. For example, in ‘‘The Negro Speaks of Rivers’’ (1921), Langston Hughes uses the metaphor of a mighty river to describe the trans-Atlantic diasporic experience of black Americans. In Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937), Janie finds more hap- piness working on the muck than living in town in southern Florida. In her classic essay, ‘‘In Search of Our Mothers’ Garden’’ (1972), Alice Walker recovers black women’s proscribed spirituality and creativity, especially by recalling her mother’s botanical self-expression. Toni Morrison’s Beloved (1987) is infused with nature imagery. But more often, black writers express ambiguity toward the city, seeing it as a place of both prospect and despondency. Mos Def, as part of Black Star, describes New York City in ‘‘Respiration’’ as ‘‘the Shiny Apple is bruised but sweet.’’ James Baldwin’s ‘‘Sonny’s Blues’’ elo- quently evokes the energy of the ‘‘black and bouncy’’ sounds of Harlem and the rich cultural heritage of the street revival meeting. But the narrator lives in housing project that ‘‘hasn’t been up long. A few days after it was up it seemed uninhabitably new, now, of course, it’s already rundown.’’ The streets that make the ‘‘amen corner’’ possible are the same ‘‘killing streets of our childhood.’’ In Native Son, Richard Wright also forcefully articulates African American ambivalence toward Chi- cago: ‘‘There were many empty buildings with black windows, like blind eyes, buildings like skeletons standing with snow on their bones in the winter winds’’ (163). Because white real estate investor Mr. Dalton ‘‘would rent houses to Negroes only in this prescribed area, this corner of the city tumbling down from rot’’ (164), Bigger Thomas thinks whites ‘‘keep us bottled up here like wild animals’’ (233). Yet the city is also a transformative place of expansive possibility for some blacks. For example, Mr. Green, who held Bigger’s job previously, has the chance to go to night school and secure a government job. The above brief discussion of the importance of the city to black belles lettres intends to historicize and contextualize my claim that rap music is generically related to a long history of black urban discourse. Rap, however, complicates this discourse with its racialization of place that territorializes sexuality, violence, and criminality. For example, in ‘‘Changes,’’ Tupac Shakur represents much of the genre when he raps, ‘‘I’m tired of bein’ poor and even worse I’m black . . .. And as long as I stay black I gotta stay strapped.’’ According to Robin D. G. Kelley, ‘‘these very stereotypes of the ghetto as ‘‘war zone’’ and the black youth as ‘‘criminal,’’ as well as their (often adolescent) struggles with notions of masculinity and sexuality, also structure and constrain their efforts to create a counternarrative of life in the inner city’’ (118). Yet, as Tricia Rose warns, ‘‘Without historical contextualization, esthetics are nat- uralized, and certain cultural practices are made to appear essential to a given group of people. On the other hand, without esthetic consid- erations, black cultural practices are reduced to extensions of socio- historical circumstances’’ (Rose, ‘‘Black Texts’’). With this admonition in mind, we can apply a contextualized black urban discourse to working definitions of what constitutes mainstream environmental discourse. In his important book The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writing, and the Formation of American Culture, Lawrence Buell proposes a ‘‘checklist’’ of four characteristics that can be used to gauge the environmental tilt of a work.5 According to Buell, in most environmentally oriented works: 1. The nonhuman environment is present not merely as a framing device but as a presence that begins to suggest that human history is implicated in natural history . . . 2. The human interest is not understood to be the only legitimate interest . . . 3. Human accountability to the environment is part of the text’s ethical orientation . . . 4. Some sense of the environment as a process rather than as a constant or a given is at least implicit in the text . . . (7 – 8) Clearly, not every rap song falls into these categories, but I am in- terested in examining some that do. While rap retains a more anthro- pocentric viewpoint than most ‘‘green’’ writing, it is nonetheless a literary art form that represents the built environment and theorizes notions of emplacement. When discussing rap music’s applicability to Buell’s checklist, Buell’s first and second characteristics might fruit- fully be grafted together for a discussion of emplacement and the ghetto landscape, and his third and fourth characteristics can be linked for a consideration of issues of preservation and conservation. Buell’s contention that environmentally oriented works should include or describe the nonhuman environment ‘‘not merely as a fram- ing device but as a presence that begins to suggest that human history is implicated in natural history’’ can be seen in some rap pieces’ concern with place and space (7 – 8). If ‘‘[t]urntables in the park displace the machine in the garden’’ (Baker 217), rap music and lyrics generate from and respond to black urban life, and thus constitute an indig- enous US musical and literary form that speaks eloquently about the condition of the built environment and an African American ‘‘ecolog- ical way of seeing.’’6 According to Mtume ya Salaam, before 1989, rap music was recorded mainly by independent labels. After 1989, major record labels understood the vast market for rap and signed numerous artists, including those originally signed with independent labels. As the main concern of major labels was profit, they encouraged rappers to focus on what sells best—violent and sexualized narration of urban space (Salaam 303 – 04). Murray Forman analyzes what he sees as the ‘‘spatial discourse of rap,’’ that is, the ‘‘gradual shift within rap from a concern with broad, generalized spaces, to the representation of specific named cities and ‘‘hoods’’ (66). Forman maintains that in rap, ‘‘the city is an audible presence’’ (67) and that rappers have ‘‘powerful ties to place that both anchor rap acts to their immediate environments and set them apart from other environments and other ‘‘hoods’’ (68). Even the subgenre of gangsta rap articulates ‘‘narrative descriptions of spaces and places [that] are absolutely essential to an understanding of the ways that a great number of urban black youths imagine their environments and the ways that they relate those images to their own individual sense of self’’ (83). In his book, The Sound of the City, Charlie Gillet even in- cludes an appendix entitled ‘‘Location-based compilations,’’ a discog- raphy organized geographically. The contribution of rap, as a bioregional chronicle, to the field of environmental literature can most clearly be illustrated by studying some specific lyrics. The early rap piece ‘‘The Message’’ (1982) by Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five compares in interesting ways to the more recent songs ‘‘Respiration’’ by Black Star, and ‘‘New World Water’’ by Mos Def. A brief reading of these three songs in light of Buell’s checklist and current ecocritical concerns can suggest new ways of thinking about rap as environmental literature. Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five demonstrate that an urban environmental discourse inheres from the genre’s inception. ‘‘The Mes- sage’’ invokes a metropolitan environmental esthetic of hip hop akin to a regional realist movement in that it explores the specificity of re- lationship between humans and their nonhuman environment. Its opening line that ‘‘It’s like a jungle sometimes’’ invokes not the rain- forest jungle so predominant in the minds of environmental activists, but the urban jungle that remains unvisited by much of white Amer- ica. This racialized urban jungle forms a toxic environment antithetical to the survival of its inhabitants, so much so that it makes Grand- master Flash warn, ‘‘Don’t push me ‘cause I’m close to the edge/I’m trying hard not to lose my head’’ as well as it makes him ‘‘wonder/How I keep from going under.’’ ‘‘The Message’’ is particularly eloquent in its evocative description of the physical environs with such lines as, ‘‘Broken glass everywhere/ People pissing on the stairs,’’ and ‘‘Standing on the front sloop, hang- ing out the window/Watching all the cars go by, roaring as the breezes blow.’’ With as keen an observer’s eye as that of Barry Lopez on the snowscape in Arctic Dreams, Edward Abbey on heat and sand in Desert Solitaire, Henry David Thoreau on Walden pond, Sarah Orne Jewett on the lush Maine landscape, or other great naturalist writers, Grand- master Flash observes the indigenous species of his ecosystem: ‘‘Crazy lady, living in a bag/Eating outta garbage pails,’’ and he enumerates the ‘‘Smugglers, scramblers, burglars, gamblers/Pickpockets, peddlers, even panhandlers’’ and the ‘‘Thugs, pimps, and pushers and the big money makers.’’ The song ends with a dialogue with police officers who mistake the rappers for yet another undesirable local genus: the gang. Echoing such foundational ecocritics as John Haines, who forcefully asserts that ‘‘Place makes people’’ (Haines 7) Grandmaster Flash sim- ilarly links emplacement to identity: ‘‘A child is born with no state of mind/Blind to the ways of mankind . . .. You grow up in the ghetto, living second rate/And your eyes will sing a song of deep hate.’’ Fur- ther, the lyrics suggest that the ghetto determines criminal personhood via a direct line from the urban jungle to the jail cell: ‘‘Being used and abused to serve like hell/’Til one day you was found hung dead in the cell.’’ ‘‘The Message’’ enacts its title by eloquently communicating a memorandum about the lived experience of a particular place and its importance in determining identity. Black Star shows just as much artistry as Grandmaster Flash in its rootedness to a sense of place. As the rappers ‘‘take the L, transfer to the 2,’’ ‘‘Respiration’’ portrays New York City as alive: Mos Def can hear ‘‘la ciudad respirando/ . . .. the city breathing . . .. Breathe in, inhale vapors from bright stars that shine/Breathe out, weed smoke retrace the skyline.’’ The song similarly describes a speaker who ‘‘stood lookin at my former hood’’ and notices that although the moon rides ‘‘high in the crown of the metropolis,’’ the ‘‘back streets stay darkened’’ in a ‘‘dog-eat-dog world.’’ Rappers Mos Def and Talib Kweli feel dispos- sessed as real estate investors want to raze the ghetto to establish more lucrative condominiums: ‘‘Outta the city, they want us gone/Tearin down the ’jects creating plush homes.’’ Further, they experience the city as alienating: ‘‘Skyscrapers is colossus, the cost of living is pre- posterous/Stay alive, you play or die, no options.’’ ‘‘Respiration’’ also shares with ‘‘The Message,’’ and, indeed, with rap songs in general, an atmosphere of violence. The song poetically be- moans ‘‘Blastin holes in the night til she bled sunshine/ . . .. I can feel the city breathin/Chest heavin, against the flesh of the evening/Sigh before we die like the last train leaving.’’ The city constitutes ‘‘Places where you could get murdered over a glare.’’ The violence often leads to prison: ‘‘Getting knowledge in jail like a blessing in disguise.’’ In an interesting metaphoric turn, ‘‘Respiration’’ at moments reaches to nature imagery to describe the built environment: ‘‘My eagle talons stay sharpened . . ./For trees to grow in Brooklyn, seeds need to be planted’’ and, invoking the ‘‘concrete jungles’’ of ‘‘The Message,’’ Talib Kweli observes ‘‘ghetto birds where waters fall.’’ The ‘‘ghetto birds’’ resonate with Makaveli’s ‘‘ghetto bird helicopters’’ in ‘‘To Live and Die in L.A.’’ It is in a similar turn to conventional nature imagery that I find ‘‘New World Water’’ so compelling. Readers of American literature are familiar with innumerable literary associations with water, but Mos Def envisions water as a national commodity that reacts to or reflects the black American experience of being usurped, corrupted, and poi- soned. For example, in ‘‘The Negro Speaks of Rivers’’ (1921), Langston Hughes imagines water corporeally as a mighty river that narrates black history as it flows from Africa to America (‘‘I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older that the flow of human blood in human veins’’ [Hughes 88]). However, Mos Def historicizes water as rebelling against racial injustice: ‘‘Fools done upset the Old Man River/Made him carry slave ships and fed him dead nigga/Now his belly full and he about to flood somethin/So I’m a throw a rope that ain’t tied to nothin/ til your crew use the H20 in wise amounts since/it’s the New World Water and every drop counts.’’ Hughes’s proud aqueous legacy from Old World Africa now flows into Mos Def’s New World America as a polluted inheritance. Mos Def does not portray water as an isolated pond in Concord through which a writer such as Thoreau can achieve transcendence. For him, water is not a source of grace or sport (fly fishing) as in Norman MacLean’s A River Runs Through It, nor is the flowing water a measure by which one can trace maturity, as in Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi. In ‘‘New World Water,’’ the urban aesthetic is narrated in terms of its connectedness to the water supply, illustrating Buell’s first tenet that ‘‘human history is implicated in natural history.’’ Mos Def raps water as ‘‘a cool, crisp, clean glass of water’’ that one can enjoy ‘‘On a warm summer’s day (That cool refreshing drink).’’ Yet, he realizes water is not an unlimited resource: ‘‘But it don’t rain for four weeks some summers . . .. You be buying Evian just to take a bath.’’ The song further shows an ecological outlook in its understanding of the com- peting demands for water. As a resource, water must be allocated between citizen’s daily demand and firefighter’s requirement of water to battle forest fires in Southern California: ‘‘The sun is stirring in the treetops burning the woods/And as the flames from the blaze get higher and higher/They say, ‘‘Don’t drink the water! We need it for the fire!’’ Water is, after all, ‘‘Four carbons and monoxide/Push the water table lopside.’’ Mos Def clearly understands water’s possibility to be a transcendent unifier: ‘‘The rich and poor, black and white got need for it (That’s right)/And everybody in the world can agree with this (Let em know).’’ In an accommodating gesture that resists rap’s East – West divide, Mos Def sings ‘‘New York is drinkin it (New World Water)/Now all of California is drinkin it (New World Water).’’ Mos Def brings the larger national picture to a more local focus by stating that, ‘‘Your moms, wife, and baby girl is drinkin it/Up north and down south is drinking it.’’ Yet despite the universal commonality of water, Mos Def critiques America’s unequal domination of the world’s supply: ‘‘Americans was- tin it on some leisure shit (Say word?)/And other nations be desperately seekin it (Let em know). Mos Def further laments that water ‘‘Used to be free now it cost you a fee’’ because of commercialization and ex- ploitation. He rails against the fact that ‘‘foreign-based companies go and get greedy/The type of cats who pollute the whole shore line/Have it purified, sell it for a dollar twenty-five.’’ In what can be perhaps read as an apocalyptic vision not uncommon to ecologically conscious writ- ers, Mos Def links humans’ mistreatment of the water supply to a toxic environment: ‘‘Bacteria washing up on they beaches (Say word?). . .. Epidemics hoppin up off the petri dish (Let em know)/Control centers play it all secretive (Say word?)/To avoid public panic and freakiness (Let em know)/There are places where TB is common as TV.’’ This apocalyptic vision, and rap’s general violent aesthetic, compli- cates the genre’s alignment with the third and fourth items on Buell’s checklist. Human accountability to the environment, which, in Buell’s terms should convey a sense of ‘‘process’’ rather than a ‘‘constant,’’ can be framed in terms of the oscillation between description and pre- scription found in much of canonical environmental literature. In other words, to what extent does a text’s description of place serve not only an aesthetic purpose, but a preservationist one as well? In much green writing, the discourse of landscape description im- plicitly acts as a political agenda for preservation. For example, in Arctic Dreams and Desert Solitaire, when Barry Lopez and Edward Abbey, respectively, detail the hostile, life-threatening nature of the tundra and the desert, they simultaneously advocate the preservation of these very places. Lopez’s scientific description of the Arctic differs greatly from Abbey’s rebellious attitude, yet both celebrate harsh bio- regions and their lengthy descriptions double as a plea to resist change, development, or ‘‘improvement’’ of the locale. Thoreau’s ecstatic ac- count of nature atop Mt. Ktaadn (‘‘the solid earth! The actual world! The common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? where are we?’’ [Thoreau 113]) does not necessarily convey a preservationist memo, chiefly be- cause massive deforestation and widespread environmental degradation were unimaginable in the rural mid-nineteenth century mindset, but his writings convey an earnest, passionate desire to unite with the landscape. It is also in these prescription/description and ‘‘urge to merge’’ tendencies that rap music so compellingly compares to mainstream environmental literature. As rap frequently musically describes a violent and nihilistic vision of the built environment, the rapper has a complicated relationship with his or her place. What is the status of description of place in rap music? Does the rapper detail the ghetto with the intent of environmental preservation? Or do the rapper’s descriptions serve to invite change, development, and improvement? A consideration of these questions requires us to read place-based texts differently, for it demonstrates that an environmental discourse does not always imply a preservationist agenda; rather, the artist’s descrip- tion of his or her indigenous locale can be a plea for environmental and social transformation. Certainly, some rappers derive their vitality from the streets: Lauryn Hill sings an ode to the city, that, Wordsworth-like, occasions nos- talgic reflection: ‘‘Every ghetto, every city and suburban place I been/ Make me recall my days in New Jerusalem.’’ Yet most rappers do not express a romanticized desire to live in harmony with their environ- ment or express an urge to merge with killing streets. Instead, they try to escape from the very sense of emplacement that has formed them and to which they still have strong ties of family and friends. Grandmaster Flash explains his failed attempt to leave the city: ‘‘I tried to get away but I couldn’t get far/’Cause the man with the tow truck repossessed my car.’’ These last two examples make Wendell Berry seem almost naı̈ve. In ‘‘The Peace of Wild Things,’’ Berry writes that ‘‘[w]hen de- spair for the world grows in me/. . . I go and lie down where the wood drake/rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds./I come into the peace of wild things’’ (Berry 69). Rappers do not celebrate such a space of solace nor a place in the built environment to harmonize with the wild. The rap artist is no journal-toting naturalist trying to observe an environment objectively. If, as Rose maintains, ‘‘the politics of rap music involves the contestation over public space’’ (Black Noise 124), then perhaps we can see another link between rap music and main- stream environmental literature. Examples abound of canonical nature writing participating in a ‘‘contestation over public space,’’ particularly over public wilderness space. One needs only to think of The Book of Yaak and The Roadless Yaak, Rick Bass’s works on the Yaak Valley in northwestern Montana. Bass’s loving descriptions of the Yaak Valley are motivated by an urgent desire to save the bioregion from loggers. He hopes his nature writing will serve as political writing that heightens awareness of the biodiversity and beauty of the Yaak Valley, and thus rescue it from destruction. Similarly, some rappers use their music to participate in a contestation over public space: rap songs can delineate territory, making public space a marked ’hood. Some rap videos even visually narrate a sense of place, a strategy intended to convey a sense of credibility and belonging. With its emphasis on the built environment and humans’ relation- ship to the nonhuman world, rap music can indeed fulfill Buell’s re- quirements for ecologically oriented literature. If, as Wallace Stegner writes, ‘‘no place is a place until things that have happened in it are remembered in history, ballads, yarns, legends, or monuments,’’ then rap, through its pounding descriptions of the streets, constitutes the ghetto as a place. If rap music can be contextualized as not only part of African American literature in general, but as part of a more historicized black urban writing, then it makes sense to include rap in a discussion of environmental literature. Some readers may ob- ject to such an inclusion. While a case cannot be made that rap is ‘‘green’’ writing, many rap pieces can be seen as participating in an urban environmental discourse that extends our ecological literacy and redefines received ideas of what constitutes ecologically oriented writing. NOTES I am indebted to my student Christopher Zeppenfeld, who shared his wealth of knowledge and advice. Many thanks to Glenn Starkman for his continual encouragement, and to Santina Proto- papa, formerly of the Rock ’n Roll Hall of Fame, for directing me to certain rap songs. 1. I’m thinking of Armbruster, Branch, Coupe, Gilcrest, Glotfelty, Kerridge, Love, Mazel, Murphy, Rosendale, and Slovic. 2. While Buell uses the term ‘‘environment’’ ‘‘to apply, in principle, to the world outside the observer regardless of how it is perceived, and to reserve ‘place’ for environment as subjectively located and defined, I will use the two terms interchangeably in keeping with rap’s convention. 3. Writing this article in Cleveland, I am particularly interested in Bone Thugs-N-Harmony’s calling out of such Cleveland city streets as St. Claire, 145th, 152nd, etc. 4. Notorious B. I. G. raps about a larger East Coast – West Coast split in ‘‘Going Back to Cali’’: the song opens with an exchange of information about an airplane flight leaving Kennedy airport in New York City and arriving at LAX airport in Los Angeles and in the second verse, Notorious raps that ‘‘If I got to choose a coast I got to choose the East/. . . But that don’t mean a nigga cannot rest in the West.’’ This East – West distinction was further polarized when Tupac Shakur, from California, who recorded with the West Coast label Death Row Records, was shot and killed in September 1996. Six months later, in March 1997, New York rapper Notorious B. I. G., who recorded with the East-Coast company Bad Boy Records, was gunned down in Los Angeles. No one has been found guilty of either of these murders, and industry watchers suspect rivalry between the opposite-coast record companies. 5. In addition to Buell’s checklist, Thomas J. Lyon provides a useful chronological history of ‘‘the invasion and transformation of a portion of the New World’’ and a ‘‘Taxonomy of Nature Writing.’’ 6. Lyon defines an ‘‘ecological way of seeing’’ as: ‘‘ ‘ecological’ here is meant to characterize the capacity to notice pattern in nature, and community, and to recognize that the patterns radiate outward to include the human observer’’ (x). I am extending the word ‘‘nature’’ to include the built environment. 7. The lyrics to all of the above-mentioned songs can be found at www.ohhla.com. Works Cited Armbruster, Karla, and Kathleen R. Wallace, ed. Beyond Nature Writ- ing: Expanding the Boundaries of Ecocriticism. Charlottesville: UP of Virginia, 2001. Baker, Houston. ‘‘Hybridity, the Rap Race, and Pedagogy for the 1990s.’’ Black Music Research Journal 11 (Fall 1991): 17 – 228. Baldwin, James ‘‘Sonny’s Blues.’’ Going To Meet the Man. NY: Dial P., 1965. Bass, Rick. The Book of Yaak. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1997. ———. The Roadless Yaak. Guilford CT: Lyons P, 2003. Bennett, Michael. ‘‘Anti-Pastoralism, Frederick Douglass, and the Nature of Slavery.’’ Beyond Nature Writing: Expanding the Boundaries of Ecocriticism. Ed. Karla Armbruster and Kathleen R. Wallace. Charlottesville: UP of Virginia, 2001. Berry, Wendell. Collected Poems, 1957 – 1982. New York: Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 1995. Branch, Michael P., Rochelle Johnson, Daniel Patterson, and Scott Slovic. Reading the Earth: New Directions in the Study of Literature and the Environment. Moscow, ID: U of Idaho P, 1998. Buell, Lawrence. The Environmental Imagination: Thoreau, Nature Writ- ing, and the Formation of American Culture. Cambridge, MA: Har- vard UP, 1995. Butler, Robert. ‘‘The City as Liberating Space in Life and Times of Frederick Douglass.’’ The City in African American Literature. Ed. Yoshinobu Hakutani and Robert Butler. Madison: Farleigh Dickinson UP, 1995. Coupe, Laurence, ed. The Green Studies Reader: From Romanticism to Ecocriticism. New York: Routledge, 2000. Dixon, Melvin. Ride Out the Wilderness. Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1987. Douglass, Frederick. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass. Boston: Bedford Books, 1993. Dyson, Michael Eric. Between God and Gangsta Rap: Bearing Witness to Black Culture. New York: Oxford UP, 1996. Forman, Murray. ‘‘Represent: Race, Space and Place in Rap Music.’’ Popular Music 19.1 (2000): 65 – 90. Gelder, Ann. ‘‘Reforming the Body: Experience and the Architecture of Imagination in Harriet Jacobs’s Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl.’’ Inventing Maternity: Politics, Science, and Literature, 1650 – 1865. Ed. Susan C. Greenfield and Carol Barash. Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 1999. Gilcrest, David W. Greening the Lyre: Environmental Poetics and Ethics. Reno: U of Nevada P, 2002. Glotfelty, Cheryll, and Harold Fromm, ed. The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens: U of Georgia P, 1996. Haines, John. ‘‘The Writer as Alaskan: Beginnings and Reflections.’’ Living Off the Country: Essays on Poetry and Place. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1981. Hakutani, Yoshinobu, and Robert Butler, ed. The City in African- American Literature. Madison: Farleigh Dickinson UP, 1995. Hughes, Langston. The Langston Hughes Reader: The Selected Writings of Langston Hughes. New York: George Braziller, 1958. Kelley, Robin D. G. ‘‘Kickin’ Reality: Kickin’ Ballistics: Gangsta Rap and Postindustrial Los Angeles.’’ Droppin’ Science: Critical Essays on Rap Music and Hip Hop Culture. Ed. William Eric Perkins. Phil- adelphia: Temple UP, 1996. Kerridge, Richard, and Neil Sammells, ed. Writing the Environment: Ecocriticism and Literature. London: Zed, 1998. Love, Glen. ‘‘Et in Arcadio Ego.’’ Western American Literature 27 (1992): 195 – 207. Lyon, Thomas J. This Incomparable Land: A Guide to American Nature Writing. Minneapolis: Milkweed Editions, 2001. Mazel, David. American Literary Environmentalism. Athens: U of Georgia P, 2000. Murphy, Patrick D. Literature, Nature, Other: Ecofeminist Critiques. Albany: SUNY Press, 1995. Perkins, William Eric. ‘‘The Rap Attack: An Introduction.’’ Droppin’ Science: Critical Essays on Rap Music and Hip Hop Culture. Ed. William Eric Perkins. Philadelphia: Temple UP, 1996. Rose, Tricia. ‘‘Black Texts/Black Contexts.’’ Black Popular Culture. Ed. Gina Dent. Seattle: Bay Press, 1992. ———. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Hanover, CT: Wesleyan UP, 1994. Rosendale, Steven, ed. The Greening of Literary Scholarship: Literature, Theory, and the Environment. Iowa City: U of Iowa P, 2002. Salaam, Mtume ya. ‘‘The Aesthetics of Rap.’’ African American Review 29.2 (1995): 303 – 15. Samuels, David. ‘‘The Rap on Rap.’’ The New Republic 11 Nov. 1991: 24 – 29. Slovic, Scott. Seeking Awareness in American Nature Writing: Henry Thoreau, Annie Dillard, Edward Abbey, Wendell Barry, Barry Lopez. Salt Lake City: U of Utah P, 1992. Stegner, Wallace. ‘‘The Sense of Place.’’ Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs: Living and Writing in the West. NY: Random House, 1992. Stephanson, Anders. ‘‘Interview with Cornel West.’’ Universal Aban- don? The Politics of Postmodernism. Ed. Andrew Ross. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1988. Thoreau, Henry David. The Essays of Henry D. Thoreau. Ed. Lewis Hyde. New York: Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 2002. Wright, Richard. Native Son. New York: Harper & Row, 1940. DISCOGRAPHY 7 Black Star ‘‘Respiration.’’ Mos Def and Talib Kweli Are Black Star. Rawkus, 2002. Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. ‘‘The Message.’’ Message: The Best of Grandmaster Flash and the Sugarhill Gang. Rhino, 1998. Hill, Lauryn. ‘‘Every Ghetto, Every City.’’ The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. Sony, 1998. Mos Def. ‘‘New World Water.’’ Black on Both Sides. Rawkus, 2002. Notorious B. I. G. ‘‘Going Back to Cali.’’ Life After Death. Bad Boy, 1997. Shakur, Tupac. ‘‘Changes.’’ Greatest Hits. Interscope, 1998. ———. ‘‘To Live and Die in L.A.’’ The Don Killuminati. Death Row, 2001. John Carroll University From the SelectedWorks of Debra Rosenthal 2006 ’Hoods and the Woods: Rap Music as Environmental Literature untitled 
work_y6v2dke5hfevnipmt64prfgtnq	----	doi:10.1017/S1479244317000464 the receding horizon of democracy james t. kloppenberg Department of History, Harvard University E-mail: jkloppen@fas.harvard.edu When I began work on Toward Democracy more than twenty years ago, I planned to write a short book explaining how and why ideas about self- government developed in European and American thought from the middle of the eighteenth century to the present. Teaching courses and writing articles on republican, liberal, and democratic ideas, I found thinkers reflecting again and again on searing experiences of fratricidal violence, and as a result the theme of civil war became more prominent in my understanding of democracy.1 Had my analysis begun in the eighteenth century, I would have missed—as US historians often do—the shaping force of the devastating sixteenth-century wars of religion, the murderous mid-seventeenth-century English Civil War, and the less violent but no less crucial English revolution of 1688. Attempts to establish non-monarchical regimes, or even to modify monarchies to include elements of popular participation, foundered for multiple reasons, but among them were recollections of the carnage that ordinary people repeatedly inflicted on other ordinary people. Misgivings about democracy did not only arise from cultural conservatism or reverence for hierarchy. They also were forged in irrepressible memories of savagery. If those still-tender scars helped explain fears of democracy, why did some people persist in calling for popular government rather than acquiescing in royal absolutism? From the first glimmerings of resistance theory in late medieval city-states through the experiments in popular government that the founders of some early New England colonies called “democracie,” the sources I was reading pulled me back into earlier debates about the limits and possibilities of self-rule, which often drew from ancient Greek or Roman authors, or from Hebrew and Christian scriptures. Toward Democracy, which examines many contributors to 1 See David Armitage, Civil Wars: A History in Ideas (New York, 2017). Modern Intellectual History, 16, (2019), pp. – C© Cambridge University Press 20172 621 632 621 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 mailto:jkloppen@fas.harvard.edu https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core james t. kloppenberg European and American democratic theory from the ancient world through the end of the nineteenth century, is the result. ∗ ∗ ∗ I thank the editors of Modern Intellectual History for organizing this forum and Richard Bourke, Annelien de Dijn, Daniel T. Rodgers, and Caroline Winterer for their essays. I appreciate their perseverance in following the many threads that run through the book. I am grateful to Rodgers for characterizing it as four books: a narrative account, a comparative analysis, an intellectual history, and an inquiry into the ethical dimensions of democracy. That description captures what it felt like to write the book—and how it must feel to read it. My response will focus first on the questions of how and why we write intellectual history, then on how we should think about the history of democracy, and finally on a few of my principal arguments, addressing along the way some of the criticisms of Bourke, de Dijn, Rodgers, and Winterer. I argue that a culture of democracy requires humility and a willingness to tolerate different perspectives, qualities equally important in our scholarly community of discourse. Despite my disagreements with some characterizations of Toward Democracy, I have tried to keep that in mind. Because I have been writing about methods in intellectual history for thirty years, I cannot rehearse those arguments in detail here.2 The fundamental point of the approach I call pragmatic hermeneutics is that it is possible to write history faithful to the evidence that also contributes to contemporary debates. In short, I believe that “philosophical history” is neither an oxymoron nor, as Bourke suggests, a temptation to be resisted. Instead it has been practiced by many historians, from Tocqueville and Dilthey through Du Bois and Jaurès to Joyce Appleby and Sophia Rosenfeld. Readers will make their own judgments about whether I use that method successfully in Toward Democracy. Bourke and Winterer consider the effort itself misguided, a “category error” of the sort that Stephen A. Douglas accused Abraham Lincoln of making when he introduced ethical considerations into political debates about the Kansas–Nebraska Act. 2 See James T. Kloppenberg, “Objectivity and Historicism: A Century of American Historical Writing,” American Historical Review 94/4 (1989), 1011–30; Kloppenberg, “The Canvas and the Color: Tocqueville’s ‘Philosophical History’ and Why It Matters Now,” Modern Intellectual History 3/3 (2006), 495–521; Kloppenberg, “Thinking Historically: A Manifesto of Pragmatic Hermeneutics,” Modern Intellectual History 9/1 (2012), 201– 16; Kloppenberg, “A Well-Tempered Liberalism: Modern Intellectual History and Political Theory,” Modern Intellectual History 10/3 (2013), 653–80; and Kloppenberg, “Introduction: Opening American Thought,” in Joel Isaac, James T. Kloppenberg, Michael O’Brien, and Jennifer Ratner-Rosenhagen, eds., The Worlds of American Intellectual History (New York, 2016), 1–15. 622 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core the receding horizon of democracy Bourke contends that I focus too much on the ethic of reciprocity, that my analysis is “hampered” by my ethical commitments, and that the “philosophy should emerge from the historical narrative” rather than informing it. Winterer contends that I assume that “there is a preexisting, even timeless, ‘story’ of democracy” that is “relatively easily defined.” ∗ ∗ ∗ In response to these charges, I would like to call attention to two passages from the Introduction. First, “This book does not trace a single concept of democracy from Periclean Athens to Gilded Age America, Victorian England, and the French Third Republic. Instead it examines the diverse meanings of terms used for multiple purposes, terms such as ‘democracy,’ ‘self-government,’ and ‘popular sovereignty,’ to designate a variety of ideas with contested meanings, not only across time but at every historical moment” (3). Rodgers quotes part of the second passage in his essay: “despite widespread agreement about the desirability of democracy now, it would be antihistorical to assert the adequacy of a single understanding of what democracy has meant, not only across the time span of several centuries but also within individual nations. Disagreements about democracy constitute its history” (5). Having written a long book devoted to examining, in considerable detail, just those disagreements, and the subtle differences as well as similarities among thinkers and activists, I am surprised that the “struggle” is thought to be missing and that the ideas discussed in Toward Democracy are said to be “conflated.” Atlantic cultures have approached their conceptions of democracy as travelers approach horizons. As they have moved toward it, it has always receded, and it always will. What Bourke and Winterer are calling teleology seems to me instead simply to be history, the effort to understand and explain change over time. ∗ ∗ ∗ Evidently I failed to make sufficiently clear that the three-dimensional analytic framework presented in the Introduction to help readers understand the basic components of democracy—institutions (constitutional government, majority rule, and agreed-upon procedures for selecting office holders), principles (popular sovereignty, autonomy, and equality), and premises (deliberation, pluralism, and reciprocity)—emerged from the historical materials I have been wrestling with since I began work on my dissertation in 1977. Far from being imposed on the evidence, that analytic framework took shape over forty years of teaching and research on democracy in Europe and America. I am convinced that it can be used, without distortion or inaccuracy, to extract elements from the historical record—in Winterer’s apt image, like iron filings drawn to a magnet—to 623 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core james t. kloppenberg construct a coherent interpretation of developments over an extended period of time. My history of democracy is self-consciously both a contribution to scholarly discourse, intended to clarify and revise understandings of ideas in history, and an intervention into debates about the meaning of self-rule in our own day, debates that so often ignore the cultural preconditions on which democracies historically have depended. For some historians, diving into the archives is worthwhile primarily because it yields new information that illuminates the past we describe. I respect that conception of historical scholarship, but I do not share it. I believe our goal is to understand the past, both on its own terms and, deliberately and explicitly, in relation to the present. Unlike scholars faithful to the strictures against “anachronism” and “prolepsis” laid down nearly five decades ago by Quentin Skinner, I consider those aims complementary, not contradictory. Historians’ judgments and convictions always and inevitably inform our writing. Do we admit it or try to conceal it? ∗ ∗ ∗ How should we understand the meaning of democracy? Must we find the word itself in order for our inquiry to have historical integrity? If so, then acknowledging how different were understandings of popular government in the worlds of ancient Athens and Rome is a good place to start. Greeks used the words demos and kratos, Romans the Latin res and publica. The traditions of what have been called democratic and republican thought developed from those distinct starting points. Toward Democracy shows how those traditions intermingled with each other, and with other traditions, in ways sometimes missed by scholars inclined to divide up ideas much more neatly than did many of the writers they study. It is possible to bring these two historical and linguistic traditions into conversation, as Toward Democracy does and as Bourke and his coeditor Quentin Skinner do in their splendid essay collection Popular Sovereignty in Historical Perspective (2016). The essays show how different thinkers, at different times, have argued over the idea that sovereign authority rests with the people, which is what I mean by using the umbrella term “democracy.” But isn’t it necessary, as Bourke and Winterer both insist, to distinguish Greek from Latin, “democratic” from “republican”? No, it is not. In Bourke’s Introduction to Popular Sovereignty, he observes sensibly that “etymology . . . is not a sufficient guide to meaning.” To reach historical understanding across time and cultures, we must look carefully at specific debates, waged in a particular time and place and language, and then, if we wish to understand how ideas change, move across those particular discourses to see both connections and differences. Bourke’s Introduction proceeds from Athens to Rome, from Marsiglio’s ideas to Jean Bodin’s, from the English Civil 624 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core the receding horizon of democracy War to the American Revolution, and then to the French Revolution, nineteenth- and twentieth-century German theorists of popular sovereignty, and anticolonial ideas about democracy. He fits these diverse ideas together as he suggests how they developed, differed, and changed over time. Bodin, Bourke writes, “turned his attention to Athens and Rome, ‘les plus grandes Républiques populaires’ that had ever existed,” and observes that the “identification of popular sovereignty with democracy therefore begins with Bodin,” who constructed “the key elements of the modern concept” of popular sovereignty “out of classical materials.” In other words, acknowledging the mixture of Greek and Roman—or “democratic” and “republican”—traditions, as I do in Toward Democracy, has been conventional in analyses of self-government since at least 1538.3 Some of the contributors to Bourke and Skinner’s collection, all distinguished scholars who specialize in the periods they discuss, stick close to the words and arguments of individual thinkers, as does Melissa Lane in her fine essay on Aristotle. Others range broadly, as does Duncan Kelly as he moves seamlessly, and instructively, from Hobbes to Rousseau and from Kant and Hegel to Bluntschli. Bourke’s Introduction and several of the essays in Popular Sovereignty illustrate the accuracy of Rodgers’s judgment in his contribution to this forum: “tightly constructed political ‘languages’” that historians of “republicanism” or “liberalism” once used “are a thing of intellectual history’s past.”4 RIP. ∗ ∗ ∗ There are many ways to do intellectual history, from microscopic analyses that emphasize particularity or “rupture,” or authorial intent, to sweeping interpretations that emphasize both continuity and change across centuries and cultures. Such studies will not show the same qualities; all of us need not write 3 Richard Bourke, “Introduction,” in Richard Bourke and Quentin Skinner, eds., Popular Sovereignty in Historical Perspective (Cambridge, 2016), 1–14, at 1, 3. 4 See Richard Bourke and Quentin Skinner, Popular Sovereignty, 1–14, 52–72, 270–96. Winterer contends that I have “nothing to say” about the relation between “republican” and “liberal” ideas in Toward Democracy, The entire book is an attempt to shift our focus from those fruitless debates, and pages 252–453 of the book elaborate, and provide evidence in support of, arguments first advanced in three articles written toward the end of the debates to which she refers: James T. Kloppenberg, “The Virtues of Liberalism: Christianity, Republicanism, and Ethics in Early American Political Discourse,” Journal of American History 74/1 (1987); Kloppenberg, “Republicanism in American History and Historiography,” La revue Tocqueville/Tocqueville Review 13/1 (1992); and Kloppenberg, “Knowledge and Belief in American Public Life,” in William M. Shea and Peter A. Huff, eds., Knowledge and Belief in America: Enlightenment Traditions and Modern Religious Thought (1995). All three essays are reprinted in James T. Kloppenberg, The Virtues of Liberalism (New York, 1998), 21–37, 38–58, 59–70, notes at 183–201. 625 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core james t. kloppenberg history of the same kind. Bourke implies that there is something deficient in my twenty pages on the ancient world, but I think that readers will see more similarities than differences between his account and mine on pages 27–45 of Toward Democracy. Both of us cite the same texts and stress the role of Herodotus, of later critics of popular government such as the Old Oligarch, and of Aristotle and Thucydides in shaping later understandings of Athenian democracy. We also agree that Roman writers had little to say about what Bourke calls “democracy as a regime form”—and not only because they had no access to the Greek word, which did not enter European vocabularies until Dominican friars translated Aristotle’s texts in the thirteenth century. Even though they did not refer to “democracy,” Roman writers’ ideas about res publica did prove seminal, often in eclectic combinations with Greek and Christian ideas, for later debates about self-rule. Some uneasiness about my analysis of the ancient world might relate to my emphasis on the importance of religious faith in democratic discourse. Many historians have observed that the earliest Greek texts recording popular involvement in civic life, in the selection of some officials by election and others by lot, reflected attitudes toward fate, and toward gods, that are hard to square with later attributions of rational thinking to classical Athens. Likewise, it is uncontroversial to observe that early Christians’ ideal of benevolence departed from the value that Romans attached to honor and physical courage. As unintelligible as it may be for contemporary historians who think in secular terms, many Europeans and Americans, from the ancient world through the end of the nineteenth century, took seriously ideas about the gods’ favor or God’s will. ∗ ∗ ∗ When religious ideas, as varied and contested as any others, are removed from historical analysis, or when only those who rejected theism are considered worth studying, something crucial is lost. De Dijn is correct to contrast my analysis of the Enlightenment with that of Jonathan Israel, who associates religious belief, even that of eighteenth-century Deists, with obscurantism and ignorance. The historical record shows that not all influential ideas about democracy originated with Baruch Spinoza and his followers, who are now familiar to us thanks to Israel’s extraordinary scholarship. I thought it was time to shift our focus, largely for the reasons Anthony La Vopa laid out in the brilliant 2009 review essay in the Historical Journal, which de Dijn and I both cite. I have another reason to be grateful to Israel: his four thick volumes on the Enlightenment make my book on democracy seem almost svelte. Winterer considers the idea that we should “treat all persons with respect”— one formulation of the ethic of reciprocity that I treat as central to democracy— “jarringly modern.” I disagree. Two millennia ago, Hillel put the point this way: 626 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core the receding horizon of democracy “What is hateful to thee, do not unto thy fellow man; this is the whole law.” Matthew’s Gospel and Paul’s Epistles compress the message of Jesus into two commands: love God and love your neighbor as yourself (41). Nothing similar appeared in Greek or Roman texts. Some of the many European and American thinkers who took seriously the Christian ideal of agape included Puritans on both sides of the Atlantic, Locke, Jefferson, Smith, Sieyès, Wollstonecraft, and Lincoln. Pace Winterer, Tocqueville knew that he did not invent the ethic of reciprocity practiced in New England juries and town meetings, and he believed, as I do, that antebellum defenders of slavery betrayed the “ethic of Christianity” they trumpeted. Projecting atheism from our day back to earlier thinkers may be almost reflexive for many scholars today, but it is not historically defensible. Although many Christians followed Augustine’s injunction to keep separate the city of God from the city of man, others worked to bring them together. ∗ ∗ ∗ Of course not all those who championed democratic ideas professed the same religious ideas—or any religious ideas—as Israel has shown, and as I show in Toward Democracy. Until the end of the nineteenth century, few Roman Catholics saw democracy as anything but the work of the devil. Luther backed away from the idea of popular government as soon as some of his followers embraced it. Rousseau, whom de Dijn correctly describes in her contribution to this forum as “the eighteenth century’s most important democratic thinker . . . who emphasized more eloquently than any other philosophe the ethic of reciprocity and the value of autonomy” pointed out that historically Christianity had bolstered tyranny and “bred intolerance.” I argue that the French Revolution foundered when it devolved into a religious war, primarily because the Civil Constitution of the Clergy, judged necessary due to the intransigence of the French Catholic hierarchy and their aristocratic allies, required priests to declare fealty to the republic. That step turned members of male and female religious orders, and even lay Catholics who favored reforming or replacing the monarchy, into implacable counterrevolutionaries. A gulf clearly divided the institutionalized form assumed by the Roman Catholic Church from the original thrust of the Christian scriptures. Yet much of the criticism directed against absolutism, and against hierarchy more generally, derived from the egalitarian ethos of the Gospels, from Luther’s insistence on the equality of all believers, and from Calvinists’ predilection for self-governing congregations of saints. Evidence sustaining that argument runs throughout Toward Democracy. As I immersed myself in the evidence, another surprising finding was the pervasiveness of assumptions concerning the legitimacy, necessity, and desirabil- ity of representative democracy, which many scholars in the last half-century 627 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core james t. kloppenberg have dismissed as a contradiction in terms. Universal and direct participation, whether through mass action or through plebiscites, is now often considered a defining feature of what Bourke contends “we would recognize as democracy today.”5 Among the principal aims of Toward Democracy is to demonstrate just how widespread support for representation was from the seventeenth through the nineteenth century. Even at the height of the English, American, and French Revolutions, almost everyone—including Thomas Paine—agreed that represen- tative government is required in any polity larger than a small village. Of course disputes over the meaning, purpose, and mechanics of representation raged. As Rodgers points out, questions of exclusion and inclusion, who is competent to vote and hold office and who is not, and what officials are empowered to do in the people’s name, have been central issues in debates about democracy. Detailed examination of those disagreements is at the core of my analysis. ∗ ∗ ∗ Toward Democracy issues challenges to the accepted wisdom on many particular issues, and I want to mention just a few before concluding. I understand why historians now emphasize the intolerance and inequalities evident in colonial New England, yet that reorientation has caused the Puritans’ self-conscious experiments in “democracie” (their word, not mine) to fade out of focus. Winterer correctly stresses the importance of Tocqueville’s New England informants, as do I, but he was nevertheless correct to call New England “the cradle of democracy.” The contrasts between the contentious practices of self-rule that flourished in these little commonwealths and the English Puritans’ inability to establish equally radical democratic institutions, which they fought and died to achieve in the English Civil War, merit more attention than they have received from historians in recent years. Toward Democracy also focuses on the gap between the radical ideas of Algernon Sidney and John Locke and the limited effect on popular government of the “Glorious Revolution” of 1688, especially when it is compared with the continuing development of de facto self-rule in the North American colonies. In Massachusetts, John Wise, one of the most important legal theorists of the early eighteenth century, drew on Plutarch as well as Calvin to characterize the original form of government as “democratical,” dismissed all other forms as degenerate, and saw his law code adopted by the electorate of the Commonwealth. My treatment of Enlightenment ideas, as both de Dijn and Winterer note, focuses attention on Rousseau, on Scottish thought, and on the influence of Henry 5 Richard Tuck, The Sleeping Sovereign: The Invention of Modern Democracy (New York, 2015), exemplifies this approach to democracy. 628 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core the receding horizon of democracy May’s “moderate Enlightenment” rather than on the currently more fashionable radical fringe. That choice reflects my conviction that accounts of the American Revolution and the founding of the new nation have become unbalanced. ∗ ∗ ∗ While I emphasize the hierarchies of gender and race that persisted in the new nation, and the fact that the US Constitution solidified the preexisting regime of white male supremacy, imputing to thinkers such as the young John Adams, Jefferson, Madison, and James Wilson ideas of elite domination of ordinary people requires overlooking most of what they wrote. These thinkers, as I show in Toward Democracy, had much more in common with Rousseau than with Hamilton. Like Rousseau, who wrote constitutions for Poland and Corsica incor- porating representation, they envisioned a complex representative democracy resting on a culture imbued with commitments to equality, autonomy, and the common good rather than hierarchy, freedom from all constraints, and the simple balancing of competing interests. That argument may be controversial, but along with Rodgers and de Dijn I believe that the evidence in my book sustains it. Bourke seems not to have engaged with my analysis of American democracy. His essay includes only a single reference to an American, and his comment on Madison’s Federalist 10 gets my argument—and Madison—wrong, as Rodgers makes clear when he acknowledges how inaccurate is the long-conventional view of Madison as interested only in “controlling” the people. Given Bourke’s own fine scholarship on Edmund Burke and his work editing Eric Nelson’s essay in Popular Sovereignty, his failure to grapple with the hundreds of pages of evidence concerning eighteenth- and nineteenth-century American thought presented in Toward Democracy seems odd. The argument of Toward Democracy does not proceed by “association” or “analogy” but rests on sustained analysis of evidence drawn from the texts produced by Americans who acknowledged their explicit use of the ideas of European thinkers from Aristotle and Cicero through Sidney, Locke, Montesquieu, and Rousseau to Smith and Hume. ∗ ∗ ∗ Chapters 7–9 of Toward Democracy supplement and complicate the arguments of a generation of historians whose work has enriched our understanding of the social dynamics of late eighteenth-century North America. Their tireless prosecution of the “elites” who allegedly stole the Revolution from “the people,” however, has turned thinkers who worked to advance a culture of representative democracy into cartoon characters. The political writings of the young Adams, Jefferson, Madison, and Wilson, among the most enduringly influential texts 629 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core james t. kloppenberg produced from the sixteenth through the nineteenth centuries, look very different when they are viewed in relation to Smith’s idea of sympathy and Rousseau’s idea of the general will rather than through the distorting lenses of post-World War II liberal pluralists. This influential generation of American political scientists, who conceived of government as the balancing of competing interest groups, projected their own ideas back to Adams and Madison in particular. Like Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments, Rousseau’s Social Contract had a much greater impact in North America, where it was more widely read and respected (rather than “traduced,” at least until Robespierre explicitly invoked it to justify the Terror) than recent scholars have appreciated. I look forward to further investigations of the similarities and differences among these ideas rather than dismissals of these American thinkers as enemies of the people. Among French historians, tracing the economic woes of the Ancien Régime to the cost of securing American independence is hardly controversial. Likewise the idea that a “contagion of liberty” spread from Boston, Philadelphia, and Williamsburg to Paris and beyond, and exerted influence, often through Loyalists who left the new nation for Canada or England, did not originate with R. R. Palmer but with eighteenth-century European observers. It too has become conventional.6 The question of why democracy in America stabilized and slowly expanded while the French and Haitian Revolutions ended in successive tyrannies, by contrast, may never be resolved. Toward Democracy offers an explanation in multiple dimensions. Some have to do with French subjects’ lack of experience with self-rule and Americans’ century and a half of practice. Others have to do with the ways in which more radical challenges to exclusionary white supremacy, represented by the Haitian and French Revolutions, were successfully contained. In Europe that work was done by resurgent aristocracies and bolstered by reactionary popular movements; in the US by the Herrenvolk democracy cemented by mainstream figures in the Jackson Party and left all but unchallenged until Lincoln forced the issue in the necessary but nevertheless catastrophic US Civil War. ∗ ∗ ∗ After that war, many Americans feared that the nation’s democratic promise would never be fulfilled. Walt Whitman, whom Winterer invokes as a champion of what she calls “ungovernable . . . selves,” worried about just that prospect. He recommended, in the essay that provides Winterer’s title and that I cite in the 6 See Maya Jasanoff, Liberty’s Exiles: American Loyalists in the Revolutionary World (New York, 2011); and Janet Polasky, Revolutions without Borders: The Call to Liberty in the Atlantic World (New Haven, 2015). 630 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core the receding horizon of democracy concluding pages of Toward Democracy, that Americans “look our times and land searchingly in the face, like a physician diagnosing some deep disease.” The disease was untrammeled individualism, which Whitman, like Tocqueville, Mill, and Lincoln, deemed antithetical to democracy, and which Whitman contrasted to the “moral conscience” and “adhesiveness or love, that fuses, ties, and aggregates” (quoted at 707–8). It was not simple freedom from all constraints but autonomy— liberty bounded by law and community—that Whitman, drawing on Hegel but also echoing Rousseau, Madison, and many of the other thinkers discussed in Toward Democracy, deemed necessary for individual as well as political self-rule. Rodgers raises one more question that will never be resolved: how much compromise is too much? Indeed, the perennial tension between the calm toleration of differences and the courage of steadfast conviction is unresolvable in democracies, not only in practice but even in principle. Democracy, I contend, has always required balancing competing ideals, which is why it has always troubled utopians and radicals on all sides of every question. Democracy requires humility, moderation, and acceptance of the impossibility of ever reaching stable comity, let alone consensus. The alternative to compromise is civil war, the toxic consequences of which endure for centuries. Unquestionably it has been passionate democratic activists certain of their rectitude; Puritans such as Roger Williams and Richard Overton; advocates of women’s rights such as Mary Wollstonecraft and Harriet Taylor Mill; antislavery radicals such as Anthony Benezet, Henry David Thoreau, and Frederick Douglass; and revolutionary firebrands such as the young John Adams and Maximilien Robespierre who have driven popular government forward. But that passion, necessary as it is, can corrode the cultural predispositions on which democracy depends. Democracy is always imperfect and unstable. ∗ ∗ ∗ For centuries, people in the North Atlantic have been moving toward the horizon of democracy, even though they never arrive and never even agree on its meaning. The history of democracy is the history of those disagreements, which stretch from the ancient world until today. That is why I resist both Marxist and Whiggish teleologies (such as Grote’s) and question the claim that an implicit teleology is discernible in my analysis. I argue instead that democracy is necessarily indeterminate because the will of the people is never unitary and always unpredictable. That is also why I emphasize irony—the unintended consequences of choices and decisions—to make sense of the story I tell. Of course the thinkers whose ideas I examine did not think of themselves as actors in a tragedy, as Winterer observes. Nor did many of them show much awareness of the unintended consequences of their actions, although Tocqueville, Mill, and 631 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core james t. kloppenberg Lincoln surely did. That perspective is usually available only afterward, when a form of life has grown old, as Hegel put it, and history paints its gray on gray. But other thinkers examined in Toward Democracy, including the English Levellers, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Condorcet, de Gouges, Wollstonecraft, and Douglass, lived to see their ideas about the promise of democracy betrayed by many who called themselves democrats. Today many people in the North Atlantic, across the political spectrum, “have lost sight,” in de Dijn’s words in this forum, of the “broader, ethical dimension of self-government.” They are unwilling to accept the legitimacy of democratic institutions; uncomfortable with the principles of equality and autonomy; and contemptuous of the ideals of deliberation, pluralism, and reciprocity. If commitments to those components of self-rule continue to fade, I fear that we will find ourselves moving away from democracy. At that point, defenders of self-government will need to understand that a healthy democracy requires not only the rule of law and institutions for moderating conflict but also the dispositions of humility, tolerance, and mutual respect. 632 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:00, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1479244317000464 https://www.cambridge.org/core * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
work_y7njd6ynrzespdgk4vh6jgbtyy	----	Winter habitat of selected stream fishes and potential impacts from land-use activity Richard A. Cunjak Abstract: This paper reviews the habitat characteristics and the behaviour of selected stream fishes during winter in temperate–boreal ecosystems. Emphasis is placed on the salmonid fishes upon which most winter research has been directed. As space is the primary factor regulating stream fish populations in winter, aspects of winter habitat are considered at various spatial scales from microhabitat to stream reach to river basin. Choice of winter habitat is governed by the need to minimize energy expenditure, with the main criterion being protection from adverse physicochemical conditions (e.g., ice, spates, low oxygen). The distance moved to wintering habitats, and the continued activity by many fishes during winter, need to be considered when making management decisions regarding fish habitat. How habitat is affected by land-use activity in stream catchments is discussed with reference to impacts from water withdrawal, varying discharge regimes, and erosion or sedimentation. Even stream “enhancement” practices can deleteriously affect fish habitat if project managers are unaware of winter habitat requirements and stream conditions. Maintenance of habitat complexity, at least at the scale of stream sub-basin, is recommended to ensure the diversity of winter habitats for fish communities. Résumé : Le document fait l’examen des caractéristiques de l’habitat et du comportement de certains poissons de cours d’eau pendant l’hiver en écosystèmes tempérés ou boréaux. L’accent est mis sur les salmonidés qui ont fait l’objet de la plus grande partie des recherches effectuées en hiver. L’espace étant le premier facteur régissant les populations de poissons de cours d’eau en hiver, les aspects de l’habitat d’hiver sont examinés en fonction de diverses échelles spatiales allant du micro-habitat, au segment et au bassin du cours d’eau. Le choix de l’habitat d’hiver est régi par le besoin de minimiser les dépenses énergétiques et a pour critère principal la protection contre les conditions physiques et chimiques adverses (glaces, crues, faible teneur en oxygène). La distance parcourue pour atteindre les habitats d’hivernage et le maintien de l’activité d’un grand nombre de poissons pendant l’hiver doivent être pris en compte au moment de la prise de décisions de gestion touchant l’habitat du poisson. La façon dont l’habitat est affecté par l’utilisation des terres dans le bassin du cours d’eau est traitée dans le contexte des incidences de la captation d’eau, de la variation des régimes d’écoulement, de l’érosion et de la sédimentation. Même les activités de «mise en valeur» des cours d’eau peuvent altérer l’habitat du poisson si les gestionnaires de projet ne tiennent pas compte des besoins en habitats d’hiver et des conditions du cours d’eau. Le maintien de la complexité de l’habitat, du moins à l’échelle du sous-bassin du cours d’eau, est recommandé pour garantir la diversité des habitats d’hiver des communautés de poissons. [Traduit par la Rédaction] Introduction “We had not thought seriously of winter; we dwelt in fancied security yet” Henry David Thoreau (circa 1850) In the past decade, the number of publications focusing on the winter ecology of stream fauna has increased (e.g., Cunjak and Power 1986a; Brown and McMahon 1988; Ultsch 1989; Grif- fith and Smith 1993; Heggenes et al. 1993; Irons et al. 1993; Scrimgeour et al. 1994). Although these studies have contrib- uted to an improved understanding of habitat use and behav- iour of stream fishes during winter, much remains to be learned. The need to understand, identify, and quantify the winter habitat of fishes during all life stages is an obvious prerequisite to successful fisheries management. This require- ment is all the more urgent given the potential impacts and complications imposed by anthropogenic perturbations in stream catchments (see Power et al. 1993) and the demands for land-use activity, which are increasing. This paper reviews the winter habitat characteristics and the winter behaviour of selected stream fishes, particularly those common to the streams of the Great Lakes drainage. My goal is to identify the critical characteristics of winter habitat to ensure their protection and, hence, conservation. Emphasis is given to salmonid fishes upon which most research has been directed. I will restrict my review to running waters and will only make limited reference to lacustrine environments as wintering areas recognizing, however, their significance for many stream fishes (Cederholm and Scarlett 1982; Peterson 1982; Hutchings 1986). Winter diet, metabolism and energet- ics, and the habitat of pre-emergent fish (i.e., overwintering eggs, alevins) are also not included in this review. The paper concludes with a section describing potential impacts to winter habitat from land-use activity in stream catchments. Largely speculative given our current ignorance of biotic responses to anthropogenic perturbations in winter, this section suggests that maintenance of habitat complexity, at least at the scale of stream sub-basin, is needed to satisfy the diverse habitat re- quirements of lotic fish communities in winter. Received November 1994. Accepted November 1, 1995. J13178 R.A. Cunjak. Department of Fisheries and Oceans, Science Branch, P.O. Box 5030, Moncton, NB E1C 9B6, Canada. Can. J. Fish. Aquat. Sci. 53(Suppl. 1): 267–282 (1996). 267 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf Winter is herein described as that period immediately fol- lowing egg deposition by autumn-spawning salmonids (and coincident with a decline in water temperature) and extending until the loss of all surface ice (often accompanied by a major spate and snowmelt) and prior to any reproductive activity by spring-spawning, non-gadid fishes. This definition, considered to have more biological relevance than one following calendar dates, has been modified from one suggested by Cunjak and Power (1986a). The streams reviewed in this paper are those subject to near-freezing temperatures (<1°C) or ice formation for some portion of the winter period (such that growth over winter is considered negligible). The winter habitat of fishes in warmwater streams is not considered here, although there is a corresponding lack of information from these environments, and for the unique strategies employed by resident species (e.g., Cyprinodon spp.; McMahon and Tash 1988). Characteristics of preferred winter habitat Space, specifically suitable physical habitat features (e.g., low- velocity areas, instream cover), is the primary factor regulating stream fish populations in winter because reduced metabolic demands at low water temperatures lessen, or eliminate, time spent feeding and defending territories (see Chapman 1966). Cunjak and Power (1986a) suggested that the specific choice of winter habitat, and the behavioural pattern adopted by stream-dwelling brook trout (Salvelinus fontinalis) and brown trout (Salmo trutta) in winter, was governed by the basic need to minimize energy expenditure. This was accomplished by selecting positions in low-flow microhabitats with suitable cover and physicochemical attributes, but where predation risk and energy depletion were minimized. The concept that winter habitat selection is based on minimizing energy expenditure has been proposed for other juvenile salmonid species (Bus- tard and Narver 1975a; Rimmer et al. 1984; Cunjak 1988a; Griffith and Smith 1993; Riehle and Griffith 1993), and for smallmouth bass (Micropterus dolomieu; Todd and Rabeni 1989), largemouth bass (Micropterus salmoides; Carlson 1992), and blacknose dace (Rhinichthys atratulus; Cunjak and Power 1986b). Assuming that the principal factor governing the choice of winter habitat is to minimize energy expenditure, I have pri- oritized criteria for winter habitat selection (Table 1). The same criteria could define fish habitat at other times of the year (except the reproductive period when fish also need access to suitable spawning habitat and mates). Rather, the difference in habitat selection criteria is in the relative priorities and particu- lar environmental conditions inherent to winter compared with other seasons. Protection from adverse physicochemical conditions A variety of adverse conditions can develop in streams during winter. These include midwinter flood events, deoxygenation in ice-covered pools, de-watering of stream sections, ice blockages, and freezing temperatures. To survive, stream fishes have adopted specific habitat preferences where the probability of encountering adverse conditions is minimized. Two of these preferences, instream cover and groundwater discharge, are discussed in some detail. Instream cover Preferences for a particular type and structure of winter cover (as inferred from frequency of use data from field studies) differ among species (Table 2). Strongly photonegative (win- ter) species such as juvenile Atlantic salmon (Salmo salar), chinook salmon (Oncorhynchus tshawytscha), brown trout (Norway, Idaho), brook trout (Newfoundland, northern Que- bec), rainbow trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss), cutthroat trout (Salmo clarki), cottids, some cyprinids, and most centrarchids (and darters?) prefer sheltering beneath rubble–boulder where rock diameter is often directly proportional to the size of the fish beneath (Rimmer et al. 1984; Cunjak 1988a). Some of these fish may move 15–30 cm below the substrate surface (Everest 1969; Erkinaro et al. 1994; J. Thorpe, Freshwater Fisheries Laboratory, Scotland, personal communication). Brook trout and brown trout in the Credit River, Ontario, were rarely observed beneath rocks in winter, preferring instead positions beneath woody debris, undercut banks, and shelf ice, or within macrophyte mats (Table 2). Rocks and boulders were used as winter cover by other Credit River fishes such as mottled sculpin (Cottus bairdi), longnose dace (Rhinichthys cataractae), and blacknose dace (Table 2). Maciolek and Needham (1952) found that brown and rainbow trout fre- quently used shelf ice as cover in Convict Creek, California. Hillman et al. (1987) found wintering juvenile chinook salmon under cover of vegetated banks or cobble in an Idaho stream, whereas juvenile coho salmon (Oncorhynchus kisutch) were generally found to prefer pools and off-channel habitats with woody debris cover (Hartman 1965; Bustard and Narver 1975a), abundance being positively related to cover complex- ity (McMahon and Hartman 1989). Cover use can also change during the winter. Recently, Griffith and Smith (1995) ob- served that the density of young-of-the-year rainbow trout in macrophyte beds steadily declined between November and Relative prioritya Habitat criterion Example(s) of selected habitat 1 Protection from adverse physicochemical conditions (e.g., ice, low oxygen, winter freshets), and access to refugia or alternate winter habitats Suitable water depth, instream cover, floodplain habitat and side-channels, source of aeration, groundwater discharge zones, subice corridors 2 Protection from predators Suitable water depth, instream cover 3 Access to food Low-velocity (micro)habitats and concomitant shift to nocturnal, benthic feeding pattern aRelative priorities can vary among life stages and for different streams depending on availability of food, on water temperature (and metabolic demand), on local predator density, and on the stability of environmental conditions. Table 1. Generalized criteria for winter habitat selection by fishes in natural, coldwater streams, listed in order of relative importance (priority). Can. J. Fish. Aquat. Sci. Vol. 53(Suppl. 1), 1996268 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf January despite continued availability of the vegetation cover; instead, most of the trout overwintered in cobble–boulder sub- strate, where available. Large-bodied, adult fish (e.g., salmonids, catostomids, cen- trarchids), probably because suitably sized rock shelters are scarce in many streams, generally overwinter in deep pools where depth is assumed to provide the requisite cover require- ments. Adult white suckers (Catostomus commersoni), as soli- tary fish (Table 2) or in aggregations, overwintered in the deepest pools of the upper Credit River (Cunjak and Power 1986a). Carlson (1992) found that adult largemouth bass ag- gregated in a few deep, winter refuge areas in the Hudson River estuary where conditions permitted a minimum of en- ergy expenditure. However, deep water does not necessarily imply suitable winter habitat. Cunjak and Caissie (1994) measured the accumulation of frazil ice in a large, main river (Miramichi) pool (55 105 m3) in New Brunswick over two winters where it was generally believed post-spawned Atlantic salmon (kelts) overwintered. They found that, on average, frazil ice filled > 75% of the pool volume between December and March, and was often in contact with the pool bottom in the deepest part (8.7 m). The remaining pool space was as- sumed to be of marginal suitability because of the consequent higher water velocities deflected there by the frazil mass. More recent research in the Miramichi River has found that frazil ice also occurs in other large pools surveyed in the Miramichi River (D. Caissie, Department of Fisheries and Oceans, Monc- ton, N.B., unpublished data). In such cases, off-channel areas of river (e.g., braids, backwaters) may provide the habitat con- ditions necessary for overwintering fishes (i.e., free of frazil ice, adequate water depth, low water velocity as suggested from tracking radiotagged kelts, (R.A. Cunjak, unpublished data). Groundwater discharge Point sources of groundwater discharge which provide “winter-warm” microhabitats may serve as winter refugia (Table 1) from instream problems such as ice and variable streamflow. Cunjak and Power (1986a) found large numbers of brook and brown trout aggregated near such point sources in the headwaters of the Credit River in southern Ontario. Occasionally, pumpkinseed (Lepomis gibbosus) and cyprinids (such as blacknose dace) were also observed in such locations, actively swimming (Cunjak 1986a), which is not typical winter behaviour for these species. Known to be important thermal refugia during periods of high-temperature stress in summer (Gibson 1966; Snucins and Gunn 1995), point sources of groundwater discharge are now recognized for their importance as winter habitat. Swales et al. (1986) found that juvenile coho salmon in an interior British Columbia stream preferred to overwinter in side-channels and ponds where groundwater maintained warmer temperatures than in the main river. Craig and Poulin (1975) found stream populations of grayling (Thymallus arcticus) and arctic char (Salvelinus alpinus) overwintering in two perennial spring sections of an Alaskan river. In arctic systems, groundwater may be the most important winter habitat criterion (J.B. Reynolds, University of Alaska, Fairbanks, Alaska, personal communication) where, otherwise, streams can freeze completely. In temperate latitudes, the winter-warm conditions of groundwater discharge have been associated with increased winter survival of brook trout in Wisconsin (Hunt 1969); rainbow trout in Idaho (Smith and Griffith 1994); and juvenile steelhead, coho, and chinook salmon in British Columbia (Bustard 1986). Proximity to the source of groundwater discharge, where water temperature is often warmest in winter, is not preferred by all species, even if cover is abundant. Brook trout, espe- cially young individuals, typically prefer to position them- selves close to point sources of groundwater. Brown trout, in contrast, do not and prefer to aggregate downstream from such sources, where water temperatures have cooled but still remain above freezing. Spatial variation between species is illustrated by plotting the abundance of individual (i.e., nonaggregated) trout during winter and the strength of the groundwater dis- charge (pressure head) as measured at three sites in the Credit River (Fig. 1). Brook trout abundance was positively related to strength of the discharge, whereas brown trout abundance was least at the site with greatest pressure head (Fig. 1) and where winter water temperature was highest (range 1.5–5.5°C). Avoidance by brown trout of such sources of un- diluted, warmer groundwater was also noted by Hansen (1975) in a Michigan stream. Recently, R.A. Cunjak (unpublished data) found similar avoidance of spring sources by Atlantic salmon parr in several catchments in Prince Edward Island although brook trout were abundant. It may be that certain salmonid species are not physiologically adapted to effectively use the higher water temperatures in winter. The concomitant increase in metabolic activity at water temperatures between 5 and 7°C (as are often found near sources of groundwater dis- charge) would necessitate an increased feeding and assimila- tion efficiency. Not all fishes are metabolically efficient at such low water temperature. Instead, the advantages of the Species Woody debris Surface (shelf) ice Cobble-boulders Surface turbulence Vegetation Undercut bank Depth > 1 m Brook trout 119 4 3 4 67 60 2 Brown trout 17 6 2 13 9 3 0 Blacknose dace 0 0 81 1 0 0 0 Longnose dace 0 0 7 0 0 0 0 Mottled sculpin 0 0 28 0 0 0 0 White sucker (adults) 2 0 0 0 1 0 41 Bluegill 0 0 0 0 4 0 0 Pumpkinseed 1 0 2 0 3 0 0 Note: Frequencies are based on underwater observations. Table 2. Frequency of use of different types of cover by individual fishes in the Credit River system, Ontario, during winter (November–March) 1982–1985. Cunjak 269 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf groundwater warming may be better realized at a distance from the source, where ice formation is precluded and stream- flow is still relatively stable, but where reduced water tempera- ture (i.e., 2–4°C) would minimize metabolic activity. Alternatively, the local availability of certain physical habitat features (e.g., water depth, instream cover) and the specific habitat preferences of some salmonids may also explain the differential use of groundwater discharge zones. Such species- specific differences in winter habitat preferences may also re- duce potential competition for space along a longitudinal gradient. Hynes (1970, 1983) explained the importance of groundwater to stream ecosystems in general. More specifically, Meisner et al. (1988) hypothesized on the importance of groundwater as thermal refugia and how these may affect salmonid populations under the scenario of climate warming. Point sources of winter-warm water should be conserved. However, the appreciation and identification of groundwater discharge is not always obvious, especially if the discharge is small, diffuse, or in midstream. Detailed monitoring of water temperature at numerous points along a length of stream in midsummer or midwinter is one means of groundwater discharge identification. The location of open water and unfrozen sections of stream bank in midwinter often indicate groundwater, as do certain species of vegetation such as watercress (Nasturtium officinale) and eastern white cedar (Thuja occidentalis). Finally, if underwater observations are possible, winter (and summer) aggregations of juvenile salmonids are generally good indicators of groundwater discharge (Cunjak and Power 1986a). Predator avoidance Avoidance of predators and adverse physical conditions in the stream during winter (Table 1) is greatly influenced by a fish’s swimming ability and its critical holding velocity, both of which are markedly reduced at low water temperature (Sand- ström 1983; Rimmer et al. 1985; Heggenes and Traaen 1988; Veselov and Shustov 1991; Bodensteiner and Lewis 1994). This is especially problematic for fishes trying to avoid endo- thermic predators (e.g., mink, otter, mergansers), which are known to be effective predators of overwintering fishes (Sa- lyer and Lagler 1940; Alexander 1979; Carss et al. 1990) and which are not subject to the same temperature constraints to metabolism as are ectotherms. The problem may be com- pounded where suitable overwintering areas (e.g., pools, off- channel backwaters) are few, resulting in large concentrations, or aggregations, of overwintering fishes and may partly ex- plain reports of substantial winter mortality (Bustard 1986; Dolloff 1993; Power and Mitchell 1994). Access to food Whereas feeding in summer is primarily the means to achieve surplus energy for growth and (or) reproductive maturity, win- ter feeding is often viewed as the way that fish, particularly young (juvenile) individuals, sustain a minimal level of meta- bolic activity (Cunjak 1988b) with negligible growth (e.g., Conover 1992; Metcalfe and Thorpe 1992). There are excep- tions to this rule. Many spring-spawning fishes complete maturation in late winter (Tartar 1969; Lalancette 1973; Med- ford and Mackay 1978; Chilton et al. 1984). Atlantic salmon kelts resume feeding (and growth) in late winter (personal observations), and pre-smolt Atlantic salmon were found to continue growing in laboratory experiments (Metcalfe et al. 1988). In general, however, access to food at near-freezing water temperatures is probably a low-priority criterion for se- lection of winter habitat for most stream species (Table 1). Griffith and Smith (1993) estimated that only 61–66% of the juvenile cutthroat and brown trout overwintering in an Idaho Fig. 1. Abundance of brook and brown trout observed during daytime underwater observations at three sites in the upper Credit River, Ontario (1983–1985), in relation to strength of groundwater discharge. Groundwater pressure (mm) was measured according to the technique outlined by Lee and Cherry (1978). Note that brown trout do not occur in the Caledon site. Can. J. Fish. Aquat. Sci. Vol. 53(Suppl. 1), 1996270 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf river (water temperature approximately 7°C) emerged each night from beneath boulder concealment, presumably to feed. They suggested an even less frequent emergence in midwinter at lower water temperatures. In many of our streams, invertebrate (food) abundance and biomass remain relatively high, particularly where winter- growing insect species (e.g., Plecoptera, some Ephemeroptera) are common (Hynes 1970). Assuming winter food availability and suitability are adequate (which has yet to be rigourously tested), I contend that the selection of winter habitat is primar- ily driven by the need to avoid adverse instream conditions and predation. Food, however, may become limiting to stream fishes in late winter following loss of potential prey individu- als through death, emergence, or pupation–diapause. In this situation, or during a sudden rise in midwinter water tempera- ture that may increase metabolic demand, access to food can become a relatively high priority habitat criterion (Table 1). Winter habitat: aspect of scale In dealing with conservation, or enhancement, of fish habitat, it is important to match habitat requirements to a scale and context appropriate to the range of that animal. Winter habitat data derived from one stream basin may be inappropriate for another area where different hydrologic conditions (Fig. 2) dictate alternate winter behaviour patterns by resident fishes. Stream fishes use different strategies for overwintering, de- pending on the species, life stage, and the availability of suit- able habitats in the system (Table 3). I will consider aspects of winter habitat and behaviour at various spatial scales from the detailed characterization of microhabitats (fine scale) to the ecological conditions inherent to habitat types and stream reaches (medium scale). Large-scale considerations of winter habitat, which include whole river catchments, sub-basins, and landscape relationships, are discussed only with regards to long-distance movement between summer and winter areas. Fine-scale habitat considerations Focal-point measurements of microhabitat variables are rou- tinely collected by fish ecologists in characterizing the micro- habitat preferences of fishes (e.g., Cunjak and Green 1983; Fausch 1993; Cunjak and Power 1986a; Heggenes and Saltveit 1990; Hillman et al. 1987; Gibson 1988). Typical measured variables include focal point water velocity and water depth, mean water velocity (at 0.6 depth), total water depth, proximity to cover, type of cover, and substrate type. Often these data are subsequently used to construct habitat suitability index (HSI) curves for use in habitat simulation models such as IFIM-PHABSIM (Bovee 1982). Maximum suitability and availability of winter microhabi- tats for resident stream fish communities is achieved where complexity of instream structure and form is conserved. In- deed, habitat quality may be more important than quantity in winter, as suggested by Todd and Rabeni (1989) in noting the relative importance to adult smallmouth bass of a few strate- gically placed boulders in a Missouri stream. Similarly, rub- ble-boulder shelters were critical winter habitats for stream salmonids and cyprinids (Bustard and Narver 1975b; Cunjak and Power 1986b; Cunjak 1988a; Griffith and Smith 1993; Hillman et al. 1987). Microhabitat choice in winter may be a function of compe- tition for similar shelters among stream-dwelling fishes (Cun- jak and Power 1986a, 1986b), frogs (Cunjak 1986b), and invertebrates (e.g., crayfish). Hartman (1965) hypothesized that vertical partitioning of winter habitat (with steelhead ju- veniles preferring the stream bottom to the midwater positions preferred by coho salmon) was the result of competition. Heg- genes et al. (1993) similarly suggested that intra- and inter- specific competition among stream salmonids in winter may be severe because of more restricted habitat requirements. That winter space (i.e., habitat) may be limiting and the focus of competition among stream organisms seems probable, but still unproven, and deserves further attention. The lack of information concerning the winter microhabitat requirements of non-salmonid species is an obstacle to effec- tively managing fish populations as multispecies assemblages or communities. Much of what we know is based on anecdotal evidence (e.g., Table 2). Generally, thick cover in the form of complex woody debris or rubble-boulders, or deep pools for larger adults, is preferred by most centrarchids, catostomids, and cyprinids (Webster 1954; Hasler and Wisby 1958; Para- gamian 1981; Tallman and Gee 1982; Cunjak and Power 1986b; Pajak and Neves 1987; Todd and Rabeni 1989). Is there movement over winter; what is the frequency of emer- gence from winter shelters and do they feed; to what depth into the substrate do these fishes move to overwinter? These basic questions about microhabitat and behaviour remain unre- solved for many stream fishes. Medium-scale habitat considerations Stream habitat, when viewed at the scale of habitat type (e.g., riffle, run) or stream reach, offers a variety of instream condi- Strategy Tactics Examples of fish taxa Emigration to lentic habitats (e.g., lakes, estuaries) Long-distance movement in late autumn or early winter Arctic char, some Oncorhynchus spp., some adult Atlantic salmon Active, stream resident Shift to low-velocity habitats; behavioural changes (e.g., gregarious, nonterritorial, photonegative); continued feeding activity; substrate-hiding (daytime) Most salmonids (especially juveniles), pike, cottids, some centrarchids, umbrids, and gadids Inactive, stream resident Shift to low-velocity habitats; some substrate-hiding; reduced metabolic activity (semitorpid?); minimal (sustenance) feeding Catostomids, black-nosed dace, juvenile brook trout (sub-Arctic streams), darters, gasterosteids Hibernation–torpor Basal metabolism; fasting; “burrowers” Many cyprinids, some centrarchids Table 3. Generalized behavioural strategies employed by stream fishes for overwintering in temperate–boreal systems in North America. Cunjak 271 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf Fig. 2. Differences in mean monthly stream discharge regimes for selected Canadian rivers from contrasting climatological regions. Solid bars represent typical winter months; hatched bars represent the spring–autumn period. Data for British Columbia streams (Sarita, Telkwa, Nanaimo, and Morice) were reproduced, with permission, from Bustard (1986); data for Upsalquitch River (northern New Brunswick) and the LaHave and Mersey rivers (southwestern Nova Scotia) were taken from Environment Canada gauge station records. Note that the Mersey River (natural) flow regime is from a station upstream from the regulated station. J, January; D, December. Can. J. Fish. Aquat. Sci. Vol. 53(Suppl. 1), 1996272 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf tions reflecting the heterogeneity of running waters (Hynes 1970; Hawkins et al. 1993). Boulder-strewn riffles, deep pools, beaver ponds, groundwater seeps, stream edges beneath shelf ice cover, off-channel backwaters, and woody debris jams are examples of some of the habitats used by stream fishes at different times during winter. Accessibility, as well as availability, to these various habitats are important factors in assessing survival of stream fauna because of the dynamic nature of the winter stream environment (Reimers 1963; Mackay 1979; Prowse and Gridley 1993) and increasing evi- dence of movement by stream fishes in winter (Chisholm et al. 1987; Cunjak and Randall 1993; Jakober 1995). Cunjak and Power (1986a) suggested that the continued activity by brook and brown trout in the Credit River system was adaptive be- cause of periodic flooding, freezing, and thaws common to such temperate latitude streams. A similar explanation was originally used by Reimers (1963) to account for the winter feeding by rainbow trout in a Californian stream. Instream variability and habitat shifts Variability of instream conditions during winter occurs even within habitat types, or across the width of a river. In Idaho streams, Riehle and Griffith (1993) and Griffith and Smith (1993) have shown that, as water temperatures declined below 8°C, juvenile salmonids concealed themselves during the day primarily amongst boulders with low imbeddedness, vegeta- tion, and undercut banks. In contrast, Cunjak (1988a) found that most juvenile Atlantic salmon sheltering beneath rocks in a Nova Scotian river during the day were closer to midstream than to stream margins. This difference might be explained by the interaction of fine sediments, ice, and associated water flow patterns. Although ice was rare in the Idaho study, shore ice was common in the Nova Scotian stream. Ice tends to deflect and concentrate water current (Prowse 1994a) toward midstream (thalweg), thereby minimizing substrate imbedded- ness and sediment deposition, which was more likely beneath shore-bound ice along the stream margin. It is also possible that the salmon parr observed by Cunjak (1988a) during the day may have moved to stream margin microhabitats at night, when they emerge from beneath rock shelters. Heggenes et al. (1993) found juvenile brown trout in ice-covered Norwegian rivers at night, moving to the stream margins and other areas with low water velocities including streambank areas. Diel variation in preference, and modifications imposed by hydrau- lics and physical structure are, therefore, important when con- sidering habitat use. As indicated earlier, and suggested by others (Hartman 1965; Cunjak and Power 1986a; Heggenes et al. 1993; Pajak and Neves 1987; Chisholm et al. 1987; Swales et al. 1986; Nickelson et al. 1992a; Griffith and Smith 1993), winter habi- tat selection often differs from that in summer, generally in- volving movement to areas with lower water velocity (day and night) and suitable daytime cover. Where adequate wintering conditions are available nearby, the distance moved from sum- mer rearing areas may be relatively short, simply to adjacent habitat types. In Wyoming streams, Chisholm et al. (1987) found that adult brook trout, radiotagged for two winters, moved an average of 86–163 m (mainly downstream) prefer- ring low water velocity areas (i.e., <15 cm⋅s–1). Seasonal elec- trofishing surveys (summer and early winter) in different habitat types of two stream reaches in Catamaran Brook, New Brunswick (Fig. 3), demonstrated relatively greater use, by juvenile Atlantic salmon in winter, of flats (i.e., slow-flow habitats with gravel–rubble substrate). This was most obvious in the Middle Reach flats, which were deeper than those in the Lower Reach. Riffles and runs, which were preferred by salmon in summer, were used proportionally less than flats in early winter (Fig. 3). River ice During winters with low stream discharge but with an abun- dance of ice precluding access to adjacent stream habitat types, Cunjak and Randall (1993) suggested that instream movement (to more suitable habitats) was significantly restricted and con- tributed to substantial mortality. For their three study streams in eastern Canada, estimated mortality of resident juvenile Atlantic salmon over winter was 25–57%, being highest in the stream where winter conditions were most severe and in that year when ice and low streamflow could have restricted in- stream movement (Cunjak and Randall 1993). Subsequent re- search in a variety of habitat types in Catamaran Brook corroborated these estimates; winter mortality exceeded 65% of the resident salmonid population during that winter when streamflow was least and ice accumulation substantial (R.A. Fig. 3. Changes in mean density of juvenile Atlantic salmon (ages 0+ to 2+) from summer (July) to early winter (November) among different habitat types in two stream reaches of Catamaran Brook, New Brunswick, in 1991. Densities are averages of two of each habitat type based on three or four electrofishing sweeps. n, total number of salmon caught per reach per season. Note that flats were within 100 m of numerous riffles and runs in the Catamaran Brook study area. Cunjak 273 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf Cunjak, unpublished data). In British Columbia, Bustard (1986) estimated similar winter mortalities of 30–60% for juvenile salmonids in side-channel habitats exposed to severe freezing and suggested that the reduced streamflow and ice conditions of interior streams (Fig. 2) were the reason that many juvenile salmonids overwintered in mainstream habitats where suitable water depth was maintained. In coastal rivers, in contrast, winter is a period of high streamflow (Fig. 2) and juvenile salmonids often overwinter in side-channels, flood- plain sloughs, and riverine ponds (Bustard and Narver 1975a; Cederholm and Scarlett 1982; Tschaplinski and Hartman 1983; Hartman and Brown 1987). Chisholm et al. (1987) noted evidence of habitat exclusion by ice for brook trout overwintering in those stream sites (low elevation) where abundant surface ice occurred in the riffles. In contrast, Berg (1994) found little evidence of habitat exclu- sion (based on a minimum 6 cm depth criterion beneath ice) for rainbow trout in ice-covered pools along an elevational gradient in California’s Sierra Nevada during two relatively dry winters. Berg did note limitations in trying to apply his results to geomorphically different streams, particularly wide, shallow, low-gradient streams where ice would more likely limit trout movements. Cunjak and Caissie (1994) suggested that frazil ice accumulations in large river pools (see above) may preclude their use for overwintering Atlantic salmon kelts. One of the many challenges facing fish biologists and re- source managers is to appreciate (quantify) the significance of environmental variability and the subsequent biotic responses. Ice (surface, frazil, and anchor ice) is common in many North American rivers (Brown et al. 1953; Chacho et al. 1986; Brown 1994; White 1994) including the Great Lakes Basin (Barnes 1928; Benson 1955). Ice accumulation in pools can reduce winter habitat space (Fig. 4) and suitability. The envi- ronmental aspects of river ice has begun to receive some atten- tion (Prowse and Gridley 1993; Berg 1994; Prowse 1994a, 1994b; Scrimgeour et al. 1994). How ice and its consequent influence on stream hydraulics may impact fish habitat, par- ticularly the dynamics surrounding freeze-up and break-up events (Prowse 1994a), is still a mystery. Calkins (1989) in reviewing the winter habits of four stream salmonids, noted that no fisheries article that he reviewed had calculated the hydraulic properties or flow regime beneath ice cover. Such omissions need to be corrected to quantify availability and suitability of wetted space (habitat) beneath ice cover and how these usable areas change with different ice and streamflow regimes. Backwater habitats and beaver ponds Pool-like habitats and backwaters, because of the deep water and low-velocity conditions that they offer, are the winter habitat of choice for many stream fishes. Such conditions are also available in beaver ponds. That large, deep pools are often the habitat type in least supply in many small streams of today (e.g., Sedell and Luchessa 1982; Cunjak et al. 1993) is further evidence of the potential importance of beaver ponds as winter habitat. In Wyoming, Chisholm et al. (1987) found brook trout moving into a beaver pond in October where they remained active all winter. In Rocky Mountain streams, as autumn water temperatures declined below 7°C, densities of bull trout (Salvelinus malma) and cutthroat trout declined in all habitat types except beaver ponds where large aggregations of both species overwintered (Jakober 1995). The use of beaver ponds for overwintering was also noted for juvenile coho salmon in coastal Oregon streams (Nickelson et al. 1992a) and for coho salmon and Dolly Varden (Salvelinus malma) in a southeast- ern Alaskan stream (Chichagof Island) where survival was considered better relative to other winter stream habitats (A. Dolloff, U.S. Forest Service, Blacksburg, personal communi- cation) although predation by otters was concentrated here in early spring (Dolloff 1993). In a beaver pond in Catamaran Brook, an aggregation of more than 60 brook trout (12–25 cm fork length) was observed (mid-October, water < 8°C), more trout than observed in any other pool in the system in the previous 3 years (R.A. Cunjak, unpublished data). In such shallow streams where ice cover is often in contact with the stream bed, a beaver pond may represent one of the few avail- able wintering sites. The value of beaver ponds as wintering habitats for fishes is underappreciated. The deeper water in the pond, and in the adjacent flooded backwaters, provide the requisite space where fish can aggregate and swim, even beneath a complete ice cover. Indeed, the frequency of occurrence of large winter aggregations noted in the above-cited research and in other winter studies (e.g., Hartman 1965; Bustard and Narver 1975a; Craig 1978; Paragamian 1981; Cunjak and Power 1986a) may be evidence that adequate winter habitat is limit- ing in many systems. Aggregations, therefore, may be useful as indicators of important wintering areas. Large-scale habitat considerations Movement to wintering habitats can involve long distances. In the North Ram River, Alberta, Brown (1994) found that radio- tagged, adult cutthroat trout moved upstream and downstream an average of 1–2.4 km, but some moved as far as 7.6 km from the site of release to wintering pools. Apparently these move- ments were in response to changing subsurface ice conditions in the river, as trout sought suitable pools or “warm” ground- water inputs (Brown et al. 1994). Clapp et al. (1990) found that large (43.7–63.5 cm) brown trout in a Michigan stream had separate summer and winter ranges, with some fish mov- ing approximately 10 km upstream to overwinter in slower, deeper parts of the river. Similar long-range movements were noted in the northwestern Miramichi River, New Brunswick, where some post-spawned Atlantic salmon (kelts) moved 5–10 km downstream to the head of tide (R.A. Cunjak, unpub- lished data). As in Alberta, kelt movement was likely in re- sponse to frazil ice accumulation in the riverine pools (e.g., Cunjak and Caissie 1994); such accumulations were minimal in tidal water because of the flushing action of the tides. Adult largemouth bass in the upper Mississippi River were active in winter, moving 3–14 km to wintering areas (slightly warmer, no-flow backwaters), which may be the limiting habitat for centrarchids (largemouth bass, bluegills, and crappies) in this part of the Mississippi (J. Pitlo, personal communication). In some ice-covered northern Ontario rivers, adult lake sturgeon (Acipenser fulvescens) equipped with physiological radiotags (to monitor electromyogram activity) moved at a rate of ≈6 km⋅day–1 to overwinter in a deep pool at the confluence of two rivers, where they remained active until the start of the spawning migration in mid-January (S. McKinley, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Ont., personal communication). In the Can. J. Fish. Aquat. Sci. Vol. 53(Suppl. 1), 1996274 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf arctic, where winter conditions can be severe and suitable win- ter habitat is least available, migration distances between sum- mer and winter areas can be ≈100 km (West et al. 1992). These long-distance movements between summer and winter areas emphasize the need for a seasonal appreciation of habitat requirements and a large-scale river basin approach to fisher- ies management (Clapp et al. 1990). Such long-distance winter movements are in marked con- trast to some published research on instream movements. For example, Garcia deLeaniz (1989) found that home areas were less than 8 m2 for 75% of the marked Atlantic salmon parr that were monitored for 17 months in a Scottish stream. Heggenes et al. (1991) found limited movement by cutthroat trout be- tween January and August in a British Columbia stream where Fig. 4. Conceptual representation of the change in habitat availability in a temperate stream riffle and pool as winter progresses and ice accumulates. Open sections in riffles may generate anchor ice and frazil ice, which can subsequently restrict habitat available to fish in downstream stream sections and may contribute to ice dam formation and streamflow alteration (modified from Power et al. 1993). Cunjak 275 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf 63.2% of the recaptured individuals moved less than 10 m. In these latter two studies, the absence (British Columbia) or minimal amount of ice (Scotland) in the streams (which could influence winter habitat suitability) may partly explain the differences in movement. Alternatively, where suitable winter habitat is immediately available, and relatively stable through- out the winter, long-distance movement is unnecessary (Bjornn 1971; Dolloff 1987). The preceding should impress upon habitat managers that river systems must accommodate the range of movement and habitats used by stream fishes in winter. Further, protection of preferred winter habitat(s) is only one consideration for habitat conservation. Just as important are the “corridors,” the stream channels that permit access between seasonal habitats. Some fishes move many kilometres to overwinter in relatively few suitable habitats, and many continue to move among different habitats during the course of the winter. Therefore, winter habitats need to be viewed not as discrete units but rather as a dynamic continuum within a population’s distributional range. Such a scenario is admittedly daunting in trying to establish guidelines for habitat conservation. The task becomes further complicated when considering the potential impacts to winter environments from anthropogenic activity in stream basins. Impacts to winter habitat from land-use activity Fisheries managers today need to understand and quantify how land-use activity in a stream basin might alter habitat. Ideally, before attempting such a cause–effect linkage, one needs first to understand the natural variability within the stream before attempting to assess man-made impacts (Rinne 1990). This is a difficult ideal to attain because of our limited knowledge of stream conditions and species’ habitat requirements in winter. Nevertheless, some general considerations and associations are possible to assist management decisions relating to winter habitat impacts. Loss of habitat complexity For those fishes that prefer to overwinter beneath medium to large substrate (i.e., cobble–boulders), habitat quality and availability is deleteriously affected by land-use activity that introduces fines into the stream, thereby imbedding potential winter cover. Simulating winter cover conditions in a small stream, Bustard and Narver (1975b) demonstrated that juve- nile salmonids prefer clean rubble over silted rubble, and the preference was strongest at the lowest water temperatures (i.e., 2–6°C). Winter electrofishing by Griffith and Smith (1993) in portions of the Snake River, Idaho, indicated that boulder sites that were heavily imbedded (25–50% fines) had <30% of the cutthroat trout density of adjacent boulder sites that were mod- erately or slightly imbedded (<25% fines). In a Nova Scotian river subject to erosion and sedimentation from land-use activ- ity in the catchment, Cunjak (1988a) found that 40% of the salmon parr that he observed underwater in winter were lo- cated beneath stones in salmon redds, which accounted for only 10% of the study area. He suggested that this dispropor- tionate use of redds for overwintering was a function of high imbeddedness in the stream. Improper forestry and agricultural activities can introduce fine sediment to streams, especially where suitable riparian buffer strips are inadequate to prevent erosion and soil runoff (Brown and Krygier 1971; Barton and Taylor 1981; Campbell and Doeg 1989; Hartman and Scrivener 1990). In Prince Ed- ward Island streams, sedimentation from the erosion of agri- cultural land is a serious problem for aquatic habitats. Recently, 253–305 t(1t = 1000 kg) of topsoil was excavated from a pit at the base of a 12.2-ha potato field in the West River catchment, in midsummer; after three strong rain events (≈6 weeks), the pit completely filled in with eroded soil, which then overflowed into the river (T. Dupuis, Atlantic Salmon Federation, Charlottetown, P.E.I., personal communication). Similar problems are realized in the sand-plain streams of Norfolk County along the north shore of Lake Erie (personal observation), which resemble Prince Edward Island in geol- ogy, topography, and land use. After forestry activity in the Alsea catchment (Oregon), yields of suspended sediments in- creased from 26–97 to 90–300 t⋅km–2⋅year–1 (Beschta 1978, as cited in Hartman and Scrivener 1990). In Carnation Creek, British Columbia, where the most detailed study of fish- ery–forestry interactions has taken place, deposition of fines increased 4.6–5.7% following logging coincident with a de- cline in survival to emergence for coho and chum salmon (Scrivener and Brownlee 1989). Winter habitats of most stream fauna (e.g., Campbell and Doeg 1989; Cobb and Flan- nagan 1990), not only fishes, are deleteriously affected by such sediment loading. Pools, side-channels, backwaters, large organic debris (LOD) complexes, and some undercut stream margins provide important low water velocity refugia and instream cover, con- ditions preferred by many stream fishes in winter (see above). However, the nature of these habitats often predisposes them to infilling and damage from improper land-use activities, thereby reducing their suitability as winter habitat (e.g., Bus- tard and Narver 1975b; Tschaplinski and Hartman 1983; Hart- man and Brown 1987; Hillman et al. 1987). For example, backwater habitats along the upper Mississippi River act as thermal (and flow) refugia during winter for many centrarchid fishes and are infilling at an average rate of 2.5–6.3 cm⋅year–1 (J. Pitlo, DNR, Bellevue, Iowa, personal communication). Sedimentation is one of the major causes of habitat degrada- tion of these backwater refugia (Brietenbach and Peterson 1980, cited in Pitlo 1993) by reducing water depth and oxygen content. Consequently, Pitlo (1993) suggested that winter habitat may be the limiting habitat for many centrarchids of the Upper Mississippi River. Tschaplinski and Hartman (1983) found that juvenile coho populations were better able to resist displacement from autumn-winter flood events in Car- nation Creek if instream cover (LOD) remained in the winter habitats (i.e., pools). In those stream sections adjacent to clear- cuts, LOD was scarce and coho populations were reduced by 63–74%; in comparison, a section with stream-side buffer strips retained LOD and coho reductions were only 40–45%. Heifetz et al. (1986) estimated that 73% of pools (the preferred winter habitat of juvenile salmonids in Alaskan streams) were formed by LOD and that stream reaches in clearcuts without buffer strips had significantly less area of pool habitat. Loss of stream habitat complexity is common to river catchments where improper land use has occurred. Alteration of streamflow Winter streamflow contributes a proportionally smaller Can. J. Fish. Aquat. Sci. Vol. 53(Suppl. 1), 1996276 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf amount to the annual hydrograph as one moves away from the moderating influence of a coastal climate to the continental interior (Fig. 2), where winter precipitation is more likely to fall as snow and where freezing conditions prevail. Therefore, the potential impacts to fish habitat from waterflow alteration need to be viewed in the context of the local hydrologic re- gime. Hydroelectric facilities divert, store, and release water for generating energy largely in response to human demands for power rather than with consideration to natural streamflow patterns. Proposals for water withdrawal from streams during winter for snowmaking for alpine ski operations are increasing in New England (R.A. Cunjak, personal observation) and probably elsewhere. Withdrawals effectively remove a portion of the streamflow with no return until late winter or spring when a larger than normal snowpack melts. Regulation of streamflow, be it for hydroelectricity or for other purposes, can markedly change the natural discharge pattern (Fig. 2) and the seasonal cues to which the resident stream fauna have evolved specific strategies. For example, the suppression of major flood periods in regulated West Coast streams might preclude access to floodplain winter habitats for juvenile salmonids or their return to the main channel in spring. Barriers to instream migration can deny access to wintering areas. As noted previously, some stream fishes (e.g., sal- monids, centrarchids, sturgeon) move long distances prior to and during winter. How well fish can locate alternative win- tering areas once dams are built is unknown. The impacts will be deleterious where winter habitats are limited in abundance and where fish demonstrate strong site fidelity for particular wintering areas. Pitlo (1993) found evidence of homing to specific wintering sites in the Upper Mississippi River; several radiotagged largemouth bass were found in the same general area in summer but moved more than 5 km to widely separated backwater habitats in winter, bypassing backwaters used by other wintering bass. Water withdrawal and its direct influence on reducing available habitat (wetted space) probably impacts stream fish populations more than any other winter alteration of streams. The situation is most pronounced in shallow streams and rivers (often the most productive rearing habitats for juvenile sal- monids) and is exacerbated by ice conditions (Power et al. 1993). West et al. (1992) noted the susceptibility of Alaskan grayling to habitat damage from water abstraction (for con- struction of ice roads, airstrips) because of the shallowness of rivers and the extremely limited winter habitat (i.e., unfrozen water beneath ice). Griffith and Smith (1995) noted that when winter discharge was kept low in a regulated stream, juvenile rainbow trout could not use near-bank concealment habitat that had held a high density of fish throughout a previous winter. Chisholm et al. (1987) suggested that the impact of winter water withdrawal may be more severe at low-elevation sites because of habitat exclusion by surface and subsurface ice accumulation and “... the lack of suitable means for deter- mining winter streamflow needs under these conditions.” A winter reduction in streamflow will generally accelerate ice formation. Land-use activities such as forestry and agricul- ture often result in wider, shallower stream channels, which in turn are conducive to greater ice accumulation. Together, these effects can markedly reduce available habitat beneath ice cover in rivers. Maciolek and Needham (1952) reported on the mortality of brown and rainbow trout in Convict Creek, Cali- fornia, when subsurface ice accumulation precluded water flow into side-channels where trout were subsequently stranded. Bams (19871) in his report on potential impacts of hydroelectric development in the Nechako River, British Co- lumbia, suggested that the reduced intragravel flow to chinook salmon redds would affect incubation time, development, and survival of eggs and alevins. Curry et al. (1992) cautioned that streamflow reductions for hydroelectric development in the Nipigon River, Ontario, could alter groundwater flow to brook trout incubation habitat and result in freezing of eggs and alevins. The reduction in accumulated thermal units as a conse- quence of water withdrawal could severely impact fishes that are poorly adapted for activity at freezing temperatures. The discovery of moribund and dead fish (representing 37 species) in the upper Mississippi River was attributed to their inability to cope with water temperatures below 1°C in the main chan- nel and because warmer off-channel refugia (backwaters) were lacking nearby (Bodensteiner and Lewis 1994), possibly be- cause these habitats had been altered by land-use activity in the catchment (see Pitlo 1993). Similar impacts might be expected for fishes that are near the northern limit of their distributional range. In the Great Lakes drainage, species such as white perch (Morone americana), which have a low tolerance for near- freezing winter temperatures (Johnson and Evans 1991), would likely be deleteriously affected by activities that re- sulted in lower water temperatures. Stream enhancement and winter habitat In some cases, attempts at “enhancing” stream habitats in sum- mer may have negative consequences for wintering fish. That is, summer gains in production may be nullified by con- straints related to winter carrying capacity. Streamside de- bris–brush removal, particularly of alders, is a popular component of some stream enhancement projects (e.g., OMNR 1986). Improved access (for anglers), increased streamflow, and flushing of fines are often cited to rationalize the habitat alteration. Such changes were made along a section of the Valleyfield River, Prince Edward Island, where stream enhancement was carried out in 1988–1989 (R.A. Cunjak, unpublished data). Alders, still present in a control area up- stream, impeded water movement and resulted in the littoral deposition of fines and the formation of a wide channel with shallow stream margins. In the treatment zone, in contrast, alder removal led to faster streamflow through a narrower channel with little depositional area. A seasonal snorkeling census of brook trout abundance in both areas indicated that fewer trout used midstream or margin habitats post-treatment in comparison with the control (Fig. 5). Habitat alteration in the treatment area scoured midstream macrophytes where brook trout often sought cover and eliminated the shallow (<10 cm depth), low-flow, alder margins, which young-of-the- year trout used extensively, particularly in winter. Some trout were able to find suitable habitat in proximity to a few en- hancement structures (i.e., deflectors and low-head barriers) placed nearby, but these conditions favoured mainly older trout (R.A. Cunjak, unpublished data). 1 Bams, R. 1987. “Expert” report. Prepared for court case on environmental assessment of proposed Nechako River hydroelectric project (ALCAN). Cunjak 277 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf Ruggles (1966) carried out comparative experiments in stream channels to increase smolt production of juvenile coho salmon by increasing winter cover (cement blocks). Contrary to expectations, smolt production was markedly higher in channels without cover. In a small stream on Vancouver Is- land, Mason (1976) attempted to increase winter habitat for juvenile coho salmon by constructing streamside refugia. However, less than 5% of the introduced coho used the refugia as most fish remained in the natural stream habitats and even- tually emigrated during winter freshets. Mason indicated that “a 6- to 7-fold increase in potential smolt yield induced by a supplemental feeding strategy during the summer was nulli- fied by the natural carrying capacity of the stream over win- ter.” Constructed pool habitat (plunge pools and dammed pools) in Oregon streams, which were effective in providing suitable summer habitat for juvenile coho salmon, were used significantly less in winter (Nickelson et al. 1992b) when coho preferred alcove (off-channel) habitats (Nickelson et al. 1992a). Cunjak and Power (1987) studied winter cover use by brook and brown trout in a small spring-fed tributary of the Credit River by comparing frequency of use of submerged versus above-water cover, in riffle and pool habitats. Both species preferred submerged cover, but brown trout frequented only the pool habitat closest to the stream mouth, whereas brook trout used submerged cover with similar frequency in all four habitat types. The use of riffle habitats in winter was in contrast to where brook trout normally were observed in other Credit River sites (Cunjak and Power 1986a) and was explained by the relatively low focal point velocities beneath riffle cover structures caused by accumulation of debris behind which trout frequently positioned themselves (Cunjak and Power 1987). Obviously, these results underline the complex- ity of winter habitat requirements of stream fishes and our relative ignorance of what constitutes important habitat in win- ter and summer. More consideration needs to be given to the efficacy of habitat enhancement projects in winter. Calkins et al. (1989) found that frazil and anchor ice often accumulated around boulders and deflectors and eventually formed a surface ice sheet. Despite a relatively mild ice break-up in the year of study, a 70-kg boulder was displaced by ice floes and led the authors to recommend that boulders be at least 100 kg for use in such projects. Boulders, which act as cold sinks, also play a major role in the initial freeze-up process (Calkins and Brock- ett 1988). Where partially exposed above the water, boulders formed air gaps when surface ice perched on them as water levels dropped (Calkins et al. 1989). Sub-ice air gaps can be ecologically significant by inhibiting further ice growth and acting as an insulating layer, an interface for aeration, an “exit” for winter-emerging macroinvertebrates, and a corridor for sub-ice movements by fish-eating mammals (Calkins et al. 1989). Modeling habitat conditions in winter Habitat simulation models and instream flow methodologies are commonly applied throughout North America (Reiser et al. 1989), often with the objective of assisting biologists and managers in providing adequate habitat protection for aquatic resources subject to proposed streamflow alteration (Shirvell 1989; Armour and Taylor 1991). Most of the habitat-suitabil- ity curves used in these models are derived from measure- ments made during spring–autumn and are not appropriate for winter habitat simulations. In two Virginia streams, Pajak and Neves (1987) found that rock bass (Ambloplites rupestris) dis- tribution was most restricted in winter (in deep pools) and led the authors to suggest that winter conditions were probably more appropriate than summer low flows in determining habi- tat suitability for these populations. Previously cited evidence of shifts in seasonal habitat pref- erences of stream fishes and the unique hydrologic charac- teristics of an ice-covered stream in winter (e.g., Calkins and Brockett 1988; Calkins 1989; Prowse and Gridley 1993; Prowse 1994a), which the hydraulic submodel of PHABSIM cannot properly simulate, should dissuade the use of these instream flow models in winter until more appropriate simula- tions and validations are carried out (e.g., Berg 1994; Martin- son et al. 1994). Similar concerns regarding the use of these models for simulating conditions in ice-covered rivers were made by Petryk et al. (1994). Indeed, surveys of state and federal agencies concerning instream flow practices in North America (Reiser et al. 1989) found that a number of respon- dents identified the need to develop new methods for deter- mining winter flow requirements of fishes. Conclusions Stream fishes have adopted many adaptive mechanisms to meet the demands of winter. The complexity and dynamic nature of a stream in winter must be viewed from a spatial, as well as a temporal, aspect. That is, winter habitat suitability can, depending on individual preferences and local environ- mental conditions, be achieved in any number of habitat types, Fig. 5. Mean number of brook trout observed during underwater observations in two stream reaches of the Valleyfield River, Prince Edward Island, in summer (June–September 1989) and winter (December 1989–March 1990). Both sites were of similar width and length. The treatment site underwent bank-side brush (alder) removal and the installation of stream enhancement structures in 1988; no such changes occurred within the control reach, which was just upstream of the treatment. Can. J. Fish. Aquat. Sci. Vol. 53(Suppl. 1), 1996278 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf stream reaches, and basins. Further, habitat suitability and use can vary with time over the course of winter (e.g., early winter vs. late winter vs. midwinter; day vs. night). Such complexity suggests a fragility in the inter-relations between animal and habitat in winter. The frequency and prevalence of significant winter mortalities seem to emphasize this fragility. Assurance of winter habitat protection for the many life stages and species that comprise a fish community will not be an easy task for fisheries managers. Because of the variety of winter habitat preferences and the long distances that some fishes travel between summer and winter sites, the most obvi- ous advice is to maintain habitat complexity. In the case of degraded streams, winter habitat enhancement needs to restore complexity. That each stream is different and unique is known to any field biologist but an unwelcome statement to a man- ager trying to develop habitat guidelines with broad geo- graphic applicability. However, there are some generic rules regarding winter habitat that apply to all streams. These rules include the understanding that diverse, complex microhabitats and the corridors that allow access between them are essential for overwintering fishes, that summer and winter habitat re- quirements may be different, that groundwater discharge zones provide winter refugia, that ice can markedly influence habitat suitability, and that land-use activities that increase sediment loading and reduce streamflow can deleteriously al- ter availability of winter habitat. Quantitative data demonstrat- ing the importance of winter habitats, and contrasting survival under different winter conditions, are largely lacking and can only be obtained by applying the type of effort previously reserved for the spring–autumn period. Not until we consider winter as part of the field season rather than a time to work up summer data, will we be able to effectively conserve and man- age fish habitat. Acknowledgments Many individuals, too numerous to name, have assisted me over the years in accumulating much of the information pre- sented in this review. To all of them, I offer my sincere grati- tude (and sympathy). G. Power kindly provided the original of Figure 2. J. Griffith, T. McMahon, R. Randall, J. Thorpe, and K. Whalen kindly reviewed earlier versions of the manuscript. References Alexander, G.R. 1979. Predators of fish in coldwater streams. In Predator–prey systems in fisheries management. Edited by H.R. Stroud and H. Clepper. Sport Fishing Institute, Washington, D.C. pp. 153–170. Armour, C.L., and Taylor, J.G. 1991. Evaluation of the instream flow incremental methodology by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service field users. Fisheries (Bethesda), 16: 36–43. Barnes, H.T. 1928. Ice engineering. Renouf Publishing Co., Mon- tréal, Que. Barton, D.R., and Taylor, W.D. 1981. The relationship between ri- parian buffer strips and trout habitat in southern Ontario streams. 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Autumn migration and overwintering of Arctic grayling in coastal streams of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, Alaska. Trans. Am. Fish. Soc. 121: 709–715. White, K.D. 1994. Frazil floe strength measurements. In Proceedings of the Workshop on Environmental Aspects of River Ice, Saska- toon, Sask., 18–20 August 1993. Edited by T.D. Prowse. NHRI Symp. Ser. No. 12. National Hydrology Research Institute, Saska- toon, Sask., 1993. pp. 145–160. Can. J. Fish. Aquat. Sci. Vol. 53(Suppl. 1), 1996282 © 1996 NRC Canada http://www.nrc.ca/cisti/journals/cjfas_96/fishco96.pdf Abstract Résumé Introduction Characteristics of preferred winter habitat Winter habitat: aspect of scale Impacts to winter habitat from land-use activity Conclusions Acknowledgments References Tables Table 1 Table 2 Table 3 Figures Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Fig. 3 Fig. 4 Fig. 5 
work_ybozcrrxnrgcpgwxu22j5es67i	----	86 • March 2014 ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION 32:1 Ecological Restoration Vol. 32, No. 1, 2014 ISSN 1522-4740 E-ISSN 1543-4079 ©2014 by the Board of Regents of the University of Wisconsin System. SOCIAL-ECOLOGICAL LINKAGES Restoring Walden Woods and the Idyll of Thoreau II: A Recent Historical Tracing of Changing and Renegotiated Restoration Goals Laura Smith ABSTRACT Narratives of environmental restoration are subject to continual renegotiation and mediation by different groups and contexts. They are constrained by a combination of geo-political, socio-cultural, ecological, economic, legal, and moral-emotional influences. In this study, I focus on the case of Walden Woods (Massachusetts, U.S.) to provide empiri- cal evidence of the evolution and historical portrayal of environmental restoration narratives, and the nature-society interaction and management of socio-ecological systems. Through a temporal examination of restoration narratives at Walden Woods, I provide evidence on the social mechanisms for restoration and the manifestations of ‘restored nature.’ The ‘who’, ‘where’, and degree of myth creation and selection (after Hall 2005) is critiqued to highlight changes and shifts in restoration practice. I compare changing restoration narratives across three sites in Walden Woods: 1) shoreline restoration at Walden Pond (1960s–1990s); 2) restoration of the former Town of Concord landfill (1990s–2000s); and 3) the creation of Thoreau’s Path on Brister’s Hill (2000s). Here, ‘what would Thoreau want?’ is a guiding restoration goal for practitioners. A key issue for this study is the limits to myth creation, grounded in the context and materiality of nature, and how it shapes practice. Keywords: Brister’s Hill, cultural landscape restoration, myth-changing, nature, Henry David Thoreau, Walden Woods There have been many styles of res- toration through time, and these styles have changed according to knowledge bases, biases, and even fashion. (Hall 2005, pgs xii–xiii) Restoration practitioners continu-ally redefine how nature is inter- preted, for “every time an ecosystem is restored, a particular view of nature is expressed” (Higgs 2005, pg 162; also Hinchliffe (2007) and geogra- phies of nature). Phrased another way, the mutability of restoration narra- tives means that they can be molded and reshaped by different actors and contexts, with different values and meanings attached to ‘nature’. There exist multiple, and contested, natures of ecological restoration—nature(s) both in the sense of the properties of restoration and also what is restored to a site. This study provides evidence of the changes, shifts, and mutations in restoration narratives (rationales/ visions) as well as the underpinning causes/contexts and prevailing social attitudes. I develop these through the case of Walden Woods (Massachu- setts, U.S.), where restoration prac- tices extend back to the late-1950s. The purpose of ‘Walden restoration’ is to maintain the integrity and func- tionality of the landscape recorded in the writings of Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862). What is of particular interest is that while political objec- tives may have changed, and while the ‘nature’ produced through resto- ration practices may have changed, ‘Walden Woods’ as a construct (a liter- ary and historical entity) has remained unchanged throughout. The Walden context provides restorationists with an opportunity to balance environ- mental history with the claims made of literary-historical and cultural landscapes, and to construct and apply Thoreau’s environmentalism in restoration practices. In this study, I trace the evolution and mutability of restoration narra- tives through activities at three sites within Walden Woods: Walden Pond; the former Town of Concord landfill; and Thoreau’s Path on Brister’s Hill. Consideration of the wider Walden context is fundamental here. Res- toration knowledge (as understood through social expectations and expe- riences) is shaped not only by the eco- logical/geographical context, but also by historical, literary, cultural and political events and trends. A reinforc- ing of one or more of these narratives will in turn have consequences for the style of restoration that is practiced. The study concludes by considering the implications posed by the ‘idyll March 2014 ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION 32:1 • 87 of Thoreau’ (the literary landscapes and philosophical legacy of Thoreau in Walden Woods) to restoration knowl- edge, and thus policies and practices, in Walden Woods. This study tackles a weakness of existing literatures—the changing nature of restoration narratives over time. This weakness in existing lit- erature has been pointed out by Hall (2005), as well as by Eden (2002), Higgs (2005), and Clewell and Aron- son (2007), among others. It is Hall’s understanding of nature myths, “those collective, often explanatory set of assumptions that people hold about the nature of nature” (2005, pg 10), and subsequent scrutiny of myth- changing—that “Only by switching myths can one justify different ways to restore” (2005, pg 233)—which is taken forward in this study, and of particular interest are the claims and, in some instances, tensions that are bound up therein. The definition of restoration put forward by the Society for Ecological Restoration (SER) is introduced here as a marker against which to gauge shifts and mutations in restoration practices on the ground. Restoration is defined as “the process of assisting the recovery of an ecosys- tem that has been degraded, damaged or destroyed” (SER 2004, pg 3), with the idea of ‘recovery’ further qualified: “intentional activity that initiates or accelerates the recovery of an ecosys- tem with respect to its health, integrity and sustainability” (SER 2004, pg 1). The Politics of Cultural Landscape Restoration and the Legitimizing Question: What Would Thoreau Want? Narratives of restoration inevitably mediate between different attach- ments to, and perceptions of, space and place, fostering and reinforcing some and downplaying others. The socio-cultural construction of ideas of space and place are fundamental to restoration: such constructions are acutely site-specific, applying Figure 1. The location of Walden Pond (site A), the former Town of Concord landfill (site B), and Brister’s Hill (site C) in Walden Woods, Massachusetts, USA. Map Credit: Burne/WWP for the author 2011. dominant meanings to areas, but they are not necessarily proportional. Ratio- nalizations of practice may combine the local and the abstract in varying ways. Spatial and scalar constructs (of context-embeddedness, abstrac- tion and transferability, alongside eco- logical and political influences) are integral to the shaping of restoration narratives, and the mutability of such narratives. There are three case studies I wish to draw upon in developing a focused historical narrative detailing how restoration has changed at Walden: these include the shoreline restora- tion at Walden Pond, restoration of the former Town of Concord landfill, and the creation of Thoreau’s Path on Brister’s Hill (Figure 1). Of particular interest are how and why narratives of restoration have changed over time and the consequences of these chang- ing narratives. Here I ask, how are narratives limited and shaped by the institutional context and the physical condition of particular sites? As Hall (2005, pg 202) argues, “More than a problem of semantics, the subtle dif- ferences in these various definitions 88 • March 2014 ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION 32:1 can lead to the creation of dramati- cally different landscapes.” The cases also illustrate how restoration knowl- edges and the imaginative landscapes of Thoreau are used and represented in these processes. Study Methodology I used a variety of strategies to gain information about myth-changing in restoration practices. I started with participant observation through an extended research placement at the Walden Woods Project (WWP; Lin- coln, MA) in 2007. Over the course of the placement, I took part in the Discovering Walden Woods outing series, and attended many of the lec- tures of the Approaching Walden pro- fessional development seminars for teachers and graduate students. To fur- ther understand the changing nature of restoration, I interviewed staff at the Walden Woods Project as well as staff from organizations with links (collaborative, geographic, literary, personnel) to the WWP. These organi- zations included: Department of Con- servation and Recreation, Estabrook Woods Alliance, Friends of Thoreau Country, Massachusetts Audubon Society, Sasaki Associates Inc, Thoreau Society, Walden Pond Board of Direc- tors, Walden Pond State Reservation (all MA); the Caddo Lake Institute (TX); RESTORE The North Woods (ME); and the Sand County Foun- dation (WI). Many of the research participants were actively involved in restoration practices at Walden Woods throughout the 1980s and 1990s (as planners, landscape architects, ecolo- gists, and land managers), and had a degree of control over what they chose to do. Material from the inter- views also provided the context for a visual ethnography of sites to illustrate how restoration narratives are put into practice. I also had the opportunity to draw upon and utilize resources from the Henley Library of the Tho- reau Institute at Walden Woods and the Concord Free Public Library, for further material relating to Tho- reau, the environmental and literary history of Concord and Lincoln, and the development of conservation and restoration philosophies in the area. Case Study 1: Shoreline Restoration at Walden Pond (1960s–1990s) Walden Pond has a long history as a site for recreation, not least because of its location 25 miles from Boston, and is the deepest natural body of water in Massachusetts. As evidence of this, the 1940s witnessed the establishment of a bathhouse, changing rooms and a concrete swimming dock. As a conse- quence, conservation was thus down- played, such that: “Middlesex County saw their role as providing the recre- ation piece and supporting recreation, and so that was their idea of how to do that” (Mass Audubon interview #1). Today, only the bathhouse remains. Restoration efforts at Walden Pond (Figure 2) commenced in the late- 1950s, with the restoration of Red Cross Beach (Maynard 2005, Wheeler 2005). In 1957, Middlesex County began work to create a new beach area, and were taken to court by the Save Walden Committee (formed within the Thoreau Society) for destroying ‘the Walden of Emerson and Thoreau’ (a cultural construct with much emo- tional weighting, as well as institu- tionalized gravitas), as set down in the 1922 Deed of Gift. Somewhat paradoxically, the Town of Concord had agreed three years earlier to site a municipal landfill within Walden Woods, without opposition. Trees along the shoreline of Walden Pond were felled, with part of the bank also cut away and moved into the Pond. As a consequence of the court case, in 1960 the Middlesex County Commissioners were required to: Restore ‘the Walden of Emerson and Thoreau’, to the extent that restora- tion is practicable [. . .] ‘to restore much of the sylvan charm of the denuded area’ by proper replant- ing of trees and shrubbery, and that such replanting and reforestation could be accomplished more effec- tively by removing the roadway and building new contours with addi- tional fill [. . .]; that it would be practical to restore the demolished section of the ancient foot-path encircling the pond [. . .]; and that the proposed new bathhouse would ‘mar the beauty of the shore.’ [. . .] steps should be taken to prevent erosion in the area and to restore the foot-path. (Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1958, pg 12) The literary/imaginative landscapes of Thoreau were used in this process to justify restoration practices at Red Cross Beach. Nevertheless, the County Commissioners of Middle- sex County (1958) acknowledge that: “After 115 years, who knows what was ‘the Walden of Emerson and Thoreau’”, introducing an element of human choice in the restoration. For one research participant, the restora- tion of Red Cross Beach is ‘authentic’, because: They brought in deposits, restored the original contours, and then planted trees, so that now you can hardly tell where that was. That in my opinion is ecological restoration. (FOTC interview #1) In the 1960s, Middlesex County applied a particular reading of ‘envi- ronmental restoration’ to the Pond area, and introduced timber cribbing at multiple sites—representative of stadium seating—due to the Coun- ty’s explicit focus on recreation. Other efforts to stabilize and restore the shoreline have involved the use of rip- rap, paving sections of the trail, and a boardwalk—none of which remain today. By the 1980s, the interpretation of ‘restoration’ had shifted towards a need to “de-emphasize the recre- ation and re-emphasize the historical aspects” (Mass Audubon interview #1); in effect to restore ‘the right kind of connection’ with a particular, pre- ferred past. The ‘Walden restoration’ March 2014 ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION 32:1 • 89 narrative is also limited and shaped by the institutional context, with restora- tion practices framed within wider conservation (rather than recreation) objectives. Shifts in the goals and con- text of restoration, and their gover- nance and control, are a reflection of the political history at Walden Pond. A balancing act between restora- tion and recreation was evident in the DEM/DCR restoration program of the 1980s and 1990s for Walden Pond, as it paralleled management deci- sions to limit the number of visitors, preventing restoration efforts being negated by over-use. Recreational overuse is still a driving management issue, especially for Walden Pond and Walden Pond State Reservation. This is qualified such that: “the Pond edge restoration that went on moved it back to kind of its natural state, but it didn’t ignore the fact that accessibility, and the ability for the general public to use it, had to be accommodated” (Walden Pond Board of Directors interview #1). A tension existed here surround- ing the necessity of a public bene- fit dimension of restoration, which almost always in practice means more visitors, with their own consequences in terms of ecological services. A tell- ing statement from the study revealed the tensions inherent in restoration practices at Walden Pond State Res- ervation: “we have tried to make it as natural as possible, but so that people can still use it” (WPSR interview #2). While organizations may not seek to actively dominate and control nature through environmental restoration practices, ideas of ‘nature’ and ‘natu- ralness’ are nevertheless framed by, and constructed within, societal choices and expectations. The term ‘restoration’ is used explic- itly by Walden Pond State Reservation, as seen on a panel at the entrance to Walden Pond on Route 126, outlining the restoration schedule for the Pond. It cites: “Walden Pond is undergoing a major trail improvement and bank res- toration project [. . .] Once completed, the shoreline will be restored to its native condition, not seen in 75 years.” Furthermore, the restoration schedule of 1996–1997/1997–1998 detailed on the panel proposes a bio-engineering approach, primarily through brush layering, bundled fascines and live stakings; as well as restricting access to the shoreline. In addition, the concrete pier and two concrete changing rooms were removed, and the beach restored. As the beach was not a natural feature, what this demonstrates is restoration to the recreational goals of an earlier time, and not necessarily an ecological restoration. The shoreline restoration of Walden Pond provides a contrast to the fol- lowing case studies of restoration within Walden Woods, for while the case at the Pond represents restoration sensu stricto (historically accurate, or Figure 2. Walden Pond. Top: the restoration of Red Cross Beach and its slopes; bottom left: shoreline stabilization; bottom center-left: DCR trail request; bottom center-right: trail and planting on slopes; bottom right: field stones as site stabilization along the trail. Photo Credit: Laura Smith. 90 • March 2014 ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION 32:1 perhaps, an imagined historical accu- racy), the remaining cases are rep- resentative of restoration sensu lato (functional) (Aronson et al. 1993). Nevertheless, restoration practices are guided both by assumptions of soci- ety’s place within nature, and by a sense of the past. Case Study 2: Restoration of the Former Town of Concord Landfill (1990s–2000s) The Town of Concord landfill opened in 1954 and was closed to landfill activity in 1994. The Walden Woods Project has been working with Mass Audubon, Sasaki Associates, and the Town of Concord to ‘restore’ native grassland on the 30-acre capped por- tion, and hand it over to DCR as a part of Walden Woods (Figure 3). The landfill remains the single outstanding piece of unprotected land surround- ing Walden Pond, with the Landfill Study Committee (2003, pg 4) com- menting: “The Landfill Site would be an important and significant asset to the Walden Pond State Reservation.” Owned by the Town, the landfill was not slated for habitat conservation, because of perceived future develop- ment value, but as of April 2013, the Concord Board of Selectmen voted “unanimously to Support Article 12, to authorize the sale of a Conserva- tion Restriction over the former land- fill at Walden to the Walden Woods Project. They also voted unanimously to Oppose Article 13, which would result in a bus depot being built at the Walden Site” (WWP 2013). The grassland restoration emerged from the work of Collins et al. (2000), who put forward three Vision Plans for the site: 1) maintain the capped area as open grassland; 2) establish rotating succession areas; or 3) allow parts of the capped area to reforest— with Vision 1 advanced. Mass Audu- bon drew upon its Grassland Conser- vation Program (established in 1993; see Mass Audubon 2001) to promote a mix of grass species for the landfill that was a compatible grassland habitat for the area. This was in contrast to the Town’s own proposal for capping the site, for as a representative from Sasaki Associates remarks: It was landscape architecture prac- ticed by a civil engineering firm hired to be landscape architects— stick some trees along it. It had nothing to do with restoration of a grassland habitat. (Sasaki Associates interview #1) Grassland is arguably just as incon- gruous (aesthetically) as the previous landfill, but the decision to intro- duce a grassland habitat was two- fold: 1) insufficient soil depth on the capped landfill would prevent the dense planting of trees; and 2) with grassland habitat diminishing in New England, any new grassland habitat creation is highly coveted by Mass Audubon (Sasaki Associates inter- view #1). Walden’s place in the wider historic colonial landscape is also revealed here: meadow shaped the colonial landscape of Paul Revere (cf. Minute Man National Historic Park, Lexington, MA), and its echo at the landfill reconnects with this cultural- historical moment. Restoration prac- tices are limited by the physicality of the site, with the ‘nature’ of restored Figure 3. The former Town of Concord landfill. Top: panoramic view of the capped site; bottom left and right: grassland planting atop the capped site. Photo Credit: Laura Smith. March 2014 ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION 32:1 • 91 nature negotiated by wider ecologi- cal, cultural and technical/chemical narratives. The site is a prime example of restor- ing natural capital to an area and of promoting a landscape type compat- ible with the wider landscape, within the constraints of a polluted site. As Collins et al. (2000, pg 23) noted: “The vegetation on Brister’s Hill and the landfill can all be classified as cul- tural; that is, all of the current vegeta- tion has been fundamentally shaped by recent human land use.” How- ever, a portion of the site is still used by Concord Public Works (CPW) for activities such as the storage of ploughed snow and street sweepings; and composting and wood chipping operations—limiting the full resto- ration of the landfill site. Yet in the closure and restoration of the landfill, a social space promoting community recycling has also been lost—a space where ‘green’ local residents would gather to exchange materials prior to dumping. In this instance, a narrative of restoration has replaced those of reuse, recycling, and reinvestment to promote a new environmental locale and consciousness. There is equally a concern that the restoration of the landfill does not constitute an ‘ecological restora- tion’, as exemplified in the following statement, with the grassland simply ‘making the best of a bad situation:’ I’m grateful that it’s closed, but I think that capping it the way it was done was not ecological res- toration—because it’s grassland, it’s open habitat; mainly for birds. But it’s not Walden Woods. It’s sur- rounded by Walden Woods, but it can’t be Walden Woods because the substrate is not correct. It’s not the glacial deposits, and it’s not a replacement of those glacial deposits. (FOTC interview #1) Case Study 3: Thoreau’s Path on Brister’s Hill (2000s) Environmental restoration practices at Brister’s Hill have sought to coun- ter the ecological damage resulting from sand and gravel extraction in the 1960s, and more recently from off-road vehicle trails and the illegal dumping of garbage. Restoration at Brister’s Hill is realized through the creation of an interpretive trail. A collaboration between the Walden Woods Project, Mass Audubon, and Sasaki Associates, Thoreau’s Path on Brister’s Hill (Figure 4) encompasses a loop path and ‘reflection circle’, the latter a “ring of granite, incised with quotations, [which] brings together a diverse group of leaders and thinkers whose words echo and extend Tho- reau’s, and whose wisdom, like his, is timeless” (WWP 2006b, pg 9). This restoration serves to restore a literary, historical, and cultural connection with the land through the writings of Thoreau, by siting quotes from Thoreau throughout the landscape to highlight and bring attention to the landscape condition. The Path highlights five impor- tant contributions made by Thoreau through his writings: conservation (Entry Meadow); social reform and commentary (Brister’s Orchard); teaching and observing (Sand Plain/ Grassland); science (Forest Succes- sion); and Thoreau’s philosophy Figure 4. Thoreau’s Path on Brister’s Hill. Top left: entrance to Brister’s Hill from Walden Street/Route 126; top center-left: ‘I wish to speak a word for nature’ (Entry Meadow); top center-right: the path through the meadow; top right: ‘I see in the open field . . .’ (forest succession); bottom left: ‘What though the woods be cut down . . .’ (grassland;, bottom center: ‘Heaven is under our feet . . .’ (entry meadow); bottom right: Reflection Circle. Photo Credit: Laura Smith. 92 • March 2014 ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION 32:1 and influence on others (Reflection Circle) (WWP 2006a). The physical condition of the site and the imagi- nary of Thoreau come together in the restoration narrative at Brister’s Hill. Within the context of the Brister’s Hill site, an interesting case emerges concerning the planting of pitch pine (Pinus rigida) and white pine (Pinus strobus). There is a predominance of white pine in the landscape, to the detriment of oak and pitch pine stands which might have been more common in the region before the land was cleared (Mass Audubon interview #3). Pitch pine is favored in areas with sandier soils, and where fires occur (such as Walden Woods), as it has a better fire resistance than white pine. For this reason, restoration efforts at Brister’s Hill sought to promote the establishment of pitch pine stands, not only for its congruence with the 1840s of Thoreau, but for its physiological characteristics. As the Walden Woods Project (2006c) acknowledges of Thoreau’s Path: “Like the capped landfill across Route 2, the Walden Woods Project has restored this small section of Bris- ter’s Hill with native grasses to pro- vide habitat for some of those species and to enhance overall diversity of the site.” A distinction is nonetheless made between the ‘restoration’ of the landfill and of Brister’s Hill: [Of the landfill:] that is ecological restoration, but it’s a different end point than the restoration that Bris- ter’s Hill is going to undergo over time. [Of Brister’s Hill:] that site was heavily altered and its restoration (essentially through benign neglect, but with a little bit of help from us) is going to go back to mature native forest (over time). So that will actu- ally be restored to a landscape that looks more or less like it did before all that gravel extraction happened. (WWP interview #1) This distinction is such that of all the restoration activities undertaken by the Walden Woods Project, it is the resto- ration of Brister’s Hill and the creation of Thoreau’s Path which is formal- ized as an example of ‘environmental restoration’ by WWP staff. A further example of environmental restoration at Brister’s Hill is realized in the proposed Walden Passage, a combined wildlife-recreational cross- ing spanning Route 2. A feasibility study produced by UMass Amherst (2007) identified three locations (and a no-build option) for a combined pedestrian and wildlife highway over- pass for the area, with the proposal near Goose Pond ‘show[ing] the most merit.’ A crossing near Goose Pond would also complement the four exist- ing wildlife underpasses/crossing cul- verts installed along Route 2 in 2005 by MassDOT. Moreover, locating the crossing at Goose Pond would link the Hapgood Wright Town Forest and Brister’s Hill with Walden Pond State Reservation, and it: Includes a number of landscape fea- tures directly associated with nine- teenth-century intellectual life of Concord. Fairyland Pond, named by Thoreau, and the surrounding area were frequently visited by a number of notable walkers. Goose Pond, Bris- ter’s Hill, Brister’s Spring, and other nearby (and still extant) landscape features are all mentioned by Tho- reau in his journals or in Walden. Of the three alternatives, this location has the highest number of nearby features with historical associations and with a good degree of integrity. It therefore offers the most potential for conveying the significance of the cultural landscape—particularly as it relates to the nineteenth century—to human users of the crossing. (UMass Amherst 2007, pgs 65–66) Once again, the historic landscape context combines with the imagi- nary of Thoreau to mold restoration practices. The Changing Nature of ‘Walden Restoration’ The shoreline restoration at Walden Pond in the 1960s, continuing through into the 1980s and 1990s, prioritizes restoration-as-replication narratives (and those of return), to ‘keep it like it was’; to emulate ‘the Walden of Emerson and Thoreau’. The restoration of the landfill and of Brister’s Hill illustrates a shift in narratives, to restoration-as-repair (see SER 2004), to repair damage, or replace or renew ecological structure and function. Subsumed within the repair narrative as applied to Brister’s Hill are narratives of natural regenera- tion by ‘the natural’, allowing natural processes of regeneration and succes- sion to dominate. Two restoration narratives to cross-cut all three cases are restoration-as-removing-anthropo- genic-influences, that is, reversing or countering negative human interven- tions in the landscape; and restora- tion-as-restoring-natural-capital—but it is ‘natural capital’ in the sense of ‘re-greening’, rather than as produc- ing ecosystem goods and services to support socio-economic wellbeing. A further re-organizing of Walden restoration narratives to simplify this complexity might be to view ecologi- cal restoration as a subset of environ- mental restoration. Ecologists and their methods reveal one restoration vision, as illustrated at the Concord landfill. Likewise, another subset— cultural landscape restoration—might be applied to the restoration of both Walden Pond and Brister’s Hill. Tensions arise out of conflicting narratives of ‘Walden restoration’, not least because restoration is compli- cated by literary, historical and cul- tural legacies—“you can’t hire a lawn service to go out there” (Sasaki Asso- ciates interview #1). Moreover, not all narratives woven into the Walden landscape are concerned with restora- tion; wider aesthetics are relevant too. “A lot of times you assume people have the values that you do, and of course they’re going to want it to be like this March 2014 ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION 32:1 • 93 and this is going to make it better. Then you realise no, they just want it to be convenient” (WPSR inter- view #1). Restoration practitioners in Walden Woods frequently have to juggle multiple restoration visions in their work, and the durability of a narrative/vision is essential, as “people take a term and run with it, and then actually ‘degrade’ it in a sense, to the point that it almost doesn’t mean anything anymore. So you have to know exactly what your definition of restoration is” (FOTC interview #1). The complexity bound up in the practice of environmental restoration is such that it “may be less a process of remedying damaged natural systems than of discovering our biases about environmental damage, less a process of re-creating past landscapes than of discovering our myths about ideal- ized landscapes” (Hall 2005, pg 238). What emerges is a parody of the land- scapes of Thoreau, where ‘nature’ and ‘restored nature’ are homogenized, to reflect or echo ‘the Walden of Emerson and Thoreau.’ Indeed, ‘what would Thoreau want?’ seems to be a key legitimiz- ing question for restoration practitio- ners. As Thoreau (1859 in Thoreau 2007, pgs 405–406) argues: “Each town should have a park, or rather a primitive forest, of five hundred or a thousand acres, where a stick should never be cut for fuel, a common pos- session forever, for instruction and recreation [. . .] inalienable forever. Let us keep the New World new, pre- serve all the advantages of living in the country.” Furthermore, changes and shifts have taken place because of the materiality of particular contexts, the regulations that surround them (such as limits as to what can be done on landfill sites), or because key project actors have changed/moved between organizations or changed their views over time. Where Does the Idyll of Thoreau Leave Restoration Policies and Practices in Walden Woods and Beyond? Efforts to think through what Tho- reau might want or see have come to provide legitimation for practices— once again reinforcing the impor- tance placed on the idyll of Thoreau in environmental decision-making. Hinchliffe (2007) has reported on geographies of nature, and what is evi- dent at Walden is a series of imagined geographies of nature, where ‘nature’ takes as its reference the construct of ‘the Walden of Emerson and Thoreau.’ The landscapes and writings of Tho- reau are brought to the forefront in restoration and wider political/politi- cized debates, and are translated into practices—such as planting schemes/ plans—through reference to the veg- etation and land uses of the 1840s (Schofield and Bush-Brown undated). One such example is the selection of planting materials for the shoreline restoration at Walden Pond—even though grasses are better for anchor- ing the soil, it is Thoreau’s botanical observations and recordings of the trees of Walden that informed the restoration decision. Such imagined geographies of nature take forward ‘nature(s)’ that are sympathetic to the idyll of Thoreau, but which also maintain the integrity, functionality and future condition of the landscape. This is echoed in a statement from the National Park Service (2002, pg 16), for “its integrity remains remarkably high. One can still see and understand the landscape encountered by Tho- reau, even with the losses and changes. Present land use continues to reflect the historic pattern.” As a research participant also notes, “You can come here, to Walden Woods, a good deal of it is very much like it was. You can go to so many places that Thoreau wrote about, and studied, and they’re still there” (WWP interview #5). Despite this, there are several plants in the Thoreau Institute grounds today which Thoreau would not have recognized. Largely the pres- ence of these is the result of garden- ing; the beautification of gardens and private land (Field Journal: WWP). There is also less open space today within Walden Woods—if it was to be restored to a state similar to the 1840s, it would require the felling of trees to mirror Walden’s previ- ous use as a woodlot (Field Journal: WWP). As Thoreau acknowledges, “This winter they are cutting down our woods more seriously than ever— Fair Haven Hill—Walden—Linnaea Borealis wood &c &c [etc., etc.]. Thank God they cannot cut down the clouds!” (Thoreau 1852 in Tho- reau 2007, pg 125) and “Though they are cutting off the woods at Walden it is not all loss. It makes some new and unexpected prospects” (Thoreau 1852 in Thoreau 2007, pg 131). Such examples as those above raise the question of historical fidelity and restoration imperialism, and the place of imagined geographies of nature in restoration narratives (cf. Frederick Law Olmsted and ‘restoration’ of the Back Bay Fens, Boston, MA). A key narrative which ‘talks back to’ restoration knowledge at Walden Woods concerns balancing and regu- lating the ‘demand’ for, and ‘supply’ of, nature. The popularity of Walden as a site of literary and historical signif- icance, alongside recreation, informed the perceived need for a carrying capacity study. A report compiled by Gardiner and Associates (1974) pro- posed limiting the number of people in the Reservation at any one time to 1,000 people. As such, car parking facilities were designed to comple- ment this, with 350 spaces provided (based on an average of three people per car). Prior to this, cars would pull off Routes 2 and 126 and park on the edge of the Woods, or in the local High School grounds. Although the establishment of a carrying capacity is beneficial (with additional cars turned away), it does not mediate or con- trol variations in use of the Woods. As one research participant (Walden 94 • March 2014 ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION 32:1 Pond Board of Directors interview #1) argues, “The problem being that on a hot summer day, all 1,000 people may be there to swim; on an autumn after- noon, it may be 1,000 people there, but they’re all walking around looking at foliage—you get this tremendous swing in what people’s interests are.” Another narrative framing restora- tion knowledge at Walden focuses on the importance of social and cultural history. The Walden Woods Project serves to safeguard the landscapes writ- ten about and experienced by Tho- reau. Much of Thoreau’s writing links social responsibility and environmen- tal stewardship; and it was at Brister’s Hill that Thoreau formed his theory of the ecological succession of plant spe- cies through seed dispersal—The Suc- cession of Forest Trees (Thoreau 1860) and The Dispersion of Seeds (in Tho- reau 1993). For the Walden Woods Project (2007, Part III), “Directly or indirectly, social history is inevitably tied to the surrounding landscape that is home. When words and landscape come together, they bring to life the connections between the social and natural histories of home place.” As a research participant (WWP interview #6) also notes, the Path “brings Tho- reau’s words to the landscape and uses them in a metaphorical way on the site that he did so frequently in his own writing.” What is of particular interest for restoration knowledge is the inter- action between Thoreau’s vision (his words), the landscape, and restoration technology and design. Conclusion The case of Walden Woods illustrated in this study provides restorationists with an understanding of how res- toration knowledges (and narratives) come to be mobilized in a particular space at a particular time. Here I pro- vide evidence of the claims that are made of a landscape over time, and how landscapes are reconfigured to reflect those claims—as in the imag- ined geographies of nature. Over the past six decades, restoration practices have assumed many forms in Walden Woods—from shoreline restoration at Walden Pond, to the capping and restoration of the Concord landfill, to the creation of an interpretive trail on Brister’s Hill. Early restoration prac- tices were very much governed by nar- ratives of recreation provision, taking forward a hard engineering approach, with later restoration practices con- cerned with conservation, in turn favoring soft engineering approaches. What is of particular interest is that while the nature of ‘restored nature’ varies from site to site, embedded and site-specific, the ‘Walden’ construct remains unaltered. This is due in part to all restoration practices operating against a backdrop of maintaining the integrity and functionality of ‘the Walden of Emerson and Thoreau.’ The Walden of Emerson and Tho- reau seems like an appropriate goal for Walden’s restoration, granted that 1) many visitors ground their under- standing of the Pond and Woods in Thoreau’s writings and philosophy, and 2) this is often the principal reason for the visit. This epoch in Walden’s history carries so much liter- ary, cultural and historical gravitas that it has come to overshadow a Walden of pre-Columbian Indians as well as a Walden of C20th, even C21st, America. What the Walden situation illustrates is how restoration narratives provide opportunities for the contin- ued reinterpretation of what it means to restore—a reflection of where pri- orities lie in addressing environmental destruction and degradation. It can also be argued, however, that the mutability of language makes it difficult to formulate any challenges to the practices involved, and allows restoration practitioners to control the relationship between past, pres- ent, and future landscapes (echoing Hall’s (2005) claim that switching nature myths allows one to justify dif- ferent ways of restoring nature). No single restoration narrative takes pre- cedence, instead, each serves to guide and inform the direction of a par- ticular restoration scheme, ensuring a more strategic approach than simply being ‘fit for purpose;’ one designed to persuade (or even reassure) within particular arenas. Acknowledgements I am grateful for the support and research opportunities of Matt Burne, Jeff Cramer and others at the Walden Woods Project and Thoreau Institute at Walden Woods, and for the feedback on earlier drafts from Martin Haigh, Richard Cowell, Jon Anderson and Paul Cloke. This doctoral research was supported by a Postgraduate Studentship (+3) from the Economic and Social Research Council (award number PTA-030-2005-00680). References Aronson, J., C. Floret, E. Le Floc’h, C. Ovalle and R. Pontanier. 1993. Resto- ration and rehabilitation of degraded ecosystems in arid and semi-arid lands. I. A view from the south. Restoration Ecology 1:8–17. Clewell, A.F. and J. Aronson. 2007. Eco- logical Restoration: Principles, Values, and Structure of an Emerging Profession. Washington, D.C.: Island Press. Collins, J., B. Giezentanner, S. Handel and C. Hawryluk. 2000. Ecologi- cal Inventory and Conservation Man- agement Plan for Brister’s Hill and the Concord Landfill, Concord, Mas- sachusetts. Lincoln, MA: Massachu- setts Audubon Society, Ecological Extension Service. Commonwealth of Massachusetts. 1958. John E Nickols, et al. v. William G Andrew, et al: Petitioners’ Memoran- dum of Law in Support of Final Decree. Statement of the Case. 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Pages 429–443 in E.H. Witherell (ed), Thoreau: Collected Essays and Poems. New York, NY: Library of America. Thoreau, H.D. 2007. I to Myself: An Anno- tated Selection from the Journal of Henry D. Thoreau. J.S. Cramer (ed). New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. UMass Amherst. 2007. Walden Passage Feasibility Study. December 2007. www.umass.edu/waldenpassage/Final %20Report/Walden%20Passage%20 Final%20Report.pdf. Walden Woods Project. 2006a. Dedication of Thoreau’s Path on Brister’s Hill. Notes from Walden Woods: The Annual Newsletter of the Walden Woods Project and Thoreau Institute at Walden Woods. 2006–2007. Lincoln, MA: Walden Woods Project. 4–5. Walden Woods Project. 2006b. Thore- au’s Path on Brister’s Hill in Walden Woods, Concord, Massachusetts. Dedica- tion Ceremony May 15, 2006. Lincoln, MA: Walden Woods Project. Walden Woods Project. 2006c. Thoreau’s Path on Brister’s Hill: in Walden Woods, Concord, Massachusetts. Lincoln, MA: Walden Woods Project. 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work_ydw6j4latngthc45gwdeiomuqe	----	Why did history vote many times in his favor? Four reasons for McHarg’s achievements in socio-ecological practice research | SpringerLink Advertisement Search Log in Search SpringerLink Search Research Article Published: 20 August 2019 Why did history vote many times in his favor? Four reasons for McHarg’s achievements in socio-ecological practice research Wei-Ning Xiang1,2  Socio-Ecological Practice Research volume 1, pages359–369(2019)Cite this article 1383 Accesses 3 Citations Metrics details Abstract In two articles recently published in this journal, Wei-Ning Xiang presents four instances of Ian McHarg’s effective, time-honored socio-ecological practice research and raises the question of why he was so successful in discovering and articulating truth in these exemplary cases. In this knowledge I&I (implementation and impact) research article, the author digs into the question through a lens of ecopracticology (the study of socio-ecological practice, that is) and presents four reasons for McHarg’s achievements: (1) a proud member of the “crypto-pseudo-quasi-scientist” club; (2) a pragmatic way of knowing; (3) an ethical belief in human beings’ enlightened self-interest; and (4) a classic style of writing. This is a preview of subscription content, access via your institution. Access options Buy single article Instant access to the full article PDF. US$ 39.95 Tax calculation will be finalised during checkout. Rent this article via DeepDyve. Learn more about Institutional subscriptions Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Notes 1.Socio-ecological practice research is the fine-grained, evidence-based research of socio-ecological practice (Xiang 2019b, p. 11). “Socio-ecological practice is the human action and social process that take place in specific socio-ecological context to bring about a secure, harmonious, and sustainable socio-ecological condition serving human beings’ need for survival, development, and flourishing. It … includes six distinct yet intertwining classes of human action and social process—planning, design, construction, restoration, conservation, and management” (Ibid., p. 8). 2.By definition, ecological restoration is “[t]he process of assisting the recovery of an ecosystem that has been degraded, damaged, or destroyed” (Society for Ecological Restoration, https://www.ser.org/, accessed March 18, 2019). 3.The phrase “McHarg had it right” is borrowed from American ecological planner and educator Frederick Steiner (See Appendix in Xiang 2019d, p. 168). It was cited by Xiang in his showcase of McHarg’s 1968 Staten Island study (Xiang 2019d, p. 166). 4.“[A]ll achievement, all earned riches, have their beginning in an idea!” (Hill 1937, p. xi). 5.There are different ways by which truth is defined and proved. The one adopted in this article is that of pragmatism defined by William James. Along with Charles Sanders Peirce and John Dewey, James is one of three founding fathers of pragmatism, a school of philosophical thought that began in the United States in the late 19th century as a rejective response to certain then-dominant epistemological assumptions in philosophy about the nature of truth, objectivity, and rationality (LaFollette 2000, p. 400). In a 1907 article entitled “Pragmatism's conception of truth,” James states, “Truth … is a property of certain of our ideas. It means their 'agreement,' as falsity means their disagreement, with 'reality’” (James 1907, p. 141). “Realities mean, then, either concrete facts, or abstract kinds of things, and relations perceived intuitively between them. But what now does 'agreement' with such realities mean? … Any idea that helps us to deal with either the reality or its belongings, that doesn't entangle our progress in frustrations, that fits, in fact, and adapts our life to the reality's whole setting, will agree sufficiently to meet the requirement. It will hold true of that reality” (Ibid., pp. 146–147). In short, truth of an idea or concept is preeminently to be tested by its practical consequences (Merriam-Webster Dictionary, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/pragmatism, accessed March 27, 2019). It is noteworthy that this pragmatic ideal of truth is shared among many thinkers around the world and across history. For example, in a 1937 essay entitled On practice: on the relation between knowledge and practice, between knowing and doing, Chinese philosopher Mao Tse-Tung presents a famous phrase “[o]nly social practice can be the criterion of truth” (Mao 1937, p. 297) [a translation of “真理的标准只能是社会的实践” (毛泽东 1937, p. 284)], and calls the pragmatic ideal “the primary and basic standpoint in the dialectical-materialist theory of knowledge” (Ibid.). In the same pragmatic vein, a piece of knowledge, or an idea, is useful to practitioners if and only if it is directly relevant, immediately actionable, and foreseeably efficacious (Xiang, 2019a, p. 1; Xiang 2019b, p. 9). 6.Such a confirmation coincides with what James calls an “event” (James 1907, p. 142) in “the truth-process” (Ibid., p. 144). “The truth of an idea is not a stagnant property inherent in it. Truth happens to an idea. It (the idea—the author) becomes true, is made true by events. Its verity is in fact an event, a process, the process, namely, of its verifying itself, its verification” (Ibid., p. 142). 7.This statement and the title of Table 1 are both inspired by a 2011 book entitled Clear and simple as the truth by American literary scholars Francis-Noël Thomas and Mark Turner. In this book, the authors advocate a writing style through which writers present truth in a clear and simple way. A discussion about McHarg’s effective use of this style of writing in his articulation of those nuggets of truth in Table 1 is provided in Sect. 6 of this article. 8.Knowing reasons for McHarg’s success is a first and critical step to following his example as a leader in socio-ecological practice research. However, leadership in general, and reasons for leadership success (or failure) in particular, have rarely, if ever, been topics of scholarly inquiry on socio-ecological practice. To attend this missing link, in his 2019 article “Ecopracticology: the study of socio-ecological practice,” Xiang calls for investigations into questions pertaining to practitioners’ leadership in socio-ecological practice, and to scholar–practitioners’ leadership in socio-ecological practice research (Xiang 2019b, p. 9). One of these is the question about “why some practitioners at leadership level performed well (in socio-ecological practice—the author), while others did not”; and the other “in the exemplary cases of socio-ecological practice research that have lasting, positive impacts, how ecophronetic scholar–practitioners (i.e., scholar–practitioners of ecological practical wisdom) worked in Pasteur’s quadrant to create the type of knowledge that is useful to practitioners and enlightening to fellow scholars” (Ibid.). The inquiry in the following sections is an attempt in this direction. 9.When did McHarg actually write this essay? After much investigation, the author remained unsuccessful to find the answer. 10.“Brookhaven National Laboratory (BNL) is a multipurpose research institution funded primarily by the U.S. Department of Energy’s Office of Science. Located on the center of Long Island, New York, Brookhaven Lab brings world-class facilities and expertise to the most exciting and important questions in basic and applied science—from the birth of our universe to the sustainable energy technology of tomorrow” (https://www.bnl.gov/about/ accessed March 22nd, 2019). 11.Why so? Taleb offers an interesting observation from a unique angle (Taleb 2012, p. 227). “Self-directed scholarship (of the enlightened amateurs—the author) has an aesthetic dimension. For a long time I had on the wall of my study the following quote by Jacques Le Goff, the great French medievalist, who believes that the Renaissance came out of independent humanists, not professional scholars … ‘One is a professor (the professional scholar—the author) surrounded and besieged by hundred students. The other (the enlightened amateur humanist—the author) is a solitary scholar, sitting in the tranquility and privacy of his chambers, at ease in the spacious and comfy room where his thoughts can move freely. Here we encounter the tumult of schools, the dust of classrooms, the indifference to beauty in collective workplaces. There, it is all order and beauty …’.” 12.The use of “crypto-pseudo-quasi-scientist” in this article serves a dual purpose. It honors with great admiration McHarg’s humorous and humble self-designation, and helps highlight his own pragmatic, ethical way of knowing and classic style of writing which served well his socio-ecological practice and practice research in the four instances showcased in Xiang (2019c and 2019d). As such, it complements the remarks Orr makes in the following passages (Orr 2007, p. 9). “Just ignore his (McHarg’s—the author) loud protest that he was not a scientist” and (ignore his own claim—the author) “that he was only a ‘quasi-pseudo-crypto-scientist’ (should be ‘crypto-pseudo-quasi-scientist’ instead–the author) with a non-status theory.” “Although not a laboratory or experimental scientist, his commitment to truth, his keen recording skills, and his capacity for communication lead me to claim as vociferously as he denied it: McHarg indeed was a scientist.” 13.This is in fact the “rarely explicated yet perhaps more plausible reason” for “the untenable status quo of the ES (ecosystems services—the author) scholarly enterprise in accomplishing the ambition to inform, influence, and direct practitioners in planning and management” (Xiang 2017a, p. 2243). 14.In ancient world, knowledge was either passed on orally or handwritten on scrolls or ancient texts (Howitt and Wilson 2014, p.482). The earliest record of Dujiangyan irrigation system is found in the classic Chinese history book Shiji (《史记》, Records of the historian, circa 94 BC). Based on his firsthand field survey a century after the system’s initial construction (Peng 2008, p. 540), the author Sima Qian (司马迁, cira 145BC–86BC) (Sima 1959) documented the successful operation (instead of the arts and crafts of construction) of the Dujiangyan irrigation system. Two millennia later, the scientific principles undergirding Li Bing’s work were extrapolated from the technical characteristics of the irrigation system [for reviews, see Cao et al. (2010), Li and Xu (2006)]. 15.American landscape ecologist Richard Forman regards The Woodlands to be an exemplary case of “[p]lanning for nature and culture” (Forman 2002, p. 102), and praises that it is “an ecologically remarkable community” with “distinctive natural and cultural attributes” (Ibid., p. 104). 16.For example, in 1984, Wilson provided a brief yet insightful review of human knowledge fragmentation in his book Biophilia (Wilson 1984, pp. 47–49). In 1998, in Consilience: the unity of knowledge, he made the observation that “[t]he ongoing fragmentation of knowledge and resulting chaos in philosophy are not reflections of the real world but artifacts of scholarship” (Wilson 1998, p. 8). With the premise that “[t]he greatest enterprise of the mind has always been and always will be the attempted linkage of the sciences and humanities” (Ibid.), he expressed reasoned optimism in the reinvigoration of consilience between the knowledge domains of sciences and humanities (Ibid., pp. 266–298). 17.Not only is this notion of “human beings’ enlightened self-interest” a “dominant theme” in many ancient indigenous societies (Redman 1999, p. 24), but it also has profoundly inspired the development of a series of comparable ideas in environmental virtue ethics of the modern world (Xiang 2016, p. 56). These include, but may not be limited to, ideas of Rachel Carson, Aldo Leopold, James Lovelock, George Marsh, Arne Naess, Albert Schweitzer, and Henry David Thoreau (Berkes 2012, p. 287; Cafaro 2001, pp. 14–16; Lyle 1999, p. 208, 225; Redman 1999, p. 22, pp. 25–27). 18.Advocates for “sponge cities” and “sponge infrastructure” (Liu 2016) would appreciate this early usage of “sponge” by McHarg in the socio-ecological practice of ecological planning. 19.“Intrinsic function” here could well be a precursor of the concept “intrinsic suitability” he defined later in Design with nature: “Once it has been accepted that the place is a sum of natural processes and that these processes constitute social values, inferences can be drawn regarding utilization to ensure optimum use and enhancement of social values. This is its intrinsic suitability.” (McHarg 1969, p. 104). 20.The 2300-year-old irrigation system has been providing multiple, lasting benefits to both human and nonhuman beings on the Chengdu Plain (roughly the size of the state of Delaware in the United States) for over two millennia (Needham et al. 1971, p. 288; Xiang 2014, pp. 65–66). In January 2000, the United Nation Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) designated the Dujiangyan irrigation system and nearby Mount Qingcheng, a mountainous Daoist sanctuary, as a World Cultural Heritage Site (UNESCO 2000). As Mount Qingcheng is where the first organized Daoist establishment Tianshidao (天师道) was founded some 400 years after the initial development of the irrigation system, the UNESCO designation is regarded as a recognition of the philosophical bond between the exemplary socio-ecological practice and Daoism (Xiang 2016, pp. 65–66). Similarly, American ecological planner and educator John Lyle regards The Woodlands as an exemplary instance of “[t]he Taoist (Daoist, that is—the author) approach in recent practice (of ecological planning and design—the author)” (Lyle 1999, p. 237). 21.The five-legged article refers to those that are composed with the IMRAD format of scientific writing. A typical article of the IMRAD format consists of five parts: introduction, method(ology), results, discussion, and conclusions. Among the critics of the prevalence of this style of writing is the 1960 Nobel laureate Peter Medawar. He writes in a 1964 essay, “What is wrong with the traditional form of scientific paper is simply this: that all scientific work of an experimental or exploratory character starts with some expectation about the outcome of the inquiry” (Medawar 1964, p. 43; for a recent, still critical account, see Howitt and Wilson 2014). Nonetheless, the IMRAD format, originated in the experimental and laboratory sciences, has now become a predominant style of writing and regularly appeared in academic journals across a wide range of disciplines, including journals in planning, design, and management. The designation of IMRAD-style articles as “five-legged articles” here is inspired by that of “eight-legged essay”(baguwen, 八股文), a traditional Chinese style of writing created for, and used over 1000 years in, the required eight-part response to civil service examination questions based on Confucian thought [for a succinct review, see Elman (2009)]. The five-legged articles (i.e., wuguwen, 五股文), with its highly formalized structure and sanitized content (Howitt and Wilson 2014, p. 481), resemble in many ways the eight-legged essays, though less restrictive and rigid. 22.“According to American planning scholar–practitioners Judy Innes and David Booher, a good theory “has truth because it accounts for the evidence in a way that rings true. It has beauty because of its ultimate simplicity and because it reveals what has not been seen before. It has fertility because the ideas open up new lines of inquiry” (Innes and Booher 2018, p. 18). Further, “[n]othing is as practical as a good theory” (Steiner 2004, p. 142). A good theory also has practical usefulness, in that it “provides ways of seeing how and why practices do or do not work in particular ways; it offers a critical distance that helps surface unexamined assumptions and places activities in perspective; it provides a basis for an evaluative framework…” (Innes and Booher 2018, p. 17)” (Xiang 2019b, p. 7). 23.The adjective ecophronetic is from ecophronesis (ecological practical wisdom), a term coined and defined by Xiang (2016) and further expanded by Austin (2018); for ecophronesis’ genesis within the context of ecological wisdom conception, see Xiang (2019e); for the relevance of ecophronesis to socio-ecological practice and practice research, see Gross et al (2019), Jim (2019), Steiner (2019), and Wang (2019). 24.“We must learn to green the earth, to restore the earth, and to heal the earth. 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Much of the research pertinent to this article was supported by China National R & D Program entitled “Building strong ecological security patterns through elevating green infrastructure’s level of ecosystem services” (No. 2017YFC0505705) and done during the summers of 2018 and 2019 while the author was a visiting fellow at the Center for Ecophronetic Practice Research, College of Architecture and Urban Planning, Tongji University, Shanghai, China. The author also wishes to thank the following individuals who provided comments, suggestions, and encouragements during the preparation of this article (listed in alphabetic order): Bill Cohen (Temple University, Philadelphia, USA), Tom Daniels (the University of Pennsylvania, USA), Wei Gao (South China Agricultural University, Guangzhou, China), Jinwu Ma (ESRI, Redlands, California, USA), David Orr (Oberlin College, USA), Fritz Steiner (the University of Pennsylvania, USA), and Bo Yang (the University of Arizona, USA). Author information Affiliations Tongji University, Shanghai, China Wei-Ning Xiang University of North Carolina at Charlotte, Charlotte, NC, USA Wei-Ning Xiang Authors Wei-Ning XiangView author publications You can also search for this author in PubMed Google Scholar Corresponding author Correspondence to Wei-Ning Xiang. Rights and permissions Reprints and Permissions About this article Cite this article Xiang, WN. Why did history vote many times in his favor? Four reasons for McHarg’s achievements in socio-ecological practice research. Socio Ecol Pract Res 1, 359–369 (2019). https://doi.org/10.1007/s42532-019-00023-5 Download citation Received: 17 April 2019 Accepted: 29 July 2019 Published: 20 August 2019 Issue Date: October 2019 DOI: https://doi.org/10.1007/s42532-019-00023-5 Keywords Ian McHarg Design with nature Socio-ecological practice research Knowledge implementation and impact research Ecopracticology Ecophronetic scholar–practitioner Pragmatism Human beings’ enlightened self-interest Knowledge consilience Access options Buy single article Instant access to the full article PDF. US$ 39.95 Tax calculation will be finalised during checkout. Rent this article via DeepDyve. 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work_yoycwpwjjbdlhg7kw7bdf3mkre	----	Four plus one dimensions of transferability: defining a framework for the application of a landscape characterization in the USA Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 https://doi.org/10.1186/s40410-020-00116-9 R E S E A R C H A R T I C L E Four plus one dimensions of transferability: defining a framework for the application of a landscape characterization in the USA Stefania Staniscia1* , Charles Yuill2 and Vincenzo Cribari3 Abstract This perspective article presents considerations based on an attempt for initiating a landscape characterization in the United States using the Landscape Character Assessment (LCA) method initially developed in Great Britain. Literature on LCA underlines the issue of its transferability and the necessity to address, both theoretically and practically, its adaptation when the method is transplanted to other territories. The authors focus on the development of a theo- retical framework for the adaptation of the method to a different cultural, geographical, social, political, and institu- tional context from the one it was designed for. The region of application are West Virginia southern coalfields where mountaintop removal coal mining coexists with rural landscapes, forested mountains, and scarcely inhabited valleys. The significance of conducting a landscape characterization in such an area is acknowledged as well as the neces- sity to address five dimensions of the question of transferability: physical, cultural, disciplinary, political, and social. In the article the authors examine the British and USA character-based approaches to landscape highlighting the main differences. The environmental history of West Virginia southern coalfields is introduced, and the current landscape is described. Finally, the authors discuss how the five dimensions of transferability can be addressed in the USA context stimulating further theoretical developments and practical attempts of landscape characterization. Keywords: Landscape Character Assessment, Mountaintop removal, Southern coalfields, West Virginia, Appalachian Mountains © The Author(s) 2020. This article is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, which permits use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons licence, and indicate if changes were made. The images or other third party material in this article are included in the article’s Creative Commons licence, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not included in the article’s Creative Commons licence and your intended use is not permitted by statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly from the copyright holder. To view a copy of this licence, visit http://creat iveco mmons .org/licen ses/by/4.0/. Introduction This perspective article presents considerations based on an attempt for initiating a landscape characterization in the United States using the Landscape Character Assess- ment (LCA) method initially developed in Great Britain (Swanwick and Land Use Consultants 2002; Tudor 2014). Literature on LCA underlines the issue of its transfer- ability and the necessity to address, both theoretically and practically, its adaptation when the method is trans- planted to other territories (Fairclough et al. 2018b). The authors, thus, focus on the development of a theoretical framework for the adaptation of the method to a different cultural, geographical, social, political, and institutional context from the one it was designed for. The region of application are West Virginia (WV) southern coalfields, an area where mountaintop removal (MTR) coal mining coexists with rural landscapes, forested mountains, and narrow scarcely inhabited rugged valleys. The utility of landscape characterization in the United States of America (USA) is due to the need for a charac- ter-based or descriptive approach to landscape which can be applied to both everyday and outstanding landscapes, which does not exclusively focus on landscape aesthetics and scenic values, and doesn’t solely apply to federal and/ or federally managed lands. Indeed, USA approaches to landscape characterization focus mainly on natural scen- ery and visual resources (Palmer and Smardon 2018) and Open Access *Correspondence: stefania.staniscia@mail.wvu.edu 1 School of Design and Community Development, Davis College of Agriculture, Natural Resources and Design, West Virginia University, 4316 Agricultural Sciences Building, 1194 Evansdale Drive, Morgantown, WV 26506-6108, USA Full list of author information is available at the end of the article http://orcid.org/0000-0003-4194-0544 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1186/s40410-020-00116-9&domain=pdf Page 2 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 are thus inadequate for studying everyday and degraded landscapes such as the one under consideration. In fact, although very characteristic, the Appalachian landscape of WV southern coalfields is heavily altered because of the presence of the mining activity and specifically of MTR (Fig.  1). Moreover, the areas majorly impacted by MTR often are not even visible from beaten tracks and inhabited places because they can be found in high eleva- tions, on top of ridges while major infrastructural cor- ridors and settlements lay on valley floors. It is, thus, impractical to develop a characterization for this region that relies on viewpoints, viewsheds, and views. In the following section the authors examine the Brit- ish and USA character-based approaches to landscape highlighting the main differences in terms of purpose and scope. In order to explicitly delimit the field of interest of these reflections, it is worth clarifying that, with ref- erence to the USA context, for the sake of comparability, the authors only considered the approaches that address the landscape as a combination of ecological, perceptual, aesthetic, cultural, and social components and which aim to merely build ‘situation analysis’ (Stahlschmidt et al. 2017, p. 16) not necessarily action-oriented. By way of example, they dismiss the McHargian legacy of the ecological planning method which is based on the idea of the primacy of the ecological factors. This section is meant to explain the main reasons behind the attempt to utilize the British-based method in a USA context. In the third section, the description of the region of application follows. The authors introduce the environmental history of WV southern coalfields describing the changes which had contributed to define the main historical processes that produced the current landscape. Particular attention is paid to the description of coal mining related activi- ties and events that heavily shaped the physical, cultural, and social landscapes of the region. The significance of a landscape characterization of the area is depicted in the fourth part of the article. The theoretical framework for the LCA method adaptation to the USA and WV condi- tions is then summarized after Fairclough et  al. (2018b) four dimensions of the transferability question: physi- cal, cultural, disciplinary, and political. A fifth dimension is then introduced by the authors and explained. Final remarks conclude the article. Methods Landscape characterization. A comparison between the British and USA approaches The LCA method The LCA method has been widely described and dis- cussed from several perspectives (Fairclough et al. 2018a; Butler 2016; Sarlöv Herlin 2016; Olwig 2016; Brabyn 2009; Ode et  al. 2008; among others) and case stud- ies of its application are well documented in the litera- ture. Also, a recently published book by Fairclough et al. (2018a) offers an extensive and up to date international overview of character-based landscape approaches in Europe, the USA, and in the wider world through which a comparison of different available methods is possible. Therefore, this overview merely aims at underlining the origin and main purposes of the approach, alongside a short description of its application process and the main issues with its transferability to different physical, cul- tural and political/institutional contexts. Current landscape character-based approaches origi- nated in the United Kingdom (UK) in the mid-80  s due to the need to protect the landscape and the country- side from risks resulting from ‘early industrialization and urbanisation (…) [and] high population density and hence hard pressure on the rural landscape’ (Sarlöv Her- lin 2016, p. 182). While earlier approaches emphasized an evaluative attitude toward the landscape—distinguish- ing good and beautiful landscapes from bad and ugly ones—after the mid-90  s the focus shifted to the notion of landscape character and its identification, where char- acter is defined as ‘[a] distinct, recognizable and consist- ent pattern of elements in the landscape that makes one Fig. 1 The state of West Virginia in the context of the USA and the Appalachian Region Page 3 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 landscape different from another, rather than better or worse’ (Swanwick and Consultants 2002, p. 8). LCA is a method ‘designed to enable strategic land- scape decisions in spatial planning and development control, archaeological management and landscape management or stewardship’ (Swanwick and Fairclough 2018, p. 26). It is what is defined as a ‘situation analysis’, which is ‘aimed at gaining knowledge and understanding of a landscape in advance of any specific proposals, and [is] not linked to specific plans or actions’ (Stahlschmidt et  al. 2017, p. 16). This makes it an important practical tool for supporting decision- and policy-makers as well as landscape managers. LCA is applied, at different scales, to the entire terri- tory of the UK, a formalized and structured approach that identifies the character of a landscape (i.e. what makes it distinctive) and, when assessing the impacts of prospective transformations, enables a judgment regard- ing the qualities and values embedded in the landscape. The identification phase is based on the inventory and description of every component of the landscape, both natural and cultural, and the way they interact and com- bine to create a distinguished character. This effort com- prises both desk and field work. The first is a ‘bird’s eye view of the landscape based primarily on maps and aerial photographs. (…) Field work provides the ground level view, allowing identification of components of the land- scape and the aesthetic and perceptual characteristics that cannot be identified from desk work’ (Swanwick and Fairclough 2018, p. 24). Public consultation and the involvement of both stake- holders and laypeople is part of several steps of the process, but LCA is primarily an expert-led procedure based on professional judgement. This is considered by several scholars to be one of the main shortcomings of the method (Warnock and Griffiths 2015; Butler 2016; Fairclough and Herring 2016; Swanwick and Fairclough 2018). In fact, in a time in which it is assumed that land- scape is everywhere, that it is related to people’s percep- tion and that it plays an important public interest role contributing, for example, to human well-being (Council of Europe 2000) more emphasis is expected to be placed on the effort to democratize landscape identification, assessment, management, and planning increasing the level of public participation and engagement. When the European Landscape Convention (ELC) of the Council of Europe came into force in 2000, the role of LCA was strengthened, resulting in the widespread adoption of the method by other European countries (Fairclough et  al. 2018b; Swanwick and Fairclough 2018; Sarlöv Herlin 2016). The ELC acknowledges the role that the landscape plays in people’s quality of life, and that this is true for all landscapes, whether everyday, degraded, or outstanding. This entails rights and responsibilities for everyone to protect, manage, and plan the landscape. Furthermore, this requires states to implement the Con- vention and, among other measures, engage in landscape identification and assessment (Council of Europe 2000). Due to the availability of LCA guidelines online, the fact that it is accessible in English, and the straightforward- ness of the methodology, LCA became the most influen- tial method in Europe for landscape identification and assessment (Fairclough et  al. 2018b; Swanwick and Fair- clough 2018; Sarlöv Herlin 2016). For the same reasons, this method has been also applied in extra-European countries (Fairclough et al. 2018a; Sarlöv Herlin 2016; Li and Zhang 2017; Bartlett et al. 2017). However, the adoption of the method in a different con- text from the one it was designed for doesn’t come with- out challenges as highlighted by Fairclough et al. (2018b) referring to both the Landscape Character Assessment and the Historic Landscape Characterisation (HLC). In fact, the significance of the influence of the historical, physical, cultural, and linguistic context on the origin and development of LCA and HLC has been widely acknowl- edged along with the need to adapt the method when exporting it to other countries (Sarlöv Herlin 2016; Fair- clough et al. 2018b). Fairclough et  al., writing about the ‘question of trans- ferability’ of the British-based methods, name ‘at least four dimensions’ (2018b, p. 12). The first one refers to the challenge posed by the diversity of the physical context of application. The English landscape has ‘a strong degree of legibility through its physical components’ (Fairclough et  al. 2018b, p. 12). The visual, physical, and adminis- trative borders nearly completely match because of the strong correspondence between visual lines, ownership, and landscape types (Sarlöv Herlin 2016). However, this isn’t true for every landscape. The second dimension con- cerns the cultural context which the method is expres- sion of referring to the potentially different acceptations of the word landscape and the implications it can have on the aim and scope of landscape characterization imple- mentation. The third dimension pertains to the disci- plinary context from which the methods arose, that is landscape and environmental planning and archaeol- ogy, whose methodologies influenced the development of the British-based methods. Finally, the fourth dimen- sion refers to the political and institutional environment within which the method is implemented and that, in the British context, ‘provided a sound platform for LCA to be applied in practice, moving onwards from the old essen- tially defensive approaches of selective designation.’ (Fair- clough et al. 2018b, p. 13). The spatial and temporal concurrence of the fac- tors that made the British-based methods and their Page 4 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 implementation possible doesn’t always happen and therefore very often it takes a certain degree of adapta- tion when the methods are applied in a different context. The USA approach Main considerations in this section draw upon 30 years of research as summarized in the book chapter authored by Palmer and Smardon included in the handbook of Land- scape Character Assessment (2018). In the chapter, the authors describe the state of the art in character-based approaches in the USA, mostly focusing on the federal level ‘in the absence of a single approach to landscape character at the national or state levels’ and concentrat- ing on ‘the three situations within which landscape char- acter assessment methods are most employed in the USA: landscape planning, federal land management and visual impact assessment’ (Palmer and Smardon 2018, p. 131). Several aspects of these considerations are relevant to our reflections and will thus be discussed in what fol- lows with the intent to highlight the characteristics which make the current mainstream USA approach unsuitable for properly addressing landscape characterization of everyday landscapes, thus resulting hardly applicable to the area under consideration. One aspect of the USA approach which is worth noting is the considerable attention paid to landscape aesthetics and scenic values. ‘[W]hereas in many European coun- tries (…) there has been a move toward a more inclusive concept of landscape and away from a scenic emphasis, in America the emphasis on conserving scenery contin- ues to be broadly influential’ (Palmer and Smardon 2018, p. 132). The relevance of the visual aspects of natural scenery influences the way sites worthy of protection are designated and managed. One of the main consequences of this approach is the establishment of landscape values principally based on scenic properties. The emphasis on the scenic has notable effects on the notion, policy, and planning of landscapes, as it implies that only specific areas are worthy of protection while, implicitly, the rest of the land is in some way expendable. Therefore, land- scape management- and protection-related activities are based on a selective designation and, because of it, con- fined to very specific areas. The aforementioned activities are mostly conducted by federal land management agencies: the United States (U.S.) Department of the Interior, Bureau of Land Man- agement and the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service. Moreover, these activities are mainly concerned with visual impact, often consisting of visual impact assessment action-oriented studies carried out to assess the potential changes introduced to the scenic attrib- utes of a landscape by a prospective project. In fact, the two abovementioned federal agencies have developed their own ‘situation analyses’ (Stahlschmidt et  al. 2017) of the land they plan and manage, both focusing, among other things, on visual resources, landscape aesthet- ics, and scenery. Although, it should be noticed that the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service in 2005 introduced the Terrestrial Ecological Unit Inventory (TEUI) for lands administered by the Department. This is a system that is meant to classify ecosystem types and map ecological units. The information and maps resulted from the classification are used in natural resource inven- tory, monitoring, and evaluation; in land management planning; and in describing land capability and identify- ing suitability for various uses. The purpose of the TEUI is similar to the one of the LCA but it only applies to National Forest System lands and it focuses on ecologi- cal characters rather than on landscape ones. Moreover, it only uses ecosystem components for the characters identification such as geology, climate, soils, hydrology, and vegetation. In conclusion, ‘[t]he most common way that landscape character is considered in the USA (…) is through visual impact assessment’ (Palmer and Smardon 2018, p. 141). However, starting at the end of the 1960s several multi-state planning experiences occurred at the level of regional river basins. In fact, the Federal Water Resources Planning Act of 1965 (U.S.) provided for the formation of regional river basin commissions, and funded the states to develop comprehensive water and related land resources plans. Of the plans produced in the wake of the Act, two are worthy of attention because they rep- resented promising approaches to landscape character assessment due to their innovative methods and physi- cal extent (Palmer and Smardon 2018). These were the Upper Mississippi River Comprehensive Basin Study and the North Atlantic Regional Water Resources Study, both aimed at producing environmental planning for major river basins. The studies included appendixes with regional landscape inventories: Appendix B Aesthetic and Cultural Values, prepared by Lewis, Jr. and Associ- ates in 1969, and Appendix N Visual and Cultural Envi- ronment, prepared by Research Planning and Design Associates, Inc. in 1970, respectively. It is worth noting that the two documents include in their titles the word ‘cultural’ in addition to terms which emphasize visual and aesthetic attributes. While these two studies repre- sent the closest approach to the LCA method in the USA, they have not been followed up. In the 1969 document, the authors stressed the need to identify both natural and cultural features ‘pro- gressing from sight to insight’ (Lewis and Associates 1969, p. 93). Although ‘change and variety’ were the most relevant attributes for landscape appreciation— that is emphasizing the relevance of the visual aspect, Page 5 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 the authors acknowledged the value of other features, dividing the landscape into intrinsic and extrinsic val- ues, the former being natural resources and the latter being ‘man-made changes, adaptions and additions to the natural resources’ (Lewis and Associates 1969, p. 23). In fact, in the guidelines for creating the inventory, water features, land forms, vegetation, and wildlife were listed together with cultural resources such as bridges, historical markers, battlefields, sites, and objects per- taining to early Native American culture. Significant similarities between this study and the LCA approach include the search for natural patterns in the watershed landscape, the identification of the corridor pattern as ‘the most significant form determinant pattern[s] for providing valuable experiences for living, working, and playing’ (Lewis and Associates 1969, p. 143), and the definition of Landscape Personality Pattern as the ‘dis- tinguishing characteristic’ of a specific area made by the combination of natural formations and human manipu- lations of the same. Thus, in this study, natural and man-made features were equally considered, and the otherwise prevalent scenic emphasis was underplayed. In the 1970 study, although the interplay between natural and anthropogenic factors was also acknowl- edged, the emphasis laid on the visual characteristics of that interplay: the study developed a landscape inven- tory technique which ‘was based upon visual indicators’ with the inventory phase involving ‘the identification of visual and cultural qualities in the landscape’ (Research Planning and Design Associates Inc. 1970, p. N-3). It took into consideration both landform and landscape/ ground patterns, the former being the expression of the natural landscape and the latter the visual mani- festation of the anthropogenic effect. This led to the definition of Landscape Series—‘divisions of the land- scape which are identified by the general visual impres- sion gain from the repetition of a dominant landform over a large area’—and Landscape Units—‘consistent ground pattern—the two-dimensional distribution of man-made structures and man-manipulated resources on the landscape’ (Research Planning and Design Asso- ciates Inc. 1970, p. N-17-18). Series and Units were assessed quantitatively, based on abundance or scarcity, and qualitatively, based on visual contrast and diversity of spatial configuration. As already mentioned, although these two studies ‘have influenced state and local planning efforts’ (Palmer and Smardon 2018, p. 133), they have not inspired fur- ther applications in the USA and, thus, the approach to landscape characterization is still based on visual and aesthetic considerations and mainly operates on federal land or in relation to federal projects. As such, it is selec- tive in purpose and scope, therefore its application to an everyday, although very characteristic landscape as the one that is the object of this article, is unsuitable. However, it is worth noting that there has been a more recent experiment for conducting a historic landscape characterization for heritage management at Fort Hood in Texas. The work was inspired by the British-based method (Dingwall and Gaffney 2007). In Fort Hood over 2000 archeological sites coexist with a military reserva- tion which represents a challenge for the stewardship and management of the cultural resources in the area. ‘The Fort Hood ‘experiment’ (…) not only migrates a Euro- pean philosophy and its techniques into the New World, but expands and refines the method in a variety of use- ful ways’ for example using remote sensing data and advanced Geographic Information Systems (Fairclough 2007, p. ix). However, as far as the authors knowledge goes, this experiment has not been repeated and con- firms the traditional USA approach of selective designa- tion which concerns public and protected lands. Results West Virginia southern coalfields: a selective overview The following description introduces the environmental history of WV southern coalfields and the changes which had contributed to defining the main historical pro- cesses that produced the current landscape. The authors deemed relevant, for the sake of a better understanding of the following sections of the article, to dedicate par- ticular attention to the description of coal mining related activities and events that heavily shaped the physical, cul- tural, and social landscapes of this region. The Appalachian Highlands are one of eight physi- ographic regions of the United States, and the Appala- chian Plateau (AP) is one of its seven divisions based on specific geomorphological characteristics (following Fenneman 1928). Altitudes are lower closer to the Ohio River, with averages of about 365 to 430 m, progressively increasing eastwards where, at the WV border, the high- est peak measures around 1220 m (Thornbury 1965). The AP is characterized by an abundance of shale formations and a mixed mesophytic forest (Braun 1950), which Hin- kle et  al. defined as ‘among the most (if not the most) biologically rich systems of the temperate regions of the world, certainly in the United States’ (1993, p. 203). This geographic region has been ‘strongly shaped by a combination of the physiography and early migration patterns’ (Pillsbury 2006, p. 4), which helps to identify the sub-regions it is divided into. WV is in the Upland South, characterized by the presence of the Appalachian Moun- tains, which represented the first barrier to westward migration. Major physiographic regions include the Alle- gheny Plateau of the western two-thirds of the state, the Allegheny Mountains, and the Ridge and Valley province Page 6 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 to the east (Fenneman 1928; Core 1966). According to the U.S. Census Bureau, this is a rural and mountainous region. The area is scarcely populated, and its inhabitants are mainly concentrated in valley bottoms. WV has a history of extensive natural resources extrac- tion of forest, coal, and, more recently, natural gas. Although WV is a rich region in terms of natural capi- tal resources, human communities in the southern coal- field area remain among the poorest in the state, which is already among the poorest states in the USA, epitomiz- ing ‘the paradox of wretched poverty in an area teeming with rich resources’ (Loh cited in McGinley 2004, p. 42). The first relevant landscape change in the region was induced by the arrival of the first settlers from south- eastern Pennsylvania, Virginia, and Coastal Piedmont of the Carolinas, who built agrarian settlements and whose economy was based on dispersed, independent subsist- ence farming. Since the middle of the 18th century, the region underwent other big changes, the main ones start- ing with the industrialization of the Appalachian South from 1880 to 1930. The advent of the lumber industry extensively exploited the mixed mesophytic forest, con- verting once lush forested mountains into threadbare lands. At the same time, the coal industry started up and, after less than a half of a century of underground mining, in the mid 1910s it began the practice of surface mining which progressed to MTR in the early 1970s. Coal mining in WV is now decreasing in significance due to several factors, including the depletion of the rich- est coalfields of the south and the boom of cheaper and less labor-intensive exploitation of oil and natural gas. Nevertheless, the effects of surface mining and in par- ticular of MTR on the landscape, the environment, and the communities are continuing, long lasting, and poten- tially devastating. A focus on vegetation Earl Core, in his 1966 seminal book about the vegeta- tion of WV, recognized that ‘the existing vegetation of West Virginia has been greatly affected by human activ- ity, chiefly since the middle of the 18th century’ (p. 32). The primeval forest—according to Core’s definition, the mountain forest (including northern evergreen forest and northern hardwood forest) and mixed hardwood for- est—began to disappear with the arrival of white settlers. At the time of his writing, the Cathedral State Park in Preston County, an ‘area of 118 acres[,] may be the only sizable stand of virgin timber in the State’ (Core 1966, p. 113). Core lists several causes of ‘[t]he change from natu- ral to “cultural vegetation”’ (1966, p. 113). First, settlers needed to clear the land for agriculture. Small quantities of the cut wood were used, and the excess was burned. Several surroundings areas were accidentally damaged by uncontrolled fires. Road construction also contributed to the destruction of the forest. Furthermore, Core lists the use of charcoal in the rising manufacturing industries and finally the construction of the railroads that required large quantities of wood as significant contributors to the loss of forest. Finally, strip mining for coal also contrib- uted to the deforestation. ‘By 1950 approximately 70,000 acres had been affected and about 2000 acres were being added annually’ (Core 1966, p. 122). Deforestation was at its peak in the 40 years from 1880 to 1920, when WV went from being two-thirds covered by ancient growth hardwood forest to being virtually completely deforested (Lewis 1998). Commercial logging wood-cutting intensity increased as the technology progressed; sawmills evolved from basic to more advanced. Logging also increased with the coming of the railroads (Eller 1982). At the beginning of the 20th century, railroads extended to almost every por- tion of WV, penetrating 51 of the 55 counties (Garvin 1907). After the mountains were deforested, lumber com- panies closed their operations and left the region, leaving behind an impoverished environment (Lewis 1998). Coal mining followed a similar pattern. Coal mining The first reference to coal in WV dates to 1742, when John Peter Salley reported the presence of coal along what was later named the Coal River. The first area in which numerous mines opened was the Kanawha Valley around 1817. Those mines stayed open until the outbreak of the Civil War (1861–1865), after which a renewed interest in mineral resource exploitation led to the devel- opment of mining operations in new localities (Eggleston 1975). By 1880, numerous coal mines and mining com- pany towns had been established in WV. Industrial cities and coal camps characterized the urban landscape, while traditional farmsteads in small hollows characterized the agrarian one (Pillsbury 2006). The southern coalfields opened after 1870, owing their success to the railway expansion. With developments in mechanization, mining meth- ods changed and improved. In the beginning, coal was surface mined with picks and shovels, after which deep mining was introduced, and electrification came about by 1890. Large-scale surface mining started in 1914, and with rapid progress in mechanization large mining machinery came into common use after 1936 (Eggleston 1975). Surface mining took different forms: area and con- tour mines were the dominant types in WV until larger earthmoving equipment was introduced and the MTR method became viable. In 1970 at Bullpush Mountain in Page 7 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 WV, the first MTR operation in the USA was established (Burns 2007 cited in Stretesky and Lynch 2011). Mountaintop removal mining MTR is the practice of surface mining coal seams that lie under several feet of rock. The process begins with clearcutting the mountain, blasting the rocks and soil situated above the seam of coal, dumping the overburden (trees, soil, rocks) into the heads of hollows adjacent to the removed mountaintop burying streams, and finally surface mining with draglines the sometimes even a few feet shallow coal seam. Processing coal also requires it to be washed before being transported to the market to separate it from the surrounding soil and rock. The wash- ing process generates huge volumes of liquid waste that is usually impounded with the construction of dams. The regulation requires the surfaced mine to be reclaimed; however, reclamation is often limited to barren grassland (Fig. 2). Landscape is heavily altered by this practice: land is levelled, streams are buried and water flow and qual- ity are adversely impacted, there are greater risks of flood and soil erosion, while deforestation and loss of species diversity occurs as well. MTR has also detrimental social and economic con- sequences on coalfield communities. Among several others, there are, for example, coal town disappearance, property damage, cemetery removal or destruction, increased damages from flash floods, ‘the enclosure of lands heretofore treated as commons for hunting, gath- ering, fishing, and other communal use’ (Hufford n.d., p. 32) and several physical and mental distresses such as increase in disease and deaths because of contaminated air and water, depression (Hendryx 2018), and solastalgia (Albrecht 2005). From this brief description emerges the image of a landscape that has been profoundly shaped by anthro- pogenic activities and that represents the physical evi- dence of the interaction between humankind and its natural environment. In particular, MTR emerges as ‘the dominant form of (…) land cover change in the Central Appalachian ecoregion’ (Ross et  al. 2016, p. 2064) and a key driver of major landscape changes in WV southern coalfields. The significance of landscape characterization in an MTR mining area Rationale for conducting landscape characterizations The effort of landscape characters identification—and, only later, of landscape values assessment as ‘tool to identify and assess the significance of and the effects of change resulting from development’ (Landscape Institute and Institute of Environmental Management & Assess- ment 2013, p. 4)—is essentially related to the need to control and manage landscape changes to ensure they do not negatively affect, or do so to a lesser extent, the valued distinctive aspects of landscapes. This is needed today more than ever because landscape changes occur at a rapid pace and technology allows humanity to make radical and often irreversible changes (Council of Europe 2000). It is not by chance that the current era is referred to as the Anthropocene (Crutzen 2002). Landscape inventory, classification, and analysis are tools created for making wise decisions about the future of the land. The earlier a landscape description is made the more valuable it is since it can be used as a strategic tool to forestall unwelcome changes or to minimize their impact. The task of defining landscape baseline condi- tions identifying, locating, and mapping landscape ele- ments and attributes is the first basic step toward more conscious landscape design, planning, and management (Fairclough et al. 2018a; Stahlschmidt et al. 2017; among others). Landscape inventories are also the main and perhaps only means to acknowledge the existence of the land- scape and to reify it for policy- and decision-makers and for the community at large. The absence of an assess- ment of the landscape baseline conditions increases the risk of landscapes obliteration. Features not represented in maps, in fact, are often overlooked in decision-mak- ing, planning, and resource management matters with adverse effects on local communities that can experience their cherished landscapes to vanish because of inadvert- ent or vested interests derived planning (Wartmann and Purves 2017). Philip Lewis’ words express the urgency of dealing with the above-mentioned risk. In the introduction to Appen- dix B, he writes: ‘[i]t is easy to talk about environments Fig. 2 Kayford mountain, MTR site after reclamation. Photo: Vivian Stockman with the Ohio Valley Environmental Coalition; Flyover courtesy SouthWings Page 8 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 in generalities, but the task of protecting and enhancing the remaining attributes that provide diversity requires, in the first place, the task of identifying, evaluating, and locating the attributes in the real, living landscape. (…) I firmly believe that it is the task of every citizen to be aware of the attributes in his own locality and to demand that they are located and mapped on a county by county basis’ (1969). Lewis indirectly also issues a call to action for every citizen to exercise their rights and duties towards the landscape. Landscape is today widely rec- ognized as an important component of quality of life (Council of Europe 2000) and ‘as an aspect of the right to quality of life’ (Fairclough et  al. 2018a, p. 14) as, for example, in the Portuguese Constitution (Council of Europe 2005). Scholars and policy- and decision-mak- ers also agree in the definition of landscape as a human right (Egoz et al. 2011). As such, citizens have the right to enjoy the landscape as well as the duty to protect it. To do so, however, it must be recognized to begin with. Undertaking the landscape characterization in WV southern coalfields Context specific reasons for conducting a landscape characterization of WV southern coalfields reside in the distinctiveness of the area under consideration and the dramatic ongoing landscape changes due to MTR that put the landscape under threat of irreversible changes. In fact, in a report published on Science in Palmer et al. 2010 defined the impacts of MTR as ‘pervasive and irrevers- ible’; they also stated that ‘mitigation cannot compensate for losses.’ (p. 149) Furthermore, while impacts of MTR on health and environment have been thoroughly stud- ied, the terrestrial impacts of MTR have been neglected (Wickham et  al. 2013) although they have been largely acknowledged by scholars and lay audience as well. As a matter of fact, to the best of the authors knowledge, no studies have been conducted in the region on landscape characterization or landscape changes due to MTR. As already mentioned, MTR is a mining practice that is redefining the outline of the mountains in the range of hundreds of meters. Very likely, it is also one of the main manifestations of the Anthropocene (Crutzen 2002). As a matter of fact, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) Earth Observatory has cov- ered the phenomenon since 2007 and listed MTR min- ing in WV in the World of Change section of its website together with the Antarctic Ozone Hole, the Amazon Deforestation and other anthropogenic phenomena that are producing significant changes on earth (NASA Earth Observatory n.d.). Research conducted by Hooke (1999) compared the spatial distribution of humans and rivers geomorphic activity in the USA, demonstrating that the highest rate of earth moved is in WV and neighbouring states and it is due to coal mining activities. Hooke defined humans as today greatest ‘geomorphic agents’ (1999, p. 688) whereas rivers are only second. Ross et al. in their research on the effects of MTR on surface topography, bedrock struc- ture and downstream waters, described its effects on landscape comparing them to the ones produced by vol- canic eruptions ‘where the entire landscape is fractured, deepened, and decoupled from prior landscape evolution trajectories, effectively resetting the clock on landscape and ecosystem coevolution.’ (2016, p. 2071). Changes due to MTR are dramatic in scale both size and time wise (Fig. 3). Although many of MTR major changes have already happened, undertaking a landscape characterization of the region is still useful to build the baseline condi- tions against which to assess further changes related, for instance, to reclamation processes or further exploi- tation that are likely to happen in the same area in the near future. In fact, in Southern WV in 2018 there are still more than 500 million tons of recoverable coal. This figure represents the quantity of coal that can be still surface mined from existing coal reserves at producing mines (U.S. Energy Information Administration 2019). The implication is that the risk of MTR mining is still very actual. However, natural resources extraction and, in par- ticular, coal mine has always been a hotly contested ground. Southern WV has a history of activism, com- munity mobilization, and organized resistance starting in the early 1900s with the so-called mine wars, battles for the legal recognition of labour unions in the mines. Protests also occurred in the 1990s against contour min- ing and MTR, and in the present-day communities fight Fig. 3 Kayford mountain during MTR operations. Photo: Vivian Stockman with the Ohio Valley Environmental Coalition; Flyover courtesy SouthWings Page 9 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 against natural gas extraction through fracking and the construction of major natural gas pipelines. Though, the communities are also divided. Many people think that coal mining, despite its negative effects, brings much needed jobs to the area. However, there is little empiri- cal evidence for the correlation between surface mining and economic development (Woods and Gordon 2011). On the contrary, scholars have demonstrated that coal- field communities are the poorest in the state as well as the ones where environmental violations are most likely to occur (Stretesky and Lynch 2011). Nowadays, communities in southern WV are calling for a transition of the state toward a more sustainable model of development and for diversified new energy economies. Proposals and projects have been made for the reclamation of former mine sites transforming them into renewable energy facilities. Efforts are underway toward the designation of part of Southern WV coalfields as a Geopark. West Virginia University (2018), partner- ing with National Coal Heritage and U.S. Geological Sur- vey, is the promoter of an initiative for the creation of an Appalachian Geopark with the goal to protect geological sites of international significance and encourage the sus- tainable use of geo-sites for knowledge-transfer activities. Although this is currently an aspiring project, reflec- tions have been developed in academic environment for the consideration of MTR mining as industrial heritage emphasizing its relevance as representative testimony of the Anthropocene era (Staniscia and Yuill 2017). In the situation so far described in which heavy indus- trial activities clash with community aspirations for a transition towards a more sustainable development model and with the needs to defend the right to land- scape quality, landscape characterization can play a criti- cal role in pushing for ‘an informed shaping of future landscapes’ (Fairclough et  al. 2018b, p. 18) and a more sensitive land stewardship. Discussion Addressing the question of transferability As noted previously, Fairclough et al. (2018b) write about the question of transferability of the British-based meth- ods pointing out ‘at least four dimensions’ (p. 12) of it. In the following pages, the authors discuss the Fairclough et al. dimensions relating them to a potential application of the LCA method to the USA context and specifically to WV southern coalfields in the attempt for initiating a landscape characterization process. The first dimension—differences in the physical attributes The first dimension named by Fairclough et  al. concerns the diversity of the physical attributes that, in this case, characterize the British and USA landscapes. Both LCA and HLC are tailored to the specificities of the ‘English landscape, with its typical elements of cities, towns and villages with characteristic architecture and settlement patterns, fields enclosed with hedgerows or stone walls, rolling green lowlands and hilly heather uplands, ancient woodlands and layer upon layer of historical palimpsests’ (Sarlöv Herlin 2016, p. 176). WV southern coalfields present a very different land- scape in terms of scale, grain, and time depth. It is char- acterized by low diversity in terms of land cover types and their configuration. Reading a land cover map of the region, it is possible to infer that the dominant land cover type is the forest. Bare or grassy plateau-like surfaces due to post-mining reclamation are size-wise the second land cover type (Fig.  4). When reading a topographic map of the area, the landscape can be described as a continuous surface of hills and hollows which raggedness gradually diminishes moving westward from the Allegheny Plateau toward the Ohio River valley (Fig. 5). Two seems to be the main differences between the Brit- ish and WV southern coalfield landscapes. The first one is ‘the partial absence of physical land divisions such as hedges or walls’ (Fairclough 2007, p. vii), the lack of the demarcation lines that define field patterns and that rep- resent an invariant of the British landscape. The second one is the scale of landscape ‘that is not characterised by Fig. 4 West Virginia 2011 land cover Page 10 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 the same range of HLC types or ‘indicators’, or even the same ‘grain’ of landscape’ (Fairclough 2007, p. ix). WV southern coalfields also present limited histori- cal stratification if compared to the UK, at least with regard to human activities and alterations, although those induced in the landscape in the last two centu- ries have been dramatic and extensive as noted in pre- vious sections. The prevailing land use has been for the last 50  years, and still is, the extensive surface coal min- ing. Small settlements are scattered along narrow valley floors—some of them are old coal towns—often follow- ing the drainage pattern, while few big towns occupy the major floodplains (Fig.  6). Highways run along the main rivers while freight railroads—mainly for coal transporta- tion—also clamber narrower valleys to reach the mining sites usually located at higher elevation. There are two other noticeable factors that are det- rimental for the readability and visibility of landscape features and patterns and that represent significant dif- ferences with the English landscape. The first one is the rate at which spontaneous vegetation grows conceal- ing under a verdant thick layer everything that is left unmanaged even for few years. The presence of invasive and rapid growth plants—such as the kudzu that climbs over trees, shrubs, building, etc.—and the mainly wooden constructions increase the risk of oblitera- tion of manmade artefacts (Figs.  7 and 8). As a matter Fig. 5 Raised relief map of West Virginia Fig. 6 Typical small settlement on valley floors. Photo: Vincenzo Cribari Fig. 7 Kudzu (Pueraria montana) is a weed that covers with a thick layer the existing vegetation killing everything that is underneath. Photo: Vincenzo Cribari Fig. 8 An example of how vegetation colonizes abandoned buildings. Photo: Vincenzo Cribari Page 11 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 of fact, in areas where once there were settlements, the first stages of ecological succession are visible after only a few years since their abandonment. Previous condi- tions, instead, are only detectable during fieldwork and after a detailed comparison of old maps with the cur- rent situation. This factor represents a critical limit when analyzing landscape changes looking, for exam- ple, for traces of the past which quickly disappears. The second aspect to consider is the scarce visibility of the areas that undergo the major landscape changes, that is the areas where MTR and surface mining hap- pen. As mentioned in the introduction, they are hard to discern from the main roads and highways and from the most populated places because they are located in the highest elevation spots, on ridges that, due to the topographic configuration, are often concealed by other hills and ridges in the foreground (Fig. 9). ‘Many properties of the landscape are scale-depend- ent, such as diversity, heterogeneity’ (Antrop and Eet- velde 2017, p. 90), and landscape classification is very sensitive to scale variability. Therefore, in the context under consideration, a characterization conducted at a broad-regional scale would reflect a coarse-grained landscape, too uniform and unable to register any sig- nificant variation. A fine-local scale characterization, on the other hand, would be able to capture local sub- tleties, but it would be too specific to be generaliz- able in a character type or area. By way of illustration, if the strong legibility of the UK landscape allows for demarcation of characters types and areas only rely- ing on naked eye interpretations this is not true for the WV southern coalfields. As a matter of fact, also when HLC principle and techniques have been applied in Fort Hood, Texas the methodology adopted has sig- nificantly evolved (Fairclough 2007) toward a highly automated process which also made up for the quality of the data available for the characterization (Dingwall and Gaffney 2007). Since, ‘scale and context are essential variables to set the conditions for the landscape analysis’ (Antrop and Eetvelde 2017, p. 83), the differences in physical attrib- utes between the British and the USA context engender the need to introduce new categories and parameters for assessing the landscape which better reflect the aes- thetic, perceptual, and natural aspects of the region. In the absence of an adjusted set of parameters, the risk of undervaluing, underestimating, or overlooking land- scape attributes and variations is too high. Therefore, it is essential to finely attuning the method to the scale, grain, and time depth of the landscape under observation. The second and third dimensions—historic and cultural background While dimensions one and four concern aspects that can be dealt with while developing the actual characteri- zation study by way of practically adapting the method, dimensions two and three are a given that has to do with the historic and cultural background which can only be addressed with acknowledging it. The second dimension refers to the cultural context which is at the origin of the British character-based approach and to the specific acceptation the word land- scape has in that context. In the UK, as well as in Europe, landscape is a cultural construct in which the interaction of natural and human factors—which makes the distinc- tive character of the landscape—is interpreted and val- ued through the lenses of the communities that inhabit it. The ELC (Council of Europe 2000) legally broadened this concept declaring that landscape is everywhere—in natural, rural, urban and peri-urban areas—and that can be of outstanding, everyday and even degraded nature. On the contrary, as already extensively discussed, the word landscape in the USA context mostly refers to lands which embed aesthetic and scenic qualities. The empha- sis on visual aspects and natural scenery translates to more traditional selective designation-based approaches that operate only on public lands managed by federal agencies. This leads to the third dimension that refers to the dis- ciplinary context which the British-based methods were set within. It alludes to the contribution of landscape and environmental planners and archeologists to the elabo- ration of both LCA and HLC methods. In the USA the practical domains in which character assessment-like methods are developed and applied are landscape plan- ning, landscape management, and visual impact assess- ment all of which operate within public realm. There is a long tradition of visual resource management that started Fig. 9 In the background, view of an MTR site from the Interstate 64 southbound near Charleston, WV. Photo: Vincenzo Cribari Page 12 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 in the middle of the 1960s. Guidelines for visual resource and scenery management, scenic quality and aesthetic rating, scenic impacts, visual impact assessments have been developed in the span of more than 40 years by fed- eral agencies such as the U.S. Department of the Interior, Bureau of Land Management, the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service and Soil Conservation Ser- vice, and the U.S. Department of Transportation, Fed- eral Highway Administration. Professionals have been working in the field for assessing the impacts on visual resources of highways, renewable energy facilities, and, more broadly, infrastructural projects. All of these know- how and expertise should be taken advantage of incorpo- rating them into the landscape characterization process amplifying the relevance of the perceptual aspects and landscape aesthetics—which importance ‘in the Ameri- can psyche can be traced back to early nature writings by Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and others, as well as to the landscape paintings of Thomas Cole and Frederick Church.’ (Palmer and Smardon 2018, p. 131)— and expanding their range of application. The fourth dimension—political and institutional environment The fourth dimension refers to the political and institu- tional environment within which the character-based method is implemented. As Bell claims ‘Europe in gen- eral is in a strong position in terms of having (…) a legal framework within which to ensure that [landscape] is taken into account in a proper way at both strategic and project scales.’ (2017, p. 87) In the USA, instead, a legal framework—such as the ELC for the European Union (EU) countries—that advocates the right to landscape and enforces its management and/or protection as a whole is absent. Referring to LCA, Fairclough et al. state that the approach ‘is weak in those countries with unde- veloped planning systems’ (Fairclough et  al. 2018b, p. 280). This is the case of the USA where a national land- use planning is absent and local governments exercise the greatest control over the use and development of the land through local zoning ordinances and local planning (Kayden 2000). Whereas in the EU the idea of an inclusive landscape, comprising both everyday and outstanding landscapes, ‘is a taken-for-granted concept’ (Fairclough et  al. 2018b, p. 8), in the USA the approach remains more selective and is based on the appreciation of natural scenery, historic objects, and wilderness ideals. In this legal context, due to the absence of the enforcement of overall landscape management and protection, the idea of inventorying and assessing the landscape could appear as a purpose- less rhetorical exercise if practiced outside of specific legal boundaries. Though, under current law, within WV southern coalfields, a landscape characterization for the purpose of designating areas unsuitable for surface coal mining sounds reasonable and meaningful. In fact, the Surface Mining Control and Reclamation Act of 1977 determined that each State should ‘establish a planning process enabling objective decisions based upon compe- tent and scientifically sound data and information as to which, if any, land areas of a State are unsuitable for all or certain types of surface coal mining operations’ (U.S. Section  522(a)(1)). Upon petition, States should declare areas unsuitable if surface mining ‘affect fragile or his- toric lands in which such operations could result in sig- nificant damage to important historic, cultural, scientific, and esthetic [sic] values and natural systems’ (U.S. Sec- tion 522(a)(3)(B)). The state of WV in its code  (West Virginia State Code  1977), in addition to the areas declared unsuit- able upon petition, establishes that, with few exceptions, lands unsuitable for surface mining also are: (1) Within the boundaries of units of the national park system, the national wildlife refuge systems, the national system of trails, the national wilderness preservation system, the wild and scenic rivers sys- tem (…) (2) [Areas w]hich will adversely affect any publicly owned park or places included in the national reg- ister of historic sites, or national register of natural landmarks (…) (3) Within one hundred feet of the outside right-of- way line on any public road (…) (4) Within three hundred feet from any occupied dwelling (West Virginia  State Code  1977, §22-3- 22(d)). This part of the code clearly shows the political and institutional awareness of the disruptive nature of surface mining and the necessity to keep it out of sight and out of range of valued and inhabited areas for safety and lands protection. For the petition process, the WV code establishes that ‘[a]ny person having an interest which is or may be adversely affected has the right to petition the director [of the Division of Mining and Reclamation (DMR)] to have an area designated as unsuitable for surface-mining operations (…) The petition shall contain allegations of fact with supporting evidence which would tend to estab- lish the allegations.’ (West Virginia State Code 1977, §22- 3-22(b)) After receiving the petition the DMR develops a study of the area, and, after holding a public hearing in the locality potentially adversely affected by surface min- ing, a decision is made regarding the petition and the rea- sons therefor. Page 13 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 As plainly stated in the code, the process of declaring an area unsuitable for surface mining needs ‘support- ing evidence’. This means that a landscape characteriza- tion, a ‘competent and scientifically sound’ data, can be very valuable both when petitioning and when making the decision regarding the petition. By way of landscape characterization, it is possible to determine with scientifi- cally sound method the ‘fragile or historic lands in which [surface mining] operations could result in significant damage’. Moreover, since the landscape characterization incorporates, as already noted, public consultation and participation, it will represent both, a scientifically and democratically sound process. This leads to define a fifth dimension of transferability, the social one. Fairclough et  al. (2018b) don’t include this dimension in their con- siderations, however the authors deem it relevant for the context of their reflections. A fifth dimension—the social context LCA, despite being mainly based on professional judg- ment, is increasingly including various degrees of pub- lic involvement along the process in order to achieve a higher level of landscape democratization. However, in the European context, effective public participation still represents a challenge for policymakers and administra- tors despite its legal enforcement for example through the ELC (Jones 2007; Jones and Stenseke 2011a, b). Though the absence of a legal framework that establishes formal processes and procedures for public participation makes the effort of community involvement even more difficult. According to Jones and Stenseke, among other challenges, ‘[e]ffective public participation faces the chal- lenges of (…) creating the trust necessary for a success- ful process, combating apathy or passive and even active opposition, and overcoming powerful vested interests.’ (2011aa, b, p. 20) As it can be inferred from the descrip- tion of the region provided in the previous paragraphs, some of the ‘roadblocks to achieving genuine levels of participation’ can be identified in WV southern coalfields on both the ‘power-holders’’ and the ‘have-nots′’ sides. They include ‘paternalism, and resistance to power redis- tribution’ on the power-holders′ side and ‘inadequacies of the poor community’s political socioeconomic infra- structure and knowledgebase, plus difficulties of organ- izing a representative and accountable citizens’ group in the face of futility, alienation, and distrust’ on the have- nots′ side (Arnstein 1969, p. 217). Although Arnstein identifies typologies of citizen participation using exam- ples from three federal social programs implemented in the fifties and sixties in the urban context—urban renewal, antipoverty, and Model Cities—it is possible to recognize several analogies with the context under con- sideration. The Appalachian region represents what has been identified as an internal colony (Lewis et  al. 1978), a ‘peripheral region within an advanced capitalist soci- ety’ (Walls 1978, p. 339), an area succumbing to cultural hegemony and capitalist domination. These models por- tray a pattern of outside manipulation and exploitation and describe a region ‘of company-dependent residents who have been unable to transition successfully from those industry’s boom eras [the author refers to raw materials extraction industries] or escape the lingering effects of industry environmental, health and economic degradation.’ (Robinson 2015, p. 75) In WV southern coalfields, after years of organized resistance against natural resources extraction and not enough battles won, the communities feel vulnerable and deceived. After years of deception, communities are distrustful and not inclined to be part of processes—like for example the LCA—they perceive as imposed upon them top-down. Under these circumstances, it is difficult to involve community members in participatory activi- ties and to gain local knowledge. Nevertheless, there are innovative methods for gaining local knowledge in an indirect fashion that can be introduced in an LCA process—e.g. the use of online digital environments as ‘found in the field’ data sources and platforms for virtual participation. Social media, for example, can be ‘vehicles for knowledge acquisition’ (van Lammeren et al. 2017, p. 136), web-based methods can be used in landscape and urban planning and design (de Waal et al. 2013; Eräranta et  al. 2015), participatory GIS can be used for map- ping resource distribution and land use (Wartmann and Purves 2017), and so on and so forth. All of them rep- resent innovative engaging methods allowing different levels of interactions that can be used as alternatives to traditional participatory methods when the communities that should be involved in the characterization process, show forms of resistance and distrust. Conclusions Although acknowledged as a necessary and worth- while endeavour for the sake of landscape identification, management, conservation, and preservation, the LCA method is not immediately translatable and transferrable. It needs to be adapted in order for it to be able to address the specificities of a context that is not just physically and geographically very different from the one the method was designed for, but whose legal, historical, cultural, and social underpinnings substantially differ as well. As noted in these pages, the five dimensions of the transferability of the method to the USA context can be addressed mainly in the practice for example adding to the toolbox of the landscape analyst non-traditional tech- niques—such as highly automated processes of landscape features identification—and the expertise and know-how Page 14 of 15Staniscia et al. City Territ Archit (2020) 7:8 that come with the long tradition of visual resources management. The authors deem it important to contribute to the dis- cussion regarding the application of LCA outside the UK with the aim of offering a new perspective to the debate and to enable a deeper understanding of the challenges of implementing the method. It is the authors’ prospect that this article might stimulate further theoretical develop- ments and practical attempts that would set new research agendas for the North American landscape. Abbreviations AP: Appalachian Plateau; DMR: Division of Mining and Reclamation; ELC: Euro- pean Landscape Convention; EU: European Union; HLC: Historic Landscape Characterisation; LCA: Landscape character assessment; MTR: Mountaintop removal; NASA: National Aeronautics and Space Administration; TEUI: Ter- restrial Ecological Unit Inventory; UK: United Kingdom; U.S.: United States; USA: United States of America; WV: West Virginia. Acknowledgements This work is supported by the USDA National Institute of Food and Agriculture, Hatch project #1015398. Authors’ contributions This article is the result of a joint effort. All authors read and approved the final manuscript. Funding Not applicable. Availability of data and materials Not applicable. Competing interests The authors declare no competing interests. Author details 1 School of Design and Community Development, Davis College of Agricul- ture, Natural Resources and Design, West Virginia University, 4316 Agricultural Sciences Building, 1194 Evansdale Drive, Morgantown, WV 26506-6108, USA. 2 School of Design and Community Development, Davis College of Agricul- ture, Natural Resources and Design, West Virginia University, 4314 Agricultural Sciences Building, 1194 Evansdale Drive, Morgantown, WV 26506-6108, USA. 3 School of Design and Community Development, Davis College of Agricul- ture, Natural Resources and Design, West Virginia University, 4313 Agricultural Sciences Building, 1194 Evansdale Drive, Morgantown, WV 26506-6108, USA. 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Ann Assoc Am Geogr 101(4):806–815 Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in pub- lished maps and institutional affiliations. https://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/world-of-change/Hobet https://doi.org/10.1021/acs.est.5b04532 https://doi.org/10.1021/acs.est.5b04532 https://doi.org/10.1353/cot.2017.0002 https://doi.org/10.1353/cot.2017.0002 https://www.nature.scot/sites/default/files/2018-02/Publication%202002%20-%20Landscape%20Character%20Assessment%20guidance%20for%20England%20and%20Scotland.pdf https://www.nature.scot/sites/default/files/2018-02/Publication%202002%20-%20Landscape%20Character%20Assessment%20guidance%20for%20England%20and%20Scotland.pdf https://www.nature.scot/sites/default/files/2018-02/Publication%202002%20-%20Landscape%20Character%20Assessment%20guidance%20for%20England%20and%20Scotland.pdf https://www.nature.scot/sites/default/files/2018-02/Publication%202002%20-%20Landscape%20Character%20Assessment%20guidance%20for%20England%20and%20Scotland.pdf https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/691184/landscape-character-assessment.pdf https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/691184/landscape-character-assessment.pdf https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/691184/landscape-character-assessment.pdf https://www.eia.gov/coal/reserves/ https://doi.org/10.3390/land6040079 https://appalachiangeopark.wvu.edu/home https://appalachiangeopark.wvu.edu/home https://doi.org/10.1525/bio.2013.63.5.7 https://doi.org/10.1525/bio.2013.63.5.7 Four plus one dimensions of transferability: defining a framework for the application of a landscape characterization in the USA Abstract Introduction Methods Landscape characterization. A comparison between the British and USA approaches The LCA method The USA approach Results West Virginia southern coalfields: a selective overview A focus on vegetation Coal mining Mountaintop removal mining The significance of landscape characterization in an MTR mining area Rationale for conducting landscape characterizations Undertaking the landscape characterization in WV southern coalfields Discussion Addressing the question of transferability The first dimension—differences in the physical attributes The second and third dimensions—historic and cultural background The fourth dimension—political and institutional environment A fifth dimension—the social context Conclusions Acknowledgements References 
work_yqizetyfvneohizohkd6fytf7q	----	Volume 34 (2), 2014 Natural Areas Journal 227 Natural Areas Journal 34:227–234 • Timing is Everything: an Overview of Phenological Changes to Plants and Their Pollinators Michelle J. Solga1 1Range Science Program North Dakota State University NDSU Dept. 7630 P.O. Box 6050 Fargo, ND 58108-6050 Jason P. Harmon2,4 Amy C. Ganguli1,3 2Department of Entomology North Dakota State University NDSU Dept. 7650 P.O. Box 6050 Fargo, ND 58108-6050 3Department of Animal and Range Science New Mexico State University P.O. Box 30003 Las Cruces, NM 88003-8003 • 4 Corresponding author: Jason.Harmon@ NDSU.edu; 701-231-5083 ABSTRACT: Plant-pollinator interactions are a critical component of a healthy plant community and a healthy ecosystem. However, these interactions are at risk due to many factors, including potential phenological mismatches that may disrupt the timing of successful pollination. Environmental variables influence both when plants flower and when insects pollinate, and if those variables change, so might the timing of each species. If those changes do not track each other, plants and pollinators may not be active at the same time, potentially causing substantial problems to both groups. Yet, there is little consensus thus far about how the timing of plants and pollinators has been changing and how that might ultimately influence this important ecological interaction. Here, we review the evidence for phenological shifts in both species and find that there is evidence of change, but that it is extremely species-specific with some species advancing their activities, some delaying, and some staying about the same. We also provide some management guidelines to help promote healthy plant-pollinator relationships in light of the potential variability in phenological shifts and the other threats these species face in natural areas. Index terms: mutualism, phenological shifts, pollinator conservation, pollinator management INTRODUCTION Plant-pollinator mutualisms are among the best known and most important ecological interactions. Approximately 75% of flower- ing plants engage in some sort of plant- pollinator interaction (National Research Council 2007), and those interactions play a critical role in the reproduction of the plants being pollinated and the larger plant community (Kearns et al. 1998). The economic benefits of insect pollinators have been well documented in agricultural systems as many of the world’s crop spe- cies depend on animal pollinators either partially or completely (Losey and Vaughan 2006; Klein et al. 2007; Gallai et al. 2009). However, plant-pollinator relationships are also critical to the health and sustainability of natural areas. Besides the genetic and reproductive benefits plants receive from pollination (Kearns et al. 1998; Harmon et al. 2011), animal pollinators play less obvious, though often imperative, roles in maintaining plant diversity and con- servation (e.g., Travers et al. 2011) and as critical parts of the food webs that sustain insects, fish, and wildlife (Black et al. 2011; Gilgert and Vaughan 2011). While harder to quantify, these ecological services are also incredibly valuable (Losey and Vaughan 2006; Gilgert and Vaughan 2011). Despite their importance, plant- pollinator interactions are facing serious threats, and it is becoming increasingly important to understand these mutualistic species and the pressures they face so that we may best design scientific investigations and management strategies to ensure their long-term sustainability. Over 200,000 animal species may act as plant pollinators (Buchmann and Nabhan 1996), and the dangers they face are seem- ingly just as diverse. The iconic honey bee (Apis mellifera), for example, faces challenges from a variety of sources that may be contributing to its decline as part of colony collapse disorder (Watanabe 1994). Other bees have specific habitat requirements that are often in short supply (Gilgert and Vaughan 2011). Moreover, land-use change and other anthropogenic disturbances are substantial disruptions to all pollinators (Black et al. 2011; Gilgert and Vaughan 2011), which includes bees, moths, butterflies and the other groups of insect that can help pollinate plants (Har- mon et al. 2011). More recently, concerns have arisen about a very different type of threat, specifically that the timing of when plants and pollina- tors are active and receptive to pollination may be changing and could ultimately be- come mismatched so that they can no lon- ger interact effectively (Sparks and Menzel 2002; Memmott et al. 2007; Hegland et al. 2009; Solga 2012; Wolkovich et al. 2012). For successful plant-pollinator interactions, this timing is crucial: plants need to be in flower at the same time as their pollinators are active or both organisms will likely suffer. Phenology is the area of study that investigates the timing of such life cycle events and how they respond to the changing seasons or climatic conditions (Forrest and Miller-Rushing 2010). The phenology of both plants and their insect pollinators can be regulated by a variety of environmental cues, including photoperiod, temperature, and precipitation (reviewed in C O N S E R V A T I O N I S S U E S 228 Natural Areas Journal Volume 34 (2), 2014 Solga 2012). Recent evidence of changes in temperature, precipitation, and other potential phenological cues (IPCC 2007) increases the concern that the timing of plants and pollinators may also be chang- ing and that these changes could lead to mismatches that threaten plant-pollinator interactions. Our overall objectives are to review the threat that changing phenologies may pres- ent to plant-pollinator interactions and to provide some ideas as to what conservation or management actions can be implemented to help conserve pollinators and ensure successful pollination. We first evaluate the evidence for changes in the timing of flowering plants and then insect pollina- tors individually. If a mismatch is going to develop, there needs to be change by indi- viduals in at least one of these groups. We then integrate changes to both plants and pollinators together, primarily by reviewing specific case-studies. Finally, we discuss management considerations that could help strengthen the health of plant-pollinator interactions as they face environmentally- induced phenological changes as well as other potential threats. EVIDENCE FOR CHANGE IN FLOWERING PHENOLOGy Our first goal is to understand the current evidence for changes in flowering phenol- ogy over time. It is usually difficult to quan- tify such long-term ecological changes, but fortunately there have been opportunities to continue or re-establish data on first flowering dates for some plant communi- ties. Past observations made by naturalists like Aldo Leopold and his daughter Anna in Wisconsin over a 61 year period (Brad- ley et al. 1999), and author Henry David Thoreau in Massachusetts during the mid- nineteenth century (Miller-Rushing and Primack 2008; Willis et al. 2008), among others, have given us valuable records of first flowering dates and the ability to determine how flowering phenology has changed across plant species in particular locations. Observations of first flowering date give us a good sense of phenologi- cal change and it is the best and longest data we have available; but since it only addresses when things start and not how long flowering happens, it is only a partial picture of phenological changes. A recent meta-analysis (Wolkovich et al. 2012) has used a very large database of observational measurements to show that there is an overall advancement in the timing of both flowering and leafing in plants. This paper does an exceptional job of demonstrating that across all of the observational data they could find there is an overall significant advancement in the phenology of plants in response to changing temperature. These results mean that we would expect that most plants are flowering earlier than they have in the past; however, this overall effect doesn’t address the species-to-species variation we might find. The overall trend may be advance- ment by a given amount, but how many of the plants in a given community are changing by that same, average amount? How many are flowering even earlier? How many might not be responding or may even be delaying the timing of their flowering? By looking at the distribution of species responses we can get a sense of how each plant in a broader group are changing their first flowering dates and get a first response to some of these additional, complementary questions to the established overall effect. To characterize the distribution of changes to plant species, we reviewed six studies that quantify the change in first flowering date for multiple plants in a given location (Bradley et al. 1999; Abu-Asab et al. 2001; Fitter and Fitter 2002; Cook et al. 2008; Bai et al. 2011; Dunnell and Travers 2011; Table 1). Our criteria for choosing data sets include that they have at least 10 plant spe- cies within the same area, that they cover at least a 10 year stretch of time, and that they report the change in individual flow- ering plant species over time. We wanted Phenology Articles Species Study Duration Analysis Location & Latitude Flowering Plants Fitter and Fitter 2002 385 1954-2000 Subtraction Oxfordshire, UK; 51.8ºN Dunnell &Travers 2011 178 1910-2010 Subtraction MN & ND, USA; 46.9ºN Abu-Asab et al. 2001 100 1970-1999 Regression Washington DC, USA; 38.9ºN Bai et al. 2011 48 1963-2007 Regression Beijing, China; 39.9ºN Bradley et al. 1999 55 1936-1998 Regression WI, USA; 43.5ºN Cook et al. 2008 19 1928-2002 Regression NY, USA; 41.8ºN Insect Pollinators Roy & Sparks 2000 35 1976-1998 Regression British Isles, UK; 54ºN Forister & Shapiro 2003 23 1972-2002 Regression CA, USA; 38.6ºN Stefanescu et al. 2003 19 1988-2002 Regression El Cortalet, Spain; 42.2ºN Bartomeus et al. 2011 10 1880-2010 Regression Northeast USA; 36-50ºN Table 1. Characteristics of the six studies used to identify changes in flowering phenology across plant species in a given location (Figure 1) and the four studies used to identify changes in insect pollinator phenology (Table 2). Volume 34 (2), 2014 Natural Areas Journal 229 to focus our study on plants relevant to animal pollination, so we were able to ex- clude some obvious wind-pollinated plant communities. However for the studies we did use, we did not further evaluate the relative importance of animal-pollinated out-crossing for each plant species. To facilitate comparing data across studies, we calculated frequency distributions of the observed changes in flowering phenology (in days) within each community (as in Fitter and Fitter 2002). Because our main purpose was to get an overview of these qualitative distribution patterns across spe- cies and studies, we treated all published information the same; however, there is a great deal of variation among species and studies, with authors finding some patterns to be statistically significant and others not. To calculate our graph of changes in days, we performed different transforma- tions depending on the published analysis. Studies that took the average first flowering date for a past time period and then found the difference with an average date for a more recent period needed no transfor- mation; however, in one study (Dunnell and Travers 2011), we used their data to calculate the recent average flowering date and subtracted the reported average from the older period. Other studies used linear regression to look at first flowering date over time and reported the slope of that analysis. To put the data in the same format, we multiplied those reported slopes with the total number of years in the study to arrive at an overall change in flowering (in days) over the entire study as predicted by regression analysis. It is completely possible that the transformations we per- formed induced biases; however, with the data we have, we cannot differentiate potential biases from our transformation from potential biases of the data itself since it was collected and reported in different ways or from other potential differences among the studies themselves. Therefore, we make only rough qualitative compari- sons across studies and do not try to make formal statistical analyses of the data. The result is six histograms that demon- strate the distribution of changes in flow- ering phenology across 738 plant species in six geographical locations (Figure 1). The individual distributions for each study provide an interesting picture of how many species within a given area have changed in their flowering dates by a given amount. In trying to compare results across studies, it can be difficult to make strong infer- ences without accurately accounting for the length of time of the study, the actual changes in temperature and other environ- mental cues within each site, as well as additional characteristics of both the sites and the plants themselves (for a discussion and thorough example of dealing with these issues, see Wolkovich et al. 2012). However, we wanted to provide crude estimates of what happened across these different distributions, so we provide some descriptive statistics of species response in relation to changes within or beyond five days. Five days is somewhat arbitrary and can be more or less meaningful depending on the length of the study or the amount of temperature change a given study site has observed. However we found a characteris- tic divide in our data that makes five days a useful measure of comparison. Across all studies, almost half (48.5%) of the species flowered within five days of their historical flowering dates, indicat- ing little or no evidence of a phenological change over the observed time period. A similar proportion (41.4%) flowered ear- lier in the season (> 5d earlier) and the remaining 10.0% began flowering later in the season (> 5d later). Two studies had notably greater proportions of species that flowered more than five days early (65.1% – Abu-Asab et al. 2001; 75.0% – Bai et al. 2011), and one study had relatively more species that delayed flowering by greater than five days after using our standardiza- tion method (26.5% – Dunnell and Travers 2011). These results are consistent with other studies investigating individual plant species or small communities that have reported similar patterns in flower timing in response to recent environmental change (Inouye et al. 2003; Crimmins et al. 2010; Gordo and Sanz 2010; Lesica and Kittelson 2010; Crimmins et al. 2011). EVIDENCE FOR CHANGE IN INSECT POLLINATOR PHENOLOGy Similarly, we reviewed the literature to determine the evidence for changing phenology in potential insect pollinators. Unfortunately, compared to plants, there have been fewer data sets for groups of insects that span a decade or more. How- ever, using the criteria above, we identi- fied three studies on butterflies (Roy and Sparks 2000; Forister and Shapiro 2003; Stefanescu et al. 2003) and one on wild bees (Bartomeus et al. 2011) (Table 1). Only the bee study was done in the con- text of pollination, so we cannot say for certain that all these species are important pollinators. All four studies looked at the adult insects’ date of first appearance with the first three using observations from monitoring efforts and the fourth relying on first museum specimens collected within each year. Data were transformed as above, but given the relatively small number of species observed, we could not use the fine-scaled distributions as we did with plants. Instead we made our distributions extremely course by combining the infor- mation into three broad, somewhat arbitrary categories: (1) phenological advances (> 5 days earlier); (2) little to no change (± 5 days); or (3) phenological delays (> 5 days later). Again, our primary goal is to view the distribution of species-specific responses, especially within studies as opposed to making quantitative statistical inferences. The results from Stefanescu et al. (2003) are slightly different in that species showing a non-significant change in first appearance are placed in the “little to no change” category. As we saw for first flowering dates in plants, the way the first flight of insects changed over time was highly variable (Table 2), with the relative proportion of species in our three arbitrary categories in approximately the same ratio for insects (44.0% > 5d earlier; 48.8% little to no change; 7.1% > 5d later) as it was for plants. Two of the four studies (Stefanescu et al. 2003; Bartomeus et al. 2011) had greater proportions of their species with a large phenological advance. However, in the case of Bartomeus et al. (2011), this was likely an artifact of our reporting predicted days changed over their very long study period as opposed to the more accurate slope values reported in the study. EVIDENCE FOR CHANGE IN PLANT- POLLINATOR PHENOLOGy While the previous studies looked at either plants or pollinators individually, few stud- 230 Natural Areas Journal Volume 34 (2), 2014 Figure 1. The distribution of phenological changes in first flowering dates for plant species with the dashed line at 0 represents no change, negative numbers representing earlier flowering dates, and positive numbers representing later following dates for studies conducted in (A) Oxfordshire, U.k., (B) Minnesota and North Dakota, U.S.A., (C) Washington, D.C., U.S.A., (D) Beijing, China, (E) Wisconsin, U.S.A., and (F) New York, U.S.A. Volume 34 (2), 2014 Natural Areas Journal 231 ies thus far have looked for changes in pollinators and plants simultaneously. An exception is Bartomeus et al. (2011), where museum specimens were used to identify changes in first capture (as an estimate of first flight) in a community of generalist bees in the northeastern United States, and these changes were compared to published data for plants that are pollinated by these generalist bees in the same area. Overall, they concluded that these pollinators and their plants were changing at about the same rate. Further evidence is provided from case studies of particular plants and pollinators. For example, an out-crossing plant, yan hu suo (Corydalis ambigua), suffered from low seed-set when it advanced its flowering date due to warmer spring temperatures; but its primary pollinator, bumblebee queens, did not advance their emergence date (Kudo et al. 2004). Likewise, the solitary bee pol- linator of yellow star-of-Bethlehem (Gagea lutea) was not available for pollination when this plant advanced its bloom times (Kudo et al. 2004). In a similar case, the glacier lily (Erythronium grandiflorum) experienced pollination limitation early in its bloom period due to unavailability of bumblebee queens to pollinate its flowers (Thomson 2010). At other times, pollinators might dem- onstrate plasticity in their phenology so that they can keep pace with a changing host plant and thereby avoid a mismatch. The mutualism between pollinating flies and their host plants, Adonis ramose and Anemone flaccid, at an alpine site did not show any mismatch due to earlier spring season arrival dates, which may indicate that this pollinator is responding to the same cues, or that it has been able to quickly adapt to its plants’ emergence (Kudo et al. 2004). Under certain conditions, a mismatch may actually not be detrimental. Hoplitis fulgida, a solitary bee, completely missed the flowering period of its host legume, Lathyrus, during one season at several alpine sites (Forrest and Thomson 2011). Even though a complete decoupling be- tween these two species occurred, this generalist pollinator was able to use other local flowering resources that were avail- able, and Lathyrus avoided pollination limitation because of frequent pollination by other visiting insects (Forrest and Thomson 2011). Just as we highlighted the variation that can occur among different species, there is good reason to expect additional varia- tion in plant-pollinator phenology within species. For example, geographic location influences how the arrival of a humming- bird and the availability of its early-season nectar resources have changed over time (McKinney et al. 2012). At the southern edge of the hummingbird’s breeding range, neither arrival nor first flowering dates have changed. However, at the northern edge, first flowering has become increas- ingly earlier, resulting in a shorter overlap between flower and hummingbird. MANAGEMENT CONSIDERATIONS To safeguard plant-pollinator mutualisms and other interactions within ecosystems, conservation measures must be implement- ed to counteract current threats, includ- ing those from a changing environment. Challenges exist for managers who are balancing conservation efforts with limited funding, time, and often the availability of suitable habitat. We first discuss general practices that can enhance the overall health of the plant-pollinator relationship and then highlight practices relevant to changing phenology in particular. Just like other animal species, insect pol- linators require certain habitat conditions and resources to thrive and reproduce. Management efforts targeting pollinator conservation typically emphasize pro- tecting and enhancing existing pollinator habitat through a variety of best manage- ment practices. For example, pollinators require a variety of resources to use as sites for building their nests or laying their eggs, and these resource needs should be incorporated into pollinator conservation plans (Mader et al. 2011). Most native bees either nest in the ground or use cavities in dead wood for nests (Vaughan and Black 2007); ground nesting bees require open areas of ground that have the appropriate soil texture that enables bees to tunnel to build their nests, whereas certain cavity nesting bees require old dead trees to exca- vate for nests. Wood block nests provided by humans are used by some nesting bees and can provide a ready material in areas such as grasslands that may otherwise be devoid of trees, shrubs, or dead wood resources. Butterflies, on the other hand, require specific host plants on which to lay their eggs, as once the larvae emerge from eggs they will require plant leaves to provide them with vital food resources. Habitat management practices such as mowing, haying, grazing, prescribed fire, and pesticide application can directly and indirectly affect pollinators and should, therefore, be appropriately timed (Black et al. 2011; Cane 2011). Mortality induced from direct exposure to management prac- tices is perhaps easier to mitigate though proper timing than indirect exposure. Mowing, haying, and grazing of plants can potentially harm pollinators while depriving them of food (Noordijk et al. 2009). Improper timing of prescribed fire may also negatively affect ground nesting Phenological Advances Little to No Change Phenological Delays (>5 days earlier) (±5 days) (> 5 days later) Roy & Sparks 2000 12 species (34%) 23 species (66%) 0 species (0%) Forister & Shapiro 2003 5 species (22%) 12 species (52%) 6 species (26%) Stefanescu et al. 2003 11 species (69%) 5 species (31%) 0 species (0%) Bartomeus et al. 2011 9 species (90%) 1 species (10%) 0 species (0%) Table 2. Change in potential insect pollinators over time. The number is the number of species found within that category (calculations used to standardize reported data found in text) and the percentage is the percentage of species within a given study found in each category. 232 Natural Areas Journal Volume 34 (2), 2014 bees, especially solitary bees, because the heat can reach shallower nesting species (Potts et al. 2003). Cavity nesting bees, depending on how closely their nests are located to the ground surface, can also be damaged by fire (Cane 2011). Pollinators are also known to be vulnerable to pesti- cides in their habitat (National Research Council 2007). Butterflies in various stages of development can be directly affected by receiving pesticide spray meant for insect pests of plants (Russell and Schultz 2010). Developing bees are particularly sensitive to pesticides contained in pollen that is deposited in their nests (Kearns and Inouye 1997). Management practices can also indirectly affect pollinators if not coordinated with plant-pollinator life cycles. For example, untimely mowing, haying, or grazing may remove plants that provide vital oviposition sites for butterflies and nesting sites for bees (Vaughan and Black 2007; Black et al. 2011). Heavy livestock stocking rates can cause compaction of the soil, making it difficult for ground nesting bees to excavate their nests (Kearns and Inouye 1997). Over- wintering or oviposition sites for butterflies can be threatened if fire occurs during the immature stages of their lifecycle (Swengel 2001; Cane and Neff 2011). Prescribed fire should also be avoided when plants are in susceptible growth stages or blooming; however, proper frequency and timing can supply an eruption of forbs the following spring (Kearns and Inouye 1997; Potts et al. 2003) or expose bare ground for exca- vating by ground nesting bees (Campbell et al. 2007). To overcome mismatches that may occur due to changing environmental conditions, managers can create a buffer to safeguard pollinators against potential limitations in floral resources within their habitats. Pol- linators require an abundance and diversity of floral resources spanning the entire du- ration of their respective life cycles (Potts et al. 2009; Dicks et al. 2010). Pollinators, especially bees, depend on nectar and pol- len resources for their energy needs and to nourish their offspring, whereas most butterflies require nectar as adults but use specific host plants as plant-eating juvenile caterpillars (Kearns and Inouye 1997). To provide for a variety of pollinator spe- cies and life cycle requirements, a succes- sion of blooming resources spanning the entire growing season can be implemented (Vaughan and Black 2006; USDA 2008). Pollinator species vary in different regions of the country and their life cycles span fairly short time periods, many times only a few weeks. For pollinator habitats to flourish, be sustainable, and provide for the needs of a wide assortment of pollinators, an array of plant species needs to be pro- moted so that the needs of all specialist and generalist pollinators are met. Ultimately, a well-timed heterogeneous floral bloom that is available to pollinators throughout the growing season will likely provide the diversity of pollen and nectar resources required for them to not only prosper, but also to face future habitat alterations that environmental change may generate. CONCLUSION Although there is evidence that some plants and pollinators are undergoing phenologi- cal changes, there is a great deal of spe- cies-specific variation in how things have changed over the last 50–100 years. Future efforts to understand this variation (e.g., Altermatt 2010; Diamond et al. 2011) and its implications will help us make better predictions and more refined conservation policies. In the meantime, the evidence reviewed here implies that phenological change has at least the potential to disrupt plant and pollinator species, thereby threat- ening their interactions and the health of the ecosystems they reside in. Therefore, it is imperative that we develop manage- ment strategies to counteract current and future threats to preserve the ecosystem diversity and function that comes from healthy pollination interactions. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The authors thank Carolyn Griygiel and Jack Norland for their comments on this project; Josh Campbell and Ron Hiebert for their work as editors; and David Inouye and an anonymous reviewer for their help- ful suggestions. This work was funded in part by the North Dakota Agricultural Experiment Station. Michelle Solga was a graduate student in the School of Natural Resource Sci- ences at North Dakota State University, Fargo, ND. 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work_z2a7yo6a4nbyrgkk4h7j4aq5w4	----	Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America ISSN 1870-0128 ISSN online 2255-3371 Miguel-Héctor Fernández-Carrión No-violencia, conflicto, guerra y paz NON-VIOLENCE, CONFLICT, WAR AND PEACE Vol. 7 No. 7, 19-36 pp. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 18 18 CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 19 19 1 No-violencia y paz versus conflicto, guerra y violencia A lo largo de la historia, con las obvias diferencias culturales y las características propias de las prácticas cotidianas habidas en los distintos países, han coexistido na- ciones más violentas que otras, así como existen personas menos violentas que otros coetáneos. Grosso modo se puede indicar que la civilización ha pasado de un estadio más violento a otro menos, o siquiera más sofisticado en la práctica puntual de acciones violentas a gran escala (guerras internacionales). Éstas se cambian por las llamadas “guerras humanitarias”, se acogen a las recomendaciones de los derechos humanos, por lo que este nuevo tipo de guerras se inicia con una “declaración de intenciones” humanitarias y con la defen- sa de una agresión internacional (véanse los conflictos bélicos ini- ciados en el siglo XX por Estados Unidos en el mundo árabe, empe- zada con primera invasión de Irak, del 20 de marzo al 1 de mayo de 2003), mientras que de forma clásica se hacía con la simple “decla- ración de guerra”, para atemorizar primero y destruir después al “enemigo” (caso, por ejemplo, de la segunda guerra mundial, en la No-violencia, conflicto, guerra y paz NON-VIOLENCE, CONFLICT, WAR AND PEACE ENVIADO 26-6-2013 REVISADO 26-8-2013 ACEPTADO 30-8-2013 Miguel-Héctor Fernández- Carrión Centro de Inves- tigación de Es- tudios Compa- rados de Améri- ca Latina, Méxi- co Palabras claves: No-violencia, conflicto, guerra, paz Key Words: Non-violence, conflict, war, peace MONOGRAFÍA NO-VIOLENCIA CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 20 20 que Alemania nazi inicia la contienda invadiendo Polonia, el 1 de septiembre de 1939). Las políticas nacionales se mantienen en la mayoría de los países, tanto en los que no imperan regímenes dictatoriales declarados (China, por ejemplo), como en los que se encuentran en persisten- te guerra civil (algunos países de África, véanse los casos de Sierra Leona, República Democrática del Congo (antigua Zaire), Ruanda, Burundi, entre otras). Al mismo tiempo algunos ciudadanos por razones fundamentalmente políticas son violentados físicamente (en gran parte de los casos torturados) de forma oculta en las co- misarias de policías o espacios reservados de forma espontánea o establecidos para estas prácticas, en Estados Unidos, por ejemplo, se tortura a espalda de la opinión pública (se intenta por todos los recursos que no se haga eco de estos actos delictivos en los me- dios de comunicación o se argumenta actuar de “acuerdo con la defensa nacional”, como en Guantánamo). Actualmente la acción delictiva del Estado en esta materia se intenta valer de unas decla- raciones oficiales victimitas en favor de una supuesta “defensa nacional”, sin que con ello éticamente dejen de actuar delictiva- mente los políticos y la administración implicada. Históricamente existen países que han mostrado mayor interés por la expansión nacional, de forma bélica a corta y larga distancia, con naciones fronterizas o no. La cultura nacional china se ha expandi- do por el continente asiático, así como también lo ha hecho el imperio zarista y la URSS de Stalin, por Europa, el imperio romano 1 , la expansión musulmana o del islam del 622, iniciada por Mahoma en Medina hasta la caída de Constantinopla en 1453, extendiéndo- se por el Mediterráneo a lo largo de todo el “mundo conocido” en la época, comprendiendo varios continentes. Otro tipo de conquis- ta es la iniciada por España medieval 2 que tiende a ampliar su in- fluencia política de forma militar por el “mundo desconocido” (de- nominado entonces “Nuevo mundo”). De la misma manera que se ha expuesto de forma somera los dife- rentes tipos de expansión nacional y desarrollo de la tortura habi- da a lo largo de los tiempos, se puede señalar la acción seguida por los movimientos de protesta. 1 “Imperium Romanum”, del 27 a. C. al 476 se extiende principalmente en torno al Mediterráneo, bajo la idea de “Mare Nostrum”. 2 Se aluden a los desembarcos vikingos, del 793 al 1085. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 21 21 2 Movimientos sociales violentos o no-violentos a lo largo de la historia Cuando la crítica de los movimientos sociales a la administración adquiere una dimensión política deberían pasar a ser denomina- dos, como así lo hace algunos investigadores e historiadores, mo- vimientos de protesta. Estos movimientos desde la antigüedad (aunque aún están poco estudiados) hasta la Edad Media eran gremiales, en la Edad Moderna con el desarrollo del mundo rural y en la Edad Contemporánea con el inicio de la industrialización ad- quieren la forma de movimientos campesinos y del proletariado en los distintos países industrializados europeos. Todos ellos o al me- nos casi en su totalidad actúan con acciones violentas, de forma general se puede decir que hasta el siglo XX no se entiende un movimiento de protesta, huelga o lucha campesina o del proleta- riado industrial sin empleo de violencia. Ésta es usada normalmen- te por las dos partes involucradas en el conflicto: el Estado a través de su aparato militar o “represor”; el movimiento de protesta o huelguistas recurren a las armas que pueden conseguir en cada momento para “defenderse” con una acción igualmente violenta. En todos estos siglos, hasta la segunda mitad del siglo XX, no se cree en el diálogo, ni en la palabra para resolver un conflicto en paz. A partir de la publicación del Manifiesto comunista, por parte de Karl Marx y Engels, en 1848, con la defensa de la revolución del proletariado en armas, unido al movimiento anarquista violento en el sur de Europa a lo largo del siglo XIX y primer tercio del siglo XX, logra tomar el poder el partido bolchevique, con la revolución rusa en 1917, y la revolución cubana, en 1959, entre otros, fomenta la formación de movimientos revolucionarios nacionales armados. Junto a la defensa de la “revolución nacional”, por parte de Lenin, Fidel Castro…, otros políticos como Troski o Che Guevara defien- den la internacionalización de los conflictos armados. De igual manera que se ha perpetuado la violencia se ha desarro- llado un movimiento de no-violencia. 3 Teoría general sobre la no-violencia Desde la antigüedad clásica algunos autores, principalmente filóso- fos y literatos, han defendido una postura no beligerante (no- violenta) ante el poder. Aristófanes en Lisistrata, Sófocles en Antí- CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 22 22 gona, Marco Aurelio en Pensamientos, Jonathan Swift en Los viajes de Gulliver, John Rawls en Teoría de la justicia (1971, proseguido teóricamente por Daniel Markovitst en Desobediencia democráti- ca) o Gene Sharp en The Politics of Nonviolent Action (1973) 3 , por ejemplo, pasando por León Tolstói, Russell, Chomsky… y Henry David Thoreau en Desobediencia civil (1849) 4 , así como autores del siglo XX: Clarence Marsh Case (1923), Richard Gregg (1935), Wil- fred H. Crook (1931), Bartelemy De Ligt (1935), Krishnalal Shrid- harani (1939), Aldo Capitini (1949), Joan Valérie Bondurant (1958), Adam Roberts (1969), Johan Galtung (1976), Jean-Marie Muller (1983), Theodor Ebert (1984), Alberto L’Abate (1985), Jacques Sémelin (1989), Brian Martin (1993 y 2001) y Peter Ackerman (2000), entre otros. A la par de un desarrollo teórico se ha iniciado una postura activa no-violenta en las personalidades políticas públicas como Gandhi (con satyagraha: la fuerza y la persistencia en la verdad, en Satya- graha in South Africa -1928-), Martin Luther King Jr. (con idea de libertad, igualdad y lucha no-violenta, evidenciada en el pronun- ciamiento titulado “Tengo un sueño” -1963- o el “Discurso de aceptación del Premio Nobel” –1964-) o Petra Karin Kelly, por ejemplo. Artísticamente también hay evidencias de la crítica a la violencia, por parte de Francisco de Goya en Los desastres de la guerra, Pa- blo Picasso con el Guernica, Vasily Vereshchagin en Supression of the Indian Revolt by the English, entre otros. La teoría de la guerra está muy defendida teóricamente y sobre todo ha sido practicada por numerosas naciones del mundo a lo largo de la historia. Es importante traer a colación en este sentido como un contrapunto los trabajos teóricos desarrollados por Marc Howard Ross con el título de La cultura del conflicto: las diferen- cias interculturales en la práctica de la violencia (1995), la resolu- 3 Defensor de “jujitsu” político y “jjitsu” social que alude a los efectos morales y psicológicos de la persistencia de la no-violencia sobre los “agentes represores”. 4 Parte de las conferencias que imparte con el título “La relación entre el individuo y el Estado”, en enero y febrero de 1848 en el Liceo de Concord, Massachusetts, y que publica inicialmente en 1849 bajo el título de Resis- tencia al gobierno civil, en el cual defiende que las minorías pueden y deben generar sanciones, fricciones y presiones contra las políticas de las mayorías, aun de gobiernos surgidos de las urnas. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 23 23 ción de conflictos dentro de una cultura de la paz propuesto por Viçenç Fisas en Cultura de paz y gestión de conflictos (1998), “Vio- lence, peace and peace research” de Johan Galtung (1969), La médiation de Michèle Guillaume-Hofnung (1995) hasta ultimar con la defensa directa de la no-violencia expuesta en La non-violence, de Christian Mellon y Jacques Semelin (1994) o El coraje de la no violencia de Jean-Marie Muller (2001). En la práctica, las protestas no-violentas se desarrollan por un lado antagónicas a las situaciones de colonización de terceros países; por otro, surgen en los propios países como un acto de protesta contra las autoridades establecidas. En el primer caso, muchas luchas por la independencia se llevaban a cabo a través de guerras cruentas entre los colonizados y los países conquistadores (euro- peos principalmente: España, Francia… e Inglaterra) hasta finales del siglo XX (América Latina, etc.) y en la segunda mitad del siglo XX, especialmente tras la segunda guerra mundial, se produce un proceso de descolonización no siempre violento favorecido por la política expansionista norteamericana con el apoyo de la ONU, contra terceros países (Alemania, Gran Bretaña… y Francia) sobre todo en África, donde en muchos casos se impone la diplomacia internacional sobre la guerra de descolonización; después se cam- bia la lucha militar entre países por una resolución de conflictos vía diplomática, y entre ambos casos no puede dejarse de mencionar la resistencia civil no-violenta habida en algunos países a lo largo del siglo XX, en unos casos casi anecdótica y en otros logrando una resolución práctica del conflicto, como sucede en la India, por ejemplo, el 14 de agosto de 1947. Internamente, en las propias naciones, ha perdurado la protesta armada y las reivindicaciones pacíficas de sumisión al poder, como la lucha de los pueblos indígenas contra el establecimiento del nuevo mando criollo, tras su independencia, en Chile y Argentina por ejemplo, a lo largo de todo el siglo XIX (anteriormente sucede de forma parecida en los Estados Unidos). En cambio la corriente feminista se muestra no violento desde sus inicios, a principios del siglo XX, unido al movimiento sufragista en Estados Unidos, en 1913 (aunque el sufragio de la mujer se lleva a la práctica antes y durante esta fecha en los países nórdicos: Finlandia -1906-, Norue- ga -1913-, Dinamarca e Islandia -1915-), más tarde, en la décadas de los sesenta y setenta se centra en torno a la “liberación” de la CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 24 24 mujer y a finales del siglo XX y principios del XXI se inicia el proceso de acceso al poder de la mujer en el mundo occidental 5 . Existen autores que inician la polémica sobre la igualdad y diferencias de la mujer como hace Poullain de la Barre, en 1673 y sobre todo Vindi- cación de los derechos de la mujer presentada por Mary Wollsto- necraf en 1792. Asimismo los movimientos de protesta contra políticas internacionales o que afectan a los derechos de ciudada- nos, independientemente de su nacionalidad, como las campañas no violentas ejercidas por el END (European Nuclear Disarmament, 1970-1980) o las que están en contra de la instalación de bases americanas en Europa (España, Francia, Gran Bretaña, 1970-1980), etc., hasta ultimar con el movimiento de protesta contra las políti- cas nacionales, como la revolución naranja en Ucrania (2004- 2005), la revolución de los cedros en el Líbano (2005), la primavera árabe en Túnez… y Egipto (2011) o el movimiento 15M en España (2011, que perdura hasta el momento presente). 4 Concepción de los movimientos sociales, no-violencia, violen- cia… Habría que diferenciar etimológicamente entre los términos que aluden o se contraponen a los conceptos de no-violencia y violen- cia, así como entre movimientos sociales, movimientos de protes- ta, resistencia y protesta, la no-violencia y el pacifismo y la violen- cia o acción armada. Los movimientos sociales consisten en una agrupación libre y es- pontánea de individuos u organizaciones afines en ideología, ideas programáticas o reivindicaciones movidas por un cambio social, fundamentalmente de carácter político y/o económico 6 , confor- man lo que se podría denominar movimientos de protesta. En oca- siones se subclasifica en movimientos obreros y movimientos es- tudiantiles para referirse a un colectivo concreto protagonista de dichas reivindicaciones. En la segunda mitad del siglo XX surge un nuevo tipo de protesta con distintas reivindicaciones y modos de acción, por lo general presentan demandas postmaterialistas (Ro- nald Ingleheart) tendentes a cambios culturales (ecologistas, femi- 5 Analizado por Fernández-Carrión en “La mujer en la sociedad red”, Fa- milias, poderes, instituciones y conflictos (2011a). 6 El término de movimientos sociales es ideado por Lorenz von Stein (1850). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 25 25 nistas, etc.), por ello se habla del movimiento feminista, movimien- to ecologista, etc. Existe un posicionamiento intermedio en el tipo de reivindicación, que es el protagonizado por el llamado movi- miento antiglobalización y el movimiento antisistema, de princi- pios del siglo XXI, el cual conjuga la demanda de un cambio total del sistema económico, político, financiero, etc. del mundo actual y al mismo tiempo pretende un cambio de actitud o comporta- miento social (pretensión inmaterial). Los movimientos sociales están constituidos por individuos o co- lectivos con afinidad de oficio, situación laboral, ideología o grado de inconformidad, protestan con una reivindicación social, laboral, política, etc., movilizándose, agitándose o resistiendo de forma violenta, no-violenta, pacifista o intimidatoria (semi violenta o semi no violenta, dependiendo de quien la analiza). La protesta es la acción de proclamar, declarar o expresar una que- ja, oposición o disconformidad de forma pública y airada por me- dio de una manifestación, carta o declaración pública, etc., mien- tras que la movilización, agitación o marcha es la puesta en prácti- ca de una protesta colectiva en la calle. Este tipo de protesta pue- de ser activa o pasiva, la segunda es la llamada “huelga de brazos caídos” (no trabajar en modo de protesta), hacer público oralmen- te una oposición a una situación que se critica, etc., mientras que la activa implica el desarrollo de una acción directa reivindicativa. La protesta activa desde la perspectiva de la no-violencia se deno- mina, en ocasiones indistintamente (aunque en un posterior estu- dio se intentará diferenciar etimológicamente), como resistencia no violenta, acción no violenta, no-violencia activa o resistencia pacífica, entendida normalmente como no-violencia o nonviolence, conlleva una desobediencia civil activa que propugna un cambio político, social o cultural con resistencia, pero sin empleo de vio- lencia alguna, como lo entiende en la práctica Gandhi (quien se inspirara previamente en León Tolstoi y Henry D. Thoreau –según Grinberg, 1999-), la llama satyagraha. La no-violencia es más que una simple práctica, táctica o estrategia reivindicativa, es una ideología, conjuga la acción política, cultural y/o religiosa a la vez sin empleo y contraria a la violencia. Los métodos no violentos están constituidos por la desobediencia civil, la huelga de hambre, el boicot a un producto, empresa o política, la manifestación pacífica, el bloqueo con humanos o con el empleo CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 26 26 de algunos objetos, la no colaboración y el fomento de una acción contraria de la esperada por una política, mientras que los meca- nismos internos empleados por la no-violencia consisten en la con- cientización individual y/o colectiva de acuerdo con los preceptos establecidos por el método no violento en busca de la cohesión social crítica, la construcción de la figura del enemigo subordinado (para transgredir las relaciones de subordinación impuestas), des- taca la importancia de la inclusión (frente a la exclusión oficial) y la legitimidad frente a la legalidad y la verdad por encima de las con- veniencias, convencionalismos y creencias preestablecidas o ma- yoritarias. En ocasiones se tiende a confundir no-violencia con pacifismo y antimilitarismo, pero se tratan de conceptos distintos. El pacifismo es una actitud, aunque existen teóricos e incluso la RAE que lo consideran como un conjunto de doctrinas encaminadas a mante- ner la paz entre las naciones, las teorías o las acciones tendentes a la defensa de una situación de paz permanente (FC), contraria a cualquier guerra o formas violentas, mientras que la no-violencia es una acción, práctica o ideología que conjuga la acción política… y cultural, sin empleo de violencia y contraria a ésta (como se ha expuesto anteriormente), y el antimilitarismo o antibelicismo es una actitud contra una problemática específica bélica. El pacifismo es defendido teóricamente por filósofos y literatos principalmente, a partir del siglo XVIII, como son Leibniz, Voltaire, Rousseau, Saint-Simón; en el siglo XIX, por Tolstoi, Wells, entre otros y en el siglo XX lo lleva a la práctica –según algunos autores– Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr… y Mandela, aunque estos últimos más que pacifistas practican la acción no-violenta. 5 Práctica de la no-violencia Los movimientos sociales se han modificado a lo largo de los tiem- pos, se puede generalizar de alguna forma señalando que de las revueltas gremiales y campesinas de la Edad Media y Moderna se da paso a las revueltas campesinas decimonónicas 7 , se dirigen principalmente contra los terratenientes y posteriormente contra la mecanización de la agricultura; las revueltas obreras (anarquis- 7 Protagonizadas, por los anarquistas y campesinos en España, por ejem- plo. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 27 27 tas y socialistas) del XIX que luchan contra sus propios empresarios y empresas y el mundo capitalista en general por la “explotación” a la que es sometida la clase proletaria en su propio país. Esta locali- zación geográfica en las reivindicaciones se reitera en el siglo XX con un movimiento más ecléctico ideológicamente, ejercido en los 60 por los jóvenes hippie pacifistas contra la guerra del Vietnam en Estados Unidos, en 1968; las revueltas estudiantiles unidas a obre- ros en el mayo 68 francés (donde se conjunta la teoría marxista ortodoxa con ideas filosóficas de izquierdas de la Escuela de Frank- furt), y los movimientos vecinales (de barrios), estudiantes y obre- ros en España durante la dictadura de Franco 8 , con la pretensión, en este último caso, de lograr una política “popular” frente a la política oficial representada provincialmente y local, por los gober- nadores y alcaldes, respectivamente 9 . En el siglo XXI, con el desarrollo de la sociedad red, el cibernauta o el ciudadano a título personal o en colectividad de forma casual o puntual es el que se enfrenta a las organizaciones de poder global, a la superpotencia mundial y al sistema capitalista desde todos los países posibles del mundo, en la red o desde la calle globalizando la protesta. La acción colectiva gremial propia de la Edad Media, o la lucha de clases desarrollada en los siglos XIX y XX, en una localidad primero y después con repercusión nacional, ha dado paso a otra acción reivindicativa muy distinta en el siglo XXI en la que por una parte se impone el individuo como actor (más que sujeto) social que a título personal coincidirá con otros en la red o en la calle, indistin- tamente, formando un colectivo por lo general ecléctico que pro- testa de forma no violenta contra el sistema globalizado y contra los poderes supranacionales (FMI, BM, G4, G20, principalmente, aunque la cabeza directriz de esta globalización se encuentra de- ntro de algunas organizaciones secretas supranacionales respalda- das por la ONU, con apoyo de empresas de nuevas tecnologías de la información y gran parte de sus miembros residen en Estados 8 Dirigidos mayoritariamente por el PCE, en España. 9 Para el caso de América Latina lo estudia Gerardo Caetano –compilador– en Sujetos sociales y nuevas formas de protesta en la histo- ria reciente de América Latina (2006). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 28 28 Unidos 10 . El pacifismo se ha evidenciado históricamente, en la Grecia clásica, en algunas de las obras dramáticas de Aristófanes: Los acarnienses, La paz y Lisístrada 11 , por ejemplo; más tarde la deflagración de las bombas atómicas de los norteamericanos contra Japón en Hiros- hima y Nagasaki, en agosto de 1945, consigue que once científicos redacten y firmen la primera declaración abierta contra el uso de las armas de destrucción masiva, en Londres, en 1955, conocida como Manifiesto Russell-Einstein. Posteriormente, se produce una serie de protestas juveniles contra la guerra de los norteamerica- nos en el Vietnam, con el lema “Haz el amor y no la guerra”, enca- bezados por el activista y cantante John Lennon. En el siglo XXI, Estados Unidos (con el apoyo intencionado de Israel) inicia una guerra contra el mundo árabe, en “búsqueda de petróleo” para una economía nacional en plena crisis, con la primera invasión de Irak en 2003 (propuesta por Estados Unidos como una “guerra contra el terrorismo”) a la que prosiguen otras guerras e invasio- nes militares hasta la fecha, siendo contestada esta primera por miles de personas en todo el mundo, convocados simultáneamen- te por medio de internet (email) y sms, bajo el lema “No a la gue- rra”, logrando organizar una marcha por la paz, en los países impli- cados en la “invasión” (Estados Unidos, Gran Bretaña, Francia… y España), en algunos de estos países (Gran Bretaña, Estados Unidos, España e Italia) este movimiento internacionalista se implica igualmente en la “mala política” nacional 12 . El pacifismo como una política antibelicista es ampliada, en los ejemplos expuestos anteriormente, por el movimiento de no- violencia, el cual además de las metas bélicas añade otras de carácter político, social, cultural, religioso, etc. Por ello, las mues- tras históricas de la no-violencia se extienden a muchos más ejem- plos que logran el pacifismo, como es la huelga de los plebeyos 10 Como es analizado por Fernández-Carrión en “Movimientos de pobla- ción y movimientos de protesta antiglobalización: Población, control social y protesta” en Historia social, movimientos sociales y ciudadanía (2011b). 11 Donde plantea la huelga sexual de las mujeres contra la guerra. 12 Contribuyendo por ejemplo en España “al vuelco electoral” a favor de la oposición socialista contra uno de los “tríos de las Azores”, Cumbre de las Azores que reúne a George W. Bush, Tony Blair y José María Aznar, el 15 de marzo de 2003. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 29 29 (Secessio plebis), en el 494 a. C.; Finlandia en 1905 contra la Rusia zarista; Gandhi en la India contra Gran Bretaña en 1940; Martin Luther King en Estados Unidos en 1955; la revolución de los clave- les en Portugal en 1974 13 , Walesa en Polonia en 1980 o Mandela en Sudáfrica contra el apartheid en 1994 14 . El pacifismo fomenta igualmente la creación de movimientos de protesta no violentos- pacifistas como Peace Brigades International (1981), Witness for Peace (1981), 15M (en España, en 2011), 15O (por diferentes paí- ses en 2011), entre otros. Un ejemplo singular, reciente de movimiento de no-violencia, es el iniciado en España con el llamado 15M (movimiento 15M), movi- miento de los “indignados” o “Spanish revolution”, iniciada el 15 de mayo de 2011, convocada por la plataforma “¡Democracia real ya¡ y otros colectivos (como la plataforma de coordinación de gru- pos pro-movilización ciudadana, etc.) en cerca de sesenta ciudades españolas a la vez (hasta agosto de 2011 se movilizaron entre seis y ocho millones de “indignados”), posteriormente, el 15 de octu- bre presenta repercusión y “movilización” mundial (15O), en Esta- dos Unidos, Israel, México, entre otros países. La acampada en Sol (Puerta del Sol, en el centro de Madrid), el 17 de mayo, se establece como centro de las movilizaciones. Las asambleas populares se estructuran en torno a una serie de “co- misiones” (Legal, Comunicación, Acción, Actividades, Barrios, Esta- tal e Internacional, Información, Infraestructuras y Lenguas de Signos) y grupos de trabajo (Cultura, Educación, Política, Economía, Medio Ambiente, Trabajo social, Feminismo, Transmaricabollo, Ciencia y Tecnología, Diálogo entre religiones, migración y movili- dad, y pensamiento). Está caracterizado por ser un movimiento apartidista (sin afiliación a ningún partido político ni sindicato), no violento, horizontal (asambleario) y “transparente” (sin estar suje- to a ningún tipo de registro interno y externo). Como antecedentes inmediatos del 15M se puede aludir a la movi- 13 Con igual resultado nefasto para la dictadura imperante en el país, que sucediera en El Salvador, en 1944 y posteriormente las jornadas del 19 y 20 de diciembre de 2001 en Buenos Aires, concluyen con la caída del gobierno de Fernando de la Rúa. 14 Con una larga lucha con el Partido del Congreso Africano –ACP–, Con- greso Nacional Africano –ANC–, con Mandela y Movimiento de Concien- cia Negro, con Steve Biko. CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 30 30 lización ciudadana en Islandia, en octubre 2008, en rechazo al pago de la deuda externa; la publicación del libro-manifiesto de Stépha- ne Hessel ¡Indignaos!, el 21 de octubre de 2010; la “primavera árabe”, iniciada el 4 de enero de 2011 en Túnez; así como el fenó- meno WikiLeaks 15 ; el blog “Manifiesto juventud” borrador del ma- nifiesto denominado “Mayo del 68 en España” 16 que convoca a los jóvenes a la protesta pública (9 de febrero de 2011), de entre to- dos ellos destacan las consignas teóricas establecida por Hessel, que propone un alzamiento contra la indiferencia y a favor de la insurrección no violenta (“pacífica”), con los siguientes términos: ¿Cómo concluir este llamado a la indignación? *…+ Convoque- mos una verdadera insurrección pacífica contra los medios de comunicación de masas que no propongan como horizonte pa- ra nuestra juventud otras cosas que no sean el consumo de masa, el desprecio hacia los más débiles y hacia la cultura, la amnesia generalizada y la competición excesiva de todos con- tra todos (2011, “Conclusión”). Sigue el criterio plateado por Gandhi en su “Programa constructivo de la India”, al señalar que: Un estudio superficial de la historia inglesa nos ha hecho pen- sar que todo el poder llega al pueblo por los parlamentos. La verdad radica en que el poder está en la gente y es confiado momentáneamente a quienes ella pueda elegir como repre- sentantes propios (2014, 306). Por ello, el 15M proclama “No nos representan” 17 los políticos y da 15 Como apunta la CNN, el 17-5-2011. 16 Ambos manifiestos son elaborados presumiblemente por Pablo Galle- go, al menos el primero está firmado por este autor. En una parecida línea política al “Manifiesto juventud” se muestra el “Manifiesto juventud necesaria” propuesto por el Consejo de la Juventud de España (*2013+), mientras que con otra pretensión “a favor de los intereses actuales nor- teamericanos en el mundo” (FC) se aprecia el contenido del “Manifiesto de la juventud para el siglo XXI”. 17 Con este mismo título, pero con interrogante, se cuestiona Joan Subi- rats (2011) el proceso de desarrollo del movimiento de protesta 15M, que encabeza teóricamente Pablo Gallego y Fabio Gándara entre otros, como queda recogido en el libro de dicha autoría bajo el título de Noso- tros, los indignados: Las voces comprometidas del #15-M (2011). Movi- miento que es estudiado desde su inicio por Zea y Abril en el diario ABC CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 31 31 pie al comunicado de prensa de la plataforma “Democracia real ya”: Nosotros los desempleados, los mal remunerados, los subcon- tratados, los precarios, los jóvenes… queremos un cambio y un futuro digno [contraria a ser parte de la “generación ni-ni”+. Es- tamos hartos de reformas antisociales, de que nos dejen en el paro, de que los bancos que han provocado la crisis nos suben las hipotecas o se quedan con nuestras viviendas, de que nos impongan leyes que limitan nuestra libertad en beneficio de los poderosos [mundo financiero, empresarial y administración pública]. Acusamos a los poderes políticos y económicos [fi- nancieros] de nuestra precaria situación y exigimos un cambio de rumbo [ahora y ya] (17-5-2011). Este movimiento está constituido no sólo por jóvenes “indigna- dos”, sino por ancianos desahuciados y con bajas pensiones, pre- jubilados sin derecho al desempleo, parados, y un largo etcétera, son millones de personas en España y en muchas más partes del mundo. No son correctas las proclamas como “La revolución será feminista o no será”, pues esta actitud es partidista de un colectivo (legal- mente es más favorecido que el hombre en el mundo occidental), sino las otras que defienden “No somos marionetas (o mercancía) en manos de políticos y banqueros”. 6 Definición de no-violencia Es importante diferenciar entre pacifismo y no-violencia, por en “Así nació el 15-M” (22-5-2011), o Garlio y Barroso en el diario El País en “Los indignados salen a la calle” (16-5-2011), por ejemplo; además, es recogido en youtube diferentes momentos y acciones del 15M, en “Que no¡ Que no nos representan” (19-5-2011), “Movimiento 15-M. 20 mayo Puerta del Sol. Recopilación de cánticos y eslóganes” (20-5-2011) o “La Puerta del Sol llena la protesta del 150” (20-5-2011). Protestas que desde el 15 de marzo de 2011 prosigue hasta la actualidad, aunque con aspec- tos diferenciales a lo largo del tiempo, como se aprecia por ejemplo en las “Noticias del día 20 de enero de 2014” (El País) o “Movimientos 15-M” (El País, 2015a). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores 32 32 ejemplo, como se ha hecho antes, pues aunque parecen sinónimos no significan en la práctica lo mismo, y lo saben ciertamente las agencias secretas internacionales y organismos multinacionales como la ONU, por ejemplo, esta última ha proclamado como “día internacional de la no-violencia” el 2 de octubre, y no hace lo mis- mo con el pacifismo (que se tenga constancia hasta el momento), pues están conscientes de que la crítica contra la guerra desde un posicionamiento pacifista puede plantearse con una acción no violenta, o por el contrario, con una violencia estructural (límite para la consideración teórica de la no-violencia e inicio de una aparente violencia, o posición de fuerza). Igualmente llama la atención que en los buscadores de Internet como google es fácil rastrear información sobre no-violencia, pero en cambio es difícil que suceda lo mismo con el término de violencia, e incluso la búsqueda de información sobre movimientos violentos en la histo- ria, aunque sean parte de una investigación teórica pueden causar problemas con la justicia o con el espionaje internacional, como ha hecho público el exespía norteamericano Edward Snowden, quien defiende su actitud delatora contra el espionaje masivo norteame- ricano o “vigilancia secretas de las comunicaciones” en la red, di- ciendo “no quiero un mundo en el que se grabe todo lo que digo y hago” (El País, 6-17-2013) 18 . Dentro del movimiento del 15M se conforman las asambleas cons- tituyentes de ciudadanos locales y estatales que aluden a la “crisis institucional: soberanía de los ciudadanos/soberanía de los pue- blos. El derecho a decidir, a decidirlo todo”, segunda propuesta del “orden del día” de la 3 Asamblea Estatal, celebrada en Barcelona, el 9 de febrero de 2013, presenta tres problemas: por una parte, se entra a debatir de forma directa el sistema político que rige actualmente España, la monarquía, lo cual está penado; en segun- do lugar, la convocatoria se hace vía email y está controlada por los servicios secretos nacionales e internacionales, conociéndose de esta forma el nombre, texto (información) y correo electrónico de los cibernautas interesados en esta iniciativa y en tercer lugar detrás de esta propuesta se mueven políticos convencionales favo- 18 Todo el proceso de espionaje global protagonizado a principios del siglo XXI por parte de los Estados Unidos es recogido en el “Caso espionaje EEUU” (2015b) y que ha evidenciado públicamente Snowden, recopilado igualmente por El País con el título de “Edward Snowden” (2015c). CIECAL/Revista Vectores de Investigación Journal of Comparative Studies Latin America Vol. 7 No. 7 SEGUNDA EDICIÓN Vectores de investigación 33 33 rables del cambio constituyente, por una federación o indepen- dencia nacional (en Cataluña, etc.). Hay movimientos no violentos que en algún momento de su desa- rrollo se muestran o aparecen como violentos o se dan brotes con- cretos de violencia, según el Secretario de Estado de Seguridad Francisco Martínez se debe a que “es habitual que en las protestas se infiltren violentos para desvirtuarlas” (El País, 20-1-2014), pero en ocasiones es causado porque “la paciencia tiene un límite”, pues algunos de los que inician un movimiento no violento termi- nan con violencia en algún momento del proceso reivindicativo. Asimismo, los manifestantes de un movimiento no violento apro- vechan el inicio de la protesta para “culminarla” ellos de manera violenta, a veces es consecuencia de un grupo de infiltrados o po- licías que provocan la desacreditación de dicho movimiento, y en otras, las personas pueden reaccionar con o sin violencia según las circunstancias y el cariz que tomen en cada momento del proceso de protesta. Al final, la no-violencia se puede definir –según Fernández-Carrión- como una forma de pensar y de actuar de acuerdo con una ideo- logía que está caracterizada por ser demanda de justicia y dere- chos en igualdad para la sociedad en general, sin atender a los particularismos diferenciables entre los seres, con una actitud beli- gerante no violenta. Bibliografía ALCUBIERREDELVALLERO (2011) Que no¡ Que no¡ Que no nos re- presentan, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-RVGXzukk (subido 19-5-2011). 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GALTUNG, Johan (1969) “Violence, peace and peace research”, Journal of Peace Research, Sage Publications, vol. 6, No. 3, 167-191. htpp.//academic.regis.edu/bplumley/Galtung1969JPRViolenc ePeacePeaceResearch.pdf. GANDHI, Mohandas K. (2014) Programa constructivo de la India, Morelos, Universidad Autónoma del Estado de Morelos, prólogo de Pietro Ameglio. - (2003) Satyagraha in South’Africa, versión online Yann Forget, http://www.arvindguptatoys.com/arvindgupta/gandhisouthaf rica.pdf, traducción de Valji Govindji Desai (primera edición 1928). GARLIO, Marta, BARROSO, F.J. (2011) “Los indignados salen a la calle”, El País, 16-5-2011, http://elpais.com/elpais/2015/15/ fotorrelato/1431686534_971367.html#1431686534_971367_ 1431704732. GRINBERG, Miguel (1999) “Prólogo”, Reflexiones sobre la no vio- lencia, Mahatma Gandi, Buenos Aires, Errepar. GUILLAUME-HOFNUNG, Mich+ele (1995) La médiation, París, Pres- ses Universitaires de France (PUF). 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work_yipyzatcmjgz5b4hzyddfs32fy	----	Phylogeny and Speciation of Felids | Request PDF ArticlePhylogeny and Speciation of Felids July 2005 Cladistics 16(2):232 - 253 DOI: 10.1111/j.1096-0031.2000.tb00354.x Authors: Michelle Y. Mattern Michelle Y. Mattern This person is not on ResearchGate, or hasn't claimed this research yet. Deborah A. Mclennan University of Toronto Request full-text PDFTo read the full-text of this research, you can request a copy directly from the authors. Request full-text Download citation Copy link Link copied Request full-text Download citation Copy link Link copied To read the full-text of this research, you can request a copy directly from the authors. Citations (141) References (140) Abstract The phylogeny of the Felidae is reconstructed using a total evidence approach combining sequences from 12S rRNA, 16S rRNA, NADH-5, and cytochrome b genes with morphological and karyological characters. The 1504-character data set generated two equally parsimonious trees (CI = 0.413, 1795 steps) of which a strict consensus revealed one polytomy in the placement of the bay cat group. The tree supports several traditional groupings such as the genera Panthera and Lynx and the ocelot group of small South American felids, and it provides additional resolution of relationships within and among the major felid lineages. Combining phylogenetic, distributional, and ecological data indicates that vicariant speciation has played a relatively minor role in the diversification of the felids (approximately 26% of events), while sympatric speciation has been more important than expected on theoretical grounds (approximately 51.8% of events), although postspeciation dispersal may have blurred the boundaries between sympatric, parapatric, and peripheral isolate modes. An examination of ecological changes on the felid tree shows repeated patterns of resource partitioning in time (activity patterns), space (preferred habitat type), and food (as measured by body size) among closely related species. The rapid diversification of the cats thus appears to have been associated more with ecological than with geological separation. Discover the world's research 20+ million members 135+ million publications 700k+ research projects Join for free No full-text available To read the full-text of this research, you can request a copy directly from the authors. Request full-text PDF Citations (141) References (140) ... It could be that the two species diverged when Borneo first became an island during PLIO 3, or if temmincki is considered to be of Indochinese affinity and badia of Sundaic affinity, then it is possible that the two lineages separated during PLIO 2 when the Sundaic and Indochinese subregions may have become separated. It should be noted, however, that Mattern and McLennan (2000) suggested a process of sympatric speciation associated with an increase in body size in C. temmincki. More generally, these latter authors suggested that vicariant speciation appears to have played a limited role in the Felidae. ... ... These three species probably diverged from a common ancestor some 3.95 Mya (Johnson & O'Brien 1997). According to Mattern and McLennan (2000) these species evolved sympatrically associated with movement into thicker forest, coupled with the origin of climbing ability in bengalensis. It could also be that these species evolved as the result of allopatric speciation, when high sea levels during PLIO 2, may have split Sumatra from the rest of Sundaland and Sundaland from the Asian mainland; ecological specialization of the 3 species would then have occurred after their initial divergence and was not the direct cause of it. ... ... Pardofelis marmorata, the Marbled Cat of the Himalayas, Indochina, and Sundaland, formed part of the radiation in a group including the genus Lynx (O'Brien 1996), although in the study by Johnson and O'Brien (1997), this species did not consistently associate with any other felid; a relationship with the Puma group was in that study more likely. Mattern and McLennan (2000) found a more likely close relationshio between Catopuma and Pardofelis marmorata. Finally, the radiation of the group containing Panthera and Neofelis (the Clouded Leopard) occurred some 6-5.5 Mya, according to O'Brien et al. (1987) and Johnson and O'Brien (1997), although in another paper O' Brien (1996) estimated that this radiation occurred in the Pleistocene. ... Solving Mammalian Riddles : A reconstruction of the Tertiary and Quaternary distribution of mammals and their palaeoenvironments in island South-East Asia Thesis Full-text available Jan 2004 Erik Meijaard Since the mid 19th century, the biogeography of island South-East Asia has been the subject of much study. Early researchers explained many of the species distribution patterns by the rise and fall of sea levels and land. This and the work of other researchers culminated in a theory that emphasized the role of Pleistocene sea level low stands in species evolution. With the advent of newly developed molecular techniques, however, it became clear that many species divergence events had taken place before the Pleistocene and a biogeographical theory focusing on Pleistocene sea level changes was inadequate. In this research, I have developed a new biogeographic model that explains present-day distribution patterns and evolutionary relationships between species. I use this new model to explain 10 ‘mammalian riddles’, i.e. evolutionary or distribution patterns in selected mammal species groups that could not be explained with the existing theories. I developed the new model by analyzing the geological literature for this region, and by mapping palaeogeographical and palaeoenvironmental changes for the last 20 million years. In addition I compiled information on the palaeontological record for the region and on divergence times between taxa using a molecular clock assumption. These phylogenetic data were compared with the palaeomaps to assess whether particular divergence events could be correlated with certain palaeogeographical or palaeoenvironmental changes. The combination of these two information sources has resulted in a much-improved understanding of mammalian evolution in island SE Asia. Using this model it is now possible to relate important palaeoenvironmental events, such as the Late Miocene cooling, an Early–Middle Pliocene highstand, or the emergence and submergence of a land bridge between the Malay Peninsula and Java to evolutionary changes in species. I test the accuracy of the new model by analysing the relationships within several mammal groups using craniometric and molecular analysis. The observed relationships and deduced timing of divergence between taxa could in many cases be explained by the model, which indicates that it is relatively accurate. In addition, with the new model I have been able to find solutions to most mammalian riddles, although these results require further testing. Overall, I therefore believe I have made a significant contribution to the biogeographical understanding of island SE Asia. View Show abstract ... There have been long debates about the systematics of the felids. Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. ... ... Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. Lately the cat family has been divided into 37 species; however numbers vary between 36 and 39 species, depending on the author. ... ... Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. Lately the cat family has been divided into 37 species; however numbers vary between 36 and 39 species, depending on the author. ... Ecology and population status of the Serval Leptailurus serval (SCHREBER, 1776) in Zambia Thesis Full-text available Feb 2011 Christine Thiel-Bender View ... There have been long debates about the systematics of the felids. Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. ... ... Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. Lately the cat family has been divided into 37 species; however numbers vary between 36 and 39 species, depending on the author. ... ... Different methods have been used to classify the cat family, using morphological (POCOCK 1917, HEMMER 1978, GROVES 1982, HAST 1989, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, behavioural (LEYHAUSEN 1979), and genetic features. Researchers have used vocalizations (PETERS & HAST 1994, PETERS & TONKIN-LEYHAUSEN 1999, PETERS et al. 2009), shapes of the pupils (NEFF 1982, NOWAK 1991, hybridization records, karyotype (WURSTER-HILL & CENTERWALL 1982, KRATOCHVÍL 1982, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000 and more recently DNA analyses (SALLES 1992, JOHNSON & O'BRIEN 1997, PECON-SLATTERY & O'BRIEN 1998, BININDA-EMONDS et al. 1999, MATTERN & MCLENNAN 2000, O'BRIEN et al. 2008. Lately the cat family has been divided into 37 species; however numbers vary between 36 and 39 species, depending on the author. ... Ecology and population status of the Serval Leptailurus serval (SCHREBER, 1776) in Zambia Thesis Feb 2011 Christine Thiel Little is known about the Serval’s ecology, its needs and population status. This thesis is providing a new and detailed groundwork on this elusive felid species. The study was conducted between 2006 and 2008 in Zambia, with the focus area being Luambe National Park (LNP) in the Luangwa Valley. Keywords: Felidae, Serval, Leptailurus serval, diet, habitat, minimum population size, SDM model, ticks, Zambia, Africa View Show abstract ... The Felidae include 37 extant species (Wozencraft, Wilson & Reeder, 2005), occurring in all continents except in Antarctica (Redford & Eisenberg, 1992;Sunquist & Sunquist, 2009). The species are separated into eight lineages (Johnson et al., 2006;O'Brien & Johnson, 2007), of which the monophyletic Panthera lineage, supported by both morphological and molecular evidence (Hemmer, 1978;Herrington, 1986;Salles, 1992;Janczewski et al., 1995;Johnson et al., 1996Johnson et al., , 2006Bininda-Emonds, Gittleman & Purvis, 1999;Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Bininda-Emonds, Decker-Flum & Gittleman, 2001;Jae-Heup et al., 2001;Yu & Zhang, 2005;Christiansen, 2008a;Davis, Li & Murphy, 2010), comprises six large felid species widely distributed in the world (Wozencraft et al., 2005). Pantherines had an ancestor whose lineage branched off the rest of the felids at about 6.4 Mya (Fig. 1, Johnson et al., 2006;O'Brien & Johnson, 2007). ... ... Herrington, 1986;Janczewski et al., 1995;Johnson et al., 1996;Bininda-Emonds et al., 1999Jae-Heup et al., 2001;Christiansen, 2008a;Davis et al., 2010), although in some studies P. leo and P. onca (e.g. Johnson et al., 2006) or P. onca and P. tigris (Mattern & McLennan, 2000) are sister species. ... Three‐dimensional cranial ontogeny in pantherines (Panthera leo, P. onca, P. pardus, P. tigris; Carnivora:, Felidae) Article Aug 2016 Biol J Linn Soc Valentina Segura Guillermo Cassini Francisco Juan Prevosti The Panthera lineage is a monophyletic clade of felids, supported by both morphological and molecular evidence. The lineage includes large species with cranial similarity such as Panthera leo and P. tigris, and other with very different cranium such as P. pardus. The aim of our work was to study the cranial ontogeny of Pantherines, elucidating whether their cranial shape is a product of size or phylogeny, and to compare these findings with available information about other carnivores. We studied 370 specimens using geometric morphometrics technique in three dimensions. Panthera leo and P. tigris show similar ontogenetic trajectories, sharing adult crania with wider rostrum, shorter basicranium and vertical occipital plate. The cranial configuration of P. leo is a scaling version of P. tigris. P. pardus shows the most different cranial pattern, with adults having a rounded braincase and zygomatic arches less expanded than the rest, whereas P. onca occupies an intermediate place between these patterns. P. pardus is the species with the smallest birth weight and the lowest growth rate, reaching a final size and shape later than the remaining species. Adult shape morphology reflects no relation to phylogenetic placement of the species and it is probably related to Pantherine body size. View Show abstract ... All felids exhibit relatively little variation of body shape and lifestyle across their worldwide distribution (Martin, 1989;Rothwell, 2003;MacDonald, 2009;Sunquist and Sunquist, 2017;Piras et al., 2018). Regardless of their overall phenotypic similarities, they show an incredible range of size and mass from around 1 kg (Prionailurus rubiginosus) (Mattern and McLennan, 2000) to over 300 kg for Panthera tigris (Hayward et al., 2012). Cuff et al. (2015) demonstrated that felids show two selective body mass optima: (i) around 5 kg for "small cats", and (ii) around 100 kg for "big cats", and that their body masses were significantly different among prey choice classes (small, mixed, large). ... ... For these carnivores a large number of functional studies, including paleontological investigations, suggest that locomotion and predatory behavior are major evolutionary pressures on body size and mass (Mattern and McLennan, 2000;Hayward and Kerley, 2005;Meachen-Samuels andVan Valkenburgh, 2009a, 2009b;Slater and Van Valkenburgh, 2009;Hayward et al., 2012;Samuels et al., 2013). Indeed, felids also show similarities in their behavior related to locomotion. ... Iliac auricular surface morphofunctional study in felidae Article Oct 2019 ZOOLOGY Jean-Pierre Pallandre Raphaël Cornette Marie-Ange Placide Vincent Bels Felids show remarkable phenotypic similarities and are conservative in behavioral and ecological traits. In contrast, they display a large range in body mass from around 1kg to more than 300kg. Body size and locomotory specializations correlate to skull, limb and vertebral skeleton morphology. With an increase in body mass, felids prey selection switches from small to large, from using a rapid skull or spine lethal bite for small prey, to sustained suffocating bite for large prey. Dietary specialization correlates to skull and front limbs morphology but no correlation was found on the spine or on the hind limb. The morphology of the sacroiliac junction in relation to ecological factors remained to be described. We are presenting a study of the overall shape of the iliac auricular surface with qualitative and quantitative analyses of its morphology. Our results demonstrate that body mass, prey selection, and bite type, crucially influence the auricular surface, where no significant effect of locomotor specialization was found. The outline of the surface is significantly more elevated dorso-caudally and the joint surface shows an irregular W-shape topography in big cats whereas the surface in small cats is smoother with a C-shape topography and less of an elevated ridge. Biomechanically, we suggest that a complex auricular surface increases joint stiffness and provides more support in heavier cats, an advantage for subduing big prey successfully during a sustained bite. View Show abstract ... Some of the assumptions are based purely on the experience of cat owners found on the internet [3]. The average weight of a cat can be estimated to be 4.5 kg [5]. The height of one floor of an average house of blocks in post-Soviet republics varies from 2.5 m to 3.0 m. ... ... , m is the mass of the cat estimated as[5] ... Free fall of a cat—freshman physics exercise Article Jul 2016 EUR J PHYS Filip Studnička Jan Slegr David Štegner This paper describes theoretical calculation of the terminal velocity of falling cat, taking the air drag into account. The results show that a fall from the seventh floor is critical for the cat so we introduce a new quantity called the 'coefficient of the cat's fear' during free fall. A subsequent experiment with a model of a cat carrying the accelerometer confirmed this conclusion. This calculation and experiment can act as a strong motivational factor during introductory physics courses. View Show abstract ... The fossil record of the ocelot (Leopardus pardalis) is scarce, and includes several fragmentary finds from the North American Pleistocene [53,54]; most are Irvingtonian, but the species may well have persisted into the Sangamonian [55]; it is still found in the southern USA today [56,57]. The lineage was inferred to be 5.1 MYA by Mattern & McLennan (2000), but only 2.9 MYA by Johnson et al. (2006) [10,58]. We infer an age of 6.5 MYA for this entire lineage, to accommodate the age of Lynx-Acinonyx. ... ... The fossil record of the ocelot (Leopardus pardalis) is scarce, and includes several fragmentary finds from the North American Pleistocene [53,54]; most are Irvingtonian, but the species may well have persisted into the Sangamonian [55]; it is still found in the southern USA today [56,57]. The lineage was inferred to be 5.1 MYA by Mattern & McLennan (2000), but only 2.9 MYA by Johnson et al. (2006) [10,58]. We infer an age of 6.5 MYA for this entire lineage, to accommodate the age of Lynx-Acinonyx. ... Text S5 Data Full-text available Mar 2009 Michael Doube Alexis Wiktorowicz Conroy Per Christiansen Sandra J Shefelbine Construction of the felid cladogram for phylogenetic contrasts. Justification for the construction of the felid cladogram and description of the phylogenetic control applied to the allometric calculations. (0.11 MB PDF) View Show abstract ... In a relatively short span of geologic time, modern big cats diversified and colonized Asia, Europe, and the Americas. It has been suggested that their speciation relied more upon ecological divergence than geographic separation (Mattern & McLennan, 2000). Many species in the genus Panthera have died out, with fairly frequent new fossil discoveries continuing to be reported. ... ... From our present perspective, these factors also obscure the relationships among extinct and living species. They make it difficult to identify clear pathways from jaguars' beginnings to where the species is today, and it is evident that the complete story has not yet been told (Mattern & McLennan, 2000). ... Jaguar Care Manual Book Full-text available Sep 2016 Stacey Johnson Cheri Asa William Baker Ann Ward View ... Secondly, since all species are evolutionarily linked, and consequently, do not represent truly independent determinations as required by the rules of statistic, we constructed a phylogenetic tree to calculate phylogenetic independent contrasts. To this end, we used the NCBI Taxonomy Browser (http:// www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/Taxonomy/CommonTree/wwwcmt.cgi) in conjunction with the works of several authors (Randi et al., 1998;Martin et al., 2000;Michaux et al., 2002;Perelman et al., 2011;Vilstrup et al., 2013;Robovský et al., 2008;Mattern, 2000) that were instrumental to resolve most polytomies. One remaining polytomy was arbitrarily resolved (Fig. 3A). ... Genetic instability and aging under the scrutiny of comparative biology: A meta-analysis of spontaneous micronuclei frequency Article Apr 2016 Eleonora Croco Silvia Marchionni Antonello Lorenzini In gerontology, comparative biology of longevity offers a powerful observation point thus far underexploited. We use this approach to evaluate the role of genetic stability in longevity determination, extrapolating existing data from the literature. Screening eight pre-existing studies, we collected data from 47 mammalian species and analyzed the relationship of spontaneous micronucleated erythrocyte frequency to species maximum longevity and species adult body mass. Since in 26 of these species the spleen removes micronucleated erythrocytes from the peripheral circulation, we conducted further comparative analysis on the remaining 21 species. We demonstrate that spontaneous micronucleated erythrocyte frequency correlates primarily with body mass and not with maximum longevity. We suggest that other data on genetic stability could be collected from published works in different species and analyzed in a similar way to test further the role of genetic stability in aging. View Show abstract ... A composite phylogenetic tree for North American carnivores (Fig. 3) was based on a number of phylogenetic studies (Erdbrink, 1953;Van Valkenburgh et al., 1990;Mazza and Rustioni, 1993;Baskin, 1998aBaskin, , 1998bHunt, 1998;Mattern and McLennan, 2000;Wesley-Hunt and Flynn, 2003;Flynn and Wesley-Hunt, 2005;Wesley-Hunt, 2005;Johnson et al., 2006;Polly et al., 2006;Fulton and Strobeck, 2007;Yu et al., 2007;Sato et al., 2009;Tedford et al., 2009;Agnarsson et al., 2010;Eizirik et al., 2010;Flynn et al., 2010;Wolsan and Sato, 2010;Fuentes-González and Muñoz-Durán, 2012;Spaulding and Flynn, 2012;Tseng et al., 2013). Divergence dates for the tree's nodes are based on fossils that have been subjected to rigorous phylogenetic analyses in the above Fig. 3. Phylogeny of living North American Carnivora with divergence times calibrated with key fossil occurrences. ... Clade sorting has a greater effect than local adaptation on ecometric patterns in Carnivora Article Full-text available Feb 2017 EVOL ECOL RES Paul David Polly Jesualdo Arturo Fuentes-González A. Michelle Lawing Robert G Dundas Background: Ecometric patterning is the sorting of mean values of functional traits in communities in space through time at continental scales. Ecometric patterns can emerge from intraspecific population-level processes (selection along an environmental gradient), species-level processes (geographic sorting of species based on functional trait differences), or clade-level processes (geographic sorting based on phylogenetically shared traits). We analysed a hind limb ratio related to locomotion in carnivores (Mammalia, Carnivora) to determine (1) whether its ecometric patterning involves intraspecific population-level evolutionary processes; (2) whether ecometric patterning is produced by clade sorting processes; and (3) how ecometric patterns are altered by species turnover during glacial–interglacial cycles. Data: We analysed (1) intraspecific variation in hind limb ratio in five species to evaluate the importance of population-level processes in ecometric patterning; (2) the distributions of ratios within and among communities to evaluate the importance of clade sorting; and (3) the distributions of ratios of seven glacial fossil assemblages to evaluate temporal dynamics in ecometric patterns. We also analysed three-dimensional calcaneum shape to assess the strength of phylogenetic and functional components of hind limb variation. Analytical methods: Geometric morphometrics, phylogenetic comparative methods, and phylogenetic community assembly methods were used to evaluate trait-based clade sorting; RLQ analysis was used to measure the correlation between vegetation openness, spatial scale, species occurrences, phylogeny, and hind limb traits; and trait space was used to analyse turnover between glacial and extant carnivore communities. Results: Population-level selection is either too weak or ineffective to produce hind limb trait gradients within carnivore species; however, clade-level trait-based sorting has a strong impact on community-level trait distributions. RLQ analysis demonstrates that clade membership interacts with hind limb ratios and vegetation openness in carnivore community assembly. Glacial–interglacial cycles produced turnover in faunas and hind limb trait distributions regardless of location or biome. View Show abstract ... We found no consistent signal of the geography of speciation. This is surprising given widespread agreement that allopatric speciation is probably the norm in mammals (e.g., Patton and da Silva 1998;Alexander and Riddle 2005; but see Mattern and McLennan 2000). Our failure to detect consistent phylogenetic signal in geographic range overlap suggests that ARC analyses have limited power for many mammals. ... The geography of mammalian speciation: Mixed signals from phylogenies and range maps Article Full-text available Mar 2006 Evolution Benjamin Minault Fitzpatrick Michael Turelli Abstract The importance of geographic isolation in speciation has been debated since the 19th century. Since the beginning of the 20th century, the consensus has been that most speciation involves divergence in allopatry. This consensus was based largely on decades of observations by naturalists and verbal arguments against speciation without isolation. Recent attempts to quantify the importance of allopatric versus sympatric speciation using comparative methods called “age-range correlation” (ARC) suggest that allopatric speciation is more common than sympatric speciation. However, very few taxa have been studied and there are concerns about the adequacy of the methods. We propose methodological improvements including changes in the way overlap between clades is quantified and Monte Carlo methods to test the null hypothesis of no relationship between phylogenetic relatedness and geographic range overlap. We analyze 14 clades of mammals, chosen because of the availability of data and the consensus among mammalogists that speciation is routinely allopatric. Although data from a few clades clearly indicate allopatric speciation, divergence with gene flow is plausible in others and many results are inconclusive. The relative rarity of significant correlations between phylogenetic distance and range overlap may have three distinct causes: (1) postspeciation range changes, (2) relative rarity of range overlap, and (3) a mixture of geographic modes of speciation. Our results support skepticism about ARC's power for inferring the biogeography of speciation. Yet, even if few clades provide clear signals, meta-analytic approaches such as ARC may set bounds on the prevalence of alternative modes of speciation. View Show abstract ... Remarks: The fossil record of this genus is very scarce (Soibelzon and Prevosti, 2007), and the available diagnoses and descriptions for species of this genus are based on soft tissue characters (Seymour, 1999) and upper teeth (Salles, 1992;Mattern and McLennan, 2000). ... Quaternary biostratigraphy and biogeography of mountain region of Córdoba, Argentina Article May 2017 Jeronimo Krapovickas Adan Tauber José Augusto Haro In Argentina, Quaternary paleontological and biostratigraphic studies were mainly conducted in the Pampas plains of the provinces of Buenos Aires, Córdoba, Formosa and Santa Fe. The aim of the present study is to analyse the Pleistocene-Holocene record of the high plains of mountain in Córdoba in order to make interpretations on their biostratigraphical, geochronological, and paleobiogeographical significance. Representatives of 20 extinct and four living mammal species are listed, documenting the existence of two successive Assemblage Zones: Scelidotherium leptocephalum-Glyptodon reticulatus (between 37,095 ± 2020 and 14,040 ± 785 years BP) and Panochthus- Equus (Amerhippus) (between 14,040 ± 785 and 9181 years BP). The presence of supposed Ensenadan or Bonaerian taxa (e.g., Mesotherium sp., Catonyx tarijensis, Megatherium americanum, and Glossotherium sp.) in late Pleistocene sediments suggests that the mountainous area of Córdoba has acted as a refuge area or reservoir. The Quaternary faunas recorded in the Pampean highlands, Pampean flats, and western and northern regions of Argentina do not show differences in the morphological characteristics and numbers of taxa. View Show abstract ... In contrast, the genetic hypothesis states that the genus Lynx probably originated in North America around 6.7 million years ago (Mattern and McLennan 2000;Johnson et al. 2006 (Janczewski et al. 1995;Johnson et al. 2006). This common ancestor gave rise to L. rufus 3.24 million years ago and then differentiated into L. canadensis and the progenitors of L. lynx and the Iberian lynx L. pardinus 1.61 million years ago (Johnson et al. 2006). ... Lynx canadensis (Carnivora: Felidae) Article Dec 2019 Maxime Lavoie Aurélie Renard Serge Larivière Lynx canadensis Kerr, 1792, commonly called the Canada lynx, is a medium size felid and is the second largest of the four species in the genus Lynx. It is distributed throughout the boreal forest of most of Canada and Alaska and across portions of the northern United States. It prefers dense, regenerating coniferous forests with moderate canopy and understory cover. L. canadensis is a snowshoe hare specialist, and its ecology, morphology, and behavior closely reflect that of its main prey. It is listed as “Least Concern” by the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources, is on Appendix II of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora, and its population size trend is considered stable. However, the status of United States subpopulations, being largely peripheral to the Canadian population, is more tenuous and the species is protected. View Show abstract ... Traditionally it has been included in the genus Herpailurus, by Severtzow in 1858, although it was recently included in the genus Puma (Bininda-Emonds et al., 2001;Johnson et al., 2006;Mattern and McLennan, 2000). The majority of molecular phylogenetics studies show close genetic relationships among the puma (Puma concolor), the cheetah (Acynonix jubatus) and the jaguarundi (Johnson et al., 2006;Li et al., 2016). ... Mitogenomics of the jaguarundi (Puma yagouaroundi, Felidae, Carnivora): unclear correlation between morphological subspecies and molecular data Article Full-text available Nov 2017 PLOS ONE Manuel Ruiz-García Myreya Pinedo Joseph Shostell We analyzed 80 mitogenomes of the elusive jaguarundi (Puma yagouaroundi, Felidae, Carnivora), representing seven of the eight putative morphological subspecies traditionally described. The mitochondrial genetic diversity levels were very high in this cat species and therefore similar to other Neotropical cats. Nonetheless, the number of significantly different molecular clusters did not align well with putative morphological subspecies. We detected three possible molecular subspecies: P. y. yagouaroundi (wide distribution in Central and South America), P. y. melantho (Central Andean, and their inter-valleys, Peruvian area) and P. y. eyra (Paraguay and northern Argentina). There were also small geographical clusters with no correspondence with the morphological subspecies, especially in Costa Rica, northern and eastern Colombia, and Pacific trans-Andean Colombia and Ecuador. Thus, the number of molecular subspecies in jaguarundi could be less than the number defined morphologically. However, well-differentiated mitochondrial lineages could exist in the area of the putative P. y. panamensis and correspond to undescribed subspecies. The temporal split of the ancestors of the puma and jaguarundi and the initial mitochondrial diversification within the jaguarundi occurred during the late Pliocene, but the major fraction of haplotype proliferation happened during the Pleistocene. All the procedures we used detected a strong population expansion for the jaguarundi during the Günz-Mindel interglacial period of the Pleistocene. The spatial genetic analyses showed that the isolation-by-distance patterns are not well developed in this species. In contrast, we detected a very significant circular cline with spatial autocorrelation. Therefore, from a molecular perspective some of the individuals far removed from each other geographically are also very similar. This new information may be very helpful to conservation ecologists and managers of jaguarundi habitats as we continue to improve our understanding of the evolutionary history of this cat species. View Show abstract ... However, despite the 300-fold range in body mass in felids, limb posture is remarkably uniform throughout the clade and, instead, some bone allometry is observed in limb long bones' cross-sections (Day & Jayne, 2007;Doube et al., 2009;Zhang et al., 2012). Indeed, it has been hypothesized that the lack of correlation between body size and limb posture in felids may reflect a large-bodied ancestral condition for the clade (Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Johnson et al., 2006;Day & Jayne, 2007; but see Cuff et al., 2015). ... Cryptic complexity in felid vertebral evolution: Shape differentiation and allometry of the axial skeleton Article Full-text available Mar 2016 ZOOL J LINN SOC-LOND Marcela Randau Anjali Goswami John R. Hutchinson Stephanie E Pierce Members of the mammalian family Felidae (extant and extinct cats) are grossly phenotypically similar, but display a 300-fold range in body size, from less than 1 kg to more than 300 kg. In addition to differences in body mass, felid species show dietary and locomotory specializations that correlate to skull and limb osteological measurements, such as shape or cross-sectional area. However, ecological correlates to the axial skeleton are yet untested. Here, we build on previous studies of the biomechanical and morphological evolution of the felid appendicular skeleton by conducting a quantitative analysis of morphology and allometry in the presacral vertebral column across extant cats. Our results demonstrate that vertebral columns of arboreal, scansorial and terrestrial felids significantly differ in morphology, specifically in the lumbar region, while no distinction based on dietary specialization was found. Body size significantly influences vertebral morphology, with clear regionalization of allometry along the vertebral column, suggesting that anterior (cervicals and thoracics) and posterior (lumbar) vertebrae may be independently subjected to distinct selection pressures. View Show abstract ... Actualmente se encuentra en discusión su clasificación taxonómica. Algunos autores lo clasificaron dentro del género Puma (Bininda-Emonds et al. 1999, Mattern y McLennan 2000, Johnson et al. 2006, Eizirik et al. 2008. Sin embargo, Agnarsson et al. (2010) y Segura et al. (2013), sugieren que no pertenece al mismo género que el puma, por lo que el Grupo de Especialistas de Felinos de la IUCN volvió a clasificar al yaguarundí dentro del género Herpailurus (Caso et al. 2015 siendo considerado un felino raro en la mayoría de las regiones en donde se distribuye (Oliverira et al. 2015). ... Distribución, requerimientos de hábitat e interacciones ecológicas de los felinos medianos y pequeños del Bosque Atlántico del Alto Paraná de la provincia de Misiones Thesis Full-text available Mar 2017 Paula Cruz The ocelot (Leopardus pardalis), a medium-sized felid, and the small felids, jaguarundi (Herpailurus yagouaroundi), margay (Leopardus wiedii), and oncilla (Leopardus guttulus), have a mostly sympatric distribution throughout most of the Neotropics, but little is known about their habitat requirements and the mechanisms that allow their coexistence. Due to differences in size, it is expected that the three small cats maintain strong indirect competitive relationships among them, and ocelots exert an interference competition on the small felids. The aim of this thesis was to study the distribution and habitat requirements of these felids in the Atlantic Forest of Misiones, understand their interspecific interactions and how they are affected by changes produced by humans on the environment. Using Species Distribution Models I evaluated the distribution of and habitat suitability for these felids in the region. Using data obtained by camera traps in low and moderately disturbed areas and analyzed with Occupancy and Co-occurrence models I evaluated habitat use and potential spatial avoidance between species at a more detailed scale. I also evaluated overlap in diet and activity patterns. Due to the scarcity of data obtained for margays and jaguarundis I could not analyze their habitat use at this detailed scale or their diet. The four felids were associated with the presence of native forest. Ocelot occupancy was significantly higher in continuous native forest sites with low human accessibility. Oncilla occupancy did not vary according to habitat conditions, but was significantly higher in sites with a low probability of ocelot occurrence. Oncillas´ spatial avoidance of ocelots was higher as human disturbance increased. Oncillas and ocelots had a large degree of trophic niche overlap. None of the felines modified their activity in relation to the presence of the ocelot or the level of human impact. Some of my results support the hypothesis that oncillas are sensitive to competitive pressure of ocelots. In order to preserve long term populations of these felids it is necessary to conserve continuous native forest and areas with fragmented forest to ensure landscape connectivity. View Show abstract ... Actualmente se encuentra en discusión su clasificación taxonómica. Algunos autores lo clasificaron dentro del género Puma (Bininda-Emonds et al. 1999, Mattern y McLennan 2000, Johnson et al. 2006, Eizirik et al. 2008. Sin embargo, Agnarsson et al. (2010) y Segura et al. (2013), sugieren que no pertenece al mismo género que el puma, por lo que el Grupo de Especialistas de Felinos de la IUCN volvió a clasificar al yaguarundí dentro del género Herpailurus (Caso et al. 2015 siendo considerado un felino raro en la mayoría de las regiones en donde se distribuye (Oliverira et al. 2015). ... DISTRIBUTION, HABITAT REQUIREMENTS AND ECOLOGICAL INTERACTIONS OF MEDIUM AND SMALL FELIDS OF THE UPPER PARANA ATLANTIC FOREST OF MISIONES PROVINCE Thesis Full-text available Mar 2017 Paula Cruz The ocelot (Leopardus pardalis), a medium-sized felid, and the small felids, jaguarundi (Herpailurus yagouaroundi), margay (Leopardus wiedii), and oncilla (Leopardus guttulus), have a mostly sympatric distribution throughout most of the Neotropics, but little is known about their habitat requirements and the mechanisms that allow their coexistence. Due to differences in size, it is expected that the three small cats maintain strong indirect competitive relationships among them, and ocelots exert an interference competition on the small felids. The aim of this thesis was to study the distribution and habitat requirements of these felids in the Atlantic Forest of Misiones, understand their interspecific interactions and how they are affected by changes produced by humans on the environment. Using Species Distribution Models I evaluated the distribution of and habitat suitability for these felids in the region. Using data obtained by camera traps in low and moderately disturbed areas and analyzed with Occupancy and Co-occurrence models I evaluated habitat use and potential spatial avoidance between species at a more detailed scale. I also evaluated overlap in diet and activity patterns. Due to the scarcity of data obtained for margays and jaguarundis I could not analyze their habitat use at this detailed scale or their diet. The four felids were associated with the presence of native forest. Ocelot occupancy was significantly higher in continuous native forest sites with low human accessibility. Oncilla occupancy did not vary according to habitat conditions, but was significantly higher in sites with a low probability of ocelot occurrence. Oncillas´ spatial avoidance of ocelots was higher as human disturbance increased. Oncillas and ocelots had a large degree of trophic niche overlap. None of the felines modified their activity in relation to the presence of the ocelot or the level of human impact. Some of my results support the hypothesis that oncillas are sensitive to competitive pressure of ocelots. In order to preserve long term populations of these felids it is necessary to conserve continuous native forest and areas with fragmented forest to ensure landscape connectivity. View Show abstract ... Lynch (1989) proposed that range overlap and relative range sizes of sister species or supra-specific taxa could be used to infer geographical modes of speciation, with substantial overlap pointing to sympatric speciation, and little overlap indicating allopatric speciation. Such reasoning has been used to argue for greater frequencies of sympatric speciation in nature than previously thought (e.g. Mattern & McLennan 2000), but has also received criticism given that a key assumption—that geographical ranges of natural organisms are constant through time—is probably seldom true (reviewed in Losos & Glor 2003; Coyne 2007). Extending the logic of studying range overlap, Coyne & Price (2000) emphasized the value of looking for 'sister species' (species that are each other's closest relatives ) that are both vagile yet restricted geographically to the same small area, such as an oceanic island (also see White 1978). ... Speciation processes in putative island endemic sister bat species: False impressions from mitochondrial DNA and microsatellite data Article Oct 2015 Mol Ecol Hao-Chih Kuo Shiang-Fan Chen Yin-Ping Fang Stephen J Rossiter Cases of geographically restricted co-occurring sister taxa are rare and may point to potential divergence with gene flow. The two bat species Murina gracilis and M. recondita are both endemic to Taiwan and are putative sister species. To test for non-allopatric divergence and gene flow in these taxa, we generated sequences using Sanger and Next Generation Sequencing, and combined these with microsatellite data for coalescent-based analyses. MtDNA phylogenies supported the reciprocally monophyletic sister relationship between M. gracilis and M. recondita, however, clustering of microsatellite genotypes revealed several cases of species admixture suggesting possible introgression. Sequencing of microsatellite flanking regions revealed that admixture signatures stemmed from microsatellite allele homoplasy rather than recent introgressive hybridization, and also uncovered an unexpected sister relationship between M. recondita and the continental species M. eleryi, to the exclusion of M. gracilis. To dissect the basis of these conflicts between ncDNA and mtDNA, we analysed sequences from 10 anonymous ncDNA loci with *BEAST and isolation-with-migration (IM) and found two distinct clades of M. eleryi, one of which was sister to M. recondita. We conclude that Taiwan was colonized by the ancestor of M. gracilis first, followed by the ancestor of M. recondita after a period of allopatric divergence. After colonization, the mitochondrial genome of M. recondita was replaced by that of the resident M. gracilis. This study illustrates how apparent signatures of sympatric divergence can arise from complex histories of allopatric divergence, colonization and hybridization, thus highlighting the need for rigorous analyses to distinguish between such scenarios. This article is protected by copyright. All rights reserved. View Show abstract ... In recent years, the biogeographic history and phylogenetic relationships of felids have received increased attention (Mattern and McLennan 2000; Johnson et al. 2006; Goswami and Friscia 2010; Christiansen 2013). The Felidae was one of the most successful groups during the Great American Biotic Interchange (GABI) (Webb 2006; Johnson et al. 2006; Prevosti 2006; Prevosti et al. 2011; Bacon et al. 2015), when numerous independent diversification and migration events occurred in both directions (Johnson et al. 2006; Prevosti 2006; Cione et al. 2007; Prevosti and Soibelzon 2012). ... Wild Felid Range Shift Due to Climatic Constraints in the Americas: a Bottleneck Explanation for Extinct Felids? Article Full-text available Dec 2017 J Mamm Evol Andrés Arias-Alzate José F. González-Maya Joaquin Arroyo-Cabrales Enrique Martínez-Meyer Theoretical and empirical evidence suggests that the ecological niche of species tends to be conservative over evolutionary time in many taxonomic groups, thus representing long-term stable constraints on species geographic distributions. Using an ecological niche modeling approach, we assessed the impact of climatic change on wild felid species potential range shifts over the last 130 K years in the Americas and the potential of such shifts as an extinction driver. We found a significant range shift for most species (both living and extinct) across their distributions driven by large-scale environmental changes. Proportionally, the most drastic range increase for all species occurred in the Last Glacial Maximum (LGM: 18 K years)–Current transition, while for the Last Inter-Glacial (LIG: 130 K years)–LGM transition an important range reduction occurred, which was larger for extinct North American species. In conclusion, the reduction of climatically suitable areas for many species in the transition LIG–LGM may have produced population reductions, which, in turn, may have played an important role in species’ extinction throughout the continent. View Show abstract ... Thus, an intriguing hypothesis remains to be tested: whether the genetic boundary merely reflects a contact zone between historically isolated populations that have subsequently expanded in range, or whether ongoing processes are contributing to their separation. Evidence from phylogeographical, phylogenetic, and ecological research suggests that both Pleistocene climate processes (glacial cycles) and current environmental conditions may contribute to creating and maintaining current genetic and spatial distribution patterns within the family Felidae (Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Reding et al., 2012). Remington (1968) suggested that the central Great Plains ecozone represents a region of secondary contact for many mammalian species that were isolated during the LGM and that possible aridification during the Pleistocene Epoch may have prevented dispersal until recently (Remington, 1968). ... Combining ecological niche modelling and morphology to assess the range-wide population genetic structure of bobcats ( Lynx rufus ) Article Full-text available Nov 2015 Biol J Linn Soc Allison Marcella Loveless Dawn M Reding Paul Glover-Kapfer Monica Papes Despite a broad distribution, general habitat requirements, and a large dispersal potential, bobcats (Lynx rufus) exhibit a genetic division that longitudinally transects central North America. We investigated (1) whether the climate of the Last Glacial Maximum (LGM; 21 kya) isolated bobcats into refugia and also whether the current climate influences gene flow between the segregate populations and (2) whether the geographical patterns in cranial morphology reflect population identity. We created ecological niche models (ENMs) to evaluate climatic suitability and to estimate distributions of the disparate populations under both historical (LGM) and contemporary conditions. We used two-dimensional geometric morphometric methods to evaluate variations in the cranium and mandible. These variations were then regressed across geographical variables to assess morphological differences throughout the range of the bobcat. ENMs projected onto LGM climate provided evidence of refugia during the LGM via increased suitability in the north-west and south-east portions of this species' range. Contemporarily, our models suggest that the Great Plains may be restricting bobcat migration and gene flow, effectively maintaining disparate populations. Morphological analyses identified a significant linear trend in shape variation across latitudinal and longitudinal gradients rather than distinct morphological divergence between lineages. Similar shape variations, however, did converge in approximate locations of assumed refugia. The findings of the present study provide a robust assessment of the biogeographical considerations for the population genetic structure of bobcats. View Show abstract ... The functional morphology of limb bones of many vertebrates dis- plays pattern associated to locomotion or modes of substrate explora- tion (e.g., Snyder, 1954Snyder, , 1962Jenkins, 1971;Taylor, 1978;Cartmill, 1985;Hildebrand, 1985a, Hildebrand, 1985bVassallo, 1998;Andersson, 2004;Ercoli, Prevrosti, & Alvarez, 2012;Ibrahim et al., 2014;Houssaye & Fish, 2016;Lee et al., 2016). For both, extant and fossil mammals, authors have tried to correlate limb morphology and func- tion, ontogeny or phylogeny (Jenkins, 1971;Gasc, Jouffroy, Renous, & Von Blottnitz, 1986;Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Andersson & Werdelin, 2003;Andersson, 2004;Plummer, Bishop, & Hertel, 2008;Samuels & Van Valkenburgh, 2008; Bassarova, Janis, & Archer, 2009; ... Functional morphology and paleoecology of Pilosa (Xenarthra, Mammalia) based on a two-dimensional geometric Morphometrics study of the Humerus Article Aug 2018 J Morphol Alessandro Oliveira Charles Morphy D. Santos The relationship between humerus shape and the modes of exploring substrate among extinct and extant Pilosa (especially anteaters and ground sloths) were investigated here. We used geometric morphometrics and discriminant analyses to relate morphological patterns and their possible ecological categories. Our results suggest that plesiomorphic taxa such as Nothrotheriidae, most Megalonychidae and basal Megatheriidae tend to have more slender humerus, associated to generalist habitus (climbing, swimming and digging activities), and while Mylodontidae developed specialized digging habitus. Additionally, we inferred ground sloths which inhabited the Brazilian territory during the Quaternary likely occupied at least four different niches. Mammals display morphofunctional adaptations on the limbs which are reflected on their modes of substrate exploration. Herein, we analyzed the humerus morphology of ground sloths and anteaters. Our results suggest that most of the Pleistocene Mylodonts were fossorial taxa, while most of the Santacrucian sloths plus extant anteaters were semiarboreal or semiaquatic taxa. The Pleistocene Megatheriidae should be ambulatory. View Show abstract ... Habitat preferences cannot thus have influenced the evolution of white spots on ears, but white spots may have contributed, at least partly, to the adaptation of felids to closed habitats. A similar contribution to the successful occupance of closed habitats by felids may have been provided by the presence of slit-like pupils in some species (Mattern and McLennan 2000;Werdelin et al. 2010). ... Correlated Evolution of White Spots on Ears and Closed Habitat Preferences in Felids Article Full-text available Sep 2020 J Mamm Evol Ismael Galván The pigmentation patterns of many carnivorous mammals comprise contrasting white patches of hair in different parts of the body whose evolution remains largely misunderstood. Some felids (Felidae) exhibit conspicuous white spots on the posterior part of the ears, while the ear color of others is uniform. On the basis that ear movement in felids has a role in intraspecific communication and that color contrast enhances detection, here it is hypothesized that white spots on ears may be particularly adaptive under conditions of poor visibility and thus be associated with the occupancy of closed habitats. This prediction was tested using phylogenetic logistic regression models with all species of extant felids. Results show a clear association between the occurrence of white spots on ears and preference for closed habitats, and this is independent of body size and whether species that occupy both closed and open habitats are considered as closed- or open-habitat specialists. Phylogenetic signal analyses indicate that the occurrence of white spots on ears is a highly conserved trait while habitat preferences are evolutionarily labile, suggesting that the presence of white spots may have partly contributed to the adaptation of felids to closed habitats. These findings indicate that some subtle pigment traits have fulfilled a significant role in determining the success of habitat occupancy by felids and possibly other mammals, which in turn has driven the evolutionary maintenance of such traits. View Show abstract ... 例如, 化石证据显示, 来自东非的最早的豹属化石, 地质年代属于更新世 (2MYA), 形态上类似于虎和狮, 暗示这两个物种具 有较近的亲缘关系. 但是, Neff [67] 和 Hemmer [68] [15] , Mattern 和 McLennan [72] 基于形态学、 细胞学以及许多 分子数据分析得出, 雪豹位于豹属系统关系分支的 基部; 最近基于化学信号 [14] 、线粒体控制区序列 [54] 和线粒体与核基因整合数据 [1] 分析又认为, 它与虎具 有最近的亲缘关系. 然而, Yu 和 Zhang [70] ... 豹属线粒体基因组分析 Article Sep 2011 孝兵 吴 立新 诸 磊 魏 志刚 蒋 View ... In the concept of total evidence (Kluge, 1989), all relevant character information is combined in a single phylogenetic analysis. The total evidence approach has been practised successfully in diverse organismal groups at various systematic levels (e. g., Eernisse and Kluge, 1993;Mattern and McLennan, 2000;overview in Chippindale and Wiens, 1994), including birds (e. g., Zink and Blackwell, 1996;Griffiths, 1999;Johnson and Sorensson, 1999). ... S27-5 Molecular modules and morphology Article Full-text available Dec 2006 Antonio Arnaiz-Villena Hans Leo Nemeschkal Renate Van den Elzen We present a phylogenetic perspective on morphological and molecular characters and character complexes and their properties at different hierarchical levels, using both examples from literature and case studies in carduelid finches and pigeons. Phylogenetic hypotheses inferred from both molecular (cytochrome-b) and morphological characters (plumage ornamentations), and combined analyses in carduelids, indicate that in both datasets corresponding patterns occur at particular nodes and systematic levels. A new method is introduced to partition and quantify correlation in cladogenetic, anagenetic and environmental signal, to estimate by their degree of similarity the underlying factors producing that correspondence. View Show abstract ... silvestris), the sand cat (F. margarita), and F. s. catus (Mattern and McLennan 2000). Hybridizing occurs between this species and F. s. catus (Tonkin 1972). ... Felis nigripes (Carnivora: Felidae) Article Full-text available Sep 2015 Aurélie Renard Maxime Lavoie Justin A. Pitt Serge Larivière Felis nigripes Burchell, 1824, commonly called the black-footed cat, is the smallest felid in Africa. F. nigripes is a pale tawny cat with dark markings and prominent horizontal stripes on the limbs. It is distributed in the central part of South Africa and mainly occurs in open country often near brush cover. F. nigripes is listed on Appendix I of the Convention for the International Trade of Endangered Species of Fauna and Flora and is listed as "Vulnerable" by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources. View Show abstract ... This varies depending on breed [12] . The average feral adult male weighs 4 kg (9 lb.), and the average adult female 3 kg (7 lb.) [13] . Cats average about 23-25cm (9-10 in.) in height and 46cm (18in.) in head/body length (males being larger than females), with tails averaging 30cm (12in.) in length. ... Diversity of cats in Quetta city Article Full-text available Jan 2020 Zaib-Un-Nisa Hanif Muhammad Kamran Taj Nosheen Rafiq Sakina Khan This study was conducted to determine the diversity of cats in Quetta city. All cats belonged to the family Felidae, genus Felis. These cats are considered only domesticated species in the family Felidae that's why often referred to as the "domestic cat" to distinguish it from wild members of the family. The study was carried out from March to December 2019 in Quetta city. During the study period, 1000 cats were documented randomly from Quetta city which resulted in the enumeration of different cats such as Mackerel Tabby cat, Classic Tabby cat, Ticked Tabby cat, Spotted Tabby cat, Persian cat, Bombay cat, Oriental short hair cat, Turkish van cat and Main coon cat, Calico cat and Tortoiseshell cat. Identification of cat was done on the basis of physical characteristics such as coat pattern, coat color and hair (fur) length. The most diverse and abundant cat was tabby cats, recorded 74.2% represented by observing four coat patterns. Mackerel tabby coat patterned cats were found 37.7% followed by Spotted tabby patterned cats 26%, Ticked tabby patterned cats were 6% and classic tabby pattrned cats were found 4.5%, While among various breeds of cats, the most dominant breed was persian cats (8.8%) followed by Bombay cat (4.8%), Turkish van cats (2.8%), Maine coon cats (1.2%) and least was observed Oriental short hair cats (1%) in the study area. While Calico cats were recorded 5.6% and Tortoiseshell or tortie cats were found 1.8%. View Show abstract ... Pampas cats are typical of open areas and show a broad elevational distribution from sea level up to 5000 m (Redford & Eisenberg, 1992;García-Perea, 1994;Nowak, 1999;Sunquist & Sunquist, 2002, 2009. Phylogenetic studies show that pampas cats are part of the group informally known as the 'ocelot lineage', which corresponds to small-and medium-sized Neotropical spotted cats of the genus Leopardus Gray, 1842 (Johnson et al., 1999(Johnson et al., , 2006Mattern & McLennan, 2000;Li et al., 2016;Kitchener et al., 2017). Pampas cats are closely related to the Andean mountain cat, Leopardus jacobita (Cornalia, with seven subspecies: Leopardus colocola colocola, Le. c. wolffsohni, Le. c. pajeros (including crucina), Le. c. budini (including steinbachi), Le. c. garleppi (including thomasi), Le. c. braccatus and Le. ... Taxonomic revision of the pampas cat Leopardus colocola complex (Carnivora: Felidae): an integrative approach Article Full-text available Feb 2021 ZOOL J LINN SOC-LOND Cheng Jilong Fabio Oliveira do Nascimento Anderson Feijó The pampas cat Leopardus colocola has been subject to conflicting classifications over the years. Currently, one polytypic species with seven subspecies is recognized, but integrative taxonomic study for this debated group has never been done. Here, we combine the broadest morphological coverage of the pampas cat to date with molecular data and ecological niche models to clarify its species composition and test the validity of recently proposed subspecies. The multiple lines of evidence derived from morphology, molecular, biogeography and climatic niche datasets converged on the recognition of five monotypic species: L. braccatus, L. colocola, L. garleppi (including thomasi, budini, steinbachi, crespoi and wolffsohni as synonyms), L. munoai and L. pajeros (including crucina as synonym). These five species are morphologically diagnosable based on skin and skull traits, have evolved in distinct climatic niche spaces and were recovered in molecular species delimitation. Contrary to previous taxonomic arrangements, we do not recognize subspecies in pampas cats. To objectively define the two most controversial species, we designate neotypes for L. colocola and L. pajeros. The diversification of pampas cats is associated with Middle Pleistocene glaciations, but additional genetic samples from the central Andean region are still needed to conclusively reconstruct its evolutionary history. View Show abstract ... We may determine how true surface area changes with body size by measuring hair spacing and geometry. We do so with 17 mammals (Wilcox, 1950;McManus, 1974;Jenkins and Busher, 1979;Estes, 1980;Willner et al., 1980;Olsen, 1983;Conley and Porter, 1986;Pass and Freeth, 1993;Koprowski, 1994;Lariviere and Walton, 1998;Pasitschniak-Arts and Marinelli, 1998;Sidorovich et al., 1999;Mattern and McLennan, 2000;Scott et al., 2001;Fish et al., 2002;Valencak et al., 2003;Spotorno et al., 2004;Fedosenko and Blank, 2005;Mecklenburg et al., 2009;Dickerson et al., 2012) and 10 insects (Carlson and Chi, 1974 and data from a range of online SEM images). These measurements yield scalings given in Table 2. ... Cleanliness is next to godliness: Mechanisms for staying clean Article Oct 2015 J EXP BIOL Guillermo J. Amador David L. Hu Getting dirty is a fundamental problem, and one for which there are few solutions, especially across the enormous range of animal size. How do both a honeybee and a squirrel get clean? In this Review, we discuss two broad types of cleaning, considered from the viewpoint of energetics. Non-renewable cleaning strategies rely upon the organism as an energy source. Examples include grooming motions, wet-dog shaking or the secretion of chemicals. Renewable cleaning strategies depend on environmental sources of energy, such as the use of eyelashes to redirect incoming wind and so reduce deposition onto the eye. Both strategies take advantage of body hair to facilitate cleaning, and honeybees and squirrels, for example, each have around 3 million hairs. This hair mat increases the area on which particles can land by a factor of 100, but also suspends particles above the body, reducing their adhesion and facilitating removal. We hope that the strategies outlined here will inspire energy-efficient cleaning strategies in synthetic systems. View Show abstract ... His studies are often used in current total-evidence phylogenetic analyses as sources of data in attempts to detect phylogenetic relationships and conflicts among data partitions for particular taxa, and are also used to reconstruct the evolution of particular morphological characters (e.g. Salles 1992, Mattern and McLennan 2000, Vrba and Schaller 2000, Zrzavý and Řičánková 2004, Goswami and Friscia 2010. Additionally, his studies provide a source of diagnostic characters of recognized groups or species (e.g. ... On the shoulders of giants: Reginald Innes Pocock and integrative mammal research in museums and zoos Article Full-text available Feb 2018 MAMMALIA Gippoliti Spartaco Tommaso De Francesco Jan Robovský Seventy years after his death, Reginald Innes Pocock’s prominence in mammalogy is demonstrated by the continuing amount of citations in recent works and the final acceptance of some of his systematic proposals at generic and suprageneric levels. Pocock’s ability to synthesize and integrate classical taxonomy with the then dominant polytypic species concept, utilizing both skull and external characters, of zoo and museum animals as unique opportunities for the advancement of mammal comparative biology – including the study of several extinct taxa – are an enduring legacy for mammalogy that deserves to be better appreciated especially among European zoologists. View Show abstract Behavior of Single Cats and Groups in the Home Article Dec 2006 Penny L. Bernstein View Checklist of South Asian Mammals Chapter Apr 2012 Chelmala Srinivasulu Bhargavi Srinivasulu The checklist includes enumeration of all the living and recently extinct species known to occur or have occurred in South Asia. Taxonomic arrangement is following Wilson and Reeder (2005) and comments are added at appropriate places where deviations were incorporated following works published after 2005. Necessary taxonomic comments have been provided at order, family, genus, and species levels. Wherever necessary, additional classification levels have been included. The checklist is based on the best of our knowledge on mammalian species diversity as on 31.12.2011. Any omissions are purely unintentional. View Show abstract Comportement et phylogénie des cervidae Book Full-text available Jan 2010 Pierre Deleporte Jean Joachim David Reby Henri Cap View Snow leopards: Conflict and conservation Article Full-text available Jan 2010 Rodney Jackson Charudutt Mishra T.M. McCarthy Som Ale View Behavior and Evolution: Crossed Glances Article Oct 2015 Henri Cap Ethology was founded successively by the naturalist, psychological and neurophysiological trends. After the classic opposition between the environmentalist and the objectivist view on behavior, and then the constructivist currents of the naturalist ethology, a fi rst synthesis was proposed by Tinberghen’s four questions, integrating several scientifi c disciplines, and including the evolutionary question of ultimate causalities. In order to analyse what the theory of evolution brought to ethology and conversely, we collected and commented the opinions of several ethologists of different currents, in the context of the naturalist thought in ethology and the recent development of phylogenetics. Compared to the other data, the use of behavior in systematics raised some methodological problems concerning its ephemeral nature, the supposed diffi culty to identify homology and the pretended lack of reliability of behavioral data compared to morphological and molecular ones. As a matter of fact, behavioral characters mapped on a tree or integrated into the phylogenetic data matrix have great potential, even though they remain controversial in systematics. As a source of heritable characters for phylogeny inference, behavior embodies both a product of evolution and one of the evolutionary factors. Hence behavioral studies can bring complementary explanations to evolutionary processes of speciation involving behavioral factors. A further and promising interest of the combined study of behavior and evolution concerns the epigenetic perspective of the infl uence of behavior on the rate of DNA methylation, which confi rms that numerous behavioral adaptations appear before corresponding genetic modifi cations or mutations. View Show abstract Felids and Hyenas of the World: Wildcats, Panthers, Lynx, Pumas, Ocelots, Caracals, and Relatives Book Sep 2020 Jose R Castelló Alexander Sliwa Andrew C Kitchener View Early-Onset Progressive Retinal Atrophy Associated with an IQCB1 Variant in African Black-Footed Cats (Felis nigripes) Article Full-text available Mar 2017 Annie Oh Jacqueline W Pearce Barbara Gandolfi Lives Consortium African black-footed cats (Felis nigripes) are endangered wild felids. One male and full-sibling female African black-footed cat developed vision deficits and mydriasis as early as 3 months of age. The diagnosis of early-onset progressive retinal atrophy (PRA) was supported by reduced direct and consensual pupillary light reflexes, phenotypic presence of retinal degeneration, and a non-recordable electroretinogram with negligible amplitudes in both eyes. Whole genome sequencing, conducted on two unaffected parents and one affected offspring was compared to a variant database from 51 domestic cats and a Pallas cat, revealed 50 candidate variants that segregated concordantly with the PRA phenotype. Testing in additional affected cats confirmed that cats homozygous for a 2 base pair (bp) deletion within IQ calmodulin-binding motif-containing protein-1 (IQCB1), the gene that encodes for nephrocystin-5 (NPHP5), had vision loss. The variant segregated concordantly in other related individuals within the pedigree supporting the identification of a recessively inherited early-onset feline PRA. Analysis of the black-footed cat studbook suggests additional captive cats are at risk. Genetic testing for IQCB1 and avoidance of matings between carriers should be added to the species survival plan for captive management. View Show abstract Reproductive Biology and a Genome Resource Bank of Felidae Article Full-text available Mar 2017 Russ J Dev Biol Serge Amstislavsky Valeria Kozhevnikova V. V. Muzika Elena Kizilova The main achievements in applying modern reproductive technologies to the banking of the genetic resources of the Felidae family are reviewed. The classification of felids at the level of species and subspecies is revised in the light of recent molecular data. Special emphasis is made on such mainstream technologies as semen collection and cryopreservation followed by artificial insemination, as well as on in vitro maturation and fertilization of oocytes combined with the culture of in vitro-derived felid embryos. View Show abstract Análisis Filogenéticos Cuantitativos en el siglo XXI Article Full-text available Dec 2007 REV MEX BIODIVERS Daniel R Brooks Jaret Bilewitch Charmaine Condy David T. Zanatta We review Hennigian phylogenetics and compare it with Maximum parsimony, Maximum likelihood, and Bayesian likelihood approaches. All methods use the principle of parsimony in some form. Hennigian-based approaches are justified ontologically by the Darwinian concepts of phylogenetic conservatism and cohesion of homologies, embodied in Hennig's Auxiliary Principle, and applied by outgroup comparisons. Parsimony is used as an epistemological tool, applied a posteriori to choose the most robust hypothesis when there are conflicting data. Quantitative methods use parsimony as an ontological criterion: Maximum parsimony analysis uses unweighted parsimony, Maximum likelihood weight all characters equally that explain the data, and Bayesian likelihood relying on weighting each character partition that explains the data. Different results most often stem from insufficient data, in which case each quantitative method treats ambiguities differently. All quantitative methods produce networks. The networks can be converted into trees by rooting them. If the rooting is done in accordance with Hennig's Auxiliary Principle, using outgroup comparisons, the resulting tree can then be interpreted as a phylogenetic hypothesis. As the size of the data set increases, likelihood methods select models that allow an increasingly greater number of a priori possibilities, converging on the Hennigian perspective that nothing is prohibited a priori. Thus, all methods produce similar results, regardless of data type, especially when their networks are rooted using outgroups. Appeals to Popperian philosophy cannot justify any kind of phylogenetic analysis, because they argue from effect to cause rather than from cause to effect. Nor can particular methods be justified on the basis of statistical consistency, because all may be consistent or inconsistent depending on the data. If analyses using different types of data and/or different methods of phylogeny reconstruction do not produce the same results, more data are needed. View Show abstract Taxonomic revision of The tigrina Leopardus tigrinus (Schreber, 1775) species group (Carnivora, Felidae) Article Full-text available Jun 2017 Fabio Oliveira do Nascimento Anderson Feijó The tigrina Leopardus tigrinus (Schreber, 1775) is a small-sized Neotropical spotted cat found from northern Argentina and southern Brazil to Costa Rica. Four subspecies are traditionally recognized: L. t. tigrinus (Schreber, 1775) from northern Brazil, the Guianas and eastern Venezuela; L. t. pardinoides (Gray, 1867) from western Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador and Peru; L. t. guttulus (Hensel, 1872) from southern Brazil, Paraguay and northern Argentina; and L. t. oncillus (Thomas, 1903) from Costa Rica. We studied external and craniodental morphology in quantitative and qualitative terms from 250 specimens in order to clarify the taxonomic status of tigrina. Based on the characters analyzed in this study, we recognize three diagnosable morphogroups, each with a distinct geographic distribution: northern/northwest-ern/west (samples from northern Brazil, the Guianas, Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, northwestern Argentina and Costa Rica), eastern (samples from northeastern and central Bra-zil), and southern (samples from southern Brazil, Paraguay and northeastern Argentina). Taking into account the morphologic evidence presented here, supported by biogeographic data and molecular studies available, we recognize three full species for tigrinas: L. tigrinus (including the putative subspecies L. t. pardinoides and L. t. oncillus as junior synonyms) for northern/ northwestern/west group; L. emiliae (Thomas, 1914) for eastern group; and L. guttulus for southern group. View Show abstract Functional and Systematic Implications of the Postcranial Anatomy of a Late Miocene Feline (Carnivora, Felidae) from Batallones-1 (Madrid, Spain) Article Full-text available Mar 2019 J Mamm Evol Manuel J. Salesa Gema Siliceo Mauricio Anton Jorge Morales The Spanish late Miocene locality of Batallones-1 yielded a rich sample of large carnivorans, including saber-toothed felids, amphicyonids, and ailurids, but also of smaller species, with the small cats being especially interesting. Two species are known from Batallones-1, one of them the size of a wildcat, Felis silvestris, the other one the size of a caracal, Caracal caracal. The former is represented by skulls, mandibles, and postcranial bones, whereas the latter is known from a collection of long bones. Both species are less abundant than their larger relatives, the saber-toothed felids Promegantereon ogygia and Machairodus aphanistus, but the available sample allows us to assess body proportions and adaptations of the smallest species, and to propose a new genus for this feline, Leptofelis vallesiensis. Its limb bones are remarkably gracile compared to fossils of the earlier genera Pseudaelurus, Miopanthera, and Styriofelis, and comparable in cursorial adaptations to the wildcat, very different from extant arboreal cats. While middle Miocene felids were likely semi-arboreal forest dwellers, L. vallesiensis would be mostly terrestrial, climbing essentially for protection. This indicates an adaptation to a mosaic of habitats, including relatively open terrain, and may be related to the climatic changes detected in Eurasia during the late Miocene. View Show abstract Does the marbled cat exist in Nepal? Article Full-text available Nov 2017 Sagar Dahal The marbled cat Pardofelis marmorata is an elusive small cat on which few specific studies were conducted. This article reviews the literature on distribution records of marbled cat to assess the likelihood of its current existence in Nepal. Beside a single record from the early 1980s, there are no recent records to prove the existence of the marbled cat in Nepal. However, the Government of Nepal and the distribution map of the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species assume that the marbled cat is extant in Nepal. To support the Government’s official statement on marbled cat presence in the country and to validate the IUCN distribution map for Nepal, a marbled cat targeted camera trap survey in potential habitats is urgently needed. View Show abstract Temporal changes in prey composition and biomass delivery to African Crowned Eagle nestlings in urban areas of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa Article May 2018 OSTRICH Tim van der Meer Shane McPherson Colleen T Downs Globally urban areas are expanding rapidly and this usually has negative effects on biodiversity. Despite this, some species manage to persist in urban areas, as is the case with African Crowned Eagles Stephanoaetus coronatus in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. As relatively little is known about African Crowned Eagle nestling diet, especially about how it changes with nestling age, we investigated this with nest camera-traps. We analysed temporal changes in prey composition and biomass delivery during the nestling stage. We also recorded which adults provisioned and attended the nest. The main prey fed to nestlings were Rock Hyrax Procavia capensis and Hadeda Ibis Bostrychia hagedash. Adult males did most of the food provisioning, especially at the start of the nestling period. We found a decrease in total prey number and biomass with nestling age. This may be caused by changing requirements of nestlings. Furthermore, delivering fewer prey at later nestling stages may be a facilitating mechanism to enhance fledging of the nestling. Although the total number of prey brought to the nest decreased, we found an increase in numbers of Vervet Monkey Chlorocebus pygerythrus in the diet with nestling age. This indicated an increase in larger prey being delivered to the nests as the nestling aged. We suggest that this could be caused by increased participation in hunting by the larger female as her nest attendance time decreased as the nestling aged. We conclude with emphasising the importance of protecting the Durban Metropolitan Open Space System (D’MOSS) zones for the persistence of this Near Threatened raptor species, and populations of its prey in urban areas for its breeding success. View Show abstract Sperm cryopreservation in the Far-Eastern wildcat ( Prionailurus bengalensis euptilurus ) Article Full-text available Jul 2018 REPROD DOMEST ANIM E. Yu. Brusentsev Elena Kizilova Sergey Naidenko Serge Amstislavsky The Far‐Eastern wildcat (Prionailurus bengalensis euptilurus) is a rare and poorly investigated nondomestic felid species. An attempt of freezing and cryopreserving Far‐Eastern wildcat spermatozoa in CaniPlus Freeze (CPF) medium is reported. Sperm was collected by electroejaculation from five adult Far‐Eastern wildcat captive‐born males. Epididymal spermatozoa from five adult randomly bred domestic cat males were used as a reference. The viability of frozen–thawed spermatozoa evaluated by double staining with SYBR Green I and PI followed by the subsequent confocal laser scanning microscopy (CLSM) was 38.2% ± 3.0% for the domestic cat and 38.0% ± 10.2% for the Far‐Eastern wildcat. The motility of frozen–thawed spermatozoa was 30.8% ± 9.8% for the domestic cat and 33.7% ± 15.1% for the Far‐Eastern wildcat. Sperm morphology was assessed by light microscopy. The total percentage of normal spermatozoa after freezing and thawing was 51.9 ± 5.9 for the domestic cat and 55.0% ± 6.4% for the Far‐Eastern wildcat. Defects of flagella were the most frequently observed abnormalities in both species (32.2% ± 4.8% and 30.8% ± 4.4% of all reported anomalies for the domestic cat and Far‐Eastern wildcat, respectively). Domestic cat epididymal and Far‐Eastern ejaculatory spermatozoa fertilized in vitro‐matured oocytes of the domestic cat (30.0% ± 5.5% and 35.5% ± 15.0%, respectively). Taken together, these results suggest that the freezing of Far‐Eastern wildcat spermatozoa with CPF medium is a suitable method for Felidae cryopreservation. View Show abstract New evidence for the emergence of the human-pet relation in early Roman Berenike (1st–2nd century AD) Article Full-text available Jul 2018 Marta Osypinska Osypinski Piotr Animals were as inextricable a part as they were indicative of the system of common ancient Egyptian beliefs. Their special role was manifested in a rich iconography and in multitudes of animal mummies deposited in the major sacral complexes. Seen in this light, the cemetery of small animals of 1st–2nd century AD date, excavated since 2011 in the Red Sea port town of Berenike, comes across as entirely unique, notwithstanding the spiritual aspects of cats, dogs and monkeys. Contrary to Egyptian animal burials of all periods associated with human ones, the Berenike inhumations were not intended as afterlife companions of their last owners; neither were they ever mummified. Recent results of research present the variety of species kept in the households and insight into their behaviour. Pathological changes on one of the dog skeletons suggest a deadly condition, that is, osteosarcoma. The Berenike data also shed new light on the distribution of the cat beyond Egypt and a rising preference for keeping the animal as a pet in Europe and the Middle East. View Show abstract Spermatozoa cryopreservation in small feline species Article Full-text available Dec 2018 CRYOBIOLOGY Valentina Mokrousova Konstantin A Okotrub Serge Amstislavsky E. Yu. Brusentsev The aim of this study was to compare different methods of feline semen freezing using domestic cat as a model species and to apply these methods for the purposes of Far-Eastern wildcat (Prionailurus bengalensis euptilurus) biodiversity conservation. Two different commercially available freezing media, i.e. CaniPlus Freeze (CPF) (Minitube, Germany) and Sperm Freeze (SF) (Ferti Pro, Belgium) were tested for epididymal domestic cat spermatozoa freezing. The use of a commercial product has the advantage to be standardized and easy to perform in field conditions. The viability of domestic cat epididymal spermatozoa evaluated by the VitalScreen test was 68.7 ± 3.0% for nonfrozen group; 51.2 ± 6.3% for CPF group and 54.4 ± 3.1% for SF group. In vitro fertilization (IVF) of domestic cat oocytes with nonfrozen and frozen-thawed spermatozoa produced developing embryos. The same freezing method based on CPF freezing medium was applied to Far-Eastern wildcat ejaculatory spermatozoa at the Experimental Station of A.N. Severtsov Institute of Ecology and Evolution (near Moscow) where this species is bred in captivity. The frozen spermatozoa were transported to Novosibirsk and analysed. The viability of Far-Eastern cat frozen-thawed spermatozoa was 36.7 ± 6.5%. These spermatozoa fertilized in vitro matured oocytes of the domestic cat and 35.5 ± 15.0% heterologous embryos developed successfully. The cell number per embryo was 26.9 ± 5.1 on the 5th day of the in vitro culturing. The results of this study demonstrated the applicability of CPF-based semen freezing method for conservation of rare felid species. View Show abstract ETHOLOGY AND BIOLOGICAL RHYTHMS OF THE CAT Thesis Full-text available May 2019 Marine Parker Biological rhythms are of importance for living organisms as they help to schedule most behavioural processes within the most suitable temporal window. Literature on daily rhythmicity is scarce and conflicting regarding domestic cats. To sharpen our knowledge on the subject, we used advanced telemetry technologies to record and characterise the daily rhythms of locomotor activity and feeding in cats according to the seasons and housing conditions. The cats were sensitive to photoperiod and to human presence. Along 24-hour periodicity, they displayed bimodality in their daily patterns, with mid-day and mid-night troughs of locomotor activity and food consumption. The two main activity/eating periods corresponded to dawn and dusk at each season, regardless of the twilight timings, confirming the crepuscular intrinsic nature of the species. The feeding rhythm of the cats was more variable daily than their locomotor activity rhythm, recalling the opportunistic character of this predator. Cats displayed plasticity in their behaviour, such as weaker daily rhythms and more nocturnal exploratory behaviour outdoors, compared to indoors where they were more prone to routine. Our results open new avenues for developing nutritional and housing guidelines fitted to the rhythms of the cats according to their way of life. View Show abstract Carnivoran Dietary Adaptations: A Multiproxy Study on the Feeding Ecology of the Fossil Carnivorans of Greece Thesis Nov 2019 Nikolaos Kargopoulos This Thesis deals with the palaeoecology of the fossil carnivorans of Greece and, in particular, with their diet. Carnivora don’t eat exclusively meat, but they frequently are omnivores, insectivores or even herbivores. In this study extant Carnivora were divided into 12 dietary categories. The studied fossil material belongs to 47 species from 8 families, coming from two periods of geological time: the Late Miocene (11.6-5.3 Mya) and the Villafranchian (3.5.-0.8 Mya). These periods include some of the richest fossiliferous localities in Greece, providing enough material to apply the necessary methods. To test the made assumptions, a comparative sample of 75 species belonging to 13 families of extant carnivorans was used. The main focus of this work is to calculate a number of proxies which are connected to the diet of these species. The proxies studied here were: bite force, upper canines’ and incisors’ bending strength, endocranial volume, relative rostrum width, mastoid musculature, dental mesowear, dental carnassial and grinding surfaces, dental intercuspid notches and dental morphology in general. All these parameters are combined, in order to extract a more accurate result. The first chapter of the results concerns the diets of some enigmatic species. Indarctos atticus resulted to be an omnivore, based mostly on plant material. Ursus etruscus, Ursavus ehrenbergi and Ursavus depereti were found being opportunistic omnivores. Simocyon primigenius resulted being probably a scavenger, but also a predator of small-medium sized mammals and probably completed its diet with a small amount of plants. A similar niche, without the ability of bone-cracking, is proposed for Plesiogulo crassa. Baranogale helbingi resulted to be a meat-based omnivore, similar to extant martens. The second chapter of the results deals with the coexistence of species that seem to have a similar ecology. The first part were the Crocuta-like hyenas of the Turolian (Adcrocuta eximia, Lycyaena chaeretis and Belbus beaumonti). It was found that Adcrocuta is so dominant over the other species because it was larger, more robust, better adapted to bone-cracking and probably social, resulting to lower abundances for the other two genera. The next case were the ictitheres of Late Miocene (Plioviverrops orbignyi, Protictitherium crassum, Ictitherium viverrinum and Hyaenotherium wongii). The first two genera were found to be opportunistic insectivores-omnivores. However the other two genera seem to have a similar ecological niche, with Hyaenotherium being more carnivorous and Ictitherium being more opportunistic. This niche overlapping is probably the cause for their distinct biogeography, with Ictitherium thriving in Pikermi and Hyaenotherium in Samos. The third case of coexistence was the felids of Pikermi (Pristifelis attica, Metailurus parvulus, Metailurus major, Paramachairodus orientalis and Amphimachairodus giganteus). These species were able to coexist, because they did not have the same body size. Therefore, their prey also had a relevant body size. The only species of the same size were Paramachairodus and Metailurus major, which represent two different evolutionary stages of sabertooths. Thus, these two taxa must have been competitive with each other and maybe that’s the reason for their infrequency. Another part was the small-sized mustelids of Turolian (Martes woodwardi, Promeles palaeattica, Promephitis lartetii, Parataxidea maraghana, Sinictis pentelici and a new species of mustelid). These species seemed to cover similar niches and having similar body sizes, with the exception of the smaller Promephitis. Probably this is the reason for their low abundance and the distinct biogeography of Promeles and Parataxidea (present in Pikermi and Samos respectively). The fifth case was the coexistence of the sabertooths Homotherium and Megantereon in the Villafranchian. It seems that this coexistence was possible due to the size difference between the two taxa and because of their different hunting strategies, since Homotherium was more cursorial and probably didn’t make an instant canine-shear bite as Megantereon. A similar case can be seen with Chasmaporthetes lunensis and Pliohyaena perrieri, with the former being a social and cursorial hunter and the latter being a solitary scavenger. The last case of coexistence were the canids of Apollonia (Vulpes praeglacialis, Lycaon lycaonoides, Canis arnensis, Canis etruscus and Canis apolloniensis). Vulpes praeglacialis occupied a niche similar to extant foxes and Lycaon similar to extant wolves. The other three canids probably represent a gradual transition from a form similar to jackal (Canis arnensis) to a form similar to a small wolf (Canis etruscus) with Canis apolloniensis being the intermediate stage. This coexistence of three species of canids probably led to interspecific competition between them. The third chapter of results dealt with the temporal alternation (or no alternation) of some phylogenetic lines. The first case was the transition Promeles palaeattica - Meles dimitrius - Meles meles. This lineage seems to adapt to a more plant-based diet and an increase in size. The second line was that of Nyctereutes: N. donnezani - N. megamastoides - N. procyonoides. This line also moved to a more plant-based omnivory, but this time the body size of the species was reduced. The next two cases dealt with two lineages that had similar representatives in the fossil record of Greece from the Miocene until the Late Pleistocene. The first lineage was that of Crocuta-like bone-crushing hyenas: Dinocrocuta - Adcrocuta - Pliohyaena - Pachycrocuta - Crocuta and the second was that of large felids Amphimachairodus / Paramachairodus / Metailurus major - Homotherium / Megantereon / Panthera gombaszoegensis - Panthera leo / pardus. Finally, the dietary category for every species was defined in a table and a suggestion for its possible prey genera (based on its already known associated faunas) was made, accompanied with the reference of a modern analogue species. View Show abstract Large Felid Predators and “Man-Eaters”: Can We Successfully Balance Conservation of Endangered Apex Predators with the Safety and Needs of Rapidly Expanding Human Populations? Chapter May 2020 Suzanne Shepherd The large felid carnivores are among the most endangered, and the most challenging, species to conserve on this increasingly human-dominated planet. In modern times, large felid carnivores were widely distributed in the continents of Asia, Africa, and the Americas. Unfortunately, global human expansion, loss of prey species, hunting and poaching, and retaliatory killings after livestock predation have greatly reduced and fragmented their original ranges and decimated their populations. In this chapter, large felid carnivore characteristics, usual habitats, ecology, and predatory behaviors are reviewed. Changes in great cat distribution, changes in wild prey populations resulting in a shift to increased livestock predation, and the resulting human-felid conflicts are discussed. Preservation of remaining wild large felid carnivore populations has become a global conservation priority as populations have plummeted over the last century. Current approaches to better understand and conserve these apex keystone predators and to maintain ecosystem integrity are discussed. Current strategies and policies to ameliorate and resolve the intricate and difficult problems of predator-human conflict are examined. The complex issues of “problem carnivores” and “man-eaters” are discussed. Finally, recommendations on creative, fluid, and scientifically sound strategies that might be employed to address these conflicts in a manner acceptable to all key stakeholders are discussed. View Show abstract The Pleistocene Jaguar Corridor Chapter Jan 2014 Dr. Alan Rabinowitz F eeling much older than my 42 years, I sank to my knees in snow as we crossed a gully and climbed towards the top of the plateau. Gasping for breath, I forced myself to speed up just so I could move one step ahead of the man beside me, Russia’s premier living tiger expert, Dimitri Pikinov. Dimitri grunted, lengthened his stride, and moved ahead of me again, never taking his eyes off the ground while he scanned intently for the telltale tracks or sign of the animal we were there to find. I smiled to myself, pleased I had at least elicited a grunt, then planned my next attack when we hit a downhill slope. It was a game that both of us played, while pretending we were not. Though I had no expectation of outpacing Dimitri on his home turf and in sub-zero weather, the physical challenge and the competition with a man I respected was exhilarating. I was giving him a run for his money, of that I was sure. The voices drifting downwind from behind us were our fellow cat experts, Drs. Howard Quigley and Dale Miquelle, who were quietly amused at this test of wills between Dimitri and myself that started with our first meeting in Vladivostok and had continued into the wintry cold of the Russian Far East. It was primal. Two middle-aged, type-A personalities, pounding their chests. View Show abstract A revised taxonomy of the Felidae. The final report of the Cat Classification Task Force of the IUCN/SSC Cat Specialist Group Article Full-text available Jan 2017 Andrew C Kitchener Christine Breitenmoser Eduardo Eizirik Shanan S. Tobe 1. The current classification of the Felidae was reviewed by a panel of 22 experts divided into core, expert and review groups, which make up the Cat Classification Task Force CCTF of the IUCN Cat Specialist Group. 2. The principal aim of the CCTF was to produce a consensus on a revised classification of the Felidae for use by the IUCN. 3. Based on current published research, the CCTF has fully revised the classification of the Felidae at the level of genus, species and subspecies. 4. A novel traffic-light system was developed to indicate certainty of each taxon based on morphological, molecular, biogeographical and other evidence. A concordance of good evidence in the three principal categories was required to strongly support the acceptance of a taxon. 5. Where disagreements exist among members of the CCTF, these have been highlighted in the accounts for each species. Only further research will be able to answer the potential conflicts in existing data. 6. A total of 14 genera, 41 species and 77 subspecies is recognised by most members of the CCTF, which is a considerable change from the classification proposed by Wozencraft (2005), the last major revision of the Felidae. 7. Future areas of taxonomic research have been highlighted in order to answer current areas of uncertainty. 8. This classification of the Felidae will be reviewed every five years unless a major new piece of research requires a more rapid revision for the conservation benefit of felid species at risk of extinction. View Show abstract Show more What do we really know about speciation? Article Full-text available Jan 1982 Guy L. Bush View The Plio-Pleistocene Cheetah-like cat Miracinonyx inexpectatus of North America Article Full-text available Dec 1990 J Vertebr Paleontol Blaire Van Valkenburgh Frederick Grady Björn Kurtén The taxonomy of the North American cheetah-like cats is unresolved as they have been assigned at different times to Felis, Puma, or Acinonyx. A recently discovered, nearly complete skeleton of a large, slender-limbed cat of Irvingtonian age from West Virginia prompted this study of their relationships. We describe the new specimen and compare it with the living puma (Puma concolor) and cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus) as well as with the extinct Old World cheetah (A. pardinensis) and New World cheetah-like cats most recently assigned to Acinonyx trumani and A. studeri. The new specimen appears to be a member of the earlier of the two North American species, previously known as A. studeri, here called Miracinonyx inexpectatus based on the priority of Cope's (1895) name. A cladistic analysis suggests that the New and Old World forms are distinct at the generic level and we remove the North American taxa from Acinonyx and place them in the genus Miracinonyx. The two genera are distinguished by a minimum of ten features of the skull and postcranial skeleton. Miracinonyx differs from Puma primarily in limb proportions, slenderness of the long bones, and aspects of the nasomaxillary region of the skull. A review of the fossil record suggests that the extinction of M. inexpectatus preceded the appearance of both the cursorial M. trumani and the shorter-limbed Puma concolor. Thus, M. inexpectatus could have given rise to both of these taxa in the middle Pleistocene. View Show abstract Systematics of Mustelid-Like Carnivores Article Full-text available May 1997 J Mammal J.W. Dragoo Rodney L Honeycutt The phylogenetic relationships of the skunks to the Mustelidae and other caniform carnivores were examined using mitochondrial-DNA (mtDNA) sequence data from portions of the 12S and 16S ribosomal RNA (rRNA) genes. Data were combined with partial sequences of the cytochrome b gene and morphological data obtained from the literature, and used in a total-evidence analysis. The Mustelidae represented a paraphyletic group, with the skunks (Conepatus, Mephitis, and Spilogale) and the Oriental stink badger (Mydaus) forming a monophyletic clade separate from a clade containing the rest of the Mustelidae and the monophyletic Procyonidae. Within the Mustelidae, minus the skunks and stink badger, only one currently recognized subfamily, the Lutrinae, represented a monophyletic group. The families Phocidae, Otariidae, and Odobenidae formed a monophyletic group that was the sister group to the clade composed of the skunks, procyonids, and mustelids. The families Ursidae and Canidae occurred at the base of the Caniformia clade. It is proposed that the skunks be elevated to the level of family and be referred to as the Mephitidae. The family Mephitidae includes the genera Mephitis (striped and hooded skunks), Conepatus (hog-nosed skunks), Spilogale (spotted skunks), and Mydaus (Oriental stink badgers). View Show abstract Integrating Phylogenetic and Experimental Analyses: The Evolution of Male and Female Nuptial Coloration in the Stickleback Fishes (Gasterosteidae) Article Full-text available Sep 1996 SYST BIOL Deborah A. Mclennan Both male and female gasterosteid fishes display nuptial coloration. Male nuptial coloration originated in the ancestor of the Pungitius + Culaea + Gasterosteus clade. Patterns of origin and diversification of characters involved in male-male, male-female, and parental interactions indicate that the evolution of male color was influenced by intersexual selection, natural selection during parental care, and intrasexual selection, in decreasing order of importance. This macroevolutionary hypothesis was corroborated by examining changes in male color across the breeding cycle for two stickleback species, Gasterosteus aculeatus and Culaea inconstans. Female nuptial coloration may have originated before the male signal. The phylogenetic diversification of the male and female signals are decoupled, suggesting that they have been subject to different selection pressures throughout their evolutionary histories. Macroevolutionary patterns and experimental studies indicate that color signal evolution has been more complex in this group of fishes than was previously thought. View Show abstract Methods for Computing Wagner Trees Article Full-text available Mar 1970 Syst Zool James Farris Farris, J. S. (Biol. Set., State Univ., Stony Brook, N.Y.) 1970. Methods for computing Wagner Trees. Syst. Zool., 19:83-92.—The article derives some properties of Wagner Trees and Networks and describes computational procedures for Prim Networks, the Wagner Method, Rootless Wagner Method and optimization of hypothetical intermediates (HTUs). View Show abstract The role of phylogeny and behavioral competition in the evolution of coexistence among primates Article Full-text available Feb 2011 Can J Zool Alain Houle No analysis of coexistence among primates has ever considered phylogenetic distances and behavioral competition. The present model proposes that high levels of behavioral competition strongly incite divergence of the respective positions of sympatric species in niches, especially when these species are closely related. This divergence is then reflected in the morphologies of coexisting species (individuals exploit new dimensions of niches and their associated morphologies are selected for) and consequently in their phylogenetic distances. Sister species (defined here as those from the same subgenus or same species group) are phylogenetically closer than kin species (of the same genus but different subgenera or species groups). Accordingly, if a minimum phylogenetic distance is a condition of stable coexistence, then kin (and higher ranking) species, but not sister species, are expected to coexist in ecological communities. Moreover, the intensity of behavioral competition among coexisting species should be inversely proportional to phylogenetic distance. (Taxa are said to have high levels of behavioral competition if they display high rates of aggressive behaviors and simultaneous low rates of grooming behaviors.) To test these hypotheses, 41 ecological communities were reviewed. The conclusions are that (i) primate sister species do coexist, but very exceptionally compared with kin species (Wilcoxon's signed ranks test, p < 0.0001), suggesting that coexistence is possible provided a minimum phylogenetic distance is respected; (ii) there is a negative relationship between taxonomic distance and the rate of aggression among sympatric primates (p = 0.04) and a positive relationship between this distance and the rate of interspecific grooming behaviors (p = 0.028), supporting the hypothesis that stable coexistence is possible if sympatric species reduce and maintain low levels of behavioral competition. View Show abstract The Importance of Recent Ice Ages in Speciation: A Failed Paradigm Article Full-text available Sep 1997 Science John Klicka Robert Zink Late Pleistocene glaciations have been ascribed a dominant role in sculpting present-day diversity and distributions of North American vertebrates. Molecular comparisons of recently diverged sister species now permit a test of this assertion. The Late Pleistocene Origins model predicts a mitochondrial DNA divergence value of less than 0.5 percent for avian sister species of Late Pleistocene origin. Instead, the average mitochondrial DNA sequence divergence for 35 such songbird species pairs is 5.1 percent, which exceeds the predicted value by a factor of 10. Molecular data suggest a relatively protracted history of speciation events among North American songbirds over the past 5 million years. View Show abstract Phylogeographic Subspecies Recognition in Leopards (Panthera pardus): Molecular Genetic Variation Article Full-text available Aug 1996 Conservat Biol Sriyanie Miththapala John Seidensticker Stephen J. O'Brien The incorporation of precise definitions for taxonomic units into wildlife legislation has necessitated the reevaluation of the taxonomy of endangered and threatened species. We used the subspecies recognition criteria proposed by Avise and Ball (1990) and O’Brien and Mayr (1991) to examine the infraspecific taxonomy of the leopard, Panthera pardus, a geographically widespread species with 27 currently recognized trinomial designations. Samples from named subspecies revealed appreciable genetic diversity using three molecular methods: allozymes, mitochondrial DNA restriction sites, and feline-specific minisatellites. Continental populations and subspecies from Africa and Asia possessed the highest amount of molecular genetic variation, whereas relatively lower amounts of diversity were present in island populations. Molecular data were analyzed using three phylogenetic methods (distance-matrix, maximum parsimony, and maximum likelihood) to resolve genetic differentiation below the species level The combined results revealed phylogenetic distinction of six geographically isolated groups of leopards: (1) African, (2) central Asian, (3) Indian, (4) Sri Lankan, (5) Javan, and (6) east Asian. Based on the combined molecular analyses and supporting morphological data (Miththapala 1992), u,e recommend that subspecific leopard taxonomy be revised to comprise eight subspecies: (1) P. p. pardus, Africa; (2) P. p. saxicolor, central Asia; (3) P. p. fusca, Indian subcontinent; (4) P. p. kotiya, Sri Lanka; (5) P. p. melas, Java; (6) P. p. orientalis, Amur; (7) P. p. japonensis, northern China; and (8) P. p. delacouri, southern China. In most cases, designated subspecies conform to historic geological barriers that would have facilitated allopatric genetic divergence. View Show abstract BODY SIZE, NATURAL SELECTION, AND SPECIATION IN STICKLEBACKS Article Feb 1998 Evolution Laura Nagel Dolph Schluter There is little evidence from nature that divergent natural selection is crucial to speciation. However, divergent selection is implicated if traits conferring adaptation to alternative environments also form the basis of reproductive isolation. We tested the importance of body size differences to premating isolation between two sympatric sticklebacks. The species differ greatly in size, and several lines of evidence indicate that this difference is an adaptation to alternative foraging habitats. Strong assortative mating was evident in laboratory trials, but a few hybridization events occurred. Probability of interspecific mating was strongly correlated with body size: interspecific spawning occurred only between the largest individuals of the smaller species and the smallest individuals of the larger species. Probability of spawning between similar-sized individuals from different species was comparable to spawning rates within species. Disruption of mating between individuals from different species can be traced to increased levels of male aggression and decreased levels of male courtship as size differences increased between paired individuals. Interspecific mate preferences in sympatric sticklebacks appears to be dominated by body size, implicating natural selection in the origin of species. View Show abstract A PHYLOGENETIC ANALYSIS OF CHARACTER DISPLACEMENT IN CARIBBEAN ANOLIS LIZARDS Article May 1990 Evolution Jonathan B Losos Twenty-seven islands in the Lesser Antilles contain either one or two species of Anolis lizards. On nine of the ten two-species islands, the species differ substantially in size; 16 of the 17 one-species islands harbor an intermediate-sized species. Two processes could produce such a pattern: size adjustment (or character displacement), in which similar-sized species evolve in different directions in sympatry; and size assortment, in which only different-sized species can successfully colonize the same island together. Previous analyses implicitly have assumed that size is evolutionarily plastic and determined solely by recent ecological conditions, and consequently have tested the hypothesis that character displacement has occurred on each of the ten two-species islands. Other studies have focused only on size assortment. View Show abstract MODES OF SPECIATION IN BIRDS: A TEST OF LYNCH'S METHOD Article Apr 1994 Evolution R. Terry Chesser Robert Zink View SYMPATRIC SPECIATION VIA HABITAT SPECIALIZATION DRIVEN BY DELETERIOUS MUTATIONS Article Dec 1997 Evolution Tadeusz J Kawecki Theoretical studies have suggested that the evolution of habitat (host) races, regarded as a prelude to sympatric speciation, requires strong trade-offs in adaptation to different habitats: alleles that improve fitness in some habitats and have deleterious effects of similar magnitude in other habitats must be segregating in the population. I argue that such trade-offs are not necessary; the evolution of habitat races can also be driven by genetic variation due to loci that affect fitness in one habitat and are neutral or nearly so in others, that is, when performance in different habitats is genetically independent. One source of such genetic variation are deleterious mutations with habitat-specific fitness effects. I use deterministic two-locus and multilocus models to show that the presence of such mutations in the gene pool results in indirect selection favoring habitat fidelity or habitat preference over acceptance of both suitable habitats. This leads to the evolution of largely genetically isolated populations that use different habitats, from a single panmictic population of individuals accepting both habitats. This study suggests that the conditions favoring habitat race formation, and thus possibly sympatric speciation, are much less stringent than previously thought. View Show abstract A MOLECULAR PHYLOGENY OF THE FELIDAE: IMMUNOLOGICAL DISTANCE Article May 1985 Evolution Glen Collier Stephen J. O'Brien The phylogenetic distances between 34 of the 37 extant species of Felidae were estimated using albumin immunological distances (AID). Albumins from ten cat species were used to prepare antisera in rabbits. A consensus phylogeny was constructed from a matrix of reciprocal AID measurements using four distinct phylogenetic algorithms. A series of one-way measurements using the ten index antisera and those 24 species for which albumins were available (but antisera were not), permitted addition of these "species' limbs" to the previously derived phylogenetic trees. The major conclusions of the derived topology were: 1) the earliest branch of the feline radiation occurred approximately 12 million years B.P. and led to the small South American cats (ocelot, margay, Geoffroy's cat, etc.); 2) the second branching occurred 8-10 million years B.P. and included the close relatives of the domestic cat (wildcats, jungle cat, sand cat, and black-footed cat) plus Pallas's cat; 3) the third lineage which began to radiate 4-6 million years B.P. was the pantherine lineage, which included several early branches (cheetah, serval, clouded leopard, golden cats, and puma) and a very recent (2 million years B.P.) split between the lynxes and the modern great cats (Panthera). The topology of the Felidae derived from albumin immunological distance is highly consistent with the karyological disposition of these species, as well as with the fossil record of this family. Because of the recent divergence of this group, the presented data set and the derived topology contain certain unresolved phylogenetic relationships which are so indicated. View Show abstract ORIGIN AND EVOLUTION OF CONTINENTAL BIOTAS: SPECIATION AND HISTORICAL CONGRUENCE WITHIN THE AUSTRALIAN AVIFAUNA Article Sep 1986 Evolution Joel Cracraft Factors governing the origin and evolution of continental biotas were investigated using an analysis of speciation patterns within the Australian avifauna. Phylogenetic relationships within seven lineages of birds were analyzed by numerical cladistic techniques applied to data sets of morphological characters. These relationships revealed extensive congruence among the spatial and temporal histories of lineages whose species are endemic to common areas of endemism. A general hypothesis is constructed to explain this congruence in which widespread biotas are postulated to have been partitioned into areas of endemism by the origin of geomorphological and/or ecological-climatic barriers. Congruence in these phylogenetic patterns of differentiation suggests the following historical pattern of interrelationships for areas of endemism along the northern and eastern coasts of Australia: (Kimberley Plateau + Arnhem Land) + ([New Guinea + Cape York Peninsula] + [Atherton Plateau + Eastern Coastal Rainforest]). Likewise, this study indicates that the arid interior avifauna was segregated into two closely related biotas (Eastern and Western Desert biotas) by the Eyrean Barrier. These biotas are, in turn, related to a more mesic avifauna that was itself subdivided into areas of endemism located in the Southwest and Southeast corners of the continent. View Show abstract Prior agreement: Arbitration or arbitrary? Article Dec 1997 SYST BIOL Mark E. Siddall View A Phylogenetic Analysis and Definition of the Carnivora Chapter Jan 1993 André R. Wyss J.J. Flynn View Hyoid structure, laryngeal anatomy, and vocalization in felids (Mammalia, Carnivora, Felidae) Article Jan 1994 Gustav Peters M.H. Hast View Fossil history of living Felidae Article Jan 1979 H. Hemmer View Evolutionary Strategies of Parasitic Insects and Mite Chapter Jan 1975 Guy L. Bush The appearance of new insect pests on economically important plants is a well-known phenomenon to many applied biologists. In addition, populations of introduced or native insects are frequently encountered which exhibit different host preferences, but which are morphologically indistinguishable from one another (Brues 1924, Simms 1931, Mayr 1942, Andrewartha and Birch 1954, Zwölfer and Harris 1971). These so-called host races sometimes actually represent previously unrecognized reproductively isolated sibling species. Others appear to retain their distinct host preferences and other biological traits in the absence of any observable barriers to gene flow between the races. Two classic examples in North America are the codling moth (Laspeyresia pomonella), introduced from Europe in 1750, which shifted from apples to walnuts about 26 years after it reached California in 1873 (Essig 1931, Foster 1912), and the apple maggot (Rhagoletis pomonella) which moved from its native host hawthorn to introduced apples in 1864 and cherries less than 20 years ago (Bush 1966, 1969a,b, 1974). View Show abstract Sympatric Speciation Article Nov 1966 AM NAT J. Maynard Smith View Biogeography Article Jun 1984 Syst Zool John A. Endler James H. Brown Arthur C. Gibson View Genetic Variability and Biochemical Systematics of Domestic and Wild Cat Populations (Felis silvestris: Felidae) Article Feb 1991 J MAMMAL Ettore Randi Bernardino Ragni Genetic variability and phylogenetic relationships among domestic and wild populations of cats were studied by allozyme electrophoresis. Tissues were obtained from 67 specimens of European wild cats (Felis silvestris silvestris), African wild cats (F. s. libyca), and domestic cats from Italy; 54 presumptive loci were resolved. The average proportion of polymorphic loci and heterozygosity were P̄ = 0.11, H̄ = 0.042 in the wild cat, and P̄ = 0.20, H̄ = 0.066 in the domestic cat. Despite reduced genetic variability, local populations of wild cats were not inbred, as indicated by nonsignificant FIS values. Both FST and Nei's genetic distances between domestic and wild populations were low (F̄ST = 0.04; D̄ = 0.0082). Dendrograms indicate that the domestic cat belongs to the African wild cat lineage, which supports current hypotheses on cat domestication. Based on the genetic evidence, we suggest that the European wild cat, the African wild cat, and the domestic cat belong to the same polytypic species (Felis silvestris Schreber, 1777), and that the European and African wild cats diverged approximately 20,000 years ago. View Show abstract Origin and Evolution of Continental Biotas: Speciation and Historical Congruence within the Australian Avifauna Article Sep 1986 EVOLUTION Joel Cracraft Factors governing the origin and evolution of continental biotas were investigated using an analysis of speciation patterns within the Australian avifauna. Phylogenetic relationships within seven lineages of birds were analyzed by numerical cladistic techniques applied to data sets of morphological characters. These relationships revealed extensive congruence among the spatial and temporal histories of lineages whose species are endemic to common areas of endemism. A general hypothesis is constructed to explain this congruence in which widespread biotas are postulated to have been partitioned into areas of endemism by the origin of geomorphological and/or ecological-climatic barriers. Congruence in these phylogenetic patterns of differentiation suggests the following historical pattern of interrelationships for areas of endemism along the northern and eastern coasts of Australia: (Kimberley Plateau + Arnhem Land) + ([New Guinea + Cape York Peninsula] + [Atherton Plateau + Eastern Coastal Rainforest]). Likewise, this study indicates that the arid interior avifauna was segregated into two closely related biotas (Eastern and Western Desert biotas) by the Eyrean Barrier. These biotas are, in turn, related to a more mesic avifauna that was itself subdivided into areas of endemism located in the Southwest and Southeast corners of the continent. View Show abstract Resource Partitioning in Amphibians and Reptiles Article Feb 1985 COPEIA Catherine A. Toft Resource partitioning, or differences in how species use resources, has been studied in a wide variety of amphibians and reptiles, and causes for resource-partitioning patterns are now understood in several well-documented cases. This study, a review of these papers, reveals a common theme: Resource-partitioning patterns result from three categories of causes, of which competition is just one; the other two are predation and factors that operate independently of interspecific interactions, such as physiological constraints. Moreover, in each of the case histories presented below, we find two or more mechanisms interacting in complex ways. In no case does a single factor, for example competition, ever act alone. These case histories therefore provide an admonishment to single-minded tests of community-wide patterns that pit competition against everything (or nothing) else. Rather, a variety of factors may cause community-wide patterns such as resource partitioning, and the relative importance of these factors may differ among taxa and among communities at different geographic locations. View Show abstract A Phylogenetic Analysis of Character Displacement in Caribbean Anolis Lizards Article May 1990 Evolution Jonathan B Losos Twenty-seven islands in the Lesser Antilles contain either 1 or 2 species of Anolis lizards. On 9 of the 10 2-species islands, the species differ substantially in size; 16 of the 17 one-species islands harbor an intermediate-sized species. Two processes could produce such a pattern: size adjustment (or character displacement), in which similar-sized species evolve in different directions in sympatry; and size assortment, in which only different-sized species can successfully colonize the same island together. Size evolution appears rare (a minimum of 4-7 instances of substantial size evolution). In the northern (but not the southern) Lesser Antilles, size change was significantly greater when a descendant taxon occurred on a 2-species island and its hypothetical ancestor occurred on a 1-species island, supporting the size adjustment hypothesis, though size adjustment might have occurred only once. The relative rarity of size evolution suggests that size assortment might be responsible for non-random patterns. Similar-sized species might not coexist because they interbreed and coalesce into one gene pool. Competitive exclusion is probably responsible for the pattern of size assortment in the N Lesser Antilles; both competitive exclusion and interbreeding of closely related species of similar size might be responsible for the patterns evident in the S Lesser Antilles. -from Author View Show abstract Modes of Speciation in Birds: A Test of Lynch's Method Article Apr 1994 Evolution R. Terry Chesser Robert M. Zink View Body Size, Natural Selection, and Speciation in Sticklebacks Article Feb 1998 Evolution Laura Nagel Dolph Schluter There is little evidence from nature that divergent natural selection is crucial to speciation. However, divergent selection is implicated if traits conferring adaptation to alternative environments also form the basis of reproductive isolation. We tested the importance of body size differences to premating isolation between two sympatric sticklebacks. The species differ greatly in size, and several lines of evidence indicate that this difference is an adaptation to alternative foraging habitats. Strong assortative mating was evident in laboratory trials, but a few hybridization events occurred. Probability of interspecific mating was strongly correlated with body size: interspecific spawning occurred only between the largest individuals of the smaller species and the smallest individuals of the larger species. Probability of spawning between similar-sized individuals from different species was comparable to spawning rates within species. Disruption of mating between individuals from different species can be traced to increased levels of male aggression and decreased levels of male courtship as size differences increased between paired individuals. Interspecific mate preferences in sympatric sticklebacks appears to be dominated by body size, implicating natural selection in the origin of species. View Show abstract Phylogeny, Ecology, and Behavior Article Apr 1992 J Parasitol John Janovy Daniel R Brooks Deborah A. Mclennan View A Molecular Phylogeny of the Felidae: Immunological Distance Article May 1985 EVOLUTION Glen Collier Stephen J. O'Brien The phylogenetic distances between 34 of the 37 extant species of Felidae were estimated using albumin immunological distances (AID). Albumins from ten cat species were used to prepare antisera in rabbits. A consensus phylogeny was constructed from a matrix of reciprocal AID measurements using four distinct phylogenetic algorithms. A series of one-way measurements using the ten index antisera and those 24 species for which albumins were available (but antisera were not), permitted addition of these "species' limbs" to the previously derived phylogenetic trees. The major conclusions of the derived topology were: 1) the earliest branch of the feline radiation occurred approximately 12 million years B.P. and led to the small South American cats (ocelot, margay, Geoffroy's cat, etc.); 2) the second branching occurred 8-10 million years B.P. and included the close relatives of the domestic cat (wildcats, jungle cat, sand cat, and black-footed cat) plus Pallas's cat; 3) the third lineage which began to radiate 4-6 million years B.P. was the pantherine lineage, which included several early branches (cheetah, serval, clouded leopard, golden cats, and puma) and a very recent (2 million years B.P.) split between the lynxes and the modern great cats (Panthera). The topology of the Felidae derived from albumin immunological distance is highly consistent with the karyological disposition of these species, as well as with the fossil record of this family. Because of the recent divergence of this group, the presented data set and the derived topology contain certain unresolved phylogenetic relationships which are so indicated. View Show abstract Animal Species And Evolution Book Jan 1963 Ernst Mayr View The Out-Group Comparison Method of Character Analysis Article Mar 1981 SYST BIOL Larry E. Watrous Quentin Wheeler The out-group comparison method of character analysis. Syst. Zool., 30:1–11.—An operational rule for analyzing character polarity with out-group comparison is presented and a series of observations, including potential problems in applying the rule, are discussed. The “commonality principle” (=“frequency of occurrence,” “common equals primitive”) for determining character polarity is reviewed and dismissed as a reliable alternative to out-group comparison. Based on the rule and observations, a general method for character analysis is synthesized. View Show abstract A Concern for Evidence and a Phylogenetic Hypothesis of Relationships Among Epicrates (Boidae, Serpentes) Article Mar 1989 SYST BIOL Arnold G. Kluge Character congruence, the principle of using all the relevant data, and character independence are important concepts in phylogenetic inference, because they relate directly to the evidence on which hypotheses are based. Taxonomic congruence, which is agreement among patterns of taxonomic relationships, is less important, because its connection to the underlying character evidence is indirect and often imperfect. Also, taxonomic congruence is difficult to justify, because of the arbitrariness involved in choosing a consensus method and index with which to estimate agreement. High levels of character congruence were observed among 89 biochemical and morphological synapomorphies scored on 10 species of Epicrates. Such agreement is consistent with the phylogenetic interpretation attached to the resulting hypothesis, which is a consensus of two equally parsimonious cladograms: (cenchria (angulifer (striatus ((chrysogaster, exsul) (inornatus, subflavus) (gracilis (fordii, monensis)))))). Relatively little (11.4%) of the character incongruence was due to the disparity between the biochemical and morphological data sets. Each of the clades in the consensus cladogram was confirmed by two or more unique and unreversed novelties, and six of the eight clades were corroborated by biochemical and morphological evidence. Such combinations of characters add confidence to the phylogenetic hypothesis, assuming the qualitatively different kinds of data are more likely to count as independent than are observations drawn from the same character system. Most of the incongruence occurred in the skeletal subset of characters, and much of that independent evolution seemed to be the result of paedomorphosis. View Show abstract Evolution as Entropy: Toward a Unified Theory of Biology Book Nov 1986 TAXON Daniel R Brooks E. O. Wiley View Cladistic Analysis and Vicariance Biogeography Article Jan 1983 AM SCI Joel Cracraft Cladistics (phylogenetic systematics) recognizes natural groups by uniquely derived characters (synapomorphies); only natural groups (defined by synapomorphies to be monophyletic) are admitted into the Linnean classification scheme. Just as cladistic analysis provides a method for revealing the degree of congruence among the characters of organisms, vicariance biogeography assesses the degree of congruence in the distributional pattern of taxa. Knowledge of biogeographic pattern is essential to understand evolutionary history and the processes postulated to have preceded it. An example is taken from northern and eastern Australia, which can be described biogeographically in terms of 5 areas of endemism.-P.J.Jarvis View Show abstract Walker's Mammals of the World II Article Feb 1993 J MAMMAL Ronald M Nowak View The Anolis Lizards of Bimini: Resource Partitioning in a Complex Fauna Article Jul 1968 ECOLOGY Thomas Schoener The tiny island of South Bimini contains 4 species of lizards of he genus Anolis, a number surpassed only on the 4 largest islands of the Greater Antilles and on 2 very large and nearby satellite islands. These species are syntopic with respect to a two-dimensional area of the ground but divide the habitat according to perch height and perch diameter: sagrei is partly terrestrial but occurs more often on small and large low perches; distichus prefers the trunks and large branches of medium to large trees; angusticipes inhabits small twigs, especially at great heights; and carolinensis is found mostly on leaves or on the adjacent twigs and brances. The size classes of the species are staggered in such a way that the interspecific classes which overlap most in habitat overlap least in prey size. Similarities in prey size and prey taxa for classes of the same species are somewhat greater than those expected on the basis of habitat and morphology alone. The distribution of the species among the vegetation communities of Bimini can be explained on the basis of perch height and diameter preference. Within the same species, the larger lizards usually eat larger food, fewer items, and in sagrei more fruit; and they have a greater average range of food size per digestive tract. One species (distichus) is extremely myrmecophagous: about 75-90% of its food items are ants. In 3 of the 4 species, subadult males take more food and average smaller prey then females of the same head length. That species (distichus) which takes the smallest food items and whose classes overlap the most in habitat preference with those of other species is least dimorphic is size between the sexes. It is suggested that such small, nondimorphic species are best suited for insinuation into complex faunas, whereas larger, dimorphic forms are best for the colonization of empty areas. The usefulness of various measures of "overlap" and "specialization" is evaluated for this lizard association. View Show abstract Evolution of the Felid Brain; pp. 214–228 Article Jan 1975 Brain Behav Evol L. Radinsky Endocranial casts of 15 genera of fossil felids provide a record of felid brain evolution over the past 35 million years. Brains of the earliest felids, known as paleofelids, had coronolateral, suprasylvian and variably developed ectosylvian sulci as their only neocortical sulci. The last paleofelids, which became extinct around 8 million years ago, show little change in external brain morphology except for the addition of a presylvian sulcus. The other group of felids, the neofelids, appears about 25 million years ago, with coronolateral and suprasylvian sulci their main neocortical sulci,plus a discontinuous ectosylvian sulcus and small postlateral, sylvian and presylvian sulci. The posterior cerebellar vermis was straight and unexpanded. Beginnings of expansion of the sigmoid gyri and development of the cruciate sulcus are evident in neofelids 15–20 million years ago, and by 5–9 million years ago neofelids had brains that appear modern in external morphology. Endocasts of four genera of Pleistocene saber-toothed felids are similar in sulcal pattern to those of modern felids, except for Dinobastis, which had a unique expansion of visual cortex. Endocasts of 27 species of modern felids, representing the six commonly recognized genera, are strikingly similar in external morphology, although the brains of a few species, such as cheetahs, lynxes and jagouarundis, display distinguishing features. Modern felid brains average about the same size relative to body weight as do those of viverrids, but are about 25&percnt; smaller in relative size than those of canids. Olfactory bulbs are relatively smaller in felids than in canids or viverrids.Copyright © 1975 S. Karger AG, Basel View Show abstract Sympatric Speciation via Habitat Specialization Driven by Deleterious Mutations Article Dec 1997 EVOLUTION Tadeusz J Kawecki Theoretical studies have suggested that the evolution of habitat (host) races, regarded as a prelude to sympatric speciation, requires strong trade-offs in adaptation to different habitats: alleles that improve fitness in some habitats and have deleterious effects of similar magnitude in other habitats must be segregating in the population. I argue that such trade-offs are not necessary; the evolution of habitat races can also be driven by genetic variation due to loci that affect fitness in one habitat and are neutral or nearly so in others, that is, when performance in different habitats is genetically independent. One source of such genetic variation are deleterious mutations wit:? habitat-specific fitness effects. I use deterministic two-locus and multilocus models to show that the presence of such mutations in the gene pool results in indirect selection favoring habitat fidelity or habitat preference over acceptance of both suitable habitats. This leads to the evolution of largely genetically isolated populations that use different habitats, from a single panmictic population of individuals accepting both habitats. This study suggests that the conditions favoring habitat race formation, and thus possibly sympatric speciation, are much less stringent than previously thought. View Show abstract The Red List of Threatened Animals Article Jan 1996 J.E.M. Baillie B. Groombridge View Adaptive differentiation following experimental colonization in Anolis lizards Article May 1997 Nature Jonathan B Losos Thomas Schoener If colonizing populations are displaced into an environment that is often very different from that of their source1, they are particularly likely to diverge evolutionarily, the more so because they are usually small and thus likely to change by genetic restructuring or drift2,3. Despite its fundamental importance, the consequence of colonization for traits of founding populations have primarily been surmised from static present-day distributions1,2,4,5, laboratory experiments6 and the outcomes of haphazard human introductions7-9, rather than from replicated field experiments. Here we report long-term results of just such an experimental study. Populations of the lizard Anolis sagrei, introduced onto small islands from a nearby source, differentiated from each other rapidly over a 10-14-year period. The more different the recipient island's vegetation from that of the source, the greater the magnitude of differentiation. Further, the direction of differentiation followed an expectation based on the evolutionary diversification of insular Anolis over its entire geographic range. In addition to providing a glimpse of adaptive dynamics in one of the most extensive generic radiations on earth, the results lend support to the general argument that environment determines the evolution of morphology. View Show abstract Stable Underdominance and the Evolutionary Invasion of Empty Niches Article Jun 1986 AM NAT David Sloan Wilson Michael Turelli Complex adaptations are frequently polygenic passing through several relatively poorly adapted intermediate stages. Evolutionists frequently invoke density- and frequency-dependent selection to explain this process. The initial poorly adapted morphs are assumed to have high fitness because they use an unexploited resource or otherwise occupy an 'empty niche'. This process is explored with a single-locus selection model based on the differential utilization of 2 distinct resources. Unexploited niches can be invaded by poorly adapted morphs. Heterozygotes often have the lowest fitness at stable polymorphic equilibria. Stable 2-locus polymorphisms exist, in which the most heterozygous individuals are the least fit. In general, maladaptive phenotypes are frequently maintained in these models, and may present a biologically plausible framework in which to investigate evolutionary modifications of dominance, linkage, and mating that reduce the frequency of maladaptive phenotypes. -from Authors View Show abstract The Evolutionary Species Concept Reconsidered Article Mar 1978 Syst Zool E. O. Wiley Wiley, E. O. (Division of Fishes, Museum of Natural History, University of Kansas, Lawrence, KS 66045). 1978. Syst. Zool. 27:17-26.-The concept of species (as taxa) adopted by an investigator will influence his perception of the processes by which species originate. The concept adopted should have as universal applicability as current knowledge permits. Simpson’s definition of a species is modified to state: A species is a lineage of ancestral descendant populations which maintains its identity from other such lineages and which has its own evolutionary tendencies and historical fate. This definition is defended as that which has widest applicability given current knowledge of evolutionary processes. Four corollaries are deduced and discussed relative to other species concepts: (1) all organisms, past and present, belong to some evolutionary species; (2) reproductive isolation must be effective enough to permit maintenance of identity from other contemporary lineages; (3) morphological distinctiveness is not necessary; and (4) no presumed (hypothesized) single lineage may be subdivided into a series of ancestral-descendant “species.” The application of the evolutionary species concept to allopatric demes and to asexual species is discussed and it is concluded that the lack of evolutionary divergence forms the basis for grouping such populations into single species. It is suggested that some ecological species definitions lead to under-estimations of the rate of extinction due to interspecific competition because their logical framework excludes unsuccessful species from being species. Finally, the implications of accepting an evolutionary species concept to the field of phylogeny reconstruction are discussed. [Species concepts; evolution; phylogeny reconstruction.]. View Show abstract Vicariant Patterns and Historical Explanation in Biogeography Article Jun 1978 Syst Zool Donn E. Rosen Rosen, D. E. (Department of Ichthyology, American Museum of Natural History, New York, New York 10024) 1978. Vicariant patterns and historical explanation in biogeography. Syst. Zool. 27:159-188.-Geographic coincidence of animal and plant distributions to form recognizable patterns suggests that the separate components of the patterns are historically connected with each other and with geographic history. To seek evidence of these historical connections, cladograms of geographic areas, representing sequences of disruptive geologic, climatic, or geographic events, may be compared with biological cladograms, representing sequences of allopatric speciation events in relation to those geographic areas. Such comparisons, when they meet the minimum requirements of being among dichotomized three- taxon cladograms, can resolve similar or dissimilar historical factors; two-taxon statements do not distinguish between groups with different histories. Congruence of biological and geological area-cladograms at a high confidence level (such as congruence of a five-taxon clado- gram or four three-taxon cladograms with a geological cladogram, where the confidence level can be shown in cladistic theory to be 99%) means that specified events of paleogeography can be adopted as an explanation of the biological patterns. In such a cause and effect relationship, where the earth and its life are assumed to have evolved together, paleogeography is taken by logical necessity to be the independent variable and biological history, the dependent variable. Drawing a mathematical simile, the biological cladogram y (dependent variable), is a function of the geological cladogram x (independent variable), as in a simple regression of effect y on cause x where we are given no free choice as to which is the independent variable. Such a view implies that any specified sequence in earth history must coincide with some discoverable biological patterns; it does not imply a necessary converse that each biological pattern must coincide with some discoverable paleogeographic pattern, because some biological distributions might have resulted from stochastic processes (chance dispersal). Determining that all discoverable biological patterns conflict with a given corroborated or observed sequence of geologic, climatic, or geographic change (i.e., that y is not a function of x), in theory, therefore should falsify vicariance biogeography. Because dispersal biogeography presupposes stochastic processes, and any failure to meet the expectation of a postulated dispersal is explained by an additional dispersal, dispersal biogeography is immune to falsification. Without resort to paleontology or earth history, whether a given historical relationship implied by congruence of biological area-cladograms is the result of dispersal or vicariance can also be thought of in terms which minimize the number of necessary assumptions: Did the sedentary organisms disperse with the vagile ones or did the vagile organisms vicariate with the sedentary ones? Cladistic congruence of a group of sedentary organisms with a group of vagile ones rejects dispersal for both. Hence, distributions of sedentary organisms have the potential to falsify dispersal theories as applied to vagile organisms, but distributions of vagile organisms cannot falsify vicariance theories as applied to sedentary ones. The problems that arise in various kinds of historical explanation are exemplified by several specific distributions of fishes and other organisms in North and Middle America and in the larger context of Pangaean history, and are discussed in relation to current species concepts. [Vicariance; species concepts; biocladistics; biohistory; geocladistics; geohistory; Neotropics; Gondwanaland.]. View Show abstract Species Concepts and Speciation Analysis Article Jan 1983 Joel Cracraft Systematic biologists have directed much attention to species concepts because they realize that the origin of taxonomic diversity is the fundamental problem of evolutionary biology. Questions such as, What are the units of evolution? and, How do these units originate? thus continually capture the attention of many. It is probably no exaggeration to say that most believe the “systematic” aspects of the problem have been solved to a greater or lesser extent, whereas the task before us now is to understand the “genetic” and “ecologic” components of differentiation, i. e., those aspects often perceived to constitute the “real mechanisms” of speciation: A study of speciation is, to a considerable extent, a study of the genetics and evolution of reproductive isolating mechanisms (Bush, 1975, p. 339). ... a new mechanistic taxonomy of speciation is needed before population genetics, which deals with evolutionary mechanisms, can be properly integrated with speciation theory; that is, the various modes of speciation should be characterized according to the various forces and genetic mechanisms that underly [sic] the evolution of isolating barriers (Templeton 1980, p. 720). View Show abstract Mitochondrial DNA comparisons between the African wild cat and the domestic cat Article Jun 1997 S AFR J WILDL RES M Faadiel Essop Nomusa Mda E H Harley There has been dispute regarding the evolutionary relationship between three closely related felids, Felis lybica, Felis catus and Felis silvestris. Recent molecular studies have reported conficting results. Some authors described F. lybica and F. silvestris as distinct, separate species, while others classified them as being conspecific. We constructed mitochondrial DNA restriction site maps of F. catus, F. silvestris and F. lybica using 16 restriction endonucleases. Our results show complete identity between F. catus and F. lybica, whereas an estimated sequence divergence of 0.9% was found between their mitochondrial DNA and that of F. silvestris. This is consistent with F. lybica and F. catus being regarded as subspecies of F. silvestris. View Show abstract The Origin of Species By Means of Natural Selection Article May 1951 ACAD MED Charles Darwin View Morphological and pelage characteristics of wild living cats in Scotland: Implications for defining the 'wildcat' Article Feb 2006 J Zool Mike J. Daniels D. Balharry David Hirst Richard Aspinall The indigenous wildcat, Felis silvestris Schreber, 1775, and the introduced domestic cat, F. catus L., have been sympatric in Britain for more than 2000 years. As a result of interbreeding, any distinction between these two forms has become obscured, although a range of morphological criteria (pelage patterns, body measurements, gut lengths, skull morphometrics) and genetic techniques (immunological distances, electrophoresis, DNA hybridization) have been used previously to distinguish between them. View Show abstract Total Evidence Or Taxonomic Congruence: Cladistics Or Consensus Classification Article Jun 1998 Cladistics Arnold G. Kluge Miyamoto and Fitch's (1995, Syst. Biol. 44: 64-76) verificationist arguments for taxonomic congruence are evaluated and found to be unconvincing. In particular, there is no logical connection between the truth of phylogenetic hypotheses and the independence of the sets of characters analysed for their consensus. Further, the character set partitions emphasized by Miyamoto and Fitch must be considered arbitrary, because they are based on untestable process assumptions. (C) 1998 The Willi Hennig Society. View Show abstract Carnivore body size: Ecological and taxonomic correlates Article Dec 1985 OECOLOGIA John L. Gittleman Variation in body size (weight) is examined across the order Carnivora in relation to taxonomy (phylogeny), latitude, habitat, zonation, activity cycle, diet, prey size, and prey diversity. Significant differences in body weight are observed with respect to family membership. Some of these differences may be explained by phylogenetic history and/or dietary effects. Body weight is not correlated with habitat, zonation, activity cycle or latitudinal gradients. Significant differences in body weight are found among insectivorous, herbivorous and carnivorous species, and some of these differences may relate to energetic constraints. Among predatory carnivores, prey size and diversity increases with body weight. The adaptive significance, both intra- and inter-specifically, of prey characteristics (size, availability, diversity) and carnivore body weight qualities (strength, endurance, hunting technique) is discussed. View Show abstract Interspecific size regularities in tropical felid assemblages Article Jun 1988 OECOLOGIA Richard A. Kiltie I extend an earlier analysis of size relationships in Neotropical cats to felid assemblages in tropical Africa and Asia. Jaw length is the size measure, which apparently correlates well with modal prey size. Each assemblage contains two species (convergents) that are indistinguishable in jaw length. When, the convergent species are treated as separate entities, there is little evidence of even ratios, but there is a tendency for ratios to be larger on average than expected by random assembly, especially among the larger species. This tendency may reflect greater prey size variance for the large species or fewer alternatives to prey size as a basis for niche segregation among large species. Extreme evenness in size ratios observed among the larger Neotropical cats is not repeated in the other assemblages. Because demonstration of strong size ratio evenness depends on merging the convergents, the significance of such regularity must await greater knowledge of the habits of the convergent species. Differences between the convergent species in habitat use or predatory behavior are suggested by the fact that in each convergent pair, one species has dappled (striped or spotted) coat coloration and the other a plain coat. View Show abstract Show more Recommendations Discover more Project The Salmoninae group and The Phylogeny of Behaviour Manu Esteve Deborah A. Mclennan Mitsuru Kawahara View project Project Speciation of big cats Maria Pontier View project Conference Paper Anthropometric characteristics and gait transition speed in human locomotion September 2008 Rakovac Marija Davor Sentija Vesna Babić The purpose of this study was to investigate the relationship between anthropometric parameters and the preferred transition speed (PTS) in human locomotion, in both genders. The studies exploring body measures as determinants of the PTS are biased toward longitudinal dimensions, as the relationships between the PTS and transverse body dimensions have not been examined so far. Longitudinal and ... [Show full abstract] transverse anthropometric parameters were measured in 54 PE students (23 males, 31 females), and an exercise test was performed for determination of the PTS. Correlation coefficients between the anthropometric variables and the PTS were calculated, and a stepwise multiple linear regression analysis was derived. Weak to moderate correlations between several body size and body shape variables and the PTS were found. In males, a significant negative correlation of the bitrochanteric diameter/height (BD/H) ratio with the PTS was found (r=-0.61, p<0.01). In females, calf girth was significantly negatively correlated with the PTS (r=-0.55, p<0.01). The results of this study suggest that gait transition speed in humans is related to transverse and longitudinal body dimensions, and that sexual dimorphism in body size and shape should be taken into consideration for proper interpretation of the PTS. Read more Article Snout-to-hind-leg as a measure of the body size of eastern red-backed salamanders September 2002 · Herpetological Review K.J. Szuba B.J. Naylor D.F. Hackett M.P. Twiss Read more Article Body size and composition and colon cancer risk in women March 2006 · International Journal of Cancer Robert Macinnis Dallas English John L. Hopper [...] Graham G Giles Studies of colon cancer risk in males have reported strong positive associations with obesity, particularly with central adiposity. The association has been weaker and less consistent for women. In a prospective cohort study of women, body measurements were taken directly; fat mass and fat-free mass being estimated by bioelectrical impedance analysis and central adiposity by waist circumference ... [Show full abstract] and waist-to-hip ratio (WHR). Among 24,072 women followed on average for 10.4 years, 212 colon cancers were ascertained via the population cancer registry. We reviewed medical records of all cases and classified them according to anatomic site and stage. The central adiposity measures of WHR (hazard ratio per 0.1 unit increase = 1.31, 95% confidence interval (CI) 1.08-1.58) and waist circumference (hazard ratio per 10 cm increase = 1.14, 95% CI 1.02-1.28) were positively associated with colon cancer risk. There was little or no association between other anthropometric measures and risk of colon cancer. There was some evidence that the associations were stronger for proximal tumors, but no evidence that risk differed by stage for any of the anthropometric measures. Central adiposity appears to be associated with colon cancer risk in women. Read more Article Full-text available Resurrection of Staurois parvus from S. tuberilinguis from Borneo (Amphibia, Ranidae) February 2007 · ZOOLOGICAL SCIENCE Masafumi Matsui Maryati Mohamed Tomohiko Shimada Ahmad Sudin Two forms of Staurois that are differentiated by body size occur parapatrically in the Crocker Range, Sabah, Borneo. Analyses of a total of 1,499 bp of the mitochondrial cytochrome b, 12S rRNA, and 16S rRNA genes revealed that the two forms could be completely split genetically. The two forms could be also clearly differentiated morphologically, not only by snout-vent length but also by the ... [Show full abstract] relative sizes of snout, eye, and finger disk. Comparisons of the two forms with all known species of the genus revealed the large and small forms to be S. tuberilinguis and S. parvus, respectively. The latter species has long been synonymized with the former, but we here consider them to represent different species. View full-text Last Updated: 10 Oct 2020 Looking for the full-text? You can request the full-text of this article directly from the authors on ResearchGate. Request full-text Already a member? Log in ResearchGate iOS App Get it from the App Store now. 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work_z4cxw2rtczhelfpymxx7d2yf4u	----	CULTURE & SOCIETY The Civic Education Crusade: A Heretic’s Analysis Carl L. Bankston III Published online: 8 October 2013 # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2013 In January 2012, the National Task Force on Civic Learning and National Engagement of the Association of American Universities and Colleges released its report, A Crucible Moment: College Learning and Democracy’s Future. The re- port called for a program of civic learning and of training in civic engagement that would pervade every aspect of higher education. This program would be linked to similar efforts at all other levels of schooling. In the words of the report, “[t]he central work of advancing civic learning and democratic en- gagement in higher education must, of course, be done by faculty members across disciplines, by student affairs pro- fessionals across divisions, and by administrators in every school and at every level. The fourth prominent group of actors are the students themselves [bold in the original]. The collec- tive work of these groups should be guided by a shared sense that civic knowledge and democratic engagement, in concert with others and in the face of contestation, are absolutely vital to the quality of intellectual inquiry itself, to this nation’s future, and to preparation for life in a diverse world” (p. 2). It called for fostering “a civic ethos across all parts of campus and educa- tional culture” (p. 31) (See: http://www.aacu.org/civic_learning/ crucible/documents/crucible_508F.pdf). Although the report was not particularly original or well- written, I read it with interest for several reasons. First, I am one of those “faculty members” mentioned in the report, and I always pay attention when people want to re-write my job description. Second, I work in a university in which “civic engagement” became the official dogma a half-decade ago . Third, I recently published a book on education as American civil religion and I see the contemporary civic engagement movement as an extension of our national educational faith. In the present essay, I want to pass over the personal sources of interest and focus on the third. Looking at the effort to use instruction for citizenship training as a development of civil religion can help us understand the reasoning and motivations behind this effort and some of the problems with this type of campaign, particularly in higher education. Background: The History of American Education as Civil Religion In Public Education—America’s Civil Religion: A Social History (2009), Stephen J. Caldas and I drew on sociologist Robert N. Bellah’s concept of American civil religion to look at the development of American schooling. We argued that Bellah’s controversial idea was not only useful for understand- ing the history of education in this country, but that his three major periods in the national faith (from the founding to the Civil War, from the Civil War to the mid-twentieth century, and from the time of the civil rights movement onward) were closely linked to the development of ideas about schooling. We maintained that education was both a means of propagat- ing the doctrines of civil religion and consistently a key tenet of those doctrines. Looking at the period of the emerging common schools, during the first half of the nineteenth century, we found that influential Americans of the time already saw schooling as a way to remake the nation and to remake their fellow citizens according to an ideal national image. As early as 1800, Noah Webster’s Blue Backed Speller presented a “Federal Catechism,” aimed at inculcated a Constitutional and Federalist set of beliefs, as well as a social morality. By the second third of the century, educators such as Horace Mann were describing the commons schools as the machinery that could produce the right types of citizens for American democ- racy. These educators often sounded utopian in their faith in C. L. Bankston III (*) Department of Sociology, Tulane University, 220 Newcomb Hall, New Orleans, LA 70118, USA e-mail: cbankst@tulane.edu Soc (2013) 50:629–634 DOI 10.1007/s12115-013-9728-z http://www.aacu.org/civic_learning/crucible/documents/crucible_508F.pdf http://www.aacu.org/civic_learning/crucible/documents/crucible_508F.pdf the power of universal schooling to create a new order of the ages. Based mainly in the northeast, the apostles of education often pointed to the widespread availability of schooling in their region as one of the keys to their superiority over the slave states. When the Civil War ended, missionary efforts at spreading schooling among freedmen and others played a large part in Reconstruction. American educational ideology as we know it today de- rives some its character from the era of the common schools. But our modern institution of education is really a post-Civil War phenomenon. Schools and especially the system of public schooling spread throughout the U.S. as it entered a period of unification in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. Nationalism was one of the great themes of the Progressive Era, the time that shaped schooling as an institution in this country. During the heyday of Progressivism, schools became central to the American civil religion in two respects. First, they were means of conveying beliefs about the nation. Flag ceremonies, the pledge of allegiance, national celebrations, and reverential narratives of the founders became standard events in American public schools, which served as churches of the American civil religion. Second, public schooling itself took a key position in the American creed. Schools would create national unity; they would enable individuals to devel- op their talents according to their natures; they would train citizens for a democratic society; they would socialize an efficient workforce; they would create a new and more perfect society. One effect of the legacy of Progressive education was to firmly establish the idea that schooling was the way in which American society could reach the fullness of its ideals. The period between the two World Wars saw a continuation and extension of Progressive education. On the one hand, the idea of education as a means of cultivating nationalism and shaping the future citizenry for economic and civic participation be- came deeply entrenched. On the other, Progressive educators throughout the twentieth century saw schools as tools for engineering a better society. For example, the influential “so- cial reconstructionist” George S. Counts believed that the American people needed to be transformed in order to be suited to his vision of the American future, and that schools were the places to achieve the transformation. In his pamphlet, The Schools Can Teach Democracy, initially delivered as an address before the Progressive Education Association on Washington’s Birthday in 1939, Counts argued that the proper business of schools was to create a democratic society through cultivating “democratic habits, disposi- tions, and loyalties,” as well as relevant political knowl- edge in students (p. 22). Through schooling, “the entire nation would be subjected to the most critical examination for the purpose of revealing submerged and exploited regions, occu- pational groups, and racial, national, and religious minorities” (p. 26). World War II and the Cold War intensified the emphasis on the nationalistic side of the American creed in schools. In addition, the postwar period saw the beginning of greater federal involvement in schooling. Although nationalism had long been at the heart of the civic faith taught by the schools, education had always been highly local in its support and control. As federal participation increased, Americans also spent much greater portions of their lives in educational institutions. By the 1950s, the overwhelming majority of Americans were finishing high school and growing numbers were going on to college. Expanding economic opportunities, often linked to rising levels of formal education, fostered the belief that upward mobility should be available to all and gave a new twist to the doctrine of social reconstructionism in American education. Americans believed both that ev- eryone should be better off in the surrounding abun- dance and that each individual should get ahead through free competition. With their history of national faith in education, Americans often portrayed schools simultaneous- ly as fields of meritocratic competition and as arenas of equalization. With ever greater proportions of the student population going on to college, belief in schooling as the means to create a more prosperous, just, and egalitarian future began to include higher education, as well as the primary and secondary levels. The most recent great crisis in American civil religion came in the 1960s and 1970s, with the civil rights movement and its immediate aftermath. Schooling continued to be both a vehi- cle of faith and an article of faith, but the moral drama of the movement reshaped the tenets of national beliefs. The defin- ing characteristic of this reshaping was a heightening of the emphasis on egalitarian goals, especially through the inclusion of disadvantaged categories of people. Following the turning point of this era, a new and intensified social reconstruction- ism came to dominate the thinking of many educational theorists. In schools Americans would be taught the values of diversity, inclusion, and tolerance. Schools themselves could be re-structured in order to remake American society. “If we want a segregated society,” remarked the eminent social scientist Christopher Jencks in his 1972 book Inequality, “we should have segregated schools. If we want a desegregated society, we should have desegregated schools” (p. 106). The comment sounds incontrovertible: what reason- able person, especially in the post-civil rights movement era, wants a racially segregated society? But it betrays the belief that it is possible to change an entire society by changing its schools. Educational institutions would be the means of cre- ating an egalitarian and inclusive future and the means of propagating commitment to an ideology of egalitarianism and inclusiveness. The federal government became even more active in edu- cation from the time of the civil rights movement onward and improving American society through the schools became 630 Soc (2013) 50:629–634 central to federal education policy. In 1965, urged by President Lyndon Johnson, Congress passed the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA), which made large sums of money available to school districts. However, this money could be withheld from districts that failed to comply with the provisions of the Civil Rights Act, passed the previous year. As part of the War on Poverty, moreover, Title I of the ESEA directed funds to schools and school districts that held high percentages of low-income students. Federal support for higher education grew at the same time, promoted by similar social reconstructionist aims. In November 1965, President Johnson proudly signed the Higher Education Act (HEA). The HEA provided need- based scholarships, part-time jobs, and interest-free loans for low-income students, with the idea that all high school grad- uates should be able to go on to higher education. The HEA was conceived of as a partner to the ESEA, bringing higher education into closer coordination with elementary and sec- ondary schooling. In 1972, Congress made new provisions for subsidizing the college educations of low-income students in postsecondary schooling when it introduced Basic Educational Opportunity Grants, which became known as Pell Grants after Rhode Island Senator Claiborne Pell, who was the bill’s primary sponsor. For those judged to have exceptional financial need, Pell Grants were later supplemented with Federal Supplementary Educational Opportunity Grants. By the 1970s, then, the na- tional faith in education had taken a definite turn toward social reconstructionism, federal involvement in education had in- creased greatly, and all levels of schooling were becoming more tightly coordinated. The social reconstructionist ideology and the close integration of educational institutions and government became the foundations of the contemporary civic engagement movement. The Rise of the Civic Engagement Movement The belief in education as a vehicle for teaching a doctrine of social reform and a means of bringing about social reform took firm hold in the years around the civil rights movement. The National Service-Learning Clearinghouse begins its his- tory of service learning, a central facet of the civic engagement movement, by recounting that “[t]he civil rights movement of the 1960s, and the formation of the Peace Corps in 1961, and Volunteers in Service to America (VISTA) in 1965 brought a new passionate energy to activist education by engaging young people and giving them real opportunities to make a difference in the world. It was during this time period that the early pioneers of the service-learning movement began to emerge and attempted to combine ‘service’ to ‘learning’ in a direct and powerful way” (See: http://www.servicelearning. org/history-service-learning-higher-education). The Clearinghouse website tells us that this sixties-era passion to put learning in the service of social causes led to conference on college service learning in Atlanta in 1969, sponsored by the Southern Regional Education Board, the City of Atlanta, the Atlanta Urban Corps, Peace Corps, Vista, and the U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. The conference ultimately recommended that all colleges and universities should encourage community ser- vice, integrate it into academic activities, and give academic credit for community service. Institutions of higher education, the conference suggested, should make opportunities and funds available for service learning. Finally, community ser- vice and service learning should be planned and run by students, faculty, and public and private agencies. Barbara Jacoby and Associates, authors of the manual Civic Engagement in Higher Education: Concepts and Practices (2009) agree that the push for service learning that came out of 1960s activism gave rise to the modern civic engagement movement. While the movement started with the activist commitments of individuals, though, from this very beginning the movement clearly entailed efforts to institution- alize these commitments and to make them into totalizing government-college programs, in which all students, faculty, and officials would work together to affirm officially ap- proved beliefs about citizenship and social and to put these beliefs into practice. Jacoby and Associates trace the rise of a new wave of civic engagement advocates to the 1980s and 1990s, when many in academic and policy making circles became concerned that Americans were excessively individualistic and that this was undermining the nation’s cooperative foundations. My co- author and I have argued the 1980s and 1990s were a time of anxiety about the nation’s economic competitiveness and that a new emphasis on standardized testing and on nation- wide educational goals grew out of the historically shaped civic faith that all public problems are rooted in education and can be solved through education. This faith combined with the heightened federal involvement and tightened coordination of levels of schooling to produce the first nation-wide goals for American education in George H.W. Bush’s utopian “Goals 2000,” created between the Charlottesville Education Summit and the Goals 2000 Act of 1994. This anxiety over the country’s future and the faith in education as the answer to all problems also produced the National and Community Service Act, which the same President Bush signed into law in 1990 to support service learning and service programs for students at all levels, including college students. Under the guidance of the federal government, every level of education would be standardized and coordinated to serve national goals and to consolidate Americans into a committed and coopera- tive national community. Calls for service and engagement drew heavily on popular versions of social capital theory. This theoretical perspective Soc (2013) 50:629–634 631 http://www.servicelearning.org/history-service-learning-higher-education http://www.servicelearning.org/history-service-learning-higher-education most often argues that social ties are investments that people make in each other that help them achieve individual and collective goals. The most influential social capital argument during the 1990s shared the general anxiety over the state of American civic health. This was the “bowling alone” argu- ment of political scientist Robert Putnam, who maintained that the participation of Americans in communal activities, such as bowling leagues, parent-teacher organizations, and clubs had declined and that this decline was indicative of a loss of national social capital. Readers of Alexis de Tocqueville may recognize this as an updated version of Tocqueville’s identification of voluntary associations as the foundation of American democracy. Rebuilding America’s supposedly diminishing stock of social capital through promoting the civic involvement of citizens became one of the main goals of the educational social reconstructionists by the beginning of the twenty-first century. The new wave of federally supported and encouraged community service in schools accompanied federally promot- ed standardized educational assessments throughout the ad- ministrations of the three presidents who followed the first President Bush. The Clinton Administration, for example, presided over the passage of the National and Community Service Trust Act of 1993, which created the Corporation for National and Community Service. The American Association of Colleges and Universities (AAC&U) has been an outspoken advocate for service- learning and civic engagement education. It should be noted that the AAC&U is a highly politicized organization with its own distinctive view of how American society should be reconstructed and a fondness for expressing this view in the millenarian rhetoric of “struggles” and “calls to action.” Immediately after the election of President Barack Obama in 2008, the AAC&U issued a statement applauding the presi- dent’s election as a “…historic moment made possible by many years of struggle” (See: https://www.aacu.org/about/ statements/2008electionstatement.cfm). Not surprisingly, the AAC&U has had close ties to the Obama administration and its task forces operate as federal policy planning committees. The AAC&U’s most recent task force on Civic Learning and Democratic Engagement released its “call to national action” at an official White House event with the melodramat- ic title, “For Democracy’s Future: Education Reclaims Our Civic Mission,” sponsored by the White House Office of Public Engagement and the U.S. Department of Education. A Crucible Moment builds on the belief that education offers the means of meeting the individual needs of all Americans and reconstructing American society. It cites a breathtaking array of “pressing issues,” including “growing global eco- nomic inequalities, climate change and environmental degra- dation, lack of access to quality health care, economic volatility, and more.” The answer to all of these problems lies in “expanding students’ capacities to be civic problem- solvers.” The report does not go into detail about how the professors and teachers, who do not necessarily possess such great social problem solving skills, will produce this genera- tion of superbeings, but it does recommend that institutions foster what is variously called a “democratic ethos” and a “civic ethos” on every campus through “service learning” and “community engagement.” Whatever its limitations, this federally sponsored report certainly does not fall short in its belief that through education all things are possible. The Civic Education Doctrine and Higher Education: Problems and Contradictions In pointing out that education has historically been a central element in the evolving American national faith, I am not suggesting that commitment to the American nation per se is a bad thing, nor am I suggesting that schooling has no part to play in socializing young Americans, producing a thoughtful and knowledgeable citizenry, or preparing us to meet the demands of our economy. The danger of faith, though, is that it tends to lead us to assume rather than to examine. In this case, we tend to take education as a panacea. We do not consider carefully what it can do and what it should do. We often take it as simply given that problems such as national competitiveness and unequal opportunities for social mobility can be solved by coming up with the right plan for the schools. In seeing education as the answer to everything, we are tempted to extend the bureaucratic reach of formal schooling to every area of life. Instead of “de-schooling” society as Ivan Illich advocated, we try to move toward a total schooling of society and everyone in it. This is precisely where I find the civic engagement trend in our belief in education goes beyond what schooling should do in a liberal democracy. By the second decade of the 2000s, in many circles of academia and government the question was not whether ev- eryone in primary and secondary schools, higher education, and government should collaborate in training students for social and political involvement but how they should do so. This unthinking commitment is disturbing because it over- looks the paradoxical nature of faith in education as a means of building a democratic nation. When Alexis de Tocqueville described voluntary associa- tions as a basis for American democracy, he was referring to associations that the people themselves had formed of their own will, not public commitments decided upon and directed by the collaboration of governmental and educational bureau- cracies. While different people and different political philos- ophies use the word “democracy” in a variety of ways, the 632 Soc (2013) 50:629–634 https://www.aacu.org/about/statements/2008electionstatement.cfm https://www.aacu.org/about/statements/2008electionstatement.cfm term most commonly refers to a system of government in which people either make political decisions for themselves (direct democracy) or elect representatives to make political decisions (representative democracy). In the former, there is no question of anyone “re-making” the people, since the people think for themselves and have the freedom to be what they are. In the latter, also, the goal of re-shaping a society along democratic lines is a contradiction because a represen- tative government represents its public as it is; the government does not try to re-make its constituents. Since a society is made up of people and of the total of formal and informal relations among people, changing a so- ciety means changing the people and their relations with each other. It is a profoundly authoritarian effort and even, as it approaches a goal of total reform, totalitarian at its extreme. Political reform is a matter of changing laws. Economic reform involves changing policies relating to matters such as taxation, public expenditures, or interest rates. Either of these may be consistent with democracy. But governmental reform of an ethos aims at changing people and their relations with each other. This is a reversal of the direction of action and control of a democratic society, since it involves the authori- ties attempting to constitute or re-constitute the public, rather than the public constituting the authorities. It is reminiscent of Bertolt Brecht’s 1953 quip that the East German people had apparently lost the confidence of their government, so the government should “dissolve the people and elect another one.” Creating a new society is precisely the attempt to dis- solve the people as they are and to appoint the people as one would like them to be. At the level of higher education, a crusade to build social capital poses special kinds of problems. Social capital refers to networks of social relations that promote efficacious action through the control and direction of network participants. I have found in my own work on ethnic networks as forms of social capital that the same tight community connections that promote the upward mobility and academic achievement of young people also penalize nonconformity. In other words, social capital is a mechanism for mobilization and social control. Communities that can mobilize and control their members can indeed engage in many constructive activities, but they also tend toward conformity in expression and be- havior. We probably want high levels of social capital and high levels of conformity in some of our institutions, such as the military. Within families and many types of associations, limitations on individual freedom are often desirable. If a university is to be a forum for the open and free exchange of ideas, though, it must be a low social capital institution. Individuals in a university may be highly committed to their ideas and goals, but these must be their ideas and goals, not those approved and promoted by the institution. From the perspective of a traditional liberal education, colleges and universities are exactly where we should not be making blue- prints for building social capital. For a university or college to become a community of faith, as it must if it is to adopt promulgating civic engagement as its mission, it has to set up tenets of orthodoxy. Someone has to decide what constitutes appropriate “engagement.” The insti- tution may be relatively lenient in enforcement of doctrine and reluctantly tolerate heretics, but it cannot fulfill its mission without trying to get students and faculty to fall into line and march in the right direction. It is entirely appropriate for a religious organization to call its adherents to be- come soldiers of the faith. But few things are more inconsistent with the intellectual freedom essential to a university than the expectation that its students and fac- ulty will become social missionaries. A regime of social commitment discourages intellectual diversity, even if it does not openly forbid it. The word “heresy” comes from a Greek verb meaning “to choose.” Heretics are those who do follow their own reason or inspiration instead of the correct teaching of the authorities. If we are to be intellectually free in higher education and not bound by orthodoxy, we must be free not simply to choose our own forms of public engagement but to choose disengagement. Take, for example, the American heretic Henry David Thoreau. Thoreau was de- cidedly disengaged. He wrote his most famous book while living alone in the woods. When he took his best-known stand on the public issues of his day, he did so by refusing to pay taxes and by denying the authority of the government. Whatever one thinks of Thoreau’s heresy, taking disengage- ment of his sort or another has to be a legitimate option in a free forum of ideas. The all-encompassing nature of the contemporary civic engagement movement makes the threat to intellectual diver- sity especially alarming. The report A Crucible Moment not only demands the participation of every person involved in education, but it insists that every course in every subject incorporate its message. Issued as “a call to national action,” the social and political agenda it intends to implement in every classroom comes with the imprimatur of the U.S. Department of Education. As I read the report, I find its demands for inculcating a “democratic ethos” perplexing. Beyond the fact that in a liberal democracy neither the government nor com- mittees sponsored and subsidized by the government decide what type of ethos the people should have, the ideal of integrating all levels of schooling into a unified social pro- gram, and inserting this program into every subject appears to be promoting a kind of new bureaucratic corporatism, aimed at absorbing everything into the state and leaving nothing outside the state. Soc (2013) 50:629–634 633 The proper response to dramatic calls to national action might be to temper our faith in the education with reflec- tion, examination, and careful criticism. Universities and colleges can make available to students advanced intellec- tual skills, in abstract reasoning and analysis. They can provide access to practical skills and to the cultural heritage of humanity. They can furnish forums for sharing ideas from all perspectives. But we put the things these institu- tions can do at risk if we make education a vehicle for a committee’s vision of social reconstruction. The incorpora- tion of a mandated social creed into the “mission state- ments” of institutions limits the operation of reason. Directing all courses of study along lines that an adminis- tration or a task force have decided serve the mission of social reconstruction subordinate the teaching of practical skills and the humanities to ideological direction. Most importantly, perhaps, civic action that derives from an institutional program, rather than from undirected indi- vidual decision, contradicts not only the principle of intellectual freedom, but the essential character of liberal democracy. Carl L. Bankston III is professor of sociology at Tulane University. His research interests include sociology of education, international migration, historical sociology, and sociology of religion. He is author or editor of 18 books and over 100 journal articles. His most recent books have been Public Education—America’s Civil Religion: A Social History (2009) and Forced to Fail: The Paradox of School Desegregation (2005). He is currently working on a book on social capital and social networks in immigration, to be published by Polity Press. 634 Soc (2013) 50:629–634 The Civic Education Crusade: A Heretic’s Analysis Background: The History of American Education as Civil Religion The Rise of the Civic Engagement Movement The Civic Education Doctrine and Higher Education: Problems and Contradictions 
work_za6v2y5wqzg3pocshk26hc7xpm	----	61 članak primljen: 24. maja 2016. članak prihvaćen: 11. juna 2016. originalan naučni rad UDK 791.633-051 Галета И. Л. Dragana Kružić studentkinja doktorskih studija, Univerzitet umetnosti u Beogradu dragana.kruzic@fmk.edu.rs Interdisciplinarni i metamedijski eksperiment Ivana Ladislava Galete Apstrakt: Eksperiment se, kao umjetnički postupak, u djelima Ivana Ladislava Galete može protumačiti kao proces ukrštanja, preklapanja i prekoračenja granica različitih znanstve- nih disciplina i specifičnosti medija. To znači da je Galetino umjetničko stvaralaštvo svojevr- stan strukturalni čin koji se zasniva na višeznačnom epistemološkom protokolu i kao takav propituje legitimnost i garante smisla, provocira zdravorazumsko i čulno, te vjerodostojnost uvriježenih perceptivnih kanona i obrazaca. Na interdisciplinarni pristup i heterogenost nje- govog umjetničkog stvaralaštva upućuju metamedijske strukture unutar kojih se Galeta kreće a mogu se lokalizirati u području sekvencionalne i proširene fotografije, proširenog i struktu- ralnog filma, video i TV umjetnosti, te ekoloških projekata i akcija na internetu. Ključne riječi: interdisciplinarnost, metamedijsko, eksperiment, percepcija, polje nulte točke Kratka biografija Ivana Ladislava Galete i njegovo pozicioniranje u povijesno-društveni i umjetnički kontekst Ivan Ladislav Galeta (1947–2014) jedan je od najistaknutijih ličnosti suvre- mene umjetničke prakse u Hrvatskoj u drugoj polovini 20. stoljeća. Diplomirao je likovne umjetnosti na Pedagoškoj akademiji te takođe i pedagogijske znanosti na Fi- lozofskom fakultetu u Zagrebu. Od 1977. do 1985. godine vodio je Centar za multi- medijalna istraživanja Studentskog centra u Zagrebu, bio je osnivač i voditelj umjet- ničkog kina Filmoteke 16, predlagatelj i jedan od osnivača Odsjeka za animirani film (2000) i Multimedije (2004) na Akademiji likovnih umjetnosti u Zagrebu gdje je bio redoviti profesor. Njegova djela nalaze se u Muzeju suvremene umjetnosti u Zagrebu, u Centru Georges Pompidou, Internationale Kurzfilmtage Oberhausen i Hrvatskom ART+MEDIA | Časopis za studije umetnosti i medija Broj 11, novembar 2016. 62 filmskom savezu a osim toga i u privatnim zbirkama. Za svoje umjetničko stvaralaš- tvo višestruko je nagrađivan: velika zlatna medalja za eksperimentalni film na 32. i 33. festivalu jugoslavenskog dokumentarnog i kratkometražnog filma (Dva vremena u jednom prostoru i Sfeira), godišnja republička nagrada „Vladimir Nazor“ (Water Pulu 1869–1896), visoko odličje Ministarstva kulture i komunikacije Francuske, nagrada filmske kritike Oktavijan za najbolji eksperimentalni film na festivalu „Dani hrvat- skog filma“ (Endart No 4) te nagrada „Vladimir Nazor“ za životno djelo.1 Početak Galetinog umjetničkog stvaralaštva razvijao se je paralelno s nastan- kom Nove umjetničke prakse (1966), umjetničkog pravca čiji su se sljedbenici zalagali za polemičke oblike umjetnosti, radikalnu promjenu, za analitičku i kritičku umjet- ničku aktivnost koja treba biti „čin društvene relevantnosti“2. Ustaljene društvene konvencije ‘građanske umjetnosti’ visokog modernizma narušene su novim, radikal- nim sredstvima izražavanja, koja su ujedno postala i sredstva istraživanja (fotografija, film, video, instalacije, ambijenti, intervencije, akcije, knjige, body-art, performansi i sl.) nove umjetničke produkcije. Potreba za deinstitucionalizacijom i dekonstruk- cijom načela visokog modernizma, te potreba za dematerijalizacijom umjetničkog objekta, dovela je do promjena paradigmi okrenutih ka naglašavanju umjetnikovih ideja i ponašanja umjetnika. Davor Matičević smatra da su inovacijski karakter pravca i zbivanja takvog karaktera unutar njega, određeni slijedećim kategorijama: upotre- bom novih medija, promjenom načina umjetničkog djelovanja, promjenom shvaća- nja umjetničkog djela i specifičnim društvenim angažmanom.3 Prema Ješi Denegriju pojam Nove umjetničke prakse u sebi sublimira inovativnost neoavangardnih pojava, procesualnost, operativnost, činjenje, vršenje, obavljanje i odvijanje umjetničkih rad- nji i umjetnikovih ponašanja. Taj skupni pojam upućuje na pojave poput konceptu- alne umjetnosti, umjetničkih akcija u izvangalerijskim prostorima grada i prirode, dematerijalizacije umjetničkog objekta i izravnog govora tijela umjetnika/umjetnice ‘u prvom licu’.4 Značajan utjecaj na Galetino stvaralaštvo imali su festival antifilma GEFF (Gen- re Film Festival),5 Muzičko bijenale (svjetska smotra avangardne glazbe), zagrebačka Galerija suvremene umjetnosti i pokret Nove Tendencije, a naročito NT3 i NT4. Na umjetničko istraživački rad Galete u velikoj mjeri utjecali su: fizičari Albert Ajnštajn (Albert Einstein /teorija relativnosti, prostor-vrijeme/) i Nikola Tesla (područje polja nulte točke), antropozof Rudolf Štajner (Rudolf Steiner), američki filozof Henri Dej- vid Toro (Henry David Thoreau), češki pisac Karel Čapek, japanski filozof Mazanobu 1 Ivan Ladislav Galeta, životopis u „Deep End Art WORK IN REGRESS“, www.ozafin.alu.hr, ac. 27. 01. 2016. 2 Susovski Marijan, Nova umjetnička praksa 1966–1978, Zagreb, Galerija suvremene umjetnosti, 1978, 3. 3 Davor Matičević, Inovacije u hrvatskoj umjetnosti sedamdesetih godina, Zagreb–Beograd, Galerija suvremene umjetnosti–Muzej suvremene umetnosti, 1982, 8. 4 Jerko Denegri, „Postskriptum za jednu davnu izložbu (nove) fotografije“, Život umjetnosti: časopis za pitanja likovne kulture, br. 89, 2011, 97. 5 GEFF je osnovan 1962. godine u okviru Kinokluba Zagreb,okuplja amatere koji se bave filmom i daju filmu novi, umjetnički status (Tomislav Gotovac, Ante Verzotti, Mihovil Pansini, Vladimir Petek). 63 UMETNIK I SOPSTVO | ART+MEDIA Fukuoka (Masanobu Fukuoka), poljski arhitekt Vaclav Karel Špakovski (Waclaw Ka- rol Szpakowski /iscrtavanje neprekinutih, ritmičnih, labirintskih linija/), engleski pi- sac Džejms Džojs (James Joyce) i mađarski književnik Bela Hamvaš (Béla Hamvas). Interdisciplinarnost kroz hibridne teorije U procedurama i protokolima Galetinog stvaralaštva evidentna je upotreba di- jagrama, filmskih zabilješki, skica i crteža (u filmovima PiRaMidas 1972–1984, Sfaira 1985–1895, Water Pulu 1869–1896, WAL(L)ZEN i sl.) koji ukazuju na činjenicu njihove jednakopravne važnosti kao i samog, na koncu stvorenog, umjetničkog djela. U filmu PiRaMidas 1972–1984,6 koji je zasnovan na studiji Leonardove Posljednje večere, Galeta propituje zakonitosti i parametre zlatnog reza na osnovu kojeg će u svom radu primije- niti identične kompozicijske obrasce. Također primijenjuje analizu ritmiziranih linija („Linie rytmiczne“7) i složenih spirala nastalih iz jedne kontinuirane, neprekinute linije Vaclava Špakovskog, poljskog arhitekta, fotografa i umjetnika. Ovakav postupak očituje se u prikazu neprekinute vožnje vlaka, kao neprekinute linije na tračnicama. U procesu montaže, Galeta film razdvaja na dvije simetrične polovine u kojima je evidentan iden- tični broj kadrova-sličica (7260). U filmu je prikazana vožnja vlaka tračnicama prema jednoj perspektivnoj točki (nultoj točki)8 koja se proteže u nedogled i koja, kao takva, u sebi sažima cijeli krajolik. Kružnim postupkom montaže dinamične slike filma postiže se nova, prostorno vremenska dimenzija u kojoj se mijenja krajnji doživljaj promatrača. Pozicije kamere podjeljene su na četiri dijela a Galeta ih označava slovima A, B, C, D. Postepeno se rotiraju za 360 stupnjeva gdje je svaka izmjena pozicije u kadru kraća za jednu sličicu (od 120-te sličice do 0-te i obrnuto). U trenutku spiralnog okreta u nultoj točki, promatrač zrcalno, obrnutom perspektivom osvještava proces memorijskog za- pisa stvarnosti upravo asimiliranih iskustava. Upravo to iskustvo gledanja već jednom proživljene stvarnosti, ovog puta unatrag, govori o perceptivnoj provokaciji mentalnog procesa koji se može zamijetiti gotovo u svim Galetinim djelima. Po istom principu simetrije odnosno nulte točke, Galeta je izveo još jedan svoj film Water Pulu 1869–18969 (najkompleksnije Galetino vizualno djelo). U filmu je prikazana vaterpolo utakmica između Narodne Republike Koreje i Francuske. Unutar 6 Ivan Ladislav Galeta, film PiRaMidas 1972–1984, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFpw5zGdbY0, ac. 25. 1. 2016. 7 Mikołajczyk Małgorzata. Linie rytmiczne Szpakowskiego, http://www.matematyka.wroc.pl/matematykawsztuce/linie-rytmiczne-szpakowskiego, ac. 2. 1. 2016. 8 U području polja nulte točke kvantni su fizičari doveli u pitanje dotadašnje znanstvene doktrine i postulate razumijevanja prirode energije i materijalnog svijeta. Koncept energije nulte točke potječe iz kvantne mehanike i načela neodređenosti koje je 1927. teoretski postavio fizičar Verner Hajzenberg (Werner Heisenberg); zaljučio je da je univerzum prožet temeljnom energijom koju ne možemo spoznati, jer je bez fluktuacija, ali povezuje sve i izvor je svih pojava u svemiru. Kvantna polja ne povezuju sile, nego izmjene energije koja se stalno preras- podjeljuje. Fluktuacije u atomskom svijetu razlog su da energija neprestano prolazi naprijed i natrag. 9 Film „Water pulu 1869–1896 – Ivan Ladislav Galeta, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZZglHLkKDQ, ac. 2. 1. 2016. ART+MEDIA | Časopis za studije umetnosti i medija Broj 11, novembar 2016. 64 igrališta se, u centralnoj poziciji, nalazi lopta. Lopta je statična, centrirana i fokusirana u središtu slike-ekrana dok se igrači okreću oko nje u vremenski pomaknutim, više- struko preklopljenim ekspozicijama. Takvu oksimoronski ustrojenu, statičnu pokre- nutost omogućila je centralizacija fokusa na loptu, koja je, u sebi sabijenu energiju i pokret, transponirala na pozadinu, odnosno na igrače i igralište. Ovakva fiksna točka ponovno ukazuje na Galetin interes za područje polja nulte točke koji se također oči- tuje i u montaži filma gdje je (kao i u predhodnom filmu) izvršena podjela na dvije polovine i to u trenutku u kojem dolazi do zatamnjenja slike, odnosno apsolutne tiši- ne u njoj. Galeta ponovno koristi filmske zabilješke, skice i dijagrame u kojima navodi točan broj kadrova, duljinu njihova trajanja te predstavlja skicu arhitektonski prika- zanog igrališta-bazena. „Dijagram postaje točkom dodira gdje se upisuje faktično i skicira cjelina. Ne samo iznimna vrijednost eksperimenta, ne samo sustavna analiza problema, nego prije svega činjenica da se ti eksperimenti i te sustavne analize iskazu- ju kao grafematske materijalnosti.“10 Ako se definiranju Galetinog principa stvaranja vizualnog djela pristupi kao pluralnoj označiteljskoj cjelini, zasigurno bi se kao teoretska platforma mogla primi- jeniti teorija hibridnog pisanja umjetnika (artist writings). Prema takvoj teoriji umjet- nik uspostavlja mitologizirani dodatak-suplement11 koji ukazuje na resemantizaciju odnosa unutar pojava, struktura ili teksta prema otvorenom prožimanju aktuelnih teorija, znanstvenih i filozofskih disciplina, kao jedne nove vrste narativa, evidentnog u Galetinom umjetničkom stvaralaštvu. Takva vrsta narativa vrši demonstraciju, po- kazuje ili oko rada auratski provocira atmosferu razumijevanja, življenja i prije svega pragmatičnih efekata umjetnosti, s ciljem da dokaže ili pokaže to Ja (ja u životu),12 da se u umjetničkom djelu otkrije logika, procedura ili sintaksa produkcije djela. Upra- vo takav Galetin princip korištenja skica, zabilješki, tablica, matematičkih izračuna i dijagrama, kao ravnopravnih elemenata u konačnom umjetničkom artefaktu, ukazu- je na hibridnost izvođenja koje nastaje iz interakcije sa drugim poljima, praksama, strukturama i tekstovima usložnjenih u cjelinu izvedenu kroz konfrontacije, kompa- racije, identifikacije ili dijalektička premalanja. Crteži, skice, dijagrami i studije tvore generičku jezgru Galetinog djela, sadrže onaj (često kriptogramatički) izvorni kod, koji takoreći, proizvodi djelo, te ga istodob- no oslobađajući iz konteksta umjetnosti prevode u područje eksperimentalnog.13 Di- jagram kao vizualno-tekstualna struktura, ima funkciju objašnjavanja i pokazivanja a ona se ostvaruje povezivanjem vizualnih i diskurzivnih načina prikazivanja.14 U ovoj prilici dijagram funkcionira kao tekst koji navodi na drugi tekst, tekst novonastalog 10 Barbara Wurm, „O znanju o filmskim zabilješkama i znanju o njima: Ivan Ladislav Galeta“, u: Tihomir Milo- vac (ur.), Krajolik nulte točke, Zagreb, Muzej suvremene umjetnosti–Paksi Keptar, 2013, 46. 11 Brian Wallis, Telling Stories: A Fictional Approach to Artist’s Writings, Cambridge, MIT Press, 1987, xi. 12 Cf. Miško Šuvaković, Diskurzivna analiza. Prestupi i/ili pristupi diskurzivne analize filozofiji, poetici, estetici, teoriji i studijama umetnosti i kulture, Beograd, FMU–Orion Art, 2010, 343. 13 Barbara Wurm, op. cit., 35. 14 Miško Šuvaković, Pojmovnik suvremene umjetnosti, Zagreb, Horetzky, 2005, 144. 65 UMETNIK I SOPSTVO | ART+MEDIA umjetničkog djela. Čitanja određenog teksta ukazuju na kontekst u kojem je neko djelo nastalo i upravo je to poznavanje konteksta ujedno ključna odrednica po kojoj se ono i može protumačiti. To znači da informacije koju u sebi nosi određeni tekst (povijesna, teorijska, znanstvena, ekonomska, kulturološka, socijalna ili osobna stvar- nost) upućuju na njegov referentni sadržaj koji se ili nadopunjuje, ukršta ili transfor- mira, tvoreći na takav način jedan sasvim novi narativ. Takav narativ, kao sublimacija dvaju ili više tekstova, ni u jednom smislu ne upućuje na isto referentno okruženje, niti na činjenicu da novonastala cjelokupnost znakova transponira istu referentnu in- formaciju. Drugim riječima, na ovakav način nastali tekstovi čine povezanu cjelinu u čijoj linijskoj progresiji slijedeći iskaz preuzima odnosno obnavlja znakovne elemente prethodnog.15 Budući da se eksperimentalni film bavi naizgled potpuno nevažnim stvarima u društvu i najmanje se bazirana na one situacije koje su od standardne kulturne važnosti i kojih bi se trebalo učiniti filmski reprezentativnim, evidentno je da je u prikazu Galetinih filmova ukazano na izlagateljske mogućnosti koje ne ula- ze u standardno, vrijednosno, privilegirano područje svih ostalih filmskih rodova.16 Drugim riječima, u eksperimentalnom se Galetinom filmu naslućuje takva vrsta umjetničke prakse kojoj je primarna osnova operacija, proces ili istraživanje medija i medijskih mogućnosti (potencijala) filma. Iz toga razloga može se konstantirati da Galeta u svojim filmovima ne koristi aleatoričku metodu niti da je u skladu s tim ele- ment slučajnosti njegova temeljna odrednica kao što imamo primjer u filmu Mihovila Pansinija Scusa signorina (kamera fiksirana na snimateljeva leđa). Naprotiv, Galeta svojim algoritamskim, ponovljivim postupcima kao sistemima obrade filmske vrpce, postavljenim hipotezama i metodologijom rada, koja je stroga, egzaktna i analitička, stvara svoja umjetnička djela koja se mogu klasificirati kao znanstvena. Slojevitost je filmskog jezika vrlo naglašena u Galetinom filmovima, stoga je eksperiment u ovom slučaju temeljen na paradoksu percepcije i banalnim svakodnevnim situacijama na koje se u najvećoj mjeri ne obraća pozornost. Metamedijski eksperiment kao provokacija perceptivnih obrazaca Filmski kritičar i teoretičar Hrvoje Turković definira Galetino umjetničko stva- ralaštvo metamedijskim što podrazumijeva da Galetin proces istraživanja mogućnosti unutar pojedinog medija nadilazi i prekoračuje njegove, konvencijalnim strukturama određene, granice, postupke i matrice. Ujedno se takvim prekoračenjima propituju učinci kognitivne stimulacije kao i provokacije perceptivnih obrazaca (što je osnovno načelo Galetinog stvaralaštva). Primjer kojim se može dokazati ova teza jeste Galetin 15 Igor Smirnov, „Umjetnička intertekstualnost“, u: Zvonko Maković, Magdalena Medarić, Dubravka Oraić, Pavao Pavličić (ur.), Intertekstualnost & Intermedijalnost, Zagreb, Zavod za znanost o književnosti, 1988, 210. 16 Hrvoje Turković, Nacrt filmske genologije, Zagreb, Matica Hrvatska, 2010, 89. ART+MEDIA | Časopis za studije umetnosti i medija Broj 11, novembar 2016. 66 film Kut (1975)17 koji spada u kategoriju proširenog filma (expanded cinema).18 Zbog takvog se, nestandardnog, načina filmske projekcije stvara iluzija trodimenzionalnog prostora. Naime, Galeta film snima u jednom kontinuiranom kadru, s jedne statične točke gledišta. U sredini kadra nalazi se kut zgrade unutar kojeg se promatra auto- rovo kretanje od jednog kraja prostora prema drugom, koji se kasnije u projekciji na stvarni, fizički kut galerije preklapa sa kutom na filmu. Zbog konveksno-konkav- nog preklapanja projekcije filmske slike i realnog prostora, umjesto da se Galetin lik udaljavanjem od kuta smanjuje, on se zapravo povećava i obrnuto. Paradoks koji zbog toga nastaje može se protumačiti našim konvencionalnim znanjem o perceptivnim zakonitostima gdje dolazi do sraza između očekivanog i ostvarenog perceptivno-per- spektivnog efekta. Iluzionističko stanje filmske prezentacije ‘razotkriveno’ je Galeti- nom osobitom ‘korekcijskom’ projekcijom filma; dva doživljajno različita tipa percep- cije – iluzorna percepcija scenskog, prizornog pokreta unutar filmske slike nasuprot stvarnoj percepciji projicirane slike na zid projekcijske sobe – dovedena su u sukob, proizvodeći čudan, izglobljen doživljaj.19 Zbog ustanovljenih i definiranih parametra filmske projekcije u ovom filmu može se primijeniti Turkovićevo tumačenje metakomunikacijskih signala kao signala koji nas upozoravaju na lokaciju medija, odnosno na lokaciju filma. Tradicionalno su ti signali krajnje standardizirani, s čvrstom funkcijom razgraničavanja, s jasnom granicom, ustaljenih čvrstih oblika, rutiniziranog slijeda (na primjer: okvirom ekra- na, s jasnim najavama i odjavama filma, pomoću izoliranja svjetlosne teksture filma od teksture ekrana, kao i uz pomoć strukturalnih specifičnosti filma).20 U trenutku kada mjesto prikazivanja filma nije isključivo ekran nego se projekcija vrši na neki drugi objekt, reprezentacija i objekt se preklapaju, objekt se poništava a transformira- ni medij, upućuje na novi transformirani svijet. Vetrikala ekrana ima još samo jedan konvencionalni smisao kada nam prestaje prikazivati svijet u pokretu, kada teži po- stati neprozirnom površinom koja prima informacije, u redu ili neredu i na koju se likovi, predmeti i riječi upisuju kao podaci. Čitljivost filmske slike čini ju neovisnom o vertikalnom položaju [...].21 Prema tome, može se konstatirati da je ovakva vrsta filmskog proširenja izvedena simboličkim, tehničkim i konceptualnim postupkom čiji je krajnji ishod provokacija percepcije i aktivacija sustava specifične kognitivne stimulacije kod gledatelja. 17 Na rubu znanosti: Ivan Ladislav Galeta i krajolik nulte točke, dokumentarna emisija, proizvodnja HTV, 2011, https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6seSfsVntw, ac. 7. 1. 2016. 18 Prema Hrvoju Turkoviću prošireni je film podvrsta eksperimentalnog filma u kojem je njegovo prikazivanje usredotočeno na inventivno narušavajuće preinačavanje standarnih uvjeta projekcije i percepcije (npr. multie- kran, projiciranje na neravnu i neočekivane površine) gdje projekcijski aparat ne miruje a izvedbe proširenog filma preklapaju se sa multimedijskim izvedbama. 19 Hrvoje Turković, „Kut. Lijevo-desno pješaci“, u: Tihomir Milovac (ur.), Krajolik nulte točke, Zagreb, Muzej suvremene umjetnosti–Paksi Keptar, 2013, 110. 20 Hrvoje Turković, Retoričke regulacije,stilizacije, stilske figure i regulacija filmskog i književnog izlaganja, Za- greb, Agam, 2008, 210. 21 Gilles Deleuze, Film 2: Slika–Vrijeme, Zagreb, Udruga Bijeli val, 2012, 356. 67 UMETNIK I SOPSTVO | ART+MEDIA Iste parametre kod snimanja, montaže i projekcije Galeta je primijenio u filmu Dva vremena u jednom prostoru (1976–1984) u kojem vrši intervenciju na već posto- jećem filmu Nikole Stojanovića U kuhinji (1968). U istraživanjima na području polja proširenog filma Galeta izvodi dvostruku ekspoziciju unutar istog ekrana sa vremen- skim odmakom od 9 sekundi. U paralelnom prikazu iste slike s vremenskim odma- kom, gledatelj doživljava narativni prikaz vidljivosti sadašnjeg trenutka, vidljivošću prošloga. Decentralizacijom i premještanjem pripovjednog fokusa sa prvog naratora prema sebi, Galeta pokreće dvostruki status narativa s karakteristikom vanjske fokali- zacije. U ovom filmu evidentna je dvostruka temporalnost koja se očituje (semantički i semiološki) u dimenziji priče prvog autora (dijagetičko vrijeme) i u dimenziji pripo- vjedanja drugog autora (pseudovrijeme) koja se aktivira tek u procesu recepcije. Ako se ovaj Galetin postupak, u kojem intervenira na filmu drugog autora (prikazujući ga u konačnici kao svoj rad), može protumačiti kao umjetnost prisvajanja (aproprijacije) nameće se jedno potpuno novo pitanje, pitanje izvornosti i originalnosti, što bi svaka- ko mogla biti tema jednog novog pogleda na Galetin umjetnički rad. Zaključak Polazeći od činjenice da se provokacijom percepcije (što je osnovno načelo Ga- letina rada) mogu poljuljati konvencionalna stanovišta sagledavanja stvarnosti onda je za pretpostaviti da promatrač neće biti samo uživalac u djelu, već će u postupku recepcije, u skladu sa svojim kognitivnim sposobnostima i iskustvima konstruirati vlastita arbritrarna rješenja i tumačenja. Intedisciplinarni i metamedijski eksperiment se doživljajnim i komunikacijskim osnovama može tumačiti kao očitovanje u iskazi- vanju autorova pogleda na svijet (estetske forme filma) putem nekonvencionalnog snimanja, montaže i projekcije, istraživanjem filmskog medija i jezika, te prekorače- njem njihovih granica. Galetini su eksperimenti usmjereni ka provokaciji nevidljivog jedinstva, poniranju u ontološki poredak koji se prostire iza osjetila i kojim se na- puštaju okviri filmskog i novo-medijskog stvaralaštva.22 Analizom nekoliko filmskih ostvarenja Ivana Ladislava Galete u ovom je radu ukazano na činjenicu da su njegovi metamedijski eksperimenti zasnovani na nestandardnim filmskim tehnološkim po- stupcima koji razotkrivanju logiku, sintaksu i proceduru svijeta umjetnosti a ujedno posjeduju duboku filozofsku, slojevitu i kompleksnu komponentu. 22 Andrej Mirčev, „Umjetnost kao kraj(olik) nulte točke“, u: Tihomir Milovac (ur.), Krajolik nulte točke, Zagreb, Muzej suvremene umjetnosti–Paksi Keptar, 2013, 158. ART+MEDIA | Časopis za studije umetnosti i medija Broj 11, novembar 2016. 68 Interdisciplinary and Metamedial Experiment of Ivan Ladislav Galeta Abstract: Experiment can, as an artistic process in the works of Ivan Ladislav Galeta, be interpreted as a process of crossing, overlapping and exceeding the boun- daries of different disciplines and the specificities of the media. This means that Ga- leta’s artistic creativity is a kind of structural act based on ambiguous epistemological protocol and as such, it questions the legitimacy and guarantee of sense, provoking everything from the commonsensical and perceptual, to the credibility of the esta- blished canon and forms. Media structures suggest, within which Galeta moves, an interdisciplinary approach and the heterogeneity of its artistic creativity, and can be localized to the area of sequential images and to the area of extended, expanded and structural films, videos and TV arts and environmental projects and actions on the internet. Keywords: interdisciplinary, metamedial, experiment, perception, zero point field 
work_zc7xskryg5hd7n56dmocourkim	----	©2020 Project MUSE. Access to this work was provided by the University of Maryland, Baltimore County (UMBC) ScholarWorks@UMBC digital repository on the Maryland Shared Open Access (MD-SOAR) platform. Please provide feedback Please support the ScholarWorks@UMBC repository by emailing scholarworks-group@umbc.edu and telling us what having access to this work means to you and why it’s important to you. Thank you. mailto:scholarworks-group@umbc.edu Review of Literature, American Style: The Originality of Imitation in the Early Republic (Penn Press, 2019) by Ezra Tawil Lindsay DiCuirci, University of Maryland, Baltimore County Critical conversations about the birth, development, or zenith of American literature often begin with the vexing question J. Hector St. John de Crèveouer posed in his Letters from an American Farmer (1782): What is an American? Remove the “an” and the question takes on a different tenor: What is American about American literature? What are American letters, if not sad derivations of their English and European superiors? The very term “American” is often in quotations to signal its invented, parodic, or even ironic status. Indeed, Ezra Tawil writes in a clarifying note, “American Literature” refers less to a “set of cultural objects than to the manner in which they wrapped themselves in the mantle of Americanness.”1 And early American style, in turn, is both “national” and “notional,” an idea advanced rhetorically in order to actualize the as-yet-undetermined style of the new nation.2 In Literature, American Style, Tawil’s subject matter is, itself, a crucial intervention in the field of American literary studies because it foregrounds something—the “choice of words and the manner of arranging them”—that is often ignored. By choosing “style” as the focal point, Tawil’s work responds to recent calls in the field to attend to literary aesthetics. In a 2016 special issue of Early American Literature on the topic, to which Tawil contributed, the editors begin with the blunt observation, “Our field has always had a vexed relationship to aesthetics.”3 The vexation, they argue, lies in the field’s heavy historicist and archival bent; reading texts for the ideological work they perform or the evidence they contain. We instrumentalize the text, thinking of it as a lens, a light, a clue; the text is only meaningful when it points to other phenomena outside of it. Tawil’s book instead aims to recover “the particularity of the literary,” as the journal editors put it, and its aesthetic, affective, and rhetorical registers. “I believe that the question of linguistic style takes on a gravity and seriousness all its own, particularly in the literature of the early United States—or at least that it rewards semiautonomous treatment as a cultural question unto itself,” he writes toward the end of his study.4 What are some of these rewards? Tawil helps us see them in his intricate readings of the linguistic and literary styles of several canonical works of the early national period, but also in their authors’ metacritical commentary on style. It is in these authors’ insistence on their style being pure or plain or American or artless or indigenous or absent that we find the American style struggling to emerge. American style, Tawil submits, is deeply self-conscious and conflicted. But it is not enough to state this and move on. How this style emerges discursively and dialectically has wide-ranging implications for how we understand the early national period’s political and literary preoccupations and their legacies in twentieth-century criticism. The impulse toward “reflexive romanticism” has meant only tacitly treating late eighteenth- century literary style on its own terms and presuming that it was naturally more cosmopolitan simply because the nation hadn’t yet severed its European ties. Tawil’s book places a check on 1 Tawil, 198, n.52. 2 Ibid., 193, n. 17. 3 Edward Cahill and Edward Larkin, “Aesthetics, Feeling, and Form in Early American Literary Studies,” Early American Literature 51, no. 2 (2016): 235. 4 Tawil, 169. the field’s anachronistic leanings toward the nineteenth century when making claims about literary style, claims first advanced in the work of Perry Miller and Sacvan Bercovitch in the field’s nascence. Tawil takes issue with the two competing claims that have been critically reworked over the last century of American literary criticism: American literature is derivative; American literature is distinctive. In the introduction, Tawil reorients the debate by advancing a both/and thesis about European influence on late eighteenth-century American writing. Embracing the paradoxical notion of American style as an “original imitation,” Tawil poses more compelling analytical questions than whether American style is exceptional or not: What did late eighteenth- century American writers, identified as cis-Atlantic in Thomas Jefferson’s term, think they were doing that was stylistically distinct from their European peers? And how did these writers’ claims echo in the strains of exceptionalist criticism that reigned in the twentieth century and beyond? Tawil usefully adapts the concepts of autochthonous (indigenous) and allochthonous (diasporic) cultural development from anthropology to consider how late eighteenth-century writers made claims to American literary distinction within the obvious context of cultural adaptation. Here, Tawil’s formulation of both/and is helpful in setting up the book’s central claim: “We must grasp how Anglo-American literary culture sutured the fantasy of autochthony to the reality of cultural allochthony.”5 Chapter one continues in this spirit, looking closely at the relationship between Noah Webster’s and Samuel Johnson’s approaches to English standardization. Tawil helpfully distinguishes between standardizing the English language in an “already existing speech community,” as Johnson did, and “[calling] a unique speech community into being,” as was Webster’s aim.6 The term “speech community” is especially important to Webster who, as Tawil observes, focused on pronunciation over etymology (Johnson’s preoccupation). To contextualize the importance of this distinction, Tawil goes back to the late sixteenth century, looking at how orthographic debates among language reformers may have influenced Webster’s thinking. Specifically, Webster chose to privilege pronunciation because the etymological approach Latinized and Frenchified English spelling; a return to “earlier Anglo-Saxon primitives” was a way for Webster to claim a more correct, because unsullied, English standard.7 By embracing and attempting to perfect earlier forms of English, Webster also challenged the degeneration thesis: that Americans’ dislocation from the mother country would also degrade the mother tongue. Webster’s view required a belief in Anglo-Saxonism as the “origin” to which his orthography would return and American English as more English than British English and, crucially, easier for immigrants to learn. Words should be spelled how they sound if all of the nation’s inhabitants are to speak, read, and write the national language. Tawil’s discussion of Webster’s desire for an autochthonous language might have benefited from a close engagement with Sarah Rivett’s work on Native American linguistics and early national attitudes toward linguistic indigeneity. Rivett observes the early national period as a time of intense focus on preserving Native American languages (presumed to be vanishing), even formally so under the auspices of Thomas Jefferson’s “Vocabulary Project.”8 There is room, here, to think of America-English linguistic style’s “negative affiliation” with indigenous 5 Ibid., 17. 6 Ibid., 47. 7 Ibid., 65. 8 Sarah Rivett, “Unruly Empiricisms and Linguistic Sovereignty in Thomas Jefferson’s Indian Vocabulary Project,” American Literature: A Journal of Literary History, Criticism, and Bibliography 87, no. 4 (2015): 674. languages alongside Webster’s claims to linguistic indigeneity. We might consider, for example, how Jefferson’s “attempt to impose orthographic or taxonomic order” on indigenous languages reflected the nationalizing impulse behind Webster’s standardizations. Further, as Tim Cassedy has recently argued in his study of American linguistics and identity, it is helpful to remember that “in the early United States, Noah Webster was regarded by Americans as a crackpot and buffoon.”9 Cassedy’s entire chapter on Webster, adapted from a 2014 William and Mary Quarterly piece, serves to “debunk” the idea that “Noah Webster’s writings are representative of early American thinking about American identity.” While Tawil’s focus remains on Webster’s attitude toward linguistic style, Webster is nonetheless a curious figure through which to understand American linguistic nationalism because he was utterly out of style. Picking up the thread of a transatlantic foil (as Johnson was to Webster in the first chapter), chapter two aptly situates J. Hector St. John de Crèvecoeur’s 1782 Letters from an American Farmer alongside Thomas Jefferson’s Notes on the State of Virginia (1781) as two early examples of transatlantic correspondence. Here, Tawil importantly reminds readers that American independence never entailed cutting off contact with the continent, but instead remaining in constant dialogue. Both Jefferson and Crèvecoeur’s works take the form of the epistolary as a model for geopolitical relations. But where Jefferson operates from a defensive position, particularly against charges of American degeneracy, Crèvecoeur engages in an affected self-abasement to (ironically) show the superiority of candor. Tawil links Crèvecoeur’s style of narration, figured as simple and unadorned, with a long history of the vernacular tradition in medieval and early modern European literature. Borrowed heavily from Michel de Montaigne’s development of “vernacular authority” in Renaissance France, Crèvecoeur’s “natural” style of a farmer’s modesty is not originally American but a transplantation of other cultures into a fertile field. Thus, Tawil rightly points to the irony of Crèvecoeur’s being the mouthpiece of American cultural exceptionalism in the narratives of twentieth and twenty-first century critics. In chapter three, Tawil expands the link between the American landscape and literary aesthetics with a new reading of novelist Charles Brockden Brown’s “irregular” style, one sometimes figured as “clumsy and ill formed.”10 Tawil rehearses the well-established argument that Brown’s gothic replaces the European castles with American caverns (he cites Leslie Fielder on this point). More striking, then, is the way that Tawil interprets Brown’s rendering of the sublime American landscape as a legacy of early modern accounts of European colonization, a “New World aesthetic…acting out a philosophical script that had already been written in European thought.”11 Tawil wants to consider how Brown adapts the gothic romance to “announce his aesthetic goals” and thematize them with specific reference to the landscape. With emphasis on America’s status as a “neotopia” (both old and new), Brown deploys the colonial rhetoric of America’s “pure,” “untouched,” “untrodden,” and “primitive” to make claims for an American-style gothic. Further, the landscape of caves, crags, nooks, caverns, pits, and hills allowed American-style plots to unfold. Brown didn’t just transplant a Radcliffean gothic novel from a castle to a cave; the American cave itself authorizes and determines what kind of plots can unfold there and, Tawil further contends, determines the circuitous style in which Brown’s narratives are told. 9 Tim Cassedy, Figures of Speech: Six History of Language and Identity in the Age of Revolutions (Iowa City, IA: 2019), 74. 10 Tawil, 148. 11 Ibid., 131. Surprisingly, the Native Americans who populate the landscapes through which Brown’s characters travail, are hardly mentioned in Tawil’s discussion of Edgar Huntly’s gothic style. This absence raises questions about how New World sublimity accounts for the presence of indigenous people, also often figured in this period as terrifying and sublime, ethereal and ghostlike, primitive and untamed. As Renée Bergland writes in The National Uncanny (2000), “[Edgar Huntly’s] Americanness depends upon Indian wars and perilous frontier” and is “peopled with somnambulists and spectral Indians.”12 Or, more recently, Jason Richards has contended that Edgar himself “has long evinced a desire to appropriate and inhabit Native American culture,” learning to wield a tomahawk, donning a blood-soaked indigenous garment.13 In Richards’s view, Edgar is eager to wear native “redface” to claim legitimacy (nativity) for the settler nation. Bergland and Richards importantly remind us that the discourse of stylistic “antiquity” or “primitivism” in the late eighteenth century had to contend with the land’s first peoples, whose “style” Edgar literally adopts and whose “uncultivated” landscapes were only defined as such from the worldview of settler colonists. Tawil’s turn toward the “plain style” and sentimental literature in chapter four is a similarly enlightening example of how imaginative fiction would theorize and thematize style. Tawil frames this chapter as a reconsideration of the legacy of stylistic “plainness” from its Protestant European origins, through its Puritan instantiation, to its manifestation in the transatlantic sentimental novel. Taking Perry Miller’s essay, “An American Language” as a starting point, Tawil first examines the critical impulse in twentieth-century criticism to continue the project of literary nationalism. Finding parity between the late eighteenth-century stylistic identity crises and those of Miller’s generation, Tawil exposes at the rhetorical moves required to make a case for the uniqueness of the Puritan plain style. Looking for a point of origin for the eventual flourishing of American letters, Miller argues that the Puritan plain style operated distinctively in New England because of the land itself. Miller’s essay “manages to defeat its own transatlantic orientation,” Tawil observes, flattening the more multi-dimensional story of stylistic exchange that made the American sentimental novel possible.14 Here, Tawil wants to disrupt the conventional teleology, considering how the sentimental novel of seduction actually contributes to Miller’s reductive version of the Puritan “plain style,” the apex giving rise to the origin. The most compelling portion of this chapter centers on the relationship between narrative style and thematic seduction in the typical sentimental plot. Sentimental novels, Tawil writes, turn “protagonist and reader into the twin subjects of a form of seduction that works in and through improper language use.”15 Specifically, the emphasis in sentimental novels on a rake’s “artful” behavior or on his deceitful “artifices” functions not just as a warning against their wily ways but as a stylistic commentary on allegedly American virtues of humility, plainness, and sincerity—that is, alleged by the late eighteenth-century writers Tawil cites. Tawil himself is careful not to make these claims for an American style, but to be ever-mindful that “transnational facts keep getting in the way of a good national story.” Ultimately, American sentimental fiction relies upon American readers recognizing its British references. The very qualities of sincerity or artlessness, Tawil keenly observes, are only defined “as the negation of certain ornamental 12 Renée Bergland, The National Uncanny: Indian Ghosts and American Subjects (Hanover: University Press of New England, 2000), 51. 13 Jason Richards, Imitation Nation: Red, White, and Blackface in Early and Antebellum US Literature (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2017), 38. 14 Tawil, 154. 15 Ibid., 165. characteristics,” just as the language of a distinctive American style necessarily emerges out of a “negative affiliation” with Britishness. While Tawil’s book deeply contextualizes the rhetorical uses of claiming an American style, it seems at times to be participating in an older conversation about American literary history. By anchoring his study in the work of Webster, Crevecoeur, Brown, and Rowson (very briefly), Tawil engages a conventional canon that has undergone profound expansion in recent decades. The author contends that he is reconstructing the 18th-century origins of a 20th-century critical phenomenon that privileged an exceptionalist and teleological view of American literary development. But in a field where Perry Miller’s work has been exhaustively critiqued, temporal regimes are regularly scrutinized, transatlantic and hemispheric studies reign, and skepticism of the “nation” as an organizing principle is commonplace, the work of deconstructing American literary nationalism seems to be wrapping up, the myths debunked. In other words, it is increasingly difficult to make the claim that we must overturn the Millerian strain of literary criticism when its influence is only faintly detectable. It seems worth mentioning, here, that Tawil’s book lacks a separate bibliography and, in some key instances, critical engagement with contemporary scholarship. His claim that the field’s temporal frameworks have privileged the romantics is significant, for example, but does not cite new approaches to temporality and periodization by critics like Lloyd Pratt, Jeffery Insko, Michelle Sizemore, or Jordan Stein. More broadly, Tawil’s book sometimes reifies the same conventional historical and authorial boundaries that he seems keen to deconstruct. Even the book jacket’s synopsis cites “the romantic nationalism of [James Fenimore] Cooper, the transcendentalism of [Ralph Waldo] Emerson and [Henry David] Thoreau, and the iconoclastic poetics of [Walt] Whitman,” not as categories up for scrutiny, per se, but as accepted epochs in literary history. This is a surprisingly orthodox formulation. We might ask, “Whose version of American literary aesthetics does this book capture?” If, in a genealogy of American literature, the offspring is Cooper, Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman, then of course the sires would be Jefferson, Crèvecouer, Brown, and Royall Tyler. But what about the romantic nationalism of Catherine Maria Sedgwick? The transcendentalism of Margaret Fuller? The iconoclastic poetics of Emily Dickinson? Or, more to the book’s timeframe, what about the style of Judith Sergeant Murray’s essays and fiction? The political writings, plays, and histories of Mercy Otis Warren? The poetry of Sarah Wentworth Morton? The oratory of Jupiter Hammon? The poetry of Phillis Wheatley? The slave narrative of Olaudah Equiano? In other words, how might we include in the scope of “American Style” those who, in the first three examples, were second-class citizens or, in the next three examples, were enslaved in a country that failed to acknowledge their humanity, let alone their language? It can be cheap to critique a book for those it doesn’t include, but in the case of Tawil’s book, the lack of attention to other forms and contributors to eighteenth-century literary culture is notable. In his introduction, Tawil writes that “Anglo-American literary artists did not, say, begin to write trickster tales as a way of asserting the indigeneity of their tradition; nor did they embrace African American literary forms like the slave narrative as the (arguably far stronger) basis of a culturally distinct tradition.”16 While he says this regretfully, his book tends to repeat these exclusions by still engaging the usual suspects. Even as he shows these “American” works to be derivations, stylistically defined through negative affiliation, they still function in his study as indispensable anchor texts in the theorization of American style. What is missed when critics position the “they” of Tawil’s claim as the final word on the issue, the stylistic arbiters of their day? Perhaps we might contribute to the decolonizing of the field, in general, by acknowledging 16 Ibid., 10. those non-Anglo- or Euro-American voices who contributed to the dialectic of adoption and adaptation in this same period of post-Revolutionary flux. What Tawil does remarkably well, and vitally so for the field, is to put a finer point on the intricacies of transatlantic exchange, literary style, and cultural nationalism that critics have too often painted with a broad brush. He invites critics to contextualize and theorize eighteenth- century writers’ formal choices and those choices’ aesthetic effects not just for their political or cultural significance or for what they tell us about later periods, but for their own sake. Tawil’s book is not concerned, finally, with telling a new origin story or resolving the question, “What is American literary style?” For, whatever American style is, it is unexceptional. As Tawil argues in the book’s coda, there is a “particular kind of illogic” to the formulation of American style, which he best describes as “negative emulation.”17 This is a necessary theory for not only studies of style, but also of American culture, religion, politics, and economics; it is a theory with which we might understand countless other expressions of “original imitation” in American life and letters. 17 Ibid., 189. sheet1 DiCuirci.TawilReview.Final 
work_zeh5cowg5bg5fbjdar6hktblgy	----	Leading with the Ear | Film Quarterly | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Film Quarterly Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Advertisers Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 66, Issue 4 Summer 2013 Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| June 01 2013 Leading with the Ear: Upstream Color and the Cinema of Respiration Joseph G. Kickasola Joseph G. Kickasola Joseph G. Kickasola is associate professor of film and digital media and director of the Baylor Communication in New York Program at Baylor University. Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Film Quarterly (2013) 66 (4): 60–74. https://doi.org/10.1525/fq.2013.66.4.60 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Joseph G. Kickasola; Leading with the Ear: Upstream Color and the Cinema of Respiration. Film Quarterly 1 June 2013; 66 (4): 60–74. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/fq.2013.66.4.60 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Film Quarterly Search This content is only available via PDF. © 2013 by the Regents of the University of California 2013 Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Leading with the EarUpstream Color and the Cinema of Respiration' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Leading with the EarUpstream Color and the Cinema of Respiration Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Web Of Science (3) Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Pixels, Police, and Batons: Hong Kong Cinema, Digital Media, the 2019 Protests, and Beyond Review: Mary Ellen Bute: Pioneer Animator, by Kit Smyth Basquin Review: Everyday Movies: Portable Film Projectors and the Transformation of American Culture, by Haidee Watson Review: Making Worlds: Affect and Collectivity in Contemporary European Cinema, by Claudia Breger Review: Women in the Irish Film Industry: Stories and Storytellers, edited by Susan Liddy Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians Info for Advertisers About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1533-8630 Print ISSN 0015-1386 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_zgf2nehjdjg6dbyswqshoo4s3q	----	INTRODUCTION All History becomes subjective: in other Words there is properly no History, only Biography. Ralph Waldo Emerson It is the Abnormal which arouses theoretical interest in the Normal. Norms are recognized as such only when they are broken. Functions are revealed only when they fail. Life rises to the consciousness and science of itself only throughout maladaptation, failure, and pain. Georges Canghuilhem Edward Jarvis's Autobiography (completed in 1873) was dictated, in the third person when he was seventy, to his wife, Almira (1804-1884), a silent figure who was an alter ego throughout their marriage. It gives a retrospective view of his life, is a reworking of the diaries he kept as a young man, and an interesting document of re-written, oral autobiography, but it is not a "confession" in the Starobinski/Rousseau sense, nor an evident psychohistory. It provides a reassuring self-image of a doctor looking back on his earlier life and on the disappointments and frustrations of a medical profession whose acquired norms were tragically contradicted by reality. Edward Jarvis (1803-1884) was the fourth of seven children of a farmer of modest means in Concord, Massachusetts. Between 1820 and 1826 he studied at Harvard, where his friends and room-mates were the future historian and theorist of Jacksonian democracy Richard Hildreth (1807-1865), who was studying law, and the future Unitarian theologian George Washington Hosmer, who was then a student of the Divinity College. In the period of panic and economic depression between 1837 and 1842 he was forced to abandon his dreams of joining the Boston medical establishment, and he went to work in Louisville, Kentucky. It was there that he reached maturity in a society where racial prejudice was accepted as normal. Jarvis belonged to the generation of intellectuals who, between 1848 and 1860, tried to cope with the profound cultural conflict which led from the crisis of the Union to the Civil War. This, apart from a brief reference to his statistical essay on the conditions of health of the Union Army, is not mentioned in the Autobiography. The omission is part and parcel of the limits he imposed on himself as a result of the unexpected revival of memories and dreams. All that he leaves unsaid poses the question of why a psychiatrist actively engaged, like the young Thomas Story Kirkbride (1809-1883), in forward-looking forms of treatment should write his account in the third person avoiding the intimate first person which he had used in his diaries. If Jarvis's autobiography was completely normal within the cultural context in which it was written, it was at the same time anomalous in its contents; we are shown both the mask and the face of its author, an ambivalence which is worth exploring at close range. Jarvis's Autobiography has remained unpublished, although the manuscript seems to have been prepared for publication. Other original documents also exist: his diaries, notes made on journeys, and the more personal correspondence addressed to his wife, Almira. At Concord, Massachusetts, the Free Public Library has carefully preserved the memory of Jarvis's childhood and adolescence, his life as a young man, and his cultural roots. xv https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction Among the most illuminating documents for an understanding of his personality are the diaries, written in his own hand, and sometimes difficult to decipher; the letters to Almira, transcribed with loving care by Almira herself; part of the correspondence and records of contacts, direct or indirect, with a wide range of European cultural figures (for example Adolphe Quetelet (1796-1874), William Farr (1807-1883), Florence Nightingale (1820- 19 10)); and correspondence and record of contacts with such notable Americans as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Dorothea Dix, Horace Mann, Thomas Story Kirkbride, Joseph Camp Griffith Kennedy, Charles Sumner, John Albion Andrew, Charles Francis Adams and Josiah Quincy. The Autobiography, however, was donated to Harvard College and is today held by the Harvard Houghton Library. All this material should be seen as complementing an autobiography that recounts personal events in an impersonal style which expresses a certain detachment from the lived experiences of the past, and a certain self-imposed austerity. This is what makes it appropriate to publish a edition of the Autobiography accompanied where possible by quotations from other surviving personal documents. What we have is the psychological journey through life of a self-made psychiatrist faced with the tragic evidence of disease, and of social and economic problems. There is little, either in the Autobiography or in the other documents, on strictly clinical problems, but much on the political and ethical models which led Jarvis to interest himself in social statistics and to choose psychiatry as his specialty. It does not present the kind of problem tackled in Using biography by William Empson, or faced by Loren Schweininger in the autobiography of James Thomas, an ex-slave of Nashville, an abandoned son of an eminent judge of Tennessee, an individual and a world very different from Jarvis and New England even though virtually contemporary.' In Jarvis's autobiography we are faced with the problem of "understanding" the interplay of mask and face, and the ambivalence of memory and the past. The result is a self-portrait whose contradictions are implicit in the attempt at an objective approach. It is the work of an elderly man who contemplates himself through the memory of the emotions of his younger days evoked by documents of his past. He looks back on that obscure background which tormented his adolescence and young adulthood, from which he managed to escape through self-education and a conscious development of self. He filters the achievements of his present life through his memories of the past. Edward Jarvis's Autobiography is in many ways the product of an environment and culture fairly typical ofNew England, which his self-portrait mirrored. It also constitutes an area of the private Weltanschauung, a typical model of an ethos and of a generation which produced such a huge number of diaries, and, that equally personal literary genre, autobiographies. Many of these writings make more entertaining reading and conceal fewer puzzling complexities than that of Jarvis. It is for this reason that the Autobiography needs to be rounded by the diaries and the letters, which express more authentically aspects of his personality which the autobiographical reconstruction tones down: anxiety and existential doubt, frustration in his profession, a search for authenticity in the midst of annoyance at the limitations of his ' From Tennessee slave to St. Louis entrepreneur: the autobiography ofJames Thomas, ed. Loren Schweininger, Columbia, University of Missouri Press, 1984; cf. William C. Hine, 'A journal of the middle period', in Civil War Hist., 1985, 31(1): 83-4. xvi https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction financial means, and of his cultural models, a certain compensatory megalomania, but also pathos, the ability to feel and to understand romanticism and rationality. THE PSYCHOHISTORY OF A SELF-MADE PSYCHIATRIST The Autobiography of Edward Jarvis, which is probably a close imitation of the Life of John Collins Warren compiled by Edward Warren, was written in 1873. It differs in a number of respects from the autobiography (1853) of the Philadelphian physician Charles Caldwell (1772-1853), a volcanic personality whom Jarvis must certainly have known at Louisville, even though he never mentions him. It differs too from the later, posthumous autobiography (1887) of Samuel David Gross (1805-1884), a prestigious physician well-known for his book Lives of eminent American physicians.2 The two most fundamental differences are: first, that Jarvis's Autobiography was dictated by its author and remained an unpublished manuscript, and second, that he intentionally avoided the subjective approach thus concealing both his true self and his motives for writing his life story. It is interesting to contrast Jarvis's manuscript with Charles Caldwell's book, in which the author is constantly present as the first person narrator, as well as being culturally more at ease and displaying undeniable literary qualities. Caldwell was cheeky, arrogant, and paradoxical; he possessed an irresistible sense ofhumour, was passionate in both his life and work, and was an extremist in everything. He was exuberant and candid about his loves, and hates: one of whom was Benjamin Rush (1745-1813), another author of a posthumously published autobiography. Caldwell was a bon vivant, testing more pretty women on his European journeys than epidemic parasites. In total contrast to Jarvis, Caldwell lives in his writing where memory and the past are not kept separate. For this reason, he is very explicit about his model, the autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, because "the best historian is he who is historian of himself'.3 In 1873 when Edward Jarvis started to dictate his autobiography, that of John Stuart Mill (1806-1873), written between 1853 and 1856, was published in London. Even if Jarvis did not read this, he moved in the same circles and the same intellectual world of Benthamite Utilitarianism which was so familiar to those who were interested in social statistics. A few years previously, one of the great figures whom Edward met on his journey to London, the eccentric, famous and typically Victorian Henry Brougham (1778-1868), who had been Lord Chancellor of England, wrote his autobiography, rather less lucid than his famous speeches in Parliament and in the law courts, before dying in his nineties at Cannes. 2 Life of John Collins Warren, 2 vols, Boston, Mass., Ticknor and Fields, 1860. Autobiography of Charles Caldwell, M.D., Philadelphia, Lippincott, Grambo and Co, 1855; reprinted with a new introduction by Lloyd G. Stevenson, New York, Da Capo Press, 1968. The autobiography of Samuel D. Gross ends in February 1884, cf. Autobiography ofSamuel D. Gross, with sketches ofhis contemporaries, edited by his sons, Philadelphia, George Barrie, 1887. Like Jarvis's Autobiography it begins with a dream, but a distressing one because it is concerned with death and burial. On Philadelphia cf. vol. I, pp. 29 and 32; cf. also his Lives ofeminent American physicians and surgeons of the nineteenth century, Philadelphia, Lindsay and Blakiston, 1861. 3"Of that wonderful man the biography written by himself-plain, simple, and unlabored, as it is-contains, notwithstanding, an amount of philosophical teaching, tenfold more abundant, genuine, and useful, than could have been incorporated in it, by all the other biographers on earth. It is hardly sufficient to call that composition the autobiography of Franklin." Cf. Autobiography of Charles Caldwell, op. cit., note 2 above, p. 19. Francis R. Packard, in his History ofmedicine in the United States, New York, P. B. Hoeber, 1931, vol. I, p. 487, comments on Caldwell's volcanic personality. For Benjamin Rush, see The autobiography ofBenjamin Rush, ed. George W. Corner, Princeton, published for the American Philosophical Society by Princeton University Press, 1948. xvii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction Is there a connection between this widespread fashion for writing autobiographies, the specific model of previous autobiographies of physicians, and this anomalous autobiography of Edward Jarvis? Certainly an interest in self-history or diary, like self-portraiture or autobiography, formed part of a whole culture. In the Boston circle which was closest to Jarvis, Samuel Hoar (1778-1856) wrote an Autobiography ofseventy years, which was later published posthumously in 1903. Henry Ingersoll Bowditch (1808-1892) left diaries and letters which were published by his son in 1902. The former child prodigy Theodore Parker (1810-1860) left a journal as well as a massive output of letters and sermons, among which, according to some scholars, lies the origin of Lincoln's dictum "Government of the People, by the People, for the People". Another ex-child prodigy, Andrew Preston Peabody (1811-1893) poured out his ego in 190 publications. Charles Francis Adams (1807-1886) left diaries and correspondence which are still keeping historians busy even after the seven volumes already published. His son Charles Francis (1835-1915), who was also a relative of John Quincy Adams, left an autobiography in his turn, and James Kendall Hosmer (1834-1927), son of Edward Jarvis's closest friend, bequeathed his autobiography to the Minneapolis Historical Society. From the extensive women's writing of this generation may be mentioned The record of a school, about A. Bronson Alcott's Temple School in Boston, written by Elizabeth Peabody and published in 1835. Almost all the writings of Margaret Fuller Ossoli are autobiographical, and her memoirs were published in 1852 by James Freeman Clarke with the help of Ralph Waldo Emerson and William Ellery Channing.4 Eighty years and more by Elizabeth Cady Stanton (1815-1902), published in 1898, with its vivid evocation of her feminist battles in 1848, is another autobiographical work. The dreamlike quality of much Victorian poetry imported from Europe, and the furore and interest raised by Thomas De Quincey's Confessions ofan opium-eater, published in London in 1822, and in Boston in 1854,5 had an impact on America. As did the hundreds of thousands of European immigrants from different cultures, seeking a new Jerusalem across the Atlantic and an escape from the rancours and bitterness of their origins. Once in America, their hope often turned to disillusionment, and, although moral therapy or the 4 Cf. Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Boston, Phillips, Sampson, 1852, microfilms, Harvard University Library; Memoirs ofMargaret Fuller Ossoli, with notices of her life by J. F. Clarke, R. W. Emerson, and W. H. Channing, 2 vols, Boston, Robert Brothers, 1881, re-issued, New York, B. Franklin, 1972; The letters of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, edited by Robert N. Hudspeth, Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1983; Love-letters of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, 1845-1846, with an introduction by Julia Ward Howe to which are added the reminiscences of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Horace Greeley and Charles T. Congdon, New York, AMS Press, 1970; Margaret Fuller Ossoli, Essays in American life and letters, edited by Joel Myerson, New Haven, College and University Press, 1977; idem, At home and abroad: or, Things and thoughts in America and Europe, ed. Arthur B. Fuller, Boston, Crosby, Nichols, 1856; idem, Woman in the nineteenth century, and kindred papers relating to the sphere, condition and duties of woman, ed. Arthur B. Fuller, Boston, Roberts Brothers, 1893, re-issued, Columbia, University of South Carolina Press, 1980. Cf. Cheryl Cline, Women's diaries, journals and letters. An annotated bibliography, New York and London, Garland Press, 1989. S Confessions ofan opium-eater, London, Taylor and Hessey, 1822; Boston, Ticknor, Read and Fields, 1854. On the topic see also the bibliography in Alethea Hayter, Opium and the romantic imagination, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1968; David T. Courtwright, Dark paradise: opiate addiction in America before 1940, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1982; idem, 'Opiate addiction as a consequence of the Civil War', Civil War Hist. 1978, 24: 101-11; Arthur Hyatt Williams, 'The ancient mariner: opium, the saboteur of self-therapy', Free Associations, 1986, n. 6, pp. 123-44; Grevel Lindop, The opium-eater: a life of Thomas De Quincey, London, J. M. Dent, 1981; R. Walter Custey, et al., 'Survey of opiate addiction among females in the United States between 1850 and 1970', Publ. Health Rev. 1972, 1: 5-39. xviii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction highly popular derivatives of opium became less and less effective as remedies for depression, malnutrition, infections and alcoholism,6 opium-induced dreams of paradise were common cultural themes, not simply a passing fashion. They frequently resulted in the most extreme expression being given to memory, individual experiences, and personal histories. None the less, the question remains as to why Edward Jarvis decided at the age of seventy to turn to his diary notes and to his letters, and dictate his autobiography. At the time he was writing, it would have been possible for him to have read Charles Caldwell's autobiography, which in no way resembles Jarvis's labours in terms of content, but the form is almost identical. It begins with a description ofchildhood, goes on to education, problems of work and career, then to journeys, and ends with a list of publications. The two men had nothing in common other than the medical profession. Even here, Charles Caldwell shone more; and achieved greater fame among his contemporaries, and greater success in his neurotic desire to assert his supposed superiority, the cause of violent polemics. They did, however, share a romantic scorn of mediocrity, and of everything that made life second-rate. Both had a certain self-centredness which caused psychological problems in their relationships with others. Whether or not Edward Jarvis was influenced by the precedent of Charles Caldwell's autobiography is difficult to know. However, more than in his other writings, Jarvis was completely absorbed in the task of talking about himself, and he never mentions Caldwell. It would seem that there were two people who provided the main inner supports to Jarvis's life. To them perhaps Jarvis owed the fact that he would not be forgotten by history and would finally gain more recognition in the future than his contemporaries had granted him. The first was Jarvis's wife, Almira, who was also born in Concord. She was present psychologically and physically throughout the whole of Edward's adult life, and in fact was already his companion in adolescence. Hers is an image of tenderness and silence: a great love, persevering, profound, delicate, romantic, and reciprocal. A silent alter ego, Almira was the source of emotional equilibrium for Edward, his principal correspondent and the worthy copyist whose labours save the reader of a century later from the minute and sometimes illegible handwriting of her husband. Almira was capable of giving formidable support to Edward even when he started to bring patients to live in his house, an approach which could be described as an early form of family-group psychotherapy. She was perhaps helped here by the experience she acquired when two close relatives among the Hunts of 6 Cf. Gerald Grob, Edward Jarvis and the medical world ofnineteenth-century America, Knoxville, University of Tennessee Press, 1978; idem, Mental institutions in America: social policy to 1875, New York, Free Press, 1973; idem, The state and the mentally ill. A history of Worcester State Hospital in Massachusetts, 1830-1920, Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina Press, 1966; Immigrant and insanity: dissenting views 1883-1914, ed. G. Grob, New York, Arno Press, 1980; Massachusetts Commission on Lunacy, 1854. Insanity and idiocy in Massachusetts: Report of the Commission on Lunacy, 1855, by Edward Jarvis, a critical edition by Gerald N. Grob, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1971. Cf. also Barbara Gutmann Rosenkrantz, 'Booby-hatch or booby-trap: a new look at nineteenth-century reform', in Social Research, 1972, 20:733-43; idem, Public health and the state: changing views in Massachusetts, 1842-1936, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1972; Charles Rosenberg, The cholera years: the United States in 1832, 1849 and 1866, University of Chicago Press, 1962; Nancy Tomes, A generous confidence: Thomas Story Kirkbride and the art of asylum keeping 1840-1883, Cambridge University Press, 1984; John Harley Warner, The therapeutic perspective: medical practice, knowledge and identity in America, 1820-1885, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1986. xix https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction Concord committed suicide, one of whom, Martha Hunt, is described in the Blithedale romance by Nathaniel Hawthorne under the name of Zenobia, who has been wrongly seen as modelled on Margaret Fuller. After a long life together, from adolescence to old age, Almira survived Edward by just two days, and was buried beside him on 5th November 1884 in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery at Concord, the true home of them both. This parallelism emphasizes the strength of a psychological and emotional symbiosis which lasted virtually a lifetime. The second person of great importance to Jarvis, Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), was very different but had deep roots in the spiritual, human and cultural common ground of Unitarian Transcendentalism. Emerson was born the same year as Jarvis, and died a year earlier. He had a different kind of sensibility and the stature of the two men is not comparable. They had infrequent meetings but shared a common ethic. The person who acted as the link between them was the Unitarian pastor Ezra Ripley (1751-1841), an intimate friend of Emerson, whom Jarvis continually cites. In January 1832 Jarvis wrote in his diary, in his difficult handwriting, "I confess this day-dreaming is wrong".7 Since November of the previous year, the diary had been interrupted by much "anxiety",8 as he explains in three pages of hieroglyphics, doubts and attempts at self-discipline: My mind is in undisciplined state. I have accustomed myself from early youth to day-dreaming. I delight to revel in reveries, in imagining myself in certain conditions, with certain means of doing good and in power, in affluence, in respectability. This has unhinged my mind. I find my eyes on any book, my thoughts far from it. My subjects are far from being well diges[illegible] my cures well studied out. In these reveries my thoughts in their creation have always created for me a pure character one with industry, energy, talent virtue means [illegible]. Some good has arisen from this, for this has been my conception of a perfect character, which has tended to fix my moral principles, to choose my notions of right and wrong in certain conditions. Nevertheless this has been accompanied with circumstances which has [illegible] for affect the principles in question or their application but it has lessened the power of their conceptions, their influence over me. I confess this day-dreaming is wrong. I confess that I have indulged it against conscience. It has had a power like a charm over me, with its siren influences has very often drawn me very far from my duty. I know my failing. I was conscious of being astray, but my enchanter threw such a veil over the sin, such a beauty over the temptations that it dulled my moral perceptions for the moment and I was happy [illegible] in sin! I have long been in this habit. Not all the creations are alike but they have a similar character, they are different species of the same genus.9 Anxiety and self-discipline are two of the fundamental components of this young doctor torn between dreams and mediocrity, with ambitions which are not banal and not easily satisfied. "I confess", he wrote, after this sort of self-analysis of his aims, motivations and achievements, "I have a secret bending for notoriety. I like to keep myself before the eyes of others".'0 7 Diary, 2, p. 79. 8Diary, 2, p. 71. 9 Diary, 2, p. 78-9. During these same years an unknown young man, already an alcoholic, Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) was writing his most beautiful oneiric poems: 'Dream' (1827, 1828), 'A Dream within a Dream' (1827, 1849), 'A Dream' (1827, 1845), and 'The Sleeper' (1831, 1849). '° Diary, 2, p. 76. xx https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction One of the truths of this reality outside the realm of dreams was that in order to develop confidence, and be successful in the Boston cultural and economic establishment, one had to have "character", a term much employed by Jarvis,1I as by Emerson in Self reliance. However, it was not character but money (more in the sense that it granted independence than in the sense of material riches) which for twenty years, until the painful solution of becoming a private psychiatrist at Dorchester, was one of Jarvis's most constant and most mortifying handicaps. Spiritual autonomy and autonomy of material means went hand in hand, even when they did not signify the same thing, in the context of a system of values which Jarvis did not choose, but was constrained to accept. If the access to culture in general, as well as to the medical and the legal professions, was open to members of the social strata from which Edward Jarvis came, access to the establishment (which in medicine meant the top positions in hospitals and universities) was more restricted. This required above all long studies plus specialization, preferably in Europe, but also family traditions and political sponsors. So although it was not strictly essential to belong to an economic elite, in practice the costs greatly restricted access. Virtually the only people who could become part of the cultural elite were those who belonged to the economic elite. In Europe, access from below to the most important institutions, medicine and the law included, took place via the patronage of various faiths and traditions. In the United States, the religious organizations were very important, as was a friendly attitude on the part of the Freemasons' Lodges or corporations borrowed from the English model, or the same kind of institutions which functioned in Europe. 12 But family strategies counted everywhere. For Boston the term of "New England Brahmin" has been used and over-used like all commonplaces which have some truth in them. Bostonian medical culture was presided over by men of quality who came from groups of interrelated families whose manoeuverings turned genetic into professional inheritance. In the first quarter of the nineteenth century, when Jarvis was trying to find his way in the medical profession, the Harvard School contained many prestigious figures. There was James Jackson (1777-1867) who would no doubt have been succeeded by his brilliant son (who had studied with Louis Joseph Desire Fleury (1818-1872) in France) if his tragic death had not prevented this; John Collins Warren (1778-1856), a member of an important Masonic dynasty; John Gorham (1783-1829), Warren's son-in-law; and Jacob Bigelow (1786-1879). There were also doctors such as Benjamin Waterhouse, who was dismissed, and John White Webster, who fell into debt to a certain Parkmoun after the failure of real estate deals and was executed for having killed his creditor, cut the body into pieces, and hidden them in his Harvard laboratory.'3 These were Jarvis's professors, and it was among them that he sought necessary influential friends, as well as among .the Unitarians, that other network of Boston society; apart from these he had simply to rely on his personal friends, Almira, and his own abilities. Concord had its doctor, Josiah Bartlett (1797-1878) who was a personal friend of Emerson, a hygienist and a campaigner against alcohol, greatly respected among the local " See below p. xxii. 12 See The invention oftradition, ed. E. Hobsbawn and Terence Ranger, Cambridge University Press, 1983, pp. 295-6. '3 See Packard, op. cit., note 3 above, pp. 438-50. xxi https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction community, with the exception of the bar-owners. It was suggested to Jarvis that he set up practice in Northfield and, seeing that his childhood friend and schoolmate George Washington Hosmer had also decided to go there as minister, he joined him. He earned very little at this post and was isolated; the only profit he gained was the publication of a modest survey article on the 1832 cholera outbreak at the nearby village of Warwick. In his diaries, even his handwriting is altered by his exasperation. He describes the two other local doctors as follows: "Drs Mead & Blake my active and my principal rivals, who would not hesitate at falsehood & defamation of character. Blake is a smart bold drunkard. Mead a sly [illegible] insinuating very polite flatteries'.14 He then returned to Concord. But here the quality of life, and the social and philanthropic activities to which he devoted his energies did not compensate for the fact that he continued to be in debt to his father and Samuel Hoar, and under the shadow of Josiah Bartlett. With the latter, however, he got on very well, and it was with him that he published his first medical article. He thus decided on a move to the West, that sort of Purgatory for restless souls (like that of the turbulent Charles Caldwell), and was provided with the names of friends and contacts by the faithful George Hosmer. It was there that he spent the years of the severe depression of 1837-1842. He came out of this unscathed, but was still unable to repay his debts. It was not until 1843 that he returned from Louisville, Kentucky, which at that time was one of the centres with the highest growth in demand for slaves. 15 It was only then, at the age of forty, with the start of a private psychiatric practice at Dorchester which proved both rewarding and profitable, that he became really independent financially. As a consequence, his scientific prospects remained limited. All Jarvis's writings are dominated by the problem of money, nevertheless, he left $40,000 to his heirs. When at the end of his life he drew up a balance-sheet of the achievements of his ex-classmates of 1826, there was in his descriptions of them a constant and almost neurotic concern with their economic success and their "character". Thus Charles E. Kennedy, for example, a son of Irish immigrants, who had to abandon medicine to support his family as a baker, is summarily dismissed. He showed no character. ... a high scholar in his pursuits but wanting self-confidence, energy and tact; he never pursued his profession and took up his father's trade for the support of his mother's family at his other parent's death. With more wordly force he would have done much for himself in his profession; but wanting this he lived and died without fame or name, and we trust an accepted Christian.'6 He had tuberculosis from which he died in 1836, but that was of no importance, it seems. 14 Diary, 2, pp. 55-6; see also Grob, Edward Jarvis, op. cit., note 6 above, pp. 30-4. 15 R. W. Fogel, S. L. Engerman, Time on the cross, vol. 1: The economics ofAmerican Negro slavery, vol. 2: Evidence and methods. A supplement, 2nd edn, New York, Little, Brown, 1974, vol. 2, p. 154. 16 See also HUA, 'Harvard College - account of the class 1826' by Edward Jarvis, "I began this record soon after we left college. I intended to write somethings of each classmate every year. But I could not always hear anything yearly of all. I would gladly have written more fully, but want of time and space prevented. Edward Jarvis (signed)". It is one of the last works of Jarvis, in fact a sort of short biography-necrology of his past friends and companions, their successes or failures, but all very alive in his affection and memory. xxii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction This kind of judgement shows a lack of understanding and imagination that also explains part of the repetitive and ponderous aspects of Jarvis's writing. He suppressed completely the worries and doubts which appear frequently in the diaries, and summoned up an image which he laboriously constructed for himself as much as for others, an image which he used as a solution for his inner conflicts, doubts, and existential problems, and which he believed coincided with the Unitarian ethic which he chose'7 and practised until his death. He took this ethic from his English co-religionists, and it later co-existed with the Utilitarian influence. But, in addition, there was in him an element of romantic pathos, with its vision of an American culture of constitution, democracy, and humanistic ideals, whose history had yet to be written, whether by Jacksonians like George Bancroft or Whigs like Francis Parkman. These traits and others reveal a great deal. It is necessary, therefore, to restore these unexpressed emotions, to plumb those silences which are easiest to fathom, to distinguish introjection from memory, to penetrate shadows with the help of very minor episodes. An example can be taken from Jarvis's journey to Europe. His visit entailed a congress of statisticians, a series of Victorian dinners in London, a diplomatic incident (in which Jarvis claims to have played a more important role than can be proved), some sightseeing, a few vaguely Dickensian visits to hospices, schools, hospitals, model-factories and farms, and an attempt, soon abandoned, to visit slums both in London and in Paris. At Birmingham, Jarvis met the Sardinian consul, a representative of the newly-born state of Italy. He did not mention this in the Autobiography, but he wrote to Almira about it at length.'8 It is undoubtedly the case that Jarvis had had little contact with Italy. Perhaps he had seen some Garibaldi cartoons that Thomas Nash sent to the American and British press, such as the irresistible Punch which Jarvis certainly read because he cited it. His old room-mate Richard Hildreth, by this time a well-known historian, was just then getting ready to leave for Trieste, where he had been appointed American consul, and where he died. But in spite of these fragmentary contacts, we might still ask ourselves where Jarvis's 17 On Unitarians, transcendentalism and the nineteenth-century reforms, cf. MHS, James Freeman Clarke (1810-1888) papers. 18 "We have now in the house Mr. Parviso, Sardinian Consul in Birmingham. He eats in the coffee room where I meet him often and find him very social and agreeable. We talk much of Italy, Sardinia, the Pope and the papal states, Naples, Napoleon, United States, &c. subjects interesting to both of us. He is from a liberal monarchy, and an officer of King Victor Immanuel, a Catholic and an Italian; and yet he talk [sic] as freely about all matters connected with these as we do. As to the Pope he says he is a very good Pope, priest, spiritually and ecclesiastically a good man; but a poor ruler and temporal magistrate; . . . Mr. P. does not have much confidence in Napoleon. As a man of sagacity and talent he respect [sic] him, but as an honest man to be relied upon, he distrusts him. If he does good things, as he did in the late war for the liberation of Italy from the Austrian power, it was mainly because that godliness was profitable in that instance. We discussed the future of Naples which is very doubtful. It would apparently be desirable to form one great Italian nation under a free government like that of Sardinia, which should include all, both Northern and Southern Italy. But there is a great diversity of character between the people on the two sides of the papal states. The northern are energetic, industrious, self-relying, the southern idle, lazy, dependent. In Naples there is, indeed, a poor government, but there is also a poor and listless people. Would they care for and sustain a free government? This is an important question which the present insurrection in Sicily and the movements there to throw off the Neapolitan yoke, may bring to an early issue, and then we shall see if they can get rid of the Bourbon dynasty and take care of themselves. The consul is much interested in the United States and understands the character of our people and the nature of our government. He wanted to know many things in respect to us, our national relations, the slavery question, the north and south, Congress, the state authorities, &c. He said it would be a great injury to the world, to human advancement, if our Union should be dissolved." Cf. CFPL, Jarvis European letters, vol. 2, E. J. to his wife, Great Malvern, May 12, Saturday Ev. 1860, pp. 116-20. xxiii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction interest in Italy came from. He did not, after all, know the language; and, notwithstanding the work of Pietro Maestri (1816-1871), Italy has very little place in his collections of statistics. His interest was not prompted by the fact that Italian beachs were the last hope for the tubercular, or perhaps merely the latest expensive myth advised by doctors in desperate cases. Jarvis certainly did not know Giuseppe Barellai (1813-1884), a doctor like himself and philanthropic pioneer of seaside hostels for scrofulous children, or the Neapolitan Negri, who had started to mass-produce vaccine from inoculated cattle in 1842, before this system became known in America thanks to Samuel Warren Abbott (1837-1904). He did not know Filippo Pacini (1812-1883) from Florence, an anatomist and physiologist who was'little known even in Europe. In the enormous bulk of Edward Jarvis's correspondence there are relatively few exchanges with actual Italians, and those took place only after his European visit. One of these was Pietro Maestri of Florence. There has survived correspondence between March and May 1866, and in September 1868, which shows that the two men exchanged publications.'9 Another was Luigi Bodio (1840-1920) with whom Jarvis corresponded ten years later, a man Jarvis would have been bound to know since he was the main author and editor of the statistics of unified Italy. Two letters from him in English are preserved, written from Rome on 3rd November 1874, and 12th September 1877.20 Jarvis's interest in such an apparently unimportant encounter with an Italian consul came from elsewhere: his own background and two people very close to him who had written about Italy and visited it, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau (1817-1867), the first more than the second. I refer to the consternation aroused, at Concord especially, by the tragic drowning of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (1800-1849). Her death, with that of her son Angelo, and husband Giovanni Angelo Ossoli, in the shipwreck of the Elizabeth on 19th June 1849 was not only traumatic for Emerson, but also shocked and moved many people close to him. The bodies, apart from that of young Angelo, were never recovered, nor was the baggage which included a manuscript by Margaret Fuller Ossoli on the history of the Italian Risorgimento cited repeatedly by Emerson,2' who, in 1852, together with James Freeman Clarke and William Ellery Channing, published two volumes of Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli. It is therefore an apparently chance event which shows us that Jarvis had a deeply emotional relationship with a world with which he had scarcely any contact, an emotion he hid, but which was nevertheless important to him. It was a world which was not limited to '9 BCLM, Edward Jarvis, Letters Book, 1867-1869, B MS b 56.4, vol. 9, p. 121: Letter to "Sign. Maestri, Florence, Italy: Dear Sir, I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt Sept. 3, 1868, from you a valuable parcel containing Reports: 1. Elezioni Amministrative e Politiche anni 1865-66; 2. Trattura della seta, anno 1866; 3. Le Opere Pie, anno 1861, which are important additions to my library and aid in my studies and writing. The very important Reports on the Population and the Mortality of Italy which you sent me in 1867 through the Smithsonian Institution [illegible] have not reached me. I fear they have been lost on the way. I wrote to Mr. [illegible] asking him to reach for them in his store, and if possible to send them to me but without success. May I hope that you will be able to respect the address as those documents are of great importance to us. I sent to you, May 1866, a journal containing reports on Census Population, Mortality, Education, Insanity, Blind [illegible] through the Smithsonian Institution. You will receive them in due time. Hoping to be able to continue this pleasant and profitable interchange of statistics. I am with high respect very truly yours, Edward Jarvis." 20 CFPL, Edward Jarvis Papers, safe shelf 6, item 9, See also, ibid. a letter from Maestri, from Florence, 1 May 1868 with a reference to a Miscellany of Italian Statistics. 21 Gay Wilson Allen, Waldo Emerson, New York, Viking Press, 1981, p. 539. xxiv https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction the key figures in the family circle: his father, his brother, and his mother, who is barely mentioned in the Autobiography but pathetically vivid in the diaries. It also included two figures outside that circle: Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, who, by introducing wider cultural perspectives and stimulating new men in Unitarian Transcendentalism, played a fundamental role in Jarvis's life. It seems that Jarvis's activity in the years after his return to Concord and later as a doctor at Dorchester can not be fully understood if seen in isolation from the environment in which he was born. For he never cut himself off from the emotional tensions inherent in it, none of which was produced by his study of medicine or by his later contacts with the group of English Benthamites. They originated with the ethical models of men of his own generation such as Emerson. Although there is no mention of Emerson in the Autobiography, and their relationship was mediated by their common friend Ezra Ripley, the Harvard Houghton Library holds two letters from Jarvis to him; and we know that Emerson did all he could to support Jarvis's candidacy to the Boston General Hospital together with his ex-professor of physiology, James Jackson. One of Jarvis's letters is dated 28 July 1834, and tells the "Rev. Waldo Emerson ... I want very much to read your Journal in Europe".22 The other was sent from Dorchester on 9th November 1843, and invites Emerson to speak to the Committee on Public Lectures at Dorchester where "we will prefer to hear your lecture upon Natural History or upon the monuments-architecture . . . of Italy, which you formerly delivered in Concord"; it is signed "very truly and respectfully yours Edward Jarvis". 23 It should be remembered that in June 1834 Waldo Emerson was just emerging from the period of deep depression which followed the death from consumption, in February 1831, of his wife Ellen Tucker, a creature "too lovely to live long", who had been constantly under the care of James Jackson. This was during the period following Emerson's resignation from his pastorship (October 1832). Between December 1832 and October 1833, Emerson had been travelling in Europe, and had visited Italy, and in England had met Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881) and William Wordsworth (1770-1850), who was also Edward Jarvis's favourite poet, and is cited by him in his 'Traditions and reminiscences of Concord'. In 1843 Jarvis had recently returned from Kentucky and, after the difficulties mentioned, in which both James Jackson and Waldo Emerson gave him friendly support, had finally obtained a situation at Dorchester. Emerson was by this time a famous man, renowned, polemical, and actively committed in the battle for abolition, a man whose plan to free the slaves could have averted the Civil War with its appallingly high cost in lives and property.24 It was also in 1843 that Jarvis started his permanent activity as a psychiatrist, and as a specialist in social statistics. This began with his criticism of the biased and racist theories of Secretary of State John Calhoun (1782-1850) which were based on incorrect calculations taken from the American census of 1840.25 Quite apart from Emerson's generous support, therefore, Jarvis's re-encounter with Emerson and with what he represented in those years is anything but incidental. During 22 HHL, b MS Am. 1280 (1694), Concord, 28 June 1834, E. J. to Rev. Waldo Emerson. 23 HHL, b MS Am. 1280 (1695), Dorchester, 9 November 1843, E. J. to Rev. Waldo Emerson. 24 Allen, op. cit., note 21 above, p. 26; Albert Deutsch, 'The first U.S. Census of the insane (1840) and its use as pro-slavery propaganda', Bull. Hist. Med., 15 May 1944, 469-82. 25 Grob (ed.), Insanity and idiocy, op. cit., note 6 above. xxv https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction this period, Jarvis also had correspondence with Horace Mann (1796-1859) which continued until the latter's death. Mann devoted his life to plans for public education, to which Jarvis was also deeply committed. "The great argument of the increase of productive power by education is irresistible", he wrote in a letter to Mann in July 1848, emphasizing that the problem of the deep South was that of the ignorance of the "black and colored population" and going at length into the Free Soil Movement. "I have just read Uncle Tom's cabin twice", he wrote to Mann in April 1852, "It carries me back to Kentucky to its sorrows and seems to float them again and all the old associations stand upon me. That is a true, a faithful book. Is this book read at Washington? will it be sold in the Southern States?"26 In these same years Jarvis corresponded also with Dorothea Linde Dix (1802-1887), who was collecting evidence for her subsequently famous Memorial ofD.L. Dix, praying a grant oflandfor the reliefand support ofthe indigent curable and incurable insane in the United States of which 5000 copies were printed and presented to the Thirtieth Congress of the Senate on 28th June 1848. Only one letter from Jarvis to Dix is conserved in the Harvard Houghton Library, dated Dorchester 25th May 1844; Jarvis expresses regret for having no copy to send her of his article 'Insanity among the colored populations'. 27 Edward Jarvis had a different and ambivalent relationship with Henry David Thoreau, who was sapped by tuberculosis and whose personality was altogether dissimilar. In 1826, during the period in which he was still searching for the means to support himself financially, Jarvis had the nineteen-year-old Thoreau as a pupil in Sunday School. He is not mentioned in the Autobiography. Jarvis met him again, however, later, when the young Thoreau was in the same situation he himself had been in some years previously, and was searching for a post as a teacher. Jarvis tried to help him, but his relationship with Thoreau was uneasy. Scientifically, like many people at the time, he did not take him seriously, and his poetry either did not interest him, or he did not understand it. In his old age, the assessment he gave of Thoreau was poor. Jarvis knew the Thoreau family well. In 1826, Thoreau, fourteen years Jarvis's junior, had in all likelihood attended his classes at the town school in the village centre.28 For a time he was sufficiently close for Jarvis to write from his shortlived residence as a physician in Louisville and recommend the unemployed schoolmaster Thoreau should try the academic job market in the West. They must have 26 MHS, E. J. to H. Mann, Dorchester, 28 July 1848; ibid, E. J. to H. M., Dorchester, 19 April 1852. 27 HHL, b MS Am. 1838 (369), Dorchester, 25 May 1844, E. J. to Dorothea Dix. Jarvis gave the following account of Dorothea Dix's efforts to visit asylums in Scotland which had been told to him by Dr Coxe (see Autobiography, p. 145): "Dr. Coxe told me ... that when Miss Dix of the United States, visited Scotland about six or seven years ago, she wanted to examine the condition of the insane. She found it not easy to obtain access to the places where many of these people were kept. She applied to the Lord Advocate who seems to be a high law and government officer, for authority to enter all these depositories of lunatics: but he refused. At once she took the railway for London, saw the Secretary of State and represented the case to him. Immediately he summoned the Lord Advocate to London and the result was a legal authority granted to Miss Dix to enter and examine the Scottish lunatic abodes. The second result was such an appeal by Miss Dix to the powers that be, in London, that Parliament created a Commission in Lunacy". CFPL, Letter 102 to Almira Jarvis, pp. 271-2, Steamship Persia, Atlantic Ocean, Friday, August 10th, 1860, 2.30 p.m. 28 Robert A. Gross, 'The most estimable place in all the world: a debate on progress in nineteenth-century Concord', Studies in American Renaissance, 1978, Concord Pamphlets, 11, Edward Jarvis, 36-48. See also Familiar letters ofHenry Thoreau, ed. F. B. Sanborn, Boston, Houghton, Mifflin, 1894, p. 3; The correspondence ofHenry David Thoreau, ed. Walter Harding and Carl Bode, New York University Press, 1958, p. 24-5; Walter Harding, The days of Henry Thoreau, New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 1965. xxvi https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction met each other often at the Concord Lyceum where both served as curator a few years apart. In 1843 Thoreau secured Jarvis as a lecturer.29 But at the time he did his historical writings on Concord, ten years after Thoreau's death, Jarvis had come to an unflattering estimate of his former pupil. Jarvis did not refer to Thoreau in 'Traditions and reminiscences', but in another manuscript on Concord written two years later he offered this disparaging sketch. A good but undisciplined scholar and close student of nature, Thoreau wrote many books which gave him a high reputation among a limited class [illegible] He was absorbed in matters within himself. In his way he sought self-culture and when he retired from the world it was, as he said, for self-help not to gather power to do others good. He had a distrust of general society. His ideal of the social relationship was very different from that generally entertained. Absolutely honest and conscientious, he had no confidence in his fellow men nor in their business habits, or in the system of trade and finance prevalent in the world. Jarvis was thus familiar with the arguments of Walden and could have been indirectly replying to its picture of Concord. In any case, he and Thoreau converge on similar historical themes in notable ways, although they reach fundamentally different judgements. Walden does not, of course, claim to be a history of Concord. It is an explicit autobiographical account of the author's stay at Walden Pond, in the course of which he alternately pities and scolds his neighbours for the grim, driven quality of their outward condition and offers them the possibility of another way of life.30 But perhaps Edward Jarvis is interesting because he is different from Emerson and Thoreau. He was a middling intellectual, mundanely in conflict with those devils of everyday life, those miniature disasters, which often diminish great achievements; a man relatively protected from the tragic by his religious faith, in which, however, he did not venture far except as a philanthropist; but a man who was capable of making choices in the name of a greater faith in American democracy, a faith which put him alongside Thoreau and Emerson after his fashion. In his search for cultural identity he could look to Charles Dickens and certain Victorian myths.31 There was his obsession, almost fixation, with money, and all the problems of a man dealing with his anxiety about his own mediocrity and the limits imposed by his system of norms and values. Historical perspective can give a human dimension and a certain grandeur to his malaise. But when Jarvis wrote his Autobiography and his 'Traditions and reminiscences', he recalled the memory of the past without reliving its anguish, and looked back from an essentially self-satisfied present, firm in a certain code, which gave him a security he did not have in his youth. As a result, the difference in psychological approach between the diaries and the Autobiography is enormous and their values are worlds apart. They are separated also by the horrors and deceptions of the Civil War. Jarvis remained virtually silent on this, defining it as a "war of rebellion", and, instead, mentioned only the terrible events of the Crimean War with which Florence Nightingale had made him familiar. The 29 Gross, op. cit., note 28 above. 30 Ibid. 31 Cf. E. Showalter, Thefemale malady: women, madness, and English culture (1830-1980), London, Virago, 1987. xxvii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction two wars were similar, according to Jarvis, because "the danger of suffering and loss from wounds and killing in battle was much less than from sickness and death in tents and hospitals.... The army life ... was injurious to the human constitution, laid it open to attack of disease, and lessened its power of resistance" (see Autobiography, pp. 92-3). In 1873 Jarvis girded himself up in autobiographical self-description, leaving the self-analysis of the diaries behind him, and detached himself also from a feeling of restlessness and doubt which had by that time been permanently submerged. The result is a certain loss of the authenticity which, fortunately, can be found in the diaries, and in the letters to Almira. The ideas held by both Emerson and Thoreau were now absent from Edward Jarvis's self-contemplation, no more than distant echoes of youthful malaise. What is unexpressed, however, forces us to fill in and re-order the jig-saw puzzle of the most obvious silences which also mark the limits of this autobiography. We arrive, via a different path, at Gerald Grob's conclusion that "Like countless other human beings [Jarvis] spent most of his adult life in an effort to reconcile traditional belief with those impersonal forces that were leading his country into the modem world".32 Among these "impersonal forces", Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson were certainly more strongly present than James Jackson, whom Jarvis mentions frequently, or William Farr, with whom he corresponds. They were men who continued to dream; and the young Edward who resolved to give up dreams never quite achieved this, or perhaps never wanted to in the midst of a world in which dreams were less and less acceptable. An example of this was the unconventional way in which he entertained his mental patients at Dorchester, reading to them "from his diary or letters written while he was in Europe" (see Autobiography, pp. 78-9). These silent listeners were his chosen interlocutors; and the blind, anomalous, or defective ones were his "benighted children". There is an enchanting innocence in the man and he bears the indelible trace of a great romantic generation. In spite of the limitations of the picture he draws of himself, the historian who decodes it can bring Edward Jarvis into clearer focus; he was a man who chose certain ethical paths which committed him to a life which allowed his dream to exist without being destroyed. A dream which was greater than his innocent megalomaniac fantasies, like the youthful day-dream he had at the bedside of his brother Charles, which is described in the Autobiography, of himself transfigured and removed to a paradise where his companions are his ethical models, or dream-like anagrams, in the persons of George Washington, the Reverend William Ellery Channing, Lord Chatham, and Thomas Aquinas.33 Or like the dream of obtaining recognition which was realized in London, as he wrote with boyish excitement to his wife: This week, Almira, has been one of the pleasantest of my life. Here I was among the men of all the earth whose minds and tastes and pursuits are most similar to my own; and to be thrown into such familiar association with them, to be received so cordially and readily, to 32 Grob, Edward Jarvis, op. cit., note 6 above. 33 However, the interpretation could be different, on the basis of anagrams which frequently occur in dreams. The dream is not recorded in the diaries, but is remembered in the autobiography: it is consequently the memory of a dream of fifty years before (in 1825). The name of Jarvis's best friend was George Washington (Hosmer), but my hypothesis is that two other living personalities are also mingled in the dream: George xxviii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction find myself with them, is certainly a blessing very pleasant to my heart and may I ever be thankful for it. These men offer to send me every thing I want from their countries. I have only to specify what I desire and the direction. Oh, Almira, I am at last to have a census of France. Legoyt offers it as freely as I would one of our Registration Reports. Quetelet is the greatest statistical philosopher of the world. He, too, is as kind as the rest. I thanked him for the books he had already sent me, told him how much I enjoyed his work 'On Man'. He will send me more Belgian matters.34 Or the joy of being publicly announced and socially acknowledged, not merely accepted: I did not go up until I was expressly called out by name. There I sat, Prince Albert in the chair, the science of the world all around me.35 Or again, at long last, access to the Eden of Culture for the dreaming Concord boy, and for the young doctor who begged for something which the Bostonian medical establishment would never have given him: Then Lord Brougham said "we will hear from Dr. Jarvis". What position! I speak to the English Chancellors, Lords, Judges, Parliamentary members, lawyers, men of note and high renown and cultivation! I, the Dorchester doctor, speak to that audience!36 But also the joy, and pride, in his American roots: Little thought my great grand father and grandfather Hosmer eighty five years ago to day when they were so fearful of [and] hostile to the British, that, with less than a century, their descendant would be here among their enemy's children on such peaceful friendly terms with them.37 His visit to Europe was thus the unexpected occasion for the realization of his youthful dreams of fame and recognition, and hence, a sort of revival of youth. In his sixties Jarvis was still proceeding with his statistical research as a tool for building a society designed more in man's measure. The decline of his powers in his seventies was managed with serenity. More and more his hand was substituted by Almira's, and it is to Almira that we owe all the documentation of those years which has been handed down to us. His correspondence with Europe was affected by changes in the times and the twilight of a Washington Adams, the son of the Secretary of State John Quincy Adams (and one of the leaders of the Harvard "students revolt" on 1 November 1818, the sophomore year of Emerson), and Moses Thomas, who in September 1829 celebrated the wedding of Waldo Emerson and Ellen Tucker. Reading Jarvis's dream as an anagram we will find that the names of George Washington and Thomas Aquinas are two symbols of megalomania and also two living references. The anagram's order could be as follows: George Washington (1), Thomas (2), A[dams] (3), Quin[cy] (4), [Mos]es (5), that means: George Washington Thomas Aquine[a]s. Jarvis mentioned his antipathy for Greek, but he never mentioned the sophomores' "Rebelliad", which the professor of Greek, Dr. John Popkin, "old Pop", tried to stop by suspending four of the participants. In the description given by G. W. Allen, the students met under "the Rebellion Tree, a large elm near the Yard", where "Emerson shared the emotions of his classmates and joined them in plucking a twig from the Rebellion Tree and swearing to resist 'Lord Bobo' (President Kirkland) until the suspensions were lifted." Cf. Allen, op. cit., note 21 above, pp. 45-6. On the Adams of Boston cf. Diary of Charles Francis Adams, vol. 8, (until February 1840) ed. Marc Friedlaender, Robert J. Taylor, Celeste Walker, and Richard Alan Ryerson, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1985. 34 CFPL, letter, 32 Norfolk Street, London, 22 July 1860. 35 CFPL, letter, King's College Library, London, 18 July 1860. 36 CFPL, Edward Jarvis Papers, safe shelf 6, item 9. 37 CFPL, letter, Great Malvern, Thursday eve. 19 April 1860. xxix https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction generation of reformers and social statisticians, by the hurricanes of the Paris Commune and the echoes of social conflict in the cities of Europe between the bourgeoisie and that "common people" which Jarvis, recalling Dickens, had sought in St Giles in London and in the Paris faubourgs. From Brussels, on 28th August 1871, Guillaume Joseph Auguste Visschers wrote to say that: L'affreuse guerre qui a sevi presque a nos portes a eu un retentissement dans toute l'Europe et a arrftf bien de travaux scientifiques. Nous commenqons a nous apercevoir combien la vie est courte et combien nous laisserons de travaux inachev6s. Alfred Legoyt wrote from Paris on 30th August that the Bureau De Statistique had been suppressed.38 This old generation looked at the new times with detachment; they were different and violent. Ten years had passed since the "time on the cross", and since William Farr had written to Jarvis not only about statistics but also to ask him to find out whether among the dead or wounded of the battle of Gettysburg and Rappahannock there was an English boy, his son, who had enlisted as a volunteer for the Union cause. In Jarvis's description "Frederick, a boy of 19 left his father's house in London secretly in March 1863 and came to Portland to gratify his intense sympathy with our cause and enlisted in the Main regiment in which he served under the assumed name of Clark . .39 By a tragic irony, Frederick Clark died of "fever" (typhoid?) in a Confederate prison at Richmond, Virginia, in 1864. The new form of conflicts and social problems was perhaps incomprehensible to these men of a romantic, and innocent, generation. VITAL STATISTICS AND MEDICAL KNOWLEDGE (1820-1880) If the Jarvis "self image" is transparent and easily decoded, the coded norms Jarvis had to deal with are more complex. In professional terms, Edward Jarvis did not mask his scepticism: ipecac, antimony, epsom salts (= magnesium sulphate), rhubarb, calomel (= chlorine + mercury), syrup of senna, and laudanum (= opium) cannot cure better than the famous Rush "tranquilizer chaire or "gyrator". Of the mass of people arriving in the American Jerusalem, some would end up as drunkards, or suicides.40 Opium-therapy, in particular, imported from Europe in spite of the "moral-therapy" that avoided it, was dangerous. Although in Franqois Boissier de la Croix de Sauvages's (1706-1767) treatise written in the early eighteenth century, opium is classified among the poisons, the use of opiates for therapeutic purposes was normal and widely practised in Britain. There is an account of it in An inquiry into the nature and properties of opium, 1793, by the English doctor Samuel Crumpe. It had an equally valued place as a universal panacea in popular medicine. Between 1830 and 1860, imports of opium more than quadrupled from the 1830 figure of 22,000 lbs. In the United States, both homeopaths and 38 CFPL, Edward Jarvis Papers, safe shelf 6, item 9. In this bundle is also included a short letter of thanks from Quetelet, 25 November 1873, to "Mademoiselle Melicet Jarvis", probably for some statistics she had sent him. 39 BCLM, Dorchester, 17 November 1866, E. J. to Clara Barton, Washington. 40Cf. Howard I. Kushner, Self-destruction in the promised land: a psychocultural biology ofAmerican suicide, New Brunswick, Rutgers University Press, 1988; Roy Porter and Mikulas Teich, eds., Drugs and narcotics in history, Cambridge University Press, forthcoming. xxx https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction qualified doctors imitated the popular European example with few reservations, and made widespread use of opium alcoholic solution or laudanum (Sydenham's solution) even after Francois Magendie (1783-1855) isolated morphine. William Stewart Halsted (1852-1922), the eminent surgeon at the Johns Hopkins Medical School, took opium in regular doses of 3 grains a day, and after the age of forty-six, 1 grain a day. The generation of physicians brought up on the Manual ofpsychological medicine (1858) by Daniel Hack Tuke (1827-1895) and J. C. Bucknill or on Tuke's Illustration ofthe influence of the mind upon the body (1872), learned and experimented with a whole pharmacology of toxins taken from their experience of anaesthetics. This tradition was fairly normal until the time of Sigmund Freud (1856-1939) (and Freud himself made wide use of it). It also had a role in the treatments of Jean Martin Charcot (1825-1893) at La Salpetriere, though the extent of its use is unknown. However, this was also the generation whose crisis opened the way in America for William James's (1842-19 10) Principles ofpsychology. During the working lifetimes of these physiologist-psychiatrists the fact that biology and chemistry were of secondary importance in hospitals and medical courses may have left more scope for this risky pharmacology and perhaps for the phrenology of Franz Joseph Gall (1758-1829), a very controversial figure in Paris, to flourish. Historians have commented on the "money making mania" of these years, which affected something as apparently unsalable as phrenology. Energetic publicists and showmen such as the Fowler brothers "turned phrenology into a household word as well as into a profitable business", and they "perceived very early that the United States, with its great variety of races and nationalities, offered an unusually good milieu for the study of phrenology.' But gradually between the 1850s and the 1860s there occurred a transformation in notions of the body (which William James was to call "the material self') and of disease, due to advances in the physiology of the nervous system, and especially to the critique made by Paul Broca (1824-1880) of the school of Louis Joseph Desire Fleury (1818-1872). The discoveries of bacteria, protozoa, or micro-organisms responsible for diseases, brought back the "germ theory" of the 1830s and 1840s and radically changed not only the conception of disease but also that of the body. The body became an aggregate of cells vulnerable to attack from other cellular bodies, a very different body from that of previous anatomical physiology. None the less, the parameters of the normal and abnormal embodied and codified in medical practice lasted a long time, for they were deep-rooted in the classification of diseases and in pathological anatomy, and they were considered more fundamental than biology, chemistry or experimental physiology. Many of these parameters were imported by American medical institutions, particularly for concepts of mental and physical health. In addition, for doctors like Charles Caldwell, for the phrenologists, for the hygienists in general, these parameters tended to be ideological tenets. A portrayal of the "normal body" as healthy and American was becoming common precisely in the years when the immigration of innumerable unvaccinated men and women from the old continent was starting dramatically to alter the structures and mentality of the former colonial society. There was a tendency to see the new arrivals as a threat to native American health. But 4' J. H. Cassedy, American medicine and statistical thinking, 1800-1860, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1984, pp. 159, 149. xxxi https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction Puritan morality, with its obsession with the body as a potentially abnormal object to be exorcised, soon lost its sway and in its place came an ethic of a body to be trained, nourished, and organized, no longer by religious morality, but rather by the treatments of hygienists and social reformers. This can be seen in the idea of the "victorious body" which was the result of an "experienced mind", which was itself the symbol of the new mythical generation of Americans: In this country, such is the nature of our free institutions-I mean the boundless facility and encouragement they afford to ambition and enterprise of every description, with all their concomitants (our social condition being in perfect harmony with them)-that the human brain experiences, among us, vastly more of excitement and exercise, than it does among any other people on earth. And that excitement and exercise, I say, adds to the size and strength of the brain, and augments its excellence, as the organ of the mind, with as much certainty, as does a like condition of action increase the size and strength of the blacksmith's arm, and of the lower limbs of the pedestrian, and the opera dancer. Of actual necessity, therefore, if the mind of the United States be not, by nature already superior to that of any other nation (which I believe it to be), it must become so, in the progress of time. It may be erected into a maxim, and safely regarded and acted on as such, that, all other things being equal, the greater amount of national freedom which any civilized people enjoy, the greater will be the strength, the wider the grasp, and the higher the tone and standing of their minds. I mean, of course, their minds, as fashioned by the hand of nature, independently of the effects of education. And being, like all other constitutional qualities, hereditary, native mental superiority becomes, in time, a settled and permanent national characteristic.42 This quotation illustrates well the gap which separated Charles Caldwell from Edward Jarvis's scepticism and lack of enthusiasm for national-phrenologies, for drastic treatments and for dogmatic diagnostic models. In this, as in other things, Jarvis was a pupil of Jacob Bigelow. Jarvis was an unassuming student of medical science, but one who was careful and little tempted by ideology; he tended to stress the importance of environmental and educational factors. No doubt this would have gained him no more recognition than that accorded to Bigelow. He expressed his doubts about drastic forms of treatment by intuiting their highly toxic character. He also saw that adequate food and a decent environment were necessary and that culture was an indispensable means of emancipating people from wretchedness. In his first medical practice in Northfield: "He furnished his office with all the drugs that would probably be needed . . . In his practice he gave these as prepared by the authorities, yet in very small, the smallest apparently allowable quantities" (see Autobiography, p. 31). Jarvis's interest in psychiatry was carried on in relative isolation, notwithstanding some correspondence with men like Thomas Story Kirkbride who were not hygienic propagandists or noisy self-promoting phrenology scholars. Some of Starobinski's remarks (on body perception and concern with physical shape as the last refuge against technology) are not out of place in this period of American history when immigrants from different cultures were forced to re-identify themselves.43 The various proposed cultural 42 Caldwell, Autobiography, op. cit., note 2 above, p. 46. 43 Jean Starobinski, A history ofmedicine, New York, Hawthorn Books, 1964; idem, L 'oeil vivant. Essai, 2 vols, Paris, Gallimard, 1961; idem, Les mots sous les mots. Les anagrammes de Ferdinand de Saussure, Paris, Gallimard, 1971; idem, Jean-Jacques Rousseau. La transparence et lobstacle, Paris, Plon, 1958. xxxii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction models, soap and "hygienic" concerns included, were not explicitly xenophobic, but in practice they often became so. The objective of a society of healthy, clean and educated individuals was a profoundly democratic one. But if soap was cheap, education was less so, and indeed could often be very expensive. Therefore, self-education was often the only option open to those struggling against the prejudices of established Americans who were unwilling to accept all that the industrial revolution, if unplanned, signified: poor immigrants, crime, drunkenness, urban slums, and the Irish, the Irish, the Irish ... This conflict partly explains why many doctors who in the first half of the nineteenth century were more or less directly affected by the climate of European positivism or evolutionism were so interested in research into the morphology of either the human or the social body; and why they were so fascinated by objects which could be dissected, catalogued and classified, and finally managed and directed, with the help of that analytical tool, supposedly oriented to the amelioration of life, social statistics, especially those vital statistics where every disease appears as "zymotic" (William Farr). In the disputes between schools, disagreement over the normative model often simply signified dissent about the uses to which the norm was put. But since the experience of being faced with the negation of the norm, the abnormal or the event which contradicted the norm, became, during the course of the century, more and more disturbing, not a few doctors chose to act as social reformers and in part succeeded. Ironically, this success was accompanied by a parallel clinical failure. Even in the case of non-contagious, and hence curable, alcoholism, the cure very often consisted in the prescription of laudanum, with the result that those leaving the hostels would not only return to alcohol but also become drug-addicted. Ironically too, the bacteriology and microbiology revolution came at the end of the century from the laboratories of people like Louis Pasteur (1822-1895) and Robert Koch (1843-1910), rather than from medical and social statistics. However, it was undoubtedly the extent and number of the cholera outbreaks of 1826, 1832-34, 1848, 1853, and 1866, measured more precisely thanks to statistics, and the quasi-normality of tuberculosis, which shook Edward Jarvis's faith in medical practice and in pharmacological treatment, and led him towards social statistics and psychiatric research. With the exception of the important innovation of ether used as an anaesthetic (first used at Boston General Hospital on 16th October 1845 by John Collins Warren, assisted by his son, John Collins), this was a period of relatively few clinical innovations, but one in which statisticians and social reformers flourished. If we look a little deeper-and autobiographies and diaries are very useful here-we can measure this rather effective form of compensation used by a medical profession which was experiencing a crisis of identity. The same was true of William Farr, who was not tempted by psychiatry; and it would still be true later for Cesare Lombroso (1835-1909), who initiated an ideology which subsequently followed various tortuous paths on both continents. Whether they admitted it or not, they were aware of the crisis in medicine, and felt that, if it was to become a science, it would have to be a social science. Perhaps this "measurement of uncertainty"44 which spread rapidly through both continents by the calculus of liberalism, 44 Stephen M. Stigler, The history of statistics: the measurement of uncertainty before 1900, Cambridge, Mass., Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1986. xxxiii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction was the last refuge in the flight from scientific and clinical failure: the "zymotic" interpretation that William Farr gave to Filippo Pacini's researches is a significant example. The idea of pathogenic bacteria or pathogenic action of bacteria was Filippo Pacini's discovery. He had been working on microscopical research since 1833; he sought more and more precise instruments, and in the end, with the help of his friend Amico, constructed a microscope himself (now in the Florence Museum of Sciences). In 1854 he discovered, described, and drew "vibrio cholera". In spite of the fact that he was an anatomist who taught Comparative Anatomy at the Institute of Human Anatomy at Pisa, Italy, he was convinced of the importance of the biological sciences and that they ought to have an important place in the curriculum of medical studies. This was a very innovative view which earned him violent hostility. The discovery was outside all the established parameters of thought and practice, and was ignored.45 Perhaps it was due to the controversial and sometimes perverse character of these kinds of issues that medicine in general stagnated to the point where it was not able to renew its identity for fear of losing its previous one. The failure of medicine also brought with it a great loss of human life. The advocates of statistics, who were the only people to measure the dire consequences of the ineffectiveness of medicine, had a role, although a less important one than they imagined, in developing models of social control, ways of organizing public and private institutions, public assistance and preventive medicine, and of verifying how well these functioned. They did this with admirable civil and political commitment, often in the face of opposition. Nevertheless, if the achievements of medical statisticians are compared to those of their contemporaries which were too innovatory to be recognized, they do not seem very important. Progress did not come via statistics, but from a science which the reformers were not familiar with and did not understand. But statistics created the possibility of an acceptable critique of society and its dogmas, laying bare geographical and distributional patterns, and it also opened up paths of social reform and encouraged the setting-up of institutions like the institutes of social hygiene, which were supposed to investigate, analyse and experiment with new areas of reality. Involvement in philanthropy seems to have been more common in the United States than in Europe. Perhaps this greater social commitment on the part of American physicians compared with their European contemporaries is related to the status of the 45 The only scientific recognition which Pacini received was in an area quite different from that of cholera, the discovery of the neural ganglia. Their existence was confirmed experimentally in 1844 by A. Koelliker, who called them "Pacini's corpuscles". This fame was later disputed, when in 1862 the Viennese anatomist Carl Langer claimed that Abraham Vater had discovered them previously, since he had written about corpuscles in 1741. Twenty years or so later, it was Koch's turn to have the priority of his discovery contested. On Filippo Pacini see Aurelio Bianchi, Relazione e catalogo dei manoscritti di Filippo Pacini esistenti nella R. Biblioteca nazionale centrale di Firenze, Rome, 1889. Cf. F. Pacini, Osservazioni microscopiche e deduzioni patologiche sul colera asiatico, Florence, 1854; idem, Sulle cause specifiche del colera asiatico [... .1 Florence, 1865; idem, Della parte estravascolare della circolazione del sangue scoperta, Florence, 1875; see Dictionary of Scientific Biography, 16 vols, ed. C. Coulston Gillispie, New York, Scribner's, 1970-1980, vol. 10, p. 266-68. See also L. Castaldi, 'Filippo Pacini nel quarantesimo anniversario della sua morte', Rivista di Storia delle Scienze Mediche e Naturali, 1923, 14: 182-212; A. Koelliker, Ueber die Pacinischen Korpenchen des Menschen und der Sdugethiere, Zurich, 1844. Cf. WIHM, 3 autograph letters of Filippo Pacini to Giovanni Battista Pieri, 1847-1855, 5 pp. in 4. Cf. obituary, Lancet, 1883, ii:128. xxxiv https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction medical profession in America, which was not a particularly privileged one. As previous research has noted, and as the Autobiography and other writings of Edward Jarvis confirm, being a doctor in America gave no guarantee of financial success,46 and it was certainly a less prestigious position than in Europe. It was much easier to rise up socially in business, banking, commerce, etc. in America than it was in the Old World, and the social value of the educated or cultured man was less. The social origin of doctors, on the other hand, was not very different. William Farr did not come from a cultural elite any more than Edward Jarvis did; the same was true of John Snow (1813-1858), the man who discovered that water was the medium of contagion in the spread of cholera. More important figures, such as Claude Bernard (1813-1878), Pasteur and Koch, members of the new generation of doctors who followed on from Flaubert' s pathetic doctor Bovary (1857), were also men of the middling bourgeoisie. However, it would be an over-simplification to explain the difference between the medical class in America and Europe and their varying levels of involvement in social and political reform in terms of social status. In his chapter on Jacksonian Democracy and medical pluralism J. H. Cassedy has caught some of the components of this complex generation which had to live in difficult times and had at its disposal only antiquated forms of treatment, the inadequacy of which was obvious to at least the best doctors. The medical counterculture bought together many who were privately or publicly dissatisfied with the conventional medicine of the day. It included physicians frustrated by the crudeness and ineffectiveness of regular therapies, along with a variety of individuals whose passion for abolition, Sunday Schools, penal reform, or some other social goal somehow spilled over into medical reform. It included many who, having been swept up by the ideal of educating the democracy, found that improving the people's knowledge of hygiene was as essential as other kinds of instruction. It incorporated some who were being influenced in one way or another by revolutionary concepts in health care, as well as in politics, economics, and social ideas from abroad. A number of the members of the counterculture were middle- or upper-class intellectuals who were swayed by the Romantic outlook which gave the individual as much responsibility for his own health as for his spiritual and intellectual destiny. A much larger proportion was composed of humbler folks-antimonopoly democrats, antirent agrarians, and others who resented accumulations of wealth, privilege, or authority . .. The medical and social worlds of the Jacksonian common man were as far removed as could be from those of the foreign- educated clinicians. For those who were illiterate, ignorant, or gullible, neither science nor statistics meant very much. For those accustomed to follow old wives' tales and folk remedies, the extensive formal medical progress of the Enlightenment might as well not have happened.47 The attack on homeopathic medicine, "Huzza for the Regular Doctors, Calomel and the Lancet", was part of this moment of crisis of identity in the medical profession and its search for social, if not scientific, usefulness. A lack of confidence affected both the practice of medicine in everyday life and the institution, inside which there were a few, though only a few, who attempted a critical analysis of interpretative paradigms and 46 p. Starr, The social transformation ofAmerican medicine. The rise ofa sovereign profession and the making of a vast industry, New York, Basic Books, 1982. 4 Cassedy, op. cit., note 41 above, pp. 92-3. xxxv https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction dogmas. These were not secondary figures, but men like Edwin Chadwick (1800-1890), twelve years younger than Thomas Southwood Smith (1788-1861) and, like him, a Benthamite, who expressed doubts and unease which were even more radical than those felt by Jacob Bigelow (1786-1879), of whom Edward Jarvis was a pupil. As Margaret Pelling observes in her work on Victorian medicine, Edwin Chadwick's attitude to the profession was ultimately impersonal. It was formed at a time when he was benefiting from close contact with the physicians Neil Arnott, James Kay-Shuttleworth, and Southwood Smith, and was based on the entirely justifiable conclusion that the methods, contents and style of evaluation of English medical education were inadequate, unsystematic, antiquated, and corrupt, and compared unfavourably with those of France, even in cases, such as clinical teaching, where the English supposed themselves to be most advantaged. "It followed, as a corollary, that eminence within the profession was regularly determined not by merit, but by influence and privilege ... Even his dismissal of medical therapeutics was characteristic of the context of the 1820s and 1830s."48 Other doctors such as William Lawrence and Thomas Wakley took up more or less similar positions, and their influence was felt during the period when Jarvis was studying and beginning his career. The concern of a clinician of the stature ofJacob Bigelow, whose scepticism about pharmacology was far from unscientific,49 should also be seen in this context. Bigelow's theory of self-limited disease has recently been reevaluated giving him an importance well beyond that of a critic of Benjamin Rush's "heroic therapy", the only contribution he has usually been seen as having made. "The idea that most diseases were self-limiting whether treated or not," was first formulated by "Bigelow in 1825 and even then tended to be forgotten, and recovery from illness attributed to psychological factors as often as to many remedies now proved useless."50 In the decades of the 1850s and 60s which followed this medical impasse, an important series of events occurred which had economic (the depression of 1837-1842), and psychological implications. For, like other American cities, Boston felt threatened by the arrival of masses of unvaccinated Irish fleeing from the Great Famine of 1845-47, and of other European immigrants who, it was believed, had a high chance of becoming drunkards, joining the mass of unvaccinated blacks, and coca-chewing Indians who also provided a good market for the poison of alcohol. For the following thirty years, the medical establishment remained paralyzed in a virtual incapacity to control the situation.5' Also the germ theory which emerged out of the cholera fungus controversy of 1849 in Britain had its parallel the other side of the Atlantic with John Kearsley Mitchell (1793-1858), father of the future neurologist S..Weir Mitchell (1829-1914), in the form of his On the cryptogamous origin ofmalarious and epidemicfevers which appeared in 1849. This work brought to America the discussion surrounding John Snow and his theory of "contaminated waters" which opposed the belief that air was the infecting agent, held by 48 M. Pelling, Cholera, fever and English medicine, 1825-1865, Oxford University Press, 1978, pp. 12-14. 49 Jacob Bigelow, 'On self-limited diseases', Medical Communications ofthe Massachusetts Medical Society, 1830-1836, pp. 319-46. s 50 E. M. Thornton, Hypnotism, hysteria, and epilepsy: an historical synthesis, London, Heinemann Medical, 1976, p. 182. 51 On immigration in Boston, S. Thernstrom, The other Bostonians: poverty and progress in the American metropolis, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1973; Oscar Handlin, Boston's immigrants, 1790-1880, New York, Atheneum, 1969. xxxvi https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction William Farr among others. The cholera epidemic of 1854, of course, confirmed the geographical pattern of polluted pumps. But even after this, and after he had got to know John Snow, Farr continued to believe that air (in this case "affected by the altitude") was the agent, not the water.52 He continued to argue the question with Florence Nightingale and Edwin Chadwick until about 1866 when the next great cholera crisis in London converted him to the germ theory.53 These debates would certainly have been familiar to Edward Jarvis, even through his writings do not refer to them. The part of Farr's work which interested him was that which had interested Lemuel Shattuck (1793-1859): nosology, which had already been imported to the United States by the pupils of Pierre Charles Alexandre Louis (1787-1872). Certainly this type of statistic was a important innovation, and a major way of checking clinical practice, in the sense that it measured the success rate and could show how much this was affected by medical intervention by comparing statistics of disease with statistics on medical institutions. A generation of American doctors was influenced by this model of diagnostics. William Wood Gerhard (1809-1872) of Philadelphia was one of the first to introduce it to America, ensuring that "medical observers who in an earlier generation would have turned to the authority of a Hoffman, Cullen, Rush or Broussais now looked for authority in assembled collections of data".54 Their number included names like Francis Peyre Porcher (1825-1895) and Edwin Samuel Gaillard (1827-1885) in Charleston, doctors of the "deep South" like John Y. Bassett and Josiah Clark Nott (1804-1873); Gasper Wistar Pennock (1761-1818), Alfred Stille (1813-1900) in Philadelphia; Alonzo Clark and Valentine Mott (1785-1865) in New York; and in Boston, Henry Ingersoll Bowditch, James Jackson Jr. (1811-1895), Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894) and George Cheyne Shattuck (1813-1893).5 The medical statistics of the British school had the biggest influence on physicians like Edward Jarvis and the "Jacksonians" inspired by the English Public Health Act of 1848, which had been enacted partially in response to Edwin Chadwick's Report on the sanitary condition of the labouring population of Great Britain (1842), and to the efforts of the Benthamite physicians who worked with him, like Southwood Smith, Neil Arnott, J. Kay-Shuttleworth and (indirectly) John Snow, and later John Simon, the figures with whom William Farr identified.56 Edward Jarvis imbibed this tradition through the influence of Lemuel Shattuck and his well-known work of 1841 which demonstrated the worsening of health conditions in Boston.57 52 Pelling, op. cit., note 48 above, p. 189. 53 Ibid., p. 215. On William Farr see John M. Eyler, Victorian social medicine: the ideas and methods ofWilliam Farr, Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1979. 54 Cassedy, op. cit., note 41 above, p. 65. s Ibid., p. 61. See also, Whitfield J. Bell, Jr, The College ofPhysicians ofPhiladelphia: a bicentennial history, Canton, Mass., Science History Publications, 1987. 56 G. Melvin Howe, Man, environment, and disease in Britain, New York, Barnes and Noble Books, 1972, p. 184; S. E. Finer, The life and times of Sir Edwin Chadwick, London, Methuen, 1952; R. A. Lewis, Edwin Chadwick and the public health movement, 1832-1854, London, and New York, Longmans, Green, 1952. See an environmental analysis and bibliography by Anne Hardy, Gerry Keams, and Martin Daunton, in Living and Dying in London, eds W. F. Bynum and Roy Porter, Medical History, Supplement No. 11, London, WIHM, 1991; and Christopher Hamlin, A science of impurity: water analysis in nineteenth-century Britain, Bristol, Adam Hilger, 1990. 51 Cassedy, op. cit., note 41 above, p. 197. xxxvii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction In spite of the significant influence which doctors committed to social reform had in America, the lively debates and polemics imported from Europe often had no effect, or only very late, on the strictly medical and scientific understanding of problems: for example, the chemical discoveries of Justus von Liebig (1803-1873), who in France had been a pupil of Louis Joseph Gay Lussac (1778-1850), were accepted by William Farr only with many reservations as "useful hypotheses". He remained undecided as to how significant they were, and was in any case too absorbed in the attempt to construct categories of "zymotic diseases" to realize the importance of the concept of "contagious molecular action", or that of "actions called catalytic" introduced by Justus von Liebig and later developed by Jacob Berzelius (1779-1848).58 The most striking paradox of the codified medical norms and of mental and cultural resistance was the case, already referred to, of Filippo Pacini. In 1854 his theories, describing and sketching what was to be the cholera "vibrio" rediscovered by Koch in 1884, were considered abnormal. William Farr refers to Pacini as an adaptor of his zymotic theory, as though his work verified it. The more heart-rending side of the affair can be found among Pacini's unpublished papers held in the Biblioteca Nazionale in Florence. Pacini translated the whole of Farr's article, made notes in the margins, and added a bitter dedication indicating that he realised he was being completely misunderstood. Pacini's two handwritten and glossed manuscripts are entitled Mathematical theory ofAsiatic cholera as expounded by Dr. William Farr in the Report on the cholera epidemic of 1866 in England, and are conserved at the Florence National Library, Carte Pacini, vol. 17, IX, fasc. 1 (6 folios), fasc. II (23 folios). The name of Pacini only began to be heard when recognition was being given to Koch's discovery, and doubt was cast on whether he was the first. The norm takes its revenge on that which is no longer abnormal, but merely different, and the parameters of the dominant schools ensured that "nineteenth-century bacteriology is seen as a deviation from the norm of substituting physico-chemical for special biological explanations".59 It is my contention that Edward Jarvis felt, or intuited, the medical gap and that this is the reason he turned to statistics as a tool of social criticism (where axiology was itself not a single concept, or a "zymotic" dominant preoccupation), and to psychiatry as a clinical instrument. In the first field, he followed the logic of a liberalism rooted in English Utilitarianism. His best work here is that which Gerald N. Grob has recognized as such in his publication of an updated edition of Jarvis's 1855 statistical survey Report on insanity and idiocy in Massachusetts, by the Commission on Lunacy. In the second field, on the other hand, there are many elements whose importance historians have overlooked because they are difficult to investigate, being part of his practical activity as a therapist, which Jarvis describes still less than his clinical research, in which he had ceased to believe: "He, Dr. Jarvis, thought we were doing no better than 58 Pelling, op. cit., note 48 above, pp. 120-1. 59 Also Pasteur's "claim that disease in an animal or plant was caused by another independent species, by means unknown, was contrary not only to the established trend of chemical explanation, but also to mainstream germ theory.... If the bacteriological discoveries of the 1870s and 1880s are to be regarded as 'scientific', then the complex biochemical and physiological explanations of disease characteristic of earlier decades can hardly be less so." Cf. Pelling, op. cit., note 48 above, pp. 1, 304. xxxviii https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core Introduction the fathers", he wrote, "and he feared this dullness would only follow their course in new and useless invention".60 However, the model of psychological therapy employing decentralized "guest- institutions" organized into family-group environments, which Jarvis adopted, was based on sound intuition, which he certainly did not take from the "moral therapy" tradition. Thomas Story Kirkbride was able to devote his whole life to creating new institutional models for a better understanding of what is different in those who do not conform to the norm. In contrast, Edward Jarvis, notwithstanding the success he had in his battle for a system of public health welfare, worked in relative isolation. He was hindered by too many problems, and in the prime of his life he was greatly held back in his career. In the end, when he finally established himself in a steady position at Dorchester, he had to do so at the cost of losing twenty years of strictly clinical experience, and of having to resort to private practice which was profitable precisely because it was private. As a final irony, the superintendency of the new hospital, which had been founded due to his strenuous efforts, was assigned to another man who, I believe, had the support of the Freemasons' Lodge which presided over the inauguration. Being cut off from hospital clinical practice was one of the causes of Jarvis's spiritual troubles. The other was the structure of a culture which gave him the support he greatly needed but also a system of established norms which were of much less support to him. Over a hundred years later Jarvis's witness remains interesting for the same reasons for which he experienced it and struggled against its restrictions, which were erected by many "false prophets"61 to cultural big-wigs of the times in which the Edward Jarvises had to live. 60 CFPL, 'Tradition and reminiscences of Concord, Massachusetts'. 61 Alexander Kohn, False prophets: fraud, error and misdemeanour in science and medicine, New York, Basil Blackwell, 1986. xxxix https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:00:06, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300071209 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_ziwbog5z7reejnvelxv64it2du	----	Saggio Nativi Americani Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 1 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 LA TERRA DOVE NULLA SCOMPARE PER SEMPRE di Giuseppe Russo Ogni cosa è sacra, ogni cosa vive, ogni cosa ha uno spirito. (Proverbio Wampanoag) Abstract The traditional cultures of Native American tribes and populations have been humbled for a very long time by the WASP dominant vision of the US destiny. Through particular laws like the sadly well-known Indian Removal Act (1830), the colonization of North America went on through the entire 19th century, often forcing the Natives to move away from European-populated areas, towards Indian reservations or worse accommodations. Thanks to the attention of Franz Boas, George Hunt and many more, in the last years of the 19th century cultural anthropology started to study seriously the cultures of these Native tribes, and a new kind of relationship could has finally substituted the previous. Gradually, it appeared clear how many habits and beliefs were actually assimilated by the common american lifestyle from the Native American cultures, sometimes assuming Christian shapes, sometimes not. But this is totally in accordance with the deepest truth common to the most of Native American cultures, which believe firmly in the global unity of reality. The world of man dissolves into the world of animals and plants, the life on Earth is strictly connected to the life in the skies, spirits are everywhere and create bonds and connections with every single living being. The power of nature reveals itself in two different ways: visibility and invisibility, and the main rituals can have a dialogue with it in both cases. Three areas are examinated to show this argument: Indians of the Northeastern woodlands, Indians of the Plains and Indians of the Northwest coast. In native traditions no display of spiritual power can be irrevocably deleted or removed from the horizon of Being, and so the word ‘apocalypse’ has a very different meaning. That’s why this essay is entitled The Land where nothing vanishes forever. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 2 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 Inquadramento del problema Per meglio avvicinarsi alla comprensione delle particolari dinamiche storiche con le quali si sono verificati i fenomeni di incontro/scontro, allontanamento/assimilazione delle culture dei nativi americani con la società statunitense (e canadese), occorre un cambio di prospettiva rispetto alle abitudini occidentali. Kurt Vonnegut, da ebreo che si è sempre rifiutato di considerare la Shoah un marchio imposto anche sulla propria pelle di materialista, ha ricordato in un paio di occasioni come l’unico caso accertato di sterminio totale organizzato e messo in pratica con scrupolosa attenzione da parte di una popolazione occidentale nei confronti di una nazione indigena sia stato quello inglese contro i nativi della Tasmania, i quali furono arrestati, imprigionati e infine uccisi uno dopo l’altro a partire dalla proclamazione della legge marziale sull’isola nel 1828. In circa cinquant’anni, nella prima metà del XIX secolo, i 5.000 indigeni che vivevano in Tasmania furono eliminati dal primo all’ultimo per volontà di re Giorgio III, ciò sostanzialmente perché si rifiutarono ripetutamente di riconoscere il nuovo potere e di concedere le loro terre agli inglesi, i quali avevano intravisto le ottime potenzialità economiche della lana prodotta dagli ovini che vivevano a quelle latitudini. Dal punto di vista occidentale, se si raggiunge l’eliminazione totale o quasi di un’intera popolazione, si considera sparito dalla faccia della terra tutto ciò che riguarda quella popolazione: cultura, lingua, costumi, tradizioni. Al massimo rimangono dei manufatti che possono essere studiati in seguito come tracce della passata esistenza di quel mondo, sulla cui scomparsa la politica potrà decidere con calma se è il caso di piangere oppure no. Ma per le culture dei nativi americani, per come sono fatti i loro tessuti connettivi e per come si sono sviluppate nei secoli le particolari relazioni fra gruppi e tribù, le cose stanno in maniera del tutto diversa e questa prospettiva non ci aiuterebbe a comprendere la rilevanza storico-culturale dei fatti riguardanti l’America settentrionale. Anzitutto, si tratta in massima parte di culture che credono fermamente nel metamorfismo e nella pluralità dei livelli del reale, per cui la dimensione fisica alla quale appartiene la vita umana non è necessariamente la più rilevante; anzi, non lo è quasi mai. In secondo luogo, e per il medesimo motivo, la diffusa credenza nella continuità complessiva della vita sia nella dimensione orizzontale (vegetali / animali / uomini) che in quella verticale (potenze ctonie / esigenze della biologia terrestre / potenze superiori1) implica la possibilità della sopravvivenza di singoli fattori culturali anche in assenza di uomini, quindi anche nel caso dell’estinzione sostanziale o totale di uno o più gruppi, che di per sé può essere un fattore irrilevante. Facciamo un esempio evidente: per la visione del mondo tipica di questi popoli, se non fosse più in vita neanche un discendente della nazione irochese, il solo fatto che l’aquila dalla testa 1 Alcuni gruppi, come gli Irochesi e gli Uroni, credono che la vita animale ed umana sulla Terra provenga dal cielo per mezzo della caduta di una donna mistica alle origini del tempo. Altri, come i Pueblo del Rio Grande e gli Zuni, collocano l’origine dell’umanità nel mondo sotterraneo e la fanno coincidere con il momento in cui i “gemelli della guerra” emersero dal suolo, sfidarono i mostri che abitavano lo spazio superficiale e li uccisero, rendendo possibile l’insediamento umano. Insomma, c’è assoluta continuità fra i diversi livelli del reale, che si dissolvono l’uno nell’altro. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 3 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 bianca (Haliaeetus Leucocephalus), animale totemico centrale della loro mitologia, sia diventata uno dei principali simboli del potere politico degli Stati Uniti dimostrerebbe che gli Irochesi sono ancora lì, sebbene in un modo diverso, che ancora partecipano alla totalità dell’esperienza della vita sulla terra in maniera privilegiata, per mezzo del loro animale totemico più potente, quello da cui dipende l’identità culturale del gruppo e rispetto al quale le singole tribù rappresentano essenzialmente solo una modalità circostanziata del suo essere. Infine, i numeri dello sterminio dei nativi americani, sebbene tuttora contestati e non ancora accertati in maniera definitiva e condivisa da tutti, non sono tali da poter parlare di genocidio, inteso come cancellazione totale di un intero mondo culturale. Quando i coloni europei iniziano a spostarsi verso il New England e verso il Midwest, durante il XVII secolo, nell’intero continente nordamericano vivevano poco più di mille gruppi diversi, alcuni dei quali di dimensioni ridotte a poche centinaia di membri, mentre molti altri si erano estinti per ragioni che non hanno a che fare con gli europei. Oggi ne sopravvivono 562, stando ai censimenti fatti dal National Museum of the American Indian2, che fa parte della Smithsonian Institution, con sede a Washington D.C. e che è stato inaugurato nel 2004. Dunque, si tratta di una situazione molto diversa da quella di altre aree del mondo, sia per ragioni storiche che in virtù delle enormi dimensioni del continente nordamericano: 24,7 milioni di Km², ossia due volte e mezzo l’Europa, corrispondenti al 16,5% dell’intera massa di terre emerse. A dispetto delle enormi distanze che separavano questi gruppi fra di loro, e con l’ulteriore complicazione dovuta alla presenza di enormi catene montuose, è stata ormai ampiamente dimostrata l’antichità degli scambi commerciali su lunga distanza fra i vari popoli, «e con gli oggetti o le materie prime circolavano evidentemente anche idee, concezioni del mondo, credenze e nozioni religiose»3, visto che alcuni temi mitologici sono estremamente diffusi, il che rende ulteriormente improbabile pensare di poter eliminare un nucleo culturale o un semplice rito eliminando semplicemente i membri che lo praticano. E allora come dobbiamo cercare elementi di natura apocalittica nelle culture di questi popoli? Semplicemente, rispettando la struttura delle loro formazioni culturali e quindi cercando di individuare quei fattori che rappresentano, non tanto il timore o il desiderio di sparire dal mondo, quanto il momento della trasformazione e del passaggio da una modalità di essere ad un’altra. La continuità della vita permessa dalla credenza nel metamorfismo pone al riparo dall’equazione soppressione = sparizione. In questo mondo nulla sparisce per sempre e tutto si trasforma. In questo mondo non esiste un salto ontologico tra immanenza e trascendenza, e il problema non è il passaggio dalla vita alla morte ma semmai dal visibile all’invisibile (e ritorno), essendo sia il campo del visibile che quello del non-visibile caratterizzati dalla presenza costante ed efficiente di ciò che Rudolph Otto chiamò mysterium tremendum, ossia «il nascosto, il non 2 Dotato di uno splendito sito Internet: http://www.nmai.si.edu/. 3 E. Comba, introduzione a: Testi religiosi degli Indiani del Nordamerica, Torino, UTET 2001, p. 11. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 4 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 manifesto, lo straordinario e l’inconsueto»4, ed è per questo che visibilità e invisibilità si implicano incessantemente in un rapporto reciproco che contribuisce a creare e a conservare la realtà. Tratteremo dunque credenze e leggende di alcuni gruppi del continente nordamericano, rifacendoci alla tradizionale schematizzazione per grandi aree culturali ormai in uso da oltre un secolo, nonostante le sue approssimazioni. Questa suddivisione insiste soprattutto sulle comuni matrici linguistiche dei gruppi, e pertanto individua dieci aree: artica, subartica, foreste nordorientali, foreste sudorientali, grandi pianure, grande bacino, altopiano delle Montagne Rocciose (Plateau), popoli costieri del Nord-ovest, indiani della California, popoli del Sud-ovest. 4 R. Otto, Il sacro, a c. di E. Buonaiuti, Milano, Feltrinelli 1984, p. 23. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 5 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 Indiani delle foreste nordorientali. L’area corrispondente al New England e al versante orientale di quella regione che oggi chiamiamo Midwest era popolata da una ventina di gruppi principali, politicamente raccolti attorno alla confederazione irochese e culturalmente dominati dagli Ojibwa, dai Winnebago, dagli stessi Irochesi e dagli Uroni. Intorno a questi vi erano alcune decine di gruppi più piccoli. Alcune di queste tribù avevano nomi che sono poi diventati nomi di Stati americani: Illinois (o Illini), Massachuset, Delaware. Si tratta di popoli orticoltori, la cui base alimentare era rappresentata dalla coltivazione del mais, dei fagioli e della zucca, ma che praticavano anche la caccia ad animali delle foreste. Molte usanze radicate nella cultura materiale di questi popoli sono state assimilate dagli americani nel corso del tempo e sono diventate espressioni talmente caratteristiche della tradizione statunitense, da risultare difficilmente pensabile una loro origine indigena. Ciò dipende in massima parte dal fatto che in questa regione i contatti fra coloni europei e nativi sono iniziati molto presto, già agli albori del XVII secolo, e che questi popoli possedevano tradizioni secolari particolarmente stabili e poco diversificate. Sicché alcuni rituali o procedimenti collettivi consuetudinari sono stati progressivamente assimilati dai discendenti dei coloni, in molti casi parzialmente cristianizzati e divenuti parte della cultura popolare americana. Facciamo qualche esempio. I Wyandot e gli Uroni erano soliti sistemare alcune zucche particolarmente grandi e pertanto ritenute cariche di poteri magici in terra ai margini delle loro abitazioni, ad una distanza regolamentata con precisione fra il margine della capanna di legno e l’inizio dello spazio pubblico. Lì dovevano restare esposte per diversi giorni e diverse notti e nessuno osava nutrirsene, in quanto destinate ad alimentare gli spiriti dei boschi vicini5. È del tutto evidente che questa usanza è alla base di Halloween, o quanto meno dell’associazione, altrimenti poco sensata, tra questa festa e l’esposizione di zucche lavorate artisticamente. Tra i Seneca ed altri gruppi della regione settentrionale dello Stato di New York era talmente diffusa l’abitudine di cibarsi di granoturco arrostito sul fuoco fino al momento cui questo scoppietta, da averlo sistemato nel repertorio mitologico in una leggenda che riguarda l’origine del mondo e dell’uomo. La donna primordiale caduta dal cielo, anonima ma detta “Colei che ha il corpo antico”, e che dà inizio alla formazione del mondo abitabile ha prima una figlia e poi due nipoti gemelli. Questi ragazzini hanno caratteri opposti: uno è molto irascibile e nervoso, l’altro è la serenità in persona. Una notte il primo dei due decide di spiare “Colei che ha il corpo antico” per capire di cosa si nutra, dato che non la vede mai mangiare le patate selvatiche quotidianamente mangiate dagli altri. Il testo Seneca che ci è pervenuto racconta cosa vide il ragazzino: «Allora ella rovistò nelle sue cose contenute in una borsa, ne tolse qualcosa e, invero, essa ne trasse del granturco. Allora ella lo arrostì per se stessa. Comunque, esso 5 Cfr. M. Barbeau, Supernatural Beings of the Huron and Wyandot, in “American Anthropologist”, n. 16 (1914), pp. 288-313. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 6 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 scoppiettò. Ve n’era un mucchio, di grano soffiato»6. Più avanti, in questo stesso testo, si parla anche di altri cibi meno succulenti (polvere di ossa di alcuni animali) e la cui scomparsa è difficile rimpiangere, ma l’origine del popcorn è piuttosto chiara. Come detto, in questo mondo nulla scompare in modo definitivo e tutto si trasforma. Nella confederazione irochese uno dei momenti più importanti dell’anno è la cerimonia durante la quale si rende grazie alle potenze della natura per mettere a disposizione ciò che serve agli uomini e alle donne per la sopravvivenza. Durante questa festa prende la parola un anziano appartenente ad una delle società segrete collegate alle arti sciamaniche e tiene un lungo, a volte lunghissimo, discorso. Il monologo inizia pronunciando alcune parole tese ad enfatizzare la coesione del gruppo, quindi l’oratore ringrazia lo spirito creatore secondo un ordine rigorosamente stabilito: la Madre Terra, la vegetazione utile per curare le malattie, gli alberi della foresta, gli animali, il cibo presente in tavola, l’acqua, la Luna, il Sole e gli abitanti del cielo. Oggi sappiamo con certezza che il primo Thanksgiving Day, celebrato nella colonia di Plymouth (Massachusetts) nel 1621, durò tre giorni ed ebbe come protagonisti 53 padri pellegrini e 90 o forse 100 indiani Wampanoag. Ma furono questi a portare da mangiare per tutti, e non i coloni! La leggenda che racconta il contrario nacque verso la metà del XIX secolo, fu alimentata per ovvie ragioni di opportunità politica, e infine trovò anche la sua celebrazione figurativa nel popolare quadro dipinto da Jean Leon Gerome Ferris nel 1899 e intitolato The First Thanksgiving 1621. Questo olio su tela, peraltro molto ben realizzato, stravolge comple- tamente la verità storica mostrando i coloni offrire del cibo ai nativi nella loro im- probabile generosità calvinista. La disposizione dei personaggi lascia intravedere piuttosto chiaramente chi siano i soggetti dominanti e chi i sottomessi. Inoltre, data l’evidente ignoranza etnologica dell’artista e la tendenza dispregiativa nei confronti degli indiani allora comune, mostra i nativi Wampanoag vestiti come gli stereotipati indiani delle grandi pianure, con tanto di piume (adottate da alcuni capi solo alla fine del secolo), ciotole da viaggio e presunti calumet, quanto di più lontano dalle abitudini di questi miti orticoltori stanziali del New England. Per fortuna non tutti gli americani dell’Ottocento la pensavano in questa maniera. Tra i simpatizzanti dei nativi c’era sicuramente Henry David Thoreau, il quale nel suo celeberrimo diario del biennio vissuto sulla riva del lago Walden e pubblicato nel 1854 ha scritto chiaramente e ripetutamente di preferire i contatti con gli Indiani a quelli con i suoi amici e familiari, e 6 Testi religiosi degli Indiani del Nordamerica, cit., p. 110. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 7 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 in una pagina ricorda anche come furono questi ad insegnare ai padri pellegrini come si coltivassero mais e fagioli in quei boschi, «quasi ci fosse un destino in questo»7. Ma la posizione di Thoreau rappresenta un’eccezione alla metà del XIX secolo, ossia a soli vent’anni dall’Indian Removal Act firmato dal presidente Andrew Jackson, legge che istituzionalizza l’orribile riduzione nelle riserve delle tribù recalcitranti. Infine, nella notevole varietà di espressioni culturali tipiche di questa ampia e ricca regione, è possibile ritrovare anche elementi che possono essere accostati, mutatis mutandis, alle costruzioni apocalittiche di stampo occidentale o di ispirazione biblica. Fra gruppi come i Winnebago o gli Ojibwa, ad esempio, sono diffuse narrazioni riguardanti l’avvio della vita sulla Terra e il raggiungimento dei giusti rapporti con l’ambiente e con gli spiriti, quegli equilibri utili a far sì che gli uomini possano procedere con le proprie forze da quel momento in avanti. Ed è proprio per questa ragione che sono estremamente importanti tra questi gruppi i riti collettivi di confermazione dell’accordo uomo / natura / spiriti, dato che dalla loro efficacia dipende la conservazione o meno di tali equilibri. Come ha scritto Clifford Geertz, nei rituali di questo tipo «il mondo com’è vissuto e il mondo com’è immaginato, fusi insieme sotto l’azione di un unico complesso di forme simboliche, si rivelano essere lo stesso mondo»8, ragion per cui eventuali errori nella celebrazione del rito possono avere conseguenze devastanti. Ebbene, in una leggenda Ojibwa raccolta ai primi del ’900 da Frances Densmore, etnomusicologa che si interessava soprattutto ai canti e alle danze dei nativi settentrionali, si spiega l’origine mitologica del Midê’wiwin, la società cerimoniale parzialmente segreta dalla quale dipendeva la formazione degli uomini-medicina, in grado di curare ferite e malattie. I membri di questa società si riunivano in un wigwam come quello riportato in questa immagine, ma più grande degli altri, dove l’accesso era vietato alle donne e ai non iniziati. In questa leggenda, il grande spirito Kicci- Manito9, dal quale ogni cosa sulla terra dipende, parla agli uomini attraverso gli spiriti dei quattro punti cardinali. Il più importante fra questi, il Manido dell’Est, istituisce il culto, distribuisce le potenze ai vari spiriti della terra, dell’acqua e dell’aria 7 H.D. Thoreau, Walden. La disobbedienza civile, a c. di A. Cogolo, Milano, Mondadori 2013, p. 177. I nativi dei quali parla l’autore sono quasi certamente i discendenti degli Squanto del Massachusetts. 8 C. Geertz, Interpretazione di culture, a c. di E. Bona, Bologna, Il Mulino 1998², p. 143. 9 Manitu è una corruzione di questo nome, che veniva pronunciato anche Manido, ed è del tutto improprio attribuire la credenza in questo essere spirituale a gruppi diversi dagli Ojibwa (detti anche Chippewa), che in realtà preferiscono autodefinirsi Anishinaabe, ossia “uomini nativi”. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 8 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 e, una volta terminata questa sorta di direzione d’orchestra delle potenze, si ricongiunge agli altri Manido e annuncia la loro dipartita dalla terra: gli uomini non avrebbero mai più potuto parlare con loro ma erano tenuti ad offrire loro doni e sacrifici, che essi avrebbero ricevuto ed apprezzato attraverso gli spiriti10. Anche in buona parte della letteratura apocalittica di ispirazione giudaico-cristiana o indoiranica «si tratta di mostrare come dall’invisibile sorge il visibile, e dal visibile di nuovo l’invisibile»11, e come i rituali servano a garantire la conservazione dei rapporti quando i due mondi si allontanano, quindi questo tema può essere considerato un τόπος abbastanza universale, al quale neanche le culture amerindiane appaiono insensibili. Indiani delle grandi pianure La sterminata regione che si estende dalla valle del Mississippi fino alle pendici delle Montagne Rocciose e all’Alberta canadese copre un’area di circa 1.300.000 Km², poco più della superficie della Francia e della penisola iberica messe insieme. Tradizio- nalmente abitata da popolazioni che alternavano l’agricoltura nei mesi invernali alla caccia di animali selvatici in quelli estivi, quest’area ha subito drastiche alterazioni con lo spostamento verso Ovest dei coloni e la formazione di riserve indiane. Vivevano qui una trentina di etnie maggiori e un numero imprecisato di gruppi nomadi di dimensioni ridotte. Dal punto di vista linguistico la varietà è impressionante, dato che si va da gruppi parlanti lingue algonchine come i Blackfeet fino a popolazioni di lingua uto- azteca come i Comanche, e sono presenti anche diverse tribù i cui idiomi non sono imparentabili con famiglie conosciute: è il caso dei Kiowa. Molti indiani dell’oleografia cinematografico-fumettistica, con la testa adorna di piume e mortali strumenti in pietra sempre pronti per l’uso, appartengono a questa regione: Wichita, Sioux, Comanche, Piedi Neri, Navajo, Cheyenne. Le credenze religiose sono molto simili tra di loro e basate, in linea di principio, sulla fede in un potere superiore carico di mistero (chiamato Wakan dai Lakota, Wakonda dagli Omaha, Puha dai Comanche, con altri nomi da altri gruppi), che generalmente si è manifestato in un’epoca al di qua della storia mondana ai fondatori della tribù, fornendo insegnamenti cruciali per la sopravvivenza e per la coesione sociale. La maggior parte di questi popoli concentra alcuni riti di appartenenza e di confermazione in una pipa sacra, che in molte leggende è stata fumata per la prima volta dall’entità superiore insieme agli uomini, nel momento in cui si mostrò prima di tornare nel regno dell’invisibile. Alcuni gruppi praticavano cerimonie sacrificali e riti di passaggio molto cruenti: i maschi adulti Lakota Sioux, durante i quattro giorni della danza del Sole12, si facevano perforare i muscoli del petto o della schiena con appositi ganci di osso legati al palo centrale dell’accampamento o a grossi teschi di bisonte che 10 Cfr. F. Densmore, Chippewa Music, “Bureau of American Ethnology”, n. 45, Washington D.C., Government Printing Office 1910, pp. 21-23. 11 J. Taubes, Escatologia occidentale, a c. di M. Ranchetti e E. Stimilli, Milano, Garzanti 1991, p. 59. 12 Cfr. E. Deloria, The Sun Dance of the Oglala Sioux, in “Journal of American Folklore”, n. 42, Washington D.C., 1929, pp. 388-405. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 9 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 venivano trascinati sul terreno da altri uomini. Ai bambini Arapaho venivano perforati i lobi degli orecchi dagli uomini-medicina seconda una prassi rigidamente regolamentata e che poteva segnare il passaggio all’età adulta già intorno ai dieci anni: se il bambino osava mostrare segni di dolore, poteva anche essere allontanato irreversibilmente dalla sua famiglia per cancellare l’onta13. Quando gli Europei si spostarono verso Ovest e vennero a contatto con questi popoli, ne seguirono guerre anche piuttosto lunghe, con stragi efferate e brutali reclusioni in riserve. In alcuni casi, tuttavia, si registrarono migrazioni spontanee verso territori nei quali la convivenza a distanza era ritenuta meno problematica. Qui i nativi ebbero tempo e modo di valutare le differenze tra i discendenti degli inglesi e degli spagnoli, e in alcune aree scoprirono anche l’esistenza dei neri, ridotti in schiavitù dai latifondisti delle piantagioni. Le testimonianze che si sono giunte riguardo i primi contatti degli indiani con gli africani provenienti dalla Costa d’Oro raccontano di stupore misto a un certo disprezzo, tanto che alcune tribù (Choctaw, Chicasaw, Creek) praticarono anch’esse la riduzione in schiavitù dei neri14, laddove ciò fu possibile. Nel caso dei Seminole, appartenenti alla famiglia Creek e originari delle pianure orientali ma spostatisi verso Sud-est fino a trovare una sistemazione definitiva in Oklahoma (dove oggi vivono oltre 18.000 discendenti) e in Florida (16.000 discendenti) , vi fu anche una rielaborazione di alcune leggende sull’origine dell’uomo, per farvi rientrare sia i bianchi che i neri, sebbene in posizioni gerarchicamente inferiori. Tra i Seminole della Florida, che pure avevano la pelle molto più scura di altri nativi americani del fuso orario di Tulsa già prima dell’incontro coi neri (il contrasto con un uomo bianco nella fotografia qui riportata lo illustra abbastanza chiaramente), la leggenda venne ripensata in questi termini: «Il Signore della vita disse: “Faremo l’uomo”. L’uomo fu fatto, ma quando fu in piedi di fronte al creatore, era bianco! Il Grande Spirito se ne dispiacque; vide che l’essere che aveva creato era pallido e debole, ebbe 13 Cfr. M.I. Hilger, Arapaho Child Life and its Cultural Background, in: “Bureau of American Ethnology”, n. 148, Washington D.C., Government Printing Office 1952. Punizioni di questo tipo avevano essenzialmente una valenza più simbolica che sostanziale: in genere si riammetteva il figlio dopo che questi era sopravvissuto alcuni giorni da solo nella prateria, il che pure era una dimostrazione di coraggio e di determinazione. Fra questi popoli, esattamente come fra innumerevoli altri, non esisteva l’adolescenza nell’ordinamento sociale, per cui il passaggio dall’infanzia all’età adulta era spesso brutale, sia per i maschi che per le femmine. 14 Cfr. http://atlantablackstar.com/2014/04/09/5-native-american-communities-who-owned-africans- slaves/. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 10 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 pietà di lui e, pertanto, non lo disfece ma lo lasciò vivere. Provò di nuovo, perché era determinato a creare un essere perfetto, ma nei suoi sforzi per evitare di dare la vita ad un altro uomo bianco, andò all’estremo opposto e, quando il secondo essere si mise in piedi di fronte a lui, era nero! Al Grande Spirito l’uomo nero piacque meno di quello bianco, e lo spinse da una parte per fare posto ad un altro tentativo. Fu allora che creò l’uomo rosso, e l’uomo rosso gli fu gradito»15. Ciò dimostra una notevole dinamicità nel preservare il patrimonio mitopoietico tradizionale adattandolo ai mutamenti storici, fenomeno avvenuto dunque non solo come effetto dei complessi rapporti con i coloni europei e con le loro istituzioni politiche. Il focolare delle credenze ancestrali si alimenta anche di queste operazioni di aggiornamento e rielaborazione di motivi identitari, in modo da proteggere il mito dall’ampliamento della realtà: il mito ha infatti bisogno di continuare a crescere senza perdere troppo della sua stabilità e credibilità, essendo caratterizzato «da una dialettica specifica di autoproliferazione e di autocristallizzazione che è la sua propria molla e la sua propria sintassi»16. Dunque, anche dal punto di vista delle dinamiche interne, le culture dei nativi americani non sono diverse da quelle di tante altre popolazioni. Nell’abbigliamento femminile degli anni del flower power si è poi assistito ad un recupero di tradizioni tipiche dei nativi delle grandi pianure, sebbene si sia trattato di un fenomeno necessariamente superficiale. Per buona parte degli anni ’60 e ’70, hippies, indiani metropolitani e altri gruppi giovanili hanno operato delle scelte, riguardo il proprio aspetto, le cui radici affondano in modo palese nelle leggende dei Lakota o degli Osage. Ad esempio, il mito riguardante le origini della sacra pipa presso i Lakota narra di una creatura che, avvistata da lontano, ha l’aspetto di un bisonte bianco, ma si trasforma in una giovane e splendida donna quando si avvicina all’accampamento. Il narratore si preoccupa di fornire dettagli sull’abbigliamento della creatura nel momento in cui ha assunto sembianze femminili: «indossava uno splendido abito di pelle di daino a frange, gambali e mocassini, i suoi capelli scendevano sciolti, ad eccezione del lato sinistro, dove era legato un ciuffo di peli di bisonte. Il suo volto era dipinto con strisce rosse verticali»17. È piuttosto facile associare le immagini di tante ragazze nella California del Sud alla fine degli anni Sessanta con questo ritratto mitologico. Ma ovviamente il racconto non finisce lì: una volta date le opportune istruzioni alla tribù e istituito il cerimoniale propiziatorio della sacra pipa insieme ai sette sacri riti (Wicoh’an Wakan Sakowin), la ragazza si allontana dall’accampamento riassumendo l’aspetto precedente. Nella lingua Dakota, questa creatura metamorfica fondatrice prende il nome di Ptehincalasanwin, ossa “donna vitello di bisonte bianco”, è «il modello della virtù lakota»18 e la pipa da lei donata il più sacro fra gli oggetti della tribù. 15 AA.VV., Leggende degli Indiani d’America, a c. di G.E. Lankford, Milano, Mondadori 1998, p. 210. 16 R. Caillois, Il mito e l’uomo, a c. di A. Salsano, Torino, Bollati Boringhieri 1998, p. 14. 17 Testi religiosi degli Indiani del Nordamerica, cit., p. 137. 18 Culture e religioni degli indiani d'America, a c. di L.E. Sullivan, Milano, Jaca Book 2000, p. 75. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 11 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 Indiani del Nord-ovest I popoli costieri del Nord-ovest – sui quali si concentrò in modo particolare l’interesse di Franz Boas, di John R. Swanton e di altri studiosi di quella grandiosa generazione di antropologi – sono fra i più ricchi di tradizioni culturali (sia intellettuali che materiali) ed artistiche. Straordinari artigiani nella realizzazione di ceste preziose, di pali totemici e di coperte raffiguranti animali totemici, insuperabili nell’arte della navigazione sia in mare aperto che sotto costa, erano in prevalenza popoli pacifici che vivevano in villaggi stabili e la cui base alimentare era fornita dalla pesca e, in misura minore, dalla raccolta di piante commestibili presenti negli immensi boschi dell’Alaska meridionale, della British Columbia e degli attuali Stati di Washington e Oregon. Le loro lingue appartengono alla famiglia Na-Dene, Eskimo-aleutina, Salishan e Wakashan, e sono giustamente considerate tra le lingue più difficili al mondo. Una delle ragioni della loro complessità riguarda la presenza di marcatori grammaticali necessari per precisare l’opposizione concettuale di cui abbiamo parlato in apertura: la visibilità o invisibilità dell’oggetto dell’enunciato. A tal punto la spiritualità ha impregnato di sé la vita di questi popoli, da intervenire sulle strutture morfologiche di base delle loro lingue perfino per esprimere concetti altrimenti semplici. Boas, che ha studiato quasi tutti questi popoli, fa il seguente esempio riferito ai Kwakiutl (nell’immagine, in un momento del rituale d’inverno), popolo ben noto agli studiosi di antropologia per aver istituito il potlatch: «Nel kwakiutl sarebbe inconcepibile usare una espressione come ‘quella casa’ per indicare ‘una singola casa lontana da chi parla’. La stessa idea in kwakiutl deve essere espressa in una di queste sei forme: ‘la casa (singolare o plurale) ‘visibile vicino a me’ / ‘invisibile vicino a me’ / ‘visibile vicino a te’ / ‘invisibile vicino a te’ / ‘visibile vicino a lui’ / ‘invisibile vicino a lui’»19. Sono essenziali per la comprensibilità dell’enunciato entrambi i marcatori grammaticali: quello che indica la posizione dell’oggetto rispetto al parlante (vicino a me, ossia al parlante; oppure a te, a cui sto parlando; oppure a lui, colui del quale sto parlando) e quello che precisa se l’oggetto della frase è visibile o meno nel momento in cui ne parlo. Una simile ossessione morfologica per tali dettagli è spiegabile solo alla luce di quanto detto in apertura: le potenze naturali sono dovunque, costantemente in azione ma non sempre 19 F. Boas, Introduzione alle lingue indiane d’America, a c. di G.R Cardona, Torino, Bollati Boringhieri 1979, p. 65. Per quanto riguarda in particolare questa etnia, che nella propria lingua si autodefinisce Kwakwaka’wakw e della quale oggi sopravvivono circa 5.500 membri divisi in 13 clan, cfr. F. Boas, Ethnology of the Kwakiutl, 2 voll., Washington D.C., Government Printing Office 1913-1921. Oggi solo poche decine di Kwakiutl riescono ancora a parlare la loro lingua, il kwakwala. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 12 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 percepibili dall’occhio umano. Infatti, molto più che in altre regioni del Nordamerica, le religioni di questi popoli sono fortemente basate sulla relazione con potenze misteriose e soprannaturali, alle quali non manca mai l’attributo dell’invisibilità. Questo pericoloso intreccio è definito náwalakw in lingua kwakiutl e n’waluk’ in lingua nootka (Nu-chah- nulth). D’altra parte, è facile immaginare come la sopravvivenza stessa di questi gruppi in ambienti immensi e pericolosi come i boschi della British Columbia o le coste dell’isola di Vancouver dipendesse dalla precisione con la quale si parlava di orsi bruni, lupi grigi, puma, orche e così via. Dal punto di vista delle matrici culturali, in quest’area i gruppi dominanti sono gli Eschimesi meridionali, i Tlingit, gli Haida, i Bella Coola, gli Tsimshian, gli Yurok e i Chinook, ma in linea di principio questa regione è caratterizzata da un sincretismo creativo di lungo periodo fra gruppi e tribù. La straordinaria arte Haida nel ritrarre animali protettori sulle più disparate superfici (pali totemici, stipiti delle porte, canoe, cesti, coperte, capi di abbigliamento, etc.), un’abilità che per decenni ha seriamente rischiato di andare perduta, conosce oggi una nuova giovinezza tramite i tatuaggi. Sono infatti sempre più numerosi gli adolescenti della British Columbia meridionale che scelgono per i loro tatuaggi motivi tipici di questa plurisecolare tradizione, e sempre più spesso compaiono raffigurazioni di questo tipo anche nei locali pubblici. In questa immagine si può ammirare un esempio di coperta Haida che raffigura un’aquila bicefala (conservata al Museo della Civiltà di Gatineau, Ottawa)20. Coperte di questo tipo erano, insieme alle piastre di rame, fra gli oggetti più preziosi che venivano trasmessi durante i potlatch, poiché permettevano di mostrare lo status sociale della famiglia proprietaria in modo da preparare gli opportuni rapporti di scambio e di prestazioni reciproche. Oggi raffigurazioni del genere si trovano sempre più spesso anche su edifici pubblici, municipi e scuole, soprattutto nell’Alaska meridionale, e questo tipo di riappropriazione di motivi etnici fa parte di un processo complessivo di ritorno del sacro amerindiano secondo nuovi equilibri che tendono a riassimilare il passato senza metterlo in stupida opposizione al presente. È perfettamente legittimo immaginare che, in questo nuovo fenomeno, un ruolo rilevante lo svolga proprio la fascinazione per l’idea di una pluralità di livelli del reale cui si è accennato in apertura, che da sempre caratterizza le culture dei nativi americani. In fondo anche uno scettico come Marcel Gauchet ammette 20 Per una buona panoramica sulle straordinarie forme d’espressione artistica di questo popolo, cfr. G. MacDonald, Haida Art, Seattle, University of Washington Press 1996. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 13 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 chiaramente che «lo schema-sorgente per eccellenza del mondo della credenza, quello della divisione della realtà, continua ad alimentare i nostri modi di pensare»21, compensando certi limiti della razionalità scientifica. Altri manufatti Haida, Tlingit o Tsimshian potrebbero facilmente essere scelti per dimostrare come questi popoli abbiano praticato stili simili al cubismo con svariati secoli di anticipo rispetto alle avanguardie europee. Questo sulla sinistra è un esempio di raffigurazione Tlingit del cervo (guwakaan), animale totemico molto riverito in quest’area ed eroe mitologico che, in numerose narrazioni antiche, si metamorfizza con gli uomini e con gli alberi22. Generalmente, in questi miti di fondazione, cervi, corvi, lupi e salmoni diventano umani per un breve periodo, e riassumono il proprio aspetto solo dopo aver realizzato un compito essenziale per la vita e la coesione del gruppo, ad esempio l’individuazione dei punti più idonei alla fondazione di un villaggio in rapporto alla circolazione regolare di animali selvatici e di salmoni da fiume. La scomposizione dei tratti naturali di questa figura ricorda non poco scelte analoghe operate da Picasso o da Georges Braque, sebbene i pittori europei abbiano attinto prevalentemente a stili tradizionali africani, allora ritenuti carichi di maggiore primitivismo. Ma anche in casi di questo tipo, qualcosa che sembrava perduto in tutto o in parte, ritorna con forme diverse e con rinnovato dinamismo, confermando l’idea che nulla (o quasi) scompaia in modo definitivo e irreversibile a queste latitudini, come insegna la classica visione del mondo dei nativi. Fra questi popoli sono particolarmente ricche e suggestive le narrazioni riguardanti l’origine del mondo, il diluvio universale, la fissazione degli equilibri tra mondo animale ed umano, la ricerca dello spirito-guida, le lotte fra sciamani, etc. Una tribù di lingua salishan oggi quasi del tutto estinta, i Sanpoil, originari dell’omo- nimo fiume che scorre nella parte settentrionale dello stato di Washington, possedeva un interes- sante patrimonio di leggende di questo tipo, raccolte dall’etnologa Marian K. Gould per conto di James A. Teit. In una di queste leggende si affronta l’origine della morte fra gli uomini e fra gli animali, a partire da un incesto primordiale. Ne riassumo la trama. Un padre aveva due figlie 21 M. Gauchet, Il disincanto del mondo, a c. di A.Comba, Torino, Einaudi 1992, p. 294. 22 Cfr. l’ormai classico J.R. Swanton, Tlingit Myths and Tetxs, Washington D.C., Government Printing Office 1909. Kaiak. A Philosophical Journey, 2 (2015): Apocalissi culturali 14 Data di pubblicazione: 18.11.2015 femmine e un maschio. Il giorno della cerimonia per il raggiungimento della pubertà da parte della figlia maggiore, questa se ne sta stranamente in disparte, e il padre scopre il figlio insieme a lei in una tenda. Lo uccide brutalmente e pone il corpo in una canoa che sistema in fondo ad una caverna. Ma la ragazza va a rinchiudersi in quella caverna con il suo abito da festa, con l’intenzione di non uscirne più. «Allora la Volpe, il Falco e l’Aquila tentarono di riportarla fuori, ma riuscirono solo a strapparle la mantella. Tre giorni dopo, morì [anche] la figlia dell’Avvoltoio. Questi chiese allora al capo il potere di riportarla in vita, ma il capo rispose: “Durante il consiglio hai votato affinché gli uomini non dovessero vivere per sempre. La decisione non sarà cambiata ora solo perché il dolore si è fatto strada anche fra la tua gente”»23. Questo tipo di argomen- tazione evidenzia da un lato la non fatalità della morte, vista come un negoziato tra soggetti in grado di interagire con le potenze invisibili e non come dato di natura, e dall’altro l’esigenza di cooperazione tra le forze naturali per evitare di fare le scelte sbagliate che finiscono per ricadere su tutti. Questo tipo di argomentazione fa parte a pieno titolo del ricco patrimonio che i nativi americani ci hanno consegnato, un patrimonio sul cui riconoscimento furono avanzate le prime serie richieste negli anni della Grande Depressione. Capo Orso in Piedi (nome lakota: Ota Kte; nome inglese: Luther Standing Bear, 1868-1939), leader intellettuale e morale degli Oglala Lakota, fu autore di quattro popolari volumi sulla cultura Sioux e di numerosi articoli critici verso la tradizionale miopia politica del governo degli USA nei confronti dei nativi. In un discorso risalente al 1931, Orso in Piedi disse con grande lucidità: «È tempo che un ordine sociale basato sulla distruzione cessi, ed è tempo di far sapere a tutti gli uomini che la cultura degli indigeni d’America non fu affatto priva di bellezza. Negando agli indiani i loro diritti e l’eredità ancestrale, gli uomini bianchi non fanno che derubare se stessi. Ma l’America può ritrovare un soffio di vita nuova, una nuova giovinezza, se saprà riconoscere il valore del pensiero indigeno»24. Quel tempo è ormai arrivato da molti anni, come dimostrato anche dalla recente legislazione riparatrice a favore dei nativi, e la cultura americana si sta rinvigorendo anche grazie all’assimilazione di motivi ancestrali, costruzioni simboliche e sfumature estetiche delle tante culture presenti sul continente nordamericano prima dell’arrivo degli europei e sopravvissute al vano tentativo di cancellarle. 23 J.A. Teit, L. Farrand & M.K Gould, Folk-Tales of Salishan and Sahaptin Tribes, Lancaster-New York, The American Folklore Society 1917, p. 106 (trad. mia). 24 AA.VV., Sul sentiero di guerra. Scritti e testimonianze degli Indiani d’America, a c. di Ch. Hamilton, Milano, Feltrinelli 1995, pp. 305-306. 
work_zjjqymjx3ffbvbcnziitwzrumu	----	215 N a s l e | e 3 5 • 2016 • 2 1 5 –2 2 4 821.111(73)-1.09 Whitman W. Stefan P. Pajović1 University of Novi Sad Faculty of Philosophy waLT whiTMan’S PoeTic concePT of inherenT PerSonaL DeMocracY2 тhe paper examines the motif of democracy in the work of Walt Whitman from the standpoint of its innateness to human kind. The first part of the paper explains how for Whitman the notion of democ- racy and the eponymous motif in his poetry were rooted in the na- ture of man, rather than the official governing structures. his poetry is thus disengaged from the institutions of democracy and directed at the individual, which is argued in the second part of the essay. The strengthening of the democratic capacity is a natural process to Whit- man, since the democratic sentiment is inherent to humans, regardless of their location, nationality or religion. sympathy is the word that per- meates Walt Whitman’s discourse on democracy. Keywords: Walt Whitman, institutions, individual, democracy, sympathy, america 1. The Herbal Union henry david Thoreau, one of the most prominent american thinkers of Walt Whitman’s era, once wrote: “… to be strictly just, [the authority of government] must have the sanction and consent of the governed. it can have no pure right over my person and property but what i concede to it. The progress from an absolute to a limited monarchy, from a limited monarchy to a democracy, is a progress toward a true respect for the individual” (2010: 26). The 19th-century america was the period when the process Thoreau spoke of reached the tipping point in favor of the individual. The actual tran- sition took place during the revolution, and Whitman’s america had the task of successfully carrying out the experiment of the union, and the gamble of democracy which even “america’s founding fathers were skeptical and anx- ious about” (hanke, 2011). Whitman’s poems, in his own words, function as “counterpoise to the leveling tendencies of democracy” (Whitman 1982: 667), and glorify “american individuality” which is the only path to avoiding the snare of mediocrity that democracy bears within. 1 stefan@capsred.com 2 The paper is part of the author’s master’s thesis defended at the faculty of philosophy in novi sad in september 2013, under the mentorship of prof. zoran paunović, phd. 216 Stefan P. Pajović another point Thoreau made was merely an affirmation of the ideal his country was founded on, best formulated in 1863 by president abraham lin- coln during his, now immortalized, Gettysburg address: “… that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom ‒ and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”3 Whitman wrote in Democratic Vistas that the phrase was “a formula whose verbal shape is homely wit, but whose scope includes both the totality and all minutiæ of the lesson” (Whitman 1982: 943). Theoreticians of society had fiercely debated over that issue, since what antiquity and the founding fathers set in paper and blood in 1776, Whitman had remodeled to fit his own vision of america and “developed his style to suite his message” (lončar-Vu- jnović 2007: 223). The democracy Whitman wishes to target is the one of every man, i.e. he does not depart from the individual level, above which is the institutional. The form through which society shapes and incorporates the noble feelings of its citizens was never in Whitman’s literary focus. his “journalist self ” did dabble with politics as he was a member of The free soil party, which was active during the late 1850s and early 1860s, with the primary goal to thwart the expansion of slavery west of the mississippi river. in 1848 Whitman “was elected as a delegate to the convention in Buffalo to nominate a candidate for president and became editor of a party paper” (killingsworth 2007: 4). The party’s temperate stance on the issue of slavery which Whitman argued for in his paper, brought him no good as “the Brooklyn Daily Eagle was an organ of the democratic party, and Whitman’s change of editorial mind no doubt was the major reason he lost his position” (oliver 2004: 348). after he became disillusioned with political parties and their respective politicians, he turned to poetry to instruct americans in the essence of their beloved county which was starting to fade from the people’s memory. never- theless, he feels the urge to slander the party system in his essay “The eight- eenth presidency!,” written in 1856, but published posthumously in 1928: “are not political parties about played out? i say they are, all round. america has outgrown parties; henceforth it is too large, and they too small” (Whitman 1982: 1317). But when a party wins an election, its power becomes official, i.e. institu- tionalized. in the poem “i hear it Was charged against me,” Whitman open- ly states his relationship with such institutions, an ambiguous one: “i hear it was charged against me that i sought to destroy institutions, But really i am neither for nor against institutions, (What indeed do i have common with them? or what with the destruction of them?) 3 from his famous Gettysburg address, delivered on november 19, 1863 at the dedication of the soldiers’ national cemetery in Gettysburg, pennsylvania. 217 Walt Whitman’s poetic concept of inherent personal democracy N a s l e | e 3 5 • 2016 • 2 1 5 –2 2 4 only i will establish in the mannahatta and in every other city of these states inland and seaboard, and in the fields and woods, and above every keel little or large that dents the water, Without edifices or rules or trustees or any argument, The institution of dear love of comrades” (Whitman 1982: 281). Whitman’s indictment resembles socrates’s of corrupting the athenian youth. Both thinkers lived in a democracy, but for Whitman, the system had evolved over the twenty-three century span, so that an execution, as in the case of the famous Greek, was luckily not needed. interestingly, the second charge against socrates was that of impiety, a controversial issue in the literary opus of the american as well. in the poem in question, Whitman distances himself from the institutions (of democracy) in a way which leaves plenty of room for interpretation. he, as a free individual, is on a quest which does not concern the formal institutions of a society, i.e. they are not his goal and therefore pose no interest to him. his objectives, which he reaches through himself, are other individuals who com- prise the society, i.e. he deals with and targets the leaves, while institutions are concerned with the grass in its entirety. he operates alongside, but not with the government. a country builds edifices of the rule of law, whereas Whit- man builds those very structures in the psyche of every individual, strength- ening his or her democratic capacity far better that any authority could. oliver notices that more that “the individual” is the center of Whitman’s thought: “it is the nation’s citizens who will, in the end, keep democracy alive against the corruption of institutionalized systems” (2004: 213). his poetic notion did not diverge from the political thought of the era. alexis de tocqueville (1805-1859), alongside lafayette the most important frenchmen in america at the time, held the cultivation of feelings and prac- tices of civil honesty, in a higher esteem than any written law (peri 2000: 296). samuel adams, one of the founding fathers, wrote in 1749 that “neither the wisest constitution nor the wisest laws will secure the liberty and happiness of a people whose manners are universally corrupt.”4 any democracy whose cit- izens are not “strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich, perennial with the earth, with freedom, law and love” (Whitman 1982: 616), faces a bleak fu- ture, a prophecy which is the quintessence of Whitman’s latent, but thorough vision of democracy. The relationship between a whole and its parts has an interesting linguis- tic implication in Whitman’s blank or free verse. namely, he frequently uses enumerations of all sorts. although readers find them tedious at times, they do serve a particular purpose. karbiener connected these Whitmanesque “cat- alogues” with “the aural quality of [his] poetry” (2004: 76), i.e. with the images that the poet kaleidoscopically conveys to the reader. purešić in his preface to the 2005 edition of Leaves of Grass in serbian considers these listings as: 4 samuel adams, from a political essay published in The Public Advertiser in 1749. <http:// www.samuel-adams-heritage.com/quotes/popular.html>. 27.01.2016. 218 Stefan P. Pajović “… the confirmation of the very existence itself and its every aspect, i.e. [he] confirms its unity through its diversity, and stressed the importance of every single part to the whole. even the title of the collection signifies individuality and diversity, which is at the same time cohesion” (2005: 9). almost all of the listings are in blank verse, which is itself in direct con- nection to democracy, as oliver explains: “it is as if Whitman feels a direct re- lationship between democracy and free verse, the form most of his own poetry takes” (2004: 156). in “i hear it Was charged against me,” the poet denounces any concrete implications of his poetry that would be reflected in any institution or a sys- tem. mack noticed that “even though the poet seemed to intuit how far the political implications of poetic agency might reach, he was not interested in developing them” (2002: 98). 2. “I” for all of America Whitman, who had been disillusioned with political parties, was aware that his poetry was not a substitute for any kind of institution, especially not the apparatus of state. however, he was aware that his poems could have a strong impact onto the building block of any organization: the individual. if he could be improved, the institutions whom he governs would improve as well. The importance he assigned the individual with is perhaps most obvious in a line from the poem “full of life now,” where he himself (one free citizen) becomes a quintessential milestone of time: “i, forty years old the eighty-third year of the states” (Whitman 1982: 287). his urge to number the years of his country is not as odd as his age that stands next to it. There is neither a comma, nor a preposition to separate the two as they are read in one breath, a sentence entirely on itself. This lack of differentiation is in perfect accord with the poet’s view of democracy: the state and the individual are one being. if we apply an anthropomorphic metaphor, the government could be perceived as a limb of a body comprised of its con- stituency. Thoreau, for instance, saw governments primarily as tools, but lat- er mitigated the stance: “i please myself with imagining a state at last which can afford to be just to all men, and to treat the individual with respect as a neighbor” (2010: 26). even when he assuages his stance on the issue, the gov- ernment is still at best an equal partner to its citizens, which is a far cry from Whitman’s literal incorporation of the individual into his country. The poem exhibits no interest whatsoever in political intrigues at any level, because his “aim is less to express or depict persons exerting power over each other (which would yield allegory), than it is to express the adjacency of people, places and things” (fletcher 2004: 156). fletcher proceeds to define in his own words the “brotherhood” that both Thoreau and Whitman promulgated: “This adjacen- cy, when articulated as a complex living neighborhood, is exactly what i am calling an environment” (ibid.). however it may be labeled, Whitman remains faithful to his primeval image, and instead of ascending his and the personages of his fellow coun- 219 Walt Whitman’s poetic concept of inherent personal democracy N a s l e | e 3 5 • 2016 • 2 1 5 –2 2 4 trymen to their authorities (which was the task of the majority of theories of society throughout the centuries) he stoops the ruling apparatus down to its subjects and reincorporates it into its original source, the body and the mind of an individual. Thus, change in the government must start by reforming the individual which is its building block. it is not hard to draw the conclusion that properly formed democratic governments ought to display traits of an individual, namely his or her virtues, keeping in mind at all times that “virtue is not hereditary” (paine 1995: 44). Thomas jefferson provided guidelines for this in the eve of the revolution: “The whole art of government consists in the art of being honest.”5 it does come as a mild surprise that “Whitman’s concept of democracy [was] set down in some of the poet’s clearest prose in an untitled introductory essay that served as a preface to the 1855 edition” (oliver 2004: 13), i.e. it was presented to the reader of the day in the form of a prose writing. The essay opened with the word “america,” with the initial letter “a” vi- gnette-like, to announce the subject and the goal of the 21-page introduction to the 12 poems. The now immortalized statement that “The united states themselves are essentially the greatest poem” (Whitman 1982: 5), introduc- es both the subject and the goal of Whitman’s poetry. in this proclamation, Whitman starts from the premise that democracy is the basis of his quest for an authentic american poetry, i.e. it enables him to come to life and sustain himself. his personal success and popularity become equated with democra- cy: “celebrity had evolved into more than a quality granted by the public; it was also a distinct category of democratic identity” (Blake, 2006: 29). it should not be forgotten that Whitman was only one citizen out of more than sixty million people who resided in The united states of america in the year 1890 (oliver 2004: 378). in 2013 america’s populace numbers over 315 million men and women,6 adding to the importance of a rather simple ques- tion that had bothered theoreticians of society for centuries: is democracy for all? Whitman answers in his own voice:7 “centre of equal daughters, equal sons, all, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old, strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich, perennial with the earth, with freedom, law and love” (Whitman 1982: 616). The pronunciation of the reiterated “all” is longer as the poet utilizes pho- nology to get his egalitarian message across. his democracy dwells in accord- ance with all the traits of true humanism, and is an offspring of “mother earth and father time,” a divine-like origin which it can thank its longevity for. 5 from jefferson’s pamphlet published in 1774 entitled: “a summary View of the rights of British america,” <https://www.history.org/almanack/life/politics/sumview.cfm>. 27.01.2016. 6 united states census Bureau estimate. 7 in 1992, a wax-cylinder recording of the poem “america” was discovered. The recording was dated back to 1889 or 1890 and it is presumed that the voice reading the first four lines is that of Walt Whitman himself (folsom 1992: 214). 220 Stefan P. Pajović for the Good Grey poet the question of the universal applicability of democracy was settled before it was even raised, as the system encompassed every human being, even doing away with nationality boundaries. “freedom does not paint a rosy picture, for inside these nation-states, there was throughout the course of history, as it is today, a tremendous gap between the individuals. Whitman was fully aware of this and recognized it as fault of any democratic system, and had through his literary work “tried to encompass a panorama of social types” (Blake 2006: 74). With an imperative voice (“This is what you shall do”) in the celebrated preface, he instructs the reader to, among other things: “… despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy …” (Whitman 1982: 11). The latter two categories of people are in terms of modern democ- racies equivalent to ancient Greek groups who were passed by democracy: namely women, slaves, and foreigners who comprised the majority of pop- ulace of any polis (avramović 1989: 16). Whitman possesses the knowledge that they were never given a chance to rule themselves, let alone an entire country, but wishes to include them in his vision of america. in the process, he inadvertently installs into every democratic persona a safety mechanism against the maltreatment of minority groups. a myriad of thinkers, beginning with alexis de tocqueville in the 19th century, have identified the terror of the majority against the minority as the biggest threat to any democracy, especial- ly the american type. Walt Whitman combats the issue by equipping every individual with a genuine belief into the “democracy for all” notion. The new yorker had been criticized numerous times for this, but his entire life stands as a testimonial to the great undercurrent of an all-inclusive democratic spirit, as fletcher explains: “many have thought that Whitman’s democratic optimism shines too brightly, providing too quick and easy examples for those who have not followed him in laboriously studying the art of poetry. … yet Whitman was never the mindless optimist; if anything he was a tragic rhapsode, and his example remains among the most subtle in spite of its grand scope and style” (2004: 253). mack provides a more accurate insight into the issue: “one of the com- plaints that is often heard about Whitman’s poetry concerns what some regard as its cloying optimism. The same complaint, elevated to the status of criti- cism, is often leveled at pragmatic philosophy” (2002: 111). Therefore it becomes clear that Whitman did not hold such a stance alone, as john dewey (1859–1952), a leading figure of american pragmatism, also believed in the masses and the universal human predisposition for rational thinking (peri 2000: 589). he lauded democracy as it, unlike the aristocrat- ic regimes, enabled every individual to potentially become a leader. dewey’s work in the field of education coincides with Whitman’s poetic, the essence of which john adams explained nearly a century before: “children should be educated and instructed in the principles of freedom.”8 Whitman’s vision tar- 8 adams, j. (1851). A Defence of the Constitutuions of Governments of the United States of America. chapter 3, seventh rule. 221 Walt Whitman’s poetic concept of inherent personal democracy N a s l e | e 3 5 • 2016 • 2 1 5 –2 2 4 geted children and adults alike, for he was not merely a tutor, but an andrago- gist as well, which was in accordance with his universal grasping of human es- sence. no man, woman, or a child, regardless of his or her age or background was to be excluded from his book, Leaves of Grass, which effectively became a textbook of pragmatism for: “The notion that democracy is more than a political process, that it is a social and cultural process as well, is an idea often associated with american prag- matic thinkers … ralph Waldo emerson, William james, john dewey, George herbert mead, and richard rorty” (mack 2002: xviii–xix). The populace of new york was in Whitman’s time growing increasingly polarized in terms of material wealth (karbiener 2004: 24). The gap only in- creased as time went on, hindering any prudent humanist in his efforts to as- sert the bond between all men, which was evident even in shakespeare’s time: “strange is it that our bloods, of colour, weight, and heat, pour’d all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off in differences so mighty” All’s Well That Ends Well (2.3.763). The disparity was detrimental to democracy as well, as Whitman writes on the upsurge of the cult of materialism in america: “What american hu- manity is most in danger of is an overwhelming prosperity, ‘business’ worldli- ness, materialism: what is most lacking, east, west, north, south, is a fervid and glowing nationality and patriotism, cohering all parts into one” (1982: 1057). 3. The Bonding Sympathy in terms of statesmanship the bond is reestablished by nationality, but Whitman’s poetry possesses yet another quality of a genuine human emotion that establishes a link between social classes, namely, the well-to-do and the poor. That quality is sympathy. Blake writes: “from the beginning of his ca- reer, the poet championed his sympathy ‒ a quality that his early admirers as well as twenty-first century scholars have singled out in praising his efforts to get inside readers’ lives” (2006: 19). The mechanism of bonding transcended all barriers, for Whitman portrayed a profound concern for the fallen soldiers as well as the fates of their families, he uplifted the status of slaves by praising their human qualities of which they were slave-owners’ peers, and spoke for every man, woman or a group whose existence seemed mundane or on the margins of society. By appealing to this feeling in himself, he would in fact arouse such a sentiment in the reader as well, forcing him by means of poetry to alter his or hers stance on the issue in question. in the case of Whitman’s own personality, the feeling had a profound impact, as Brkić noticed: “sym- pathy. i can almost claim that in Whitman’s case that sympathy, that compas- sion is the only reason why his being had been shaped in an artistic manner, and not, let us say, in a scientific, prophet-like etc. he had chosen his way because of it” (1972: 128). 222 Stefan P. Pajović This “way” was in perfect accordance with his democratic thought, as the path to every genuine democracy is paved with humanism and true sympathy for another human being. Where a deficit in such qualities exists, like in the old World, any progress is hindered as oliver notices while writing on Walt Whitman’s concept of political democracy: “in the poetry Whitman refers to the equal importance of the individual and the ‘en-masse,’ the adhesiveness of individuals within the whole population. The problem in europe, he suggests, is the lack of such ‘solidarity’” (2004: 72). Throughout history existed numerous examples of autocratic regimes which had veered off this path, resulting in the termination of their rule. in this sense, the famous opening line of leo tolstoy’s Anna Karenina9 can be inverted and paraphrased to serve an epitaph to all failed governments: fall- en democracies are all alike; every successful democracy is successful in its own way. “own way” here stands for the uniqueness stemming out from each individual and his or her contribution to the ideal of democracy. This cannot be achieved without the sympathy which serves as an adhesive to the strong expression of individuality in america. tyrannies usually ensue after the facet of sympathy fails inside a democracy. d. h. lawrence wrote a short two-line poem in the late 1920s as an answer to Whitman, demonstrating what would happen if the promise of democracy was not fulfilled: “and whoever walks a mile full of false sympathy walks to the funeral of the whole human race” (lawrence 1998: 52). present american democracy, with its intricate electoral system, has veered off the path of true sympathy which is, in Whitman’s views, its integral part. instead of brotherhood of strong individuals, the poet’s native country is slowly descending into a bulky bureaucratic state, ever more resembling those in old europe that the american colonists initially fled from. furthermore, united states foreign policy of military interventionism is questionable as well, and it is perhaps appropriate that just a year after Whitman’s death, american marines overthrew the queen of hawaii and annexed the pacific archipelago unlawfully, which was admitted by the clinton administration in 1993. This was merely the first of the hundreds of recorded cases of overseas interventions that the states have not relinquished not even in the 21st century. This seeming- ly imperialistic policy stands in direct opposition to Whitman’s principle of the right of any people to rule themselves, as residents of the kingdom of hawaii were deprived of such a right in the last decade of the 19th century. united states are today in need of critically engaged poetry more than ever. many of america’s poets have certainly endeavored to provide such a discourse, and all their strivings included an anachronistic discourse with Walt Whitman. allan Ginsberg (1926–1997) wrote his famous 1956 poem “a supermarket in california,” opening it with the line: “What thoughts i have of you tonight, Walt Whitman.” another famous example would be langston hughes’s (1902–1967) poem “i too sing america,” which was written as a di- 9 “happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” 223 Walt Whitman’s poetic concept of inherent personal democracy N a s l e | e 3 5 • 2016 • 2 1 5 –2 2 4 rect retort to Whitman’s “i hear america singing.” ezra pound (1885–1972) made a pact with Whitman in the eponymous song written in 1916. all these examples go to show that the generations of american poets who came after Whitman believed that his motifs, including the one of the personal sense of democracy, were somehow topical to them and their vision of america. There- fore, there is little doubt that some future american poets will have to grap- ple Whitman’s century-old theme of individual democracy by inventing new kinds of sympathy, ones that would be suitable for the modern world and the plight of individuals, groups, and other peoples living in it. references avramović 1989: s. avramović, starogrčka baština, In: d. mrđenović, (ed.) Temelji moderne demokratije: izbor deklaracija i povelja o ljudskim pravima: (1215– 1989), Beograd: nova knjiga, 13–22. Blake 2006: d. h. Blake, Walt Whitman and the Culture of American Celebrity, yale: yale university press. Brkić 1972: s. Brkić, Volt Vitman, In: Svetla Lovina. Beograd: nolit, 116–136. fletcher 2004: a. fletcher, A New Theory for American Poetry: Democracy, the Environment, and the Future of Imagination, cambridge: harvard university press. folsom 1992: e. folsom, The Whitman recording, iowa: Walt Whitman Quarterly Review, 9, Vol. 4, iowa: 214–216. hanke 2011, s. h. hanke, On Democracy Versus Liberty, <http://www.cato.org/ publications/commentary/democracy-versus-liberty>. 27.01.2016. karbiener 2004: k. karbiener, Walt Whitman and the Birth of Modern American Poetry: Course Guide, prince frederick: recorded Books. killingsworth 2007: m. j. killingsworth, The Cambridge Introduction to Walt Whitman, new york: cambridge university press. lončar-Vujnović 2007: m. lončar-Vujnović, The symbolic presentation of some transcendental and the elements of mystical realism in Walt Whitman and emily dickinson, kosovska mitrovica: Zbornik radova Filozofskog fakulteta, 37, kosovska мitrovica: 221–235. mack 2002: s. j. mack, The Pragmatic Whitman: Reimagining American Democracy, iowa city: university of iowa press. oliver 2004: c. m. oliver, Walt Whitman: A Literary Reference to his Life and Work, new york: facts on file. peri 2000: m. peri, Intelektualna Istorija Evrope, trans. Đorđe krivokapić, Beograd: clio. paine 1995: t. paine, Collected Writings, new york: library of america. purešić 2005: d. purešić, predgovor, In: Izabrana poezija: Volt Vitman, Beograd: itaka, 5–10. [orig.] пурешић 2005: д. пурешић, предговор, у: изабрана поезија: Волт Витман, Београд: итака, 5–10. Thoreau 2010: h. d. Thoreau, On the Duty of Civil Disobedience, hong kong: forgotten Books. 224 Stefan P. Pajović lawrence 1998: d. h. lawrence, retort to Walt Whitman, In: jim perlman, ed folsom, dan campion (eds.), Walt Whitman: The Measure of His Song, dulith, mn: holy cow! press. Whitman 1982: W. Whitman, Complete Poetry and Collected Prose, new york: library of america. Stefan P. Pajović PeSničKi KoncePT uroĐene Lične DeMoKraTiJe VoLTa ViTMana rezime u radu se razmatra motiv demokratije u stvaralaštvu američkog pesnika Volta Vitmana sa stanovišta njene urođenosti u prirodu čoveka. prvi deo rada razjašnjava kako su za Vitmana pojam demokratije i njegova pesnička slika suštastveni ljudskoj prirodi, a ne institucijama koje su ljudi stvorili. stoga, Vitmanova poezija se ne bavi institucijama demokratske države, već pojedincem koji tvori državu, što je opisano u drugom delu rada. osnaživanje kapaciteta za demokratiju kod svakog pojedinca je po Vitmanu prirodan process, bez obzira na čovekovu lokaciju, narodnost ili veroispovest. demokratičnost svakog građanina ne zavisi od oblika vlasti, već isključivo njega samog i prema njemu se država ustrojava, odnosno on je taj koji je oblikuje. kako bi se ovo ostvarilo, Vitman ističe ulogu saosećanja koje je položeno u temelj njegovog motiva demokratije i bez kojeg nijedan državotvorni oncept nije potpun. Ključne reči: Volt Vitman, institucije, pojedinac, demokratija, saosećanje, amerika примљен 1. фебруара 2016. године прихваћен 30. новембар 2016. године 
work_zjwg7rzmjnhajmuyc3ysq6txh4	----	Toward an Ordinary Language Psychoanalysis: On Skepticism and Infancy Toward an Ordinary Language Psychoanalysis: On Skepticism and Infancy Chiara Alfano New Literary History, Volume 49, Number 1, Winter 2018, pp. 23-45 (Article) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:00 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/nlh.2018.0001 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/691216 https://doi.org/10.1353/nlh.2018.0001 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/691216 New Literary History, 2018, 49: 23–45 Toward an Ordinary Language Psychoanalysis: On Skepticism and Infancy Chiara Alfano Family Resemblances At first glance, psychoanalysis and ordinary language philoso-phy bear little resemblance. The apparent focus of psychoanalysis on the inner self might seem to jar with the appeal to the ordinary. Indeed, since Ludwig Wittgenstein voiced his suspicions about Sigmund Freud, philosophers have largely agreed that the two disciplines are, despite converging in some instances, ultimately incompatible. Stanley Cavell is an exception to this rule. In a 1997 review of Terrors and Experts for the London Review of Books, he picks up on Adam Phillips’s descrip- tion in an earlier book of D. W. Winnicott’s “almost religious commit- ment to an idea of simple and personal truth, to an ordinary-language psychoanalysis.”1 Winnicott’s commitment to “an ordinary-language psychoanalysis” is, Phillips argues, based on the conviction that the how of what we do and do not say, and what we do and do not do, captures better than any psychoanalytic technique each of our simple, personal, and often incommunicable truths (W 25). Cavell shares this commit- ment to the ordinary as something that owes its therapeutic powers to its ability to capture the way we truly are. His attentiveness to this aspect of Winnicott’s work marks, perhaps, nothing more than a brief flash of recognition upon finding his own reflection in Winnicott. I want, however, to make a different argument here, namely that Cavell’s consideration of Phillips’s neologism shows that he is sufficiently taken by the apparent affinities between psychoanalysis and ordinary language philosophy to wonder whether there might be an as yet un- acknowledged kinship between them. In the term “ordinary-language psychoanalysis” he hears an invitation to consider more closely the relationship between psychoanalysis and philosophy as it is practiced by Wittgenstein, Austin, and, presumably, Cavell himself.2 This essay takes up this invitation by considering the hitherto unexplored family resem- blances between Cavell’s inheritance of ordinary language philosophy, as demonstrated by his interpretation of skepticism, and of object relations psychoanalysis, particularly the work of Melanie Klein and Winnicott. new literary history24 As the essay will show, in his reinterpretation of skepticism Cavell relies not merely on ordinary language philosophy but also on conceptual re- sources that, although not limited to them, are used most prominently by object relations psychoanalysts to flesh out the infant’s earliest experi- ences. In making this argument, it is not my aim to fashion Cavell as an inheritor of Freud, Klein, and Winnicott rather than as an inheritor of Austin and Wittgenstein. This is partially because the eclectic nature of Cavell’s corpus means that there are more than these two conceptual lineages at play (others include, for instance, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and William Shakespeare). Most importantly, however, it is because the issue of inheritance or lineage—together with its attendant questions of hierarchy or primacy—is deeply unsym- pathetic to the way the Cavellian project picks up on, harmonizes with, and augments insights from other discourses. Equally, talk of a mere affinity or similarity would not do justice to the depth of shared concern between Cavell’s ordinary language philosophy and object relations psychoanalysis. Instead, Cavell’s work on skepticism points us toward an area of inquiry where thought structures overlap, conceptual resources are shared, and ideas have purchase in ways that are not constricted by disciplinary borders or concerns about conceptual heritage and supe- riority. This approach is not based on an anything-goes-attitude toward intertextuality, but rather hinges on the discovery of a significant and interrelated set of family resemblances. For Wittgenstein, family resemblances describe a relation between two or more things where some features are shared but no one attribute is present in all. Allowing the cohabitation of similarity and dissimilarity, this concept is a reminder that drawing up conceptual alliances and their limits is a complex and delicate undertaking. There are significant similarities between philosophical and psychoanalytical characterizations of skepticism, whether the latter be addressed directly or indirectly, through, for example, the psychoanalyst’s study of the remarkably simi- lar phenomenon of disintegration. More importantly, both philosophy and psychoanalysis link infancy and skepticism to each other, either figuratively or causally. Both in their own way then turn to the figure of the infant—both as a figment of an adult’s deferred fantasies and as the subject of theorizations pertaining to either language acquisition or development in general—when considering the skeptical predicament. This essay will, however, also argue that although they share important traits, the descriptions of infancy (defined, in line with developmental accounts, as the period from birth to about eighteen months) in ordi- nary language philosophy and object relations psychoanalysis are not completely congruent. But an acknowledgment of what separates these 25toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis discourses does not invalidate what they do share. And although what is shared may invite interesting comparisons, Cavell’s interpretation of skepticism owes its originality to his willingness to borrow structures of thought from psychoanalysis that challenge and potentially change some of the ways in which ordinary language philosophy sees itself. In order to explore this significant and interrelated set of family re- semblances, this article describes a series of reading encounters between ordinary language philosophy and object relations psychoanalysis that hinge in one way or another on the intersections between the portray- als of infancy and skepticism. It opens with a brief outline of what sets Cavell’s ordinary language philosophy apart from familiar interpreta- tions of it; this section gives an account of the common ground between Cavell and psychoanalysis and how past work has considered it. The essay then focuses on Wittgenstein’s reading of Augustine’s account of how he learned to speak. This is followed by a consideration of how Cavell’s reading of Klein bears on the ways in which his sense of the child Augustine differs from Wittgenstein’s. The essay then turns to how the psychoanalytic Shakespearean critic Janet Adelman draws on Winnicott and Cavell when offering her startlingly original interpreta- tion of Shakespearean tragedy, thus revealing the kinship between these two thinkers. The final two sections explore the limits of Cavell’s and Winnicott’s shared conceptual horizons by probing their treatment of separateness and aloneness on the one hand, and their hope about whether philosophy can cure itself on the other. A Not So Ordinary Language Philosophy As philosophical “schools” go, ordinary language philosophy is rather soft-spoken. Yet behind its seemingly prim exterior lies an extraordinarily ambitious metaphilosophical project. Ordinary language philosophy looks toward our ordinary, quotidian uses of language to cure philosophy of some of its more debilitating puzzlements, or to use Wittgenstein’s term, bewitchments [Verhexungen].3 For ordinary language philosophy, many of these problems are rooted in the philosopher using language in a way that is markedly different from how he would use it when living ordinarily. In thus misusing language, the philosopher takes on the role of the skeptic. Asking questions he would normally not consider and pretending to inhabit a position toward the world and others that he in truth does not, he finds himself separated from them. Because language is, as Wittgenstein famously suggests, our form of life, the skeptic’s mis- use of language is indicative of a deeper alienation from the world. Yet new literary history26 while one way of using language is, for ordinary language philosophers, neither merely a symptom of skepticism, nor simply its cause, another approach can, if not cure skepticism, allow us to live with it. The appeal to ordinary language in times of philosophical or skeptical bewitchment is effective because, in reminding skeptics of the ordinary use of our words and the ordinary forms of life they mark, it can remind them of their true relation to the world, to others, and to themselves. The suggestion is, of course, that matters are more straightforward than the bewitched skeptics fear. Although it would be wrong to conflate Wittgenstein’s and Austin’s distinct contributions to ordinary language philosophy, their appeals to ordinary language share the more or less overt postulation of something given and shared, a common ground that the skeptic-philosopher’s feet have, despite his protestations, never left. For Wittgenstein, the recounting of ordinary criteria refutes skepticism because these criteria establish certainty about what the skeptic puts in doubt. For Austin, our inherited ordinary language can bring us once again closer to the world and others because in it are encoded the ways in which we humans are together. What both of these accounts have in common is that they, at least according to traditional readings, seek to show that the sense of separation that the skeptic suffers is an illusion belied by the ways in which ordinary language assures our continued togetherness. What sets Cavell apart from other proponents of ordinary language philosophy is that in his reading neither Austin nor Wittgenstein denies the reality of separateness. It is because of this acknowledgment of sep- arateness that in Cavell’s work a discussion of ordinary language often gives way to an examination of voice. For him, ordinary language does not deny our common separateness; indeed as his analysis of Georges Bizet’s Carmen, for example, shows the closely linked concept of voice can highlight, even celebrates it.4 Separation is, of course, an important theme in philosophy. For Cavell, however, there is a crucial distinction between separateness and separation: the fact that we are separate from each other does not mean that we are separated from each other. For Cavell, separateness does not hinder our lives together: separateness must not necessarily separate us. A well-known passage from “The Availability of Wittgenstein’s Later Philosophy” states that “all the whirl of organism Wittgenstein calls ‘forms of life,’” in short all “human speech and activity, sanity and community, rest upon nothing more, but nothing less, than” our ability and willing- ness to agree upon them.5 The literature on Cavell rarely recognizes how radical this assertion is. The claim that our ordinary attunement rests on nothing more and nothing less than our willingness and ability 27toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis to agree with each other implies that there is no undergirding, shared, and common structure that guarantees it. Separateness is affirmed. In the secondary literature on Cavell this acute sense of our separateness is more often than not glossed over by providing more or less overt accounts of precisely the kind of undergirding structure that his work does away with in the first place.6 Espen Hammer is one of the few who acknowledge that this insistence on separateness means for Cavell that skepticism is “neither curable (Kant) or incurable (Hume),” but that separateness is an unavoidable aspect of our language, our forms of life.7 Even Hammer, however, does not explain under what circumstances this separateness—which ordinarily does not pose problems—grows into the skeptic’s sense of separation from the world. Separation, particularly the primary separation of birth, is an impor- tant theme in psychoanalysis. Cavell writes openly about his “intellectual debt” to Freud.8 His path from music to philosophy would indeed pass through psychoanalysis, with Cavell at one point even considering train- ing to become a psychoanalyst.9 Even after he had abandoned any such thought, Freud remained a lasting influence on his work, particularly in his readings of Shakespeare and Hollywood films of the 1930s and 1940s. Whether Cavell draws on Freudian notions of hysteria in his reading of Bette Davis in Now, Voyager or Freud’s Wolf Man case in his reading of Hamlet, in much of his work relating to literature or film he uses psychoanalytical insights to throw light onto a character’s motivations. Other texts bear testament to Cavell’s more systematic engagement with psychoanalysis; most important is his work on Emerson and Thoreau, where he falls back on Freudian notions of transference and counter- transference to work out a mode of reading that does philosophical work itself—that is, in other words, philosophically operative and significant.10 No less important, though less well studied, is Cavell’s engagement with Jacques Lacan’s reading of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Purloined Letter” in In Quest for the Ordinary. Here Cavell connects Wittgenstein’s sense of “the everyday and its language” as “strange to themselves” to Lacan’s account of the uncanny nature of language and of the unconscious in order to suggest that the ordinary is not already attained but infinitely perfectible.11 His reading of Lacan is thus testament to the extent to which psychoanalytical insights affect even core philosophical notions in Cavell’s project. Freud’s importance for Cavell’s work, especially in relation to the therapeutic powers of the act of reading that he most explicitly tackles in his work on Thoreau and Shakespeare, has been addressed by a number of scholars with varying conclusions. While Timothy Gould, for instance, argues that the mutual receptiveness Cavell observes in new literary history28 Thoreau’s account of reading and writing in Walden is indebted to his engagement with Shakespeare and Freud, he is reluctant to give too much systematic importance to psychoanalysis.12 There are also scholars who have acknowledged the importance of psychoanalysis for Cavell’s philosophy more enthusiastically, including Arnold Davidson, Ewa Plonowska Ziarek, and Stephen Mulhall.13 For them the influence goes beyond a superficial incorporation of psychoanalytic insights. Ziarek and Mulhall in particular recognize a cross-fertilization between philosophy and psychoanalysis, where the recovery of skepticism not merely resembles psychoanalytic therapy, but becomes therapy in a psychoanalytic sense. Ziarek goes so far as to speak, albeit briefly, of a “psychoanalysis of philosophy.” 14 Similarly, Mulhall speaks not merely of a “family resemblance,” but of a “founding psychoanalytic claim.”15 What is striking about previous accounts of the relationship between Cavell’s philosophical project and psychoanalysis, whether sympathetic to the idea of a foundational influence or not, is that they are limited exclusively to Freud.16 Cavell’s invitation to think toward an “ordinary- language psychoanalysis” in the context of Winnicott, however, suggests that ordinary language philosophy and psychoanalysis also intersect at later, post-Freudian junctures. Augustine Throws a Tantrum: Wittgenstein Reads the Confessions Wittgenstein famously begins his Investigations with a reading of Au- gustine’s account of how he learned language. Augustine was not, he writes, taught words “by way of formal instruction, as it was the case soon afterward with reading.”17 He learns by observing his elders, by interpret- ing their body language, for instance, and by using the mind that the grace of God bestowed on him: “No, I taught myself, using the mind you gave me, O my God.”18 It is a peculiar scene not merely because no purposeful teaching is taking place, but also because through all of this Augustine remains at arm’s length from his elders. The majores homines are remarkably animated, but their expressions are neither directed at him nor do they affect him directly in any emo- tional way. It is interesting, too, that Augustine’s elders do not seem to make the same effort to interpret his body language as he does with theirs. It is true that Augustine gets mad, but it is a rage that originates in his inability to make himself understood rather than in the adult’s inability or unwillingness to understand him. When Augustine, the in- fant—from Latin infantus, quite literally one who has no speech—tries 29toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis to make his “wishes known to those who might satisfy them” and fails, “because my desires were inside me, while other people were outside and could by no effort of understanding enter my mind,” he resorts to “toss[ing] about” and “scream[ing]”; when he did not get his way he would “take revenge on them by bursting into tears” and by throwing a “tantrum.”19 Despite his outburst, or perhaps rather because of the calculation behind it (Augustine throws a tantrum not out of frustration but because he wants to take revenge), the infant here appears to be remarkably self-possessed, grounded in and already in control of a self. Put differently, the infant’s experience is centered on an already well- known and fully experienced interiority. For instance, in the passage just quoted, the attempt is not to better project his desires outwardly so as to be better understood; it is to allow the elders access into his mind. As the disjunction between Augustine and his elders suggests, the infant’s sophisticated inner world—full of desires and rage—is established be- fore and independently of any significant interpersonal relationships.20 Augustine’s particular view of language thus also implies an underlying belief about the infant’s relative cognitive and emotional self-reliance. Wittgenstein seems to subscribe to this view of the infant when much later in the Investigations he asks whether we might not be “over-hasty in our assumption that the smile of an unweaned infant is not a pretence?”21 For Mulhall, the subtle shift from child [Kind] to an unweaned infant [Säugling] at this point of the Investigations is motivated by the wish “to invoke a stage of human life so early that it has no room for the existence of certain relatively complex and necessarily intersubjective projects,” in order to make a point about the naturalness of our forms of life, echoing, it seems, Augustine’s description of his mature inner life.22 It is, however, important to see Wittgenstein’s remark about the lying infant in its entirety; the suggestion that lying must be learned like any other language-game runs counter to Augustine’s vision of the infant. Indeed, what Wittgenstein suggests is that if the infant’s smile at the breast were a pretense, then even this most primitive of lies would have to be learned from or with others. Wittgenstein’s critique of Augustine’s picture of language also challenges a particular picture of a supreme and autonomous self. In place of God-given brains, Wittgenstein puts the learning couple: teacher and child. A Condition of Derangement: Cavell Reads Wittgenstein with Klein While, as Mulhall notes, Augustine’s elders were not interested in teaching, the problem with Wittgenstein’s elders is that they do not do new literary history30 anything but teach: “they seem to look upon their child’s suffering solely as an opportunity for education, as if their concern for him extended exclusively to his prospects as a fellow-speaker.”23 Both Wittgenstein and Augustine tend to think of the child very much in terms of a miniature adult. Cavell’s sense of the child is very different. What strikes Cavell most about Augustine’s passage is “how isolated the child appears.”24 He similarly remarks on “the absoluteness in [the child’s] initial incapacity to make itself known,” and “its absolute reliance on its elders’ recognition of its attempts at expression, that is, on their recognition of the grip of its needs as the medium of expression.”25 This interest in the child not merely as a learner but also as someone seeking—and failing—to make a connection with those around him indicates that any consideration of Cavell’s view of language must be preceded, or at least accompanied, by an inquiry into separateness. In his reading of Augustine’s account the child is not self-reliant; his vocalizations are not aimed at wreaking revenge. Rather, by his cries, babbling, and movements the child longs to establish a connection to his elders. If his elders recognized this as an attempt at communication, Cavell’s Augustine does not tell us so. It is the child’s absolute, permanent, and utter isolation that makes Cavell think of it as “mad,” and if “not exactly deranged,” then certainly “in the condition of derangement” (PP 170). “The World as Things” simi- larly speaks of “the child’s world as hedged with madness, negotiating melancholy for paranoia, reparation for destructiveness.”26 No doubt Cavell understands this absolute solitude in terms of “mad- ness” or “derangement” because of “the experience of Melanie Klein’s accounts of the pre-verbal child’s development of experience in terms of paranoia and depression” (PP 170). It is important to note that, as the quirkiness of the phrase “the experience of Melanie Klein’s accounts” implies, Cavell reads Klein—and this will be hardly shocking for those familiar with his work—selectively and idiosyncratically. The unorthodoxy or eccentricity of such a reading does not, however, make the lessons learned from it any less formative. On the contrary, an author’s thought may strike us most profoundly in those places where she may have not taken it herself. Klein’s work on child analysis was revolutionary because it assumed a vivid inner life in infants—phantasies—long before Freud and his daughter Anna thought possible. In Klein’s developmental model, the infant at birth has a very rudimentary, unintegrated ego governed by strong instincts, which are in the first instance directed at the mother’s breast. The infant’s instinctual desires, Klein writes in “Weaning” (1936), translate into “greedy, erotic and destructive phantasies” where the infant imagines “attack[ing]” or “rob[bing]” the breast, which in turn lead to persecutory phantasies in which the infant fears to be punished for these 31toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis attacks.27 Klein’s violent account of the nursing situation is notorious, but for all the apparent crassness of her descriptions of a cannibalistic—and yes, mad—infant, these early occurrences in the infant’s phantasy life play an important role in healthy development. “In phantasy,” Klein writes, “the child sucks the breast into himself, chews it up and swallows it; thus he feels that he has actually got it there, that he possesses the mother’s breast within himself, in both its good and in its bad aspects.”28 In this early or paranoid-schizoid stage, the good breast (or the breast that is felt to quench the infant’s desire) and the bad breast (or the breast that is perceived to be unwilling or unable to do so) also become in phantasy the repositories of any good or bad experience. As Klein suggests in “Notes on Some Schizoid Mechanisms” (1946), this binary splitting is an integral part of healthy development, as it helps the infant to integrate enough good experiences to provide an anchor to shore up the self against the onslaught of life’s challenges.29 Indeed, if development proceeds within the bounds of normality and health, these extreme paranoid anxieties and schizoid defenses are given up, and make way for the depressive position, in which the child feels protective of the now-integrated good object and guilty about its previous attacks on it.30 Guided by Klein, Cavell thinks of the experiences of the Confession’s “deranged” child in terms of paranoia and depression. And this is not the only place in his oeuvre where one can detect her influence. Klein’s sense of the dynamics between paranoia and depression, also at play in the nursing situation, reverberates in “The Interminable Shake- spearean Text.” When Cavell discusses Lear’s perception of Cordelia’s “thanklessness” in context with “the idea of aggressiveness causing, and caused by, gratitude for lavishness, or rather of ingratitude for the idea of lavishness withdrawn or delayed,” he is in fact thinking of “Klein’s perception of the pre-oedipal child as caught in a sequence caused by the realization of separateness from the source of plenty, inciting a de- structiveness for which gratitude becomes a gesture of reparation.”31 In “What is the Scandal of Skepticism?” Cavell again draws on Klein’s idea of “original murderousness” to start imagining “a basis for recognizing responsibility towards the other, as a kind of reparation for my having failed to acknowledge the other.”32 In this reading of Klein, the child only begins to recognize the other when “the other, which sustains life with its nourishment, manifests its separateness,” for instance through an “inevitable, however momentary withdrawal or withholding of nourish- ment.”33 Such a withholding causes first “a murderous rage” and then a “persecutory guilt” in the child and thus marks “the first developmental stage Klein calls the paranoid position,” which in time makes way for new literary history32 the “schizophrenic position, in which reparation is offered for the prior aggressiveness. (Now we have two poles of responsibility: the mother’s, which is total but comes to an end; and the child’s, which is derivative but which has no assigned end.)”34 As a matter of fact, Cavell misnames the Kleinian positions here; nevertheless, his transposition of key ideas from his reinterpretation of skepticism—such as acknowledgment and separateness—to a Kleinian landscape is striking. Although the defense mechanisms, which Klein describes in “Notes on Some Schizoid Mechanisms,” are normal, they can under certain instances—for example “if persecutory fears are very strong”—form “the basis for later schizophrenic illness.”35 While the processes Klein describes are limited to the infant’s phantasy life, “the effect of this phantasy is a very real one, because it leads to feelings and relations (and later on, thought-processes) being in fact cut off from one another.”36 Some shared features of Cavell’s descriptions of skepticism and Klein’s account of the paranoid-schizoid position are already becoming apparent: most promi- nently, a sense of separation and the experience of a severing between inner and outer. Equally, Augustine’s account of an angry, revenge- hungry, and manipulative infant could come straight out of Klein. And yet, although Cavell’s description of the child as “deranged” draws on Klein and although there are some similarities between skepticism and the paranoid-schizoid position in particular, we must look elsewhere for the psychoanalytic kin to Cavell’s interpretation of skepticism. The Nursing Couple: Adelman Reads Shakespeare with Winnicott and Cavell There are good reasons to think about the resonances between Cavell and psychoanalysis, and object relations theory in particular, in the context of Shakespeare: both Cavell’s psychoanalytically most astute readings, and his most eloquent impressions of the consequences and possible causes of the skeptic’s avoidance, can be found in his work on Shakespeare’s plays. My main guide in navigating the psychoanalytically rich ground of Cavell’s reading of Shakespearean tragedy is Janet Adel- man. Despite an absolute silence on this subject in the scholarship on Cavell, Adelman is a strong influence on his interpretation of skepticism in and through Shakespearean tragedy, just as his work has informed her reading of the latter.37 Scrutinizing images of pregnancy, childbirth, and nursing in the plays and contextualizing them with early modern ideas about a mother’s perilous influence, Adelman convincingly shows in Suffocating Mothers 33toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis that Shakespeare’s tragic heroes recognize the origin of their unbear- able predicaments to be maternal. As her early essay “‘Anger’s My Meat’: Feeding, Dependency, and Aggression in Coriolanus” in particular shows, her original interpretation of Shakespearean tragedy is drawn not from a generic understanding of psychoanalysis but more specifically from an interest in “feminism and object-relations psychoanalysis.”38 Object rela- tions theory is, of course, commonly associated with Klein, but another notable proponent is Winnicott. That Adelman collocates her reading of tragedy in Cavell and Win- nicott is crucial for any mapping of the conceptual resources that psy- choanalysis and ordinary language philosophy share. Both authors are, despite their demotion to a footnote in Suffocating Mothers, a strong influ- ence on her interpretation of tragedy through skepticism and vice versa: In associating this crisis of faith specifically with the mother’s body and with the loss of interior aliveness, and the resolution of this crisis with the return of the capacity to play, I am following the insights of Winnicott, for whom the mother’s reliable response to the infant’s needs, especially in the nursing situ- ation, creates “a belief that the world can contain what is wanted and needed, with the result that the baby has hope that there is a live relationship between inner reality and external reality, between innate primary creativity and the world at large.” . . . Cavell’s formulations are of course congruent with Winnicott’s; in his reading of The Winter’s Tale, birth stands for primary separation, what the skeptical annihilation of the world—like the paranoid’s refilling it with its own projections—is attempting to deny.39 Adelman is right in thinking of Winnicott and Cavell together. In place of Klein’s emphasis on internal processes, instincts, and phantasies, to which interpersonal relationships take a secondary role, Winnicott es- tablishes the primary importance of interpersonal relations themselves.40 While for Klein the world that the infant learns about is met with innate instincts that are already present in them, in the picture that emerges from Winnicott’s account there are no such innate and primary phan- tasies to be satisfied. As Phillips puts it, Winnicott’s infant “clamours for intimacy, not only for relief of tension—for relatedness, not simply for satisfaction” (W 9). Similarly, in Cavell’s reading of the passage from the Confessions, the child’s existence and sanity depend on his elders’ ability and availability to take notice. It is utterly dependent on its elders to interpret “the grips of its needs as the medium of expression” (PP 170). The strangeness of the phrase “the grips of its needs” renders well the intense and inchoate nature of the infant’s demands: they are not for instinctual satisfaction but for connection. It is in the depiction of this intense drive to connect that Cavell’s proximity to Winnicott rather than to Klein becomes evident. new literary history34 The difference between Klein’s and Winnicott’s developmental ac- counts may seem at first too psychoanalytically subtle to be pertinent to a reconsideration of Cavell’s philosophical contribution to the problem of skepticism. Klein defends herself vigorously against the charge that she portrays all infants as deranged.41 As noted, the splitting mechanisms at work during the paranoid-schizoid stage can lead to, but do not in themselves necessarily constitute, madness. This is recognized in Cavell’s phrasing about the child being “not exactly deranged, but in the condi- tion of derangement” (PP 170). Nevertheless, Klein equips the infant ab initio with aggressive phantasies, which the child learns to negotiate more or less adequately depending on the care it receives. For Winnicott, in early life there is no such condition of derangement; “ordinary babies are not mad,” he writes.42 While desire made Klein’s infant a mad-baby, or in Phillips’s imaginative phrase a “misfit,” Winnicott’s infant is de- termined in very different terms (W 84). This does not mean that the infant cannot become “mad”; Winnicott himself describes the individual from the very “beginnings of ‘I am’” as “raw . . . undefended, vulnerable, potentially paranoid.”43 But the crucial difference between Winnicott’s and Klein’s developmental accounts is this: any actual paranoia in the Kleinian infant is rooted in internally arising phantasy, whereas for Win- nicott it originates primarily in the infant’s environment. On its path to health and maturity Klein’s infant cannot but help cross through a condition of derangement, whereas Winnicott’s infant can hope to be spared. Klein’s view that this inner life is governed by innate instinctual impulses is ultimately incompatible with Wittgenstein’s interpersonal view of self that Cavell shares.44 Just how different Winnicott’s views on the infant self are from Klein’s becomes clear when considering his work on nursing. Although both Klein and Winnicott concentrate on the nursing situation, they focus on markedly different aspects: Klein describes the infant’s initiating ag- gression, whereas Winnicott always focuses on the infant as a dependent and relation-seeking part of the nursing-couple dyad. In a “Close-up of Mother Feeding Baby” (1949), Winnicott sketches an ordinary nursing situation where the nipple is offered, contact with the mouth made, the infant suckles, and then averts his face from the breast. Here “the baby had an idea, and the breast with the nipple came, and a contact was made. Then the baby was finished with the idea and turned away, and the nipple disappeared.”45 Highly sensitive to her baby’s feelings, the ordinary devoted mother is, Winnicott argues (using no doubt un- awares a very Wittgensteinian terminology), “attuned.”46 Attunement is incidentally also the term chosen by developmental psychologist Daniel Stern to describe a feedback loop between mother and infant, in which 35toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis both parties are, it seems, engaged in a finely tuned choreography and “attempting constantly to adjust their behaviour to one another’s.”47 In this ordinary nursing situation “natural feeding is given exactly when the baby wants it, and ceases as he ceases to want it.”48 The baby has the illusion of omnipotence; the nipple does not impinge on the infant, but is created by him or her when needed. This illusion of omnipotence, made possible by the mother’s “adaptive technique,” has crucial devel- opmental importance because, as is already suggested in the passage from The Child, the Family, and the Outside World cited in Adelman’s footnote on Winnicott and Cavell, it gives the baby “hope that there is a live relationship between inner reality and external reality, between innate primary creativity and the world at large.”49 In this early phase of development the mother’s responsiveness allows the infant self to integrate and to become secure enough to be “alive” to itself and to others. A well-managed nursing situation hence helps the infant to come to terms with the primary separation that birth marks and to integrate his self securely. Nursing is also important in Adelman’s interpretation of Shakespear- ean tragedy, particularly in her reading of Coriolanus. There is surely no Shakespeare play more concerned with the complex relationship between mother and child, which is crystallized in the nursing situa- tion with its myriad possibilities for fulfilment and frustration of needs. Coriolanus is filled to the brim with images of hunger; of neglect; of not having enough food, love, or power. First amongst the unsatisfied: the nursing couple of Coriolanus and Volumnia, whose name already poses the question of a volume waiting to be filled, of a want. That the nursing situation should also haunt Cavell’s reading of Shakespearean tragedy speaks again to the strength of Adelman’s influence. Cavell notes the ear-whispering scene between Hermione and Mamillius in The Winter’s Tale with much interest. Here his sense of the “mutually seduc- tive gestures” between Hermione and Mamillius—whose name is again incidentally evocative of the maternal breast or mammilla and brings to mind a much younger child—is reminiscent of Winnicott’s view of a well-managed nursing situation where mother and infant are wrapped up in each other (DK 194). Whether through Adelman or by a more direct route, Winnicott’s notion of the central importance of the nurs- ing situation finds its way into Cavell’s thinking about skepticism with and through Shakespearean tragedy. His focus on the nursing situation resonates strongly with Winnicott’s view of the foundational, integrative function of the first relationship rather than with Klein’s view of the instinctively aggressive infant. new literary history36 Cavell shares Winnicott’s sense that infancy clarifies the conditions for skepticism. The importance of the mother-infant relationship is acknowledged throughout Disowning Knowledge and particularly in the “Introduction,” where Cavell claims that “what philosophy registers as uncertainty in our knowledge of the existence of the world is a function of, say intellectualization of, the child’s sense of loss in separating from the mother’s body” (DK 13). At the same time, the terms in which Winnicott describes the effect of prolonged and consistent misattunement between mother and child bear a striking resemblance to Cavell’s descriptions of skepticism. On a separate sheet of paper that was found attached to Winnicott’s chapter on the establishment of a relationship with external reality in the posthumously published manuscript of Human Nature, he describes two kinds of relationship that can be the result of a failure of adaptation in infancy. The first is a “silent secret relationship to an essentially personal and private inner world of subjective phenomena,” which is divorced from the outside world.50 In the other, a false self is formed. Here, as Winnicott writes in The Family and Individual Develop- ment, the infant becomes “a collection of reactions to impingement,” forever hiding behind “a false self, which complies with and generally wards off the world’s knocks.”51 In the first scenario, the true self, though containing “spontaneity” and “richness,” remains essentially “incom- municable”; in the second case, the self is, though “compliant” to the outside world, false (HN 109). The false self is here in a state of disintegration, as opposed to unin- tegration. For Winnicott, unintegration is a positive experience made possible in the first instance by the security provided by the mother’s adequate holding and is linked to creativity, spontaneity, and aliveness. By contrast, “the term disintegration is used to describe a sophisticated defence, a defence that is an active production of chaos in defence against unintegration in the absence of maternal ego-support, that is, against the unthinkable or archaic anxiety that results from failure of holding in the stage of absolute dependence.”52 Importantly, although a complete insularity of self is incompatible with health, the ability to access states of unintegration, when the infant does not feel “a need to integrate, the mother’s ego-supportive function being taken for granted,” is charac- terized as a developmental achievement. 53 Winnicott also calls this the capacity to be alone.54 Like Winnicott, Cavell thinks about the skeptic’s “conversion of metaphysical finitude into intellectual lack” in terms of a defensive mechanism (DK 138). And, as will become clear in a moment, his distinction between the acknowledgment of our common separateness and skepticism runs parallel to Winnicott’s differentiation between the ability to be unintegrated, or alone, and the plight of disintegration. It 37toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis seems that Cavell’s and Winnicott’s views on the alignment of infancy and skepticism are truly, to borrow Adelman’s word, congruent. Fur- ther transposing Winnicottian insights to Cavell’s reading of skepticism (like Adelman does), this means that we are born into the condition of skepticism (and up to here Klein would agree). Contra Klein, however, our skeptical condition flowers to skepticism not from the inside out, from something that we carry inside us, but from the outside in, from something that happens to us. Cavell’s Separateness and Winnicott’s Aloneness Whether or not one subscribes to the view that skepticism begins at the mother’s breast, the resonances between Winnicott’s and Cavell’s ways of looking at infancy, particularly as heard in Adelman’s work, bring into view the particularity of Cavell’s interpretation of skepticism. For Adelman, the psychological fact behind the pronounced nursing and feeding imagery in Coriolanus is simple: “The taking in of food is the primary acknowledgment of one’s dependence on the world, and as such, it is the primary token of one’s vulnerability.”55 She understands the play’s obsessive returns to questions of feeding, starving, and nursing as grappling with the issue of our vulnerability and mortality. For Adelman, then, what is at the heart of tragedy and the tragic hero’s predicament is the avoidance of his separateness, exemplified par excellence in the infant’s vulnerability to and complete dependence on its mother. This is what Winnicott calls the “unthinkable or archaic anxiety” resulting from “absolute dependence.”56 Incidentally, this fear of vulnerability and dependence also provides his explanation for the misogyny that Adel- man diagnoses in Shakespeare’s tragic heroes: “The general failure of recognition of absolute dependence at the start contributes to the fear of WOMAN that is the lot of both men and women.”57 Here aggression dissimulates and most importantly defends vulnerability.58 The tragedy of this self-defense mechanism is that, following the logic of what Jacques Derrida calls autoimmunity, it destroys the very thing that it seeks to protect: a connection to others. The fact of separateness dictates the vital importance of being able to connect to others. But what is separateness? What Adelman’s tragic hero and what Cavell’s skeptic avoid is the fact that “we are separate, but not necessarily separated (by something); that we are, each of us, bodies, i.e., embodied; each is this one and not that, each here and not there, each now and not then.”59 For Winnicott too, the primary separation of birth marks the fact that even when we are enclosed in our mother’s new literary history38 womb our body is separate from hers; we are essentially alone (HN 132). The image Winnicott returns to again and again in thinking about these “earliest states” is one of two nontouching bubbles: a smaller one, the individual, enclosed within a bigger one, the first environment—the mother (HN 127). In less than ideal circumstances, in which the environ- ment encroaches or impinges on the individual, the momentum goes from the outside toward the inside and the outer bubble risks bursting the smaller bubble by pressing on it. Under near-perfect circumstances, the individual discovers his environment through his own movement, for instance through a move toward the nipple at the first feed or, ear- lier, through a movement in the womb. Here the border of the smaller bubble will move outward to touch the larger bubble, but it will do so without bursting, remaining separate (HN 128). Does Cavell, like Winnicott seems to do, give skepticism a primal scene? Winnicott’s claim and Cavell’s intimation that the self’s health depends on the mother is both contentious and controversial, not the least because the idolization of woman is merely the obverse of misogyny. In their accounts, the mother risks becoming a metaphysical presence, just like she does in Augustine, where thanks to some kind of transubstantiation the human milk the infant suckles, is in fact divine.60 Winnicott is rightly praised for championing a no-nonsense approach to motherhood by positing that it was by no means necessary to be perfect, but that being an ordinary good-enough-mother would do. Cavell’s turn to the nursing couple must, just like his interest in the female voice, I believe, be taken as primarily figurative. One can, however, not help but wonder whether these men’s solemnization of “woman” is not just another incarnation of that same ancient fear, which is always waiting in the wings. 61 In highlighting the importance of the primary relationship between infant and mother, Cavell does not necessarily give skepticism a primal scene. Like in Adelman’s reading of the significance of nursing in Coriolanus, in Cavell’s account of skepticism the figure of the infant becomes a signifier for our dependence and mortality. He is pointing us with renewed urgency toward the realization that the skeptic’s avoidance is triggered by the unavoidable and terrifying, and terrifying because unavoidable, fact that our bodies are separate from others, that our bodies are even at times separate from ourselves. And that we, like our bodies, are mortal. The similarities to Winnicott bring to the surface a more granular picture of Cavell’s rather elusive concept of separateness. By his simple “diagrammatic representation” of the smaller bubble enclosed in a big- ger one, Winnicott highlights the importance of the environment at this early stage for the longterm health of the individual. But he also posits 39toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis “the absolute isolation of the individual” at birth (HN 128; 127). This primary and original isolation is not something that could be avoided or overcome but forms “the basis of human nature in terms of individual development” (HN 131). Even after the initial steps of development have been absolved—and in fact, like Cavell, Winnicott believes that our human development is never finished and that we are infinitely perfect- ible—this separateness remains. In fact, for Winnicott, to a large extent development can be understood as, step by step, taking the individual “towards recognition of the essential aloneness of the human being” (HN 114). Beyond our ability to communicate and our enjoyment of being with others, each individual remains “an isolate, permanently non- communicating, permanently unknown, in fact unfound.”62 Riffing on his vocabulary, Phillips describes Winnicott’s self as “isolated, secret and silent” (W 151). One cannot help but be struck by the similarities of this account of aloneness and Cavell’s description of the human condition as being “hidden and silent and fixed” (DK 109). The Claim of Reason suggests that “perhaps we are forced to the concept of knowledge” when faced with the problem of skepticism, “because we do not quite know how to speak of the other’s aliveness to himself, his being together with himself, by himself, in as it were a private place, a place he has to himself.”63 The notion of “aliveness” is, to be sure, Winnicott’s and describes the secure self’s ability to rest in states of unintegration. Cavell’s insistence on the condition of separate- ness as not being debilitating to human relationships but foundational to them is reminiscent of the way Winnicott believes unintegration—as opposed to disintegration—to be integral to health. For Winnicott, our self is most alive and true when, not afraid of the dependence that our primary separation marks, we remain open to the experience of being unintegrated. For Cavell, too, the health of our bonds to others and ourselves depends on our ability to resist the skeptical temptation of denying how separate, dependent, and mortal we truly are. Does Cavell’s separateness then have to be understood in terms of Winnicott’s alone- ness as the description of this “private place” seems to suggest? Both Winnicott and Cavell stress the absoluteness of privacy just as they do its importance. For Winnicott, everything that happens in early life is in service of protecting the inner, “incommunicado,” separate element that is “sacred and most worth of preservation.”64 For Cavell, the idea of privacy inherent in philosophy’s fantasy of a private language is, in fact, not radical enough, because it “fails to express how private we are, metaphysically and practically.”65 Our privacy is more deep but also less deep than the skeptic wants to admit. It is deeper, in the sense that our separateness, just like our mortality and the finiteness of our bodies, new literary history40 cannot be intellectualized away. It is less deep, because this is not as much of a hindrance to our understanding each other as the skeptic would like us to believe. There is a tendency to smooth over Cavell’s acknowledgment of sep- arateness, undoubtedly because it feels too close to skepticism. Ordinary language philosophy is traditionally understood to counter skepticism by insisting on the ordinariness of our connection to each other. Cavell’s work shows, to the contrary, that an insistence on the ordinariness of our connection to each other does not have to entail a denial of our com- mon separateness, but must entail our full acknowledgment of it. The fact that both Winnicott and Cavell embrace the reality of separateness does not make them skeptics. Quite the opposite, as Adelman rightly notes, “birth stands for primary separation, what the skeptical annihila- tion of the world . . . is attempting to deny.”66 Indeed, the avoidance of the separateness that our primary dependence on our mother symbolizes would precisely mean falling back into skepticism’s compulsive patterns. For Winnicott, “the traumatic experiences that can lead to the organiza- tion of primitive defences, belong to the threat to the isolated core, the threat of its being found, altered, communicated with.”67 Cavell argues very much along the same lines in offering a new reading of the skeptic’s fantasy of private language “as an attempt to account for, and protect, our separateness, our unknowingness, our unwillingness or incapacity either to know or to be known.”68 For both thinkers, separateness an sich is not a problem; indeed it is a possibility that cannot be avoided and therefore must be acknowledged. This is something that is deeply understood in Cavell’s reading of the motif of nursing in Coriolanus. In his way of looking at the play, the “condition of insatiability (starving by feeding, feeding as deprivation)” manifested by Coriolanus and Vo- lumnia “is a condition sometimes described as the infiniteness of desire, imposing upon the finiteness of the body” (DK 148–9). The problem arises when they do not recognize that this hunger manifests not an occasional lack but a condition of lack, as “a name or a definition of the human, like being mortal” (DK 148). Coriolanus and Volumnia are insatiable not because they are starving; they are starving because they are insatiable. The problem of skepticism is not brought about by the possibility of separateness, but by an inability, or an unwillingness, to accept its givenness. Philosophy’s Holding Environment Can there be such a thing as an ordinary language psychoanalysis? Can philosophy become psychoanalysis and still know itself? For both 41toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis Cavell and Winnicott the border between philosophy and psycho- analysis is permeable. More surprising even than Cavell’s association of philosophical issues and psychoanalytic concerns is Winnicott’s repeated acknowledgments in Human Nature that psychoanalytic issues may also be of philosophical concern. The philosophical problem of skepticism is inserted in a list of matters that he deems pertinent to the issue of human development. Thus “the practical matter of the management of the mother and infant in the first hours and days after a baby is born,” significantly also including the first feed, is enumerated alongside “the claim of the psychotic that what is not real is real, and the claim of the antisocial child that what is untrue is true and that dependence (which is a fact) is not a fact” and, most importantly, “the philosophical problem of the meaning of the word ‘real’” (HN 111). The suggestion here is that the dynamics of the first interactions between mother and infant, for example at the breast, are pertinent to whether a psychotic, or an antisocial child, or indeed a philosopher are able to distinguish what ordinarily counts as real. Winnicott’s view implies that a lack of good-enough care can flower into a certain type of philosophical inquiry. A baby who has received persistently good-enough care might come to the conclusion that “I know that there is no direct contact between external reality and myself, only an illusion of contact, a midway phenomenon that works very well for me when I am not tired. I couldn’t care less that there is a philosophical problem involved” (HN 114–5). For this baby, the philosophical problem of skepticism has no real bite. On the other hand, the baby who, due to less-fortunate circum- stances, was not able to create a sense of continuity between inner and outer is “really bothered by the idea of there being no direct contact with external reality” (HN 115). In contrast to the fortunate baby, who is able to acknowledge separateness as a fact that does not necessarily threaten his integrity, for this baby “the philosophical problem becomes and remains a vital one, a matter of life and death, of feeding or starva- tion, of love or isolation” (HN 115). Put somewhat simplistically, what is suggested is that good-enough care in early life can impart resilience in the face of the philosophical problem of skepticism. In this picture psychoanalysis can become philosophy’s “holding environment,” a term that for Winnicott can mean both the maternal environment in which the infant is held and the analytic setting in which the analyst helps restore the patient to health by fulfilling a version of the maternal func- tion for him or her. “It is not every philosopher who sees that this problem that besets every human being is a description of the initial relationship to external reality at the theoretical first feed; or for that matter at any theoretical new literary history42 first contact,” Winnicott writes (HN 114). Winnicott’s sense that in the case of some children “some degree of primitive agony has to be carried on into life and living”69 is matched by Cavell’s claim that “in [his] own limited experience with children, certainly they are having problems that eventually, we know, as they flower, will become philosophical issues.”70 But it is with Winnicott’s notion that philosophical problems can be solved psychoanalytically that these projects leave their common ground. Cavell concedes, of course, Freud’s contention that the interpretation of dreams may lead to philosophically relevant results; this should, however, not be taken to mean that “our vain waiting for philosophy is now to be replaced by the positive work of something else, call it psychoanalysis.”71 Alain Badiou has suggested that, in maintaining that a grounding in antiphi- losophy should be part of psychoanalytic training, Lacan characterized philosophy not as the guardian of knowledge but rather as the victim of a particular kind of ignorance.72 For Cavell, psychoanalysis is not such an antiphilosophy, but neither is it a savior come to redeem philosophy. If he is critical of philosophy, he is even more severe with psychoanalysis’s own skeptical tendencies: “But psychoanalysis has not surmounted the obscurities of the philosophical problematic of representation and reality it inherits. Until it stops shrinking from philosophy (from its own past), it will continue to shrink before the derivative question, for example, whether the stories of its patients are fantasy merely or (also?) of reality; it will continue to waver between regarding the question as irrelevant to its work and as the essence of it.”73 The most eloquent passage about Cavell’s commitment to philoso- phy as opposed to psychoanalysis is paradoxically also one of his most suggestive invocations of Winnicott. It can be found in the “Remarks from discussion” following Vincent Colapietro’s paper in The Education of Grownups on voice and philosophy.74 Ruminating on the possibility of doing philosophy with children, Cavell remarks: “It gives me the creeps when certain kinds of adults are very impatient with them [children], perhaps dismissing them as silly. There is real work to be done here. Where does light go when it’s out? . . . And I think that those things can be addressed as though they are heartfelt problems, not just words. So what is the bargain you are establishing to be? A holding environment? That’s what Winnicott calls it, and a classroom is also a kind of holding environment.”75 The audacity of this comparison lies in the conviction it expresses, namely that philosophy can do if not the same, then some of the work that good-enough mothering can do in Winnicott’s developmen- tal model: it can banish bewitchments and establish or reestablish health. Like Wittgenstein’s project, Cavell’s is first and foremost metaphi- losophical: it is concerned with reforming or healing philosophy by offering an alternative, albeit still philosophical, path of inquiry. Like 43toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis Wittgenstein’s, Cavell’s project can only be called antiphilosophical if one concedes that he counters philosophy with nothing but itself. Where Winnicott implies that certain, debilitating ways of doing philosophy are caused by a failure in the first holding environment, Cavell believes that philosophy can become a holding environment unto itself. Kingston University London NOTES I am grateful to The Leverhulme Trust for the Early Career Fellowship that has funded this research. Thanks also to Tina Chanter, Simon Morgan Wortham, Stephen Mulhall, and Maren Scheurer. 1 Andrew Phillips, Winnicott (London: Penguin, 2007), 25 (hereafter cited as W); quoted in Stanley Cavell, “Finding Words,” The London Review of Books, February 20, 1997, http:// www.lrb.co.uk/v19/n04/stanley-cavell/finding-words. 2 Cavell, “Finding Words.” 3 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, trans. G.E.M. Anscombe (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001), 40/40e. 4 See Cavell, “Opera and the Lease of Voice,” in A Pitch of Philosophy: Autobiographical Exercises (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 1994), 129–70. 5 Cavell, Must We Mean What We Say? (New York: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2003), 52. 6 Steven G. Affeldt’s critique of Stephen Mulhall’s reading of Cavell exemplifies how subtle such an assumed undergirding structure can be. See Affeldt, “The Ground of Mutuality: Criteria, Judgment, and Intelligibility in Stephen Mulhall and Stanley Cavell,” European Journal of Philosophy 6, no. 1 (1998): 1–31. 7 Espen Hammer, Stanley Cavell: Skepticism, Subjectivity, and the Ordinary (Cambridge: Polity, 2002), 42. 8 Cavell, “Freud and Philosophy: A Fragment,” Critical Inquiry 13, no. 2 (1987): 378. 9 Cavell, Little Did I Know: Excerpts from Memory (Stanford, CA: Stanford Univ. Press, 2010), 185; 512. 10 See Cavell, The Senses Of Walden (New York: Viking, 1974). 11 Cavell, Little Did I Know, 414–15. Much more remains to be said about the similarities between Winnicott’s and Cavell’s conceptions of the ordinary, for instance that for both the “ordinary” often expresses a wish. See Phillips, Winnicott, 140. 12 Timothy Gould, Hearing Things: Voice and Method in the Writing of Stanley Cavell (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1998), 41. 13 See Arnold Davidson, “Beginning Cavell,” in The Senses of Stanley Cavell, ed. Richard Fleming and Michael Payne (Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell Univ. Press, 1989), 240. 14 Ewa Plonowska Ziarek, The Rhetoric of Failure: Deconstruction of Skepticism, Reinvention of Modernism (Albany: SUNY Press, 1996), 27. 15 Mulhall, Stanley Cavell: Philosophy’s Recounting of the Ordinary (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1994), 216; 217. 16 A notable exception to this rule is Ludger H. Viefhues-Bailey, who has considered the resonances between Cavell and Julia Kristeva in Beyond the Philosopher’s Fear: A Cavel- lian Reading of Gender, Origin and Religion in Modern Skepticism (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007). Like Adelman, Viefhues-Bailey recognizes that “the skeptical worry is rooted in separation anxiety” (145). His reading of Cavell, however, differs from mine in that it considers the skeptic’s struggle with the maternal origin as a displacement of his grappling with the unfathomable divine. new literary history44 17 Augustine, The Confessions, trans. Maria Boulding O.S.B., ed. John E. Rotelle O.S.A. (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1997), 47. 18 Augustine, Confessions, 48; 47. 19 Augustine, Confessions, 43–44. 20 See Mulhall, Wittgenstein’s Private Language: Grammar, Nonsense, and Imagination in Philosophical Investigations, §§ 243–315 (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2007), 32. 21 Wittgenstein, Investigations, 76/76e. 22 Mulhall, Wittgenstein’s Private Language, 32. 23 Mulhall, Wittgenstein’s Private Language, 36. 24 Cavell, Conditions Handsome and Unhandsome: The Constitution of Emersonian Perfectionism (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1990), 99. 25 Cavell, Philosophical Passages: Wittgenstein, Emerson, Austin, Derrida (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 170 (hereafter cited as PP). 26 Cavell, “The World as Things,” in Philosophy the Day After Tomorrow (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 2005), 264. 27 Melanie Klein, “Weaning,” in Love, Guilt and Reparation, and Other Works 1921–1945 (London: Virago Press, 1988), 293. 28 Klein, “Weaning,” 291. 29 Klein, “Notes on Some Schizoid Mechanisms,” in Envy and Gratitude and Other Works 1946–1963 (London: The Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psychoanalysis, 1984), 22; 6. 30 See Klein, “A Contribution to the Psychogenesis of Manic-Depressive States,” in Love, Guilt and Reparation, and Other Works: 1921–1945. 31 Cavell, “The Interminable Shakespearean Text,” in Philosophy the Day After Tomorrow, 38. 32 Cavell, “What is the Scandal of Skepticism?” in Philosophy the Day After Tomorrow, 148. 33 Cavell, “What is the Scandal of Skepticism?” 148. 34 Cavell, “What is the Scandal of Skepticism?” 148. 35 Klein, “Notes on Some Schizoid Mechanisms,” 2; 22. 36 Klein, “Notes on Some Schizoid Mechanisms,” 6. 37 I have written elsewhere on the depth of influence of Adelman’s insights into Shake- spearean tragedy on Cavell’s reading of them. See Chiara Alfano, “A Scarred Typmanum,” Conversations: The Journal of Cavellian Studies 1 (December 2013): 19–38. 38 Janet Adelman, Suffocating Mothers: Fantasies of Maternal Origin in Shakespeare’s Plays, Hamlet to The Tempest (London: Routledge, 1992), 323. 39 Adelman, Suffocating Mothers, 359. She cites, respectively, D. W. Winicott’s The Child, The Family, and the Outside World (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1964), 90, and Cavell’s Dis- owning Knowledge in Seven Plays of Shakespeare (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2003) (hereafter cited as DK). 40 For a more detailed account of the difference between Klein’s and Winnicott’s object relations theory please see Object Relations in Psychoanalytic Theory, ed. Jay R. Greenberg and Stephen A. Mitchell (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 1983). 41 See in particular Klein, “Notes on some Schizoid Mechanisms,” 1. The crassness of Klein’s account of early infancy is often exaggerated. See Meira Likierman, Melanie Klein: Her Work in Context (London: Continuum, 2001) for a balanced account of her work. 42 Winnicott, “Paediatrics and Psychiatry,” in Through Paediatrics to Psycho-Analysis (London: The Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1975), 159. 43 Winnicott, “The Capacity to be Alone,” in The Maturational Processes and the Facilitating Environment: Studies in the Theory of Emotional Development (London: Karnac Books, 1990), 33. 44 See Danièle Moyal-Sharrock’s discussion of the mind-behavior gap in Understanding Wittgenstein’s On Certainty (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), 203. 45toward an ordinary language psychoanalysis 45 Winnicott, The Child and the Family: First Relationships, ed. Janet Hardenberg (London: Tavistock, 1957), 40. 46 Winnicott, Babies and their Mothers, ed. Clare Winnicott, Ray Shepherd, and Madeleine Davis (London: Free Association, 1988), 67. 47 Daniel Stern, The First Relationship: Mother and Infant (London: Fontana/Open Books, 1977), 85. 48 Winnicott, The Child and the Family, 20. 49 Adelman, Suffocating Mothers, 359. 50 Winnicott, Human Nature (London: Free Association Books, 1988), 109 (hereafter cited as HN). 51 Winnicott, The Family and Individual Development (London: Routledge, 2001), 24. 52 Winnicott, “Ego Integration in Child Development,” in The Maturational Processes and the Facilitating Environment: Studies in the Theory of Emotional Development (London: Karnac, 1990), 61. 53 Winnicott, “Ego Integration in Child Development,” 61. 54 Winnicott, “The Capacity to be Alone,” in The Maturational Processes and the Facilitating Environment: Studies in the Theory of Emotional Development, 30. 55 Adelman, “‘Anger’s My Meat’: Feeding, Dependency, and Aggression in Coriolanus,” in Representing Shakespeare: New Psychoanalytic Essays, ed. Murray M. Schwartz and Coppélia Kahn (Baltimore: John Hopkins Univ. Press, 1982), 131. 56 Winnicott, “Ego Integration in Child Development,” 61. 57 Winnicott, “Primary Maternal Preoccupation,” in Through Paediatrics to Psycho-Analysis, 304. 58 See Adelman, “‘Anger’s My Meat,’” 131. 59 Cavell, The Claim of Reason: Wittgenstein, Skepticism, Morality, and Tragedy (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1999), 369. 60 See Augustine, Confessions, 43. 61 See Elissa Marder, The Mother in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction: Psychoanalysis, Pho- tography, Deconstruction (New York: Fordham Univ. Press, 2012) for an illuminating account of the uncanny status of the mother in philosophy. 62 Winnicott, “Communicating and Non Communicating Leading to a Study of Certain Opposites,” in The Maturational Processes and the Facilitating Environment, 187. 63 Cavell, Claim of Reason, 367. 64 Winnicott, “Communicating and Non Communicating,” 187. 65 Cavell, Claim of Reason, 370. 66 Adelman, Suffocating Mothers, 359. 67 Winnicott, “Communicating and Non Communicating,” 187. 68 Cavell, Claim of Reason, 369. 69 Winnicott, Babies and Their Mothers, 38. 70 See “Chapter 6: Remarks from discussion,” in Stanley Cavell and the Education of Grown- ups, ed. Naoko Saito and Paul Standish (New York: Fordham Univ. Press, 2012), 147. 71 Cavell, “Freud and Philosophy,” 388. 72 Alain Badiou, The Adventure of French Philosophy, ed. and trans. Bruno Bosteels (London: Verso, 2012), 53. 73 Cavell, “Freud and Philosophy,” 393. 74 Vincent Colapietro, “Voice and the Interrogation of Philosophy: Inheritance, Aban- donment, and Jazz,” in Stanley Cavell and the Education of Grownups, 123–45. 75 Cavell, “Remarks from discussion,” 147. 
work_zmgsnqxqrbembpxng53hsir5xy	----	Come to Penguin’s America fflT \ Quality. Authority. | Value. These are the n n I hallmarks of Penguin LJ / American Classics. Each < J Classic is produced to exacting standards and designed to last in classroom use and on the scholar’s shelf. Up-to- date texts and outstanding apparatus are enhanced by lively, informed introductions from respected experts. And excellence in scholarship and production is matched by careful attention to cost. Well-made, trustworthy, and affordable, Penguin American Classics are the texts of choice in schools across the nation. Great American literature in the classic Penguin tradition PENGUIN USA SORGEWASHINGTON CABLE TheGrandissimss SeuctcdK)ems louisaMavAl™1^ Tales A-Nf> SKETCHES Nathaniel Ha«4hori Film Studies From Princeton riiHiiiHiifniiniihiiuniiniiimiminnpiiiiiinrirnnTrmiinmiiiiiiinnnmiiniuimnrmi Chaplin and American Culture a. The Evolution of a Star Image Charles J. Maland This is the first book focusing on the relationship between Chaplin and American society—a discussion of the cul­ tural sources of the on-and-off, love-and-hate affair between Chaplin and the American public that was perhaps the stormi­ est in the history of American stardom. Charles Maland traces the ups and downs of Chaplin's "star image" from 1913, when he began his movie career at Mack Sennett's Keystone Stu­ dio, to the 1980s, when his "Charlie" figure emerged in an advertising campaign for personal computers. Examining the interplay between Chaplin's reputation and the vicissitudes of the American political and social climate, the book ana­ lyzes the cultural forces that led to the spectacular growth of his popularity, to the even more dramatic collapse of his reputa­ tion and his twenty-year exile in Switzerland, and finally to his restored prestige. halftones. 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Exploring the address made to women in melodramatic films and in popular illustrated magazines, she shows how Weimar Germany had a commercially viable female audience, fascinated with looking at images that called traditional representations of gender into question. 63 halftones. Paper: $12.95 ISBN 0-691-00830-2 Cloth: $39.95 ISBN 0-691-05552-1 Allegories of Cinema American Film in the Sixties David E. James From Stan Brakhage and Andy Warhol to the underground cinema and political films, David James gives a thorough account of the growth, development, and decay of nonstudio film practices in the United States between the late fifties and the mid-seventies. Unlike other scholars who discuss these practices as totally sepa­ rate from Hollywood, James argues that they were developed in various kinds of dialogue or negotiation with the commercial film industry. 300 stills. Paper: $14.95 ISBN 0-691-00604-0 Cloth: $65.00 ISBN 0-691-04755-3 Due July 1989. Shot/Countershot Film Tradition and Women's Cinema Lucy Fischer Do films made by women comprise a "counter-cinema" radically different from the dominant tradition? Feminist film critics contend that women filmmakers do present from a distinctive vision, or "countershot," and Lucy Fischer argues persua­ sively for this view. In rich detail this book relates the idea of a counter-cinema to theories of intertextuality and locates it in the broad context of recent feminist film, literary, and art criticism. What emerges is a fascinating picture of a women's film tradition that not only addresses but reworks and remakes the mainstream cinema. 25 stills. Paper: $12.95 ISBN 0-691-00605-9 Cloth: $39.50 ISBN 0-691-04756-1 Not available In the British Commonwealth and Europe. © AT YOUR BOOKSTORE ORPrinceton University Press41 WILLIAM ST. . PRINCETON, NJ 08540 • (609) 452-4900 • ORDERS 800-PRS-ISBN (777-4726) Shakespeare— The Theater and the Book Princeton University Press Shakespeare— The Theater and the Book Robert S. Knapp This book explores the reasons for the lasting freshness and modernity of Shakespeare's plays, while revising the standard history of English medieval and Renaissance drama. Robert Knapp argues that changes In the authority of English monarchs. In the differentiation and Integration of English society. In the realization of human figures on stage, and In the understanding of signs helped produce scripts that still compel us to the act of Interpretation. Cloth: $29.50 ISBN 0-691-06766-X Shakespeare and the Dramaturgy of Power John D. 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Cloth: $29.50 ISBN 0-691-07345-7 Cervantes and Ariosto Renewing Fiction Thomas R. Hart Thomas Hart examines Erich Auerbach's contention that Don Quixote Is not a tragedy but a comedy and suggests that Auerbach's view was shaped by his reading of Ariosto's chlvalrlc romance Orlando furloso. He demonstrates that Cer­ vantes shared not only Ariosto's attachment to the moral code of chivalry but also his doubts that It could be practiced effectively In the contemporary world. Cer­ vantes and Ariosto contends that both authors shared an awareness of the gap between life as it is lived and life as it is depicted in works of imaginative literature. Princeton Essays In Literature Cloth: $19.95 ISBN 0-691-06769-4 The Novel Histories of Galdos Diane Faye Urey Benito P6rez Galdds (1843-1920) occupies a position In Spanish literature sur­ passed only by Cervantes, and, like him, made a major contribution to the Euro­ pean novel that Is now becoming widely recognized. 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Cloth: $34.00 ISBN 0-691-06763-5 Meaning and Context Quentin Skinner and His Critics Edited by James Tully Meaning and Context Includes five of the most widely discussed articles by Quentin Skinner, which present his approach to the study of political thought and the Interpretation of texts. The book also Includes a fifty-seven page reply by Skinner—a major new statement In which he defends and reformulates his method and lays out new lines of research. Paper: $17.95 ISBN 0-691-02301-8 Cloth: $49.50 ISBN 0-691-07796-7 AT YOUR BOOKSTORE OR Princeton University Press 41 WILLIAM ST. • PRINCETON. NJ 08540 t (609) 452-4900 • ORDERS 800-PRS-i-ISBN (777-4726) THE WOODEN 0 RETURNS, REBUILDING SHAKESPEARE’S GLOBE Andrew Gurr with John Orrell Foreword by Sam Wanamaker On April 23, 1988, work began on a momentous undertaking. The dream of generations of theatre lovers is being realized: The Globe Theatre, where Shakespeare himself acted, is being rebuilt on the south bank of the Thames. Beautifully illustrated with four specially commissioned full-color drawings by Paul Cox, Rebuilding Shakespeare’s Globe tells the fascinating history of the world's most famous theatre and of the reconstruction project now underway. A Theatre Arts Book June Profusely illustrated $25.00/cloth NO RESPECT Intellectuals and Popular Culture Andrew Ross Lenny Bruce and Susan Sontag, the Rosenberg trial and the Cosby show: the history of intellectuals and of popular culture in the United States are deeply connected. Andrew Ross shows how and why the cultural authority of modern intellectuals is bound up with the changing face of popular taste in America over the past half century. 288 pp May $32.50/cloth $13.95/paper Routledge 0 BRAVE NEW WORLD! Gender, Race and Nature in the World of Modern Science Donna Haraway "It is hard to exaggerate the brilliance and originality of this book ... In Primate Visions (Haraway) deepens and sharpens our critical understanding of the workings of race, gender, colonial domination, science, and the human sciences." — Joan W. Scott, Institute for Advanced Study 544 pp Illustrated June $35.00/cloth COMING TO TERMS Feminism/Theory/Politics Edited by Elizabeth Weed A Project of the Pembroke Center for Teaching and Research on Women, Brown University Readers and students of politics, history, literature, philosophy, sociology, and the sciences — anyone with a stake in theory and politics — will benefit from this powerful volume. Among the contributors: Barbara Harlow, Nancy K. Miller, Naomi Schor and Gayatri Spivak. 320 pp May $39.50/cloth $13.95/paper ----------------------------------------------------------L DOUBLE TALK The Erotics of Male Literary Collaboration Wayne Koestenbaum Why do men write books together? This entertaining book transforms our understanding of the creative process, providing a new sense of what both collaborative and solitary artistry mean. 256 pp Illustrated May $39.50/cloth $13.95/paper JOCASTA’S CHILDREN Christiane Olivier Subject to great popular acclaim and fierce intellectual debate when it was first published in France in 1980, Jocasta’s Children reinterprets the Oedipal myth, raising issues that many scholars, feminist and otherwise, would rather let lie. 192 pp March $39.95/cloth $13.95/paper HILDEGARD OF BINGEN 1098-1179 A Visionary Life Sabina Flanagan The first comprehensive study of the life and works of one of the most remarkable women in the Middle Ages, Hildegard paints in rich detail a uniquely accomplished life of creative work in theology, medicine, poetry and music. 256 pp Illustrated May $29.95/cloth DELEUZE AND GUATTARI Ronald Bogue From Deleuze's “philosophy of difference" to Deleuze and Guattari's “philosophy of schizoanalytic desire" Bogue traces the ideas of the two writers and their bearing on the development of contemporary literary criticism and theory. 192 pp May $42.50/cloth $13.95/paper The Humanities and Social Sciences Imprint of Routledge, Chapman & Hall 29 West 35th Street New York, NY 10001 -2291 Literature, Language, and Politics Edited by Betty jean Craige In Literature, Language, and Politics, six eminent scholars—Henry Louis Gates, Jr., Gerald Graff, Annette Kolodny, Paul Lauter, Ellen Messer-Davidow, Catharine R. Stimpson, and Ana Celia Zentella— assess the dangers posed to American learning by educational fundamentalists and disciples of the New Right. $17.50 cloth; $8.95 paper An Introductory Guide to Post-Structuralism and Postmodernism Madan Sarup In a clear and lively fashion, Madan Sarup presents an introduction to the three most influential figures in post-structuralist criticism—Jacques Lacan, Jacques Derrida, and Michel Foucault- examining their individual and collective impact on the way we think about literature, culture, philosophy, and politics. $20.00 cloth; $10.00 paper Fiction's Inexhaustible Voice Speech and Writing in Faulkner Stephen Ross In Fiction's Inexhaustible Voice, Ross defines the types of voices that Faulkner's texts employ- phenomenal, mimetic, psychic, and oratorical- concluding that the novels and stories are funda­ mentally vocal, deriving their energy from the play of voices on the imaginative field of written language. $35.00 After Kafka The Influence of Kafka's Fiction Shimon Sandbank After Kafka examines the echoes of Kafka's radical skepticism in the work of twentieth- century writers—from Sartre and Robbe-Grillet to Vonnegut and Pynchon—showing their affinities with Kafka's pessimistic attitude toward existence, as well as how they stop short of his most radical ideas and formulations. $22.50 The Guernica Bull Studies in the Classical Tradition in the Twentieth Century Harry C. Rutledge Using Picasso's Guernica as a point of departure, The Guernica Bull explores several twentieth- century masterpieces of art, literature, and drama, revealing a multi-faceted meshing of classical images and modern sensibility. $22.50 Anglish-Yinglish Yiddish in American Life and Literature Gene Bluestein From BOYtschick to shliMEEL, from "a Heifetz he isn't" to "money-shmoney," Anglish-Yinglish pre­ sents a witty lexicon of nearly every Yiddish word or expression that has found its way into America's linguistic melting pot. Examples from writers including Philip Roth, Joseph Heller, Saul Bellow, and William Styron. $22.50 cloth; $9.95 paper An Ear to the Ground An Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry Edited by Marie Harris and Kathleen Aguero Reflecting a language and culture alive with the influences of many immigrant and native popula­ tions, An Ear to the Ground brings together a diversity of American voices and identities in order to create a literature of inclusion. $30.00 cloth; $14.95 paper Also Available: A Gift of Tongues Critical Challenges in Contemporary American Poetry Edited by Marie Harris and Kathleen Aguero $30.00 cloth; $15.00 paper The University of GEORGIA Press In Mind of Johnson A Study of Johnson the Rambler Philip Davis In an effort to avoid a too academic, too idolatrous, or too alien view of Johnson's life and work, Philip Davis returns to The Rambler, a much-neglected collection of autobiographical essays, to find a common thread of thought that will put the modern reader in mind of Johnson. $35.00 When They Weren't Doing Shakespeare Essays on Nineteenth-Century British and American Theatre Edited by Judith L. Fisher and Stephen Watt Examining non-Shakespearean stagecraft in the nineteenth century, this vigorous collection of essays presents a composite portrait of a diverse, vibrant theatrical world—the players and productions, problems of costuming and staging, the impact of political events and social issues, and the demands of the audience. $40.00 Constance Fenimore Woolson The Grief of Artistry Cheryl B. Torsney An accomplished, popular writer in the years following the Civil War, Constance Fenimore Woolson struggled to forge an identity in her life and her fiction. Cheryl Torsney demonstrates that the artist-heroine—a figure that reappears through­ out Woolson's fiction—represents for Woolson the best sort of woman, one who attempts to assert her individuality through art, despite the grief her artistry will bring her. $25.00 Thomas Merton's Art of Denial The Evolution of a Radical Humanist David D. Cooper In Thomas Merton's Art of Denial, David Cooper traces Merton's attempts to reconcile two seemingly incompatible roles in his life, to find a way in which ''the silence of the monk could live compatibly with the racket of the writer." $35.00 The Manuscripts of Flannery O'Connor at Georgia College Stephen C. Driggers and Robert J. Dunn With Sarah Gordon This book catalogs the manuscripts left behind by Flannery O'Connor—from exercises for high school and college writing classes to the typescripts for two chapters of her unfinished novel Why Do the Heathen Rage?—following the development of her ideas and craft as she produced some of the best fiction of this century. $35.00 Storytellers Folktales and Legends from the South Edited by John A. Burrison A rich collection of more than 250 stories told by native Southerners of African-American, Anglo- Saxon, and Native American descent, Storytellers evokes a region whose diversity and shared rural past is preserved and celebrated in the telling of tales. $29.95 NEW IN PAPERBACK When Roots Die Endangered Traditions on the Sea Islands Patricia Jones-Jackson Foreword by Charles Joyner $12.95 Lay My Burden Down A Folk History of Slavery Edited by B. A. Botkin Foreword by Jerrold Hirsch $14.95 Athens, Georgia 30602 New from Minnesota ■■«■■■■ Theory and History of Literature series KIERKEGAARD Construction of the Aesthetic Theodor W. Adorno Tt’anslated, edited, and with a foreword by Robert Hullot-Kentor Originally published in 1933, this first major work of Adorno developed the fundamental ideas that formed the basis for all his subsequent writings. Kierkegaard challenged the founder and the whole tradition of existentialism and played an important part in the formation of the Frankfurt School’s Critical Theory. First time in English. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper THL series THINKER ON STAGE Nietzsche's Materialism Peter Sloterdijk Translation by Jamie Owen Daniel Foreword by Jochen Schulte-Sasse Originated as postscript to a new edition of Nietzsche's Birth of 'tragedy out of the Spirit of Music, Peter Sloterdijk’s surprisingly empathetic reading grew into an important book-length study of this multifaceted psyche. Musician, philosopher, poet—Nietzsche, to Sloterdijk, is not an exacting philologist behind a lecturn but rather a thinker on stage, acting out a defiant psychodrama on universal human suffering. $29.50 cloth, $12.95 paper THL series ON AUTOBIOGRAPHY Philippe Lejeune Edited and introduced by Paul John Eakin Translated by Katherine Leary “The most original, powerful, effective approach to a difficult subject....His style is very personal, lively. It grabs the reader as scholarship rarely does."—Michael Riffaterre, Columbia University. Lejeune makes a bold case for autobiography as a privileged source for understanding social and cultural history. His wide-ranging examples embrace classical masterworks, popular literature, how-to manuals, the painted self-portrait, and oral narratives. $45.00 cloth, $16.95 paper THL series RHETORIC Renato Barilli Translated by Giuliana Menozzi In a book that serves as both concise introduction and comprehensive reference, Barilli traces rhetoric from its Greek origins to today’s media technologies, then focuses on its changing status as it impinges on ethics, politics, art, and philosophy within the larger history of Western culture. $29.95 cloth, $13.95 paper THL series NARRATIVE AS COMMUNICATION Didier Coste Foreword by Wlad Godzich Analyzing examples as diverse as The Epic of Gilgamesh, a John Ford film classic, The Communist Manifesto, and a painting by Gustave Moreau, Coste presents a major treatise on narrative theory that uses, for the first time, all the analytic tools developed in the last twenty years. Illustrated. $39.50 cloth, $15.95 paper THL series TEXT AND CULTURE The Politics of Interpretation Daniel Cottom Cottom examines the political aspects of contemporary disciplines of interpretation. He is particularly concerned with the ways "culture" and related terms such as “context” and "norm” are part of a larger discourse in the contemporary humanities and social sciences—a discourse in which their effect is to repress recognition of important historical differences, conflicts, and possibilities. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper THL series THE FUTURE OF AN ILLUSION Film, Feminism, and Psychoanalysis Constance Penley A pivotal figure in the development of feminist film theory, Penley analyzes the primary movements that have shaped the field. This collection encompasses avant-garde films, video, popular cinema, television, literature, and critical and cultural theory in a work essential to anyone interested in the sexual politics of representation. Illustrated. $29.50 cloth, $13.95 paper Media & Society series CALIBAN AND OTHER ESSAYS Roberto Fernandez Retamar Translated by Edward Baker Foreword by Fredric Jameson Revolutionary Cuba’s preeminent literary and cultural voice, Retamar is known for his meticulous efforts to dismantle Eurocentric and neocolonial thought. “Caliban,’’ the first and longest of the five essays in this collection, has become a manifesto for Latin American and Caribbean writers. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper HART CRANE A Re-Introduction Warner Berthoff In this reappraisal of the essential character and force of Crane’s still problematic achievement, Berthoff takes into account the substantial body of commentary on Crane’s work. His primary interest, however, is to look afresh at the poems and the poet’s letters. Throughout, he emphasizes the beauty and power of individual poems and the sanity, shrewdness, and sense of purpose that informed Crane’s working intelligence. $30.00 cloth, $14.95 paper University of Minnesota Press Minneapolis MN 55414 REDRAWING THE LINES Analytic Philosophy, Deconstruction, and Literary Theory Reed Way Dasenbrock, editor Since 1970 literary theory has interacted with the Anglo-American and Continental schools of philosophy, often engendering a spirited debate between these (presumed) rival modes of study. In this volume, ten noted scholars discuss the relationship between the two and demonstrate that their approaches are not diametrically opposed. Especially helpful is an annotated bibliography that directs the reader to virtually everything written on the subject. $35.00 cloth, $14.95 paper PRISMAS MODERN SWEDISH-ENGLISH AND ENGLISH-SWEDISH DICTIONARIES Second American Edition In this new edition of an acclaimed work, the Swedish-English volume is expanded from 52,000 to 55,000 entries; and the English-Swedish volume is completely rewritten and expanded from 33,000 to 50,000 entries, including many more American terms. English-Swedish volume $19.95 paper Swedish-English volume $19.95 paper Combined volume $65.00 cloth THE STREAM OF LIFE Clarice Lispector Translated by Elizabeth Lowe and Earl Fitz Foreword by Helene Cixous “Clarice Lispector...is the premier Latin American woman prose writer of this century...” Alfred J. McAdam, New York Times Book Review. Generally regarded as Lispector’s greatest work of fiction, this intense and lyrical novel chronicles its female protagonist's journey of self-discovery and self-affirmation. $19.95 cloth, $9.95 paper Emergent Literatures LITTLE MOUNTAIN Elias Khoury Translated by Maia Tabet Foreword by Edward Said Set against the backdrop of the 1975-76 Lebanese Civil War, Little Mountain documents the socio-political destitution of Beirut and explores, through a rich tapestry of reminiscences, vignettes, and conversations, the myriad aspects of sectarian strife that continue to torture her diverse population. $19.95 cloth, $9.95 paper Emergent Literatures Duke Doing What Comes Naturally Change, Rhetoric, and the Practice of Theory in Literary and Legal Studies Stanley Fish 608 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0859-2 $37.50 The Rhetoric of Interpretation and the Interpretation of Rhetoric Paul Hernadi, editor 210 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0934-3, paper $12.95 The Text of Sidney’s Arcadian World Michael McCanles 232 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0797-9 $36.50 Gogol V. V. Gippius edited and translated by Robert A. Maguire 216 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0907-6, paper $12.95 Now published by Duke University Press The Tel Aviv Review Gabriel Moked, editor subscription rates (annual): $12/individuals, $24/institutions The Dream of Chaucer Representation and Reflection in the Early Narratives Robert R. Edwards 224 pages. ISBN 0-8223-0871-1 $32.50 Poetics Today Benjamin Harshav and Itamar Even-Zohar, editors subscription rates (quarterly): $24/individuals, $44/institutions Duke University Press 6697 College Station Durham, NC 27708 Henry James at his very best. The acclaimed Library of America is in the process of publishing the complete Henry James, in superior, affordable, authorita­ tive editions. Only The Library of America offers scrupulously accurate texts, prepared by leading scholars and presented without intrusive interpretation, in an inviting, easy-to-read design. These top-quality editions provide often hard-to-nnd works by James. And their compact, cloth-bound format is both handsome and durable, yet priced well below comparable collections. For study, for teaching, or for plea­ sure—look for all of the volumes in the Henry James series: NOVELS 1871-1880: Watch and Ward, Roderick Hudson, The American, The Europeans, Confidence. NOVELS 1881-1886: Washington Square, The Portrait of a Lady, The Bostonians. NOVELS 1886-1890: The Princess Cas- amassima, The Reverberator, The Tragic Muse LITERARY CRITICISM (2 volumes) THE LIBRARY OF AMERICA The only definitive collection of America’s greatest writers. Volumes are $27.50 each, except for Novels 1886-1890, which is $35.00. More than 40 volumes in The Library of America are now available. For a complete listing, additional information, or to place an order: The Library of America, 14 E. 60th St., NY NY 10022, (212)308-3360. .* *. COLLINS “All teachers and serious students of Spanish ...will warmly welcome this marvelous refer­ ence work.” —Hispania “...is about as up-to-date as it is possible to get, and is already superior to most other one-volume dictionaries.” —The News (Mexico City) SPANISH ENGLISH ENGLISH SPANISH This new edition of The Collins Spanish- English Dictionary features all the things that have made the previous edition the best book of its kind—and lots more. Such as: 25,000 new references, an impressive increase in the coverage of Mexican and Latin-American Spanish, and a 72-page guide to self-ex­ pression called “Language in Use.” Available at your bookstore or call 201-767-5937 to order now. (0-671-67840-X) $23.95, cloth, thumb-indexed edition (0-671-67839-6) $21.95, cloth, plain-edged edition We speak your language better than anyone else. COLLINS FOREIGN LANGUAGE DICTIONARIES Distributed by Prentice Hall Trade SalesSimon & Schuster, Inc. A Gulf + Western Company PETER LANG Alfred Hoelzel The Paradoxical Quest A Study of Faustian Vicissitudes New Yorker Beitrage zur Vergleichenden Literaturwis- senschaft. Vol. 1 1988. XIV, 171 pp. ISBN 0-8204-0844-1 hardback $ 26.15 Close comparative examination of the Faust legend and the Biblical tale of the Fall reveals an analogous paradox in the nexus of good and evil in both stories. Identifying this paradox as a quintes­ sential sine qua non of the Faust quest, this study traces its development through the Faust tradition’s four most important literary instances: the six­ teenth-century German Chapbook, and the Faust works of Christopher Marlowe, Johann IV Goethe, and Thomas Mann. John Hargrove Tatum The Reception of Ger­ man Literature in U.S. German Texts, 1864-1918 Studies in Modern German Literature. Vol. 2 1988. 397 pp. ISBN 0-8204-0420-9 hardback $ 49.95 «... a valuable exploration ...an indispen­ sable tool for the study of the contribution of German language and literature to the intel­ lectual climate during the period under dis­ cussion. »(Siegfried Mews, The Univ. of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) «... a thorough study that lists all available tit­ les in a most conscientious manner ...Ta­ tum’s work should provide a valuable basis for further research.« (Christoph E. Schweit­ zer, The Univ. of North Carolina at Chapel Hill). «Tatum’s comprehensive reception study of German literature... stands as the definitive work on the subject.” (Richard H. Lawson, The Univ. of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) Jeffrey L. Sammons Imagination and History Selected Papers on Nine­ teenth-Century German Literature North American Studies in Nineteenth-Century German Literature. Vol. 3 1988. 322 pp. ISBN 0-8204-0768-2 hardback $ 46.90 Topics include: the Bildungsroman, Eduard Morike, Heinrich Heine, Ludolf Wienbarg, Berthold Auerbach, Gustav Freytag, German novels on America, Wilhelm Raabe, and the evaluation of literature. Several of the essays have been revised or expanded and in some cases they have been supplied with re­ trospective postscripts to bring them up to date. PETER LANG PUBLISHING, INC. - 62 West 45th Street - New York, NY 10036 Phone (212) 302-6740 Fax (212) 302-7574 Jill : " II II « « L 1 A I AND ACKIlVIMtNTS Of AMERICA'S undssre»:o ^Finally someone has looked at the ‘remediation problem’ through the right end of the telescope. Mike Rose’s wonderfully humane-and wonderfully written-account of university education as disadvantaged students encounter it should be read by everyone thinking about literacy and higher education in America. 5 9 -Richard Lanham, UCLA, author of Literacy and the Survival of Humanism LIVES ON THE BOUNDARY The Struggles and Achievements of America’s Underprepared Mike Rose 6 6 Sensitive to the hidden injuries of class and cultural difference, this book is a hopeful, sophisticated call for an education that matches a pluralistic democracy. 9 9 -David Tyack, Stanford University, author of The One Best System: A History of American Urban Education 1989 ISBN: 0-02-926821-4 $22.95 I! M I h E R 0 S E I Clip coupon and mail to: I The Free Press, Attn: Dino Battista, 866 Third Ave, NY, NY 10022 Please send me. . copy(ies) of LIVES ON THE BOUNDARY (ISBN: 0-02-926821-4). Enclosed is my check or money order for $22.95 per book. NAME. For VISA, MasterCard or American Express orders, call toll-free 1-800-323-7445 between 9am-5:30pm Eastern Time. ADDRESS_______ CITY, STATE, ZIP. I I I I I I 1 THE FREE PRESS psr 932/psi 932 pcny cancel 0 A Division of Macmillan, Inc. 866 Third Avenue, New York, New York 10022 I "Splendid." - Washington Post "An outstanding folklore series." - Booklist THE PANTHEON FAIRY TALE AND FOLKLORE LIBRARY "Should be the cornerstone to the library of any booklover interested in folklore and the history of children’s literature." A. B. Bookman’s Weekly JUST PUBLISHED! YIDDISH FOLKTALES Edited by Beatrice Weinreich Translated by Leonard Wolf "Rich annotations...vibrant translations." N.Y. Times Book Review $21.95 THE VICTORIAN FAIRY TALE BOOK Edited by Michael Patrick Hearn "Superb." Washington Post Book World $19.95 — Now Twenty Volumes Strong! —■ Also available: Afro-American Folktales ($11.95) * America in Legend ($15.95) * American Indian Myths and Legends ($11.95) * Russian Fairy Talcs ($11.95) * Favorite Folktales from Around the World ($19.95, $11.95) * The Complete Grimms’ Fairy Tales ($17.00, $9.95) * Eighty Fairy Talcs ($14.95, $11.95) * Gods and Heroes ($11.95) * Chinese Fairy Tales ($9.95) * Arab Folktales ($19.95, $11.95) • African Folktales ($10.95) ’ Irish Folktales ($11.95) » Folktales of the British Isles ($22.95) * Italian Folktales ($11.95) * Norse Myths ($8.95) * Norwegian Folktales ($7.95) * An Encyclopedia of Fairies ($11.95) Coming in October: French Folktales: From the Collection of Henry Pourrat Now in Paperback! JAPANESE FOLKTAI .ES Edited by Royall Tyler cloth $19.95/paper $12.95 PANTHEON BOOKS/A Division of Random House 201 E. 50th St., New York, NY 10022 At bookstores or call toll-free: 800-733-3000 NATIONAL CONFERENCE sponsored by THE STATE UNIVERSITY OF NEW JERSEY RUTGERS Campus at Camden T he American educational system has long espoused the idea that students should emerge from their undergraduate careers as well- rounded individuals. Perhaps the time is ripe to re-examine what constitutes a well-rounded education, which values are being inculcated, and what and who are being excluded—for what reasons and to what ends. Much has been writ­ ten recently on the theory of race, ethnicity and gender, but putting it into practice is the diffi­ culty. What is needed is a “hands-on” approach to the possibilities and difficulties of applica­ tion of such theories to teaching and the cur­ riculum in the discipline, in order to make education meaningful, relevant and accessible to all. This conference sees diversity among the students of our colleges and universities as the bedrock of American culture. The development of a critical consciousness which sustains and guides students through the socio-political con­ texts in which they live is the true mission of a college curriculum. The disciplines are the ve­ hicles through which the theoretical underpin­ nings of a democratic society can be put into Opening of the American Mind RACE, ETHNICITY AND GENDER IN HIGHER EDUCATION September 20-22, 1989 Sheraton Society Hill • Philadelphia, Pa. practice. Freedom from oppressive thought and ideology, and a mind open to the unique his­ tories, contributions and circumstances of those who differ in ethnicity, gender and class are the results of an effective higher education. “Opening the American Mind” offers scholars and teachers an opportunity to present historical and theoretical views, as well as innova­ tive approaches to instruction. Above all, the conference, as a forum for convergent and diver­ gent points of view, offers an opportunity to work out practical methods and applications for the future. CONFIRMED SPEAKERS Barbara Herrnstein Smith Past President, MLA Leon Botstein President, Bard College Joshua Fishman Stanford University Houston Baker, Jr. University of Pennsylvania CALL FOR PAPERS This is a call for proposals which support and run counter to the position of the confer­ ence conveners. The general sessions which will serve as the foundation for the conference are: CULTURAL LITERACY: TOWARD DEFINING AN EDUCATED PERSON FOR THE 21st CENTURY STRATEGIES FOR CURRICULUM REVISION CAMPUS AND ENVIRONMENT: SETTING A TONE OF INCLUSIVENESS REVISING THE CANON: TOWARD A MORE INCLUSIVE CURRICULUM LINGUISTICS THE NEW ETHNICITY: IS IT ON THE DECLINE? ETHNIC AND GENDER STUDIES BILINGUALISM Individuals interested in presenting papers should submit a two-page abstract by June 1, 1989 to: DR. DAVID WILSON ASSISTANT PROVOST RUTGERS UNIVERSITY CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY 08102 For further conference information or registra­ tion details, call (609) 757-6357. Your personal advisor for choosing the best fantasy literature. FANTASY LITERATURE for CHILDREN and YOUNG ADULTS NEWLY EXPANDED 3RD EDITION! R.R. BOWKER THE INFORMATION REFERENCE COMPANY Prices are applicable in the U.S., its territories, and in Canada. Applica­ ble sales tax must be included. Add 5% of net invoice amount for shipping and handling. Third Edition An Annotated Bibliography Ruth Nadelman Lynn This completely updated and expanded guide draws on 24 distinguished review sources to recommend 3,300 fantasy works—including (,6OO new to this edition— for children and young adults in grades 3 through 12. Each title has been favorably reviewed and recommended by at least two stan­ dard review sources and each is labeled as outstanding or recommended. Thor­ ough annotations also note major awards won, reading level, full bibliographic information, and more! Booklist called the 2nd edition "a valu­ able reference tool for librarians, teach­ ers, and students of children's literature... a guide to build collections, to locate specific titles or kinds of fantasy, and to stimulating research." With its newly added Subject Index and Research Guide which includes crit­ ical and biographical information on some 600 children's and young adult fantasy authors, the new, comprehensive 3rd edi­ tion will be invaluable for maintaining a strong fantasy section and for working with this popular genre. ORDER YOURS TODAY BY CALLING TOLL-FREE 1-800-521-8110. In NY, AK, and HI call collect (212) 337-6934. In Canada 1-800-537-8416. Or mail your purchase order to R.R. Bowker/ PO Box 762/NY, NY 10011 Jan. 1989 • 864 pp. • 0-8352-2347-7 Ages 8-18 • $39.95 And ask for a FREE copy of the 1989 Bowker Children's and Young Adult Reference Book Catalog when you order! _ jfe.. PenguiN NATURE I 1BRARY The Americas, Naturally Meriwether Lewis and William Clark THE JOURNALS OF LEWIS AND CLARK Edited and introduced by Frank Bergon The first American expedition across the continent captured in immediacy and detail. “The equivalent of a national poem, a magnificent epic for an unfinished nation” —Frank Bergon. 0-14-017006-5 S8.95 Mary Austin THE LAND OF LITTLE RAIN Introduction by Edward Abbey Between Death Valley and the High Sierras lie desert and foothills drawn in lyrical clarity as they were in 1903, “as remote from our regular and regulated anthill lives as the flight of an eagle”—Edward Abbey. 0-14-017009-X S6.95 Henry Walter Bates THE NATURALIST ON THE RIVER AMAZONS Introduction by Alex Shoumatoff Mid-nineteenth-century Amazonia appears through the eyes of one of the first explorers in “one of the monuments of scientific travel writing... a celebration of the world’s ultimate wilderness”—Alex Shoumatoff. 0-14-017011-1 S8.95 . Henry Beston THE OUTERMOST HOUSE Introduction by Robert Finch Poised between sea and shore, classic adventures and reflections on Cape Cod are filled with the power and glory of the sea—“with measured cadences in calm weather, with life-destroying fury during northeast gales... .There is no other landscape like it anywhere”—Robert Finch. 0-14-017012-X S6.95 Henry David Thoreau THE MAINE WOODS Introduction by Edward Hoagland The unspoiled beauty of Thoreau’s Maine wilderness is revealed in “foxy grace and crystalline precision...joyful inventories and resilient spirits”—Edward Hoagland. 0-14-017013-8 S7.95 PENGUIN USA Academic/Library Marketing 40 West 23rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10010 WHO KILLED VIRGINIA W0QLF? A PSYCHOBIOGRAPHY Alma Halbert Bond. Ph D. Every Suicide Has Its Accomplices. Read about the conspiracy of the entire Virginia Woolf industry to cover up the unsettling story of how her friends and relatives contributed to Virginia Woolf's suicide. This detailed analysis by noted psychoanalyst Alma Bond provides new insight into Virginia Woolf's life. You know what happened to Virginia Woolf. Read this book and find out why. To order, send $19.95 to: Plenum Publishing Corp/Human Sciences 233 Spring Street, New York, NY 10013 ____________________________________________________ | | Check Attached [ | MC | | Visa | | AmEx address account no. exp. date city state zip signature Literary Criticism from Howard University Press Speaking For You The Vision of Ralph Ellison edited by Kimberly W Benston A collection of essays, poetry, and interviews, with an extensive bibliography, Speaking For You gives readers an opportunity to know Ralph Ellison the man, his art, and his philosophy more fully. “... The single most important volume on Ellison yet to have appeared....” Choice 0-88258-169-4 $21.95 cloth James Baldwin A Critical Evaluation edited by Therman B. O’Daniel This volume of essays examines Baldwin as novelist, essayist, short story writer, playwright, scenarist, and interlocuter. “All the essays are well written and represent worth­ while additions to critical studies of this important black writer...” Library Journal 0-88258-047-7 $12.00 cloth 0-88258-091-4 $ 7.95 paper Jean Toomer A Critical Evaluation edited by Therman B. O’Daniel Defying conventional techniques, Jean Toomer’s Cane took the literary world by storm in 1932. The essays in this study provide a penetrating and critical assessment of this enigmatic writer and his works. 0-88258-111-2 $21.95 cloth The Wayward and the Seeking A Collection of Writings by Jean Toomer edited and with an introduction by Darwin T. Turner This collection reveals Toomer’s intellectual and psy­ chological development prior to the publication of Cane. Included here are the various genres Toomer explored: autobiography, short stories, poetry, drama, and aphorisms. 0-88258-014-0 $14.95 cloth 0-88258-028-0 $ 7.95 paper All orders from individuals must be prepaid. Mail orders to: Marketing Department Howard University Press 2900 Van Ness Street, Nffi Washington, D.C. 20008 New from North Point Press: Essays, Astute and Original \XZZ7/ 7/ §ZZZ7/tyA\ \w/ /aVa\ \vav/ /aVa\ \W/a\W/ /aVa\\w//aVa\ W7/ 7\\ MAZES Hugh Kenner Cloth, $22.95 Available in June Never before has the encyclopedic breadth of Hugh Kenner’s interests been as clearly exhibited as in Mazes, an entertaining, substantial new collection by “one of the most distinguished critics now at work in the field.” —New York Times Book Review “Brilliant in its grasping at inter­ connections.”—Publishers Weekly “A dazzling presentation that is sheer pleasure to read.”—Walter Abish HORSE-TRADING & ECSTASY Barbara Probst Solomon These investigations, interviews, and essays trace the high and low points of moral and intellectual life in the latter part of this century. “From a 1959 put-down of Jack Kerouac to a 1988 meditation on Klaus Barbie, Gestapo chief of Lyons, France, these bracing essays never falter in readability or intellectual rigor. ”—Publishers Weekly “As, savvy as it is funny and shrewd.”—Ronald Christ Cloth, $18.95 Q North Point Press, 850 Talbot Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94706 h NTUCKY1 FEMINIST LITERARY CRITICISM Explorations in Theory JOSEPHINE DONOVAN, Editor. An expand­ ed second edition of the first major book of feminist critical theory published in the United States. Indispensable for an understanding of the development of feminist theory. "An ex­ cellent introduction to the field"—American Literary Scholarship. 112 pages $6.00 paper WOMEN'S POETRY OF THE FIRST WORLD WAR NOSHEEN KHAN. By analyzing the work of women poets, both familiar and unknown, Khan shows the full impact of the war upon women writing during that painful time. 240 pages $25.00 DEMON-LOVERS AND THEIR VICTIMS IN BRITISH FICTION TONI REED. The first historical and structural exploration of the demon-lover motif, with emphasis on major works from the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries. 176 pages $18.00 KING LEAR AND THE GODS WILLIAM R. ELTON. "Extremely interest­ ing. . . . will be found of great value not on­ ly by readers interested in the interpretation of King Lear, but also by those concerned with other works of the period or with the Ren­ aissance as a whole"—Renaissance Quarter­ ly. 384 pages $30.00 cloth; $15.00 SHAKESPEARE AND THE POET'S LIFE GARY SCHMIDGALL. Why did this great writer cease in his efforts to combine poetry and drama and exclusively devote himself to the Globe and the Blackfriars? Schmidgall's conclusions are illuminating. 248 pages $25.00 December AMERICAN WOMEN WRITING FICTION Memory, Identity, Family, Space MICKEY PEARLMAN, Editor. "A sure-footed guide to contemporary American literature"—Booklist. Jargon-free essays on the work of ten important contemporary women novelists, including Joan Didion, Gail Godwin, Jayne Anne Phillips, and Joyce Carol Oates. Their work has broadened American literature to reflect more clearly the people we are. 232 pages $20.00 cloth; $10.00 paper LITERATURE AND SPIRIT Essays on Bakhtin and His Contemporaries DAVID PATTERSON. Exploring Bakhtin's no­ tions of spirit, responsibility, and dialogue, Patterson takes his reader from the narrow arena of literary criticism to the larger realm of human living and loving. 192 pages $18.00 INNOCENT ABROAD Charles Dickens's American Engagements JEROME MECKIER. Travelling to America in 1842, Dickens expected to find an ideal republic that demonstrated human progress as natural law. Using new material, Meckier explains the reasons for the failure of the writer's visits. This critical/biographical study reshapes our view of this Victorian literary giant. 256 pages $25.00 December MARK OF THE BEAST Death and Degradation in the Literature of the Great War ALFREDO BONADEO. From the literature of World War I Bonadeo describes the un­ paralleled degradation of the common man and the callous encouragement by the in­ telligentsia. The grim focus of this book reveals new social meanings of "the war to end all wars." 192 pages $19.00 Inquiries and major credit card orders, phone toll-free 1-800-666-2211. Send mail orders to: The University Press of Kentucky, P.O. Box 6525, Ithaca, NT 14851. THE UNIVERSITY PRESS OF KENTUCKY Women—many voices, many views —— A collection of distinction 111 — PLUME AMERICAN WOMEN WRITERS © Plume is proud to publish this innovative series of works from the nation’s most gifted women writers. Series Editor: Michele Slung POINT OF NO RETURN By Martha Gellhorn. With a new Afterword by the author. Originally published in 1948 as The Wine of Astonishment, this brilliant story of men and women and their war-torn emotions is recognized as the first American war novel written by a woman. ©PLUME 0-452-26223-2 $8.95 EX-WIFE By Ursula Parrott. Introduction by Francine Prose. When it was first published in 1929, EX- WIFE was deemed so scandalous that Parrott kept her identity secret. This entertaining and funny novel shows contemporary readers the sex­ ual mores and double standards for women in the 1920’s. ©PLUME 0-452-26224-0 $7.95 ANGEL ISLAND By Inez Haynes Gillmore. Introduction by Ursula K. LeGuin. In this undiscovered 1914 classic, five shipwrecked men try to tame five flying women and clip their wings. But before long these magi­ cal bird-creatures create a new life and a greater wonder comes when a male child is born with wings of his own. ©PLUME 0-452-26200-3 $8.95 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY A Society Novel By Harriet Beecher Stowe. Introduction by Judith Martin. Written in 1871, this astute novel of man­ ners is a penetrating look at the institution of mar­ riage. Stowe transcends the obvious to reveal how Lillie Ellis, a professional belle and undenia­ ble manipulator, is a victim of her own femininity. ©PLUME 0-452-26177-5 $7.95 THE PRODIGAL WOMEN By Nancy Hale. Introduction by Mary Lee Settle. The New Yorker hailed this novel as one “full of stature, skillfully projected...beautifully written.” Four decades later Hale’s story of Leda March, a Boston Brahmin who had everything, and Betsy and Maizie Jekyll, two beautiful and cunning Southern belles, remains fresh and vibrant for readers today. ©PLUME 0-452-26140-6 $8.95 Also available AFRO-AMERICAN WOMEN WRITERS 1746-1933 An Anthology and Critical Guide Compiled by Ann Allen Shockley. This ground­ breaking anthology provides excerpts from a vari­ ety of writings—fiction, autobiography, journals, and diaries—by more than 35 black women, rang­ ing from slaves, ministers, and educators whose works had been forgotten or lost to recognized poets and novelists such as Phillis Wheatly and Nella Larson. ©MERIDIAN 0-452-00981-2 $14.95 AFTER DELORES By Sarah Schulman. “A rare, insightful look into the lesbian mind...The book is as raw as fresh- shucked oysters and redolent with rugged charm.”—The New York Times Book Review. “Makes Bright Lights, Big City and Less Than Zero seem thin and dated.”—Publishers Weekly ©PLUME 0-452-26228-3 $7.95 SHE CAME IN A FLASH By Mary Wings. Emma Victor, the intrepid lesbian detective from She Came Too Late, returns for an encore. She’s now settled in San Francisco look­ ing for a new life. But mystery seems to follow her wherever she goes, and Emma finds herself sud­ denly involved with the members of a very strange commune. ®NAL BOOKS 0-453-00648-5 $17.95 Prices subject to change. Write to the NAL Education Department at the address below for a free Women’s Studies catalog. NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY ; 1633 Broadway, New York, NY 10019 NAL Gracious Laughter The Meditative Wit of Edward Taylor John Gatta. This illuminating study shows how Ed­ ward Taylor's exploitation of wit, play, and the comic spirit flowed from his peculiar grasp of Puritan and Christian poetics. By exploring the significance of this wit in its diverse forms, Gatta offers a fresh perspective on those traits of mind and composition that have estab­ lished Edward Taylor as the foremost poet of early America. 0704-9 240 pages $26.00 Ghosts, Demons, and Henry James The Turn of the Screw at the Turn of the Century Peter G. Beidler. Placing Henry James's most famous story within the tradition of the "factual" ghost narra­ tive, Beidler argues convincingly that James intended to write a story of supernatural, rather than merely psy­ chological, terror. 0684-0 160 pages $25.00 Architects of the Abyss The Indeterminate Fictions of Poe, Hawthorne, and Melville Dennis Pahl. "Working within a post-structuralist theoretical frame, Mr. Pahl, in an exemplary way, puts theory into practice. His work, because of its cogency and clarity, will make available to many practitioners a body of philosophical understanding that otherwise might be difficult to apply to the reading of specific books."—Kenneth Dauber, State University of New York at Buffalo. 0707-3 160 pages $26.00 Shakespeare, Fletcher, and The Two Noble Kinsmen Essays Edited by Charles H. Frey. Finally recog­ nized as part of Shakespeare's canon, The Two Noble Kinsmen is the often-neglected collaboration of the Bard and John Fletcher. This collection of essays, exploring problems of coauthorship, interpretation, and history of performance, opens the way for in-depth study of this little-known masterpiece. 0705-7 232 pages $24.00 Charles Perrault Memoirs of My Life Edited and translated by Jeanne Morgan Zarucchi. Perrault, the author of "Little Red Riding Hood" and "Cinderella," was also a political observer whose first­ hand glimpses of famous personalities and events illu­ minate the unique relationship of art, patronage, and power under the reign of Louis XIV. 0667-0 152 pages $22.00 Jewish Issues in Argentine Literature From Gerchunoff to Szichman Naomi Lindstrom. Treating one of the least explored but most intellectually challenging aspects of Argentine literature, Naomi Lindstrom examines the works of Jewish authors in Argentina from 1910 to the present. In doing so, she offers both a historical account of Jewish contributions to Argentine literature and detailed analy­ ses of selected works by eight Jewish-Argentine writers. 0708-1 208 pages $24.00 The Complete Sermons of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Volume 1 Edited by Albert J. von Frank, with an Introduc­ tion by David M. Robinson. This inaugural volume of a four-volume set marks the beginning of the publica­ tion of all 180 of the extant sermons composed and delivered by Emerson between the start of his ministe­ rial career in 1826 and his final retirement from the pulpit in 1838. 0681-6 344 pages $45.00 UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI PRESS 200 Lewis Hall • Columbia, MO 65211 —Pittsburgh Series__ MATTHEW J. BRUCCOLI, GENERAL EDITOR “If any series of bibliographies published in this country can be said to reach the highest standards of excellence in compilation, editing, thoroughness, accuracy, format, description, typography, and book production in general, it is the Pittsburgh Series in Bibliography.”—Book Collector’s Market Forthcoming in the Series THOMAS CARLYLE A Descriptive Bibliography Roger L. Tarr/Fa// 1989/$110.00/3607-0 NELSON ALGREN A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Brucco\i/1985/$60.00/3517-1 JOHN BERRYMAN A Descriptive Bibliography Ernest C. Stefanik, 3r./1974/$70.00/3281-4 RAYMOND CHANDLER A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/7979/$60.00/3382-9 JAMES GOULD COZZENS A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/1981 / $65.0073435-3 EMILY DICKINSON A Descriptive Bibliography Joel Myerson/1984/$60.00/3491-4 RALPH WALDO EMERSON A Descriptive Bibliography Joel Myerson/7982/8710.00/3452-3 EMERSON An Annotated Secondary Bibliography Robert E. Burkholder & Joel Myerson /1985/$130.00/3502-3 F. SCOTT FITZGERALD A Descriptive Bibliography, Revised Edition Matthew J. Bruccoli/7988/$700.00/3560-0 MARGARET FULLER A Descriptive Bibliography Joel Myerson/7978/860.00/3387-0 DASHIELL HAMMETT A Descriptive Bibliography Richard Layman/7979/$60.00/3394-2 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE A Descriptive Bibliography C.E. Frazer Clark, 3r./1978/$95.00/3343-8 RING W. LARDNER A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli & Richard Layman 1976/$90.00/3306-3 ROSS MACDONALD/KENNETH MILLAR A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/7983/$70.00/3482-5 MARIANNE MOORE A Descriptive Bibliography Craig S. Abbott/7 977/$65.00/3319-5 JOHN O’HARA A Descriptive Bibliography Matthew J. Bruccoli/1978/$75.00/3349-7 EUGENE O’NEILL A Descriptive Bibliography Jennifer McCabe Atkinson 1974/$90.00/3279-2 WALLACE STEVENS A Descriptive Bibliography J. M. Edelstein/7 973/$90.00/3268- 7 HENRY DAVID THOREAU A Descriptive Bibliography Raymond W. Borst/7981/$65.00/3445-0 THOMAS WOLFE A Descriptive Bibliography Carol Johnston/7987/$75.00/3546-5 University of Pittsburgh Press c/o CUP Services Box 6525 Ithaca, NY 14850 800-666-2211 ____________ in Bibliography THE WALK Notes on a Romantic Image By Jeffrey C. Robinson “Jeffrey C. Robinson’s The Walk is a lively and intelligent omnibus for thinkers as well as for walkers. His evident love of literature is genuine enthusiasm for all that is best in life.”—Annie Dillard. This unique book will appeal to students and scholars of literature, particularly of the Romantic movement. It will also capture the imaginations of poets and novelists, general readers interested in literature and culture, and nature and walking enthusiasts. $18.95 PERSONAL WRITINGS BY WOMEN TO 1900 A Bibliography of American and British Writers Compiled by Gwenn Davis and Beverly A. Joyce This pioneering reference work on the private writings of women provides a comprehensive list of autobiographical and travel literature, letters, and diaries by women published between 1475 and 1900. For each author the compilers have supplied her full name, alternative names, titles, pseudonyms used in personal writings, her nationality, and her date of birth and death where known. Full titles and publication information are given for the first edition of each book. $65.00 Write for FREE catalog. From your bookseller, or order direct ($1.50 post/hand). Dept. MA85—1005 Asp Ave.—Norman, OK 73019 of Oklahoma Press /Si w- New EDITION An Introduction to Bibliographical and Textual Studies SECOND EDITION by William Proctor Williams and Craig S. Abbott This work describes the practice and application of bibliographical and textual scholarship during the twentieth century; it also includes information on analytical, descriptive, historical, and reference bibliographical works, as well as a discussion of texts and textual criticism. Includes an index. 1989. vi & 114 pp. Cloth, $32.00 (members $25.60) [S641C1 Paper, $16.50 (members $13.20) [S641P] OHIO UNIVERSITY PRESS Nev) for 1989 Edmund Wilson A Critic for Our Time JANET GROTH “[This book] makes a contribution—a strong contribution—to our understanding of both Edmund Wilson and American literary criticism.”—George Monteiro. “It is one of the best studies of Wilson I have seen and deserves every success.’’—Leon Edel Winner of the 1988 NEMLA/Ohio University Press Book Award 350 pp. cloth $29.95 Willa Cather Living A Personal Record EDITH LEWIS FOREWORD BY MARILYN ARNOLD As critical interest in the work of Willa Cather increases, it becomes more obvious that attention must be accorded Edith Lewis, Willa Cather’s friend and literary executrix, and Lewis’ work. Not only a classic biography of a great American writer, this memoir by Lewis demands close critical consideration in its own right. 240 pp. cloth $22.95 paper $12.95 English Language Criticism on the Foreign Novel, 1965-1975 COMPILED BY HARRIET ALEXANDER This reference bibliography provides easier access to the criticism on novels published in Africa, Latin America, Europe, Asia, Canada, Australia, and the Middle East. This is a reference tool which is surely essential for every library. 450 pp. cloth $49.95 Now available James Wright The Poetry of a Grown Man KEVIN STEIN In this first comprehensive scholarly introduction to the work of James Wright, the author traces the unified growth of Wright’s poetry throughout his career. 264 pp. cloth $28.95 For a free catalog, write: Ohio University Press DEPARTMENT P2 . SCOTT QUADRANGLE • ATHENS, OH 45701 New Titles “ MLA Portuguese Language and Luso-Brazilian Literature AN ANNOTATED GUIDE TO SELECTED REFERENCE WORKS compiled by Bobby J. Chamberlain A comprehensive, annotated guide to reference works covering the litera­ ture and language of all Portuguese-speaking lands. Besides listing perti­ nent bibliographies and studies of literature, this guide offers a bibliography of Luso-Brazilian linguistics, philology, and lexicology and includes the most recent dictionaries of argots and dialects. It embraces dictionaries and encyclopedias dealing specifically with the Portuguese world, as well as more general works. 1989. xii & 95 pp. Cloth, $20.00 (members $16.00) ISB06C] Paper, $14.50 (members $11.60) ISB06P] The English Coalition Conference DEMOCRACY THROUGH LANGUAGE edited by Richard Lloyd-]ones and Andrea A. Lunsford This volume represents the official reports of elementary, secondary, and college teachers of English who gathered in 1987 to examine common challenges and issues of concern and to chart directions for the study of English into the twenty-first cen­ tury. It presents the major conclusions reached by conference participants, as well as background information, position papers, some sketches designed to illus­ trate the problems and opportunities fac­ ing English studies, and a number of appendixes. The volume could be profita­ bly read not only by professionals in the field of English but by educational ad­ ministrators and parents as well. Urbana: NCTE and MLA 1989. xxiv & 87 pp. Paper, $6.95 [W410PJ (members $5.50 [W410Q]) APPROACHES TO TEACHING Ellison's Invisible Man edited by Susan Resneck Parr and Pancho Savery 1989. xi & 154 pp. Cloth [AP24C] Paper [AP24P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Cather's My Antonia edited by Susan J. Rosowski 1989. xii & 194 pp. Cloth /AP22C] Paper [AP22P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Sterne's Tristram Shandy edited by Melvyn New 1989. x & 174 pp. Cloth [AP20C] Paper [AP20P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Eliot's Poetry and Plays edited by Jewel Spears Brooker 1989. xii & 203 pp. Cloth [AP19CJ Paper [AP19PJ APPROACHES TO TEACHING Volumes in this series survey critical materials and discuss techniques that have proved effective in teaching the works at the undergraduate level. Each volume is available in a clothbound edition ($32.00; members $25.60) and in a paper- bound edition ($17.50; members $14.00). APPROACHES TO TEACHING Lessing's The Golden Notebook edited by Carey Kaplan and Ellen Cronan Rose 1989. x & 147 pp. Cloth [AP23C] Paper [AP23PJ APPROACHES TO TEACHING Swift's Gulliver's Travels edited by Edward J. Rielly 1988. ix & 148 pp. Cloth [AP18C] Paper [AP18P] APPROACHES TO TEACHING Blake's Songs of Innocence and of Experience edited by Robert F. Gleckner and Mark L. Greenberg 1989. xvi & 162 pp. Cloth [AP21CJ Paper [AP21PJ APPROACHES TO TEACHING Momaday's The Way to Rainy Mountain edited by Kenneth M. Roemer 1988. xiv & 172 pp. Cloth JAP17C] Paper [AP17P] LSU | Press The Edge of the Swamp A Study in the Literature and Society of the Old South LOUIS D. RUBIN, JR. "There is no better guide to Southern literature in the full context of Southern experience than Louis D. Rubin, Jr. He is a partisan not of causes but of the Southern imagination, resourceful and subtle, with a full regard for differing points of view."—Alfred Kazin $25.00 Theodore Roethke's Far Fields The Evolution of His Poetry PETER BALAKIAN In this critical study of Theodore Roethke's poetry, Peter Balakian treats the evolution of the poet's work from his first book to his last. Balakian argues that Roethke was among the most innovative poets of his time and helped bring America to a new frontier in the con­ temporary era. $25.00 John Crowe Ransom's Secular Faith KIERAN QUINLAN Kieran Quinlan examines John Crowe Ransom's theological and philosophical inter­ ests in an effort to understand the many ap­ parent contradictions in the career of this important man of letters. $20.00 Afro-American Writing Today An Anniversary Issue of the Southern Review Edited by JAMES OLNEY This special issue of the Southern Review has been reissued in book form with the express purpose of granting greater access and more prominent status to an important collection of Afro-American writings. The range and variety of contributions attest to the remarkable energy and vitality that characterize contem­ porary Afro-American writing. $29.95 Bardic Ethos and the American Epic Poem Whitman, Pound, Crane, Williams, Olson JEFFREY WALKER In this first book-length rhetorical study of American epic verse, Jeffrey Walker develops an important and controversial account of what may be the most persistent and signifi­ cant tradition in American poetry. $35.00 The Green American Tradition Essays and Poems for Sherman Paul Edited by H. DANIEL PECK "This is the most integrated and organically coherent festschrift I have seen. It is cohesive in its own subject matter and, even more miraculous, the essays are beautifully and organically one with the object of the festschrift, Sherman Paul and his work." —Milton R. Stern, University of Connecticut $35.00 The Lives of Jean Toomer A Hunger for Wholeness CYNTHIA EARL KERMAN and RICHARD ELDRIDGE "It belongs on the shelf with a growing num­ ber of first-rate scholarly biographies of Afro-American men and women of letters." —Horace Porter, Washington Post Book World "It is hard to imagine a study of greater integrity and insight into this complex American."—Arnold Rampersad, New York Times Book Review $12.95, paper Collected Poems, 1919-1976 ALLEN TATE Allen Tate's Collected Poems, first published in 1977, shows the develpment of the poet from his earliest effort, "Red Stains" (1919), to his last poem, "Farewell Rehearsed" (1976). "This is by far the most handsome and complete [collection of Tate's poetry]."—The Nation $9.95, paper Louisiana State University Press Baton Rouge 70893 New FROM THE MLA Language, Gender, and Professional Writing THEORETICAL APPROACHES AND GUIDELINES FOR NONSEXIST USAGE Francine Wattman Frank and Paula A. Treichler with contributions by H. Lee Gershuny, Sally McConnell-Ginet, and Susan J. Wolfe 1989. viii & 341 pages. Cloth, $32.00 (members $25.60) [B819C] Paper, $14.50 (members $11.60) [B819P] A provocative analysis of sexism in language, with guidelines for unbiased usage. Language, Gender, and Professional Writing will change the way you choose your words. Delving into the roots and consequences of linguistic sexism, the book persuasively argues the case for eliminating biased usage and shows authors how to express their thoughts fairly and accurately without sacrificing clarity and grace. Designed for scholars, teachers, students, professionals, and general readers, Language, Gender, and Professional Writing unites research, theoretical approaches, and actual examples to provide the best' grounded and most comprehensive guidelines available for nonsexist writing. A thorough subject index provides problem'solving help, and four substantial bibliographies reflect the controversies surrounding sexist language and point to suggestions for dealing with it. MAKE YOUR CHOICE... AND BE CRITICAL! I ale invites you to compare our new Short Story Criticism I series with other similar reference tools—and be tough. SSC can stand the scrutiny because it's the only source that provides in-depth critical analysis of major works of short fiction — particularly those most often studied in high school and college literature classes. Authors to be discussed in forthcoming semi­ annual volumes include Isaac Bashevis Singer, Alice Munro, Arthur C. Clarke, and James Joyce. Unlike its competitors, SSC strives to include all short stories by each of the selected authors. Other reference sources typically discuss one to three stories and briefly mention one to five additional titles. And while other critical sources dealing with short fiction typically contract an editor to write a single critical essay per author, SSC presents a full range of viewpoints by the most distinguished critics from the author's time to the present. Portraits of each author, descriptive annotations, and com­ plete bibliographical information are also included. About 470 pp. per volume. $75.00. (Volumes 1 and 2 in print; Volume 3 ready October, 1989) Order Short Story Criticism on 30-day approval and make your own decision! Call 1-800-223-GALE today. Please refer to Gale order number 99989. Make Your Choice..And Be Critical! (Compare entries on Ernest Hemingway) SSC Magill's Critical Survey of Short Fiction Critical Depth Excerpts from 31 One critical essay by a essays by Virginia contracted editor. Woolf, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Malcolm Cowley, etc. Entry Length 38,000 Words 3,400 Words Number of Stories 56 8 Analyzed Gale Research Inc. Book Tower • Dept. 77748 Detroit, MI 48277-0748 Number of Biblio Sources Photo of Author Is Your Library One of the 3,500 That Subscribe to PMLA! the Modem Language Association since 1884, it is the scholarly journal with the largest circulation in the humanities—and the circulation has increased over ten percent during the last two years. The Best Essays on Language and Literature PMLA features notable articles in language and liter­ ature study. Recent and forthcoming issues include es­ says on “male malady” in the French Romantic novel, Yeats’s tragic sublime, reading recipes as gendered dis­ course, the politics of Johnson’s dictionary, Foucault’s Oriental subtext, art and power in Pedro Calderon de la Barca’s plays, Ibsen’s feminism, the Elephant Man, and Matthew Arnold and modem conceptions of apoc­ alypse. Two years ago, PMLA began publishing pieces by the association’s honorary members and fellows, distin­ guished men and women of letters and distinguished foreign scholars. The series has included a previously unpublished short story by Carlos Fuentes, an essay on Marguerite Duras by French critic Julia Kristeva, an article by Umberto Eco, the Nobel Prize acceptance speech by Wole Soyinka, and an interview with Gabriel Garcia Marquez. New Feature Criticism in Translation This year, PMLA began to publish translations of semi­ nal scholarship until now unavailable in English. The first in the series was an essay by Gerard Genette that appeared in the March 1989 issue. A Complete Annual Directory for Language and Literature Scholars The September issue of PMLA provides up-to-date directories of members of the Modem Language As­ sociation, departmental administrators at colleges and universities in the United States and Canada, ethnic studies programs, language programs, women’s stud­ ies programs, organizations of independent scholars, and humanities research centers. A Directory of Use­ ful Addresses includes over six hundred publishers and academic organizations. New Feature Special Topics The January 1990 PMLA will inaugurate a new fea­ ture: articles grouped around a subject or theme. The premier issue will cover Afro-American literature and will feature essays on Martin Luther King, Jr., the novelization of voice in Afro-American narrative, Harlem Renaissance writers, Afro-American literary his­ tory, and Tolson’s Harlem Gallery. Future special topics include canons, the politics of critical language, the cinema, theory of literary history, and performance. PMLA, which contains mote than 1,200 pages each year, is available from all major subscription services at an annual institutional rate of $88. If you’d like more information or a subscription, write Customer Services, Modem Language Association, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003-6981. LITERARY CLASSICS FOR MODERN TIMES Since 1913, Houghton Mifflin has brought to life the characters, the stories, and the images of a truly classic American writer— Willa Cather. Now, on the seventy-fifth anniversary of the original publication date, we are proud to introduce stunning new paper­ back editions of three of Cather’s best known and widely respected novels. Both long-time Cather devo­ tees and first-time students of American Literature will appreciate these contemporary editions of the author’s timeless depictions of life on the western prairie. My Antonia, widely recognized as Willa Cather’s finest book, portrays the strength and fortitude of a pioneer woman in the frontier farmlands of Nebraska, in the words of H.L. Mencken, “No romantic novel ever written in America, by man or woman, is one half so beautiful as Ml/ Antonio." $5.95 Paper in O Pioneers! Cather introduces the memorable Alexandra Bergson, the daughter of Swedish immigrant farmers. Through her struggles with the hardships and suffering of prairie life, Alexandra becomes the model of a remarkable, spirited heroine. $5.95 Paper Willa Cather called The Song of the Lark her favorite novel. This story of a young woman’s awakening as an artist and her struggle to escape the constraints of a small town in Colorado rounds out the author’s response to the ever-present question of home and her own identity as a writer. $8.95 Paper Willa Cather and Houghton Mifflin—successful partners in the past and for the future. For more information or to order, contact your local Houghton Mifflin sales representative or write: Houghton Mifflin Paperbacks Two Park Street Boston, MA 02108 I’ublishers of the American I ieritage Dictionary 250,000 listings. 17,500 pages. 14 books. 1 disc. Since 1981, the MLA International Bibliography has indexed approximate­ ly 250,000 articles and books on literature and language. Now the H. W. Wilson Company is offering all seven years’ worth of data on a single compact disc. The CD-ROM version of the Bibliography provides the same extensive cross-referencing available in the printed subject index but eliminates the hours necessary to thumb through the fourteen books published since 1981. The disc version offers many additional timesaving devices; for example, a user who wishes to find materials on the theme of racism in Eudora Welty’s fiction would simply enter “Welty, Eudora” and “racism.” For a nominal telecommunica­ tions charge, WILSONDISC™ users also enjoy unlimited searching of the Bibliog­ raphy on WILSONLINE®, which is updated monthly from November to June, so that information added to the file between quarterly updates of WILSON­ DISC is easily and inexpensively available. With one keystroke, users switch from searching the CD to searching online. For a free brochure about the MLA international Bibliography on WILSONDISC, write to Online and Special Services, Modern Language Association, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003-6981. Understanding Contemporary American Literature edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli "I am grateful to Ronald Baughman for his judicious and intelligent treatment of my work. The series in which his study appears is remarkable. "—James Dickey "These volumes are a wonderful beginning, an invitation to understanding and, beyond that, to a deeper enjoyment of the literature of our age. "—George Garrett "To be published in this series is an honor—to be understood, a miracle."—Mary Lee Settle Understanding Contemporary American Literature is a series of companions or guides that in­ troduces important contemporary writers—identifying and explicating their material, themes, use of language, points of view, structures, symbolism, and responses to experience. 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work_zn464vn3mrhilepxszn2pqldiu	----	Taking the Long View: Integrating Recorded, Archeological, Paleoecological, and Evolutionary Data into Ecological Restoration PERSPECTIVE: ECOLOGICAL RESTORATIONInt. J. Plant Sci. 177(1):90–102. 2016. q 2015 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved. 1058-5893/2016/17701-0008$15.00 DOI: 10.1086/683394 TAKING THE LONG VIEW: INTEGRATING RECORDED, ARCHEOLOGICAL, PALEOECOLOGICAL, AND EVOLUTIONARY DATA INTO ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION Rebecca S. Barak,1,*,† Andrew L. Hipp,‡ Jeannine Cavender-Bares,§ William D. Pearse,∥ Sara C. Hotchkiss,# Elizabeth A. Lynch,** John C. Callaway,†† Randy Calcote,‡‡ and Daniel J. Larkin* *Plant Science and Conservation, Chicago Botanic Garden, Glencoe, Illinois, USA; †Plant Biology and Conservation, Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois, USA; ‡Herbarium, Morton Arboretum, Lisle, Illinois, USA; §Ecology, Evolution, and Behavior, Plant Biological Sciences, University of Minnesota, Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA; ∥Department of Biology, McGill University, Montréal, Québec, Canada; and Département des Sciences Biologiques, Université du Québec à Montréal, Montréal, Québec, Canada; #Department of Botany, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wisconsin, USA; **Biology Department, Luther College, Decorah, Iowa, USA; ††Department of Environmental Science, University of San Francisco, California, USA; and ‡‡Limnological Research Center, Department of Earth Sciences, University of Minnesota, Twin Cities, Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA Editor: Patrick S. Herendeen 1 Autho .edu. Manuscript electronical Historical information spanning different temporal scales (from tens to millions of years) can influence res- toration practice by providing ecological context for better understanding of contemporary ecosystems. Eco- logical history provides clues about the assembly, structure, and dynamic nature of ecosystems, and this infor- mation can improve forecasting of how restored systems will respond to changes in climate, disturbance regimes, and other factors. History recorded by humans can be used to generate baselines for assessing changes in eco- systems, communities, and populations over time. Paleoecology pushes these baselines back hundreds, thou- sands, or even millions of years, offering insights into how past species assemblages have responded to chang- ing disturbance regimes and climate. Furthermore, archeology can be used to reconstruct interactions between humans and their environment for which no documentary records exist. Going back further, phylogenies reveal patterns that emerged from coupled evolutionary-ecological processes over very long timescales. Increasingly, this information can be used to predict the stability, resilience, and functioning of assemblages into the future. We review examples in which recorded, archeological, paleoecological, and evolutionary information has been or could be used to inform goal setting, management, and monitoring for restoration. While we argue that long- view historical ecology has much to offer restoration, there are few examples of restoration projects explicitly incor- porating such information or of research that has evaluated the utility of such perspectives in applied manage- ment contexts. For these ideas to move from theory into practice, tests performed through research-management partnerships are needed to determine to what degree taking the long view can support achievement of restora- tion objectives. Keywords: climate change, ecosystem function, phylogeny, resilience. Introduction Ecological restoration is a discipline that is both past and fu- ture oriented. Restoration practitioners aim to mitigate past en- vironmental degradation while creating ecosystems that will be stable, resilient, and self-sustaining in the future (Clewell et al. 2004). Even projects that focus on restoring ecosystem func- tion—rather than closely replicating historical communities— can benefit from ecological history that improves understand- ing of systems’ functioning (Millar and Brubaker 2006; Higgs et al. 2014). Furthermore, the utility of history for inform- ing contemporary restoration ecology does not end only centu- ries ago (e.g., pre-European settlement ecosystems as a New r for correspondence; e-mail: beckybarak@u.northwestern received May 2015; revised manuscript received July 2015; ly published November 16, 2015. 90 This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms World restoration target) or even with the last glaciation be- fore the Holocene (Egan and Howell 2005). Perspectives that take an even longer view, delving thousands or even millions of years into the past, can be useful in guiding contemporary restoration. Studying how ecosystems, communities, and populations have responded to past disturbances provides the largest source of information on how they will respond to future changes. In this way, understanding the makeup of past ecosystems and their responses to disturbance can reveal potential future trajec- tories (history as revealing the future, sensu Higgs et al. 2014; see also Dietl and Flessa 2011; Dietl et al. 2015). Some distur- bances impacting modern ecosystems have analogs in the his- torical ecological record that provide useful direction to contem- porary restoration (Swetnam et al. 1999; Millar and Brubaker 2006). Moreover, disturbances that have the potential to incite the largest-magnitude changes—such as phenotypic or distri- butional changes in response to climate change—unfolded at 4.192.102 on October 24, 2016 09:17:29 AM and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). BARAK ET AL.—HISTORICAL ECOLOGY AND RESTORATION 91 deeper timescales than the tens to hundreds of years commonly considered in identifying restoration targets (Egan and Howell 2005). Working backward from data on community turnover at long timescales and from large disturbances, scientists can identify the factors that conferred resilience to past communi- ties. The composition of these communities and the processes that shaped them can potentially help to design more resilient restored communities today. We propose that long-view temporal perspectives have a role in restoration planning and design. Reference sites are invalu- able for defining restoration goals, but there is additional in- formation to be gleaned from recorded history, archeology, the paleoecological record, and evolutionary history. In some cases, historical ecological data can be a useful complement to contemporary data. In other cases, historical ecological data offer previously unconsidered opportunities for restoration or might even guide restoration in directions that would not be considered on the basis of contemporary data alone. Longer- term historical ecological data can also provide options for res- toration objectives when restoration of habitats to a more re- cent predegradation state is impossible (Cavender-Bares and Cavender 2011; Balaguer et al. 2014). Use of historical data in restoration is not without constraints, such as limits to data availability, the fading historical record, challenges of matching contemporary management activities with targets influenced by ecological history, and previously unseen changes to ecosys- tems in the Anthropocene. Nonetheless, perspectives from the past may help advance the restoration of functional, resilient systems in the near future. Historical Timescales and Their Relevance to Restoration Historical information from different timescales can influ- ence all steps of ecological restoration, from developing resto- ration goals and garnering public support for restoration to informing ongoing site management and prioritizing restora- tion efforts. In the following sections, we consider five streams of information: the contemporary landscape, recorded history, archeology, paleoecology, and evolutionary ecology. We de- scribe the types of ecological information that can be garnered from each perspective and how they can inform ecological res- toration (table 1; fig. 1). We focus on critical steps in the resto- ration process, particularly developing restoration objectives, implementing management, performing monitoring, and plan- ning for resilience. In all cases, we stress the role of history as a guide rather than as a stable end point (Higgs et al. 2014). We follow Rick and Lockwood (2013) in using the term “his- torical ecology” to encompass recorded history, archeology, and paleoecology and also include under that term evolution- ary history determined through phylogenies. This view of histor- ical ecology comprises both natural environmental fluctuations and the effects of humans on ecosystems (Rick and Lockwood 2013). Both historical ecologists and restoration ecologists note the value of integrating historical ecological data in restoration. Many of the 50 priority research questions in paleoecology are directly or indirectly related to restoration ecology, including is- sues such as invasive species, novel ecosystems, resilience, and climate change (Seddon et al. 2014). Similarly, restoration ecol- ogists discuss the multiple ways history influences restoration This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms ecology (Higgs et al. 2014). Management stakeholders value long-term ecological data, but barriers—such as lack of aware- ness of historical ecological information and insufficient test- ing of its applied usefulness—have prevented its adoption in res- toration (Davies et al. 2014). Many reviews stress the importance of ecological history in guiding conservation and restoration. Nonetheless, it appears that few restoration studies and projects use historical ecolog- ical data in this way. To illustrate this, we used Web of Sci- ence (Thomson Reuters 2015) to query titles, abstracts, and keywords for articles in the applied restoration journal Resto- ration Ecology (from 1998 to 2014) for terms relating to the temporal scales reviewed here. A search for “histor*” returned 216 articles, but “anthropol*” and “phylo*” returned none, “paleo*” four, and “evol*” 29. We thus extend our review to include examples from the historical ecological literature that do not address restoration specifically but have applied impli- cations that could be used to guide restoration projects. The examples mostly, though not exclusively, deal with plant com- munities and are disproportionately from North America. We argue that historical ecology is underutilized as a guide for restoration. Few published studies use historical ecological data to inform restoration, and those that do tend to be rela- tively recent in scope, for example, tracking tens or hundreds of years into the past (Egan and Howell 2005). However, it may be possible to use knowledge of events that occurred much deeper in time—even millions of years ago—to influence con- temporary restoration practice. Sources of Historical Information Information from a variety of contemporary, recorded his- torical, archaeological, and paleoecological sources can be use- ful in determining goals for restoration, managing restored eco- systems, and predicting ecosystem resilience (fig. 1). Sources of information about past ecosystems include analysis of con- temporary sites, historical and archaeological artifacts left by humans, plant and animal remains, and physical and chemical data (table 1). Contemporary sites contain clues to their own histories in terms of soil properties, species composition, and other factors. Comparisons among multiple sites show the range of variability over space and can be used to infer factors driving community structure and change. Historical sources add another dimen- sion of information, allowing for comparisons of conditions over multiple time points. Using paleoecological and evolution- ary information can reveal the imprint of historical processes on modern ecosystems. Delving into the history of how contem- porary sites developed can enhance the utility of these sites for guiding restoration. Contemporary Sites Contemporary ecosystems contain evidence of the short- and long-term historical processes that influenced them, but signs of these processes are not always clear or easy to disentan- gle. Information of use to restoration managers can be gath- ered from the specific site(s) to be restored as well as contem- porary reference sites (i.e., relatively undisturbed extant sites; White and Walker 1997; Schaefer and Tillmanns 2015). Data 4.192.102 on October 24, 2016 09:17:29 AM and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 92 INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF PLANT SCIENCES from the site to be restored can be used to identify disturbances or constraints that might interfere with meeting restoration objectives. Clues in the site to be restored can also reveal past history. For example, decayed stumps have been used to recre- ate logging history (Marks and Gardescu 2005), which can in- fluence restoration decisions, for example, focusing on reintro- ducing species sensitive to logging. Contemporary reference sites provide information on envi- ronmental conditions, community composition, and ecosys- tem functions at sites similar to those being restored that have not been subjected to the same degradation (White and Walker 1997). Restoration practitioners can also evaluate what man- agement actions may be necessary to maintain sites in the target (reference) state and expect similar management to be neces- sary at the restored site, even at later stages of the restoration. Further, reference sites can continue to influence restoration decisions by serving as baselines of comparison for monitor- ing the development of restored sites. Despite the importance of reference sites and large literature advocating their use, less than half of contemporary restoration projects use reference sites as a guide (Wortley et al. 2013). This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms A limitation of using contemporary reference sites is that they may be only a small or unrepresentative remnant of the original system because of the effects of habitat loss, fragmen- tation, and other disturbances (White and Walker 1997). High- quality reference sites may no longer exist; those that do are sub- ject to shifting baselines, that is, reference systems themselves may have undergone significant changes relative to the past (Pauly 1995; Rick and Lockwood 2013). Furthermore, dynam- ics of long-lived species may not be detectable when using only contemporary information (Davies and Bunting 2010). When available, other sources of historical ecological information can be used to place extant reference sites in a broader context. Recorded History Recorded history is information directly documented by hu- mans, such as species lists, written descriptions from journals or travelogues, oral histories, drawings, photographs, and maps. Historical records can provide information on species assem- blages and ecosystem structure (e.g., canopy openness). These Table 1 Restoration Questions That Could Be Addressed by Data from Different Temporal Scales Restoration stage Contemporary sites Recorded history 4.192.102 and Cond Archeological/ paleoecological on October 24, 2016 09:17:29 A itions (http://www.journals.uchic Evolutionary Goal setting: Habitat type What is the habitat like in a reference site? What is the successional stage relative to restoration goals? What was the habitat like in the recent past? What was the range of past habitat types in the area? What factors drove habitat shifts? Was hu- man activity influential? Species selection What species are found in reference sites? Is it feasi- ble to replicate these assemblages in restored sites? What was the species com- position in the recent past? Is it feasible to replicate these assemblages in re- stored sites? What taxa and/or communi- ties were most common and/or most stable in the past? What is the desired level of phylogenetic diversity for restored communities? Identifying constraints to restoration What factors limit restora- tion effectiveness? Are they present in reference sites? Does past human use and/or disturbance limit options for restoration? Where do current conditions fit within the historic range of variability? Can evolutionary theory guide restoration in the absence of complete eco- logical information? Management: Invasive species Are invasive species present in reference sites? How should they be managed? When did invasive species arrive? Was their arrival associated with changes in community composition? When did invasive species arrive in the area? Did they alter ecological dynamics? How closely related is the invader to the resident community? Disturbance What disturbance regime is required to maintain ref- erence sites? Is the refer- ence disturbance regime feasible to implement in restored sites? What was the level of dis- turbance in the recent past? How did humans influence the disturbance regime? What were historic levels of disturbance? How variable was the disturbance regime over time? Did humans in- fluence the frequency or intensity of disturbance? How does disturbance alter community phylogenetic structure? Is there a rela- tionship between phyloge- netic and trait diversity? Is disturbance limiting the types of species that can persist in restored sites? Monitoring Are conditions at the re- stored site similar to those at the reference site in terms of diversity, compo- sition, and functioning? Are conditions in the re- stored site similar to those of the recent past? Does the restored site have analogs in past communi- ties and habitats? Is community phylogenetic structure changing over time and with manage- ment? Is contemporary evolution influencing eco- logical outcomes? M ago.edu/t-and-c). BARAK ET AL.—HISTORICAL ECOLOGY AND RESTORATION 93 sources of information provide baselines for assessing com- munity change over time and have frequently been used to es- tablish restoration objectives (Radeloff et al. 1999; Swetnam et al. 1999; Bolliger et al. 2004). Archaeology Archaeology can clarify restoration objectives and inform management activities by shedding light on past human im- pacts to communities. Humans have managed ecosystems for thousands of years through actions such as prescribed burn- ing, agriculture, and harvesting and transport of plant and an- imal species—even in areas earlier thought to be pristine and free of human impact (Hayashida 2005; Alagona et al. 2012; Rick and Lockwood 2013). Past human settlement can have legacy impacts on ecosystem properties that last for centuries (Hejcman et al. 2013). Past human activity can also constrain the possible trajectories of ecosystems, even with restoration interventions (Higgs et al. 2014). Therefore, knowledge of past human impacts is important for developing feasible res- toration goals (Foster et al. 2003) and separating anthropo- genic effects from longer-term natural cycles (Swetnam et al. 1999; Millar and Brubaker 2006). Paleoecology Paleoecological data can complement perspectives from re- corded history and archeology and extend beyond those sources of information into the distant past, to a time before both human records and humans. Analysis of dendrochronology (tree rings), preserved biological remains, and isotopic/biochemical com- pounds (Hayashida 2005; Dietl et al. 2015) can reveal past community trajectories,species invasions,extinctions,andcom- munity responses to changes in climate and disturbance regimes. Evolutionary History A phylogenetically informed approach to restoration would use the evolutionary history of species to shape management of contemporary communities. Greater phylogenetic diversity This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms of plant communities—species being drawn more broadly from across the tree of life—is associated with increased ecosystem function (Srivastava et al. 2012). The link between phylogenetic diversity and ecosystem function is based on niche conserva- tism, the idea that closely related species share similar func- tional traits and thus similar ecological niches (Wiens and Gra- ham 2005). In this way, maximizing the evolutionary distance between co-occurring species can increase niche breadth. In some cases, phylogenetic diversity is even more strongly related to ecosystem function than functional diversity, because it ac- counts for ecologically important but unmeasured latent traits not captured by measured traits (Cadotte et al. 2009; Pearse and Hipp 2009; Díaz et al. 2013). Because of the close relation- ship between phylogenetic diversity and ecosystem function, phylogenetics can be a useful tool in restoration, influencing objectives, management, and monitoring (Hipp et al. 2015). Limitations All of these approaches are subject to data limitations, in- cluding a fading record through time, poor spatial and/or tem- poral resolution, limited taxonomic resolution, and inconsis- tent preservation. Recorded data can be subjective, ambiguous, or inconsistent because of social norms and values dictating what types of information on which species were recorded and preserved (Edmonds 2005; Lucia et al. 2008; Alagona et al. 2012). Records from the Public Land Survey (PLS) have be- come a standard, valuable resource for restoration ecologists in the United States, but even this rich data set represents only a snapshot of past communities (Shea et al. 2014) and is sub- ject to surveyor bias and taxonomic uncertainty (Schulte and Mladenoff 2005). Similarly, pollen data are valuable for re- constructing past plant communities but are limited in taxo- nomic resolution and constrained by variability in pollen output and preservation (Peters 2010). For example, grasses, which are extremely important in many restorations, cannot be identified beyond family using pollen (Davis 2005). There are also several limitations to the use of phylogenetic data in restoration ecol- Fig. 1 Historical timescales and their potential contributions to ecological restoration. Thick lines indicate the main use of each type of data currently. Thin lines indicate additional uses (or potential uses) of historical information in informing restoration. 4.192.102 on October 24, 2016 09:17:29 AM and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 94 INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF PLANT SCIENCES ogy. The relevance of phylogenetics for restoration has rarely been tested (but see Cavender-Bares and Cavender 2011; Verdú et al. 2012; Whitfield et al. 2014), and concepts and tools of phylogenetic ecology are relatively new and not widely known (Hipp et al. 2015). Understanding methodological limitations and integrating data from multiple sources can help researchers interpret past conditions (Lucia et al. 2008; Whipple et al. 2011). Of course, historical data are relevant to restoration practitioners only when they are available and accessible (Davies and Bunting 2010; Brewer et al. 2012; Davies et al. 2014; Gillson and Marchant 2014). Collaborations between restoration scientists/ practitioners and researchers in historical ecology can help ad- dress these limitations. For example, paleoecological data are becoming more widely available to nonexperts through the de- velopment of databases (Brewer et al. 2012). Uses of Historical Information in Restoration Where it is available, historical ecological information is com- monly used to establish reference points for restoration; this is particularly true for determining pre-European settlement con- ditions in North America. For projects where explicit reference sites are lacking, historical information can still be used to se- lect native species and habitat types. More recently, paleoeco- logical and archaeological studies have been used to elucidate a longer-term context for pre-European conditions. These studies have allowed restoration ecologists to consider historic ranges of variation rather than static time points when developing res- toration goals and management strategies (Asbjornsen et al. 2005; Keane et al. 2009). Finally, as restoration ecologists in- creasingly plan for novel climatic conditions and human influ- ences, they can look to the past to understand factors that im- part resilience to communities and ecosystems. Setting Restoration Objectives Historical ecological information can be used to develop sup- port for restoration activities by documenting habitat destruc- tion. In prairies, recorded history tracks the rapid decline in habitat area. Studying maps, Iverson (1988) documented loss of prairie area from 59% of Illinois in 1820 to approximately 0.01% in 1980, primarily as a result of agriculture. Such clear documentation of drastic declines in habitat area can help the public understand the need for restoration and be used to pri- oritize locations for restoration. Hessburg et al. (1999) used his- toric maps from the Cascade Mountains in Washington from 1938 to 1956, along with remote sensing, to identify forest patches in need of restoration and create a tool for restoration mangers to prioritize their efforts. In contrast, historical ecological data can also be used to iden- tify issues that are not of immediate concern for restoration. For example, Watson et al. (2011) used a combination of cul- tural and paleoecological sources to document habitat changes in the Elkhorn Slough estuary in California. Aerial photographs and historical maps indicated major declines in marsh area lead- ing to concerns about marsh degradation. However, when the authors analyzed paleoecological data to reconstruct changes in salinity, sedimentation rates, and plant communities over the past 5000 yr, they found that some of the recently degraded This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms marshes were products of anthropogenic sedimentation and that there is actually now more marsh area than there had been for most of the past. Given this and the fact that newer marshes could be difficult to sustain, they concluded that it may be wise to direct restoration efforts to other concerns rather than con- tinue to protect marshes in this location. In addition to prioritizing restoration effort, historical eco- logical information can also be used to identify constraints to restoration and modify project objectives accordingly. If it is impossible to restore habitats to a recent predisturbance state, there may be earlier conditions that can be identified as suit- able alternatives. For example, it would have been impossible to restore Spanish sand quarries to the hills they were before min- ing, and such landscapes would have been unstable. How- ever, Balaguer et al. (2014) identified a geomorphological refer- ence of a cultural habitat from 1000 yr ago as a feasible target for restoration activity. Species Selection Restoration managers may be interested in restoring a par- ticular past community, understanding the range of variability of past communities, or identifying stable communities to in- form species selection for restoration. General Land Office/ PLS records, which date to the late 1700s in the eastern United States, provide spatially broad community data for much of the country (Whipple et al. 2011; Shea et al. 2014). Shea et al. (2014) used PLS records from the mid-1800s to reconstruct tree communities for the Driftless Area of the Midwestern United States. Using data representing more than 100,000 trees, the authors found that oaks were dominant and savanna was the most common habitat type. The authors created a map of past tree communities paired with environmental data, such as topography and soil characteristics, to inform restoration. Data from multiple time points can be used to show the range of conditions over long time periods and provide a historical context for more recent conditions. For example, pollen anal- ysis of sediments from 13 lakes on a 450-km2 sand plain in northwestern Wisconsin was used to place the vegetation pat- terns recorded by the PLS during the 1850s and 1860s (Ra- deloff et al. 1999) into a historical context (Hotchkiss et al. 2007; Tweiten et al. 2015). Maps showing current and recon- structed vegetation communities at 100-yr intervals over the past 1200 yr (fig. 2) revealed that the mixed pine and oak com- munities recorded by the PLS developed relatively recently. White pine pollen became more common and the influx of char- coal from forest fires decreased with the onset of Little Ice Age climatic conditions (Hotchikss et al. 2007; Tweiten et al. 2015). These results demonstrate the transient nature of plant communities and suggest that conditions indicated in the PLS may not be an ideal restoration target (Hotchkiss et al. 2007), particularly given that Little Ice Age climatic conditions are not representative of current or future climatic conditions in this region. The longer paleoecological record provides an impor- tant perspective on the natural range of variability in this land- scape that can be used to define more sustainable restoration goals. In ecosystems that were rapidly transformed by humans be- fore natural communities could be described, evidence from the paleoecological record can be particularly valuable. For ex- 4.192.102 on October 24, 2016 09:17:29 AM and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). BARAK ET AL.—HISTORICAL ECOLOGY AND RESTORATION 95 ample, on San Cristóbal Island in the Galápagos, cattle de- stroyed the vegetation in the 1930s, while the first formal de- scriptions of the vegetation were not completed until the 1960s. Several native plant taxa were not included in restoration ef- forts because they had largely been extirpated before being documented (Bush et al. 2014). Managers have been remov- ing exotic plant species and planting Miconia robinsiniana, an endemic shrub species. But pollen and sediment records document several other taxa that were abundant during the past 10,000 yr. Bush et al. (2014) suggest that these species should be included in restoration efforts to better reflect his- toric composition and possibly increase the resilience of re- stored vegetation. Phylogenetic ecology can also be used to guide species selec- tion for restoration. In ongoing work, we have found initial evidence that restored prairies in northeastern Illinois are less phylogenetically diverse than remnant prairies (W. Sluis, M. L. Bowles, M. D. Jones, and R. S. Barak, unpublished data). This appears to be driven by higher relative abundance of species from certain families in restored sites and the absence of spe- cies representing families that are rare but present in reference sites. Restoration seed mixes could be adjusted accordingly to approximate the phylogenetic diversity of prairie remnants, perhaps helping to increase their functional equivalency with reference sites (sensu Zedler and Callaway 2000). Niche evolution may also influence the design of communi- ties for restoration. Species with contrasting alpha niches (lo- cal niches at the scale at which species interact with one an- other) would be appropriate to plant together in a restoration. These species may have reduced competition due to differences This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms in traits (Silvertown et al. 2006; Chesson 2014). For example, shallow- and deep-rooting species may be better able to co- exist. On the other hand, it is likely to be beneficial for spe- cies used in restoration to have similar beta and gamma niches (habitat and geographical-range niches, respectively), since they would overlap in edaphic and/or climatic requirements. For example, wetland species share suites of traits that enable them to survive in waterlogged soils. Cavender-Bares and Cavender (2011) describe oak communities in Florida where closely re- lated oak species did not co-occur at the site (alpha) level, though there were many closely related oak species present within habitats (beta) over the region (gamma). Replicating such patterns when they occur in reference communities may be important in selecting species for restoration. Monitoring and Management Invasive Species While it is not difficult to observe and document the intro- duction and spread of recent invasive species, it is not always clear when a species invaded a site or what its impact has been (Hotchkiss and Juvik 1999; Lynch and Saltonstall 2002; Coffey et al. 2010). Fossil pollen data were used to sup- port the exotic status of Phalaris arundinacea on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada. Grass pollen was found in high concentrations only in upper (recent) layers of sediment in wetlands, not in the high-diversity native wetlands captured earlier in the record. It was thus inferred that nonnative P. arundinacea colonized only recently and should be controlled Fig. 2 Inset map (top left) shows the location of the northwestern Wisconsin sand plain. Maps show vegetation changes at 100-yr intervals over the past 1200 yr (BP p years before present, where present is 1950 AD). Symbols indicate the vegetation community represented by pollen at each site over time. Dashed lines in 1100 BP map indicate sites surrounded by coarse sandy soil and few fire breaks (northern) and abundant fire breaks (south). Shading indicates three vegetation regions described from Public Land Survey data (Radeloff et al. 1999); white indicates jack pine forests and barrens, light gray indicates closed-canopy mixed pine forests, and dark gray indicates oak and pine savannas. Updated from Hotchkiss et al. (2007) using sites from Tweiten et al. (2015). 4.192.102 on October 24, 2016 09:17:29 AM and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 96 INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF PLANT SCIENCES to manage for high plant diversity (Townsend and Hebda 2013). In contrast, paleoecological and genetic analyses from sediments of a Lake Superior wetland provide evidence that na- tive genotypes of Phragmites australis have undergone recent, rapid expansion (Lynch and Saltonstall 2002). Looking further back into the paleoecological record in Ha- waii, it was found that native palms in the genus Pritchardia disappeared from the record around the time of rat introduc- tions. This led to the recommendation that contemporary prac- titioners control rats as part of palm restoration efforts (Bur- ney and Burney 2007). In contrast, fossil pollen data were used to demonstrate that several species thought to be invasive—on the basis of modern observations of their adaptation to distur- bance (the fern Dicranopteris linearis) or widespread distribu- tion and aggressive behavior (the moss Sphagnum palustre)— were in fact native to Hawaii (Hotchkiss and Juvik 1999; Karlin et al. 2012). Disturbance Regime In many ecosystems, the structure and composition of veg- etation as well as nutrient cycling are influenced by the fre- quency, intensity, and magnitude of fires, wind storms, extreme droughts, floods, or insect outbreaks. To be effective, restora- tion projects may need to replicate or mimic natural disturbance regimes (McLauchlan et al. 2014). Where there are long-lived trees,fire-scarrecordshaveprovidedvaluableinformationabout the nature of fire regimes and their variation over time (Hein- selman 1973; Swetnam et al. 1999; Guyette et al. 2006). Such information is relevant to restoration managers, since reinstat- ing a historical fire regime could aid recovery of biological di- versity and ecosystem function (Bergeron et al 2004). Where dendroecological records are lacking, charcoal pre- served in lake sediments can provide information about past fire regimes (Gavin et al. 2007; Higuera et al. 2009; Lynch et al. 2010). While these records typically lack the fine tempo- ral and spatial resolution of tree-ring records, they offer the po- tential to examine how disturbance regimes were affected by major changes in climate and/or vegetation that occurred be- yond the range of tree ring records. This long-term perspective is useful in predicting how resilient communities will be to fu- ture climatic changes (Lynch et al. 2014). In the Garry Oak savanna of Vancouver Island, British Co- lumbia, Canada, anthropological and paleoecological evidence (dendrochronological, fossil pollen, and charcoal data) was used to determine that the savanna’s open structure was main- tained by burning by indigenous peoples (McCune et al. 2013). The savanna persisted even in climatic periods that would favor closed woodlands (McCune et al. 2013). This finding provides an interesting decision point for modern restoration: should savanna structure be maintained as a cultural landscape, or should forest closure be allowed? The decision on whether to maintain past anthropogenic levels of disturbance may de- pend on the resources needed to maintain them and the values placed on these cultural landscapes by stakeholders (Motzkin and Foster 2002; Dunwiddie 2005). Grazing is another source of past and contemporary distur- bance that may be relevant to restoration managers. Campbell et al. (2010) found that arid rangeland grazed earlier in the sea- This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms son (i.e., winter-spring grazing) was phylogenetically and func- tionally more similar to ungrazed sites than those grazed later in the season. Grazing was also found to affect plant biodi- versity over a 400-yr time span in Scottish upland sites. Hanley et al. (2008) used fossil pollen data to uncover past plant com- munities and livestock prices to determine past grazing pres- sures. Findings such as these can guide the intensity and timing of grazing and other disturbances, when they are compatible with management objectives at restored sites. Monitoring Ecosystem Changes Phylogenetic ecology could be used to monitor ecological change in restored sites and help predict future trajectories. In vulnerable communities, it may be important to assess whether phylogenetic diversity is declining and whether species’ vulner- ability to extirpation is phylogenetically autocorrelated. For example, in fragmented tropical forests of Mexico, while spe- cies richness declined, phylogenetic diversity did not, indicat- ing low phylogenetic conservatism of traits associated with vul- nerability to forest fragmentation (Arroyo-Rodríguez et al. 2012). In this case, ecosystem function and stability may thus be maintained, despite the loss of tree species. In contrast, if vulnerability is a phylogenetically conserved emergent prop- erty of species, then certain disturbances could cleave entire branches from communities’ evolutionary trees, likely reduc- ing ecosystem function (Díaz et al. 2013). If continued moni- toring reveals a decrease in phylogenetic diversity over time, ad- ditional management may be needed to restore phylogenetic diversity. Further, restoration ecologists may be able to monitor re- stored sites using the relationship between a community’s evo- lutionary structure and its trait similarity, linking species’ ecol- ogy today with their evolutionary history (Pearse et al. 2015). Figure 3 shows hypothetical relationships between similarity of traits among co-occurring species (horizontal axis, ecologi- cally similar vs. dissimilar) and the mode of evolution of those traits (vertical axis). In this case, traits that are similar in co- occurring species show evidence of convergent evolution (bot- tom left), while traits that are dissimilar show evidence of con- strained (conserved) evolution (top left). These relationships (termed fingerprint regressions; Pearse et al. 2015) could be used in restoration planning, for instance, in seed mix design and setting compositional targets. Such relationships could also be used to monitor changes in restored communities over time. Managers could assess whether the relationship between evo- lutionary and ecological processes found in functional reference systems is preserved in restored systems. Perhaps by matching these patterns, managers could increase the likelihood of the restored system being functionally equivalent to reference sites and resilient to future changes. Using the Past to Restore for Future Resilience: Climate Change and Ecosystem Function Restorations can be explicitly planned for the future while also being informed by ecological history. Alagona et al. (2012, p. 65) suggested that “the past may be imperfect as a model for 4.192.102 on October 24, 2016 09:17:29 AM and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). BARAK ET AL.—HISTORICAL ECOLOGY AND RESTORATION 97 the future, but it is an indispensable guide for understanding a world in flux.” Perspectives from historical ecology can inform the restoration of communities and ecosystems that will be resil- ient and functional in the face of future change. Climate Change Looking at the past is the best way to predict the effects of climate change on communities and ecosystems (Jackson 2007). Many North American plant species originated 20–40 million years ago and have thus been exposed to numerous periods of warming and cooling over that time period (Millar and Bru- baker 2006). Understanding the trajectories of species and com- munities over past climate changes can help inform design and implementation ofmodern restorations. Paleoecological andevo- lutionary data—combined with modeling—allow for the recon- struction of past responses to climate change and can help con- temporary restorationists plan for the future. Paleoclimate reconstructions paired with paleoecological data expand the range of conditions that supply perspective to res- toration efforts. The paleoecological record contains examples of community stability over thousands of years, despite climate change (Brubaker 1975; Minckley et al. 2011), as well as some- times dramatic and rapid community changes in response to climate change (Grimm 1983; Umbanhowar 2004). There are also no-analog pollen records from the past during the late glacial periods of the Quaternary, from 17,000 to 12,000 yr ago (Williams and Jackson 2007). These communities con- tained species that still exist today but are no longer found to- This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms gether in ecological communities (Williams and Jackson 2007). Such communities also existed much more distantly in the past, for example, during the Paleocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum (PETM), a period of intense climatic change ca. 55.8 million years ago that is used as an analog for today’s anthropogenic climate change, since warming during the PETM was also caused by elevated carbon dioxide emissions (Dietl and Flessa 2011; McInerney and Wing 2011). Studying plant macrofos- sils from before, during, and after the PETM, Wing and Cur- rano (2013) determined that plant community composition dur- ing the PETM is distinct from that before or after. This reflects migration rather than extinction, since missing species reap- peared in the fossil record following the PETM. That there was little evidence of mass extinctions during the warming of the PETM may provide some comfort to restoration ecologists today. However, it is unclear to what extent current warming will mirror that of the PETM, especially as contemporary rises in carbon dioxide emissions are occurring at much faster rates than during the PETM (McInereny and Wing 2011). Most pollen-based vegetation reconstructions do not pro- vide the spatial resolution necessary to reconstruct the hetero- geneity of vegetation at the scale of landscapes. However, as more data from closely spaced sites with similar climate but differences in soils and topography are collected, it is becom- ing possible to reconstruct landscape-scale vegetation patterns. In North America, there are several regions with a dense grid of sites, including the upper Midwest (Umbanhowar 2004; Nelson and Hu 2008; Lynch et al. 2014) and New England (Foster et al. 2006; Oswald et al. 2007, 2011). Data from net- works of sites are particularly useful for understanding which parts of a landscape are most resilient and which are more likely to undergo state shifts in response to climatic changes (Ireland et al. 2012; Lynch et al. 2014; Tweiten et al. 2015). Paleoecological and phylogeographic data, along with spe- cies distribution modeling, are being used to determine the lo- cations of past climate refugia—areas where species survived periods of intense climate change—and to predict the locations of future refugia (Gavin et al. 2014). Management can be pri- oritized to conserve and/or restore these areas in preparation for further change (Millar et al. 2007; Shoo et al. 2013). Sim- ilarly, phylogenetic data can be used to determine species that are likely to be vulnerable to climate change. Willis et al. (2008) studied the phylogenetic signal of changes in species’ abun- dance and flowering time after 150 yr, using data initially col- lected by Henry David Thoreau in Concord, Massachusetts. They found that lineages with flowering times that did not track with climate change were declining and in danger of local extir- pation. Thus, phylogeny, along with historical data, could be used to identify vulnerable species that would be unlikely to adapt (through evolution or plasticity) to changing climates and prioritize those species for interventions, such as assisted mi- gration (Vitt et al. 2010). Historical and modeling data can also be used to identify lo- cations for establishing neonative communities, defined as re- storing species to an area where they were found in the past but do not currently occur (Millar et al. 2007). On a shorter timescale, dendrochronology in combination with climate pro- jections can be used to identify the tree species and communi- ties most vulnerable to changing climates (Williams et al. 2010). Fig. 3 Conceptual framework for the placement of traits accord- ing to their ecological and evolutionary structure. Based on figure 3B of Cavender-Bares et al. (2006) and termed a fingerprint regression by Pearse et al. 2015. In each quadrant of the space, a phylogeny is plotted with a trait (represented by the size of the circles) and likelihood of spe- cies coexisting represented by the color of the circles (one community shown in red and another in black). Fingerprint regressions could be used to develop restoration goals based on reference communities from the present or the past as well as to monitor changes in the biodiversity of restored communities over time. 4.192.102 on October 24, 2016 09:17:29 AM and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). 98 INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF PLANT SCIENCES Fulé (2008) recommends focusing management on forest hab- itats that are likely to persist through climate change—such as higher-latitude, higher-elevation sites—and using both histori- cal and predicted climate data to engineer forests in areas where they are likely to persist in future climates. Restoration practitioners may be able to use evolutionary theory to develop restored communities with greater poten- tial to adapt in the face of future change (Sgrò et al. 2011). Both inter- and intraspecific genetic variation are thought to maximize evolutionary potential in restoration seed mixes (Broad- hurst et al. 2008; Kettenring et al. 2014). Furthermore, increas- ing evolutionary potential may be accomplished by maximiz- ing phylogenetic diversity of restored sites (Forest et al. 2007; Rosauer and Mooers 2013). Building corridors between frag- mented sites is also thought to increase evolutionary poten- tial by allowing for increased gene flow between populations (Sgrò et al. 2011; Haddad et al. 2014). In addition, conserv- ing centers of endemism—areas of high historical evolution- ary diversification—may be important for preserving evolu- tionary potential in the face of an uncertain future (Jetz et al. 2004). Several of these ideas, including climate refugia and corri- dors, are tied into the concept of conserving nature’s stage. This strategy focuses on conserving geological diversity (geodi- versity) as a surrogate for biological diversity (Beier et al. 2015). Geodiversity is strongly tied to biological diversity, and con- servation of geodiversity may help to mitigate species losses due to climate change (Gill et al. 2015; Lawler et al. 2015). En- suring that restoration areas include geomorphic heterogeneity may be one way to prepare for a changing climate. Appropriate species (the actors on the stage) may be added as climates change (Comer et al. 2015). Conserving the stage will create diverse habitats for evolution in future climate regimes (Lawler et al. 2015). Ecosystem Function Sediment records are well suited for measuring changes in eco- system processes in aquatic environments (Willard and Cronin 2007). Multiproxy approaches—including diatoms, magnetic susceptibility, biogenic silica, organic content, and nutrient fluxes to sediments—have been used to measure modern impacts of agriculture and the eutrophication of lakes and rivers (Edlund et al. 2009a; Engstrom et al. 2009) and then been applied to restoration goal setting (Edlund et al. 2009b). Isotopic data are also widely used. For instance, Callaway et al. (2007, 2012) used radioisotopes to infer sedimentation rates in reference California coastal wetlands and determined that sediment accretion is currently keeping pace with sea level rise. This information can be used to set restoration targets for sediment accretion in restored sites so that restored wetlands can remain functional (tidal) in the face of predicted change. Also, these radioisotope data can be used to estimate the rate of carbon sequestration in wetlands, which is useful for restora- tion planning pertaining to climate change mitigation goals (Callaway et al. 2012). Stable isotopes can be used to elucidate other ecosystem pro- cesses and potential restoration impacts as well. For example, stable isotopes from archeological middens have been used to This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms identify changes in productivity and trophic status of various marine species in the Pacific Northwest over 4500 yr (Misarti et al. 2009), and ratios of nitrogen (N) stable isotopes in lake sediments have been used to estimate the abundance of migrat- ing salmon in Alaska over the past 300 yr and changes im- parted by commercial fishing and dam building (Finney et al. 2000). These data document the large-scale movement of N from the ocean to inland, oligotrophic lakes. In addition to providing baseline data to help establish restoration goals, it helps modern restoration workers to predict ecosystem effects of salmon restoration. It is relatively more difficult to infer how terrestrial eco- systems functioned in the past. However, as collaborations between restoration practitioners and historical ecologists be- come more common, approaches for addressing past terres- trial ecosystem functioning are emerging (Dunnette et al. 2014; McLauchlan et al. 2014). Efforts are underway to integrate pa- leoecological data with ecosystem modeling to facilitate model- ing of future ecosystems (PalEON 2015). These results will also be relevant to restoration ecologists. The connections between key ecosystem functions and phy- logenetic diversity may be the strongest argument for the use of phylogenetic information in restoration ecology. For exam- ple, more phylogenetically diverse plant communities are more productive and stable (Cadotte et al. 2008, 2012). In a plot experiment, Cadotte (2013) found an increase in primary pro- ductivity of 12 g/m2 of biomass for every additional 5 million years of evolutionary history encompassed by an assemblage. Greater phylogenetic diversity of resident communities is also associated with reduced invasion by nonnative species (Davies et al. 2011; Li et al. 2015). In addition, greater facilitation was found between more distantly related co-occurring spe- cies used in arid lands restoration (Verdú et al. 2012). Plant phy- logenetic diversity was also associated with greater productiv- ity of soil microbes in gypsum ecosystems (Navarro-Cano et al. 2014). Productivity, stability, facilitation, invasion resistance— these are all factors that may enhance the achievement of resto- ration objectives (Rowe 2010; Wortley et al. 2013). Phylogenetic diversity of plant communities is also associ- ated with greater biodiversity support at higher trophic levels. In strip-mined lands restored to prairie in southern Ohio, but- terfly species diversity increased with plant phylogenetic diver- sity (Cavender-Bares and Cavender 2011). Similar effects on higher trophic levels were seen in experimental manipulations of plant phylogenetic diversity, with phylogenetic diversity of plants predicting arthropod richness and abundance (Dinnage et al. 2012) and phylogenetic diversity (Lind et al. 2015). Con- versely, phylogenetic diversity of insects may benefit plants. Increased phylogenetic diversity in pollinator communities re- duced rates of self-pollination in the plant Plectritis congesta (Adderley and Vamosi 2015). This could help limit reductions in plant genetic diversity associated with habitat fragmentation. Each of these approaches to planning resilient and functional restorations in the face of rapidly changing climates combines the ancient with the novel. A novel ecosystem is defined as one that cannot be returned to its historical trajectory and there- fore can contribute better to landscape conservation and resto- ration if it is managed to provide ecosystem services (Hobbs et al. 2014). Using the approaches described above (e.g., de- 4.192.102 on October 24, 2016 09:17:29 AM and Conditions (http://www.journals.uchicago.edu/t-and-c). BARAK ET AL.—HISTORICAL ECOLOGY AND RESTORATION 99 signing species mixes with high phylogenetic diversity), resto- ration can be guided by ecological history, even in novel situa- tions where objectives center on provision of ecosystem services (Willis et al. 2010; Cavender-Bares and Cavender 2011). Just as it is worthwhile to use a range of spatial references in developing restoration targets and conceptual models for how restored ecosystems develop and respond to change, it is also worthwhile to use a range of historical conditions, especially given an uncertain future. Jackson and Hobbs (2009, p. 568) suggest that “restoration efforts might aim for mosaics of his- toric and engineered ecosystems, ensuring that if some ecosys- tems collapse, other functioning ecosystems will remain to build on.” The historic ecosystems may also be a patchwork, with different restorations being informed by different slices of history and different approaches to historically informed res- toration. This approach would support ongoing learning and adaptability of restoration as restoration approaches that are This content downloaded from 134.08 All use subject to University of Chicago Press Terms informed by ecological history are tested in a changing future (Millar et al. 2007). Acknowledgments This article was based on a symposium convened at the So- ciety for Ecological Restoration’s World Conference in Mad- ison, Wisconsin, in October 2013. We thank two anonymous reviewers and Patrick S. Herendeen for insightful comments on a previous draft. 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work_znlvrl4l2jd65pqy2jl6dpdln4	----	www.biosciencemag.org June 2012 / Vol. 62 No. 6 • BioScience 531 Viewpoint Natural history, which is studied through the practice of directly observing plants and animals, has been the basis for key scientific advance- ments, including the theories of evo- lution and resource partitioning. Whether the term is applied to his- torical figures such as Charles Darwin, Robert MacArthur, Henry David Thoreau, and John Muir or to present- day birdwatchers devotedly pursuing life lists, a naturalist can be character- ized as an individual pursuing deeper awareness or knowledge of species and ecosystems as a passion rather than as an occupation. Many naturalists con- tribute valuable observations to for- mal citizen science programs, such as breeding-bird surveys, the Christmas Bird Count, or plant surveys; there are also many individuals who document observations of plants or animals independent of any formal program or institution. Commitments made by such independent naturalists to their passion can span years or decades and range into the tens of thousands of hours. Data sets can be valued in the hundreds of thousands of dol- lars. These compilations of methodical and repeated observations have the potential to be very valuable resources to science, and increasingly, data col- lected by naturalists independent from an agency or academic institution are being used to document environmen- tal change and to advance science (e.g., Ledneva et al. 2004, Cook et al. 2008, Crimmins et al. 2009, Primack and Miller-Rushing 2012). Through our experience working with independent naturalists and their data, we have observed a need for a greater apprecia- tion and more respect in the scientific community for these individuals as a resource unto themselves, as well as a need for more active efforts to engage them in analyzing and interpreting their data. By acknowledging the value of the data collected by naturalists working independent of institutions, scientists stand to gain much through working with these data holders to access, ana- lyze, interpret, and archive these records, especially in cases in which the collectors are still living. Living naturalists can bring a wealth of ancillary information and ecosystem knowledge to the table, which can significantly enhance the analysis of their observations. Given the depth of commitment of some indepen- dent naturalists, these unique and poten- tially rich data sets may provide keys to answering questions that could not be addressed through traditional short- term research studies or even longer- term organized efforts. For example, we have worked with one such independent naturalist whose weekly observations span nearly three decades and encom- pass six vegetation communities along an elevation gradient. Using these data, we have been able to document clear changes in the organization of flower- ing communities across the elevation gradient and to link them to warming temperatures in the region (Crimmins et al. 2009). However, institutionally supported scientists and independent naturalists represent very different cultures, and bridging this gap to facili- tate data sharing, long-term data use, and the archiving of those data can be difficult. Within the scientific community, the value of data sharing is widely recognized (Parr 2007, Pullin and Salafsky 2010), and increasingly, institutions and jour- nals require this practice. The National Science Foundation states that funded investigators are “expected to share with other researchers… the primary data, samples, physical collections, and other Appreciating and Archiving Present-Day Naturalists’ Contributions to Science Theresa Crimmins and miChael Crimmins supporting materials” (www.nsf.gov/ bfa/dias/policy/dmp.jsp). Similarly, the Ecological Society of America expects authors publishing in its journals to “make the data underlying published articles available” (http://esapubs.org/ esapubs/journals/accepted.htm) and offers a data registry to facilitate such commu- nication and data sharing among sci- entists. The recently established Dryad (www.datadryad.org) is one such reposi- tory, and DataONE (www.dataone.org) is an example of a current push to develop best practices to facilitate data shar- ing among ecologists. However, these policies and data-sharing tools were primarily developed with professionals in mind and do not explicitly address independent naturalists’ situations. Such open data sharing is not necessarily a given for private data holders. Independent naturalists may invest huge amounts of time, energy, and money in the pursuit of their obser- vations; paid scientists are typically supported by their institution and paid for the time they spend in the laboratory or in the field. These dif- ferences in expenditures can color attitudes regarding how openly data might be shared. Namely, individu- als representing the institutional realm may— perhaps inadvertently—have un reasonable expectations for inde- pendent individuals’ willingness to share the rights and access to their data. There are several reasons for which independent individuals may be wary of such openness, including fears of a loss of control over their data and its interpretation or credit for their contri- butions. If they do choose to share their observations with others, independent naturalists may wish to retain some level of ownership or control over their data, in the form of acknowledgement in publications, involvement in analysis 532 BioScience • June 2012 / Vol. 62 No. 6 www.biosciencemag.org Viewpoint or interpretation, or authorship on publications including the data. We have also witnessed naturalists hesitate to share their observations for reasons including a lack of confidence that their data are actually useful or valuable, given their noncredentialed status; a concern over a lack of recognition of their efforts; a distrust of academic institutions; and a fear of rejection or dismissal by professional scientists. To ease the clash of cultures that can occur between independent nat- uralists who may not be comfort- able with sharing their life’s work and professional scientists who may have expectations for ready access to such observations, it may be best to treat the relationship as a partnership. Involving a living data collector in every stage of a project concerning their data may seem like an obvious choice, but our experience has been that this practice is frequently planned but not actually carried out. We call for a more overt effort in this direction on the behalf of scientists, engaging naturalists, to the extent that they desire, at every stage of an effort, including idea and question formulation, analysis, and the drafting of manuscripts. Independent natural- ists, who have invested a great deal in the pursuit of their observations, can offer a wealth of ecosystem knowl- edge that may be valuable in analysis and interpretation, as well as in for- mulating appropriate research ques- tions. Such deep organismal or system familiarity has the potential to truly enhance the work of professional sci- entists, who typically do not have the luxury of spending hundreds or thou- sands of hours in the field. Professional scientists can provide context, supple- mentary data sets, analytical tools, and a means for making results more readily accessible to the broader sci- entific community. Frequent contact among members of the independent- naturalist–professional-scientist part- nership may also have the added benefit of increasing the naturalist’s familiarity with the scientific process. Another improvement that can be made to facilitate independent- naturalist–professional-scientist data sharing is the development of data-use and data-attribution policies. Data-use policies establish ground rules for the use or sharing of data among parties, whereas data-attribution policies define expectations for acknowledgement and credit for the use of data. Such policies formalize the partnership and can be written to directly address any specific concerns that members of the partner- ship harbor. Ideally, they should be revisited periodically over the course of the project and respectfully carried out. We have established such policies with colleagues and an independent naturalist in several instances and feel that in addition to clarifying roles and expectations, they have helped the nat- uralist to feel more included. There is also a clear need to develop mechanisms for a long-term archiving of independent naturalists’ data that can ensure that the back-and-forth commu- nication characteristic of a true partner- ship between the data owner and the analyst can be upheld. What we en vision would expand on existing archives that house data and suggest proper use and acknowledgement by also facilitating direct involvement of the data provider in analysis and interpretation. The estab- lishment of these mechanisms will not only demonstrate recognition among the scientific community of the potential value of these observations but will also ensure the observations’ long-term pres- ervation. This could possibly be accom- plished through data-sharing nodes such as DataONE, the Avian Knowledge Network, or the USA National Phenology Network. This will require creativity and enhancements to the current types of data-sharing policies that are in place at data-sharing nodes. Independent naturalists and their observations have a demonstrated value to science, although these resources are at risk from a cultural divide and from a lack of mecha- nisms to discover and work with the data holders and to share and archive their data. We are calling for a serious treatment of this situation; science and society have much to lose by not valuing both the data and the col- lectors. It is imperative to find ways to discover and archive independent naturalists’ observations. Naturalists have much to offer to science; consider the lasting contributions of naturalists such as Alfred Wallace and Georges Cuvier. It is also important to engage these individuals as a resource, when they are willing, while we still can, because their direct experience can greatly enhance their raw data. Just imagine what sort of ancillary infor- mation we could gain if we could work with Henry David Thoreau or Aldo Leopold while analyzing their meticu- lous records of plant phenology! Acknowledgments We are thankful to C. David Bertelsen for sharing his rich and extensive data set; our experience working together provided the impetus for this piece. Jake F. Weltzin, Elizabeth Wolkovich, Alyssa Rosemartin, and Ellen Denny provided valuable comments that sig- nificantly improved the manuscript. The USA National Phenology Net- work’s National Coordinating Office staff also provided helpful input. References cited Cook BI, Cook ER, Huth PC, Thompson JE, Forster A, Smiley D. 2008. A cross-taxa phenological dataset from Mohonk Lake, NY and its relationship to climate. International Journal of Climatology 28: 1369–1384. Crimmins TM, Crimmins MA, Bertelsen CD. 2009. Flowering range changes across an elevation gradient in response to warming summer temperatures. Global Change Biology 15: 1141–1152. Ledneva A, Miller-Rushing AJ, Primack RB, Imbres C. 2004. Climate change as reflected in a naturalist’s diary, Middleborough, Massachusetts. Wilson Bulletin 116: 224–231. Parr CS. 2007. Open sourcing ecological data. BioScience 57: 309–310. Primack RB, Miller-Rushing AJ. 2012. Uncovering, collecting, and analyzing records to investigate the ecological impacts of climate change: A template from Thoreau’s Concord. BioScience 62: 170–181. Pullin AS, Salafsky N. 2010. Save the whales? Save the rainforest? Save the data! Conservation Biology 24: 915–917. Theresa Crimmins (theresa@usanpn.org) is a staff member of the USA National Phenology Network, in Tucson, Arizona. Michael Crimmins (crimmins@u.arizona.edu) is in the Department of Soil, Water and Environmental Science at the University of Arizona, in Tucson. doi:10.1525/bio.2012.62.6.3 
work_zojc6vydhncdpm5vcs2rvxqmd4	----	90 C O S T A lina Bo Bardi and The suBurB c l á u d i a co s t a ca B r a l U f r g S , Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul, Brasil Keywords Ecology Urbanization Brazil House Essay In a time before the liberalization of the land, there was a period when architects believed that an alternative model to the countryside and the city could be designed. In this essay, we see an unknown project by Lina Bo Bardi suburban development project that allows us to understand how this great architect thought about the relationship between architecture and nature. The environmental issue has reinserted nature at the center of the architectural debate, forcing a dialogue with other fields of knowledge such as engineering, biological sciences, and even human sciences, as in the case of recent environmental history.1 But such dialogues are also an opportunity to reinforce and renew disciplinary perspectives, especially in the historiography of modern architecture. In L’ invention du paysage [The Invention of Landscape] Anne Cauquelin drew attention to a formal dimension of environmental issues that is not at all negligible. If often the set of economic operations, scientific discourses, and environmental policies form a complex fabric, which tends to consider the idea of landscape as a “useless aestheticism,” she argues that “the superior artifice of visualization and of the staging of natural elements” should not be underestimated, because, “more than an aesthetic label,” landscape could confer what she calls “vision unity to the different aspects of an environmental policy” (Cauquelin, 2008:9). We will analyze these questions through the Conjunto Itamambuca (F i G . 1), developed in 1965 by Lina Bo Bardi (1914-1992). Never executed – and, perhaps for that same reason, little known – Bo Bardi’s study for this project remains a contribution to that debate, by confronting the scale of the territory and the landscape according to a very particular vision of the relations between architecture and nature. A R Q 1 0 3 — S A N T IA G O , C H IL E 91 1 2 Nature as a Historical Issue Aby Warburg (2010:3) said that the “act of interposing a distance between itself and the outside world,” as a symbolic consummation of the separation of man from nature, was the “founding act of human civilization.” Although founding, the cultural relationship of man with nature did not produce homogeneous and stable conditions, but rather heterogeneous and dynamic ones. In the famous article “Ideas of nature,” Raymond Williams (1980:67) stressed that, as with other essential ideas through which mankind was constituting a vision of the world and its place in it, the idea of “nature,” although endowed with a “nominal continuity,” usually assumes meanings as complicated as mutable. That distance between human beings and the world – the ambiguity between man as a natural being and FIG 1 Lina Bo Bardi, Conjunto Itamambuca, 1965. Planta general / General plan. Fuente / Source: Colección del Instituto Lina Bo y P.M. Bardi FIG 2 Félix-Émile Taunay, Mata reducida a carbón, 1830. Museu Nacional de Belas Artes, Rio de Janeiro. Fuente / Source: B a r D i , P.M., et. al. Arte no Brasil, São Paulo: Abril Cultural, 1979 92 C O S T A as a cultural subject that uses nature – has, therefore, a variable and sometimes contradictory history. The Mexican poet Octavio Paz agrees with Warburg when writing about human nature and asking “if you can talk about nature when referring to man, the being who, precisely, has invented himself by saying ‘no’ to nature” (Paz, 2011:341). On the other hand, the nostalgia of nature or the position of being a circumstantial “guest” of “civilized life,” as Henry David Thoreau wrote in Walden (2011:17), are equally widespread in the machine age. In the classic Nature and Culture. American Landscape and Painting 1825-1875, Barbara Novak (2007:4) pointed out the coincidence, in the mid-19th-century culture, between the advance of industrialization and the idealization of nature. In fact, the development of the American landscape painting coincided with the indigenous genocides and the incessant conquest and massive destruction of vast rugged territories (F i G . 2). As Williams himself has observed, although the most popular incarnations of the idea of nature “seem to depend on a suppression of human labor history,” a considerable part of what we call “natural landscape” is, indeed, a product of human action (Williams, 1980:78). The Shape of the Territory as a Matter of Architecture The transformation of nature is a consequence of architecture as a technique, although the ways in which the discipline has understood its role in this transformation are not uniform. As Vittorio Gregotti explained in “The shape of the territory,” first published in Edilizia Moderna in 1965: “To fight nature or adapt to it at the point of integration; [...] organize it geometrically or tame it according to a chosen ideal; […] the ideal nature for human life facing wild nature; these are attitudes that always demanded precise and diverse answers at the architectural level” (Gregotti, 2009:20). Gregotti’s ideas can be looked at in relation to the almost contemporary L’architettura della città (1966) by Aldo Rossi, to the extent that they expand the range of disciplinary issues beyond the historic city matrix. If Rossi highlights the architectural dimension of the city, Gregotti claims the architectural dimension of the territory as a geographical environment that has a materiality that can be modeled and oriented towards certain ends (Gregotti, 2009). These ideas have continuity in more recent positions such as Iñaki Ábalos’s Atlas pintoresco, which begins from the premise that nature is also a cultural construct, being that construct “decisive in defining landscape’s technical and imaginary limits as project material” (Ábalos, 2005, 2008).2 If so, then the revision of the ways in which this construct was organized and is organized today is fundamental to contemporary practice, with a special importance in that revision, of modern references for the formation of a new disciplinary body. Among the Latin American authors mentioned by Ábalos are obviously Roberto Burle Marx and Luis Barragán, but also Lina Bo Bardi (Ábalos, 2005:90). FIG 3 Lina Bo Bardi, Contribuição propedêutica ao ensino da teoria da arquitetura. São Paulo, 1957. Fuente / Source: Instituto Lina Bo y P.M. Bardi, 2002. A R Q 1 0 3 — S A N T IA G O , C H IL E 93 In fact, Lina Bo Bardi’s written work announces an explicit awareness of environmental issues. Her text Propaedeutic Contribution to the Teaching of Architecture Theory was written in 1957 with the intention of being submitted to the chair competition for Architecture Theory of the Faculty of Architecture of the University of São Paulo (F i G . 3).3 The relationship between architecture and nature is important in that essay’s structure. Bo Bardi expresses her concern for the environment’s vulnerability in an opinion close to the positions of biologists and conservationists working at that time, such as Julian Huxley and Harold Coolidge. The International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources meeting in Caracas in 1952, and the Congress of the Pacific Science Association in Manila in 1953 (Bo Bardi, 2002) are also expressly mentioned. Although not leading to simplifications or “diversions of the organic architectural type” – as she affirms, openly criticizing the “current spread in Italy by Zevi himself ” – (Bo Bardi, 2002:46), it seems there is a spirit inherited from that environmental vision, which relates to the feeling of an imminent disappearance of nature: “Man,” she writes, “according to the well-known concept of Le Corbusier, eats, drinks, sleeps, works, and lives in a different way than yesterday, because the speed phenomenon, and the precipitation of material well-being, recomposes the life of cities, while that of the countryside is constituted according to the first” (Bo Bardi, 2002:18). That perspective of nature as something that can be lost suggests a very different position, according to her, of what “Simón Bolívar proclaimed militarily, despite the recommendations of Buffon and Humboldt,” namely, in the words of Bolívar, “if nature opposes, we will fight against it and overcome it” (Bo Bardi, 2002:15). The awareness that nature’s resources are finite appears associated with the weakening perception of the distinction between city and countryside, and the territorial transformation in a way that is neither city nor countryside. That form is the suburb. A growing body of suburban reflection has focused on the adverse effects of suburbanization. However, the suburbs were a fruitful field of experiments for modern architecture. In the 50s, Bo Bardi (1953) published a piece in Habitat about the new suburb of Morumbi, in São Paulo, where she had already built her masterly Glass House of 1951 and where she would also build the house for Valeria Cirell in 1958 (F i G . 4 , 5). The Itamambuca Complex Bo Bardi did not design many urban projects. Although her best-known works have an important presence in the city – such as M a sP or se s c Pompéia – they are limited to the scale of the lot and correspond to the restrictions of pre-existing blocks (F i G . 6). Similarly, her unbuilt project for a museum by the sea is shown against a nature that extends infinitely, omnipresent, but is almost abstract, unmanageable by architecture (F i G . 7). 94 4 5 FIG 4 Lina Bo Bardi, Casa de Vidrio. Morumbi, São Paulo, 1951. © Lina Bo Bardi FIG 5 Lina Bo Bardi, Casa Cirell. Morumbi, São Paulo, 1958. © Lina Bo Bardi FIG 6 Lina Bo Bardi, s e s c Pompeia. São Paulo, 1977. © Lina Bo Bardi FIG 7 Lina Bo Bardi, Museo a la orilla del mar, São Vicente, São Paulo, 1951. Fuente / Source: Habitat N. 8, 1953. A R Q 1 0 3 — S A N T IA G O , C H IL E 95 6 7 Indeed, Bo Bardi’s urban projects are easily counted: the Itamambuca Complex (1965); her participation in the competition for the renovation of the center of Santiago de Chile (1972); the Cooperative Community of Camurupim (1975); her participation in the contest for the Anhangabaú Valley in São Paulo (1981); and the rehabilitation plan of the historic district of Salvador (1986). The studies for Santiago, São Paulo and 96 C O S T A 9 8 Salvador are projects for metropolitan centers, while the proposals for Itamambuca and Camurupim are focused on rather suburban or rural environments. The Itamambuca Complex is, therefore, Bo Bardi’s first foray into the scale of urban planning. In this proposal, we find the emblematic symbols of suburban life: the series of isolated houses surrounded by grass and (implicit) automobile mobility. What we intend to highlight here is how Bo Bardi generated a modern suburban vision in this project, looking for compositional structures capable of ordering architecture and territory as a joint system. Without denying repetition and homogeneity – one of the most defining and also most censored characteristics of the suburbs – her proposal recovers what can be called “figurative landscape quality” (using the expression coined years later by Vittorio Gregotti), achieved from the manipulation of architecture and nature (Gregotti, 1975: 80). The Itamambuca Complex was conceived as a new development in Ubatuba, a tourist city located on the coast of the São Paulo state, Brazil. Crossed by the Tropic of Capricorn, Ubatuba extends between the Atlantic Ocean and the Sierra del Mar, an important mountain range covered by the Brazilian Atlantic Forest, one of the most threatened ecosystems in the country. A former port city, Ubatuba faced economic decline before the beginning of the 20th century. In the 30s, the construction of a road that linked the city and the Paraíba Valley strengthened its tourist vocation and promoted its economic recovery. Apparently, Bo Bardi did not write any formal explanation text on Itamambuca. The available sources comprise a series of separate drawings that show the progress of her ideas.4 However, when reviewing these records together, it seems Bo Bardi devoted herself equally between the problem of land subdivision and the design of the houses. The site corresponds to a strip of land along the right bank of the Itamambuca River. In a colored sketch, Bo Bardi portrays the site as a piece of untouched nature, covered by lush vegetation and bordered by the blue strip of the river. Next to this drawing, she writes: “The preservation of the ‘natural’ configuration of the place.”5 However, the word ‘natural’ has a particular meaning. It refers less to a pristine condition, already present, than to a future quality to be pursued through the project. FIG 8 Lina Bo Bardi, Conjunto Itamambuca, 1965. Perspectiva del sitio / Site view. Fuente / Source: Colección del Instituto Lina Bo y P.M. Bardi FIG 9 Lina Bo Bardi, Conjunto Itamambuca, 1965. Planta parcial inicial de los lotes con notas / Starting partial plan with sites and notes Fuente / Source: Colección del Instituto Lina Bo y P.M. Bardi A R Q 1 0 3 — S A N T IA G O , C H IL E 97 Circular Lots At the bottom of the page, under the title “subdivision,” two small diagrams appear, representing two opposite strategies to address the problem of the development of individual homes. A diagram, marked in red, indicates the solution: the use of a rectangular grid, identified as the “traditional geometric” shape. The other diagram shows the sample of a new suburban fabric formed by a series of circular lots linked to each other through winding roads. The word “natural,” associated with this diagram, does not describe the absence of a plan, but rather a contrasting alternative to the rectangular grid (F i G . 8 ). The morphological structure of this alternative tissue seems to have evolved in parallel with the shape of the houses. Seen together, the various sketches and plans of Bo Bardi for Itamambuca reveal that circular lots were considered from the beginning, although the ways in which the lots were combined varied. A very initial drawing shows a group of circular lots of unequal diameters (notes refer to 18, 22 and 25 meters) arranged along winding roads, with square houses located in the center of each of them (F i G . 9).6 Bo Bardi’s first schemes for Itamambuca clearly resemble Frank Lloyd Wright’s original plans for the Usonian communities (1947), also unbuilt. These plans had to be reviewed due to the difficulties in obtaining construction permits for circular lots (Henken, 1985). Wright’s plan for Parkwyn Village, in Kalamazoo, Michigan, introduced forty circular or semicircular lots located around a lake and linked by winding roads. The project assumed that the individual ownership of the building lots would be accompanied by the collective ownership of the free spaces between the circles, left to the natural (F i G . 1 0). Wright’s plan for Pleasantville, near New York, also featured the same winding roads, connecting fifty circular lots for single-family homes with interstitial spaces collectively shared and maintained as green areas. Wright worked with larger lots than Bo Bardi’s in Itamambuca, with approximate diameters of 60 meters in Pleasantville and 70 meters in Parkwyn Village. Despite the homogeneity of the lots, Wright’s plans form distended organizations, where the circles glide freely over each other. Even the position of the houses in the lots varies, moving from the center to the edges of the circles. However, Bo Bardi gradually departed from Wright’s proposals by abandoning the relaxed configurations present in her early studies, moving towards a structured pattern of organization. Circular lots are reduced to two sizes (with diameters of approximately 12 and 23 meters) and their relative position becomes disciplined by regulatory strokes, a feature absent in Wright’s free disposition. The following drawings show how the position of the circular lots becomes controlled by a regular grid. Each group of four large circles is virtually inscribed in a square with no more than 50 meters of side, roughly equivalent to one of Wright’s lots (F i G . 1 1). Smaller circular lots are inserted in the remaining space between the large 98 10 11 ones. This logic is reproduced over the entire surface of the site, generating a mesh of large and small circles diagonally crossed by paths that follow the direction of the river (F i G . 1 2). The shift towards a structured pattern places Bo Bardi’s work closer to the contemporary research of Team 10 on visual groups and structuring principles than to Wright’s Usonian experiences. As Tom Avermaete (2005:309) has observed in the context of a discussion on the reinvention of the urban fabric by Team 10, Alison Smithson considered that the “apparent similarity” could be “the driving order.” Thus, we can find in the Itamambuca Complex the same search for the underlying order, which will be able to visually structure the architecture and territory, nature and the city. Square Houses According to Priscilla Henken’s comments about Pleasantville, the houses had to be all different. “That derives naturally from the principles of Mr. Wright’s organic architecture, which require that each house be adapted to the needs and personalities of the owners,” each being “the only one of its kind, a work of art with the signature of the artist” (Henken, 1985:8). Bo Bardi did exactly the opposite. Like so many other suburbs, Itamambuca would be populated by replicating almost identical houses, always located in the same fixed FIG 10 Frank Lloyd Wright, Parkwyn Village, 1947. Fuente / Source: The Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation Archives, The Museum of Modern Art/ Avery Architectural & Fine Arts Library, Columbia University FIG 11 Lina Bo Bardi, Conjunto Itamambuca, 1965. Plan parcial de los lotes / Partial sites plan Fuente / Source: Colección del Instituto Lina Bo y P.M. Bardi A R Q 1 0 3 — S A N T IA G O , C H IL E 99 12 13 position within the lots. None of the houses would be the only one of its kind, although all could be considered as the work of an artist. Not much information is available on the order, including the extension of the program. Considering the size of the houses and the fact that they are multiple, it is assumed that Itamambuca would be an urban enterprise aimed at a middle class interested in relatively cheap holiday homes, a dream fostered by the recent expansion of the São Paulo automotive industry.7 Despite the round shape of the lots, Bo Bardi did not use any of the circular houses she had developed in 1962, which were also suburban, with porches, patios and green roofs. Instead, she designed two types of square-plan houses, one for the large lot and one for the small one, always arranged on the geometric center of the lot (F i G . 1 2). There is a collective life more or less implicit in the general plan. Private gardens are replaced by shared spaces, while picturesque trails extend through a FIG 13 Lina Bo Bardi, Conjunto Itamambuca, 1965. Perspectiva de las casas / View of the houses. Fuente / Source: Colección del Instituto Lina Bo y P.M. Bardi FIG 12 Lina Bo Bardi, Conjunto Itamambuca, 1965. Planta general / General plan Fuente / Source: Colección del Instituto Lina Bo y P.M. Bardi 100 C O S T A 14 15 pastoral landscape, dotted with frugal houses and no fences. As the perspective shows, the twisted structure of the plan causes truncated views, opposing visual limits to the open landscape and favoring, from the observer’s point of view, the impression of a natural scenario on a domestic scale (F i G . 13). Zeuler Lima (2013:119) stressed that the Itamambuca Complex “confirmed the formal palette that Lina had begun to develop at the end of the 50s.” In fact, the houses are presented as cubic volumes with green roofs, thatched roof porches and exterior walls where small plants sprout, suggesting a certain figurative character that is familiar to her previous house for Valeria Cirell, designed in 1958 in the Morumbi suburb, São Paulo. The Cirell House (F i G . 5) still exists. The first known studies show a rectangular plan with some alternatives for the facades, similar to those finally executed, except for the carpentry (Ferraz, 1993). The definitive plans are perhaps closer to the houses of Itamambuca, either due to the square plans or to the rotation around a nucleus, in this case, the chimney, which establishes diagonal lines in plan and triangular geometries. But Morumbi was a high-income suburb with very generous lots. When considering much smaller lots in Itamambuca, Bo Bardi had to develop other strategies to guarantee the ideal of continuous green and the sense of freedom suggested by a life close to nature. In a subdivision in which the distinctions between front and bottom have been erased, as in the fabric of circular lots, the centralized position of the house on the lot allows nature to be used as a buffer while offering some privacy to the domestic space. In Itamambuca, the two types of houses have symmetrical plans that develop from a centralized staircase and are constructed geometrically by the rotation of a smaller square into a larger one. Also, the small house can be registered virtually in the big house. The big house has a 9-meter side. The inner square circumscribes a double-height space around the central staircase, introducing a centripetal configuration. In addition to the kitchen on the ground floor, the four small bedrooms and bathrooms on the second floor are pushed into the four corners. A peripheral porch, supported by rustic wooden pillars and covered by a thatched roof, expands the seating area on the ground floor (F i G . 13). The section reveals the wooden mezzanine and the ceramic tile roof hidden behind the masonry walls.8 The small house has a 6-meter side. FIG 14 Lina Bo Bardi, Conjunto Itamambuca, 1965. Elevación casa para lote pequeño / House for a small site, elevation. Fuente / Source: Colección del Instituto Lina Bo y P.M. Bardi FIG 15 Lina Bo Bardi, Conjunto Itamambuca, 1965. Elevación casa para lote grande / House for a big site, elevation. Fuente / Source: Colección del Instituto Lina Bo y P.M. Bardi A R Q 1 0 3 — S A N T IA G O , C H IL E 101 However, it is not generated from the rotation of a square figure inside, but from an exterior that forms four open porches in the corners, with wooden pillars and thatched roofs.9 If the plans are rigidly fixed by geometric and, therefore, intellectual games, the exterior appearance of the houses seems to come from an antithetical primitivist attitude. Children’s drawings represent modest, almost shy facades, which keep a sense of innocence in their uncertain windows, their lattice doors and their walls where small uncultivated plants sprout randomly (F i G . 1 4 , 1 5). The Wonderful Primitivism A sketch of the partial lot plan portrays a canoe and its occupants by the river, perhaps referring to the name of the city – Ubatuba means “place of canoes” in Tupi – and the ancient indigenous occupation of the region or perhaps evoking the memory of old telluric forces (FiG. 1 1). Bo Bardi’s architecture in Itamambuca did not require more than low-tech construction systems and materials available in the region. Nothing that could not be easily built with local labor. Although we can hardly speculate on the role that could have played in the project, the construction system reminds us of the Caiçara house, the typical refuge of the region’s inhabitants in the past, with thatched roofs and wooden structures. The link between architecture and nature was a recurring theme for Lina Bo Bardi. The ways in which she approached it in her work have been formally and materially rich and varied, as tempting as it is to see a turning point in the figurative primitivist of Itamambuca or Casa Cirell. Simultaneously, Bo Bardi relied on the universalist codes of a technically advanced glass architecture, such as her own home and the M a sP, and explored local and traditional sources, such as Casa Cirell or Itamambuca. Nor would it be convenient to understand this figurative feature in opposition to modernity or as an overcoming of modernity. The truth is that as early as 1943 we found Bo Bardi saying, in the Italian magazine Domus, that the modern world “brought the relationship earth, climate, environment to architecture,” which “we see sprouting with a wonderful primitivism, from the most spontaneous architectural forms: rural architecture” (Bo Bardi, 2009:47). In that sense, it seems pertinent to speak of primitivism and figuration in the work of Lina Bo Bardi (as problematic as the notion of ‘primitive’ has become, in general in the field of social sciences), even more pertinent than simply speaking of the presence of vernacular references (Cabral & Bender, 2017). Primitivism summons a distance. It exhibits an impasse that is, in a sense, indifferent to the vernacular. Ernst Gombrich has highlighted the essentially ‘non-primitive’ nature of primitivism as an artistic operation and its insertion in the thinking of the avant-garde of the beginning of the century. According to Gombrich (2012:295), primitivism is precisely the tension between a visually sophisticated 102 C O S T A Cláudia Costa Cabral Architecture graduate, Universidade Federal de Rio Grande do Sul (1983), Mestra em Arquitetura, Universidade Federal de Rio Grande do Sul (1996) and Doctora in Teoría e Historia de la Arquitectura – Universitat Politecnica de Catalunya (e t s a B , U P c , 2001). She has experience in architecture and urbanism, focusing on architecture design, theory, history and criticism. She was General Coordinator of Docomomo Brasil in the 2012-2013 biennium, and of the Research and Postgraduate Program in Architecture of the Universidade Federal de Rio Grande do Sul, P r o Pa r - U F r G s (2009-2012; 2015-2018). She is a tenured professor in the Faculdade de Arquitetura de la Universidade Federal de Rio Grande do Sul, in undergraduate and graduate studies and presides the Research Group of Modern Architecture Studies in Latin America. intellectual operation and the discarding of a certain ‘skill or refinement’ in the material condition of the work. Bo Bardi’s approach to rural architecture forms is within the scope of artistic operations (and that is why all the houses could be the work of an artist, even if they were identical). From an urban point of view, awareness of nature’s vulnerability and of environmental concerns, which were already present in the Propaedeutic Contribution to the Teaching of Architecture Theory, do not lead to a critique of the need for planning; there, too, Bo Bardi condemned the “romantic attitude” of territory planning and expressly defended the rational, illuminist reconsideration of the architecture-nature binomial (Bo Bardi, 2002:15-16;46). Her vision of the suburb in 1965 is not purely Arcadian or conservative, but rather paradoxical. It is not a reaction against planning, but the production of the landscape from the instruments of architecture: instead of claiming uncontrolled organic freedom, it proposes a geometric pattern based on docile but recurring curves that can be repeated mechanically. The generic characteristics such as repetition and homogeneity (both incorporated by the suburb) find a particular figuration in the landscape of rounded lots and primitivist architectures.10 ARQ A R Q 1 0 3 — S A N T IA G O , C H IL E 103 Notas / Notes 1 Environmental history, defined in a very succinct way, seeks to understand the environment in its historical context while understanding human history in an environmental context (Isenberg, 2014). 2 See also Ábalos (2009) and Ábalos, Mateo et al. (2007). 3 The contest never happened. Lina Bo Bardi edited the text as an illustrated ninety-page booklet, which after her death was published in its entirety by the Lina Bo e P. M. Bardi Institute (2002). On the competition, see Lima (2013:75). 4 Bo Bardi, Lina. Conjunto Itamambuca, 1965. Colección del Instituto Lina Bo e P.M. Bardi. 5 Ibid. Perspective (067a r q d0045). Collection of Lina Bo e P.M. Bardi. 6 Ibid. Partial lot plan with notes (067a r q d0023). Collection of Lina Bo e P.M. Bardi. 7 According to the National Association of Automotive Vehicle Manufacturers, a n FaV e a , the number of cars jumped from 9,478 vehicles in 1957 to 130,435 in 1964. 8 Ibid. Section (067a r q d0055). Collection of Lina Bo e P.M. Bardi. 9 Ibid. Blueprints (067a r q d0049; 067a r q d0050). Collection of Lina Bo e P.M. Bardi 10 This text is part of a research supported by CNPq, Conselho Nacional de Desenvolvimento Científico e Tecnológico, Brasil. Bibliografía / Bibliography Á B A l O S , Iñaki. Atlas pintoresco. Vol. 1: el observatorio. Barcelona: Gustavo Gili, 2005. ÁBAlOS, Iñaki. Atlas pintoresco. Vol.2: los viajes. Barcelona: Gustavo Gili, 2008. Á B A l O S , Iñaki. Naturaleza y artificio. El ideal pintoresco en la arquitectura y el paisajismo contemporáneos. Barcelona: Gustavo Gili, 2009. ÁBAlOS, Iñaki; MAteO, Josep Lluis et. al. Natural Metaphor: An Anthology of Essays in Architecture and Nature. Zúrich: eth, ACtAR, 2007. Av e R M A e t e , Tom. «Mat-buiding. Team 10’s reinvention of the critical capacity of the urban tissue». En: Max Risselada and Dirk van den Heuvel, eds., Team 10, 1953-81. In search of a Utopia of the present. Róterdam: NAi Publishers, 2005. B O B A R D I , Lina. «O jardim Morumbi: Arquitetura-Natureza», Habitat 10 (1953): 23-44. B O B A R D I , Lina. Contribuição propedêutica ao ensino da teoria da arquitetura. São Paulo: Instituto Lina Bo e P.M. Bardi, 2002. B O B A R D I , Lina. «Arquitetura e natureza: a casa na paisagem». En: Lina por escrito: textos escolhidos de Lina Bo Bardi, 1943-1991. Silvana Rubino; Marina Grinover, eds. Sao Paulo: Cosac Naify, 2009. COStA CABR Al, Cláudia; BeNDeR, Helena. «Uses of primitivism: Stone, clay and modern architecture». Pós – Revista do Programa de Pós-Graduação em Arquitetura e Urbanismo da FAUUSP, 24, 43 (agosto de 2017): 80-97. C AU Q U e l I N , Anne. A invenção da paisagem. Lisboa: Edições 70, 2008. F e R R A Z , Marcelo (ed.). Lina Bo Bardi. São Paulo: Instituto Lina Bo e P.M. Bardi, Empresa das Artes, 1993. G O M B R I C h , Ernst. «O primitivo e seu valor na arte». En: R Woodfield, ed., Gombrich Essencial. Textos selecionados sobre arte e cultura. Porto Alegre: Bookman, 2012. GReGOttI, Vittorio. Território da Arquitetura. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 1975. G R e G O t t I , Vittorio. «The Form of the Territory». O A S E 80 (2009): 7-22. h e N k e N , Priscilla. «A ‘Broad-Acre’ Project». In: Realizations of Usonia: Frank Lloyd Wright in Westchester. New York: The Hudson River Museum, 1985, p. 6-13; t W O M B ly, Robert. Frank Lloyd Wright. His life and his architecture. New York: Wiley, 1987, p. 265-268. I S e N B e R G , Andrew C. (ed.). The Oxford Handbook of Environmental History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. lIMA, Zeuler. Lina Bo Bardi. New Haven, London: Yale University Press, 2013. N O vA k , Barbara. Nature and Culture. American Landscape and Painting 1825-1875. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. PA Z , Octavio. El laberinto de la soledad. Madrid: Cátedra, 2011. R O S S I , Aldo. L’architettura della cittá. Padova: Marsilio Editori, 1966. t h O R e AU, Henry David. Walden. Porto Alegre: l & P M , 2011. WA R B U R G , Aby. Atlas Mnemosyne. Madrid: Akal, 2010. W I l l I A M S , Raymond. «Ideas of Nature». En: Problems in Materialism and Culture. London: Verso, 1980. 
work_zqulbzjmf5emlpo2bz3soqubfm	----	Ironbark and stone: Place and belonging in the nature novels of Inga Simpson Jane Frank j.frank@griffith.edu.au Abstract This article discusses Sunshine Coast writer Inga Simpson’s nature writing in three recent novels, Mr Wigg (2013), Nest (2014b) and Where the Trees Were (2016c). It addresses Simpson’s self-categorisation as a nature writer, and shows how the recurrent motif of sacred trees allows three introspective protagonists to reach new understandings of universal themes: loss of love and innocence, ageing, inheritance, childlessness, sexuality, death, ancient cultures, cultural in- tegrity and preservation of the environment. The article considers Simpson’s ‘anti-Gothic’ approach to landscape in her novels, yet also shows how her ‘real- ist’ depictions of place evoke unease surrounding the issue of white belonging in Australia. Simpson’s metaphoric self-identification with trees, particularly the Australian ironbark, is pivotal to the quiet power of her fiction’s exploration of belonging in the Australian landscape. Landscape as witness, literature as place In three novels published in less than five years, Mr Wigg (2013), Nest (2014b) and Where the Trees Were (2016c), Inga Simpson explores and ‘listens — to the world beyond the merely human’ (Tredinnick 2007: 1), both to engage readers and also to locate herself in the ‘landscape’ of her past and present. Simpson’s nature writing is inseparable from the places in which it is set and from their natural history. Characters in her novels, like Simpson herself, are fused with the landscape, particularly the trees that inhabit it. The story of each character is linked to trees in fundamental but distinct ways: in Mr Wigg, a fairy-tale thread centred on the personified fruit trees of Wigg’s imagination mirrors the central storyline; in Nest, a fragile narrative of loss and betrayal is woven together through the idea of nesting and the healing power of trees; and in Where the Trees Were, unresolved tensions in black and white Australia are examined through an encounter with Wiradjuri burial trees discovered by children on a Central Western New South Wales property. In each case, trees represent both sacredness and spiritual wholeness. Simpson’s ‘tree change’ to the Sunshine Coast hinterland in 2006 coincided with a dedicated shift to nature writing, or the literature of place, and she has insisted that ‘writing place well’ is at the forefront of her creative agenda. In her Queensland Review 229 Volume 24 | Issue 2 | 2017 | pp. 229–241 | c© The Author(s) 2017 | mailto:j.frank@griffith.edu.au https://doi.org/10.1017/qre.2017.34 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/qre.2017.34&domain=pdf Jane Frank essay ‘Triangulation’ (2016b: 295), Simpson links trees with her subjective life: ‘Ironbarks are my heartwood. They cling to the hilltops and paddock edges in the dry land of my childhood.’ Ironbarks as their name suggests, are tough trees. Their outer covering is thick, rough and deeply furrowed. Dead bark is not shed but accumulates. As it dies, it is infused with kino, a dark red sap or gum. The kino ensures that the bark is impervious to fire and heat, protecting the living tissue within — one of the many adaptions of eucalypts . . . In places, deep red oozes through like blood. Ironbarks grow in tough country, tolerating the dry. Their grey-green narrow leaves, turned sideways to the sun, are one of the features the early white explorers and settlers found so dreary and monotonous. (2016b: 295) The presence of ironbarks form a backdrop to each of the novels to be discussed in this article. Simpson’s use of scientific names for trees and animals typifies her treatment of flora and fauna, revealing a close understanding of arboreal particularities and Australian landscape ecosystems. She shared with her father, a grazier and pho- tographer, an interest in the microscopic details of the landscape and the science of trees, birds and other wildlife. Her father took close-up photographs of the ironbarks and other features on their rural property. He even built their family home from a huge ironbark he felled on their land. Simpson’s appreciation of the landscape is thus tied to particular family connections, but also to more general notions of freedom and independence: From twelve or thirteen, I camped out alone with the rocks, trees and stars . . . There was a flattish site for a tent and a large stone fireplace overlooking crop and grazing land . . . After sundown, my ironbark sentinels faded into dark . . . By day, I wandered, collecting itchy seedpod boats from beneath kurrajongs to sail on the dam, where mistletoe-infected trees admired their own reflections . . . I explore[d] the shade loving ferns and mosses and orchids — a secret world of green (2016b: 295) Simpson’s work fits within a nature writing tradition that traces its beginnings to various works of natural history from the later eighteenth century and through the nineteenth century, including Gilbert White’s Natural Histories and Antiquities of Selborne (1789) (Mabey 2006: 2–6) and the poetry of William Wordsworth, a close student of the physical environment — plants, animals, geography and weather — but also an imaginative shaper of sensory experience. Nature writing, however, came into its own as a genre when Henry David Thoreau began writing of life in his cabin on the edge of Walden Pond in his Life in the Woods (1854). For the first time, ‘nature’ was at the centre of a vision of the American psyche, prompting numerous other American authors to embrace the non-human world as a subject for description, analysis and reflection. Like Wordsworth’s and Thoreau’s writing, Inga Simpson’s fiction tells us about Simpson, her reading and her subjective life just as much as it provides an objective vision of the natural world. But it certainly inherits from the natural history tradition an interest in a precise geographical location, its flora and fauna, and the seasonal changes, offering a close and meticulous observation made over a period of time. Simpson sees the landscape as a witness to history. 230 Queensland Review Ironbark and Stone: Inga Simpson Nature writing and ‘unsettled settledness’ Simpson’s childhood, steeped in the sclerophyll of the inland, is embedded in the often tough, yet not untender, syntax of her writing. This style denotes an unease that perhaps stems from a dilemma common to many non-Indigenous Australians: an intense love of land twinned with concerns about the consequences of their presence in it. Simpson’s work challenges the way we live in, and on, an inher- ited landscape. Murray Bail (2013) argues that such unease in landscape-oriented Australian fiction is part of a coming to terms with place that is characteristic of New World experiences. This ‘unsettled settledness’ (Jacobs and Gelder 1998: 25; Offord and Haebich 2008: 3) is most evident in Where the Trees Were (2016c), but is present in Simpson’s other novels too. In Where the Trees Were, Jay[ne] — who, Simpson has said in a personal interview (Simpson 2016a), is a version of herself — is one of a group of primary school children growing up in the Lachlan Valley of New South Wales, who discover a stand of yellow box gums on her family’s rural property: There was one tree for each of us. As if they were for us. What breeze there was had been stilled. The birds and insects paused. For a moment, there was no sound . . . I pushed past the others, to touch the ledge between the bark and the carved surface of the largest tree. The cuts were deep and wide, right into the heartwood, like fingers making a river. Scrolls and diamonds filled the space around it. It all meant something. It meant a lot. We knew straight away . . . and we knew that we all felt the same, without having to speak. It was as if the trees said everything for us. (Simpson 2016c: 11) One of these trees is an ‘arborglyph’ with intricate designs carved into the heart- wood by the Wiradjuri people. Arborglyphs represented a map for a warrior’s departed soul to navigate the afterlife.1 The discovery of the grove of trees, and the promises made by the friendship group there, connect the characters from Jayne’s childhood throughout their lives. Simpson draws on the sacred power of the trees to symbolise shared promises, friendship and attachment to the landscape. We learn in this novel, however, that the presence of such trees was regarded as a threat to land ownership and the living of white Australian farmers, and at the time of Mabo they were regarded as a threat to be destroyed. In the alternating interplay of present and past, Jayne, who has become an arts conservator based in Canberra, has committed an art crime — the return of an arborglyph from a Canberra museum to its rightful Indigenous owners — in order to somehow right the wrongs perpetrated by her family (but also by white Australia more broadly) in removing these living temples of Aboriginal culture from sacred groves across Western New South Wales. Jayne’s efforts to overcome the mistakes of childhood put her career and relationship with Sarah, a senior member of a government department, at risk. The question the novel asks is not whether Jayne is guilty — because she is: it is whether the author can employ the broader context in such a way as to balance Jayne’s acts against the nature of the world through which she moves (Williamson 2016: 2). The novel is also about reverence and respect for trees and our collective responsibility as guardians of culture in the face of those wanting to tear down trees symbolic of ancient magic and rituals. Simpson’s use of landscape, and the symbol of the sacred tree, is evidence of her working towards a correction of the complex, multi-faceted relationship of people with rural Australia. Queensland Review 231 Jane Frank My conversation with Inga Simpson took place soon after heated debates about cultural appropriation had erupted, sparked by American novelist Lionel Shriver’s polarising opening address at the 2016 Brisbane Writers Festival. I was interested in Simpson’s views on this issue since she walked out of the speech, which she consid- ered ‘off-note, acerbic and rude’, and as displaying an unawareness of the particular issues in play in contemporary Australia. In this same interview, Simpson revealed that when writing Where the Trees Were, she was intrigued by articles and drawings by early Australian writer, botanist and illustrator Louisa Atkinson, published in the Sydney Morning Herald and Illustrated Sydney News in the 1850s and 1860s (Simpson 2016a). Atkinson’s views were ground-breaking for their sympathetic references to Australian Aboriginal people and for advocating conservation. Simp- son undertook her own research into the existence of arborglyphs and, when the novel was complete, sent a draft to Dr Lawrence Bamblett, a Wiradjuri academic specialising in representations of Wiradjuri culture. Simpson wanted her account in the novel to deal sensitively with a ‘tricky subject’: Dr Bamblett didn’t go out of his way to teach me about the trees, but he was able to correct mistakes and misunderstandings I had made from referencing the work of white anthropologists, and directed me to the use of material that was accurate and authentic. (Simpson 2016a) Simpson considers that it is important for all Australians to be able to participate in conversations about land and cultures, and that ‘these conversations are not separate (black/white) conversations or monologues’, so this was an important story to tell. Simpson well remembers the conversations she heard as a child about the Mabo judgment, and the Four Corners program referred to in Where the Trees Were (2016c: 100–2) that worried white Australian landholders. She refers to the impact of native title in an author’s note to the novel: Many arborglyphs were destroyed as part of the initial dispossession and clearing of Kamilaroi and Wiradjuri land for farming. Some were later cut down and removed for display in gardens, museums and galleries. There were still many in place as late as the 1960s. While some would have been lost to natural causes, as a child of the 1970s and 1980s, I remember some of the conversations around the introduction of Native Title. I can imagine what happened to the rest of those trees. (2016c: 300) While these are complex issues, Simpson feels she is ‘on firmer ground to write from a white settler point of view, as opposed to attempting to write characters from an Indigenous viewpoint’ and that her ‘story comes from lived experience, having experienced no consciousness about colour’ as a young person growing up in Central Western New South Wales. The Wiradjuri boy in Jayne’s fictional friend- ship group drew on Simpson’s experiences of her time at school spent with both Wiradjuri and white children, a distinction that Simpson says was not discussed at the time, so she ‘did not know these children were Wiradjuri’ (Simpson, 2016a). As an adult, she feels a sense of guilt at ‘how blanked out [she] was as a younger person to the cultural rift between black and white’, and this sense permeates the story. In a review of the novel, Rhyll McMaster (2016: 2) comments that while ‘Simpson skirts around the edges’, her intention is to convey an ‘idea of guilt, as- suaged through resuscitative action on behalf of [I]ndigenous people who remain 232 Queensland Review Ironbark and Stone: Inga Simpson strangely mute and without agency’. McMaster describes Simpson’s characters as ‘passionless, disconnected and existential’, and the narrative as precariously ‘weav- ing a bloodless tale around the ongoing dispossession of a people’. I take issue with McMaster’s conclusion that there is no ‘leap from exposition into reflection’. In my view, Simpson does succeed in shedding light on a story not widely enough known about the rights and wrongs involved in the removal, but also the repatriation, of Wiradjuri objects of significant cultural value. Simpson’s ‘anti-Gothic’ stance Simpson’s writing evokes a sense of freedom in the face of the land that runs counter to the alienation and strangeness evident in many other Australian novels. Her landscape is a positive force. In our interview (Simpson, 2016a), Simpson used the word ‘realist’ more than once to describe her work, specifically distancing herself from so-called ‘Gothic’ treatments of life in rural Australia in novels like Andrew McGahan’s The White Earth (2004), Joan Lindsay’s Picnic at Hanging Rock (1967), Kenneth Cook’s Wake in Fright (1961), Evie Wyld’s All the Birds, Singing (2013), or even Barbara Baynton’s short stories of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, which depict bush landscapes as alive and hostile. Simpson finds these treatments ‘foreign’ and ‘works against them’ because ‘this is not the rural Australia I know . . . this imported artificial landscape of human drama. The characters are not at home there’ (Simpson, 2016a). Such Gothic representations of rural Australia do not reflect Simpson’s own intimate experience of the landscape. Yet her story-motifs do sometimes have a slightly Gothic feel. Nest (2014b), for example, is a novel about the mystery of two missing children, as well as a book exploring the psychology of love and grief and the role of the natural world in healing. Its main character, Jen, is a reclusive middle-aged ex-teacher and artist who has returned to where she was raised in the Sunshine Coast hinterland. Simpson confesses that there is a good deal of herself in the character. While Jen’s day-to- day encounters with birds in the landscape take centre stage, it is outside events — particularly the disappearance of a local schoolgirl — that mirror for her the disappearance decades before of a close school friend as well as the unexplained loss of her own father. These events, together with the loss of a primary relationship, undermine her efforts to establish a peaceful and idyllic life. When writing this novel, Simpson herself was affected by the disappearance of Woombye teenager Daniel Morcombe and its impact on the community (Brown 2015; Simpson 2016a). The theme of the lost child has been a particular obsession in Australian literature and art since the time of white settlement, as detailed by Peter Pierce in The Country of Lost Children: An Australian Anxiety (1999). This important book examines this theme in Australian narrative as part of a broader cultural pattern through an analysis of certain key texts. Australian fiction has tended to transform this motif into elements specific to Australia’s distinctive imaginative space. In Lindsay’s Picnic at Hanging Rock (1967), for example, several schoolgirls disappear with one of their teachers while picnicking at Victoria’s gloomy and forbidding Hanging Rock. Their disappearance is followed by further tragedies and violent deaths, which transform the innocuous small community of Appleyard College into a place of horror and scandal. This motif of children being lost in the Gothic landscape of Queensland Review 233 Jane Frank settler imaginations (Steele, 2010) contrasts with Simpson’s approach, where the landscape is a force for good: I wanted South East Queensland and the forested area where I live to be a major character. Like Jen I hear birdsong all day where I live. I didn’t want to paint the bush in a Gothic way despite the disappearance. I wanted it to be a benign place where the main character is very comfortable. (Simpson, in Brown 2015: 2) In Nest, the lost child plot reflects not only Jen’s painful memories of the past — her missing childhood friend Michael and the suspicious simultaneous disappear- ance of her father — but also a broader social anxiety about an uncertain future. However, there are also constant reminders in Nest of the power of the landscape to overwhelm human existence. Jen maintains her house on the forest fringe, imag- ining that if she ceased in these efforts, her house ‘would soon rot and fall and begin its own journey back into the forest’ (Simpson 2014b: 226). Yet the forest is ultimately a place of recuperation and healing rather than of threat. At the beginning of the story, the gentle presence of trees is personified: The trees gathered round, their trunks a steady grey-brown. Sometimes, she sus- pected they shifted closer during the night, just an inch or two, rearranging their roots around rocks and soil. (Simpson 2014b: 4) Jen has fled to this remote location for healing from her troubled past, broken relationship and childlessness: Now she was just a husk of a woman. Orphaned. Childless. Little more than bone and sinew and skin without feathers to hide beneath or a song to sing. (Simpson 2014b: 201) Living close to the forest and watching and sketching birds at close range, Jen escapes into the natural world. She sets up a ‘spider rig’2 (Simpson 2014b: 199) as a means of flying like a bird and becoming one with the landscape and birdlife. As Jen moves ever closer to the treetop canopy, the reader accompanies her on a journey to self-acceptance and peace. The writing is laden with bird imagery of empty nests and birds leaving, as well as Jen’s own metamorphosis. Hanging like a bird in her own nest constructed of vines and bark, she realises that it was a moment that approached, a shift in time. She stared at the tree’s dead heart while she listened, and at last she understood she carried something dead inside her too (Simpson 2014b: 238). It is this union with nature that brings Jen her weightlessness: ‘She was breathing with the forest. She was forest’ (Simpson 2014b: 244). Thus, in Simpson’s work, the reader is protected from the savage inhospitable land where characters are overcome by the menacing shadows and deep depression that figure in so much Australian Gothic fiction set in the bush. Simpson’s land- scapes are, instead, imbued with a sense of hope and characters draw on the power of their surroundings to overcome loss, death and injustice. A hinterland identity Simpson identifies as a nature or landscape writer in the same tradition as Tim Winton and Gillian Mears. Mears’ capacity with the sentence, her lyricism and the 234 Queensland Review Ironbark and Stone: Inga Simpson imagery in her representation of rural landscapes coaxed Simpson towards realism. Mears’ The Grass Sister (1995) and The Mint Lawn (1991) were particularly influential, feeding Simpson’s own hankering to write (Simpson 2016a). Winton’s treatment of the ocean — particularly the liminal space between land and sea — had an impact too. Winton’s work also speaks of his interest in ‘spiritual retreat and contemplation in nature’ (Winton 2015: 131). Like Winton, Simpson writes of places she knows and uses the vernacular. As I read Simpson, Winton’s words were vivid in my mind: I began to write about Albany and the people and places along the south coast. This was as much a matter of making do with what I knew as it was an ongoing act of homage to somewhere I loved. But in retrospect, I see I was trying to find a language for the presence of the past. I was coming instinctively to an understanding of the way geography shapes us, but also tacitly giving credit to the weight of time. When they move in and across a landscape, humans are wading through a shared past, surrounded at every turn by events and processes that will never be over . . . (Winton 2015: 137–8) Asked whether she regards herself as a regional writer, Simpson suggests instead that she is a hinterland writer, quite liking ‘the idea [of hinterland] — that we are related to the coast but separate from its highways, malls and spreading estates’ (Simpson 2016a). Her idea of a hinterland identity plays on the notion of a hin- terland of thought (Simpson 2011). Nest (Simpson 2014b) alludes to the mix of a strong alternative community in the Eudlo/Palmwoods area, comprising a grow- ing number of ex-professional retirees and traditional farming families and timber cutters, such as Jen’s father. Organisations like Landcare, to which Jen and her friend Lil are committed, unite nature-loving community members in a venture to preserve the natural beauty of the hinterland, reflecting Simpson’s own interests. Simpson’s move with her partner to a rural property in the Sunshine Coast hin- terland, where she has been able to explore nature writing, has allowed her to find a ‘path back to my true self, my best self’. Reading many male narratives in their cabin in the woods as part of a PhD in English literature ‘fostered certain hermetic ways’, and for a time this limited her sense of what was possible. However, Simp- son’s decision to write a lesbian protagonist in her third nature novel, Where the Trees Were (2016c) was a conscious move to portray lesbian characters heroically, and to: write against stereotypes . . . story allows us to reimagine our lives, alternate futures, other possibilities — more generous and inclusive societies. And as is the case for all minorities, literature empowers us, gives us visibility. We need more lesbian characters on the page, and we need them written in our own voice. (Simpson 2015: 3–5) Reviewers of Simpson’s novels speak about her ‘light touch’ (Pierce 2016: 2) and ‘acute powers of observation’ (Middleton 2014: 1). Geordie Williamson describes Simpson as a ‘graceful, limpid writer; her sentences clean up after themselves, neatly laying out their mimetic wares.’ (Williamson 2016: 2) However, Simpson’s subtlety makes her moves ‘through the ethical thickets’ of her novels poignant for the reader, who is left pondering issues — environment, gender, sexuality, race — that have risen organically to the surface. However, it is the lyrical authenticity of Queensland Review 235 Jane Frank the places where the characters of Simpson’s novels live that resonates. Places, and particularly trees with all their intricate details delivered, are in fact characters in each of the novels. The Tree of Life In Simpson’s first nature novel, Mr Wigg (2013), the tree motif is used to connect the reader to a rich vein of metaphor in European fairy tale and fable. Simpson’s work is heavily influenced by the wishing trees and sacred trees of folklore, history and literature, and her vivid fruit tree imagery links clearly to the iconographic and literary language of trees represented by the motif of the Tree of Life, often depicted in Renaissance culture, particularly the botanical and horticultural paradigms of sterility and fecundity related to pruning and regrowth, life and death. Simpson explains the importance of formative literature to her writing, including the rich tree-laden symbolism of The Lord of the Rings. There are references, too, to other books about fruit and fruit trees Simpson recalls from childhood: Tales of the Ara- bian Nights read beneath the pomegranate trees (2013: 107), the Greek myth of Hades tricking Persephone into eating six pomegranate seeds while in the Under- world (2013: 107) and Mr Wigg’s recollections of his own wedding and of eating quinces with allusions both to Edward Lear’s The Owl and the Pussycat and to the quince (commonly identified as the ‘golden apple’) that Paris awarded to Aphrodite in ancient Greece (2013: 93–4). Simpson draws on this tradition to symbolically link Mr Wigg’s life to the lives of spiritual and fairy-tale trees — the Peach King in particular — owned and tended by characters from a mythological royal kingdom, who appear in his dreams. These visions offer him respite and retreat from a rapidly changing world and provide him with glimpses of seasonal eternity in the final year of his life as his health declines. This novel is Simpson’s favourite, because its main character is the one furthest from herself. Mr Wigg documents the last year in the life of a kind and sensitive country man — a widower mourning for a wife lost to cancer, for an estranged daughter living in the city and for his strained relationship with his son. The novel is set in 1971, on a small farm in the heart of stone-fruit country: all that remains of his family’s once extensive New South Wales property. Yet the small details of Mr Wigg’s life — tending his orchard, preserving fruit, welding, inventing, keeping chickens and enjoying visits from his grandchildren — connect him to his past and make life bearable. Simpson based the story on her childhood experience of visiting grandparents with an orchard: she remembers the richness of childhood, when there was freedom and a lack of fear, delicious home-grown food and quiet times spent watching the cricket interview (Simpson 2016a). The story is permeated with nostalgia for this simpler and slower life in step with the seasons and punctuated by pleasurable daily rituals that help to overcome loss and hurt. In a brief memoir published in the Queensland Writers’ Centre journal, Writing Queensland (Simpson 2014a: 8), she observes: The landscapes of childhood offer a rich vein to mine when writing place . . . Specific smells and sounds, school yards, streetscapes and paddocks are imprinted on us. They are part of who we are. And yet so long ago (for me anyway) that it is almost a foreign country, taking on mythical proportions. Our memories are not necessarily complete or accurate but they go deep. 236 Queensland Review Ironbark and Stone: Inga Simpson However, Simpson consciously avoids ‘pin[ning] the place down too much’, so a series of impressions is created, and the reader is able to populate the landscape of the story with their own childhood recollections and emotions (2014a: 9). She is committed to placing readers in her book’s settings. In this sense, Simpson has taken her cue from American writers like David Vann, whose stories testify to deep emotional connections with places linked to his early life and family history, and Annie Proulx, a place-based writer who develops story by asking herself what people do for a living in a particular place, and connecting the characters in her novels with authentic livelihoods and place-based emotional truths (2014a: 8). To convey place, Simpson uses evocative imagery, layers of symbolism and metaphor, and personification — particularly of trees. She is interested in the mag- ical properties of trees. In Mr Wigg, each variety of fruit tree in Mr Wigg’s orchard is personified. For example, the Mulberry Tree is cast as a wise tree, a little like Mr Wigg himself: It would be fair to say that the mulberry tree was a bit aloof. He was physically set apart from the others — position always determined so much about a tree — and their youthful boasting didn’t interest him much. They might have sought advice from one who had grown for much longer, seen many more seasons, but this is the way of the young, thinking they know it all. The Mulberry, too, might have shared his rumbling thoughts on the meaning of bearing fruit year after year, or stories of some remarkable things he had seen. Instead, he stayed silent, having learned younger trees lacked the patience to listen. (Simpson 2011: 8) There is a fine line between dream and reality for Mr Wigg, who talks knowingly to the trees as well as to his dead wife as he goes about the rituals of pruning and picking fruit. Magical elements are reflected in his character from the Peach King and Orchard Queen fables he dreams; he is an inventor who tells magical stories and knows the recipes for delicious childhood treats. He takes a year to weld the Peach Tree that wins the Fruit Festival Sculpture Award. It links his orchard life to lost love and a time forever gone, but also leaves a legacy for the future. Simpson uses the tree metaphor to refer to Australian settlement, emphasising that the majority of Australians have been migrants or the descendants of migrants. Mr (Alneaus) Wigg’s pastoral visions represent the dream of many Australians of European lineage who had never experienced at first hand the European landscapes of their forebears. Wigg was the name of Simpson’s French great-great-grandfather (Simpson 2016a), and she recognised that her own grandfather in 1970s Australia ‘was living that French village life that’s centred on food and communal spaces even though he had not ever been there or experienced it’ (Simpson 2016a; Simpson in Metcalf 2013: 2–3). In the novel, Mr Wigg sips tea and imagines villages and orchards in Europe — ‘His family’s chalky hills lined with vines’ (Simpson 2013: 244) and the ‘substantial’ stone walls adorned with woodland strawberries that appear in his Orchards of the World book (2013: 254). The children of immigrants like Mr Wigg felt torn between the family traditions and imagined relationship to the places of their family’s past, and their own yearning to belong in Australia. The orchard symbolises this link between two very different cultures. There is sadness for the past in this novel and an aching nostalgia for simpler times when there was a stronger connection with the land and the seasons. Fre- quent references to food — whether corned beef sandwiches with pickled beetroot, Queensland Review 237 Jane Frank homemade chutney or the fruit desserts with meringue, pastry or custard that remind readers of their own slower childhoods — also tie in with Simpson’s ob- servations that the pendulum is swinging back in locations like the Sunshine Coast hinterland, where small pleasures like growing fruit trees and enjoying organic food experiences are part of the area’s ethos. The self-sufficiency of which Simpson speaks reminded me of Kate Llewellyn’s A Fig at the Gate (2014), which was motivated partly by the author wanting a ‘garden that would feed me and my friends; back to what almost everyone had in their childhood, which was a garden that would partly sustain the family’ (Llewelyn 2014: xv). Both Simpson’s and Llewelyn’s books celebrate human kindness. Thus Mr Wigg gives fruit to his son and the grape-growing Traubners next door, feeds his grandchildren nourishing food and even gives away bottles of peaches to the young electrician who comes to repair the wiring in his dilapidated house. Simpson reminds us of trees and the orchard as a metaphor for life (2013: 158) and describes marriage as a garden with a life of its own, but sadly for Mr Wigg, ‘no one had much advice when it was gone, though, nor could they help you with the pain. It just had to be borne, like a terrible winter, or drought. One that didn’t ever end’ (2013: 273). Mr Wigg is a book about confronting change, especially the unsettling experience for the elderly as they adapt in a rapidly altering world. Both the actual and fabled stories stem from the painful loss of a loved one. We feel Mr Wigg’s inability to cope with loss: How were you supposed to live without someone after fifty-odd years? The thought had seemed worse than death at the time, still did some nights, when he lay staring into the dark, but here he was all the same. Life had a way of going on whether you were interested or not, and then you felt yourself taking pleasure in a few small things, and a few more. (2013: 36) In the face of this loss, the orchard is a place of safety. The swirling world of change outside is delivered via the radio and the television or by visiting the neighbours. Australia’s national soundtrack of the 1970s — the Vietnam War ‘Death Lottery’ (2013: 63), the election of Idi Amin as president of Uganda (2013: 66) and the politicisation of cricket — with the cancelling of the South African cricket tour as a protest against apartheid (2013: 251) — plays in the background of Mr Wigg’s life. Age-old farming traditions are disappearing in the face of modern technologies and new machinery. Yet, amidst these happenings, the seasons follow one another in the orchard as they have always done — although, as Mr Wigg ages, he loses his driver’s licence and is forced to give up playing bowls, while advancing Parkinson’s disease makes his hands tremble. Simpson has said: There is a history to our land, going back to settlement like Mr Wigg’s and being carved up over time, and not always amicably, among sons and brothers . . . It feels like a decline, something sad, like the landscape in itself being farmed to death. (in Metcalf 2013: 3) While social realist elements draw the reader’s attention to the way we treat the elderly, the indignity of growing old and the injustices of inheritance, the stories of trees in the landscape as metaphors for human experience are the central theme of the book. 238 Queensland Review Ironbark and Stone: Inga Simpson Living the landscape: The lyric of the country Simpson’s stories have a sensual complexity that brings the landscapes of her his- tory and imagination vividly into focus for her readers, particularly through the personification of trees. However, she also uses discrete occurrences in the lives of her characters to stimulate thinking in the intellectual terrains of occupation and dispossession, strains on the natural environment, the economic sustainability of rural communities and the challenges the landscape presents to us about responsi- bility and respect. Thus these are not only geographic landscapes, but often moral and spiritual ones. In the words of Mark Tredinnick (2003: 10), her novels are part of a burgeoning list of works of nature writing ‘in which the lyrics of the country sing’. Introducing his edited collection of nature writing, A Place on Earth (2003), Tredinnick writes of pattern and music embodied in geographies that ‘teach me how best to live the life that has been given to me’ and explains that for him, nature writing is the transcription of landscape experience into both language and acts of love (Tredinnick 2003: 27). In a similar way, the novels that have been discussed in this essay are written out of the heart of the places Simpson knows, and they embrace their respective ecologies. As well as capturing the intricacy and wildness of Australian landscapes, the novels share straightforward, humble, ordi- nary pleasures about existing and participating in these natural environments. As she explains in her essay ‘Triangulation’ (Simpson 2016b: 303–4), she believes that this is made possible because she writes surrounded by bushland: I am made of ironbark and stone. Formed on the hills scraped back to their bones. It is to the hills I have returned: the Sunshine Coast’s sub-tropical hinter- land thick with trees and loud with birdsong. At first, blinded by chaotic green, I didn’t notice the ironbark. After heavy rain, I recognised their black trunks stand- ing among the brush box, tallow-woods, bloodwoods, grey gums and flooded gums . . . Sometimes I see them with my father’s eye, calculating their diameter, the quantity of timber within, or the dimensions of a bowl turned from a cross- section . . . It is no surprise, I suppose, that I gravitated towards the handmade cottage of timber, stone and recycled brick . . . It is by the big ironbarks that I orient myself, get my bearings. Inga Simpson’s writing has come not only from herself but from her relationship with the land. This work advances the role of Australian fiction in honestly engaging in dialogues about place, time and belonging. Endnotes 1 For thousands of years, the Wiradjuri and Gamilaroi peoples of Central Western, North- Western and North Coast New South Wales ceremoniously carved trees as a form of artistic and cultural expression. The trees usually were located near riverbanks and flats, where the excavation of soil was easier. Celebrated Aboriginal men were buried with the burial tree design facing the grave to serve as a warning to passers-by of the spiritual significance of the area. Each tree was uniquely carved, featuring geometric shapes, chevrons, curvilinear lines, scrolls and concentric circles, distinct from the ‘dot’ patterns used in Central and Western Australia (Briggs and Jackson 2011). 2 A spider rig is a form of adjustable double-ended lanyard that allows tree climbers to reach extreme heights from the ground, giving them the sensation of ‘sky walking’. The concepts Queensland Review 239 Jane Frank of the spider rig and Jen’s ‘tree bed’ were sourced by Simpson from Richard Preston’s The Wild Trees: A Story of Passion and Daring (2008) (Simpson 2014b: 297; Simpson 2016b). References Bail Murray 2013. ‘Landscapes and emptiness’. 2013 Kenneth Binns Lecture, Canberra, 3 August, http://trove.nla.gov.au/work/183392359?q&versionId=199770846. Briggs Ronald and Jackson Melissa 2011. Carved trees: Aboriginal cultures of Western New South Wales. Sydney: State Library of New South Wales. Brown Phil 2015. ‘Author Inga Simpson draws on impact of Daniel Mor- combe’s disappearance to write new novel’, Courier-Mail (Brisbane), 24 August, http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/author-inga-simpson-draws-on– impact-of-daniel-morcombes-disappearance-to-write-new-novel/news-story/ 8d6fceabc2212c216f3816641db7085a. Cook Kenneth 1961, Wake in fright. New York: Text. Jacobs Jane M. and Gelder Ken (1998). Uncanny Australia: Sacredness and identity in a postcolonial nation. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press. Lindsay Joan 1967. Picnic at Hanging Rock. Melbourne: Cheshire. Llewellyn Kate 2014. A fig at the gate: The joys of friendship, gardening and the gaining of wisdom. Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Mabey Richard 2006 [1986].Gilbert White: A biography of the author of The natural history of Selborne. London: Profile Books. McGahan Andrew 2004. The white earth. Sydney: Allen & Unwin. McMaster Rhyll 2016. ‘Rhyll McMaster reviews Where the trees were by Inga Simpson’. Australian Book Review, April, https://www.australianbookreview.com. au/abr-online/archive/2016/178-april-2016-no-380/3128-rhyll-mcmaster-reviews- where-the-trees-where-by-inga-simpson. Metcalf Fran 2013. ‘Inga Simpson opens a window on the past in evocative work Mr Wigg’. Daily Telegraph, 2 July, http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/ entertainment/arts/inga-simpson-opens-a-window-on-the-past-in-evocative-work- mr-wigg/news-story/f67fd05302e0562d8192552adf444c40. Mears Gillian 1991. The mint lawn. Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Mears Gillian 1995. The grass sister. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Middleton Carol 2014. ‘Inga Simpson’s new novel: Nest’. Australian Book Review 365, https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/compoent/k2/123-october-2014-no- 365/2173-inga-simpson-s-new-novel-nest. Offord Baden and Haebich Anna 2008. ‘Introduction: Landscapes of exile — “once perilous, now safe”’. In Anna Haebich and Baden Offord (eds), Landscapes of exile: Once perilous, now safe. Bern: Peter Lang, pp 1–4. Pierce Peter 1999. The country of lost children: An Australian anxiety. Melbourne: Cambridge University Press. —— 2016. ‘Where the trees were review: Inga Simpson’s talents as a writer come to the fore’. Sydney Morning Herald, 29 April, http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/ books/where-the-trees-were-review-inga-simpsons-talents-as-a-writer-come-to-the- fore-20160422-goco9x.html. Preston Richard 2008. The wild trees: A story of passion and daring. New York: Penguin. 240 Queensland Review http://trove.nla.gov.au/work/183392359{?}q�egingroup count@ "0026 elax elax uccode `~count@ uppercase {gdef ={{char '176}}}endgroup setbox hr@@ hbox {=}@tempdima wd hr@@ advance @tempdima ht hr@@ advance @tempdima dp hr@@ =versionId=199770846 http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/author-inga-simpson-draws-on�egingroup count@ "2013 elax elax uccode `~count@ uppercase {gdef --{{char '176}}}endgroup setbox hr@@ hbox {--}@tempdima wd hr@@ advance @tempdima ht hr@@ advance @tempdima dp hr@@ --impact-of-daniel-morcombes-disappearance-to-write-new-novel/news-story/8d6fceabc2212c216f3816641db7085a http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/author-inga-simpson-draws-on�egingroup count@ "2013 elax elax uccode `~count@ uppercase {gdef --{{char '176}}}endgroup setbox hr@@ hbox {--}@tempdima wd hr@@ advance @tempdima ht hr@@ advance @tempdima dp hr@@ --impact-of-daniel-morcombes-disappearance-to-write-new-novel/news-story/8d6fceabc2212c216f3816641db7085a http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/author-inga-simpson-draws-on�egingroup count@ "2013 elax elax uccode `~count@ uppercase {gdef --{{char '176}}}endgroup setbox hr@@ hbox {--}@tempdima wd hr@@ advance @tempdima ht hr@@ advance @tempdima dp hr@@ --impact-of-daniel-morcombes-disappearance-to-write-new-novel/news-story/8d6fceabc2212c216f3816641db7085a https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/abr-online/archive/2016/178-april-2016-no-380/3128-rhyll-mcmaster-reviews-where-the-trees-where-by-inga-simpson https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/abr-online/archive/2016/178-april-2016-no-380/3128-rhyll-mcmaster-reviews-where-the-trees-where-by-inga-simpson https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/abr-online/archive/2016/178-april-2016-no-380/3128-rhyll-mcmaster-reviews-where-the-trees-where-by-inga-simpson http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/entertainment/arts/inga-simpson-opens-a-window-on-the-past-in-evocative-work-mr-wigg/news-story/f67fd05302e0562d8192552adf444c40 http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/entertainment/arts/inga-simpson-opens-a-window-on-the-past-in-evocative-work-mr-wigg/news-story/f67fd05302e0562d8192552adf444c40 http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/entertainment/arts/inga-simpson-opens-a-window-on-the-past-in-evocative-work-mr-wigg/news-story/f67fd05302e0562d8192552adf444c40 https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/compoent/k2/123-october-2014-no-365/2173-inga-simpson-s-new-novel-nest https://www.australianbookreview.com.au/compoent/k2/123-october-2014-no-365/2173-inga-simpson-s-new-novel-nest http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/where-the-trees-were-review-inga-simpsons-talents-as-a-writer-come-to-the-fore-20160422-goco9x.html http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/where-the-trees-were-review-inga-simpsons-talents-as-a-writer-come-to-the-fore-20160422-goco9x.html http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/where-the-trees-were-review-inga-simpsons-talents-as-a-writer-come-to-the-fore-20160422-goco9x.html Ironbark and Stone: Inga Simpson Simpson Inga 2011. ‘Hinterland’. Inga Simpson (weblog), http://www.ingasimpson. com.au/?p=475. —— 2014a. ‘In an emotional place’. Writing Queensland 245 (October): 8–9. —— 2013. Mr Wigg. Sydney: Hachette. —— 2014b. Nest. Sydney: Hachette. —— 2015. ‘Focus on lesbian/queer Australian women writers: Guest post’. Aus- tralian Women Writers Challenge [weblog], http://australianwomenwriters. com/2015/10/focus-on-lesbianqueer-australian-women-writers-guest-post-by-inga- simpson. —— 2016a. Personal interview with author. Palmwoods, Queensland. —— 2016b. ‘Triangulation’. Griffith Review 52: 295–304. —— 2016c. Where the trees were. Sydney: Hachette. Steele Kathleen 2010. ‘Fear and loathing in the Australian bush: Gothic landscapes in Bush studies and Picnic at Hanging Rock’. Colloquy 20: 3–56, http://artsonline. monash.edu.au/wp-content/arts/files/colloquy_issue_20_december_2010/steele.pdf. Thoreau Henry David 1854. Life in the woods. Boston: Ticknor and Fields. Tredinnick Mark (ed.) 2003. A place on earth: An anthology of nature writing from Australia and North America. Sydney: UNSW Press. —— 2007. ‘Catching the lyric of the country: A taxonomy of Australian na- ture writing’, 28 October, http://www.marktredinnick.com.au/index.php/writing/ more/catching-the-lyric-of-the_country. Williamson Geordie 2016. ‘Inga Simpson’s Where the trees were a subtle journey through time’. The Australian (Review), 11 June, http://www.theaustralian.com.au/ arts/review/inga-simpsons-where-the-trees-were-a-subtle-journey-through-time/ news-story/1d7a694d8ccbec1ffbe59badf7545962. Winton Tim 2015. Island home: A landscape memoir. Ringwood: Penguin. Wylde Evie 2013. All the birds, singing. London: Jonathan Cape. Queensland Review 241 http://www.ingasimpson.com.au/{?}p=475 http://www.ingasimpson.com.au/{?}p=475 http://australianwomenwriters.com/2015/10/focus-on-lesbianqueer-australian-women-writers-guest-post-by-inga-simpson http://australianwomenwriters.com/2015/10/focus-on-lesbianqueer-australian-women-writers-guest-post-by-inga-simpson http://australianwomenwriters.com/2015/10/focus-on-lesbianqueer-australian-women-writers-guest-post-by-inga-simpson http://artsonline.monash.edu.au/wp-content/arts/files/colloquy_issue_20_december_2010/steele.pdf http://artsonline.monash.edu.au/wp-content/arts/files/colloquy_issue_20_december_2010/steele.pdf http://www.marktredinnick.com.au/index.php/writing/more/catching-the-lyric-of-the_country http://www.marktredinnick.com.au/index.php/writing/more/catching-the-lyric-of-the_country http://www.theaustralian.com.au/arts/review/inga-simpsons-where-the-trees-were-a-subtle-journey-through-time/news-story/1d7a694d8ccbec1ffbe59badf7545962 http://www.theaustralian.com.au/arts/review/inga-simpsons-where-the-trees-were-a-subtle-journey-through-time/news-story/1d7a694d8ccbec1ffbe59badf7545962 http://www.theaustralian.com.au/arts/review/inga-simpsons-where-the-trees-were-a-subtle-journey-through-time/news-story/1d7a694d8ccbec1ffbe59badf7545962 Landscape as witness, literature as place Nature writing and ‘unsettled settledness’ Simpson’s ‘anti-Gothic’ stance A hinterland identity The Tree of Life Living the landscape: The lyric of the country Endnotes References 
work_zq7hdapfhvfg7mpvkqlrwsi3fu	----	Microsoft Word - 0717.doc UNIVERSITY OF WAIKATO Hamilton New Zealand Non Market Valuation in New Zealand: 1974 through 2005 Richard Yao and Pamela Kaval Department of Economics Working Paper in Economics 07/17 September 2007 Richard Yao and Pamela Kaval Economics Department University of Waikato Private Bag 3105 Hamilton, New Zealand Tel: +64 (7) 838 4045 Fax: +64 (7) 838 4331 Yao e-mail: ry32@waikato.ac.nz; rickyyao@gmail.com Kaval e-mail: pkaval@mngt.waikato.ac.nz; pam98k@yahoo.com 2 Abstract Non-market valuation (NMV) is recognized as an essential tool in policy decision making worldwide. In this paper, we investigate the history of NMV, specifically in relation to New Zealand (NZ), by compiling and analyzing all available published studies. Results show a significant increase in the number of studies, specifically those requested by government agencies, following the passage of the NZ Resource Management Act of 1991. Studies were found to be concentrated in three major areas: outdoor recreation, environmental conservation/management, and travel time savings. These three areas covered eight environmental commodities, the value of which totaled NZ$72 billion, or 50% of NZ GDP, with the highest valued commodity being biodiversity services. While our analysis yielded many positive results, we did discover, however, a severe lack of studies in many areas including pest control, water resources and outdoor recreation. Keywords Non-market valuation New Zealand Consumer surplus Resource Management Act JEL Classification B4, Q2, Q26 Acknowledgements We thank Frank Scrimgeour, Terry Parminter and Thomas Wilding for their support in this research project entitled ‘Improved Policy Interventions for Encouraging the Voluntary Use by Landowners of Practices Protecting and Enhancing Biodiversity. We also thank the Foundation for Research, Science and Technology (FRST) for funding this project. 3 Introduction Non-market valuation (NMV) is the process of placing a monetary value on goods and services that do not have out-of-pocket costs (Bateman, et al. 2002). The estimated monetary values from NMV studies are used in cost-benefit analyses to calculate the value of changes in environmental quality (Boardman, et al. 2006; Bockstael and Freeman 2005). Over the years, NMV has been used in both developed and less developed countries to calculate more realistic estimates of the values of environmental goods and services (Kahn 2005; Navrud and Pruckner 1997; Smith 1993) Over the last five decades, NMV methods have been useful for environmental policy decision making, particularly for project evaluation, environmental impact assessments, regulatory review and environmental accounting (Adamowicz 2004; Navrud and Pruckner 1997; Freeman 2003; Kahn 2005; Carson, et al. 1994; Smith 1984; Harris and Meister, 1981). The most widely used NMV methods, to date, are the contingent valuation method (CVM), travel cost method (TCM), choice modeling method (CM), benefit transfer method (BT), and hedonic pricing method (HPM) (Rolfe and Bennett 2006; Carson and Hanemann 2005; Adamowicz 2004; Champ, et al. 2003; Hanley, et al. 2003). While most NMV studies focus on using one methodology, some attempt to value environmental commodities using a combination of NMV methods in the same study, i.e., CVM and TCM (e.g., Adamowicz, et al. 1998; Kling 1997; Grandstaff and Dixon 1986). Some of these studies have also compared resulting estimates between different NMV techniques (e.g. Scarpa and Willis 2006; Mogas, et al. 2006; Boxall, et al. 1996). The concept of NMV originated in the United States in the mid 1800s when non- market values of environmental goods (i.e. wilderness) were discussed by non-economists such as Henry David Thoreau (1854; 1864) and John Muir (1912; 1901). In 1915, an economist named Clark argued that these values relating to the environment and environmental quality should be taken into account, even though they are not captured in market transactions. He suggested that if these values were estimated, they could be used in economic analysis to capture a more “true” value estimate of a good or service (Clark 1915a; Clark 1915b; Carson and Hanemann 2005). In 1947, two NMV theories were independently proposed in the US. Firstly, Ciriacy- Wantrup (1947) raised the issue that there are other benefits and costs from the establishment of soil conservation measures that are yet to be valued. He called these “extra-market” values and believed that data for these values could be calculated. This served as the foundation of the NMV technique known today as CVM. The second theory, proposed by Harold Hotelling, began with his two-paged letter to the US National Park Service in 1947. In this letter, he proposed a method for measuring the benefits provided at outdoor recreation sites 4 by calculating what people spent to travel there. This NMV technique is known today as the TCM (Hotelling 1947). By the late 1950s, Wood and Trice (1958) and Clawson (1959) published their applications of Hotelling’s theory to value the benefits of water-based recreation. These studies are regarded as the first applications of TCM. In 1961, Robert Davis, who was not aware of the theory behind CVM, applied his own variation of CVM to his PhD thesis at Harvard. This study valued the benefits from recreational deer hunting in Maine and became known as the first CVM application (Davis 1963). Even though studies were being conducted, NMV studies were not commonly applied until many significant environmental tragedies occurred, which, in turn, led to new environmental laws. In the US, environmental laws such as the Clean Air Act of 1970, the Clean Water Act of 1972, and the Oil Pollution Act of 1990, facilitated an increase in NMV research (Kahn 2005). The Clean Air Act spurred the application of the HPM, because these studies allow for the decomposition of prices of market goods; prices which facilitate the estimation of embedded values for particular environmental attributes (Kahn 2005). Using relevant data on property values, HPM enables an analyst to elicit willingness-to-pay values of individuals to avoid the negative effects on health and aesthetic aspects from air pollution. The Clean Water Act, in turn, resulted in an increase in TCM studies. This is because they are used mainly for measuring the demand for recreational activities, many of which were based on water resources (Kahn 2005). The significant increase in CVM research in the US in the early 1990s can be attributed mainly to three factors: the passage of the Comprehensive Environmental Response, Compensation and Liability Act (CERCLA) of 1980, the Exxon-Valdez oil spill in Alaska in 1989, and the passage of the Oil Pollution Act (OPA) of 1990 (see Portney 1994: 6- 7). During that time, CVM was regarded as the only technique that measured both use and passive use values (Kahn 2005).1 Use and passive use values were ordered to be given equal treatment in natural resource damage assessments, by a US federal court of appeals (Portney 1994). Passive use values, which can be larger than use values, are recognized as a major component in the natural resource damage assessment (NRDA) for the determination of compensable values (Carson, et al. 2003; Loomis 2006).2 The Exxon Valdez oil spill was the first legal case where CVM surveys were used in a quantitative assessment of damages. 1 Passive use value refers to the belief that an environmental commodity is valuable even if they never make active use of it (e.g., existence of the Amazon River). In contrast, use value refers to the direct consumption or direct use of a particular environmental commodity (e.g., visit to a beach). While CVM can estimate passive use values, HPM and TCM cannot 2 Under the provisions of CERCLA, government agencies who were trustees to natural resources (e.g., bay, forest) can sue firms or individuals who damage these resources as a consequence of the 5 Here, damages to the Alaskan coastline, which were mostly passive use value losses, were calculated (Carson and Hanemann 2005; Carson, et al. 2003; Carson, et al. 1998). To explain in more detail about the reason for the recommendations from NOAA, we must go back in time. In the early 1990’s, the reliability of estimates from CVM studies for damage assessments had been questioned. It was recommended that CVM be excluded from NRDA (Diamond and Hausman 1994; Niewijk 1992). In response to these criticisms, the NOAA panel, chaired by Nobel laureates Kenneth Arrow and Robert Solow, was organized to review the validity of estimates of CVM studies. The results of the review suggested that CVM estimates would be useful, in fact, for NRDA, given that the administration of related CVM studies adhere to the panel’s recommendations (Arrow, et al. 1993). These recommendations shaped the NOAA regulations, which, once published, resulted in wide debates in the academic arena regarding the use of CVM (Carson, et al. 2003). The academic and policy debates, spurred by the NOAA regulations, led to a large demand for CVM research, resulting in over one thousand journal articles (Adamowicz 2004). Most likely, because of the extensive exposure it has received over the years, CVM has become the most commonly applied NMV methodology (Bateman 2002; Carson 2000). Not only has NMV been applied in the North America’s, but as early as the 1970s, NMV began being applied in Australasia. We believe that the first NMV study in Australasia was a project in New Zealand (NZ) by Gluck. In 1972, Gluck (1974) applied both CVM and TCM to assess the recreational benefits of the Rakaia fisheries on the South Island. The second NMV work was conducted by Woodfield and Cowie (1977), again in NZ, who estimated the recreational benefits of the Milford Walking Track using TCM. In Australia, the first CVM study took place in 1979. In this project, Bennett used the responses from a sample of adult residents in Canberra Australia to estimate the existence value of the Nadgee Nature Reserve (Bennett 1981; Bennett 1984). Since several environmental laws facilitated the increase in NMV research in the US, our first hypotheses for this paper is that this would also be the case in NZ. Most notably, we propose that the passage of NZ’s comprehensive environmental law, the Resource Management Act (RMA) of 1991, might have facilitated an increase in NMV studies. This is because the need for the use of NMV methods has been mentioned in two sections of the RMA: Section 32 and Section 88 (Kerr 2002). Section 32 states that: “…an evaluation [of an environmental resource] must take into account the ‘benefits and costs’ of policies, rules, or other methods;” where “‘benefits and costs’ includes benefits and costs of any kind, whether monetary or non-monetary”. Section 88, on the other hand, mentions that: “…an assessment of environmental effects in such detail as corresponds with the scale and release of hazardous substances (Portney 1994; Kahn 2005). The estimated monetary amount from damages represents the compensable value. 6 significance of the effects that the activity may have on the environment.” With the inclusion of the phrases “benefits and costs”, “whether monetary or non-monetary”, and “environmental effects in such detail”, we could see the need for NMV in the enforcement of this policy. To examine this conjecture, we compile a detailed database of all NMV studies available in NZ. From this compilation, in addition to studying whether the RMA had an effect on the number of NMV studies, we also present an overview of the NMV studies. In addition, we use the results from these studies, specifically the average consumer surplus non-market values of different environmental commodities, to estimate the value of non- market benefits in NZ. Data An extensive search of published NZ NMV studies, in printed and electronic form, was conducted in NZ between December 2006 and June 2007. Firstly, several libraries were visited, including the Hamilton City Libraries, University of Waikato’s Central Library and other Hamilton government libraries. Next, on-line NZ university libraries and web sites of relevant journal publishers were searched. Finally, an on-line NZ NMV database created at Lincoln University3 was referred to. From this search exercise, we were able to compile 92 NMV studies whose results were published between 1974 and 2005 (Appendix A). While we took every effort to follow every lead we received, with the aim of obtaining every NMV study ever conducted in NZ, many of our leads lead us to dead ends. Overall, however, we believe that the 92 studies we compiled, account for over 90 percent of the NMV studies ever conducted in NZ4. The 92 NMV studies were published as project reports (57%), postgraduate theses (24%), and refereed journal articles (18%). Publications in report form were classified into six types: conference papers, commissioned reports, discussion papers, policy papers, bulletins and technical papers. Postgraduate theses included several Master’s thesis and one PhD Thesis. Refereed articles were published in a variety of journals including: Australian Journal of Agricultural and Resource Economics, Land Economics, New Zealand Economic Papers, New Zealand Geographer and New Zealand Hydrology. Twenty-three percent of the NMV studies were published in two or more formats presenting virtually the same results. Therefore, in our count of 92 studies, if a thesis and a journal article presented the same results, we count this as one study, not two. Results Overall, three decades of NMV studies from NZ has resulted in a compilation of data from 92 studies. After recording our findings into an extensive database, our first task was to test our first hypothesis. To see if there was an increase in NMV studies occurring after the passage 3 Accessed at http://oldlearn.lincoln.ac.nz/markval/. 4 To date. 7 of the 1991 RMA, studies were categorized as to whether they were conducted before 1991 or after.5 Out of the 92 NMV studies, 86 of them clearly reported their valuation year or the year of data collection implementation, which can sometimes be different than a year a study is published. Sixty-seven percent of these studies were conducted during or after 1991. In addition, we find that before 1991, only 7% of the NMV studies were submitted as commissioned reports to government agencies (Table 1). Most of these pre-1991 studies were conducted for academic purposes, mainly in the form of technical academic reports. From 1991 onwards, the proportion of government commissioned NMV studies increased to 35%. Using a statistical test of difference between the two proportions, we found that the proportion of commissioned reports post RMA to be significantly higher at the 95% confidence level. Our results present a scenario wherein the NMV application transformed from mainly an academic exercise, prior to 1991, into a government decision support tool for policy decision making, afterwards. Therefore, we conclude that the RMA did have an effect, not only on the number of studies conducted, but also on who was interested in the studies. Table 1. NMV methods used in New Zealand (1974-2005) Item Before 1991 1991 onwards All Total Number of NMV studies by output year 31 (34%) 61 (66%) 92 (100%) Number of studies commissioned by the Government 6 (7%) 32 (35%) 38 (42%) Next, we categorized the 92 NMV studies by their methodologies. Here, we discovered that the most popular NMV method employed was CVM (66%). CVM was typically used as a standalone valuation tool (58%), but in a few instances, it was used in conjunction with other NMV methods (Table 2). Overall, nine studies used a combination of methodologies: six used CVM and TCM, one used CVM and CM, one used CVM and HP, and one used CM and BT. The next most popular methods were TCM and CM, respectively accounting for 17% and 10% of the studies. All studies that applied TCM valued outdoor recreational goods, such as hunting, tramping/ walking on the Milford Track, and forest park recreation. Studies which used CM, however, concentrated on valuing the benefits from transportation safety and travel time savings. Six studies used the BT method: five of them used BT as a standalone valuation tool, while one used BT in conjunction with CM. BT is recognized as the cheapest NMV method, since it uses data from previous NMV studies and transfers the data to a new study location. 5 We believe this was appropriate, as studies were conducted for approximately the same number of years before and after 1991. 8 However, BT requires that previous studies be conducted to obtain the data from. This is not always available, probably resulting in the low number of NZ BT studies. The first BT study in NZ was conducted in 1995 by Ball et al (1997a; 1997b) and focused on estimating the recreation values of Auckland regional parks by using CS estimates from previous NMV studies. This was followed in 1999 by two related reports valuing the non-market benefits of land-based biodiversity for all of NZ and ecosystems services specific to the Waikato region (Patterson and Cole 1999a; Patterson and Cole 1999b). Two separate BT studies followed which valued the recreational benefits of two areas in the North Island: Te Kouma Park and the Maungatautari Ecological Island (Kaval et al. 2004; Kaval 2004). The most recent BT study was conducted by Sharp and Kerr (2005) and valued recreational fishing at the Waitaki catchment. Here, BT was applied with the CM technique which resulted to numerous estimates of CS values. Table 2. NMV methods used in New Zealand (1974-2005) NMV Method/s Number of Studies Percent Contingent Valuation Method 53 58% Travel Cost Method 10 11% Choice Modelling/Conjoint Analysis 7 8% Hedonic Pricing Method 6 7% Contingent Valuation and Travel Cost 6 7% Benefit Transfer 5 5% Contingent Valuation and Choice Modelling 1 1% Contingent Valuation and Hedonic Pricing 1 1% Choice Modelling and Benefit Transfer 1 1% Game Theory 1 1% Expert Opinion 1 1% TOTAL 92 100% Moyle’s (1995) NMV study was the only one in NZ to apply game theory. Here, a game theory framework was setup to understand the endangered species problem from the point of view of a species manager. Another NMV method applied only once in NZ was conducted by the Works Consultancy Services (1995) that used expert opinion to estimate the value of the benefits that could be derived from the construction of a seven-kilometer highway, called the Stoke bypass, in Nelson. This South Island project would ultimately cost over 25 million dollars to construct (Transit New Zealand 2000). 9 While most of the 92 studies valued only one environmental good, a few used CVM to either value two different environmental goods or two different types of values of an environmental good. Fahy and Kerr (1991) valued research efforts for the conservation of the Royal Albatross and willingness-to-pay to increase the number of life-saving patrols on Christchurch beaches. The study by Kirkland (1988), estimated both preservation values and recreational benefits of Whangamarino wetlands. Kerr and Manfredo (1988), estimated the recreation values for the use of National Park Visitor Centres and did a separate set of estimates for the recreation benefits from enjoying Tararua Forest Park road end camping. When distributing NMV studies by the environmental commodities they valued, we find ten commodity categorizations. Overall, these studies appear to be concentrated in three major areas: outdoor recreation (38%), environmental conservation/management (23%) and travel time savings (17%) (Figure 1). Environmental management studies were primarily water quality improvement studies (80%). Other NMV studies dealt with valuing risk reduction (5%), public/academic/health services (4%), pest control (i.e., possum, weeds) (3%), land quality (2%), food quality/labeling (2%), biodiversity and ecosystem services (2%), human life (2%), and aesthetics (2%). Recreation 38% Environmental Management 23% Risk Reduction 5% Others 17% Transport/Travel Time 17% Figure 1. Distribution of NZ NMV studies by type of environmental commodity valued The primary output variable from a majority of the NMV studies was to estimate consumer surplus (CS) values. The CS value is an amount that a consumer is prepared to pay for a commodity, over and above its market price. To calculate CS, we determine the difference between the price that consumers would be willing-to-pay (WTP) for an environmental commodity and the commodity’s actual price in the market For example, if a consumer would be WTP $25 for a tour at a wildlife sanctuary, but the cost of the tour was only $10, they would have a positive CS value. The difference between the two prices, $15, represents this CS value. 10 Many studies reported more than one CS value (for example, one study may report WTP for picnic areas and WTP for camping on Stewart Island). In all, 167 CS values were obtained from the studies. For ease of comparison, these CS values were converted to 2007 NZ$/person/day. We found the lowest CS value to be $0.02/person/day; this represented the benefit of pest control. The highest CS of $622.41/person/day represented the value of a tramping day on the Milford Track (Table 3). CS was estimated for eight commodities: biodiversity services, travel time saving, water resource improvement, recreation, health/life risk reduction, transport safety and efficiency, land quality improvement and pest control. For six of the eight commodities: biodiversity services, water resource improvement, transportation safety and efficiency, health/life risk reduction, land quality and pest control, we calculated CS by using the following formula: we multiplied the average CS/person/day by 365 (days) and the NZ population (4,233,149 as of 21 August 2007). This is accurate because we believe that all people in NZ benefit from these commodities. However, we do realize that these numbers are most likely an underestimate, as there are many non-residents that come to NZ every year and also benefit from these commodities. Table 3. Mean and Total CS Value of Environmental Commodities (2007 NZ$) Commodity No. of observations (% of observations) Mean CS Value ($) Std Dev ($) Min CS Value ($) Max CS Value ($) Coeff. of Variation Total CS Value ($) Biodiversity Services6 1 (1%) 35.21 -- 35.21 35.21 -- 54,410,016,972 Travel Time Saving 7 (4%) 95.85 39.40 43.62 171.18 0.41 6,920,665,538 Water Resource Improvement 41 (25%) 2.96 10.46 0.04 54.08 3.53 4,579,961,966 Recreation 88 (53%) 56.63 98.22 0.38 622.41 1.73 4,077,323,280 Health/Life Risk Reduction 6 (4%) 0.58 1.28 0.03 3.19 2.20 897,960,929 Transport Safety and Efficiency 3 (2%) 0.41 0.23 0.15 0.59 0.56 637,490,083 Land Quality Improvement 3 (2%) 0.21 0.06 0.16 0.27 0.28 317,277,506 Pest Control 18 (11%) 0.37 0.50 0.02 1.62 1.34 577,867,044 TOTAL 167 34.87 74.03 0.02 622.41 2.40 72,418,563,318 Overall, we found that biodiversity services provide the highest value ($54 billion annually). Biodiversity is an extremely important commodity, not only for humans, but for all organisms in NZ and the world. Therefore, it is not surprising that biodiversity services had such a high value. However, caution should be observed when referring to this specific amount, since this CS estimate came only from one study. This study was, however, a benefit transfer study that used valuation information from a variety of sources. Even so, we 6 Biodiversity services are also known as ecosystem services. 11 believe more work should be accomplished in this area to measure the accuracy of the original estimates. In addition, the authors of this study warned about the possibility of overestimation of the CS value due to the use of a partial equilibrium approach (Patterson and Cole 1999a: 69). Of the 167 observed CS estimates, 25% valued the importance of water resource improvement. These studies concentrated on valuing the improvement of water quality of rivers and/ or lakes, as well as, an improvement in the quality of groundwater and drinking water resources. About two-thirds of these water resource studies were conducted after 1991, when the RMA was legislated. This might indicate that the RMA facilitated an increase in NMV research for water resources improvement. The average CS value for water resources improvement was about $3/person/day with a coefficient of variation (COV) of 3.53. This commodity has the highest COV among the eight commodities, indicating that it exhibits the widest variation in its estimates.7 This variation can be attributed to the fact that the average CS value came from 41 observed CS values. For the 41 observed CS values, namely direct, option and preservation, values were $0.85, $7.65, and $3.01, respectively. This shows that, on average, the non-use value of water resources is about three times higher than the use value (i.e., direct use value). This scenario is consistent with the previous empirical results in the US showing that non-use values of water resources are higher than their counterpart use values (e.g., Sutherland and Walsh 1985; Loomis 2006). In NZ, just like anywhere else, water resources improvement would most likely affect or ‘benefit’ the everyday life of all its residents. Taking the average CS value of $3/person/day, the total CS for this commodity is estimated to be around $4.6 billion annually (Table 3). This is the third most valuable among the eight commodities. Lock (1992a) and Kerr and Cullen (1995) have suggested that people that benefit most from the control of pests (e.g., possums, invasive plants) are mainly farmers and rural people. We disagree with this assumption, since we can argue that all people in NZ consume farm products such as meat, vegetables and fruits, and therefore all residents in NZ benefit from pest control 365 days annually. Not only this, but pest control is related to native NZ biodiversity, which we have already established as the most important NMV commodity. Taking this into account, the benefits from pest control for NZ residents would total NZ$578 million annually. 7 It is interesting to note that the coefficient of variation for water resource management, with 41 observations, is higher than the recreation commodity, which has 88 observations. The smaller variation of the CS value estimates for recreation can be attributed to the fact that all recreation values fall under only one type of value, use values. The commodity water resources improvement, on the other hand, consisted of three types of values, namely: use, preservation and option. 12 Other commodities believed to have an everyday impact on a typical NZ resident are risk reduction, transport safety and land quality improvement. It seems that people found these commodities to be less important than biodiversity services or water resource management and therefore, they have relatively lower CS estimates. These three commodities exhibit a combined benefit value of $1.5 billion annually. Two environmental commodities would not likely benefit or affect all people in NZ year round, namely: recreation and travel time saving. Not all people participate in recreation, and of those, few engaged in outdoor recreation activities 365 days a year. Tourism New Zealand (2007a; 2007b) reported that 72.1 million recreation days annually were spent on the country’s outdoor recreational amenities. Taking this into account and multiplying it by the average 2007 dollar value of a recreational day of $56.63, we get a total CS value of about $4.1 billion (Table 3). Outdoor recreation ranked fourth among the eight commodities. Observed recreational CS values ranged between $0.38 and $622.41/ person/ recreation day. This illustrates a wide variation in the value of recreational amenities. Of the 88 observed recreation CS values, 50% of them occurred on the South Island, 40% on the North Island, and only 10% on both islands. At the 95% confidence level, the average CS value on the South Island ($131) is significantly higher than the average CS value on the North Island ($28). This might imply that outdoor recreation on the South Island has a higher value, but this may also be due to a location bias. It seems that popular amenities like the Milford Walking Track and mountain climbing at Mt. Cook were amenities valued on the South Island, while on the North Island; only causal activities like picnicking were valued, therefore producing a location bias (Kaval and Yao 2007). Estimation of the total CS value of travel time saving for all New Zealanders is difficult to calculate. Murphy and Satherley (2000) calculate that a typical employee in NZ takes 44 minutes/day to travel to and from work. As of June 2007, there were approximately 2,158,000 workers in NZ, accounting for about 51% of the population (Statistics New Zealand 2007). During weekends or non-working days, people also travel: perhaps less for work, but more for activities like visiting relatives, relaxation and shopping. Therefore, we make the assumption that people travel 44 minutes/day on non-working days. Since these studies represent a savings in travel time, we also assume that whatever method a person uses to travel: car, bicycle, walking, etc, will take the same amount of time. Multiplying 44 minutes/day by the number of NZ employees and then by 365 days and by the CS value of $95.85/day (or approximately $0.20/minute), we get a total CS value for travel time savings of $6.9 billion annually. We believe this calculation may represent an underestimation of the value of travel time since non-workers do travel on working days; however, we did not have figures for the non-workers and therefore needed to make an assumption. 13 CS values were calculated from the studies for eight environmental commodities. If it is true that the eight environmental commodities in Table 3 are mutually exclusive, their total consumer surplus value is approximately $72 billion annually. This amount is a significant component of the national economy, representing approximately 50% of the 2006 NZ GDP. Therefore, including NMV results in GDP would most likely result in a significant increase in the country’s total GDP. Discussion and Conclusions In this paper, we present a brief history of NMV, focusing on applications in NZ. In all, 92 NMV studies were conducted in NZ between 1974 and 2005. It was discovered that NMV became more popular and more commonly used in NZ policy decision making after the passage of the RMA in 1991. Of the NMV methods used in NZ, CVM was the most popular. It was also revealed that biodiversity is the most highly valued NMV commodity in NZ. This may be because it is not only important to people but also to all ecosystem functions. Based on the above discoveries, it appears that NMV studies in NZ followed similar patterns to that in the US. Firstly, both countries legislated policies that created avenues to conduct NMV studies for environmental policy decision making. This, we believe, is important, because NMV calculations combined with the market values results in more holistic estimates of benefits and costs. In addition, both the US and NZ used the CVM technique more than any of the others (Adamowicz 2004; Kerr 2007; Kaval 2007). The wide application of CVM in both countries can be attributed to its flexibility to elicit WTP values for almost any environmental commodity of interest (Portney 1994; Mitchell and Carson 1989; Carson et al., 2003). In addition, CVM facilitates the estimation of both use and non-use values while methods like TCM and HP cannot (Bateman, et al. 2002). Furthermore, numerous research undertakings have been conducted to examine or improve the reliability of estimates from CVM studies (e.g., Carson, et al. 1997; Dupont 2004). The rate of increase in the number of NMV studies in the US, however, was several folds higher than in NZ (Adamowicz 2004; Kerr 2007). One reason for this might be related to the extreme environmental destruction caused by the Exxon Valdez oil spill disaster in 1989. Whereas in NZ, there have been no similar environmental disasters. 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Paper presented to New Zealand Association of Economists Conference, University of Waikato, Hamilton. Loomis, J. 2006. Importance of Including Use and Passive Use Values of River and Lake Restoration. Journal of Contemporary Water Research & Education, 134: 4–8. * Lynch, R.J. and Weber, J.A. 1992. Valuing Water of the Ashburton River: In-Stream Flows Versus Irrigation. Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries (MAF) Policy Technical Paper 92/13, Wellington. * Maani, S.A. and Kask, S.B. 1989. Risk and Information: A Hedonic Price Study in the New Zealand Housing Market. Working Papers in Economics No. 61, Department of Economics, The University of Auckland. * Maani, S.A. and Kask, S.B. 1991. Risk and Information: A Hedonic Price Study in the New Zealand Housing Market. The Economic Record, 67(198): 227–236. * McBeth, R. 1997. The Recreational Value of Angling on the Tongariro River: Non-market Valuation Using the Travel Cost Method and Contingent Valuation Method. Unpublished MA Thesis, Department of Geography, University of Auckland. * McDermott Fairgray Group and Valuation Technologies. 1996. Te Puke Internal By-Pass: Environmental and Social Benefits Study. Draft report prepared for Works Consultancy Services. * McDermott Fairgray Group Ltd. 1997. Costs, Benefits and Impacts of the Mobil Wellington Street Race. Report to Wellington City Council (March). * McDermott Miller. 2002. Kerikeri Heritage Bypass Study: Intangible Benefits. Report to Far North District Council, McDermott Miller Ltd, Wellington. * McDermott Miller. 1999. Transmission Gully Community Survey: Report on Household Survey of Regional Residents. Report to Wellington Regional Council and Transit NZ, McDermott Miller Ltd, Wellington. * Regional Council. McDermott Miller Ltd, Wellington (December). * McDermott Miller. 1996. 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Green for green - the perceived value of a quantitative change in the urban tree estate of New Zealand, School of Geography and Environmental Science, University of Auckland. * Walker, D.P. 1992. An Economic Valuation of Bottle Lake Forest: Using Both the Travel Cost and Contingent Valuation Methods for Analysis. Research project in Advanced Forestry Economics, School of Forestry, University of Canterbury. * Walker, D.P. 1990. An Economic Valuation of Kaitoke Regional Park: Using the Travel Cost Method for Recreation Analysis. Research Project, Natural Resource and Environmental Economics, Massey University, Palmerston North. * Welsh, C. 2001. Community Benefits Survey: Stormwater and Wastewater Improvements. Report to Ecowater from Resource and Environmental Management Ltd. 24 * Welsh, C. 1991. A Contingent Valuation Study of Consumers' Willingness to Pay for Water: An Approach to Conserving Christchurch's Groundwater Resource. MSc in Resource Management Dissertation, Lincoln University, Canterbury. * Wheeler, S. and Damania, R. 2001. Valuing New Zealand Recreational Fishing and an Assessment of the Validity of the Contingent Valuation Estimates. Australian Journal of Agricultural Economics, 45(4): 599–621. * White, P.A., Sharp, B.M.H. and Kerr, G.N. 2001. Economic Valuation of the Waimea Plains Groundwater System. Journal of Hydrology (New Zealand), 40(1): 59–76. * Williamson, J. 1998. An estimation of the Value which Auckland Residents Place on an Improvement in the Water Quality of the Orakei Basin: Summary Report Submitted to the Auckland City Council. * Williamson, J. 1997. An Estimation of the Value which Auckland City Residents Place on an Improvement in the Water Quality of the Orakei Basin. Unpublished Thesis for Master of Arts in Economics, University of Auckland. Wood, S.E. and A.H. Trice. 1958. Measurement of Recreation Benefits. Land Economics, 34: 195– 207. * Woodfield, A. and Cowie, D. 1977. 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Report to Transit New Zealand. 25 Appendix A List of Studies in the New Zealand NMV Database (Note: CVM=Contingent Valuation Method, TCM=Travel Cost Method, BT=Benefit Transfer, HP=Hedonic Pricing, CM=Choice Modelling, GT=Game Theory, and EO=Expert Opinion) Study No. Author/s Item Valued Publication Year Valuation Year Valuation Method 1 Gluck Recreational Fishing in Rakaia River 1974 1973 TCM, CVM 2 Woodfield and Cowie Milford Walking Track 1977 1975 TCM 3 Harris and Meister Recreational Value of Lake Tutira 1981 1981 TCM 4 Harris Benefits from Water Pollution Control in the Waikato Basin 1983 1982 CVM 5 Everitt Forest Recreation in Coromandel Peninsula 1983 1982 TCM 6 Sandrey and Simmons Kaimanawa and Kaweka Forest Parks 1984 1982 TCM 7 Cairns Lobster Diving – WTP 1985 1985 CVM 8 Cribbett House Prices in Christchurch 1985 1985 HP 9 Kerr Aesthetic Features of the Kawarau Gorge 1985 1985 CVM 10 Kerr, Sharp and Gough Visit to Mt Cook National Park 1986 1984 TC 11 Sandrey Canoeing at Wanganui River and Visit to Hanmer Forest Park 1986 1985 TC, CVM 12 Kerr Tramping in Greenstone & Caples Valleys 1987 1986 CVM 13 Kirkland Preservation of Whangamarino Wetland 1988 1987 CVM 14 Kerr and Manfredo Recreation at Arthur's Pass National Park and Tararua Forest Park 1988 1988 CVM 15 Kask and Maani Value of Safer Shelters 1989 1983, 1984, 1986 HP 16 Clough and Meister Recreation at Tongariro National Park 1989 1985 TCM 17 Kerr Value of Mountain Climbing at Mount Cook National Park 1989 1984 TCM 18 Kirkland Environmental Design 1989 not reported CVM 19 Kerr Reduction in Flood Risk from the Waimakariri River 1989 1988 CVM 20 Greer and Sheppard Research on the Biological Control of Clematis vitalba for Native Bush Conservation 1990 1989 CVM 21 Nugent and Henderson Oxford Recreational Hunting Area in Canterbury 1990 1987 TCM 22 Riley and Scrimgeour Kauaeranga Valley 1990 1990 CVM 23 Walker Kaitoke Regional Park recreation 1990 1985 TCM 24 Fahy and Kerr Royal Albatross chick fatality research and Life Saving Beach Patrols 1991 1990 CVM 25 Kane Hollyford Valley Track 1991 1990 CVM 26 Welsh Christchurch Domestic Water 1991 1991 CVM 27 Guria and Miller Value of a Statistical Life 1991 1989/90 CVM 28 Lambert, Saunders and Williams Upgrading Dunedin City's Sewage Treatment and Disposal System 1992 1992 CVM 29 Lock Possum Control Programme - For Wildlife Protection and Conservation of Species 1992 1991 CVM 30 Beanland Preservation of Aorangi Awarua Forest 1992 1991 CVM 31 Lynch and Weber Ashburton River Water Instream Values 1992 1991 CVM 32 Walker Recreation at Bottle Lake Forest 1992 1989 TCM, CVM 33 Killerby Recreational Resources at Western King Country 1992 1991 CVM 34 Mortimer, Sharp and Craig Conservation Benefits of Little Barrier Island 1993 1991 CVM 35 Heylen Research Centre Value of Travel Time Savings 1993 1993 CM 36 Mayer Methven Recreational Lake Project 1994 1993 CVM 37 Cocklin, Fraser and Harte Recreational benefits of the in-stream flows of the Upper Wanganui and Whakapapa Rivers 1994 1988 TCM 38 Gan and Zwart Waterfowl Hunting Lease 1994 Not reported HP 39 Vadnjal and O'Connor Existence Value of the Rangitoto Island 1994 Not reported CVM 40 Kerr and Cullen Possum Protection of the Forest at the Paparoa National Park 1995 1992 CVM 41 Omwenga Improved Water Quality of the Manawatu River 1995 1994 CVM 42 Moyle Conservation of Endangered Species 1995 1995 GT 26 Study No. Author/s Item Valued Publication Year Valuation Year Valuation Method 43 Works Consultancy Services Stoke Bypass Property Price Changes 1995 1995 EO 44 Kerr Entrance Fees in Wellington Parks 1996 1994 CVM 45 McDermott Fairgay Group and Valuation Technologies Te Puke Highway Bypass 1996 1996 CVM 46 McDermott Miller Transport System Improvements 1996 1996 CM 47 Williamson Water Quality Improvement of the Orakei Basin 1997 1997 CVM 48 McBeth Tongariro River Recreational Fishing 1997 1997 TCM, CVM 49 McDermott Fairgay Group Ltd. Attendance at the Wellington Street Race 1997 1996 CVM 50 Beca Carter Hollings and Ferner Ltd and Malcolm Hunt Associates Road Noise Reduction 1997 1993 CVM, HP 51 Ball, Cullen and Saunders Recreation at Auckland Regional Council Parks 1997 1995/96 BT 52 Symonds Travers Morgan (NZ) Ltd and McDermott Miller Ltd Sealing Unsealed Roads 1997 1994 CVM, CM 53 McDermott Miller Ltd Value of Travel Time Savings 1997 1997 CM 54 Awatere and Scrimgeour Improved Water Quality at the Manukau Harbour 1998 1996 CVM 55 Nelson Pukekohe Groundwater Improvement 1998 1997 CVM 56 Bateman, Brouwer, Langford and Saunders Skin Protection from Sunscreen 1998 1997 CVM 57 Guria, Jones-Lee and Loomes Value of Human Life 1998 1997/98 CVM 58 Farrelly, Koorey, Mitchell, Nicholson and Wong-Toi Highway Passing Lanes 1998 1998 CVM 59 Saunders Premium for Organic Produce 1999 1998 CVM 60 Patterson and Cole NZ Land-based Biodiversity 1999 1994 BT 61 Montgomery Watson Recreational Lake 1999 1999 CVM 62 Cole and Patterson Waikato Ecosystem Services 1999 1997 BT 63 McKinney Light Rail Transportation 1999 1998 CVM 64 Moore Community Sewage Schemes 1999 1998 CVM 65 Beca Carter Hollings and Ferner Ltd Upgrading of State Highway 3 1999 Not reported CVM 66 McDermott Miller Transmission Gully Motorway 1999 1999 CVM 67 Radovich and Foster Value Travel Time Savings in Tauranga 2000 1999 CM 68 Kerr Water Quality Improvement in the Lower Waimakariri River 2000 1992 CVM 69 Booz-Allen & Hamilton Value of Travel Time Savings 2000 1999 CM 70 Kerr University Facilities 2000 1999 CVM 71 Kerr and Greer Salmon Angling at the Rangitata River 2000 2000 CVM 72 Bond and Hopkins Presence of Transmission Lines on Residential Properties 2000 1983- 1993 HP 73 White, Sharp, and Kerr Maintenance of the Waimea Groundwater System 2001 1999 CVM 74 Lee Preservation of Recreational Areas in the Whangaroa Harbour 2001 2000 CVM 75 Wheeler and Damania NZ Recreation Fishing 2001 1999 CVM 76 Kerr, Sharp and White Domestic Water Supply in Christchurch 2001 2000 CVM 77 Kerr and Welsh Water Pollution Reduction 2001 2001 CVM 78 Quazi Flood Protection in the Lower Waikato 2002 2001 CVM 79 McDermott Miller Highway bypass 2002 2002 CVM 80 Beca Carter Hollings & Ferner Mike Copeland Forsyte Research Steer Davies Gleave Ian Melsom Transportation Convenience and Safety 2002 2001 CM 81 Craig Preservation of Trees in 15 NZ Cities 2003 2003 CVM 82 Kerr and Sharp Water Quality 2003 2002 CM, BT 27 Study No. Author/s Item Valued Publication Year Valuation Year Valuation Method 83 Kerr, Sharp and White Maintenance of Christchurch River Flows 2003 2000 CVM 84 Kerr, Hughey and Cullen Marine Recreational Fishing License 2003 2002 CVM 85 Cullen, Kerr and Hughey Government Budget on Health, Education, Environment, Income Support 2003 2002 CM 86 Bicknell, Lamb and Kaye-Blake Labeling of Genetically Modified Food 2003 2002 CVM 87 Kaval, Hughes and Scrimgeour Te Kouma Farm Park 2004 2004 BT 88 Kerr, Sharp, and Leathers Preservation Value of Rakaia River 2004 1983 TCM, CVM 89 Kaval Recreational Value of the Maungatautari Ecological Island 2004 2004 BT 90 Kerr and Greer Rangitata River Salmon Angling 2004 2000 TCM, CVM 91 Sharp and Kerr Angling at the Waitaki Catchment 2005 2004 BT 92 J. Kerr Residential Land Values in New Zealand 2005 1991- 2005 HP 
work_zvfnja5avnczrliwf3u2xbueza	----	02 Mapping Urban Complexity in an Asian Context, Spring 2008, pp. 5-13 Ephemeral China/Handmade China Xing Ruan I must warn the reader at the outset that this short essay, though it attempts to gain some understand- ing of China’s rapid urbanisation and its resultant architectural ‘flowering’ in the past two decades, does not exclusively discuss urban problems. On the surface only the first half of the essay is related to the topic, which I call ‘ephemeral China’; the second half, which is given the subtitle ‘hand- made China’, goes beyond the disciplinary bounds, however, to touch upon a Chinese temperament. By coining it handmade, both as a literal matter and in its literary manner, I hope I have depicted a different China, one that is not quite visible, and yet endur- ing. At the risk making an unfashionable prediction, this China will inevitably ensure that the current boundless explosion of urbanisation in the country, or for that matter in other parts of the globe, is but a ‘temporary historical detour’, for the handmade, as the latter part of this essay suggests, does not happen to be a Chinese cultural specificity. I cannot avoid a biographic undertone in the preamble since I grew up in China in the second half of the twentieth century. But the risk of using one’s personal experience to wrestle with an academic problem is that I may give the reader too high expectations, which I cannot possibly match – that is, an inside knowledge of China. Before I show you a glimpse of China via my personal and biased viewfinder, let me briefly comment on this. I must confess that I possess no inside knowledge. My knowledge of China, I should like to think, is no different from that of my readers, which is not necessarily gained from within. This is a point to which I will return later. When I left China in 1991, at the age of 26, I had never been interested in the country, and was only hungry to know more about the West – the so-called outside world that I never had opportunities to venture into until that point. Soon after I left China, I was immediately under pressure to be Chinese in the post-modern West. Ethnicity and place-identity were buzzwords from highbrow cultural circles to the popular media; I was once again left in despair, for I realised that I knew very little about my own culture. What you will read in the following does not carry the sort of cultural specificity that is often promised by a specialist, not only because it is not inside knowledge, but also that it is not based on the social-science method of relying on socio-economic data (though I do have a few statistics). Rather they are personal observa- tions of events and on literature, and are therefore neither laudatory nor critical, but are narratives as seen by an individual and portrayed with love and irony. I did, after all, spend the first 26 years of my life in China. Much of the story, needless to say, is from within my own professional bounds, that of architecture, which seems to represent a visible China that is no longer interested in the handmade, neither literally nor metaphorically. But, as the story goes, this impression may not reflect the true China. So please bear with me. Ephemeral China Firstly, I would like to present the reader with a China that is now all too familiar: a vast country in a fren- 5 zied state of economic boom and potential social instability, most vividly represented in its architec- tural and urban developments. I hope I will convince you that this China is ephemeral. A quite different China, perhaps not so visible as its new buildings and cities, is metaphorically ‘handmade’. I should also like to extend the meaning of the handmade to the more stable and longer lasting attitudes towards social life, and even mortality. My sources for this second China come partially from literature. Let me begin with a brief background story regarding my recently published book New China Architecture,1 which may just serve the purpose of presenting this first China. Although I am not a China specialist (in fact I never aspired to be any kind of specialist), the appeal for writing such a book is obvious: I have always felt that there has not been much Western discourse on China’s architecture in the twentieth century. The situation has, along with the construction boom, changed of course since the mid 1990s: mainstream Western architectural journals and galleries have been racing to expose new architec- ture in China; celebrity Western architects (including some Dutch architects) have been winning major commissions in China. The 2008 Beijing Olympic Games is one example: all the major buildings have been won by international architects. The swimming complex (which is printed on the cover of my book), the so-called Water Cube, for example, has been won and designed by Sydney-based architectural firm PTW, Arup Group’s Sydney office in collabo- ration with China State Construction Engineering Corporation. In fact, most of the recent major public buildings and infrastructure projects in China have been commissioned to architects and engineers of international renown. There have been two typical responses to such architectural and urban frenzy. One, quite expect- edly, is what I call an ecstasy of glorification: after more than half a century of stagnation, China is now able to achieve what the West saw in the twentieth century, but only bigger and better. China hence is where the action is, and the twentieth-century cry of ‘Go West’ should now be turned into ‘Go East in the Twenty-First Century’, as the celebrity Dutch archi- tect Rem Koolhaas has repeatedly reminded us.2 One is surely tantalised to learn more from Kool- haas about what exactly is his venture in China, other than turn a high-rise building – China’s Central Television Tower in Beijing – into a Möbius strip, which contributes to a city centre that is increas- ingly becoming a gigantic sculpture garden, packed with isolated architectural objects in a gymnastics contest.3 Two, the response has been tinted with a sense of despair. The sheer quantity and speed of China’s development, as evidenced in architecture and urbanization, causes an ‘unbearable lightness of being’ (to paraphrase Milan Kundera). Hence, the tone of newspaper articles in the West makes us sit up: the dust from the Chinese construction sites will eventually reach our shores… A cartoonist’s collage of three mega cities – Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou – offers a glimpse [fig. 1]: iconic build- ings, most of them newly built in the past decade, plus a few old ones, from each city are juxtaposed together with only an elevated freeway to separate them. The scene is, on the one hand, compel- lingly real, for each city, and its buildings, are easily recognizable. Yet, on the other hand, it is surreal, as if the buildings in these cities were displayed like animals in a zoo. My sense is that anyone who sees this three-city collage would smile, but one does not quite know how to react to it; what at first may seem to be amusing could quickly turn into a slight sense of melancholy. Not only intellectuals, but also capitalists, would worry at some point about this ‘unbearable lightness of being’ caused by an architectural-zoo contest that may lead towards a drain on our limited environmental resources, and subsequently to an uncontrollable and monstrous 6 Fig. 1 ‘Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou’, by Wang Fangji, from Time + Architecture (Shanghai: Tongji University, 2002-03) 7 explosion. To compound this speculation, we need only look at a few statistics: Shanghai, a city with a population of 20 million, has more than 2,800 high- rise buildings that are above 18 storeys; there are approximately 2,000 more of these buildings about to be constructed. China’s current total expenditure on building construction is about 375 billion U.S. dollars, which count for up to 16% of the coun- try’s total GDP. From a global perspective, China now consumes 54.7% of the world’s total cement production, 36.1% of the steel and 30.4% of the coal production. As for future statistics, we need only consider the scale of China’s urbanization in the next 20 years; there will be 200 million farmers moving from the countryside to the cities.4 But what would be even worse for the intellectu- als is that this splendid built world may be achieved at the expense of a potential collapse of the moral edifice. What then is the good? In the sense that Iris Murdoch would have put it.5 We tend to assume that this sort of ‘delirious lightness’ (more than Kundera’s ‘unbearable lightness’), caused mainly by the sheer speed and quantity of urban and architectural progress, is unprecedented. But let us pause and look into history: In late-medieval France, collec- tive pride led to foolish competitions for the tallest vaults or spires, disregarding the laws of engineer- ing, hence the collapse of a cathedral vault that had soared 157 feet, 3 inches. ‘Pride’, says Yi-Fu Tuan, ‘is the deadliest sin. In raising religious edifices, the architect-engineers and their patrons demonstrated how easy it was to mask pride under the claim of glorifying God.’6 There is, of course, no God to be glorified in twenty-first-century China, rather only capital and national pride. After more than three decades of ideological battles with the West, and a stagnant state-controlled economy, the economic devel- opment in the last twenty years means, first and foremost, a long-overdue affluence that is much needed in order to sustain stability for the life of the individual as well as the state, since the astronomical levels of affluence and technological development in the West have become much desired. The scale of economic development can best be measured by China’s urbanization and building construction. Does all of this then suggest that China, as solidified in its buildings and cities, is no longer ‘handmade’ in the sense that memory and a sense of history are redundant (particularly for a country that has a recorded history going back more than 5,000 years, which happens to have been so lovingly recorded in handmade artefacts; buildings and cities included)? Hence there is no such need to resort to handmade objects, ranging from a grandmother’s jade brace- let, a fifteenth-century solid-wood chair, a family house of three generations, to Beijing’s city wall which dated back to the thirteenth century. Yes it is true that the Chinese, unlike Europeans, have always, and rather unsentimentally, demolished their buildings and cities when a new dynasty was established. The much-accelerated demolition of the country’s architectural heritage in the last two decades is nothing new. Here I must share with you this compelling story of the demolition of the gigantic handmade city wall in the middle of twenti- eth-century Beijing. In the early 1950s, driven by a self-imposed mission to revitalize China’s pre-modern architec- ture, and indeed mixed with an optimism for the new Communist government, the US-trained Liang Sicheng, China’s pre-eminent architectural historian and architect in the twentieth century, along with his UK-trained colleague Chen Zhanxiang, proposed building the new government administration district outside of old Beijing to the west, thereby saving the integrity of the imperial city. The idea was rejected by an impatient government and future-orientated technocrats, both of whom wanted to expand Tiananmen Square into the world’s largest, and to build grand-scale monumental buildings within the 8 Ming and Qing city fabric. As a last resort, Liang Sicheng hoped that the least the new regime could do was to save the magnificent city wall (dated back to 1264 CE when the Yuan dynasty began to build its imperial capital) by turning it into a civic park for the leisure time of the citizens of the new era [fig.2]. Indulging in his hopeless romanticism, Liang Sicheng wanted to give the new republic’s capital a splendid ‘green necklace’ of almost 40 kilometres (actually 39.75), by greening the city wall that had enclosed imperial Beijing with lawns and plants. This would be the world’s only city-ring-park in the sky; it was not only to be a civic place, but it would also serve the fine Chinese habit of ‘climbing high to inspect the horizon’. I would like to think that gener- ations of future citizens could have been cultivated with an acute sense of civic idealism if the proposal had materialized, for the idea of civic life and place rarely existed throughout the many thousands of years of China’s imperial history. Who then would care about its hybrid kitsch look? It would look, if anything, heroically cosmopolitan, and yet hand- made. Legend has it that Chairman Mao Zedong, at the birth of the new republic, stood on the Tiananmen – the Gate of Heavenly Peace, while facing a sea of red flags, he imagined a forest of tall industrial chimneys with black smoke coming out of them on Beijing’s horizon. Liang Sicheng was devastated! The government went ahead and tore down the entire city wall to make way for roads and subways – the symbol of industrialization, and indeed moder- nity. This essay is of course not the place to ventilate any bitterness; I tend to think that Liang Sicheng’s fate, dying in solitude and regret, is not merely the result of the brutal regime during his lifetime, but also of the image of modernity which has made the idea, and the essence, trivialized. Indeed the image of modernity, not the idea, has been taken to a new height as a ‘beauty contest’ in architecture, which denies the profound meaning of the handmade, that of a stable shell which offers comfort to life’s elusiveness, be they the grandmoth- er’s jade bracelet or Beijing’s ancient city wall. In stark contrast, the China Central Television Tower, designed by Rem Koolhaas as earlier mentioned, as well as the Olympic projects in Beijing, which are all under construction or nearing completion at the time of writing, seem to capture a moment of joyful explosion, like that of fireworks, yet are frozen in a static structure. The irony is that all these new visual spectacles in architecture may appear ephemeral, but they are not! They are static and very expen- sive structures. Worse still, these buildings, though still largely handmade, are prone to fashion and technological advancement,7 hence they may look embarrassingly out of vogue before long as they become dated. But how is it possible to represent a state of ecstasy in the man-made artefact, build- ings included, against the primordial meaning of the handmade? A mental state of ecstasy never lasts for too long! The true meaning of the handmade, which absorbs labour – ‘the honour of labour’ as Joseph Conrad lovingly put it in The Mirror of the Sea,8 as well as memory, like that of home, is a static artefact, which harbours our changing emotions, the frailties of human life, and indeed, the growing aware- ness that comes with time of our own mortality: the handmade offers the necessary enshrinement of life’s vulnerability. Let me reiterate yet again my risky prediction: that the seemingly fast-changing China, as represented in its new architecture and city forms, as well as in its frenzied urbanization and booming economy, is but a smoke screen. It is, in other words, ephemeral. The other China is, or has to be, handmade. Handmade China In the 1930s, the Chinese author Dr Lin Yutang was astonished to find that the biggest sin in Ameri- can life was efficiency and the relentless chase for success, hence change: ‘How busy the success- ful American men are!’ he sighed. He then wrote a book, entitled The Importance of Living, to tell the 9 Fig. 2: The city-wall-park proposed by Liang Sicheng, 1951. From Wang Jun, Chengji (Beijing: Shenghuo, Dushu, Xingzhi, 2003), p. 110. 10 Americans that the wiser mentality towards life is to have a perfectly useless afternoon spent in a perfectly useless manner (I should add here: better still, to have a beautifully handmade, but useless, thing to fumble with). In other words, the scamp is the ideal; one ought to become idle, a loafer, so that one can take time, slowly, to savour and marvel at life and its beautiful things.9 A large part of that life is contributed to by the handmade, which, as alluded to earlier, absorbs not only body sweat, but also stores memory through a stable shell. Consider the linger- ing voice of your grandfather in a house owned by your family for three generations. The idle mentality, according Lin Yutang, is like blood in the Chinese temperament. It is an artistic temperament that is part realism, part idealism, but a little wayward, a little incalculable, and with good humour. This is the reason why China never produced serious philos- ophers, but the Chinese are philosophic with free spirit. Such temperament is in stark contrast to the rationalised, disciplined, regimented, uniformed, and patriotic coolies. Again I should like to add that the free spirits (‘monkeys’ as Lin called them) need the stable handmade objects to calm their elusiveness, whilst the rationalised ‘cows’ need an ever-chang- ing world of economic forecast and terrorist threat. One of the American vices, Lin Yutang observed, is that they have to pick up their mail from the post office everyday and answer those letters promptly. ‘On the whole,’ Lin said, ‘if one answers letter promptly, the result is about as good or as bad as if he had never answered them at all. After all, nothing happens, and while one may have missed a few good appointments, one may have also avoided a few unpleasant ones. Most of the letters are not worth answering, if you keep them in your drawer for three months; reading them three months after- wards, one might realize how utterly futile and what a waste of time it would have been to answer them all.’10 At this point, I can’t help saying this to his lingering free spirit in the Heaven: how about emails, Dr Lin? What then did the Chinese loafers spent time on if they did not answer letters? Lin Yutang trans- lated in his book the thirty-three happy moments described by the seventeenth-century Chinese scamp Chin Shengt’an, who was also the author of the famous play ‘Western Chamber’. Some of the happy moments may be a little unbearable for our moderns living in a clinically hygienic world. Chin for example said: ‘To keep three or four sports of eczema in a private part of my body and now and then scald or bathe it with hot water behind closed doors. Ah, is this not happiness?’11 Forgive me for this wayward sally. Let me return to the handmade and happiness. Three of Chin’s thirty-three happy moments are worth quoting fully: To find accidentally a handwritten letter of some old friend in a trunk. Ah, is this not happiness? When a good piece of old porcelain is broken, you know there is no hope of repairing it. The more you turn it about and look at it, the more you are exas- perated. I then hand it to the cook, asking him to use it as any old vessel, and give orders that he shall never let that broken porcelain bowl come within my sight again. Ah, is this not happiness? A traveller returns home after a long journey, and he sees the old city gate and hears the women and children on both banks of the river talking his own dialect. Ah, is this not happiness?12 The mellowness and static nature of the hand- made provided, albeit metaphorically, a home for the happy-go-lucky and vagabond-spirited Chinese. The meaning of a home, architecturally as well as symbolically, must be handmade to last, to age, and most importantly, to stay the same. Without a home, Gaston Bachelard warned, a man is a dispersed being.13 The handmade is symbolically a home! ‘It is evident anyway that the Chinese as a nation are more philosophic than efficient,’ so Lin Yutang argued, ‘and that if it were otherwise, no nation 11 could have survived the high blood pressure of an efficient life for four thousand years. Four thousand years of efficient living would ruin any nation.’14 But how ironic is this: in just more than half a century, it is now possible to envisage that some Americans may wish to spend a long and leisurely afternoon lying on the grass under a big tree to have a picnic, and to listen to children’s laughter and birds’ singing; writing from Sydney surrounded by spar- kling waters, I note that many Australians do spend long and leisurely afternoons lolling on its Bondi Beach. When the waves of Chinese tourists come to pay their whistle-stop visit to Bondi, this time they are the ones who sigh: How lazy the Aussies are! While still clad in business suits, they quickly take off their shoes, sink into the warm sands, take a dozen digital shots, and off they go… By now the reader must have realised that Joseph Conrad, Gaston Bachelard, Iris Murdoch, and Milan Kundera are in their temperament very Chinese, or to be precise, they are the kindred spirits of a Chinese idleness that lasted until very recently. Kundera actually wrote a novel called Slowness; Lin Yutang sounds all too familiar as Henry David Thoreau in Walden. Perhaps this has nothing to do with any Chinese specificity. Yin Yutang at the outset of his book The Importance of Living had this to say: ‘But I cannot help feeling that this view of life is essentially true, and since we are alike under the skin, what touches the human heart in one country touches all.’15 Let me now return to the point that I made at the beginning: whether or not I have inside knowledge about China is beside the point. I know many of us in the West feel a little ambivalent about China’s headlong march, but many also want to be part of it (not to miss the boat, so to speak). That is, I suppose, a reasonable justification for this special issue on Asia’s urbanisation. Let me indulge myself to be a little didactic and offer this piece of advice: First, arm yourself with absolutely NO sense of cultural guilt. Have faith in what is commonly good. Don’t pretend that some instant ‘cultural lessons’ would afford you with a ‘cultural sensibility’ – though it is in my view a complex business of subtlety, but one that may take a lifetime to learn! I know this only too well as a ‘migrant worker’ living in Sydney. But what I can tell you is that the Chinese, perhaps subconsciously, have always used culture as some sort of camouflage to trap you into something that you do not necessarily believe. If you have some- thing good to offer, take it to the Chinese and preach it with confidence. Second: be hopeful that the currently frenzied China is ephemeral (if the Chinese do not ruin them- selves as a civilization!). Let me share this Chinese philosophical riddle with you: there is a man who dislikes his own shadow; he tries to leave his shadow behind by running away from it. The faster he runs, the closer the shadow seems to chase him. Sage Zhuang Zi (about 300 to 200 BC) has this to say to the busy man: all he needs to do is to take a break under a big tree and his shadow will disappear! The Chinese, I am afraid, are chasing their shadow at the moment. But let us hope, beneath the glittering metallic sheen of their new buildings and cities, that China is still handmade. Acknoweldgements This essay is a modified version of a keynote address, with the same title ‘Ephemeral China/Handmade China’, delivered by the author at the ‘Smart Works: design and the handmade international symposium’, Powerhouse Museum, Sydney, 30 March 2007. Notes 1. Xing Ruan, New China Architecture (Singapore: Peri- plus, 2006). 2. This is based on the author’s recollection of the Kool- hass lecture that preceded the round-table discussion, at which the author was one of the invited discussants - the 10th IIAS Annual Lecture by Rem Koolhaas, Leiden University, Amsterdam, 17 November 2005. 3. Here I refer to Yi-Fu Tuan’s observations on new 12 city centres in China. See Yi-Fu Tuan, ‘Time, Space, and Architecture: Some Philosophical Musings’, in Topophilia and Topophobia: Reflections on Twentieth- century Human Habitat, ed. by Xing Ruan and Paul Hogben (London and New York: Routledge, 2007), pp. 22-30. 4. These statistics were provided by the China Architec- ture and Building Press in 2005. 5. Iris Murdoch, The Sovereignty of Good (London and New York: Routledge, 1970). 6. Yi-Fu Tuan, Morality and Imagination (Madison and London: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1989), p. 97. 7. Yi-Fu Tuan, ‘Time, Space, and Architecture’ 8. Joseph Conrad, A Personal Record and The Mirror of the Sea, first published in 1912 and 1916, (London: Penguin Books, 1998), p.155. 9. Lin Yutang, The Importance of Living, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, first Australian edition, 1946). 10. Ibid. p. 175. 11. Ibid. p. 145. 12. Ibid. pp. 141-48. 13. Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, trans. by Maria Jolas (Boston: Beacon Press, 1969), pp. 6-7. 14.Lin Yutang, The Importance of Living, pp. 3-4. 15. Ibid. p.1. Biography Xing Ruan is Professor of Architecture, and Chair of the Architecture Discipline Group at the University of New South Wales, Sydney. His recent books include Allegori- cal Architecture (2007), New China Architecture (2006), and Topophilia and Topophobia: Reflections on Twenti- eth-century Human Habitat (2007, co-edited with Paul Hogben). Xing Ruan has written on a wide range of topics concerning legible relations between humans and the built world; he has also published in some of the world’s leading scholarly journals, as well as professional magazines. He is co-editor, with Ronald Knapp, of the book series Spatial Habitus: Making and Meaning in Asia’s Architecture. Born in China, he received his architectural education from the Southeast University in Nanjing. 13 
work_zu2dk4irwbdtholkb4rfotbtry	----	Variation in fiber cables in the lacunae of leaves in hybrid swarms of Typha×glauca V T A a b a A R R A A K C F H I T 1 d t g p a c S l r a f i g L s S l t h 0 Aquatic Botany 124 (2015) 39–44 Contents lists available at ScienceDirect Aquatic Botany j o u r n a l h o m e p a g e : w w w . e l s e v i e r . c o m / l o c a t e / a q u a b o t ariation in fiber cables in the lacunae of leaves in hybrid swarms of ypha × glauca llan Witztum a, Randy Wayne b,∗ Department of Life Sciences, Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Beer Sheva, Israel Laboratory of Natural Philosophy, School of Integrative Plant Science, Section of Plant Biology, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY 14853, USA r t i c l e i n f o rticle history: eceived 8 August 2014 eceived in revised form 24 February 2015 ccepted 26 February 2015 vailable online 28 February 2015 eywords: attail a b s t r a c t The presence or absence of fiber cables in the lacunae of the last formed leaf blades of flowering Typha plants is a diagnostic character. The fiber cables are present in all leaves of Typha angustifolia L., but are absent in the last formed leaves of Typha latifolia L. We find great variation in the presence of fiber cables in the last formed leaves of individuals in stands of Typha × glauca Godr. (pro sp.). We find that individuals that comprise the hybrid swarms that are closer to T. angustifolia in terms of standard characters have fiber cables in most or all of the last formed leaf blades before the inflorescence. By contrast, those individuals closer to T. latifolia in terms of standard characters do not have fiber cables in the last formed leaves before iber cables ybrid swarm ntrogression ypha the inflorescence. The lengths of the longest fiber cables are correlated with the lengths of the leaves in T. angustifolia and the “angustifolioid” T. × glauca, but not in T. latifolia and the “latifolioid” T. × glauca. The variability in the taxonomically, morphologically and biomechanically-significant fiber cables in the lacunae in reproductive plants may be useful in characterizing and understanding the composition of a Typha stand. © 2015 Elsevier B.V. All rights reserved. . Introduction Typha is a cosmopolitan genus found in marshes, ponds, rainage ditches and other fresh water or slightly brackish habi- ats (Comstock, 1922). The one-to-three meter tall photosynthetic reen leaves act as a sink for carbon dioxide, a means for removing ollutants, provide habitat for red-winged blackbirds, marsh wrens nd waterfowl, and have been used by humans for roof thatch, hairs and barrel caulking (Wiegand and Eames, 1925; Marsh, 1955; mith, 2000). We studied the fiber cables in the air lacunae of the eaves of Typha that may contribute to the stability of the wind- esilient leaves (Witztum and Wayne, 2014). The occurrence or bsence of these fiber cables in the last leaves produced before the ertile spike is diagnostic for some species. Fiber cables are present n the last formed leaves of Typha angustifolia L. and Typha domin- ensis Pers., but absent in the last formed leaves of Typha latifolia . produced before the fertile spike. Here, we show that in hybrid warms of Typha × glauca Godr. (pro sp.) (1844; fide Mason, 1957; mith, 2000), the fiber cables may or may not be present in the last eaf produced before the fertile spike. The presence or absence of he fiber cables in the last leaf produced before the fertile spike in ∗ Corresponding author. Tel.: +1 607 255 8904; fax: +1 607 255 5407. E-mail address: row1@cornell.edu (R. Wayne). ttp://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.aquabot.2015.02.006 304-3770/© 2015 Elsevier B.V. All rights reserved. individual plants of T. × glauca can be used as a character to help define the relationship between the individuals that comprise a hybrid swarm of T. × glauca and pure populations of T. angustifo- lia and T. latifolia. Knowledge of the diversity in the biomechanical structures of Typha may be useful in understanding the function and distribution of these wetland plants. 2. Methods 2.1. Typha populations We studied stands of Typha in Ithaca, New York grow- ing at Beebe Lake, Flat Rocks, Newman Arboretum, Blue- grass Lane, and Ringwood Preserve, all of which are part of the Cornell Plantations (see descriptions, images and maps at http://www.cornellplantations.org/our-gardens/natural-areas/ profiles). We studied stands growing along the side of the road in Ithaca, New York near the corner of Maple Avenue and Pine Tree Road, near the corner of Arrowwood Drive and Warren Road, along Pleasant Grove Road, along Hanshaw Road, and along Neimi Road. We sampled stands growing in these habitats for three months. While the sample area was limited, the habitats and the Typha growing in them were diverse. We also studied a stand growing in a marsh in Michigan Hollow in Spencer, New York. dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.aquabot.2015.02.006 http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/journal/03043770 http://www.elsevier.com/locate/aquabot http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.aquabot.2015.02.006&domain=pdf mailto:row1@cornell.edu http://www.cornellplantations.org/our-gardens/natural-areas/profiles http://www.cornellplantations.org/our-gardens/natural-areas/profiles dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.aquabot.2015.02.006 40 A. Witztum, R. Wayne / Aquatic F m o l a o t b i a y A d s o p p c t t p s ( c s n b F a male parts of the inflorescence, chestnut color of female part of the inflorescence, single pollen grains (monads), sterile pistils more truncate, stigmas linear-lanceolate (more filiform and less spathu- late)), the last formed leaves bore fiber cables (Table 4; Fig. 4). In ig.1. The end of the longest fiber cable in a leaf of T. × glauca observed with a stereo icroscope. Observation of characters and determination of the ratio (B/A) f the length of the longest fiber cable (B) to the length of the eaf blade (A). Leaves of Typha were sliced open with a razor blade long the length of the leaf blade close to the abaxial surface and bserved with an Olympus SZH stereo microscope. The length of he longest fiber cable (B) that traversed the longitudinal air cham- ers of the leaf blade was noted. The end of the cable is shown n Fig. 1. Leaf blade measurements were from the point of highest ttachment of the basal leaf sheath to the tip of leaf blade (A). Anal- sis of variance and analysis of covariance using the ANOVA and NCOVA functions were performed on non-zero log transformed ata with XLSTAT. Stigmas and pistils were also observed with the tereo microscope. Lengths of leaf blades, fiber cables, female part f the inflorescences and sterile zone between the female and male arts of the inflorescences were measured with a ruler. An Olym- us BH-2 microscope was used to observe pollen and isolated fiber ables. When viewed with polarizing optics and a full wave plate, he fibers in the fiber cables isolated from the lacunae are seen o be enveloped by a monolayer of cells, each containing a single rismatic calcium oxalate crystal (Fig. 2). These fiber cables were hown by McManus et al. (2002) in their Fig. 1H and by Ni et al. 2014) in their Fig. 1E and Fig. 2J. However, the fiber cables, which ontain no tracheary elements (tracheids or vessel elements) or ieve elements (sieve cells or sieve-tube elements) and which are ot hollow, have been wrongly referred to as “vascular bundles” y Ni et al. (2014) or “vertical ducts” by Kaul (1974). The evidence ig. 2. An isolated fiber cable of T. × glauca observed with polarized light microscopy nd a full wave plate compensator. Botany 124 (2015) 39–44 for the construction and physical properties of the fiber cables has been presented in Witztum and Wayne (2014). Digital images of the fiber cables in the lacunae were captured with a 5 MP digital camera (AmScope, Irvine, CA) using the ToupView (Ver. ×86, 3.7.939) image processing pro- gram and calibrated scale bars were inserted using ImageJ (http://rsb.info.nih.gov/ij/). In a previous paper (Witztum and Wayne, 2014), we numbered leaves from the oldest to the youngest. Since the emphasis in this paper is on the youngest leaves, here we have numbered the leaves from the youngest to the oldest. 3. Results Individuals in hybrid swarms of T. × glauca may look more like either T. angustifolia or T. latifolia (Fig. 3). An individual plant of Typha collected from the pond in the Newman Arboretum of Cor- nell Plantations had the morphological characters (Table 1) of T. angustifolia and serves as an example. There are fiber cables present in the lacunae of all the leaves produced before the flowering spike (Table 2). An individual plant of Typha collected from the pond in Ringwood Preserve of Cornell Plantations had the morphological characters (Table 1) of T. latifolia and serves as an example. There are no fiber cables present in the lacunae of the last five leaves pro- duced before the flowering spike (Table 3). Statistical analysis with ANOVA and ANCOVA indicates that the lengths of the longest fiber cables are significantly correlated with the lengths of the leaves in T. angustifolia but not in T. latifolia. We measured the total length of the longest fiber cable that tra- verses the lacunae of each leaf blade of flowering individuals in various stands of T. × glauca. In hybrid individuals that were most like T. angustifolia (narrower and more semicylindrical leaf blades, more auriculate sheath, longer sterile axis between the female and Fig. 3. T. × glauca from a stand on the corner of Maple Avenue and Pine Tree Road in Ithaca, New York. None of the specimens were pure T. angustifolia or T. latifolia but contained various combinations of characters from each species. A meter stick is included for scale. http://rsb.info.nih.gov/ij/ A. Witztum, R. Wayne / Aquatic Botany 124 (2015) 39–44 41 Table 1 Some morphological diagnostic characters of T. angustifolia and T. latifolia compiled from Gray (1859, 1870), Hotchkiss and Dozier (1949), Fernald (1950), Smith (1967, 2000), Cronquist et al. (1977), Grace and Harrison (1986) and Kuehn and White (1999). Character Typha angustifolia Typha latifolia Leaf blade Narrow and semicylindrical Wide and planar Leaf sheath Auriculate Tapering Sterile gap between female and male parts of the inflorescence Present Absent Color of female part of the inflorescence Chestnut Dark brown Pollen grains Monads Tetrads Sterile pistils Truncate Oval-shaped Stigmas Linear (filiform) Lance-ovate (spathulate) Fiber cables in last formed leaf blades of flowering plants Present Absent Table 2 Length and width of leaf blades and longest fiber cable length and B/A ratio of an individual of T. angustifolia collected from the Newman Arboretum. Leaf number Leaf length (A) (cm) Fiber cable length (B) (cm) B/A Leaf width (mm) 1 56.2 20.9 0.37 7.5 2 73.7 36.8 0.50 8.0 3 87.1 43.4 0.50 8.0 4 84.9 49.5 0.58 7.0 5 91.2 45.3 0.50 7.0 Sterile zone, 4 cm; leaf sheaths, auriculate; pollen, monads; female part of the inflorescence, 14 cm × 1.7 cm, chestnut; stigmas, filiform; abortive pistil, truncate. Analysis of variance shows that the longest fiber cable length is significantly cor- related with the leaf length (p = 0.007) and not significantly correlated with leaf width (p = 0.212). The correlation coefficient (r) is 0.967 for the longest fiber cable length and leaf length and r = −0.788 for the longest fiber cable length and leaf w n a h p a b t ( fi a l t l T L i S i o n w fi a i w Table 4 Length and width of leaf blades and longest fiber cable length and B/A ratio of an individual of an “angustifolioid” T. × glauca collected from Newman Arboretum. Leaf number Leaf length (A) (cm) Fiber cable length (B) (cm) B/A Leaf width (mm) 1 52.6 12.9 0.25 9.0 2 73.4 32.1 0.44 12.0 3 88.5 49.1 0.55 12.5 4 101.9 59.9 0.59 13.0 5 108.7 58.2 0.54 13.5 6 110.7 54.9 0.50 13.5 7 110.1 60.4 0.55 13.5 Sterile zone, 1.2 cm; leaf sheaths, auriculate; pollen, monads; female part of the inflorescence, 20.4 cm × 2.1 cm, chestnut; stigmas, more filiform than spathulate; abortive pistil, truncate. Analysis of variance shows that the longest fiber cable length is significantly correlated with the leaf length (p < 0.0001) and significantly correlated with leaf width (p < 0.0001). The correlation coefficient (r) is 0.973 for the longest fiber cable length and leaf length and r = 0.982 for the longest fiber cable idth. Analysis of covariance shows that the longest fiber cable length is not sig- ificantly correlated with the leaf length and width together (p = 0.066) and width lone (p = 0.935), but is significantly correlated with length alone (p = 0.036). ybrid individuals that were more like T. latifolia (wider and more lanar leaf blades, more tapering leaf sheath, shorter or no sterile xis between female and male parts of the inflorescences, darker rown color of female part of the inflorescence, pollen grains in etrads, sterile pistils more oval shaped, stigmas linear-lanceolate less filiform and more spathulate)), the last formed leaves lacked ber cables as was the case in T. latifolia (Table 5; Fig. 5). Statistical nalysis with ANOVA and ANCOVA indicates that the lengths of the ongest fiber cables are significantly correlated with the lengths of he leaves in the “angustifolioid” T. × glauca but not in the “latafo- ioid” T. × glauca. able 3 ength and width of leaf blades and longest fiber cable length and B/A ratio of an ndividual of T. latifolia collected from Ringwood Preserve. Leaf number Leaf length (A) (cm) Fiber cablelength (B) (cm) B/A Leaf width (mm) 1 47.3 0 0 15.5 2 65.8 0 0 18.0 3 77.5 0 0 20.0 4 87.6 0 0 21.0 5 98.6 0 0 22.0 6 116.9 21.9 0.19 22.5 7 115.4 47.9 0.42 23.0 8 115.5 59.1 0.51 23.0 9 119.4 64.5 0.54 23.0 10 117.9 64.7 0.55 21.0 11 110.5 66.5 0.60 20.0 terile zone, none; leaf sheaths, tapering; pollen, tetrads; female part of the nflorescence, 13.5 cm × 2.8 cm, dark brown; stigmas, spathulate; abortive pistil, val-shaped. Analysis of variance shows that the longest fiber cable length is not sig- ificantly correlated with the leaf length (p = 0.764) and not significantly correlated ith leaf width (p = 0.533). The correlation coefficient (r) is −0.322 for the longest ber cable length and leaf length and r = −0.159 for the longest fiber cable length nd leaf width. Analysis of covariance also shows that the longest fiber cable length s not significantly correlated with the leaf length and width together (p = 0.845), idth alone (p = 0.638) or length alone (p = 0.929). length and leaf width. Analysis of covariance shows that the longest fiber cable length is significantly correlated with the leaf length and width together (p = 0.001), but not to width alone (p = 0.117) or length alone (p = 0.310). While in T. × glauca, there is a correlation between the presence of fiber cables in the last leaf formed before the fertile spike and a consensus of the morphological characters that define T. angustifo- lia, and there is a correlation between the absence of fiber cables in the last leaf formed before the fertile spike and a consensus of the morphological characters that define T. latifolia, there seems to be no correlation between any single character in T. × glauca and the presence or absence of fiber cables in the last leaf formed before the fertile spike in T. × glauca. While the presence or absence of fiber cables in the last leaf formed before the fertile spike in T. × glauca is a dichotomous Fig. 4. Presence of fiber cables in the lacunae of the last leaf blade produced before the fertile spike in T. × glauca observed with a stereo microscope 20 cm above the sheath attachment. The scale is calibrated in millimeters. 42 A. Witztum, R. Wayne / Aquatic Botany 124 (2015) 39–44 Table 5 Length and width of leaf blades and longest fiber cable length and B/A ratio of an individual of a “latifolioid” T. × glauca collected from Newman Arboretum. Leaf number Leaf length (A) (cm) Fiber cable length (B) (cm) B/A Leaf width (mm) 1 71.3 0 0 18.0 2 95.4 0 0 21.0 3 112.2 25.3 0.23 23.0 4 121.2 48.1 0.40 25.5 5 130.1 58.5 0.45 26.0 6 136.8 58.4 0.43 27.0 Sterile zone, none; leaf sheaths, auriculate; pollen, tetrads; female part of the inflo- rescence 37.2 cm × 2.4 cm, dark brown; stigmas, more spathulate than filiform; abortive pistil, oval-shaped. Analysis of variance shows that the longest fiber cable length is not significantly correlated with the leaf length (p = 0.084) but is signifi- cantly correlated with leaf width (p = 0.027). The correlation coefficient (r) is 0.973 for the longest fiber cable length and leaf length and r = 0.916 for the longest fiber cable length and leaf width. Analysis of covariance shows that the longest fiber cable length is not significantly correlated with the leaf length and width together (p = 0.222), nor to width alone (p = 0.375) or length alone (p = 0.838). Fig. 5. Absence of fiber cables in the lacunae of the last leaf blade produced before the fertile spike in T. × glauca observed with a stereo microscope 20 cm above the sheath attachment. The scale is calibrated in millimeters. Fig. 7. Variation in the color and size of the female parts of the inflorescences of Fig. 6. The ratio of length of the longest fiber cable to leaf blade length in the leaves of va color represents a different plant. Typha collected from the Newman Arboretum. The isolated 10 cm segment of the fertile spike serves as a scale bar. character that distinguishes affinity with T. angustifolia or T. latifo- lia, the rate in which the fiber cables decrease as the plants proceed developmentally into the flowering phase also varies (Fig. 6). The greater the number of last formed leaves that lack the fiber cables in an individual of T. × glauca, the greater the affinity of that indi- vidual to T. latifolia. The presence of fiber cables is generally but not absolutely correlated with the color and morphology of the fertile spike in T. × glauca (Fig. 7). In the leaves of plants represented by the female parts of the inflorescences shown in Fig. 7, there were no fiber cables in the last 3–5 leaf blades of the four “latifolioid” plants on the left, there were fiber cables in all leaf blades of the rious individuals of T. × glauca plotted against leaf number from fertile spike. Each uatic f t t t 4 t t e H o b e e t o t ( a c f f o e w i w p i r d a b I b t h r T s a t l 1 W 2 F T t A t t h s i l a S t A. Witztum, R. Wayne / Aq our “angustifolioid” plants on the right. There were fiber cables in he last two leaf blades in one of the four center plants—the one on he right and no fiber cables in the last two leaf blades of the other hree plants in the center. . Discussion According to Kuehn and White (1999), “Accurate identifica- ion of the cattail taxa has become increasingly important over he past several decades as it appears that T. × glauca stands are xpanding throughout northeastern and central North America.” owever, accurate identifications of the taxa are difficult as a result f introgression. While “The cattail genus Typha is perhaps the est-studied example of hybridization in water plants from an xperimental perspective” (Les and Philbrick, 1993), any additional asily-determined character would be useful in the accurate iden- ification of cattail taxa. In a study of fiber cables that traverse the lacunae in leaf blades f T. domingensis, T. angustifolia, T. × glauca and T. latifolia, we noted hat all leaf blades of non-flowering individuals bore fiber cables Witztum and Wayne, 2014). T. angustifolia also bore fiber cables in ll leaf blades of both non-flowering and flowering individuals. By ontrast in flowering individuals of T. latifolia, the last 4 or 5 leaves ormed lack fiber cables entirely. We originally found that in plants from a morphologically uni- orm stand of T. × glauca fiber cables were present in all the leaves f non-flowering individuals and in all or most of the leaves of flow- ring individuals (Witztum and Wayne, 2014). In the present work, here we studied mixed stands in a variety of habitats where many ntermediates between T. angustifolia and T. latifolia grew together, e found that the presence or absence of fiber cables in the last leaf roduced before the fertile spike is a variable character that may ndicate an affinity to one or the other parental species that gave ise to T. × glauca. The presence of fiber cables in the last leaf pro- uced before the fertile spike is an indication of an affinity with T. ngustifolia and the absence of fiber cables in the last leaf produced efore the fertile spike is an indication of an affinity with T. latifolia. n addition, the greater the number of leaves that lack fiber cables efore the fertile spike, the greater is the affinity with T. latifolia. While Hotchkiss and Dozier (1949) considered T. × glauca Godr. o be a definite and readily distinguished species, more recent work as suggested that T. × glauca is neither a distinct species nor a esult of a single hybridization event between T. angustifolia and . latifolia (Smith, 1962, 1967, 1987, 2000). As a result of introgres- ion (Wiegand, 1935; Anderson, 1949; Mason, 1957), T. × glauca is genotypically and phenotypically diverse collection of individuals hat make up a hybrid swarm between T. angustifolia and T. latifo- ia (Fassett and Calhoun, 1952; Bayly and O’Neill, 1971; Krattinger, 975; Lee, 1975; Sharitz et al., 1980; Kuehn et al., 1999; Kuehn and hite, 1999; Tsyusko et al., 2005; Snow et al., 2010; Travis et al., 010, 2011; Kirk et al., 2011; McKenzie-Gopsill et al., 2012; Ball and reeland, 2013; Freeland et al., 2013; Nowińska et al., 2014). Indeed, . × glauca was the first taxon in which a graphical method was used o show introgressive hybridization (Fassett and Calhoun, 1952; nderson, 1953). Variability in the presence of the fiber cables in he lacunae of the leaves produced before the fertile spike supports he claim that T. × glauca is a diverse collection of individuals that ave undergone introgressive hybridization to make up a hybrid warm. In 1844, Dominique-Alexandre Godron (1844) described a plant n Europe that was intermediate between T. angustifolia and T. atifolia. However, intermediate types between T. latifolia and T. ngustifolia were observed even before 1844. In his “A Flora of the tate of New-York” Torrey (1843) cited a posthumous contribu- ion of Ludovici Claudii Richard (1833) which described specimens Botany 124 (2015) 39–44 43 growing together that connect the two parent species. Torrey (1843) noted that he “also found similar intermediate forms in New-York.” Likewise, Henry David Thoreau noticed on July 31, 1859 a “remarkable large and tall Typha, apparently T. latifolia (yet there is at least more than an inch interval between the two kinds of flowers. . .). It is seven or eight feet high. . .much taller than any I see elsewhere as to appear a peculiar species. . ..They are what you may call the tallest reed of the meadows. . .” (Thoreau, 1906). It is possi- ble that the tall plant Thoreau saw on July 31, 1859 was the hybrid T. × glauca (Angelo, 2014). In the first edition of the “Manual of the Botany of the North- ern United States,” Asa Gray (1848) considered T. angustifolia L. and T. latifolia L. to be separate species. In subsequent editions, Gray (1856, 1859, 1870) considered the possibility that T. angus- tifolia was a “mere variety” of T. latifolia. In Gray’s “New Manual of Botany” (seventh edition; Robinson and Fernald, 1908), T. angus- tifolia and T. latifolia are included but T. × glauca Godr. does not appear. There is no mention that T. angustifolia may be a “mere variety” of T. latifolia. Intermediates between T. angustifolia and T. latifolia were becoming more recognized. Knowlton et al. (1909) observed that “where the two species grow together there are all kinds of intermediate forms” that are “especially noticeable in the big swamps at West Cambridge” and Muriel Roscoe (1927) noted that the formation of “angustifolioid” and “latifolioid” intermedi- ates were widespread. In the eighth edition of “Gray’s Manual of Botany,” revised by Fernald (1950), T. × glauca Godr. is included and its great stature is noted. In a recent note, Gibson (2012) presented a photograph of Typha growing in the Meadow at Harvard Univer- sity’s Arnold Arboretum that is T. × glauca and may be similar in appearance to the plant that Thoreau saw in 1859. T. × glauca is considered to be an aggressively invasive wetland taxon (Bohlen, 1990; Galatowitsch et al., 1999; Trebitz and Taylor, 2007; Tulbure et al., 2007; Tuchman et al., 2009; Lishawa et al., 2010; Mitchell et al., 2011; Larkin et al., 2012; Ciotir et al., 2013; Freeland et al., 2013; Farrer and Goldberg, 2014), however, as a taxon, it is highly diverse. Molecular markers have been used to characterize the diversity in Typha (Lamote et al., 2005). We are beginning to use the fiber cables as a biomechanical marker to char- acterize the diversity in Typha. Since the lengths of the longest fiber cables in T. angustifolia and the “angustifolioid” T. × glauca are sig- nificantly correlated with the lengths of the leaves while they are not correlated with the lengths of the leaves in T. latifolia and the “latifolioid” T. × glauca, the presence of fiber cables may play a role in the fitness of individuals with tall thin leaves and the absence of fiber cables may play a role in the fitness of individuals with shorter and wider leaves. Being able to distinguish the “angustifo- lioid” type or the “latifolioid” type may be useful in understanding the ability of each type of this protean taxon to invade wetland habitats. Our morphological and biomechanical approach comple- ments the molecular approaches used to characterize the diversity in the protean taxon referred to T. × glauca Godr. (pro sp.), and we hope that this morphological and biomechanical analysis will be extended throughout its wide distribution in order to characterize better, the fiber cables and their biomechanical role in this invasive taxon. Acknowledgements We thank James L. Reveal for many helpful suggestions, Thomas A. Zanoni for sending us information about the Typha specimens in Torrey’s collection at the New York Botanical Gardens, Anna M. Stalter of the Bailey Hortorium at Cornell University for showing us the Typha specimens, including those with Hotchkiss’s annota- tions, and Ray Angelo for showing AW the only Typha specimen present in the Thoreau collection at Harvard University. We thank 4 uatic t t R A A A B B B C C C F F F F G G G G G G G G H K K K K K K L L 4 A. Witztum, R. Wayne / Aq he reviewers for their helpful comments. We dedicate this paper o Jim Reveal, who passed away on January 9, 2015. eferences nderson, E., 1949. Introgressive Hybridization. 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References 
work_zxi5i3heqrh2xmzjkto4yi3roy	----	Ethics in Science and Environmental Politics 2003:1 ETHICS IN SCIENCE AND ENVIRONMENTAL POLITICS ESEP 2003, 1– 6 Published February 6 INTRODUCTION The Options Spring 2002 issue is devoted entirely to Achieving Sustainable Development: The 21st Cen- tury Imperative. Jernelöv’s (2002) editorial notes that human security issues relating to the supply of water, food, and energy, and the protection of Earth’s life sup- port systems have been high on the International Insti- tute for Applied Systems Analysis’ priority list since its creation approximately three decades ago. The same Options issue notes that human dimensions must be placed at the core of sustainable development to meet the needs of present generations without sacrificing the livelihoods of future generations. Not featured is eco-ethics —the ethics of humankind’s relationship with the planet’s biospheric life support system, despite the fact that the natural capital and services it provides is the sine qua non of sustainability. Sustainable use of the planet is the most complex problem in human history. Its goal is to change humankind’s behavior and practices so that the human species can inhabit its planet indefinitely. To accom- plish this goal, it is essential that a mutualistic relation- ship develop between human society and natural systems. This relationship, in turn, will require a com- bination of econ-ethics and eco-ethics (e.g. Kinne 2002). Both economics and ecology are derived from the Greek word oikos, which means household. The © Inter-Research 2003 · www.int-res.com*Email: jcairns@vt.edu PAPER Integrating top-down/bottom-up sustainability strategies: an ethical challenge John Cairns, Jr.* Department of Biology, 1020 Derring Hall, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, Virginia 24061, USA ABSTRACT: Sustainable use of the planet will require multiple sustainability strategies, which will range from the entire system, the entire Earth, to the local or regional. Strategies starting at the highest system level are referred to as ‘top-down,’ and strategies designed for components, local or regional, are referred to as ‘bottom-up.’ Doubtless, several intermediate levels will eventually be required, although the number is far from clear at this time. It is abundantly clear that both top-down and bottom-up strategies must be integrated effectively or neither will work well. Furthermore, there will be significant uncertainties at both levels of organization, which will be reduced as evidence accumulates. However, sustainability is too complex and dynamic to reduce scientific uncertainty to a level desired by most decision makers. A greater emphasis on sustain-ethics and value judgments will improve communications between those working at different organizational levels since humankind’s wish to leave a habitable planet for its descendants and those of other life forms is clearly a value judgment. KEY WORDS: Top-down strategy · Bottom-up strategy · Sustainability strategies · Eco-ethics · Value judgments Resale or republication not permitted without written consent of the publisher Knowledge of what is does not open the door directly to what should be. Albert Einstein I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor. Henry David Thoreau mailto:jcairns@vt.edu http://www.int-res.com ESEP 2003, 1–6 term household was originally used (and still is) in a much more restricted way; however, humankind is now beginning to perceive Earth as the ultimate household. Econ-ethics requires an ethical economic system that will benefit humankind. The economy must be structured in a way that will not damage the planet’s ecological life support system. Econ-ethics and eco-ethics used concomitantly to enhance sustainable use of the planet would be sustain-ethics (this term initiated in this paper). Neither natural systems nor future generations can demonstrate appreciation or gratitude for sustain-ethics while present generations still live, but ethical behavior gives a peace of mind that is its own reward. However, sustain-ethics, in addition to compassion for natural systems and future generations, also includes compassion for disadvan- taged members of the human species who could express appreciation to humans now alive for improv- ing the human condition. There must be a global strategy for sustainability (‘top-down strategy’) but also a strategy that considers the unique issues and ecosystems of each bioregion (‘bottom-up strategy’). Holistically practicing top- down and bottom-up sustainability strategies, includ- ing several intermediate ‘connecting’ levels, is a formi- dable, daunting task. The most promising way to connect these interdependent activities is an ethical ‘cement’—sustain-ethics. It is unclear whether the top- down strategies should work directly with the bottom- up strategies or whether there should be one or more intermediate steps. Ideally, the shorter the communi- cation chain the more rapid and effective communica- tion will be, but there are many obstacles to this simple two-strategy model. The lofty goals of sustainability are fairly easily stated and seem to strike a responsive chord in anyone wishing future generations of humankind to have a habitable planet. How this will be implemented in var- ious ecoregions with different problems is not particu- larly clear; even less clear is the way in which different ecoregions will interact with each other and how the humans who occupy them will be persuaded to follow a global sustainability strategy. It is abundantly clear that both top-down and bottom-up strategies are being developed, although the rate of development of the latter varies dramati- cally from one country to another and from one biore- gion to another. In addition, global acceptance of whatever top-down strategy eventually emerges will doubtless be markedly influenced by local conditions. Both global and regional strategies must be inte- grated effectively or neither will work well. Human- kind has only one finite planet, and damage to one part of it almost guarantees damage to other parts that are distant geographically, spatially, and even temporally. It remains to be seen whether humans can grasp a problem of such complexity for an infinite period of time. After all, sustainable use means being able to continue these practices indefinitely. However, if it is not possible to address effectively a problem of such complexity, humankind will suffer enormously. There- fore, the attempt must be made despite many inherent difficulties. OBSTACLES TO TOP-DOWN/BOTTOM-UP SUSTAINABILITY STRATEGIES The obstacles to developing a sustainability initiative are essentially the same as those hampering develop- ment of a global sense of community. Even taken indi- vidually, they both have inherently formidable obsta- cles. In the aggregate, one wonders how they will ever be transcended. Illustrative examples of obstacles to bottom-up strategy development include: (1) language barriers, (2) ethnic and religious conflicts, (3) dispari- ties in per capita wealth, (4) disparities in educational opportunities, particularly in developing scientific and environmental literacy, (5) differences in the balance between individualism and a sense of community, (6) differences in age distribution within the local pop- ulation (e.g. predominantly young or predominantly elderly), (7) level of biophilia (humankind’s innate affinity for the natural world), (8) degree of compassion for individuals of the human species distant in time (future generations) or space (in far geographic locali- ties), (9) level of equity and fairness in resource alloca- tion among members of the human species and those of other life forms, and (10) a lack of willingness to do more than the law requires in achieving sustainable use of the planet. Illustrations of obstacle 10 include focus on individual ‘rights’ (Cairns 2002a,b) rather than individual responsibilities, lack of accountability for one’s own actions, greedy desire to acquire mater- ial wealth at others’ expense, disregard for the appear- ance of one’s environment (e.g. littering in public parks and freeways), corporate efforts to obtain today’s prof- its without regard for the long-term effects of today’s practices, elected officials’ actions geared toward satis- fying constituents’ immediate demands (to keep the vote) instead of doing what is best for the survival of the local ecosystem, and the waste of resources that is a part of affluent societies’ consumerism. The obstacles to development of a top-down strategy are equally formidable. Illustrative examples include: (1) the enormous difficulty in visualizing solutions to goals over large temporal and spatial spans, (2) inte- grating huge temporal and spatial spans in a mutualis- tic fashion, (3) ensuring that no component of the top- down strategy negates or compromises an important 2 Cairns: Top-down/bottom-up strategies component of the bottom-up strategy, (4) developing continuous feed-back loops between top-down and bottom-up strategies, (5) developing a harmonious working relationship between top-down and bottom- up strategists, (6) ensuring that minutia do not distract from the holistic scope of the top-down strategy, (7) detecting changes in either natural systems or human society that require mid-course corrections, (8) coping with ‘rogue’ nations and uncooperative nations in an ethical way while maintaining sustainable practices, (9) acquiring and maintaining the financial base neces- sary to operate the Global Sustainability Organization (GSO), (10) determining when the precautionary prin- ciple should be applied, and (11) determining how to orchestrate the GSO in a democratic fashion while promptly eliminating unsustainable practices. Clearly, the same obstacles exist for both top-down and bottom-up—they will, however, not be resolved in an identical fashion. These illustrative examples do indicate how important ethics will be for both strate- gies. As humankind moves from small group, tribal units toward a global community, shared ethical values become ever more important to the survival of the human species. UNCERTAINTY AND ETHICS There are four major classes of scientific uncertainty, particularly in resolving environmental issues such as sustainability: (1) framing uncertainty, (2) modeling uncertainty, (3) statistical uncertainty, and (4) deci- sion— theoretic uncertainty (Shrader-Frechette 1996). Durham (1992) remarks that scientists provisionally accept a hypothesis that has survived rigorous attempts to falsify it, even one with obvious deficien- cies, if there is no better (i.e. more probable) hypothe- sis available. Physics has often been regarded as one of the ‘hardest’ sciences with a superb record of validat- ing hypotheses. Yet, Carnap (1966) states that since hypotheses have an infinite number of observational consequences that can never be conclusively vali- dated, scientists sometimes opt, in an uncertain situa- tion, for provisional acceptance of the best available non-falsified hypothesis. Thus, uncertainty is the norm, even within disciplines noted for their precision. Uncertainty is likely to be orders of magnitude greater in the quest for sustainable use of the planet, which requires input from all disciplines. Further, experimentation is difficult, not only because there is only one planet but also because of a natural reluc- tance to experiment with human subjects. Cairns & Smith (1996) analyze some of the ways in which these uncertainties associated with both top-down and bottom-up strategies can be reduced and make recom- mendations on how the validation process might belatedly be integrated into the ecotoxicological field. These approaches should be useful, properly modified, when integrating top-down and bottom-up approaches in general. As Cairns & Smith (1996) note, it is difficult (and in some cases impossible) to measure directly how a stressor affects an ecosystem. For example, society cannot wait 20 or more years to determine the specifics of the ecological effects of radioactive wastes. While this uncertainty is being reduced, ethical princi- ples will be a useful component of societal decisions. Ethical principles are extremely important since scien- tific uncertainty may never be satisfactorily reduced in time periods of interest to human society. Sustainable use of the planet is an aspiration involv- ing levels of complexity transcending most scientific endeavors. Arguably, one of the most important facets of this complex problem is that most environmental laws and regulations place the burden of proof for demonstrating human health or environmental dam- age on governmental regulatory agencies or non- governmental organizations wishing to demonstrate harm from development or technological activities. The universal standard, which is generally used to meet burden of proof requirements, is often the normal standard of scientific proof, such as a 95% confidence level or an equivalent criterion. The scientific commu- nity, in order to minimize Type I errors and, therefore reduce speculation in scientific data interpretation, adopted this standard. But when such a standard is uti- lized as a basis for developing sustainability strategies, the scientific uncertainty that inevitably pervades such situations means that the burden of proof usually is not met, despite the fact that some information might demonstrate impairment to the quest for sustainability. Finally, as a consequence of the absence of a robust understanding of scientific uncertainty and its implica- tions for sustainability, decisions mean that policy- makers/managers will not have adequate scientific information to guide them in terms of whether or to what extent decisions should reflect a precautionary approach. Since humankind has only one finite planet on which to achieve sustainable use, it is abundantly clear that the usual requirements to reduce scientific uncertainty, such as use of controls, multiple testing under variable conditions, and the like, cannot be met. Ethics are especially important in such circumstances. Humankind is now moving from the age of reduc- tionist science to an age of synthesis or integrative science. This transition does not mean that reductionist science is no longer appropriate, but rather that as lev- els of complexity in any system increase, new proper- ties emerge that were not apparent at lower levels. Consequently, one means of reducing uncertainty in this age of synthesis is how congruent a particular 3 ESEP 2003, 1–6 hypothesis or body of evidence is with other related bodies of evidence within the particular system being studied. Both top-down and bottom-up sustainability strategies will require synthesis and also a means of coping with scientific uncertainty. Again, ethics should be a major factor in the decision making process. POLICYMAKERS/MANAGERS AND SOCIAL AND NATURAL SCIENTISTS It is well to remember that all sustainability strate- gies involve both macro- and micro-coevolution of human societies and natural systems. If successful sus- tainability strategies are developed, they will also require coevolution in understanding between and among policymakers/managers and natural and social scientists. These coevolutionary interactions will greatly influence sustainability issues, as well as issues of how humans behave toward the environment, those in other cultures and financial circumstances. Most importantly, it will require abandoning the many unsustainable practices found in almost every culture on the planet and substituting sustainable practices despite the attractiveness of the unsustainable ones to which humans have become accustomed. These are groups unaccustomed to working together on a long- term, meaningful basis on such a complex issue as sus- tainability strategies. At worst, some groups have no regard for or even trust in some of the other groups, and, at best, there is often a poor understanding of the ways in which other groups function. Ethics is an obvi- ous ‘bridge’ between groups so that misunderstand- ings can be reduced or eliminated. One would expect the primary initiative in develop- ing integrative programs covering the broad spectrum of groups just described to come from the world’s uni- versities and colleges, particularly those in which the responsibility for generating new knowledge and com- municating it to students is a major responsibility. Regrettably, this does not occur at either the rate or scale necessary for achieving sustainability for a vari- ety of reasons. Among these are increased teaching loads and budget cuts at state- and federally- supported institutions, which do not permit the exten- sive time necessary for faculty in one discipline to develop a deep understanding and productive rela- tionships with those in other disciplines. Arguably most importantly, students do not perceive the need for developing such a broad perspective because they cannot, at present, see the relationship to the job mar- ket and their future professional growth. Conse- quently, it is highly unlikely that there will be ade- quate, experienced personnel skilled in integration and synthesis at the temporal and spatial scales required for sustainability initiatives as well as the diversity of components needed for successful imple- mentation. Such personnel cannot be produced overnight, nor is it likely that many persons with a dis- ciplinary bias can be persuaded to take a holistic view of sustainability initiatives. As a consequence, it will be of greatest importance to utilize the relatively few available personnel as effectively as possible in the short term and to prepare a much larger group that is sufficiently holistic to implement sustainability initia- tives. The most important aspect of educational institu- tions’ budget cuts is fewer personnel and less scientific information for a considerable period of time. Uncer- tainty will not be significantly reduced and may even increase. Thus, ethics is now of major importance. HOW MANY LEVELS OF SUSTAINABILITY STRATEGIES? Going from global to local or regional directly fol- lows Dubos’ famous injunction ‘think globally, act locally.’ The problem is that insightful global thinking will require an information mass well beyond the capa- bility of most (and possibly all) individuals to assimilate and understand. Even if an individual, or even a small number of individuals, did have such a capability, there would be a problem of trust because they would undoubtedly not represent all religions, all cultures, all language groups, and so on. Furthermore, since effec- tive sustainability strategy implementation will involve numerous professional and non-professional groups and a mixture of science and value judgments, a diver- sity of viewpoints would strengthen the policy deci- sions, if the diversity did not impede reaching consen- sus. In the first two decades of the 21st century, it is extremely unlikely that there would be adequate num- bers of competent personnel to function as integrators of concepts and information and synthesizers of both concepts and value judgments. If there is a global public will to increase the number of competent professionals, undoubtedly this could be done over a period of several decades or more. The initial problem would be the lack of suitable faculty and other profes- sionals to educate and inform the large numbers of additional personnel needed. Furthermore, much on- the-job training would be required, and a large number of qualified personnel would be required to spend most, if not all, of their time on synthesis and information integration rather than on increasing the literacy of additional personnel. At the bottom-up level, there are numerous areas where adequate or nearly adequate numbers of com- petent professionals are available. There are also numerous areas where the idea of sustainability is 4 Cairns: Top-down/bottom-up strategies not even being discussed in the most general way. So, there is a major educational problem at the bottom-up level, although in most respects it differs significantly from the top-down approach. A major problem in increasing literacy at the bottom-up level concerns trying to increase all citizens’ literacy in the requirements for sustainable use of the planet and deciding what organization(s) should be responsible for quality control, planning, financing, and the like. There is also the crucial question of how to transfer increased sustainability literacy from areas where the literacy is high to areas where it is low or non- existent. This problem will almost certainly be exacerbated by cultural, religious, and language difficulties, to name just a few. Ethics should help reduce these problems because it may furnish a common ground in which diversity can be appreci- ated but not divisive. Kung (1998) defines a compre- hensive ethic—founded on the bedrock of mutual respect and humane treatment of all beings —that would encompass the ecological, legal, technological, and social patterns that are reshaping civilization. If humans are going to have a global economy, a global media, a global technology, Kung (1998) argues that there must also be global ethics to which all nations and peoples of the most varied back- grounds and beliefs can commit themselves. Earth can and should be held together by ethics. As Common (1995) notes, there is no purely scientific basis on which to decide the alternative positions between economists and ecologists. Differences pri- marily reflect dissimilar value systems (e.g. Myers & Simon 1994). This is one reason why sustainability issue decisions are so difficult and contentious. It is abundantly clear that the debate on sustainability issues would be more productive if participants explicitly stated their ethical values that, together with scientific evidence, support the positions they are taking. At the outset, there seems to be no choice but to begin with only the top-down approach and the bottom-up approach with no intermediate stages. This design will undoubtedly cause difficulties, but these will doubtless be less if there are competent personnel in both categories rather than a large number of unqualified people at intermediate organizational stages or, worse yet, at all organizational stages. This immediately calls to mind the problem of quality control, which has been successfully resolved by the disciplines representing reductionist science but has yet to be resolved for integrative science or synthesis. As the number of qualified personnel increases and the general literacy about sustainability increases, more levels of organization between top-down and bottom-up not only will be possible but most likely essential. CONCLUSIONS For initial stages, the primary focus of sustainability initiatives should be restricted to top-down and bot- tom-up strategies with no intermediate levels, for rea- sons already stated. As the number of trained person- nel and the information base, including case histories, expands, so also can the number of intermediate stages between the two extremes. Exacerbating the complex problems already discussed in a preliminary fashion will be the certainty that there is no precise indication of how much time is left to put these top- down/bottom-up strategies in place. Many profession- als think environmental problems are already severe and that a number of crucial environmental thresholds and breakpoints have already been crossed. Resilient systems usually permit an overshoot if it is not too severe and not sustained for an exceptional time period. However, many unsustainable practices are increasing exponentially while social adjustments lag far behind. Possibly, it will require a major collapse of one of the planet’s life support systems to change the mood from complacency to serious concern. This also would mean that the time to cope with the problem and to increase sustainability literacy will be substan- tially decreased. Consequently, one hopes that reason guided by evidence will result in some precautionary measures being taken, such as increasing training pro- grams at universities and colleges and, as soon as pos- sible, in general school systems, which will enable all citizens to become literate in this area. Clearly, a greater emphasis on ethics and value judgments with regard to sustainable use of the planet is long overdue. Science can show what probably is done; technology can show what might be done; but ethics can help humankind decide what should be done. Acknowledgements. I am deeply indebted to Eva M. Call for transcribing the dictation of the first draft of this manuscript and to Darla Donald for editorial work in preparing it for pub- lication. The Cairns Foundation paid for processing costs. LITERATURE CITED Cairns J Jr (2002a) Reexamining the ‘inherent worth and dig- nity of every person’ paradigm in an interdependent web of life context. J Lib Rel 3(1), available at www.meadville.edu/cairns_3_1.html Cairns J Jr (2002b) Revisiting respect for the interdependent web of life and the worth and dignity of each individual: a major issue in sustainable use of the planet. Common Ground 1.2 (2002):29-34 Cairns J Jr, Smith EP (1996) Uncertainties associated with extrapolating from toxicological responses in laboratory 5 http://www.meadville.edu/cairns_3_1.html ESEP 2003, 1–6 systems to the responses in natural systems. In: Lemons J (ed) Scientific uncertainty and environmental problem- solving. Blackwell, Cambridge, MA Carnap R (1966) Philosophical foundation of physics. Basic Books, New York Common M (1995) Sustainability and global policy. Cam- bridge University Press, Cambridge Durham P (1992) The aim and structure of physical theory. Trans. Wiener P. Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ Jernelöv A (2002) Editorial. Options (Spring 2002):1 Kinne O (2003) Eco-ethics further developed text: 01.05.2002. EEIU Brochure, Inter-Research, Oldendorf/Luhe Kung H (1998) A global ethic for global politics and econom- ics. Oxford University Press, Oxford Myers N, Simon J (1994) Scarcity or abundance: a debate on the environment. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Shrader-Frechette K (1996) Methodological rules for four classes of scientific uncertainty. In: Lemons J (ed) Scientific uncertainty and environmental problem- solving. Blackwell, Cambridge, MA 6 Editorial responsibility: Mary Batson (Managing Editor) Oldendorf/Luhe, Germany Submitted: December 19, 2002; Accepted: February 3, 2003 Proofs received from author(s): February 6, 2003 Published on the web: February 6, 2003 http://www.eeiu.org/eeiubrochure.html http://www.int-res.com/ 
work_zz7a4tdrpje3tccynyutbowwky	----	The Mickey Finn* Defense: involuntary Intoxication and Insanity Robert Lloyd Goldstein, MD, JD The legal context of voluntary and involuntary intoxication is delineated. The author reports a case of involuntary intoxication involving scopolamine toxic psy- chosis or delirium, in which he testified as a psychiatric expert witness. The specific psychological and physiological symptomatology produced by scopolamine intoxi- cation is outlined. The forensic psychiatrist should be alert to the involuntary intoxication defense in these cases and should familiarize himself with the specific toxicity of scopolamine, in view of the significant increase in the number of incidents in which it is utilized as "knockout" drops in certain jurisdictions. Hot as a hare, blind as a bat, dry as a bone, red as a beet, mad as a hatter." [classical de- scription of scopolamine poisoning12 It is a generally accepted rule of law that a defendant who is voluntarily un- der the influence of intoxicating sub- stances at the time a criminal act is committed will not be relieved of crim- inal responsibility. "Simply stated, a vol- untary intoxication or a voluntary drugged condition does not raise the de- fense of insanity, but. . .may be used to negate the existence of the mental state which is an element of the crime. A voluntary intoxication or voluntary Dr. Goldstein is associate professor of clinical psychia- try and director of the Legal Issues in the Practice of Psychiatry Program, Columbia University's College of Physicians and Surgeons, New York City. Address re- print requests to: Robert Lloyd Goldstein, M.D., J.D., The Apthorp, 390 West End Avenue, New York, NY 10024. *A drink of drugged liquor; a drink spiked with knock- out drops. drugged condition precludes the use of the insanity defenset. . ."3 While failing as a "complete defense" to eliminate culpability entirely, voluntary intoxica- tion nonetheless may be used as evi- dence to mitigate the seriousness of the offense by negativing an element of the crime charged. Thus, for example, a de- fendant charged with murder may be found guilty of the lesser included crime of manslaughter, if the factfinder deter- mines he was too intoxicated to form the requisite specific intent to cause death (i.e., the intoxication rendered the defendant incapable of forming the spe- cific intent constituting an element of the ~ r i r n e ) . ~ In contrast to voluntary intoxication, t A n exception to this rule may exist in the case of voluntary intoxication leading to a settled or fixed permanent type of insanity (e.g., alcoholic psychosis) or resulting in unforeseen temporary insanity (e.g., the LSD cases). Bull Am Acad Psychiatry Law, Vol. 20, No. 1, 1992 27 Goldstein involuntary intoxication is a "complete defense" to a criminal charge. Generally, the defendant must prove three ele- m e n t ~ : ~ 1) He was intoxicated at the time of the crim- inal act. 2) The intoxication was involuntarily created. 3) His mental state at the time met the juris- diction's test for insanity. The common law recognized invol- untary intoxication if it occurred under any of the following conditions: 1) coer- cion or d ~ r e s s ; ~ 2) "pathological intoxi- cation";' 3) prescription by a phy~ician;~ 4) resulting from an innocent m i ~ t a k e . ~ In the latter category, an individual makes an "innocent mistake" of fact, by innocently ingesting a substance without knowledge of the foreseeable intoxicat- ing potential of that substance. The "in- nocent mistake" can occur with or with- out the machinations, contrivance, trickery, or connivance of another indi- ~ i d u a l . ~ The prototype of involuntary intoxication is when the intoxicated state results from another person trick- ing the individual by slipping a potent intoxicating drug into his drink. The unsuspecting victim is said to have been given "knockout drops" or to have been slipped a "Mickey Finn."' The pleasing concoction then produces a state of stu- pefaction or confusion that was unfore- seeable to the victim and that sets him up for robbery, sexual assault, or other criminal acts. As far back as 1904, ex- Inspector Elliott, formerly of the Glas- gow police force, wrote: The use of drugs. . .or what is more familiarly known in criminal circles as "knockout" drops $A notorious saloon-keeper of Chicago, ca. 1896-1906. is common enough in most cities. What is known as "knockout" drops is chloral hydrate, and from 15 to 30 grains of it produces a sleep that lasts three hours." Eighty years later, in 1984, the New York City Police Department issued an Operations Order" on the subject of "Use of 'knockout' drops in certain crimes." The operations order described a significant increase in the number of robberies committed in which "knock- out" drops were used to render the vic- tim helpless. The perpetrator surrepti- tiously added the drug to the victim's drink and eventually, "while the victim is incapacitated. . .removes currency, credit cards, jewelry, and/or other prop- erty."" Although "knockout" drops were originally considered to be mainly chloral hydrate, the 1984 operations or- der noted that the police laboratory and medical examiner's office have identi- fied one of the most commonly used "knockout" drops to be scopolamine hy- drobromide, commonly diluted in water, "resulting in a colorless, odorless, and tasteless liquid. Prostitutes have been known to carry the diluted solution in eye dropper bottles and/or small plas- tic squeeze bottles. . . . " l l In some cases, the intended victim may become delirious and perpetrate an act of violence, with the result that he himself is charged with a criminal of- fense. Such a case is described in the following case report, which illustrates a recent successful involuntary intoxica- tion defense in New York City involving scopolamine. 28 Bull Am Acad Psychiatry Law, Vol. 20, No. 1, 1992 The Mickey Finn Defense Case Report An off-duty police officer met a few colleagues after work and consumed two beers. Later in the evening, he stopped off at a topless bar, a known underworld haunt, for one more beer. After ordering the drink and taking a few sips, he went to the men's room. He returned to the bar and finished his drink. Within fifteen or twenty minutes, he suddenly felt as though his head was spinning. He felt hot, flushed, and dizzy. His throat was exceedingly dry and he had difficulty swallowing. His heart was beating fu- riously and his vision was blurred. He remembers staggering back from the bar, feeling that his mouth was burning, and then he blacked out completely. He is amnesic for the events that followed. Other observers in the bar noted that he seemed to be confused and delirious. He staggered and strutted around the bar, shouting (at times incoherently). He yelled that he was a policeman and was going to "take care of troublemakers." He waved his gun in a menacing fashion and pointed it at several patrons, causing them to duck under tables and scramble to safety as best they could. He shot one of the patrons at point-blank range, causing serious injuries, for no rational reason. Then he wandered around the nearly deserted bar for 10 or 1 5 minutes in a confused and agitated state, appar- ently unable to find the exit. The police finally amved and placed him under arrest for attempted murder. Although he appeared to be intoxicated according to police reports, no blood tests or urine screening was camed out for alcohol or drugs after his arrest. Prior to the incident described above, the officer had an unblemished record, had recently received a promotion, and had no history of psychiatric disorder or substance abuse. The psychiatric expert retained by the defense (the author) con- cluded that the defendant appeared to have suffered an acute confusional state, most probably a reaction to scopolamine intoxication, in view of the constellation of psychological and physiological symptoms he experienced at the time of the incident. These included confusion, disorientation, amnesia, delirium, agi- tation and aggressiveness, as well as flushed skin, dry and burning mouth, palpitations, blurred vision, and difi- culty focusing. He testified that the spe- cific combination of such symptoms, both psychological and physiological, was pathognomonic for scopolamine in- toxication. Because the officer was not taking any prescribed medications con- taining scopolamine or related sub- stances, and because scopolamine is not usually a drug of choice for abuse, the expert opined that the most likely route of administration involved surreptitious addition of the substance to the unsus- pecting officer's drink. The expert's clin- ical inferences were based on the offi- cer's subjective account and the objec- tive observations of third party witnesses, who confirmed that he had been highly confused, disoriented, and irrational at the time of the incident. The police had camed out a cursory investigation and failed to seek any in- dependent corroboration of the officer's account of the incident. Blood or urine samples were not collected for labora- Bull Am Acad Psychiatry Law, Vol. 20, No. 1, 1992 29 Goldstein tory analysis, and no attempt was made to explore the possibility that his drink had been drugged (e.g., by subjecting his glass to forensic analysis or by identify- ing the perpetrator who allegedly drugged him [which itself would have constituted a criminal act]). The prosecution's expert argued that, in the absence of any physical corrobo- ration (e.g., finding scopolamine in the officer's blood or urine), the defense had to rely on the officer's self-serving sub- jective account of the symptoms he had experienced, which might have been fab- ricated in order to convey the false impression that he was the victim of scopolamine poisoning, rather than ad- mitting to voluntary intoxication with alcohol. He testified that although sco- polamine is readily absorbed from the gastrointestinal tract, the onset of psy- chiatric symptoms would not have been so immediate, but would have taken 30 to 60 minutes to appear. In New York, a finding of involuntary intoxication is not treated as a variant of the insanity defense, but leads to an outright acquit- tal. In such a case, the defendant had drugs administered to him against his will or by deception, thereby depriving him "of the ability to act consciously and to exercise his own independent judgment and volition. . . ."I2 Because his conduct was involuntary, he could not be found guilty of a criminal act. As one New York court said on the issue: . . . criminal liability requires at the very least a voluntary act.13 The jury acquitted the defendant po- lice officer of any criminal wrongdoing, on the basis of involuntary scopolamine intoxication. Note on Scopolamine Intoxication Scopolamine is one of the belladonna alkaloids related to atropine. An anti- cholinergic drug, it is a primary central nervous system depressant with marked sedative and tranquilizing properties. It dilates the pupils, causes blurred vision, dryness of the skin, accelerated heart action, flushing, dryness and burning of the mouth and throat, and difficulty ~wallowing.'~ Scopolamine has a well- recognized amnesia-producing quality and induces a transient, memory-erasing effect, which has "led to its use as a preanesthetic medication for surgical and obstetrical procedure^"'^ ["twilight sleep"]. Although primarily a sedative- tranquilizing drug, scopolamine may cause a paradoxical delirium in as many as 10 percent of patients premedicated with it in the pre- or postoperative period.I5 A striking effect of large doses is the total amnesia that develops for events that occurred while the individual is under the influence of the drug.14 For those who are excessively susceptible to scopolamine, alarming toxic symptoms may include "marked disturbances of the intellect, ranging from complete di- sorientation to an active delirium resem- bling that encountered in atropine poi- soning."14 Anticholinergic intoxication has been described by Homer in The Odyssey, by Omar Khayyam, Henry David Thoreau, and others,with ac- counts of poisoning causing confusion, stupor, and even death.2 The intoxica- tion syndrome induced by anticholiner- 30 Bull Am Acad Psychiatry Law, Vol. 20, No. 1, 1992 The Mickey Finn Defense gic agents has been reported for drugs used to treat colds, allegeries, motion sickness, peptic ulcer, ophthalmological conditions, and Parkinson's d i ~ e a s e . ' ~ - ' ~ A number of articles have described the anticholinergic intoxication syndrome, scopolamine psychosis, and scopola- mine dissociative-delirium. ' ', 19-21 References 1. Partridge E: A Dictionary of the Underworld. Hertfordshire, U.K., Wordsworth Editions, 1989, p. 437 2. Johnson AL, Hollister LE, Berger PA: The anticholinergic intoxication syndrome: diag- nosis and treatment. J Clin Psychiatry 42:313-7, 1981 3. People v. Free, 94 Ill. 2d 378 474 N.E. 2d 218 (1983) 4. Lafave W, Scott A: Criminal Law (ed 2). St. Paul, West Publishing, 1986 5. Bidwill MJ, Katz DL: Injecting new life into an old defense: anabolic steroid-induced psy- chosis as a paradigm of involuntary intoxi- cation. U Miami Ent and Sports L Rev 7: 1- 63. 1989 6. State v. Bunn, 283 N.C. 444, 196 S.E. 2d 777 (1973) 7. Comment: Pathological intoxication and the voluntarily intoxicated criminal defendant. Utah L Rev 96:419-42, 1969 8. Saldiveri v. State, 2 17 Md. 4 12 143 A. 2d 70 ( 1958); City of Minneapolis v. Altimus, 306 Minn. 462 238 N.W. 2d 85 1 (1976) (en banc) 9. Special Project: Drugs and criminal respon- sibility. Vanderbilt L Rev 33:1145-234, 1980 10. Partridge E: supra, note 1 at 39 1 11. New York City Police Department: Opera- tions Order, No. 47, May 10, 1984 12. New York State Consolidated Jury Instruc- tions, Involuntary Intoxication, 9.45 ($15.25) 13. People v. Carlo, 46 A.D. 2d 764, 361 NYS 2d 168 (1974) 14. Gilman AG, Goodman LA, Gilman A (Eds): The Pharmacological Basis of Therapeutics (ed 6). New York, Macmillan, 1980 15. Good MI: Substance-induced dissociative disorders and psychiatric nosology. J Clin Psychopharmacol9:88-93, 1989 16. Berger PA, Tinklenberg JR: Medical man- agement of the drug abuser, in Psychiatry for the Primary Care Physician. Edited by Free- man A, Sack R. Berger P. Baltimore, Wil- liams and Wilkins, 1979 17. Shader RI (Ed): Manual of Psychiatric Ther- apeutics. Boston, Little, Brown, and Com- pany, 1975 18. Rodysill K, Warren JB: Transdermal scopol- amine and toxic psychosis. Ann Intern Med 98561-70, 1983 19. Dysken MW, Merry W, Davis JM: Anticho- linergic psychosis. Psychiatric Ann 8:452-6, 1978 20. MacEwan GW, Remick RA, Noone JA: Psy- chosis due to transdermally administered scopolamine. Can Med Assoc J 133:431-2, 1985 21. Macvicar K: Abuse of antiparkinsonian drugs by psychiatric patients. Am J Psychia- try 134:809-ll, 1977 Bull Am Acad Psychiatry Law, Vol. 20, No. 1,1992